Joseph Andrews, Vol. 2

  CHAPTER VIII.

  _Which some readers will think too short and others too long._

  Adams, and Joseph, who was no less enraged than his friend at thetreatment he met with, went out with their sticks in their hands, andcarried off Fanny, notwithstanding the opposition of the servants, whodid all, without proceeding to violence, in their power to detain them.They walked as fast as they could, not so much from any apprehension ofbeing pursued as that Mr Adams might, by exercise, prevent any harm fromthe water. The gentleman, who had given such orders to his servantsconcerning Fanny that he did not in the least fear her getting away, nosooner heard that she was gone, than he began to rave, and immediatelydespatched several with orders either to bring her back or never return.The poet, the player, and all but the dancing-master and doctor, went onthis errand.

  The night was very dark in which our friends began their journey;however, they made such expedition, that they soon arrived at an innwhich was at seven miles' distance. Here they unanimously consented topass the evening, Mr Adams being now as dry as he was before he had setout on his embassy.

  This inn, which indeed we might call an ale-house, had not the words,The New Inn, been writ on the sign, afforded them no better provisionthan bread and cheese and ale; on which, however, they made a verycomfortable meal; for hunger is better than a French cook.

  They had no sooner supped, than Adams, returning thanks to the Almightyfor his food, declared he had eat his homely commons with much greatersatisfaction than his splendid dinner; and expressed great contempt forthe folly of mankind, who sacrificed their hopes of heaven to theacquisition of vast wealth, since so much comfort was to be found in thehumblest state and the lowest provision. "Very true, sir," says a graveman who sat smoaking his pipe by the fire, and who was a traveller aswell as himself. "I have often been as much surprized as you are, when Iconsider the value which mankind in general set on riches, since everyday's experience shows us how little is in their power; for what,indeed, truly desirable, can they bestow on us? Can they give beauty tothe deformed, strength to the weak, or health to the infirm? Surely ifthey could we should not see so many ill-favoured faces haunting theassemblies of the great, nor would such numbers of feeble wretcheslanguish in their coaches and palaces. No, not the wealth of a kingdomcan purchase any paint to dress pale Ugliness in the bloom of that youngmaiden, nor any drugs to equip Disease with the vigour of that youngman. Do not riches bring us to solicitude instead of rest, envy insteadof affection, and danger instead of safety? Can they prolong their ownpossession, or lengthen his days who enjoys them? So far otherwise, thatthe sloth, the luxury, the care which attend them, shorten the lives ofmillions, and bring them with pain and misery to an untimely grave.Where, then, is their value if they can neither embellish nor strengthenour forms, sweeten nor prolong our lives?--Again: Can they adorn themind more than the body? Do they not rather swell the heart with vanity,puff up the cheeks with pride, shut our ears to every call of virtue,and our bowels to every motive of compassion?" "Give me your hand,brother," said Adams, in a rapture, "for I suppose you are aclergyman."--"No, truly," answered the other (indeed, he was a priest ofthe Church of Rome; but those who understand our laws will not wonder hewas not over-ready to own it).--"Whatever you are," cries Adams, "youhave spoken my sentiments: I believe I have preached every syllable ofyour speech twenty times over; for it hath always appeared to me easierfor a cable-rope (which by the way is the true rendering of that word wehave translated camel) to go through the eye of a needle than for a richman to get into the kingdom of heaven."--"That, sir," said the other,"will be easily granted you by divines, and is deplorably true; but asthe prospect of our good at a distance doth not so forcibly affect us,it might be of some service to mankind to be made thoroughlysensible--which I think they might be with very little seriousattention--that even the blessings of this world are not to be purchasedwith riches; a doctrine, in my opinion, not only metaphysically, but, ifI may so say, mathematically demonstrable; and which I have been alwaysso perfectly convinced of that I have a contempt for nothing so much asfor gold." Adams now began a long discourse: but as most which he saidoccurs among many authors who have treated this subject, I shall omitinserting it. During its continuance Joseph and Fanny retired to rest,and the host likewise left the room. When the English parson hadconcluded, the Romish resumed the discourse, which he continued withgreat bitterness and invective; and at last ended by desiring Adams tolend him eighteen-pence to pay his reckoning; promising, if he neverpaid him, he might be assured of his prayers. The good man answered thateighteen-pence would be too little to carry him any very long journey;that he had half a guinea in his pocket, which he would divide with him.He then fell to searching his pockets, but could find no money; forindeed the company with whom he dined had passed one jest upon him whichwe did not then enumerate, and had picked his pocket of all thattreasure which he had so ostentatiously produced.

  "Bless me!" cried Adams, "I have certainly lost it; I can never havespent it. Sir, as I am a Christian, I had a whole half-guinea in mypocket this morning, and have not now a single halfpenny of it left.Sure the devil must have taken it from me!"--"Sir," answered the priest,smiling, "you need make no excuses; if you are not willing to lend methe money, I am contented."--"Sir," cries Adams, "if I had the greatestsum in the world--aye, if I had ten pounds about me--I would bestow itall to rescue any Christian from distress. I am more vexed at my loss onyour account than my own. Was ever anything so unlucky? Because I haveno money in my pocket I shall be suspected to be no Christian."--"I ammore unlucky," quoth the other, "if you are as generous as you say; forreally a crown would have made me happy, and conveyed me in plenty tothe place I am going, which is not above twenty miles off, and where Ican arrive by to-morrow night. I assure you I am not accustomed totravel pennyless. I am but just arrived in England; and we were forcedby a storm in our passage to throw all we had overboard. I don't suspectbut this fellow will take my word for the trifle I owe him; but I hateto appear so mean as to confess myself without a shilling to suchpeople; for these, and indeed too many others, know little difference intheir estimation between a beggar and a thief." However, he thought heshould deal better with the host that evening than the next morning: hetherefore resolved to set out immediately, notwithstanding the darkness;and accordingly, as soon as the host returned, he communicated to himthe situation of his affairs; upon which the host, scratching his head,answered, "Why, I do not know, master; if it be so, and you have nomoney, I must trust, I think, though I had rather always have readymoney if I could; but, marry, you look like so honest a gentleman that Idon't fear your paying me if it was twenty times as much." The priestmade no reply, but, taking leave of him and Adams as fast as he could,not without confusion, and perhaps with some distrust of Adams'ssincerity, departed.

  He was no sooner gone than the host fell a-shaking his head, anddeclared, if he had suspected the fellow had no money, he would not havedrawn him a single drop of drink, saying he despaired of ever seeing hisface again, for that he looked like a confounded rogue.

  "Rabbit the fellow," cries he, "I thought, by his talking so much aboutriches, that he had a hundred pounds at least in his pocket." Adams chidhim for his suspicions, which, he said, were not becoming a Christian;and then, without reflecting on his loss, or considering how he himselfshould depart in the morning, he retired to a very homely bed, as hiscompanions had before; however, health and fatigue gave them a sweeterrepose than is often in the power of velvet and down to bestow.