when one of the servants snatching a mop out of a pail of water, which had already done its duty in washing the house, pushed it in the parson’s face; yet could he not bear him down; for the parson wresting the mop from the fellow with one hand, with the other brought his enemy as low as the earth."[173]

To obtain any adequate idea of the range of Fielding’s pictures of human nature, the reader must consult the novels themselves.  Propriety forbids the insertion here of quotations which could convey an impression of the happy dissoluteness of Tom Jones, the brutal coarseness of Squire Western, or the scenes of unblushing license which pervade the novels of Henry Fielding.  But a sample of the witty, jovial tone which has made these novels so popular may be of interest to readers who are not inclined to open “Tom Jones” itself.  The following scene was occasioned by the appearance of Molly Seagrim in church, in unaccustomed and ostentatious finery, and is described in the Homeric style, which Fielding sometimes adopted with such humorous effect.

As a vast herd of cows in a rich farmer’s yard, if, while they are milked, they hear their calves at a distance, lamenting the robbery which is then committing, roar and bellow:  so roared forth the Somersetshire mob an halloloo, made up of almost as many squalls, screams, and other different sounds, as there were persons, or indeed passions, among them.  Some were inspired by rage, others alarmed by fear, and others had nothing in theirs heads but the love of fun; but chiefly Envy, the sister of Satan and his constant companion, rushed among the crowd and blew up the fury of the women; who no sooner came up to Molly than they pelted her with dirt and rubbish.

Molly, having endeavored in vain to make a handsome retreat, faced about; and laying hold of ragged Bess, who advanced in the front of the enemy, she at one blow felled her to the ground.  The whole army of the enemy (though near a hundred in number), seeing the fate of their general, gave back many paces, and retired beyond a new dug grave; for the church-yard was the field of battle, where there was to be a funeral that very evening.  Molly pursued her victory, and catching up a skull which lay on the side of the grave, discharged it with such fury, that having hit a tailor on the head, the two skulls sent equally forth a hollow sound at their meeting, and the tailor took presently measure of his length on the ground, where the skulls lay side by side, and it was doubtful which was the more valuable of the two.  Molly, then taking a thigh bone in her hand, fell in among the flying ranks, and dealing her blows with great liberality on either side, overthrew the carcass of many a mighty hero and heroine.  Recount, O muse, the names of those who fell on this fatal day.  First Jemmy Tweedle felt on his hinder head the direful bone.  Him the pleasant banks of sweetly winding Stour had nourished, where he first learnt