now, therefore, once more gave a loose to his natural fondness for
her, which had such an effect on the dutiful, grateful, tender, and
affectionate heart of Sophia, that had her honour, given to Jones, and
something else, perhaps, in which he was concerned, been removed, I
much doubt whether she would not have sacrificed herself to a man
she did not like, to have obliged her father. She promised him she
would make it the whole business of her life to oblige him, and
would never marry any man against his consent; which brought the old
man so near to his highest happiness, that he was resolved to take the
other step, and went to bed completely drunk.
Chapter 3
Allworthy visits old Nightingale; with a strange discovery that he
made on that occasion
The morning after these things had happened, Mr. Allworthy went,
according to his promise, to visit old Nightingale, with whom his
authority was so great, that, after having sat with him three hours,
he at last prevailed with him to consent to see his son.
Here an accident happened of a very extraordinary kind; one indeed
of those strange chances whence very good and grave men have concluded
that Providence often interposes in the discovery of the most secret
villany, in order to caution men from quitting the paths of honesty,
however warily they tread in those of vice.
Mr. Allworthy, at his entrance into Mr. Nightingale's, saw Black
George; he took no notice of him, nor did Black George imagine he
had perceived him.
However, when their conversation on the principal point was over,
Allworthy asked Nightingale, Whether he knew one George Seagrim, and
upon what business he came to his house? "Yes," answered
Nightingale, "I know him very well, and a most extraordinary fellow he
is, who, in these days, hath been able to hoard up L500 from renting a
very small estate of L30 a year." "And this is the story which he hath
told you?" cries Allworthy. "Nay, it is true, I promise you," said
Nightingale, "for I have the money now in my own hands, in five
bank-bills, which I am to lay out either in a mortgage, or in some
purchase in the north of England." The bank-bills were no sooner
produced at Allworthy's desire, than he blessed himself at the
strangeness of the discovery. He presently told Nightingale that these
bank-bills were formerly his, and then acquainted him with the whole
affair. As there are no men who complain more of the frauds of
business than highwaymen, gamesters, and other thieves of that kind,
so there are none who so bitterly exclaim against the frauds of
gamesters, &c., as usurers, brokers, and other thieves of this kind;
whether it be that the one way of cheating is a discountenance or
reflection upon the other, or that money, which is the common mistress
of all cheats, makes them regard each other in the light of rivals;
but Nightingale no sooner heard the story than he exclaimed against
the fellow in terms much severer than the justice and honesty of
Allworthy had bestowed on him.
Allworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the money and the
secret till he should hear farther from him; and, if he should in
the meantime see the fellow, that he would not take the least notice
to him of the discovery which he had made. He then returned to his
lodgings, where he found Mrs. Miller in a very dejected condition,
on account of the information she had received from her son-in-law.
Mr. Allworthy, with great chearfulness, told her that he had much good
news to communicate; and, with little further preface, acquainted
her that he had brought Mr. Nightingale to consent to see his son, and
did not in the least doubt to effect a perfect reconciliation
between them; though he found the father more sowered by another
accident of the same kind which had happened in his family. He then
mentioned the running away of the uncle's daughter, which he had
been told by the old gentleman, and which Mrs. Miller and her
son-in-law did not yet know.
The reader may suppose Mrs. Miller received this account with
great thankfulness, and no less pleasure; but so uncommon was her
friendship to Jones, that I am not certain whether the uneasiness
she suffered for his sake did not overbalance her satisfaction at
hearing a piece of news tending so much to the happiness of her own
family; nor whether even this very news, as it reminded her of the
obligations she had to Jones, did not hurt as well as please her; when
her grateful heart said to her, "While my own family is happy, how
miserable is the poor creature to whose generosity we owe the
beginning of all this happiness!"
Allworthy, having left her a little while to chew the cud (if I
may use that expression) on these first tidings, told her he had still
something more to impart, which he believed would give her pleasure.
"I think," said he, "I have discovered a pretty considerable
treasure belonging to the young gentleman, your friend; but perhaps,
indeed, his present situation may be such that it will be of no
service to him." The latter part of the speech gave Mrs. Miller to
understand who was meant, and she answered with a sigh, "I hope not,
sir." "I hope so too," cries Allworthy, "with all my heart; but my
nephew told me this morning he had heard a very bad account of the
affair."-- "Good Heaven! sir," said she- "Well, I must not speak, and
yet it is certainly very hard to be obliged to hold one's tongue when
one hears."-- "Madam," said Allworthy, "you may say whatever you
please, you know me too well to think I have a prejudice against any
one; and as for that young man, I assure you I should be heartily
pleased to find he could acquit himself of everything, and
particularly of this sad affair. You can testify the affection I have
formerly borne him. The world, I know, censured me for loving him so
much. I did not withdraw that affection from him without thinking I
had the justest cause. Believe me, Mrs. Miller, I should be glad to
find I have been mistaken." Mrs. Miller was going eagerly to reply,
when a servant acquainted her that a gentleman without desired to
speak with her immediately. Allworthy then enquired for his nephew,
and was told that he had been for some time in his room with the
gentleman who used to come to him, and whom Mr. Allworthy guessing
rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he desired presently to speak with him.
When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the case of the banknotes to
him, without mentioning any name, and asked in what manner such a
person might be punished. To which Dowling answered, "He thought he
might be indicted on the Black Act; but said, as it was a matter of
some nicety, it would be proper to go to counsel. He said he was to
attend counsel presently upon an affair of Mr. Western's, and if Mr.
Allworthy pleased he would lay the case before them." This was
agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller, opening the door, cried, "I ask
pardon, I did not know you had company; but Allworthy desired her to
come in, saying he had finished his business. Upon which Mr. Dowling
withdrew, and Mrs. Miller introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to
return thanks for the great kindness done him by Allworthy: but she
had scarce patience to let the young gentleman finish his speech
before she interrupted him, saying, "O sir! Mr. Nightingale brings
great news about poor Mr. Jones: he hath been to see the wounded
gentleman, who is out of all danger of death, and, what is more,
declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himself, and beat him. I am sure,
sir, you would not have Mr. Jones be a coward. If I was a man
myself, I am sure, if any man was to strike me, I should draw my
sword. Do pray, my dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all yourself."
Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had said; and concluded
with many handsome things of Jones, who was, he said, one of the
best-natured fellows in the world, and not in the least inclined to be
quarrelsome. Here Nightingale was going to cease, when Mrs. Miller
again begged him to relate all the many dutiful expressions he had
heard him make use of towards Mr. Allworthy. "To say the utmost good
of Mr. Allworthy," cries Nightingale, "is doing no more than strict
justice, and can have no merit in it: but indeed, I must say, no man
can be more sensible of the obligations he hath to so good a man
than is poor Jones. Indeed, sir, I am convinced the weight of your
displeasure is the heaviest burthen he lies under. He hath often
lamented it to me, and hath as often protested in the most solemn
manner he hath never been intentionally guilty of any offence
towards you; nay, he hath sworn he would rather die a thousand
deaths than he would have his conscience upbraid him with one
disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful thought towards you. But I ask
pardon, sir, I am afraid I presume to intermeddle too far in so tender
a point." "You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought,"
cries Mrs. Miller. "Indeed, Mr. Nightingale," answered Allworthy, "I
applaud your generous friendship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I
confess I am glad to hear the report you bring from this unfortunate
gentleman; and, if that matter should turn out to be as you
represent it (and, indeed, I doubt nothing of what you say), I may,
perhaps, in time, be brought to think better than lately I have of
this young man; for this good gentlewoman here, nay, all who know
me, can witness that I loved him as dearly as if he had been my own
son. Indeed, I have considered him as a child sent by fortune to my
care. I still remember the innocent, the helpless situation in which I
found him. I feel the tender pressure of his little hands at this
moment. He was my darling, indeed he was." At which words he ceased,
and the tears stood in his eyes.
As the answer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into fresh matters,
we will here stop to account for the visible alteration in Mr.
Allworthy's mind, and the abatement of his anger to Jones. Revolutions
of this kind, it is true, frequently occur in histories and dramatic
writers, for no other reason than because the history or play draws to
a conclusion, and are justified by authority of authors; yet, though
we insist upon as much authority as any author whatever, we shall
use this power very sparingly, and never but when we are driven to
it by necessity, which we do not at present foresee will happen in
this work.
This alteration then in the mind of Mr. Allworthy was occasioned
by a letter he had just received from Mr. Square, and which we shall
give the reader in the beginning of the next chapter.
Chapter 4
Containing two letters in very different stiles
MY WORTHY FRIEND,- I informed you in my last that I was forbidden
the use of the waters, as they were found by experience rather to
increase than lessen the symptoms of my distemper. I must now acquaint
you with a piece of news, which, I believe, will afflict my friends
more than it hath afflicted me. Dr. Harrington and Dr. Brewster have
informed me that there is no hopes of my recovery.
I have somewhere read, that the great use of philosophy is to
learn to die. I will not therefore so far disgrace mine, as to show
any surprize at receiving a lesson which I must be thought to have
so long studied. Yet, to say the truth, one page of the Gospel teaches
this lesson better than all the volumes of antient or modern
philosophers. The assurance it gives us of another life is a much
stronger support to a good mind, than all the consolations that are
drawn from the necessity of nature, the emptiness or satiety of our
enjoyments here, or any other topic of those declamations which are
sometimes capable of arming our minds with a stubborn patience in
bearing the thoughts of death, but never of raising them to a real
contempt of it, and much less of making us think it is a real good.
I would not here be understood to throw the horrid censure of atheism,
or even the absolute denial of immortality, on all who are called
philosophers. Many of that sect, as well antient as modern, have, from
the light of reason, discovered some hopes of a future state; but in
reality, that light was so faint and glimmering, and the hopes were so
incertain and precarious, that it may be justly doubted on which
side their belief turned. Plato himself concludes his Phaedon with
declaring, that his best arguments amount only to raise a probability;
and Cicero himself seems rather to Profess an inclination to
believe, than any actual belief in the doctrines of immortality. As to
myself, to be very sincere with you, I never was much in earnest in
this faith till I was in earnest a Christian.
You will perhaps wonder at the latter expression; but I assure you
it hath not been till very lately that I could, with truth, call
myself so. The pride of Philosophy had intoxicated my reason, and
the sublimest of all wisdom appeared to me, as it did to the Greeks of
old, to be foolishness. God hath, however, been so gracious to show me
my error in time, and to bring me into the way of truth, before I sunk
into utter darkness for ever.
I find myself beginning to grow weak, I shall therefore hasten to
the main Purpose of this letter.
When I reflect on the actions of my past life, I know of nothing
which sits heavier upon my conscience than the injustice I have been
guilty of to that poor wretch, your adopted son. I have, indeed, not
only connived at the villany of others, but been myself active in
injustice towards him. Believe me, my dear friend, when I tell you, on
the word of a dying man, he hath been basely injured. As to the
principal fact, upon the misrepresentation of which you discarded him,
I solemnly assure you he is innocent. When you lay upon your
supposed deathbed, he was the only person in the house who testified
any real concern; and what happened afterwards arose from the wildness
