incident, he had the greater latitude to draw what imaginary
conclusions from it he pleased. As his temper therefore was
naturally sanguine, he indulged it on this occasion, and his
imagination worked up a thousand conceits, to favour and support his
expectations of meeting his dear Sophia in the evening.
Reader, if thou hast any good wishes towards me, I will fully
repay them by wishing thee to be possessed of this sanguine
disposition of mind; since, after having read much and considered long
on that subject of happiness which hath employed so many great pens, I
am almost inclined to fix it in the possession of this temper; which
puts us, in a manner, out of the reach of Fortune, and makes us
happy without her assistance. Indeed, the sensations of pleasure it
gives are much more constant, as well as much keener, than those which
that blind lady bestows; nature having wisely contrived, that some
satiety and languor should be annexed to all our real enjoyments, lest
we should be so taken up by them, as to be stopt from further
pursuits. I make no manner of doubt but that, in this light, we may
see the imaginary future chancellor just called to the bar, the
archbishop in crape, and the prime minister at the tail of an
opposition, more truly happy than those who are invested with all
the power and profit of those respective offices.
Mr. Jones having now determined to go to the masquerade that
evening, Mr. Nightingale offered to conduct him thither. The young
gentleman, at the same time, offered tickets to Miss Nancy and her
mother; but the good woman would not accept them. She said, "she did
not conceive the harm which some people imagined in a masquerade;
but that such extravagant diversions were proper only for persons of
quality and fortune, and not for young women who were to get their
living, and could, at best, hope to be married to a good
tradesman."-- "A tradesman!" cries Nightingale, you shan't undervalue
my Nancy. There is not a nobleman upon earth above her merit." "O fie!
Mr. Nightingale," answered Mrs. Miller, "you must not fill the
girl's head with such fancies: but if it was her good luck" (says
the mother with a simper) "to find a gentleman of your generous way of
thinking, I hope she would make a better return to his generosity than
to give her mind up to extravagant pleasures. Indeed, where young
ladies bring great fortunes themselves, they have some right to insist
on spending what is their own; and on that account I have heard the
gentlemen say, a man has sometimes a better bargain with a poor
wife, than with a rich one.-- But let my daughters marry whom they
will, I shall endeavour to make them blessings to their husbands:-- I
beg, therefore, I may hear of no more masquerades. Nancy is, I am
certain, too good a girl to desire to go; for she must remember when
you carried her thither last year, it almost turned her head; and
she did not return to herself, or to her needle, in a month
afterwards."
Though a gentle sigh, which stole from the bosom of Nancy, seemed to
argue some secret disapprobation of these sentiments, she did not dare
openly to oppose them. For as this good woman had all the
tenderness, so she had preserved all the authority of a parent; and as
her indulgence to the desires of her children was restrained only by
her fears for their safety and future welfare, so she never suffered
those commands which proceeded from such fears to be either
disobeyed or disputed. And this the young gentleman, who had lodged
two years in the house, knew so well, that he presently acquiesced
in the refusal.
Mr. Nightingale, who grew every minute fonder of Jones, was very
desirous of his company that day to dinner at the tavern, where he
offered to introduce him to some of his acquaintance; but Jones begged
to be excused, "as his cloaths," he said, "were not yet come to town."
To confess the truth, Mr. Jones was now in a situation, which
sometimes happens to be the case of young gentlemen of much better
figure than himself. In short, he had not one penny in his pocket; a
situation in much greater credit among the antient philosophers,
than among the modern wise men who live in Lombard-street, or those
who frequent White's chocolate-house. And, perhaps, the great
honours which those philosophers have ascribed to an empty pocket, may
be one of the reasons of that high contempt in which they are held
in the aforesaid street and chocolate-house.
Now if the antient opinion, that men might live very comfortably
on virtue only, be, as the modern wise men just above-mentioned
pretend to have discovered, a notorious error; no less false is, I
apprehend, that position of some writers of romance, that a man can
live altogether on love: for however delicious repasts this may afford
to some of our senses or appetites, it is most certain it can afford
none to others. Those, therefore, who have placed too great a
confidence in such writers, have experienced their error when it was
too late; and have found that love was no more capable of allaying
hunger, than a rose is capable of delighting the ear, or a violin of
gratifying the smell.
Notwithstanding, therefore, all the delicacies which love had set
before him, namely, the hopes of seeing Sophia at the masquerade; on
which, however ill-founded his imagination might be, he had
voluptuously feasted during the whole day, the evening no sooner came,
than Mr. Jones began to languish for some food of a grosser kind.
Partridge discovered this by intuition, and took the occasion to
give some oblique hints concerning the bankbill; and, when these
were rejected with disdain, he collected courage enough once more to
mention a return to Mr. Allworthy.
"Partridge," cries Jones, "you cannot see my fortune in a more
desperate light than I see it myself; and I begin heartily to repent
that I suffered you to leave a place where you was settled, and to
follow me. However, I insist now on your returning home; and for the
expense and trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my
account, all the cloaths I left behind in your care I desire you would
take as your own. I am sorry I can make you no other acknowledgment."
He spoke these words with so pathetic an accent, that Partridge,
among whose vices ill-nature or hardness of heart were not numbered,
burst into tears; and after swearing he would not quit him in his
distress, he began with the most earnest entreaties to urge his return
home. "For heaven's sake, sir," says he, "do but consider; what can
your honour do?- how is it possible you can live in this town without
money? Do what you will, sir, or go wherever you please, I am resolved
not to desert you. But pray, sir, consider- do pray, sir, for your
own sake, take it into your consideration; and I'm sure," says he,
"that your own good sense will bid you return home."
"How often shall I tell thee," answered Jones, "that I have no
home to return to? Had I any hopes that Mr. Allworthy's doors would be
open to receive me, I want no distress to urge me- nay, there is no
other cause upon earth, which could detain me a moment from flying
to his presence; but, alas! that I am for ever banished from. His last
words were- O, Partridge, they still ring in my ears- his last words
were, when he gave me a sum of money- what it was I know not, but
considerable I'm sure it was- his last words were- 'I am resolved from
this day forward, on no account, to converse with you any more.'
Here passion stopt the mouth of Jones, as surprize for a moment
did that of Partridge; but he soon recovered the use of speech, and
after a short preface, in which he declared he had no
inquisitiveness in his temper, inquired what Jones meant by a
considerable sum- he knew not how much- and what was become of the
money.
In both these points he now received full satisfaction; on which
he was proceeding to comment, when he was interrupted by a message
from Mr. Nightingale, who desired his master's company in his
apartment.
When the two gentlemen were both attired for the masquerade, and Mr.
Nightingale had given orders for chairs to be sent for, a circumstance
of distress occurred to Jones, which will appear very ridiculous to
many of my readers. This was how to procure a shilling; but if such
readers will reflect a little on what they have themselves felt from
the want of a thousand pounds, or, perhaps, of ten or twenty, to
execute a favourite scheme, they will have a perfect idea of what
Mr. Jones felt on this occasion. For this sum, therefore, he applied
to Partridge, which was the first he had permitted him to advance, and
was the last he intended that poor fellow should advance in his
service. To say the truth, Partridge had lately made no offer of
this kind. Whether it was that he desired to see the bank-bill broke
in upon, or that distress should prevail on Jones to return home, or
from what other motive it proceeded, I will not determine.
Chapter 7
Containing the whole humours of a masquerade
Our cavaliers now arrived at that temple, where Heydegger, the great
Arbiter Deliciarum, the great high-priest of pleasure, presides;
and, like other heathen priests, imposes on his votaries by the
pretended presence of the deity, when in reality no such deity is
there.
Mr. Nightingale, having taken a turn or two with his companion, soon
left him, and walked off with a female, saying, "Now you are here,
sir, you must beat about for your own game."
Jones began to entertain strong hopes that his Sophia was present;
and these hopes gave him more spirits than the lights, the music,
and the company; though these are pretty strong antidotes against
the spleen. He now accosted every woman he saw, whose stature,
shape, or air, bore any resemblance to his angel. To all of whom he
endeavoured to say something smart, in order to engage an answer, by
which he might discover that voice which he thought it impossible he
should mistake. Some of these answered by a question, in a squeaking
voice, Do you know me? Much the greater number said, I don't know you,
sir, and nothing more. Some called him an impertinent fellow; some
made him no answer at all; some said, Indeed I don't know your
voice, and I shall have nothing to say to you; and many gave him as
kind answers as he could wish, but not in the voice he desired to
hear.
Whilst he was talking with one of these last (who was in the habit
of a shepherdess) a lady in a domino came up to him, and slapping
him on the shoulder, whispered him, at the same time, in the ear,
"If you talk any longer with that trollop, I will acquaint Miss
Western."
Jones no sooner heard that name, than, immediately quitting his
former companion, he applied to the domino, begging and entreating her
to show him the lady she had mentioned, if she was then in the room.
The mask walked hastily to the upper end of the innermost
apartment before she spoke; and then, instead of answering him, sat
down, and declared she was tired. Jones sat down by her, and still
persisted in his entreaties: at last the lady coldly answered, "I
imagined Mr. Jones had been a more discerning lover, than to suffer
any disguise to conceal his mistress from him." "Is she here, then,
madam?" replied Jones, with some vehemence. Upon which the lady
cries- "Hush, sir, you will be observed. I promise you, upon my
honour, Miss Western is not here."
Jones, now taking the mask by the hand, fell to entreating her in
the most earnest manner, to acquaint him where he might find Sophia:
and when he could obtain no direct answer, he began to upbraid her
gently for having disappointed him the day before; and concluded,
saying, "Indeed, my good fairy queen, I know your majesty very well,
notwithstanding the affected disguise of your voice. Indeed, Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, it is a little cruel to divert yourself at the expense of
my torments."
The mask answered, "Though you have so ingeniously discovered me,
I must still speak in the same voice, lest I should be known by
others. And do you think, good sir, that I have no greater regard
for my cousin, than to assist in carrying on an affair between you
two, which must end in her ruin, as well as your own? Besides, I
promise you, my cousin is not mad enough to consent to her own
destruction, if you are so much her enemy as to tempt her to it."
"Alas, madam!" said Jones, "you little know my heart, when you
call me an enemy of Sophia."
"And yet to ruin any one," cries the other, "you will allow, is
the act of an enemy; and when by the same act you must knowingly and
certainly bring ruin on yourself, is it not folly or madness, as
well as guilt? Now, sir, my cousin hath very little more than her
father will please to give her; very little for one of her fashion-
you know him, and you know your own situation."
Jones vowed he had no such design on Sophia, "That he would rather
suffer the most violent of deaths than sacrifice her interest to his
desires." He said, "he knew how unworthy he was of her, every way,
that he had long ago resolved to quit all such aspiring thoughts,
but that some strange accidents had made him desirous to see her
once more, when he promised he would take leave of her for ever. No,
madam," concluded he, "my love is not of that base kind which seeks
its own satisfaction at the expense of what is most dear to its
object. I would sacrifice everything to the possession of my Sophia,
but Sophia herself."
Though the reader may have already conceived no very sublime idea of
the virtue of the lady in the mask; and though possibly she may
hereafter appear not to deserve one of the first characters of her
sex; yet, it is certain, these generous sentiments made a strong
