in a woman.” Nor is there, perhaps, more
of truth in the opinion of those who derive the partiality
which women are inclined to show to the brave, from
this excess of their fear. Mr Bayle (I think,
in his article of Helen) imputes this, and with greater
probability, to their violent love of glory; for the
truth of which, we have the authority of him who of
all others saw farthest into human nature, and who
introduces the heroine of his Odyssey, the great pattern
of matrimonial love and constancy, assigning the glory
of her husband as the only source of her affection
towards him.[*]
[*] The English reader will not find this
in the poem; for the
sentiment is entirely left out in the
translation.
However this be, certain it is that the accident operated
very strongly on Sophia; and, indeed, after much enquiry
into the matter, I am inclined to believe, that, at
this very time, the charming Sophia made no less impression
on the heart of Jones; to say truth, he had for some
time become sensible of the irresistible power of her
charms.
The arrival of a surgeon.—His operations,
and a long dialogue between Sophia and her maid.
When they arrived at Mr Western’s hall, Sophia,
who had tottered along with much difficulty, sunk
down in her chair; but by the assistance of hartshorn
and water, she was prevented from fainting away, and
had pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon
who was sent for to Jones appeared. Mr Western,
who imputed these symptoms in his daughter to her
fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of
prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by
the surgeon, who gave so many reasons for bleeding,
and quoted so many cases where persons had miscarried
for want of it, that the squire became very importunate,
and indeed insisted peremptorily that his daughter
should be blooded.
Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father,
though entirely contrary to her own inclinations,
for she suspected, I believe, less danger from the
fright, than either the squire or the surgeon.
She then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the
operator began to prepare for his work.
While the servants were busied in providing materials,
the surgeon, who imputed the backwardness which had
appeared in Sophia to her fears, began to comfort
her with assurances that there was not the least danger;
for no accident, he said, could ever happen in bleeding,
but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery,
which he pretty plainly insinuated was not at present
to be apprehended. Sophia declared she was not
under the least apprehension; adding, “If you
open an artery, I promise you I’ll forgive you.”
“Will you?” cries Western: “D—n
me, if I will. If he does thee the least mischief,
d—n me if I don’t ha’ the heart’s
blood o’un out.” The surgeon assented
to bleed her upon these conditions, and then proceeded
to his operation, which he performed with as much
dexterity as he had promised; and with as much quickness:
for he took but little blood from her, saying, it
was much safer to bleed again and again, than to take
away too much at once.
