3. CHAPTER III.
What happened to Sophia during her confinement
The landlady of the house where the squire lodged had begun very
early to entertain a strange opinion of her guests. However, as she
was informed that the squire was a man of vast fortune, and as she had
taken care to exact a very extraordinary price for her rooms, she
did not think proper to give any offence; for, though she was not
without some concern for the confinement of poor Sophia, of whose
great sweetness of temper and affability the maid of the house had
made so favourable a report, which was confirmed by all the squire's
servants, yet she had much more concern for her own interest, than
to provoke one, whom, as she said, she perceived to be a very
hastish kind of a gentleman.
Though Sophia eat but little, yet she was regularly served with
her meals; indeed, I believe, if she had liked any one rarity, that
the squire, however angry, would have spared neither pains nor cost to
have procured it for her; since, however strange it may appear to some
of my readers, he really doated on his daughter, and to give her any
kind of pleasure was the highest satisfaction of his life.
The dinner-hour being arrived, Black George carried her up a pullet,
the squire himself (for he had sworn not to part with the key)
attending the door. As George deposited the dish, some compliments
passed between him and Sophia (for he had not seen her since she
left the country, and she treated every servant with more respect than
some persons shew to those who are in a very slight degree their
inferiors). Sophia would have had him take the pullet back, saying,
she could not eat; but George begged her to try, and particularly
recommended to her the eggs, of which he said it was full.
All this time the squire was waiting at the door; but George was a
great favourite with his master, as his employment was in concerns
of the highest nature, namely, about the game, and was accustomed to
take many liberties. He had officiously carried up the dinner,
being, as he said, very desirous to see his young lady; he made
therefore no scruple of keeping his master standing above ten minutes,
while civilities were passing between him and Sophia, for which he
received only a good-humoured rebuke at the door when he returned.
The eggs of pullets, partridges, pheasants, etc., were, as George
well knew, the most favourite dainties of Sophia. It was therefore
no wonder that he, who was a very good-natured fellow, should take
care to supply her with this kind of delicacy, at a time when all
the servants in the house were afraid she would be starved; for she
had scarce swallowed a single morsel in the last forty hours.
Though vexation hath not the same effect on all persons as it
usually hath on a widow, whose appetite it often renders sharper
than it can be rendered by the air on Bansted Downs, or Salisbury
Plain; yet the sublimest grief, notwithstanding what some people may
say to the contrary, will eat at last. And Sophia, herself, after some
little consideration, began to dissect the fowl, which she found to be
as full of eggs as George had reported it.
But, if she was pleased with these, it contained something which
would have delighted the Royal Society much more; for if a fowl with
three legs be so invaluable a curiosity, when perhaps time hath
produced a thousand such, at what price shall we esteem a bird which
so totally contradicts all the laws of animal oecconomy, as to contain
a letter in its belly? Ovid tells us of a flower into which Hyacinthus
was metamorphosed, that bears letters on its leaves, which Virgil
recommended as a miracle to the Royal Society of his day; but no age
nor nation hath ever recorded a bird with a letter in its maw.
But though a miracle of this kind might have engaged all the
Académies des Sciences in Europe, and perhaps in a fruitless
inquiry; yet the reader, by barely recollecting the last dialogue
which passed between Messieurs Jones and Partridge, will be very
easily satisfied from whence this letter came, and how it found its
passage into the fowl.
Sophia, notwithstanding her long fast, and notwithstanding her
favourite dish was there before her, no sooner saw the letter than she
immediately snatched it up, tore it open, and read as follows:-
"MADAM,
"Was I not sensible to whom I have the honour of writing, I should
endeavour, however difficult, to paint the horrors of my mind at the
account brought me by Mrs. Honour; but as tenderness alone can have
any true idea of the pangs which tenderness is capable of feeling,
so can this most amiable quality, which my Sophia possesses in the
most eminent degree, sufficiently inform her what her Jones must
have suffered on this melancholy occasion. Is there a circumstance
in the world which can heighten my agonies, when I hear of any
misfortune which hath befallen you? Surely there is one only, and with
that I am accursed. It is, my Sophia, the dreadful consideration
that I am myself the wretched cause. Perhaps I here do myself too much
honour, but none will envy me an honour which costs me so extremely
dear. Pardon me this presumption, and pardon me a greater still, if
I ask you, whether my advice, my assistance, my presence, my
absence, my death, or my tortures can bring you any relief? Can the
most perfect admiration, the most watchful observance, the most ardent
love, the most melting tenderness, the most resigned submission to
your will, make you amends for what you are to sacrifice to my
happiness? If they can, fly, my lovely angel, to those arms which
are ever open to receive and protect you; and to which, whether you
bring yourself alone, or the riches of the world with you, is, in my
opinion, an alternative not worth regarding. If, on the contrary,
wisdom shall predominate, and, on the most mature reflection, inform
you, that the sacrifice is too great; and if there be no way left to
reconcile your father, and restore the peace of your dear mind, but by
abandoning me, I conjure you drive me for ever from your thoughts,
exert your resolution, and let no compassion for my sufferings bear
the least weight in that tender bosom. Believe me, madam, I so
sincerely love you better than myself, that my great and principal end
is your happiness. My first wish (why would not fortune indulge me
in it?) was, and pardon me if I say, still is, to see you every moment
the happiest of women; my second wish is, to hear you are so; but no
misery on earth can equal mine, while I think you owe an uneasy moment
to him who is,
Madam,
in every sense, and to every purpose,
your devoted,
"THOMAS JONES"
What Sophia said, or did, or thought, upon this letter, how often
she read it, or whether more than once, shall all be left to our
reader's imagination. The answer to it he may perhaps see hereafter,
but not at present: for this reason, among others, that she did not
now write any, and that for several good causes, one of which was
this, she had no paper, pen, nor ink.
In the evening, while Sophia was meditating on the letter she had
received, or on something else, a violent noise from below disturbed
her meditations. This noise was no other than a round bout at
altercation between two persons. One of the combatants, by his
voice, she immediately distinguished to be her father; but she did not
so soon discover the shriller pipes to belong to the organ of her aunt
Western, who was just arrived in town, where having, by means of one
of her servants, who stopt at the Hercules Pillars, learned where
her brother lodged, she drove directly to his lodgings.
We shall therefore take our leave at present of Sophia, and, with
our usual good-breeding, attend her ladyship.