Chapter xiv.

The arrival of a surgeon.--His operations, and a long dialogue between

Sophia and her maid.

When they arrived at Mr Western's hall, Sophia, who had tottered along

with much difficulty, sunk down in her chair; but by the assistance of

hartshorn and water, she was prevented from fainting away, and had

pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon who was sent for

to Jones appeared. Mr Western, who imputed these symptoms in his

daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of

prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by the surgeon, who gave

so many reasons for bleeding, and quoted so many cases where persons

had miscarried for want of it, that the squire became very

importunate, and indeed insisted peremptorily that his daughter should

be blooded.

Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, though entirely

contrary to her own inclinations, for she suspected, I believe, less

danger from the fright, than either the squire or the surgeon. She

then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the operator began to

prepare for his work.

While the servants were busied in providing materials, the surgeon,

who imputed the backwardness which had appeared in Sophia to her

fears, began to comfort her with assurances that there was not the

least danger; for no accident, he said, could ever happen in bleeding,

but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery, which he

pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be apprehended. Sophia

declared she was not under the least apprehension; adding, “If you

open an artery, I promise you I'll forgive you.” “Will you?” cries

Western: “D--n me, if I will. If he does thee the least mischief, d--n

me if I don't ha' the heart's blood o'un out.” The surgeon assented to

bleed her upon these conditions, and then proceeded to his operation,

which he performed with as much dexterity as he had promised; and with

as much quickness: for he took but little blood from her, saying, it

was much safer to bleed again and again, than to take away too much at

once.

Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired: for she was not willing

(nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be present at the operation

on Jones. Indeed, one objection which she had to bleeding (though she

did not make it) was the delay which it would occasion to setting the

broken bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned, had no

consideration but for her; and as for Jones himself, he “sat like

patience on a monument smiling at grief.” To say the truth, when he

saw the blood springing from the lovely arm of Sophia, he scarce

thought of what had happened to himself.

The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stript to his shirt, and

then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch and examine it, in

such a manner that the tortures he put him to caused Jones to make

several wry faces; which the surgeon observing, greatly wondered at,

crying, “What is the matter, sir? I am sure it is impossible I should

hurt you.” And then holding forth the broken arm, he began a long and

very learned lecture of anatomy, in which simple and double fractures

were most accurately considered; and the several ways in which Jones

might have broken his arm were discussed, with proper annotations

showing how many of these would have been better, and how many worse

than the present case.

Having at length finished his laboured harangue, with which the

audience, though it had greatly raised their attention and admiration,

were not much edified, as they really understood not a single syllable

of all he had said, he proceeded to business, which he was more

expeditious in finishing, than he had been in beginning.

Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr Western compelled him to

accept at his own house, and sentence of water-gruel was passed upon

him.

Among the good company which had attended in the hall during the

bone-setting, Mrs Honour was one; who being summoned to her mistress

as soon as it was over, and asked by her how the young gentleman did,

presently launched into extravagant praises on the magnanimity, as she

called it, of his behaviour, which, she said, “was so charming in so

pretty a creature.” She then burst forth into much warmer encomiums on

the beauty of his person; enumerating many particulars, and ending

with the whiteness of his skin.

This discourse had an effect on Sophia's countenance, which would not

perhaps have escaped the observance of the sagacious waiting-woman,

had she once looked her mistress in the face, all the time she was

speaking: but as a looking-glass, which was most commodiously placed

opposite to her, gave her an opportunity of surveying those features,

in which, of all others, she took most delight; so she had not once

removed her eyes from that amiable object during her whole speech.

Mrs Honour was so intirely wrapped up in the subject on which she

exercised her tongue, and the object before her eyes, that she gave

her mistress time to conquer her confusion; which having done, she

smiled on her maid, and told her, “she was certainly in love with this

young fellow.”--“I in love, madam!” answers she: “upon my word, ma'am,

I assure you, ma'am, upon my soul, ma'am, I am not.”--“Why, if you

was,” cries her mistress, “I see no reason that you should be ashamed

of it; for he is certainly a pretty fellow.”--“Yes, ma'am,” answered

the other, “that he is, the most handsomest man I ever saw in my life.

Yes, to be sure, that he is, and, as your ladyship says, I don't know

why I should be ashamed of loving him, though he is my betters. To be

sure, gentlefolks are but flesh and blood no more than us servants.

Besides, as for Mr Jones, thof Squire Allworthy hath made a gentleman

of him, he was not so good as myself by birth: for thof I am a poor

body, I am an honest person's child, and my father and mother were

married, which is more than some people can say, as high as they hold

their heads. Marry, come up! I assure you, my dirty cousin! thof his

skin be so white, and to be sure it is the most whitest that ever was

seen, I am a Christian as well as he, and nobody can say that I am

base born: my grandfather was a clergyman,[*] and would have been very

angry, I believe, to have thought any of his family should have taken

up with Molly Seagrim's dirty leavings.”

[*] This is the second person of low condition whom we have recorded

in this history to have sprung from the clergy. It is to be hoped

such instances will, in future ages, when some provision is made for

the families of the inferior clergy, appear stranger than they can

be thought at present.

Perhaps Sophia might have suffered her maid to run on in this manner,

from wanting sufficient spirits to stop her tongue, which the reader

may probably conjecture was no very easy task; for certainly there

were some passages in her speech which were far from being agreeable

to the lady. However, she now checked the torrent, as there seemed no

end of its flowing. “I wonder,” says she, “at your assurance in daring

to talk thus of one of my father's friends. As to the wench, I order

you never to mention her name to me. And with regard to the young

gentleman's birth, those who can say nothing more to his disadvantage,

may as well be silent on that head, as I desire you will be for the

future.”

“I am sorry I have offended your ladyship,” answered Mrs Honour. “I am

sure I hate Molly Seagrim as much as your ladyship can; and as for

abusing Squire Jones, I can call all the servants in the house to

witness, that whenever any talk hath been about bastards, I have

always taken his part; for which of you, says I to the footmen, would

not be a bastard, if he could, to be made a gentleman of? And, says I,

I am sure he is a very fine gentleman; and he hath one of the whitest

hands in the world; for to be sure so he hath: and, says I, one of the

sweetest temperedest, best naturedest men in the world he is; and,

says I, all the servants and neighbours all round the country loves

him. And, to be sure, I could tell your ladyship something, but that I

am afraid it would offend you.”--“What could you tell me, Honour?”

says Sophia. “Nay, ma'am, to be sure he meant nothing by it, therefore

I would not have your ladyship be offended.”--“Prithee tell me,” says

Sophia; “I will know it this instant.”--“Why, ma'am,” answered Mrs

Honour, “he came into the room one day last week when I was at work,

and there lay your ladyship's muff on a chair, and to be sure he put

his hands into it; that very muff your ladyship gave me but yesterday.

La! says I, Mr Jones, you will stretch my lady's muff, and spoil it:

but he still kept his hands in it: and then he kissed it--to be sure I

hardly ever saw such a kiss in my life as he gave it.”--“I suppose he

did not know it was mine,” replied Sophia. “Your ladyship shall hear,

ma'am. He kissed it again and again, and said it was the prettiest

muff in the world. La! sir, says I, you have seen it a hundred times.

Yes, Mrs Honour, cried he; but who can see anything beautiful in the

presence of your lady but herself?--Nay, that's not all neither; but I

hope your ladyship won't be offended, for to be sure he meant nothing.

One day, as your ladyship was playing on the harpsichord to my master,

Mr Jones was sitting in the next room, and methought he looked

melancholy. La! says I, Mr Jones, what's the matter? a penny for your

thoughts, says I. Why, hussy, says he, starting up from a dream, what

can I be thinking of, when that angel your mistress is playing? And

then squeezing me by the hand, Oh! Mrs Honour, says he, how happy will

that man be!--and then he sighed. Upon my troth, his breath is as

sweet as a nosegay.--But to be sure he meant no harm by it. So I hope

your ladyship will not mention a word; for he gave me a crown never to

mention it, and made me swear upon a book, but I believe, indeed, it

was not the Bible.”

Till something of a more beautiful red than vermilion be found out, I

shall say nothing of Sophia's colour on this occasion. “Ho--nour,”

says she, “I--if you will not mention this any more to me--nor to

anybody else, I will not betray you--I mean, I will not be angry; but

I am afraid of your tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it such

liberties?”--“Nay, ma'am,” answered she, “to be sure, I would sooner

cut out my tongue than offend your ladyship. To be sure I shall never

mention a word that your ladyship would not have me.”--“Why, I would

not have you mention this any more,” said Sophia, “for it may come to

my father's ears, and he would be angry with Mr Jones; though I really

believe, as you say, he meant nothing. I should be very angry myself,

if I imagined--“--“Nay, ma'am,” says Honour, “I protest I believe he

meant nothing. I thought he talked as if he was out of his senses;

nay, he said he believed he was beside himself when he had spoken the

words. Ay, sir, says I, I believe so too. Yes, says he, Honour.--But I

ask your ladyship's pardon; I could tear my tongue out for offending

you.” “Go on,” says Sophia; “you may mention anything you have not

told me before.”--“Yes, Honour, says he (this was some time

afterwards, when he gave me the crown), I am neither such a coxcomb,

or such a villain, as to think of her in any other delight but as my

goddess; as such I will always worship and adore her while I have

breath.--This was all, ma'am, I will be sworn, to the best of my

remembrance. I was in a passion with him myself, till I found he meant

no harm.”--“Indeed, Honour,” says Sophia, “I believe you have a real

affection for me. I was provoked the other day when I gave you

warning; but if you have a desire to stay with me, you shall.”--“To be

sure, ma'am,” answered Mrs Honour, “I shall never desire to part with

your ladyship. To be sure, I almost cried my eyes out when you gave me

warning. It would be very ungrateful in me to desire to leave your

ladyship; because as why, I should never get so good a place again. I

am sure I would live and die with your ladyship; for, as poor Mr Jones

said, happy is the man----”

Here the dinner bell interrupted a conversation which had wrought such

an effect on Sophia, that she was, perhaps, more obliged to her

bleeding in the morning, than she, at the time, had apprehended she

should be. As to the present situation of her mind, I shall adhere to

a rule of Horace, by not attempting to describe it, from despair of

success. Most of my readers will suggest it easily to themselves; and

the few who cannot, would not understand the picture, or at least

would deny it to be natural, if ever so well drawn.