The adventures of Joseph Andrews, etc. With illustrations by George Cruikshank. (Edited by Thomas Roscoe.)

Preface

. As it is possible the mere English reader may have a different idea of romance from the author of these little volumes ; * and may consequently expect a kind of entertainment not to be found, nor which was even intended, in the following pages ; it may not be improper to premise a few words concerning this kind of writing, which I do not remember to have seen hitherto attempted in our language. The epic, as well as the drama, is divided into tragedy and comedy. Homer, who was the father of this species of poetry, gave a pattern of both these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost ; which, Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy : and, perhaps, that we have no more instances of it among the writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with the other poems of this great original.

And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will not scruple to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose : for though it wants one particular, which the critic enumerates in the constituent parts of an epic poem, namely, metre ; yet, when any kind of writing contains all its other parts, such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and is deficient in metre only; it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it to the epic ; at least, as no critic has thought proper to range it under another head, or to assign it a particular name to itself. Thus, the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray appears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer : indeed, it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it a name common with that species from which it differs only in a single instance, than to confound it with those which it resembles in no other ; such as those voluminous works, commonly called romances ; namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astræa, Cassandra, the grand Cyrus, and innumerable others, which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or entertainment.

Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose ; differing from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy ; its action being more extended and comprehensive : con taining a much larger circle of incidents, and introducing a greater variety of characters. It differs from the serious romance in its fable and action, in this ; that as in the one these are grave and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous : it differs in its characters, by introducing persons of inferior rank, and consequently of inferior manners ; whereas the grave romance sets the highest before us : lastly, in its sentiments and diction, by preserving the ludicrous instead of the sublime. In the diction, I think, burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted ; of which many instances will occur in this * Joseph Andrews was originally published in two volumes, i2rao.

PREFACE.

. IV work, as in the description of the battles, and some other places, not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader ; for whose entertainment those parodies, or burlesoue imitations, are chiefly calculated. But though we have sometimes admitted this in our diction, we have carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters ; for there it is never properly introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque kind, which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two species of writing can differ more widely than the comic and burlesque ; for, as the latter is ever the exhibition of what is monstrous and unnatural, and where our delight, if we examine it, arises from the surprising absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of the highest to the lowest, or e converso; so in the former we should ever confine ourselves strictly to nature, from the just imitation of which will flow all the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible reader.

And, perhaps, there is one reason why a comic writer should, of all others, be the least excused from deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable ; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate observer with the ridiculous. I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because I have often heard that name given to performances which have been truly of the comic kind, from the author' shaving sometimes admitted it in his diction only ; which, as it is the dress of poe.try, does, like the dress of men, establish characters, the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man, in vulgar opinion beyond any of their greater excellences ; but, surely, a certain drollery in style, where characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where everything else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the appellation of the true sublime.

And I apprehend my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, there is no such thing to be found in the writings of the ancients : but, perhaps, I have less abhorrence than he professes for it ; and that, not because I have had some little success on the stage, this way, but rather as it contributes more to ex quisite mirth and laughter than any other ; and these are probably more wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whether the same companies are not found more full of good humour and benevolence, after they have been sweetened for two or three hours with entertainments of this kind, than when soured by a tragedy or a grave lecture.

But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, perhaps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly ; let us examine the works of a comic history-painter, with those performances which the Italians call caricatura ; where we shall find the true excellence of the former to consist in the exactest copying of nature ; insomuch, that a judicious eye instantly rejects anything outre, any liberty which the painter has taken with the features of that alma mater ; whereas, in the caricatura, we allow all license. Its aim is to exhibit monsters, not men, and all distortions and exaggerations whatever are within its proper province. Now, what caricatura is in painting, burlesque is in writing; and in the same manner she comic writer and painter correlate to each other. And here I shall observe, that, as in the former the painter seems to have the advantage, so it is in the latter infinitely on the side of the writer ; for the monstrous is much easier to paint than describe, and the ridiculous to describe than paint.

And though, perhaps, this latter species does not in either science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as in the other ; yet it will be owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, would, in my opinion, do him very little honour ; for sure it is much easier, much less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or

PREFACE.

. V any other feature, of a preposterous size, or to expose him in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the affections of men on canvas. It has been thought a vast commendation of a painter, to say his figures seem to breathe ; but surely it is a much greater and nobler applause that they appear to think. But to return. The ridiculous only, as I have before said, falls within my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation of this word be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how wonderfully it has been mistaken even by writers who have professed it : for to what but such a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the blackest villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dreadful calamities ? What could exceed the absurdity of an author, who should write the comedy of Nero with the merry incident of ripping up his mother's belly? or, what would give a greater shock to humanity, than an attempt to expose the miseries of poverty and distress to ridicule ?

And yet the reader will not want much learning to suggest such instances to himself. Besides, it may seem remariiable, that Aristotle, who is so fond and free of definitions, has not thought proper to define the ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he has remarked that villany is not its object ; but he has not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor does the Abbd Bellegarde, who has written a treatise on this subject, though he shows us many species of it, once trace it to its fountain. The only source of the true ridiculous, as it appears to me, is affectation. But though it arises from one spring only, when we consider the infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently cease to admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now affectation proceeds from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy : for as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause ; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid censure, by concealing our vices under an appearance of their opposite virtues.

And though these two causes are often confounded (for there is some difficulty in distinguishing them), yet, as they proceed from very different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their operations : for, indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other ; as it has not that violent repugnancy of nature to struggle with, which that of the hypocrite has. It may be likewise noted, that affectation does not imply an absolute negation of those qualities which are affected ; and therefore, though, when it proceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to deceit ; yet, when it comes from vanity only, it partakes of the nature of ostentation : for instance, the affectation of liberality in a vain man differs visibly from the same affectation in the avaricious ; for though the vain man is not what he would appear, or has not the virtue he affects to the degree he would be thought to have it ; yet it sits less awkwardly on him than on the avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he would seem to be.

From the discovery of this affectation arises the ridiculous, which always strikes the reader with surprise and pleasure ; and that in a higher and stronger degree when the affectation arises from hypocrisy than when from vanity : for to discover any one to be the exact reverse of what he affects, is more surprising, and consequently more ridiculous, than to find him a little deficient in the quality he desires the reputation of. I might observe, that our Ben Jonson, who of all men understood the ridiculous the best, has chiefly used the hypocritical affectation. Now from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely he has a very ill-framed mind, who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty as ridiculous in themselves ; nor do I believe any man living, who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with an idea of the ridiculous from it ; but if he should see the same figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt from his chair with his hat under his arm, he would then begin to laugh, and with justice. — In the same manner, were we to enter a poor house, and VI

PREFACE.

. behold a wretched family shivering with cold, and languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to laughter, at least we must have very diabolical natures if it would ; but should we discover there a grate, instead of coals, "adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on the sideboard, or any other affectation of riches and finery either on their persons or in their furniture, we might then indeed be excused for ridiculing so fantas tical an appearance. Much less are natural imperfections the object of derision : but when ugliness aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness endeavours to display agility, it is then that these unfortunate circumstances, which at first moved our compassion, tend only to raise our mirth. The poet carries this very far : — None are for being what they are in fault, But for not being what they would be thought : where, if the metre would suffer the word Ridiculous to close the first line, the thought would be rather more proper.

Great vices are the proper objects of our detestation, smaller faults, of our pity ; but affectation appears to me the only true source of the ridiculous. But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my own rules introduced vices, and of a very black kind, into this work. To which I shall answer, first, that it is very difficult to pursue a series of human actions, and keep clear from them ; secondly, that the vices to be found here, are rather the accidental consequences of some human frailty or foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind ; thirdly, that they are never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but detestation ; fourthly, that they are never the principal figure at that time on the scene ; and, lastly, they never produce the intended evil. Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the productions of romance writers on the one hand and burlesque writers on the other, and given some few very short hints (for I intended no more) of this species of writing, which I have affirmed to be hitherto unattempted in our language ; I shall leave to my good-natured reader to apply my piece to my observations, and will detain him no longer than with a word concerning the characters in this work.

And here I solemnly protest, I have no intention to vilify or asperse any one : for though everything is copied from the book of nature, and scarce a character or action produced which I have not taken from my own observations and experience ; yet I have used the utmost care to obscure the persons by such different circumstances, degrees, and colours, that it will be impossible to guess at them with any degree of certainty ; and if it ever happens otherwise, it is only where the failure characterized is so minute that it is a foible only which the party himself may laugh at as well as any other. As to the character of Adams, as it is the most glaring in the whole, so I conceive it is not to be found in any book now extant. It is designed a character of perfect sim plicity ; and as the goodness of his heart will recommend him to the good-natured, so I hope it will excuse me to the gentlemen of his cloth, for whom, while they are worthy of their sacred order, no man can possibly have a greater respect.

They will, therefore, excuse me, notwithstanding the low adventures in which he is engaged, that I have made him a clergyman ; since no other office could have given him so many opportunities of displaying his worthy inclinations. CONTENTS.

Book I. Page Chap

I. Of writing Lives in general, and particularly of Pamela ; with a Word, by tbe bye, of Colley Cibber, and others ii. Of Mr. Joseph Andrews, his Birth, Parentage, Education, and great Endowments ; with a word or two concerning Ancestors in. Of Mr. Abraham Adams, the Curate ; Mrs. Slipslop, the Chambermaid ; and others IV. What happened after their Journey to London V. The Death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the affectionate and mournful Behaviour of his Widow, and the great Purity of Joseph Andrews vi. How Joseph Andrews wrote a Letter to his Sister Pamela vii. Sayings of Wise Men — A Dialogue between the Lady and her Maid— and a Panegyric, or rather Satire, on the Passion of Love, in the sublime Style viii. In which, after some very fine Writing, the History goes on, and relates an Interview between the Lady and Joseph ; where the latter has set an Example, which we despair of seeing followed by his Sex in this vicious Age ix.

What passed between the Lady and Mrs. Slipslop ; in which we prophesy there are some Strokes which every one will not truly comprehend at the first Reading X. Joseph writes another letter; his Transactions with Mr. Peter Pounce, &c. ; with his Departure from Lady Booby xi. Of several new Matters not expected Xii. Containing many surprising Adventures which Joseph Andrews met with on the Road, scarcely credible to those who have never travelled in a Stage Coach Xiii. What happened to Joseph during his Sickness at the Inn ; with the curious Discourse between him and Mr. Barnabas, the Parson of the Parish 9 IO IO 12 12 T3 14 16 17 19 *9 20 23 xiv. Being very full of Adventures, which succeeded each other at the inn xv. Showing how Mrs. Tow-wouse was a little mollified ; and how officious Mr. Barnabas and the Surgeon were to prosecute the Thief; with a Dissertation, accounting for their Zeal, and that of many other Persons not mentioned in this History xvi.

The Escape of the Thief ; Mr. Adams's Disappointment ; the Arrival of two very extraordinary Personages ; and the Introduction of Parson Adams to Parson Barnabas xvii. A pleasant Discourse between tlie two Parsons and the Bookseller, which was broken off by an unlucky Accident happening in the Inn ; which produced a Dialogue between Mrs. Tow-wouse and her Maid, of no gentle kind. . XVIII. The History of Betty the Chambermaid, and an Account of what occasioned the violent Scene in the preceding Chapter = 4 26 27 30 33

Book II

I. Of Divisions in Authors II. A surprising Instance of Mr. Adams's Short Memory, with the unfortunate Consequences which it brought on Joseph in. The Opinion of two Lawyers concerning the same Gentleman, with Mr. Adams's Inquiry into the Religion of his Host IV. The History of Leonora, ov the unfortunate Jilt v. A dreadful Quarrel, which happened at the Inn where the Company dined ; with its bloody Consequences to Mr. Adams VI. Conclusion of the unfortunate Jilt vn. A very short Chapter, in which Parson Adams went a great Way viii. A notable Dissertation by Mr. Abraham Adams, wherein that Gentleman appears in a Political Light IX. In which the Gentleman descants on Bravery and Heroic Virtue, till an unlucky Accident 33 34 36 33 44 47 48 49 puts an end to the Discourse . . X. Giving an Account of the strange Catastrophe of the preceding Adventure, which drew poor Adams into fresh Calamities ; and who the Woman was who owed the Preservation of her Chastity to his victorious Ann XI.

What happened to them while before ihe Justice— a Chapter very full of Learning XII. A very delightful Adventure, as well to the Persons concerned, as to the good-natured Reader XIII. A Dissertation concerning high People and low People ; with Mrs. Slipslop's Departure So 5- 54 S6 CONTENTS. CHAF. PAGE in no very good Temper of Mind, and the evil Plight in which she left Adams and his Company . . . . . . . . • • • • 5° XIV. An Interview between Parson Adams and Parson Trulliber . . ■■ •■ °° XV. An Adventure, the Consequence of a new Instance which Parson Adams gave of his Forgetfulness .. .. •■ •• •• •• i? XVI. A very curious Adventure, in which Mr. Adams gave a much greater Instance of the honest Simplicity of his Heart, than of his Experience in the Ways of this World . . 63 XVII. A Dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and his Host, which, by the Disagreement in their Opinions, seemed to threaten an unlucky Catastrophe, had it not been timely prevented by the Lovers . . . . . . • • • • . . 66

Book III

1. Matters Prefatory in praise of Biography n. A Night-Scene, wherein several wonderful Adventures befell Adams and his Fellow- Travellers 88 70 III. In which the Gentleman relatesthe History of his Life iv. A Description of Mr. Wilson's Way of Living— the tragical Adventure of the Dog, and other grave Matters v. A Disputation on Schools, held on the Road, between Mr. Abraham Adams and Joseph ; and a Discovery not unwelcome to them both VI. Moral Reflections by Joseph Andrews ; with the Hunting Adventure, and Parson Adams's miraculous Escape VII. A Scene of Roasting, very nicely adapted to the present Taste and Times VIII. Which some Readers will think too Short, and others too Long IX. Containing as surprising and Bloody Adventures as can be found in this, or perhaps any other authentic History x. A Discourse between the Poet and Player, of no other use in this History but to divert the Reader 73 82 84 8S 89 z- 93 95 xi.

Containing the Exhortations of Parson Adams to his Friend in Affliction ; calculated for the Instruction and Improvement of the Reader XII. More Adventures, which we hope will as much please as surprise the Reader XIII. A curious Dialogue which passed between Mr. Abraham Adams and Mr. Peter Pounce, better worth Reading than all the Works of Colley Cibber, and many others 96 97 100

Book IV

I. The Arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at Booby Hall . . . . . . 101 ir. A Dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and the Lady Booby . . . . • . 103 in. What passed between the Lady and Lawyer Scout . . . . . . . . 104 IV. A short Chapter, but very full of Matter ; particularly the Arrival of Mr. Booby and his Lady .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 205 V. Containing Justice Business ; curious Precedents of Depositions, and other Matters necessary to be perused by all Justices of the Peace and their Clerks . . . . . . 105 VI. Of which you are desired to read no more than you like . . . . . . 108 vu. Philosophical Reflections, the like not to be found in any light French Romance — Mr. Booby's grave Advice to Joseph, and Fanny's Encounter with a Beau . . . . no Vin. A Discourse which happened between Mr. Adams, Mrs. Adams, Joseph, and Fanny ; with some Behaviour of Mr. Adams, which may be called, by some few Readers, very Low, Absurd, and Unnatural .. .. .. .. .. .. 112 IX.

A Visit wliich the polite Lady Booby and her polite Friend paid the Parson . . 115 x. The History of two Friends, wliich may afford a useful Lesson to all those Persons who happen to take up their Residence in Married Families . . . . . . 116 XL In which the History is continued . . . . . . . . . . 118 Xii. Where the good-natured Reader will see Something which will give him no great Pleasure 119 XIII. The History, returning to the Lady Booby, gives some Account of the terrible Conflict in her Breast, between Love and Pride ; with what happened on the present Discovery .. 120 XIV. Containing several curious Night-Adventures, in which Mr. Adams fell into many hair-breadth 'Scapes, partly owing to his Goodness, and partly to his Inadvertency . . 122 XV. The Arrival of Gaffer and Gammer Andrews, with another Person not much expected ; and a perfect Solution of the Difficulties raised by the Pedlar .. .. .. 124 xvi. Being the Last ; in which this true History is brought to a happy Conclusion . . JOSEPH ANDREWS.

Book I. Chapter

I. these, delight is mixed with instruction ; and the reader is almost as much improved as entertained. But I pass by these and many others, to mention two books lately published, which represent an admirable pattern in either sex. The former of these, which deals in male virtue, was Avritten by the great person himself, who lived the life he has recorded ; and is by many thought to have lived such a life only in order to write it : the other is communicated to us by an historian, who borrows his lights, as the common method is, from authen tic papers and records. The reader, I believe, already conjectures I mean the lives of Mr. Colley Cibber, and of Mrs. Pamela Andrews. How artfully does the former, by insinuating that he escaped being promoted to the highest stations in the church and state, teach us a contempt of worldly grandeur ! how strongly does he inculcate an absolute submission to our superiors !

Lastly, how completely does he arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a passion, as the fear of shame ! how clearly does he expose the emptiness and vanity of that phantom, reputation ! What the female readers are taught, by the memoirs of Mrs. Andrews, is so well set forth in the excellent essays or letters prefixed to the second and subsequent editions of that work, that it would be here a needless repetition. The authentic history, with which I now present the public, is an instance of the great good that book is likely to do, and of the prevalence of example, which I have just observed ; since, it will appear, that it was by keeping the excellent pattern of his sister's virtues before his eyes, that Mr. Joseph Andrews was chiefly enabled to preserve his purity in the midst of such great temptations.

I shall only add, that this character of male chastity, though doubtless, as desirable and becoming in one part of the human species as in the other, is almost the only virtue which the great apologist has not given himself, for the sake of giving the example to his readers . Os writing Lives in general, and particularly of Pamela.; with a Word, by the bye, of Colley Cibber and others. It is a trite but true observation, that examples work more forcibly on the mind than precepts ; and, if this be just in what is odious and blameable, it is more strongly so in what is amiable and praiseworthy. Here emulation most effectually operates upon us, and inspires our imitation in an irresistible manner. A good man, therefore, is a standing lesson to all his acquaintance, and of fatgreater use in that narrow circle than a good book.

But, as it often happens that the best men are but little known, and consequently cannot extend the usefulness of their examples a great way, the writer may be called in aid to spread their history farther, and to present the amiable pictures to those who have not the happiness of knowing the originals ; and so, by co.nmunicating such valuable patterns to the world, he may, perhaps, do a more extensive service to mankind, than the person whose life originally afforded the pattern. In this light, I have always regarded the biographers who have recorded the actions of great and worthy persons of both sexes ; not to mention those ancient writers, which, oflate days, are little read, being written in obsolete, and as they are generally thought, unintelligible lan guages; such as Plutarch, Nepos, and others, which I heard of in my youth.

Our own language affords manyof excellent use and instruction, finely calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and very easy to be comprehended by persons of moderate capacity ; such as the history of John the Great, who, by his brave and heroic actions against men of large and athletic bodies, obtained the glorious appellation of the giant-killer ; that of an earl of Warwick, whose Christian name was Guy ; the lives of Argalus and Parthenia : and, above all, the history of those seven worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In all that it rather allured the birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted from the fields into the dog-kennel, where he was placed under the huntsman, and made what sportsmen term whipper-in. For this place likewise the sweetness of his voice disqualified him ; the dogs preferring the melody of his chiding to all the alluring notes of the huntsman ; who soon became so incensed at it, that he desired Sir Thomas to provide otherwise for him ; and constantly laid every fault the dogs were at to the account of the poor boy, who was now transplanted to tlie stable.

Here he soon gave proofs of strength and agility beyond his years, and constantly rode the most spirited and vicious horses to water, with an intrepidity which surprised every one. While he was in this station, he rode several races for Sir Thomas, and this with such expertness and success, that the neighbouring gentlemen frequentlysolicited the knight to permit little Joey (for so he was called) to ride their matches : the best gamesters, before they laid their money, always inquired which horse little Joey was to ride ; and the bets were rather proportioned by the rider than by the horse himself: especially after he had scorn fullyrefused a considerable bribe tojilay booty on such an occasion. This extremely raised his character, and so pleased the Lady Booby, that she desired to have him (being now seventeen years of age) for her own foot-boy.