you will find you are yourself only to blame. I am not guilty of
corrupting innocence. I have done nothing for which that part of the
world which judges of matters by the rule of right, will condemn me.
Fitness is governed by the nature of things, and not by customs,
forms, or municipal laws. Nothing is indeed unfit which is not
unnatural."- "Well reasoned, old boy," answered Jones; "but why dost
thou think that I should desire to expose thee? I promise thee, I
was never better pleased with thee in my life; and unless thou hast
a mind to discover it thyself, this affair may remain a profound
secret for me."- "Nay, Mr. Jones," replied Square, "I would not be
thought to undervalue reputation. Good fame is a species of the Kalon,
and it is by no means fitting to neglect it. Besides, to murder
one's own reputation is a kind of suicide, a detestable and odious
vice. If you think proper, therefore, to conceal any infirmity of mine
(for such I may have, since no man is perfectly perfect), I promise
you I will not betray myself. Things may be fitting to be done,
which are not fitting to be boasted of; for by the perverse judgment
of the world, that often becomes the subject of censure, which is,
in truth, not only innocent but laudable."- "Right!" cries Jones:
"what can be more innocent than the indulgence of a natural appetite?
or what more laudable than the propagation of our species?"- "To be
serious with you," answered Square, "I profess they always appeared so
to me."- "And yet," said Jones, "you was of a different opinion when
my affair with this girl was first discovered."- "Why, I must
confess," says Square, "as the matter was misrepresented to me, by
that parson Thwackum, I might condemn the corruption of innocence: it
was that, sir, it was that- and that-: for you must know, Mr. Jones,
in the consideration of fitness, very minute circumstances, sir, very
minute circumstances cause great alteration."- "Well," cries Jones,
"be that as it will, it shall be your own fault, as I have promised
you, if you ever hear any more of this adventure. Behave kindly to the
girl, and I will never open my lips concerning the matter to any
one. And, Molly, do you be faithful to your friend, and I will not
only forgive your infidelity to me, but will do you all the service
I can." So saying, he took a hasty leave, and, slipping down the
ladder, retired with much expedition.
Square was rejoiced to find this adventure was likely to have no
worse conclusion; and as for Molly, being recovered from her
confusion, she began at first to upbraid Square with having been the
occasion of her loss of Jones; but that gentleman soon found the means
of mitigating her anger, partly by caresses, and partly by a small
nostrum from his purse, of wonderful and approved efficacy in
purging off the ill humours of the mind, and in restoring it to a good
temper.
She then poured forth a vast profusion of tenderness towards her new
lover; turned all she had said to Jones, and Jones himself, into
ridicule; and vowed, though he once had the possession of her
person, that none but Square had ever been master of her heart.
Chapter 6
By comparing which with the former, the reader may possibly
correct some abuse which he hath formerly been guilty of in the
application of the word love
The infidelity of Molly, which Jones had now discovered, would,
perhaps, have vindicated a much greater degree of resentment than he
expressed on the occasion; and if he had abandoned her directly from
that moment, very few, I believe, would have blamed him.
Certain, however, it is, that he saw her in the light of compassion;
and though his love to her was not of that kind which could give him
any great uneasiness at her inconstancy, yet was he not a little
shocked on reflecting that he had himself originally corrupted her
innocence; for to this corruption he imputed all the vice into which
she appeared now likely to plunge herself.
This consideration gave him no little uneasiness, till Betty, the
elder sister, was so kind, some time afterwards, entirely to cure
him by a hint, that one Will Barnes, and not himself, had been the
first seducer of Molly; and that the little child, which he had
hitherto so certainly concluded to be his own, might very probably
have an equal title, at least, to claim Barnes for its father.
Jones eagerly pursued this scent when he had first received it;
and in a very short time was sufficiently assured that the girl had
told him truth, not only by the confession of the fellow, but at
last by that of Molly herself.
This Will Barnes was a country gallant, and had acquired as many
trophies of this kind as any ensign or attorney's clerk in the
kingdom. He had, indeed, reduced several women to a state of utter
profligacy, had broke the hearts of some, and had the honour of
occasioning the violent death of one poor girl, who had either drowned
herself, or, what was rather more probable, had been drowned by him.
Among other of his conquests, this fellow had triumphed over the
heart of Betty Seagrim. He had made love to her long before Molly
was grown to be a fit object of that pastime; but had afterwards
deserted her, and applied to her sister, with whom he had almost
immediate success. Now Will had, in reality, the sole possession of
Molly's affection, while Jones and Square were almost equally
sacrifices to her interest and to her pride.
Hence had grown that implacable hatred which we have before seen
raging in the mind of Betty; though we did not think it necessary to
assign this cause sooner, as envy itself alone was adequate to all the
effects we have mentioned.
Jones was become perfectly easy by possession of this secret with
regard to Molly; but as to Sophia, he was far from being in a state of
tranquillity; nay, indeed, he was under the most violent perturbation;
his heart was now, if I may use the metaphor, entirely evacuated,
and Sophia took absolute possession of it. He loved her with an
unbounded passion, and plainly saw the tender sentiments she had for
him; yet could not this assurance lessen his despair of obtaining
the consent of her father, nor the horrors which attended his
pursuit of her by any base or treacherous method.
The injury which he must thus do to Mr. Western, and the concern
which would accrue to Mr. Allworthy, were circumstances that tormented
him all day, and haunted him on his pillow at night. His life was a
constant struggle between honour and inclination, which alternately
triumphed over each other in his mind. He often resolved, in the
absence of Sophia, to leave her father's house, and to see her no
more; and as often, in her presence, forgot all those resolutions, and
determined to pursue her at the hazard of his life, and at the
forfeiture of what was much dearer to him.
This conflict began soon to produce very strong and visible effects:
for he lost all his usual sprightliness and gaiety of temper, and
became not only melancholy when alone, but dejected and absent in
company; nay, if ever he put on a forced mirth, to comply with Mr.
Western's humour, the constraint appeared so plain, that he seemed
to have been giving the strongest evidence of what he endeavoured to
conceal by such ostentation.
It may, perhaps, be a question, whether the art which he used to
conceal his passion, or the means which honest nature employed to
reveal it, betrayed him most: for while art made him more than ever
reserved to Sophia, and forbad him to address any of his discourse
to her, nay, to avoid meeting her eyes, with the utmost caution;
nature was no less busy in counter-plotting him. Hence, at the
approach of the young lady, he grew pale; and if this was sudden,
started. If his eyes accidentally met hers, the blood rushed into
his cheeks, and his countenance became all over scarlet. If common
civility ever obliged him to speak to her, as to drink her health at
table, his tongue was sure to falter. If he touched her, his hand, nay
his whole frame, trembled. And if any discourse tended, however
remotely, to raise the idea of love, an involuntary sigh seldom failed
to steal from his bosom. Most of which accidents nature was
wonderfully industrious to throw daily in his way.
All these symptoms escaped the notice of the squire: but not so of
Sophia. She soon perceived these agitations of mind in Jones, and
was at no loss to discover the cause; for indeed she recognized it
in her own breast. And this recognition is, I suppose, that sympathy
which hath been so often noted in lovers, and which will
sufficiently account for her being so much quicker-sighted than her
father.
But, to say the truth, there is a more simple and plain method of
accounting for that prodigious superiority of penetration which we
must observe in some men over the rest of the human species, and one
which will serve not only in the case of lovers, but of all others.
From whence is it that the knave is generally so quick-sighted to
those symptoms and operations of knavery, which often dupe an honest
man of a much better understanding? There surely is no general
sympathy among knaves; nor have they, like freemasons, any common sign
of communication. In reality, it is only because they have the same
thing in their heads, and their thoughts are turned the same way.
Thus, that Sophia saw, and that Western did not see, the plain
symptoms of love in Jones can be no wonder, when we consider that
the idea of love never entered into the head of the father, whereas
the daughter, at present, thought of nothing else.
When Sophia was well satisfied of the violent passion which
tormented poor Jones, and no less certain that she herself was its
object, she had not the least difficulty in discovering the true cause
of his present behaviour. This highly endeared him to her, and
raised in her mind two the best affections which any lover can wish to
raise in a mistress- these were, esteem and pity- for sure the most
outrageously rigid among her sex will excuse her pitying a man whom
she saw miserable on her own account; nor can they blame her for
esteeming one who visibly, from the most honourable motives,
endeavoured to smother a flame in his own bosom, which, like the
famous Spartan theft, was preying upon and consuming his very
vitals. Thus his backwardness, his shunning her, his coldness, and his
silence, were the forwardest, the most diligent, the warmest, and most
eloquent advocates; and wrought so violently on her sensible and
tender heart, that she soon felt for him all those gentle sensations
which are consistent with a virtuous and elevated female mind. In
short, all which esteem, gratitude, and pity, can inspire in such
towards an agreeable man- indeed, all which the nicest delicacy can
allow. In a word, she was in love with him to distraction.
One day this young couple accidentally met in the garden, at the end
of the two walks which were both bounded by that canal in which
Jones had formerly risqued drowning to retrieve the little bird that
Sophia had there lost.
This place had been of late much frequented by Sophia. Here she used
to ruminate, with a mixture of pain and pleasure, on an incident
which, however trifling in itself, had possibly sown the first seeds
of that affection which was now arrived to such maturity in her heart.
Here then this young couple met. They were almost close together
before either of them knew anything of the other's approach. A
bystander would have discovered sufficient marks of confusion in the
countenance of each; but they felt too much themselves to make any
observation. As soon as Jones had a little recovered his first
surprize, he accosted the young lady with some of the ordinary forms
of salutation, which she in the same manner returned; and their
conversation began, as usual, on the delicious beauty of the
morning. Hence they past to the beauty of the place, on which Jones
launched forth very high encomiums. When they came to the tree
whence he had formerly tumbled into the canal, Sophia could not help
reminding him of that accident, and said, "I fancy, Mr. Jones, you
have some little shuddering when you see that water."- "I assure you,
madam," answered Jones, "the concern you felt at the loss of your
little bird will always appear to me the highest circumstance in
that adventure. Poor little Tommy! there is the branch he stood
upon. How could the little wretch have the folly to fly away from that
state of happiness in which I had the honour to place him? His fate
was a just punishment for his ingratitude."- "Upon my word, Mr.
Jones," said she, "your gallantry very narrowly escaped as severe a
fate. Sure the remembrance must affect you."- "Indeed, madam,"
answered he, "if I have any reason to reflect with sorrow on it, it
is, perhaps, that the water had not been a little deeper, by which I
might have escaped many bitter heart-aches that Fortune seems to have
in store for me."- "Fie, Mr. Jones!" replied Sophia; "I am sure you
cannot be in earnest now. This affected contempt of life is only an
excess of your complacence to me. You would endeavour to lessen the
obligation of having twice ventured it for my sake. Beware the third
time." She spoke these last words with a smile, and a softness
inexpressible. Jones answered with a sigh, "He feared it was already
too late for caution:" and then looking tenderly and stedfastly on
her, he cried, "Oh, Miss Western! can you desire me to live? Can you
wish me so ill?" Sophia, looking down on the ground, answered with
some hesitation, "Indeed, Mr. Jones, I do not wish you ill."- "Oh, I
know too well that heavenly temper," cries Jones, "that divine
goodness, which is beyond every other charm."- "Nay, now," answered
she, "I understand you not. I can stay no longer."- "I- I would not be
