Chapter xi.

The narrow escape of Molly Seagrim, with some observations for which

we have been forced to dive pretty deep into nature.

Tom Jones had ridden one of Mr Western's horses that morning in the

chase; so that having no horse of his own in the squire's stable, he

was obliged to go home on foot: this he did so expeditiously that he

ran upwards of three miles within the half-hour.

Just as he arrived at Mr Allworthy's outward gate, he met the

constable and company with Molly in their possession, whom they were

conducting to that house where the inferior sort of people may learn

one good lesson, viz., respect and deference to their superiors; since

it must show them the wide distinction Fortune intends between those

persons who are to be corrected for their faults, and those who are

not; which lesson if they do not learn, I am afraid they very rarely

learn any other good lesson, or improve their morals, at the house of

correction.

A lawyer may perhaps think Mr Allworthy exceeded his authority a

little in this instance. And, to say the truth, I question, as here

was no regular information before him, whether his conduct was

strictly regular. However, as his intention was truly upright, he

ought to be excused in _foro conscientiae_; since so many arbitrary

acts are daily committed by magistrates who have not this excuse to

plead for themselves.

Tom was no sooner informed by the constable whither they were

proceeding (indeed he pretty well guessed it of himself), than he

caught Molly in his arms, and embracing her tenderly before them all,

swore he would murder the first man who offered to lay hold of her. He

bid her dry her eyes and be comforted; for, wherever she went, he

would accompany her. Then turning to the constable, who stood

trembling with his hat off, he desired him, in a very mild voice, to

return with him for a moment only to his father (for so he now called

Allworthy); for he durst, he said, be assured, that, when he had

alledged what he had to say in her favour, the girl would be

discharged.

The constable, who, I make no doubt, would have surrendered his

prisoner had Tom demanded her, very readily consented to this request.

So back they all went into Mr Allworthy's hall; where Tom desired them

to stay till his return, and then went himself in pursuit of the good

man. As soon as he was found, Tom threw himself at his feet, and

having begged a patient hearing, confessed himself to be the father of

the child of which Molly was then big. He entreated him to have

compassion on the poor girl, and to consider, if there was any guilt

in the case, it lay principally at his door.

“If there is any guilt in the case!” answered Allworthy warmly: “Are

you then so profligate and abandoned a libertine to doubt whether the

breaking the laws of God and man, the corrupting and ruining a poor

girl be guilt? I own, indeed, it doth lie principally upon you; and so

heavy it is, that you ought to expect it should crush you.”

“Whatever may be my fate,” says Tom, “let me succeed in my

intercessions for the poor girl. I confess I have corrupted her! but

whether she shall be ruined, depends on you. For Heaven's sake, sir,

revoke your warrant, and do not send her to a place which must

unavoidably prove her destruction.”

Allworthy bid him immediately call a servant. Tom answered there was

no occasion; for he had luckily met them at the gate, and relying upon

his goodness, had brought them all back into his hall, where they now

waited his final resolution, which upon his knees he besought him

might be in favour of the girl; that she might be permitted to go home

to her parents, and not be exposed to a greater degree of shame and

scorn than must necessarily fall upon her. “I know,” said he, “that is

too much. I know I am the wicked occasion of it. I will endeavour to

make amends, if possible; and if you shall have hereafter the goodness

to forgive me, I hope I shall deserve it.”

Allworthy hesitated some time, and at last said, “Well, I will

discharge my mittimus.--You may send the constable to me.” He was

instantly called, discharged, and so was the girl.

It will be believed that Mr Allworthy failed not to read Tom a very

severe lecture on this occasion; but it is unnecessary to insert it

here, as we have faithfully transcribed what he said to Jenny Jones in

the first book, most of which may be applied to the men, equally with

the women. So sensible an effect had these reproofs on the young man,

who was no hardened sinner, that he retired to his own room, where he

passed the evening alone, in much melancholy contemplation.

Allworthy was sufficiently offended by this transgression of Jones;

for notwithstanding the assertions of Mr Western, it is certain this

worthy man had never indulged himself in any loose pleasures with

women, and greatly condemned the vice of incontinence in others.

Indeed, there is much reason to imagine that there was not the least

truth in what Mr Western affirmed, especially as he laid the scene of

those impurities at the university, where Mr Allworthy had never been.

In fact, the good squire was a little too apt to indulge that kind of

pleasantry which is generally called rhodomontade: but which may, with

as much propriety, be expressed by a much shorter word; and perhaps we

too often supply the use of this little monosyllable by others; since

very much of what frequently passes in the world for wit and humour,

should, in the strictest purity of language, receive that short

appellation, which, in conformity to the well-bred laws of custom, I

here suppress.

But whatever detestation Mr Allworthy had to this or to any other

vice, he was not so blinded by it but that he could discern any virtue

in the guilty person, as clearly indeed as if there had been no

mixture of vice in the same character. While he was angry therefore

with the incontinence of Jones, he was no less pleased with the honour

and honesty of his self-accusation. He began now to form in his mind

the same opinion of this young fellow, which, we hope, our reader may

have conceived. And in balancing his faults with his perfections, the

latter seemed rather to preponderate.

It was to no purpose, therefore, that Thwackum, who was immediately

charged by Mr Blifil with the story, unbended all his rancour against

poor Tom. Allworthy gave a patient hearing to their invectives, and

then answered coldly: “That young men of Tom's complexion were too

generally addicted to this vice; but he believed that youth was

sincerely affected with what he had said to him on the occasion, and

he hoped he would not transgress again.” So that, as the days of

whipping were at an end, the tutor had no other vent but his own mouth

for his gall, the usual poor resource of impotent revenge.

But Square, who was a less violent, was a much more artful man; and as

he hated Jones more perhaps than Thwackum himself did, so he contrived

to do him more mischief in the mind of Mr Allworthy.

The reader must remember the several little incidents of the

partridge, the horse, and the Bible, which were recounted in the

second book. By all which Jones had rather improved than injured the

affection which Mr Allworthy was inclined to entertain for him. The

same, I believe, must have happened to him with every other person who

hath any idea of friendship, generosity, and greatness of spirit, that

is to say, who hath any traces of goodness in his mind.

Square himself was not unacquainted with the true impression which

those several instances of goodness had made on the excellent heart of

Allworthy; for the philosopher very well knew what virtue was, though

he was not always perhaps steady in its pursuit; but as for Thwackum,

from what reason I will not determine, no such thoughts ever entered

into his head: he saw Jones in a bad light, and he imagined Allworthy

saw him in the same, but that he was resolved, from pride and

stubbornness of spirit, not to give up the boy whom he had once

cherished; since by so doing, he must tacitly acknowledge that his

former opinion of him had been wrong.

Square therefore embraced this opportunity of injuring Jones

in the tenderest part, by giving a very bad turn to all these

before-mentioned occurrences. “I am sorry, sir,” said he, “to own I

have been deceived as well as yourself. I could not, I confess, help

being pleased with what I ascribed to the motive of friendship, though

it was carried to an excess, and all excess is faulty and vicious: but

in this I made allowance for youth. Little did I suspect that the

sacrifice of truth, which we both imagined to have been made to

friendship, was in reality a prostitution of it to a depraved and

debauched appetite. You now plainly see whence all the seeming

generosity of this young man to the family of the gamekeeper

proceeded. He supported the father in order to corrupt the daughter,

and preserved the family from starving, to bring one of them to shame

and ruin. This is friendship! this is generosity! As Sir Richard

Steele says, `Gluttons who give high prices for delicacies, are very

worthy to be called generous.' In short I am resolved, from this

instance, never to give way to the weakness of human nature more, nor

to think anything virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the

unerring rule of right.”

The goodness of Allworthy had prevented those considerations from

occurring to himself; yet were they too plausible to be absolutely and

hastily rejected, when laid before his eyes by another. Indeed what

Square had said sunk very deeply into his mind, and the uneasiness

which it there created was very visible to the other; though the good

man would not acknowledge this, but made a very slight answer, and

forcibly drove off the discourse to some other subject. It was well

perhaps for poor Tom, that no such suggestions had been made before he

was pardoned; for they certainly stamped in the mind of Allworthy the

first bad impression concerning Jones.