History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

by Henry Fielding

  Chapter viii.

  Containing a scene of distress, which will appear very extraordinaryto most of our readers.

  Jones having refreshed himself with a few hours' sleep, summonedPartridge to his presence; and delivering him a bank-note of fiftypounds, ordered him to go and change it. Partridge received this withsparkling eyes, though, when he came to reflect farther, it raised inhim some suspicions not very advantageous to the honour of his master:to these the dreadful idea he had of the masquerade, the disguise inwhich his master had gone out and returned, and his having been abroadall night, contributed. In plain language, the only way he couldpossibly find to account for the possession of this note, was byrobbery: and, to confess the truth, the reader, unless he shouldsuspect it was owing to the generosity of Lady Bellaston, can hardlyimagine any other.

  To clear, therefore, the honour of Mr Jones, and to do justice to theliberality of the lady, he had really received this present from her,who, though she did not give much into the hackney charities of theage, such as building hospitals, &c., was not, however, entirely voidof that Christian virtue; and conceived (very rightly I think) that ayoung fellow of merit, without a shilling in the world, was noimproper object of this virtue.

  Mr Jones and Mr Nightingale had been invited to dine this day with MrsMiller. At the appointed hour, therefore, the two young gentlemen,with the two girls, attended in the parlour, where they waited fromthree till almost five before the good woman appeared. She had beenout of town to visit a relation, of whom, at her return, she gave thefollowing account.

  "I hope, gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am sure ifyou knew the occasion--I have been to see a cousin of mine, about sixmiles off, who now lies in.--It should be a warning to all persons(says she, looking at her daughters) how they marry indiscreetly.There is no happiness in this world without a competency. O Nancy! howshall I describe the wretched condition in which I found your poorcousin? she hath scarce lain in a week, and there was she, thisdreadful weather, in a cold room, without any curtains to her bed, andnot a bushel of coals in her house to supply her with fire; her secondson, that sweet little fellow, lies ill of a quinzy in the same bedwith his mother; for there is no other bed in the house. Poor littleTommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never see your favourite any more;for he is really very ill. The rest of the children are in pretty goodhealth: but Molly, I am afraid, will do herself an injury: she is butthirteen years old, Mr Nightingale, and yet, in my life, I never saw abetter nurse: she tends both her mother and her brother; and, what iswonderful in a creature so young, she shows all the chearfulness inthe world to her mother; and yet I saw her--I saw the poor child, MrNightingale, turn about, and privately wipe the tears from her eyes."Here Mrs Miller was prevented, by her own tears, from going on, andthere was not, I believe, a person present who did not accompany herin them; at length she a little recovered herself, and proceeded thus:"In all this distress the mother supports her spirits in a surprizingmanner. The danger of her son sits heaviest upon her, and yet sheendeavours as much as possible to conceal even this concern, on herhusband's account. Her grief, however, sometimes gets the better ofall her endeavours; for she was always extravagantly fond of this boy,and a most sensible, sweet-tempered creature it is. I protest I wasnever more affected in my life than when I heard the little wretch,who is hardly yet seven years old, while his mother was wetting himwith her tears, beg her to be comforted. `Indeed, mamma,' cried thechild, `I shan't die; God Almighty, I'm sure, won't take Tommy away;let heaven be ever so fine a place, I had rather stay here and starvewith you and my papa than go to it.' Pardon me, gentlemen, I can'thelp it" (says she, wiping her eyes), "such sensibility and affectionin a child.--And yet, perhaps, he is least the object of pity; for aday or two will, most probably, place him beyond the reach of allhuman evils. The father is, indeed, most worthy of compassion. Poorman, his countenance is the very picture of horror, and he looks likeone rather dead than alive. Oh heavens! what a scene did I behold atmy first coming into the room! The good creature was lying behind thebolster, supporting at once both his child and his wife. He hadnothing on but a thin waistcoat; for his coat was spread over the bed,to supply the want of blankets.--When he rose up at my entrance, Iscarce knew him. As comely a man, Mr Jones, within this fortnight, asyou ever beheld; Mr Nightingale hath seen him. His eyes sunk, his facepale, with a long beard. His body shivering with cold, and worn withhunger too; for my cousin says she can hardly prevail upon him toeat.--He told me himself in a whisper--he told me--I can't repeatit--he said he could not bear to eat the bread his children wanted.And yet, can you believe it, gentlemen? in all this misery his wifehas as good caudle as if she lay in the midst of the greatestaffluence; I tasted it, and I scarce ever tasted better.--The means ofprocuring her this, he said, he believed was sent him by an angel fromheaven. I know not what he meant; for I had not spirits enough to aska single question.

  "This was a love-match, as they call it, on both sides; that is, amatch between two beggars. I must, indeed, say, I never saw a fondercouple; but what is their fondness good for, but to torment eachother?" "Indeed, mamma," cries Nancy, "I have always looked on mycousin Anderson" (for that was her name) "as one of the happiest ofwomen." "I am sure," says Mrs Miller, "the case at present is muchotherwise; for any one might have discerned that the tenderconsideration of each other's sufferings makes the most intolerablepart of their calamity, both to the husband and wife. Compared towhich, hunger and cold, as they affect their own persons only, arescarce evils. Nay, the very children, the youngest, which is not twoyears old, excepted, feel in the same manner; for they are a mostloving family, and, if they had but a bare competency, would be thehappiest people in the world." "I never saw the least sign of miseryat her house," replied Nancy; "I am sure my heart bleeds for what younow tell me."--"O child," answered the mother, "she hath alwaysendeavoured to make the best of everything. They have always been ingreat distress; but, indeed, this absolute ruin hath been brought uponthem by others. The poor man was bail for the villain his brother; andabout a week ago, the very day before her lying-in, their goods wereall carried away, and sold by an execution. He sent a letter to me ofit by one of the bailiffs, which the villain never delivered.--Whatmust he think of my suffering a week to pass before he heard of me?"

  It was not with dry eyes that Jones heard this narrative; when it wasended he took Mrs Miller apart with him into another room, and,delivering her his purse, in which was the sum of L50, desired her tosend as much of it as she thought proper to these poor people. Thelook which Mrs Miller gave Jones, on this occasion, is not easy to bedescribed. She burst into a kind of agony of transport, and cryedout--"Good heavens! is there such a man in the world?"--Butrecollecting herself, she said, "Indeed I know one such; but can therebe another?" "I hope, madam," cries Jones, "there are many who havecommon humanity; for to relieve such distresses in our fellow-creatures,can hardly be called more." Mrs Miller then took ten guineas, whichwere the utmost he could prevail with her to accept, and said, "Shewould find some means of conveying them early the next morning;"adding, "that she had herself done some little matter for the poorpeople, and had not left them in quite so much misery as she foundthem."

  They then returned to the parlour, where Nightingale expressed muchconcern at the dreadful situation of these wretches, whom indeed heknew; for he had seen them more than once at Mrs Miller's. Heinveighed against the folly of making oneself liable for the debts ofothers; vented many bitter execrations against the brother; andconcluded with wishing something could be done for the unfortunatefamily. "Suppose, madam," said he, "you should recommend them to MrAllworthy? Or what think you of a collection? I will give them aguinea with all my heart."

  Mrs Miller made no answer; and Nancy, to whom her mother had whisperedthe generosity of Jones, turned pale upon the occasion; though, ifeither of them was angry with Nightingale, it was surely withoutreason. For the liberality of Jones, if he had known it, was not anexample which he had any obligation to follow; and ther
e are thousandswho would not have contributed a single halfpenny, as indeed he didnot in effect, for he made no tender of anything; and therefore, asthe others thought proper to make no demand, he kept his money in hispocket.

  I have, in truth, observed, and shall never have a better opportunitythan at present to communicate my observation, that the world are ingeneral divided into two opinions concerning charity, which are thevery reverse of each other. One party seems to hold, that all acts ofthis kind are to be esteemed as voluntary gifts, and, however littleyou give (if indeed no more than your good wishes), you acquire agreat degree of merit in so doing. Others, on the contrary, appear tobe as firmly persuaded, that beneficence is a positive duty, and thatwhenever the rich fall greatly short of their ability in relieving thedistresses of the poor, their pitiful largesses are so far from beingmeritorious, that they have only performed their duty by halves, andare in some sense more contemptible than those who have entirelyneglected it.

  To reconcile these different opinions is not in my power. I shall onlyadd, that the givers are generally of the former sentiment, and thereceivers are almost universally inclined to the latter.