CHAPTER XI.
_Containing the exhortations of parson Adams to his friend inaffliction; calculated for the instruction and improvement of thereader._
Joseph no sooner came perfectly to himself than, perceiving his mistressgone, he bewailed her loss with groans which would have pierced anyheart but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of acertain composition not unlike flint in its hardness and otherproperties; for you may strike fire from them, which will dart throughthe eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the same way. Hisown, poor youth! was of a softer composition; and at those words, "O mydear Fanny! O my love! shall I never, never see thee more?" his eyesoverflowed with tears, which would have become any but a hero. In aword, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related.
Mr Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to Joseph, began thusin a sorrowful tone: "You cannot imagine, my good child, that I entirelyblame these first agonies of your grief; for, when misfortunes attack usby surprize, it must require infinitely more learning than you aremaster of to resist them; but it is the business of a man and aChristian to summon Reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and she willpresently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted, therefore,child; I say be comforted. It is true, you have lost the prettiest,kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one with whom you might haveexpected to have lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence; by whom youmight have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have beenthe delight of your youth and the comfort of your age. You have not onlylost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence which lust andpower can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas ofhorror, which might drive you to despair."--"O I shall run mad!" criesJoseph. "O that I could but command my hands to tear my eyes out and myflesh off!"--"If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad youcan't," answered Adams. "I have stated your misfortune as strong as Ipossibly can; but, on the other side, you are to consider you are aChristian, that no accident happens to us without the Divine permission,and that it is the duty of a man, and a Christian, to submit. We did notmake ourselves; but the same power which made us rules over us, and weare absolutely at his disposal; he may do with us what he pleases, norhave we any right to complain. A second reason against our complaint isour ignorance; for, as we know not future events, so neither can we tellto what purpose any accident tends; and that which at first threatens uswith evil may in the end produce our good. I should indeed have said ourignorance is twofold (but I have not at present time to divideproperly), for, as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimatelydirected, so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung.You are a man, and consequently a sinner; and this may be a punishmentto you for your sins: indeed in this sense it may be esteemed as a good,yea, as the greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, andaverts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction.Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves demonstrates the folly andabsurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist, or against whom dowe complain, but a power from whose shafts no armour can guard us, nospeed can fly?--a power which leaves us no hope but in submission." "Osir!" cried Joseph, "all this is very true, and very fine, and I couldhear you all day if I was not so grieved at heart as now I am."--"Wouldyou take physic," says Adams, "when you are well, and refuse it when youare sick? Is not comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not tothose who rejoice or those who are at ease?" "O! you have not spoken oneword of comfort to me yet!" returned Joseph. "No!" cries Adams; "what amI then doing? what can I say to comfort you?" "O tell me," cries Joseph,"that Fanny will escape back to my arms, that they shall again enclosethat lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untaintedinnocence about her!" "Why, perhaps you may," cries Adams, "but I can'tpromise you what's to come. You must, with perfect resignation, wait theevent: if she be restored to you again, it is your duty to be thankful,and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you are wise and truly know yourown interest, you will peaceably and quietly submit to all thedispensations of Providence, being thoroughly assured that all themisfortunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, happen tothem for their own good. Nay, it is not your interest only, but yourduty, to abstain from immoderate grief; which if you indulge, you arenot worthy the name of a Christian." He spoke these last words with anaccent a little severer than usual; upon which Joseph begged him not tobe angry, saying, he mistook him if he thought he denied it was hisduty, for he had known that long ago. "What signifies knowing your duty,if you do not perform it?" answered Adams. "Your knowledge increasesyour guilt. O Joseph! I never thought you had this stubbornness in yourmind." Joseph replied, "He fancied he misunderstood him; which I assureyou," says he, "you do, if you imagine I endeavour to grieve; upon mysoul I don't." Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then proceeded toenlarge on the folly of grief, telling him, all the wise men andphilosophers, even among the heathens, had written against it, quotingseveral passages from Seneca, and the Consolation, which, though it wasnot Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works; andconcluded all by hinting that immoderate grief in this case mightincense that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This reason,or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of hismistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, andfor a moment abated his agonies; but, when his fears sufficiently setbefore his eyes the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returnedagain with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least asswage it;though it may be doubted in his behalf whether Socrates himself couldhave prevailed any better.
They remained some time in silence, and groans and sighs issued fromthem both; at length Joseph burst out into the following soliloquy:--
"Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man, But I must also feel them as a man. I cannot but remember such things were, And were most dear to me."
Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated? To which he answered,they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play. "Ay, there isnothing but heathenism to be learned from plays," replied he. "I neverheard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and theConscious Lovers; and, I must own, in the latter there are some thingsalmost solemn enough for a sermon." But we shall now leave them alittle, and enquire after the subject of their conversation.