Chapter vii.

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 Aesculapian 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 an 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

£500 a-year, which is to revert to you after the death of your mother,

and except one other estate of £500 a-year, and the sum of £6000,

which I have bestowed in the following manner:

“The estate of £500 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 £1000 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.