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Joseph Andrews, Vol. 2 by Henry Fielding

Part 3 out of 4

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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 benefactors' 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 return! They flocked
about him like dutiful children round an indulgent parent, and vyed
with each other in demonstrations of duty and love. The parson on his
side shook every one by the hand, enquired 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 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 infinitely 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 probably 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 removed; she then blamed, she cursed the hasty rashness of her
temper; her fury was vented all on herself, and Joseph appeared 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 enemies 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 several 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 income; 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 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
hinterfear 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 belyed 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 myself 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 surprize 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 believe to be only
a malicious rumour. When the prayers were ended Mr Adams stood up, and
with a loud voice pronounced, "I 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 behaved as the reader
will see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II.

_A dialogue between Mr Abraham Adams and the 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 manner: "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 to procure a match between these
two people, which will be to 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 corrected him for
it; for I never have, nor will, encourage the faults of those under my
care. 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; indeed, 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 impertinent," 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 is 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 desirous 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 upon
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 reason," 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 but little amends that they will be beauties."--"Madam,"
answered Adams, "with the utmost submission to your ladyship, 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 impudent 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,
notwithstanding 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 provide 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 demeaning
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 entertained here."--"Madam," said Adams, "I shall enter into no
persons' doors against their will; but I am assured, when you have
enquired 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 servants, 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 servants of mine
settled here; and so, if this be your law, I shall send to another
lawyer." Scout said, "If she sent to a hundred 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,
"madam, 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 difference 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 prevent 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 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 impertinent, 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."--"Beauties, 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 ladyship 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-operating 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 confident no farther
objection will remain. No, no, it is impossible; 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
ladyship 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 commit 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 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 think 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'um there, we seldom hear any more o'um. 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 jealousy 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 information.

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 past 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
interval. On Tuesday morning, which happened to be a holiday, 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 assembly
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 venture 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 the arrival of her nephew Booby and
his lady. She ordered them to be conducted into a drawing-room, whither
she presently 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 instrument in Scout.

The Lady Booby apprehended her servant had made a mistake 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 utmost; for she was
perfectly polite, nor had any vice inconsistent with good-breeding. They
past 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 discourse 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; curious precedents of depositions, and
other matters necessary to be perused 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 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 justice 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 woman to commit to Bridewell first.
As he was now convinced he had not a minute to lose, he insisted on the
servant's introducing 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. "Ay," says the
justice, "a kind of felonious larcenous thing. I believe I must order
them a little correction 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 depusition of James Scout, layer, and Thomas Trotter,
yeoman, taken before mee, one of his magesty's justasses of the
piece for Zumersetshire._

"These deponants saith, and first Thomas Trotter for himself
saith, that on the -- of this instant October, being
Sabbath-day, betwin the ours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon, he
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 Andrews 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 we
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 incumbrance 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 Bridewell,
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 exulting hearts,
gave a thousand thanks to his honour Mr Booby; who did not intend their
obligations to him should cease here; 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 of his own
clothes, with linnen 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 flopped her hat over
her eyes, which were also bathed in tears, and had by that means
concealed from his worship what might perhaps have rendered the arrival
of Mr Booby unnecessary, at least for herself. 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 assuring 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
parish, 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 Slipslop, who
had always been her enemy."

The squire now returned, and prevented any farther continuance of this
conversation; and the justice, out of a pretended respect to his guest,
but in reality from an apprehension 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 matter, 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 subject of horse-racing. Joseph
was soon drest in the plainest 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 embroidery, that the
taylor'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."--"Ay," 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 acquainted Joseph with his marriage;
but he might have spared himself that labour; for his servant, whilst
Joseph was dressing, had performed that office before. He continued to
express 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 snapping his fingers as if he had been mad.

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 married 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 beyond
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
entertain him as such." The squire told her he knew his obligation to
her for her compliance; and going three steps, returned 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 commonly 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 country." "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 passion; "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 Joseph, 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 pleasure 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 upstairs, whilst
Fanny repaired 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 without tears of joy on
both sides; and their embraces were full of tenderness and affection.
They were, however, regarded with much more pleasure by the nephew than
by the aunt, to whose flame they were fuel only; and this was increased
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 an account of his adventures: 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 spoke so warmly in praise of another woman. Pamela
answered, indeed, she thought she had cause; but it was an instance 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 informed 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 favour to
his utmost; for his heart had long been with his Fanny; but she
insisted on his accepting it, alledging 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 complacence
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, dressing 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 behaviour, 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 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 assistance 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 something in those low-life creatures
which must eternally extinguish 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. "Ay, 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 condescension in everything to his superiors,
yet unattended by that mean servility which is called good behaviour in
such persons. Everything he doth hath no mark of the base motive 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 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
custom, a tyranny we must comply with; for we people of fashion are the
slaves of custom."--"Marry come up!" said Slipslop, 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 gentlemen 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 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 liberty you give your tongue. Would you insinuate that
I employed 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," answered the lady; "I believe my
conduct may defy malice itself to assert so cursed a slander. If I had
ever discovered any wantonness, any lightness in my behaviour; if I had
followed 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
obtained 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 understand your ladyship; nor know I anything
of the matter."--"I believe indeed thou dost not understand me. Those
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 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[A] 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 gentleman 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.
Ifakins! 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 deprecate 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 mistress,
who had been some time in her bed, if she had any farther commands? who
mildly answered, she had none; and, telling her she was a comical
creature, bid her good-night.

[A] Meaning perhaps ideas.

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 companions; 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 resolve, 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 sometimes very eagerly and earnestly
too (for the monster seldom 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 providing
by other means for their security. They endeavour, by all methods they
can invent, to render themselves so amiable 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 fierceness, 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, tenderness,
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 instantly 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 devouring, cannot so entirely
shake off all that hath been instilled 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 censure, 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
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, brother, will extend to all her relations; nor
shall I show them less respect than if I had 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 diminish; 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 marriage."--"Sir," said Joseph, "I assure you her
beauty is her least perfection; nor do I know a virtue which that young
creature is not possesst 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 raised 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 centered 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 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 satisfaction 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 knew; 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 struggle, 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 sollicit for
himself; 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 philosopher or modern divine, he fastened his horse to the
ground, and attacked her with much more force than the gentleman had
exerted. Poor Fanny would not have been able to resist his rudeness a
short 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,
coming 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, trembling 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 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 assistance. She was not, however, long under
this affliction before 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 attempting 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 remember, 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 imitated 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 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 handkerchief round her neck. Joseph saw the uneasiness
she suffered, 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 passion 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 children.
She had long entertained hopes of seeing her eldest daughter succeed Mrs
Slipslop, and of making her second son an exciseman by Lady Booby's
interest. These were expectations 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 intermeddling in other folks' affairs;
that he had always preached up submission to superiors, and would do ill
to give an example 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 handsome, but
handsome women were often no better than they should be; that G-- 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 publication
of the banns. But all these excellent arguments had no effect on the
parson, who persisted in doing his duty without 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 remains 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 suffered to fetch a licence, saying he could
easily borrow the money. The parson answered, That he had already given
his 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 indulgence
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, child, 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 Matthew the 5th, and part of the 28th
verse--_Whosoever looketh on a woman, so as to lust after her_. The
latter 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 correct, and not give way to it. Now, as to the second head which I
proposed to speak to, namely, fear: it argues a diffidence, 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 unjustifiable 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 Providence, and set
our affections so much on nothing here that we cannot 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 excess; and even love itself, if it is not subservient to our
duty, may 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
absolutely on this young woman, that, if G-- 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 person or thing in this
world, but that, whenever it shall be required or taken from him in any
manner by Divine Providence, he may be able, peaceably, quietly, and
contentedly to resign it." At which words one came hastily in, and
acquainted 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 himself 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
impossibilities. Had it been any other of my children I could have borne
it with patience; but my little prattler, the darling and comfort 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
_Que 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 goodness 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
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 darling?" 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 believe,
no very good principle, to relate ill news; and, seeing him fall into
the river, instead of running to his assistance, directly ran to
acquaint his father of a fate which he had concluded to be inevitable,
but whence the child was relieved by the same poor pedlar who had
relieved his father before from a less distress. The parson's joy was
now as extravagant as his grief had been before; he kissed and embraced
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
purposes, 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 patience of Joseph, nor perhaps of Job,
could bear no longer; he interrupted the parson, saying, "It was easier
to give advice than take it; nor did he perceive he could so entirely
conquer himself, when he apprehended he had lost his son, or when he
found him recovered."--"Boy," replied Adams, raising his voice, "it doth
not become green heads to advise grey hairs.--Thou art ignorant of the
tenderness of fatherly affection; when thou art a father thou wilt be
capable then only of knowing what a father can feel. No man is obliged
to impossibilities; 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 sinful to love my wife, no, not even to doat on her to
distraction!"--"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 endeavours," 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 husband'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 remember 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
cherishing 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 Joseph; 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.

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
therefore proposed to her company a walk in the fields before dinner,
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, laughing, 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
latter telling the lady "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 nightcap. He said "They were heartily welcome to his poor
cottage," and turning to Mr Didapper, cried out, "_Non mea renidet in
domo lacunar_." The beau answered, "He did not understand 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 adversary 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 extraordinary civility of Mrs Adams, the lady,
turning to Mr Booby, cried out, "_Quelle Bte! Quel Animal!_" And
presently after discovering Fanny (for she did not need the circumstance
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 warrant," cries the beau. "Ridiculous!" said she: "you know you
was always my aversion." "I would never mention aversion," answered the
beau, "with that face[A]; dear Lady Booby, wash your face before you
mention aversion, I beseech you." He then laughed, and turned about to
coquet it with Fanny.

[A] Lest this should appear unnatural to some readers, we think proper
to acquaint them, that it is taken verbatim from very polite
conversation.

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," answered
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 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 desiring, 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 useful 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,
commenced 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. 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 acquaintance: 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 at
first a little surprized; but had soon sufficient information 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, Lennard 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 addition 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 instances 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 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 obvious; 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 anything 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
Lennard, 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 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 answered 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 disputing, but the bird was undoubtedly
a partridge. O sir! replyed 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.--Indeed! sir, says
she, I assure you!--Yes, madam, cryed 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 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? Ay, 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
arguments 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 practise it. The husband then coming in, Paul departed. And Leonard,
approaching his wife with an 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 complacence; that she was ashamed to think a word
had passed on so silly an occasion, especially as she was satisfyed she
had been mistaken. A little contention followed, but with the utmost
good-will to each other, and was concluded by her asserting 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 perhaps the devil had no hand, shortly
put an end to his happiness. 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 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 conclusion, 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 condescension on both sides, that they
vyed with each other in censuring their own conduct, and jointly vented
their indignation on Paul, whom the wife, fearing a bloody consequence,
earnestly 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 replyed, with some indignation, he had given him a
sufficient proof how capable 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 separation. 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.

CHAPTER XI.

_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 interfering 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
frighted 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
different 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
Didapper, and insisted on his sheathing the 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 parson 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 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
becomes 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 surprized you should concern yourself in it.
I think your wife and family your properer care."--"Indeed, madam, your
ladyship says very true," answered 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
chiding 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 handkerchief; 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 nor the beau thought proper to oppose
him. 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 probably ruined his family with his tricks
almost; 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 neighbours,
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 resented, 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 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
ale-house 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 oeconomies, 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 belonged 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 parents. 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 contented 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 woman,
who seemed to be about thirty years old or thereabouts, 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
provided 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 bargain 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." "Ay! ay!" 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 Galloway, 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 gypsies, who had made a practice of stealing away children;
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 impossible 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 believe no baronet now alive; besides, it answers so
exactly in every point, there is no room for doubt; but you have forgot
to tell us the parents from whom the child was stolen." "Their 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 Pam_e_la; 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
account for all this confusion; the cause of which was presently opened
by the parson's daughter, who was the only unconcerned 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
ourselves, 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 between love and pride; with what
happened on the present discovery._

The lady sat down with her company to dinner, but eat nothing. As soon
as her cloth was removed she whispered 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 conceal
these boiling passions longer without bursting. Slipslop 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 virtues of Joseph Andrews; ending, at last, with expressing
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 frenzy, proceeded to repeat, with exaggeration, if possible,
all her mistress 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, cryed out, with a deep sigh, "Sure he would make any
woman happy!"--"Your ladyship," 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 because 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 ladyship 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 mynx," cries Slipslop; "leave her to
me. I suppose your ladyship hath heard of Joseph'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 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; retire
with one in whom I propose more happiness than the world without him
can give me! Retire-to feed continually 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
footman? 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 indulgence of a mean and a 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 immediately helped me
to expel them. Yes, I thank Heaven and my pride, I have now perfectly
conquered this unworthy passion; 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 cryed 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 man who hath discovered that Fanny and Joseph are brother
and sister."--"How, Slipslop?" cries the lady, in a surprize.--"I had
not time, madam," cries Slipslop, "to enquire about particles, but Tom
says it is most certainly true."

This unexpected account entirely obliterated all those admirable
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, dismissed 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 upstarts 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 fellow 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 his duty, as he apprehended it, to follow
them; for he continued 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 satisfied of the truth, except Pamela, who
imagined, as she had never heard either of her parents mention such an
accident, 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 certain of certainly knowing the truth or falsehood
of this relation; in which, he said, as there were many strong
circumstances to induce their credit, so he could not perceive any
interest the pedlar could have in inventing it, or in endeavouring to
impose such a falsehood on them.

The Lady Booby, who was very little used to such company, 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 afforded much diversion to the
company. Pamela chid her brother Joseph for the concern which he exprest
at discovering a new sister. She said, if he loved Fanny as he ought,
with a pure affection, he had no reason to lament being related to
her.--Upon which Adams began to discourse on Platonic 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 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 past three in
the morning), beau Didapper, whose passion 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 excellent 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 rapture.
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 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 notice 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 opportunity 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, therefore, 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 attempted 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
ravishing, 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 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 his 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
slippers, 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 chusing her house for the scene
of his debaucheries, and her own woman for the object of his bestiality.
Poor Adams had before discovered the countenance of his bedfellow, and,
now first recollecting he was naked, he was no less confounded than Lady
Booby herself, and immediately whipt under the bedclothes, 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 something
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 laced 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 belongs this laced shirt and
jewels?" says the lady. "Undoubtedly," 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 another 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

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