bring yourself alone, or the riches of the world with you, is, in my
opinion, an alternative not worth regarding. If, on the contrary,
wisdom shall predominate, and, on the most mature reflection, inform
you, that the sacrifice is too great; and if there be no way left to
reconcile your father, and restore the peace of your dear mind, but by
abandoning me, I conjure you drive me for ever from your thoughts,
exert your resolution, and let no compassion for my sufferings bear
the least weight in that tender bosom. Believe me, madam, I so
sincerely love you better than myself, that my great and principal end
is your happiness. My first wish (why would not fortune indulge me
in it?) was, and pardon me if I say, still is, to see you every moment
the happiest of women; my second wish is, to hear you are so; but no
misery on earth can equal mine, while I think you owe an uneasy moment
to him who is,
Madam,
in every sense, and to every purpose,
your devoted,
THOMAS JONES
What Sophia said, or did, or thought, upon this letter, how often
she read it, or whether more than once, shall all be left to our
reader's imagination. The answer to it he may perhaps see hereafter,
but not at present: for this reason, among others, that she did not
now write any, and that for several good causes, one of which was
this, she had no paper, pen, nor ink.
In the evening, while Sophia was meditating on the letter she had
received, or on something else, a violent noise from below disturbed
her meditations. This noise was no other than a round bout at
altercation between two persons. One of the combatants, by his
voice, she immediately distinguished to be her father; but she did not
so soon discover the shriller pipes to belong to the organ of her aunt
Western, who was just arrived in town, where having, by means of one
of her servants, who stopt at the Hercules Pillars, learned where
her brother lodged, she drove directly to his lodgings.
We shall therefore take our leave at present of Sophia, and, with
our usual good-breeding, attend her ladyship.
Chapter 4
In which Sophia is delivered from her confinement
The squire and the parson (for the landlord was now otherwise
engaged) were smoaking their pipes together, when the arrival of the
lady was first signified. The squire no sooner heard her name, than he
immediately ran down to usher her upstairs; for he was a great
observer of such ceremonials, especially to his sister, of whom he
stood more in awe than of any other human creature, though he never
would own this, nor did he perhaps know it himself.
Mrs. Western, on her arrival in the dining room, having flung
herself into a chair, began thus to harangue: "Well, surely, no one
ever had such an intolerable journey. I think the roads, since so many
turnpike acts, are grown worse than ever. La, brother, how could you
get into this odious place? no person of condition, I dare swear, ever
set foot here before." "I don't know," cries the squire, "I think they
do well enough; it was landlord recommended them. I thought, as he
knew most of the quality, he could best shew me where to get among
um." "Well, and where's my niece?" says the lady; "have you been to
wait upon Lady Bellaston yet?" "Ay, ay," cries the squire, "your niece
is safe enough; she is upstairs in chamber. "How!" answered the
lady, "is my niece in this house, and does she not know of my being
here?" "No, nobody can well get to her," says the squire, "for she
is under lock and key. I have her safe; I vetched her from my lady
cousin the first night I came to town, and I have taken care o' her
ever since; she is as secure as a fox in a bag, I promise you."
"Good heaven!" returned Mrs. Western, "what do I hear? I thought
what a fine piece of work would be the consequence of my consent to
your coming to town yourself! nay, it was indeed your own headstrong
will, nor can I charge myself with having ever consented to it. Did
not you promise me, brother, that you would take none of these
headstrong measures? Was it not by these headstrong measures that
you forced my niece to run away from you in the country? Have you a
mind to oblige her to take such another step?" "Z--ds and the
devil!" cries the squire, dashing his pipe on the ground; "did ever
mortal hear the like? when I expected you would have commended me
for all I have done, to be fallen upon in this manner!" "How,
brother!" said the lady, "have I ever given you the least reason to
imagine I should commend you for locking up your daughter? Have I
not often told you that women in a free country are not to be
treated with such arbitrary power? We are as free as the men, and I
heartily wish I could not say we deserve that freedom better. If you
expect I should stay a moment longer in this wretched house, or that I
should ever own you again as my relation, or that I should ever
trouble myself again with the affairs of your family, I insist upon it
that my niece be set at liberty this instant." This she spoke with
so commanding an air, standing with her back to the fire, with one
hand behind her, and a pinch of snuff in the other, that I question
whether Thalestris, at the head of her Amazons, ever made a more
tremendous figure. It is no wonder, therefore, that the poor squire
was not proof against the awe which she inspired. "There," he cried,
throwing down the key, "there it is, do whatever you please. I
intended only to have kept her up till Blifil came to town, which
can't be long; and now if any harm happens in the mean time,
remember who is to be blamed for it."
"I will answer it with my life," cries Mrs. Western, "but I shall
not intermeddle at all, unless upon one condition, and that is, that
you will commit the whole entirely to my care, without taking any
one measure yourself, unless I shall eventually appoint you to act. If
you ratify these preliminaries, brother. I yet will endeavour to
preserve the honour of your family; if not, I shall continue in a
neutral state."
"I pray you, good sir," said the parson, "permit yourself this
once to be admonished by her ladyship: peradventure, by communing with
young Madam Sophia, she will effect more than you have been able to
perpetrate by more rigorous measures."
"What, dost thee open upon me?" cries the squire: "if thee dost
begin to babble, I shall whip thee in presently."
"Fie, brother," answered the lady, "is this language to a clergyman?
Mr. Supple is a man of sense, and gives you the best advice; and the
whole world, I believe, will concur in his opinion; but I must tell
you I expect an immediate answer to my categorical proposals. Either
cede your daughter to my disposal, or take her wholly to your own
surprizing discretion, and then I here, before Mr. Supple, evacuate
the garrison, and renounce you and your family for ever."
"I pray you let me be a mediator," cries the parson, "let me
supplicate you."
"Why, there lies the key on the table," cries the squire. "She may
take un up, if she pleases: who hinders her?"
"No, brother," answered the lady, "I insist on the formality of
its being delivered me, with a full ratification of all the
concessions stipulated."
"Why then I will deliver it to you.- There 'tis," cries the squire.
"I am sure, sister, you can't accuse me of ever denying to trust my
daughter to you. She hath a-lived wi' you a whole year and muore to
a time, without my ever zeeing her."
"And it would have been happy for her," answered the lady, "if she
had always lived with me. Nothing of this kind would have happened
under my eye."
"Ay, certainly," cries he, "I only am to blame."
"Why, you are to blame, brother," answered she. "I have been often
obliged to tell you so, and shall always be obliged to tell you so.
However, I hope you will now amend, and gather so much experience from
past errors, as not to defeat my wisest machinations by your blunders.
Indeed, brother, you are not qualified for these negociations. All
your whole scheme of politics is wrong. I once more, therefore,
insist, that you do not intermeddle. Remember only what is past."--
"Z--ds and bl-d, sister," cries the squire, what would you have me
say? You are enough to provoke the devil."
"There, now," said she, "just according to the old custom. I see,
brother, there is no talking to you. I will appeal to Mr. Supple,
who is a man of sense, if I said anything which could put any human
creature into a passion; but you are so wrongheaded every way."
"Let me beg you, madam," said the parson, not to irritate his
worship."
"Irritate him?" said the lady; "sure, you are as great a fool as
himself. Well, brother, since you have promised not to interfere, I
will once more undertake the management of my niece. Lord have mercy
upon all affairs which are under the directions of men! The head of
one woman is worth a thousand of yours." And now having summoned a
servant to show her to Sophia, she departed, bearing the key with her.
She was no sooner gone, than the squire (having first shut the door)
ejaculated twenty bitches, and as many hearty curses against her,
not sparing himself for having ever thought of her estate; but
added, "Now one hath been a slave so long, it would be pity to lose it
at last, for want of holding out a little longer. The bitch can't live
for ever, and I know I am down for it upon the will."
The parson greatly commended this resolution: and now the squire
having ordered in another bottle, which was his usual method when
anything either pleased or vexed him, did, by drinking plentifully
of this medicinal julap, so totally wash away his choler, that his
temper was become perfectly placid and serene, when Mrs. Western
returned with Sophia into the room. The young lady had on her hat
and capuchin, and the aunt acquainted Mr. Western, "that she
intended to take her niece with her to her own lodgings; for,
indeed, brother," says she, "these rooms are not fit to receive a
Christian soul in."
"Very well, madam," quoth Western, "whatever you please. The girl
can never be in better hands than yours; and the parson here can do me
the justice to say, that I have said fifty times behind your back,
that you was one of the most sensible women in the world."
"To this," cries the parson, "I am ready to bear testimony."
"Nay, brother," says Mrs. Western, "I have always, I'm sure, given
you as favourable a character. You must own you have a little too much
hastiness in your temper; but when you will allow yourself time to
reflect, I never knew a man more reasonable."
"Why then, sister, if you think so," said the squire, "here's your
good health with all my heart. I am a little passionate sometimes, but
I scorn to bear any malice. Sophy, do you be a good girl, and do
everything your aunt orders you."
"I have not the least doubt of her," answered Mrs. Western. "She
hath had already an example before her eyes in the behaviour of that
wretch her cousin Harriet, who ruined herself by neglecting my advice.
O brother, what think you? You was hardly gone out of hearing, when
you set out for London, when who should arrive but that impudent
fellow with the odious Irish name- that Fitzpatrick. He broke in
abruptly upon me without notice, or I would not have seen him. He
ran on a long, unintelligible story about his wife, to which he forced
me to give him a hearing; but I made him very little answer, and
delivered him the letter from his wife, which I bid him answer
himself. I suppose the wretch will endeavour to find us out, but I beg
you will not see her, for I am determined I will not."
"I zee her!" answered the squire; "you need not fear me. I'll ge
no encouragement to such undutiful wenches. It is well for the fellow,
her husband, I was not at huome. Od rabbit it, he should have taken
a dance thru the horse-pond, I promise un. You zee, Sophy, what
undutifulness brings volks to. You have an example in your own
family."
"Brother," cries the aunt, "you need not shock my niece by such
odious repetitions. Why will you not leave everything entirely to me?"
"Well, well, I wull, I wull," said the squire.
And now Mrs. Western, luckily for Sophia, put an end to the
conversation by ordering chairs to be called. I say luckily, for had
it continued much longer, fresh matter of dissension would, most
probably, have arisen between the brother and sister; between whom
education and sex made the only difference; for both were equally
violent and equally positive: they had both a vast affection for
Sophia, and both a sovereign contempt for each other.
Chapter 5
In which Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to a play
with Mrs. Miller and Partridge
The arrival of Black George in town, and the good offices which that
grateful fellow had promised to do for his old benefactor, greatly
comforted Jones in the midst of all the anxiety and uneasiness which
he had suffered on the account of Sophia; from whom, by the means of
the said George, he received the following answer to his letter, which
Sophia, to whom the use of pen, ink, and paper was restored with her
liberty, wrote the very evening when she departed from her
confinement:
SIR,
As I do not doubt your sincerity in what you write, you will be
pleased to hear that some of my afflictions are at an end, by the
