of our good readers.
Partridge was now highly comforted, as his fears of having
offended were at once abolished, and his pride completely satisfied by
Jones having owned himself in the wrong, which submission he instantly
applied to what had principally nettled him, and repeated in a
muttering voice, "To be sure, sir, your knowledge may be superior to
mine in some things; but as to the grammar, I think I may challenge
any man living. I think, at least, I have that at my finger's end."
If anything could add to the satisfaction which the poor man now
enjoyed, he received this addition by the arrival of an excellent
shoulder of mutton, that at this instant came smoaking to the table.
On which, having both plentifully feasted, they again mounted their
horses, and set forward for London.
Chapter 14
What happened to Mr. Jones in his journey from St. Albans
They were got about two miles beyond Barnet, and it was now the dusk
of the evening, when a genteel-looking man, but upon a very shabby
horse, rode up to Jones, and asked him whether he was going to London;
to which Jones answered in the affirmative. The gentleman replied,
"I should be obliged to you, sir, if you will accept of my company;
for it is very late, and I am a stranger to the road." Jones readily
complied with the request; and on they travelled together, holding
that sort of discourse which is usual on such occasions.
Of this, indeed, robbery was the principal topic: upon which subject
the stranger expressed great apprehensions; but Jones declared he
had very little to lose, and consequently as little to fear. Here
Partridge could not forbear putting in his word. "Your honour," said
he, "may think it a little, but I am sure, if I had a hundred-pound
bank-note in my pocket, as you have, I should be very sorry to lose
it; but, for my part, I never was less afraid in my life; for we are
four of us, and if we all stand by one another, the best man in
England can't rob us. Suppose he should have a pistol, he can kill but
one of us, and a man can die but once.- That's my comfort, a man can
die but once."
Besides the reliance on superior numbers, a kind of valour which
hath raised a certain nation among the moderns to a high pitch of
glory, there was another reason for the extraordinary courage which
Partridge now discovered; for he had at present as much of that
quality as was in the power of liquor to bestow.
Our company were now arrived within a mile of Highgate, when the
stranger turned short upon Jones, and pulling out a pistol, demanded
that little bank-note which Partridge had mentioned.
Jones was at first somewhat shocked at this unexpected demand;
however, he presently recollected himself, and told the highwayman,
all the money he had in his pocket was entirely at his service; and so
saying, he pulled out upwards of three guineas, and offered to deliver
it; but the other answered with an oath, That would not do. Jones
answered coolly, he was very sorry for it, and returned the money into
his pocket.
The highwayman then threatened, if he did not deliver the
bank-note that moment, he must shoot him; holding his pistol at the
same time very near to his breast. Jones instantly caught hold of
the fellow's hand, which trembled so that he could scarce hold the
pistol in it, and turned the muzzle from him. A struggle then
ensued, in which the former wrested the pistol from the hand of his
antagonist, and both came from their horses on the ground together,
the highwayman upon his back, and the victorious Jones upon him.
The poor fellow now began to implore mercy of the conqueror: for, to
say the truth, he was in strength by no means a match for Jones.
"Indeed, sir," says he, "I could have had no intention to shoot you;
for you will find the pistol was not loaded. This is the first robbery
I ever attempted, and I have been driven by distress to this."
At this instant, at about a hundred and fifty yards' distance, lay
another person on the ground, roaring for mercy in a much louder voice
than the highwayman. This was no other than Partridge himself, who,
endeavouring to make his escape from the engagement, had been thrown
from his horse, and lay flat on his face, not daring to look up, and
expecting every minute to be shot.
In this posture he lay, till the guide, who was no otherwise
concerned than for his horses, having secured the stumbling beast,
came up to him, and told him his master had got the better of the
highwayman.
Partridge leapt up at this news, and ran back to the place where
Jones stood with his sword drawn in his hand to guard the poor fellow;
which Partridge no sooner saw, than he cried out, "Kill the villain,
sir, run him through the body, kill him this instant!"
Luckily, however, for the poor wretch, he had fallen into more
merciful hands; for Jones having examined the pistol, and found it
to be really unloaded, began to believe all the man had told him,
before Partridge came up: namely, that he was a novice in the trade,
and that he had been driven to it by the distress he mentioned, the
greatest indeed imaginable, that of five hungry children, and a wife
lying in of the sixth, in the utmost want and misery. The truth of all
which the highwayman most vehemently asserted, and offered to convince
Mr. Jones of it, if he would take the trouble to go to his house,
which was not above two miles off; saying, "That he desired no favour,
but upon condition of proving all he had alledged."
Jones at first pretended that he would take the fellow at his word
and go with him, declaring that his fate should depend entirely on the
truth of his story. Upon this the poor fellow immediately expressed so
much alacrity, that Jones was perfectly satisfied with his veracity,
and began now to entertain sentiments of compassion for him. He
returned the fellow his empty pistol, advised him to think of honester
means of relieving his distress, and gave him a couple of guineas
for the immediate support of his wife and his family; adding, "he
wished he had more for his sake, for the hundred pound that had been
mentioned was not his own."
Our readers will probably be divided in their opinions concerning
this action; some may applaud it perhaps as an act of extraordinary
humanity, while those of a more saturnine temper will consider it as a
want of regard to that justice which every man owes his country.
Partridge certainly saw it in that light; for he testified much
dissatisfaction on the occasion, quoted an old proverb, and said, he
should not wonder if the rogue attacked them again before they reached
London.
The highwayman was full of expressions of thankfulness and
gratitude. He actually dropt tears, or pretended so to do. He vowed he
would immediately return home, and would never afterwards commit
such a transgression: whether he kept his word or no, perhaps may
appear hereafter.
Our travellers having remounted their horses, arrived in town
without encountering any new mishap. On the road much pleasant
discourse passed between Jones and Partridge, on the subject of their
last adventure: in which Jones exprest a great compassion for those
highwaymen who are, by unavoidable distress, driven, as it were, to
such illegal courses as generally bring them to a shameful death: "I
mean," said he, "those only whose highest guilt extends no farther
than to robbery, and who are never guilty of cruelty nor insult to any
person, which is a circumstance that, I must say, to the honour of our
country, distinguishes the robbers of England from those of all
other nations; for murder is, amongst those, almost inseparably
incident to robbery."
"No doubt," answered Partridge, "it is better to take away one's
money than one's life; and yet it is very hard upon honest men, that
they can't travel about their business without being in danger of
these villains. And to be sure it would be better that all rogues were
hanged out of the way, than that one honest man should suffer. For
my own part, indeed, I should not care to have the blood of any of
them on my hands; but it is very proper for the law to hang them
all. What right hath any man to take sixpence from me, unless I give
it him? Is there any honesty in such a man?"
"No, surely," cries Jones, "no more than there is in him who takes
the horses out of another man's stable, or who applies to his own
use the money which he finds, when he knows the right owner."
These hints stopt the mouth of Partridge; nor did he open it again
till Jones, having thrown some sarcastical jokes on his cowardice,
he offered to excuse himself on the inequality of firearms, saying, "A
thousand naked men are nothing to one pistol; for though it is true it
will kill but one at a single discharge, yet who can tell but that one
may be himself?"
BOOK XIII
CONTAINING THE SPACE OF TWELVE DAYS
Chapter 1
An invocation
Come, bright love of fame, inspire my glowing breast: not thee I
call, who, over swelling tides of blood and tears, dost bear the heroe
on to glory, while sighs of millions waft his spreading sails; but
thee, fair, gentle maid, whom Mnesis, happy nympth, first on the banks
of Hebrus did produce. Thee, whom Maeonia educated, whom Mantua
charmed, and who, on that fair hill which overlooks the proud
metropolis of Britain, sat'st, with thy Milton, sweetly tuning the
heroic lyre; fill my ravished fancy with the hopes of charming ages
yet to come. Foretel me that some tender maid, whose grandmother is
yet unborn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of Sophia,
she reads the real worth which once existed in my Charlotte, shall
from her sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh. Do thou teach
me not only to foresee, but to enjoy, nay, even to feed on future
praise. Comfort me by a solemn assurance, that when the little parlour
in which I sit at this instant shall be reduced to a worse furnished
box, I shall be read with honour by those who never knew nor saw me,
and whom I shall neither know nor see.
And thou, much plumper dame, whom no airy forms nor phantoms of
imagination cloathe; whom the well-seasoned beef, and pudding richly
stained with plums, delight: thee I call: of whom in a treckschuyte,
in some Dutch canal, the fat Jufvrouw Gelt, impregnated by a jolly
merchant of Amsterdam, was delivered: in Grub-street school didst thou
suck in the clements of thy erudition. Here hast thou, in thy
maturer age, taught poetry to tickle not the fancy, but the pride of
the patron. Comedy from thee learns a grave and solemn air; while
tragedy storms aloud, and rends th' affrighted theatres with its
thunders. To soothe thy wearied limbs in slumber, Alderman History
tells his tedious tale; and, again, to awaken thee, Monsieur Romance
performs his surprizing tricks of dexterity. Nor less thy well-fed
bookseller obeys thy influence. By thy advice the heavy, unread, folio
lump, which long had dozed on the dusty shelf, piecemealed into
numbers, runs nimbly through the nation. Instructed by thee, some
books, like quacks, impose on the world by promising wonders; while
others turn beaus, and trust all their merits to a gilded outside.
Come, thou jolly substance, with thy shining face, keep back thy
inspiration, but hold forth thy tempting rewards; thy shining,
chinking heap; thy quickly convertible bank-bill, big with unseen
riches; thy often-varying stock; the warm, the comfortable house; and,
lastly, a fair portion of that bounteous mother, whose flowing breasts
yield redundant sustenance for all her numerous offspring, did not
some too greedily and wantonly drive their brethren from the teat.
Come thou, and if I am too tasteless of thy valuable treasures, warm
my heart with the transporting thought of conveying them to others.
Tell me, that through thy bounty, the pratling babes, whose innocent
play hath often been interrupted by my labours, may one time be
amply rewarded for them.
And now this ill-yoked pair, this lean shadow and this fat
substance, have prompted me to write, whose assistance shall I
invoke to direct my pen?
First, Genius; thou gift of Heaven; without whose aid in vain we
struggle against the stream of nature. Thou who dost sow the
generous seeds which art nourishes, and brings to perfection. Do
thou kindly take me by the hand, and lead me through all the mazes,
the winding labyrinths of nature. Initiate me into all those mysteries
which profane eyes never beheld. Teach me, which to thee is no
difficult task, to know mankind better than they know themselves.
Remove that mist which dims the intellects of mortals, and causes them
to adore men for their art, or to detest them for their cunning, in
deceiving others, when they are, in reality, the objects only of
ridicule, for deceiving themselves. Strip off the thin disguise of
wisdom from self-conceit, of plenty from avarice, and of glory from
ambition. Come, thou that hast inspired thy Aristophanes, thy
Lucian, thy Cervantes, thy Rabelais, thy Moliere, thy Shakespear,
thy Swift, thy Marivaux, fill my pages with humour; till mankind learn
the good-nature to laugh only at the follies of others, and the
humility to grieve at their own.
And thou, almost the constant attendant on true genius, Humanity,
bring all thy tender sensations. If thou hast already disposed of them
all between thy Allen and thy Lyttleton, steal them a little while
from their bosoms. Not without these the tender scene is painted. From
these alone proceed the noble, disinterested friendship, the melting
love, the generous sentiment, the ardent gratitude, the soft
compassion, the candid opinion; and all those strong energies of
a good mind, which fill the moistened eyes with tears, the glowing
cheeks with blood, and swell the heart with tides of grief, joy, and
