4. CHAPTER IV.
A little chapter, in which is contained a little incident
Among other visitants, who paid their compliments to the young
gentleman in his confinement, Mrs. Honour was one. The reader,
perhaps, when he reflects on some expressions which have formerly
dropt from her, may conceive that she herself had a very particular
affection for Mr. Jones; but, in reality, it was no such thing. Tom
was a handsome young fellow; and for that species of men Mrs. Honour
had some regard; but this was perfectly indiscriminate; for having
being crossed in the love which she bore a certain nobleman's footman,
who had basely deserted her after a promise of marriage, she had so
securely kept together the broken remains of her heart, that no man
had ever since been able to possess himself of any single fragment.
She viewed all handsome men with that equal regard and benevolence
which a sober and virtuous mind bears to all the good. She might
indeed be called a lover of men, as Socrates was a lover of mankind,
preferring one to another for corporeal, as he for mental
qualifications; but never carrying this preference so far as to
cause any perturbation in the philosophical serenity of her temper.
The day after Mr. Jones had that conflict with himself which we have
seen in the preceding chapter, Mrs. Honour came into his room, and
finding him alone, began in the following manner:- "La, sir, where do
you think I have been? I warrants you, you would not guess in fifty
years; but if you did guess, to be sure I must not tell you
neither."- "Nay, if it be something which you must not tell me," said
Jones, "I shall have the curiosity to enquire, and I know you will not
be so barbarous to refuse me."- "I don't know," cries she, "why I
should refuse you neither, for that matter; for to be sure you won't
mention it any more. And for that matter, if you knew where I have
been, unless you knew what I have been about, it would not signify
much. Nay, I don't see why it should be kept a secret for my part; for
to be sure she is the best lady in the world." Upon this, Jones
began to beg earnestly to be let into this secret, and faithfully
promised not to divulge it. She then proceeded thus:- "Why, you must
know, sir, my young lady sent me to enquire after Molly Seagrim, and
to see whether the wench wanted anything; to be sure, I did not care
to go, methinks; but servants must do what they are ordered.- How
could you undervalue yourself so, Mr. Jones?- So my lady bid me go and
carry her some linen, and other things. She is too good. If such
forward sluts were sent to Bridewell, it would be better for them. I
told my lady, says I, madam, your la'ship is encouraging idleness."-
"And was my Sophia so good?" says Jones. "My Sophia! I assure you,
marry come up," answered Honour. "And yet if you knew all- indeed, if
I was as Mr. Jones, I should look a little higher than such trumpery
as Molly Seagrim." "What do you mean by these words," replied Jones,
"if I knew all?" "I mean what I mean," says Honour. "Don't you
remember putting your hands in my lady's muff once? I vow I could
almost find in my heart to tell, if I was certain my lady would never
come to the hearing on't." Jones then made several solemn
protestations. And Honour proceeded- "Then to be sure, my lady gave me
that muff; and afterwards, upon hearing what you had done"-- "Then you
told her what I had done?" interrupted Jones. "If I did, sir,"
answered she, "you need not be angry with me. Many's the man would
have given his head to have had my lady told, if they had known,- for,
to be sure, the biggest lord in the land might be proud- but, I
protest, I have a great mind not to tell you." Jones fell to
entreaties, and soon prevailed on her to go on thus. "You must know
then, sir, that my lady had given this muff to me; but about a day or
two after I had told her the story, she quarrels with her new muff,
and to be sure it is the prettiest that ever was seen. Honour, says
she, this is an odious muff; it is too big for me, I can't wear it:
till I can get another, you must let me have my old one again, and you
may have this in the room on't- for she's a good lady, and scorns to
give a thing and take a thing, I promise you that. So to be sure I
fetched it her back again, and, I believe, she hath worn it upon her
arm almost ever since, and I warrants hath given it many a kiss when
nobody hath seen her."
Here the conversation was interrupted by Mr. Western himself, who
came to summon Jones to the harpsichord; whither the poor young fellow
went all pale and trembling. This Western observed, but, on seeing
Mrs. Honour, imputed it to a wrong cause; and having given Jones a
hearty curse between jest and earnest, he bid him beat abroad, and not
poach up the game in his warren.
Sophia looked this evening with more than usual beauty, and we may
believe it was no small addition to her charms, in the eye of Mr.
Jones, that she now happened to have on her right arm this very muff.
She was playing one of her father's favourite tunes, and he was
leaning on her chair, when the muff fell over her fingers, and put her
out. This so disconcerted the squire, that he snatched the muff from
her, and with a hearty curse threw it into the fire. Sophia
instantly started up, and with the utmost eagerness recovered it
from the flames.
Though this incident will probably appear of little consequence to
many of our readers; yet, trifling as it was, it had so violent an
effect on poor Jones, that we thought it our duty to relate it. In
reality, there are many little circumstances too often omitted by
injudicious historians, from which events of the utmost importance
arise. The world may indeed be considered as a vast machine, in
which the great wheels are originally set in motion by those which are
very minute, and almost imperceptible to any but the strongest eyes.
Thus, not all the charms of the incomparable Sophia; not all the
dazzling brightness, and languishing softness of her eyes; the harmony
of her voice, and of her person; not all her wit, good-humour,
greatness of mind, or sweetness of disposition, had been able so
absolutely to conquer and enslave the heart of poor Jones, as this
little incident of the muff. Thus the poet sweetly sings of Troy-
--Captique dolis lachrymisque coacti
Quos neque Tydides, nec Larissaeus Achilles,
Non anni domuere decem, non mille Carinoe.
What Diomede or Thetis' greater son,
A thousand ships, nor ten years' siege had done,
False tears and fawning words the city won.
The citadel of Jones was now taken by surprise. All those
considerations of honour and prudence which our heroe had lately
with so much military wisdom placed as guards over the avenues of
his heart, ran away from their posts, and the god of love marched
in, in triumph.