never came far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the
bed.
Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that in
which himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,
often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,
however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands of
Partridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his
master's assistance.
And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own
apartment, where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady
Bellaston venting an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at
the same time saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast
agitation, which in a lady of tender constitution would have been an
hysteric fit.
In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two
men, of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heard
Nightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attempted
to retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusion
she found already occupied by another.
"Is this usage to be borne, Mr. Jones?" cries the lady.- "Basest of
men!-- What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?" "Wretch!"
cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place of
concealment-- "Marry come up!-- Wretch forsooth?-- as poor a wretch as
I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer can
say."
Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge
of Mrs. Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would
have done, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the
most unfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing
himself to Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations
of innocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of her
reason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especially
on such occasions, calmly replied: "Sir, you need make no apologies, I
see now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs. Honour: but
now I do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am
sure she is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions
upon my visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be
in my power to be much more hereafter."
Mrs. Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate.
Hearing, therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone, she
likewise softened hers.--"I'm sure, madam," says she, "I have been
always ready to acknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure
I never had so good a friend as your ladyship-- and to be sure, now I
see it is your ladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue
off for very mad.- I constructions upon your ladyship-to be sure it
doth not become a servant as I am to think about such a great lady- I
mean I was a servant: for indeed I am nobody's servant now, the more
miserable wretch is me.- I have lost the best mistress--" Here Honour
thought fit to produce a shower of tears.- "Don't cry, child," says
the good lady; "ways perhaps may be found to make you amends. Come to
me to-morrow morning." She then took up her fan which lay on the
ground, and without even looking at Jones, walked very majestically
out of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence of
women of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to in
circumstances of this nature.
Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which
she absolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking
any notice of him, as he stood bowing before her.
At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between him and Mrs.
Honour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she had
undergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady;
on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last found
means to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise of
most inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavour
to find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedings
of the squire.
Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of
Mrs. Honour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps
acknowledge from experience) is often a very valuable possession:
and that not only to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to
such as whisper it about till it come to the ears of every one, except
the ignorant person who pays for the supposed concealing of what is
publickly known.
Chapter 8
Short and sweet
Nothwithstanding all the obligations she had received from Jones,
Mrs. Miller could not forbear in the morning some gentle for the
hurricane which had happened the preceding night in his chamber. These
were, however, so gentle and so friendly, professing, and indeed
truly, to aim at nothing more than the real good of Mr. Jones himself,
that he, far from being offended, thankfully received the admonition
of the good woman, expressed much concern for what had past, excused
it aswell as he could, and promised never more to bring the same
disturbances into the house.
But though Mrs. Miller did not refrain from a short expostulation in
private at their first meeting, yet the occasion of his being summoned
downstairs that morning was of a more agreeable kind, being indeed
to perform the office of a father to Miss Nancy, and to give her in
wedlock to Mr. Nightingale, who was now ready drest, and full as sober
as many of my readers will think a man ought to be who receives a wife
in so imprudent a manner.
And here perhaps it may be proper to account for the escape which
this young gentleman had made from his uncle, and for his appearance
in the condition in which we have seen him the night before.
Now when the uncle had arrived at his lodgings with his nephew,
partly to indulge his own inclinations (for he dearly loved his
bottle), and partly to disqualify his nephew from the immediate
execution of his purpose, he ordered wine to be set on the table; with
which he so briskly plyed the young gentleman, that this latter,
who, though not much used to drinking, did not detest it so as to be
guilty of disobedience or want of complacence by refusing, was soon
completely finished.
Just as the uncle had obtained this victory, and was preparing a bed
for his nephew, a messenger arrived with a piece of news, which so
entirely disconcerted and shocked him, that he in a moment lost all
consideration for his nephew, and his whole mind became entirely taken
up with his own concerns.
This sudden and afflicting news was no less than that his daughter
had taken the opportunity of almost the first moment of his absence,
and had gone off with a neighbouring young clergyman; against whom,
though her father could have had but one objection, namely, that he
was worth nothing, yet she had never thought proper to communicate her
amour even to that father; and so artfully had she managed, that it
had never been once suspected by any, till now that it was
consummated.
Old Mr. Nightingale no sooner received this account, than in the
utmost confusion he ordered a post-chaise to be instantly got ready,
and, having recommended his nephew to the care of a servant, he
directly left the house, scarce knowing what he did, nor whither he
went.
The uncle thus departed, when the servant came to attend the
nephew to bed, had waked him for that purpose, and had at last made
him sensible that his uncle was gone, he, instead of accepting the
kind offices tendered him, insisted on a chair being called; with this
the servant, who had received no strict orders to the contrary,
readily complied; and, thus being conducted back to the house of
Mrs. Miller, he had staggered up to Mr. Jones's chamber, as hath
been before recounted.
This bar of the uncle being now removed (though young Nightingale
knew not as yet in what manner), and all parties being quickly
ready, the mother, Mr. Jones, Mr. Nightingale, and his love, stept
into a hackney-coach, which conveyed them to Doctors' Commons; where
Miss Nancy was, in vulgar language, soon made an honest woman, and the
poor mother became, in the purest sense of the word, one of the
happiest of all human beings.
And now Mr. Jones, having seen his good offices to that poor woman
and her family brought to a happy conclusion, began to apply himself
to his own concerns; but here, lest many of my readers should
censure his folly for thus troubling himself with the affairs of
others, and lest some few should think he acted more disinterestedly
than indeed he did, we think proper to assure our reader, that he
was so far from being unconcerned in this matter, that he had indeed a
very considerable interest in bringing it to that final consummation.
To explain this seeming paradox at once, he was one who could
truly say with him in Terence, Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum
puto.* He was never an indifferent spectator of the misery or
happiness of any one; and he felt either the one or the other in
greater proportion as he himself contributed to either. He could
not, therefore, be the instrument of raising a whole family from the
lowest state of wretchedness to the highest pitch of joy without
conveying great felicity to himself; more, perhaps, than worldly men
often purchase to themselves by undergoing the most severe labour, and
often by wading through the deepest iniquity.
*I am a man; I hold as indifferent nothing that concerns man.
Those readers who are of the same complexion with him will, perhaps,
think this short chapter contains abundance of matter; while others
may probably wish, short as it is, that it had been totally spared
as impertinent to the main design, which I suppose they conclude is to
bring Mr. Jones to the gallows, or, if possible, to a more
deplorable catastrophe.
Chapter 9
Containing love-letters of several sorts
Mr. Jones, at his return home, found the following letters lying
on his table, which he luckily opened in the order they were sent.
LETTER I
Surely I am under some strange infatuation; I cannot keep my
resolutions a moment, however strong made or justly founded. Last
night I resolved never to see you more; this morning I am willing to
hear if you can, as you say, clear up this affair. And yet I know that
to be impossible. I have said everything to myself which you can
invent.-- Perhaps not. Perhaps your invention is stronger. Come to me,
therefore, the moment you receive this. If you can forge an excuse,
I almost promise you to believe it. Betrayed too- I will think no
more.-- Come to me directly.-- This is the third letter I have writ,
the two former are burnt-- I am almost inclined to burn this too-I
wish I may preserve senses.-- Come to me presently.
LETTER II
If you ever expect to be forgiven, or even suffered within my doors,
come to me this instant.
LETTER III
I now find you was not at home when my notes came to your
lodgings. The moment you receive this let me see you;-- I shall not
stir out; nor shall anybody be let in but yourself. Sure nothing can
detain you long.
Jones had just read over these three billets, when Mr. Nightingale
came into the room. "Well, Tom," said he, "any news from Lady
Bellaston, after last night's adventure?" (for it was now no secret to
any one in that house who the lady was). "The Lady Bellaston?"
answered Jones very gravely.-- "Nay, dear Tom," cries Nightingale,
"don't be so reserved to your friends. Though I was too drunk to see
her last night, I saw her at the masquerade. Do you think I am
ignorant who the queen of the fairies is?" "And did you really then
know the lady at the masquerade?" said Jones. "Yes, upon my soul,
did I," said Nightingale, "and have given you twenty hints of it
since, though you seemed always so tender on that point, that I
would not speak plainly. I fancy, my friend, by your extreme nicety in
this matter, you are not so well acquainted with the character of
the lady as with her person. Don't be angry, Tom, but upon my
honour, you are not the first young fellow she hath debauched. Her
reputation is in no danger, believe me."
Though Jones had no reason to imagine the lady to have been of the
vestal kind when his amour began; yet, as he was thoroughly ignorant
of the town, and had very little acquaintance in it, he had no
knowledge of that character which is vulgarly called a demirep; that
is to say, a woman who intrigues with every man she likes, under the
name and appearance of virtue; and who, though some overnice ladies
will not be seen with her, is visited (as they term it) by the whole
town, in short, whom everybody knows to be what nobody calls her.
When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was perfectly
acquainted with his intrigue, and began to suspect that so
scrupulous a delicacy as he had hitherto observed was not quite
necessary on the occasion, he gave a latitude to his friend's
tongue, and desired him to speak plainly what he knew, or had ever
heard of the lady.
Nightingale, who, in many other instances, was rather too effeminate
in his disposition, had a pretty strong inclination to
tittle-tattle. He had no sooner, therefore, received a full liberty of
speaking from Jones, than he entered upon a long narrative
concerning the lady; which, as it contained many particulars highly to
her dishonour, we have too great a tenderness for all women of
condition to repeat. We would cautiously avoid giving an opportunity
to the future commentators on our works, of making any malicious
application, and of forcing us to be, against our will, the author
of scandal, which never entered into our head.
Jones, having very attentively heard all that Nightingale had to
