# The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book IV, Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII.
_A discourse which happened between Mr Adams, Mrs Adams, Joseph, and
Fanny; with some behaviour of Mr Adams which will be called by some few
readers very low, absurd, and unnatural._
The parson and his wife had just ended a long dispute when the lovers
came to the door. Indeed, this young couple had been the subject of the
dispute; for Mrs Adams was one of those prudent people who never do
anything to injure their families, or, perhaps, one of those good
mothers who would even stretch their conscience to serve their children.
She had long entertained hopes of seeing her eldest daughter succeed Mrs
Slipslop, and of making her second son an exciseman by Lady Booby's
interest. These were expectations she could not endure the thoughts of
quitting, and was, therefore, very uneasy to see her husband so resolute
to oppose the lady's intention in Fanny's affair. She told him, "It
behoved every man to take the first care of his family; that he had a
wife and six children, the maintaining and providing for whom would be
business enough for him without intermeddling in other folks' affairs;
that he had always preached up submission to superiors, and would do ill
to give an example of the contrary behaviour in his own conduct; that if
Lady Booby did wrong she must answer for it herself, and the sin would
not lie at their door; that Fanny had been a servant, and bred up in the
lady's own family, and consequently she must have known more of her than
they did, and it was very improbable, if she had behaved herself well,
that the lady would have been so bitterly her enemy; that perhaps he was
too much inclined to think well of her because she was handsome, but
handsome women were often no better than they should be; that G-- made
ugly women as well as handsome ones; and that if a woman had virtue it
signified nothing whether she had beauty or no." For all which reasons
she concluded he should oblige the lady, and stop the future publication
of the banns. But all these excellent arguments had no effect on the
parson, who persisted in doing his duty without regarding the
consequence it might have on his worldly interest. He endeavoured to
answer her as well as he could; to which she had just finished her reply
(for she had always the last word everywhere but at church) when Joseph
and Fanny entered their kitchen, where the parson and his wife then sat
at breakfast over some bacon and cabbage. There was a coldness in the
civility of Mrs Adams which persons of accurate speculation might have
observed, but escaped her present guests; indeed, it was a good deal
covered by the heartiness of Adams, who no sooner heard that Fanny had
neither eat nor drank that morning than he presented her a bone of bacon
he had just been gnawing, being the only remains of his provision, and
then ran nimbly to the tap, and produced a mug of small beer, which he
called ale; however, it was the best in his house. Joseph, addressing
himself to the parson, told him the discourse which had past between
Squire Booby, his sister, and himself concerning Fanny; he then
acquainted him with the dangers whence he had rescued her, and
communicated some apprehensions on her account. He concluded that he
should never have an easy moment till Fanny was absolutely his, and
begged that he might be suffered to fetch a licence, saying he could
easily borrow the money. The parson answered, That he had already given
his sentiments concerning a licence, and that a very few days would make
it unnecessary. "Joseph," says he, "I wish this haste doth not arise
rather from your impatience than your fear; but, as it certainly springs
from one of these causes, I will examine both. Of each of these
therefore in their turn; and first for the first of these, namely,
impatience. Now, child, I must inform you that, if in your purposed
marriage with this young woman you have no intention but the indulgence
of carnal appetites, you are guilty of a very heinous sin. Marriage was
ordained for nobler purposes, as you will learn when you hear the
service provided on that occasion read to you. Nay, perhaps, if you are
a good lad, I, child, shall give you a sermon gratis, wherein I shall
demonstrate how little regard ought to be had to the flesh on such
occasions. The text will be Matthew the 5th, and part of the 28th
verse--_Whosoever looketh on a woman, so as to lust after her_. The
latter part I shall omit, as foreign to my purpose. Indeed, all such
brutal lusts and affections are to be greatly subdued, if not totally
eradicated, before the vessel can be said to be consecrated to honour.
To marry with a view of gratifying those inclinations is a prostitution
of that holy ceremony, and must entail a curse on all who so lightly
undertake it. If, therefore, this haste arises from impatience, you are
to correct, and not give way to it. Now, as to the second head which I
proposed to speak to, namely, fear: it argues a diffidence, highly
criminal, of that Power in which alone we should put our trust, seeing
we may be well assured that he is able, not only to defeat the designs
of our enemies, but even to turn their hearts. Instead of taking,
therefore, any unjustifiable or desperate means to rid ourselves of
fear, we should resort to prayer only on these occasions; and we may be
then certain of obtaining what is best for us. When any accident
threatens us we are not to despair, nor, when it overtakes us, to
grieve; we must submit in all things to the will of Providence, and set
our affections so much on nothing here that we cannot quit it without
reluctance. You are a young man, and can know but little of this world;
I am older, and have seen a great deal. All passions are criminal in
their excess; and even love itself, if it is not subservient to our
duty, may render us blind to it. Had Abraham so loved his son Isaac as
to refuse the sacrifice required, is there any of us who would not
condemn him? Joseph, I know your many good qualities, and value you for
them; but, as I am to render an account of your soul, which is committed
to my cure, I cannot see any fault without reminding you of it. You are
too much inclined to passion, child, and have set your affections so
absolutely on this young woman, that, if G-- required her at your hands,
I fear you would reluctantly part with her. Now, believe me, no
Christian ought so to set his heart on any person or thing in this
world, but that, whenever it shall be required or taken from him in any
manner by Divine Providence, he may be able, peaceably, quietly, and
contentedly to resign it." At which words one came hastily in, and
acquainted Mr Adams that his youngest son was drowned. He stood silent a
moment, and soon began to stamp about the room and deplore his loss with
the bitterest agony. Joseph, who was overwhelmed with concern likewise,
recovered himself sufficiently to endeavour to comfort the parson; in
which attempt he used many arguments that he had at several times
remembered out of his own discourses, both in private and public (for he
was a great enemy to the passions, and preached nothing more than the
conquest of them by reason and grace), but he was not at leisure now to
hearken to his advice. "Child, child," said he, "do not go about
impossibilities. Had it been any other of my children I could have borne
it with patience; but my little prattler, the darling and comfort of my
old age--the little wretch, to be snatched out of life just at his
entrance into it; the sweetest, best-tempered boy, who never did a thing
to offend me. It was but this morning I gave him his first lesson in
_Que Genus_. This was the very book he learnt; poor child! it is of no
further use to thee now. He would have made the best scholar, and have
been an ornament to the Church;--such parts and such goodness never met
in one so young." "And the handsomest lad too," says Mrs Adams,
recovering from a swoon in Fanny's arms. "My poor Jacky, shall I never
see thee more?" cries the parson. "Yes, surely," says Joseph, "and in a
better place; you will meet again, never to part more." I believe the
parson did not hear these words, for he paid little regard to them, but
went on lamenting, whilst the tears trickled down into his bosom. At
last he cried out, "Where is my little darling?" and was sallying out,
when to his great surprize and joy, in which I hope the reader will
sympathize, he met his son in a wet condition indeed, but alive and
running towards him. The person who brought the news of his misfortune
had been a little too eager, as people sometimes are, from, I believe,
no very good principle, to relate ill news; and, seeing him fall into
the river, instead of running to his assistance, directly ran to
acquaint his father of a fate which he had concluded to be inevitable,
but whence the child was relieved by the same poor pedlar who had
relieved his father before from a less distress. The parson's joy was
now as extravagant as his grief had been before; he kissed and embraced
his son a thousand times, and danced about the room like one frantic;
but as soon as he discovered the face of his old friend the pedlar, and
heard the fresh obligation he had to him, what were his sensations? not
those which two courtiers feel in one another's embraces; not those with
which a great man receives the vile treacherous engines of his wicked
purposes, not those with which a worthless younger brother wishes his
elder joy of a son, or a man congratulates his rival on his obtaining a
mistress, a place, or an honour.--No, reader; he felt the ebullition,
the overflowings of a full, honest, open heart, towards the person who
had conferred a real obligation, and of which, if thou canst not
conceive an idea within, I will not vainly endeavour to assist thee.
When these tumults were over, the parson, taking Joseph aside, proceeded
thus--"No, Joseph, do not give too much way to thy passions, if thou
dost expect happiness." The patience of Joseph, nor perhaps of Job,
could bear no longer; he interrupted the parson, saying, "It was easier
to give advice than take it; nor did he perceive he could so entirely
conquer himself, when he apprehended he had lost his son, or when he
found him recovered."--"Boy," replied Adams, raising his voice, "it doth
not become green heads to advise grey hairs.--Thou art ignorant of the
tenderness of fatherly affection; when thou art a father thou wilt be
capable then only of knowing what a father can feel. No man is obliged
to impossibilities; and the loss of a child is one of those great trials
where our grief may be allowed to become immoderate."--"Well, sir,"
cries Joseph, "and if I love a mistress as well as you your child,
surely her loss would grieve me equally."--"Yes, but such love is
foolishness and wrong in itself, and ought to be conquered," answered
Adams; "it savours too much of the flesh."--"Sure, sir," says Joseph,
"it is not sinful to love my wife, no, not even to doat on her to
distraction!"--"Indeed but it is," says Adams. "Every man ought to love
his wife, no doubt; we are commanded so to do; but we ought to love her
with moderation and discretion."--"I am afraid I shall be guilty of some
sin in spite of all my endeavours," says Joseph; "for I shall love
without any moderation, I am sure."--"You talk foolishly and
childishly," cries Adams.--"Indeed," says Mrs Adams, who had listened to
the latter part of their conversation, "you talk more foolishly yourself.
I hope, my dear, you will never preach any such doctrine as that
husbands can love their wives too well. If I knew you had such a sermon
in the house I am sure I would burn it, and I declare, if I had not been
convinced you had loved me as well as you could, I can answer for
myself, I should have hated and despised you. Marry come up! Fine
doctrine, indeed! A wife hath a right to insist on her husband's loving
her as much as ever he can; and he is a sinful villain who doth not.
Doth he not promise to love her, and to comfort her, and to cherish her,
and all that? I am sure I remember it all as well as if I had repeated
it over but yesterday, and shall never forget it. Besides, I am certain
you do not preach as you practise; for you have been a loving and a
cherishing husband to me; that's the truth on't; and why you should
endeavour to put such wicked nonsense into this young man's head I
cannot devise. Don't hearken to him, Mr Joseph; be as good a husband as
you are able, and love your wife with all your body and soul too." Here
a violent rap at the door put an end to their discourse, and produced a
scene which the reader will find in the next chapter.