he got my daughter's muff? bear witness the goods are found upon
him. I'll have him before a justice of peace this instant. Where is my
daughter, villain?" "Sir," said Jones, "I beg you would be pacified.
The muff, I acknowledge, is the young lady's; but, upon my honour, I
have never seen her." At these words Western lost all patience, and
grew inarticulate with rage.
Some of the servants had acquainted Fitzpatrick who Mr. Western was.
The good Irishman, therefore, thinking he had now an opportunity to do
an act of service to his uncle, and by that means might possibly
obtain his favour, stept up to Jones, and cried out, "Upon my
conscience, sir, you may be ashamed of denying your having seen the
gentleman's daughter before my face, when you know I found you there
upon the bed together." Then, turning to Western, he offered to
conduct him immediately to the room where his daughter was; which
offer being accepted, he, the squire, the parson, and some others,
ascended directly to Mrs. Waters's chamber, which they entered with no
less violence than Mr. Fitzpatrick had done before.
The poor lady started from her sleep with as much amazement as
terror, and beheld at her bedside a figure which might very well be
supposed to have escaped out of Bedlam. Such wildness and confusion
were in the looks of Mr. Western; who no sooner saw the lady than he
started back, shewing sufficiently by his manner, before he spoke,
that this was not the person sought after.
So much more tenderly do women value their reputation than their
persons, that, though the latter seemed now in more danger than
before, yet, as the former was secure, the lady screamed not with such
violence as she had done on the other occasion. However, she no sooner
found herself alone than she abandoned all thoughts of further repose;
and, as she had sufficient reason tobe dissatisfied with her present
lodging, she dressed herself with all possible expedition.
Mr. Western now proceeded to search the whole house, but to as
little purpose as he had disturbed poor Mrs. Waters. He then
returned disconsolate into the kitchen, where he found Jones in the
custody of his servants.
This violent uproar had raised all the people in the house, though
it was yet scarcely daylight. Among these was a grave gentleman, who
had the honour to be in the commission of the peace for the county
of Worcester. Of which Mr. Western was no sooner informed than he
offered to lay his complaint before him. The justice declined
executing his office, as he said he had no clerk present, nor no
book about justice business; and that he could not carry all the law
in his head about stealing away daughters, and such sort of things.
Here Mr. Fitzpatrick offered to lend him his assistance, informing
the company that he had been himself bred to the law. (And indeed he
had served three years as clerk to an attorney in the north of
Ireland, when, chusing a genteeler walk in life, he quitted his
master, came over to England, and set up that business which
requires no apprenticeship, namely, that of a gentleman, in which he
had succeeded, as hath been already partly mentioned.)
Mr. Fitzpatrick declared that the law concerning daughters was out
of the present case; that stealing a muff was undoubtedly felony,
and the goods being found upon the person, were sufficient evidence of
the fact.
The magistrate, upon the encouragement of so learned a coadjutor,
and upon the violent intercession of the squire, was at length
prevailed upon to seat himself in the chair of justice, where being
placed, upon viewing the muff which Jones still held in his hand,
and upon the parson's swearing it to be the property of Mr. Western,
he desired Mr. Fitzpatrick to draw up a commitment, which he said he
would sign.
Jones now desired to be heard, which was at last, with difficulty,
granted him. He then produced the evidence of Mr. Partridge, as to the
finding it; but, what was still more, Susan deposed that Sophia
herself had delivered the muff to her, and had ordered her to convey
it into the chamber where Mr. Jones had found it.
Whether a natural love of justice, or the extraordinary comeliness
of Jones, had wrought on Susan to make the discovery, I will not
determine; but such were the effects of her evidence, that the
magistrate, throwing himself back in his chair, declared that the
matter was now altogether as clear on the side of the prisoner as it
had before been against him. with which the parson concurred,
saying, the Lord forbid he should be instrumental in committing an
innocent person to durance. The justice then arose, acquitted the
prisoner, and broke up the court.
Mr. Western now gave every one present a hearty curse, and,
immediately ordering his horses, departed in pursuit of his
daughter, without taking the least notice of his nephew Fitzpatrick,
or returning any answer to his claim of kindred, notwithstanding all
the obligations he had just received from that gentleman. In the
violence, moreover, of his hurry, and of his passion, he luckily
forgot to demand the muff of Jones: I say luckily; for he would have
died on the spot rather than have parted with it.
Jones likewise, with his friend Partridge, set forward the moment he
had paid his reckoning, in quest of his lovely Sophia, whom he now
resolved never more to abandon the pursuit of. Nor could he bring
himself even to take leave of Mrs. Waters; of whom he detested the
very thoughts, as she had been, though not designedly, the occasion of
his missing the happiest interview with Sophia. to whom he now vowed
eternal constancy.
As for Mrs. Waters, she took the opportunity of the coach which
was going to Bath; for which place she set out in company with the two
Irish gentlemen, the landlady kindly lending her her cloaths; in
return for which she was contented only to receive about double
their value, as a recompence for the loan. Upon the road she was
perfectly reconciled to Mr. Fitzpatrick, who was a very handsome
fellow, and indeed did all she could to console him in the absence
of his wife.
Thus ended the many odd adventures which Mr. Jones encountered at
his inn at Upton, where they talk, to this day, of the beauty and
lovely behaviour of the charming Sophia, by the name of the
Somersetshire angel.
Chapter 8
In which the history goes backward
Before we proceed any farther in our history, it may be proper to
look a little back, in order to account for the extraordinary
appearance of Sophia and her father at the inn at Upton.
The reader may be pleased to remember that, in the ninth chapter
of the seventh book of our history, we left Sophia, after a long
debate between love and duty, deciding the cause, as it usually, I
believe, happens, in favour of the former.
This debate had arisen, as we have there shown, from a visit which
her father had just before made her, in order to force her consent
to a marriage with Blifil; and which he had understood to be fully
implied in her acknowledgment "that she neither must nor could
refuse any absolute command of his."
Now from this visit the squire retired to his evening potation,
overjoyed at the success he had gained with his daughter; and, as he
was of a social disposition, and willing to have partakers in his
happiness, the beer was ordered to flow very liberally into the
kitchen; so that before eleven in the evening there was not a single
person sober in the house except only Mrs. Western herself and the
charming Sophia.
Early in the morning a messenger was despatched to summon Mr.
Blifil; for, though the squire imagined that young gentleman had
been much less acquainted than he really was with the former
aversion of his daughter, as he had not, however, yet received her
consent, he longed impatiently to communicate it to him, not
doubting but that the intended bride herself would confirm it with her
lips. As to the wedding, it had the evening before been fixed, by
the male parties, to be celebrated on the next morning save one.
Breakfast was now set forth in the parlour, where Mr. Blifil
attended, and where the squire and his sister likewise were assembled;
and now Sophia was ordered to be called.
O, Shakespear! had I thy pen! O, Hogarth! had I thy pencil! then
would I draw the picture of the poor serving-man, who, with pale
countenance, staring eyes, chattering teeth, faultering tongue, and
trembling limbs,
(E'en such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtains in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd)
entered the room, and declared- That Madam Sophia was not to be found.
"Not to be found!" cries the squire, starting from his chair;
"Zounds and d--nation! Blood and fury! Where, when, how, what- Not to
be found! Where?"
"La! brother," said Mrs. Western, with true political coldness, "you
are always throwing yourself into such violent passions for nothing.
My niece, I suppose, is only walked out into the garden. I protest you
are grown so unreasonable, that it is impossible to live in the
house with you."
"Nay, nay," answered the squire, returning as suddenly to himself,
as he had gone from himself; "if that be all the matter, it
signifies not much; but, upon my soul, my mind misgave me when the
fellow said she was not to be found." He then gave orders for the bell
to be rung in the garden, and sat himself contentedly down.
No two things could be more the reverse of each other than were
the brother and sister in most instances; particularly in this, That
as the brother never foresaw anything at a distance, but was most
sagacious in immediately seeing everything the moment it had happened;
so the sister eternally foresaw at a distance, but was not so
quick-sighted to objects before her eyes. Of both these the reader may
have observed examples: and, indeed, both their several talents were
excessive; for, as the sister often foresaw what never came to pass,
so the brother often saw much more than was actually the truth.
This was not however the case at present. The same report was
brought from the garden as before had been brought from the chamber,
that Madam Sophia was not to be found.
The squire himself now sallied forth, and began to roar forth the
name of Sophia as loudly, and in as hoarse a voice, as whilome did
Hercules that of Hylas; and, as the poet tells us that the whole shore
echoed back the name of that beautiful youth, so did the house, the
garden, and all the neighbouring fields resound nothing but the name
of Sophia, in the hoarse voices of the men, and in the shrill pipes of
the women; while echo seemed so pleased to repeat the beloved sound,
that, if there is really such a person, I believe Ovid hath belied her
sex.
Nothing reigned for a long time but confusion; till at last the
squire, having sufficiently spent his breath, returned to the parlour,
where he found Mrs. Western and Mr. Blifil, and threw himself, with
the utmost dejection in his countenance, into a great chair.
Here Mrs. Western began to apply the following consolation:
"Brother, I am sorry for what hath happened; and that my niece
should have behaved herself in a manner so unbecoming her family;
but it is all your own doings, and you have nobody to thank but
yourself. You know she hath been educated always in a manner
directly contrary to my advice, and now you see the consequence.
Have I not a thousand times argued with you about giving my niece
own will? But you know I never could prevail upon you; and when I
had taken so much pains to eradicate her headstrong opinions, and to
rectify your errors in policy, you know she was taken out of my hands;
so that I have nothing to answer for. Had I been trusted entirely with
the care of her education, no such accident as this had ever
befallen you; so that you must comfort yourself by thinking it was all
your own doing; and, indeed, what else could be expected from such
indulgence?"--
"Zounds! sister," answered he, "you are enough to make one mad. Have
I indulged her? Have I given her her will?-- It was no longer ago than
last night that I threatened, if she disobeyed me, to confine her to
her chamber upon bread and water as long as she lived.-You would
provoke the patience of job."
"Did ever mortal hear the like?" replied she. "Brother, if I had not
the patience of fifty jobs, you would make me forget all decency and
decorum. Why would you interfere? Did I not beg you, did I not intreat
you, to leave the whole conduct to me? You have defeated all the
operations of the campaign by one false step. Would any man in his
senses have provoked a daughter by such threats as these? How often
have I told you that English women are not to be treated like
Ciracessian* slaves? We have the protection of the world; we are to be
won by gentle means only, and not to be hectored, and bullied, and
beat into compliance. I thank Heaven no Salique law governs here.
Brother, you have a roughness in your manner which no woman but myself
would bear. I do not wonder my niece was frightened and terrified into
taking this measure; and, to speak honestly, I think my niece will
be justified to the world for what she hath done. I repeat it to you
again, brother, you must comfort yourself by rememb'ring that it is
all your own fault. How often have I advised-" Here Western rose
hastily from his chair, and venting two or three horrid
imprecations, ran out of the room.
*Possibly Circassian.
When he was departed, his sister expressed more bitterness (if
possible) against him than she had done while he was present; for
the truth of which she appealed to Mr. Blifil, who, with great
complacence, acquiesced entirely in all she said; but excused all
the faults of Mr. Western, "as they must be considered," he said,
