

                                Oliver Goldsmith

                             The Vicar of Wakefield

                                     A Tale

 Sperate miseri, cavete fælices.
 

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There are an hundred faults in this Thing, and an hundred things might be said
to prove them beauties. But it is needless. A book may be amusing with numerous
errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity. The hero of this
piece unites in himself the three greatest characters upon earth; he is a
priest, an husbandman, and the father of a family. He is drawn as ready to
teach, and ready to obey, as simple in affluence, and majestic in adversity. In
this age of opulence and refinement whom can such a character please? Such as
are fond of high life, will turn with disdain from the simplicity of his country
fire-side. Such as mistake ribaldry for humour, will find no wit in his harmless
conversation; and such as have been taught to deride religion, will laugh at one
whose chief stores of comfort are drawn from futurity.
                                                               OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
 

                                    Chap. I.

The description of the family of Wakefield; in which a kindred likeness prevails
as well of minds as of persons.
 
I was ever of opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up a large
family, did more service than he who continued single, and only talked of
population. From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year before I began to
think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife as she did her wedding gown, not
for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well. To do her
justice, she was a good-natured notable woman; and as for breeding, there were
few country ladies who could show more. She could read any English book without
much spelling, but for pickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel her.
She prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver in house-keeping; tho'
I could never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances.
    However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased as we grew
old. There was in fact nothing that could make us angry with the world or each
other. We had an elegant house, situated in a fine country, and a good
neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusements; in visiting our
rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to fear,
nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fire-side, and all our
migrations from the blue bed to the brown.
    As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit us
to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation; and I profess
with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them find fault with
it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered their affinity,
without any help from the Herald's office, and came very frequently to see us.
Some of them did us no great honour by these claims of kindred; as we had the
blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the number. However, my wife always
insisted that as they were the same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at
the same table. So that if we had not very rich, we generally had very happy
friends about us; for this remark will hold good thro' life, that the poorer the
guest, the better pleased he ever is with being treated: and as some men gaze
with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing of a butterfly, so I was
by nature an admirer of happy human faces. However, when any one of our
relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome guest,
or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house, I ever took care to
lend him a riding coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes an horse of small
value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return
them. By this the house was cleared of such as we did not like; but never was
the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the poor dependant out of
doors.
    Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that we
sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of
its favours. My orchard was often robbed by school-boys, and my wife's custards
plundered by the cats or the children. The 'Squire would sometimes fall asleep
in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my wife's civilities
at church with a mutilated curtesy. But we soon got over the uneasiness caused
by such accidents, and usually in three or four days began to wonder how they
vext us.
    My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without
softness, so they were at once well formed and healthy; my sons hardy and
active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in the midst of the
little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could
not avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abensberg, who, in Henry Il's
progress through Germany, while other courtiers came with their treasures,
brought his thirty-two children, and presented them to his sovereign as the most
valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, I
considered them as a very valuable present made to my country, and consequently
looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son was named George, after his uncle,
who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I intended to call
after her aunt Grissel; but my wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading
romances, insisted upon her being called Olivia. In less than another year we
had another daughter, and now I was determined that Grissel should be her name;
but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by her
directions, called Sophia; so that we had two romantic names in the family; but
I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next, and after an
interval of twelve years, we had two sons more.
    It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw my little ones about
me; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even greater than mine.
When our visitors would say, »Well, upon my word, Mrs. Primrose, you have the
finest children in the whole country.« - »Ay, neighbour,« she would answer,
»they are as heaven made them, handsome enough, if they be good enough; for
handsome is that handsome does.« And then she would bid the girls hold up their
heads; who, to conceal nothing, were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is so
very trifling a circumstance with me, that I should scarce have remembered to
mention it, had it not been a general topic of conversation in the country.
Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriancy of beauty with which painters
generally draw Hebe; open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's features were not
so striking at first; but often did more certain execution; for they were soft,
modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other by efforts
successfully repeated.
    The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features, at
least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers, Sophia to
secure one. Olivia was often affected from too great a desire to please. Sophia
even represt excellence from her fears to offend. The one entertained me with
her vivacity when I was gay, the other with her sense when I was serious. But
these qualities were never carried to excess in either, and I have often seen
them exchange characters for a whole day together. A suit of mourning has
transformed my coquet into a prude, and a new set of ribbands has given her
younger sister more than natural vivacity. My eldest son George was bred at
Oxford, as I intended him for one of the learned professions. My second boy
Moses, whom I designed for business, received a sort of a miscellaneous
education at home. But it is needless to attempt describing the particular
characters of young people that had seen but very little of the world. In short,
a family likeness prevailed through all, and properly speaking, they had but one
character, that of being all equally generous, credulous, simple, and
inoffensive.
 

                                   Chap. II.

Family misfortunes. The loss of fortune only serves to increase the pride of the
worthy.
 
The temporal concerns of our family were chiefly committed to my wife's
management, as to the spiritual I took them entirely under my own direction. The
profits of my living, which amounted to but thirty-five pounds a year, I made
over to the orphans and widows of the clergy of our diocese; for having a
sufficient fortune of my own, I was careless of temporalities, and felt a secret
pleasure in doing my duty without reward. I also set a resolution of keeping no
curate, and of being acquainted with every man in the parish, exhorting the
married men to temperance and the bachelors to matrimony; so that in a few years
it was a common saying, that there were three strange wants at Wakefield, a
parson wanting pride, young men wanting wives, and ale-houses wanting customers.
    Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics, and I wrote several sermons
to prove its happiness: but there was a peculiar tenet which I made a point of
supporting; for I maintained with Whiston, that it was unlawful for a priest of
the church of England, after the death of his first wife, to take a second, or
to express it in one word, I valued myself upon being a strict monogamist.
    I was early innitiated into this important dispute, on which so many
laborious volumes have been written. I published some tracts upon the subject
myself, which, as they never sold, I have the consolation of thinking are read
only by the happy Few. Some of my friends called this my weak side; but alas!
they had not like me made it the subject of long contemplation. The more I
reflected upon it, the more important it appeared. I even went a step beyond
Whiston in displaying my principles: as he had engraven upon his wife's tomb
that she was the only wife of William Whiston; so I wrote a similar epitaph for
my wife, though still living, in which I extolled her prudence, economy, and
obedience till death; and having got it copied fair, with an elegant frame, it
was placed over the chimney-piece, where it answered several very useful
purposes. It admonished my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity to her; it
inspired her with a passion for fame, and constantly put her in mind of her end.
    It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often recommended, that my
eldest son, just upon leaving college, fixed his affections upon the daughter of
a neighbouring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the church, and in
circumstances to give her a large fortune: but fortune was her smallest
accomplishment. Miss Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all, except my two
daughters, to be completely pretty. Her youth, health, and innocence, were still
heightened by a complexion so transparent, and such an happy sensibility of
look, as even age could not gaze on with indifference. As Mr. Wilmot knew that I
could make a very handsome settlement on my son, he was not averse to the match;
so both families lived together in all that harmony which generally precedes an
expected alliance. Being convinced by experience that the days of courtship are
the most happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen the period; and
the various amusements which the young couple every day shared in each other's
company, seemed to increase their passion. We were generally awake in the
morning by music, and on fine days rode a hunting. The hours between breakfast
and dinner the ladies devoted to dress and study: they usually read a page, and
then gazed at themselves in the glass, which even philosophers might own often
presented the page of greatest beauty. At dinner my wife took the lead; for as
she always insisted upon carving every thing herself, it being her mother's way,
she gave us upon these occasions the history of every dish. When we had dined,
to prevent the ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table to be removed;
and sometimes, with the music master's assistance, the girls would give us a
very agreeable concert. Walking out, drinking tea, country dances, and forfeits,
shortened the rest of the day, without the assistance of cards, as I hated all
manner of gaming, except backgammon, at which my old friend and I sometimes took
a two-penny hit. Nor can I here pass over an ominous circumstance that happened
the last time we played together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I
threw deuce ace five times running.
    Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at last it was thought
convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the young couple, who seemed
earnestly to desire it. During the preparations for the wedding, I need not
describe the busy importance of my wife, nor the sly looks of my daughters: in
fact, my attention was fixed on another object, the completing a tract which I
intended shortly to publish in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked
upon this as a master-piece both for argument and style, I could not in the
pride of my heart avoid showing it to my old friend Mr. Wilmot, as I made no
doubt of receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that he
was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with good reason; for
he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This, as may be expected,
produced a dispute attended with some acrimony, which threatened to interrupt
our intended alliance: but on the day before that appointed for the ceremony, we
agreed to discuss the subject at large.
    It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted that I was
heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined. In the mean time,
while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by one of my relations, who,
with a face of concern, advised me to give up the dispute, at least till my
son's wedding was over. »How,« cried I, »relinquish the cause of truth, and let
him be an husband, already driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as
well advise me to give up my fortune as my argument.« »Your fortune,« returned
my friend, »I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in
town, in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute of
bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound. I was
unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till after the wedding:
but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the argument; for, I suppose,
your own prudence will enforce the necessity of dissembling at least till your
son has the young lady's fortune secure.« - »Well,« returned I, »if what you
tell me be true, and if I am to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or
induce me to disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company
of my circumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my former
concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to be an
husband in any sense of the expression.«
    It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both families
when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what others felt was slight to
what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr. Wilmot, who seemed before sufficiently
inclined to break off the match, was by this blow soon determined: one virtue he
had in perfection, which was prudence, too often the only one that is left us at
seventy-two.
 

                                   Chap. III.

A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally found at
last to be of our own procuring.
 
The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes might be
malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town soon came with a
confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to myself alone would have
been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was for my family, who were to be
humble without an education to render them callous to contempt.
    Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their affliction;
for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this
interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of supporting them; and
at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a year was offered me in a distant
neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my principles without molestation. With
this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined to increase my salary by
managing a little farm.
    Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the wrecks of
my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds we
had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention therefore was now to bring
down the pride of my family to their circumstances; for I well knew that
aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. »You can't be ignorant, my children,«
cried I, »that no prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but
prudence may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my
fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us then,
without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and
seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The poor
live pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn to live without
theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment give up all pretensions to
gentility; we have still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let us
draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune.«
    As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him to town, where
his abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation of
friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances
attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for the
first time. My son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, who mingled
their tears with their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him
from my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now
to bestow. »You are going, my boy,« cried I, »to London on foot, in the manner
Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me the same
horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this
book too, it will be your comfort on the way: these two lines in it are worth a
million, I have been young, and now am old; yet never saw I the righteous man
forsaken, or his seed begging their bread. Let this be your consolation as you
travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune let me see thee once a year;
still keep a good heart, and farewell.« As he was possest of integrity and
honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing him naked into the
amphitheatre of life; for I knew he would act a good part whether vanquished or
victorious.
    His departure only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few days
afterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of
tranquillity, was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could
suppress. Besides, a journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto
never been above ten from home, filled us with apprehension, and the cries of
the poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to increase it. The first
day's journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our future retreat,
and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a village by the way. When we
were shown a room, I desired the landlord, in my usual way, to let us have his
company, with which he complied, as what he drank would increase the bill next
morning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood to which I was removing,
particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and who lived within
a few miles of the place. This gentleman he described as one who desired to know
little more of the world than its pleasures, being particularly remarkable for
his attachment to the fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist
his arts and assiduity, and that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles
round but what had found him successful and faithless. Though this account gave
me some pain, it had a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features
seemed to brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor was my
wife less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our
thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform her husband,
that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in the house, wanted money,
and could not satisfy them for his reckoning. »Want money!« replied the host,
»that must be impossible; for it was no later than yesterday he paid three
guineas to our beadle to spare an old broken soldier that was to be whipped
through the town for dog-stealing.« The hostess, however, still persisting in
her first assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would
be satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce me
to a stranger of so much charity as he described. With this he complied, showing
in a gentleman who seemed to be about thirty, dressed? in clothes that once were
laced. His person was well formed, and his face marked with the lines of
thinking. He had something short and dry in his address, and seemed not to
understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's leaving the room, I
could not avoid expressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a gentleman in
such circumstances, and offered him my purse to satisfy the present demand. »I
take it with all my heart, Sir,« replied he, »and am glad that a late oversight
in giving what money I had about me, has shown me that there are still some men
like you. I must, however, previously entreat being informed of the name and
residence of my benefactor, in order to repay him as soon as possible.« In this
I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the
place to which I was going to remove. »This,« cried he, »happens still more
luckily than I hoped for, as I am going the same way myself, having been
detained here two days by the floods, which, I hope, by to-morrow will be found
passable.« I testified the pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife
and daughters joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The
stranger's conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive, induced me
to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now high time to retire and take
refreshment against the fatigues of the following day.
    The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback, while
Mr. Burchell, our new companion, walked along the foot-path by the road-side,
observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he would be too generous
to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods were not yet subsided, we were
obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr. Burchell and I bringing up
the rear. We lightened the fatigues of the road with philosophical disputes,
which he seemed to understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, that
though he was a money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as much obstinacy
as if he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to whom the
different seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the road. »That,«
cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood at some distance,
»belongs to Mr. Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a large fortune, though
entirely dependant on the will of his uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman,
who content with a little himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and
chiefly resides in town.« »What!« cried I, »is my young landlord then the nephew
of a man whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are so universally known?
I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of the most generous, yet
whimsical, men in the kingdom; a man of consumate benevolence« - »Something,
perhaps, too much so,« replied Mr. Burchell, »at least he carried benevolence to
an excess when young; for his passions were then strong, and as they all were
upon the side of virtue, they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to
aim at the qualifications of the soldier and scholar; was soon distinguished in
the army, and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation ever follows
the ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was
surrounded with crowds, who showed him only one side of their character; so that
he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal sympathy. He loved
all mankind; for fortune prevented him from knowing that there were rascals.
Physicians tell us of a disorder in which the whole body is so exquisitely
sensible, that the slightest touch gives pain: what some have thus suffered in
their persons, this gentleman felt in his mind. The slightest distress, whether
real or fictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a
sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve, it will
be easily conjectured, he found numbers disposed to solicit: his profusions
began to impair his fortune, but not his good-nature; that, indeed, was seen to
increase as the other seemed to decay: he grew improvident as he grew poor; and
though he talked like a man of sense, his actions were those of a fool. Still,
however, being surrounded with importunity, and no longer able to satisfy every
request that was made him, instead of money he gave promises. They were all he
had to bestow, and he had not resolution enough to give any man pain by a
denial. By this he drew round him crowds of dependants, whom he was sure to
disappoint; yet wished to relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and left him
with merited reproaches and contempt. But in proportion as he became
contemptible to others, he became despicable to himself. His mind had leaned
upon their adulation, and that support taken away, he could find no pleasure in
the applause of his heart, which he had never learnt to reverence. The world now
began to wear a different aspect; the flattery of his friends began to dwindle
into simple approbation. Approbation soon took the more friendly form of advice,
and advice when rejected produced their reproaches. He now therefore found that
such friends as benefits had gathered round him, were little estimable: he now
found that a man's own heart must be ever given to gain that of another. I now
found, that -- that -- I forget what I was going to observe: in short, sir, he
resolved to respect himself, and laid down a plan of restoring his falling
fortune. For this purpose, in his own whimsical manner he travelled through
Europe on foot, and now, though he has scarce attained the age of thirty, his
circumstances are more affluent than ever. At present, his bounties are more
rational and moderate than before; but still he preserves the character of an
humourist, and finds most pleasure in eccentric virtues.«
    My attention was so much taken up by Mr. Burchell's account, that I scarce
looked forward as we went along, till we were alarmed by the cries of my family,
when turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the midst of a rapid stream,
thrown from her horse, and struggling with the torrent. She had sunk twice, nor
was it in my power to disengage myself in time to bring her relief. My
sensations were even too violent to permit my attempting her rescue: she must
have certainly perished had not my companion, percieving her danger, instantly
plunged in to her relief, and, with some difficulty, brought her in safety to
the opposite shore. By taking the current a little farther up, the rest of the
family got safely over; where we had an opportunity of joining our
acknowledgments to her's. Her gratitude may be more readily imagined than
described: she thanked her deliverer more with looks than words, and continued
to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive assistance. My wife also
hoped one day to have the pleasure of returning his kindness at her own house.
Thus, after we were refreshed at the next inn, and had to dined together, as Mr.
Burchell was going to a different part of the country, he took leave; and we
pursued our jouney. My wife observing as we went, that she liked him extremely,
and protesting, that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him to match into
such a family as our's, she knew no man she would sooner fix upon. I could not
but smile to hear her talk in this lofty strain: but I was never much displeased
with those harmless delusions that tend to make us more happy.
 

                                   Chap. IV.

A proof that even the humblest fortune may grant happiness, which depends not on
circumstance, but constitution.
 
The place of our retreat was in a little neighbourhood, consisting of farmers,
who tilled their own grounds, and were equal strangers to opulence and poverty.
As they had almost all the conveniences of life within themselves, they seldom
visited towns or cities in search of superfluity. Remote from the polite, they
still retained the primæval simplicity of manners, and frugal by habit, they
scarce knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with cheerfulness on days
of labour; but observed festivals as intervals of idleness and pleasure. They
kept up the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Valentine morning, eat
pancakes on Shrove-tide, showed their wit on the first of April, and religiously
cracked nuts on Michaelmas eve. Being apprised of our approach, the whole
neighbourhood came out to meet their minister, dressed? in their finest clothes,
and preceded by a pipe and tabor: A feast also was provided for our reception,
at which we sat cheerfully down; and what the conversation wanted in wit, was
made up in laughter.
    Our little habitation was situated at the foot of a sloping hill, sheltered
with a beautiful underwood behind, and a pratling river before; on one side a
meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted of about twenty acres of
excellent land, having given an hundred pound for my predecessor's good-will.
Nothing could exceed the neatness of my little enclosures: the elms and hedge
rows appearing with inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but one story,
and was covered with thatch, which gave it an air of great snugness; the walls
on the inside were nicely white-washed, and my daughters undertook to adorn them
with pictures of their own designing. Though the same room served us for parlour
and kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept with the
utmost neatness, the dishes, plates, and coppers, being well scoured, and all
disposed in bright rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably relieved, and did
not want richer furniture. There were three other apartments, one for my wife
and me, another for our two daughters, within our own, and the third, with two
beds, for the rest of the children.
    The little republic to which I gave laws, was regulated in the following
manner: by sun-rise we all assembled in our common appartment; the fire being
previously kindled by the servant. After we had saluted each other with proper
ceremony, for I always thought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of good
breeding, without which freedom ever destroys friendship, we all bent in
gratitude to that Being who gave us another day. This duty being performed, my
son and I went to pursue our usual industry abroad, while my wife and daughters
employed themselves in providing breakfast, which was always ready at a certain
time. I allowed half an hour for this meal, and an hour for dinner; which time
was taken up in innocent mirth between my wife and daughters, and in
philosophical arguments between my son and me.
    As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labours after it was gone
down, but returned home to the expecting family; where smiling looks, a neat
hearth, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our reception. Nor were we without
guests: sometimes farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbour, and often the
blind piper, would pay us a visit, and taste our gooseberry wine; for the making
of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. These harmless
people had several ways of being good company, while one played, the other would
sing some soothing ballad, Johnny Armstrong's last good night, or the cruelty of
Barbara Allen. The night was concluded in the manner we began the morning, my
youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the day, and he that read
loudest, distinctest, and best, was to have an halfpenny on Sunday to put in the
poor's box.
    When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery, which all my sumptuary
edicts could not restrain. How well so ever I fancied my lectures against pride
had conquered the vanity of my daughters; yet I still found them secretly
attached to all their former finery: they still loved laces, ribbands, bugles
and catgut; my wife herself retained a passion for her crimson paduasoy, because
I formerly happened to say it became her.
    The first Sunday in particular their behaviour served to mortify me: I had
desired my girls the preceding night to be dressed? early the next day; for I
always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation.
They punctually obeyed my directions; but when we were to assemble in the
morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters, dressed? out in all their
former splendour: their hair plaistered up with pomatum, their faces patched to
taste, their trains bundled up into an heap behind, and rustling at every
motion. I could not help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of my wife,
from whom I expected more discretion. In this exigence, therefore, my only
resource was to order my son, with an important air, to call our coach. The
girls were amazed at the command; but I repeated it with more solemnity than
before. - »Surely, my dear, you jest,« cried my wife, »we can walk it perfectly
well: we want no coach to carry us now.« »You mistake, child,« returned I, »we
do want a coach; for if we walk to church in this trim, the very children in the
parish will hoot after us.« - »Indeed,« replied my wife, »I always imagined that
my Charles was fond of seeing his children neat and handsome about him.« - »You
may be as neat as you please,« interrupted I, »and I shall love you the better
for it; but all this is not neatness, but frippery. These rufflings, and
pinkings, and patchings, will only make us hated by all the wives of all our
neighbours. No, my children,« continued I, more gravely, »those gowns may be
altered into something of a plainer cut; for finery is very unbecoming in us,
who want the means of decency. I don't know whether such flouncing and shredding
is becoming even in the rich, if we consider, upon a moderate calculation, that
the nakedness of the indigent world may be clothed from the trimmings of the
vain.«
    This remonstrance had the proper effect; they went with great composure,
that very instant, to change their dress; and the next day I had the
satisfaction of finding my daughters, at their own request employed in cutting
up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones,
and what was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed improved by this
curtailing.
 

                                    Chap. V.

A new and great acquaintance introduced. What we place most hopes upon,
generally proves most fatal.
 
At a small distance from the house my predecessor had made a seat, overshaded by
an hedge of hawthorn and honeysuckle. Here, when the weather was fine, and our
labour soon finished, we usually sate together, to enjoy an extensive
landschape, in the calm of the evening. Here too we drank tea, which now was
become an occasional banquet; and as we had it but seldom, it diffused a new
joy, the preparations for it being made with no small share of bustle and
ceremony. On these occasions, our two little ones always read for us, and they
were regularly served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety to our
amusements, the girls sung to the guitar; and while they thus formed a little
concert, my wife and I would stroll down the sloping field, that was embellished
with blue bells and centaury, talk of our children with rapture, and enjoy the
breeze that wafted both health and harmony.
    In this manner we began to find that every situation in life might bring its
own peculiar pleasures: every morning waked us to a repetition of toil; but the
evening repaid it with vacant hilarity.
    It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday, for I kept such as
intervals of relaxation from labour, that I had drawn out my family to our usual
place of amusement, and our young musicians began their usual concert. As we
were thus engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within about twenty paces of
where we were sitting, and by its panting, it seemed prest by the hunters. We
had not much time to reflect upon the poor animal's distress, when we perceived
the dogs and horsemen come sweeping along at some distance behind, and making
the very path it had taken. I was instantly for returning in with my family; but
either curiosity or surprise, or some more hidden motive, held my wife and
daughters to their seats. The huntsman, who rode foremost, past us with great
swiftness, followed by four or five persons more, who seemed in equal haste. At
last, a young gentleman of a more genteel appearance than the rest, came
forward, and for a while regarding us, instead of pursuing the chase, stopped
short, and giving his horse to a servant who attended, approached us with a
careless superior air. He seemed to want no introduction, but was going to
salute my daughters as one certain of a kind reception; but they had early
learnt the lesson of looking presumption out of countenance. Upon which he let
us know that his name was Thornhill, and that he was owner of the estate that
lay for some extent round us. He again, therefore, offered to salute the female
part of the family, and such was the power of fortune and fine clothes, that he
found no second repulse. As his address, though confident, was easy, we soon
became more familiar; and perceiving musical instruments lying near, he begged
to be favoured with a song. As I did not approve of such disproportioned
acquaintances, I winked upon my daughters in order to prevent their compliance;
but my hint was counteracted by one from their mother; so that with a cheerful
air they gave us a favourite song of Dryden's. Mr. Thornhill seemed highly
delighted with their performance and choice, and then took up the guitar
himself. He played but very indifferently; however, my eldest daughter repaid
his former applause with interest, and assured him that his tones were louder
than even those of her master. At this compliment he bowed, which she returned
with a curtesy. He praised her taste, and she commended his understanding: an
age could not have made them better acquainted. While the fond mother too,
equally happy, insisted upon her landlord's stepping in, and tasting a glass of
her gooseberry. The whole family seemed earnest to please him: my girls
attempted to entertain him with topics they thought most modern, while Moses, on
the contrary, gave him a question or two from the ancients, for which he had the
satisfaction of being laughed at: my little ones were no less busy, and fondly
stuck close to the stranger. All my endeavours could scarce keep their dirty
fingers from handling and tarnishing the lace on his clothes, and lifting up the
flaps of his pocket holes, to see what was there. At the approach of evening he
took leave; but not till he had requested permission to renew his visit, which,
as he was our landlord, we most readily agreed to.
    As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on the conduct of the day.
She was of opinion, that it was a most fortunate hit; for that she had known
even stranger things at last brought to bear. She hoped again to see the day in
which we might hold up our heads with the best of them; and concluded, she
protested she could see no reason why the two Miss Wrinklers should marry great
fortunes, and her children get none. As this last argument was directed to me, I
protested I could see no reason for it neither, nor why Mr. Simpkins got the ten
thousand pound prize in the lottery, and we sate down with a blank. »I protest,
Charles,« cried my wife, »this is the way you always damp my girls and me when
we are in Spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new
visitor? Don't you think he seemed to be good-natured?« - »Immensely so, indeed,
Mamma,« replied she. »I think he has a great deal to say upon every thing, and
is never at a loss; and the more trifling the subject, the more he has to say.«
- »Yes,« cried Olivia, »he is well enough for a man; but for my part, I don't
much like him, he is so extremely impudent and familiar; but on the guitar he is
shocking.« These two last speeches I interpreted by contraries. I found by this,
that Sophia internally despised, as much as Olivia secretly admired him. -
»Whatever may be your opinions of him, my children,« cried I, »to confess a
truth, he has not prepossest me in his favour. Disproportioned friendships ever
terminate in disgust; and I thought, notwithstanding all his ease, that he
seemed perfectly sensible of the distance between us. Let us keep to companions
of our own rank. There is no character more contemptible than a man that is a
fortune-hunter, and I can see no reason why fortune-hunting women should not be
contemptible too. Thus, at best, we shall be contemptible if his views be
honourable; but if they be otherwise! I should shudder but to think of that! It
is true I have no apprehensions from the conduct of my children, but I think
there are some from his character.« - I would have proceeded, but for the
interruption of a servant from the 'Squire, who, with his compliments, sent us a
side of venison, and a promise to dine with us some days after. This well-timed
present pleaded more powerfully in his favour, than any thing I had to say could
obviate. I therefore continued silent, satisfied with just having pointed out
danger, and leaving it to their own discretion to avoid it. That virtue which
requires to be ever guarded, is scarce worth the centinel.
 

                                   Chap. VI.

                     The happiness of a country fire-side.
 
As we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in order to
accommodate matters, it was universally agreed, that we should have a part of
the venison for supper, and the girls undertook the task with alacrity. »I am
sorry,« cried I, »that we have no neighbour or stranger to take a part in this
good cheer: feasts of this kind acquire a double relish from hospitality.« -
»Bless me,« cried my wife, »here comes our good friend Mr. Burchell, that saved
our Sophia, and that run you down fairly in the argument.« - »Confute me in
argument, child!« cried I. »You mistake there, my dear. I believe there are but
few that can do that: I never dispute your abilities at making a goose-pye, and
I beg you'll leave argument to me.« - As I spoke, poor Mr. Burchell entered the
house, and was welcomed by the family, who shook him heartily by the hand, while
little Dick officiously reached him a chair.
    I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for two reasons; because I knew
that he wanted mine, and I knew him to be friendly as far as he was able. He was
known in our neighbourhood by the character of the poor Gentleman that would do
no good when he was young, though he was not yet thirty. He would at intervals
talk with great good sense; but in general he was fondest of the company of
children, whom he used to call harmless little men. He was famous, I found, for
singing them ballads, and telling them stories; and seldom went out without
something in his pockets for them, a piece of ginger-bread, or an halfpenny
whistle. He generally came for a few days into our neighbourhood once a year,
and lived upon the neighbours hospitality. He sate down to supper among us, and
my wife was not sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went round; he sung us
old songs, and gave the children the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the
history of Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, and then Fair Rosamond's
bower. Our cock, which always crew at eleven, now told us it was time for
repose; but an unforeseen difficulty started about lodging the stranger: all our
beds were already taken up, and it was too late to send him to the next
alehouse. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him his part of the bed, if his
brother Moses would let him lie with him; »And I,« cried Bill, »will give Mr.
Burchell my part, if my sisters will take me to theirs.« - »Well done, my good
children,« cried I, »hospitality is one of the first christian duties. The beast
retires to its shelter, and the bird flies to its nest; but helpless man can
only find refuge from his fellow creature. The greatest stranger in this world,
was he that came to save it. He never had an house, as if willing to see what
hospitality was left remaining amongst us. Deborah, my dear,« cried I, to my
wife, »give those boys a lump of sugar each, and let Dick's be the largest,
because he spoke first.«
    In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving an
after-growth of hay, and our guest offering his assistance, he was accepted
among the number. Our labours went on lightly, we turned the swath to the wind,
I went foremost, and the rest followed in due succession. I could not avoid,
however, observing the assiduity of Mr. Burchell in assisting my daughter Sophia
in her part of the task. When he had finished his own, he would join in her's,
and enter into a close conversation: but I had too good an opinion of Sophia's
understanding, and was too well convinced of her ambition, to be under any
uneasiness from a man of broken fortune. When we were finished for the day, Mr.
Burchell was invited as on the night before; but he refused, as he was to lie
that night at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a whistle. When
gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our late unfortunate guest. »What a
strong instance,« said I, »is that poor man of the miseries attending a youth of
levity and extravagance. He by no means wants sense, which only serves to
aggravate his former folly. Poor forlorn creature, where are now the revellers,
the flatterers, that he could once inspire and command! Gone, perhaps, to attend
the bagnio pander, grown rich by his extravagance. They once praised him, and
now they applaud the pander: their former raptures at his wit, are now converted
into sarcasms at his folly: he is poor, and perhaps deserves poverty; for he has
neither the ambition to be independent, nor the skill to be useful.« Prompted,
perhaps, by some secret reasons, I delivered this observation with too much
acrimony, which my Sophia gently reproved. »Whatsoever his former conduct may
be, pappa, his circumstances should exempt him from censure now. His present
indigence is a sufficient punishment for former folly; and I have heard my pappa
himself say, that we should never strike our unnecessary blow at a victim over
whom providence holds the scourge of its resentment.« - »You are right, Sophy,«
cried my son Moses, »and one of the ancients finely represents so malicious a
conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose skin, the fable
tells us, had been wholly stripped off by another. Besides, I don't know if this
poor man's situation be so bad as my father would represent it. We are not to
judge of the feelings of others by what we might feel if in their place. However
dark the habitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the
apartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a truth, this man's mind seems
fitted to his station; for I never heard any one more sprightly than he was
to-day, when he conversed with you.« - This was said without the least design,
however it excited a blush, which she strove to cover by an affected laugh,
assuring him, that she scarce took any notice of what he said to her; but that
she believed he might once have been a very fine gentleman. The readiness with
which she undertook to vindicate herself, and her blushing, were symptoms I did
not internally approve; but I represt my suspicions.
    As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to make the venison
pasty; Moses sate reading, while I taught the little ones: my daughters seemed
equally busy with the rest; and I observed them for a good while cooking
something over the fire. I at first supposed they were assisting their mother;
but little Dick informed me in a whisper, that they were making a wash for the
face. Washes of all kinds I had a natural antipathy to; for I knew that instead
of mending the complexion they spoiled it. I therefore approached my chair by
sly degrees to the fire, and grasping the poker, as if it wanted mending,
seemingly by accident, overturned the whole composition, and it was too late to
begin another.
 

                                   Chap. VII.

A town wit described. The dullest fellows may learn to be comical for a night or
two.
 
When the morning arrived on which we were to entertain our young landlord, it
may be easily supposed what provisions were exhausted to make an appearance. It
may also be conjectured that my wife and daughters expanded their gayest plumage
upon this occasion. Mr. Thornhill came with a couple of friends, his chaplain
and feeder. The servants, who were numerous, he politely ordered to the next
ale-house: but my wife, in the triumph of her heart, insisted on entertaining
them all; for which, by the bye, our family was pinched for three weeks after.
As Mr. Burchell had hinted to us the day before, that he was making some
proposals of marriage to Miss Wilmot, my son George's former mistress, this a
good deal damped the heartiness of his reception: but accident, in some measure,
relieved our embarrasment; for one of the company happening to mention her name,
Mr. Thornhill observed with an oath, that he never knew any thing more absurd
than calling such a fright a beauty: »For strike me ugly,« continued he, »if I
should not find as much pleasure in choosing my mistress by the information of a
lamp under the clock at St. Dunstan's.« At this he laughed, and so did we: - the
jests of the rich are ever successful. Olivia too could not avoid whispering,
loud enough to be heard, that he had an infinite fund of humour.
    After dinner, I began with my usual toast, the Church; for this I was
thanked by the chaplain, as he said the church was the only mistress of his
affections. - »Come tell us honestly, Frank,« said the 'Squire, with his usual
archness, »suppose the church, your present mistress, dressed? in lawn sleeves, on
one hand, and Miss Sophia, with no lawn about her, on the other, which would you
be for? « »For both, to be sure,« cried the chaplain. - »Right Frank,« cried the
'Squire; »for may this glass suffocate me but a fine girl is worth all the
priestcraft in the creation. For what are tythes and tricks but an imposition,
all a confounded imposture, and I can prove it.« - »I wish you would,« cried my
son Moses, »and I think,« continued he, »that I should be able to answer you.« -
»Very well, Sir,« cried the 'Squire, who immediately smoked him, and winking on
the rest of the company, to prepare us for the sport, »if you are for a cool
argument upon that subject, I am ready to accept the challenge. And first,
whether are you for managing it analogically, or dialogically?« »I am for
managing it rationally,« cried Moses, quite happy at being permitted to dispute.
»Good again,« cried the 'Squire, »and firstly, of the first. I hope you'll not
deny that whatever is is. If you don't grant me that, I can go no further.« -
»Why,« returned Moses, »I think I may grant that, and make the best of it.« - »I
hope too,« returned the other, »you'll grant that a part is less than the
whole.« »I grant that too,« cried Moses, »it is but just and reasonable.« - »I
hope,« cried the 'Squire, »you will not deny, that the two angles of a triangle
are equal to two right ones.« - »Nothing can be plainer,« returned t'other, and
looked round with his usual importance. - »Very well,« cried the 'Squire,
speaking very quick, »the premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe,
that the concatanation of self existences, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate
ratio, naturally produce a problematical dialogism, which in some measure proves
that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable« -
»Hold, hold,« cried the other, »I deny that: Do you think I can thus tamely
submit to such heterodox doctrines?« - »What,« replied the 'Squire, as if in a
passion, »not submit! Answer me one plain question: Do you think Aristotle right
when he says, that relatives are related?« »Undoubtedly,« replied the other. -
»If so then,« cried the 'Squire, »answer me directly to what I propose: Whether
do you judge the analytical investigation of the first part of my enthymem
deficient secundum quoad, or quoad minus, and give me your reasons: give me your
reasons, I say, directly.« - »I protest,« cried Moses, »I don't rightly
comprehend the force of your reasoning; but if it be reduced to one simple
proposition, I fancy it may then have an answer.« - »O, sir,« cried the 'Squire,
»I am your most humble servant, I find you want me to furnish you with argument
and intellects too. No, sir, there I protest you are too hard for me.« This
effectually raised the laugh against poor Moses, who sate the only dismal figure
in a group of merry faces: nor did he offer a single syllable more during the
whole entertainment.
    But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a very different effect upon
Olivia, who mistook it for humour, though but a mere act of the memory. She
thought him therefore a very fine gentleman; and such as consider what powerful
ingredients a good figure, fine clothes, and fortune, are in that character,
will easily forgive her. Mr. Thornhill, notwithstanding his real ignorance,
talked with ease, and could expatiate upon the common topics of conversation
with fluency. It is not surprising then that such talents should win the
affections of a girl, who by education was taught to value an appearance in
herself, and consequently to set a value upon it in another.
    Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate upon the merits of our
young landlord. As he directed his looks and conversation to Olivia, it was no
longer doubted but that she was the object that induced him to be our visitor.
Nor did she seem to be much displeased at the innocent raillery of her brother
and sister upon this occasion. Even Deborah herself seemed to share the glory of
the day, and exulted in her daughter's victory as if it were her own. »And now,
my dear,« cried she to me, »I'll fairly own, that it was I that instructed my
girls to encourage our landlord's addresses. I had always some ambition, and you
now see that I was right; for who knows how this may end?« »Ay, who knows that
indeed,« answered I, with a groan: »for my part I don't much like it; and I
could have been better pleased with one that was poor and honest, than this fine
gentleman with his fortune and infidelity; for depend on't, if he be what I
suspect him, no free-thinker shall ever have a child of mine.«
    »Sure, father,« cried Moses, »you are too severe in this; for heaven will
never arraign him for what he thinks, but for what he does. Every man has a
thousand vicious thoughts, which arise without his power to suppress. Thinking
freely of religion, may be involuntary with this gentleman: so that allowing his
sentiments to be wrong, yet as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no more
to be blamed for his errors than the governor of a city without walls for the
shelter he is obliged to afford an invading enemy.«
    »True, my son,« cried I; »but if the governor invites the enemy, there he is
justly culpable. And such is always the case with those who embrace error. The
vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs they see; but in being blind to
many of the proofs that offer. So that, though our erroneous opinions be
involuntary when formed, yet as we have been wilfully corrupt, or very negligent
in forming them, we deserve punishment for our vice, or contempt for our folly.«
    My wife now kept up the conversation, though not the argument: she observed,
that several very prudent men of our acquaintance were free-thinkers, and made
very good husbands; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill enough to
make converts of their spouses: »And who knows, my dear,« continued she, »what
Olivia may be able to do. The girl has a great deal to say upon every subject,
and to my knowledge is very well skilled in controversy.«
    »Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read?« cried I. »It does not
occur to me that I ever put such books into her hands: you certainly over-rate
her merit.« »Indeed, pappa,« replied Olivia, »she does not: I have read a great
deal of controversy. I have read the disputes between Thwackum and Square; the
controversy between Robinson Crusoe and Friday the savage, and I am now employed
in reading the controversy in Religious courtship.« - »Very well,« cried I,
»that's a good girl, I find you are perfectly qualified for making converts, and
so go help your mother to make the gooseberry-pye.«
 

                                  Chap. VIII.

An amour, which promises little good fortune, yet may be productive of much.
 
The next morning we were again visited by Mr. Burchell, though I began, for
certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his return; but I could
not refuse him my company and fire-side. It is true his labour more than
requited his entertainment; for he wrought among us with vigour, and either in
the meadow or at the hay-rick put himself foremost. Besides, he had always
something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the
way, and yet so sensible, that I loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only
dislike arose from an attachment he discovered to my daughter: he would, in a
jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the
girls a set of ribbands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day
seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume
the superior airs of wisdom.
    Our family dined in the field, and we sate, or rather reclined, round a
temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave
cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction two blackbirds answered
each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the
crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. »I
never sit thus,« says Sophia, »but I think of the two lovers, so sweetly
described by Mr. Gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms. There is
something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it an hundred times
with new rapture.« - »In my opinion,« cried my son, »the finest strokes in that
description are much below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet
understands the use of contrast better, and upon that figure artfully managed
all strength in the pathetic depends.« - »It is remarkable,« cried Mr. Burchell,
»that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce a false
taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet.
Men of little genius found them most easily imitated in their defects, and
English poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present
but a combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connexion; a string of
epithets that improve the sound, without carrying on the sense. But perhaps,
madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give
them an opportunity to retaliate, and indeed I have made this remark only to
have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be
its other defects, is I think at least free from those I have mentioned.«
 

                                   A Ballad.

»Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale,
With hospitable ray.
 
For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.«
 
»Forbear, my son,« the hermit cries,
»To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
 
Here to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still;
And tho' my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.
 
Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
 
No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.
 
But from the mountain's grassy side,
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
And water from the spring.
 
Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.«
 
Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
 
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,
And strangers led astray.
 
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket opening with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
 
And now when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:
 
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prest, and smile'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguil'd.
 
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.
 
But nothing could a charm impart
To sooth the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
 
His rising cares the hermit spy'd,
With answering care opprest:
»And whence, unhappy youth,« he cry'd,
»The sorrows of thy breast?
 
From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove;
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
 
Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
Are trifling and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.
 
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
 
And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest:
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.
 
For shame fond youth thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex,« he said:
But while he spoke a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
 
Surpriz'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
 
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid in all her charms.
 
»And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn,« she cry'd;
»Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.
 
But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
 
My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy Lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.
 
To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt or feign'd a flame.
 
Each hour a mercenary crowd,
With richest proffers strove:
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.
 
In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
 
The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refin'd,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.
 
The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.
 
For still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.
 
Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret where he died.
 
But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
 
And there forlorn despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.«
 
»Forbid it heaven!« the hermit cry'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide,
'Twas Edwin's self that prest.
 
»Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see,
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor'd to love and thee.
 
Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev'ry care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life, - my all that's mine.
 
No, never, from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too.«
 
While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with
her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun
just by us, and immediately after a man was seen bursting through the hedge, to
take up the game he had killed. This sportsman was the 'Squire's chaplain, who
had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. So loud a
report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia in
the fright had thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection. The
gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he
was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sate down by my youngest
daughter, and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that morning. She
was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon induced her to
correct the mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My
wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing, that Sophy had
made a conquest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the 'Squire. I
suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections were placed upon
a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr. Thornhill
had provided music and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young
ladies a ball by moon-light, on the grass-plot before our door. »Nor can I
deny,« continued he, »but I have an interest in being first to deliver this
message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with miss Sophy's hand as a
partner.« To this my girl replied, that she should have no objection, if she
could do it with honour: »But here,« continued she, »is a gentleman,« looking at
Mr. Burchell, »who has been my companion in the task for the day, and it is fit
he should share in its amusements.« Mr. Burchell returned her a compliment for
her intentions; but resigned her up to the chaplain, adding that he was to go
that night five miles, being invited to an harvest supper. His refusal appeared
to me a little extraordinary, nor could I conceive how so sensible a girl as my
youngest, could thus prefer a man of broken fortune to one whose expectations
were much greater. But as men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women,
so the ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The two sexes seem placed
as spies upon each other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted
for mutual inspection.
 

                                   Chap. IX.

Two ladies of great distinction introduced. Superior finery ever seems to confer
superior breeding.
 
Mr. Burchell had scarce taken leave, and Sophia consented to dance with the
chaplain, when my little ones came running out to tell us that the 'Squire was
come, with a crowd of company. Upon our return, we found our landlord, with a
couple of under gentlemen and two young ladies richly dressed?, whom he introduced
as women of very great distinction and fashion from town. We happened not to
have chairs enough for the whole company; but Mr. Thornhill immediately proposed
that every gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. This I positively objected to,
notwithstanding a look of disapprobation from my wife. Moses was therefore
dispatched to borrow a couple of chairs; and as we were in want of ladies to
make up a set at country dances, the two gentlemen went with him in quest of a
couple of partners. Chairs and partners were soon provided. The gentlemen
returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy daughters, flaunting with red
top-knots, but an unlucky circumstance was not adverted to; though the Miss
Flamboroughs were reckoned the very best dancers in the parish, and understood
the jig and the round-about to perfection; yet they were totally unacquainted
with country dances. This at first discomposed us: however, after a little
shoving and dragging, they at last went merrily on. Our music consisted of two
fiddles, with a pipe and tabor. The moon shone bright, Mr. Thornhill and my
eldest daughter led up the ball, to the great delight of the spectators; for the
neighbours hearing what was going forward, came flocking about us. My girl moved
with so much grace and vivacity, that my wife could not avoid discovering the
pride of her heart, by assuring me, that though the little chit did it so
cleverly, all the steps were stolen from herself. The ladies of the town strove
hard to be equally easy, but without success. They swam, sprawled, languished,
and frisked; but all would not do: the gazers indeed owned that it was fine; but
neighbour Flamborough observed, that Miss Livy's feet seemed as pat to the music
as its echo. After the dance had continued about an hour, the two ladies, who
were apprehensive of catching cold, moved to break up the ball. One of them, I
thought, expressed her sentiments upon this occasion in a very coarse manner,
when she observed, that by the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat.
Upon our return to the house, we found a very elegant cold supper, which Mr.
Thornhill had ordered to be brought with him. The conversation at this time was
more reserved than before. The two ladies threw my girls quite into the shade;
for they would talk of nothing but high life, and high lived company; with other
fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical
glasses. 'Tis true they once or twice mortified us sensibly by slipping out an
oath; but that appeared to me as the surest symptom of their distinction, (tho'
I am since informed that swearing is perfectly unfashionable.) Their finery,
however, threw a veil over any grossness in their conversation. My daughters
seemed to regard their superior accomplishments with envy; and what appeared
amiss was ascribed to tip-top quality breeding. But the condescension of the
ladies was still superior to their other accomplishments. One of them observed,
that had miss Olivia seen a little more of the world, it would greatly improve
her. To which the other added, that a single winter in town would make her
little Sophia quite another thing. My wife warmly assented to both; adding, that
there was nothing she more ardently wished than to give her girls a single
winter's polishing. To this I could not help replying, that their breeding was
already superior to their fortune; and that greater refinement would only serve
to make their poverty ridiculous, and give them a taste for pleasures they had
no right to possess. - »And what pleasures,« cried Mr. Thornhill, »do they not
deserve to possess, who have so much in their power to bestow? As for my part,«
continued he, »my fortune is pretty large, love, liberty, and pleasure, are my
maxims; but curse me if a settlement of half my estate could give my charming
Olivia pleasure, it should be hers; and the only favour I would ask in return
would be to add myself to the benefit.« I was not such a stranger to the world
as to be ignorant that this was the fashionable cant to disguise the insolence
of the basest proposal; but I made an effort to suppress my resentment. »Sir,«
cried I, »the family which you now condescend to favour with your company, has
been bred with as nice a sense of honour as you. Any attempts to injure that,
may be attended with very dangerous consequences. Honour, Sir, is our only
possession at present, and of that last treasure we must be particularly
careful.« - I was soon sorry for the warmth with which I had spoken this, when
the young gentleman, grasping my hand, swore he commended my spirit, though he
disapproved my suspicions. »As to your present hint,« continued he, »I protest
nothing was farther from my heart than such a thought. No, by all that's
tempting, the virtue that will stand a regular siege was never to my taste; for
all my amours are carried by a coup de main.«
    The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the rest, seemed highly
displeased with this last stroke of freedom, and began a very discreet and
serious dialogue upon virtue: in this my wife, the chaplain, and I, soon joined;
and the 'Squire himself was at last brought to confess a sense of sorrow for his
former excesses. We talked of the pleasures of temperance, and of the sun-shine
in the mind unpolluted with guilt. I was so well pleased, that my little ones
were kept up beyond the usual time to be edified by so much good conversation.
Mr. Thornhill even went beyond me, and demanded if I had any objection to giving
prayers. I joyfully embraced the proposal, and in this manner the night was
passed in a most comfortable way, till at last the company began to think of
returning. The ladies seemed very unwilling to part with my daughters; for whom
they had conceived a particular affection, and joined in a request to have the
pleasure of their company home. The 'Squire seconded the proposal, and my wife
added her entreaties: the girls too looked upon me as if they wished to go. In
this perplexity I made two or three excuses, which my daughters as readily
removed; so that at last I was obliged to give a peremptory refusal; for which
we had nothing but sullen looks and short answers the whole day ensuing.
 

                                    Chap. X.

The family endeavours to cope with their betters. The miseries of the poor when
they attempt to appear above their circumstances.
 
I now began to find that all my long and painful lectures upon temperance,
simplicity, and contentment, were entirely disregarded. The distinctions lately
paid us by our betters awake that pride which I had laid asleep, but not
removed. Our windows again, as formerly, were filled with washes for the neck
and face. The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin without doors, and the
fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. My wife observed, that rising too
early would hurt her daughters' eyes, that working after dinner would redden
their noses, and she convinced me that the hands never looked so white as when
they did nothing. Instead therefore of finishing George's shirts, we now had
them new modelling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon catgut. The poor Miss
Flamboroughs, their former gay companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance,
and the whole conversation ran upon high life and high lived company, with
pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.
    But we could have borne all this, had not a fortune-telling gypsey come to
raise us into perfect sublimity. The tawny sybil no sooner appeared, than my
girls came running to me for a shilling a piece to cross her hand with silver.
To say the truth, I was tired of being always wise, and could not help
gratifying their request, because I loved to see them happy. I gave each of them
a shilling; though, for the honour of the family, it must be observed, that they
never went without money themselves, as my wife always generously let them have
a guinea each, to keep in their pockets; but with strict injunctions never to
change it. After they had been closetted up with the fortune-teller for some
time, I knew by their looks, upon their returning, that they had been promised
something great. - »Well, my girls, how have you sped? Tell me, Livy, has the
fortune-teller given thee a pennyworth?« - »I protest, pappa,« says the girl, »I
believe she deals with some body that's not right; for she positively declared,
that I am to be married to a 'Squire in less than a twelvemonth!« - »Well now,
Sophy, my child,« said I, »and what sort of a husband are you to have?« »Sir,«
replied she, »I am to have a Lord soon after my sister has married the 'Squire.«
- »How,« cried I, »is that all you are to have for your two shillings! Only a
Lord and a 'Squire for two shillings! You fools, I could have promised you a
Prince and a Nabob for half the money.«
    This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with very serious effects:
we now began to think ourselves designed by the stars for something exalted, and
already anticipated our future grandeur.
    It has been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it once more, that
the hours we pass with happy prospects in view, are more pleasing than those
crowned with fruition. In the first case we cook the dish to our own appetite;
in the latter nature cooks it for us. It is impossible to repeat the train of
agreeable reveries we called up for our entertainment. We looked upon our
fortunes as once more rising; and as the whole parish asserted that the 'Squire
was in love with my daughter, she was actually so with him; for they persuaded
her into the passion. In this agreeable interval, my wife had the most lucky
dreams in the world, which she took care to tell us every morning, with great
solemnity and exactness. It was one night a coffin and cross bones, the sign of
an approaching wedding: at another time she imagined her daughters' pockets
filled with farthings, a certain sign of their being shortly stuffed with gold.
The girls themselves had their omens. They felt strange kisses on their lips;
they saw rings in the candle, purses bounced from the fire, and true love-knots
lurked in the bottom of every tea-cup.
    Towards the end of the week we received a card from the town ladies; in
which, with their compliments, they hoped to see all our family at church the
Sunday following. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in consequence of this,
my wife and daughters in close conference together, and now and then glancing at
me with looks that betrayed a latent plot. To be sincere, I had strong
suspicions that some absurd proposal was preparing for appearing with splendour
the next day. In the evening they began their operations in a very regular
manner, and my wife undertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in
spirits, she began thus. - »I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a great
deal of good company at our church to-morrow.« - »Perhaps we may, my dear,«
returned I; »though you need be under no uneasiness about that, you shall have a
sermon whether there be or not.« - »That is what I expect,« returned she; »but I
think, my dear, we ought to appear there as decently as possible, for who knows
what may happen?« »Your precautions,« replied I, »are highly commendable. A
decent behaviour and appearance in church is what charms me. We should be devout
and humble, cheerful and serene.« - »Yes,« cried she, »I know that; but I mean
we should go there in as proper a manner as possible; not altogether like the
scrubs about us.« »You are quite right, my dear,« returned I, »and I was going
to make the very same proposal. The proper manner of going is, to go there as
early as possible, to have time for meditation before the service begins.« -
»Phoo, Charles,« interrupted she, »all that is very true; but not what I would
be at. I mean, we should go there genteelly. You know the church is two miles
off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters trudging up to their pew all
blowzed and red with walking, and looking for all the world as if they had been
winners at a smock race. Now, my dear, my proposal is this: there are our two
plow horses, the Colt that has been in our family these nine years, and his
companion Blackberry, that have scarce done an earthly thing for this month
past. They are both grown fat and lazy. Why should not they do something as well
as we? And let me tell you, when Moses has trimmed them a little, they will cut
a very tolerable figure.«
    To this proposal I objected, that walking would be twenty times more genteel
than such a paltry conveyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the Colt wanted
a tail: that they had never been broke to the rein; but had an hundred vicious
tricks; and that we had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house. All these
objections, however, were over-ruled; so that I was obliged to comply. The next
morning I perceived them not a little busy in collecting such materials as might
be necessary for the expedition; but as I found it would be a business of time,
I walked on to the church before, and they promised speedily to follow. I waited
near an hour in the reading desk for their arrival; but not finding them come as
expected, I was obliged to begin, and went through the service, not without some
uneasiness at finding them absent. This was increased when all was finished, and
no appearance of the family. I therefore walked back by the horse-way, which was
five miles round, tho' the footway was but two, and when got about half way
home, perceived the procession marching slowly forward towards the church; my
son, my wife, and the two little ones exalted upon one horse, and my two
daughters upon the other. I demanded the cause of their delay; but I soon found
by their looks they had met with a thousand misfortunes on the road. The horses
had at first refused to move from the door, till Mr. Burchell was kind enough to
beat them forward for about two hundred yards with his cudgel. Next the straps
of my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged to stop to repair them
before they could proceed. After that, one of the horses took it into his head
to stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties could prevail with him to
proceed. It was just recovering from this dismal situation that I found them;
but perceiving every thing safe, I own their present mortification did not much
displease me, as it would give me many opportunities of future triumph, and
teach my daughters more humility.
 

                                   Chap. XI.

                The family still resolve to hold up their heads.
 
Michaelmas eve happening on the next day, we were invited to burn nuts and play
tricks at neighbour Flamborough's. Our late mortifications had humbled us a
little, or it is probable we might have rejected such an invitation with
contempt: however, we suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest neighbour's
goose and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's-wool, even in the opinion of my
wife, who was a connoiseur, was excellent. It is true, his manner of telling
stories was not quite so well. They were very long, and very dull, and all about
himself, and we had laughed at them ten times before: however, we were kind
enough to laugh at them once more.
    Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always fond of seeing some innocent
amusement going forward, and set the boys and girls to blind man's buff. My wife
too was persuaded to join in the diversion, and it gave me pleasure to think she
was not yet too old. In the mean time, my neighbour and I looked on, laughed at
every feat, and praised our own dexterity when we were young. Hot cockles
succeeded next, questions and commands followed that, and last of all, they sate
down to hunt the slipper. As every person may not be acquainted with this
primæval pastime, it may be necessary to observe, that the company at this play
plant themselves in a ring upon the ground, all, except one who stands in the
middle, whose business it is to catch a shoe, which the company shove about
under their hams from one to another, something like a weaver's shuttle. As it
is impossible, in this case, for the lady who is up to face all the company at
once, the great beauty of the play lies in hitting her a thump with the heel of
the shoe on that side least capable of making a defence. It was in this manner
that my eldest daughter was hemmed in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in
spirits, and bawling for fair play, fair play, with a voice that might deafen a
ballad singer, when confusion on confusion, who should enter the room but our
two great acquaintances from town, Lady Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilelmina
Amelia Skeggs! Description would but beggar, therefore it is unnecessary to
describe this new mortification. Death! To be seen by ladies of such high
breeding in such vulgar attitudes! Nothing better could ensue from such a vulgar
play of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We seemed stuck to the ground for some
time, as if actually petrified with amazement.
    The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and finding us from home,
came after us hither, as they were uneasy to know what accident could have kept
us from church the day before. Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor, and
delivered the whole in a summary way, only saying, »We were thrown from our
horses.« At which account the ladies were greatly concerned; but being told the
family received no hurt, they were extremely glad: but being informed that we
were almost killed by the fright, they were vastly sorry; but hearing that we
had a very good night, they were extremely glad again. Nothing could exceed
their complaisance to my daughters; their professions the last evening were
warm, but now they were ardent. They protested a desire of having a more lasting
acquaintance. Lady Blarney was particularly attached to Olivia; Miss Carolina
Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to give the whole name) took a greater fancy to
her sister. They supported the conversation between themselves, while my
daughters sate silent, admiring their exalted breeding. But as every reader,
however beggarly himself, is fond of high-lived dialogues, with anecdotes of
Lords, Ladies, and Knights of the Garter, I must beg leave to give him the
concluding part of the present conversation.
    »All that I know of the matter,« cried Miss Skeggs, »is this, that it may be
true, or it may not be true: but this I can assure your Ladyship, that the whole
rout was in amaze; his Lordship turned all manner of colours, my Lady fell into
a sound; but Sir Tomkyn, drawing his sword, swore he was her's to the last drop
of his blood.«
    »Well,« replied our Peeress, »this I can say, that the Dutchess never told
me a syllable of the matter, and I believe her Grace would keep nothing a secret
from me. This you may depend upon as fact, that the next morning my Lord Duke
cried out three times to his valet de chamber, Jernigan, Jernigan, Jernigan,
bring me my garters.«
    But previously I should have mentioned the very impolite behaviour of Mr.
Burchell, who, during this discourse, sate with his face turned to the fire, and
at the conclusion of every sentence would cry out fudge, an expression which
displeased us all, and in some measure damped the rising spirit of the
conversation.
    »Besides, my dear Skeggs,« continued our Peeress, »there is nothing of this
in the copy of verses that Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion.« Fudge!
    »I am surprised at that,« cried Miss Skeggs; »for he seldom leaves any thing
out, as he writes only for his own amusement. But can your Ladyship favour me
with a sight of them?« Fudge!
    »My dear creature,« replied our Peeress, »do you think I carry such things
about me? Though they are very fine to be sure, and I think myself something of
a judge; at least I know what pleases myself. Indeed I was ever an admirer of
all Doctor Burdock's little pieces; for except what he does, and our dear
Countess at Hanover-Square, there's nothing comes out but the most lowest stuff
in nature; not a bit of high life among them.« Fudge!
    »Your Ladyship should except,« says t'other, »your own things in the Lady's
Magazine. I hope you'll say there's nothing low lived there? But I suppose we
are to have no more from that quarter?« Fudge!
    »Why, my dear,« says the Lady, »you know my reader and companion has left
me, to be married to Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer me to write
myself, I have been for some time looking out for another. A proper person is no
easy matter to find, and to be sure thirty pounds a year is a small stipend for
a well-bred girl of character, that can read, write, and behave in company; as
for the chits about town, there is no bearing them about one.« Fudge!
    »That I know,« cried Miss Skeggs, »by experience. For of the three
companions I had this last half year, one of them refused to do plain-work an
hour in the day, another thought twenty-five guineas a year too small a salary,
and I was obliged to send away the third, because I suspected an intrigue with
the chaplain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, virtue is worth any price; but where
is that to be found?« Fudge!
    My wife had been for a long time all attention to this discourse; but was
particularly struck with the latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twenty-five
guineas a year made fifty-six pounds five shillings English money, all which was
in a manner going a-begging, and might easily be secured in the family. She for
a moment studied my looks for approbation; and, to own a truth, I was of
opinion, that two such places would fit our two daughters exactly. Besides, if
the 'Squire had any real affection for my eldest daughter, this would be the way
to make her every way qualified for her fortune. My wife therefore was resolved
that we should not be deprived of such advantages for want of assurance, and
undertook to harangue for the family. »I hope,« cried she, »your Ladyships will
pardon my present presumption. It is true, we have no right to pretend to such
favours; but yet it is natural for me to wish putting my children forward in the
world. And I will be bold to say my two girls have had a pretty good education,
and capacity, at least the country can't show better. They can read, write, and
cast accompts; they understand their needle, breadstitch, cross and change, and
all manner of plain-work; they can pink, point, and frill; and know something of
music; they can do up small clothes, work upon catgut; my eldest can cut paper,
and my youngest has a very pretty manner of telling fortunes upon the cards.«
Fudge!
    When she had delivered this pretty piece of eloquence, the two ladies looked
at each other a few minutes in silence, with an air of doubt and importance. At
last, Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs condescended to observe, that the
young ladies, from the opinion she could form of them from so slight an
acquaintance, seemed very fit for such employments: »But a thing of this kind,
Madam,« cried she, addressing my spouse, »requires a thorough examination into
characters, and a more perfect knowledge of each other. Not, Madam,« continued
she, »that I in the least suspect the young ladies virtue, prudence and
discretion; but there is a form in these things, Madam, there is a form.«
    My wife approved her suspicions very much, observing, that she was very apt
to be suspicious herself; but referred her to all the neighbours for a
character: but this our Peeress declined as unnecessary, alleging that her
cousin Thornhill's recommendation would be sufficient, and upon this we rested
our petition.
 

                                   Chap. XII.

Fortune seems resolved to humble the family of Wakefield. Mortifications are
often more painful than real calamities.
 
When we were returned home, the night was dedicated to schemes of future
conquest. Deborah exerted much sagacity in conjecturing which of the two girls
was likely to have the best place, and most opportunities of seeing good
company. The only obstacle to our preferment was in obtaining the 'Squire's
recommendation; but he had already shown us too many instances of his friendship
to doubt of it now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual theme: »Well, faith,
my dear Charles, between ourselves, I think we have made an excellent day's work
of it.« - »Pretty well,« cried I, not knowing what to say. - »What only pretty
well!« returned she. »I think it is very well. Suppose the girls should come to
make acquaintances of taste in town! This I am assured of, that London is the
only place in the world for all manner of husbands. Besides, my dear, stranger
things happen every day: and as ladies of quality are so taken with my
daughters, what will not men of quality be! Entre nous, I protest I like my Lady
Blarney vastly, so very obliging. However, Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs
has my warm heart. But yet, when they came to talk of places in town, you saw at
once how I nailed them. Tell me, my dear, don't you think I did for my children
there?« - »Ay,« returned I, not knowing well what to think of the matter,
»heaven grant they may be both the better for it this day three months!« This
was one of those observations I usually made to impress my wife with an opinion
of my sagacity; for if the girls succeeded, then it was a pious wish fulfilled;
but if any thing unfortunate ensued, then it might be looked upon as a prophecy.
All this conversation, however, was only preparatory to another scheme, and
indeed I dreaded as much. This was nothing less than, that as we were now to
hold up our heads a little higher in the world, it would be proper to sell the
Colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us an horse that
would carry single or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at
church or upon a visit. This at first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly
defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at last it
was resolved to part with him.
    As the fair happened on the following day, I had intentions of going myself;
but my wife persuaded me that I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail upon
her to permit me from home. »No, my dear,« said she, »our son Moses is a
discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good advantage; you know all our
great bargains are of his purchasing. He always stands out and higgles, and
actually tires them till he gets a bargain.«
    As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was willing enough to entrust
him with this commission; and the next morning I perceived his sisters mighty
busy in fitting out Moses for the fair; trimming his hair, brushing his buckles,
and cocking his hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over, we had at
last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted upon the Colt, with a deal box
before him to bring home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that cloth they
call thunder and lightning, which, though grown too short, was much too good to
be thrown away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and his sisters had tied his
hair with a broad black ribband. We all followed him several paces from the
door, bawling after him good luck, good luck, till we could see him no longer.
    He was scarce gone, when Mr. Thornhill's butler came to congratulate us upon
our good fortune, saying, that he overheard his young master mention our names
with great commendation.
    Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone. Another footman from the
same family followed, with a card for my daughters, importing, that the two
ladies had received such pleasing accounts from Mr. Thornhill of us all, that,
after a few previous enquiries, they hoped to be perfectly satisfied. »Ay,«
cried my wife, »I now see it is no easy matter to get into the families of the
great; but when one once gets in, then, as Moses says, one may go sleep.« To
this piece of humour, for she intended it for wit, my daughters assented with a
loud laugh of pleasure. In short, such was her satisfaction at this message,
that she actually put her hand in her pocket, and gave the messenger seven-pence
halfpenny.
    This was to be our visiting-day. The next that came was Mr. Burchell, who
had been at the fair. He brought my little ones a pennyworth of gingerbread
each, which my wife undertook to keep for them, and give them by letters at a
time. He brought my daughters also a couple of boxes, in which they might keep
wafers, snuff, patches, or even money, when they got it. My wife was usually
fond of a weesel skin purse, as being the most lucky; but this by the bye. We
had still a regard for Mr. Burchell, though his late rude behaviour was in some
measure displeasing; nor could we now avoid communicating our happiness to him,
and asking his advice: although we seldom followed advice, we were all ready
enough to ask it. When he read the note from the two ladies, he shook his head,
and observed, that an affair of this sort demanded the utmost circumspection. -
This air of diffidence highly displeased my wife. »I never doubted, Sir,« cried
she, »your readiness to be against my daughters and me. You have more
circumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when we come to ask advice, we
will apply to persons who seem to have made use of it themselves.« - »Whatever
my own conduct may have been, madam,« replied he, »is not the present question;
tho' as I have made no use of advice myself, I should in conscience give it to
those that will.« - As I was apprehensive this answer might draw on a repartee,
making up by abuse what it wanted in wit, I changed the subject, by seeming to
wonder what could keep our son so long at the fair, as it was now almost
night-fall. - »Never mind our son,« cried my wife, »depend upon it he knows what
he is about. I'll warrant we'll never see him sell his hen of a rainy day. I
have seen him buy such bargains as would amaze one. I'll tell you a good story
about that, that will make you split your sides with laughing - But as I live,
yonder comes Moses, without an horse, and the box at his back.«
    As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating under the deal box,
which he had strapt round his shoulders like a pedlar. - »Welcome, welcome,
Moses; well, my boy, what have you brought us from the fair?« - »I have brought
you myself,« cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser. -
»Ay, Moses,« cried my wife, »that we know, but where is the horse?« »I have sold
him,« cried Moses, »for three pounds five shillings and two-pence.« - »Well
done, my good boy,« returned she, »I knew you would touch them off. Between
ourselves, three pounds five shillings and two-pence is no bad day's work. Come,
let us have it then.« - »I have brought back no money,« cried Moses again. »I
have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is,« pulling out a bundle from
his breast: »here they are; a groce of green spectacles, with silver rims and
shagreen cases.« - »A groce of green spectacles!« repeated my wife in a faint
voice. »And you have parted with the Colt, and brought us back nothing but a
groce of green paltry spectacles!« - »Dear mother,« cried the boy, »why won't
you listen to reason? I had them a dead bargain, or I should not have bought
them. The silver rims alone will sell for double the money.« - »A fig for the
silver rims,« cried my wife, in a passion: »I dare swear they won't sell for
above half the money at the rate of broken silver, five shillings an ounce.« -
»You need be under no uneasiness,« cried I, »about selling the rims; for they
are not worth six-pence, for I perceive they are only copper varnished over.« -
»What,« cried my wife, »not silver, the rims not silver!« »No,« cried I, »no
more silver than your sauce-pan.« - »And so,« returned she, »we have parted with
the Colt, and have only got a groce of green spectacles, with copper rims and
shagreen cases! A murrain take such trumpery. The blockhead has been imposed
upon, and should have known his company better.« - »There, my dear,« cried I,
»you are wrong, he should not have known them at all.« - »Marry, hang the
ideot,« returned she, »to bring me such stuff, if I had them, I would throw them
in the fire.« »There again you are wrong, my dear,« cried I; »for though they be
copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are better than
nothing.«
    By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. He now saw that he had
indeed been imposed upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had
marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumstances of his
deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked the fair in search of
another. A reverend looking man brought him to a tent, under pretence of having
one to sell. »Here,« continued Moses, »we met another man, very well dressed?, who
desired to borrow twenty pounds upon these, saying, that he wanted money, and
would dispose of them for a third of the value. The first gentleman, who
pretended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let
so good an offer pass. I sent for Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up as
finely as they did me, and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two groce
between us.«
 

                                  Chap. XIII.

Mr. Burchell is found to be an enemy; for he has the confidence to give
disagreeable advice.
 
Our family had now made several attempts to be fine; but some unforeseen
disaster demolished each as soon as projected. I endeavoured to take the
advantage of every disappointment, to improve their good sense in proportion as
they were frustrated in ambition. »You see, my children,« cried I, »how little
is to be got by attempts to impose upon the world, in coping with our betters.
Such as are poor and will associate with none but the rich, are hated by those
they avoid, and despised by these they follow. Unequal combinations are always
disadvantageous to the weaker side: the rich having the pleasure, and the poor
the inconveniences that result from them. But come, Dick, my boy, and repeat
the fable that you were reading to-day, for the good of the company.«
    »Once upon a time,« cried the child, »a Giant and a Dwarf were friends, and
kept together. They made a bargain that they would never forsake each other, but
go seek adventures. The first battle they fought was with two Saracens, and the
Dwarf, who was very courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow. It
did the Saracen but very little injury, who lifting up his sword, fairly struck
off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a woeful plight; but the Giant coming to
his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the
Dwarf cut off the dead man's head out of spite. They then travelled on to
another adventure. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who were
carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not quite so fierce now as
before; but for all that, struck the first blow, which was returned by another,
that knocked out his eye: but the Giant was soon up with them, and had they not
fled, would certainly have killed them every one. They were all very joyful for
this victory, and the damsel who was relieved fell in love with the Giant, and
married him. They now travelled far, and farther than I can tell, till they met
with a company of robbers. The Giant, for the first time, was foremost now; but
the Dwarf was not far behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant
came all fell before him; but the Dwarf had like to have been killed more than
once. At last the victory declared for the two adventurers; but the Dwarf lost
his leg. The Dwarf was now without an arm, a leg, and an eye, while the Giant
was without a single wound. Upon which he cried out to his little companion, My
little heroe, this is glorious sport; let us get one victory more, and then we
shall have honour for ever. No, cries the Dwarf, who was by this time grown
wiser, no, I declare off; I'll fight no more: for I find in every battle that
you get all the honour and rewards, but all the blows fall upon me.«
    I was going to moralize this fable, when our attention was called off to a
warm dispute between my wife and Mr. Burchell, upon my daughters intended
expedition to town. My wife very strenuously insisted upon the advantages that
would result from it. Mr. Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded her with great
ardour, and I stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the second part of
those which were received with so ill a grace in the morning. The dispute grew
high, while poor Deborah, instead of reasoning stronger, talked louder, and at
last was obliged to take shelter from a defeat in clamour. The conclusion of her
harangue, however, was highly displeasing to us all: she knew, she said, of some
who had their own secret reasons for what they advised; but, for her part, she
wished such to stay away from her house for the future. - »Madam,« cried
Burchell, with looks of great composure, which tended to enflame her the more,
»as for secret reasons, you are right: I have secret reasons, which I forbear to
mention, because you are not able to answer those of which I make no secret: but
I find my visits here are become troublesome; I'll take my leave therefore now,
and perhaps come once more to take a final farewell when I am quitting the
country.« Thus saying, he took up his hat, nor could the attempts of Sophia,
whose looks seemed to upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his going.
    When gone, we all regarded each other for some minutes with confusion. My
wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a forced
smile, and an air of assurance, which I was willing to reprove: »How, woman,«
cried I to her, »is it thus we treat strangers? Is it thus we return their
kindness? Be assured, my dear, that these were the harshest words, and to me the
most unpleasing that ever escaped your lips!« - »Why would he provoke me then,«
replied she; »but I know the motives of his advice perfectly well. He would
prevent my girls from going to town, that he may have the pleasure of my
youngest daughter's company here at home. But whatever happens, she shall choose
better company than such low-lived fellows as he.« - »Low-lived, my dear, do you
call him,« cried I, »it is very possible we may mistake this man's character:
for he seems upon some occasions the most finished gentleman I ever knew. - Tell
me, Sophia, my girl, has he ever given you any secret instances of his
attachment?« - »His conversation with me, sir,« replied my daughter, »has ever
been sensible, modest, and pleasing. As to aught else, no, never. Once, indeed,
I remember to have heard him say he never knew a woman who could find merit in a
man that seemed poor.« »Such, my dear,« cried I, »is the common cant of all the
unfortunate or idle. But I hope you have been taught to judge properly of such
men, and that it would be even madness to expect happiness from one who has been
so very bad an oeconomist of his own. Your mother and I have now better
prospects for you. The next winter, which you will probably spend in town, will
give you opportunities of making a more prudent choice.«
    What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion, I can't pretend to
determine; but I was not displeased at the bottom that we were rid of a guest
from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went to my conscience a
little: but I quickly silenced that monitor by two or three specious reasons,
which served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which conscience
gives the man who has already done wrong, is soon got over. Conscience is a
coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has
justice enough to accuse.
 

                                   Chap. XIV.

Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities may be real
blessings.
 
The journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill having
kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of
their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably necessary that their
appearance should equal the greatness of their expectations, which could not be
done without expense. We debated therefore in full council what were the easiest
methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we could most
conveniently sell. The deliberation was soon finished, it was found that our
remaining horse was utterly useless for the plow, without his companion, and
equally unfit for the road, as wanting an eye, it was therefore determined that
we should dispose of him for the purposes above-mentioned, at the neighbouring
fair, and, to prevent imposition, that I should go with him myself. Though this
was one of the first mercantile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt
about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man forms of his own
prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps, and as mine was mostly in
the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wisdom.
My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had got some paces from the
door, called me back, to advise me, in a whisper, to have all my eyes about me.
    I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse through all
his paces; but for some time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached, and,
after he had for a good while examined the horse round, finding him blind of one
eye, he would have nothing to say to him: a second came up; but observing he had
a spavin, declared he would not take him for the driving home: a third perceived
he had a windgall, and would bid no money: a fourth knew by his eye that he had
the botts: a fifth, wondered what a plague I could do at the fair with a blind,
spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a dog kennel. By this
time I began to have a most hearty contempt for the poor animal myself, and was
almost ashamed at the approach of every customer; for though I did not entirely
believe all the fellows told me; yet I reflected that the number of witnesses
was a strong presumption they were right, and St. Gregory, upon good works,
professes himself to be of the same opinion.
    I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an old
acquaintance, who had also business to the fair, came up, and shaking me by the
hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house and taking a glass of whatever we
could get. I readily closed with the offer, and entering an ale-house, we were
shown into a little back room, where there was only a venerable old man, who sat
wholly intent over a large book, which he was reading. I never in my life saw a
figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver grey venerably
shaded his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the result of health and
benevolence. However, his presence did not interrupt our conversation; my friend
and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune we had met: the Whistonean
controversy, my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, and the hard measure that
was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time taken off by the appearance
of a youth, who, entering the room, respectfully said something softly to the
old stranger. »Make no apologies, my child,« said the old man, »to do good is a
duty we owe to all our fellow creatures: take this, I wish it were more; but
five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome.« The modest youth
shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was scarce equal to mine. I could
have hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He
continued to read, and we resumed our conversation, until my companion, after
some time, recollecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promised
to be soon back; adding, that he always desired to have as much of Dr.
Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman, hearing my name mentioned,
seemed to look at me with attention, for some time, and when my friend was gone,
most respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great Primrose, that
couragious monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the church. Never did my
heart feel sincerer rapture than at that moment. »Sir,« cried I, »the applause
of so good a man, as I am sure you are, adds to that happiness in my breast
which your benevolence has already excited. You behold before you, Sir, that
Doctor Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been pleased to call great. You
here see that unfortunate Divine, who has so long, and it would ill become me to
say, successfully, fought against the deuterogamy of the age.« »Sir,« cried the
stranger, struck with awe, »I fear I have been too familiar; but you'll forgive
my curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon.« »Sir,« cried I, grasping his hand, »you are so
far from displeasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg you'll accept my
friendship, as you already have my esteem.« - »Then with gratitude I accept the
offer,« cried he, squeezing me by the hand, »thou glorious pillar of unshaken
orthodoxy; and do I behold -« I here interrupted what he was going to say; for
tho', as an author, I could digest no small share of flattery, yet now my
modesty would permit no more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented a more
instantaneous friendship. We talked upon several subjects: at first I thought he
seemed rather devout than learned, and began to think he despised all human
doctrines as dross. Yet this no way lessened him in my esteem; for I had for
some time begun privately to harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took
occasion to observe, that the world in general began to be blameably indifferent
as to doctrinal matters, and followed human speculations too much - »Ay, Sir,«
replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that moment, »Ay, Sir, the
world is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has
puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a medly of opinions have they not
broached upon the creation of the world? Sanconia-thon, Manetho, Berosus, and
Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words,
Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which imply that all things have neither
beginning nor end. Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon-Asser,
Asser being a Syriac word usually applied as a sirname to the kings of that
country, as Teglat Phael-Asser, Nabon-Asser, he, I say, formed a conjecture
equally absurd; for as we usually say ek to biblion kubernetes, which implies
that books will never teach the world; so he attempted to investigate - But,
Sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the question.« - That he actually was; nor
could I for my life see how the creation of the world had any thing to do with
the business I was talking of; but it was sufficient to show me that he was a
man of letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to
bring him to the touch-stone; but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for
victory. Whenever I made any observation that looked like a challenge to
controversy, he would smile, shake his head, and say nothing; by which I
understood he could say much, if he thought proper. The subject therefore
insensibly changed from the business of antiquity to that which brought us both
to the fair; mine I told him was to sell an horse, and very luckily, indeed, his
was to buy one for one of his tenants. My horse was soon produced, and in fine
we struck a bargain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly
pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me change it. Not being in a capacity of
complying with his demand, he ordered his footman to be called up, who made his
appearance in a very genteel livery. »Here, Abraham,« cried he, »go and get gold
for this; you'll do it at neighbour Jackson's, or any where.« While the fellow
was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic harangue on the great scarcity of
silver, which I undertook to improve, by deploring also the great scarcity of
gold; so that by the time Abraham returned, we had both agreed that money was
never so hard to be come at as now. Abraham returned to inform us, that he had
been over the whole fair and could not get change, tho' he had offered half a
crown for doing it. This was a very great disappointment to us all; but the old
gentleman having paused a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flamborough in
my part of the country: upon replying that he was my next door neighbour, »If
that be the case then,« returned he, »I believe we shall deal. You shall have a
draught upon him, payable at sight; and let me tell you he is as warm a man as
any within five miles round him. Honest Solomon and I have been acquainted for
many years together. I remember I always beat him at three jumps; but he could
hop upon one leg farther than I.« A draught upon my neighbour was to me the same
as money; for I was sufficiently convinced of his ability: the draught was
signed and put into my hands, and Mr. Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man
Abraham, and my horse, old Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased with each
other.
    After a short interval being left to reflection, I began to recollect that I
had done wrong in taking a draught from a stranger, and so prudently resolved
upon following the purchaser, and having back my horse. But this was now too
late: I therefore made directly homewards, resolving to get the draught changed
into money at my friend's as fast as possible. I found my honest neighbour
smoking his pipe at his own door, and informing him that I had a small bill upon
him, he read it twice over. »You can read the name, I suppose,« cried I,
»Ephraim Jenkinson.« »Yes,« returned he, »the name is written plain enough, and
I know the gentleman too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This
is the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable
looking man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes? And did he not
talk a long string of learning about Greek and cosmogony, and the world?« To
this I replied with a groan. »Aye,« continued he, »he has but that one piece of
learning in the world, and he always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar
in company; but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet.«
    Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my greatest struggle was to
come, in facing my wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of
returning to school, there to behold the master's visage, than I was of going
home. I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury, by first falling into
a passion myself.
    But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no way disposed for battle. My
wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there that day to
inform them, that their journey to town was entirely over. The two ladies having
heard reports of us from some malicious person about us, were that day set out
for London. He could neither discover the tendency, nor the author of these, but
whatever they might be, or whoever might have broached them, he continued to
assure our family of his friendship and protection. I found, therefore, that
they bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in the
greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most was to think who could be so
base as to asperse the character of a family so harmless as ours, too humble to
excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.
 

                                   Chap. XV.

All Mr. Burchell's villainy at once detected. The folly of being over-wise.
 
That evening and a part of the following day was employed in fruitless attempts
to discover our enemies: scarce a family in the neighbourhood but incurred our
suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinion best known to ourselves.
As we were in this perplexity, one of our little boys, who had been playing
abroad, brought in a letter-case, which he found on the green. It was quickly
known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it had been seen, and, upon
examination, contained some hints upon different subjects; but what particularly
engaged our attention was a sealed note, superscribed, the copy of a letter to
be sent to the two ladies at Thornhill-castle. It instantly occurred that he was
the base informer, and we deliberated whether the note should not be broke open.
I was against it; but Sophia, who said she was sure that of all men he would be
the last to be guilty of so much baseness, insisted upon its being read. In this
she was seconded by the rest of the family, and, at their joint solicitation, I
read as follows:
 
        »Ladies,
            The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as to the person from whom
        this comes: one at least the friend of innocence, and ready to prevent
        its being seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you have some
        intention of bringing two young ladies to town, whom I have some
        knowledge of, under the character of companions. As I would neither have
        simplicity imposed upon, nor virtue contaminated, I must offer it as my
        opinion, that the impropriety of such a step will be attended with
        dangerous consequences. It has never been my way to treat the infamous
        or the lewd with severity; nor should I now have taken this method of
        explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take
        therefore the admonition of a friend, and seriously reflect on the
        consequences of introducing infamy and vice into retreats where peace
        and innocence have hitherto resided.«
 
Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed indeed something applicable to both
sides in this letter, and its censures might as well be referred to those to
whom it was written, as to us; but the malicious meaning was obvious, and we
went no farther. My wife had scarce patience to hear me to the end, but railed
at the writer with unrestrained resentment. Olivia was equally severe, and
Sophia seemed perfectly amazed at his baseness. As for my part, it appeared to
me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had met with. Nor
could I account for it in any other manner than by imputing it to his desire of
detaining my youngest daughter in the country, to have the more frequent
opportunities of an interview. In this manner we all sate ruminating upon
schemes of vengeance, when our other little boy came running in to tell us that
Mr. Burchell was approaching at the other end of the field. It is easier to
conceive than describe the complicated sensations which are felt from the pain
of a recent injury, and the pleasure of approaching vengeance. Tho' our
intentions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude; yet it was resolved to
do it in a manner that would be perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to
meet him with our usual smiles, to chat in the beginning with more than ordinary
kindness, to amuse him a little; and then in the midst of the flattering calm to
burst upon him like an earthquake, and overwhelm him with the sense of his own
baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to manage the business
herself, as she really had some talents for such an undertaking. We saw him
approach, he entered, drew a chair, and sate down. - »A fine day, Mr. Burchell.«
- »A very fine day, Doctor; though I fancy we shall have some rain by the
shooting of my corns.« - »The shooting of your horns,« cried my wife, in a loud
fit of laughter, and then asked pardon for being fond of a joke. - »Dear madam,«
replied he, »I pardon you with all my heart; for I protest I should not have
thought it a joke had you not told me.« - »Perhaps not, Sir,« cried my wife,
winking at us, »and yet I dare say you can tell us how many jokes go to an
ounce.« - »I fancy, madam,« returned Burchell, »you have been reading a jest
book this morning, that ounce of jokes is so very good a conceit; and yet,
madam, I had rather see half an ounce of understanding.« - »I believe you
might,« cried my wife, still smiling at us, though the laugh was against her;
»and yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding that have very little.« -
»And no doubt,« replied her antagonist, »you have known ladies set up for wit
that had none.« - I quickly began to find that my wife was likely to gain but
little at this business; so I resolved to treat him in a stile of more severity
myself. »Both wit and understanding,« cried I, »are trifles, without integrity:
it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without
fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage
without an heart? An honest man is the noblest work of God.«
    »I always held that hackney'd maxim of Pope,« returned Mr. Burchell, »as
very unworthy a man of genius, and a base desertion of his own superiority. As
the reputation of books is raised not by their freedom from defect, but the
greatness of their beauties; so should that of men be prized not for their
exemption from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of. The
scholar may want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and the champion
ferocity; but shall we prefer to these the low mechanic, who laboriously plods
on through life, without censure or applause? We might as well prefer the tame
correct paintings of the Flemish school to the erroneous, but sublime animations
of the Roman pencil.«
    »Sir,« replied I, »your present observation is just, when there are shining
virtues and minute defects; but when it appears that great vices are opposed in
the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves contempt.«
    »Perhaps,« cried he, »there may be some such monsters as you describe, of
great vices joined to great virtues; yet in my progress through life, I never
yet found one instance of their existence: on the contrary, I have ever
perceived, that where the mind was capacious, the affections were good. And
indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in this particular, thus to debilitate
the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish the power where there
is the will to do mischief. This rule seems to extend even to other animals: the
little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst those
endowed with strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle.«
    »These observations sound well,« returned I, »and yet it would be easy this
moment to point out a man,« and I fixed my eye sted-fastly upon him, »whose head
and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, Sir,« continued I, raising my
voice, »and I am glad to have this opportunity of detecting him in the midst of
his fancied security. Do you know this, Sir, this pocket-book?« - »Yes, Sir,«
returned he, with a face of impenetrable assurance, »that pocket-book is mine,
and I am glad you have found it.« - »And do you know,« cried I, »this letter?
Nay, never falter man; but look me full in the face: I say, do you know this
letter?« - »That letter,« returned he, »yes, it was I that wrote that letter.« -
»And how could you,« said I, »so basely, so ungratefully presume to write this
letter?« - »And how came you,« replied he, with looks of unparallelled
effrontery, »so basely to presume to break open this letter? Don't you know,
now, I could hang you all for this? All that I have to do, is to swear at the
next justice's, that you have been guilty of breaking open the lock of my
pocket-book, and so hang you all up at his door.« This piece of unexpected
insolence raised me to such a pitch, that I could scarce govern my passion.
»Ungrateful wretch, begone, and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness.
Begone, and never let me see thee again: go from my doors, and the only
punishment I wish thee is an allarmed conscience, which will be a sufficient
tormentor!« So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a
smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost composure, left us, quite
astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was particularly enraged
that nothing could make him angry, or make him seem ashamed of his villainies.
»My dear,« cried I, willing to calm those passions that had been raised too high
among us, »we are not to be surprised that bad men want shame; they only blush
at being detected in doing good, but glory in their vices.
    Guilt and shame, says the allegory, were at first companions, and in the
beginning of their journey inseparably kept together. But their union was soon
found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both; guilt gave shame frequent
uneasiness, and shame often betrayed the secret conspiracies of guilt. After
long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented to part for ever. Guilt
boldly walked forward alone, to overtake fate, that went before in the shape of
an executioner: but shame being naturally timorous, returned back to keep
company with virtue, which, in the beginning of their journey, they had left
behind. Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages in
vice, shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon the few virtues they
have still remaining.«
 

                                   Chap. XVI.

The family use art, which is opposed with still greater.
 
Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was easily
consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits
now became more frequent and longer. Though he had been disappointed in
procuring my daughters the amusements of the town, as he designed, he took every
opportunity of supplying them with those little recreations which our retirement
would admit of. He usually came in the morning, and while my son and I followed
our occupations abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by
describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He
could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the
playhouses, and had all the good things of the high wits by rote long before
they made way into the jest-books. The intervals between conversation were
employed in teaching my daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little
ones to box to make them sharp, as he called it: but the hopes of having him for
a son-in-law, in some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be
owned that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him, or, to speak it more
tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at
tea eat short and crisp, they were made by Olivia: if the gooseberry wine was
well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering: it was her fingers which gave
the pickles their peculiar green; and in the composition of a pudding, it was
her judgment that mix'd the ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes
tell the 'Squire, that she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would
bid both stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which
she thought impenetrable, yet which every body saw through, were very pleasing
to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which
though they had not arisen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but
little short of it; and his slowness was attributed sometimes to native
bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An occurrence,
however, which happened soon after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to
become one of our family, my wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.
    My wife and daughters happening to return a visit to neighbour
Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a
limner, who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a
head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our
spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwithstanding all I
could say, and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures
done too. Having, therefore, engaged the limner, for what could I do? our next
deliberation was to show the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for
our neighbour's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven
oranges, a thing quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in the
world. We desired to have something in a brighter style, and, after many
debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn together, in
one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame would
serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for all families of any
taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not immediately recollect an
historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with being drawn as
independent historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and
the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher
and hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side, while I, in my
gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy.
Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed? in a
green joseph, richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a
shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing; and
Moses was to be dressed? out with an hat and white feather. Our taste so much
pleased the 'Squire, that he insisted on being put in as one of the family in
the character of Alexander the great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by
us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor
could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to work, and as he
wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was
completed. The piece was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his
colours; for which my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly
satisfied with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred
till the picture was finished, which now struck us with dismay. It was so very
large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard
so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we had been all greatly
remiss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped,
leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas
was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors,
and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's
long-boat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in
a bottle; some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how
it ever got in.
    But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more
malicious suggestions in many. The 'Squire's portrait being found united with
ours, was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers began to
circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed by
persons who came as friends to tell us what was said of us by enemies. These
reports we always resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by
opposition.
    We once again therefore entered into a consultation upon obviating the
malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much
cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our principal object was
to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound
him, by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of an husband for her eldest
daughter. If this was not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it
was then resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I
would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn
assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this
occasion, if he did not prevent it, by taking her himself. Such was the scheme
laid, which though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not entirely approve.
    The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls took
care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of
putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to the next room, from
whence they could over-hear the whole conversation: My wife artfully introduced
it, by observing, that one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a very good
match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the 'Squire assenting, she proceeded to
remark, that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of getting good
husbands: »But heaven help,« continued she, »the girls that have none. What
signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue, and all the
qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is not, what is
she? but what has she? is all the cry.«
    »Madam,« returned he, »I highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty,
of your remarks, and if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It should then,
indeed, be fine times with the girls without fortunes: our two young ladies
should be the first for whom I would provide.«
    »Ah, Sir!« returned my wife, »you are pleased to be facetious: but I wish I
were a queen, and then I know where my eldest daughter should look for an
husband. But now, that you have put it into my head, seriously Mr. Thornhill,
can't you recommend me a proper husband for her? She is now nineteen years old,
well grown and well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want for
parts.«
    »Madam,« replied he, »if I were to choose, I would find out a person
possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. One with
prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity, such, madam, would be, in my opinion,
the proper husband.« »Ay, Sir,« said she, »but do you know of any such person? «
- »No, madam,« returned he, »it is impossible to know any person that deserves
to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for one man's possession: she's a
goddess. Upon my soul, I speak what I think, she's an angel.« - »Ah, Mr.
Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl: but we have been thinking of marrying
her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a
manager: you know whom I mean, farmer Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able
to give her good bread; and who has several times made her proposals: (which was
actually the case) but, Sir,« concluded she, »I should be glad to have your
approbation of our choice.« - »How, madam,« replied he, »my approbation! My
approbation of such a choice! Never. What! Sacrifice so much beauty, and sense,
and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing! Excuse me, I can never
approve of such a piece of injustice! And I have my reasons!« - »Indeed, Sir,«
cried Deborah, »if you have your reasons, that's another affair; but I should be
glad to know those reasons.« - »Excuse me, madam,« returned he, »they lie too
deep for discovery: (laying his hand upon his bosom) they remain buried,
riveted here.«
    After he was gone, upon general consultation, we could not tell what to make
of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most
exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine: it seemed to me pretty plain,
that they had more of love than matrimony in them: yet, whatever they might
portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of farmer Williams, who, from
my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.
 

                                  Chap. XVII.

Scarce any virtue found to resist the power of long and pleasing temptation.
 
As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr. Williams
pleased me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required
but very little encouragement to revive his former passion; so that in an
evening or two he and Mr. Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed each other
for some time with looks of anger: but Williams owed his landlord no rent, and
little regarded his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquet to
perfection, if that might be called acting which was her real character,
pretending to lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared
quite dejected at this preference, and with a pensive air took leave, though I
own it puzzled me to find him so much in pain as he appeared to be, when he had
it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by declaring an honourable
passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it could easily be
perceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After any of these interviews
between her lovers, of which there were several, she usually retired to
solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in such a situation I found her
one evening, after she had been for some time supporting a fictitious gaiety. -
»You now see, my child,« said I, »that your confidence in Mr. Thornhill's
passion was all a dream: he permits the rivalry of another, every way his
inferior, though he knows it lies in his power to secure you to himself by a
candid declaration.« - »Yes, pappa,« returned she, »but he has his reasons for
this delay: I know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words convince me of
his real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover the generosity of his
sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of him has been more just than
yours.« - »Olivia, my darling,« returned I, »every scheme that has been hitherto
pursued to compel him to a declaration, has been proposed and planned by
yourself, nor can you in the least say that I have constrained you. But you must
not suppose, my dear, that I will ever be instrumental in suffering his honest
rival to be the dupe of your ill-placed passion. Whatever time you require to
bring your fancied admirer to an explanation shall be granted; but at the
expiration of that term, if he is still regardless, I must absolutely insist
that honest Mr. Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity. The character which
I have hitherto supported in life demands this from me, and my tenderness, as a
parent, shall never influence my integrity as a man. Name then your day, let it
be as distant as you think proper, and in the mean time take care to let Mr.
Thornhill know the exact time on which I design delivering you up to another. If
he really loves you, his own good sense will readily suggest that there is but
one method alone to prevent his losing you for ever.« - This proposal, which she
could not avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to. She again
renewed her most positive promise of marrying Mr. Williams, in case of the
other's insensibility; and at the next opportunity, in Mr. Thornhill's presence,
that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials with his rival.
    Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety: but
what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle between
prudence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every opportunity of
solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed away; but Mr. Thornhill
made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was still
assiduous; but not more open. On the third he discontinued his visits entirely,
and instead of my daughter testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed
to retain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own
part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be
secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently applauded her
resolution, in prefering happiness to ostentation. It was within about four days
of her intended nuptials, that my little family at night were gathered round a
charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future.
Busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came
uppermost, »Well, Moses,« cried I, »we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the
family, what is your opinion of matters and things in general? « - »My opinion,
father, is, that all things go on very well; and I was just now thinking, that
when sister Livy is married to farmer Williams, we shall then have the loan of
his cyder-press and brewing tubs for nothing.« - »That we shall, Moses,« cried
I, »and he will sing us Death and the Lady, to raise our spirits into the
bargain.« - »He has taught that song to our Dick,« cried Moses; »and I think he
goes thro' it very prettily.« - »Does he so,« cried I, »then let us have it:
where's little Dick? let him up with it boldly.« - »My brother Dick,« cried Bill
my youngest, »is just gone out with sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has taught me
two songs, and I'll sing them for you, pappa. Which song do you choose, the Dying
Swan, or the Elegy on the death of a mad dog?« »The elegy, child, by all means,«
said I, »I never heard that yet; and Deborah, my life, grief you know is dry,
let us have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up our spirits. I have
wept so much at all sorts of elegies of late, that without an enlivening glass I
am sure this will overcome me; and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in
with the boy a little.«
 

                      An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wond'rous short,
It cannot hold you long.
 
In Isling town there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
 
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
 
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mungrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
 
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.
 
Around from all the neighbouring streets,
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
 
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad,
To every christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
 
But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied,
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that dy'd.
 
»A very good boy, Bill, upon my word, and an elegy that may truly be called
tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a
bishop.«
    »With all my heart,« cried my wife; »and if he but preaches as well as he
sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the mother's side,
could sing a good song: it was a common saying in our country, that the family
of the Blenkinsops could never look strait before them, nor the Huginsons blow
out a candle; that there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of
the Marjorams but could tell a story.« - »However that be,« cried I, »the most
vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes,
and things that petrify us in a single stanza; productions that we at once
detest and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses. The great fault of
these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the sensible
part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her fan, or her
lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster.«
    »That may be the mode,« cried Moses, »in sublimer compositions; but the
Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the
same mold: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together; he gives her a
fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and then they
go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to
get married as fast as they can.«
    »And very good advice too,« cried I, »and I am told there is not a place in
the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there; for, as it
persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and surely that must be
an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with
it when wanting.«
    »Yes, Sir,« returned Moses, »and I know but of two such markets for wives in
Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open
once a year, but our English wives are saleable every night.«
    »You are right, my boy,« cried his mother, »Old England is the only place in
the world for husbands to get wives.« - »And for wives to manage their
husbands,« interrupted I. »It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built
across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent would come over to take pattern
from ours; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own.
    But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and Moses give us a good
song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity,
health, and competence. I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch
upon earth. He has no such fire-side, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes,
Deborah, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be
happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a
good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live they will be our
support and our pleasure here, and when we die they will transmit our honour
untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song: let us have a chorus.
But where is my darling Olivia? That little cherub's voice is always sweetest in
the concert.« - Just as I spoke Dick came running in. »O pappa, pappa, she is
gone from us, she is gone from us, my sister Livy is gone from us for ever« -
»Gone, child« - »Yes, she is gone off with two gentlemen in a post chaise, and
one of them kissed her, and said he would die for her; and she cried very much,
and was for coming back; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the
chaise, and said, O what will my poor pappa do when he knows I am undone!« -
»Now then,« cried I, »my children, go and be miserable; for we shall never enjoy
one hour more. And O may heaven's everlasting fury light upon him and his! Thus
to rob me of my child! And sure it will, for taking back my sweet innocent that
I was leading up to heaven. Such sincerity as my child was possest of. But all
our earthly happiness is now over! Go, my children, go, and be miserable and
infamous; for my heart is broken within me!« - »Father,« cried my son, »is this
your fortitude?« - »Fortitude, child! Yes, he shall see I have fortitude! Bring
me my pistols. I'll pursue the traitor. While he is on earth I'll pursue him.
Old as I am, he shall find I can sting him yet. The villain! The perfidious
villain!« - I had by this time reached down my pistols, when my poor wife, whose
passions were not so strong as mine, caught me in her arms. »My dearest, dearest
husband,« cried she, »the bible is the only weapon that is fit for your old
hands now. Open that, my love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has
vilely deceived us.« - »Indeed, Sir,« resumed my son, after a pause, »your rage
is too violent and unbecoming. You should be my mother's comforter, and you
increase her pain. It ill suited you and your reverend character thus to curse
your greatest enemy: you should not have cursed him, villain as he is.« - »I did
not curse him, child, did I?« - »Indeed, Sir, you did; you cursed him twice.« -
»Then may heaven forgive me and him if I did. And now, my son, I see it was more
than human benevolence that first taught us to bless our enemies! blessed be his
holy name for all the good he hath given, and for all that he hath taken away.
But it is not, it is not, a small distress that can wring tears from these old
eyes, that have not wept for so many years. My Child! - To undo my darling! May
confusion seize! Heaven forgive me, what am I about to say! You may remember, my
love, how good she was, and how charming; till this vile moment all her care was
to make us happy. Had she but died! But she is gone, the honour of our family
contaminated, and I must look out for happiness in other worlds than here. But
my child, you saw them go off: perhaps he forced her away? If he forced her, she
may yet be innocent.« - »Ah no, Sir!« cried the child; »he only kissed her, and
called her his angel, and she wept very much, and leaned upon his arm, and they
drove off very fast.« - »She's an ungrateful creature,« cried my wife, who could
scarce speak for weeping, »to use us thus. She never had the least constraint
put upon her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted her parents
without any provocation, thus to bring your grey hairs to the grave, and I must
shortly follow.«
    In this manner that night, the first of our real misfortunes, was spent in
the bitterness of complaint, and ill supported sallies of enthusiasm. I
determined, however, to find out our betrayer, wherever he was, and reproach his
baseness. The next morning we missed our wretched child at breakfast, where she
used to give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife, as before, attempted to
ease her heart by reproaches. »Never,« cried she, »shall that vilest stain of
our family again darken those harmless doors. I will never call her daughter
more. No, let the strumpet live with her vile seducer: she may bring us to
shame, but she shall never more deceive us.«
    »Wife,« said I, »do not talk thus hardly: my detestation of her guilt is as
great as yours; but ever shall this house and this heart be open to a poor
returning repentant sinner. The sooner she returns from her transgression, the
more welcome shall she be to me. For the first time the very best may err; art
may persuade, and novelty spread out its charm. The first fault is the child of
simplicity; but every other the offspring of guilt. Yes, the wretched creature
shall be welcome to this heart and this house, tho' stained with ten thousand
vices. I will again hearken to the music of her voice, again will I hang fondly
on her bosom, if I find but repentance there. My son, bring hither my bible and
my staff; I will pursue her, wherever she is, and tho' I cannot save her from
shame, I may prevent the continuance of iniquity.«
 

                                  Chap. XVIII.

The pursuit of a father to reclaim a lost child to virtue.
 
Tho' the child could not describe the gentleman's person who handed his sister
into the post-chaise, yet my suspicions fell entirely upon our young landlord,
whose character for such intrigues was but too well known. I therefore directed
my steps towards Thornhill-castle, resolving to upbraid him, and, if possible,
to bring back my daughter: but before I had reached his seat, I was met by one
of my parishioners, who said he saw a young lady resembling my daughter in a
post-chaise with a gentleman, whom, by the description, I could only guess to be
Mr. Burchell, and that they drove very fast. This information, however, did by
no means satisfy me. I therefore went to the young 'Squire's, and though it was
yet early, insisted upon seeing him immediately: he soon appeared with the most
open familiar air, and seemed perfectly amazed at my daughter's elopement,
protesting upon his honour that he was quite a stranger to it. I now therefore
condemned my former suspicions, and could turn them only on Mr. Burchell, who I
recollected had of late several private conferences with her: but the appearance
of another witness left me no room to doubt of his villainy, who averred, that
he and my daughter were actually gone towards the wells, about thirty miles off,
where there was a great deal of company. Being driven to that state of mind in
which we are more ready to act precipitately than to reason right, I never
debated with myself, whether these accounts might not have been given by persons
purposely placed in my way, to mislead me, but resolved to pursue my daughter
and her fancied deluder thither. I walked along with earnestness, and enquired
of several by the way; but received no accounts, till entering the town, I was
met by a person on horseback, whom I remembered to have seen at the 'Squire's,
and he assured me that if I followed them to the races, which were but thirty
miles farther, I might depend upon overtaking them; for he had seen them dance
there the night before, and the whole assembly seemed charmed with my daughter's
performance. Early the next day I walked forward to the races, and about four in
the afternoon I came upon the course. The company made a very brilliant
appearance, all earnestly employed in one pursuit, that of pleasure; how
different from mine, that of reclaiming a lost child to virtue! I thought I
perceived Mr. Burchell at some distance from me; but, as if he dreaded an
interview, upon my approaching him, he mixed among a crowd, and I saw him no
more. I now reflected that it would be to no purpose to continue my pursuit
farther, and resolved to return home to an innocent family, who wanted my
assistance. But the agitations of my mind, and the fatigues I had undergone,
threw me into a fever, the symptoms of which I perceived before I came off the
course. This was another unexpected stroke, as I was more than seventy miles
distant from home: however, I retired to a little ale-house by the road-side,
and in this place, the usual retreat of indigence and frugality, I laid me down
patiently to wait the issue of my disorder. I languished here for near three
weeks; but at last my constitution prevailed, though I was unprovided with money
to defray the expenses of my entertainment. It is possible the anxiety from this
last circumstance alone might have brought on a relapse, had I not been supplied
by a traveller, who stopped to take a cursory refreshment. This person was no
other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's church-yard, who has
written so many little books for children: he called himself their friend; but
he was the friend of all mankind. He was no sooner alighted, but he was in haste
to be gone; for he was ever on business of the utmost importance, and was at
that time actually compiling materials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I
immediately recollected this good- man's red pimpled face; for he had published
for me against the Deuterogamists of the age, and from him I borrowed a few
pieces, to be paid at my return. Leaving the inn, therefore, as I was yet but
weak, I resolved to return home by easy journies of ten miles a day. My health
and usual tranquillity were almost restored, and I now condemned that pride
which had made me refractory to the hand of correction. Man little knows what
calamities are beyond his patience to bear till he tries them; as in ascending
the heights of ambition, which look bright from below, every step we rise shows
us some new and gloomy prospect of hidden disappointment; so in our descent from
the summits of pleasure, though the vale of misery below may appear at first
dark and gloomy, yet the busy mind, still attentive to its own amusement, finds
as we descend something to flatter and to please. Still as we approach, the
darkest objects appear to brighten, and the mental eye becomes adapted to its
gloomy situation.
    I now proceeded forward, and had walked about two hours, when I perceived
what appeared at a distance like a wagon, which I was resolved to overtake; but
when I came up with it, found it to be a strolling company's cart, that was
carrying their scenes and other theatrical furniture to the next village, where
they were to exhibit. The cart was attended only by the person who drove it, and
one of the company, as the rest of the players were to follow the ensuing day.
Good company upon the road, says the proverb, is the shortest cut, I therefore
entered into conversation with the poor player; and as I once had some
theatrical powers myself, I disserted on such topics with my usual freedom: but
as I was pretty much unacquainted with the present state of the stage, I
demanded who were the present theatrical writers in vogue, who the Drydens and
Otways of the day. - »I fancy. Sir,« cried the player, »few of our modern
dramatists would think themselves much honoured by being compared to the writers
you mention. Dryden and Row's manner, Sir, are quite out of fashion; our taste
has gone back a whole century, Fletcher, Ben Johnson, and all the plays of
Shakespeare, are the only things that go down.« - »How,« cried I, »is it possible
the present age can be pleased with that antiquated dialect, that obsolete
humour, those over-charged characters, which abound in the works you mention?« -
»Sir,« returned my companion, »the public think nothing about dialect, or
humour, or character; for that is none of their business, they only go to be
amused, and find themselves happy when they can enjoy a pantomime, under the
sanction of Johnson's or Shakespeare's name.« - »So then, I suppose,« cried I,
»that our modern dramatists are rather imitators of Shakespeare than of nature.«
- »To say the truth,« returned my companion, »I don't know that they imitate any
thing at all; nor indeed does the public require it of them: it is not the
composition of the piece, but the number of starts and attitudes that may be
introduced into it that elicits applause. I have known a piece, with not one
jest in the whole, shrugged into popularity, and another saved by the poet's
throwing in a fit of the gripes. No, Sir, the works of Congreve and Farquhar
have too much wit in them for the present taste; our modern dialect is much more
natural.«
    By this time the equipage of the strolling company was arrived at the
village, which, it seems, had been apprised of our approach, and was come out to
gaze at us; for my companion observed, that strollers always have more
spectators without doors than within. I did not consider the impropriety of my
being in such company till I saw a mob gather about me. I therefore took
shelter, as fast as possible, in the first ale-house that offered, and being
shown into the common room, was accosted by a very well-dressed? gentleman, who
demanded whether I was the real chaplain of the company, or whether it was only
to be my masquerade character in the play. Upon informing him of the truth, and
that I did not belong in any sort to the company, he was condescending enough to
desire me and the player to partake in a bowl of punch, over which he discussed
modern politics with great earnestness and interest. I set him down in my mind
for nothing less than a parliament-man at least; but was almost confirmed in my
conjectures, when upon my asking what there was in the house for supper, he
insisted that the player and I should sup with him at his house, with which
request, after some entreaties, we were prevailed on to comply.
 

                                   Chap. XIX.

The description of a person discontented with the present government, and
apprehensive of the loss of our liberties.
 
The house where we were to be entertained, lying at a small distance from the
village, our inviter observed, that as the coach was not ready, he would conduct
us on foot, and we soon arrived at one of the most magnificent mansions I had
seen in that part of the country. The apartment into which we were shown was
perfectly elegant and modern; he went to give orders for supper, while the
player, with a wink, observed that we were perfectly in luck. Our entertainer
soon returned, an elegant supper was brought in, two or three ladies, in an easy
deshabille, were introduced, and the conversation began with some sprightliness.
Politics, however, was the subject on which our entertainer chiefly expatiated;
for he asserted that liberty was at once his boast and his terror. After the
cloth was removed, he asked me if I had seen the last Monitor, to which replying
in the negative, »What, nor the Auditor, I suppose?« cried he. »Neither, Sir,«
returned I. »That's strange, very strange,« replied my entertainer. »Now, I read
all the politics that come out. The Daily, the Public, the Ledger, the
Chronicle, the London Evening, the Whitehall Evening, the seventeen magazines,
and the two reviews; and though they hate each other, I love them all. Liberty,
Sir, liberty is the Briton's boast, and by all my coal mines in Cornwall, I
reverence its guardians.« »Then it is to be hoped,« cried I, »you reverence the
king.« »Yes,« returned my entertainer, »when he does what we would have him; but
if he goes on as he has done of late, I'll never trouble myself more with his
matters. I say nothing. I think only. I could have directed some things better.
I don't think there has been a sufficient number of advisers: he should advise
with every person willing to give him advice, and then we should have things
done in anotherguess manner.«
    »I wish,« cried I, »that such intruding advisers were fixed in the pillory.
It should be the duty of honest men to assist the weaker side of our
constitution, that sacred power that has for some years been every day
declining, and losing its due share of influence in the state. But these
ignorants still continue the cry of liberty, and if they have any weight basely
throw it into the subsiding scale.«
    »How,« cried one of the ladies, »do I live to see one so base, so sordid, as
to be an enemy to liberty, and a defender of tyrants? Liberty, that sacred gift
of heaven, that glorious privilege of Britons!«
    »Can it be possible,« cried our entertainer, »that there should be any found
at present advocates for slavery? Any who are for meanly giving up the
privileges of Britons? Can any, Sir, be so abject?«
    »No, Sir,« replied I, »I am for liberty, that attribute of Gods! Glorious
liberty! that theme of modern declamation. I would have all men kings. I would
be a king myself. We have all naturally an equal right to the throne: we are all
originally equal. This is my opinion, and was once the opinion of a set of
honest men who were called Levellers. They tried to erect themselves into a
community, where all should be equally free. But, alas! it would never answer;
for there were some among them stronger, and some more cunning than others, and
these became masters of the rest; for as sure as your groom rides your horses,
because he is a cunninger animal than they, so surely will the animal that is
cunninger or stronger than he, sit upon his shoulders in turn. Since then it is
entailed upon humanity to submit, and some are born to command, and others to
obey, the question is, as there must be tyrants, whether it is better to have
them in the same house with us, or in the same village, or still farther off, in
the metropolis. Now, Sir, for my own part, as I naturally hate the face of a
tyrant, the farther off he is removed from me, the better pleased am I. The
generality of mankind also are of my way of thinking, and have unanimously
created one king, whose election at once diminishes the number of tyrants, and
puts tyranny at the greatest distance from the greatest number of people. Now
the great who were tyrants themselves before the election of one tyrant, are
naturally averse to a power raised over them, and whose weight must ever lean
heaviest on the subordinate orders. It is the interest of the great, therefore,
to diminish kingly power as much as possible; because whatever they take from
that is naturally restored to themselves; and all they have to do in the state,
is to undermine the single tyrant, by which they resume their primæval
authority. Now, the state may be so circumstanced, or its laws may be so
disposed, or its men of opulence so minded, as all to conspire in carrying on
this business of undermining monarchy. For, in the first place, if the
circumstances of our state be such, as to favour the accumulation of wealth, and
make the opulent still more rich, this will increase their ambition. An
accumulation of wealth, however, must necessarily be the consequence, when as at
present more riches flow in from external commerce, than arise from internal
industry: for external commerce can only be managed to advantage by the rich,
and they have also at the same time all the emoluments arising from internal
industry: so that the rich, with us, have two sources of wealth, whereas the
poor have but one. For this reason, wealth in all commercial states is found to
accumulate, and all such have hitherto in time become aristocratical. Again, the
very laws also of this country may contribute to the accumulation of wealth; as
when by their means the natural ties that bind the rich and poor together are
broken, and it is ordained that the rich shall only marry with the rich; or when
the learned are held unqualified to serve their country as counsellors merely
from a defect of opulence, and wealth is thus made the object of a wise man's
ambition; by these means I say, and such means as these, riches will accumulate.
Now the possessor of accumulated wealth, when furnished with the necessaries and
pleasures of life, has no other method to employ the superfluity of his fortune
but in purchasing power. That is, differently speaking, in making dependants, by
purchasing the liberty of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to bear
the mortification of contiguous tyranny for bread. Thus each very opulent man
generally gathers round him a circle of the poorest of the people; and the
polity abounding in accumulated wealth, may be compared to a Cartesian system,
each orb with a vortex of its own. Those, however, who are willing to move in a
great man's vortex, are only such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind,
whose souls and whose education are adapted to servitude, and who know nothing
of liberty except the name. But there must still be a large number of the people
without the sphere of the opulent man's influence, namely, that order of men
which subsists between the very rich and the very rabble; those men who are
possest of too large fortunes to submit to the neighbouring man in power, and
yet are too poor to set up for tyranny themselves. In this middle order of
mankind are generally to be found all the arts, wisdom, and virtues of society.
This order alone is known to be the true preserver of freedom, and may be called
the People. Now it may happen that this middle order of mankind may lose all its
influence in a state, and its voice be in a manner drowned in that of the
rabble: for if the fortune sufficient for qualifying a person at present to give
his voice in state affairs, be ten times less than was judged sufficient upon
forming the constitution, it is evident that greater numbers of the rabble will
thus be introduced into the political system, and they ever moving in the vortex
of the great, will follow where greatness shall direct. In such a state,
therefore, all that the middle order has left, is to preserve the prerogative
and privileges of the one principal governor with the most sacred
circumspection. For he divides the power of the rich, and calls off the great
from falling with tenfold weight on the middle order placed beneath them. The
middle order may be compared to a town of which the opulent are forming the
siege, and which the governor from without is hastening the relief. While the
besiegers are in dread of an enemy over them, it is but natural to offer the
townsmen the most specious terms; to flatter them with sounds, and amuse them
with privileges: but if they once defeat the governor from behind, the walls of
the town will be but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they may then
expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the
laws govern the poor, and the rich govern the law. I am then for, and would die
for, monarchy, sacred monarchy; for if there be any thing sacred amongst men, it
must be the anointed sovereign of his people, and every diminution of his power
in war, or in peace, is an infringement upon the real liberties of the subject.
The sounds of liberty, patriotism, and Britons, have already done much, it is to
be hoped that the true sons of freedom will prevent their ever doing more. I
have known many of those pretended champions for liberty in my time, yet do I
not remember one that was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant.«
    My warmth I found had lengthened this harangue beyond the rules of good
breeding: but the impatience of my entertainer, who often strove to interrupt
it, could be restrained no longer. »What,« cried he, »then I have been all this
while entertaining a Jesuit in parson's clothes; but by all the coal mines of
Cornwall, out he shall pack, if my name be Wilkinson.« I now found I had gone
too far, and asked pardon for the warmth with which I had spoken. »Pardon,«
returned he in a fury: »I think such principles demand ten thousand pardons.
What, give up liberty, property, and, as the Gazetteer says, lie down to be
saddled with wooden shoes! Sir, I insist upon your marching out of this house
immediately, to prevent worse consequences, Sir, I insist upon it.« I was going
to repeat my remonstrances; but just then we heard a footman's rap at the door,
and the two ladies cried out, »As sure as death there is our master and mistress
come home.« It seems my entertainer was all this while only the butler, who, in
his master's absence, had a mind to cut a figure, and be for a while the
gentleman himself; and, to say the truth, he talked politics as well as most
country gentlemen do. But nothing could now exceed my confusion upon seeing the
gentleman, and his lady, enter, nor was their surprise, at finding such company
and good cheer, less than ours. »Gentlemen,« cried the real master of the house,
to me and my companion, »my wife and I are your most humble servants; but I
protest this is so unexpected a favour, that we almost sink under the
obligation.« However unexpected our company might be to them, theirs, I am sure,
was still more so to us, and I was struck dumb with the apprehensions of my own
absurdity, when whom should I next see enter the room but my dear miss Arabella
Wilmot, who was formerly designed to be married to my son George; but whose
match was broken off, as already related. As soon as she saw me, she flew to my
arms with the utmost joy. »My dear sir,« cried she, »to what happy accident is
it that we owe so unexpected a visit? I am sure my uncle and aunt will be in
raptures when they find they have the good Dr. Primrose for their guest.« Upon
hearing my name, the old gentleman and lady very politely stepped up, and welcomed
me with most cordial hospitality. Nor could they forbear smiling upon being
informed of the nature of my present visit: but the unfortunate butler, whom
they at first seemed disposed to turn away, was, at my intercession, forgiven.
    Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house belonged, now insisted upon
having the pleasure of my stay for some days, and as their niece, my charming
pupil, whose mind, in some measure, had been formed under my own instructions,
joined in their entreaties, I complied. That night I was shown to a magnificent
chamber, and the next morning early Miss Wilmot desired to walk with me in the
garden, which was decorated in the modern manner. After some time spent in
pointing out the beauties of the place, she enquired with seeming unconcern,
when last I had heard from my son George. »Alas! Madam,« cried I, »he has now
been near three years absent, without ever writing to his friends or me. Where
he is I know not; perhaps I shall never see him or happiness more. No, my dear
Madam, we shall never more see such pleasing hours as were once spent by our
fire-side at Wakefield. My little family are now dispersing very fast, and
poverty has brought not only want, but infamy upon us.« The good-natured girl
let fall a tear at this account; but as I saw her possessed of too much
sensibility, I forbore a more minute detail of our sufferings. It was, however,
some consolation to me to find that time had made no alteration in her
affections, and that she had rejected several matches that had been made her
since our leaving her part of the country. She led me round all the extensive
improvements of the place, pointing to the several walks and arbours, and at the
same time catching from every object a hint for some new question relative to my
son. In this manner we spent the forenoon, till the bell summoned us in to
dinner, where we found the manager of the strolling company that I mentioned
before, who was come to dispose of tickets for the Fair Penitent, which was to
be acted that evening, the part of Horatio by a young gentleman who had never
appeared on any stage. He seemed to be very warm in the praises of the new
performer, and averred, that he never saw any who bid so fair for excellence.
Acting, he observed, was not learned in a day; »But this gentleman,« continued
he, »seems born to tread the stage. His voice, his figure, and attitudes, are
all admirable. We caught him up accidentally in our journey down.« This account,
in some measure, excited our curiosity, and, at the entreaty of the ladies, I
was prevailed upon to accompany them to the play-house, which was no other than
a barn. As the company with which I went was incontestably the chief of the
place, we were received with the greatest respect, and placed in the front seat
of the theatre; where we sate for some time with no small impatience to see
Horatio make his appearance. The new performer advanced at last, and let parents
think of my sensations by their own, when I found it was my unfortunate son. He
was going to begin, when, turning his eyes upon the audience, he perceived Miss
Wilmot and me, and stood at once speechless and immoveable. The actors behind
the scene, who ascribed this pause to his natural timidity, attempted to
encourage him; but instead of going on, he burst into a flood of tears, and
retired off the stage. I don't know what were my feelings on this occasion; for
they succeeded with too much rapidity for description: but I was soon awake
from this disagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who, pale and with a trembling
voice, desired me to conduct her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr. Arnold,
who was as yet a stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, being informed that
the new performer was my son, sent his coach, and an invitation, for him; and as
he persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, the players put
another in his place, and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave him the
kindest reception, and I received him with my usual transport; for I could never
counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed with seeming
neglect, and yet I could perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult in her
mind seemed not yet abated; she said twenty giddy things that looked like joy,
and then laughed loud at her own want of meaning. At intervals she would take a
sly peep at the glass, as if happy in the consciousness of unresisting beauty,
and often would ask questions, without giving any manner of attention to the
answers.
 

                                   Chap. XX.

The history of a philosophic vagabond, pursuing novelty, but losing content.
 
After we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her
footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decline; but upon her
pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, that a stick and a wallet
were all the moveable things upon this earth that he could boast of. »Why, aye
my son,« cried I, »you left me but poor, and poor I find you are come back; and
yet I make no doubt you have seen a great deal of the world.« - »Yes, Sir,«
replied my son, »but travelling after fortune, is not the way to secure her;
and, indeed, of late, I have desisted from the pursuit.« - »I fancy, Sir,« cried
Mrs. Arnold, »that the account of your adventures would be amusing: the first
part of them I have often heard from my niece; but could the company prevail for
the rest, it would be an additional obligation.« - »Madam,« replied my son, »I
promise you the pleasure you have in hearing, will not be half so great as my
vanity in repeating them; and yet in the whole narrative I can scarce promise
you one adventure, as my account is rather of what I saw than what I did. The
first misfortune of my life, which you all know, was great; but tho' it
distrest, it could not sink me. No person ever had a better knack at hoping than
I. The less kind I found fortune at one time, the more I expected from her
another, and being now at the bottom of her wheel, every new revolution might
lift, but could not depress me. I proceeded, therefore, towards London in a fine
morning, no way uneasy about to-morrow, but cheerful as the birds that caroll'd
by the road, and comforted myself with reflecting, that London was the mart
where abilities of every kind were sure of meeting distinction and reward.
    Upon my arrival in town, Sir, my first care was to deliver your letter of
recommendation to our cousin, who was himself in little better circumstances
than I. My first scheme, you know, Sir, was to be usher at an academy, and I
asked his advice on the affair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true
Sardonic grin. Aye, cried he, this is indeed a very pretty career, that has been
chalked out for you. I have been an usher at a boarding school myself; and may I
die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under turnkey in Newgate. I
was up early and late: I was brow-beat by the master, hated for my ugly face by
the mistress, worried by the boys within, and never permitted to stir out to
meet civility abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a school? Let me examine
you a little. Have you been bred apprentice to the business? No. Then you won't
do for a school. Can you dress the boys hair? No. Then you won't do for a
school. Have you had the small-pox? No. Then you won't do for a school. Can you
lie three in a bed? No. Then you will never do for a school. Have you got a good
stomach? Yes. Then you will by no means do for a school. No, Sir, if you are for
a genteel easy profession, bind yourself seven years as an apprentice to turn a
cutler's wheel; but avoid a school by any means. Yet come, continued he, I see
you are a lad of spirit and some learning, what do you think of commencing
author, like me? You have read in books, no doubt, of men of genius starving at
the trade: At present I'll show you forty very dull fellows about town that live
by it in opulence. All honest joggtrot men, who go on smoothly and dully, and
write history and politics, and are praised; men, Sir, who, had they been bred
coblers, would all their lives have only mended shoes, but never made them.
    Finding that there was no great degree of gentility affixed to the character
of an usher, I resolved to accept his proposal; and having the highest respect
for literature, hailed the antiqua mater of Grubstreet with reverence. I thought
it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before me. I
considered the goddess of this region as the parent of excellence; and however
an intercourse with the world might give us good sense, the poverty she granted
I supposed to be the nurse of genius! Big with these reflections, I sate down,
and finding that the best things remained to be said on the wrong side, I
resolved to write a book that should be wholly new. I therefore dressed? up three
paradoxes with some ingenuity. They were false, indeed, but they were new. The
jewels of truth have been so often imported by others, that nothing was left for
me to import but some splendid things that at a distance looked every bit as
well. Witness you powers what fancied importance sate perched upon my quill
while I was writing. The whole learned world, I made no doubt, would rise to
oppose my systems; but then I was prepared to oppose the whole learned world.
Like the porcupine I sate self collected, with a quill pointed against every
opposer.«
    »Well said, my boy,« cried I, »and what subject did you treat upon? I hope
you did not pass over the importance of Monogamy. But I interrupt, go on; you
published your paradoxes; well, and what did the learned world say to your
paradoxes?«
    »Sir,« replied my son, »the learned world said nothing to my paradoxes;
nothing at all, Sir. Every man of them was employed in praising his friends and
himself, or condemning his enemies; and unfortunately, as I had neither, I
suffered the cruellest mortification, neglect.
    As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on the fate of my paradoxes, a
little man happening to enter the room, placed himself in the box before me, and
after some preliminary discourse, finding me to be a scholar, drew out a bundle
of proposals, begging me to subscribe to a new edition he was going to give the
world of Propertius, with notes. This demand necessarily produced a reply that I
had no money; and that concession led him to enquire into the nature of my
expectations. Finding that my expectations were just as great as my purse, I
see, cried he, you are unacquainted with the town, I'll teach you a part of it.
Look at these proposals, upon these very proposals I have subsisted very
comfortably for twelve years. The moment a nobleman returns from his travels, a
Creolian arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from her country seat, I strike for
a subscription. I first besiege their hearts with flattery, and then pour in my
proposals at the breach. If they subscribe readily the first time, I renew my
request to beg a dedication fee. If they let me have that, I smite them once
more for engraving their coat of arms at the top. Thus, continued he, I live by
vanity, and laugh at it. But between ourselves, I am now too well known, I
should be glad to borrow your face a bit: a nobleman of distinction has just
returned from Italy; my face is familiar to his porter; but if you bring this
copy of verses, my life for it you succeed, and we divide the spoil.«
    »Bless us, George,« cried I, »and is this the employment of poets now! Do
men of their exalted talents thus stoop to beggary! Can they so far disgrace
their calling, as to make a vile traffic of praise for bread?«
    »O no, Sir,« returned he, »a true poet can never be so base; for wherever
there is genius there is pride. The creatures I now describe are only beggars in
rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every hardship for fame, so he is equally a
coward to contempt, and none but those who are unworthy protection condescend to
solicit it.
    Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune too
humble to hazard a second attempt for fame, I was now obliged to take a middle
course, and write for bread. But I was unqualified for a profession where mere
industry alone was to ensure success. I could not suppress my lurking passion
for applause; but usually consumed that time in efforts after excellence which
takes up but little room, when it should have been more advantageously employed
in the diffusive productions of fruitful mediocrity. My little piece would
therefore come forth in the mist of periodical publication, unnoticed and
unknown. The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy
simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet was
thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays upon liberty,
eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog; while Philautos,
Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Philanthropos, all wrote better, because they
wrote faster, than I.
    Now, therefore, I began to associate with none but disappointed authors,
like myself, who praised, deplored, and despised each other. The satisfaction we
found in every celebrated writer's attempts, was inversely as their merits. I
found that no genius in another could please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had
entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with
satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my
trade.
    In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was one day sitting on a
bench in St. James's park, a young gentleman of distinction, who had been my
intimate acquaintance at the university, approached me. We saluted each other
with some hesitation, he almost ashamed of being known to one who made so shabby
an appearance, and I afraid of a repulse. But my suspicions soon vanished; for
Ned Thornhill was at the bottom a very good-natured fellow.«
    »What did you say, George? « interrupted I. »Thornhill, was not that his
name? It can certainly be no other than my landlord.« - »Bless me,« cried Mrs.
Arnold, »is Mr. Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours? He has long been a
friend in our family, and we expect a visit from him shortly.«
    »My friend's first care,« continued my son, »was to alter my appearance by a
very fine suit of his own clothes, and then I was admitted to his table upon the
footing of half-friend, half-underling. My business was to attend him at
auctions, to put him in spirits when he sate for his picture, to take the left
hand in his chariot when not filled by another, and to assist at tattering a
kip, as the phrase was, when we had a mind for a frolic. Beside this, I had
twenty other little employments in the family. I was to do many small things
without bidding; to carry the cork screw; to stand godfather to all the butler's
children; to sing when I was bid; to be never out of humour; always to be
humble, and, if I could, to be very happy.
    In this honourable post, however, I was not without a rival. A captain of
marines, who was formed for the place by nature, opposed me in my patron's
affections. His mother had been laundress to a man of quality, and thus he early
acquired a taste for pimping and pedigree. As this gentleman made it the study
of his life to be acquainted with lords, though he was dismissed from several
for his stupidity; yet he found many of them who were as dull as himself, that
permitted his assiduities. As flattery was his trade, he practised it with the
easiest address imaginable; but it came awkward and stiff from me; and as every
day my patron's desire of flattery increased, so every hour being better
acquainted with his defects, I became more unwilling to give it. Thus I was once
more fairly going to give up the field to the captain, when my friend found
occasion for my assistance. This was nothing less than to fight a duel for him,
with a gentleman whose sister it was pretended he had used ill. I readily
complied with his request, and tho' I see you are displeased at my conduct, yet
as it was a debt indispensably due to friendship, I could not refuse. I
undertook the affair, disarmed my antagonist, and soon after had the pleasure of
finding that the lady was only a woman of the town, and the fellow her bully and
a sharper. This piece of service was repaid with the warmest professions of
gratitude; but as my friend was to leave town in a few days, he knew no other
method of serving me, but by recommending me to his uncle Sir William Thornhill,
and another nobleman of great distinction, who enjoyed a post under the
government. When he was gone, my first care was to carry his recommendatory
letter to his uncle, a man whose character for every virtue was universal, yet
just. I was received by his servants with the most hospitable smiles; for the
looks of the domestics ever transmit their master's benevolence. Being shown
into a grand apartment, where Sir William soon came to me, I delivered my
message and letter, which he read, and after pausing some minutes, Pray, Sir,
cried he, inform me what you have done for my kinsman, to deserve this warm
recommendation? But I suppose, Sir, I guess your merits, you have fought for
him; and so you would expect a reward from me, for being the instrument of his
vices. I wish, sincerely wish, that my present refusal may be some punishment
for your guilt; but still more, that it may be some inducement to your
repentance. - The severity of this rebuke I bore patiently, because I knew it
was just. My whole expectations now, therefore, lay in my letter to the great
man. As the doors of the nobility are almost ever beset with beggars, all ready
to thrust in some sly petition, I found it no easy matter to gain admittance.
However, after bribing the servants with half my worldly fortune, I was at last
shown into a spacious apartment, my letter being previously sent up for his
lordship's inspection. During this anxious interval I had full time to look
round me. Every thing was grand, and of happy contrivance: the paintings, the
furniture, the gildings, petrified me with awe, and raised my idea of the owner.
Ah, thought I to myself, how very great must the possessor of all these things
be, who carries in his head the business of the state, and whose house displays
half the wealth of a kingdom: sure his genius must be unfathomable! During these
awful reflections I heard a step come heavily forward. Ah, this is the great man
himself! No, it was only a chambermaid. Another foot was heard soon after. This
must be He! No, it was only the great man's valet de chamber. At last his
lordship actually made his appearance. Are you, cried he, the bearer of this
here letter? I answered with a bow. I learn by this, continued he, as how that -
But just at that instant a servant delivered him a card, and without taking
farther notice, he went out of the room, and left me to digest my own happiness
at leisure. I saw no more of him, till told by a footman that his lordship was
going to his coach at the door. Down I immediately followed, and joined my voice
to that of three or four more, who came, like me, to petition for favours. His
lordship, however, went too fast for us, and was gaining his Chariot door with
large strides, when I hallowed out to know if I was to have any reply. He was by
this time got in, and muttered an answer, half of which only I heard, the other
half was lost in the rattling of his chariot wheels. I stood for some time with
my neck stretched out, in the posture of one that was listening to catch the
glorious sounds, till looking round me, I found myself alone at his lordship's
gate.
    My patience,« continued my son, »was now quite exhausted: stung with the
thousand indignities I had met with, I was willing to cast myself away, and only
wanted the gulf to receive me. I regarded myself as one of those vile things
that nature designed should be thrown by into her lumber room, there to perish
in obscurity. I had still, however, half a guinea left, and of that I thought
fortune herself should not deprive me: but in order to be sure of this, I was
resolved to go instantly and spend it while I had it, and then trust to
occurrences for the rest. As I was going along with this resolution, it happened
that Mr. Cripse's office seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome reception.
In this office Mr. Cripse kindly offers all his majesty's subjects a generous
promise of 30 l. a year, for which promise all they give in return is their
liberty for life, and permission to let him transport them to America as slaves.
I was happy at finding a place where I could lose my fears in desperation, and
entered this cell, for it had the appearance of one, with the devotion of a
monastic. Here I found a number of poor creatures, all in circumstances like
myself, expecting the arrival of Mr. Cripse, presenting a true epitome of
English impatience. Each untractable soul at variance with fortune, wreaked her
injuries on their own hearts: but Mr. Cripse at last came down, and all our
murmurs were hushed. He deigned to regard me with an air of peculiar
approbation, and indeed he was the first man who for a month past talked to me
with smiles. After a few questions, he found I was fit for every thing in the
world. He paused a while upon the properest means of providing for me, and
slapping his forehead, as if he had found it, assured me, that there was at that
time an embassy talked of from the synod of Pensylvania to the Chickasaw
Indians, and that he would use his interest to get me made secretary. I knew in
my own heart that the fellow lied, and yet his promise gave me pleasure, there
was something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly, therefore, divided my half
guinea, one half of which went to be added to his thirty thousand pound, and
with the other half I resolved to go to the next tavern, to be there more happy
than he.
    As I was going out with that resolution, I was met at the door by the
captain of a ship, with whom I had formerly some little acquaintance, and he
agreed to be my companion over a bowl of punch. As I never chose to make a
secret of my circumstances, he assured me that I was upon the very point of
ruin, in listening to the officekeeper's promises; for that he only designed to
sell me to the plantations. But, continued he, I fancy you might, by a much
shorter voyage, be very easily put into a genteel way of bread. Take my advice.
My ship sails to-morrow for Amsterdam; What if you go in her as a passenger? The
moment you land all you have to do is to teach the Dutchmen English, and I'll
warrant you'll get pupils and money enough. I suppose you understand English,
added he, by this time, or the deuce is in it. I confidently assured him of
that; but expressed a doubt whether the Dutch would be willing to learn English.
He affirmed with an oath that they were fond of it to distraction; and upon that
affirmation I agreed with his proposal, and embarked the next day to teach the
Dutch English in Holland. The wind was fair, our voyage short, and after having
paid my passage with half my moveables, I found myself, fallen as from the
skies, a stranger in one of the principal streets of Amsterdam. In this
situation I was unwilling to let any time pass unemployed in teaching. I
addressed myself therefore to two or three of those I met, whose appearance
seemed most promising; but it was impossible to make ourselves mutually
understood. It was not till this very moment I recollected, that in order to
teach Dutchmen English, it was necessary that they should first teach me Dutch.
How I came to overlook so obvious an objection, is to me amazing; but certain it
is I overlooked it.
    This scheme thus blown up, I had some thoughts of fairly shipping back to
England again; but happening into company with an Irish student, who was
returning from Louvain, our conversation turning upon topics of literature, (for
by the way it may be observed, that I always forgot the meanness of my
circumstances when I could converse upon such subjects) from him I learned that
there were not two men in his whole university who understood Greek. This amazed
me. I instantly resolved to travel to Louvain, and there live by teaching Greek;
and in this design I was heartened by my brother student, who threw out some
hints that a fortune might be got by it.
    I set boldly forward the next morning. Every day lessened the burden of my
moveables, like Æsop and his basket of bread; for I paid them for my lodgings to
the Dutch as I travelled on. When I came to Louvain, I was resolved not to go
sneaking to the lower professors, but openly tendered my talents to the
principal himself. I went, had admittance, and offered him my service as a
master of the Greek language, which I had been told was a desideratum in his
university. The principal seemed at first to doubt of my abilities; but of these
I offered to convince him, by turning a part of any Greek author he should fix
upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly earnest in my proposal, he addressed me
thus: You see me, young man, continued he, I never learned Greek, and I don't
find that I have ever missed it. I have had a doctor's cap and gown without
Greek: I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek; I eat heartily without
Greek, and in short, continued he, as I don't know Greek, I do not believe there
is any good in it.
    I was now too far from home to think of returning; so I resolved to go
forward. I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now turned
what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. I passed among
the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor
enough to be very merry; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their
wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards night-fall, I played one
of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence
for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play for people of fashion; but
they always thought my performance odious, and never rewarded me even with a
trifle. This was to me the more extraordinary, as whenever I used in better days
to play for company, when playing was my amusement, my music never failed to
throw them into raptures, and the ladies especially; but as it was now my only
means, it was received with contempt: a proof how ready the world is to under
rate those talents by which a man is supported.
    In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no design but just to look about
me, and then to go forward. The people of Paris are much fonder of strangers
that have money, than of those that have wit. As I could not boast much of
either, I was no great favourite. After walking about the town four or five
days, and seeing the outsides of the best houses, I was preparing to leave this
retreat of venal hospitality, when passing through one of the principal streets,
whom should I meet but our cousin, to whom you first recommended me. This
meeting was very agreeable to me, and I believe not displeasing to him. He
enquired into the nature of my journey to Paris, and informed me of his own
business there, which was to collect pictures, medals, intaglios, and antiques
of all kinds, for a gentleman in London, who had just stepped into taste and a
large fortune. I was the more surprised at seeing our cousin pitched upon for
this office, as he himself had often assured me he knew nothing of the matter.
Upon my asking how he had been taught the art of a connoscento so very suddenly,
he assured me that nothing was more easy. The whole secret consisted in a strict
adherence to two rules: the one always to observe, that the picture might have
been better if the painter had taken more pains; and the other, to praise the
works of Pietro Perugino. But, says he, as I once taught you how to be an author
in London, I'll now undertake to instruct you in the art of picture buying at
Paris.
    With this proposal I very readily closed, as it was a living, and now all my
ambition was to live. I went therefore to his lodgings, improved my dress by his
assistance, and after some time, accompanied him to auctions of pictures, where
the English gentry were expected to be purchasers. I was not a little surprised
at his intimacy with people of the best fashion, who referred themselves to his
judgment upon every picture or medal, as to an unerring standard of taste. He
made very good use of my assistance upon these occasions; for when asked his
opinion, he would gravely take me aside, and ask mine, shrug, look wise, return,
and assure the company, that he could give no opinion upon an affair of so much
importance. Yet there was sometimes an occasion for a more supported assurance.
I remember to have seen him, after giving his opinion that the colouring of a
picture was not mellow enough, very deliberately take a brush with brown
varnish, that was accidentally lying by, and rub it over the piece with great
composure before all the company, and then ask if he had not improved the tints.
    When he had finished his commission in Paris, he left me strongly
recommended to several men of distinction, as a person very proper for a
travelling tutor; and after some time I was employed in that capacity by a
gentleman who brought his ward to Paris, in order to set him forward on his tour
through Europe. I was to be the young gentleman's governor, but with a proviso
that he should always be permitted to govern himself. My pupil in fact
understood the art of guiding in money concerns much better than I. He was heir
to a fortune of about two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle in the
West Indies; and his guardians, to qualify him for the management of it, had
bound him apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing passion:
all his questions on the road were how money might be saved, which was the least
expensive course of travel; whether any thing could be bought that would turn to
account when disposed of again in London. Such curiosities on the way as could
be seen for nothing he was ready enough to look at; but if the sight of them was
to be paid for, he usually asserted that he had been told they were not worth
seeing. He never paid a bill, that he would not observe, how amazingly expensive
travelling was, and all this though he was not yet twenty-one. When arrived at
Leghorn, as we took a walk to look at the port and shipping, he enquired the
expense of the passage by sea home to England. This he was informed was but a
trifle, compared to his returning by land, he was therefore unable to withstand
the temptation; so paying me the small part of my salary that was due, he took
leave, and embarked with only one attendant for London.
    I now therefore was left once more upon the world at large, but then it was
a thing I was used to. However my skill in music could avail me nothing in a
country where every peasant was a better musician than I; but by this time I had
acquired another talent, which answered my purpose as well, and this was a skill
in disputation. In all the foreign universities and convents, there are upon
certain days philosophical theses maintained against every adventitious
disputant; for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a
gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. In this manner therefore I
fought my way towards England, walked along from city to city, examined mankind
more nearly, and, if I may so express it, saw both sides of the picture. My
remarks, however, are but few: I found that monarchy was the best government for
the poor to live in, and commonwealths for the rich. I found that riches in
general were in every country another name for freedom; and that no man is so
fond of liberty himself as not to be desirous of subjecting the will of some
individuals in society to his own.
    Upon my arrival in England, I resolved to pay my respects first to you, and
then to enlist as a volunteer in the first expedition that was going forward;
but on my journey down my resolutions were changed, by meeting an old
acquaintance, who I found belonged to a company of comedians, that were going to
make a summer campaign in the country. The company seemed not much to disapprove
of me for an associate. They all, however, apprised me of the importance of the
task at which I aimed; that the public was a many headed monster, and that only
such as had very good heads could please it: that acting was not to be learnt in
a day; and that without some traditional shrugs, which had been on the stage,
and only on the stage, these hundred years, I could never pretend to please. The
next difficulty was in fitting me with parts, as almost every character was in
keeping. I was driven for some time from one character to another, till at last
Horatio was fixed upon, which the presence of the present company has happily
hindered me from acting.«
 

                                   Chap. XXI.

The short continuance of friendship amongst the vicious, which is coeval only
with mutual satisfaction.
 
My son's account was too long to be delivered at once, the first part of it was
begun that night, and he was concluding the rest after dinner the next day, when
the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at the door seemed to make a pause in
the general satisfaction. The butler, who was now become my friend in the
family, informed me with a whisper, that the 'Squire had already made some
overtures to Miss Wilmot, and that her aunt and uncle seemed highly to approve
the match. Upon Mr. Thornhill's entering, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, to
start back; but I readily imputed that to surprise, and not displeasure.
However, upon our advancing to salute him, he returned our greeting with the
most apparent candour; and after a short time, his presence served only to
increase the general good humour.
    After tea he called me aside, to enquire after my daughter; but upon my
informing him that my enquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised;
adding, that he had been since frequently at my house, in order to comfort the
rest of my family, whom he left perfectly well. He then asked if I had
communicated her misfortune to Miss Wilmot, or my son; and upon my replying that
I had not told them as yet, he greatly approved my prudence and precaution,
desiring me by all means to keep it a secret: »For at best,« cried he, »it is
but divulging one's own infamy; and perhaps Miss Livy may not be so guilty as we
all imagine.« We were here interrupted by a servant, who came to ask the 'Squire
in, to stand up at country dances; so that he left me quite pleased with the
interest he seemed to take in my concerns. His addresses, however, to Miss
Wilmot, were too obvious to be mistaken; and yet she seemed not perfectly
pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to the will of her aunt, than from
real inclination. I had even the satisfaction to see her lavish some kind looks
upon my unfortunate son, which the other could neither extort by his fortune nor
assiduity. Mr. Thornhill's seeming composure, however, not a little surprised
me: we had now continued here a week, at the pressing instances of Mr. Arnold;
but each day the more tenderness Miss Wilmot showed my son, Mr. Thornhill's
friendship seemed proportionably to increase for him.
    He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of using his interest to
serve the family; but now his generosity was not confined to promises alone: the
morning I designed for my departure, Mr. Thornhill came to me with looks of real
pleasure to inform me of a piece of service he had done for his friend George.
This was nothing less than his having procured him an ensign's commission in one
of the regiments that was going to the West Indies, for which he had promised
but one hundred pounds, his interest having been sufficient to get an abatement
of the other two. »As for this trifling piece of service,« continued the young
gentleman, »I desire no other reward but the pleasure of having served my
friend; and as for the hundred pound to be paid, if you are unable to raise it
yourselves, I will advance it, and you shall repay me at your leisure.« This was
a favour we wanted words to express our sense of: I readily therefore gave my
bond for the money, and testified as much gratitude as if I never intended to
pay.
    George was to depart for town the next day to secure his commission, in
pursuance of his generous patron's directions, who judged it highly expedient to
use dispatch, lest in the mean time another should step in with more
advantageous proposals. The next morning, therefore, our young soldier was early
prepared for his departure, and seemed the only person among us that was not
affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he was going to encounter, nor
the friends and mistress, for Miss Wilmot actually loved him, he was leaving
behind, any way damped his spirits. After he had taken leave of the rest of the
company, I gave him all I had, my blessing. »And now, my boy,« cried I, »thou
art going to fight for thy country, remember how thy brave grandfather fought
for his sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue. Go, my boy, and
immitate him in all but his misfortunes, if it was a misfortune to die with Lord
Falkland. Go, my boy, and if you fall, tho' distant, exposed and unwept by those
that love you, the most precious tears are those with which heaven bedews the
unburied head of a soldier.«
    The next morning I took leave of the good family, that had been kind enough
to entertain me so long, not without several expressions of gratitude to Mr.
Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in the enjoyment of all that
happiness which affluence and good breeding procure, and returned towards home,
despairing of ever finding my daughter more, but sending a sigh to heaven to
spare and to forgive her. I was now come within about twenty miles of home,
having hired an horse to carry me, as I was yet but weak, and comforted myself
with the hopes of soon seeing all I held dearest upon earth. But the night
coming on, I put up at a little public-house by the road-side, and asked for the
landlord's company over a pint of wine. We sate beside his kitchen fire, which
was the best room in the house, and chatted on politics and the news of the
country. We happened, among other topics, to talk of young 'Squire Thornhill,
who the host assured me was hated as much as his uncle Sir William, who
sometimes came down to the country, was loved. He went on to observe, that he
made it his whole study to betray the daughters of such as received him to their
houses, and after a fortnight or three weeks possession, turned them out
unrewarded and abandoned to the world. As we continued our discourse in this
manner, his wife, who had been out to get change, returned, and perceiving that
her husband was enjoying a pleasure in which she was not a sharer, she asked
him, in an angry tone, what he did there, to which he only replied in an
ironical way, by drinking her health. »Mr. Symmonds,« cried she, »you use me
very ill, and I'll bear it no longer. Here three parts of the business is left
for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished; while you do nothing but soak with
the guests all day long, whereas if a spoonful of liquor were to cure me of a
fever, I never touch a drop.« I now found what she would be at, and immediately
poured her out a glass, which she received with a curtesy, and drinking towards
my good health, »Sir,« resumed she, »it is not so much for the value of the
liquor I am angry, but one cannot help it, when the house is going out of the
windows. If the customers or guests are to be dunned, all the burden lies upon
my back, he'd as lief eat that glass as budge after them himself. There now
above stairs, we have a young woman who has come to take up her lodgings here,
and I don't believe she has got any money by her over-civility. I am certain she
is very slow of payment, and I wish she were put in mind of it.« - »What
signifies minding her,« cried the host, »if she be slow, she is sure.« - »I
don't know that,« replied the wife; »but I know that I am sure she has been here
a fortnight, and we have not yet seen the cross of her money.« - »I suppose, my
dear,« cried he, »we shall have it all in a lump.« - »In a lump!« cried the
other, »I hope we may get it any way; and that I am resolved we will this very
night, or out she tramps, bag and baggage.« - »Consider, my dear,« cried the
husband, »she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect.« - »As for the matter
of that,« returned the hostess, »gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a
sassarara. Gentry may be good things where they take; but for my part I never
saw much good of them at the sign of the Harrow.« - Thus saying, she ran up a
narrow flight of stairs, that went from the kitchen to a room over-head, and I
soon perceived by the loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her
reproaches, that no money was to be had from her lodger. I could hear her
remonstrances very distinctly: »Out I say, pack out this moment, tramp thou
infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark thou won't be the better for this
three months. What! you trumpery, to come and take up an honest house, without
cross or coin to bless yourself with; come along I say.« - »O dear madam,« cried
the stranger, »pity me, pity a poor abandoned creature for one night, and death
will soon do the rest.« - I instantly knew the voice of my poor ruined child
Olivia. I flew to her rescue, while the woman was dragging her along by the
hair, and I caught the dear forlorn wretch in my arms. - »Welcome, any way
welcome, my dearest lost one, my treasure, to your poor old father's bosom. Tho'
the vicious forsake thee, there is yet one in the world that will never forsake
thee; tho' thou hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget them
all.« - »O my own dear« - for minutes she could no more - »my own dearest good
papa! Could angels be kinder! How do I deserve so much! The villain, I hate him
and myself, to be a reproach to such goodness. You can't forgive me. I know you
cannot.« - »Yes, my child, from my heart I do forgive thee! Only repent, and we
both shall yet be happy. We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia!« - »Ah!
never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched life must be infamy abroad and shame
at home. But, alas! papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could such a
thing as I am give you so much uneasiness? Sure you have too much wisdom to take
the miseries of my guilt upon yourself.« - »Our wisdom, young woman,« replied I.
- »Ah, why so cold a name, papa?« cried she. »This is the first time you ever
called me by so cold a name.« - »I ask pardon, my darling,« returned I; »but I
was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble,
though at last a sure one.«
    The landlady now returned to know if we did not choose a more genteel
apartment, to which assenting, we were shown a room, where we could converse
more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of tranquillity, I
could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations that led to her present
wretched situation. »That villain, sir,« said she, »from the first day of our
meeting made me honourable, though private, proposals.«
    »Villain indeed,« cried I; »and yet it in some measure surprizes me, how a
person of Mr. Burchell's good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of such
deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo it.«
    »My dear papa,« returned my daughter, »you labour under a strange mistake,
Mr. Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead of that he took every
opportunity of privately admonishing me against the artifices of Mr. Thornhill,
who I now find was even worse than he represented him.« - »Mr. Thornhill,«
interrupted I, »can it be?« - »Yes, Sir,« returned she, »it was Mr. Thornhill
who seduced me, who employed the two ladies, as he called them, but who, in
fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeding or pity, to decoy us up
to London. Their artifices, you may remember would have certainly succeeded, but
for Mr. Burchell's letter, who directed those reproaches at them, which we all
applied to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence as to defeat their
intentions, still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced he was ever our
warmest sincerest friend.«
    »You amaze me, my dear,« cried I; »but now I find my first suspicions of Mr.
Thornhill's baseness were too well grounded: but he can triumph in security; for
he is rich and we are poor. But tell me, my child, sure it was no small
temptation that could thus obliterate all the impressions of such an education,
and so virtuous a disposition as thine.«
    »Indeed, Sir,« replied she, »he owes all his triumph to the desire I had of
making him, and not myself, happy. I knew that the ceremony of our marriage,
which was privately performed by a popish priest, was no way binding, and that I
had nothing to trust to but his honour.« »What,« interrupted I, »and were you
indeed married by a priest, and in orders?« - »Indeed, Sir, we were,« replied
she, »though we were both sworn to conceal his name.« - »Why then, my child,
come to my arms again, and now you are a thousand times more welcome than
before; for you are now his wife to all intents and purposes; nor can all the
laws of man, tho' written upon tables of adamant, lessen the force of that
sacred connexion.«
    »Alas, Papa,« replied she, »you are but little acquainted with his
villainies: he has been married already, by the same priest, to six or eight
wives more, whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned.«
    »Has he so? « cried I, »then we must hang the priest, and you shall inform
against him to-morrow.« - »But Sir,« returned she, »will that be right, when I
am sworn to secrecy? « - »My dear,« I replied, »if you have made such a promise,
I cannot, nor will I tempt you to break it. Even tho' it may benefit the public,
you must not inform against him. In all human institutions a smaller evil is
allowed to procure a greater good; as in politics, a province may be given away
to secure a kingdom; in medicine, a limb may be lopt off, to preserve the body.
But in religion the law is written, and inflexible, never to do evil. And this
law, my child, is right: for otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil, to procure
a greater good, certain guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of
contingent advantage. And though the advantage should certainly follow, yet the
interval between commission and advantage, which is allowed to be guilty, may be
that in which we are called away to answer for the things we have done, and the
volume of human actions is closed for ever. But I interrupt you, my dear, go
on.«
    »The very next morning,« continued she, »I found what little expectations I
was to have from his sincerity. That very morning he introduced me to two
unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had deceived, but who lived in contented
prostitution. I loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in his affections,
and strove to forget my infamy in a tumult of pleasures. With this view, I
danced, dressed, and talked; but still was unhappy. The gentlemen who visited
there told me every moment of the power of my charms, and this only contributed
to increase my melancholy, as I had thrown all their power quite away. Thus each
day I grew more pensive, and he more insolent, till at last the monster had the
assurance to offer me to a young Baronet of his acquaintance. Need I describe,
Sir, how his ingratitude stung me. My answer to this proposal was almost
madness. I desired to part. As I was going he offered me a purse; but I flung it
at him with indignation, and burst from him in a rage, that for a while kept me
insensible of the miseries of my situation. But I soon looked round me, and saw
myself a vile, abject, guilty thing, without one friend in the world to apply
to.
    Just in that interval, a stage-coach happening to pass by, I took a place,
it being my only aim to be driven at a distance from a wretch I despised and
detested. I was set down here, where, since my arrival, my own anxiety, and this
woman's unkindness, have been my only companions. The hours of pleasure that I
have passed with my mamma and sister, now grow painful to me. Their sorrows are
much; but mine is greater than theirs; for mine are mixed with guilt and
infamy.«
    »Have patience, my child,« cried I, »and I hope things will yet be better.
Take some repose to-night, and to-morrow I'll carry you home to your mother and
the rest of the family, from whom you will receive a kind reception. Poor woman,
this has gone to her heart: but she loves you still, Olivia, and will forget
it.«
 

                                  Chap. XXII.

Offences are easily pardoned where there is love at bottom.
 
The next morning I took my daughter behind me, and set out on my return home. As
we travelled along, I strove, by every persuasion, to calm her sorrows and
fears, and to arm her with resolution to bear the presence of her offended
mother. I took every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine country, through
which we passed, to observe how much kinder heaven was to us, than we to each
other, and that the misfortunes of nature's making were very few. I assured her,
that she should never perceive any change in my affections, and that during my
life, which yet might be long, she might depend upon a guardian and an
instructor. I armed her against the censures of the world, showed her that books
were sweet unreproaching companions to the miserable, and that if they could not
bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it.
    The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that night at an inn by the
way, within about five miles from my house, and as I was willing to prepare my
family for my daughter's reception, I determined to leave her that night at the
inn, and to return for her, accompanied by my daughter Sophia, early the next
morning. It was night before we reached our appointed stage: however, after
seeing her provided with a decent apartment, and having ordered the hostess to
prepare proper refreshments, I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And now
my heart caught new sensations of pleasure the nearer I approached that peaceful
mansion. As a bird that had been frighted from its nest, my affections out-went
my haste, and hovered round my little fire-side, with all the rapture of
expectation. I called up the many fond things I had to say, and anticipated the
welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife's tender embrace, and smiled at
the joy of my little ones. As I walked but slowly, the night wained apace. The
labourers of the day were all retired to rest; the lights were out in every
cottage; no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and the deep-mouthed
watch-dog, at hollow distance. I approached my little abode of pleasure, and
before I was within a furlong of the place, our honest mastiff came running to
welcome me.
    It was now near mid-night that I came to knock at my door: all was still and
silent: my heart dilated with unutterable happiness, when, to my amazement, I
saw the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, and every apperture red with
conflagration! I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement
insensible. This alarmed my son, who had till this been asleep, and he
perceiving the flames, instantly waked my wife and daughter, and all running
out, naked, and wild with apprehension, recalled me to life with their anguish.
But it was only to objects of new terror; for the flames had, by this time,
caught the roof of our dwelling, part after part continuing to fall in, while
the family stood, with silent agony, looking on, as if they enjoyed the blaze. I
gazed upon them and upon it by turns, and then looked round me for my two little
ones; but they were not to be seen. O misery! »Where,« cried I, »where are my
little ones?« - »They are burnt to death in the flames,« says my wife calmly,
»and I will die with them.« - That moment I heard the cry of the babes within,
who were just awake by the fire, and nothing could have stopped me. »Where,
where, are my children?« cried I, rushing through the flames, and bursting the
door of the chamber in which they were confined, »Where are my little ones?« -
»Here, dear papa, here we are,« cried they together, while the flames were just
catching the bed where they lay. I caught them both in my arms, and snatched
them through the fire as fast as possible, while just as I was got out, the roof
sunk in. »Now,« cried I, holding up my children, »now let the flames burn on,
and all my possessions perish. Here they are, I have saved my treasure. Here, my
dearest, here are our treasures, and we shall yet be happy.« We kissed our
little darlings a thousand times, they clasped us round the neck, and seemed to
share our transports, while their mother laughed and wept by turns.
    I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some time, began to
perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched in a terrible manner. It was
therefore out of my power to give my son any assistance, either in attempting to
save our goods, or preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By this time,
the neighbours were alarmed, and came running to our assistance; but all they
could do was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity. My goods, among
which were the notes I had reserved for my daughters fortunes, were entirely
consumed, except a box, with some papers, that stood in the kitchen, and two or
three things more of little consequence, which my son brought away in the
beginning. The neighbours contributed, however, what they could to lighten our
distress. They brought us clothes, and furnished one of our out-houses with
kitchen utensils; so that by day-light we had another, tho' a wretched, dwelling
to retire to. My honest next neighbour, and his children, were not the least
assiduous in providing us with every thing necessary, and offering what ever
consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.
    When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know the cause of my
long stay began to take place; having therefore informed them of every
particular, I proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our lost one, and
tho' we had nothing but wretchedness now to impart, I was willing to procure her
a welcome to what we had. This task would have been more difficult but for our
recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's pride, and blunted it by more
poignant afflictions. Being unable to go for my poor child myself, as my arm
grew very painful, I sent my son and daughter, who soon returned, supporting the
wretched delinquent, who had not the courage to look up at her mother, whom no
instructions of mine could persuade to a perfect reconciliation; for women have
a much stronger sense of female error than men. »Ah, madam,« cried her mother,
»this is but a poor place you are come to after so much finery. My daughter
Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to persons who have kept company
only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy, your poor father and I have
suffered very much of late; but I hope heaven will forgive you.« - During this
reception, the unhappy victim stood pale and trembling, unable to weep or to
reply; but I could not continue a silent spectator of her distress, wherefore
assuming a degree of severity in my voice and manner, which was ever followed
with instant submission, »I entreat, woman, that my words may be now marked once
for all: I have here brought you back a poor deluded wanderer; her return to
duty demands the revival of our tenderness. The real hardships of life are now
coming fast upon us, let us not therefore increase them by dissention among each
other. If we live harmoniously together, we may yet be contented, as there are
enough of us to shut out the censuring world, and keep each other in
countenance. The kindness of heaven is promised to the penitent, and let ours be
directed by the example. Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to view a
repentant sinner, than ninety nine persons who have supported a course of
undeviating rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort by which we
stop short in the down-hill path to perdition, is itself a greater exertion of
virtue, than an hundred acts of justice.«
 

                                  Chap. XXIII.

None but the guilty can be long and completely miserable.
 
Some assiduity was now required to make our present abode as convenient as
possible, and we were soon again qualified to enjoy our former serenity. Being
disabled myself from assisting my son in our usual occupations, I read to my
family from the few books that were saved, and particularly from such, as, by
amusing the imagination, contributed to ease the heart. Our good neighbours too
came every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a time in which they were
all to assist at repairing my former dwelling. Honest farmer Williams was not
last among these visitors; but heartily offered his friendship. He would even
have renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she rejected them in such a
manner as totally represt his future solicitations. Her grief seemed formed for
continuing, and she was the only person of our little society that a week did
not restore to cheerfulness. She now lost that unblushing innocence which once
taught her to respect herself, and to seek pleasure by pleasing. Anxiety now had
taken strong possession of her mind, her beauty began to be impaired with her
constitution, and neglect still more contributed to diminish it. Every tender
epithet bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her heart and a tear to her
eye; and as one vice, tho' cured, ever plants others where it has been, so her
former guilt, tho' driven out by repentance, left jealousy and envy behind. I
strove a thousand ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own pain in a
concern for her's, collecting such amusing passages of history, as a strong
memory and some reading could suggest. »Our happiness, my dear,« I would say,
»is in the power of one who can bring it about a thousand unforeseen ways, that
mock our foresight. If example be necessary to prove this, I'll give you a
story, my child, told us by a grave, tho' sometimes a romancing, historian.
    Matilda was married very young to a Neapolitan nobleman of the first
quality, and found herself a widow and a mother at the age of fifteen. As she
stood one day caressing her infant son in the open window of an apartment, which
hung over the river Volturna, the child, with a sudden spring, leaped from her
arms into the flood below, and disappeared in a moment. The mother, struck with
instant surprise, and making an effort to save him, plunged in after; but, far
from being able to assist the infant, she herself with great difficulty escaped
to the opposite shore, just when some French soldiers were plundering the
country on that side, who immediately made her their prisoner.
    As the war was then carried on between the French and Italians with the
utmost inhumanity, they were going at once to perpetrate those two extremes,
suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base resolution, however, was opposed by
a young officer, who, tho' their retreat required the utmost expedition, placed
her behind him, and brought her in safety to his native city. Her beauty at
first caught his eye, her merit soon after his heart. They were married; he rose
to the highest posts; they lived long together, and were happy. But the felicity
of a soldier can never be called permanent: after an interval of several years,
the troops which he commanded having met with a repulse, he was obliged to take
shelter in the city where he had lived with his wife. Here they suffered a
siege, and the city at length was taken. Few histories can produce more various
instances of cruelty, than those which the French and Italians at that time
exercised upon each other. It was resolved by the victors, upon this occasion,
to put all the French prisoners to death; but particularly the husband of the
unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally instrumental in protracting the
siege. Their determinations were, in general, executed almost as soon as
resolved upon. The captive soldier was led forth, and the executioner, with his
sword, stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy silence awaited the fatal
blow, which was only suspended till the general, who presided as judge, should
give the signal. It was in this interval of anguish and expectation, that
Matilda came to take her last farewell of her husband and deliverer, deploring
her wretched situation, and the cruelty of fate, that had saved her from
perishing by a premature death in the river Volturna, to be the spectator of
still greater calamities. The general, who was a young man, was struck with
surprise at her beauty, and pity at her distress; but with still stronger
emotions when he heard her mention her former dangers. He was her son, the
infant for whom she had encounter'd so much danger. He acknowledged her at once
as his mother, and fell at her feet. The rest may be easily supposed: the
captive was set free, and all the happiness that love, friendship, and duty
could confer on each, were united.«
    In this manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter; but she listened with
divided attention; for her own misfortunes engrossed all the pity she once had
for those of another, and nothing gave her ease. In company she dreaded
contempt; and in solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the colour of her
wretchedness, when we received certain information, that Mr. Thornhill was going
to be married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I always suspected he had a real passion,
tho' he took every opportunity before me to express his contempt both of her
person and fortune. This news only served to increase poor Olivia's affliction;
such a flagrant breach of fidelity, was more than her courage could support. I
was resolved, however, to get more certain information, and to defeat, if
possible, the completion of his designs, by sending my son to old Mr. Wilmot's,
with instructions to know the truth of the report, and to deliver Miss Wilmot a
letter, intimating Mr. Thornhill's conduct in my family. My son went, in
pursuance of my directions, and in three days returned, assuring us of the truth
of the account; but that he had found it impossible to deliver the letter, which
he was therefore obliged to leave, as Mr. Thornhill and Miss Wilmot were
visiting round the country. They were to be married, he said, in a few days,
having appeared together at church the Sunday before he was there, in great
splendour, the bride attended by six young ladies, and he by as many gentlemen.
Their approaching nuptials filled the whole country with rejoicing, and they
usually rode out together in the grandest equipage that had been seen in the
country for many years. All the friends of both families, he said, were there,
particularly the 'Squire's uncle, Sir William Thornhill, who bore so good a
character. He added, that nothing but mirth and feasting were going forward;
that all the country praised the young bride's beauty, and the bridegroom's fine
person, and that they were immensely fond of each other; concluding, that he
could not help thinking Mr. Thornhill one of the most happy men in the world.
    »Why let him if he can,« returned I: »but, my son, observe this bed of
straw, and unsheltering roof; those mouldering walls, and humid floor; my
wretched body thus disabled by fire, and my children weeping round me for bread;
you have come home, my child, to all this, yet here, even here, you see a man
that would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations. O, my children, if you
could but learn to commune with your own hearts, and know what noble company you
can make them, you would little regard the elegance and splendours of the
worthless. Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and
themselves the travellers. The similitude still may be improved when we observe
that the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going towards
home; the wicked but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going into
exile.«
    My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this new disaster,
interrupted what I had farther to observe. I bade her mother support her, and
after a short time she recovered. She appeared from that time more calm, and I
imagined had gained a new degree of resolution: but appearances deceived me; for
her tranquillity was the langour of over-wrought resentment. A supply of
provisions, charitably sent us by my kind parishioners, seemed to diffuse new
cheerfulness amongst the rest of the family, nor was I displeased at seeing them
once more sprightly and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their
satisfactions, merely to condole with resolute melancholy, or to burden them
with a sadness they did not feel. Thus, once more, the tale went round and the
song was demanded, and cheerfulness condescended to hover round our little
habitation.
 

                                  Chap. XXIV.

                               Fresh calamities.
 
The next morning the sun rose with peculiar warmth for the season; so that we
agreed to breakfast together on the honeysuckle bank: where, while we sate, my
youngest daughter, at my request, joined her voice to the concert on the trees
about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met her seducer, and every
object served to recall her sadness. But that melancholy, which is excited by
objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, sooths the heart instead
of corroding it. Her mother too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress,
and wept, and loved her daughter as before. »Do, my pretty Olivia,« cried she,
»let us have that little melancholy air your pappa was so fond of, your sister
Sophy has already obliged us. Do child, it will please your old father.« She
complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.
 
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can sooth her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
 
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom - is to die.
 
As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an interruption in her voice
from sorrow gave peculiar softness, the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage
at a distance alarmed us all, but particularly increased the uneasiness of my
eldest daughter, who, desirous of shunning her betrayer, returned to the house
with her sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from his chariot, and making
up to the place where I was still sitting, enquired after my health with his
usual air of familiarity. »Sir,« replied I, »your present assurance only serves
to aggravate the baseness of your character; and there was a time when I would
have chastised your insolence, for presuming thus to appear before me. But now
you are safe; for age has cooled my passions, and my calling restrains them.«
    »I vow, my dear sir,« returned he, »I am amazed at all this; nor can I
understand what it means! I hope you don't think your daughter's late excursion
with me had any thing criminal in it.«
    »Go,« cried I, »thou art a wretch, a poor pitiful wretch, and every way a
lyar; but your meanness secures you from my anger! Yet sir, I am descended from
a family that would not have borne this! And so, thou vile thing, to gratify a
momentary passion, thou hast made one poor creature wretched for life, and
polluted a family that had nothing but honour for their portion.«
    »If she or you,« returned he, »are resolved to be miserable, I cannot help
it. But you may still be happy; and whatever opinion you may have formed of me,
you shall ever find me ready to contribute to it. We can marry her to another in
a short time, and what is more, she may keep her lover beside; for I protest I
shall ever continue to have a true regard for her.«
    I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading proposal; for though
the mind may often be calm under great injuries, little villainy can at any time
get within the soul, and sting it into rage. - »Avoid my sight, thou reptile,«
cried I, »nor continue to insult me with thy presence. Were my brave son at
home, he would not suffer this; but I am old, and disabled, and every way
undone.«
    »I find,« cried he, »you are bent upon obliging me to talk in an harsher
manner than I intended. But as I have shown you what may be hoped from my
friendship, it may not be improper to represent what may be the consequences of
my resentment. My attorney, to whom your late bond has been transferred,
threatens hard, nor do I know how to prevent the course of justice, except by
paying the money myself, which, as I have been at some expenses lately, previous
to my intended marriage, is not so easy to be done. And then my steward talks of
driving for the rent: it is certain he knows his duty; for I never trouble
myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still I could wish to serve you, and
even to have you and your daughter present at my marriage, which is shortly to
be solemnized with Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of my charming Arabella
herself, whom I hope you will not refuse.«
    »Mr. Thornhill,« replied I, »hear me once for all: as to your marriage with
any but my daughter, that I never will consent to; and though your friendship
could raise me to a throne, or your resentment sink me to the grave, yet would I
despise both. Thou hast once wofully, irreparably, deceived me. I reposed my
heart upon thine honour, and have found its baseness. Never more, therefore,
expect friendship from me. Go, and possess what fortune has given thee, beauty,
riches, health, and pleasure. Go, and leave me to want, infamy, disease, and
sorrow. Yet humbled as I am, shall my heart still vindicate its dignity, and
though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my contempt.«
    »If so,« returned he, »depend upon it you shall feel the effects of this
insolence, and we shall shortly see which is the fittest object of scorn, you or
me.« - Upon which he departed abruptly.
    My wife and son, who were present at this interview, seemed terrified with
the apprehension. My daughters also, finding that he was gone, came out to be
informed of the result of our conference, which, when known, alarmed them not
less than the rest. But as to myself, I disregarded the utmost stretch of his
malevolence: he had already struck the blow, and now I stood prepared to repel
every new effort. Like one of those instruments used in the art of war, which,
however thrown, still presents a point to receive the enemy.
    We soon, however, found that he had not threatened in vain; for the very
next morning his steward came to demand my annual rent, which, by the train of
accidents already related, I was unable to pay. The consequence of my incapacity
was his driving my cattle that evening, and their being appraised and sold the
next day for less than half their value. My wife and children now therefore
entreated me to comply upon any terms, rather than incur certain destruction.
They even begged of me to admit his visits once more, and used all their little
eloquence to paint the calamities I was going to endure. The terrors of a
prison, in so rigorous a season as the present, with the danger that threatened
my health from the late accident that happened by the fire. But I continued
inflexible.
    »Why, my treasures,« cried I, »why will you thus attempt to persuade me to
the thing that is not right! My duty has taught me to forgive him; but my
conscience will not permit me to approve. Would you have me applaud to the world
what my heart must internally condemn? Would you have me tamely sit down and
flatter our infamous betrayer; and to avoid a prison continually suffer the more
galling bonds of mental confinement! No, never. If we are to be taken from this
abode, only let us hold to the right, and wherever we are thrown, we can still
retire to a charming apartment, when we can look round our own hearts with
intrepidity and with pleasure!«
    In this manner we spent that evening. Early the next morning, as the snow
had fallen in great abundance in the night, my son was employed in clearing it
away, and opening a passage before the door. He had not been thus engaged long,
when he came running in, with looks all pale, to tell us that two strangers,
whom he knew to be officers of justice, were making towards the house.
    Just as he spoke they came in, and approaching the bed where I lay, after
previously informing me of their employment and business, made me their
prisoner, bidding me prepare to go with them to the county gaol, which was
eleven miles off.
    »My friends,« said I, »this is severe weather on which you have come to take
me to a prison; and it is particularly unfortunate at this time, as one of my
arms has lately been burnt in a terrible manner, and it has thrown me into a
slight fever, and I want clothes to cover me, and I am now too weak and old to
walk far in such deep snow: but if it must be so -«
    I then turned to my wife and children, and directed them to get together
what few things were left us, and to prepare immediately for leaving this place.
I entreated them to be expeditious, and desired my son to assist his elder
sister, who, from a consciousness that she was the cause of all our calamities,
was fallen, and had lost anguish in insensibility. I encouraged my wife, who,
pale and trembling, clasped our affrighted little ones in her arms, that clung
to her bosom in silence, dreading to look round at the strangers. In the mean
time my youngest daughter prepared for our departure, and as she received
several hints to use dispatch, in about an hour we were ready to depart.
 

                                   Chap. XXV.

No situation, however wretched it seems, but has some sort of comfort attending
it.
 
We set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood, and walked on slowly. My eldest
daughter being enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for some days to
undermine her constitution, one of the officers, who had an horse, kindly took
her behind him; for even these men cannot entirely divest themselves of
humanity. My son led one of the little ones by the hand, and my wife the other,
while I leaned upon my youngest girl, whose tears fell not for her own but my
distresses.
    We were now got from my late dwelling about two miles, when we saw a crowd
running and shouting behind us, consisting of about fifty of my poorest
parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations, soon seized upon the two
officers of justice, and swearing they would never see their minister go to gaol
while they had a drop of blood to shed in his defence, were going to use them
with great severity. The consequence might have been fatal, had I not
immediately interposed, and with some difficulty rescued the officers from the
hands of the enraged multitude. My children, who looked upon my delivery now as
certain, appeared transported with joy, and were incapable of containing their
raptures. But they were soon undeceived, upon hearing me address the poor
deluded people, who came, as they imagined, to do me service.
    »What! my friends,« cried I, »and is this the way you love me! Is this the
manner you obey the instructions I have given you from the pulpit! Thus to fly
in the face of justice, and bring down ruin on yourselves and me! Which is your
ringleader? Shew me the man that has thus seduced you. As sure as he lives he
shall feel my resentment. Alas! my dear deluded flock, return back to the duty
you owe to God, to your country, and to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see you
in greater felicity here, and contribute to make your lives more happy. But let
it at least be my comfort when I pen my fold for immortality, that not one here
shall be wanting.«
    They now seemed all repentance, and melting into tears, came one after the
other to bid me farewell. I shook each tenderly by the hand, and leaving them my
blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any farther interruption. Some hours
before night we reached the town, or rather village; for it consisted but of a
few mean houses, having lost all its former opulence, and retaining no marks of
its ancient superiority but the gaol.
    Upon entering, we put up at an inn, where we had such refreshments as could
most readily be procured, and I supped with my family with my usual
cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that night, I next
attended the sheriff's officers to the prison, which had formerly been built for
the purposes of war, and consisted of one large apartment, strongly grated, and
paved with stone, common to both felons and debtors at certain hours in the four
and twenty. Besides this, every prisoner had a separate cell, where he was
locked in for the night.
    I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but lamentations, and various
sounds of misery; but it was very different. The prisoners seemed all employed
in one common design, that of forgetting thought in merriment or clamour. I was
apprised of the usual perquisite required upon these occasions, and immediately
complied with the demand, though the little money I had was very near being all
exhausted. This was immediately sent away for liquor, and the whole prison soon
was filled with riot, laughter, and prophaneness.
    »How,« cried I to myself, »shall men so very wicked be cheerful, and shall I
be melancholy! I feel only the same confinement with them, and I think I have
more reason to be happy.«
    With such reflections I laboured to become cheerful; but cheerfulness was
never yet produced by effort, which is itself painful. As I was sitting
therefore in a corner of the gaol, in a pensive posture, one of my fellow
prisoners came up, and sitting by me, entered into conversation. It was my
constant rule in life never to avoid the conversation of any man who seemed to
desire it: for if good, I might profit by his instruction; if bad, he might be
assisted by mine. I found this to be a knowing man, of strong unlettered sense;
but a thorough knowledge of the world, as it is called, or, more properly
speaking, of human nature on the wrong side. He asked me if I had taken care to
provide myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had never once attended
to.
    »That's unfortunate,« cried he, »as you are allowed here nothing but straw,
and your apartment is very large and cold. However you seem to be something of a
gentleman, and as I have been one myself in my time, part of my bed-clothes are
heartily at your service.«
    I thanked him, professing my surprise at finding such humanity in a gaol in
misfortunes; adding, to let him see that I was a scholar, »That the sage ancient
seemed to understand the value of company in affliction, when he said, Ton
kosman aire, ei dos ton etairon; and in fact,« continued I, »what is the World
if it affords only solitude? «
    »You talk of the world, Sir,« returned my fellow prisoner; »the world is in
its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has puzzled the
philosophers of every age. What a medly of opinions have they not broached upon
the creation of the world. Sanconiathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus
have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, Anarchon ara kai
atelutaion to pan, which implies« - »I ask pardon, Sir,« cried I, »for
interrupting so much learning; but I think I have heard all this before. Have I
not had the pleasure of once seeing you at Welbridge fair, and is not your name
Ephraim Jenkinson?« At this demand he only sighed. »I suppose you must
recollect,« resumed I, »one Doctor Primrose, from whom you bought a horse.«
    He now at once recollected me; for the gloominess of the place and the
approaching night had prevented his distinguishing my features before. - »Yes,
Sir,« returned Mr. Jenkinson, »I remember you perfectly well; I bought an horse,
but forgot to pay for him. Your neighbour Flamborough is the only prosecutor I
am any way afraid of at the next assizes: for he intends to swear positively
against me as a coiner. I am heartily sorry, Sir, I ever deceived you, or indeed
any man; for you see,« continued he, showing his shackles, »what my tricks have
brought me to.«
    »Well, sir,« replied I, »your kindness in offering me assistance, when you
could expect no return, shall be repaid with my endeavours to soften or totally
suppress Mr. Flamborough's evidence, and I will send my son to him for that
purpose the first opportunity; nor do I in the least doubt but he will comply
with my request, and as to my evidence, you need be under no uneasiness about
that.«
    »Well, sir,« cried he, »all the return I can make shall be yours. You shall
have more than half my bed-clothes to night, and I'll take care to stand your
friend in the prison, where I think I have some influence.«
    I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised at the present youthful
change in his aspect; for at the time I had seen him before he appeared at least
sixty. - »Sir,« answered he, »you are little acquainted with the world; I had at
that time false hair, and have learnt the art of counterfeiting every age from
seventeen to seventy. Ah sir, had I but bestowed half the pains in learning a
trade, that I have in learning to be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man
at this day. But rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, and that perhaps
when you least expect it.«
    We were now prevented from further conversation, by the arrival of the
gaoler's servants, who came to call over the prisoners names, and lock up for
the night. A fellow also, with a bundle of straw for my bed attended, who led me
along a dark narrow passage into a room paved like the common prison, and in one
corner of this I spread my bed, and the clothes given me by my fellow prisoner;
which done, my conductor, who was civil enough, bade me a goodnight. After my
usual meditations, and having praised my heavenly corrector, I laid myself down
and slept with the utmost tranquillity till morning.
 

                                  Chap. XXVI.

A reformation in the gaol. To make laws complete, they should reward as well as
punish.
 
The next morning early I was awakened by my family, whom I found in tears at my
bed-side. The gloomy strength of every thing about us, it seems, had daunted
them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, assuring them I had never slept with
greater tranquillity, and next enquired after my eldest daughter, who was not
among them. They informed me that yesterday's uneasiness and fatigue had
en-creased her fever, and it was judged proper to leave her behind. My next care
was to send my son to procure a room or two to lodge the family in, as near the
prison as conveniently could be found. He obeyed; but could only find one
apartment, which was hired at a small expense, for his mother and sisters, the
gaoler with humanity consenting to let him and his two little brothers lie in
the prison with me. A bed was therefore prepared for them in a corner of the
room, which I thought answered very conveniently. I was willing however
previously to know whether my little children chose to lie in a place which
seemed to fright them upon entrance.
    »Well,« cried I, »my good boys, how do you like your bed? I hope you are not
afraid to lie in this room, dark as it appears.«
    »No, papa,« says Dick, »I am not afraid to lie any where where you are.«
    »And I,« says Bill, who was yet but four years old, »love every place best
that my papa is in.«
    After this, I allotted to each of the family what they were to do. My
daughter was particularly directed to watch her declining sister's health; my
wife was to attend me; my little boys were to read to me: »And as for you, my
son,« continued I, »it is by the labour of your hands we must all hope to be
supported. Your wages, as a day-labourer, will be full sufficient, with proper
frugality, to maintain us all, and comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years
old, and hast strength, and it was given thee, my son, for very useful purposes;
for it must save from famine your helpless parents and family. Prepare then this
evening to look out for work against to-morrow, and bring home every night what
money you earn, for our support.«
    Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I walked down to the
common prison, where I could enjoy more air and room. But I was not long there
when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that invaded me on every side,
drove me back to my apartment again. Here I sate for some time, pondering upon
the strange infatuation of wretches, who finding all mankind in open arms
against them, were labouring to make themselves a future and a tremendous enemy.
    Their insensibility excited my highest compassion, and blotted my own
uneasiness from my mind. It even appeared a duty incumbent upon me to attempt to
reclaim them. I resolved therefore once more to return, and in spite of their
contempt to give them my advice, and conquer them by perseverance. Going
therefore among them again, I informed Mr. Jenkinson of my design, at which he
laughed heartily, but communicated it to the rest. The proposal was received
with the greatest good-humour, as it promised to afford a new fund of
entertainment to persons who had now no other resource for mirth, but what could
be derived from ridicule or debauchery.
    I therefore read them a portion of the service with a loud unaffected voice,
and found my audience perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd whispers, groans
of contrition burlesqued, winking and coughing, alternately excited laughter.
However, I continued with my natural solemnity to read on, sensible that what I
did might amend some, but could itself receive no contamination from any.
    After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, which was rather calculated at
first to amuse them than to reprove. I previously observed, that no other motive
but their welfare could induce me to this; that I was their fellow prisoner, and
now got nothing by preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hear them so very
prophane; because they got nothing by it, but might lose a great deal: »For be
assured, my friends,« cried I, »for you are my friends, however the world may
disclaim your friendship, though you swore twelve thousand oaths in a day, it
would not put one penny in your purse. Then what signifies calling every moment
upon the devil, and courting his friendship, since you find how scurvily he uses
you. He has given you nothing here, you find, but a mouthful of oaths and an
empty belly; and by the best accounts I have of him, he will give you nothing
that's good hereafter.
    If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally go elsewhere. Were it
not worth your while then, just to try how you may like the usage of another
master, who gives you fair promises at least to come to him. Surely, my Friends,
of all stupidity in the world, his must be greatest, who, after robbing an
house, runs to the thieftakers for protection. And yet how are you more wise?
You are all seeking comfort from one that has already betrayed you, applying to
a more malicious being than any thieftaker of them all; for they only decoy, and
then hang you; but he decoys and hangs, and what is worst of all, will not let
you loose after the hangman has done.«
    When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some of
whom came and shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest fellow,
and that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore promised to repeat my
lecture next day, and actually conceived some hopes of making a reformation
here; for it had ever been my opinion, that no man was past the hour of
amendment, every heart lying open to the shafts of reproof, if the archer could
but take a proper aim. When I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back to my
apartment, where my wife had prepared a frugal meal, while Mr. Jenkinson begged
leave to add his dinner to ours, and partake of the pleasure, as he was kind
enough to express it, of my conversation. He had not yet seen my family, for as
they came to my apartment by a door in the narrow passage, already described, by
this means they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at the first interview
therefore seemed not a little struck with the beauty of my youngest daughter,
which her pensive air contributed to heighten, and my little ones did not pass
unnoticed.
    »Alas, Doctor,« cried he, »these children are too handsome and too good for
such a place as this!«
    »Why, Mr. Jenkinson,« replied I, »thank heaven my children are pretty
tolerable in morals, and if they be good, it matters little for the rest.«
    »I fancy, sir,« returned my fellow prisoner, »that it must give you great
comfort to have this little family about you.«
    »A comfort, Mr. Jenkinson,« replied I, »yes it is indeed a comfort, and I
would not be without them for all the world; for they can make a dungeon seem a
palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding my happiness, and that is
by injuring them.«
    »I am afraid then, sir,« cried he, »that I am in some measure culpable; for
I think I see here (looking at my son Moses) one that I have injured, and by
whom I wish to be forgiven.«
    My son immediately recollected his voice and features, though he had before
seen him in disguise, and taking him by the hand, with a smile forgave him.
»Yet,« continued he, »I can't help wondering at what you could see in my face,
to think me a proper mark for deception.«
    »My dear sir,« returned the other, »it was not your face, but your white
stockings and the black ribband in your hair, that allured me. But no
disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you in my time; and
yet, with all my tricks, the blockheads have been too many for me at last.«
    »I suppose,« cried my son, »that the narrative of such a life as yours must
be extremely instructive and amusing.«
    »Not much of either,« returned Mr. Jenkinson. »Those relations which
describe the tricks and vices only of mankind, by increasing our suspicion in
life, retard our success. The traveller that distrusts every person he meets,
and turns back upon the appearance of every man that looks like a robber, seldom
arrives in time at his journey's end.
    Indeed I think from my own experience, that the knowing one is the silliest
fellow under the sun. I was thought cunning from my very childhood; when but
seven years old the ladies would say that I was a perfect little man; at
fourteen I knew the world, cocked my hat, and loved the ladies; at twenty,
though I was perfectly honest, yet every one thought me so cunning, that not one
would trust me. Thus I was at last obliged to turn sharper in my own defence,
and have lived ever since, my head throbbing with schemes to deceive, and my
heart palpitating with fears of detection.
    I used often to laugh at your honest simple neighbour Flamborough, and one
way or another generally cheated him once a year. Yet still the honest man went
forward without suspicion, and grew rich, while I still continued tricksy and
cunning, and was poor, without the consolation of being honest.
    However,« continued he, »let me know your case, and what has brought you
here; perhaps though I have not skill to avoid a gaol myself, I may extricate my
friends.«
    In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him of the whole train of
accidents and follies that had plunged me into my present troubles, and my utter
inability to get free.
    After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes, he slapt his forehead, as
if he had hit upon something material, and took his leave, saying he would try
what could be done.
 

                                  Chap. XXVII.

                          The same subject continued.
 
The next morning I communicated to my wife and children the scheme I had planned
of reforming the prisoners, which they received with universal disapprobation,
alleging the impossibility and impropriety of it; adding, that my endeavours
would no way contribute to their amendment, but might probably disgrace my
calling.
    »Excuse me,« returned I, »these people, however fallen, are still men, and
that is a very good title to my affections. Good council rejected returns to
enrich the giver's bosom; and though the instruction I communicate may not mend
them, yet it will assuredly mend myself. If these wretches, my children, were
princes, there would be thousands ready to offer their ministry; but, in my
opinion, the heart that is buried in a dungeon is as precious as that seated
upon a throne. Yes, my treasures, if I can mend them I will; perhaps they will
not all despise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from the gulf, and that
will be great gain; for is there upon earth a gem so precious as the human
soul?«
    Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the common prison, where I found
the prisoners very merry, expecting my arrival; and each prepared with some gaol
trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was going to begin, one turned my wig
awry, as if by accident, and then asked my pardon. A second, who stood at some
distance, had a knack of spitting through his teeth, which fell in showers upon
my book. A third would cry amen in such an affected tone as gave the rest great
delight. A fourth had slyly picked my pocket of my spectacles. But there was one
whose trick gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; for observing the
manner in which I had disposed my books on the table before me, he very
dextrously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the
place. However I took no notice of all that this mischievous group of little
beings could do; but went on, perfectly sensible that what was ridiculous in my
attempt, would excite mirth only the first or second time, while what was
serious would be permanent. My design succeeded, and in less than six days some
were penitent, and all attentive.
    It was now that I applauded my perseverance and address, at thus giving
sensibility to wretches divested of every moral feeling, and now began to think
of doing them temporal services also, by rendering their situation somewhat more
comfortable. Their time had hitherto been divided between famine and excess,
tumultous riot and bitter repining. Their only employment was quarrelling among
each other, playing at cribbage, and cutting tobacco stoppers. From this last
mode of idle industry I took the hint of setting such as chose to work at
cutting pegs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being bought by a
general subscription, and when manufactured, sold by my appointment; so that
each earned something every day: a trifle indeed, but sufficient to maintain
him.
    I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the punishment of immorality,
and rewards for peculiar industry. Thus in less than a fortnight I had formed
them into something social and humane, and had the pleasure of regarding myself
as a legislator, who had brought men from their native ferocity into friendship
and obedience.
    And it were highly to be wished, that legislative power would thus direct
the law rather to reformation than severity. That it would seem convinced that
the work of eradicating crimes is not by making punishments familiar, but
formidable. Then instead of our present prisons, which find or make men guilty,
which enclose wretches for the commission of one crime, and return them, if
returned alive, fitted for the perpetration of thousands; we should see, as in
other parts of Europe, places of penitence and solitude, where the accused might
be attended by such as could give them repentance if guilty, or new motives to
virtue if innocent. And this, but not the increasing punishments, is the way to
mend a state: nor can I avoid even questioning the validity of that right which
social combinations have assumed of capitally punishing offences of a slight
nature. In cases of murder their right is obvious, as it is the duty of us all,
from the law of self-defence, to cut off that man who has shown a disregard for
the life of another. Against such, all nature arises in arms; but it is not so
against him who steals my property. Natural law gives me no right to take away
his life, as by that the horse he steals is as much his property as mine. If
then I have any right, it must be from a compact made between us, that he who
deprives the other of his horse shall die. But this is a false compact; because
no man has a right to barter his life, no more than to take it away, as it is
not his own. And beside, the compact is inadequate, and would be set aside even
in a court of modern equity, as there is a great penalty for a very trifling
convenience, since it is far better that two men should live, than that one man
should ride. But a compact that is false between two men, is equally so between
an hundred, or an hundred thousand; for as ten millions of circles can never
make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest
foundation to falsehood. It is thus that reason speaks, and untutored nature
says the same thing. Savages that are directed by natural law alone are very
tender of the lives of each other; they seldom shed blood but to retaliate
former cruelty.
    Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had but few executions in
times of peace; and in all commencing governments that have the print of nature
still strong upon them, scarce any crime is held capital.
    It is among the citizens of a refined community that penal laws, which are
in the hands of the rich, are laid upon the poor. Government, while it grows
older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age; and as if our property were
become dearer in proportion as it increased, as if the more enormous our wealth,
the more extensive our fears, all our possessions are paled up with new edicts
every day, and hung round with gibbets to scare every invader.
    I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our penal laws, or the
licentiousness of our people, that this country should show more convicts in a
year, than half the dominions of Europe united. Perhaps it is owing to both; for
they mutually produce each other. When by indiscriminate penal laws a nation
beholds the same punishment affixed to dissimilar degrees of guilt, from
perceiving no distinction in the penalty, the people are led to lose all sense
of distinction in the crime, and this distinction is the bulwark of all
morality: thus the multitude of laws produce new vices, and new vices call for
fresh restraints.
    It were to be wished then that power, instead of contriving new laws to
punish vice, instead of drawing hard the cords of society till a convulsion come
to burst them, instead of cutting away wretches as useless, before we have tried
their utility, instead of converting correction into vengeance, it were to be
wished that we tried the restrictive arts of government, and made law the
protector, but not the tyrant of the people. We should then find that creatures,
whose souls are held as dross, only wanted the hand of a refiner; we should then
find that wretches, now stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should feel a
momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to sinew the state in times of
danger; that, as their faces are like ours, their hearts are so too; that few
minds are so base as that perseverance cannot amend; that a man may see his last
crime without dying for it; and that very little blood will serve to cement our
security.
 

                                 Chap. XXVIII.

Happiness and misery rather the result of prudence than of virtue in this life.
Temporal evils or felicities being regarded by heaven as things merely in
themselves trifling and unworthy its care in the distribution.
 
I had now been confined more than a fortnight, but had not since my arrival been
visited by my dear Olivia, and I greatly longed to see her. Having communicated
my wishes to my wife, the next morning the poor girl entered my apartment,
leaning on her sister's arm. The change which I saw in her countenance struck
me. The numberless graces that once resided there were now fled, and the hand of
death seemed to have molded every feature to alarm me. Her temples were sunk,
her forehead was tense, and a fatal paleness sate upon her cheek.
    »I am glad to see thee, my dear,« cried I; »but why this dejection Livy? I
hope, my love, you have too great a regard for me, to permit disappointment thus
to undermine a life which I prize as my own. Be cheerful child, and we yet may
see happier days.«
    »You have ever, sir,« replied she, »been kind to me, and it adds to my pain
that I shall never have an opportunity of sharing that happiness you promise.
Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for me here; and I long to be rid of a
place where I have only found distress. Indeed, sir, I wish you would make a
proper submission to Mr. Thornhill; it may, in some measure, induce him to pity
you, and it will give me relief in dying.«
    »Never, child,« replied I, »never will I be brought to acknowledge my
daughter a prostitute; for tho' the world may look upon your offence with scorn,
let it be mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of guilt. My dear, I am
no way miserable in this place, however dismal it may seem, and be assured that
while you continue to bless me by living, he shall never have my consent to make
you more wretched by marrying another.«
    After the departure of my daughter, my fellow prisoner, who was by at this
interview, sensibly enough expostulated upon my obstinacy, in refusing a
submission, which promised to give me freedom. He observed, that the rest of my
family was not to be sacrificed to the peace of one child alone, and she the
only one who had offended me. »Beside,« added he, »I don't know if it be just
thus to obstruct the union of man and wife, which you do at present, by refusing
to consent to a match which you cannot hinder, but may render unhappy.«
    »Sir,« replied I, »you are unacquainted with the man that oppresses us. I am
very sensible that no submission I can make could procure me liberty even for an
hour. I am told that even in this very room a debtor of his, no later than last
year, died for want. But though my submission and approbation could transfer me
from hence, to the most beautiful apartment he is possessed of; yet I would
grant neither, as something whispers me that it would be giving a sanction to
adultery. While my daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall ever be legal
in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I should be the basest of men, from any
resentment of my own, to attempt putting asunder those who wish for an union.
No, villain as he is, I should then wish him married, to prevent the
consequences of his future debaucheries. But now should I not be the most cruel
of all fathers, to sign an Instrument which must send my child to the grave,
merely to avoid a prison myself; and thus to escape one pang, break my child's
heart with a thousand?«
    He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but could not avoid observing,
that he feared my daughter's life was already too much wasted to keep me long a
prisoner. »However, continued he, though you refuse to submit to the nephew, I
hope you have no objections to laying your case before the uncle, who has the
first character in the kingdom for every thing that is just and good. I would
advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimating all his nephew's ill
usage, and my life for it that in three days you shall have an answer.« I
thank'd him for the hint, and instantly set about complying; but I wanted paper,
and unluckily all our money had been laid out that morning in provisions,
however he supplied me.
    For the three ensuing days I was in a state of anxiety, to know what
reception my letter might meet with; but in the mean time was frequently
solicited by my wife to submit to any conditions rather than remain here, and
every hour received repeated accounts of the decline of my daughter's health.
The third day and the fourth arrived, but I received no answer to my letter: the
complaints of a stranger against a favourite nephew, were no way likely to
succeed; so that these hopes soon vanished like all my former. My mind, however,
still supported itself though confinement and bad air began to make a visible
alteration in my health, and my arm that had suffered in the fire, grew worse.
My children however sate by me, and while I was stretched on my straw, read to
me by turns, or listened and wept at my instructions. But my daughter's health
declined faster than mine; every message from her contributed to increase my
apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning after I had written the letter which
was sent to sir William Thornhill, I was alarmed with an account that she was
speechless. Now it was, that confinement was truly painful to me; my soul was
bursting from its prison to be near the pillow of my child, to comfort, to
strengthen her, to receive her last wishes, and teach her soul the way to
heaven! Another account came. She was expiring, and yet I was debarred the small
comfort of weeping by her. My fellow prisoner, some time after, came with the
last account. He bade me be patient. She was dead! - The next morning he
returned, and found me with my two little ones, now my only companions, who were
using all their innocent efforts to comfort me. They entreated to read to me,
and bade me not to cry, for I was now too old to weep. »And is not my sister an
angel, now, pappa,« cried the eldest, »and why then are you sorry for her? I
wish I were an angel out of this frightful place, if my pappa were with me.«
»Yes,« added my youngest darling, »Heaven, where my sister is, is a finer place
than this, and there are none but good people there, and the people here are
very bad.«
    Mr. Jenkinson interupted their harmless prattle, by observing that now my
daughter was no more, I should seriously think of the rest of my family, and
attempt to save my own life, which was every day declining, for want of
necessaries and wholesome air. He added, that it was now incumbent on me to
sacrifice any pride or resentment of my own, to the welfare of those who
depended on me for support; and that I was now, both by reason and justice,
obliged to try to reconcile my landlord.
    »Heaven be praised,« replied I, »there is no pride left me now, I should
detest my own heart if I saw either pride or resentment lurking there. On the
contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parishoner, I hope one day to present
him up an unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal. No, sir, I have no resentment
now, and though he has taken from me what I held dearer than all his treasures,
though he has wrung my heart, for I am sick almost to fainting, very sick, my
fellow prisoner, yet that shall never inspire me with vengeance. I am now
willing to approve his marriage, and if this submission can do him any pleasure,
let him know, that if I have done him any injury, I am sorry for it.« Mr.
Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down my submission nearly as I have
expressed it, to which I signed my name. My son was employed to carry the letter
to Mr. Thornhill, who was then at his seat in the country. He went, and in about
six hours returned with a verbal answer. He had some difficulty, he said, to get
a sight of his landlord, as the servants were insolent and suspicious; but he
accidentally saw him as he was going out upon business, preparing for his
marriage, which was to be in three days. He continued to inform us, that he
stepped up in the humblest manner, and delivered the letter, which, when Mr.
Thornhill had read, he said that all submission was now too late and
unnecessary; that he had heard of our application to his uncle, which met with
the contempt it deserved; and as for the rest, that all future applications
should be directed to his attorney, not to him. He observed, however, that as he
had a very good opinion of the discretion of the two young ladies, they might
have been the most agreeable intercessors.
    »Well, sir,« said I to my fellow prisoner, »you now discover the temper of
the man that oppresses me. He can at once be facetious and cruel; but let him
use me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite of all his bolts to restrain
me. I am now drawing towards an abode that looks brighter as I approach it: this
expectation cheers my afflictions, and though I leave an helpless family of
orphans behind me, yet they will not be utterly forsaken; some friend, perhaps,
will be found to assist them for the sake of their poor father, and some may
charitably relieve them for the sake of their heavenly father.«
    Just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that day before, appeared with
looks of terror, and making efforts, but unable to speak. »Why, my love,« cried
I, »why will you thus increase my afflictions by your own, what though no
submissions can turn our severe master, tho' he has doomed me to die in this
place of wretchedness, and though we have lost a darling child, yet still you
will find comfort in your other children when I shall be no more.« »We have
indeed lost,« returned she, »a darling child. My Sophia, my dearest, is gone,
snatched from us, carried off by ruffians!«
    »How, madam,« cried my fellow prisoner, »miss Sophia carried off by
villains, sure it cannot be?«
    She could only answer with a fixed look and a flood of tears. But one of the
prisoners' wives, who was present, and came in with her, gave us a more distinct
account: she informed us that as my wife, my daughter, and herself, were taking
a walk together on the great road a little way out of the village, a post-chaise
and pair drove up to them and instantly stopped. Upon which, a well dressed? man, but
not Mr. Thornhill, stepping out, clasped my daughter round the waist, and
forcing her in, bid the postilion drive on, so that they were out of sight in a
moment.
    »Now,« cried I, »the sum of my misery is made up, nor is it in the power of
any thing on earth to give me another pang. What! not one left! not to leave me
one! the monster! the child that was next my heart! she had the beauty of an
angel, and almost the wisdom of an angel. But support that woman, nor let her
fall. Not to leave me one!« - »Alas! my husband,« said my wife, »you seem to
want comfort even more than I. Our distresses are great; but I could bear this
and more, if I saw you but easy. They may take away my children and all the
world, if they leave me but you.«
    My Son, who was present, endeavoured to moderate our grief; he bade us take
comfort, for he hoped that we might still have reason to be thankful. - »My
child,« cried I, »look round the world, and see if there be any happiness left
me now. Is not every ray of comfort shut out; while all our bright prospects
only lie beyond the grave!« - »My dear father,« returned he, »I hope there is
still something that will give you an interval of satisfaction; for I have a
letter from my brother George« - »What of him, child,« interrupted I, »does he
know of our misery. I hope my boy is exempt from any part of what his wretched
family suffers? « - »Yes, sir,« returned he, »he is perfectly gay, cheerful, and
happy. His letter brings nothing but good news; he is the favourite of his
colonel, who promises to procure him the very next lieutenancy that becomes
vacant!«
    »And are you sure of all this,« cried my wife, »are you sure that nothing
ill has befallen my boy?« - »Nothing indeed, madam,« returned my son, »you shall
see the letter, which will give you the highest pleasure; and if any thing can
procure you comfort, I am sure that will.« »But are you sure,« still repeated
she, »that the letter is from himself, and that he is really so happy?« - »Yes,
Madam,« replied he, »it is certainly his, and he will one day be the credit and
the support of our family!« - »Then I thank providence,« cried she, »that my
last letter to him has miscarried.« »Yes, my dear,« continued she, turning to
me, »I will now confess that though the hand of heaven is sore upon us in other
instances, it has been favourable here. By the last letter I wrote my son, which
was in the bitterness of anger, I desired him, upon his mother's blessing, and
if he had the heart of a man, to see justice done his father and sister, and
avenge our cause. But thanks be to him that directs all things, it has
miscarried, and I am at rest.« »Woman,« cried I, »thou hast done very ill, and
at another time my reproaches might have been more severe. Oh! what a tremendous
gulf hast thou escaped, that would have buried both thee and him in endless
ruin. Providence, indeed, has here been kinder to us than we to ourselves. It
has reserved that son to be the father and protector of my children when I shall
be away. How unjustly did I complain of being stripped of every comfort, when
still I hear that he is happy and insensible of our afflictions; still kept in
reserve to support his widowed mother, and to protect his brothers and sisters.
But what sisters has he left, he has no sisters now, they are all gone, robbed
from me, and I am undone.« - »Father,« interupted my son, »I beg you will give
me leave to read this letter, I know it will please you.« Upon which, with my
permission, he read as follows:
 
        Honoured Sir,
            I have called off my imagination a few moments from the pleasures
        that surround me, to fix it upon objects that are still more pleasing,
        the dear little fire-side at home. My fancy draws that harmless group
        as listening to every line of this with great composure. I view those
        faces with delight which never felt the deforming hand of ambition or
        distress! But whatever your happiness may be at home, I am sure it will
        be some addition to it, to hear that I am perfectly pleased with my
        situation, and every way happy here.
            Our regiment is countermanded and is not to leave the kingdom; the
        colonel, who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all
        companies where he is acquainted, and after my first visit I generally
        find myself received with increased respect upon repeating it. I danced
        last night with Lady G--, and could I forget you know whom, I might be
        perhaps successful. But it is my fate still to remember others, while I
        am myself forgotten by most of my absent friends, and in this number, I
        fear, Sir, that I must consider you; for I have long expected the
        pleasure of a letter from home to no purpose. Olivia and Sophia too,
        promised to write, but seem to have forgotten me. Tell them they are two
        arrant little baggages, and that I am this moment in a most violent
        passion with them: yet still, I know not how, tho' I want to bluster a
        little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them,
        sir, that after all, I love them affectionately, and be assured of my
        ever remaining
                                                               Your dutiful son.
 
»In all our miseries,« cried I, »what thanks have we not to return, that one at
least of our family is exempted from what we suffer. Heaven be his guard, and
keep my boy thus happy to be the supporter of his widowed mother, and the father
of these two babes, which is all the patrimony I can now bequeath him. May he
keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and be their conductor in the
paths of honour.« I had scarce said these words, when a noise, like that of a
tumult, seemed to proceed from the prison below; it died away soon after, and a
clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that led to my apartment. The
keeper of the prison entered, holding a man all bloody, wounded and fettered
with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch as he approached
me, but with horror when I found it was my own son. - »My George! My George! and
do I find thee thus. Wounded! Fettered! Is this thy happiness! Is this the
manner you return to me! O that this sight could break my heart at once and let
me die!«
    »Where, Sir, is your fortitude,« returned my son with an intrepid voice. »I
must suffer, my life is forfeited, and let them take it.«
    I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes in silence, but I thought
I should have died with the effort - »O my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee
thus, and I cannot, cannot help it. In the moment that I thought thee blessed, and
prayed for thy safety, to behold thee thus again! Chained, wounded. And yet the
death of the youthful is happy. But I am old, a very old man, and have lived to
see this day. To see my children all untimely falling about me, while I continue
a wretched survivor in the midst of ruin! May all the curses that ever sunk a
soul fall heavy upon the murderer of my children. May he live, like me, to see
-«
    »Hold, Sir,« replied my son, »or I shall blush for thee. How, Sir, forgetful
of your age, your holy calling, thus to arrogate the justice of heaven, and
fling those curses upward that must soon descend to crush thy own grey head with
destruction! No, Sir, let it be your care now to fit me for that vile death I
must shortly suffer, to arm me with hope and resolution, to give me courage to
drink of that bitterness which must shortly be my portion.«
    »My child, you must not die: I am sure no offence of thine can deserve so
vile a punishment. My George could never be guilty of any crime to make his
ancestors ashamed of him.«
    »Mine, Sir,« returned my son, »is, I fear, an unpardonable one. When I
received my mother's letter from home, I immediately came down, determined to
punish the betrayer of our honour, and sent him an order to meet me, which he
answered, not in person, but by his dispatching four of his domestics to seize
me. I wounded one who first assaulted me, and I fear desperately, but the rest
made me their prisoner. The coward is determined to put the law in execution
against me, the proofs are undeniable, I have sent a challenge, and as I am the
first transgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon. But you have
often charmed me with your lessons of fortitude, let me now, Sir, find them in
your example.«
    »And, my son, you shall find them. I am now raised above this world, and all
the pleasures it can produce. From this moment I break from my heart all the
ties that held it down to earth, and will prepare to fit us both for eternity.
Yes, my son, I will point out the way, and my soul shall guide yours in the
ascent, for we will take our flight together. I now see and am convinced you can
expect no pardon here, and I can only exhort you to seek it at that greatest
tribunal where we both shall shortly answer. But let us not be niggardly in our
exhortation, but let all our fellow prisoners have a share: good gaoler let them
be permitted to stand here, while I attempt to improve them.« Thus saying, I
made an effort to rise from my straw, but wanted strength, and was able only to
recline against the wall. The prisoners assembled according to my direction, for
they loved to hear my council, my son and his mother supported me on either
side, I looked and saw that none were wanting, and then addressed them with the
following exhortation.
 

                                  Chap. XXIX.

The equal dealings of providence demonstrated with regard to the happy and the
miserable here below. That from the nature of pleasure and pain, the wretched
must be repaid the balance of their sufferings in the life hereafter.
 
My friends, my children, and fellow sufferers, when I reflect on the
distribution of good and evil here below, I find that much has been given man to
enjoy, yet still more to suffer. Though we should examine the whole world, we
shall not find one man so happy as to have nothing left to wish for; but we
daily see thousands who by suicide show us they have nothing left to hope. In
this life then it appears that we cannot be entirely blessed; but yet we may be
completely miserable!
    Why man should thus feel pain, why our wretchedness should be requisite in
the formation of universal felicity, why, when all other systems are made
perfect by the perfection of their subordinate parts, the great system should
require for its perfection, parts that are not only subordinate to others, but
imperfect in themselves? These are questions that never can be explained, and
might be useless if known. On this subject providence has thought fit to elude
our curiosity, satisfied with granting us motives to consolation.
    In this situation, man has called in the friendly assistance of philosophy,
and heaven seeing the incapacity of that to console him, has given him the aid
of religion. The consolations of philosophy are very amusing, but often
fallacious. It tells us that life is filled with comforts, if we will but enjoy
them; and on the other hand, that though we unavoidably have miseries here, life
is short, and they will soon be over. Thus do these consolations destroy each
other; for if life is a place of comfort, its shortness must be misery, and if
it be long, our griefs are protracted. Thus philosophy is weak; but religion
comforts in an higher strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting up his mind, and
preparing it for another abode. When the good man leaves the body and is all a
glorious mind, he will find he has been making himself a heaven of happiness
here, while the wretch that has been maimed and contaminated by his vices,
shrinks from his body with terror, and finds that he has anticipated the
vengeance of heaven. To religion then we must hold in every circumstance of life
for our truest comfort; for if already we are happy, it is a pleasure to think
that we can make that happiness unending, and if we are miserable, it is very
consoling to think that there is a place of rest. Thus to the fortunate religion
holds out a continuance of bliss, to the wretched a change from pain.
    But though religion is very kind to all men, it has promised peculiar
rewards to the unhappy; the sick, the naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and
the prisoner, have ever most frequent promises in our sacred law. The author of
our religion every where professes himself the wretch's friend, and unlike the
false ones of this world, bestows all his caresses upon the forlorn. The
unthinking have censured this as partiality, as a preference without merit to
deserve it. But they never reflect that it is not in the power even of heaven
itself to make the offer of unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy as
to the miserable. To the first eternity is but a single blessing, since at most
it but encreases what they already possess. To the latter it is a double
advantage; for it diminishes their pain here, and rewards them with heavenly
bliss hereafter.
    But providence is in another respect kinder to the poor than the rich; for
as it thus makes the life after death more desirable, so it smooths the passage
there. The wretched have had a long familiarity with every face of terror. The
man of sorrow lays himself quietly down, without possessions to regret, and but
few ties to stop his departure: he feels only nature's pang in the final
separation, and this is no way greater than he has often fainted under before;
for after a certain degree of pain, every new breach that death opens in the
constitution, nature kindly covers with insensibility.
    Thus providence has given the wretched two advantages over the happy in this
life, greater felicity in dying, and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure
which arises from contrasted enjoyment. And this superiority, my friends, is no
small advantage, and seems to be one of the pleasures of the poor man in the
parable; for though he was already in heaven, and felt all the raptures it could
give, yet it was mentioned as an addition to his happiness, that he had once
been wretched and now was comforted, that he had known what it was to be
miserable, and now felt what it was to be happy.
    Thus, my friends, you see religion does what philosophy could never do: it
shows the equal dealings of heaven to the happy and the unhappy, and levels all
human enjoyments to nearly the same standard. It gives to both rich and poor the
same happiness hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire after it; but if the rich
have the advantage of enjoying pleasure here, the poor have the endless
satisfaction of knowing what it was once to be miserable, when crowned with
endless felicity hereafter; and even though this should be called a small
advantage, yet being an eternal one, it must make up by duration what the
temporal happiness of the great may have exceeded by intenseness.
    These are therefore the consolations which the wretched have peculiar to
themselves, and in which they are above the rest of mankind; in other respects
they are below them. They who would know the miseries of the poor must see life
and endure it. To declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy, is only
repeating what none either believe or practise. The men who have the necessaries
of living are not poor, and they who want them must be miserable. Yes, my
friends, we must be miserable. No vain efforts of a refined imagination can
sooth the wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the dank vapour of a
dungeon, or ease to the throbbings of a broken heart. Let the philosopher from
his couch of softness tell us that we can resist all these. Alas! the effort by
which we resist them is still the greatest pain! Death is slight, and any man
may sustain it; but torments are dreadful, and these no man can endure.
    To us then, my friends, the promises of happiness in heaven should be
peculiarly dear; for if our reward be in this life alone, we are then indeed of
all men the most miserable. When I look round these gloomy walls, made to
terrify, as well as to confine us; this light that only serves to show the
horrors of the place, those shackles that tyranny has imposed, or crime made
necessary; when I survey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans, O my
friends, what a glorious exchange would heaven be for these. To fly through
regions unconfined as air, to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carrol
over endless hymns of praise, to have no master to threaten or insult us, but
the form of goodness himself for ever in our eyes, when I think of these things,
death becomes the messenger of very glad tidings; when I think of these things,
his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support; when I think of these
things, what is there in life worth having; when I think of these things, what
is there that should not be spurned away: kings in their palaces should groan
for such advantages; but we, humbled as we are, should yearn for them.
    And shall these things be ours? Ours they will certainly be if we but try
for them; and what is a comfort, we are shut out from many temptations that
would retard our pursuit. Only let us try for them, and they will certainly be
ours, and what is still a comfort, shortly too; for if we look back on past
life, it appears but a very short span, and whatever we may think of the rest of
life, it will yet be found of less duration; as we grow older, the days seem to
grow shorter, and our intimacy with time, ever lessens the perception of his
stay. Then let us take comfort now, for we shall soon be at our journey's end;
we shall soon lay down the heavy burden laid by heaven upon us, and though
death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary
traveller with the view, and like his horizon, still flies before him; yet the
time will certainly and shortly come, when we shall cease from our toil; when
the luxurious great ones of the world shall no more tread us to the earth; when
we shall think with pleasure on our sufferings below; when we shall be
surrounded with all our friends, or such as deserved our friendship; when our
bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all, unending.
 

                                   Chap. XXX.

Happier prospects begin to appear. Let us be inflexible, and fortune will at
last change in our favour.
 
When I had thus finished and my audience was retired, the gaoler, who was one of
the most humane of his profession, hoped I would not be displeased, as what he
did was but his duty, observing that he must be obliged to remove my son into a
stronger cell, but that he should be permitted to revisit me every morning. I
thanked him for his clemency, and grasping my boy's hand, bade him farewell, and
be mindful of the great duty that was before him.
    I again, therefore laid me down, and one of my little ones sate by my
bedside reading, when Mr. Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was news of
my daughter; for that she was seen by a person about two hours before in a
strange gentleman's company, and that they had stopped at a neighbouring village
for refreshment, and seemed as if returning to town. He had scarce delivered
this news, when the gaoler came with looks of haste and pleasure, to inform me,
that my daughter was found. Moses came running in a moment after, crying out
that his sister Sophy was below and coming up with our old friend Mr. Burchell.
    Just as he delivered this news my dearest girl entered, and with looks
almost wild with pleasure, ran to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her
mother's tears and silence also showed her pleasure. - »Here, pappa,« cried the
charming girl, »here is the brave man to whom I owe my delivery; to this
gentleman's intrepidity I am indebted for my happiness and safety -« A kiss from
Mr. Burchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater than hers, interrupted what she
was going to add.
    »Ah, Mr. Burchell,« cried I, »this is but a wretched habitation you now find
us in; and we are now very different from what you last saw us. You were ever
our friend: we have long discovered our errors with regard to you, and repented
of our ingratitude. After the vile usage you then received at my hands, I am
almost ashamed to behold your face; yet I hope you'll forgive me, as I was
deceived by a base ungenerous wretch, who, under the mask of friendship, has
undone me.«
    »It is impossible,« replied Mr. Burchell, »that I should forgive you, as you
never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and as it was out
of my power to restrain, I could only pity it!«
    »It was ever my conjecture,« cried I, »that your mind was noble; but now I
find it so. But tell me, my dear child, how hast thou been relieved, or who the
ruffians were who carried thee away?«
    »Indeed, Sir,« replied she, »as to the villain who brought me off, I am yet
ignorant. For as my mamma and I were walking out, he came behind us, and almost
before I could call for help, forced me into the post-chaise, and in an instant
the horses drove away. I met several on the road, to whom I cried out for
assistance; but they disregarded my entreaties. In the mean time the ruffian
himself used every art to hinder me from crying out: he flattered and threatened
by turns, and swore that if I continued but silent, he intended no harm. In the
mean time I had broken the canvas that he had drawn up, and whom should I
perceive at some distance but your old friend Mr. Burchell, walking along with
his usual swiftness, with the great stick for which we used so much to ridicule
him. As soon as we came within hearing, I called out to him by name, and
entreated his help. I repeated my exclamations several times, upon which, with a
very loud voice, he bid the postillion stop; but the boy took no notice, but
drove on with still greater speed. I now thought he could never overtake us,
when in less than a minute I saw Mr. Burchell come running up by the side of the
horses, and with one blow knock the postillion to the ground. The horses when he
was fallen soon stopped of themselves, and the ruffian stepping out, with oaths
and menaces drew his sword, and ordered him at his peril to retire; but Mr.
Burchell running up, shivered his sword to pieces, and then pursued him for near
a quarter of a mile; but he made his escape. I was at this time come out myself,
willing to assist my deliverer; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The
postillion, who was recovered, was going to make his escape too; but Mr.
Burchell ordered him at his peril to mount again, and drive back to town.
Finding it impossible to resist, he reluctantly complied, though the wound he
had received seemed, to me at least, to be dangerous. He continued to complain
of the pain as we drove along, so that he at last excited Mr. Burchell's
compassion, who, at my request, exchanged him for another at an inn where we
called on our return.«
    »Welcome then,« cried I, »my child, and thou her gallant deliverer, a
thousand welcomes. Though our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to
receive you. And now, Mr. Burchell, as you have delivered my girl, if you think
her a recompense she is yours, if you can stoop to an alliance with a family so
poor as mine, take her, obtain her consent, as I know you have her heart, and
you have mine. And let me tell you, Sir, that I give you no small treasure, she
has been celebrated for beauty it is true, but that is not my meaning, I give
you up a treasure in her mind.«
    »But I suppose, Sir,« cried Mr. Burchell, »that you are apprised of my
circumstances, and of my incapacity to support her as she deserves?«
    »If your present objection,« replied I, »be meant as an evasion of my offer,
I desist: but I know no man so worthy to deserve her as you; and if I could give
her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my honest brave Burchell
should be my dearest choice.«
    To all this his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal, and
without the least reply to my offer, he demanded if we could not be furnished
with refreshments from the next inn, to which being answered in the affirmative,
he ordered them to send in the best dinner that could be provided upon such
short notice. He bespoke also a dozen of their best wine; and some cordials for
me. Adding, with a smile, that he would stretch a little for once, and tho' in a
prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon made
his appearance with preparations for dinner, a table was lent us by the gaoler,
who seemed remarkably assiduous, the wine was disposed in order, and two very
well-dressed? dishes were brought in.
    My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's melancholy situation,
and we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was
in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful, the circumstances of my unfortunate
son broke through all efforts to dissemble; so that I was at last obliged to
damp our mirth by relating his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be
permitted to share with us in this little interval of satisfaction. After my
guests were recovered from the consternation my account had produced, I
requested also that Mr. Jenkinson, a fellow prisoner, might be admitted, and the
gaoler granted my request with an air of unusual submission. The clanking of my
son's irons was no sooner heard along the passage, than his sister ran
impatiently to meet him; while Mr. Burchell, in the mean time, asked me if my
son's name were George, to which replying in the affirmative, he still continued
silent. As soon as my boy entered the room, I could perceive he regarded Mr.
Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence. »Come on,« cried I, »my son,
though we are fallen very low, yet providence has been pleased to grant us some
small relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her
deliverer: to that brave man it is that I am indebted for yet having a daughter,
give him, my boy, the hand of friendship, he deserves our warmest gratitude.«
    My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still continued
fixed at respectful distance. - »My dear brother,« cried his sister, »why don't
you thank my good deliverer; the brave should ever love each other.«
    He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our guest at last
perceived himself to be known, and assuming all his native dignity, desired my
son to come forward. Never before had I seen any thing so truly majestic as the
air he assumed upon this occasion. The greatest object in the universe, says a
certain philosopher, is a good man struggling with adversity; yet there is still
a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it. After he had regarded
my son for some time with a superior air, »I again find,« said he, »unthinking
boy, that the same crime -« But here he was interrupted by one of the gaoler's
servants, who came to inform us that a person of distinction, who had driven
into town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his respects to the
gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when he should think proper to be
waited upon. - »Bid the fellow wait,« cried our guest, »till I shall have
leisure to receive him;« and then turning to my son, »I again find, Sir,«
proceeded he, »that you are guilty of the same offence for which you once had my
reproof, and for which the law is now preparing its justest punishments. You
imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your own life, gives you a right to take
that of another: but where, Sir, is the difference between a duelist who hazards
a life of no value, and the murderer who acts with greater security? Is it any
diminution of the gamester's fraud when he alledges that he has staked a
counter?«
    »Alas, Sir,« cried I, »whoever you are, pity the poor misguided creature;
for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother, who in the bitterness
of her resentment required him upon her blessing to avenge her quarrel. Here,
Sir, is the letter, which will serve to convince you of her imprudence and
diminish his guilt.«
    He took the letter, and hastily read it over. »This,« says he, »though not a
perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault, as induces me to forgive him.
And now, Sir,« continued he, kindly taking my son by the hand, »I see you are
surprised at finding me here; but I have often visited prisons upon occasions
less interesting. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom I
have the most sincere esteem. I have long been a disguised spectator of thy
father's benevolence. I have at his little dwelling enjoyed respect
uncontaminated by flattery, and have received that happiness that courts could
not give, from the amusing simplicity around his fireside. My nephew has been
apprised of my intentions of coming here, and I find is arrived; it would be
wronging him and you to condemn him without examination: if there be injury,
there shall be redress; and this I may say without boasting, that none have ever
taxed the injustice of Sir William Thornhill.«
    We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as an harmless
amusing companion was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to
whose virtues and singularities scarce any were strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell
was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates
listened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who was the friend
of his country, but loyal to his king. My poor wife recollecting her former
familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a few moments
before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he was
removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears.
    »Ah, Sir,« cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, »how is it possible that I
can ever have your forgiveness; the slights you received from me the last time I
had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I audaciously
threw out, these jokes, Sir, I fear can never be forgiven.«
    »My dear good lady,« returned he with a smile, »if you had your joke, I had
my answer: I'll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours.
To say the truth, I know no body whom I am disposed to be angry with at present
but the fellow who so frighted my little girl here. I had not even time to
examine the rascal's person so as to describe him in an advertisement. Can you
tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again?«
    »Indeed, Sir,« replied she, »I can't be positive; yet now I recollect he had
a large mark over one of his eye-brows.« »I ask pardon, madam,« interrupted
Jenkinson, who was by, »but be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his
own red hair?« - »Yes, I think so,« cried Sophia. - »And did your honour,«
continued he, turning to Sir William, »observe the length of his legs?« - »I
can't be sure of their length,« cried the Baronet, »but I am convinced of their
swiftness; for he out-ran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom
could have done.« - »Please your honour,« cried Jenkinson, »I know the man: it
is certainly the same; the best runner in England; he has beaten Pinwire of
Newcastle, Timothy Baxter is his name, I know him perfectly, and the very place
of his retreat this moment. If your honour will bid Mr. Gaoler let two of his
men go with me, I'll engage to produce him to you in an hour at farthest.« Upon
this the gaoler was called, who instantly appearing, Sir William demanded if he
knew him. »Yes, please your honour,« reply'd the gaoler, »I know Sir William
Thornhill well, and every body that knows any thing of him, will desire to know
more of him.« - »Well then,« said the Baronet, »my request is, that you will
permit this man and two of your servants to go upon a message by my authority,
and as I am in the commission of the peace, I undertake to secure you.« - »Your
promise is sufficient,« replied the other, »and you may at a minute's warning
send them over England whenever your honour thinks fit.«
    In pursuance of the gaoler's compliance, Jenkinson was dispatched in search
of Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy
Bill, who had just come in and climbed up to Sir William's neck in order to kiss
him. His mother was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but the
worthy man prevented her; and taking the child, all ragged as he was, upon his
knee, »What, Bill, you chubby rogue,« cried he, »do you remember your old friend
Burchell; and Dick too, my honest veteran, are you here, you shall find I have
not forgot you.« So saying, he gave each a large piece of gingerbread, which the
poor fellows eat very heartily, as they had got that morning but a very scanty
breakfast.
    We now sate down to dinner, which was almost cold; but previously, my arm
still continuing painful, Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made the
study of physic his amusement, and was more than moderately skilled in the
profession: this being sent to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm was
dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief We were waited upon at dinner
by the gaoler himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour in his
power. But before we had well dined, another message was brought from his
nephew, desiring permission to appear, in order to vindicate his innocence and
honour, with which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr. Thornhill to be
introduced.
 

                                  Chap. XXXI.

Former benevolence now repaid with unexpected interest.
 
Mr. Thornhill made his entrance with a smile, which he seldom wanted, and was
going to embrace his uncle, which the other repulsed with an air of disdain. »No
fawning, Sir, at present,« cried the Baronet, with a look of severity, »the only
way to my heart is by the road of honour; but here I only see complicated
instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression. How is it, Sir, that this
poor man, for whom I know you professed a friendship, is used thus hardly? His
daughter vilely seduced, as a recompense for his hospitality, and he himself
thrown into a prison perhaps but for resenting the insult? His son too, whom you
feared to face as a man -«
    »Is it possible, Sir,« interrupted his nephew, »that my uncle could object
that as a crime which his repeated instructions alone have persuaded me to
avoid.«
    »Your rebuke,« cried Sir William, »is just; you have acted in this instance
prudently and well, though not quite as your father would have done: my brother
indeed was the soul of honour; but thou - yes you have acted in this instance
perfectly right, and it has my warmest approbation.«
    »And I hope,« said his nephew, »that the rest of my conduct will not be
found to deserve censure. I appeared, Sir, with this gentleman's daughter at
some places of public amusement; thus what was levity, scandal called by a
harsher name, and it was reported that I had debauched her. I waited on her
father in person, willing to clear the thing to his satisfaction, and he
received me only with insult and abuse. As for the rest, with regard to his
being here, my attorney and steward can best inform you, as I commit the
management of business entirely to them. If he has contracted debts and is
unwilling or even unable to pay them, it is their business to proceed in this
manner, and I see no hardship or injustice in pursuing the most legal means of
redress.«
    »If this,« cried Sir William, »be as you have stated it, there is nothing
unpardonable in your offence, and though your conduct might have been more
generous in not suffering this gentleman to be oppressed by subordinate tyranny,
yet it has been at least equitable.«
    »He cannot contradict a single particular,« replied the 'Squire, »I defy him
to do so, and several of my servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, Sir,«
continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact I could not contradict him,
»thus, Sir, my own innocence is vindicated; but though at your entreaty I am
ready to forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his attempts to lessen
me in your esteem, excite a resentment that I cannot govern. And this too at a
time when his son was actually preparing to take away my life; this, I say, was
such guilt, that I am determined to let the law take its course. I have here the
challenge that was sent me and two witnesses to prove it; one of my servants has
been wounded dangerously, and even though my uncle himself should dissuade me,
which I know he will not, yet I will see public justice done, and he shall
suffer for it.«
    »Thou monster,« cried my wife, »hast thou not had vengeance enough already,
but must my poor boy feel thy cruelty. I hope that good Sir William will protect
us, for my son is as innocent as a child; I am sure he is, and never did harm to
man.«
    »Madam,« replied the good man, »your wishes for his safety are not greater
than mine; but I am sorry to find his guilt too plain; and if my nephew persists
-« But the appearance of Jenkinson and the gaoler's two servants now called off
our attention, who entered, haling in a tall man, very genteelly dressed?, and
answering the description already given of the ruffian who had carried off my
daughter - »Here,« cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, »here we have him, and if
ever there was a candidate for Tyburn, this is one.«
    The moment Mr. Thornhill perceived the prisoner, and Jenkinson, who had him
in custody, he seemed to shrink back with terror. His face became pale with
conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn; but Jenkinson, who perceived his
design, stopped him - »What, 'Squire,« cried he, »are you ashamed of your two old
acquaintances, Jenkinson and Baxter: but this is the way that all great men
forget their friends, though I am resolved we will not forget you. Our prisoner,
please your honour,« continued he, turning to Sir William, »has already
confessed all. This is the gentleman reported to be so dangerously wounded: He
declares that it was Mr. Thornhill who first put him upon this affair, that he
gave him the clothes he now wears to appear like a gentleman, and furnished him
with the post-chaise. The plan was laid between them that he should carry off
the young lady to a place of safety, and that there he should threaten and
terrify her; but Mr. Thornhill was to come in in the mean time, as if by
accident, to her rescue, and that they should fight awhile and then he was to
run off, by which Mr. Thornhill would have the better opportunity of gaining her
affections himself under the character of her defender.«
    Sir William remembered the coat to have been frequently worn by his nephew,
and all the rest the prisoner himself confirmed by a more circumstantial
account; concluding, that Mr. Thornhill had often declared to him that he was in
love with both sisters at the same time.
    »Heavens,« cried Sir William, »what a viper have I been fostering in my
bosom! And so fond of public justice too as he seemed to be. But he shall have
it; secure him, Mr. Gaoler - yet hold, I fear there is not legal evidence to
detain him.«
    Upon this, Mr. Thornhill, with the utmost humility, entreated that two such
abandoned wretches might not be admitted as evidences against him, but that his
servants should be examined. - »Your servants,« replied Sir William, »wretch,
call them yours no longer: but come let us hear what those fellows have to say,
let his butler be called.«
    When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by his former master's
looks that all his power was now over. »Tell me,« cried Sir William sternly,
»have you ever seen your master and that fellow dressed? up in his clothes in
company together?« »Yes, please your honour,« cried the butler, »a thousand
times: he was the man that always brought him his ladies.« - »How,« interrupted
young Mr. Thornhill, »this to my face!« - »Yes,« replied the butler, »or to any
man's face. To tell you a truth, Master Thornhill, I never either loved you or
liked you, and I don't care if I tell you now a piece of my mind.« - »Now then,«
cried Jenkinson, »tell his honour whether you know any thing of me.« - »I can't
say,« replied the butler, »that I know much good of you. The night that
gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, you were one of them.« - »So
then,« cried Sir William, »I find you have brought a very fine witness to prove
your innocence: thou stain to humanity! to associate with such wretches!« (But
continuing his examination) »You tell me, Mr. Butler, that this was the person
who brought him this old gentleman's daughter.« - »No, please your honour,«
replied the butler, »he did not bring her, for the 'Squire himself undertook
that business; but he brought the priest that pretended to marry them.« - »It is
but too true,« cried Jenkinson, »I cannot deny it, that was the employment
assigned me, and I confess it to my confusion.«
    »Good heavens!« exclaimed the Baronet, »how every new discovery of his
villainy alarms me. All his guilt is now too plain, and I find his present
prosecution was dictated by tyranny, cowardice and revenge; at my request, Mr.
Gaoler, set this young officer, now your prisoner, free, and trust to me for the
consequences. I'll make it my business to set the affair in a proper light to my
friend the magistrate who has committed him. But where is the unfortunate young
lady herself: let her appear to confront this wretch, I long to know by what
arts he has seduced her honour. Entreat her to come in. Where is she?«
    »Ah, Sir,« said I, »that question stings me to the heart: I was once indeed
happy in a daughter, but her miseries -« Another interruption here prevented me;
for who should make her appearance but Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next day to
have been married to Mr. Thornhill. Nothing could equal her surprise at seeing
Sir William and his nephew here before her; for her arrival was quite
accidental. It happened that she and the old gentleman her father were passing
through the town, on their way to her aunt's, who had insisted that her nuptials
with Mr. Thornhill should be consummated at her house; but stopping for
refreshment, they put up at an inn at the other end of the town. It was there
from the window that the young lady happened to observe one of my little boys
playing in the street, and instantly sending a footman to bring the child to
her, she learnt from him some account of our misfortunes; but was still kept
ignorant of young Mr. Thornhill's being the cause. Though her father made
several remonstrances on the impropriety of going to a prison to visit us, yet
they were ineffectual; she desired the child to conduct her, which he did, and
it was thus she surprised us at a juncture so unexpected.
    Nor can I go on, without a reflection on those accidental meetings, which,
though they happen every day, seldom excite our surprise but upon some
extraordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous concurrence do we not owe every
pleasure and convenience of our lives. How many seeming accidents must unite
before we can be clothed or fed. The peasant must be disposed to labour, the
shower must fall, the wind fill the merchant's sail, or numbers must want the
usual supply.
    We all continued silent for some moments, while my charming pupil, which was
the name I generally gave this young lady, united in her looks compassion and
astonishment, which gave new finishings to her beauty. »Indeed, my dear Mr.
Thornhill,« cried she to the 'Squire, who she supposed was come here to succour
and not to oppress us, »I take it a little unkindly that you should come here
without me, or never inform me of the situation of a family so dear to us both:
you know I should take as much pleasure in contributing to the relief of my
reverend old master here, whom I shall ever esteem, as you can. But I find that,
like your uncle, you take a pleasure in doing good in secret.«
    »He find pleasure in doing good!« cried Sir William, interrupting her. »No,
my dear, his pleasures are as base as he is. You see in him, madam, as complete
a villain as ever disgraced humanity. A wretch, who after having deluded this
poor man's daughter, after plotting against the innocence of her sister, has
thrown the father into prison, and the eldest son into fetters, because he had
courage to face his betrayer. And give me leave, madam, now to congratulate you
upon an escape from the embraces of such a monster.«
    »O goodness,« cried the lovely girl, »how have I been deceived! Mr.
Thornhill informed me for certain that this gentleman's eldest son, Captain
Primrose, was gone off to America with his new-married lady.«
    »My sweetest miss,« cried my wife, »he has told you nothing but falsehoods.
My son George never left the kingdom, nor never was married. Tho' you have
forsaken him, he has always loved you too well to think of any body else; and I
have heard him say he would die a batchellor for your sake.« She then proceeded
to expatiate upon the sincerity of her son's passion, she set his duel with Mr.
Thornhill in a proper light, from thence she made a rapid digression to the
'Squire's debaucheries, his pretended marriages, and ended with a most insulting
picture of his cowardice.
    »Good heavens!« cried Miss Wilmot, »how very near have I been to the brink
of ruin! But how great is my pleasure to have escaped it! Ten thousand
falsehoods has this gentleman told me! He had at last art enough to persuade me
that my promise to the only man I esteemed was no longer binding, since he had
been unfaithful. By his falsehoods I was taught to detest one equally brave and
generous!«
    But by this time my son was freed from the incumbrances of justice, as the
person supposed to be wounded was detected to be an impostor. Mr. Jenkinson
also, who had acted as his valet de chamber, had dressed up his hair, and
furnished him with whatever was necessary to make a genteel appearance. He now
therefore entered, handsomely dressed? in his regimentals, and, without vanity,
(for I am above it) he appeared as handsome a fellow as ever wore a military
dress. As he entered, he made Miss Wilmot a modest and distant bow, for he was
not as yet acquainted with the change which the eloquence of his mother had
wrought in his favour. But no decorums could restrain the impatience of his
blushing mistress to be forgiven. Her tears, her looks, all contributed to
discover the real sensations of her heart for having forgotten her former
promise and having suffered herself to be deluded by an impostor. My son
appeared amazed at her condescension, and could scarce believe it real. - »Sure,
madam,« cried he, »this is but delusion! I can never have merited this! To be
blessed thus is to be too happy.« - »No, Sir,« replied she, »I have been deceived,
basely deceived, else nothing could have ever made me unjust to my promise. You
know my friendship, you have long known it; but forget what I have done, and as
you once had my warmest vows of constancy, you shall now have them repeated; and
be assured that if your Arabella cannot be yours, she shall never be another's.«
- »And no other's you shall be,« cried Sir William, »if I have any influence
with your father.«
    This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who immediately flew to the inn
where the old gentleman was, to inform him of every circumstance that had
happened. But in the mean time the 'Squire perceiving that he was on every side
undone, now finding that no hopes were left from flattery or dissimulation,
concluded that his wisest way would be to turn and face his pursuers. Thus
laying aside all shame, he appeared the open hardy villain. »I find then,« cried
he, »that I am to expect no justice here; but I am resolved it shall be done me.
You shall know, Sir,« turning to Sir William, »I am no longer a poor dependant
upon your favours. I scorn them. Nothing can keep Miss Wilmot's fortune from me,
which, I thank her father's assiduity, is pretty large. The articles, and a bond
for her fortune, are signed, and safe in my possession. It was her fortune, not
her person, that induced me to wish for this match, and possessed of the one,
let who will take the other.«
    This was an alarming blow, Sir William was sensible of the justice of his
claims, for he had been instrumental in drawing up the marriage articles
himself. Miss Wilmot therefore perceiving that her fortune was irretrievably
lost, turning to my son, she asked if the loss of fortune could lessen her value
to him. »Though fortune,« said she, »is out of my power, at least I have my hand
to give.«
    »And that, madam,« cried her real lover, »was indeed all that you ever had
to give; at least all that I ever thought worth the acceptance. And now I
protest, my Arabella, by all that's happy, your want of fortune this moment
encreases my pleasure, as it serves to convince my sweet girl of my sincerity.«
    Mr. Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little pleased at the danger his
daughter had just escaped, and readily consented to a dissolution of the match.
But finding that her fortune, which was secured to Mr. Thornhill by bond, would
not be given up, nothing could exceed his disappointment. He now saw that his
money must all go to enrich one who had no fortune of his own. He could bear his
being a rascal; but to want an equivalent to his daughter's fortune was
wormwood. He sate therefore for some minutes employed in the most mortifying
speculations, till Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. - »I must
confess, Sir,« cried he, »that your present disappointment does not entirely
displease me. Your immoderate passion for wealth is now justly punished. But
tho' the young lady cannot be rich, she has still a competence sufficient to
give content. Here you see an honest young soldier, who is willing to take her
without fortune; they have long loved each other, and for the friendship I bear
his father, my interest shall not be wanting in his promotion. Leave then that
ambition which disappoints you, and for once admit that happiness which courts
your acceptance.«
    »Sir William,« replied the old gentleman, »be assured I never yet forced her
inclinations, nor will I now. If she still continues to love this young
gentleman, let her have him with all my heart. There is still, thank heaven,
some fortune left, and your promise will make it something more. Only let my old
friend here (meaning me) give me a promise of settling six thousand pounds upon
my girl, if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am ready this night to be
the first to join them together.«
    As it now remained with me to make the young couple happy, I readily gave a
promise of making the settlement he required, which, to one who had such little
expectations as I, was no great favour. We had now therefore the satisfaction of
seeing them fly into each other's arms in a transport. »After all my
misfortunes,« cried my son George, »to be thus rewarded! Sure this is more than
I could ever have presumed to hope for. To be possessed of all that's good, and
after such an interval of pain! My warmest wishes could never rise so high!« -
»Yes, my George,« returned his lovely bride, »now let the wretch take my
fortune; since you are happy without it so am I. O what an exchange have I made
from the basest of men to the dearest best! - Let him enjoy our fortune, I now
can be happy even in indigence.« - »And I promise you,« cried the 'Squire, with
a malicious grin, »that I shall be very happy with what you despise.« - »Hold,
hold, Sir,« cried Jenkinson, »there are two words to that bargain. As for that
lady's fortune, Sir, you shall never touch a single stiver of it. Pray your
honour,« continued he to Sir William, »can the 'Squire have this lady's fortune
if he be married to another?« - »How can you make such a simple demand,« replied
the Baronet, »undoubtedly he cannot.« - »I am sorry for that,« cried Jenkinson;
»for as this gentleman and I have been old fellow sporters, I have a friendship
for him. But I must declare, well as I love him, that his contract is not worth
a tobacco stopper, for he is married already.« - »You lie, like a rascal,«
returned the 'Squire, who seemed roused by this insult, »I never was legally
married to any woman.« - »Indeed, begging your honour's pardon,« replied the
other, »you were; and I hope you will show a proper return of friendship to your
own honest Jenkinson, who brings you a wife, and if the company restrains their
curiosity a few minutes, they shall see her.« - So saying he went off with his
usual celerity, and left us all unable to form any probable conjecture as to his
design. - »Ay let him go,« cried the 'Squire, »whatever else I may have done I
defy him there. I am too old now to be frightened with squibs.«
    »I am surprised,« said the Baronet, »what the fellow can intend by this.
Some low piece of humour I suppose!« - »Perhaps, Sir,« replied I, »he may have a
more serious meaning. For when we reflect on the various schemes this gentleman
has laid to seduce innocence, perhaps some one more artful than the rest has
been found able to deceive him. When we consider what numbers he has ruined, how
many parents now feel with anguish the infamy and the contamination which he has
brought into their families, it would not surprise me if some one of them -
Amazement! Do I see my lost daughter! Do I hold her! It is, it is my life, my
happiness. I thought thee lost, my Olivia, yet still I hold thee - and still
thou shalt live to bless me.« - The warmest transports of the fondest lover were
not greater than mine when I saw him introduce my child, and held my daughter in
my arms, whose silence only spoke her raptures. »And art thou returned to me, my
darling,« cried I, »to be my comfort in age!« - »That she is,« cried Jenkinson,
»and make much of her, for she is your own honourable child, and as honest a
woman as any in the whole room, let the other be who she will. And as for you
'Squire, as sure as you stand there this young lady is your lawful wedded wife.
And to convince you that I speak nothing but truth, here is the licence by which
you were married together.« - So saying, he put the licence into the Baronet's
hands, who read it, and found it perfect in every respect. »And now, gentlemen,«
continued he, »I find you are surprised at all this; but a few words will
explain the difficulty. That there 'Squire of renown, for whom I have a great
friendship, but that's between ourselves, has often employed me in doing odd
little things for him. Among the rest, he commissioned me to procure him a false
licence and a false priest, in order to deceive this young lady. But as I was
very much his friend, what did I do but went and got a true licence and a true
priest, and married them both as fast as the cloth could make them. Perhaps
you'll think it was generosity that made me do all this. But no. To my shame I
confess it, my only design was to keep the licence and let the 'Squire know that
I could prove it upon him whenever I thought proper, and so make him come down
whenever I wanted money.« A burst of pleasure now seemed to fill the whole
apartment; our joy reached even to the common room, where the prisoners
themselves sympathized,
 
And shook their chains
In transport and rude harmony.
 
Happiness was expanded upon every face, and even Olivia's cheek seemed flushed
with pleasure. To be thus restored to reputation, to friends and fortune at
once, was a rapture sufficient to stop the progress of decay and restore former
health and vivacity. But perhaps among all there was not one who felt sincerer
pleasure than I. Still holding the dear-loved child in my arms, I asked my heart
if these transports were not delusion. »How could you,« cried I, turning to Mr.
Jenkinson, »how could you add to my miseries by the story of her death! But it
matters not, my pleasure at finding her again, is more than a recompense for the
pain.«
    »As to your question,« replied Jenkinson, »that is easily answered. I
thought the only probable means of freeing you from prison, was by submitting to
the 'Squire, and consenting to his marriage with the other young lady. But these
you had vowed never to grant while your daughter was living, there was therefore
no other method to bring things to bear but by persuading you that she was dead.
I prevailed on your wife to join in the deceit, and we have not had a fit
opportunity of undeceiving you till now.«
    In the whole assembly now there only appeared two faces that did not glow
with transport. Mr. Thornhill's assurance had entirely forsaken him: he now saw
the gulf of infamy and want before him, and trembled to take the plunge. He
therefore fell on his knees before his uncle, and in a voice of piercing misery
implored compassion. Sir William was going to spurn him away, but at my request
he raised him, and after pausing a few moments, »Thy vices, crimes, and
ingratitude,« cried he, »deserve no tenderness; yet thou shalt not be entirely
forsaken, a bare competence shall be supplied, to support the wants of life, but
not its follies. This young lady, thy wife, shall be put in possession of a
third part of that fortune which once was thine, and from her tenderness alone
thou art to expect any extraordinary supplies for the future.« He was going to
express his gratitude for such kindness in a set speech; but the Baronet
prevented him by bidding him not aggravate his meanness, which was already but
too apparent. He ordered him at the same time to be gone, and from all his
former domestics to choose one such as he should think proper, which was all that
should be granted to attend him.
    As soon as he left us, Sir William very politely stepped up to his new niece
with a smile, and wished her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wilmot and
her father; my wife too kissed her daughter with much affection, as, to use her
own expression, she was now made an honest woman of. Sophia and Moses followed
in turn, and even our benefactor Jenkinson desired to be admitted to that
honour. Our satisfaction seemed scarce capable of increase. Sir William, whose
greatest pleasure was in doing good, now looked round with a countenance open as
the sun, and saw nothing but joy in the looks of all except that of my daughter
Sophia, who, for some reasons we could not comprehend, did not seem perfectly
satisfied. »I think now,« cried he, with a smile, »that all the company, except
one or two, seem perfectly happy. There only remain an act of justice for me to
do. You are sensible, Sir,« continued he, turning to me, »of the obligations we
both owe Mr. Jenkinson. And it is but just we should both reward him for it.
Miss Sophia will, I am sure, make him very happy, and he shall have from me five
hundred pounds as her fortune, and upon this I am sure they can live very
comfortably together. Come, Miss Sophia, what say you to this match of my
making? Will you have him?« - My poor girl seemed almost sinking into her
mother's arms at the hideous proposal. - »Have him, Sir!« cried she faintly.
»No, Sir, never.« - »What,« cried he again, »not have Mr. Jenkinson, your
benefactor, an handsome young fellow, with five hundred pounds and good
expectations!« - »I beg, Sir,« returned she, scarce able to speak, »that you'll
desist, and not make me so very wretched.« - »Was ever such obstinacy known,«
cried he again, »to refuse a man whom the family has such infinite obligations
to, who has preserved your sister, and who has five hundred pounds! What not
have him!« - »No, Sir, never,« replied she, angrily, »I'd sooner die first.« -
»If that be the case then,« cried he, »if you will not have him - I think I must
have you myself.« And so saying, he caught her to his breast with ardour. »My
loveliest, my most sensible of girls,« cried he, »how could you ever think your
own Burchell could deceive you, or that Sir William Thornhill could ever cease
to admire a mistress that loved him for himself alone? I have for some years
sought for a woman, who a stranger to my fortune could think that I had merit as
a man. After having tried in vain, even amongst the pert and the ugly, how great
at last must be my rapture to have made a conquest over such sense and such
heavenly beauty.« Then turning to Jenkinson, »As I cannot, Sir, part with this
young lady myself, for she has taken a fancy to the cut of my face, all the
recompense I can make is to give you her fortune, and you may call upon my
steward to-morrow for five hundred pounds.« Thus we had all our compliments to
repeat, and Lady Thornhill underwent the same round of ceremony that her sister
had done before. In the mean time Sir William's gentleman appeared to tell us
that the equipages were ready to carry us to the inn, where every thing was
prepared for our reception. My wife and I led the van, and left those gloomy
mansions of sorrow. The generous Baronet ordered forty pounds to be distributed
among the prisoners, and Mr. Wilmot, induced by his example, gave half that sum.
We were received below by the shouts of the villagers, and I saw and shook by
the hand two or three of my honest parishioners, who were among the number. They
attended us to our inn, where a sumptuous entertainment was provided, and
coarser provisions distributed in great quantities among the populace.
    After supper, as my spirits were exhausted by the alternation of pleasure
and pain which they had sustained during the day, I asked permission to
withdraw, and leaving the company in the midst of their mirth, as soon as I
found myself alone, I poured out my heart in gratitude to the giver of joy as
well as of sorrow, and then slept undisturbed till morning.
 

                                  Chap. XXXII.

                                The Conclusion.
 
The next morning as soon as I awake I found my eldest son sitting by my
bedside, who came to increase my joy with another turn of fortune in my favour.
First having released me from the settlement that I had made the day before in
his favour, he let me know that my merchant who had failed in town was arrested
at Antwerp, and there had given up effects to a much greater amount than what
was due to his creditors. My boy's generosity pleased me almost as much as this
unlooked for good fortune. But I had some doubts whether I ought in justice to
accept his offer. While I was pondering upon this, Sir William entered the room,
to whom I communicated my doubts. His opinion was, that as my son was already
possessed of a very affluent fortune by his marriage, I might accept his offer
without any hesitation. His business, however, was to inform me that as he had
the night before sent for the licences, and expected them every hour, he hoped
that I would not refuse my assistance in making all the company happy that
morning. A footman entered while we were speaking, to tell us that the messenger
was returned, and as I was by this time ready, I went down, where I found the
whole company as merry as affluence and innocence could make them. However, as
they were now preparing for a very solemn ceremony, their laughter entirely
displeased me. I told them of the grave, becoming and sublime deportment they
should assume upon this mystical occasion, and read them two homilies and a
thesis of my own composing, in order to prepare them. Yet they still seemed
perfectly refractory and ungovernable. Even as we were going along to church, to
which I led the way, all gravity had quite forsaken them, and I was often
tempted to turn back in indignation. In church a new dilemma arose, which
promised no easy solution. This was, which couple should be married first; my
son's bride warmly insisted, that Lady Thornhill, (that was to be) should take
the lead; but this the other refused with equal ardour, protesting she would not
be guilty of such rudeness for the world. The argument was supported for some
time between both with equal obstinacy and good breeding. But as I stood all
this time with my book ready, I was at last quite tired of the contest, and
shutting it, »I perceive,« cried I, »that none of you have a mind to be married,
and I think we had as good go back again; for I suppose there will be no
business done here to-day.« - This at once reduced them to reason. The Baronet
and his Lady were first married, and then my son and his lovely partner.
    I had previously that morning given orders that a coach should be sent for
my honest neighbour Flamborough and his family, by which means, upon our return
to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the two Miss Flamboroughs alighted
before us. Mr. Jenkinson gave his hand to the eldest, and my son Moses led up
the other; (and I have since found that he has taken a real liking to the girl,
and my consent and bounty he shall have whenever he thinks proper to demand
them.) We were no sooner returned to the inn, but numbers of my parishioners,
hearing of my success, came to congratulate me, but among the rest were those
who rose to rescue me, and whom I formerly rebuked with such sharpness. I told
the story to Sir William, my son-in-law, who went out and reproved them with
great severity; but finding them quite disheartened by his harsh reproof, he
gave them half a guinea a piece to drink his health and raise their dejected
spirits.
    Soon after this we were called to a very genteel entertainment, which was
dressed? by Mr. Thornhill's cook. And it may not be improper to observe with
respect to that gentleman, that he now resides in quality of companion at a
relation's house, being very well liked and seldom sitting at the side-table,
except when there is no room at the other; for they make no stranger of him. His
time is pretty much taken up in keeping his relation, who is a little
melancholy, in spirits, and in learning to blow the French-horn. My eldest
daughter, however, still remembers him with regret; and she has even told me,
though I make a great secret of it, that when he reforms she may be brought to
relent. But to return, for I am not apt to digress thus, when we were to sit
down to dinner our ceremonies were going to be renewed. The question was whether
my eldest daughter, as being a matron, should not sit above the two young
brides, but the debate was cut short by my son George, who proposed, that the
company should sit indiscriminately, every gentleman by his lady. This was
received with great approbation by all, excepting my wife, who I could perceive
was not perfectly satisfied, as she expected to have had the pleasure of sitting
at the head of the table and carving all the meat for all the company. But
notwithstanding this, it is impossible to describe our good humour. I can't say
whether we had more wit amongst us now than usual; but I am certain we had more
laughing, which answered the end as well. One jest I particularly remember, old
Mr. Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose head was turned another way, my son replied,
»Madam, I thank you.« Upon which the old gentleman, winking upon the rest of the
company, observed that he was thinking of his mistress. At which jest I thought
the two miss Flamboroughs would have died with laughing. As soon as dinner was
over, according to my old custom, I requested that the table might be taken
away, to have the pleasure of seeing all my family assembled once more by a
cheerful fire-side. My two little ones sat upon each knee, the rest of the
company by their partners. I had nothing now on this side of the grave to wish
for, all my cares were over, my pleasure was unspeakable. It now only remained
that my gratitude in good fortune should exceed my former submission in
adversity.
 
                                     Finis.
