impression upon her, and greatly added to the affection she had before
conceived for our young heroe.
The lady now, after a silence of a few moments, said, "She did not
see his pretensions to Sophia so much in the light of presumption,
as of imprudence. Young fellows," says she, can never have too
aspiring thoughts. I love ambition in a young man, and I would have
you cultivate it as much as possible. Perhaps you may succeed with
those who are infinitely superior in fortune; nay, I am convinced
there are women-- but don't you think me a strange creature, Mr.
Jones, to be thus giving advice to a man with whom I am so little
acquainted, and one with whose behaviour to me I have so little reason
to be pleased?"
Here Jones began to apologize, and to hope he had not offended in
anything he had said of her cousin.- To which the mask answered, "And
are you so little versed in the sex, to imagine you can well affront a
lady more than by entertaining her with your passion for another
woman? If the fairy queen had conceived no better opinion of your
gallantry, she would scarce have appointed you to meet her at the
masquerade."
Jones had never less inclination to an amour than at present; but
gallantry to the ladies was among his principles of honour; and he
held it as much incumbent on him to accept a challenge to love, as
if it had been a challenge to fight. Nay, his very love to Sophia made
it necessary for him to keep well with the lady, as he made no doubt
but she was capable of bringing him into the presence of the other.
He began therefore to make a very warm answer to her last speech,
when a mask, in the character of an old woman, joined them. This
mask was one of those ladies who go to a masquerade only to vent
ill-nature, by telling people rude truths, and by endeavouring, as the
phrase is, to spoil as much sport as they are able. This good lady,
therefore, having observed Jones, and his friend, whom she well
knew, in close consultation together in a corner of the room,
concluded she could nowhere satisfy her spleen better than by
interrupting them. She attacked them, therefore, and soon drove them
from their retirement; nor was she contented with this, but pursued
them to every place which they shifted to avoid her; till Mr.
Nightingale, seeing the distress of his friend, at last relieved
him, and engaged the old woman in another pursuit.
While Jones and his mask were walking together about the room, to
rid themselves of the teazer, he observed his lady speak to several
masks, with the same freedom of acquaintance as if they had been
barefaced. He could not help expressing his surprize at this;
saying, "Sure, madam, you must have infinite discernment, to know
people in all disguises." To which the lady answered, "You cannot
conceive anything more insipid and childish than a masquerade to the
people of fashion, who in general know one another as well here, as
when they meet in an assembly or a drawing-room; nor will any woman of
condition converse with a person with whom she is not acquainted. In
short, the generality of persons whom you see here, may more
properly be said to kill time in this place than in any other; and
generally retire from hence more tired than from the longest sermon.
To say the truth, I begin to be in that situation myself; and if I
have any faculty at guessing, you are not much better pleased. I
protest it would be almost charity in me to go home for your sake." "I
know but one charity equal to it," cries Jones, "and that is to suffer
me to wait on you home." "Sure," answered the lady, "you have a
strange opinion of me, to imagine, that upon such an acquaintance, I
would let you into my doors at this time of night. I fancy you
impute the friendship I have shown my cousin to some other motive.
Confess honestly; don't you consider this contrived interview as
little better than a downright assignation? Are you used, Mr. Jones,
to make these sudden conquests?" "I am not used, madam," said Jones,
"to submit to such sudden conquests; but as you have taken my heart by
surprize, the rest of my body hath a right to follow; so you must
pardon me if I resolve to attend you wherever you go." He
accompanied these words with some proper actions; upon which the lady,
after a gentle rebuke, and saying their familiarity would be observed,
told him, "She was going to sup with an acquaintance, whither she
hoped he would not follow her; for if you should," said she, "I
shall be thought an unaccountable creature, though my friend indeed is
not censorious: yet I hope you won't follow me; I protest I shall
not know what to say if you do."
The lady presently after quitted the masquerade, and Jones,
notwithstanding the severe prohibition he had received, presumed to
attend her. He was now reduced to the same dilemma we have mentioned
before, namely, the want of a shilling, and could not relieve it by
borrowing as before. He therefore walked boldly on after the chair
in which his lady rode, pursued by a grand huzza, from all the
chairmen present, who wisely take the best care they can to
discountenance all walking afoot by their betters. Luckily, however,
the gentry who attend at the Opera-house were too busy to quit their
stations, and as the lateness of the hour prevented him from meeting
many of their brethren in the street, he proceeded without
molestation, in a dress, which, at another season, would have
certainly raised a mob at his heels.
The lady was set down in a street not far from Hanover-square, where
the door being presently opened, she was carried in, and the
gentleman, without any ceremony, walked in after her.
Jones and his companion were now together in a very well-furnished
and well-warmed room; when the female, still speaking in her
masquerade voice, said she was surprized at her friend, who must
absolutely have forgot her appointment; at which, after venting much
resentment, she suddenly exprest some apprehension from Jones, and
asked him what the world would think of their having been alone
together in a house at that time of night? But instead of a direct
answer to so important a question, Jones began to be very
importunate with the lady to unmask; and at length having prevailed,
there appeared, not Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but the Lady Bellaston herself.
It would be tedious to give the particular conversation, which
consisted of very common and ordinary occurrences, and which lasted
from two till six o'clock in the morning. It is sufficient to
mention all of it that is anywise material to this history. And this
was a promise that the lady would endeavour to find out Sophia, and in
a few days bring him to an interview with her, on condition that he
would then take his leave of her. When this was thoroughly settled,
and a second meeting in the evening appointed at the same place,
they separated; the lady returned to her house, and Jones to his
lodgings.
Chapter 8
Containing a scene of distress, which will appear very extraordinary
to most of our readers
Jones having refreshed himself with a few hours' sleep, summoned
Partridge to his presence; and delivering him a bank-note of fifty
pounds, ordered him to go and change it. Partridge received this
with sparkling eyes, though, when he came to reflect farther, it
raised in him some suspicions not very advantageous to the honour of
his master: to these the dreadful idea he had of the masquerade, the
disguise in which his master had gone out and returned, and his having
been abroad all night, contributed. In plain language, the only way he
could possibly find to account for the possession of this note, was by
robbery: and, to confess the truth, the reader, unless he should
suspect it was owing to the generosity of Lady Bellaston, can hardly
imagine any other.
To clear, therefore, the honour of Mr. Jones, and to do justice to
the liberality of the lady, he had really received this present from
her, who, though she did not give much into the hackney charities of
the age, such as building hospitals, &c., was not, however, entirely
void of that Christian virtue; and conceived (very rightly I think)
that a young fellow of merit, without a shilling in the world, was
no improper object of this virtue.
Mr. Jones and Mr. Nightingale had been invited to dine this day with
Mrs. Miller. At the appointed hour, therefore, the two young
gentlemen, with the two girls, attended in the parlour, where they
waited from three till almost five before the good woman appeared. She
had been out of town to visit a relation, of whom, at her return,
she gave the following account.
"I hope, gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am sure if
you knew the occasion- I have been to see a cousin of mine, about six
miles off, who now lies in.- It should be a warning to all persons
(says she, looking at her daughters) how they marry indiscreetly.
There is no happiness in this world without a competency. O Nancy! how
shall I describe the wretched condition in which I found your poor
cousin? she hath scarce lain in a week, and there was she, this
dreadful weather, in a cold room, without any curtains to her bed, and
not a bushel of coals in her house to supply her with fire: her second
son, that sweet little fellow, lies ill of a quinzy in the same bed
with his mother; for there is no other bed in the house. Poor little
Tommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never see your favourite any more;
for he is really very ill. The rest of the children are in pretty good
health: but Molly, I am afraid, will do herself an injury: she is
but thirteen years old, Mr. Nightingale, and yet, in my life, I
never saw a better nurse: she tends both her mother and her brother;
and, what is wonderful in a creature so young, she shows all the
chearfulness in the world to her mother; and yet I saw her- I saw the
poor child, Mr. Nightingale, turn about, and privately wipe the
tears from her eyes." Here Mrs. Miller was prevented, by her own
tears, from going on, and there was not, I believe, a person present
who did not accompany her in them; at length she a little recovered
herself, and proceeded thus: "In all this distress the mother supports
her spirits in a surprizing manner. The danger of her son sits
heaviest upon her, and yet she endeavours as much as possible to
conceal even this concern, on her husband's account. Her grief,
however, sometimes gets the better of all her endeavours; for she
was always extravagantly fond of this boy, and a most sensible,
sweet-tempered creature it is. I protest I was never more affected
in my life, than when I heard the little wretch, who is hardly yet
seven years old, while his mother was wetting him with her tears,
beg her to be comforted. 'Indeed, mamma,' cried the child, 'I shan't
die; God Almighty, I'm sure, won't take Tommy away; let heaven be ever
so fine a place, I had rather stay here and starve with you and my
papa, than go to it.' Pardon me, gentlemen, I can't help it" (says
she, wiping her eyes), "such sensibility and affection in a child.-
And yet, perhaps, he is least the object of pity; for a day or two
will, most probably, place him beyond the reach of all human evils.
The father is, indeed, most worthy of compassion. Poor man, his
countenance is the very picture of horror, and he looks like one
rather dead than alive. Oh heavens! what a scene did I behold at my
first coming into the room! The good creature was lying behind the
bolster, supporting at once both his child and his wife. He had
nothing on but a thin waistcoat; for his coat was spread over the bed,
to supply the want of blankets.- When he rose up at my entrance, I
scarce knew him. As comely a man, Mr. Jones, within this fortnight, as
you ever beheld; Mr. Nightingale hath seen him. His eyes sunk, his
face pale, with a long beard. His body shivering with cold, and worn
with hunger too; for my cousin says she can hardly prevail upon him to
eat.- He told me himself in a whisper- he told me- I can't repeat it-
he said he could not bear to eat the bread his children wanted. And
yet, can you believe it, gentlemen? in all this misery his wife has as
good caudle as if she lay in the midst of the greatest affluence; I
tasted it, and I scarce ever tasted better.- The means of procuring
her this, he said, he believed was sent by an angel from heaven. I
know not what he meant; for I had not spirits enough to ask a single
question.
"This was a love-match, as they call it, on both sides; that is, a
match between two beggars. I must, indeed, say, I never saw a fonder
Tom Jones couple; but what is their fondness good for, but to
torment each other?" "Indeed, mamma," cries Nancy, "I have always
looked on my cousin Anderson" (for that was her name) "as one of the
happiest of women." "I am sure," says Mrs. Miller, "the case at
present is much otherwise; for any one might have discerned that the
tender consideration of each other's sufferings makes the most
intolerable part of their calamity, both to the husband and wife.
Compared to which, hunger and cold, as they affect their own persons
only, are scarce evils. Nay, the very children, the youngest, which is
not two years old, excepted, feel in the same manner; for they are a
most loving family, and, if they had but a bare competency, would be
the happiest people in the world." "I never saw the least sign of
misery at her house," replied Nancy; "I am sure my heart bleeds for
what you now tell me."- "O child," answered the mother, "she hath
always endeavoured to make the best of everything. They have always
been in great distress; but, indeed, this absolute ruin hath been
brought upon them by others. The poor man was bail for the villain his
brother; and about a week ago, the very day before her lying-in, their
