The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Henry Fielding [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

linguo. However, I’ll show you I scorn to be behindhand in civility with you; and as you are not angry for what I have said, so I am not angry for what you have said. Indeed I have always thought it a folly for relations to quarrel; and if they do now and then give a hasty word, why, people should give and take; for my part, I never bear malice; and I take it very kind of you to go up to London; for I never was there but twice in my life, and then I did not stay above a fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can’t be expected to know much of the streets and the folks in that time. I never denied that you know’d all these matters better than I. For me to dispute that would be all as one as for you to dispute the management of a pack of dogs, or the finding a hare sitting, with me.”⁠—“Which I promise you,” says she, “I never will.”⁠—“Well, and I promise you,” returned he, “that I never will dispute the t’other.”

Here then a league was struck (to borrow a phrase from the lady) between the contending parties; and now the parson arriving, and the horses being ready, the squire departed, having promised his sister to follow her advice, and she prepared to follow him the next day.

But having communicated these matters to the parson on the road, they both agreed that the prescribed formalities might very well be dispensed with; and the squire, having changed his mind, proceeded in the manner we have already seen.

VII

In which various misfortunes befell poor Jones.

Affairs were in the aforesaid situation when Mrs. Honour arrived at Mrs. Miller’s, and called Jones out from the company, as we have before seen, with whom, when she found herself alone, she began as follows:⁠—

“O, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are undone, sir, and my poor lady’s undone, and I am undone.”⁠—“Hath anything happened to Sophia?” cries Jones, staring like a madman.⁠—“All that is bad,” cries Honour: “Oh, I shall never get such another lady! Oh that I should ever live to see this day!” At these words Jones turned pale as ashes, trembled, and stammered; but Honour went on⁠—“O! Mr. Jones, I have lost my lady forever.”⁠—“How? what! for Heaven’s sake, tell me. O, my dear Sophia!”⁠—“You may well call her so,” said Honour; “she was the dearest lady to me. I shall never have such another place.”⁠—“D⁠⸺⁠n your place!” cries Jones; “where is⁠—what⁠—what is become of my Sophia?”⁠—“Ay, to be sure,” cries she, “servants may be d⁠⸺⁠n’d. It signifies nothing what becomes of them, though they are turned away, and ruined ever so much. To be sure they are not flesh and blood like other people. No, to be sure, it signifies nothing what becomes of them.”⁠—“If you have any pity, any compassion,” cries Jones, “I beg you will instantly tell me what hath happened to Sophia?”⁠—“To be sure, I have more pity for you than you have for me,” answered Honour; “I don’t d⁠⸺⁠n you because you have lost the sweetest lady in the world. To be sure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied too: for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mistress⁠—” “What hath happened?” cries Jones, in almost a raving fit.⁠—“What?⁠—what?” said Honour: “Why, the worst that could have happened both for you and for me.⁠—Her father is come to town, and hath carried her away from us both.” Here Jones fell on his knees in thanksgiving that it was no worse. “No worse!” repeated Honour; “what could be worse for either of us? He carried her off, swearing she should marry Mr. Blifil; that’s for your comfort; and, for poor me, I am turned out of doors.”⁠—“Indeed, Mrs. Honour,” answered Jones, “you frightened me out of my wits. I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident had happened to Sophia⁠—something, compared to which, even seeing her married to Blifil would be a trifle; but while there is life there are hopes, my dear Honour. Women in this land of liberty, cannot be married by actual brutal force.”⁠—“To be sure, sir,” said she, “that’s true. There may be some hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what hopes are there for poor me? And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I suffer all this upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me is for taking your part, as I have done, against Mr. Blifil.”⁠—“Indeed, Mrs. Honour,” answered he, “I am sensible of my obligations to you, and will leave nothing in my power undone to make you amends.”⁠—“Alas! sir,” said she, “what can make a servant amends for the loss of one place but the getting another altogether as good?”⁠—“Do not despair, Mrs. Honour,” said Jones, “I hope to reinstate you again in the same.”⁠—“Alack-a-day, sir,” said she, “how can I flatter myself with such hopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so set against me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure I now hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good-natured gentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves you as dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it; because as why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, must see it; for, poor dear lady, she can’t dissemble: and if two people who loves one another a’n’t happy, why who should be so? Happiness don’t always depend upon what people has; besides, my lady has enough for both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would be all the pity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay, I am convinced, for my part, you will meet together at last; for, if it is