formerly sown in her tender mind. It is you yourself who have taught
her disobedience."- "Blood!" cries the squire, foaming at the mouth,
"you are enough to conquer the patience of the devil! Have I ever
taught my daughter disobedience?- Here she stands; speak honestly,
girl, did ever I bid you be disobedient to me? Have not I done
everything to humour and to gratify you, and to make you obedient to
me? And very obedient to me she was when a little child, before you
took her in hand and spoiled her, by filling her head with a pack of
court notions. Why- why- why- did I not overhear you telling her she
must behave like a princess? You have made a Whig of the girl; and how
should her father, or anybody else, expect any obedience from
her?"- "Brother," answered Mrs. Western, with an air of great
disdain, "I cannot express the contempt I have for your politics of
all kinds; but I will appeal likewise to the young lady herself,
whether I have ever taught her any principles of disobedience. On
the contrary, niece, have I not endeavoured to inspire you with a true
idea of the several relations in which a human creature stands in
society? Have I not taken infinite pains to show you, that the law
of nature hath enjoined a duty on children to their parents? Have I
not told you what Plato says on that subject?- a subject on which you
was so notoriously ignorant when you came first under my care, that
I verily believe you did not know the relation between a daughter
and a father."- "'Tis a lie," answered Western. "The girl is no such
fool, as to live to eleven years old without knowing that she was
her father's relation."- "O! more than Gothic ignorance," answered
the lady. "And as for your manners, brother, I must tell you, they
deserve a cane."- "Why then you may gi' it me, if you think you are
able," cries the squire; "nay, I suppose your niece there will be
ready enough to help you."- "Brother," said Mrs. Western, "though I
despise you beyond expression, yet I shall endure your insolence no
longer; so I desire my coach may be got ready immediately, for I am
resolved to leave your house this very morning."- "And a good
riddance too," answered he; "I can bear your insolence no longer, an
you come to that. Blood! it is almost enough of itself to make my
daughter undervalue my sense, when she hears you telling me every
minute you despise me."- "It is impossible, it is impossible," cries
the aunt; "no one can undervalue such a boor."- "Boar," answered the
squire, "I am no boar; no, nor ass; no, nor rat neither, madam.
Remember that- I am no rat. I am a true Englishman, and not of your
Hanover breed, that have eat up the nation."- "Thou art one of those
wise men," cries she, "whose nonsensical principles have undone the
nation; by weakening the hands of our government at home, and by
discouraging our friends and encouraging our enemies abroad."- "Ho!
are you come back to your politics?" cries the squire: "as for those I
despise them as much as I do a f--t." Which last words he accompanied
and graced with the very action, which, of all others, was the most
proper to it. And whether it was this word or the contempt exprest for
her politics, which most affected Mrs. Western, I will not
determine; but she flew into the most violent rage, uttered phrases
improper to be here related, and instantly burst out of the house. Nor
did her brother or her niece think proper either to stop or to
follow her; for the one was so much possessed by concern, and the
other by anger, that they were rendered almost motionless.
The squire, however, sent after his sister the same holloa which
attends the departure of a hare, when she is first started before
the hounds. He was indeed a great master of this kind of vociferation,
and had a holla proper for most occasions in life.
Women who, like Mrs. Western, know the world, and have applied
themselves to philosophy and politics, would have immediately
availed themselves of the present disposition of Mr. Western's mind,
by throwing in a few artful compliments to his understanding at the
expense of his absent adversary; but poor Sophia was all simplicity.
By which word we do not intend to insinuate to the reader, that she
was silly, which is generally understood as a synonymous term with
simple; for she was indeed a most sensible girl, and her understanding
was of the first rate; but she wanted all that useful art which
females convert to so many good purposes in life, and which, as it
rather arises from the heart than from the head, is often the property
of the silliest of women.
Chapter 4
A picture of a country gentlewoman taken from the life
Mr. Western having finished his holla, and taken a little breath,
began to lament, in very pathetic terms, the unfortunate condition
of men, who are, says he, "always whipt in by the humours of some
d--n'd b- or other. I think I was hard run enough by your mother for
one man; but after giving her a dodge, here's another b- follows me
upon the foil; but curse my jacket if I will be run down in this
manner by any o'um."
Sophia never had a single dispute with her father, till this unlucky
affair of Blifil, on any account, except in defence of her mother,
whom she had loved most tenderly, though she lost her in the
eleventh year of her age. The squire, to whom that poor woman had been
a faithful upper-servant all the time of their marriage, had
returned that behaviour by making what the world calls a good husband.
He very seldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a week) and
never beat her: she had not the least occasion for jealousy, and was
perfect mistress of her time; for she was never interrupted by her
husband, who was engaged all the morning in his field exercises, and
all the evening with bottle companions. She scarce indeed ever saw him
but at meals; where she had the pleasure of carving those dishes which
she had before attended at the dressing. From these meals she
retired about five minutes after the other servants, having only
stayed to drink "the king over the water." Such were, it seems, Mr.
Western's orders; for it was a maxim with him, that women should
come in with the first dish, and go out after the first glass.
Obedience to these orders was perhaps no difficult task; for the
conversation (if it may be called so) was seldom such as could
entertain a lady. It consisted chiefly of hallowing, singing,
relations of sporting adventures, b-d-y, and abuse of women, and of
the government.
These, however, were the only seasons when Mr. Western saw his wife;
for when he repaired to her bed, he was generally so drunk that he
could not see; and in the sporting season he always rose from her
before it was light. Thus was she perfect mistress of her time, and
had besides a coach and four usually at her command; though unhappily,
indeed, the badness of the neighbourhood, and of the roads, made
this of little use; for none who had set much value on their necks
would have passed through the one, or who had set any value on their
hours, would have visited the other. Now to deal honestly with the
reader, she did not make all the return expected to so much
indulgence; for she had been married against her will by a fond
father, the match having been rather advantageous on her side; for the
squire's estate was upward of L3000 a year, and her fortune no more
than a bare L8000. Hence perhaps she had contracted a little
gloominess of temper, for she was rather a good servant than a good
wife; nor had she always the gratitude to return the extraordinary
degree of roaring mirth, with which the squire received her, even with
a good-humoured smile. She would, moreover, sometimes interfere with
matters which did not concern her, as the violent drinking of her
husband, which in the gentlest terms she would take some of the few
opportunities he gave her of remonstrating against. And once in her
life she very earnestly entreated him to carry her for two months to
London, which he peremptorily denied; nay, was angry with his wife for
the request ever after, being well assured that all the husbands in
London are cuckolds.
For this last, and many other good reasons, Western at length
heartily hated his wife; and as he never concealed this hatred
before her death, so he never forgot it afterwards; but when
anything in the least soured him, as a bad scenting day, or a
distemper among his hounds, or any other such misfortune, he
constantly vented his spleen by invectives against the deceased,
saying, "If my wife was alive now, she would be glad of this."
These invectives he was especially desirous of throwing forth before
Sophia; for as he loved her more than he did any other, so he was
really jealous that she had loved her mother better than him. And this
jealousy Sophia seldom failed of heightening on these occasions; for
he was not contented with violating her ears with the abuse of her
mother, but endeavoured to force an explicit approbation of all this
abuse; with which desire he never could prevail upon her by any
promise or threats to comply.
Hence some of my readers will, perhaps, wonder that the squire had
not hated Sophia as much as he had hated her mother; but I must inform
them, that hatred is not the effect of love, even through the medium
of jealousy. It is, indeed, very possible for jealous persons to
kill the objects of their jealousy, but not to hate them. Which
sentiment being a pretty hard morsel, and bearing something of the air
of a paradox, we shall leave the reader to chew the cud upon it to the
end of the chapter.
Chapter 5
The generous behaviour of Sophia towards her aunt
Sophia kept silence during the foregoing speech of her father, nor
did she once answer otherwise than with a sigh; but as he understood
none of the language, or, as he called it, lingo of the eyes, so he
was not satisfied without some further approbation of his
sentiments, which he now demanded of his daughter; telling her, in the
usual way, "he expected she was ready to take the part of everybody
against him, as she had always done that of the b- her mother."
Sophia remaining still silent, he cryed out, "What, art dumb? why dost
unt speak? Was not thy mother a d--d b- to me? answer me that. What,
I suppose you despise your father too, and don't think him good enough
to speak to?"
"For Heaven's sake, sir," answered Sophia, "do not give so cruel a
turn to my silence. I am sure I would sooner die than be guilty of any
disrespect towards you; but how can I venture to speak, when every
word must either offend my dear papa, or convict me of the blackest
ingratitude as well as impiety to the memory of the best of mothers;
for such, I am certain, my mamma was always to me?"
"And your aunt, I suppose, is the best of sisters too!" replied the
squire. "Will you be so kind as to allow that she is a b-? I may
fairly insist upon that, I think?"
"Indeed, sir," says Sophia, "I have great obligations to my aunt.
She hath been a second mother to me."
"And a second wife to me too," returned Western; "so you will take
her part too! You won't confess that she hath acted the part of the
vilest sister in the world?"
"Upon my word, sir," cries Sophia, "I must belie my heart wickedly
if I did. I know my aunt and you differ very much in your ways of
thinking; but I have heard her a thousand times express the greatest
affection for you; and I am convinced, so far from her being the worst
sister in the world, there are very few who love a brother better."
"The English of all which is," answered the squire, "that I am in
the wrong. Ay, certainly. Ay, to be sure the woman is in the right,
and the man in the wrong always."
"Pardon me, sir," cries Sophia. "I do not say so."
"What don't you say?" answered the father: "you have the impudence
to say she's in the right: doth it not follow then of course that I am
in the wrong? And perhaps I am in the wrong to suffer such a
Presbyterian Hanoverian b- to come into my house. She may 'dite me of
a plot for anything I know, and give my estate to the government."
"So far, sir, from injuring you or your estate," says Sophia, "if my
aunt had died yesterday, I am convinced she would have left you her
whole fortune."
Whether Sophia intended it or not, I shall not presume to assert;
but certain it is, these last words penetrated very deep into the ears
of her father, and produced a much more sensible effect than all she
had said before. He received the sound with much the same action as
a man receives a bullet in his head. He started, staggered, and turned
pale. After which he remained silent above a minute, and then began in
the following hesitating manner: "Yesterday! she would have left me
her esteate yesterday! would she? Why yesterday, of all the days in
the year? I suppose if she dies to-morrow, she will leave it to
somebody else, and perhaps out of the vamily."- "My aunt, sir," cries
Sophia, "hath very violent passions, and I can't answer what she may
do under their influence."
"You can't!" returned the father: "and pray who hath been the
occasion of putting her into those violent passions? Nay, who hath
actually put her into them? Was not you and she hard at it before I
came into the room? Besides, was not all our quarrel about you? I have
not quarrelled with sister this many years but upon your account;
and now you would throw the whole blame upon me, as thof I should be
the occasion of her leaving the esteate out o' the vamily. I could
