No More Learning

what will my poor papa 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 Oh, 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 possessed 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 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 is
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 scarcely 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 these
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
transgressions, 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, though 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, though I cannot save
her from shame, I may prevent the continuance of her iniquity. "




_CHAPTER XVIII. _

_The pursuit of a father to reclaim a lost child to virtue. _


[Illustration:

"_But she is gone; the honour of our family
is contaminated, and I must look out for happiness
in other worlds than here. _"—_p. _ 75.
]


Though 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 inquired 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 further, 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 alehouse 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 nearly 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
Churchyard, 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-natured 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
journeys 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 waggon, 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 descanted on such topics with my
usual freedom; as I was but little acquainted 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's and Rowe's manner,
sir, are quite out of fashion: our taste has gone back a whole century;
Fletcher, Ben Jonson, 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
overcharged 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 Jonson's or Shakespeare's name. " "So then, I
suppose," cried I, "that our modern dramatists are rather imitators of
Shakespeare than nature? " "To say the truth," returned my companion, "I
don't know that they imitate anything 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, 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 alehouse
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 my 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 own mind for nothing less than a parliament man at least; but
was almost confirmed in my conjectures, when, upon 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.

[Illustration: Interior Scene]




_CHAPTER 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 easy dishabille
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
another guess 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 same 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 primeval 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 the 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 councillors, 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 possessed
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 of which the governor from
without is hastening the relief.

[Illustration:

"_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. _"—_p. _ 88.
]


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 laws. I am then for, and would die for, monarchy,
sacred monarchy; for if there be anything sacred amongst men, it must be
the anointed _sovereign_ of his people; and every diminution of his
power, in war or 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 these 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 got 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 on 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 inquired, with seeming unconcern, when last I had heard from
my son George. "Alas! madam," cried I, "he has now been nearly 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 fireside 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 offers 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 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 praise of the new performer, and averred that he never saw any
one who bade 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 sat 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 scenes, 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 awakened 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 irresistible beauty; and
often would ask questions, without giving any manner of attention to the
answers.




_CHAPTER 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 which he
could boast of.

[Illustration:

"_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. _"—_p. _ 93.
]


"Why, ay, 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 scarcely 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
though it distressed, it could not sink me. No person ever had a better
knack of hoping than I. The less kind I found Fortune at one time, the
more I expected from her at 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 on a fine morning, no way uneasy
about to-morrow, but cheerful as the birds that carolled 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. 'Ay,' cried he, 'this is,
indeed, a very pretty career that has been chalked out for you. I have
been an usher to 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 browbeat 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 jog-trot men, who go on smoothly and dully, write
history and politics, and are praised: men, sir, who, had they been bred
cobblers, 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
Grub-street 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 entailed I supposed to
be the nurse of genius. Big with these reflections I sat 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 sat 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 sat 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 inquire 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? "

"Oh, 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 is he equally a coward to contempt: and none but those who
are unworthy of 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 insure 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 midst of periodical publications, 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, and 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.

[Illustration:

"_And without taking further notice
he went out of the room. _"—_p. _ 95
]


"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 sat 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 he
had a mind for a frolic. Besides this, I had twenty other little
employments in the family. I was to do many small things without
bidding; to carry the corkscrew; 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
though 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 that 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 around me. Everything 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-chambre_. 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 further
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
hallooed 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. Crispe's office seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome
reception. In this office Mr. Crispe kindly offers all his majesty's
subjects a generous promise of thirty pounds 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. Crispe, presenting a true epitome of
English impatience. Each untractable soul at variance with fortune
wreaked her injuries on their own hearts; but Mr. Crispe 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 everything in the world. He paused awhile 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 Pennsylvania 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
pounds, 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 office-keeper'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 warrant
you'll get pupils and money enough. I suppose you understand English,'
added he, 'by this time, or the deuce is in it. '

[Illustration:

"_Whenever I approached a peasant's house
towards nightfall, I played one of my most
merry tunes, and this procured me not only
a lodging, but subsistence for the next day. _"—_p. _ 99.
]

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 with him 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, as fallen
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.