Chapter vi.

What arrived while the company were at breakfast, with some hints

concerning the government of daughters.

Our company brought together in the morning the same good inclinations

towards each other, with which they had separated the evening before;

but poor Jones was extremely disconsolate; for he had just received

information from Partridge, that Mrs Fitzpatrick had left her lodging,

and that he could not learn whither she was gone. This news highly

afflicted him, and his countenance, as well as his behaviour, in

defiance of all his endeavours to the contrary, betrayed manifest

indications of a disordered mind.

The discourse turned at present, as before, on love; and Mr

Nightingale again expressed many of those warm, generous, and

disinterested sentiments upon this subject, which wise and sober men

call romantic, but which wise and sober women generally regard in a

better light. Mrs Miller (for so the mistress of the house was called)

greatly approved these sentiments; but when the young gentleman

appealed to Miss Nancy, she answered only, “That she believed the

gentleman who had spoke the least was capable of feeling most.”

This compliment was so apparently directed to Jones, that we should

have been sorry had he passed it by unregarded. He made her indeed a

very polite answer, and concluded with an oblique hint, that her own

silence subjected her to a suspicion of the same kind: for indeed she

had scarce opened her lips either now or the last evening.

“I am glad, Nanny,” says Mrs Miller, “the gentleman hath made the

observation; I protest 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 hand, 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 surprize 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 imagination; nor did Mrs Miller herself give much assent to

what Mr Nightingale had said, till Miss Nancy having lifted up the

domino, a card dropt 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 stopt 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 the 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, “as his cloaths,” he said, “were not yet come to town.”

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 antient 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 antient 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

expense and trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my

account, all the cloaths 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 surprize 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 themselves 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 bank-bill broke in

upon, or that distress should prevail on Jones to return home, or from

what other motive it proceeded, I will not determine.