the poor, you won't suspect a man of being a thief only because he
is poor." He then pulled out a little gilt pocketbook, and delivered
it into the hands of Jones.
Jones presently opened it, and (guess, reader, what he felt) saw
in the first page the words Sophia Western, written by her own fair
hand. He no sooner read the name than he prest it close to his lips;
nor could he avoid falling into some very frantic raptures,
notwithstanding his company; but, perhaps, these very raptures made
him forget he was not alone.
While Jones was kissing and mumbling the book, as if he had an
excellent brown buttered crust in his mouth, or as if he had really
been a book-worm, or an author who had nothing to cat but his own
works, a piece of paper fell from its leaves to the ground, which
Partridge took up, and delivered to Jones, who presently perceived
it to be a bank-bill. It was, indeed, the very bill which Western
had given his daughter the night before her departure; and a Jew would
have jumped to purchase it at five shillings less than L100.
The eyes of Partridge sparkled at this news, which Jones now
proclaimed aloud; and so did (though with somewhat a different aspect)
those of the poor fellow who had found the book; and who (I hope
from a principle of honesty) had never opened it: but we should not
deal honestly by the reader if we omitted to inform him of a
circumstance which may be here a little material, viz., that the
fellow could not read.
Jones, who had felt nothing but pure joy and transport from the
finding the book, was affected with a mixture of concern at this new
discovery; for his imagination instantly suggested to him, that the
owner of the bill might possibly want it, before he should be able
to convey it to her. He then acquainted the finder, that he knew the
lady to whom the book belonged, and would endeavour to find her out as
soon as possible, and return it her.
The pocket-book was a late present from Mrs. Western to her niece;
it had cost five-and-twenty shillings, having been bought of a
celebrated toyman; but the real value of the silver which it contained
in its clasp, was about eighteen-pence; and that price the said
toyman, as it was altogether as good as when it first issued from
his shop, would now have given for it. A prudent person would,
however, have taken proper advantage of the ignorance of this
fellow, and would not have offered more than a shilling, or perhaps
sixpence, for it; nay, some perhaps would have given nothing, and left
the fellow to his action of trover, which some learned serjeants may
doubt whether he could, under these circumstances, have maintained.
Jones, on the contrary, whose character was on the outside of
generosity, and may perhaps not very unjustly have been suspected of
extravagance, without any hesitation gave a guinea in exchange for the
book. The poor man, who had not for a long time before been
possessed of so much treasure, gave Mr. Jones a thousand thanks, and
discovered little less of transport in his muscles than Jones had
before shown, when he had first read the name of Sophia Western.
The fellow very readily agreed to attend our travellers to the place
where he had found the pocket-book. Together, therefore, they
proceeded directly thither; but not so fast as Mr. Jones desired;
for his guide unfortunately happened to be lame, and could not
possibly travel faster than a mile an hour. As this place,
therefore, was at above three miles' distance, though the fellow had
said otherwise, the reader need not be acquainted how long they were
in walking it.
Jones opened the book a hundred times during their walk, kissed it
as often, talked much to himself, and very little to his companions.
At all which the guide exprest some signs of astonishment to
Partridge; who more than once shook his head, and cryed, Poor
gentleman! orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.*
*We should pray for a sound mind in a sound body.
At length they arrived at the very spot where Sophia unhappily dropt
the pocket-book, and where the fellow had as happily found it. Here
Jones offered to take leave of his guide, and to improve his pace; but
the fellow, in whom that violent surprize and joy which the first
receipt of the guinea had occasioned was now considerably abated,
and who had now had sufficient time to recollect himself, put on a
discontented look, and, scratching his head, said, "He hoped his
worship would give him something more. Your worship," said he,
"will, I hope, take it into your consideration that if I had not
been honest I might have kept the whole." And, indeed, this the reader
must confess to have been true. "If the paper there," said he, "be
worth L100, I am sure the finding it deserves more than a guinea.
Besides, suppose your worship should never see the lady, nor give it
her- and, though your worship looks and talks very much like a
gentleman, yet I have only your worship's bare word; and, certainly,
if the right owner ben't to be found, it all belongs to the first
finder. I hope your worship will consider of all these matters: I am
but a poor man, and therefore don't desire to have all; but it is
but reasonable I should have my share. Your worship looks like a
good man, and, I hope, will consider my honesty; for I might have kept
every farthing, and nobody ever the wiser." "I promise thee, upon my
honour," cries Jones, "that I know the right owner, and will restore
it her." "Nay, your worship," answered the fellow, "may do as you
please as to that; if you will but give me my share, that is, one-half
of the money, your honour may keep the rest yourself if you please;"
and concluded with swearing, by a very vehement oath, "that he would
never mention a syllable of it to any man living."
"Lookee, friend," cries Jones, "the right owner shall certainly have
again all that she lost; and as for any farther gratuity, I really
cannot give it you at present; but let me know your name, and where
you live, and it is more than possible you may hereafter have
further reason to rejoice at this morning's adventure."
"I don't know what you mean by venture," cries the fellow; "it seems
I must venture whether you will return the lady her money or no; but I
hope your worship will consider-" "Come, come," said Partridge,
"tell his honour your name, and where you may be found; I warrant
you will never repent having the money into his hands." The fellow,
seeing no hopes of recovering the possession of the pocket-book, at
last complied in giving in his name and place of abode, which Jones
writ upon a piece of paper with the pencil of Sophia; and then,
placing the paper in the same page where she had writ her name, he
cries out, "There, friend, you are the happiest man alive; I have
joined your name to that of an angel." "I don't know anything about
angels," answered the fellow, "but I wish you would give me a little
more money, or else return me the pocket-book." Partridge now waxed
wroth: he called the poor cripple by several vile and opprobrious
names, and was absolutely proceeding to beat him, but Jones would
not suffer any such thing: and now, telling the fellow he would
certainly find some opportunity of serving him, Mr. Jones departed
as fast as his heels would carry him; and Partridge, into whom the
thoughts of the hundred pound had infused new spirits, followed his
leader; while the man, who was obliged to stay behind, fell to cursing
them both, as well as his parents; "for had they," says he, "sent me
to charity-school to learn to write and read and cast accounts, I
should have known the value of these matters as well as other people."
Chapter 5
Containing more adventures which Mr. Jones and his companion met
on the road
Our travellers now walked so fast, that they had very little time or
breath for conversation; Jones meditating all the way on Sophia, and
Partridge on the bank-bill, which, though it gave him some pleasure,
caused him at the same time to repine at fortune, which, in all his
walks, had never given him such an opportunity of showing his honesty.
They had proceeded above three miles, when Partridge, being unable any
longer to keep up with Jones, called to him, and hima him a little
to slacken his pace: with this he was the more ready to comply, as
he had for some time lost the footsteps of the horses, which the
thaw had enabled him to trace for several miles, and he was now upon a
wide common, where were several roads.
He here therefore stopt to consider which of these roads he should
pursue; when on a sudden they heard the noise of a drum, that seemed
at no great distance. This sound presently alarmed the fears of
Partridge, and he cried out, "Lord have mercy upon us all; they are
certainly a coming!" "Who is coming?" cries Jones; for fear had long
since given place to softer ideas in his mind; and since his adventure
with the lame man, he had been totally intent on pursuing Sophia,
without entertaining one thought of an enemy. "Who?" cries
Partridge, "why, the rebels: but why should I call them rebels? they
may be very honest gentlemen, for anything I know to the contrary. The
devil take him that affronts them, I say; I am sure, if they have
nothing to say to me, I will have nothing to say to them, but in a
civil way. For Heaven's sake, sir, don't affront them if they should
come, and perhaps they may do us no harm; but would it not be the
wiser way to creep into some of yonder bushes, till they are gone
by? What can two unarmed men do perhaps against fifty thousand?
Certainly nobody but a madman; I hope your honour is not offended; but
certainly no man who hath mens sana in corpore sano--" Here Jones
interrupted this torrent of eloquence, fear had inspired, saying,
"That by the drum he perceived they were near some town." He then made
directly towards the place whence the noise proceeded, bidding
Partridge "take courage, for that he would lead him into no danger;
and adding, "it was impossible the rebels should be so near."
Partridge was a little comforted with this last assurance; and
though he would more gladly have gone the contrary way, he followed
his leader, his heart beating time, but not after the manner of
heroes, to the music of the drum, which ceased not till they had
traversed the common, and were come into a narrow lane.
And now Partridge, who kept even pace with Jones, discovered
something painted flying in the air, a very few yards before him,
which fancying to be the colours of the enemy, he fell a bellowing, "O
Lord, sir, here they are; there is the crown and coffin. Oh Lord! I
never saw anything so terrible; and we are within gun-shot of them
already."
Jones no sooner looked up, than he plainly perceived what it was
which Partridge had thus mistaken. "Partridge," says he, "I fancy
you will be able to engage this whole army yourself; for by the
colours I guess what the drum was which we heard before, and which
beats up for recruits to a puppet-show."
"A puppet-show!" answered Partridge, with most eager transport. "And
is it really no more than that? I love a puppet-show of all the
pastimes upon earth. Do, good sir, let us tarry and see it. Besides, I
am quite famished to death; for it is now almost dark, and I have
not eat a morsel since three o'clock in the morning."
They now arrived at an inn, or indeed an ale-house, where Jones
was prevailed upon to stop, the rather as he had no longer any
assurance of being in the road he desired. They walked both directly
into the kitchen, where Jones began to inquire if no ladies had passed
that way in the morning, and Partridge as eagerly examined into the
state of their provisions; and indeed his inquiry met with the
better success; for Jones could not hear news of Sophia; but
Partridge, to his great satisfaction found good reason to expect
very shortly the agreeable sight of an excellent smoaking dish of eggs
and bacon.
In strong and healthy constitutions love hath a very different
effect from what it causes in the puny part of the species. In the
latter it generally destroys all that appetite which tends towards the
conservation of the individual; but in the former, though it often
induces forgetfulness, and a neglect of food, as well as of everything
else; yet place a good piece of well-powdered buttock before a
hungry lover, and he seldom fails very handsomely to play his part.
Thus it happened in the present case; for though Jones perhaps
wanted a prompter, and might have travelled much farther, had he
been alone, with an empty stomach; yet no sooner did he sit down to
the bacon and eggs, than he fell to as heartily and voraciously as
Partridge himself.
Before our travellers had finished their dinner, night came on,
and as the moon was now past the full, it was extremely dark.
Partridge therefore prevailed on Jones to stay and see the
puppet-show, which was just going to begin, and to which they were
very eagerly invited by the master of the said show, who declared
that his figures were the finest which the world had ever produced,
and that they had given great satisfaction to all the quality in
every town in England.
The puppet-show was performed with great regularity and decency.
It was called the fine and serious part of the Provoked Husband; and
it was indeed a very grave and solemn entertainment, without any low
wit, or humour, or jests; or, to do it no more than justice, without
anything which could provoke a laugh. The audience were all highly
pleased. A grave matron told the master she would bring her two
daughters the next night, as he did not show any stuff; and an
attorney's clerk and an exciseman both declared, that the characters
