sagacious readers, very absurd and monstrous, that he should
principally owe his present misfortune to the supposed want of that
delicacy with which he so abounded; for, in reality, Sophia was much
more offended at the freedoms which she thought (and not without
good reason) he had taken with her name and character, than at any
freedoms, in which, under his present circumstances, he had indulged
himself with the person of another woman; and to say truth, I
believe Honour could never have prevailed on her to leave Upton
without her seeing Jones, had it not been for those two strong
instances of a levity in his behaviour, so void of respect, and indeed
so highly inconsistent with any degree of love and tenderness in great
and delicate minds.
But so matters fell out, and so I must relate them; and if any
reader is shocked at their appearing unnatural, I cannot help it. I
must remind such persons that I am not writing a system, but a
history, and I am not obliged to reconcile every matter to the
received notions concerning truth and nature. But if this was never so
easy to do, perhaps it might be more prudent in me to avoid it. For
instance, as the fact at present before us now stands, without any
comment of mine upon it, though it may at first sight offend some
readers, yet, upon more mature consideration, it must please all;
for wise and good men may consider what happened to Jones at Upton
as a just punishment for his wickedness with regard to women, of which
it was indeed the immediate consequence; and silly and bad persons may
comfort themselves in their vices, by flattering their own hearts that
the characters of men are rather owing to accident than to virtue.
Now, perhaps, the reflections which we should be here inclined to
draw, would alike contradict both these conclusions, and would show
that these incidents contribute only to confirm the great, useful, and
uncommon doctrine, which it is the purpose of this whole work to
inculcate, and which we must not fill up our pages by frequently
repeating, as an ordinary parson fills his sermon by repeating his
text at the end of every paragraph.
We are contented that it must appear, however unhappily Sophia had
erred in her opinion of Jones, she had sufficient reason for her
opinion; since, I believe, every other young lady would, in her
situation, have erred in the same manner. Nay, had she followed her
lover at this very time, and had entered this very alehouse the moment
he was departed from it, she would have found the landlord as well
acquainted with her name and person as the wench at Upton had appeared
to be. For while Jones was examining his boy in whispers in an inner
room, Partridge, who had no such delicacy in his disposition, was in
the kitchen very openly catechising the other guide who had attended
Mrs. Fitzpatrick; by which means the landlord, whose ears were open on
all such occasions, became perfectly well acquainted with the tumble
of Sophia from her horse, &c., with the mistake concerning Jenny
Cameron, with the many consequences of the punch, and, in short,
with almost everything which had happened at the inn, whence we
dispatched our ladies in a coach-and-six when we last took our
leaves of them.
Chapter 9
Containing little more than a few odd observations
Jones had been absent a full half-hour, when he returned into the
kitchen in a hurry, desiring the landlord to let him know that instant
what was to pay. And now the concern which Partridge felt at being
obliged to quit the warm chimney-corner, and a cup of excellent
liquor, was somewhat compensated by hearing that he was to proceed
no farther on foot, for Jones, by golden arguments, had prevailed with
the boy to attend him back to the inn whither he had before
conducted Sophia; but to this however the lad consented, upon
condition that the other guide would wait for him at the alehouse;
because, as the landlord at Upton was an intimate acquaintance of
the landlord at Gloucester, it might some time or other come to the
ears of the latter, that his horses had been let to more than one
person; and so the boy might be brought to account for money which
he wisely intended to put in his own pocket.
We were obliged to mention this circumstance, trifling as it may
seem, since it retarded Mr. Jones a considerable time in his setting
out; for the honesty of this latter boy was somewhat high- that is,
somewhat high-priced, and would indeed have cost Jones very dear,
had not Partridge, who, as we have said, was a very cunning fellow,
artfully thrown in half-a-crown to be spent at that very alehouse,
while the boy was waiting for his companion. This half-crown the
landlord no sooner got scent of, than he opened after it with such
vehement and persuasive outcry, that the boy was soon overcome, and
consented to take half-a-crown more for his stay. Here we cannot
help observing, that as there is so much of policy in the lowest life,
great men often overvalue themselves on these refinements in
imposture, in which they are frequently excelled by some of the lowest
of the human species.
The horses being now produced, Jones directly leapt into the
side-saddle, on which his dear Sophia had rid. The lad, indeed, very
civilly offered him the use of his: but he chose the side-saddle,
probably because it was softer. Partridge, however, though full as
effeminate as Jones, could not bear the thoughts of degrading his
manhood; he therefore accepted the boy's offer: and now, Jones being
mounted on the side-saddle of his Sophia, the boy on that of Mrs.
Honour, and Partridge bestriding the third horse, they set forwards on
their journey, and within four hours arrived at the inn where the
reader hath already spent so much time. Partridge was in very high
spirits during the whole way, and often mentioned to Jones the many
good omens of his future success, which had lately befriended him; and
which the reader, without being the least superstitious, must allow to
have been particularly fortunate. Partridge was moreover better
pleased with the present pursuit of his companion, than he had been
with his pursuit of glory; and from these very omens, which assured
the pedagogue of success, he likewise first acquired a clear idea of
the amour between Jones and Sophia; to which he had before given
very little attention, as he had originally taken a wrong scent
concerning the reasons of Jones's departure; and as to what happened
at Upton, he was too much frightened just before and after his leaving
that place, to draw any other conclusions from thence, than that
poor Jones was a downright madman: a conceit which was not at all
disagreeable to the opinion he before had of his extraordinary
wildness, of which, he thought, his behaviour on their quitting
Gloucester so well justified all the accounts he had formerly
received. He was now, however, pretty well satisfied with his
present expedition, and henceforth began to conceive much worthier
sentiments of his friend's understanding.
The clock had just struck three when they arrived, and Jones
immediately bespoke posthorses; but unluckily there was not a horse to
be procured in the whole place; which the reader will not wonder at,
when he considers the hurry in which the whole nation, and
especially this part of it, was at this time engaged, when expresses
were passing and repassing every hour of the day and night.
Jones endeavoured all he could to prevail with his former guide to
escorte him to Coventry; but he was inexorable. While he was arguing
with the boy in the inn-yard, a person came up to him, and saluting
him by his name, inquired how all the good family did in
Somersetshire; and now Jones casting his eyes upon this person,
presently discovered him to be Mr. Dowling, the lawyer, with whom he
had dined at Gloucester, and with much courtesy returned the
salutation.
Dowling very earnestly pressed Mr. Jones to go no further that
night; and backed his solicitations with many unanswerable
arguments, such as, that it was almost dark, that the roads were
very dirty, and that he would be able to travel much better by
day-light, with many others equally good, some of which Jones had
probably suggested to himself before; but as they were then
ineffectual, so they were still: and he continued resolute in his
design, even though he should be obliged to set out on foot.
When the good attorney found he could not prevail on Jones to
stay, he as strenuously applied himself to persuade the guide to
accompany him. He urged many motives to induce him to undertake this
short journey, and at last concluded with saying, "Do you think the
gentleman won't very well reward you for your trouble?"
Two to one are odds at every other thing, as well as at footfall.
But the advantage which this united force hath in persuasion or
entreaty, must have been visible to a curious observer; for he must
have often seen, that when a father, a master, a wife, or any other
person in authority, have stoutly adhered to a denial against all
the reasons which a single man could produce, they have afterwards
yielded to the repetition of the same sentiments by a second or
third person, who hath undertaken the cause, without attempting to
advance anything new in its behalf. And hence, perhaps, proceeds the
phrase of seconding an argument or a motion, and the great consequence
this is of in all assemblies of public debate. Hence, likewise,
probably it is, that in our courts of law we often hear a learned
gentleman (generally a serjeant) repeating for an hour together what
another learned gentleman, who spoke just before him, had been saying.
Instead of accounting for this, we shall proceed in our usual manner
to exemplify it in the conduct of the lad above mentioned, who
submitted to the persuasions of Mr. Dowling, and promised once more to
admit Jones into his side-saddle; but insisted on first giving the
poor creatures a good bait, saying, they had travelled a great way,
and been rid very hard. Indeed this caution of the boy was needless;
for Jones, notwithstanding his hurry and impatience, would have
ordered this of himself; for he by no means agreed with the opinion of
those who consider animals as mere machines, and when they bury
their spurs in the belly of their horse, imagine the spur and the
horse to have an equal capacity of feeling pain.
While the beasts were eating their corn, or rather were supposed
to eat it (for, as the boy was taking care of himself in the
kitchen, the ostler took great care that his corn should not be
consumed in the stable), Mr. Jones, at the earnest desire of Mr.
Dowling, accompanied that gentleman into his room, where they sat down
together over a bottle of wine.
Chapter 10
In which Mr. Jones and Mr. Dowling drink a bottle together
Mr. Dowling, pouring out a glass of wine, named the health of the
good Squire Allworthy; adding, "If you please, sir, we will likewise
remember his nephew and heir, the young squire: Come, sir, here's
Mr. Blifil to you, a very pretty young gentleman; and who, I dare
swear, will hereafter make a very considerable figure in his
country. I have a borough for him myself in my eye."
"Sir," answered Jones, "I am convinced you don't intend to affront
me, so I shall not resent it; but I promise you, you have joined two
persons very improperly together; for one is the glory of the human
species, and the other is a rascal who dishonours the name of man."
Dowling stared at this. He said, "He thought both the gentlemen
had a very unexceptionable character. As for Squire Allworthy
himself," says he, "I never had the happiness to see him; but all
the world talks of his goodness. And, indeed, as to the young
gentleman, I never saw him but once, when I carried to him the news of
the loss of his mother; and then I was so hurried, and drove, and tore
with the multiplicity of business, that I had hardly time to
converse with him; but he looked so like a very honest gentleman,
and behaved himself so prettily, that I protest I never was more
delighted with any gentleman since I was born."
"I don't wonder," answered Jones, "that he should impose upon you in
so short an acquaintance; for he hath the cunning of the devil
himself, and you may live with him many years, without discovering
him. I was bred up with him from my infancy, and we were hardly ever
asunder; but it is very lately only that I have discovered half the
villany which is in him. I own I never greatly liked him. I thought he
wanted that generosity of spirit, which is the sure foundation of
all that is great and noble in human nature. I saw a selfishness in
him long ago which I despised; but it is lately, very lately, that I
have found him capable of the basest and blackest designs; for,
indeed, I have at last found out, that he hath taken an advantage of
the openness of my own temper, and hath concerted the deepest project,
by a long train of wicked artifice, to work my ruin, which at last
he hath effected."
"Ay! ay!" cries Dowling; "I protest, then, it is a pity such a
person should inherit the great estate of your uncle Allworthy."
"Alas, sir," cries Jones, "you do me an honour to which I have no
title. It is true, indeed, his goodness once allowed me the liberty of
calling him by a much nearer name; but as this was only a voluntary
act of goodness, I can complain of no injustice when he thinks
proper to deprive me of this honour; since the loss cannot be more
unmerited than the gift originally was. I assure you, sir, I am no
relation of Mr. Allworthy; and if the world, who are incapable of
setting a true value on his virtue, should think, in his behaviour
to me, he hath dealt hardly by a relation, they do an injustice to the
best of men: for I- but I ask your pardon, I shall trouble you with
no particulars relating to myself; only as you seemed to think me a
