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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 over' takes 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 re
quired, 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 I 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. As last he cried out, “Where is • my little darling ?' and was sallying out, when, to his great surprise and joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathise, 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 fool'ishness, 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 child
ishly,' 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 doctrines, 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.
A visit which the polite Lady Booby and her polite friend
paid to the parson. The Lady Booby had no sooner had an account from the gentleman, of his meeting a wonderful beauty near her house, and perceived the raptures with which he spoke of her, than, immediately concluding it must be Fanny, she began to meditate a design of bringing them better acquainted; and to entertain hopes that the fine clothes, presents, and promises of this youth, would prevail on her to abandon Joseph: she therefore proposed to her company a walk in the fields before dinner, when she led them towards Mr. Adams's house; and, as she approached it, told them, if they pleased she would divert them with one of the most ridiculous sights they had ever seen, which was an old foolish parson, who, she said laughing, kept a wife and six brats on a salary of about twenty pounds a year; adding, that there was not such another ragged family in the parish. They all readily agreed to this visit, and arrived whilst Mrs. Adams was declaiming, as in the last chapter. Beau Didapper, which was the name of the young gentleman we have seen riding towards Lady Booby's, with his cane mimicked the rap of a London footman at the door. The people within, namely, Adams, his wife, and three children, Joseph, Fanny, and the pedlar, were all thrown into confusion by this knock; but Adams went directly to the door, which being opened, the Lady Booby and her company walked in, and were received by the parson with about two hundred bows, and by his wife with as many curtsies; the latter telling the lady, She was VOL. V.