Chapter ii.

What befel Mr Jones on his arrival in London.

The learned Dr Misaubin used to say, that the proper direction to him

was _To Dr_ Misaubin, _in the World_; intimating that there were few

people in it to whom his great reputation was not known. And, perhaps,

upon a very nice examination into the matter, we shall find that this

circumstance bears no inconsiderable part among the many blessings of

grandeur.

The great happiness of being known to posterity, with the hopes of

which we so delighted ourselves in the preceding chapter, is the

portion of few. To have the several elements which compose our names,

as Sydenham expresses it, repeated a thousand years hence, is a gift

beyond the power of title and wealth; and is scarce to be purchased,

unless by the sword and the pen. But to avoid the scandalous

imputation, while we yet live, of being _one whom nobody knows_ (a

scandal, by the bye, as old as the days of Homer[*]) will always be the

envied portion of those, who have a legal title either to honour or

estate.

[*] See the 2d Odyssey, ver. 175.

From that figure, therefore, which the Irish peer, who brought Sophia

to town, hath already made in this history, the reader will conclude,

doubtless, it must have been an easy matter to have discovered his

house in London without knowing the particular street or square which

he inhabited, since he must have been one _whom everybody knows_. To

say the truth, so it would have been to any of those tradesmen who are

accustomed to attend the regions of the great; for the doors of the

great are generally no less easy to find than it is difficult to get

entrance into them. But Jones, as well as Partridge, was an entire

stranger in London; and as he happened to arrive first in a quarter of

the town, the inhabitants of which have very little intercourse with

the householders of Hanover or Grosvenor-square (for he entered

through Gray's-inn-lane), so he rambled about some time before he

could even find his way to those happy mansions where fortune

segregates from the vulgar those magnanimous heroes, the descendants

of antient Britons, Saxons, or Danes, whose ancestors, being born in

better days, by sundry kinds of merit, have entailed riches and honour

on their posterity.

Jones, being at length arrived at those terrestrial Elysian fields,

would now soon have discovered his lordship's mansion; but the peer

unluckily quitted his former house when he went for Ireland; and as he

was just entered into a new one, the fame of his equipage had not yet

sufficiently blazed in the neighbourhood; so that, after a successless

enquiry till the clock had struck eleven, Jones at last yielded to the

advice of Partridge, and retreated to the Bull and Gate in Holborn,

that being the inn where he had first alighted, and where he retired

to enjoy that kind of repose which usually attends persons in his

circumstances.

Early in the morning he again set forth in pursuit of Sophia; and many

a weary step he took to no better purpose than before. At last,

whether it was that Fortune relented, or whether it was no longer in

her power to disappoint him, he came into the very street which was

honoured by his lordship's residence; and, being directed to the

house, he gave one gentle rap at the door.

The porter, who, from the modesty of the knock, had conceived no high

idea of the person approaching, conceived but little better from the

appearance of Mr Jones, who was drest in a suit of fustian, and had by

his side the weapon formerly purchased of the serjeant; of which,

though the blade might be composed of well-tempered steel, the handle

was composed only of brass, and that none of the brightest. When

Jones, therefore, enquired after the young lady who had come to town

with his lordship, this fellow answered surlily, “That there were no

ladies there.” Jones then desired to see the master of the house; but

was informed that his lordship would see nobody that morning. And upon

growing more pressing the porter said, “he had positive orders to let

no person in; but if you think proper,” said he, “to leave your name,

I will acquaint his lordship; and if you call another time you shall

know when he will see you.”

Jones now declared, “that he had very particular business with the

young lady, and could not depart without seeing her.” Upon which the

porter, with no very agreeable voice or aspect, affirmed, “that there

was no young lady in that house, and consequently none could he see;”

adding, “sure you are the strangest man I ever met with, for you will

not take an answer.”

I have often thought that, by the particular description of Cerberus,

the porter of hell, in the 6th Aeneid, Virgil might possibly intend to

satirize the porters of the great men in his time; the picture, at

least, resembles those who have the honour to attend at the doors of

our great men. The porter in his lodge answers exactly to Cerberus in

his den, and, like him, must be appeased by a sop before access can be

gained to his master. Perhaps Jones might have seen him in that light,

and have recollected the passage where the Sibyl, in order to procure

an entrance for Aeneas, presents the keeper of the Stygian avenue with

such a sop. Jones, in like manner, now began to offer a bribe to the

human Cerberus, which a footman, overhearing, instantly advanced, and

declared, “if Mr Jones would give him the sum proposed, he would

conduct him to the lady.” Jones instantly agreed, and was forthwith

conducted to the lodging of Mrs Fitzpatrick by the very fellow who had

attended the ladies thither the day before.

Nothing more aggravates ill success than the near approach to good.

The gamester, who loses his party at piquet by a single point, laments

his bad luck ten times as much as he who never came within a prospect

of the game. So in a lottery, the proprietors of the next numbers to

that which wins the great prize are apt to account themselves much

more unfortunate than their fellow-sufferers. In short, these kind of

hairbreadth missings of happiness look like the insults of Fortune,

who may be considered as thus playing tricks with us, and wantonly

diverting herself at our expense.

Jones, who more than once already had experienced this frolicsome

disposition of the heathen goddess, was now again doomed to be

tantalized in the like manner; for he arrived at the door of Mrs

Fitzpatrick about ten minutes after the departure of Sophia. He now

addressed himself to the waiting-woman belonging to Mrs Fitzpatrick;

who told him the disagreeable news that the lady was gone, but could

not tell him whither; and the same answer he afterwards received from

Mrs Fitzpatrick herself. For as that lady made no doubt but that Mr

Jones was a person detached from her uncle Western, in pursuit of his

daughter, so she was too generous to betray her.

Though Jones had never seen Mrs Fitzpatrick, yet he had heard that a

cousin of Sophia was married to a gentleman of that name. This,

however, in the present tumult of his mind, never once recurred to his

memory; but when the footman, who had conducted him from his

lordship's, acquainted him with the great intimacy between the ladies,

and with their calling each other cousin, he then recollected the

story of the marriage which he had formerly heard; and as he was

presently convinced that this was the same woman, he became more

surprized at the answer which he had received, and very earnestly

desired leave to wait on the lady herself; but she as positively

refused him that honour.

Jones, who, though he had never seen a court, was better bred than

most who frequent it, was incapable of any rude or abrupt behaviour to

a lady. When he had received, therefore, a peremptory denial, he

retired for the present, saying to the waiting-woman, “That if this

was an improper hour to wait on her lady, he would return in the

afternoon; and that he then hoped to have the honour of seeing her.”

The civility with which he uttered this, added to the great comeliness

of his person, made an impression on the waiting-woman, and she could

not help answering; “Perhaps, sir, you may;” and, indeed, she

afterwards said everything to her mistress, which she thought most

likely to prevail on her to admit a visit from the handsome young

gentleman; for so she called him.

Jones very shrewdly suspected that Sophia herself was now with her

cousin, and was denied to him; which he imputed to her resentment of

what had happened at Upton. Having, therefore, dispatched Partridge to

procure him lodgings, he remained all day in the street, watching the

door where he thought his angel lay concealed; but no person did he

see issue forth, except a servant of the house, and in the evening he

returned to pay his visit to Mrs Fitzpatrick, which that good lady at

last condescended to admit.

There is a certain air of natural gentility, which it is neither in

the power of dress to give, nor to conceal. Mr Jones, as hath been

before hinted, was possessed of this in a very eminent degree. He met,

therefore, with a reception from the lady somewhat different from what

his apparel seemed to demand; and after he had paid her his proper

respects, was desired to sit down.

The reader will not, I believe, be desirous of knowing all the

particulars of this conversation, which ended very little to the

satisfaction of poor Jones. For though Mrs Fitzpatrick soon discovered

the lover (as all women have the eyes of hawks in those matters), yet

she still thought it was such a lover, as a generous friend of the

lady should not betray her to. In short, she suspected this was the

very Mr Blifil, from whom Sophia had flown; and all the answers which

she artfully drew from Jones, concerning Mr Allworthy's family,

confirmed her in this opinion. She therefore strictly denied any

knowledge concerning the place whither Sophia was gone; nor could

Jones obtain more than a permission to wait on her again the next

evening.

When Jones was departed Mrs Fitzpatrick communicated her suspicion

concerning Mr Blifil to her maid; who answered, “Sure, madam, he is

too pretty a man, in my opinion, for any woman in the world to run

away from. I had rather fancy it is Mr Jones.”--“Mr Jones!” said the

lady, “what Jones?” For Sophia had not given the least hint of any

such person in all their conversation; but Mrs Honour had been much

more communicative, and had acquainted her sister Abigail with the

whole history of Jones, which this now again related to her mistress.

Mrs Fitzpatrick no sooner received this information, than she

immediately agreed with the opinion of her maid; and, what is very

unaccountable, saw charms in the gallant, happy lover, which she had

overlooked in the slighted squire. “Betty,” says she, “you are

certainly in the right: he is a very pretty fellow, and I don't wonder

that my cousin's maid should tell you so many women are fond of him. I

am sorry now I did not inform him where my cousin was; and yet, if he

be so terrible a rake as you tell me, it is a pity she should ever see

him any more; for what but her ruin can happen from marrying a rake

and a beggar against her father's consent? I protest, if he be such a

man as the wench described him to you, it is but an office of charity

to keep her from him; and I am sure it would be unpardonable in me to

do otherwise, who have tasted so bitterly of the misfortunes attending

such marriages.”

Here she was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, which was no

other than his lordship; and as nothing passed at this visit either

new or extraordinary, or any ways material to this history, we shall

here put an end to this chapter.