He has no such
fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it.
fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it.
Oliver Goldsmith
"
"Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such monsters as you describe,
of great vices joined to great virtues; yet, in my progress through
life, I never yet found one instance of their existence; on the
contrary, I have ever perceived that where the mind was capacious the
affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in
this particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is
corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief.
This rule seems to extend even to other animals: the little vermin race
are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly; whilst those endowed with
strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle. "
"These observations sound well," returned I, "and yet it would be easy
this moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon
him, "whose head and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, sir,"
continued I, raising my voice, "and I am glad to have this opportunity
of detecting him in the midst of his fancied security. Do you know this,
sir—this pocket-book? " "Yes, sir," returned he, with a face of
impenetrable assurance; "that pocket-book is mine, and I am glad you
have found it. " "And do you know," cried I, "this letter? Nay, never
falter, man; but look me full in the face. I say, do you know this
letter? " "That letter? " replied he; "yes, it was I that wrote that
letter. " "And how could you," said I, "so basely, so ungratefully,
presume to write this letter? " "And how came you," replied he, with
looks of unparalleled effrontery, "so basely to presume to break open
this letter? Don't you know, now, I could hang you all for this? All
that I have to do is to swear at the next justice's that you have been
guilty of breaking open the lock of my pocket-book, and so hang you all
up at this door. " This piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a
pitch, that I could scarcely govern my passion. "Ungrateful wretch!
begone, and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness. Begone! and
never let me see thee again: go from my door! and the only punishment I
wish thee is an alarmed conscience, which will be a sufficient
tormentor! " So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up
with a smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost composure, left us
quite astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was
particularly enraged that nothing could make him angry, or make him seem
ashamed of his villanies. "My dear," cried I, willing to calm those
passions that had been raised too high among us, "we are not to be
surprised that bad men want shame; they only blush at being detected in
doing good, but glory in their vices.
"Guilt and Shame (says the allegory) were at first companions, and in
the beginning of their journey inseparably kept together. But their
union was soon found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both: Guilt
gave Shame frequent uneasiness, and Shame often betrayed the secret
conspiracies of Guilt. After long disagreement, therefore, they at
length consented to part for ever. Guilt boldly walked forward alone, to
overtake Fate, that went before in the shape of an executioner; but
Shame, being naturally timorous, returned back to keep company with
Virtue, which in the beginning of their journey they had left behind.
Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages in
vice, shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon the few virtues
they have still remaining. "
[Illustration: _p. _ 67. ]
_CHAPTER XVI. _
_The family use art, which is opposed by still greater. _
Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family
were easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our
landlord, whose visits now became more frequent and longer. Though he
had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the
town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with
those little recreations which our retirement would admit of. He usually
came in the morning, and while my son and I followed our occupations
abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing
the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He
could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere
of the play-houses, and had all the good things of the high wits by
rote, long before they made their way into the jest-books. The intervals
between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters piquet; or,
sometimes, in setting my two little ones to box, to make them _sharp_,
as he called it: but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law in some
measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be owned, that my
wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him; or, to speak it more
tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the
cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by Olivia; if the
gooseberry-wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering:
it was her fingers which gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in
the composition of a pudding it was her judgment that mixed the
ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the squire, that
she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both stand
up to see which was the tallest. These instances of cunning, which she
thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very
pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his
passion, which, though they had not arisen to proposals of marriage,
yet, we thought, fell but little short of it; and his slowness was
sometimes attributed to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of
offending his uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon after,
put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my
wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.
My wife and daughters, happening to return a visit at neighbour
Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by
a limner who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen
shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in
point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us,
and, notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved
that we should have our pictures done too. Having, therefore, engaged
the limner (for what could I do? ), our next deliberation was to show the
superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's
family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven
oranges: a thing quite out of taste—no variety in life—no composition in
the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style, and, after
many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn
together in one large historical family-piece. This would be cheaper,
since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more
genteel; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same
manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit
us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical
figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was
requested not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and
hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while I, in
my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian
controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of
flowers, dressed in a green joseph, richly laced with gold, and a whip
in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the
painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed out with a
hat and white feather.
Our taste so much pleased the squire that he insisted on being put in as
one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's
feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be
introduced into the family; nor could we refuse his request. The painter
was therefore set to work, and, as he wrought with assiduity and
expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece
was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which
my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with
his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance, which had not occurred
till the picture was finished, now struck us with dismay. It was so very
large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to
disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we
had all been greatly remiss. This picture, therefore, instead of
gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned in a most mortifying manner
against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted,
much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all
our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's longboat, too large
to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle;
some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it
ever got in.
But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more
malicious suggestions in many. The squire's portrait being found united
with ours was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers
began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually
disturbed by persons who came as friends to tell us what was said of us
by enemies. These reports were always resented with becoming spirit; but
scandal ever improves by opposition.
We once again, therefore, entered into consultation upon obviating the
malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too
much cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our
principal object was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's
addresses, my wife undertook to sound him, by pretending to ask his
advice in the choice of a husband for her eldest daughter. If this was
not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then
resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I
would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn
assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon
this occasion, if he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was
the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not
entirely approve.
The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls
took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an
opportunity of putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to
the next room, from whence they could overhear the whole conversation.
My wife artfully introduced it by observing, that one of the Miss
Flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To
this the squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who had
warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands: "But heaven
help," continued she, "the girls that have none! What signifies beauty,
Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue and all the
qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is not,
What is she? but, What has she? is all the cry. "
"Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice, as well as the
novelty, of your remarks; and if I were a king it should be otherwise.
It should then, indeed, be fine times for the girls without fortunes:
our two young ladies should be the first for whom I would provide. "
"Ah! sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious: but I
wish I were a queen, and then I know where my eldest daughter should
look for a husband. But now that you have put it into my head,
seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband for
her? she is now nineteen years old, well grown, and well educated; and,
in my humble opinion, does not want for parts. "
[Illustration:
_"Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice,
as well as the novelty, of your remarks; and if I were a
king it should be otherwise. "_—_p. _ 68.
]
"Madam," replied he, "if I were to choose, I would find out a person
possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy; one with
prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity: such, madam, would be, in my
opinion, the proper husband. " "Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of
any such person? " "No, madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know
any person that deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure
for one man's possession: she's a goddess. Upon my soul, I speak what I
think: she is an angel. " "Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor
girl: but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants,
whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager; you know whom I
mean—Farmer Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give her good
bread; and who has several times made her proposals" (which was actually
the case). "But, sir," concluded she, "I should be glad to have your
approbation of our choice. " "How, madam! " replied he, "my approbation!
My approbation of such a choice! Never. What! sacrifice so much beauty,
and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing!
Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice! And I have
my reasons. " "Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "if you have your reasons,
that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons. "
"Excuse me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery,"
(laying his hand upon his bosom,) "they remain buried, riveted here. "
After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what
to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of
the most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine: it seemed to
me pretty plain that they had more of love than matrimony in them; yet,
whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of
Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the
country, had paid her his addresses.
_CHAPTER XVII. _
_Scarcely any virtue found to resist the power of long
and pleasing temptation. _
As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr.
Williams pleased me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent and
sincere. It required but very little encouragement to revive his former
passion; so that in an evening or two he and Mr. Thornhill met at our
house, and surveyed each other for some time with looks of anger; but
Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his indignation.
Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to perfection, if that might be
called acting which was her real character, pretending to lavish all her
tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared quite dejected at
this preference, and with a pensive air took leave; though I own it
puzzled me to find him in so much pain as he appeared to be, when he had
it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by declaring an
honourable passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it
could easily be perceived that Olivia's anguish was much greater. After
any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there were several,
she usually retired to solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in
such a situation I found her one evening, after she had been for some
time supporting a fictitious gaiety. "You now see, my child," said I,
"that your confidence in Mr. Thornhill's passion was all a dream: he
permits the rivalry of another, every way his inferior, though he knows
it lies in his power to secure you to himself by a candid declaration. "
"Yes, papa," returned she, "but he has his reasons for this delay; I
know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words convinces me of his
real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover the generosity of his
sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of him has been more just
than yours. " "Olivia, my darling," returned I, "every scheme that has
been hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration has been proposed
and planned by yourself, nor can you in the least say that I have
constrained you. But you must not suppose, my dear, that I will ever be
instrumental in suffering his honest rival to be the dupe of your
ill-placed passion. Whatever time you require to bring your fancied
admirer to an explanation shall be granted; but at the expiration of
that term, if he is still regardless, I must absolutely insist that
honest Mr. Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity. The character
which I have hitherto supported in life demands this from me; and my
tenderness as a parent shall never influence my integrity as a man.
Name, then, your day: let it be as distant as you think proper, and in
the meantime take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact time on which
I design delivering you up to another. If he really loves you, his own
good sense will readily suggest that there is but one method alone to
prevent his losing you for ever. " This proposal, which she could not
avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to. She again
renewed her most positive promise of marrying Mr. Williams in case of
the other's insensibility; and at the next opportunity, in Mr.
Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials
with his rival.
Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety:
but what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle
between prudence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every
opportunity of solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed
away; but Mr. Thornhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The
succeeding week he was still assiduous, but not more open. On the third
he discontinued his visits entirely; and instead of my daughter
testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive
tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was
now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be
secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently
applauded her resolution in preferring happiness to ostentation.
It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little
family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of
the past, and laying schemes for the future; busied in forming a
thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. "Well,
Moses," cried I, "we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family;
what is your opinion of matters and things in general? " "My opinion,
father, is, that all things go on very well; and I was just now
thinking, that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we shall
then have the loan of the cider-press and brewing-tubs for nothing. "
"That we shall, Moses," cried I, "and he will sing us _Death and the
Lady_, to raise our spirits, into the bargain. " "He has taught that song
to our Dick," cried Moses; "and I think he goes through it very
prettily. " "Does he so? " cried I, "then let us have it: where is little
Dick? let him up with it boldly. " "My brother Dick," cried Bill, my
youngest, "is just gone out with his sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has
taught me two songs, and I'll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you
choose—_The Dying Swan_, or the _Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog_? " "The
elegy, child, by all means," said I; "I never heard that yet. And
Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry; let us have a bottle of the
best gooseberry-wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all
sorts of elegies of late, that, without an enlivening glass, I am sure
this will overcome me. And Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in
with the boy a little. "
AN ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man!
Around from all the neighb'ring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
[Illustration:
"_After any of these interviews between her lovers,
of which there were several, she usually retired to
solitude, and there indulged her grief. _"—_p. _ 71.
]
"A very good boy, Bill, upon my word; and an elegy that may be truly
called tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one
day be a bishop! "
"With all my heart," cried my wife; "and if he but preaches as well as
he sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the
mother's side, could sing a good song. It was a common saying in our
country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight
before them; nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle; and there were none
of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could
tell a story. " "However that be," cried I, "the most vulgar ballad of
all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things
that petrify us in a single stanza: productions that we at once detest
and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses. The great fault of
these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the
sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her
fan, or her lap-dog; and so the silly poet runs home to versify the
disaster. "
"That may be the mode," cried Moses, "in sublimer compositions; but the
Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast
in the same mould: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together;
he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a
nosegay; and then they go together to church, where they give good
advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can. "
"And very good advice too," cried I; "and I am told there is not a place
in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there:
for, as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and
surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what
we want, and supplied with it when wanting. "
"Yes, sir," returned Moses, "and I know but of two such markets for
wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The
Spanish market is open once a year, but our English wives are saleable
every night. "
"You are right, my boy," cried his mother; "Old England is the only
place in the world for husbands to get wives. " "And for wives to manage
their husbands," interrupted I. "It is a proverb abroad, that if a
bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the continent would
come over to take pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in
Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life,
and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for
thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself
happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth.
He has no such
fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now
growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are
descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good
and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live they will be our
support and our pleasure here, and when we die they will transmit our
honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song; let us
have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia? That little cherub's
voice is always sweetest in the concert. " Just as I spoke, Dick came
running in. "O papa, papa, she is gone from us! she is gone from us; my
sister Livy is gone from us for ever! " "Gone, child! " "Yes; she is gone
off with two gentlemen in a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and
said he would die for her; and she cried very much, and was for coming
back; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise, and
said, 'Oh! 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.
"Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such monsters as you describe,
of great vices joined to great virtues; yet, in my progress through
life, I never yet found one instance of their existence; on the
contrary, I have ever perceived that where the mind was capacious the
affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in
this particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is
corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief.
This rule seems to extend even to other animals: the little vermin race
are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly; whilst those endowed with
strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle. "
"These observations sound well," returned I, "and yet it would be easy
this moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon
him, "whose head and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, sir,"
continued I, raising my voice, "and I am glad to have this opportunity
of detecting him in the midst of his fancied security. Do you know this,
sir—this pocket-book? " "Yes, sir," returned he, with a face of
impenetrable assurance; "that pocket-book is mine, and I am glad you
have found it. " "And do you know," cried I, "this letter? Nay, never
falter, man; but look me full in the face. I say, do you know this
letter? " "That letter? " replied he; "yes, it was I that wrote that
letter. " "And how could you," said I, "so basely, so ungratefully,
presume to write this letter? " "And how came you," replied he, with
looks of unparalleled effrontery, "so basely to presume to break open
this letter? Don't you know, now, I could hang you all for this? All
that I have to do is to swear at the next justice's that you have been
guilty of breaking open the lock of my pocket-book, and so hang you all
up at this door. " This piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a
pitch, that I could scarcely govern my passion. "Ungrateful wretch!
begone, and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness. Begone! and
never let me see thee again: go from my door! and the only punishment I
wish thee is an alarmed conscience, which will be a sufficient
tormentor! " So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up
with a smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost composure, left us
quite astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was
particularly enraged that nothing could make him angry, or make him seem
ashamed of his villanies. "My dear," cried I, willing to calm those
passions that had been raised too high among us, "we are not to be
surprised that bad men want shame; they only blush at being detected in
doing good, but glory in their vices.
"Guilt and Shame (says the allegory) were at first companions, and in
the beginning of their journey inseparably kept together. But their
union was soon found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both: Guilt
gave Shame frequent uneasiness, and Shame often betrayed the secret
conspiracies of Guilt. After long disagreement, therefore, they at
length consented to part for ever. Guilt boldly walked forward alone, to
overtake Fate, that went before in the shape of an executioner; but
Shame, being naturally timorous, returned back to keep company with
Virtue, which in the beginning of their journey they had left behind.
Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages in
vice, shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon the few virtues
they have still remaining. "
[Illustration: _p. _ 67. ]
_CHAPTER XVI. _
_The family use art, which is opposed by still greater. _
Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family
were easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our
landlord, whose visits now became more frequent and longer. Though he
had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the
town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with
those little recreations which our retirement would admit of. He usually
came in the morning, and while my son and I followed our occupations
abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing
the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He
could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere
of the play-houses, and had all the good things of the high wits by
rote, long before they made their way into the jest-books. The intervals
between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters piquet; or,
sometimes, in setting my two little ones to box, to make them _sharp_,
as he called it: but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law in some
measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be owned, that my
wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him; or, to speak it more
tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the
cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by Olivia; if the
gooseberry-wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering:
it was her fingers which gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in
the composition of a pudding it was her judgment that mixed the
ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the squire, that
she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both stand
up to see which was the tallest. These instances of cunning, which she
thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very
pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his
passion, which, though they had not arisen to proposals of marriage,
yet, we thought, fell but little short of it; and his slowness was
sometimes attributed to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of
offending his uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon after,
put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my
wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.
My wife and daughters, happening to return a visit at neighbour
Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by
a limner who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen
shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in
point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us,
and, notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved
that we should have our pictures done too. Having, therefore, engaged
the limner (for what could I do? ), our next deliberation was to show the
superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's
family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven
oranges: a thing quite out of taste—no variety in life—no composition in
the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style, and, after
many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn
together in one large historical family-piece. This would be cheaper,
since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more
genteel; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same
manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit
us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical
figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was
requested not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and
hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while I, in
my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian
controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of
flowers, dressed in a green joseph, richly laced with gold, and a whip
in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the
painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed out with a
hat and white feather.
Our taste so much pleased the squire that he insisted on being put in as
one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's
feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be
introduced into the family; nor could we refuse his request. The painter
was therefore set to work, and, as he wrought with assiduity and
expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece
was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which
my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with
his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance, which had not occurred
till the picture was finished, now struck us with dismay. It was so very
large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to
disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we
had all been greatly remiss. This picture, therefore, instead of
gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned in a most mortifying manner
against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted,
much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all
our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's longboat, too large
to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle;
some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it
ever got in.
But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more
malicious suggestions in many. The squire's portrait being found united
with ours was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers
began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually
disturbed by persons who came as friends to tell us what was said of us
by enemies. These reports were always resented with becoming spirit; but
scandal ever improves by opposition.
We once again, therefore, entered into consultation upon obviating the
malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too
much cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our
principal object was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's
addresses, my wife undertook to sound him, by pretending to ask his
advice in the choice of a husband for her eldest daughter. If this was
not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then
resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I
would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn
assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon
this occasion, if he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was
the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not
entirely approve.
The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls
took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an
opportunity of putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to
the next room, from whence they could overhear the whole conversation.
My wife artfully introduced it by observing, that one of the Miss
Flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To
this the squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who had
warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands: "But heaven
help," continued she, "the girls that have none! What signifies beauty,
Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue and all the
qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is not,
What is she? but, What has she? is all the cry. "
"Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice, as well as the
novelty, of your remarks; and if I were a king it should be otherwise.
It should then, indeed, be fine times for the girls without fortunes:
our two young ladies should be the first for whom I would provide. "
"Ah! sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious: but I
wish I were a queen, and then I know where my eldest daughter should
look for a husband. But now that you have put it into my head,
seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband for
her? she is now nineteen years old, well grown, and well educated; and,
in my humble opinion, does not want for parts. "
[Illustration:
_"Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice,
as well as the novelty, of your remarks; and if I were a
king it should be otherwise. "_—_p. _ 68.
]
"Madam," replied he, "if I were to choose, I would find out a person
possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy; one with
prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity: such, madam, would be, in my
opinion, the proper husband. " "Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of
any such person? " "No, madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know
any person that deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure
for one man's possession: she's a goddess. Upon my soul, I speak what I
think: she is an angel. " "Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor
girl: but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants,
whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager; you know whom I
mean—Farmer Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give her good
bread; and who has several times made her proposals" (which was actually
the case). "But, sir," concluded she, "I should be glad to have your
approbation of our choice. " "How, madam! " replied he, "my approbation!
My approbation of such a choice! Never. What! sacrifice so much beauty,
and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing!
Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice! And I have
my reasons. " "Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "if you have your reasons,
that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons. "
"Excuse me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery,"
(laying his hand upon his bosom,) "they remain buried, riveted here. "
After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what
to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of
the most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine: it seemed to
me pretty plain that they had more of love than matrimony in them; yet,
whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of
Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the
country, had paid her his addresses.
_CHAPTER XVII. _
_Scarcely any virtue found to resist the power of long
and pleasing temptation. _
As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr.
Williams pleased me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent and
sincere. It required but very little encouragement to revive his former
passion; so that in an evening or two he and Mr. Thornhill met at our
house, and surveyed each other for some time with looks of anger; but
Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his indignation.
Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to perfection, if that might be
called acting which was her real character, pretending to lavish all her
tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared quite dejected at
this preference, and with a pensive air took leave; though I own it
puzzled me to find him in so much pain as he appeared to be, when he had
it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by declaring an
honourable passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it
could easily be perceived that Olivia's anguish was much greater. After
any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there were several,
she usually retired to solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in
such a situation I found her one evening, after she had been for some
time supporting a fictitious gaiety. "You now see, my child," said I,
"that your confidence in Mr. Thornhill's passion was all a dream: he
permits the rivalry of another, every way his inferior, though he knows
it lies in his power to secure you to himself by a candid declaration. "
"Yes, papa," returned she, "but he has his reasons for this delay; I
know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words convinces me of his
real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover the generosity of his
sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of him has been more just
than yours. " "Olivia, my darling," returned I, "every scheme that has
been hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration has been proposed
and planned by yourself, nor can you in the least say that I have
constrained you. But you must not suppose, my dear, that I will ever be
instrumental in suffering his honest rival to be the dupe of your
ill-placed passion. Whatever time you require to bring your fancied
admirer to an explanation shall be granted; but at the expiration of
that term, if he is still regardless, I must absolutely insist that
honest Mr. Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity. The character
which I have hitherto supported in life demands this from me; and my
tenderness as a parent shall never influence my integrity as a man.
Name, then, your day: let it be as distant as you think proper, and in
the meantime take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact time on which
I design delivering you up to another. If he really loves you, his own
good sense will readily suggest that there is but one method alone to
prevent his losing you for ever. " This proposal, which she could not
avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to. She again
renewed her most positive promise of marrying Mr. Williams in case of
the other's insensibility; and at the next opportunity, in Mr.
Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials
with his rival.
Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety:
but what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle
between prudence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every
opportunity of solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed
away; but Mr. Thornhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The
succeeding week he was still assiduous, but not more open. On the third
he discontinued his visits entirely; and instead of my daughter
testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive
tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was
now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be
secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently
applauded her resolution in preferring happiness to ostentation.
It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little
family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of
the past, and laying schemes for the future; busied in forming a
thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. "Well,
Moses," cried I, "we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family;
what is your opinion of matters and things in general? " "My opinion,
father, is, that all things go on very well; and I was just now
thinking, that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we shall
then have the loan of the cider-press and brewing-tubs for nothing. "
"That we shall, Moses," cried I, "and he will sing us _Death and the
Lady_, to raise our spirits, into the bargain. " "He has taught that song
to our Dick," cried Moses; "and I think he goes through it very
prettily. " "Does he so? " cried I, "then let us have it: where is little
Dick? let him up with it boldly. " "My brother Dick," cried Bill, my
youngest, "is just gone out with his sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has
taught me two songs, and I'll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you
choose—_The Dying Swan_, or the _Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog_? " "The
elegy, child, by all means," said I; "I never heard that yet. And
Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry; let us have a bottle of the
best gooseberry-wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all
sorts of elegies of late, that, without an enlivening glass, I am sure
this will overcome me. And Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in
with the boy a little. "
AN ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man!
Around from all the neighb'ring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
[Illustration:
"_After any of these interviews between her lovers,
of which there were several, she usually retired to
solitude, and there indulged her grief. _"—_p. _ 71.
]
"A very good boy, Bill, upon my word; and an elegy that may be truly
called tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one
day be a bishop! "
"With all my heart," cried my wife; "and if he but preaches as well as
he sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the
mother's side, could sing a good song. It was a common saying in our
country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight
before them; nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle; and there were none
of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could
tell a story. " "However that be," cried I, "the most vulgar ballad of
all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things
that petrify us in a single stanza: productions that we at once detest
and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses. The great fault of
these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the
sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her
fan, or her lap-dog; and so the silly poet runs home to versify the
disaster. "
"That may be the mode," cried Moses, "in sublimer compositions; but the
Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast
in the same mould: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together;
he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a
nosegay; and then they go together to church, where they give good
advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can. "
"And very good advice too," cried I; "and I am told there is not a place
in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there:
for, as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and
surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what
we want, and supplied with it when wanting. "
"Yes, sir," returned Moses, "and I know but of two such markets for
wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The
Spanish market is open once a year, but our English wives are saleable
every night. "
"You are right, my boy," cried his mother; "Old England is the only
place in the world for husbands to get wives. " "And for wives to manage
their husbands," interrupted I. "It is a proverb abroad, that if a
bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the continent would
come over to take pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in
Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life,
and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for
thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself
happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth.
He has no such
fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now
growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are
descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good
and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live they will be our
support and our pleasure here, and when we die they will transmit our
honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song; let us
have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia? That little cherub's
voice is always sweetest in the concert. " Just as I spoke, Dick came
running in. "O papa, papa, she is gone from us! she is gone from us; my
sister Livy is gone from us for ever! " "Gone, child! " "Yes; she is gone
off with two gentlemen in a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and
said he would die for her; and she cried very much, and was for coming
back; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise, and
said, 'Oh! 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.
