History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter iv.
1561 words | Chapter 272
The adventure of a beggar-man.
Just as Partridge had uttered that good and pious doctrine, with which
the last chapter concluded, they arrived at another cross-way, when a
lame fellow in rags asked them for alms; upon which Partridge gave him
a severe rebuke, saying, “Every parish ought to keep their own poor.”
Jones then fell a-laughing, and asked Partridge, “if he was not
ashamed, with so much charity in his mouth, to have no charity in his
heart. Your religion,” says he, “serves you only for an excuse for
your faults, but is no incentive to your virtue. Can any man who is
really a Christian abstain from relieving one of his brethren in such
a miserable condition?” And at the same time, putting his hand in his
pocket, he gave the poor object a shilling.
“Master,” cries the fellow, after thanking him, “I have a curious
thing here in my pocket, which I found about two miles off, if your
worship will please to buy it. I should not venture to pull it out to
every one; but, as you are so good a gentleman, and so kind to the
poor, you won't suspect a man of being a thief only because he is
poor.” He then pulled out a little gilt pocket-book, and delivered it
into the hands of Jones.
Jones presently opened it, and (guess, reader, what he felt) saw in
the first page the words Sophia Western, written by her own fair hand.
He no sooner read the name than he prest it close to his lips; nor
could he avoid falling into some very frantic raptures,
notwithstanding his company; but, perhaps, these very raptures made
him forget he was not alone.
While Jones was kissing and mumbling the book, as if he had an
excellent brown buttered crust in his mouth or as if he had really
been a book-worm, or an author who had nothing to eat but his own
works, a piece of paper fell from its leaves to the ground, which
Partridge took up, and delivered to Jones, who presently perceived it
to be a bank-bill. It was, indeed, the very bill which Western had
given his daughter the night before her departure; and a Jew would
have jumped to purchase it at five shillings less than £100.
The eyes of Partridge sparkled at this news, which Jones now
proclaimed aloud; and so did (though with somewhat a different aspect)
those of the poor fellow who had found the book; and who (I hope from
a principle of honesty) had never opened it: but we should not deal
honestly by the reader if we omitted to inform him of a circumstance
which may be here a little material, viz. that the fellow could not
read.
Jones, who had felt nothing but pure joy and transport from the
finding the book, was affected with a mixture of concern at this new
discovery; for his imagination instantly suggested to him that the
owner of the bill might possibly want it before he should be able to
convey it to her. He then acquainted the finder that he knew the lady
to whom the book belonged, and would endeavour to find her out as soon
as possible, and return it her.
The pocket-book was a late present from Mrs Western to her niece; it
had cost five-and-twenty shillings, having been bought of a celebrated
toyman; but the real value of the silver which it contained in its
clasp was about eighteen-pence; and that price the said toyman, as it
was altogether as good as when it first issued from his shop, would
now have given for it. A prudent person would, however, have taken
proper advantage of the ignorance of this fellow, and would not have
offered more than a shilling, or perhaps sixpence, for it; nay, some
perhaps would have given nothing, and left the fellow to his action of
trover, which some learned serjeants may doubt whether he could, under
these circumstances, have maintained.
Jones, on the contrary, whose character was on the outside of
generosity, and may perhaps not very unjustly have been suspected of
extravagance, without any hesitation gave a guinea in exchange for the
book. The poor man, who had not for a long time before been possessed
of so much treasure, gave Mr Jones a thousand thanks, and discovered
little less of transport in his muscles than Jones had before shown
when he had first read the name of Sophia Western.
The fellow very readily agreed to attend our travellers to the place
where he had found the pocket-book. Together, therefore, they
proceeded directly thither; but not so fast as Mr Jones desired; for
his guide unfortunately happened to be lame, and could not possibly
travel faster than a mile an hour. As this place, therefore, was at
above three miles' distance, though the fellow had said otherwise, the
reader need not be acquainted how long they were in walking it.
Jones opened the book a hundred times during their walk, kissed it as
often, talked much to himself, and very little to his companions. At
all which the guide exprest some signs of astonishment to Partridge;
who more than once shook his head, and cryed, Poor gentleman! _orandum
est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano._
At length they arrived at the very spot where Sophia unhappily dropt
the pocket-book, and where the fellow had as happily found it. Here
Jones offered to take leave of his guide, and to improve his pace; but
the fellow, in whom that violent surprize and joy which the first
receipt of the guinea had occasioned was now considerably abated, and
who had now had sufficient time to recollect himself, put on a
discontented look, and, scratching his head, said, “He hoped his
worship would give him something more. Your worship,” said he, “will,
I hope, take it into your consideration that if I had not been honest
I might have kept the whole.” And, indeed, this the reader must
confess to have been true. “If the paper there,” said he, “be worth
£100, I am sure the finding it deserves more than a guinea. Besides,
suppose your worship should never see the lady, nor give it her--and,
though your worship looks and talks very much like a gentleman, yet I
have only your worship's bare word; and, certainly, if the right owner
ben't to be found, it all belongs to the first finder. I hope your
worship will consider of all these matters: I am but a poor man, and
therefore don't desire to have all; but it is but reasonable I should
have my share. Your worship looks like a good man, and, I hope, will
consider my honesty; for I might have kept every farthing, and nobody
ever the wiser.” “I promise thee, upon my honour,” cries Jones, “that
I know the right owner, and will restore it her.” “Nay, your worship,”
answered the fellow, “may do as you please as to that; if you will but
give me my share, that is, one-half of the money, your honour may keep
the rest yourself if you please;” and concluded with swearing, by a
very vehement oath, “that he would never mention a syllable of it to
any man living.”
“Lookee, friend,” cries Jones, “the right owner shall certainly have
again all that she lost; and as for any farther gratuity, I really
cannot give it you at present; but let me know your name, and where
you live, and it is more than possible you may hereafter have further
reason to rejoice at this morning's adventure.”
“I don't know what you mean by venture,” cries the fellow; “it seems I
must venture whether you will return the lady her money or no; but I
hope your worship will consider--” “Come, come,” said Partridge, “tell
his honour your name, and where you may be found; I warrant you will
never repent having put the money into his hands.” The fellow, seeing
no hopes of recovering the possession of the pocket-book, at last
complied in giving in his name and place of abode, which Jones writ
upon a piece of paper with the pencil of Sophia; and then, placing the
paper in the same page where she had writ her name, he cried out,
“There, friend, you are the happiest man alive; I have joined your
name to that of an angel.” “I don't know anything about angels,”
answered the fellow; “but I wish you would give me a little more
money, or else return me the pocket-book.” Partridge now waxed wrath:
he called the poor cripple by several vile and opprobrious names, and
was absolutely proceeding to beat him, but Jones would not suffer any
such thing: and now, telling the fellow he would certainly find some
opportunity of serving him, Mr Jones departed as fast as his heels
would carry him; and Partridge, into whom the thoughts of the hundred
pound had infused new spirits, followed his leader; while the man, who
was obliged to stay behind, fell to cursing them both, as well as his
parents; “for had they,” says he, “sent me to charity-school to learn
to write and read and cast accounts, I should have known the value of
these matters as well as other people.”
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