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whether Socrates himself could have prevailed any better. They remained some time in silence; and oans and sighs issued from them both; at ngth Joseph burst out into the following soliloquy: Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man, But I must also feel them as a man. I cannot but remember such things were, And were most dear to me. Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated?—To which he answered, they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play.—‘Ay, there is nothing but heathenism to be learned from plays,’ replied he. “I never heard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the Conscious Lovers; and I must own, in the latter there are some things almost solemn enough for a sermon.” But we shall now leave them a little, and inquire after the subject of their conversation.

CHAPTER XII.

JMore adventures, which we hope will as much please as surprise the reader. NEITHER the facetious dialogue which passed between the poet and the player, nor the grave and truly solemn discourse of Mr. Adams, will, we conceive, make the reader sufficient amends for the anxiety which he must have felt on the account of poor Fanny, whom we left in so deplorable a condition. We shall therefore now proceed to the relation of what happened to that beautiful and innocent virgin, after she fell into the wicked hands of the captain. The man of war having conveyed his charming prize out of the inn a little before day, made the utmost expedition in his power towards the squire's house, where this delicate creature was to be offered up a sacrifice to the lust of a ravisher. He was not only deaf to all her bewailings and entreaties on the road, but accosted her ears with impurities, which, having been never before accustomed to them, she happily for herself very little understood. At last he changed this note, and attempted to soothe and mollify her, by setting forth the splendour and luxury which would be her fortune with a man who would have the inclination, and power too, to give her whatever her utmost wishes could desire; and told her, he doubted not but she would soon look kinder on him, as the instrument of her happiness, and despise that pitiful fellow, whom her ignorance only could make her fond of. She answered, she knew not whom he meant; she never was fond of any pitiful fellow. “Are you affronted, madam,' says he, at my calling him so? But what better can be said of one in a livery notwithstand

ing your fondness sor him?” . She returned, that she did not understand him, that the man had been her fellow-servant, and she believed was as honest a creature as any alive; but as for fondness for men—“I warrant ye,’ cries the captain, ‘we shall find means to persuade you to be fond; and I advise you to yield to gentle ones, for you may be assured that it is not in your power, by any struggles whatever, to preserve your virginity two hours longer. It will be your interest to consent; for the squire will be much kinder to you, if he enjoys you willingly than by force.”—At which words she began to call aloud for assistance, (for it was now open day,) but finding none, she lifted her eyes to heaven, and supplicated the divine assistance to preserve her innocence. The captain told her, if she persisted in her vociferation, he would find a means of stopping her mouth. And now the poor wretch perceiving no hopes of succour, abandoned herself to despair, and sighing out the name of Joseph Joseph a river of tears ran down her lovely cheeks, and wet the handkerchief which covered her bosom. A horseman now appeared in the road, upon which the captain threatened her violently if she complained; however, the moment they approached each other, she begged him with the utmost earnestness, to relieve a distressed creature who was in the hands of a ravisher. The fellow stopped at those words; but the captain assured him it was his wife, and that he was carrying her home from her adulterer: which so satisfied the fellow, who was an old one, (and perhaps a married one too,) that he wished him a good journey, and rode on. He was no sooner passed, than the captain abused her violently for breaking his commands, and threatened to gagher, when two more horsemen, armed with pistols, came into the road just before them. She again solicited their assistance, and the captain told the same story as before. Upon which one said to the other, “That's acharming wench, Jack; I wish I had been in the fellow's place, whoever he is.’ But the other instead of answering him, cried out, ‘Zounds, I know her;' and then turning to her, said ‘sure you are not Fanny Goodwill '-' Indeed, indeed I am,” she cried— ‘O John ' I know you now Heaven hath sent you to my assistance, to deliver me from this wicked man, who is carrying me away for his vile purposes—0, for God's sake rescue me from him!” A fierce diaogue immediately ensued between the captain and these two men, who being both armed with pistols, and the chariot which they attended being now arrived, the captain saw both force and stratagem were vain, and endeavoured to make his escape; in which however he could not succeed. The rentleman who rode in the chariot, ordered it to stop, and with an air of authority examined into the merits of the cause; of which being advertised by Fanny, whose credit was confirmed by the fellow who knew her, he ordered the captain, who was all bloody, from his encounter at the inn, to be conveyed as a prisoner behind the chariot, and very gallantly took Fanny into it; for, to say the truth, this gentleman, (who was no other than the celebrated Mr. Peter Pounce, and who preceded the Lady Booby only a few miles, by setting out earlier in the morning,) was a very gallant person, and loved a pretty girl better than any thing, besides his own money or the money of other people. The chariot now proceeded towards the inn, which as Fanny was informed, lay in their way, and where it arrived at that very time while the poet and player were disputing below stairs, and Adams and Joseph were discoursing back to back above: just at that period to which we brought them both in the two preceding chapters, the chariot stopt at the door, and in an instant Fanny, leaping from it, ran up to her Joseph-0 reader' conceive if thou canst the joy which fired the breasts of these lovers on this meeting; and if thy own heart doth not sympathetically assist thee in this conception, I pity thee sincerely from my own; for let the hard-hearted villain know this, that there is a pleasure in a tender sensation beyond anything which he is capable of tasting. Peter being informed by Fanny of the presence of Adams, stopt to see him, and receive his homage; for, as Peter was an hypocrite, a sort of people whom Mr. Adams never saw through, the one paid that respect to his seeming goodness, which the other believed to be paid to his riches; hence Mr. Adams was so much his favourite, that he once lent him four pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence, to prevent his [...] to * on no greater security than a nd and judgment, which probably he would have made no use of though the money had not been, (as it was,) paid exactly at the time. It is not perhaps easy to describe the figure of Adams: he had risen in such a hurry, that he had on neither breeches, rters, nor stockings; nor had he taken rom his head a red spotted handkerchief, which by night bound his wig, turned inside out, around his head. He had on his torn cassock, and his great-coat; but as the remainder of his cassock hung down below his great coat; so did a small stripe of white, or rather whitish, linen appear below that; to which we may add the several colours which appeared on his face, where a long piss-burnt beard served to retain the liquor of the stone-pot, and that

of a blacker hue which distilled from the mop.–This figure, which Fanny had delivered from his captivity, was no sooner spied by Peter, than it disordered the composed gravity of his muscles; however, he advised him immediately to make himself clean, nor would accept his homage in that pickle. The poet and player no sooner saw the captain in captivity, than they began to consider of their own safety, of which flight presented itself as the only means; they therefore both of them mounted the poet's horse, and made the most expeditious retreat in their power. The host, who well knew Mr. Pounce, and Lady Booby's livery, was not a little surprised at this change of the scene: nor was this confusion much helped by his wife, who was now just risen, and having heard from him the account of what had passed, comforted him with a decent number of fools and blockheads; asked him why he did not consult her ; and told him he would never leave following the nonsensical dictates of his own numskull, till she and her family were ruined. Joseph being informed of the captain's arrival, and seeing his Fanny now in safety, quitted her a moment, and, running down stairs, went directly to him, and, strippi off his coat, challenged him to fight; but the captain refused, saying, he did not understand boxing. He then grasped a o: in one hand, and catching the captain by the collar with the other, gave him a most severe drubbing, and ended with telli him, he had now some revenge for what his dear Fanny had suffered. When Mr. Pounce had a little regaled himself with some provision which he had in his chariot, and Mr. Adams had put on his best appearance his clothes would allow him, Pounce ordered the captain into his |. for he said he was guilty of feony, and the next justice of peace should commit him; but the servants, (whose appetite for revenge is soon satisfied,) being sufficiently contented with the drubbing which Joseph had inflicted on him, and which was indeed of no very moderate kind, had sufsered him to go off, which he did, threatening a severe revenge against Joseph, which I have never heard he thought proper to take. The mistress of the house made her voluntary appearance before Mr. Pounce, and with a thousand courtesies told him, “She hoped his honour would pardon her husband, who was a very nonsense man, for the sake of his poor family; that indeed, if he could be ruined alone, she should be very willing of it; for because as why, his worship very well knew he deserved it : but

she had three poor small children, who to were not capable to get their own living; and if her husband was sent to jail, they must all come to the parish; for she was a poor weak woman, continually a-breeding, and had no time to work for them. She therefore hoped his honour would take it into his worship's consideration, and forgive her husband this time; for she was sure he never intended any harm to man, woman, or child; and if it was not for that blockhead of his own, the man in some things was well enough; for she had had three children by him in less than three years, and was almost ready to cry out the fourth time.” She would have proceeded in this manner much longer, had not Peter stopped her tongue, by telling her he had nothing to say to her husband, nor her neither. So as Adams and the rest had assured her of forgiveness, she cried and courtesied out of the room. Mr. Pounce was desirous that Fanny should continue her journey with him in the chariot; but she absolutely refused, saying she would ride behind Joseph, on a horse which one of Lady Booby's servants had equipped him with. But, alas! when the horse appeared, it was found to be no other than that identical beast which Mr. Adams had left behind him at the inn, and which these honest fellows, who knew him, had redeemed. Indeed, whatever horse they had provided for Joseph, they would have prevailed with him to mount none, no, not even to ride before his beloved Fanny, till the parson was supplied; much less would he deprive his friend of the beast which belonged to him, and which he knew the moment he saw, though Adams did not; however, when he was reminded of the affair, and told that they had brought the horse with them which he left behind, he answered—‘Bless me! and so I did.” Adams was very desirous that Joseph and Fanny should mount this horse, and declared he could very easily walk home. ‘If I walked alone,’ says he, ‘I would wage a shilling, that the pedestrian outstripped the equestrian travellers; but as I intend to take the company of a pipe, peradventure I may be an hour later.' One of the servants whispered Joseph to take him at his word, and suffer the old put to walk, if he would : this proposal was answered with an angry look and a peremptory refusal by Joseph, who, catching Fanny up in his arms, averred he would rather carry her home in that manner, than to take away Mr. Adams's horse, and permit him to walk on foot. Perhaps, reader, thou hast seen a contest between two gentlemen, or two ladies, quickly decided, though they have both asserted they would not eat such a nice morsel, and j. insisted on the other's accept

sirous to swallow it themselves. Do not, therefore, conclude hence, that this dispute would have come to a speedy decision: for here both parties were heartily in earnest, and it is very probable they would have remained in the inn-yard to this day, had not the good Peter Pounce put a stop to it; for finding he had no longer hopes of satisfying his old appetite with Fanny, and being desirous of having some one to whom he might communicate his grandeur, he told the parson he would convey him home in his chariot. This favour was, by Adams, with many bows and acknowledgments, accepted; though he afterwards said, “he ascended the chariot, rather that he might not offend, than from any desire of riding in it; for that in his heart he preferred the pedestrian even to the vehicular expedition.” All matters being now settled, the chariot, in which rode Adams and Pounce, moved forwards; and Joseph, having borrowed a pillion from the host, Fanny had just seated herself thereon, and had laid hold of the girdle which her lover wore for that purpose, when the wise beast, who concluded that one at a time was sufficient, that two to one were odds, &c. discovered much uneasiness at his double load, and began to consider his hinder as his fore legs, moving the direct contrary way to that which is called forwards. Nor could Joseph, with all his horsemanship, persuade him to advance; but, without having any regard to the lovely part of the lovely girl which was on his ... he used such agitations, that, had not one of the men come immediately to her assistance, she had, in plain English, tumbled backwards on the ground. This inconvenience was presently remedied by an exchange of horses; and then Fanny being again placed on her pillion, on a betternatured and somewhat a better-fed beast, the parson's horse, finding he had no longer odds to contend with, agreed to march; and the whole procession set forwards for Boobyhall, where they arrived in a few hours, without anything remarkable happening on the road, unless it was a curious dialogue between the parson and the steward; which, to use the language of a late Apologist, a pattern to all biographers, “waits for the reader in the next chapter.”

CHAPTER XIII. .4 curious dialogue which passed between, JMr. .1braham.1dams and .Wr. Peter Pounce, better worth reading than all the works of Colley Cibber, and many others. THE chariot had not proceeded far, before Mr. Adams observed it was a very fine day. “Ay, and a very fine country too, answered Pounce. “I should think so more,’

f ing it; but, in reality, both were very de

returned Adams “if I had not lately travelled over the Downs, which I take to exceed this and all other prospects in the universe.”—“A fig for prospects,' answered Pounce; “one acre here is worth ten there; and for my own part, I have no delight in the Prospect of any land but my own.”— “Sir,’ said Adams, “you can indulge yourself with many fine prospects of that kind.” —“I thank God, I have a little,' replied the other, “with which I am content, and envy no man: I have a little, Mr. Adams, with which I do as much good as I can.” Adams answered, “That riches without charity were nothing worth ; for that they were a blessing only to him who made them a blessing to others.”—“You and I,’ said Peter, ‘have different notions of charity. I own, as it is generally used, I do not like the word, nor do I think it becomes one of us ntlemen; it is a mean parson-like quality: É. I would not infer many parsons have it neither.”— Sir, said Adams, “my definition of charity is, a generous disposition to relieve the distressed.”—“There is something in that definition,” answered Peter," which I like well enough ; it is, as you say, a disposition, and does not so much consist in the act as in the disposition to do it; but alas ! Mr. Adams, who are meant by the distressed? Believe me, the distresses of mankind are mostly imaginary, and it would be rather folly than goodness to relieve them.' —‘Sure, sir, replied Adams, “hunger and thirst, cold and nakedness, and other distresses which attend the poor, can never be said to be imaginary evils.”—“How can any man complain of hunger,’ said Peter, ‘in a country where such excellent sallads are to be gathered in almost every field 3 or of thirst, where every river and stream produces such delicious potations? And as for cold and nakedness, they are evils introduced by luxury and custom. A man naturally wants clothes no more than a horse or any other animal; and there are whole nations who go without them; but these are things perhaps, which, you, who do not know the world’—‘You will pardon me, sir,’ returned Adams, “I have read of the Gymnosophists.”—“A plague of your Jehosaphats, cried Peter: “the greatest fault in our constitution is the provision made for the poor, except that perhaps made for some others. Sir, o have not an estate which doth not contribute almost as much again to the poor as to the land-tax; and I do assure ou I expect to come myself to the parish in the end.’ To which Adams giving a dissenting smile, Peter thus proceeded: “I fancy, Mr. Adams, you are one of those who imagine I am a lump of money; for there are many who, I fancy, believe that not only my pockets, but my whole clothes, are lined with bank-bills; but I assure you,

you are all mistaken; I am not the man the world esteems me. If I can hold my head above water, it is all I can. I have injured myself by purchasing. . I have been too liberal of my money. Indeed, I fear my heir will find my affairs in a worse situation than they are reputed to be. Ah! he will have reason to wish, I had loved money more, and land less. Pray, my good neighbour, where should I have that quantity of riches, the world is so liberal to bestow on me? Where could I possibly, without I had stole it, acquire such a treasure?”—“Why truly, says Adams, “I have been always of your opinion; I have wondered as well as

yourself with what confidence they could report such things of you, which have to

me appeared as mere impossibilities; for you know, sir, and I have often heard you say it, that your wealth is of your own acquisition; and can it be credible that in your short time you should have amassed such a heap of treasure as these people will have you worth : Indeed, had you inherited an estate like Sir Thomas Booby, which had descended in your family for many generations, they might have had a colour for their assertions.” “Why, what do they say I am worth?’ cries Peter with a malicious sneer. “Sir” answered Adams, “I have heard some aver you are not worth less than twenty thousand pounds.” At which Peter frowned. “Nay, sir,’ said Adams, ‘you ask me only the opinion of others; for my own part I have always denied it, nor did I ever believe you could possibly be worth half that sum.”—“However, Mr. Adams,” said he, squeezing him by the hand, ‘I would not sell them | am worth for double that sum; and as to what you believe, or they believe, I care not a fig, no, not a fart. } . not poor because you think me so, nor because you attempt to undervalue me in the country. I know the envy of mankind very well; but I thank heaven I am above them. It is true, my wealth is of my own acquisition. I have not an estate like Sir Thomas Booby, that has descended in my family through many generations; but I know heirs of such estates who are forced to travel about the country like some people in torn cassocks, and might be glad to accept of a pitiful curacy for what illnow. Yes, sir, as shabby fellows as yourself, whom no man of my figure, without that vice of good-nature about him, would suffer to ride in a chariot with him.”—“Sir,’ said Adams, “I value not your chariot of a rush; and if I had known you had intended to affront me, I would have walked to the world's end on foot, ere I would have accepted a place in it. However, sir, I will soon rid you of that inconvenience;’ and so saying,

he opened the chariot-door, without calling threw after him with great violence. Joto the coachman, and leaped out into the seph and Fanny stopt to bear him company

highway, forgetting to take his hat along with him; which, however Mr. Pounce

the rest of the way, which was not above a mile.

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CHAPTER I. The arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at Booby-hall.

The coach and six, in which Lady Booby rode, overtook the other travellers as they entered the parish. She no sooner saw Joseph, than her cheeks glowed with red, and immediately after became as totally pale. She had in her surprise almost stopped her coach; but recollected herself timely enough to prevent it. She entered the parish amidst the ringing of bells, and the acclamations of the poor, who were rejoiced to see their patroness returned after so long an absence, during which time all her rents had been drafted to London, without a shilling being spent among them, which tended not a little to their utter impoverishing; for if the court would be severely missed in such a city as London, how much more must the absence of a person of great fortune be felt in a little country village, for whose inhabitants such a family finds constant employment and supply; and with the offals of whose table the infirm, aged, and infant poor are abundantly fed, with a generosity which hath scarce a visible effect on their benefactors' pockets 2 But if their interest inspired so public a joy into every countenance, how much more forcibly did the affection which they bore Parson Adams operate upon all who beheld his return They flocked about him like dutiful children round an indulgent parent, and vied with each other in demonstrations of duty and love. The parson on his side shook every one by the hand, inquired heartily after the healths of all that were absent, of their children and relations; and expressed a satisfaction in his face, which nothing but benevolence made happy by its objects could infuse. Nor did j oseph and Fanny want a hearty welcome from all who saw them. In short, no three persons could be more kindly received, as, indeed, none ever more deserved to be universally beloved. Adams carried his fellow-travellers home to his house, where he insisted on their partaking whatever his wife, whom, with his children, he found in health and joy, could provide :-where we shall leave them, enjoying perfect happiness over a homely meal,

to view scenes of greater splendour, but infinitely less bliss. Our more intelligent readers will doubtless suspect by this second appearance of Lady Booby on the stage, that all was not ended by the dismission of Joseph ; and to be honest with them, they are in the right; the arrow had pierced deeper than she imagined; nor was the wound so easily to be cured. The removal of the object soon cooled her rage, but it had a different effect on her love; that departed with his person, but this remained lurking in her mind with his image. Restless interrupted slumbers, and confused horrible dreams, were her portion the first night. In the morning, fancy painted her a more delicious scene: but to delude, not delight her; for before she could reach the promised happiness, it vanished, and left her to curse, not bless, the vision. She started from her sleep, her imagination being all on fire with the phantom, when her eyes aecidentally glancing towards the spot where yesterday the real Joseph had stood, that little circumstance raised his idea in the liveliest colours in her memory. Each look, each word, each gesture rushed back on her mind with charms which all his coldness could not abate. Nay, she imputed that to his youth, his folly, his awe, his religion, to everything, but what would instantly have produced contempt, want of passion for the sex; or that which would have roused her hatred, want of liking to her. Reflection then hurried her farther, and’ told her, she must see this beautiful you.h no more ; nay, suggested to her, that she herself had dismissed him for no other fault than probably that of too violent an awe and respect for herself; and ¥hich she ought rather to have esteemed aircrit, the effects of which were besides so easily and surely to have been removed; she then blamed, she cursed the hasty rashness of her temper; her fury was vented all on herself, and Joseph appeared innocent in her eyes. Her passion at length grew so violent, that it forced her on seeking relief, and now she thought of recalling him; but pride forbad that; pride, which soon drove all softer passions from her soul, and represented to her the meanness of him she was fond of That thought soon began to obscure his **

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