History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
desired only to be heard one very short word, but my lord would not
hearken to him, though he suffered a counsellor to talk against him
for above half-an-hour. I thought it hard, I own, that there should be
so many of them; my lord, and the court, and the jury, and the
counsellors, and the witnesses, all upon one poor man, and he too in
chains. Well, the fellow was hanged, as to be sure it could be no
otherwise, and poor Frank could never be easy about it. He never was
in the dark alone, but he fancied he saw the fellow's spirit.”--“Well,
and is this thy story?” cries Jones. “No, no,” answered Partridge. “O
Lord have mercy upon me! I am just now coming to the matter; for one
night, coming from the alehouse, in a long, narrow, dark lane, there
he ran directly up against him; and the spirit was all in white, and
fell upon Frank; and Frank, who was a sturdy lad, fell upon the spirit
again, and there they had a tussel together, and poor Frank was
dreadfully beat: indeed he made a shift at last to crawl home; but
what with the beating, and what with the fright, he lay ill above a
fortnight; and all this is most certainly true, and the whole parish
will bear witness to it.”
The stranger smiled at this story, and Jones burst into a loud fit of
laughter; upon which Partridge cried, “Ay, you may laugh, sir; and so
did some others, particularly a squire, who is thought to be no better
than an atheist; who, forsooth, because there was a calf with a white
face found dead in the same lane the next morning, would fain have it
that the battle was between Frank and that, as if a calf would set
upon a man. Besides, Frank told me he knew it to be a spirit, and
could swear to him in any court in Christendom; and he had not drank
above a quart or two or such a matter of liquor, at the time. Lud have
mercy upon us, and keep us all from dipping our hands in blood, I
say!”
“Well, sir,” said Jones to the stranger, “Mr Partridge hath finished
his story, and I hope will give you no future interruption, if you
will be so kind to proceed.” He then resumed his narration; but as he
hath taken breath for a while, we think proper to give it to our
reader, and shall therefore put an end to this chapter.
Chapter xii.
In which the Man of the Hill continues his history.
“I had now regained my liberty,” said the stranger; “but I had lost my
reputation; for there is a wide difference between the case of a man
who is barely acquitted of a crime in a court of justice, and of him
who is acquitted in his own heart, and in the opinion of the people. I
was conscious of my guilt, and ashamed to look any one in the face; so
resolved to leave Oxford the next morning, before the daylight
discovered me to the eyes of any beholders.
“When I had got clear of the city, it first entered into my head to
return home to my father, and endeavour to obtain his forgiveness; but
as I had no reason to doubt his knowledge of all which had past, and
as I was well assured of his great aversion to all acts of dishonesty,
I could entertain no hopes of being received by him, especially since
I was too certain of all the good offices in the power of my mother;
nay, had my father's pardon been as sure, as I conceived his
resentment to be, I yet question whether I could have had the
assurance to behold him, or whether I could, upon any terms, have
submitted to live and converse with those who, I was convinced, knew
me to have been guilty of so base an action.
“I hastened therefore back to London, the best retirement of either
grief or shame, unless for persons of a very public character; for
here you have the advantage of solitude without its disadvantage,
since you may be alone and in company at the same time; and while you
walk or sit unobserved, noise, hurry, and a constant succession of
objects, entertain the mind, and prevent the spirits from preying on
themselves, or rather on grief or shame, which are the most
unwholesome diet in the world; and on which (though there are many who
never taste either but in public) there are some who can feed very
plentifully and very fatally when alone.
“But as there is scarce any human good without its concomitant evil,
so there are people who find an inconvenience in this unobserving
temper of mankind; I mean persons who have no money; for as you are
not put out of countenance, so neither are you cloathed or fed by
those who do not know you. And a man may be as easily starved in
Leadenhall-market as in the deserts of Arabia.
“It was at present my fortune to be destitute of that great evil, as
it is apprehended to be by several writers, who I suppose were
overburthened with it, namely, money.”--“With submission, sir,” said
Partridge, “I do not remember any writers who have called it
_malorum_; but _irritamenta malorum_. _Effodiuntur opes, irritamenta
malorum_”--“Well, sir,” continued the stranger, “whether it be an
evil, or only the cause of evil, I was entirely void of it, and at the
same time of friends, and, as I thought, of acquaintance; when one
evening, as I was passing through the Inner Temple, very hungry, and
very miserable, I heard a voice on a sudden hailing me with great
familiarity by my Christian name; and upon turning about, I presently
recollected the person who so saluted me to have been my
fellow-collegiate; one who had left the university above a year, and
long before any of my misfortunes had befallen me. This gentleman,
whose name was Watson, shook me heartily by the hand; and expressing
great joy at meeting me, proposed our immediately drinking a bottle
together. I first declined the proposal, and pretended business, but
as he was very earnest and pressing, hunger at last overcame my pride,
and I fairly confessed to him I had no money in my pocket; yet not
without framing a lie for an excuse, and imputing it to my having
changed my breeches that morning. Mr Watson answered, `I thought,
Jack, you and I had been too old acquaintance for you to mention such
a matter.' He then took me by the arm, and was pulling me along; but I
gave him very little trouble, for my own inclinations pulled me much
stronger than he could do.
“We then went into the Friars, which you know is the scene of all
mirth and jollity. Here, when we arrived at the tavern, Mr Watson
applied himself to the drawer only, without taking the least notice of
the cook; for he had no suspicion but that I had dined long since.
However, as the case was really otherwise, I forged another falsehood,
and told my companion I had been at the further end of the city on
business of consequence, and had snapt up a mutton-chop in haste; so
that I was again hungry, and wished he would add a beef-steak to his
bottle.”--“Some people,” cries Partridge, “ought to have good
memories; or did you find just money enough in your breeches to pay
for the mutton-chop?”--“Your observation is right,” answered the
stranger, “and I believe such blunders are inseparable from all
dealing in untruth.--But to proceed--I began now to feel myself
extremely happy. The meat and wine soon revived my spirits to a high
pitch, and I enjoyed much pleasure in the conversation of my old
acquaintance, the rather as I thought him entirely ignorant of what
had happened at the university since his leaving it.
“But he did not suffer me to remain long in this agreeable delusion;
for taking a bumper in one hand, and holding me by the other, `Here,
my boy,' cries he, `here's wishing you joy of your being so honourably
acquitted of that affair laid to your charge.' I was thunderstruck
with confusion at those words, which Watson observing, proceeded thus:
`Nay, never be ashamed, man; thou hast been acquitted, and no one now
dares call thee guilty; but, prithee, do tell me, who am thy friend--I
hope thou didst really rob him? for rat me if it was not a meritorious
action to strip such a sneaking, pitiful rascal; and instead of the
two hundred guineas, I wish you had taken as many thousand. Come,
come, my boy, don't be shy of confessing to me: you are not now
brought before one of the pimps. D--n me if I don't honour you for it;
for, as I hope for salvation, I would have made no manner of scruple
of doing the same thing.'
“This declaration a little relieved my abashment; and as wine had now
somewhat opened my heart, I very freely acknowledged the robbery, but
acquainted him that he had been misinformed as to the sum taken, which
was little more than a fifth part of what he had mentioned.
“`I am sorry for it with all my heart,' quoth he, `and I wish thee
better success another time. Though, if you will take my advice, you
shall have no occasion to run any such risque. Here,' said he, taking
some dice out of his pocket, `here's the stuff. Here are the
implements; here are the little doctors which cure the distempers of
the purse. Follow but my counsel, and I will show you a way to empty
the pocket of a queer cull without any danger of the nubbing cheat.'”
“Nubbing cheat!” cries Partridge: “pray, sir, what is that?”
“Why that, sir,” says the stranger, “is a cant phrase for the gallows;
for as gamesters differ little from highwaymen in their morals, so do
they very much resemble them in their language.
“We had now each drank our bottle, when Mr Watson said, the board was
sitting, and that he must attend, earnestly pressing me at the same
time to go with him and try my fortune. I answered he knew that was at
present out of my power, as I had informed him of the emptiness of my
pocket. To say the truth, I doubted not from his many strong
expressions of friendship, but that he would offer to lend me a small
sum for that purpose, but he answered, `Never mind that, man; e'en
boldly run a levant' [Partridge was going to inquire the meaning of
that word, but Jones stopped his mouth]: `but be circumspect as to the
man. I will tip you the proper person, which may be necessary, as you
do not know the town, nor can distinguish a rum cull from a queer
one.”
“The bill was now brought, when Watson paid his share, and was
departing. I reminded him, not without blushing, of my having no
money. He answered, `That signifies nothing; score it behind the door,
or make a bold brush and take no notice.--Or--stay,' says he; `I will
go down-stairs first, and then do you take up my money, and score the
whole reckoning at the bar, and I will wait for you at the corner.' I
expressed some dislike at this, and hinted my expectations that he
would have deposited the whole; but he swore he had not another
sixpence in his pocket.
“He then went down, and I was prevailed on to take up the money and
follow him, which I did close enough to hear him tell the drawer the
reckoning was upon the table. The drawer past by me up-stairs; but I
made such haste into the street, that I heard nothing of his
disappointment, nor did I mention a syllable at the bar, according to
my instructions.
“We now went directly to the gaming-table, where Mr Watson, to my
surprize, pulled out a large sum of money and placed it before him, as
did many others; all of them, no doubt, considering their own heaps as
so many decoy birds, which were to intice and draw over the heaps of
their neighbours.
“Here it would be tedious to relate all the freaks which Fortune, or
rather the dice, played in this her temple. Mountains of gold were in
a few moments reduced to nothing at one part of the table, and rose as
suddenly in another. The rich grew in a moment poor, and the poor as
suddenly became rich; so that it seemed a philosopher could nowhere
have so well instructed his pupils in the contempt of riches, at least
he could nowhere have better inculcated the incertainty of their
duration.
“For my own part, after having considerably improved my small estate,