did not exactly resemble any of them. She was most like the picture of
Lady Ranelagh: and, I have heard, more still to the famous dutchess of
Mazarine; but most of all she resembled one whose image never can
depart from my breast, and whom, if thou dost remember, thou hast
then, my friend, an adequate idea of Sophia.
But lest this should not have been thy fortune, we will endeavour
with our utmost skill to describe this paragon, though we are sensible
that our highest abilities are very inadequate to the task.
Sophia, then, the only daughter of Mr. Western, was a middle-sized
woman; but rather inclining to tall. Her shape was not only exact, but
extremely delicate: and the nice proportion of her arms promised the
truest symmetry in her limbs. Her hair, which was black, was so
luxuriant, that it reached her middle, before she cut it to comply
with the modern fashion; and it was now curled so gracefully in her
neck, that few could believe it to be her own. If envy could find
any part of the face which demanded less commendation than the rest,
it might possibly think her forehead might have been higher without
prejudice to her. Her eyebrows were full, even, and arched beyond
the power of art to imitate. Her black eyes had a lustre in them,
which all her softness could not extinguish. Her nose was exactly
regular, and her mouth, in which were two rows of ivory, exactly
answered Sir John Suckling's description in those lines:-
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.
Her cheeks were of the oval kind; and in her right she had a dimple,
which the least smile discovered. Her chin had certainly its share
in forming the beauty of her face; but it was difficult to say it
was either large or small, though perhaps it was rather of the
former kind. Her complexion had rather more of the lily than of the
rose; but when exercise or modesty increased her natural colour, no
vermilion could equal it. Then one might indeed cry out with the
celebrated Dr. Donne:
--Her Pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought
That one might almost say her body thought.
Her neck was long and finely turned: and here, if I was not afraid
of offending her delicacy, I might justly say, the highest beauties of
the famous Venus de Medicis were outdone. Here was whiteness which
no lilies, ivory, nor alabaster could match. The finest cambric
might indeed be supposed from envy to cover that bosom which was
much whiter than itself.- It was indeed,
Nitor splendens Pario marmore purius.
A gloss shining beyond the purest brightness of Parian marble.
Such was the outside of Sophia; nor was this beautiful frame
disgraced by an inhabitant unworthy of it. Her mind was every way
equal to her person; nay, the latter borrowed some charms from the
former; for when she smiled, the sweetness of her temper diffused that
glory over her countenance which no regularity of features can give.
But as there are no perfections of the mind which do not discover
themselves in that perfect intimacy to which we intend to introduce
our reader with this charming young creature, so it is needless to
mention them here: nay, it is a kind of tacit affront to our
reader's understanding, and may also rob him of that pleasure which he
will receive in forming his own judgment of her character.
It may, however, be proper to say, that whatever mental
accomplishments she had derived from nature, they were somewhat
improved and cultivated by art: for she had been educated under the
care of an aunt, who was a lady of great discretion, and was
thoroughly acquainted with the world, having lived in her youth
about the court, whence she had retired some years since into the
country. By her conversation and instructions, Sophia was perfectly
well bred, though perhaps she wanted a little of that ease in her
behaviour which is to be acquired only by habit, and living within
what is called the polite circle. But this, to say the truth, is often
too dearly purchased; and though it hath charms so inexpressible, that
the French, perhaps, among other qualities, mean to express this, when
they declare they know not what it is; yet its absence is well
compensated by innocence; nor can good sense and a natural gentility
ever stand in need of it.
Chapter 3
Wherein the history goes back to commemorate a trifling incident
that happened some years since; but which, trifling as it was, had
some future consequences
The amiable Sophia was now in her eighteenth year, when she is
introduced into this history. Her father, as hath been said, was
fonder of her than of any other human creature. To her, therefore, Tom
Jones applied, in order to engage her interest on the behalf of his
friend the gamekeeper.
But before we proceed to this business, a short recapitulation of
some previous matters may be necessary.
Though the different tempers of Mr. Allworthy and of Mr. Western did
not admit of a very intimate correspondence, yet they lived upon
what is called a decent footing together; by which means the young
people of both families had been acquainted from their infancy; and as
they were all near of the same age, had been frequent playmates
together.
The gaiety of Tom's temper suited better with Sophia, than the grave
and sober disposition of Master Blifil. And the preference which she
gave the former of these, would often appear so plainly, that a lad of
a more passionate turn than Master Blifil was, might have shown some
displeasure at it.
As he did not, however, outwardly express any such disgust, it would
be an ill office in us to pay a visit to the inmost recesses of his
mind, as some scandalous people search into the most secret affairs of
their friends, and often pry into their closets and cupboards, only to
discover their poverty and meanness to the world.
However, as persons who suspect they have given others cause of
offence, are apt to conclude they are offended; so Sophia imputed an
action of Master Blifil to his anger, which the superior sagacity of
Thwackum and Square discerned to have arisen from a much better
principle.
Tom Jones, when very young, had presented Sophia with a little bird,
which he had taken from the nest, had nursed up, and taught to sing.
Of this bird, Sophia, then about thirteen years old, was so
extremely fond, that her chief business was to feed and tend it, and
her chief pleasure to play with it. By these means little Tommy, for
so the bird was called, was become so tame, that it would feed out
of the hand of its mistress, would perch upon the finger, and lie
contented in her bosom, where it seemed almost sensible of its own
happiness; though she always kept a small string about its leg, nor
would ever trust it with the liberty of flying away.
One day, when Mr. Allworthy and his whole family dined at Mr.
Western's, Master Blifil, being in the garden with little Sophia,
and observing the extreme fondness that she showed for her little
bird, desired her to trust it for a moment in his hands. Sophia
presently complied with the young gentleman's request, and after
some previous caution, delivered him her bird; of which he was no
sooner in possession, than he slipt the string from its leg and tossed
it into the air.
The foolish animal no sooner perceived itself at liberty, than
forgetting all the favours it had received from Sophia, it flew
directly from her, and perched on a bough at some distance.
Sophia, seeing her bird gone, screamed out so loud, that Tom
Jones, who was at a little distance, immediately ran to her
assistance.
He was no sooner informed of what had happened, than he cursed
Blifil for a pitiful malicious rascal; and then immediately
stripping off his coat he applied himself to climbing the tree to
which the bird escaped.
Tom had almost recovered his little namesake, when the branch on
which it was perched, and that hung over a canal, broke, and the
poor lad plumped over head and ears into the water.
Sophia's concern now changed its object. And as she apprehended
the boy's life was in danger, she screamed ten times louder than
before; and indeed Master Blifil himself now seconded her with all the
vociferation in his power.
The company, who were sitting in a room next the garden, were
instantly alarmed, and came all forth; but just as they reached the
canal, Tom (for the water was luckily pretty shallow in that part)
arrived safely on shore.
Thwackum fell violently on poor Tom, who stood dropping and
shivering before him, when Mr. Allworthy desired him to have patience;
and turning to Master Blifil, said, "Pray, child, what is the reason
of all this disturbance?"
Master Blifil answered, "Indeed, uncle, I am very sorry for what I
have done; I have been unhappily the occasion of it all. I had Miss
Sophia's bird in my hand, and thinking the poor creature languished
for liberty, I own I could not forbear giving it what it desired;
for I always thought there was something very cruel in confining
anything. It seemed to be against the law of nature, by which
everything hath a right to liberty; nay, it is even unchristian, for
it is not doing what we would be done by; but if I had imagined Miss
Sophia would have been so much concerned at it, I am sure I never
would have done it; nay, if I had known what would have happened to
the bird itself: for when Master Jones, who climbed up that tree after
it, fell into the water, the bird took a second flight, and
presently a nasty hawk carried it away."
Poor Sophia, who now first heard of her little Tommy's fate (for her
concern for Jones had prevented her perceiving it when it happened),
shed a shower of tears. These Mr. Allworthy endeavoured to assuage,
promising her a much finer bird: but she declared she would never have
another. Her father chid her for crying so for a foolish bird; but
could not help telling young Blifil, if he was a son of his, his
backside should be well flead.
Sophia now returned to her chamber, the two young gentlemen were
sent home, and the rest of the company returned to their bottle; where
a conversation ensued on the subject of the bird, so curious, that
we think it deserves a chapter by itself.
Chapter 4
Containing such very deep and grave matters, that some readers,
perhaps, may not relish it
Square had no sooner lighted his pipe, than, addressing himself to
Allworthy, he thus began: "Sir, I cannot help congratulating you on
your nephew; who, at an age when few lads have any ideas but of
sensible objects, is arrived at a capacity of distinguishing right
from wrong. To confine anything, seems to me against the law of
nature, by which everything hath a right to liberty. These were his
words; and the impression they have made on me is never to be
eradicated. Can any man have a higher notion of the rule of right, and
the eternal fitness of things? I cannot help promising myself, from
such a dawn, that the meridian of this youth will be equal to that
of either the elder or the younger Brutus."
Here Thwackum hastily interrupted, and spilling some of his wine,
and swallowing the rest with great eagerness, answered, "From
another expression he made use of, I hope he will resemble much better
men. The law of nature is a jargon of words, which means nothing. I
know not of any such law, nor of any right which can be derived from
it. To do as we would be done by, is indeed a Christian motive, as the
boy well expressed himself; and I am glad to find my instructions have
borne such good fruit."
"If vanity was a thing fit," says Square, "I might indulge some on
the same occasion; for whence only he can have learnt his notions of
right or wrong, I think is pretty apparent. If there be no law of
nature, there is no right nor wrong."
"How!" says the parson, "do you then banish revelation? Am I talking
with a deist or an atheist?"
"Drink about," says Western. "Pox of your laws of nature! I don't
know what you mean, either of you, by right and wrong. To take away my
girl's bird was wrong, in my opinion; and my neighbour Allworthy may
do as he pleases; but to encourage boys in such practices, is to breed
them up to the gallows."
Allworthy answered, "That he was sorry for what his nephew had done,
but could not consent to punish him, as he acted rather from a
generous than unworthy motive." He said, "If the boy had stolen the
bird, none would have been more ready to vote for a severe
chastisement than himself; but it was plain that was not his
design": and, indeed, it was as apparent to him, that he could have no
other view but what he had himself avowed. (For as to that malicious
purpose which Sophia suspected, it never once entered into the head of
Mr. Allworthy.) He at length concluded with again blaming the action
as inconsiderate, and which, he said, was pardonable only in a child.
Square had delivered his opinion so openly, that if he was now
silent, he must submit to have his judgment censured. He said,
therefore, with some warmth, "That Mr. Allworthy had too much
respect to the dirty consideration of property. That in passing our
judgments on great and mighty actions, all private regards should be
laid aside; for by adhering to those narrow rules, the younger
Brutus had been condemned of ingratitude, and the elder of parricide."
"And if they had been hanged too for those crimes," cried
Thwackum, "they would have had no more than their deserts. A couple of
heathenish villains! Heaven be praised we have no Brutuses now-a-days!
I wish, Mr. Square, you would desist from filling the minds of my
pupils with such antichristian stuff; for the consequence must be,
while they are under my care, its being well scourged out of them
