The Old Testament of the King James Version of the Bible

The First Book of Moses: Called Genesis

1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

1:2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was uponthe face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of thewaters.

1:3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

1:4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the lightfrom the darkness.

1:5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.And the evening and the morning were the first day.

1:6 And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters,and let it divide the waters from the waters.

1:7 And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which wereunder the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament:and it was so.

1:8 And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and themorning were the second day.

1:9 And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered togetherunto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

1:10 And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together ofthe waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.

1:11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yieldingseed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed isin itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

1:12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed afterhis kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, afterhis kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:13 And the evening and the morning were the third day.

1:14 And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavento divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and forseasons, and for days, and years: 1:15 And let them be for lights inthe firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it wasso.

1:16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day,and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.

1:17 And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give lightupon the earth, 1:18 And to rule over the day and over the night, andto divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.

1:19 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

1:20 And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the movingcreature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in theopen firmament of heaven.

1:21 And God created great whales, and every living creature thatmoveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind,and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:22 And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fillthe waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

1:23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

1:24 And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature afterhis kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after hiskind: and it was so.

1:25 And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattleafter their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth afterhis kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness:and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowlof the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and overevery creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

1:27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God createdhe him; male and female created he them.

1:28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, andmultiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominionover the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over everyliving thing that moveth upon the earth.

1:29 And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed,which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the whichis the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

1:30 And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air,and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is

life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.

1:31 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it wasvery good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

The Book of Psalms

Psalm I

Psalms 1:1 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the

way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

Psalms 1:2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and

night.

Psalms 1:3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in

his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

Psalms 1:4 The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

Psalms 1:5 Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation

of the righteous.

Psalms 1:6 For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall

perish

Psalm 23

Psalms 23:1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Psalms 23:2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

Psalms 23:3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Psalms 23:4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for

thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Psalms 23:5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my

head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Psalms 23:6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in

the house of the LORD for ever.

The Gospel of Saint John

John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

John 1:2 The same was in the beginning with God.

John 1:3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.

John 1:4 In him was life; and the life was the light of men.

John 1:5 And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

John 1:6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.

John 1:7 The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might

believe.

John 1:8 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.

John 1:9 That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.

John 1:10 He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.

John 1:11 He came unto his own, and his own received him not.

John 1:12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to

them that believe on his name:

John 1:13 Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of

God.

John 1:14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory

as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

John 1:15 John bare witness of him, and cried, saying, This was he of whom I spake, He that

cometh after me is preferred before me: for he was before me.

John 1:16 And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.

John 1:17 For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.

John 1:18 No man hath seen God at any time, the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the

Father, he hath declared him.

John 1:19 And this is the record of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to

ask him, Who art thou?

John 1:20 And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.

John 1:21 And they asked him, What then? Art thou Elias? And he saith, I am not. Art thou that

prophet? And he answered, No.

John 1:22 Then said they unto him, Who art thou? that we may give an answer to them that sent us.

What sayest thou of thyself?

John 1:23 He said, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the

Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.

John 1:24 And they which were sent were of the Pharisees.

John 1:25 And they asked him, and said unto him, Why baptizest thou then, if thou be not that

Christ, nor Elias, neither that prophet?

John 1:26 John answered them, saying, I baptize with water: but there standeth one among you,

whom ye know not;

John 1:27 He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me, whose shoe's latchet I am not

worthy to unloose.

John 1:28 These things were done in Bethabara beyond Jordan, where John was baptizing.

John 1:29 The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God,

which taketh away the sin of the world.

John 1:30 This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he

was before me.

John 1:31 And I knew him not: but that he should be made manifest to Israel, therefore am I come

baptizing with water.

John 1:32 And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and

it abode upon him.

John 1:33 And I knew him not: but he that sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto me,

Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on him, the same is he which

baptizeth with the Holy Ghost.

John 1:34 And I saw, and bare record that this is the Son of God.

John 1:35 Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples;

John 1:36 And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!

John 1:37 And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.

John 1:38 Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye? They

said unto him, Rabbi, (which is to say, being interpreted, Master,) where dwellest thou?

John 1:39 He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and saw where he dwelt, and abode with

him that day: for it was about the tenth hour.

John 1:40 One of the two which heard John speak, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter's

brother.

John 1:41 He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias,

which is, being interpreted, the Christ.

John 1:42 And he brought him to Jesus. And when Jesus beheld him, he said, Thou art Simon the

son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone.

John 1:43 The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto

him, Follow me.

John 1:44 Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.

John 1:45 Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the

law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.

John 1:46 And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip

saith unto him, Come and see.

John 1:47 Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed, in

whom is no guile!

John 1:48 Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Jesus answered and said unto him,

Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.

John 1:49 Nathanael answered and saith unto him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the

King of Israel.

John 1:50 Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree,

believest thou? thou shalt see greater things than these.

John 1:51 And he saith unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open,

and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.

Daniel Defoe, Moll Flanders

Chapter I

My true name is so well known in the records or registers at Newgate, and in the Old Bailey, and

there are some things of such consequence still depending there, relating to my particular conduct,

that it is not to be expected I should set my name or the account of my family to this work; perhaps,

after my death, it may be better known; at present it would not be proper, no not though a general

pardon should be issued, even without exceptions and reserve of persons or crimes.

It is enough to tell you, that as some of my worst comrades, who are out of the way of doing me

harm (having gone out of the world by the steps and the string, as I often expected to go), knew me

by the name of Moll Flanders, so you may give me leave to speak of myself under that name till I

dare own who I have been, as well as who I am.

I have been told that in one of neighbour nations, whether it be in France or where else I know not,

they have an order from the king, that when any criminal is condemned, either to die, or to the

galleys, or to be transported, if they leave any children, as such are generally unprovided for, by the

poverty or forfeiture of their parents, so they are immediately taken into the care of the

Government, and put into a hospital called the House of Orphans, where they are bred up, clothed,

fed, taught, and when fit to go out, are placed out to trades or to services, so as to be well able to

provide for themselves by an honest, industrious behaviour.

Had this been the custom in our country, I had not been left a poor desolate girl without friends,

without clothes, without help or helper in the world, as was my fate; and by which I was not only

exposed to very great distresses, even before I was capable either of understanding my case or how

to amend it, but brought into a course of life which was not only scandalous in itself, but which in

its ordinary course tended to the swift destruction both of soul and body.

But the case was otherwise here. My mother was convicted of felony for a certain petty theft scarce

worth naming, viz. having an opportunity of borrowing three pieces of fine holland of a certain

draper in Cheapside. The circumstances are too long to repeat, and I have heard them related so

many ways, that I can scarce be certain which is the right account.

However it was, this they all agree in, that my mother pleaded her belly, and being found quick with

child, she was respited for about seven months; in which time having brought me into the world,

and being about again, she was called down, as they term it, to her former judgment, but obtained

the favour of being transported to the plantations, and left me about half a year old; and in bad

hands, you may be sure.

This is too near the first hours of my life for me to relate anything of myself but by hearsay; it is

enough to mention, that as I was born in such an unhappy place, I had no parish to have recourse to

for my nourishment in my infancy; nor can I give the least account how I was kept alive, other than

that, as I have been told, some relation of my mother's took me away for a while as a nurse, but at

whose expense, or by whose direction, I know nothing at all of it.

The first account that I can recollect, or could ever learn of myself, was that I had wandered among

a crew of those people they call gypsies, or Egyptians; but I believe it was but a very little while

that I had been among them, for I had not had my skin discoloured or blackened, as they do very

young to all the children they carry about with them; nor can I tell how I came among them, or how

I got from them.

It was at Colchester, in Essex, that those people left me; and I have a notion in my head that I left

them there (that is, that I hid myself and would not go any farther with them), but I am not able to

be particular in that account; only this I remember, that being taken up by some of the parish

officers of Colchester, I gave an account that I came into the town with the gypsies, but that I would

not go any farther with them, and that so they had left me, but whither they were gone that I knew

not, nor could they expect it of me; for though they send me round the country to inquire after them,

it seems they could not be found.

I was now in a way to be provided for; for though I was not a parish charge upon this or that part of

the town by law, yet as my case came to be known, and that I was too young to do any work, being

not above three years old, compassion moved the magistrates of the town to order some care to be

taken of me, and I became one of their own as much as if I had been born in the place.

In the provision they made for me, it was my good hap to be put to nurse, as they call it, to a woman

who was indeed poor but had been in better circumstances, and who got a little livelihood by taking

such as I was supposed to be, and keeping them with all necessaries, till they were at a certain age,

in which it might be supposed they might go to service or get their own bread.

This woman had also had a little school, which she kept to teach children to read and to work; and

having, as I have said, lived before that in good fashion, she bred up the children she took with a

great deal of art, as well as with a great deal of care.

But that which was worth all the rest, she bred them up very religiously, being herself a very sober,

pious woman, very house-wifely and clean, and very mannerly, and with good behaviour. So that in

a word, expecting a plain diet, coarse lodging, and mean clothes, we were brought up as mannerly

and as genteelly as if we had been at the dancing-school.

I was continued here till I was eight years old, when I was terrified with news that the magistrates

(as I think they called them) had ordered that I should go to service. I was able to do but very little

service wherever I was to go, except it was to run of errands and be a drudge to some cookmaid,

and this they told me of often, which put me into a great fright; for I had a thorough aversion to

going to service, as they called it (that is, to be a servant), though I was so young; and I told my

nurse, as we called her, that I believed I could get my living without going to service, if she pleased

to let me; for she had taught me to work with my needle, and spin worsted, which is the chief trade

of that city, and I told her that if she would keep me, I would work for her, and I would work very

hard.

I talked to her almost every day of working hard; and, in short, I did nothing but work and cry all

day, which grieved the good, kind woman so much, that at last she began to be concerned for me,

for she loved me very well.

One day after this, as she came into the room where all we poor children were at work, she sat down

just over against me, not in her usual place as mistress, but as if she set herself on purpose to

observe me and see me work. I was doing something she had set me to; as I remember, it was

marking some shirts which she had taken to make, and after a while she began to talk to me. 'Thou

foolish child,' says she, 'thou art always crying (for I was crying then); 'prithee, what dost cry for?'

'Because they will take me away,' says I, 'and put me to service, and I can't work housework.' 'Well,

child,' says she, 'but though you can't work housework, as you call it, you will learn it in time, and

they won't put you to hard things at first.' 'Yes, they will,' says I, 'and if I can't do it they will beat

me, and the maids will beat me to make me do great work, and I am but a little girl and I can't do it';

and then I cried again, till I could not speak any more to her.

This moved my good motherly nurse, so that she from that time resolved I should not go to service

yet; so she bid me not cry, and she would speak to Mr. Mayor, and I should not go to service till I

was bigger.

Well, this did not satisfy me, for to think of going to service was such a frightful thing to me, that if

she had assured me I should not have gone till I was twenty years old, it would have been the same

to me; I should have cried, I believe, all the time, with the very apprehension of its being to be so at

last.

When she saw that I was not pacified yet, she began to be angry with me. 'And what would you

have?' says she; 'don't I tell you that you shall not go to service till your are bigger?' 'Ay,' said I, 'but

then I must go at last.' 'Why, what?' said she; 'is the girl mad? What would you be--a gentlewoman?'

'Yes,' says I, and cried heartily till I roared out again.

This set the old gentlewoman a-laughing at me, as you may be sure it would. 'Well, madam,

forsooth,' says she, gibing at me, 'you would be a gentlewoman; and pray how will you come to be a

gentlewoman? What! will you do it by your fingers' end?'

'Yes,' says I again, very innocently.

'Why, what can you earn?' says she; 'what can you get at your work?'

'Threepence,' said I, 'when I spin, and fourpence when I work plain work.'

'Alas! poor gentlewoman,' said she again, laughing, 'what will that do for thee?'

'It will keep me,' says I, 'if you will let me live with you.' And this I said in such a poor petitioning

tone, that it made the poor woman's heart yearn to me, as she told me afterwards.

'But,' says she, 'that will not keep you and buy you clothes too; and who must buy the little

gentlewoman clothes?' says she, and smiled all the while at me.

'I will work harder, then,' says I, 'and you shall have it all.'

'Poor child! it won't keep you,' says she; 'it will hardly keep you in victuals.'

'Then I will have no victuals,' says I, again very innocently; 'let me but live with you.'

'Why, can you live without victuals?' says she.

'Yes,' again says I, very much like a child, you may be sure, and still I cried heartily.

I had no policy in all this; you may easily see it was all nature; but it was joined with so much

innocence and so much passion that, in short, it set the good motherly creature a-weeping too, and

she cried at last as fast as I did, and then took me and led me out of the teaching-room. 'Come,' says

she, 'you shan't go to service; you shall live with me'; and this pacified me for the present.

Some time after this, she going to wait on the Mayor, and talking of such things as belonged to her

business, at last my story came up, and my good nurse told Mr. Mayor the whole tale. He was so

pleased with it, that he would call his lady and his two daughters to hear it, and it made mirth

enough among them, you may be sure.

However, not a week had passed over, but on a sudden comes Mrs. Mayoress and her two daughters

to the house to see my old nurse, and to see her school and the children. When they had looked

about them a little, 'Well, Mrs. ----,' says the Mayoress to my nurse, 'and pray which is the little lass

that intends to be a gentlewoman?' I heard her, and I was terribly frighted at first, though I did not

know why neither; but Mrs. Mayoress comes up to me. 'Well, miss,' says she, 'and what are you at

work upon?' The word miss was a language that had hardly been heard of in our school, and I

wondered what sad name it was she called me. However, I stood up, made a curtsy, and she took

my work out of my hand, looked on it, and said it was very well; then she took up one of the hands.

'Nay,' says she, 'the child may come to be a gentlewoman for aught anybody knows; she has a

gentlewoman's hand,' says she. This pleased me mightily, you may be sure; but Mrs. Mayoress did

not stop there, but giving me my work again, she put her hand in her pocket, gave me a shilling, and

bid me mind my work, and learn to work well, and I might be a gentlewoman for aught she knew.

Now all this while my good old nurse, Mrs. Mayoress, and all the rest of them did not understand

me at all, for they meant one sort of thing by the word gentlewoman, and I meant quite another; for

alas! all I understood by being a gentlewoman was to be able to work for myself, and get enough to

keep me without that terrible bugbear going to service, whereas they meant to live great, rich and

high, and I know not what.

Well, after Mrs. Mayoress was gone, her two daughters came in, and they called for the

gentlewoman too, and they talked a long while to me, and I answered them in my innocent way; but

always, if they asked me whether I resolved to be a gentlewoman, I answered Yes. At last one of

them asked me what a gentlewoman was? That puzzled me much; but, however, I explained myself

negatively, that it was one that did not go to service, to do housework. They were pleased to be

familiar with me, and like my little prattle to them, which, it seems, was agreeable enough to them,

and they gave me money too.

As for my money, I gave it all to my mistress-nurse, as I called her, and told her she should have all

I got for myself when I was a gentlewoman, as well as now. By this and some other of my talk, my

old tutoress began to understand me about what I meant by being a gentlewoman, and that I

understood by it no more than to be able to get my bread by my own work; and at last she asked me

whether it was not so.

I told her, yes, and insisted on it, that to do so was to be a gentlewoman; 'for,' says I, 'there is such a

one,' naming a woman that mended lace and washed the ladies' laced-heads; 'she,' says I, 'is a

gentlewoman, and they call her madam.'

'Poor child,' says my good old nurse, 'you may soon be such a gentlewoman as that, for she is a

person of ill fame, and has had two or three bastards.'

I did not understand anything of that; but I answered, 'I am sure they call her madam, and she does

not go to service nor do housework'; and therefore I insisted that she was a gentlewoman, and I

would be such a gentlewoman as that.

The ladies were told all this again, to be sure, and they made themselves merry with it, and every

now and then the young ladies, Mr. Mayor's daughters, would come and see me, and ask where the

little gentlewoman was, which made me not a little proud of myself.

This held a great while, and I was often visited by these young ladies, and sometimes they brought

others with them; so that I was known by it almost all over the town.

I was now about ten years old, and began to look a little womanish, for I was mighty grave and

humble, very mannerly, and as I had often heard the ladies say I was pretty, and would be a very

handsome woman, so you may be sure that hearing them say so made me not a little proud.

However, that pride had no ill effect upon me yet; only, as they often gave me money, and I gave it

to my old nurse, she, honest woman, was so just to me as to lay it all out again for me, and gave me

head-dresses, and linen, and gloves, and ribbons, and I went very neat, and always clean; for that I

would do, and if I had rags on, I would always be clean, or else I would dabble them in water

myself; but, I say, my good nurse, when I had money given me, very honestly laid it out for me, and

would always tell the ladies this or that was bought with their money; and this made them

oftentimes give me more, till at last I was indeed called upon by the magistrates, as I understood it,

to go out to service; but then I was come to be so good a workwoman myself, and the ladies were so

kind to me, that it was plain I could maintain myself--that is to say, I could earn as much for my

nurse as she was able by it to keep me--so she told them that if they would give her leave, she

would keep the gentlewoman, as she called me, to be her assistant and teach the children, which I

was very well able to do; for I was very nimble at my work, and had a good hand with my needle,

though I was yet very young.

But the kindness of the ladies of the town did not end here, for when they came to understand that I

was no more maintained by the public allowance as before, they gave me money oftener than

formerly; and as I grew up they brought me work to do for them, such as linen to make, and laces to

mend, and heads to dress up, and not only paid me for doing them, but even taught me how to do

them; so that now I was a gentlewoman indeed, as I understood that word, I not only found myself

clothes and paid my nurse for my keeping, but got money in my pocket too beforehand.

The ladies also gave me clothes frequently of their own or their children's; some stockings, some

petticoats, some gowns, some one thing, some another, and these my old woman managed for me

like a mere mother, and kept them for me, obliged me to mend them, and turn them and twist them

to the best advantage, for she was a rare housewife.

At last one of the ladies took so much fancy to me that she would have me home to her house, for a

month, she said, to be among her daughters.

Now, though this was exceeding kind in her, yet, as my old good woman said to her, unless she

resolved to keep me for good and all, she would do the little gentlewoman more harm than good.

'Well,' says the lady, 'that's true; and therefore I'll only take her home for a week, then, that I may

see how my daughters and she agree together, and how I like her temper, and then I'll tell you more;

and in the meantime, if anybody comes to see her as they used to do, you may only tell them you

have sent her out to my house.'

This was prudently managed enough, and I went to the lady's house; but I was so pleased there with

the young ladies, and they so pleased with me, that I had enough to do to come away, and they were

as unwilling to part with me.

However, I did come away, and lived almost a year more with my honest old woman, and began

now to be very helpful to her; for I was almost fourteen years old, was tall of my age, and looked a

little womanish; but I had such a taste of genteel living at the lady's house that I was not so easy in

my old quarters as I used to be, and I thought it was fine to be a gentlewoman indeed, for I had quite

other notions of a gentlewoman now than I had before; and as I thought, I say, that it was fine to be

a gentlewoman, so I loved to be among gentlewomen, and therefore I longed to be there again.

About the time that I was fourteen years and a quarter old, my good nurse, mother I rather to call

her, fell sick and died. I was then in a sad condition indeed, for as there is no great bustle in putting

an end to a poor body's family when once they are carried to the grave, so the poor good woman

being buried, the parish children she kept were immediately removed by the church-wardens; the

school was at an end, and the children of it had no more to do but just stay at home till they were

sent somewhere else; and as for what she left, her daughter, a married woman with six or seven

children, came and swept it all away at once, and removing the goods, they had no more to say to

me than to jest with me, and tell me that the little gentlewoman might set up for herself if she

pleased.

I was frighted out of my wits almost, and knew not what to do, for I was, as it were, turned out of

doors to the wide world, and that which was still worse, the old honest woman had two-and-twenty

shillings of mine in her hand, which was all the estate the little gentlewoman had in the world; and

when I asked the daughter for it, she huffed me and laughed at me, and told me she had nothing to

do with it.

It was true the good, poor woman had told her daughter of it, and that it lay in such a place, that it

was the child's money, and had called once or twice for me to give it me, but I was, unhappily, out

of the way somewhere or other, and when I came back she was past being in a condition to speak of

it. However, the daughter was so honest afterwards as to give it me, though at first she used me

cruelly about it.

Now was I a poor gentlewoman indeed, and I was just that very night to be turned into the wide

world; for the daughter removed all the goods, and I had not so much as a lodging to go to, or a bit

of bread to eat. But it seems some of the neighbours, who had known my circumstances, took so

much compassion of me as to acquaint the lady in whose family I had been a week, as I mentioned

above; and immediately she sent her maid to fetch me away, and two of her daughters came with

the maid though unsent. So I went with them, bag and baggage, and with a glad heart, you may be

sure. The fright of my condition had made such an impression upon me, that I did not want now to

be a gentlewoman, but was very willing to be a servant, and that any kind of servant they thought fit

to have me be.

But my new generous mistress, for she exceeded the good woman I was with before, in everything,

as well as in the matter of estate; I say, in everything except honesty; and for that, though this was a

lady most exactly just, yet I must not forget to say on all occasions, that the first, though poor, was

as uprightly honest as it was possible for any one to be.

I was no sooner carried away, as I have said, by this good gentlewoman, but the first lady, that is to

say, the Mayoress that was, sent her two daughters to take care of me; and another family which had

taken notice of me when I was the little gentlewoman, and had given me work to do, sent for me

after her, so that I was mightily made of, as we say; nay, and they were not a little angry, especially

madam the Mayoress, that her friend had taken me away from her, as she called it; for, as she said, I

was hers by right, she having been the first that took any notice of me. But they that had me would

not part with me; and as for me, though I should have been very well treated with any of the others,

yet I could not be better than where I was.

Here I continued till I was between seventeen and eighteen years old, and here I had all the

advantages for my education that could be imagined; the lady had masters home to the house to

teach her daughters to dance, and to speak French, and to write, and other to teach them music; and

I was always with them, I learned as fast as they; and though the masters were not appointed to

teach me, yet I learned by imitation and inquiry all that they learned by instruction and direction; so

that, in short, I learned to dance and speak French as well as any of them, and to sing much better,

for I had a better voice than any of them. I could not so readily come at playing on the harpsichord

or spinet, because I had no instrument of my own to practice on, and could only come at theirs in

the intervals when they left it, which was uncertain; but yet I learned tolerably well too, and the

young ladies at length got two instruments, that is to say, a harpsichord and a spinet too, and then

they taught me themselves. But as to dancing, they could hardly help my learning country-dances,

because they always wanted me to make up even number; and, on the other hand, they were as

heartily willing to learn me everything that they had been taught themselves, as I could be to take

the learning.

By this means I had, as I have said above, all the advantages of education that I could have had if I

had been as much a gentlewoman as they were with whom I lived; and in some things I had the

advantage of my ladies, though they were my superiors; but they were all the gifts of nature, and

which all their fortunes could not furnish. First, I was apparently handsomer than any of them;

secondly, I was better shaped; and, thirdly, I sang better, by which I mean I had a better voice; in all

which you will, I hope, allow me to say, I do not speak my own conceit of myself, but the opinion

of all that knew the family.

Henry Fielding, Tom Jones

BOOK I.

CONTAINING AS MUCH OF THE BIRTH OF THE FOUNDLING AS IS NECESSARY OR PROPER TO ACQUAINT THE READER WITH IN THE BEGINNING OF THIS HISTORY.

Chapter I.

The introduction to the work, or bill of fare to the feast.

An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman who gives a private or eleemosynary treat, but rather as one who keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are welcome for their money. In the former case, it is well known that the entertainer provides what fare he pleases; and though this should be very indifferent, and utterly disagreeable to the taste of his company, they must not find any fault; nay, on the contrary, good breeding forces them outwardly to approve and to commend whatever is set before them. Now the contrary of this happens to the master of an ordinary. Men who pay for what they eat will insist on gratifying their palates, however nice and whimsical these may prove; and if everything is not agreeable to their taste, will challenge a right to censure, to abuse, and to d—n their dinner without controul.

To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their customers by any such disappointment, it hath been usual with the honest and well-meaning host to provide a bill of fare which all persons may peruse at their first entrance into the house; and having thence acquainted themselves with the entertainment which they may expect, may either stay and regale with what is provided for them, or may depart to some other ordinary better accommodated to their taste.

As we do not disdain to borrow wit or wisdom from any man who is capable of lending us either, we have condescended to take a hint from these honest victuallers, and shall prefix not only a general bill of fare to our whole entertainment, but shall likewise give the reader particular bills to every course which is to be served up in this and the ensuing volumes.

The provision, then, which we have here made is no other than Human Nature. Nor do I fear that my sensible reader, though most luxurious in his taste, will start, cavil, or be offended, because I have named but one article. The tortoise—as the alderman of Bristol, well learned in eating, knows by much experience—besides the delicious calipash and calipee, contains many different kinds of food; nor can the learned reader be ignorant, that in human nature, though here collected under one general name, is such prodigious variety, that a cook will have sooner gone through all the several species of animal and vegetable food in the world, than an author will be able to exhaust so extensive a subject.

An objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more delicate, that this dish is too common and vulgar; for what else is the subject of all the romances, novels, plays, and poems, with which the stalls abound? Many exquisite viands might be rejected by the epicure, if it was a sufficient cause

for his contemning of them as common and vulgar, that something was to be found in the most paltry alleys under the same name. In reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in authors, as the Bayonne ham, or Bologna sausage, is to be found in the shops.

But the whole, to continue the same metaphor, consists in the cookery of the author; for, as Mr Pope tells us—

    "True wit is nature to advantage drest;    What oft was thought, but ne'er so well exprest."

The same animal which hath the honour to have some part of his flesh eaten at the table of a duke, may perhaps be degraded in another part, and some of his limbs gibbeted, as it were, in the vilest stall in town. Where, then, lies the difference between the food of the nobleman and the porter, if both are at dinner on the same ox or calf, but in the seasoning, the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting forth? Hence the one provokes and incites the most languid appetite, and the other turns and palls that which is the sharpest and keenest.

In like manner, the excellence of the mental entertainment consists less in the subject than in the author's skill in well dressing it up. How pleased, therefore, will the reader be to find that we have, in the following work, adhered closely to one of the highest principles of the best cook which the present age, or perhaps that of Heliogabalus, hath produced. This great man, as is well known to all lovers of polite eating, begins at first by setting plain things before his hungry guests, rising afterwards by degrees as their stomachs may be supposed to decrease, to the very quintessence of sauce and spices. In like manner, we shall represent human nature at first to the keen appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple manner in which it is found in the country, and shall hereafter hash and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian seasoning of affectation and vice which courts and cities afford. By these means, we doubt not but our reader may be rendered desirous to read on for ever, as the great person just above-mentioned is supposed to have made some persons eat.

Having premised thus much, we will now detain those who like our bill of fare no longer from their diet, and shall proceed directly to serve up the first course of our history for their entertainment.

Chapter II.

A short description of squire Allworthy, and a fuller account of MissBridget Allworthy, his sister.

In that part of the western division of this kingdom which is commonly called Somersetshire, there lately lived, and perhaps lives still, a gentleman whose name was Allworthy, and who might well be called the favourite of both nature and fortune; for both of these seem to have contended which should bless and enrich him most. In this contention, nature may seem to some to have come off victorious, as she bestowed on him many gifts, while fortune had only one gift in her power; but in pouring forth this, she was so very profuse, that others perhaps may think this single endowment to have been more than equivalent to all the various blessings which he enjoyed from nature. From the former of these, he derived an agreeable person, a sound constitution, a solid understanding, and a benevolent heart; by the latter, he was decreed to the inheritance of one of the largest estates in the county.

This gentleman had in his youth married a very worthy and beautiful woman, of whom he had been extremely fond: by her he had three children, all of whom died in their infancy. He had likewise had the misfortune of burying this beloved wife herself, about five years before the time in which this history chuses to set out. This loss, however great, he bore like a man of sense and constancy, though it must be confest he would often talk a little whimsically on this head; for he sometimes said he looked on himself as still married, and considered his wife as only gone a little before him, a journey which he should most certainly, sooner or later, take after her; and that he had not the least doubt of meeting her again in a place where he should never part with her more—sentiments for which his sense was arraigned by one part of his neighbours, his religion by a second, and his sincerity by a third.

He now lived, for the most part, retired in the country, with one sister, for whom he had a very tender affection. This lady was now somewhat past the age of thirty, an aera at which, in the opinion of the malicious, the title of old maid may with no impropriety be assumed. She was of that species of women whom you commend rather for good qualities than beauty, and who are generally called, by their own sex, very good sort of women—as good a sort of woman, madam, as you would wish to know. Indeed, she was so far from regretting want of beauty, that she never mentioned that perfection, if it can be called one, without contempt; and would often thank God she was not as handsome as Miss Such-a-one, whom perhaps beauty had led into errors which she might have otherwise avoided. Miss Bridget Allworthy (for that was the name of this lady) very rightly conceived the charms of person in a woman to be no better than snares for herself, as well as for others; and yet so discreet was she in her conduct, that her prudence was as much on the guard as if she had all the snares to apprehend which were ever laid for her whole sex. Indeed, I have observed, though it may seem unaccountable to the reader, that this guard of prudence, like the trained bands, is always readiest to go on duty where there is the least danger. It often basely and cowardly deserts those paragons for whom the men are all wishing, sighing, dying, and spreading, every net in their power; and constantly attends at the heels of that higher order of women for whom the other sex have a more distant and awful respect, and whom (from despair, I suppose, of success) they never venture to attack.

Reader, I think proper, before we proceed any farther together, to acquaint thee that I intend to digress, through this whole history, as often as I see occasion, of which I am myself a better judge than any pitiful critic whatever; and here I must desire all those critics to mind their own business, and not to intermeddle with affairs or works which no ways concern them; for till they produce the authority by which they are constituted judges, I shall not plead to their jurisdiction.

Chapter III.

An odd accident which befel Mr Allworthy at his return home. The decent behaviour of Mrs Deborah Wilkins, with some proper animadversions on bastards.

I have told my reader, in the preceding chapter, that Mr Allworthy inherited a large fortune; that he had a good heart, and no family. Hence, doubtless, it will be concluded by many that he lived like an honest man, owed no one a shilling, took nothing but what was his own, kept a good house, entertained his neighbours with a hearty welcome at his table, and was charitable to the poor, i.e. to those who had rather beg than work, by giving them the offals from it; that he died immensely rich and built an hospital.

And true it is that he did many of these things; but had he done nothing more I should have left him to have recorded his own merit on some fair freestone over the door of that hospital. Matters of a much more extraordinary kind are to be the subject of this history, or I should grossly mis-spend my time in writing so voluminous a work; and you, my sagacious friend, might with equal profit and pleasure travel through some pages which certain droll authors have been facetiously pleased to call The History of England.

Mr Allworthy had been absent a full quarter of a year in London, on some very particular business, though I know not what it was; but judge of its importance by its having detained him so long from home, whence he had not been absent a month at a time during the space of many years. He came to his house very late in the evening, and after a short supper with his sister, retired much fatigued to his chamber. Here, having spent some minutes on his knees—a custom which he never broke through on any account—he was preparing to step into bed, when, upon opening the cloathes, to his great surprize he beheld an infant, wrapt up in some coarse linen, in a sweet and profound sleep, between his sheets. He stood some time lost in astonishment at this sight; but, as good nature had always the ascendant in his mind, he soon began to be touched with sentiments of compassion for the little wretch before him. He then rang his bell, and ordered an elderly woman-servant to rise immediately, and come to him; and in the meantime was so eager in contemplating the beauty of innocence, appearing in those lively colours with which infancy and sleep always display it, that his thoughts were too much engaged to reflect that he was in his shirt when the matron came in. She had indeed given her master sufficient time to dress himself; for out of respect to him, and regard to decency, she had spent many minutes in adjusting her hair at the looking-glass, notwithstanding all the hurry in which she had been summoned by the servant, and though her master, for aught she knew, lay expiring in an apoplexy, or in some other fit.

It will not be wondered at that a creature who had so strict a regard to decency in her own person, should be shocked at the least deviation from it in another. She therefore no sooner opened the door, and saw her master standing by the bedside in his shirt, with a candle in his hand, than she started back in a most terrible fright, and might perhaps have swooned away, had he not now recollected his being undrest, and put an end to her terrors by desiring her to stay without the door till he had thrown some cloathes over his back, and was become incapable of shocking the pure eyes of Mrs Deborah Wilkins, who, though in the fifty-second year of her age, vowed she had never beheld a man without his coat. Sneerers and prophane wits may perhaps laugh at her first fright; yet my graver reader, when he considers the time of night, the summons from her bed, and the situation in which she found her master, will highly justify and applaud her conduct, unless the prudence which must be supposed to attend maidens at that period of life at which Mrs Deborah had arrived, should a little lessen his admiration.

When Mrs Deborah returned into the room, and was acquainted by her master with the finding the little infant, her consternation was rather greater than his had been; nor could she refrain from crying out, with great horror of accent as well as look, "My good sir! what's to be done?" Mr Allworthy answered, she must take care of the child that evening, and in the morning he would give orders to provide it a nurse. "Yes, sir," says she; "and I hope your worship will send out your warrant to take up the hussy its mother, for she must be one of the neighbourhood; and I should be glad to see her committed to Bridewell, and whipt at the cart's tail. Indeed, such wicked sluts cannot be too severely punished. I'll warrant 'tis not her first, by her impudence in laying it to your worship." "In laying it to me, Deborah!" answered Allworthy: "I can't think she hath any such design. I suppose she hath only taken this method to provide for her child; and truly I am glad she hath not done worse." "I don't know what is worse," cries Deborah, "than for such wicked strumpets to lay their sins at honest men's doors; and though your worship knows your own innocence, yet the world is censorious; and it hath been many an honest man's hap to pass for the father of children he

never begot; and if your worship should provide for the child, it may make the people the apter to believe; besides, why should your worship provide for what the parish is obliged to maintain? For my own part, if it was an honest man's child, indeed—but for my own part, it goes against me to touch these misbegotten wretches, whom I don't look upon as my fellow-creatures. Faugh! how it stinks! It doth not smell like a Christian. If I might be so bold to give my advice, I would have it put in a basket, and sent out and laid at the churchwarden's door. It is a good night, only a little rainy and windy; and if it was well wrapt up, and put in a warm basket, it is two to one but it lives till it is found in the morning. But if it should not, we have discharged our duty in taking proper care of it; and it is, perhaps, better for such creatures to die in a state of innocence, than to grow up and imitate their mothers; for nothing better can be expected of them."

There were some strokes in this speech which perhaps would have offended Mr Allworthy, had he strictly attended to it; but he had now got one of his fingers into the infant's hand, which, by its gentle pressure, seeming to implore his assistance, had certainly out-pleaded the eloquence of Mrs Deborah, had it been ten times greater than it was. He now gave Mrs Deborah positive orders to take the child to her own bed, and to call up a maid-servant to provide it pap, and other things, against it waked. He likewise ordered that proper cloathes should be procured for it early in the morning, and that it should be brought to himself as soon as he was stirring.

Such was the discernment of Mrs Wilkins, and such the respect she bore her master, under whom she enjoyed a most excellent place, that her scruples gave way to his peremptory commands; and she took the child under her arms, without any apparent disgust at the illegality of its birth; and declaring it was a sweet little infant, walked off with it to her own chamber.

Allworthy here betook himself to those pleasing slumbers which a heart that hungers after goodness is apt to enjoy when thoroughly satisfied. As these are possibly sweeter than what are occasioned by any other hearty meal, I should take more pains to display them to the reader, if I knew any air to recommend him to for the procuring such an appetite.

Chapter IV.

The reader's neck brought into danger by a description; his escape; and the great condescension of Miss Bridget Allworthy.

The Gothic stile of building could produce nothing nobler than Mr Allworthy's house. There was an air of grandeur in it that struck you with awe, and rivalled the beauties of the best Grecian architecture; and it was as commodious within as venerable without.

It stood on the south-east side of a hill, but nearer the bottom than the top of it, so as to be sheltered from the north-east by a grove of old oaks which rose above it in a gradual ascent of near half a mile, and yet high enough to enjoy a most charming prospect of the valley beneath.

In the midst of the grove was a fine lawn, sloping down towards the house, near the summit of which rose a plentiful spring, gushing out of a rock covered with firs, and forming a constant cascade of about thirty feet, not carried down a regular flight of steps, but tumbling in a natural fall over the broken and mossy stones till it came to the bottom of the rock, then running off in a pebly channel, that with many lesser falls winded along, till it fell into a lake at the foot of the hill, about a quarter of a mile below the house on the south side, and which was seen from every room in the front. Out of this lake, which filled the center of a beautiful plain, embellished with groups of

beeches and elms, and fed with sheep, issued a river, that for several miles was seen to meander through an amazing variety of meadows and woods till it emptied itself into the sea, with a large arm of which, and an island beyond it, the prospect was closed.

On the right of this valley opened another of less extent, adorned with several villages, and terminated by one of the towers of an old ruined abby, grown over with ivy, and part of the front, which remained still entire.

The left-hand scene presented the view of a very fine park, composed of very unequal ground, and agreeably varied with all the diversity that hills, lawns, wood, and water, laid out with admirable taste, but owing less to art than to nature, could give. Beyond this, the country gradually rose into a ridge of wild mountains, the tops of which were above the clouds.

It was now the middle of May, and the morning was remarkably serene, when Mr Allworthy walked forth on the terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely prospect we have before described to his eye; and now having sent forth streams of light, which ascended the blue firmament before him, as harbingers preceding his pomp, in the full blaze of his majesty rose the sun, than which one object alone in this lower creation could be more glorious, and that Mr Allworthy himself presented—a human being replete with benevolence, meditating in what manner he might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by doing most good to his creatures.

Reader, take care. I have unadvisedly led thee to the top of as high a hill as Mr Allworthy's, and how to get thee down without breaking thy neck, I do not well know. However, let us e'en venture to slide down together; for Miss Bridget rings her bell, and Mr Allworthy is summoned to breakfast, where I must attend, and, if you please, shall be glad of your company.

The usual compliments having past between Mr Allworthy and Miss Bridget, and the tea being poured out, he summoned Mrs Wilkins, and told his sister he had a present for her, for which she thanked him—imagining, I suppose, it had been a gown, or some ornament for her person. Indeed, he very often made her such presents; and she, in complacence to him, spent much time in adorning herself. I say in complacence to him, because she always exprest the greatest contempt for dress, and for those ladies who made it their study.

But if such was her expectation, how was she disappointed when Mrs Wilkins, according to the order she had received from her master, produced the little infant? Great surprizes, as hath been observed, are apt to be silent; and so was Miss Bridget, till her brother began, and told her the whole story, which, as the reader knows it already, we shall not repeat.

Miss Bridget had always exprest so great a regard for what the ladies are pleased to call virtue, and had herself maintained such a severity of character, that it was expected, especially by Wilkins, that she would have vented much bitterness on this occasion, and would have voted for sending the child, as a kind of noxious animal, immediately out of the house; but, on the contrary, she rather took the good-natured side of the question, intimated some compassion for the helpless little creature, and commended her brother's charity in what he had done.

Perhaps the reader may account for this behaviour from her condescension to Mr Allworthy, when we have informed him that the good man had ended his narrative with owning a resolution to take care of the child, and to breed him up as his own; for, to acknowledge the truth, she was always ready to oblige her brother, and very seldom, if ever, contradicted his sentiments. She would, indeed, sometimes make a few observations, as that men were headstrong, and must have their own

way, and would wish she had been blest with an independent fortune; but these were always vented in a low voice, and at the most amounted only to what is called muttering.

However, what she withheld from the infant, she bestowed with the utmost profuseness on the poor unknown mother, whom she called an impudent slut, a wanton hussy, an audacious harlot, a wicked jade, a vile strumpet, with every other appellation with which the tongue of virtue never fails to lash those who bring a disgrace on the sex.

A consultation was now entered into how to proceed in order to discover the mother. A scrutiny was first made into the characters of the female servants of the house, who were all acquitted by Mrs Wilkins, and with apparent merit; for she had collected them herself, and perhaps it would be difficult to find such another set of scarecrows.

The next step was to examine among the inhabitants of the parish; and this was referred to Mrs Wilkins, who was to enquire with all imaginable diligence, and to make her report in the afternoon.

Matters being thus settled, Mr Allworthy withdrew to his study, as was his custom, and left the child to his sister, who, at his desire, had undertaken the care of it.

Tobias Smollett, Humphry Clinker

To Dr LEWIS.

DOCTOR,

The pills are good for nothing—I might as well swallow snowballs to cool my reins—I have told

you over and over how hard I am to move; and at this time of day, I ought to know something of my

own constitution. Why will you be so positive? Prithee send me another prescription—I am as lame

and as much tortured in all my limbs as if I was broke upon the wheel: indeed, I am equally

distressed in mind and body—As if I had not plagues enough of my own, those children of my

sister are left me for a perpetual source of vexation—what business have people to get children to

plague their neighbours? A ridiculous incident that happened yesterday to my niece Liddy, has

disordered me in such a manner, that I expect to be laid up with another fit of the gout—perhaps, I

may explain myself in my next. I shall set out tomorrow morning for the Hot Well at Bristol, where

I am afraid I shall stay longer than I could wish. On the receipt of this send Williams thither with

my saddle-horse and the demi pique. Tell Barns to thresh out the two old ricks, and send the corn to

market, and sell it off to the poor at a shilling a bushel under market price.—I have received a

snivelling letter from Griffin, offering to make a public submission and pay costs. I want none of

his submissions, neither will I pocket any of his money. The fellow is a bad neighbour, and I desire,

to have nothing to do with him: but as he is purse-proud, he shall pay for his insolence: let him give

five pounds to the poor of the parish, and I will withdraw my action; and in the mean time you may

tell Prig to stop proceedings.—Let Morgan's widow have the Alderney cow, and forty shillings to

clothe her children: but don't say a syllable of the matter to any living soul—I'll make her pay when

she is able. I desire you will lock up all my drawers, and keep the keys till meeting; and be sure you

take the iron chest with my papers into your own custody—Forgive all, this trouble from,

Dear Lewis,

Your affectionate

M. BRAMBLE

GLOUCESTER, April 2.

To Mrs GWYLLIM, house-keeper at Brambleton-hall.

MRS GWILLIM,

When this cums to hand, be sure to pack up in the trunk male that stands in my closet; to be sent me

in the Bristol waggon without loss of time, the following articles, viz. my rose collard neglejay with

green robins, my yellow damask, and my black velvets with the short hoop; my bloo quilted

petticot, my green mantel, my laced apron, my French commode, Macklin head and lappets and the

litel box with my jowls. Williams may bring over my bum-daffee, and the viol with the easings of

Dr Hill's dockwater and Chowder's lacksitif. The poor creature has been terribly stuprated ever

since we left huom. Pray take particular care of the house while the family is absent. Let there be a

fire constantly kept in my brother's chamber and mine. The maids, having nothing to do, may be sat

a spinning. I desire you'll clap a pad-luck on the wind-seller, and let none of the men have excess to

the strong bear—don't forget to have the gate shit every evening be dark—The gardnir and the hind

may lie below in the landry, to partake the house, with the blunderbuss and the great dog; and hope

you'll have a watchful eye over the maids. I know that hussy Mary Jones, loves to be rumping with

the men. Let me know Alderney's calf be sould yet, and what he fought—if the ould goose be

sitting; and if the cobler has cut Dicky, and how pore anemil bore the operation. No more at present,

but rests,

Yours, TABITHA BRAMBLE

GLOSTAR, April 2.

TO Mrs MARY JONES, at Brambleton-hall.

DEAR MOLLY,

Heaving this importunity, I send, my love to you and Saul, being in good health, and hoping to hear

the same from you; and that you and Saul will take my poor kitten to bed with you this cold

weather. We have been all in, a sad taking here at Glostar—Miss Liddy had like to have run away

with a player-man, and young master and he would adone themselves a mischief; but the squire

applied to the mare, and they were, bound over.—Mistress bid me not speak a word of the matter to

any Christian soul—no more I shall; for, we servints should see all and say nothing— But what was

worse than all this, Chowder has had the misfortune to be worried by a butcher's dog, and came

home in a terrible pickle—Mistress was taken with the asterisks, but they soon went off. The doctor

was sent for to Chowder, and he subscribed a repository which did him great service—thank God

he's now in a fair way to do well—pray take care of my box and the pillyber and put them under

your own bed; for, I do suppose madam, Gwyllim will be a prying into my secrets, now my back is

turned. John Thomas is in good health, but sulky. The squire gave away an ould coat to a poor man;

and John says as, how 'tis robbing him of his perquisites.—I told him, by his agreement he was to

receive no vails; but he says as how there's a difference betwixt vails and perquisites; and so there is

for sartain. We are all going to the Hot Well, where I shall drink your health in a glass of water,

being,

Dear Molly,

Your humble servant to command,

W. JENKINS

GLOSTAR, April 2nd.

To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.

DEAR PHILLIPS,

As I have nothing more at heart than to convince you I am incapable of forgetting, or neglecting the

friendship I made at college, now begin that correspondence by letters, which you and I agreed, at

parting, to cultivate. I begin it sooner than I intended, that you may have it in your power to refute

any idle reports which may be circulated to my prejudice at Oxford, touching a foolish quarrel, in

which I have been involved on account of my sister, who had been some time settled here in a

boarding-school. When I came hither with my uncle and aunt (who are our guardians) to fetch her

away, I found her a fine tall girl, of seventeen, with an agreeable person; but remarkably simple,

and quite ignorant of the world. This disposition, and want of experience, had exposed her to the

addresses of a person—I know not what to call him, who had seen her at a play; and, with a

confidence and dexterity peculiar to himself, found means to be recommended to her acquaintance.

It was by the greatest accident I intercepted one of his letters; as it was my duty to stifle this

correspondence in its birth, I made it my business to find him out, and tell him very freely my

sentiments of the matter. The spark did not like the stile I used, and behaved with abundance of

mettle. Though his rank in life (which, by the bye, I am ashamed to declare) did not entitle him to

much deference; yet as his behaviour was remarkably spirited, I admitted him to the privilege of a

gentleman, and something might have happened, had not we been prevented.—In short, the

business took air, I know not how, and made abundance of noise—recourse was had to justice—I

was obliged to give my word and honour, &c. and to-morrow morning we set out for Bristol Wells,

where I expect to hear from you by the return of the post.—I have got into a family of originals,

whom I may one day attempt to describe for your amusement. My aunt, Mrs Tabitha Bramble, is a

maiden of forty-five, exceedingly starched, vain, and ridiculous.—My uncle is an odd kind of

humorist, always on the fret, and so unpleasant in his manner, that rather than be obliged to keep

him company, I'd resign all claim to the inheritance of his estate. Indeed his being tortured by the

gout may have soured his temper, and, perhaps, I may like him better on further acquaintance;

certain it is, all his servants and neighbours in the country are fond of him, even to a degree of

enthusiasm, the reason of which I cannot as yet comprehend. Remember me to Griffy Price, Gwyn,

Mansel, Basset, and all the rest of my old Cambrian companions.—Salute the bedmaker in my

name—give my service to the cook, and pray take care of poor Ponto, for the sake of his old master,

who is, and ever will be,

Dear Phillips,

Your affectionate friend, and humble servant,

JER. MELFORD

GLOUCESTER, April 2.

To Mrs JERMYN at her house in Gloucester.

DEAR MADAM,

Having no mother of my own, I hope you will give me leave to disburden my poor heart to you,

who have always acted the part of a kind parent to me, ever since I was put under your care. Indeed,

and indeed, my worthy governess may believe me, when I assure her, that I never harboured a

thought that was otherwise than virtuous; and, if God will give me grace, I shall never behave so as

to cast a reflection on the care you have taken in my education. I confess I have given just cause of

offence by my want of prudence and experience. I ought not to have listened to what the young man

said; and it was my duty to have told you all that passed, but I was ashamed to mention it; and then

he behaved so modest and respectful, and seemed to be so melancholy and timorous, that I could

not find in my heart to do any thing that should make him miserable and desperate. As for

familiarities, I do declare, I never once allowed him the favour of a: salute; and as to the few letters

that passed between us, they are all in my uncle's hands, and I hope they contain nothing contrary to

innocence and honour.—I am still persuaded that he is not what he appears to be: but time will

discover—mean while I will endeavour to forget a connexion, which is so displeasing to my family.

I have cried without ceasing, and have not tasted any thing but tea, since I was hurried away from

you; nor did I once close my eyes for three nights running.—My aunt continues to chide me

severely when we are by ourselves; but I hope to soften her in time, by humility and submission.—

My uncle, who was so dreadfully passionate in the beginning, has been moved by my tears and

distress; and is now all tenderness and compassion; and my brother is reconciled to me on my

promise to break off all correspondence with that unfortunate youth; but, notwithstanding all their

indulgence, I shall have no peace of mind till I know my dear and ever honoured governess has

forgiven her poor, disconsolate, forlorn,

Affectionate humble servant, till death,

LYDIA MELFORD

CLIFTON, April 6.

To Miss LAETITIA WILLIS, at Gloucester.

MY DEAREST LETTY,

I am in such a fright, lest this should not come safe to hand by the conveyance of Jarvis the carrier,

that I beg you will write me, on the receipt of it, directing to me, under cover, to Mrs Winifred

Jenkins, my aunt's maid, who is a good girl, and has been so kind to me in my affliction, that I have

made her my confidant; as for Jarvis, he was very shy of taking charge of my letter and the little

parcel, because his sister Sally had like to have lost her place on my account: indeed I cannot blame

the man for his caution; but I have made it worth his while.—My dear companion and bed-fellow, it

is a grievous addition to my other misfortunes, that I am deprived of your agreeable company and

conversation, at a time when I need so much the comfort of your good humour and good sense; but,

I hope, the friendship we contracted at boarding-school, will last for life—I doubt not but on my

side it will daily increase and improve, as I gain experience, and learn to know the value of a true

friend. O, my dear Letty! what shall I say about poor Mr Wilson? I have promised to break off all

correspondence, and, if possible, to forget him: but, alas! I begin to perceive that will not be in my

power. As it is by no means proper that the picture should remain in my hands, lest it should be the

occasion of more mischief, I have sent it to you by this opportunity, begging you will either keep it

safe till better times, or return it to Mr Wilson himself, who, I suppose, will make it his business to

see you at the usual place. If he should be low-spirited at my sending back his picture, you may tell

him I have no occasion for a picture, while the original continues engraved on my—But no; I would

not have you tell him that neither; because there must be an end of our correspondence—I wish he

may forget me, for the sake of his own peace; and yet if he should, he must be a barbarous—But it

is impossible—poor Wilson cannot be false and inconstant: I beseech him not to write to me, nor

attempt to see me for some time; for, considering the resentment and passionate temper of my

brother Jery, such an attempt might be attended with consequences which would make us all

miserable for life—let us trust to time and the chapter of accidents; or rather to that Providence

which will not fail, sooner or later, to reward those that walk in the paths of honour and virtue. I

would offer my love to the young ladies; but it is not fit that any of them should know you have

received this letter.—If we go to Bath, I shall send you my simple remarks upon that famous center

of polite amusement, and every other place we may chance to visit; and I flatter myself that my dear

Miss Willis will be punctual in answering the letters of her affectionate,

LYDIA MELFORD

CLIFTON, April 6.