The history of the adventures of Joseph Andrews and his friend Mr Abraham Adams

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

Comefcic Ibumaine

THE HISTORY OF THE
ADVENTURES OF

JOSEPH ANDREWS

AND HIS FRIEND
MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS

BY

HENRY FIELDING

Gbe Englisb
ComeMe Ibumaine

Masterpieces of the great
English novelists in which
are portrayed the varying
aspects of English life from
the time of Addison to the
present day : a series anal-
ogous to that in which
Balzac depicted the man-
ners and morals of his
French contemporaries.

"The whole town hath known it this half year'

Cbe Enfllteb ComcMe Ibumatnc

THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF

JOSEPH ANDREWS

AND HIS FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS

BY

HENRY FIELDING

}!M*<Q

7S

NEW YORK

Gbe Century Co.
1904

J

Copyright, 1902, by
The Century Co.

Published November, IQ02.

345M

PR
J71

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

Henry Fielding, by common consent of the critics the greatest
of English novelists, was born near Glastonbury in Somerset-
shire in 1707 and died at Lisbon, whither he had gone for his
health, in 1754. The greater part of his life was spent in Lon-
don. At the outset of his career there he was obliged, as he
said, to choose between the work of a hackney coachman and
that of a hackney writer, and selecting the latter applied himself
to the composing of plays. Meeting with but indifferent success
in this occupation, he turned to the law, was admitted to the
bar in 1740, and later became a justice of the peace and chair-
man of quarter sessions.

His first novel, " Joseph_AndrejKS_" (published in 1742), was
suggested by, and is in part a parody of, Richardson's " Pa-
mela" (which is included in this " Comedie Humaine "). The
superfine sentiment and priggishness of that famous romance
were distasteful to Fielding's vigorous and eminently masculine
mind, and he undertook to make the career of the virtuous
Pamela ridiculous by means of the parallel career of her virtuous
brother Joseph. The burlesque was not, however, carried far,
for his characters soon demanded, and received, independent
treatment — the result being at once a masterpiece of fiction, one
of the most perfect of prose comedies, and a picture of real life
which has seldom been surpassed. It is not so much a parody
on the work of Richardson as its complement. The sentimental
printer endeavored to show, from the point of view of a very
commonplace moral ideal, how men and, especially, women
ought to conduct themselves; the virile playwright actually
showed how the real men and women of his time did conduct
themselves. There is in Fielding's picture of the life of his
country and time too much of frank vulgarity — too much cer-
tainly for modern taste; but apart from this, it is worthy to be
placed among the greatest masterpieces of realistic fiction.

CHAPTER

CONTENTS

Preface xv

BOOK I.

PAGE

i Of writing Lives in general, and particularly
of Pamela; with a word by the bye of Colley

ClBBER AND OTHERS 3

ii Of Mr Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage,

EDUCATION, AND GREAT ENDOWMENTS; WITH A
WORD OR TWO CONCERNING ANCESTORS .... 5

in Of Mr Abraham Adams the curate, Mrs Slip-
slop THE CHAMBERMAID, AND OTHERS .... 7

iv What happened after their journey to London i i
v The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the

AFFECTIONATE AND MOURNFUL BEHAVIOUR OF HIS
WIDOW, AND THE GREAT PURITY OF JOSEPH

Andrews '3

vi How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister

Pamela J5

vii Sayings of wise men. A dialogue between the

LADY AND HER MAID; AND A PANEGYRIC, OR
RATHER SATIRE, ON THE PASSION OF LOVE, IN THE
SUBLIME STYLE 1 9

VIII In which, after some very fine writing, the

HISTORY GOES ON, AND RELATES THE INTERVIEW
BETWEEN THE LADY AND JOSEPH; WHERE THE
LATTER HATH SET AN EXAMPLE WHICH WE DE-
SPAIR OF SEEING FOLLOWED BY HIS SEX IN THIS
VICIOUS AGE 22

vii

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PACE

i\ What passed between the lady and Mrs Slip-
slop; IN WHICH WE PROPHESY THERE ARE SOME
STROKES WHICH EVERY ONE WILL NOT TRULY COM-
PREHEND AT THE FIRST READING 26

x Joseph writes another letter: his transactions
with Mr Peter Pounce, etc., with his depart-
ure from Lady Booby 3°

xi Of several new matters not expected ... 32

xii Containing many surprizing adventures which
Joseph Andrews met with on the road, scarce
credible to those who have never travelled
in a stage-coach 35

xin What happened to Joseph during his sickness

AT THE INN, WITH THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE BE-
TWEEN him and Mr Barnabas, the parson of

THE PARISH 41

xiv Being very full of adventures which succeeded

each other at the inn 44

xv Showing how Mrs Tow-wouse was a little
mollified; and how officious Mr Barnabas
and the surgeon were to prosecute the thief:
with a dissertation accounting for their
zeal, and that of many other persons not
mentioned in this history 49

xvi The escape ote the thief. Mr Adams's dis-
appointmf 't. The arrival of two very ex-
traordi1 y personages, and the introduc-
TION of Parson Adams to Parson Barnabas . 53

XVII A PLEASANT DISCOURSE BETWEEN THE TWO PARSONS
AND THE BOOKSELLER, WHICH WAS BROKE OFF BY
AN UNLUCKY ACCIDENT HAPPENING IN THE INN,
WHICH PRODUCED A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MRS TOW-
WOUSE AND HER MAID OF NO GENTLE KIND . . 6l

xvm The history of Betty the chambermaid, and an

ACCOUNT OF WHAT OCCASIONED THE VIOLENT
SCENE IN THE PRECEDING CHAPTER

viii

66

CONTENTS
BOOK II.

CHAPTER PAGE

I Of divisions in authors 70

11 A surprizing instance of Mr Adams's short mem-
ory, WITH THE UNFORTUNATE CONSEQUENCES WHICH
IT BROUGHT ON JOSEPH J2

III THE OPINION OF TWO LAWYERS CONCERNING THE
SAME GENTLEMAN, WITH MR ADAMS'S INQUIRY INTO
THE RELIGION OF HIS HOST 77

iv The history of Leonora, or the unfortunate

JILT 83

V A DREADFUL QUARREL WHICH HAPPENED AT THE INN
WHERE THE COMPANY DINED, WITH ITS BLOODY
CONSEQUENCES TO MR ADAMS 98

vi Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt 106

VII A VERY SHORT CHAPTER, IN WHICH PARSON ADAMS

WENT A GREAT WAY I IO

VIII A NOTABLE DISSERTATION BY MR ABRAHAM ADAMS;
WHEREIN THAT GENTLEMAN APPEARS IN A POLITI-
CAL LIGHT 112

IX IN WHICH THE GENTLEMAN DESCANTS ON BRAVERY
AND HEROIC VIRTUE, TILL AN UNLUCKY ACCIDENT
PUTS AN END TO THE DISCOURSE I 1 5

x Giving an account of the strange catastrophe
of the preceding adventure, w, tch drew poor
Adams into fresh calamities; nd who the
woman was who owed the preservation of her
chastity to his victorious arm 120

xi What happened to them while before the jus-
tice. A CHAPTER VERY FULL OF LEARNING . . . 1 25

XII A VERY DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE, AS WELL TO THE
PERSONS CONCERNED AS TO THE GOOD-NATURED
READER 131

xiii a dissertation concerning high people and low
people, with Mrs Slipslop's departure in no

ix

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

VERY GOOD TEMPER OF MIND, AND THE EVIL PLIGHT

IN WHICH SHE LEFT ADAMS AND HIS COMPANY . . 135

xiv An interview between Parson Adams and Parson

Trulliber 141

xv An adventure the consequence of a new instance

which Parson Adams gave of his forgetfulness. 147

xvi a very curious adventure, in which mr adams
gave a much greater instance of the honest
simplicity of his heart, than of his experi-
ence in the ways of this world 150

xvii a dialogue between mr abraham adams and his
host, which, by the disagreement in their
opinions, seemed to threaten an unlucky catas-
trophe, had it not been timely prevented by
the return of the lovers 1 57

BOOK III.

1 Matter prefatory in praise of biography . . . 164

ii a night-scene, wherein several wonderful ad-
VENTURES befel Adams and his fellow-trav-
ellers 169

in In which the gentleman relates the history of

his life 178

iv A description of Mr Wilson's way of living.
The tragical adventures of the dog, and
other grave matters 201

v a disputation on schools held on the road by
Mr Abraham Adams and Joseph; and a dis-
covery NOT UNWELCOME TO THEM BOTH .... 205

vi Moral reflections by Joseph Andrews; with the

HUNTING ADVENTURE, AND PARSON ADAMS'S MIRAC-
ULOUS ESCAPE 209

VII A SCENE OF ROASTING, VERY NICELY ADAPTED TO THE

PRESENT TASTE AND TIMES 2l8

X

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

vin Which some readers will think too short and

OTHERS TOO LONG 226

ix Containing as surprizing and bloody adventures
as can be found in this or perhaps any other
authentic history 230

x a discourse between the poet and the player;
of no other use in this history but to divert
the reader . 234

xi Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams
to his friend in affliction; calculated for
the instruction and improvement of the

READER 238

xii More adventures, which we hope will as much

please as surprize the reader 241

xiii a curious dialogue which passed between mr
Abraham Adams and Mr Peter Pounce, better
worth reading than all the works of colley
clbber and many others 248

BOOK IV.

1 The arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at

Booby-hall ' 251

ii a dialogue between mr abraham adams and

Lady Booby 255

in What passed between the lady and Lawyer Scout 258

iv A short chapter, but very full of matter; par-
ticularly THE ARRIVAL OF MR BOOBY AND HIS
LADY 261

v Containing justice business; curious precedents
of depositions, and other matters necessary
to be perused by all justices of the peace and
their clerks 262

vi of which you are desired to read no more than

YOU LIKE 268

xi

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

vii Philosophical reflections, the like not to be
found in any light french romance. mr
Booby's grave advice to Joseph, and Fanny's
encounter with a beau 274

viii a discourse which happened between mr adams,
Mrs Adams, Joseph, and Fanny; with some be-
haviour of Mr Adams which will be called
by some few readers very low, absurd, and
unnatural 28 1

ix a visit which the polite lady booby and her

polite friend paid to the parson 287

x the history of two friends, which may afford
an useful lesson to all those persons who
happen to take up their residence in married
families 290

xi in which the history is continued 296

xii Where the good-natured reader will see some-
thing WHICH WILL GIVE HIM NO GREAT PLEASURE 299

xiii The history, returning to the Lady Booby, gives
some account of the terrible conflict in her
breast between love and pride; with what
happened on the present discovery .... 30i

xiv Containing several curious night-adventures,
in which Mr Adams fell into many hair-
breadth 'SCAPES, PARTLY OWING TO HIS GOODNESS,
AND PARTLY TO HIS INADVERTENCY 306

xv The arrival of Gaffar and Gammar Andrews,

WITH ANOTHER PERSON NOT MUCH EXPECTED; AND
A PERFECT SOLUTION OF THE DIFFICULTIES RAISED
BY THE PEDLAR 311

xvi Being the last. In which this true history is

BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION 315

Xll

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

After the drawings by W. Small
"THE WHOLE TOWN HATH KNOWN IT THIS HALF YEAR" Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

"Taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the

room" 68

"Adams, with a look full of ineffable contempt, told

him he deserved scourging for his pronunciation" 126

"The hare was no sooner on shore than it seated

itself on its hinder legs" 212

"Joseph threw his head so dexterously into the

stomach of the ravisher, that he fell" .... 280

THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF

JOSEPH ANDREWS

AND HIS FRIEND MR ABRAHAM ADAMS

PREFACE

As it is possible the mere English reader may have a differ-
ent idea of romance with the author of these little volumes,
and may consequently expect a kind of entertainment not to
be found, nor which was even intended, in the following
pages ; it may not be improper to premise a few words con-
cerning this kind of writing, which I do not remember to
have seen hitherto attempted in our language.

The Epic, as well as the Drama, is divided into tragedy and
comedy. Homer, who was the father of this species of poetry,
gave us a pattern of both these, though that of the latter kind
is entirely lost ; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation
to comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy. And perhaps,
that we have no more instances of it among the writers of
antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which,
had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with
the other poems of this great original.

And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will
not scruple to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose :
for though it wants one particular, which the critic enumer-
ates in the constituent parts of an epic poem, namely metre ;

xv

PREFACE

yet, when any kind of writing contains all its other parts,
such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and
is deficient in metre only ; it seems, I think, reasonable to
refer it to the epic ; at least, as no critic hath thought proper
to range it under any other head, or to assign it a particular
name to itself.

Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray ap-
pears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Ho-
mer ; indeed, it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it
a name common with that species from which it differs only
in a single instance, than to confound it with those which it
resembles in no other. Such as those voluminous works,
commonly called romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astrsea,
Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable others, which
contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or entertain-
ment.

Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose; dif-
fering from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy : its
action being more extended and comprehensive ; containing
a much larger circle of incidents, and introducing a greater
variety of characters. It differs from the serious romance in
its fable and action, in this ; that as in the one these are grave
and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous : it
differs in its characters by introducing persons of inferior
rank, and consequently, of inferior manners, whereas the
grave romance sets the highest before us : lastly, in its senti-
ments and diction ; by preserving the ludicrous instead of
the sublime. In the diction, I think, burlesque itself may be
sometimes admitted ; of which many instances will occur in
this work, as in the description of the battles, and some other
places, not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader,
. for whose entertainment those parodies or burlesque imita-
tions are chiefly calculated.

xvi

PREFACE

But, though we have sometimes admitted this in our dic-
tion, we have carefully excluded it from our sentiments and
characters ; for there it is never properly introduced, unless
in writings of the burlesque kind, which this is not intended
to be. Indeed, no two species of writing can differ more
widely than the comic and the burlesque; for as the latter
is ever the exhibition of what is monstrous and unnatural,
and where our delight, if we examine it, arises from the sur-
prising absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of the
highest to the lowest, or e converso ; so in the former we
should ever confine ourselves strictly to nature, from the
just imitation of which will flow all the pleasure we can this
way convey to a sensible reader. And perhaps there is one
reason why a comic writer should of all others be the least
excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always
so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the ad-
mirable ; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate observer
with the ridiculous.

I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because I
have often heard that name given to performances which
have been truly of the comic kind, from the author's having
sometimes admitted it in his diction only ; which, as it is the
dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men, establish char-
acters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole
man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excel-
lences : but surely a certain drollery in style, where charac-
ters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes
the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words,
where every thing else is mean and low, can entitle any per-
formance to the appellation of the true sublime.

And I apprehend my lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere
burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts there is no such
thing to be found in the writings of the ancients. But per-

xvii

PREFACE

haps I have less abhorrence than he professes for it; and
that, not because I have had some little success on the stage
this way, but rather as it contributes more to exquisite mirth
and laughter than any other; and these are probably more
wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge
away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally
imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whe-
ther the same companies are not found more full of good-
humour and benevolence, after they have been sweetened for
two or three hours with entertainments of this kind, than
when soured by a tragedy or a grave lecture.

But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, per-
haps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly,
let us examine the works of a comic history painter, with
those performances which the Italians call caricatura, where
we shall find the true excellence of the former to consist in
the exactest copying of nature ; insomuch that a judicious
eye instantly rejects anything outre, any liberty which the
painter hath taken with the features of that alma mater;
whereas in the caricatura we allow all licence, — its aim jis_to
exhibit monsters^not men ; and all distortions and exaggera-
tions whatever are within its proper province.

Now, what caricatura is in painting, burlesque is in writ-
ing; and in the same manner the comic writer and painter
correlate to each other. And here I shall observe, that, as in
the former the painter seems to have the advantage ; so it is
in the latter infinitely on the side of the writer ; for the mon-
strous is much easier to paint than describe, and the ridicu-
lous to describe than paint.

And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either
science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other ;
yet it will be owned, I believe, that a more rational and use-
ful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should call the

xviii

PREFACE

ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, would, in my opinion,
do him very little honour ; for sure it is much easier, much
less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose,
or any other feature, of a preposterous size, or to expose him
in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the
affections of men on canvas. It hath been thought a vast
commendation of a painter to say his figures seem to breathe ;
but surely it is a much greater and nobler applause, that they
appear to think.

But to return. The ridiculous only, as I have before said,
falls within my province in the present work. Nor will
some explanation of this word be thought impertinent by the
reader, if he considers how wonderfully it hath been mis-
taken, even by writers who have professed it : for to what but
such a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule
the blackest villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dread-
ful calamities? What could exceed the absurdity of an au-
thor, who should write the comedy of Nero, with the merry
incident of ripping up his mother's belly ? or what would give
a greater shock to humanity than an attempt to expose the
miseries of poverty and distress to ridicule? And yet the
reader will not want much learning to suggest such instances
to himself.

Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so
fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define
the ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to
comedy, he hath remarked that villany is not its object : but
he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor
doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath written a treatise on this
subject, though he shows us many species of it, once trace it
to its fountain.

T4i_e only_source of thejxue ridiculous (as it appears to
me) is affectation. But though it arises from one spring only,

xix

PREFACE

when we consider the infinite streams into which this one
branches, we shall presently cease to admire at the copious
field it affords to an observer. Now, affectation proceeds
from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy : for as van-
ity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase
applause ; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid cen-
sure, by concealing our vices under an appearance of their
opposite virtues. And though these two causes are often con-
founded (for there is some difficulty in distinguishing them),
yet, as they proceed from very different motives, so they are
as clearly distinct in their operations : for indeed, the affecta-
tion which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other,
as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature to struggle
with, which that of the hypocrite hath. \ It may be likewise
J noted, that affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of
those qualities which are affected ; and, therefore, though,
when it proceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to deceit ;
yet when it comes from vanity only, it partakes of the nature
of ostentation : for instance, the affectation of liberality in a
vain man differs visibly from the same affectation in the ava-
ricious ; for though the vain man is not what he would appear,
or hath not the virtue he affects, to the degree he would be
thought to have it ; yet it sits less awkwardly on him than on
the avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he would
seem to be.

From the discovery of this affectation arises the ridiculous,
which always strikes the reader with surprize and pleasure;
and that in a higher and stronger degree when the affectation
arises from hypocrisy, than when from vanity ; for to discover
any one to be the exact reverse of what he affects, is more
surprizing, and consequently more ridiculous, than to find
him a little deficient in the quality he desires the reputation
of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who of all men

xx

PREFACE

understood the ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the hypo-
critical affectation.

Now, from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities
of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects
of ridicule. Surely he hath a very ill-framed mind who can
look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, as ridiculous in them-
selves : nor do I believe any man living, who meets a dirty
fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with an
idea of the ridiculous from it ; but if he should see the same
figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt from his chair
with his hat under his arm, he would then begin to laugh,
and with justice. In the same manner, were we to enter a
poor house and behold a wretched family shivering with cold
and languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to
laughter (at least we must have very diabolical natures if it
would) ; but should we discover there a grate, instead of
coals, adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on
the sideboard, or any other affectation of riches and finery,
either on their persons or in their furniture, we might then
indeed be excused for ridiculing so fantastical an appearance.
Much less are natural imperfections the object of derision;
but when ugliness aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness
endeavours to display agility, it is then that these unfortunate
circumstances, which at first moved our compassion, tend only
to raise our mirth.
. The poet carries this very far : —

None are for being what they are in fault,
But for not being what they would be thought.

Where if the metre would suffer the word ridiculous to close
the first line, the thought would be rather more proper.
Great vices are the proper objects of our detestation, smaller
faults, of our pity ; but affectation appears to me the only true
source of the ridiculous.

xxi

PREFACE

But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against
my own rules introduced vices, and of a very black kind, into
this work. To which I shall answer : first, that it is very
difficult to pursue a series of human actions, and keep clear
from them. Secondly, that the vices to be found here, are
rather the accidental consequences of some human frailty or
foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind. Thirdly,
that they are never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but
detestation. Fourthly, that they are never the principal
figure at that time on the scene: and, lastly, they never pro-
duce the intended evil.

Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the pro-
ductions of romance writers on the one hand and burlesque
writers on the other, and given some few very short hints (for
I intended no more) of this species of writing, which I have
affirmed to be hitherto unattempted in our language ; I shall
leave to my good-natured reader to apply my piece to my
observations, and will detain him no longer than with a word
concerning the characters in this work.

And here I solemnly protest I have no intention to vilify
or asperse anyone; for though everything is copied from the
book of nature, and scarce a character or action produced
which I have not taken from my own observations and ex-
perience ; yet I have used the utmost care to obscure the per-
sons by such different circumstances, degrees, and colours,
that it will be impossible to guess at them with any degree of
certainty; and if it ever happens otherwise, it is only where
the failure characterized is so minute, that it is a foible only
which the party himself may laugh at as well as any other.

As to the character of Adams, as it is the most glaring in
the whole, so I conceive it is not to be found in any book now
extant. It is designed a character of perfect simplicity; and
as the goodness of his heart will recommend him to the good-

xxii

PREFACE

natured, so I hope it will excuse me to the gentlemen of his
cloth ; for whom, while they are worthy of their sacred order,
no man can possibly have a greater respect. They will there-
fore excuse me, notwithstanding the low adventures in which
he is engaged, that I have made him a clergyman ; since no
other office could have given him so many opportunities of
displaying his worthy inclinations.

xxm

I

f

THE ADVENTURES OF
JOSEPH ANDREWS

THE ADVENTURES OF
JOSEPH ANDREWS.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

OF WRITING LIVES IN GENERAL, AND PARTICULARLY OF PA-
MELA; WITH A WORD BY THE BYE OF COLLEY CIBBER AND
OTHERS.

IT is a trite but true observation, that examples work more
forcibly on the mind than precepts : and if this be just
in what is odious and blameable, it is more strongly so in what
is amiable and praiseworthy. Here emulation most effectually
operates upon us, and inspires our imitation in an irresistible
manner. A good man therefore is a standing lesson to all
his acquaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow circle
than a good book.

But as it often happens that the best men are but little
known, and consequently cannot extend the usefulness of
their examples a great way ; the writer may be called in aid
to spread their history farther, and to present the amiable
pictures to those who have not the happiness of knowing the
originals ; and so, by communicating such valuable patterns
to the world, he may perhaps do a more extensive service to
mankind than the person whose life originally afforded the
pattern.

In this light I have always regarded those biographers
who have recorded the actions of great and worthy persons
of both sexes. Not to mention those ancient writers which
of late days are little read, being written in obsolete, and as
they are generally thought, unintelligible languages, such as

3

THE ADVENTURES OF

Plutarch, Nepos, and others which I heard of in my youth ;
our own language affords many of excellent use and instruc-
tion, finely calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth,
and very easy to be comprehended by persons of moderate
capacity. Such as the history of John the Great, who, by
his brave and heroic actions against men of large and athletic
bodies, obtained the glorious appellation of the Giant-killer;
that of an earl of Warwick, whose Christian name was Guy ;
the lives of Argalus and Parthenia ; and above all, the his-
tory of those seven worthy personages, the Champions of
Christendom. In all these delight is mixed with instruction,
and the reader is almost as much improved as entertained.

But I pass by these and many others to mention two books
lately published, which represent an admirable pattern of the
amiable in either sex. The former of these, which deals in
male virtue, was written by the great person himself, who
lived the life he hath recorded, and is by many thought to
have lived such a life only in order to write it. The other
is communicated to us by an historian who borrows his lights,
as the common method is, from authentic papers and records.
The reader, I believe, already conjectures, I mean the lives
of Mr Colley Cibber and of Mrs Pamela Andrews. How
artfully doth the former, by insinuating that he escaped being
promoted to the highest stations in Church and State, teach
us a contempt of worldly grandeur! how strongly doth he
inculcate an absolute submission to our superiors ! Lastly,
how completely doth he arm us against so uneasy, so wretched
a passion as the fear of shame ! how clearly doth he expose
the emptiness and vanity of that phantom, reputation !

What the female readers are taught by the memoirs of
Mrs Andrews is so well set forth in the excellent essays or
letters prefixed to the second and subsequent editions of that
work, that it would be here a needless repetition. The au-
thentic history with which I now present the public is an in-
stance of the great good that book is likely to do, and of the
prevalence of example which I have just observed : since it
will appear that it was by keeping the excellent pattern of
his sister's virtues before his eyes, that Mr Joseph Andrews
was chiefly enabled to preserve his purity in the midst of such
great temptations. I shall only add that this character of

4

JOSEPH ANDREWS

male chastity, though doubtless as desirable and becoming
in one part of the human species as in the other, is almost
the only virtue which the great apologist hath not given
himself for the sake of giving the example to his readers.

CHAPTER II.

OF MR JOSEPH ANDREWS, HIS BIRTH, PARENTAGE, EDUCATION,
AND GREAT ENDOWMENTS ', WITH A WORD OR TWO CONCERN-
ING ANCESTORS.

MR JOSEPH ANDREWS, the hero of our ensuing his-
tory, was esteemed to be the only son of Gaffar and
Gammer Andrews, and brother to the illustrious Pamela,
whose virtue is at present so famous. As to his ancestors,
we have searched with great diligence, but little success;
being unable to trace them farther than his great-grandfather,
who, as an elderly person in the parish remembers to have
heard his father say, was an excellent cudgel-player. Whe-
ther he had any ancestors before this, we must leave to the
opinion of our curious reader, finding nothing of sufficient
certainty to rely on. However, we cannot omit inserting an
epitaph which an ingenious friend of ours hath communi-
cated :

Stay, traveller, for underneath this pew
Lies fast asleep that merry man Andrew :
When the last day's great sun shall gild the skies,
Then he shall from his tomb get up and rise.
Be merry while thou canst : for surely thou
Shalt shortly be as sad as he is now.

The words are almost out of the stone with antiquity. But
it is needless to observe that Andrew here is writ without
an s, and is, besides, a Christian name. My friend moreover,
conjectures this to have been the founder of that sect of
laughing philosophers since called Merry-andrews.

"To wave, therefore, a circumstance, which, though men-
tioned in conformity to the exact rules of biography, is not

5

THE ADVENTURES OF

greatly material, I proceed to things of more consequence.
Indeed, it is sufficiently certain that he had as many ancestors
as the best man living, and, perhaps, if we look five or six
hundreds years backwards, might be related to some persons
of very great figure at present, whose ancestors within half
the last century are buried in as great obscurity. But sup-
pose, for argument's sake, we should admit that he had no
ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the modern
phrase, out of a dunghill, as the Athenians pretended they
themselves did from the earth, would not this autokopros*
have been justly entitled to all the praise arising from his
own virtues? Would it not be hard that a man who hath
no ancestors should therefore be rendered incapable of ac-
quiring honour ; when we see so many who have no virtues
enjoying the honour of their forefathers? At ten years old
(by which time his education was advanced to writing and
reading) he was bound an apprentice, according to the statute,
to Sir Thomas Booby, an uncle of Mr Booby's by the father's
side. Sir Thomas having then an estate in his own hands,
the young Andrews was at first employed in what in the
country they call keeping birds. His office was to perform
the part the ancients assigned to the god Priapus, which
deity the moderns call by the name of Jack o' Lent ; but his
voice being so extremely musical, that it rather allured the
birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted from the
fields into the dog-kennel, where he was placed under the
huntsman, and made what the sportsmen term a whipper-in.
For this place likewise the sweetness of his voice disqualified
him ; the dogs preferring the melody of his chiding to all
the alluring notes of the huntsman ; who soon became so
incensed at it, that he desired Sir Thomas to provide other-
wise for him, and constantly laid every fault the dogs were
at to the account of the poor boy, who was now transplanted
to the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of strength and
agility beyond his years, and constantly rode the most spirited
and vicious horses to water, with an intrepidity which sur-
prised every one. While he was in this station, he rode sev-
eral races for Sir Thomas, and this with such expertness and
success, that the neighbouring gentlemen frequently solicited
* In English, sprung from a dunghill.
6

JOSEPH ANDREWS

the knight to permit little Joey (for so he was called) to ride
their matches. The best gamesters, before they laid their
money, always inquired which horse little Joey was to ride ;
and the bets were rather proportioned by the rider than by the
horse himself ; especially after he had scornfully refused a
considerable bribe to play booty on such an occasion. This
extremely raised his character, and so pleased the Lady Booby,
that she desired to have him (being now seventeen years of
age) for her own footboy. Joey was now preferred from
the stable to attend on his lady, to go on her errands, stand
behind her chair, wait at her tea-table, and carry her prayer-
book to church ; at which place his voice gave him an oppor-
tunity of distinguishing himself by singing psalms : he
behaved likewise in every other respect so well at Divine ser-
vice, that it recommended him to the notice of Mr Abraham
Adams, the curate; who took an opportunity one day, as he
was drinking a cup of ale in Sir Thomas's kitchen, to ask
the young man several questions concerning religion ; with
his answers to which he was wonderfully pleased.

CHAPTER III.

OF MR ABRAHAM ADAMS THE CURATE, MRS SLIPSLOP THE
CHAMBERMAID, AND OTHERS.

MR ABRAHAM ADAMS was an excellent scholar. He
was a perfect master of the Greek and Latin languages ;
to which he added a great share of knowledge in the Oriental
tongues ; and could read and translate French, Italian, and
Spanish. He had applied many years to the most severe
study, and had treasured up a fund of learning rarely to bq
met with in a university. He was, besides, a man of good
sense, good parts, and good nature ; but was at the same time
as entirely ignorant of the ways of this world as an infant
just entered into it could possibly be. As he had never any
intention to deceive, so he never suspected such a design in
others. He was generous, friendly, and brave to an excess ;
but simplicity was his characteristic: he did no more than

7

THE ADVENTURES OF

Mr Collev Cibber apprehend any such passions as malice and
envy to exist in mankind ; which was indeed less remarkable
in a country parson than in a gentleman who hath passed
his life behind the scenes, — a place which hath been seldom
thought the school of innocence, and where a very little
observation would have convinced the great apologist that
those passions have a real existence in the human mind.

His virtue, and his other qualifications, as they rendered
him equal to his office, so they made him an agreeable and
valuable companion, and had so much endeared and well
recommended him to a bishop, that at the age of fifty he was
provided with a handsome income of twenty-three pounds
a-year; which, however, he could not make any great figure
with, because he lived in a dear country, and was a little in-
cumbered with a wife and six children.

It was this gentleman, who having, as I have said, ob-
served the singular devotion of young Andrews, had found
means to question him concerning several particulars ; as,
how many books there were in the New Testament; which
were they? how many chapters they contained? and such
like : to all which Mr Adams privately said, he answered
much better than Sir Thomas, or two other neighbouring jus-
tices of the peace could probably have done.

Mr Adams was wonderfully solicitous to know at what
time, and by what opportunity, the youth became acquainted
with these matters : Joey told him that he had very early
learnt to read and write by the goodness of his father, who,
though he had not interest enough to get him into a charity
school, because a cousin of his father's landlord did not vote
on the right side for a churchwarden in a borough town, yet
had been himself at the expense of sixpence a week for his
learning. He told him likewise, that ever since he was in
Sir Thomas's family he had employed all his hours of leisure
in reading good books ; that he had read the Bible, the Whole
Duty of Man, and Thomas a Kempis ; and that as often as
he could, without being perceived, he had studied a great
book which lay open in the hall window, where he had read,
"as how the devil carried away half a church in sermon-time,
without hurting one of the congregation ; and as how a field
of corn ran away down a hill with all the trees upon it,

8

JOSEPH ANDREWS

and covered another man's meadow." This sufficiently as-
sured Mr Adams that the good book meant could be no
other than Baker's Chronicle.

The curate, surprized to find such instances of industry
and application in a young man who had never met with the
least encouragement, asked him if he did not extremely regret
the want of a liberal education, and the not having been born
of parents who might have indulged his talents and desire
of knowledge? To which he answered, he hoped he had
profited somewhat better from the books he had read than
to lament his condition in this world. That, for his part, he
was perfectly content with the state to which he was called ;
that he should endeavour to improve his talent, which was all
required of him ; but not repine at his own lot, nor envy those
of his betters. " Well said, my lad," replied the curate ; " and
I wish some who have read many more good books, nay, and
some who have written books themselves, had profited so
much by them."

Adams had no nearer access to Sir Thomas or my lady than
through the waiting-gentlewoman ; for Sir Thomas was too
apt to estimate men merely by their dress or fortune ; and
my lady was a woman of gaiety, who had been blessed with
a town education, and never spoke of any of her country
neighbours by any other appellation than that of the brutes.
They both regarded the curate as a kind of domestic only,
belonging to the parson of the parish, who was at this time
at variance with the knight ; for the parson had for many
years lived in a constant state of civil war, or, which is per-
haps as bad, of civil law, with Sir Thomas himself and the
tenants of his manor. The foundation of this quarrel was a
modus, by setting which aside an advantage of several shil-
lings per annum would have accrued to the rector; but he
had not yet been able to accomplish his purpose, and had
reaped hitherto nothing better from the suits than the plea-
sure (which he used indeed frequently to say was no small
one) of reflecting that he had utterly undone many of the
poor tenants, though he had at the same time greatly im-
poverished himself.

Mrs Slipslop, the waiting-gentlewoman, being herself the
daughter of a curate, preserved some respect for Adams : she

9

THE ADVENTURES OF

professed great regard for his learning, and would frequently
dispute with him on points of theology ; but always insisted
on a deference to be paid to her understanding, as she had
been frequently at London, and knew more of the world
than a country parson could pretend to.

She had in these disputes a particular advantage over
Adams : for she was a mighty affector of hard words, which
she used in such a manner that the parson, who durst not
offend her by calling her words in question, was frequently
at some loss to guess her meaning, and would have been
much less puzzled by an Arabian manuscript.

Adams therefore took an opportunity one day, after a
pretty long discourse with her on the essence (or, as she
pleased to term it, the incence) of matter, to mention the
case of young Andrews; desiring her to recommend him to
her lady as a youth very susceptible of learning, and one
whose instruction in Latin he would himself undertake; by
which means he might be qualified for a higher station than
that of a footman ; and added, she knew it was in his mas-
ter's power easily to provide for him in a better manner. He
therefore desired that the boy might be left behind under his
care.

"La! Mr Adams," said Mrs Slipslop, "do you think my
lady will suffer any preambles about any such matter? She
is going to London very concisely, and I am confidous would
not leave Joey behind her on any account; for he is one of
the genteelest young fellows you may see in a summer's day ;
and I am confidous she would as soon think of parting with
a pair of her grey mares, for she values herself as much on
one as the other." Adams would have interrupted, but she
proceeded : "And why is Latin more necessitous for a foot-
man than a gentleman? It is very proper that you clergy-
men must learn it, because you can't preach without it: but
I haye heard gentlemen say in London, that it is fit for no-
body else. I am confidous my lady would be angry with me
for mentioning it ; and I shall draw myself into no such
delemy." At which words her lady's bell rung, and Mr
Adams was forced to retire ; nor could he gain a second
opportunity with her before their London journey, which hap-
pened a few days afterwards. However, Andrews behaved

10

JOSEPH ANDREWS

very thankfully and gratefully to him for his intended kind-
ness, which he told him he never would forget, and at the
same time received from the good man many admonitions
concerning the regulation of his future conduct, and his per-
severance in innocence and industry.

CHAPTER IV.

WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THEIR JOURNEY TO LONDON.

NO sooner was young Andrews arrived at London than he
began to scrape an acquaintance with his party-coloured
brethren, who endeavoured to make him despise his former
course of life. His hair was cut after the newest fashion,
and became his chief care ; he went abroad with it all the
morning in papers, and drest it out in the afternoon. They
could not however teach him to game, swear, drink, nor any
other genteel vice the town abounded with. He applied most
of his leisure hours to music, in which he greatly improved
himself ; and became so perfect a connoisseur in that art, that
he led the opinion of all the other footmen at an opera, and
they never condemned or applauded a single song contrary
to his approbation or dislike. He was a little too forward
in riots at the playhouses and assemblies ; and when he
attended his lady at church (which was but seldom) he be-
haved with less seeming devotion than formerly : however,
if he was outwardly a pretty fellow, his morals remained
entirely uncorrupted, though he was at the same time smarter
and genteeler than any of the beaux in town, either in or out
of livery.

His lady, who had often said of him that Joey was the
handsomest and genteelest footman in the kingdom, but that
it was pity he wanted spirit, began now to find that fault no
longer ; on the contrary, she was frequently heard to cry out :
"Aye, there is some life in this fellow." She plainly saw the
effects which the town air hath on the soberest constitutions.
She would now walk out with him into Hyde Park in a
morning, and when tired, which happened almost every min-

ii

THE ADVENTURES OF

ute, would lean on his arm, and converse with him in great
familiarity. Whenever she stept out of her coach, she would
take him by the hand, and sometimes, for fear of stumbling,
press it very hard; she admitted him to deliver messages at
her bedside in a morning, leered at him at table, and in-
dulged him in all those innocent freedoms which women of
figure may permit without the least sully of their virtue.

But though their virtue remains unsullied, yet now and
then some small arrows will glance on the shadow of it, their
reputation ; and so it fell out to Lady Booby, who happened
to be walking arm-in-arm with Joey one morning in Hyde
Park, when Lady Tittle and Lady Tattle came accidentally by
in their coach. "Bless me," says Lady Tittle, "can I believe
my eyes? Is that Lady Booby?" — "Surely," says Tattle.
"But what makes you surprised?" — "Why, is not that her
footman ? " replied Tittle. At which Tattle laughed, and
cried, "An old business, I assure you : is it possible you should
not have heard it? The whole town hath known it this half-
year." The consequence of this interview was a whisper
through a hundred visits, which were separately performed
by the two ladies* the same afternoon, and might have had
a mischievous effect, had it not been stopt by two fresh repu-
tations which were published the day afterwards, and en-
grossed the whole talk of the town.

But, whatever opinion or suspicion the scandalous inclina-
tion of defamers might entertain of Lady Booby's innocent
freedoms, it is certain they made no impression on young
Andrews, who never offered to encroach beyond the liberties
which his lady allowed him, — a behaviour which she im-
puted to the violent respect he preserved for her, and which
served only to heighten a something she began to conceive,
and which the next chapter will open a little farther.

* It may seem an absurdity that Tattle should visit, as she actually
did, to spread a known scandal : but the reader may reconcile this by
supposing, with me, that notwithstanding what she says, this was her
first acquaintance with it.

12

JOSEPH ANDREWS

CHAPTER V.

THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS BOOBY, WITH THE AFFECTIONATE
AND MOURNFUL BEHAVIOUR OF HIS WIDOW, AND THE GREAT
PURITY OF JOSEPH ANDREWS.

AT this time an accident happened which put a stop to
jljL those agreeable walks, which probably would have soon
puffed up the cheeks of Fame and caused her to blow her
brazen trumpet through the town; and this was no other
than the death of Sir Thomas Booby, who, departing this life,
left his disconsolate lady confined to her house, as closely as
if she herself had been attacked by some violent disease. Dur-
ing the first six days the poor lady admitted none but Mrs
Slipslop, and three female friends, who made a party at cards :
but on the seventh she ordered Joey, whom, for a good reason,
we shall hereafter call Joseph, to bring up her tea-kettle.
The lady being in bed, called Joseph to her, bade him sit
down, and, having accidentally laid her hand on his, she asked
him if he had ever been in love. Joseph answered, with
some confusion, it was time enough for one so young as
himself to think on such things. "As young as you are," re-
plied the lady, " I am convinced you are no stranger to that
passion. Come, Joey," says she, " tell me truly, who is the
happy girl whose eyes have made a conquest of you ? " Jo-
seph returned, that all the women he had ever seen were
equally indifferent to him. " O then," said the lady, " you are
a general lover. Indeed, you handsome fellows, like hand-
some women, are very long and difficult in fixing ; but yet
you shall never persuade me that your heart is so insusceptible
of affection ; I rather impute what you say to your secrecy,
a very commendable quality, and what I am far from being
angry with you for. Nothing can be more unworthy in a
young man, than to betray any intimacies with the ladies."
" Ladies ! madam," said Joseph, " I am sure I never had the
impudence to think of any that deserve that name." " Don't
pretend to too much modesty," said she, " for that some-
times may be impertinent : but pray answer me this question.
Suppose a lady should happen to like you ; suppose she should

J3

THE ADVENTURES OF

prefer you to all your sex, and admit you to the same famil-
iarities as you might have hoped for if you had been born her
equal, are you certain that no vanity could tempt you to dis-
cover her ? Answer me honestly, Joseph ; have you so much
more sense and so much more virtue than you handsome young
fellows generally have, who make no scruple of sacrificing our
dear reputation to your pride, without considering the great
obligation we lay on you by our condescension and confidence ?
Can you keep a secret, my Joey ? " " Madam," says he, " I
hope your ladyship can't tax me with ever betraying the secrets
of the family ; and I hope, if you was to turn me away, I might
have that character of you." " I don't intend to turn you
away, Joey," said she, and sighed ; " I am afraid it is not in
my power." She then raised herself a little in her bed, and
discovered one of the whitest necks that ever was seen; at
which Joseph blushed. " La ! " says she, in an affected sur-
prize, " what am I doing ? I have trusted myself with a man
alone, naked in bed ; suppose you should have any wicked
intentions upon my honour, how should I defend myself?"
Joseph protested that he never had the least evil design
against her. ''' No," says she, " perhaps you may not call your
designs wicked ; and perhaps they are not so." — He swore
they were not. " You misunderstand me," says she ; " I mean
if they were against my honour, they may not be wicked ;
but the world calls them so. But then, say you, the world
will never know anything of the matter ; yet would not that
be trusting to your secrecy ? Must not my reputation be then
in your power ? Would you not then be my master ? " Jo-
seph begged her ladyship to be comforted ; for that he would
never imagine the least wicked thing against her, and that
he had rather die a thousand deaths than give her any rea-
son to suspect him. " Yes," said she, " I must have reason
to suspect you. Are you not a man? and, without vanity, I
may pretend to some charms. But perhaps you may fear I
should prosecute you ; indeed I hope you do ; and yet Heaven
knows I should never have the confidence to appear before
a court of justice ; and you know, Joey, I am of a forgiving
temper. Tell me, Joey, don't you think I should forgive
you ? " — " Indeed, madam," says Joseph, " I will never do
anything to disoblige your ladyship." " How," says she,

14

JOSEPH ANDREWS

" do you think it would not disoblige me then? Do you think
I would willingly suffer you?" — "I don't understand you,
madam," says Joseph. — " Don't you ? " said she, " then you
are either a fool, or pretend to be so ; I find I was mistaken in
you. So get you down-stairs, and never let me see your face
again ; your pretended innocence cannot impose on me." —
" Madam," said Joseph, " I would not have your ladyship
think any evil of me. I have always endeavoured to be a
dutiful servant both to you and my master." — " O thou
villain ! " answered my lady ; " why didst thou mention the
name of that dear man, unless to torment me, to bring his
precious memory to my mind?" (and then she burst into a
fit of tears.) "Get thee from my sight! I shall never en-
dure thee more." At which words she turned away from
him; and Joseph retreated from the room in a most dis-
consolate condition, and writ that letter which the reader will
find in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW JOSEPH ANDREWS WRIT A LETTER TO HIS SISTER PAMELA.

' To Mrs Pamela Andrezvs, living with Squire Booby.

" Dear Sister, — Since I received your letter of your good
lady's death, we have had a misfortune of the same kind in
our family. My worthy master Sir Thomas died about four
days ago ; and, what is worse, my poor lady is certainly gone
distracted. None of the servants expected her to take it so
to heart, because they quarrelled almost every day of their
lives: but no more of that, because you know, Pamela, I
never loved to tell the secrets of my master's family; but to
be sure you must have known they never loved one another;
and I have heard her ladyship wish his honour dead above a
thousand times; but nobody knows what it is to lose a
friend till they have lost him.

" Don't tell anybody what I write, because I should not
care to have folks say I discover what passes in our family ;

15

THE ADVENTURES OF

but if it had not been so great a lady, I should have thought
she had had a mind to me. Dear Pamela, don't tell any-
body ; but she ordered me to sit down by her bed-side, when
she was naked in bed ; and she held my hand, and talked
exactly as a lady does to her sweetheart in a stage-play,
which I have seen in Covent Garden, while she wanted him
to be no better than he should be.

" If madam be mad, I shall not care for staying long in the
family ; so I heartily wish you could get me a place, either
at the squire's, or some other neighbouring gentleman's, un-
less it be true that you are going to be married to parson
Williams, as folks talk, and then I should be very willing to
be his clerk; for which you know I am qualified, being able
to read and to set a psalm.

" I fancy I shall be discharged very soon ; and the moment
I am, unless I hear from you, I shall return to my old mas-
ter's country-seat, if it be only to see parson Adams, who is
the best man in the world. London is a bad place, and there
is so little good fellowship, that the next-door neighbours
don't know one another. Pray give my service to all friends
that inquire for me. So I rest

"Your loving brother,

" Joseph Andrews."

As soon as Joseph had sealed and directed this letter he
walked down-stairs, where he met Mrs Slipslop, with whom
we shall take this opportunity to bring the reader a little bet-
ter acquainted. She was a maiden gentlewoman of about
forty-five years of age, who, having made a small slip in her
youth, had continued a good maid ever since. She was not
at this time remarkably handsome ; being very short, and
rather too corpulent in body, and somewhat red, with the
addition of pimples in the face. Her nose was likewise rather
too large, and her eyes too little ; nor did she resemble a cow
so much in her breath as in two brown globes which she
carried before her ; one of her legs was also a little shorter
than the other, which occasioned her to limp as she walked.
This fair creature had long cast the eyes of affection on Jo-
seph, in which she had not met with quite so good success as
she probably wished, though, besides the allurements of her

16

JOSEPH ANDREWS

native charms, she had given him tea, sweetmeats, wine, and
many other delicacies, of which, by keeping the keys, she had
the absolute command. Joseph, however, had not returned
the least gratitude to all these favours, not even so much as
a kiss ; though I would not insinuate she was so easily to be
satisfied ; for surely then he would have been highly blameable
The truth is, she was arrived at an age when she thought she
might indulge herself in any liberties with a man, without the
danger of bringing a third person into the world to betray
them. She imagined that by so long a self-denial she had not
only made amends for the small slip of her youth above
hinted at, but had likewise laid up a quantity of merit to
excuse any future failings. In a word, she resolved to give
a loose to her amorous inclinations, and to pay off the debt of
pleasure which she found she owed herself, as fast as pos-
sible.

With these charms of person, and in this disposition of
mind, she encountered poor Joseph at the bottom of the
stairs, and asked him if he would drink a glass of something
good this morning. Joseph, whose spirits were not a little
cast down, very readily and thankfully accepted the offer;
and together they went into a closet, where, having delivered
him a full glass of ratafia, and desired him to sit down, Mrs
Slipslop thus began : —

" Sure nothing can be a more simple contract in a woman
than to place her affections on a boy. If I had ever thought
it would have been my fate, I should have wished to die a
thousand deaths rather than live to see that day. If we
like a man, the lightest hint sophisticates. Whereas a boy
proposes upon us to break through all the regulations of
modesty, before we can make any oppression upon him."
Joseph, who did not understand a word she said, answered,
" Yes, madam." — " Yes, madam ! " replied Mrs Slipslop with
some warmth, "Do you intend to insult my passion? Is it
not enough, ungrateful as you are, to make no return to all
the favours I have done you; but you must treat me with
ironing? Barbarous monster! how have I deserved that my
passion should be resulted and treated with ironing? " " Ma-
dam," answered Joseph, " I don't understand your hard
words ; but I am certain you have no occasion to call me un-
2 I7

THE ADVENTURES OF

grateful, for, so far from intending you any wrong, I have
always loved you as well as if you had been my own mother."
' How, sirrah ? " says Airs Slipslop in a rage ; " your own
mother? Do you assinuate that I am old enough to be your
mother? I don't know what a stripling may think, but I be-
lieve a man would refer me to any green-sickness silly girl
whatsomdever : but I ought to despise you rather than be
angry with you, for referring the conversation of girls to that
of a woman of sense." — " Madam," says Joseph, " I am sure
I have always valued the honour you did me by your conver-
sation, for I know you are a woman of learning." — "Yes,
but, Joseph," said she, a little softened by the compliment
to her learning, " If you had a value for me, you certainly
would have found some method of showing it me ; for I am
convicted you must see the value I have for you. Yes, Jo-
seph, my eyes, whether I would or no, must have declared
a passion I cannot conquer. — Oh ! Joseph ! "

As when a hungry tigress, who long has traversed the
woods in fruitless search, sees within the reach of her claws
a lamb, she prepares to leap on her prey ; or as a voracious
pike of immense size, surveys through the liquid element a
roach or gudgeon, which cannot escape her jaws, opens them
wide to swallow the little fish ; so did Mrs Slipslop prepare
to lay her violent amorous hands on the poor Joseph, when
luckily her mistress's bell rung, and delivered the intended
martyr from her clutches. She was obliged to leave him
abruptly, and to defer the execution of her purpose till some
other time. We shall therefore return to the Lady Booby,
and give our reader some account of her behaviour, after she
was left by Joseph in a temper of mind not greatly different
from that of the inflamed Slipslop.

t8

JOSEPH ANDREWS

CHAPTER VII.

SAYINGS OF WISE MEN. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE LADY AND
HER MAID; AND A PANEGYRIC, OR RATHER SATIRE, ON THE
PASSION OF LOVE, IN THE SUBLIME STYLE.

IT is the observation of some ancient sage, whose name I
have forgot, that passions operate differently on the hu-
man mind, as diseases on the body, in proportion to the
strength or weakness, soundness or rottenness, of the one and
the other.

We hope, therefore, a judicious reader will give himself
some pains to observe, what we have so greatly laboured to
describe, the different operations of this passion of love in
the gentle and cultivated mind of the Lady Booby, from
those which it effected in the less polished and coarser dis-
position of Mrs Slipslop.

Another philosopher, whose name also at present escapes
my memory, hath somewhere said, that resolutions taken in
the absence of the beloved object are very apt to vanish in
its presence ; on both which wise sayings the following chap-
ter may serve as a comment.

No sooner had Joseph left the room in the manner we
have before related than the lady, enraged at her disappoint-
ment, began to reflect with severity on her conduct. Her
love was now changed to disdain, which pride assisted to
torment her. She despised herself for the meanness of her
passion, and Joseph for its ill-success. However, she had
now got the better of it in her own opinion, and determined
immediately to dismiss the object. After much tossing and
turning in her bed, and many soliloquies, which if we had
no better matter for our reader we would give him, she at
last rung the bell as above mentioned, and was presently
attended by Mrs Slipslop, who was not much better pleased
with Joseph than the lady herself.

" Slipslop," said Lady Booby, " when did you see Joseph? "
The poor woman was so surprised at the unexpected sound
of his name at so critical a time, that she had the greatest
difficulty to conceal the confusion she was under from her

19

THE ADVENTURES OF

mistress ; whom she answered, nevertheless, with pretty good
confidence, though not entirely void of fear of suspicion,
that she had not seen him that morning. " I am afraid," said
Lady Booby, " he is a wild young fellow." — " That he is," said
Slipslop, " and a wicked one too. To my knowledge he
games, drinks, swears, and fights eternally ; besides, he is
horribly indicted to wenching." — " Ay ! " said the lady, " I
never heard that of him." — " O madam ! " answered the other,
" he is so lewd a rascal, that if your ladyship keeps him
much longer, you will not have one virgin in your house
except myself. And yet I can't conceive what the wenches
see in him, to be so foolishly fond as they are ; in my eyes,
he is as ugly a scarecrow as I ever beheld." — " Nay," said the
lady, " the boy is well enough." — " La ! ma'am," cries Slipslop,
' I think him the ragmaticallest fellow in the family." —
" Sure, Slipslop," says she, " you are mistaken : but which of
the women do you most suspect? " — " Madam," says Slipslop,
" there is Betty the chamber-maid, I am almost convicted, is
with child by him." — " Ay ! " says the lady, " then pray pay
her her wages instantly. I will keep no such sluts in my
family. And as for Joseph, you may discard him too." —
"Would your ladyship have him paid off immediately?"
cries Slipslop, " for perhaps, when Betty is gone he may
mend : and really the boy is a good servant, and a strong
healthy luscious boy enough." — " This morning," answered
the lady with some vehemence. " I wish, madam," cries Slip-
slop, " your ladyship would be so good as to try him a little
longer." — " I will not have my commands disputed," said the
lady ; " sure you are not fond of him yourself." — " I, ma-
dam!" cries Slipslop, reddening, if not blushing, "I should
be sorry to think your ladyship had any reason to respect me
of fondness for a fellow; and if it be your pleasure, I shall
fulfil it with as much reluctance as possible." — " As little, I
suppose you mean," said the lady ; " and so about it instantly."
Mrs Slipslop went out, and the lady had scarce taken two
turns before she fell to knocking and ringing with great vio-
lence. Slipslop, who did not travel post haste, soon returned,
and was countermanded as to Joseph, but ordered to send
Betty about her business without delay. She went out a
second time with much greater alacrity than before; when

20

JOSEPH ANDREWS

the lady began immediately to accuse herself of want of reso-
lution, and to apprehend the return of her affection, with
its pernicious consequences ; she therefore applied herself
again to the bell, and resummoned Mrs Slipslop into her
presence ; who again returned, and was told by her mistress
that she had considered better of the matter, and was abso-
lutely resolved to turn away Joseph ; which she ordered her
to do immediately. Slipslop, who knew the violence of her
lady's temper, and would not venture her place for any
Adonis or Hercules in the universe, left her a third time ;
which she had no sooner done, than the little god Cupid,
fearing he had not yet done the lady's business, took a fresh
arrow with the sharpest point out of his quiver, and shot it
directly into her heart ; in other and plainer language, the
lady's passion got the better of her reason. She called back
Slipslop once more, and told her she had resolved to see the
boy, and examine him herself; therefore bid her send him
up. This wavering in her mistress's temper probably put
something into the waiting-gentlewoman's head not necessary
to mention to the sagacious reader.

Lady Booby was going to call her back again, but could
not prevail with herself. The next consideration therefore
was, how she should behave to Joseph when he came in.
She resolved to preserve all the dignity of the woman of
fashion to her servant, and to indulge herself in this last
view of Joseph (for that she was most certainly resolved it
should be) at his own expense, by first insulting and then
discarding him.

O Love, what monstrous tricks dost thou play with thy
votaries of both sexes! How dost thou deceive them, and
make them deceive themselves ! Their follies are thy de-
light ! Their sighs make thee laugh, and their pangs are thy
merriment !

Not the great Rich, who turns men into monkeys, wheel-
barrows, and whatever else best humours his fancy, hath so
strangely metamorphosed the human shape ; nor the great
Cibber, who confounds all number, gender, and breaks
through every rule of grammar at his will, hath so distorted
the English language as thou dost metamorphose and distort
the human senses.

21

THE ADVENTURES OF

Thou puttest out our eyes, stoppest up our ears, and takest
away the power of our nostrils ; so that we can neither see
the largest object, hear the loudest noise, nor smell the most
poignant perfume. Again, when thou pleasest, thou canst
make a molehill appear as a mountain, a Jew's-harp sound
like a trumpet, and a daisy smell like a violet. Thou canst
make cowardice brave, avarice generous, pride humble, and
cruelty tender-hearted. In short, thou turnest the heart of
man inside out, as a juggler doth a petticoat, and bringest
whatsoever pleaseth thee out from it. If there be any one
who doubts all this, let him read the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH, AFTER SOME VERY FINE WRITING, THE HISTORY
GOES ON, AND RELATES THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE LADY
AND JOSEPH ; WHERE THE LATTER HATH SET AN EXAMPLE
WHICH WE DESPAIR OF SEEING FOLLOWED BY HIS SEX IN
THIS VICIOUS AGE.

NOW the rake Hesperus had called for his breeches, and,
having well rubbed his drowsy eyes, prepared to dress
himself for all night ; by whose example his brother rakes on
earth likewise leave those beds in which they had slept away
the day. Now Thetis, the good housewife, began to put on
the pot, in order to regale the good man Phoebus after his
daily labours were over. In vulgar language, it was in the
evening when Joseph attended his lady's orders.

But as it becomes us to preserve the character of this lady,
who is the heroine of our tale ; and as we have naturally a
wonderful tenderness for that beautiful part of the human
species called the fair sex ; before we discover too much of
her frailty to our reader, it will be proper to give him a lively
idea of the vast temptation, which overcame all the efforts of
a modest and virtuous mind; and then we humbly hope his
good nature will rather pity than condemn the imperfection
of human virtue.

Nay, the ladies themselves will, we hope, be induced, by

22

JOSEPH ANDREWS

considering the uncommon variety of charms which united
in this young man's person, to bridle their rampant passion
for chastity, and be at least as mild as their violent modesty
and virtue will permit them, in censuring the conduct of a
woman who, perhaps, was in her own disposition as chaste
as those pure and sanctified virgins who, after a life inno-
cently spent in the gaieties of the town, begin about fifty to
attend twice per diem at the polite churches and chapels, to
return thanks for the grace which preserved them formerly
amongst beaux from temptations perhaps less powerful than
What now attacked the Lady Booby.

Mr Joseph Andrews was now in the one-and-twentieth
year of his age. He was of the highest degree of middle
stature ; his limbs were put together with great elegance,
and no less strength ; his legs and thighs were formed in the
exactest proportion ; his shoulders were broad and brawny,
but yet his arms hung so easily, that he had all the symp-
toms of strength without the least clumsiness. His hair was
of a nut-brown colour, and was displayed in wanton ringlets
down his back ; his forehead was high, his eyes dark, and as
full of sweetness as of fire ; his nose a little inclined to the
Roman ; his teeth white and even ; his lips full, red, and soft ;
his beard was only rough on his chin and upper lip ; but his
cheeks, in which his blood glowed, were overspread with a
thick down ; his countenance had a tenderness joined with
a sensibility inexpressible. Add to this the most perfect neat-
ness in his dress, and an air which, to those who have not seen
many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility.

Such was the person who now appeared before the lady.
She viewed him some time in silence, and twice or thrice be-
fore she spoke changed her mind as to the manner in which
she should begin. At length she said to him, " Joseph, I am
sorry to hear such complaints against you : I am told you be-
have so rudely to the maids, that they cannot do their business
in quiet ; I mean those who are not wicked enough to hearken
to your solicitations. As to others, they may, perhaps, not
call you rude; for there are wicked sluts who make one
ashamed of one's own sex, and are as ready to admit any
nauseous familiarity as fellows to offer it : nay, there are
such in my family, but they shall not stay in it ; that imprudent

23

THE ADVENTURES OF

trollop who is with child by you is discharged by this
time."

As a person who is struck through the heart with a thun-
derbolt looks extremely surprized, nay, and perhaps is so too

thus the poor Joseph received the false accusation of his

mistress ; he blushed and looked confounded, which she mis-
interpreted to be symptoms of his guilt, and thus went on :

" Come hither, Joseph : another mistress might discard you
for these offences ; but I have a compassion for your youth,
and if I could be certain you would be no more guilty — Con-
sider, child," laying her hand carelessly upon his, " you are a
handsome young fellow, and might do better ; you might
make your fortune." " Madam," said Joseph, " I do assure
your ladyship I don't know whether any maid in the house
is man or woman." "Oh fie! Joseph," answered the lady,
" don't commit another crime in denying the truth. I could
pardon the first ; but I hate a liar." " Madam," cries Joseph,
" I hope your ladyship will not be offended at my asserting
my innocence; for, by all that is sacred, I have never offered
more than kissing." " Kissing ! " said the lady with great
discomposure of countenance, and more redness in her cheeks
than anger in her eyes ; " do you call that no crime? Kissing,
Joseph, is as a prologue to a play. Can I believe a young
fellow of your age and complexion will be content with kiss-
ing? No, Joseph, there is no woman who grants that but
will grant more ; and I am deceived greatly in you if you
would not put her closely to it. What would you think,
Joseph, if I admitted you to kiss me ? " Joseph replied he
would sooner die than have any such thought. " And yet,
Joseph," returned she, " ladies have admitted their footmen
to such familiarities ; and footmen, I confess to you, much less
deserving them ; fellows without half your charms, — for such
might almost excuse the crime. Tell me therefore, Joseph, if I
should admit you to such freedom, what would you think of
me? — tell me freely." "Madam," said Joseph, "I should
think your ladyship condescended a great deal below your-
self." " Pugh ! " said she ; " that I am to answer to myself :
but would not you insist on more? Would you be contented
with a kiss ? Would not your inclinations be all on fire rather
by such a favour? " " Madam," said Joseph, " if they were
I hope I should be able to control them, without suffering

24

JOSEPH ANDREWS

them to get the better of my virtue." You have heard, reader,
poets talk of the statue of Surprize ; you have heard like-
wise, or else you have heard very little, how surprize made
one of the sons of Croesus speak, though he was dumb. You
have seen the faces, in the eighteen-penny gallery, when,
through the trap-door, to soft or no music, Mr Bridgewater,
Mr William Mills, or some other of ghostly appearance, hath
ascended, with a face all pale with powder, and a shirt all
bloody with ribbons ; — but from none of these, nor from Phi-
dias or Praxiteles, if they should return to life — no, not from
the inimitable pencil of my friend Hogarth, could you receive
such an idea of surprize as would have entered in at your
eyes had they beheld the Lady Booby when those last words
issued out from the lips of Joseph. ' Your virtue ! " said the
lady, recovering after a silence of two minutes ; " I shall never
survive it. Your virtue ! — intolerable confidence ! Have you
the assurance to pretend, that when a lady demeans herself
to throw aside the rules of decency, in order to honour you
with the highest favour in her power, your virtue should re-
sist her inclination? that, when she had conquered her own
virtue, she should find an obstruction in yours ? " ' Madam,"
said Joseph, " I can't see why her having no virtue should be
a reason against my having any ; or why, because I am a man,
or because I am poor, my virtue must be subservient to her
pleasures." " I am out of patience," cries the lady : " did ever
mortal hear of a man's virtue? Did ever the greatest or the
gravest men pretend to any of this kind? Will magistrates
who punish lewdness, or parsons who preach against it, make
any scruple of committing it? And can a boy, a stripling,
have the confidence to talk of his virtue? " ;' Madam," says
Joseph, " that boy is the brother of Pamela, and would be
ashamed that the chastity of his family, which is preserved
in her, should be stained in him. If there are such men as
your ladyship mentions, I am sorry for it; and I wish they
had an opportunity of reading over those letters which my
father has sent me of my sister Pamela's ; nor do I doubt
but such an example would amend them." " You impudent
villain ! " cries the lady in a rage ; " do you insult me with
the follies of my relation, who hath exposed himself all over
the country upon your sister's account? a little vixen, whom
I have always wondered my late Lady John Booby ever kept

25

THE ADVENTURES OF

in her house. Sirrah ! get out of my sight, and prepare to
set out this night ; for I will order you your wages imme-
diately, and you shall be stripped and turned away."
" Madam," says Joseph, " I am sorry I have offended your
ladyship, I am sure I .never intended it." ' Yes, sirrah,"
cries she, " you have had the vanity to misconstrue the little
innocent freedom I took, in order to try whether what I had
heard was true. O' my conscience, you have had the assurance
to imagine I was fond of you myself." Joseph answered, he
had only spoke out of tenderness for his virtue ; at which
words she flew into a violent passion, and refusing to hear
more, ordered him instantly to leave the room.

He was no sooner gone than she burst forth into the fol-
lowing exclamation : — " Whither doth this violent passion
hurry us? What meannesses do we submit to from its im-
pulse ! Wisely we resist its first and least approaches ; for
it is then only we can assure ourselves the victory. No
woman could ever safely say, so far only will I go. Have I
not exposed myself to the refusal of my footman. I cannot
bear the reflection." Upon which she applied herself to the
bell, and rung it with infinitely more violence than was
necessary, — the faithful Slipslop attending near at hand : to
say the truth, she had conceived a suspicion at her last in-
terview with her mistress, and had waited ever since in the
antechamber, having carefully applied her ears to the keyhole
during the whole time that the preceding conversation passed
between Joseph and the lady.

CHAPTER IX.

WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THE LADY AND MRS SLIPSLOP;
IN WHICH WE PROPHESY THERE ARE SOME STROKES WHICH
EVERY ONE WILL NOT TRULY COMPREHEND AT THE FIRST
READING.

SLIPSLOP," said the lady, " I find too much reason to be-
lieve all thou hast told me of this wicked Joseph ; I have
determined to part with him instantly ; so go you to the stew-

26

JOSEPH ANDREWS

ard, and bid him pay him his wages." Slipslop, who had pre-
served hitherto a distance to her lady — rather out of neces-
sity than inclination — and who thought the knowledge of
this secret had thrown down all distinction between them,
answered her mistress very pertly — she wished she knew
her own mind ; and that she was certain she would call her
back again before she was got half way down-stairs. The
lady replied, she had taken a resolution, and was resolved to
keep it. " I am sorry for it," cries Slipslop, " and if I had
known you would have punished the poor lad so severely,
you should never have heard a particle of the matter. Here's
a fuss indeed about nothing !" ' Nothing ! '' returned my
lady ; " do you think I will countenance lewdness in my
house? " ' If you will turn away every footman," said Slip-
slop, " that is a lover of the sport, you must soon open the
coach door yourself, or get a set of mophrodites to wait upon
you ; and I am sure I hated the sight of them even singing
in an opera." " Do as I bid you," says my lady, " and don't
shock my ears with your beastly language." " Marry come
up," cries Slipslop, " people's ears are sometimes the nicest
part about them."

The lady, who began to admire the new style in which her
waiting-gentlewoman delivered herself, and by the conclusion
of her speech suspected somewhat of the truth, called her
back, and desired to know what she meant by the extraor-
dinary degree of freedom in which she thought proper to
indulge her tongue. " Freedom ! " says Slipslop ; " I don't
know what you call freedom, madam ; servants have tongues
as well as their mistresses." " Yes, and saucy ones too," an-
swered the lady ; " but I assure you I shall bear no such
impertinence." " Impertinence! I don't know that I am im-
pertinent," says Slipslop. " Yes, indeed you are," cries my
lady, " and, unless you mend your manners, this house is
no place for you." " Manners ! " cries Slipslop ; " I never was
thought to want manners nor modesty neither ; and for places,
there are more places than one ; and I know what I know." —
" What do you know, mistress? " answered the lady. " I am
not obliged to tell that to everybody," says Slipslop, " any
more than I am obliged to keep it a secret." ' I desire you
will provide yourself," answered the lady. " With all my

27

THE ADVENTURES OF

heart,'' replied the waiting-gentlewoman ; and so departed in
a passion, and slammed the door after her.

The lady too plainly perceived that her waiting-gentle-
woman knew more than she would willingly have had her
acquainted with ; and this she imputed to Joseph's having
discovered to her what passed at the first interview. This,
therefore, blew up her rage against him, and confirmed her
in a resolution of parting with him.

But the dismissing of Mrs Slipslop was a point not so easily
to be resolved upon. She had the utmost tenderness for her
reputation, as she knew on that depended many of the most
valuable blessings of life ; particularly cards, making curtsies
in public places, and, above all, the pleasure of demolishing
the reputations of others, in which innocent amusement she
had an extraordinary delight. She therefore determined to
submit to any insult from a servant, rather than run a risk of
losing the title to so many great privileges.

She therefore sent for her steward, Mr Peter Pounce, and
ordered him to pay Joseph his wages, to strip off his livery,
and to turn him out of the house that evening.

She then called Slipslop up, and, after refreshing her spir-
its with a small cordial, which she kept in her closet, she began
in the following manner :

'' Slipslop, why will you, who know my passionate temper,
attempt to provoke me by your answers? I am convinced
you are an honest servant, and should be very unwilling to
part with you. I believe, likewise, you have found me an
indulgent mistress on many occasions, and have as little rea-
son on your side to desire a change. I can't help being sur-
prised, therefore, that you will take the surest method to
offend me — I mean, repeating my words, which you know I
have always detested."

The prudent waiting-gentlewoman had duly weighed the
whole matter, and found, on mature deliberation, that a good
place in possession was better than one in expectation. As
she found her mistress, therefore, inclined to relent, she
thought proper also to put on some small condescension,
which was as readily accepted ; and so the affair was recon-
ciled, all offences forgiven, and a present of a gown and
petticoat made her, as an instance of her lady's future favour.

28

JOSEPH ANDREWS

She offered once or twice to speak in favour of Joseph ;
but found her lady's heart so obdurate, that she prudently
dropt all such efforts. She considered there were more foot-
men in the house, and some as stout fellows, though not quite
so handsome, as Joseph ; besides, the reader hath already
seen her tender advances had not met with the encourage-
ment she might have reasonably expected. She thought she
had thrown away a great deal of sack and sweetmeats on an
ungrateful rascal ; and, being a little inclined to the opinion
of that female sect, who hold one lusty young fellow to be
nearly as good as another lusty young fellow, she at last gave
up Joseph and his cause, and, with a triumph over her passion
highly commendable, walked off with her present, and with
great tranquillity paid a visit to a stone-bottle, which is of
sovereign use to a philosophical temper.

She left not her mistress so easy. The poor lady could not
reflect without agony that her dear reputation was in the
power of her servants. All her comfort as to Joseph was,
that she hoped he did not understand her meaning ; at least
she could say for herself, she had not plainly expressed any
thing to him ; and as to Mrs Slipslop, she imagined she could
bribe her to secresy.

But what hurt her most was, that in reality she had not so
entirely conquered her passion ; the little god lay lurking in
her heart, though anger and disdain so hoodwinked her, that
she could not see him. She was a thousand times on the very
brink of revoking the sentence she had passed against the
poor youth. Love became his advocate, and whispered many
things in his favour. Honour likewise endeavoured to vindi-
cate his crime, and Pity to mitigate his punishment. On the
other side, Pride and Revenge spoke as loudly against him.
And thus the poor lady was tortured with perplexity, opposite
passions distracting and tearing her mind different ways.

So have I seen, in the hall of Westminster, where Serjeant
Bramble hath been retained on the right side, and Serjeant
Puzzle on the left, the balance of opinion (so equal were
their fees) alternately incline to either scale. Now Bramble
throws in an argument, and Puzzle's scale strikes the beam ;
again Bramble shares the like fate, overpowered by the weight
of Puzzle. Here Bramble hits, there Puzzle strikes; here

29

THE ADVENTURES OF

one has you, there t'other has you ; till at last all becomes one
scene of confusion in the tortured minds of the hearers ; equal
wagers are laid on the success, and neither judge nor jury can
possibly make anything of the matter; all things are so en-
veloped by the careful Serjeants in doubt and obscurity.

Or, as it happens in the conscience, where honour and hon-
esty pull one way, and a bribe and necessity another. If

it was our present business only to make similes, we could
produce many more to this purpose ; but a simile (as well as
a word) to the wise. — We shall therefore see a little after our
hero, for whom the reader is doubtless in some pain.

CHAPTER X.

JOSEPH WRITES ANOTHER LETTER: HIS TRANSACTIONS WITH
MR PETER POUNCE, ETC., WITH HIS DEPARTURE FROM LADY
BOOBY.

THE disconsolate Joseph would not have had an under-
standing sufficient for the principal subject of such a
book as this, if he had any longer misunderstood the drift
of his mistress ; and indeed, that he did not discern it sooner,
the reader will be pleased to impute to an unwillingness in him
to discover what he must condemn in her as a fault. Having
therefore quitted her presence, he retired into his own garret,
and entered himself into an ejaculation on the numberless
calamities which attended beauty, and the misfortune it was
to be handsomer than one's neighbours.

He then sat down, and addressed himself to his sister Pa-
mela in the following words :

"Dear Sister Pamela, — Hoping you are well, what news
have I to tell you ! O Pamela ! my mistress is fallen in love
with me — that is, what great folks call falling in love, — she
has a mind to ruin me ; but I hope I shall have more resolu-
tion and more grace than to part with my virtue to any lady
upon earth.

" .Mr Adams hath often told me, that chastity is as great a
virtue in a man as in a woman. He says he never knew any

3°

JOSEPH ANDREWS

more than his wife, and I shall endeavour to follow his ex-
ample. Indeed, it is owing entirely to his excellent sermons
and advice, together with your letters, that I have been able
to resist a temptation, which, he says, no man complies with,
but he repents in this world, or is damned for it in the next;
and why should I trust to repentance on my deathbed, since
I may die in my sleep? But fine things are good advice
and good examples! But I am glad she turned me out of
the chamber as she did : for I had once almost forgotten every
word parson Adams had ever said to me.

" I don't doubt, dear sister, but you will have grace to pre-
serve your virtue against all trials; and I beg you earnestly
to pray I may be enabled to preserve mine; for trulv it is
very severely attacked by more than one ; but I hope I shall
copy your example, and that of Joseph my namesake, and
maintain my virtue against all temptations."

Joseph had not finished his letter, when he was summoned
down-stairs by Mr Peter Pounce, to receive his wages ; for,
besides that out of eight pounds a-year he allowed his father
and mother four, he had been obliged, in order to furnish
himself with musical instruments, to apply to the generosity
of the aforesaid Peter, who, on urgent occasions, used to ad-
vance the servants their wages : not before they were due,
but before they were payable ; that is, perhaps, half a year
after they were due; and this at the moderate premium of
fifty per cent, or a little more : by which charitable methods,
together with lending money to other people, and even to
his own master and mistress, the honest man had, from no-
thing, in a few years amassed a small sum of twenty thou-
sand pounds or thereabouts.

Joseph having received his little remainder of wages, and
having stript off his livery, was forced to borrow a frock and
breeches of one of the servants (for he was so beloved in the
family, that they would all have lent him anything) : and,
being told by Peter that he must not stay a moment longer
in the house than was necessary to pack up his linen, which
he easily did in a very narrow compass, he took a melancholy
leave of his fellow-servants, and set out at seven in the
evening.

He had proceeded the length of two or three streets, before

3i

THE ADVENTURES OF

he absolutely determined with himself whether he should
leave the town that night, or, procuring a lodging, wait till
the morning. At last, the moon shining very bright helped
him to come to a resolution of beginning his journey immedi-
ately, to which likewise he had some other inducements ; which
the reader, without being a conjurer, cannot possibly guess,
till we have given him those hints which it may be now proper
to open.

CHAPTER XI.

OF SEVERAL NEW MATTERS NOT EXPECTED.

IT is an observation sometimes made, that to indicate our
idea of a simple fellow, we say, he is easily to be seen
through : nor do I believe it a more improper denotation of a
simple book. Instead of applying this to any particular per-
formance, we choose rather to remark the contrary in this
history, where the scene opens itself by small degrees; and he
is a sagacious reader who can see two chapters before him.

For this reason, we have not hitherto hinted a matter
which now seems necessary to be explained ; since it may be
wondered at, first, that Joseph made such extraordinary haste
out of town, which hath been already shown ; and secondly,
which will be now shown, that, instead of proceeding to the
habitation of his father and mother, or to his beloved sister
Pamela, he chose rather to set out full speed to the Lady
Booby's country-seat, which he had left on his journey to
London.

Be it known, then, that in the same parish where this seat
stood there lived a young girl whom Joseph (though the best
of sons and brothers) longed more impatiently to see than
his parents or his sister. She was a poor girl, who had for-
merly been bred up in Sir John's family ; whence, a little
before the journey to London, she had been discarded by Mrs
Slipslop, on account of her extraordinary beauty : for I never
could find any other reason.

This young creature (who now lived with a farmer in the

32

JOSEPH ANDREWS

parish) had been always beloved by Joseph, and returned his
affection. She was two years only younger than our hero.
They had been acquainted from their infancy, and had con-
ceived a very early liking for each other ; which had grown
to such a degree of affection, that Mr Adams had with much
ado prevented them from marrying, and persuaded them to
wait till a few years' service and thrift had a little improved
their experience, and enabled them to live comfortably to-
gether.

They followed this good man's advice, as indeed his word
was little less that a law in his parish; for as he had shown
his parishioners, by an uniform behaviour of thirty-five years'
duration, that he had their good entirely at heart, so they
consulted him on every occasion, and very seldom acted con-
trary to his opinion.

Nothing can be imagined more tender than was the parting
between these two lovers. A thousand sighs heaved the bosom
of Joseph, a thousand tears distilled from the lovely eyes of
Fanny (for that was her name). Though her modesty would
only suffer her to admit his eager kisses, her violent love
made her more than passive in his embraces ; and she often
pulled him to her breast with a soft pressure, which, though
perhaps it would not have squeezed an insect to death, caused
more emotion in the heart of Joseph than the closest Cornish
hug could have done.

The reader may perhaps wonder that so fond a pair should,
during a twelvemonth's absence, never converse with one
another : indeed, there was but one reason which did or could
have prevented them ; and this was, that poor Fanny could
neither write nor read : nor could she be prevailed upon to
transmit the delicacies of her tender and chaste passion by
the hands of an amanuensis.

They contented themselves therefore with frequent inquir-
ies after each other's health, with a mutual confidence in each
other's fidelity, and the prospect of their future happiness.

Having explained these matters to our reader, and, as far
as possible, satisfied all his doubts, we return to honest Jo-
seph, whom we left just set out on his travels by the light of
the moon.

Those who have read any romance or poetry, ancient or

3 33

THE ADVENTURES OF

modern, must have been informed that love hath wings : by
which they are not to understand, as some young ladies by
mistake have done, that a lover can fly ; the writers, by this
ingenious allegory, intending to insinuate no more than that
lovers do not march like horse-guards ; in short, that they
put the best leg foremost ; which our lusty youth, who could
walk with any man, did so heartily on this occasion, that
within four hours he reached a famous house of hospitality
well known to the western traveller. It presents you a lion
on the sign-post : and the master, who was christened Timo-
theus, is commonly called plain Tim. Some have conceived
that he hath particularly chosen the lion for his sign, as he
doth in countenance greatly resemble that magnanimous beast,
though his disposition savours more of the sweetness of the
lamb. He is a person well received among all sorts of men,
being qualified to render himself agreeable to any ; as he is
well versed in history and politics, hath a smattering in law
and divinity, cracks a good jest, and plays wonderfully well
on the French horn.

A violent storm of hail forced Joseph to take shelter in
this inn, where he remembered Sir Thomas had dined in his
way to town. Joseph had no sooner seated himself by the
kitchen fire than Timotheus, observing his livery, began to
condole the loss of his late master; who was, he said, his
very particular and intimate acquaintance, with whom he
had cracked many a merry bottle, ay many a dozen, in his
time. He then remarked, that all these things were over
now, all passed, and just as if they had never been; and
concluded with an excellent observation on the certainty of
death, which his wife said was indeed very true. A fellow
now arrived at the same inn with two horses, one of which
he was leading farther down into the country to meet his
master ; these he put into the stable, and came and took his
place by Joseph's side, who immediately knew him to be the
servant of a neighbouring gentleman, who used to visit at
their house.

This fellow was likewise forced in by the storm; for he
had orders to go twenty miles farther that evening, and
luckily on the same road which Joseph himself intended to
take. He, therefore, embraced this opportunity of compli-

34

JOSEPH ANDREWS

meriting- his friend with his master's horse (notwithstanding
he had received express commands to the contrary), which
was readily accepted ; and so, after they had drank a loving
pot, and the storm was over, they set out together.

CHAPTER XII.

CONTAINING MANY SURPRISING ADVENTURES WHICH JOSEPH
ANDREWS MET WITH ON THE ROAD, SCARCE CREDIBLE TO
THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER TRAVELLED IN A STAGE-COACH.

NOTHING remarkable happened on the road till their
arrival at the inn to which the horses were ordered ;
whither they came about two in the morning. The moon then
shone very bright ; and Joseph, making his friend a present of
a pint of wine, and thanking him for the favour of his horse,
notwithstanding all entreaties to the contrary, proceeded on
his journey on foot.

He had not gone above two miles, charmed with the hope
of shortly seeing his beloved Fanny, when he was met by
two fellows in a narrow lane, and ordered to stand and de-
liver. He readily gave them all the money he had, which
was somewhat less than two pounds ; and told them he hoped
they would be so generous as to return him a few shillings,
to defray his charges on his way home.

One of the ruffians answered with an oath, "Yes, we'll
give you something presently : but first strip and be d — n'd
to you." — " Strip," cried the other, " or I'll blow your brains
to the devil." Joseph, remembering that he had borrowed
his coat and breeches of a friend, and that he should be
ashamed of making any excuse for not returning them, re-
plied, he hoped they would not insist on his clothes, which
were not worth much, but consider the coldness of the night.
"You are cold, are you, you rascal?" said one of the rob-
bers : " I'll warm you with a vengeance ; " and, damning his
eyes, snapped a pistol at his head ; which he had no sooner
done than the other levelled a blow at him with his stick,
which Joseph, who was expert at cudgel-playing, caught with

35

THE ADVENTURES OF

his, and returned the favour so successfully on his adversary,
that he laid him sprawling at his feet, and at the same in-
stant received a blow from behind, with the butt end of a
pistol, from the other villain, which felled him to the ground,
and totally deprived him of his senses.

The thief who had been knocked down had now recovered
himself ; and both together fell to belabouring poor Joseph
with their sticks, till they were convinced they had put an end
to his miserable being : they then stripped him entirely naked,
threw him into a ditch, and departed with their booty.

The poor wretch, who lay motionless a long time, just be-
gan to recover his senses as a stage-coach came by. The
postilion, hearing a man's groans, stopt his horses, and told
the coachman he was certain there was a dead man lying in
the ditch, for he heard him groan. " Go on, sirrah," says the
coachman ; " we are confounded late, and have no time to
look after dead men." A lady, who heard what the postilion
said, and likewise heard the groan, called eagerly to the coach-
man to stop and see what was the matter. Upon which he
bid the postilion alight, and look into the ditch. He did so,
and returned, that there was a man sitting upright, as naked
as ever he was born. — " O J — sus ! '; cried the lady ; " a
naked man ! Dear coachman, drive on and leave him." Upon
this the gentlemen got out of the coach ; and Joseph begged
them to have mercy upon him : for that he had been robbed
and almost beaten to death. " Robbed ! " cries an old gen-
tleman : " let us make all the haste imaginable, or we shall
be robbed too." A young man who belonged to the law an-
swered, he wished they had passed by without taking any
notice ; but that now they might be proved to have been last
in his company ; if he should die they might be called to
some account for his murder. He therefore thought it ad-
visable to save the poor creature's life, for their own sakes, if
possible; at least, if he died, to prevent the jury's finding
that they fled for it. He was therefore of opinion to take
the man into the coach, and carry him to the next inn.
The lady insisted, that he should not come into the coach.
That if they lifted him in, she would herself alight : for she
had rather stay in that place to all eternity than ride with a
naked man. The coachman objected, that he could not suffer

36

JOSEPH ANDREWS

him to be taken in unless somebody would pay a shilling for
his carriage the four miles. Which the two gentlemen refused
to do. But the lawyer, who was afraid of some mischief hap-
pening to himself, if the wretch was left behind in that con-
dition, saying no man could be too cautious in these matters,
and that he remembered very extraordinary cases in the books,
threatened the coachman, and bid him deny taking him up at
his peril ; for that, if he died, he should be indicted for his
murder ; and if he lived, and brought an action against him,
he would willingly take a brief in it. These words had a
sensible effect on the coachman, who was well acquainted with
the person who spoke them ; and the old gentleman above
mentioned, thinking the naked man would afford him frequent
opportunities of showing his wit to the lady, offered to join
with the company in giving a mug of beer for his fare ; till,
partly alarmed by the threats of the one, and partly by the
promises of the other, and being perhaps a little moved with
compassion at the poor creature's condition, who stood bleed-
ing and shivering with the cold, he at length agreed ; and Jo-
seph was now advancing to the coach, where, seeing the lady,
who held the sticks of her fan before her eyes, he abso-
lutely refused, miserable as he was, to enter, unless he was
furnished with sufficient covering to prevent giving the least
offence to decency, — so perfectly modest was this young man ;
such mighty effects had the spotless example of the amiable
Pamela, and the excellent sermons of Mr Adams, wrought
upon him.

Though there were several great-coats about the coach, it
was not easy to get over this difficulty which Joseph had
started. The two gentlemen complained they were cold,
and could not spare a rag; the man of wit saying, with a
laugh, that charity began at home ; and the coachman, who
had two great-coats spread under him, refused to lend either,
lest they should be made bloody : the lady's footman desired
to be excused for the same reason, which the lady herself,
notwithstanding her abhorrence of a naked man, approved:
and it is more than probable poor Joseph, who obstinately
adhered to his modest resolution, must have perished, unless
the postilion (a lad who hath been since transported for rob-
bing a henroost) had voluntarily stript off a great coat, his

37

THE ADVENTURES OF

only garment, at the same time swearing a great oath (for
which he was rebuked by the passengers), that he would
rather ride in his shirt all his life than suffer a fellow-creature
to lie in so miserable a condition.

Joseph, having put on the great-coat, was lifted into the
coach, which now proceeded on its journey. He declared
himself almost dead with the cold, which gave the man of
wit an occasion to ask the lady if she could not accommo-
date him with a dram. She answered, with some resent-
ment, she wondered at his asking her such a question ; but
assured him she never tasted anv such thine.

The lawyer was inquiring into the circumstances of the
robbery, when the coach stopt, and one of the ruffians, put-
ting a pistol in, demanded their money of the passengers,
who readily gave it them ; and the lady, in her fright, de-
livered up a little silver bottle, of about a half-pint size, which
the rogue, clapping it to his mouth, and drinking her health,
declared, held some of the best Nantes he had ever tasted :
this the lady afterwards assured the company was the mis-
take of her maid, for that she had ordered her to fill the
bottle with Hungary-water.

As soon as the fellows were departed, the lawyer, who had,
it seems, a case of pistols in the seat of the coach, informed
the company, that if it had been daylight, and he could have
come at his pistols, he would not have submitted to the rob-
bery : he likewise set forth that he had often met highwaymen
when he travelled on horseback, but none ever durst attack
him ; concluding that, if he had not been more afraid for the
lady than for himself, he should not have now parted with
his money so easily.

As wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty
pockets, so the gentleman whose ingenuity we have above
remarked, as soon as he had parted with his money, began
to grow wonderfully facetious. He made frequent allusions
to Adam and Eve, and said many excellent things on figs
and fig-leaves ; which perhaps gave more offence to Joseph
than to any other in the company.

The lawyer likewise made several very pretty jests without
departing from his profession. He said, if Joseph and the
lady were alone, he would be more capable of making a con-

38

JOSEPH ANDREWS

veyance to her, as his affairs were not fettered with any in-
cumbrance ; he'd warrant he soon suffered a recovery by a
writ of entry, which was the proper way to create heirs in
tail ; that, for his own part, he would engage to make so firm
a settlement in a coach, that there should be no danger of an
ejectment ; with an inundation of the like gibberish, which
he continued to vent till the coach arrived at an inn, where
one servant-maid only was up, in readiness to attend the
coachman, and furnish him with cold meat and a dram. Jo-
seph desired to alight, and that he might have a bed pre-
pared for him, which the maid readily promised to perform;
and, being a good-natured wench, and not so squeamish as
the lady had been, she clapt a large fagot on the fire, and,
furnishing Joseph with a great-coat belonging to one of the
hostlers, desired him to sit down and warm himself whilst
she made his bed. The coachman, in the mean time, took
an opportunity to call up a surgeon, who lived within a few
doors ; after which, he reminded his passengers how late
they were, and, after they had taken leave of Joseph, hurried
them off as fast as he could.

The wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to use
her interest to borrow him a shirt ; but imagining, as she
afterwards said, by his being so bloody, that he must be a
dead man, she ran with all speed to hasten the surgeon, who
was more than half drest, apprehending that the coach had
been overturned, and some gentleman or lady hurt. As soon
as the wench had informed him at his window that it was a
poor foot-passenger who had been stripped of all he had, and
almost murdered, he chid her for disturbing him so early,
slipped off his clothes again, and very quietly returned to bed
and to sleep.

Aurora now began to show her blooming cheeks over the
hills, whilst ten millions of feathered songsters, in jocund
chorus, repeated odes a thousand times sweeter than those of
our laureat, and sung both the day and the song; when the
master of the inn, Mr Tow-wouse, arose, and. learning from
his maid an account of the robbery, and the situation of his
poor naked guest, he shook his head and cried, " good-lack-
a-day ! " and then ordered the girl to carry him one of his own
shirts.

39

THE ADVENTURES OF

Mrs Tow-wouse was just awake, and had stretched out her
arms in vain to fold her departed husband, when the maid
entered the room. " Who's there ? Betty ? " — " Yes, ma-
dam."— " Where's your master ? " — " He's without, madam ;
he hath sent me for a shirt to lend a poor naked man, who
hath been robbed and murdered." — " Touch one if you dare,
you slut," said Mrs Tow-wouse : " your master is a pretty
sort of a man, to take in naked vagabonds, and clothe them
with his own clothes. I shall have no such doings. If you
offer to touch anything, I'll throw the chamber-pot at your
head. Go, send your master to me." — " Yes, madam," an-
swered Betty. As soon as he came in, she thus began : " What
the devil do you mean by this, Mr Tow-wouse? Am I to
buy shirts to lend to a set of scabby rascals ? " — " My dear,"
said Mr Tow-wouse, " this is a poor wretch." — " Yes," says
she, " I know it is a poor wretch ; but what the devil have
we to do with poor wretches ? The law makes us provide for
too many already. We shall have thirty or forty poor wretches
in red coats shortly." — " My dear," cries Tow-wouse, " this
man hath been robbed of all he hath." — " Well then," said
she, " where's his money to pay his reckoning ? Why doth
not such a fellow go to an alehouse? I shall send him pack-
ing as soon as I am up, I assure you." — " My dear," said he,
" common charity won't suffer you to do that." " Common
charity, a f — t ! " says she, " common charity teaches us to
provide for ourselves and our families ; and I and mine won't
be ruined by your charity, I assure you." — " Well," says he,
" my dear, do as you will, when you are up ; you know I
never contradict you." — " No," says she ; " if the devil was to
contradict me, I would make the house too hot to hold him."
With such like discourses they consumed near half an hour,
whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler, who was one
of her sweethearts, and put it on poor Joseph. The surgeon
had likewise at last visited him, and washed and drest his
wounds, and was now come to acquaint Mr Tow-wouse
that his guest was in such extreme danger of his life, that he
scarce saw any hopes of his recovery. " Here's a pretty kettle
of fish," cries Mrs Tow-wouse, "you have brought upon us!
We are like to have a funeral at our own expense." Tow-
wouse (who, notwithstanding his charity, would have given

40

JOSEPH ANDREWS

his vote as freely as ever he did at an election, that any other
house in the kingdom should have quiet possession of his
guest) answered, "My dear, I am not to blame; he was
brought hither by the stage-coach, and Betty had put him to
bed before I was stirring." — " I'll Betty her," says she. —
At which, with half her garments on, the other half under
her arm, she sallied out in quest of the unfortunate Betty,
whilst Tow-wouse and the surgeon went to pay a visit topoor
Joseph, and inquire into the circumstances of this melancholy
affair.

CHAPTER XIII.

WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSEPH DURING HIS SICKNESS AT THE
INN, WITH THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE BETWEEN HIM AND MR
BARNABAS, THE PARSON OF THE PARISH. _

AS soon as Joseph had communicated a particular history
.x\ of the robbery, together with a short account of himself,
and his intended journey, he asked the surgeon if he appre-
hended him to be in any danger : to which the surgeon very
honestly answered, he feared he was ; for that his pulse was
very exalted and feverish, and, if his fever should prove more
than symptomatic, it would be impossible to save him. Joseph,
fetching a deep sigh, cried, " Poor Fanny, I would I could
have lived to see thee ! but God's will be done."

The surgeon then advised him, if he had any worldly
affairs to settle, that he would do it as soon as possible ; for,
though he hoped he might recover, yet he thought himself
obliged to acquaint him he was in great danger; and if the
malign concoction of his humours should cause a suscitation
of his fever, he might soon grow delirious and incapable to
make his will. Joseph answered, that it was impossible for
any creature in the universe to be in a poorer condition than
himself; for since the robbery he had not one thing of any
kind whatever which he could call his own. " I had," said he,
" a poor little piece of gold, which they took away, that would
have been a comfort to me in all my afflictions; but surely,

4i

THE ADVENTURES OF

Fanny, I want nothing to remind me of thee. I have thy
dear image in my heart, and no villain can ever tear it thence."

Joseph desired paper and pens, to write a letter, but they
were refused him ; and he was advised to use all his endea-
vours to compose himself. They then left him ; and Mr Tow-
wouse sent to a clergyman to come and administer his good
offices to the soul of poor Joseph, since the surgeon despaired
of making any successful applications to his body.

Mr Barnabas (for that was the clergyman's name) came as
soon as sent for; and, having first drank a dish of tea with
the landlady, and afterwards a bowl of punch with the land-
lord, he walked up to the room where Joseph lay ; but,
finding him asleep, returned to take the other sneaker ; which
when he had finished, he again crept softly up to the chamber-
door, and, having opened it, heard the sick man talking to him-
self in the following manner:

" O most adorable Pamela ! most virtuous sister ! whose
example could alone enable me to withstand all the tempta-
tions of riches and beauty, and to preserve my virtue pure and
chaste for the arms of my dear Fanny, if it had pleased
Heaven that I should ever have come unto them. What
riches, or honours, or pleasures, can make us amends for the
loss of innocence? Doth not that alone afford us more con-
solation than all worldly acquisitions? What but innocence
and virtue could give any comfort to such a miserable wretch
as I am? Yet these can make me prefer this sick and pain-
ful bed to all the pleasures I should have found in my lady's.
These can make me face death without fear ; and though I
love my Fanny more than ever man loved a woman, these
can teach me to resign myself to the Divine will without re-
pining. O, thou delightful charming creature ! if Heaven
had indulged thee to my arms, the poorest, humblest state
would have been a paradise ; I could have lived with thee in
the lowest cottage without envying the palaces, the dainties,
or the riches of any man breathing. But I must leave thee,
leave thee for ever, my dearest angel ! I must think of an-
other world ; and I heartily pray thou may'st meet comfort
in this." — Barnabas thought he had heard enough, so down-
stairs he went, and told Tow-wouse he could do his guest no
service; for that he was very light-headed, and had uttered

42

JOSEPH ANDREWS

nothing but a rhapsody of nonsense all the time he stayed in
the room.

The surgeon returned in the afternoon, and found his
patient in a higher fever, as he said, than when he left him,
though not delirious ; for, notwithstanding Mr Barnabas's
opinion, he had not been once out of his senses since his
arrival at the inn.

Mr Barnabas was again sent for, and with much difficulty
prevailed on to make another visit. As soon as he entered
the room he told Joseph he was come to pray by him, and
to prepare him for another world : in the first place, there-
fore, he hoped he had repented of all his sins. Joseph an-
swered he hoped he had ; but there was one thing which he
knew not whether he should call a sin ; if it was, he feared
he should die in the commission of it ; and that was, the regret
of parting with a young woman whom he loved as tenderly
as he did his heart-strings. Barnabas bade him be assured
that any repining at the Divine will was one of the greatest
sins he could commit ; that he ought to forget all carnal affec-
tions, and think of better things. Joseph said, that neither
in this world nor the next he could forget his Fanny ; and
that the thought, however grievous, of parting from her for
ever, was not half so tormenting as the fear of what she
would suffer when she knew his misfortune. Barnabas said,
that such fears argued a diffidence and despondence very
criminal ; that he must divest himself of all human passions,
and fix his heart above. Joseph answered, that was what
he desired to do, and should be obliged to him if he would
enable him to accomplish it. Barnabas replied, that must be
done by grace. Joseph besought him to discover how he
might attain it. Barnabas answered, by prayer and faith. He
then questioned him concerning his forgiveness of the thieves.
Joseph answered, he feared that was more than he could do;
for nothing would give him more pleasure than to hear they
were taken. " That," cries Barnabas, " is for the sake of jus-
tice."— " Yes," said Joseph, " but if T was to meet them again,
I am afraid I should attack them, and kill them too, if I could."
— " Doubtless," answered Barnabas, " it is lawful to kill a
thief; but can you say you forgive them as a Christian
ought ? " Joseph desired to know what that forgiveness was.

43

THE ADVENTURES OF

' That is," answered Barnabas, " to forgive them as — as — it
is to forgive them as — in short, it is to forgive them as a
Christian." Joseph replied, he forgave them as much as he
could. — " Well, well," said Barnabas, " that will do." He
then demanded of him, if he remembered any more sins un-
repented of; and if he did, he desired him to make haste and
repent of them as fast as he could, that they might repeat over
a few prayers together. Joseph answered, he could not recol-
lect any great crimes he had been guilty of, and that those
he had committed he was sincerely sorry for. Barnabas said
that was enough, and then proceeded to prayer with all the
expedition he was master of, some company then waiting for
him below in the parlour, where the ingredients for punch
were all in readiness ; but no one would squeeze the oranges
till he came.

Joseph complained he was dry, and desired a little tea ;
which Barnabas reported to Mrs Tow-wouse, who answered,
she had just done drinking it, and could not be slopping all
day ; but ordered Betty to carry him up some small beer.

Betty obeyed her mistress's commands ; but Joseph, as soon
as he had tasted it, said, he feared it would increase his fever,
and that he longed very much for tea ; to which the good-
natured Betty answered, he should have tea, if there was any
in the land ; she accordingly went and bought him some her-
self, and attended him with it ; where we will leave her and
Joseph together for some time, to entertain the reader with
other matters.

CHAPTER XIV.

BEING VERY FULL OF ADVENTURES WHICH SUCCEEDED EACH

OTHER AT THE END.

IT was now the dusk of the evening, when a grave person
rode into the inn, and, committing his horse to the hostler,
went directly into the kitchen, and, having called for a pipe
of tobacco, took his place by the fireside, where several other
persons were likewise assembled.

The discourse ran altogether on the robbery which was

44

JOSEPH ANDREWS

committed the night before, and on the poor wretch who lay
above in the dreadful condition in which we have already
seen him. Mrs Tow-wouse said, she wondered what the devil
Tom Whipwcll meant by bringing such guests to her house,
when there were so many alehouses on the road proper for
their reception. But she assured him, if he died, the parish
should be at the expense of the funeral. She added, no-
thing would serve the fellow's turn but tea, she would assure
him. Betty, who was just returned from her charitable office,
answered, she believed he was a gentleman, for she never
saw a finer skin in her life. " Pox on his skin ! " replied Mrs
Tow-wouse, " I suppose that is all we are like to have for
the reckoning. I desire no such gentlemen should ever call
at the Dragon " (which it seems was the sign of the inn).

The gentleman lately arrived discovered a great deal of
emotion at the distress of this poor creature, whom he ob-
served to be fallen not into the most compassionate hands.
And indeed, if Mrs Tow-wouse had given no utterance to the
sweetness of her temper, nature had taken such pains in her
countenance, that Hogarth himself never gave more expres-
sion to a picture.

Her person was short, thin, and crooked. Her forehead
projected in the middle, and thence descended in a declivity
to the top of her nose, which was sharp and red, and would
have hung over her lips, had not nature turned up the end
of it. Her lips were two bits of skin, which, whenever she
spoke, she drew together in a purse. Her chin was peaked ;
and at the upper end of that skin which composed her cheeks,
stood two bones, that almost hid a pair of small red eyes.
Add to this a voice most wonderfully adapted to the senti-
ments it was to convey, being both loud and hoarse.

It is not easy to say whether the gentleman had conceived
a greater dislike for his landlady or compassion for her un-
happy guest. He inquired very earnestly of the surgeon, who
was now come into the kitchen, whether he had any hopes of
his recovery? He begged him to use all possible means
towards it, telling him, it was the duty of men of all pro-
fessions to apply their skill gratis for the relief of the poor
and necessitous. The surgeon answered, he should take
proper care; but he defied all the surgeons in London to do

45

THE ADVENTURES OF

him any good. — " Pray, sir," said the gentleman, " what are
his wounds? " — " Why, do you know anything of wounds? "
says the surgeon (winking upon Mrs Tow-wouse). "Sir,
I have a small smattering in surgery," answered the gentle-
man. " A smattering, — ho, ho, ho ! " said the surgeon ; " I
believe it is a smattering indeed."

The company were all attentive, expecting to hear the doc-
tor, who was what they call a dry fellow, expose the gentle-
man.

He began therefore with an air of triumph : " I suppose,
sir, you have travelled ? " — " No, really, sir," said the gentle-
man. " Ho ! then you have practised in the hospitals per-
haps ? " — " No, sir." — " Hum ! not that neither ? Whence, sir,
then, if I may be so bold to inquire, have you got your
knowledge in surgery? " — " Sir," answered the gentleman, " I
do not pretend to much ; but the little I know I have from
books." — " Books ! " cries the doctor. ' What, I suppose you
have read Galen and Hippocrates ! " — " No, sir," said the gen-
tleman. " How ! you understand surgery," answers the doc-
tor, "and not read Galen and Hippocrates?" — "Sir," cries
the other, " I believe there are many surgeons who have never
read these authors." — " I believe so too," says the doctor,
" more shame for them ; but, thanks to my education, I have
them by heart, and very seldom go without them both in my
pocket." — " They are pretty large books," said the gentleman.
" Aye," said the doctor, " I believe I know how large they
are better than you." (At which he fell a winking, and the
whole company burst into a laugh.)

The doctor pursuing his triumph, asked the gentleman, if
he did not understand physic as well as surgery. " Rather
better," answered the gentleman. " Aye, like enough," cries
the doctor with a wink. ' Why, I know a little of physic
too." — " I wish I knew half so much," said Tow-wouse, " I'd
never wear an apron again." — " Why, I believe, landlord,"
cries the doctor, " there are few men, though I say it, within
twelve miles of the place, that handle a fever better. — Veni-
ente accurrite morbo: that is my method. I suppose, brother,
you understand Latin?" — "A little," says the gentleman.
" Ay, and Greek now, I'll warrant you : Ton dapomibominos
poluftosboio thalasses. But I have almost forgot these things :

46

JOSEPH ANDREWS

I could have repeated Homer by heart once." " I fags !

the gentleman has caught a traitor," says Mrs Tow-wouse ;
at which they all fell a laughing.

The gentleman, who had not the least affection for joking,
very contentedly suffered the doctor to enjoy his victory,
which he did with no small satisfaction; and, having suffi-
ciently sounded his depth, told him, he was thoroughly con-
vinced of his great learning and abilities; and that he would
be obliged to him if he would let him know his opinion of his
patient's case above-stairs. " Sir," says the doctor, " his case
is that of a dead man. The contusion on his head has perfor-
ated the internal membrane of the occiput, and divellicated
that radical small minute invisible nerve which coheres to the
pericranium ; and this was attended with a fever at first symp-
tomatic, then pneumatic ; and he is at length grown deliruus,
or delirious, as the vulgar express it."

He was proceeding in this learned manner, when a mighty
noise interrupted him. Some young fellows in the neighbour-
hood had taken one of the thieves, and were bringing him
into the inn. Betty ran up-stairs with this news to Joseph,
who begged they might search for a little piece of broken
gold, which had a ribbon tied to it, and which he could swear
to amongst all the hoards of the richest men in the universe.

Notwithstanding the fellow's persisting in his innocence,
the mob were very busy in searching him, and presently,
among other things, pulled out the piece of gold just men-
tioned ; which Betty no sooner saw than she laid violent hands
on it, and conveyed it up to Joseph, who received it with rap-
tures of joy, and, hugging it in his bosom, declared he could
now die contented.

Within a few minutes afterwards came in some other fel-
lows, with a bundle which they had found in a ditch, and
which was indeed the clothes which had been stripped off
from Joseph, and the other things they had taken from him.

The gentleman no sooner saw the coat than he declared he
knew the livery; and, if it had been taken from the poor
creature above-stairs, desired he might see him ; for that he
was very well acquainted with the family to whom that livery
belonged.

He was accordingly conducted up by Betty; but what,

47

THE ADVENTURES OF

reader, was the surprize on both sides, when he saw Joseph
was the person in bed, and when Joseph discovered the face
of his good friend Mr Abraham Adams !

It would be impertinent to insert a discourse which chiefly
turned on the relation of matters already well known to the
reader ; for, as soon as the curate had satisfied Joseph con-
cerning the perfect health of his Fanny, he was on his side
very inquisitive into all the particulars which had produced
this unfortunate accident.

To return therefore to the kitchen, where a great variety
of company were now assembled from all the rooms of the
house, as well as the neighbourhood : so much delight do men
take in contemplating the countenance of a thief.

Mr Tow-wouse began to rub his hands with pleasure at
seeing so large an assembly; who would, he hoped, shortly
adjourn into several apartments, in order to discourse over
the robbery, and drink a health to all honest men. But Mrs
Tow-wouse, whose misfortune it was commonly to see things
a little perversely, began to rail at those who brought the
fellow into her house ; telling her husband, they were very
likely to thrive who kept a house of entertainment for beggars
and thieves.

The mob had now finished their search, and could find
nothing about the captive likely to prove any evidence ; for
as to the clothes, though the mob were very well satisfied
with that proof, yet, as the surgeon observed, they could not
convict him, because they were not found in his custody ; to
which Barnabas agreed, and added that these were bona
waviata, and belonged to the lord of the manor.

" How," says the surgeon, " do you say these goods belong
to the lord of the manor? " — " I do," cried Barnabas. " Then
I deny it," says the surgeon : " what can the lord of the manor
have to do in the case? Will any one attempt to persuade
me that what a man finds is not his own ? " — " I have heard,"
sajs an old fellow in the corner, " justice Wise-one say, that,
if every man had his right, whatever is found belongs to the
king of London." — " That may be true," says Barnabas, " in
some sense ; for the law makes a difference between things
stolen and things found ; for a thing may be stolen that
never is found, and a thing may be found that never was

48

JOSEPH ANDREWS

stolen. Now, goods that are both stolen and found are
waviata; and they belong to the lord of the manor." — " So
the lord of the manor is the receiver of stolen goods," says
the doctor ; at which there was an universal laugh, being first
begun by himself.

While the prisoner, by persisting in his innocence, had al-
most (as there was no evidence against him) brought over
Barnabas, the surgeon, Tow-wouse, and several others to his
side, Betty informed them that they had overlooked a little
piece of gold, which she had carried up to the man in bed,
and which he offered to swear to amongst a million, aye,
amongst ten thousand. This immediately turned the scale
against the prisoner, and every one now concluded him
guilty. It was resolved, therefore, to keep him secured that
night, and early in the morning to carry him before a justice.

CHAPTER XV.

SHOWING HOW MRS TOW-WOUSE WAS A LITTLE MOLLIFIED;
AND HOW OFFICIOUS MR BARNABAS AND THE SURGEON WERE
TO PROSECUTE THE THIEF : WITH A DISSERTATION ACCOUNT-
ING FOR THEIR ZEAL, AND THAT OF MANY OTHER PERSONS
NOT MENTIONED IN THIS HISTORY.

BETTY told her mistress she believed the man in bed was
a greater man than they took him for ; for, besides the
extreme whiteness of his skin, and the softness of his hands,
she observed a very great familiarity between the gentleman
and him ; and added, she was certain they were intimate ac-
quaintance, if not relations.

This somewhat abated the severity of Mrs Tow-wouse's
countenance. She said, God forbid she should not discharge
the duty of a Christian, since the poor gentleman was brought
to her house. She had a natural antipathy to vagabonds ;
but could pity the misfortunes of a Christian as soon as an-
other. Tow-wouse said, " If the traveller be a gentleman,
though he hath no money about him now, we shall most
likely be paid hereafter; so you may begin to score when-

4 49

THE ADVENTURES OF

ever you will." Mrs Tow-wouse answered, " Hold your sim-
ple tongue, and don't instruct me in my business. I am sure
I am sorry for the gentleman's misfortune with all my heart ;
and I hope the villain who hath used him so barbarously
will be hanged. Betty, go see what he wants. God forbid
he should want any thing in my house." ■

Barnabas and the surgeon went up to Joseph to satisfy
themselves concerning the piece of gold ; Joseph was with
difficulty prevailed upon to show it them, but would by no en-
treaties be brought to deliver it out of his own possession.
He however attested this to be the same which had been taken
from him, and Betty was ready to swear to the finding it on
the thief.

The only difficulty that remained was, how to produce this
gold before the justice ; for as to carrying Joseph himself, it
seemed impossible ; nor was there any great likelihood of ob-
taining it from him, for he had fastened it with a ribband to
his arm, and solemnly vowed that nothing but irresistible force
should ever separate them ; in which resolution, Mr Adams,
clenching a fist rather less than the knuckle of an ox, de-
clared he would support him.

A dispute arose on this occasion concerning evidence not
very necessary to be related here ; after which the surgeon
dressed Mr Joseph's head, still persisting in the imminent
danger in which his patient lay, but concluding, with a very
important look, that he began to have some hopes ; that he
should send him a sanative soporiferous draught, and would
see him in the morning. After which Barnabas and he de-
parted, and left Mr Joseph and Mr Adams together.

Adams informed Joseph of the occasion of this journey
which he was making to London, namely, to publish three
volumes of sermons ; being encouraged, as he said, by an
advertisement lately set forth by a society of booksellers, who
proposed to purchase any copies offered to them, at a price
to be settled by two persons ; but though he imagined he
should get a considerable sum of money on this occasion,
which his family were in urgent need of, he protested he
would not leave Joseph in his present condition : finally, he
told him, he had nine shillings and three pence halfpenny
in his pocket, which he was welcome to use as he pleased.

5°

JOSEPH ANDREWS

This goodness of parson Adams brought tears into Joseph's
eyes ; he declared, he had now a second reason to desire life,
that he might show his gratitude to such a friend. Adams
bade him be cheerful ; for that he plainly saw the surgeon,
besides his ignorance, desired to make a merit of curing him,
though the wounds in his head, he perceived, were by no
means dangerous ; that he was convinced he had no fever, and
doubted not but he would be able to travel in a day or two.

These words infused a spirit into Joseph ; he said, he found
himself very sore from the bruises, but had no reason to
think any of his bones injured, or that he had received any
harm in his inside, unless that he felt something very odd
in his stomach ; but he knew not whether that might not
arise from not having eaten one morsel for above twenty-four
hours. Being then asked if he had any inclination to eat,
he answered in the affirmative. Then parson Adams desired
him to name what he had the greatest fancy for; whether
a poached egg, or chicken-broth. He answered, he could eat
both very well ; but that he seemed to have the greatest appe-
tite for a piece of boiled beef and cabbage.

Adams was pleased with so perfect a confirmation that he
had not the least fever, but advised him to a lighter diet for
that evening. He accordingly ate either a rabbit or a fowl,
I never could with any tolerable certainty discover which ;
after this he was, by Mrs Tow-wouse's order, conveyed into
a better bed and equipped with one of her husband's shirts.

In the morning early, Barnabas and the surgeon came to
the inn, in order to see the thief conveyed before the justice.
They had consumed the whole night in debating what mea-
sures they should take to produce the piece of gold in evidence
against him ; for they were both extremely zealous in the
business, though neither of them were in the least interested
in the prosecution; neither of them had ever received any
private injury from the fellow, nor had either of them ever
been suspected of loving the public well enough to give them
a sermon or a dose of physic for nothing.

To help our reader, therefore, as much as possible to ac-
count for this zeal, we must inform him that, as this parish
was so unfortunate as to have no lawyer in it, there had been
a constant contention between the two doctors, spiritual and

5i

THE ADVENTURES OF

physical, concerning their abilities in a science, in whicn,
as neither of them professed it, they had equal pretensions
to dispute each other's opinions. These disputes were carried
on with great contempt on both sides, and had almost divided
the parish ; Mr Tow-wouse and one half of the neighbours
inclining to the surgeon, and Mrs Tow-wouse with the other
half to the parson. The surgeon drew his knowledge from
those inestimable fountains, called The Attorney's Pocket
Companion, and Mr Jacob's Law-Tables ; Barnabas trusted
entirely to Wood's Institutes. It happened on this occasion,
as was pretty frequently the case, that these two learned men
differed about the sufficiency of evidence ; the doctor being of
opinion that the maid's oath would convict the prisoner with-
out producing the gold ; the parson, c contra, totis viribus.
To display their parts, therefore, before the justice and the
parish, was the sole motive which we can discover to this
zeal which both of them pretended to have for public justice.

0 Vanity ! how little is thy force acknowledged, or thy
operations discerned ! How wantonly dost thou deceive man-
kind under different disguises ! Sometimes thou dost wear
the face of pity, sometimes of generosity : nay, thou hast the
assurance even to put on those glorious ornaments which be-
long only to heroic virtue. Thou odious, deformed monster !
whom priests have railed at, philosophers despised, and poets
ridiculed ; is there a wretch so abandoned as to own thee for
an acquaintance in public? — yet, how few will refuse to en-
joy thee in private? nay, thou art the pursuit of most men
through their lives. The greatest villainies are daily prac-
tised to please thee ; nor is the meanest thief below, or the
greatest hero above, thy notice. Thy embraces are often the
sole aim and sole reward of the private robbery and the plun-
dered province. It is to pamper up thee, thou harlot, that we
attempt to withdraw from others what we do not want, or to
withhold from them what they do. All our passions are thy
slaves. Avarice itself is often no more than thy handmaid,
and even Lust thy pimp. The bully Fear, like a coward, flies
before thee, and Joy and Grief hide their heads in thy presence.

1 know thou wilt think that whilst I abuse thee I court thee,
and that thy love hath inspired me to write this sarcastical
panegyric on thee ; but thou art deceived : I value thee not

52

JOSEPH ANDREWS

of a farthing; nor will it give me any pain if thou shouldst
prevail on the reader to censure this digression as arrant
nonsense ; for know, to thy confusion, that I have introduced
thee for no other purpose than to lengthen out a short chap-
ter, and so I return to my history.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ESCAPE OF THE THIEF. MR ADAMS'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
THE ARRIVAL OF TWO VERY EXTRAORDINARY PERSONAGES,
AND THE INTRODUCTION OF PARSON ADAMS TO PARSON BAR-
NABAS.

BARNABAS and the surgeon, being returned, as we have
said, to the inn, in order to convey the thief before the
justice, were greatly concerned to find a small accident had
happened, which somewhat disconcerted them; and this was
no other than the thief's escape, who had modestly withdrawn
himself by night, declining all ostentation, and not choosing,
in imitation of some great men, to distinguish himself at the
expense of being pointed at.

When the company had retired the evening before, the
thief was detained in a room where the constable, and one of
the young fellows who took him, were planted as his guard.
About the second watch a general complaint of drought was
made, both by the prisoner and his keepers. Among whom
it was at last agreed that the constable should remain on duty,
and the young fellow call up the tapster; in which disposi-
tion the latter apprehended not the least danger, as the con-
stable was well armed, and could besides easily summon him
back to his assistance, if the prisoner made the least attempt
to gain his liberty.

The young fellow had not long left the room before it came
into the constable's head that the prisoner might leap on him
by surprize, and, thereby preventing him of the use of his
weapons, especially the long staff in which he chiefly confided,
might reduce the success of a struggle to an equal chance.

53

THE ADVENTURES OF

He wisely, therefore, to prevent this inconvenience, slipt out
of the room himself, and locked the door, waiting without
with his staff in his hand, ready lifted to fell the unhappy
prisoner, if by ill fortune he should attempt to break out.

But human life, as hath been discovered by some great
man or other (for I would by no means be understood to
affect the honour of making any such discovery), very much
resembles a game of chess ; for as in the latter, while a game-
ster is too attentive to secure himself very strongly on one
side the board, he is apt to leave an unguarded opening on the
other ; so doth it often happen in life, and so did it happen
on this occasion ; for whilst the cautious constable with such
wonderful sagacity had possessed himself of the door, he most
unhappily forgot the window.

The thief, who played on the other side, no sooner per-
ceived this opening than he began to move that way ; and,
finding the passage easy, he took with him the young fellow's
hat, and without any ceremony stepped into the street and
made the best of his way.

The young fellow, returning with a double mug of strong
beer, was a little surprized to find the constable at the door;
but much more so when, the door being opened, he perceived
the prisoner had made his escape, and which way. He threw
down the beer, and without uttering anything to the consta-
ble except a hearty curse or two, he nimbly leapt out of the
window, and went again in pursuit of his prey, being very
unwilling to lose the reward which he had assured himself of.

The constable hath not been discharged of suspicion on this
account ; it hath been said that, not being concerned in the
taking the thief, he could not have been entitled to any
part of the reward if he had been convicted ; that the thief
had several guineas iu his pocket ; that it was very unlikely
he should have been guilty of such an oversight ; that his
pretence for leaving the room was absurd ; that it was his
constant maxim, that a wise man never refused money on
any conditions ; that at every election he always had sold his
vote to both parties, &c.

But, notwithstanding these and many other such allegations,
I am sufficiently convinced of his innocence ; having been
positively assured of it by those who received their informa-

54

JOSEPH ANDREWS

tions from his own mouth ; which, in the opinion of some
moderns, is the best and indeed only evidence.

All the family were now up, and with many others assembled
in the kitchen, where Mr Tow-wouse was in some tribulation;
the surgeon having declared that by law he was liable to be
indicted for the thief's escape, as it was out of his house ; he
was a little comforted, however, by Mr Barnabas's opinion,
that as the escape was by night the indictment would not lie.

Mrs Tow-wouse delivered herself in the following words :
" Sure never was such a fool as my husband ; would any
other person living have left a man in the custody of such a
drunken drowsy blockhead as Tom Suckbribe? " (which was
the constable's name) ; " and if he could be indicted without
any harm to his wife and children, I should be glad of it."
(Then the bell rung in Joseph's room.) ' Why Betty, John,
chamberlain, where the devil are you all ? Have you no
ears, or no conscience, not to tend the sick better? See what
the gentleman wants. Why don't you go yourself, Mr Tow-
wouse ? But any one may die for you ; you have no more
feeling than a deal board. If a man lived a fortnight in your
house without spending a penny, you would never put him
in mind of it. See whether he drinks tea or coffee for break-
fast." " Yes, my dear," cried Tow-wouse. She then asked
the doctor and Mr Barnabas what morning's draught they
chose, who answered, they had a pot of cider, and at the fire ;
which we will leave them merry over, and return to Joseph.

He had rose pretty early this morning; but, though his
wounds were far from threatening any danger, he was so
sore with the bruises, that it was impossible for him to think
of undertaking a journey yet; Mr Adams, therefore, whose
stock was visibly decreased with the expenses of supper and
breakfast, and which could not survive that day's scoring,
began to consider how it was possible to recruit it. At last he
cried, he had luckily hit on a sure method, and, though it
would oblige him to return himself home together with Joseph,
it mattered not much. He then sent for Tow-wouse, and,
taking him into another room, told him he wanted to borrow
three guineas, for which he would put ample security into
his hands. Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, or ring, or
something of double the value, answered, he believed he could

55

THE ADVENTURES OF

furnish him. Upon which Adams, pointing to his saddle-bag,
told him with a face and voice full of solemnity, that there
were in that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript ser-
mons, as well worth a hundred pounds as a shilling was
worth twelve pence, and that he would deposit one of the vol-
umes in his hands by way of pledge ; not doubting but that he
would have the honesty to return it on his payment of the
money ; for otherwise he must be a very great loser, seeing
that every volume would at least bring him ten pounds, as he
had been informed by a neighbouring clergyman in the coun-
try ; for, said he, as to my own part, having never yet dealt
in printing, I do not pretend to ascertain the exact value of
such things.

Tow-wouse, who was a little surprized at the pawn, said
(and not without some truth), that he was no judge of the
price of such kind of goods ; and as for money, he really was
very short. Adams answered, certainly he would not scruple
to lend him three guineas on what was undoubtedly worth
at least ten. The landlord replied, he did not believe he had
so much money in the house, and besides, he was to make up
a sum. He was very confident the books were of much higher
value, and heartily sorry it did not suit him. He then cried
out, " Coming, sir ! " though nobody called ; and ran down-
stairs without any fear of breaking his neck.

Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this disappointment,
nor knew he what further stratagem to try. He immediately
applied to his pipe, his constant friend and comfort in his
afflictions ; and, leaning over the rails, he devoted himself to
meditation, assisted by the inspiring fumes of tobacco.

He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a short
great coat, which half covered his cassock, — a dress which,
added to something comical enough in his countenance, com-
posed a figure likely to attract the eyes of those who were not
over given to observation.

Whilst he was smoking his pipe in this posture, a coach and
six, with a numerous attendance, drove into the inn. There
alighted from the coach a young fellow and a brace of point-
ers, after which another young fellow leapt from the box,
and shook the former by the hand ; and both, together with the
dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr Tow-wouse into an

56

JOSEPH ANDREWS

apartment ; whither as they passed, they entertained them-
selves with the following short facetious dialogue : —

' You are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack ! " says he
from the coach ; " you had almost overturned us just now." —
" Pox take you ! " says the coachman ; " if I had only broke
your neck, it would have been saving somebody else the
trouble ; but I should have been sorry for the pointers." —
" Why, you son of a b — ," answered the other, " if nobody
could shoot better than you, the pointers would be of no use."
— " D — n me," says the coachman, " I will shoot with you
five guineas a shot." — " You be hanged," says the other ; " for
five guineas you shall shoot at my a — ." " Done," says the
coachman ; " I'll pepper you better than ever you was pep-
pered by Jenny Bouncer." — " Pepper your grandmother,"
says the other : " Here 's Tow-wouse will let you shoot at
him for a shilling a-time." — " I know his honour better," cries
Tow-wouse ; 't I never saw a surer shot at a partridge.
Every man misses now and then ; but if I could shoot half as
well as his honour, I would desire no better livelihood than I
could get by my gun." — " Pox on you," said the coachman,
" you demolish more game now than your head's worth.
There's a bitch, Tow-wouse : by G — she never blinked* a
bird in her life." — " I have a puppy, not a year old, shall
hunt with her for a hundred," cries the other gentleman. —
" Done," says the coachman : " but you will be pox'd before
you make the bet." " If you have a mind for a bet," cries the
coachman, " I will match my spotted dog with your white
bitch for a hundred, play or pay." " Done," says the other :
" and I'll run Baldface against Slouch with you for another."
— " No," cries he from the box ; " but I'll venture Miss Jenny
against Baldface, or Hannibal either." — " Go to the devil,"
cries he from the coach : " I will make every bet your own
way, to be sure ! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for a
thousand, if you dare; and I say done first."

They were now arrived ; and the reader will be very con-
tented to leave them, and repair to the kitchen ; where Bar-
nabas, the surgeon, and an exciseman were smoking their
pipes over some cider-and ; and where the servants, who

* To blink is a term used to signify the dog's passing by a bird
without pointing at it.

57

THE ADVENTURES OF

attended the two noble gentlemen we have just seen alight,
were now arrived.

' Tom," cries one of the footmen, " there's parson Adams
smoking his pipe in the gallery." "Yes," says Tom; "I
pulled off my hat to him, and the parson spoke to me."

" Is the gentleman a clergyman, then? " says Barnabas (for
his cassock had been tied up when he first arrived). "Yes,
sir," answered the footman ; " and one there be but few like."
— " Aye," said Barnabas : " if I had known it sooner, I should
have desired his company; I would always show a proper
respect for the cloth : but what say you, doctor, shall we ad-
journ into a room, and invite him to take part of a bowl of
punch ? "

This proposal was immediately agreed to and executed ;
and parson Adams accepting the invitation, much civility
passed between the two clergymen, who both declared the
great honour they had for the cloth. They had not been
long together before they entered into a discourse on small
tithes, which continued a full hour, without the doctor or
exciseman's having one opportunity to offer a word.

It was then proposed to begin a general conversation, and
the exciseman opened on foreign affairs ; but a word un-
luckily dropping from one of them introduced a dissertation
on the hardships suffered by the inferior clergy ; which, after
a long duration, concluded with bringing the nine volumes
of sermons on the carpet.

Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams ; he said, the
age was so wicked, that nobody read sermons. " Would you
think it, Mr Adams ? " said he, " I once intended to print a
volume of sermons myself, and they had the approbation of
two or three bishops; but what do you think a bookseller
offered me ? " — " Twelve guineas perhaps," cried Adams,
" Xot twelve pence, I assure you," answered Barnabas : " nay,
the dog refused me a concordance in exchange. At last I
offered to give him the printing them, for the sake of dedi-
cating them to that very gentleman who just now drove bis
own coach into the inn ; and, I assure you, he had the im-
pudence to refuse my offer; by which means I lost a good
living, that was afterward given away in exchange for a
pointer, to one who — but I will not say anything against the

58

JOSEPH ANDREWS

cloth. So you may guess, Mr Adams, what you are to ex-
pect ; for if sermons would have gone down, I believe — I
will not be vain ; but to be concise with you, three bishops
said they were the best that ever were writ : but indeed there
are a pretty moderate number printed already, and not all sold
yet." — " Pray, sir," said Adams, " to what do you think the
numbers may amount?" — "Sir," answered Barnabas, "a
bookseller told me, he believed five thousand volumes at
least." — " Five thousand ! " quoth the surgeon : " What can
they be writ upon ? I remember, when I was a boy, I used to
read one of Tillotson's sermons ; and, I am sure, if a man prac-
tised half so much as is in one of those sermons, he will go to
heaven." — " Doctor," cried Barnabas, " you have a profane
way of talking, for which I must reprove you. A man can
never have his duty too frequently inculcated in him. And
as for Tillotson, to be sure he was a good writer, and said
things very well ; but comparisons are odious ; another man

may write as well as he 1 believe there are some of my

sermons," and then he applied the candle to his pipe. —

" And I believe there are some of my discourses," cries
Adams, " which the bishops would not think totally un-
worthy of being printed; and I have been informed I might
procure a very large sum (indeed an immense one) on them."
— " I doubt that," answered Barnabas : " however, if you de-
sire to make some money of them, perhaps you may sell
them by advertising the manuscript sermons of a clergyman
lately deceased, all warranted originals, and never printed.
And now I think of it, I should be obliged to you, if there
be ever a funeral one among them, to lend it me ; for I am
this very day to preach a funeral sermon, for which I have
not penned a line, though I am to have a double price."
Adams answered he had but one, which he feared would
not serve his purpose, being sacred to the memory of a
magistrate, who had exerted himself very singularly in the
preservation of the morality of his neighbours, insomuch that
he had neither alehouse nor lewd woman in the parish where
he lived. — " No," replied Barnabas, " that will not do quite
so well ; for the deceased, upon whose virtues I am to ha-
rangue, was a little too much addicted to liquor, and publicly
kept a mistress. 1 believe I must take a common sermon,

59

THE ADVENTURES OF

and trust to my memory to introduce something handsome
on him." — "To your invention rather," said the doctor:
" your memory will be apter to put you out; for no man
living remembers anything good of him."

With such kind of spiritual discourse, they emptied the
bowl of punch, paid their reckoning, and separated : Adams
and the doctor went up to Joseph, parson Barnabas departed
to celebrate the aforesaid deceased, and the exciseman de-
scended into the cellar to gauge the vessels.

Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of mutton, and
waited for Mr Adams, when he and the doctor came in.
The doctor having felt his pulse and examined his wounds,
declared him much better, which he imputed to that sana-
tive soporiferous draught, a medicine whose virtues, he said,
were never to be sufficiently extolled. And great indeed they
must be, if Joseph was so much indebted to them as the doc-
tor imagined; since nothing more than those effluvia which
escaped the cork could have contributed to his recovery ; for
the medicine had stood untouched in the window ever since
its arrival.

Joseph passed that day, and the three following, with his
friend Adams, in which nothing so remarkable happened as
the swift progress of his recovery. As he had an excellent
habit of body, his wounds were now almost healed ; and his
bruises gave him so little uneasiness, that he pressed Mr
Adams to let him depart ; told him he should never be able
to return sufficient thanks for all his favours, but begged
that he might no longer delay his journey to London.

Adams, notwithstanding the ignorance, as he conceived it,
of Mr Tow-wouse, and the envy (for such he thought it) of
Mr Barnabas, had great expectations from his sermons : see-
ing therefore Joseph in so good a way, he told him he would
agree to his setting out the next morning in the stage-coach,
that he believed he should have sufficient, after the reckoning
paid, to procure him one day's conveyance in it, and after-
wards he would be able to get on on foot, or might be fa-
voured with a lift in some neighbour's waggon, especially as
there was then to be a fair in the town whither the coach
would carry him, to which numbers from his parish resorted.
— And as to himself, he agreed to proceed to the great city.

60

JOSEPH ANDREWS

They were now walking in the inn-yard, when a fat, fair,
short person rode in, and, alighting from his horse, went
directly up to Barnabas, who was smoking his pipe on a
bench. The parson and the stranger shook one another very
lovingly by the hand, and went into a room together.

The evening now coming on, Joseph retired to his cham-
ber, whither the good Adams accompanied him, and took this
opportunity to expatiate on the great mercies God had lately
shown him, of which he ought not only to have the deepest
inward sense, but likewise to express outward thankfulness
for them. They therefore fell both on their knees, and spent
a considerable time in prayer and thanksgiving.

They had just finished when Betty came in and told Mr
Adams Mr Barnabas desired to speak to him on some busi-
ness of consequence below-stairs. Joseph desired, if it was
likely to detain him long, he would let him know it, that he
might go to bed, which Adams promised, and in that case
they wished one another good-night.

CHAPTER XVII.

A PLEASANT DISCOURSE BETWEEN THE TWO PARSONS AND THE
BOOKSELLER, WHICH WAS BROKE OFF BY AN UNLUCKY AC-
CIDENT HAPPENING IN THE INN, WHICH PRODUCED A DIA-
LOGUE BETWEEN MRS TOW-WOUSE AND HER MAID OF NO
GENTLE KIND.

AS soon as Adams came into the room, Mr Barnabas in-
-ZjL troduced him to the stranger, who was, he told him, a
bookseller, and would be as likely to deal with him for his ser-
mons as any man whatever. Adams, saluting the stranger,
answered Barnabas, that he was very much obliged to him;
that nothing could be more convenient, for he had no other
business to the great city, and was heartily desirous of re-
turning with the young man, who was just recovered of his
misfortune. He then snapt his fingers (as was usual with
him), and took two or three turns about the room in an
ecstasy. And to induce the bookseller to be as expeditious

61

THE ADVENTURES OF

as possible, as likewise to offer him a better price for his
commodity, he assured them their meeting was extremely-
lucky to himself ; for that he had the most pressing occasion
for money at that time, his own being almost spent, and
having a friend then in the same inn, who was just recovered
from some wounds he had received from robbers, and was in
a most indigent condition. " So that nothing," says he,
" could be so opportune for the supplying both our necessities
as my making an immediate bargain with you."

As soon as he had seated himself, the stranger began in
these words : " Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny engaging
in what my friend Mr Barnabas recommends ; but sermons
are mere drugs. The trade is so vastly stocked with them,
that really, unless they come out with the name of Whitefield
or Wesley, or some other such great man, as a bishop, or those
sort of people, I don't care to touch ; unless now it was a ser-
mon preached on the 30th of January ; or we could say in the
title-page, published at the earnest request of the congrega-
tion, or the inhabitants ; but, truly, for a dry piece of ser-
mons, I had rather be excused ; especially as my hands are
so full at present. However, sir, as Mr Barnabas mentioned
them to me, I will, if you please, take the manuscript with me
to town, and send you my opinion of it in a very short time."

" Oh ! " said Adams, " if you desire it, I will read two or
three discourses as a specimen." This Barnabas, who loved
sermons no better than a grocer doth figs, immediately ob-
jected to, and advised Adams to let the bookseller have his
sermons : telling him, if he gave him a direction, he might
be certain of a speedy answer : adding, he need not scruple
trusting them in his possession. ;' No," said the bookseller,
" if it was a play that had been acted twenty nights together,
I believe it would be safe."

Adams did not at all relish the last expression ; he said
he was sorry to hear sermons compared to plays. " Not by
me, I assure you," cried the bookseller, " though I don't know
whether the licensing act may not shortly bring them to the
same footing ; but I have formerly known a hundred guineas
given for a play." — " More shame for those who gave it,"
cried Barnabas. "Why so?" said the bookseller, " for they
got hundreds by it." — " But is there no difference between

62

JOSEPH ANDREWS

conveying good or ill instructions to mankind ? " said Adams : ~
" Would not-a-g- Tiotir^f -tninH r^thpr lose money by the-^oae ^y^K

than gain ithv_the other? " — "If you can find any such, I *'***'***
will not be Their hindrance," answered the bookseller ; " but I
think those persons who get by preaching sermons are the
properest to lose by printing them : for my part, the copy
that sells best will be always the best copy in my opinion ;
I am no enemy to sermons, but because they don't sell : for
I would as soon print one of Whitefield's as any farce what-
ever."

" Whoever prints such heterodox stuff ought to be hanged," *
says Barnabas. " Sir," said he, turning to Adams, " this
fellow's writings (I know not whether you have seen them)
are levelled at the clergy. He would reduce us to the ex-
ample of the primitive ages, forsooth! and would insinuate
to the people that a clergyman ought to be always preaching
and praying. He pretends to understand the Scripture liter-
ally ; and would make mankind believe that the poverty and
low estate which was recommended to the church in its in-
fancy, and was only temporary doctrine adapted to her under
persecution, was to be preserved in her flourishing and es-
tablished state. Sir, the principles of Toland, Woolston, and
all the freethinkers, are not calculated to do half the mischief,
as those professed by this fellow and his followers."

" Sir," answered Adams, " if Mr Whitefield had carried his
doctrine no farther than you mention, I should have re-
mained, as I once was, his well-wisher. I am, myself, as
great an enemy to the luxury and splendour of the clergy as
he can be. I do not, more than he, by the flourishing estate
of the Church, understand the palaces, equipages, dress, fur-
niture, rich dainties, and vast fortunes, of her ministers.
Surely those things, which savour so strongly of this world,
become not the servants of one who professed his kingdom
was not of it. But when he began to call nonsense and en-
thusiasm to his aid, and set up the detestable doctrine of
faith against good works, I was his friend no longer ; for
surely that doctrine was coined in hell ; and one would think
none but the devil himself could have the confidence to preach
it. For can anything be more derogatory to the honour of
of God than for men to imagine that the all-wise Being will

THE ADVENTURES OF

hereafter say to the good and virtuous, ' Notwithstanding
the purity of thy life, notwithstanding that constant rule of
virtue and goodness in which you walked upon earth, still,
as thou didst not believe everything in the true orthodox man-
ner, thy want of faith shall condemn thee ? ' Or, on the
other side, can any doctrine have a more pernicious influence
on society, than a persuasion that it will be a good plea for
the villain at the last day — ' Lord, it is true I never obeyed
one of thy commandments, yet punish me not, for I believe
them all ? ' " — " I suppose, sir," said the bookseller, " your
sermons are of a different kind." — " Ay, sir," said Adams ;
" the contrary, I thank Heaven, is inculcated in almost every
page, or I should belie my own opinion, which hath always
been, that a virtuous and good Turk, or heathen, are more ac-
ceptable in the sight of their Creator than a vicious and wicked
Christian, though his faith was as perfectly orthodox as St.
Paul himself." — " I wish you success," says the bookseller,
"but must beg to be excused, as my hands are so very full
at present ; and, indeed, I am afraid you will find a backward-
ness in the trade to engage in a book which the clergy would
be certain to cry down." — " God forbid," says Adams, " any
books should be propagated which the clergy would cry down ;
but if you mean by the clergy, some few designing factious
men, who have it at heart to establish some favourite schemes
at the price of liberty of mankind, and the very essence of
religion, it is not in the power of such persons to decry any
book they please ; witness that excellent book called, A Plain
Account of the Nature and End of the Sacrament — a book
written (if I may venture on the expression) with the pen of
an angel, and calculated to restore the true use of Christianity,
and of that sacred institution ; for what could tend more to the
noble purposes of religion than frequent cheerful meetings
among the members of a society, in which they should, in
the presence of one another, and in the service of the Supreme
Being, make promises of being good, friendly, and benevolent
to each other? Now, this excellent book was attacked by a
party, but unsuccessfully." At these words Barnabas fell a
ringing with all the violence imaginable ; upon which a ser-
vant attending, he bid him bring a bill immediately ; for that
he was in company, for aught he knew, with the devil him-

64

JOSEPH ANDREWS

self; and he expected to hear the Alcoran, the Leviathan, or
Woolston commended, if he staid a few minutes longer.
Adams desired, as he was so much moved at his mentioning
a book which he did without apprehending any possibility
of offence, that he would be so kind to propose any ob-
jections he had to it, which he would endeavour to answer.
— " I propose objections ! " said Barnabas, " I never read a
syllable in any such wicked book; I never saw it in my life,
I assure you." — Adams was going to answer, when a most
hideous uproar began in the inn. Mrs Tow-wouse, Mr
Tow-wouse, and Betty all lifting up their voices together;
but Mrs Tow-wouse's voice, like a bass viol in a concert, was
clearly and distinctly distinguished among the rest, and was
heard to articulate the following sounds : — " O you damn'd
villain ! is this the return to all the care I have taken of
your family? This the reward of my virtue? Is this the
manner in which you behave to one who brought you a
fortune, and preferred you to so many matches, all your
betters? To abuse my bed, my own bed, with my own ser-
vant ! but I'll maul the slut, I'll tear her nasty eyes out ! Was
ever such a pitiful dog, to take up with such a mean trollop?
If she had been a gentlewoman, like myself, it had been
some excuse ; but a beggarly, saucy, dirty servant-maid. Get
you out of my house, you whore." To which she added an-
other name, which we do not care to stain our paper with.
It was a monosyllable beginning with a b — , and indeed was
the same as if she had pronounced the words, she-dog. Which
term we shall, to avoid offence, use on this occasion, though
indeed both the mistress and maid uttered the above-men-
tioned b — , a word extremely disgustful to females of the
lower sort. Betty had borne all hitherto with patience, and
had uttered only lamentations ; but the last appellation stung
her to the quick. " I am a woman as well as yourself," she
roared out, " and no she-dog ; and if I have been a little
naughty, I am not the first; if I have been no better than I
should be," cried she, sobbing, " that's no reason you should
call me out of my name ; my be-betters are wo-worse than
me." — " Huzzy, huzzy," says Mrs Tow-wouse, " have you the
impudence to answer me ? Did I not catch you, you saucy "
— and then again repeated the terrible word so odious to

5 65

THE ADVENTURES OF *

female ears. ' I can't bear that name," answered Betty : " if
I have been wicked, I am to answer for it myself in the
other world ; but I have done nothing that's unnatural ; and
I will go out of your house this moment, for I will never be
called she-dog by any mistress in England." Mrs Tow-wouse
then armed herself with the spit, but was prevented from exe-
cuting any dreadful purpose by Mr Adams, who confined
her arms with the strength of a wrist which Hercules would
not have been ashamed of. Mr Tow-wouse, being caught,
as our lawyers express it, with the manner, and having no
defence to make, very prudently withdrew himself ; and Betty
committed herself to the protection of the hostler, who,
though she could not conceive him pleased with what had
happened, was, in her opinion, rather a gentler beast than
her mistress.

Mrs Tow-wouse, at the intercession of Mr Adams, and
finding the enemy vanished, began to compose herself, and
at length recovered the usual serenity of her temper, in which
we will leave her, to open to the reader the steps which led
to a catastrophe, common enough, and comical enough too
perhaps, in modern history, yet often fatal to the repose and
well-being of families, and the subject of many tragedies,
both in life and on the stage.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HISTORY OF BETTY THE CHAMBERMAID, AND AN ACCOUNT
OF WHAT OCCASIONED THE VIOLENT SCENE IN THE PRE-
CEDING CHAPTER.

BETTY, who was the occasion of all this hurry, had some
good qualities. She had good-nature, generosity, and
compassion, but unfortunately her constitution was composed
of those warm ingredients which, though the purity of courts
or nunneries might have happily controlled them, were by
no means able to endure the ticklish situation of a chamber-
maid at an inn ; who is daily liable to the solicitations of lovers
of all complexions ; to the dangerous addresses of fine gentle-

66

JOSEPH ANDREWS

men of the army, who sometimes are obliged to reside with
them a whole year together ; and, above all, are exposed to
the caresses of footmen, stage-coachmen, and drawers ; all
of whom employ the whole artillery of kissing, flattering, brib-
ing, and every other weapon which is to be found in the whole
armoury of love, against them.

Betty, who was but one-and-twenty, had now lived three
years in this dangerous situation, during which she had es-
caped pretty well. An ensign of foot was the first person
who made an impression on her heart; he did indeed raise
a flame in her which required the care of a surgeon to cool.

While she burnt for him, several others burnt for her.
Officers of the army, young gentlemen travelling the western
circuit, inoffensive squires, and some of graver character, were
set a-fire by her charms !

At length, having perfectly recovered the effects of her
first unhappy passion, she seemed to have vowed a state of
perpetual chastity. She was long deaf to all the sufferings of
her lovers, till one day, at a neighbouring fair, the rhetoric
of John the hostler, with a new straw hat, and a pint of wine,
made a second conquest over her.

She did not, however, feel any of those flames on this
occasion which had been the consequence of her former
amour ; nor, indeed, those other ill effects which prudent
young women very justly apprehend from too absolute an
indulgence to the pressing endearments of their lovers. This
latter, perhaps, was a little owing to her not being entirely
constant to John, with whom she permitted Tom Whipwell
the stage-coachman, and now and then a handsome young
traveller, to share her favours.

Mr Tow-wouse had for some time cast the languishing eyes
of affection on this young maiden. He had laid hold on every
opportunity of saying tender things to her, squeezing her by
the hand, and sometimes kissing her lips ; for, as the vio-
lence of his passion had considerably abated to Mrs Tow-
wouse, so, like water which is stopt from its usual current
in one place, it naturally sought a vent in another. Mrs
Tow-wouse is thought to have perceived this abatement, and,
probably, it added very little to the natural sweetness of her
temper; for though she was as true to her husband as the

67

THE ADVENTURES OF

dial to the sun, she was rather more desirous of being shone
on, as being more capable of feeling his warmth.

Ever since Joseph's arrival, Betty had conceived an extra-
ordinary liking to him, which discovered itself more and more
as he grew better and better; till that fatal evening, when,
as she was warming his bed, her passion grew to such a height,
and so perfectly mastered both her modesty and her reason,
that, after many fruitless hints and sly insinuations, she at
last threw down the warming-pan, and, embracing him with
great eagerness, swore he was the handsomest creature she
had ever seen.

Joseph, in great confusion, leapt from her, and told her he
was sorry to see a young woman cast off all regard to mod-
esty ; but she had gone too far to recede, and grew so very
indecent, that Joseph was obliged, contrary to his inclination,
to use some violence to her; and, taking her in his arms, he
shut her out of the room, and locked the door.

How ought man to rejoice that his chastity is always in his
own power; that, if he hath sufficient strength of mind, he
hath always a competent strength of body to defend himself,
and cannot, like a poor weak woman, be ravished against his
will!

Betty was in the most violent agitation at this disappoint-
ment. Rage and lust pulled her heart, as with two strings,
two different ways ; one moment she thought of stabbing Jo-
seph ; the next, of taking him in her arms, and devouring
him with kisses ; but the latter passion was far more preva-
lent. Then she thought of revenging his refusal on herself;
but, whilst she was engaged in this meditation, happily death
presented himself to her in so many shapes, of drowning,
hanging, poisoning, &c, that her distracted mind could resolve
on none. In this perturbation of spirit, it accidentally oc-
curred to her memory that her master's bed was not made;
she therefore went directly to his room, where he happened |
at that time to be engaged at his bureau. As soon as she
saw him she attempted to retire; but he called her back, and,
taking her by the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same
time whispering so many soft things into her ears, and then
pressed her so closely with his kisses, that the vanquished fair
one, whose passions were already raised, and which were not

68

•• Taking- her in his arms, he shut her out of the room"

JOSEPH ANDREWS

so whimsically capricious that one man only could lay them,
though, perhaps, she would have rather preferred that one —
the vanquished fair one quietly submitted, I say, to her mas-
ter's will, who had just attained the accomplishment of his
bliss when Mrs Tow-wouse unexpectedly entered the room,
and caused all that confusion which we have before seen,
and which it is not necessary, at present, to take any farther
notice of; since, without the assistance of a single hint from
us, every reader of any speculation or experience, though not
married himself, may easily conjecture that it concluded with
the discharge of Betty, the submission of Mr Tow-wouse, with
some things to be performed on his side by way of gratitude
for his wife's goodness in being reconciled to him, with
many hearty promises never to offend any more in the like
manner; and, lastly, his quietly and contentedly bearing to be
reminded of his transgressions, as a kind of penance, once or
twice a-day during the residue of his life.

69

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

OF DIVISIONS IN AUTHORS.

THERE are certain mysteries or secrets in all trades, from
the highest to the lowest, from that of prime-ministering
to this of authoring, which are seldom discovered unless to
members of the same calling. Among those used by us gen-
tlemen of the latter occupation, I take this of dividing our
works into books and chapters to be none of the least con-
siderable. Now, for want of being truly acquainted with this
secret, common readers imagine, that by this art of dividing
we mean only to swell our works to a much larger bulk than
they would otherwise be extended to. These several places
therefore in our paper, which are filled with our books and
chapters, are understood as so much buckram, stays, and stay-
tape in a tailor's bill, serving only to make up the sum total,
commonly found at the bottom of our first page and of his
last.

But in reality the case is otherwise, and in this as well as
all other instances we consult the advantage of our reader,
not our own ; and indeed many notable uses arise to him
from this method ; for, first, those little spaces between our
chapters may be looked upon as an inn or resting-place where
he may stop and take a glass or any other refreshment as it
pleases him. Nay, our fine readers will, perhaps, be scarce
able to travel farther than through one of them in a day. As
to those vacant pages which are placed between our books,
they are to be regarded as those stages where in long journeys
the traveller stays some time to repose himself, and consider
of what he hath seen in the parts he hath already passed

70

THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS

through ; a consideration which I take the liberty to recom-
mend a little to the reader; for, however swift his capacity
may be, I would not advise him to travel through these pages
too fast ; for if he doth, he may probably miss the seeing some
curious productions of nature, which will be observed by the
slower and more accurate reader. A volume without any such
places of rest resembles the opening of wilds or seas, which
tires the eye and fatigues the spirit when entered upon.

Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every chapter
but so many inscriptions over the gates of inns (to continue
the same metaphor), informing the reader what entertainment
he is to expect, which if he likes not, he may travel on to the
next; for, in biography, as we are not tied down to an exact
concatenation equally with other historians, so a chapter or
two (for instance, this I am now writing) may be often passed
over without any injury to the whole. And in these inscrip-
tions I have been as faithful as possible, not imitating the
celebrated Montaigne, who promises you one thing and gives
you another ; nor some title-page authors, who promise a great
deal and produce nothing at all.

There are, besides these more obvious benefits, several
others which our readers enjoy from this art of dividing;
though perhaps most of them too mysterious to be presently
understood by any who are not initiated into the science of
authoring. To mention, therefore, but one which is most
obvious, it prevents spoiling the beauty of a book by turning
down its leaves, a method otherwise necessary to those readers
who (though they read with great improvement and ad-
vantage) are apt, when they return to their study after half
an hour's absence, to forget where they left off.

These divisions have the sanction of great antiquity. Homer
not only divided his great work into twenty-four books (in
compliment perhaps to the twenty-four letters to which he had
very particular obligations), but, according to the opinion of
some very sagacious critics, hawked them all separately, de-
livering only one book at a time (probably by subscription).
He was the first inventor of the art which hath so long lain
dormant, of publishing by numbers ; an art now brought
to such perfection, that even dictionaries are divided and
exhibited piecemeal to the public ; nay, one bookseller hath

7i

THE ADVENTURES OF

(to encourage learning and ease the public) contrived to give
them a dictionary in this divided manner for only fifteen
shillings more than it would have cost entire.

Virgil hath given us his poem in twelve books, an argument
of his modesty; for by that, doubtless, he would insinuate
that he pretends to no more than half the merit of the Greek ;
for the same reason, our Milton went originally no farther
than ten ; till, being puffed up by the praise of his friends, he
put himself on the same footing with the Roman poet.

I shall not, however, enter so deep into this matter as
some very learned critics have done ; who have with infinite
labour and acute discernment discovered what books are
proper for embellishment, and what require simplicity only,
particularly with regard to similes, which I think are now
generally agreed to become any book but the first.

I will dismiss this chapter with the following observation :
that it becomes an author generally to divide a book, as it does
a butcher to joint his meat, for such assistance is of great
help to both the reader and the carver. And now, having
indulged myself a little, I will endeavour to indulge the
curiosity of my reader, who is no doubt impatient to know
what he will find in the subsequent chapters of this book.

CHAPTER II.

A SURPRISING INSTANCE OF MR ADAMS S SHORT MEMORY, WITH
THE UNFORTUNATE CONSEQUENCES WHICH IT BROUGHT ON
JOSEPH.

MR ADAMS and Joseph were now ready to depart dif-
ferent ways, when an accident determined the former
to return with his friend, which Tow-wouse, Barnabas, and
the bookseller had not been able to do. This accident was,
that those sermons, which the parson was travelling to London
to publish, were, O my good reader ! left behind ; what he had
mistaken for them in the saddlebags being no other than
three shirts, a pair of shoes, and some other necessaries,
which Mrs Adams, who thought her husband would want

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

shirts more than sermons on his journey, had carefully pro-
vided him.

This discovery was now luckily owing to the presence of
Joseph at the opening of the saddlebags ; who, having heard
his friend say he carried with him nine volumes of sermons,
and not being of that sect of philosophers who can reduce all
the matter of the world into a nutshell, seeing there was no
room for them in the bags, where the parson had said they
were deposited, had the curiosity to cry out, " Bless me, sir,
where are your sermons ? " The parson answered, " There,
there, child ; there they are, under my shirts." Now it hap-
pened that he had taken forth his last shirt, and the vehicle
remained visibly empty. " Sure, sir," says Joseph, " there is
nothing in the bags." Upon which Adams, starting, and tes-
tifying some surprize, cried, " Hey ! fie, fie upon it ! they are
not here sure enough. Ay, they are certainly left behind."

Joseph was greatly concerned at the uneasiness which he
apprehended his friend must feel from this disappointment ;
he begged him to pursue his journey, and promised he would
himself return with the books to him with the utmost expe-
dition. "No, thank you, child," answered Adams ; " it shall
not be so. What would it avail me, to tarry in the great
city, unless I had my discourses with me, which are nt ita
dicam, the sole cause, the aitia monotate of my peregrination ?
No, child, as this accident hath happened, I am resolved to
return back to my cure, together with you ; which indeed
my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This disappointment
may perhaps be intended for my good." He concluded with
a verse out of Theocritus, which signifies no more than that
sometimes it rains, and sometimes the sun shines.

Joseph bowed with obedience and thankfulness for the
inclination which the parson expressed of returning with
him ; and now the bill was called for, which, on examination,
amounted within a shilling to the sum Mr Adams had in his
pocket. Perhaps the reader may wonder how he was able
to produce a sufficient sum for so many days : that he may not
be surprized, therefore, it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint
him that he borrowed a guinea of a servant belonging to the
coach and six, who had been formerly one of his parishioners,
and whose master, the owner of the coach, then lived within

73

THE ADVENTURES OF

three miles of him ; for so good was the credit of Mr Adams,
that even Mr Peter, the Lady Booby's steward, would have
lent him a guinea with very little security.

Mr Adams discharged the bill, and they were both setting
out, having agreed to ride and tie; a method of travelling
much used by persons who have but one horse between them,
and is thus performed. The two travellers set out together,
one on horseback, the other on foot : now, as it generally hap-
pens that he on horseback outgoes him on foot, the custom is,
that, when he arrives at the distance agreed on, he is to dis-
mount, tie the horse to some gate, tree, post, or other thing,
and then proceed on foot ; when the other comes up to the
horse he unties him, mounts, and gallops on, till, having
passed by his fellow-traveller, he likewise arrives at the place
of tying. And this is that method of travelling so much in
use among our prudent ancestors, who knew that horses had
mouths as well as legs, and that they could not use the latter
without being at the expense of suffering the beasts them-
selves to use the former. This was the method in use in
those days when, instead of a coach and six, a member of
parliament's lady used to mount a pillion behind her hus-
band; and a grave Serjeant at law condescended to amble to
Westminster on an easy pad, with his clerk kicking his heels
behind him.

Adams was now gone some minutes, having insisted on
Joseph's beginning the journey on horseback, and Joseph
had his foot in the stirrup, when the hostler presented him
a bill for the horse's board during his residence at the inn.
Joseph said Mr Adams had paid all ; but this matter, being
referred to Mr Tow-wouse, was by him decided in favour of
the hostler, and indeed with truth and justice; for this was
a fresh instance of that shortness of memory which did not
arise from want of parts, but that continual hurry in which
parson Adams was always involved.

Joseph was now reduced to a dilemma which extremely
puzzled him. The sum due for horse-meat was twelve shil-
lings (for Adams, who had borrowed the beast of his clerk,
had ordered him to be fed as well as they could feed him),
and the cash in his pocket amounted to sixpence (for Adams
had divided the last shilling with him). Now, though there

74

JOSEPH ANDREWS

have been some ingenious persons who have contrived to pay-
twelve shillings with sixpence, Joseph was not one of them.
He had never contracted a debt in his life, and was conse-
quently the less ready at an expedient to extricate himself.
Tow-wouse was willing to give him credit till next time, to
which Mrs Tow-wouse would probably have consented (for
such was Joseph's beauty, that it had made some impression
even on that piece of flint which that good woman wore
in her bosom by way of heart). Joseph would have found,
therefore, very likely the passage free, had he not, when he
honestly discovered the nakedness of his pockets, pulled out
that little piece of gold which we have mentioned before.
This caused Mrs Tow-wouse's eyes to water ; she told Joseph
she did not conceive a man could want money whilst he had
gold in his pocket. Joseph answered he had such a value
for that little piece of gold, that he would not part with it for
a hundred times the riches which the greatest esquire in the
county was worth. " A pretty way, indeed," said Mrs Tow-
wouse, " to run in debt, and then refuse to part with your
money, because you have a value for it! I never knew any
piece of gold of more value than as many shillings as it
would change for." — " Not to preserve my life from starving,
nor to redeem it from a robber, would I part with this dear
piece ! " answered Joseph. " What," says Mrs Tow-wouse,
" I suppose it was given you by some vile trollop, some miss
or other; if it had been the present of a virtuous woman,
you would not have had such a value for it. My husband
is a fool if he parts with the horse without being paid for
him." — " No, no, I can't part with the horse, indeed, till I
have the money," cried Tow-wouse. A resolution highly
commended by a lawyer then in the yard, who declared Mr
Tow-wouse might justify the detainer.

As we cannot therefore at present get Mr Joseph out of
the inn, we shall leave him in it, and carry our reader on
after parson Adams, who, his mind being perfectly at ease,
fell into a contemplation on a passage in iEschylus, which
entertained him for three miles together, without suffering
him once to reflect on his fellow-traveller.

At length, having spun out his thread, and being now at
the summit of a hill, he cast his eyes backwards, and won-

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THE ADVENTURES OF

dered that he could not see any sign of Joseph. As he left
him ready to mount the horse, he could not apprehend any
mischief had happened, neither could he suspect that he
missed his way, it being so broad and plain ; the only reason
which presented itself to him was, that he had met with an
acquaintance who had prevailed with him to delay some time
in discourse.

He therefore resolved to proceed slowly forwards, not
doubting but that he should be shortly overtaken ; and soon
came to a large water, which, filling the whole road, he saw
no method of passing unless by wading through, which he
accordingly did up to his middle ; but was no sooner got to
the other side than he perceived, if he had looked over the
hedge, he would have found a footpath capable of conducting
him without wetting his shoes.

His surprize at Joseph's not coming up grew now very
troublesome : he began to fear he knew not what ; and as
he determined to move no farther, and, if he did not shortly
overtake him, to return back, he wished to find a house of
public entertainment where he might dry his clothes and
refresh himself with a pint; but, seeing no such (for no
other reason than because he did not cast his eyes a hundred
yards forwards), he sat himself down on a stile, and pulled
out his ^Eschylus.

A fellow passing presently by, Adams asked him if he
could direct him to an alehouse. The fellow, who had just
left it, and perceived the house and sign to be within sight,
thinking he had jeered him, and being of a morose temper,
bade him follow his nose and be d — n'd. Adams told him
he was a saucy jackanapes ; upon which the fellow turned
about angrily; but, perceiving Adams clench his fist, he
thought proper to go on without taking any farther notice.

A horseman, following immediately after, and being asked
the same question, answered, Friend, there is one within a
stone's throw; I believe you may see it before you. Adams,
lifting up his eyes, cried, I protest, and so there is; and,
thanking his informer, proceeded directly to it.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

CHAPTER III.

THE OPINION OF TWO LAWYERS CONCERNING THE SAME GEN-
TLEMAN, WITH MR ADAMS'S INQUIRY INTO THE RELIGION
OF HIS HOST.

HE had just entered the house, and called for his pint,
and seated himself, when two horsemen came to the
door, and, fastening their horses to the rails, alighted. They
said there was a violent shower of rain coming on, which they
intended to weather there, and went into a little room by
themselves, not perceiving Mr Adams.

One of these immediately asked the other, if he had seen
a more comical adventure a great while? Upon which the
other said, he doubted whether by law, the landlord could
justify detaining the horse for his corn and hay. But the
former answered, undoubtedly he can; it is an adjudged
case, and I have known it tried.

Adams, who, though he was, as the reader may suspect, a
little inclined to forgetfulness, never wanted more than a
hint to remind him, overhearing their discourse, immediately
suggested to himself that this was his own horse, and that he
had forgot to pay for him, which, upon inquiry, he was
certified of by the gentlemen ; who added, that the horse
was likely to have more rest than food, unless he was paid for.

The poor parson resolved to return presently to the inn,
though he knew no more than Joseph how to procure his
horse his liberty ; he was however prevailed on to stay under
covert, till the shower, which was now very violent, was over.

The three travellers then sat down together over a mug of
good beer; when Adams, who had observed a gentleman's
house as he passed along the road, enquired to whom it be-
longed ; one of the horsemen had no sooner mentioned the
owner's name, than the other began to revile him in the
most opprobrious terms. The English language scarce affords
a single reproachful word, which he did not vent on this
occasion. He charged him likewise with many particular
facts. He said, — he no more regarded a field of wheat
when he was hunting, than he did the highway; that he

77

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had injured several poor farmers by trampling their corn
under his horse's heels; and if any of them begged him
with the utmost submission to refrain, his horsewhip was
always ready to do them justice. He said, that he was the
greatest tyrant to the neighbours in every other instance, and
would not suffer a farmer to keep a gun, though he might
justify it by law; and in his own family so cruel a master,
that he never kept a servant a twelvemonth. " In his capacity
as a justice,"- continued he, "he behaves so partially, that
he commits or acquits just as he is in the humour, without
any regard to truth or evidence ; the devil may carry any
one before him for me ; I would rather be tried before some
judges, than be a prosecutor before him : if I had an estate
in the neighbourhood, I would sell it for half the value
rather than live near him."

Adams shook his head, and said, he was sorry such men
were suffered to proceed with impunity, and that riches could
set any man above the law. The reviler, a little after, retiring
into the yard, the gentleman who had first mentioned his
name to Adams began to assure him that his companion was
a prejudiced person. It is true, says he, perhaps, that he
may have sometimes pursued his game over a field of corn,
but he hath always made the party ample satisfaction : that
so far from tyrannizing over his neighbours, or taking away
their guns, he himself knew several farmers not qualified, who
not only kept guns, but killed game with them; that he
was the best of masters to his servants, and several of them
had grown old in his service; that he was the best justice of
peace in the kingdom, and, to his certain knowledge, had
decided many difficult points, which were referred to him,
with the greatest equity and the highest wisdom ; and he
verily believed, several persons would give a year's purchase
more for an estate near him, than under the wings of any
other great man. He had just finished his encomium when
his companion returned and acquainted him the storm was
over. Upon which they presently mounted their horses and
departed.

Adams, who was in the utmost anxiety at those different
characters of the same person, asked his host if he knew the
gentleman : for he began to imagine they had by mistake

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

been speaking of two several gentlemen. " No, no, master,"
answered the host (a shrewd cunning fellow) ; " I know the
gentleman very well of whom they have been speaking, as I
do the gentlemen who spoke of him. As for riding over
other men's corn, to my knowledge he hath not been on
horseback these two years. I never heard he did any injury
of that kind ; and as to making reparation, he is not so free
of his money as that comes to neither. Nor did I ever hear
of his taking away any man's gun ; nay, I know several who
have guns in their houses ; but as for killing game with
them, no man is stricter ; and I believe he would ruin any
who did. You heard one of the gentlemen say he was the
worst master in the world, and the other that he is the best;
but for my own part, I know all his servants, and never heard
from any of them that he was either one or the other." —
" Aye ! aye ! " says Adams ; " and how doth he behave as a
justice, pray? " — " Faith, friend," answered the host, " I ques-
tion whether he is in the commission ; the only cause I have
heard he hath decided a great while, was one between those
very two persons who just went out of this house ; and I am
sure he determined that justly, for I heard the whole matter."
— "Which did he decide it in favour of?" quoth Adams.
' I think I need not answer that question," cried the host,
" after the different characters you have heard of him. It is
not my business to contradict gentlemen while they are
drinking in my house; but I knew neither of them spoke a
syllable of truth." — " God forbid ! " said Adams, " that men
should arrive at such a pitch of wickedness to belie the char-
acter of their neighbour from a little private affection, or,
what is infinitely worse, a private spite. I rather believe we
have mistaken them, and they mean two other persons; for
there are many houses on the road." — " Why, prithee, friend,"
cries the host, " dost thou pretend never to have told a lie in
thy life ? " — " Never a malicious one, I am certain," answered
Adams, " nor with a design to injure the reputation of any
man living." — " Pugh ! malicious ; no, no," replied the host ;
" not malicious with a design to hang a man, or bring him into
trouble ; but surely, out of love to oneself, one must speak
better of a friend than an enemy." — " Out of love to yourself,
you should confine yourself to truth," says Adams, " for by

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doing otherwise you injure the noblest part of yourself, your
immortal soul. I can hardly believe any man such an idiot
to risk the loss of that by any trifling gain, and the greatest
gain in this world is but dirt in comparison of what shall be
revealed hereafter." Upon which the host, taking up the
cup, with a smile, drank a health to hereafter ; adding, he
was for something present. " Why," says Adams very
gravely, " do not you believe in another world ? " To which
the host answered, yes ; he was no atheist. " And you be-
lieve you have an immortal soul ? " cries Adams. He an-
swered, God forbid he should not. " And heaven and hell ? "
said the parson. The host then bid him not to profane ; for
those were things not to be mentioned nor thought of but in
church. Adams asked him, why he went to church, if what
he learned there had no influence on his conduct in life?
" I go to church," answered the host, " to say my prayers
and behave godly." — " And dost not thou," cried Adams, " be-
lieve what thou hearest at church? " — " Most part of it, mas-
ter," returned the host. " And dost not thou then tremble,"
cries Adams, " at the thought of eternal punishment ? " — " As
for that, master," said he, " I never once thought about it ;
but what signifies talking about matters so far off ? The mug
is out, shall I draw another? "

Whilst he was going for that purpose a stage-coach drove
up to the door. The coachman coming into the house was
asked by the mistress what passengers he had in his coach?
" A parcel of squinny-gut b — s," says he ; " I have a good
mind to overturn them ; you won't prevail upon them to
drink anything, I assure you." Adams asked him, if he
had not seen a young man on horseback on the road (de-
scribing Joseph). " Ay," said the coachman, " a gentlewoman
in my coach that is his acquaintance redeemed him and his
horse; he would have been here before this time, had not
the storm driven him to shelter." " God bless her ! " said
Adams in a rapture; nor could he delay walking out to sat-
isfy himself who this charitable woman was ; but what was
his surprize when he saw his old acquaintance, madam Slip-
slop? Hers indeed was not so great, because she had been
informed by Joseph that he was on the road. Very civil
were the salutations on both sides ; and Mrs Slipslop rebuked

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

the hostess for denying the gentleman to be there when she
asked for him ; but indeed the poor woman had not erred
designedly; for Mrs Slipslop asked for a clergyman, and she
had unhappily mistaken Adams for a person travelling to a
neighbouring fair with the thimble and button, or some other
such operation ; for he marched in a swinging great but short
white coat with black buttons, a short wig, and a hat which,
so far from having a black hatband, had nothing black
about it.

Joseph was now come up, and Mrs Slipslop would have
had him quit his horse to the parson, and come himself into
the coach ; but he absolutely refused, saying, he thanked
Heaven he was well enough recovered to be very able to ride
and added, he hoped he knew his duty better than to ride
in a coach while Mr Adams was on horseback.

Mrs Slipslop would have persisted longer, had not a lady
in the coach put a short end to the dispute, by refusing to
suffer a fellow in a livery to ride in the same coach with
herself; so it was at length agreed that Adams should fill
the vacant place in the coach, and Joseph should proceed on
horseback.

They had not proceeded far before Mrs Slipslop, address-
ing herself to the parson, spoke thus : — " There hath been a
strange alteration in our family, Mr Adams, since Sir
Thomas's death." " A strange alteration indeed," says Adams,
" as I gather from some hints which have dropped from Jo-
seph."— " Ay," says she, " I could never have believed it ;
but the longer one lives in the world, the more one sees. So
Joseph hath given you hints." " But of what nature will
always remain a perfect secret with me," cries the parson :
" he forced me to promise before he would communicate any-
thing. I am indeed concerned to find her ladyship behave
in so unbecoming a manner. I always thought her in the
main a good lady, and should never have suspected her of
thoughts so unworthy a Christian, and with a young lad her
own servant." " These things are no secrets to me, I assure
you," cries Slipslop, " and I believe they will be none any-
where shortly ; for ever since the boy's departure she hath
behaved more like a mad woman than anything else."
1 Truly, I am heartily concerned," says Adams, " for she was
6 81

THE ADVENTURES OF

a good sort of a lady. Indeed, I have often wished she had
attended a little more constantly at the service, but she hath
done a great deal of good in the parish." " O Mr Adams,"
says Slipslop, " people that don't see all often know nothing.
Many things have been given away in our family, I do assure
you, without her knowledge. I have heard you say in the
pulpit we ought not to brag; but indeed I can't avoid saying,
if she had kept the keys herself, the poor would have wanted
many a cordial which I have let them have. As for my late
master, he was as worthy a man as ever lived, and would
have done infinite good if he had not been controlled ; but
he loved a quiet life, Heaven rest his soul ! I am confident
he is there, and enjoys a quiet life, which some folks would
not allow him here." — Adams answered, he had never heard
this before, and was mistaken if she herself (for he remem-
bered she used to commend her mistress and blame her mas-
ter) had not formerly been of another opinion. " I don't
know," replied she, " what I might once think ; but now I
am confidous matters are as I tell you ; the world will shortly
see who hath been deceived; for my part, I say nothing, but
that it is wondersome how some people can carry all things
with a grave face."

Thus Mr Adams and she discoursed, till they came op-
posite to a great house which stood at some distance from
the road : a lady in the coach, spying it, cried, " Yonder lives
the unfortunate Leonora, if one can justly call a woman un-
fortunate whom we must own at the same time guilty and
the author of her own calamity." This was abundantly suf-
ficient to awaken the curiosity of Mr Adams, as indeed it
did that of the whole company, who jointly solicited the
lady to acquaint them with Leonora's history, since it seemed,
by what she had said, to contain something remarkable.

The lady who was perfectly well bred, did not require
many entreaties, and having only wished their entertainment
might make amends for the company's attention, she began
in the following manner.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS
CHAPTER IV.

THE HISTORY OF LEONORA, OR THE UNFORTUNATE JTLT.

LEONORA was the daughter of a gentleman of fortune ;
4 she was tall and well-shaped, with a sprightliness in her
countenance which often attracts beyond more regular fea-
tures joined with an insipid air : nor is this kind of beauty
less apt to deceive than allure ; the good humour which it in-
dicates being often mistaken for good nature, and the vivacity
for true understanding.

Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived with
an aunt of hers in a town in the north of England. She
was an extreme lover of gaiety, and very rarely missed a ball
or any other public assembly ; where she had frequent op-
portunities of satisfying a greedy appetite of vanity, with the
preference which was given her by the men to almost every
other woman present.

Among many young fellows who were particular in their
gallantries towards her, Horatio soon distinguished himself
in her eyes beyond all his competitors ; she danced with more
than ordinary gaiety when he happened to be her partner;
neither the fairness of the evening, nor the music of the
nightingale, could lengthen her walk like his company. She
affected no longer to understand the civilities of others ; whilst
she inclined so attentive an ear to every compliment of Ho-
ratio, that she often smiled even when it was too delicate
for her comprehension.

' Prav, madam," says Adams, " who was this squire
Horatio"? "

Horatio, says the lady, was a young gentleman of a good
family, bred to the law, and had been some few years called
to the degree of a barrister. His face and person were such
as the generality allowed handsome ; but he had a dignity in
his air very rarely to be seen. His temper was of the satur-
nine complexion, but without the least taint of moroseness.
He had wit and humour, with an inclination to satire, which
he indulged rather too much.

This gentleman, who had contracted the most violent pas-

&3

THE ADVENTURES OF

sion for Leonora, was the last person who perceived the prob-
ability of its success. The whole town had made the match
for him before he himself had drawn a confidence from her
actions sufficient to mention his passion to her ; for it was
his opinion (and perhaps he was there in the right) that it
is highly impolitic to talk seriously of love to a woman before
you have made such a progress in her affections, that she her-
self expects and desires to hear it.

But whatever diffidence the fears of a lover may create,
which are apt to magnify every favour conferred on a rival,
and to see the little advances towards themselves through the
other end of the perspective, it was impossible that Horatio's
passion should so blind his discernment as to prevent his
conceiving hopes from the behaviour of Leonora, whose fond-
ness for him was now as visible to an indifferent person in
their company as his for her.

" I never knew any of these forward sluts come to good "
(says the lady who refused Joseph's entrance into the coach),
" nor shall I wonder at anything she doth in the sequel."

The lady proceeded in her story thus : It was in the midst
of a gay conversation in the walks one evening, when Horatio
whispered Leonora, that he was desirous to take a turn or
two with her in private, for that he had something to com-
municate to her of great consequence. " Are you sure it is
of consequence?" said she, smiling. " I hope," answered he,
" you will think so too, since the whole future happiness of
my life must depend on the event."

Leonora, who very much suspected what was coming,
would have deferred it till another time ; but Horatio, who
had more than half conquered the difficulty of speaking by
the first motion, was so very importunate, that she at last
yielded, and, leaving the rest of the company, they turned
aside into an unfrequented walk.

They had retired far out of the sight of the company, both
maintaining a strict silence. At last Horatio made a full
stop, and taking Leonora, who stood pale and trembling,
gently by the hand, he fetched a deep sigh, and then, looking
on her eyes with all the tenderness imaginable, he cried out
in a faltering accent, "O Leonora! is it necessary for me
to declare to you on what the future happiness of my life

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

must be founded ? Must I say, there is something belonging
to you which is a bar to my happiness, and which unless you
will part with, I must be miserable ! " — " What can that be ? "
replied Leonora. " No wonder," said he, " you are surprized
that I should make an objection to anything which is yours:
yet sure you may guess, since it is the only one which the
riches of the world, if they were mine, should purchase for
me. Oh, it is that which you must part with to bestow all
the rest ! Can Leonora, or rather will she, doubt longer ?
Let me then whisper it in her ears — It is your name, madam.
It is by parting with that, by your condescension to be for
ever mine, which must at once prevent me from being the
most miserable, and will render me the happiest of man-
kind."

Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as angry a look
as she could possibly put on, told him, that had she sus-
pected what his declaration would have been, he should not
have decoyed her from her company, that he had so surprized
and frighted her, that she begged him to convey her back as
quick as possible ; which he, trembling very near as much
as herself, did.

" More fool he," cried Slipslop ; " it is a sign he knew very
little of our sect." — " Truly, madam," said Adams, " I think
you are in the right: I should have insisted to know a piece
of her mind, when I had carried matters so far." But Mrs
Grave-airs desired the lady to omit all such fulsome stuff in
her story, for that it made her sick.

Well then, madam, to be as concise as possible, said the
lady, many weeks had not passed after this interview before
Horatio and Leonora were what they call on a good footing
together. All ceremonies except the last were now over ;
the writings were now drawn, and everything was in the
utmost forwardness preparative to the putting Horatio in
possession of all his wishes. I will, if you please, repeat you a
letter from each of them, which I have got by heart, and which
will give you no small idea of their passion on both sides.

Mrs Grave-airs objected to hearing these letters; but being
put to the vote, it was carried against her by all the rest in
the coach ; parson Adams contending for it with the utmost
vehemence.

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THE ADVENTURES OF

HORATIO TO LEONORA.

" How vain, most adorable creature, is the pursuit of plea-
sure in the absence of an object to which the mind is entirely
devoted, unless it have some relation to that object! I was
last night condemned to the society of men of wit and learn-
ing, which, however agreeable it might have formerly been to
me, now only gave me a suspicion that they imputed my ab-
sence in conversation to the true cause. For which reason,
when your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happiness of
seeing you, I am always desirous to be alone ; since my senti-
ments for Leonora are so delicate, that I cannot bear the
apprehension of another's prying into those delightful endear-
ments with which the warm imagination of a lover will some-
times indulge him, and which I suspect my eyes then betray.
To fear this discovery of our thoughts may perhaps appear too
ridiculous a nicety to minds not susceptible of all the tender-
nesses of this delicate passion. And surely we shall suspect
there are few such, when we consider that it requires every
human virtue to exert itself in its full extent; since the be-
loved, whose happiness it ultimately respects, may give us
charming opportunities of being brave in her defence, gener-
ous to her wants, compassionate to her afflictions, grateful to
her kindness ; and in the same manner, of exercising every
other virtue, which he who would not do to any degree, and
that with the utmost rapture, can never deserve the name of
a lover. It is, therefore, with a view to the delicate modesty
of your mind that I cultivate it so purely in my own ; and it
is that which will sufficiently suggest to you the uneasiness
I bear from those liberties, which men to whom the world
allow politeness will sometimes give themselves on these oc-
casions.

" Can I tell you with what eagerness I expect the arrival
of that blest day, when I shall experience the falsehood of a
common assertion, that the greatest human happiness consists
in hope? A doctrine which no person had ever stronger rea-
son to believe than myself at present, since none ever tasted
such bliss as fires my bosom with the thoughts of spending
my future days with such a companion, and that every action

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

of my life will have the glorious satisfaction of conducing to
your happiness."

LEONORA TO HORATIO.*

" The refinement of your mind has been so evidently
proved by every word and action ever since I had the first
pleasure of knowing you, that I thought it impossible my good
opinion of Horatio could have been heightened to any addi-
tional proof of merit. This very thought was my amusement
when I received your last letter, which, when I opened, I con-
fess I was surprized to find the delicate sentiments expressed
there so far exceeding what I thought could come even from
you (although I know all the generous principles human na-
ture is capable of are centred in your breast), that words
cannot paint what I feel on the reflection that my happiness
shall be the ultimate end of all your actions.

" Oh, Horatio ! what a life must that be, where the meanest
domestic cares are sweetened by the pleasing consideration
that the man on earth who best deserves, and to whom you
are most inclined to give your affections, is to reap either
profit or pleasure from all you do ! In such a case toils must
be turned into diversions, and nothing but the unavoidable
inconveniences of life can make us remember that we are
mortal.

" If the solitary turn of your thoughts, and the desire of
keeping them undiscovered, makes even the conversation of
men of wit and learning tedious to you, what anxious hours
must I spend, who am condemned by custom to the conver-
sation of women, whose natural curiosity leads them to pry
into all my thoughts, and whose envy can never suffer
Horatio's heart to be possessed by any one, without forcing
them into malicious designs against the person who is so
happy as to possess it ! But, indeed, if ever envy can possibly
have any excuse, or even alleviation, it is in this case, where
the good is so great, and it must be equally natural to all
to wish it for themselves ; nor am I ashamed to own it : and
to your merit, Horatio, I am obliged, that prevents my be-
ing in that most uneasy of all the situations I can figure

* This letter was written by a young lady on reading the former.

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in my imagination, of being led by inclination to love the
person whom my own judgment forces me to condemn."

Matters were in so great forwardness between this fond
couple, that the day was fixed for their marriage, and was
now within a fortnight, when the sessions chanced to be
held for that county in a town about twenty miles' distance
from that which is the scene of our story. It seems, it is
usual for the young gentlemen of the bar to repair to these
sessions, not so much for the sake of profit as to show their
parts and learn the law of the justices of peace; for which
purpose one of the wisest and gravest of all the justices is
appointed speaker, or chairman, as they modestly call it, and
he reads them a lecture, and instructs them in the true know-
ledge of the law.

" You are here guilty of a little mistake," says Adams,
" which, if you please, I will correct : I have attended at one
of these quarter-sessions, where I observed the counsel taught
the justices, instead of learning anything of them."

It is not very material, said the lady. Hither repaired
Horatio, who, as he hoped by his profession to advance his
fortune, which was not at present very large, for the sake of
his dear Leonora, he resolved to spare no pains, nor lose any
opportunity of improving or advancing himself in it.

The same afternoon in which he left the town, as Leonora
stood at her window, a coach and six passed by, which she
declared to be the completest, genteelest, prettiest equipage
she ever saw ; adding these remarkable words, " O, I am in
love with that equipage ! " which, though her friend Florella
at that time did not greatly regard, she hath since remem-
bered.

In the evening an assembly was held, which Leonora hon-
oured with her company ; but intended to pay her dear Ho-
ratio the compliment of refusing to dance in his absence.

O, why have not women as good resolution to maintain
their vows as they have often good inclinations in making
them !

The gentleman who owned the coach and six came to the
assembly. His clothes were as remarkably fine as his equi-
page could be. He soon attracted the eyes of the company;

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

all the smarts, all the silk waistcoats with silver and gold
edgings, were eclipsed in an instant.

" Madam," said Adams, " if it be not impertinent, I should
be glad to know how this gentleman was drest."

Sir, answered the lady, I have been told he had on a cut
velvet coat of a cinnamon colour, lined with a pink satin,
embroidered all over with gold ; his waistcoat, which was
cloth of silver, was embroidered with gold likewise. I can-
not be particular as to the rest of his dress ; but it was all in
the French fashion, for Bellarmine (that was his name) was
just arrived from Paris.

This fine figure did not more entirely engage the eyes oi
every lady in the assembly than Leonora did his. He had
scarce beheld her, but he stood motionless and fixed as a
statue, or at least would have done so if good breeding had
permitted him. However, he carried it so far before he had
power to correct himself, that every person in the room easily
discovered where his admiration was settled. The other ladies
began to single out their former partners, all perceiving who
would be Bellarmine's choice ; which they however endea-
voured, by all possible means, to prevent : many of them say-
ing to Leonora, " O madam ! I suppose we shan't have the
pleasure of seeing you dance to-night ; " and then crying out,
in Bellarmine's hearing, " O ! Leonora will not dance, I assure
you : her partner is not here." One maliciously attempted to
prevent her, by sending a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that
so she might be obliged either to dance with him, or sit down ;
but this scheme proved abortive.

Leonora saw herself admired by the fine stranger, and
envied by every woman present. Her little heart began to
flutter within her, and her head was agitated with a convul-
sive motion : she seemed as if she would speak to several of
her acquaintance, but had nothing to say ; for, as she would
not mention her present triumph, so she could not disengage
her thoughts one moment from the contemplation of it. She
had never tasted anything like this happiness. She had be-
fore known what it was to torment a single woman ; but to be
hated and secretly cursed- by a whole assembly was a joy
reserved for this blessed moment. As this vast profusion
of ecstasy had confounded her understanding, so there was

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nothing so foolish as her behaviour : she played a thousand
childish tricks, distorted her person into several shapes, and
her face into several laughs, without any reason. In a word,
her carriage was as absurd as her desires, which were to
affect an insensibility of the stranger's admiration, and at the
same time a triumph from that admiration, over every woman
in the room.

In this temper of mind, Bellarmine, having inquired who
she was, advanced to her, and with a low bow begged the
honour of dancing with her, which she, with as low a curtesy,
immediately granted. She danced with him all night, and
enjoyed perhaps the highest pleasure that she was capable of
feeling.

At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, which
frighted the ladies, who told him, they hoped he was not
ill. He answered, he groaned only for the folly of Leonora.

Leonora retired (continued the lady) about six in the
morning, but not to rest. She tumbled and tossed in her
bed, with very short intervals of sleep, and those entirely
filled with dreams of the equipage and fine clothes she had
seen, and the balls, operas, and ridottos, which had been the
subject of their conversation.

In the afternoon Bellarmine, in the dear coach and six,
came to wait on her. He was indeed charmed with her
person, and was, on inquiry, so well pleased with the cir-
cumstances of her father (for he himself, notwithstanding all
his finery, was not quite so rich as a Crcesus or an Attalus).
— " Attalus," says Mr Adams : " but pray how came you ac-
quainted with these names ? " The lady smiled at the question,
and proceeded. He was so pleased, I say, that he resolved
to make his addresses to her directly. He did so accordingly,
and that with so much warmth and briskness, that he quickly
baffled her weak repulses, and obliged the lady to refer him
to her father, who, she knew, would quickly declare in favour
of a coach and six.

Thus what Horatio had by sighs and tears, love and ten-
derness, been so long obtaining, the French-English Bellar-
mine with gaiety and gallantry possessed himself of in an
instant. In other words, what modesty had employed a full
year in raising, impudence demolished in twenty-four hours.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Here Adams groaned a second time ; but the ladies, who
began to smoke, took no notice.

From the opening of the assembly till the end of Bellar-
mine's visit, Leonora had scarce one thought of Horatio;
but he now began, though an unwelcome guest, to enter
into her mind. She wished she had seen the charming Bel-
larmine and his charming equipage before matters had gone
so far. ' Yet why," says she, " should I wish to have seen
him before ; or what signifies it that I have seen him now ?
Is not Horatio my lover, almost my husband? Is he not as
handsome, nay handsomer, than Bellarmine? Ay, but Bel-
larmine is the genteeler, and the finer man ; yes, that he must
be allowed. Yes, yes, he is that certainly. But did not I,
no longer ago than yesterday, love Horatio more than all
the world? Ay, but yesterday I had not seen Bellarmine.
But doth not Horatio dote on me, and may he not in despair
break his heart if I abandon him? Well, and hath not Bel-
larmine a heart to break too? Yes, but I promised Horatio
first ; but that was poor Bellarmine's misfortune ; if I had
seen him first, I should certainly have preferred him. Did not
the dear creature prefer me to every woman in the assembly,
when every she was laying out for him? When was it in
Horatio's power to give me such an instance of affection?
Can he give me an equipage, or any of those things which
Bellarmine will make me mistress of? How vast is the
difference between being the wife of a poor counsellor and
the wife of one of Bellarmine's fortune ! Jf I marry Horatio,
I shall triumph over no more than one rival ; but by marry-
ing Bellarmine I shall be the envy of all my acquaintance.
\\ nat happiness ! But can I suffer Horatio to die ? for he
hath sworn he cannot survive my loss : but perhaps he may
not die: if he should, can I prevent it? Must I sacrifice
myself to him? besides, Bellarmine may be as miserable for
me too." She was thus arguing with herself, when some
young ladies called her to the walks, and a little relieved her
anxiety for the present.

The next morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her in pres-
ence of her aunt, whom he sufficiently informed of his passion
for Leonora. He was no sooner withdrawn than the old
lady began to advise her niece on this occasion. " You see,

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child," says she, " what fortune hath thrown in your way ;
and I hope you will not withstand your own preferment."
Leonora, sighing, begged her not to mention any such thing,
when she knew her engagements to Horatio. " Engagements
to a fig ! " cried the aunt ; " you should thank Heaven on
your knees that you have it yet in your power to break them.
Will any woman hesitate a moment whether she shall ride
in a coach or walk on foot all the days of her life? But
Bellarmine drives six, and Horatio not even a pair." — " Yes,
but, madam, what will the world say ? " answered Leonora :
" will not they condemn me? " — " The world is always on the
side of prudence," cries the aunt, " and would surely condemn
you if you sacrificed your interest to any motive whatever.
O ! I know the world very well ; and you show your ignorance,
my dear, by your objection. O' my conscience! the world
is wiser. I have lived longer in it than you ; and I assure you
there is not anything worth our regard besides money; nor
did I ever know one person who married from other con-
siderations, who did not afterwards heartily repent it. Be-
sides, if we examine the two men, can you prefer a sneaking
fellow, who hath been bred at the University, to a fine gentle-
man just come from his travels? All the world must allow
Bellarmine to be'a fine gentleman, positively a fine gentleman,
and a handsome man." — " Perhaps, madam, I should not
doubt, if I knew how to be handsomely off with the other."
— " O ! leave that to me," says the aunt. " You know your
father hath not been acquainted with the affair. Indeed, for
my part I thought it might do well enough, not dreaming
of such an offer ; but I'll disengage you : leave me to give the
fellow an answer. I warrant you shall have no farther
trouble."

Leonora was at length satisfied with her aunt's reasoning;
and Bellarmine supping with her that evening, it was agreed
he should the next morning go to her father and propose the
match, which she consented should be consummated at his
return.

The aunt retired soon after supper; and, the lovers being
left together, Bellarmine began in the following manner :
" Yes, madam ; this coat, I assure you, was made at Paris,
and I defy the best English tailor even to imitate it. There

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

is not one of them can cut, madam ; they can't cut. If you
observe how this skirt is turned, and this sleeve : a clumsy
English rascal can do nothing- like it. Pray, how do you
like my liveries ? " Leonora answered, she thought them very
pretty. " All French," says he, " I assure you, except the
great-coats ; I never trust anything more than a great-coat
to an Englishman. You know one must encourage our own
people what one can, especially as, before I had a place, I
was in the country interest, he, he, he ! But for myself, I
would see the dirty island at the bottom of the sea, rather
than wear a single rag of English work about me : and I am
sure, after you have made one tour to Paris, you will be of
the same opinion with regard to your own clothes. You can't
conceive what an addition a French dress would be to your
beauty ; I positively assure you, at the first opera I saw since
I came over, I mistook the English ladies for chamber-
maids, he, he, he ! "

With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bellarmine
entertain his beloved Leonora, when the door opened on a
sudden, and Horatio entered the room. Here 'tis impossible
to express the surprize of Leonora.

' Poor woman ! " says Mrs Slipslop, " what a terrible
quandary she must be in ! " — " Not at all," says Mrs Grave-
airs ; " such sluts can never be confounded." — " She must
have then more than Corinthian assurance," said Adams;
" ay, more than Lais herself."

A long silence, continued the lady, prevailed in the whole
company. If the familiar entrance of Horatio struck the
greatest astonishment into Bellarmine, the unexpected pres-
ence of Bellarmine no less surprized Horatio. At length Leo-
nora, collecting all the spirit she was mistress of, addressed
herself to the latter, and pretended to wonder at the reason
of so late a visit. " I should, indeed," answered he, " have
made some apology for disturbing you at this hour, had not
my finding you in company assured me I do not break in
upon your repose." Bellarmine rose from his chair, traversed
the room in a minuet step, and hummed an opera tune, while
Horatio, advancing to Leonora, asked her in a whisper if that
gentleman was not a relation of hers ; to which she answered
with a smile, or rather sneer, " No, he is no relation of mine

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vet ; " adding " she could not guess the meaning of his ques-
tion." Horatio told her softly, it did not arise from jeal-
ousy.— " Jealousy ! I assure you, it would be very strange
in a common acquaintance to give himself any of those airs."
These words a little surprized Horatio ; but, before he had
time to answer, Bellarmine danced up to the lady and told
her, he feared he interrupted some business between her
and the gentleman. " I can have no business," said she, " with
the gentleman, nor any other, which need be any secret to
you."

" You'll pardon me," said Horatio, " if I desire to know
who this gentleman is who is to be intrusted with all our
secrets." — " You'll know soon enough," cries Leonora ; " but
I can't guess what secrets can ever pass between us of such
mighty consequence." — " No, madam ! " cries Horatio ; " I am
sure you would not have me understand you in earnest." —
" 'Tis indifferent to me," says she, " how you understand me ;
but I think so unseasonable a visit is difficult to be understood
at all, at least when people find one engaged : though one's
servants do not deny one, one may expect a well-bred person
should soon take the hint." " Madam," said Horatio, " I did
not imagine any engagement with a stranger, as it seems this
gentleman is, would have made my visit impertinent, or that
any such ceremonies were to be preserved between persons
in our situation." " Sure you are in a dream," says she, " or
would persuade me that I am in one. I know no pretensions
a common acquaintance can have to lay aside the ceremonies
of good breeding." " Sure," said he, " I am in a dream ; for
it is impossible I should be really esteemed a common ac-
quaintance by Leonora, after what has passed between us ? "
" Passed between us ! Do you intend to affront me before
this gentleman? " " D — n me, affront the lady," says Bellar-
mine, cocking his hat, and strutting up to Horatio : " does
any man dare affront this lady before me, d — n me ? "
" Hark'ee, sir," says Horatio, " I would advise you to lay
aside that fierce air; for I am mightily deceived if this lady
has not a violent desire to get your worship a good drubbing."
" Sir," said Bellarmine, " I have the honour to be her protec-
tor; and, d — n me, if I understand your meaning." "Sir,"
answered Horatio, " she is rather your protectress ; but give

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

yourself no more airs, for you see I am prepared for you"
(shaking his whip at him). "Oh! serviteur tres humble,"
says Bellarmine: " Je vous attend pa/rfaitment bicn." At
which time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's visit, entered
the room, and soon satisfied all his doubts. She convinced
him that he was never more awake in his life, and that nothing
more extraordinary had happened in his three days' absence
than a small alteration in the affections of Leonora ; who now
burst into tears, and wondered what reason she had given
him to use her in so barbarous a manner. Horatio desired
Bellarmine to withdraw with him; but the ladies prevented
it by laying violent hands on the latter; upon which the
former took his leave without any great ceremony, and de-
parted, leaving the lady with his rival to consult for his
safety, which Leonora feared her indiscretion might have
endangered ; but the aunt comforted her with assurances that
Horatio would not venture his person against so accomplished
a cavalier as Bellarmine, and that, being a lawyer, he would
seek revenge in his own way, and the most they had to appre-
hend from him was an action.

They at length therefore agreed to permit Bellarmine to
retire to his lodgings, having first settled'all matters relating
to the journey which he was to undertake in the morning,
and their preparations for the nuptials at his return.

But, alas ! as wise men have observed, the seat of valour
is not the countenance; and many a grave and plain man
will, on a just provocation, betake himself to that mischievous
metal, cold iron ; while men of a fiercer brow, and sometimes
with that emblem of courage, a cockade, will more prudently
decline it.

Leonora was waked in the morning, from a visionary coach
and six, with the dismal account that Bellarmine was run
through the body by Horatio ; that he lay languishing at an
inn, and the surgeons had declared the wound mortal. She
immediately leaped out of the bed, danced about the room in
a frantic manner, tore her hair and beat her breast in all the
agonies of despair; in which sad condition her aunt, who
likewise arose at the news, found her. The good old lady
applied her utmost art to comfort her niece. She told her,
while there was life there was hope; but that if he should

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die her affliction would be of no service to Bellarmine, and
would only expose herself, which might, probably, keep her
some time without any future offer; that, as matters had
happened, her wisest way would be to think no more of
Bellarmine, but to endeavour to regain the affections of Ho-
ratio." " Speak not to me," cried the disconsolate Leonora ;
" is it not owing to me that poor Bellarmine has lost his life?
Have not these cursed charms (at which words she looked
steadfastly in the glass) been the ruin of the most charming
man of this age? Can I ever bear to contemplate my own
face again (with her eyes still fixed on the glass) ? Am I
not the murderess of the finest gentleman ? No other woman
in the town could have made any impression on him."
" Never think of things past," cries the aunt : " think of re-
gaining the affections of Horatio." " What reason," said the
niece, " have I to hope he would forgive me ? No, I have
lost him as well as the other, and it was your wicked advice
which was the occasion of all ; you seduced me, contrary to
my inclinations, to abandon poor Horatio (at which words
she burst into tears) ; you prevailed upon me, whether I
would or no, to give up my affections for him ; had it not
been for you Bellarmine never would have entered into my
thoughts ; had not his addresses been backed by your persua-
sions they never would have made any impression on me ;
I should have defied all the fortune and equipage in the
world ; but it was you, it was you, who got the better of my
youth and simplicity, and forced me to lose my dear Horatio
for ever."

The aunt was almost borne down with this torrent of
words ; she however rallied all the strength she could, and,
drawing her mouth up in a purse, began : " I am not sur-
prized, niece, at this ingratitude. Those who advise young
women for their interest must always expect such a return :
I am convinced my brother will thank me for breaking off
your match with Horatio at any rate." — " That may not be
in your power yet," answered Leonora, " though it is very
ungrateful in you to desire or attempt it, after the presents
you have received from him." (For indeed true it is, that
many presents, and some pretty valuable ones, had passed
from Horatio to the old lady; but as true it is, that Bellar-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

mine, when he breakfasted with her and her niece, had com-
plimented her with a brilliant from his finger, of much greater
value than all she had touched of the other.)

The aunt's gall was on float to reply, when a servant brought
a letter into the room, which Leonora, hearing it came from
Bellarmine, with great eagerness opened, and read as follows :

" Most divine Creature, — The wound which I fear you
have heard I received from my rival is not like to be so fatal
as those shot into my heart which have been fired from your
eyes, tout brilliant. Those are the only cannons by which
I am to fall ! for my surgeon gives me hopes of being soon
able to attend your ruclle; till when, unless you would do
me an honour which I have scarce the hardiesse to think of,
your absence will be the greatest anguish which can be felt
by, madam, avec toute le respecte in the world, your most
obedient, most absolute devote, Bellarmine."

As soon as Leonora perceived such hopes of Bellarmine's
recovery, and that the gossip Fame had, according to custom,
so enlarged his danger, she presently abandoned all further
thoughts of Horatio, and was soon reconciled to her aunt,
who received her again into favour, with a more Christian
forgiveness than we generally meet with. Indeed, it is pos-
sible she might be a little alarmed at the hints which her
niece had given her concerning the presents. She might ap-
prehend such rumours, should they get abroad, might injure
a reputation which, by frequenting church twice a-day, and
preserving the utmost rigour and strictness in her counte-
nance and behaviour for many years, she had established.

Leonora's passion returned now for Bellarmine with
greater force, after its small relaxation, than ever. She pro-
posed to her aunt to make him a visit in his confinement,
which the old lady, with great and commendable prudence,
advised her to decline : " For," says she, " should any accident
intervene to prevent your intended match, too forward a be-
haviour with this lover may injure you in the eyes of others.
Every woman, till she is married, ought to consider of, and
provide against, the possibility of the affair's breaking off."
Leonora said, she should be indifferent to whatever might

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happen in such a case ; for she had now so absolutely placed
her affections on this dear men (so she called him), that, if it
was her misfortune to lose him, she should for ever abandon
all thoughts of mankind. She therefore resolved to visit him,
notwithstanding all the prudent advice of her aunt to the
contrary, and that very afternoon executed her resolution.

The lady was proceeding in her story, when the coach
drove into the inn where the company were to dine, sorely
to the dissatisfaction of Mr Adams, whose ears were the most
hungry part about him ; he being, as the reader may perhaps
guess, of an insatiable curiosity and heartily desirous of
hearing the end of this amour, though he professed he could
scarce wish success to a lady of so inconstant a disposition.

CHAPTER V.

A DREADFUL QUARREL WHICH HAPPENED AT THE INN WHERE
THE COMPANY DINED, WITH ITS BLOODY CONSEQUENCES TO
MR ADAMS.

AS soon as the passengers had alighted from the coach,
±\. Mr Adams, as was his custom, made directly to the kit-
chen, where he found Joseph sitting by the fire, and the hostess
anointing his leg; for the horse which Mr Adams had bor-
rowed of his clerk had so violent a propensity to kneeling,
that one would have thought it had been his trade, as well
as his master's ; nor would he always give any notice of such
his intention ; he was often found on his knees when the
rider least expected it. This foible, however, was of no great
inconvenience to the parson, who was accustomed to it; and,
as his legs almost touched the ground when he bestrode the
beast, had but a little way to fall, and threw himself forward
on such occasions with so much dexterity that he never
received any mischief ; the horse and he frequently rolling
many paces' distance, and afterwards both getting up and
meeting as good friends as ever.

Poor Joseph, who had not been used to such kind of cattle,
though an excellent horseman, did not so happily disengage

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himself; but falling with his leg under the beast, received
a violent contusion, to which the good woman was, as we
have said, applying a warm hand, with some camphorated
spirits, just at the time when the parson entered the kitchen.

He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph's misfor-
tune before the host likewise entered. He was by no means
of Mr Tow-wouse's gentle disposition; and was, indeed, per-
fect master of his house, and everything in it but his guests.

This surly fellow, who always proportioned his respect to
the appearance of a traveller, from " God bless your honour,"
down to plain " Coming presently," observing his wife on her
knees to a footman, cried out, without considering his cir-
cumstances, "What a pox is the woman about? why don't
you mind the company in the coach? Go and ask them
what they will have for dinner." " My dear," says she, " you
know they can have nothing but what is at the fire, which
will be ready presently ; and really the poor young man's
leg is very much bruised." At which words she fell to chafing
more violently than before : the bell then happening to ring,
he damn'd his wife, and bid her go in to the company, and
not stand rubbing there all day, for he did not believe the
young fellow's leg was so bad as he pretended ; and if it was,
within twenty miles he would find a surgeon to cut it off.
Upon these words, Adams fetched two strides across the
room ; and snapping his fingers over his head, muttered aloud,
he would excommunicate such a wretch for a farthing, for
he believed the devil had more humanity. These words occa-
sioned a dialogue between Adams and the host, in which there
were two or three sharp replies, till Joseph bade the latter
know how to behave himself to his betters. At which the
host (having first strictly surveyed Adams) scornfully re-
peated the word betters, flew into a rage, and, telling Joseph
he was as able to walk out of his house as he had been to
walk into it, offered to lay violent hands on him ; which
perceiving, Adams dealt him so sound a compliment over his
face with his fist, that the blood immediately gushed out of
his nose in a stream. The host, being unwilling to be out-
done in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams's figure,
returned the favour with so much gratitude, that the parson's
nostrils began to look a little redder than usual. Upon which

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THE ADVENTURES OF

he again assailed his antagonist, and with another stroke laid
him sprawling on the floor.

The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a husband
deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and stretched along,
hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to revenge the
blow, which, to all appearance, was the last he would ever
receive ; when lo ! a pan full of hog's blood, which unluckily
stood on the dresser, presented itself first to her hands. She
seized it in her fury, and, without any reflection, discharged
it into the parson's face ; and with so good an aim, that
much the greater part first saluted his countenance, and
trickled thence in so large a current down to his beard, and
over his garments, that a more horrible spectacle was hardly
to be seen, or even imagined. All which was perceived by
Mrs Slipslop, who entered the kitchen at that instant. This
good gentlewoman, not being of a temper so extremely cool
and patient as perhaps was required to ask many questions on
this occasion, flew with great impetuosity at the hostess's cap,
which, together with some of her hair, she plucked from her
head in a moment, giving her, at the same time, several
hearty cuffs in the face ; which, by frequent practice on the
inferior servants, she had learned an excellent knack of de-
livering with a good grace. Poor Joseph could hardly rise
from his chair ; the parson was employed in wiping the blood
from his eyes, which had entirely blinded him ; and the
landlord was but just beginning to stir ; whilst Mrs Slipslop,
holding down the landlady's face with her left hand, made
so dexterous an use of her right, that the poor woman
began to roar, in a key which alarmed all the company in
the inn.

There happened to be in the inn, at this time, besides the
ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two gentlemen who
were present at Mr Tow-wouse's when Joseph was detained
for his horse's meat, and whom we have before mentioned
to have stopt at the alehouse with Adams. There was like-
wise a gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy; all
whom the horrid outcry of murder presently brought into
the kitchen, where the several combatants were found in the
postures already described.

It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray, the

ioo

JOSEPH ANDREWS

conquerors being satisfied with the vengeance they had taken,
and the conquered having no appetite to renew the fight. The
principal figure, and which engaged the eyes of all, was
Adams, who was all over covered with blood, which the
whole company concluded to be his own, and consequently
imagined him no longer for this world. But the host, who
had now recovered from his blow, and was risen from the
ground, soon delivered them from this apprehension, by
damning his wife for wasting the hog's puddings, and telling
her all would have been very well if she had not intermeddled,
like a b — as she was ; adding, he was very glad the gentle-
woman had paid her, though not half what she deserved. The
poor woman had indeed fared much the worse ; having, besides
the unmerciful cuff's received, lost a quantity of hair, which
Mrs Slipslop in triumph held in her left hand.

The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs Grave-airs, de-
sired her not to be frightened ; for here had been only a little
boxing, which he said, to their disgracia, the English were
accustoinata to : adding, it must be, however, a sight some-
what strange to him, who was just come from Italy; the
Italians not being addicted to the cuff ar do, but bastonza, says
he. He then went up to Adams, and telling him he looked
like the ghost of Othello, bid him not shake his gory locks
at him, for he could not say he did it. Adams very inno-
cently answered, " Sir, I am far from accusing you." He then
returned to the lady, and cried, " I find the bloody gentle-
man is uiio insipido del nullo scnso. Damnato di me, if I have
seen such a spcctaculo in my way from Viterbo."

One of the gentlemen having learnt from the host the oc-
casion of this bustle, and being assured by him that Adams
had struck the first blow, whispered in his ear, he'd warrant
he would recover. " Recover ! master," said the host smiling :
" yes, yes, I am not afraid of dying with a blow or two
neither ; I am not such a chicken as that." — " Pugh ! " said
the gentleman, " I mean you will recover damages in that
action which, undoubtedly, you intend to bring, as soon as a
writ can be returned from London ; for you look like a man
of too much spirit and courage to suffer any one to beat you
without bringing your action against him : he must be a
scandalous fellow indeed who would put up with a drubbing

IOI

THE ADVENTURES OF

whilst the law is open to revenge it ; besides, he hath drawn
blood from you, and spoiled your coat; and the jury will give
damages for that too. An excellent new coat upon my word ;
and now not worth a shilling ! I don't care," continued he,
"to intermeddle in these cases; but you have a right to my
evidence ; and if I am sworn, I must speak the truth. I saw
you sprawling on the floor, and blood gushing from your
nostrils. You may take your own opinion ; but was I in
your circumstances, every drop of my blood should convey
an ounce of gold into my pocket : remember I don't advise you
to go to law; but if your jury were Christians, they must
give swinging damages. That's all." — " Master," cried the
host, scratching his head, " I .have no stomach to law, I thank
you I have seen enough of that in the parish, where two of
my neighbours have been at law about a house, till they have
both lawed themselves into a gaol." At which words he turned
about, and began to inquire again after his hog's puddings ;
nor would it probably have been a sufficient excuse for his
wife, that she spilt them in his defence, had not some awe
of the company, especially of the Italian traveller, who was
a person of great dignity, withheld his rage.

Whilst one of the above-mentioned gentlemen was em-
ployed, as we have seen him, on the behalf of the landlord,
the other was no less hearty on the side of Mr Adams, whom
he advised to bring his action immediately. He said the assault
of the wrife was in law the assault of the husband, for they
were but one person ; and he was liable to pay damages, which
he said must be considerable, where so bloody a disposition
appeared. Adams answered, If it was true that they were
but one person, he had assaulted the wife ; for he was sorry to
own he had struck the husband the first blow^. " I am sorry
you own it too," cries the gentleman ; " for it could not pos-
sibly appear to the court ; for here was no evidence present
but the lame man in the chair, whom I suppose to be your
friend, and would consequently say nothing but what made
for you." — " How, sir," says Adams, " do you take me for
a villain, who would prosecute revenge in cold blood, and use
unjustifiable means to obtain it? If you knew me, and my
order, I should think you affronted both." At the word
order, the gentleman stared (for he was too bloody to be of

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

any modern order of knights) ; and, turning hastily about,
said, every man knew his own business.

Matters being now composed, the company retired to their
several apartments ; the two gentlemen congratulating each
other on the success of their good offices in procuring a per-
fect reconciliation between the contending parties ; and the
traveller went to his repast, crying, " As the Italian poet says,

' Je voi very well que tutta e pace,
So send up dinner, good Boniface.' "

The coachman began now to grow importunate with his
passengers, whose entrance into the coach was retarded by
Miss Grave-airs insisting, against the remonstrances of all the
rest, that she would not admit a footman into the coach ; for
poor Joseph was too lame to mount a horse. A young lady,
who was, as it seems, an earl's grand-daughter, begged it with
almost tears in her eyes. Mr Adams prayed, and Mrs Slipslop
scolded ; but all to no purpose. She said, she would not de-
mean herself to ride with a footman : that there were wag-
gons on the road : that if the master of the coach desired it,
she would pay for two places ; but would suffer no such fellow
to come in." — " Madam," says Slipslop, " I am sure no one
can refuse another coming into a stage-coach." — " I don't
know, madam," says the lady; " I am not much used to stage-
coaches ; I seldom travel in them." — " That may be, madam,"
replied Slipslop ; " very good people do ; and some people's
betters, for aught I know." Miss Grave-airs said, some folks
might sometimes give their tongues a liberty, to some people
that were their betters, which did not become them ; for her
part, she was not used to converse with servants. Slipslop
returned, some people kept no servants to converse with ; for
her part, she thanked Heaven she lived in a family where
there were a great many, and had more under her own com-
mand than any paltry little gentlewoman in the kingdom. Miss
Grave-airs cried, she believed her mistress would not encour-
age such sauciness to her betters. " My betters," says Slip-
slop, " who is my betters, pray ? " — " I am your betters,"
answered Miss Grave-airs, " and I'll acquaint your mistress."
— At which Mrs Slipslop laughed aloud, and told her, her

io3

THE ADVENTURES OF

lady was one of the great gentry; and such little paltry gen-
tlewomen as some folks, who travelled in stage-coaches, would
not easily come at her.

This smart dialogue between some people and some folks
was going on at the coach-door when a solemn person, riding
into the inn, and seeing Miss Grave-airs, immediately accosted
her with " Dear child, how do you ? " She presently answered,
"O! papa, I am glad you have overtaken me." — " So am I,"
answered he ; " for one of our coaches is just at hand ; and,
there being room for you in it, you shall go no farther in the
stage unless you desire it." — " How can you imagine I should
desire it ? " says she ; so, bidding Slipslop ride with her fellow,
if she pleased, she took her father by the hand, who was
just alighted, and walked with him into a room.

Adams instantly asked the coachman, in a whisper, if he
knew who the gentleman was ? The coachman answered, he
was now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man. " But
times are altered, master," said he ; " I remember when he was
no better born than myself." — "Aye! aye!'' says Adams.
" My father drove the squire's coach," answered he, " when
that very man rode postilion ; but he is now his steward ; and
a great gentleman." Adams then snapped his fingers, and
cried, he thought she was some such trollop.

Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs Slipslop with this good
news, as he imagined it; but it found a reception different
from what he expected. The prudent gentlewoman, who
despised the anger of Miss Grave-airs whilst she conceived
her the daughter of a gentleman of small fortune, now she
heard her alliance with the upper servants of a great family
in her neighbourhood, began to fear her interest with the
mistress. She wished she had not carried the dispute so far,
and began to think of endeavouring to reconcile herself to
the young lady before she left the inn ; when, luckily, the
scene at London, which the reader can scarce have forgotten,
presented itself to her mind, and comforted her with such
assurance, that she no longer apprehended any enemy with
her mistress.

Everything being now adjusted, the company entered the
coach, which was just on its departure, when one lady recol-
lected she had left her fan, a second her gloves, a third a

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her; to find
all which occasioned some delay and much swearing to the
coachman.

As soon as the coach had left the inn the women all to-
gether fell to the character of Miss Grave-airs ; whom one of
them declared she had suspected to be some low creature,
from the beginning of their journey, and another affirmed she
had not even the looks of a gentlewoman : a third warranted
she was no better than she should be ; and, turning to the
lady who had related the story in the coach, said, " Did you
ever hear, madam, anything so prudish as her remarks?
Well, deliver me from the censoriousness of such a prude."
The fourth added, " O, madam! all these creatures are censo-
rious ; but for my part, I wonder where the wretch was bred ;
indeed, I must own I have seldom conversed with these mean
kind of people, so that it may appear stranger to me; but
to refuse the general desire of a whole company hath some-
thing in it so astonishing, that, for my part, I own I should
hardly believe it if my own ears had not been witnesses to
it." — " Yes, and so handsome a young fellow," cries Slipslop;
" the woman must have no compulsion in her : I believe she
is more of a Turk than a Christian; I am certain, if she
had any Christian woman's blood in her veins, the sight of
such a young fellow must have warmed it. Indeed, there are
some wretched, miserable old objects, that turn one's stomach;
I should not wonder if she had refused such a one; I am
as nice as herself, and should have cared no more than her-
self for the company of stinking old fellows ; but, hold up
thy head, Joseph, thou art none of those ; and she who hath
not compulsion for thee is a Myhummetman, and I will main-
tain it." This conversation made Joseph uneasy as well as the
ladies ; who, perceiving the spirits which Mrs Slipslop was in
(for indeed she was not a cup too low), began to fear the con-
sequence ; one of them therefore desired the lady to conclude
the story. " Aye, madam," said Slipslop, " I beg your lady-
ship to give us that story you commensated in the morning; "
which request that well-bred woman immediately complied
with.

i°5

THE ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER VI.

CONCLUSION OF THE UNFORTUNATE JILT.

LEONORA, having once broke through the bounds which
> custom and modesty impose on her sex, soon gave an un-
bridled indulgence to her passion. Her visits to Bellarmine
were more constant, as well as longer, than his surgeon's : in
a word, she became absolutely his nurse ; made his water-
gruel, administered him his medicines ; and, notwithstanding
the prudent advice of her aunt to the contrary, almost en-
tirely resided in her wounded lover's apartment.

The ladies of the town began to take her conduct under
consideration : it was the chief topic of discourse at their
tea-tables, and was very severely censured by the most part ;
especially by Lindamira, a lady whose discreet and starch
carriage, together with a constant attendance at church three
times a-day, had utterly defeated many malicious attacks on
her own reputation ; for such was the envy that Lindamira's
virtue had attracted, that, notwithstanding her own strict be-
haviour and strict inquiry into the lives of others, she had
not been able to escape being the mark of some arrows her-
self, which, however, did her no injury; a blessing, perhaps,
owed by her to the clergy, who were her chief male com-
panions, and with two or three of whom she had been bar-
barously and unjustly calumniated.

"Not so unjustly neither, perhaps," says Slipslop; "for
the clergy are men, as well as other folks."

The extreme delicacy of Lindamira's virtue was cruelly
hurt by those freedoms which Leonora allowed herself : she
said it was an affront to her sex; that she did not imagine
it consistent with any woman's honour to speak to the crea-
ture, or to be seen in her company; and that, for her part,
she should always refuse to dance at an assembly with her,
for fear of contamination by taking her by the hand.

But to return to my story : as soon as Bellarmine was
recovered, which was somewhat within a month from his
receiving the wound, he set out, according to agreement, for

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Leonora's father's, in order to propose the match, and settle
all matters with him touching settlements, and the like.

A little before his arrival the old gentleman had received
an intimation of the affair by the following letter, which 1
can repeat verbatim, and which, they say, was written neither
by Leonora nor her aunt, though it was in a woman's hand.
The letter was in these words : —

" Sir, — I am sorry to acquaint you that your daughter,
Leonora, hath acted one of the basest as well as most simple
parts with a young gentleman to whom she had engaged her-
self, and whom she hath (pardon the word) jilted for another
of inferior fortune, notwithstanding his superior figure. You
may take what measures you please on this occasion ; I have
performed what I thought my duty; as I have, though un-
known to you, a very great respect for your family."

The old gentleman did not give himself the trouble to an-
swer this kind epistle ; nor did he take any notice of it, after
he had read it, till he saw Bellarmine. He was, to say the
truth, one of those fathers who look on children as an
unhappy consequence of their youthful pleasures ; which, as
he would have been delighted not to have had attend them,
so was he no less pleased with any opportunity to rid him-
self of the incumbrance. He passed, in the world's language,
as an exceeding good father ; being not only so rapacious
as to rob and plunder all mankind to the utmost of his power,
but even to deny himself the conveniences, and almost neces-
saries, of life; which his neighbours attributed to a desire
of raising immense fortunes for his children : but in fact it
was not so ; he heaped up money for its own sake only, and
looked on his children as his rivals, who were to enjoy his be-
loved mistress when he was incapable of possessing her, and
which he would have been much more charmed with the
power of carrying along with him ; nor had his children any
other security of being his heirs than that the law would con-
stitute them such without a will, and that he had not affection
enough for any one living to take the trouble of writing one.

To this gentleman came Bellarmine, on the errand I have
mentioned. His person, his equipage, his family, and his
estate, seemed to the father to make him an advantageous
match for his daughter : he therefore very readily accepted

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THE ADVENTURES OF

his proposals : but when Bellarmine imagined the principal
affair concluded, and began to open the incidental matters of
fortune, the old gentleman presently changed his counte-
nance, saying, he resolved never to marry his daughter on a
Smithfield match; that whoever had love for her to take her
would, when he died, find her share of his fortune in his
coffers ; but he had seen such examples of undutifulness hap-
pen from the too early generosity of parents, that he had made
a vow never to part with a shilling whilst he lived. He com-
mended the saying of Solomon, he that spareth the rod spoil-
eth the child ; but added, he might have likewise asserted,
that he that spareth the purse saveth the child. He then
ran into a discourse on the extravagance of the youth of the
age ; whence he launched into a dissertation on horses ; and
came at length to commend those Bellarmine drove. That
fine gentleman, who at another season would have been well
enough pleased to dwell a little on that subject, was now very
eager to resume the circumstance of fortune. He said, he had
a very high value for the young lady, and would receive her
with less than he would any other whatever ; but that even
his love to her made some regard to worldly matters neces-
sary; for it would be a most distracting sight for him to see
her, when he had the honour to be her husband, in less than
a coach and six. The old gentleman answered, " Four will
do, four will do ; " and then took a turn from horses to ex-
travagance and from extravagance to horses, till he came
round to the equipage again ; whither he was no sooner ar-
rived than Bellarmine brought him back to the point; but all
to no purpose; he made his escape from that subject in a
minute ; till at last the lover declared, that in the present situ-
ation of his affairs it was impossible for him, though he loved
Leonora more than tout le monde, to marry her without any
fortune. To which the father answered, he was sorry that his
daughter must lose so valuable a match ; that, if he had an in-
clination, at present it was not in his power to advance a
shilling: that he had had great losses, and been at great ex-
penses on projects ; which, though he had great expectation
from them, had yet produced him nothing: that he did not
know what might happen hereafter, as on the birth of a son,
or such accident ; but he would make no promise, nor enter

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

into any article, for he would not break his vow for all the
daughters in the world.

In short, ladies, to keep you no longer in suspense, Bellar-
mine, having tried every argument and persuasion which he
could invent, and finding them all ineffectual, at length took
his leave, but not in order to return to Leonora ; he proceeded
directly to his own seat, whence, after a few days' stay, he
returned to Paris, to the great delight of the French and the
honour of the English nation.

But as soon as he arrived at his home he presently de-
spatched a messenger with the following epistle to Leonora :

" Adorable and Charmante, — I am sorry to have the hon-
our to tell you I am not the heureux person destined for your
divine arms. Your papa hath told me so with a politcsse
not often seen on this side Paris. You may perhaps guess
his manner of refusing me. Ah, mon Dieu! You will cer-
tainly believe me, madam, incapable myself of delivering this
triste message, which I intend to try the French air to cure
the consequences of. A jamais! Cceur! Angel An diable!
If your papa obliges you to a marriage, I hope we shall see
you at Paris ; till when, the wind that flows from thence will
be the warmest dans le monde, for it will consist almost en-
tirely of my sighs. Adieu, ma princesse! Ah, I' amour!

" Bellarmine."

I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's condition
when she received this letter. It is a picture of horror, which
I should have as little pleasure in drawing as you in behold-
ing. She immediately left the place where she was the sub-
ject of conversation and ridicule, and retired to that house
I showed you when I began the story; where she hath ever
since led a disconsolate life, and deserves, perhaps, pity for
her misfortunes, more than our censure for a behaviour to
which the artifices of her aunt very probably contributed, and
to which very young women are often rendered too liable by
that blameable levity in the education of our sex.

" If I was inclined to pity her," said a young lady in the
coach, " it would be for the loss of Horatio ; for I cannot dis-
cern any misfortune in her missing such a husband as Bellar-

mine."

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THE ADVENTURES OF

' Why, I must own," says Slipslop, " the gentleman was a
little false-hearted; but howsumever, it was hard to have two
lovers, and get never a husband at all But pray, madam,
what became of Our-asho? '"

He remains, said the lady, still unmarried, and hath ap-
plied himself so strictly to his business, that he hath raised, I
hear, a very considerable fortune. And, what is remarkable,
they say he never hears the name of Leonora without a sigh,
nor hath ever uttered one syllable to charge her with her ill-
conduct towards him.

CHAPTER VII.

A VERY SHORT CHAPTER, IN WHICH PARSON ADAMS WENT A

GREAT WAY.

THE lady, having finished her story, received the thanks
of the company ; and now Joseph, putting his head out
of the coach, cried out, " Never believe me if yonder be not
our parson Adams walking along without his horse ! " — " On
my word, and so he is," says Slipslop : " and as sure as two-
pence he hath left him behind at the inn." Indeed, true
it is, the parson had exhibited a fresh instance of his absence
of mind ; for he was so pleased with having got Joseph into
the coach, that he never once thought of the beast in the
stable ; and, finding his legs as nimble as he desired, he
sallied out, brandishing a crabstick, and had kept on before
the coach, mending and slackening his pace occasionally, so
that he had never been much more or less than a quarter of a
mile distant from it.

Mrs Slipslop desired the coachman to overtake him, which
he attempted, but in vain ; for the faster he drove the faster
ran the parson, often crying out, " Aye, aye, catch me if you
can ; " till at length the coachman swore he would as soon
attempt to drive after a greyhound, and, giving the parson
two or three hearty curses, he cried, " Softly, softly, boys,"
to his horses, which the civil beasts immediately obeyed.

But we will be more courteous to our reader than he was

no

JOSEPH ANDREWS

to Mrs Slipslop ; and, leaving the coach and its company to
pursue their journey, we will carry our reader on after par-
son Adams, who stretched forwards without once looking
behind him, till, having left the coach full three miles in his
rear, he came to a place where, by keeping the extremest
track to the right, it was just barely possible for a human
creature to miss his way. This track however did he keep,
as indeed he had a wonderful capacity at these kinds of bare
possibilities, and, travelling in it about three miles over the
plain, he arrived at the summit of a hill, whence looking a
great way backwards, and perceiving no coach in sight, he
sat himself down on the turf, and, pulling out his yEschylus,
determined to wait here for its arrival.

He had not sat long here before a gun going off very near,
a little startled him ; he looked up and saw a gentleman within
a hundred paces taking up a partridge which he had just shot.

Adams stood up and presented a figure to the gentleman
which would have moved laughter in many; for his cassock
had just again fallen down below his great coat, that is to
say, it reached his knees, whereas the skirts of his great coat
descended no lower than half way down his thighs ; but the
gentleman's mirth gave way to his surprize at beholding such
a personage in such a place.

Adams, advancing to the gentleman, told him he hoped he
had good sport, to which the other answered, " Very little." —
" I see, sir," says Adams, " you have smote one partridge ; "
to which the sportsman made no reply, but proceeded to
charge his piece.

Whilst the gun was charging, Adams remained in silence,
which he at last broke by observing that it was a delightful
evening. The gentleman, who had at first sight conceived a
very distasteful opinion of the parson, began, on perceiving a
book in his hand and smoking likewise the information of the
cassock, to change his thoughts, and made a small advance
to conversation on his side by saying, " Sir, I suppose you are
not one of these parts ? "

Adams immediately told him, no; that he was a traveller,
and invited by the beauty of the evening and the place to
repose a little and amuse himself with reading. " I may as
well repose myself too," said the sportsman, " for I have been

in

THE ADVENTURES OF

out this whole afternoon, and the devil a bird have I seen till
I came hither."

" Perhaps then the game is not very plenty hereabouts ? "
cries Adams. " No, sir," said the gentleman : " the soldiers,
who are quartered in the neighbourhood, have killed it all."
— " It is very probable," cries Adams, " for shooting is their
profession." — " Aye, shooting the game," answered the other ;
" but I don't see they are so forward to shoot our enemies.
I don't like that affair of Carthagena; if I had been there, I
believe I should have done other-guess things, d — n me :
what's a man's life when his country demands it? a man who
won't sacrifice his life for his country deserves to be hanged,
d — n me." Which words he spoke with so violent a gesture,
so loud a voice, so strong an accent, and so fierce a counte-
nance, that he might have frightened a captain of trained-
bands at the head of his company ; but Mr Adams was not
greatly subject to fear; he told him intrepidly that he very
much approved his virtue, but disliked his swearing, and
begged him not to addict himself to so bad a custom, without
which he said he might fight as bravely as Achilles did.
Indeed he was charmed with this discourse ; he told the gen-
tleman he would willingly have gone many miles to have met
a man of his generous way of thinking; that, if he pleased
to sit down, he should be greatly delighted to commune with
him ; for, though he was a clergyman, he would himself be
ready, if thereto called, to lay down his life for his country.

The gentleman sat down, and Adams by him ; and then the
latter began, as in the following chapter, a discourse which
we have placed by itself, as it is not only the most curious in
this but perhaps in any other book.

CHAPTER VIII.

A NOTABLE DISSERTATION BY MR ABRAHAM ADAMS; WHEREIN
THAT GENTLEMAN APPEARS IN A POLITICAL LIGHT.

I DO assure you, sir " (says he, taking the gentleman by
the hand), " I am heartily glad to meet with a man of your
kidney; for, though I am a poor parson, I will be bold to

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

say I am an honest man, and would not do an ill thing to be
made a bishop; nay, though it hath not fallen in my way to
offer so noble a sacrifice, I have not been without opportu-
nities of suffering for the sake of my conscience, I thank
Heaven for them ; for I have had relations, though I say it,
who made some figure in the world ; particularly a nephew,
who was a shopkeeper and an alderman of a corporation.
He was a good lad, and was under my care when a boy ; and
I believe would do what I bade him to his dying day. In-
deed, it looks like extreme vanity in me to affect being a man
of such consequence as to have so great an interest in an
alderman ; but others have thought so too, as manifestly ap-
peared by the rector, whose curate I formerly was, sending
for me on the approach of an election, and telling me, if I
expected to continue in his cure, that I must bring my nephew
to vote for one Colonel Courtly, a gentleman whom I had
never heard tidings of till that instant. I told the rector I
had no power over my nephew's vote (God forgive me for
such prevarication !) ; that I supposed he would give it accord-
ing to his conscience; that I would by no means endeavour
to influence him to give it otherwise. He told me it was in
vain to equivocate ; that he knew I had already spoke to him
in favour of Squire Fickle, my neighbour; and, indeed, it
was true I had ; for it was at a season when the church was
in danger, and when all good men expected they knew not
what would happen to us all. I then answered boldly, if he
thought I had given my promise, he affronted me in propos-
ing any breach of it. Not to be too prolix ; I persevered,
and so did my nephew, in the esquire's interest, who was
chose chiefly through his means; and so I lost my curacy.
Well, sir, but do you think the esquire ever mentioned a
word of the church? Ne verbum qiiidem, ut ita dicam: within
two years he got a place, and hath ever since lived in Lon-
don ; where I have been informed (but God forbid I should
believe that), that he never so much as goeth to church. I
remained, sir, a considerable time without any cure, and lived
a full month on one funeral sermon, which I preached on the
indisposition of a clergyman ; but this by the bye. At last,
when Mr. Fickle got his place, Colonel Courtly stood again ;
and who should make interest for him but Mr. Fickle him-
8 113

THE ADVENTURES OF

self ! that very identical Mr Fickle, who had formerly told me
the colonel was an enemy to both the church and the state,
had the confidence to solicit my nephew for him ; and the col-
onel himself offered me to make me chaplain to his regiment,
which I refused in favour of Sir Oliver Hearty, who told us
he would sacrifice everything to his country ; and I believe he
would, except his hunting, which he stuck so close to, that in
five years together he went but twice up to parliament ; and
one of those times, I have been told, never was within sight of
the House. However, he was a worthy man, and the best
friend I ever had ; for, by his interest with a bishop, he got
me replaced into my curacy, and gave me eight pounds out of
his own pocket to buy me a gown and cassock, and furnish
my house. He had our interest while he lived, which was not
many years. On his death I had fresh applications made to
me ; for all the world knew the interest I had in my good
nephew, who now was a leading man in the corporation; and
Sir Thomas Booby, buying the estate which had been Sir
Oliver's, proposed himself a candidate. He was then a
young gentleman just come from his travels ; and it did me
good to hear him discourse on affairs which, for my part,
I knew nothing of. If I had been master of a thousand votes
he should have had them all. I engaged my nephew in his
interest, and he was elected; and a very fine parliament-man
he was. They tell me he made speeches of an hour long, and,
I have been told, very fine ones ; but he could never persuade
the parliament to be of his opinion. Non omnia possumus
omncs. He promised me a living, poor man! and I believe
I should have had it, but an accident happened, which was,
that my lady had promised it before, unknown to him. This,
indeed, I never heard till afterwards ; for my nephew, who
died about a month before the incumbent, always told me I
might be assured of it. Since that time, Sir Thomas, poor
man, had always so much business, that he never could find
leisure to see me. I believe it was partly my lady's fault too,
who did not think my dress good enough for the gentry at her
table. However, I must do him the justice to say he never
was ungrateful ; and I have always found his kitchen, and his
cellar too, open to me : many a time, after service on a Sun-
day— for I preached at four churches — have I recruited my

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

spirits with a glass of his ale. Since my nephew's death, the
corporation is in other hands ; and I am not a man of that
consequence I was formerly. I have now no longer any tal-
ents to lay out in the service of my country ; and to whom
nothing is given, of him can nothing be required. However,
on all proper seasons, such as the approach of an election, I
throw a suitable dash or two into my sermons ; which I have
the pleasure to hear is not disagreeable to Sir Thomas and the
other honest gentlemen my neighbours, who have all prom-
ised me these five years to procure an ordination for a son
of mine, who is now near thirty, hath an infinite stock of
learning, and is, I thank Heaven, of an exceptionable life;
though, as he was never at an university, the bishop refuses
to ordain him. Too much care cannot indeed be taken in ad-
mitting any to the sacred office ; though I hope he will never
act so as to be a disgrace to any order, but will serve his God
and his country to the utmost of his power, as I have endea-
voured to do before him; nay, and will lay down his life
whenever called to that purpose. I am sure I have educated
him in those principles; so that I have acquitted my duty,
and shall have nothing to answer for on that account. But
I do not distrust him, for he is a good boy; and if Provi-
dence should throw it in his way to be of as much consequence
in a public light as his father once was, I can answer for
him he will use his talents as honestly as I have done."

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH THE GENTLEMAN DESCANTS ON BRAVERY AND HE-
ROIC VIRTUE, TILL AN UNLUCKY ACCIDENT PUTS AN END
TO THE DISCOURSE.

THE gentleman highly commended Mr Adams for his
good resolutions, and told him, he hoped his son would
tread in his steps; adding, that if he would not die for his
country, he would not be worthy to live in it. ' I'd make
np more of shooting a man that would not die for his country,
than—"

"5

THE ADVENTURES OF

" Sir," said he, " I have disinherited a nephew, who is in
the army, because he would not exchange his commission and
go to the West Indies. I believe the rascal is a coward,
though he pretends to be in love forsooth. I would have all
such fellows hanged, sir ; I would have them hanged." Adams
answered, that would be too severe ; that men did not make
themselves ; and if fear had too much ascendance in the mind,
the man was rather to be pitied than abhorred ; that reason
and time might teach him to subdue it. He said, a man might
be a coward at one time, and brave at another. " Homer,"
says he, " who so well understood and copied nature, hath
taught us this lesson ; for Paris fights and Hector runs away.
Nay, we have a mighty instance of this in the history of later
ages, no longer ago than the 705th year of Rome, when the
great Pompey, who had won so many battles and been hon-
oured with so many triumphs, and of whose valour several
authors, especially Cicero and Paterculus, have formed such
eulogiums ; this very Pompey left the battle of Pharsalia be-
fore he had lost it, and retreated to his tent, where he sat like
the most pusillanimous rascal in a fit of despair, and yielded
a victory, which was to determine the empire of the world,
to Caesar. I am not much travelled in the history of modern
times, that is to say, these last thousand years ; but those who
are can, I make no question, furnish you with parallel in-
stances." He concluded, therefore, that, had he taken any such
hasty resolutions against his nephew, he hoped he would con-
sider better, and retract them. The gentleman answered with
great warmth, and talked much of courage and his country,
till, perceiving it grew late, he asked Adams what place he in-
tended for that night ? He told him, he waited there for the
stage-coach. " The stage-coach, sir ! " said the gentleman ;
" They are all passed by long ago. You may see the last your-
self almost three miles before us." — " I protest and so they
are," cries Adams ; " then I must make haste and followthem."
The gentleman told him, he would hardly be able to overtake
them ; and that, if he did not know his way, he would be in
danger of losing himself on the downs, for it would be pres-
ently dark ; and he might ramble about all night, and perhaps
find himself farther from his journey's end in the morning
than he was now. He advised him, therefore, to accompany

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

him to his house, which was very little out of his way, assur-
ing him that he would find some country fellow in his parish
who would conduct him for sixpence to the city where he was
going. Adams accepted this proposal, and on they travelled,
the gentleman renewing his discourse on courage, and the in-
famy of not being ready, at all times, to sacrifice our lives
to our country. Night overtook them much about the same
time as they arrived near some bushes ; whence, on a sudden,
they heard the most violent shrieks imaginable in a female
voice. Adams offered to snatch the gun out of his compa-
nion's hand. "What are you doing?" said he. "Doing!"
said Adams ; " I am hastening to the assistance of the poor
creature whom some villains are murdering." — " You are not
mad enough, I hope," says the gentleman trembling : " do you
consider this gun is only charged with shot, and that the rob-
bers are most probably furnished with pistols loaded with
bullets ? This is no business of ours ; let us make as much
haste as possible out of the way, or we may fall into their
hands ourselves." The shrieks now increasing, Adams made
no answer, but snapt his fingers, and, brandishing his crab-
stick, made directly to the place whence the voice issued ; and
the man of courage made as much expedition towards his own
home, whither he escaped in a very short time without once
looking behind him ; where we will leave him, to contemplate
his own bravery, and to censure the want of it in others, and
return to the good Adams, who, on coming up to the place
whence the noise proceeded, found a woman struggling with
a man, who had thrown her on the ground, and had almost
overpowered her. The great abilities of Mr Adams were not
necessary to have formed a right judgment of this affair on
the first sight. He did not therefore want the entreaties of
the poor wretch to assist her; but, lifting up his crabstick,
he immediately levelled a blow at that part of the ravisher's
head where, according to the opinion of the antients, the
brains of some persons are deposited, and which he had un-
doubtedly let forth, had not Nature (who, as wise men have
observed, equips all creatures with what is most expedient
for them) taken a provident care (as she always doth with
those she intends for encounters) to make this part of the
head three times as thick as those of ordinary men who are

TT7

THE ADVENTURES OF

designed to exercise talents which are vulgarly called rational,
and for whom, as brains are necessary, she is obliged to leave
some room for them in the cavity of the skull ; whereas, those
ingredients being entirely useless to persons of the heroic
calling, she hath an opportunity of thickening the bone, so as
to make it less subject to any impression, or liable to be
cracked or broken ; and indeed, in some who are predestined
to the command of armies and empires, she is supposed some-
times to make that part perfectly solid.

As the game cock, when engaged in amorous toying with a
hen, if perchance he espies another cock at hand, immediately
quits his female, and opposes himself to his rival, so did the
ravisher, on the information of the crabstick, immediately
leap from the woman, and hasten to assail the man. He had
no weapons but what Nature had furnished him with. How-
ever, he clenched his fist, and presently darted it at that part
of Adams's breast where the heart is lodged. Adams stag-
gered at the violence of the blow, when,- throwing away his
staff, he likewise clenched that fist which we have before
commemorated, and would have discharged it full in the breast
of his antagonist, had he not dexterously caught it with his
left hand, at the same time darting his head (which some
modern heroes of the lower class use, like the battering-ram
of the antients, for a weapon of offence ; another reason to
admire the cunningness of Nature, in composing it of those
impenetrable materials) ; dashing his head, I say, into the
stomach of Adams, he tumbled him on his back ; and, not
having any regard to the laws of heroism, which would have
restrained him from any farther attack on his enemy till he
was again on his legs, he threw himself upon him, and, lay-
ing hold on the ground with his left hand, he with his right
belaboured the body of Adams till he was weary, and indeed
till he concluded (to use the language of fighting) " that he
had done his business ; " or, in the language of poetry, " that
he had sent him to the shades below ; " in plain English, " that
he was dead." *

Eut Adams, who was no chicken, and could bear a drubbing
as well as any boxing champion in the universe, lay still only
to watch his opportunity; and now, perceiving his antagonist
to pant with his labours, he exerted his utmost force at once,

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

and with such success that he overturned him, and became
his superior; when, fixing one of his knees in his breast, he
cried out in an exulting voice, " It is my turn now ; " and,
after a few minutes' constant application, he gave him so
dexterous a blow just under his chin that the fellow no longer
retained any motion, and Adams began to fear he had struck
him once too often ; for he often asserted he should be con-
cerned to have the blood of even the wicked upon him.

Adams got up and called aloud to the young woman. " Be
of good cheer, damsel," said he, " you are no longer in danger
of your ravisher, who, I am terribly afraid, lies dead at my
feet; but God forgive me what I have done in defence of
innocence!" The poor wretch, who had been some time in
recovering strength enough to rise, and had afterwards, dur-
ing the engagement, stood trembling, being disabled by fear
even from running away, hearing her champion was victori-
ous, came up to him, but not without apprehensions even of
her deliverer; which, however, she was soon relieved from
by his courteous behaviour and gentle words. They were both
standing by the body, which lay motionless on the ground,
and which Adams wished to see stir much more than the
woman did, when he earnestly begged her to tell him by what
misfortune she came, at such a time of night, into so lonely
a place. She acquainted him, she was travelling towards
London, and had accidentally met with the person from whom
he had delivered her, who told her he was likewise on his
journey to the same place, and would keep her company ;
an offer which, suspecting no harm, she had accepted; that
he told her they were at a small distance from an inn where
she might take up her lodging that evening, and he would
show her a nearer way to it than by following the road ; that
if she had suspected him (which she did not, he spoke so
kindly to her), being alone on these downs in the dark, she
had no human means to avoid him ; that therefore she put her
whole trust in Providence, and walked on, expecting every
moment to arrive at the inn ; when on a sudden, being come
to those bushes, he desired her to stop, and after some rude
kisses, which she resisted, and some entreaties, which she
rejected, he laid violent hands on her, and was attempting to
execute his wicked will, when, she thanked G — , he timely

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came up and prevented him. Adams encouraged her for say-
ing she had put her whole trust in Providence, and told her,
he doubted not but Providence had sent him to her deliver-
ance, as a reward for that trust. He wished indeed he had not
deprived the wicked wretch of life, but G — 's will be done.
He said, he hoped the goodness of his intention would excuse
him in the next world, and he trusted in her evidence to
acquit him in this. He was then silent, and began to consider
with himself whether it would be properer to make his escape,
or to deliver himself into the hands of justice; which medi-
tation ended as the reader will see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER X.

GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE STRANGE CATASTROPHE OF THE
PRECEDING ADVENTURE, WHICH DREW POOR ADAMS INTO
FRESH calamities; AND WHO THE WOMAN WAS WHO OWED
THE PRESERVATION OF HER CHASTITY TO HIS VICTORIOUS
ARM.

THE silence of Adams, added to the darkness of the night
and loneliness of the place, struck dreadful apprehen-
sion into the poor woman's mind ; she began to fear as great
an enemy in her deliverer as he had delivered her from ; and
as she had not light enough to discover the age of Adams, and
the benevolence visible in his countenance, she suspected he
had used her as some very honest men have used their coun-
try ; and had rescued her out of the hands of one rifler in
order to rifle her himself. Such were the suspicions she drew
from his silence ; but indeed they were ill-grounded. He
stood over his vanquished enemy, wisely weighing in his
mind the objections which might be made to either of the two
methods of proceeding mentioned in the last chapter, his
judgment sometimes inclining to the one, and sometimes to
the other; for both seemed to him so equally advisable and
so equally dangerous, that probably he would have ended
his days, at least two or three of them, on that very spot,
before he had taken any resolution ; at length he lifted up

I20

JOSEPH ANDREWS

his eyes, and spied a light at a distance, to which he instantly
addressed himself with Hens tu, traveller, hens tu! He pres-
ently heard several voices, and perceived the light approach-
ing toward him. The persons who attended the light began
some to laugh, others to sing, and others to hollow, at which
the woman testified some fear (for she had concealed her sus-
picions of the parson himself) ; but Adams said, " Be of good
cheer, damsel, and repose thy trust in the same Providence
which hath hitherto protected thee, and never will forsake
the innocent." These people, who now approached, were
no other, reader, than a set of young fellows, who came to
these bushes in pursuit of a diversion which they call bird-
batting. This, if you are ignorant of it (as perhaps if thou
hast never travelled beyond Kensington, Islington, Hackney,
or the Borough, thou mayst be), I will inform thee, is per-
formed by holding a large clapnet before a lantern, and at
the same time beating the bushes ; for the birds, when they are
disturbed from their places of rest, or roost, immediately
make to the light, and so are enticed within the net. Adams
immediately told them what had happened, and desired them
to hold the lantern to the face of the man on the ground, for
he feared he had smote him fatally. But indeed his fears
were frivolous ; for the fellow, though he had been stunned
by the last blow he received, had long since recovered his
senses, and, finding himself quit of Adams, had listened atten-
tively to the discourse between him and the young woman ;
for whose departure he had patiently waited, that he might
likewise withdraw himself, having no longer hopes of suc-
ceeding in his desires, which were moreover almost as well
cooled by Mr Adams as they could have been by the young
woman herself had he obtained his utmost wish. This fellow,
who had a readiness at improving any accident, thought he
might now play a better part than that of a dead man ; and,
accordingly, the moment the candle was held to his face he
leapt up, and. laying hold on Adams, cried out, " No, villain,
I am not dead, though you and your wicked whore might well
think me so, after the barbarous cruelties you have exercised
on me. Gentlemen," said he, " you are luckily come to the
assistance of a poor traveller, who would otherwise have been
robbed and murdered by this vile man and woman who led

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me hither out of my way from the high-road, and both falling
on me have used me as you see." Adams was going to an-
swer, when one of the young fellows cried, " D — n them, let's
carry them both before the justice." The poor woman be-
gan to tremble, and Adams lifted up his voice, but in vain.
Three or four of them laid hands on him ; and one holding
the lantern to his face, they all agreed he had the most vil-
lainous countenance they ever beheld ; and an attorney's clerk,
who was of the company, declared he was sure he had re-
membered him at the bar. As to the woman, her hair was
dishevelled in the struggle, and her nose had bled ; so that
they could not perceive whether she was handsome or ugly,
but they said her fright plainly discovered her guilt. And
searching her pockets, as they did those of Adams, for money,
which the fellow said he had lost, they found in her pocket
a purse with some gold in it, which abundantly convinced
them, especially as the fellow offered to swear to it. Mr
Adams was found to have no more than one halfpenny about
him. This the clerk said was a great presumption that he
was an old offender, by cunningly giving all the booty to the
woman. To which all the rest readily assented.

This accident promising them better sport than what they
had proposed, they quitted their intention of catching birds,
and unanimously resolved to proceed to the justice with the
offenders. Being informed what a desperate fellow Adams
was, they tied his hands behind him ; and, having hid their
nets among the bushes, and the lantern being carried before
them, they placed the two prisoners in their front, and then
began their march ; Adams not only submitting patiently to
his own fate, but comforting and encouraging his companion
under her sufferings.

Whilst they were on their way the clerk informed the rest
that this adventure would prove a very beneficial one ; for
that they would all be entitled to their proportions of 80/.
for apprehending the robbers. This occasioned a contention
concerning the parts which they had severally borne in taking
them ; one insisting he ought to have the greatest share, for
he had first laid his hands on Adams ; another claiming a
superior part for having first held the lantern to the man's
face on the ground, by which, he said, the whole was dis-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

covered. The clerk claimed four-fifths of the reward for hav-
ing proposed to search the prisoners, and likewise the car-
rying them before the justice: he said, indeed, in strict justice,
he ought to have the whole. These claims, however, they at
last consented to refer to a future decision, but seemed all
to agree that the clerk was entitled to a moiety. They then
debated what money should be allotted to the young fellow
who had been employed only in holding the nets. He very
modestly said, that he did not apprehend any large proportion
would fall to his share, but hoped they would allow him
something ; he desired them to consider that they had assigned
their nets to his care, which prevented him from being as for-
ward as any in laying hold of the robbers (for so those in-
nocent people were called) ; that if he had not occupied the
the nets, some other must; concluding, however, that he
should be contented with the smallest share imaginable, and
should think that rather their bounty than his merit. But
they were all unanimous in excluding him from any part
whatever, the clerk particularly swearing, if they gave him
a shilling they might do what they pleased with the rest;
for he would not concern himself with the affair. This con-
tention was so hot, and so totally engaged the attention of all
the parties, that a dexterous nimble thief, had he been in Mr
Adams's situation, would have taken care to have given the
justice no trouble that evening. Indeed, it required not the art
of a Shepherd to escape, especially as the darkness of the
night would have so much befriended him ; but Adams trusted
rather to his innocence than his heels, and, without thinking
of flight, which was easy, or resistance (which was impos-
sible, as there were six lusty young fellows, besides the vil-
lain himself, present), he walked with perfect resignation
the way they thought proper to conduct him.

Adams frequently vented himself in ejaculations during
their journey ; at last, poor Joseph Andrews occurring to his
mind, he could not refrain sighing forth his name, which be-
ing heard by his companion in affliction, she cried with some
vehemence, " Sure I should know that voice ; you cannot cer-
tainly, sir, be Mr Abraham Adams ? " — " Indeed, damsel,"
says he, " that is my name ; there is something also in your
voice which persuades me I have heard it before." — " La !

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sir," says she, " don't you remember poor Fanny ? " — " How,
Fanny ! " answered Adams : " indeed I very well remember
you ; what can have brought you hither? " — " I have told you,
sir," replied she, " I was travelling towards London ; but I
thought you mentioned Joseph Andrews ; pray what is become
of him ? " — " I left him, child, this afternoon," said Adams,
" in the stage-coach, in his way towards our parish, whither
he is going to see you." — " To see me ! La, sir," answered
Fanny, "sure you jeer me; what should he be going to see
me for?" — "Can you ask that?" replied Adams. " I hope,
Fanny, you are not inconstant ; I assure you he deserves much
better of you." — " La ! Mr Adams," said she, " what is Mr
Joseph to me ? I am sure I never had any thing to say to him,
but as one fellow-servant might to another." — " I am sorry to
hear this," said Adams ; " a virtuous passion for a young man
is what no woman need be ashamed of. You either do not tell
me truth, or you are false to a very worthy man." Adams
then told her what had happened at the inn, to which she lis-
tened very attentively; and a sigh often escaped from her,
notwithstanding her utmost endeavours to the contrary; nor
could she prevent herself from asking a thousand questions,
which would have assured any one but Adams, who never
saw farther into people than they desired to let him, of the
truth of a passion she endeavoured to conceal. Indeed, the
fact was, that this poor girl, having heard of Joseph's mis-
fortune, by some of the servants belonging to the coach which
we have formerly mentioned to have stopt at the inn while the
poor youth was confined to his bed, that instant abandoned
the cow she was milking, and, taking with her a little bundle
of clothes under her arm, and all the money she was worth
in her own purse, without consulting any one, immediately
set forward in pursuit of one whom, notwithstanding her shy-
ness to the parson, she loved with inexpressible violence,
though with the purest and most delicate passion. This shy-
ness, therefore, as we trust it will recommend her character
to all our female readers, and not greatly surprize such of our
males as are well acquainted with the younger part of the
other sex, we shall not give ourselves any trouble to vindicate.

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CHAPTER XL

WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM WHILE BEFORE THE JUSTICE.
CHAPTER VERY FULL OF LEARNING.

T

HEIR fellow-travellers were so engaged in the hot dis-
pute concerning the division of the reward for appre-
hending these innocent people, that they attended very little to
their discourse. They were now arrived at the justice's house,
and had sent one of his servants in to acquaint his worship
that they had taken two robbers and brought them before
him. The justice, who was just returned from a fox-chase,
and had not yet finished his dinner, ordered them to carry
the prisoners into the stable, whither they were attended by
all the servants in the house, and all the people in the neigh-
bourhood, who flocked together to see them with as much
curiosity as if there was something uncommon to be seen, or
that a rogue did not look like other people.

The justice, now being in the height of his mirth and his
cups, bethought himself of the prisoners ; and, telling his
company he believed they should have good sport in their
examination, he ordered them into his presence. They had
no sooner entered the room than he began to revile them,
saying, that robberies on the highway were now grown so
frequent, that people could not sleep safely in their beds, and
assured them they both should be made examples of at the
ensuing assizes. After he had gone on some time in this
manner, he was reminded by his clerk, that it would be proper
to take the depositions of the witnesses against them. Which
he bid him do, and he would light his pipe in the mean time.
Whilst the clerk was employed in writing down the deposition
of the fellow who had pretended to be robbed, the justice
employed himself in cracking jests on poor Fanny, in which
he was seconded by all the company at table. One asked,
whether she was to be indicted for a highway-man ? Another
whispered in her ear, if she had not provided herself a great
belly, he was at her service. A third said, he warranted she
was a relation of Turpin. To which one of the company, a
great wit, shaking his head, and then his sides, answered,

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he believed she was nearer related to Turpis ; at which there
was an universal laugh. They were proceeding thus with the
poor girl, when somebody, smoking the cassock peeping forth
from under the great-coat of Adams, cried out, " What have
we here, a parson?" "How, sirrah," says the justice, "do
you go a robbing in the dress of a clergyman? let me tell
you your habit will not entitle you to the benefit of the clergy."
' Yes," said the witty fellow, " he will have one benefit of
clergy, he will be exalted above the heads of the people ; "
at which there was a second laugh. And now the witty spark,
seeing his jokes take, began to rise in spirits; and, turning
*to Adams, challenged him to cap verses, and, provoking him
by giving the first blow, he repeated,

" Molle meum levibus cord est vilebile telis."

Upon which Adams, with a look full of ineffable contempt,
told him, he deserved scourging for his pronunciation. The
witty fellow answered, " What do you deserve, doctor, for not
being able to answer the first time? Why, I'll give one, you
blockhead, with an S.

" ' Si licet, ut fulvum spectatur in ignibus liaurum.' "

' What, canst not with an M neither ? Thou art a pretty
fellow for a parson ! Why didst not steal some of the par-
son's Latin as well as his gown? " Another at the table then
answered, " If he had, you would have been too hard for him ;
I remember you at the college a very devil at this sport; I
have seen you catch a fresh man, for nobody that knew you
would engage with you." " I have forgot those things now,"
cried the wit. " I believe I could have done pretty well for-
merly. Let's see, what did I end with ? — an M again — ay

'"Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.'"

" I could have done it once." " Ah ! evil betide you, and so
you can now," said the other : " nobody in this country will
undertake you." Adams could hold no longer: "Friend,"
said he, " I have a boy not above eight years old who would
instruct thee that the last verse runs thus : —

" Ut sunt Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum"

126

JOSEPH ANDREWS

" I'll hold thee a guinea of that," said the wit, throwing the
money on the table. "And I'll go your halves," cries the
other. " Done," answered Adams ; but upon applying to his
pocket he was forced to retract, and own he had no money
about him ; which set them all a laughing, and confirmed the
triumph of his adversary, which was not moderate, any more
than the approbation he met with from the whole company,
who told Adams he must go a little longer to school before
he attempted to attack that gentleman in Latin.

The clerk, having finished the depositions, as well of the
fellow himself, as of those who apprehended the prisoners,
delivered them to the justice; who, having sworn the several
witnesses without reading a syllable, ordered his clerk to make
the mittimus.

Adams then said, he hoped he should not be condemned
unheard. " No, no," cries the justice, " you will be asked
what you have to say for yourself when you come on your
trial : we are not trying you now ; I shall only commit you to
gaol : if you can prove your innocence at 'size, you will be
found ignoramus, and so no harm done." '' Is it no pun-
ishment, sir, for an innocent man to lie several months in
gaol ? " cries Adams : " I beg you would at least hear me be-
fore you sign the mittimus." " What signifies all you can
say?" says the justice: "is it not here in black and white
against you ? I must tell you you are a very impertinent fellow
to take up so much of my time. So make haste with his
mittimus."

The clerk now acquainted the justice that among other
suspicious things, as a penknife, &c, found in Adams's pocket,
they had discovered a book written, as he apprehended, in
cyphers : for no one could read a word in it. " Ay," says the
justice, " the fellow may be more than a common robber, he
may be in a plot against the government. Produce the book."
Upon which the poor manuscript of yEschylus, which Adams
had transcribed with his own hand, was brought forth ; and
the justice, looking at it, shook his head, and, turning to the
prisoner, asked the meaning of those cyphers. " Cyphers ? "
answered Adams, " it is a manuscript of JEschylus." " Who ?
who?" said the justice. Adams repeated, " JEschylus."
" That is an outlandish name," cried the clerk. " A ficti-

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THE ADVENTURES OF

tious name rather, I believe," said the justice. One of the
company declared it looked very much like Greek. " Greek ? "
said the justice ; " why 'tis all writing." " No," says the other,
" I don't positively say it is so ; for it is a very long time since
I have seen any Greek." " There's one," says he, turning to
the parson of the parish, who was present, " will tell us imme-
diately." The parson, taking up the book, and putting on his
spectacles and gravity together, muttered some words to him-
self, and then pronounced aloud — " Aye, indeed, it is a Greek
manuscript ; a very fine piece of antiquity. I make no doubt
but it was stolen from the same clergyman from whom the
rogue took the cassock." " What did the rascal mean by his
yEschylus?" says the justice. "Pooh!" answered the doc-
tor, with a contemptuous grin, " do you think that fellow knows
anything of this book ? ^Eschylus ! ho ! ho ! ho ! I see now
what it is — a manuscript of one of the fathers. I know a
nobleman who would give a great deal of money for such a
piece of antiquity. Aye, aye, question and answer. The be-
ginning is the catechism in Greek. Aye, aye, Pollaki toi:

What's your name ? " " Aye, what's your name ? " says

the justice to Adams; who answered, " It is yEschylus, and I
will maintain it." — " O ! it is," says the justice : " make Mr
YEschylus his mittimus. I will teach you to banter me with
a false name."

One of the company, having looked steadfastly at Adams,
asked him, if he did not know Lady Booby? Upon which
Adams, presently calling him to mind, answered in a rapture,
"O squire! are you there? I believe you will inform his
worship I am innocent." — " I can indeed say," replied the
squire, " that I am very much surprized to see you in this
situation : " and then, addressing himself to the justice, he
said, " Sir, I assure you Mr Adams is a clergyman, as he
appears, and a gentleman of a very good character. I wish
you would inquire a little farther into this affair ; for I am
convinced of his innocence." — " Nay." says the justice, " if he
is a gentleman, and you are sure he is innocent, I don't
desire to commit him, not I : I will commit the woman by
herself, and take your bail for the gentleman : look into the
book, clerk, and see how it is to take bail — come — and make
the mittimus for the woman as fast as you can." — " Sir," cries

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Adams, " I assure you she is as innocent as myself." — " Per-
haps," said the squire, " there may be some mistake : pray
let us hear Mr Adams's relation." — " With all my heart,"
answered the justice; "and give the gentleman a glass to
whet his whistle before he begins. I know how to behave
myself to a gentleman as well as another. Nobody can say
I have committed a gentleman since I have been in the com-
mission." Adams then began the narrative, in which, though
he was very prolix, he was uninterrupted, unless by several
hums and hahs of the justice, and his desire to repeat those
parts which seemed to him most material. When he had
finished, the justice, who, on what the squire had said, be-
lieved every syllable of his story on his bare affirmation, not-
withstanding the depositions on oath to the contrary, began
to let loose several rogues and rascals against the witness,
whom he ordered to stand forth, but in vain ; the witness,
long since finding what turn matters were likely to take, had
privily withdrawn, without attending the issue. The justice
now flew into a violent passion, and was hardly prevailed with
not to commit the innocent fellows who had been imposed on
as well as himself. He swore, they had best find out the
fellow who was guilty of perjury, and bring him before him
within two days, or he would bind them all over to their
good behaviour. They all promised to use their best endea-
vours to that purpose, and were dismissed. Then the justice
insisted that Mr Adams should sit down and take a glass with
him; and the parson of the parish delivered him back the
manuscript without saying a word; nor would Adams, who
plainly discerned his ignorance, expose it. As for Fanny, she
was, at her own request, recommended to the care of a maid-
servant of the house, who helped her to new dress and clean
herself.

The company in the parlour had not been long seated be-
fore they were alarmed with a horrible uproar from without,
where the persons who had apprehended Adams and Fanny
had been regaling, according to the custom of the house, with
the justice's strong beer. These were all fallen together by
the ears, and were cuffing each other without any mercy. The
justice himself sallied out, and with the dignity of his pres-
ence soon put an end to the fray. On his return into the.
9 129

THE ADVENTURES OF

parlour, he reported, that the occasion of the quarrel was no
other than a dispute to whom, if Adams had been convicted,
the greater share of the reward for apprehending him had
belonged. All the company laughed at this, except Adams,
who, taking his pipe from his mouth, fetched a deep groan,
and said, he was concerned to see so litigious a temper in
men. That he remembered a story something like it in one
of the parishes where his cure lay : — " There was," continued
he, " a competition between three young fellows for the place
of the clerk, which I disposed of, to the best of my abilities, ac-
cording to merit ; that is, I gave it to him who had the happiest
knack at setting a psalm. The clerk was no sooner established
in his place than a contention began between the two dis-
appointed candidates concerning their excellence ; each con-
tending on whom, had they two been the only competitors,
my election would have fallen. This dispute frequently dis-
turbed the congregation, and introduced a discord into the
psalmody, till I was forced to silence them both. But alas !
the litigious spirit could not be stifled ; and, being no longer
able to vent itself in singing, it now broke forth in fighting.
It produced many battles (for they were very near a match),
and I believe would have ended fatally, had not the death
of the clerk given me an opportunity to promote one of them
to his place ; which presently put an end to the dispute, and
entirely reconciled the contending parties." Adams then pro-
ceeded to make some philosophical observations on the folly
of growing warm in disputes in which neither party is in-
terested. He then applied himself vigorously to smoking;
and a long silence ensued, which was at length broke by the
justice, who began to sing forth his own praises, and to value
himself exceedingly on his nice discernment in the cause
which had lately been before him. He was quickly interrupted
by Mr Adams, between whom and his worship a dispute now
arose, whether he ought not, in strictness of law, to have
committed him, the said Adams; in which the latter main-
tained he ought to have been committed, and the justice as
vehemently held he ought not. This had most probably pro-
duced a quarrel (for both were very violent and positive in
their opinions), had not Fanny accidentally heard that a
young fellow was going from the justice's house to the very

JOSEPH ANDREWS

inn where the stage-coach in which Joseph was put up. Upon
this news, she immediately sent for the parson out of the
parlour. Adams, when he found her resolute to go (though
she would not own the reason, but pretended she could not
bear to see the faces of those who had suspected her of such
a crime), was as fully determined to go with her; he accord-
ingly took leave of the justice and company: and so ended
a dispute in which the law seemed shamefully to intend to
set a magistrate and a divine together by the ears.

CHAPTER XII.

A VERY DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE, AS WELL TO THE PERSONS
CONCERNED AS TO THE GOOD-NATURED READER.

ADAMS, Fanny, and the guide, set out together about one
jljL in the morning, the moon being then just risen. They
had not gone above a mile before a most violent storm of
rain obliged them to take shelter in an inn, or rather alehouse,
where Adams immediately procured himself a good fire, a
toast and ale, and a pipe, and began to smoke with great con-
tent, utterly forgetting everything that had happened.

Fanny sat likewise down by the fire ; but was much more
impatient at the storm. She presently engaged the eyes of
the host, his wife, the maid of the house, and the young fel-
low who was their guide; they all conceived they had never
seen anything half so handsome ; and indeed, reader, if thou
art of an amorous hue, I advise thee to skip over the next
paragraph ; which, to render our history perfect, we are
obliged to set down, humbly hoping that we may escape the
fate of Pygmalion; for if it should happen to us, or to thee,
to be struck with this picture, we should be perhaps in as
helpless a condition as Narcissus, and might say to ourselves,
quod petis est nusquam. Or, if the finest features in it should

set Lady 's image before our eyes, we should be still in

as bad a situation, and might say to our desires, Coclum ipsum
pctimus stultitia.

Fanny was now in the nineteenth year of her age ; she was

131

THE ADVENTURES OF

tall and delicately shaped ; but not one of those slender young
women who seem rather intended to hang up in the hall of an
anatomist than for any other purpose. On the contrary, she
was so plump that she seemed bursting through her tight
stays, especially in the part which confined her swelling
breasts. Nor did her hips want the assistance of a hoop to ex-
tend them. The exact shape of her arms denoted the form
of those limbs which she concealed; and though they were
a little reddened by her labour, yet, if her sleeve slipped above
her elbow, or her handkerchief discovered any part of her
neck, a whiteness appeared which the finest Italian paint would
be unable to reach. Her hair was of a chestnut brown, and
nature had been extremely lavish to her of it, which she had
■ cut, and on Sundays used to curl down her neck, in the mod-
ern fashion. Her forehead was high, her eyebrows arched,
and rather full than otherwise. Her eyes black and sparkling ;
her nose just inclining to the Roman ; her lips red and moist,
and her under lip, according to the opinion of the ladies, too
pouting. Her teeth were white, but not exactly even. The
small-pox had left one only mark on her chin, which was so
large, it might have been mistaken for a dimple, had not her
left cheek produced one so near a neighbour to it, that the
former served only for a foil to the latter. Her complexion
was fair, a little injured by the sun, but overspread with such
a bloom that the finest ladies would have exchanged all their
white for it : add to these a countenance in which, though
she was extremely bashful, a sensibility appeared almost in-
credible ; and a sweetness, whenever she smiled, beyond either
imitation or description. To conclude all, she had a natural
gentility superior to the acquisition of art, and which sur-
prized all who beheld her.

This lovely creature was sitting by the fire with Adams,
when her attention was suddenly engaged by a voice from
an inner room, which sung the following song: —

THE SONG.

Say, Chloe, where must the swain stray

Who is by thy beauties undone?
To wash their remembrance away,

To what distant Lethe must run?

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

The wretch who is sentenced to die
May escape, and leave justice behind;

From his country perhaps he may fly,
But O ! can he fly from his mind ?

O rapture ! unthought of before,

To be thus of Chloe possess'd ;
Nor she, nor no tyrant's hard power,

Her image can tear from my breast.
But felt not Narcissus more joy,

With his eyes he beheld his loved charms?
Yet what he beheld the fond boy

More eagerly wish'd in his arms.

How can it thy dear image be

Which fills thus my bosom with woe?
Can aught bear resemblance to thee

Which grief and not joy can bestow?
This counterfeit snatch from my heart,

Ye pow'rs, tho' with torment I rave,
Tho' mortal will prove the fell smart :

I then shall find rest in my grave.

Ah, see the dear nymph o'er the plain

Come smiling and tripping along !
A thousand Loves dance in her train,

The Graces around her all throng.
To meet her soft Zephyrus flies,

And wafts all the sweets from the flowers,
Ah, rogue ! whilst he kisses her eyes,

More sweets from her breath he devours.

My soul, whilst I gaze, is on fire:

But her looks were so tender and kind,
My hope almost reach'd my desire,

And left lame despair far behind.
Transported with madness, I flew,

And eagerly seized on my bliss ;
Her bosom but half she withdrew,

But half she refused my fond kiss.

*33

THE ADVENTURES OF

Advances like these made me bold ;

I whisper'd her, — love, we're alone. —
The rest let immortals unfold ;

No language can tell but their own.
Ah, Chloe, expiring, I cried,

How long I thy cruelty bore!
Ah, Strephon, she blushing replied,

You ne'er was so pressing before.

Adams had been ruminating all this time on a passage in
^Eschylus, without attending in the least to the voice, though
one of the most melodious that ever was heard, when, cast-
ing his eyes on Fanny, he cried out, " Bless us, you look ex-
tremely pale ! " — " Pale ! Mr Adams," says she; " O Jesus ! "
and fell backwards in her chair. Adams jumped up, flung
his ^Eschylus into the fire, and fell a roaring to the people
of the house for help. He soon summoned every one into
the room, and the songster among the rest ; but, O reader !
when this nightingale, who was no other than Joseph An-
drews himself, saw his beloved Fanny in the situation we
have described her, canst thou conceive the agitations of his
mind? If thou canst not, wave that meditation to behold
his happiness, when, clasping her in his arms, he found life
and blood returning into her cheeks ; when he saw her open
her beloved eyes, and heard her with the softest accent whis-
per, " Are you Joseph Andrews? " — " Art thou my Fanny? "
he answered eagerly; and, pulling her to his heart, he im-
printed numberless kisses on her lips, without considering who
were present.
J If prudes are offended at the lusciousness of this picture,

they may take their eyes off from it, and survey parson Adams
dancing about the room in a rapture of joy. Some philoso-
phers may perhaps doubt whether he was not the happiest
of the three; for the goodness of his heart enjoyed the bless-
ings which were exulting in the breasts of both the other two,
together with his own. But we shall leave such disquisitions,
as too deep for us, to those who are building some favourite
hypothesis, which they will refuse no metaphysical rubbish
to erect and support : for our part, we give it clearly on the
side of Joseph, whose happiness was not only greater than
the parson's, but of longer duration ; for as soon as the first

T34

JOSEPH ANDREWS

tumults of Adams's rapture were over he cast his eyes towards
the lire, where /Eschylus lay expiring; and immediately res-
cued the poor remains, to wit, the sheep-skin covering, of his
clear friend, which was the work of his own hands, and had
been his inseparable companion for upwards of thirty years.

Fanny had no sooner perfectly recovered herself than she
began to restrain the impetuosity of her transports ; and, re-
flecting on what she had done and suffered in the presence
of so many, she was immediately covered with confusion ;
and, pushing Joseph gently from her, she begged him to be
quiet, nor would admit of either kiss or embrace any longer.
Then, seeing Mrs Slipslop, she curtsied, and offered to ad-
vance to her; but that high woman would not return her
curtsies ; but, casting her eyes another way, immediately with-
drew into another room, muttering, as she went, she wondered
who the creature was.

CHAPTER XIII.

A DISSERTATION CONCERNING HIGH PEOPLE AND LOW PEOPLE,
WITH MRS SLIPSLOP'S DEPARTURE IN NO VERY GOOD TEMPER
OF MIND, AND THE EVIL PLIGHT IN WHICH SHE LEFT ADAMS
AND HIS COMPANY.

IT will doubtless seem extremely odd to many readers, that
Mrs Slipslop, who had lived several years in the same
house with Fanny, should, in a short separation, utterly for-
get her. And indeed the truth is, that she remembered her
very well. As we would not willingly, therefore, that any-
thing should appear unnatural in this our history, we will
endeavour to explain the reasons of her conduct ; nor do we
doubt being able to satisfy the most curious reader that Mrs
Slipslop did not in the least deviate from the common road
in this behaviour; and, indeed, had she done otherwise, she
must have descended below herself, and would have very
justly been liable to censure.

Be it known then, that the human species are divided into
two sorts of people, to wit, high people and low people. As

*35

THE ADVENTURES OF

by high people I would not be understood to mean persons
literally born higher in their dimensions than the rest of the
species, nor metaphorically those of exalted characters or
abilities ; so by low people I cannot be construed to intend the
reverse. High people signify no other than people of fashion,
and low people those of no fashion. Now, this word fashion
hath by long use lost its original meaning, from which at
present it gives us a very different idea; for I am deceived
if by persons of fashion we do not generally include a concep-
tion of birth and accomplishments superior to the herd of
mankind ; whereas, in reality, nothing more was originally
meant by a person of fashion than a person who drest him-
self in the fashion of the times ; and the word really and truly
signifies no more at this day. Now, the world being thus
divided into people of fashion and people of no fashion, a
fierce contention arose between them ; nor would those of one
party, to avoid suspicion, be seen publicly to speak to those
of the other, though they often held a very good correspon-
dence in private. In this contention it is difficult to say which
party succeeded : for, whilst the people of fashion seized sev-
eral places to their own use, such as courts, assemblies, operas,
balls, &c, the people of no fashion, besides one royal place,
called his Majesty's Bear-garden, have been in constant pos-
session of all hops, fairs, revels, &c. Two places have been
agreed to be divided between them, namely, the church and
the playhouse, where they segregate themselves from each
other in a remarkable manner; for, as the people of fashion
exalt themselves at church over the heads of the people of no
fashion, so in the playhouse they abase themselves in the same
degree under their feet. This distinction I have never met
with any one able to account for : it is sufficient that, so far
from looking on each other as brethren in the Christian lan-
guage, they seem scarce to regard each other as of the same
species. This, the terms " strange persons, people one does
not know, the creature, wretches, beasts, brutes," and many
other appellations evidently demonstrate ; which Mrs Slipslop,
having often heard her mistress use, thought she had also a
right to use in her turn ; and perhaps she was not mistaken ; for
these two parties, especially those bordering nearly on each
other, to wit, the lowest of the high, and the highest of the

136

JOSEPH ANDREWS

low, often change their parties according to place and time ;
for those who are people of fashion in one place are often
people of no fashion in another. And with regard to time,
it may not be unpleasant to survey the picture of dependence
like a kind of ladder : as, for instance ; early in the morning
arises the postilion, or some other boy, which great families,
no more than great ships, are without, and falls to brushing
the clothes and cleaning the shoes of John the footman ;
who, being drest himself, applies his hands to the same la-
bours for Mr Second-hand, the squire's gentleman; the gen-
tleman in the like manner, a little later in the day, attends
the squire ; the squire is no sooner equipped than he attends
the levee of my lord ; which is no sooner over than my lord
himself is seen at the levee of the favourite, who, after the
hour of homage is at an end, appears himself to pay homage
to the levee of his sovereign. Nor is there, perhaps, in this
whole ladder of dependence, any one step at a greater distance
from the other than the first from the second ; so that to a
philosopher the question might only seem, whether you would
choose to be a great man at six in the morning or at two in
the afternoon. And yet there are scarce two of these who do
not think the least familiarity with the persons below them a
condescension, and, if they were to go one step farther, a
degradation.
^ And now, reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long digres-
sion, which seemed to me necessary to vindicate the great char-
acter of Mrs Slipslop from what low people, who have never
seen high people, might think an absurdity; but we who
know them must have daily found very high persons know us
in one place and not in another, to-day and not to-morrow;
all which it is difficult to account for otherwise than I have
here endeavoured ; and perhaps, if the gods, according to the
opinion of some, made men only to laugh at them, there is no
part of our behaviour which answers the end of our creation
better than this.

But to return to our history : Adams, who knew no more
of this than the cat which sat on the table, imagining Mrs
Slipslop's memory had been much worse than it really was,
followed her into the next room, crying out, " Madam Slip-
slop, here is one of your old acquaintance; do but see what

137

THE ADVENTURES OF

a fine woman she is grown since she left Lady Booby's ser-
vice."— " I think I reflect something of her," answered she,
with great dignity, " but I can't remember all the inferior
servants in our family." She then proceeded to satisfy
Adams's curiosity, by telling him, when she arrived at the
inn, she found a chaise ready for her; that, her lady being
expected very shortly in the country, she was obliged to
make the utmost haste; and, in commensuration of Joseph's
lameness, she had taken him with her; and lastly, that the
excessive virulence of the storm had driven them into the
house where he found them. After which, she acquainted
Adams with his having left his horse, and exprest some won-
der at his having strayed so far out of his way, and at meet-
ing him, as she said, in the company of that wench, who she
feared was no better than she should be.

The horse was no sooner put into Adams's head but he was
immediately driven out by this reflection on the character of
Fanny. He protested, he believed there was not a chaster
damsel in the universe. " I heartily wish, I heartily wish,"
cried he (snapping his fingers), "that all her betters were as
good." He then proceeded to inform her of the accident of
their meeting; but when he came to mention the circumstance
of delivering her from the rape, she said, she thought him
properer for the army than the clergy ; that it did not become
a clergyman to lay violent hands on any one ; that he should
have rather prayed that she might be strengthened. Adams
said, he was very far from being ashamed of what he had
done : she replied, want of shame was not the currycuristic of
a clergyman. This dialogue might have probably grown
warmer, had not Joseph opportunely entered the room, to ask
leave of Madam Slipslop to introduce Fanny ; but she positively
refused to admit any such trollops, and told him, she would
have been burnt before she would have suffered him to get
into a chaise with her, if she had once repected him of having
his sluts waylaid on the road for him ; adding, that Mr Adams
acted a very pretty part, and she did not doubt but to see him
a bishop. He made the best bow he could, and cried out, " I
thank you, madam, for that right-reverend appellation, which
I shall take all honest means to deserve." — "Very honest
means," returned she with a sneer, " to bring good people to-

138

JOSEPH ANDREWS

gether." At these words Adams took two or three strides
across the room, when the coachman came to inform Mrs
Slipslop that the storm was over, and the moon shone very
bright. She then sent for Joseph, who was sitting without
with his Fanny, and would have had him gone with her ;
but he peremptorily refused to leave Fanny behind, which
threw the good woman into a violent rage. She said she
would inform her lady what doings were carrying on, and
did not doubt but she would rid the parish of all such people ;
and concluded a long speech, full of bitterness and very hard
words, and with some reflections on the clergy not decent to
repeat; at last, finding Joseph unmovable, she flung herself
into the chaise, casting a look at Fanny as she went, not un-
like that which Cleopatra gives Octavia in the play. To say
the truth, she was most disagreeably disappointed by the pres-
ence of Fanny: she had, from her first seeing Joseph at the
inn, conceived hopes of something which might have been
accomplished at an alehouse as well as a palace. Indeed, it
is probable Mr Adams had rescued more than Fanny from the
danger of a rape that evening.

When the chaise had carried off the enraged Slipslop,
Adams, Joseph, and Fanny assembled over the fire, where
they had a great deal of innocent chat, pretty enough ; but,
as possibly it would not be very entertaining to the reader,
we shall hasten to the morning; only observing that none of
them went to bed that night. Adams, when he had smoked
three pipes, took a comfortable nap in a great chair, and left
the lovers, whose eyes were too well employed to permit any
desire of shutting them, to enjoy by themselves, during some
hours, an happiness of which none of my readers who have
never been in love are capable of the least conception, though
we had as many tongues as Homer desired, to describe it with,
and which all true lovers will represent to their own minds
without the least assistance from us.

Let it suffice then to say, that Fanny, after a thousand
entreaties, at last gave up her whole soul to Joseph; and,
almost fainting in his arms, with a sigh infinitely softer and
sweeter too than any Arabian breeze, she whispered to his
lips, which were then close to hers, " O Joseph, you have won
me; I will be yours for ever." Joseph, having thanked her

i39

THE ADVENTURES OF

on his knees, and embraced her with an eagerness which she
now almost returned, leapt up in a rapture, and awakened
the parson, earnestly begging him that he would that instant
join their hands together. Adams rebuked him for his re-
quest, and told him he would by no means consent to any-
thing contrary to the forms of the church; that he had no
licence, nor indeed would he advise him to obtain one: that
the church had prescribed a form, — namely, the publication
of banns, — with which all good Christians ought to comply,
and to the omission of which he attributed the many miseries
which befel great folks in marriage; concluding, "As many
as are joined together otherwise than God's word doth allow,
are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony
lawful." Fanny agreed with the parson, saying to Joseph,
with a blush, she assured him she would not consent to any
such thing, and that she wondered at his offering it. In
which resolution she was comforted and commended by
Adams ; and Joseph was obliged to wait patiently till after the
third publication of the banns, which however he obtained
the consent of Fanny, in the presence of Adams, to put in at
their arrival.

The sun had now been risen some hours, when Joseph,
finding his leg surprizingly recovered, proposed to walk for-
wards; but when they were all ready to set out, an accident
a little retarded them. This was no other than the reckoning,
which amounted to seven shillings; no great sum if we con-
sider the immense quantity of ale which Mr Adams poured in.
Indeed, they had no objection to the reasonableness of the
bill, but many to the probability of paying it; for the fellow
who had taken poor Fanny's purse had unluckily forgot to
return it. So that the account stood thus :

t. s. d.
Mr Adams and company, Dr 070

In Mr Adams's pocket 00 6l/2

In Mr Joseph's 000

In Mrs Fanny's 000

Balance ....06 $l/2
140

JOSEPH ANDREWS

They stood silent some few minutes, staring at each other,
when Adams whipt out on his toes, and asked the hostess, if
there was no clergyman in that parish ? She answered, there
was. "Is he wealthy?" replied he; to which she likewise
answered in the affirmative. Adams then snapping his fingers
returned overjoyed to his companions, crying out, " Heureka,
Heureka ; " which not being understood, he told them in plain
English, they need give themselves no trouble, for he had
a brother in the parish who would defray the reckoning, and
that he would just step to his house and fetch the money, and
return to them instantly.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN PARSON ADAMS AND PARSON

TRULLIBER.

PARSON ADAMS came to the house of Parson Trul-
liber, whom he found stript into his waistcoat, with an
apron on, and a pail in his hand, just come from serving his
hogs ; for Mr Trulliber was a parson on Sundays, but all the
other six might more properly be called a farmer. He occu-
pied a small piece of land of his own, besides which he rented
a considerable deal more. His wife milked his cows, managed
his dairy, and followed the markets with butter and eggs.
The hogs fell chiefly to his care, which he carefully waited on
at home, and attended to fairs; on which occasion he was
liable to many jokes, his own size being, with much ale, ren-
dered little inferior to that of the beasts he sold. He was
indeed one of the largest men you should see, and could have
acted the part of Sir John Falstaff without stuffing. Add
to this that the rotundity of his belly was considerably in-
creased by the shortness of his stature, his shadow ascending
very near as far in height, when he lay on his back, as when
•he stood on his legs. His voice was loud and hoarse, and
his accent extremely broad. To complete the whole, he had
a stateliness in his gait, when he walked, not unlike that of a
goose, only he stalked slower.

Mr Trulliber, being informed that somebody wanted to

141

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speak with him, immediately slipt off his apron and clothed
himself in an old night-gown, being the dress in which he
always saw his company at home. His wife, who informed
him of Mr Adams's arrival, had made a small mistake; for
she had told her husband, she believed there was a man come
for some of his hogs. This supposition made Mr Trulliber
hasten with the utmost expedition to attend his guest. He no
sooner saw Adams than, not in the least doubting the cause
of his errand to be what his wife had imagined, he told him,
he was come in very good time ; that he expected a dealer
that very afternoon ; and added, they were all pure and fat,
and upwards of twenty score a-piece. Adams answered, he
believed he did not know him. " Yes, yes," cried Trulliber,
" I have seen you often at fair ; why we have dealt before now,
mun, I warrant you. Yes, yes," cries he, " I remember thy
face very well, but won't mention a word more till you have
seen them, though I have never sold thee a flitch of such bacon
as is now in the stye." Upon which he laid violent hands on
Adams, and dragged him into the hog-stye, which was indeed
but two steps from his parlour-window. They were no sooner
arrived there than he cried out, " Do but handle them ; step in,
friend ; art welcome to handle them, whether dost buy or no."
At which words, opening the gate, he pushed Adams into the
pig-stye, insisting on it that he should handle them before
he would talk one word with him.

Adams, whose natural complacence was beyond any artifi-
cial, was obliged to comply before he was suffered to explain
himself; and, laying hold on one of their tails, the unruly
beast gave such a sudden spring, that he threw poor Adams
all along in the mire. Trulliber, instead of assisting him to
get up, burst into a laughter, and, entering the stye, said to
Adams with some contempt, " Why, dost not know how to
handle a hog?" and was going to lay hold of one himself,
but Adams, who thought he had carried his complacence far
enough, was no sooner on his legs than he escaped out of the
reach of the animals, and cried out, " Nil habeo cum porcis:
I am a clergyman, sir, and am not come to buy hogs." Trul-
liber answered, he was sorry for the mistake, but that he
must blame his wife, adding, she was a fool, and always
committed blunders. He then desired him to walk in and

142

JOSEPH ANDREWS

clean himself, that he would only fasten up the stye and
follow him. Adams desired leave to dry his great-coat, wig,
and hat by the fire, which Trulliber granted. Mrs Trulliber
would have brought him a basin of water to wash his face,
but her husband bid her be quiet like a fool as she was, or
she would commit more blunders, and then directed Adams
to the pump. While Adams was thus employed, Trulliber,
conceiving no great respect for the appearance of his guest,
fastened the parlour door, and now conducted him into the
kitchen, telling him he believed a cup of drink would do him
no harm, and whispered his wife to draw a little of the worst
ale. After a short silence Adams said, " I fancy, sir, you
already perceive me to be a clergyman." — " Aye, aye," cries
Trulliber, grinning, " I perceive you have some cassock ; I
will not venture to caale it a whole one." Adams answered,
it was indeed none of the best, but he had the misfortune
to tear it about ten years ago in passing over a stile. Mrs
Trulliber, returning with the drink, told her husband she
fancied the gentleman was a traveller, and that he would be
glad to eat a bit. Trulliber bid her hold her impertinent
tongue, and asked her if parsons used to travel without
horses? adding, he supposed the gentleman had none by his
his having no boots on. " Yes, sir, yes," says Adams ; " I
have a horse, but I have left him behind me." — " I am glad
to hear you have one," says Trulliber ; " for I assure you I
don't love to see clergymen on foot ; it is not seemly nor
suiting the dignity of the cloth." Here Trulliber made a
long oration on the dignity of the cloth (or rather gown)
not much worth relating, till his wife had spread the table
and set a mess of porridge on it for his breakfast. He then
said to Adams, " I don't know, friend, how you came to caale
on me; however, as you are here, if you think proper to eat
a morsel, you may." Adams accepted the invitation, and the
two parsons sat down together; Mrs Trulliber waiting be-
hind her husband's chair, as was, it seems, her custom. Trul-
liber ate heartily, but scarce put anything in his mouth with-
out finding fault with his wife's cookery. All which the poor
woman bore patiently. Indeed, she was so absolute an ad-
mirer of her husband's greatness and importance, of which
she had frequent hints from his own mouth, that she almost

M3

THE ADVENTURES OF

carried her adoration to an opinion of his infallibility. To
say the truth, the parson had exercised her more ways than
one ; and the pious woman had been so well edified by her hus-
band's sermons, that she had resolved to receive the bad things
of this world together with the good. She had indeed been
at first a little contentious ; but he had long since got the
better; partly by her love for this, partly by her fear of that,
partly by her religion, partly by the respect he paid himself,
and partly by that which he received from the parish. She
had, in short, absolutely submitted, and now worshipped her
husband, as Sarah did Abraham, calling him (not lord, but)
master. Whilst they were at table her husband gave her a
fresh example of his greatness ; for, as she had just delivered
a cup of ale to Adams, he snatched it out of his hand, and,
crying out, " I caal'd vurst," swallowed down the ale. Adams
denied it; it was referred to the wife, who, though her
conscience was on the side of Adams, durst not give it against
her husband ; Upon which he said, " No, sir, no ; I should not
have been so rude to have taken it from you if you had caal'd
vurst, but I'd have you know I'm a better man than to suffer
the best he in the kingdom to drink before me in my own
house when I caale vurst."

As soon as their breakfast was ended, Adams began in
the following manner : " I think, sir, it is high time to inform
you of the business of my embassy. I am a traveller and
am passing this way in company with two young people, a
lad and a damsel, my parishioners, towards my own cure;
we stopt at a house of hospitality in the parish, where they
directed me to you as having the cure." — " Though I am but
a curate," says Trulliber, " I believe I am as warm as the
vicar himself, or perhaps the rector of the next parish too;
I believe I could buy them both." — " Sir," cries Adams, " I,
rejoice thereat. Now, sir, my business is, that we are by
various accidents stript of our money, and are not able to
pay our reckoning, being seven shillings. I therefore request
you to assist me with the loan of those seven shillings, and
also seven shillings more, which, peradventure, I shall return
to you ; but if not, I am convinced you will joyfully embrace
such an opportunity of laying up a treasure in a better place
than any this world affords."

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Suppose a stranger, who entered the chambers of a lawyer,
being imagined a client, when the lawyer was preparing his
palm for the fee, should pull out a writ against him. Sup-
pose an apothecary, at the door of a chariot containing some
great doctor of eminent skill, should, instead of directions to
a patient, present him with a potion for himself. Suppose
a minister should, instead of a good round sum, treat my
lord , or sir , or esq. with a good broom-
stick. Suppose a civil companion, or a led captain, should,
instead of virtue, and honour, and beauty, and parts, and
admiration, thunder vice, and infamy, and ugliness, and folly,
and contempt, in his patron's ears. Suppose, when a trades-
man first carries in his bill, the man of fashion should pay
it; or suppose, if he did so, the tradesman should abate what
he had overcharged, on the supposition of waiting. In short,
— suppose what you will, you never can nor will suppose any-
thing equal to the astonishment which seized on Trulliber,
as soon as Adams had ended his speech. A while he rolled
his eyes in silence ; sometimes surveying Adams, then his
wife; then casting them on the ground, then lifting them
up to heaven. At last he burst forth in the following accents :
" Sir, I believe I know where to lay up my little treasure as
well as another. I thank G — , if I am not so warm as some,
I am content ; that is a blessing greater than riches ; and he
to whom that is given need ask no more. To be content
with a little is greater than to possess the world ; which a
man may possess without being so. Lay up my treasure !
what matters where a man's treasure is whose heart is in the
Scriptures? there is the treasure of a Christian." At these
words the water ran from Adams's eyes ; and, catching Trul-
liber by the hand in a rapture, " Brother," says he, " heavens
bless the accident by which I came to see you ! I would have
walked many a mile to have communed with you ; and, be-
lieve me, I will shortly pay you a second visit ; but my friends,
I fancy, by this time, wonder at my stay ; so let me have the
money immediately." Trulliber then put on a stern look,
and cried out, " Thou dost not intend to rob me ? " At which
the wife, bursting into tears, fell on her knees and roared
out, " O dear sir ! for Heaven's sake don't rob my master :
we are but poor people." " Get up, for a fool as thou art,

10 i45

THE ADVENTURES OF

and go about thy business," said Trulliber : " dost think the
man will venture his life? he is a beggar, and no robber."
" Very true, indeed," answered Adams. " I wish, with all my
heart, the tithing-man was here," cries Trulliber: "I would
have thee punished as a vagabond for thy impudence. Four-
teen shillings indeed ! I won't give thee a farthing. I be-
lieve thou art no more a clergyman than the woman there "
(pointing to his wife) ; " but if thou art, dost deserve to have
thy gown stript over thy shoulders for running about the
country in such a manner." " I forgive your suspicions," says
Adams ; " but suppose I am not a clergyman, I am nevertheless
thy brother; and thou, as a Christian, much more as a clergy-
man, art obliged to relieve my distress." " Dost preach to
me ? " replied Trulliber : " dost pretend to instruct me in my
duty?" "Hacks, a good story," cries Mrs Trulliber, "to
preach to my master." " Silence, woman," cries Trulliber.
" I would have thee know, friend " (addressing himself to
Adams), "I shall not learn my duty from such as thee. I
know what charity is, better than to give to vagabonds."
" Besides, if we were inclined, the poor's rate obliges us to
give so much charity," cries the wife. " Pugh ! thou aft a
fool. Poor's reate ! Hold thy nonsense," answered Trulli-
ber ; and then, turning to Adams, he told him, " he would
give him nothing." " I am sorry," answered Adams, " that
you do know what charity is, since you practise it no
better : I must tell you, if you trust to your knowledge for
your justification, you will find yourself deceived, though
you should add faith to it, without good works." " Fellow,"
cries Trulliber, "dost thou speak against faith in my house?
Get out of my doors : I will no longer remain under the
same roof with a wretch who speaks wantonly of faith and
the Scriptures." " Name not the Scriptures," says Adams.
" How ! not name the Scriptures ! Do you disbelieve the
Scriptures ? " cries Trulliber. " No ; but you do," answered
Adams, " if I may reason from your practice ! for their com-
mands are so explicit, and their rewards and punishments so
immense, that it is impossible a man should steadfastly
believe without obeying. Now, there is no command more
express, no duty more frequently enjoined, than charity!
Whoever, therefore, is void of charity, I make no scruple of

146

JOSEPH ANDREWS

pronouncing that he is no Christian." ' I would not advise
thee," says Trulliber, " to say that I am no Christian : I won't
take it of you ; for I believe I am as good a man as thyself "
(and indeed, though he was now rather too corpulent for
athletic exercises, he had, in his youth, been one of the best
boxers and cudgel-players in the county). His wife, seeing
him clench his fist, interposed, and begged him not to fight,
but show himself a true Christian, and take the law of him.
As nothing could provoke Adams to strike, but an absolute
assault on himself or his friend, he smiled at the angry look
and gestures of Trulliber ; and, telling him he was sorry to
see such men in orders, departed without further ceremony.

CHAPTER XV.

AN ADVENTURE THE CONSEQUENCE OF A NEW INSTANCE
WHICH PARSON ADAMS GAVE OF HIS FORGETFULNESS.

WHEN he came back to the inn he found Joseph and
Fanny sitting together. They were so far from think-
ing his absence long, as he had feared they would, that they
never once missed or thought of him. Indeed, I have been
often assured by both, that they spent these hours in a most
delightful conversation ; but, as I never could prevail on
either to relate it, so I cannot communicate it to the reader.

Adams acquainted the lovers with the ill success of his
enterprize. They were all greatly confounded, none being
able to propose any method of departing, till Joseph at last
advised calling in the hostess, and desiring her to trust them ;
which Fanny said she despaired of her doing, as she was one
of the sourest-faced women she had ever beheld.

But she was agreeably disappointed ; for the hostess was
no sooner asked the question than she readily agreed ; and,
with a curtsy and smile, wished them a good journey. How-
ever, lest Fanny's skill in physiognomy should be called in
question, we will venture to assign one reason which might
probably incline her to this confidence and good-humour.
When Adams said he was going to visit his brother, he had

147

THE ADVENTURES OF

unwittingly imposed on Joseph and Fanny, who both believed
he had meant his natural brother, and not his brother in
divinity, and had so informed the hostess, on her inquiry
after him. Now Mr Trulliber had, by his professions of piety,
by his gravity, austerity, reserve, and the opinion of his great
wealth, so great an authority in his parish, that they all lived
in the utmost fear and apprehension of him. It was there-
fore no wonder that the hostess, who knew it was in his
option whether she should ever sell another mug of drink,
did not dare to affront his supposed brother by denying him
credit.

They were now just on their departure when Adams recol-
lected he had left his great-coat and hat at Mr Trulliber's.
As he was not desirous of renewing his visit, the hostess her-
self, having no servant at home, offered to fetch them.

This was an unfortunate expedient; for the hostess was
soon undeceived in the opinion she had entertained of Adams,
whom Trulliber abused in the grossest terms, especially when
he heard he had had the assurance to pretend to be his near
relation.

At her return, therefore, she entirely changed her note.
She said, folks might be ashamed of travelling about, and
pretending to be what they were not. That taxes were high,
and for her part she was obliged to pay for what she had ;
she could not therefore possibly, nor would she, trust any-
body ; no, not her own father. That money was never scarcer,
and she wanted to make up a sum. That she expected, there-
fore, they should pay their reckoning before they left the
house.

Adams was now greatly perplexed; but, as he knew that
he could easily have borrowed such a sum in his own parish,
and as he knew he would have lent it himself to any mortal
in distress, so he took fresh courage, and sallied out all round
the parish, but to no purpose ; he returned as pennyless as
he went, groaning and lamenting that it was possible, in a
country professing Christianity, for a wretch to starve in the
midst of his fellow-creatures who abounded.

Whilst he was gone, the hostess, who stayed as a sort of
guard with Joseph and Fanny, entertained them with the
goodness of parson Trulliber. And, indeed, he had not only

148

JOSEPH ANDREWS

a very good character as to other qualities in the neighbour-
hood, but was reputed a man of great charity ; for, though he
never gave a farthing, he had always that word in his mouth.

Adams was no sooner returned the second time than the
storm grew exceedingly high, the hostess declaring, among
other things, that, if they offered to stir without paying her,
she would soon overtake them with a warrant.

Plato and Aristotle, or somebody else, hath said, that zvhen
the most exquisite cunning fails, chance often hits the mark,
and that by means the least expected. Virgil expresses this
very boldly : —

Tunic, quod oplanti diviun promittere nemo
Auderet, volvenda dies, en! attulit ultra.

I would quote more great men if I could ; but my memory
not permitting me, I will proceed to exemplify these observa-
tions by the following instance : —

There chanced (for Adams had not cunning enough to
contrive it) to be at that time in the alehouse a fellow who
had been formerly a drummer in an Irish regiment, and now
travelled the country as a pedlar. This man, having atten-
tively listened to the discourse of the hostess, at last took
Adams aside, and asked him what the sum was for which
they were detained. As soon as he was informed, he sighed,
and said, he was sorry it was so much ; for that he had no
more than six shillings and sixpence in his pocket, which he
would lend them with all his heart. Adams gave a caper,
and cried out, it would do ; for that he had sixpence himself.
And thus these poor people, who could not engage the com-
passion of riches and piety, were at length delivered out of
their distress by the charity of a poor pedlar.

I shall refer it to my reader to make what observations he
pleases on this incident : it is sufficient for me to inform him
that, after Adams and his companions had returned him a
thousand thanks, and told him where he might call to be re-
paid, they all sallied out of the house without any compli-
ments from their hostess, or indeed without paying her any;
Adams declaring he would take particular care never to call
there again ; and she on her side assuring them she wanted no

such guests.

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THE ADVENTURES OF

CHAPTER XVI.

A VERY CURIOUS ADVENTURE, IN WHICH MR ADAMS GAVE A
MUCH GREATER INSTANCE OF THE HONEST SIMPLICITY OF
HIS HEART THAN OF HIS EXPERIENCE IN THE WAYS OF
THIS WORLD.

OUR travellers had walked about two miles from that inn,
which they had more reason to have mistaken for a cas-
tle than Don Quixote ever had any of those in which he so-
journed, seeing they had met with such difficulty in escaping
out of its walls, when they came to a parish, and beheld a
sign of invitation hanging out. A gentleman sat smoking
a pipe at the door, of whom Adams enquired the road, and
received so courteous and obliging an answer, accompanied
with so smiling a countenance, that the good parson, whose
heart was naturally disposed to love and affection, began to
ask several other questions ; particularly the name of the
parish, and who was the owner of a large house whose front
they then had in prospect. The gentleman answered as
obligingly as before ; and as to the house, acquainted him it
was his own. He then proceeded in the following manner :
" Sir, I presume by your habit you are a clergyman ; and as
you are travelling on foot I suppose a glass of good beer will
not be disagreeable to you ; and I can recommend my land-
lord's within, as some of the best in all this country. What
say you, will you halt a little and let us take a pipe together?
there is no better tobacco in the kingdom." This proposal
was not displeasing to Adams, who had allayed his thirst
that day with no better liquor than what Mrs. Trulliber's
cellar had produced ; and which was indeed little superior,
either in richness or flavour, to that which distilled from
those grains her generous husband bestowed on his hogs.
Having therefore abundantly thanked the gentleman for his
kind invitation, and bid Joseph and Fanny follow him, he
entered the alehouse, where a large loaf and cheese and a
pitcher of beer, which truly answered the character given of
it, being set before them, the three travellers fell to eating,

15°

JOSEPH ANDREWS

with appetites infinitely more voracious than arc to be found
at the most exquisite eating-houses in the parish of St
James's.

The gentleman expressed great delight in the hearty and
cheerful behaviour of Adams; and particularly in the fa-
miliarity with which he conversed with Joseph and Fanny,
whom he often called his children ; a term he explained to
mean no more than his parishioners ; saying, he looked on
all those whom God had intrusted to his cure to stand to
him in that relation. The gentleman, shaking him by the
hand, highly applauded those sentiments. ' They are, in-
deed," says he, "the true principles of a Christian divine;
and I heartily wish they were universal ; but, on the con-
trary, I am sorry to say the parson of our parish, instead of
esteeming his poor parishioners as a part of his family, seems
rather to consider them as not of the same species with him-
self. He seldom speaks to any, unless some few of the rich-
est of us ; nay, indeed, he will not move his hat to the others.
I often laugh when I behold him on Sundays strutting along
the church-yard like a turkey-cock through rows of his pa-
rishioners, who bow to him with as much submission, and are
as unregarded, as a. set of servile courtiers by the proudest
prince in Christendom. But if such temporal pride is ridicu-
lous, surely the spiritual is odious and detestable ; if such a
puffed-up empty human bladder, strutting in princely robes,
just moves one's derision, surely in the habit of a priest it
must raise our scorn."

" Doubtless," answered Adams, " your opinion is right ;
but I hope such examples are rare. The clergy whom I have
the honour to know maintain a different behaviour; and you
will allow me, sir, that the readiness which too many of the
laity show to contemn the order may be one reason of their
avoiding too much humility." " Very true, indeed," says the
gentleman ; " I find, sir, you are a man of excellent sense,
and am happy in this opportunity of knowing you ; perhaps
our accidental meeting may not be disadvantageous to you
neither. At present I shall only say to you that the incum-
bent of this living is old and infirm, and that it is in my gift.
Doctor, give me your hand ; and assure yourself of it at his

THE ADVENTURES OF

decease." Adams told him he was never more confounded in
his life than at his utter incapacity to make any return to such
noble and unmerited generosity. " A mere trifle, sir," cries
the gentleman, " scarce worth your acceptance ; a little more
than. three hundred a-year. I wish it was double the value
for your sake." Adams bowed, and cried from the emotions
of his gratitude ; when the other asked him, if he was married,
or had any children, besides those in the spiritual sense he had
mentioned. " Sir," replied the parson, " I have a wife and
six at your service." " That is unlucky," says the gentleman ;
" for I would otherwise have taken you into my own house
as my chaplain; however, I have another in the parish (for
the parsonage-house is not good enough), which I will fur-
nish for you. Pray, does your wife understand a dairy?"
" I can't profess she does," says Adams. " I am sorry for it,"
quoth the gentleman ; " I would have given you half-a-dozen
cows, and very good grounds to have maintained them."
" Sir," said Adams, in an ecstasy, " you are too liberal ; in-
deed you are." " Not at all," cries the gentleman : " I esteem
riches only as they give me an opportunity of doing good ; and
I never saw one whom I had a greater inclination to serve."
At which words he shook him heartily by the hand, and told
him he had sufficient room in his house to entertain him and
his friends. Adams begged he might give him no such
trouble ; that they could be very well accommodated in the
house where they were ; forgetting they had not a sixpenny
piece among them. The gentleman would not be denied ; and,
informing himself how far they were travelling, he said it
was too long a journey to take on foot, and begged that they
would favour him by suffering him to lend them a servant
and horses ; adding, withal, that, if they would do him the
pleasure of their company only two days, he would furnish
them with his coach and six. Adams, turning to Joseph,
said, " How lucky is this gentleman's goodness to you, who I
am afraid would be scarce able to hold out on your lame leg ! ':
and then, addressing the person who made him these liberal
promises, after much bowing, he cried out, " Blessed be the
hour which first introduced me to a man of your charity ! you
are indeed a Christian of the true primitive kind, and an hon-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

our to the country wherein you live. I would willingly have
taken a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to have beheld you ; for
the advantages which we draw from your goodness give me
little pleasure, in comparison of what I enjoy for your own
sake when I consider the treasures you are by these means
laying up for yourself in a country that passeth not away.
We will therefore, most generous sir, accept your goodness,
as well the entertainment you have so kindly offered us at
your house this evening, as the accommodation of your horses
to-morrow morning." He then began to search for his hat,
as did Joseph for his ; and both they and Fanny were in order
of departure, when the gentleman, stopping short, and seem-
ing to meditate by himself for the space of about a minute,
exclaimed thus : " Sure never any thing was so unlucky ; I
had forgot that my housekeeper was gone abroad, and hath
locked up all my rooms ; indeed, I would break them open for
you, but shall not be able to furnish you with a bed ; for she
has likewise put away all my linen. I am glad it entered into
my head before I had given you the trouble of walking there ;
besides, I believe you will find better accommodations here
than you expected. — Landlord, you can provide good beds
for these people, can't you ? " " Yes, and please your wor-
ship," cries the host, " and such as no lord or justice of the
peace in the kingdom need be ashamed to lie in." ' I am
heartily sorry," says the gentleman, " for this disappoint-
ment. I am resolved I will never suffer her to carry away the
keys again." ' Pray, sir, let it not make you uneasy," cries
Adams ; " we shall do very well here ; and the loan of your
horses is a favour we shall be incapable of making any re-
turn to." "Aye!" said the squire, "the horses shall attend
you here at what hour in the morning you please ; " and now,
after many civilities too tedious to enumerate, many squeezes
by the hand, with most affectionate looks and smiles at each
other, and after appointing the horses at seven the next morn-
ing, the gentleman took his leave of them, and departed to his
own house. Adams and his companions returned to the table,
where the parson smoked another pipe, and then they all re-
tired to rest.

Mr Adams rose very early, and called Joseph out of his

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THE ADVENTURES OF

bed, between whom a very fierce dispute ensued, whether
Fanny should ride behind Joseph, or behind the gentleman's
servant; Joseph insisting on it that he was perfectly recov-
ered, and was as capable of taking care of Fanny as any other
person could be. But Adams would not agree to it, and de-
clared he would not trust her behind him; for that he was
weaker than he imagined himself to be.

This dispute continued a long time, and had begun to be
very hot, when a servant arrived from their good friend, to
acquaint them that he was unfortunately prevented from lend-
ing them any horses; for that his groom had, unknown to
him, put his whole stable under a course of physic.

This advice presently struck the two disputants dumb :
Adams cried out, " Was ever anything so unlucky as this
poor gentleman? I protest I am more sorry on his account
than my own. You see, Joseph, how this good-natured man is
treated by his servants; one locks up his linen, another
physics his horses, and I suppose, by his being at this house
last night, the butler had locked up his cellar. Bless us ! how
good-nature is used in this world ! I protest I am more con-
cerned on his account than my own." ;' So am not I," cries
Joseph ; " not that I am much troubled about walking on
foot: all my concern is, how we shall get out of the house,
unless God sends another pedlar to redeem us. But certainly
this gentleman has such an affection for you, that he would
lend you a larger sum than we owe here, which is not above
four or five shillings." " Very true, child," answered Adams ;
" I will write a letter to him, and will even venture to solicit
him for three half-crowns; there will be no harm in having
two or three shillings in our pockets ; as we have full forty
miles to travel, we may possibly have occasion for them."

Fanny being now risen, Joseph paid her a visit, and left
Adams to write his letter, which having finished, he de-
spatched a boy with it to the gentleman, and then seated him-
self by the door, lighted his pipe, and betook himself to medi-
tation.

The boy staying longer than seemed to be necessary, Jo-
seph, who with Fanny was now returned to the parson, ex-
pressed some apprehensions that the gentleman's steward had

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

locked up his purse too. To which Adams answered, it
might very possibly be, and he should wonder at no liberties
which the devil might put into the head of a wicked servant
to take with so worthy a master ; but added, that, as the sum
was so small, so noble a gentleman would be easily able to
procure it in the parish, though he had it not in his own
pocket. " Indeed," says he, " if it was four or five guineas,
or any such large quantity of money, it might be a different
matter."

They were now sat down to breakfast over some toast and
ale, when the boy returned and informed them that the gen-
tleman was not at home. " Very well ! " cries Adams ; " but
why, child, did you not stay till his return? Go back again,
my good boy, and wait for his coming home ; he cannot be
gone far, as his horses are all sick ; and besides, he had no
intention to go abroad, for he invited us to spend this day
and to-morrow at his house. Therefore go back, child, and
tarry till his return home." The messenger departed, and
was back again with great expedition, bringing an account
that the gentleman was gone a long journey, and would not
be at home again this month. At these words Adams seemed
greatly confounded, saying, " This must be a sudden accident,
as the sickness or death of a relation or some such unforeseen
misfortune ; " and then, turning to Joseph, cried, " I wish you
had reminded me to have borrowed this money last night."
Joseph, smiling, answered, he was very much deceived if the
gentleman would not have found some excuse to avoid lend-
ing it. — " I own," says he, " I was never much pleased with
his professing so much kindness for you at first sight ; for I
have heard the gentlemen of our cloth in London tell many
such stories of their masters. But when the boy brought the
message back of his not being at home, I presently knew
what would follow ; for, whenever a man of fashion doth not
care to fulfil his promises, the custom is to order his servants
that he will never be at home to the person so promised. In
London they call it denying him. I have myself denied Sir
Thomas Booby above a hundred times, and when the man
hath danced attendance for about a month, or sometimes
longer, he is acquainted in the end that the gentleman is gone

J55

THE ADVENTURES OF

out of town and could do nothing in the business." — " Good
Lord! " says Adams, " what wickedness is therein the Chris-
tian world ! I profess almost equal to what I have read of the
heathens. But surely, Joseph, your suspicions of this gentle-
man must be unjust, for what a silly fellow must he be who
would do the devil's work for nothing! and canst thou tell
me any interest he could possibly propose to himself by de-
ceiving us in his professions? " — " It is not for me," answered
Joseph, " to give reasons for what men do to a gentleman of
your learning." — " You say right," quoth Adams ; " know-
ledge of men is only to be learnt from books ; Plato and
Seneca for that ; and those are authors, I am afraid, child,
you never read." — " Not I, sir, truly," answered Joseph ; " all
I know is, it is a maxim among the gentlemen of our cloth,
that those masters who promise the most perform the least;
and I have often heard them say they have found the largest
vails in those families where they were not promised any.
But, sir, instead of considering any farther these matters, it
would be our wisest way to contrive some method of getting
out of this house; for the generous gentleman, instead of
doing us any service, hath left us the whole reckoning to pay."
Adams was going to answer, when their host came in, and,
with a kind of jeering smile, said, " Well, masters ! the squire
hath not sent his horses for you yet. Laud help me! how
easily some folks make promises ! " — " How ! " says Adams ;
" have you ever known him do anything of this kind be-
fore?"— "Aye! marry have I," answered the host: "it is
no business of mine, you know, sir, to say anything to a gen-
tleman to his face ; but now he is not here, I will assure you,
he hath not his fellow within the three next market-towns.
I own I could not help laughing when I heard him offer you
the living, for thereby hangs a good jest. I thought he would
have offered you my house next, for one is no more his to
dispose of than the other." At these words Adams, blessing
himself, declared, he had never read of such a monster. " But
what vexes me most," says he, " is, that he hath decoyed us
into running up a long debt with you, which we are not able
to pay, for we have no money about us, and, what is worse,
live at such a distance, that if you should trust us, I am afraid

156

JOSEPH ANDREWS

you would lose your money for want of our finding any con-
veniency of sending it." — " Trust you, master ! " says the
host, " that I will with all my heart. I honour the clergy too
much to deny trusting one of them for such a trifle; besides,
I like your fear of never paying me. I have lost many a debt
in my life-time, but was promised to be paid them all in a
very short time. I will score this reckoning for the novelty
of it. It is the first, I do assure you, of its kind. But what
say you, master, shall we have t'other pot before we part?
It will waste but a little chalk more, and if you never pay me
a shilling the loss will not ruin me." Adams liked the invi-
tation very well, especially as it was delivered with so hearty
an accent. He shook his host by the hand, and thanking him,
said, he would tarry another pot rather for the pleasure of
such worthy company than for the liquor; adding, he was
glad to find some Christians left in the kingdom, for that he
almost began to suspect that he was sojourning in a country
inhabited only by Jews and Turks.

The kind host produced the liquor, and Joseph with Fanny
retired into the garden, where, while they solaced themselves
with amorous discourse, Adams sat down with his host ; and,
both filling their glasses, and lighting their pipes, they began
that dialogue which the reader will find in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XVII.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MR ABRAHAM ADAMS AND HIS HOST,
WHICH, BY THE DISAGREEMENT IN THEIR OPINIONS,
SEEMED TO THREATEN AN UNLUCKY CATASTROPHE, HAD IT
NOT BEEN TIMELY PREVENTED BY THE RETURN OF THE
LOVERS.

<QIR," said the host, " I assure you you are not the first to
^ whom our squire hath promised more than he hath per-
formed. He is so famous for this practice, that his word
will not be taken for much by those who know him. I re-
member a young fellow whom he promised his parents to

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THE ADVENTURES OF

make an exciseman. The poor people, who could ill afford
it, bred their son to writing and accounts, and other learning,
to qualify him for the place ; and the boy held up his head
above his condition with these hopes ; nor would he go to
plough, nor to any other kind of work, and went constantly
drest as fine as could be, with two clean Holland shirts
a-week, and this for several years ; till at last he followed the
squire up to London, thinking there to mind him of his prom-
ises ; but he could never get sight of him. So that, being out
of money and business, he fell into evil company and
wicked courses ; and in the end came to a sentence of trans-
portation, the news of which broke the mother's heart. — I
will tell you another true story of him : There was a neigh-
bour of mine, a farmer, who had two sons whom he bred up
to the business. Pretty lads they were. Nothing would
serve the squire but that the youngest must be made a
parson. Upon which he persuaded the father to send him
to school, promising that he would afterwards maintain him
at the university, and, when he was of a proper age, give
him a living. But after the lad had been seven years at
school, and his father brought him to the squire, with a letter
from his master that he was fit for the university ; the squire,
instead of minding his promise, or sending him thither at
his expense, only told his father that the young man
was a fine scholar, and it was pity he could not afford to keep
him at Oxford for four or five years more, by which time,
if he could get him a curacy, he might have him ordained.
The farmer said, he was not a man sufficient to do any such
thing. — " Why, then," answered the squire, " I am very sorry
you have given him so much learning; for, if he cannot get
his living by that, it will rather spoil him for anything else ;
and your other son, who can hardly write his name, will do
more at ploughing and sowing, and is in a better condition,
than he." And indeed so it proved ; for the poor lad, not find-
ing friends to maintain him in his learning, as he had ex-
pected, and being unwilling to work, fell to drinking, though
he was a very sober lad before ; and in a short time, partly*
with grief, and partly with good liquor, fell into a consump-
tion, and died. — Nay, I can tell you more still : there was an-

*5*

JOSEPH ANDREWS

other, a young woman, and the handsomest in all this neigh-
bourhood, whom he enticed up to London, promising to
make her a gentlewoman to one of your women of quality ;
but instead of keeping his word, we have since heard, after
having a child by her himself, she became a common whore ;
then kept a coffee-house in Covent Garden ; and a little after
died of the French distemper in a gaol. — I could tell you
many more stories ; but how do you imagine he served me
myself? You must know, sir, I was bred a sea- faring man,
and have been many voyages; till at last I came to be master
of a ship myself, and was in a fair way of making a fortune,
when I was attacked by one of those cursed guarda-costas
who took our ships before the beginning of the war; and
after a fight, wherein I lost the greater part of my crew, my
rigging being all demolished, and two shots received between
wind and water, I was forced to strike. The villains carried
off my ship, a brigantine of 150 tons, — a pretty creature she
was, — and put me, a man, and a boy, into a little bad pink,
in which, with much ado, we at last made Falmouth ; though
I believe the Spaniards did not imagine she could possibly
live a day at sea. Upon my return hither, where my wife,
who was of this country, then lived, the squire told me he
was so pleased with the defence I had made against the
enemy, that he did not fear getting me promoted to a lieu-
tenancy of a man-of-war, if I would accept of it ; which I
thankfully assured him I would. Well, sir, two or three years
passed, during which I had many repeated promises, not only
from the squire, but (as he told me) from the lords of the
admiralty. He never returned from London but I was as-
sured I might be satisfied now, for I was certain of the first
vacancy ; and, what surprizes me still, when I reflect on it,
these assurances were given me with no less confidence, after
so many disappointments, than at first. At last, sir, growing
weary, and somewhat suspicious, after so much delay, I wrote
to a friend in London, who I knew had some acquaintance at
the best house in the admiralty, and desired him to back the
squire's interest ; for indeed I feared he had solicited the af-
fair with more coldness than he pretended. And what an-
swer do you think my friend sent me? Truly, sir, he ac-

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quainted me that the squire had never mentioned my name
at the admiralty in his life; and, unless I had much faith-
fuller interest, advised me to give over my pretensions ; which
I immediately did, and, with the concurrence of my wife,
resolved to set up an alehouse, where you are heartily wel-
come; and so my service to you; and may the squire, and
all such sneaking rascals, go to the devil together." — " O
fie ! " says Adams, " O fie ! He is indeed a wicked man ; but
God will, I hope, turn his heart to repentance. Nay, if he
could but once see the meanness of this detestable vice ; would
he but once reflect that he is one of the most scandalous as
well as pernicious liars ; sure he must despise himself to so
intolerable a degree, that it would be impossible for him to
continue a moment in such a course. And to confess the
truth, notwithstanding the baseness of this character, which
he hath too well deserved, he hath in his countenance suffi-
cient symptoms of that bona indoles, that sweetness of dispo-
sition, which furnishes out a good Christian." — " Ah, master!
master ! " says the host, " if you had travelled as far as I have,
and conversed with the many nations where I have traded,
you would not give any credit to a man's countenance.
Symptoms in his countenance, quotha ! I would look there,
perhaps, to see whether a man had the smallpox, but for
nothing else." He spoke this with so little regard to the
parson's observation, that it a good deal nettled him; and,
taking the pipe hastily from his mouth, he thus answered :
' Master of mine, perhaps I have travelled a great deal far-
ther than you without the assistance of a ship. Do you im-
agine sailing by different cities or countries is travelling?
No.

' Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.

I can go farther in an afternoon than you in a twelvemonth.
What, I suppose you have seen the Pillars of Hercules, and
perhaps the walls of Carthage. Nay, you may have heard
Scylla, and seen Charybdis ; you may have entered the closet
where Archimedes was found at the taking of Syracuse. I
suppose you have sailed among the Cyclades, and passed the
famous straits which take their name from the unfortunate

1 60

JOSEPH ANDREWS

Helle, whose fate is sweetly described by Apollonius Rhodius ;
you have passed the very spot, I conceive, where Daedalus
fell into that sea, his waxen wings being melted by the sun ;
you have traversed the Euxine sea, I make no doubt ; nay,
you may have been on the banks of the Caspian, and called
at Colchis, to see if there is ever another golden fleece."
;< Not I, truly, master," answered the host : " I never touched
at any of these places." — " But I have been at all these," re-
plied Adams. ' Then, I suppose," cries the host, " you have
been at the East Indies ; for there are no such, I will be sworn,
either in the West or the Levant." — " Pray where's the Le-
vant ? " quoth Adams ; " that should be in the East Indies
by right." " Oho ! you are a pretty traveller," cries the host,
" and not know the Levant! My service to you, master; you
must not talk of these things with me ! you must not tip us
the traveller ; it won't go here." " Since thou art so dull to
misunderstand me still," quoth Adams, " I will inform thee ;
the travelling I mean is in books, the only way of travelling
by which any knowledge is to be acquired. From them I
learn what I asserted just now, that nature generally imprints
such a portraiture of the mind in the countenance, that a
skilful physiognomist will rarely be deceived. I presume you
have never read the story of Socrates to this purpose, and
therefore I will tell it you. A certain physiognomist asserted
of Socrates, that he plainly discovered by his features that he
was a rogue in his nature. A character so contrary to the
tenor of all this great man's actions, and the generally re-
ceived opinion concerning him, incensed the boys of Athens
so that they threw stones at the physiognomist, and would
have demolished him for his ignorance, had not Socrates
himself prevented them by confessing the truth of his ob-
servations, and acknowledging that, though he corrected his
disposition by philosophy, he was indeed naturally as inclined
to vice as had been predicted of him. Now, pray resolve me,
— How should a man know this story if he had not read it ? "
" Well, master," said the host, " and what signifies it whether
a man knows it or no? He who goes abroad, as I have done,
will always have opportunities enough of knowing the world
without troubling his head with Socrates, or any such fel-
11 161

THE ADVENTURES OF

lows." " Friend," cries Adams, " if a man should sail round
the world, and anchor in every harbour of it, without learn-
ing, he would return home as ignorant as he went out."
" Lord help you! " answered the host; " there was my boat-
swain, poor fellow ! he could scarce either write or read, and
yet he would navigate a ship with any master of a man of
war ; and a very pretty knowledge of trade he had too."
" Trade," answered Adams, " as Aristotle proves in his first
chapter of Politics, is below a philosopher, and unnatural as it
is managed now." The host looked stedfastly at Adams, and
after a minute's silence asked him, if he was one of the writers
of the Gazetteers? "for I have heard," says he, "they are
writ by parsons." " Gazetteers ! " answered Adams ; " What
is that ? " " It is a dirty newspaper," replied the host, " which
hath been given away all over the nation for these many
years, to abuse trade and honest men, which I would not
suffer to lie on my table, though it hath been offered me for
nothing." " Not I truly," said Adams ; " I never write any-
thing but sermons ; and I assure you I am no enemy to trade,
whilst it is consistent with honesty ; nay, I have always looked
on the tradesman as a very valuable member of society, and,
perhaps, inferior to none but the man of learning." " No, I
believe he is not, nor to him neither," answered the host.
" Of what use would learning be in a country without trade?
What would all you parsons do to clothe your backs and
feed your bellies? Who fetches you your silks, and your
linens, and your wines, and all the other necessaries of life?
I speak chiefly with regard to the sailors." " You should say
the extravagancies of life," replied the parson ; " but admit
they were the necessaries, there is something more necessary
than life itself, which is provided by learning; I mean the
learning of the clergy. Who clothes you with piety, meek-
ness, humility, charity, patience, and all the other Christian
virtues? Who feeds your souls with the milk of brotherly
love, and diets them with all the dainty food of holiness,
which at once cleanses them of all impure carnal affections,
and fattens them with the truly rich spirit of grace? Who
doth this ? " " Ay, who, indeed ? " cries the host ; " for I do
not remember ever to have seen any such clothing or such

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

feeding. And so, in the mean time, master, my service to
you." Adams was going to answer with some severity, when
Joseph and Fanny returned and pressed his departure so
eagerly that he would not refuse them ; and so, grasping his
crabstick, he took leave of his host (neither of them being so
well pleased with each other as they had been at their first
sitting down together), and with Joseph and Fanny, who
both expressed much impatience, departed, and now all to-
gether renewed their journey.

163

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

MATTER PREFATORY IN PRAISE OF BIOGRAPHY.

NOTWITHSTANDING the preference which may be
vulgarly given to the authority of those romance-wri-
ters who entitle their books the History of England, the His-
tory of France, of Spain, &c, it is most certain that truth is
to be found only in the works of those who celebrate the lives
of great men, and are commonly called biographers, as the
others should indeed be termed topographers, or chorogra-
phers ; words which might well mark the distinction between
them ; it being the business of the latter chiefly to describe
countries and cities, which, with the assistance of maps, they
do pretty justly, and may be depended upon ; but as to the ac-
tions and characters of men, their writings are not quite so au-
thentic, of which there needs no other proof than those eternal
contradictions occurring between two topographers who un-
dertake the history of the same country : for instance, between
my Lord Clarendon and Mr Whitlock, between Mr Echard
and Rapin, and many others ; where, facts being set forth in
a different light, every reader believes as he pleases ; and,
indeed, the more judicious and suspicious very justly esteem
the whole as no other than a romance, in which the writer
hath indulged a happy and fertile invention. But though
these widely differ in the narrative of facts; some ascribing
victory to the one, and others to the other party ; some repre-
senting the same man as a rogue, to whom others give a great
and honest character; yet all agree in the scene where the
fact is supposed to have happened, and where the person,
who is both a rogue and an honest man, lived. Now with
us biographers the case is different ; the facts we deliver may

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be relied on, though we often mistake the age and country
wherein they happened : for, though it may be worth the
examination of critics, whether the shepherd Chrysostom,
who, as Cervantes informs us, died for love of the fair Mar-
cella, who hated him, was ever in Spain, will any one doubt
but that such a silly fellow hath really existed? Is there in
the world such a sceptic as to disbelieve the madness of Car-
denio, the perfidy of Ferdinand, the impertinent curiosity of
Anselmo, the weakness of Camilla, the irresolute friendship
of Lothario? though perhaps, as to the time and place where
those several persons lived, the good historian may be deplor-
ably deficient. But the most known instance of this kind is
in the true history of Gil Bias, where the inimitable biographer
hath made a notorious blunder in the country of Dr San-
grado, who used his patients as a vintner doth his wine-vessels,
by letting out their blood, and filling them up with water.
Doth not every one, who is the least versed in physical his-
tory, know that Spain was not the country in which this doc-
tor lived ? The same writer hath likewise erred in the country
of his archbishop, as well as that of those great personages
whose understandings were too sublime to taste anything but
tragedy, and in many others. The same mistakes may like-
wise be observed in Scarron, the Arabian Nights, the History
of Marianne and le Paisan Parvenu, and perhaps some few
other writers of this class, whom I have not read, or do not
at present recollect; for I would by no means be thought to
comprehend those persons of surprizing genius, the authors
of immense romances, or the modern novel and Atalantis
writers ; who, without any assistance from nature or history,
record persons who never were, or will be, and facts which
never did, nor possibly can, happen ; whose heroes are of their
own creation, and their brains the chaos whence all the mate-
rials are selected. Not that such writers deserve no honour ; so
far otherwise, that perhaps they merit the highest; for what
can be nobler than to be as an example of the wonderful ex-
tent of human genius ? One may apply to them what Balzac
says of Aristotle, that they are a second nature (for they
have no communication with the first; by which, authors of
an inferior class, who cannot stand alone, are obliged to sup-
port themselves as with crutches) ; but these of whom I am

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now speaking seem to be possessed of those stilts, which the
excellent Voltaire tells us, in his letters, " carry the genius
far off, but without any regular pace." Indeed, far out of
the sight of the reader,

Beyond the realms of Chaos and old Night.

But to return to the former class, who are contented to
copy nature, instead of forming originals from the confused
heap of matter in their own brains ; is not such a book as
that which records the achievements of the renowned Don
Quixote more worthy the name of a history than even Mari-
ana's : for, whereas the latter is confined to a particular period
of time, and to a particular nation, the former is the history
of the world in general, at least that part which is polished
by laws, arts, and sciences ; and of that from the time it was
first polished to this day; nay, and forwards as long as it
shall so remain?

I shall now proceed to apply these observations to the work
before us ; for indeed I have set them down principally to
obviate some constructions which the good-nature of mankind,
who are always forward to see their friends' virtues recorded,
may put to particular parts. I question not but several of
my readers will know the lawyer in the stage-coach the mo-
ment they hear his voice. It is likewise odds but the wit and
the prude meet with some of their acquaintance, as well as
all the rest of my characters. To prevent therefore any such
malicious applications, I declare here, once for all, I describe
not men, but manners ; not an individual, but a species. Per-
haps it will be answered, are not the characters then taken
from life? To which I answer in the affirmative; nay, I
believe I might aver that I have writ little more than I have
seen. The lawyer is not only alive, but hath been so these four
thousand years ; and I hope God will indulge his life as many
yet to come. He hath not indeed confined himself to one pro-
fession, one religion, or one country; but when the first mean
selfish creature appeared on the human stage, who made self
the centre of the whole creation, would give himself no pain,
incur no danger, advance no money, to assist or preserve his
fellow-creatures ; then was our lawyer born ; and, whilst such

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a person as I have described exists on earth, so long shall
he remain upon it. It is therefore doing him little honour
to imagine he endeavours to mimic some little obscure fel-
low, because he happens to resemble him in one particular
feature, or perhaps in his profession ; whereas his appearance
in the world is calculated for much more general and noble
purposes ; not to expose one pitiful wretch to the small and
contemptible circle of his acquaintance ; but to hold the glass *
to thousands in their closets, that they may contemplate their
deformity, and endeavour to reduce it, and thus by suffering
private mortification may avoid public shame. This places
the boundary between, and distinguishes the satirist from the
libeller : for the former privately corrects the fault for the
benefit of the person, like a parent ; the latter publicly ex-
poses the person himself, as an example to others, like an
executioner.

There are besides little circumstances to be considered ; as
the drapery of a picture, which though fashion varies at dif-
ferent times, the resemblance of the countenance is not by
those means diminished. Thus I believe we may venture to
say Mrs Tow-wouse is coeval with our lawyer : and, though
perhaps, during the changes which so long an existence must
have passed through, she may in her turn have stood behind
the bar at an inn, I will not scruple to affirm she hath likewise
in the revolution of ages sat on a throne. In short, where
extreme turbulency of temper, avarice, and an insensibility
of human misery, with a degree of hypocrisy, have united
in a female composition, Mrs Tow-wouse was that woman;
and where a good inclination, eclipsed by a poverty of spirit
and understanding, hath glimmered forth in a man, that man
hath been no other than her sneaking husband.

I shall detain my reader no longer than to give him one
caution more of an opposite kind : for, as in most of our
particular characters we mean not to lash individuals, but all
of the like sort, so, in our general descriptions, we mean not
universals, but would be understood with many exceptions :
for instance, in our description of high people, we cannot be
intended to include such as, whilst they are an honour to
their high rank, by a well-guided condescension make their
superiority as easy as possible to those whom fortune chiefly

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hath placed below them. Of this number I could name a
peer no less elevated by nature than by fortune ; who, whilst
he wears the noblest ensigns of honour on his person, bears
the truest stamp of dignity on his mind, adorned with great-
ness, enriched with knowledge, and embellished with genius.
I have seen this man relieve with generosity, while he hath
conversed with freedom, and be to the same person a patron
and a companion. I could name a commoner, raised higher
above the multitude by superior talents than is in the power
of his prince to exalt him ; whose behaviour to those he hath
obliged is more amiable than the obligation itself; and who
is so great a master of affability, that, if he could divest him-
self of an inherent greatness in his manner, would often make
the lowest of his acquaintance forget who was the master
of that palace in which they are so courteously entertained.
These are pictures which must be, I believe, known: I de-
clare they are taken from the life, and not intended to exceed
it. By those high people, therefore, whom I have described,
I mean a set of wretches, who, while they are a disgrace
to their ancestors, whose honours and fortunes they inherit
(or perhaps a greater to their mother, for such degeneracy
is scarce credible), have the insolence to treat those with dis-
regard who are at least equal to the founders of their own
splendour. It is, I fancy, impossible to conceive a spectacle
more worthy of our indignation, than that of a fellow, who is
not only a blot in the escutcheon of a great family, but a
scandal to the human species, maintaining a supercilious be-
haviour to men who are an honour to their nature and a dis-
grace to their fortune.

And now, reader, taking these hints along with you, you
may, if you please, proceed to the sequel of this our true
history.

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CHAPTER II.

A NIGHT-SCENE, WHEREIN SEVERAL WONDERFUL ADVENTURES
BEFEL ADAMS AND HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.

IT was so late when our travellers left the inn or alehouse
(for it might be called either), that they had not travelled
many miles before night overtook them, or met them, which
you please. The reader must excuse me if I am not par-
ticular as to the way they took ; for, as we are now drawing
near the seat of the Boobies, and as that is a ticklish name,
which malicious persons may apply, according to their evil
inclinations, to several worthy country squires, a race of men
whom we look upon as entirely inoffensive, and for whom we
have an adequate regard, we shall lend no assistance to any
such malicious purposes.

Darkness had now overspread the hemisphere, when Fanny
whispered Joseph that she begged to rest herself a little ; for
that she was so tired she could walk no farther. Joseph im-
mediately prevailed with parson Adams, who was as brisk
as a bee, to stop. He had no sooner seated himself than he
lamented the loss of his dear vEschylus ; but was a little com-
forted when reminded that, if he had it in his possession, he
could not see to read.

The sky was so clouded, that not a star appeared. It was
indeed, according to Milton, darkness visible. This was a
circumstance, however, very favourable to Joseph ; for Fanny,
not suspicious of being overseen by Adams, gave a loose to
her passion which she had never done before, and, reclining
her head on his bosom, threw her arm carelessly round him,
and suffered him to lay his cheek close to hers. All this in-
fused such happiness into Joseph, that he would not have
changed his turf for the finest down in the finest palace in the
universe.

Adams sat at some distance from the lovers, and, being
unwilling to disturb them, applied himself to meditation; in
which he had not spent much time before he discovered a
light at some distance that seemed approaching towards him.
He immediately hailed it; but, to his sorrow and surprize, it

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stopped for a moment, and then disappeared. He then called
to Joseph, asking him, if he had not seen the light? Joseph
answered, he had. — " And did you not mark how it vanished?"
returned he : " though I am not afraid of ghosts, I do not
absolutely disbelieve them."

He then entered into a meditation on those unsubstantial
beings ; which was soon interrupted by several voices, which
he thought almost at his elbow, though in fact they were not
so extremely near. However, he could distinctly hear them
agree on the murder of any one they met; and a little after
heard one of them say, he had killed a dozen since that day
fortnight.

Adams now fell on his knees, and committed himself to the
care of Providence; and poor Fanny, who likewise heard
those terrible words, embraced Joseph so closely, that had
not he, whose ears were also open, been apprehensive on her
account, he would have thought no danger which threatened
only himself too dear a price for such embraces.

Joseph now drew forth his penknife, and Adams, having
finished his ejaculations, grasped his crab-stick, his only wea-
pon, and, coming up to Joseph, would have had him quit
Fanny, and place her in the rear ; but his advice was fruitless ;
she clung closer to him, not at all regarding the presence of
Adams, and in a soothing voice declared, she would die in
his arms. Joseph, clasping her with inexpressible eagerness,
whispered her, that he preferred death in hers to life out of
them. Adams, brandishing his crabstick, said, he despised
death as much as any man, and then repeated aloud,

Est hie, est animus lucis contemptor et ilium,
Qui vita bene credat emi quo tendis, honorem.

Upon this the voices ceased for a moment, and then one
of them called out, " D — n you, who is there ? " To which
Adams was prudent enough to make no reply ; and of a sud-
den he observed half-a-dozen lights, which seemed to rise
all at once from the ground and advance briskly towards him.
This he immediately concluded to be an apparition ; and now,
beginning to conceive that the voices were of the same kind,
he called out, " In the name of the Lord, what wouldst thou

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

have ? " He had no sooner spoke than he heard one of the
voices cry out, " D — n them, here they come ; " and soon after
heard several hearty blows, as if a number of men had been
engaged at quarterstaff. He was just advancing towards the
place of combat, when Joseph, catching him by the skirts,
begged him that they might take the opportunity of the dark
to convey away Fanny from the danger which threatened her.
He presently complied, and, Joseph lifting up Fanny, they all
three made the best of their way ; and without looking behind
them or being overtaken, they had travelled full two miles,
poor Fanny not once complaining of being tired, when they
saw afar off several lights scattered at a small distance from
each other, and at the same time found themselves on the
descent of a very steep hill. Adams's foot slipping, he in-
stantly disappeared, which greatly frightened both Joseph
and Fanny: indeed, if the light had permitted them to see it,
they would scarce have refrained laughing to see the parson
rolling down the hill ; which he did from top to bottom, with-
out receiving any harm. He then hollowed as loud as he
could, to inform them of his safety, and relieve them from
the fears which they had conceived for him. Joseph and
Fanny halted some time, considering what to do ; at last they
advanced a few paces, where the declivity seemed least steep ;
and then Joseph, taking his Fanny in his arms, walked firmly
down the hill, without making a false step, and at length
landed her at the bottom, where Adams soon came to them.

Learn hence, my fair countrywomen, to consider your owri^v
weakness, and the many occasions on which the strength of
a man may be useful to you; and, duly weighing this, take
care that you match not yourselves with the spindle-shanked v
beaux and pctit-mditres of the age, who, instead of being able,
like Joseph Andrews, to carry you in lusty arms through the
rugged ways and downhill steeps of life, will rather want to
support their feeble limbs with your strength and assistance.

Our travellers now moved forwards where the nearest light
presented itself; and, having crossed a common field, they
came to a meadow, where they seemed to be at a very little
distance from the light, when, to their grief, they arrived at
the banks of a river. Adams here made a full stop, and de-
clared he could swim, but doubted how it was possible to get

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Fanny over : to which Joseph answered, if they walked along
its banks, they might be certain of soon finding a bridge,
especially as by the number of lights they might be assured
a parish was near. " Odso, that's true indeed," said Adams ;
" I did not think of that."

Accordingly, Joseph's advice being taken, they passed over
two meadows, and came to a little orchard, which led them
to a house. Fanny begged of Joseph to knock at the door,
assuring him she was so weary that she could hardly stand on
her feet. Adams, who was foremost, performed this cere-
mony; and, the door being immediately opened, a plain kind
of man appeared at it : Adams acquainted him that they had
a young woman with them who was so tired with her journey
that he should be much obliged to him if he would surfer her
to come in and rest herself. The man, who saw Fanny by
the light of the candle which he held in his hand, perceiving
her innocent and modest look, and having no apprehensions
from the civil behaviour of Adams, presently answered, that
the young woman was very welcome to rest herself in his
house, and so were her company. He then ushered them into
a very' decent room, where his wife was sitting at a table :
she immediately rose up, and assisted them in setting forth
chairs, and desired them to sit down; which they had no
sooner done than the man of the house asked them if they
would have anything to refresh themselves with ? Adams
thanked him, and answered he should be obliged to him for a
cup of his ale, which was likewise chosen by Joseph and
Fanny. Whilst he was gone to fill a very large jug with
this liquor, his wife told Fanny she seemed greatly fatigued,
and desired her to take something stronger than ale ; but she
refused with many thanks, saying it was true she was very
much tired, but a little rest she hoped would restore her.
As soon as the company were all seated, Mr Adams, who had
filled himself with ale, and by public permission had lighted
his pipe, turned to the master of the house, asking him, if
evil spirits did not use to walk in that neighbourhood? To
which receiving no answer, he began to inform him of the
adventure which they had met with on the downs ; nor had
he proceeded far in the story when somebody knocked very
hard at the door. The company expressed some amazement,

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

and Fanny and the good woman turned pale: her husband
went forth, and whilst he was absent, which was some time,
they all remained silent, looking at one another, and heard
several voices discoursing pretty loudly. Adams was fully
persuaded that spirits were abroad, and began to meditate
some exorcisms ; Joseph a little inclined to the same opinion ;
Fanny was more afraid of men; and the good woman herself
began to suspect her guests, and imagined those without were
rogues belonging to their gang. At length the master of the
house returned, and, laughing, told Adams he had discovered
his apparition ; that the murderers were sheep-stealers, and the
twelve persons murdered were no other than twelve sheep ;
adding, that the shepherds had got the better of them, had
secured two, and were proceeding with them to a justice of
peace. This account greatly relieved the fears of the whole
company ; but Adams muttered to himself, he was convinced
of the truth of apparitions for all that.

They now sat cheerfully round the fire, till the master of
the house, having surveyed his guests, and conceiving that
the cassock, which, having fallen down, appeared under
Adams's great-coat, and the shabby livery on Joseph Andrews,
did not well suit with the familiarity between them, began
to entertain some suspicions not much to their advantage :
addressing himself therefore to Adams, he said, he perceived
he was a clergyman by his dress, and supposed that honest
man was his footman. " Sir," answered Adams, " I am a
clergyman at your service ; but as to that young man, whom
you have rightly termed honest, he is at present in nobody's
service; he never lived in any other family than that
of Lady Booby, from whence he was discharged, I assure you,
for no crime." Joseph said, he did not wonder the gentle-
man was surprized to see one of Mr Adams's character con-
descend to so much goodness with a poor man. " Child," said
Adams, " I should be ashamed of my cloth if I thought a poor
man, who is honest, below my notice or my familiarity. I
know not how those who think otherwise can profess them-
selves followers and servants of Him who made no distinction,
unless, peradventure, by preferring the poor to the rich. — Sir,"
said he, addressing himself to the gentleman, " these two
poor young people are my parisioners, and I look on them

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and love them as my children. There is something singular
enough in their history, but I have not now time to recount
it." The master of the house, notwithstanding the simplicity
which discovered itself in Adams, knew too much of the world
to give a hasty belief to professions. He was not yet quite
certain that Adams had any more of the clergyman in him
than his cassock. To try him therefore further, he asked him,
if Mr Pope had lately published anything new? Adams
answered, he had heard great commendations of that poet,
but that he had never read nor knew any of his works. " Ho !
ho ! " says the gentleman to himself, " have I caught you ?
What ! " said he, " have you never seen his Homer ? " Adams
answered, he had never read any translation of the classics.
" Why, truly," replied the gentleman, " there is a dignity in
the Greek language which I think no modern tongue can
reach." — "Do you understand Greek, sir?" said Adams
hastily. "A little, sir," answered the gentleman. "Do you
know, sir," cried Adams, " where I can buy an iEschylus ? an
unlucky misfortune lately happened to mine." ^schylus was
beyond the gentleman, though he knew him very well by
name; he therefore, returning back to Homer, asked Adams,
what part of the Iliad he thought most excellent? Adams
returned, his question would be properer, What kind of beauty
was the chief in poetry ? for that Homer was equally excellent
in them all. " And, indeed," continued he, " what Cicero
says of a complete orator may well be applied to a great poet :
He ought to comprehend all perfections. Homer did this
in the most excellent degree ; it is not without reason, there-
fore, that the philosopher, in the twenty-second chapter of his
Poetics, mentions him by no other appellation than that of
the Poet. He was the father of the drama as well as the
epic; not of tragedy only, but of comedy also; for his Mar-
gites, which is deplorably lost, bore, says Aristotle, the same
analogy to comedy as his Odyssey and Iliad to tragedy. To
him, therefore, we owe Aristophanes as well as Euripides,
Sophocles, and my poor ^Eschylus. But if you please we
will confine ourselves (at least for the present) to the Iliad,
his noblest work ; though neither Aristotle nor Horace give
it the preference, as I remember, to the Odyssey. First, then,
as to his subject, can anything be more simple, and at the

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

same time more noble? He is rightly praised by the first of
those judicious critics for not choosing the whole war, which,
though he says it hath a complete beginning and end, would
have been too great for the understanding to comprehend at
one view. I have, therefore, often wondered why so correct
a writer as Horace should, in his epistle to Lollius, call him
the Trojani Belli Scriptorem. Secondly, his action, termed
by Aristotle, Pragmaton Systasis ; is it possible for the mind
of man to conceive an idea of such perfect unity, and at the
same time so replete with greatness? And here I must ob-
serve, what I do not remember to have seen noted by any,
the Harmotton, that agreement of his action to his subject :
for, as the subject is anger, how agreeable is his action, which
is war; from which every incident arises and to which every
episode immediately relates. Thirdly, his manners, which
Aristotle places second in his description of the several parts
of tragedy, and which he says are included in the action;
I am at a loss whether I should rather admire the exactness
of his judgment in the nice distinction or the immensity of his
imagination in their variety. For, as to the former of
these, how accurately is the sedate, injured resentment of
Achilles, distinguished from the hot, insulting passion of
Agamemnon ! How widely doth the brutal courage of Ajax
differ from the amiable bravery of Diomedes ; and the wis-
dom of Nestor, which is the result of long reflection and ex-
perience, from the cunning of Ulysses, the effect of art and
subtlety only ! If we consider their variety, we may cry out,
with Aristotle in his 24th chapter, that no part of this divine
poem is destitute of manners. Indeed, I might affirm that
there is scarce a character in human nature untouched in some
part or other. And, as there is no passion which he is not
able to describe, so is there none in his reader which he can-
not raise. If he hath any superior excellence to the rest, I
have been inclined to fancy it is in the pathetic. I am sure
I never read with dry eyes the two episodes where Androm-
ache is introduced in the former lamenting the danger, and
in the latter the death, of Hector. The images are so ex-
tremely tender in these, that I am convinced the poet had
the worthiest and best heart imaginable. Nor can I help ob-
serving how Sophocles falls short of the beauties of the origi-
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THE ADVENTURES OF

nal, in that imitation of the dissuasive speech of Andromache
which he hath put into the mouth of Tecmessa. And yet
Sophocles was the greatest genius who ever wrote tragedy;
nor have any of his successors in that art, that is to say, neither
Euripides nor Seneca the tragedian, been able to come near
him. As to his sentiments and diction, I need say nothing;
the former are particularly remarkable for the utmost per-
fection on that head, namely, propriety; and as to the latter,
Aristotle, whom doubtless you have read over and over, is
very diffuse. I shall mention but one thing more, which that
great critic in his division of tragedy calls Opsis, or the
scenery; and which is as proper to the epic as to the drama,
with this difference, that in the former it falls to the share of
the poet, and in the latter to that of the painter. But did ever
painter imagine a scene like that in the 13th and 14th Iliads?
where the reader sees at one view the prospect of Troy, with
the army drawn up before it; the Grecian army, camp, and
fleet ; Jupiter sitting on Mount Ida, with his head wrapt in a
cloud, and a thunderbolt in his hand, looking towards Thrace ;
Neptune driving through the sea, which divides on each side
to permit his passage, and then seating himself on Mount
Samos ; the heavens opened, and the deities all seated on
their thrones. This is sublime ! This is poetry ! " Adams
then rapt out a hundred Greek verses, and with such a voice,
emphasis, and action, that he almost frightened the women ;
and as for the gentleman, he was so far from entertaining any
further suspicion of Adams, that he now doubted whether
he had not a bishop in his house. He ran into the most ex-
travagant encomiums on his learning ; and the goodness of his
heart began to dilate to all the strangers. He said he had
great compassion for the poor young woman, who looked
pale and faint with her journey ; and in truth he conceived a
much higher opinion of her quality than it deserved. He said
he was sorry he could not accommodate them all : but if they
were contented with his fire-side, he would set up with the
men ; and. the young woman might, if she pleased, partake his
wife's bed, which he advised her to; for that they must walk-
up vards of a mile to any house of entertainment, and
that not very good neither. Adams, who liked his seat, his
ale, his tobacco, and his company, persuaded Fanny to accept

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

this kind proposal, in which solicitation he was seconded by
Joseph. Nor was she very difficultly prevailed on ; for she
had slept little the last night and not at all the preceding;
so that love itself was scarce able to keep her eyes open any
longer. The offer therefore being kindly accepted, the good
woman produced everything eatable in her house on the table,
and the guests, being heartily invited, as heartily regaled them-
selves, especially parson Adams. As to the other two, they
were examples of the truth of that physical observation, that
love, like other sweet things, is no whetter of the stomach.

Supper was no sooner ended, than Fanny at her own re-
quest retired, and the good woman bore her company. The
man of the house, Adams, and Joseph, who would modestly
have withdrawn, had not the gentleman insisted on the con-
trary, drew round the fire-side, where Adams (to use his own
words) replenished his pipe, and the gentleman produced a
bottle of excellent beer, being the best liquor in his house.

The modest behaviour of Joseph, with the gracefulness of
his person, the character which Adams gave of him, and the
friendship he seemed to entertain for him, began to work on
the gentleman's affections, and raised in him a curiosity to
know the singularity which Adams had mentioned in his his-
tory. This curiosity Adams was no sooner informed of than,
with Joseph's consent, he agreed to gratify it; and accordingly
related all he knew, with as much tenderness as was possible
for the character of Lady Booby; and concluded with the
long, faithful, and mutual passion between him and Fanny,
not concealing the meanness of her birth and education.
These latter circumstances entirely cured a jealousy which
had lately risen in the gentleman's mind, that Fanny was the
daughter of some person of fashion, and that Joseph had
run away with her, and Adams was concerned in the plot.
He was now enamoured of his guests, drank their healths
with great cheerfulness, and returned many thanks to Adams,
who had spent much breath, for he was a circumstantial
teller of a story.

Adams told him it was now in his power to return that
favour; for his extraordinary goodness, as well as that fund
of literature he was master of,* which he did not expect to

* The author hath by some been represented to have made a blunder
12 I?7

THE ADVENTURES OF

find under such a roof, had raised in him more curiosity than
he had ever known. " Therefore," said he, " if it be not too
troublesome, sir, your history if you please."

The gentleman answered, he could not refuse him what
he had so much right to insist on; and after some of the
common apologies, which are the usual preface to a story, he
thus began.

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE GENTLEMAN RELATES THE HISTORY OF

HIS LIFE.

SIR, I am descended of a good family, and was born a
gentleman. My education was liberal, and at a public
school, in which I proceeded so far as to become master of
the Latin, and to be tolerably versed in the Greek language.
My father died when I was sixteen, and left me master of
myself. He bequeathed me a moderate fortune, which he
intended I should not receive till I attained the age of twenty-
five : for he constantly asserted that was full early enough
to give up any man entirely to the guidance of his own dis-
cretion. However, as this intention was so obscurely worded
in his will that the lawyers advised me to contest the point
with my trustees, I own I paid so little regard to the incli-
nations of my dead father, which were sufficiently certain to

here: for Adams had indeed shown some learning (say they), perhaps
all the author had ; but the gentleman hath shown none, unless his ap-
probation of Mr. Adams be such : but surely it would be preposterous
in him to call it so. I have, however, notwithstanding this criticism,
which I am told came from the mouth of a great orator in a public
coffee-house, left this blunder as it stood in the first edition. I will
not have the vanity to apply to anything in this work the observation
which M. Dacier makes in her preface to her Aristophanes : Je tiens
pour une maxime constante, qu'une bcaute mediocre plait plus generalc-
ment qu'une beaute sans defaut. Mr. Congreve hath made such an-
other blunder in his Love for Love, where Tattle tells Miss Prue,
' She should admire him as much for the beauty he commends in her
as if he himself was possessed of it.'

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

me, that I followed their advice, and soon succeeded, for the
trustees did not contest the matter very obstinately on their
side. " Sir," said Adams, " may I crave the favour of your
name?" The gentleman answered his name was Wilson,
and then proceeded.

I stayed a very little while at school after his death ; for,
being a forward youth, I was extremely impatient to be in
the world, for which I thought my parts, knowledge, and
manhood, thoroughly qualified me. And to this early intro-
duction into life, without a guide, I impute all my future
misfortunes ; for, besides the obvious mischiefs which attend
this, there is one which hath not been so generally observed :
the first impression which mankind receives of you will be
very difficult to eradicate. How unhappy, therefore, must it
be to fix your character in life, before you can possibly know
its value, or weigh the consequences of those actions which
are to establish your future reputation !

A little under seventeen I left my scnool, and went to Lon-
don with no more than six pounds in my pocket : a great sum,
as I then conceived ; and which I was afterwards surprized
to find so soon consumed.

The character I was ambitious of attaining was that of a
fine gentleman; the first requisites to which I apprehended
were to be supplied by a tailor, a periwig-maker, and some
few more tradesmen, who deal in furnishing out the human
body. Notwithstanding the lowness of my purse, I found
credit with them more easily than I expected, and was soon
equipped to my wish. This I own then agreeably surprized
me ; but I have since learned that it is a maxim among many
tradesmen at the polite end of the town to deal as largely as
they can, reckon as high as they can, and arrest as soon as they
can.

The next qualifications, namely, dancing, fencing, riding
the great horse, and music, came into my head : but, as they
required expense and time, I comforted myself, with regard
to dancing, that I had learned a little in my youth, and could
walk a minuet genteelly enough ; as to fencing, I thought
my good-humour would preserve me from the danger of a
quarrel ; as to the horse, I hoped it would not be thought of ;
and for music, I imagined I could easily acquire the reputa-

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THE ADVENTURES OF

tion of it ; for I had heard some of my school-fellows pretend
to knowledge in operas, without being able to sing or play
on the fiddle.

Knowledge of the town seemed another ingredient; this
I thought I should arrive at by frequenting public places.
Accordingly I paid constant attendance to them all ; by which
means I was soon master of the fashionable phrases, learned
to cry up the fashionable diversions, and knew the names and
faces of the most fashionable men and women.

Nothing now seemed to remain but an intrigue, which I
was resolved to have immediately; I mean the reputation of
it ; and indeed I was so successful, that in a very short time
I had half-a-dozen with the finest women in the town.

At these words Adams fetched a deep groan, and then,
blessing himself, cried out, "Good Lord! what wicked times
these are ! "

Not so wicked as you imagine, continued the gentleman ;
for I assure you they were all vestal virgins for anything
which I knew to the contrary. The reputation of intriguing
with them was all I sought, and was what I arrived at : and
perhaps I only flattered myself even in that ; for very prob-
ably the persons to whom I showed their billets knew as
well as I that they were counterfeits, and that I had written
them to myself. " Write letters to yourself ! " said Adams,
staring. O sir, answered the gentleman, it is the very error
of the times. Half our modern plays have one of these char-
acters in them. It is incredible the pains I have taken, and
the absurd methods I employed, to traduce the character of
women of distinction. When another had spoken in raptures
of any one, I have answered, " D — n her, she ! We shall

have her at H d's very soon." When he hath replied,

he thought her virtuous, I have answered, " Aye, thou wilt
always think a woman virtuous, till she is in the streets ;
but you and I, Jack or Tom (turning to another in company),
know better." At which I have drawn a paper out of my
pocket, perhaps a tailor's bill, and kissed it, crying at the
same time, " By Gad I was once fond of her."

' Proceed, if you please, but do not swear any more," said
Adams.

Sir, said the gentleman, I ask your pardon. Well, sir, in

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

this course of life I continued full three years — " What course
of life?" answered Adams; "I do not remember you have
mentioned any." — Your remark is just, said the gentleman,
smiling; I should rather have said, in this course of doing
nothing. I remember some time afterwards I wrote the jour-
nal of one day, which would serve, I believe, as well for any
other during the whole time. I will endeavour to repeat it
to you.

In the morning I arose, took my great stick, and walked
out in my green frock, with my hair in papers (a groan from
Adams), and sauntered about till ten. Went to the auction;
told lady she had a dirty face ; laughed heartily at some-
thing captain said, I can't remember what, for I did

not very well hear it ; whispered lord ; bowed to the duke

of ; and was going to bid for a snuff-box, but did not,

for fear I should have had it.

From 2 to 4, drest myself. A groan.
4 to 6, dined. A groan.
6 to 8, coffee-house.

8 to 9, Drury-lane playhouse.

9 to 10, Lincoln's Inn Fields.

10 to 12, Drawing-room. A great groan.

At all which places nothing happened worth remark.

At which Adams said, with some vehemence, " Sir, this is
below the life of an animal, hardly above vegetation : and I
am surprized what could lead a man of your sense into it."
What leads us into more follies than you imagine, doctor, an-
swered the gentleman — vanity ; for as contemptible a creature
as I was, and I assure you, yourself cannot have more con-
tempt for such a wretch than I now have, I then admired
myself, and should have despised a person of your present
appearance (you will pardon me), with all your learning
and those excellent qualities which I have remarked in you.
Adams bowed, and begged him to proceed. After I had con-
tinued two years in this course of life, said the gentleman,
an accident happened which obliged me to change the scene.
As I was one day at St James's coffee-house, making very
free with the character of a young lady of quality, an officer

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THE ADVENTURES OF

of the guards, who was present, thought proper to give me
the lie. I answered I might possibly be mistaken, but I
intended to tell no more than the truth. To which he made
no reply but by a scornful sneer. After this I observed a
strange coldness in all my acquaintance; none of them spoke
to me first, and very few returned me even the civility of a
bow. The company I used to dine with left me out, and
within a week I found myself in as much solitude at St
James's as if I had been in a desert. An honest elderly man,
with a great hat and long sword, at last told me he had a
compassion for my youth, and therefore advised me to show
the world I was not such a rascal as they thought me to be.
I did not at first understand him ; but he explained himself,
and ended with telling me, if I would write a challenge to
the captain, he would, out of pure charity, go to him with it.
" A very charitable person, truly ! " cried Adams. I desired
till the next day, continued the gentleman, to consider on it,
and, retiring to my lodgings, I weighed the consequences on
both sides as fairly as I could. On the one, I saw the risk
of this alternative, either losing my own life, or having on
my hands the blood of a man with whom I was not in the least
angry. I soon determined that the good which appeared on
the other was not worth this hazard. I therefore resolved
to quit the scene, and presently retired to the Temple, where I
took chambers. Here I soon got a fresh set of acquaintance,
who knew nothing of what had happened to me. Indeed, they
were not greatly to my approbation ; for the beaux of the
Temple are only the shadows of the others. They are the
affectation of affectation. The vanity of these is still more
ridiculous, if possible, than of the others. Here I met with
smart fellows who drank with lords they did not know, and
intrigued with women they never saw. Covent Garden was
now the farthest stretch of my ambition ; where I shone forth
in the balconies at the playhouses, visited whores, made love
to orange-wenches, and damned plays. This career was soon
put a stop to by my surgeon, who convinced me of the neces-
sity of confining myself to my room for a month. At the end
of which, having had leisure to reflect, I resolved to quit all
farther conversation with beaux and smarts of every kind,
and to avoid, if possible, any occasion of returning to this

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

place of confinement. " I think," said Adams, " the advice
of a month's retirement and reflection was very proper; but
I should rather have expected it from a divine than a sur-
geon." The gentleman smiled at Adams's simplicity, and,
without explaining himself farther on such an odious sub-
ject, went on thus : I was no sooner perfectly restored to
health than I found my passion for women, which I was
afraid to satisfy as I had done, made me very uneasy ; I deter-
mined, therefore, to keep a mistress. Nor was I long before I
fixed my choice on a young woman, who had before been kept
by two gentlemen, and to whom I was recommended by a
celebrated bawd. I took her home to my chambers, and made
her a settlement during cohabitation. This would, perhaps,
have been very ill paid : however, she did not suffer me to be
perplexed on that account; for, before quarter-day, I found
her at my chambers in too familiar conversation with a young
fellow who was drest like an officer, but was indeed a city
apprentice. Instead of excusing her inconstancy, she rapped
out half-a-dozen oaths, and, snapping her fingers at me, swore
she scorned to confine herself to the best man in England.
Upon this we parted, and the same bawd presently provided
her another keeper. I was not so much concerned at our
separation as I found, within a day or two, I had reason to
be for our meeting; for I was obliged to pay a second visit
to my surgeon. I was now forced to do penance for some
weeks, during which time I contracted an acquaintance with
a beautiful young girl, the daughter of a gentleman who, after
having been forty years in the army, and in all the campaigns
under the Duke of Marlborough, died a lieutenant on half
pay, and had left a widow, with this only child, in very distrest
circumstances : they had only a small pension from the gov-
ernment, with what little the daughter could add to it by her
work, for she had great excellence at her needle. This girl
was, at my first acqaintance with her, solicited in marriage
by a young fellow in good circumstances. He was apprentice
to a linen-draper, and had a little fortune, sufficient to set up
his trade. The mother was greatly pleased with this match,
as indeed she had sufficient reason. However, I soon pre-
vented it. I represented him in so low a light to his mistress,
and made so good an use of flattery, promises, and presents,

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THE ADVENTURES OF

that, not to dwell longer on this subject than is necessary, I
prevailed with the poor girl, and conveyed her away from her
mother! In a word, I debauched her. — (At which words
Adams started up, fetched three strides across the room, and
then replaced himself in his chair.) You are not more af-
fected with this part of my story than myself; I assure you
it will never be sufficiently repented of in my own opinion :
but, if you already detest it, how much more will your indigna-
tion be raised when you hear the fatal conseqences of this bar-
barous, this villanous action ! If you please, therefore, I will
here desist. — " By no means," cries Adams ; " go on, I beseech
you ; and Heaven grant you may sincerely repent of this and
many other things you have related ! " — I was now, continued
the gentleman, as happy as the possession of a fine young crea-
ture, who had a good education, and was endued with many
agreeable qualities, could make me. We lived some months
with vast fondness together, without any company or conver-
sation, more than we found in one another : but this could not
continue always ; and, though I still preserved a great affec-
tion for her, I began more and more to want relief of other
company, and consequently to leave her by degrees — at last,
whole days to herself. She failed not to testify some uneasi-
ness on these occasions, and complained of the melancholy
life she led; to remedy which, I introduced her into the ac-
quaintance of some other kept mistresses, with whom she
used to play at cards, and frequent plays and other diversions.
She had not lived long in this intimacy before I perceived a
visible alteration in her behaviour ; all her modesty and inno-
cence vanished by degrees, till her mind became thoroughly
tainted. She affected the company of rakes, gave herself all
manner of airs, was never easy but abroad, or when she had
a party at my chambers. She was rapacious of money, ex-
travagant to excess, loose in her conversation ; and, if ever I
demurred to any of her demands, oaths, tears, and fits were
the immediate consequences. As the first raptures of fondness
were long since over, this behaviour soon estranged my affec-
tions from her; I began to reflect with pleasure that she was
not my wife, and to conceive an intention of parting with her;
of which having given her a hint, she took care to prevent
me the pains of turning her out of doors, and accordingly

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

departed herself, having first broken open my escritoire, and
taken with her all she could find, to the amount of about 200/.
In the first heat of my resentment I resolved to pursue her
with all the vengeance of the law : but, as she had the good
luck to escape me during that ferment, my passion afterwards
cooled ; and, having reflected that I had been the first ag-
gressor, and had done her an injury for which I could make
her no reparation, by robbing her of the innocence of her
mind ; and hearing at the same time that the poor old woman
her mother had broke her heart on her daughter's elopement
from her, I, concluding myself her murderer (" As you very
well might," cries Adams, with a groan), was pleased that
God Almighty had taken this method of punishing me, and re-
solved quietly to submit to the loss. Indeed, I could wish I
had never heard more of the poor creature, who became in the
end an abandoned profligate; and, after being some years a
common prostitute, at last ended her miserable life in New-
gate.— Here the gentleman fetched a deep sigh, which Mr
Adams echoed very loudly ; and both continued silent, looking
on each other for some minutes. At last the gentleman pro-
ceeded thus : I had been perfectly constant to this girl during
the whole time I kept her : but she had scarce departed before
I discovered more marks of her infidelity to me than the
loss of my money. In short, I was forced to make a third
visit to my surgeon, out of whose hands I did not get a hasty
discharge.

I now forswore all future dealings with the sex, complained
loudly that the pleasure did not compensate the pain, and
railed at the beautiful creatures in as gross language as
Juvenal himself formerly reviled them in. I looked on all
the town harlots with a detestation not easy to be conceived,
their persons appeared to me as painted palaces, inhabited
by Disease and Death : nor could their beauty make them
more desirable objects in my eyes than gilding could make
me covet a pill, or golden plates a coffin. But though I was
no longer the absolute slave, I found some reasons to
own myself still the subject, of love. My hatred for women
decreased daily; and I am not positive but time might have
betrayed me again to some common harlot, had I not been
secured bv a passion for the charming Sapphira, which, hav-

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THE ADVENTURES OF

ing once entered upon, made a violent progress in my heart.
Sapphira was wife to a man of fashion and gallantry, and
one who seemed, I own, every way worthy of her affections;
which, however, he had not the reputation of having. She
was indeed a coquette achevee. " Pray, sir," says Adams,
" what is a coquette? I have met with the word in French
authors, but never could assign any idea to it. I believe it is
the same with une sotte, Anglice, a fool." Sir, answered the
gentleman, perhaps you are not much mistaken ; but, as it is a
particular kind of folly, I will endeavour to describe it. Were
all creatures to be ranked in the order of creation according to
their usefulness, I know few animals that would not take place
of a coquette ; nor indeed hath this creature much pretence
to anything beyond instinct ; for, though sometimes we might
imagine it was animated by the passion of vanity, yet far the
greater part of its actions fall beneath even that low motive ;
for instance, several absurd gestures and tricks, infinitely
more foolish than what can be observed in the most ridicu-
lous birds and beasts, and which would persuade the beholder
that the silly wretch was aiming at our contempt. Indeed
its characteristic is affectation, and this led and governed by
whim only : for as beauty, wisdom, wit, good-nature, polite-
ness, and health, are sometimes affected by this creature, so
are ugliness, folly, nonsense, ill-nature, ill-breeding, and
sickness, likewise put on by it in their turn. Its life is one
constant lie ; and the only rule by which you can form any
judgment of them is, that they are never what they seem.
If it was possible for a coquette to love (as it is not, for if
ever it attains this passion the coquette ceases instantly), it
would wear the face of indifference, if not of hatred, to the
beloved object; you may therefore be assured, when they
endeavour to persuade you of their liking, that they are in-
different to you at least. And indeed this was the case of
my Sapphira, who no sooner saw me in the number of her
admirers than she gave me what is commonly called encour-
agement : she would often look at me, and, when she per-
ceived me meet her eyes, would instantly take them off, dis-
covering at the same time as much surprize and emotion as
possible. These arts failed not of the success she intended;

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

and, as I grew more particular to her than the rest of her
admirers, she advanced, in proportion, more directly to me
than to the others. She affected the low voice, whisper, lisp,
sigh, start, laugh, and many other indications of passion
which daily deceive thousands. When I played at whist with
her, she would look earnestly at me, and at the same time
lose deal or revoke ; then burst into a ridiculous laugh, and
cry, " La ! I can't imagine what I was thinking of." To
detain you no longer, after I had gone through a sufficient
course of gallantry, as I thought, and was thoroughly con-
vinced I had raised a violent passion in my mistress, I sought
an opportunity of coming to an eclaircissement with her.
She avoided this as much as possible ; however, great as-
siduity at length presented me one. I will not describe all
the particulars of this interview ; let it suffice that, when she
could no longer pretend not to see my drift, she first affected
a violent surprize, and immediately after as violent a pas-
sion : she wondered what I had seen in her conduct which
could induce me to affront her in this manner ; and, break-
ing from me the first moment she could, told me I had no
other way to escape the consequence of her resentment than
by never seeing, or at least speaking to her more. I was not
contented with this answer; I still pursued her, but to no
purpose ; and was at length convinced that her husband had
the sole possession of her person, and that neither he nor
any other had made any impression on her heart.^^I^was
taken off from following this ignis fatuus by some advances
which were made me by the wife of a citizen, who, though
neither very young nor handsome, was yet too agreeable to
be rejected by my amorous constitution. I accordingly soon
satisfied her that she had not cast away her hints on a barren
or cold soil : on the contrary, they instantly produced her an
eager and desiring lover. Nor did she give me any reason
to complain ; she met the warmth she had raised with equal
ardour. I had no longer a coquette to deal with, but one who
was wiser than to prostitute the noble passion of love to the
ridiculous lust of vanity. We presently understood one an-
other ; and, as the pleasures we sought lay in a mutual grati-
fication, we soon found and enjoyed them. I thought myself

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THE ADVENTURES OF

at first greatly happy in the possession of this new mistress,
whose fondness would have quickly surfeited a more sickly
appetite ; but it had a different effect on mine : she carried
my passion higher by it than youth or beauty had been able.
But my happiness could not long continue uninterrupted.
The apprehensions we lay under from the jealousy of her hus-
band gave us great uneasiness. " Poor wretch ! I pity him,"
cried Adams. He did indeed deserve it, said the gentleman ;
for he loved his wife with great tenderness ; and, I assure
you, it is a great satisfaction to me that I was not the man
who first seduced her affections from him. These apprehen-
sions appeared also too well grounded, for in the end he dis-
covered us, and procured witnesses of our caresses. He then
prosecuted me at law, and recovered 3000/. damages, which
much distressed my fortune to pay ; and what was worse, his
wife, being divorced, came upon my hands. I led a very un-
easy life with her ; for, besides that my passion was now much
abated, her excessive jealousy was very troublesome. At
length death delivered me from an inconvenience which the
consideration of my having been the author of her misfor-
tunes would never suffer me to take any other method of
discarding.

I now bade adieu to love, and resolved to pursue other less
dangerous and expensive pleasures. I fell into the acquain-
tance of a set of jolly companions, who slept all day and
drank all night ; fellows who might rather be said to consume
time than to live. Their best conversation was nothing but
noise : singing, hollowing, wrangling, drinking, toasting,
sp — wing, smoking, were the chief ingredients of our enter-
tainment. And yet, bad as these were, they were more tol-
erable than our graver scenes, which were either excessive
tedious narratives of dull common matters of fact, or hot
disputes about trifling matters, which commonly ended in a
wager. This way of life the first serious reflection put a
period to; and I became member of a club frequented by
young men of great abilities. The bottle was now only
called in to the assistance of our conversation, which rolled
on the deepest points of philosophy. These gentlemen were
engaged in a search after truth, in the pursuit of which they

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

threw aside all the prejudices of education, and governed
themselves only by the infallible guide of human reason.
This great guide, after having shown them the falsehood of
that very antient but simple tenet, that there is such a being
as a Deity in the universe, helped them to establish in his stead
a certain rule of right, by adhering to which they all arrived
at the utmost purity of morals. Reflection made me as much
delighted with this society as it had taught me to despise and
detest the former. I began now to esteem myself a
being of a higher order than I had ever before conceived;
and was the more charmed with this rule of right, as I really
found in my own nature nothing repugnant to it. I held in
utter contempt all persons who wanted any other inducement
to virtue besides her intrinsic beauty and excellence ; and
had so high an opinion of my present companions, with re-
gard to their morality, that I would have trusted them with
whatever was nearest and dearest to me. Whilst I was en-
gaged in this delightful dream, two or three accidents hap-
pened successively, which at first much surprized me ; — for
one of our greatest philosophers, or rule-of-right men, with-
drew himself from us, taking with him the wife of one of
his most intimate friends. Secondly, another of the same
society left the club without remembering to take leave of
his bail. A third, having borrowed a sum of money of me,
for which I received no security, when I asked him to repay
it, absolutely denied the loan. These several practices, so in-
consistent with our golden rule, made me begin to suspect
its infallibility ; but when I communicated my thoughts to
one of the club, he said, there was nothing absolutely good
or evil in itself; that actions were denominated good or bad
by the circumstances of the agent. That possibly the man
who ran away with his neighbour's wife might be one of
very good inclinations, but over-prevailed on by the violence
of an unruly passion; and, in other particulars, might be a
very worthy member of society ; that if the beauty of any
woman created in him an uneasiness, he had a right from
nature to relieve himself ; — with many other things, which
I then detested so much, that I took leave of the society that
very evening and never returned to it again. Being now

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THE ADVENTURES OF

reduced to a state of solitude which I did not like, I became
a great frequenter of the playhouses, which indeed was al-
ways my favourite diversion ; and most evenings passed
away two or three hours behind the scenes, where I met with
several poets, with whom I made engagements at the taverns.
Some of the players were likewise of our parties. At these
meetings we were generally entertained by the poets with
reading their performances, and by the players with repeating
their parts : upon which occasions, I observed the gentleman
who furnished our entertainment was commonly the best
pleased of the company; who, though they were pretty civil
to him to his face, seldom failed to take the first opportunity
of his absence to ridicule him. Now I made some remarks
which probably are too obvious to be worth relating. " Sir,"
says Adams, " your remarks if you please." First then, says
he, I concluded that the general observation, that wits are
most inclined to vanity, is not true. Men are equally vain
of riches, strength, beauty, honours, etc. But these appear
of themselves to the eyes of the beholders, whereas the poor
wit is obliged to produce his performance to show you his
perfection ; and on his readiness to do this that vulgar opinion
1 have before mentioned is grounded; but doth not the per-
son who expends vast sums in the furniture of his house or
the ornaments of his person, who consumes much time and
employs great pains in dressing himself, or who thinks him-
self paid for self-denial, labour, or even villany, by a title or
a ribbon, sacrifice as much to vanity as the poor wit who is
desirous to read you his poem or his play? My second re-
mark was, that vanity is the worst of passions, and more apt
to contaminate the mind than any other : for, as selfishness
is much more general than we please to allow it, so it is
natural to hate and envy those who stand between us and
the good we desire. Now, in lust and ambition these are
few ; and even in avarice we find many who are no obstacles
to our pursuits ; but the vain man seeks pre-eminence ; and
everything which is excellent or praiseworthy in another ren-
ders him the mark of his antipathy. Adams now began to
fumble in his pockets, and soon cried out, " O la ! I have it
not about me." Upon this, the gentleman asking him

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

what he was searching for, he said he searched after a sermon,
which he thought his masterpiece, against vanity. " Fie
upon it, fie upon it ! " cries he, " why do I ever leave that
sermon, out of my pocket ? I wish it was within five miles ;
I would willingly fetch it, to read it you." The gentleman
answered that there was no need, for he was cured of the
passion. " And for that very reason," quoth Adams, " I
would read it, for I am confident you would admire it : in-
deed, I have never been a greater enemy to any passion than
that silly one of vanity." The gentleman smiled, and pro-
ceeded— From this society I easily passed to that of the
gamesters, where nothing remarkable happened but the
finishing my fortune, which those gentlemen soon helped me
to the end of. This opened scenes of life hitherto unknown ;
poverty and distress, with their horrid train of duns, attor-
neys, bailiffs, haunted me day and night. My clothes grew
shabby, my credit bad, my friends and acquaintance of all
kinds cold. In this situation the strangest thought imaginable
came into my head ; and what was this but to write a play ?
for I had sufficient leisure : fear of bailiffs confined me every
day to my room : and, having always had a little inclination
and something of a genius that way, I set myself to work,
and within a few months produced a piece of five acts, which
was accepted of at the theatre. I remembered to have for-
merly taken tickets of other poets for their benefits, long be-
fore the appearance of their performances ; and, resolving
to follow a precedent which was so well suited to my present
circumstances, I immediately provided myself with a large
number of little papers. Happy indeed would be the state of
poetry, would these tickets pass current at the bakehouse, the
ale-house, and the chandler's-shop : but alas ! far otherwise ;
no tailor will take them in payment for buckram, canvas,
stay-tape ; nor no bailiff for civility-money. They are, indeed,
no more than a passport to beg with ; a certificate that the
owner wants five shillings, which induces well-disposed
Christians to charity. I now experienced what is worse than
poverty, or rather what is the worst consequence of poverty, —
I mean attendance and dependence on the great. Many a
morning have I waited hours in the cold parlours of men of

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THE ADVENTURES OF

quality ; where, after seeing the lowest rascals in lace and
embroidery, the pimps and buffoons in fashion, admitted, I
have been sometimes told, on sending in my name, that my
lord could not possibly see me this morning: a sufficient as-
surance that I should never more get entrance into that house.
Sometimes I have been at last admitted ; and the great man
hath thought proper to excuse himself, by telling me he was
tied up. " Tied up," says Adams, " pray what's that? " Sir,
says the gentleman, the profit which booksellers allowed
authors for the best works was so very small, that certain
men of birth and fortune some years ago, who were the pa-
trons of wit and learning, thought fit to encourage them far-
ther by entering into voluntary subscriptions for their en-
couragement. Thus Prior, Rowe, Pope, and some other men
of genius, received large sums for their labours from the pub-
lic. This seemed so easy a method of getting money, that
many of the lowest scribblers of the times ventured to pub-
lish their works in the same way ; and many had the assurance
to take in subscriptions for what was not writ, nor ever in-
tended. Subscriptions in this manner growing infinite, and
a kind of tax on the public, some persons, finding it not so
easy a task to discern good from bad authors, or to know what
genius was worthy encouragement and what was not, to pre-
vent the expense of subscribing to so many, invented a method
to excuse themselves from all subscriptions whatever; and
this was to receive a small sum of money in consideration of
giving a large one if ever they subscribed ; which many have
done, and many more have pretended to have done, in order to
silence all solicitation. The same method was likewise taken
with playhouse tickets, which were no less a public griev-
ance ; and this is what they call being tied up from sub-
scribing. " I can't say but the term is apt enough, and some-
what typical," said Adams ; " for a man of large fortune, who
ties himself up, as you call it, from the encouragement of
men of merit, ought to be tied up in reality." Well, sir, says
the gentleman, to return to my story. Sometimes I have
received a guinea from a man of quality, given with as
ill a grace as alms are generally to the meanest beggar ; and
purchased too with as much time spent in attendance as, if

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

it had been spent in honest industry, might have brought
me more profit with infinitely more satisfaction. After about
two months spent in this disagreeable way, with the ut-
most mortification, when I was pluming my hopes on the
prospect of a plentiful harvest from my play, upon applying
to the prompter to know when it came into rehearsal, he in-
formed me he had received orders from the managers to
return me the play again, for that they could not possibly
act it that season; but, if I would take it and revise it
against the next, they would be glad to see it again. I
snatched it from him with great indignation, and retired to
my room, where I threw myself on the bed in a fit of despair.
" You should rather have thrown yourself on your knees,"
says Adams, " for despair is sinful." As soon, continued
the gentleman, as I had indulged the first tumult of my
passion, I began to consider coolly what course I should
take, in a situation without friends, money, credit, or repu-
tation of any kind. After revolving many things in my
mind, I could see no other possibility of furnishing myself
with the miserable necessaries of life than to retire to a garret
near the Temple, and commence hackney-writer to the law-
yers, for which I was well qualified, being an excellent pen-
man. This purpose I resolved on, and immediately put it
in execution. I had an acquaintance with an attorney who
had formerly transacted affairs for me, and to him I applied ;
but, instead of furnishing me with any business, he laughed
at my undertaking, and told me, he was afraid I should turn
his deeds into plays, and he should expect to see them on
the stage. Not to tire you with instances of this kind from
others, I found that Plato himself did not hold poets in
greater abhorrence than these men of business do. When-
ever I durst venture to a coffee-house, which was on Sundays
only, a whisper ran round the room, which was constantly
attended with a sneer — That 's poet Wilson ; for I know not
whether you have observed it, but there is a malignity in the
nature of man, which, when not weeded out, or at least cov-
ered by a good education and politeness, delights in making
another uneasy or dissatisfied with himself. This abun-
dantly appears in all assemblies, except those which are filled

13 i93

THE ADVENTURES OF

by people of fashion, and especially among the younger peo-
ple of both sexes whose birth and fortunes place them just
without the polite circles ; I mean the lower class of the
gentry, and the higher of the mercantile world, who are, in
reality, the worst-bred part of mankind. Well, sir, whilst I
continued in this miserable state, with scarce sufficient busi-
ness to keep me from starving, the reputation of a poet being
my bane, I accidentally became acquainted with a bookseller,
who told me, it was pity a man of my learning and genius
should be obliged to such a method of getting his livelihood ;
that he had a compassion for me, and, if I would engage with
him, he would undertake to provide handsomely for me. A
man in my circumstances, as he very well knew, had no
choice. I accordingly accepted his proposal with his condi-
tions, which were none of the most favourable, and fell to
translating with all my might. I had no longer reason to
lament the want of business ; for he furnished me with so
much, that in half a year I almost writ myself blind. I like-
wise contracted a distemper by my sedentary life, in which
no part of my body was exercised but my right arm, which
rendered me incapable of writing for a long time. This un-
luckily happening to delay the publication of a work,
and my last performance not having sold well, the bookseller
declined any further engagement, and aspersed me to his
brethren as a careless idle fellow. I had, however, by hav-
ing half worked and half starved myself to death during the
time I was in his service, saved a few guineas, with which I
bought a lottery-ticket, resolving to throw myself into For-
tune's lap, and try if she would make me amends for the in-
juries she had done me at the gaming-table. This pur-
chase, being made, left me almost pennyless ; when, as if I
had not been sufficiently miserable, a bailiff in woman's
clothes got admittance to my chamber, whither he was di-
rected by the bookseller. He arrested me at my tailor's suit
for thirty-five pounds ; a sum for which I could not pro-
cure bail ; and was therefore conveyed to his house, where
I was locked up in an upper chamber. I had now neither
health (for I was scarce recovered from my indisposition),
liberty, money, or friends ; and had abandoned all hopes,

194

JOSEPH ANDREWS

and even the desire, of life. ;' But this could not last long,"
said Adams ; " for doubtless the tailor released you the mo-
ment he was truly acquainted with your affairs, and knew
that your circumstances would not permit you to pay him."
" Oh, sir," answered the gentleman, " he knew that before he
arrested me ; nay, he knew that nothing but incapacity could
prevent me paying my debts ; for I had been his cus-
tomer many years, had spent vast sums of money with him,
and had always paid most punctually in my prosperous days ;
but when I reminded him of this, with assurances that, if
he would not molest my endeavours, I would pay him all
the money I could by my utmost labour and industry pro-
cure, reserving only what was sufficient to preserve me alive,
he answered, his patience was worn out; that I had put him
off from time to time ; that he wanted the money ; that he
had put it into a lawyer's hands ; and if I did not pay him
immediately, or find security, I must lie in gaol and expect
no mercy." " He may expect mercy," cries Adams, starting
from his chair, " where he will find none ! How can such a
wretch repeat the Lord's prayer; where the word, which is
translated, I know not for what reason, trespasses, is in the
original, debts? And as surely as we do not forgive others
their debts, when they are unable to pay them, so surely
shall we ourselves be unforgiven when we are in no condition
of paying." He ceased, and the gentleman proceeded. While
I was in this deplorable situation, a former acquaintance, to
whom I had communicated my lottery-ticket, found me out,
and, making me a visit, with great delight in his counte-
nance, shook me heartily by the hand, and wished me joy of
my good fortune : for, says he, your ticket is come up a prize
of 3000/. Adams snapped his fingers at these words in an
ecstasy of joy; which, however, did not continue long; for
the gentleman thus proceeded : — Alas ! sir, this was only a
trick of Fortune to sink me the deeper ; for I had disposed of
this lottery-ticket two days before to a relation, who refused
lending me a shilling without it, in order to procure myself
bread. As soon as my friend was acquainted with my un-
fortunate sale he began to revile me and remind me of all the
ill-conduct and miscarriages of my life. He said I was one

195

THE ADVENTURES OF

whom Fortune could not save if she would; that I was now
ruined without any hopes of retrieval, nor must expect any
pity from my friends; that it would be extreme weakness to
compassionate the misfortunes of a man who ran headlong to
his own destruction. He then painted to me, in as lively
colours as he was able, the happiness I should have now en-
joyed, had I not foolishly disposed of my ticket. I urged
the plea of necessity; but he made no answer to that, and
began again to revile me, till I could bear it no longer, and
desired him to finish his visit. I soon exchanged the bailiff's
house for a prison ; where, as I had not money sufficient to
procure me a separate apartment, I was crowded in with a
great number of miserable wretches, in common with whom
I was destitute of every convenience of life, even that which
all the brutes enjoy, wholesome air. In these dreadful cir-
cumstances I applied by letter to several of my old acquain-
tance, and such to whom I had formerly lent money without
any great prospect of its being returned, for their assistance ;
but in vain. An excuse, instead of a denial, was the gentlest
answer I received. Whilst I languished in a condition too
horrible to be described, and which, in a land of humanity,
and, what is much more, Christianity, seems a strange pun-
ishment for a little inadvertency and indiscretion; whilst I
was in this condition, a fellow came into the prison, and, in-
quiring me out, delivered me the following letter : —

" Sir, — My father, to whom you sold your ticket in the last
lottery, died the same day in which it came up a prize, as
you have possibly heard, and left me sole heiress of all his
fortune. I am so much touched with your present circum-
stances, and the uneasiness you must feel at having been
driven to dispose of what might have made you happy, that
I must desire your acceptance of the enclosed, and am your
humble servant,

" Harriet Hearty."

And what do you think was enclosed ? "I don't know,"
cried Adams ; " not less than a guinea, I hope." Sir, it was
a bank-note for 200/. — " 200/. ? " says Adams, in a rapture.

196

JOSEPH ANDREWS

No less, I assure you, answered the gentleman ; a sum I was
not half so delighted with as with the dear name of the
generous girl that sent it me ; and who was not only the
best but the handsomest creature in the universe, and for
whom I had long had a passion which I never durst disclose
to her. I kissed her name a thousand times, my eyes over-
flowing with tenderness and gratitude ; I repeated — But not
to detain you with these raptures, I immediately acquired
my liberty ; and, having paid all my debts, departed, with up-
wards of fifty pounds in my pocket, to thank my kind deliv-
erer. She happened to be then out of town, a circumstance
which, upon reflection, pleased me ; for by that means I had
an opportunity to appear before her in a more decent dress.
At her return to town, within a day or two, I threw myself
at her feet with the most ardent acknowledgments, which
she rejected with an unfeigned greatness of mind, and told
me I could not oblige her more than by never mentioning,
or if possible thinking on, a circumstance which must bring
to my mind an accident that might be grievous to me to think
on. She proceeded thus : " What I have done is in my own
eyes a trifle, and perhaps infinitely less than would have be-
come me to do. And if you think of engaging in any business
where a larger sum may be serviceable to you, I shall not be
over-rigid either as to the security or interest." I endea-
voured to express all the gratitude in my power to this pro-
fusion of goodness, though perhaps it was my enemy, and
began to afflict my mind with more agonies than all the mis-
eries I had underwent ; it affected me with severer reflections
than poverty, distress, and prisons united had been able to
make me feel ; for, sir, these acts and professions of kind-
ness, which were sufficient to have raised in a good heart
the most violent passion of friendship to one of the same, or to
age and ugliness in a different sex, came to me from a woman,
a young and beautiful woman ; one whose perfections I had
long known, and for whom I had long conceived a violent
passion, though with a despair which made me endeavour
rather to curb and conceal, than to nourish or acquaint her
with it. In short, they came upon me united with beauty,
softness, and tenderness : such bewitching smiles ! — O Mr
Adams, in that moment I lost myself, and, forgetting our

197

THE ADVENTURES OF

different situations, nor considering what return I was mak-
ing to her goodness by desiring her, who had given me so
much, to bestow her all, I laid gently hold on her hand, and,
conveying it to my lips, I prest it with inconceivable ardour;
then, lifting up my swimming eyes, I saw her face and neck
overspread with one blush : she offered to withdraw her hand,
yet not so as to deliver it from mine, though I held it with
the gentlest force. We both stood trembling; her eyes cast
on the ground, and mine stedfastly fixed on her. Good God,
what was then the condition of my soul ! burning with love,
desire, admiration, gratitude, and every tender passion, all
bent on one charming object. Passion at last got the better
of both reason and respect, and, softly letting go her hand,
I offered madly to clasp her in my arms ; when, a little re-
covering herself, she started from me, asking me, with some
show of anger, if she had any reason to expect this treatment
from me. I then fell prostrate before her, and told her, if
I had offended, my life was absolutely in her power, which
I would in any manner lose for her sake. Nay, madam, said
I, you shall not be so ready to punish me as I to suffer. I own
my guilt. I detest the reflection that I would have sacrificed
your happiness to mine. Believe me, I sincerely repent my
ingratitude ; yet, believe me too, it was my passion, my un-
bounded passion for you, which hurried me so far : I have
loved you long and tenderly, and the goodness you have shown
me hath innocently weighed down a wretch undone before.
Acquit me of all mean, mercenary views ; and, before I take
my leave of you for ever, which I am resolved instantly to do,
believe me that Fortune could have raised me to no height
to which I could not have gladly lifted you. O, curst be
Fortune ! — " Do not," says she, interrupting me with the
sweetest voice, " do not curse Fortune, since she hath made
me happy ; and, if she hath put your happiness in my
power, I have told you you shall ask nothing in reason which
I will refuse." Madam, said I, you mistake me if you im-
agine, as you seem, my happiness is in the power of Fortune
now. You have obliged me too much already ; if I have any
wish, it is for some blest accident, by which I may contribute
with my life to the least augmentation of your felicity. As
for myself, the only happiness I can ever have will be hear-

198

JOSEPH ANDREWS

ing of yours ; and if Fortune will make that complete, I will
forgive her all her wrongs to me. " You may, indeed," an-
swered she, smiling, " for your own happiness must be in-
cluded in mine. I have long known your worth ; nay, I must
confess," said she, blushing, " I have long discovered that
passion for me you profess, notwithstanding those endeavours,
which I am convinced were unaffected, to conceal it ; and if
all I can give with reason will not suffice, take reason away;

and now I believe you cannot ask me what I will deny."

She uttered these words with a sweetness not to be imagined.
I immediately started ; my blood, which lay freezing at my
heart, rushed tumultuously through every vein. I stood for
a moment silent ; then, flying to her, I caught her in my arms,
no longer resisting, and softly told her she must give me then
herself. O, sir ! can I describe her look ? She remained
silent, and almost motionless, several minutes. At last, re-
covering herself a little, she insisted on my leaving her, and
in such a manner that I instantly obeyed : you may imagine,
however, I soon saw her again. — But I ask pardon : I fear
I have detained you too long in relating the particulars of the
former interview. " So far otherwise," said Adams, licking
his lips, " that I could willingly hear it over again." Well,
sir, continued the gentleman, to be as concise as possible,
within a week she consented to make me the happiest of man-
kind. We were married shortly after ; and when I came to
examine the circumstances of my wife's fortune (which, I
do assure you, I was not presently at leisure enough to do),
I found it amounted to about six thousand pounds, most part
of which lay in effects ; for her father had been a wine mer-
chant, and she seemed willing, if I liked it, that I should carry
on the same trade. I readily, and too inconsiderately, un-
dertook it ; for, not having been bred up to the secrets of the
business, and endeavouring to deal with the utmost honesty
and uprightness, I soon found our fortune in a declining way,
and my trade decreasing by little and little ; for my wines,
which I never adulterated after their importation, and were
sold as neat as they came over, were universally decried by
the vintners, to whom I could not allow them quite as cheap
as those who gained double the profit by a less price. I soon
began to despair of improving our fortune by these means;

199

THE ADVENTURES OF

nor was I at all easy at the visits and familiarity of many who
had been my acquaintance in my prosperity, but had denied
and shunned me in my adversity, and now very forwardly
renewed their acquaintance with me. In short, I had suffi-
ciently seen that the pleasures of the world are chiefly folly,
and the business of it mostly knavery, and both nothing better
than vanity ; the men of pleasure tearing one another to pieces
from the emulation of spending money, and the men of busi-
ness from envy in getting it. My happiness consisted en-
tirely in my wife, whom I loved with an inexpressible fond-
ness, which was perfectly returned ; and my prospects were
no other than to provide for our growing family ; for she was
now big of her second child : I therefore took an opportunity
to ask her opinion of entering into a retired life, which, after
hearing my reasons and perceiving my affection for it, she
readily embraced. We soon put our small fortune, now re-
duced under three thousand pounds, into money, with part
of which we purchased this little place, whither we retired
soon after her delivery, from a world full of bustle, noise,
hatred, envy, and ingratitude, to ease, quiet, and love. We
have here lived almost twenty years, with little other conver-
sation than our own, most of the neighbourhood taking us for
very strange people ; the squire of the parish representing me
as a madman, and the parson as a presbyterian, because I
will not hunt with the one nor drink with the other. " Sir,"
says Adams, " Fortune hath, I think, paid you all her debts
in this sweet retirement." Sir, replied the gentleman, I am
thankful to the great Author of all things for the blessings I
here enjoy. I have the best of wives, and three pretty chil-
dren, for whom I have the true tenderness of a parent. But
no blessings are pure in this world : within three years of
my arrival here I lost my eldest son. (Here he sighed bit-
terly.) " Sir," says Adams, "we must submit to Providence,
and consider death as common to all." We must submit, in-
deed, answered the gentleman ; and if he had died I could
have borne the loss with patience ; but alas ! sir, he was stolen
away from my door by some wicked travelling people whom
they call gipsies; nor could I ever, with the most diligent
search, recover him. Poor child ! he had the sweetest look —
the exact picture of his mother ; at which some tears unwit-

200

JOSEPH ANDREWS

tingly dropt from his eyes, as did likewise from those of
Adams, who always sympathized with his friends on those oc-
casions. Thus, sir, said the gentleman, I have finished my
story, in which if I have been too particular, I ask your par-
don ; and now, if you please, I will fetch you another bottle :
which proposal the parson thankfully accepted.

CHAPTER IV.

A DESCRIPTION OF MR WILSON'S WAY OF LIVING. THE TRA-
GICAL ADVENTURE OF THE DOG, AND OTHER GRAVE MATTERS.

THE gentleman returned with the bottle ; and Adams and
he sat some time silent, when the former started up,
and cried, " No, that won't do." The gentleman inquired into
his meaning; he answered, he had been considering that it
was possible the late famous king Theodore might have been
that very son whom he had lost; but added, that his age
could not answer that imagination. However, says he, " God
disposes all things for the best; and very probably he may
be some great man, or duke, and may, one day or other,
revisit you in that capacity." The gentleman answered, he
should know him amongst ten thousand, for he had a mark
on his left breast of a strawberry, which his mother had given
him by longing for that fruit.

That beautiful young lady the Morning now rose from her
bed, and with a countenance blooming with fresh youth and
sprightliness, like Miss — *, with soft dews hanging on her
pouting lips, began to take her early walk over the eastern
hills ; and presently after, that gallant person the Sun stole
softly from his wife's chamber to pay his addresses to her ;
when the gentleman asked his guest if he would walk forth
and survey his little garden ; which he readily agreed to ; and
Joseph, at the same time awaking from a sleep in which he
had been two hours buried, went with them. No parterres,
no fountains, no statues, embellished this little garden. Its
only ornament was a short walk, shaded on each side by a
* Whoever the reader pleases.

20 1 ^\t

THE ADVENTURES OF

filbert-hedge, with a small alcove at one end, whither in hot
weather the gentleman and his wife used to retire and divert
themselves with their children, who played in the walk be-
fore them. But, though vanity had no votary in this little
spot, here was variety of fruit and everything useful for the
kitchen, which was abundantly sufficient to catch the admira-
tion of Adams, who told the gentleman he had certainly a
good gardener. Sir, answered he, that gardener is now before
you : whatever you see here is the work solely of my own
hands. Whilst I am providing necessaries for my table, I
likewise procure myself an appetite for them. In fair seasons
I seldom pass less than six hours of the twenty-four in this
place, where I am not idle ; and by these means I have been
able to preserve my health ever since my arrival here, with-
out assistance from physic. Hither I generally repair at the
dawn, and exercise myself whilst my wife dresses her children
and prepares our breakfast ; after which we are seldom asun-
der during the residue of the day, for, when the weather will
not permit them to accompany me here, I am usually within
with them ; for I am neither ashamed of conversing with my
wife nor of playing with my children : to say the truth, I do
not perceive that inferiority of understanding which the levity
of rakes, the dullness of men of business, or the austerity of the
learned, would persuade us of in women. As for my woman,
I declare I have found none of my own sex capable of making
juster observations on life, or of delivering them more agree-
ably; nor do I believe any one possessed of a faithfuller or
braver friend. And sure as this friendship is sweetened with
more delicacy and tenderness, so is it confirmed by dearer
pledges than can attend the closest male alliance ; for what
union can be so fast as our common interests in the fruits
of our embraces? Perhaps, sir, you are not yourself a father;
if you are not, be assured you cannot conceive the delight
I have in my little ones. Would you not despise me if you
saw me stretched on the ground, and my children playing
round me ? "I should reverence the sight," quoth Adams ;
' I myself am now the father of six, and have been of eleven,
and I can say I never scourged a child of my own, unless as
his schoolmaster, and then have felt every stroke on my own
posteriors. And as to what you say concerning women, I

202

JOSEPH ANDREWS

have often lamented my own wife did not understand Greek."
— The gentleman smiled, and answered, he would not be appre-
hended to insinuate that his own had an understanding above
the care of her family; on the contrary, says he, my Harriet,
I assure you, is a notable housewife, and the housekeepers
of few gentlemen understand cookery or confectionery better;
but these are arts which she hath no great occasion for now :
however, the wine you commended so much last night at
supper was of her own making, as is indeed all the liquor
in my house, except my beer, which falls to my province.
" And I assure you it is as excellent," quoth Adams, " as ever
I tasted." We formerly kept a maid-servant, but since my
girls have been growing up she is unwilling to indulge them
in idleness ; for as the fortunes I shall give them will be very
small, we intend not to breed them above the rank they are
likely to fill hereafter, nor to teach them to despise or ruin
a plain husband. Indeed, I could wish a man of my own
temper, and a retired life, might fall to their lot ; for I have
experienced that calm serene happiness, which is seated in
content, is inconsistent with the hurry and bustle of the world.
He was proceeding thus when the little things, being just
risen, ran eagerly towards him and asked him blessing. They
were shy to the strangers, but the eldest acquainted her father,
that her mother and the young gentlewoman were up, and
that breakfast was ready. They all went in, where the gentle-
man was surprized at the beauty of Fanny, who had now re-
covered herself from her fatigue, and was entirely clean drest ;
for the rogues who had taken away her purse had left her her
bundle. But if he was so much amazed at the beauty of this
young creature, his guests were no less charmed at the ten-
derness which appeared in the behaviour of the husband and
wife to each other, and to their children, and at the dutiful
and affectionate behaviour of these to their parents. These
instances pleased the well-disposed mind of Adams equally
with the readiness which they exprest to oblige their guests,
and their forwardness to offer them the best of everything
in their house ; and what delighted him still more was an
instance or two of their charity ; for whilst they were at break-
fast the good woman was called for to assist her sick neigh-
bour, which she did with some cordials made for the public

203

THE ADVENTURES OF

use, and the good man went into his garden at the same time
to supply another with something which he wanted thence,
for they had nothing which those who wanted it were not
welcome to. These good people were in the utmost cheer-
fulness, when they heard the report of a gun, and immediately
afterwards a little dog, the favourite of the eldest daughter,
came limping in all bloody and laid himself at his mistress's
feet: the poor girl, who was about eleven years old, burst
into tears at the sight; and presently one of the neighbours
came in and informed them that the young squire, the son of
the lord of the manor, had shot him as he passed by, swearing
at the same time he would prosecute the master of him for
keeping a spaniel, for that he had given notice he would not
suffer one in the parish. The dog, whom his mistress had
taken into her lap, died in a few minutes, licking her hand.
She exprest great agony at her loss, and the other children
began to cry for their sister's misfortune; nor could Fanny
herself refrain. Whilst the father and mother attempted to
comfort her, Adams grasped his crabstick and would have
sallied out after the squire had not Joseph withheld him. He
could not however bridle his tongue — he pronounced the
word rascal with great emphasis; said he deserved to be
hanged more than a highwayman, and wished he had the
scourging him. The mother took her child, lamenting and
carrying the dead favourite in her arms, out of the room,
when the gentleman said this was the second time this squire
had endeavoured to kill the little wretch, and had wounded
him smartly once before; adding, he could have no motive
but ill-nature, for the little thing, which was not near as big
as one's fist, had never been twenty yards from the house in
the six years his daughter had had it. He said he had done
nothing to deserve this usage, but his father had too great
a fortune to contend with: that he was as absolute as any
tyrant in the universe, and had killed all the dogs and taken
away all the guns in the neighbourhood ; and not only that,
but he trampled down hedges and rode over corn and gardens,
with no more regard than if they were the highway. " I
wish I could catch him in my garden," said Adams, "though
I would rather forgive him riding through my house than
such an ill-natured act as this."

204

JOSEPH ANDREWS

The cheerfulness of their conversation being interrupted
by this accident, in which the guests could be of no service
to their kind entertainer; and as the mother was taken up in
administering consolation to the poor girl, whose disposition
was too good hastily to forget the sudden loss of her little fa-
vourite, which had been fondling with her a few minutes
before ; and as Joseph and Fanny were impatient to get home
and begin those previous ceremonies to their happiness which
Adams had insisted on, they now offered to take their leave.
The gentleman importuned them much to stay dinner ; but
when he found their eagerness to depart he summond his
wife; and accordingly, having performed all the usual cere-
monies of bows and curtsies more pleasant to be seen than to
be related, they took their leave, the gentleman and his wife
heartily wishing them a good journey, and they as heartily
thanking them for their kind entertainment. They then de-
parted, Adams declaring that this was the manner in which
the people had lived in the golden age.

CHAPTER V.

A DISPUTATION ON SCHOOLS HELD ON THE ROAD BY MR ABRA-
HAM ADAMS AND JOSEPH ; AND A DISCOVERY NOT UNWEL-
COME TO THEM BOTH.

OUR travellers, having well refreshed themselves at the
gentleman's house, Joseph and Fanny with sleep, and
Mr Abraham Adams with ale and tobacco, renewed their jour-
ney with great alacrity; and, pursuing the road into which
they were directed, travelled many miles before they met with
any adventure worth relating. In this interval we shall pre-
sent our readers with a very curious discourse, as we appre-
hend it, concerning public schools, which passed between Mr
Joseph Andrews and Mr Abraham Adams.

They had not gone far before Adams, calling to Joseph,
asked him, if he had attended to the gentleman's story? he
answered, to all the former part. " And don't you think,"
says he, " he was a very unhappy man in his youth ? " — " A

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THE ADVENTURES OF

very unhappy man, indeed," answered the other. " Joseph,"
cries Adams, screwing up his mouth, " I have found it ; I
have discovered the cause of all the misfortunes which befel
him : a public school, Joseph, was the cause of all the calam-
ities which he afterwards suffered. Public schools are the
nurseries of all vice and immorality. All the wicked fellows
whom I remember at the university were bred at them. —
Ah, Lord ! I can remember as well as if it was but yesterday,
a knot of them ; they called them King's scholars, I forget

why very wicked fellows ! Joseph, you may thank the

Lord you were not bred at a public school ; you would never
have preserved your virtue as you have. The first care I
always take is of a boy's morals ; I had rather he should be
a blockhead than an atheist or a presbyterian. What is all
the learning in the world compared to his immortal soul?
What shall a man take in exchange for his soul ? . But the
masters of great schools trouble themselves about no such
thing. I have known a lad of eighteen at the university, who
hath not been able to say his catechism ; but for my own part,
I always scourged a lad sooner for missing that than any
other lesson. Believe me, child, all that gentleman's mis-
fortunes arose from his being educated at a public school."

" It doth not become me," answered Joseph, " to dispute
anything, sir, with you, especially a matter of this kind; for
to be sure you must be allowed by all the world to be the
best teacher of a school in all our county." " Yes, that," says
Adams, " I believe, is granted me ; that I may without much
vanity pretend to — nay, I believe I may go to the next
county too — but gloriari non est meum." — " However, sir,
as you are pleased to bid me speak," says Joseph, " you
know my late master, Sir Thomas Booby, was bred at a
public school, and he was the finest gentleman in all the
neighbourhood. And I have often heard him say, if he had a
hundred boys he would breed them all at the same place. It
was of his opinion, and I have often heard him deliver it, that
a boy taken from a public school and carried into the world,
will learn more in one year there than one of a private educa-
tion will in five. He used to say the school itself initiated
him a great way (I remember that was his very expression),
for great schools are little societies, where a boy of any ob-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

servation may see in epitome what he will afterwards find in
the world at large." — " Hinc ilia lachryuuc: for that very rea-
son," quoth Adams, " I prefer a private school, where boys
may be. kept in innocence and ignorance : for, according to
that fine passage in the play of Cato, the only English tragedy
I ever read,

" I f knowledge of the world must make men villains,
May Juba ever live in ignorance ! "

Who would not rather preserve the purity of his child than
wish him to attain the whole circle of arts and sciences?
which, by the bye, he may learn in the classes of a private
school ; for I would not be vain, but I esteem myself to be
second to none, nalli secundum, in teaching these things ; so
that a lad may have as much learning in a private as in a pub-
lic education." — " And, with submission," answered Joseph,
" he may get as much vice : witness several country gentle-
men, who were educated within five miles of their own houses,
and are as wicked as if they had known the world from their
infancy. I remember when I was in the stable, if a young
horse was vicious in his nature, no correction would make
him otherwise : I take it to be equally the same among men :
if a boy be of a mischievous wicked inclination, no school,
though ever so private, will ever make him good : on the
contrary, if he be of a righteous temper, you may trust him to
London, or wherever else you please — he will be in no clanger
of being corrupted. Besides, I have often heard my master
say that the discipline practised in public schools was much
better than that in private." — " You talk like a jackanapes,"
says Adams, "and so did your master. Discipline indeed!
because one man scourges twenty or thirty boys more in a
morning than another, is he therefore a better disciplinarian ?
I do presume to confer in this point with all who have taught
from Chiron's time to this day; and, if T was master of six
boys only, I would preserve as good discipline amongst them
as the master of the greatest school in the world. I say no-
thing, young man ; remember I say nothing ; but if Sir Thomas
himself had been educated nearer home, and under the tuition
of somebody — remember, I name nobody — it might have been

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THE ADVENTURES OF

better for him : — but his father must institute him in the
knowledge of the world. Nemo mortalium omnibus horis
sapit" Joseph, seeing him run on in this manner, asked par-
don many times, assuring him he had no intention to offend.
" I believe you had not, child," said he, " and I am not angry
with you : but for maintaining good discipline in a school ; for
this." — And then he ran on as before, named all the masters
who are recorded in old books, and preferred himself to them
all. Indeed, if this good man had an enthusiasm, or what the
vulgar call a blind side, it was this : he thought a schoolmaster
the greatest character in the world, and himself the greatest
of all schoolmasters : neither of which points he would have
given up to Alexander the Great at the head of his army.

Adams continued his subject till they came to one of the
beautifullest spots of ground in the universe. It was a kind
of natural amphitheatre formed by the winding of a small
rivulet, which was planted with thick woods ; and the trees
rose gradually above each other, by the natural ascent of the
ground they stood on ; which ascent as they hid with their
boughs, they seemed to have been disposed by the design of
the most skilful planter. The soil was spread with a verdure
which no paint could imitate : and the whole place might
have raised romantic ideas in elder minds than those of Jo-
seph and Fanny, without the assistance of love.

Here they arrived about noon, and Joseph proposed to
Adams that they should rest awhile in this delightful place,
and refresh themselves with some provisions which the good-
nature of Mrs Wilson had provided them with. Adams made
no objection to the proposal; so down they sat, and, pulling
out a cold fowl and a bottle of wine, they made a repast with
a cheerfulness which might have attracted the envy of more
splendid tables. I should not omit that they found among
their provision a little paper containing a piece of gold, which
Adams imagining had been put there by mistake, would have
returned back to restore it ; but he was at last convinced by
Joseph that Mr Wilson had taken this handsome way of
furnishing them with a supply for their journey, on his having
related the distress which they had been in, when they were
relieved by the generosity of the pedlar. Adams said he was
glad to see such an instance of goodness, not so much for

208

JOSEPH ANDREWS

the conveniency which it brought them as for the sake of the
doer, whose reward would be great in heaven. He likewise
comforted himself with a reflection that he should shortly
have an opportunity of returning it him; for the gentleman
was within a week to make a journey into Somersetshire, to
pass through Adam's parish, and had faithfully promised
to call on him ; a circumstance which we thought too imma-
terial to mention before ; but which those who have as great
an affection for that gentleman as ourselves will rejoice at,
as it may give them hopes of seeing him again. Then Joseph
made a speech on charity, which the reader, if he is so dis-
posed, may see in the next chapter ; for we scorn to betray
him into any such reading without first giving him warning.

CHAPTER VI.

MORAL REFLECTIONS BY JOSEPH ANDREWS; WITH THE HUNT-
ING ADVENTURE, AND PARSON ADAMS'S MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.

I HAVE often wondered, sir," said Joseph, " to observe so
few instances of charity among mankind ; for though the
goodness of a man's heart did not incline him to relieve the
distresses of his fellow-creatures, methinks the desire of hon-
our should move him to it. What inspires a man to build fine
houses, to purchase fine furniture, pictures, clothes, and other
things, at a great expense, but an ambition to be respected
more than other people? Now, would not one great act of
charity, one instance of redeeming a poor family from all
the miseries of poverty, restoring an unfortunate tradesman
by a sum of money to the means of procuring a livelihood
by his industry, discharging an undone debtor from his debts
or a gaol, or any such-like example of goodness, create a
man more honour and respect than he could acquire by the
finest house, furniture, pictures, or clothes, that were ever
beheld? for not only the object himself who was thus relieved,
but all who heard the name of such a person, must, I imagine,
reverence him infinitely more than the possessor of all those
other things ; which, when we so admire, we rather praise the
14 209

THE ADVENTURES OF

builder, the workman, the painter, the lace-maker, the tailor,
and the rest, by whose ingenuity they are produced, than the
person who by his money makes them his own. For my own
part, when I have waited behind my lady in a room hung
with fine pictures, while I have been looking at them I
have never once thought of their owner, nor hath any one
else, as I ever observed; for when it hath been asked whose
picture that was, it was never once answered the master's of
the house ; but Ammyconni, Paul Varnish, Hannibal Scratch!,
or Hogarthi, which I suppose were the names of the painters ;
but if it was asked — Who redeemed such a one out of prison?
Who lent such a ruined tradesman money to set up? Who
clothed that family of poor small children? it is very plain
what must be the answer. And besides, these great folks are
mistaken if they imagine they get any honour at all by these
means; for I do not remember I ever was with my lady at
any house where she commended the house or furniture but
I have heard her at her return home make sport and jeer
at whatever she had before commended ; and I have been told
by other gentlemen in livery that it is the same in their fam-
ilies : but I defy the wisest man in the world to turn a true
good action into ridicule. I defy him to do it. He who should
endeavour it would be laughed at himself, instead of making
others laugh. Nobody scarce doth any good, yet they all
agree in praising those who do. Indeed, it is strange that all
men should consent in commending goodness, and no man
endeavour to deserve that commendation ; whilst, on the con-
trary, all rail at wickedness, and all are as eager to be what
they abuse. This I know not the reason of ; but it is as plain as
daylight to those who converse in the world, as I have done
these three years." "Are all the great folks wicked then?"
says Fanny. " To be sure there are some exceptions," an-
swered Joseph. " Some gentlemen of our cloth report char-
itable actions done by their lords and masters; and I have
heard Squire Pope, the great poet, at my lady's table, tell
stories of a man that lived at a place called Ross, and an-
other at the Bath, one Al — Al — I forget his name, but it is
in the book of verses. This gentleman hath built up a stately
house too, which the squire likes very well ; but his charity
is seen farther than his house, though it stands on a hill, —

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

aye, and brings him more honour too. It was his charity that
put him in the book, where the squire says he puts all those
who deserve it ; and to be sure, as he lives among all the great
people, if there were any such, he would know them." This
was all of Mr Joseph Andrew's speech which I could get
him to recollect, which I have delivered as near as was pos-
sible in his own words, with a very small embellishment.
But I believe the reader hath not been a little surprised at
the long silence of parson Adams, especially as so many oc-
casions offered themselves to exert his curiosity and observa-
tion. The truth is, he was fast asleep, and had so been from
the beginning of the preceding narrative ; and, indeed, if the
reader considers that so many hours had passed since he
had closed his eyes, he will not wonder at his repose, though
even Henley himself, or as great an orator (if any such be),
had been in his rostrum or tub before him.

Joseph, who whilst he was speaking had continued in one
attitude, with his head reclining on one side, and his eyes
cast on the ground, no sooner perceived, on looking up, the
position of Adams, who was stretched on his back, and snored
louder than the usual braying of the animal with long ears,
than he turned towards Fanny, and, taking her by the hand,
began a dalliance, which, though consistent with the purest
innocence and decency, neither he would have attempted nor
she permitted before any witness. Whilst they amused them-
selves in this harmless and delightful manner they heard
a pack of hounds approaching in full cry towards them, and
presently afterwards saw a hare pop forth from the wood,
and, crossing the water, land within a few yards of them in
the meadows. The hare was no sooner on shore than it seated
itself on its hinder legs, and listened to the sound of the
pursuers. Fanny was wonderfully pleased with the little
wretch, and eagerly longed to have it in her arms, that she
might preserve it from the dangers which seemed to threaten
it ; but the rational part of the creation do not always aptly
distinguish their friends from their foes ; what wonder then
if this silly creature, the moment it beheld her, fled from the
friend who would have protected it, and, traversing the mea-
dows again, passed the little rivulet on the opposite side? It
was, however, so spent and weak, that it fell down twice or

211

THE ADVENTURES OF

thrice in its way. This affected the tender heart of Fanny, who
exclaimed, with tears in her eyes, against the barbarity of
worrying a poor innocent defenceless animal out of its life,
and putting it to the extremest torture for diversion. She
had not much time to make reflections of this kind, for on a
sudden the hounds rushed through the wood, which resounded
with their throats and the throats of their retinue, who at-
tended on them on horseback, The dogs now past the rivulet,
and pursued the footsteps of the hare ; five horsemen at-
tempted to leap over, three of whom succeeded, and two were
in the attempt thrown from their saddles into the water ; their
companions, and their own horses too, proceeded after their
sport, and left their friends and riders to invoke the assistance
of Fortune, or employ the more active means of strength and
agility for their deliverance. Joseph, however, was not so
unconcerned on this occasion ; he left Fanny for a moment
to herself, and ran to the gentlemen, who were immediately
on their legs, shaking their ears, and easily, with the help of
his hand, obtained the bank (for the rivulet was not at all
deep) ; and, without staying to thank their kind assister, ran
dripping across the meadow, calling to their brother sports-
men to stop their horses ; but they heard them not.

The hounds were now very little behind their poor reeling,
staggering prey, which, fainting almost at every step, crawled
through the wood, and had almost got round to the place
where Fanny stood, when it was overtaken by its enemies, and,
being driven out of the covert, was caught and instantly tore
to pieces before Fanny's face, who was unable to assist it
with any aid more powerful than pity ; nor could she prevail
on Joseph, who had been himself a sportsman in his youth,
to attempt anything contrary to the laws of hunting in favour
of the hare, which he said was killed fairly.

The hare was caught within a yard or two of Adams, who
lay asleep at some distance from the lovers ; and the hounds,
in devouring it, and pulling it backwards and forwards, had
drawn it close to him, that some of them (by mistake per-
haps for the hare's skin) laid hold of the skirts of his cassock ;
others, at the same time applying their teeth to his wig, which
he had with a handkerchief fastened to his head, began to pull
him about ; and had not the motion of his body had more effect

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

on him than seemed to be wrought by the noise, they must
certainly have tasted his flesh, which delicious flavour might
have been fatal to him ; but, being roused by these tuggings,
he instantly awakened, and with a jerk delivering his head
from his wig, he with most admirable dexterity recovered his
legs, which now seemed the only members he could entrust his
safety to. Having, therefore, escaped likewise from at least
a third part of his cassock, which he willingly left as his
exuvia or spoils to the enemy, he fled with the utmost speed
he could summon to his assistance. Nor let this be any de-
traction from the bravery of his character : let the number
of the enemies, and the surprize in which he was taken, be
considered ; and if there be any modern so outrageously brave
that he cannot admit of flight in any circumstance whatever,
I say (but I whisper that softly, and I solemnly declare with-
out any intention of giving offence to any brave man in the
nation), I say, or rather I whisper, that he is an ignorant
fellow, and hath never read Homer nor Virgil, nor knows
he anything of Hector or Turnus ; nay, he is unacquainted
with the history of some great men living, who, though as
brave as lions, aye, as tigers, have run away, the Lord knows
how far, and the Lord knows why, to the surprize of their
friends and the entertainment of their enemies. But if per-
sons of such heroic disposition are a little offended at the
behaviour of Adams, we assure them they shall be as much
pleased with what we shall immediately relate of Joseph An-
drews. The master of the pack was just arrived, or, as the
sportsmen call it, come in, when Adams set out, as we have
before mentioned. This gentleman was generally said to be
a great lover of humour; but, not to mince the matter, espe-
cially as we are upon this subject, he was a greater hunter
of men ; indeed, he had hitherto followed the sport only with
dogs of his own species ; for he kept two or three couple of
barking curs for that use only. However, as he thought he
had now found a man nimble enough, he was willing to in-
dulge himself with other sport, and accordingly, crying out,
stole away, encouraged the hounds to pursue Mr Adams,
swearing it was the largest jack-hare he ever saw ; at the same
time hallooing and hooping as if a conquered foe was flying
before him ; in which he was imitated by these two or three

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THE ADVENTURES OF

couple of human or rather two-legged curs on horseback
which we have mentioned before.

Now thou, whoever thou art, whether a muse, or by what
other name soever thou choosest to be called, who presidest
over biography, and hast inspired all the writers of lives in
hese our times : thou who didst infuse such wonderful hu-
mour into the pen of immortal Gulliver; who hast carefully
guided the judgment whilst thou hast exalted the nervous
manly style of thy Mallet : thou who hadst no hand in that
dedication and preface, or the translations, which thou wouldst
willingly have struck out of the life of Cicero: lastly, thou
who, without the assistance of the least spice of literature,
and even against his inclination, hast, in some pages of his
book, forced Colley Cibber to write English; do thou assist
me in what I find myself unequal to. Do thou introduce on
the plain the young, the gay, the brave Joseph Andrews,
whilst men shall view him with admiration and envy, tender
virgins with love and anxious concern for his safety.

No sooner did Joseph Andrews perceive the distress of his
friend, when first the quick-scenting dogs attacked him, than
he grasped his cudgel in his right hand — a cudgel which his
father had of his grandfather, to whom a mighty strong man
of Kent had given it for a present in that day when he
broke three heads on the stage. It was a cudgel of mighty
strength and wonderful art, made by one of Mr Deard's best
workmen, whom no other artificer can equal, and who hath
made all those sticks which the beaux have lately walked
with about the Park in a morning; but this was far his
masterpiece. On its head was engraved a nose and chin,
which might have been mistaken for a pair of nutcrackers.
The learned have imagined it designed to represent the Gor-
gon ; but it was in fact copied from the face of a certain long
English baronet, of infinite wit, humour, and gravity. He
did intend to have engraved here many histories : as the first

night of Captain B 's play, where you would have seen

critics in embroidery transplanted from the boxes to the pit,
whose ancient inhabitants were exalted to the galleries, where
they played on catcalls. He did intend to have painted an
auction-room, where Mr Cock would have appeared aloft in
his pulpit, trumpeting forth the praises of a china basin, and

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

with astonishment wondering that " Nobody bids more for

that fine, that superb " He did intend to have engraved

many other things, but was forced to leave all out for want
of room.

No sooner had Joseph grasped his cudgel in his hands
than lightning darted from his eyes ; and the heroic youth,
swift of foot, ran with the utmost speed to his friend's assist-
ance. He overtook him just as Rockwood had laid hold of
the skirt of his cassock, which, being torn, hung to the ground.
Reader, we would make a simile on this occasion, but for two
reasons : the first is, it would interrupt the description, which
should be rapid in this part; but that doth not weigh much,
many precedents occurring for such an interruption : the sec-
ond and much the greater reason is, that we could find no
simile adequate to our purpose : for indeed, what instance
could we bring to set before our reader's eyes at once the
idea of friendship, courage, youth, beauty, strength, and swift-
ness? all which blazed in the person of Joseph Andrews.
Let those, therefore, that describe lions and tigers, and heroes
fiercer than both, raise their poems or plays with the simile
of Joseph Andrews, who is himself above the reach of any
simile.

Now Rockwood had laid fast hold on the parson's skirts,
and stopt his flight; which Joseph no sooner perceived than
he levelled his cudgel at his head and laid him sprawling.
Jowler and Ringwood then fell on his great-coat, and had
undoubtedly brought him to the ground, had not Joseph,
collecting all his force, given Jowler such a rap on the back,
that, quitting his hold, he ran howling over the plain. A
harder fate remained for thee, O Ringwood ! Ringwood, the
best hound that ever pursued a hare, who never threw his
tongue but where the scent was undoubtedly true; good at
trailing, and sure in a highway ; no babbler, no overrunner ;
respected by the whole pack, who, whenever he opened, they
knew the game was at hand. He fell by the stroke of Joseph.
Thunder and Plunder, and Wonder and Blunder, were the
next victims of his wrath, and measured their lengths on the
ground. Then Fairmaid, a bitch which Mr John Temple
had bred up in his house, and fed at his own table, and lately
sent the squire fifty miles for a present, ran fiercely at Joseph

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THE ADVENTURES OF

and bit him by the leg: no dog was ever fiercer than she,
being descended from an Amazonian breed, and had worried
bulls in her own country, but now waged an unequal fight,
and had shared the fate of those we have mentioned before,
had not Diana (the reader may believe it or not as he pleases)
in that instant interposed, and, in the shape of the hunts-
man, snatched her favourite up in her arms.

The parson now faced about, and with his crabstick felled
many to the earth, and scattered others, till he was attacked
by Caesar and pulled to the ground. Then Joseph flew to
his rescue, and with such might fell on the victor, that, O
eternal blot to his name ! Caesar ran yelping away.

The battle now raged with the most dreadful violence,
when, lo! the huntsman, a man of years and dignity, lifted
his voice, and called his hounds from the fight, telling them,
in a language they understood, that it was in vain to con-
tend longer, for that fate had decreed the victory to their
enemies.

Thus far the muse hath with her usual dignity related this
prodigious battle, a battle we apprehend never equalled by
any poet, romance or life writer whatever, and, having brought
it to a conclusion, she ceased ; we shall therefore proceed in
our ordinary style with the continuation of this history. The
squire and his companions, whom the figure of Adams and the
gallantry of Joseph had at first thrown into a violent fit of
laughter, and who had hitherto beheld the engagement with
more delight than any chase, shooting-match, race, cock-fight-
ing, bull or bear baiting, had ever given them, began now to
apprehend the danger of their hounds, many of which lay
sprawling in the fields. The squire, therefore, having first
called his friends about him, as guards for safety of his per-
son, rode manfully up to the combatants, and, summoning
all the terror he was master of into his countenance, de-
manded with an authoritative voice of Joseph what he meant
by assaulting his dogs in that manner? Joseph answered,
with great intrepidity, that they had first fallen on his friend ;
and if they had belonged to the greatest man in the kingdom,
he would have treated them in the same way; for, whilst his
veins contained a single drop of blood, he would not stand idle
by and see that gentleman (pointing to Adams) abused either

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

by man or beast; and, having so said, both he and Adams
brandished their wooden weapons, and put themselves in such
a posture, that the squire and his company thought proper to
preponderate before they offered to revenge the cause of their
four-footed allies.

At this instant Fanny, whom the apprehension of Joseph's
danger had alarmed so much that, forgetting her own, she
had made the utmost expedition, came up. The squire and all
the horsemen were so surprized with her beauty, that they
immediately fixed both their eyes and thoughts solely on her,
every one declaring he had never seen so charming a creature.
Neither mirth nor anger engaged them a moment longer, but
all sat in silent amaze. The huntsman only was free from
her attraction, who was busy in cutting the ears of the dogs,
and endeavouring to recover them to life ; in which he suc-
ceeded so well, that only two of no great note remained
slaughtered on the field of action. Upon this the huntsman
declared, 'twas well it. was no worse; for his part he could
not blame the gentleman, and wondered his master would
encourage the dogs to hunt Christians ; that it was the surest
way to spoil them, to make them follow vermin instead of
sticking to a hare.

The squire, being informed of the little mischief that had
been done, and perhaps having more mischief of another kind
in his head, accosted Mr Adams with a more favourable aspect
than before : he told him he was sorry for what had happened ;
that he had endeavoured all he could to prevent it the mo-
ment he was acquainted with his cloth, and greatly com-
mended the courage of his servant, for so he imagined Joseph
to be. He then invited Mr Adams to dinner, and desired the
young woman might come with him. Adams refused a long
while ; but the invitation was repeated with so much earnest-
ness and courtesy, that at length he was forced to accept it.
His wig and hat, and other spoils of the field, being gathered
together by Joseph (for otherwise probably they would have
been forgotten), he put himself into the best order he could;
and then the horse and foot moved forward in the same pace
towards the squire's house, which stood at a very little dis-
tance.

Whilst they were on the road the lovely Fanny attracted

217

THE ADVENTURES OF

the eyes of all : they endeavoured to outvie one another in
encomiums on her beauty; which the reader will pardon my
not relating, as they had not anything new or uncommon in
them : so must he likewise my not setting down the many
curious jests which were made on Adams ; some of them de-
claring that parson-hunting was the best sport in the world ;
others commending his standing at bay, which they said he
had done as well as any badger ; with such-like merriment,
which, though it would ill become the dignity of this history,
afforded much laughter and diversion to the squire and his
facetious companions.

CHAPTER VII.

A SCENE OF ROASTING, VERY NICELY ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT

TASTE AND TIMES.

THEY arrived at the squire's house, just as his dinner was
ready. A little dispute arose on the account of Fanny,
whom the squire, who was a bachelor, was desirous to place
at his own table ; but she would not consent, nor would Mr
Adams permit her to be parted from Joseph; so that she
was at length with him consigned over to the kitchen, where
the servants were ordered to make him drunk ; a favour
which was likewise intended for Adams ; which design being
executed, the squire thought he should easily accomplish
what he had when he first saw her intended to perpetrate
with Fanny.

It may not be improper, before we proceed farther, to open
a little the character of this gentleman, and that of his friends.
The master of this house, then, was a man of a very con-
siderable fortune ; a bachelor, as we have said, and about
forty years of age: he had been educated (if we may here
use the expression) in the country, and at his own home,
under the care of his mother, and a tutor who had orders
never to correct him, nor to compel him to learn more than
he liked, which it seems was very little, and that only in his
childhood ; for from the age of fifteen he addicted himself

218

JOSEPH ANDREWS

entirely to hunting and other rural amusements, for which
his mother took care to equip him with horses, hounds, and
all other necessaries ; and his tutor, endeavouring to ingratiate
himself with his young pupil, who would, he knew, be able
handsomely to provide for him, became his companion, not
only at these exercises, but likewise over a bottle, which the
young squire had a very early relish for. At the age of
twenty his mother began to think she had not fulfilled the
duty of a parent ; she therefore resolved to persuade her son,
if possible, to that which she imagined would well supply all
that he might have learned at a public school or university,
— that is what they commonly call travelling; which, with
the help of the tutor, who was fixed on to attend him, she
easily succeeded in. He made in three years the tour of
Europe, as they term it, and returned home well furnished
with French clothes, phrases, and servants, with a hearty
contempt for his own country ; especially what had any
savour of the plain spirit and honesty of our ancestors. His
mother greatly applauded herself at his return. And now,
being master of his own fortune, he soon procured himself a
seat in parliament, and was in the common opinion one of
the finest gentlemen of his age : but what distinguished him
chiefly was a strange delight which he took in everything
which is ridiculous, odious, and absurd in his own species ;
so that he never chose a companion without one or more of
these ingredients, and those who were marked by nature in
the most eminent degree with them were most his favourites.
If he ever found a man who either had not, or endeavoured
to conceal, these imperfections, he took great pleasure in in-
venting methods of forcing him into absurdities which were
not natural to him, or in drawing forth and exposing those
that were ; for which purpose he was always provided with
a set of fellows, whom we have before called curs, and who
did, indeed, no great honour to the canine kind ; their busi-
ness was to hunt out and display everything that had any
savour of the above-mentioned qualities, and especially in
the gravest and best characters ; but if they failed in their
search, they were to turn even virtue and wisdom themselves
into ridicule, for the diversion of their master and feeder.

219

THE ADVENTURES OF

The gentlemen of curlike disposition who were now at his
house, and whom he had brought with him from London,
were, an old half-pay officer, a player, a dull poet, a quack-
doctor, a scraping fiddler, and a lame German dancing-master.
As soon as dinner was served, while Mr Adams was say-
ing grace, the captain conveyed his chair from behind him;
so that when he endeavoured to seat himself he fell down on
the ground, and this completed joke the first, to the great
entertainment of the whole company. The second joke was
performed by the poet, who sat next him on the other side,
and took an opportunity, while poor Adams was respectfully
drinking to the master of the house, to overturn a plate of
soup into his breeches; which, with the many apologies he
made, and the parson's gentle answers, caused much mirth
in the company. Joke the third was served up by one of
the waiting-men, who had been ordered to convey a quantity
of gin into Mr Adams's ale, which he declaring to be the best
liquor he ever drank, but rather too rich of the malt, con-
tributed again to their laughter. Mr Adams, from whom
we had most of this relation, could not recollect all the jests
of this kind practised on him, which the inoffensive disposi-
tion of his own heart made him slow in discovering ; and in-
deed, had it not been for the information which we re-
ceived from a servant of the family, this part of our history,
which we take to be none of the least curious, must have been
deplorably imperfect; though we must own it probable that
some more jokes were (as they call it) cracked during their
dinner; but we have by no means been able to come at the
knowledge of them. When dinner was removed, the poet
began to repeat some verses, which, he said, were made ex-
tempore. The following is a copy of them, procured with
the greatest difficulty:

An extempore Poem on parson Adams.

Did ever mortal such a parson view?
His cassock old, his wig not over-new,
Well might the hounds have him for fox mistaken,
In smell more like to that than rusty bacon ; *
* All hounds that will hunt fox or other vermin will hunt a piece of
rusty bacon trailed on the ground.

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JOSErH ANDREWS

But would it not make any mortal stare
To see this parson taken for a hare?
Could Phoebus err thus grossly, even he
For a good player might have taken thee.

At which words the bard whipt off the player's wig, and
received the approbation of the company, rather perhaps for
the dexterity of his hand than his head. The player, instead
of retorting the jest on the poet, began to display his talents
on the same subject. He repeated many scraps of wit out of
plays, reflecting on the whole body of the clergy, which were
received with great acclamations by all present. It was now
the dancing-master's turn to exhibit his talents ; he therefore,
addressing himself to Adams in broken English, told him,
" He was a man ver well made for de dance, and he suppose
by his walk dat he had learn of some great master." He said,
' It was ver pritty quality in clergyman to dance ; " and con-
cluded with desiring him to dance a minuet, telling him, his
cassock would serve for petticoats ; and that he would him-
self be his partner. At which words, without waiting for
an answer, he pulled out his gloves, and the fiddler was pre-
paring his fiddle. The company all offered the dancing-
master wagers that the parson out-danced him, which he re-
fused, saying he believed so too, for he had never seen any
man in his life who " looked de dance so well as de gentle-
man : " he then stepped forwards to take Adams by the
hand, which the latter hastily withdrew, and, at the same
time clenching his fist, advised him not to carry the
jest too far, for he would not endure being put upon. The
dancing-master no sooner saw the fist than he prudently re-
tired out of its reach, and stood aloof, mimicking Adams,
whose eyes were fixed on him, not guessing what he was at,
but to avoid his laying hold on him, which he had once at-
tempted. In the mean while, the captain, perceiving an op-
portunity, pinned a cracker or devil to the cassock, and then
lighted it with their little smoking-candle. Adams, being
a stranger to this sport, and believing he had been blown up
in reality, started from his chair, and jumped about the room,
to the infinite joy of the beholders, who declared he was the
best dancer in the universe. As soon as the devil had done

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tormenting him, and he had a little recovered his confusion,
he returned to the table, standing up in the posture of one
■who intended to make a speech. They all cried out, " Hear
him, hear him ; " and he then spoke in the following manner :
" Sir, I am sorry to see one to whom Providence hath been
so bountiful in bestowing his favours make so ill and un-
grateful a return for them ; for, though you have not insulted
me yourself, it is visible you have delighted in those that
do it, nor have once discouraged the many rudenesses which
have been shown towards me ; indeed, towards yourself, if
you rightly understood them; for I am your guest, and by
the laws of hospitality entitled to your protection. One gen-
tleman had thought proper to produce some poetry upon me,
of which I shall only say, that I had rather be the subject
than the composer. He hath pleased to treat me with disre-
spect as a parson. I apprehend my order is not the subject
of scorn, nor that I can become so, unless by being a disgrace
to it, which I hope poverty will never be called. Another
gentleman, indeed, hath repeated some sentences, where the
order itself is mentioned with contempt. He says they are
taken from plays. I am sure such plays are a scandal to
the government which permits them, and cursed will be the
nation where they are represented. How others have treated
me I need not observe ; they themselves, when they reflect,
must allow the behaviour to be as improper to my years as
to my cloth. You found me, sir, travelling with two of my
parishioners (I omit your hounds falling on me; for I have
quite forgiven it, whether it proceeded from the wantonness
or negligence of the huntsman) : my appearance might very
well persuade you that your invitation was an act of charity,
though in reality we were well provided ; yes, sir, if we had
had an hundred miles to travel, we had sufficient to bear our
expenses in a noble manner." (At which words he produced
the half-guinea which was found in the basket.) ' I do not
show you this out of ostentation of riches, but to convince
you I speak truth. Your seating me at your table was an hon-
our which I did not ambitiously affect. When I was here, I
endeavoured to behave towards you with the utmost respect ;
if I have failed, it was not with design ; nor could I, certainly,

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

so far be guilty as to deserve the insults I have suffered. If
they were meant, therefore, either to my order or my poverty
(and you see I am not very poor), the shame doth not lie at
my door, and I heartily pray that the sin may be averted
from yours." He thus finished, and received a general clap
from the whole company. Then the gentleman of the house
told him, he was sorry for what had happened ; that he could
not accuse him of any share in it ; that the verses were, as
himself had well observed, so bad, that he might easily answer
them ; and for the serpent, it was undoubtedly a very great
affront done him by the dancing-master, for which, if he well
thrashed him, as he deserved, he should be very much
pleased to see it (in which, probably, he spoke truth). Adams
answered, whoever had done it, it was not his profession to
punish him that way ; " But for the person whom he had ac-
cused, I am a witness," says he, " of his innocence ; for I had
my eye on him all the while. Whoever he was, God forgive
him, and bestow on him a little more sense as well as hu-
manity." The captain answered with a surly look and accent,
that he hoped he did not mean to reflect upon him ; d — n him,
he had as much imanity as another, and, if any man said he
had not, he would convince him of his mistake by cutting
his throat. Adams, smiling, said, he believed he had spoke
right by accident. To which the captain returned, what do
you mean by my speaking right? If you was not a parson,
I would not take these words ; but your gown protects you.
If any man who wears a sword had said so much, I had
pulled him by the nose before this. Adams replied, if he
attempted any rudeness to his person, he would not find any
protection for himself in his gown ; and, clenching his fist,
declared he had thrashed many a stouter man. The gentle-
man did all he could to encourage this warlike disposition
in Adams, and was in hopes to have produced a battle, but
he was disappointed ; for the captain made no other answer
than, it is very well you are a parson ; and so, drinking off
a bumper to old mother Church, ended the dispute.

Then the doctor, who had hitherto been silent, and who
was the gravest but most mischievous dog of all, in a very
pompous speech highly applauded what Adams had said,

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THE ADVENTURES OF

and as much discommended the behaviour to him. He pro-
ceeded to encomiums on the church and poverty ; and, lastly,
recommended forgiveness of what had passed to Adams, who
immediately answered, that everything was forgiven ; and
in the warmth of his goodness he filled a bumper of strong
beer (a liquor he preferred to wine), and drank a health
to the whole company, shaking the captain and the poet
heartily by the hand, and addressing himself with great re-
spect to the doctor; who, indeed, had not laughed outwardly
at anything that past, as he had a perfect command of his
muscles, and could laugh inwardly without betraying the
least symptoms in his countenance. The doctor now began
a second formal speech, in which he declaimed against all
levity of conversation, and what is usually called mirth. He
said, There were amusements fitted for persons of all ages
and degrees, from the rattle to the discussing a point of phi-
losophy ; and that men discovered themselves in nothing
more than in the choice of their amusements ; " For," says he,
" as it must greatly raise our expectation of the future con-
duct in life of boys whom in their tender years we perceive,
instead of taw or balls, or other childish playthings, to choose,
at their leisure hours, to exercise their genius in conten-
tions of wit, learning, and such like; so must it inspire one
with equal contempt of a man, if we should discover him
playing at taw or other childish play." Adams highly com-
mended the doctor's opinion, and said, he had often won-
dered at some passages in ancient authors, where Scipio,
Lselius, and other great men, were represented to have passed
many hours in amusements of the most trifling kind. The
doctor replied, he had by him an old Greek manuscript where
a favourite diversion of Socrates was recorded. " Aye ! "
says the parson eagerly : " I should be most infinitely obliged
to you for the favour of perusing it." The doctor promised
to send it him, and farther said, that he believed he could
describe it. " I think," says he, " as near as I can remember,
it was this : there was a throne erected, on one side of which
sat a king, and on the other a queen, with their guards and
attendants ranged on both sides ; to them was introduced an
ambassador, which part Socrates always used to perform

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

himself ; and when he was led up to the footsteps of the throne
he addressed himself to the monarchs in some grave speech,
full of virtue, and goodness, and morality, and such like.
After which, he was seated between the king and queen, and
royally entertained. This I think was the chief part. Per-
haps I may have forgot some particulars ; for it is long since I
read it." Adams said, it was, indeed, a diversion worthy
the relaxation of so great a man ; and thought something re-
sembling it should be instituted among our great men, in-
stead of cards and other idle pastime, in which, he was in-
formed, they trifled away too much of their lives. He added,
the Christian religion was a nobler subject for these speeches
than any Socrates could have invented. The gentleman of
the house approved what Mr Adams said, and declared he
was resolved to perform the ceremony this very evening. To
which the doctor objected, as no one was prepared with a
speech, " unless," said he (turning to Adams with a gravity
of countenance which would have deceived a more knowing
man), "you have a sermon about you, doctor." "Sir,"
said Adams, " I never travel without one, for fear of
what may happen." He was easily prevailed on by his wor-
thy friend, as he now called the doctor, to undertake the part
of the ambassador; so that the gentleman sent immediate
orders to have the throne erected, which was performed
before they had drank two bottles ; and, perhaps, the reader
will hereafter have no great reason to admire the nimbleness
of the servants. Indeed, to confess the truth, the throne was
no more than this : there was a great tub of water provided,
on each side of which were placed two stools raised higher
than the surface of the tub, and over the whole was laid a
blanket ; on these stools were placed the king and queen,
namely, the master of the house and the captain. And now
the ambassador was introduced between the poet and the
doctor; who, having read his sermon, to the great entertain-
ment of all present, was led up to his place and seated be-
tween their majesties. They immediately rose up, when the
blanket, wanting its supports at either end, gave way, and
soused Adams over head and ears in the water. The captain
made his escape, but, unluckily, the gentleman himself not
15 225

THE ADVENTURES OF

being as nimble as he ought, Adams caught hold of him be-
fore he descended from his throne, and pulled him in with
him, to the entire secret satisfaction of all the company.
Adams after ducking the squire twice or thrice, leapt out of
the tub, and looked sharp for the doctor, whom he would
certainly have conveyed to the same place of honour ; but
he had wisely withdrawn : he then searched for his crabstick,
and having found that, as well as his fellow travellers, he
declared he would not stay a moment longer in such a house.
He then departed, without taking leave of his host, whom
he had exacted a more severe revenge on than he intended;
for, as he did not use sufficient care to dry himself in time,
he caught a cold by the accident which threw him into a
fever that had like to have cost him his life.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHICH SOME READERS WILL THINK TOO SHORT AND OTHERS

TOO LONG.

ADAMS, and Joseph, who was no less enraged than his
Jl\. friend at the treatment he met with, went out with their
sticks in their hands, and carried off Fanny, notwithstanding
the opposition of the servants, who did all, without proceed-
ing to violence, in their power to detain them. They walked
as fast as they could, not so much from any apprehension of
being pursued as that Mr Adams might, by exercise, prevent
any harm from the water. The gentleman, who had given
such orders to his servants concerning Fanny that he did not
in the least fear her getting away, no sooner heard that she
was gone, than he began to rave, and immediately despatched
several with orders either to bring her back or never return.
The poet, the player, and all but the dancing-master and doc-
tor, went on this errand.

The night was very dark in which our friends began their
journey; however, they made such expedition, that they
soon arrived at an inn which was at seven miles' distance.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Here they unanimously consented to pass the evening, Mr
Adams being now as dry as he was before he had set out on
his embassy.

This inn, which indeed we might call an ale-house, had
not the words, The New Inn, been writ on the sign, afforded
them no better provision than bread and cheese and ale ; on
which, however, they made a very comfortable meal ; for
hunger is better than a French cook.

They had no sooner supped, than Adams, returning thanks
to the Almighty for his food, declared he had ate his homely
commons with much greater satisfaction than his splendid
dinner ; and expressed great contempt for the folly of man-
kind, who sacrificed their hopes of heaven to the acquisition
of vast wealth, since so much comfort was to be found in the
humblest state and the lowest provision. " Very true, sir,"
says a grave man who sat smoking his pipe by the fire, and
who was a traveller as well as himself. " I have often been
as much surprized as you are, when I consider the value
which mankind in general set on riches, since every day's
experience shows us how little is in their power; for what,
indeed, truly desirable, can they bestow on us? Can they
give beauty to the deformed, strength to the weak, or health
to the infirm ? Surely if they could we should not see so many
ill-favoured faces haunting the assemblies of the great, nor
would such numbers of feeble wretches languish in their
coaches and palaces. No, not the wealth of a kingdom can
purchase any paint to dress pale Ugliness in the bloom of
that young maiden, nor any drugs to equip Disease with the
vigour of that young man. Do not riches bring us solicitude
instead of rest, envy instead of affection, and danger instead
of safety? Can they prolong their own possession, or
lengthen his days who enjoys them? So far otherwise, that
the sloth, the luxury, the care which attend them, shorten the
lives of millions, and bring them with pain and misery to an
untimely grave. Where then is their value if they can
neither embellish nor strengthen our forms, sweeten nor pro-
long our lives? — Again: Can they adorn the mind more than
the body? Do they not rather swell the heart with vanity,
puff up the cheeks with pride, shut our ears to every call of

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virtue, and our bowels to every motive of compassion?
" Give me your hand, brother," said Adams, in a rapture, " for
I suppose you are a clergyman." — " No, truly," answered the
other (indeed, he was a priest of the church of Rome; but
those who understand our laws will not wonder he was not
over-ready to own it). — "Whatever you are," cries Adams,
" you have spoken my sentiments : I believe I have preached
every syllable of your speech twenty times over ; for it hath
always appeared to me easier for a cable-rope (which by the
way is the true rendering of that word we have translated
camel) to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man
to get into the kingdom of heaven." — " That, sir," said the
other, " will be easily granted you by divines, and is deplor-
ably true ; but as the prospect of our good at a distance doth
not so forcibly affect us, it might be of some service to man-
kind to be made thoroughly sensible — which I think they
might be with very little serious attention — that even the
blessings of this world are not to be purchased with riches;
a doctrine, in my opinion, not only metaphysically, but, if I
may so say, mathematically demonstrable ; and which I have
been always so perfectly convinced of that I have a contempt
for nothing so much as for gold." Adams now began a long
discourse : but as most which he said occurs among many
authors who have treated this subject, I shall omit inserting
it. During its continuance Joseph and Fanny retired to rest,
and the host likewise left the room. When the English par-
son had concluded, the Romish resumed the discourse, which
he continued with great bitterness and invective; and at last
ended by desiring Adams to lend him eighteen-pence to
pay his reckoning ; promising, if he never paid him, he might
be assured of his prayers. The good man answered that
eighteen-pence would be too little to carry him any very
long journey; that he had half a guinea in his pocket, which
he would divide with him. He then fell to searching his
pockets, but could find no money ; for indeed the company
with whom he dined had passed one jest upon him which we
did not then enumerate, and had picked his pocket of all that
treasure which he had so ostentatiously produced.

" Bless me ! " cried Adams, " I have certainly lost it ; I can

228

JOSEPH ANDREWS

never have spent it. Sir, as I am a Christian, I had a whole
half-guinea in my pocket this morning, and have not now a
single halfpenny of it left. Sure the devil must have taken
it from me ! " — " Sir," answered the priest smiling, "you need
make no excuses ; if you are not willing to lend me the money
I am contented." — " Sir," cries Adams, " if I had the
greatest sum in the world — aye, if I had ten pounds about
me — I would bestow it all to rescue any Christian from dis-
tress. I am more vexed at my loss on your account than my
own. Was ever anything so unlucky? Because I have no
money in my pocket I shall be suspected to be no Christian."
— " I am more unlucky," quoth the other, " if you are as gen-
erous as you say ; for really a crown would have made me
happy, and conveyed me in plenty to the place I am going,
which is not above twenty miles off, and where I can arrive
by to-morrow night. I assure you I am not accustomed to
travel pennyless. I am but just arrived in England; and we
were forced by a storm in our passage to throw all we had
overboard. I don't suspect but this fellow will take my word
for the trifle I owe him ; but I hate to appear so mean as to
confess myself without a shilling to such people ; for these,
and indeed too many others, know little difference in their
estimation between a beggar and a thief." However, he
thought he should deal better with the host that evening than
the next morning: he therefore resolved to set out immedi-
ately, notwithstanding the darkness ; and accordingly, as soon
as the host returned, he communicated to him the situation
of his affairs ; upon which the host, scratching his head, an-
swered, " Why I do not know, master ; if it be so, and you
have no money, I must trust, I think, though I had rather
always have ready money if I could ; but, marry, you look
like so honest a gentleman that I don't fear your paying me
if it was twenty times as much." The priest made no re-
ply, but, taking leave of him and Adams as fast as he could,
not without confusion, and perhaps with some distrust of
Adams's sincerity, departed.

He was no sooner gone than the host fell a shaking his
head, and declared, if he had suspected the fellow had no
money, he would not have drawn him a single drop of drink,

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THE ADVENTURES OF

saying he despaired of ever seeing his face again, for that he
looked like a confounded rogue. " Rabbit the fellow," cries
he, " I thought, by his talking so much about riches, that he
had a hundred pounds at least in his pocket." Adams chid
him for his suspicions, which, he said, were not becoming a
Christian ; and then, without reflecting on his loss, or con-
sidering how he himself should depart in the morning, he re-
tired to a very homely bed, as his companions had before;
however, health and fatigue gave them a sweeter repose than
is often in the power of velvet and down to bestow.

CHAPTER IX.

CONTAINING AS SURPRIZING AND BLOODY ADVENTURES AS CAN
BE FOUND IN THIS OR PERHAPS ANY OTHER AUTHENTIC
HISTORY.

IT was almost morning when Joseph Andrews, whose eyes
the thoughts of his dear Fanny had opened, as he lay
fondly meditating on that lovely creature, heard a violent
knocking at the door over which he lay. He presently jumped
out of bed, and, opening the window, was asked if there were
no travellers in the house? and presently, by another voice,
if two men and a young woman had not taken up their lodg-
ings there that night? Though he knew not the voices, he
began to entertain a suspicion of the truth — for indeed he
had received some information from one of the servants of
the squire's house of his design — and answered in the negative.
One of the servants, who knew the host well, called out to him
by his name just as he had opened another window, and
asked him the same question ; to which he answered in the
affirmative. O ho! said another, have we found you? and
ordered the host to come down and open the door. Fanny,
who was as wakeful as Joseph, no sooner heard all this than
she leaped from her bed, and, hastily putting on her gown
and petticoats, ran as fast as possible to Joseph's room, who
then was almost drest. He immediately let her in, and, em-
bracing her with the most passionate tenderness, bid her fear

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

nothing, for he would die in her defence. " Is that a reason
why I should not fear," says she, " when I should lose what
is dearer to me than the whole world ? " Joseph, then kissing
her hand, said, he could almost thank the occasion which had
extorted from her a tenderness she would never indulge him
with before. He then ran and waked his bedfellow Adams,
who was yet fast asleep, notwithstanding many calls from
Joseph ; but was no sooner made sensible of their danger than
he leaped from his bed, without considering the presence of
Fanny, who hastily turned her face from him, and enjoyed
a double benefit from the dark, which, as it would have pre-
vented any offence to an innocence less pure, or a modesty less
delicate, so it concealed even those blushes which were raised
in her.

Adams had soon put on all his clothes but his breeches,
which, in the hurry, he forgot ; however, they were pretty well
supplied by the length of his other garments ; .and now, the
house-door being opened, the captain, the poet, the player, and
three servants, came in. The captain told the host that two
fellows, who were in his house, had run away with a young
woman, and desired to know in which room she lay. The
host, who presently believed the story, directed them, and
instantly the captain and poet, jostling one another, ran up.
The poet, who was the nimblest, entering the chamber first,
searched the bed, and every other part, but to no purpose ;
the bird was flown, as the impatient reader, who might other-
wise have been in pain for her, was before advertised. They
then inquired where the men lay, and were approaching the
chamber, when Joseph roared out, in a loud voice, that he
would shoot the first man who offered to attack the door. The
captain inquired what fire-arms they had ; to which the host
answered, he believed they had none ; nay, he was almost con-
vinced of it, for he had heard one ask the other in the even-
ing what they should have done if they had been overtaken,
when they had no arms ; to which the other answered, they
would have defended themselves with their sticks as long as
they were able, and God would assist a just cause. This satis-
fied the captain, but not the poet, who prudently retreated
down-stairs, saying, it was his business to record great actions,
and not to do them. The captain was no sooner well satis-

231

ft

THE ADVENTURES OF

fied that there were no fire-arms than, bidding defiance to
gunpowder, and swearing he loved the smell of it, he ordered
the servants to follow him, and, marching boldly up, im-
mediately attempted to force the door, which the servants soon
helped him to accomplish. When it was opened, they dis-
covered the enemy drawn up three deep ; Adams in the front,
and Fanny in the rear. The captain told Adams that if they
would go all back to the house again they should be civilly
treated ; but unless they consented he had orders to carry the
young lady with him, whom there was great reason to believe
they had stolen from her parents; for, notwithstanding her
disguise, her air, which she could not conceal, sufficiently dis-
covered her birth to be infinitely superior to theirs. Fanny,
bursting into tears, solemnly assured him he was mistaken;
that she was a poor helpless foundling, and had no relation
in the world which she knew of; and, throwing herself on
her knees, begged that he would not attempt to take her from
her friends, who, she was convinced, would die before they
would lose her; which Adams confirmed with words not far
from amounting to an oath. The captain swore he had no
leisure to talk, and, bidding them thank themselves for what
happened, he ordered the servants to fall on, at the same time
endeavouring to pass by Adams, in order to lay hold on
Fanny; but the parson, interrupting him, received a blow
from one of them, which, without considering whence it
came, he returned to the captain, and gave him so dexterous
a knock in that part of the stomach which is vulgarly called
the pit, that he staggered some paces backwards. The cap-
tain, who was not accustomed to this kind of play, and who
wisely apprehended the consequence of such another blow,
two of them seeming to him equal to a thrust through the
body, drew forth his hanger, as Adams approached him, and
was levelling a blow at his head which would probably have
silenced the preacher for ever, had not Joseph in that instant
lifted up a certain huge stone pot of the chamber with one
hand, which six beaux could not have lifted with both, and
discharged it, together with the contents, full in the captain's
face. The uplifted hanger dropped from his hand, and he fell
prostrated on the floor with a lumpish noise, and his halfpence
rattled in his pocket; the red liquor which his veins contained,

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

and the white liquor which the pot contained, ran in one
stream down his face and his clothes. Nor had Adams quite
escaped, some of the water having in its passage shed its
honours on his head, and began to trickle down the wrinkles
or rather furrows of his cheeks, when one of the servants,
snatching a mop out of a pail of water, which had already
done its duty in washing the house, pushed it in the parson's
face; yet could not he bear him down, for the parson, wrest-
ing the mop from the fellow with one hand, with the other
brought his enemy as low as the earth, having given him
a stroke over that part of the face where, in some men of
pleasure, the natural and artificial noses are conjoined.

Hitherto, Fortune seemed to incline the victory on the
travellers' side, when, according to her custom, she began to
show the fickleness of her disposition ; for now the host, enter-
ing the field, or rather chamber of battle, flew directly at
Joseph, and, darting his head into his stomach (for he was
a stout fellow and an expert boxer), almost staggered him:
but Joseph stepping one leg back, did with his left hand so
chuck him under the chin that he reeled. The youth was
pursuing his blow with his right hand when he received from
one of the servants such a stroke with a cudgel on his temples,
that it instantly deprived him of sense, and he measured his
length on the ground.

Fanny rent the air with her cries, and Adams was coming
to the assistance of Joseph ; but the two serving-men and
the host now fell on him, and soon subdued him, though he
fought like a madman, and looked so black with the im-
pressions he had received from the mop, that Don Quixote
would certainly have taken him for an enchanted Moor. But
now follows the most tragical part ; for the captain was risen
again, and, seeing Joseph on the floor, and Adams secured,
he instantly laid hold on Fanny, and, with the assistance of
the poet and player, who, hearing the battle was over, were
now come up, dragged her, crying and tearing her hair, from
the sight of her Joseph, and, with a perfect deafness to all
her entreaties, carried her down-stairs by violence, and fas-
tened her on the player's horse; and the captain, mounting
his own, and leading that on which this poor miserable wretch
was, departed, without any more consideration of her cries

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than a butcher hath of those of a lamb ; for indeed his thoughts
were entertained only with the degree of favour which he
promised himself from the squire on the success of this ad-
venture.

The servants, who were ordered to secure Adams and Jo-
seph as safe as possible, that the squire might receive no in-
terruption to his design on poor Fanny, immediately, by the
poet's advice, tied Adams to one of the bed-posts, as they did
Joseph on the other side, as soon as they could bring him
to himself ; and then, leaving them together, back to back, and
desiring the host not to set them at liberty, nor to go near
them, till he had further orders, they departed towards their
master ; but happened to take a different road from that which
the captain had fallen into.

CHAPTER X.

A DISCOUSE BETWEEN THE POET AND THE PLAYER; OF NO
OTHER USE IN THIS HISTORY BUT TO DIVERT THE READER.

BEFORE we proceed any farther in this tragedy we
shall leave Mr Joseph and Mr Adams to themselves,
and imitate the wise conductors of the stage, who in the midst
of a grave action entertain you with some excellent piece of
satire or humour called a dance. Which piece, indeed, is
therefore danced, and not spoke, as it is delivered to the au-
dience by persons whose thinking faculty is by most people
held to lie in their heels ; and to whom, as well as heroes, who
think with their hands, Nature hath only given heads for the
sake of conformity, and as they are of no use in dancing, to
hang their hats on.

The poet, addressing the player, proceeded thus, " As I was
saying" (for they had been at this discourse all the time of
the engagement above-stairs), " the reason you have no good
new plays is evident ; it is from your discouragement of au-
thors. Gentlemen will not write, sir, they will not write,
without the expectation of fame or profit, or perhaps both.
Plays are like trees, which will not grow without nourishment ;

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

but, like mushrooms, they shoot up spontaneously, as it were,
in a rich soil. The muses, like vines, may be pruned, but
not with a hatchet. The town, like a peevish child, knows
not what it desires, and is always best pleased with a rattle.
A farce-writer hath indeed some chance for success : but they
have lost all taste for the sublime. Though I believe one
reason of their depravity is the badness of the actors. If a
man writes like an angel, sir, those fellows know not how to
give a sentiment utterance." — " Not so fast," says the player :
" the modern actors are as good at least as their authors, nay,
they come nearer their illustrious predecessors ; and I expect
a Booth on the stage again, sooner than a Shakspeare or an
Otway; and indeed I may turn your observation against you,
and with truth say, that the reason no authors are encouraged
is because we have no good new plays." — " I have not affirmed
the contrary," said the poet ; " but I am surprized you grow
so warm ; you cannot imagine yourself interested in this dis-
pute ; I hope you have a better opinion of my taste than to
apprehend I squinted at yourself. No, sir, if we had six such
actors as you, we should soon rival the Bettertons and Sand-
fords of former times ; for, without a compliment to you, I
think it impossible for any one to have excelled you in most
of your parts. Nay, it is solemn truth, and I have heard
many, and all great judges, express as much ; and, you will
pardon me if I tell you, I think every time I have seen you
lately you have constantly acquired some new excellence, like
a snowball. You have deceived me in my estimation of per-
fection, and have outdone what I thought inimitable." — " You
are as little interested," answered the player, " in what I have
said of other poets ; for d — n me if there are not manly strokes,
aye, whole scenes, in your last tragedy, which at least equal
Shakspeare. There is a delicacy of sentiment, a dignity of
expression in it, which I will own many of our gentlemen
did not do adequate justice to. To confess the truth, they
are bad enough, and I pity an author who is present at the
murder of his works." — " Nay, it is but seldom that it can
happen," returned the poet ; " the works of most modern
authors, like dead-born children, cannot be murdered. It is
such wretched half-begotten, half-writ, lifeless, spiritless, low,
grovelling stuff, that I almost pity the actor who is obliged

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to get it by heart, which must be almost as difficult to remem-
ber as words in a language you don't understand." — " I am
sure," said the player, " if the sentences have little meaning
when they are writ, when they are spoken they have less.
I know scarce one who ever lays an emphasis right, and
much less adapts his action to his character. I have seen a
tender lover in an attitude of fighting with his mistress, and a
brave hero suing to his enemy with his sword in his hand.
I don't care to abuse my profession, but rot me if in my
heart I am not inclined to the poet's side." — " It is rather
generous in you than just," said the poet; "and, though I
hate to speak ill of any person's production, — nay, I never
do it, nor will, — but yet, to do justice to the actors, what
could Booth or Betterton have made of such horrible stuff as
Fenton's Mariamne, Frowde's Philotas, or Mallet's Eurydice;
or those low, dirty, last-dying-speeches, which a fellow in
the city of Wapping, your Dillo or Lillo, what was his name,
called tragedies ? " — " Very well," says the player ; " and pray
what do you think of such fellows as Quin and Delane, or
that face-making puppy young Cibber, that ill-looked dog
Macklin, or that saucy slut Mrs Clive? What work would
they make with your Shakspears, Otways, and Lees? How
would those harmonious lines of the last come from their
tongues ? —

"' No more; for I disdain

All pomp when thou art by : far be the noise
Of kings and crowns from us, whose gentle souls
Our kinder fates have steer'd another way.
Free as the forest birds we'll pair together,
Without rememb'ring who our fathers were:
Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads ;
There in soft murmurs interchange our souls ;
Together drink the crystal of the stream,
Or taste the yellow fruit which autumn yields,
And, when the golden evening calls us home,
Wing to our downy nests, and sleep till morn.' "

Or how would this disdain of Otway —

"Who 'd be that foolish sordid thing called man?"'

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

" Hold ! hold ! hold ! " said the poet : " Do repeat that tender
speech in the third act of my play which you made such a
figure in." — " I would willingly," said the player, " but I have
forgot it." — " Aye, you was not quite perfect enough in it
when you played it," cries the poet, " or you would have had
such an applause as was never given on the stage ; an applause
I was extremely concerned for your losing." — " Sure," says
the player, " if I remember, that was hissed more than any
passage in the whole play." — " Aye, your speaking it was
hissed," said the poet. — " My speaking it ! " said the player. —
" I mean your not speaking it," said the poet. " You was out,
and then they hissed." — " They hissed, and then I was out,
if I remember," answered the player; "and I must say this
for myself, that the whole audience allowed I did your part
justice; so don't lay the damnation of your play to my ac-
count."— " I don't know what you mean by damnation," re-
plied the poet. — " Why, you know it was acted but one night,"
cried the player. — " No," said the poet, " you and the whole
town were enemies ; the pit were all my enemies, fellows that
would cut my throat, if the fear of hanging did not restrain
them. All tailors, sir, all tailors." — " Why should the tailors
be so angry with you ? " cries the player. " I suppose you
don't employ so many in making your clothes." — " I admit
your jest," answered the poet ; " but you remember the affair
as well as myself ; you know there was a party in the pit and
upper-gallery that would not suffer it to be given out again ;
though much, aye infinitely, the majority, all the boxes in
particular, were desirous of it; nay, most of the ladies swore
they never would come to the house till it was acted again.
Indeed, I must own their policy was good in not letting it be
given out a second time : for the rascals knew if it had
gone a second night it would have run fifty ; for if ever
there was distress in a tragedy, — I am not fond of my own
performance; but if I should tell you what the best judges

said of it Nor was it entirely owing to my enemies neither

that it did not succeed on the stage as well as it hath since
among the polite readers ; for you can't say it had justice done
it by the performers." — " I think," answered the player, " the
performers did the distress of it justice; for I am sure we
were in distress enough, who were pelted with oranges all the

23/

THE ADVENTURES OF

last act: we all imagined it would have been the last act of
our lives."

The poet, whose fury was now raised, had just attempted
to answer when they were interrupted, and an end put to
their discourse, by an accident, which if the reader is impa-
tient to know, he must skip over the next chapter, which is a
sort of counterpart to this, and contains some of the best and
gravest matters in the whole book, being a discourse between
parson Abraham Adams and Mr Joseph Andrews.

CHAPTER XL

CONTAINING THE EXHORTATIONS OF PARSON ADAMS TO HIS
FRIEND IN AFFLICTION ; CALCULATED FOR THE INSTRUCTION
AND IMPROVEMENT OF THE READER.

JOSEPH no sooner came perfectly to himself than, per-
ceiving his mistress gone, he bewailed her loss with groans
which would have pierced any heart but those which are
possessed by some people, and are made of a certain compo-
sition, not unlike flint in its hardness and other properties;
for you may strike fire from them, which will dart through
the eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the
same way. His own, poor youth ! was of a softer composi-
tion ; and at those words, O my dear Fanny ! O my love !
shall I never, never see thee more? his eves overflowed with
tears, which would have become any but a hero. In a word,
his despair was more easy to be conceived than related.

Mr Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to
Joseph, began thus in a sorrowful tone: "You cannot im-
agine, my good child, that I entirely blame these first agonies
of your grief; for, when misfortunes attack us by surprize,
it must require infinitely more learning than you are master
of to resist them ; but it is the business of a man and a Chris-
tian to summon Reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and
she will presently teach him patience and submission. Be
comforted, therefore, child ; I say be comforted. It is true,
you have lost the prettiest, kindest, loveliest, sweetest young

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

woman, one with whom you might have expected to have
lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence ; by whom you might
have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have
been the delight of your youth and the comfort of your age.
You have not only lost her, but have reason to fear the ut-
most violence which lust and power can inflict upon her.
Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas of horror, which
might drive you to despair." — " O I shall run mad ! " cries
Joseph. " O that I could but command my hands to tear my
eyes out and my flesh off ! " — " If you would use them to such
purposes, I am glad you can't," answered Adams. " I have
stated your misfortune as strong as I possibly can ; but, on
the other side, you are to consider you arc a Christian, that no
accident happens to us without the Divine permission, and
that it is the duty of a man, much more of a Christian, to
submit. We did not make ourselves ; but the same power
which made us rules over us, and we are absolutely at his
disposal ; he may do with us what he pleases, nor have we any
right to complain. A second reason against our complaint
is our ignorance ; for, as we know not future events, so
neither can we tell to what purpose any accident tends ; and
that which at first threatens us with evil may in the end pro-
duce our good. I should indeed have said our ignorance is
twofold (but I have not at present time to divide properly),
for, as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimately
directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause it origi-
nally sprung. You are a man, and consequently a sinner ; and
this may be a punishment to you for your sins : indeed in
this sense it may be esteemed as a good, yea, as the
greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and averts
that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction.
Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves demonstrates
the folly and absurdity of our complaints : for whom do we
resist, or against whom do we complain, but a power from
whose shafts no armour can guard us, no speed can fly? —
a power which leaves us no hope but in submission." " O
sir ! " cried Joseph, " all this is very true, and very fine, and I
could hear you all day if I was not so grieved at heart as now
I am." — " Would you take physic," says Adams, " when you
are well, and refuse it when you are sick? Is not comfort

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to be administered to the afflicted, and not to those who re-
joice or those who are at ease? " " O ! you have not spoken
one word of comfort to me yet ! " returned Joseph. " No ! "
cries Adams ; " what am I then doing ? what can I say to
comfort you ? " " O tell me," cries Joseph, " that Fanny will
escape back to my arms, that they shall again enclose that
lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untainted inno-
cence about her ! " " Why, perhaps you may," cries Adams,
" but I can't promise you what's to come. You must, with
perfect resignation, wait the event: if she be restored to you
again, it is your duty to be thankful, and so it is if she be not.
Joseph, if you are wise and truly know your own interest,
you will peaceably and quietly submit to all the dispensations
of Providence, being thoroughly assured that all the misfor-
tunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, hap-
pen to them for their own good. Nay, it is not your interest
only, but your duty, to abstain from immoderate grief ; which
if you indulge, you are not worthy the name of a Christian."
He spoke these last words with an accent a little severer than
usual : upon which Joseph begged him not to be angry, saying,
he mistook him if he thought he denied it was his duty, for
he had known that long ago. " What signifies knowing your
duty, if you do not perform it ? " answered Adams. " Your
knowledge increases your guilt. O Joseph ! I never thought
you had this stubbornness in your mind." Joseph replied,
" He fancied he misunderstood him ; which I assure you,"
says he, " you do, if you imagine I endeavour to grieve ; upon
my soul I don't." Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then
proceeded to enlarge on the folly of grief, telling him, all the
wise men and philosophers, even among the heathens, had
written against it, quoting several passages from Seneca, and
the consolation, which, though it was not Cicero's, was, he
said, as good almost as any of his works ; and concluded all
by hinting that immoderate grief in this case might incense
that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This
reason, or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the res-
toration of his mistress, had more effect than all which the
parson had said before, and for a moment abated his agonies;
but, when his fears sufficiently set before his eyes the dan-
ger that poor creature was in, his grief returned again with

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least assuage it;
though it may be doubted in his behalf whether Socrates him-
self could have prevailed any better.

They remained some time in silence, and groans and sighs
issued from them both; at length Joseph burst out into the
following soliloquy : —

" Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man,
But I must also feel them as a man.
I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me."

Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated? To
which he answered, they were some lines he had gotten by
heart out of a play. " Aye, there is nothing but heathenism
to be learned from plays," replied he. " I never heard of
any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the Con-
scious Lovers ; and, I must own, in the latter there are some
things almost solemn enough for a sermon." But we shall
now leave them a little, and enquire after the subject of their
conversation.

CHAPTER XII.

MORE ADVENTURES, WHICH WE HOPE WILL AS MUCH PLEASE
AS SURPRIZE THE READER.

NEITHER the facetious dialogue which passed between
the poet and the player, nor the grave and truly solemn
discourse of Mr Adams, will, we conceive, make the reader
sufficient amends for the anxiety which he must have felt on
the account of poor Fanny, whom we left in so deplorable a
condition. We shall therefore now proceed to the relation of
what happened to that beautiful and innocent virgin, after
she fell into the wicked hands of the captain.

The man of war, having conveyed his charming prize out

of the inn a little before day, made the utmost expedition in

his power towards the squire's house, where this delicate

creature was to be offered up a sacrifice to the lust of a rav-

16 241

THE ADVENTURES OF

isher. He was not only deaf to all her bewailings and en-
treaties on the road, but accosted her ears with impurities
which, having been never before accustomed to them, she
happily for herself very little understood. At last he changed
his note, and attempted to soothe and mollify her, by setting
forth the splendour and luxury which would be her fortune
with a man who would have the inclination, and power too,
to give her whatever her utmost wishes could desire ; and
told her he doubted not but she would soon look kinder on
him, as the instrument of her happiness, and despise that
pitiful fellow whom her ignorance only could make her fond
of. She answered, she knew not whom he meant ; she never
was fond of any pitiful fellow. " Are you affronted, madam,"
says he, " at my calling him so ? But what better can be
said of one in a livery, notwithstanding your fondness for
him ? " She returned, that she did not understand him, that
the man had been her fellow-servant, and she believed was
as honest a creature as any alive ; but as for fondness for
men — " I warrant ye," cries the captain, " we shall find means
to persuade you to be fond ; and I advise you to yield to gen-
tle ones, for you may be assured that it is not in your power,
by any struggles whatever, to preserve your virginity
two hours longer. It will be your interest to consent ; for the
squire will be much kinder to you if he enjoys you willingly
than by force." At which words she began to call aloud
for assistance (for it was now open day), but, finding none,
she lifted her eyes to heaven, and supplicated the Divine as-
sistance to preserve her innocence. The captain told her,
if she persisted in her vociferation, he would find a means of
stopping her mouth. And now the poor wretch, perceiv-
ing no hopes of succour, abandoned herself to despair, and,
sighing out the name of Joseph ! Joseph ! a river of tears
ran down her lovely cheeks, and wet the handkerchief which
covered her bosom. A horseman now appeared in the road,
upon which the captain threatened her violently if she com-
plained ; however, the moment they approached each other
she begged him with the utmost earnestness to relieve a dis-
tressed creature who was in the hands of a ravisher. The
fellow stopt at these words, but the captain assured him it

242

JOSEPH ANDREWS

was his wife, and that he was carrying her home from her
adulterer, which so satisfied the fellow, who was an old one
(and perhaps a married one too), that he wished him a good
journey, and rode on. He was no sooner past than the cap-
tain abused her violently for breaking his commands, and
threatened to gag her, when two more horsemen, armed with
pistols, came into the road just before them. She again so-
licited their assistance, and the captain told the same story
as before. Upon which one said to the other, ' That's a
charming wench, Jack ; I wish I had been in the fellow's
place, whoever he is." But the other, instead of answering
him, cried out, " Zounds, I know her ; " and then, turning to
her, said, "Sure you are not Fanny Goodwill?" — "Indeed,
indeed, I am," she cried — " O John ! I know you now —
Heaven hath sent you to my assistance, to deliver me from
this wicked man, who is carrying me away for his vile pur-
poses— O for God's sake rescue me from him ! " A fierce
dialogue immediately ensued between the captain and these
two men, who, being both armed with pistols, and the chariot
which they attended being now arrived, the captain saw both
force and stratagem were vain, and endeavoured to make his
escape, in which however he could not succeed. The gentle-
man who rode in the chariot ordered it to stop, and with an
air of authority examined into the merits of the cause ; of
which being advertised by Fanny, whose credit was confirmed
by the fellow who knew her, he ordered the captain, who
was all bloody from his encounter at the inn, to be conveyed
as a prisoner behind the chariot, and very gallantly took
Fanny into it ; for, to say the truth, this gentleman (who
was no other than the celebrated Mr Peter Pounce, and who
preceded the Lady Booby only a few miles, by setting out
earlier in the morning) was a very gallant person, and loved
a pretty girl better than anything besides his own money or
the money of other people.

The chariot now proceeded towards the inn, which, as
Fanny was informed, lay in their way, and where it arrived
at that very time while the poet and player were disputing
below-stairs, and Adams and Joseph were discoursing back-
to back above; just at that period to which we brought them

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both in the two preceding chapters the chariot stopt at the
door, and in an instant Fanny, leaping from it, ran up to her
Joseph. — O reader! conceive if thou canst the joy which
fired the breasts of these lovers on this meeting; and if thy
own heart doth not sympathetically assist thee in this con-
ception, I pity thee sincerely from my own ; for let the hard-
hearted villain know this, that there is a pleasure in a tender
sensation beyond any which he is capable of tasting.

Feter, being informed by Fanny of the presence of Adams,
stopt to see him, and receive his homage; for, as Feter was
an hypocrite, a sort of people whom Mr Adams never saw
through, the one paid that respect to his seeming goodness
which the other believed to be paid to his riches; hence Mr
Adams was so much his favourite, that he once lent him four
pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence to prevent his going
to gaol on no greater security than a bond and judgment,
which probably he would have made no use of, though the
money had not been (as it was) paid exactly at the time.

It is not perhaps easy to describe the figure of Adams ; he
had risen in such a hurry, that he had on neither breeches,
garters, nor stockings; nor had he taken from his head a red
spotted handkerchief, which by night bound his wig, that
was turned inside out, around his head. He had on his torn
cassock and his great-coat ; but, as the remainder of his cas-
sock hung down below his great-coat, so did a small stripe of
white, or rather whitish, linen appear below that; to which
we may add the several colours which appeared on his face,
where a long piss-burnt beard served to retain the liquor of
the stone-pot, and that of a blacker hue which distilled from
the mop. — This figure, which Fanny had delivered from his
captivity, was no sooner spied by Peter than it disordered
the composed gravity of his muscles ; however, he advised
him immediately to make himself clean, nor would accept his
homage in that pickle.

The poet and player no sooner saw the captain in captivity
than they began to consider of their own safety, of which
flight presented itself as the only means ; they therefore both
of them mounted the poet's horse, and made the most expe-
ditious retreat in their power.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

The host, who well knew Mr Tounce and the Lady Booby's
livery, was not a little surprized at this change of the scene ;
nor was his confusion much helped by his wife, who was now
just risen, and, having heard from him the account of what
had passed, comforted him with a decent number of fools and
blockheads ; asked him why he did not consult her, and
told him he would never leave following the nonsensical
dictates of his own numskull till she and her family were
ruined.

Joseph, being informed of the captain's arrival, and see-
ing his Fanny now in safety, quitted her a moment, and,
running down-stairs, went directly to him, and stripping off
his coat, challenged him to fight; but the captain refused,
saying he did not understand boxing. He then grasped a
cudgel in one hand, and, catching the captain by the collar
with the other, gave him a most severe drubbing, and ended
with telling him he had now had some revenge for what his
dear Fanny had suffered.

When Mr. Pounce had a little regaled himself with some
provision which he had in his chariot, and Mr Adams had
put on the best appearance his clothes would allow him,
Pounce ordered the captain into his presence, for he said he
was guilty of felony, and the next justice of peace should
commit him; but the servants (whose appetite for revenge
is soon satisfied), being sufficiently contented with the
drubbing which Joseph had inflicted on him, and which was
indeed of no very moderate kind, had suffered him to go
off, which he did, threatening a severe revenge against
Joseph, which I have never heard he thought proper to
take.

The mistress of the house made her voluntary appearance
before Mr Pounce, and with a thousand curtsies told him,
she hoped his honour would pardon her husband, who was
a very nonsense man, for the sake of his poor family ; that
indeed if he could be ruined alone, she should be very willing
of it; for because as why, his worship very well knew he
deserved it; but she had three poor small children, who were
not capable to get their own living ; and if her husband was
sent to gaol, they must all come to the parish ; for she was a

245

THE ADVENTURES OF

poor weak woman, continually a-breeding, and had no time
to work for them. She therefore hoped his honour would
take it into his worship's consideration, and forgive her hus-
band this time ; for she was sure he never intended any harm
to man, woman, or child; and, if it was not for that block-
head of his own, the man in some things was well enough ;
for she had had three children by him in less than three
years, and was almost ready to cry out the fourth time. She
would have proceeded in this manner much longer, had not
Peter stopt her tongue, by telling her he had nothing to say
to her husband nor her neither. So, as Adams and the rest
had assured her of forgiveness, she cried and curtsied out of
the room.

Mr Pounce was desirous that Fanny should continue her
journey with him in the chariot ; but she absolutely refused,
saying she would ride behind Joseph on a horse which one
of Lady Booby's servants had equipped him with. But, alas !
when the horse appeared, it was found to be no other than
that identical beast which Mr Adams had left behind him at
the inn, and which these honest fellows, who knew him, had
redeemed. Indeed, whatever horse they had provided for
Joseph, they would have prevailed with him to mount none,
no not even to ride before his beloved Fanny, till the parson
was supplied ; much less would he deprive his friend of the
beast which belonged to him, and which he knew the moment
he saw, though Adams did not ; however, when he was re-
minded of the affair, and told that they had brought the
horse with them which he left behind, he answered — Bless
me ! and so I did.

Adams was very desirous that Joseph and Fanny should
mount his horse, and declared he could very easily walk
home. " If I walked alone," says he, " I would wage a shil-
ling that the pedestrian outstripped the equestrian travellers ;
but, as I intend to take the company of a pipe, peradventure
I may be an hour later." One of the servants whispered Jo-
seph to take him at his word, and suffer the old put to walk
if he would : this proposal was answered with an angry look
and a peremptory refusal by Joseph, who, catching Fanny
up in his arms, averred he would rather carry her home in

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that manner, than take away Mr Adams's horse and permit
him to walk on foot.

Perhaps, reader, thou hast seen a contest between two gen-
tlemen, or two ladies, quickly decided, though they have both
asserted they would not eat such a nice morsel, and each
insisted on the other's accepting it ; but in reality both were
very desirous to swallow it themselves. Do not therefore
conclude hence that this dispute would have come to a speedy
decision : for here both parties were heartily in earnest, and
it is very probable they would have remained in the inn-yard
to this day, had not the good Peter Pounce put a stop to it ;
for, finding he had no longer hopes of satisfying his old ap-
petite with Fanny, and being desirous of having some one
to whom he might communicate his grandeur, he told the
parson he would convey him home in his chariot. This fa-
vour was by Adams, with many bows and -acknowledgments,
accepted, though he afterwards said, he ascended the chariot
rather that he might not offend than from any desire of rid-
ing in it, for that in his heart he preferred the pedestrian
even to the vehicular expedition. All matters being now set-
tled, the chariot, in which rode Adams and Pounce, moved
forwards ; and Joseph having borrowed a pillion from the
host, Fanny had just seated herself thereon, and had laid
hold of the girdle which her lover wore for that purpose,
when the wise beast, who concluded that one at a time was
sufficient, that two to one were odds, &c, discovered much
uneasiness at his double load, and began to consider his hinder
as his fore legs, moving the direct contrary way to that which
is called forwards. Nor could Joseph, with all his horseman-
ship, persuade him to advance ; but, without having any re-
gard to the lovely part of the lovely girl which was on his
back, he used such agitations that, had not one of the men
come immediately to her assistance, she had, in plain English,
tumbled backwards on the ground. This inconvenience was
presently remedied by an exchange of horses ; and then Fanny
being again placed on her pillion, on a better-natured and
somewhat a better-fed beast, the parson's horse, finding he
had no longer odds to contend with, agreed to march; and
the whole procession set forwards for Booby-hall, where they

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THE ADVENTURES OF

arrived in a few hours without anything remarkable happen-
ing on the road, unless it was a curious dialogue between the
parson and the steward : which, to use the language of a late
Apologist, a pattern to all biographers, waits for the reader
in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XIII.

A CURIOUS DIALOGUE WHICH PASSED BETWEEN MR ABRAHAM
ADAMS AND MR PETER POUNCE, BETTER WORTH READING
THAN ALL THE WORKS OF COLLEY CIBBER AND MANY OTHERS.

THE chariot had not proceeded far before Mr Adams ob-
served it was a very fine day. " Aye, and a very fine
country too," answered Pounce. — " I should think so more,"
returned Adams, " if I had not lately travelled over the Downs,
which I take to exceed this and all other prospects in the
universe." — " A fig for prospects ! " answered Pounce ; " one
acre here is worth ten there ; and for my own part, I have no
delight in the prospect of any land but my own." — " Sir," said
Adams, " you can indulge yourself with many fine prospects
of that kind." — " I thank God I have a little," replied the
other, " with which I am content, and envy no man : I have
a little, Mr Adams, with which I do as much good as I can."
Adams answered, that riches without charity were nothing
worth ; for that they were a blessing only to him who made
them a blessing to others. — " You and I," said Peter, " have
different notions of charity. I own, as it is generally used,
I do not like the word, nor do I think it becomes one of us
gentlemen ; it is a mean parson-like quality ; though I would
not infer many parsons have it neither." — " Sir," said Adams,
" my definition of charity is, a generous disposition to relieve
the distressed." — " There is something in that definition," an-
swered Peter, " which I like well enough ; it is, as you say, a
disposition, and does not so much consist in the act as in the
disposition to do it. But alas ! Mr Adams, who are meant
by the distressed? Believe me, the distresses of mankind
are mostly imaginary, and it would be rather folly than good-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

ness to relieve them." — " Sure, sir," replied Adams, " hunger
and thirst, cold and nakedness, and other distresses which
attend the poor, can never be said to be imaginary evils." —
" How can any man complain of hunger," said Peter, " in a
country where such excellent salads are to be gathered in
almost every field ? or of thirst, where every river and stream
produce such delicious potations ? And as for cold and naked-
ness, they are evils introduced by luxury and custom. A man
naturally wants clothes no more than a horse or any other
animal ; and there are whole nations who go without them ;
but these are things perhaps which you, who do not know
the world " — " You will pardon me, sir," returned Adams ;
" I have read of the Gymnosophists." — " A plague of your
Jehosaphats ! " cried Peter; "the greatest fault in our consti-
tution is the provision made for the poor, except that perhaps
made for some others. Sir, I have not an estate which doth
not contribute almost as much again to the poor as to the
land-tax ; and I do assure you I expect to come myself to the
parish in the end." To which Adams giving a dissenting
smile, Peter thus proceeded : " I fancy, Mr Adams, you are
one of those who imagine I am a lump of money ; for there
are many who, I fancy, believe that not only my pockets, but
my whole clothes, are lined with bank-bills ; but I assure
you, you are all mistaken ; I am not the man the world esteems
me. If I can hold my head above water it is all I can. I
have injured myself by purchasing. I have been too liberal
of my money. Indeed, I fear my heir will find my affairs in a
worse situation than they are reputed to be. Ah ! he will have
reason to wish I had loved money more and land less. Pray,
my good neighbour, where should I have that quantity of
riches the world is so liberal to bestow on me? Where could
I possibly, without I had stole it, acquire such a treasure ? "
" Why truly," says Adams, " I have been always of your opin-
ion ; I have wondered as well as yourself with what confi-
dence they could report such things of you, which have to
me appeared as mere impossibilities ; for you know, sir, and I
have often heard you say it, that your wealth is of your own
acquisition ; and can it be credible that in your short time you
should have amassed such a heap of treasure as these people
will have you worth? Indeed, had you inherited an estate

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THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS

like Sir Thomas Booby, which had descended in your family
for many generations, they might have had a colour for their
assertions." ' Why, what do they say I am worth ? " cries
Peter with a malicious sneer. " Sir," answered Adams, " I
have heard some aver you are not worth less than twenty
thousand pounds." At which Peter frowned. " Nay, sir,"
said Adams, " you ask me only the opinion of others ; for my
own part, I have always denied it, nor did I ever believe you
could possibly be worth half that sum." " However, Mr
Adams," said he, squeezing him by the hand, " I would not
sell them all I am worth for double that sum ; and as to what
you believe, or they believe, I care not a fig, no not a fart.
I am not poor because you think me so, nor because you
attempt to undervalue me in the country. I know the envy of
mankind very well ; but I thank Heaven I am above them.
It is true, my wealth is of my own acquisition. I have not
an estate, like Sir Thomas Booby, that has descended in my
family through many generations ; but I know heirs of such
estates who are forced to travel about the country like some
people in torn cassocks, and might be glad to accept of a
pitiful curacy for what I know. Yes, sir, as shabby fellows
as yourself, whom no man of my figure, without that vice
of good-nature about him, would suffer to ride in a chariot
with him." " Sir," said Adams, " I value not your chariot of
a rush ; and if I had known you had intended to affront me,
I would have walked to the world's end on foot ere I would
have accepted a place in it. However, sir, I will soon rid you
of that inconvenience ; " and, so saying, he opened the chariot
door, without calling to the coachman, and leapt out into the
highway, forgetting to take his hat along with him ; which,
however, Mr Pounce threw after him with great violence.
Joseph and Fanny stopped to bear him company the rest of
the way, which was not above a mile.

25°

BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.

THE ARRIVAL OF LADY BOOBY AND THE REST AT BOOBY-HALL.

THE coach and six, in which Lady Booby rode, overtook
the other travellers as they entered the parish. She no
sooner saw Joseph than her cheeks glowed with red, and imme-
diately after became as totally pale. She had in her surprize
almost stopt her coach ; but recollected herself timely enough
to prevent it. She entered the parish amidst the ringing of
bells and the acclamations of the poor, who were rejoiced to
see their patroness returned after so long an absence, dur-
ing which time all her rents had been drafted to London, with-
out a shilling being spent among them, which tended not
a little to their utter impoverishing; for, if the court would be
severely missed in such a city as London, how much more
must the absence of a person of great fortune be felt in a
little country village, for whose inhabitants such a family finds
a constant employment and supply; and with the offals of
whose table the infirm, aged, and infant poor are abundantly
fed, with a generosity which hath scarce a visible effect on
their benefactor's pockets !

But, if their interest inspired so public a joy into every
countenance, how much more forcibly did the affection which
they bore parson Adams operate upon all who beheld his re-
turn ! They flocked about him like dutiful children round
an indulgent parent, and vied with each other in demonstra-
tions of duty and love. The parson on his side shook every
one by the hand, inquiring heartily after the healths of all
that were absent, of their children and relations ; and exprest
a satisfaction in his face which nothing but benevolence made
happy by its objects could infuse.

Nor did Joseph and Fanny want a hearty welcome from

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THE ADVENTURES OF

all who saw them. In short, no three persons could be more
kindly received, as, indeed, none ever more deserved to be
universally beloved.

Adams carried his fellow-travellers home to his house, where
he insisted on their partaking whatever his wife, whom, with
his children, he found in health and joy, could provide: —
where we shall leave them enjoying perfect happiness over
a homely meal, to view scenes of greater splendour, but in-
finitely less bliss.

Our more intelligent readers will doubtless suspect, by this
second appearance of Lady Booby on the stage, that all was
not ended by the dismission of Joseph; and, to be honest
with them, they are in the right : the arrow had pierced deeper
than she imagined ; nor was the wound so easily to be cured.
The removal of the object soon cooled her rage, but it had a
different effect on her love ; that departed with his person, but
this remained lurking in her mind with his image. Restless,
interrupted slumbers, and confused horrible dreams were her
portion the first night. In the morning, fancy painted her
a more delicious scene; but to delude, not delight her; for,
before she could reach the promised happiness, it vanished,
and left her to curse, not bless, the vision.

She started from her sleep, her imagination being all on
fire with the phantom, when, her eyes accidentally glancing
towards the spot where yesterday the real Joseph had stood,
that little circumstance raised his idea in the liveliest colours
in her memory. Each look, each word, each gesture rushed
back on her mind with charms which all his coldness could
not abate. Nay, she imputed that to his youth, his folly,
his awe, his religion, to everything but what would instantly
have produced contempt, want of passion for the sex, or that
which would have roused her hatred, want of liking to her.

Reflection then hurried her farther, and told her she must
see this beautiful youth no more; nay, suggested to her that
she herself had dismissed him for no other fault than proba-
bly that of too violent an awe and respect for herself; and
which she ought rather to have esteemed a merit, the effects
of which were besides so easily and surely to have been re-
moved ; she then blamed, she cursed the hasty rashness of her
temper; her fury was vented all on herself, and Joseph ap-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

peared innocent in her eyes. Her passion at length grew so
violent, that it forced her on seeking relief, and now she
thought of recalling him : but pride forbad that ; pride, which
soon drove all softer passions from her soul, and represented
to her the meanness of him she was fond of. That thought
soon began to obscure his beauties ; contempt succeeded next,
and then disdain, which presently introduced her hatred of the
creature who had given her so much uneasiness. These ene-
mies of Joseph had no sooner taken possession of her mind
than they insinuated to her a thousand things in his disfavour ;
everything but dislike of her person ; a thought which, as it
would have been intolerable to bear, she checked the moment
it endeavoured to arise. Revenge came now to her assistance ;
and she considered her dismission of him, stript, and without
a character, with the utmost pleasure. She rioted in the sev-
eral kinds of misery which her imagination suggested to her
might be his fate ; and, with a smile composed of anger, mirth,
and scorn, viewed him in the rags in which her fancy had
drest him.

Mrs Slipslop, being summoned, attended her mistress, who
had now in her own opinion totally subdued this passion.
Whilst she was dressing she asked if that fellow had been
turned away according to her orders. Slipslop answered,
she had told her ladyship so (as indeed she had). — "And
how did he behave ? " replied the lady. " Truly, madam,"
cries Slipslop, " in such a manner that infected everybody
who saw him. The poor lad had but little wages to receive;
for he constantly allowed his father and mother half his in-
come; so that, when your ladyship's livery was stript off, he
had not wherewithal to buy a coat, and must have gone naked
if one of the footmen had not incommodated him with one;
and whilst he was standing in his shirt (and, to say truth,
he was an amorous figure), being told your ladyship would
not give him a character, he sighed, and said he had done
nothing willingly to offend; that, for his part, he should
always give your ladyship a good character wherever he
went; and he prayed God to bless you; for you was the
best of ladies, though his enemies had set you against him.
I wish you had not turned him away; for I believe you have
not a faithfuller servant in the house." — " How came you

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THE ADVENTURES OF

then," replied the lady, " to advise me to turn him away ? "
— " I, madam ! " said Slipslop ; " I am sure you will do me
the justice to say, I did all in my power to prevent it; but
I saw your ladyship was angry ; and it is not the business
of us upper servants to hint or fear on these occasions."
" And was it not you, audacious wretch ! " cried the lady,
" who made me angry ? Was it not your tittle-tattle, in which
I believe you belied the poor fellow, which incensed me against
him ? He may thank you for all that hath happened ; and so
may I for the loss of a good servant, and one who probably
had more merit than all of you. Poor fellow ! I am charmed
with his goodness to his parents. Why did not you tell me of
that, but suffer me to dismiss so good a creature without a
character? I see the reason of your whole behaviour now
as well as your complaint ; you was jealous of the wenches."
" I jealous ! " said Slipslop ; " I assure you, I look upon my-
self as his betters ; I am not meat for a footman, I hope."
These words threw the lady into a violent passion, and she
sent Slipslop from her presence, who departed, tossing her
nose, and crying, " Marry, come up ! there are some people
more jealous than I, I believe." Her lady affected not to
hear the words, though in reality she did, and understood
them too. Now ensued a second conflict, so like the former,
that it might savour of repetition to relate it minutely. It
may suffice to say that Lady Booby found good reason to
doubt whether she had so absolutely conquered her passion
as she had flattered herself; and, in order to accomplish it
quite, took a resolution, more common than wise, to retire
immediately into the country. The reader hath long ago seen
the arrival of Mrs Slipslop, whom no pertness could make
her mistress resolve to part with ; lately, that of Mr Pounce,
her forerunners ; and, lastly, that of the lady herself.

The morning after her arrival being Sunday, she went to
church, to the great surprise of everybody, who wondered to
see her ladyship, being no very constant church-woman, there
so suddenly upon her journey. Joseph was likewise there;
and I have heard it was remarked that she fixed her eyes
on him much more than on the parson ; but this I believed
to be only a malicious rumour. When the prayers were ended
Mr Adams stood up, and with a loud voice pronounced, " I

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

publish the banns of marriage between Joseph Andrews
and Frances Goodwill, both of this parish," &c. Whether
this had any effect on Lady Booby or no, who was then in
her pew, which the congregation could not see into, I could
never discover : but certain it is, that in about a quarter of an
hour she stood up, and directed her eyes to that part of the
church where the women sat, and persisted in looking that
way during the remainder of the sermon in so scrutinizing
a manner, and with so angry a countenance, that most of the
women were afraid she was offended at them. The moment
she returned home she sent for Slipslop into her chamber,
and told her she wondered what that impudent fellow Joseph
did in that parish ? Upon which Slipslop gave her an account
of her meeting Adams with him on the road, and likewise the
adventure with Fanny. At the relation of which the lady
often changed her countenance ; and when she had heard all,
she ordered Mr Adams into her presence, to whom she be-
haved as the reader will see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MR ABRAHAM ADAMS AND LADY BOOBY.

MR ADAMS was not far off, for he was drinking her
ladyship's health below in a cup of her ale. He no
sooner came before her than she began in the following man-
ner : " I wonder, sir, after the many great obligations you
have had to this family " (with all which the reader hath in
the course of this history been minutely acquainted), "that
you will ungratefully show any respect to a fellow who hath
been turned out of it for his misdeeds. Nor doth it, I can
tell you, sir, become a man of your character, to run about
the country with an idle fellow and wench. Indeed, as for
the girl, I know no harm of her. Slipslop tells me she was
formerly bred up in my house, and behaved as she ought, till
she hankered after this fellow, and he spoiled her. Nay, she
may still, perhaps, do very well, if he will let her alone.
You are, therefore, doing a monstrous thing in endeavouring

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THE ADVENTURES OF

to procure a match between these two people, which will be
the ruin of them both." — " Madam," said Adams, " if your
ladyship will but hear me speak, I protest I never heard any
harm of Mr Joseph Andrews ; if I had, I should have cor-
rected him for it; for I never have, nor will, encourage the
faults of those under my cure. As for the young woman, I
assure your ladyship I have as good an opinion of her as
your ladyship yourself or any other can have. She is the
sweetest-tempered, honestest, worthiest young creature ; in-
deed, as to her beauty, I do not commend her on that account,
though all men allow she is the handsomest woman, gentle or
simple, that ever appeared in the parish." — " You are very im-
pertinent," says she, " to talk such fulsome stuff to me. It is
mighty becoming truly in a clergyman to trouble himself about
handsome women, and you are a delicate judge of beauty,
no doubt. A man who hath lived all his life in such a parish
as this is a rare judge of beauty ! Ridiculous ! beauty indeed !
a country wench a beauty ! I shall be sick whenever I hear
beauty mentioned again. And so this wench is to stock the
parish with beauties, I hope. But, sir, our poor are numerous
enough already ; I will have no more vagabonds settled here."
— " Madam," says Adams, " your ladyship is offended with
me, I protest, without any reason. This couple were de-
sirous to consummate long ago, and I dissuaded them from
it; nay, I may venture to say, I believe I was the sole cause
of their delaying it." — " Well," says she, " and you did very
wisely and honestly too, notwithstanding she is the greatest
beauty in the parish." — " And now, madam," continued he,
" I only perform my office to Mr Joseph." — " Pray, don't
mister such fellows to me," cries the lady. — " He," said the
parson, " with the consent of Fanny, before my face, put in
the banns." — " Yes," answered the lady, " I suppose the slut
is forward enough ; Slipslop tells me how her head runs on
fellows; that is one of her beauties, I suppose. But if they
have put in the banns, I desire you will publish them no
more without my orders." — " Madam," cries Adams, " if any
one puts in a sufficient caution, and assigns a proper reason
against them, I am willing to surcease." — " I tell you a rea-
son," says she : " he is a vagabond, and he shall not settle here,
and bring a nest of beggars into the parish ; it will make us

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

but little amends that they will be beauties." — " Madam,"
answered Adams, " with the utmost submission to your lady-
ship, I have been informed by Lawyer Scout that any person
who serves a year gains a settlement in the parish where he
serves." — " Lawyer Scout," replied the lady, " is an impu-
dent coxcomb; I will have no Lawyer Scout interfere with
me. I repeat to you again, I will have no more incumbrances
brought on us : so I desire you will proceed no farther." —
" Madam," returned Adams, " I would obey your ladyship in
everything that is lawful ; but surely the parties being poor
is no reason against their marrying. God forbid there should
be any such law ! The poor have little share enough of this
world already ; it would be barbarous indeed to deny them
the common privileges and innocent enjoyments which nature
indulges to the animal creation." — " Since you understand-
yourself no better," cries the lady, " nor the respect due from
such as you to a woman of my distinction, than to affront my
ears by such loose discourse, I shall mention but one short
word ; it is my orders to you that you publish these banns no
more ; and if you dare, I will recommend it to your master,
the doctor, to discard you from his service. I will, sir, not-
withstanding your poor family ; and then you and the greatest
beauty in the parish may go and beg together." — " Madam,"
answered Adams, " I know not what your ladyship means
by the terms master and service. I am in the service of a
Master who will never discard me for doing my duty ; and if
the doctor (for indeed I have never been able to pay for a
licence) thinks proper to turn me from my cure, God will pro-
vide me, I hope, another. At least, my family, as well as
myself, have hands ; and he will prosper, I doubt not, our
endeavours to get our bread honestly with them. Whilst my
conscience is pure, I shall never fear what man can do unto
me." — " I condemn my humility," said the lady, " for de-
meaning myself to converse with you so long. I shall take
other measures ; for I see you are a confederate with them.
But the sooner you leave me the better ; and I shall give orders
that my doors may no longer be open to you. I will suffer no
parsons who run about the country with beauties to be enter-
tained here." — " Madam," said Adams, " I shall enter into no
persons' doors against their will ; but I am assured, when you
17 257

THE ADVENTURES OF

have inquired farther into this matter, you will applaud, not
blame, my proceeding ; and so I humbly take my leave : "
which he did with many bows, or at least many attempts at
a bow.

CHAPTER III.

WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THE LADY AND LAWYER SCOUT.

IN the afternoon the lady sent for Mr Scout, whom she
attacked most violently for intermeddling with her ser-
vants, which he denied, and indeed with truth, for he had
only asserted accidentally, and perhaps rightly, that a year's
service gained a settlement; and so far he owned he might
have formerly informed the parson and believed it was law.
' I am resolved," said the lady, " to have no discarded ser-
vants of mine settled here ; and so, if this be your law, I shall
send to another lawyer." Scout said, " if she sent to a hun-
dred lawyers, not one or all of them could alter the law. The
utmost that was in the power of a lawyer was to prevent
the law's taking effect; and that he himself could do for her
ladyship as well as any other ; and I believe," says he, " ma-
dam, your ladyship, not being conversant in these matters,
hath mistaken a difference ; for I asserted only that a man who
served a year was settled. Now there is a material differ-
ence between being settled in law and settled in fact ; and
as I affirmed generally he was settled, and law is preferable
to fact, my settlement must be understood in law and not
in fact. And suppose, madam, we admit he was settled in
law, what use will they make of it? how doth that relate to
fact ? He is not settled in fact ; and if he be not settled in fact,
he is not an inhabitant ; and if he is not an inhabitant, he is not
of this parish ; and then undoubtedly he ought not to be
published here ; for Mr Adams hath told me your ladyship's
pleasure, and the reason, which is a very good one, to pre-
vent burdening us with the poor; we have too many already,
and I think we ought to have an act to hang or transport half
of them. If we can prove in evidence that he is not settled
in fact, it is another matter. What I said to Mr Adams was

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

on a supposition that he was settled in fact; and indeed, if
that was the case, I should doubt." — " Don't tell me your
facts and your ifs," said the lady; " I don't understand your
gibberish; you take too much upon you, and are very imper-
tinent, in pretending- to direct in this parish ; and you shall be
taught better, I assure you, you shall. But as to the wench,
I' am resolved she shall not settle here ; I will not suffer such
beauties as these to produce children for us to keep." — " Beau-
ties, indeed ! your ladyship is pleased to be merry," answered
Scout. — " Mr Adams described her so to me," said the lady.
" Pray, what sort of dowdy is it, Mr Scout ? " — " The ugliest
creature almost I ever beheld ; a poor dirty drab ; your lady-
ship never saw such a wretch." — " Well, but, dear Mr Scout,
let her be what she will, these ugly women will bring children,
you know ; so that we must prevent the marriage." — " True,
madam," replied Scout, " for the subsequent marriage co-oper-
ating with the law will carry law into fact. When a man is
married he is settled in fact, and then he is not removable.
I will see Mr Adams, and I make no doubt of prevailing with
him. His only objection is, doubtless, that he shall lose his
fee ; but that being once made easy, as it shall be, I am con-
fident no farther objection will remain. No, no, it is impos-
sible; but your ladyship can't discommend his unwillingness
to depart from his fee. Every man ought to have a proper
value for his fee. As to the matter in question, if your lady-
ship pleases to employ me in it, I will venture to promise you
success. The laws of this land are not so vulgar to permit
a mean fellow to contend with one of your ladyship's fortune.
We have one sure card, which is, to carry him before Justice
Frolick, who, upon hearing your ladyship's name, will com-
mit him without any farther questions. As for the dirty
slut, we shall have nothing to do with her; for, if we get
rid of the fellow, the ugly jade will — " — " Take what measures
you please, good Mr Scout," answered the lady : " but I wish
you could rid the parish of both; for Slipslop tells me such
stories of this wench, that I abhor the thoughts of her ; and,
though you say she is such an ugly slut, yet you know, dear
Mr Scout, these forward creatures, who run after men, will
always find some as forward as themselves ; so that, to prevent
the increase of beggars, we must get rid of her." — " Your

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ladyship is very much in the right," answered Scout ; " but
I am afraid the law is a little deficient in giving us any such
power of prevention ; however, the justice will stretch it as far
as he is able, to oblige your ladyship. To say truth, it is a
great blessing to the country that he is in the commission,
for he hath taken several poor off our hands that the law
would never lay hold on. I know some justices who make
as much of committing a man to Bridewell as his lordship
at 'size would of hanging him ; but it would do a man good
to see his worship, our justice, commit a fellow to Bridewell,
he takes so much pleasure in it ; and when once we ha'un
there, we seldom hear any more o'un. He's either starved or
eat up by vermin in a month's time." — Here the arrival of
a visitor put an end to the conversation, and Mr Scout, having
undertaken the cause and promised it success, departed.

This Scout was one of those fellows who, without any
knowledge of the law, or being bred to it, take upon them,
in defiance of an act of parliament, to act as lawyers in the
country, and are called so. They are the pests of society,
and a scandal to a profession, to which indeed they do not
belong, and which owes to such kind of rascallions the ill-
will which weak persons bear towards it. With this fellow,
to whom a little before she would not have condescended to
have spoken, did a certain passion for Joseph, and the jeal-
ousy and the disdain of poor innocent Fanny, betray the Lady
Booby into a familiar discourse, in which she inadvertently
confirmed many hints with which Slipslop, whose gallant
he was, had pre-acquainted him ; and whence he had taken
an opportunity to assert those severe falsehoods of little Fanny
which possibly the reader might not have been well able to
account for if we had not thought proper to give him this in-
formation.

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CHAPTER IV.

A SHORT CHAPTER, BUT VERY FULL OF MATTER ; PARTICULARLY
THE ARRIVAL OF MR BOOBY AND HIS LADY.

ALL that night, and the next day, the Lady Booby passed
iV. with the utmost anxiety ; her mind was distracted and
her soul tossed up and down by many turbulent and opposite
passions. She loved, hated, pitied, scorned, admired, despised
the same person by fits, which changed in a very short in-
terval. On Tuesday morning, which happened to be a holi-
day, she went to church, where, to her surprize, Mr Adams
published the banns again with as audible a voice as before.
It was lucky for her that, as there was no sermon, she had
an immediate opportunity of returning home to vent her rage,
which she could not have concealed from the congregation
five minutes ; indeed, it was not then very numerous, the as-
sembly consisting of no more than Adams, his clerk, his wife,
the lady, and one of her servants. At her return she met
Slipslop, who accosted her in these words : — " O meam, what
doth your ladyship think? To be sure, lawyer Scout hath
carried Joseph and Fanny both before the justice. All the
parish are in tears, and say they will certainly be hanged ; for
nobody knows what it is for." " I suppose they deserve it,"
says the lady. " What dost thou mention such wretches to
me?" — "O dear madam," answered Slipslop, "is it not a
pity such a graceless young man should die a virulent death?
I hope the judge will take commensuration on his youth.
As for Fanny, I don't think it signifies much what becomes
of her ; and if poor Joseph hath done anything, I could ven-
ture to swear she traduced him to it : few men ever come to
a fragrant punishment, but by those nasty creatures, who are
a scandal to our sect." The lady was no more pleased at this
news, after a moment's reflection, than Slipslop herself; for,
though she wished Fanny far enough, she did not desire the
removal of Joseph, especially with her. She was puzzled
how to act or what to say on this occasion, when a coach and
six drove into the court, and a servant acquainted her with

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the arrival of her nephew Booby and his lady. She ordered
them to be conducted into a drawing-room, whither she pres-
ently repaired, having composed her countenance as well as
she could, and being a little satisfied that the wedding would
by these means be at least interrupted, and that she should
have an opportunity to execute any resolution she might take,
for which she saw herself provided with an excellent instru-
ment in Scout.

The Lady Booby apprehended her servant had made a mis-
take when he mentioned Mr Booby's lady ; for she had never
heard of his marriage: but how great was her surprize when,
at her entering the room, her nephew presented his wife to
her ! saying, " Madam, this is that charming Pamela, of whom
I am convinced you have heard so much." The lady received
her with more civility than he expected ; indeed with the ut-
most ; for she was perfectly polite, nor had any vice incon-
sistent with good-breeding. They passed some little time
in ordinary discourse, when a servant came and whispered
Mr Booby, who presently told the ladies he must desert them
a little on some business of consequence ; and, as their dis-
course during his absence would afford little improvement
or entertainment to the reader, we will leave them for a while
to attend Mr. Booby.

CHAPTER V.

CONTAINING JUSTICE BUSINESS J CURIOUS PRECEDENTS OF
DEPOSITIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS NECESSARY TO BE PE-
RUSED BY ALL JUSTICES OF THE PEACE AND THEIR CLERKS.

THE young squire and his lady were no sooner alighted
from their coach than the servants began to inquire
after Mr Joseph, from whom they said their lady had not
heard a word, to her great surprize, since he had left Lady
Booby's. Upon this they were instantly informed of what
had lately happened, with which they hastily acquainted their
master, who took an immediate resolution to go himself, and

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endeavour to restore his Pamela her brother, before she even
knew she had lost him.

The justice before whom the criminals were carried, and
who lived within a short mile of the lady's house, was luckily
Mr Booby's acquaintance, by his having an estate in his
neighbourhood. Ordering therefore his horses to his coach,
he set out for the judgment-seat, and arrived when the jus-
tice had almost finished his business. He was conducted
into a hall, where he was acquainted that his worship would
wait on him in a moment ; for he had only a man and a wo-
man to commit to bridewell first. As he was now convinced
he had not a minute to lose, he insisted on the servant's in-
troducing him directly into the room where the justice was
then executing his office, as he called it. Being brought
thither, and the first compliments being passed between the
squire and his worship, the former asked the latter what
crime those two young people had been guilty of? " No
great crime," answered the justice; "I have only ordered
them to bridewell for a month." ' But what is their crime? "
repeated the squire. " Larceny, an't please your honour,"
said Scout. " Aye," says the justice, " a kind of felonious
larcenous thing. I believe I must order them a little correc-
tion too, a little stripping and whipping." (Poor Fanny,
who had hitherto supported all with the thoughts of Joseph's
company, trembled at that sound ; but, indeed, without reason,
for none but the devil himself would have executed such a
sentence on her.) " Still," said the squire, " I am ignorant
of the crime — the fact I mean." ' Why, there it is in peaper,"
answered the justice, showing him a deposition which, in the
absence of his clerk, he had writ himself, of which we have
with great difficulty procured an authentic copy; and here
it follows verbatim et literatim: —

The depnsition of James Scout, layer, and Thomas Trotter,
yeoman, taken before mee, one of his magestys justasses
of the piece for Zumersetshire.

" These deponants saith, and first Thomas Trotter for
himself saith that on the of this instant October, being Sab-
bath-day, betwin the ours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon, he

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zeed Joseph Andrews and Francis Goodwill walk akross a
certane felde belunging to layer Scout, and out of the path
which ledes thru the said felde, and there he zede Joseph An-
drews with a nife cut one hassel twig, of the value, as he
believes, of three half-pence, or thereabouts ; and he saith that
the said Francis Goodwill was likewise walking on the grass
out of the said path in the said felde, and did receive and
karry in her hand the said twig, and so was cumfarting,
eading, and abatting to the said Joseph therein. And the said
James Scout for himself says that he verily believes the said
twig to be his own proper twig," &c.

" Jesu ! " said the squire, " would you commit two persons
to bridewell for a twig? " " Yes," said the lawyer, ".and with
great lenity too ; for if he had called it a young tree, they
would have been both hanged." " Harkee," says the justice,
taking aside the squire ; " I should not have been so severe
on this occasion, but Lady Booby desires to get them out of
the parish ; so lawyer Scout will give the constable orders to
let them run away, if they please : but it seems they intend
to marry together, and the lady hath no other means, as they
are legally settled there, to prevent their bringing an incum-
brance on her own parish." " Well," said the squire, " I will
take care my aunt shall be satisfied in this point ; and likewise I
promise you, Joseph here shall never be any incumbrance on
her. I shall be obliged to you, therefore, if, instead of bride-
well, you will commit them to my custody." " O ! to be sure,
sir, if you desire it," answered the justice; and without more
ado Joseph and Fanny were delivered over to Squire Booby,
whom Joseph very well knew, but little guessed how nearly
he was related to him. The justice burnt his mittimus, the
constable was sent about his business, the lawyer made no
complaint for want of justice; and the prisoners, with exult-
ing hearts, gave a thousand thanks to his honour Mr Booby ;
who did not intend their obligations to him should cease
there ; for, ordering his man to produce a cloak-bag, which
he had caused to be brought from Lady Booby's on purpose,
he desired the justice that he might have Joseph with him
into a room ; where, ordering his servant to take out a suit

264

JOSEPH ANDREWS

of his own clothes, with linen and other necessaries, he left
Joseph to dress himself, who, not yet knowing the cause of
all this civility, excused his accepting such a favour as long
as decently he could. Whilst Joseph was dressing, the squire
repaired to the justice, whom he found talking with Fanny ;
for, during the examination, she had looped her hat over her
eyes, which were also bathed in tears, and had by that means
concealed from his worship what might perhaps have ren-
dered the arrival of Mr Booby unnecessary, at least for her-
self. The justice no sooner saw her countenance cleared up,
and her bright eyes shining through her tears, than he secretly
cursed himself for having once thought of bridewell for her.
He would willingly have sent his own wife thither, to have
had Fanny in her place. And, conceiving almost at the same
instant desires and schemes to accomplish them, he employed
the minutes whilst the squire was absent with Joseph in as-
suring her how sorry he was for having treated her so
roughly before he knew her merit; and told her, that since
Lady Booby was unwilling that she should settle in her par-
ish, she was heartily welcome to his, where he promised her
his protection, adding that he would take Joseph and her into
his own family, if she liked it ; which assurance he confirmed
with a squeeze by the hand. She thanked him very kindly,
and said, she would acquaint Joseph with the offer, which he
would certainly be glad to accept ; for that Lady Booby was
angry with them both ; though she did not know either had
done anything to offend her, but imputed it to Madam Slip-
slop, who had always been her enemy.

The squire now returned, and prevented any farther con-
tinuance of this conversation; and the justice, out of a pre-
tended respect to his guest, but in reality from an apprehen-
sion of a rival (for he knew nothing of his marriage), ordered
Fanny into the kitchen, whither she gladly retired ; nor did the
squire, who declined the trouble of explaining the whole mat-
ter, oppose it.

It would be unnecessary, if I was able, which indeed I am
not, to relate the conversation between these two gentlemen,
which rolled, as I have been informed, entirely on the sub-
ject of horse-racing. Joseph was soon drest in the plainest

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dress he could find, which was a blue coat and breeches, with
a gold edging, and a red waistcoat with the same : and as this
suit, which was rather too large for the squire, exactly fitted
him, so he became it so well, and looked so genteel, that no
person would have doubted its being as well adapted to his
quality as his shape ; nor have suspected, as one might, when
my Lord , or Sir , or Mr , appear in lace or em-
broidery, that the tailor's man wore those clothes home on his
back which he should have carried under his arm.

The squire now took leave of the justice; and, calling for
Fanny, made her and Joseph, against their wills, get into
the coach with him, which he then ordered to drive to Lady
Booby's. It had moved a few yards only, when the squire
asked Joseph if he knew who that man was crossing the field ;
for, added he, " I never saw one take such strides before."
Joseph answered eagerly, " O, sir, it is parson Adams ! "
" O la, indeed, and so it is," said Fanny ; " poor man, he is
coming to do what he could for us. Well, he is the worthiest,
best-natured creature." — " Aye," said Joseph ; " God bless
him ! for there is not such another in the universe." " The
best creature living sure," cries Fanny. 'Is he?" says the
squire ; " then I am resolved to have the best creature living
in my coach ; " and so saying, he ordered it to stop, whilst
Joseph, at his request, hallowed to the parson, who, well
knowing his voice, made all the haste imaginable, and soon
came up with them. He was desired by the master, who
could scarce refrain from laughter at his figure, to mount into
the coach, which he with many thanks refused, saying he
could walk by its side, and he'd warrant he kept up with it ;
but he was at length over-prevailed on. The squire now ac-
quainted Joseph with his marriage ; but he might have spared
himself that labour ; for his servant, whilst Joseph was dress-
ing, had performed that office before. He continued to ex-
press the vast happiness he enjoyed in his sister, and the
value he had for all who belonged to her. Joseph made many
bows, and exprest as many acknowledgments : and parson
Adams, who now first perceived Joseph's new apparel, burst
into tears with joy, and fell to rubbing his hands and snap-
ping his fingers as if he had been mad.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

They were now arrived at the Lady Booby's, and the
squire, desiring them to wait a moment in the court, walked
in to his aunt, and, calling her out from his wife, acquainted
her with Joseph's arrival ; saying, " Madam, as I have mar-
ried a virtuous and worthy woman, I am resolved to own
her relations, and show them all a proper respect ; I shall
think myself therefore infinitely obliged to all mine who will
do the same. It is true, her brother hath been your servant,
but he is now become my brother ; and I have one happiness,
that neither his character, his behaviour, or appearance, give
me any reason to be ashamed of calling him so. In short,
he is now below, dressed like a gentleman, in which light I
intend he shall hereafter be seen ; and you will oblige me be-
yond expression if you will admit him to be of our party; for
I know it will give great pleasure to my wife, though she
will not mention it."

This was a stroke of fortune beyond the Lady Booby's
hopes or expectation ; she answered him eagerly, " Nephew,
you know how easily I am prevailed on to do anything which
Joseph Andrews desires — Phoo, I mean which you desire
me ; and, as he is now your relation, I cannot refuse to enter-
tain him as such." The squire told her he knew his obliga-
tion to her for her compliance ; and going three steps, re-
turned and told her — he had one more favour, which he
believed she would easily grant, as she had accorded him the
former. " There is a young woman — " — " Nephew," says she,
" don't let my good-nature make you desire, as is too com-
monly the case, to impose on me. Nor think, because I have
with so much condescension agreed to suffer your brother-
in-law to come to my table, that I will submit to the company
of all my own servants, and all the dirty trollops in the coun-
try." " Madam," answered the squire, " I believe you never
saw this young creature. I never beheld such sweetness and
innocence joined with such beauty, and withal so genteel."
" Upon my soul I won't admit her," replied the lady in a pas-
sion ; " the whole world shan't prevail on me ; I resent even

the desire as an affront, and " The squire, who knew

her inflexibility, interrupted her, by asking pardon, and
promising not to mention it more. He then returned to Jo-

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THE ADVENTURES OF

seph, and she to Pamela. He took Joseph aside, and told him
he would carry him to his sister, but could not prevail as yet
for Fanny. Joseph begged that he might see his sister alone,
and then be with his Fanny ; but the squire, knowing the plea-
sure his wife would have in her brother's company, would not
admit it, telling Joseph there would be nothing in so short
an absence from Fanny, whilst he was assured of her safety ;
adding he hoped he could not so easily quit a sister whom he
had not seen so long, and who so tenderly loved him. Joseph
immediately complied; for indeed no brother could love a
sister more ; and, recommending Fanny, who rejoiced that
she was not to go before Lady Booby, to the care of Mr
Adams, he attended the squire up-stairs, whilst Fanny re-
paired with the parson to his house, where she thought herself
secure of a kind reception.

CHAPTER VI.

OF WHICH YOU ARE DESIRED TO READ NO MORE THAN

YOU LIKE.

THE meeting between Joseph and Pamela was not with-
out tears of joy on both sides ; and their embraces were
full of tenderness and affection. They were, however, re-
garded with much more pleasure by the nephew than by the
aunt, to whose flame they were fuel only ; and this was in-
creased by the addition of dress, which was indeed not wanted
to set off the lively colours in which Nature had drawn health,
strength, comeliness, and youth. In the afternoon Joseph, at
their request, entertained them with the account of his adven-
tures : nor could Lady Booby conceal her dissatisfaction at
those parts in which Fanny was concerned, especially when
Mr Booby launched forth into such rapturous praises of her
beauty. She said, applying to her niece, that she wondered
her nephew, who had pretended to marry for love, should
think such a subject proper to amuse his wife with ; adding,
that, for her part, she should be jealous of a husband who

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

spoke so warmly in praise of another woman. Pamela an-
swered, indeed, she thought she had cause ; but it was an in-
stance of Mr Booby's aptness to see more beauty in women
than they were mistresses of. At which words both the
women fixed their eyes on two looking-glasses ; and Lady
Booby replied, that men were, in the general, very ill judges
of beauty ; and then, whilst both contemplated only their
own faces, they paid a cross compliment to each other's
charms. When the hour of rest approached, which the lady
of the house deferred as long as decently she could, she in-
formed Joseph (whom for the future we shall call Mr Joseph,
he having as good a title to that appellation as many others — I
mean that incontested one of good clothes) that she had
ordered a bed to be provided for him. He declined this fa-
vour to his utmost; for his heart had long been with his
Fanny ; but she insisted on his accepting it, alleging that the
parish had no proper accommodation for such a person as he
was now to esteem himself. The squire and his lady both
joining with her, Mr Joseph was at last forced to give over
his design of visiting Fanny that evening; who, on her side,
as impatiently expected him till midnight, when, in compla-
cence to Mr Adams's family, who had sat up two hours out
of respect to her, she retired to bed, but not to sleep; the
thoughts of her love kept her waking, and his not returning
according to his promise filled her with uneasiness ; of which,
however, she could not assign any other cause than merely
that of being absent from him.

Mr Joseph rose early in the morning, and visited her in
whom his soul delighted. She no sooner heard his voice in
the parson's parlour than she leapt from her bed, and, dress-
ing herself in a few minutes, went down to him. They
passed two hours with inexpressible happiness together; and
then, having appointed Monday, by Mr Adams's permission,
for their marriage, Mr Joseph returned, according to his
promise, to breakfast at the Lady Booby's, with whose be-
haviour, since the evening, we shall now acquaint the reader.

She was no sooner retired to her chamber than she asked
Slipslop what she thought of this wonderful creature her
nephew had married ? — " Madam ! " said Slipslop, not yet

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sufficiently understanding what answer she was to make. " I
ask you," answered the lady, " what you think of the dowdy,
my niece, I think I am to call her ? " Slipslop, wanting no
further hint, began to pull her to pieces, and so miserably
defaced her, that it would have been impossible for any one
to have known the person. The lady gave her all the assis-
tance she could, and ended with saying, " I think, Slipslop,
you have done her justice ; but yet, bad as she is, she is an
angel compared to this Fanny." Slipslop then fell on Fanny,
whom she hacked and hewed in the like barbarous manner,
concluding with an observation that there was always some-
thing in those low-life creatures which must eternally dis-
tinguish them from their betters. " Really," said the lady,
" I think there is one exception to your rule ; I am certain
you may guess who I mean." — " Not I, upon my word,
madam," said Slipslop. " I mean a young fellow ; sure you
are the dullest wretch," said the lady. "O la! I am indeed.
Yes, truly, madam, he is an accession," answered Slipslop.
" Aye, is he not, Slipslop? " returned the lady. " Is he not so
genteel that a prince might, without a blush, acknowledge him
for his son? His behaviour is such that would not shame
the best education. He borrows from his station a conde-
scension in everything to his superiors, yet unattended by
that mean servility which is called good behaviour in such
persons. Every thing he doth hath no mark of the base mo-
tive of fear, but visibly shows some respect and gratitude,
and carries with it the persuasion of love. And then for his
virtues : such piety to his parents, such tender affection to
his sister, such integrity in his friendship, such bravery, such
goodness, that, if he had been born a gentleman, his wife
would have possessed the most invaluable blessing." — " To be
sure, ma'am," says Slipslop. " But as he is," answered the
lady, " if he had a thousand more good qualities, it must
render a woman of fashion contemptible even to be suspected
of thinking of him ; yes, I should despise myself for such a
thought." — " To be sure, ma'am," said Slipslop. " And why
to be sure?" replied the lady; "thou art always one's echo.
Is he not more worthy of affection than a dirty country
clown, though born of a family as old as the flood? or an

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

idle worthless rake, or little puisny beau of quality? And
yet these we must condemn ourselves to, in order to avoid
the censure of the world; to shun the contempt of others,
we must ally ourselves to those we despise; we must prefer
birth, title, and fortune, to real merit. It is a tyranny of cus-
tom, a tyranny we must comply with ; for we people of fashion
are the leaves of custom." — " Marry come up ! " said Slip-
slop, who now knew well which party to take. " If I was a
woman of your ladyship's fortune and quality, I would be a
slave to nobody." — " Me," said the lady ; " I am speaking if a
young woman of fashion, who had seen nothing of the world,
should happen to like such a fellow. — Me, indeed ! I hope thou

dost not imagine " "No, ma'am, to be sure," cries Slipslop.

"No! what no?" cried the lady. "Thou art always ready
to answer before thou hast heard one. So far I must allow
he is a charming fellow. Me, indeed! No, Slipslop, all
thoughts of men are over with me. I have lost a husband
who — but if I should reflect I should run mad. My future
ease must depend upon forgetfulness. Slipslop, let me hear
some of thy nonsense, to turn my thoughts another way.
What dost thou think of Mr Andrews?" — "Why I think,"
says Slipslop, " he is the handsomest, most properest man I
ever saw ; and if I was a lady of the greatest degree it would
be well for some folks. Your ladyship may talk of custom,
if you please : but I am confidous there is no more comparison
between young Mr Andrews and most of the young gentle-
men who come to your ladyship's house in London ; a parcel
of whipper-snapper sparks : I would sooner marry our old
parson Adams. Never tell me what people say, whilst I am
happy in the arms of him I love. Some folks rail against
other folks because other folks have what some folks would
be glad of." — " And so," answered the lady, " if you was a
woman of condition, you would really marry Mr Andrews? "
— " Yes, I assure your ladyship," replied Slipslop, '" if he
would have me." — " Fool, idiot ! " cries the lady ; " if he
would have a woman of fashion ! is that a question ? " — " No,
truly, madam," said Slipslop, " I believe it would be none if
Fanny was out of the way ; and I am confidous, if I was in
your ladyship's place, and liked Mr Joseph Andrews, she

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should not stay in the parish a moment. I am sure lawyer
Scout would send her packing if your ladyship would but say
the word." This last speech of Slipslop raised a tempest in
the mind of her mistress. She feared Scout had betrayed
her, or rather that she had betrayed herself. After some
silence, and a double change of her complexion, first to pale
and then to red, she thus spoke : " I am astonished at the lib-
erty you give your tongue. Would you insinuate that I em-
ployed Scout against this wench on account of the fellow ? "
— " La, ma'am," said Slipslop, frighted out of her wits, " I
assassinate such a thing ! " — " I think you dare not," an-
swered the lady ; " I believe my conduct may defy malice it-
self to assert so cursed a slander. If I had ever discovered
any wantonness, any lightness in my behaviour ; if I had fol-
lowed the example of some whom thou hast, I believe, seen,
in allowing myself indecent liberties, even with a husband ;
but the dear man who is gone" (here she began to sob),
"was he alive again" (then she produced tears), "could
not upbraid me with any one act of tenderness or passion.
No, Slipslop, all the time I cohabited with him he never ob-
tained even a kiss from me without my expressing reluctance
in the granting it. I am sure he himself never suspected how
much I loved him. Since his death, thou knowest, though
it is almost six weeks (it wants but a day) ago, I have not
admitted one visitor till this fool my nephew arrived. I have
confined myself quite to one party of friends. And can such
a conduct as this fear to be arraigned ? To be accused, not
only of a passion which I have always despised, but of fixing
it on such an object, a creature so much beneath my notice! "
— " Upon my word, ma'am," says Slipslop, " I do not under-
stand your ladyship ; nor know I anything of the matter." —
" I believe indeed thou dost not understand me. These are
delicacies which exist only in superior minds ; thy coarse
ideas cannot comprehend them. Thou art a low creature, of
the Andrews breed, a reptile of a lower order, a weed that
grows in the common garden of the creation." — " I assure
your ladyship," says Slipslop, whose passions were almost of
as high an order as her lady's, " I have no more to do with
Common Garden than other folks. Really, your ladyship

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

talks of servants as if they were not born of the Christian
specious. Servants have flesh and blood as well as quality ;
and Mr Andrews himself is a proof that they have as good,
if not better. And for my own part, I can't perceive my
dears * are coarser than other people's ; and I am sure, if Mr
Andrews was a dear of mine, I should not be ashamed of
him in company with gentlemen ; for whoever hath seen him
in his new clothes must confess he looks as much like a gen-
tleman as anybody. Coarse, quotha ! I can't bear to hear
the poor young fellow run down neither ; for I will say this,
I never heard him say an ill word of anybody in his life. I
am sure his coarseness doth not lie in his heart, for he is the
best-natured man in the world ; and as for his skin, it is no
coarser than other people's, I am sure. His bosom, when a
boy, was as white as driven snow ; and, where it is not covered
with hairs, is so still. 'Ifaukins ! if I was Mrs Andrews, with
a hundred a-year, I should not envy the best she who wears
a head. A woman that could not be happy with such a man
ought never to be so ; for if he can't make a woman happy,
I never yet beheld the man who could. I say again, I wish I
was a great lady for his sake. I believe, when I had made a
gentleman of him, he'd behave so that nobody should depre-
cate what I had done; and I fancy few would venture to tell
him he was no gentleman to his face, nor to mine neither."
At which words, taking up the candles, she asked her mis-
tress, who had been some time in her bed, if she had any far-
ther commands ? who mildly answered, she had none ; and,
telling her she was a comical creature, bid her good night.

* Meaning perhaps ideas.

jr

18 2?3

THE ADVENTURES OF

CHAPTER VII.

PHILOSOPHICAL REFLECTIONS, THE LIKE NOT TO BE FOUND IN
ANY LIGHT FRENCH ROMANCE. MR BOOBY'S GRAVE ADVICE
TO JOSEPH, AND FANNY'S ENCOUNTER WITH A BEAU.

HABIT, my good reader, hath so vast a prevalence over
the human mind, that there is scarce anything too
strange or too strong to be asserted of it. The story of the
miser, who, from long accustoming to cheat others, came at
last to cheat himself, and with great delight and triumph
picked his own pocket of a guinea to convey to his hoard, is
not impossible or improbable. In like manner it fares with
the practisers of deceit, who, from having long deceived their
acquaintance, gain at last a power of deceiving themselves,
and acquire that very opinion (however false) of their own
abilities, excellencies, and virtues, into which they have for
years perhaps endeavoured to betray their neighbours. Now,
reader, to apply this observation to my present purpose, thou
must know, that as the passion generally called love exercises
most of the talents of the female or fair world, so in this they
now and then discover a small inclination to deceit ; for which
thou wilt not be angry with the beautiful creatures when
thou hast considered that at the age of seven, or something
earlier, miss is instructed by her mother that master is a very
monstrous kind of animal, who will, if she suffers him to
come too near her, infallibly eat her up and grind her to
pieces : that, so far from kissing or toying with him of her
own accord, she must not admit him to kiss or toy with her:
and, lastly, that she must never have any affection towards
him ; for if she should, all her friends in petticoats would
esteem her a traitress, point at her, and hunt her out of their
society. These impressions, being first received, are farther
and deeper inculcated by their school-mistresses and com-
panions ; so that by the age of ten they have contracted such
a dread and abhorrence of the above-named monster, that
whenever they see him they fly from him as the innocent hare
doth from the greyhound. Hence, to the age of fourteen or
fifteen, they entertain a mighty antipathy to master; they re-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

solve, and frequently profess, that they will never have any
commerce with him, and entertain fond hopes of passing their
lives out of his reach, of the possibility of which they have
so visible an example in their good maiden aunt. But when
they arrive at this period, and have now passed their second
climacteric, when their wisdom, grown riper, begins to see
a little farther, and, from almost daily falling in master's
way, to apprehend the great difficulty of keeping out of it ;
and when they observe him look often at them, and some-
times very eagerly and earnestly too (for the monster sel-
dom takes any notice of them till at this age), they then begin
to think of their danger; and, as they perceive they cannot
easily avoid him, the wiser part bethink themselves of pro-
viding by other means for their security. They endeavour,
by all methods they can invent, to render themselves so amia-
ble in his eyes, that he may have no inclination to hurt them ;
in which they generally succeed so well, that his eyes, by
frequent languishing, soon lessen their idea of his fierce-
ness, and so far abate their fears, that they venture to parley
with him ; and when they perceive him so different from what
he hath been described, all gentleness, softness, kindness, ten-
derness, fondness, their dreadful apprehensions vanish in a
moment; and now (it being usual with the human mind to
skip from one extreme to its opposite, as easily, and almost
as suddenly, as a bird from one bough to another) love in-
stantly succeeds to fear : but, as it happens to persons who
have in their infancy been thoroughly frightened with certain
no-persons called ghosts, that they retain their dread of those
beings after they are convinced that there are no such things,
so these young ladies, though they no longer apprehend de-
vouring, cannot so entirely shake off all that hath been in-
stilled into them ; they still entertain the idea of that censure
which was so strongly imprinted on their tender minds, to
which the declarations of abhorrence they every day hear
from their companions greatly contribute. To avoid this cen-
sure, therefore, is now their only care ; for which purpose
they still pretend the same aversion to the monster : and the
more they love him, the more ardently they counterfeit the
antipathy. By the continual and constant practice of which
deceit on others, they at length impose on themselves, and

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THE ADVENTURES OF

really believe they hate what, they love. Thus, indeed, it
happened to Lady Booby, who loved Joseph long before she
knew it ; and now loved him much more than she suspected.
She had indeed, from the time of his sister's arrival in the
quality of her niece, and from the instant she viewed him in
the dress and character of a gentleman, began to conceive
secretly a design which love had concealed from herself till
a dream betrayed it to her.

She had no sooner risen than she sent for her nephew.
When he came to her, after many compliments on his choice,
she told him, he might perceive, in her condescension to admit
her own servant to her table, that she looked on the family
of Andrews as his relations, and indeed hers ; that, as he had
married into such a family, it became him to endeavour by
all methods to raise it as much as possible. At length she
advised him to use all his heart to dissuade Joseph from his
intended match, which would still enlarge their relation to
meanness and poverty ; concluding that, by a commission in
the army, or some other genteel employment, he might soon
put young Mr Andrews on the foot of a gentleman ; and, that
being once done, his accomplishments might quickly gain him
an alliance which would not be to their discredit.

Her nephew heartily embraced this proposal ; and, finding
Mr Joseph with his wife, at his return to her chamber, he
immediately began thus : " My love to my dear Pamela, bro-
ther, will extend to all her relations ; nor shall I show them
less respect than if I married into the family of a duke. I
hope I have given you some early testimonies of this, and
shall continue to give you daily more. You will excuse me
therefore, brother, if my concern for your interest makes me
mention what may be, perhaps, disagreeable to you to hear :
but I must insist upon it, that, if you have any value for my
alliance or my friendship, you will decline any thoughts of
engaging farther with a girl who is, as you are a relation of
mine, so much beneath you. I know there may be at first
some difficulty in your compliance, but that will daily dimin-
ish ; and you will in the end sincerely thank me for my advice.
I own indeed, the girl is handsome; but beauty alone is a
poor ingredient, and will make but an uncomfortable mar-
riage."— " Sir," said Joseph, " I assure you her beauty is her

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

least perfection; nor do I know a virtue which that young
creature is not possest of." — " As to her virtues," answered
Mr Booby, " you can be yet but a slender judge of them; but,
if she had never so many, you will find her equal in these
among her superiors in birth and fortune, which now you are
to esteem on a footing with yourself, at least I will take care
they shall shortly be so, unless you prevent me by degrading
yourself with such a match, a match I have hardly patience
to think of, and which would break the hearts of your parents,
who now rejoice in the expectation of seeing you make a figure
in the world." — " I know not," replied Joseph, " that my
parents have any power over my inclinations ; nor am I obliged
to sacrifice my happiness to their whim or ambition : besides,
I shall be very sorry to see that the unexpected advancement
of my sister should so suddenly inspire them with this wicked
pride, and make them despise their equals. I am resolved
on no account to quit my dear Fanny; no, though I could
raise her as high above her present station as you have my
sister." — " Your sister, as well as myself," said Booby, " are
greatly obliged to you for the comparison : but, sir, she is
not worthy to be compared in beauty to my Pamela ; nor hath
she half her merit. And besides, sir, as you civilly throw
my marriage with your sister in my teeth, I must teach you
the wide difference between us : my fortune enabled me to
please myself; and it would have been as overgrown a folly
in me to have omitted it as in you to do it." — " My fortune
enables me to please myself likewise," said Joseph ; " for all
my pleasure is centred in Fanny ; and whilst I have health I
shall be able to support her with my labour in that station
to which she was born, and with which she is content." —
" Brother," said Pamela, " Mr Booby advises you as a friend ;
and no doubt my papa and mamma will be of his opinion, and
will have great reason to be angry with you for destroying
what his goodness hath done, and throwing down our family
again, after he hath raised it. It would become you better,
brother, to pray for the assistance of grace against such a
passion than to indulge it." — " Sure, sister, you are not in
earnest ; I am sure she is your equal, at least." — " She was
my equal," answered Pamela ; " but I am no longer Pamela
Andrews; I am now this gentleman's lady, and, as such, am

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THE ADVENTURES OF

above her. — I hope I shall never behave with an unbecoming
pride: but, at the same time, I shall always endeavour to
know myself, and question not the assistance of grace to that
purpose." They were now summoned to breakfast, and thus
ended their discourse for the present, very little to the satis-
faction of any of the parties.

Fanny was now walking in an avenue at some distance
from the house, where Joseph had promised to take the first
opportunity of coming to her. She had not a shilling in the
world, and had subsisted ever since her return entirely on
the charity of parson Adams. A young gentleman, attended
by many servants, came up to her, and asked her if that was
not the Lady Booby's house before him? This, indeed, he
well know ; but had framed the question for no other reason
than to make her look up, and discover if her face was equal
to the delicacy of her shape. He no sooner saw it than he
was struck with amazement. He stopt his horse, and swore
she was the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. Then,
instantly alighting and delivering his horse to his servant,
he rapt out half-a-dozen oaths that he would kiss her: to
which she at first submitted, begging he would not be rude;
but he was not satisfied with the civility of a salute, nor
even with the rudest attack he could make on her lips, but
caught her in his arms, and endeavoured to kiss her breasts,
which with all her strength she resisted, and, as our spark
was not of the Herculean race, with some difficulty prevented.
The young gentleman, being soon out of breath in the strug-
gle, quitted her, and, remounting his horse, called one of
his servants to him, whom he ordered to stay behind with
her, and make her any offers whatever to prevail on her to
return home with him in the evening; and to assure her he
would take her into keeping. He then rode on with his other
servants, and arrived at the lady's house, to whom he was a
distant relation, and was come to pay a visit.

The trusty fellow, who was employed in an office he had
been long accustomed to, discharged his part with all the
fidelity and dexterity imaginable, but to no purpose. She was
entirely deaf to his offers, and rejected them with the utmost
disdain. At last the pimp, who had perhaps more warm
blood about him than his master, began to solicit for himself;

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

he told her, though he was a servant, he was a man of some
fortune, which he would make her mistress of; and this
without any insult to her virtue, for that he would marry her.
She answered, if his master himself, or the greatest lord in the
land, would marry her, she would refuse him. At last, being
weary with persuasions, and on fire with charms which would
have almost kindled a flame in the bosom of an ancient phi-
losopher or modern divine, he fastened his horse to the
ground, and attacked her with much more force than the gen-
tleman had exerted. Poor Fanny would not have been able to
resist his rudeness any long time, but the deity who presides
over chaste love sent her Joseph to her assistance. He no
sooner came within sight, and perceived her struggling with a
man, than, like a cannon-ball, or like lightning, or anything
that is swifter, if anything be, he ran towards her, and, com-
ing up just as the ravisher had torn her handkerchief from
her breast, before his lips had touched that seat of innocence
and bliss, he dealt him so lusty a blow in that part of his neck
which a rope would have become with the utmost propriety,
that the fellow staggered backwards, and, perceiving he had
to do with something rougher than the little, tender, trem-
bling hand of Fanny, he quitted her, and, turning about, saw
his rival, with fire flashing from his eyes, again ready to
assail him ; and, indeed, before he could well defend himself,
or return the first blow, he received a second, which, had
it fallen on that part of the stomach to which it was directed,
would have been probably the last he would have had any
occasion for; but the ravisher, lifting up his hand, drove the
blow upwards to his mouth, whence it dislodged three of his
teeth ; and, now, not conceiving any extraordinary affection
for the beauty of Joseph's person, nor being extremely pleased
with this method of salutation, he collected all his force, and
aimed a blow at Joseph's breast, which he artfully parried
with one fist, so that it lost its force entirely in air ; and,
stepping one foot backward, he darted his fist so fiercely at his
enemy, that, had he not caught it in his hand (for he was
a boxer of no inferior fame), it must have tumbled him on
the ground. And now the ravisher meditated another blow,
which he aimed at that part of the breast where the heart
is lodged; Joseph did not catch it as before, yet so prevented

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its aim that it fell directly on his nose, but with abated force.
Joseph then, moving both fist and foot forwards at the same
time, threw his head so dexterously into the stomach of the
ravisher that he fell a lifeless lump on the field, where he lay
many minutes breathless and motionless.

When Fanny saw her Joseph receive a blow in his face,
and blood running in a stream from him, she began to tear
her hair and invoke all human and divine power to his assis-
tance. She was not, however, long under this affliction be-
fore Joseph, having conquered his enemy, ran to her, and
assured her he was not hurt; she then instantly fell on her
knees and thanked God that he had made Joseph the means
of her rescue, and at the same time preserved him from being
injured in attempting it. She offered, with her handkerchief,
to wipe his blood from his face ; but he, seeing his rival at-
tempting to recover his legs, turned to him, and asked him
if he had enough? To which the other answered he had;
for he believed he had fought with the devil instead of a man ;
and, loosening his horse, said he should not have attempted
the wench if he had known she had been so well provided for.

Fanny now begged Joseph to return with her to parson
Adams, and to promise that he would leave her no more.
These were propositions so agreeable to Joseph, that, had he
heard them, he would have given an immediate assent; but
indeed his eyes were now his only sense ; for you may re
member, reader, that the ravisher had tore her handkerchief
from Fanny's neck, by which he had discovered such a sight,
that Joseph hath declared all the statues he ever beheld were
so much inferior to it in beauty, that it was more capable of
converting a man into a statue than of being initiated by the
greatest master of that art. This modest creature, whom no
warmth in summer could ever induce to expose her charms
to the wanton sun, a modesty to which, perhaps, they owed
their inconceivable whiteness, had stood many minutes bare-
necked in the presence of Joseph before her apprehension of
his danger and the horror of seeing his blood would suffer
her once to reflect on what concerned herself; till at last,
when the cause of her concern had vanished, an admiration
at his silence, together with observing the fixed position of
his eyes, produced an idea in the lovely maid which brought

280

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"■1

I

v

llaUfc?.;, F.
-was?'

'

JOSEPH ANDREWS

more blood into her face than had flowed from Joseph's
nostrils. The snowy hue of her bosom was likewise changed
to vermilion at the instant when she clapped her handker-
chief round her neck. Joseph saw the uneasiness she suf-
fered, and immediately removed his eyes from an object, in
surveying which he had felt the greatest delight which the
organs of sight were capable of conveying to his soul ; — so
great was his fear of offending her, and so truly did his pas-
sion for her deserve the noble name of love.

Fanny, being recovered from her confusion, which was
almost equalled by what Joseph had felt from observing it,
again mentioned her request ; this was instantly and gladly
complied with ; and together they crossed two or three fields,
which brought them to the habitation of Mr Adams.

CHAPTER VIII.

A DISCOURSE WHICH HAPPENED BETWEEN MR ADAMS, MRS
ADAMS, JOSEPH, AND FANNY; WITH SOME BEHAVIOUR OF
MR ADAMS WHICH WILL BE CALLED BY SOME FEW READERS
VERY LOW, ABSURD, AND UNNATURAL.

THE parson and his wife had just ended a long dispute
when the lovers came to the door. Indeed, this young
couple had been the subject of the dispute ; for Mrs Adams
was one of those prudent people who never do anything to
injure their families, or, perhaps, one of those good mothers
who would even stretch their conscience to serve their chil-
dren. She had long entertained hopes of seeing her eldest
daughter succeeded Mrs Slipslop, and of making her second
son an exciseman by Lady Booby's interest. These were ex-
pectations she could not endure the thoughts of quitting, and
was, therefore, very uneasy to see her husband so resolute to
oppose the lady's intention in Fanny's affair. She told him,
it behoved every man to take the first care of his family ; that
he had a wife and six children, the maintaining and providing
for whom would be business enough for him without inter-
meddling in other folks' affairs ; that he had always preached

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THE ADVENTURES OF

up submission to superiors, and would do ill to give an exam-
ple of the contrary behaviour in his own conduct ; that if Lady
Booby did wrong she must answer for it herself, and the sin
would not lie at their door; that Fanny had been a servant,
and bred up in the lady's own family, and consequently she
must have known more of her than they did, and it was very
improbable, if she had behaved herself well, that the lady
would have been so bitterly her enemy; that perhaps he was
too much inclined to think well of her because she was hand-
some, but handsome women were often no better than they
should be ; that God made ugly women as well as handsome
ones; and that if a woman had virtue it signified nothing
whether she had beauty or no." For all which reasons she
concluded he should oblige the lady, and stop the future pub-
lication of the banns. But all these excellent arguments had
no effect on the parson, who persisted in doing his duty with-
out regarding the consequence it might have on his worldly
interest. He endeavoured to answer her as well as he could ;
to which she had just finished her reply (for she had always
the last word everywhere but at church) when Joseph and
Fanny entered their kitchen, where the parson and his wife
then sat at breakfast over some bacon and cabbage. There
was a coldness in the civility of Mrs Adams which persons of
accurate speculation might have observed, but escaped her
present guests; indeed, it was a good deal covered by the
heartiness of Adams, who no sooner heard that Fanny had
neither eat nor drank that morning than he presented her a
bone of bacon he had just been gnawing, being the only re-
mains of his provision, and then ran nimbly to the tap, and
produced a mug of small beer, which he called ale ; however,
it was the best in his house. Joseph, addressing himself to
the parson, told him the discourse which had past between
Squire Booby, his sister, and himself, concerning Fanny; he
then acquainted him with the dangers whence he had rescued
her, and communicated some apprehensions on her account.
He concluded that he should never have an easy moment till
Fanny was absolutely his, and begged that he might be suf-
fered to fetch a licence, saying he could easily borrow the
money. The parson answered, that he had already given his

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

sentiments concerning a licence, and that a very few days
would make it unnecessary. " Joseph," says he, " I wish this
haste doth not arise rather from your impatience than your
fear ; but, as it certainly springs from one of these causes, I
will examine both. Of each of these therefore in their turn ;
and first for the first of these, namely, impatience. Now,
child, I must inform you that, if in your purposed marriage
with this young woman you have no intention but the indul-
gence of carnal appetites, you are guilty of a very heinous sin.
Marriage was ordained for nobler purposes, as you will learn
when you hear the service provided on that occasion read to
you. Nay, perhaps, if you are a good lad, I shall give you
a sermon gratis, wherein I shall demonstrate how little regard
ought to be had to the flesh on such occasions. The text will
be, child, Matthew the 5th, and part of the 28th verse — Who-
soever looketh on a zvoman, so as to lust after her. The lat-
ter part I shall omit, as foreign to my purpose. Indeed, all
such brutal lusts and affections are to be greatly subdued,
if not totally eradicated, before the vessel can be said to be
consecrated to honour. To marry with a view of gratifying
those inclinations is a prostitution of that holy ceremony, and
must entail a curse on all who so lightly undertake it. If,
therefore, this haste arises from impatience, you are to cor-
rect, and not give way to it. Now, as to the second head
which I proposed to speak to, namely, fear : it argues a diffi-
dence, highly criminal, of that Power in which alone we
should put our trust, seeing we may be well assured that he
is able, not only to defeat the designs of our enemies, but even
to turn their hearts. Instead of taking, therefore, any unjus-
tifiable or desperate means to rid ourselves of fear, we should
resort to prayer only on these occasions ; and we may be then
certain of obtaining what is best for us. When any accident
threatens us we are not to despair, nor, when it overtakes us,
to grieve ; we must submit in all things to the will of Provi-
dence, and not set our affections so much on anything here as
not to be able to quit it without reluctance. You are a young
man, and can know but little of this world ; I am older, and
have seen a great deal. All passions are criminal in their ex-
cess; and even love itself, if it is not subservient to our duty,

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mav render us blind to it. Had Abraham so loved his son
Isaac as to refuse the sacrifice required, is there any of us who
would not condemn him? Joseph, I know your many good
qualities, and value you for them ; but, as I am to render an
account of your soul, which is committed to my cure, I cannot
see any fault without reminding you of it. You are too much
inclined to passion, child, and have set your affections so ab-
solutely on this young woman, that, if God required her at
your hands, I fear you would reluctantly part with her. Now,
believe me, no Christian ought so to set his heart on any per-
son or thing in this world, but that, whenever it shall be re-
quired or taken from him in any manner by Divine Provi-
dence, he may be able, peaceably, quietly, and contentedly to
resign it." At which words one came hastily in, and ac-
quainted Mr Adams that his youngest son was drowned. He
stood silent a moment, and soon began to stamp about the
room and deplore his loss with the bitterest agony. Joseph,
who was overwhelmed with concern likewise, recovered him-
self sufficiently to endeavour to comfort the parson ; in which
attempt he used many arguments that he had at several times
remembered out of his own discourses, both in private and
public (for he was a great enemy to the passions, and
preached nothing more than the conquest of them by reason
and grace), but he was not at leisure now to hearken to his
advice. " Child, child," said he, " do not go about impossibili-
ties. Had it been any other of my children I could have borne
it with patience ; but my little prattler, the darling and com-
fort of my old age, — the little wretch, to be snatched out of
life just at his entrance into it; the sweetest, best-tempered
boy, who never did a thing to offend me. It was but this
morning I gave him his first lesson in Quce Genus. This was
the very book he learnt ; poor child ! it is of no further use to
thee now. He would have made the best scholar, and have
been an ornament to the church ; — such parts and such good-
ness never met in one so young." " And the handsomest lad
too," says Mrs Adams, recovering from a swoon in Fanny's
arms. " My poor Jacky, shall I never see thee more ? " cries
the parson. " Yes, surely," says Joseph, " and in a better
place ; you will meet again, never to part more." I believe the

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

parson did not hear these words, for he paid little regard to
them, but went on lamenting, whilst the tears trickled down
into his bosom. At last he cried out, " Where is my little dar-
ling? " and was sallying out, when to his great surprize and
joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathize, he met his
son in a wet condition indeed, but alive and running towards
him. The person who brought the news of his misfortune had
been a little too eager, as people sometimes are, from, I be-
lieve, no very good principle, to relate ill news ; and, having
seen him fall into the river, instead of running to his assis-
tance, directly ran to acquaint his father of a fate which he
had concluded to be inevitable, but whence the child was re-
lieved by the same poor pedlar who had relieved his father
before from a less distress. The parson's joy was now as ex-
travagant as his grief had been before ; he kissed and em-
braced his son a thousand times, and danced about the room
like one frantic ; but as soon as he discovered the face of his
old friend the pedlar, and heard the fresh obligation he had to
him, what were his sensations ? not those which two courtiers
feel in one another's embraces ; not those with which a great
man receives the vile treacherous engines of his wicked pur-
poses, not those with which a worthless younger brother wishes
his elder joy of a son, or a man congratulates his rival on his
obtaining a mistress, a place, or an honour. — No, reader; he
felt the ebullition, the overflowings of a full, honest, open
heart, towards the person who had conferred a real obligation,
and of which, if thou canst not conceive an idea within, I will
not vainly endeavour to assist thee.

When these tumults were over, the parson, taking Joseph
aside, proceeded thus — " No, Joseph, do not give too much
way to thy passions, if thou dost expect happiness." The pa-
tience of Joseph, nor perhaps of Job, could bear no longer ; he
interrupted the parson, saying, it was easier to give advice
than to take it ; nor did he perceive he could so entirely con-
quer himself, when he apprehended he had lost his son, or
when he found him recovered. — " Boy," replied Adams, rais-
ing his voice, " it doth not become green heads to advise grey
hairs. — Thou art ignorant of the tenderness of fatherly affec-
tion ; when thou art a father thou wilt be capable then only of

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knowing what a father can feel. No man is obliged to im-
possibilities ; and the loss of a child is one of those great trials
where our grief may be allowed to become immoderate." —
" Well, sir," cries Joseph, " and if I love a mistress as well as
you your child, surely her loss would grieve me equally." —
' Yes, but such love is foolishness and wrong in itself, and
ought to be conquered," answered Adams ; " it savours too
much of the flesh." — " Sure, sir," says Joseph, " it is not sin-
ful to love my wife, no, not even to doat on her to distrac-
tion ! " — " Indeed but it is," says Adams. "Every man ought
to love his wife, no doubt ; we are commanded so to do ; but
we ought to love her with moderation and discretion." — " I am
afraid I shall be guilty of some sin in spite of all my endeav-
ours," says Joseph ; " for I shall love without any moderation,
I am sure." — " You talk foolishly and childishly," cries
Adams. — " Indeed," says Mrs Adams, who had listened to
the latter part of their conversation, " you talk more foolishly
yourself. I hope, my dear, you will never preach any such
doctrine as that husbands can love their wives too well. If I
knew you had such a sermon in the house I am sure I would
burn it, and I declare, if I had not been convinced you had
loved me as well as you could, I can answer for myself, I
should have hated and despised you. Marry come up ! Fine
doctrine, indeed! A wife hath a right to insist on her hus-
band's loving her as much as ever he can ; and he is a sinful
villain who doth not. Doth he not promise to love her, and to
comfort her, and to cherish her, and all that ? I am sure I re-
member it all as well as if I had repeated it over but yesterday,
and shall never forget it. Besides, I am certain you do not
preach as you practise ; for you have been a loving and a cher-
ishing husband to me ; that's the truth on't ; and why you
should endeavour to put such wicked nonsense into this young
man's head I cannot devise. Don't hearken to him, Mr Jo-
seph ; be as good a husband as you are able, and love your
wife with all your body and soul too." Here a violent rap at
the door put an end to their discourse, and produced a scene
which the reader will find in the next chapter.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

CHAPTER IX.

A VISIT WHICH THE POLITE LADY BOOBY AND HER POLITE
FRIEND PAID TO THE PARSON.

THE Lady Booby had no sooner had an account from the
gentleman of his meeting a wonderful beauty near her
house, and perceived the raptures with which he spoke of her,
than, immediately concluding it must be Fanny, she began to
meditate a design of bringing them better acquainted ; and to
entertain hopes that the fine clothes, presents, and promises of
this youth, would prevail on her to abandon Joseph : she there-
fore proposed to her company a walk in the fields before din-
ner, when she led them towards Mr Adams's house ; and, as
she approached it, told them if they pleased she would divert
them with one of the most ridiculous sights they had ever
seen, which was an old foolish parson, who, she said, laugh-
ing, kept a wife and six brats on a salary of about twenty
pounds a year ; adding, that there was not such another
ragged family in the parish. They all readily agreed to this
visit, and arrived whilst Mrs Adams was declaiming as in the
last chapter. Beau Didapper, which was the name of the
young gentleman we have seen riding towards Lady Booby's,
with his cane mimicked the rap of a London footman at the
door. The people within, namely, Adams, his wife and three
children, Joseph, Fanny, and the pedlar, were all thrown into
confusion by this knock, but Adams went directly to the door,
which being opened, the Lady Booby and her company
walked in, and were received by the parson with about two
hundred bows, and by his wife with as many curtsies ; the lat-
ter telling the ladv she was ashamed to be seen in such a
pickle, and that her house was in such a litter ; but that if she
had expected such an honour from her ladyship she should
have found her in a better manner. The parson made no
apologies, though he was in his half-cassock and a flannel
night-cap. He said they were heartily welcome to his poor
cottage, and, turning to Mr Didapper, cried out, " Non mea
renidct in domo lacunar." The beau answered, he did not un-

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derstand Welsh; at which the parson stared and made no
reply.

Mr Didapper, or beau Didapper, was a young gentleman
of about four foot five inches in height. He wore his own
hair, though the scarcity of it might have given him sufficient
excuse for a periwig. His face was thin and pale ; the shape
of his body and legs none of the best, for he had very narrow
shoulders and no calf ; and his gait might more properly be
called hopping than walking. The qualifications of his mind
were well adapted to his person. We shall handle them first
negatively. He was not entirely ignorant ; for he could talk
a little French and sing two or three Italian songs : he had
lived too much in the world to be bashful, and too much at
court to be proud : he seemed not much inclined to avarice, for
he was profuse in his expenses ; nor had he all the features of
prodigality, for he never gave a shilling : no hater of women,
for he always dangled after them; yet so little subject to lust,
that he had, among those who knew him best, the character of
great moderation in his pleasures : no drinker of wine ; nor so
addicted to passion but that a hot word or two from an adver-
sary made him immediately cool.

Now, to give him only a dash or two on the affirmative side :
though he was born to an immense fortune, he chose, for the
pitiful and dirty consideration of a place of little consequence,
to depend entirely on the will of a fellow whom they call a
great man ; who treated him with the utmost disrespect, and
exacted of him a plenary obedience to his commands, which he
implicitly submitted to, at the expense of his conscience, his
honour, and of his country, in which he had himself so very
large a share. And to finish his character ; as he was entirely
well satisfied with his own person and parts, so he was very
apt to ridicule and laugh at any imperfection in another.
Such was the little person, or rather thing, that hopped after
Lady Booby into Mr Adams's kitchen.

The parson and his company retreated from the chimney-
side, where they had been seated, to give room to the lady and
hers. Instead of returning any of the curtsies or extraordi-
nary civility of Mr Adams, the lady, turning to Mr Booby,
cried out, "Quelle Bete! Quel Animal!" And presently

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

after discovering Fanny (for she did not need the circum-
stance of her standing by Joseph to assure the identity of her
person), she asked the beau whether he did not think her a
pretty girl? — " Begad, madam," answered he, " 'tis the very
same I met." " I did not imagine," replied the lady, " you
had so good a taste." — " Because I never liked you, I war-
rant," cries the beau. " Ridiculous ! " said she : " you know
you was always my aversion." " I would never mention aver-
sion," answered the beau, "with that face ; * dear Lady Booby,
wash your face before you mention aversion, I beseech you."
He then laughed, and turned about to coquet it with Fanny.

Mrs Adams had been all this time begging and praying the
ladies to sit down, a favour which she at last obtained. The
little boy to whom the accident had happened, still keeping his
place by the fire, was chid by his mother for not being more
mannerly : but Lady Booby took his part, and commending his
beauty, told the parson he was his very picture. She then,
seeing a book in his hand, asked if he could read? — "Yes,"
cried Adams, " a little Latin, madam : he is just got into Quae
Genus." — " A fig for quere genius ! " answered she ; " let me
hear him read a little English." — " Lege, Dick, lege," said
Adams : but the boy made no answer, till he saw the parson
knit his brows, and then cried, " I don't understand you,
father." — " How, boy ! " says Adams ; " what doth lego make
in the imperative mood? Legito, doth it not? " — " Yes," an-
swered Dick. — "And what besides?" says the father. "Lege,"
quoth the son, after some hesitation. " A good boy," says
the father: " and now, child, what is the English of lego? " —
To which the boy, after long puzzling, answered, he could
not tell. " How ! " cries Adams, in a passion ; — " what, hath
the water washed away your learning? Why, what is Latin
for the English verb read? Consider before you speak." The
child considered some time, and then the parson cried twice
or thrice, " Le— , Le— ." Dick answered, " Lego." — " Very
well ; — and then what is the English," says the parson, " of

* Lest this should appear unnatural to some readers, we think proper
to acquaint them, that it is taken verbatim from very polite conver-
sation.

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THE ADVENTURES OF

the verb lego? "— " To read," cried Dick.—" Very well," said
the parson ; " a good boy : you can do well if you will take
pains. — I assure your ladyship he is not much above eight
years old, and is out of his Propria quae Maribus already. —
Come, Dick, read to her ladyship ; "—which she again desir-
ing, in order to give the beau time and opportunity with
Fanny, Dick began as in the following chapter.

CHAPTER X.

THE HISTORY OF TWO FRIENDS, WHICH MAY AFFORD AN USE-
FUL LESSON TO ALL THOSE PERSONS WHO HAPPEN TO TAKE
UP THEIR RESIDENCE IN MARRIED FAMILIES.

LEONARD and Paul were two friends." — " Pronounce it
/ Lennard, child," cried the parson.—" Pray, Mr Adams,"
says Lady Booby, " let your son read without interruption."
Dick then proceeded. " Lennard and Paul were two friends,
who, having been educated together at the same school, com-
menced a friendship which they preserved a long time for each
other. It was so deeply fixed in both their minds, that a long
absence, during which they had maintained no correspondence,
did not eradicate nor lessen it : but it revived in all its force
at their first meeting, which was not till after fifteen years'
absence, most of which time Lennard had spent in the East

Indi-es." — " Pronounce it short, Indies," says Adams.

" Pray, sir, be quiet," says the lady. — The boy repeated, —
" in the East Indies, whilst Paul had served his king and
country in the army. In which different services they had
found such different success, that Lennard was now married,
and retired with a fortune of thirty thousand pounds; and
Paul was arrived to the degree of a lieutenant of foot; and
was not worth a single shilling.

" The regiment in which Paul was stationed happened to be
ordered into quarters within a small distance from the estate
which Lennard had purchased, and where he was settled.
This latter, who was now become a country gentleman, and
a justice of peace, came to attend the quarter sessions in the
town where his old friend was quartered, soon after his arrival.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Some affair in which a soldier was concerned occasioned
Paul to attend the justices. Manhood, and time, and the
change of climate, had so much altered Lennard, that Paul
did not immediately recollect the features of his old acquain-
tance : but it was otherwise with Lennard. He knew Paul
the moment he saw him ; nor could he contain himself from
quitting the bench, and running hastily to embrace him. Paul
stood first a little surprized ; but had soon sufficient informa-
tion from his friend, whom he no sooner remembered than
he returned his embrace with a passion which made many
of the spectators laugh, and gave to some few a much higher
and more agreeable sensation.

" Not to detain the reader with minute circumstances, Len-
nard insisted on his friend's returning with him to his house
that evening ; which request was complied with, and leave for
a month's absence for Paul obtained of the commanding
officer.

" If it was possible for any circumstance to give any addi-
tion to the happiness which Paul proposed in this visit, he
received that additional pleasure by finding, on his arrival
at his friend's house, that his lady was an old acquaintance
which he had formerly contracted at his quarters, and who
had always appeared to be of a most agreeable temper; a
character she had ever maintained among her intimates, being
of that number, every individual of which is called quite
the best sort of woman in the world.

" But, good as this lady was, she was still a woman ; that
is to say, an angel, and not an angel." — " You must mistake,
child," cries the parson, " for you read nonsense." — " It is so
in the book," answered the son. Mr Adams was then silenced
by authority, and Dick proceeded. — " For though her person
was of that kind to which men attribute the name of angel,
yet in her mind she was perfectly woman. Of which a great
degree of obstinacy gave the most remarkable and perhaps
most pernicious instance.

" A day or two passed after Paul's arrival before any in-
stances of this appeared; but it was impossible to conceal it
long. Both she and her husband soon lost all apprehension
from their friend's presence, and fell to their disputes with
as much vigour as ever. These were still pursued with the

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utmost ardour and eagerness, however trifling the causes were
whence they first arose. Nay, however incredible it may seem,
the little consequence of the matter in debate was frequently
given as a reason for the fierceness of the contention, as
thus : ' If you loved me, sure you would never dispute with
me such a trifle as this.' The answer to which is very ob-
vious; for the argument would hold equally on both sides,
and was constantly retorted with some addition, as — ' I am
sure I have much more reason to say so, who am in the right.'
During all these disputes, Paul always kept strict silence, and
preserved an even countenance, without showing the least
visible inclination to either party. One day, however, when
madam had left the room in a violent fury, Lennard could not
refrain from referring his cause to his friend. Was ever any-
thing so unreasonable, says he, as this woman? What shall
I do with her ? I doat on her to distraction ; nor have I any
cause to complain of, more than this obstinacy in her temper ;
whatever she asserts, she will maintain against all the reason
and conviction in the world. Pray give me your advice. —
First, says Paul, I will give my opinion, which is, flatly, that
you are in the wrong ; for, supposing she is in the wrong, was
the subject of your contention any ways material? What
signified it whether you was married in a red or a yellow
waistcoat ? for that was your dispute. Now, suppose she was
mistaken ; as you love her you say so tenderly, and I believe
she deserves it, would it not have been wiser to have yielded,
though you certainly knew yourself in the right, than to give
either her or yourself any uneasiness? For my own part, if
ever I marry,I am resolved to enter into an agreement with my
wife, that in all disputes (especially about trifles) that party
who is most convinced they are right shall always surrender
the victory ; by which means we shall both be forward to give
up the cause. I own, said Lennard, my dear friend, shaking
him by the hand, there is great truth and reason in what
you say; and I will for the future endeavour to follow your
advice. They soon after broke up the conversation, and Len-
nard, going to his wife, asked her pardon, and told her his
friend had convinced him he had been in the wrong. She
immediately began a vast encomium on Paul, in which he
seconded her, and both agreed he was the worthiest and wisest

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

man upon earth. When next they met, which was at supper,
though she had promised not to mention what her husband
told her, she could not forbear casting the kindest and most
affectionate looks on Paul, and asked him, with the sweetest
voice, whether she should help him to some potted woodcock ?
Potted partridge, my dear, you mean, says the husband. My
dear, says she, I ask your friend if he will eat any potted
woodcock ; and I am sure I must know, who potted it. I
think I should know too, who shot them, replied the husband,
and I am convinced that I have not seen a woodcock this year ;
however, though I know I am in the right, I submit, and the
potted partridge is potted woodcock if you desire to have
it so. It is equal to me, says she, whether it is one or the
other ; but you would persuade one out of one's senses ; to be
sure, you are always in the right in your own opinion; but
your friend, I believe, knows which he is eating. Paul an-
swered nothing, and the dispute continued, as usual, the
greatest part of the evening. The next morning the lady,
accidentally meeting Paul, and being convinced he was her
friend, and of her side, accosted him thus : — I am certain, sir,
you have long since wondered at the unreasonableness of my
husband. He is indeed, in other respects, a good sort of
man, but so positive, that no woman but one of my complying
temper could possibly live with him. Why, last night, now,
was ever any creature so unreasonable? I am certain you
must condemn him. Pray, answer me, was he not in the
wrong? Paul, after a short silence, spoke as follows: I am
sorry, madam, that, as good manners obliges me to answer
against my will, so an adherence to truth forces me to declare
myself of a different opinion. To be plain and honest, you
was entirely in the wrong; the cause I own not worth dis-
puting, but the bird was undoubtedly a partridge. O sir!
replied the lady, I cannot possibly help your taste. Madam,
returned Paul, that is very little material; for, had it been
otherwise, a husband might have expected submission. — In-
deed ! sir, says she, I assure you ! — Yes, madam, cried he, he
might, from a person of your excellent understanding; and
pardon me for saying, such a condescension would have shown
a superiority of sense even to your husband himself. — But,
dear sir, said she, why should I submit when I am in the

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right? — For that very reason, answered he; it would be the
greatest instance of affection imaginable; for can anything
be a greater object of our compassion than a person we love
in the wrong? Aye, but I should endeavour, said she, to
set him right. Pardon me, madam, answered Paul: I will
apply to your own experience if you ever found your argu-
ments had that effect. The more our judgments err, the
less we are willing to own it : for my own part, I have
always observed the persons who maintain the worst side in
any contest are the warmest. Why, says she, I must confess
there is truth in what you say, and I will endeavour to prac-
tise it. The husband then coming in, Paul departed. And
Lennard, approaching his wife with the air of good humour,
told her he was sorry for their foolish dispute the last night ;
but he was now convinced of his error. She answered,
smiling, she believed she owed his condescension to his com-
placence; that she was ashamed to think a word had passed
on so silly an occasion, especially as she was satisfied she had
been mistaken. A little contention- followed, but with the
utmost good-will to each other, and was concluded by her as-
serting that Paul had thoroughly convinced her she had been
in the wrong. Upon which they both united in the praises
of their common friend.

" Paul now passed his time with great satisfaction, these
disputes being much less frequent, as well as shorter than
usual ; but the devil, or some unlucky accident in which per-
haps the devil had no hand, shortly put an end to his hap-
piness. He was now eternally the private referee of every
difference ; in which, after having perfectly, as he thought,
established the doctrine of submission, he never scrupled to
assure both privately that they were in the right in every
argument, as before he had followed the contrary method.
One day a violent litigation happened in his absence, and
both parties agreed to refer it to his decision. The husband
professing himself sure the decision would be in his favour;
the wife answered, he might be mistaken; for she believed his
friend was convinced how seldom she was to blame; and
that if he knew all — The husband replied, My dear, I have
no desire of any retrospect ; but I believe, if you knew all
too, you would not imagine my friend so entirely on your

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

side. Nay, says she, since you provoke me, I will mention one
instance. You may remember our dispute about sending
Jackey to school in cold weather, which point I gave up to
you from mere compassion, knowing myself to be in the
right ; and Paul himself told me afterwards he thought me
so. My dear, replied the husband, I will not scruple your
veracity; but I assure you solemnly, on my applying to him,
he gave it absolutely on my side, and said he would have
acted in the same manner. They then proceeded to produce
numberless other instances, in all which Paul had, on vows
of secresy, given his opinion on both sides. In the conclu-
sion, both believing each other, they fell severely on the
treachery of Paul, and agreed that he had been the occasion
of almost every dispute which had fallen out between them.
They then became extremely loving, and so full of conde-
scension on both sides, that they vied with each other in cen-
suring their own conduct, and jointly vented their indignation
on Paul, whom the wife, fearing a bloody consequence, ear-
nestly entreated her husband to suffer quietly to depart the
next day, which was the time fixed for his return to quarters,
and then drop his acquaintance.

" However ungenerous this behaviour in Lennard may be
esteemed, his wife obtained a promise from him (though with
difficulty) to follow her advice; but they both expressed such
unusual coldness that day to Paul, that he, who was quick
of apprehension, taking Lennard aside, pressed him so home,
that he at last discovered the secret. Paul acknowledged the
truth, but told him the design with which he had done it. —
To which the other answered, he would have acted more
friendly to have let him into the whole design ; for that he
might have assured himself of his secresy. Paul replied, with
some indignation, he had given him a sufficient proof how ca-
pable he was of concealing a secret from his wife. Lennard
returned with some warmth — he had more reason to upbraid
him, for that he had caused most of the quarrels between them
by his strange conduct, and might (if they had not discovered
the affair to each other) have been the occasion of their sepa-
ration. Paul then said " — But something now happened
which put a stop to Dick's reading, and of which we shall
treat in the next chapter.

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CHAPTER XL

IN WHICH THE HISTORY IS CONTINUED.

JOSEPH ANDREWS had borne with great uneasiness the
impertinence of Beau Didapper to Fanny, who had been
talking pretty freely to her, and offering her settlements ;
but the respect to the company had restrained him from inter-
ferine whilst the beau confined himself to the use of his tongue
only; but the said beau, watching an opportunity whilst the
ladies' eyes were disposed another way, offered a rudeness to
her with his hands; which Joseph no sooner perceived than
he presented him with so sound a box on the ear, that it
conveyed him several paces from where he stood. The ladies
immediately screamed out, rose from their chairs; and the
beau, as soon as he recovered himself, drew his hanger ; which
Adams observing, snatched up the lid of a pot in his left hand,
and, covering himself with it as with a shield, without any
weapon of offence in his other hand, stept in before Joseph,
and exposed himself to the enraged beau, who threatened such
perdition and destruction, that it frightened the women, who
were all got in a huddle together, out of their wits, even to
hear his denunciations of vengeance. Joseph was of a dif-
ferent complexion, and begged Adams to let his rival come
on ; for he had a good cudgel in his hand, and did not fear
him. Fanny now fainted into Mrs Adams's arms, and the
whole room was in confusion, when Mr Booby, passing by
Adams, who lay snug under the pot-lid, came up to Di-
dapper, and insisted on his sheathing his hanger, promising
he should have satisfaction ; which Joseph declared he would
give him, and fight him at any weapon whatever. The beau
now sheathed his hanger, and taking out a pocket-glass, and
vowing vengeance all the time, re-adjusted his hair; the par-
son deposited his shield ; and Joseph, running to Fanny, soon
brought her back to life. Lady Booby chid Joseph for his
insult on Didapper ; but he answered, he would have attacked
an army in the same cause. "What cause?" said the lady.
"Madam," answered Joseph, "he was rude to that young

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

woman." — "What," says the lady, "I suppose he would have
kissed the wench ; and is a gentleman to be struck for such
an offer? I must tell you, Joseph, these airs do not become
you."—" Madam," said Mr Booby, " I saw the whole affair,
and I do not commend my brother ; for I cannot perceive why
he should take upon him to be this girl's champion." — " I can
commend him," says Adams : " he is a brave lad ; and it be-
comes any man to be the champion of the innocent; and he
must be the basest coward who would not vindicate a woman
with whom he is on the brink of marriage." — " Sir," says Mr
Booby, " my brother is not a proper match for such a young
woman as this." — " No," says Lady Booby ; " nor do you, Mr.
Adams, act in your proper character by encouraging any such
doings ; and I am very much surprised you should concern
yourself in it. I think your wife and family your properer
care." — " Indeed, madam, your ladyship says very true," an-
swered Mrs Adams ; " he talks a pack of nonsense, that the
whole parish are his children. I am sure I don't understand
what he means by it; it would make some women suspect he
had gone astray, but I acquit him of that ; I can read scripture
as well as he, and I never found that the parson was obliged
to provide for other folks' children ; and besides, he is but
a poor curate, and hath little enough, as your ladyship knows,
for me and mine." — " You say very well, Mrs Adams," quoth
the Lady Booby, who had not spoke a word to her before ;
"you seem to be a very sensible woman ; and I assure you,
your husband is acting a very foolish part, and opposing his
own interest, seeing my nephew is violently set against this
match ; and indeed I can't blame him ; it is by no means one
suitable to our family." In this manner the lady proceeded
with Mrs Adams, whilst the beau hopped about the room,
shaking his head, partly from pain and partly from anger ;
and Pamela was chicling Fanny for her assurance in aiming
at such a match as her brother. Poor Fanny answered only
with her tears, which had long since begun to wet her hand-
kerchief; which Joseph perceiving, took her by the arm, and
wrapping it in his carried her off, swearing he would own no
relation to any one who was an enemy to her he loved more
than all the world. He went out with Fanny under his left
arm, brandishing a cudgel in his right, and neither Mr Booby

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nor the beau thought proper to oppose hm. Lady Booby and
her company made a very short stay behind him; for the
lady's bell now summoned them to dress; for which they
had just time before dinner.

Adams seemed now very much dejected, which his wife
perceiving, began to apply some matrimonial balsam. She
told him he had reason to be concerned, for that he had prob-
ably ruined his family with his tricks; but perhaps he was
grieved for the loss of his two children, Joseph and Fanny.
His eldest daughter went on : " Indeed, father, it is very hard
to bring strangers here to eat your children's bread out of
their mouths. You have kept them ever since they came
home; and, for anything I see to the contrary, may keep
them a month longer ; are you obliged to give her meat, tho'f
she was never so handsome? But I don't see she is so much
handsomer than other people. If people were to be kept for
their beauty, she would scarce fare better than her neigh-
bours, I believe. As for Mr Joseph, I have nothing to say :
he is a young man of honest principles, and will pay some
time or other for what he hath ; but for the girl, — why doth
she not return to her place she ran away from ? I would not
give such a vagabond slut a halfpenny though I had a
million of money; no, though she was starving." "Indeed
but I would," cries little Dick; "and, father, rather than
poor Fanny shall be starved, I will give her all this bread
and cheese" — (offering what he held in his hand). Adams
smiled on the boy, and told him he rejoiced to see he was a
Christian; and that, if he had a halfpenny in his pocket, he
would have given it him; telling him it was his duty to
look upon all his neighbours as his brothers and sisters, and
love them accordingly. "Yes, papa," says he, "I love her
better than my sisters, for she is handsomer than any of
them." ' Is she so, saucebox ? " says the sister, giving him a
box on the ear; which the father would probably have re-
sented, had not Joseph, Fanny, and the pedlar at that instant
returned together. Adams bid his wife prepare some food
for their dinner; she said, truly she could not, she had
something else to do. Adams rebuked her for disputing
his commands, and quoted many texts of scripture to prove
that the husband is the head of the wife, and she is to

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

submit and obey. The wife answered, it was blasphemy to
talk scripture out of church; that such things were very
proper to be said in the pulpit, but that it was profane to
talk them in common discourse. Joseph told Mr Adams
he was not come with any design to give him or Mrs
Adams any trouble; but to desire the favour of all their
company to the George (an alehouse in the parish), where
he had bespoke a piece of bacon and greens for their dinner.
Mrs Adams, who was a very good sort of woman, only
rather too strict in economics, readily accepted this invitation,
as did the parson himself by her example ; and away they
all walked together, not omitting little Dick, to whom Joseph
gave a shilling when he heard of his intended liberality to
Fanny.

CHAPTER XII.

WHERE THE GOOD-NATURED READER WILL SEE SOMETHING
WHICH WILL GIVE HIM NO GREAT PLEASURE.

THE pedlar had been very inquisitive from the time he
had first heard that the great house in this parish be-
longed to the Lady Booby, and had learnt that she was the
widow of Sir Thomas, and that Sir Thomas had bought
Fanny, at about the age of three or four years, of a travelling
woman ; and, now their homely but hearty meal was ended,
he told Fanny he believed he could acquaint her with her pa-
rents. The whole company, especially she herself, started at
this offer of the pedlar's. He then proceeded thus, while they
all lent their strictest attention: — "Though I am now con-
tented with this humble way of getting my livelihood, I was
formerly a gentleman ; for so all those of my profession are
called. In a word, I was a drummer in an Irish regiment of
foot. Whilst I was in this honourable station I attended an
officer of our regiment into England a recruiting. In our
march from Bristol to Froome (for since the decay of the
woollen trade the clothing towns have furnished the army
with a great number of recruits) we overtook on the road a

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woman, who seemed to be about thirty years old or there-
abouts, not very handsome, but well enough for a soldier.
As we came up to her, she mended her pace, and, falling
into discourse with our ladies (for every man of the party,
namely, a serjeant, two private men, and a drum, were pro-
vided with their woman except myself), she continued to
travel on with us. I, perceiving she must fall to my lot,
advanced presently to her, made love to her in our military
way, and quickly succeeded to my wishes. We struck a bar-
gain within a mile, and lived together as man and wife to
her dying day." "I suppose," says Adams, interrupting him,
"you were married with a licence; for I don't see how you
could contrive to have the banns published while you were
marching from place to place." "No, sir," said the pedlar,
"we took a licence to go to bed together without any banns."
" Aye ! aye ! " said the parson ; " ex necessitate, a licence may
be allowable enough ; but surely, surely, the other is the
more regular and eligible way." The pedlar proceeded thus :
" she returned with me to our regiment, and removed with us
from quarters to quarters, till at last, whilst we lay at Gallo-
way, she fell ill of a fever and died. When she was on her
death-bed she called me to her, and, crying bitterly, declared
she could not depart this world without discovering a secret
to me, which, she said, was the only sin which sat heavy on
her heart. She said she had formerly travelled in a company
of gipsies, who had made a practice of stealing away chil-
dren ; that for her own part, she had been only once guilty
of the crime ; which, she said, she lamented more than all
the rest of her sins, since probably it might have occasioned
the death of the parents; for, added she, it is almost im-
possible to describe the beauty of the young creature, which
was about a year and a half old when I kidnapped it. We
kept her (for she was a girl) above two years in our company,
when I sold her myself, for three guineas, to Sir Thomas
Booby, in Somersetshire. Now, you know whether there
are any more of that name in this county." " Yes," says
Adams, "there are several Boobys who are squires, but I be-
lieve no baronet now alive; besides, it answers so exactly in
every point, there is no room for doubt ; but you have forgot

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

to tell us the parents from whom the child was stolen."
"The name," answered the pedlar, "was Andrews. They
lived about thirty miles from the squire ; and she told me
that I might be sure to find them out by one circumstance ;
for that they had a daughter of a very strange name, Pamela,
or Pamala; some pronounced it one way, and some the
other." Fanny, who had changed colour at the first mention
of the name, now fainted away ; Joseph turned pale, and
poor Dicky began to roar; the parson fell on his knees, and
ejaculated many thanksgivings that this discovery had been
made before the dreadful sin of incest was committed ; and
the pedlar was struck with amazement, not being able to ac-
count for all this confusion ; the cause of which was presently
opened by the parson's daughter, who was the only uncon-
cerned person (for the mother was chafing Fanny's temples,
and taking the utmost care of her) : and, indeed, Fanny was
the only creature whom the daughter would not have pitied
in her situation ; wherein, though we compassionate her our-
selves, we shall leave her for a little while, and pay a short
visit to Lady Booby.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE HISTORY, RETURNING TO THE LADY BOOBY, GIVES SOME
ACCOUNT OF THE TERRIBLE CONFLICT IN HER BREAST BE-
TWEEN LOVE AND PRIDE; WITH WHAT HAPPENED ON THE
PRESENT DISCOVERY.

THE lady sat down with her company to dinner, but ate
nothing. As soon as her cloth was removed she whis-
pered Pamela that she was taken a little ill, and desired her to
entertain her husband and beau Didapper. She then went up
into her chamber, sent for Slipslop, threw herself on the bed
in the agonies of love, rage, and despair; nor could she con-
ceal these boiling passions longer without bursting. Slip-
slop now approached her bed, and asked how her ladyship
did; but, instead of revealing her disorder, as she intended,
she entered into a long encomium on the beauty and

301

THE ADVENTURES OF

virtues of Joseph Andrews ; ending, at last, with express-
ing her concern that so much tenderness should be thrown
away on so despicable an object as Fanny. Slipslop,
well knowing how to humour her mistress's frensy, pro-
ceeded to repeat, with exaggeration, if possible, all her mis-
tress had said, and concluded with a wish that Joseph had
been a gentleman, and that she could see her lady in the arms
of such a husband. The lady then started from the bed, and,
taking a turn or two across the room, cried out, with a deep
sigh, "Sure he would make any woman happy !" "Your lady-
ship," says she, " would be the happiest woman in the world
with him. A fig for custom and nonsense! What 'vails
what people say? Shall I be afraid of eating sweetmeats be-
cause people may say I have a sweet tooth ? If I had a mind
to marry a man, all the world should not hinder me. Your
ladyship hath no parents to tutelar your infections ; besides, he
is of your ladyship's family now, and as good a gentleman as
any in the country; and why should not a woman follow her
mind as well as man? Why should not your ladyship marry
the brother as well as your nephew the sister. I am sure,
if it was a fragrant crime, I would not persuade your lady-
ship to it." — "But, dear Slipslop," answered the lady, "if I
could prevail on myself to commit such a weakness, there is
that cursed Fanny in the way, whom the idiot — O how I hate
and despise him !" — "She ! a little ugly minx," cries Slipslop ;
"leave her to me. I suppose your ladyship hath heard of Jo-
seph's fitting with one of Mr Didapper's servants about her;
and his master hath ordered them to carry her away by force
this evening. I'll take care they shall not want assistance.
I was talking with this gentleman, who was below, just when
your ladyship sent for me." — "Go back," says the Lady Booby,
"this instant, for I expect Mr Didapper will soon be going.
Do all you can; for I am resolved this wench shall not be in
our family : I will endeavour to return to the company ; but
let me know as soon as she is carried off." Slipslop went
away; and her mistress began to arraign her own conduct in
the following manner :

"What am I doing? How do I suffer this passion to
creep imperceptibly upon me! How many days are past

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

since I could have submitted to ask myself the question? —
Marry a footman ! Distraction ! Can I afterwards bear the
eyes of my acquaintance? But I can retire from them; re-
tire with one in whom I propose more happiness than the
world without him can give me ! Retire — to feed continu-
ally on beauties which my inflamed imagination sickens with
eagerly gazing on ; to satisfy every appetite, every desire,
with their utmost wish. Ha ! and do I doat thus on a foot-
man? I despise, I detest my passion. — Yet why? Is he not
generous, gentle, kind ? — Kind ! to whom ? to the meanest
wretch, a creature below my consideration. Doth he not —
yes, he doth prefer her. Curse his beauties, and the little low
heart that possesses them ; which can basely descend to this
despicable wench, and be ungratefully deaf to all the honours
I do him. And can I then love this monster? No, I will
tear his image from my bosom, tread on him, spurn him. I
will have those pitiful charms, which now I despise, mangled
in my sight ; for I will not suffer the little jade I hate to riot
in the beauties I contemn. No ; though I despise him myself,
though I would spurn him from my feet, was he to languish
at them, no other should taste the happiness I scorn. Why
do I say happiness ? To me it would be misery. To sacrifice
my reputation, my character, my rank in life, to the indul-
gence of a mean and vile appetite ! How I detest the thought !
How much more exquisite is the pleasure resulting from the
reflection of virtue and prudence than the faint relish of what
flows from vice and folly ! Whither did I suffer this improper,
this mad passion to hurry me, only by neglecting to summon
the aids of reason to my assistance ? Reason, which hath now
set before me my desires in their proper colours, and imme-
diately helped me to expel them. Yes, I thank Heaven and
my pride, I have now perfectly conquered this unworthy pas-
sion ; and if there was no obstacle in its way, my pride would
disdain any pleasures which could be the consequence of so
base, so mean, so vulgar — " Slipslop returned at this instant
in a violent hurry, and with the utmost eagerness, cried out,
"O madam ! I have strange news. Tom the footman is
just come from the George; where, it seems, Joseph and the
rest of them are a jinketting; and he says there is a strange

3°3

THE ADVENTURES OF

man who hath discovered that Fanny and Joseph are brother
and sister." — "How, Slipslop !" cries the lady, in a surprise. —
"I had not time, madam," cries Slipslop, "to inquire about
particles, but Tom says it is most certainly true."

This unexpected account entirely obliterated all those ad-
mirable reflections which the supreme power of reason had
so wisely made just before. In short, when despair, which
had more share in producing the resolutions of hatred we
have seen taken, began to retreat, the lady hesitated a moment,
and then, forgetting all the purport of her soliloquy, dis-
missed her woman again, with orders to bid Tom attend her in
the parlour, whither she now hastened to acquaint Pamela
with the news. Pamela said she could not believe it ; for
she had never heard that her mother had lost any child, or
that she had ever had any more than Joseph and herself.
The lady flew into a violent rage with her, and talked of up-
starts and disowning relations who had so lately been on a
level with her. Pamela made no answer; but her husband,
taking up her cause, severely reprimanded his aunt for her
behaviour to his wife : he told her, if it had been earlier in
the evening she should not have staid a moment longer in
her house ; that he was convinced, if this young woman could
be proved her sister, she would readily embrace her as such,
and he himself would do the same. He then desired the fel-
low might be sent for, and the young woman with him, which
Lady Booby immediately ordered; and, thinking proper to
make some apology to Pamela for what she had said, it was
readily accepted, and all things reconciled.

The pedlar now attended, as did Fanny and Joseph, who
would not quit her; the parson likewise was induced, not
only by curiosity, of which he had no small portion, but by
his duty, as he apprehended it, to follow them ; for he con-
tinued all the way to exhort them, who were now breaking
their hearts, to offer up thanksgivings, and be joyful for so
miraculous an escape.

When they arrived at Booby-Hall they were presently
called into the parlour, where the pedlar repeated the same
story he had told before, and insisted on the truth of every
circumstance ; so that all who heard him were extremely well

3°4

JOSEPH ANDREWS

satisfied of the truth, except Pamela, who imagined, as she
had never heard either of her parents mention such an acci-
dent, that it must be certainly false; and except the Lady-
Booby, who suspected the falsehood of the story from her
ardent desire that it should be true ; and Joseph, who feared
its truth, from his earnest wishes that it might prove false.

Mr Booby now desired them all to suspend their curiosity
and absolute belief or disbelief till the next morning, when
he expected old Mr Andrews and his wife to fetch himself
and Pamela home in his coach, and then they might be cer-
tain of perfectly knowing the truth or falsehood of this re-
lation ; in which, he said, as there were many strong circum-
stances to induce their credit, so he could not perceive any
interest the pedlar could have in inventing it, or in endeav-
ouring to impose such a falsehood on them.

The Lady Booby, who was very little used to such com-
pany, entertained them all — viz. her nephew, his wife, her
brother and sister, the beau, and the parson, with great good
humour at her own table. As to the pedlar, she ordered him
to be made as welcome as possible by her servants. All the
company in the parlour, except the disappointed lovers, who
sat sullen and silent, were full of mirth; for Mr Booby had
prevailed on Joseph to ask Mr Didapper's pardon, with which
he was perfectly satisfied. Many jokes passed between the
beau and the parson, chiefly on each other's dress ; these af-
forded much diversion to the company. Pamela chid her
brother Joseph for the concern which he exprest at discov-
ering a new sister. She said, if he loved Fanny, as he ought,
with a pure affection, he had no reason to lament being re-
lated to her. — Upon which Adams began to discourse on Pla-
tonic love ; whence he made a quick transition to the joys in
the next world, and concluded with strongly asserting that
there was no such thing as pleasure in this. At which Pamela
and her husband smiled on one another.

This happy pair proposing to retire (for no other person
gave the least symptom of desiring rest), they all repaired to
several beds provided for them in the same house; nor was
Adams himself suffered to go home, it being a stormy night.
Fanny indeed often begged she might go home with the

20 305

THE ADVENTURES OF

parson ; but her stay was so strongly insisted on, that she at
last, by Joseph's advice, consented.

CHAPTER XIV.

CONTAINING SEVERAL CURIOUS NIGHT-ADVENTURES, IN WHICH
MR ADAMS FELL INTO MANY HAIR-BREADTH 'SCAPES, PARTLY
OWING TO HIS GOODNESS, AND PARTLY TO HIS INADVERTENCY.

ABOUT an hour after they had all separated (it being' now
JLjL past three in the morning), beau Didapper, whose pas-
sion for Fanny permitted him not to close his eyes, but had
employed his imagination in contrivances how to satisfy his
desires, at last hit on a method by which he hoped to effect it.
He had ordered his servant to bring him word where Fanny
lay, and had received his information ; he therefore arose, put
on his breeches and nightgown, and stole softly along the
gallery which led to her apartment ; and, being come to the
door, as he imagined it, he opened it with the least noise
possible and entered the chamber. A savour now invaded his
nostrils which he did not expect in the room of so sweet a
young creature, and which might have probably had no good
effect on a cooler lover. However, he groped out the bed with
difficulty, for there was not a glimpse of light, and, opening the
curtains, he whispered in Joseph's voice (for he was an excel-
lent mimic), "Fanny, my angel! I am come to inform thee
that I have discovered the falsehood of the story we last night
heard. I am no longer thy brother, but the lover ; nor will I
be delayed the enjoyment of thee one moment longer. You
have sufficient assurances of my constancy not to doubt my
marrying you, and it would be want of love to deny me the
possession of thy charms." — So saying, he disencumbered
himself from the little clothes he had on, and, leaping into
bed, embraced his angel, as he conceived her, with great rap-
ture. If he was surprized at receiving no answer, he was
no less pleased to find his hug returned with equal ardour.
He remained not long in this sweet confusion ; for both he
and his paramour presently discovered their error. Indeed

306

JOSEPH ANDREWS

it was no other than the accomplished Slipslop whom he had
engaged ; but, though she immediately knew the person whom
she had mistaken for Joseph, he was at a loss to guess at the
representative of Fanny. He had so little seen or taken no-
tice of this gentlewoman, that light itself would have afforded
him no assistance in his conjecture. Beau Didapper no sooner
had perceived his mistake than he attempted to escape from
the bed with much greater haste than he had made to it ;
but the watchful Slipslop prevented him. For that prudent
woman, being disappointed of those delicious offerings which
her fancy had promised her pleasure, resolved to make an
immediate sacrifice to her virtue. Indeed she wanted an op-
portunity to heal some wounds, which her late conduct had,
she feared, given her reputation ; and, as she had a wonderful
presence of mind, she conceived the person of the unfortunate
beau to be luckily thrown in her way to restore her lady's
opinion of her impregnable chastity. At that instant, there-
fore, when he offered to leap from the bed, she caught fast
hold of his shirt, at the same time roaring out, " O thou
villain ! who hast attacked my chastity, and, I believe, ruined
me in my sleep ; I will swear a rape against thee, I will
prosecute thee with the utmost vengeance." The beau at-
tempted to get loose, but she held him fast, and when he
struggled she cried out " Murder ! murder ! rape ! robbery !
ruin ! " At which words, parson Adams, who lay in the next
chamber, wakeful, and meditating on the pedlar's discovery,
jumped out of bed, and, without staying to put a rag of clothes
on, hastened into the apartment whence the cries proceeded.
He made directly to the bed in the dark, where, laying hold of
the beau's skin (for Slipslop had torn his shirt almost off),
and finding his skin extremely soft, and hearing him in
a low voice begging Slipslop to let him go, he no longer
doubted but this was the young woman in danger of ravish-
ing, and immediately falling on the bed, and laying hold on
Slipslop's chin, where he found a rough beard, his belief was
confirmed ; he therefore rescued the beau, who presently made
his escape, and then, turning towards Slipslop, received such
a cuff on his chops, that, his wrath kindling instantly, he
offered to return the favour so stoutly, that had poor Slipslop
received the fist, which in the dark passed by her and fell on

3°7

THE ADVENTURES OF

the pillow, she would most probably have given up the ghost.
Adams, missing his blow, fell directly on Slipslop, who cuffed
and scratched as well as she could; nor was he behindhand
with her in his endeavours, but happily the darkness of the
night befriended her. She then cried she was a woman; but
Adams answered, she was rather the devil, and if she was he
would grapple with him ; and, being again irritated by another
stroke on the chops, he gave her such a remembrance in the
guts, that she began to roar loud enough to be heard all over
the house. Adams then, seizing her by the hair (for her
double-clout had fallen off in the scuffle), pinned her head
down to the bolster, and then both called for lights together.
The Lady Booby, who was as wakeful as any of her guests,
had been alarmed from the beginning; and, being a woman
of a bold spirit, she slipt on a nightgown, petticoat, and slip-
pers, and taking a candle, which always burnt in her chamber,
in her hand, she walked undauntedly to Slipslop's room;
where she entered just at the instant as Adams had discovered,
by the two mountains which Slipslop carried before her, that
he was concerned with a female. He then concluded her to
be a witch, and said he fancied those breasts gave suck to a
legion of devils. Slipslop, seeing Lady Booby enter the room,
cried help ! or I am ravished, with a most audible voice : and
Adams, perceiving the light, turned hastily, and saw the lady
(as she did him) just as she came to the feet of the bed; nor
did her modesty, when she found the naked condition of
Adams, suffer her to approach farther. She then began to
revile the parson as the wickedest of all men, and particularly
railed at his impudence in choosing her house for the scene
of his debaucheries, and her own woman for the object of his
bestiality. Poor Adams had before discovered the counte-
nance of his bedfellow, and, now first recollecting he was
naked, he was no less confounded than Lady Booby herself,
and immediately whipt under the bed-clothes, whence the
chaste Slipslop endeavoured in vain to shut him out. Then
putting forth his head, on which, by way of ornament, he
wore a flannel nightcap, he protested his innocence, and asked
ten thousand pardons of Mrs Slipslop for the blows he had
struck her, vowing he had mistaken her for a witch. Lady
Booby, then casting her eyes on the ground, observed some-

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

thing sparkle with great lustre, which, when she had taken
it up, appeared to be a very fine pair of diamond buttons
for the sleeves. A little farther she saw lie the sleeve itself
of a shirt with lace ruffles. " Heyday ! " says she, " what is
the meaning of this ? " " O, madam," says Slipslop, " I don't
know what hath happened, I have been so terrified. Here
may have been a dozen men in the room." " To whom be-
longs this laced shirt and jewels?" says the lady. "Un-
doubtedly," cries the parson, " to the young gentleman whom
I mistook for a woman on coming into the room, whence
proceeded all the subsequent mistakes ; for if I had suspected
him for a man, I would have seized him, had he been an-
other Hercules, though, indeed, he seems rather to resemble
Hylas." He then gave an account of the reason of his rising
from bed, and the rest, till the lady came into the room ; at
which, and the figures of Slipslop and her gallant, whose
heads only were visible at the opposite corners of the bed,
she could not refrain from laughter; nor did Slipslop persist
in accusing the parson of any motions towards a rape. The
lady therefore desired him to return to his bed as soon as she
was departed, and then ordering Slipslop to rise and attend her
in her own room, she returned herself thither. When she
was gone, Adams renewed his petitions for pardon to Mrs
Slipslop, who, with a most Christian temper, not only forgave,
but began to move with much courtesy towards him, which
he taking as a hint to be gone, immediately quitted the bed,
and made the best of his way towards his own ; but unluckily,
instead of turning to the right, he turned to the left, and went
to the apartment where Fanny lay, who (as the reader may
remember) had not slept a wink the preceding night, and who
was so hagged out with what had happened to her in the day,
that, notwithstanding all thoughts of her Joseph, she was fallen
into so profound a sleep, that all the noise in the adjoining
room had not been able to disturb her. Adams groped out the
bed, and, turning the clothes down softly, a custom Mrs
Adams had long accustomed him to, crept in, and deposited
his carcase on the bed-post, a place which that good woman
had always assigned him.

As the cat or lap-dog of some lovely nymph, for whom ten
thousand lovers languish, lies quietly by the side of the charm-

3°9

THE ADVENTURES OF

ing maid, and, ignorant of the scene of delight on which they
repose, meditates the future capture of a mouse, or surprizal
of a plate of bread and butter : so Adams lay by the side of
Fanny, ignorant of the paradise to which he was so near ; nor
could the emanation of sweets which flowed from her breath
overpower the fumes of tobacco which played in the parson's
nostrils. And now sleep had not overtaken the good man,
when Joseph, who had secretly appointed Fanny to come to
her at the break of day, rapped softly at the chamber-door,
which when he had repeated twice, Adams cried, " Come in,
whoever you are." Joseph thought he had mistaken the door,
though she had given him the most exact directions ; however,
knowing his friend's voice, he opened it, and saw some female
vestments lying on a chair. Fanny waking at the same instant,
and stretching out her hand on Adams's beard, she cried out, —
" O heavens ! where am I ? " " Bless me ! where am I ? " said
the parson. Then Fanny screamed, Adams leapt out of bed,
and Joseph stood, as the tragedians call it, like the statue of
Surprize. " How came she into my room ? " cried Adams.
" How came you into hers ? " cried Joseph, in an astonish-
ment. ' I know nothing of the matter," answered Adams,
" but that she is a vestal for me. As I am a Christian, I know
not whether she is a man or woman. He is an infidel who
doth not believe in witchcraft. They as surely exist now as
in the days of Saul. My clothes are bewitched away too, and
Fanny's brought into their place." For he still insisted he
was in his own apartment; but Fanny denied it vehemently,
and said his attempting to persuade Joseph of such a false-
hood convinced her of his wicked designs. " How ! " said
Joseph in a rage, " hath he offered any rudeness to you ? "
She answered — she could not accuse him of any more than
villanously stealing to bed to her, which she thought rudeness
sufficient, and what no man would do without a wicked in-
tention.

Joseph's great opinion of Adams was not easily to be stag-
gered, and when he heard from Fanny that no harm had
happened he grew a little cooler; yet still he was confounded,
and, as he knew the house, and that the women's apartments
were on this side Mrs Slipslop's room, and the men's on the
other, he was convinced that he was in Fanny's chamber.

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

Assuring Adams therefore of this truth, he begged him to
give some account how he came there. Adams then, standing
in his shirt, which did not offend Fanny, as the curtains
of the bed were drawn, related all that had happened; and
when he had ended Joseph told him, — it was plain he had
mistaken by turning to the right instead of the left. " Odso ! "
cries Adams, " that's true : as sure as sixpence, you have hit
on the very thing." He then traversed the room, rubbing
his hands, and begged Fanny's pardon, assuring her he did
not know whether she was man or woman. That innocent
creature, firmly believing all he said, told him she was no
longer angry, and begged Joseph to conduct him into his
own apartment, where he should stay himself till she had
put her clothes on. Joseph and Adams accordingly departed,
and the latter soon was convinced of the mistake he had
committed; however, whilst he was dressing himself, he
often asserted he believed in the power of witchcraft not-
withstanding, and did not see how a Christian could deny it.

CHAPTER XV.

THE ARRIVAL OF GAFFAR AND GAMMAR ANDREWS, WITH
ANOTHER PERSON NOT MUCH EXPECTED; AND A PERFECT
SOLUTION OF THE DIFFICULTIES RAISED BY THE PEDLAR.

AS soon as Fanny was drest Joseph returned to her, and
-/~\. they had a long conversation together, the conclusion of
which was, that, if they found themselves to be really brother
and sister, they vowed a perpetual celibacy, and to live to-
gether all their days, and indulge a Platonic friendship for
each other.

The company were all very merry at breakfast, and Joseph
and Fanny rather more cheerful than the preceding night.
The Lady Booby produced the diamond button, which the
beau most readily owned, and alleged that he was very subject
to walk in his sleep. Indeed, he was far from being ashamed
of his amour, and rather endeavoured to insinuate that more

3"

THE ADVENTURES OF

than was really true had passed between him and the fair
Slipslop.

Their tea was scarce over when news came of the arrival
of old Mr Andrews and his wife. They were immediately
introduced, and kindly received by the Lady Booby, whose
heart went now pit-a-pat, as did those of Joseph and Fanny.
They felt, perhaps, little less anxiety in this interval than
(Edipus himself, whilst his fate was revealing.

Mr Booby first opened the cause by informing the old gen-
tleman that he had a child in the company more than he knew
of, and, taking Fanny by the hand, told him, this was that
daughter of his who had been stolen away by gipsies in her
infancy. Mr Andrews, after expressing some astonishment,
assured his honour that he had never lost a daughter by gip-
sies, nor ever had any other children than Joseph and Pamela.
These words were a cordial to the two lovers ; but had a dif-
ferent effect on Lady Booby. She ordered the pedlar to be
called, who recounted his story as he had done before. — At
the end of which, old Mrs Andrews, running to Fanny, em-
braced her, crying out, " She is, she is my child ! " The
company were all amazed at this disagreement between the
man and his wife ; and the blood had now forsaken the cheeks
of the lovers, when the old woman, turning to her husband,
who was more surprized than all the rest, and having a little
recovered her own spirits, delivered herself as follows : "You
may remember, my dear, when you went a Serjeant to Gib-
raltar, you left me big with child ; you stayed abroad, you
know, upwards of three years. In your absence I was
brought to bed, I verily believe, of this daughter, whom I
am sure I have reason to remember, for I suckled her at this
very breast till the day she was stolen from me. One after-
noon, when the child was about a year, or a year and a half
old, or thereabouts, two gipsy-women came to the door and
offered to tell my fortune. One of them had a child in her
lap. I showed them my hand, and desired to know if you
was ever to come home again, which I remember as well as
if it was but yesterday : they faithfully promised me you
should. — I left the girl in the cradle, and went to draw them
a cup of liquor, the best I had : when I returned with the pot

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JOSEPH ANDREWS

(I am sure I was not absent longer than whilst I am telling
it to you) the women were gone. I was afraid they had stolen
something, and looked and looked, but to no purpose, and,
Heaven knows, I had very little for them to steal. At last,
hearing the child cry in the cradle, I went to take it up — but,

0 the living ! how was I surprized to find, instead of my own
girl that I had put into the cradle, who was as fine a fat
thriving child as you shall see in a summer's day, a poor
sickly boy, that did not seem to have an hour to live. I ran
out, pulling my hair off, and crying like any mad after the
women, but never could hear a word of them from that day
to this. When I came back the poor infant (which is our Jo-
seph there, as stout as he now stands) lifted up his eyes upon
me so piteously, that, to be sure, notwithstanding my passion,

1 could not find in my heart to do it any mischief. A neigh-
bour of mine, happening to come in at the same time, and
hearing the case, advised me to take care of this poor child,
and God would perhaps one day restore me my own. Upon
which I took the child up, and suckled it to be sure, all the
world as if it had been born of my own natural body ; and as
true as I am alive, in a little time I loved the boy all to nothing
as if it had been my own girl. — Well, as I was saying, times
growing very hard, I having two children and nothing but
my own work, which was little enough God knows, to main-
tain them, was obliged to ask relief of the parish ; but, in-
stead of giving it me, they removed me, by justices' warrants,
fifteen miles, to the place where I now live, where I had not
been long settled before you came home. Joseph (for that
was the name I gave him myself — the Lord knows whether
he was baptised or no, or by what name), Joseph, I say,
seemed to me about five years old when you returned ; for I
believe he is two or three years older than our daughter here
(for I am thoroughly convinced she is the same) ; and when
you saw him you said he was a chopping boy, without ever
minding his age ; and so I, seeing you did not suspect any-
thing of the matter, thought I might e'en as well keep it to
myself, for fear you should not love him as well as I did.
And all this is veritably true, and I will take my oath of it
before any justice in the kingdom."

3*3

THE ADVENTURES OF

The pedlar, who had been summoned by the order of Lady
Booby, listened with the utmost attention to Gammar An-
drews's story ; and, when she had finished, asked her if the
supposititious child had no mark on its breast? To which
she answered, yes, he had as fine a strawberry as ever grew
in a garden. This Joseph acknowledged, and, unbuttoning
his coat, at the intercession of the company, showed to them.
' Well," says Gaffar Andrews, who was a comical sly old
fellow, and very likely desired to have no more children than
he could keep, " you have proved, I think, very plainly, that
this boy doth not belong to us ; but how are you certain that
the girl is ours?" The parson then brought the pedlar for-
ward, and desired him to repeat the story which he had com-
municated to him the preceding day at the ale-house ; which
he complied with, and related what the reader, as well as
Mr Adams, hath seen before. He then confirmed, from his
wife's report, all the circumstances of the exchange, and of
the strawberry on Joseph's breast. At the repetition of the
word strawberry, Adams, who had seen it without any emo-
tion, started and cried, " Bless me ! something comes into my
head." But before he had time to bring anything out a ser-
vant called him forth. When he was gone the pedlar assured
Joseph that his parents were persons of much greater circum-
stances than those he had hitherto mistaken for such ; for that
he had been stolen from a gentleman's house by those whom
they call gipsies, and had been kept by them during a whole
year, when, looking on him as in a dying condition, they had
exchanged him for the other healthier child, in the manner
before related. He said, as to the name of his father, his
wife had either never known or forgot it ; but that she had ac-
quainted him he lived about forty miles from the place where
the exchange had been made, and which way, promising to
spare no pains in endeavouring with him to discover the place.
But Fortune, which seldom doth good or ill, or makes
men happy or miserable, by halves, resolved to spare him
this labour. The reader may please to recollect that Mr Wil-
son had intended a journey to the west, in which he was to
pass through Mr Adams's parish, and had promised to call
on him. He was now arrived at the Lady Booby's gates for

3X4

JOSEPH ANDREWS

that purpose, being directed thither from the parson's house,
and had sent in the servant whom we have above seen call
Mr Adams forth. This had no sooner mentioned the dis-
covery of a stolen child, and had uttered the word strawberry,
than Mr Wilson, with wildness in his looks, and the utmost
eagerness in his words, begged to be shown into the room,
where he entered without the least regard to any of the com-
pany but Joseph, and, embracing him with a complexion all
pale and trembling, desired to see the mark on his breast ;
the parson followed him capering, rubbing his hands, and
crying out, Hie est quern quceris; inventus est, &c. Joseph
complied with the request of Mr Wilson, who no sooner saw
the mark than, abandoning himself to the most extravagant
rapture of passion, he embraced Joseph with inexpressible
ecstasy, and cried out in tears of joy, " I have discovered my
son, I have him again in my arms ! " Joseph was not suffi-
ciently apprized yet to taste the same delight with his father
(for so in reality he was) ; however, he returned some warmth
to his embraces : but he no sooner perceived, from his father's
account, the agreement of every circumstance, of person, time,
and place, than he threw himself at his feet, and, embracing
his knees, with tears begged his blessing, which was given
with much affection, and received with such respect, mixed
with such tenderness on both sides, that it affected all present ;
but none so much as Lady Booby, who left the room in an
agony, which was but too much perceived, and not very chari-
tably accounted for by some of the company.

CHAPTER XVI.

BEING THE LAST, IN WHICH THIS TRUE HISTORY IS
BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION.

FANNY was very little behind her Joseph in the duty she
exprest towards her parents, and the joy she evidenced
in discovering them. Gammar Andrews kissed her, and said,
she was heartily glad to see her; but for her part, she could

3T5

THE ADVENTURES OF

never love any one better than Joseph. Gaffar Andrews tes-
tified no remarkable emotion : he blessed and kissed her,
but complained bitterly that he wanted his pipe, not having
had a whiff that morning.

Mr Booby, who knew nothing of his aunt's fondness, im-
puted her abrupt departure to her pride, and disdain of the
family into which he was married ; he was therefore desirous
to be gone with the utmost celerity; and now, having con-
gratulated Mr Wilson and Joseph on the discovery, he sa-
luted Fanny, called her sister, and introduced her as such to
Pamela, who behaved with great decency on the occasion.

He now sent a message to his aunt, who returned that she
wished him a good journey, but was too disordered to see any
company : he therefore prepared to set out, having invited
Mr Wilson to his house ; and Pamela and Joseph both so
insisted on his complying, that he at last consented, having
first obtained a messenger from Mr Booby to acquaint his
wife with the news ; which, as he knew it would render her
completely happy, he could not prevail on himself to delay
a moment in acquainting her with.

The company were ranged in this manner : the two old
people, with their two daughters, rode in the coach ; the
squire, Mr Wilson, Joseph, parson Adams, and the pedlar,
proceeded on horseback.

In their way, Joseph informed his father of his intended
match with Fanny; to which, though he expressed some re-
luctance at first, on the eagerness of his son's instances he
consented ; saying, if she was so good a creature as she ap-
peared, and he described her, he thought the disadvantages
of birth and fortune might be compensated. He however
insisted on the match being deferred till he had seen his
mother ; in which Joseph perceiving him positive, with
great duty obeyed him, to the great delight of parson Adams,
who by these means saw an opportunity of fulfilling the
church forms, and marrying his parishioners without a li-
cence.

Mr Adams, greatly exulting on this occasion (for such
ceremonies were matters of no small moment with him), ac-
cidentally gave spurs to his horse, which the generous beast
disdaining, — for he was of high mettle, and had been used

316

JOSEPH ANDREWS

to more expert riders than the gentleman who at present be-
strode him, for whose horsemanship he had perhaps some
contempt, — immediately ran away full speed, and played
so many antic tricks that he tumbled the parson from his
back; which Joseph perceiving, came to his relief.

This accident afforded infinite merriment to the servants,
and no less frighted poor Fanny, who beheld him as he
passed by the coach ; but the mirth of the one and terror
of the other were soon determined, when the parson declared
he had received no damage.

The horse having freed himself from his unworthy rider,
as he probably thought him, proceeded to make the best of
his way ; but was stopped by a gentleman and his servants,
who were travelling the opposite way, and were now at a
little distance from the coach. They soon met; and as one
of the servants delivered Adams his horse, his master hailed
him, and Adams, looking up, presently recollected he was
the justice of the peace before whom he and Fanny had made
their appearance. The parson presently saluted him very
kindly; and the justice informed him that he had found the
fellow who attempted to swear against him and the young
woman the very next day, and had committed him to Salis-
bury gaol, where he was charged with many robberies.

Many compliments having passed between the parson and
the justice, the latter proceeded on his journey; and the
former, having with some disdain refused Joseph's offer of
changing horses, and declared he was as able a horseman as
any in the kingdom, remounted his beast ; and now the com-
pany again proceeded, and happily arrived at their journey's
end, Mr Adams, by good luck, rather than by good riding,
escaping a good fall.

The company, arriving at Mr Booby's house, were all re-
ceived by him in the most courteous and entertained in the
most splendid manner, after the custom of the old English
hospitality, which is still preserved in some very few families
in the remote parts of England. They all passed that day
with the utmost satisfaction ; it being perhaps impossible to
find any set of people more solidly and sincerely happy. Jo-
seph and Fanny found means to be alone upwards of two
hours, which were the shortest but the sweetest imaginable.

3i7

THE ADVENTURES OF

In the morning Mr Wilson proposed to his son to make a
visit with him to his mother; which, notwithstanding his
dutiful inclinations, and a longing desire he had to see her,
a little concerned him, as he must be obliged to leave his
Fanny ; but the goodness of Mr Booby relieved him ; for he
proposed to send his own coach and six for Mrs Wilson,
whom Pamela so very earnestly invited, that Mr Wilson at
length agreed with the entreaties of Mr Booby and Joseph,
and suffered the coach to go empty for his wife.

On Saturday night the coach returned with Mrs Wilson,
who added one more to this happy assembly. The reader
may imagine much better and quicker too than I can describe
the many embraces and tears of joy which succeeded her
arrival. It is sufficient to say she was easily prevailed
with to follow her husband's example in consenting to the
match.

On Sunday Mr Adams performed the service at the squire's
parish church, the curate of which very kindly exchanged
duty, and rode twenty miles to the Lady Booby's parish so to
do; being particularly charged not to omit publishing the
banns, being the third and last time.

At length the happy day arrived which was to put Joseph
in the possession of all his wishes. He arose, and drest
himself in a neat but plain suit of Mr Booby's, which exactly
fitted him ; for he refused all finery ; as did Fanny likewise,
who could be prevailed on by Pamela to attire herself in no-
thing richer than a white dimity nightgown. Her shift in-
deed, which Pamela presented her, was of the finest kind, and
had an edging of lace round the bosom. She likewise
equipped her with a pair of fine white thread stockings, which
were all she would accept ; for she wore one of her own short
round-eared caps, and over it a little straw hat, lined with
cherry-coloured silk, and tied with a cherry-coloured ribbon.
In this dress she came forth from her chamber, blushing and
breathing sweets ; and was by Joseph, whose eyes sparkled
fire, led to church, the whole family attending, where Mr
Adams performed the ceremony ; at which nothing was so
remarkable as the extraordinary and unaffected modesty of
Fanny, unless the true Christian piety of Adams, who publicly
rebuked Mr Booby and Pamela for laughing in so sacred a

3i8

JOSEPH ANDREWS

place, and so solemn an occasion. Our parson would have
done no less to the highest prince on earth ; for, though he
paid all submission and deference to his superiors in other
matters, where the least spice of religion intervened he im-
mediately lost all respect of persons. It was his maxim,
that he was a servant of the Highest, and could not, without
departing from his duty, give up the least article of his honour
or of his cause to the greatest earthly potentate. Indeed, he
always asserted that Mr Adams at church with his surplice
on, and Mr Adams without that ornament in any other place,
were two very different persons.

When the church rites were over Joseph led his blooming
bride back to Mr Booby's (for the distance was so very little
they did not think proper to use a coach) ; the whole com-
pany attended them likewise on foot; and now a most mag-
nificent entertainment was provided, at which parson Adams
demonstrated an appetite surprizing as well as surpassing
every one present. Indeed the only persons who betrayed
any deficiency on this occasion were those on whose account
the feast was provided. They pampered their imaginations
with the much more exquisite repast which the approach of
night promised them ; the thoughts of which filled both their
minds, though with different sensations ; the one all desire,
while the other had her wishes tempered with fears.

At length, after a day passed with the utmost merriment,
corrected by the strictest decency, in which, however, parson
Adams being well filled with ale and pudding, had given a
loose to more facetiousness than was usual to him, the happy,
the blest moment arrived when Fanny retired with her mother,
her mother-in-law, and her sister.

She was soon undrest ; for she had no jewels to deposit in
their caskets, nor fine laces to fold with the nicest exactness.
Undressing to her was properly discovering, not putting off,
ornaments ; for, as all her charms were the gifts of nature,
she could divest herself of none. How, reader, shall I give
thee an adequate idea of this lovely young creature? the
bloom of roses and lilies might a little illustrate her com-
plexion, or their smell her sweetness ; but to comprehend her
entirely, conceive youth, health, bloom, neatness, and inno-
cence, in her bridal bed; conceive all these in their utmost

3X9

THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS

perfection, and you may place the charming Fanny's picture
before your eyes.

Joseph no sooner heard she was in bed than he fled with
the utmost eagerness to her. A minute carried him into her
arms, where we shall leave this happy couple to enjoy the
private rewards of their constancy; rewards so great and
sweet, that I apprehend Joseph neither envied the noblest
duke, nor Fanny the finest duchess, that night.

The third day Mr Wilson and his wife, with their son and
daughter, returned home; where they now live together in
a state of bliss scarce ever equalled. Mr Booby hath, with
unprecedented generosity, given Fanny a fortune of two thou-
sand pounds, which Joseph hath laid out in a little estate in
the same parish with his father, which he now occupies (his
father having stocked it for him) ; and Fanny presides with
most excellent management in his dairy; where, however,
she is not at present very able to bustle much, being, as Mr
Wilson informs me in his last letter, extremely big with her
first child.

Mr Booby hath presented Mr Adams with a living of one
hundred and thirty pounds a-year. He at first refused it,
resolving not to quit his parishioners, with whom he had
lived so long; but, on recollecting he might keep a curate at
this living, he hath been lately inducted into it.

The pedlar, besides several handsome presents, both from
Mr Wilson and Mr Booby, is, by the latter's interest, made
an exciseman ; a trust which he discharges with such justice,
that he is greatly beloved in his neighbourhood.

As for the Lady Booby, she returned to London in a few
days, where a young captain of dragoons, together with eter-
nal parties at cards, soon obliterated the memory of Joseph.

Joseph remains blest with his Fanny, whom he doats on
with the utmost tenderness, which is all returned on her
side. The happiness of this couple is a perpetual fountain
of pleasure to their fond parents ; and, what is particularly
remarkable, he declares he will, imitate them in their retire-
ment, nor will be prevailed on by any booksellers, or their
authors, to make his appearance in high life.

320

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