History of Tom Jones, a Foundling - 47

insisted on his pledging him. "Why, then, here's Miss Lalage's health
with all my heart," cries Dowling. "I have heard her toasted often, I
protest, though I never saw her; but they say she's extremely
handsome."

Though the Latin was not the only part of this speech which Dowling
did not perfectly understand; yet there was somewhat in it that made a
very strong impression upon him. And though he endeavoured by winking,
nodding, sneering, and grinning, to hide the impression from Jones
(for we are as often ashamed of thinking right as of thinking wrong),
it is certain he secretly approved as much of his sentiments as he
understood, and really felt a very strong impulse of compassion for
him. But we may possibly take some other opportunity of commenting
upon this, especially if we should happen to meet Mr Dowling any more
in the course of our history. At present we are obliged to take our
leave of that gentleman a little abruptly, in imitation of Mr Jones;
who was no sooner informed, by Partridge, that his horses were ready,
than he deposited his reckoning, wished his companion a good night,
mounted, and set forward towards Coventry, though the night was dark,
and it just then began to rain very hard.



Chapter xi.

The disasters which befel Jones on his departure for Coventry; with
the sage remarks of Partridge.


No road can be plainer than that from the place where they now were to
Coventry; and though neither Jones, nor Partridge, nor the guide, had
ever travelled it before, it would have been almost impossible to have
missed their way, had it not been for the two reasons mentioned in the
conclusion of the last chapter.

These two circumstances, however, happening both unfortunately to
intervene, our travellers deviated into a much less frequented track;
and after riding full six miles, instead of arriving at the stately
spires of Coventry, they found themselves still in a very dirty lane,
where they saw no symptoms of approaching the suburbs of a large city.

Jones now declared that they must certainly have lost their way; but
this the guide insisted upon was impossible; a word which, in common
conversation, is often used to signify not only improbable, but often
what is really very likely, and, sometimes, what hath certainly
happened; an hyperbolical violence like that which is so frequently
offered to the words infinite and eternal; by the former of which it
is usual to express a distance of half a yard, and by the latter, a
duration of five minutes. And thus it is as usual to assert the
impossibility of losing what is already actually lost. This was, in
fact, the case at present; for, notwithstanding all the confident
assertions of the lad to the contrary, it is certain they were no more
in the right road to Coventry, than the fraudulent, griping, cruel,
canting miser is in the right road to heaven.

It is not, perhaps, easy for a reader, who hath never been in those
circumstances, to imagine the horror with which darkness, rain, and
wind, fill persons who have lost their way in the night; and who,
consequently, have not the pleasant prospect of warm fires, dry
cloaths, and other refreshments, to support their minds in struggling
with the inclemencies of the weather. A very imperfect idea of this
horror will, however, serve sufficiently to account for the conceits
which now filled the head of Partridge, and which we shall presently
be obliged to open.

Jones grew more and more positive that they were out of their road;
and the boy himself at last acknowledged he believed they were not in
the right road to Coventry; though he affirmed, at the same time, it
was impossible they should have mist the way. But Partridge was of a
different opinion. He said, "When they first set out he imagined some
mischief or other would happen.--Did not you observe, sir," said he to
Jones, "that old woman who stood at the door just as you was taking
horse? I wish you had given her a small matter, with all my heart; for
she said then you might repent it; and at that very instant it began
to rain, and the wind hath continued rising ever since. Whatever some
people may think, I am very certain it is in the power of witches to
raise the wind whenever they please. I have seen it happen very often
in my time: and if ever I saw a witch in all my life, that old woman
was certainly one. I thought so to myself at that very time; and if I
had had any halfpence in my pocket, I would have given her some; for
to be sure it is always good to be charitable to those sort of people,
for fear what may happen; and many a person hath lost his cattle by
saving a halfpenny."

Jones, though he was horridly vexed at the delay which this mistake
was likely to occasion in his journey, could not help smiling at the
superstition of his friend, whom an accident now greatly confirmed in
his opinion. This was a tumble from his horse; by which, however, he
received no other injury than what the dirt conferred on his cloaths.

Partridge had no sooner recovered his legs, than he appealed to his
fall, as conclusive evidence of all he had asserted; but Jones finding
he was unhurt, answered with a smile: "This witch of yours, Partridge,
is a most ungrateful jade, and doth not, I find, distinguish her
friends from others in her resentment. If the old lady had been angry
with me for neglecting her, I don't see why she should tumble you from
your horse, after all the respect you have expressed for her."

"It is ill jesting," cries Partridge, "with people who have power to
do these things; for they are often very malicious. I remember a
farrier, who provoked one of them, by asking her when the time she had
bargained with the devil for would be out; and within three months
from that very day one of his best cows was drowned. Nor was she
satisfied with that; for a little time afterwards he lost a barrel of
best-drink: for the old witch pulled out the spigot, and let it run
all over the cellar, the very first evening he had tapped it to make
merry with some of his neighbours. In short, nothing ever thrived with
him afterwards; for she worried the poor man so, that he took to
drinking; and in a year or two his stock was seized, and he and his
family are now come to the parish."

The guide, and perhaps his horse too, were both so attentive to this
discourse, that, either through want of care, or by the malice of the
witch, they were now both sprawling in the dirt.

Partridge entirely imputed this fall, as he had done his own, to the
same cause. He told Mr Jones, "It would certainly be his turn next;
and earnestly entreated him to return back, and find out the old
woman, and pacify her. We shall very soon," added he, "reach the inn;
for though we have seemed to go forward, I am very certain we are in
the identical place in which we were an hour ago; and I dare swear, if
it was daylight, we might now see the inn we set out from."

Instead of returning any answer to this sage advice, Jones was
entirely attentive to what had happened to the boy, who received no
other hurt than what had before befallen Partridge, and which his
cloaths very easily bore, as they had been for many years inured to
the like. He soon regained his side-saddle, and by the hearty curses
and blows which he bestowed on his horse, quickly satisfied Mr Jones
that no harm was done.



Chapter xii.

Relates that Mr Jones continued his journey, contrary to the advice of
Partridge, with what happened on that occasion.


They now discovered a light at some distance, to the great pleasure of
Jones, and to the no small terror of Partridge, who firmly believed
himself to be bewitched, and that this light was a Jack-with-a-lantern,
or somewhat more mischievous.

But how were these fears increased, when, as they approached nearer to
this light (or lights as they now appeared), they heard a confused
sound of human voices; of singing, laughing, and hallowing, together
with a strange noise that seemed to proceed from some instruments; but
could hardly be allowed the name of music! indeed, to favour a little
the opinion of Partridge, it might very well be called music
bewitched.

It is impossible to conceive a much greater degree of horror than what
now seized on Partridge; the contagion of which had reached the
post-boy, who had been very attentive to many things that the other
had uttered. He now, therefore, joined in petitioning Jones to return;
saying he firmly believed what Partridge had just before said, that
though the horses seemed to go on, they had not moved a step forwards
during at least the last half-hour.

Jones could not help smiling in the midst of his vexation, at the
fears of these poor fellows. "Either we advance," says he, "towards
the lights, or the lights have advanced towards us; for we are now at
a very little distance from them; but how can either of you be afraid
of a set of people who appear only to be merry-making?"

"Merry-making, sir!" cries Partridge; "who could be merry-making at
this time of night, and in such a place, and such weather? They can be
nothing but ghosts or witches, or some evil spirits or other, that's
certain."

"Let them be what they will," cries Jones, "I am resolved to go up to
them, and enquire the way to Coventry. All witches, Partridge, are not
such ill-natured hags as that we had the misfortune to meet with
last."

"O Lord, sir," cries Partridge, "there is no knowing what humour they
will be in; to be sure it is always best to be civil to them; but what
if we should meet with something worse than witches, with evil spirits
themselves?----Pray, sir, be advised; pray, sir, do. If you had read
so many terrible accounts as I have of these matters, you would not be
so fool-hardy.----The Lord knows whither we have got already, or
whither we are going; for sure such darkness was never seen upon
earth, and I question whether it can be darker in the other world."

Jones put forwards as fast as he could, notwithstanding all these
hints and cautions, and poor Partridge was obliged to follow; for
though he hardly dared to advance, he dared still less to stay behind
by himself.

At length they arrived at the place whence the lights and different
noises had issued. This Jones perceived to be no other than a barn,
where a great number of men and women were assembled, and diverting
themselves with much apparent jollity.

Jones no sooner appeared before the great doors of the barn, which
were open, than a masculine and very rough voice from within demanded,
who was there?--To which Jones gently answered, a friend; and
immediately asked the road to Coventry.

"If you are a friend," cries another of the men in the barn, "you had
better alight till the storm is over" (for indeed it was now more
violent than ever;) "you are very welcome to put up your horse; for
there is sufficient room for him at the end of the barn."

"You are very obliging," returned Jones; "and I will accept your offer
for a few minutes, whilst the rain continues; and here are two more
who will be glad of the same favour." This was accorded with more
good-will than it was accepted: for Partridge would rather have
submitted to the utmost inclemency of the weather than have trusted to
the clemency of those whom he took for hobgoblins; and the poor
post-boy was now infected with the same apprehensions; but they were
both obliged to follow the example of Jones; the one because he durst
not leave his horse, and the other because he feared nothing so much
as being left by himself.

Had this history been writ in the days of superstition, I should have
had too much compassion for the reader to have left him so long in
suspense, whether Beelzebub or Satan was about actually to appear in
person, with all his hellish retinue; but as these doctrines are at
present very unfortunate, and have but few, if any believers, I have
not been much aware of conveying any such terrors. To say truth, the
whole furniture of the infernal regions hath long been appropriated by
the managers of playhouses, who seem lately to have laid them by as
rubbish, capable only of affecting the upper gallery; a place in which
few of our readers ever sit.

However, though we do not suspect raising any great terror on this
occasion, we have reason to fear some other apprehensions may here
arise in our reader, into which we would not willingly betray him; I
mean that we are going to take a voyage into fairy-land, and introduce
a set of beings into our history, which scarce any one was ever
childish enough to believe, though many have been foolish enough to
spend their time in writing and reading their adventures.

To prevent, therefore, any such suspicions, so prejudicial to the
credit of an historian, who professes to draw his materials from
nature only, we shall now proceed to acquaint the reader who these
people were, whose sudden appearance had struck such terrors into
Partridge, had more than half frightened the post-boy, and had a
little surprized even Mr Jones himself.

The people then assembled in this barn were no other than a company of
Egyptians, or, as they are vulgarly called, gypsies, and they were now
celebrating the wedding of one of their society.

It is impossible to conceive a happier set of people than appeared
here to be met together. The utmost mirth, indeed, shewed itself in
every countenance; nor was their ball totally void of all order and
decorum. Perhaps it had more than a country assembly is sometimes
conducted with: for these people are subject to a formal government
and laws of their own, and all pay obedience to one great magistrate,
whom they call their king.

Greater plenty, likewise, was nowhere to be seen than what flourished
in this barn. Here was indeed no nicety nor elegance, nor did the keen
appetite of the guests require any. Here was good store of bacon,
fowls, and mutton, to which every one present provided better sauce
himself than the best and dearest French cook can prepare.

Aeneas is not described under more consternation in the temple of
Juno,

_Dum stupet obtutuque haeret defixus in uno_,

than was our heroe at what he saw in this barn. While he was looking
everywhere round him with astonishment, a venerable person approached
him with many friendly salutations, rather of too hearty a kind to be
called courtly. This was no other than the king of the gypsies
himself. He was very little distinguished in dress from his subjects,
nor had he any regalia of majesty to support his dignity; and yet
there seemed (as Mr Jones said) to be somewhat in his air which
denoted authority, and inspired the beholders with an idea of awe and
respect; though all this was perhaps imaginary in Jones; and the truth
may be, that such ideas are incident to power, and almost inseparable
from it.

There was somewhat in the open countenance and courteous behaviour of
Jones which, being accompanied with much comeliness of person, greatly
recommended him at first sight to every beholder. These were, perhaps,
a little heightened in the present instance, by that profound respect
which he paid to the king of the gypsies, the moment he was acquainted
with his dignity, and which was the sweeter to his gypseian majesty,
as he was not used to receive such homage from any but his own
subjects.

The king ordered a table to be spread with the choicest of their
provisions for his accommodation; and, having placed himself at his
right hand, his majesty began to discourse with our heroe in the
following manner:--

"Me doubt not, sir, but you have often seen some of my people, who are
what you call de parties detache: for dey go about everywhere; but me
fancy you imagine not we be so considrable body as we be; and may be
you will be surprize more when you hear de gypsy be as orderly and
well govern people as any upon face of de earth.

"Me have honour, as me say, to be deir king, and no monarch can do
boast of more dutiful subject, ne no more affectionate. How far me
deserve deir good-will, me no say; but dis me can say, dat me never
design anyting but to do dem good. Me sall no do boast of dat neider:
for what can me do oderwise dan consider of de good of dose poor
people who go about all day to give me always de best of what dey get.
Dey love and honour me darefore, because me do love and take care of
dem; dat is all, me know no oder reason.

"About a tousand or two tousand year ago, me cannot tell to a year or
two, as can neider write nor read, dere was a great what you call--a
volution among de gypsy; for dere was de lord gypsy in dose days; and
dese lord did quarrel vid one anoder about de place; but de king of de
gypsy did demolish dem all, and made all his subject equal vid each
oder; and since dat time dey have agree very well; for dey no tink of
being king, and may be it be better for dem as dey be; for me assure
you it be ver troublesome ting to be king, and always to do justice;
me have often wish to be de private gypsy when me have been forced to
punish my dear friend and relation; for dough we never put to death,
our punishments be ver severe. Dey make de gypsy ashamed of demselves,
and dat be ver terrible punishment; me ave scarce ever known de gypsy
so punish do harm any more."

The king then proceeded to express some wonder that there was no such
punishment as shame in other governments. Upon which Jones assured him
to the contrary; for that there were many crimes for which shame was
inflicted by the English laws, and that it was indeed one consequence
of all punishment. "Dat be ver strange," said the king; "for me know
and hears good deal of your people, dough me no live among dem; and me
have often hear dat sham is de consequence and de cause too of many of
your rewards. Are your rewards and punishments den de same ting?"

While his majesty was thus discoursing with Jones, a sudden uproar
arose in the barn, and as it seems upon this occasion:--the courtesy
of these people had by degrees removed all the apprehensions of
Partridge, and he was prevailed upon not only to stuff himself with
their food, but to taste some of their liquors, which by degrees
entirely expelled all fear from his composition, and in its stead
introduced much more agreeable sensations.

A young female gypsy, more remarkable for her wit than her beauty, had
decoyed the honest fellow aside, pretending to tell his fortune. Now,
when they were alone together in a remote part of the barn, whether it
proceeded from the strong liquor, which is never so apt to inflame
inordinate desire as after moderate fatigue; or whether the fair gypsy
herself threw aside the delicacy and decency of her sex, and tempted
the youth Partridge with express solicitations; but they were
discovered in a very improper manner by the husband of the gypsy, who,
from jealousy it seems, had kept a watchful eye over his wife, and had
dogged her to the place, where he found her in the arms of her
gallant.

To the great confusion of Jones, Partridge was now hurried before the
king; who heard the accusation, and likewise the culprit's defence,
which was indeed very trifling; for the poor fellow was confounded by
the plain evidence which appeared against him, and had very little to
say for himself. His majesty, then turning towards Jones, said, "Sir,
you have hear what dey say; what punishment do you tink your man
deserve?"

Jones answered, "He was sorry for what had happened, and that
Partridge should make the husband all the amends in his power: he
said, he had very little money about him at that time;" and, putting
his hand into his pocket, offered the fellow a guinea. To which he
immediately answered, "He hoped his honour would not think of giving
him less than five."

This sum, after some altercation, was reduced to two; and Jones,
having stipulated for the full forgiveness of both Partridge and the
wife, was going to pay the money; when his majesty, restraining his
hand, turned to the witness and asked him, "At what time he had
discovered the criminals?" To which he answered, "That he had been
desired by the husband to watch the motions of his wife from her first
speaking to the stranger, and that he had never lost sight of her
afterwards till the crime had been committed." The king then asked,
"if the husband was with him all that time in his lurking-place?" To
which he answered in the affirmative. His Egyptian majesty then
addressed himself to the husband as follows: "Me be sorry to see any
gypsy dat have no more honour dan to sell de honour of his wife for
money. If you had de love for your wife, you would have prevented dis
matter, and not endeavour to make her de whore dat you might discover
her. Me do order dat you have no money given you, for you deserve
punishment, not reward; me do order derefore, dat you be de infamous
gypsy, and do wear pair of horns upon your forehead for one month, and
dat your wife be called de whore, and pointed at all dat time; for you
be de infamous gypsy, but she be no less de infamous whore."

The gypsies immediately proceeded to execute the sentence, and left
Jones and Partridge alone with his majesty.

Jones greatly applauded the justice of the sentence: upon which the
king, turning to him, said, "Me believe you be surprize: for me
suppose you have ver bad opinion of my people; me suppose you tink us
all de tieves."

"I must confess, sir," said Jones, "I have not heard so favourable an
account of them as they seem to deserve."

"Me vil tell you," said the king, "how the difference is between you
and us. My people rob your people, and your people rob one anoder."

Jones afterwards proceeded very gravely to sing forth the happiness of
those subjects who live under such a magistrate.

Indeed their happiness appears to have been so compleat, that we are
aware lest some advocate for arbitrary power should hereafter quote
the case of those people, as an instance of the great advantages which
attend that government above all others.

And here we will make a concession, which would not perhaps have been
expected from us, that no limited form of government is capable of
rising to the same degree of perfection, or of producing the same
benefits to society, with this. Mankind have never been so happy, as
when the greatest part of the then known world was under the dominion
of a single master; and this state of their felicity continued during
the reigns of five successive princes.[*] This was the true aera of
the golden age, and the only golden age which ever had any existence,
unless in the warm imaginations of the poets, from the expulsion from
Eden down to this day.

[*] Nerva, Trajan, Adrian, and the two Antonini.

In reality, I know but of one solid objection to absolute monarchy.
The only defect in which excellent constitution seems to be, the
difficulty of finding any man adequate to the office of an absolute
monarch: for this indispensably requires three qualities very
difficult, as it appears from history, to be found in princely
natures: first, a sufficient quantity of moderation in the prince, to
be contented with all the power which is possible for him to have.
2ndly, Enough of wisdom to know his own happiness. And, 3rdly,
Goodness sufficient to support the happiness of others, when not only
compatible with, but instrumental to his own.

Now if an absolute monarch, with all these great and rare
qualifications, should be allowed capable of conferring the greatest
good on society; it must be surely granted, on the contrary, that
absolute power, vested in the hands of one who is deficient in them
all, is likely to be attended with no less a degree of evil.

In short, our own religion furnishes us with adequate ideas of the
blessing, as well as curse, which may attend absolute power. The
pictures of heaven and of hell will place a very lively image of both
before our eyes; for though the prince of the latter can have no power
but what he originally derives from the omnipotent Sovereign in the
former, yet it plainly appears from Scripture that absolute power in
his infernal dominions is granted to their diabolical ruler. This is
indeed the only absolute power which can by Scripture be derived from
heaven. If, therefore, the several tyrannies upon earth can prove any
title to a Divine authority, it must be derived from this original
grant to the prince of darkness; and these subordinate deputations
must consequently come immediately from him whose stamp they so
expressly bear.

To conclude, as the examples of all ages shew us that mankind in
general desire power only to do harm, and, when they obtain it, use it
for no other purpose; it is not consonant with even the least degree
of prudence to hazard an alteration, where our hopes are poorly kept
in countenance by only two or three exceptions out of a thousand
instances to alarm our fears. In this case it will be much wiser to
submit to a few inconveniencies arising from the dispassionate
deafness of laws, than to remedy them by applying to the passionate
open ears of a tyrant.

Nor can the example of the gypsies, though possibly they may have long
been happy under this form of government, be here urged; since we must
remember the very material respect in which they differ from all other
people, and to which perhaps this their happiness is entirely owing,
namely, that they have no false honours among them, and that they look
on shame as the most grievous punishment in the world.



Chapter xiii.

A dialogue between Jones and Partridge.


The honest lovers of liberty will, we doubt not, pardon that long
digression into which we were led at the close of the last chapter, to
prevent our history from being applied to the use of the most
pernicious doctrine which priestcraft had ever the wickedness or the
impudence to preach.

We will now proceed with Mr Jones, who, when the storm was over, took
leave of his Egyptian majesty, after many thanks for his courteous
behaviour and kind entertainment, and set out for Coventry; to which
place (for it was still dark) a gypsy was ordered to conduct him.

Jones having, by reason of his deviation, travelled eleven miles
instead of six, and most of those through very execrable roads, where
no expedition could have been made in quest of a midwife, did not
arrive at Coventry till near twelve. Nor could he possibly get again
into the saddle till past two; for post-horses were now not easy to
get; nor were the hostler or post-boy in half so great a hurry as
himself, but chose rather to imitate the tranquil disposition of
Partridge; who, being denied the nourishment of sleep, took all
opportunities to supply its place with every other kind of
nourishment, and was never better pleased than when he arrived at an
inn, nor ever more dissatisfied than when he was again forced to leave
it.

Jones now travelled post; we will follow him, therefore, according to
our custom, and to the rules of Longinus, in the same manner. From
Coventry he arrived at Daventry, from Daventry at Stratford, and from
Stratford at Dunstable, whither he came the next day a little after
noon, and within a few hours after Sophia had left it; and though he
was obliged to stay here longer than he wished, while a smith, with
great deliberation, shoed the post-horse he was to ride, he doubted
not but to overtake his Sophia before she should set out from St
Albans; at which place he concluded, and very reasonably, that his
lordship would stop and dine.

And had he been right in this conjecture, he most probably would have
overtaken his angel at the aforesaid place; but unluckily my lord had
appointed a dinner to be prepared for him at his own house in London,
and, in order to enable him to reach that place in proper time, he had
ordered a relay of horses to meet him at St Albans. When Jones
therefore arrived there, he was informed that the coach-and-six had
set out two hours before.

If fresh post-horses had been now ready, as they were not, it seemed