It was so late when our travellers left the inn or alehouse, (for it might be called either) that they had not travelled many miles, before night overtook them, or met them, which you please. The reader must excuse me if I am not particular as to the way they took; for as we are now drawing near the seat of the Boobies, and as that is a ticklish name, which malicious persons may apply according to their evil inclinations, to several worthy country squires, a race of men whom we look upon as entirely inoffensive, and for whom we have an adequate regard, we shall lend no assistance to any such malicious pur

poses.

Darkness had now overspread the hemisphere, when Fanny whispered Joseph, that she begged to rest herself a little; for that she was so tired, she could walk no farther. Joseph immediately prevailed with Parson Adams, who was as brisk as a bee, to stop. He had no sooner seated himself, than he lamented the loss of his dear Eschylus; but was a little comforted when reminded, that if he had it in his possession, he could not see to read.

The sky was so clouded, that not a star appeared. It was, indeed, according to Milton, darkness visible. This was a circumstance, how ever, very favourable to Joseph; for Fanny, not suspicious of being overseen by Adams, gave a loose to her passion, which she had never done before; and reclining her head on his bosom, threw her arm carelessly round him, and suffered him to lay his cheek close to her's. All this infused such happiness into Joseph, that he would not have changed his turf for the finest down in the finest palace in the uni

verse.

Adams sat at some distance from the lovers, and being unwilling to disturb them, applied himself to meditation; in which he had not spent much time, before he discovered a light at some distance, that seemed approaching towards him. He immediately hailed it; but, to his sorrow and surprise, it stopped for a moment, and then disappeared. He then called to Joseph, asking him, if he had not seen the light. Joseph answered, he had. "And did you not mark how it vanished?" returned he; though I am not afraid of ghosts, I do not absolutely disbelieve them."

He then entered into a meditation on those unsubstantial beings, which was soon interrupted by several voices which he thought almost at his elbow, though, in fact, they were not so extremely near: however, he could distinctly hear them agree on the murder of any one they met. And a little after, heard one of them say, he had killed a dozen since that day fortnight.

Adams now fell on his knees, and committed himself to the care of Providence; and poor Fanny, who likewise heard those terrible words, embraced Joseph so closely, that, had not he, whose ears were also open, been apprehensive on her account, he would have thought no danger, which threatened only himself, too dear a price for such embraces.

Joseph now drew forth his pen-knife, and Adams, having finished his ejaculation, grasped his crab-stick, his only weapon, and coming up to Joseph, would have had him quit Fanny, and place her in the rear; but his advice was fruitless, she clung closer to him, not at all regarding the presence of Adams, and in a soothing voice declared, she would die in his arms. Joseph clasping her with inexpressible eagerness, whispered her, that he preferred death in her's to life out of them. Adams, brandishing his crab-stick, said, he despised death as much as any man, and then repeated aloud,

Est hic, est animus lucis contemptor et illum, Qui vita bene credat emi quo tendis, honorem. Upon this the voices ceased for a moment, and then one of them called out, "D-n you, who is there?" To which Adams was prudent enough to make no reply; and of a sudden he observed half a dozen lights, which seemed to rise all at once from the ground, and advance briskly towards him. This he immediately concluded to be an apparition, and now beginning to conceive that the voices were of the same kind, he called out, " In the name of the Lord, what would'st thou have?" He had no sooner spoke, than he heard one of the voices cry out, "D-n them, here they come ;" and soon after heard several hearty blows, as if a number of men had been engaged at quarter-staff. He was just advancing towards the place of combat, when Joseph, catching him by the skirts, begged him that they might take the opportunity of the dark to convey away Fanny from the danger which threatened her. He presently complied, and Joseph lifting up Fanny, they all three made the best of their way; and without looking behind them, or being overtaken, they had travelled full two miles, poor Fanny not once complaining of being tired, when they saw far off several lights scattered at a small distance from each other, and at the same time found themselves on the descent of a very steep hill. Adams's foot slipping, he instantly disappeared, which greatly frighted both Joseph and Fanny;

indeed, if the light had permitted them to see it, they would scarce have refrained laughing to see the parson rolling down the hill, which he did from top to bottom, without receiving any harm. He then hallooed as loud as he could, to inform them of his safety, and to relieve them from the fears which they had conceived for him. Joseph and Fanny halted some time, considering what to do; at last they advanced a few paces, where the declivity seemed least steep; and then Joseph, taking his Fanny in his arms, walked firmly down the hill, without making a false step, and at length landed her at the bottom, where Adams soon came to them.

Learn hence, my fair countrywomen, to consider your own weakness, and the many occasions on which the strength of a man may be useful to you: and duly weighing this, take care that you match not yourselves with the spindle-shanked beaus and petit maîtres of the age, who, instead of being able, like Joseph Andrews, to carry you in lusty arms through the rugged ways and downhill steeps of life, will rather want to support their feeble limbs with your strength and assistance.

Our travellers now moved forward, where the nearest light presented itself, and having crossed a common field, they came to a meadow, where they seemed to be at a very little distance from the light, when, to their grief, they arrived at the banks of a river. Adams here made a full stop, and declared he could swim, but doubted how it was possible to get Fanny over; to which Joseph answered, if they walked along its banks, they might be certain of soon finding a bridge, especially as, by the number of lights, they might be assured a parish was near. "Odso, that's true indeed," said Adams, "I did not think of that." Accordingly, Joseph's advice being taken, they passed over two meadows, and came to a little orchard, which led them to a house. Fanny begged of Joseph to knock at the door, assuring him she was so weary that she could hardly stand on her feet. Adams, who was foremost, performed this ceremony, and the door being immediately opened, a plain kind of man appeared at it. Adams acquainted him, that they had a young woman with them, who was so tired with her journey, that he should be much obliged to him if he would suffer her to come in and rest herself. The man, who saw Fanny by the light of the candle which he held in his hand, perceiving her innocent and modest look, and having no apprehensions from the civil behaviour of Adams, presently answered, that the young woman was very welcome to rest herself in his house, and so were her company. He then ushered them into a very decent room, where his wife was sitting at a table; she immediately rose up, and assisted them in setting forth chairs, and desired them to sit down, which they had no sooner done, than the man of the house ask

ed them, if they would have any thing to refresh themselves with? Adams thanked him, and answered, he should be obliged to him for a cup of his ale, which was likewise chosen by Joseph and Fanny. Whilst he was gone to fill a very large jug with this liquor, his wife told Fanny, she seemed greatly fatigued, and desired her to take something stronger than ale, but she refused with many thanks, saying, it was true she was very much tired, but a little rest, she hoped, would restore her. As soon as the company were all seated, Mr Adams, who had filled himself with ale, and, by public permission, had lighted his pipe, turned to the master of the house, asking him, if evil spirits did not use to walk in that neighbourhood? To which receiving no answer, he began to inform him of the adventure which they had met with on the Downs; nor had he proceeded far in his story, when somebody knocked very hard at the door. The company expressed some amazement, and Fanny and the good woman turned pale; her husband went forth, and whilst he was absent, which was some time, they all remained silent, looking at one another, and heard several voices discoursing pretty loudly. Adams was fully persuaded that spirits were abroad, and began to meditate some exorcisms; Joseph a little inclined to the same opinion: Fanny was more afraid of men; and the good woman herself began to suspect her guests, and imagined those without were rogues belonging to their gang. At length the master of the house returned, and laughing, told Adams he had discovered his apparition; that the murderers were sheepstealers, and the twelve persons murdered were no other than twelve sheep; adding, that the shepherds had got the better of them, had secured two, and were proceeding with them to a justice of peace. This account greatly relieved the fears of the whole company; but Adams muttered to himself, he was convinced of the truth of apparitions for all that.

They now sat chearfully round the fire, till the master of the house, having surveyed his guests, and conceiving that the cassock, which, having fallen down, appeared under Adams's great coat, and the shabby livery on Joseph Andrews, did not well suit with the familiarity between them, began to entertain some suspicions not much to their advantage: addressing himself therefore to Adams, he said, he perceived he was a clergyman by his dress, and supposed that honest man was his footman." Sir, swered Adams, "I am a clergyman at your service; but as to that young man, whom you have rightly termed honest, he is at present in nobody's service; he never lived in any other family than that of Lady Booby, from whence he was discharged, I assure you, for no crime.” Joseph said, he did not wonder the gentleman was surprised to see one of Mr Adams's character condescend to so much goodness with a poor

an

man. Child," said Adams, " I should be ashamed of my cloth, if I thought a poor man, who is honest, below my notice or my familiarity. I know not how those who think otherwise, can profess themselves followers and servants of Him who made no distinction, unless, peradventure, by preferring the poor to the rich.-Sir," said he, addressing himself to the gentleman, these two poor young people are my parishioners, and I look on them and love them as my children. There is something singular enough in their history, but I have not now time to recount it." The master of the house, notwithstanding the simplicity which discovered itself in Adams, knew too much of the world to give hasty belief to professions. He was not yet quite certain that Adams had any more of the clergyman in him than his cassock. To try him therefore further, he asked him, if Mr Pope had lately published any thing new? Adams answered, he had heard great commendations of that poet, but that he had never read, nor knew any of his works. "Ho! ho!" says the gentleman to himself, "have I caught you?-What," said he, "have you never seen his Homer?" Adams answered, he had never read any translation of the classics. "Why, truly,' replied the gentleman, "there is a dignity in the Greek language, which I think no modern tongue can reach.' Do you understand Greek, sir?" said Adams hastily." A little, sir," answered the gentleman. Do you know, sir," cried Adams, "where I can buy an Eschylus? an unlucky misfortune lately happened to mine." Eschylus was beyond the gentleman, though he knew him very well by name; he, therefore, returning back to Homer, asked Adams, what part of the Iliad he thought most excellent? Adams returned, his question would be properer, what kind of beauty was the chief in poetry; for that Homer was equally excellent in them all.

"And indeed," continued he, "what Cicero says of a complete orator, may well be applied to a great poet: He ought to comprehend all perfections. Homer did this in the most excellent degree; it is not without reason, therefore, that the philosopher, in the 22d chapter of his Poetics, mentions him by no other appellation than that of The Poet. He was the father of the drama, as well as the epic: not of tragedy only, but of comedy also: for his Margites, which is deplorably lost, bore, says Aristotle, the same analogy to comedy, as his Odyssey and Iliad to tragedy. To him, therefore, we owe Aristophanes, as well as Euripides, Sophocles, and my poor Eschylus. But, if you please, we will confine ourselves (at least for the present) to the Iliad, his noblest work; though neither Aristotle nor Horace give it the preference, as I remember, to the Odyssey. First, then, as to his subject, can any thing be more simple, and, at the same time, more noble? He is rightly praised by the first of those judicious critics, for

not chusing the whole war, which, though he says it hath a complete beginning and end, would have been too great for the understanding to comprehend at one view. I have therefore often wondered why so correct a writer as Horace should, in his epistle to Lollius, call him the Trojani Belli Scriptorem. Secondly, his action, termed by Aristotle Pragmaton Systasis: is it possible for the mind of man to conceive an idea of such perfect unity, and at the same time so replete with greatness? And here I must observe, what I do not remember to have seen noted by any, the harmoton, that agreement of his action to his subject: for as the subject is anger, how agreeable is his action, which is war? from which every incident arises, and to which every episode immediately relates. Thirdly, his manners, which Aristotle places second in his description of the several parts of tragedy, and which he says are included in the action; I am at a loss whether I should rather admire the exactness of his judgment in the nice distinction, or the immensity of his imagination in their variety. For, as to the former of these, how accurately is the sedate, injured resentment of Achilles distinguished from the not insulting passion of Agamemnon? How widely doth the brutal courage of Ajax differ from the amiable bravery of Diomedes; and the wisdom of Nestor, which is the result of long reflection and experience, from the cunning of Ulysses, the effect of art and subtilty only? If we consider their variety, we may cry out with Aristotle, in his 24th chapter, that no part of this divine poem is destitute of manners. Indeed, I might affirm, that there is scarce a character in human nature untouched in some part or other. And as there is no passion which he is not able to describe, so there is none in his reader which he cannot raise. If he hath any superior excellence to the rest, I have been inclined to fancy it is in the pathetic. I am sure I never read with dry eyes the two episodes where Andromache is introduced, in the former lamenting the danger, and in the latter the death of Hector. The images are so extremely tender in these, that I am convinced the poet had the worthiest and best heart imaginable. Nor can I help observing how Sophocles falls short of the beauties of the original, in that imitation of the dissuasive speech of Andromache, which he hath put into the mouth of Tecmessa; and yet Sophocles was the greatest genius who ever wrote tragedy, nor have any of his successors in that art, that is to say, neither Euripides nor Seneca the tragedian, been able to come near him. As to his sentiments and diction, I need say nothing ; the former are particularly remarkable for the utmost perfection on that head, namely, propriety; and as to the latter, Aristotle, whom doubtless you have read over and over, is very diffuse. I shall mention but one thing more, which that great critic, in his division of tragedy, called Opsis,

or the scenery, and which is as proper to the epic as to the drama, with this difference, that in the former it falls to the share of the poet, and in the latter to that of the painter. But did ever painter imagine a scene like that in the 13th and 14th Iliad? where the reader sees at one view the prospect of Troy, with the army drawn up before it; the Grecian army, camp, and fleet; Jupiter sitting on Mount Ida, with his head wrapt in a cloud, and a thunderbolt in his hand, looking towards Thrace; Neptune driving through the sea, which divides on each side to permit his passage, and then seating himself on Mount Samos; the heavens opened, and the deities all seated on their thrones. This is sublime! this is poetry!" Adams then rapt out a hundred Greek verses, and with such a voice, emphasis, and action, that he almost frightened the women; and as for the gentleman, he was so far from entertaining any further suspicion of Adams, that he now doubted whether he had not a bishop in his house. He ran into the most extravagant encomiums on his learning; and the goodness of his heart began to dilate to all the strangers. He said he had great compassion for the poor young woman, who looked pale and faint with her journey; and in truth he conceived a much higher opinion of her quality than it deserved. He said, he was sorry he could not accommodate them all: but if they were contented with his fire-side, he would sit up with the men; and the young woman might, if she pleased, partake his wife's bed, which he advised her to; for that they must walk upwards of a mile to any house of entertainment, and that not very good neither. Adams, who liked his seat, his ale, his tobacco, and his company, persuaded Fanny to accept this kind proposal, in which solicitation he was seconded by Joseph. Nor was she very difficultly prevailed on; for she had slept little the last night, and not at all the preceding; so that love itself was scarce able to keep her eyes open any longer. The offer being therefore kindly accepted, the good woman produced every thing eatable in her house on the table, and the guests being heartily invited, as heartily regaled themselves, especially Parson Adams. As to the other two, they were

examples of the truth of that physical observation, that love, like other sweet things, is no whetter of the stomach.

Supper was no sooner ended, than Fanny, at her own request, retired, and the good woman bore her company. The man of the house, Adams, and Joseph, who would modestly have withdrawn, had not the gentleman insisted on the contrary, drew round the fire-side, where Adams (to use his own words) replenished his pipe, and the gentleman produced a bottle of excellent beer, being the best liquor in his house.

The modest behaviour of Joseph, with the gracefulness of his person, the character which Adams gave of him, and the friendship he seemed to entertain for him, began to work on the gentleman's affections, and raised in him a curiosity to know the singularity which Adams had mentioned in his history. This curiosity Adams was no sooner informed of, than, with Joseph's consent, he agreed to gratify it, and accordingly related all he knew, with as much tenderness as was possible for the character of Lady Booby; and concluded with the long, faithful, and mutual passion between him and Fanny, not concealing the meanness of her birth and education. These latter circumstances entirely cured a jealousy which had lately risen in the gentleman's mind, that Fanny was the daughter of some person of fashion, and that Joseph had run away with her, and Adams was concerned in the plot. He was now enamoured of his guests, drank their healths with great chearfulness, and returned many thanks to Adams, who had spent much breath; for he was a circumstantial teller of a story.

Adams told him it was now in his power to return that favour; for his extraordinary goodness, as well as that fund of literature he was master of, which he did not expect to find under such a roof, had raised in him more curiosity than he had ever known. "Therefore,” said he, "if it be not too troublesome, sir, your history, if you please."

The gentleman answered, he could not refuse him what he had so much right to insist on; and after some of the common apologies, which are the usual preface to a story, he thus began.

CHAP. III.

fencing, riding the great horse, and music, came into my head: but as they required expence and time, I comforted myself, with regard to dancing, that I had learned a little in my youth,

life.

SIR, I am descended of a good family, and was born a gentleman. My education was liberal, and at a public school, in which I proceeded so far as to become master of the Latin, and to be tolerably versed in the Greek language. My father died when I was sixteen, and left me master of myself. He bequeathed me a moderate fortune, which he intended I should not receive till I attained the age of twenty-five: for he constantly asserted, that was full early enough to give up any man entirely to the guidance of his own discretion. However, as this intention was so obscurely worded in his will, that the lawyers advised me to contest the point with my trustees; I own I paid so little regard to the inclinations of my dead father, which were sufficiently certain to me, that I followed their advice, and soon succeeded: for the trustees did not contest the matter very obstinately on their side. "Sir," said Adams, "may I crave the favour of your name?" The gentleman answered, his name was Wilson, and then proceeded.

I staid a very little while at school after his death; for being a forward youth, I was extremely impatient to be in the world; for which I thought my parts, knowledge, and manhood, thoroughly qualified me. And to this early introduction into life, without a guide, I impute all my future misfortunes; for besides the obvious mischiefs which attend this, there is one which hath not been so generally observed. The first impression which mankind receives of you will be very difficult to eradicate. How unhappy, therefore, must it be to fix your character in life, before you can possibly know its value, or weigh the consequences of those actions which are to establish your future reputation ?

A little after seventeen I left my school, and went to London, with no more than six pounds in my pocket. A great sum, as I then conceived, and which I was afterwards surprised to find so soon consumed.

The character I was ambitious of attaining was that of a fine gentleman, the first requisites to which I apprehended were to be supplied by a tailor, a periwig-maker, and some few more tradesmen, who deal in furnishing out the human body. Notwithstanding the lowness of my purse, I found credit with them more easily than I expected, and was soon equipped to my wish. This, I own, then agreeably surprised me; but I have since learned, that it is a maxim among many tradesmen at the polite end of the town, to deal as largely as they can, reckon as high as they can, and arrest as soon as they can.

The next qualifications, namely, dancing,

fencing, I thought my good humour would preserve me from the danger of a quarrel; as to the horse, I hoped it would not be thought of; and for music, I imagined I could easily acquire the reputation of it; for I had heard some of my school-fellows pretend to knowledge in operas, without being able to sing or play on the fiddle.

Knowledge of the town seemed another ingredient; this I thought I should arrive at by frequenting public places. Accordingly I paid constant attendance to them all; by which means I was soon master of the fashionable phrases, learned to cry up the fashionable diversions, and knew the names and faces of the most fashionable men and women.

Nothing now seemed to remain but an intrigue, which I was resolved to have immediately; I mean the reputation of it; and indeed I was so successful, that in a very short time I had half a dozen with the finest women in town.

At these words Adams fetched a deep groan, and then, blessing himself, cried out, "Good Lord! what wicked times these are!"

Not so wicked as you imagine, continued the gentleman; for I assure you they were all vestal virgins for any thing which I knew to the contrary. The reputation of intriguing with them was all I sought, and was what I arrived at: and perhaps I only flattered myself even in that; for very probably the persons to whom I shewed their billets, knew as well as I that they were counterfeits, and that I had written them to myself.

"Write letters to yourself!' said Adams, staring.

Ŏ sir, answered the gentleman, it is the very error of the times. Half our modern plays have one of these characters in them. It is incredible the pains I have taken, and the absurd methods I employed, to traduce the characters of women of distinction. When another had spoken in raptures of any one, I have answered, "D-n her, she! We shall have her at Hd's very soon." When he hath replied, he thought her virtuous, I have answered," Ay, thou wilt always think a woman virtuous, till she is in the streets; but you and I, Jack or Tom, (turning to another in company), know better." At which I have drawn a paper out of my pocket, perhaps a tailor's bill, and kissed it, crying at the same time, " By gad, I was once fond of her."

"Proceed, if you please, but do not swear any more," said Adams.

Sir, said the gentleman, I ask your pardon. Well, sir, in this course of life I continued full three years." What course of life?" answered