No More Learning

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. ’



CHAPTER 18

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 expences 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 stopt 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-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 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 shews 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 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 Shakespear, 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 Johnson’s or Shakespear’s name. ’--‘So
then, I suppose,’ cried I, ‘that our modern dramatists are rather
imitators of Shakespear 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 shewn into the common room, was
accosted by a very well-drest 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.



CHAPTER 19

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 shewn 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 primaeval 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 encrease 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 dependents, 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 cloaths;
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 rernonstrances; 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 surprize, 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 stept 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 shewn 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 awaked 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.



CHAPTER 20

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 tomorrow, but chearful 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 shew 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 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 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 drest 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, of 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 cloaths, 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 aukward and stiff from me; and as every
day my patron’s desire of flattery encreased, 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 shewn 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
shewn 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
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 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 gulph 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 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 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 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’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 burthen of my moveables, like Aesop 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 stept 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 expence 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,
apprized 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. ’



CHAPTER 21

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 surprize, 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 encrease
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 shewed my son, Mr Thomhill’s friendship seemed
proportionably to encrease 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.