TOM JONES
PART 25
Chapter iii. — The arrival of Mr Jones with his lady at the inn; with a very full description of the battle of Upton.
Though the
reader, we doubt not, is very eager to know who this lady was, and how she fell
into the hands of Mr Northerton, we must beg him to suspend his curiosity for a
short time, as we are obliged, for some very good reasons which hereafter
perhaps he may guess, to delay his satisfaction a little longer.
Mr Jones
and his fair companion no sooner entered the town, than they went directly to
that inn which in their eyes presented the fairest appearance to the street.
Here Jones, having ordered a servant to show a room above stairs, was
ascending, when the dishevelled fair, hastily following, was laid hold on by
the master of the house, who cried, “Heyday, where is that beggar wench going?
Stay below stairs, I desire you.” But Jones at that instant thundered from
above, “Let the lady come up,” in so authoritative a voice, that the good man
instantly withdrew his hands, and the lady made the best of her way to the
chamber.
Here Jones
wished her joy of her safe arrival, and then departed, in order, as he
promised, to send the landlady up with some cloaths. The poor woman thanked him
heartily for all his kindness, and said, she hoped she should see him again
soon, to thank him a thousand times more. During this short conversation, she
covered her white bosom as well as she could possibly with her arms; for Jones
could not avoid stealing a sly peep or two, though he took all imaginable care
to avoid giving any offence.
Our
travellers had happened to take up their residence at a house of exceeding good
repute, whither Irish ladies of strict virtue, and many northern lasses of the
same predicament, were accustomed to resort in their way to Bath. The landlady
therefore would by no means have admitted any conversation of a disreputable
kind to pass under her roof. Indeed, so foul and contagious are all such
proceedings, that they contaminate the very innocent scenes where they are committed,
and give the name of a bad house, or of a house of ill repute, to all those
where they are suffered to be carried on.
Not that I
would intimate that such strict chastity as was preserved in the temple of
Vesta can possibly be maintained at a public inn. My good landlady did not hope
for such a blessing, nor would any of the ladies I have spoken of, or indeed
any others of the most rigid note, have expected or insisted on any such thing.
But to exclude all vulgar concubinage, and to drive all whores in rags from
within the walls, is within the power of every one. This my landlady very
strictly adhered to, and this her virtuous guests, who did not travel in rags,
would very reasonably have expected of her.
Now it
required no very blameable degree of suspicion to imagine that Mr Jones and his
ragged companion had certain purposes in their intention, which, though
tolerated in some Christian countries, connived at in others, and practised in
all, are however as expressly forbidden as murder, or any other horrid vice, by
that religion which is universally believed in those countries. The landlady,
therefore, had no sooner received an intimation of the entrance of the
above-said persons than she began to meditate the most expeditious means for
their expulsion. In order to this, she had provided herself with a long and
deadly instrument, with which, in times of peace, the chambermaid was wont to
demolish the labours of the industrious spider. In vulgar phrase, she had taken
up the broomstick, and was just about to sally from the kitchen, when Jones
accosted her with a demand of a gown and other vestments, to cover the
half-naked woman upstairs.
Nothing
can be more provoking to the human temper, nor more dangerous to that cardinal
virtue, patience, than solicitations of extraordinary offices of kindness on
behalf of those very persons with whom we are highly incensed. For this reason
Shakespear hath artfully introduced his Desdemona soliciting favours for Cassio
of her husband, as the means of inflaming, not only his jealousy, but his rage,
to the highest pitch of madness; and we find the unfortunate Moor less able to
command his passion on this occasion, than even when he beheld his valued
present to his wife in the hands of his supposed rival. In fact, we regard
these efforts as insults on our understanding, and to such the pride of man is
very difficultly brought to submit.
My
landlady, though a very good-tempered woman, had, I suppose, some of this pride
in her composition, for Jones had scarce ended his request, when she fell upon
him with a certain weapon, which, though it be neither long, nor sharp, nor
hard, nor indeed threatens from its appearance with either death or wound, hath
been however held in great dread and abhorrence by many wise men—nay, by many
brave ones; insomuch, that some who have dared to look into the mouth of a
loaded cannon, have not dared to look into a mouth where this weapon was
brandished; and rather than run the hazard of its execution, have contented
themselves with making a most pitiful and sneaking figure in the eyes of all
their acquaintance.
To confess
the truth, I am afraid Mr Jones was one of these; for though he was attacked
and violently belaboured with the aforesaid weapon, he could not be provoked to
make any resistance; but in a most cowardly manner applied, with many
entreaties, to his antagonist to desist from pursuing her blows; in plain
English, he only begged her with the utmost earnestness to hear him; but before
he could obtain his request, my landlord himself entered into the fray, and
embraced that side of the cause which seemed to stand very little in need of
assistance.
There are
a sort of heroes who are supposed to be determined in their chusing or avoiding
a conflict by the character and behaviour of the person whom they are to
engage. These are said to know their men, and Jones, I believe, knew his woman;
for though he had been so submissive to her, he was no sooner attacked by her
husband, than he demonstrated an immediate spirit of resentment, and enjoined
him silence under a very severe penalty; no less than that, I think, of being
converted into fuel for his own fire.
The
husband, with great indignation, but with a mixture of pity, answered, “You
must pray first to be made able. I believe I am a better man than yourself; ay,
every way, that I am;” and presently proceeded to discharge half-a-dozen whores
at the lady above stairs, the last of which had scarce issued from his lips,
when a swinging blow from the cudgel that Jones carried in his hand assaulted
him over the shoulders.
It is a
question whether the landlord or the landlady was the most expeditious in
returning this blow. My landlord, whose hands were empty, fell to with his
fist, and the good wife, uplifting her broom and aiming at the head of Jones,
had probably put an immediate end to the fray, and to Jones likewise, had not
the descent of this broom been prevented—not by the miraculous intervention of
any heathen deity, but by a very natural though fortunate accident, viz., by
the arrival of Partridge; who entered the house at that instant (for fear had
caused him to run every step from the hill), and who, seeing the danger which
threatened his master or companion (which you chuse to call him), prevented so
sad a catastrophe, by catching hold of the landlady’s arm, as it was brandished
aloft in the air.
The
landlady soon perceived the impediment which prevented her blow; and being
unable to rescue her arm from the hands of Partridge, she let fall the broom;
and then leaving Jones to the discipline of her husband, she fell with the
utmost fury on that poor fellow, who had already given some intimation of
himself, by crying, “Zounds! do you intend to kill my friend?”
Partridge,
though not much addicted to battle, would not however stand still when his
friend was attacked; nor was he much displeased with that part of the combat
which fell to his share; he therefore returned my landlady’s blows as soon as
he received them: and now the fight was obstinately maintained on all parts,
and it seemed doubtful to which side Fortune would incline, when the naked
lady, who had listened at the top of the stairs to the dialogue which preceded
the engagement, descended suddenly from above, and without weighing the unfair
inequality of two to one, fell upon the poor woman who was boxing with
Partridge; nor did that great champion desist, but rather redoubled his fury,
when he found fresh succours were arrived to his assistance.
Victory
must now have fallen to the side of the travellers (for the bravest troops must
yield to numbers) had not Susan the chambermaid come luckily to support her
mistress. This Susan was as two-handed a wench (according to the phrase) as any
in the country, and would, I believe, have beat the famed Thalestris herself,
or any of her subject Amazons; for her form was robust and man-like, and every
way made for such encounters. As her hands and arms were formed to give blows
with great mischief to an enemy, so was her face as well contrived to receive
blows without any great injury to herself, her nose being already flat to her
face; her lips were so large, that no swelling could be perceived in them, and
moreover they were so hard, that a fist could hardly make any impression on
them. Lastly, her cheek-bones stood out, as if nature had intended them for two
bastions to defend her eyes in those encounters for which she seemed so well
calculated, and to which she was most wonderfully well inclined.
This fair
creature entering the field of battle, immediately filed to that wing where her
mistress maintained so unequal a fight with one of either sex. Here she
presently challenged Partridge to single combat. He accepted the challenge, and
a most desperate fight began between them.
Now the
dogs of war being let loose, began to lick their bloody lips; now Victory, with
golden wings, hung hovering in the air; now Fortune, taking her scales from her
shelf, began to weigh the fates of Tom Jones, his female companion, and
Partridge, against the landlord, his wife, and maid; all which hung in exact
balance before her; when a good-natured accident put suddenly an end to the
bloody fray, with which half of the combatants had already sufficiently
feasted. This accident was the arrival of a coach and four; upon which my
landlord and landlady immediately desisted from fighting, and at their entreaty
obtained the same favour of their antagonists: but Susan was not so kind to
Partridge; for that Amazonian fair having overthrown and bestrid her enemy, was
now cuffing him lustily with both her hands, without any regard to his request
of a cessation of arms, or to those loud exclamations of murder which he roared
forth.
No sooner,
however, had Jones quitted the landlord, than he flew to the rescue of his
defeated companion, from whom he with much difficulty drew off the enraged
chambermaid: but Partridge was not immediately sensible of his deliverance, for
he still lay flat on the floor, guarding his face with his hands; nor did he
cease roaring till Jones had forced him to look up, and to perceive that the
battle was at an end.
The
landlord, who had no visible hurt, and the landlady, hiding her well-scratched
face with her handkerchief, ran both hastily to the door to attend the coach,
from which a young lady and her maid now alighted. These the landlady presently
ushered into that room where Mr Jones had at first deposited his fair prize, as
it was the best apartment in the house. Hither they were obliged to pass
through the field of battle, which they did with the utmost haste, covering
their faces with their handkerchiefs, as desirous to avoid the notice of any
one. Indeed their caution was quite unnecessary; for the poor unfortunate
Helen, the fatal cause of all the bloodshed, was entirely taken up in
endeavouring to conceal her own face, and Jones was no less occupied in
rescuing Partridge from the fury of Susan; which being happily effected, the
poor fellow immediately departed to the pump to wash his face, and to stop that
bloody torrent which Susan had plentifully set a-flowing from his nostrils.
Chapter iv. — In which the arrival of a man of war puts a final end to hostilities, and causes the conclusion of a firm and lasting peace between all parties.
A serjeant
and a file of musqueteers, with a deserter in their custody, arrived about this
time. The serjeant presently enquired for the principal magistrate of the town,
and was informed by my landlord, that he himself was vested in that office. He
then demanded his billets, together with a mug of beer, and complaining it was
cold, spread himself before the kitchen fire.
Mr Jones
was at this time comforting the poor distressed lady, who sat down at a table
in the kitchen, and leaning her head upon her arm, was bemoaning her
misfortunes; but lest my fair readers should be in pain concerning a particular
circumstance, I think proper here to acquaint them, that before she had quitted
the room above stairs, she had so well covered herself with a pillowbeer which
she there found, that her regard to decency was not in the least violated by
the presence of so many men as were now in the room.
One of the
soldiers now went up to the serjeant, and whispered something in his ear; upon
which he stedfastly fixed his eyes on the lady, and having looked at her for
near a minute, he came up to her, saying, “I ask pardon, madam; but I am certain
I am not deceived; you can be no other person than Captain Waters’s lady?”
The poor
woman, who in her present distress had very little regarded the face of any
person present, no sooner looked at the serjeant than she presently recollected
him, and calling him by his name, answered, “That she was indeed the unhappy
person he imagined her to be;” but added, “I wonder any one should know me in
this disguise.” To which the serjeant replied, “He was very much surprized to
see her ladyship in such a dress, and was afraid some accident had happened to
her.”—“An accident hath happened to me, indeed,” says she, “and I am highly
obliged to this gentleman” (pointing to Jones) “that it was not a fatal one, or
that I am now living to mention it.”—“Whatever the gentleman hath done,” cries
the serjeant, “I am sure the captain will make him amends for it; and if I can
be of any service, your ladyship may command me, and I shall think myself very
happy to have it in my power to serve your ladyship; and so indeed may any one,
for I know the captain will well reward them for it.”
The
landlady, who heard from the stairs all that past between the serjeant and Mrs
Waters, came hastily down, and running directly up to her, began to ask pardon
for the offences she had committed, begging that all might be imputed to
ignorance of her quality: for, “Lud! madam,” says she, “how should I have
imagined that a lady of your fashion would appear in such a dress? I am sure,
madam, if I had once suspected that your ladyship was your ladyship, I would
sooner have burnt my tongue out, than have said what I have said; and I hope
your ladyship will accept of a gown, till you can get your own cloaths.”
“Prithee,
woman,” says Mrs Waters, “cease your impertinence: how can you imagine I should
concern myself about anything which comes from the lips of such low creatures
as yourself? But I am surprized at your assurance in thinking, after what is
past, that I will condescend to put on any of your dirty things. I would have
you know, creature, I have a spirit above that.”
Here Jones
interfered, and begged Mrs Waters to forgive the landlady, and to accept her
gown: “for I must confess,” cries he, “our appearance was a little suspicious
when first we came in; and I am well assured all this good woman did was, as
she professed, out of regard to the reputation of her house.”
“Yes, upon
my truly was it,” says she: “the gentleman speaks very much like a gentleman,
and I see very plainly is so; and to be certain the house is well known to be a
house of as good reputation as any on the road, and though I say it, is
frequented by gentry of the best quality, both Irish and English. I defy
anybody to say black is my eye, for that matter. And, as I was saying, if I had
known your ladyship to be your ladyship, I would as soon have burnt my fingers
as have affronted your ladyship; but truly where gentry come and spend their
money, I am not willing that they should be scandalized by a set of poor shabby
vermin, that, wherever they go, leave more lice than money behind them; such
folks never raise my compassion, for to be certain it is foolish to have any
for them; and if our justices did as they ought, they would be all whipt out of
the kingdom, for to be certain it is what is most fitting for them. But as for
your ladyship, I am heartily sorry your ladyship hath had a misfortune, and if
your ladyship will do me the honour to wear my cloaths till you can get some of
your ladyship’s own, to be certain the best I have is at your ladyship’s
service.”
Whether
cold, shame, or the persuasions of Mr Jones prevailed most on Mrs Waters, I
will not determine, but she suffered herself to be pacified by this speech of
my landlady, and retired with that good woman, in order to apparel herself in a
decent manner.
My
landlord was likewise beginning his oration to Jones, but was presently
interrupted by that generous youth, who shook him heartily by the hand, and
assured him of entire forgiveness, saying, “If you are satisfied, my worthy
friend, I promise you I am;” and indeed, in one sense, the landlord had the
better reason to be satisfied; for he had received a bellyfull of drubbing,
whereas Jones had scarce felt a single blow.
Partridge,
who had been all this time washing his bloody nose at the pump, returned into
the kitchen at the instant when his master and the landlord were shaking hands
with each other. As he was of a peaceable disposition, he was pleased with
those symptoms of reconciliation; and though his face bore some marks of
Susan’s fist, and many more of her nails, he rather chose to be contented with
his fortune in the last battle than to endeavour at bettering it in another.
The heroic
Susan was likewise well contented with her victory, though it had cost her a
black eye, which Partridge had given her at the first onset. Between these two,
therefore, a league was struck, and those hands which had been the instruments
of war became now the mediators of peace.
Matters
were thus restored to a perfect calm; at which the serjeant, though it may seem
so contrary to the principles of his profession, testified his approbation.
“Why now, that’s friendly,” said he; “d—n me, I hate to see two people bear
ill-will to one another after they have had a tussel. The only way when friends
quarrel is to see it out fairly in a friendly manner, as a man may call it,
either with a fist, or sword, or pistol, according as they like, and then let
it be all over; for my own part, d—n me if ever I love my friend better than
when I am fighting with him! To bear malice is more like a Frenchman than an
Englishman.”
He then
proposed a libation as a necessary part of the ceremony at all treaties of this
kind. Perhaps the reader may here conclude that he was well versed in antient
history; but this, though highly probable, as he cited no authority to support
the custom, I will not affirm with any confidence. Most likely indeed it is,
that he founded his opinion on very good authority, since he confirmed it with
many violent oaths.
Jones no
sooner heard the proposal than, immediately agreeing with the learned serjeant,
he ordered a bowl, or rather a large mug, filled with the liquor used on these
occasions, to be brought in, and then began the ceremony himself. He placed his
right hand in that of the landlord, and, seizing the bowl with his left, uttered
the usual words, and then made his libation. After which, the same was observed
by all present. Indeed, there is very little need of being particular in
describing the whole form, as it differed so little from those libations of
which so much is recorded in antient authors and their modern transcribers. The
principal difference lay in two instances; for, first, the present company
poured the liquor only down their throats; and, secondly, the serjeant, who
officiated as priest, drank the last; but he preserved, I believe, the antient
form, in swallowing much the largest draught of the whole company, and in being
the only person present who contributed nothing towards the libation besides
his good offices in assisting at the performance.
The good
people now ranged themselves round the kitchen fire, where good humour seemed
to maintain an absolute dominion; and Partridge not only forgot his shameful
defeat, but converted hunger into thirst, and soon became extremely facetious.
We must however quit this agreeable assembly for a while, and attend Mr Jones
to Mrs Waters’s apartment, where the dinner which he had bespoke was now on the
table. Indeed, it took no long time in preparing, having been all drest three
days before, and required nothing more from the cook than to warm it over
again.
Chapter v. — An apology for all heroes who have good stomachs, with a description of a battle of the amorous kind.
Heroes,
notwithstanding the high ideas which, by the means of flatterers, they may
entertain of themselves, or the world may conceive of them, have certainly more
of mortal than divine about them. However elevated their minds may be, their
bodies at least (which is much the major part of most) are liable to the worst
infirmities, and subject to the vilest offices of human nature. Among these
latter, the act of eating, which hath by several wise men been considered as
extremely mean and derogatory from the philosophic dignity, must be in some
measure performed by the greatest prince, heroe, or philosopher upon earth;
nay, sometimes Nature hath been so frolicsome as to exact of these dignified
characters a much more exorbitant share of this office than she hath obliged
those of the lowest order to perform.
To say the
truth, as no known inhabitant of this globe is really more than man, so none
need be ashamed of submitting to what the necessities of man demand; but when
those great personages I have just mentioned condescend to aim at confining
such low offices to themselves—as when, by hoarding or destroying, they seem
desirous to prevent any others from eating—then they surely become very low and
despicable.
Now, after
this short preface, we think it no disparagement to our heroe to mention the
immoderate ardour with which he laid about him at this season. Indeed, it may
be doubted whether Ulysses, who by the way seems to have had the best stomach
of all the heroes in that eating poem of the Odyssey, ever made a better meal.
Three pounds at least of that flesh which formerly had contributed to the
composition of an ox was now honoured with becoming part of the individual Mr
Jones.
This
particular we thought ourselves obliged to mention, as it may account for our
heroe’s temporary neglect of his fair companion, who eat but very little, and
was indeed employed in considerations of a very different nature, which passed
unobserved by Jones, till he had entirely satisfied that appetite which a fast
of twenty-four hours had procured him; but his dinner was no sooner ended than
his attention to other matters revived; with these matters therefore we shall
now proceed to acquaint the reader.
Mr Jones,
of whose personal accomplishments we have hitherto said very little, was, in
reality, one of the handsomest young fellows in the world. His face, besides
being the picture of health, had in it the most apparent marks of sweetness and
good-nature. These qualities were indeed so characteristical in his
countenance, that, while the spirit and sensibility in his eyes, though they
must have been perceived by an accurate observer, might have escaped the notice
of the less discerning, so strongly was this good-nature painted in his look,
that it was remarked by almost every one who saw him.
It was,
perhaps, as much owing to this as to a very fine complexion that his face had a
delicacy in it almost inexpressible, and which might have given him an air
rather too effeminate, had it not been joined to a most masculine person and
mien: which latter had as much in them of the Hercules as the former had of the
Adonis. He was besides active, genteel, gay, and good-humoured; and had a flow
of animal spirits which enlivened every conversation where he was present.
When the
reader hath duly reflected on these many charms which all centered in our
heroe, and considers at the same time the fresh obligations which Mrs Waters
had to him, it will be a mark more of prudery than candour to entertain a bad
opinion of her because she conceived a very good opinion of him.
But,
whatever censures may be passed upon her, it is my business to relate matters
of fact with veracity. Mrs Waters had, in truth, not only a good opinion of our
heroe, but a very great affection for him. To speak out boldly at once, she was
in love, according to the present universally-received sense of that phrase, by
which love is applied indiscriminately to the desirable objects of all our
passions, appetites, and senses, and is understood to be that preference which
we give to one kind of food rather than to another.
But though
the love to these several objects may possibly be one and the same in all
cases, its operations however must be allowed to be different; for, how much
soever we may be in love with an excellent surloin of beef, or bottle of Burgundy;
with a damask rose, or Cremona fiddle; yet do we never smile, nor ogle, nor
dress, nor flatter, nor endeavour by any other arts or tricks to gain the
affection of the said beef, &c. Sigh indeed we sometimes may; but it is
generally in the absence, not in the presence, of the beloved object. For
otherwise we might possibly complain of their ingratitude and deafness, with
the same reason as Pasiphae doth of her bull, whom she endeavoured to engage by
all the coquetry practised with good success in the drawing-room on the much
more sensible as well as tender hearts of the fine gentlemen there.
The
contrary happens in that love which operates between persons of the same
species, but of different sexes. Here we are no sooner in love than it becomes
our principal care to engage the affection of the object beloved. For what
other purpose indeed are our youth instructed in all the arts of rendering
themselves agreeable? If it was not with a view to this love, I question
whether any of those trades which deal in setting off and adorning the human
person would procure a livelihood. Nay, those great polishers of our manners,
who are by some thought to teach what principally distinguishes us from the
brute creation, even dancing-masters themselves, might possibly find no place
in society. In short, all the graces which young ladies and young gentlemen too
learn from others, and the many improvements which, by the help of a
looking-glass, they add of their own, are in reality those very spicula et
faces amoris so often mentioned by Ovid; or, as they are sometimes called
in our own language, the whole artillery of love.
Now Mrs
Waters and our heroe had no sooner sat down together than the former began to
play this artillery upon the latter. But here, as we are about to attempt a
description hitherto unassayed either in prose or verse, we think proper to
invoke the assistance of certain aërial beings, who will, we doubt not, come
kindly to our aid on this occasion.
“Say then,
ye Graces! you that inhabit the heavenly mansions of Seraphina’s countenance;
for you are truly divine, are always in her presence, and well know all the
arts of charming; say, what were the weapons now used to captivate the heart of
Mr Jones.”
“First,
from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning at their
discharge, flew forth two pointed ogles; but, happily for our heroe, hit only a
vast piece of beef which he was then conveying into his plate, and harmless
spent their force. The fair warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately
from her fair bosom drew forth a deadly sigh. A sigh which none could have
heard unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen
beaus; so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must have found
its subtle way to the heart of our heroe, had it not luckily been driven from
his ears by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale, which at that time he was
pouring forth. Many other weapons did she assay; but the god of eating (if
there be any such deity, for I do not confidently assert it) preserved his
votary; or perhaps it may not be dignus vindice nodus, and the present
security of Jones may be accounted for by natural means; for as love frequently
preserves from the attacks of hunger, so may hunger possibly, in some cases,
defend us against love.
“The fair
one, enraged at her frequent disappointments, determined on a short cessation
of arms. Which interval she employed in making ready every engine of amorous
warfare for the renewing of the attack when dinner should be over.
“No sooner
then was the cloth removed than she again began her operations. First, having
planted her right eye sidewise against Mr Jones, she shot from its corner a
most penetrating glance; which, though great part of its force was spent before
it reached our heroe, did not vent itself absolutely without effect. This the
fair one perceiving, hastily withdrew her eyes, and levelled them downwards, as
if she was concerned for what she had done; though by this means she designed
only to draw him from his guard, and indeed to open his eyes, through which she
intended to surprize his heart. And now, gently lifting up those two bright
orbs which had already begun to make an impression on poor Jones, she
discharged a volley of small charms at once from her whole countenance in a
smile. Not a smile of mirth, nor of joy; but a smile of affection, which most
ladies have always ready at their command, and which serves them to show at
once their good-humour, their pretty dimples, and their white teeth.
“This
smile our heroe received full in his eyes, and was immediately staggered with
its force. He then began to see the designs of the enemy, and indeed to feel
their success. A parley now was set on foot between the parties; during which
the artful fair so slily and imperceptibly carried on her attack, that she had
almost subdued the heart of our heroe before she again repaired to acts of
hostility. To confess the truth, I am afraid Mr Jones maintained a kind of
Dutch defence, and treacherously delivered up the garrison, without duly
weighing his allegiance to the fair Sophia. In short, no sooner had the amorous
parley ended and the lady had unmasked the royal battery, by carelessly letting
her handkerchief drop from her neck, than the heart of Mr Jones was entirely taken,
and the fair conqueror enjoyed the usual fruits of her victory.”
Here the
Graces think proper to end their description, and here we think proper to end
the chapter.
To be
continued
