Chapter xii.

A discovery made by Partridge.

While Jones was exulting in the consciousness of his integrity,

Partridge came capering into the room, as was his custom when he

brought, or fancied he brought, any good tidings. He had been

despatched that morning by his master, with orders to endeavour, by

the servants of Lady Bellaston, or by any other means, to discover

whither Sophia had been conveyed; and he now returned, and with a

joyful countenance told our heroe that he had found the lost bird. “I

have seen, sir,” says he, “Black George, the gamekeeper, who is one of

the servants whom the squire hath brought with him to town. I knew him

presently, though I have not seen him these several years; but you

know, sir, he is a very remarkable man, or, to use a purer phrase, he

hath a most remarkable beard, the largest and blackest I ever saw. It

was some time, however, before Black George could recollect me.”

“Well, but what is your good news?” cries Jones; “what do you know of

my Sophia?” “You shall know presently, sir,” answered Partridge, “I am

coming to it as fast as I can. You are so impatient, sir, you would

come at the infinitive mood before you can get to the imperative. As I

was saying, sir, it was some time before he recollected my

face.”--“Confound your face!” cries Jones, “what of my Sophia?” “Nay,

sir,” answered Partridge, “I know nothing more of Madam Sophia than

what I am going to tell you; and I should have told you all before

this if you had not interrupted me; but if you look so angry at me you

will frighten all of it out of my head, or, to use a purer phrase, out

of my memory. I never saw you look so angry since the day we left

Upton, which I shall remember if I was to live a thousand

years.”--“Well, pray go on your own way,” said Jones: “you are

resolved to make me mad I find.” “Not for the world,” answered

Partridge, “I have suffered enough for that already; which, as I said,

I shall bear in my remembrance the longest day I have to live.” “Well,

but Black George?” cries Jones. “Well, sir, as I was saying, it was a

long time before he could recollect me; for, indeed, I am very much

altered since I saw him. _Non sum qualis eram._ I have had troubles in

the world, and nothing alters a man so much as grief. I have heard it

will change the colour of a man's hair in a night. However, at last,

know me he did, that's sure enough; for we are both of an age, and

were at the same charity school. George was a great dunce, but no

matter for that; all men do not thrive in the world according to their

learning. I am sure I have reason to say so; but it will be all one a

thousand years hence. Well, sir, where was I?--O--well, we no sooner

knew each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand, we agreed

to go to an alehouse and take a pot, and by good luck the beer was

some of the best I have met with since I have been in town. Now, sir,

I am coming to the point; for no sooner did I name you, and told him

that you and I came to town together, and had lived together ever

since, than he called for another pot, and swore he would drink to

your health; and indeed he drank your health so heartily that I was

overjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left in the world; and

after we had emptied that pot I said I would buy my pot too, and so we

drank another to your health; and then I made haste home to tell you

the news.”

“What news?” cries Jones, “you have not mentioned a word of my

Sophia!” “Bless me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed, we

mentioned a great deal about young Madam Western, and George told me

all; that Mr Blifil is coming to town in order to be married to her.

He had best make haste then, says I, or somebody will have her before

he comes; and, indeed, says I, Mr Seagrim, it is a thousand pities

somebody should not have her; for he certainly loves her above all the

women in the world. I would have both you and she know, that it is not

for her fortune he follows her; for I can assure you, as to matter of

that, there is another lady, one of much greater quality and fortune

than she can pretend to, who is so fond of somebody that she comes

after him day and night.”

Here Jones fell into a passion with Partridge, for having, as he said,

betrayed him; but the poor fellow answered, he had mentioned no name:

“Besides, sir,” said he, “I can assure you George is sincerely your

friend, and wished Mr Blifil at the devil more than once; nay, he said

he would do anything in his power upon earth to serve you; and so I am

convinced he will. Betray you, indeed! why, I question whether you

have a better friend than George upon earth, except myself, or one

that would go farther to serve you.”

“Well,” says Jones, a little pacified, “you say this fellow, who, I

believe, indeed, is enough inclined to be my friend, lives in the same

house with Sophia?”

“In the same house!” answered Partridge; “why, sir, he is one of the

servants of the family, and very well drest I promise you he is; if it

was not for his black beard you would hardly know him.”

“One service then at least he may do me,” says Jones: “sure he can

certainly convey a letter to my Sophia.”

“You have hit the nail _ad unguem_” cries Partridge; “how came I not

to think of it? I will engage he shall do it upon the very first

mentioning.”

“Well, then,” said Jones, “do you leave me at present, and I will

write a letter, which you shall deliver to him to-morrow morning; for

I suppose you know where to find him.”

“O yes, sir,” answered Partridge, “I shall certainly find him again;

there is no fear of that. The liquor is too good for him to stay away

long. I make no doubt but he will be there every day he stays in

town.”

“So you don't know the street then where my Sophia is lodged?” cries

Jones.

“Indeed, sir, I do,” says Partridge.

“What is the name of the street?” cries Jones.

“The name, sir? why, here, sir, just by,” answered Partridge, “not

above a street or two off. I don't, indeed, know the very name; for,

as he never told me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put some

suspicion into his head. No, no, sir, let me alone for that. I am too

cunning for that, I promise you.”

“Thou art most wonderfully cunning, indeed,” replied Jones; “however,

I will write to my charmer, since I believe you will be cunning enough

to find him to-morrow at the alehouse.”

And now, having dismissed the sagacious Partridge, Mr Jones sat

himself down to write, in which employment we shall leave him for a

time. And here we put an end to the fifteenth book.