A discourse1 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 unnatural2.
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 prudent3 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 eldest4 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 resolute5 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 submission6 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 virtue7 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 speculation8 might have observed, but escaped her present guests; indeed, it was a good deal covered by the heartiness9 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 gnawing10, being the only remains11 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 Squire12 Booby, his sister, and himself concerning Fanny; he then acquainted him with the dangers whence he had rescued her, and communicated some apprehensions13 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 impatience14 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 heinous15 sin. Marriage was ordained16 for nobler purposes, as you will learn when you hear the service provided on that occasion read to you. Nay17, perhaps, if you are a good lad, I, child, shall give you a sermon gratis18, 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 lust19 after her. The latter part I shall omit, as foreign to my purpose. Indeed, all such brutal20 lusts21 and affections are to be greatly subdued22, if not totally eradicated23, before the vessel24 can be said to be consecrated25 to honour. To marry with a view of gratifying those inclinations26 is a prostitution of that holy ceremony, and must entail27 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 Providence28, and set our affections so much on nothing here that we cannot quit it without reluctance29. 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 subservient30 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 condemn31 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 Christian32 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 contentedly33 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 deplore34 his loss with the bitterest agony. Joseph, who was overwhelmed with concern likewise, recovered himself sufficiently35 to endeavour to comfort the parson; in which attempt he used many arguments that he had at several times remembered out of his own discourses36, 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 prattler37, the darling and comfort of my old age — the little wretch38, 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 ornament39 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 lamenting40, whilst the tears trickled41 down into his bosom42. 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 inevitable43, but whence the child was relieved by the same poor pedlar who had relieved his father before from a less distress44. The parson’s joy was now as extravagant45 as his grief had been before; he kissed and embraced his son a thousand times, and danced about the room like one frantic46; 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 vile47 treacherous48 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 tumults49 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 entirely50 conquer himself, when he apprehended51 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 wilt52 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 distraction53!” — “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 discretion54.” — “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 doctrine55 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 villain56 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.
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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eradicated
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| 画着根的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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prattler
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| n.空谈者 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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tumults
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| 吵闹( tumult的名词复数 )； 喧哗； 激动的吵闹声； 心烦意乱 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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