The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book I, Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII.

_A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the bookseller, 'which

was broke off by an unlucky accident happening in the inn, which

produced a dialogue between Mrs Tow-wouse and her maid of no

gentle kind._

As soon as Adams came into the room, Mr Barnabas introduced him to the

stranger, who was, he told him, a bookseller, and would be as likely to

deal with him for his sermons as any man whatever. Adams, saluting the

stranger, answered Barnabas, that he was very much obliged to him; that

nothing could be more convenient, for he had no other business to the

great city, and was heartily desirous of returning with the young man,

who was just recovered of his misfortune. He then snapt his fingers (as

was usual with him), and took two or three turns about the room in an

extasy. And to induce the bookseller to be as expeditious as possible,

as likewise to offer him a better price for his commodity, he assured

them their meeting was extremely lucky to himself; for that he had the

most pressing occasion for money at that time, his own being almost

spent, and having a friend then in the same inn, who was just recovered

from some wounds he had received from robbers, and was in a most

indigent condition. "So that nothing," says he, "could be so opportune

for the supplying both our necessities as my making an immediate bargain

with you."

As soon as he had seated himself, the stranger began in these words:

"Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny engaging in what my friend Mr

Barnabas recommends; but sermons are mere drugs. The trade is so vastly

stocked with them, that really, unless they come out with the name of

Whitefield or Wesley, or some other such great man, as a bishop, or

those sort of people, I don't care to touch; unless now it was a sermon

preached on the 30th of January; or we could say in the title-page,

published at the earnest request of the congregation, or the

inhabitants; but, truly, for a dry piece of sermons, I had rather be

excused; especially as my hands are so full at present. However, sir, as

Mr Barnabas mentioned them to me, I will, if you please, take the

manuscript with me to town, and send you my opinion of it in a very

short time."

"Oh!" said Adams, "if you desire it, I will read two or three discourses

as a specimen." This Barnabas, who loved sermons no better than a grocer

doth figs, immediately objected to, and advised Adams to let the

bookseller have his sermons: telling him, "If he gave him a direction,

he might be certain of a speedy answer;" adding, he need not scruple

trusting them in his possession. "No," said the bookseller, "if it was a

play that had been acted twenty nights together, I believe it would

be safe."

Adams did not at all relish the last expression; he said "he was sorry

to hear sermons compared to plays." "Not by me, I assure you," cried the

bookseller, "though I don't know whether the licensing act may not

shortly bring them to the same footing; but I have formerly known a

hundred guineas given for a play."--"More shame for those who gave it,"

cried Barnabas.--"Why so?" said the bookseller, "for they got hundreds

by it."--"But is there no difference between conveying good or ill

instructions to mankind?" said Adams: "Would not an honest mind rather

lose money by the one, than gain it by the other?"--"If you can find any

such, I will not be their hindrance," answered the bookseller; "but I

think those persons who get by preaching sermons are the properest to

lose by printing them: for my part, the copy that sells best will be

always the best copy in my opinion; I am no enemy to sermons, but

because they don't sell: for I would as soon print one of Whitefield's

as any farce whatever."

"Whoever prints such heterodox stuff ought to be hanged," says Barnabas.

"Sir," said he, turning to Adams, "this fellow's writings (I know not

whether you have seen them) are levelled at the clergy. He would reduce

us to the example of the primitive ages, forsooth! and would insinuate

to the people that a clergyman ought to be always preaching and praying.

He pretends to understand the Scripture literally; and would make

mankind believe that the poverty and low estate which was recommended to

the Church in its infancy, and was only temporary doctrine adapted to

her under persecution, was to be preserved in her flourishing and

established state. Sir, the principles of Toland, Woolston, and all the

freethinkers, are not calculated to do half the mischief, as those

professed by this fellow and his followers."

"Sir," answered Adams, "if Mr Whitefield had carried his doctrine no

farther than you mention, I should have remained, as I once was, his

well-wisher. I am, myself, as great an enemy to the luxury and splendour

of the clergy as he can be. I do not, more than he, by the flourishing

estate of the Church, understand the palaces, equipages, dress,

furniture, rich dainties, and vast fortunes, of her ministers. Surely

those things, which savour so strongly of this world, become not the

servants of one who professed His kingdom was not of it. But when he

began to call nonsense and enthusiasm to his aid, and set up the

detestable doctrine of faith against good works, I was his friend no

longer; for surely that doctrine was coined in hell; and one would think

none but the devil himself could have the confidence to preach it. For

can anything be more derogatory to the honour of God than for men to

imagine that the all-wise Being will hereafter say to the good and

virtuous, 'Notwithstanding the purity of thy life, notwithstanding that

constant rule of virtue and goodness in which you walked upon earth,

still, as thou didst not believe everything in the true orthodox manner,

thy want of faith shall condemn thee?' Or, on the other side, can any

doctrine have a more pernicious influence on society, than a persuasion

that it will be a good plea for the villain at the last day--'Lord, it

is true I never obeyed one of thy commandments, yet punish me not, for I

believe them all?'"--"I suppose, sir," said the bookseller, "your

sermons are of a different kind."--"Aye, sir," said Adams; "the

contrary, I thank Heaven, is inculcated in almost every page, or I

should belye my own opinion, which hath always been, that a virtuous and

good Turk, or heathen, are more acceptable in the sight of their Creator

than a vicious and wicked Christian, though his faith was as perfectly

orthodox as St Paul's himself."--"I wish you success," says the

bookseller, "but must beg to be excused, as my hands are so very full at

present; and, indeed, I am afraid you will find a backwardness in the

trade to engage in a book which the clergy would be certain to cry

down."--"God forbid," says Adams, "any books should be propagated which

the clergy would cry down; but if you mean by the clergy, some few

designing factious men, who have it at heart to establish some favourite

schemes at the price of the liberty of mankind, and the very essence of

religion, it is not in the power of such persons to decry any book they

please; witness that excellent book called, 'A Plain Account of the

Nature and End of the Sacrament;' a book written (if I may venture on

the expression) with the pen of an angel, and calculated to restore the

true use of Christianity, and of that sacred institution; for what could

tend more to the noble purposes of religion than frequent chearful

meetings among the members of a society, in which they should, in the

presence of one another, and in the service of the Supreme Being, make

promises of being good, friendly, and benevolent to each other? Now,

this excellent book was attacked by a party, but unsuccessfully." At

these words Barnabas fell a-ringing with all the violence imaginable;

upon which a servant attending, he bid him "bring a bill immediately;

for that he was in company, for aught he knew, with the devil himself;

and he expected to hear the Alcoran, the Leviathan, or Woolston

commended, if he staid a few minutes longer." Adams desired, "as he was

so much moved at his mentioning a book which he did without apprehending

any possibility of offence, that he would be so kind to propose any

objections he had to it, which he would endeavour to answer."--"I

propose objections!" said Barnabas, "I never read a syllable in any such

wicked book; I never saw it in my life, I assure you."--Adams was going

to answer, when a most hideous uproar began in the inn. Mrs Tow-wouse,

Mr Tow-wouse, and Betty, all lifting up their voices together; but Mrs

Tow-wouse's voice, like a bass viol in a concert, was clearly and

distinctly distinguished among the rest, and was heard to articulate the

following sounds:--"O you damn'd villain! is this the return to all the

care I have taken of your family? This the reward of my virtue? Is this

the manner in which you behave to one who brought you a fortune, and

preferred you to so many matches, all your betters? To abuse my bed, my

own bed, with my own servant! but I'll maul the slut, I'll tear her

nasty eyes out! Was ever such a pitiful dog, to take up with such a mean

trollop? If she had been a gentlewoman, like myself, it had been some

excuse; but a beggarly, saucy, dirty servant-maid. Get you out of my

house, you whore." To which she added another name, which we do not care

to stain our paper with. It was a monosyllable beginning with a b--, and

indeed was the same as if she had pronounced the words, she-dog. Which

term we shall, to avoid offence, use on this occasion, though indeed

both the mistress and maid uttered the above-mentioned b--, a word

extremely disgustful to females of the lower sort. Betty had borne all

hitherto with patience, and had uttered only lamentations; but the last

appellation stung her to the quick. "I am a woman as well as yourself,"

she roared out, "and no she-dog; and if I have been a little naughty, I

am not the first; if I have been no better than I should be," cries she,

sobbing, "that's no reason you should call me out of my name; my

be-betters are wo-rse than me."--"Huzzy, huzzy," says Mrs Tow-wouse,

"have you the impudence to answer me? Did I not catch you, you

saucy"--and then again repeated the terrible word so odious to female

ears. "I can't bear that name," answered Betty: "if I have been wicked,

I am to answer for it myself in the other world; but I have done nothing

that's unnatural; and I will go out of your house this moment, for I

will never be called she-dog by any mistress in England." Mrs Tow-wouse

then armed herself with the spit, but was prevented from executing any

dreadful purpose by Mr Adams, who confined her arms with the strength

of a wrist which Hercules would not have been ashamed of. Mr Tow-wouse,

being caught, as our lawyers express it, with the manner, and having no

defence to make, very prudently withdrew himself; and Betty committed

herself to the protection of the hostler, who, though she could not

conceive him pleased with what had happened, was, in her opinion, rather

a gentler beast than her mistress.

Mrs Tow-wouse, at the intercession of Mr Adams, and finding the enemy

vanished, began to compose herself, and at length recovered the usual

serenity of her temper, in which we will leave her, to open to the

reader the steps which led to a catastrophe, common enough, and comical

enough too perhaps, in modern history, yet often fatal to the repose and

well-being of families, and the subject of many tragedies, both in life

and on the stage.