History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
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, do 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 iv.
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 shew 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
shew me my error in time, and to bring me into the way of truth,
before I sunk into utter darkness forever.
“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 of his joy on your recovery; and, I am sorry to say it,
from the baseness of another person (but it is my desire to justify
the innocent, and to accuse none). Believe me, my friend, this young
man hath the noblest generosity of heart, the most perfect capacity
for friendship, the highest integrity, and indeed every virtue which
can ennoble a man. He hath some faults, but among them is not to be
numbered the least want of duty or gratitude towards you. On the
contrary, I am satisfied, when you dismissed him from your house,
his heart bled for you more than for himself.
“Worldly motives were the wicked and base reasons of my concealing
this from you so long; to reveal it now I can have no inducement but
the desire of serving the cause of truth, of doing right to the
innocent, and of making all the amends in my power for a past
offence. I hope this declaration, therefore, will have the effect
desired, and will restore this deserving young man to your favour;
the hearing of which, while I am yet alive, will afford the utmost
consolation to,
Sir,
Your most obliged,
obedient humble servant,
THOMAS SQUARE.”
The reader will, after this, scarce wonder at the revolution so
visibly appearing in Mr Allworthy, notwithstanding he received from
Thwackum, by the same post, another letter of a very different kind,
which we shall here add, as it may possibly be the last time we shall
have occasion to mention the name of that gentleman.
“SIR,
“I am not at all surprized at hearing from your worthy nephew a
fresh instance of the villany of Mr Square the atheist's young
pupil. I shall not wonder at any murders he may commit; and I
heartily pray that your own blood may not seal up his final
commitment to the place of wailing and gnashing of teeth.
“Though you cannot want sufficient calls to repentance for the many
unwarrantable weaknesses exemplified in your behaviour to this
wretch, so much to the prejudice of your own lawful family, and of
your character; I say, though these may sufficiently be supposed to
prick and goad your conscience at this season, I should yet be
wanting to my duty, if I spared to give you some admonition in order
to bring you to a due sense of your errors. I therefore pray you
seriously to consider the judgment which is likely to overtake this
wicked villain; and let it serve at least as a warning to you, that
you may not for the future despise the advice of one who is so
indefatigable in his prayers for your welfare.
“Had not my hand been withheld from due correction, I had scourged
much of this diabolical spirit out of a boy, of whom from his
infancy I discovered the devil had taken such entire possession. But
reflections of this kind now come too late.
“I am sorry you have given away the living of Westerton so hastily.
I should have applied on that occasion earlier, had I thought you
would not have acquainted me previous to the disposition.----Your
objection to pluralities is being righteous over-much. If there were
any crime in the practice, so many godly men would not agree to it.
If the vicar of Aldergrove should die (as we hear he is in a
declining way), I hope you will think of me, since I am certain you
must be convinced of my most sincere attachment to your highest
welfare--a welfare to which all worldly considerations are as
trifling as the small tithes mentioned in Scripture are, when
compared to the weighty matters of the law.
I am, sir,
Your faithful humble servant,
ROGER THWACKUM.”
This was the first time Thwackum ever wrote in this authoritative
stile to Allworthy, and of this he had afterwards sufficient reason to
repent, as in the case of those who mistake the highest degree of
goodness for the lowest degree of weakness. Allworthy had indeed never
liked this man. He knew him to be proud and ill-natured; he also knew
that his divinity itself was tinctured with his temper, and such as in
many respects he himself did by no means approve; but he was at the
same time an excellent scholar, and most indefatigable in teaching the
two lads. Add to this, the strict severity of his life and manners, an
unimpeached honesty, and a most devout attachment to religion. So
that, upon the whole, though Allworthy did not esteem nor love the
man, yet he could never bring himself to part with a tutor to the
boys, who was, both by learning and industry, extremely well qualified
for his office; and he hoped, that as they were bred up in his own
house, and under his own eye, he should be able to correct whatever
was wrong in Thwackum's instructions.
Chapter v.
In which the history is continued.
Mr Allworthy, in his last speech, had recollected some tender ideas
concerning Jones, which had brought tears into the good man's eyes.
This Mrs Miller observing, said, “Yes, yes, sir, your goodness to this
poor young man is known, notwithstanding all your care to conceal it;
but there is not a single syllable of truth in what those villains
said. Mr Nightingale hath now discovered the whole matter. It seems
these fellows were employed by a lord, who is a rival of poor Mr
Jones, to have pressed him on board a ship.--I assure them I don't
know who they will press next. Mr Nightingale here hath seen the
officer himself, who is a very pretty gentleman, and hath told him
all, and is very sorry for what he undertook, which he would never
have done, had he known Mr Jones to have been a gentleman; but he was
told that he was a common strolling vagabond.”
Allworthy stared at all this, and declared he was a stranger to every
word she said. “Yes, sir,” answered she, “I believe you are.----It is
a very different story, I believe, from what those fellows told this
lawyer.”
“What lawyer, madam? what is it you mean?” said Allworthy. “Nay, nay,”
said she, “this is so like you to deny your own goodness: but Mr
Nightingale here saw him.” “Saw whom, madam?” answered he. “Why, your
lawyer, sir,” said she, “that you so kindly sent to enquire into the
affair.” “I am still in the dark, upon my honour,” said Allworthy.
“Why then do you tell him, my dear sir,” cries she. “Indeed, sir,”
said Nightingale, “I did see that very lawyer who went from you when I
came into the room, at an alehouse in Aldersgate, in company with two
of the fellows who were employed by Lord Fellamar to press Mr Jones,
and who were by that means present at the unhappy rencounter between
him and Mr Fitzpatrick.” “I own, sir,” said Mrs Miller, “when I saw
this gentleman come into the room to you, I told Mr Nightingale that I
apprehended you had sent him thither to inquire into the affair.”
Allworthy shewed marks of astonishment in his countenance at this
news, and was indeed for two or three minutes struck dumb by it. At
last, addressing himself to Mr Nightingale, he said, “I must confess
myself, sir, more surprized at what you tell me than I have ever been
before at anything in my whole life. Are you certain this was the
gentleman?” “I am most certain,” answered Nightingale. “At
Aldersgate?” cries Allworthy. “And was you in company with this lawyer
and the two fellows?”--“I was, sir,” said the other, “very near half
an hour.” “Well, sir,” said Allworthy, “and in what manner did the