governed by her father, that is the whole truth on't. It is only to
disoblige and contradict me." "What would my papa have me do?" cries
Sophia. "What would I ha thee do?" says he, "why, gi' un thy hand this
moment."-- "Well, sir," says Sophia, "I will obey you.- There is my
hand, Mr. Jones." "Well, and will you consent to ha un to-morrow
morning?" says Western.-- "I will be obedient to you, sir," cries
she.-- "Why then to-morrow morning be the day," cries he. "Why then
to-morrow morning shall be the day, papa, since you will have it so,"
says Sophia. Jones then fell upon his knees, and kissed her hand in an
agony of joy, while Western began to caper and dance about the room,
presently crying out- "Where the devil is Allworthy? He is without
now, a talking with that d--d lawyer Dowling, when he should be
minding other matters." He then sallied out in quest of him, and very
opportunely left the lovers to enjoy a few tender minutes alone.
But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying, "If you won't believe
me, you may ask her yourself. Hast nut gin thy consent, Sophy, to be
married to-morrow?" "Such are your commands, sir," cries Sophia,
"and I dare not be guilty of disobedience." "I hope, madam," cries
Allworthy, "my nephew will merit so much goodness, and will be
always as sensible as myself of the great honour you have done my
family. An alliance with so charming and so excellent a young lady
would indeed be an honour to the greatest in England." "Yes," cries
Western, "but if I had suffered her to stand shill I shall I, dilly
dally, you might not have had that honour yet a while; I was forced to
use a little fatherly authority to bring her to." "I hope not, sir,"
cries Allworthy, "I hope there not the least constraint." "Why,
there," cries Western, "you may bid her unsay all again if you will.
Dost repent heartily of thy promise, dost not, Sophia?" "Indeed,
papa," cries she, "I do not repent, nor do I believe I ever shall,
of any promise in favour of Mr. Jones." "Then, nephew," cries
Allworthy, "I felicitate you most heartily; for I think you are the
happiest of men. And, madam, you will give me leave to congratulate
you on this joyful occasion: indeed, I am convinced you have
bestowed yourself on one who will be sensible of your great merit, and
who will at least use his best endeavours to deserve it." "His best
endeavours!" cries Western, "that he will, I warrant un.-- Harkee,
Allworthy, I'll bet thee five pounds to a crown we have a boy
to-morrow nine months; but prithee tell me what wut ha! Wut ha
Burgundy, Champaigne, or what? for, please jupiter, we'll make a night
on't." "Indeed, sir," said Allworthy, "you must excuse me; both my
nephew and I were engaged before I suspected this near approach of his
happiness."- "Engaged!" quoth the squire, "never tell me.- I won't
part with thee to-night upon any occasion. Shalt sup here, please
the lord Harry." "You must pardon me, my dear neighbour!" answered
Allworthy; "I have given a solemn promise, and that you know I never
break." "Why, prithee, who art engaged to?" cries the squire.--
Allworthy then informed him, as likewise of the company.--
"Odzookers!" answered the squire, "I will go with thee, and so shall
Sophy! for I won't part with thee to-night; and it would be barbarous
to part Tom and the girl." This offer was presently embraced by
Allworthy, and Sophia consented, having first obtained a private
promise from her father that he would not mention a syllable
concerning her marriage.
Chapter the Last
In which the history is concluded
Young Nightingale had been that afternoon, by appointment, to wait
on his father, who received him much more kindly than he expected.
There likewise he met his uncle, who was returned to town in quest
of his new-married daughter.
This marriage was the luckiest incident which could have happened to
the young gentleman; for these brothers lived in a constant state of
contention about the government of their children, both heartily
despising the method which each other took. Each of them therefore now
endeavoured, as much as he could, to palliate the offence which his
own child had committed, and to aggravate the match of the other. This
desire of triumphing over his brother, added to the many arguments
which Allworthy had used, so strongly operated on the old gentleman,
that he met his son with a smiling countenance, and actually agreed to
sup with him that evening at Mrs. Miller's.
As for the other, who really loved his daughter with the most
immoderate affection, there was little difficulty in inclining him
to a reconciliation. He was no sooner informed by his nephew where his
daughter and her husband were, than he declared he would instantly
go to her. And when he arrived there, he scarce suffered her to fall
upon her knees before he took her up, and embraced her with a
tenderness which affected all who saw him; and in less than a
quarter of an hour was as well reconciled to both her and her
husband as if he had himself joined their hands.
In this situation were affairs when Mr. Allworthy and his company
arrived to complete the happiness of Mrs. Miller, who no sooner saw
Sophia than she guessed everything that had happened; and so great was
her friendship to Jones, that it added not a few transports to those
she felt on the happiness of her own daughter.
There have not, I believe, been many instances of a number of people
met together, where every one was so perfectly happy as in this
company. Amongst whom the father of young Nightingale enjoyed the
least perfect content; for, notwithstanding his affection for his son,
notwithstanding the authority and the arguments of Allworthy, together
with the other motive mentioned before, he could not so entirely be
satisfied with his son's choice; and, perhaps, the presence of
Sophia herself tended a little to aggravate and heighten his
concern, as a thought now and then suggested itself, that his son
might have had that lady, or some other such. Not that any of the
charms which adorned either the person or mind of Sophia created the
uneasiness; it was the contents of her father's coffers which set
his heart a longing. These were the charms which he could not bear
to think his son had sacrificed to the daughter of Mrs. Miller.
The brides were both very pretty women; but so totally were they
eclipsed by the beauty of Sophia, that, had they not been two of the
best-tempered girls in the world, it would have raised some envy in
their breasts; for neither of their husbands could long keep his
eyes from Sophia, who sat at the table like a queen receiving
homage, or, rather, like a superior being receiving adoration from all
around her. But it was an adoration which they gave, not which she
exacted; for she was as much distinguished by her modesty and
affability, as by all her other perfections.
The evening was spent in much true mirth. All were happy, but
those the most who had been most unhappy before. Their former
sufferings and fears gave such a relish to their felicity, as even
love and fortune, in their fullest flow, could not have given
without the advantage of such a comparison. Yet, as great joy,
especially after a sudden change and revolution of circumstances, is
apt to be silent, and dwells rather in the heart than on the tongue,
Jones and Sophia appeared the least merry of the whole company;
which Western observed with great impatience, often crying out to
them, "Why dost not talk, boy? Why dost look so grave? Hast lost thy
tongue, girl? Drink another glass of wine; sha't drink another glass."
And, the more to enliven her, he would sometimes sing a merry song,
which bore some relation to matrimony and the loss of a maidenhead.
Nay, he would have proceeded so far on that topic as to have driven
her out of the room, if Mr. Allworthy had not checkt him, sometimes by
looks, and once or twice by a "Fie! Mr. Western!" He began, indeed,
once to debate the matter, and assert his right to talk to his own
daughter as he thought fit; but, as nobody seconded him, he was soon
reduced to order.
Notwithstanding this little restraint, he was so pleased with the
chearfulness and good-humour of the company, that he insisted on their
meeting the next day at his lodgings. They all did so; and the
lovely Sophia, who was now in private become a bride too, officiated
as the mistress of the ceremonies, or, in the polite phrase, did the
honours of the table. She had that morning given her hand to Jones, in
the chapel at Doctors'-Commons, where Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Western,
and Mrs. Miller, were the only persons present.
Sophia had earnestly desired her father that no others of the
company, who were that day to dine with him, should be acquainted with
her marriage. The same secrecy was enjoined to Mrs. Miller, and
Jones undertook for Allworthy. This somewhat reconciled the delicacy
of Sophia to the public entertainment which, in compliance with her
father's will, she was obliged to go to, greatly against her own
inclinations. In confidence of this secrecy, she went through the
day pretty well, till the squire, who was now advanced into the second
bottle, could contain his joy no longer, but, filling out a bumper,
drank a health to the bride. The health was immediately pledged by all
present, to the great confusion of our poor blushing Sophia, and the
great concern of Jones upon her account. To say truth, there was not a
person present made wiser by this discovery; for Mrs. Miller had
whispered it to her daughter, her daughter to her husband, her husband
to his sister, and she to all the rest.
Sophia now took the first opportunity of withdrawing with the
ladies, and the squire sat in to his cups, in which he was, by
degrees, deserted by all the company, except the uncle of young
Nightingale, who loved his bottle as well as Western himself. These
two, therefore, sat stoutly to it during the whole evening, and long
after that happy hour which had surrendered the charming Sophia to the
eager arms of her enraptured Jones.
Thus, reader, we have at length brought our history to a conclusion,
in which, to our great pleasure, though contrary, perhaps, to thy
expectation, Mr. Jones appears to be the happiest of all humankind;
for what happiness this world affords equal to the possession of
such a woman as Sophia, I sincerely own I have never yet discovered.
As to the other persons who have made any considerable figure in
this history, as some may desire to know a little more concerning
them, we will proceed, in as few words as possible, to satisfy their
curiosity.
Allworthy hath never yet been prevailed upon to see Blifil, but he
hath yielded to the importunity of Jones, backed by Sophia, to
settle L200 a-year upon him; to which Jones hath privately added a
third. Upon this income he lives in one of the northern counties,
about 200 miles distant from London, and lays up L200 a-year out of
it, in order to purchase a seat in the next parliament from a
neighbouring borough, which he has bargained for with an attorney
there. He is also lately turned Methodist, in hopes of marrying a very
rich widow of that sect, whose estate lies in that part of the
kingdom.
Square died soon after he writ the before mentioned letter; and as
to Thwackum, he continues at his vicarage. He hath made many fruitless
attempts to regain the confidence of Allworthy, or to ingratiate
himself with Jones, both of whom he flatters to their faces, and
abuses behind their backs. But in his stead, Mr. Allworthy hath lately
taken Mr. Abraham Adams into his house, of whom Sophia is grown
immoderately fond, and declares he shall have the tuition of her
children.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick is separated from her husband, and retains the
little remains of her fortune. She lives in reputation at the polite
end of the town, and is so good an economist, that she spends three
times the income of her fortune, without running in debt. She
maintains a perfect intimacy with the lady of the Irish peer; and in
acts of friendship to her repays all the obligations she owes to her
husband.
Mrs. Western was soon reconciled to her niece Sophia, and hath spent
two months together with her in the country. Lady Bellaston made the
latter a formal visit at her return to town, where she behaved to
Jones as to a perfect stranger, and, with great civility, wished him
joy on his marriage.
Mr. Nightingale hath purchased an estate for his son in the
neighbourhood of Jones, where the young gentleman, his lady, Mrs.
Miller, and her little daughter reside, and the most agreeable
intercourse subsists between the two families.
As to those of lower account, Mrs. Waters returned into the country,
had a pension of L60 a-year settled upon her by Mr. Allworthy, and
is married to Parson Supple, on whom, at the instance of Sophia,
Western hath bestowed a considerable living.
Black George, hearing the discovery that had been made, ran away,
and was never since heard of; and Jones bestowed the money on his
family, but not in equal proportions, for Molly had much the
greatest share.
As for Partridge, Jones hath settled L50 a-year on him; and he
hath again set up a school, in which he meets with much better
encouragement than formerly, and there is now a treaty of marriage
on foot between him and Miss Molly Seagrim, which, through the
mediation of Sophia, is likely to take effect.
We now return to take leave of Mr. Jones and Sophia, who, within two
days after their marriage, attended Mr. Western and Mr. Allworthy into
the country. Western hath resigned his family seat, and the greater
part of his estate, to his son-in-law, and hath retired to a lesser
