then," said Jones, "you can think of deserting her?" "Why, what can
I do?" answered the other. "Ask Miss Nancy," replied Jones warmly. "In
the condition to which you have reduced her, I sincerely think she
ought to determine what reparation you shall make her. Her interest
alone, and not yours, ought to be your sole consideration. But if
you ask me what you shall do, what can you do less," cries Jones,
"than fulfil the expectations of her family, and her own? Nay, I
sincerely tell you, they were mine too, ever since I first saw you
together. You will pardon me if I presume on the friendship you have
favoured me with, moved as I am with compassion for those poor
creatures. But your own heart will best suggest to you, whether you
have never intended, by your conduct, to persuade the mother, as
well as the daughter, into an opinion, that you designed honourably:
and if so, though there may have been no direct promise of marriage in
the case, I will leave to your own good understanding, how far you are
bound to proceed."
"Nay, I must not only confess what you have hinted," said
Nightingale; "but I am afraid even that very promise you mention I
have given." "And can you, after owning that," said Jones, "hesitate a
moment?" "Consider, my friend," answered the other; "I know you are
a man of honour, and would advise no one to act contrary to its rules;
if there were no other objection, can I, after this publication of her
disgrace, think of such an alliance with honour?" "Undoubtedly,"
replied Jones, "and the very best and truest honour, which is
goodness, requires it of you. As you mention a scruple of this kind,
you will give me leave to examine it. Can you with honour be guilty of
having under false pretences deceived a young woman and her family,
and of having by these means treacherously robbed her of her
innocence? Can you, with honour, be the knowing, the wilful
occasion, nay, the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being?
Can you, with honour, destroy the fame, the peace, nay, probably, both
the life and soul too, of this creature? Can honour bear the
thought, that this creature is a tender, helpless, defenceless,
young woman? A young woman, who loves, who doats on you, who dies
for you; who hath placed the utmost confidence in your promises; and
to that confidence hath sacrificed everything which is dear to her?
Can honour support such contemplations as these a moment?"
"Common sense, indeed," said Nightingale, "warrants all you say; but
yet you well know the opinion of the world is so contrary to it, that,
was I to marry a whore, though my own, I should be ashamed of ever
showing my face again."
"Fie upon it, Mr. Nightingale!" said Jones, "do not call her by so
ungenerous a name: when you promised to marry her, she became your
wife; and she hath sinned more against prudence than virtue. And
what is this world, which you would be ashamed to face, but the
vile, the foolish, and the profligate? Forgive me if I say such a
shame must proceed from false modesty, which always attends false
honour as its shadow.- But I am well assured there is not a man of
real sense and goodness in the world, who would not honour and applaud
the action. But, admit no other would, would not your own heart, my
friend, applaud it? And do not the warm, rapturous sensations, which
we feel from the consciousness of an honest, noble, generous,
benevolent action, convey more delight to the mind than the undeserved
praise of millions? Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On
the one side, see this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl, in the
arms of her wretched mother, breathing her last. Hear her breaking
heart in agonies, sighing out your name; and lamenting, rather than
accusing, the cruelty which weighs her down to destruction. Paint to
your imagination the circumstance of her fond bespairing parent,
driven to madness, or, perhaps, to death, by the loss of her lovely
daughter. View the poor, helpless, orphan infant; and when your mind
hath dwelt a moment only on such ideas, consider yourself as the cause
of all the ruin of this poor, little, worthy, defenceless family. On
the other side, consider yourself, as relieving them from their
temporary sufferings. Think with what joy, with what transports that
lovely creature will fly to your arms. See her blood returning to
her pale cheeks, her fire to her languid eyes, and raptures to her
tortured breast. Consider the exultations of her mother, the happiness
of all. Think of this little family made by one act of yours
completely happy. Think of this alternative, and sure I am mistaken in
my friend, if it requires any long deliberation, whether he will
sink these wretches down for ever, or, by one generous, noble
resolution, raise them all from the brink of misery and despair to the
highest pitch of human happiness. Add to this but one consideration
more; the consideration that it is your duty so to do- That the
misery from which you will relieve these poor people, is the misery
which you yourself have wilfully brought upon them."
"O, my dear friend!" cries Nightingale, "I wanted not your eloquence
to rouse me. I pity poor Nancy from my soul, and would willingly
give anything in my power that no familiarities had ever passed
between us. Nay, believe me, I had many struggles with my passion
before I could prevail with myself to write that cruel letter, which
hath caused all the misery in that unhappy family. If I had no
inclinations to consult but my own, I would marry her to-morrow
morning: I would, by heaven! but you will easily imagine how
impossible it would be to prevail on my father to consent to such a
match; besides, he hath provided another for me; and to-morrow, by his
express command, I am to wait on the lady."
"I have not the honour to know your father," said Jones; "but,
suppose he could be persuaded, would you yourself consent to the
only means of preserving these poor people?" "As eagerly as I would
pursue my happiness," answered Nightingale: "for I never shall find it
in any other woman.- O, my dear friend! could you imagine what I have
felt within these twelve hours for my poor girl, I am convinced she
would not engross all your pity. Passion leads me only to her; and, if
I had any foolish scruples of honour, you have fully satisfied them:
could my father be induced to comply with my desires, nothing would be
wanting to compleat my own happiness, or that of my Nancy."
"Then I am resolved to undertake it," said Jones. "You must not be
angry with me, in whatever light it may be necessary to set this
affair, which, you may depend on it, could not otherwise be long hid
from him: for things of this nature make a quick progress when once
they get abroad, as this unhappily hath already. Besides, should any
fatal accident follow, as upon my soul I am afraid will, unless
immediately prevented, the public would ring of your name in a
manner which, if your father hath common humanity, must offend him. If
you will therefore tell me where I may find the old gentleman, I
will not lose a moment in the business; which, while I pursue, you
cannot do a more generous action than by paying a visit to the poor
girl. You will find I have not exaggerated in the account I have given
of the wretchedness of the family."
Nightingale immediately consented to the proposal; and now, having
acquainted Jones with his father's lodging, and the coffee-house where
he would most probably find him, he hesitated a moment, and then said,
"My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an impossibility. If you knew
my father, you would never think of obtaining his consent.-- Stay,
there is one way- suppose you told him I was already married, it might
be easier to reconcile him to the fact after it was done; and, upon my
honour, I am so affected with what you have said, and I love my
Nancy so passionately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be
the consequence."
Jones greatly approved the hint, and promised to pursue it. They
then separated, Nightingale, to visit his Nancy, and Jones in quest of
the old gentleman.
Chapter 8
What passed between Jones and old Mr. Nightingale; with the
arrival of a person not yet mentioned in this history
Notwithstanding the sentiment of the Roman satirist, which denies
the divinity of fortune, and the opinion of Seneca to the same
purpose; Cicero, who was, I believe, a wiser man than either of
them, expressly holds the contrary; and certain it is, there are
some incidents in life so very strange and unaccountable, that it
seems to require more than human skill and foresight in producing
them.
Of this kind was what now happened to Jones, who found Mr.
Nightingale the elder in so critical a minute, that Fortune, if she
was really worthy all the worship she received at Rome, could not have
contrived such another. In short, the old gentleman, and the father of
the young lady whom he intended for his son, had been hard at it for
many hours; and the latter was just now gone, and had left the
former delighted with the thoughts that he had succeeded in a long
contention, which had been between the two fathers of the future bride
and bridegroom; in which both endeavoured to overreach the other, and,
as it not rarely happens in such cases, both had retreated fully
satisfied of having obtained the victory.
This gentleman, whom Mr. Jones now visited, was what they call a man
of the world; that is to say, a man who directs his conduct in this
world as one who, being fully persuaded there is no other, is resolved
to make the most of this. In his early years he had been bred to
trade; but, having acquired a very good fortune, he had lately
declined his business; or, to speak more properly, had changed it from
dealing in goods, to dealing only in money, of which he had always a
plentiful fund at command, and of which he knew very well how to
make a very plentiful advantage, sometimes of the necessities of
private men, and sometimes of those of the public. He had indeed
conversed so intirely with money, that it may be almost doubted
whether he imagined there was any other thing really existing in the
world; this at least may be certainly averred, that he firmly believed
nothing else to have any real value.
The reader will, I fancy, allow that Fortune could not have culled
out a more improper person for Mr. Jones to attack with any
probability of success; nor could the whimsical lady have directed
this attack at a more unseasonable time.
As money then was always uppermost in this gentleman's thoughts,
so the moment he saw a stranger within his doors, it immediately
occurred to his imagination, that such stranger was either come to
bring him money, or to fetch it from him. And according as one or
other of these thoughts prevailed, he conceived a favourable or
unfavourable idea of the person who approached him.
Unluckily for Jones, the latter of these was the ascendant at
present; for as a young gentleman had visited him the day before, with
a bill from his son for a play debt, he apprehended, at the first
sight of Jones, that he was come on such another errand. Jones
therefore had no sooner told him that he was come on his son's
account, than the old gentleman, being confirmed in his suspicion,
burst forth into an exclamation, "That he would lose his labour."
"Is it then possible, sir," answered Jones, "that you can guess my
business?" "If I do guess it," replied the other, "I repeat again to
you, you will lose your labour. What, I suppose you are one of those
sparks who lead my son into all those scenes of riot and debauchery,
which will be his destruction? but I shall pay no more of his bills, I
promise you. I expect he will quit all such company for the future. If
I had imagined otherwise, I should not have provided a wife for him;
for I would be instrumental in the ruin of nobody." "How, sir," said
Jones, "and was this lady of your providing?" "Pray, sir," answered
the old gentleman, "how comes it to be any concern of yours?"- "Nay,
dear sir," replied Jones, "be not offended that I interest myself in
what regards your son's happiness, for whom I have so great an
honour and value. It was upon that very account I came to wait upon
you. I can't express the satisfaction you have given me by what you
say; for I do assure you, your son is a person for whom I have the
highest honour.- Nay, sir, it is not easy to express the esteem I
have for you; who could be so generous, so good, so kind, so indulgent
to provide such a match for your son; a woman, who, I dare swear, will
make him one of the happiest men upon earth."
There is scarce anything which so happily introduces men to our good
liking, as having conceived some alarm at their first appearance; when
once those apprehensions begin to vanish, we soon forget the fears
which they occasioned, and look on ourselves as indebted for our
present ease to those very persons who at first raised our fears.
Thus it happened to Nightingale, who no sooner found that Jones
had no demand on him, as he suspected, than he began to be pleased
with his presence. "Pray, good sir," said he, "be pleased to sit down.
I do not remember to have ever had the pleasure of seeing you
before; but if you are a friend of my son, and have anything to say
concerning this young lady, I shall be glad to hear you. As to her
making him happy, it will be his own fault if she doth not. I have
discharged my duty, in taking care of the main article. She will bring
him a fortune capable of making any reasonable, prudent, sober man,
happy." "Undoubtedly" cries Jones, "for she is in herself a fortune;
so beautiful, so genteel, so sweet-tempered, and so well-educated; she
