Chapter xii.
Approaching still nearer to the end.
Jones, being now completely dressed, attended his uncle to MrWestern's. He was, indeed, one of the finest figures ever beheld, andhis person alone would have charmed the greater part of womankind; butwe hope it hath already appeared in this history that Nature, when sheformed him, did not totally rely, as she sometimes doth, on this meritonly, to recommend her work.
Sophia, who, angry as she was, was likewise set forth to the bestadvantage, for which I leave my female readers to account, appeared soextremely beautiful, that even Allworthy, when he saw her, could notforbear whispering Western, that he believed she was the finestcreature in the world. To which Western answered, in a whisper,overheard by all present, "So much the better for Tom;--for d--n me ifhe shan't ha the tousling her." Sophia was all over scarlet at thesewords, while Tom's countenance was altogether as pale, and he wasalmost ready to sink from his chair.
The tea-table was scarce removed before Western lugged Allworthy outof the room, telling him he had business of consequence to impart, andmust speak to him that instant in private, before he forgot it.
The lovers were now alone, and it will, I question not, appear strangeto many readers, that those who had so much to say to one another whendanger and difficulty attended their conversation, and who seemed soeager to rush into each other's arms when so many bars lay in theirway, now that with safety they were at liberty to say or do whateverthey pleased, should both remain for some time silent and motionless;insomuch that a stranger of moderate sagacity might have wellconcluded they were mutually indifferent; but so it was, howeverstrange it may seem; both sat with their eyes cast downwards on theground, and for some minutes continued in perfect silence.
Mr Jones during this interval attempted once or twice to speak, butwas absolutely incapable, muttering only, or rather sighing out, somebroken words; when Sophia at length, partly out of pity to him, andpartly to turn the discourse from the subject which she knew wellenough he was endeavouring to open, said--
"Sure, sir, you are the most fortunate man in the world in thisdiscovery." "And can you really, madam, think me so fortunate," saidJones, sighing, "while I have incurred your displeasure?"--"Nay, sir,"says she, "as to that you best know whether you have deserved it.""Indeed, madam," answered he, "you yourself are as well apprized ofall my demerits. Mrs Miller hath acquainted you with the whole truth.O! my Sophia, am I never to hope for forgiveness?"--"I think, MrJones," said she, "I may almost depend on your own justice, and leaveit to yourself to pass sentence on your own conduct."--"Alas! madam,"answered he, "it is mercy, and not justice, which I implore at yourhands. Justice I know must condemn me.--Yet not for the letter I sentto Lady Bellaston. Of that I most solemnly declare you have had a trueaccount." He then insisted much on the security given him byNightingale of a fair pretence for breaking off, if, contrary to theirexpectations, her ladyship should have accepted his offer; but confestthat he had been guilty of a great indiscretion to put such a letteras that into her power, "which," said he, "I have dearly paid for, inthe effect it has upon you." "I do not, I cannot," says she, "believeotherwise of that letter than you would have me. My conduct, I think,shews you clearly I do not believe there is much in that. And yet, MrJones, have I not enough to resent? After what past at Upton, so soonto engage in a new amour with another woman, while I fancied, and youpretended, your heart was bleeding for me? Indeed, you have actedstrangely. Can I believe the passion you have profest to me to besincere? Or, if I can, what happiness can I assure myself of with aman capable of so much inconstancy?" "O! my Sophia," cries he, "do notdoubt the sincerity of the purest passion that ever inflamed a humanbreast. Think, most adorable creature, of my unhappy situation, of mydespair. Could I, my Sophia, have flattered myself with the mostdistant hopes of being ever permitted to throw myself at your feet inthe manner I do now, it would not have been in the power of any otherwoman to have inspired a thought which the severest chastity couldhave condemned. Inconstancy to you! O Sophia! if you can have goodnessenough to pardon what is past, do not let any cruel futureapprehensions shut your mercy against me. No repentance was ever moresincere. O! let it reconcile me to my heaven in this dear bosom.""Sincere repentance, Mr Jones," answered she, "will obtain the pardonof a sinner, but it is from one who is a perfect judge of thatsincerity. A human mind may be imposed on; nor is there any infalliblemethod to prevent it. You must expect, however, that if I can beprevailed on by your repentance to pardon you, I will at least insiston the strongest proof of its sincerity." "Name any proof in mypower," answered Jones eagerly. "Time," replied she; "time alone, MrJones, can convince me that you are a true penitent, and have resolvedto abandon these vicious courses, which I should detest you for, if Iimagined you capable of persevering in them." "Do not imagine it,"cries Jones. "On my knees I intreat, I implore your confidence, aconfidence which it shall be the business of my life to deserve." "Letit then," said she, "be the business of some part of your life to shewme you deserve it. I think I have been explicit enough in assuringyou, that, when I see you merit my confidence, you will obtain it.After what is past, sir, can you expect I should take you upon yourword?"
He replied, "Don't believe me upon my word; I have a better security,a pledge for my constancy, which it is impossible to see and todoubt." "What is that?" said Sophia, a little surprized. "I will showyou, my charming angel," cried Jones, seizing her hand and carryingher to the glass. "There, behold it there in that lovely figure, inthat face, that shape, those eyes, that mind which shines throughthese eyes; can the man who shall be in possession of these beinconstant? Impossible! my Sophia; they would fix a Dorimant, a LordRochester. You could not doubt it, if you could see yourself with anyeyes but your own." Sophia blushed and half smiled; but, forcingagain her brow into a frown--"If I am to judge," said she, "of thefuture by the past, my image will no more remain in your heart when Iam out of your sight, than it will in this glass when I am out of theroom." "By heaven, by all that is sacred!" said Jones, "it never wasout of my heart. The delicacy of your sex cannot conceive thegrossness of ours, nor how little one sort of amour has to do withthe heart." "I will never marry a man," replied Sophia, very gravely,"who shall not learn refinement enough to be as incapable as I ammyself of making such a distinction." "I will learn it," said Jones."I have learnt it already. The first moment of hope that my Sophiamight be my wife taught it me at once; and all the rest of her sexfrom that moment became as little the objects of desire to my senseas of passion to my heart." "Well," says Sophia, "the proof of thismust be from time. Your situation, Mr Jones, is now altered, and Iassure you I have great satisfaction in the alteration. You will nowwant no opportunity of being near me, and convincing me that yourmind is altered too." "O! my angel," cries Jones, "how shall I thankthy goodness! And are you so good to own that you have a satisfactionin my prosperity?----Believe me, believe me, madam, it is you alonehave given a relish to that prosperity, since I owe to it the dearhope----O! my Sophia, let it not be a distant one.--I will be allobedience to your commands. I will not dare to press anything furtherthan you permit me. Yet let me intreat you to appoint a short trial.O! tell me when I may expect you will be convinced of what is mostsolemnly true." "When I have gone voluntarily thus far, Mr Jones,"said she, "I expect not to be pressed. Nay, I will not."--"O! don'tlook unkindly thus, my Sophia," cries he. "I do not, I dare not pressyou.--Yet permit me at least once more to beg you would fix theperiod. O! consider the impatience of love."--"A twelvemonth,perhaps," said she. "O! my Sophia," cries he, "you have named aneternity."--"Perhaps it may be something sooner," says she; "I willnot be teazed. If your passion for me be what I would have it, Ithink you may now be easy."--"Easy! Sophia, call not such an exultinghappiness as mine by so cold a name.----O! transporting thought! am Inot assured that the blessed day will come, when I shall call youmine; when fears shall be no more; when I shall have that dear, thatvast, that exquisite, ecstatic delight of making my Sophiahappy?"--"Indeed, sir," said she, "that
day is in your ownpower."--"O! my dear, my divine angel," cried he, "these words havemade me mad with joy.----But I must, I will thank those dear lipswhich have so sweetly pronounced my bliss." He then caught her in hisarms, and kissed her with an ardour he had never ventured before.
At this instant Western, who had stood some time listening, burst intothe room, and, with his hunting voice and phrase, cried out, "To her,boy, to her, go to her.----That's it, little honeys, O that's it!Well! what, is it all over? Hath she appointed the day, boy? What,shall it be to-morrow or next day? It shan't be put off a minutelonger than next day, I am resolved." "Let me beseech you, sir," saysJones, "don't let me be the occasion"----"Beseech mine a----," criesWestern. "I thought thou hadst been a lad of higher mettle than togive way to a parcel of maidenish tricks.----I tell thee 'tis allflimflam. Zoodikers! she'd have the wedding to-night with all herheart. Would'st not, Sophy? Come, confess, and be an honest girl foronce. What, art dumb? Why dost not speak?" "Why should I confess,sir," says Sophia, "since it seems you are so well acquainted with mythoughts?"----"That's a good girl," cries he, "and dost consent then?""No, indeed, sir," says Sophia, "I have given no such consent."---"Andwunt not ha un then to-morrow, nor next day?" says Western.--"Indeed,sir," says she, "I have no such intention." "But I can tell thee,"replied he, "why hast nut; only because thou dost love to bedisobedient, and to plague and vex thy father." "Pray, sir," saidJones, interfering----"I tell thee thou art a puppy," cries he. "WhenI vorbid her, then it was all nothing but sighing and whining, andlanguishing and writing; now I am vor thee, she is against thee. Allthe spirit of contrary, that's all. She is above being guided andgoverned by her father, that is the whole truth on't. It is only todisoblige and contradict me." "What would my papa have me do?" criesSophia. "What would I ha thee do?" says he, "why, gi' un thy hand thismoment."--"Well, sir," says Sophia, "I will obey you.--There is myhand, Mr Jones." "Well, and will you consent to ha un to-morrowmorning?" says Western.--"I will be obedient to you, sir," criesshe.--"Why then to-morrow morning be the day," cries he. "Why thento-morrow morning shall be the day, papa, since you will have it so,"says Sophia. Jones then fell upon his knees, and kissed her hand in anagony of joy, while Western began to caper and dance about the room,presently crying out--"Where the devil is Allworthy? He is withoutnow, a talking with that d--d lawyer Dowling, when he should beminding other matters." He then sallied out in quest of him, and veryopportunely left the lovers to enjoy a few tender minutes alone.
But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying, "If you won't believe me,you may ask her yourself. Hast nut gin thy consent, Sophy, to bemarried to-morrow?" "Such are your commands, sir," cries Sophia, "andI dare not be guilty of disobedience." "I hope, madam," criesAllworthy, "my nephew will merit so much goodness, and will be alwaysas sensible as myself of the great honour you have done my family. Analliance with so charming and so excellent a young lady would indeedbe an honour to the greatest in England." "Yes," cries Western, "butif I had suffered her to stand shill I shall I, dilly dally, you mightnot have had that honour yet a while; I was forced to use a littlefatherly authority to bring her to." "I hope not, sir," criesAllworthy, "I hope there is not the least constraint." "Why, there,"cries Western, "you may bid her unsay all again if you will. Dostrepent heartily of thy promise, dost not, Sophia?" "Indeed, papa,"cries she, "I do not repent, nor do I believe I ever shall, of anypromise in favour of Mr Jones." "Then, nephew," cries Allworthy, "Ifelicitate you most heartily; for I think you are the happiest of men.And, madam, you will give me leave to congratulate you on this joyfuloccasion: indeed, I am convinced you have bestowed yourself on one whowill be sensible of your great merit, and who will at least use hisbest endeavours to deserve it." "His best endeavours!" cries Western,"that he will, I warrant un.----Harkee, Allworthy, I'll bet thee fivepounds to a crown we have a boy to-morrow nine months; but pritheetell me what wut ha! Wut ha Burgundy, Champaigne, or what? for, pleaseJupiter, we'll make a night on't." "Indeed, sir," said Allworthy, "youmust excuse me; both my nephew and I were engaged before I suspectedthis near approach of his happiness."--"Engaged!" quoth the squire,"never tell me.--I won't part with thee to-night upon any occasion.Shalt sup here, please the lord Harry." "You must pardon me, my dearneighbour!" answered Allworthy; "I have given a solemn promise, andthat you know I never break." "Why, prithee, who art engaged to?"cries the squire.----Allworthy then informed him, as likewise of thecompany.----"Odzookers!" answered the squire, "I will go with thee,and so shall Sophy! for I won't part with thee to-night; and it wouldbe barbarous to part Tom and the girl." This offer was presentlyembraced by Allworthy, and Sophia consented, having first obtained aprivate promise from her father that he would not mention a syllableconcerning her marriage.
Chapter the last.
In which the history is concluded.
Young Nightingale had been that afternoon, by appointment, to wait onhis father, who received him much more kindly than he expected. Therelikewise he met his uncle, who was returned to town in quest of hisnew-married daughter.
This marriage was the luckiest incident which could have happened tothe young gentleman; for these brothers lived in a constant state ofcontention about the government of their children, both heartilydespising the method which each other took. Each of them therefore nowendeavoured, as much as he could, to palliate the offence which hisown child had committed, and to aggravate the match of the other. Thisdesire of triumphing over his brother, added to the many argumentswhich Allworthy had used, so strongly operated on the old gentlemanthat he met his son with a smiling countenance, and actually agreed tosup with him that evening at Mrs Miller's.
As for the other, who really loved his daughter with the mostimmoderate affection, there was little difficulty in inclining him toa reconciliation. He was no sooner informed by his nephew where hisdaughter and her husband were, than he declared he would instantly goto her. And when he arrived there he scarce suffered her to fall uponher knees before he took her up, and embraced her with a tendernesswhich affected all who saw him; and in less than a quarter of an hourwas as well reconciled to both her and her husband as if he hadhimself joined their hands.
In this situation were affairs when Mr Allworthy and his companyarrived to complete the happiness of Mrs Miller, who no sooner sawSophia than she guessed everything that had happened; and so great washer friendship to Jones, that it added not a few transports to thoseshe felt on the happiness of her own daughter.
There have not, I believe, been many instances of a number of peoplemet together, where every one was so perfectly happy as in thiscompany. Amongst whom the father of young Nightingale enjoyed theleast perfect content; for, notwithstanding his affection for his son,notwithstanding the authority and the arguments of Allworthy, togetherwith the other motive mentioned before, he could not so entirely besatisfied with his son's choice; and, perhaps, the presence of Sophiaherself tended a little to aggravate and heighten his concern, as athought now and then suggested itself that his son might have had thatlady, or some other such. Not that any of the charms which adornedeither the person or mind of Sophia created the uneasiness; it was thecontents of her father's coffers which set his heart a longing. Thesewere the charms which he could not bear to think his son hadsacrificed to the daughter of Mrs Miller.
The brides were both very pretty women; but so totally were theyeclipsed by the beauty of Sophia, that, had they not been two of thebest-tempered girls in the world, it would have raised some envy intheir breasts; for neither of their husbands could long keep his eyesfrom Sophia, who sat at the table like a queen receiving homage, or,rather, like a superior being receiving adoration from all around her.But it was an adoration which they gave, not which she exacted; forshe was as much distinguished by her modesty and affability as by allher other perfections.
The evening was spent in much true mirth. All were happy, but thosethe most who had been most unhappy before. Their former sufferings andfears gave such a relish to their felicity as even love and fortune,in their fullest flo
w, could not have given without the advantage ofsuch a comparison. Yet, as great joy, especially after a sudden changeand revolution of circumstances, is apt to be silent, and dwellsrather in the heart than on the tongue, Jones and Sophia appeared theleast merry of the whole company; which Western observed with greatimpatience, often crying out to them, "Why dost not talk, boy? Whydost look so grave? Hast lost thy tongue, girl? Drink another glass ofwine; sha't drink another glass." And, the more to enliven her, hewould sometimes sing a merry song, which bore some relation tomatrimony and the loss of a maidenhead. Nay, he would have proceededso far on that topic as to have driven her out of the room, if MrAllworthy had not checkt him, sometimes by looks, and once or twice bya "Fie! Mr Western!" He began, indeed, once to debate the matter, andassert his right to talk to his own daughter as he thought fit; but,as nobody seconded him, he was soon reduced to order.
Notwithstanding this little restraint, he was so pleased with thechearfulness and good-humour of the company, that he insisted on theirmeeting the next day at his lodgings. They all did so; and the lovelySophia, who was now in private become a bride too, officiated as themistress of the ceremonies, or, in the polite phrase, did the honoursof the table. She had that morning given her hand to Jones, in thechapel at Doctors'-Commons, where Mr Allworthy, Mr Western, and MrsMiller, were the only persons present.
Sophia had earnestly desired her father that no others of the company,who were that day to dine with him, should be acquainted with hermarriage. The same secrecy was enjoined to Mrs Miller, and Jonesundertook for Allworthy. This somewhat reconciled the delicacy ofSophia to the public entertainment which, in compliance with herfather's will, she was obliged to go to, greatly against her owninclinations. In confidence of this secrecy she went through the daypretty well, till the squire, who was now advanced into the secondbottle, could contain his joy no longer, but, filling out a bumper,drank a health to the bride. The health was immediately pledged by allpresent, to the great confusion of our poor blushing Sophia, and thegreat concern of Jones upon her account. To say truth, there was not aperson present made wiser by this discovery; for Mrs Miller hadwhispered it to her daughter, her daughter to her husband, her husbandto his sister, and she to all the rest.
Sophia now took the first opportunity of withdrawing with the ladies,and the squire sat in to his cups, in which he was, by degrees,deserted by all the company except the uncle of young Nightingale, wholoved his bottle as well as Western himself. These two, therefore, satstoutly to it during the whole evening, and long after that happy hourwhich had surrendered the charming Sophia to the eager arms of herenraptured Jones.
Thus, reader, we have at length brought our history to a conclusion,in which, to our great pleasure, though contrary, perhaps, to thyexpectation, Mr Jones appears to be the happiest of all humankind; forwhat happiness this world affords equal to the possession of such awoman as Sophia, I sincerely own I have never yet discovered.
As to the other persons who have made any considerable figure in thishistory, as some may desire to know a little more concerning them, wewill proceed, in as few words as possible, to satisfy their curiosity.
Allworthy hath never yet been prevailed upon to see Blifil, but hehath yielded to the importunity of Jones, backed by Sophia, to settleL200 a-year upon him; to which Jones hath privately added a third.Upon this income he lives in one of the northern counties, about 200miles distant from London, and lays up L200 a-year out of it, in orderto purchase a seat in the next parliament from a neighbouring borough,which he has bargained for with an attourney there. He is also latelyturned Methodist, in hopes of marrying a very rich widow of that sect,whose estate lies in that part of the kingdom.
Square died soon after he writ the before-mentioned letter; and as toThwackum, he continues at his vicarage. He hath made many fruitlessattempts to regain the confidence of Allworthy, or to ingratiatehimself with Jones, both of whom he flatters to their faces, andabuses behind their backs. But in his stead, Mr Allworthy hath latelytaken Mr Abraham Adams into his house, of whom Sophia is grownimmoderately fond, and declares he shall have the tuition of herchildren.
Mrs Fitzpatrick is separated from her husband, and retains the littleremains of her fortune. She lives in reputation at the polite end ofthe town, and is so good an economist, that she spends three timesthe income of her fortune, without running into debt. She maintains aperfect intimacy with the lady of the Irish peer; and in acts offriendship to her repays all obligations she owes her husband.
Mrs Western was soon reconciled to her niece Sophia, and hath spenttwo months together with her in the country. Lady Bellaston made thelatter a formal visit at her return to town, where she behaved toJones as a perfect stranger, and, with great civility, wished him joyon his marriage.
Mr Nightingale hath purchased an estate for his son in theneighbourhood of Jones, where the young gentleman, his lady, MrsMiller, and her little daughter reside, and the most agreeableintercourse subsists between the two families.
As to those of lower account, Mrs Waters returned into the country,had a pension of L60 a-year settled upon her by Mr Allworthy, and ismarried to Parson Supple, on whom, at the instance of Sophia, Westernhath bestowed a considerable living.
Black George, hearing the discovery that had been made, ran away, andwas never since heard of; and Jones bestowed the money on his family,but not in equal proportions, for Molly had much the greatest share.
As for Partridge, Jones hath settled L50 a-year on him; and he hathagain set up a school, in which he meets with much betterencouragement than formerly, and there is now a treaty of marriage onfoot between him and Miss Molly Seagrim, which, through the mediationof Sophia, is likely to take effect.
We now return to take leave of Mr Jones and Sophia, who, within twodays after their marriage, attended Mr Western and Mr Allworthy intothe country. Western hath resigned his family seat, and the greaterpart of his estate, to his son-in-law, and hath retired to a lesserhouse of his in another part of the country, which is better forhunting. Indeed, he is often as a visitant with Mr Jones, who, as wellas his daughter, hath an infinite delight in doing everything in theirpower to please him. And this desire of theirs is attended with suchsuccess, that the old gentleman declares he was never happy in hislife till now. He hath here a parlour and ante-chamber to himself,where he gets drunk with whom he pleases: and his daughter is still asready as formerly to play to him whenever he desires it; for Joneshath assured her that, as, next to pleasing her, one of his highestsatisfactions is to contribute to the happiness of the old man; so,the great duty which she expresses and performs to her father, rendersher almost equally dear to him with the love which she bestows onhimself.
Sophia hath already produced him two fine children, a boy and a girl,of whom the old gentleman is so fond, that he spends much of his timein the nursery, where he declares the tattling of his littlegrand-daughter, who is above a year and a half old, is sweeter musicthan the finest cry of dogs in England.
Allworthy was likewise greatly liberal to Jones on the marriage, andhath omitted no instance of shewing his affection to him and his lady,who love him as a father. Whatever in the nature of Jones had atendency to vice, has been corrected by continual conversation withthis good man, and by his union with the lovely and virtuous Sophia.He hath also, by reflection on his past follies, acquired a discretionand prudence very uncommon in one of his lively parts.
To conclude, as there are not to be found a worthier man and woman,than this fond couple, so neither can any be imagined more happy. Theypreserve the purest and tenderest affection for each other, anaffection daily encreased and confirmed by mutual endearments andmutual esteem. Nor is their conduct towards their relations andfriends less amiable than towards one another. And such is theircondescension, their indulgence, and their beneficence to those belowthem, that there is not a neighbour, a tenant, or a servant, who dothnot most gratefully bless the day when Mr Jones was married to hisSophia.
_FINIS_.
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History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Page 206
