Oh! my
fond heart is so wrapt in that tender bosom, that the brightest
beauties would for me have no charms, nor would a hermit be colder
in their embraces. Sophia, Sophia alone shall be mine. What raptures
are in that name! I will engrave it on every tree."
At these words he started up, and beheld- not his Sophia- no, nor a
Circassian maid richly and elegantly attired for the grand Signior's
seraglio. No; without a gown, in a shift that was somewhat of the
coarsest, and none of the cleanest, bedewed likewise with some
odoriferous effluvia, the produce of the day's labour, with a
pitchfork in her hand, Molly Seagrim approached. Our hero had his
penknife in his hand, which he had drawn for the before-mentioned
purpose of carving on the bark; when the girl coming near him, cryed
out with a smile, "You don't intend to kill me, squire, I
hope!"- "Why should you think I would kill you?" answered Jones.
"Nay," replied she, "after your cruel usage of me when I saw you last,
killing me would, perhaps, be too great kindness for me to expect."
Here ensued a parley, which, as I do not think myself obliged to
relate it, I shall omit. It is sufficient that it lasted a full
quarter of an hour, at the conclusion of which they retired into the
thickest part of the grove.
Some of my readers may be inclined to think this event unnatural.
However, the fact is true; and perhaps may be sufficiently accounted
for by suggesting, that Jones probably thought one woman better than
none, and Molly as probably imagined two men to be better than one.
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