reflected how much she herself was to suffer, being indeed to become
little less than a sacrifice, or a martyr, to filial love and duty,
she felt an agreeable tickling in a certain little passion, which
though it bears no immediate affinity either to religion or virtue, is
often so kind as to lend great assistance in executing the purposes of
both.
Sophia was charmed with the contemplation of so heroic an action,
and began to compliment herself with much premature flattery, when
Cupid, who lay hid in her muff, suddenly crept out, and like
Punchinello in a puppet-show, kicked all out before him. In truth (for
we scorn to deceive our reader, or to vindicate the character of our
heroine by ascribing her actions to supernatural impulse) the thoughts
of her beloved Jones, and some hopes (however distant) in which he was
very particularly concerned, immediately destroyed all which filial
love, piety, and pride had, with their joint endeavours, been
labouring to bring about.
But before we proceed any farther with Sophia, we must now look back
to Mr. Jones.
Chapter 10
Containing several matters, natural enough perhaps, but low
The reader will be pleased to remember, that we left Mr. Jones, in
the beginning of this book, on his road to Bristol; being determined
to seek his fortune at sea, or rather, indeed, to fly away from his
fortune on shore.
It happened (a thing not very unusual), that the guide who undertook
to conduct him on his way, was unluckily unacquainted with the road;
so that having missed his right track, and being ashamed to ask
information, he rambled about backwards and forwards till night came
on, and it began to grow dark. Jones suspecting what had happened,
acquainted the guide with his apprehensions; but he insisted on it,
that they were in the right road, and added, it would be very
strange if he should not know the road to Bristol; though, in reality,
it would have been much stranger if he had known it, having never past
through it in his life before.
Jones had not such implicit faith in his guide, but that on their
arrival at a village he inquired of the first fellow he saw, whether
they were in the road to Bristol. "Whence did you come?" cries the
fellow. "No matter," says Jones, a little hastily; "I want to know
if this be the road to Bristol?"- "The road to Bristol!" cries the
fellow, scratching his head: "why, measter, I believe you will
hardly get to Bristol this way to-night."- "Prithee, friend, then,"
answered Jones, "do tell us which is the way."- "Why, measter," cries
the fellow, "you must be come out of your road the Lord knows whither;
for thick way goeth to Glocester."- "Well, and which way goes to
Bristol?" said Jones. "Why, you be going away from Bristol,"
answered the fellow. "Then," said Jones, "we must go back again?"-
"Ay, you must," said the fellow. "Well, and when we come back to the
top of the hill, which way must we take?"- "Why, you must keep the
strait road."- "But I remember there are two roads, one to the right
and the other to the left."- "Why, you must keep the right hand road,
and then gu strait vorwards; only remember to turn vurst to your
right, and then to your left again, and then to your right, and that
brings you to the squire's; and then you must keep strait vorwards,
and turn to the left."
Another fellow now came up, and asked which way the gentlemen were
going; of which being informed by Jones, he first scratched his
head, and then leaning upon a pole he had in his hand, began to tell
him, "That he must keep the right-hand road for about a mile, or a
mile and a half, or such a matter, and then he must turn short to
the left, which would bring him round by Measter Jin Bearnes's."-
But which is Mr. John Bearnes's?" says Jones. "O Lord!" cries the
fellow, "why, don't you know Measter Jin Bearnes? Whence then did you
come?"
These two fellows had almost conquered the patience of Jones, when a
plain well-looking man (who was indeed a Quaker) accosted him thus:
"Friend, I perceive thou hast lost thy way; and if thou wilt take my
advice, thou wilt not attempt to find it to-night. It is almost
dark, and the road is difficult to hit; besides, there have been
several robberies committed lately between this and Bristol. Here is a
very creditable good house just by, where thou may'st find good
entertainment for thyself and thy cattle till morning." Jones, after a
little persuasion, agreed to stay in this place till the morning,
and was conducted by his friend to the public-house.
The landlord, who was a very civil fellow, told Jones, "He hoped
he would excuse the badness of his accommodation; for that his wife
was gone from home, and had locked up almost everything, and carried
the keys along with her." Indeed the fact was, that a favourite
daughter of hers was just married, and gone that morning home with her
husband; and that she and her mother together had almost stript the
poor man of all his goods, as well as money; for though he had several
children, his daughter only, who was the mother's favourite, was the
object of her consideration; and to the humour of this one child she
would with pleasure have sacrificed all the rest, and her husband into
the bargain.
Though Jones was very unfit for any kind of company, and would
have preferred being alone, yet he could not resist the
importunities of the honest Quaker; who was the more desirous of
sitting with him, from having remarked the melancholy which appeared
both in his countenance and behaviour; and which the poor Quaker
thought his conversation might in some measure relieve.
After they had past some time together, in such a manner that my
honest friend might have thought himself at one of his silent
meetings, the Quaker began to be moved by some spirit or other,
probably that of curiosity, and said, "Friend, I perceive some sad
disaster hath befallen thee; but pray be of comfort. Perhaps thou hast
lost a friend. If so, thou must consider we are all mortal. And why
shouldest thou grieve, when thou knowest thy grief will do thy
friend no good? We are all born to affliction. I myself have my
sorrows as well as thee, and most probably greater sorrows. Though I
have a clear estate of L100 a year, which is as much as I want, and
I have a conscience, I thank the Lord, void of offence; my
constitution is sound and strong, and there is no man can demand a
debt of me, nor accuse me of an injury; yet, friend, I should be
concerned to think thee as miserable as myself."
Here the Quaker ended with a deep sigh; and Jones presently
answered, "I am very sorry, sir, for your unhappiness, whatever is the
occasion of it."- "Ah! friend," replied the Quaker, "one only
daughter is the occasion; one who was my greatest delight upon
earth, and who within this week is run away from me, and is married
against my consent. I had provided her a proper match, a sober man and
one of substance; but she, forsooth, would chuse for herself, and away
she is gone with a young fellow not worth a groat. If she had been
dead, as I suppose thy friend is, I should have been happy."- "That
is very strange, sir," said Jones. "Why, would it not be better for
her to be dead, than to be a beggar?" replied the Quaker: "for, as I
told you, the fellow is not worth a groat; and surely she cannot
expect that I shall ever give her a shilling. No, as she hath
married for love, let her live on love if she can; let her carry her
love to market, and see whether any one will change it into silver, or
even into halfpence."- "You know your own concerns best, sir," said
Jones. "It must have been," continued the Quaker, "a long premeditated
scheme to cheat me: for they have known one another from their
infancy; and I always preached to her against love, and told her a
thousand times over it was all folly and wickedness. Nay, the
cunning slut pretended to hearken to me, and to despise all wantonness
of the flesh; and yet at last broke out at a window two pair of
stairs: for I began, indeed, a little to suspect her, and had locked
her up carefully, intending the very next morning to have married
her up to my liking. But she disappointed me within a few hours, and
escaped away to the lover of her own chusing; who lost no time, for
they were married and bedded and all within an hour. But it shall be
the worst hour's work for them both tha? ever they did; for they may
starve, or beg, or steal together, for me. I will never give either of
them a farthing." Here Jones starting up cried, "I really must be
excused: I wish you would leave me."- "come, come, friend," said the
Quaker, "don't give way to concern. You see there are other people
miserable besides yourself."- "I see there are madmen, and fools, and
villains in the world," cries Jones. "But let me give you a piece of
advice: send for your daughter and son-in-law home, and don't be
yourself the only cause of misery to one you pretend to love."- "Send
for her and her husband home!" cries the Quaker loudly; "I would
sooner send for the two greatest enemies I have in the world!"- "Well,
go home yourself, or where you please," said Jones, "for I will sit no
longer in such company."- "Nay, friend," answered the Quaker, "I scorn
to impose my company on any one." He then offered to pull money from
his pocket, but Jones pushed him with some violence out of the room.
The subject of the Quaker's discourse had so deeply affected
Jones, that he stared very wildly all the time was speaking. This
the Quaker had observed, and this, added to the rest of his behaviour,
inspired honest Broadbrim with a conceit, that his companion was in
reality out of his senses. Instead of resenting the affront,
therefore, the Quaker was moved with compassion for his unhappy
circumstances; and having communicated his opinion to the landlord, he
desired him to take great care of his guest, and to treat him with the
highest civility.
"Indeed," says the landlord, "I shall use no such civility towards
him; for it seems, for all his laced waistcoat there, he is no more
a gentleman than myself, but a poor parish bastard, bred up at a great
squire's about thirty miles off, and now turned out of doors (not
for any good to be sure). I shall get him out of my house as soon as
possible. If I do lose my reckoning, the first loss is always the
best. It is not above a year ago that I lost a silver spoon."
"What dost thou talk of a parish bastard, Robin?" answered the
Quaker. "Thou must certainly be mistaken in thy man."
"Not at all," replied Robin; "the guide, who knows him very well,
told it me." For, indeed, the guide had no sooner taken his place at
the kitchen fire, than he acquainted the whole company with all he
knew or had ever heard concerning Jones.
The Quaker was no sooner assured by this fellow of the birth and low
fortune of Jones, than all compassion for him vanished; and the honest
plain man went home fired with no less indignation than a duke would
have felt at receiving an affront from such a person.
The landlord himself conceived an equal disdain for his guest; so
that when Jones rung the bell in order to retire to bed, he was
acquainted that he could have no bed there. Besides disdain of the
mean condition of his guest, Robin entertained violent suspicion of
his intentions, which were, he supposed, to watch some favourable
opportunity of robbing the house. In reality, he might have been
very well eased of these apprehensions, by the prudent precautions
of his wife and daughter, who had already removed everything which was
not fixed to the freehold; but he was by nature suspicious, and had
been more particularly so since the loss of his spoon. In short, the
dread of being robbed totally absorbed the comfortable consideration
that he had nothing to lose.
Jones being assured that he could have no bed, very contentedly
betook himself to a great chair made with rushes, when sleep, which
had lately shunned his company in much better apartments, generously
paid him a visit in his humble cell.
As for the landlord, he was prevented by his fears from retiring
to rest. He returned therefore to the kitchen fire, whence he could
survey the only door which opened into the parlour, or rather hole,
where Jones was seated, and as for the window to that room, it was
impossible for any creature larger than a cat to have made his
escape through it.
Chapter 11
The adventure of a company of soldiers
The landlord having taken his seat directly opposite to the door
of the parlour, determined to keep guard there the whole night. The
guide and another fellow remained long on duty with him, though they
neither knew his suspicions, nor had any of their own. The true
cause of their watching did, indeed, at length, put an end to it;
for this was no other than the strength and goodness of the beer, of
which having tippled a very large quantity, they grew at first very
noisy and vociferous, and afterwards fell both asleep.
But it was not in the power of liquor to compose the fears of Robin.
He continued still waking in his chair, with his eyes fixed stedfastly
on the door which led into the apartment of Mr. Jones, till a
violent thundering at his outward gate called him from his seat, and
obliged him to open it; which he had no sooner done, than his
kitchen was immediately full of gentlemen in red coats, who all rushed
upon him in as tumultuous a manner as if they intended to take his
little castle by storm.
The landlord was now forced from his post to furnish his numerous
