No More Learning

"Ay, sir,"
replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that moment, "ay,
sir, the world is in its dotage; and yet the cosmogony or creation of
the world has puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a medley of
opinions have they not broached upon the creation of the world!
Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted
it in vain. The latter has these words, _Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to
pan_, which imply that all things have neither beginning nor end.
Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon-Asser,—Asser being
a Syriac word usually applied as a surname to the kings of that country,
as Teglet Phael-Asser; Nabon-Asser,—he, I say, formed a conjecture
equally absurd; for as we usually say, _ek to biblion kubernetes_, which
implies that books will never teach the world, so he attempted to
investigate——But, sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the question. "

That he actually was; nor could I for my life see how the creation of
the world had anything to do with the business I was talking of; but it
was sufficient to show me that he was a man of letters, and I now
reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to bring him to the
touchstone; but he was too gentle to contend for victory. Whenever I
made any observation that looked like a challenge to controversy, he
would smile, shake his head, and say nothing; by which I understood he
could say much if he thought proper. The subject, therefore, insensibly
changed from the business of antiquity to that which brought us both to
the fair: mine, I told him, was to sell a horse; and, very luckily
indeed, his was to buy one for one of his tenants. My horse was soon
produced, and in fine we struck a bargain. Nothing now remained but to
pay me, and he accordingly pulled out a thirty-pound note, and bade me
change it. Not being in a capacity of complying with his demand, he
ordered his footman to be called up, who made his appearance in a very
genteel livery. "Here, Abraham," cried he, "go and get gold for this;
you'll do it at neighbour Jackson's, or anywhere. " While the fellow was
gone, he entertained me with a pathetic harangue on the great scarcity
of silver, which I undertook to improve by deploring also the great
scarcity of gold; so that, by the time Abraham returned, we had both
agreed that money was never so hard to be come at as now. Abraham
returned to inform us, that he had been over the whole fair and could
not get change, though he had offered half-a-crown for doing it. This
was a very great disappointment to us all; but the old gentlemen having
paused a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flamborough in my part
of the country; upon replying that he was my next-door neighbour, "If
that be the case then," returned he, "I believe we shall deal. You shall
have a draft upon him, payable at sight; and let me tell you, he is as
warm a man as any within five miles round him. Honest Solomon and I have
been acquainted for many years together. I remember I always beat him at
three jumps; but he could hop upon one leg further than I. " A draft upon
my neighbour was to me the same as money; I was sufficiently convinced
of his ability. The draft was signed and put into my hands, and Mr.
Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man Abraham, and my horse, old
Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased with each other.

After a short interval, being left to reflection, I began to recollect
that I had done wrong in taking a draft from a stranger, and so
prudently resolved upon following the purchaser, and having back my
horse. But this was now too late; I therefore made directly homewards,
resolving to get the draft changed into money at my friend's as fast as
possible. I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe at his own door;
and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he read it twice
over. "You can read the name, I suppose," cried I—"Ephraim Jenkinson. "
"Yes," returned he, "the name is written plain enough, and I know the
gentleman too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This is
the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a
venerable-looking man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes?
and did he not talk a long string of learning about Greek, cosmogony,
and the world? " To this I replied with a groan. "Ay," continued he, "he
has but that one piece of learning in the world, and he always talks it
away whenever he finds a scholar in company: but I know the rogue, and
will catch him yet. "

Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my greatest struggle was to
come, in facing my wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of
returning to school, there to behold the master's visage, than I was of
going home. I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury, by
first falling into a passion myself.

But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no way disposed for battle.
My wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there
that day to inform them that their journey to town was entirely over.
The two ladies, having heard reports of us from some malicious person
about us, were that day set out for London. He could neither discover
the tendency nor the author of these; but, whatever they might be, or
whoever might have broached them, he continued to assure our family of
his friendship and protection. I found, therefore, that they bore my
disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in the
greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most, was to think who
could be so base as to asperse the character of a family so harmless as
ours—too humble to excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.




_CHAPTER XV. _

_All Mr. Burchell's villany at once detected. —
The folly of being over-wise. _


That evening, and part of the following day, was employed in fruitless
attempts to discover our enemies: scarcely a family in the neighbourhood
but incurred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinion
best known to ourselves. As we were in this perplexity, one of our
little boys, who had been playing abroad, brought in a letter-case which
he found on the green. It was quickly known to belong to Mr. Burchell,
with whom it had been seen; and, upon examination, contained some hints
upon different subjects; but what particularly engaged our attention was
a sealed note, superscribed, "The copy of a letter to be sent to the two
ladies at Thornhill Castle. " It instantly occurred that he was the base
informer: and we deliberated whether the note should not be broken open.
I was against it; but Sophia, who said she was sure that of all men he
would be the last to be guilty of so much baseness, insisted upon its
being read. In this she was seconded by the rest of the family; and at
their joint solicitation, I read as follows:—

[Illustration:

"_So saying, I threw him his pocket-book,
which he took up with a smile. _"—_p. _ 64.
]


"LADIES,

"The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as to the person from whom
this comes: one at least the friend of innocence, and ready to prevent
its being seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you have some
intention of bringing two young ladies to town, whom I have some
knowledge of, under the character of companions. As I would neither have
simplicity imposed upon nor virtue contaminated, I must offer it as my
opinion that the impropriety of such a step will be attended with
dangerous consequences. It has never been my way to treat the infamous
or the lewd with severity; nor should I now have taken this method of
explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take,
therefore, the admonition of a friend, and seriously reflect on the
consequences of introducing infamy and vice into retreats where peace
and innocence have hitherto resided. "

Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed indeed something applicable
to both sides in this letter, and its censures might as well be referred
to those to whom it was written as to us; but the malicious meaning was
obvious, and we went no farther. My wife had scarcely patience to hear
me to the end, but railed at the writer with unrestrained resentment.
Olivia was equally severe, and Sophia seemed perfectly amazed at his
baseness. As for my part, it appeared to me one of the vilest instances
of unprovoked ingratitude I had ever met with. Nor could I account for
it in any other manner than by imputing it to his desire of detaining my
youngest daughter in the country, to have the more frequent
opportunities of an interview. In this manner we all sat ruminating upon
schemes of vengeance, when our other little boy came running in to tell
us that Mr. Burchell was approaching at the other end of the field. It
is easier to conceive than describe the complicated sensations which are
felt from the pain of a recent injury, and the pleasure of approaching
vengeance. Though our intentions were only to upbraid him with his
ingratitude, yet it was resolved to do it in a manner that would be
perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to meet him with our usual
smiles, to chat in the beginning with more than ordinary kindness, to
amuse him a little; and then, in the midst of the flattering calms to
burst upon him like an earthquake, and overwhelm him with the sense of
his own baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to manage
the business herself, as she really had some talents for such an
undertaking. We saw him approach; he entered, drew a chair, and sat
down. "A fine day, Mr. Burchell. " "A very fine day, doctor; though I
fancy we shall have some rain, by the shooting of my corns. " "The
shooting of your horns! " cried my wife, in a loud fit of laughter, and
then asked pardon for being fond of a joke. "Dear madam," replied he, "I
pardon you with all my heart; for I protest I should not have thought it
a joke had you not told me. " "Perhaps not, sir," cried my wife, winking
at us: "and yet I dare say you can tell us how many jokes go to an
ounce. " "I fancy, madam," returned Burchell, "you have been reading a
jest-book this morning, that ounce of jokes is so very good a conceit;
and yet, madam, I had rather see half an ounce of understanding. " "I
believe you might," cried my wife, still smiling at us, though the laugh
was against her; "and yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding
that have very little. " "And no doubt," replied her antagonist, "you
have known ladies set up for wit that had none. " I quickly began to find
that my wife was likely to gain but little at this business; so I
resolved to treat him in a style of more severity myself. "Both wit and
understanding," cried I, "are trifles without integrity; it is that
which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant without
fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or
courage without a heart?

'An honest man's the noblest work of God. '"

"I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope's," returned Mr. Burchell,
"as very unworthy of a man of genius, and a base desertion of his own
superiority. As the reputation of books is raised, not by their freedom
from defect, but the greatness of their beauties; so should that of men
be prized, not for their exemption from fault, but the size of those
virtues they are possessed of. The scholar may want prudence; the
statesman may have pride, and the champion ferocity; but shall we prefer
to these the low mechanic, who laboriously plods on through life without
censure or applause? We might as well prefer the tame, correct paintings
of the Flemish school to the erroneous, but sublime animations of the
Roman pencil. "

"Sir," replied I, "your present observation is just, when there are
shining virtues and minute defects; but when it appears that great vices
are opposed in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a
character deserves contempt. "

"Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such monsters as you describe,
of great vices joined to great virtues; yet, in my progress through
life, I never yet found one instance of their existence; on the
contrary, I have ever perceived that where the mind was capacious the
affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in
this particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is
corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief.
This rule seems to extend even to other animals: the little vermin race
are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly; whilst those endowed with
strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle. "

"These observations sound well," returned I, "and yet it would be easy
this moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye 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.