mention her name to me. And, with regard to the young gentleman's birth, those who can fay nothing more to his disadvantage, may as well be filent on that head, as I defire you will be for the • future.'

I am forry, I have offended your ladyfhip,' anfwered Mis. Honour; I am fure I hate Molly Seagrim as much as your ladyship can, and as for abuting 'fquire Jones, I can call all the fervants. in the houfe to witnefs, that whenever any talk hath been about baftards, I have always taken his part for which of you,' fays I to the footman, would not be a bastard, if he could, to be made a gentleman of? and,' fays II am fure he is a very fine gentleman; and he hath one of the whiteft hands in the world; for to be fure so he hath; and,' fays 1, one of the fweetest temperedeft, beft naturedeft men in the world he is,' and fays 1, all the fervants and neighbours all round the country loves him. And to be fure, I could tell your ladyfhip fomething, but that I am afraid it would offend you.' What could you tell me, Honour? fays Sophia. Nay, Ma'am, to be fure he meant nothing by it, therefore I would not have your ladyship be offended.'- Prithee tell me,' fays Sophia. I will know it this inftant.' Why, Ma'am,' anfwered Mrs. Honour, 'he came into the room, one day last week when I was at work, and there lay your lady fhip's muff on a chair, and to be fure he put his hands into it, that very muff your ladyfhip gave me but yefterday; La,' fays I, Mr. Jones, you will ftretch my lady's muff and fpoil it; but he ftill kept his hauds in it, and then he killed it to be fure, I hardly ever faw fuch a kifs in my life as he gave it.' I fuppofe he • did not know it was mine,' replied Sophia. Your ladyfhip fhall hear, Ma'am. He kiffed it again and again, and faid it was the prettieft muff in the La! Sir,' fays I, you have seen it a • hundred times. Yes, Mrs. Honour,' cry'd he; but who can fee any thing, beautiful in the prefence of your lady but herfelf: nay, that's not all

• world.'

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6

neither,

up

neither, but I hope your ladyship won't be offended, for to be fure he meant nothing; one day as your ladyship was playing on the harpfichord to my mafter, Mr. Jones was fitting in the next room, • and me thought he looked melancholy. La! fays I, Mr. Jones, what's the matter! a penny for your thoughts,' fays I; Why huffy,' fays he, ftarting from a dream, what can I be thinking of, when that angel your miftrefs is playing?' and then squeezing me by the hand- Oh! Mrs. Honour,' fays he, how happy will that man be!'-and then he fighed, upon my troth, his breath is as fweet as a nofegay but to be fure he meant no harm by it.-So I hope your ladyfhip will not mention a word for he gave me a crown never to mention it, and made me fwear upon a book, but I believe, indeed, it was not the bible.'

Till fomething of a more beautiful red than vermilion be found out, I fhall fay nothing of Sophia's colour on this occafion. Ho-nour,' fays fhe, 'I-if you will not mention this any more to me,

nor to any body elfe, I will not betray you.-I 'mean I will not be angry; but I am afraid of 'your tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it fuch liberties?' Nay, Ma'am,' answered fhe, to be fure, I would fooner cut out my tongue than offend your ladyship--to be fure, I fhall never mention a word that your ladyfhip would not 'have me.' Why I would not have you mention this any more,' faid Sophia, for it may come to my father's ears, and he would be angry with Mr. Jones, though I really believe, as you fay, he 'meant nothing. I fhould be very angry myself if I imagined' Nay, Ma'am,' fays Honour, I proteft I believe he meant nothing. I thought 'he talked as if he was out of his fenfes ; nay, he faid he believed he was befide himself when he had fpoken the words. Ay, Sir,' fays 'I, believe fo too.' Yes,' fays he, Honourbut I afk your ladyship's pardon; I could tear my tongue out for offending you.' Go on,' fays • Sophia,

I 2

Sophia, you may mention any thing you have not told me before.' Yes, Honour,' fays he, (this was fome time afterwards when he gave me the crown) I am neither fuch a coxcomb, or fuch < a villain as to think of her, in any other delight, but as my goddefs; as fuch I will always worship and adore her while I have breath. This was all, Ma'am, I will be fworn, to the best of my remembrance; I was in a paffion with him myself, till I found he meant no harm. Indeed, Honour,' fays Sophia, I believe you have a real affection for me; I was provoked the other day when I gave you warning; but if you have a defire to stay with me, you fhall.' • To be fure, Ma'am,' anfwered Mrs. Honour, I fhall never defire to part with your ladyship. To be fure, I almoft cried my eyes out when you gave me warning. It would be very ungrateful in me, to defire to leave your ladyship; becaufe as why, I fhould never get fo good a place again. I am fure I would live and die with your ladyfhip-for, as poor Mr. Jones faid, happy is the min

་

Here the dinner bell interrupted a converfation which had wrought fuch an effect on Sophia, that fhe was, perhaps, more obliged to her bleeding in the morning, than fhe, at the time, had apprehended the fhould be. As to the prefent fituation of her mind, I fhall adhere to a rule of Horace, by not attempting to defcribe it, from defpair of fuccefs. Moft of my readers will fuggeft it eafly to themfelves; and the few who cannot, would not underand the picture, or at leaft would deny it to be natural, if eyer fo well drawn.

THE

e

')

HISTORY

OF A

FOUNDLING.

BOOK V.

Containing a portion of time, fomewhat lunges than half a year,

OF THE SERIOUS in quriting, and for what purpoft it is introduced.

PERADVENTURE there may be no parts in this prodigious work which will give the reader lefs pleafure in the perufing, than thofe which have given the author the greateft pains in compofing, Among thefe, probably, may be reckoned thofe initial effaye which we have prefixed to the hiftorical matter contained in every book; and which we have determined. to be effentially neceffary to this kind of writing, of which we have fet ourfelves at the head.

For this our determination we do not hold ourselves ftrictly bound to affign any reafon; it being abundantly fufficient that we have laid it down as a rule neceffary to be abférved in all profai-comi-epic wri ting. Who ever demanded the reafons of that nice unity of time or place which is now established to be fo effential to dramatic poetry? What critic hath been ever afked, why a play may not contain two days as well as one? Or why the audience (provided they travel, like electors, without any expence) may not

be

be wafted fifty miles as well as five? Hath any commentator well accounted for the limitation which an antient critic hath fet to the drama, which he will have contain neither more nor less than five acts? Or hath any one living attempted to explain, what the modern judges of our theatres mean by that word Low; by which they have happily fucceeded in banifhing all humour from the ftage, and have made the theatre as dull as a drawing-room? upon all these occafions, the world feems to have einbraced a maxim of our law, viz cuicunque in arte fua perito credendum l for it feems, perhaps, difficult to conceive, that any one should have had enough of impudence, to lay down dogmatical rules in any art or science without the leaft foundation. In fuch cafes, therefore, we are apt to conclude, there are found and good reasons at the bottom, though we are unfortunately not able to fee so far.

Now, in reality, the world have paid too great a compliment to critics, and have imagined them men of much greater profundity than they really are. From this complaifance, the critics have been embol dened to affume a dictatorial power, and have fo far fucceeded, that they are now become the masters, and have the affurance to give laws to thofe authors, from whose predeceffors they originally received them.

The critic, rightly confidered, is no more than the clerk, whofe office it is to tranfcribe the rules and laws laid down by thofe great judges, whofe vaft ftrength of genius hath placed them in the light of legiflators, in the feveral fciences over which they prefided. This office was all which the critics of old afpired to, nor did they ever dare to advance a fentence, without fupporting it by the authority of the judge from whence it was borrowed.

But in procefs of time, and in ages of ignorance, the clerk began to invade the power, and affume the dignity of his master. The laws of writing were no longer founded on the practice of the author, but on the dictates of the critic. The clerk became the legiflator, and thofe very peremptorily gave laws, whose business it was, at firft, only to tranfcribe them.

Hence