No More Learning

‘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. But as I have shewn you what may be hoped from
my friendship, it may not be improper to represent what may be the
consequences of my resentment. My attorney, to whom your late bond
has been transferred, threatens hard, nor do I know how to prevent the
course of justice, except by paying the money myself, which, as I have
been at some expences lately, previous to my intended marriage, is not
so easy to be done. And then my steward talks of driving for the rent:
it is certain he knows his duty; for I never trouble myself with affairs
of that nature. Yet still I could wish to serve you, and even to have
you and your daughter present at my marriage, which is shortly to be
solemnized with Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of my charming
Arabella herself, whom I hope you will not refuse. ’

‘Mr Thornhill,’ replied I, ‘hear me once for all: as to your marriage
with any but my daughter, that I never will consent to; and though your
friendship could raise me to a throne, or your resentment sink me to the
grave, yet would I despise both. Thou hast once wofully, irreparably,
deceived me. I reposed my heart upon thine honour, and have found its
baseness. Never more, therefore, expect friendship from me. Go, and
possess what fortune has given thee, beauty, riches, health, and
pleasure. Go, and leave me to want, infamy, disease, and sorrow. Yet
humbled as I am, shall my heart still vindicate its dignity, and though
thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my contempt. ’

‘If so,’ returned he, ‘depend upon it you shall feel the effects of
this insolence, and we shall shortly see which is the fittest object of
scorn, you or me. ’--Upon which he departed abruptly.

My wife and son, who were present at this interview, seemed terrified
with the apprehension. My daughters also, finding that he was gone, came
out to be informed of the result of our conference, which, when known,
alarmed them not less than the rest. But as to myself, I disregarded the
utmost stretch of his malevolence: he had already struck the blow,
and now I stood prepared to repel every new effort. Like one of those
instruments used in the art of war, which, however thrown, still
presents a point to receive the enemy.

We soon, however, found that he had not threatened in vain; for the very
next morning his steward came to demand my annual rent, which, by the
train of accidents already related, I was unable to pay. The consequence
of my incapacity was his driving my cattle that evening, and their being
appraised and sold the next day for less than half their value. My wife
and children now therefore entreated me to comply upon any terms, rather
than incur certain destruction. They even begged of me to admit his
visits once more, and used all their little eloquence to paint the
calamities I was going to endure. The terrors of a prison, in so
rigorous a season as the present, with the danger, that threatened my
health from the late accident that happened by the fire. But I continued
inflexible.

‘Why, my treasures,’ cried I, ‘why will you thus attempt to persuade me
to the thing that is not right! My duty has taught me to forgive him;
but my conscience will not permit me to approve. Would you have me
applaud to the world what my heart must internally condemn? Would you
have me tamely sit down and flatter our infamous betrayer; and to
avoid a prison continually suffer the more galling bonds of mental
confinement! No, never. If we are to be taken from this abode, only let
us hold to the right, and wherever we are thrown, we can still retire
to a charming apartment, when we can look round our own hearts with
intrepidity and with pleasure! ’

In this manner we spent that evening. Early the next morning, as the
snow had fallen in great abundance in the night, my son was employed in
clearing it away, and opening a passage before the door. He had not been
thus engaged long, when he came running in, with looks all pale, to
tell us that two strangers, whom he knew to be officers of justice, were
making towards the house.

Just as he spoke they came in, and approaching the bed where I lay,
after previously informing me of their employment and business, made me
their prisoner, bidding me prepare to go with them to the county gaol,
which was eleven miles off.

‘My friends,’ said I, ‘this is severe weather on which you have come to
take me to a prison; and it is particularly unfortunate at this time,
as one of my arms has lately been burnt in a terrible manner, and it has
thrown me into a slight fever, and I want cloaths to cover me, and I am
now too weak and old to walk far in such deep snow: but if it must be
so--’

I then turned to my wife and children, and directed them to get together
what few things were left us, and to prepare immediately for leaving
this place. I entreated them to be expeditious, and desired my son to
assist his elder sister, who, from a consciousness that she was the
cause of all our calamities, was fallen, and had lost anguish in
insensibility. I encouraged my wife, who, pale and trembling, clasped
our affrighted little ones in her arms, that clung to her bosom in
silence, dreading to look round at the strangers. In the mean time
my youngest daughter prepared for our departure, and as she received
several hints to use dispatch, in about an hour we were ready to depart.



CHAPTER 25

No situation, however wretched it seems, but has some sort
of comfort attending it


We set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood, and walked on slowly.
My eldest daughter being enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for
some days to undermine her constitution, one of the officers, who had
an horse, kindly took her behind him; for even these men cannot entirely
divest themselves of humanity. My son led one of the little ones by the
hand, and my wife the other, while I leaned upon my youngest girl, whose
tears fell not for her own but my distresses.

We were now got from my late dwelling about two miles, when we saw a
crowd running and shouting behind us, consisting of about fifty of my
poorest parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations, soon seized
upon the two officers of justice, and swearing they would never see
their minister go to gaol while they had a drop of blood to shed in his
defence, were going to use them with great severity. The consequence
might have been fatal, had I not immediately interposed, and with some
difficulty rescued the officers from the hands of the enraged multitude.
My children, who looked upon my delivery now as certain, appeared
transported with joy, and were incapable of containing their raptures.
But they were soon undeceived, upon hearing me address the poor deluded
people, who came, as they imagined, to do me service.

‘What! my friends,’ cried I, ‘and is this the way you love me! Is this
the manner you obey the instructions I have given you from the pulpit!
Thus to fly in the face of justice, and bring down ruin on yourselves
and me! Which is your ringleader? Shew me the man that has thus seduced
you. As sure as he lives he shall feel my resentment. Alas! my dear
deluded flock, return back to the duty you owe to God, to your country,
and to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see you in greater felicity here,
and contribute to make your lives more happy. But let it at least be my
comfort when I pen my fold for immortality, that not one here shall be
wanting. ’

They now seemed all repentance, and melting into tears, came one after
the other to bid me farewell. I shook each tenderly by the hand, and
leaving them my blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any farther
interruption. Some hours before night we reached the town, or rather
village; for it consisted but of a few mean houses, having lost all its
former opulence, and retaining no marks of its ancient superiority but
the gaol.

Upon entering, we put up at an inn, where we had such refreshments as
could most readily be procured, and I supped with my family with my
usual cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that
night, I next attended the sheriff’s officers to the prison, which had
formerly been built for the purposes of war, and consisted of one large
apartment, strongly grated, and paved with stone, common to both felons
and debtors at certain hours in the four and twenty. Besides this, every
prisoner had a separate cell, where he was locked in for the night.

I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but lamentations, and
various sounds of misery; but it was very different. The prisoners
seemed all employed in one common design, that of forgetting thought in
merriment or clamour. I was apprized of the usual perquisite required
upon these occasions, and immediately complied with the demand, though
the little money I had was very near being all exhausted. This was
immediately sent away for liquor, and the whole prison soon was filled
with riot, laughter, and prophaneness.

‘How,’ cried I to myself, ‘shall men so very wicked be chearful, and
shall I be melancholy! I feel only the same confinement with them, and I
think I have more reason to be happy. ’

With such reflections I laboured to become chearful; but chearfulness
was never yet produced by effort, which is itself painful. As I was
sitting therefore in a corner of the gaol, in a pensive posture, one
of my fellow prisoners came up, and sitting by me, entered into
conversation. It was my constant rule in life never to avoid the
conversation of any man who seemed to desire it: for if good, I might
profit by his instruction; if bad, he might be assisted by mine. I found
this to be a knowing man, of strong unlettered sense; but a thorough
knowledge of the world, as it is called, or, more properly speaking,
of human nature on the wrong side. He asked me if I had taken care to
provide myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had never once
attended to.

‘That’s unfortunate,’ cried he, ‘as you are allowed here nothing but
straw, and your apartment is very large and cold. However you seem to be
something of a gentleman, and as I have been one myself in my time, part
of my bed-cloaths are heartily at your service. ’

I thanked him, professing my surprize at finding such humanity in a gaol
in misfortunes; adding, to let him see that I was a scholar, ‘That the
sage ancient seemed to understand the value of company in affliction,
when he said, Ton kosman aire, ei dos ton etairon; and in fact,’
continued I, ‘what is the World if it affords only solitude? ’

‘You talk of the world, Sir,’ returned my fellow prisoner; ‘the world
is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has
puzzled the philosophers of every age. What a medly of opinions have
they not broached upon the creation of the world. Sanconiathon, Manetho,
Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have all attempted it in vain. The latter
has these words. Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which implies’--‘I
ask pardon, Sir,’ cried I, ‘for interrupting so much learning; but I
think I have heard all this before. Have I not had the pleasure of once
seeing you at Welbridge fair, and is not your name Ephraim Jenkinson? ’
At this demand he only sighed. ‘I suppose you must recollect,’ resumed
I, ‘one Doctor Primrose, from whom you bought a horse. ’

He now at once recollected me; for the gloominess of the place and
the approaching night had prevented his distinguishing my features
before. --‘Yes, Sir,’ returned Mr Jenkinson, ‘I remember you perfectly
well; I bought an horse, but forgot to pay for him. Your neighbour
Flamborough is the only prosecutor I am any way afraid of at the next
assizes: for he intends to swear positively against me as a coiner. I
am heartily sorry, Sir, I ever deceived you, or indeed any man; for you
see,’ continued he, shewing his shackles, ‘what my tricks have brought
me to. ’

‘Well, sir,’ replied I, ‘your kindness in offering me assistance, when
you could expect no return, shall be repaid with my endeavours to soften
or totally suppress Mr Flamborough’s evidence, and I will send my son to
him for that purpose the first opportunity; nor do I in the least doubt
but he will comply with my request, and as to my evidence, you need be
under no uneasiness about that. ’

‘Well, sir,’ cried he, ‘all the return I can make shall be yours. You
shall have more than half my bed-cloaths to night, and I’ll take care to
stand your friend in the prison, where I think I have some influence. ’

I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised at the present
youthful change in his aspect; for at the time I had seen him before he
appeared at least sixty. --‘Sir,’ answered he, you are little acquainted
with the world; I had at that time false hair, and have learnt the art
of counterfeiting every age from seventeen to seventy. Ah sir, had I but
bestowed half the pains in learning a trade, that I have in learning to
be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man at this day. But rogue as
I am, still I may be your friend, and that perhaps when you least expect
it. ’

We were now prevented from further conversation, by the arrival of the
gaoler’s servants, who came to call over the prisoners names, and lock
up for the night. A fellow also, with a bundle of straw for my bed
attended, who led me along a dark narrow passage into a room paved like
the common prison, and in one corner of this I spread my bed, and the
cloaths given me by my fellow prisoner; which done, my conductor, who
was civil enough, bade me a good-night. After my usual meditations, and
having praised my heavenly corrector, I laid myself down and slept with
the utmost tranquility till morning.



CHAPTER 26

A reformation in the gaol. To make laws complete, they
should reward as well as punish.


The next morning early I was awakened by my family, whom I found in
tears at my bed-side. The gloomy strength of every thing about us, it
seems, had daunted them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, assuring them
I had never slept with greater tranquility, and next enquired after
my eldest daughter, who was not among them. They informed me that
yesterday’s uneasiness and fatigue had encreased her fever, and it was
judged proper to leave her behind. My next care was to send my son to
procure a room or two to lodge the family in, as near the prison
as conveniently could be found. He obeyed; but could only find one
apartment, which was hired at a small expence, for his mother and
sisters, the gaoler with humanity consenting to let him and his two
little brothers lie in the prison with me. A bed was therefore prepared
for them in a corner of the room, which I thought answered very
conveniently. I was willing however previously to know whether my
little children chose to lie in a place which seemed to fright them upon
entrance.

‘Well,’ cried I, ‘my good boys, how do you like your bed? I hope you are
not afraid to lie in this room, dark as it appears. ’

‘No, papa,’ says Dick, ‘I am not afraid to lie any where where you are. ’

‘And I,’ says Bill, who was yet but four years old, ‘love every place
best that my papa is in. ’

After this, I allotted to each of the family what they were to do.
My daughter was particularly directed to watch her declining sister’s
health; my wife was to attend me; my little boys were to read to me:
‘And as for you, my son,’ continued I, ‘it is by the labour of your
hands we must all hope to be supported. Your wages, as a day-labourer,
will be full sufficient, with proper frugality, to maintain us all, and
comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years old, and hast strength, and
it was given thee, my son, for very useful purposes; for it must save
from famine your helpless parents and family. Prepare then this evening
to look out for work against to-morrow, and bring home every night what
money you earn, for our support. ’

Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I walked down to the
common prison, where I could enjoy more air and room. But I was not long
there when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that invaded me on
every side, drove me back to my apartment again. Here I sate for some
time, pondering upon the strange infatuation of wretches, who finding
all mankind in open arms against them, were labouring to make themselves
a future and a tremendous enemy.

Their insensibility excited my highest compassion, and blotted my own
uneasiness from my mind. It even appeared a duty incumbent upon me to
attempt to reclaim them. I resolved therefore once more to return, and
in spite of their contempt to give them my advice, and conquer them by
perseverance. Going therefore among them again, I informed Mr Jenkinson
of my design, at which he laughed heartily, but communicated it to the
rest. The proposal was received with the greatest good-humour, as it
promised to afford a new fund of entertainment to persons who had now
no other resource for mirth, but what could be derived from ridicule or
debauchery.

I therefore read them a portion of the service with a loud unaffected
voice, and found my audience perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd
whispers, groans of contrition burlesqued, winking and coughing,
alternately excited laughter. However, I continued with my natural
solemnity to read on, sensible that what I did might amend some, but
could itself receive no contamination from any.

After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, which was rather
calculated at first to amuse them than to reprove. I previously
observed, that no other motive but their welfare could induce me
to this; that I was their fellow prisoner, and now got nothing by
preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hear them so very prophane; because
they got nothing by it, but might lose a great deal: ‘For be assured,
my friends,’ cried I, ‘for you are my friends, however the world may
disclaim your friendship, though you swore twelve thousand oaths in
a day, it would not put one penny in your purse. Then what signifies
calling every moment upon the devil, and courting his friendship, since
you find how scurvily he uses you. He has given you nothing here,
you find, but a mouthful of oaths and an empty belly; and by the best
accounts I have of him, he will give you nothing that’s good hereafter.

‘If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally go elsewhere.
Were it not worth your while then, just to try how you may like the
usage of another master, who gives you fair promises at least to come
to him.
Surely, my Friends, of all stupidity in the world, his must
be greatest, who, after robbing an house, runs to the thieftakers for
protection. And yet how are you more wise? You are all seeking comfort
from one that has already betrayed you, applying to a more malicious
being than any thieftaker of them all; for they only decoy, and then
hang you; but he decoys and hangs, and what is worst of all, will not
let you loose after the hangman has done. ’

When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some
of whom came and shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest
fellow, and that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore
promised to repeat my lecture next day, and actually conceived some
hopes of making a reformation here; for it had ever been my opinion,
that no man was past the hour of amendment, every heart lying open to
the shafts of reproof, if the archer could but take a proper aim. When
I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back to my apartment, where my wife
had prepared a frugal meal, while Mr Jenkinson begged leave to add his
dinner to ours, and partake of the pleasure, as he was kind enough to
express it of my conversation. He had not yet seen my family, for as
they came to my apartment by a door in the narrow passage, already
described, by this means they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at
the first interview therefore seemed not a little struck with the beauty
of my youngest daughter, which her pensive air contributed to heighten,
and my little ones did not pass unnoticed.

‘Alas, Doctor,’ cried he, ‘these children are too handsome and too good
for such a place as this! ’

Why, Mr Jenkinson’, replied I, ‘thank heaven my children are pretty
tolerable in morals, and if they be good, it matters little for the
rest. ’

‘I fancy, sir,’ returned my fellow prisoner, ‘that it must give you
great comfort to have this little family about you. ’

‘A comfort, Mr Jenkinson,’ replied I, ‘yes it is indeed a comfort, and I
would not be without them for all the world; for they can make a
dungeon seem a palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding my
happiness, and that is by injuring them. ’

‘I am afraid then, sir,’ cried he, ‘that I am in some measure culpable;
for I think I see here (looking at my son Moses) one that I have
injured, and by whom I wish to be forgiven. ’

My son immediately recollected his voice and features, though he had
before seen him in disguise, and taking him by the hand, with a smile
forgave him. ‘Yet,’ continued he, ‘I can’t help wondering at what you
could see in my face, to think me a proper mark for deception. ’

‘My dear sir,’ returned the other, ‘it was not your face, but your white
stockings and the black ribband in your hair, that allured me. But no
disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you in my
time; and yet, with all my tricks, the blockheads have been too many for
me at last. ’

‘I suppose,’ cried my son, ‘that the narrative of such a life as yours
must be extremely instructive and amusing. ’

‘Not much of either,’ returned Mr Jenkinson. ‘Those relations which
describe the tricks and vices only of mankind, by increasing our
suspicion in life, retard our success. The traveller that distrusts
every person he meets, and turns back upon the appearance of every man
that looks like a robber, seldom arrives in time at his journey’s end.

‘Indeed I think from my own experience, that the knowing one is the
silliest fellow under the sun. I was thought cunning from my very
childhood; when but seven years old the ladies would say that I was a
perfect little man; at fourteen I knew the world, cocked my hat, and
loved the ladies; at twenty, though I was perfectly honest, yet every
one thought me so cunning, that not one would trust me. Thus I was at
last obliged to turn sharper in my own defence, and have lived
ever since, my head throbbing with schemes to deceive, and my heart
palpitating with fears of detection.

‘I used often to laugh at your honest simple neighbour Flamborough,
and one way or another generally cheated him once a year. Yet still the
honest man went forward without suspicion, and grew rich, while I still
continued tricksy and cunning, and was poor, without the consolation of
being honest.

‘However,’ continued he, ‘let me know your case, and what has brought
you here; perhaps though I have not skill to avoid a gaol myself, I may
extricate my friends. ’

In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him of the whole train of
accidents and follies that had plunged me into my present troubles, and
my utter inability to get free.

After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes, he slapt his forehead,
as if he had hit upon something material, and took his leave, saying he
would try what could be done.



CHAPTER 27

The same subject continued


The next morning I communicated to my wife and children the scheme I had
planned of reforming the prisoners, which they received with universal
disapprobation, alledging the impossibility and impropriety of it;
adding, that my endeavours would no way contribute to their amendment,
but might probably disgrace my calling.

‘Excuse me,’ returned I, ‘these people, however fallen, are still men,
and that is a very good title to my affections. Good council rejected
returns to enrich the giver’s bosom; and though the instruction I
communicate may not mend them, yet it will assuredly mend myself. If
these wretches, my children, were princes, there would be thousands
ready to offer their ministry; but, in my opinion, the heart that is
buried in a dungeon is as precious as that seated upon a throne. Yes, my
treasures, if I can mend them I will; perhaps they will not all despise
me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from the gulph, and, that will
be great gain; for is there upon earth a gem so precious as the human
soul? ’

Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the common prison, where I
found the prisoners very merry, expecting my arrival; and each prepared
with some gaol trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was going to
begin, one turned my wig awry, as if by accident, and then asked my
pardon. A second, who stood at some distance, had a knack of spitting
through his teeth, which fell in showers upon my book. A third would cry
amen in such an affected tone as gave the rest great delight. A fourth
had slily picked my pocket of my spectacles. But there was one whose
trick gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; for observing the
manner in which I had disposed my books on the table before me, he very
dextrously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his
own in the place. However I took no notice of all that this mischievous
groupe of little beings could do; but went on, perfectly sensible that
what was ridiculous in my attempt, would excite mirth only the first
or second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design
succeeded, and in less than six days some were penitent, and all
attentive.

It was now that I applauded my perseverance and address, at thus giving
sensibility to wretches divested of every moral feeling, and now began
to think of doing them temporal services also, by rendering their
situation somewhat more comfortable. Their time had hitherto been
divided between famine and excess, tumultous riot and bitter repining.
Their only employment was quarrelling among each other, playing at
cribbage, and cutting tobacco stoppers. From this last mode of idle
industry I took the hint of setting such as chose to work at cutting
pegs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being bought by a
general subscription, and when manufactured, sold by my appointment; so
that each earned something every day: a trifle indeed, but sufficient to
maintain him.

I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the punishment of
immorality, and rewards for peculiar industry. Thus in less than a
fortnight I had formed them into something social and humane, and had
the pleasure of regarding myself as a legislator, who had brought men
from their native ferocity into friendship and obedience.

And it were highly to be wished, that legislative power would thus
direct the law rather to reformation than severity. That it would
seem convinced that the work of eradicating crimes is not by making
punishments familiar, but formidable. Then instead of our present
prisons, which find or make men guilty, which enclose wretches for the
commission of one crime, and return them, if returned alive, fitted
for the perpetration of thousands; we should see, as in other parts of
Europe, places of penitence and solitude, where the accused might be
attended by such as could give them repentance if guilty, or new motives
to virtue if innocent. And this, but not the increasing punishments, is
the way to mend a state: nor can I avoid even questioning the validity
of that right which social combinations have assumed of capitally
punishing offences of a slight nature. In cases of murder their right is
obvious, as it is the duty of us all, from the law of self-defence,
to cut off that man who has shewn a disregard for the life of another.
Against such, all nature arises in arms; but it is not so against him
who steals my property. Natural law gives me no right to take away his
life, as by that the horse he steals is as much his property as mine. If
then I have any right, it must be from a compact made between us, that
he who deprives the other of his horse shall die. But this is a false
compact; because no man has a right to barter his life, no more than
to take it away, as it is not his own. And beside, the compact is
inadequate, and would be set aside even in a court of modern equity, as
there is a great penalty for a very trifling convenience, since it is
far better that two men should live, than that one man should ride.
But a compact that is false between two men, is equally so between an
hundred, or an hundred thousand; for as ten millions of circles can
never make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the
smallest foundation to falsehood. It is thus that reason speaks, and
untutored nature says the same thing. Savages that are directed by
natural law alone are very tender of the lives of each other; they
seldom shed blood but to retaliate former cruelty.

Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had but few executions
in times of peace; and in all commencing governments that have the print
of nature still strong upon them, scarce any crime is held capital.

It is among the citizens of a refined community that penal laws, which
are in the hands of the rich, are laid upon the poor. Government, while
it grows older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age; and as if our
property were become dearer in proportion as it increased, as if
the more enormous our wealth, the more extensive our fears, all our
possessions are paled up with new edicts every day, and hung round with
gibbets to scare every invader.

I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our penal laws, or
the licentiousness of our people, that this country should shew more
convicts in a year, than half the dominions of Europe united. Perhaps
it is owing to both; for they mutually produce each other. When by
indiscriminate penal laws a nation beholds the same punishment affixed
to dissimilar degrees of guilt, from perceiving no distinction in the
penalty, the people are led to lose all sense of distinction in the
crime, and this distinction is the bulwark of all morality: thus the
multitude of laws produce new vices, and new vices call for fresh
restraints.

It were to be wished then that power, instead a contriving new laws
to punish vice, instead of drawing hard the cords of society till a
convulsion come to burst them, instead of cutting away wretches as
useless, before we have tried their utility, instead of converting
correction into vengeance, it were to be wished that we tried the
restrictive arts of government, and made law the protector, but not the
tyrant of the people. We should then find that creatures, whose souls
are held as dross, only wanted the hand of a refiner; we should then
find that wretches, now stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should
feel a momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to sinew the
state in times of danger; that, as their faces are like ours, their
hearts are so too; that few minds are so base as that perseverance
cannot amend; that a man may see his last crime without dying for it;
and that very little blood will serve to cement our security.



CHAPTER 28

Happiness and misery rather the result of prudence than of
virtue in this life. Temporal evils or felicities being
regarded by heaven as things merely in themselves trifling
and unworthy its care in the distribution


I had now been confined more than a fortnight, but had not since my
arrival been visited by my dear Olivia, and I greatly longed to see her.
Having communicated my wishes to my wife, the next morning the poor girl
entered my apartment, leaning on her sister’s arm. The change which
I saw in her countenance struck me. The numberless graces that once
resided there were now fled, and the hand of death seemed to have molded
every feature to alarm me. Her temples were sunk, her forehead was
tense, and a fatal paleness sate upon her cheek.

‘I am glad to see thee, my dear,’ cried I; ‘but why this dejection
Livy? I hope, my love, you have too great a regard for me, to permit
disappointment thus to undermine a life which I prize as my own. Be
chearful child, and we yet may see happier days. ’

‘You have ever, sir,’ replied she, ‘been kind to me, and it adds to my
pain that I shall never have an opportunity of sharing that happiness
you promise. Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for me here; and I
long to be rid of a place where I have only found distress. Indeed, sir,
I wish you would make a proper submission to Mr Thornhill; it may, in
some measure, induce him to pity you, and it will give me relief in
dying. ’

‘Never, child,’ replied I, ‘never will I be brought to acknowledge my
daughter a prostitute; for tho’ the world may look upon your offence
with scorn, let it be mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of
guilt. My dear, I am no way miserable in this place, however dismal it
may seem, and be assured that while you continue to bless me by living,
he shall never have my consent to make you more wretched by marrying
another. ’

After the departure of my daughter, my fellow prisoner, who was by
at this interview, sensibly enough expostulated upon my obstinacy, in
refusing a submission, which promised to give me freedom. He observed,
that the rest of my family was not to be sacrificed to the peace of one
child alone, and she the only one who had offended me. ‘Beside,’ added
he, ‘I don’t know if it be just thus to obstruct the union of man and
wife, which you do at present, by refusing to consent to a match which
you cannot hinder, but may render unhappy. ’

‘Sir,’ replied I, ‘you are unacquainted with the man that oppresses
us. I am very sensible that no submission I can make could procure me
liberty even for an hour. I am told that even in this very room a debtor
of his, no later than last year, died for want. But though my submission
and approbation could transfer me from hence, to the most beautiful
apartment he is possessed of; yet I would grant neither, as something
whispers me that it would be giving a sanction to adultery. While my
daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall ever be legal in my
eye. Were she removed, indeed, I should be the basest of men, from any
resentment of my own, to attempt putting asunder those who wish for an
union. No, villain as he is, I should then wish him married, to prevent
the consequences of his future debaucheries. But now should I not be
the most cruel of all fathers, to sign an Instrument which must send my
child to the grave, merely to avoid a prison myself; and thus to escape
one pang, break my child’s heart with a thousand? ’

He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but could not avoid
observing, that he feared my daughter’s life was already too much wasted
to keep me long a prisoner. ‘However,’ continued he, ‘though you refuse
to submit to the nephew, I hope you have no objections to laying your
case before the uncle, who has the first character in the kingdom for
every thing that is just and good. I would advise you to send him a
letter by the post, intimating all his nephew’s ill usage, and my life
for it that in three days you shall have an answer. ’ I thank’d him for
the hint, and instantly set about complying; but I wanted paper, and
unluckily all our money had been laid out that morning in provisions;
however he supplied me.

For the three ensuing days I was in a state of anxiety, to know what
reception my letter might meet with; but in the mean time was frequently
solicited by my wife to submit to any conditions rather than remain
here, and every hour received repeated accounts of the decline of my
daughter’s health. The third day and the fourth arrived, but I received
no answer to my letter: the complaints of a stranger against a favourite
nephew, were no way likely to succeed; so that these hopes soon vanished
like all my former. My mind, however, still supported itself though
confinement and bad air began to make a visible alteration in my health,
and my arm that had suffered in the fire, grew worse. My children
however sate by me, and while I was stretched on my straw, read to me by
turns, or listened and wept at my instructions. But my daughter’s
health declined faster than mine; every message from her contributed
to encrease my apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning after I had
written the letter which was sent to Sir William Thornhill, I was
alarmed with an account that she was speechless. Now it was, that
confinement was truly painful to me; my soul was bursting from its
prison to be near the pillow of my child, to comfort, to strengthen
her, to receive her last wishes, and teach her soul the way to heaven!
Another account came. She was expiring, and yet I was debarred the small
comfort of weeping by her. My fellow prisoner, some time after, came
with the last account. He bade me be patient. She was dead! --The next
morning he returned, and found me with my two little ones, now my only
companions, who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me.
They entreated to read to me, and bade me not to cry, for I was now
too old to weep. ‘And is not my sister an angel, now, pappa,’ cried the
eldest, ‘and why then are you sorry for her? I wish I were an angel
out of this frightful place, if my pappa were with me. ’ ‘Yes,’ added
my youngest darling, ‘Heaven, where my sister is, is a finer place than
this, and there are none but good people there, and the people here are
very bad. ’

Mr Jenkinson interupted their harmless prattle, by observing that now my
daughter was no more, I should seriously think of the rest of my family,
and attempt to save my own life, which was every day declining, for want
of necessaries and wholesome air. He added, that it was now incumbent
on me to sacrifice any pride or resentment of my own, to the welfare of
those who depended on me for support; and that I was now, both by reason
and justice, obliged to try to reconcile my landlord.

‘Heaven be praised,’ replied I, ‘there is no pride left me now, I should
detest my own heart if I saw either pride or resentment lurking there.
On the contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parishioner, I hope
one day to present him up an unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal.
No, sir, I have no resentment now, and though he has taken from me what
I held dearer than all his treasures, though he has wrung my heart, for
I am sick almost to fainting, very sick, my fellow prisoner, yet that
shall never inspire me with vengeance. I am now willing to approve his
marriage, and if this submission can do him any pleasure, let him know,
that if I have done him any injury, I am sorry for it. ’ Mr Jenkinson
took pen and ink, and wrote down my submission nearly as I have exprest
it, to which I signed my name. My son was employed to carry the letter
to Mr Thornhill, who was then at his seat in the country. He went,
and in about six hours returned with a verbal answer. He had some
difficulty, he said, to get a sight of his landlord, as the servants
were insolent and suspicious; but he accidentally saw him as he was
going out upon business, preparing for his marriage, which was to be in
three days. He continued to inform us, that he stept up in the humblest
manner, and delivered the letter, which, when Mr Thornhill had read, he
said that all submission was now too late and unnecessary; that he had
heard of our application to his uncle, which met with the contempt it
deserved; and as for the rest, that all future applications should be
directed to his attorney, not to him. He observed, however, that as he
had a very good opinion of the discretion of the two young ladies, they
might have been the most agreeable intercessors.

‘Well, sir,’ said I to my fellow prisoner, ‘you now discover the temper
of the man that oppresses me. He can at once be facetious and cruel;
but let him use me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite of all
his bolts to restrain me. I am now drawing towards an abode that looks
brighter as I approach it: this expectation cheers my afflictions, and
though I leave an helpless family of orphans behind me, yet they will
not be utterly forsaken; some friend, perhaps, will be found to assist
them for the sake of their poor father, and some may charitably relieve
them for the sake of their heavenly father. ’

Just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that day before, appeared
with looks of terror, and making efforts, but unable to speak. ‘Why, my
love,’ cried I, ‘why will you thus encrease my afflictions by your
own, what though no submissions can turn our severe master, tho’ he has
doomed me to die in this place of wretchedness, and though we have lost
a darling child, yet still you will find comfort in your other children
when I shall be no more. ’ ‘We have indeed lost,’ returned she, ‘a
darling child. My Sophia, my dearest, is gone, snatched from us, carried
off by ruffians! ’

‘How madam,’ cried my fellow prisoner, ‘Miss Sophia carried off by
villains, sure it cannot be? ’

She could only answer with a fixed look and a flood of tears. But one of
the prisoners’ wives, who was present, and came in with her, gave us a
more distinct account: she informed us that as my wife, my daughter, and
herself, were taking a walk together on the great road a little way out
of the village, a post-chaise and pair drove up to them and instantly
stopt. Upon which, a well drest man, but not Mr Thornhill, stepping
out, clasped my daughter round the waist, and forcing her in, bid the
postillion drive on, so that they were out of sight in a moment.

‘Now,’ cried I, ‘the sum of my misery is made up, nor is it in the power
of any thing on earth to give me another pang. What! not one left! not
to leave me one! the monster! the child that was next my heart! she had
the beauty of an angel, and almost the wisdom of an angel. But support
that woman, nor let her fall. Not to leave me one! ’--‘Alas! my husband,’
said my wife, ‘you seem to want comfort even more than I. Our distresses
are great; but I could bear this and more, if I saw you but easy. They
may take away my children and all the world, if they leave me but you. ’

My son, who was present, endeavoured to moderate our grief; he bade
us take comfort, for he hoped that we might still have reason to be
thankful. --‘My child,’ cried I, ‘look round the world, and see if there
be any happiness left me now. Is not every ray of comfort shut out;
while all our bright prospects only lie beyond the grave! ’--‘My dear
father,’ returned he, ‘I hope there is still something that will give
you an interval of satisfaction; for I have a letter from my brother
George’--‘What of him, child,’ interrupted I, ‘does he know our misery.
I hope my boy is exempt from any part of what his wretched family
suffers? ’--‘Yes, sir,’ returned he, ‘he is perfectly gay, chearful, and
happy. His letter brings nothing but good news; he is the favourite of
his colonel, who promises to procure him the very next lieutenancy that
becomes vacant! ’

‘And are you sure of all this,’ cried my wife, ‘are you sure that
nothing ill has befallen my boy? ’--‘Nothing indeed, madam,’ returned
my son, ‘you shall see the letter, which will give you the highest
pleasure; and if any thing can procure you comfort, I am sure that
will. ’ ‘But are you sure,’ still repeated she, ‘that the letter is from
himself, and that he is really so happy? ’--‘Yes, Madam,’ replied he, ‘it
is certainly his, and he will one day be the credit and the support of
our family! ’--‘Then I thank providence,’ cried she, ‘that my last letter
to him has miscarried. ’ ‘Yes, my dear,’ continued she, turning to me, ‘I
will now confess that though the hand of heaven is sore upon us in other
instances, it has been favourable here. By the last letter I wrote
my son, which was in the bitterness of anger, I desired him, upon his
mother’s blessing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see justice done
his father and sister, and avenge our cause. But thanks be to him that
directs all things, it has miscarried, and I am at rest. ’ ‘Woman,’ cried
I, ‘thou hast done very ill, and at another time my reproaches might
have been more severe. Oh! what a tremendous gulph hast thou escaped,
that would have buried both thee and him in endless ruin. Providence,
indeed, has here been kinder to us than we to ourselves. It has reserved
that son to be the father and protector of my children when I shall be
away. How unjustly did I complain of being stript of every comfort, when
still I hear that he is happy and insensible of our afflictions; still
kept in reserve to support his widowed mother, and to protect his
brothers and sisters. But what sisters has he left, he has no sisters
now, they are all gone, robbed from me, and I am undone. ’--‘Father,’
interrupted my son, ‘I beg you will give me leave to read this letter,
I know it will please you. ’ Upon which, with my permission, he read as
follows:--

Honoured Sir,--I have called off my imagination a few moments from the
pleasures that surround me, to fix it upon objects that are still
more pleasing, the dear little fire-side at home. My fancy draws that
harmless groupe as listening to every line of this with great composure.
I view those faces with delight which never felt the deforming hand of
ambition or distress! But whatever your happiness may be at home, I am
sure it will be some addition to it, to hear that I am perfectly pleased
with my situation, and every way happy here.

Our regiment is countermanded and is not to leave the kingdom; the
colonel, who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all
companies where he is acquainted, and after my first visit I generally
find myself received with encreased respect upon repeating it. I danced
last night with Lady G-, and could I forget you know whom, I might be
perhaps successful. But it is my fate still to remember others, while I
am myself forgotten by most of my absent friends, and in this number,
I fear, Sir, that I must consider you; for I have long expected the
pleasure of a letter from home to no purpose. Olivia and Sophia too,
promised to write, but seem to have forgotten me. Tell them they are
two arrant little baggages, and that I am this moment in a most violent
passion with them: yet still, I know not how, tho’ I want to bluster a
little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them,
sir, that after all, I love them affectionately, and be assured of my
ever remaining

Your dutiful son.


‘In all our miseries,’ cried I, ‘what thanks have we not to return, that
one at least of our family is exempted from what we suffer. Heaven be
his guard, and keep my boy thus happy to be the supporter of his widowed
mother, and the father of these two babes, which is all the patrimony I
can now bequeath him. May he keep their innocence from the temptations
of want, and be their conductor in the paths of honour. ’ I had scarce
said these words, when a noise, like that of a tumult, seemed to proceed
from the prison below; it died away soon after, and a clanking of
fetters was heard along the passage that led to my apartment. The keeper
of the prison entered, holding a man all bloody, wounded and fettered
with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch as he
approached me, but with horror when I found it was my own son. --‘My
George! My George! and do I find thee thus. Wounded! Fettered! Is this
thy happiness! Is this the manner you return to me! O that this sight
could break my heart at once and let me die! ’

‘Where, Sir, is your fortitude,’ returned my son with an intrepid voice.