No More Learning

‘As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on the fate of my
paradoxes, a little man happening to enter the room, placed himself in
the box before me, and after some preliminary discourse, finding me to
be a scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, begging me to subscribe to
a new edition he was going to give the world of Propertius, with notes.
This demand necessarily produced a reply that I had no money; and
that concession led him to enquire into the nature of my expectations.
Finding that my expectations were just as great as my purse, I see,
cried he, you are unacquainted with the town, I’ll teach you a part of
it. Look at these proposals, upon these very proposals I have subsisted
very comfortably for twelve years. The moment a nobleman returns from
his travels, a Creolian arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from her
country seat, I strike for a subscription. I first besiege their hearts
with flattery, and then pour in my proposals at the breach. If they
subscribe readily the first time, I renew my request to beg a dedication
fee. If they let me have that, I smite them once more for engraving
their coat of arms at the top. Thus, continued he, I live by vanity, and
laugh at it. But between ourselves, I am now too well known, I should
be glad to borrow your face a bit: a nobleman of distinction has just
returned from Italy; my face is familiar to his porter; but if you
bring this copy of verses, my life for it you succeed, and we divide the
spoil. ’

‘Bless us, George,’ cried I, ‘and is this the employment of poets now!
Do men of their exalted talents thus stoop to beggary! Can they so far
disgrace their calling, as to make a vile traffic of praise for bread? ’

‘O no, Sir,’ returned he, ‘a true poet can never be so base; for
wherever there is genius there is pride. The creatures I now describe
are only beggars in rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every hardship
for fame, so he is equally a coward to contempt, and none but those who
are unworthy protection condescend to solicit it.

‘Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune
too humble to hazard a second attempt for fame, I was now, obliged to
take a middle course, and write for bread. But I was unqualified for a
profession where mere industry alone was to ensure success. I could not
suppress my lurking passion for applause; but usually consumed that
time in efforts after excellence which takes up but little room, when
it should have been more advantageously employed in the diffusive
productions of fruitful mediocrity. My little piece would therefore come
forth in the mist of periodical publication, unnoticed and unknown.
The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy
simplicity of my style, of the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet
was thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays
upon liberty, eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog; while
Philautos, Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Philanthropos, all wrote
better, because they wrote faster, than I.

‘Now, therefore, I began to associate with none but disappointed
authors, like myself, who praised, deplored, and despised each other.
The satisfaction we found in every celebrated writer’s attempts, was
inversely as their merits. I found that no genius in another could
please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source
of comfort. I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for
excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.

‘In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was one day sitting on a
bench in St James’s park, a young gentleman of distinction, who had been
my intimate acquaintance at the university, approached me. We saluted
each other with some hesitation, he almost ashamed of being known to
one who made so shabby an appearance, and I afraid of a repulse. But
my suspicions soon vanished; for Ned Thornhill was at the bottom a very
good-natured fellow.

‘What did you say, George? ’ interrupted I. ‘Thornhill, was not that his
name? It can certainly be no other than my landlord. ’--‘Bless me,’ cried
Mrs Arnold, ‘is Mr Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours? He has long
been a friend in our family, and we expect a visit from him shortly. ’

‘My friend’s first care,’ continued my son, ‘was to alter my appearance
by a very fine suit of his own cloaths, and then I was admitted to his
table upon the footing of half-friend, half-underling. My business was
to attend him at auctions, to put him in spirits when he sate for
his picture, to take the left hand in his chariot when not filled by
another, and to assist at tattering a kip, as the phrase was, when
we had a mind for a frolic. Beside this, I had twenty other little
employments in the family. I was to do many small things without
bidding; to carry the cork screw; to stand godfather to all the butler’s
children; to sing when I was bid; to be never out of humour; always to
be humble, and, if I could, to be very happy.

‘In this honourable post, however, I was not without a rival. A captain
of marines, who was formed for the place by nature, opposed me in my
patron’s affections. His mother had been laundress to a man of quality,
and thus he early acquired a taste for pimping and pedigree. As this
gentleman made it the study of his life to be acquainted with lords,
though he was dismissed from several for his stupidity; yet he
found many of them who were as dull as himself, that permitted his
assiduities. As flattery was his trade, he practised it with the easiest
address imaginable; but it came aukward and stiff from me; and as every
day my patron’s desire of flattery encreased, so every hour being better
acquainted with his defects, I became more unwilling to give it. Thus I
was once more fairly going to give up the field to the captain, when my
friend found occasion for my assistance. This was nothing less than to
fight a duel for him, with a gentleman whose sister it was pretended he
had used ill. I readily complied with his request, and tho’ I see you
are displeased at my conduct, yet as it was a debt indispensably due
to friendship, I could not refuse. I undertook the affair, disarmed my
antagonist, and soon after had the pleasure of finding that the lady was
only a woman of the town, and the fellow her bully and a sharper. This
piece of service was repaid with the warmest professions of gratitude;
but as my friend was to leave town in a few days, he knew no other
method of serving me, but by recommending me to his uncle Sir William
Thornhill, and another nobleman of great distinction, who enjoyed a post
under the government. When he was gone, my first care was to carry his
recommendatory letter to his uncle, a man whose character for every
virtue was universal, yet just. I was received by his servants with the
most hospitable smiles; for the looks of the domestics ever transmit
their master’s benevolence. Being shewn into a grand apartment, where
Sir William soon came to me, I delivered my message and letter, which
he read, and after pausing some minutes, Pray, Sir, cried he, inform me
what you have done for my kinsman, to deserve this warm recommendation?
But I suppose, Sir, I guess your merits, you have fought for him; and
so you would expect a reward from me, for being the instrument of his
vices. I wish, sincerely wish, that my present refusal may be some
punishment for your guilt; but still more, that it may be some
inducement to your repentance. --The severity of this rebuke I bore
patiently, because I knew it was just. My whole expectations now,
therefore, lay in my letter to the great man. As the doors of the
nobility are almost ever beset with beggars, all ready to thrust in some
sly petition, I found it no easy matter to gain admittance. However,
after bribing the servants with half my worldly fortune, I was at last
shewn into a spacious apartment, my letter being previously sent up for
his lordship’s inspection. During this anxious interval I had full time
to look round me. Every thing was grand, and of happy contrivance:
the paintings, the furniture, the gildings, petrified me with awe, and
raised my idea of the owner. Ah, thought I to myself, how very great
must the possessor of all these things be, who carries in his head the
business of the state, and whose house displays half the wealth of
a kingdom: sure his genius must be unfathomable! During these awful
reflections I heard a step come heavily forward. Ah, this is the great
man himself! No, it was only a chambermaid. Another foot was heard
soon after. This must be He! No, it was only the great man’s valet de
chambre. At last his lordship actually made his appearance. Are you,
cried he, the bearer of this here letter? I answered with a bow. I learn
by this, continued he, as how that--But just at that instant a servant
delivered him a card, and without taking farther notice, he went out of
the room, and left me to digest my own happiness at leisure. I saw no
more of him, till told by a footman that his lordship was going to his
coach at the door. Down I immediately followed, and joined my voice to
that of three or four more, who came, like me, to petition for favours.
His lordship, however, went too fast for us, and was gaining his Chariot
door with large strides, when I hallowed out to know if I was to have
any reply. He was by this time got in, and muttered an answer, half
of which only I heard, the other half was lost in the rattling of his
chariot wheels. I stood for some time with my neck stretched out, in
the posture of one that was listening to catch the glorious sounds, till
looking round me, I found myself alone at his lordship’s gate.

‘My patience,’ continued my son, ‘was now quite exhausted: stung with
the thousand indignities I had met with, I was willing to cast myself
away, and only wanted the gulph to receive me. I regarded myself as one
of those vile things that nature designed should be thrown by into her
lumber room, there to perish in obscurity. I had still, however, half
a guinea left, and of that I thought fortune herself should not deprive
me: but in order to be sure of this, I was resolved to go instantly and
spend it while I had it, and then trust to occurrences for the rest.
As I was going along with this resolution, it happened that Mr Cripse’s
office seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome reception. In this
office Mr Cripse kindly offers all his majesty’s subjects a generous
promise of 30 pounds a year, for which promise all they give in return
is their liberty for life, and permission to let him transport them to
America as slaves. I was happy at finding a place where I could lose my
fears in desperation, and entered this cell, for it had the appearance
of one, with the devotion of a monastic. Here I found a number of poor
creatures, all in circumstances like myself, expecting the arrival of
Mr Cripse, presenting a true epitome of English impatience. Each
untractable soul at variance with fortune, wreaked her injuries on their
own hearts: but Mr Cripse at last came down, and all our murmurs were
hushed. He deigned to regard me with an air of peculiar approbation,
and indeed he was the first man who for a month past talked to me with
smiles. After a few questions, he found I was fit for every thing in the
world. He paused a while upon the properest means of providing for me,
and slapping his forehead, as if he had found it, assured me, that there
was at that time an embassy talked of from the synod of Pensylvania to
the Chickasaw Indians, and that he would use his interest to get me
made secretary. I knew in my own heart that the fellow lied, and yet
his promise gave me pleasure, there was something so magnificent in the
sound. I fairly, therefore, divided my half guinea, one half of which
went to be added to his thirty thousand pound, and with the other half I
resolved to go to the next tavern, to be there more happy than he.

‘As I was going out with that resolution, I was met at the door by the
captain of a ship, with whom I had formerly some little acquaintance,
and he agreed to be my companion over a bowl of punch. As I never chose
to make a secret of my circumstances, he assured me that I was upon the
very point of ruin, in listening to the office-keeper’s promises; for
that he only designed to sell me to the plantations. But, continued he,
I fancy you might, by a much shorter voyage, be very easily put into
a genteel way of bread. Take my advice. My ship sails to-morrow for
Amsterdam; What if you go in her as a passenger? The moment you land all
you have to do is to teach the Dutchmen English, and I’ll warrant you’ll
get pupils and money enough. I suppose you understand English, added he,
by this time, or the deuce is in it. I confidently assured him of
that; but expressed a doubt whether the Dutch would be willing to
learn English. He affirmed with an oath that they were fond of it to
distraction; and upon that affirmation I agreed with his proposal, and
embarked the next day to teach the Dutch English in Holland. The wind
was fair, our voyage short, and after having paid my passage with half
my moveables, I found myself, fallen as from the skies, a stranger
in one of the principal streets of Amsterdam. In this situation I was
unwilling to let any time pass unemployed in teaching. I addressed
myself therefore to two or three of those I met whose appearance
seemed most promising; but it was impossible to make ourselves mutually
understood. It was not till this very moment I recollected, that in
order to teach Dutchmen English, it was necessary that they should first
teach me Dutch. How I came to overlook so obvious an objection, is to me
amazing; but certain it is I overlooked it

‘This scheme thus blown up, I had some thoughts of fairly shipping back
to England again; but happening into company with an Irish student,
who was returning from Louvain, our conversation turning upon topics of
literature, (for by the way it may be observed that I always forgot the
meanness of my circumstances when I could converse upon such subjects)
from him I learned that there were not two men in his whole university
who understood Greek. This amazed me. I instantly resolved to travel
to Louvain, and there live by teaching Greek; and in this design I was
heartened by my brother student, who threw out some hints that a fortune
might be got by it. ‘I set boldly forward the next morning. Every day
lessened the burthen of my moveables, like Aesop and his basket of
bread; for I paid them for my lodgings to the Dutch as I travelled on.
When I came to Louvain, I was resolved not to go sneaking to the lower
professors, but openly tendered my talents to the principal himself.
I went, had admittance, and offered him my service as a master of
the Greek language, which I had been told was a desideratum in his
university. The principal seemed at first to doubt of my abilities;
but of these I offered to convince him, by turning a part of any Greek
author he should fix upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly earnest in my
proposal, he addressed me thus: You see me, young man, continued he, I
never learned Greek, and I don’t find that I have ever missed it. I have
had a doctor’s cap and gown without Greek: I have ten thousand florins
a year without Greek; I eat heartily without Greek, and in short,
continued he, as I don’t know Greek, I do not believe there is any good
in it.

‘I was now too far from home to think of returning; so I resolved to go
forward. I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now
turned what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence.
I passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of
the French as were poor enough to be very merry; for I ever found
them sprightly in proportion to their wants. Whenever I approached a
peasant’s house towards night-fall, I played one of my most merry tunes,
and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next
day. I once or twice attempted to play for people of fashion; but they
always thought my performance odious, and never rewarded me even with
a trifle. This was to me the more extraordinary, as whenever I used in
better days to play for company, when playing was my amusement, my music
never failed to throw them into raptures, and the ladies especially; but
as it was now my only means, it was received with contempt: a proof
how ready the world is to under rate those talents by which a man is
supported.

‘In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no design but just to look
about me, and then to go forward. The people of Paris are much fonder of
strangers that have money, than of those that have wit. As I could not
boast much of either, I was no great favourite. After walking about the
town four or five days, and seeing the outsides of the best houses, I
was preparing to leave this retreat of venal hospitality, when passing
through one of the principal streets, whom should I meet but our cousin,
to whom you first recommended me. This meeting was very agreeable to me,
and I believe not displeasing to him. He enquired into the nature of my
journey to Paris, and informed me of his own business there, which was
to collect pictures, medals, intaglios, and antiques of all kinds, for a
gentleman in London, who had just stept into taste and a large fortune.
I was the more surprised at seeing our cousin pitched upon for this
office, as he himself had often assured me he knew nothing of the
matter. Upon my asking how he had been taught the art of a connoscento
so very suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy. The whole
secret consisted in a strict adherence to two rules: the one always
to observe, that the picture might have been better if the painter had
taken more pains; and the other, to praise the works of Pietro Perugino.
But, says he, as I once taught you how to be an author in London, I’ll
now undertake to instruct you in the art of picture buying at Paris.

‘With this proposal I very readily closed, as it was a living, and now
all my ambition was to live. I went therefore to his lodgings, improved
my dress by his assistance, and after some time, accompanied him to
auctions of pictures, where the English gentry were expected to be
purchasers. I was not a little surprised at his intimacy with people
of the best fashion, who referred themselves to his judgment upon every
picture or medal, as to an unerring standard of taste. He made very good
use of my assistance upon these occasions; for when asked his opinion,
he would gravely take me aside, and ask mine, shrug, look wise, return,
and assure the company, that he could give no opinion upon an affair
of so much importance. Yet there was sometimes an occasion for a more
supported assurance. I remember to have seen him, after giving his
opinion that the colouring of a picture was not mellow enough, very
deliberately take a brush with brown varnish, that was accidentally
lying by, and rub it over the piece with great composure before all the
company, and then ask if he had not improved the tints.

‘When he had finished his commission in Paris, he left me strongly
recommended to several men of distinction, as a person very proper for a
travelling tutor; and after some time I was employed in that capacity by
a gentleman who brought his ward to Paris, in order to set him forward
on his tour through Europe. I was to be the young gentleman’s governor,
but with a proviso that he should always be permitted to govern himself.
My pupil in fact understood the art of guiding in money concerns much
better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about two hundred thousand
pounds, left him by an uncle in the West Indies; and his guardians, to
qualify him for the management of it, had bound him apprentice to an
attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing passion: all his questions on
the road were how money might be saved, which was the least expensive
course of travel; whether any thing could be bought that would turn to
account when disposed of again in London. Such curiosities on the way
as could be seen for nothing he was ready enough to look at; but if the
sight of them was to be paid for, he usually asserted that he had been
told they were not worth seeing. He never paid a bill, that he would not
observe, how amazingly expensive travelling was, and all this though he
was not yet twenty-one. When arrived at Leghorn, as we took a walk to
look at the port and shipping, he enquired the expence of the passage by
sea home to England. This he was informed was but a trifle, compared
to his returning by land, he was therefore unable to withstand the
temptation; so paying me the small part of my salary that was due, he
took leave, and embarked with only one attendant for London.

‘I now therefore was left once more upon the world at large, but then
it was a thing I was used to. However my skill in music could avail me
nothing in a country where every peasant was a better musician than
I; but by this time I had acquired another talent, which answered my
purpose as well, and this was a skill in disputation. In all the foreign
universities and convents, there are upon certain days philosophical
theses maintained against every adventitious disputant; for which, if
the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in
money, a dinner, and a bed, for one night. In this manner therefore I
fought my way towards England, walked along from city to city, examined
mankind more nearly, and, if I may so express it, saw both sides of the
picture. My remarks, however, are but few: I found that monarchy was the
best government for the poor to live in, and commonwealths for the rich.
I found that riches in general were in every country another name for
freedom; and that no man is so fond of liberty himself as not to be
desirous of subjecting the will of some individuals in society to his
own.

‘Upon my arrival in England, I resolved to pay my respects first to you,
and then to enlist as a volunteer in the first expedition that was going
forward; but on my journey down my resolutions were changed, by meeting
an old acquaintance, who I found belonged to a company of comedians,
that were going to make a summer campaign in the country. The company
seemed not much to disapprove of me for an associate. They all, however,
apprized me of the importance of the task at which I aimed; that the
public was a many headed monster, and that only such as had very good
heads could please it: that acting was not to be learnt in a day; and
that without some traditional shrugs, which had been on the stage, and
only on the stage, these hundred years, I could never pretend to please.
The next difficulty was in fitting me with parts, as almost every
character was in keeping. I was driven for some time from one character
to another, till at last Horatio was fixed upon, which the presence of
the present company has happily hindered me from acting. ’



CHAPTER 21

The short continuance of friendship amongst the vicious,
which is coeval only with mutual satisfaction


My son’s account was too long to be delivered at once, the first part of
it was begun that night, and he was concluding the rest after dinner
the next day, when the appearance of Mr Thornhill’s equipage at the door
seemed to make a pause in the general satisfaction. The butler, who was
now become my friend in the family, informed me with a whisper, that
the ‘Squire had already made some overtures to Miss Wilmot, and that her
aunt and uncle seemed highly to approve the match. Upon Mr Thornhill’s
entering, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, to start back; but I
readily imputed that to surprize, and not displeasure. However, upon our
advancing to salute him, he returned our greeting with the most apparent
candour; and after a short time, his presence served only to encrease
the general good humour.

After tea he called me aside, to enquire after my daughter; but upon
my informing him that my enquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly
surprised; adding, that he had been since frequently at my house, in
order to comfort the rest of my family, whom he left perfectly well. He
then asked if I had communicated her misfortune to Miss Wilmot, or my
son; and upon my replying that I had not told them as yet, he greatly
approved my prudence and precaution, desiring me by all means to keep
it a secret: ‘For at best,’ cried he, ‘it is but divulging one’s own
infamy; and perhaps Miss Livy may not be so guilty as we all imagine. ’
We were here interrupted by a servant, who came to ask the ‘Squire in,
to stand up at country dances; so that he left me quite pleased with the
interest he seemed to take in my concerns. His addresses, however, to
Miss Wilmot, were too obvious to be mistaken; and yet she seemed not
perfectly pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to the will of her
aunt, than from real inclination. I had even the satisfaction to see her
lavish some kind looks upon my unfortunate son, which the other could
neither extort by his fortune nor assiduity. Mr Thornhill’s seeming
composure, however, not a little surprised me: we had now continued here
a week, at the pressing instances of Mr Arnold; but each day the more
tenderness Miss Wilmot shewed my son, Mr Thomhill’s friendship seemed
proportionably to encrease for him.

He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of using his interest
to serve the family; but now his generosity was not confined to promises
alone: the morning I designed for my departure, Mr Thornhill came to me
with looks of real pleasure to inform me of a piece of service he
had done for his friend George. This was nothing less than his having
procured him an ensign’s commission in one of the regiments that was
going to the West Indies, for which he had promised but one hundred
pounds, his interest having been sufficient to get an abatement of the
other two. ‘As for this trifling piece of service,’ continued the young
gentleman, ‘I desire no other reward but the pleasure of having served
my friend; and as for the hundred pound to be paid, if you are unable to
raise it yourselves, I will advance it, and you shall repay me at your
leisure. ’ This was a favour we wanted words to express our sense of.
I readily therefore gave my bond for the money, and testified as much
gratitude as if I never intended to pay.

George was to depart for town the next day to secure his commission,
in pursuance of his generous patron’s directions, who judged it highly
expedient to use dispatch, lest in the mean time another should step in
with more advantageous proposals. The next morning, therefore, our young
soldier was early prepared for his departure, and seemed the only person
among us that was not affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers
he was going to encounter, nor the friends and mistress, for Miss Wilmot
actually loved him, he was leaving behind, any way damped his spirits.
After he had taken leave of the rest of the company, I gave him all I
had, my blessing. ‘And now, my boy,’ cried I, ‘thou art going to fight
for thy country, remember how thy brave grandfather fought for his
sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue. Go, my boy, and
immitate him in all but his misfortunes, if it was a misfortune to die
with Lord Falkland. Go, my boy, and if you fall, tho’ distant, exposed
and unwept by those that love you, the most precious tears are those
with which heaven bedews the unburied head of a soldier. ’

The next morning I took leave of the good family, that had been kind
enough to entertain me so long, not without several expressions of
gratitude to Mr Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in the
enjoyment of all that happiness which affluence and good breeding
procure, and returned towards home, despairing of ever finding my
daughter more, but sending a sigh to heaven to spare and to forgive her.
I was now come within about twenty miles of home, having hired an horse
to carry me, as I was yet but weak, and comforted myself with the hopes
of soon seeing all I held dearest upon earth. But the night coming on,
I put up at a little public-house by the roadside, and asked for the
landlord’s company over a pint of wine. We sate beside his kitchen fire,
which was the best room in the house, and chatted on politics and the
news of the country. We happened, among other topics, to talk of young
‘Squire Thornhill, who the host assured me was hated as much as his
uncle Sir William, who sometimes came down to the country, was loved.
He went on to observe, that he made it his whole study to betray the
daughters of such as received him to their houses, and after a fortnight
or three weeks possession, turned them out unrewarded and abandoned to
the world. As we continued our discourse in this manner, his wife, who
had been out to get change, returned, and perceiving that her husband
was enjoying a pleasure in which she was not a sharer, she asked him,
in an angry tone, what he did there, to which he only replied in an
ironical way, by drinking her health. ‘Mr Symmonds,’ cried she, ‘you
use me very ill, and I’ll bear it no longer. Here three parts of the
business is left for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished; while you
do nothing but soak with the guests all day long, whereas if a spoonful
of liquor were to cure me of a fever, I never touch a drop. ’ I now found
what she would be at, and immediately poured her out a glass, which she
received with a curtesy, and drinking towards my good health, ‘Sir,’
resumed she, ‘it is not so much for the value of the liquor I am angry,
but one cannot help it, when the house is going out of the windows. If
the customers or guests are to be dunned, all the burthen lies upon my
back, he’d as lief eat that glass as budge after them himself. ’ There
now above stairs, we have a young woman who has come to take up
her lodgings here, and I don’t believe she has got any money by her
over-civility. I am certain she is very slow of payment, and I wish she
were put in mind of it. ’--‘What signifies minding her,’ cried the host,
‘if she be slow, she is sure. ’--‘I don’t know that,’ replied the wife;
‘but I know that I am sure she has been here a fortnight, and we have
not yet seen the cross of her money. ’--‘I suppose, my dear,’ cried he,
‘we shall have it all in a, lump. ’--‘In a lump! ’ cried the other, ‘I
hope we may get it any way; and that I am resolved we will this very
night, or out she tramps, bag and baggage. ’--‘Consider, my dear,’ cried
the husband, ‘she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect. ’--‘As for
the matter of that,’ returned the hostess, ‘gentle or simple, out she
shall pack with a sassarara. Gentry may be good things where they
take; but for my part I never saw much good of them at the sign of the
Harrow.
’--Thus saying, she ran up a narrow flight of stairs, that
went from the kitchen to a room over-head, and I soon perceived by the
loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her reproaches, that no
money was to be had from her lodger. I could hear her remonstrances
very distinctly: ‘Out I say, pack out this moment, tramp thou infamous
strumpet, or I’ll give thee a mark thou won’t be the better for this
three months. What! you trumpery, to come and take up an honest house,
without cross or coin to bless yourself with; come along I say. ’--‘O
dear madam,’ cried the stranger, ‘pity me, pity a poor abandoned
creature for one night, and death will soon do the rest. ’ I instantly
knew the voice of my poor ruined child Olivia. I flew to her rescue,
while the woman was dragging her along by the hair, and I caught the
dear forlorn wretch in my arms. --‘Welcome, any way welcome, my dearest
lost one, my treasure, to your poor old father’s bosom. Tho’ the vicious
forsake thee, there is yet one in the world that will never forsake
thee; tho’ thou hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget
them all. ’--‘O my own dear’--for minutes she could no more--‘my own
dearest good papa! Could angels be kinder! How do I deserve so much! The
villain, I hate him and myself, to be a reproach to such goodness. You
can’t forgive me. I know you cannot. ’--‘Yes, my child, from my heart I
do forgive thee! Only repent, and we both shall yet be happy. We shall
see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia! ’--‘Ah! never, sir, never. The
rest of my wretched life must be infamy abroad and shame at home. But,
alas! papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could such a thing
as I am give you so much uneasiness? Sure you have too much wisdom
to take the miseries of my guilt upon yourself. ’--‘Our wisdom, young
woman,’ replied I. --‘Ah, why so cold a name papa? ’ cried she. ‘This is
the first time you ever called me by so cold a name. ’--‘I ask pardon, my
darling,’ returned I; ‘but I was going to observe, that wisdom makes but
a slow defence against trouble, though at last a sure one.

The landlady now returned to know if we did not chuse a more genteel
apartment, to which assenting, we were shewn a room, where we could
converse more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of
tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations
that led to her present wretched situation. ‘That villain, sir,’ said
she, ‘from the first day of our meeting made me honourable, though
private, proposals. ’

‘Villain indeed,’ cried I; ‘and yet it in some measure surprizes me, how
a person of Mr Burchell’s good sense and seeming honour could be guilty
of such deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo it. ’

‘My dear papa,’ returned my daughter, ‘you labour under a strange
mistake, Mr Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead of that he
took every opportunity of privately admonishing me against the artifices
of Mr Thornhill, who I now find was even worse than he represented
him. ’--‘Mr Thornhill,’ interrupted I, ‘can it be? ’--‘Yes, Sir,’ returned
she, ‘it was Mr Thornhill who seduced me, who employed the two ladies,
as he called them, but who, in fact, were abandoned women of the town,
without breeding or pity, to decoy us up to London. Their artifices,
you may remember would have certainly succeeded, but for Mr Burchell’s
letter, who directed those reproaches at them, which we all applied
to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence as to defeat their
intentions, still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced he was ever
our warmest sincerest friend. ’

‘You amaze me, my dear,’ cried I; ‘but now I find my first suspicions
of Mr Thornhill’s baseness were too well grounded: but he can triumph in
security; for he is rich and we are poor. But tell me, my child, sure it
was no small temptation that could thus obliterate all the impressions
of such an education, and so virtuous a disposition as thine. ’

‘Indeed, Sir,’ replied she, ‘he owes all his triumph to the desire I had
of making him, and not myself, happy. I knew that the ceremony of our
marriage, which was privately performed by a popish priest, was no way
binding, and that I had nothing to trust to but his honour. ’ ‘What,’
interrupted I, ‘and were you indeed married by a priest, and in
orders? ’--‘Indeed, Sir, we were,’ replied she, ‘though we were both
sworn to conceal his name. ’--‘Why then, my child, come to my arms again,
and now you are a thousand times more welcome than before; for you are
now his wife to all intents and purposes; nor can all the laws of man,
tho’ written upon tables of adamant, lessen the force of that sacred
connexion. ’

‘Alas, Papa,’ replied she, ‘you are but little acquainted with his
villainies: he has been married already, by the same priest, to six or
eight wives more, whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned. ’

‘Has he so? ’ cried I, ‘then we must hang the priest, and you shall
inform against him to-morrow. ’--‘But Sir,’ returned she, ‘will that be
right, when I am sworn to secrecy? ’--‘My dear,’ I replied, ‘if you have
made such a promise, I cannot, nor will I tempt you to break it. Even
tho’ it may benefit the public, you must not inform against him. In all
human institutions a smaller evil is allowed to procure a greater good;
as in politics, a province may be given away to secure a kingdom; in
medicine, a limb may be lopt off, to preserve the body. But in religion
the law is written, and inflexible, never to do evil. And this law, my
child, is right: for otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil, to procure
a greater good, certain guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of
contingent advantage. And though the advantage should certainly follow,
yet the interval between commission and advantage, which is allowed to
be guilty, may be that in which we are called away to answer for the
things we have done, and the volume of human actions is closed for ever.
But I interrupt you, my dear, go on. ’

‘The very next morning,’ continued she, ‘I found what little
expectations I was to have from his sincerity. That very morning he
introduced me to two unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had deceived,
but who lived in contented prostitution. I loved him too tenderly to
bear such rivals in his affections, and strove to forget my infamy in a
tumult of pleasures. With this view, I danced, dressed, and talked; but
still was unhappy. The gentlemen who visited there told me every moment
of the power of my charms, and this only contributed to encrease my
melancholy, as I had thrown all their power quite away. Thus each day
I grew more pensive, and he more insolent, till at last the monster had
the assurance to offer me to a young Baronet of his acquaintance. Need I
describe, Sir, how his ingratitude stung me. My answer to this proposal
was almost madness. I desired to part. As I was going he offered me a
purse; but I flung it at him with indignation, and burst from him in
a rage, that for a while kept me insensible of the miseries of my
situation. But I soon looked round me, and saw myself a vile, abject,
guilty thing, without one friend in the world to apply to. Just in that
interval, a stage-coach happening to pass by, I took a place, it being
my only aim to be driven at a distance from a wretch I despised and
detested. I was set down here, where, since my arrival, my own anxiety,
and this woman’s unkindness, have been my only companions. The hours of
pleasure that I have passed with my mamma and sister, now grow painful
to me. Their sorrows are much; but mine is greater than theirs; for mine
are mixed with guilt and infamy. ’

‘Have patience, my child,’ cried I, ‘and I hope things will yet be
better. Take some repose to-night, and to-morrow I’ll carry you home
to your mother and the rest of the family, from whom you will receive
a kind reception. Poor woman, this has gone to her heart: but she loves
you still, Olivia, and will forget it.



CHAPTER 22

Offences are easily pardoned where there is love at bottom


The next morning I took my daughter behind me, and set out on my return
home. As we travelled along, I strove, by every persuasion, to calm her
sorrows and fears, and to arm her with resolution to bear the presence
of her offended mother. I took every opportunity, from the prospect of a
fine country, through which we passed, to observe how much kinder heaven
was to us, than we to each other, and that the misfortunes of nature’s
making were very few. I assured her, that she should never perceive any
change in my affections, and that during my life, which yet might be
long, she might depend upon a guardian and an instructor. I armed her
against the censures of the world, shewed her that books were sweet
unreproaching companions to the miserable, and that if they could not
bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it.

The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that night at an inn by
the way, within about five miles from my house, and as I was willing to
prepare my family for my daughter’s reception, I determined to leave her
that night at the inn, and to return for her, accompanied by my daughter
Sophia, early the next morning. It was night before we reached our
appointed stage: however, after seeing her provided with a decent
apartment, and having ordered the hostess to prepare proper
refreshments, I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And now my heart
caught new sensations of pleasure the nearer I approached that peaceful
mansion. As a bird that had been frighted from its nest, my affections
out-went my haste, and hovered round my little fire-side, with all the
rapture of expectation. I called up the many fond things I had to say,
and anticipated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife’s
tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of my little ones. As I walked
but slowly, the night wained apace. The labourers of the day were all
retired to rest; the lights were out in every cottage; no sounds were
heard but of the shrilling cock, and the deep-mouthed watch-dog, at
hollow distance. I approached my little abode of pleasure, and before
I was within a furlong of the place, our honest mastiff came running to
welcome me.

It was now near mid-night that I came to knock at my door: all was still
and silent: my heart dilated with unutterable happiness, when, to my
amazement, I saw the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, and every
apperture red with conflagration! I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and
fell upon the pavement insensible. This alarmed my son, who had till
this been asleep, and he perceiving the flames, instantly waked my wife
and daughter, and all running out, naked, and wild with apprehension,
recalled me to life with their anguish. But it was only to objects of
new terror; for the flames had, by this time, caught the roof of our
dwelling, part after part continuing to fall in, while the family stood,
with silent agony, looking on, as if they enjoyed the blaze. I gazed
upon them and upon it by turns, and then looked round me for my two
little ones; but they were not to be seen. O misery! ‘Where,’ cried I,
‘where are my little ones? ’--‘They are burnt to death in the flames,’
says my wife calmly, ‘and I will die with them. ’--That moment I heard
the cry of the babes within, who were just awaked by the fire, and
nothing could have stopped me. ‘Where, where, are my children? ’ cried
I, rushing through the flames, and bursting the door of the chamber in
which they were confined, ‘Where are my little ones? ’--‘Here, dear papa,
here we are,’ cried they together, while the flames were just catching
the bed where they lay. I caught them both in my arms, and snatched them
through the fire as fast as possible, while just as I was got out,
the roof sunk in. ‘Now,’ cried I, holding up my children, ‘now let the
flames burn on, and all my possessions perish. Here they are, I have
saved my treasure. Here, my dearest, here are our treasures, and we
shall yet be happy. ’ We kissed our little darlings a thousand times,
they clasped us round the neck, and seemed to share our transports,
while their mother laughed and wept by turns.

I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some time, began
to perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched in a terrible
manner. It was therefore out of my power to give my son any assistance,
either in attempting to save our goods, or preventing the flames
spreading to our corn. By this time, the neighbours were alarmed, and
came running to our assistance; but all they could do was to stand, like
us, spectators of the calamity. My goods, among which were the notes I
had reserved for my daughters’ fortunes, were entirely consumed, except
a box, with some papers that stood in the kitchen, and two or three
things more of little consequence, which my son brought away in the
beginning. The neighbours contributed, however, what they could to
lighten our distress. They brought us cloaths, and furnished one of our
out-houses with kitchen utensils; so that by day-light we had another,
tho’ a wretched, dwelling to retire to. My honest next neighbour, and
his children, were not the least assiduous in providing us with
every thing necessary, and offering what ever consolation untutored
benevolence could suggest.

When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know the cause
of my long stay began to take place; having therefore informed them of
every particular, I proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our
lost one, and tho’ we had nothing but wretchedness now to impart, I was
willing to procure her a welcome to what we had. This task would have
been more difficult but for our recent calamity, which had humbled my
wife’s pride, and blunted it by more poignant afflictions. Being unable
to go for my poor child myself, as my arm grew very painful, I sent my
son and daughter, who soon returned, supporting the wretched delinquent,
who had not the courage to look up at her mother, whom no instructions
of mine could persuade to a perfect reconciliation; for women have a
much stronger sense of female error than men. ‘Ah, madam,’ cried her
mother, ‘this is but a poor place you are come to after so much finery.
My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to persons
who have kept company only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy,
your poor father and I have suffered very much of late; but I hope
heaven will forgive you. ’--During this reception, the unhappy victim
stood pale and trembling, unable to weep or to reply; but I could not
continue a silent spectator of her distress, wherefore assuming a degree
of severity in my voice and manner, which was ever followed with instant
submission, ‘I entreat, woman, that my words may be now marked once for
all: I have here brought you back a poor deluded wanderer; her return to
duty demands the revival of our tenderness. The real hardships of life
are now coming fast upon us, let us not therefore encrease them by
dissention among each other. If we live harmoniously together, we may
yet be contented, as there are enough of us to shut out the censuring
world, and keep each other in countenance. The kindness of heaven is
promised to the penitent, and let ours be directed by the example.
Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to view a repentant sinner,
than ninety nine persons who have supported a course of undeviating
rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort by which we stop
short in the downhill path to perdition, is itself a greater exertion of
virtue, than an hundred acts of justice. ’



CHAPTER 23

None but the guilty can be long and completely miserable


Some assiduity was now required to make our present abode as convenient
as possible, and we were soon again qualified to enjoy our former
serenity. Being disabled myself from assisting my son in our usual
occupations, I read to my family from the few books that were saved, and
particularly from such, as, by amusing the imagination, contributed to
ease the heart. Our good neighbours too came every day with the kindest
condolence, and fixed a time in which they were all to assist at
repairing my former dwelling. Honest farmer Williams was not last among
these visitors; but heartily offered his friendship. He would even have
renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she rejected them in such a
manner as totally represt his future solicitations. Her grief seemed
formed for continuing, and she was the only person of our little
society that a week did not restore to cheerfulness. She now lost that
unblushing innocence which once taught her to respect herself, and to
seek pleasure by pleasing. Anxiety now had taken strong possession of
her mind, her beauty began to be impaired with her constitution, and
neglect still more contributed to diminish it. Every tender epithet
bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her heart and a tear to her
eye; and as one vice, tho’ cured, ever plants others where it has been,
so her former guilt, tho’ driven out by repentance, left jealousy and
envy behind. I strove a thousand ways to lessen her care, and even
forgot my own pain in a concern for her’s, collecting such amusing
passages of history, as a strong memory and some reading could suggest.
‘Our happiness, my dear,’ I would say, ‘is in the power of one who can
bring it about a thousand unforeseen ways, that mock our foresight. If
example be necessary to prove this, I’ll give you a story, my child,
told us by a grave, tho’ sometimes a romancing, historian.

‘Matilda was married very young to a Neapolitan nobleman of the first
quality, and found herself a widow and a mother at the age of fifteen.
As she stood one day caressing her infant son in the open window of an
apartment, which hung over the river Volturna, the child, with a sudden
spring, leaped from her arms into the flood below, and disappeared in a
moment. The mother, struck with instant surprize, and making all effort
to save him, plunged in after; but, far from being able to assist the
infant, she herself with great difficulty escaped to the opposite shore,
just when some French soldiers were plundering the country on that side,
who immediately made her their prisoner.

‘As the war was then carried on between the French and Italians with
the utmost inhumanity, they were going at once to perpetrate those
two extremes, suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base resolution,
however, was opposed by a young officer, who, tho’ their retreat
required the utmost expedition, placed her behind him, and brought her
in safety to his native city. Her beauty at first caught his eye, her
merit soon after his heart. They were married; he rose to the highest
posts; they lived long together, and were happy. But the felicity of
a soldier can never be called permanent: after an interval of several
years, the troops which he commanded having met with a repulse, he was
obliged to take shelter in the city where he had lived with his wife.
Here they suffered a siege, and the city at length was taken. Few
histories can produce more various instances of cruelty, than those
which the French and Italians at that time exercised upon each other. It
was resolved by the victors, upon this occasion, to put all the French
prisoners to death; but particularly the husband of the unfortunate
Matilda, as he was principally instrumental in protracting the siege.
Their determinations were, in general, executed almost as soon as
resolved upon. The captive soldier was led forth, and the executioner,
with his sword, stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy silence
awaited the fatal blow, which was only suspended till the general, who
presided as judge, should give the signal. It was in this interval of
anguish and expectation, that Matilda came to take her last farewell
of her husband and deliverer, deploring her wretched situation, and the
cruelty of fate, that had saved her from perishing by a premature death
in the river Volturna, to be the spectator of still greater calamities.
The general, who was a young man, was struck with surprize at her
beauty, and pity at her distress; but with still stronger emotions when
he heard her mention her former dangers. He was her son, the infant for
whom she had encounter’d so much danger. He acknowledged her at once as
his mother, and fell at her feet. The rest may be easily supposed: the
captive was set free, and all the happiness that love, friendship, and
duty could confer on each, were united. ’

In this manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter; but she listened
with divided attention; for her own misfortunes engrossed all the pity
she once had for those of another, and nothing gave her ease. In company
she dreaded contempt; and in solitude she only found anxiety. Such was
the colour of her wretchedness, when we received certain information,
that Mr Thornhill was going to be married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I
always suspected he had a real passion, tho’ he took every opportunity
before me to express his contempt both of her person and fortune. This
news only served to encrease poor Olivia’s affliction; such a flagrant
breach of fidelity, was more than her courage could support. I was
resolved, however, to get more certain information, and to defeat, if
possible, the completion of his designs, by sending my son to old Mr
Wilmot’s, with instructions to know the truth of the report, and to
deliver Miss Wilmot a letter, intimating Mr Thornhill’s conduct in my
family. My son went, in pursuance of my directions, and in three days
returned, assuring us of the truth of the account; but that he had found
it impossible to deliver the letter, which he was therefore obliged to
leave, as Mr Thornhill and Miss Wilmot were visiting round the country.
They were to be married, he said, in a few days, having appeared
together at church the Sunday before he was there, in great splendour,
the bride attended by six young ladies, and he by as many gentlemen.
Their approaching nuptials filled the whole country with rejoicing, and
they usually rode out together in the grandest equipage that had been
seen in the country for many years. All the friends of both families,
he said, were there, particularly the ‘Squire’s uncle, Sir William
Thornhill, who bore so good a character. He added, that nothing but
mirth and feasting were going forward; that all the country praised the
young bride’s beauty, and the bridegroom’s fine person, and that they
were immensely fond of each other; concluding, that he could not help
thinking Mr Thornhill one of the most happy men in the world.

‘Why let him if he can,’ returned I: ‘but, my son, observe this bed of
straw, and unsheltering roof; those mouldering walls, and humid floor;
my wretched body thus disabled by fire, and my children weeping round
me for bread; you have come home, my child, to all this, yet here,
even here, you see a man that would not for a thousand worlds exchange
situations. O, my children, if you could but learn to commune with your
own hearts, and know what noble company you can make them, you would
little regard the elegance and splendours of the worthless. Almost
all men have been taught to call life a passage, and themselves the
travellers. The similitude still may be improved when we observe that
the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going towards
home; the wicked but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going
into exile. ’

My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this new disaster,
interrupted what I had farther to observe. I bade her mother support
her, and after a short time she recovered. She appeared from that time
more calm, and I imagined had gained a new degree of resolution;
but appearances deceived me; for her tranquility was the langour of
over-wrought resentment. A supply of provisions, charitably sent us by
my kind parishioners, seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness amongst the
rest of the family, nor was I displeased at seeing them once more
sprightly and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their
satisfactions, merely to condole with resolute melancholy, or to burthen
them with a sadness they did not feel. Thus, once more, the tale went
round and the song was demanded, and cheerfulness condescended to hover
round our little habitation.



CHAPTER 24

Fresh calamities


The next morning the sun rose with peculiar warmth for the season; so
that we agreed to breakfast together on the honeysuckle bank: where,
while we sate, my youngest daughter, at my request, joined her voice to
the concert on the trees about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia
first met her seducer, and every object served to recall her sadness.
But that melancholy, which is excited by objects of pleasure, or
inspired by sounds of harmony, sooths the heart instead of corroding it.
Her mother too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept,
and loved her daughter as before. ‘Do, my pretty Olivia,’ cried she,
‘let us have that little melancholy air your pappa was so fond of, your
sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do child, it will please your old
father. ’ She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.


When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To
give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom--is to die.


As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an interruption in
her voice from sorrow gave peculiar softness, the appearance of Mr
Thornhill’s equipage at a distance alarmed us all, but particularly
encreased the uneasiness of my eldest daughter, who, desirous of
shunning her betrayer, returned to the house with her sister. In a few
minutes he was alighted from his chariot, and making up to the place
where I was still sitting, enquired after my health with his usual air
of familiarity. ‘Sir,’ replied I, ‘your present assurance only serves
to aggravate the baseness of your character; and there was a time when I
would have chastised your insolence, for presuming thus to appear before
me. But now you are safe; for age has cooled my passions, and my calling
restrains them. ’

‘I vow, my dear sir,’ returned he, ‘I am amazed at all this; nor can I
understand what it means! I hope you don’t think your daughter’s late
excursion with me had any thing criminal in it. ’

‘Go,’ cried I, ‘thou art a wretch, a poor pitiful wretch, and every
way a lyar; but your meanness secures you from my anger! Yet sir, I am
descended from a family that would not have borne this! And so, thou
vile thing, to gratify a momentary passion, thou hast made one poor
creature wretched for life, and polluted a family that had nothing but
honour for their portion. ’

‘If she or you,’ returned he, ‘are resolved to be miserable, I cannot
help it. But you may still be happy; and whatever opinion you may have
formed of me, you shall ever find me ready to contribute to it. We can
marry her to another in a short time, and what is more, she may keep her
lover beside; for I protest I shall ever continue to have a true regard
for her. ’

I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading proposal; for
though the mind may often be calm under great injuries, little villainy
can at any time get within the soul, and sting it into rage. --‘Avoid
my sight, thou reptile,’ cried I, ‘nor continue to insult me with thy
presence. Were my brave son at home, he would not suffer this; but I am
old, and disabled, and every way undone. ’

‘I find,’ cried he, ‘you are bent upon obliging me to talk in an harsher
manner than I intended.