CHAPTER IX. now a single halfpenny of it left. Sure the often in the power of velvet and down to devil must have taken it from me!'-Sir,' bestow. answered the priest smiling, 'you need make no excuses: if you are not willing to lend me the money, I am contented.'—' Sir,' cries Adams, if I had the greatest sum in the world,-ay, if I had ten pounds about me,-I would bestow it all to rescue any Christian from distress. I am more vexed at my loss on your account than my own. Was ever any thing so unlucky? because I have no money in my pocket, I shall be suspected to be no Christian.' I am more unlucky,' quoth the other, if you are as generous as you say; for really a crown would have made me happy, and conveyed me in plenty to the place I am going, which is not above twenty miles off, and where I can arrive by to-morrow night. I assure you I am not accustomed to travel pennyless. I am but just arrived in England and we were forced by a storm in our passage to throw all we had overboard. I don't suspect but this fellow will take my word for the trifle I owe him; but I hate to appear so mean as to confess myself without a shilling to such people; for these, and indeed too many others, know little difference in their estimation between a beggar and a thief.' However, he thought he should deal better with the host that evening than the next morning: he therefore resolved to set out immediately, notwithstanding the darkness; and accordingly, as soon as the host returned, he communicated to him the situation of his affair; upon which the host, scratching his head, answered, Why, I do not know, master; if it be so, and you have no money, I must trust, I think, though I had rather always have ready money if I could; but, marry, you look like so honest a gentleman, that I don't fear your paying me, if it was twenty times as much.' The priest made no reply, but taking leave of him and Adams as fast as he could, not without confusion, and perhaps with some distrust of Adams's sincerity, departed. He was no sooner gone than the host fell a shaking his head, and declared, if he had | suspected the fellow had no money, he would not have drawn him a single drop of drink; saying, he despaired of ever seeing his face again, for that he looked like a confounded rogue. 'Rabbit the fellow,' cries he, 'I thought by his talking so much about riches, that he had a hundred pounds at least in his pocket.' Adams chid him for his suspicions, which he said were not becoming a Christian; and then, without reflecting on his loss, or considering how he himself should depart in the morning, he retired to a very homely bed, as his companions had before; however health and fatigue gave them a sweeter repose than is Containing as surprising and bloody adventures as can be found in this or perhaps any authentic history. Ir was almost morning, when Joseph Andrews, whose eyes the thoughts of his dear Fanny had opened, as he lay fondly meditating on that lovely creature, heard a violent knocking at the door, over which he lay. He presently jumped out of bed, and opening the window, was asked, If there were no travellers in the house? and presently by another voice, If two men and a young woman had taken up their lodgings there that night? Though he knew not the voices, he began to entertain a suspicion of the truth; for indeed he had received some information from one of the servants of the squire's house of his design; and answered in the negative. One of the servants, who knew the host well, called out to him by his name, just as he had opened another window, and asked him the same question; to which he answered in the affirmative. O ho! said another, have we found you? and ordered the host to come down and open his door. Fanny, who was as wakeful as Joseph, no sooner heard all this, than she leaped from her bed, and hastily putting on her gown and petticoats, ran as fast as possible to Joseph's room, who then was almost dressed. He immediately let her in, and embracing her with the most passionate tenderness, bid her fear nothing, for he would die in her defence. 'Is that a reason why I should not fear,' says she, 'when I should lose what is dearer to me than the whole world?" Joseph then kissing her hand, said, 'He could almost thank the occasion which had extorted from her a tenderness she would never indulge him with before.' He then ran and waked his bedfellow Adams, who was yet fast asleep, notwithstanding many calls from Joseph; but was no sooner made sensible of their danger, than he leaped from his bed, without considering the presence of Fanny, who hastily turned her face from him, and enjoyed a double benefit from the dark, which, as it would have prevented any offence to an innocence less pure, or a modesty less delicate, so it concealed even those blushes which were raised in her. Adams had soon put on all his clothes but his breeches, which in the hurry he forgot; however, they were pretty well supplied by the length of his other garments; and now the house-door being opened, the captain, the poet, the player, and three servants came in. The captain told the host, that two fellows who were in his house, had run | came, he returned to the captain, and gave away with a young woman, and desired to him so dexterous a knock in that part of know in which room she lay. The host the stomach which is vulgarly called the pit, who presently believed the story, directed that he staggered some paces backwards. them, and instantly the captain and poet, The captain, who was not accustomed to jostling one another, ran up. The poet, this kind of play, and who wisely apprewho was the nimblest, entering the cham- hended the consequence of such another ber first, searched the bed and every other blow, two of them seeming to him equal to part, but to no purpose; the bird was flown, a thrust through the body, drew forth his as the impatient reader, who might other- hanger, as Adams approached him, and was wise have been in pain for her, was before levelling a blow at his head, which would advertised. They then inquired where the probably have silenced the preacher for ever, men lay, and were approaching the cham- had not Joseph in that instant lifted up a ber, when Joseph roared out in a loud voice, certain huge stone pot of the chamber with that he would shoot the first man who of- one hand, which six beaus could not have fered to attack the door. The captain in- lifted with both, and discharged it, together quired what fire-arms they had; to which with the contents, full in the captain's the host answered, He believed they had face. The uplifted hanger dropped from his none; nay, he was almost convinced of it, hand, and he fell prostrated on the floor for he had heard one ask the other in the with a lumpish noise, and his halfpence ratevening what they should have done if they tled in his pocket; the red liquor which his had been overtaken, when they had no veins contained, and the white liquor which arms; to which the other answered, They the pot contained, ran in one stream down would have defended themselves with their his face and his clothes. Nor had Adams sticks as long as they were able, and God quite escaped, some of the water having in would assist a just cause. This satisfied its passage shed its honours on his head, the captain, but not the poet, who prudently and began to trickle down the wrinkles or retreated down stairs, saying, It was his rather furrows of his cheeks, when one of business to record great actions, and not to the servants, snatching a mop out of a pail do them. The captain was no sooner well of water which had already done its duty satisfied that there were no fire-arms, than in washing the house, pushed it in the parbidding defiance to gunpowder, and swear- son's face; yet could not he bear him down, ing he loved the smell of it, he ordered the for the parson wresting the mop from the servants to follow him, and marching boldly fellow with one hand, with his other brought up, immediately attempted to force the door, the enemy as low as the earth, having given which the servants soon helped him to ac-him a stroke over that part of the face complish. When it was opened, they discovered the enemy drawn up three deep; Adams in the front, and Fanny in the rear. Hitherto Fortune seemed to incline the The captain told Adams, That if they would victory on the traveller's side, when, accordgo all back to the house again, they shoulding to her custom, she began to show the be civilly treated; but unless they consented, he had orders to carry the young lady with him, whom there was great reason to believe they had stolen from her parents; for notwithstanding her disguise, her air, which she could not conceal, sufficiently discovered her birth to be infinitely superior to theirs. Fanny, bursting into tears, solemnly assured him he was mistaken; that she was a poor helpless foundling, and had no relation in the world which she knew of; and throwing herself on her knees, begged that he would not attempt to take her from her friends, who she was convinced would die before they would lose her; which Adams confirmed with words not far from amounting to an oath. The captain swore he had no leisure to talk, and bidding them thank themselves for what happened, he ordered the servants to fall on, at the same time endeavouring to pass by Adams, in order to lay hold on Fanny; but the parson interrupting him received a blow from one of them which without considering whence it where, in some men of pleasure, the natural and artificial noses are conjoined. fickleness of her disposition; for now the host entering the field, or rather chamber, of battle, flew directly at Joseph, and darting his head into his stomach, (for he was a stout fellow and an expert boxer,) almost staggered him; but Joseph stepping one leg back, did with his left hand so chuck him under the chin that he reeled. The youth was pursuing his blow with his right hand, when he received from one of the servants such a stroke with a cudgel on his temples, that it instantly deprived him of sense, and he measured his length on the ground. Fanny rent the air with her cries; and Adams was coming to the assistance of Joseph; but the two serving-men and the host now fell on him, and soon subdued him, though he fought like a madman, and looked so black with the impressions he had received from the mop, that Don Quixote would certainly have taken him for an enchanted Moor. But now follows the most tragical part; for the captain was risen again, and seeing Joseph on the floor, and like vines, may be pruned, but not with a Adams secured, he instantly laid hold on hatchet. The town, like a peevish child, Fanny, and, with the assistance of the poet knows not what it desires, and is always and player, who, hearing the battle was best pleased with a rattle. A farce-writer over, were now come up, dragged her, cry-hath indeed some chance for success; but ing and tearing her hair, from the sight of they have lost all taste for the sublime. her Joseph, and with a perfect deafness to Though I believe one reason of their deall her intreaties, carried her down stairs by pravity is the badness of the actors. If a violence, and fastened her on the player's man writes like an angel, sir, those fellows horse; and the captain mounting his own, know not how to give a sentiment utterand leading that on which this poor misera- ance.'-' Not so fast,' says the player: 'the ble wretch was, departed, without any more modern actors are as good at least as their consideration of her cries than a butcher authors; nay, they come nearer their illushath of those of a lamb; for indeed his trious predecessors; and I expect a Booth thoughts were entertained only with the on the stage again, sooner than a Shakdegree of favour which he promised him- speare or an Otway; and indeed I may self from the squire on the success of this turn your observation against you, and with adventure. truth say, that the reason no actors are enThe servants, who were ordered to se-couraged, is because we have no good new cure Adams and Joseph as safe as possible, plays.'-'I have not affirmed the contrary,' that the squire might receive no interrup- said the poet; but I am surprised you grow tion to his design on poor Fanny, immedi- so warm; you cannot but imagine yourself ately, by the poet's advice, tied Adams to interested in this dispute; I hope you have one of the bed-posts, as they did Joseph on a better opinion of my taste, than to apprethe other side, as soon as they could bring hend I squinted at yourself. No, sir, if we him to himself; and then leaving them to- had six such actors as you, we should soon gether, back to back, and desiring the host rival the Bettertons and Sandfords of former not to set them at liberty, nor to go near times; for, without a compliment to you, them till he had further orders, they de- I think it impossible for any one to have parted towards their master; but happened excelled you in most of your parts. Nay, to take a different road from that which the it is solemn truth, and I have heard many, captain had fallen into. and all great judges, express as much; and you will pardon me, if I tell you, think, every time I have seen you lately, you have constantly acquired some new excellence, like a snowball. You have deceived me in my estimation of perfection, and have outdone what I thought inimitable.'-You are as little interested,' answered the player, in what I have said of other poets; for d--n me if there are not many strokes, ay, whole scenes, in your last tragedy, which at least equal Shakspeare. There is a delicacy of sentiment, a dignity of expression in it, which, I will own, many of our gentlemen did not do adequate justice to. To confess the truth, they are bad enough; and I pity an author who is present at the murder of his works.'-Nay, it is but seldom that it can happen,' returned the poet; the works of most modern authors, like dead-born children, cannot be murdered. It is such wretched, half-begotThe poet, addressing the player, pro- ten, half-writ, lifeless, spiritless, low, grovelceeded thus: As I was saying,' (for they ling stuff, that I almost pity the actor who had been at this discourse all the time of the is obliged to get it by heart, which must be engagement above stairs,) the reason you almost as difficult to remember, as words in have no good new plays is evident; it is a language you do not understand.'-'I am from your discouragement of authors. Gen- sure, said the player, if the sentences have tlemen will not write, sir, they will not write, little meaning when they are writ, when without the expectation of fame or profit, or they are spoken, they have less. I know perhaps both. Plays are like trees, which scarce one who ever lays an emphasis right, will not grow without nourishment; but, and much less adapts his action to his chalike mushrooms, they shoot up spontane-racter. I have seen a tender lover in an ously, as it were, in a rich soil. The muses, 'attitude of fighting with his mistress, and a CHAPTER X. A discourse between the poet and the player; of no other use in this history but to divert the reader. BEFORE we proceed any farther in this tragedy, we shall leave Mr. Joseph and Mr. Adams to themselves, and imitate the wise conductors of the stage, who, in the midst of a grave action, entertain you with some excellent piece of satire or humour, called a dance. Which piece, indeed, is therefore danced, and not spoke, as it is delivered to the audience by persons, whose thinking faculty is, by most people, held to lie in their heels; and to whom, as well as heroes, who think with their hands, Nature hath only given heads for the sake of conformity, and as they are of use in dancing, to hang their hats on. 6 brave hero suing to his enemy with his sword in his hand. I don't care to abuse my profession, but rot me if, in my heart, I am not inclined to the poet's side.' 'It is rather generous in you than just,' said the poet; and though I hate to speak ill of any person's production,-nay, I never do it, nor will,-but yet, to do justice to the actors, what could Booth or Betterton have made of such horrible stuff as Fenton's Mariamne, Frowd's Philotas, or Mallet's Eurydice; or those low, dirty, last-dying speeches, which a fellow in the city of Wapping, your Dillo or Lillo, what was his name, called tragedies?'-'Very well,' says the player; and pray what do you think of such fellows as Quin and Delane, or that face-making puppy, young Cibber, that illlook'd dog Macklin, or that saucy slut, Mrs. Clive? What work would they make with your Shakspeares, Otways, and Lees? How would those harmonious lines of the last come from their tongues? No more; for I disdain All pomp when thou art by: far be the noise Of kings and crowns from us, whose gentle souls Our kinder fates have steer'd another way. Free as the forest birds we'll pair together, Without remembering who our fathers were: Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads; There in soft murmurs interchange our souls; Together drink the crystal of the stream, Or taste the yellow fruit which autumn yields; And when the golden evening calls us home, Wing to our downy nests and sleep till morn. 'Or how would this disdain of Otway 6 Who'd be that foolish sordid thing call'd man? "Hold! hold! hold!' said the poet: Do repeat that tender speech in the third act of my play, which you made such a figure in.I would willingly,' said the player, but I have forgot it.' Ay, you was not quite perfect enough in it when you played it,' cries the poet, or you would have had such an applause as was never given on the stage; an applause I was extremely concerned for your losing.'-'Sure,' says the player, if I remember, that was hissed more than any passage in the whole play.'Ay, your speaking it was hissed,' said the poet. My speaking it!' said the player. I mean your not speaking it,' said the poet. You was out, and then they hissed.' They hissed, and then I was out, if I remember,' answered the player; and I must say this for myself, that the whole audience allowed I did your part justice; so don't lay the damnation of your play to my account.'-'I don't know what you mean by damnation,' replied the poet.-Why, you know it was acted but one night,' cried the player. No,' said the poet, you and the whole town were enemies: the pit were all my enemies, fellows that would cut my throat, if the fear of hanging did not restrain them. All tailors, sir, all tailors.' Why should the tailors be so angry with you?' cries the player. I suppose you don't employ so many in making your clothes.'-'I admit your jest,' answered the poet; but you remember the aflair as well as myself; you know there was a party in the pit and upper gallery would not suffer it to be given out again; though much, ay, infinitely the majority, all the boxes in particular, were desirous of it; nay, most of the ladies swore they never would come to the house till it was acted again. Indeed, I must own their policy was good, in not letting it be given out a second time; for the rascals knew if it had gone a second night, it would have run fifty; for if ever there was distress in a tragedy,---I am not fond of my own performance; but if I should tell you what the best judges said of it-Nor was it entirely owing to my enemies neither, that it did not succeed on the stage as well as it hath since among the polite readers; for you can't say it had justice done it by the performers.'-'I think,' answered the player, the performers did the distress of it justice; for I am sure we were in distress enough, who were pelted with oranges all the last act; we all imagined it would have been the last act of our lives.' The poet, whose fury was now raised, had just attempted to answer, when they were interrupted and an end put to their discourse by an accident; which if the reader is impatient to know, he must skip over the next chapter, which is a sort of counterpart to this, and contains some of the best and gravest matters in the whole book, being a discourse between Parson Abraham Adams and Mr. Joseph Andrews. CHAPTER XI. Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams to his friend in affliction; calculated for the instruction and improvement of the reader. JOSEPH no sooner came perfectly to himself, than, perceiving his mistress gone, he bewailed her loss with groans which would have pierced any heart but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of a certain composition, not unlike flint in its hardness and other properties; for you may strike fire from them, which will dart through the eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the same way. His own, poor youth, was of a softer composition; and at those words, O my dear Fanny! O my love! shall I never never see thee more? his eyes overflowed with tears, which would have become any thing but a hero. In a word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related. Mr. Adams, after many groans, sitting O, sir!' cried Joseph, all this is very with his back to Joseph, began thus in a true, and very fine, and I could hear you all sorrowful tone; You cannot imagine, my day, if I was not so grieved at heart as now good child, that I entirely blame these first I am.'-Would you take physic,' says agonies of your grief; for when misfortunes Adams, when you are well, and refuse it attack us by surprise, it must require infi- when you are sick? Is not comfort to be nitely more learning than you are master of administered to the afflicted, and not to those to resist them; but it is the business of a who rejoice, or those who are at ease?'man and a Christian, to summon reason as 'O! you have not spoken one word of comquickly as he can to his aid; and she will fort to me yet!' returned Joseph. No!' presently teach him patience and submis- cries Adams; What am I then doing? sion. Be comforted, therefore, child; I say what can I say to comfort you?'-O! tell be comforted. It is true, you have lost the me,' cries Joseph, that Fanny will escape prettiest, kindest, loveliest, sweetest young back to my arms; that they shall again woman, one with whom you might have enclose that lovely creature, with all her expected to have lived in happiness, virtue, sweetness, all her untainted innocence about and innocence; by whom you might have her!'-Why, perhaps you may,' cries promised yourself many little darlings, who Adams; but I can't promise you what's would have been the delight of your youth, to come. You must, with perfect resignaand the comfort of your age. You have tion, wait the event: if she be restored to not only lost her, but have reason to fear the you again, it is your duty to be thankful, utmost violence which lust and power can and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may are wise, and truly know your own interest, easily raise ideas of horror, which might you will peaceably and quietly submit to all drive you to despair.'-'OI shall run mad!' the dispensations of Providence, being thocries Joseph. O that I could but com- roughly assured, that all the misfortunes, mand my hands to tear my eyes out, and how great soever, which happen to the my flesh off!If you would use them righteous, happen to them for their own to such purposes, I am glad you can't,' an- good. Nay, it is not your interest only, but swered Adams. 'I have stated your mis- your duty, to abstain from immoderate grief, fortunes as strong as I possibly can; but, which, if you indulge, you are not worthy on the other side, you are to consider you the name of a Christian.' He spoke these are a Christian; that no accident happens to last words with an accent a little severer us without the divine permission, and that than usual: upon which, Joseph begged it is the duty of a man and a Christian to him not to be angry, saying, he mistook him submit. We did not make ourselves; but if he thought he denied it was his duty, for the same power which made us, rules over he had known that long ago. What sigus, and we are absolutely at his disposal; nifies knowing your duty, if you do not perhe may do with us what he pleases, nor form it?' answered Adams. Your knowhave we any right to complain. A second ledge increases your guilt. O Joseph! 1 reason against our complaint is our igno- never thought you had this stubbornness in rance; for as we know not future events, so your mind.' Joseph replied, he fancied he neither can we tell to what purpose any ac- misunderstood him; which I assure you,' cident tends; and that which at first threat- says he, 'you do, if you imagine I enens us with evil, may in the end produce deavour to grieve; upon my soul I don't.' our good. I should indeed have said our Adams rebuked him for swearing; and then ignorance is twofold, (but I have not at proceeded to enlarge on the folly of grief, present time to divide properly,) for as we telling him, all the wise men and philosoknow not to what purpose any event is ul-phers, even among the heathens, had writtimately directed; so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung. You are a man, and consequently a sinner; and this may be a punishment to you for your sins: indeed in this sense it may be esteemed as a good, yea, as the greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and averts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction. Thirdly, our impotency in relieving ourselves, demonstrates the folly and absurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist, or against whom do we complain, but a power from whose shafts no armour can guard us, no speed can fly?-a power which leaves us no hope but in submission.' ten against it, quoting several passages from Seneca, and the consolation, which, though it was not Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works; and concluded all by hinting, that immoderate grief, in this case, might incense that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This reason, or, indeed, rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of his mistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, and for a moment abated his agonies; but when his fears sufficiently set before his eyes the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returned again with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least assuage it; though it may be doubted, in his behalf, |