; ' ; : 
 
 \
 
 THIS 
 
 VOLUME 13 
 ONE OF THE 
 FIRST ISSUE OP 
 THIS EDITION 
 OF FIELDING'S 
 NOVELS
 
 ?-'
 
 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 Mrs . Kenneth Murdock
 
 THE WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING 
 
 ^s 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 IN TWELVE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 
 ''' ///-/ - /'( (r/r/i
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 ANDREWS AND HIS FRIEND 
 MR ABRAHAM ADAMS 
 BY HENRY FIELDING ESQ^ 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDITED BY GEORGE 
 SAINT SBURY WITH 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 HERBERT RAILTON 
 &> E. ]. WHEELER. 
 
 LONDON PUBLISHED BY J- M. DENT & CO. 
 AT ALDINE HOUSE IN GREAT EASTERN 
 STREET MDCCCXC1II
 
 
 
 ~8rs.afe 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 PREFACE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . xi 
 xxx vii 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Of writing lives in general, and particularly of Pamela ; 
 with a word by the bye of Colley Cibber and others . i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Of Mr Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, education, 
 and great endowments ; with a word or two concerning 
 ancestors 3 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Of Mr Abraham Adams the curate, Mrs Slipslop the 
 chambermaid, and others 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 What happened after their journey to London . . .11 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the affectionate and 
 mournful behaviour of his widow, and the great purity 
 of Joseph Andrews 13 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister Pamela . 16
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. PAGE 
 
 Sayings of wise men. A dialogue between the lady and her 
 maid ; and a panegyric, or rather satire, on the passion 
 of love, in the sublime style 20 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In which, after some very fine writing, the history goes on, 
 and relates the interview between the lady and Joseph ; 
 where the latter hath set an example which we despair 
 of seeing followed by his sex in this vicious age . . 24 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 What passed between the lady and Mrs Slipslop ; in which 
 we prophesy there are some strokes which every one will 
 not truly comprehend at the first reading . , .29 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Joseph writes another letter : his transactions with Mr Peter 
 
 Pounce, &c. , with his departure from Lady Booby . 34 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Of several new matters not expected 36 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Containing many surprizing adventures which Joseph 
 Andrews met with on the road, scarce credible to those 
 who have never travelled in a stage-coach . . .40 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 What happened to Joseph during his sickness at the inn, with 
 the curious discourse between him and Mr Barnabas, the 
 parson of the parish 47 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Being very full of adventures which succeeded each other at 
 the inn 51 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Showing how Mrs Tow-wouse was a little mollified ; and 
 how officious Mr Barnabas and the surgeon were to 
 prosecute the thief : with a dissertation accounting for 
 their zeal, and that of many other persons not mentioned 
 in this history 57
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. PAGB 
 
 The escape of the thief. Mr Adams's disappointment. The 
 arrival of two very extraordinary personages, and the 
 introduction of parson Adams to parson Barnabas . 62 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the book- 
 seller, which was broke off by an unlucky accident 
 happening in the inn, which produced a dialogue be- 
 tween Mrs Tow-wouse and her maid of no gentle kind. 72 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The history of Betty the chambermaid, and an account of 
 what occasioned the violent scene in the preceding 
 chapter 78 
 
 BOOK II. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Of Divisions in Authors 82 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A surprizing instance of Mr Adams's short memory, with 
 the unfortunate consequences which it brought on Joseph 85 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The opinion of two lawyers concerning the same gentleman, 
 
 with Mr Adams's inquiry into the religion of his host . 90 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The history of Leonora, or the unfortunate jilt . . -97 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn where the 
 company dined, with its bloody consequences to Mr 
 Adams 116 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt 126 
 
 I. a
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. PACE 
 
 A very short chapter, in which parson Adams went a great 
 way 131 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A notable dissertation by Mr Abraham Adams ; wherein 
 
 that gentleman appears in a political light . . . 134 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In which the gentleman discants on bravery and heroic virtue, 
 
 till an unlucky accident puts an end to the discourse . 138 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 strange catastn 
 
 ties ; and who the woman was who owed the preserva- 
 tion of her chastity to his victorious arm 
 
 Giving an account of the strange catastrophe of the preceding 
 adventure, which drew poor Adams into fresh calami- 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 What happened to them -while before the justice. A chapter 
 very full of learning 149 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A very delightful adventure, as well to the persons concerned 
 as to the good-natured reader 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A dissertation concerning high people and low people, with 
 Mrs Slipslop's departure in no very good temper of mind, 
 and the evil plight in which she left Adams and his 
 company 161
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 PORTRAIT OF FIELDING, FROM BUST IN THE 
 
 SHIRE HALL, TAUNTON . . . Frontispiece 
 
 " JOSEPH, I AM SORRY TO HEAR SUCH CoM- 
 
 PLAINTS AGAINST YOU " . . . Page 2^ 
 
 THE HOSTLER PRESENTED HIM A BILL . 87 
 
 JOSEPH THANKED HER ON HIS KNEES . . 1 67
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THERE are few amusements more dangerous for 
 an author than the indulgence in ironic descrip- 
 tions of his own work. If the irony is de- 
 preciatory, posterity is but too likely to say, " Many a 
 true word is spoken in jest ; " if it is encomiastic, the 
 same ruthless and ungrateful critic is but too likely 
 to take it as an involuntary confession of folly and 
 vanity. But when Fielding, in one of his serio-comic 
 introductions to Tom Jones, described it as " this pro- 
 digious work," he all unintentionally (for he was the 
 least pretentious of men) anticipated the verdict which 
 posterity almost at once, and with ever-increasing 
 suffrage of the best judges as time went on, was about 
 to pass not merely upon this particular book, but upon 
 his whole genius and his whole production as a 
 novelist. His work in other kinds is of a very dif- 
 ferent order of excellence. It is sufficiently interest- 
 ing at times in itself; and always more than sufficiently 
 interesting as his ; for which reasons, as well as for the 
 further one that it is comparatively little known, a con- 
 siderable selection from it is offered to the reader in the 
 last two volumes of this edition. Until the present
 
 Ml INTRODUCTION. 
 
 occasion (which made it necessary that I should ac- 
 quaint myself with it) I own that my own knowledge 
 of these miscellaneous writings was by no means 
 thorough. It is now pretty complete ; but the idea 
 which I previously had of them at first and second 
 hand, though a little improved, has not very materially 
 altered. Though in all this hack-work Fielding dis- 
 played, partially and at intervals, the same qualities 
 which he displayed eminently and constantly in the 
 four great books here given, he was not, as the French 
 idiom expresses it, dans son assiette, in his own natural 
 and impregnable disposition and situation of character 
 and ability, when he was occupied on it. The novel 
 was for him that assiette ; and all his novels are here. 
 
 Although Henry Fielding lived in quite modern 
 times, although by family and connections he was of a 
 higher rank than most men of letters, and although his 
 genius was at once recognised by his contemporaries so 
 soon as it displayed itself in its proper sphere, his bio- 
 graphy until very recently was by no means full ; and 
 the most recent researches, including those of Mr 
 Austin Dobson a critic unsurpassed for combination 
 of literary faculty and knowledge of the eighteenth 
 century have not altogether sufficed to fill up the 
 gaps. His family, said to have descended from a 
 member of the great house of Hapsburg who came 
 to England in the reign of Henry II., distinguished 
 itself in the Wars of the Roses, and in the seventeenth 
 century was advanced to the peerages of Denbigh in 
 England and (later) of Desmond in Ireland. The 
 novelist was the grandson of John Fielding, Canon of 
 Salisbury, the fifth son of the first Earl of Desmond of
 
 INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 this creation. The canon's third son, Edmond, entered 
 the army, served under Marlborough, and married 
 Sarah Gold or Gould, daughter of a judge of the 
 King's Bench. Their eldest son was Henry, who was 
 born on April 22, 1707, and had an uncertain number 
 of brothers and sisters of the whole blood. After his 
 first wife's death, General Fielding (for he attained 
 that rank) married again. The most remarkable off- 
 spring of the first marriage, next to Henry, was his 
 sister Sarah, also a novelist, who wrote David Simple ; 
 of the second, John, afterwards Sir John Fielding, who, 
 though blind, succeeded his half-brother as a Bow 
 Street magistrate, and in that office combined an 
 equally honourable record with a longer tenure. 
 
 Fielding was born at Sharpham Park in Somerset- 
 shire, the seat of his maternal grandfather ; but most of 
 his early youth was spent at East Stour in Dorsetshire, 
 to which his father removed after the judge's death. 
 He is said to have received his first education under a 
 parson of the neighbourhood named Oliver, in whom 
 a very uncomplimentary tradition sees the original of 
 Parson Trulliber. He was then certainly sent to Eton, 
 where he did not waste his time as regards learn- 
 ing, and made several valuable friends. But the dates 
 of his entering and leaving school are alike unknown ; 
 and his subsequent sojourn at Leyden for two years 
 though there is no reason to doubt it depends even less 
 upon any positive documentary evidence. This famous 
 University still had a great repute as a training school 
 in law, for which profession he was intended ; but the 
 reason why he did not receive the even then far more 
 usual completion of a public school education by a
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sojourn at Oxford or Cambridge may be suspected to 
 be different. It may even have had something to do 
 with a curious escapade of his about which not very 
 much is known an attempt to carry off a pretty 
 heiress of Lyme, named Sarah Andrew. 
 
 Even at Leyden, however, General Fielding seems to 
 have been unable or unwilling to pay his son's expenses, 
 which must have been far less there than at an English 
 University ; and Henry's return to London in 1728-29 
 is said to have been due to sheer impecuniosity. When 
 he returned to England, his father was good enough to 
 make him an allowance of $200 nominal, which ap- 
 pears to have been equivalent to <o actual. And as 
 practically nothing is known of him for the next six 
 or seven years, except the fact of his having worked 
 industriously enough at a large number of not very 
 good plays of the lighter kind, with a few poems and 
 miscellanies, it is reasonably enough supposed that he 
 lived by his pen. The only product of this period 
 which has kept (or indeed which ever received) com- 
 petent applause is Tom Thumb, or the Tragedy of 
 Tragedies, a following of course of the Rehearsal, 
 but full of humour and spirit The most successful of 
 his other dramatic works were the Mock Doctor and 
 the Miser, adaptations of MolieTe's famous pieces. His 
 undoubted connection with the stage, and the fact of the 
 contemporary existence of a certain Timothy Fielding, 
 helped suggestions of less dignified occupations as actor, 
 booth-keeper, and so forth ; but these have long been 
 discredited and indeed disproved. 
 
 In or about 1735, wnen Fielding was twenty-eight, 
 we find him in a new, a more brilliant and agreeable,
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 but even a more transient phase. He had married (we 
 do not know when or where) Miss Charlotte Cradock, 
 one of three sisters who lived at Salisbury (it is to be 
 observed that Fielding's entire connections, both in life 
 and letters, are with the Western Counties and London), 
 who were certainly of competent means, and for whose 
 alleged illegitimacy there is no evidence but an unsup- 
 ported fling of that old maid of genius, Richardson. 
 The descriptions both of Sophia and of Amelia are said 
 to have been taken from this lady ; her good looks and 
 her amiability are as well established as anything of the 
 kind can be in the absence of photographs and affidavits ; 
 and it is certain that her husband was passionately 
 attached to her, during their too short married life. 
 His method, however, of showing his affection smacked 
 in some ways too much of the foibles which he has 
 attributed to Captain Booth, and of those which we 
 must suspect Mr Thomas Jones would also have 
 exhibited, if he had not been adopted as Mr All- 
 worthy's heir, and had not had Mr Western's fortune 
 to share and look forward to. It is true that grave 
 breaches have been made by recent criticism in the 
 very picturesque and circumstantial story told on the 
 subject by Murphy, the first of Fielding's biographers. 
 This legend was that Fielding, having succeeded by 
 the death of his mother to a small estate at East Stour, 
 worth about 56200 a year, and having received ei$oo 
 in ready money as his wife's fortune, got through 
 the whole in three years by keeping open house, with 
 a large retinue in " costly yellow liveries," and so 
 forth. In details, this story has been simply riddled. 
 His mother had died long before ; he was certainly 
 I. b
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 not away from London three years, or anything like it ; 
 and so forth. At the same time, the best and soberest 
 judges agree that there is an intrinsic probability, a 
 consensus (if a vague one) of tradition, and a chain 
 of almost unmistakably personal references in the 
 novels, which plead for a certain amount of truth, at 
 the bottom of a much embellished legend. At any 
 rate, if Fielding established himself in the country, it 
 was not long before he returned to town ; for early in 
 1736 we find him back again, and not merely a play- 
 wright, but lessee of the " Little Theatre " in the 
 Haymarket. The plays which he produced here 
 satirico-political pieces, such as Pasquin and the 
 Historical Register were popular enough, but offended 
 the Government; and in 1737 a new bill regulating 
 theatrical performances, and instituting the Lord 
 Chamberlain's control, was passed. This measure put 
 an end directly to the " Great Mogul's Company," 
 as Fielding had called his troop, and indirectly to its 
 manager's career as a playwright. He did indeed 
 write a few pieces in future years, but they were of 
 the smallest importance. 
 
 After this check he turned at last to a serious pro- 
 fession, entered himself of the Middle Temple in 
 November of the same year, and was called three years 
 later ; but during these years, and indeed for some time 
 afterwards, our information about him is still of the 
 vaguest character. Nobody doubts that he had a large 
 share in the Champion, an essay-periodical on the usual 
 eighteenth-century model, which began to appear in 
 1739, and which is still occasionally consulted for the 
 work that is certainly or probably his. He went the
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVI 1 
 
 Western Circuit, and attended the Wiltshire Sessions, 
 after he was called, giving up his contributions to 
 periodicals soon after that event. But he soon re- 
 turned to literature proper, or rather made his debut 
 in it, with the immortal book now republished. The 
 History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews, and his 
 Friend Mr Abraham Adams, appeared in February 
 1742, and its author received from Andrew Millar, 
 the publisher, the sum of ^183, us. Even greater 
 works have fetched much smaller sums ; but it will be 
 admitted that Joseph Andrews was not dear. 
 
 The advantage, however, of presenting a survey of 
 an author's life uninterrupted by criticism is so clear, 
 that what has to be said about Joseph may be con- 
 veniently postponed for the moment. Immediately 
 after its publication the author fell back upon miscel- 
 laneous writing, and in the next year (1743) collected 
 and issued three volumes of Miscellanies. In the two 
 first volumes the only thing of much interest is the 
 unfinished and unequal, but in part powerful, Journey 
 from this World to the Next, an attempt of a kind 
 which Fontenelle and others, following Lucian, had 
 made very popular with the time. But the third 
 volume of the Miscellanies deserved a less modest and 
 gregarious appearance, for it contained, and is wholly 
 occupied by, the wonderful and terrible satire of 
 Jonathan Wild, the greatest piece of pure irony in 
 English out of Swift. Soon after the publication of 
 the book, a great calamity came on Fielding. His 
 wife had been very ill when he wrote the preface ; 
 soon afterwards she was dead. They had taken the 
 chance, had made the choice, that the more prudent
 
 XVI II INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and less wise student-hero and heroine of Mr Brown- 
 ing's Touth and Art had shunned ; they had no doubt 
 " sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, de- 
 spaired," and we need not question, that they had 
 also "been happy." 
 
 Except this sad event and its rather incongruous 
 sequel, Fielding's marriage to his wife's maid Mary 
 Daniel a marriage, however, which did not take 
 place till full four years later, and which by all 
 accounts supplied him with a faithful and excellent 
 companion and nurse, and his children with a kind 
 stepmother little or nothing is again known of this 
 elusive man of genius between the publication of the 
 Miscellanies in 1743, and that of Tom Jones in 1749. 
 The second marriage itself in November 1747; an 
 interview which Joseph Warton had with him rather 
 more than a year earlier (one of the very few direct 
 interviews we have) ; the publication of two anti- 
 Jacobite newspapers (Fielding was always a strong 
 Whig and Hanoverian), called the True Patriot and the 
 Jacobite's Journal, in 1 745 and the following years ; some 
 indistinct traditions about residences at Twickenham 
 and elsewhere, and some, more precise but not much 
 more authenticated, respecting patronage by the Duke of 
 Bedford, Mr Lyttelton, Mr Allen, and others, pretty 
 well sum up the whole. 
 
 Tom Jones was published in February (a favourite 
 month with Fielding or his publisher Millar) 1749; 
 and as it brought him the, for those days, very con- 
 siderable sum of aS6oo y to which Millar added another 
 hundred later, the novelist must have been, for a time 
 at any rate, relieved from his chronic penury. But
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 he had already, by Lyttelton's interest, secured his 
 first and last piece of preferment, being made Justice 
 of the Peace for Westminster, an office on which he 
 entered with characteristic vigour. He was qualified 
 for it not merely by a solid knowledge of the law, 
 and by great natural abilities, but by his thorough 
 kindness of heart ; and, perhaps, it may also be added, 
 by his long years of queer experience on (as Mr Carlyle 
 would have said) the "burning marl" of the London 
 Bohemia. Very shortly afterwards he was chosen 
 Chairman of Quarter Sessions, and established himself 
 in Bow Street The Bow Street magistrate of that 
 time occupied a most singular position, and was more 
 like a French Prefect of Police or even a Minister 
 of Public Safety than a mere justice. Yet he was ill 
 paid. Fielding says that the emoluments, which before 
 his accession had but been s$oo a year of " dirty " 
 money, were by his own action but ^"300 of clean ; and 
 the work, if properly performed, was very severe. 
 
 That he performed it properly all competent evidence 
 shows, a foolish, inconclusive, and I fear it must be said 
 emphatically snobbish story ofWalpole's notwithstanding. 
 In particular, he broke up a gang of cut-throat thieves, 
 which had been the terror of London. But his tenure 
 of the post was short enough, and scarcely extended 
 to five years. His health had long been broken, and 
 he was now constantly attacked by gout, so that he 
 had frequently to retreat on Bath from Bow Street, 
 or his suburban cottage of Fordhook, Ealing. But 
 he did not relax his literary work. His pen was 
 active with pamphlets concerning his office ; Amelia, 
 his last novel, appeared towards the close of 1751 ; and
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 next year saw the beginning of a new paper, the 
 Covent Garden Journal, which appeared twice a week, 
 ran for the greater part of the year, and died in 
 November. Its great author did not see that month 
 twice again. In the spring of 1753 he grew worse; 
 and after a year's struggle with ill health, hard work, 
 and hard weather, lesser measures being pronounced use- 
 less, was persuaded to try the " Portugal Voyage," of 
 which he has left so charming a record in the Journey to 
 Lisbon. He left Fordhook on June 26, 1754, reached 
 Lisbon in August, and, dying there on the 8th of 
 October, was buried in the cemetery of the Estrella. 
 
 Of not many writers perhaps does a clearer notion, 
 as far as their personality goes, exist in the general 
 mind that interests itself at all in literature than of 
 Fielding. Yet more than once a warning has been 
 sounded, especially by his best and most recent bio- 
 graphers, to the effect that this idea is founded upon 
 very little warranty of scripture. The truth is, that as 
 the foregoing record which, brief as it is, is a suffi- 
 ciently faithful summary will have shown, we know 
 very little about Fielding. We have hardly any letters 
 of his, and so lack the best by far and the most revealing 
 of all character-portraits ; we have but one important 
 autobiographic fragment, and though that is of the 
 highest interest and value, it was written far in the 
 valley of the shadow of death, it is not in the least re- 
 trospective, and it affords but dim and inferential light 
 on his younger, healthier, and happier days and ways. 
 He came, moreover, just short of one set of men of 
 letters, of whom we have a great deal of personal 
 knowledge, and just beyond another. He was neither
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 of those about Addison, nor of those about Johnson. 
 No intimate friend of his has left us anything elaborate 
 about him. On the other hand, we have a far from 
 inconsiderable body of documentary evidence, of a kind 
 often by no means trustworthy. The best part of it 
 is contained in the letters of his cousin, Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montagu, and the reminiscences or family 
 traditions of her grand-daughter, Lady Louisa Stuart. 
 But Lady Mary, vivacious and agreeable as she is, 
 had with all her talent a very considerable knack of 
 writing for effect, of drawing strong contrasts and the 
 like ; and it is not quite certain that she saw very much 
 of Fielding in the last and most interesting third of his 
 life. Another witness, Horace Walpole, to less know- 
 ledge and equally dubious accuracy, added decided ill- 
 will, which may have been due partly to the shrinking 
 of a dilettante and a fop from a burly Bohemian ; but 
 I fear is also consequent upon the fact that Horace 
 could not afford to despise Fielding's birth, and knew 
 him to be vastly his own superior in genius. We 
 hear something of him again from Richardson ; and 
 Richardson hated him with the hatred of dissimilar 
 genius, of inferior social position, and, lastly, of the 
 cat for the dog who touzles and worries her. Johnson 
 partly inherited or shared Richardson's aversion, partly 
 was bunded to Fielding's genius by his aggressive 
 Whiggery. I fear, too, that he was incapable of 
 appreciating it for reasons other than political. It is 
 certain that Johnson, sane and robust as he was, was 
 never quite at ease before genius of the gigantic kind, 
 either in dead or living. Whether he did not like to 
 have to look up too much, or was actually unable
 
 XX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to do so, it is certain that Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, 
 and Fielding, those four Atlantes of English verse 
 and prose, all affected him with lukewarm admiration, 
 or with positive dislike, for which it is vain to attempt 
 to assign any uniform secondary cause, political or other. 
 It may be permitted to hint another reason. All 
 Johnson's most sharp-sighted critics have noticed, though 
 most have discreetly refrained from insisting on, his 
 " thorn-in-the-flesh," the combination in him of very 
 strong physical passions with the deepest sense of the 
 moral and religious duty of abstinence. It is perhaps 
 impossible to imagine anything more distasteful to a 
 man so buffeted, than the extreme indulgence with 
 which Fielding regards, and the easy freedom, not to 
 say gusto, with which he depicts, those who succumb 
 to similar temptation. Only by supposing the workings 
 of some subtle influence of this kind is it possible to 
 explain, even in so capricious a humour as Johnson's, 
 the famous and absurd application of the term " barren 
 rascal " to a writer who, dying almost young, after 
 having for many years lived a life of pleasure, and then 
 for four or five one of laborious official duty, has left 
 work anything but small in actual bulk, and fertile with 
 the most luxuriant growth of intellectual originality. 
 
 Partly on the obiter dicta of persons like these, partly 
 on the still more tempting and still more treacherous 
 ground of indications drawn from his works, a Fielding 
 of fantasy has been constructed, which in Thackeray's 
 admirable sketch attains real life and immortality as a 
 creature of art, but which possesses rather dubious claims 
 as a historical character. It is astonishing how this 
 Fielding of fantasy sinks and shrivels when we begin
 
 INTRODUCTION. XX111 
 
 to apply the horrid tests of criticism to his component 
 parts. The eidolon, with inked ruffles and a towel 
 round his head, sits in the Temple and dashes off 
 articles for the Covent Gar Jen Journals then comes 
 Criticism, hellish maid, and reminds us that when the 
 Covent Garden Journal appeared, Fielding's wild oats, 
 if ever sown at all, had been sown long ago ; that he 
 was a busy magistrate and householder in Bow Street ; 
 and that, if he had towels round his head, it was pro- 
 bably less because he had exceeded in liquor than 
 because his Grace of Newcastle had given him a 
 headache by wanting elaborate plans and schemes pre- 
 pared at an hour's notice. Lady Mary, apparently 
 with some envy, tells us that he could " feel rapture 
 with his cook-maid." "Which many has," as Mr 
 Ridley remarks, from Xanthias Phoceus downwards ; 
 but when we remember the historic fact that he married 
 this maid (not a " cook- maid " at all), and that though 
 he always speaks of her with warm affection and hearty 
 respect, such " raptures " as we have of his clearly 
 refer to a very different woman, who was both a lady 
 and a beautiful one, we begin a little to shake our 
 heads. Horace Walpole at second-hand draws us a 
 Fielding, pigging with low companions in a house kept 
 like a hedge tavern ; Fielding himself, within a year 
 or two, shows us more than half-undesignedly in the 
 Voyage to Lisbon that he was very careful about the 
 appointments and decency of his table, that he stood 
 rather upon ceremony in regard to his own treatment 
 of his family, and the treatment of them and himself 
 by others, and that he was altogether a person orderly, 
 correct, and even a little finikin. Nor is there the
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 slightest reasonable reason to regard this as a piece of 
 hypocrisy, a vice as alien from the Fielding of fancy 
 as from the Fielding of fact, and one the particular 
 manifestation of which, in this particular place, would 
 have been equally unlikely and unintelligible. 
 
 It may be asked whether I propose to substitute for 
 the traditional Fielding a quite different person, of 
 regular habits and methodical economy. Certainly not. 
 The traditional estimate of great men is rarely wrong 
 altogether, but it constantly has a habit of exaggerating 
 and dramatising their characteristics. For some things 
 in Fielding's career we have positive evidence of docu- 
 ment, and evidence hardly less certain of probability. 
 Although I believe the best judges are now of 
 opinion that his impecuniosity has been overcharged, he 
 certainly had experiences which did not often fall to 
 the lot of even a cadet of good family in the eighteenth 
 century. There can be no reasonable doubt that he was 
 a man who had a leaning towards pretty girls and bottles 
 of good wine ; and I should suppose that if the girl 
 were kind and fairly winsome, he would not have in- 
 sisted that she should possess Helen's beauty, that if 
 the bottle of good wine were not forthcoming, he would 
 have been very tolerant of a mug of good ale. He 
 may very possibly have drunk more than he should, 
 and lost more than he could conveniently pay. It may 
 be put down as morally ascertained that towards all 
 these weaknesses of humanity, and others like unto 
 them, he held an attitude which was less that of the 
 unassailable philosopher than that of the sympathiser, 
 indulgent and excusing. In regard more especially to 
 what are commonly called moral delinquencies, this
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 attitude was so decided as to shock some people even 
 in those days, and many in these. Just when the first 
 sheets of this edition were passing through the press, 
 a violent attack was made in a newspaper corre- 
 spondence on the morality of Tom Jones by certain 
 notorious advocates of Purity, as some say, of Pruriency 
 and Prudery combined, according to less complimentary 
 estimates. Even midway between the two periods we 
 find the admirable Miss Ferrier, a sister of Fielding's 
 own craft, who sometimes had touches of nature and 
 satire not far inferior to his own, expressing by the 
 mouth of one of her characters with whom she seems 
 partly to agree, the sentiment that his works are 
 "vanishing like noxious exhalations." Towards any 
 misdoing by persons of the one sex towards persons 
 of the other, when it involved brutality or treachery, 
 Fielding was pitiless ; but when treachery and brutality 
 were not concerned, he was, to say the least, facile. 
 So, too, he probably knew by experience he certainly 
 knew by native shrewdness and acquired observation 
 that to look too much on the wine when it is red, or 
 on the cards when they are parti-coloured, is ruinous to 
 health and fortune ; but he thought not over badly of any 
 man who did these things. Still it is possible to admit 
 this in him, and to stop short of that idea of a careless 
 and reckless v'rveur which has so often been put forward. 
 In particular, Lady Mary's view of his childlike enjoy- 
 ment of the moment has been, I think, much exaggerated 
 by posterity, and was probably not a little mistaken by 
 the lady herself. There are two moods in which the 
 motto is Carpe diem ; one a mood of simply childish 
 hurry, the other one where behind the enjoyment of
 
 XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the moment lurks, and in which the enjoyment of the 
 moment is not a little heightened by, that vast ironic 
 consciousness of the before and after, which I at least 
 see everywhere in the background of Fielding's work. 
 
 The man, however, of whom we know so little, 
 concerns us much less than the author of the works, of 
 which it only rests with ourselves to know everything. 
 I have above classed Fielding as one of the four 
 Atlantes of English verse and prose, and I doubt not 
 that both the phrase and the application of it to him 
 will meet with question and demur. I have only to 
 interject, as the critic so often has to interject, a request 
 to the court to take what I say in the sense in which 
 I say it, I do not mean that Shakespeare, Milton, 
 Swift, and Fielding are in all or even in most respects 
 on a level. I do not mean that the three last are in 
 all respects of the greatest names in English literature. 
 I only mean that, in a certain quality, which for want 
 of a better word I have chosen to call Atlantean, they 
 stand alone. Each of them, for the metaphor is 
 applicable either way, carries a whole world on his 
 shoulders, or looks down on a whole world from his 
 natural altitude. The worlds are different, but they 
 are worlds ; and though the attitude of the giants is 
 different also, it agrees in all of them on the points of 
 competence and strength. Take whomsoever else we 
 may among our men of letters, and we shall find this 
 characteristic to be in comparison wanting. These 
 four carry their world, and are not carried by it ; and if 
 it, in the language so dear to Fielding himself, were to 
 crash and shatter, the inquiry, " Que vous reste-t-il ' " 
 could be answered by each, " Mot ! "
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV11 
 
 The appearance which Fielding makes is no doubt 
 the most modest of the four. He has not Shake- 
 speare's absolute universality, and in fact not merely the 
 poet's tongue, but the poet's thought seems to have 
 been denied him. His sphere is not the ideal like 
 Milton's. His irony, splendid as it is, falls a little 
 short of that diabolical magnificence which exalts Swift 
 to the point whence, in his own way, he surveys all the 
 kingdoms of the world, and the glory or vainglory of 
 them. All Fielding's critics have noted the manner, in 
 a certain sense modest, in another ostentatious, in which 
 he seems to confine himself to the presentation of things 
 English. They might have added to the presentation 
 of things English as they appear in London, and on 
 the Western Circuit, and on the Bath Road. 
 
 But this apparent parochialism has never deceived 
 good judges. It did not deceive Lady Mary, who 
 had seen the men and manners of very many climes ; it 
 did not deceive Gibbon, who was not especially prone 
 to overvalue things English, and who could look down 
 from twenty centuries on things ephemeral. It deceives, 
 indeed, I am told, some excellent persons at the present 
 day, who think Fielding's microcosm a " toylike 
 world," and imagine that Russian Nihilists and French 
 Naturalists have gone beyond it. It will deceive no one 
 who has lived for some competent space of time a life 
 during which he has tried to regard his fellow-creatures 
 and himself, as nearly as a mortal may, sub specie 
 <eternitatis. 
 
 As this is in the main an introduction to a complete 
 reprint of Fielding's four great novels, the justification in 
 detail of the estimate just made or hinted of the novelist's
 
 XXV111 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 genius will be best and most fitly made by a brief suc- 
 cessive discussion of the four as they are here presented, 
 with some subsequent remarks on the Miscellanies here 
 selected. And, indeed, it is not fanciful to perceive 
 in each book a somewhat different presentment of the 
 author's genius ; though in no one of the four is any 
 one of his masterly qualities absent. There is tender- 
 ness even in Jonathan Wild ; there are touches in Joseph 
 Andrews of that irony of the Preacher, the last echo 
 of which is heard amid the kindly resignation of the 
 Journey to Lisbon, in the sentence, " Whereas envy of 
 all things most exposes us to danger from others, so 
 contempt ot all things best secures us from them." 
 But on the whole it is safe to say that Joseph Andrews 
 best presents Fielding's mischievous and playful wit ; 
 Jonathan Wild his half-Lucianic half-Swiftian irony ; 
 Tom Jones his unerring knowledge of human nature, 
 and his constructive faculty ; Amelia his tenderness, 
 his mitts sapientia, his observation of the details of life. 
 And first of the first. 
 
 The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and 
 his friend Mr Abraham Adams was, as has been said 
 above, published in February 1 742. A facsimile of the 
 agreement between author and publisher will be given 
 in the second volume of this series ; and it is not unin- 
 teresting to observe that the witness, William Young, is 
 none other than the asserted original of the immortal 
 Mr Adams himself. He might, on Balzac's plea in a 
 tolerably well-known anecdote, have demanded half of 
 the ^183, us. Of the other origins of the book we 
 have a pretty full account, partly documentary. That 
 it is " writ in the manner of Cervantes," and is intended
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 as a kind of comic epic, is the author's own statement 
 no doubt as near the actual truth as is consistent with 
 comic-epic theory. That there are resemblances to 
 Scarron, to Le Sage, and to other practitioners of the 
 Picaresque novel is certain ; and it was inevitable that 
 there should be. Of directer and more immediate 
 models or starting-points one is undoubted ; the other, 
 though less generally admitted, not much less indubitable 
 to my mind. The parody of Richardson's Pamela, 
 which was little more than a year earlier (Nov. 1740), 
 is avowed, open, flagrant ; nor do I think that the author 
 was so soon carried away by the greater and larger tide 
 of his own invention as some critics seem to hold. He 
 is always more or less returning to the ironic charge ; 
 and the multiplicity of the assailants of Joseph's virtue 
 only disguises the resemblance to the long-drawn dangers 
 of Pamela from a single ravisher. But Fielding was 
 also well acquainted with Marivaux's Pay 3 an Parvenu, 
 and the resemblances between that book and Joseph 
 Andrews are much stronger than Fielding's admirers 
 have always been willing to admit. This recalcitrance 
 has, I think, been mainly due to the erroneous conception 
 of Marivaux as, if not a mere fribble, yet a Dresden- 
 Shepherdess kind of writer, good at " preciousness " 
 and patch-and-powder manners, but nothing more. 
 There was, in fact, a very strong satiric and ironic touch 
 in the author of Marianne, and I do not think that I 
 was too rash when some years ago I ventured to speak 
 of him as " playing Fielding to his own Richardson " 
 in the Paysan Parvenu. 
 
 Origins, however, and indebtedness and the like, are, 
 when great work is concerned, questions for the study
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and the lecture-room, for the literary historian and 
 the professional critic, rather than for the reader, how- 
 ever intelligent and alert, who wishes to enjoy a master- 
 piece, and is content simply to enjoy it It does not 
 really matter how close to anything else something which 
 possesses independent goodness is ; the very utmost 
 technical originality, the most spotless purity from the 
 faintest taint of suggestion, will not suffice to confer 
 merit on what does not otherwise possess it. Whether, 
 as I rather think, Fielding pursued the plan he had formed 
 ab incepto, or whether he cavalierly neglected it, or 
 whether the current of his own genius carried him off 
 his legs and landed him, half against his will, on the 
 shore of originality, are questions for the Schools, and, 
 as I venture to think, not for the higher forms in them. 
 We have Joseph Andrews as it is ; and we may be 
 abundantly thankful for it. The contents of it, as of all 
 Fielding's work in this kind, include certain things for 
 which the moderns are scantly grateful. Of late years, 
 and not of late years only, there has" grown up a singular 
 and perhaps an ignorant impatience of digressions, of 
 episodes, of tales within a tale. The example of this 
 which has been most maltreated is the " Man of the 
 Hill " episode in Tom Jones ; but the stories of the 
 " Unfortunate Jilt " and of Mr Wilson in our present 
 subject, do not appear to me to be much less obnoxious 
 to the censure ; and Amelia contains more than one or 
 two things of the same kind. Me they do not greatly 
 disturb ; and I see many defences for them besides the 
 obvious, and at a pinch sufficient one, that divagations 
 of this kind existed in all Fielding's Spanish and French 
 models, that the public of the day expected them, and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 so forth. This defence is enough, but it is easy to 
 amplify and reintrench it. It is not by any means the 
 fact that the Picaresque novel of adventure is the only 
 or the chief form of fiction which prescribes or admits 
 these episodic excursions. All the classical epics have 
 them ; many eastern and other stories present them ; 
 they are common, if not invariable, in the abundant 
 mediasval literature of prose and verse romance ; they 
 are not unknown by any means in the modern novel ; 
 and you will very rarely hear a story told orally at the 
 dinner-table or in the smoking-room without something 
 of the kind. There must, therefore, be something in 
 them corresponding to an inseparable accident of that 
 most unchanging of all things, human nature. And 
 I do not think the special form with which we are here 
 concerned by any means the worst that they have taken. 
 It has the grand and prominent virtue of being at once 
 and easily skippable. There is about Cervantes and 
 Le Sage, about Fielding and Smollett, none of the 
 treachery of the modern novelist, who induces the 
 conscientious reader to drag through pages, chapters, 
 and sometimes volumes which have nothing to do with 
 the action, for fear he should miss something that has 
 to do with it. These great men have a fearless frank- 
 ness, and almost tell you in so many words when and 
 what you may skip. Therefore, if the "Curious Imper- 
 tinent," and the " Baneful Marriage," and the " Man 
 of the Hill," and the "Lady of Quality," get in 
 the way, when you desire to " read for the story," you 
 have nothing to do but turn the page till Jlnis comes. 
 The defence has already been made by an illustrious 
 hand for Fielding's inter-chapters and exordiums.
 
 XXX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It appears to me to be almost more applicable to his 
 insertions. 
 
 And so we need not trouble ourselves any more 
 either about the insertions or about the exordiums. 
 They both please me ; the second class has pleased 
 persons much better worth pleasing than I can pretend 
 to be ; but the making or marring of the book lies 
 elsewhere. I do not think that it lies in the construc- 
 tion, though Fielding's following of the ancients, both 
 sincere and satiric, has imposed a false air of regularity 
 upon that. The Odyssey of Joseph, of Fanny, and of 
 their ghostly mentor and bodily guard is, in truth, a 
 little haphazard, and might have been longer or shorter 
 without any discreet man approving it the more or the 
 less therefor. The real merits lie partly in the abound- 
 ing humour and satire of the artist's criticism, but even 
 more in the marvellous vivacity and fertility of his 
 creation. For the very first time in English prose 
 fiction every character is alive, every incident is capable 
 of having happened. There are lively touches in the 
 Elizabethan romances ; but they are buried in verbiage, 
 swathed in stage costume, choked and fettered by their 
 authors' want of art. The quality of Bunyan's know- 
 ledge of men was not much inferior to Shakespeare's, 
 or at least to Fielding's ; but the range and the results of 
 it were cramped by his single theological purpose, and 
 his unvaried allegoric or typical form. Why Defoe did 
 not discover the New World of Fiction, I at least have 
 never been able to put into any brief critical formula 
 that satisfies me, and I have never seen it put by any one 
 else. He had not only seen it afar off, he had made 
 landings and descents on it ; he had carried off and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXxiii 
 
 exhibited in triumph natives such as Robinson Crusoe, 
 as Man Friday, as Moll Flanders, as William the 
 Quaker ; but he had conquered, subdued, and settled 
 no province therein. I like Pamela ; I like it better 
 than some persons who admire Richardson on the whole 
 more than I do, seem to like it. But, as in all its 
 author's work, the handling seems to me academic the 
 working out on paper of an ingeniously conceived prob- 
 lem rather than the observation or evolution of actual 
 or possible life. I should not greatly fear to push the 
 comparison even into foreign countries ; but it is well 
 to observe limits. Let us be content with holding that 
 in England at least, without prejudice to anything fur- 
 ther, Fielding was the first to display the qualities of the 
 perfect novelist as distinguished from the romancer. 
 
 What are those qualities, as shown in Joseph 
 Andrews ? The faculty of arranging a probable and 
 interesting course of action is one, of course, and Field- 
 ing showed it here. But I do not think that it is at 
 any time the greatest one ; and nobody denies that he 
 made great advances in this direction later. The 
 faculty of lively dialogue is another ; and that he has 
 not often been refused ; but much the same may be 
 said of it. The interspersing of appropriate description 
 is another ; but here also we shall not find him exactly 
 a paragon. It is in character the chief differentia of 
 the novel as distinguished not merely from its elder 
 sister the romance, and its cousin the drama, but still 
 more from every other kind of literature that Fielding 
 stands even here pre-eminent. No one that I can think 
 of, except his greatest successor in the present century, 
 has the same unfailing gift of breathing life into every
 
 XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 character he creates or borrows; and even Thack- 
 eray draws, if I may use the phrase, his characters 
 more in the flat and less in the round than Fielding. 
 Whether in Blifil he once failed, we must discuss 
 hereafter ; he has failed nowhere in Joseph Andrews. 
 Some of his sketches may require the caution that they 
 are eighteenth-century men and women ; some the 
 warning that they are obviously caricatured, or set in 
 designed profile, or merely sketched. But they are 
 all alive. The finical estimate of Gray (it is a horrid 
 joy to think how perfectly capable Fielding was of 
 having joined in that practical joke of the young 
 gentlemen of Cambridge, which made Gray change 
 his college), while dismissing these light things with 
 patronage, had to admit that " parson Adams is per- 
 fectly well, so is Mrs Slipslop." " They were, Mr 
 Gray," said some one once, " they were more perfectly 
 well, and in a higher kind, than anything you ever 
 did ; though you were a pretty workman too." 
 
 Yes, parson Adams is perfectly well, and so is Mrs 
 Slipslop. But so are they all. Even the hero and 
 heroine, tied and bound as they are by the necessity 
 under which their maker lay of preserving Joseph's 
 Joseph-hood, and of making Fanny the example of a 
 franker and less interested virtue than her sister-in-law 
 that might have been, are surprisingly human where 
 most writers would have made them sticks. And the 
 rest require no allowance. Lady Booby, few as are 
 the strokes given to her, is not much less alive than 
 Lady Bellaston. Mr Trulliber, monster and not at 
 all delicate monster as he is, is also a man, and when 
 he lays it down that no one even in his own house
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 shall drink when he " caaled vurst," one can but pay 
 his maker the tribute of that silent shudder of admira- 
 tion which hails the addition of one more everlasting 
 entity to the world of thought and fancy. And Mr 
 Tow-wouse is real, and Mrs Tow-wouse is more real 
 still, and Betty is real ; and the coachman, and Miss 
 Grave-airs, and all the wonderful crew from first to last. 
 The dresses they wear, the manners they exhibit, the 
 laws they live under, the very foods and drinks they 
 live upon, are "past like the shadows on glasses" 
 to the comfort and rejoicing of some, to the greater or 
 less sorrow of others. But they are there alive, full of 
 blood, full of breath as we are, and, in truth, I fear a 
 little more so. For some purposes a century is a gap 
 harder to cross and more estranging than a couple of 
 millenniums. But in their case the gap is nothing ; and 
 it is not too much to say that as they have stood the 
 harder test, they will stand the easier. There are very 
 striking differences between Nausicaa and Mrs Slipslop ; 
 there are differences not less striking between Mrs 
 Slipslop and Beatrice. But their likeness is a stranger 
 and more wonderful thing than any of their unlike- 
 nesses. It is that they are all women, that they are all 
 live citizenesses of the Land of Matters Unforgot, the 
 fashion whereof passeth not away, and the franchise 
 whereof, once acquired, assures immortality.
 
 XXXVI NOTE. 
 
 NOTE TO GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The text of this issue in the main follows that of 
 the standard or first collected edition of 1762. The 
 variants which the author introduced in successive editions 
 during his lifetime are not inconsiderable ; but for the 
 purposes of the present issue it did not seem necessary or 
 indeed desirable to take account of them. In the case of 
 prose fiction, more than in any other department of litera- 
 ture, it is desirable that work should be read in the form 
 which represents the completes t intention and execution of the 
 author. Nor have any notes been attempted ; for again 
 such things, in the case of prose fiction, are of very doubtful 
 use, and supply pretty certain stumbling-blocks to enjoy- 
 ment ; while in the particular case of Fielding, the anno- 
 tation, unless extremely capricious, would have to be 
 disgustingly full. Far be it at any rate from the present 
 editor to bury these delightful creations under an ugly crust 
 of parallel passages and miscellaneous erudition. The 
 sheets, however, have been carefully read in order to 
 prevent the casual errors which are wont to creep into 
 frequently reprinted texts ; and the editor hopes that if 
 any such have escaped him, the escape will not be attri- 
 buted to wilful negligence. A few obvious errors, in 
 spelling of proper names, &c., which occur in the 1762 
 version have been corrected: but wherever the readings 
 of that version are possible they have been preferred. 
 The embelKshments of the edition are partly fanciful and 
 partly "documentary ;" so that it is hoped both classes 
 of taste may have something to feed upon.
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 A> it is possible the mere English reader may have 
 a different idea of romance from the author 
 of these little * volumes, and may consequently 
 expect a kind of entertainment not to be found, nor 
 which was even intended, in the following pages, it may 
 not be improper to premise a few words concerning 
 this kind of writing, which I do not remember to 
 have seen hitherto attempted in our language. 
 
 The EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into 
 tragedy and comedy. HOMER, who was the father 
 of this species of poetry, gave us a pattern of both 
 these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost ; 
 which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to 
 comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy. And per- 
 haps, that we have no more instances of it among the 
 writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great 
 pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its 
 imitators equally with the other poems of this great 
 original. 
 
 And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, 
 I will not scruple to say it may be likewise either in 
 verse or prose : for though it wants one particular, 
 * Joseph Andrews was originally published in 2 vols. i2mo.
 
 XXXV111 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 which the critic enumerates in the constituent parts of 
 an epic poem, namely metre ; yet, when any kind of 
 writing contains all its other parts, such as fable, action, 
 characters, sentiments, and diction, and is deficient in 
 metre only, it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it 
 to the epic ; at least, as no critic hath thought proper 
 to range it under any other head, or to assign it a 
 particular name to itself. 
 
 Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray 
 appears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey 
 of Homer ; indeed, it is much fairer and more reason- 
 able to give it a name common with that species from 
 which it differs only in a single instance, than to con- 
 found it with those which it resembles in no other. 
 Such are those voluminous works, commonly called 
 Romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astraea, Cas- 
 sandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable others, 
 which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction 
 or entertainment. 
 
 Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in 
 prose ; differing from comedy, as the serious epic from 
 tragedy : its action being more extended and compre- 
 hensive ; containing a much larger circle of incidents, 
 and introducing a greater variety of characters. It 
 differs from the serious romance in its fable and action, 
 in this ; that as in the one these are grave and solemn, 
 so in the other they are light and ridiculous : it differs 
 in its characters by introducing persons of inferior rank, 
 and consequently, of inferior manners, whereas the 
 grave romance sets the highest before us : lastly, in 
 its sentiments and diction ; by preserving the ludi- 
 crous instead of the sublime. In the diction, I think,
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE. XXXIX 
 
 burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted ; of which 
 many instances will occur in this work, as in the 
 description of the battles, and some other places, not 
 necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader, for 
 whose entertainment those parodies or burlesque imita- 
 tions are chiefly calculated. 
 
 But though we have sometimes admitted this in our 
 diction, we have carefully excluded it from our senti- 
 ments and characters ; for there it is never properly 
 introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque kind, 
 which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two 
 species of writing can differ more widely than the 
 comic and the burlesque ; for as the latter is ever the 
 exhibition of what is monstrous and unnatural, and 
 where our delight, if we examine it, arises from the 
 surprizing absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of 
 the highest to the lowest, or e converso ; so in the 
 former we should ever confine ourselves strictly to 
 nature, from the just imitation of which will flow all 
 the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible 
 reader. And perhaps there is one reason why a comic 
 writer should of all others be the least excused for 
 deviating from nature, since it may not be always so 
 easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the 
 admirable ; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate 
 observer with the ridiculous. 
 
 I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because 
 I have often heard that name given to performances 
 which have been truly of the comic kind, from the 
 author's having sometimes admitted it in his diction 
 only ; which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the 
 dress of men, establish characters (the one of the whole
 
 xl AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 poem, and the other of the whole man), in vulgar 
 opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences : but 
 surely, a certain drollery in stile, where characters and 
 sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the 
 burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, 
 where everything else is mean and low, can entitle any 
 performance to the appellation of the true sublime. 
 
 And I apprehend my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of 
 mere burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, 
 There is no such thing to be found in the writings of 
 the ancients. But perhaps I have less abhorrence than 
 he professes for it ; and that, not because I have had 
 some little success on the stage this way, but rather as 
 it contributes more to exquisite mirth and laughter than 
 any other ; and these are probably more wholesome 
 physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge away 
 spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally 
 imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, 
 whether the same companies are not found more full of 
 good-humour and benevolence, after they have been 
 sweetened for two or three hours with entertainments 
 of this kind, than when soured by a tragedy or a grave 
 lecture. 
 
 But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, 
 perhaps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and 
 plainly, let us examine the works of a comic history 
 painter, with those performances which the Italians call 
 Caricatura, where we shall find the true excellence of 
 the former to consist in the exactest copying of nature ; 
 insomuch that a judicious eye instantly rejects anything 
 outre, any liberty which the painter hath taken with the 
 features of that alma mater ; whereas in the Caricatura
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. xli 
 
 we allow all licence its aim is to exhibit monsters, not 
 men ; and all distortions and exaggerations whatever 
 are within its proper province. 
 
 Now, what Caricatura is in painting, Burlesque is in 
 writing ; and in the same manner the comic writer and 
 painter correlate to each other. And here I shall ob- 
 serve, that, as in the former the painter seems to have 
 the advantage ; so it is in the latter infinitely on the 
 side of the writer ; for the Monstrous is much easier 
 to paint than describe, and the Ridiculous to describe 
 than paint. 
 
 And though perhaps this latter species doth not in 
 either science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles 
 as the other ; yet it will be owned, I believe, that a 
 more rational and useful pleasure arises to us from 
 it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a bur- 
 lesque painter, would, in my opinion, do him very little 
 honour ; for sure it is much easier, much less the 
 subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or any 
 other feature, of a preposterous size, or to expose him 
 in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the 
 affections of men on canvas. It hath been thought a 
 vast commendation of a painter to say his figures seem 
 to breathe ; but surely it is a much greater and nobler 
 applause, that they appear to think. 
 
 But to return. The Ridiculous only, as I have 
 before said, falls within my province in the present 
 work. Nor will some explanation of this word be 
 thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how 
 wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by writers who 
 have professed it : for to what but such a mistake can 
 we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the blackest
 
 xlvi AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 simplicity ; and as the goodness of his heart will recom- 
 mend him to the good-natured, so I hope it will excuse 
 me to the gentlemen of his cloth ; for whom, while they 
 are worthy of their sacred order, no man can possibly 
 have a greater respect. They will therefore excuse me, 
 notwithstanding the low adventures in which he is en- 
 gaged, that I have made him a clergyman ; since no 
 other office could have given him so many opportunities 
 of displaying his worthy inclinations.
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 of 3osepb Hnfcrews 
 
 AND 
 
 HIS FRIEND MR ABRAHAM ADAMS 
 
 BOOK I. 
 Chapter i. 
 
 Of writing lives in general, and particularly of Pamela ; 
 with a word by the bye of Colley Gibber and others. 
 
 IT is a trite but true observation, that examples work 
 more forcibly on the mind than precepts : and if 
 this be just in what is odious and blameable, it is 
 more strongly so in what is amiable and praiseworthy. 
 Here emulation most effectually operates upon us, and 
 inspires our imitation in an irresistible manner. A 
 good man therefore is a standing lesson to all his ac- 
 quaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow circle 
 than a good book. 
 
 But as it often happens that the best men are but 
 little known, and consequently cannot extend the use- 
 fulness of their examples a great way ; the writer may 
 be called in aid to spread their history farther, and to 
 present the amiable pictures to those who have not the
 
 2 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 happiness of knowing the originals ; and so, by com- 
 municating such valuable patterns to the world, he may 
 perhaps do a more extensive service to mankind than 
 the person whose life originally afforded the pattern. 
 
 In this light I have always regarded those biographers 
 who have recorded the actions of great and worthy per- 
 sons of both sexes. Not to mention those antient 
 writers which of late days are little read, being written 
 in obsolete, and as they are generally thought, unin- 
 telligible languages, such as Plutarch, Nepos, and others 
 which I heard of in my youth ; our own language 
 affords many of excellent use and instruction, finely 
 calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and 
 very easy to be comprehended by persons of moderate 
 capacity. Such as the history of John the Great, who, 
 by his brave and heroic actions against men of large and 
 athletic bodies, obtained the glorious appellation of the 
 Giant-killer ; that of an Earl of Warwick, whose 
 Christian name was Guy ; the lives of Argalus and 
 Parthenia ; and above all, the history of those seven 
 worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In 
 all these delight is mixed with instruction, and the 
 reader is almost as much improved as entertained. 
 
 But I pass by these and many others to mention two 
 books lately published, which represent an admirable 
 pattern of the amiable in either sex. The former of 
 these, which deals in male virtue, was written by the 
 great person himself, who lived the life he hath re- 
 corded, and is by many thought to have lived such a 
 life only in order to write it. The other is communi- 
 cated to us by an historian who borrows his lights, as 
 the common method is, from authentic papers and 
 records. The reader, I believe, already conjectures, 
 I mean the lives of Mr Colley Gibber and of Mrs 
 Pamela Andrews. How artfully doth the former, by 
 insinuating that he escaped being promoted to the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 3 
 
 highest stations in Church and State, teach us a con- 
 tempt of worldly grandeur ! how strongly doth he in- 
 culcate an absolute submission to our superiors ! Lastly, 
 how completely doth he arm us against so uneasy, so 
 wretched a passion as the fear of shame ! how clearly 
 doth he expose the emptiness and vanity of that 
 phantom, reputation ! 
 
 What the female readers are taught by the memoirs 
 of Mrs Andrews is so well set forth in the excellent 
 essays or letters prefixed to the second and subsequent 
 editions of that work, that it would be here a needless 
 repetition. The authentic history with which I now 
 present the public is an instance of the great good that 
 book is likely to do, and of the prevalence of example 
 which I have just observed : since it will appear that 
 it was by keeping the excellent pattern of his sister's 
 virtues before his eyes, that Mr Joseph Andrews was 
 chiefly enabled to preserve his purity in the midst of 
 such great temptations. I shall only add that this char- 
 acter of male chastity, though doubtless as desirable 
 and becoming in one part of the human species as in 
 the other, is almost the only virtue which the great 
 apologist hath not given himself for the sake of giving 
 the example to his readers. 
 
 C&aptcr ii* 
 
 Of Mr Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, education, 
 and great endowments; 'with a word or two con- 
 cerning ancestors. 
 
 MR JOSEPH ANDREWS, the hero of our ensuing 
 history, was esteemed to be the only son of 
 Gaffar and Gammer Andrews, and brother 
 to the illustrious Pamela, whose virtue is at present
 
 4 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 so famous. As to his ancestors, we have searched 
 with great diligence, but little success ; being unable 
 to trace them farther than his great-grandfather, 
 who, as an elderly person in the parish remembers to 
 have heard his father say, was an excellent cudgel- 
 player. Whether he had any ancestors before this, 
 we must leave to the opinion of our curious reader, 
 finding nothing of sufficient certainty to rely on. How- 
 ever, we cannot omit inserting an epitaph which an 
 ingenious friend of ours hath communicated : 
 
 Stay, traveller, for underneath this pew 
 Lies fast asleep that merry man Andrew : 
 When the last day's j*reat sun shall gild the skies, 
 Then he shall from his tomb get up and rise. 
 Be merry while thou canst : for surely thou 
 Shalt shortly be as sad as he is now. 
 
 The words are almost out of the stone with antiquity. 
 But it is needless to observe that Andrew here is writ 
 without an s, and is, besides, a Christian name. My 
 friend, moreover, conjectures this to have been the 
 founder of that sect of laughing philosophers since 
 called Merry-andrews. 
 
 To waive, therefore, a circumstance which, though 
 mentioned in conformity to the exact rules of biography, 
 is not greatly material, I proceed to things of more 
 consequence. Indeed, it is sufficiently certain that he 
 had as many ancestors as the best man living, and, 
 perhaps, if we look five or six hundred years back- 
 wards, might be related to some persons of very great 
 figure at present, whose ancestors within half the last 
 century are buried in as great obscurity. But suppose, 
 for argument's sake, we should admit that he had no 
 ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the 
 modern phrase, out of a dunghill, as the Athenians 
 pretended they themselves did from the earth, would 
 not this autokopros* have been justly entitled to all 
 * In English, sprung from a dunghill.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 5 
 
 the praise arising from his own virtues ? Would it not 
 be hard that a man who hath no ancestors should 
 therefore be rendered incapable of acquiring honour ; 
 when we see so many who have no virtues enjoying 
 the honour of their forefathers ? At ten years old 
 (by which time his education was advanced to writing 
 and reading) he was bound an apprentice, according to 
 the statute, to Sir Thomas Booby, an uncle of Mr 
 Booby's by the father's side. Sir Thomas having 
 then an estate in his own hands, the young Andrews 
 was at first employed in what in the country they call 
 keeping birds. His office was to perform the part the 
 ancients assigned to the god Priapus, which deity the 
 moderns call by the name of Jack o' Lent ; but his 
 voice being so extremely musical, that it rather allured 
 the birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted 
 from the fields into the dog-kennel, where he was 
 placed under the huntsman, and made what the sports- 
 men term whipper - in. For this place likewise the 
 sweetness of his voice disqualified him ; the dogs 
 preferring the melody of his chiding to all the alluring 
 notes of the huntsman, who soon became so incensed 
 at it, that he desired Sir Thomas to provide otherwise 
 for him, and constantly laid every fault the dogs were 
 at to the account of the poor boy, who was now trans- 
 planted to the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of 
 strength and agility beyond his years, and constantly 
 rode the most spirited and vicious horses to water, with 
 an intrepidity which surprized every one. While he 
 was in this station, he rode several races for Sir 
 Thomas, and this with such expertness and success, 
 that the neighbouring gentlemen frequently solicited 
 the knight to permit little Joey (for so he was called) 
 to ride their matches. The best gamesters, before 
 they laid their money, always inquired which horse 
 little Joey was to ride ; and the bets were rather
 
 6 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 projxsrtioncd by the rider than by the horse himself; 
 especially after he had scornfully refused a considerable 
 bribe to play booty on such an occasion. This ex- 
 tremely raised his character, and so pleased the Lady 
 Booby, that she desired to have him (being now seven- 
 teen years of age) for her own footboy. 
 
 Joey was now preferred from the stable to attend on 
 his lady, to go on her errands, stand behind her chair, 
 wait at her tea-table, and carry her prayer-book to 
 church ; at which place his voice gave him an oppor- 
 tunity of distinguishing himself by singing psalms : he 
 behaved likewise in every other respect so well at 
 Divine service, that it recommended him to the notice 
 of Mr Abraham Adams, the curate, who took an 
 opportunity one day, as he was drinking a cup of ale 
 in Sir Thomas's kitchen, to ask the young man several 
 questions concerning religion ; with his answers to 
 which he was wonderfully pleased. 
 
 Chapter it). 
 
 Of Mr Abraham Adams the curate, Mrs Slipslop the 
 chambermaid, and others. 
 
 MR ABRAHAM ADAMS was an excellent scholar. 
 He was a perfect master of the Greek and 
 Latin languages ; to which he added a great 
 share of knowledge in the Oriental tongues ; and could 
 read and translate French, Italian, and Spanish. He 
 had applied many years to the most severe study, and 
 had treasured up a fund of learning rarely to be met 
 with in a university. He was, besides, a man of good 
 sense, good parts, and good nature ; but was at the 
 same time as entirely ignorant of the ways of this world 
 as an infant just entered into it could possibly be. As
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 7 
 
 he had never any intention to deceive, so he never sus- 
 pected such a design in others. He was generous, 
 friendly, and brave to an excess ; but simplicity was 
 his characteristick : he did, no more than Mr Colley 
 Gibber, apprehend any such passions as malice and envy 
 to exist in mankind ; which was indeed less remarkable 
 in a country parson than in a gentleman who hath passed 
 his life behind the scenes, a place which hath been 
 seldom thought the school of innocence, and where a 
 very little observation would have convinced the great 
 apologist that those passions have a real existence in 
 the human mind. 
 
 His virtue, and his other qualifications, as they 
 rendered him equal to his office, so they made him an 
 agreeable and valuable companion, and had so much 
 endeared and well recommended him to a bishop, that 
 at the age of fifty he was provided with a handsome 
 income of twenty-three pounds a year ; which, how- 
 ever, he could not make any great figure with, because 
 he lived in a dear country, and was a little encumbered 
 with a wife and six children. 
 
 It was this gentleman, who having, as I have said, 
 observed the singular devotion of young Andrews, had 
 found means to question him concerning several par- 
 ticulars ; as, how many books there were in the New 
 Testament ? which were they ? how many chapters 
 they contained ? and such like : to all which, Mr 
 Adams privately said, he answered much better than 
 Sir Thomas, or two other neighbouring justices of the 
 peace could probably have done. 
 
 Mr Adams was wonderfully solicitous to know at 
 what time, and by what opportunity, the youth became 
 acquainted with these matters : Joey told him that he 
 had very early learnt to read and write by the goodness 
 of his father, who, though he had not interest enough 
 to get him into a charity school, because a cousin of
 
 8 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his father's landlord did not vote on the right side for 
 a churchwarden in a borough town, yet had been him- 
 self at the expense of sixpence a week for his learning. 
 He told him likewise, that ever since he was in Sir 
 Thomas's family he had employed all his hours of 
 leisure in reading good books ; that he had read the 
 Bible, the Whole Duty of Man, and Thomas a 
 Kempis ; and that as often as he could, without being 
 perceived, he had studied a great good book which lay 
 open in the hall window, where he had read, " as how 
 the devil carried away half a church in sermon-time, 
 without hurting one of the congregation ; and as how 
 a field of corn ran away down a hill with all the trees 
 upon it, and covered another man's meadow." This 
 sufficiently assured Mr Adams that the good book 
 meant could be no other than Baker's Chronicle. 
 
 The curate, surprized to find such instances of in- 
 dustry and application in a young man who had never 
 met with the least encouragement, asked him, If he did 
 not extremely regret the want of a liberal education, 
 and the not having been born of parents who might 
 have indulged his talents and desire of knowledge ? 
 To which he answered, " He hoped he had profited 
 somewhat better from the books he had read than to 
 lament his condition in this world. That, for his 
 part, he was perfectly content with the state to which 
 h? was called ; that he should endeavour to improve 
 his talent, which was all required of him ; but not 
 repine at his own lot, nor envy those of his betters." 
 " Well said, my lad," replied the curate ; " and I 
 wish some who have read many more good books, 
 nay, and some who have written good books themselves, 
 had profited so much by them." 
 
 Adams had no nearer access to Sir Thomas or my 
 lady than through the waiting-gentlewoman ; for Sir 
 Thomas was too apt to estimate men merely by their
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 9 
 
 dress or fortune ; and my lady was a woman of gaiety, 
 who had been blest with a town education, and never 
 spoke of any of her country neighbours by any other 
 appellation than that of the brutes. They both regarded 
 the curate as a kind of domestic only, belonging to the 
 parson of the parish, who was at this time at variance 
 with the knight ; for the parson had for many years 
 lived in a constant state of civil war, or, which is 
 perhaps as bad, of civil law, with Sir Thomas himself 
 and the tenants of his manor. The foundation of this 
 quarrel was a modus, by setting which aside an advantage 
 of several shillings per annum would have accrued to the 
 rector ; but he had not yet been able to accomplish his 
 purpose, and had reaped hitherto nothing better from 
 the suits than the pleasure (which he used indeed fre- 
 quently to say was no small one) of reflecting that he 
 had utterly undone many of the poor tenants, though 
 he had at the same time greatly impoverished himself. 
 
 Mrs Slipslop, the waiting-gentlewoman, being her- 
 self the daughter of a curate, preserved some respect 
 for Adams : she professed great regard for his learning, 
 and would frequently dispute with him on points of 
 theology ; but always insisted on a deference to be 
 paid to her understanding, as she had been frequently 
 at London, and knew more of the world than a country 
 parson could pretend to. 
 
 She had in these disputes a particular advantage over 
 Adams : for she was a mighty affecter of hard words, 
 which she used in such a manner that the parson, who 
 durst not offend her by calling her words in question, 
 was frequently at some los. to guess her meaning, and 
 would have been much less puzzled by an Arabian 
 manuscript. 
 
 Adams therefore took an opportunity one day, after 
 a pretty long discourse with her on the essence (or, as 
 she pleased to term it, the incence) of matter, to mention
 
 10 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the case of young Andrews ; desiring her to recommend 
 him to her lady as a youth very susceptible of learning, 
 and one whose instruction in Latin he would himself 
 undertake ; by which means he might be qualified for 
 a higher station than that of a footman ; and added, she 
 knew it was in his master's power easily to provide for 
 him in a better manner. He therefore desired that the 
 boy might be left behind under his care. 
 
 " La ! Mr Adams," said Mrs Slipslop, " do you 
 think my lady will suffer any preambles about any such 
 matter ? She is going to London very concisely, and 
 I am confidous would not leave Joey behind her on 
 any account ; for he is one of the genteelest young 
 fellows you may see in a summer's day ; and I am 
 confidous she would as soon think of parting with a 
 pair of her grey mares, for she values herself as much 
 on one as the other." Adams would have interrupted, 
 but she proceeded : " And why is Latin more neces- 
 sitous for a footman than a gentleman ? It is very 
 proper that you clergymen must learn it, because you 
 can t preach without it : but I have heard gentlemen 
 say in London, that it is fit for nobody else. I am 
 confidous my lady would be angry with me for men- 
 tioning it; and I shall draw myself into no such delemy." 
 At which words her lady's bell rung, and Mr Adams 
 was forced to retire ; nor could he gain a second 
 opportunity with her before their London journey, 
 which happened a few days afterwards. However, 
 Andrews behaved very thankfully and gratefully to 
 him for his intended kindness, which he told him he 
 never would forget, and at the same time received from 
 the good man many admonitions concerning the regu- 
 lation of his future conduct, and his perseverance in 
 innocence and industry.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. II 
 
 UD&aptcr tb. 
 
 What happened after their journey to London. 
 
 NO sooner was young Andrews arrived at London 
 than he began to scrape an acquaintance with 
 his party-coloured brethren, who endeavoured 
 to make him despise his former course of life. His 
 hair was cut after the newest fashion, and became his 
 chief care ; he went abroad with it all the morning in 
 papers, and drest it out in the afternoon. They could 
 not, however, teach him to game, swear, drink, nor any 
 other genteel vice the town abounded with. He applied 
 most of his leisure hours to music, in which he greatly 
 improved himself; and became so perfect a connoisseur 
 in that art, that he led the opinion of all the other foot- 
 men at an opera, and they never condemned or applauded 
 a single song contrary to his approbation or dislike. He 
 was a little too forward in riots at the play-houses and 
 assemblies ; and when he attended his lady at church 
 (which was but seldom) he behaved with less seeming 
 devotion than formerly : however, if he was outwardly a 
 pretty fellow, his morals remained entirely uncorrupted, 
 though he was at the same time smarter and genteeler 
 than any of the beaus in town, either in or out of livery. 
 His lady, who had often said of him that Joey was 
 the handsomest and genteelest footman in the kingdom, 
 but that it was pity he wanted spirit, began now to find 
 that fault no longer ; on the contrary, she was frequently 
 heard to cry out, "Ay, there is some life in this fellow." 
 She plainly saw the effects which the town air hath on 
 the soberest constitutions. She would now walk out 
 with him into Hyde Park in a morning, and when 
 tired, which happened almost every minute, would lean 
 on his arm, and converse with him in great familiarity. 
 Whenever she stept out of her coach, she would take
 
 12 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 him by the hand, and sometimes, for fear of stumbling, 
 press it very hard ; she admitted him to deliver messages 
 at her bedside in a morning, leered at him at table, and 
 indulged him in all those innocent freedoms which 
 women of figure may permit without the least sully of 
 their virtue. 
 
 But though their virtue remains unsullied, yet now 
 and then some small arrows will glance on the shadow 
 of it, their reputation ; and so it fell out to Lady 
 Booby, who happened to be walking arm-in-arm with 
 Joey one morning in Hyde Park, when Lady Tittle 
 and Lady Tattle came accidentally by in their coach. 
 " Bless me," says Lady Tittle, " can I believe my 
 eyes ? Is that Lady Booby ? " " Surely," says 
 Tattle. " But what makes you surprized ? " " Why, 
 is not that her footman ? " replied Tittle. At which 
 Tattle laughed, and cried, " An old business, I assure 
 you : is it possible you should not have heard it ? The 
 whole town hath known it this half-year." The con- 
 sequence of this interview was a whisper through a 
 hundred visits, which were separately performed by 
 the two ladies * the same afternoon, and might have 
 had a mischievous effect, had it not been stopt by two 
 fresh reputations which were published the day after- 
 wards, and engrossed the whole talk of the town. 
 
 But, whatever opinion or suspicion the scandalous 
 inclination of defamers might entertain of Lady Booby's 
 innocent freedoms, it is certain they made no impression 
 on young Andrews, who never offered to encroach 
 beyond the liberties which his lady allowed him, a 
 behaviour which she imputed to the violent respect he 
 preserved for her, and which served only to heighten a 
 
 " It may seem an absurdity that Tattle should visit, as she 
 actually did. to spread a known scandal : but the reader may 
 reconcile this by supposing, with me, that, notwithstanding 
 what she says, this was her first acquaintance with it.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 13 
 
 something she began to conceive, and which the next 
 chapter will open a little farther. 
 
 (uptf r to. 
 
 The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the affectionate 
 and mournful behaviour of his widow, and the 
 great purity of Joseph -Andrews. 
 
 AT this time an accident happened which put a 
 stop to those agreeable walks, which probably 
 would have soon puffed up the cheeks of Fame, 
 and caused her to blow her brazen trumpet through the 
 town ; and this was no other than the death of Sir 
 Thomas Booby, who, departing this life, left his dis- 
 consolate lady confined to her house, as closely as if 
 she herself had been attacked by some violent disease. 
 During the first six days the poor lady admitted none 
 but Mrs Slipslop, and three female friends, who made 
 a party at cards : but on the seventh she ordered Joey, 
 whom, for a good reason, we' shall hereafter call JOSEPH, 
 to bring up her tea-kettle. The lady being in bed, 
 called Joseph to her, bade him sit down, and, having 
 accidentally laid her hand on his, she asked him if he 
 had ever been in love. Joseph answered, with some 
 confusion, it was time enough for one so young as him- 
 self to think on such things. " As young as you are," 
 replied the lady, " I am convinced you are no stranger 
 to that passion. Come, Joey," says she, " tell me 
 truly, who is the happy girl whose eyes have made a 
 conquest of you ? " Joseph returned, that all the 
 women he had ever seen were equally indifferent to 
 him. " Oh then," said the lady, " you are a general 
 lover. Indeed, you handsome fellows, like handsome 
 women, are very long and difficult in fixing ; but
 
 14 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 yet you shall never persuade me that your heart is 
 so insusceptible of affection ; I rather impute what 
 you say to your secrecy, a very commendable quality, 
 and what I am far from being angry with you for. 
 Nothing can be more unworthy in a young man, than 
 to betray any intimacies with the ladies." " Ladies ! 
 madam," said Joseph, " I am sure I never had the 
 impudence to think of any that deserve that name." 
 " Don't pretend to too much modesty," said she, 
 " for that sometimes may be impertinent : but pray 
 answer me this question. Suppose a lady should 
 happen to like you ; suppose she should prefer you 
 to all your sex, and admit you to the same familiarities 
 as you might have hoped for if you had been born her 
 equal, are you certain that no vanity could tempt you 
 to discover her ? Answer me honestly, Joseph ; have 
 you so much more sense and so much more virtue than 
 you handsome young fellows generally have, who make 
 no scruple of sacrificing our dear reputation to your 
 pride, without considering the great obligation we lay 
 on you by our condescension and confidence ? Can you 
 keep a secret, my Joey ? " " Madam," says he, " I 
 hope your ladyship can't tax me with ever betraying 
 the secrets of the family ; and I hope, if you was to 
 turn me away, I might have that character of you." 
 " I don't intend to turn you away, Joey," said she, and 
 sighed ; " I am afraid it is not in my power." She 
 then raised herself a little in her bed, and discovered 
 one of the whitest necks that ever was seen ; at which 
 Joseph blushed. " La ! " says she, in an affected 
 surprize, " what am I doing ? I have trusted myself 
 with a man alone, naked in bed ; suppose you should 
 have any wicked intentions upon my honour, how 
 should I defend myself?" Joseph protested that he 
 never had the least evil design against her. " No," 
 says she, " perhaps you may not call your designs
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 15 
 
 wicked; and perhaps they are not so." He swore 
 they were not. " You misunderstand me," says she ; 
 " I mean if they were against my honour, they may not 
 be wicked ; but the world calls them so. But then, 
 say you, the world will never know anything of the 
 matter ; yet would not that be trusting to your secrecy ? 
 Must not my reputation be then in your power ? 
 Would you not then be my master ? " Joseph begged 
 her ladyship to be comforted ; for that he would 
 never imagine the least wicked thing against her, and 
 that he had rather die a thousand deaths than give 
 her any reason to suspect him. " Yes," said she, " I 
 must have reason to suspect you. Are you not a man ? 
 and, without vanity, I may pretend to some charms. 
 But perhaps you may fear I should prosecute you ; 
 indeed I hope you do ; and yet Heaven knows I 
 should never have the confidence to appear before a 
 court of justice ; and you know, Joey, I am of a for- 
 giving temper. Tell me, Joey, don't you think I 
 should forgive you ? " " Indeed, madam," says Joseph, 
 " I will never do anything to disoblige your ladyship." 
 " How," says she, " do you think it would not dis- 
 oblige me then ? Do you think I would willingly 
 suffer you ? " " I don't understand you, madam," says 
 Joseph. " Don't you ? " said she, " then you are 
 either a fool, or pretend to be so ; I find I was 
 mistaken in you. So get you downstairs, and never 
 let me see your face again ; your pretended innocence 
 cannot impose on me." "Madam," said Joseph, "I 
 would not have your ladyship think any evil of me. 
 I have always endeavoured to be a dutiful servant both 
 to you and my master." " O thou villain ! " answered 
 my lady ; " why didst thou mention the name of that 
 dear man, unless to torment me, to bring his precious 
 memory to my mind?" (and then she burst into a fit 
 of tears. ) " Get thee from my sight ! I shall never
 
 16 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 endure thee more." At which words she turned away 
 from him ; and Joseph retreated from the room in a 
 most disconsolate condition, and writ that letter which 
 the reader will find in the next chapter. 
 
 C&aptc r ni. 
 
 How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to h'u sister Pamela. 
 
 "To MRS PAMELA ANDREWS, LIVING WITH 
 SQUIRE BOOBY. 
 
 DEAR SISTER, Since I received your letter of 
 your good lady's death, we have had a mis- 
 fortune of the same kind in our family. My 
 worthy master Sir Thomas died about four days 
 ago ; and, what is worse, my poor lady is certainly 
 gone distracted. None of the servants expected her 
 to take it so to heart, because they quarrelled almost 
 every day of their lives : but no more of that, because 
 you know, Pamela, I never loved to tell the secrets 
 of my master's family ; but to be sure you must have 
 known they never loved one another ; and I have heard 
 her ladyship wish his honour dead above a thousand 
 times; but nobody knows what it is to lose a friend 
 till they have lost him. 
 
 " Don't tell anybody what I write, because I should 
 not care to have folks say I discover what passes in our 
 family ; but if it had not been so great a lady, I should 
 have thought she had had a mind to me. Dear Pamela, 
 don't tell anybody ; but she ordered me to sit down by 
 her bedside, when she was in naked bed ; and she held 
 my hand, and talked exactly as a lady does to her sweet- 
 heart in a stage-play, which I have seen in Covent
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 17 
 
 Garden, while she wanted him to be no better than 
 he should be. 
 
 " If madam be mad, I shall not care for staying 
 long in the family ; so I heartily wish you could get 
 me a place, either at the squire's, or some other neigh- 
 bouring gentleman's, unless it be true that you are going 
 to be married to parson Williams, as folks talk, and then I 
 should be very willing to be his clerk ; for which you know 
 I am qualified, being able to read and to set a psalm. 
 
 " I fancy I shall be discharged very soon ; and the 
 moment I am, unless I hear from you, I shall return 
 to my old master's country-seat, if it be only to see 
 parson Adams, who is the best man in the world. 
 London is a bad place, and there is so little good 
 fellowship, that the next-door neighbours don't know 
 one another. Pray give my service to all friends that 
 inquire for me. So I rest 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 " JOSEPH ANDREWS." 
 
 As soon as Joseph had sealed and directed this letter 
 he walked downstairs, where he met Mrs Slipslop, 
 with whom we shall take this opportunity to bring the 
 reader a little better acquainted. She was a maiden 
 gentlewoman of about forty-five years of age, who, 
 having made a small slip in her youth, had continued 
 a good maid ever since. She was not at this time 
 remarkably handsome ; being very short, and rather too 
 corpulent in body, and somewhat red, with the addition 
 of pimples in the face. Her nose was likewise rather 
 too large, and her eyes too little ; nor did she resemble 
 a cow so much in her breath as in two brown globes 
 which she carried before her ; one of her legs was also a 
 little shorter than the other, which occasioned her to 
 limp as she walked. This fair creature had long cast the 
 eyes of affection on Joseph, in which she had not met
 
 1 8 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 with quite so good success as she probably wished, though, 
 besides the allurements of her native charms, she had given 
 him tea, sweetmeats, wine, and many other delicacies, 
 of which, by keeping the keys, she had the absolute 
 command. Joseph, however, had not returned the least 
 gratitude to all these favours, not even so much as a kiss ; 
 though I would not insinuate she was so easily to be 
 satisfied ; for surely then he would have been highly 
 blameable. The truth is, she was arrived at an age when 
 she thought she might indulge herself in any liberties with 
 a man, without the danger of bringing a third person 
 into the world to betray them. She imagined that by so 
 long a self-denial she had not only made amends for the 
 small slip of her youth above hinted at, but had likewise 
 laid up a quantity of merit to excuse any future failings. 
 In a word, she resolved to give a loose to her amorous 
 inclinations, and to pay off the debt of pleasure which 
 she found she owed herself, as fast as possible. 
 
 With these charms of person, and in this disposition 
 of mind, she encountered poor Joseph at the bottom of 
 the stairs, and asked him if he would drink a glass of 
 something good this morning. Joseph, whose spirits 
 were not a little cast down, very readily and thankfully 
 accepted the offer ; and together they went into a closet, 
 where, having delivered him a full glass of ratafia, and 
 desired him to sit down, Mrs Slipslop thus began : 
 
 " Sure nothing can be a more simple contract in a 
 woman than to place her affections on a boy. If I 
 had ever thought it would have been my fate, I should 
 have wished to die a thousand deaths rather than live 
 to see that day. If we like a man, the lightest hint 
 sophisticates. Whereas a boy proposes upon us to 
 break through all the regulations of modesty, before we 
 can make any oppression upon him." Joseph, who 
 did not understand a word she said, answered, " Yes, 
 madam." " Yes, madam ! " replied Mrs Slipslop with
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 1 9 
 
 some warmth, " Do you intend to result my passion ? 
 Is it not enough, ungrateful as you are, to make no 
 return to all the favours I have done you ; but you 
 must treat me with ironing ? Barbarous monster ! how 
 have I deserved that my passion should be resulted and 
 treated with ironing?" "Madam," answered Joseph, 
 " I don't understand your hard words ; but I am certain 
 you have no occasion to call me ungrateful, for, so far 
 from intending you any wrong, I have always loved you 
 as well as if you had been my own mother." " How, 
 sirrah ! " says Mrs Slipslop in a rage ; " your own 
 mother ? Do you assinuate that I am old enough to be 
 your mother ? I don't know what a stripling may think, 
 but I believe a man would refer me to any green-sickness 
 silly girl whatsomdever : but I ought to despise you rather 
 than be angry with you, for referring the conversation of 
 girls to that of a woman of sense." " Madam," says 
 Joseph, " I am sure I have always valued the honour 
 you did me by your conversation, for I know you are 
 a woman of learning." " Yes, but, Joseph," said she, 
 a little softened by the compliment to her learning, " if 
 you had a value for me, you certainly would have found 
 some method of showing it me ; for I am convicted 
 you must see the value I have for you. Yes, Joseph, 
 my eyes, whether I would or no, must have declared a 
 passion I cannot conquer. Oh ! Joseph ! " 
 
 As when a hungry tigress, who long has traversed the 
 woods in fruitless search, sees within the reach of her 
 claws a lamb, she prepares to leap on her prey ; or as a 
 voracious pike, of immense size, surveys through the 
 liquid element a roach or gudgeon, which cannot escape 
 her jaws, opens them wide to swallow the little fish ; 
 so did Mrs Slipslop prepare to lay her violent amorous 
 hands on the poor Joseph, when luckily her mistress's 
 bell rung, and delivered the intended martyr from her 
 clutches. She was obliged to leave him abruptly, and
 
 20 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to defer the execution of her purpose till some other time. 
 We shall therefore return to the Lady Booby, and give 
 our reader some account of her behaviour, after she was 
 left by Joseph in a temper of mind not greatly different 
 from that of the inflamed Slipslop. 
 
 Cbnptrr bti. 
 
 Sayings of wise men. A dialogue between the lady and 
 her maid ; and a panegyric, or rather satire, on the 
 passion of love, in the sublime style. 
 
 IT is the observation of some antient sage, whose 
 name I have forgot, that passions operate differ- 
 ently on the human mind, as diseases on the body, 
 in proportion to the strength or weakness, soundness or 
 rottenness, of the one and the other. 
 
 We hope, therefore, a judicious reader will give him- 
 self some pains to observe, what we have so greatly 
 laboured to describe, the different operations of this 
 passion of love in the gentle and cultivated mind of the 
 Lady Booby, from those which it effected in the less 
 polished and coarser disposition of Mrs Slipslop. 
 
 Another philosopher, whose name also at present 
 escapes my memory, hath somewhere said, that resolu- 
 tions taken in the absence of the beloved object are 
 very apt to vanish in its presence ; on both which wise 
 sayings the following chapter may serve as a comment. 
 
 No sooner had Joseph left the room in the manner 
 we have before related than the lady, enraged at her 
 disappointment, began to reflect with severity on her 
 conduct. Her love was now changed to disdain, which 
 pride assisted to torment her. She despised herself for 
 the meanness of her passion, and Joseph for its ill suc- 
 cess. However, she had now got the better of it in
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 21 
 
 her own opinion, and determined immediately to dismiss 
 the object. After much tossing and turning in her bed, 
 and many soliloquies, which if we had no better matter 
 for our reader we would give him, she at last rung the 
 bell as above mentioned, and was presently attended by 
 Mrs Slipslop, who was not much better pleased with 
 Joseph than the lady herself. 
 
 " Slipslop," said Lady Booby, " when did you see 
 Joseph ? " The poor woman was so surprized at the 
 unexpected sound of his name at so critical a time, that 
 she had the greatest difficulty to conceal the confusion 
 she was under from her mistress ; whom she answered, 
 nevertheless, with pretty good confidence, though not 
 entirely void of fear of suspicion, that she had not seen 
 him that morning. " I am afraid," said Lady Booby, 
 " he is a wild young fellow. " That he is," said Slip- 
 slop, "and a wicked one too. To my knowledge he 
 games, drinks, swears, and fights eternally ; besides, he 
 is horribly indicted to wenching." " Ay ! " said the 
 lady, " I never heard that of him." " O madam ! " 
 answered the other, "he is so lewd a rascal, that if 
 your ladyship keeps him much longer, you will not 
 have one virgin in your house except myself. And 
 yet I can't conceive what the wenches see in him, to 
 be so foolishly fond as they are ; in my eyes, he is as 
 ugly a scarecrow as I ever upheld." " Nay," said the 
 lady, " the boy is well enough." " La ! ma'am," 
 cries Slipslop, " I think him the ragmaticallest fellow 
 in the family." " Sure, Slipslop," says she, " you are 
 mistaken : but which of the women do you most 
 suspect ? " " Madam," says Slipslop, " there is Betty 
 the chambermaid, I am almost convicted, is with child 
 by him." " Ay ! " says the lady, " then pray pay 
 her her wages instantly. I will keep no such sluts in 
 my family. And as for Joseph, you may discard 
 him too." "Would your ladyship have him paid off
 
 22 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 immediately ? " cries Slipslop, " for perhaps, when Betty 
 is gone he may mend : and really the boy is a good 
 servant, and a strong healthy luscious boy enough." 
 " This morning," answered the lady with some vehem- 
 ence. " I wish, madam," cries Slipslop, " your lady- 
 ship would be so good as to try him a little longer." 
 " I will not have my commands disputed," said the 
 lady ; " sure you are not fond of him yourself? " " I, 
 madam ! " cries Slipslop, reddening, if not blushing, 
 " I should be sorry to think your ladyship had any 
 reason to respect me of fondness for a fellow ; and if 
 it be your pleasure, I shall fulfil it with as much re- 
 luctance as possible." "As little, I suppose you 
 mean," said the lady; "and so about it instantly." 
 Mrs Slipslop went out, and the lady had scarce taken 
 two turns before she fell to knocking and ringing with 
 great violence. Slipslop, who did not travel post haste, 
 soon returned, and was countermanded as to Joseph, but 
 ordered to send Betty about her business without delay. 
 She went out a second time with much greater alacrity 
 than before ; when the lady began immediately to accuse 
 herself of want of resolution, and to apprehend the re- 
 turn of her affection, with its pernicious consequences ; 
 she therefore applied herself again to the bell, and re- 
 summoned Mrs Slipslop into her presence ; who again 
 returned, and was told by her mistress that she had 
 considered better of the matter, and was absolutely 
 resolved to turn away Joseph ; which she ordered her 
 to do immediately. Slipslop, who knew the violence 
 of her lady's temper, and would not venture her place 
 for any Adonis or Hercules in the universe, left her a 
 third time ; which she had no sooner done, than the 
 little god Cupid, fearing he had not yet done the lady's 
 business, took a fresh arrow with the sharpest point out 
 of his quiver, and shot it directly into her heart ; in 
 other and plainer language, the lady's passion got the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 23 
 
 better of her reason. She called back Slipslop once 
 more, and told her she had resolved to see the boy, and 
 examine him herself; therefore bid her send him up. 
 This wavering in her mistress's temper probably put 
 something into the waiting-gentlewoman's head not 
 necessary to mention to the sagacious reader. 
 
 Lady Booby was going to call her back again, but 
 could not prevail with herself. The next consideration 
 therefore was, how she should behave to Joseph when 
 he came in. She resolved to preserve all the dignity 
 of the woman of fashion to her servant, and to indulge 
 herself in this last view of Joseph (for that she was 
 most certainly resolved it should be) at his own expense, 
 by first insulting and then discarding him. 
 
 O Love, what monstrous tricks dost thou play with 
 thy votaries of both sexes ! How dost thou deceive 
 them, and make them deceive themselves ! Their follies 
 are thy delight ! Their sighs make thee laugh, and 
 their pangs are thy merriment ! 
 
 Not the great Rich, who turns men into monkeys, 
 wheel-barrows, and whatever else best humours his 
 fancy, hath so strangely metamorphosed the human 
 shape ; nor the great Gibber, who confounds all number, 
 gender, and breaks through every rule of grammar at 
 his will, hath so distorted the English language as thou 
 dost metamorphose and distort the human senses. 
 
 Thou puttest out our eyes, stoppest up our ears, and 
 takest away the power of our nostrils ; so that we can 
 neither see the largest object, hear the loudest noise, 
 nor smell the most poignant perfume. Again, when 
 thou pleasest, thou canst make a molehill appear as a 
 mountain, a Jew's-harp sound like a trumpet, and a 
 daisy smell like a violet. Thou canst make cowardice 
 brave, avarice generous, pride humble, and cruelty ten- 
 der-hearted. In short, thou turnest the heart of man 
 inside out, as a juggler doth a petticoat, and bringest
 
 24 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 whatsoever pleaseth thee out from it. If there be 
 any one who doubts all this, let him read the next 
 chapter. 
 
 Chapter bit). 
 
 In which, after some very Jine -writing, the history goes 
 on, and relates the interview between the lady and 
 Joseph ; where the latter hath set an example which 
 we despair of seeing followed by his sex in this 
 vicious age. 
 
 NOW the rake Hesperus had called for his breeches, 
 and, having well rubbed his drowsy eyes, pre- 
 pared to dress himself for all night ; by whose 
 example his brother rakes on earth likewise leave those 
 beds in which they had slept away the day. Now 
 Thetis, the good housewife, began to put on the pot, 
 in order to regale the good man Phoebus after his daily 
 labours were over. In vulgar language, it was in the 
 evening when Joseph attended his lady's orders. 
 
 But as it becomes us to preserve the character of this 
 lady, who is the heroine of our tale ; and as we have 
 naturally a wonderful tenderness for that beautiful part 
 of the human species called the fair sex ; before we 
 discover too much of her frailty to our reader, it will 
 be proper to give him a lively idea of the vast tempta- 
 tion, which overcame all the efforts of a modest and 
 virtuous mind ; and then we humbly hope his good 
 nature will rather pity than condemn the imperfection 
 of human virtue. 
 
 Nay, the ladies themselves will, we hope, be induced, 
 by considering the uncommon variety of charms which 
 united in this young man's person, to bridle their rampant 
 passion for chastity, and be at least as mild as their violent 
 modesty and virtue will permit them, in censuring the

 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 25 
 
 conduct of a woman who, perhaps, was in her own 
 disposition as chaste as those pure and sanctified virgins 
 who, after a life innocently spent in the gaieties of the 
 town, begin about fifty to attend twice per diem at the 
 polite churches and chapels, to return thanks for the 
 grace which preserved them formerly amongst beaus 
 from temptations perhaps less powerful than what now 
 attacked the Lady Booby. 
 
 Mr Joseph Andrews was now in the one-and- 
 twentieth year of his age. He was of the highest 
 degree of middle stature ; his limbs were put together 
 with great elegance, and no less strength ; his legs and 
 thighs were formed in the exactest proportion; his 
 shoulders were broad and brawny, but yet his arm hung 
 so easily, that he had all the symptoms of strength with- 
 out the least clumsiness. His hair was of a nut-brown 
 colour, and was displayed in wanton ringlets down his 
 back ; his forehead was high, his eyes dark, and as full 
 of sweetness as of fire ; his nose a little inclined to the 
 Roman ; his teeth white and even ; his lips full, red, 
 and soft ; his beard was only rough on his chin and 
 upper lip ; but his cheeks, in which his blood glowed, 
 were overspread with a thick down ; his countenance 
 had a tenderness joined with a sensibility inexpressible. 
 Add to this the most perfect neatness in his dress, and 
 an air which, to those who have not seen many noble- 
 men, would give an idea of nobility. 
 
 Such was the person who now appeared before the 
 lady. She viewed him some time in silence, and twice 
 or thrice before she spake changed her mind as to the 
 manner in which she should begin. At length she said 
 to him, " Joseph, I am sorry to hear such complaints 
 against you : I am told you behave so rudely to the 
 maids, that they cannot do their business in quiet ; I 
 mean those who are not wicked enough to hearken to 
 your solicitations. As to others, they may, perhaps,
 
 26 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 not call you rude ; for there are wicked sluts who make 
 one ashamed of one's own sex, and are as ready to admit 
 any nauseous familiarity as fellows to offer it : nay, there 
 are such in my family, but they shall not stay in it ; that 
 impudent trollop who is with child by you is discharged 
 by this time." 
 
 As a person who is struck through the heart with a 
 thunderbolt looks extremely surprised, nay, and perhaps 
 
 is so too thus the poor Joseph received the false 
 
 accusation of his mistress ; he blushed and looked con- 
 founded, which she misinterpreted to be symptoms of 
 his guilt, and thus went on : 
 
 " Come hither, Joseph : another mistress might dis- 
 card you for these offences ; but I have a compassion 
 for your youth, and if I could be certain you would be 
 no more guilty Consider, child," laying her hand 
 carelessly upon his, " you are a handsome young fellow, 
 and might do better ; you might make your fortune." 
 " Madam," said Joseph, " I do assure your ladyship 
 I don't know whether any maid in the house is man 
 or woman." " Oh fie ! Joseph," answered the lady, 
 " don't commit another crime in denying the truth. I 
 could pardon the first ; but I hate a lyar." " Madam," 
 cries Joseph, " I hope your ladyship will not be 
 offended at my asserting my innocence ; for, by all 
 that is sacred, I have never offered more than kissing." 
 " Kissing ! " said the lady, with great discomposure 
 of countenance, and more redness in her cheeks than 
 anger in her eyes ; " do you call that no crime ? 
 Kissing, Joseph, is as a prologue to a play. Can I 
 believe a young fellow of your age and complexion 
 will be content with kissing ? No, Joseph, there is 
 no woman who grants that but will grant more ; and 
 I am deceived greatly in you if you would not put her 
 closely to it. What would you think, Joseph, if I 
 admitted you to kiss me ? " Joseph replied he would
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 27 
 
 sooner die than have any such thought. "And yet, 
 Joseph," returned she, "ladies have admitted their 
 footmen to such familiarities ; and footmen, I confess 
 to you, much less deserving them ; fellows without half 
 your charms for such might almost excuse the 
 crime. Tell me therefore, Joseph, if I should admit 
 you to such freedom, what would you think of me ? 
 tell me freely." " Madam," said Joseph, " I should 
 think your ladyship condescended a great deal below 
 yourself." " Pugh ! " said she ; " that I am to 
 answer to myself: but would not you insist on more ? 
 Would you be contented with a kiss ? Would not your 
 inclinations be all on fire rather by such a favour ? " 
 " Madam," said Joseph, " if they were, I hope I 
 should be able to controul them, without suffering them 
 to get the better of my virtue." You have heard, 
 reader, poets talk of the statue of Surprize ; you have 
 heard likewise, or else you have heard very little, how 
 Surprize made one of the sons of Croesus speak, though 
 he was dumb. You have seen the faces, in the 
 eighteen-penny gallery, when, through the trap-door, 
 to soft or no music, Mr. Bridgewater, Mr. William 
 Mills, or .some other of ghostly appearance, hath 
 ascended, with a face all pale with powder, and a 
 shirt all bloody with ribbons ; but from none of these, 
 nor from Phidias or Praxiteles, if they should return 
 to life no, not from the inimitable pencil of my 
 friend Hogarth, could you receive such an idea of 
 surprize as would have entered in at your eyes had they 
 beheld the Lady Booby when those last words issued 
 out from the lips of Joseph. " Your virtue ! " said 
 the lady, recovering after a silence of two minutes ; 
 " I shall never survive it. Your virtue ! intolerable 
 confidence ! Have you the assurance to pretend, that 
 when a lady demeans herself to throw aside the rules 
 of decency, in order to honour you with the highest
 
 28 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 favour in her power, your virtue should resist her in- 
 clination ? that, when she had conquered her own 
 virtue, she should find an obstruction in yours ? " 
 " Madam," said Joseph, " I can't see why her having 
 no virtue should be a reason against my having any ; 
 or why, because I am a man, or because I am poor, 
 my virtue must be subservient to her pleasures." " I 
 am out of patience," cries the lady : " did ever mortal 
 hear of a man's virtue ? Did ever the greatest or the 
 gravest men pretend to any of this kind ? Will magis- 
 trates who punish lewdness, or parsons who preach 
 against it, make any scruple of committing it ? And 
 can a boy, a stripling, have the confidence to talk of 
 his virtue ? " " Madam," says Joseph, " that boy is 
 the brother of Pamela, and would be ashamed that the 
 chastity of his family, which is preserved in her, should 
 be stained in him. If there are such men as your 
 ladyship mentions, I am sorry for it ; and I wish they 
 had an opportunity of reading over those letters which 
 my father hath sent me of my sister Pamela's ; nor do 
 I doubt but such an example would amend them." 
 " You impudent villain ! " cries the lady in a rage ; 
 "do you insult me with the follies of my relation, 
 who hath exposed himself all over the country upon 
 your sister's account ? a little vixen, whom I have 
 always wondered my late Lady Booby ever kept in her 
 house. Sirrah ! get out of my sight, and prepare to 
 set out this night ; for I will order you your wages 
 immediately, and you shall be stripped and turned 
 away." " Madam," says Joseph, " I am sorry I have 
 offended your ladyship, I am sure I never intended it." 
 " Yes, sirrah," cries she, " you have had the vanity to 
 misconstrue the little innocent freedom I took, in order 
 to try whether what I had heard was true. O' my 
 conscience, you have had the assurance to imagine I 
 was fond of you myself." Joseph answered, he had
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 29 
 
 only spoke out of tenderness for his virtue ; at which 
 words she flew into a violent passion, and refusing to 
 hear more, ordered him instantly to leave the room. 
 
 He was no sooner gone than she burst forth into the 
 following exclamation : " Whither doth this violent 
 passion hurry us ? What meannesses do we submit 
 to from its impulse ! Wisely we resist its first and 
 least approaches ; for it is then only we can assure 
 ourselves the victory. No woman could ever safely 
 say, so far only will I go. Have I not exposed 
 myself to the refusal of my footman ? I cannot bear 
 the reflection." Upon which .she applied herself to 
 the bell, and rung it with infinite more violence than 
 was necessary the faithful Slipslop attending near at 
 hand : to say the truth, she had conceived a suspicion 
 at her last interview with her mistress, and had waited 
 ever since in the antechamber, having carefully applied 
 her ears to the keyhole during the whole time that 
 the preceding conversation passed between Joseph and 
 the lady. 
 
 What passed bet-ween the lady and Mrs Slipslop ; in 
 which we prophesy there are some strokes which 
 every one will not truly comprehend at the Jlrst 
 reading. 
 
 SLIPSLOP," said the lady, "I find too much 
 reason to believe all thou hast told me of this 
 wicked Joseph ; I have determined to part with 
 him instantly ; so go you to the steward, and bid 
 him pay his wages." Slipslop, who had preserved 
 hitherto a distance to her lady rather out of necessity 
 than inclination and who thought the knowledge of 
 this secret had thrown down all distinction between
 
 30 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 thc-m, answered her mistress very pertly " She wished 
 she knew her own mind ; and that she was certain she 
 would call her back again before she was got half-way 
 downstairs." The lady replied, she had taken a resolu- 
 tion, and was resolved to keep it. " I am sorry for 
 it," cries Slipslop, "and, if I had known you would 
 have punished the poor lad so severely, you should never 
 have heard a particle of the matter. Here's a fuss indeed 
 about nothing ! " " Nothing ! " returned my lady ; "do 
 you think I will countenance lewdness in my house ? " 
 '* If you will turn away every footman," said Slipslop, 
 " that is a lover of the sport, you must soon open the 
 coach door yourself, or get a set of mophrodites to wait 
 upon you ; and I am sure I hated the sight of them even 
 singing in an opera." "Do as I bid you," says my lady, 
 "and don't shock my ears with your beastly language." 
 " Marry-come-up," cries Slipslop, " people's ears are 
 sometimes the nicest part about them." 
 
 The lady, who began to admire the new style in 
 which her waiting-gentlewoman delivered herself, and 
 by the conclusion of her speech suspected somewhat of 
 the truth, called her back, and desired to know what she 
 meant by the extraordinary degree of freedom in which 
 she thought proper to indulge her tongue. " Freedom ! " 
 says Slipslop ; " I don't know what you call freedom, 
 madam ; servants have tongues as well as their mis- 
 tresses." "Yes, and saucy ones too," answered the 
 lady ; " but I assure you I shall bear no such imper- 
 tinence." " Impertinence ! I don't know that I am 
 impertinent," says Slipslop. "Yes, indeed you are," 
 cries my lady, "and, unless you mend your manners, 
 this house is no place for you." " Manners ! " cries 
 Slipslop ; " I never was thought to want manners nor 
 modesty neither ; and for places, there are more places 
 than one ; and I know what I know." " What do 
 you know, mistress ? " answered the lady. " I am not
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 31 
 
 obliged to tell that to everybody," says Slipslop, " any 
 more than I am obliged to keep it a secret." " I desire 
 you would provide yourself," answered the lady. " With 
 all my heart," replied the waiting-gentlewoman ; and so 
 departed in a passion, and slapped the door after her. 
 
 The lady too plainly perceived that her waiting-gentle- 
 woman knew more than she would willingly have had 
 her acquainted with ; and this she imputed to Joseph's 
 having discovered to her what passed at the first inter- 
 view. This, therefore, blew up her rage against him, 
 and confirmed her in a resolution of parting with him. 
 
 But the dismissing Mrs Slipslop was a point not so 
 easily to be resolved upon. She had the utmost tender- 
 ness for her reputation, as she knew on that depended 
 many of the most valuable blessings of life ; particularly 
 cards, making curtsies in public places, and, above all, 
 the pleasure of demolishing the reputations of others, in 
 which innocent amusement she had an extraordinary 
 delight. She therefore determined to submit to any insult 
 from a servant, rather than run a risque of losing the title 
 to so many great privileges. 
 
 She therefore sent for her steward, Mr Peter Pounce, 
 and ordered him to pay Joseph his wages, to strip off 
 his livery, and to turn him out of the house that evening. 
 
 She then called Slipslop up, and, after refreshing her 
 spirits with a small cordial, which she kept in her closet, 
 she began in the following manner : 
 
 " Slipslop, why will you, who know my passionate 
 temper, attempt to provoke me by your answers ? I 
 am convinced you are an honest servant, and should be 
 very unwilling to part with you. I believe, likewise, you 
 have found me an indulgent mistress on many occasions, 
 and have as little reason on your side to desire a change. 
 I can't help being surprized, therefore, that you will take 
 the surest method to offend me I mean, repeating my 
 words, which you know I have always detested."
 
 32 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The prudent waiting-gentlewoman had duly weighed 
 the whole matter, and found, on mature deliberation, that 
 a good place in possession was better than one in expecta- 
 tion. As she found her mistress, therefore, inclined to 
 relent, she thought proper also to put on some small 
 condescension, which was as readily accepted ; and so 
 the affair was reconciled, all offences forgiven, and a 
 present of a gown and petticoat made her, as an instance 
 of her lady's future favour. 
 
 She offered once or twice to speak in favour of Joseph ; 
 but found her lady's heart so obdurate, that she prudently 
 dropt all such efforts. She considered there were more 
 footmen in the house, and some as stout fellows, though 
 not quite so handsome, as Joseph ; besides, the reader 
 hath already seen her tender advances had not met with 
 the encouragement she might have reasonably expected. 
 She thought she had thrown away a great deal of sack and 
 sweetmeats on an ungrateful rascal ; and, being a little 
 inclined to the opinion of that female sect, who hold one 
 lusty young fellow to be nearly as good as another lusty 
 young fellow, she at last gave up Joseph and his cause, 
 and, with a triumph over her passion highly commendable, 
 walked off with her present, and with great tranquillity 
 paid a visit to a stone-bottle, which is of sovereign use 
 to a philosophical temper. 
 
 She left not her mistress so easy. The poor lady 
 could not reflect without agony that her dear reputation 
 was in the power of her servants. All her comfort as to 
 Joseph was, that she hoped he did not understand her 
 meaning ; at least she could say for herself, she had not 
 plainly expressed anything to him ; and as to Mrs 
 Slipslop, she imagined she could bribe her to secrecy. 
 
 But what hurt her most was, that in reality she had 
 not so entirely conquered her passion ; the litde god lay 
 lurking in her heart, though anger and disdain so hood- 
 winked her, that she could not see him. She was a
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 33 
 
 thousand times on the very brink of revoking the sentence 
 she had passed against the poor youth. Love became 
 his advocate, and whispered many things in his favour. 
 Honour likewise endeavoured to vindicate his crime, and 
 Pity to mitigate his punishment. On the other side, 
 Pride and Revenge spoke as loudly against him. And 
 thus the poor lady was tortured with perplexity, opposite 
 passions distracting and tearing her mind different ways. 
 
 So have I seen, in the hall of Westminster, where 
 Serjeant Bramble hath been retained on the right side, 
 and Serjeant Puzzle on the left, the balance of opinion 
 (so equal were their fees) alternately incline to either 
 scale. Now Bramble throws in an argument, and 
 Puzzle's scale strikes the beam ; again Bramble shares 
 the like fate, overpowered by the weight of Puzzle. 
 Here Bramble hits, there Puzzle strikes ; here one has 
 you, there t'other has you ; till at last all becomes one 
 scene of confusion in the tortured minds of the hearers ; 
 equal wagers are laid on the success, and neither judge 
 nor jury can possibly make anything of the matter ; all 
 things are so enveloped by the careful Serjeants in doubt 
 and obscurity. 
 
 Or, as it happens in the conscience, where honour 
 and honesty pull one way, and a bribe and necessity 
 
 another. If it was our present business only to 
 
 make similes, we could produce many more to this 
 purpose ; but a simile (as well as a word) to the 
 wise. We shall therefore see a little after our hero, 
 for whom the reader is doubtless in some pain.
 
 34 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Chapter j:. 
 
 Joseph writes another letter : bis transactions with Mr 
 Peter P ounce ^ &c. t 'with his departure from Lady 
 Booby. 
 
 THE disconsolate Joseph would not have had an 
 understanding sufficient for the principal subject 
 of such a book as this, if he had any longer 
 misunderstood the drift of his mistress ; and indeed, 
 that he did not discern it sooner, the reader will be 
 pleased to impute to an unwillingness in him to discover 
 what he must condemn in her as a fault. Having 
 therefore quitted her presence, he retired into his own 
 garret, and entered himself into an ejaculation on the 
 numberless calamities which attended beauty, and the 
 misfortune it was to be handsomer than one's neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 He then sat down, and addressed himself to his 
 sister Pamela in the following words : 
 
 " DEAR SISTER PAMELA, Hoping you are well, 
 what news have I to tell you ! O Pamela ! my 
 mistress is fallen in love with me that is, what great 
 folks call falling in love she has a mind to ruin me ; 
 but I hope I shall have more resolution and more grace 
 than to part with my virtue to any lady upon earth. 
 
 " Mr Adams hath often told me, that chastity is as 
 great a virtue in a man as in a woman. He says he 
 never knew any more than his wife, and I shall en- 
 deavour to follow his example. Indeed, it is owing 
 entirely to his excellent sermons and advice, together 
 with your letters, that I have been able to resist a 
 temptation, which, he says, no man complies with, but 
 he repents in this world, or is damned for it in the 
 next; and why should I trust to repentance on my
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 35 
 
 deathbed, since I may die in my sleep ? What fine 
 things are good advice and good examples ! But I 
 arn glad she turned me out of the chamber as she did : 
 for I had once almost forgotten every word parson 
 Adams had ever said to me. 
 
 " I don't doubt, dear sister, but you will have grace 
 to preserve your virtue against all trials ; and I beg 
 you earnestly to pray I may be enabled to preserve 
 mine ; for truly it is very severely attacked by more 
 than one ; but I hope I shall copy your example, and 
 that of Joseph my namesake, and maintain my virtue 
 against all temptations." 
 
 Joseph had not finished his letter, when he was 
 summoned downstairs by Mr Peter Pounce, to receive 
 his wages ; for, besides that out of eight pounds a year 
 he allowed his father and mother four, he had been 
 obliged, in order to furnish himself with musical 
 instruments, to apply to the generosity of the aforesaid 
 Peter, who, on urgent occasions, used to advance the 
 servants their wages : not before they were due, but 
 before they were payable ; that is, perhaps, half a year 
 after they were due ; and this at the moderate premium 
 of fifty per cent, or a little more : by which charitable 
 methods, together with lending money to other people, 
 and even to his own master and mistress, the honest 
 man had, from nothing, in a few years amassed a small 
 sum of twenty thousand pounds or thereabouts. 
 
 Joseph having received his little remainder of wages, 
 and having stript off his livery, was forced to borrow a 
 frock and breeches of one of the servants (for he was 
 so beloved in the family, that they would all have lent 
 him anything) : and, being told by Peter that he must 
 not stay a moment longer in the house than was 
 necessary to pack up his linen, which he easily did in 
 a very narrow compass, he took a melancholy leave
 
 36 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of his fellow-servants, and set out at seven in the 
 evening. 
 
 He had proceeded the length of two or three srn-rts, 
 before he absolutely determined with himself whether 
 he should leave the town that night, or, procuring a 
 lodging, wait till the morning. At last, the moon 
 shining very bright helped him to come to a resolution 
 of beginning his journey immediately, to which likewise 
 he had some other inducements ; which the reader, 
 without being a conjurer, cannot possibly guess, till we 
 have given him those hints which it may be now 
 proper to open. 
 
 r jn. 
 
 Of several new matters not expected. 
 
 IT is an observation sometimes made, that to indicate 
 our idea of a simple fellow, we say, he is easily 
 to be seen through : nor do I believe it a more 
 improper denotation of a simple book. Instead of 
 applying this to any particular performance, we chuse 
 rather to remark the contrary in this history, where the 
 scene opens itself by small degrees ; and he is a saga- 
 cious reader who can see two chapters before him. 
 
 For this reason, we have not hitherto hinted a 
 matter which now seems necessary to be explained ; 
 since it may be wondered at, first, that Joseph made 
 such extraordinary haste out of town, which hath been 
 already shewn ; and secondly, which will be now 
 shewn, that, instead of proceeding to the habitation of 
 his father and mother, or to his beloved sister Pamela, 
 he chose rather to set out full speed to the Lady 
 Booby's country-seat, which he had left on his journey 
 to London. 
 
 Be it known, then, that in the same parish where
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 37 
 
 this seat stood there lived a young girl whom Joseph 
 (though the best of sons and brothers) longed more 
 impatiently to see than his parents or his sister. She 
 was a poor girl, who had formerly been bred up in Sir 
 John's family ; whence, a little before the journey to 
 London, she had been discarded by Mrs Slipslop, on 
 account of her extraordinary beauty : for I never could 
 find any other reason. 
 
 This young creature (who now lived with a farmer 
 in the parish) had been always beloved by Joseph, and 
 returned his affection. She was two years only 
 younger than our hero. They had been acquainted 
 from their infancy, and had conceived a very early 
 liking for each other ; which had grown to such a 
 degree of affection, that Mr Adams had with much 
 ado prevented them from marrying, and persuaded 
 them to wait till a few years' service and thrift had a 
 little improved their experience, and enabled them to 
 live comfortably together. 
 
 They followed this good man's advice, as indeed his 
 word was little less than a law in his parish ; for as he 
 had shown his parishioners, by an uniform behaviour 
 of thirty-five years' duration, that he had their good 
 entirely at heart, so they consulted him on every occa- 
 sion, and very seldom acted contrary to his opinion. 
 
 Nothing can be imagined more tender than was the 
 parting between these two lovers. A thousand sighs 
 heaved the bosom of Joseph, a thousand tears distilled 
 from the lovely eyes of Fanny (for that was her name). 
 Though her modesty would only suffer her to admit 
 his eager kisses, her violent love made her more than 
 passive in his embraces ; and she often pulled him to 
 her breast with a soft pressure, which though perhaps 
 it would not have squeezed an insect to death, caused 
 more emotion in the heart of Joseph than the closest 
 Cornish hug could have done.
 
 38 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The reader may perhaps wonder that so fond a pair 
 should, during a twelvemonth's absence, never converse 
 with one another : indeed, there was but one reason 
 which did or could have prevented them ; and this was, 
 that poor Fanny could neither write nor read : nor 
 could she be prevailed upon to transmit the delicacies 
 of her tender and chaste passion by the hands of an 
 amanuensis. 
 
 They contented themselves therefore with frequent 
 inquiries after each other's health, with a mutual con- 
 fidence in each other's fidelity, and the prospect of 
 their future happiness. 
 
 Having explained these matters to our reader, and, 
 as far as possible, satisfied all his doubts, we return to 
 honest Joseph, whom we left just set out on his travels 
 by the light of the moon. 
 
 Those who have read any romance or poetry, antient 
 or modern, must have been informed that love hath 
 wings : by which they are not to understand, as some 
 young ladies by mistake have done, that a lover can fly ; 
 the writers, by this ingenious allegory, intending to 
 insinuate no more than that lovers do not march like 
 horse-guards ; in short, that they put the best leg fore- 
 most ; which our lusty youth, who could walk with 
 any man, did so heartily on this occasion, that within 
 four hours he reached a famous house of hospitality 
 well known to the western traveller. It presents you 
 a lion on the sign-post : and the master, who was 
 christened Timotheus, is commonly called plain Tim. 
 Some have conceived that he hath particularly chosen 
 the lion for his sign, as he doth in countenance greatly 
 resemble that magnanimous beast, though his disposition 
 savours more of the sweetness of the lamb. He is a 
 person well received among all sorts of men, being 
 qualified to render himself agreeable to any ; as he is 
 well versed in history and politics, hath a smattering in
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 39 
 
 law and divinity, cracks a good jest, and plays wonder- 
 fully well on the French horn. 
 
 A violent storm of hail forced Joseph to take shelter 
 in this inn, where he remembered Sir Thomas had 
 dined in his way to town. Joseph had no sooner seated 
 himself by the kitchen fire than Timotheus, observing 
 his livery, began to condole the loss of his late master ; 
 who was, he said, his very particular and intimate 
 acquaintance, with whom he had cracked many a merry 
 bottle, ay many a dozen, in his time. He then re- 
 marked, that all these things were over now, all passed, 
 and just as if they had never been ; and concluded with 
 an excellent observation on the certainty of death, which 
 his wife said was indeed very true. A fellow now 
 arrived at the same inn with two horses, one of which 
 he was leading farther down into the country to meet 
 his master ; these he put into the stable, and came and 
 took his place by Joseph's side, who immediately knew 
 him to be the servant of a neighbouring gentleman, 
 who used to visit at their house. 
 
 This fellow was likewise forced in by the storm ; 
 for he had orders to go twenty miles farther that 
 evening, and luckily on the same road which Joseph 
 himself intended to take. He, therefore, embraced 
 this opportunity of complimenting his friend with his 
 master's horse (notwithstanding he had received express 
 commands to the contrary), which was readily accepted ; 
 and so, after they had drank a loving pot, and the 
 storm was over, they set out together.
 
 40 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Cbnptrr m. 
 
 Containing many surprizing adventures which Joseph 
 Andrews met with on the road, scarce credible to 
 those who have never travelled in a stage-coach. 
 
 NOTHING remarkable happened on the road till 
 their arrival at the inn to which the horses were 
 ordered ; whither they came about two in the 
 morning. The moon then shone very bright ; and 
 Joseph, making his friend a present of a pint of wine, 
 and thanking him for the favour of his horse, notwith- 
 standing all entreaties to the contrary, proceeded on his 
 journey on foot. 
 
 He had not gone above two miles, charmed with 
 the hope of shortly seeing his beloved Fanny, when he 
 was met by two fellows in a narrow lane, and ordered 
 to stand and deliver. He readily gave them all the 
 money he had, which was somewhat less than two 
 pounds ; and told them he hoped they would be so 
 generous as to return him a few shillings, to defray his 
 charges on his way home. 
 
 One of the ruffians answered with an oath, " Yes, 
 we'll give you something presently : but first strip and 
 be d n'd to you." "Strip," cried the other, "or 
 I'll blow your brains to the devil." Joseph, re- 
 membering that he had borrowed his coat and breeches 
 of a friend, and that he should be ashamed of making 
 any excuse for not returning them, replied, he hoped 
 they would not insist on his clothes, which were not 
 worth much, but consider the coldness of the night. 
 " You are cold, are you, you rascal ? " said one of the 
 robbers : " I'll warm you with a vengeance ; " and, 
 damning his eyes, snapped a pistol at his head ; which 
 he had no sooner done than the other levelled a blow 
 at him with his stick, which Joseph, who was expert
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 41 
 
 at cudgel-playing, caught with his, and returned the 
 favour so successfully on his adversary, that he laid him 
 sprawling at his feet, and at the same instant received a 
 blow from behind, with the butt end of a pistol, from 
 the other villain, which felled him to the ground, and 
 totally deprived him of his senses. 
 
 The thief who had been knocked down had now 
 recovered himself; and both together fell to belabour- 
 ing poor Joseph with their sticks, till they were con- 
 vinced they had put an end to his miserable being : 
 they then stripped him entirely naked, threw him into 
 a ditch, and departed with their booty. 
 
 The poor wretch, who lay motionless a long time, 
 just began to recover his senses as a stage-coach came 
 by. The postillion, hearing a man's groans, stopt his 
 horses, and told the coachman he was certain there 
 was a dead man lying in the ditch, for he heard him 
 groan. " Go on, sirrah," says the coachman ; " we 
 are confounded late, and have no time to look after 
 dead men." A lady, who heard what the postillion 
 said, and likewise heard the groan, called eagerly to 
 the coachman to stop and see what was the matter. 
 Upon which he bid the postillion alight, and look into 
 the ditch. He did so, and returned, " that there was 
 a man sitting upright, as naked as ever he was born." 
 " O J sus ! " cried the lady ; " a naked man ! 
 Dear coachman, drive on and leave him." Upon this 
 the gentlemen got out of the coach ; and Joseph begged 
 them to have mercy upon him : for that he had been 
 robbed and almost beaten to death. " Robbed ! " cries 
 an old gentleman : " let us make all the haste imaginable, 
 or we shall be robbed too." A young man who be- 
 longed to the law answered, " He wished they had 
 passed by without taking any notice ; but that now 
 they might be proved to have been last in his company ; 
 if he should die they might be called to some account
 
 42 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 for his murder. He therefore thought it advisable to 
 save the poor creature's life, for their own sakes, if 
 possible ; at least, if he died, to prevent the jury's find- 
 ing that they fled for it. He was therefore of opinion 
 to take the man into the coach, and carry him to the 
 next inn." The lady insisted, " That he should not 
 come into the coach. That if they lifted him in, she 
 would herself alight : for she had rather stay in that 
 place to all eternity than ride with a naked man." 
 The coachman objected, " That he could not suffer 
 him to be taken in unless somebody would pay a 
 shilling for his carriage the four miles." Which the 
 two gentlemen refused to do. But the lawyer, who 
 was afraid of some mischief happening to himself, if 
 the wretch was left behind in that condition, saying no 
 man could be too cautious in these matters, and that he 
 remembered very extraordinary cases in the books, 
 threatened the coachman, and bid him deny taking him 
 up at his peril ; for that, if he died, he should be in- 
 dicted for his murder ; and if he lived, and brought an 
 action against him, he would willingly take a brief in 
 it. These words had a sensible effect on the coachman, 
 who was well acquainted with the person who spoke 
 them ; and the old gentleman above mentioned, think- 
 ing the naked man would afford him frequent oppor- 
 tunities of showing his wit to the lady, offered to join 
 with the company in giving a mug of beer for his fare ; 
 till, partly alarmed by the threats of the one, and partly 
 by the promises of the other, and being perhaps a little 
 moved with compassion at the poor creature's condition, 
 who stood bleeding and shivering with the cold, he at 
 length agreed ; and Joseph was now advancing to the 
 coach, where, seeing the lady, who held the sticks of 
 her fan before her eyes, he absolutely refused, miser- 
 able as he was, to enter, unless he was furnished with 
 sufficient covering to prevent giving the least offence to
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 43 
 
 decency so perfectly modest was this young man ; 
 such mighty effects had the spotless example of the 
 amiable Pamela, and the excellent sermons of Mr 
 Adams, wrought upon him. 
 
 Though there were several greatcoats about the 
 coach, it was not easy to get over this difficulty which 
 Joseph had started. The two gentlemen complained 
 they were cold, and could not spare a rag ; the man of 
 wit saying, with a laugh, that charity began at home ; 
 and the coachman, who had two greatcoats spread under 
 him, refused to lend either, lest they should be made 
 bloody : the lady's footman desired to be excused for 
 the same reason, which the lady herself, notwithstanding 
 her abhorrence of a naked man, approved : and it is 
 more than probable poor Joseph, who obstinately ad- 
 hered to his modest resolution, must have perished, unless 
 the postillion (a lad who hath been since transported for 
 robbing a hen-roost) had voluntarily stript off a great- 
 coat, his only garment, at the same time swearing a 
 great oath (for which he was rebuked by the pas- 
 sengers), "that he would rather ride in his shirt all his 
 life than suffer a fellow-creature to lie in so miserable a 
 condition." 
 
 Joseph, having put on the greatcoat, was lifted into 
 the coach, which now proceeded on its journey. He 
 declared himself almost dead with the cold, which gave 
 the man of wit an occasion to ask the kdy if she could 
 not accommodate him with a dram. She answered, with 
 some resentment, " She wondered at his asking her such 
 a question ; but assured him she never tasted any such 
 thing." 
 
 The lawyer was inquiring into the circumstances of 
 the robbery, when the coach stopt, and one of the 
 ruffians, putting a pistol in, demanded their money of 
 the passengers, who readily gave it them ; and the lady, 
 in her fright, delivered up a little silver bottle, of about
 
 44 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 a half-pint size, which the rogue, clapping it to his 
 mouth, and drinking her health, declared, held some of 
 the best Nantes he had ever tasted : this the lady after- 
 wards assured the company was the mistake of her maid, 
 for that she had ordered her to fill the bottle with 
 Hungary-water. 
 
 As soon as the fellows were departed, the lawyer, 
 who had, it seems, a case of pistols in the seat of the 
 coach, informed the company, that if it had been day- 
 light, and he could have come at his pistols, he would 
 not have submitted to the robbery : he likewise set forth 
 that he had often met highwaymen when he travelled on 
 horseback, but none ever durst attack him ; concluding 
 that, if he had not been more afraid for the lady than 
 for himself, he should not have now parted with his 
 money so easily. 
 
 As wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty 
 pockets, so the gentleman whose ingenuity we have above 
 remarked, as soon as he had parted with his money, began 
 to grow wonderfully facetious. He made frequent allu- 
 sions to Adam and Eve, and said many excellent things 
 on figs and fig-leaves ; which perhaps gave more offence 
 to Joseph than to any other in the company. 
 
 The lawyer likewise made several very pretty jests 
 without departing from his profession. He said, " If 
 Joseph and the lady were alone, he would be more cap- 
 able of making a conveyance to her, as his affairs were 
 not fettered with any incumbrance ; he'd warrant he soon 
 suffered a recovery by a writ of entry, which was the 
 proper way to create heirs in tail ; that, for his own 
 part, he would engage to make so firm a settlement in 
 a coach, that there should be no danger of an eject- 
 ment," with an inundation of the like gibberish, which 
 he continued to vent till the coach arrived at an inn, 
 where one servant-maid only was up, in readiness to 
 attend the coachman, and furnish him with cold meat
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 45 
 
 and a dram. Joseph desired to alight, and that he might 
 have a bed prepared for him, which the maid readily 
 promised to perform ; and, being a good-natured wench, 
 and not so squeamish as the lady had been, she clapt a 
 large fagot on the fire, and, furnishing Joseph with a 
 greatcoat belonging to one of the hostlers, desired him 
 to sit down and warm himself whilst she made his bed. 
 The coachman, in the meantime, took an opportunity 
 to call up a surgeon, who lived within a few doors ; 
 after which, he reminded his passengers how late they 
 were, and, after they had taken leave of Joseph, hurried 
 them off as fast as he could. 
 
 The wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to 
 use her interest to borrow him a shirt ; but imagining, 
 as she afterwards said, by his being so bloody, that he 
 must be a dead man, she ran with all speed to hasten 
 the surgeon, who was more than half drest, apprehending 
 that the coach had been overturned, and some gentleman 
 or lady hurt. As soon as the wench had informed him 
 at his window that it was a poor foot-passenger who had 
 been stripped of all he had, and almost murdered, he chid 
 her for disturbing him so early, slipped off his clothes 
 again, and very quietly returned to bed and to sleep. 
 
 Aurora now began to shew her blooming cheeks 
 over the hills, whilst ten millions of feathered songsters, 
 in jocund chorus, repeated odes a thousand times sweeter 
 than those of our laureat, and sung both the day and the 
 song ; when the master of the inn, Mr Tow-wouse, 
 arose, and learning from his maid an account of the 
 robbery, and the situation of his poor naked guest, he 
 shook his head, and cried, " good-lack-a-day ! " and 
 then ordered the girl to carry him one of his own shirts. 
 
 Mrs Tow-wouse was just awake, and had stretched 
 out her arms in vain to fold her departed husband, 
 when the maid entered the room. " Who's there ? 
 Betty ? " " Yes, madam." " Where's your master ? "
 
 46 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " He's without, madam ; he hath sent me for a shirt 
 to lend a poor naked man, who hath been robbed and 
 murdered." "Touch one if you dare, you slut," said 
 Mrs Tow-wouse : " your master is a pretty sort of a 
 man, to take in naked vagabonds, and clothe them with 
 his own clothes. I shall have no such doings. If you 
 offer to touch anything, I'll throw the chamber-pot at 
 your head. Go, send your master to me." " Yes, 
 madam," answered Betty. As soon as he came in, she 
 thus began : " What the devil do you mean by this, Mr 
 Tow-wouse ? Am I to buy shirts to lend to a set of 
 scabby rascals ? " " My dear," said Mr Tow-wouse, 
 "this is a poor wretch." "Yes," says she, " I know 
 it is a poor wretch ; but what the devil have we to do 
 with poor wretches ? The law makes us provide for 
 too many already. We shall have thirty or forty poor 
 wretches in red coats shortly." "My dear," cries 
 Tow-wouse, " this man hath been robbed of all he hath." 
 " Well then," said she, " where's his money to pay 
 his reckoning ? Why doth not such a fellow go to an 
 alehouse ? I shall send him packing as soon as I am 
 up, I assure you." "My dear," said he, "common 
 charity won't suffer you to do that." "Common 
 charity, a f t ! " says she, " common charity teaches 
 us to provide for ourselves and our families ; and I and 
 mine won't be ruined by your charity, I assure you." 
 "Well," says he, "my dear, do as you will, when 
 you are up ; you know I never contradict you."- 
 "No," says she; "if the devil was to contradict me, 
 I would make the house too hot to hold him." 
 
 With such like discourses they consumed near half- 
 an-hour, whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler, 
 who was one of her sweethearts, and put it on poor 
 Joseph. The surgeon had likewise at last visited him, 
 and washed and drest his wounds, and was now come 
 to acquaint Mr Tow-wouse that his guest was in such
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 47 
 
 extreme danger of his life, that he scarce saw any hopes 
 of his recovery. " Here's a pretty kettle of fish," cries 
 Mrs Tow-wouse, "you have brought upon us! We 
 are like to have a funeral at our own expense." Tow- 
 wouse (who, notwithstanding his charity, would have 
 given his vote as freely as ever he did at an election, 
 that any other house in the kingdom should have quiet 
 possession of his guest) answered, "My dear, I am not 
 to blame ; he was brought hither by the stage-coach, 
 and Betty had put him to bed before I was stirring." 
 " I'll Betty her," says she. At which, with half 
 her garments on, the other half under her arm, she 
 sallied out in quest of the unfortunate Betty, whilst 
 Tow-wouse and the surgeon went to pay a visit to poor 
 Joseph, and inquire into the circumstances of this melan- 
 choly affair* 
 
 What happened to Joseph during his sickness at the inn, 
 with the curious discourse between him and Mi- 
 Barnabas, the parson of the parish. 
 
 A^> soon as Joseph had communicated a particular 
 history of the robbery, together with a short 
 account of himself, and his intended journey, 
 he asked the surgeon if he apprehended him to be 
 in any danger : to which the surgeon very honestly 
 answered, " He feared he was ; for that his pulse was 
 very exalted and feverish, and, if his fever should prove 
 more than symptomatic, it would be impossible to save 
 him." Joseph, fetching a deep sigh, cried, " Poor 
 Fanny, I would I could have lived to see thee ! but 
 God's will be done." 
 
 The surgeon then advised him, if he had any worldly 
 affairs to settle, that he would do it as soon as possible ;
 
 48 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 for, though he hoped he might recover, yet he thought 
 himself obliged to acquaint him he was in great danger ; 
 and if the malign concoction of his humours should 
 cause a suscitation of his fever, he might soon grow 
 delirious and incapable to make his will. Joseph 
 answered, " That it was impossible for any creature in 
 the universe to be in a poorer condition than himself; 
 for since the robbery he had not one thing of any kind 
 whatever which he could call his own." " I had," 
 said he, " a poor little piece of gold, which they took 
 away, that would have been a comfort to me in all my 
 afflictions ; but surely, Fanny, I want nothing to remind 
 me of thee. I have thy dear image in my heart, and 
 no villain can ever tear it thence." 
 
 Joseph desired paper and pens, to write a letter, but 
 they were refused him ; and he was advised to use all 
 his endeavours to compose himself. They then left 
 him ; and Mr Tow-wouse sent to a clergyman to 
 come and administer his good offices to the soul of poor 
 Joseph, since the surgeon despaired of making any 
 successful applications to his body. 
 
 Mr Barnabas (for that was the clergyman's name) 
 came as soon as sent for ; and, having first drank a 
 dish of tea with the landlady, and afterwards a bowl 
 of punch with the landlord, he walked up to the room 
 where Joseph lay ; but, finding him asleep, returned to 
 take the other sneaker ; which when he had finished, he 
 again crept softly up to the chamber-door, and, having 
 opened it, heard the sick man talking to himself in the 
 following manner : 
 
 " O most adorable Pamela ! most virtuous sister ! 
 whose example could alone enable me to withstand all 
 the temptations of riches and beauty, and to preserve 
 my virtue pure and chaste for the arms of my dear 
 Fanny, if it had pleased Heaven that I should ever 
 have come unto them. What riches, or honours, or
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 49 
 
 pleasures, can make us amends for the loss of innocence ? 
 Doth not that alone afford us more consolation than all 
 worldly acquisitions ? What but innocence and virtue 
 could give any comfort to such a miserable wretch as I 
 am ? Yet these can make me prefer this sick and painful 
 bed to all the pleasures I should have found in my lady's. 
 These can make me face death without fear ; and though 
 I love my Fanny more than ever man loved a woman, 
 these can teach me to resign myself to the Divine will 
 without repining. O thou delightful charming creature ! 
 if Heaven had indulged thee to my arms, the poorest, 
 humblest state would have been a paradise ; I could 
 have lived with thee in the lowest cottage without envy- 
 ing the palaces, the dainties, or the riches of any man 
 breathing. But I must leave thee, leave thee for ever, 
 my dearest angel ! I must think of another world ; and 
 I heartily pray thou may'st meet comfort in this." 
 Barnabas thought he had heard enough, so downstairs 
 he went, and told Tow-wouse he could do his guest no 
 service ; for that he was very light-headed, and had 
 uttered nothing but a rhapsody of nonsense all the time 
 he stayed in the room. 
 
 The surgeon returned in the afternoon, and found his 
 patient in a higher fever, as he said, than when he left 
 him, though not delirious ; for, notwithstanding Mr 
 Barnabas's opinion, he had not been once out of his 
 senses since his arrival at the inn. 
 
 Mr Barnabas was again sent for, and with much 
 difficulty prevailed on to make another visit. As soon 
 as he entered the room he told Joseph " He was come 
 to pray by him, and to prepare him for another world : 
 in the first place, therefore, he hoped he had repented 
 of all his sins." Joseph answered, " He hoped he had ; 
 but there was one thing which he knew not whether he 
 should call a sin ; if it was, he feared he should die in 
 the commission of it ; and that was, the regret of parting
 
 50 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 with a young woman whom he loved as tenderly as he 
 did his heart-strings." Barnabas bad him be assured 
 " that any repining at the Divine will was one of the 
 greatest sins he could commit ; that he ought to forget 
 all carnal affections, and think of better things." Joseph 
 said, " That neither in this world nor the next he 
 could forget his Fanny ; and that the thought, how- 
 ever grievous, of parting from her for ever, was not half 
 so tormenting as the fear of what she would suffer when 
 she knew his misfortune." Barnabas said, " That such 
 fears argued a diffidence and despondence very criminal ; 
 that he must divest himself of all human passions, and 
 fix his heart above." Joseph answered, " That was 
 what he desired to do, and should be obliged to him if 
 he would enable him to accomplish it." Barnabas replied, 
 " That must be done by grace." Joseph besought him 
 to discover how he might attain it. Barnabas answered, 
 " By prayer and faith." He then questioned him con- 
 cerning his forgiveness of the thieves. Joseph answered, 
 " He feared that was more than he could do ; for nothing 
 would give him more pleasure than to hear they were 
 taken." "That," cries Barnabas, "is for the sake of 
 justice." " Yes," said Joseph, " but if I was to meet 
 them again, I am afraid I should attack them, and kill 
 them too, if I could." " Doubtless," answered Bar- 
 nabas, " it is lawful to kill a thief ; but can you say you 
 forgive them as a Christian ought ? " Joseph desired to 
 know what that forgiveness was. "That is," answered 
 Barnabas, " to forgive them as as it is to forgive them 
 as in short, it is to forgive them as a Christian."- 
 Joseph replied, " He forgave them as much as he could." 
 "Well, well," said Barnabas, "that will do." He 
 then demanded of him, " If he remembered any more 
 sins unrepented of; and if he did, he desired him to 
 make haste and repent of them as fast as he could, that 
 they might repeat over a few prayers together." Joseph
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 51 
 
 answered, " He could not recollect any great crimes he 
 had been guilty of, and that those he had committed he 
 was sincerely sorry for." Barnabas said that was enough, 
 and then proceeded to prayer with all the expedition he 
 was master of, some company then waiting for him below 
 in the parlour, where the ingredients for punch were all 
 in readiness ; but no one would squeeze the oranges till 
 he came. 
 
 Joseph complained he was dry, and desired a little 
 tea ; which Barnabas reported to Mrs Tow-wouse, 
 who answered, " She had just done drinking it, and 
 could not be slopping all day ; " but ordered Betty to 
 carry him up some small beer. 
 
 Betty obeyed her mistress's commands ; but Joseph, 
 as soon as he had tasted it, said, he feared it would in- 
 crease his fever, and that he longed very much for tea ; 
 to which the good-natured Betty answered, he should 
 have tea, if there was any in the land ; she accordingly 
 went and bought him some herself, and attended him 
 with it ; where we will leave her and Joseph together for 
 some time, to entertain the reader with other matters. 
 
 Chapter jcib. 
 
 Being very full of adventures which succeeded each other 
 at the inn. 
 
 IT was now the dusk of the evening, when a grave 
 person rode into the inn, and, committing his horse 
 to the hostler, went directly into the kitchen, and, 
 having called for a pipe of tobacco, took his place by 
 the fireside, where several other persons were likewise 
 assembled. 
 
 The discourse ran altogether on the robbery which 
 was committed the night before, and on the poor wretch
 
 52 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 who lay above in the dreadful condition in which we 
 have already seen him. Mrs Tow-wouse said, " She 
 wondered what the devil Tom Whipwell meant by bring- 
 ing such guests to her house, when there were so many 
 alehouses on the road proper for their reception. But 
 she assured him, if he died, the parish should be at the 
 expense of the funeral." She added, " Nothing would 
 serve the fellow's turn but tea, she would assure him." 
 Betty, who was just returned from her charitable office, 
 answered, she believed he was a gentleman, for she 
 never saw a finer skin in her life. " Pox on his skin ! " 
 replied Mrs Tow-wouse, " I suppose that is all we are 
 like to have for the reckoning. I desire no such gentle- 
 men should ever call at the Dragon" (which it seems 
 was the sign of the inn). 
 
 The gentleman lately arrived discovered a great deal 
 of emotion at the distress of this poor creature, whom 
 he observed to be fallen not into the most compassionate 
 hands. And indeed, if Mrs Tow-wouse had given no 
 utterance to the sweetness of her temper, nature had 
 taken such pains in her countenance, that Hogarth him- 
 self never gave more expression to a picture. 
 
 Her person was short, thin, and crooked. Her fore- 
 head projected in the middle, and thence descended in 
 a declivity to the top of her nose, which was sharp and 
 red, and would have hung over her lips, had not nature 
 turned up the end of it. Her lips were two bits of 
 skin, which, whenever she spoke, she drew together in 
 a purse. Her chin was peaked ; and at the upper end 
 of that skin which composed her cheeks, stood two 
 bones, that almost hid a pair of small red eyes. Add 
 to this a voice most wonderfully adapted to the senti- 
 ments it was to convey, being both loud and hoarse. 
 
 It is not easy to say whether the gentleman had con- 
 ceived a greater dislike for his landlady or compassion for 
 her unhappy guest. He inquired very earnestly of the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 53 
 
 surgeon, who was now come into the kitchen, whether 
 he had any hopes of his recovery ? He begged him to 
 use all possible means towards it, telling him, " it was 
 the duty of men of all professions to apply their skill 
 gratis for the relief of the poor and necessitous." The 
 surgeon answered, " He should take proper care ; but 
 he defied all the surgeons in London to do him any 
 good." " Pray, sir," said the gentleman, " what are 
 his wounds ? " " Why, do you know anything of 
 wounds ?" says the surgeon (winking upon Mrs Tow- 
 wouse). " Sir, I have a small smattering in surgery," 
 answered the gentleman. "A smattering ho, ho, 
 ho ! " said the surgeon ; " I believe it is a smattering 
 indeed." 
 
 The company were all attentive, expecting to hear 
 the doctor, who was what they call a dry fellow, expose 
 the gentleman. 
 
 He began therefore with an air of triumph : " I 
 suppose, sir, you have travelled ?" "No, really, sir," 
 said the gentleman. " Ho ! then you have practised in 
 the hospitals perhaps ? " " No, sir." " Hum ! not that 
 neither ? Whence, sir, then, if I may be so bold to 
 inquire, have you got your knowledge in surgery ? " 
 " Sir," answered the gentleman, " I do not pretend to 
 much ; but the little I know I have from books." 
 " Books ! " cries the doctor. " What, I suppose you 
 have read Galen and Hippocrates ! " " No, sir," said 
 the gentleman. " How ! you understand surgery," 
 answers the doctor, " and not read Galen and Hippo- 
 crates ?" " Sir," cries the other, " I believe there are 
 many surgeons who have never read these authors." 
 " I believe so too," says the doctor, " more shame for 
 them ; but, thanks to my education, I have them by 
 heart, and very seldom go without them both in my 
 pocket." "They are pretty large books," said the 
 gentleman. "Aye," said the doctor, "I believe I
 
 54 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 know how large they are better than you." (At which 
 he fell a winking, and the whole company burst into a 
 laugh. ) 
 
 The doctor pursuing his triumph, asked the gentleman, 
 " If he did not understand physic as well as surgery." 
 "Rather better," answered the gentleman. "Aye, 
 like enough," cries the doctor, with a wink. "Why, I 
 know a little of physic too." "I wish I knew half 
 so much," said Tow-wouse, " I'd never wear an apron 
 again." "Why, I believe, landlord," cries the doctor, 
 " there are few men, though I say it, within twelve 
 miles of the place, that handle a fever better. Vcniente 
 accurrite morbo : that is my method. I suppose, brother, 
 you understand Latin ?" " A little," says the gentle- 
 man. " Aye, and Greek now, I'll warrant you : Ton 
 dapomlbominos poluflosbolo Thalasses. But I have almost 
 forgot these things : I could have repeated Homer by 
 
 heart once." " Ifags ! the gentleman has caught a 
 
 traytor," says Mrs Tow-wouse ; at which they all fell 
 a laughing. 
 
 The gentleman, who had not the least affection for 
 joking, very contentedly suffered the doctor to enjoy his 
 victory, which he did with no small satisfaction ; and, 
 having sufficiently sounded his depth, told him, " He was 
 thoroughly convinced of his great learning and abilities ; 
 and that he would be obliged to him if he would let 
 him know his opinion of his patient's case above-stairs." 
 " Sir," says the doctor, " his case is that of a dead 
 man the contusion on his head has perforated the 
 internal membrane of the occiput, and divelicated that 
 radical small minute invisible nerve which coheres to 
 the pericranium ; and this was attended with a fever at 
 first symptomatic, then pneumatic ; and he is at length 
 grown deliriuus, or delirious, as the vulgar express it." 
 
 He was proceeding in this learned manner, when a 
 mighty noise interrupted him. Some young fellows in
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 55 
 
 the neighbourhood had taken one of the thieves, and 
 were bringing him into the inn. Betty ran upstairs 
 with this news to Joseph, who begged they might search 
 for a little piece of broken gold, which had a ribband 
 tied to it, and which he could swear to amongst all the 
 hoards of the richest men in the universe. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fellow's persisting in his inno- 
 cence, the mob were very busy in searching him, and 
 presently, among other things, pulled out the piece of 
 gold just mentioned ; which Betty no sooner saw than 
 she laid violent hands on it, and conveyed it up to 
 Joseph, who received it with raptures of joy, and, hugging 
 it in his bosom, declared he could now die contented. 
 
 Within a few minutes afterwards came in some other 
 fellows, with a bundle which they had found in a ditch, 
 and which was indeed the cloaths which had been 
 stripped off from Joseph, and the other things they had 
 taken from him. 
 
 The gentleman no sooner saw the coat than he de- 
 clared he knew the livery ; and, if it had been taken 
 from the poor creature above-stairs, desired he might 
 see him ; for that he was very well acquainted with 
 the family to whom that livery belonged. 
 
 He was accordingly conducted up by Betty ; but 
 what, reader, was the surprize on both sides, when he 
 saw Joseph was the person in bed, and when Joseph 
 discovered the face of his good friend Mr Abraham 
 Adams ! 
 
 It would be impertinent to insert a discourse which 
 chiefly turned on the relation of matters already well 
 known to the reader ; for, as soon as the curate had 
 satisfied Joseph concerning the perfect health of his 
 Fanny, he was on his side very inquisitive into all the 
 particulars which had produced this unfortunate acci- 
 dent. 
 
 To return therefore to the kitchen, where a great
 
 5^> THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 variety of company were now assembled from all the 
 rooms of the house, as well as the neighbourhood : so 
 much delight do men take in contemplating the counte- 
 nance of a thief. 
 
 Mr Tow-wouse began to rub his hands with pleasure 
 at seeing so large an assembly ; who would, he hoped, 
 shortly adjourn into several apartments, in order to dis- 
 course over the robbery, and drink a health to all honest 
 men. But Mrs Tow-wouse, whose misfortune it was 
 commonly to see things a little perversely, began to rail 
 at those who brought the fellow into her house ; telling 
 her husband, " They were very likely to thrive who kept 
 a house of entertainment for beggars and thieves." 
 
 The mob had now finished their search, and could 
 find nothing about the captive likely to prove any 
 evidence ; for as to the cloaths, though the mob were 
 very well satisfied with that proof, yet, as the surgeon 
 observed, they could not convict him, because they 
 were not found in his custody ; to which Barnabas 
 agreed, and added that these were lona waviaia, and 
 belonged to the lord of the manor. 
 
 " How," says the surgeon, " do you say these goods 
 belong to the lord of the manor ? " " I do," cried 
 Barnabas. " Then I deny it," says the surgeon : 
 " what can the lord of the manor have to do in the 
 case ? Will any one attempt to persuade me that what 
 a man finds is not his own ? " " I have heard," says 
 an old fellow in the corner, "justice Wise-one say, that, 
 if every man had his right, whatever is found belongs 
 to the king of London." "That may be true," says 
 Barnabas, " in some sense ; for the law makes a 
 difference between things stolen and things found ; for 
 a thing may be stolen that never is found, and a thing 
 may be found that never was stolen : Now, goods th;it 
 are both stolen and found are tuaviata ; and they be- 
 long to the lord of the manor." "So the lord of the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 57 
 
 manor is the receiver of stolen goods," says the doctor ; 
 at which there was an universal laugh, being first begun 
 by himself. 
 
 While the prisoner, by persisting in his innocence, 
 had almost (as there was no evidence against him) 
 brought over Barnabas, the surgeon, Tow-wouse, and 
 several others to his side, Betty informed them that 
 they had overlooked a little piece of gold, which she 
 had carried up to the man in bed, and which he offered 
 to swear to amongst a million, aye, amongst ten thou- 
 sand. This immediately turned the scale against the 
 prisoner, and every one now concluded him guilty. 
 It was resolved, therefore, to keep him secured that 
 night, and early in the morning to carry him before a 
 justice. 
 
 Chapter pb. 
 
 Showing hoiv Mrs Toiv-wouse <was a little mollified ; 
 and hoiv officious Mr Barnabas and the surgeon 
 'were to prosecute the thief: with a dissertation 
 accounting for their zeal, and that of many other 
 persons not mentioned in this history. 
 
 BETTY told her mistress she believed the man in 
 bed was a greater man than they took him for ; 
 for, besides the extreme whiteness of his skin, 
 and the softness of his hands, she observed a very great 
 familiarity between the gentleman and him ; and added, 
 she was certain they were intimate acquaintance, if not 
 relations. 
 
 This somewhat abated the severity of Mrs Tow- 
 wouse's countenance. She said, " God forbid she 
 should not discharge the duty of a Christian, since the 
 poor gentleman was brought to her house. She had a 
 natural antipathy to vagabonds ; but could pity the mis-
 
 58 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 fortunes of a Christian as soon as another." Tow-wouse 
 said, " If the traveller be a gentleman, though he hath no 
 money about him now, we shall most likely be paid here- 
 after ; so you may begin to score whenever you will." 
 Mrs Tow-wouse answered, " Hold your simple tongue, 
 and don't instruct me in my business. I am sure I am 
 sorry for the gentleman's misfortune with all my heart ; 
 and I hope the villain who hath used him so barbarously 
 will be hanged. Betty, go see what he wants. God 
 forbid he should want anything in my house." 
 
 Barnabas and the surgeon went up to Joseph to satisfy 
 themselves concerning the piece of gold ; Joseph was with 
 difficulty prevailed upon to show it them, but would by 
 no entreaties be brought to deliver it out of his own pos- 
 session. He however attested this to be the same which 
 had been taken from him, and Betty was ready to swear 
 to the finding it on the thief. 
 
 The only difficulty that remained was, how to produce 
 this gold before the justice ; for as to carrying Joseph 
 himself, it seemed impossible ; nor was there any great 
 likelihood of obtaining it from him, for he had fastened 
 it with a ribband to his arm, and solemnly vowed that 
 nothing but irresistible force should ever separate them ; 
 in which resolution, Mr Adams, clenching a fist rather 
 less than the knuckle of an ox, declared he would sup- 
 port him. 
 
 A dispute arose on this occasion concerning evidence 
 not very necessary to be related here ; after which the 
 surgeon dressed Mr Joseph's head, still persisting in the 
 imminent danger in which his patient lay, but concluding, 
 with a very important look, "That he began to have 
 some hopes ; that he should send him a sanative sopo- 
 riferous draught, and would see him in the morning." 
 After which Barnabas and he departed, and left Mr 
 Joseph and Mr Adams together. 
 
 Adams informed Joseph of the occasion of this journey
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 59 
 
 which he was making to London, namely, to publish three 
 volumes of sermons ; being encouraged, as he said, by an 
 advertisement lately set forth by the society of booksellers, 
 who proposed to purchase any copies offered to them, at 
 a price to be settled by two persons ; but though he 
 imagined he should get a considerable sum of money on 
 this occasion, which his family were in urgent need of, 
 he protested he would not leave Joseph in his present 
 condition : finally, he told him, " He had nine shillings 
 and threepence halfpenny in his pocket, which he was 
 welcome to use as he pleased." 
 
 This goodness of parson Adams brought tears into 
 Joseph's eyes ; he declared, " He had now a second 
 reason to desire life, that he might show his gratitude to 
 such a friend." Adams bade him " be cheerful ; for 
 that he plainly saw the surgeon, besides his ignorance, 
 desired to make a merit of curing him, though the 
 wounds in his head, he perceived, were by no means 
 dangerous ; that he was convinced he had no fever, 
 and doubted not but he would be able to travel in a day 
 or two." 
 
 These words infused a spirit into Joseph ; he said, 
 " He found himself very sore from the bruises, but had 
 no reason to think any of his bones injured, or that he 
 had received any harm in his inside, unless that he felt 
 something very odd in his stomach ; but he knew not 
 whether that might not arise from not having eaten one 
 morsel for above twenty-four hours." Being then asked 
 if he had any inclination to eat, he answered in the 
 affirmative. Then parson Adams desired him to " name 
 what he had the greatest fancy for ; whether a poached 
 egg, or chicken-broth." He answered, " He could eat 
 both very well ; but that he seemed to have the greatest 
 appetite for a piece of boiled beef and cabbage." 
 
 Adams was pleased with so perfect a confirmation that 
 he had not the least fever, but advised him to a lighter
 
 60 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 diet for that evening. He accordingly ate either a rabbit 
 or a fowl, I never could with any tolerable certainty 
 discover which ; after this he was, by Mrs Tow-wouse's 
 order, conveyed into a better bed and equipped with one 
 of her husband's shirts. 
 
 In the morning early, Barnabas and the surgeon came 
 to the inn, in order to see the thief conveyed before the 
 justice. They had consumed the whole night in debating 
 what measures they should take to produce the piece 
 of gold in evidence against him ; for they were both 
 extremely zealous in the business, though neither of them 
 were in the least interested in the prosecution ; neither 
 of them had ever received any private injury from the 
 fellow, nor had either of them ever been suspected of 
 loving the public k well enough to give them a sermon or 
 a dose of physic for nothing. 
 
 To help our reader, therefore, as much as possible to 
 account for this zeal, we must inform him that, as this 
 parish was so unfortunate as to have no lawyer in it, 
 there had been a constant contention between the two 
 doctors, spiritual and physical, concerning their abilities 
 in a science, in which, as neither of them professed 
 it, they had equal pretensions to dispute each other's 
 opinions. These disputes were carried on with great 
 contempt on both sides, and had almost divided the 
 parish ; Mr Tow-wouse and one half of the neighbours 
 inclining to the surgeon, and Mrs Tow-wouse with the 
 other half to the parson. The surgeon drew his know- 
 ledge from those inestimable fountains, called The 
 Attorney's Pocket Companion, and Mr Jacob's Law- 
 Tables ; Barnabas trusted entirely to Wood's Institutes. 
 It happened on this occasion, as was pretty frequently 
 the case, that these two learned men differed about the 
 sufficiency of evidence ; the doctor being of opinion that 
 the maid's oath would convict the prisoner without pro- 
 ducing the gold ; the parson, e contra, totis vtribus. To
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 6 1 
 
 display their parts, therefore, before the justice and the 
 parish, was the sole motive which we can discover to 
 this zeal which both of them pretended to have for public 
 justice. 
 
 Vanity ! how little is thy force acknowledged, or 
 thy operations discerned ! How wantonly dost thou 
 deceive mankind under different disguises ! Sometimes 
 thou dost wear the face of pity, sometimes of generosity : 
 nay, thou hast the assurance even to put on those glorious 
 ornaments which belong only to heroic virtue. Thou 
 odious, deformed monster ! whom priests have railed at, 
 philosophers despised, and poets ridiculed ; is there a 
 wretch so abandoned as to own thee for an acquaintance 
 in public ? yet, how few will refuse to enjoy thee in 
 private ? nay, thou art the pursuit of most men through 
 their lives. The greatest villainies are daily practised 
 to please thee ; nor is the meanest thief below, or the 
 greatest hero above, thy notice. Thy embraces are often 
 the sole aim and sole reward of the private robbery and 
 the plundered province. It is to pamper up thee, thou 
 harlot, that we attempt to withdraw from others what 
 we do not want, or to withhold from them what they 
 do. All our passions are thy slaves. Avarice itself 
 is often no more than thy handmaid, and even Lust 
 thy pimp. The bully Fear, like a coward, flies before 
 thee, and Joy and Grief hide their heads in thy 
 presence. 
 
 1 know thou wilt think that whilst I abuse thee I 
 court thee, and that thy love hath inspired me to write 
 this sarcastical panegyric on thee ; but thou art deceived : 
 I value thee not of a farthing ; nor will it give me any 
 pain if thou shouldst prevail on the reader to censure 
 this digression as arrant nonsense ; for know, to thy 
 confusion, that I have introduced thee for no other 
 purpose than to lengthen out a short chapter, and so I 
 return to my history.
 
 6a THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 &aptrr vbt. 
 
 The escape of the thief. Mr Adams' 's disappointment. 
 The arrival of two very extraordinary personages, 
 and the introduction of parson Adams to parson 
 Barnabas. 
 
 T) ARNABAS and the surgeon, being returned, as 
 
 fj we have said, to the inn, in order to convey the 
 
 thief before the justice, were greatly concerned 
 
 to find a small accident had happened, which somewhat 
 
 disconcerted them ; and this was no other than the 
 
 thief's escape, who had modestly withdrawn himself by 
 
 night, declining all ostentation, and not chusing, in 
 
 imitation of some great men, to distinguish himself at 
 
 the expense of being pointed at. 
 
 When the company had retired the evening before, 
 the thief was detained in a room where the constable, 
 and one of the young fellows who took him, were 
 planted as his guard. About the second watch a 
 general complaint of drought was made, both by the 
 prisoner and his keepers. Among whom it was at last 
 agreed that the constable should remain on duty, and 
 the young fellow call up the tapster ; in which dis- 
 position the latter apprehended not the least danger, as 
 the constable was well armed, and could besides easily 
 summon him back to his assistance, if the prisoner made 
 the least attempt to gain his liberty. 
 
 The young fellow had not long left the room before 
 it came into the constable's head that the prisoner might 
 leap on him by surprize, and, thereby preventing him 
 of the use of his weapons, especially the long staff in 
 which he chiefly confided, might reduce the success of 
 a struggle to a equal chance. He wisely, therefore, to 
 prevent this inconvenience, slipt out of the room himself, 
 and locked the door, waiting without with his staff in
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 63 
 
 his hand, ready lifted to fell the unhappy prisoner, if by 
 ill fortune he should attempt to break out. 
 
 But human life, as hath been discovered by some 
 great man or other (for I would by no means be un- 
 derstood to affect the honour of making any such dis- 
 covery), very much resembles a game at chess ; for as 
 in the latter, while a gamester is too attentive to secure 
 himself very strongly on one side the board, he is apt 
 to leave an unguarded opening on the other ; so doth 
 it often happen in life, and so did it happen on this 
 occasion ; for whilst the cautious constable with such 
 wonderful sagacity had possessed himself of the door, 
 he most unhappily forgot the window. 
 
 The thief, who played on the other side, no sooner 
 perceived this opening than he began to move that way ; 
 and, finding the passage easy, he took with him the 
 young fellow's hat, and without any ceremony stepped 
 into the street and made the best of his way. 
 
 The young fellow, returning with a double mug of 
 strong beer, was a little surprized to find the constable 
 at the door ; but much more so when, the door being 
 opened, he perceived the prisoner had made his escape, 
 and which way. He threw down the beer, and, with- 
 out uttering anything to the constable except a hearty 
 curse or two, he nimbly leapt out of the window, and 
 went again in pursuit of his prey, being very unwilling 
 to lose the reward which he had assured himself of. 
 
 The constable hath not been discharged of suspicion 
 on this account ; it hath been said that, not being con- 
 cerned in the taking the thief, he could not have been 
 entitled to any part of the reward if he had been con- 
 victed ; that the thief had several guineas in his pocket ; 
 that it was very unlikely he should have been guilty of 
 such an oversight ; that his pretence for leaving the 
 room was absurd ; that it was his constant maxim, that 
 a wise man never refused money on any conditions ;
 
 64 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that at every election he always had sold his vote to 
 both parties, &c. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these and many other such 
 allegations, I am sufficiently convinced of his inno- 
 cence ; having been positively assured of it by those 
 who received their informations from his own mouth ; 
 which, in the opinion of some moderns, is the best and 
 indeed only evidence. 
 
 All the family were now up, and with many others 
 assembled in the kitchen, where Mr Tow-wouse was in 
 some tribulation ; the surgeon having declared that by 
 law he was liable to be indicted for the thief's escape, 
 as it was out of his house ; he was a little comforted, 
 however, by Mr Barnabas'8 opinion, that as the escape 
 was by night the indictment would not lie. 
 
 Mrs Tow-wouse delivered herself in the following 
 words : " Sure never was such a fool as my husband ; 
 would any other person living have left a man in the 
 custody of such a drunken drowsy blockhead as Tom 
 Suckbribe ? " (which was the constable's name) ; " and 
 if he could be indicted without any harm to his wife 
 and children, I should be glad of it." (Then the 
 bell rung in Joseph's room. ) " Why Betty, John, 
 Chamberlain, where the devil are you all ? Have you 
 no cars, or no conscience, not to tend the sick better ? 
 See what the gentleman wants. Why don't you go 
 yourself, Mr Tow-wouse ? But any one may die for 
 you ; you have no more feeling than a deal board. If 
 a man lived a fortnight in your house without spending 
 a penny, you would never put him in mind of it. See 
 whether he drinks tea or coffee for breakfast." " Yes, 
 my dear," cried Tow-wouse. She then asked the 
 doctor and Mr Barnabas what morning's draught they 
 chose, who answered, they had a pot of cyder-and at 
 the fire ; which we will leave them merry over, and 
 return to Joseph.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 65 
 
 He had rose pretty early this morning ; but, though 
 his wounds were far from threatening any danger, he 
 was so sore with the bruises, that it was impossible for 
 him to think of undertaking a journey yet ; Mr Adams, 
 therefore, whose stock was visibly decreased with the 
 expenses of supper and breakfast, and which could not 
 survive that day's scoring, began to consider how it was 
 possible to recruit it. At last he cried, " He had luckily 
 hit on a sure method, and, though it would oblige him 
 to return himself home together with Joseph, it mattered 
 not much." He then sent for Tow-wouse, and, taking 
 him into another room, told him " he wanted to borrow 
 three guineas, for which he would put ample security 
 into his hands." Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, 
 or ring, or something of double the value, answered, 
 "He believed he could furnish him." Upon which 
 Adams, pointing to his saddle-bag, told him, with a 
 face and voice full of solemnity, "that there were in 
 that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript ser- 
 mons, as well worth a hundred pounds as a shilling 
 was worth twelve pence, and that he would deposit 
 one of the volumes in his hands by way of pledge ; not 
 doubting but that he would have the honesty to return 
 it on his repayment of the money ; for otherwise he must 
 be a very great loser, seeing that every volume would at 
 least bring him ten pounds, as he had been informed by 
 a neighbouring clergyman in the country ; for," said he, 
 " as to my own part, having never yet dealt in printing, 
 I do not pretend to ascertain the exact value of such 
 things." 
 
 Tow-wouse, who was a little surprized at the pawn, 
 said (and not without some truth), "That he was no 
 judge of the price of such kind of goods ; and as for 
 money, he really was very short." Adams answered, 
 "Certainly he would not scruple to lend him three 
 guineas on what was undoubtedly worth at least ten." 
 
 I. E
 
 66 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The landlord replied, " He did not believe he had so 
 much money in the house, and besides, he was to maki- 
 up a sum. He was very confident the books were of 
 much higher value, and heartily sorry it did not suit 
 him." He then cried out, "Coming sir!" though 
 nobody called ; and ran downstairs without any fear of 
 breaking his neck. 
 
 Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this dis- 
 appointment, nor knew he what further stratagem to 
 try. He immediately applied to his pipe, his constant 
 friend and comfort in his afflictions ; and, leaning over 
 the rails, he devoted himself to meditation, assisted 
 by the inspiring fumes of tobacco. 
 
 He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a 
 short greatcoat, which half covered his cassock a 
 dress which, added to something comical enough in his 
 countenance, composed a figure likely to attract the eyes 
 of those who were not over given to observation. 
 
 Whilst he was smoaking his pipe in this posture, a 
 coach and six, with a numerous attendance, drove into 
 the inn. There alighted from the coach a young fellow 
 and a brace of pointers, after which another young fellow 
 leapt from the box, and shook the former by the hand ; 
 and both, together with the dogs, were instantly con- 
 ducted by Mr Tow-wouse into an apartment ; whither 
 as they passed, they entertained themselves with the 
 following short facetious dialogue : 
 
 " You are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack ! " 
 says he from the coach ; " you had almost overturned 
 us just now." " Pox take you ! " says the coachman ; 
 " if I had only broke your neck, it would have been 
 saving somebody else the trouble ; but I should have 
 been sorry for the pointers." " Why, you son of a 
 b ," answered the other, " if nobody could shoot better 
 than you, the pointers would be of no use." " D n 
 me," says the coachman, " I will shoot with you five
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 67 
 
 guineas a shot." "You be hanged," says the other ; 
 " for five guineas you shall shoot at my a ." " Done," 
 says the coachman ; " I'll pepper you better than ever 
 you was peppered by Jenny Bouncer." " Pepper your 
 grandmother," says the other : " Here's Tow-wouse 
 will let you shoot at him for a shilling a time." " I 
 know his honour better," cries Tow-wouse ; " I never 
 saw a surer shot at a partridge. Every man misses now 
 and then ; but if I could shoot half as well as his 
 honour, I would desire no better livelihood than I 
 could get by my gun." "Pox on you," said the 
 coachman, " you demolish more game now than your 
 head's worth. There's a bitch, Tow-wouse : by G 
 she never blinked * a bird in her life." " I have a 
 puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with her for a 
 hundred," cries the other gentleman. " Done," says 
 the coachman : " but you will be pox'd before you make 
 the bett." " If you have a mind for a bett," cries the 
 coachman, " I will match my spotted dog with your 
 white bitch for a hundred, play or pay." "Done," 
 says the other : " and I'll run Baldface against Slouch 
 with you for another." "No," cries he from the box ; 
 " but I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or 
 Hannibal either." " Go to the devil," cries he from 
 the coach : " I will make every bett your own way, to 
 be sure ! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for a 
 thousand, if you dare ; and I say done first." 
 
 They were now arrived ; and the reader will be very 
 contented to leave them, and repair to the kitchen ; where 
 Barnabas, the surgeon, and an exciseman were smoaking 
 their pipes over some cyder-and ; and where the servants, 
 who attended the two noble gentlemen we have just seen 
 alight, were now arrived. 
 
 " Tom," cries one of the footmen, " there's parson 
 
 * To blink is a term used to signify the dog's passing by a 
 bird without pointing at it.
 
 68 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Adams smoaking his pipe in the gallery." " Yes," says 
 Tom ; " I pulled off my hat to him, and the parson 
 spoke to me." 
 
 " Is the gentleman a clergyman, then ? " says Barnabas 
 (for his cassock had been tied up when he arrived). 
 "Yes, sir," answered the footman ; "and one there be 
 but few like." " Aye," said Barnabas ; " if I had 
 known it sooner, I should have desired his company ; 
 I would always shew a proper respect for the cloth : 
 but what say you, doctor, shall we adjourn into a room r 
 and invite him to take part of a bowl of punch ? " 
 
 This proposal was immediately agreed to and exe- 
 cuted ; and parson Adams accepting the invitation, 
 much civility passed between the two clergymen, who 
 both declared the great honour they had for the cloth. 
 They had not been long together before they entered 
 into a discourse on small tithes, which continued a full 
 hour, without the doctor or exciseman's having one 
 opportunity to offer a word. 
 
 It was then proposed to begin a general conversation, 
 and the exciseman opened on foreign affairs ; but a word 
 unluckily dropping from one of them introduced a dis- 
 sertation on the hardships suffered by the inferior clergy ; 
 which, after a long duration, concluded with bringing 
 the nine volumes of sermons on the carpet. 
 
 Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams ; he said, 
 " The age was so wicked, that nobody read sermons : 
 would you think it, Mr Adams ? " said he, " I once 
 intended to print a volume of sermons myself, and they 
 had the approbation of two or three bishops ; but what 
 do you think a bookseller offered me ? " " Twelve 
 guineas perhaps," cried Adams. " Not twelve pence, 
 I assure you," answered Barnabas : " nay, the dog re- 
 fused me a Concordance in exchange. At last I offered 
 to give him the printing them, for the sake of dedicating 
 them to that very gentleman who just now drove his own
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 69 
 
 coach into the inn ; and, I assure you, he had the im- 
 pudence to refuse my offer; by which means I lost -a 
 good living, that was afterwards given away in exchange 
 for a pointer, to one who but I will not say anything 
 against the cloth. So you may guess, Mr Adams, what 
 you are to expect ; for if sermons would have gone down, 
 I believe I will not be vain ; but to be concise with 
 you, three bishops said they were the best that ever were 
 writ : but indeed there are a pretty moderate number 
 printed already, and not all sold yet." " Pray, sir," 
 said Adams, " to what do you think the numbers may 
 amount ? " " Sir," answered Barnabas, " a bookseller 
 told me, he believed five thousand volumes at least." 
 " Five thousand ? " quoth the surgeon : " What can 
 they be writ upon ? I remember when I was a boy, 
 I used to read one Tillotson's sermons ; and, I am sure, 
 if a man practised half so much as is in one of those 
 sermons, he will go to heaven." "Doctor," cried 
 Barnabas, "you have a prophane way of talking, for 
 which I must reprove you. A man can never have his 
 duty too frequently inculcated into him. And as for 
 Tillotson, to be sure he was a good writer, and said 
 things very well ; but comparisons are odious ; another 
 
 man may write as well as he 1 believe there are 
 
 some of my sermons," and then he applied the 
 
 candle to his pipe. "And I believe there are some 
 of my discourses," cries Adams, " which the bishops 
 would not think totally unworthy of being printed ; and 
 I have been informed I might procure a very large sum 
 (indeed an immense one) on them." " I doubt that," 
 answered Barnabas : " however, if you desire to make 
 some money of them, perhaps you may sell them by 
 advertising the manuscript sermons of a clergyman 
 lately deceased, all warranted originals, and never 
 printed. And now I think of it, I should be obliged 
 to you, if there be ever a funeral one among them, to
 
 70 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 lend it me ; for I am this very day to preach a funeral 
 sermon, for which I have not penned a line, though I 
 am to have a double price." Adams answered, "He 
 had but one, which he feared would not serve his 
 purpose, being sacred to the memory of a magistrate, 
 who had exerted himself very singularly in the pre- 
 servation of the morality of his neighbours, insomuch 
 that he had neither alehouse nor lewd woman in the 
 parish where he lived." "No," replied Barnabas, 
 " that will not do quite so well ; for the deceased, upon 
 whose virtues I am to harangue, was a little too much 
 
 addicted to liquor, and publickly kept a mistress. 1 
 
 believe I must take a common sermon, and trust to my 
 memory to introduce something handsome on him." 
 " To your invention rather," said the doctor : " your 
 memory will be apter to put you out ; for no man living 
 remembers anything good of him." 
 
 With such kind of spiritual discourse, they emptied 
 the bowl of punch, paid their reckoning, and separated : 
 Adams and the doctor went up to Joseph, parson 
 Barnabas departed to celebrate the aforesaid deceased, 
 and the exciseman descended into the cellar to gauge 
 the vessels. 
 
 Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of 
 mutton, and waited for Mr Adams, when he and the 
 doctor came in. The doctor, having felt his pulse 
 and examined his wounds, declared him much better, 
 which he imputed to that sanative soporiferous draught, 
 a medicine "whose virtues," he said, "were never to 
 be sufficiently extolled." And great indeed they must 
 be, if Joseph was so much indebted to them as the 
 doctor imagined ; since nothing more than those effluvia 
 which escaped the cork could have contributed to his 
 recovery ; for the medicine had stood untouched in the 
 window ever since its arrival. 
 
 Joseph passed that day, and the three following, with
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 71 
 
 his friend Adams, in which nothing so remarkable 
 happened as the swift progress of his recovery. As he 
 had an excellent habit of body, his wounds were now 
 almost healed ; and his bruises gave him so little un- 
 easiness, that he pressed Mr Adams to let him depart ; 
 told him he should never be able to return sufficient 
 thanks for all his favours, but begged that he might no 
 longer delay his journey to London. 
 
 Adams, notwithstanding the ignorance, as he con- 
 ceived it, of Mr Tow-wouse, and the envy (for such 
 he thought it) of Mr Barnabas, had great expectations 
 from his sermons : seeing therefore Joseph in so good a 
 way, he told him he would agree to his setting out the 
 next morning in the stage-coach, that he believed he 
 should have sufficient, after the reckoning paid, to pro- 
 cure him one day's conveyance in it, and afterwards he 
 would be able to get on on foot, or might be favoured 
 with a lift in some neighbour's waggon, especially as 
 there was then to be a fair in the town whither the 
 coach would carry him, to which numbers from his 
 parish resorted And as to himself, he agreed to pro- 
 ceed to the great city. 
 
 They were now walking in the inn-yard, when a fat, 
 fair, short person rode in, and, alighting from his horse, 
 went directly up to Barnabas, who was smoaking his 
 pipe on a bench. The parson and the stranger shook 
 one another very lovingly by the hand, and went into 
 a room together. 
 
 The evening now coming on, Joseph retired to his 
 chamber, whither the good Adams accompanied him, 
 and took this opportunity to expatiate on the great 
 mercies God had lately shown him, of which he ought 
 not only to have the deepest inward sense, but likewise 
 to express outward thankfulness for them. They there- 
 fore fell both on their knees, and spent a considerable 
 time in prayer and thanksgiving.
 
 72 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 They had just finished when Betty came in and told 
 Mr Adams Mr Barnabas desired to speak to him on 
 some business of consequence below-stairs. Joseph de- 
 sired, if it was likely to detain him long, he would let 
 him know it, that he might go to bed, which Adams 
 promised, and in that case they wished one another 
 good-night. 
 
 Cbaptrr r.Dtt. 
 
 A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the 
 bookseller, which was broke off by an unlucky 
 accident happening in the inn, which produced a 
 dialogue between Mrs Tow-wouse and her maid of 
 no gentle kind. 
 
 A3 soon as Adams came into the room, Mr Barnabas 
 introduced him to the stranger, who was, he 
 told him, a bookseller, and would be as likely 
 to deal with him for his sermons as any man whatever. 
 Adams, saluting the stranger, answered Barnabas, that 
 he was very much obliged to him ; that nothing could 
 be more convenient, for he had no other business to the 
 great city, and was heartily desirous of returning with 
 the young man, who was just recovered of his mis- 
 fortune. He then snapt his fingers (as was usual with 
 him), and took two or three turns about the room in 
 an extasy. And to induce the bookseller to be as ex- 
 peditious as possible, as likewise to offer him a better 
 price for his commodity, he assured them their meeting 
 was extremely lucky to himself; for that he had the 
 most pressing occasion for money at that time, his own 
 being almost spent, and having a friend then in the 
 same inn, who was just recovered from some wounds 
 he had received from robbers, and was in a most indi- 
 gent condition. " So that nothing," says he, " could
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 73 
 
 be so opportune for the supplying both our necessities 
 as my making an immediate bargain with you." 
 
 As soon as he had seated himself, the stranger began 
 in these words : " Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny 
 engaging in what my friend Mr Barnabas recommends ; 
 but sermons are mere drugs. The trade is so vastly 
 stocked with them, that really, unless they come out 
 with the name of Whitefield or Wesley, or some other 
 such great man, as a bishop, or those sort of people, I 
 don't care to touch ; unless now it was a sermon 
 preached on the 3Oth of January ; or we could say in 
 the title-page, published at the earnest request of the 
 congregation, or the inhabitants ; but, truly, for a dry 
 piece of sermons, I had rather be excused ; especially 
 as my hands are so full at present. However, sir, as 
 Mr Barnabas mentioned them to me, I will, if you 
 please, take the manuscript with me to town, and send 
 you my opinion of it in a very short time." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Adams, " if you desire it, I will read 
 two or three discourses as a specimen." This Barnabas, 
 who loved sermons no better than a grocer doth figs, 
 immediately objected to, and advised Adams to let the 
 bookseller have his sermons : telling him, " If he gave 
 him a direction, he might be certain of a speedy answer ; " 
 adding, he need not scruple trusting them in his pos- 
 session. " No," said the bookseller, " if it was a play 
 that had been acted twenty nights together, I believe it 
 would be safe." 
 
 Adams did not at all relish the last expression ; he 
 said " he was sorry to hear sermons compared to plays." 
 " Not by me, I assure you," cried the bookseller, " though 
 I don't know whether the licensing act may not shortly 
 bring them to the same footing ; but I have formerly 
 known a hundred guineas given for a play." " More 
 shame for those who gave it," cried Barnabas. " Why 
 so ? " said the bookseller, " for they got hundreds by it."
 
 74 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " But is there no difference between conveying good 
 or ill instructions to mankind ? " said Adams : " Would 
 not an honest mind rather lose money by the one, than 
 gain it by the other ? " " If you can find any such, I 
 will not be their hindrance," answered the bookseller ; 
 " but I think those persons who get by preaching sermons 
 are the properest to lose by printing them : for my part, 
 the copy that sells best will be always the best copy in 
 my opinion ; I am no enemy to sermons, but because 
 they don't sell : for I would as soon print one of White- 
 field's as any farce whatever." 
 
 " Whoever prints such heterodox stuff ought to be 
 hanged," says Barnabas. " Sir," said he, turning to 
 Adams, "this fellow's writings (I know not whether 
 you have seen them) are levelled at the clergy. He 
 would reduce us to the example of the primitive ages, 
 forsooth ! and would insinuate to the people that a 
 clergyman ought to be always preaching and praying. 
 He pretends to understand the Scripture literally ; and 
 would make mankind believe that the poverty and low 
 estate which was recommended to the Church in its in- 
 fancy, and was only temporary doctrine adapted to her 
 under persecution, was to be preserved in her flourish- 
 ing and established state. Sir, the principles of Toland, 
 Woolston, and all the freethinkers, are not calculated to 
 do half the mischief, as those professed by this fellow 
 and his followers." 
 
 "Sir," answered Adams, "if Mr Whitefield had 
 carried his doctrine no farther than you mention, I should 
 have remained, as I once was, his well-wisher. I am, 
 myself, as great an. enemy to the luxury and splendour of 
 the clergy as he can be. I do not, more than he, by the 
 flourishing estate of the Church, understand the palaces, 
 equipages, dress, furniture, rich dainties, and vast for- 
 tunes, of her ministers. Surely those things, which 
 savour so strongly of this world, become not the servants
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 75 
 
 of one who professed His kingdom was not of it. But 
 when he began to call nonsense and enthusiasm to his aid, 
 and set up the detestable doctrine of faith against good 
 works, I was his friend no longer ; for surely that doc- 
 trine was coined in hell ; and one would think none but 
 the devil himself could have the confidence to preach it 
 For can anything be more derogatory to the honour of 
 God than for men to imagine that the all-wise Being 
 will hereafter say to the good and virtuous, * Notwith- 
 standing the purity of thy life, notwithstanding that con- 
 stant rule of virtue and goodness in which you walked 
 upon earth, still, as thou didst not believe everything 
 in the true orthodox manner, thy want of faith shall 
 condemn thee ? ' Or, on the other side, can any 
 doctrine have a more pernicious influence on society, 
 than a persuasion that it will be a good plea for 
 the villain at the last day ' Lord, it is true I never 
 obeyed one of thy commandments, yet punish me 
 not, for I believe them all ? ' " " I suppose, sir," 
 said the bookseller, " your sermons are of a different 
 kind." " Aye, sir," said Adams ; " the contrary, I 
 thank Heaven, is inculcated in almost every page, or I 
 should belye my own opinion, which hath always been, 
 that a virtuous and good Turk, or heathen, are more 
 acceptable in the sight of their Creator than a vicious 
 and wicked Christian, though his faith was as perfectly 
 orthodox as St Paul's himself." " I wish you success," 
 says the bookseller, " but must beg to be excused, as my 
 hands are so very full at present ; and, indeed, I am 
 afraid you will find a backwardness in the trade to 
 engage in a book which the clergy would be certain 
 to cry down." " God forbid," says Adams, " any 
 books should be propagated which the clergy would 
 cry down ; but if you mean by the clergy, some few 
 designing factious men, who have it at heart to establish 
 some favourite schemes at the price of the liberty of
 
 76 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 mankind, and the very essence of religion, it is not in 
 the power of such persons to decry any book they 
 please ; witness that excellent book called, A Plain 
 Account of the Nature and End of the Sacrament ; ' 
 a book written (if I may venture on the expression) 
 with the pen of an angel, and calculated to restore the 
 true use of Christianity, and of that sacred institution ; 
 for what could tend more to the noble purposes of 
 religion than frequent chearful meetings among the 
 members of a society, in which they should, in the 
 presence of one another, and in the service of the 
 Supreme Being, make promises of being good, friendly, 
 and benevolent to each other ? Now, this excellent 
 book was attacked by a party, but unsuccessfully." 
 At these words Barnabas fell a-ringing with all the 
 violence imaginable ; upon which a servant attending, 
 he bid him " bring a bill immediately ; for that he was 
 in company, for aught he knew, with the devil him- 
 self; and he expected to hear the Alcoran, the Levia- 
 than, or Woolston commended, if he staid a few minutes 
 longer." Adams desired, " as he was so much moved 
 at his mentioning a book which he did without appre- 
 hending any possibility of offence, that he would be so 
 kind to propose any objections he had to it, which he 
 would endeavour to answer." " I propose objections ! " 
 said Barnabas, " I never read a syllable in any such 
 wicked book ; I never saw it in my life, I assure you." 
 Adams was going to answer, when a most hideous 
 uproar began in the inn. Mrs Tow-wouse, Mr Tow- 
 wouse, and Betty, all lifting up their voices together ; 
 but Mrs Tow-wouse's voice, like a bass viol in a 
 concert, was clearly and distinctly distinguished among 
 the rest, and was heard to articulate the following 
 sounds : " O you damn'd villain ! is this the return 
 to all the care I have taken of your family ? This the 
 reward of my virtue ? Is this the manner in which you
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 77 
 
 behave to one who brought you a fortune, and preferred 
 you to so many matches, all your betters ? To abuse 
 my bed, my own bed, with my own servant ! but I'll 
 maul the slut, I'll tear her nasty eyes out ! Was ever 
 such a pitiful dog, to take up with such a mean trollop ? 
 If she had been a gentlewoman, like myself, it had been 
 some excuse ; but a beggarly, saucy, dirty servant-maid. 
 Get you out of my house, you whore." To which she 
 added another name, which we do not care to stain our 
 paper with. It was a monosyllable beginning with a 
 b , and indeed was the same as if she had pronounced 
 the words, she-dog. Which term we shall, to avoid 
 offence, use on this occasion, though indeed both the 
 mistress and maid uttered the above-mentioned b , a 
 word extremely disgustful to females of the lower sort. 
 Betty had borne all hitherto with patience, and had 
 uttered only lamentations ; but the kst appellation stung 
 her to the quick. "I am a woman as well as your- 
 self," she roared out, " and no she-dog ; and if I have 
 been a little naughty, I am not the first ; if I have been 
 no better than I should be," cries she, sobbing, " that's 
 no reason you should call me out of my name ; my 
 be-betters are wo-rse than me." " Huzzy, huzzy," 
 says Mrs Tow-wouse, " have you the impudence to 
 answer me ? Did I not catch you, you saucy " and 
 then again repeated the terrible word so odious to female 
 ears. " I can't bear that name," answered Betty : " if I 
 have been wicked, I am to answer for it myself in the 
 other world ; but I have done nothing that's unnatural ; 
 and I will go out of your house this moment, for I will 
 never be called she-dog by any mistress in England." 
 Mrs Tow-wouse then armed herself with the spit, but 
 was prevented from executing any dreadful purpose by 
 Mr Adams, who confined her arms with the strength 
 of a wrist which Hercules would not have been ashamed 
 of. Mr Tow-wouse, being caught, as our lawyers
 
 78 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 express it, with the manner, and having no defence 
 to make, very prudently withdrew himself; and Betty 
 committed herself to the protection of the hostler, who, 
 though she could not conceive him pleased with what 
 had happened, was, in her opinion, rather a gentler beast 
 than her mistress. 
 
 Mrs Tow-wouse, at the intercession of Mr Adams, 
 and finding the enemy vanished, began to compose her- 
 self, and at length recovered the usual serenity of her 
 temper, in which we will leave her, to open to the 
 reader the steps which led to a catastrophe, common 
 enough, and comical enough too perhaps, in modern 
 history, yet often fatal to the repose and well-being of 
 families, and the subject of many tragedies, both in life 
 and on the stage. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 The history of Betty the chambermaid ', and an account of 
 what occasioned the violent scene in the preceding 
 chapter. 
 
 BETTY, who was the occasion of all this hurry, 
 had some good qualities. She had good-nature, 
 generosity, and compassion, but unfortunately, her 
 constitution was composed of those warm ingredients 
 which, though the purity of courts or nunneries might 
 have happily controuled them, were by no means able to 
 endure the ticklish situation of a chambermaid at an inn ; 
 who is daily liable to the solicitations of lovers of all 
 complexions ; to the dangerous addresses of fine gentle- 
 men of the army, who sometimes are obliged to reside 
 with them a whole year together ; and, above all, are 
 exposed to the caresses of footmen, stage-coachmen, and 
 drawers ; all of whom employ the whole artillery of 
 kissing, flattering, bribing, and every other weapon which
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 79 
 
 is to be found in the whole armoury of love, against 
 them. 
 
 Betty, who was but one-and-twenty, had now lived 
 three years in this dangerous situation, during which she 
 had escaped pretty well. An ensign of foot was the 
 first person who made an impression on her heart ; he 
 did indeed raise a flame in her which required the care 
 of a surgeon to cool. 
 
 While she burnt for him, several others burnt for her. 
 Officers of the army, young gentlemen travelling the 
 western circuit, inoffensive squires, and some of graver 
 character, were set a-fire by her charms ! 
 
 At length, having perfectly recovered the effects of 
 her first unhappy passion, she seemed to have vowed a 
 state of perpetual chastity. She was long deaf to all 
 the sufferings of her lovers, till one day, at a neighbour- 
 ing fair, the rhetoric of John the hostler, with a new 
 straw hat and a pint of wine, made a second conquest 
 over her. 
 
 She did not, however, feel any of those flames on 
 this occasion which had been the consequence of her 
 former amour ; nor, indeed, those other ill effects which 
 prudent young women very justly apprehend from too 
 absolute an indulgence to the pressing endearments of their 
 lovers. This latter, perhaps, was a little owing to her 
 not being entirely constant to John, with whom she per- 
 mitted Tom Whipwell the stage-coachman, and now and 
 then a handsome young traveller, to share her favours. 
 
 Mr Tow-wouse had for some time cast the languish- 
 ing eyes of affection on this young maiden. He had laid 
 hold on every opportunity of saying tender things to her, 
 squeezing her by the hand, and sometimes kissing her 
 lips ; for, as the violence of his passion had consider- 
 ably abated to Mrs Tow-wouse, so, like water, which 
 is stopt from its usual current in one place, it naturally 
 sought a vent in another. Mrs Tow-wouse is thought
 
 80 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to have perceived this abatement, and, probably, it 
 added very little to the natural sweetness of her temper ; 
 for though she was as true to her husband as the dial to 
 the sun, she was rather more desirous of being shone 
 on, as being more capable of feeling his warmth. 
 
 Ever since Joseph's arrival, Betty had conceived an 
 extraordinary liking to him, which discovered itself 
 more and more as he grew better and better ; till that 
 fatal evening, when, as she was warming his bed, her 
 passion grew to such a height, and so perfectly mastered 
 both her modesty and her reason, that, after many 
 fruitless hints and sly insinuations, she at last threw 
 down the warming-pan, and, embracing him with great 
 eagerness, swore he was the handsomest creature she 
 had ever seen. 
 
 Joseph, in great confusion, leapt from her, and told 
 her he was sorry to see a young woman cast off all re- 
 gard to modesty ; but she had gone too far to recede, 
 and grew so very indecent, that Joseph was obliged, 
 contrary to his inclination, to use some violence to her ; 
 and, taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the 
 room, and locked the door. 
 
 How ought man to rejoice that his chastity is always 
 in his own power ; that, if he hath sufficient strength of 
 mind, he hath always a competent strength of body to 
 defend himself, and cannot, like a poor weak woman, 
 be ravished against his will ! 
 
 Betty was in the most violent agitation at this dis- 
 appointment. Rage and lust pulled her heart, as with 
 two strings, two different ways ; one moment she 
 thought of stabbing Joseph ; the next, of taking him 
 in her arms, and devouring him with kisses ; but the 
 latter passion was far more prevalent. Then she 
 thought of revenging his refusal on herself; but, whilst 
 she was engaged in this meditation, happily death pre- 
 sented himself to her in so many shapes, of drowning,
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 8 1 
 
 hanging, poisoning, &c., that her distracted mind could 
 resolve on none. In this perturbation of spirit, it 
 accidentally occurred to her memory that her master's 
 bed was not made ; she therefore went directly to his 
 room, where he happened at that time to be engaged 
 at his bureau. As soon as she saw him, she attempted 
 to retire ; but he called her back, and, taking her by 
 the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same time 
 whispering so many soft things into her ears, and then 
 pressed her so closely with his kisses, that the vanquished 
 fair one, whose passions were already raised, and which 
 were not so whimsically capricious that one man only 
 could lay them, though, perhaps, she would have rather 
 preferred that one the vanquished fair one quietly 
 submitted, I say, to her master's will, who had just 
 attained the accomplishment of his bliss when Mrs 
 Tow-wouse unexpectedly entered the room, and caused 
 all that confusion which we have before seen, and 
 which it is not necessary, at present, to take any 
 farther notice of; since, without the assistance of a 
 single hint from us, every reader of any speculation or 
 experience, though not married himself, may easily con- 
 jecture that it concluded with the discharge of Betty, 
 the submission of Mr Tow-wouse, with some things to 
 be performed on his side by way of gratitude for his 
 wife's goodness in being reconciled to him, with many 
 hearty promises never to offend any more in the like 
 manner ; and, lastly, his quietly and contentedly bear- 
 ing to be reminded of his transgressions, as a kind of 
 penance, once or twice a day during the residue of his 
 life.
 
 BOOK II. 
 Chapter t. 
 
 Of Divisions in Authors. 
 
 THERE are certain mysteries or secrets in all 
 trades, from the highest to the lowest, from 
 that of prime-ministering to this of authoring, 
 which are seldom discovered unless to members of the 
 same calling. Among those used by us gentlemen of 
 the latter occupation, I take this of dividing our works 
 into books and chapters to be none of the least con- 
 siderable. Now, for want of being truly acquainted 
 with this secret, common readers imagine, that by this 
 art of dividing we mean only to swell our works to 
 a much larger bulk than they would otherwise be 
 extended to. These several places therefore in our 
 paper, which are filled with our books and chapters, 
 are understood as so much buckram, stays, and stay-tape 
 in a taylor's bill, serving only to make up the sum total, 
 commonly found at the bottom of our first page and of 
 his last. 
 
 But in reality the case is otherwise, and in this as 
 well as all other instances we consult the advantage of 
 our reader, not bur own ; and indeed, many notable 
 uses arise to him from this method ; for, first, those 
 little spaces between our chapters may be looked upon 
 as an inn or resting-place where he may stop and tike 
 a glass or any other refreshment as it pleases him. 
 Nay, our fine readers will, perhaps, be scarce able to 
 to
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 83 
 
 travel farther than through one of them in a day. As 
 to those vacant pages which are placed between our 
 books, they are to be regarded as those stages where in 
 long journies the traveller stays some time to repose 
 himself, and consider of what he hath seen in the parts 
 he hath already passed through ; a consideration which 
 I take the liberty to recommend a little to the reader ; 
 for, however swift his capacity may be, I would not 
 advise him to travel through these pages too fast ; for 
 if he doth, he may probably miss the seeing some 
 curious productions of nature, which will be observed 
 by the slower and more accurate reader. A volume 
 without any such places of rest resembles the opening 
 of wilds or seas, which tires the eye and fatigues the 
 spirit when entered upon. 
 
 Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every 
 chapter but so many inscriptions over the gates of inns 
 (to continue the same metaphor), informing the reader 
 what entertainment he is to expect, which if he likes 
 not, he may travel on to the next ; for, in biography, 
 as we are not tied down to an exact concatenation 
 equally with other historians, so a chapter or two (for 
 instance, this I am now writing) may be often passed 
 over without any injury to the whole. And in these 
 inscriptions I have been as faithful as possible, not 
 imitating the celebrated Montaigne, who promises you 
 one thing and gives you another ; nor some title-page 
 authors, who promise a great deal and produce nothing 
 at all. 
 
 There are, besides these more obvious benefits, several 
 others which our readers enjoy from this art of dividing ; 
 though perhaps most of them too mysterious to be 
 presently understood by any who are not initiated into 
 the science of authoring. To mention, therefore, but 
 one which is most obvious, it prevents spoiling the 
 beauty of a book by turning down its leaves, a method
 
 84 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 otherwise necessary to those readers who (though they 
 read with great improvement and advantage) are apt, 
 when they return to their study after half-an-hour's 
 absence, to forget where they left off. 
 
 These divisions have the sanction of great antiquity. 
 Homer not only divided his great work into twenty-four 
 books (in compliment perhaps to the twenty-four letters 
 to which he had very particular obligations), but, accord- 
 ing to the opinion of some very sagacious critics, hawked 
 them all separately, delivering only one book at a time 
 (probably by subscription). He was the first inven- 
 tor of the art which hath so long lain dormant, of 
 publishing by numbers ; an art now brought to such 
 perfection, that even dictionaries are divided and ex- 
 hibited piecemeal to the public ; nay, one bookseller hath 
 (to encourage learning and ease the public) contrived 
 to give them a dictionary in this divided manner for only 
 fifteen shillings more than it would have cost entire. 
 
 Virgil hath given us his poem in twelve books, an 
 argument of his modesty ; for by that, doubtless, he 
 would insinuate that he pretends to no more than half 
 the merit of the Greek ; for the same reason, our 
 Milton went originally no farther than ten ; till, being 
 puffed up by the praise of his friends, he put himself 
 on the same footing with the Roman poet. 
 
 I shall not, however, enter so deep into this matter 
 as some very learned criticks have done ; who have with 
 infinite labour and acute discernment discovered what 
 books are proper for embellishment, and what require 
 simplicity only, particularly with regard to similes, 
 which I think are now generally agreed to become any 
 book but the first. 
 
 I will dismiss this chapter with the following obser- 
 vation : that it becomes an author generally to divide a 
 book, as it does a butcher to joint his meat, for such 
 assistance is of great help to both the reader and the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 85 
 
 carver. And now, having indulged myself a little, I 
 will endeavour to indulge the curiosity of my reader, 
 who is no doubt impatient to know what he will find 
 in the subsequent chapters of this book. 
 
 tj. 
 
 A surprizing instance of Mr Adams' 's short memory, 
 with the unfortunate consequences 'which it brought 
 on Joseph. 
 
 MR ADAMS and Joseph were now ready to depart 
 different ways, when an accident determined 
 the former to return with his friend, which 
 Tow-wouse, Barnabas, and the bookseller had not been 
 able to do. This accident was, that those sermons, 
 which the parson was travelling to London to publish, 
 were, O my good reader ! left behind ; what he had 
 mistaken for them in the saddlebags being no other 
 than three shirts, a pair of shoes, and some other 
 necessaries, which Mrs Adams, who thought her hus- 
 band would want shirts more than sermons on his 
 journey, had carefully provided him. 
 
 This discovery was now luckily owing to the presence 
 of Joseph at the opening the saddlebags ; who, having 
 heard his friend say he carried with him nine volumes 
 of sermons, and not being of that sect of philosophers 
 who can reduce all the matter of the world into a nut- 
 shell, seeing there was no room for them in the bags, 
 where the parson had said they were deposited, had 
 the curiosity to cry out, " Bless me, sir, where are your 
 sermons ? " The parson answered, " There, there, 
 child ; there they are, under my shirts." Now it 
 happened that he had taken forth his last shirt, and 
 the vehicle remained visibly empty. " Sure, sir," says
 
 86 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Joseph, " there is nothing in the bags." Upon which 
 Adams, starting, and testifying some surprize, cried, 
 " Hey ! fie, fie upon it ! they are not here sure enough. 
 Ay, they are certainly left behind." 
 
 Joseph was greatly concerned at the uneasiness which 
 he apprehended his friend must feel from this disap- 
 pointment ; he begged him to pursue his journey, and 
 promised he would himself return with the books to 
 him with the utmost expedition. " No, thank you, 
 child," answered Adams ; " it shall not be so. What 
 would it avail me, to tarry in the great city, unless I 
 had my discourses with me, which are ut ita dlcam, the 
 sole cause, the aitia monotati of my peregrination ? No, 
 child, as this accident hath happened, I am resolved to 
 return back to my cure, together with you ; which 
 indeed my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This 
 disappointment may perhaps be intended for my good." 
 He concluded with a verse out of Theocritus, which 
 signifies no more than thit sometimes it rains, and 
 sometimes the sun shines. 
 
 Joseph bowed with obedience and thankfulness for 
 the inclination which the parson expressed of returning 
 with him ; and now the bill was called for, which, on 
 examination, amounted within a shilling to the sum Mr 
 Adams had in- his pocket. Perhaps the reader may 
 wonder how he was able to produce a sufficient sum for 
 so many days : that he may not be surprized, therefore, 
 it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint him that he had 
 borrowed a guinea of a servant belonging to the coach 
 and six, who had been formerly one of his parishioners, 
 and whose master, the owner of the coach, then lived 
 within three miles of him ; for so good was the credit 
 of Mr Adams, that even Mr Peter, the Lady Booby's 
 steward, would have lent him a guinea with very little 
 security. 
 
 Mr Adams discharged the bill, and they were both

 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 87 
 
 setting out, having agreed to ride and tie ; a method of 
 travelling much used by persons who have but one horse 
 between them, and is thus performed. The two travellers 
 set out together, one on horseback, the other on foot : 
 now, as it generally happens that he on horseback out- 
 goes him on foot, the custom is, that, when he arrives 
 at the distance agreed on, he is to dismount, tie the 
 horse to some gate, tree, post, or other thing, and then 
 proceed on foot ; when the other comes up to the horse 
 he unties him, mounts, and gallops on, till, having passed 
 by his fellow-traveller, he likewise arrives at the place 
 of tying. And this is that method of travelling so much 
 in use among our prudent ancestors, who knew that 
 horses had mouths as well as legs, and that they could 
 not use the latter without being at the expense of suffer- 
 ing the beasts themselves to use the former. This was 
 the method in use in those days when, instead of a coach 
 and six, a member of parliament's lady used to mount a 
 pillion behind her husband ; and a grave serjeant at 
 law condescended to amble to Westminster on an easy 
 pad, with his clerk kicking his heels behind him. 
 
 Adams was now gone some minutes, having insisted 
 on Joseph's beginning the journey on horseback, and 
 Joseph had his foot in the stirrup, when the hostler 
 presented him a bill for the horse's board during his 
 residence at the inn. Joseph said Mr Adams had paid 
 all ; but this matter, being referred to Mr Tow-wouse, 
 was by him decided in favour of the hostler, and indeed 
 with truth and justice ; for this was a fresh instance of 
 that shortness of memory which did not arise from want 
 of parts, but that continual hurry in which parson Adams 
 was always involved. 
 
 Joseph was now reduced to a dilemma which ex- 
 tremely puzzled him. The sum due for horse-meat 
 was twelve shillings (for Adams, who had borrowed the 
 beast of his clerk, had ordered him to be fed as well
 
 88 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 as they could feed him), and the cash in his pocket 
 amounted to sixpence (for Adams had divided the last 
 shilling with him). Now, though there have been some 
 ingenious persons who have contrived to pay twelve 
 shillings with sixpence, Joseph was not one of them. 
 He had never contracted a debt in his life, and was 
 consequently the less ready at an expedient to extricate 
 himself. Tow-wouse was willing to give him credit 
 till next time, to which Mrs Tow-wouse would probably 
 have consented (for such was Joseph's beauty, that it 
 had made some impression even on that piece of flint 
 which that good woman wore in her bosom by way of 
 heart). Joseph would have found, therefore, very likely 
 the passage free, had he not, when he honestly discovered 
 the nakedness of his pockets, pulled out that little piece 
 of gold which we have mentioned before. This caused 
 Mrs Tow-wouse's eyes to water ; she told Joseph she 
 did not conceive a man could want money whilst he had 
 gold in his pocket. Joseph answered he had such a 
 value for that little piece of gold, that he would not 
 part with it for a hundred times the riches which the 
 greatest esquire in the county was worth. " A pretty 
 way, indeed," said Mrs Tow-wouse, " to run in debt, 
 and then refuse to part with your money, because you 
 have a value for it ! I never knew any piece of gold 
 of more value than as many shillings as it would change 
 for." "Not to preserve my life from starving, nor to 
 redeem it from a robber, would I part with this dear 
 piece ! " answered Joseph. " What," says Mrs Tow- 
 wouse, " I suppose it was given you by some vile trollop, 
 some miss or other ; if it had been the present of a 
 virtuous woman, you would not have had such a value 
 for it. My husband is a fool if he parts with the horse 
 without being paid for him." "No, no, I can't part 
 with the horse, indeed, till I have the money," crkxl 
 Tow-wouse. A resolution highly commended by a
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 89 
 
 lawyer then in the yard, who declared Mr Tow-wouse 
 might justify the detainer. 
 
 As we cannot therefore at present get Mr Joseph out 
 of the inn, we shall leave him in it, and carry our reader 
 on after parson Adams, who, his mind being perfectly at 
 ease, fell into a contemplation on a passage in ^Eschylus, 
 which entertained him for three miles together, without 
 suffering him once to reflect on his fellow-traveller. 
 
 At length, having spun out his thread, and being now 
 at the summit of a hill, he cast his eyes backwards, and 
 wondered that he could not see any sign of Joseph. As 
 he left him ready to mount the horse, he could not 
 apprehend any mischief had happened, neither could he 
 suspect that he missed his way, it being so broad and 
 plain ; the only reason which presented itself to him 
 was, that he had met with an acquaintance who had 
 prevailed with him to delay some time in discourse. 
 
 He therefore resolved to proceed slowly forwards, 
 not doubting but that he should be shortly overtaken ; 
 and soon came to a large water, which, filling the whole 
 road, he saw no method of passing unless by wading 
 through, which he accordingly did up to his middle ; 
 but was no sooner got to the other side than he perceived, 
 if he had looked over the hedge, he would have found 
 a footpath capable of conducting him without wetting 
 his shoes. 
 
 His surprize at Joseph's not coming up grew now very 
 troublesome : he began to fear he knew not what ; and 
 as he determined to move no farther, and, if he did not 
 shortly overtake him, to return back, he wished to find 
 a house of public entertainment where he might dry his 
 clothes and refresh himself with a pint ; but, seeing no 
 such (for no other reason than because he did not cast 
 his eyes a hundred yards forwards), he sat himself down 
 on a stile, and pulled out his ^Eschylus. 
 
 A fellow passing presently by, Adams asked him if
 
 9<D THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he could direct him to an alehouse. The fellow, who 
 had just left it, and perceived the house and sign to be 
 within sight, thinking he had jeered him, and being of a 
 morose temper, bade him follow his nose and be d n'd. 
 Adams told him he was a saucy jackanapes ; upon which 
 the fellow turned about angrily ; but, perceiving Adams 
 clench his fist, he thought proper to go on without taking 
 any farther notice. 
 
 A horseman, following immediately after, and being 
 asked the same question, answered, " Friend, there is one 
 within a stone's throw ; I believe you may see it before 
 you." Adams, lifting up his eyes, cried, " I protest, 
 and so there is ; " and, thanking his informer, proceeded 
 directly to it. 
 
 Chapter tit. 
 
 The opinion of two lawyers concerning the same gentleman, 
 with Mr Adams's inquiry into the religion of his host. 
 
 HE had just entered the house, and called for his 
 pint, and seated himself, when two horsemen 
 came to the door, and, fastening their horses to 
 the rails, alighted. They said there was a violent shower 
 of rain coming on, which they intended to weather there, 
 and went into a little room by themselves, not perceiving 
 Mr Adams. 
 
 One of these immediately asked the other, " If he 
 had seen a more comical adventure a great while?" 
 Upon which the other said, " He doubted whether, by 
 law, the landlord could justify detaining the horse for 
 his corn and hay." But the former answered, " Un- 
 doubtedly he can ; it is an adjudged case, and I have 
 known it tried." 
 
 Adams, who, though he was, as the reader may sus- 
 pect, a little inclined to forgetful ness, never wanted more
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 91 
 
 than a hint to remind him, overhearing their discourse, 
 immediately suggested to himself that this was his own 
 horse, and that he had forgot to pay for him, which, 
 upon inquiry, he was certified of by the gentlemen ; 
 who added, that the horse was likely to have more rest 
 than food, unless he was paid for. 
 
 The poor parson resolved to return presently to the 
 inn, though he knew no more than Joseph how to pro- 
 cure his horse his liberty ; he was, however, prevailed 
 on to stay under covert, till the shower, which was 
 now very violent, was over. 
 
 The three travellers then sat down together over a 
 mug of good beer ; when Adams, who had observed a 
 gentleman's house as he passed along the road, inquired 
 to whom it belonged ; one of the horsemen had no 
 sooner mentioned the owner's name, than the other 
 began to revile him in the most opprobrious terms. 
 The English language scarce affords a single reproach- 
 ful word, which he did not vent on this occasion. He 
 charged him likewise with many particular facts. He 
 said, " He no more regarded a field of wheat when 
 he was hunting, than he did the highway ; that he had 
 injured several poor farmers by trampling their corn 
 under his horse's heels ; and if any of them begged 
 him with the utmost submission to refrain, his horse- 
 whip was always ready to do them justice." He said, 
 " That he was the greatest tyrant to the neighbours in 
 every other instance, and would not suffer a farmer to 
 keep a gun, though he might justify it by law ; and in 
 his own family so cruel a master, that he never kept a 
 servant a twelvemonth. In his capacity as a justice," 
 continued he, " he behaves so partially, that he commits 
 or acquits just as he is in the humour, without any regard 
 to truth or evidence ; the devil may carry any one before 
 him for me ; I would rather be tried before some judges, 
 than be a prosecutor before him : if I had an estate in
 
 Q2 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the neighbourhood, I would sell it for half the value 
 rather than live near him." 
 
 Adams shook his head, and said, " He was sorry 
 such men were suffered to proceed with impunity, and 
 that riches could set any man above the law." The 
 reviler, a little after, retiring into the yard, the gentle- 
 man who had first mentioned his name to Adams began 
 to assure him " that his companion was a prejudiced 
 person. It is true," says he, " perhaps, that he may 
 have sometimes pursued his game over a field of corn, 
 but he hath always made the party ample satisfac- 
 tion : that so far from tyrannising over his neighbours, 
 or taking away their guns, he himself knew several 
 farmers not qualified, who not only kept guns, but killed 
 game with them ; that he was the best of masters to his 
 servants, and several of them had grown old in his 
 service ; that he was the best justice of peace in the 
 kingdom, and, to his certain knowledge, had decided 
 many difficult points, which were referred to him, with 
 the greatest equity and the highest wisdom ; and he 
 verily believed, several persons would give a year's 
 purchase more for an estate near him, than under the 
 wings of any other great man." He had just finished 
 his encomium when his companion returned and ac- 
 quainted him the storm was over. Upon which they 
 presently mounted their horses and departed. 
 
 Adams, who was in the utmost anxiety at those 
 different characters of the same person, asked his host 
 if he knew the gentleman : for he began to imagine 
 they had by mistake been speaking of two several gentle- 
 men. " No, no, master," answered the host (a shrewd, 
 cunning fellow) ; " I know the gentleman very well of 
 whom they have been speaking, as I do the gentlemen 
 who spoke of him. As for riding over other men's 
 corn, to my knowledge he hath not been on horseback 
 these two years. I never heard he did any injury of
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 93 
 
 that kind ; and as to making reparation, he is not so 
 free of his money as that comes to neither. Nor did I 
 ever hear of his taking away any man's gun ; nay, I 
 know several who have guns in their houses ; but as 
 for killing game with them, no man is stricter ; and I 
 believe he would ruin any who did. You heard one of 
 the gentlemen say he was the worst master in the world, 
 and the other that he is the best ; but for my own part, 
 I know all his servants, and never heard from any of 
 them that he was either one or the other." " Aye ! 
 aye ! " says Adams ; " and how doth he behave as a 
 justice, pray ? " " Faith, friend," answered the host, 
 " I question whether he is in the commission ; the only 
 cause I have heard he hath decided a great while, was 
 one between those very two persons who just went out 
 of this house ; and I am sure he determined that justly, 
 for I heard the whole matter." " Which did he decide 
 it in favour of?" quoth Adams. "I think I need 
 not answer that question," cried the host, "after the 
 different characters you have heard of him. It is not 
 my business to contradict gentlemen while they are 
 drinking in my house ; but I knew neither of them 
 spoke a syllable of truth." "God forbid!" said 
 Adams, "that men should arrive at such a pitch of 
 wickedness to belye the character of their neighbour 
 from a little private affection, or, what is infinitely 
 worse, a private spite. I rather believe we have mis- 
 taken them, and they mean two other persons ; for 
 there are many houses on the road." " Why, prithee, 
 friend," cries the host, "dost thou pretend never to 
 have told a lye in thy life ? " " Never a malicious one, 
 I am certain," answered Adams, "nor with a design 
 to injure the reputation of any man living." " Pugh ! 
 malicious ; no, no," replied the host ; " not malicious 
 with a design to hang a man, or bring him into 
 trouble ; but surely, out of love to oneself, one must
 
 94 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 speak better of a friend than an enemy." " Out of 
 love to yourself, you should confine yourself to truth," 
 says Adams, " for by doing otherwise you injure the 
 noblest part of yourself, your immortal soul. I can 
 hardly believe any man such an idiot to risque the loss of 
 that by any trifling gain, and the greatest gain in this 
 world is but dirt in comparison of what shall be re- 
 vealed hereafter." Upon which the host, taking up 
 the cup, with a smile, drank a health to hereafter ; 
 adding, " He was for something present." " Why," 
 says Adams very gravely, "do not you believe an- 
 other world?" To which the host answered, "Yes; 
 he was no atheist." " And you believe you have an 
 immortal soul ? " cries Adams. He answered, " God 
 forbid he should not." " And heaven and hell ? " said 
 the parson. The host then bid him " not to profane ; 
 for those were things not to be mentioned nor thought 
 of but in church." Adams asked him, " Why he went 
 to church, if what he learned there had no influence on 
 his conduct in life ? " "I go to church," answered 
 the host, " to say my prayers and behave godly. "- 
 " And dost not thou," cried Adams, " believe what 
 thou hearest at church ? " " Most part of it, master," 
 returned the host. " And dost not thou then tremble," 
 cries Adams, " at the thought of eternal punishment ? " 
 " As for that, master," said he, " I never once 
 thought about it ; but what signifies talking about 
 matters so far off? The mug is out, shall I draw an- 
 other ? " 
 
 Whilst he was going for that purpose, a stage-coach 
 drove up to the door. The coachman coming into the 
 house was asked by the mistress what passengers he had 
 in his coach ? " A parcel of squinny-gut b s," says 
 he ; "I have a good mind to overturn them ; you 
 won't prevail upon them to drink anything, I assure 
 you." Adams asked him, " If he had not seen a young
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 95 
 
 man on horseback on the road" (describing Joseph). 
 "Aye," said the coachman, "a gentlewoman in my 
 coach that is his acquaintance redeemed him and his 
 horse ; he would have been here before this time, had 
 not the storm driven him to shelter." " God bless 
 her ! " said Adams, in a rapture ; nor could he delay 
 walking out to satisfy himself who this charitable woman 
 was ; but what was his surprize when he saw his old 
 acquaintance, Madam Slipslop ? Hers indeed was not 
 so great, because she had been informed by Joseph that 
 he was on the road. Very civil were the salutations on 
 both sides ; and Mrs Slipslop rebuked the hostess for 
 denying the gentleman to be there when she asked for 
 him ; but indeed the poor woman had not erred de- 
 signedly ; for Mrs Slipslop asked for a clergyman, and 
 she had unhappily mistaken Adams for a person travel- 
 ling to a neighbouring fair with the thimble and button, 
 or some other such operation ; for he marched in a 
 swinging great but short white coat with black buttons, 
 a short wig, and a hat which, so far from having a black 
 hatband, had nothing black about it. 
 
 Joseph was now come up, and Mrs Slipslop would 
 have had him quit his horse to the parson, and come 
 himself into the coach ; but he absolutely refused, say- 
 ing, he thanked Heaven he was well enough recovered 
 to be very able to ride ; and added, he hoped he knew 
 his duty better than to ride in a coach while Mr Adams 
 was on horseback. 
 
 Mrs Slipslop would have persisted longer, had not a 
 lady in the coach put a short end to the dispute, by 
 refusing to suffer a fellow in a livery to ride in the same 
 coach with herself; so it was at length agreed that 
 Adams should fill the vacant place in the coach, and 
 Joseph should proceed on horseback. 
 
 They had not proceeded far before Mrs Slipslop, 
 addressing herself to the parson, spoke thus : " There
 
 96 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 hath been a strange alteration in our family, Mr Adams, 
 since Sir Thomas's death." " A strange alteration in- 
 deed," says Adams, " as I gather from some hints 
 which have dropped from Joseph." " Aye," says she, 
 " I could never have believed it ; but the longer one 
 lives in the world, the more one sees. So Joseph hath 
 given you hints." " But of what nature will always 
 remain a perfect secret with me," cries the parson : 
 " he forced me to promise before he would communi- 
 cate anything. I am indeed concerned to find her 
 ladyship behave in so unbecoming a manner. I always 
 thought her in the main a good lady, and should never 
 have suspected her of thoughts so unworthy a Christian, 
 and with a young lad her own servant." "These 
 things are no secrets to me, I assure you," cries Slipslop, 
 " and I believe they will be none anywhere shortly ; 
 for ever since the boy's departure, she hath behaved 
 more like a mad woman than anything else." " Truly, 
 I am heartily concerned," says Adams, " for she was 
 a good sort of a lady. Indeed, I have often wished 
 she had attended a little more constantly at the service, 
 but she hath done a great deal of good in the parish." 
 " O Mr Adams," says Slipslop, " people that don't see 
 all, often know nothing. Many things have been given 
 away in our family, I do assure you, without her know- 
 ledge. I have heard you say in the pulpit we ought 
 not to brag ; but indeed I can't avoid saying, if she 
 had kept the keys herself, the poor would have wanted 
 many a cordial which I have let them have. As for 
 my late master, he was as worthy a man as ever lived, 
 and would have done infinite good if he had not been 
 controlled ; but he loved a quiet life, Heaven rest his 
 soul ! I am confident he is there, and enjoys a quiet 
 life, which some folks would not allow him here."- 
 Adams answered, " He had never heard this before, 
 and was mistaken if she herself (for he remembered
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 97 
 
 she used to commend her mistress and blame her 
 master) had not formerly been of another opinion." 
 " I don't know," replied she, " what I might once 
 think ; but now I am confidous matters are as I tell 
 you ; the world will shortly see who hath been de- 
 ceived ; for my part, I say nothing, but that it is 
 wondersome how some people can carry all things 
 with a grave face." 
 
 Thus Mr Adams and she discoursed, till they came 
 opposite to a great house which stood at some distance 
 from the road : a kdy in the coach, spying it, cried, 
 "Yonder lives the unfortunate Leonora, if one can 
 justly call a woman unfortunate whom we must own at 
 the same time guilty and the author of her own calamity." 
 This was abundantly sufficient to awaken the curiosity 
 of Mr Adams, as indeed it did that of the whole com- 
 pany, who jointly solicited the lady to acquaint them 
 with Leonora's history, since it seemed, by what she 
 had said, to contain something remarkable. 
 
 The lady, who was perfectly well-bred, did not 
 require many entreaties, and having only wished their 
 entertainment might make amends for the company's 
 attention, she began in the following manner. 
 
 C (japtcr tjj. 
 
 The history of Leonora, or the unfortunate jilt. 
 
 ClONORA was the daughter of a gentleman of 
 fortune ; she was tall and well-shaped, with a 
 sprightliness in her countenance which often 
 attracts beyond more regular features joined with an 
 insipid air : nor is this kind of beauty less apt to deceive 
 than allure ; the good humour which it indicates being
 
 98 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 often mistaken for good nature, and the vivacity for true 
 understanding. 
 
 Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived 
 with an aunt of hers in a town in the north of England. 
 She was an extreme lover of gaiety, and very rarely 
 missed a ball or any other public assembly ; where she 
 had frequent opportunities of satisfying a greedy appetite 
 of vanity, with the preference which was given her by 
 the men to almost every other woman present. 
 
 Among many young fellows who were particular in 
 their gallantries towards her, Horatio soon distinguished 
 himself in her eyes beyond all his competitors ; she 
 danced with more than ordinary gaiety when he happened 
 to be her partner ; neither the fairness of the evening, 
 nor the musick of the nightingale, could lengthen her 
 walk like his company. She affected no longer to 
 understand the civilities of others ; whilst she inclined 
 so attentive an ear to every compliment of Horatio, that 
 she often smiled even when it was too delicate for her 
 comprehension. 
 
 " Pray, madam," says Adams, " who was this squire 
 Horatio?" 
 
 Horatio, says the lady, was a young gentleman of a 
 good family, bred to the law, and had been some few 
 years called to the degree of a barrister. His face and 
 person were such as the generality allowed handsome ; 
 but he had a dignity in his air very rarely to be seen. 
 His temper was of the saturnine complexion, and without 
 the least taint of moroseness. He had wit and humour, 
 with an inclination to satire, which he indulged rather 
 oo much. 
 
 This gentleman, who had contracted the most violent 
 passion for Leonora, was the last person who perceived 
 the probability of its success. The whole town had 
 made the match for him before he himself had drawn 
 a confidence from her actions sufficient to mention his
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 99 
 
 passion to her ; for it was his opinion (and perhaps he 
 was there in the right) that it is highly impolitick to talk 
 seriously of love to a woman before you have made such 
 a progress in her affections, that she herself expects and 
 desires to hear it. 
 
 But whatever diffidence the fears of a lover may create, 
 which are apt to magnify every favour conferred on a 
 rival, and to see the little advances towards themselves 
 through the other end of the perspective, it was im- 
 possible that Horatio's passion should so blind his dis- 
 cernment as to prevent his conceiving hopes from the 
 behaviour of Leonora, whose fondness for him was now 
 as visible to an indifferent person in their company as 
 his for her. 
 
 " I never knew any of these forward sluts come to 
 good "(says the lady who refused Joseph's entrance into 
 the coach), " nor shall I wonder at anything she doth 
 in the sequel." 
 
 The lady proceeded in her story thus : It was in 
 the midst of a gay conversation in the walks one evening, 
 when Horatio whispered Leonora, that he was desirous 
 to take a turn or two with her in private, for that he 
 had something to communicate to her of great conse- 
 quence. " Are you sure it is of consequence ? " said 
 she, smiling. " I hope," answered he, " you will think 
 so too, since the whole future happiness of my life must 
 depend on the event." 
 
 Leonora, who very much suspected what was coming, 
 would have deferred it till another time ; but Horatio, 
 who had more than half conquered the difficulty of 
 speaking by the first motion, was so very importunate, 
 that she at last yielded, and, leaving the rest of the com- 
 pany, they turned aside into an unfrequented walk. 
 
 They had retired far out of the sight of the company, 
 both maintaining a strict silence. At last Horatio made 
 a full stop, and taking Leonora, who stood pale and
 
 100 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 trembling, gently by the hand, he fetched a deep sigh, 
 and then, looking on her eyes with all the tender- 
 ness imaginable, he cried out in a faltering accent, " O 
 Leonora ! is it necessary for me to declare to you on 
 what the future happiness of my life must be founded ? 
 Must I say there is something belonging to you which 
 is a bar to my happiness, and which unless you will 
 part with, I must be miserable!" "What can that 
 be ? " replied Leonora. " No wonder," said he, " you 
 are surprized that I should make an objection to anything 
 which is yours : yet sure you may guess, since it is the 
 only one which the riches of the world, if they were 
 mine, should purchase for me. Oh, it is that which 
 you must part with to bestow all the rest ! Can Leonora, 
 or rather will she, doubt longer ? Let me then whisper 
 it in her ears It is your name, madam. It is by parting 
 with that, by your condescension to be for ever mine, 
 which must at once prevent me from being the most 
 miserable, and will render me the happiest of mankind." 
 
 Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as angry a 
 look as she could possibly put on, told him, " That had 
 she suspected what his declaration would have been, he 
 should not have decoyed her from her company, that 
 he had so surprized and frighted her, that she begged 
 him to convey her back as quick as possible ; " which 
 he, trembling very near as much as herself, did. 
 
 " More fool he," cried Slipslop ; " it is a sign he 
 knew very little of our sect." " Truly, madam," said 
 Adams, " I think you are in the right : I should have 
 insisted to know a piece of her mind, when I had 
 carried matters so far." But Mrs Grave-airs desired 
 the lady to omit all such fulsome stuff in her story, for 
 that it made her sick. 
 
 Well then, madam, to be as concise as possible, said 
 the lady, many weeks had not passed after this interview 
 before Horatio and Leonora were what they call on a
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. IO1 
 
 good footing together. All ceremonies except the last 
 were now over ; the writings were now drawn, and 
 everything was in the utmost forwardness preparative 
 to the putting Horatio in possession of all his wishes. 
 I will, if you please, repeat you a letter from each of 
 them, which I have got by heart, and which will give 
 you no small idea of their passion on both sides. 
 
 Mrs Grave-airs objected to hearing these letters ; 
 but being put to the vote, it was carried against her by 
 all the rest in the coach ; parson Adams contending 
 for it with the utmost vehemence. 
 
 HORATIO TO LEONORA. 
 
 " How vain, most adorable creature, is the pursuit 
 of pleasure in the absence of an object to which the 
 mind is entirely devoted, unless it have some relation 
 to that object ! I was last night condemned to the 
 society of men of wit and learning, which, however 
 agreeable it might have formerly been to me, now only 
 gave me a suspicion that they imputed my absence in 
 conversation to the true cause. For which reason, 
 when your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happi- 
 ness of seeing you, I am always desirous to be alone ; 
 since my sentiments for Leonora are so delicate, that I 
 cannot bear the apprehension of another's prying into 
 those delightful endearments with which the warm 
 imagination of a lover will sometimes indulge him, and 
 which I suspect my eyes then betray. To fear this 
 discovery of our thoughts may perhaps appear too ridi- 
 culous a nicety to minds not susceptible of all the 
 tendernesses of this delicate passion. And surely we 
 shall suspect there are few such, when we consider that 
 it requires every human virtue to exert itself in its full 
 extent ; since the beloved, whose happiness it ultimately 
 respects, may give us charming opportunities of being
 
 102 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 brave in her defence, generous to her wants, com- 
 passionate to her afflictions, grateful to her kindness ; 
 and in the same manner, of exercising every other 
 virtue, which he who would not do to any degree, 
 and that with the utmost rapture, can never deserve 
 the name of a lover. It is, therefore, with a view to 
 the delicate modesty of your mind that I cultivate it so 
 purely in my own ; and it is that which will sufficiently 
 suggest to you the uneasiness I bear from those liberties, 
 which men to whom the world allow politeness will 
 sometimes give themselves on these occasions. 
 
 " Can I tell you with what eagerness I expect the 
 arrival of that blest day, when I shall experience the 
 falsehood of a common assertion, that the greatest 
 human happiness consists in hope ? A doctrine which 
 no person had ever stronger reason to believe than my- 
 self at present, since none ever tasted such bliss as fires 
 my bosom with the thoughts of spending my future 
 days with such a companion, and that every action of 
 my life will have the glorious satisfaction of conducing 
 to your happiness." 
 
 LEONORA TO HORATIO.* 
 
 " The refinement of your mind has been so evidently 
 proved by every word and action ever since I had the 
 first pleasure of knowing you, that I thought it im- 
 possible my good opinion of Horatio could have been 
 heightened to any additional proof of merit. This very 
 thought was my amusement when I received your last 
 letter, which, when I opened, I confess I was surprized 
 to find the delicate sentiments expressed there so far 
 exceeding what I thought could come even from you 
 (although I know all the generous principles human 
 
 * This letter was written by a young lady on reading the 
 former.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 103 
 
 nature is capable of are centred in your breast), that 
 words cannot paint what I feel on the reflection that 
 my happiness shall be the ultimate end of all your 
 actions. 
 
 " Oh, Horatio ! what a life must that be, where the 
 meanest domestic cares are sweetened by the pleasing 
 consideration that the man on earth who best deserves, 
 and to whom you are most inclined to give your affec- 
 tions, is to reap either profit or pleasure from all you do ! 
 In such a case toils must be turned into diversions, and 
 nothing but the unavoidable inconveniences of life can 
 make us remember that we are mortal. 
 
 " If the solitary turn of your thoughts, and the desire 
 of keeping them undiscovered, makes even the conversa- 
 tion of men of wit and learning tedious to you, what 
 anxious hours must I spend, who am condemned by 
 custom to the conversation of women, whose natural 
 curiosity leads them to pry into all my thoughts, and 
 whose envy can never suffer Horatio's heart to be pos- 
 sessed by any one, without forcing them into malicious 
 designs against the person who is so happy as to possess 
 it ! But, indeed, if ever envy can possibly have any 
 excuse, or even alleviation, it is in this case, where the 
 good is so great, and it must be equally natural to all to 
 wish it for themselves; nor am I ashamed to own it: 
 and to your merit, Horatio, I am obliged, that prevents 
 my being in that most uneasy of all the situations I can 
 figure in my imagination, of being led by inclination to 
 love the person whom my own judgment forces me to 
 condemn." 
 
 Matters were in so great forwardness between this fond 
 couple, that the day was fixed for their marriage, and 
 was now within a fortnight, when the sessions chanced 
 to be held for that county in a town about twenty miles' 
 distance from that which is the scene of our story. It
 
 104 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 seems, it is usual for the young gentlemen of the bar to 
 repair to these sessions, not so much for the sake of 
 profit as to show their parts and learn the law of the 
 justices of peace ; for which purpose one of the wisest 
 and gravest of all the justices is appointed speaker, or 
 chairman, as they modestly call it, and he reads them 
 a lecture, and instructs them in the true knowledge of 
 the law. 
 
 " You are here guilty of a little mistake," says Adams, 
 " which, if you please, I will correct : I have attended 
 at one of these quarter-sessions, where I observed the 
 counsel taught the justices, instead of learning anything 
 of them." 
 
 It is not very material, said the lady. Hither re- 
 paired Horatio, who, as he hoped by his profession to 
 advance his fortune, which was not at present very large, 
 for the sake of his dear Leonora, he resolved to spare 
 no pains, nor lose any opportunity of improving or advanc- 
 ing himself in it. 
 
 The same afternoon in which he left the town, as 
 Leonora stood at her window, a coach and six passed 
 by, which she declared to be the completest, genteelest, 
 prettiest equipage she ever saw ; adding these remark- 
 able words, " Oh, I am in love with that equipage ! " 
 which, though her friend Florella at that time did not 
 greatly regard, she hath since remembered. 
 
 In the evening an assembly was held, which Leonora 
 honoured with her company ; but intended to pay her 
 dear Horatio the compliment of refusing to dance in his 
 absence. 
 
 Oh, why have not women as good resolution to main- 
 tain their vows as they have often good inclinations in 
 making them ! 
 
 The gentleman who owned the coach and six came 
 to the assembly. His clothes were as remarkably fine 
 as his equipage could be. He soon attracted the eyes
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 105 
 
 of the company ; all the smarts, all the silk waistcoats 
 with silver and gold edgings, were eclipsed in an instant. 
 
 " Madam," said Adams, " if it be not impertinent, I 
 should be glad to know how this gentleman was drest." 
 
 Sir, answered the lady, I have been told he had on a 
 cut velvet coat of a cinnamon colour, lined with a pink 
 satten, embroidered all over with gold ; his waistcoat, 
 which was cloth of silver, was embroidered with gold 
 likewise. I cannot be particular as to the rest of his 
 dress ; but it was all in the French fashion, for Bellar- 
 mine (that was his name) was just arrived from Paris. 
 
 This fine figure did not more entirely engage the 
 eyes of every lady in the assembly than Leonora did 
 his. He had scarce beheld her, but he stood motionless 
 and fixed as a statue, or at least would have done so 
 if good breeding had permitted him. However, he 
 carried it so far before he had power to correct himself, 
 that every person in the room easily discovered where 
 his admiration was settled. The other ladies began to 
 single out their former partners, all perceiving who 
 would be Bellarmine's choice ; which they however 
 endeavoured, by all possible means, to prevent : many 
 of them saying to Leonora, " O madam ! I suppose we 
 shan't have the pleasure of seeing you dance to-night ; " 
 and then crying out, in Bellarmine's hearing, " Oh ! 
 Leonora will not dance, I assure you : her partner is 
 not here." One maliciously attempted to prevent her, 
 by sending a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that so she 
 might be obliged either to dance with him, or sit down ; 
 but this scheme proved abortive. 
 
 Leonora saw herself admired by the fine stranger, 
 and envied by every woman present. Her little heart 
 began to flutter within her, and her head was agitated 
 with a convulsive motion : she seemed as if she would 
 speak to several of her acquaintance, but had nothing to 
 say ; for, as she would not mention her present triumph,
 
 106 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 so she could not disengage her thoughts one moment 
 from the contemplation of it. She had never tasted 
 anything like this happiness. She had before known 
 what it was to torment a single woman ; but to be 
 hated and secretly cursed by a whole assembly was a 
 joy reserved for this blessed moment. As this vast 
 profusion of ecstasy had confounded her understanding, 
 so there was nothing so foolish as her behaviour : she 
 played a thousand childish tricks, distorted her person 
 into several shapes, and her face into several laughs, 
 without any reason. In a word, her carriage was as 
 absurd as her desires, which were to affect an insensi- 
 bility of the stranger's admiration, and at the same time 
 a triumph, from that admiration, over every woman in 
 the room. 
 
 In this temper of mind, Bellarmine, having inquired 
 who she was, advanced to her, and with a low bow 
 begged the honour of dancing with her, which she, with 
 as low a curtesy, immediately granted. She danced 
 with him all night, and enjoyed, perhaps, the highest 
 pleasure that she was capable of feeling. 
 
 At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, which 
 frighted the ladies, who told him, " They hoped he was 
 not ill." He answered, " He groaned only for the folly 
 of Leonora." 
 
 Leonora retired (continued the lady) about six in 
 the morning, but not to rest. She tumbled and tossed 
 in her bed, with very short intervals of sleep, and those 
 entirely filled with dreams of the equipage and fine 
 clothes she had seen, and the balls, operas, and ridottos, 
 which had been the subject of their conversation. 
 
 In the afternoon, Bellarmine, in the dear coach and 
 six, came to wait on her. He was indeed charmed 
 with her person, and was, on inquiry, so well pleased 
 with the circumstances of her father (for he himself, 
 notwithstanding all his finery, was not quite so rich as a
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 107 
 
 Croesus or an Attalus). " Attalus," says Mr. Adams: 
 " but pray how came you acquainted with these names ? " 
 The lady smiled at the question, and proceeded. He 
 was so pleased, I say, that he resolved to make his 
 addresses to her directly. He did so accordingly, and 
 that with so much warmth and briskness, that he quickly 
 baffled her weak repulses, and obliged the lady to refer 
 him to her father, who, she knew, would quickly declare 
 in favour of a coach and six. 
 
 Thus what Horatio had by sighs and tears, love and 
 tenderness, been so long obtaining, the French-English 
 Bellarmine with gaiety and gallantry possessed himself 
 of in an instant. In other words, what modesty had 
 employed a full year in raising, impudence demolished 
 in twenty-four hours. 
 
 Here Adams groaned a second time ; but the ladies, 
 who began to smoke him, took no notice. 
 
 From the opening of the assembly till the end of 
 Bellarmine's visit, Leonora had scarce once thought of 
 Horatio ; but he now began, though an unwelcome 
 guest, to enter into her mind. She wished she had 
 seen the charming Bellarmine and his charming equi- 
 page before matters had gone so far. " Yet why," 
 says she, " should I wish to have seen him before ; or 
 what signifies it that I have seen him now ? Is not 
 Horatio my lover, almost my husband ? Is he not as 
 handsome, nay handsomer than Bellarmine ? Aye, but 
 Bellarmine is the geenteeler, and the finer man ; yes, 
 that he must be allowed. Yes, yes, he is that certainly. 
 But did not I, no longer ago than yesterday, love 
 Horatio more than all the world ? Aye, but yesterday 
 I had not seen Bellarmine. But doth not Horatio 
 doat on me, and may he not in despair break his heart 
 if I abandon him ? Well, and hath not Bellarmine a 
 heart to break too ? Yes, but I promised Horatio first : 
 but that was poor Bellarmine's misfortune ; if I had
 
 108 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 seen him first, I should certainly have preferred him. 
 Did not the dear creature prefer me to every woman in 
 the assembly, when every she was laying out for him ? 
 When was it in Horatio's power to give me such an 
 instance of affection ? Can he give me an equipage, 
 or any of those things which Bellarmine will make 
 me mistress of? How vast is the difference between 
 being the wife of a poor counsellor and the wife of one 
 of Bellarmine's fortune ! If I marry Horatio, I shall 
 triumph over no more than one rival ; but by marrying 
 Bellarmine, I shall be the envy of all my acquaintance. 
 What happiness ! But can I suffer Horatio to die ? 
 for he hath sworn he cannot survive my loss : but per- 
 haps he may not die : if he should, can I prevent it ? 
 Must I sacrifice myself to him ? besides, Bellarmine 
 may be as miserable for me too." She was thus 
 arguing with herself, when some young ladies called 
 her to the walks, and a little relieved her anxiety for 
 the present. 
 
 The next morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her 
 in presence of her aunt, whom he sufficiently informed 
 of his passion for Leonora. He was no sooner with- 
 drawn than the old lady began to advise her niece on 
 this occasion. "You see, child," says she, "what 
 fortune hath thrown in your way ; and I hope you will 
 not withstand your own preferment." Leonora, sigh- 
 ing, begged her not to mention any such thing, when she 
 knew her engagements to Horatio. " Engagements to 
 a fig ! " cried the aunt ; " you should thank Heaven on 
 your knees that you have it yet in your power to break 
 them. Will any woman hesitate a moment whether 
 she shall ride in a coach or walk on foot all the days 
 of her life ? But Bellarmine drives six, and Horatio 
 not even a pair." "Yes, but, madam, what will the 
 world say ? " answered Leonora : " will not they con- 
 demn me ? " " The world is always on the bide of
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. TOQ 
 
 prudence," cries the aunt, " and would surely condemn 
 you if you sacrificed your interest to any motive what- 
 ever. Oh ! I know the world very well ; and you shew 
 your ignorance, my dear, by your objection. O' my 
 conscience ! the world is wiser. I have lived longer 
 in it than you ; and I assure you there is not anything 
 worth our regard besides money ; nor did I ever know 
 one person who married from other considerations, who 
 did not afterwards heartily repent it. Besides, if we 
 examine the two men, can you prefer a sneaking fellow, 
 who hath been bred at the university, to a fine gentle- 
 man just come from his travels. All the world must 
 allow Bellarmine to be a fine gentleman, positively a 
 fine gentleman, and a handsome man." "Perhaps, 
 madam, I should not doubt, if I knew how to be 
 handsomely off with the other." " Oh ! leave that to 
 me," says the aunt. " You know your father hath not 
 been acquainted with the affair. Indeed, for my part 
 I thought it might do well enough, not dreaming of 
 such an offer ; but I'll disengage you : leave me to 
 give the fellow an answer. I warrant you shall have 
 no farther trouble." 
 
 Leonora was at length satisfied with her aunt's 
 reasoning ; and Bellarmine supping with her that even- 
 ing, it was agreed he should the next morning go to 
 her father and propose the match, which she consented 
 should be consummated at his return. 
 
 The aunt retired soon after supper ; and, the lovers 
 being left together, Bellarmine began in the following 
 manner : " Yes, madam ; this coat, I assure you, was 
 made at Paris, and I defy the best English taylor even 
 to imitate it. There is not one of them can cut, madam ; 
 they can't cut. If you observe how this skirt is turned, 
 and this sleeve : a clumsy English rascal can do nothing 
 like it. Pray, how do you like my liveries ? " Leonora 
 answered, "She thought them very pretty." "All
 
 110 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 French," says he, " 1 assure you, except the great- 
 coats ; I never trust anything more than a greatcoat 
 to an Englishman. You know one must encourage our 
 own people what one can, especially as, before I had a 
 place, I was in the country interest, he, he, he ! But 
 for myself, I would see the dirty island at the bottom 
 of the sea, rather than wear a single rag of English 
 work about me : and I am sure, after you have made 
 one tour to Paris, you will be of the same opinion with 
 regard to your own clothes. You can't conceive what 
 an addition a French dress would be to your beauty ; I 
 positively assure you, at the first opera I saw since I 
 came over, I mistook the English ladies for chamber- 
 maids, he, he, he ! " 
 
 With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bel- 
 larmine entertain his beloved Leonora, when the door 
 opened on a sudden, and Horatio entered the room. 
 Here 'tis impossible to express the surprize of Leo- 
 nora. 
 
 " Poor woman ! " says Mrs Slipslop, " what a terrible 
 quandary she must be in ! " " Not at all," says Mrs 
 Grave-airs ; " such sluts can never be confounded. "- 
 " She must have then more than Corinthian assurance," 
 said Adams ; "aye, more than Lais herself." 
 
 A long silence, continued the lady, prevailed in the 
 whole company. If the familiar entrance of Horatio 
 struck the greatest astonishment into Bellarmine, the 
 unexpected presence of Bellarmine no less surprized 
 Horatio. At length Leonora, collecting all the spirit 
 she was mistress of, addressed herself to the latter, and 
 pretended to wonder at the reason of so late a visit. 
 " I should indeed," answered he, " have made some 
 apology for disturbing you at this hour, had not my 
 finding you in company assured me I do not break 
 in upon your repose.' Bellarmine rose from his chair, 
 traversed the room in a minuet step, and hummed an
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. Ill 
 
 opera tune, while Horatio, advancing to Leonora, 
 asked her in a whisper if that gentleman was not a 
 relation of hers ; to which she answered with a smile, 
 or rather sneer, " No, he is no relation of mine yet ; " 
 adding, " she could not guess the meaning of his ques- 
 tion." Horatio told her softly, " It did not arise from 
 jealousy." " Jealousy ! I assure you, it would be 
 very strange in a common acquaintance to give him- 
 self any of those airs." These words a little surprized 
 Horatio ; but, before he had time to answer, Bellar- 
 mine danced up to the lady and told her, " He feared 
 he interrupted some business between her and the 
 gentleman." " I can have no business," said she, 
 " with the gentleman, nor any other, which need be 
 any secret to you." 
 
 " You'll pardon me," said Horatio, " if I desire to 
 know who this gentleman is who is to be entrusted with 
 all our secrets." " You'll know soon enough," cries 
 Leonora ; " but I can't guess what secrets can ever 
 pass between us of such mighty consequence." " No, 
 madam ! " cries Horatio ; " I am sure you would not 
 have me understand you in earnest." " 'Tis indifferent 
 to me," says she, " how you understand me ; but I think 
 so unseasonable a visit is difficult to be understood at 
 all, at least when people find one engaged : though 
 one's servants do not deny one, one may expect a well- 
 bred person should soon take the hint." " Madam," 
 said Horatio, " I did not imagine any engagement with 
 a stranger, as it seems this gentleman is, would have 
 made my visit impertinent, or that any such ceremonies 
 were to be preserved between persons in our situation." 
 " Sure you are in a dream," says she, " or would per- 
 suade me that I am in one. I know no pretensions a 
 common acquaintance can have to lay aside the cere- 
 monies of good breeding." " Sure," said he, " I am 
 in a dream ; for it is impossible I should be really
 
 112 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 esteemed a common acquaintance by Leonora, after 
 what has passed between us ? " " Passed between us ! 
 Do you intend to affront me before this gentleman ? " 
 " D n me, affront the lady," says Bellarmine, cock- 
 ing his hat, and strutting up to Horatio : " does any 
 man dare affront this lady before me, d n me ? " 
 " Hark'ee, sir," says Horatio, " I would advise you to 
 lay aside that fierce air ; for I am mightily deceived if 
 this lady has not a violent desire to get your worship a 
 good drubbing." " Sir," said Bellarmine, " I have 
 the honour to be her protector ; and, d n me, if I 
 understand your meaning." " Sir," answered Horatio, 
 " she is rather your protectress ; but give yourself no 
 more airs, for you see I am prepared for you" (shak- 
 ing his whip at him). " Oh ! servtteur ires humble," 
 says Bellarmine : " Je vous entend parfaitment bien." 
 At which time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's 
 visit, entered the room, and soon satisfied all his doubts. 
 She convinced him that he was never more awake in 
 his life, and that nothing more extraordinary had 
 happened in his three days' absence than a small altera- 
 tion in the affections of Leonora ; who now burst into 
 tears, and wondered what reason she had given him to 
 use her in so barbarous a manner. Horatio desired 
 Bellarmine to withdraw with him ; but the ladies pre- 
 vented it by laying violent hands on the latter ; upon 
 which the former took his leave without any great 
 ceremony, and departed, leaving the lady with his 
 rival to consult for his safety, which Leonora feared 
 her indiscretion might have endangered ; but the aunt 
 comforted her with assurances that Horatio would not 
 venture his person against so accomplished a cavalier 
 as Bellarmine, and that, being a lawyer, he would seek 
 revenge in his own way, and the most they had to 
 apprehend from him was an action. 
 
 They at length therefore agreed to permit Bellarmine
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 113 
 
 to retire to his lodgings, having first settled all matters 
 relating to the journey which he was to undertake in the 
 morning, and their preparations for the nuptials at his 
 return. 
 
 But, alas ! as wise men have observed, the seat of 
 valour is not the countenance ; and many a grave and 
 plain man will, on a just provocation, betake himself to 
 that mischievous metal, cold iron ; while men of a fiercer 
 brow, and sometimes with that emblem of courage, a 
 cockade, will more prudently decline it. 
 
 Leonora was waked in the morning, from a visionary 
 coach and six, with the dismal account that Bellarmine 
 was run through the body by Horatio ; that he lay 
 languishing at an inn, and the surgeons had declared the 
 wound mortal. She immediately leaped out of the bed, 
 danced about the room in a frantic manner, tore her 
 hair and beat her breast in all the agonies of despair ; in 
 which sad condition her aunt, who likewise arose at 
 the news, found her. The good old lady applied her 
 utmost art to comfort her niece. She told her, " While 
 there was life there was hope ; but that if he should die 
 her affliction would be of no service to Bellarmine, and 
 would only expose herself, which might, probably, keep 
 her some time without any future offer ; that, as matters 
 had happened, her wisest way would be to think no more 
 of Bellarmine, but to endeavour to regain the affections 
 of Horatio." " Speak not to me," cried the discon- 
 solate Leonora; "is it not owing to me that poor 
 Bellarmine has lost his life ? Have not these cursed 
 charms (at which words she looked steadfastly in the 
 glass) been the ruin of the most charming man of this 
 age ? Can I ever bear to contemplate my own face 
 again (with her eyes still fixed on the glass) ? Am I 
 not the murderess of the finest gentleman ? No other 
 woman in the town could have made any impression on 
 him." " Never think of things past," cries the aunt : 
 
 I. H
 
 114 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " think of regaining the affections of Horatio." "What 
 reason," said the niece, " have I to hope he would for- 
 give me ? No, I have lost him as well as the other, 
 and it was your wicked advice which was the occasion 
 of all ; you seduced me, contrary to my inclinations, to 
 abandon poor Horatio (at which words she burst into 
 tears) ; you prevailed upon me, whether I would or no, 
 to give up my affections for him ; had it not been for 
 you, Bellarmine never would have entered into my 
 thoughts ; had not his addresses been backed by your 
 persuasions, they never would have made any impression 
 on me ; I should have defied all the fortune and equi- 
 page in the world ; but it was you, it was you, who got 
 the better of my youth and simplicity, and forced me to 
 lose my dear Horatio for ever." 
 
 The aunt was almost borne down with this torrent of 
 words ; she, however, rallied all the strength she could, 
 and, drawing her mouth up in a purse, began : " I am 
 not surprized, niece, at this ingratitude. Those who 
 advise young women for their interest, must always 
 expect such a return : I am convinced my brother will 
 thank me for breaking off your match with Horatio, at 
 any rate." "That may not be in your power yet," 
 answered Leonora, " though it is very ungrateful in you 
 to desire or attempt it, after the presents you have 
 received from him." (For indeed true it is, that many 
 presents, and some pretty valuable ones, had passed from 
 Horatio to the old lady ; but as true it is, that Bellar- 
 mine, when he breakfasted with her and her niece, had 
 complimented her with a brilliant from his finger, of 
 much greater value than all she had touched of the 
 other. ) 
 
 The aunt's gall was on float to reply, when a servant 
 brought a letter into the room, which Leonora, hearing 
 it came from Bellarmine, with great eagerness opened, 
 and read as follows :
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 115 
 
 " MOST DIVINE CREATURE, The wound which I fear 
 you have heard I received from my rival is not like to 
 be so fatal as those shot into my heart which have been 
 fired from your eyes, tout brilliant. Those are the only 
 cannons by which I am to fall ; for my surgeon gives 
 me hopes of being soon able to attend your ruelle ; till 
 when, unless you would do me an honour which I have 
 scarce the hardiesse to think of, your absence will be 
 the greatest anguish which can be felt by, 
 
 Madam, 
 Avec toute le respecte in the world, 
 
 Your most obedient, most absolute 
 D/vot/, 
 
 " BELLARMINE." 
 
 As soon as Leonora perceived such hopes of 
 Bellarmine's recovery, and that the gossip Fame had, 
 according to custom, so enlarged his danger, she 
 presently abandoned all further thoughts of Horatio, 
 and was soon reconciled to her aunt, who received her 
 again into favour, with a more Christian forgiveness 
 than we generally meet with. Indeed, it is possible 
 she might be a little alarmed at the hints which her 
 niece had given her concerning the presents. She 
 might apprehend such rumours, should they get abroad, 
 might injure a reputation which, by frequenting church 
 twice a day, and preserving the utmost rigour and strict- 
 ness in her countenance and behaviour for many years, 
 she had established. 
 
 Leonora's passion returned now for Bellarmine with 
 greater force, after its small relaxation, than ever. She 
 proposed to her aunt to make him a visit in his confine- 
 ment, which the old lady, with great and commendable 
 prudence, advised her to decb'ne : " For," says she, 
 " should any accident intervene to prevent your intended 
 match, too forward a behaviour with this lover may
 
 Il6 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 injure you in the eyes of others. Every woman, till she 
 is married, ought to consider of, and provide against, the 
 possibility of the affair's breaking off." Leonora said, 
 " She should be indifferent to whatever might happen in 
 such a case ; for she had now so absolutely placed her 
 affections on this dear man (so she called him), that, 
 if it was her misfortune to lose him, she should for 
 ever abandon all thoughts of mankind." She, therefore, 
 resolved to visit him, notwithstanding all the prudent 
 advice of her aunt to the contrary, and that very after- 
 noon executed her resolution. 
 
 The lady was proceeding in her story, when the 
 coach drove into the inn where the company were to 
 dine, sorely to the dissatisfaction of Mr Adams, whose 
 ears were the most hungry part about him ; he being, as 
 the reader may perhaps guess, of an insatiable curiosity, 
 and heartily desirous of hearing the end of this amour, 
 though he professed he could scarce wish success to a 
 lady of so inconstant a disposition. 
 
 Chapter b. 
 
 A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn where the 
 company dined, with its bloody consequences to Mr 
 Adams. 
 
 A^> soon as the passengers had alighted from the 
 coach, Mr Adams, as was his custom, made 
 directly to the kitchen, where he found Joseph 
 sitting by the fire, and the hostess anointing his leg ; for 
 the horse which Mr Adams had borrowed of his clerk had 
 so violent a propensity to kneeling, that one would have 
 thought it had been his trade, as well as his master's ; 
 nor would he always give any notice of such his 
 intention : he was often found on his knees when the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 1 17 
 
 rider least expected it. This foible, however, was of 
 no great inconvenience to the parson, who was accus- 
 tomed to it ; and, as his legs almost touched the ground 
 when he bestrode the beast, had but a little way to fall, 
 and threw himself forward on such occasions with so 
 much dexterity that he never received any mischief; 
 the horse and he frequently rolling many paces' distance, 
 and afterwards both getting up and meeting as good 
 friends as ever. 
 
 Poor Joseph, who had not been used to such kind of 
 cattle, though an excellent horseman, did not so happily 
 disengage himself; but, falling with his leg under the 
 beast, received a violent contusion, to which the good 
 woman was, as we have said, applying a warm hand, 
 with some camphorated spirits, just at the time when 
 the parson entered the kitchen. 
 
 He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph's 
 misfortune before the host likewise entered. He was 
 by no means of Mr Tow-wouse's gentle disposition ; 
 and was, indeed, perfect master of his house, and every- 
 thing in it but his guests. 
 
 This surly fellow, who always proportioned his respect 
 to the appearance of a traveller, from " God bless your 
 honour," down to plain " Coming presently," observing 
 his wife on her knees to a footman, cried out, without 
 considering his circumstances, "What a pox is the 
 woman about ? why don't you mind the company in 
 the coach ? Go and ask them what they will have for 
 dinner." "My dear," says she, "you know they can 
 have nothing but what is at the fire, which will be ready 
 presently ; and really the poor young man's leg is very 
 much bruised." At which words she fell to chafing 
 more violently than before : the bell then happening to 
 ring, he damn'd his wife, and bid her go in to the 
 company, and not stand rubbing there all day, for he 
 did not believe the young fellow's leg was so bad as
 
 Il8 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he pretended ; and if it was, within twenty miles he 
 would find a surgeon to cut it off. Upon these words, 
 Adams fetched two strides across the room ; and 
 snapping his fingers over his head, muttered aloud, He 
 would excommunicate such a wretch for a farthing, for 
 he believed the devil had more humanity. These words 
 occasioned a dialogue between Adams and the host, in 
 which there were two or three sharp replies, till Joseph 
 bad the latter know how to behave himself to his 
 betters. At which the host (having first strictly sur- 
 veyed Adams) scornfully repeating the word " betters," 
 flew into a rage, and, telling Joseph he was as able to 
 walk out of his house as he had been to walk into it, 
 offered to lay violent hands on him ; which perceiving, 
 Adams dealt him so sound a compliment over his face 
 with his fist, that the blood immediately gushed out of 
 his nose in a stream. The host, being unwilling to be 
 outdone in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams's 
 figure, returned the favour with so much gratitude, that 
 the parson's nostrils began to look a little redder than 
 usual. Upon which he again assailed his antagonist, and 
 with another stroke laid him sprawling on the floor. 
 
 The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a 
 husband deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and 
 stretched along, hastened presently to his assistance, or 
 rather to revenge the blow, which, to all appearance, 
 was the last he would ever receive ; when, lo ! a pan 
 full of hog's blood, which unluckily stood on the dresser, 
 presented itself first to her hands. She seized it 
 in her fury, and without any reflection, discharged it 
 into the parson's face ; and with so good an aim, that 
 much the greater part first saluted his countenance, and 
 trickled thence in so large a current down to his beard, 
 and over his garments, that a more horrible spectacle 
 was hardly to be seen, or even imagined. All which 
 was perceived by Mrs Slipslop, who entered the kitchen
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. lig 
 
 at that instant. This good gentlewoman, not being of 
 a temper so extremely cool and patient as perhaps was 
 required to ask many questions on this occasion, flew with 
 great impetuosity at the hostess's cap, which, together 
 with some of her hair, she plucked from her head in a 
 moment, giving her, at the same time, several hearty cuffs 
 in the face; which by frequent practice on the inferior 
 servants, she had learned an excellent knack of delivering 
 with a good grace. Poor Joseph could hardly rise from his 
 chair ; the parson was employed in wiping the blood 
 from his eyes, which had entirely blinded him ; and the 
 landlord was but just beginning to stir ; whilst Mrs 
 Slipslop, holding down the landlady's face with her 
 left hand, made so dexterous an use of her right, that 
 the poor woman began to roar, in a key which alarmed 
 all the company in the inn. 
 
 There happened to be in the inn, at this time, be- 
 sides the ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two 
 gentlemen who were present at Mr Tow-wouse's when 
 Joseph was detained for his horse's meat, and whom 
 we have before mentioned to have stopt at the ale- 
 house with Adams. There was likewise a gentleman 
 just returned from his travels to Italy ; all whom the 
 horrid outcry of murder presently brought into the 
 kitchen, where the several combatants were found in 
 the postures already described. 
 
 It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray, 
 the conquerors being satisfied with the vengeance they 
 had taken, and the conquered having no appetite to 
 renew the fight. The principal figure, and which en- 
 gaged the eyes of all, was Adams, who was all over 
 covered with blood, which the whole company con- 
 cluded to be his own, and consequently imagined him 
 no longer for this world. But the host, who had now 
 recovered from his blow, and was risen from the ground, 
 soon delivered them from this apprehension, by damning
 
 120 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his wife for wasting the hog's puddings, and telling her 
 all would have been very well if she had not inter- 
 meddled, like a b as she was ; adding, he was very 
 glad the gentlewoman had paid her, though not half 
 what she deserved. The poor woman had indeed fared 
 much the worst ; having, besides the unmerciful cuffs 
 received, lost a quantity of hair, which Mrs Slipslop in 
 triumph held in her left hand. 
 
 The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs Grave-airs, 
 desired her not to be frightened ; for here had been 
 only a little boxing, which he said, to their disgracia, 
 the English were accustomata to : adding, it must be, 
 however, a sight somewhat strange to him, who was 
 just come from Italy ; the Italians not being addicted 
 to the cuffardo, but bastonza, says he. He then went 
 up to Adams, and telling him he looked like the ghost 
 of Othello, bid him not shake his gory locks at him, 
 for he could not say he did it. Adams very innocently 
 answered, " Sir, I am far from accusing you." He 
 then returned to the lady, and cried, " I find the bloody 
 gentleman is uno insipldo del nullo senso. Dammato di me, 
 if I have seen such a spectaculo in my way from Viterbo." 
 
 One of the gentlemen having learnt from the host 
 the occasion of this bustle, and being assured by him 
 that Adams had struck the first blow, whispered in his 
 ear, " He'd warrant he would recover." " Recover ! 
 master," said the host, smiling : " yes, yes, I am not 
 afraid of dying with a blow or two neither ; I am not 
 such a chicken as that." " Pugh ! " said the gentle- 
 man, " I mean you will recover damages in that action 
 which, undoubtedly, you intend to bring, as soon as a 
 writ can be returned from London ; for you look like 
 a man of too much spirit and courage to suffer any one 
 to beat you without bringing your action against him : 
 he must be a scandalous fellow indeed who would put 
 up with a drubbing whilst the law is open to revenge
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. I 2 I 
 
 it ; besides, he hath drawn blood from you, and spoiled 
 your coat ; and the jury will give damages for that too. 
 An excellent new coat upon my word ; and now not 
 worth a shilling ! I don't care," continued he, " to 
 intermeddle in these cases ; but you have a right to my 
 evidence ; and if I am sworn, I must speak the truth. 
 I saw you sprawling on the floor, and blood gushing 
 from your nostrils. You may take your own opinion ; 
 but was I in your circumstances, every drop of my 
 blood should convey an ounce of gold into my pocket : 
 remember I don't advise you to go to law ; but if your 
 jury were Christians, they must give swinging damages. 
 That's all." " Master," cried the host, scratching his 
 head, " I have no stomach to law, I thank you. I have 
 seen enough of that in the parish, where two of my 
 neighbours have been at law about a house, till they 
 have both kwed themselves into a gaol." At which 
 words he turned about, and began to inquire again after 
 his hog's puddings ; nor would it probably have been 
 a sufficient excuse for his wife, that she spilt them in 
 his defence, had not some awe of the company, especi- 
 ally of the Italian traveller, who was a person of great 
 dignity, withheld his rage. 
 
 Whilst one of the above-mentioned gentlemen was 
 employed, as we have seen him, on the behalf of the 
 landlord, the other was no less hearty on the side of 
 Mr Adams, whom he advised to bring his action im- 
 mediately. He said the assault of the wife was in law 
 the assault of the husband, for they were but one person ; 
 and he was liable to pay damages, which he said must 
 be considerable, where so bloody a disposition appeared. 
 Adams answered, If it was true that they were but one 
 person, he had assaulted the wife ; for he was sorry to 
 own he had struck the husband the first blow. " I am 
 sorry you own it too," cries the gentleman ; " for it 
 could not possibly appear to the court ; for here was no
 
 122 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 evidence present but the lame man in the chair, whom 
 I suppose to be your friend, and would consequently 
 say nothing but what made for you." " How, sir," 
 says Adams, " do you take me for a villain, who would 
 prosecute revenge in cold blood, and use unjustifiable 
 means to obtain it ? If you knew me, and my order, 
 I should think you affronted both." At the word 
 order, the gentleman stared (for he was too bloody to 
 be of any modern order of knights) ; and, turning hastily 
 about, said, " Every man knew his own business." 
 
 Matters being now composed, the company retired to 
 their several apartments ; the two gentlemen congratu- 
 lating each other on the success of their good offices in 
 procuring a perfect reconciliation between the contend- 
 ing parties ; and the traveller went to his repast, crying, 
 " As the Italian poet says 
 
 ' Je voi very well que tut fa eface, 
 So send up dinner, good Boniface.' " 
 
 The coachman began now to grow importunate with 
 his passengers, whose entrance into the coach was re- 
 tarded by Miss Grave-airs insisting, against the remon- 
 strance of all the rest, that she would not admit a 
 footman into the coach ; for poor Joseph was too lame 
 to mount a horse. A young lady, who was, as it seems, 
 an earl's grand-daughter, begged it with almost tears in 
 her eyes. Mr Adams prayed, and Mrs Slipslop scolded ; 
 but all to no purpose. She said, " She would not de- 
 mean herself to ride with a footman : that there were 
 waggons on the road : that if the master of the coach 
 desired it, she would pay for two places ; but would 
 suffer no such fellow to come in." " Madam," says 
 Slipslop, " I am sure no one can refuse another coming 
 into a stage-coach." " I don't know, madam," says 
 the lady ; " I am not much used to stage-coaches ; I 
 seldom travel in them." "That may be, madam,"
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 123 
 
 replied Slipslop ; " very good people do ; and some 
 people's betters, for aught I know." Miss Grave-airs 
 said, " Some folks might sometimes give their tongues 
 a liberty, to some people that were their betters, which 
 did not become them ; for her part, she was not used 
 to converse with servants." Slipslop returned, " Some 
 people kept no servants to converse with ; for her part, 
 she thanked Heaven she lived in a family where there 
 were a great many, and had more under her own com- 
 mand than any paultry little gentlewoman in the king- 
 dom." Miss Grave-airs cried, " She believed her 
 mistress would not encourage such sauciness to her 
 betters." " My betters," says Slipslop, " who is my 
 betters, pray ? " " I am your betters," answered Miss 
 Grave-airs, "and I'll acquaint your mistress." At 
 which Mrs Slipslop laughed aloud, and told her, " Her 
 lady was one of the great gentry ; and such little paultry 
 gentlewomen as some folks, who travelled in stage- 
 coaches, would not easily come at her." 
 
 This smart dialogue between some people and some 
 folks was going on at the coach door when a solemn 
 person, riding into the inn, and seeing Miss Grave- 
 airs, immediately accosted her with " Dear child, how 
 do you ? " She presently answered, " O papa, I am 
 glad you have overtaken me." " So am I," answered 
 he ; " for one of our coaches is just at hand ; and, 
 there being room for you in it, you shall go no farther 
 in the stage unless you desire it." " How can you 
 imagine I should desire it ? " says she ; so, bidding 
 Slipslop ride with her fellow, if she pleased, she took 
 her father by the hand, who was just alighted, and 
 walked with him into a room. 
 
 Adams instantly asked the coachman, in a whisper, 
 " If he knew who the gentleman was ? " The coach- 
 man answered, " He was now a gentleman, and kept 
 his horse and man ; but times are altered, master," said
 
 124 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he ; "I remember when he was no better born than 
 myself." " Ay ! ay ! " says Adams. " My father 
 drove the squire's coach," answered he, "when that 
 very man rode postillion ; but he is now his steward ; and 
 a great gentleman." Adams then snapped his fingers, 
 and cried, " He thought she was some such trollop." 
 
 Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs Slipslop with this 
 good news, as he imagined it ; but it found a reception 
 different from what he expected. The prudent gentle- 
 woman, who despised the anger of Miss Grave-airs 
 whilst she conceived her the daughter of a gentleman 
 of small fortune, now she heard her alliance with the 
 upper servants of a great family in her neighbourhood, 
 began to fear her interest with the mistress. She 
 wished she had not carried the dispute so far, and 
 began to think of endeavouring to reconcile herself to 
 the young lady before she left the inn ; when, luckily, 
 the scene at London, which the reader can scarce have 
 forgotten, presented itself to her mind, and comforted 
 her with such assurance, that she no longer apprehended 
 any enemy with her mistress. 
 
 Everything being now adjusted, the company entered 
 the coach, which was just on its departure, when one 
 lady recollected she had left her fan, a second her 
 gloves, a third a snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling- 
 bottle behind her ; to find all which occasioned some 
 delay and much swearing to the coachman. 
 
 As soon as the coach had left the inn, the women all 
 together fell to the character of Miss Grave-airs ; whom 
 one of them declared she had suspected to be some low 
 creature, from the beginning of their journey, and another 
 affirmed she had not even the looks of a gentlewoman : 
 a third warranted she was no better than she should be ; 
 and, turning to the lady who had related the story in 
 the coach, said, " Did you ever hear, madam, anything 
 so prudish as her remarks ? Well, deliver me from the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 125 
 
 censoriousness of such a prude." The fourth added, 
 " O madam ! all these creatures are censorious ; but 
 for my part, I wonder where the wretch was bred ; 
 indeed, I must own I have seldom conversed with 
 these mean kind of people, so that it may appear 
 stranger to me ; but to refuse the general desire of a 
 whole company had something in it so astonishing, 
 that, for my part, I own I should hardly believe it if 
 my own ears had not been witnesses to it." " Yes, and 
 so handsome a young fellow," cries Slipslop ; " the 
 woman must have no compulsion in her : I believe she 
 is more of a Turk than a Christian ; I am certain, if she 
 had any Christian woman's blood in her veins, the sight 
 of such a young fellow must have warmed it. Indeed, 
 there are some wretched, miserable old objects, that 
 turn one's stomach ; I should not wonder if she had 
 refused such a one ; I am as nice as herself, and 
 should have cared no more than herself for the 
 company of stinking old fellows ; but, hold up thy 
 head, Joseph, thou art none of those ; and she who 
 hath not compulsion for thee is a Myhummetman, and 
 I will maintain it." This conversation made Joseph 
 uneasy as well as the ladies ; who, perceiving the 
 spirits which Mrs Slipslop was in (for indeed she was 
 not a cup too low), began to fear the consequence; 
 one of them therefore desired the lady to conclude the 
 story. " Aye, madam," said Slipslop, " I beg your 
 ladyship to give us that story you commensated in the 
 morning ; " which request that well-bred woman imme- 
 diately complied with.
 
 126 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Cbnptrr tot. 
 
 Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt. 
 
 CiONORA, having once broke through the bounds 
 which custom and modesty impose on her sex, 
 soon gave an unbridled indulgence to her passion. 
 Her visits to Bellarmine were more constant, as well 
 as longer, than his surgeon's : in a word, she became 
 absolutely his nurse ; made his water-gruel, administered 
 him his medicines ; and, notwithstanding the prudent 
 advice of her aunt to the contrary, almost intirely resided 
 in her wounded lover's apartment. 
 
 The ladies of the town began to take her conduct 
 under consideration : it was the chief topic of discourse 
 at their tea-tables, and was very severely censured by 
 the most part ; especially by Lindamira, a lady whose 
 discreet and starch carriage, together with a constant 
 attendance at church three times a day, had utterly 
 defeated many malicious attacks on her own reputa- 
 tion ; for such was the envy that Lindamira's virtue had 
 attracted, that, notwithstanding her own strict behaviour 
 and strict enquiry into the lives of others, she had not 
 been able to escape being the mark of some arrows her- 
 self, which, however, did her no in jury ; a blessing, 
 perhaps, owed by her to the clergy, who were her chief 
 male companions, and with two or three of whom she 
 had been barbarously and unjustly calumniated. 
 
 " Not so unjustly neither, perhaps," says Slipslop ; 
 " for the clergy are men, as well as other folks." 
 
 The extreme delicacy of Lindamira's virtue was 
 cruelly hurt by those freedoms which Leonora allowed 
 herself: she said, " It was an affront to her sex ; that 
 she did not imagine it consistent with any woman's 
 honour to speak to the creature, or to be seen in her 
 company ; and that, for her part, she should always
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 127 
 
 refuse to dance at an assembly with her, for fear of 
 contamination by taking her by the hand." 
 
 But to return to my story : as soon as Bellarmine 
 was recovered, which was somewhat within a month 
 from his receiving the wound, he set out, according to 
 agreement, for Leonora's father's, in order to propose 
 the match, and settle all matters with him touching settle- 
 ments, and the like. 
 
 A little before his arrival the old gentleman had re- 
 ceived an intimation of the affair by the following letter, 
 which I can repeat verbatim, and which, they say, was 
 written neither by Leonora nor her aunt, though it was 
 in a woman's hand. The letter was in these words : 
 
 " SIR, I am sorry to acquaint you that your daughter, 
 Leonora, hath acted one of the basest as well as most 
 simple parts with a young gentleman to whom she had 
 engaged herself, and whom she hath (pardon the word) 
 jilted for another of inferior fortune, notwithstanding his 
 superior figure. You may take what measures you please 
 on this occasion ; I have performed what I thought my 
 duty ; as I have, though unknown to you, a very great 
 respect for your family." 
 
 The old gentleman did not give himself the trouble 
 to answer this kind epistle ; nor did he take any notice 
 of it, after he had read it, till he saw Bellarmine. He 
 was, to say the truth, one of those fathers who look on 
 children as an unhappy consequence of their youthful 
 pleasures ; which, as he would have been delighted not 
 to have had attended them, so was he no less pleased 
 with any opportunity to rid himself of the incumbrance. 
 He passed, in the world's language, as an exceeding 
 good father ; being not only so rapacious as to rob and 
 plunder all mankind to the utmost of his power, but even 
 to deny himself the conveniencies, and almost necessaries, 
 of life ; which his neighbours attributed to a desire of 
 raising immense fortunes for his children : but in fact it
 
 128 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 was not so ; he heaped up money for its own sake only, 
 and looked on his children as his rivals, who were to 
 enjoy his beloved mistress when he was incapable of 
 possessing her, and which he would have been much 
 more charmed with the power of carrying along with 
 him ; nor had his children any other security of being 
 his heirs than that the law would constitute them such 
 without a will, and that he had not affection enough for 
 any one living to take the trouble of writing one. 
 
 To this gentleman came Bellarmine, on the errand I 
 have mentioned. His person, his equipage, his family, 
 and his estate, seemed to the father to make him an 
 advantageous match for his daughter : he therefore very 
 readily accepted his proposals : but when Bellarmine 
 imagined the principal affair concluded, and began to 
 open the incidental matters of fortune, the old gentleman 
 presently changed his countenance, saying, " He resolved 
 never to marry his daughter on a Smithfield match ; that 
 whoever had love for her to take her would, when he 
 died, find her share of his fortune in his coffers ; but 
 he had seen such examples of undutifulness happen from 
 the too early generosity of parents, that he had made a 
 vow never to part with a shilling whilst he lived." He 
 commended the saying of Solomon, " He that sparcth 
 the rod spoileth the child ; " but added, " he might 
 have likewise asserted, That he that spareth the purse 
 saveth the child." He then ran into a discourse on 
 the extravagance of the youth of the age ; whence he 
 launched into a dissertation on horses ; and came at 
 length to commend those Bellarmine drove. That fine 
 gentleman, who at another season would have been well 
 enough pleased to dwell a little on that subject, was now 
 very eager to resume the circumstance of fortune. He 
 said, " He had a very high value for the young lady, 
 and would receive her with less than he would any other 
 whatever ; but that even his love to her made some
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 129 
 
 regard to worldly matters necessary ; for it would be 
 a most distracting sight for him to see her, when he had 
 the honour to be her husband, in less than a coach and 
 six." The old gentleman answered, " Four will do, 
 four will do ; " and then took a turn from horses to 
 extravagance and from extravagance to horses, till he 
 came round to the equipage again ; whither he was no 
 sooner arrived than Bellarmine brought him back to the 
 point ; but all to no purpose ; he made his escape from 
 that subject in a minute ; till at last the lover declared, 
 " That in the present situation of his affairs it was im- 
 possible for him, though he loved Leonora more than 
 tout le monde, to marry her without any fortune." To 
 which the father answered, " He was sorry that his 
 daughter must lose so valuable a match ; that, if he had 
 an inclination, at present it was not in his power to 
 advance a shilling : that he had had great losses, and 
 been at great expenses on projects ; which, though he 
 had great expectation from them, had yet produced him 
 nothing : that he did not know what might happen here- 
 after, as on the birth of a son, or such accident ; but he 
 would make no promise, or enter into any article, for 
 he would not break his vow for all the daughters in the 
 world. 
 
 In short, ladies, to keep you no longer in suspense, 
 Bellarmine, having tried every argument and persuasion 
 which he could invent, and finding them all ineffectual, 
 at length took his leave, but not in order to return to 
 Leonora ; he proceeded directly to his own seat, whence, 
 after a few days' stay, he returned to Paris, to the great 
 delight of the French and the honour of the English 
 nation. 
 
 But as soon as he arrived at his home he presently 
 despatched a messenger with the following epistle to 
 Leonora :
 
 130 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "ADORABLE AND CHARMANTE, I am sorry to have 
 the honour to tell you I am not the heureux person 
 destined for your divine arms. Your papa hath told 
 me so with a politesse not often seen on this side Paris. 
 You may perhaps guess his manner of refusing me. Ah, 
 man Dieu ! You will certainly believe me, madam, in- 
 capable myself of delivering this tr'tste message, which I 
 intend to try the French air to cure the consequences 
 of. A jamais ! Occur ! Ange ! Au diable ! If your 
 papa obliges you to a marriage, I hope we shall see you 
 at Paris ; till when, the wind that flows from thence 
 will be the warmest dans le monde, for it will consist 
 almost entirely of my sighs. Adieu, ma princesse ! Ah, 
 f amour / BELLARMINE." 
 
 I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's 
 condition when she received this letter. It is a picture 
 of horror, which I should have as little pleasure in 
 drawing as you in beholding. She immediately left 
 the place where she was the subject of conversation and 
 ridicule, and retired to that house I showed you when 
 I began the story ; where she hath ever since led a dis- 
 consolate life, and deserves, perhaps, pity for her mis- 
 fortunes, more than our censure for a behaviour to which 
 the artifices of her aunt very probably contributed, and 
 to which very young women are often rendered too 
 liable by that blameable levity in the education of our 
 sex. 
 
 " If I was inclined to pity her," said a young lady in 
 the coach, " it would be for the loss of Horatio ; for 
 I cannot discern any misfortune in her missing such a 
 husband as Bellarmine." 
 
 " Why, I must own," says Slipslop, " the gentleman 
 was a little false-hearted ; but howsumever, it was hard 
 to have two lovers, and get never a husband at all. But 
 pray, madam, what became of Our-asho ? "
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 13! 
 
 He remains, said the lady, still unmarried, and hath 
 applied himself so strictly to his business, that he hath 
 raised, I hear, a very considerable fortune. And what 
 is remarkable, they say he never hears the name of Leo- 
 nora without a sigh, nor hath ever uttered one syllable 
 to charge her with her ill-conduct towards him. 
 
 Chapter int. 
 
 A very short chapter, in which parson Adams went a 
 great 'way. 
 
 THE lady, having finished her story, received the 
 thanks of the company ; and now Joseph, putting 
 his head out of the coach, cried out, " Never 
 believe me if yonder be not our parson Adams walking 
 along without his horse ! " " On my word, and so 
 he is," says Slipslop : " and as sure as twopence he 
 hath left him behind at the inn." Indeed, true it is, 
 the parson had exhibited a fresh instance of his absence 
 of mind ; for he was so pleased with having got Joseph 
 into the coach, that he never once thought of the beast 
 in the stable ; and, finding his legs as nimble as he 
 desired, he sallied out, brandishing a crabstick, and had 
 kept on before the coach, mending and slackening his 
 pace occasionally, so that he had never been much more 
 or less than a quarter of a mile distant from it. 
 
 Mrs Slipslop desired the coachman to overtake him, 
 which he attempted, but in vain ; for the faster he drove 
 the faster ran the parson, often crying out, " Aye, aye, 
 catch me if you can ; " till at length the coachman 
 swore he would as soon attempt to drive after a grey- 
 hound, and, giving the parson two or three hearty curses, 
 he cry'd, " Softly, softly, boys," to his horses, which 
 the civil beasts immediately obeyed.
 
 132 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 But we will be more courteous to our reader than he 
 was to Mrs Slipslop ; and, leaving the coach and its 
 company to pursue their journey, we will carry our reader 
 on after parson Adams, who stretched forwards without 
 once looking behind him, till, having left the coach full 
 three miles in his rear, he came to a place where, by 
 keeping the extremest track to the right, it was just 
 barely possible for a human creature to miss his way. 
 This track, however, did he keep, as indeed he had a 
 wonderful capacity at these kinds of bare possibilities, 
 and, travelling in it about three miles over the plain, he 
 arrived at the summit of a hill, whence looking a great 
 way backwards, and perceiving no coach in sight, he sat 
 himself down on the turf, and, pulling out his ^Eschylus, 
 determined to wait here for its arrival. 
 
 He had not sat long here before a gun going off 
 very near, a little startled him ; he looked up and saw 
 a gentleman within a hundred paces taking up a par- 
 tridge which he had just shot. 
 
 Adams stood up and presented a figure to the 
 gentleman which would have moved laughter in many ; 
 for his cassock had just again fallen down below his 
 greatcoat, that is to say, it reached his knees, whereas 
 the skirts of his greatcoat descended no lower than 
 half-way down his thighs ; but the gentleman's mirth 
 gave way to his surprize at beholding such a personage 
 in such a place. 
 
 Adams, advancing to the gentleman, told him he 
 hoped he had good sport, to which the other answered, 
 "Very little." "I see, sir," says Adams, "you 
 have smote one partridge ; " to which the sportsman 
 made no reply, but proceeded to charge his piece. 
 
 Whilst the gun was charging, Adams remained in 
 silence, which he at last broke by observing that it was 
 a delightful evening. The gentleman, who had at lust 
 sight conceived a very distasteful opinion of the parson,
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 133 
 
 began, on perceiving a book in his hand and smoaktng 
 likewise the information of the cassock, to change his 
 thoughts, and made a small advance to conversation on 
 his side by saying, " Sir, I suppose you are not one of 
 these parts ? " 
 
 Adams immediately told him, " No ; that he was a 
 traveller, and invited by the beauty of the evening and 
 the place to repose a little and amuse himself with 
 reading." "I may as well repose myself too," said 
 the sportsman, " for I have been out this whole after- 
 noon, and the devil a bird have I seen till I came 
 hither." 
 
 " Perhaps then the game is not very plenty here- 
 abouts ? " cries Adams, " No, sir," said the gentle- 
 man : " the soldiers, who are quartered in the 
 neighbourhood, have killed it all." *' It is very 
 probable," cries Adams, "for shooting is their profes- 
 sion." " Ay, shooting the game," answered the 
 other ; " but I don't see they are so forward to shoot 
 our enemies. I don't like that affair of Carthagena ; 
 if I had been there, I believe I should have done 
 other-guess things, d n me : what's a man's life 
 when his country demands it ? a man who won't 
 sacrifice his life for his country deserves to be hanged, 
 d n me." Which words he spoke with so violent 
 a gesture, so loud a voice, so strong an accent, and so 
 fierce a countenance, that he might have frightened a 
 captain of trained bands at the head of his company ; 
 but Mr Adams was not greatly subject to fear ; he 
 told him intrepidly that he very much approved his 
 virtue, but disliked his swearing, and begged him not 
 to addict himself to so bad a custom, without which 
 he said he might fight as bravely as Achilles did. 
 Indeed he was charmed with this discourse ; he told 
 the gentleman he would willingly have gone many 
 miles to have met a man of his generous way of think-
 
 134 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ing ; that, if he pleased to sit down, he should be 
 greatly delighted to commune with him ; for, though 
 he was a clergyman, he would himself be ready, if 
 thereto called, to lay down his life for his country. 
 
 The gentleman sat down, and Adams by him ; and 
 then the latter began, as in the following chapter, a dis- 
 course which we have placed by itself, as it is not only 
 the most curious in this but perhaps in any other book. 
 
 Chapter to tit. 
 
 A notable dissertation by Mr Abraham Adams ; 'wherein 
 that gentleman appears in a political light. 
 
 " I DO assure you, sir " (says he, taking the gentleman 
 by the hand), " I am heartily glad to meet with 
 a man of your kidney ; for, though I am a poor 
 parson, I will be bold to say I am an honest man, and 
 would not do an ill thing to be made a bishop ; nay, 
 though it hath not fallen in my way to offer so noble 
 a sacrifice, I have not been without opportunities of 
 suffering for the sake of my conscience, I thank Heaven 
 for them ; for I have had relations, though I say it, 
 who made some figure in the world ; particularly a 
 nephew, who was a shopkeeper and an alderman of a 
 corporation. He was a good lad, and was under my 
 care when a boy ; and I believe would do what I bade 
 him to his dying day. Indeed, it looks like extreme 
 vanity in me to affect being a man of such consequence 
 as to have so great an interest in an alderman ; but 
 others have thought so too, as manifestly appeared by 
 the rector, whose curate I formerly was, sending for 
 me on the approach of an election, and telling me, if 
 I expected to continue in his cure, that I must bring 
 my nephew to vote for one Colonel Courtly, a gentle-
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 135 
 
 man whom I had never heard tidings of till that in- 
 stant. I told the rector I had no power over my 
 nephew's vote (God forgive me for such prevarica- 
 tion ! ) ; that I supposed he would give it according 
 to his conscience ; that I would by no means endeavour 
 to influence him to give it otherwise. He told me it 
 was in vain to equivocate ; that he knew I had already 
 spoke to him in favour of esquire Fickle, my neighbour ; 
 and, indeed, it was true I had ; for it was at a season 
 when the church was in danger, and when all good 
 men expected they knew not what would happen to us 
 all. I then answered boldly, if he thought I had given 
 my promise, he affronted me in proposing any breach 
 of it. Not to be too prolix ; I persevered, and so did 
 my nephew, in the esquire's interest, who was chose 
 chiefly through his means ; and so I lost my curacy 
 Well, sir, but do you think the esquire ever mentioned 
 a word of the church ? Ne verbum quidem, ttt ita dicam : 
 within two years he got a place, and hath ever since 
 lived in London ; where I have been informed (but 
 God forbid I should believe that,) that he never so 
 much as goeth to church. I remained, sir, a consider- 
 able time without any cure, and lived a full month on 
 one funeral sermon, which I preached on the indis- 
 position of a clergyman ; but this by the bye. At last, 
 when Mr Fickle got his place, Colonel Courtly stood 
 again ; and who should make interest for him but Mr 
 Fickle himself! that very identical Mr Fickle, who 
 had formerly told me the colonel was an enemy to 
 both the church and state, had the confidence to sollicit 
 my nephew for him ; and the colonel himself offered 
 me to make me chaplain to his regiment, which I re- 
 fused in favour of Sir Oliver Hearty, who told us he 
 would sacrifice everything to his country ; and I believe 
 he would, except his hunting, which he stuck so close 
 to, that in five years together he went but twice up to
 
 136 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 parliament ; and one of those times, I have been told, 
 never was within sight of the House. However, he 
 was a worthy man, and the best friend I ever had ; for, 
 by his interest with a bishop, he got me replaced into 
 my curacy, and gave me eight pounds out of his own 
 pocket to buy me a gown and cassock, and furnish my 
 house. He had our interest while he lived, which was 
 not many years. On his death I had fresh applications 
 made to me ; for all the world knew the interest I had 
 with my good nephew, who now was a leading man in 
 the corporation ; and Sir Thomas Booby, buying the 
 estate which had been Sir Oliver's, proposed himself a 
 candidate. He was then a young gentleman just come 
 from his travels ; and it did me good to hear him dis- 
 course on affairs which, for my part, I knew nothing 
 of. If I had been master of a thousand votes he should 
 have had them all. I engaged my nephew in his in- 
 terest, and he was elected ; and a very fine parliament- 
 man he was. They tell me he made speeches of an 
 hour long, and, I have been told, very fine ones ; but he 
 could never persuade the parliament to be of his opinion. 
 Non omnia possumus omnes. He promised me a living, 
 poor man ! and I believe I should have had it, but an 
 accident happened, which was, that my lady had pro- 
 mised it before, unknown to him. This, indeed, I 
 never heard till afterwards ; for my nephew, who died 
 about a month before the incumbent, always told me I 
 might be assured of it. Since that time, Sir Thomas, 
 poor man, had always so much business, that he never 
 could find leisure to see me. I believe it was partly 
 my lady's fault too, who did not think my dress good 
 enough for the gentry at her table. However, I must 
 do him the justice to say he never was ungrateful ; and 
 I have always found his kitchen, and his cellar too, 
 open to me : many a time, after service on a Sunday 
 for I preach at four churches have I recruited my
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 137 
 
 spirits with a glass of his ale. Since my nephew's 
 death, the corporation is in other hands ; and I am not 
 a man of that consequence I was formerly. I have 
 now no longer any talents to lay out in the service of 
 my country ; and to whom nothing is given, of him 
 can nothing be required. However, on all proper 
 seasons, such as the approach of an election, I throw 
 a suitable dash or two into my sermons ; which I have 
 the pleasure to hear is not disagreeable to Sir Thomas 
 and the other honest gentlemen my neighbours, who 
 have all promised me these five years to procure an 
 ordination for a son of mine, who is now near thirty, 
 hath an infinite stock of learning, and is, I thank 
 Heaven, of an unexceptionable life ; though, as he was 
 never at an university, the bishop refuses to ordain him, 
 Too much care cannot indeed be taken in admitting 
 any to the sacred office ; though I hope he will never 
 act so as to be a disgrace to any order, but will serve 
 his God and his country to the utmost of his power, as 
 I have endeavoured to do before him ; nay, and will 
 lay down his life whenever called to that purpose. I 
 am sure I have educated him in those principles ; so 
 that I have acquitted my duty, and shall have nothing 
 to answer for on that account. But I do not distrust 
 him, for he is a good boy ; and if Providence should 
 throw it in his way to be of as much consequence in a 
 public light as his father once was, I can answer for 
 him he will use his talents as honestly as I have done."
 
 138 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Chapter tr. 
 
 In which the gentleman discants on bravery and heroic 
 virtue, till an unlucky accident puts an end to the 
 discourse. 
 
 THE gentleman highly commended Mr Adams for 
 his good resolutions, and told him, " He hoped 
 his son would tread in his steps ; " adding, 
 " that if he would not die for his country, he would not 
 be worthy to live in it. I'd make no more of shooting 
 a man that would not die for his country, than 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I have disinherited a nephew, who 
 is in the army, because he would not exchange his com- 
 mission and go to the West Indies. I believe the rascal 
 is a coward, though he pretends to be in love forsooth. 
 I would have all such fellows hanged, sir ; I would have 
 them hanged." Adams answered, "That would be 
 too severe ; that men did not make themselves ; and if 
 fear had too much ascendance in the mind, the man 
 was rather to be pitied than abhorred ; that reason and 
 time might teach him to subdue it." He said, " A 
 man might be a coward at one time, and brave at 
 another. Homer," says he, " who so well understood 
 and copied Nature, hath taught us this lesson ; for Paris 
 fights and Hector runs away. Nay, we have a mighty 
 instance of this in the history of later ages, no longer 
 ago than the 70 5th year of Rome, when the great 
 Pompey, who had won so many battles and been 
 honoured with so many triumphs, and of whose valour 
 several authors, especially Cicero and Paterculus, have 
 formed such elogiums ; this very Pompey left the 
 battle of Pharsalia before he had lost it, and retreated 
 to his tent, where he sat like the most pusillanimous 
 rascal in a fit of despair, and yielded a victory, which 
 was to determine the empire of the world, to Caesar.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 139 
 
 I am not much travelled in the history of modern times, 
 that is to say, these last thousand years ; but those who 
 are can, I make no question, furnish you with parallel 
 instances." He concluded, therefore, that, had he taken 
 any such hasty resolutions against his nephew, he hoped 
 he would consider better, and retract them. The 
 gentleman answered with great warmth, and talked much 
 of courage and his country, till, perceiving it grew late, 
 he asked Adams, "What place he intended for that 
 night?" He told him, "He waited there for the 
 stage-coach." " The stage-coach, sir ! " said the 
 gentleman ; " they are all passed by long ago. You 
 may see the last yourself almost three miles before us." 
 " I protest and so they are," cries Adams ; "then I 
 must make haste and follow them." The gentleman 
 told him, he would hardly be able to overtake them ; 
 and that, if he did not know his way, he would be in 
 danger of losing himself on the downs, for it would be 
 presently dark ; and he might ramble about all night, 
 and perhaps find himself farther from his journey's end 
 in the morning than he was now." He advised him, 
 therefore, " to accompany him to his house, which was 
 very little out of his way," assuring him " that he would 
 find some country fellow in his parish who would con- 
 duct him for sixpence to the city where he was 
 going." Adams accepted this proposal, and on they 
 travelled, the gentleman renewing his discourse on 
 courage, and the infamy of not being ready, at all 
 times, to sacrifice our lives to our country. Night 
 overtook them much about the same time as they arrived 
 near some bushes ; whence, on a sudden, they heard 
 the most violent shrieks imaginable in a female voice. 
 Adams offered to snatch the gun out of his companion's 
 hand. " What are you doing ? " said he. " Doing ! " 
 said Adams ; " I am hastening to the assistance of the 
 poor creature whom some villains are murdering."
 
 140 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " You arc not mad enough, I hope," says the gentleman, 
 trembling : " do you consider this gun is only charged 
 with shot, and that the robbers are most probably 
 furnished with pistols loaded with bullets ? This is no 
 business of ours ; let us make as much haste as possible 
 out of the way, or we may fallinto their hands ourselves." 
 The shrieks now increasing, Adams made no answer, 
 but snapt his fingers, and, brandishing his crabstick, made 
 directly to the place whence the voice issued ; and the 
 man of courage made as much expedition towards his 
 own home, whither he escaped in a very short time 
 without once looking behind him ; where we will leave 
 him, to contemplate his own bravery, and to censure 
 the want of it in others, and return to the good Adams, 
 who, on coming up to the place whence the noise 
 proceeded, found a woman struggling with a man, who 
 had thrown her on the ground, and had almost over- 
 powered her. The great abilities of Mr Adams were 
 not necessary to have formed a right judgment of this 
 affair on the first sight. He did not, therefore, want the 
 entreaties of the poor wretch to assist her ; but, lifting 
 up his crabstick, he immediately levelled a blow at that 
 part of the ravisher's head where, according to the 
 opinion of the ancients, the brains of some persons are 
 deposited, and which he had undoubtedly let forth, had 
 not Nature (who, as wise men have observed, equips all 
 creatures with what is most expedient for them) taken 
 a provident care (as she always doth with those she 
 intends for encounters) to make this part of the head 
 three times as thick as those of ordinary men who are. 
 designed to exercise talents which are vulgarly called 
 rational, and for whom, as brains are necessary, she is 
 obliged to leave some room for them in the cavity of the 
 skull ; whereas, those ingredients being entirely useless 
 to persons of the heroic calling, she hath an opportunity 
 of thickening the bone, so as to make it less subject to
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 141 
 
 any impression, or liable to be cracked or broken : and 
 indeed, in some who are predestined to the command of 
 armies and empires, she is supposed sometimes to make 
 that part perfectly solid. 
 
 As a game cock, when engaged in amorous toying 
 with a hen, if perchance he espies another cock at 
 hand, immediately quits his female, and opposes himself 
 to his rival, so did the ravisher, on the information of 
 the crabstick, immediately leap from the woman and 
 hasten to assail the man. He had no weapons but 
 what Nature had furnished him with. However, he 
 clenched his fist, and presently darted it at that part 
 of Adams's breast where the heart is lodged. Adams 
 staggered at the violence of the blow, when, throwing 
 away his staff, he likewise clenched that fist which we 
 have before commemorated, and would have discharged 
 it full in the breast of his antagonist, had he not dex- 
 terously caught it with his left hand, at the same time 
 darting his head (which some modern heroes of the 
 lower class use, like the battering-ram of the ancients, 
 for a weapon of offence ; another reason to admire the 
 cunningness of Nature, in composing it of those impene- 
 trable materials) ; dashing his head, I say, into the 
 stomach of Adams, he tumbled him on his back ; and, 
 not having any regard to the laws of heroism, which 
 would have restrained him from any farther attack on 
 his enemy till he was again on his legs, he threw himself 
 upon him, and, laying hold on the ground with his left 
 hand, he with his right belaboured the body of Adams 
 till he was weary, and indeed till he concluded (to use 
 the language of fighting) "that he had done his busi- 
 ness;" or, in the language of poetry, "that he had sent 
 him to the shades below ; " in plain English, " that he 
 was dead." 
 
 But Adams, who was no chicken, and could bear a 
 drubbing as well as any boxing champion in the universe,
 
 142 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 lay still only to watch his opportunity ; and now, per- 
 ceiving his antagonist to pant with his labours, he exerted 
 his utmost force at once, and with such success that he 
 overturned him, and became his superior ; when, fixing 
 one of his knees in his breast, he cried out in an exulting 
 voice, " It is my turn now ; " and, after a few minutes' 
 constant application, he gave him so dexterous a blow just 
 under his chin that the fellow no longer retained any 
 motion, and Adams began to fear he had struck him once 
 too often ; for he often asserted " he should be concerned 
 to have the blood of even the wicked upon him." 
 
 Adams got up and called aloud to the young woman. 
 " Be of good cheer, damsel," said he, " you are no longer 
 in danger of your ravisher, who, I am terribly afraid, 
 lies dead at my feet ; but God forgive me what I have 
 done in defence of innocence ! " The poor wretch, who 
 had been some time in recovering strength enough to 
 rise, and had afterwards, during the engagement, stood 
 trembling, being disabled by fear even from running 
 away, hearing her champion was victorious, came up 
 to him, but not without apprehensions even of her de- 
 liverer ; which, however, she was soon relieved from by 
 his courteous behaviour and gentle words. They were 
 both standing by the body, which lay motionless on the 
 ground, and which Adams wished to see stir much more 
 than the woman did, when he earnestly begged her to 
 tell him " by what misfortune she came, at such a time 
 of night, into so lonely a place." She acquainted him, 
 " She was travelling towards London, and had accident- 
 ally met with the person from whom he had delivered 
 her, who told her he was likewise on his journey to the 
 same place, and would keep her company ; an offer 
 which, suspecting no harm, she had accepted ; that he 
 told her they were at a small distance from an inn 
 where she might take up her lodging that evening, and 
 he would show her a nearer way to it than by following
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 143 
 
 the road ; that if she had suspected him (which she did 
 not, he spoke so kindly to her), being alone on these 
 downs in the dark, she had no human means to avoid 
 him ; that, therefore, she put her whole trust in Provi- 
 dence, and walked on, expecting every moment to 
 arrive at the inn ; when on a sudden, being come to 
 those bushes, he desired her to stop, and after some 
 rude kisses, which she resisted, and some entreaties, 
 which she rejected, he laid violent hands on her, and 
 was attempting to execute his wicked will, when, she 
 thanked G , he timely came up and prevented him." 
 Adams encouraged her for saying she had put her 
 whole trust in Providence, and told her, " He doubted 
 not but Providence had sent him to her deliverance, as 
 a reward for that trust. He wished indeed he had not 
 deprived the wicked wretch of life, but G 's will 
 be done ; " said, " He hoped the goodness of his in- 
 tention would excuse him in the next world, and he 
 trusted in her evidence to acquit him in this." He was 
 then silent, and began to consider with himself whether 
 it would be properer to make his escape, or to deliver 
 himself into the hands of justice ; which meditation 
 ended as the reader will see in the next chapter. 
 
 Chapter p. 
 
 Giving an account of the strange catastrophe of the pre- 
 ceding adventure, which drew poor Adams into fresh 
 calamities , and <who the 'woman was who owed the 
 preservation of her chastity to his victorious arm. 
 
 THE silence of Adams, added to the darkness of 
 the night and loneliness of the place, struck 
 dreadful apprehension into the poor woman's 
 mind ; she began to fear as great an enemy in her
 
 144 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 deliverer as he had delivered her from ; and as she had 
 not light enough to discover the age of Adams, and 
 the benevolence visible in his countenance, she suspected 
 he had used her as some very honest men have used their 
 country ; and had rescued her out of the hands of one 
 rifler in order to rifle her himself. Such were the sus- 
 picions she drew from his silence ; but indeed they were 
 ill-grounded. He stood over his vanquished enemy, 
 wisely weighing in his mind the objections which might 
 be made to either of the two methods of proceeding 
 mentioned in the last chapter, his judgment sometimes 
 inclining to the one, and sometimes to the other ; for 
 both seemed to him so equally advisable and so equally 
 dangerous, that probably he would have ended his days, 
 at least two or three of them, on that very spot, before 
 he had taken any resolution ; at length he lifted up his 
 eyes, and spied a light at a distance, to which he in- 
 stantly addressed himself with Heus tu, traveller, heus 
 tu / He presently heard several voices, and perceived 
 the light approaching toward him. The persons who 
 attended the light began some to laugh, others to sing, 
 and others to hollow, at which the woman testified some 
 fear (for she had concealed her suspicions of the parson 
 himself) ; but Adams said, " Be of good cheer, damsel, 
 and repose thy trust in the same Providence which hath 
 hitherto protected thee, and never will forsake the 
 innocent." These people, who now approached, were 
 no other, reader, than a set of young fellows, who came 
 to these bushes in pursuit of a diversion which they call 
 bird-batting. This, if you are ignorant of it (as per- 
 haps if thou hast never travelled beyond Kensington, 
 Islington, Hackney, or the Borough, thou mayst be), 
 I will inform thee, is performed by holding a large 
 clap-net before a lanthorn, and at the same time beating 
 the bushes ; for the birds, when they are disturbed from 
 their places of rest, or roost, immediately make to the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 145 
 
 light, and so are inticed within the net. Adams 
 immediately told them what happened, and desired them 
 to hold the lanthorn to the face of the man on the 
 ground, for he feared he had smote him fatally. But 
 indeed his fears were frivolous ; for the fellow, though 
 he had been stunned by the last blow he received, had 
 long since recovered his senses, and, finding himself quit 
 of Adams, had listened attentively to the discourse 
 between him and the young woman ; for whose de- 
 parture he had patiently waited, that he might likewise 
 withdraw himself, having no longer hopes of succeeding 
 in his desires, which were moreover almost as well cooled 
 by Mr Adams as they could have been by the young 
 woman herself had he obtained his utmost wish. This 
 fellow, who had a readiness at improving any accident, 
 thought he might now play a better part than that of 
 a dead man ; and, accordingly, the moment the candle 
 was held to his face he leapt up, and, laying hold on 
 Adams, cried out, " No, villain, I am not dead, though 
 you and your wicked whore might well think me so, 
 after the barbarous cruelties you have exercised on me. 
 Gentlemen," said he, " you are luckily come to the 
 assistance of a poor traveller, who would otherwise have 
 been robbed and murdered by this vile man and woman, 
 who led me hither out of my way from the high-road, 
 and both falling on me have used me as you see." 
 Adams was going to answer, when one of the young 
 fellows cried, "D n them, let's carry them both before 
 the justice." The poor woman began to tremble, and 
 Adams lifted up his voice, but in vain. Three or four 
 of them laid hands on him ; and one holding the lanthorn 
 to his face, they all agreed he had the most villainous 
 countenance they ever beheld ; and an attorney's clerk, 
 who was of the company, declared he was sure he had 
 remembered him at the bar. As to the woman, her 
 hair was dishevelled in the struggle, and her nose had 
 
 I. K
 
 146 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 bled ; so that they could not perceive whether she was 
 handsome or ugly, but they said her fright plainly dis- 
 covered her guilt. And searching her pockets, as they 
 did those of Adams, for money, which the fellow said 
 he had lost, they found in her pocket a purse with some 
 gold in it, which abundantly convinced them, especially 
 as the fellow offered to swear to it. Mr Adams was 
 found to have no more than one halfpenny about him. 
 This the clerk said " was a great presumption that he 
 was an old offender, by cunningly giving all the booty 
 to the woman." To which all the rest readily assented. 
 
 This accident promising them better sport than what 
 they had proposed, they quitted their intention of catch- 
 ing birds, and unanimously resolved to proceed to the 
 justice with the offenders. Being informed what a 
 desperate fellow Adams was, they tied his hands behind 
 him ; and, having hid their nets among the bushes, and 
 the lanthorn being carried before them, they placed the 
 two prisoners in their front, and then began their march ; 
 Adams not only submitting patiently to his own fate, 
 but comforting and encouraging his companion under 
 her sufferings. 
 
 Whilst they were on their way the clerk informed 
 the rest that this adventure would prove a very bene- 
 ficial one ; for that they would all be entitled to their 
 proportions of a@8o for apprehending the robbers. This 
 occasioned a contention concerning the parts which they 
 had severally borne in taking them ; one insisting he 
 ought to have the greatest share, for he had first laid 
 his hands on Adams ; another claiming a superior part 
 for having first held the lanthorn to the man's face on 
 the ground, by which, he said, " the whole was dis- 
 covered." The clerk claimed four-fifths of the reward 
 for having proposed to search the prisoners, and like- 
 wise the carrying them before the justice : he said, 
 " Indeed, in strict justice, he ought to have the whole."
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 147 
 
 These claims, however, they at last consented to refer 
 to a future decision, but seemed all to agree that the 
 clerk was entitled to a moiety. They then debated 
 what money should be allotted to the young fellow who 
 had been employed only in holding the nets. He very 
 modestly said, " That he did not apprehend any large pro- 
 portion would fall to his share, but hoped they would 
 allow him something ; he desired them to consider that 
 they had assigned their nets to his care, which pre- 
 vented him from being as forward as any in laying hold 
 of the robbers " (for so those innocent people were 
 called) ; "that if he had not occupied the nets, some 
 other must ; " concluding, however, " that he should be 
 contented with the smallest share imaginable, and should 
 think that rather their bounty than his merit." But they 
 were all unanimous in excluding him from any part 
 whatever, the clerk particularly swearing, " If they gave 
 him a shilling they might do what they pleased with 
 the rest ; for he would not concern himself with the 
 affair." This contention was so hot, and so totally 
 engaged the attention of all the parties, that a dexterous 
 nimble thief, had he been in Mr Adams's situation, 
 would have taken care to have given the justice no 
 trouble that evening. Indeed, it required not the art 
 of a Sheppard to escape, especially as the darkness of 
 the night would have so much befriended him ; but 
 Adams trusted rather to his innocence than his heels, 
 and, without thinking of flight, which was easy, or re- 
 sistance (which was impossible, as there were six lusty 
 young fellows, besides the villain himself, present), he 
 walked with perfect resignation the way they thought 
 proper to conduct him. 
 
 Adams frequently vented himself in ejaculations dur- 
 ing their journey ; at last, poor Joseph Andrews occur- 
 ring to his mind, he could not refrain sighing forth his 
 name, which being heard by his companion in affliction,
 
 148 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 she cried with some vehemence, " Sure I should know 
 that voice ; you cannot certainly, sir, be Mr Abraham 
 Adams ? " " Indeed, damsel," says he, " that is my 
 name ; there is something also in your voice which per- 
 suades me I have heard it before." " La ! sir," says 
 she, " don't you remember poor Fanny ? " " How, 
 Fanny ! " answered Adams : " indeed I very well re- 
 member you ; what can have brought you hither ? " " I 
 have told you, sir," replied she, " I was travelling to- 
 wards London ; but I thought you mentioned Joseph 
 Andrews ; pray what is become of him ? " " I left him, 
 child, this afternoon," said Adams, "in the stage-coach, 
 in his way towards our parish, whither he is going to 
 see you." " To see me ! La, sir," answered Fanny, 
 " sure you jeer me ; what should he be going to see me 
 for ? " " Can you ask that ? " replied Adams. " I hope, 
 Fanny, you are not inconstant ; I assure you he de- 
 serves much better of you." " La ! Mr Adams," said 
 she, " what is Mr Joseph to me ? I am sure I never 
 had anything to say to him, but as one fellow-servant 
 might to another." " I am sorry to hear this," said 
 Adams ; " a virtuous passion for a young man is what 
 no woman need be ashamed of. You either do not 
 tell me truth, or you are false to a very worthy man." 
 Adams then told her what had happened at the inn, 
 to which she listened very attentively ; and a sigh often 
 escaped from her, notwithstanding her utmost endeavours 
 to the contrary ; nor could she prevent herself from 
 asking a thousand questions, which would have assured 
 any one but Adams, who never saw farther into people 
 than they desired to let him, of the truth of a passion 
 she endeavoured to conceal. Indeed, the fact was, that 
 this poor girl, having heard of Joseph's misfortune, by 
 some of the servants belonging to the coach which we 
 have formerly mentioned to have stopt at the inn while 
 the poor youth was confined to his bed, that instant
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 149 
 
 abandoned the cow she was milking, and, taking with 
 her a little bundle of clothes under her arm, and all the 
 money she was worth in her own purse, without con- 
 sulting any one, immediately set forward in pursuit of 
 one whom, notwithstanding her shyness to the parson, 
 she loved with inexpressible violence, though with the 
 purest and most delicate passion. This shyness, there- 
 fore, as we trust it will recommend her character to all 
 our female readers, and not greatly surprize such of our 
 males as are well acquainted with the younger part of 
 the other sex, we shall not give ourselves any trouble 
 to vindicate. 
 
 What happened to them :vhile before the justice. A 
 chapter very f. ill of learning. 
 
 THEIR fellow-travellers were so engaged in the 
 hot dispute concerning the division of the re- 
 ward for apprehending these innocent people, 
 that they attended very little to their discourse. They 
 were now arrived at the justice's house, and had sent 
 one of his servants in to acquaint his worship that they 
 had taken two robbers and brought them before him. 
 The justice, who was just returned from a fox-chase, 
 and had not yet finished his dinner, ordered them to 
 carry the prisoners into the stable, whither they were 
 attended by all the servants in the house, and all the 
 people in the neighbourhood, who flocked together to 
 see them with as much curiosity as if there was some- 
 thing uncommon to be seen, or that a rogue did not 
 look like other people. 
 
 The justice, now being in the height of his mirth 
 and his cups, bethought himself of the prisoners ; and, 
 telling his company he believed they should have good
 
 150 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 sport in their examination, he ordered them into his 
 presence. They had no sooner entered the room than 
 he began to revile them, saying, " That robberies on 
 the highway were now grown so frequent, that people 
 could not sleep safely in their beds, and assured them 
 they both should be made examples of at the ensuing 
 assizes." After he had gone on some time in this 
 manner, he was reminded by his clerk, " That it would 
 be proper to take the depositions of the witnesses 
 against them." Which he bid him do, and he would 
 light his pipe in the meantime. Whilst the clerk was 
 employed in writing down the deposition of the fellow 
 who had pretended to be robbed, the justice employed 
 himself in cracking jests on poor Fanny, in which he 
 was seconded by all the company at table. One asked, 
 " Whether she was to be indicted for a highway- 
 man ? " Another whispered in her ear, " If she had 
 not provided herself a great belly, he was at her ser- 
 vice." A third said, " He warranted she was a 
 relation of Turpin." To which one of the company, 
 a great wit, snaking his head, and then his sides, 
 answered, "He believed she was nearer related to 
 Turpis ; " at which there was an universal laugh. 
 They were proceeding thus with the poor girl, when 
 somebody, smoking the cassock peeping forth from 
 under the greatcoat of Adams, cried out, " What 
 have we here, a parson ? " " How, sirrah," says the 
 justice, " do you go robbing in the dress of a clergy- 
 man ? let me tell you your habit will not entitle you to 
 the benefit of the clergy." "Yes," said the witty 
 fellow, "he will have one benefit of clergy, he will be 
 exalted above the heads of the people ; " at which 
 there was a second laugh. And now the witty spark, 
 seeing his jokes take, began to rise in spirits ; and, 
 turning to Adams, challenged him to cap verses, and, 
 provoking him by giving the first blow, he repeated
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 151 
 
 " Molle meum levibus cord est vilebile telis" 
 
 Upon which Adams, with a look full of ineffable con- 
 tempt, told him, " He deserved scourging for his pro- 
 nunciation." The witty fellow answered, " What do 
 you deserve, doctor, for not being able to answer the 
 first time ? Why, I'll give one, you blockhead, with 
 an S. 
 
 " 'Si licet, utfulvum spectatur in ignibus haurum.' 
 
 " What, canst not with an M neither ? Thou art a 
 pretty fellow for a parson ! Why didst not steal some 
 of the parson's Latin as well as his gown ? " Another 
 at the table then answered, " If he had, you would 
 have been too hard for him ; I remember you at the 
 college a very devil at this sport ; I have seen you 
 catch a freshman, for nobody that knew you would 
 engage with you." " I have forgot those things now," 
 cried the wit. " I believe I could have done pretty 
 well formerly. Let's see, what did I end with ? an 
 M again aye 
 
 " 'Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.' 
 
 I could have done it once." " Ah ! evil betide you, 
 and so you can now," said the other : " nobody in this 
 country will undertake you." Adams could hold no 
 longer : " Friend," said he, " I have a boy not above 
 eight years old who would instruct thee that the last 
 verse runs thus : 
 
 " ' Ut stint Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.' " 
 
 " I'll hold thee a guinea of that," said the wit, throw- 
 ing the money on the table. " And I'll go your 
 halves," cries the other. " Done," answered Adams ; 
 but upon applying to his pocket he was forced to re- 
 tract, and own he had no money about him ; which 
 set them all a-laughing, and confirmed the triumph of
 
 152 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his adversary, which was not moderate, any more than 
 the approbation he met with from the whole company, 
 who told Adams he must go a little longer to school 
 before he attempted to attack that gentleman in Latin. 
 
 The clerk, having finished the depositions, as well 
 of the fellow himself, as of those who apprehended the 
 prisoners, delivered them to the justice ; who, having 
 sworn the several witnesses without reading a syllable, 
 ordered his clerk to make the mittimus. 
 
 Adams then said, " He hoped he should not be 
 condemned unheard." " No, no," cries the justice, 
 " you will be asked what you have to say for yourself 
 when you come on your trial : we are not trying you 
 now ; I shall only commit you to gaol : if you can 
 prove your innocence at 'size, you will be found igno- 
 ramus, and so no harm done." " Is it no punishment, 
 sir, for an innocent man to lie several months in gaol ? " 
 cries Adams : " I beg you would at least hear me be- 
 fore you sign the mittimus." " What signifies all you 
 can say?" says the justice: "is it not here in black 
 and white against you ? I must tell you you are a very 
 impertinent fellow to take up so much of my time. So 
 make haste with his mittimus." 
 
 The clerk now acquainted the justice that among 
 other suspicious things, as a penknife, &c., found in 
 Adams's pocket, they had discovered a book written, 
 as he apprehended, in cyphers ; for no one could read 
 a word in it. " Ay," says the justice, " the fellow 
 may be more than a common robber, he may be in a 
 plot against the Government. Produce the book." 
 Upon which the poor manuscript of ./Eschylus, which 
 Adams had transcribed with his own hand, was brought 
 forth ; and the justice, looking at it, shook his head, 
 and, turning to the prisoner, asked the meaning of those 
 cyphers. " Cyphers ? " answered Adams, " it is a 
 manuscript of ./Eschylus." "Who? who?" said the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 153 
 
 justice. Adams repeated, " ./Eschylus." "That is 
 an outlandish name," cried the clerk. "A fictitious 
 name rather, I believe," said the justice. One of the 
 company declared it looked very much like Greek. 
 " Greek ? " said the justice ; " why, 'tis all writing." 
 " No," says the other, " I don't positively say it is so ; 
 for it is a very long time since I have seen any Greek." 
 "There's one," says he, turning to the parson of the 
 parish, who was present, "will tell us immediately." 
 The parson, taking up the book, and putting on his 
 spectacles and gravity together, muttered some words 
 to himself, and then pronounced aloud " Ay, indeed, 
 it is a Greek manuscript ; a very fine piece of antiquity. 
 I make no doubt but it was stolen from the same clergy- 
 man from whom the rogue took the cassock." " What 
 did the rascal mean by his ^schylus ? " says the justice. 
 " Pooh ! " answered the doctor, with a contemptuous 
 grin, "do you think that fellow knows anything of 
 this book ? ^Eschylus ! ho ! ho ! I see now what 
 it is a manuscript of one of the fathers. I know a 
 nobleman who would give a great deal of money for 
 such a piece of antiquity. Ay, ay, question and 
 answer. The beginning is the catechism in Greek. 
 
 Ay, ay, Pollaki tot : What's your name ? " " Ay, 
 
 what's your name ? " says the justice to Adams ; who 
 answered, " It is ./Eschylus, and I will maintain it." 
 " Oh ! it is," says the justice : " make Mr ^Eschylus 
 his mittimus. I will teach you to banter me with a 
 false name." 
 
 One of the company, having looked steadfastly at 
 Adams, asked him, " If he did not know Lady Booby ?" 
 Upon which Adams, presently calling him to mind, 
 answered in a rapture, " O squire ! are you there ? I 
 believe you will inform his worship I am innocent." 
 " I can indeed say," replied the squire, " that I am very 
 much surprized to see you in this situation :" and then,
 
 154 TH E ADVKXTUKES OF 
 
 addressing himself to the justice, he said, " Sir, I assure 
 you Mr Adams is a clergyman, as he appears, and a 
 gentleman of a very good character. I wish you would 
 enquire a little farther into this affair ; for I am convinced 
 of his innocence." " Nay," says the justice, " if he is 
 a gentleman, and you are sure he is innocent, I don't 
 desire to commit him, not I : I will commit the woman 
 by herself, and take your bail for the gentleman : look 
 into the book, clerk, and see how it is to take bail 
 come and make the mittimus for the woman as fast as 
 you can." " Sir," cries Adams, " I assure you she is 
 as innocent as myself." " Perhaps," said the squii r, 
 " there may be some mistake ! pray let us hear Mr 
 Adams's relation." "With all my heart," answered 
 the justice ; " and give the gentleman a glass to wet 
 his whistle before he begins. I know how to behave 
 myself to gentlemen as well as another. Nobody can 
 say I have committed a gentleman since I have been in 
 the commission." Adams then began the narrative, in 
 which, though he was very prolix, he was uninterrupted, 
 unless by several hums and hahs of the justice, and his 
 desire to repeat those parts which seemed to him most 
 material. When he had finished, the justice, who, on 
 what the squire had said, believed every syllable of his 
 story on his bare affirmation, notwithstanding the depo- 
 sitions on oath to the contrary, began to let loose several 
 rogues and rascals against the witness, whom he ordered 
 to stand forth, but in vain ; the said witness, long since 
 finding what turn matters were likely to take, had privily 
 withdrawn, without attending the issue. The justice 
 now flew into a violent passion, and was hardly prevailed 
 with not to commit the innocent fellows who had been 
 imposed on as well as himself. He swore, " They had 
 best find out the fellow who was guilty of perjury, and 
 bring him before him within two days, or he would bind 
 them all over to their good behaviour." They all
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 155 
 
 promised to use their best endeavours to that purpose, 
 and were dismissed. Then the justice insisted that Mr 
 Adams should sit down and take a glass with him ; and 
 the parson of the parish delivered him back the manuscript 
 without saying a word j nor would Adams, who plainly 
 discerned his ignorance, expose it. As for Fanny, she 
 was, at her own request, recommended to the care of a 
 maid- servant of the house, who helped her to new dress 
 and clean herself. 
 
 The company in the parlour had not been long seated 
 before they were alarmed with a horrible uproar from 
 without, where the persons who had apprehended Adams 
 and Fanny had been regaling, according to the custom 
 of the house, with the justice's strong beer. These 
 were all fallen together by the ears, and were cuffing 
 each other without any mercy. The justice himself 
 sallied out, and with the dignity of his presence soon 
 put an end to the fray. On his return into the parlour, 
 he reported, " That the occasion of the quarrel was no 
 other than a dispute to whom, if Adams had been con- 
 victed, the greater share of the reward for apprehending 
 him had belonged." All the company laughed at this, 
 except Adams, who, taking his pipe from his mouth, 
 fetched a deep groan, and said, " He was concerned to 
 see so litigious a temper in men. That he remembered 
 a story something like it in one of the parishes where 
 his cure lay : There was," continued he, " a competi- 
 tion between three young fellows for the place of the 
 clerk, which I disposed of, to the best of my abilities, 
 according to merit ; that is, I gave it to him who had 
 the happiest knack at setting a psalm. The clerk was 
 no sooner established in his place than a contention began 
 between the two disappointed candidates concerning 
 their excellence ; each contending on whom, had they 
 two been the only competitors, my election would have 
 fallen. This dispute frequently disturbed the congrega-
 
 156 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tion, and introduced a discord into the psalmody, till 
 I was forced to silence them both. But, alas ! the 
 litigious spirit could not be stifled ; and, being no longer 
 able to vent itself in singing, it now broke forth in fight- 
 ing. It produced many battles (for they were very 
 near a match), and I believe would have ended fatally, 
 had not the death of the clerk given me an opportunity 
 to promote one of them to his place ; which presently 
 put an end to the dispute, and entirely reconciled the 
 contending parties." Adams then proceeded to make 
 some philosophical observations on the folly of growing 
 warm in disputes in which neither party is interested. 
 He then applied himself vigorously to smoaking ; and a 
 long silence ensued, which was at length broke by the 
 justice, who began to sing forth his own praises, and to 
 value himself exceedingly on his nice discernment in 
 the cause which had lately been before him. He was 
 quickly interrupted by Mr Adams, between whom and 
 his worship a dispute now arose, whether he ought not, 
 in strictness of law, to have committed him, the said 
 Adams ; in which the latter maintained he ought to have 
 been committed, and the justice as vehemently held he 
 ought not. This had most probably produced a quarrel 
 (for both were very violent and positive in their opinions), 
 had not Fanny accidentally heard that a young fellow 
 was going from the justice's house to the very inn where 
 the stage-coach in which Joseph was, put up. Upon 
 this news, she immediately sent for the parson out of 
 the parlour. Adams, when he found her resolute to go 
 (though she would not own the reason, but pretended 
 she could not bear to see the faces of those who had 
 suspected her of such a crime), was as fully determined 
 to go with her ; he accordingly took leave of the justice 
 and company : and so ended a dispute in which the law 
 seemed shamefully to intend to set a magistrate and a 
 divine together by the cars.
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 157 
 
 Chapter jcii. 
 
 A very delightful adventure, as well to the persons con- 
 cerned as to the good-natured reader. 
 
 ADAMS, Fanny, and the guide, set out together 
 about one in the morning, the moon being then 
 just risen. They had not gone above a mile 
 before a most violent storm of rain obliged them to take 
 shelter in an inn, or rather alehouse, where Adams 
 immediately procured himself a good fire, a toast and 
 ale, and a pipe, and began to smoke with great content, 
 utterly forgetting everything that had happened. 
 
 Fanny sat likewise down by the fire ; but was much 
 more impatient at the storm. She presently engaged 
 the eyes of the host, his wife, the maid of the house, 
 and the young fellow who was their guide ; they all 
 conceived they had never seen anything half so hand- 
 some ; and indeed, reader, if thou art of an amorous 
 hue, I advise thee to skip over the next paragraph ; 
 which, to render our history perfect, we are obliged to 
 set down, humbly hoping that we may escape the fate 
 of Pygmalion ; for if it should happen to us, or to thee, 
 to be struck with this picture, we should be perhaps in 
 as helpless a condition as Narcissus, and might say to 
 ourselves, Quod petis est nusquam. Or, if the finest 
 
 features in it should set Lady 's image before our 
 
 eyes, we should be still in as bad a situation, and might 
 say to our desires, Cesium ipsum petimus stultitia. 
 
 Fanny was now in the nineteenth year of her age ; 
 she was tall and delicately shaped ; but not one of 
 those slender young women who seem rather intended 
 to hang up in the hall of an anatomist than for any 
 other purpose. On the contrary, she was so plump 
 that she seemed bursting through her tight stays, 
 especially in the part which confined her swelling
 
 158 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 breasts. Nor did her hips want the assistance of a 
 hoop to extend them. The exact shape of her arms 
 denoted the form of those limbs which she concealed ; 
 and though they were a little reddened by her labour, 
 yet, if her sleeve slipped above her elbow, or her hand- 
 kerchief discovered any part of her neck, a whiteness 
 appeared which the finest Italian paint would be unable 
 to reach. Her hair was of a chesnut brown, and 
 nature had been extremely lavish to her of it, which 
 she had cut, and on Sundays used to curl down her 
 neck, in the modern fashion. Her forehead was high, 
 her eyebrows arched, and rather full than otherwise. 
 Her eyes black and sparkling ; her nose just inclining 
 to the Roman ; her lips red and moist, and her under- 
 lip, according to the opinion of the ladies, too pouting. 
 Her teeth were white, but not exactly even. The 
 small-pox had left one only mark on her chin, which 
 was so large, it might have been mistaken for a dimple, 
 had not her left cheek produced one so near a neigh- 
 bour to it, that the former served only for a foil to the 
 latter. Her complexion was fair, a little injured by 
 the sun, but overspread with such a bloom that the 
 finest ladies would have exchanged all their white for 
 it : add to these a countenance in which, though she 
 was extremely bashful, a sensibility appeared almost 
 incredible ; and a sweetness, whenever she smiled, be- 
 yond either imitation or description. To conclude all, 
 she had a natural gentility, superior to the acquisition 
 of art, and which surprized all who beheld her. 
 
 This lovely creature was sitting by the fire with 
 Adams, when her attention was suddenly engaged by 
 a voice from an inner room, which sung the following 
 song: 
 
 THE SONG. 
 
 SAY, Chloe, where must the swain stray 
 Who is by thy beauties undone ?
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 159 
 
 To wash their remembrance away, 
 
 To what distant Lethe must run ? 
 The wretch who is sentenced to die 
 
 May escape, and leave justice behind ; 
 From his country perhaps he may fly, 
 
 But oh ! can he fly from his mind ? 
 
 O rapture ! unthought of before, 
 
 To be thus of Chloe possess' d ; 
 Nor she, nor no tyrant's hard power, 
 
 Her image can tear from my breast. 
 But felt not Narcissus more joy, 
 
 With his eyes he beheld his loved charms? 
 Yet what he beheld the fond boy 
 
 More eagerly wish'd in his arms. 
 
 How can it thy dear image be 
 
 Which fills thus my bosom with woe? 
 Can aught bear resemblance to thee 
 
 Which grief and not joy can bestow? 
 This counterfeit snatch from my heart, 
 
 Ye pow'rs, tho' with torment I rave, 
 Tho' mortal will prove the fell smart : 
 
 I then shall find rest in my grave. 
 
 Ah, see the dear nymph o'er the plain 
 
 Come smiling and tripping along ! 
 A thousand Loves dance in her train, 
 
 The Graces around her all throng. 
 To meet her soft Zephyrus flies, 
 
 And wafts all the sweets from the flowers, 
 All, rogue ! whilst he kisses her eyes, 
 
 More sweets from her breath he devours. 
 
 My soul, whilst I gaze, is on fire : 
 
 But her looks were so tender and kind, 
 My hope almost reach'd my desire, 
 
 And left lame despair far behind. 
 Transported with madness, I flew, 
 
 And eagerly seized on my bliss ; 
 Her bosom but half she withdrew, 
 
 But half she refused my fond kiss. 
 
 Advances like these made me bold ; 
 
 I whisper'd her Love, we're alone. 
 The rest let immortals unfold ; 
 
 No language can tell but their own. 
 Ah, Chloe, expiring, I cried, 
 
 How long I thy cruelty bore ! 
 Ah, Strephon, she blushing replied, 
 
 You ne'er was so pressing before.
 
 160 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Adams had been ruminating all this time on a passage 
 in ./Eschylus, without attending in the least to the voice, 
 though one of the most melodious that ever was heard, 
 when, casting his eyes on Fanny, he cried out, " Bless 
 us, you look extremely pale ! " " Pale ! Mr Adams," 
 says she ; " O Jesus ! " and fell backwards in her chair. 
 Adams jumped up, flung his Eschylus into the fire, and 
 fell a-roaring to the people of the house for help. He 
 soon summoned every one into the room, and the song- 
 ster among the rest ; but, O reader ! when this nightin- 
 gale, who was no other than Joseph Andrews himself, 
 saw his beloved Fanny in the situation we have described 
 her, canst thou conceive the agitations of his mind ? 
 If thou canst not, waive that meditation to behold his 
 happiness, when, clasping her in his arms, he found life 
 and blood returning into her cheeks : when he saw her 
 open her beloved eyes, and heard her with the softest 
 accent whisper, " Are you Joseph Andrews ? " " Art 
 thou my Fanny ? " he answered eagerly : and, pulling 
 her to his heart, he imprinted numberless kisses on her 
 lips, without considering who were present. 
 
 If prudes are offended at the lusciousness of this 
 picture, they may take their eyes off from it, and survey 
 parson Adams dancing about the room in a rapture of 
 joy. Some philosophers may perhaps doubt whether he 
 was not the happiest of the three : for the goodness of 
 his heart enjoyed the blessings which were exulting in 
 the breasts of both the other two, together with his own. 
 But we shall leave such disquisitions, as too deep for 
 us, to those who are building some favourite hypothesis, 
 which they will refuse no metaphysical rubbish to erect 
 and support : for our part, we give it clearly on the side 
 of Joseph, whose happiness was not only greater than 
 the parson's, but of longer duration : for as soon as the 
 first tumults of Adams's rapture were over he cast his 
 eyes towards the fire, where Eschylus lay expiring ;
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. l6l 
 
 and immediately rescued the poor remains, to wit, the 
 sheepskin covering, of his dear friend, which was the 
 work of his own hands, and had been his inseparable 
 companion for upwards of thirty years. 
 
 Fanny had no sooner perfectly recovered herself than 
 she began to restrain the impetuosity of her transports ; 
 and, reflecting on what she had done and suffered in the 
 presence of so many, she was immediately covered with 
 confusion ; and, pushing Joseph gently from her, she 
 begged him to be quiet, nor would admit of either kiss 
 or embrace any longer. Then, seeing Mrs Slipslop, 
 she curtsied, and offered to advance to her ; but that 
 high woman would not return her curtsies ; but, casting 
 her eyes another way, immediately withdrew into an- 
 other room, muttering, as she went, she wondered who 
 the creature was. 
 
 Chapter jciij. 
 
 A dissertation concerning high people and lotu people, tuith 
 Mrs Slipslop's departure in no very good temper of 
 mind, and the evil plight in which she left Adams 
 and his company. 
 
 IT will doubtless seem extremely odd to many readers, 
 that Mrs Slipslop, who had lived several years in 
 the same house with Fanny, should, in a short 
 separation, utterly forget her. And indeed the truth is, 
 that she remembered her very well. As we would not 
 willingly, therefore, that anything should appear un- 
 natural in this our history, we will endeavour to explain 
 the reasons of her conduct; nor do we doubt being 
 able to satisfy the most curious reader that Mrs Slip- 
 slop did not in the least deviate from the common road 
 in this behaviour ; and, indeed, had she done otherwise, 
 
 I. L
 
 I 62 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 she must have descended below herself, and would have 
 very justly been liable to censure. 
 
 Be it known then, that the human species are divided 
 into two sorts of people, to wit, high people and low 
 people. As by high people I would not be understood 
 to mean persons literally born higher in their dimensions 
 than the rest of the species, nor metaphorically those of 
 exalted characters or abilities ; so by low people I 
 cannot be construed to intend the reverse. High 
 people signify no other than people of fashion, and low 
 people those of no fashion. Now, this word fashion 
 hath by long use lost its original meaning, from which 
 at present it gives us a very different idea ; for I am 
 deceived if by persons of fashion we do not generally 
 include a conception of birth and accomplishments 
 superior to the herd of mankind ; whereas, in reality, 
 nothing more was originally meant by a person of 
 fashion than a person who drest himself in the fashion 
 of the times ; and the word really and truly signifies 
 no more at this day. Now, the world being thus 
 divided into people of fashion and people of no fashion, 
 a fierce contention arose between them ; nor would 
 those of one party, to avoid suspicion, be seen publicly 
 to speak to those of the other, though they often held 
 a very good correspondence in private. In this con- 
 tention it is difficult to say which party succeeded ; for, 
 whilst the people of fashion seized several places to 
 their own use, such as courts, assemblies, operas, balls, 
 &c., the people of no fashion, besides one royal place, 
 called his Majesty's Bear-garden, have been in constant 
 possession of all hops, fairs, revels, &c. Two places 
 have been agreed to be divided between them, namely, 
 the church and the playhouse, where they segregate 
 themselves from each other in a remarkable manner ; 
 for, as the people of fashion exalt themselves at church 
 over the heads of the people of no fashion, so in the
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 163 
 
 pkyhouse they abase themselves in the same degree 
 under their feet. This distinction 1 have never met 
 with any one able to account for : it is sufficient that, 
 so far from looking on each other as brethren in the 
 Christian language, they seem scarce to regard each 
 other as of the same species. This, the terms " strange 
 persons, people one does not know, the creature, wretches, 
 beasts, brutes," and many other appellations evidently 
 demonstrate ; which Mrs Slipslop, having often heard 
 her mistress use, thought she had also a right to use in 
 her turn ; and perhaps she was not mistaken ; for these 
 two parties, especially those bordering nearly on each 
 other, to wit, the lowest of the high, and the highest 
 of the low, often change their parties according to pkce 
 and time ; for those who are people of fashion in one 
 pkce are often people of no fashion in another. And 
 with regard to time, it may not be unpleasant to survey 
 the picture of dependance like a kind of kdder ; as, for 
 instance ; early in the morning arises the postillion, or 
 some other boy, which great families, no more than 
 great ships, are without, and falls to brushing the 
 clothes and cleaning the shoes of John the footman ; 
 who, being drest himself, applies his hands to the same 
 labours for Mr Second-hand, the squire's gentleman ; 
 the gentleman in the like manner, a little kter in the 
 day, attends the squire ; the squire is no sooner equipped 
 than he attends the levee of my lord ; which is no 
 sooner over than my lord himself is seen at the levee of 
 the favourite, who, after the hour of homage is at an 
 end, appears himself to pay homage to the levee of his 
 sovereign. Nor is there, perhaps, in this whole ladder 
 of dependance, any one step at a greater distance from 
 the other than the first from the second ; so that to a 
 philosopher the question might only seem, whether you 
 would chuse to be a great man at six in the morning, 
 or at two in the afternoon. And yet there are scarce
 
 164 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 two of these who do not think the least familiarity with 
 the persons below them a condescension, and, if they 
 were to go one step farther, a degradation. 
 
 And now, reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long 
 digression, which seemed to me necessary to vindicate 
 the great character of Mrs Slipslop from what low 
 people, who have never seen high people, might think 
 an absurdity ; but we who know them must have daily 
 found very high persons know us in one place and not 
 in another, to-day and not to-morrow; all which it 
 is difficult to account for otherwise than I have here 
 endeavoured ; and perhaps, if the gods, according to 
 the opinion of some, made men only to laugh at them, 
 there is no part of our behaviour which answers the 
 end of our creation better than this. 
 
 But to return to our history : Adams, who knew no 
 more of this than the cat which sat on the table, imagin- 
 ing Mrs Slipslop's memory had been much worse than 
 it really was, followed her into the next room, crying 
 out, " Madam Slipslop, here is one of your old acquaint- 
 ance ; do but see what a fine woman she is grown 
 since she left Lady Booby's service." " I think I 
 reflect something of her," answered she, with great 
 dignity, " but I can't remember all the inferior servants 
 in our family." She then proceeded to satisfy Adams's 
 curiosity, by telling him, " When she arrived at the inn, 
 she found a chaise ready for her ; that, her lady being 
 expected very shortly in the country, she was obliged 
 to make the utmost haste ; and, in commensuration of 
 Joseph's lameness, she had taken him with her ; " and 
 lastly, " that the excessive virulence of the storm had 
 driven them into the house where he found them." 
 After which, she acquainted Adams with his 
 having left his horse, and exprest some wonder at 
 his having strayed so far out of his way, and at 
 meeting him, as she said, "in the company of that
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 165 
 
 wench, who she feared was no better than ahe 
 should be." 
 
 The horse was no sooner put into Adams's head but 
 he was immediately driven out by this reflection on the 
 character of Fanny. He protested, " He believed there 
 was not a chaster damsel in the universe. I heartily 
 wish, I heartily wish," cried he (snapping his fingers), 
 " that all her betters were as good." He then pro- 
 ceeded to inform her of the accident of their meeting ; 
 but when he came to mention the circumstance of 
 delivering her from the rape, she said, " She thought 
 him properer for the army than the clergy ; that it did 
 not become a clergyman to lay violent hands on any 
 one ; that he should have rather prayed that she might 
 be strengthened." Adams said, " He was very far 
 from being ashamed of what he had done : " she replied, 
 " Want of shame was not the currycuristic of a clergy- 
 man." This dialogue might have probably grown 
 warmer, had not Joseph opportunely entered the room, 
 to ask leave of Madam Slipslop to introduce Fanny: 
 but she positively refused to admit any such trollops, 
 and told him, " She would have been burnt before she 
 would have suffered him to get into a chaise with her, 
 if she had once respected him of having his sluts way- 
 laid on the road for him ; " adding, " that Mr Adams 
 acted a very pretty part, and she did not doubt but to 
 see him a bishop." He made the best bow he could, 
 and cried out, " I thank you, madam, for that right- 
 reverend appellation, which I shall take all honest means 
 to deserve." "Very honest means," returned she, with 
 a sneer, " to bring people together." At these words 
 Adams took two or three strides across the room, when 
 the coachman came to inform Mrs Slipslop, "That 
 the storm was over, and the moon shone very bright." 
 She then sent for Joseph, who was sitting without with 
 his Fanny, and would have had him gone with her ;
 
 I 66 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 but he peremptorily refused to leave Fanny behind, 
 which threw the good woman into a violent rage. 
 She said, " She would inform her lady what doings 
 were carrying on, and did not doubt but she would rid 
 the parish of all such people ; " and concluded a long 
 speech, full of bitterness and very hard words, with 
 some reflections on the clergy not decent to repeat ; at 
 last, finding Joseph unmoveable, she flung herself into 
 the chaise, casting a look at Fanny as she went, not 
 unlike that which Cleopatra gives Octavia in the play. 
 To say the truth, she was most disagreeably disappointed 
 by the presence of Fanny : she had, from her first seeing 
 Joseph at the inn, conceived hopes of something which 
 might have been accomplished at an alehouse as well as 
 a palace. Indeed, it is probable Mr Adams had rescued 
 more than Fanny from the danger of a rape that evening. 
 
 When the chaise had carried off the enraged Slipslop, 
 Adams, Joseph, and Fanny assembled over the fire, 
 where they had a great deal of innocent chat, pretty 
 enough ; but, as possibly it would not be very enter- 
 taining to the reader, we shall hasten to the morning ; 
 only observing that none of them went to bed that 
 night. Adams, when he had smoaked three pipes, took 
 a comfortable nap in a great chair, and left the lovers, 
 whose eyes were too well employed to permit any desire 
 of shutting them, to enjoy by themselves, during some 
 hours, an happiness which none of my readers who 
 have never been in love are capable of the least conception 
 of, though we had as many tongues as Homer desired, to 
 describe it with, and which all true lovers will represent 
 to their own minds without the least assistance from us. 
 
 Let it suffice then to say, that Fanny, after a thousand 
 entreaties, at last gave up her whole soul to Joseph ; and, 
 almost fainting in his arms, with a sigh infinitely softer 
 and sweeter too than any Arabian breeze, she whispered 
 to his lips, which were then close to hers, " O Joseph,
 
 ',.!,/,/
 
 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 167 
 
 you have won me : I will be yours for ever." Joseph, 
 having thanked her on his knees, and embraced her 
 with an eagerness which she now almost returned, 
 leapt up in a rapture, and awakened the parson, 
 earnestly begging him " that he would that instant join 
 their hands together." Adams rebuked him for his 
 request, and told him " He would by no means consent 
 to anything contrary to the forms of the Church ; that 
 he had no licence, nor indeed would he advise him to 
 obtain one ; that the Church had prescribed a form 
 namely, the publication of banns with which all good 
 Christians ought to comply, and to the omission of which 
 he attributed the many miseries which befell great folks 
 in marriage ; " concluding, " As many as are joined 
 together otherwise than G 's word doth allow are 
 not joined together by G , neither is their matrimony 
 lawful." Fanny agreed with the parson, saying to 
 Joseph, with a blush, " She assured him she would not 
 consent to any such thing, and that she wondered at his 
 offering it" In which resolution she was comforted 
 and commended by Adams ; and Joseph was obliged 
 to wait patiently till after the third publication of the 
 banns, which, however, he obtained the consent of 
 Fanny, in the presence of Adams, to put in at their 
 arrival. 
 
 The sun had been now risen some hours, when 
 Joseph, finding his leg surprizingly recovered, proposed 
 to walk forwards ; but when they were all ready to set 
 out, an accident a little retarded them. This was no 
 other than the reckoning, which amounted to seven 
 shillings ; no great sum if we consider the immense 
 quantity of ale which Mr Adams poured in. Indeed, 
 they had no objection to the reasonableness of the bill, 
 but many to the probability of paying it ; for the fellow 
 who had taken poor Fanny's purse had unluckily forgot 
 to return it. So that the account stood thus :
 
 1 68 ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS. 
 
 * 
 Mr Adams and company, Dr . . .07 
 
 In Mr Adams's pocket . . . . o o 6J 
 
 In Mr Joseph's o o o 
 
 In Mrs Fanny's o o o 
 
 Balance . . .065^ 
 
 They stood silent some few minutes, staring at each 
 other, when Adams whipt out on his toes, and asked 
 the hostess, " If there was no clergyman in that parish ? " 
 She answered, " There was." " Is he wealthy ? " 
 replied he ; to which she likewise answered in the 
 affirmative. Adams then snapping his fingers returned 
 overjoyed to his companions, crying out, "Heureka, 
 Heureka ; " which not being understood, he told them 
 in plain English, "They need give themselves no 
 trouble, for he had a brother in the parish who would 
 defray the reckoning, and that he would just step to 
 his house and fetch the money, and return to them 
 instantly." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BALLANTYNE PRESS : EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
 
 A 000760189 1