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Sophia, seeing her bird gone, screamed out so loud, that Tom Jones, who was at a little distance, immediately ran to her assistance.

He was no sooner informed of what had happened, than he cursed Blifil for a pitiful malicious rascal; and then immediately stripping off his coat he applied himself to climbing the tree to which the bird escaped.

Tom had almost recovered his little namesake, when the branch on which it was perched, and that hung over a canal, broke, and the poor lad plumped over head and ears into the water.

Sophia's concern now changed its object. And as she apprehended the boy's life was in danger, she screamed ten times louder than before; and indeed Master Blifil himself now seconded her with all the vociferation in his power.

The company, who were sitting in a room next the garden, were instantly alarmed, and came all forth; but just as they reached the canal, Tom (for the water was luckily pretty shallow in that part) arrived safely on shore.

Thwackum fell violently on poor Tom, who stood dropping and shivering before him, when Mr. Allworthy desired him to have patience; and turning to Master Blifil, said, “Pray, child, what is the reason of all this disturbance ?"

Master Blifil answered, "Indeed, uncle, I am very sorry for what I have done; I have been unhappily the occasion of it all. I had Miss Sophia's bird in my hand, and thinking the poor creature languished for liberty, I own I could not forbear giving it what it desired; for I always thought there was something very cruel in confining anything. It seemed to be against the law of nature, by which everything hath a right to liberty; nay, it is even unchristian, for it is not doing what we would be done by: but if I had imagined Miss Sophia would have been so much concerned at it, I am sure I never would have done it; nay, if I had known what would have happened to the bird itself: for when Master Jones, who climbed up that tree after it, fell into the water, the bird took a second flight, and presently a nasty hawk carried it away."

Tom Jones having at the end of the Sixth Book been cast off by Mr. Allworthy, and obliged with Christian advice by young Mr. Blifil, in the course of the Seventh Book joined as volunteer a company of soldiers who were marching against the rebels of 1745. An unmannerly ensign, Northerton, who regarded Tom Jones as a prig for maintaining the cause of religion, insulted him, and threw a bottle at his head, by which his head was cut open. As he lay bleeding, Northerton was arrested. Presently a doctor was called in.

"In

"But do you think him in danger ?" says the other. danger! ay, surely," cries the doctor: "who is there among us who, in the most perfect health, can be said not to be in danger? Can a man, therefore, with so bad a wound as this be said to be out of danger? All I can say at present is, that it is well I was called as I was, and perhaps it would have been better if I had been called sooner. I will see him again early in the morning; and in the mean time let him be kept extremely quiet, and drink liberally of water-gruel." "Won't you allow him sack-whey?" said the landlady. "Ay, ay, sack-whey," cries the doctor, "if you will, provided it be very small." "And a little chicken broth too?" added she. "Yes, yes, chicken broth," said the doctor, "is very good." "Mayn't I make him some jellies too?" said the landlady. "Ay, ay," answered the doctor; "jellies are very good for wounds, for they promote cohesion." And, indeed, it was

lucky she had not named soup or high sauces, for the doctor would have complied, rather than have lost the custom of the house.

The worthy lieutenant of the company, kindly visiting Tom Jones, gave him his ideas upon honour, and met Jones's difficulties on the score of Christianity.

"But how terrible must it be," cries Jones, "to any one who is really a Christian, to cherish malice in his breast, in opposition to the command of Him who hath expressly forbid it? How can I bear to do this on a sick-bed? Or how shall I make up my account, with such an article as this in my bosom against me?"

"Why, I believe there is such a command," cries the lieutenant; "but a man of honour can't keep it. And you must be a man of honour, if you will be in the army. I remember I once put the case to our chaplain over a bowl of punch, and he confessed there was much difficulty in it; but he said, he hoped there might be a latitude granted to soldiers in this one instance; and to be sure it is our duty to hope so; for who would bear to live without his honour? No, no, my dear boy, be a good Christian as long as you live; but be a man of honour too, and never put up an affront! not all the books, nor all the parsons in the world, shall ever persuade me to that. I love my religion very well, but I love my honour more. There must be some mistake in the wording of the text, or in the translation, or in understanding it, or somewhere or other. But however that be, a man must run the risk, for he must preserve his honour. So compose yourself to night, and I promise you you shall have an opportunity of doing yourself justice." Here he gave Jones a hearty buss, shook him by the hand, and took his leave.

Tom Jones then having bought a sword of the sergeant, rose from his bed,

And dressed himself entirely, putting on even his coat, which, as its colour was white, showed very visibly the streams of blood which had flowed down it; and now, having grasped his new-purchased sword in his hand, he was going to issue forth, when the thought of what he was about to undertake laid suddenly hold of him, and he began to reflect that in a few minutes he might possibly deprive a human being of life, or might lose his own. "Very well," said he, “and in what cause do I venture my life? Why, in that of my honour. And who is this human being? A rascal who hath injured and insulted me without provocation. But is not revenge forbidden by Heaven? Yes, but it is enjoined by the world. Well, but shall I obey the world in opposition to the express commands of Heaven? Shall I incur the Divine displeasure rather than be called-ha-coward— scoundrel ?-I'll think no more; I am resolved, and must fight him."

The clock had now struck twelve, and every one in the house were in their beds, except the sentinel who stood to guard Northerton, when Jones, softly opening his door, issued forth in pursuit of his enemy, of whose place of confinement he had received a perfect description from the drawer. It is not easy to conceive a much more tremendous figure than he now exhibited. He had on, as we have said, a light-coloured coat, covered with streams of blood. His face, which missed that very blood, as well as twenty ounces more drawn from him by the surgeon, was pallid. Round his head was a quantity of bandage, not unlike a turban. In the right hand he carried a sword, and in the left a candle. So that the bloody Banquo was not worthy to be compared to him.

In fact, I believe a more dreadful apparition was never raised in a churchyard, nor in the imagination of any good people met in a winter evening over a Christmas fire in Somersetshire.

When the sentinel first saw our hero approach, his hair began gently to lift up his grenadier cap; and in the same instant his knees fell to blows with each other. Presently his whole body was seized with worse that an ague fit. He then fired his piece, and fell flat on his face.

Whether fear or courage was the occasion of his firing, or whether he took aim at the object of his terror, I cannot say. If he did, however, he had the good fortune to miss his man. Jones seeing the fellow fall, guessed the cause of his fright, at which he could not forbear smiling, not in the least reflecting on the danger from which he had just escaped. He then passed by the fellow, who still continued in the posture in which he fell, and entered the room where Northerton, as he

Perceiving the bird was flown, at least despairing to find him, and rightly apprehending that the report of the firelock would alarm the whole house, our hero now blew out his candle, and gently stole back again to his chamber, and to his bed; whither he would not have been able to have gotten undiscovered, had any other person been on the same staircase, save only one gentleman who was confined to his bed by the gout; for before he could reach the door to his chamber, the hall where the sentinel had been posted was half full of people, some in their shirts, and others not half dressed, all very earnestly inquiring of each other what was the matter.

The soldier was now found lying in the same place and posture in which we just now left him. Several immediately applied themselves to raise him, and some concluded him dead; but they presently saw their mistake, for he not only struggled with those who laid their hands on him, but fell

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had heard, was confined. Here, in a solitary situation, he found-an empty quart pot standing on the table, on which some beer being spilt, it looked as if the room had lately been inhabited; but at present it was entirely vacant.

Jones then apprehended it might lead to some other apartment; but upon searching all around it, he could perceive no other door than that at which he entered, and where the sentinel had been posted. He then proceeded to call Northerton several times by his name; but no one answered; nor did this serve to any other purpose than to confirm the sentinel in his terrors, who was now convinced that the volunteer was dead of his wounds, and that his ghost was come in search of the murderer: he now lay in all the agonies of horror; and I wish, with all my heart, some of those actors, who are hereafter to represent a man frighted out of his wits, had seen him, that they might be taught to copy nature, instead of performing several antic tricks and gestures, for the entertainment and applause of the galleries.

1 Thomas Rowlandson, born in 1756, was about 35 years old when he illustrated Fielding, with a grotesque and not very refined sense of fun. I quote passages from "Tom Jones" Rowlandson's illustrations of which are characteristic and amusing. As an illustrater of Fielding, Rowlandson, who died in 1827, has been surpassed in our time by George Cruikshank.

roaring like a bull. In reality, he imagined so many spirits or devils were handling him; for his imagination being possessed with the horror of an apparition, converted every object he saw or felt into nothing but ghosts and spectres.

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At length he was overpowered by numbers, and got upon his legs; when candles being brought, and seeing two or three of his comrades present, he came a little to himself; but when they asked him what was the matter, he answered, "I am a dead man, that's all, I am a dead man, I can't recover it, I have seen him." "What hast thou seen, Jack?" Isaid one of the soldiers. Why, I have seen the young volunteer that was killed yesterday." He then imprecated the most heavy curses on himself, if he had not seen the volunteer, all over blood, vomiting fire out of his mouth and nostrils, pass by him into the chamber where ensign Northerton was, and then seizing the ensign by the throat, fly away with him in a clap of thunder.

In the Eighth Book Tom Jones, with his head wounded and bound up, met with a learned barber, who being six feet high, was called Little Benjamin, who showed knowledge of Mr. Allworthy and Squire Western, and proved to be Partridge, once village

schoolmaster, who had suffered much as Tom's reputed father. "Did you never hear, sir, of one Partridge, who had the honour of being reputed your father, and the misfortune of being ruined by that honour?" "I have indeed heard of that Partridge," says Jones, "and have always believed myself to be his son." "Well, sir," answered Benjamin, "I am that Partridge; but I here absolve you from all filial duty, for I do assure you you are no son of mine." Partridge now insisted on becoming Tom Jones's companion and servant.

Sophia Western escaped from home to avoid the pursuit of Mr. Blifil and the passion of her father. After many adventures Jones, who had been looking for her in London, sought her at the house of an Irish peer which he had not succeeded in finding.

Jones now declared that he had very particular business with the young lady, and could not depart without seeing her. Upon which the porter, with no very agreeable voice or aspect, affirmed that there was no young lady in that house, and consequently none could he see; adding, "Sure you are the strangest man I ever met with, for you will not take an answer."

I have often thought that, by the particular description of Cerberus, the porter of hell, in the 6th Eneid, Virgil might possibly intend to satirise the porters of the great men in his time; the picture, at least, resembles those who have the honour to attend at the doors of our great men. The porter

in his lodge answers exactly to Cerberus in his den, and, like him, must be appeased by a sop before access can be gained to his master. Perhaps Jones might have seen him in that light, and have recollected the passage where the Sibyl, in order to procure an entrance for Æneas, presents the keeper

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Early in the morning he again set forth in pursuit of Sophia; and many a weary step he took to no better purpose than before. At last, whether it was that Fortune relented, or whether it was no longer in her power to disappoint him, he came into the very street which was honoured by his lordship's residence; and, being directed to the house, he gave one gentle rap at the door.

The porter, who, from the modesty of the knock, had conceived no high idea of the person approaching, conceived but little better from the appearance of Mr. Jones, who was dressed in a suit of fustian, and had by his side the weapon formerly purchased of the sergeant; of which, though the blade might be composed of well-tempered steel, the handle was composed only of brass, and that none of the brightest. When Jones, therefore, inquired after the young lady who had come to town with his lordship, this fellow answered surlily that there were no ladies there. Jones then desired to see the master of the house; but was informed that his lordship would see nobody that morning. And upon growing more pressing, the porter said he had positive orders to let no person in; "but if you think proper," said he, "to leave your name, I will acquaint his lordship; and if you call another time you shall know when he will see you."

of the Stygian avenue with such a sop. Jones, in like manner, now began to offer a bribe to the human Cerberus, which a footman overhearing, instantly advanced, and declared, if Mr. Jones would give him the sum proposed, he would conduct him to the lady.

Sophia has a relation and a rival in a town lady, Lady Bellaston. Lady Bellaston comes to Tom Jones in his lodging with jealousy and reproaches. Tom Jones protests, and Partridge interrupts his protestations by capering in with a joyous cry, "She's found! she's found!" Sophia's maid, Mrs. Honour, is on the stairs with a letter from Sophia.

There is not a vice or weakness described in Fielding's novel that is shown in other than its true light; not a coarse scene that discloses what we now leave hidden introduced for pleasure in its coarseness. Fielding said, in his dedication of "Tom Jones" to Lord Lyttelton,

I declare, that to recommend goodness and innocence hath been my sincere endeavour in this history. This honest

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THE greatest of German poets, Goethe, recorded as an event in his intellectual life his first contact with Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield." In contrast with the false classicism of a former time, yet vigorous in many minds, here was the true classicism of his own day, grace of poetry in single expression of the kindly wisdom and the humour and the pathos that grow out of a right sense of our common life, and rising above all, a firm expression of those qualities in which the dignity of life really consists. As poets, Goldsmith and Cowper were forerunners of Wordsworth. Each in his own way, with the charm of a genius that is only his, turned from the false conventions of the eighteenth century, shared the growing sense of "what man has made of man," and out of a deep sympathy with the best aims of life, clothed with a simple grace its homeliest and deepest truths. The "Vicar of Wakefield," first published in February, 1766-it went through three editions before the end of August-represents in prose fiction the closing music of the eighteenth century. Laurence Sterne, who ended his life in 1768, represented a French form of the growing tendency to sentiment in his "Sentimental Journey," which was published in the year of his death. His "Tristram Shandy," published in successive volumes between 1759 and 1767, was like the "Sentimental Journey," work of a man of genius without strength of character.

Sterne's wit and humour were his own, but his eccentricities and whimsicalities were reproductions of weak forms of the reaction in his time, and his sentiment was of the school of Rousseau, whose "Nouvelle Heloise" appeared in 1761, and his "Emile" and "Contrat Social" in 1762.1 In Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield" there is the true spirit of the reaction against formalism, with the strength of a real feeling.

The Vicar of Wakefield thus begins his story:

I was ever of opinion that the honest man who married and brought up a large family, did more service than he who continued single and only taiked of population. From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year, before I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable woman; and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could show more. She could read any English book without much spelling; but for pickling, preserving, and cookery none could excel her. She prided

1 A sketch of Sterne's life with pieces of his writing, including his sketch of Yorick from "Tristram Shandy," will be found in the volume of this Library containing "Shorter Works in English Prose," pages 302-308. In the same volume, pages 274-281, Smollett is represented, and a chapter given the Dinner after the Manner of the Ancients-from "Peregrine Pickle."

herself also upon being an excellent contriver in housekeeping, though I could never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances.

However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased as we grew old. There was, in fact, nothing that could make us angry with the world or each other. We had an elegant house, situated in a fine country, and a good neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusement; in visiting our rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fireside, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.

her directions, called Sophia; so that we had two romantic names in the family; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next, and after an interval of twelve years we had two sons more.

Having a fortune of his own, the Vicar made over the profits of his living, which were but thirty-five pounds a year, to the orphans and widows of the clergy of the diocese. His eldest son, George, upon leaving college, fixed his affections upon Miss Arabella Wilmot, daughter of a neighbouring church dignitary. They were about to be married when the Vicar's fortune was lost by the bankruptcy of the merchant in whose hands it was lodged. The Vicar had already worried the father of the bride, who was on the point of marrying his fourth wife, by maintaining against him his favourite doctrine of monoThe loss of fortune was not concealed, and George's match was broken off.

As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation; and I profess, with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them find fault with it. Our cousins, too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered their affinity, without any help from the herald's office, and came very frequently to see us. gamy. Some of them did us no great honour by these claims of kindred; as we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the number. However, my wife always insisted that, as they were the same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at the same table. So that if we had not very rich, we generally had very happy friends about us; for this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer the guest the better pleased he ever is with being treated; and as some men gaze with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing of a butterfly, so I was by nature an admirer of happy human faces. However, when any one of our relations was found to be a person of a very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house, I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes a horse of small value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return them. By this the house was cleared of such as we did not life; but never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the poor dependent out of doors.

Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness; not but that we sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of its favours. My orchard was often robbed by school-boys, and my wife's custards plundered by the cats or the children. The Squire would sometimes fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated courtesy. But we soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in three or four days began to wonder how they vexed us.

My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without softness, so they were at once well-formed and healthy my sons hardy and active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in the midst of the little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could not avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abensberg, who, in Henry the Second's progress through Germany, while other courtiers came with their treasures, brought his thirty-two children, and presented them to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, I considered them as a very valuable present made to my country, and consequently looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son was named George, after his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I intended to call after her aunt Grissel; but my wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading romances, insisted upon her being called Olivia. In less than another year we had another daughter, and now I was determined that Grissel should be her name; but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by

The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortune might be malicious or premature; but a letter from my agent in town soon came with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to myself alone would have been trifling: the only uneasiness I felt was for my family, who were to be humble without an education to render them callous to contempt.

Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of supporting them; and at last a small cure of fifteen pounds a year was offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined to increase my salary by managing a little farm.

Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the wrecks of my fortune; and, all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention, therefore, was now to bring down the pride of my family to their circumstances; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. “You cannot be ignorant, my children,” cried I, “that no prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us, then, without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help; why, then, should not we learn to live without theirs? No, my children, let us from this moment give up all pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune."

As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him to town, where his abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow. 'You are going, my boy," cried I, "to London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your

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