"
"Why, who,” cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward
here, besides thyself?
"Why, who,” cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward
here, besides thyself?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v10 - Emp to Fro
You
are too much inclined to passion, child; and have set your affec-
tions so absolutely on this young woman, that if God required
her at your hands I fear you would reluctantly part with her.
Now, believe me, no Christian ought so to set his heart on any
person or thing in this world, but that whenever it shall be
required, or taken from him in any manner by Divine provi-
dence, he may be able peaceably, quietly, and contentedly to
resign it. "
At which words one came hastily in, and acquainted Mr.
Adams that his youngest son was drowned. He good 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 endeavor
to comfort the parson; in which attempt he used many argu-
ments that he had at several times remembered out of his own
discourses, both in private and public,- for he was a great enemy
## p. 5711 (#295) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5711
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 Quæ Genus. This was the very book he learned:
poor child! it is of no farther 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 Dicky,
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
surprise and joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathize, he
met his son, in a wet condition indeed, but alive, and running
toward him. The person who brought the news of his misfor-
tune had been a little too eager, as people sometimes are, from
I believe no very good principle, to relate il 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 con-
cluded to be inevitable, but whence the child was relieved by
the same poor peddler 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 peddler, 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, treach-
erous engines of his wicked purposes; not those with which a
worthless younger brother wishes his elder joy of a son, or a man
## p. 5712 (#296) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5712
congratulates his rival on his obtaining a mistress, a place, or
an honor. No, reader; he felt the ebullition, the overflowings,
of a full, honest, open heart, towards the person who had con-
ferred a real obligation; and of which if thou canst not conceive
an idea within, I will not vainly endeavor 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 inter-
rupted the parson, saying it was easier to give advice than to
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 does not become
green heads to advise gray hairs. Thou art ignorant of the ten-
derness 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 mis-
tress 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 savors too
much of the flesh. " "Sure, sir," says Joseph, "it is not sinful
to love my wife, no, not even to dote 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 endeavors," 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 has a
right to insist on her husband's loving her as much as ever he
can; and he is a sinful villain who does not. Does he not promise
## p. 5713 (#297) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5713
to love her, and 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 practice, for you have been a loving
and a cherishing husband to me, that's the truth on't; and why
you should endeavor 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.
TOM JONES APPEARS IN THE STORY, WITH BAD OMENS
From Tom Jones'
As
S WE determined when we first sat down to write this history
to flatter no man, but to guide our pen throughout by the
directions of truth, we are obliged to bring our hero on the
stage in a much more disadvantageous manner than we could
wish; and to declare honestly, even at his first appearance, that
it was the universal opinion of all Mr. Allworthy's family that
he was certainly born to be hanged.
Indeed, I am sorry to say there was too much reason for this
conjecture, the lad having from his earliest years discovered
a propensity to many vices, and especially to one, which hath as
direct a tendency as any other to that fate which we have just
now observed to have been prophetically denounced against him.
He had been already convicted of three robberies; viz. , of rob-
bing an orchard, of stealing a duck out of a farmer's yard, and
of picking Master Blifil's pocket of a ball.
The vices of this young man were moreover heightened by
the disadvantageous light in which they appeared, when opposed
to the virtues of Master Blifil, his companion-a youth of so differ-
ent a caste from little Jones, that not only the family but all
the neighborhood resounded his praises. He was indeed a lad
of a remarkable disposition; sober, discreet, and pious beyond
his age,- qualities which gained him the love of every one who
knew him; whilst Tom Jones was universally disliked, and many
expressed their wonder that Mr. Allworthy would suffer such a
lad to be educated with his nephew, lest the morals of the latter
should be corrupted by his example.
X-358
## p. 5714 (#298) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5714
An incident which happened about this time will set the
character of these two lads more fairly before the discerning
reader than is in the power of the longest dissertation.
Tom Jones, who bad as he is must serve for the hero of
this history, had only one friend among all the servants of the
family; for as to Mrs. Wilkins, she had long since given him up,
and was perfectly reconciled to her mistress. This friend was
the gamekeeper, a fellow of a loose kind of disposition, and who
was thought not to entertain much stricter notions concerning
the difference of meum and tuum than the young gentleman him-
self. And hence this friendship gave occasion to many sarcastical
remarks among the domestics, most of which were either prov-
erbs before, or at least are become so now; and indeed, the wit
of them all may be comprised in that short Latin proverb,
"Noscitur a socio," which I think is thus expressed in English:-
"You may know him by the company he keeps. ”
To say the truth, some of that atrocious wickedness in Jones,
of which we have just mentioned three examples, might perhaps
be derived from the encouragement he had received from this
fellow, who in two or three instances had been what the law
calls an accessory after the fact. For the whole duck and a
great part of the apples were converted to the use of the game-
keeper and his family. Though as Jones alone was discovered,
the poor lad bore not only the whole smart but the whole blame;
both which fell again to his lot on the following occasion.
Contiguous to Mr. Allworthy's estate was the manor of one
of those gentlemen who are called preservers of the game. This
species of men, from the great severity with which they revenge
the death of a hare or a partridge, might be thought to culti
vate the same superstition with the Bannians in India, many of
whom, we are told, dedicate their whole lives to the preserva-
tion and protection of certain animals; was it not that our Eng-
lish Bannians, while they preserve them from other enemies,
will most unmercifully slaughter whole horse-loads themselves,
so that they stand clearly acquitted of any such heathenish super-
stition.
I have indeed a much better opinion of this kind of men than
is entertained by some, as I take them to answer the order of
nature, and the good purposes for which they were ordained, in
a more ample manner than many others. Now, as Horace tells
us, that there are a set of human beings, fruges consumere
## p. 5715 (#299) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5715
nati, "born to consume the fruits of the earth," so I make no
manner of doubt but that there are others, feras consumere nati,
"born to consume the beasts of the field," or as it is commonly
called, the game; and none, I believe, will deny but that those
squires fulfill this end of their creation.
Little Jones went one day a-shooting with the gamekeeper;
when happening to spring a covey of partridges, near the border
of that manor over which fortune, to fulfill the wise purposes of
nature, had planted one of the game-consumers, the birds flew
into it and were marked (as it is called) by the two sportsmen
in some furze bushes, about two or three hundred paces beyond
Mr. Allworthy's dominions.
Mr. Allworthy had given the fellow strict orders, on pain of
forfeiting his place, never to trespass on any of his neighbors;
no more on those who were less rigid in this matter than on the
lord of the manor. With regard to others, indeed, these orders
had not been always very scrupulously kept; but as the disposition
of the gentleman with whom the partridges had taken sanctuary
was well known, the gamekeeper had never yet attempted to
invade his territories. Nor had he done it now, had not the
younger sportsman, who was excessively eager to pursue the
flying game, over-persuaded him; but Jones being very impor-
tunate, the other, who was himself keen enough after the sport,
yielded to his persuasions, entered the manor, and shot one of
the partridges.
The gentleman himself was at that time on horseback, at a
little distance from them; and hearing the gun go off, he imme-
diately made towards the place, and discovered poor Tom; for
the gamekeeper had leapt into the thickest part of the furze-
brake, where he had happily concealed himself.
The gentleman having searched the lad and found the par-
tridge upon him, denounced great vengeance, swearing he would
acquaint Mr. Allworthy. He was as good as his word, for he
rode immediately to his house and complained of the trespass on
his manor, in as high terms and as bitter language as if his
house had been broken open and the most valuable furniture
stolen out of it. He added that some other person was in his
company, though he could not discover him; for that two guns
had been discharged, almost in the same instant. And, says he,
"We have found only this partridge, but the Lord knows what
mischief they have done. "
## p. 5716 (#300) ###########################################
5716
HENRY FIELDING
At his return home, Tom was presently convened before Mr.
Allworthy. He owned the fact, and alleged no other excuse but
what was really true; viz. , that the covey was originally sprung
in Mr. Allworthy's own manor.
Tom was then interrogated who was with him, which Mr.
Allworthy declared he was resolved to know, acquainting the cul-
prit with the circumstance of the two guns, which had been
deposed by the squire and both his servants; but Tom stoutly
persisted in asserting that he was alone; yet, to say the truth,
he hesitated a little at first, which would have confirmed Mr.
Allworthy's belief, had what the squire and his servants said
wanted any further confirmation.
The gamekeeper, being a suspected person, was now sent for
and the question put to him; but he, relying on the promise
which Tom had made him to take all upon himself, very reso-
lutely denied being in company with the young gentleman, or
indeed having seen him the whole afternoon.
Mr. Allworthy then turned towards Tom with more than
usual anger in his countenance, and advised him to confess who
was with him; repeating that he was resolved to know. The
lad however still maintained his resolution, and was dismissed
with much wrath by Mr. Allworthy, who told him he should
have the next morning to consider of it, when he should be
questioned by another person and in another manner.
Poor Jones spent a very melancholy night, and the more so
as he was without his usual companion, for Master Blifil was
gone abroad on a visit with his mother. Fear of the punishment
he was to suffer was on this occasion his least evil; his chief
anxiety being lest his constancy should fail him and he should
be brought to betray the gamekeeper, whose ruin he knew must
now be the consequence.
Nor did the gamekeeper pass his time much better. He had
the same apprehensions with the youth; for whose honor he had
likewise a much tenderer regard than for his skin.
In the morning, when Tom attended the Reverend Mr.
Thwackum, the person to whom Mr. Allworthy had committed
the instruction of the two boys, he had the same questions put
to him by that gentleman which he had been asked the evening
before, to which he returned the same answers. The consequence
of this was so severe a whipping, that it possibly fell little
short of the torture with which confessions are in some countries
extorted from criminals.
## p. 5717 (#301) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5717
Tom bore this punishment with great resolution; and though
his master asked him between every stroke whether he would
not confess, he was contented to be flayed rather than betray his
friend, or break the promise he had made.
The gamekeeper was now relieved from his anxiety, and Mr.
Allworthy himself began to be concerned at Tom's sufferings: for
besides that Mr. Thwackum, being highly enraged that he was
not able to make the boy say what he himself pleased, had car-
ried his severity much beyond the good man's intention, this
latter began now to suspect that the squire had been mistaken,
which his extreme eagerness and anger seemed to make probable;
and as for what the servants had said in confirmation of their
master's account, he laid no great stress upon that. Now, as
cruelty and injustice were two ideas of which Mr. Allworthy
could by no means support the consciousness a single moment, he
sent for Tom, and after many kind and friendly exhortations,
said, "I am convinced, my dear child, that my suspicions have
wronged you; I am sorry that you have been so severely pun-
ished on this account; » and at last gave him a little horse to
make him amends, again repeating his sorrow for what had
passed.
Tom's guilt now flew in his face more than any severity could
make it. He could more easily bear the lashes of Thwackum than
the generosity of Allworthy. The tears burst from his eyes, and
he fell upon his knees, crying, "Oh, sir, you are too good to me.
Indeed you are.
Indeed I don't deserve it. " And at that very
instant, from the fullness of his heart, had almost betrayed the
secret; but the good genius of the gamekeeper suggested to him
what might be the consequence to the poor fellow, and this con-
sideration sealed his lips.
Thwackum did all he could to dissuade Allworthy from show-
ing any compassion or kindness to the boy, saying "he had
persisted in untruth"; and gave some hints that a second whip-
ping might probably bring the matter to light.
ment.
But Mr. Allworthy absolutely refused to consent to the experi-
He said the boy had suffered enough already for conceal-
ing the truth, even if he was guilty, seeing that he could have.
no motive but a mistaken point of honor for so doing.
"Honor! " cried Thwackum with some warmth: «< mere stub-
bornness and obstinacy! Can honor teach any one to tell a lie,
or can any honor exist independent of religion? "
## p. 5718 (#302) ###########################################
5718
HENRY FIELDING
This discourse happened at table when dinner was just ended;
and there were present Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Thwackum, and a
third gentleman, who now entered into the debate, and whom,
before we proceed any farther, we shall briefly introduce to our
reader's acquaintance.
THE CHARACTERS OF MR. SQUARE THE PHILOSOPHER AND
OF MR. THWACKUM THE DIVINE
From Tom Jones'
THE
HE name of this gentleman, who had then resided some time
at Mr. Allworthy's house, was Mr. Square. His natural
parts were not of the first rate, but he had greatly im-
proved them by a learned education. He was deeply read in the
ancients, and a professed master of all the works of Plato and
Aristotle; upon which great models he had principally formed
himself, sometimes according with the opinion of one, and some-
times with that of the other. In morals he was a professed
Platonist, and in religion he inclined to be an Aristotelian.
But though he had, as we have said, formed his morals on
the Platonic model, yet he perfectly agreed with the opinion of
Aristotle, in considering that great man rather in the quality of
a philosopher or a specialist than as a legislator. This sentiment
he carried a great way; indeed, so far as to regard all virtue as
matter of theory only. This, it is true, he never affirmed, as
I have heard, to any one; and yet upon the least attention to
his conduct, I cannot help thinking it was his real opinion, as
it will perfectly reconcile some contradictions which might other-
wise appear in his character.
This gentleman and Mr. Thwackum scarce ever met without
a disputation; for their tenets were indeed diametrically opposite
to each other. Square held human nature to be the perfection
of all virtue, and that vice was a deviation from our nature in
the same manner as deformity of body is. Thwackum, on the
contrary, maintained that the human mind since the fall was
nothing but a sink of iniquity, till purified and redeemed by
grace. In one point only they agreed, which was, in all their
discourses on morality never to mention the word "goodness. "
The favorite phrase of the former was the natural beauty of
virtue; that of the latter was the Divine power of grace. The
## p. 5719 (#303) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5719
former measured all actions by the unalterable rule of right, and
the eternal fitness of things; the latter decided all matters by
authority; but in doing this he always used the Scriptures and
their commentators, as the lawyer doth his 'Coke upon Lyttle-
ton,' where the comment is of equal authority with the text.
After this short introduction the reader will be pleased to
remember that the parson had concluded his speech with a
triumphant question, to which he had apprehended no answer;
viz. , Can any honor exist independent of religion?
To this, Square answered that it was impossible to discourse
philosophically concerning words till their meaning was first es-
tablished; that there were scarce any two words of a more vague
and uncertain signification than the two he had mentioned, for
that there were almost as many different opinions concerning
honor as concerning religion. "But," says he, "if by honor you
mean the true natural beauty of virtue, I will maintain it may
exist independent of any religion whatever. Nay," added he,
"you yourself will allow it may exist independent of all but
one; so will a Mahometan, a Jew, and all the maintainers of all
the different sects in the world. "
Thwackum replied this was arguing with the usual malice of
all the enemies to the true Church. He said he doubted not but
that all the infidels and heretics in the world would, if they
could, confine honor to their own absurd errors and damnable
deceptions. "But honor," says he, "is not therefore manifold
because there are many absurd opinions about it; nor is religion
manifold because there are various sects and heresies in the
world. When I mention religion, I mean the Christian religion;
and not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion;
and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England.
And when I mention honor, I mean that mode of Divine grace
which is not only consistent with but dependent upon this reli-
gion; and is consistent with and dependent upon no other.
Now, to say that the honor I here mean, and which was, I
thought, all the honor I could be supposed to mean, will uphold,
much less dictate, an untruth, is to assert an absurdity too shock-
ing to be conceived. "
"I purposely avoided," says Square, "drawing a conclusion
which I thought evident from what I have said; but if you per-
ceived it I am sure you have not attempted to answer it. How-
ever, to drop the article of religion, I think it is plain, from
## p. 5720 (#304) ###########################################
5720
HENRY FIELDING
what you have said, that we have different ideas of honor; or
why do we not agree in the same terms of its explanation? I
have asserted that true honor and true virtue are almost syn-
onymous terms, and they are both founded on the unalterable
rule of right, and the eternal fitness of things; to which an un-
truth being absolutely repugnant and contrary, it is certain that
true honor cannot support an untruth. In this, therefore, I think
we are agreed; but that this honor can be said to be founded
on religion, to which it is antecedent, if by religion be meant
any positive law—»
"I agree," answered Thwackum, with great warmth, "with a
man who asserts honor to be antecedent to religion? Mr. All-
worthy, did I agree — »
He was proceeding, when Mr. Allworthy interposed, telling
them very coldly, they had both mistaken his meaning, for that
he had said nothing of true honor. It is possible, however, he
would not have easily quieted the disputants, who were growing
equally warm, had not another matter now fallen out, which put
a final end to the conversation.
PARTRIDGE AT THE PLAYHOUSE
From Tom Jones'
MR.
R. JONES having spent three hours in reading and kissing
the aforesaid letter, and being at last in a state of good
spirits from the last-mentioned considerations, he agreed
to carry an appointment, which he had before made, into execu-
tion. This was to attend Mrs. Miller and her younger daughter
into the gallery at the play-house, and to admit Mr. Partridge as
one of the company. For as Jones had really that taste for
humor which many affect, he expected to enjoy much entertain-
ment in the criticisms of Partridge; from whom he expected the
simple dictates of nature, unimproved indeed, but likewise un-
adulterated by art.
In the first row then, of the first gallery, did Mr. Jones, Mrs.
Miller, her youngest daughter, and Partridge take their places.
Partridge immediately declared it was the finest place he had
ever been in. When the first music was played, he said "it was
a wonder how so many fiddlers could play at one time without
putting one another out" While the fellow was lighting the
## p. 5721 (#305) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5721
upper candles he cried out to Mrs. Miller, "Look, look, madam;
the very picture of the man in the end of the Common Prayer
Book, before the gunpowder-treason service! " Nor could he help
observing with a sigh, when all the candles were lighted, that
"there were candles enough burnt in one night to keep an honest
poor family for a whole twelvemonth. "
As soon as the play, which was 'Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,’
began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till
the entrance of the Ghost; upon which he asked Jones, "What
man that was in the strange dress; something," said he, "like
what I have seen in a picture. Sure, it is not armor, is it? "
Jones answered, "That is the Ghost. "
To which Partridge replied with a smile: -"Persuade me to
that, sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a
ghost in my life, yet I am certain I should know one if I saw
him, better than that comes to. No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear
in such dresses as that, neither. " In this mistake, which caused
much laughter in the neighborhood of Partridge, he was suffered
to continue, until the scene between the Ghost and Hamlet, when
Partridge gave that credit to Mr. Garrick which he had denied
to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees
knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the mat-
ter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the stage?
"Oh, la! sir,” said he, "I perceive now it is what you told me.
I am not afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if
it was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance,
and in so much company; and yet if I was frightened, I am not
the only person.
"
"Why, who,” cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward
here, besides thyself? "
"Nay, you may call me a coward if you will; but if that little
man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw any man
frightened in my life. Ah, ah, go along with you! Ay, to be
sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such
foolhardiness! Whatever happens, it is good enough for you.
Follow you? -I'd follow the Devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is
the Devil, for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases.
Oh! here he is again. No farther! No, you have gone far
enough already; farther than I'd have gone for all the king's
dominion. " Jones offered to speak, but Partridge cried, "Hush,
hush, dear sir, don't you hear him! " And during the whole
## p. 5722 (#306) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5722
speech of the Ghost he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the
Ghost and partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open; the
same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet succeeding
likewise in him.
When the scene was over, Jones said, "Why, Partridge, you
exceed my expectations. You enjoy the play more than I con-
ceived possible. "
"Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "if you are not afraid of the
Devil, I can't help it; but to be sure, it is natural to be surprised
at such things, though I know there is nothing in them; not
that it was the Ghost that surprised me neither, for I should
have known that to have been only a man in a strange dress;
but when I saw the little man so frightened himself, it was that
which took hold of me. "
"And dost thou imagine then, Partridge," cries Jones, "that
he was really frightened? "
"Nay, sir," said Partridge, "did not you yourself observe
afterwards, when he found out it was his own father's spirit, and
how he was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him
by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were,
just as I should have been had it been my own case? But
hush! oh, la! What noise is that? There he is again. Well, to
be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am
glad I am not down yonder where those men are. " Then, turn-
ing his eyes again upon Hamlet, "Ay, you may draw your
sword: what signifies a sword against the power of the Devil? "
During the second act, Partridge made very few remarks.
He greatly admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he
help observing upon the King's countenance. "Well," said he,
"how people may be deceived by faces! Nulla fides fronti is, I
find, a true saying. Who would think, by looking in the King's
face, that he had ever committed a murder? " He then inquired
after the Ghost; but Jones, who intended that he should be sur-
prised, gave him no other satisfaction than that he might possi-
bly see him again soon, and in a flash of fire.
Partridge sat in fearful expectation of this; and now when the
Ghost made his next appearance Partridge cried out:-" There,
sir, now: what say you now? Is he frightened now, or no? As
much frightened as you think me; and to be sure, nobody can
help some fears. I would not be in so bad a condition as what's-
his-name, Squire Hamlet, is there, for all the world. Bless me!
## p. 5723 (#307) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5723
What's become of the spirit? As I am a living soul, I thought
I saw him sink into the earth. "
"Indeed, you saw right," answered Jones.
"Well, well," cries Partridge, "I know it is only a play; and
besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam Miller would
not laugh so; for as to you, sir, you would not be afraid, I be-
lieve, if the Devil were here in person. There, there
wonder you are in such a passion; shake the vile wicked wretch
to pieces. If she was my own mother I should serve her so.
To be sure, all duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked
doings. Ay, go about your business; I hate the sight of you. "
-ay, no
Our critic was now pretty silent till the play which Hamlet
introduces before the King. This he did not at first understand
till Jones explained it to him; but he no sooner entered into the
spirit of it than he began to bless himself that he had never
committed murder. Then, turning to Mrs. Miller, he asked her
if she did not imagine the King looked as if he was touched;
"though he is," said he, "a good actor, and doth all he can to
hide it. Well, I would not have so much to answer for as that
wicked man there hath, to sit upon a much higher chair than he
sits upon.
No wonder he ran away; for your sake I'll never
trust an innocent face again. "
The grave-digging scene next engaged the attention of Par-
tridge, who expressed much surprise at the number of skulls
thrown upon the stage. To which Jones answered that "it was
one of the most famous burial-places about town. "
"No wonder, then," cries Partridge, "that the place is
haunted. But I never saw in my life a worse grave-digger. I
had a sexton, when I was clerk, that should have dug three
graves while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade as
if it was the first time he had ever had one in his hand. Ay,
ay, you may sing. You had rather sing than work, I believe. "
Upon Hamlet's taking up the skull, he cried out, "Well, it is
strange to see how fearless some men are; I never could bring
myself to touch anything belonging to a dead man on any
account. He seemed frightened enough, too, at the Ghost, I
thought. Nemo omnibus horis sapit. "
Little more worth remembering occurred during the play, at
the end of which Jones asked him which of the players he had
liked best?
To this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at
the question, "The King, without doubt. "
## p. 5724 (#308) ###########################################
5724
HENRY FIELDING
"Indeed, Mr. Partridge," says Mrs. Miller, "you are
the same opinion as the town; for they are all agreed that Ham-
let is acted by the best player who was ever on the stage. "
"He the best player! " cried Partridge, with a contemptuous
sneer; "why, I could act as well as he myself. I am sure if I
had seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same man-
ner, and done just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that
scene, as you call it, between him and his mother, where you
told me he acted so fine, why, Lord help me! any man,—that is,
any good man,- that had had such a mother, would have done
exactly the same. I know you are only joking with me; but
indeed, madam, though I was never at a play in London, yet I
have seen acting before in the country; and the King for my
money; he speaks all his words distinctly, half as loud again as
the other. Anybody may see he is an actor. "
While Mrs. Miller was thus engaged in conversation with
Partridge, a lady came up to Mr. Jones whom he immediately
knew to be Mrs. Fitzpatrick. She said she had seen him from
the other part of the gallery, and had taken that opportunity
of speaking to him, as she had something to say which might
be of great service to himself. She then acquainted him with
her lodgings, and made him an appointment the next day in the
morning, which upon recollection she presently changed to the
afternoon; at which time Jones promised to attend her.
Thus ended the adventure at the play-house; where Partridge
had afforded great mirth, not only to Jones and Mrs. Miller, but
to all who sat within hearing, who were more attentive to what
he said than to anything that passed on the stage.
He durst not go to bed all that night for fear of the Ghost;
and for many nights after, sweat two or three hours before he
went to sleep with the same apprehensions; and waked several
times in great horrors, crying out, "Lord have mercy upon us!
there it is. "
## p. 5725 (#309) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5725
THE FAREWELL
From Amelia'
"I
I AM not mistaken, madam," continued Booth, "I was just
going to acquaint you with the doctor's opinion, when we
were interrupted by the keeper.
"The doctor, having heard counsel on both sides, that is to
say, Mrs. Harris for my staying and Miss Betty for my going,
at last delivered his own sentiments. As for Amelia, she sat
silent, drowned in her tears; nor was I myself in a much better
situation.
"As the commissions are not signed,' said the doctor, 'I
think you may be said to remain in your former regiment; and
therefore I think you ought to go on this expedition: your duty
to your King and country, whose bread you have eaten, requires
it; and this is a duty of too high a nature to admit the least
deficiency; regard to your character likewise requires you to go;
for the world, which might justly blame your staying at home
if the case was even fairly stated, will not deal so honestly by
you; you must expect to have every circumstance against you
heightened, and most of what makes for your defense omitted;
and thus you will be stigmatized as a coward, without any pallia-
tion. As the malicious disposition of mankind is too well known,
and the cruel pleasure which they take in destroying the reputa-
tions of others, the use we are to make of this knowledge is to
afford no handle to reproach: for bad as the world is, it seldom
falls on any man who has not given some slight cause for cen-
sure, though this perhaps is often aggravated ten thousandfold;
and when we blame the malice of the aggravation, we ought not
to forget our own imprudence in giving the occasion. Remem-
ber, my boy, your honor is at stake; and you know how nice the
honor of a soldier is in these cases. This is a treasure which he
must be your enemy indeed who would attempt to rob you of;
therefore you ought to consider every one as your enemy, who
by desiring you to stay would rob you of your honor. '
"Do you hear that, sister? ' cries Miss Betty. 'Yes, I do
hear it,' answered Amelia, with more spirit than I ever saw her
exert before; and would preserve his honor at the expense of
my life.
I will preserve it if it should be at that expense; and
since it is Dr. Harrison's opinion that he ought to go, I give my
consent. Go, my dear husband,' cried she, falling upon her
## p. 5726 (#310) ###########################################
5726
HENRY FIELDING
knees; may every angel of heaven guard and preserve you! '
I cannot repeat her words without being affected," said he, wip-
ing his eyes; "the excellence of that woman no words can paint.
Miss Matthews, she has every perfection in human nature.
"I will not tire you with the repetition of any more that
passed on that occasion, nor with the quarrel that ensued be-
tween Mrs. Harris and the doctor; for the old lady could not
submit to my leaving her daughter in her present condition. She
fell severely on the army, and cursed the day in which her daugh-
ter was married to a soldier, not sparing the doctor for having
had some share in the match. I will omit, likewise, the tender
scene which passed between Amelia and myself previous to my
departure. "
"Indeed, I beg you would not," cries Miss Matthews: "noth-
ing delights me more than scenes of tenderness. I should be
glad to know, if possible, every syllable which was uttered on
both sides. "
"I will indulge you then," cries Booth, "as far as it is in
my power. Indeed, I believe I am able to recollect much the
greater part; for the impression is never to be effaced from my
memory. "
He then proceeded as Miss Matthews desired; but lest our
readers should not be of her opinion, we will, according to our
usual custom, endeavor to accommodate ourselves to every taste;
and shall therefore place this scene in a chapter by itself, which
we desire all our readers who do not love, or who perhaps do
not know the pleasure of tenderness, to pass over; since they
may do this without any prejudice to the thread of the narrative.
A SCENE OF THE TENDER KIND
From Amelia'
"THE
HE doctor, madam," continued Booth, "spent his evening at
Mrs. Harris's house, where I sat with him whilst he
smoked his pillow-pipe, as the phrase is. Amelia was re-
tired above half an hour to her chamber before I went to see her.
At my entrance I found her on her knees, a posture in which I
never disturbed her. In a few minutes she arose, came to me,
and embracing me, said she had been praying for resolution to
support the cruelest moments she had ever undergone, or could
## p. 5727 (#311) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5727
possibly undergo.
I reminded her how much more bitter a fare-
well would be on a death-bed, when we never could meet, in
this world at least, again. I then endeavored to lessen all those
objects which alarmed her most, and particularly the danger I
was to encounter, upon which head I seemed a little to comfort
her; but the probable length of my absence, and the certain
length of my voyage, were circumstances which no oratory of
mine could even palliate. 'Oh heavens! ' said she, bursting into
tears; 'can I bear to think that hundreds, thousands, for aught I
know, of miles or leagues-that lands and seas are between us?
What is the prospect from that mount in our garden, where I
have sat so many happy hours with my Billy? what is the
distance between that and the farthest hill which we see from
thence, compared to the distance which will be between us?
You cannot wonder at this idea: you must remember, my Billy,
at this place this very thought came formerly into my fore-
boding mind. I then begged you to leave the army-why
would you not comply? Did I not tell you then, that the
smallest cottage we could survey from the mount would be with
you a paradise to me? It would be so still. Why can't my Billy
think so? Am I so much his superior in love? Where is the
dishonor, Billy? or, if there be any, will it reach our ears in our
little hut? Are glory and fame, and not his Amelia, the happi-
ness of my husband? Go, then, purchase them at my expense!
You will pay a few sighs, perhaps a few tears, at parting, and
then new scenes will drive away the thoughts of poor Amelia
from your bosom; but what assistance shall I have in my afflic-
tion? Not that any change of scene could drive you one moment
from my remembrance; yet here every object I behold will place
your loved idea in the liveliest manner before my eyes. This is
the bed in which you have reposed; that is the chair in which
you sat; upon these boards you have stood; these books you
have read to me. Can I walk among our beds of flowers with-
out viewing your favorites, nay, those which you have planted
with your own hands? Can I see one beauty from our beloved
mount which you have not pointed out to me? ' Thus she went
on; the woman, madam, you see, still prevailing. "—"Since you
mention it," says Miss Matthews, with a smile, "I own the same
observation occurred to me. It is too natural to us to consider
ourselves only, Mr. Booth. "-"You shall hear," he cried: "at
last, the thoughts of her present condition suggested themselves.
## p. 5728 (#312) ###########################################
5728
HENRY FIELDING
'But if,' said she, 'my situation even in health will be so in-
tolerable, how shall I, in the danger and agonies of childbirth,
support your absence! ' Here she stopped, and looking on me
with all the tenderness imaginable, cried out:-'And am I then
such a wretch as to wish for your presence at such a season?
Ought I not to rejoice that you are out of the hearing of my
cries or the knowledge of my pains? If I die, will you not have
escaped the horrors of a parting ten thousand times more dread-
ful than this? Go, go, my Billy; the very circumstance which
made me most dread your departure has perfectly reconciled me
to it.
I perceive clearly now that I was only wishing to support
my own weakness with your strength, and to relieve my own
pains at the price of yours. Believe me, my love, I am ashamed
of myself. I caught her in my arms with raptures not to be
expressed in words, calling her my heroine (sure none ever better
deserved that name); after which we remained some time speech-
less, and locked in each other's embraces. ”
"I am convinced," said Miss Matthews with a sigh, "there are
moments in life worth purchasing with worlds. "
"At length the fatal morning came. I endeavored to hide
every pang in my heart, and to wear the utmost gayety in my
countenance. Amelia acted the same part. In these assumed
characters we met the family at breakfast; at their breakfast, I
mean,- for we were both full already.
were both full already. The doctor had spent
above an hour that morning in discourse with Mrs. Harris, and
had in some measure reconciled her to my departure.
He now
made use of every art to relieve the poor distressed Amelia; not
by inveighing against the folly of grief, or by seriously advising
her not to grieve; both which were sufficiently performed by Miss
Betty. The doctor, on the contrary, had recourse to every means
which might cast a veil over the idea of grief and raise comfort-
able images in my angel's mind. He endeavored to lessen the
supposed length of my absence, by discoursing on matters which
were more distant in time. He said he intended next year to
rebuild a part of his parsonage house; and you, captain,' says
he, shall lay the corner-stone, I promise you;' with many other
instances of the like nature, which produced, I believe, some good
effect on us both.
"Amelia spoke but little; indeed, more tears than words
dropped from her; however, she seemed resolved to bear her
affliction with resignation: but when the dreadful news arrived
## p. 5729 (#313) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5729
that the horses were ready, and I, having taken my leave of all
the rest, at last approached her, she was unable to support the
conflict with nature any longer; and clinging round my neck, she
cried, 'Farewell-farewell forever! for I shall never, never see
you more! At which words the blood entirely forsook her lovely
cheeks, and she became a lifeless corpse in my arms.
"Amelia continued so long motionless, that the doctor, as well
as Mrs. Harris, began to be under the most terrible apprehen-
sions, so they informed me afterwards; for at that time I was
incapable of making any observation. I had indeed very little
more use of my senses than the dear creature whom I supported.
At length, however, we were all delivered from our fears, and
life again visited the loveliest mansion that human nature ever
afforded it.
"I had been, and yet was, so terrified with what had happened,
and Amelia continued yet so weak and ill, that I determined,
whatever might be the consequence, not to leave her that day;
which resolution she was no sooner acquainted with than she fell
on her knees, crying, 'Good Heaven! I thank thee for this re-
prieve at least. Oh that every hour of my future life could be
crammed into this dear day! '
"Our good friend the doctor remained with us; he said he
had intended to visit a family in some affliction; but I don't
know,' says he, 'why I should ride a dozen miles after affliction,
when we have enough here. ' Of all mankind the doctor is the
best of comforters. As his excessive good-nature makes him
take vast delight in the office, so his great penetration into the
human mind, joined to his great experience, renders him the
most wonderful proficient in it; and he so well knows when to
soothe, when to reason, and when to ridicule, that he never ap-
plies any of those arts improperly, which is almost universally
the case with the physicians of the mind, and which it requires
very great judgment and dexterity to avoid.
"The doctor principally applied himself to ridiculing the dan-
gers of the siege, in which he succeeded so well that he some-
times forced a smile even into the face of Amelia. But what
most comforted her were the arguments he used to convince her
of the probability of my speedy, if not immediate, return. He
said the general opinion was that the place would be taken
before our arrival there; in which case we should have nothing
more to do than to make the best of our way home again.
X-359
## p. 5730 (#314) ###########################################
5730
HENRY FIELDING
"Amelia was so lulled by these arts that she passed the day
much better than I expected. Though the doctor could not
make pride strong enough to conquer love, yet he exalted the
former to make some stand against the latter; insomuch that
my poor Amelia, I believe, more than once flattered herself, to
speak the language of the world, that her reason had gained an
entire victory over her passion; till love brought up a reinforce-
ment, if I may use that term, of tender ideas, and bore down
all before him.
"In the evening the doctor and I passed another half-hour
together, when he proposed to me to endeavor to leave Amelia.
asleep in the morning, and promised me to be at hand when she
awaked, and to support her with all the assistance in his power;
he added that nothing was more foolish than for friends to take
leave of each other. 'It is true indeed,' says he, 'in the com-
mon acquaintance and friendship of the world, this is a very
harmless ceremony; but between two persons who really love
each other, the Church of Rome never invented a penance half
so severe as this which we absurdly impose on ourselves. '
"I greatly approved the doctor's proposal, thanked him, and
promised if possible to put it in execution. He then shook me
by the hand and heartily wished me well, saying in his blunt
way, Well, boy, I hope to see thee crowned with laurels at thy
return: one comfort I have at least, that stone walls and a sea
will prevent thee from running away. '
"When I had left the doctor I repaired to my Amelia, whom
I found in her chamber, employed in a very different manner
from what she had been the preceding night: she was busy in
packing up some trinkets in a casket, which she desired me to
carry with me. This casket was her own work, and she had just
fastened it as I came to her.
"Her eyes very plainly discovered what had passed while she
was engaged in her work; however, her countenance was now
serene, and she spoke at least with some cheerfulness; but after
some time, 'You must take care of this casket, Billy,' said she;
'you must, indeed, Billy, for her passion almost choked her
till a flood of tears gave her relief, and then she proceeded -
'for I shall be the happiest woman that ever was born when I
see it again. I told her, with the blessing of God, that day
would soon come. 'Soon? answered she, 'no, Billy, not soon;
a week is an age; but yet the happy day may come. It shall, it
## p.
are too much inclined to passion, child; and have set your affec-
tions so absolutely on this young woman, that if God required
her at your hands I fear you would reluctantly part with her.
Now, believe me, no Christian ought so to set his heart on any
person or thing in this world, but that whenever it shall be
required, or taken from him in any manner by Divine provi-
dence, he may be able peaceably, quietly, and contentedly to
resign it. "
At which words one came hastily in, and acquainted Mr.
Adams that his youngest son was drowned. He good 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 endeavor
to comfort the parson; in which attempt he used many argu-
ments that he had at several times remembered out of his own
discourses, both in private and public,- for he was a great enemy
## p. 5711 (#295) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5711
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 Quæ Genus. This was the very book he learned:
poor child! it is of no farther 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 Dicky,
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
surprise and joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathize, he
met his son, in a wet condition indeed, but alive, and running
toward him. The person who brought the news of his misfor-
tune had been a little too eager, as people sometimes are, from
I believe no very good principle, to relate il 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 con-
cluded to be inevitable, but whence the child was relieved by
the same poor peddler 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 peddler, 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, treach-
erous engines of his wicked purposes; not those with which a
worthless younger brother wishes his elder joy of a son, or a man
## p. 5712 (#296) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5712
congratulates his rival on his obtaining a mistress, a place, or
an honor. No, reader; he felt the ebullition, the overflowings,
of a full, honest, open heart, towards the person who had con-
ferred a real obligation; and of which if thou canst not conceive
an idea within, I will not vainly endeavor 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 inter-
rupted the parson, saying it was easier to give advice than to
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 does not become
green heads to advise gray hairs. Thou art ignorant of the ten-
derness 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 mis-
tress 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 savors too
much of the flesh. " "Sure, sir," says Joseph, "it is not sinful
to love my wife, no, not even to dote 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 endeavors," 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 has a
right to insist on her husband's loving her as much as ever he
can; and he is a sinful villain who does not. Does he not promise
## p. 5713 (#297) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5713
to love her, and 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 practice, for you have been a loving
and a cherishing husband to me, that's the truth on't; and why
you should endeavor 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.
TOM JONES APPEARS IN THE STORY, WITH BAD OMENS
From Tom Jones'
As
S WE determined when we first sat down to write this history
to flatter no man, but to guide our pen throughout by the
directions of truth, we are obliged to bring our hero on the
stage in a much more disadvantageous manner than we could
wish; and to declare honestly, even at his first appearance, that
it was the universal opinion of all Mr. Allworthy's family that
he was certainly born to be hanged.
Indeed, I am sorry to say there was too much reason for this
conjecture, the lad having from his earliest years discovered
a propensity to many vices, and especially to one, which hath as
direct a tendency as any other to that fate which we have just
now observed to have been prophetically denounced against him.
He had been already convicted of three robberies; viz. , of rob-
bing an orchard, of stealing a duck out of a farmer's yard, and
of picking Master Blifil's pocket of a ball.
The vices of this young man were moreover heightened by
the disadvantageous light in which they appeared, when opposed
to the virtues of Master Blifil, his companion-a youth of so differ-
ent a caste from little Jones, that not only the family but all
the neighborhood resounded his praises. He was indeed a lad
of a remarkable disposition; sober, discreet, and pious beyond
his age,- qualities which gained him the love of every one who
knew him; whilst Tom Jones was universally disliked, and many
expressed their wonder that Mr. Allworthy would suffer such a
lad to be educated with his nephew, lest the morals of the latter
should be corrupted by his example.
X-358
## p. 5714 (#298) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5714
An incident which happened about this time will set the
character of these two lads more fairly before the discerning
reader than is in the power of the longest dissertation.
Tom Jones, who bad as he is must serve for the hero of
this history, had only one friend among all the servants of the
family; for as to Mrs. Wilkins, she had long since given him up,
and was perfectly reconciled to her mistress. This friend was
the gamekeeper, a fellow of a loose kind of disposition, and who
was thought not to entertain much stricter notions concerning
the difference of meum and tuum than the young gentleman him-
self. And hence this friendship gave occasion to many sarcastical
remarks among the domestics, most of which were either prov-
erbs before, or at least are become so now; and indeed, the wit
of them all may be comprised in that short Latin proverb,
"Noscitur a socio," which I think is thus expressed in English:-
"You may know him by the company he keeps. ”
To say the truth, some of that atrocious wickedness in Jones,
of which we have just mentioned three examples, might perhaps
be derived from the encouragement he had received from this
fellow, who in two or three instances had been what the law
calls an accessory after the fact. For the whole duck and a
great part of the apples were converted to the use of the game-
keeper and his family. Though as Jones alone was discovered,
the poor lad bore not only the whole smart but the whole blame;
both which fell again to his lot on the following occasion.
Contiguous to Mr. Allworthy's estate was the manor of one
of those gentlemen who are called preservers of the game. This
species of men, from the great severity with which they revenge
the death of a hare or a partridge, might be thought to culti
vate the same superstition with the Bannians in India, many of
whom, we are told, dedicate their whole lives to the preserva-
tion and protection of certain animals; was it not that our Eng-
lish Bannians, while they preserve them from other enemies,
will most unmercifully slaughter whole horse-loads themselves,
so that they stand clearly acquitted of any such heathenish super-
stition.
I have indeed a much better opinion of this kind of men than
is entertained by some, as I take them to answer the order of
nature, and the good purposes for which they were ordained, in
a more ample manner than many others. Now, as Horace tells
us, that there are a set of human beings, fruges consumere
## p. 5715 (#299) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5715
nati, "born to consume the fruits of the earth," so I make no
manner of doubt but that there are others, feras consumere nati,
"born to consume the beasts of the field," or as it is commonly
called, the game; and none, I believe, will deny but that those
squires fulfill this end of their creation.
Little Jones went one day a-shooting with the gamekeeper;
when happening to spring a covey of partridges, near the border
of that manor over which fortune, to fulfill the wise purposes of
nature, had planted one of the game-consumers, the birds flew
into it and were marked (as it is called) by the two sportsmen
in some furze bushes, about two or three hundred paces beyond
Mr. Allworthy's dominions.
Mr. Allworthy had given the fellow strict orders, on pain of
forfeiting his place, never to trespass on any of his neighbors;
no more on those who were less rigid in this matter than on the
lord of the manor. With regard to others, indeed, these orders
had not been always very scrupulously kept; but as the disposition
of the gentleman with whom the partridges had taken sanctuary
was well known, the gamekeeper had never yet attempted to
invade his territories. Nor had he done it now, had not the
younger sportsman, who was excessively eager to pursue the
flying game, over-persuaded him; but Jones being very impor-
tunate, the other, who was himself keen enough after the sport,
yielded to his persuasions, entered the manor, and shot one of
the partridges.
The gentleman himself was at that time on horseback, at a
little distance from them; and hearing the gun go off, he imme-
diately made towards the place, and discovered poor Tom; for
the gamekeeper had leapt into the thickest part of the furze-
brake, where he had happily concealed himself.
The gentleman having searched the lad and found the par-
tridge upon him, denounced great vengeance, swearing he would
acquaint Mr. Allworthy. He was as good as his word, for he
rode immediately to his house and complained of the trespass on
his manor, in as high terms and as bitter language as if his
house had been broken open and the most valuable furniture
stolen out of it. He added that some other person was in his
company, though he could not discover him; for that two guns
had been discharged, almost in the same instant. And, says he,
"We have found only this partridge, but the Lord knows what
mischief they have done. "
## p. 5716 (#300) ###########################################
5716
HENRY FIELDING
At his return home, Tom was presently convened before Mr.
Allworthy. He owned the fact, and alleged no other excuse but
what was really true; viz. , that the covey was originally sprung
in Mr. Allworthy's own manor.
Tom was then interrogated who was with him, which Mr.
Allworthy declared he was resolved to know, acquainting the cul-
prit with the circumstance of the two guns, which had been
deposed by the squire and both his servants; but Tom stoutly
persisted in asserting that he was alone; yet, to say the truth,
he hesitated a little at first, which would have confirmed Mr.
Allworthy's belief, had what the squire and his servants said
wanted any further confirmation.
The gamekeeper, being a suspected person, was now sent for
and the question put to him; but he, relying on the promise
which Tom had made him to take all upon himself, very reso-
lutely denied being in company with the young gentleman, or
indeed having seen him the whole afternoon.
Mr. Allworthy then turned towards Tom with more than
usual anger in his countenance, and advised him to confess who
was with him; repeating that he was resolved to know. The
lad however still maintained his resolution, and was dismissed
with much wrath by Mr. Allworthy, who told him he should
have the next morning to consider of it, when he should be
questioned by another person and in another manner.
Poor Jones spent a very melancholy night, and the more so
as he was without his usual companion, for Master Blifil was
gone abroad on a visit with his mother. Fear of the punishment
he was to suffer was on this occasion his least evil; his chief
anxiety being lest his constancy should fail him and he should
be brought to betray the gamekeeper, whose ruin he knew must
now be the consequence.
Nor did the gamekeeper pass his time much better. He had
the same apprehensions with the youth; for whose honor he had
likewise a much tenderer regard than for his skin.
In the morning, when Tom attended the Reverend Mr.
Thwackum, the person to whom Mr. Allworthy had committed
the instruction of the two boys, he had the same questions put
to him by that gentleman which he had been asked the evening
before, to which he returned the same answers. The consequence
of this was so severe a whipping, that it possibly fell little
short of the torture with which confessions are in some countries
extorted from criminals.
## p. 5717 (#301) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5717
Tom bore this punishment with great resolution; and though
his master asked him between every stroke whether he would
not confess, he was contented to be flayed rather than betray his
friend, or break the promise he had made.
The gamekeeper was now relieved from his anxiety, and Mr.
Allworthy himself began to be concerned at Tom's sufferings: for
besides that Mr. Thwackum, being highly enraged that he was
not able to make the boy say what he himself pleased, had car-
ried his severity much beyond the good man's intention, this
latter began now to suspect that the squire had been mistaken,
which his extreme eagerness and anger seemed to make probable;
and as for what the servants had said in confirmation of their
master's account, he laid no great stress upon that. Now, as
cruelty and injustice were two ideas of which Mr. Allworthy
could by no means support the consciousness a single moment, he
sent for Tom, and after many kind and friendly exhortations,
said, "I am convinced, my dear child, that my suspicions have
wronged you; I am sorry that you have been so severely pun-
ished on this account; » and at last gave him a little horse to
make him amends, again repeating his sorrow for what had
passed.
Tom's guilt now flew in his face more than any severity could
make it. He could more easily bear the lashes of Thwackum than
the generosity of Allworthy. The tears burst from his eyes, and
he fell upon his knees, crying, "Oh, sir, you are too good to me.
Indeed you are.
Indeed I don't deserve it. " And at that very
instant, from the fullness of his heart, had almost betrayed the
secret; but the good genius of the gamekeeper suggested to him
what might be the consequence to the poor fellow, and this con-
sideration sealed his lips.
Thwackum did all he could to dissuade Allworthy from show-
ing any compassion or kindness to the boy, saying "he had
persisted in untruth"; and gave some hints that a second whip-
ping might probably bring the matter to light.
ment.
But Mr. Allworthy absolutely refused to consent to the experi-
He said the boy had suffered enough already for conceal-
ing the truth, even if he was guilty, seeing that he could have.
no motive but a mistaken point of honor for so doing.
"Honor! " cried Thwackum with some warmth: «< mere stub-
bornness and obstinacy! Can honor teach any one to tell a lie,
or can any honor exist independent of religion? "
## p. 5718 (#302) ###########################################
5718
HENRY FIELDING
This discourse happened at table when dinner was just ended;
and there were present Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Thwackum, and a
third gentleman, who now entered into the debate, and whom,
before we proceed any farther, we shall briefly introduce to our
reader's acquaintance.
THE CHARACTERS OF MR. SQUARE THE PHILOSOPHER AND
OF MR. THWACKUM THE DIVINE
From Tom Jones'
THE
HE name of this gentleman, who had then resided some time
at Mr. Allworthy's house, was Mr. Square. His natural
parts were not of the first rate, but he had greatly im-
proved them by a learned education. He was deeply read in the
ancients, and a professed master of all the works of Plato and
Aristotle; upon which great models he had principally formed
himself, sometimes according with the opinion of one, and some-
times with that of the other. In morals he was a professed
Platonist, and in religion he inclined to be an Aristotelian.
But though he had, as we have said, formed his morals on
the Platonic model, yet he perfectly agreed with the opinion of
Aristotle, in considering that great man rather in the quality of
a philosopher or a specialist than as a legislator. This sentiment
he carried a great way; indeed, so far as to regard all virtue as
matter of theory only. This, it is true, he never affirmed, as
I have heard, to any one; and yet upon the least attention to
his conduct, I cannot help thinking it was his real opinion, as
it will perfectly reconcile some contradictions which might other-
wise appear in his character.
This gentleman and Mr. Thwackum scarce ever met without
a disputation; for their tenets were indeed diametrically opposite
to each other. Square held human nature to be the perfection
of all virtue, and that vice was a deviation from our nature in
the same manner as deformity of body is. Thwackum, on the
contrary, maintained that the human mind since the fall was
nothing but a sink of iniquity, till purified and redeemed by
grace. In one point only they agreed, which was, in all their
discourses on morality never to mention the word "goodness. "
The favorite phrase of the former was the natural beauty of
virtue; that of the latter was the Divine power of grace. The
## p. 5719 (#303) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5719
former measured all actions by the unalterable rule of right, and
the eternal fitness of things; the latter decided all matters by
authority; but in doing this he always used the Scriptures and
their commentators, as the lawyer doth his 'Coke upon Lyttle-
ton,' where the comment is of equal authority with the text.
After this short introduction the reader will be pleased to
remember that the parson had concluded his speech with a
triumphant question, to which he had apprehended no answer;
viz. , Can any honor exist independent of religion?
To this, Square answered that it was impossible to discourse
philosophically concerning words till their meaning was first es-
tablished; that there were scarce any two words of a more vague
and uncertain signification than the two he had mentioned, for
that there were almost as many different opinions concerning
honor as concerning religion. "But," says he, "if by honor you
mean the true natural beauty of virtue, I will maintain it may
exist independent of any religion whatever. Nay," added he,
"you yourself will allow it may exist independent of all but
one; so will a Mahometan, a Jew, and all the maintainers of all
the different sects in the world. "
Thwackum replied this was arguing with the usual malice of
all the enemies to the true Church. He said he doubted not but
that all the infidels and heretics in the world would, if they
could, confine honor to their own absurd errors and damnable
deceptions. "But honor," says he, "is not therefore manifold
because there are many absurd opinions about it; nor is religion
manifold because there are various sects and heresies in the
world. When I mention religion, I mean the Christian religion;
and not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion;
and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England.
And when I mention honor, I mean that mode of Divine grace
which is not only consistent with but dependent upon this reli-
gion; and is consistent with and dependent upon no other.
Now, to say that the honor I here mean, and which was, I
thought, all the honor I could be supposed to mean, will uphold,
much less dictate, an untruth, is to assert an absurdity too shock-
ing to be conceived. "
"I purposely avoided," says Square, "drawing a conclusion
which I thought evident from what I have said; but if you per-
ceived it I am sure you have not attempted to answer it. How-
ever, to drop the article of religion, I think it is plain, from
## p. 5720 (#304) ###########################################
5720
HENRY FIELDING
what you have said, that we have different ideas of honor; or
why do we not agree in the same terms of its explanation? I
have asserted that true honor and true virtue are almost syn-
onymous terms, and they are both founded on the unalterable
rule of right, and the eternal fitness of things; to which an un-
truth being absolutely repugnant and contrary, it is certain that
true honor cannot support an untruth. In this, therefore, I think
we are agreed; but that this honor can be said to be founded
on religion, to which it is antecedent, if by religion be meant
any positive law—»
"I agree," answered Thwackum, with great warmth, "with a
man who asserts honor to be antecedent to religion? Mr. All-
worthy, did I agree — »
He was proceeding, when Mr. Allworthy interposed, telling
them very coldly, they had both mistaken his meaning, for that
he had said nothing of true honor. It is possible, however, he
would not have easily quieted the disputants, who were growing
equally warm, had not another matter now fallen out, which put
a final end to the conversation.
PARTRIDGE AT THE PLAYHOUSE
From Tom Jones'
MR.
R. JONES having spent three hours in reading and kissing
the aforesaid letter, and being at last in a state of good
spirits from the last-mentioned considerations, he agreed
to carry an appointment, which he had before made, into execu-
tion. This was to attend Mrs. Miller and her younger daughter
into the gallery at the play-house, and to admit Mr. Partridge as
one of the company. For as Jones had really that taste for
humor which many affect, he expected to enjoy much entertain-
ment in the criticisms of Partridge; from whom he expected the
simple dictates of nature, unimproved indeed, but likewise un-
adulterated by art.
In the first row then, of the first gallery, did Mr. Jones, Mrs.
Miller, her youngest daughter, and Partridge take their places.
Partridge immediately declared it was the finest place he had
ever been in. When the first music was played, he said "it was
a wonder how so many fiddlers could play at one time without
putting one another out" While the fellow was lighting the
## p. 5721 (#305) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5721
upper candles he cried out to Mrs. Miller, "Look, look, madam;
the very picture of the man in the end of the Common Prayer
Book, before the gunpowder-treason service! " Nor could he help
observing with a sigh, when all the candles were lighted, that
"there were candles enough burnt in one night to keep an honest
poor family for a whole twelvemonth. "
As soon as the play, which was 'Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,’
began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till
the entrance of the Ghost; upon which he asked Jones, "What
man that was in the strange dress; something," said he, "like
what I have seen in a picture. Sure, it is not armor, is it? "
Jones answered, "That is the Ghost. "
To which Partridge replied with a smile: -"Persuade me to
that, sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a
ghost in my life, yet I am certain I should know one if I saw
him, better than that comes to. No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear
in such dresses as that, neither. " In this mistake, which caused
much laughter in the neighborhood of Partridge, he was suffered
to continue, until the scene between the Ghost and Hamlet, when
Partridge gave that credit to Mr. Garrick which he had denied
to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees
knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the mat-
ter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the stage?
"Oh, la! sir,” said he, "I perceive now it is what you told me.
I am not afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if
it was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance,
and in so much company; and yet if I was frightened, I am not
the only person.
"
"Why, who,” cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward
here, besides thyself? "
"Nay, you may call me a coward if you will; but if that little
man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw any man
frightened in my life. Ah, ah, go along with you! Ay, to be
sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such
foolhardiness! Whatever happens, it is good enough for you.
Follow you? -I'd follow the Devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is
the Devil, for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases.
Oh! here he is again. No farther! No, you have gone far
enough already; farther than I'd have gone for all the king's
dominion. " Jones offered to speak, but Partridge cried, "Hush,
hush, dear sir, don't you hear him! " And during the whole
## p. 5722 (#306) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5722
speech of the Ghost he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the
Ghost and partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open; the
same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet succeeding
likewise in him.
When the scene was over, Jones said, "Why, Partridge, you
exceed my expectations. You enjoy the play more than I con-
ceived possible. "
"Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "if you are not afraid of the
Devil, I can't help it; but to be sure, it is natural to be surprised
at such things, though I know there is nothing in them; not
that it was the Ghost that surprised me neither, for I should
have known that to have been only a man in a strange dress;
but when I saw the little man so frightened himself, it was that
which took hold of me. "
"And dost thou imagine then, Partridge," cries Jones, "that
he was really frightened? "
"Nay, sir," said Partridge, "did not you yourself observe
afterwards, when he found out it was his own father's spirit, and
how he was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him
by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were,
just as I should have been had it been my own case? But
hush! oh, la! What noise is that? There he is again. Well, to
be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am
glad I am not down yonder where those men are. " Then, turn-
ing his eyes again upon Hamlet, "Ay, you may draw your
sword: what signifies a sword against the power of the Devil? "
During the second act, Partridge made very few remarks.
He greatly admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he
help observing upon the King's countenance. "Well," said he,
"how people may be deceived by faces! Nulla fides fronti is, I
find, a true saying. Who would think, by looking in the King's
face, that he had ever committed a murder? " He then inquired
after the Ghost; but Jones, who intended that he should be sur-
prised, gave him no other satisfaction than that he might possi-
bly see him again soon, and in a flash of fire.
Partridge sat in fearful expectation of this; and now when the
Ghost made his next appearance Partridge cried out:-" There,
sir, now: what say you now? Is he frightened now, or no? As
much frightened as you think me; and to be sure, nobody can
help some fears. I would not be in so bad a condition as what's-
his-name, Squire Hamlet, is there, for all the world. Bless me!
## p. 5723 (#307) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5723
What's become of the spirit? As I am a living soul, I thought
I saw him sink into the earth. "
"Indeed, you saw right," answered Jones.
"Well, well," cries Partridge, "I know it is only a play; and
besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam Miller would
not laugh so; for as to you, sir, you would not be afraid, I be-
lieve, if the Devil were here in person. There, there
wonder you are in such a passion; shake the vile wicked wretch
to pieces. If she was my own mother I should serve her so.
To be sure, all duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked
doings. Ay, go about your business; I hate the sight of you. "
-ay, no
Our critic was now pretty silent till the play which Hamlet
introduces before the King. This he did not at first understand
till Jones explained it to him; but he no sooner entered into the
spirit of it than he began to bless himself that he had never
committed murder. Then, turning to Mrs. Miller, he asked her
if she did not imagine the King looked as if he was touched;
"though he is," said he, "a good actor, and doth all he can to
hide it. Well, I would not have so much to answer for as that
wicked man there hath, to sit upon a much higher chair than he
sits upon.
No wonder he ran away; for your sake I'll never
trust an innocent face again. "
The grave-digging scene next engaged the attention of Par-
tridge, who expressed much surprise at the number of skulls
thrown upon the stage. To which Jones answered that "it was
one of the most famous burial-places about town. "
"No wonder, then," cries Partridge, "that the place is
haunted. But I never saw in my life a worse grave-digger. I
had a sexton, when I was clerk, that should have dug three
graves while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade as
if it was the first time he had ever had one in his hand. Ay,
ay, you may sing. You had rather sing than work, I believe. "
Upon Hamlet's taking up the skull, he cried out, "Well, it is
strange to see how fearless some men are; I never could bring
myself to touch anything belonging to a dead man on any
account. He seemed frightened enough, too, at the Ghost, I
thought. Nemo omnibus horis sapit. "
Little more worth remembering occurred during the play, at
the end of which Jones asked him which of the players he had
liked best?
To this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at
the question, "The King, without doubt. "
## p. 5724 (#308) ###########################################
5724
HENRY FIELDING
"Indeed, Mr. Partridge," says Mrs. Miller, "you are
the same opinion as the town; for they are all agreed that Ham-
let is acted by the best player who was ever on the stage. "
"He the best player! " cried Partridge, with a contemptuous
sneer; "why, I could act as well as he myself. I am sure if I
had seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same man-
ner, and done just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that
scene, as you call it, between him and his mother, where you
told me he acted so fine, why, Lord help me! any man,—that is,
any good man,- that had had such a mother, would have done
exactly the same. I know you are only joking with me; but
indeed, madam, though I was never at a play in London, yet I
have seen acting before in the country; and the King for my
money; he speaks all his words distinctly, half as loud again as
the other. Anybody may see he is an actor. "
While Mrs. Miller was thus engaged in conversation with
Partridge, a lady came up to Mr. Jones whom he immediately
knew to be Mrs. Fitzpatrick. She said she had seen him from
the other part of the gallery, and had taken that opportunity
of speaking to him, as she had something to say which might
be of great service to himself. She then acquainted him with
her lodgings, and made him an appointment the next day in the
morning, which upon recollection she presently changed to the
afternoon; at which time Jones promised to attend her.
Thus ended the adventure at the play-house; where Partridge
had afforded great mirth, not only to Jones and Mrs. Miller, but
to all who sat within hearing, who were more attentive to what
he said than to anything that passed on the stage.
He durst not go to bed all that night for fear of the Ghost;
and for many nights after, sweat two or three hours before he
went to sleep with the same apprehensions; and waked several
times in great horrors, crying out, "Lord have mercy upon us!
there it is. "
## p. 5725 (#309) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5725
THE FAREWELL
From Amelia'
"I
I AM not mistaken, madam," continued Booth, "I was just
going to acquaint you with the doctor's opinion, when we
were interrupted by the keeper.
"The doctor, having heard counsel on both sides, that is to
say, Mrs. Harris for my staying and Miss Betty for my going,
at last delivered his own sentiments. As for Amelia, she sat
silent, drowned in her tears; nor was I myself in a much better
situation.
"As the commissions are not signed,' said the doctor, 'I
think you may be said to remain in your former regiment; and
therefore I think you ought to go on this expedition: your duty
to your King and country, whose bread you have eaten, requires
it; and this is a duty of too high a nature to admit the least
deficiency; regard to your character likewise requires you to go;
for the world, which might justly blame your staying at home
if the case was even fairly stated, will not deal so honestly by
you; you must expect to have every circumstance against you
heightened, and most of what makes for your defense omitted;
and thus you will be stigmatized as a coward, without any pallia-
tion. As the malicious disposition of mankind is too well known,
and the cruel pleasure which they take in destroying the reputa-
tions of others, the use we are to make of this knowledge is to
afford no handle to reproach: for bad as the world is, it seldom
falls on any man who has not given some slight cause for cen-
sure, though this perhaps is often aggravated ten thousandfold;
and when we blame the malice of the aggravation, we ought not
to forget our own imprudence in giving the occasion. Remem-
ber, my boy, your honor is at stake; and you know how nice the
honor of a soldier is in these cases. This is a treasure which he
must be your enemy indeed who would attempt to rob you of;
therefore you ought to consider every one as your enemy, who
by desiring you to stay would rob you of your honor. '
"Do you hear that, sister? ' cries Miss Betty. 'Yes, I do
hear it,' answered Amelia, with more spirit than I ever saw her
exert before; and would preserve his honor at the expense of
my life.
I will preserve it if it should be at that expense; and
since it is Dr. Harrison's opinion that he ought to go, I give my
consent. Go, my dear husband,' cried she, falling upon her
## p. 5726 (#310) ###########################################
5726
HENRY FIELDING
knees; may every angel of heaven guard and preserve you! '
I cannot repeat her words without being affected," said he, wip-
ing his eyes; "the excellence of that woman no words can paint.
Miss Matthews, she has every perfection in human nature.
"I will not tire you with the repetition of any more that
passed on that occasion, nor with the quarrel that ensued be-
tween Mrs. Harris and the doctor; for the old lady could not
submit to my leaving her daughter in her present condition. She
fell severely on the army, and cursed the day in which her daugh-
ter was married to a soldier, not sparing the doctor for having
had some share in the match. I will omit, likewise, the tender
scene which passed between Amelia and myself previous to my
departure. "
"Indeed, I beg you would not," cries Miss Matthews: "noth-
ing delights me more than scenes of tenderness. I should be
glad to know, if possible, every syllable which was uttered on
both sides. "
"I will indulge you then," cries Booth, "as far as it is in
my power. Indeed, I believe I am able to recollect much the
greater part; for the impression is never to be effaced from my
memory. "
He then proceeded as Miss Matthews desired; but lest our
readers should not be of her opinion, we will, according to our
usual custom, endeavor to accommodate ourselves to every taste;
and shall therefore place this scene in a chapter by itself, which
we desire all our readers who do not love, or who perhaps do
not know the pleasure of tenderness, to pass over; since they
may do this without any prejudice to the thread of the narrative.
A SCENE OF THE TENDER KIND
From Amelia'
"THE
HE doctor, madam," continued Booth, "spent his evening at
Mrs. Harris's house, where I sat with him whilst he
smoked his pillow-pipe, as the phrase is. Amelia was re-
tired above half an hour to her chamber before I went to see her.
At my entrance I found her on her knees, a posture in which I
never disturbed her. In a few minutes she arose, came to me,
and embracing me, said she had been praying for resolution to
support the cruelest moments she had ever undergone, or could
## p. 5727 (#311) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5727
possibly undergo.
I reminded her how much more bitter a fare-
well would be on a death-bed, when we never could meet, in
this world at least, again. I then endeavored to lessen all those
objects which alarmed her most, and particularly the danger I
was to encounter, upon which head I seemed a little to comfort
her; but the probable length of my absence, and the certain
length of my voyage, were circumstances which no oratory of
mine could even palliate. 'Oh heavens! ' said she, bursting into
tears; 'can I bear to think that hundreds, thousands, for aught I
know, of miles or leagues-that lands and seas are between us?
What is the prospect from that mount in our garden, where I
have sat so many happy hours with my Billy? what is the
distance between that and the farthest hill which we see from
thence, compared to the distance which will be between us?
You cannot wonder at this idea: you must remember, my Billy,
at this place this very thought came formerly into my fore-
boding mind. I then begged you to leave the army-why
would you not comply? Did I not tell you then, that the
smallest cottage we could survey from the mount would be with
you a paradise to me? It would be so still. Why can't my Billy
think so? Am I so much his superior in love? Where is the
dishonor, Billy? or, if there be any, will it reach our ears in our
little hut? Are glory and fame, and not his Amelia, the happi-
ness of my husband? Go, then, purchase them at my expense!
You will pay a few sighs, perhaps a few tears, at parting, and
then new scenes will drive away the thoughts of poor Amelia
from your bosom; but what assistance shall I have in my afflic-
tion? Not that any change of scene could drive you one moment
from my remembrance; yet here every object I behold will place
your loved idea in the liveliest manner before my eyes. This is
the bed in which you have reposed; that is the chair in which
you sat; upon these boards you have stood; these books you
have read to me. Can I walk among our beds of flowers with-
out viewing your favorites, nay, those which you have planted
with your own hands? Can I see one beauty from our beloved
mount which you have not pointed out to me? ' Thus she went
on; the woman, madam, you see, still prevailing. "—"Since you
mention it," says Miss Matthews, with a smile, "I own the same
observation occurred to me. It is too natural to us to consider
ourselves only, Mr. Booth. "-"You shall hear," he cried: "at
last, the thoughts of her present condition suggested themselves.
## p. 5728 (#312) ###########################################
5728
HENRY FIELDING
'But if,' said she, 'my situation even in health will be so in-
tolerable, how shall I, in the danger and agonies of childbirth,
support your absence! ' Here she stopped, and looking on me
with all the tenderness imaginable, cried out:-'And am I then
such a wretch as to wish for your presence at such a season?
Ought I not to rejoice that you are out of the hearing of my
cries or the knowledge of my pains? If I die, will you not have
escaped the horrors of a parting ten thousand times more dread-
ful than this? Go, go, my Billy; the very circumstance which
made me most dread your departure has perfectly reconciled me
to it.
I perceive clearly now that I was only wishing to support
my own weakness with your strength, and to relieve my own
pains at the price of yours. Believe me, my love, I am ashamed
of myself. I caught her in my arms with raptures not to be
expressed in words, calling her my heroine (sure none ever better
deserved that name); after which we remained some time speech-
less, and locked in each other's embraces. ”
"I am convinced," said Miss Matthews with a sigh, "there are
moments in life worth purchasing with worlds. "
"At length the fatal morning came. I endeavored to hide
every pang in my heart, and to wear the utmost gayety in my
countenance. Amelia acted the same part. In these assumed
characters we met the family at breakfast; at their breakfast, I
mean,- for we were both full already.
were both full already. The doctor had spent
above an hour that morning in discourse with Mrs. Harris, and
had in some measure reconciled her to my departure.
He now
made use of every art to relieve the poor distressed Amelia; not
by inveighing against the folly of grief, or by seriously advising
her not to grieve; both which were sufficiently performed by Miss
Betty. The doctor, on the contrary, had recourse to every means
which might cast a veil over the idea of grief and raise comfort-
able images in my angel's mind. He endeavored to lessen the
supposed length of my absence, by discoursing on matters which
were more distant in time. He said he intended next year to
rebuild a part of his parsonage house; and you, captain,' says
he, shall lay the corner-stone, I promise you;' with many other
instances of the like nature, which produced, I believe, some good
effect on us both.
"Amelia spoke but little; indeed, more tears than words
dropped from her; however, she seemed resolved to bear her
affliction with resignation: but when the dreadful news arrived
## p. 5729 (#313) ###########################################
HENRY FIELDING
5729
that the horses were ready, and I, having taken my leave of all
the rest, at last approached her, she was unable to support the
conflict with nature any longer; and clinging round my neck, she
cried, 'Farewell-farewell forever! for I shall never, never see
you more! At which words the blood entirely forsook her lovely
cheeks, and she became a lifeless corpse in my arms.
"Amelia continued so long motionless, that the doctor, as well
as Mrs. Harris, began to be under the most terrible apprehen-
sions, so they informed me afterwards; for at that time I was
incapable of making any observation. I had indeed very little
more use of my senses than the dear creature whom I supported.
At length, however, we were all delivered from our fears, and
life again visited the loveliest mansion that human nature ever
afforded it.
"I had been, and yet was, so terrified with what had happened,
and Amelia continued yet so weak and ill, that I determined,
whatever might be the consequence, not to leave her that day;
which resolution she was no sooner acquainted with than she fell
on her knees, crying, 'Good Heaven! I thank thee for this re-
prieve at least. Oh that every hour of my future life could be
crammed into this dear day! '
"Our good friend the doctor remained with us; he said he
had intended to visit a family in some affliction; but I don't
know,' says he, 'why I should ride a dozen miles after affliction,
when we have enough here. ' Of all mankind the doctor is the
best of comforters. As his excessive good-nature makes him
take vast delight in the office, so his great penetration into the
human mind, joined to his great experience, renders him the
most wonderful proficient in it; and he so well knows when to
soothe, when to reason, and when to ridicule, that he never ap-
plies any of those arts improperly, which is almost universally
the case with the physicians of the mind, and which it requires
very great judgment and dexterity to avoid.
"The doctor principally applied himself to ridiculing the dan-
gers of the siege, in which he succeeded so well that he some-
times forced a smile even into the face of Amelia. But what
most comforted her were the arguments he used to convince her
of the probability of my speedy, if not immediate, return. He
said the general opinion was that the place would be taken
before our arrival there; in which case we should have nothing
more to do than to make the best of our way home again.
X-359
## p. 5730 (#314) ###########################################
5730
HENRY FIELDING
"Amelia was so lulled by these arts that she passed the day
much better than I expected. Though the doctor could not
make pride strong enough to conquer love, yet he exalted the
former to make some stand against the latter; insomuch that
my poor Amelia, I believe, more than once flattered herself, to
speak the language of the world, that her reason had gained an
entire victory over her passion; till love brought up a reinforce-
ment, if I may use that term, of tender ideas, and bore down
all before him.
"In the evening the doctor and I passed another half-hour
together, when he proposed to me to endeavor to leave Amelia.
asleep in the morning, and promised me to be at hand when she
awaked, and to support her with all the assistance in his power;
he added that nothing was more foolish than for friends to take
leave of each other. 'It is true indeed,' says he, 'in the com-
mon acquaintance and friendship of the world, this is a very
harmless ceremony; but between two persons who really love
each other, the Church of Rome never invented a penance half
so severe as this which we absurdly impose on ourselves. '
"I greatly approved the doctor's proposal, thanked him, and
promised if possible to put it in execution. He then shook me
by the hand and heartily wished me well, saying in his blunt
way, Well, boy, I hope to see thee crowned with laurels at thy
return: one comfort I have at least, that stone walls and a sea
will prevent thee from running away. '
"When I had left the doctor I repaired to my Amelia, whom
I found in her chamber, employed in a very different manner
from what she had been the preceding night: she was busy in
packing up some trinkets in a casket, which she desired me to
carry with me. This casket was her own work, and she had just
fastened it as I came to her.
"Her eyes very plainly discovered what had passed while she
was engaged in her work; however, her countenance was now
serene, and she spoke at least with some cheerfulness; but after
some time, 'You must take care of this casket, Billy,' said she;
'you must, indeed, Billy, for her passion almost choked her
till a flood of tears gave her relief, and then she proceeded -
'for I shall be the happiest woman that ever was born when I
see it again. I told her, with the blessing of God, that day
would soon come. 'Soon? answered she, 'no, Billy, not soon;
a week is an age; but yet the happy day may come. It shall, it
## p.
