understood!" cries he; "nay, I can't be understood. I know not what I
say. Meeting you here so unexpectedly, I have been unguarded: for
Heaven's sake pardon me, if I have said anything to offend you. I did
not mean it. Indeed, I would rather have died- nay, the very thought
would kill me."- "You surprize me," answered she. "How can you
possibly think you have offended me?"- "Fear, madam," says he, "easily
runs into madness; and there is no degree of fear like that which I
feel of offending you. How can I speak then? Nay, don't look angrily
at me; one frown will destroy me. I mean nothing. Blame my eyes, or
blame those beauties. What am I saying? Pardon me if I have said too
much. My heart overflowed. I have struggled with my love to the
utmost, and have endeavoured to conceal a fever which preys on my
vitals, and will, I hope, soon make it impossible for me ever to
offend you more."
Mr. Jones now fell a trembling as if he had been shaken with the fit
of an ague. Sophia, who was in a situation not very different from
his, answered in these words: "Mr. Jones, I will not affect to
misunderstand you; indeed, I understand you too well; but, for
Heaven's sake, if you have any affection for me, let me make the
best of my way into the house. I wish I may be able to support
myself thither."
Jones, who was hardly able to support himself, offered her his
arm, which she condescended to accept, but begged he would not mention
a word more to her of this nature at present. He promised he would
not; insisting only on her forgiveness of what love, without the leave
of his will, had forced from him: this, she told him, he knew how to
obtain by his future behaviour; and thus this young pair tottered
and trembled along, the lover not once daring to squeeze the hand of
his mistress, though it was locked in his.
Sophia immediately retired to her chamber, where Mrs. Honour and the
hartshorn were summoned to her assistance. As to poor Jones, the
only relief to his distempered mind was an unwelcome piece of news,
which, as it opens a scene of different nature from those in which the
reader hath lately been conversant, will be communicated to him in the
next chapter.
Chapter 7
In which Mr. Allworthy appears on a sick-bed
Mr. Western was become so fond of Jones that he was unwilling to
part with him, though his arm had been long since cured; and Jones,
either from the love of sport, or from some other reason, was easily
persuaded to continue at his house, which he did sometimes for a
fortnight together without paying a single visit at Mr. Allworthy's;
nay, without ever hearing from thence.
Mr. Allworthy had been for some days indisposed with a cold, which
had been attended with a little fever. This he had, however,
neglected; as it was usual with him to do all manner of disorders
which did not confine him to his bed, or prevent his several faculties
from performing their ordinary functions;- a conduct which we would
by no means be thought to approve or recommend to imitation; for
surely the gentlemen of the Esculapian art are in the right in
advising, that the moment the disease has entered at one door, the
physician should be introduced at the other: what else is meant by
that old adage, Venienti occurrite morbo? "Oppose a distemper at its
first approach." Thus the doctor and the disease meet in fair and
equal conflict; whereas, by giving time to the latter, we often suffer
him to fortify and entrench himself, like a French army; so that the
learned gentleman finds it very difficult, and sometimes impossible,
to come at the enemy. Nay, sometimes by gaining time the disease
applies to the French military politics, and corrupts nature over to
his side, and then all the powers of physic must arrive too late.
Agreeable to these observations was, I remember, the complaint of
the great Doctor Misaubin, who used very pathetically to lament the
late applications which were made to his skill, saying, "Bygar, me
believe my pation take me for de undertaker, for dey never send for me
till de physicion have kill dem."
Mr. Allworthy's distemper, by means of this neglect, gained such
ground, that, when the increase of his fever obliged him to send for
assistance, the doctor at his first arrival shook his head, wished
he had been sent for sooner, and intimated that he thought him in very
imminent danger. Mr. Allworthy, who had settled all his affairs in
this world, and was as well prepared as it is possible for human
nature to be for the other, received this information with the
utmost calmness and unconcern. He could, indeed, whenever he laid
himself down to rest, say with Cato in the tragical poem-
Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest: Cato knows neither of them;
Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die.
In reality, he could say this with ten times more reason and
confidence than Cato, or any other proud fellow among the antient or
modern heroes; for he was not only devoid of fear, but might be
considered as a faithful labourer, when at the end of harvest he is
summoned to receive his reward at the hands of a bountiful master.
The good man gave immediate orders for all his family to be summoned
round him. None of these were then abroad, but Mrs. Blifil, who had
been some time in London, and Mr. Jones, whom the reader hath just
parted from at Mr. Western's, and who received this summons just as
Sophia had left him.
The news of Mr. Allworthy's danger (for the servant told him he
was dying) drove all thoughts of love out of his head. He hurried
instantly into the chariot which was sent for him, and ordered the
coachman to drive with all imaginable haste; nor did the idea of
Sophia, I believe, once occur to him on the way.
And now the whole family, namely, Mr. Blifil, Mr. Jones, Mr.
Thwackum, Mr. Square, and some of the servants (for such were Mr.
Allworthy's orders), being all assembled round his bed, the good man
sat up in it, and was beginning to speak, when Blifil fell to
blubbering, and began to express very loud and bitter lamentations.
Upon this Mr. Allworthy shook him by the hand, and said, "Do not
sorrow thus, my dear nephew, at the most ordinary of all human
occurrences. When misfortunes befal our friends we are justly grieved;
for those are accidents which might often have been avoided, and which
may seem to render the lot of one man more peculiarly unhappy than
that of others; but death is certainly unavoidable, and is that common
lot in which alone the fortunes of all men agree: nor is the time when
this happens to us very material. If the wisest of men hath compared
life to a span, surely we may be allowed to consider it as a day. It
is my fate to leave it in the evening; but those who are taken away
earlier have only lost a few hours, at the best little worth
lamenting, and much oftener hours of labour and fatigue, of pain and
sorrow. One of the Roman poets, I remember, likens our leaving life to
our departure from a feast;- a thought which hath often occurred to
me when I have seen men struggling to protract an entertainment, and
to enjoy the company of their friends a few moments longer. Alas!
how short is the most protracted of such enjoyments! how immaterial
the difference between him who retires the soonest, and him who
stays the latest! This is seeing life in the best view, and this
unwillingness to quit our friends is the most amiable motive from
which we can derive the fear of death; and yet the longest enjoyment
which we can hope for of this kind is of so trivial a duration, that
it is to a wise man truly contemptible. Few men, I own, think in
this manner; for, indeed, few men think of death till they are in
its jaws. However gigantic and terrible in object this may appear when
it approaches them, they are nevertheless incapable of seeing it at
any distance; nay, though they have been ever so much alarmed and
frightened when they have apprehended themselves in danger of dying,
they are no sooner cleared from this apprehension than even the
fears of it are erased from their minds. But, alas! he who escapes
from death is not pardoned; he is, only reprieved, and reprieved to
a short day.
"Grieve, therefore, no more, my dear child, on this occasion: an
event which may happen every hour; which every element, nay, almost
every particle of matter that surrounds us is capable of producing,
and which must and will most unavoidably reach us all at last, ought
neither to occasion our surprize nor our lamentation.
"My physician having acquainted me (which I take very kindly of him)
that I am in danger of leaving you all very shortly, I have determined
to say a few words to you at this our parting, before my distemper,
which I find grows very fast upon me, puts it out of my power.
"But I shall waste my strength too much. I intended to speak
concerning my will, which, though I have settled long ago, I think
proper to mention such heads of it as concern any of you, that I may
have the comfort of perceiving you are all satisfied with the
provision I have there made for you.
"Nephew Blifil, I leave you the heir to my whole estate, except only
L500 a-year, which is to revert to you after the death of your mother,
and except one other estate of L500 a-year, and the sum of L6000,
which I have bestowed in the following manner:
"The estate of L500 a-year I have given to you, Mr. Jones: and as
I know the inconvenience which attends the want of ready money, I have
added L1000 in specie. In this I know not whether I have exceeded or
fallen short of your expectation. Perhaps you will think I have
given you too little, and the world will be as ready to condemn me for
giving you too much; but the latter censure I despise; and as to the
former, unless you should entertain that common error which I have
often heard in my life pleaded as an excuse for a total want of
charity, namely, that instead of raising gratitude by voluntary acts
of bounty, we are apt to raise demands, which of all others are the
most boundless and most difficult to satisfy.- Pardon me the bare
mention of this; I will not suspect any such thing."
Jones flung himself at his benefactor's feet, and taking eagerly
hold of his hand, assured him his goodness to him, both now and all
other times, had so infinitely exceeded not only his merit but his
hopes, that no words could express his sense of it. "And I assure you,
sir," said he, "your present generosity hath left me no other
concern than for the present melancholy occasion. Oh, my friend, my
father!" Here his words choaked him, and he turned away to hide a tear
which was starting from his eyes.
Allworthy then gently squeezed his hand, and proceeded thus: "I am
convinced, my child, that you have much goodness, generosity, and
honour, in your temper: if you will add prudence and religion to
these, you must be happy; for the three former qualities, I admit,
make you worthy of happiness, but they are the latter only which
will put you in possession of it.
"One thousand pound I have given to you, Mr. Thwackum; a sum I am
convinced which greatly exceeds your desires, as well as your wants.
However you will receive it as a memorial of my friendship; and
whatever superfluities may redound to you, that piety which you so
rigidly maintain will instruct you how to dispose of them.
"A like sum, Mr. Square, I have bequeathed to you. This. I hope,
will enable you to pursue your profession with better success than
hitherto. I have often observed with concern, that distress is more
apt to excite contempt than commiseration, especially among men of
business, with whom poverty is understood to indicate want of ability.
But the little I have been able to leave you will extricate you from
those difficulties with which you have formerly struggled; and then
I doubt not but you will meet with sufficient prosperity to supply
what a man of your philosophical temper will require.
"I find myself growing faint, so I shall refer you to my will for my
disposition of the residue. My servants will there find some tokens to
remember me by; and there are a few charities which, I trust, my
executors will see faithfully performed. Bless you all. I am setting
out a little before you.-
"Here a footman came hastily into the room, and said there was an
attorney from Salisbury who had a particular message, which he said he
must communicate to Mr. Allworthy himself: that he seemed in a violent
hurry, and protested he had so much business to do, that, if he
could cut himself into four quarters, all would not be sufficient.
"Go, child," said Allworthy to Blifil, "see what the gentleman
wants. I am not able to do any business now, nor can he have any
with me, in which you are not at present more concerned than myself.
Besides, I really am- I am incapable of seeing any one at present, or
of any longer attention." He then saluted them all, saying, perhaps he
should be able to see them again, but he should be now glad to compose
himself a little, finding that he had too much exhausted his spirits
in discourse.
Some of the company shed tears at their parting; and even the
philosopher Square wiped his eyes, albeit unused to the melting
mood. As to Mrs. Wilkins, she dropt her pearls as fast as the
Arabian trees their medicinal gums; for this was a ceremonial which
that gentlewoman never omitted on a proper occasion.
After this Mr. Allworthy again laid himself down on his pillow,
and endeavoured to compose himself to rest.
Chapter 8
Containing matter rather natural than pleasing
Besides grief for her master, there was another source for that
briny stream which so plentifully rose above the two mountainous
cheek-bones of the housekeeper. She was no sooner retired, than she
began to mutter to herself in the following pleasant strain: "Sure
