The history of the adventures of Joseph Andrews and his friend Mr. Abraham Adams

Front matter

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT h

THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF

AND H)S FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS

Book I. Chapter Page

i Of writing Lives in general, and particularly of Pamela; with a word by the bye of Colley Cibber and others . 3

11 Of Mr Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage,

EDUCATION, AND GREAT ENDOWMENTS; WITH A WORD OR TWO CONCERNING ANCESTORS .... 5

f

hi Of Mr Abraham Adams the curate, Mrs Slip¬ slop THE CHAMBERMAID, AND OTHERS .... 7

iv What happened after their journey to London ii

v The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the

AFFECTIONATE AND MOURNFUL BEHAVIOUR OF HIS WIDOW, AND THE GREAT PURITY OF JOSEPH

Andrews.13

vi How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister < Pamela.15

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.19

VIII In which, after some very fine writing, the

HISTORY GOES ON, AND RELATES THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE LADY AND JOSEPH; WHERE THE LATTER HATH SET AN EXAMPLE WHICH WE DE¬ SPAIR OF SEEING FOLLOWED BY HIS SEX IN THIS

VICIOUS AGE.22

vii

PAGE

CHAPTER

ix What passed between the lady and Mrs Slip¬

slop; IN WHICH WE PROPHESY THERE ARE SOME STROKES WHICH EVERY ONE WILL NOT TRULY COM¬ PREHEND AT THE FIRST READING.26

x Joseph writes another letter: his transactions

with Mr Peter Pounce, etc., with his depart¬ ure from Lady Booby.30

xi Of several new matters not expected ... 32

xii Containing many surprizing adventures which

Joseph Andrews met with on the road, scarce

CREDIBLE TO THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER TRAVELLED IN A STAGE-COACH. 35

xiii What happened to Joseph during his sickness

AT THE INN, WITH THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE BE¬ TWEEN him and Mr Barnabas, the parson of

THE PARISH.41

xiv Being very full of adventures which succeeded

EACH OTHER AT THE INN. 44 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.49

xvi The escape of the thief. Mr Adams’s dis¬

appointment. The arrival of two very ex¬ traordinary PERSONAGES, AND THE INTRODUC¬ TION of Parson Adams to Parson Barnabas . 53

XVII A PLEASANT DISCOURSE BETWEEN THE TWO PARSONS AND THE BOOKSELLER, WHICH WAS BROKE OFF BY AN UNLUCKY ACCIDENT HAPPENING IN THE INN, WHICH PRODUCED A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MRS TOW- WOUSE AND HER MAID OF NO GENTLE KIND . . 6l

xviii The history of Betty the chambermaid, and an

ACCOUNT OF WHAT OCCASIONED THE VIOLENT

SCENE IN THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.66

viii

Book II. Chapter

I Of divisions in authors.

II A SURPRIZING INSTANCE OF Mr ADAMS’S SHORT MEM¬

ORY, WITH THE UNFORTUNATE CONSEQUENCES WHICH IT BROUGHT ON JOSEPH.

hi 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, or 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.

VII 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 POLITI¬ CAL LIGHT.

IX In which the gentleman descants on bravery

AND HEROIC VIRTUE, TILL AN UNLUCKY ACCIDENT 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 ARM.

xi What happened to them while before the jus¬ tice. 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 in no

ix

PAGE n5

CHAPTER PAGE

VERY GOOD TEMPER OF MIND, AND THE EVIL PLIGHT IN WHICH SHE LEFT ADAMS AND HIS COMPANY . . 135

xiv An interview between Parson Adams and Parson

Trulliber.141

xv An adventure the consequence of a new instance

which Parson Adams gave of his forgetfulness. 147

XVI A VERY CURIOUS ADVENTURE, IN WHICH Mr ADAMS GAVE A MUCH GREATER INSTANCE OF THE HONEST SIMPLICITY OF HIS HEART, THAN OF HIS EXPERI¬ ENCE IN THE WAYS OF THIS WORLD.150

XVII A DIALOGUE BETWEEN Mr ABRAHAM ADAMS AND HIS HOST, WHICH, BY THE DISAGREEMENT IN THEIR OPINIONS, SEEMED TO THREATEN AN UNLUCKY CATAS¬ TROPHE, HAD IT NOT BEEN TIMELY PREVENTED BY THE RETURN OF THE LOVERS. 1 5 7

BOOK III. I Matter prefatory in praise of biography . . . 164

II A NIGHT-SCENE, WHEREIN SEVERAL WONDERFUL AD¬

VENTURES befel Adams and his fellow-trav¬ ellers .169

III In which the gentleman relates the history of

HIS LIFE.178

IV A DESCRIPTION OF Mr WILSON’S WAY OF LIVING.

The tragical adventures of the dog, and

' OTHER GRAVE MATTERS.201

V A DISPUTATION ON SCHOOLS HELD ON THE ROAD BY

Mr Abraham Adams and Joseph; and a dis¬ covery NOT UNWELCOME TO THEM BOTH ..... 205

vi Moral reflections by Joseph Andrews; with the

HUNTING ADVENTURE, AND PARSON ADAMS’S MIRAC¬ ULOUS ESCAPE.209

VII A SCENE OF ROASTING, VERY NICELY ADAPTED TO THE

PRESENT TASTE AND TIMES. 2 l 8

X

CHAPTER PAGE

viii Which some readers will think too short and

OTHERS TOO LONG .226

ix Containing as surprizing and bloody adventures

AS CAN BE FOUND IN THIS OR PERHAPS ANY OTHER AUTHENTIC HISTORY.230

X A DISCOURSE BETWEEN THE POET AND THE PLAYER;

OF NO OTHER USE IN THIS HISTORY BUT TO DIVERT THE READER.234

xi Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams

TO HIS FRIEND IN AFFLICTION; CALCULATED FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND IMPROVEMENT OF THE READER.238

xii More adventures, which we hope will as much

PLEASE AS SURPRIZE THE READER.241

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.248

BOOK IV. 1 The arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at

Booby-hall .251

II A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MR ABRAHAM ADAMS AND

Lady Booby.255

hi What passed between the lady and Lawyer Scout 258

IV A SHORT CHAPTER, BUT VERY FULL OF MATTER; PAR¬ TICULARLY THE ARRIVAL OF Mr BOOBY AND HIS LADY. 2^1

v Containing justice business; curious precedents

OF DEPOSITIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS NECESSARY TO BE PERUSED BY ALL JUSTICES OF THE PEACE AND THEIR CLERKS. 2 ^2

VI Of which you are desired to read no more than

YOU LIKE

XI

CHAPTER

vii 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.

VIII A DISCOURSE WHICH HAPPENED BETWEEN MR ADAMS,

Mrs Adams, Joseph, and Fanny; with some be¬ haviour of Mr Adams which will be called

BY SOME FEW READERS VERY LOW, ABSURD, AND UNNATURAL .

IX A VISIT WHICH THE POLITE LADY BOOBY AND HER POLITE FRIEND PAID TO THE PARSON.

x The history of two friends, which may afford

AN USEFUL LESSON TO ALL THOSE PERSONS WHO HAPPEN TO TAKE UP THEIR RESIDENCE IN MARRIED FAMILIES.

XI In WHICH THE HISTORY IS CONTINUED.

xii Where the good-natured reader will see some¬ thing WHICH WILL GIVE HIM NO GREAT PLEASURE

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 ....

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.

xv The arrival of Gaffar and Gammar Andrews,

/WITH ANOTHER PERSON NOT MUCH EXPECTED; AND A PERFECT SOLUTION OF THE DIFFICULTIES RAISED BY THE PEDLAR.

xvi Being the last. In which this true history is

BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION.

PAGE

3°6

311 315 .

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

After the drawings by W. Small

“The WHOLE TOWN HATH KNOWN IT THIS HALF YEAR” Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

“Taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the

room”.68

“Adams, with a look full of ineffable contempt, told

HIM HE DESERVED SCOURGING FOR HIS PRONUNCIATION” 126

“The hare was no sooner on shore than it seated

ITSELF ON ITS HINDER LEGS”.212

“Joseph threw his head so dexterously into the

STOMACH OF THE RAVISHER, THAT HE FELL” .... 280

THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF

AND HIS FRIEND MR ABRAHAM ADAMS

As it is possible the mere English reader may have a differ¬ ent idea of romance with 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 con¬ cerning 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 us 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 enumer¬ ates in the constituent parts of an epic poem, namely metre;

xv 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 hath thought proper to range it under any other head, or to assign it a particular name to itself.

Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray ap¬ pears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Ho¬ mer ; 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, Astrsea, Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable others, which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or entertain¬ ment.

Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose; dif¬ fering from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy: its action being more extended and comprehensive; containing 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 senti¬ ments 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 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 burlesque imita¬ tions are chiefly calculated.

xvi

But, though we have sometimes admitted this in our dic¬ tion, 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 the 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 sur¬ prising 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 for deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the ad¬ mirable; 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’s having sometimes admitted it in his diction only; which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men, establish char¬ acters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excel¬ lences : but surely a certain drollery in style, where charac¬ ters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where every thing else is mean and low, can entitle any per¬ formance 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 per-

xvii haps 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 exquisite 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, whe¬ ther 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, per¬ haps, 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 hath taken with the features of that alma mater; whereas in the caricatura we allow all licence,—its aim is to exhibit monsters, not men; and all distortions and exaggera¬ tions whatever are within its proper province.

Now, what caricatura is in painting, burlesque is in writ¬ ing; and in the same manner the 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 mon¬ strous is much easier to paint than describe, and the ridicu¬ lous to describe than paint.

And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other; yet it will be owned, I believe, that a more rational and use¬ ful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should call the

xviii 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 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 hath 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 hath been mis¬ taken, 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 dread¬ ful calamities? What could exceed the absurdity of an au¬ thor, 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 remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath remarked that villany is not its object: but he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath 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,

xix 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 van¬ ity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid cen¬ sure, by concealing our vices under an appearance of their opposite virtues. And though these two causes are often con¬ founded (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 affecta¬ tion which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other, as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature to struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath. It may be likewise noted, that affectation doth 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 ava¬ ricious ; for though the vain man is not what he would appear, or hath 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 surprize 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 surprizing, 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 xx understood the ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the hypo¬ critical affectation.

Now, from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely he hath a very ill-framed mind who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, as ridiculous in them¬ selves : 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 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 fantastical 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.

xxi

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 pro¬ duce the intended evil.

Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the pro¬ ductions 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 ex¬ perience ; yet I have used the utmost care to obscure the per¬ sons 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 simplicity; and as the goodness of his heart will recommend him to the good-

xxii 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 there¬ fore 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.

xxm

THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS.

Chapter I

OF WRITING LIVES IN GENERAL, AND PARTICULARLY OF PA¬ MELA; WITH A WORD BY THE BYE OF COLLEY CIBBER AND OTHERS.

I T 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 far greater 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 communicating 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 those biographers who have recorded the actions of great and worthy persons of both sexes. Not to mention those ancient writers which of late days are little read, being written in obsolete, and as they are generally thought, unintelligible languages, such as

Plutarch, Nepos, and others which I heard of in my youth; our own language affords many of excellent use and instruc¬ tion, 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 his¬ tory of those seven worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In all 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 of the amiable in either sex. The former of these, which deals in male virtue, was written by the great person himself, who lived the life he hath 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 authentic papers and records. The reader, I believe, already conjectures, I mean the lives of Mr Colley Cibber and of Mrs Pamela Andrews. How artfully doth the former, by insinuating that he escaped being promoted to the highest stations in Church and State, teach us a contempt of worldly grandeur! how strongly doth he inculcate an absolute submission to our superiors! Lastly, how completely doth he arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a passion as the fear of shame! how clearly doth 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 au¬ thentic history with which I now present the public is an in¬ stance 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 hath not given himself for the sake of giving the example to his readers.

Chapter II

OF MR JOSEPH ANDREWS, HIS BIRTH, PARENTAGE, EDUCATION, AND GREAT ENDOWMENTS ; WITH A WORD OR TWO CONCERN¬ ING ANCESTORS.

M R JOSEPH ANDREWS, the hero of our ensuing his¬ tory, was esteemed to be the only son of Gaffar and Gammer Andrews, and brother to the illustrious Pamela, whose virtue is at present so famous. As to his ancestors, we have searched with great diligence, but little success; being unable to trace them farther than his great-grandfather, who, as an elderly person in the parish remembers to have heard his father say, was an excellent cudgel-player. Whe¬ ther he had any ancestors before this, we must leave to the opinion of our curious reader, finding nothing of sufficient certainty to rely on. However, we cannot omit inserting an epitaph which an ingenious friend of ours hath communi¬ cated :

Stay, traveller, for underneath this pew Lies fast asleep that merry man Andrew :

When the last day’s great sun shall gild the skies,

Then he shall from his tomb get up and rise.

Be merry while thou canst: for surely thou Shalt shortly be as sad as he is now.

The words are almost out of the stone with antiquity. But it is needless to observe that Andrew here is writ without an and is, besides, a Christian name. My friend moreover, conjectures this to have been the -founder of that sect of laughing philosophers since called Merry-andrews.