History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
look for another lodging.” “If you will,” says Nightingale, “we may, I
believe, be again together; for, to tell you a secret, which I desire
you won't mention in the family, I intend to quit the house to-day.”
“What, hath Mrs Miller given you warning too, my friend?” cries Jones.
“No,” answered the other; “but the rooms are not convenient enough.
Besides, I am grown weary of this part of the town. I want to be
nearer the places of diversion; so I am going to Pall-mall.” “And do
you intend to make a secret of your going away?” said Jones. “I
promise you,” answered Nightingale, “I don't intend to bilk my
lodgings; but I have a private reason for not taking a formal leave.”
“Not so private,” answered Jones; “I promise you, I have seen it ever
since the second day of my coming to the house. Here will be some wet
eyes on your departure. Poor Nancy, I pity her, faith! Indeed, Jack,
you have played the fool with that girl. You have given her a longing,
which I am afraid nothing will ever cure her of.” Nightingale
answered, “What the devil would you have me do? would you have me
marry her to cure her?” “No,” answered Jones, “I would not have had
you make love to her, as you have often done in my presence. I have
been astonished at the blindness of her mother in never seeing it.”
“Pugh, see it!” cries Nightingale. “What, the devil should she see?”
“Why, see,” said Jones, “that you have made her daughter distractedly
in love with you. The poor girl cannot conceal it a moment; her eyes
are never off from you, and she always colours every time you come
into the room. Indeed, I pity her heartily; for she seems to be one of
the best-natured and honestest of human creatures.” “And so,” answered
Nightingale, “according to your doctrine, one must not amuse oneself
by any common gallantries with women, for fear they should fall in
love with us.” “Indeed, Jack,” said Jones, “you wilfully misunderstand
me; I do not fancy women are so apt to fall in love; but you have gone
far beyond common gallantries.” “What, do you suppose,” says
Nightingale, “that we have been a-bed together?” “No, upon my honour,”
answered Jones, very seriously, “I do not suppose so ill of you; nay,
I will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a regular
premeditated scheme for the destruction of the quiet of a poor little
creature, or have even foreseen the consequence: for I am sure thou
art a very good-natured fellow; and such a one can never be guilty of
a cruelty of that kind; but at the same time you have pleased your own
vanity, without considering that this poor girl was made a sacrifice
to it; and while you have had no design but of amusing an idle hour,
you have actually given her reason to flatter herself that you had the
most serious designs in her favour. Prithee, Jack, answer me honestly;
to what have tended all those elegant and luscious descriptions of
happiness arising from violent and mutual fondness? all those warm
professions of tenderness, and generous disinterested love? Did you
imagine she would not apply them? or, speak ingenuously, did not you
intend she should?” “Upon my soul, Tom,” cries Nightingale, “I did not
think this was in thee. Thou wilt make an admirable parson. So I
suppose you would not go to bed to Nancy now, if she would let you?”
“No,” cries Jones, “may I be d--n'd if I would.” “Tom, Tom,” answered
Nightingale, “last night; remember last night----
When every eye was closed, and the pale moon,
And silent stars, shone conscious of the theft.”
“Lookee, Mr Nightingale,” said Jones, “I am no canting hypocrite, nor
do I pretend to the gift of chastity, more than my neighbours. I have
been guilty with women, I own it; but am not conscious that I have
ever injured any.--Nor would I, to procure pleasure to myself, be
knowingly the cause of misery to any human being.”
“Well, well,” said Nightingale, “I believe you, and I am convinced you
acquit me of any such thing.”
“I do, from my heart,” answered Jones, “of having debauched the girl,
but not from having gained her affections.”
“If I have,” said Nightingale, “I am sorry for it; but time and
absence will soon wear off such impressions. It is a receipt I must
take myself; for, to confess the truth to you--I never liked any girl
half so much in my whole life; but I must let you into the whole
secret, Tom. My father hath provided a match for me with a woman I
never saw; and she is now coming to town, in order for me to make my
addresses to her.”
At these words Jones burst into a loud fit of laughter; when
Nightingale cried--“Nay, prithee, don't turn me into ridicule. The
devil take me if I am not half mad about this matter! my poor Nancy!
Oh! Jones, Jones, I wish I had a fortune in my own possession.”
“I heartily wish you had,” cries Jones; “for, if this be the case, I
sincerely pity you both; but surely you don't intend to go away
without taking your leave of her?”
“I would not,” answered Nightingale, “undergo the pain of taking
leave, for ten thousand pounds; besides, I am convinced, instead of
answering any good purpose, it would only serve to inflame my poor
Nancy the more. I beg, therefore, you would not mention a word of it
to-day, and in the evening, or to-morrow morning, I intend to depart.”
Jones promised he would not; and said, upon reflection, he thought, as
he had determined and was obliged to leave her, he took the most
prudent method. He then told Nightingale he should be very glad to
lodge in the same house with him; and it was accordingly agreed
between them, that Nightingale should procure him either the ground
floor, or the two pair of stairs; for the young gentleman himself was
to occupy that which was between them.
This Nightingale, of whom we shall be presently obliged to say a
little more, was in the ordinary transactions of life a man of strict
honour, and, what is more rare among young gentlemen of the town, one
of strict honesty too; yet in affairs of love he was somewhat loose in
his morals; not that he was even here as void of principle as
gentlemen sometimes are, and oftener affect to be; but it is certain
he had been guilty of some indefensible treachery to women, and had,
in a certain mystery, called making love, practised many deceits,
which, if he had used in trade, he would have been counted the
greatest villain upon earth.
But as the world, I know not well for what reason, agree to see this
treachery in a better light, he was so far from being ashamed of his
iniquities of this kind, that he gloried in them, and would often
boast of his skill in gaining of women, and his triumphs over their
hearts, for which he had before this time received some rebukes from
Jones, who always exprest great bitterness against any misbehaviour to
the fair part of the species, who, if considered, he said, as they
ought to be, in the light of the dearest friends, were to be
cultivated, honoured, and caressed with the utmost love and
tenderness; but, if regarded as enemies, were a conquest of which a
man ought rather to be ashamed than to value himself upon it.
Chapter v.
A short account of the history of Mrs Miller.
Jones this day eat a pretty good dinner for a sick man, that is to
say, the larger half of a shoulder of mutton. In the afternoon he
received an invitation from Mrs Miller to drink tea; for that good
woman, having learnt, either by means of Partridge, or by some other
means natural or supernatural, that he had a connexion with Mr
Allworthy, could not endure the thoughts of parting with him in an
angry manner.
Jones accepted the invitation; and no sooner was the tea-kettle
removed, and the girls sent out of the room, than the widow, without
much preface, began as follows: “Well, there are very surprizing
things happen in this world; but certainly it is a wonderful business
that I should have a relation of Mr Allworthy in my house, and never
know anything of the matter. Alas! sir, you little imagine what a
friend that best of gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, sir, I am
not ashamed to own it; it is owing to his goodness that I did not long
since perish for want, and leave my poor little wretches, two
destitute, helpless, friendless orphans, to the care, or rather to the
cruelty, of the world.
“You must know, sir, though I am now reduced to get my living by
letting lodgings, I was born and bred a gentlewoman. My father was an
officer of the army, and died in a considerable rank: but he lived up
to his pay; and, as that expired with him, his family, at his death,
became beggars. We were three sisters. One of us had the good luck to
die soon after of the small-pox; a lady was so kind as to take the
second out of charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The mother of
this lady had been a servant to my grand-mother; and, having inherited
a vast fortune from her father, which he had got by pawnbroking, was
married to a gentleman of great estate and fashion. She used my sister
so barbarously, often upbraiding her with her birth and poverty,
calling her in derision a gentlewoman, that I believe she at length
broke the heart of the poor girl. In short, she likewise died within a
twelvemonth after my father. Fortune thought proper to provide better
for me, and within a month from his decease I was married to a
clergyman, who had been my lover a long time before, and who had been
very ill used by my father on that account: for though my poor father
could not give any of us a shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately,
considered us, and would have had us consider ourselves, as highly as
if we had been the richest heiresses. But my dear husband forgot all
this usage, and the moment we were become fatherless he immediately
renewed his addresses to me so warmly, that I, who always liked, and
now more than ever esteemed him, soon complied. Five years did I live
in a state of perfect happiness with that best of men, till at
last--Oh! cruel! cruel fortune, that ever separated us, that deprived
me of the kindest of husbands and my poor girls of the tenderest
parent.--O my poor girls! you never knew the blessing which ye
lost.--I am ashamed, Mr Jones, of this womanish weakness; but I shall
never mention him without tears.” “I ought rather, madam,” said Jones,
“to be ashamed that I do not accompany you.” “Well, sir,” continued
she, “I was now left a second time in a much worse condition than
before; besides the terrible affliction I was to encounter, I had now
two children to provide for; and was, if possible, more pennyless than
ever; when that great, that good, that glorious man, Mr Allworthy, who
had some little acquaintance with my husband, accidentally heard of my
distress, and immediately writ this letter to me. Here, sir, here it
is; I put it into my pocket to shew it you. This is the letter, sir; I
must and will read it to you.
“'Madam,
“'I heartily condole with you on your late grievous loss, which your
own good sense, and the excellent lessons you must have learnt from
the worthiest of men, will better enable you to bear than any advice
which I am capable of giving. Nor have I any doubt that you, whom I
have heard to be the tenderest of mothers, will suffer any
immoderate indulgence of grief to prevent you from discharging your
duty to those poor infants, who now alone stand in need of your
tenderness.
“`However, as you must be supposed at present to be incapable of
much worldly consideration, you will pardon my having ordered a
person to wait on you, and to pay you twenty guineas, which I beg
you will accept till I have the pleasure of seeing you, and believe
me to be, madam, &c.'
“This letter, sir, I received within a fortnight after the irreparable
loss I have mentioned; and within a fortnight afterwards, Mr