test, I am almost of his opinion. What can be the matter with you, child? I never saw such an alteration. What is become of all your gaiety?-Would you think, sir, I used to call her my little prattler? She hath not spoke twenty words this week."

Here their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a maid-servant, who brought a bundle in her hands, which, she said, was delivered by a porter for Mr Jones. She added, that the man immediately went away, saying, it required no answer.

• Jones expressed some surprise on this occasion, and declared it must be some mistake. But the maid persisting that she was certain of the name, all the women were desirous of having the bundle immediately opened; which operation was, at length, performed by little Betsy, with the consent of Mr Jones; and the contents were found to be a domino, a mask, and a masquerade ticket.

Jones was now more positive than ever in asserting, that these things must have been delivered by mistake; and Mrs Miller herself expressed some doubt, and said, she knew not what to think. But when Mr Nightingale was asked, he delivered a very different opinion. "All I can conclude from it, sir," said he," is, that you are a very happy man; for I make no doubt but these were sent you by some lady, whom you will have the happiness of meeting at the masquerade."

Jones had not a sufficient degree of vanity to entertain any such flattering imaginations; nor did Mrs Miller herself give much assent to what Mr Nightingale had said, till Miss Nancy having lifted up the domino, a card dropped from the sleeve, in which was written as follows:

"To MR JONES.

"The Queen of the Fairies sends you this; Use her favours not amiss."

Mrs Miller and Miss Nancy now both agreed with Mr Nightingale; nay, Jones himself was almost persuaded to be of the same opinion. And as no other lady but Mrs Fitzpatrick, he thought, knew his lodging, he began to flatter himself with some hopes, that it came from her, and that he might possibly see his Sophia. These hopes had, surely, very little foundation; but as the conduct of Mrs Fitzpatrick, in not seeing him according to her promise, and in quitting her lodgings, had been very odd and unaccountable, he conceived some faint hopes, that she (of whom he had formerly heard a very whimsical character) might possibly intend to do him that service in a strange manner, which she declined doing by more ordinary methods. To say the truth, as nothing certain could be concluded from so odd and uncommon an incident, he had the greater latitude to draw what

imaginary conclusions from it he pleased. As his temper, therefore, was naturally sanguine, he indulged it on this occasion; and his imagination worked up a thousand conceits, to favour and support his expectations of meeting his dear Sophia in the evening.

Reader, if thou hast any good wishes towards me, I will fully repay them, by wishing thee to be possessed of this sanguine disposition of mind: since, after having read much, and considered long on that subject of happiness, which hath employed so many great pens, I am almost inclined to fix it in the possession of this temper, which puts us, in a manner, out of the reach of fortune, and makes us happy without her assistance. Indeed, the sensations of pleasure it gives are much more constant, as well as much keener, than those which that blind lady bestows: nature having wisely contrived, that some satiety and languor should be annexed to all our real enjoyments, lest we should be so taken up by them, as to be stopped from further pursuits. I make no manner of doubt, but that, in this light, we may see the imaginary future chancellor just called to the bar, the archbishop in crape, and the prime minister at the tail of an opposition, more truly happy, than those who are invested with all the power and profit of those respective offices.

Mr Jones having now determined to go to the masquerade that evening, Mr Nightingale offered to conduct him thither. The young gentleman, at the same time, offered tickets to Miss Nancy and her mother; but the good woman would not accept them. She said, she did not conceive the harm which some people imagined in a masquerade; but that such extravagant diversions were proper only for persons of quality and fortune; and not for young women who were to get their living, and could, at best, hope to be married to a good tradesman.-" A tradesman!" cries Nightingale; " you shan't undervalue my Nancy. There is not a nobleman upon earth above her merit."-" O fie, Mr Nightingale!" answered Mrs Miller, " you must not fill the girl's head with such fancies.-But if it was her good luck," says her mother with a simper, "to find a gentleman of your generous way of thinking, I hope she would make a better return to his generosity, than to give her mind up to extravagant pleasures. Indeed, where young ladies bring great fortunes themselves, they have some right to insist on spending what is their own; and, on that account, I have heard the gentlemen say, a man has sometimes a better bargain with a poor wife than with a rich one.-But, let my daughters marry whom they will, I shall endeavour to make them blessings to their husbands. I beg, therefore, I may hear of no more masquerades. Nancy is, I am certain, too good a girl to desire to go; for she must remember, when you carried her thither last year, it almost turned her head; and she did not return

to herself, or to her needle, in a month afterwards."

Though a gentle sigh, which stole from the bosom of Nancy, seemed to argue some secret disapprobation of these sentiments, she did not dare openly to oppose them. For as this good woman had all the tenderness, so she had preserved all the authority of a parent; and as her indulgence to the desires of her children was restrained only by her fears for their safety and future welfare, so she never suffered those commands, which proceeded from such fears, to be either disobeyed or disputed. And this the young gentleman, who had lodged two years in the house, knew so well, that he presently acquiesced in the refusal.

Mr Nightingale, who grew every minute fonder of Jones, was very desirous of his company that day to dinner at the tavern, where he offered to introduce him to some of his acquaintance; but Jones begged to be excused, " his clothes," he said, "were not yet come to town."

as

To confess the truth, Mr Jones was now in a situation which sometimes happens to be the case of young gentlemen of much better figure than himself. In short, he had not one penny in his pocket; a situation in much greater credit among the ancient philosophers than among the modern wise men who live in Lombard-Street, or those who frequent White's chocolate-house. And, perhaps, the great honours which those philosophers have ascribed to an empty pocket, may be one of the reasons of that high contempt in which they are held in the aforesaid street and chocolate-house.

Now, if the ancient opinion, that men might live very comfortably on virtue only, be, as the modern wise men just above mentioned, pretend to have discovered, a notorious error, no less false, is, I apprehend, that position of some writers of romance, that a man can live altogether on love: for, however delicious repasts this may afford to some of our senses or appetites, it is most certain it can afford none to others. Those, therefore, who have placed too great a confidence in such writers, have experienced their error when it was too late, and have found that love was no more capable of allaying hunger, than a rose is capable of delighting the ear, or a violin of gratifying the smell.

Notwithstanding, therefore, all the delicacies which love had set before him, namely, the hopes of seeing Sophia at the masquerade, on which, however ill-founded his imagination might be, he had voluptuously feasted during the whole day, the evening no sooner came than Mr Jones began to languish for some food of a grosser kind. Partridge discovered this by intuition, and took the occasion to give some oblique hints concerning the bank-bill; and when these were rejected with disdain, he collected courage

enough once more to mention a return to Mr Allworthy.

"Partridge," cries Jones, "you cannot see my fortune in a more desperate light than I see it myself; and I begin heartily to repent that I suffered you to leave a place where you was settled, and to follow me. However, I insist now on your returning home; and, for the expence and trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my account, all the clothes I left behind in your care I desire you would take as your own. I am sorry I can make you no other acknowledgment."

He spoke these words with so pathetic an accent, that Partridge, among whose vices ill-nature or hardness of heart were not numbered, burst into tears; and after swearing he would not quit him in his distress, he began with the most earnest entreaties to urge his return home. "For Heaven's sake, sir," says he, " do but consider what can your honour do? How is it possible you can live in this town without money? Do what you will, sir, or go wherever you please, I am resolved not to desert you.-But pray, sir, consider,-do, pray, sir, for your own sake, take it into your consideration; and I'm sure," says he," that your own good sense will bid you return home."

:

"How often shall I tell thee," answered Jones, "that I have no home to return to? Had I any hopes that Mr Allworthy's doors would be open to receive me, I want no distress to urge me:nay, there is no other cause upon earth, which could detain me a moment from flying to his presence; but alas! that I am for ever banished from. His last words were,-O Partridge, they still ring in my ears,-His last words were, when he gave me a sum of money,-what it was I know not, but considerable I'm sure it was— His last words were-'I am resolved, from this day forward, on no account, to converse with you any more!""

Here passion stopt the mouth of Jones, as surprise, for a moment, did that of Partridge; but he soon recovered the use of speech, and, after a short preface, in which he declared he had no inquisitiveness in his temper, enquired what Jones meant by a considerable sum, he knew not how much; and what was become of the money?

In both these points he now received full satisfaction; on which he was proceeding to comment, when he was interrupted by a message from Mr Nightingale, who desired his master's company in his apartment.

When the two gentlemen were both attired for the masquerade, and Mr Nightingale had given orders for chairs to be sent for, a circumstance of distress occurred to Jones, which will appear very ridiculous to many of my readers; this was, how to procure a shilling: but if such readers will reflect a little on what they have them

selves felt from the want of a thousand pounds, (or, perhaps, of ten or twenty,) to execute a favourite scheme, they will have a perfect idea of what Mr Jones felt on this occasion. For this sum, therefore, he applied to Partridge, which was the first he had permitted him to advance, and was the last he intended that poor fellow should advance in his service. To say the truth, Partridge had lately made no offer of this kind; whether it was that he desired to see the bankbill broke in upon, or that distress should prevail on Jones to return home, or from what other motive it proceeded, I will not determine.

CHAP. VII.

Containing the whole humours of a Masquerade.

OUR cavaliers now arrived at that temple, where Heydegger, the great Arbiter Deliciarum, the great high-priest of pleasure, presides; and, like other heathen priests, imposes on his vota ries by the pretended presence of the deity, when in reality no such deity is there.

"

Mr Nightingale having taken a turn or two with his companion, soon left him, and walked off with a female, saying, "Now you are here, sir, you must beat about for your own game." Jones began to entertain strong hopes that his Sophia was present, and these hopes gave him more spirits than the lights, the music, and the company; though these are pretty strong antidotes against the spleen. He now accosted every woman he saw, whose stature, shape, or air, bore any resemblance to his angel. To all of whom he endeavoured to say something smart, in order to engage an answer, by which he might discover that voice which he thought it impossible he should mistake. Some of these answered by a question, in a squeaking voice, Do you know me? Much the greater number said," I don't know you, sir ;" and nothing more. Some called him an impertinent fellow; some made him no answer at all; some said, "Indeed I don't know your voice, and I shall have nothing to say to you;" and many gave him as kind answers as he could wish, but not in the voice he desired to hear.

Whilst he was talking with one of these last, (who was in the habit of a shepherdess) a lady in a domino came up to him, and, slapping him on the shoulder, whispered him, at the same time, in the ear," If you talk any longer with that trollop, I will acquaint Miss Western."

Jones no sooner heard that name, than, immediately quitting his former companion, he applied to the domino, begging and entreating her to shew him the lady she had mentioned, if she was then in the room.

The mask walked hastily to the upper end of the innermost apartment before she spoke; and then, instead of answering him, sat down, and

declared she was tired. Jones sat down by her, and still persisted in his entreaties; at last the lady coldly answered, "I imagined Mr Jones had been a more discerning lover, than to suffer any disguise to conceal his mistress from him.” "Is she here, then, madam?" replied Jones, with some vehemence.-Upon which the lady cried," Hush, sir, you will be observed.-I promise you, upon my honour, Miss Western is not here."

Jones now, taking the mask by the hand, fell to entreating her, in the most earnest manner, to acquaint him where he might find Sophia: and when he could obtain no direct answer, he began to upbraid her gently for having disap pointed him the day before; and concluded, saying, "Indeed, my good fairy queen, I know your majesty very well, notwithstanding the affected disguise of your voice. Indeed, Mrs Fitzpatrick, it is a little cruel to divert yourself at the expence of my torments."

The mask answered, "Though you have so ingeniously discovered me, I must still speak in the same voice, lest I should be known by others. And do you think, good sir, that I have no greater regard for my cousin than to assist in carrying on an affair between you two, which must end in her ruin, as well as your own? Besides, I promise you, my cousin is not mad enough to consent to her own destruction, if you are so much her enemy as to tempt her to it." "Alas, madam," said Jones, you little know my heart when you call me an enemy to Sophia.'

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*And yet to ruin any one," cries the other, you will allow, is the act of an enemy; and when, by the same act, you must knowingly and certainly bring ruin on yourself, is it not folly or madness, as well as guilt? Now, sir, my cousin hath very little more than her father will please to give her; very little for one of her fashion,-you know him, and you know your own situation."

Jones vowed he had no such design on Sophia; that he would rather suffer the most violent of deaths than sacrifice her interest to his desires. He said, he knew how unworthy he was of her every way; that he had long ago resolved to quit all such aspiring thoughts, but that some strange accidents had made him desirous to see her once more, when he promised he would take leave of her for ever. "No, madam," concluded he, "my love is not of that base kind which seeks its own satisfaction at the expence of what is most dear to its object. I would sacrifice every thing to the possession of my Sophia, but Sophia herself."

Though the reader may have already conceived no very sublime idea of the virtue of the lady in the mask, and though possibly she may hereafter appear not to deserve one of the first cha racters of her sex, yet, it is certain, these gene

rous sentiments made a strong impression upon her, and greatly added to the affection she had before conceived for our young hero.

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The lady now, after a silence of a few moments, said, she did not see his pretensions to Sophia so much in the light of presumption as of imprudence. Young fellows," says she, "can never have too aspiring thoughts. I love ambition in a young man, and I would have you cultivate it as much as possible. Perhaps you may succeed with those who are infinitely superior in fortune; nay, I am convinced there are women-But don't you think me a strange creature, Mr Jones, to be thus giving advice to a man with whom I am so little acquainted, and one with whose behaviour to me I have so little reason to be pleased?"

Here Jones began to apologize, and to hope he had not offended in any thing he had said of her cousin.-To which the mask answered, "And are you so little versed in the sex, to imagine you can well affront a lady more, than by entertaining her with your passion for another woman? If the fairy queen had conceived no better opinion of your gallantry, she would scarce have appointed you to meet her at a masquerade."

Jones had never less inclination to an amour than at present; but gallantry to the ladies was among his principles of honour; and he held it as much incumbent on him to accept a challenge to love, as if it had been a challenge to fight. Nay, his very love to Sophia made it necessary for him to keep well with the lady, as he made no doubt but she was capable of bringing him into the presence of the other.

He began, therefore, to make a very warm answer to her last speech, when a mask, in the character of an old woman, joined them. This mask was one of those ladies who go to a masquerade only to vent ill-nature, by telling people rude truths, and by endeavouring, as the phrase is, to spoil as much sport as they are able. This good lady, therefore, having observed Jones, and his friend, whom she well knew, in close consultation together in a corner of the room, concluded she could no where satisfy her spleen better than by interrupting them. She attacked them, therefore, and soon drove them from their retirement; nor was she contented with this, but pursued them to every place which they shifted to avoid her; till Mr Nightingale, seeing the distress of his friend, at last relieved him, and engaged the old woman in another pursuit. While Jones and his mask were walking together about the room to rid themselves of the teazer, he observed his lady speak to several masks, with the same freedom of acquaintance as if they had been barefaced. He could not help expressing his surprise at this, saying, "Sure, madam, you must have infinite discernment to know people in all disguises."-To which the lady answered, "You cannot conceive

any thing more insipid and childish than a masquerade to the people of fashion, who in general know one another as well here as when they meet in an assembly or a drawing-room; nor will any woman of condition converse with a person with whom she is not acquainted. In short, the generality of persons whom you see here, may more properly be said to kill time in this place than in any other, and generally retire from hence more tired than from the longest sermon. To say the truth, I begin to be in that situation myself; and if I have any faculty at guessing, you are not much better pleased. I protest it would be almost charity in me to go home for your sake."-" I know but one charity equal to it," cries Jones, " and that is, to suffer me to wait on you home."-" Sure," answered the lady, "you have a strange opinion of me, to imagine, that, upon such an acquaintance, I would let you into my doors at this time o'night. I fancy you impute the friendship I have shewn my cousin to some other motive. Confess honestly; don't you consider this contrived interview as little better than a downright assignation? Are you used, Mr Jones, to make these sudden conquests?"-"I am not used, madam," said Jones, 66 to submit to such sudden conquests; but as you have taken my heart by surprise, the rest of my body hath a right to follow; so you must pardon me if I resolve to attend you wherever you go." He accompanied these words with some proper actions; upon which the lady, after a gentle rebuke, and saying their familiarity would be observed, told him, she was going to sup with an acquaintance, whither she hoped he would not follow her; "for, if you should," said she, "I shall be thought an unaccountable creature; though my friend, indeed, is not censorious, yet I hope you won't follow me: I protest I shall not know what to say if you do."

The lady presently after quitted the masquerade; and Jones, notwithstanding the severe prohibition he had received, presumed to attend her. He was now reduced to the same dilemma we have mentioned before, namely, the want of a shilling, and could not relieve it by borrowing as before. He therefore walked boldly on after the chair in which his lady rode, pursued by a grand huzza from all the chairmen present, who wisely take the best care they can to discountenance all walking a-foot by their betters. Luckily, however, the gentry who attend at the Operahouse were too busy to quit their stations; and as the lateness of the hour prevented him from meeting many of their brethren in the street, he proceeded without molestation, in a dress, which, at another season, would have certainly raised a mob at his heels.

The lady was set down in a street not far from Hanover-square, where the door being presently opened, she was carried in; and the gentleman, without any ceremony, walked in after her.

Jones and his companion were now together in a very well-furnished and well-warm'd room, when the female, still speaking in her masquerade voice, said, she was surprised at her friend, who must absolutely have forgot her appointment; at which, after venting much resentment, she suddenly expressed some apprehension from Jones, and asked him what the world would think of their having been alone together in a house at that time of night? But instead of a direct answer to so important a question, Jones began to be very importunate with the lady to unmask; and at length having prevailed, there appeared, not Mrs Fitzpatrick, but the Lady Bellaston herself.

It would be tedious to give the particular conversation, which consisted of very common and ordinary occurrences, and which lasted from two till six o'clock in the morning. It is sufficient to mention all of it that is any way material to this history; and this was a promise that the lady would endeavour to find out Sophia, and in a few days bring him to an interview with her, on condition that he would then take his leave

of her. When this was thoroughly settled, and a second meeting in the evening appointed at the same place, they separated; the lady returned to her house, and Jones to his lodgings.

CHAP. VIII.

Containing a scene of distress, which will appear very extraordinary to most of our readers.

JONES having refreshed himself with a few hours sleep, summoned Partridge to his presence; and, delivering him a bank-note of fifty pounds, ordered him to go and change it. Partridge received this with sparkling eyes, though, when he came to reflect farther, it raised in him some suspicions not very advantageous to the honour of his master; to these the dreadful idea he had of the masquerade, the disguise in which his master had gone out and returned, and his having been abroad all night, contributed. In plain language, the only way he could possibly account for the possession of this note was by robbery; and, to confess the truth, the reader, unless he should suspect it was owing to the generosity of Lady Bellaston, can hardly imagine any other.

To clear, therefore, the honour of Mr Jones, and to do justice to the liberality of the lady, he had really received this present from her, who, though she did not give much into the hackney charities of the age, such as building hospitals, &c. was not, however, entirely void of that Christian virtue; and conceived (very rightly I think) that a young fellow of merit, without a shilling in the world, was no improper object of

this virtue.

Mr Jones and Mr Nightingale had been invited to dine this day with Mrs Miller. At the

appointed hour, therefore, the two young gentlemen, with the two girls, attended in the parlour, where they waited from three till almost five before the good woman appeared. She had been out of town to visit a relation, of whom, at her return, she gave the following account.

"I hope, gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am sure if you knew the occasion-I have been to see a cousin of mine, about six miles off, who now lies in.-It should be a warning to all persons (says she, looking at her daughters) how they marry indiscreetly. There is no happiness in this world without a competency. O Nancy! how shall I describe the wretched condition in which I found your poor cousin? she hath scarce lain in a week, and there was she, this dreadful weather, in a cold room, without any curtains to her bed, and not a bushel of coals in her house to supply her with fire; her second son, that sweet little fellow, lies ill of a quinzy in the same bed with his mother; for there is no other bed in the house. Poor little Tommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never see your favourite any more; for he is really very ill. The rest of the children are in pretty good health; but Molly, I am afraid, will do herself an injury: she is but thirteen years old, Mr Nightingale, and yet in my life I never saw a better nurse: she tends both her mother and her brother; and, what is wonderful in a creature so young, she shews all the cheerfulness in the world to her mother; and yet I saw herI saw the poor child, Mr Nightingale, turn about, and privately wipe the tears from her eyes."Here Mrs Miller was prevented, by her own tears, from going on, and there was not, I believe, a person present, who did not accompany her in them; at length she a little recovered herself, and proceeded thus: "In all this distress the mother supports her spirits in a surprising manner. The danger of her son sits heaviest upon her, and yet she endeavours as much as possible to conceal even this concern, on her husband's account. Her grief, however, sometimes gets the better of all her endeavours; for she was always extravagantly fond of this boy, and a most sensible, sweet-tempered creature it is. I protest I was never more affected in my life than when I heard the little wretch, who is hardly yet seven years old, while his mother was wetting him with her tears, beg her to be comforted.-' Indeed, mamma,' cried the child, I shan't die; God Almighty, I'm sure, won't take Tommy away; let heaven be ever so fine a place, I had rather stay here and starve with you and my papa than go to it.'-Pardon me, gentlemen, I can't help it," says she, wiping her eyes, "such sensibility and affection in a child-And yet, perhaps, he is least the object of pity; for a day or two will, perhaps, place him beyond the reach of all human evils. The father is indeed most worthy of compassion. Poor man, his countenance is the very picture of horror, and he looks ra