IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A z 1.0 I.I 11.25 IM 125 Ei4 12.2 118 I 2.0 6" V] "1^ / 7 /^ PhotDgra[&c Sciences Corporation m \ iV \\ o^ 23 WEST MAIN SHEET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14589 (716) •72-4503 CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibiiographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D D D D D D D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommag^e Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaur^e et/ou pellicul6e I I Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque I I Coloured maps/ Cartes gdographiques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) I I Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Reli6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ Lareliure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int^rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que oertaines pages blanches ajouttes lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 film^es. Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppldmentaires: The I to th L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Les ditaiis de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-6tre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite. ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la mithode normale de filmage sont indiqu6s ci-dessous. I I Coloured pages/ D D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag^es Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaur6es et/ou pellicul6es Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages ddcoior^es, tachetdes ou piqudes Pages detached/ Pages ddtachdes Thei poss ofth filmi Origi begii the I sion, othe first sion, or ill r~n Showthrough/ Transparence Quality of prir Quality in6gale de I'impression Includes supplementary materif Coniprend du materiel suppl^mentaire I I Quality of print varies/ I I Includes supplementary material/ Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont 6t6 fiim^es d nouveau de fapon d obtenir la meilleure image possible. The I shall TINL whic Mapi diffe entir begii right requ mett This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmi au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous. 10X MX 18X 22X 26X 30X H 12X 16X aox 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity off: National Library of Canada L'exemplaire fiimi f ut reproduit grAce A la g6n6rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in iceeping with the filming contract specifications. Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec ie plus grand soin. compte tenu de la condition et de la netteti de I'exempiaire film6, et en conformiti avec les conditions du contrat de ffilmage. Original copies in printed paper covers are ffilmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimte sont filmte en commenpant par Ie premier plat et en terminant soit par la derniire page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'lKustration, soit par Ie second plat, selon Ie cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmte en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'iilustration et en terminant par la derniire page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol ^»> (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol y (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaltra sur la derniire image de cheque microffiche, selon Ie cas: Ie symbols —► signiffie "A SUIVRE", Ie symbols V signifie "FIN". ly/laps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre ffilmte A des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque Ie document est trop grand pour fttre reproduit en un seul cliche, 11 est ffilmA it partir de Tangle supirieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant Ie nombre d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ^: m^ **• **■'"• *■% '^■ THE £■ YlOm OF WAKEFIB1jD« a Cale. BY OLIVER '■■*. -*'=r 8PBBATB, IflSEkl, CAVBTE, PlflOES. ■w — f PllMTB^ AND i;t^ «i*^-w\^ ■»>—• -j».« /I THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. CHAfeTfiR I. TBB DBSCRIPTIOir OF THK FAMILY OF WAKBFIBLO, IN WHICH A KINDRBO LIKBNBS8 PRBVAIL8, AS WBLI< OF MINDS AS OF PBR80N8. I WAS ever of qpinion, that the honert man who married and brought up a large family, did more service than he who continued single and only talk- ed of population. From this motive, I had scarcely taken orders a year, before I began to think sen* ously of matrimony, and chose my wife, as she did her wedding-^own, not for a fine glossy surface, but for such quahties as would wear welL To do l^t justice, she was a good-natured notable wom^n: and as, for breeding, there were few co^ntir l^ies who could show more. She could read ail^;^]£ng;} jab book without xnqch spelling ; bui for V^x^^^^lf^, scrying, and cookery,, none coul(i"'dcce| JwesRk ^e 46 B -* *■ ««ii* I I >J \ •mr^ 2 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. prided herself also upon being an excellent contri- ver in housekeeping ; though I could never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances. However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased as we grew old. There was in fact, nothing that could make us angry with the world or each other. We had an elegant house si- tuated in a fine country, and a good neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusements, in visiting our rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We haa no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo ; all our adventures were by the fire-side, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown. As we lived near the road, we often had the tra- veller or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry- wine, for which we had great reputation ; and I profess with the veracity of an hi knew one of them fina fault too, even to the fortieth their affinity, without any^ office ; and came very fre of them did us no great lionour kindred ; as we had the^ halt amongst the nu: ways insisted that rian, that I never it. Our cousins all remembered om the herald's o see us. Some y these claims of imed, and the er. HQwever, my wife al- ey w^e the same flesh and blood, they should sjjfwith us at the same table. So that if we had not i^ry rich, we generally had very happy friends about us ; for this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer the guest, the better pleased he ever is with being treated ; and as some men gaze with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wings of a butterfly, so I was by nsr ture an admirer of happy human &.ces. However, when any one of o^r relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my houae, I ever took care to lend him a riding- Cpa^^ or a pair of boots, or sometimes a horM of VICAR OF WAK£FI£LD. 3 small value, and I always had the satisfaction of tindinc he never came back to return them. By this the house was cleared of such as we did not like: but never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the poor dependant out of doors. Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that we sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance tibe value of its favours. My orchard was often robbed by schoolboys, and my wife^s custards plundered by the cats or the children. The ^Squire would some- times fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated courtesy. But we soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in three or four days began to wonder how they vexed us. My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without softness, so thev wore bX once well formed and healthy ; my sons hardy and active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in uie midst of the little circle, whicn promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could not avoid repeating the famous story of CS)«iit Abensberg, who, in Henry II.'s progress through Germany, while other courtiers came with their treasures, brought his thirty-two children, and pre- sented them to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In thi ^^'uiner, thou|^ i had but six, I considered them as . very valuawe present made to my country, and consequently looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son was named George, after his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I in- tended to call after her aunt Ghrissel ; but my wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading ro* mances, insisted upon her being called <)i4y ia. In ^la^; tMii another year we had another aaaghter. -a^i 4 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. and now I was determined that Griasel should be her name ; but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by her direction, called SoraiA ; so that we had two romantic names in the tepily: but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next, and after an in- tenral of twelve years, we had two sons more. It wonld be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw my little ones about me ; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even greater than mine. When our visitors would say, *' Well, nnon my word, Mrs. Primrose, you have the finest chil- dren in the whole country:" — "Ay, neighbour," she would answer, **they are as heaven made them, handsome enough, if they be good enough; for handsome is that handsome does." And then she would bid the girls hold up their heads ; who, to conceal nothing, were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is so very trifling a circumstance with me, that I should scarcely have remembered to mention it, had it not been a general topic of con- versation in the country. Olivia, now about eigh- teen, had that luxuriance of beauty, with whicJi painiers generally draw Hebe ; open, sprightly, and oommanding. Sophia^s features were not so stri- king at first, but often did more certain execution ; for they were soft, modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other by efforts successively repeated. The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features, at least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers, Sophia to secure one. Olivia was often affected with too great a desire to please. Sophia even represt ex- cellenee, from her fears to offend. Hie one enter- tained me with her vivacity when I was gayi ^e other trith^ her sense when I was serious. But these qlialities were never carried to excess in ei» ther, and I have often seen them exchange ing to observe^ ^ .^ ^^^ ^ he resolved to 'W? , niB»=^j^^ p^^ tl„, ^j,,. pUn of restoring ^^ **S m^ner, he trave'Ued Sose, in hU own ^^""^'"^4 „ow, though he has ^ough Europe °« *°»J'„f^y,'his circumstan- scarcSy attained the age 01 wi« j, j^m, his ^'Ij; attention wa^ - f-^t^-h'S^ ^-^^ B«JhelVs account, ttat ^|^'^ed by the m« as he went along, t^Y,,^. 'L i perceived my young- ot my famUy, when t"^"!' ' ^Tid stream, thrown Mt daughter in the midstot a «Pi ^^^ j^^^t. from her horse, and st™S|' "f „,„ power to di»- ^had sunk twice, nor wa? >» ^h^f- ^y sen- enwee myself in time t»,^"'*g ""^^it my attempt- ffis X even 1^ ^^f^e^^i^y P*«^«^ iM her rescue : *« "^"Ir^iving her danger, in- hia not my e<>"'P''"'^?LSf, and with son»e ini«8.T^^^"^^ned than fier gratitude may he more jea J; ^^^^ ^4^ 1 ^^SsS^d: she thanked to ^1 ^^^ ^p„„ hjs , ^ than vrords, and contmuea ^^^^_ My 1 ^ as if still willing »» '^'\i,e pleasure of re; ^ah» hoped one day to havetnep^ irniinfhUkindne-at her^wn^^^ .^^^ ^^^^ ter v(?« were retresneu *» 46 ;;.' 18 TlGAft OP WAKBPIBLD. dined togMher, as Mr* Burohell wm going to a dif- fennl i^ of the country, he took leave ; and we punned dor journey, my wife obeerving as we went, that ahe Uked him extremely, and protesting, that if lilj^ birth and fortune to entitle him to match into fetich 1^ family aa oors^ ihe knew no man she would aooner fix npon. i could not but amile to hear her tdtking in tnis lofty strain ; but I was never mti^ dist^eased with those harmless delusions that lend to make us more happy. 00 CHAPTER IV. A PBOOr THAT BVKN THB HUMBLBST rORTUNB MAY OBAHT HAPPINB88 WHICH DBPBNDt NOT ON CUIC1*N- 8TANCB8 BUT CONSTITUTION. THEplaoe of our retreat was in alittle neighbotulioody consisting of farmers, who tilled their own gronnds, and were equal strangers to opulence and porerty. As they hail almost all the conyenlences of life within themselves, they seldom visited towns or ci- ties, in search of superfluity. Remote f^om the po- lite, they still retamed the primeval simplicity of manners, and frugal by habit, they scar^ly knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrougnt with oheerfnlnen on days of labour ; but observed festi- vals aa intervals of idleness and pleasure. They kept lip the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Val^tine morning, eat pancakes on Shrovetide, showed their mi on the first of April, and religi- ously ciiMflM nuts on Michaelmas eve. Heine ap- prize d|-;^ approach, the whole neighbourhood caiiii oMpO meet thdr minister, dressed in their ftnesl dmiei^ and preceded by pipe and tabor. A %il|iiii6^ provided for our reception^ at which ly dovm ; and what tne conversation was made up in laughter. Jibitation was situated at the foot of a sheltered with a beautiful underwood a fiattling river before : on one sidea^ .f^'^ir mm mm •MBnAkiK^oMa 20 VICAR OP WAKEFIELD. "■' < meadow, on the other a green. Mj fann consisted of about twenty acres of excellent land, having given an hundred pounds for my predecessor's good will. Nothing could exceed the neatness of my little enclosures ; the elms and hedee-rows ap^ar- ing with inexpressible beauty. My nouse consisted of but one story, and was covered with thatch, which gave it an air of ereat snugness ; the walls on the inside were nicely white- washed, and my daughters undertook to adorn them with pictures of their own designing. Though the same room served us for parlour and kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept with the ut* most neatness, the dishes, plates, ana coppers being well scoured, and all disposed in brignt rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably relieved, and did not want richer furniture. There were three other apartments, one for mv wife and me, another for our two daughters, witnin our own, and the third, with two bedis, for the rest of the children. The little republic to which I gave laws, was re- gulated in the following manner : by sunrise we all assembled in our common apartment : the fire bein^ previouslv kindled bv the servant. After we had saluted each other with proper ceremonv, for I always thought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of go(^-breeding, with which freedom ever destroys mendship, we all bent in ^atitude to that Being who gave us another day. This duty beine performed, my son and I went to pursue our usual mdustry abroad, while my mie and daughters em- ployed themselves in providing breakfast, which was always ready at a certain time. I allowed half an hour for this meal, and an hour for dinner ; which time Was taken up in innocent mirth be* tween my wife and daughters, and in philosophical arguments between my son and me. As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued ovKt labours after it was gone down, bat returned home ViCAli OV WAKEI^IKLO. 21 to the expecting family ; where smiling looks, a neat heartti, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our reception. Nor were we wiihoat gaests : some- times farmer Flamborough, our ta&ative neigh- bour, and often the blind piper, would pay us a vi- sit, and taste :>ur gooseberry-wine ; for the making of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the re- putation. These harmless people had several ways of being good company; while one played, the other would sing some soothing ballad, Johnny Armstrong's last good night, or the cruelty of Bar- bary Allen. The night was concluded in the man- ner we began the morning, my youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the day ; and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best, was to have a halfpenny on Sunday, to put in the poor's box. When Sunday came, it was indeed a dav of fine- ry, which all my sumptuanr edicts could not re- strain. How well soever I fancied my lectures against pride had conquered the vanity of my diauffhters ; yet I found tnem still secretly attached to i3l their former finery : they still loved laoes, ribands, bugles, and cat^t ; my wife herself retrain- ed a passion for her crimson paduasoy, because I formerly happened to say it became her. The first Sunday in particular their behaviour served to mortify me ; I had desired my sirls the preceding night to be drest early the next S&j ; for I always lov^ to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation. T^ey punctually obeyed my directions ; but when we were to assem- ble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters, drest out in all their former st^lendour ; their hair plastered up yfith pomatum, meir faces patched to taste, their trains bundled up in a. heap behind, and rustling at every motion. I could not help smiling at their vanity, particu- larly that of my wife, from whom I expected more diimtioiL In this exigence, therefore, my only 2*2 YICAB OF WAKEFIELD. reaonrce waa to order myson, with an important air, to call our coach. The girls wove amaxed at the command : hat I repeated it with more solem- nity than before— "Surely, my dear, you jest," cried n^ wife, "we can walk it perfectly well: we want no coadi to carry us now.'' " Yon mistake, child," returned I,," we do want a. coach ; for if we walk to dmrch in this trim, the very children in the pvriak will hoot after us." " Indeed," replied my wife, " I alwa;^s imagined that my Charles was fond of seeing his children neat and handsome about him." " You mav be as neat as you please," interrupted I, "and I shall love you the better for it ; but all this is not neatness, but frippery. These rufBings, and pinkings, and patchings, will only make us hated by all the wives of our neighbours. No, my children/' continued I, more gravely, " those gowns may be altered into fiomethm^ of & plainer cut; for finery is very unbecomiog m ua, who want the means - WHAT WE PLACE MOST HOPB UPON, OBNB- RALLY PROVBS MOST « ATAL. At a small distance from the house, my predeces- sor had made a seat, overshadowed hj an hedge of hawthorn and honeysackle. Here, when the wea- ther was fine and our lahour soon finished, we usu- ally sat together, to enjoy an extensive landscape in the calm of the evening. Here too we drank tea, which was now hecomb an occasional haiiquet ; and as we had it hut seldom, it di£Fci8ed a new joy ; the preparations lor it heing made with no «aiall share of bustle and ceremony. On these occasions our two little ones always read to us, and they were regularly served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety to our amusements, the girls sung to the guitar ; and while they thus formed a little concert, my wife and I would stroll dovim the slo- ping field, that was embellished vnth blue bells and centauxT, talk of our children with rapture, and en- joy the bfee^e that wafted both health and harmony. In this manner we began to find that every situa- tion in lite might bring its own peculiar pleasures : every morning awaked us to a repetition c^ toil: but the evening repaid it vdth vacant hilarity. It was about the beginning of autumn, on a ho^- liday, for I kept sucn as intervals of relaxation 24 VICAR OF WAKBFitiLOt from labour; that I had drawn oat my fiunily to our usual place of amusement, and our young mu- sicians began their usual concert. As we were .thus engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly b3r, within about twenty paces of where we were sitting, and by its panting it seomed prest by the hunters. We liad not much iame to renect upon the poor animal's distress, when we perceiyed the dogs and horsemen come sweeping along at some distance behind, and making the very path it had taken. I was in- stantly for returning in with my family ; but either ctiriosity, or surprise, or some more hidden motive, held my wife and daughters to their seats. The huntsman, who rode foremost, past us with great swiftness, followed bv four or nve persons more, who seemed in equal naste. At last, a young gen* tleman of a more genteel appearance tlian the rest came forward, and for a whue regarding us, instead of pursuing the chase, stopt short, and giving his horse to a servant who attended, approaches us^ with a careless superior air. He seemed to want no introduction, but was goine to salute my daugh- ters, as one certain of a kind reception ; but they \ had early learnt the lesson of looking presumption out of countenance. Upon which he let us know his name was Thomhill, and that he was owner of the estate that lay for some extent round us. He again therefore offered to salute the female part of the family, and such was the power of fortune and fine dotnes, that he found no second renulse. As his address, though confident, was easy, we soon became more famuiar ; and perceiving musical in- struments lying near, he begged to be ravoured witiH a song. As I did not a|)prove of such i^tj^t^fpot^ tioned acquaintances, I winked upon my wijghtM in order to prevent their compliance ; Dtit my hiiitr was oounteracted bv one from their mo^<^| that, with a cheerful air, they gave usafw ' ' song of Dryden's. Mr. ThonSdll saemtid yiCAR OF WAKEFIELD. 25 ] delighted with their perfonnance and choice, and then took up the guitar himself. He played hut very indifferently; however, mv eldest daughter repaid his former applause with interest, and assu- red him that his tones were louder than even those of her master. At Uiis compliment he howed, which she returned with a curtesy. He praised her taste, and ahe commended his understanding ; an age could not have made them hotter acquaint- ed: While the fond mother, too, equally happy, insisted upon her landlord's stepping in, and tast- ing a glass of gooseherr^. The whole family seem- ed earnest to please him : My girls attempted to entertain him v^th topics they thought most mo- dem, while Moses, on the contrary, gave him a question or two from the ancients, for iivhich he had the satisfaction of heing laughed at : my little ones were no less husy, and fondly stuck close to the stranger. All my endeavours could scarcely keep their dirty fingers from handling and tarnish- ing the lace on his clothes, and liftins up the flaps of his pocket-holes, to see what was there. At the approach of evening he took leave ; hut not till he had requested permission to renew his visit, which as he was our landlord, we most readily agreed to. As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on the conduct of the day. She was of opinion that it was a most fortunate hit ; for that she had knowi* even stranger things at last hrought to bear. She hoped again to see the day in which we might hold up our heads with the best of them ; and con- cluded, she protested she could see no reason why the two Miss Wrinkles should mari^ great fortunes^ and her children get none. As this last ar|;ument was directed to me, I protested I could s^ no refr* 8011 for it either, nor wh^ Mr. Simpkiii^got th|| I0n ;l^0iQisand pound prize m the lottery, and we aat . do^vfn. with a blank. *' I protest, Charles,'^ cried liAy W^n it in another. Upon his departure, we again entered into a de- hate upon ihn merits of our youn^ landlord. As he directed his looks and conversation to Olivia, it was no longer douhted but that she was the object that induced lum to be our visitor. Nor did she seem to be much displeased at the innocent raillery of her brother and sister upon this occasion. Even Debon^ herself seemed to share the glory of the day, and exulted in her daughter's victory as if it were her own. ** And now, my dear,*^ cried she to me, ** I'll fairly own, that it was I that instructed my girls to encouraee our landlord's addresses. I had always some amoition, and you now see that I was rif^t ; for who knows how this may end ?'* — *^ Ay, who knows that indeed !" answerea I, with a groan : **For my part, I don't much like it ; and I eould have been better pleased with one that was poor and honest, than this fine gentleman with his xortune and infidelity ; for depend on't, if he be what I suspect him^ no free thinker shall ever have a child of mine." **Sure, father,'' cried Moses, ''you are too severe in this : for Heaven will never arraign him for what he thinks, but for what he does. Every man has a thousand vicious thoughts, which arise without his power to suppress. Thinking freely of religion may be involuntary with this gentleman ; so tlurt •allowing his sentiments to be wrong, yet as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no more to be mamed for his errors, than the governor of a city without walls for the shelter he is obliged to affora an mvading enemy." ^ ^True, my son," cried I ; " but if the ffovemor inptes the enemy there, he is justly enlpable. And mm mni "W' VICAR OF WAl^EPIBLD. S5 mioh is alwayi the case with those who embrace error. The vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs thej see ; bat in being blind to manj of the proofs that oflSsr. So that, though onr erroneoos opinions be involuntary when formed, yet as we have been wilfully corrupt, or very negligent in forming them, we deserve punishment for onr vice, or contempt for our folljr Mv wife now kept, up the conversation, though not the argument: she observed, that several very prudent men of our acquaintance were free-think- ers, and made very ffood husbands ; and she knew some sensible ^rls uiat had skill enough to nuJie converts of their spouses : *' And who Knows, my dear,*' continued sue, "what Olivia may be able to do. The girl has a great deal to say upon every subject, and to my knowledge is very well skilled in controversy.^ " Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read ?*' cried I : " It does not occur to me that I ever put su6h books into her hands : you certainly over-rate her merit."— " Indeed, papa,'' replied Olivia, ** she does not. I have read a great deal of controversy. I have read the disputes between Thwackum and Square ; the controversy between Robinson Crusoe and Mij^J ^^® savage,' and am now employed inreadSR the controversy in Reli- gious Courtship.'*—** Vfty well," cried I, *%at?s a good 1^ I find you are perfectly qualified for ma- king coilarts ; and so go help your mother to make the gooselMrry-pie.'* i »■' iJismm J8BS ?V^. ■■ I'Vi, CHAPTER VIII. AN AMOUR,^ WHICH PROMISES LITTr.B GOOD PORTUNB, Y^T iKAY BK PRODUCTIVJfi OF MUCH. The next mormng we were again visited by Mr. BorcheU, tiiou^X began, for certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his retom ; but I could not refuse him my company and my fire- side. It is true, his labour more than requited his dntertainment ; for he wrought among us with vi- gour, and eitlier in the meaaow or at the hay-rick put himself foremost. Besides, he had always some- thing amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I loved, laughed at, and pitied nim. My only dislike arose from an attachment he discovered to my daughter. He would, in a jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he brought each of the girls a set of ribands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the superior airs of vdsdom. Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or ra- ther reclined round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burohell gave cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our sa^it> fj|$|tion, two blackbirds answered ^ich other ^' * <^|^te hedges, the familiar red-breast came \ YICAJl OF WAK£FIBLD« 37 pecked the cmmbs from our hands; and Qvery soand seemed but the echo of trananillity. ** I never tat thus," says Sophia, ''but I tmnk of the two lovers so sweetly described by Mr. Gay, who were struck dead in each other^s arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it an hundred times with new rapture.** — *^ In my opini- on," cried my son, ** the finest strokes in that de- scription are much below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better : and upon that vigour artfully managed, all strength in the pathetic de- pends." — '* It is remarkable," cried Jur. Burchell, *Uhat both the poets you mentionffllrd' equally contributed to introduce a faDae Hie into their respective countries, by loading iw&eir lines with epithet. Men of little genius fouM them most elir sily imitated in their defects ; and" English poetry, like that in the latter empire oi Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of l?ixuriant images, without plot or connexion ; a string of epithets that improve the sound, without carrying on^tbe ^nse. But perhaps, madam, while I thus repreh^d others, youTii think it just that I should give them an op- portunity to retaliate, and indeed I have made tms remark only to have an opportunity ol introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I tlunk, at least free from those I have mentioned." m**0»0*iti»m»^ A BALLAD. ** Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. *' For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow ; Where wilds, immeasureably spread, Boem lengthening as I go." ^8 VIGAE OF WAKEFIBID. *< Forbear* my son,*' the Hermit erle8» ** To tem^ the dangerous gloom : For yonder faithless phantom flies , To lure thee to thy doom. '* Here to the houseless child of want My door is open f«till : And though my por..on is but scant, I give it with good wilL ** Then turn to>night, and finely share Whatever my cell bestows ; My rushy couch and frugal fare. My blessing and repose. ** No flocks that range the valley free lloiikiughter I condemn ; I'aiig^ by that power that pities me, I leail to pity them : ** But tt&Uk the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied. And water from the spring. ** Then, pilgrim turn, thy cares forego. All earth-bom cares are wrong ; Man wants but little here below. Nor wants that little long." Soft as the dew firom Heaven descends, His gentle accents fell ; The modest stranger lowly bends. And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the neighb'ring poor. And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, op'ning with a latch. Received the harmless pair. And now, when busy crowds retin To take their ev'ning rest ; The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest : m' tiim VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. ^ And spiead his vegetable Jkow, And gayiy press'd, and wU'd ; And skiil'd in legendary lore. The ling'ring hours 1: guil'd. Around in sympathetic mirth Its tricks the kitten tries ; The cricket chirrups in the hearth, The crackling faggot dies. But nothing could a charm impart To sooth the stranger's woe ; For grief was heavy at his heart. And tears began to flow. His rising cares the hermit spied, With answ'ring care oppress'd : *' And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, ** The sorrows of thy breast ? '* From better habitations spum'd. Reluctant dost thou rove ? Or grieve for friendship unretnm'd, Or unregarded lovef " Alas ! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay ; > And those who prize the paltry things. More trifling still than they. ** And what is friendship but a name, ^ charm tibat lulls to sleep ; > A shade that follows wealth or fitme, "^ But leaves the wretch to weep? ** And love is still an emptier sound, The modem fair one's jest ; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest. **For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush. And spurn the sex,*' he said ; But while he spoke, a rising blush ft. His love lorn guest betray'd. Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise. Swift mantling to the view ; Like colours o'er the morning skies. As bright, as transient too. i mmm •mfrmmmmiii'mi^imm mmmmmmmmm^'^m^mmm 40 TICAE OF WAKlFISLSi. The bashftillook, th« riiliig braaft, Alteniat#iqiread aUurms ; The lovely sinmger e^dt eonfesl A maid in all her ehaniui. ** And ah ! forgiYe a etranger rude» A wretch forlorn/* she cried ; *< Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where Heaven and you reside. '** Bat let a maid thy pity share, Wliom love has taught to stray ; Who seelss for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. ** My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he ; And all his wealth was marli'd as mine. He had but only me. ** To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came ; Who prais'd me for imputed charms And felt, or ^ign*d a flame. ** Eadi hour a mercenary crowd With richest profTers strove ; Among the rest yoiing Edwin bow*d, But never tallc'd of love. ** Jc humble, simple habit dad, ' No wealth nor power had he ; Wisdom and wortii were all he had, But these were all to me. ** And when beside me in the dale. He carord lays of love ; ^ His breath lent fragrance to the gate, '"^ And music to the grove. ** The blossom opening to the daj. The dews of Heaven refln'd, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind. ** The dew, the blossom on the tree, ^^ With charms inconstant shine; Their (diarms were his, but wo to me. Their constancy was mine. mm 8C VIOAU OF WAKEFIELD. « For Btm I tried each flelde art, Importunate and vain ; And while his passion toueh'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain. ** Tfll quite dejected vrith my scorn, He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn. In secret, where he died. ** But mice the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude ho sought. And stretch me where he lay. ** And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 111 lay me down and die ; Twas 80 for me that Edwin did. And so tor him will I.** ** Forbid it, geaven !'* the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast : The wond'ring fair one tum'd to chide— 'Twas Edwin's self that prest ** Turn, Angelina, ever dear ! My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Bestor'd to love and thee. ** Thus let me hold thee to my heart. And evciy care resign : And shall we never, never part. My Ufe— my all that's mine? ** No never ftrom this hour to part, "^ We'll live and love so tnie ; The sifl(h that rends thy constant heart, Shau break thy Edwhi's too.' It 41 ' f: WUle this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mil an air qI tenderness with her approbation. Bnl our tiMK^iiiiiit^Y was soon disturbed bv the report 6f a gim jnat by us, and immediately alter a man Wii seen Imrsting throogh the hedge^ to take up ^ game he had killed. This sportsman was (She! 42 VIGAB OF WAKBFIBLD. 'Squire^s chaplain^ who had shot one of the black- birds that so agreeably entertained ns. So loud a report, and so near, startled m^ daoghtera ; and I could perceive that Sophia, in the fright, had thrown herself into Mr. Burdiell's acms for protec- tion. The ^ntleman came up and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he was igno- rant of our being so near. He uierefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman-like, of- fered' her what he Imd lulled that morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon indac^^d her to correct the mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluct- ance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing, that Sophy had made a con- 3 nest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of le 'Squire. I suspected, however, with more pro- bability, that her anections were placed upon a dif- ferent obiect. The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr. Thornhill had provided music and re- freshments, and intended that night giving the voung ladies a ball by nioonlight, on the grassplot before our door. *'Nor can I deny,^' continued he, ** but I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with Miss Sophy's hand as a partner. To this my girl replied; that she could do it with honour; '*But here," continued she, **is a gentleman,*' I looking at Mr. Burchell, ''who has been my com- panion in the task of the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements." Mr. Burchell returned her a compliment for her intentions ; but resigned her up to the chaplain, adding that he was to go that night five miles, heing invited to an haifvesl supper. His refusal appeared to me a little eztm- ordinary ; nor could I perceive how so sensibki a nri as my youngest, could thus prefer a man ai hmkmx fortunes io one whose expectations were fnmelL greater. But as men are most capable oft VKf?i4aii..i'lMiUif' ; VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 48 distinguishing merit in woman, m the ladies often form the truest judgments of ds. The two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and are ftuv nishea with different abilities, adapted for mutual inspection. 4:-' .pgj.;*j..<^- CHAPTER IX, TVirO LADIES OF 6RBAT DISTINCTION INTRODUOBD.- PBRIOR FINBRY J^VBR SBBMS TO CONFBR 8UPBRIOR BRBBDINO. -BW- Mb. Burchell had scarcely taken leave, and So- phia consented to dance with the chaplain, when my little ones came running out to tell us, that the 'Squire was come with a crowd of company. Upon our return in, we found our landlord, with a couple of under gentlemen and two young ladies ricnly drest, whom he introduced as women of very great distinction and fashion from town. We happened not to have chairs enoush for the whole company : but Mr. Thomhill immediately proposed^hat eyer^ gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. Tins I posi- tively objected to, notwithstanding a look of disap^ probation from my wife. Moses was therefore des- patched to borrow a couple of titiM^ ; and as we were in want of ladies to make up j^ypl; at country dances, the two gentlemen went Wi&'Mm in quest of a couple of partners. Chairs and partners were was not adverted to— though the Miss Flambo- roughs were reckoned the very best dancers in^is pansh, and understood the jig and round-about lo perfection, yet they were totally unacquainted wMil mtUmi tM VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 45 eountxy dances. This at first discomposed us: however, after a little shoving and dragging, they at last went merrily on. Our music consisted eared to me as tlie sorest svmptom of their distinction (thoi:^ IlfMOL since informed that swearing is perfectly uo^ lipionable). Their finery, however, threw a veil OfUsny grossness in their conversation. My dac^^^ lii^puiied to regard ineir superior accomplwr *,'! #--• ■Ml«M«M V-'l^f '¥ 46 VICAR OF WAKEFIBLD* ments with envy ; and what pDpeared amiss, was ascribed to tip-top quality breeding. But the con- descension of the ladies was still superior to their other accomplishments. One of tnem observed, that had Miss Olivia seen a little more of the world, it would greatly improve her. To which the other added, that a single winter in town would make her Sopliia quite another thing. My wife warmly assentea to both ; adding that there was nothing she more ardently wished than to give her girls a single winter's polishing. To this I could not help repq^ngi that tneir breeding was already superior to tneir fortune ; and that greater reftnement would only serve to niake their poverty ridiculous, and give them a taste for pleasures they had no right to possess. — *^ And what pleasures," cried Mr. 'Hiorn- idll, '' do they not deserve to possess, who have so muclr in their power to bestow ? As for my part," continued he, *' my fortune is pretty large ; love, liberty, and pleasure are my maxims ; but curse me if a settlement of half my estate could give my charming Olivia pleasure, it should be hers ; and the only favour I would ask in return would be to add myself to the benefit.*' I was not such a stran- ger to the world as to be i^orant that this wa^ the nshionable cant to disguise the insolence of the basest proposal ; but I made an effort to suppress my TOsentment. " Sir," cried I, " the family which v'm now condescend to favour with your company, has been bred with as nice a sense of honoor as you. Any attempts to injure that, may be attended with very dangerous consequences^ Honour, Sir, is our only possession at present, and of that last treasure we n^ist be particularly careful." I was soon sorry fi>r the warmth with which I had spoken this, when the young gentleman, grasping my hand, swose ha commended my iq»irit, though he aisapproved of mjr suspicions. '* As to your present hint," contiiiim he, ^ I protest, nothing was farther from mybei^ mrnHmif'. YICAB OF WAKEFIELD. 47 than sach a thought. No, by all that's tempting, the virtue that wul stand a regular siege was never to my taste ; for all my amours are carried by a couD-de-main.'* Tne two ladies, who affeeted to be ignorant of the rest, seemed hi^y displeased with, this last stroke of freedom, and began a vwy discreet and serious dialogue -tipon virtue ; in tms my wife, the chap- lain, and i, soon joined ; and the ^Squire liimself was at last brought to confess a sense of sorrow for his former excesses. W» talked of the pleasures (tf temperance, and of the sunshine in the mind nn- polluted with guilt. 1 was so well pleased, that my little ones were kept up beyond the usual time, to be edified by so much good conversation. Mr. ThomhiU even went beyond me, and demanded if I had 'any objection to giving prayers. I joyfully embraced the proposal ; and in this manner the night was passed in a most comfortable way, till at last the company began to think of returning. The ladies seemed very unwilling to part with icy daughters, for whom thev had conceived a particu- lar affection, and joined in a request to have the pleasure of their company home. The ^Squire i»^ conded the proposal, and my wife added her enr treaties; the girls too looked upon me asif thej;: wished to go. In this perplexity I made two or three excuses, which my daughter* as readily re- moved ; so that at last I was oblimd td give a pe- remptory refusal ; for which we had nothing but sullen looks and short answi^ the whole dayen- 1 CHAPTER X. THB FAMILY BNDBAV0UR8 TO COPS WITH THBIR BBT* TBR3. ^THB MISRRIB8 OP THB POOR WHBN THBY ATTBMPT TO APPEAR ABOVB THBIR CIRCUM8TANCKS. I NOW began to find, that all my long and painful lectures upo;i temperance, simplicity, and content- ment were entirely disregarded. The distinctions lately paid us by our betters awaked that pride which I had laid asleep, but not removed. Our windows, again, as formerly, were filled with washes for the neck and face. The sun was dread- ed as an enemy to the skin without doors, and the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. My wife observed, that rising too early would hurt her danehters^ eyes, that working after dinner would vedcten their noses, and she convinced me that the hands never looked bo white as when they did no- thing. Instead, therefore, of finishing George's shirts, we now had them new-modelling their old ^uzes, or flourishing upon catgut. The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their fonner gay companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance, and tne whole con- versation ran upon nigh- life and high-lived compa- l|y, with pictures, taste, Shakspeare, and the mu- ncal-glasses. But we could have borne all this, had not Ammm VICAA OF WAKEFISLD. 49 tnii»>telliiig fdpaey come to raise ui into perfect •ablimitj.. Tlie tawny sibyl no sooner appeared, than my giili oame running to me for a smiling a- piece to «Mii her hand with silrer. To say the tmtk, I wtp tired of being always wise» and could not helj^ gratifying their request, because I loved to see them hM>py. I gaye each of them a shillinff ; though for the nonour of the family it must be ob- servMy that they never went without money them- selves, as my wife always let them have a {;uinea each, to keep in their pockets, but with strict in- junctions never to change it. After they had been closeted up with the fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their looks, upon their returning, that they had been promised something ereat. " Well, my girls, how nave you sped ? Telime, Livy, has the rortune-teller given thee a pennyworth ?" " I pro- test, Pana,'^ says the girl, ** I beueve she deals with somebody that's not right ; for she positively de- clared, that I am to be married to a 'sonire in less than a twelvemonth?" ** Well, now Sophy, my chUd,'' said I, '*and what sort of a husband are y^fi to hate?'' **Sir," replied she, ''lam to have i Lord soon after my sister has* married the 'Squire.^- i **How," cried I, ^Hb that all you are to have for your two shillings ? Only a Lord and a ^Squire for two shillings ! Yon foob, I could have promised y;>u a Prince and a Nabob for half the money.'* This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with very serious effects : we now began to think ourselves designed by the stars to something exalt- ed, and alreai^ anticipated our future grandeur. It has been a thousand times observed, and I must obsorve it once more, that the hours we poss with hai^y prospects in view, are more pleasii dxin thofl& crowned with fruition. In the first cr' Jim cook the dish to our own appetite ! in the rterk nature cooks it for us. It is impossible to :»s *t*p«>i'"<" IMMMMIH ■.,» tfc. m VICAB OP WAK£F1BU>« peat the tmin of agreenble reyeries we called ap for owt entertainment. We lodced upon our f ovtones a» once more rising ; and as the whole parish as- serted that the 'Squire was in love with my dangb- ler. she was actmuly so with him ; for tliey persoar dea hmr into the passion. In this ameaole inter- rtd, mj wife had the most lucky dreams in the world, which she took care to teu us every morn- ing with great solemnity and exactness. It was rne night a coffin and cross bones, the sign of an approaching wedding ; at another time ^e ima- l^ned her daughter's pockets filled with farthings, a certain si^ of their being shortly stuffed with cold. The girls themselves had their omens. They felt strange kisses on their lips ; they saw rines in the candle, purses bounced nom the fire, and true kve-knots lurked in the bottom of every tea-cup. Towards the end of the week, we received a card ttoaa the town ladies ; in which, with their compli- ments, they hoped to see all our family at diurch ^be Sunday foQowing. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in consequence of this, my wife and daughters in close conference together, and now and then glancing at me with looks Uiat betrayed ] a latent plot. To be sincere, I had strong suspi- cions that some absurd proposal was preparing' for ^^pMring with splendour the next day. — In the evening they b€«;an their operations in a very regu- lar manner, and my wife undertook to conduct the si^. After tea, when I seemed in spirits, she be- gan thus :— ^ I fancy, Charles, my dear, we sbidl have a great deal of good company at oar church to-morrow.**— " Perhaps we may, my dear,'^ re- turned I, ^* though you need be under no uueasi- iiess about that, you shall have a sermon whether &ere be or not.*'— ^ That is what I expect,^* i^ tiamed she ; ** but I^ink, my dear, we ou«^t to appear there as decently as possible, to ii4io knows what may happen ?" *' Your preoMi^^s,'' replied MMMiW ■Mk mm MM >«MaJ raghr irSOBr inter- the •VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 51 r, ''are Idfjblj commendable. A decent behaviomr and anpearance in church is what cluurms me. We ahonld be devout and hmnble, cheerful and se- rene/'-—*' Yes,*' cried she^ " I know that ; but I mean we shomd go th«?e m as proper a manner as poBBilde ; not altogether idke tM scrabs about iis»^ "Yon are quite right, my dear/' returned I, "and I was going to nuuke the same proposal The pro- per manner of going is, to go there as early as pos- sible, to have tame for meditation before the service begins.** — ^"Phoo, Charles," interrupted she, "all that is very true ; but not what I would be at. I mean, we should go there genteelly. You know the diurch is two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters trud^ng up to their pew all blowsed and red with walkmg, and looking lor all the world as if they had been vdnners at a smock race. Now, my dear, my proposal is this : there are our two plough horses, the colt that has been in our feuouly these nine years, and his companion Kackberry , that has scarcely done an earthly thing for th» m(mth past. They are both grown lat and ksy. Why should not they do somethinc as well as we ? And let me tell you, when Moses nas trim- med Uiem a little, they will cut a very tolerable figure." ' 1^0 this proposal I objected, that walking would be twenty times more genteel than 8uci|a pahfy conveyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the colt wanted the tail : that they had never been broke to the rein, but had a hundred vicious tricks: and tiiat we had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house. All these objections, however, were over-ruled ; so that I was obliged to comoly. The next morning, I perceived them not a little busy in collecting snon materials as micht be mo^gmiry to the eimdition ; but, as I found it wonldJbi a busi- ness of time, I wi^ed on to the church before, and they premised speedily to follow. I waited near ■ '■' "iifm ' ' - ' ' ■ ' . ' ." " ' '- i 52 YICAR OF WAKEFIELD. lOi MiK|||#9 reading desk for their anival : bat nii •'i/uimK-^':h ■ -i CHAPTER Xf. THS FAMILY STILL RBSOLVE TO HOLD UP TRBIB HBAB8. Michaelmas eve happening on the *«ext dajy we were invited to bum nuts and pky tricks at nei^- bonr Flamboroagh^s. Our late mortifications luid humbled ns a little, or it is probable we might have rejected such an invitation with contemjH ; how* ever, we snffered ourselves to be happj^ Our ho- nest neighbour's goose and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's wool, even in the opinion of my wife, who was a connoisseur, was enoellent. It is true, his manner of telling stories was not onite ao welL They were very long^ and very dull, and about himself, and we haa laughed at them ten times before: however, we were kind enough to laugh at them once more. Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, ^^ always fond of seeing some innocent amusement ^^oing for- ward, and set the boys and girls to blind man's buff. My wife too was persuaded to join in the diversion, and it save me pleasure to think sh^ was not }%t too olcT In the meantime, my neighbour ana I Ifoked on, laughed at every feat, and praised fmm dexterity when we were young. Hot coddit eded next, questions and comiuands followed Ml last of fidl, they sat down to hunt the il»- As overy person may not be acquainted wlu wijw namMMM ■•■';4' ■■"V- 1$ 54 YICAR OF WAKEFIELD. this primeval pastime, it may be necessary to ob- serve, that tiie company at this plav piant them- selves in a ring apon the ground, all, except one vrho stands in the middle, vtrhose business is to catch a dioe, whidi the company i^iove about under thdur htaxtB from one to another^ somethmg Vke a trewm^ shuttle. As it is impossible, in this case, for ihe hi^ who is up to face all the coetipany at once, the^reat beanty of the play lies in htttmg her a thump vrith the neel of the shoe on that side least capable of making a defence. It was in this manner that my eldest dauf^ter was hemmed in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in ^bits, and bawline for fair play, vrith a voice that might deafen a ballachsmger, when, confusion on confusion ! who shoidd enter the room but our two great acquaint- ances from tovm, JjbAj Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilhehnina Amelia Skeggs ! — Description would but beggar, therefore it is unnecessary to describe this new mortification. Death ! To be seen by la- ches of such high breedkig in sudi vulgar attitudes ! Nothing better could ensue from such a rdgKt play of Mr. Flamborough^s proposing. We seemed struck to the ground for some time, as if aotnaUy petrified vrith amazement. The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and finding us firom home, came after us hither, as they were uneasy to know what accident could have kept us from church the day before. Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor, and delivered the vriide in a summary way, only saying, *' We virere throvm from our horses.'* At which account the ladies were greatly concerned ; but being told the fimuly received no hurt, they were extremelv glad : but bdng informed that v^e were almost killMl by the fruht, they were vastly sorry : but hearing thai we had a very good night, they were extremelv ^ad i^^ain. Nothing coum exceed their complauafteo ilB^mj ^inghters ; thdr pxokmsm tha ksit «f«i^ I VICAR OF WAKBFfBLD. 56 were wsrm, but now they were ardent. They pro- tested A desire of haying a more lasting acqoainl- ance. Lady Blarney was porticnlarly attached to Olivia ; Miss Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to ^ve the whole name) took a greater fai»* cy to her sister. They supported the conversation between themselves, while my daughtc rs sat silent, admiring their exalted breeding. But as every reader, however bemurly himself is fond ci high- lived dialogues, wim anecdotes of Lords, Ladies, and Knights of the Qarter, I must beg leave to ^ve him the concluding part of the present conversation. ''All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs, "is this, that it may be true, or it may not be true ; but this I can assure your Ladyship ; that the rout was in amaze ; his Lordship turned all manner of colours, my Lady fell into a ioundi but SirTomkyn, drawing his sword, swore he was her*s to the last drop of his blood.^' ''Well,^^ replied our peeress, ''this I can say, that the Duchess never told me a tillable of the matter, and I believe her C^race woula keep nothing a secret from me. This yon may depend upon as fact, that the next day my Lora Duke cried out three times to his vakt-de-chambre, Jemigan, Jer- nigan, Jernigan, bring me my garters.*^ But previously I should have mentioned the very impolite behaviour of Mr. Burchell, who, during this discourse, sat with his face turned to the fir», and at the conclusion of ever^ sentence would cry out fudge ; an expression wmch diie^leased us au, and ia some measure damped the nfiing spirit of the conversation. " Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our Perns ess, " there is nothing of this in. the copy of verses that Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion." — FudMj <'f am surprised at that,'' cried Miss ^Eeg||S; «f*Your Ladyshi]^ should except,'* says t'other, ^ your own things in the Lady's Magazine. I hope you'll say there's nothing low-lived there ? But I suppose we are to have no more from that quarter ?" —Fudge! ** Why| my dear," savs the Lady, '^yon know my reader and companion has left me, to be married to Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won^ suffer me to write myself, I have been for some time look- ing cut for another. A proper person is no easy matter to find, and to be sure thurty pounds a-year is a small stipend for a well-bred fpl of diaracter, that can read, write, and behave in company: as for the chits about town, there is no bearing them about one." — Fudge ! *' That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, '* by experi- ence. For of the three companions I had this last half }rear, one of them refused to do plain work an hour in a-day ; another thought twenty-five guineas aryear too small a salary, and I was obliged to send away the third, because I suspected an intrigue with the chaplain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, virtue is worth any price ; but where is that to be found ? — Fudge ! VLj wife had been for a long time all attention to tli^ discourse: but was particularly stmek with tte /latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twralf- ■ ■ ' lUji l UK e! "do oagh yself TICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 67 fire gaineas a-year, made fift^-six pounds five shil- lings English money, all wluch was in a mannwr going arbegging, and might easily be secured in the Ismily. She for a moment studied my looki for approbation ; and. to own a truth, I was of am- nion, that two such places would fit our two daugh- ters exactly. Besides, if the 'Squire had any real flection for my eldest daughter, this would be the way to mi^e her every way qualified for her for- tune. My vidfe therefore was resolved that we should not be deprived of such advantages for want of as- surance, and undertook to haran^pe for the family. ** I hope,'' cried she, ^' your Ladyships will pardon my present presumption. It is true, we have no right to pretend to such favours ; but yet it is natural for me to virish putting my children forwiird in the vTorld. And I ynll be bold to say my two girls have had a pretty good education and capacity, at least the country canH show better. They can read, write, and c^ accounts ; thev understand their needle, broad stitch, cross and change, and all man- ner of plain- work ; they can pink, point and finll, and know something of music ; tney can do up small clothes, work upon catgut ! my eldest can cut paper, and my younges: has a verv pretty man- ner of telling fortunes by cards.^' — Fudge ! When she had delivered this pretty piece of elo- quence, the two ladies looked at each other a few minutes in silence, with an air of doubt and import- ance. At last Miss Carolina WiUielmina Amelia Skeggs condescended to observe, that the young la- dies, from the opinion she could form of them from so slight an acquaintance, seemed very fit for such employments : '* But a thing of this kind, madam," cried she, addressing my spouse, ''requires a tho- rough examination into characters, ana a more per- fect knowledge of each other. Not, madam," con- tinued she, ''that I in the least suspect the yoai^ ladies' virtue, prudence, and discretion ; but i^mi W" nf» I 53 flCAK OP WAKBFI£LD. M a form in theie things, madam, there is a Mt wife approired her snsi^ieions veiy mnch, ob- asrf&K tiiat uie was very apt to be sospieioiis her- self: ant referred her to all the nei|Ehooiin for a eKuuneter : bat tibis oar Peeress deohnfcd as onne- rnsssrj, aUegtnc that her eonsin ThomhiU'aieoom- meadation wooTd be saffioient^ and apon this we rested ew petition. ■ u. *»■*?; »^. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and his sisters had tied his ludr with a broad black riband. We all followed him several paces from the door, bawlinc after him good lack, good lack, till we coald see him no longer. He was scarcely gono, when Mr. Thomhill's bat- ler came to congratulate us upon our good fortune, saying, that he overheard his young master men- tion our names with great commendation. Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone. Another footman from the same family followed, with a card for my daughters, importing that Uie two ladies had receive such pleasing accounts from Mr. Thomhill of us all, that, after a few tri- vial inquiries, the^ hoped to be pjerfectly satisfied^ ** Ay,*' cried my wife, " I now see it is no easy nia!t- ter to get into the families of the great ; but when one once sets in, then, as Moses says, one may go to sleep." To this piece of humour, for she intended it for wit, my daughters assented with a loud laogh of pleasure. In £ort, such was her satisfaction at this message, that she actually put her hand in her pocket, ami gave the messenger seven-pence half- penny. This was to be our visiting day. The next that came was Mr. BurcheU, who had been at the fair. He brought mv little ones a pennyworth of ginger^ bread e8«h, which my vrife undertook to keep for them, and give them by letters at a time. He brouffht my daughters luso a coupW of boxes, in which they might keep wafers, snufF, patches, or even money, when they got it. My vnte was usu- ally fond of a weasel-skin purse, as being the most luckv ; but this by the bve. We had stiU a reg;ard for Mr, Burchell, though his late rude behavioar :Pi-- ^ci': 62 ▼lOAR Off WAEEFIBLO. WM in MyoM mearare ditpleadiig : nor eonld nofvr Afoid eommunioatinff our nappinen to him, Mkd asking his advioe : aluiongh we seldom follow- ed advice, we were all readj enough to ask it When he read the note from the two ladies, he i^iook his head, and ohserved, that an alftur of this sort d«sianded the utmost circumspection. This air of diffidence highlj displeased my wife. ** I ne- ver doubted, Sir.'' cried she, ^^your readiness to be against my daughters and me. You have more cir- cumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when we come to ask advice, we will apply to per- sons who seem to have made use of it uiemselves.'' ** Whatever my own conduct may have been. Ma- dam,** replied he, ''is not the present question: thoush as I have made no use of advioe mvself, I should in conscience give it to those that wiU." As I was apprehensive tms answer might draw on a rejfiartee, making up b^r abuse what it viranted in wit, I changed the subject, by seeming to wonder what could Iceep our son so long at the fair, as it Has now almost night-fall. '* Never mind our son," cried my wife, ^' depend upon it he knows what he is about. I'll warrant we'll never see him sell Us hen mt a rainy day. I have seen him buy such bar- gains as would amasse one. I'll tell you a good stv: it tnen." — ** I have brought back no money," eried Moaes again. " I have laid it all out on a bargain, and here it is,*' pulling out a bundle horn his breast: '*here they are ; a gross of green speo- taolee, with silver rims and shagreen cases.** — ^^A iposs of green spectacles !" repeated my wife, in a laint voice. ** And you have parted wnh the colt, and brought us back nothing but a gross of green paltry spectacles !*'— ^ Dear mother,'' eried the htrf, ** why don't you listen to reason? I had them a dead bargain, or I Aould not have brought them, ^he silver rims alone will sell for doubb the mo- aey.*'— *'Aflg for the rilver rims,*' cried my vrifs, in a passion : '* I dare say they won*t sell for above iialf the money at Uie rate of broken silver, five shillings an ounce.*' — '* You need be under no un- easiness," cried I, *' about selling the rims, for they are not worth sixpence : for I perc^ve they are only copper vamisned over." — ^* What,*' cried my wife, "not silver? the rims not silver!** ••No,*' cried I, "no more silver than your saucepan." — *• And so," returned she, "we have parted vvith the colt, and have only sot a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases? A murrain take such trumpery. The blockhead has been imr posed upon, and should have known his company better."— " There, my dear,'* cried I, "you are wrong, he should not have known them at alL** — "Marry, hang the 'uiot.*' returned she, "to bring me such stuff ; if I had them I would throw them in the fire." ••There again you are wrong, mv dear," cried I ; •• for though they be copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are better than nothing.^' By this time the unfortunate Moses was un^ osived. He now saw that he had been im^'^^^ ^^m mmttUfmm 64 mOkB. OF WAKJSF1SL0. wym \xj a prowling sharper, who obMrvins hit figare, had marked nim for an easy my. I ueia- fiire asked the droumstance of his oeo^^n. He add the hoi^aei it seems, and walked the &ir in aeavch of another. A reverend looking man lm>ught liim to a tent, nnder a nreteiioe of having one to mS&k ^'Here^*' eontinuea Moses, '* we met another man, very wdl dressed, who derated to borrow twenty pounds nnon Uiese, saving that he wanted money, and wodkI dispose of them for a third of their value. The first gentleman, who pretended to be my friend, whispered me to bny tnem, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer pass. I sent iox Mr. Flamborongh, and they talked lum up at finehr as they did me, and so at last we were per- stiadedto bny the two gross between ns." CHAPTER XIII. im. BUBCBSLL TS FOUND TO BB AS BNBMY; HAS THE CONPIDBNCB TO OIVB OIS- AORBBABLB ADVICE. FOR HE OuE family had now made several attempts to be fine ; but some unforeseen disaster demoliuied each as soon as projected. I endeavoured to take the advantage of every disappointment, to improve their good sense in proportion as they were frustrated in ambition. " You see, my children," cried I, " how little is to be got by attempts to impose upon the world, in coping with ooir betters. Such as ar6 poo^, and will associate with none but the rich, are dated by those Uiey avoid, and despised by those they follow. Unequal combinations are always dis- advantageous to the weaker side : the rich having the pleasure, and the poor the inconveniences that result from them. But come, Dick, my boy, and repeat the fable that you were readmg to-day,' for tlift gfMjd of the company." •*Onoe upon a time,'^ cried the child, "a Giant ai|| a Dwarf were friends and kept together. They m^ a bargain that they would never forsake each Ipir, tmt go seek adventures. The tot battle they Icrai^t was with two Saracens, and tl&e Dwarf« wii^ Has very courageous, dealt one of ^f|i||plr "•W***.***!*! ■■■^•^"•(•O •■■■■MHBaMMMa •jsm ■n 66 VICAB OF WAKEFIELD. 008 a most angry blow. It did the Saracen very little injury, who lifting up his sword, fairly stracK off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a woefdl plight ; but the Giant coming to his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the JDwarf cut off the dead man^ head out oi spite. They then tnmUed on to another adventure. This was a^nst three bloody-minded SatyxSy who were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not quite so fierce now as before ; but for all that struck the first blow, which was return- ed by another, that knocked out his eye ; but the GHant was soon up with them, and had they not fled, would certainly have killed them every on^. They were all very joyful for this victory, and the damsel who was reeved fdl in love with the Giant, and married him. They now travelled far, and far- ther than I can tell, tul they met mih a company of robbers. The Giant, for the first time, was foremost now ; but the Dwarf was not for behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever the GK- ant came, all fell before him ; but ^he Dwarf had liked to have been killed more than once. At last the victory declared for the two adventurers ; but the Dwarf lost his leg. The Dwarf was now with- out an arm, a leg, and an e^e, whilst the Giant was without a single wound, U pon which he cried out to his little companion, my little hero, this is glori- ous sport ! let us get one victory more, and then we shall have honour iof ever. No, cries the I)warf, who was by this time grown wiser, no, I declare off ; 111 fight no more : for I find Jn every battle that you get all the honour and rewards, but all the blows fall upon me.*' I was going to moralize this fable, when our at- tention was called off to a warm dispute between my wife and Mr. Burchell, upon my danghtert* i|i- ^aieded expedition to town. My vme very strenn- omffadated upon the advantages that would i$- ■"■^(ti*! mmmir YICAR OF WAK£FIBLD, »r snlt from it ; Mr. Barchell, on the contrary, dlasnar ded her with great ardour, and I stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the second part of those which were received with so ill a grace in the morning. The dispute ^ew high, while poor De- borah, instead of reasomng stronger, talked louder, and at last was obliged to take shdter from a de- feat in clamour. The conclusion of her harangue, however, was highly displeasiniB; to us all ; shiO knew, Bhe said, of some who had their own secret reasons for what they advised ; but, for her part, she wished such to stay away from her house for the future. — *' Madam,'* cried Burchell, with looks of great com- posure, which tended to inflame her more, '*as for secret reasons, you are rig^t ; I have secret reasons, which I forbear to mention, because you are not able to answer those of whicli I make no secret : but I find mv visits here are become troublesome ; I'U take my leave therefore now, and perhaps come once more to take a final farewell when I am quit- ting the country." Thus saying he took up his hat, nor could tne attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed to upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his goinff. nnen gone, we all regarded each other for some minutes with confusion. My wife, xi^o knew her- se^ to be the cause, strove to hide her concern vnth a forced smile, and an cdr of assurance, which I was willing to reprove : " Ho>!?, woman," cried I to her, *^ is it thus we treat strangers ? Is it thus we return their kindness ? Be assured, my d^sjt, that these were the harshest words, and to me the niost un- pleanng diat ever escaped your lips!*'— "Why woold he provoke me then ?*' replied she ; " but I know the motives of his advice perfectly welL He woidd prevent my girls from going to town, that he may have the pleasure of my youngest daughterV oon^any here at home. But whi^^wr happenii ifatt ahaU choose better company ^lll such low^ mti-immmm mt 68 TICAB OF WAKEFIELD. U?ed fellows as he."—" Low-lived, my dear, do yoa call him ?'* cried I, " it is very possible we may mis- take this man's character, for he seems npon some occasions the most finished gentleman I ever knew. — ^Tell me, Sophia, my jp^irl, has he ever given yon any secret instances of his attachment?*' — "Hie conversation with me, Sir," replied my daughter, " has ever been sensible, modest, and pleasing. As to an^t else, no, never. Once, indeed, I remem- ber tohave heard him say, he never knew a woman who could find merit in a man that seemed poor.^ — "Such, my dear,'* ^edl, "is the common cant of all the unfortunate or idle. But I hope you have been taught to judge properly of such men, and that it would be even madness to expect happiness from one who has been so bad an economist of his' own. Your mother and I have now better pro*> pects for yon. The next winter, which you vrill probably spend in town, vrill give yon opportunities of making a more prudent choice.*' What Sophia's reflections were upon this occa- sion. I can't pretend to determine ; but I was not displeased at the bottom, that we were rid of a guest from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went to my conscience a little ; but I quickly nlez^d that monitor by two or three spe- ciotM reasons, which served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which conscience gives the man who has already done wrons, is soon got over. Conscience is a coward, and those fatilts it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has Jkistice enough to accuse. SmSSS CHAPTER XIV. FRXSH MORTIFICATIONS, OR A DBMONSTRATIOIT SKEMINO CALAMITIBS I1IA.Y BB l:BAL BLB88IN08. THAT The journey of my daughters to town was now re- solvea upon, Mr. Thommll having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of their beliaviour. But it was thought in- dispensably necessary that their appearance should equal the greatness of their expectations, which could not be done without expense. We debated* therefore in full council what were the easiest m^ thods of raising money, or more properly speaking,, what we coula most conveni^tly sell. The deU- beration was soon finished ; it was found that our remaining horse was utterly useless for^he plough without his companion, and equally unfit for we road, as wanting an eye ; it was therefore deter- mined that we would dispose of him for the pur- poses above mentioned, at the neighbouring h^f and, to prevent imposition, that I should go wiUi him myself. Though this was one of the first mer^ cantile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opi* nion a man forms of his own prudence, is measured bf that of the company he keeps ; and as mine iqiMtiy in the family way, I had conceived no | 70 YICAB OF WAKBFIBLD. vonrable sentiments of mj worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next mormng, at partinff, alter I had ffot some paces from we door, called me back, to aovise me, in a whisper, to have all my^eyes abont me. I hii|| in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, pvmtfiJ horse through all his paces ; but for ■ome time had no bidders. At last a chainman ap- proached, and after he had for a^ood wnile exa- mined tibe horse round^ finding him blind of one eye, he would have nothmg to say to him : a second came up, but observing he had a roavin, declared he would not take him for the driving home : a third perceived he had a windgall, and would bid no money : a fourth knew by his eye that he had the botts : a fifth wondered what a plague I could do at the fair with a blind, spavined, Milled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a dog-kenneL By this time I be^an to have a most hearty contempt for the poor ammal myself, and was almost ashamed at the approach of every customer ; for though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told me, yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong presumption that they were right ; and St. GhrM|ory, upon Good Works, professes himself to be of the same opinion. I was in this mortifying situation, whoQ a brother deigyman, an old acqnamtance, who had also bti- siness at the fair, came up, and shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house, and taking a inass of whatever we could get. I readily closed with the ofiSer, and entering an ale-house, we wer^ shewn into a little back room, where there was only a venerable old man, who sat wholly iii- tent over a liuge book, which he was reading, ji never in my life saw a figure that prepossessed m# more favourably. His locks of nlver grey veneiiir hlj shaded his temples, and his green old age seeq^ M to be the result of health and benevolmii i | lii | l i i U!lB VICAB OP WAKEFIELD. 71 However, his presence did not interrupt ooi* con- versation ; my friend and I discoursed on the vari- ous turns of fortune we had met ; the Whistonian controversy^ my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time taken off hy the appearance of a youth, who, entering the room, respectfully said something softlv to thv") old stran- ger. *' Make no apologies, my child,*' said the old man, '* to do good is a duty we owe to all our fel- low-creatures ; take this, I wish it were more ; but five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome.*' The modest youth shed tears oi grati- tude, and yet his gratitude was scarcely eqiml to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He con- tinued to read, and we resumed our conversation, until mv c9mpanion after some time, recollecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promis- ed to be soon back ; adding, that he always desired to have as much of Dr. Prmirose^s company as pos^ sible. The old gentleman hearing my name men- tioned, seemed to look at me with attention for some time, and when my friend was gone, mott respectfully demand^ if I was any way related to the ffreat Primrose, that courageous moni^gamist, ^o had been the bulwark of we church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapturethan at that mo- ment. '^ Sir,*' cried I, ^* the applause of so good a man, .as I am sure you are, adds to that hapm^ese in my breast which vour benevolence has ahready excited; You behold before you, Sir, that Dr. ^J^rimrose, the monogamist, whom you have been plesised to call great. You here see that unfortun- ate divine, who nas so long, and it would ill becotxie iBie lo say, successfully, fought against the deuten^ l^y of the aee."— ** Sir,'' cried the stranger, struck I #Ui ftif^e, *'! fear I have been too familial : but yidH'tt forgive my curiosity, Sir : I beg pardoiL"-* ■Mnta 72 YICAB OP WAKEFIELD. <. 7S could I for my life see how the creation of the world had any thing to do with the business I was talking of ; but it was saificient to show me that he was a man of letters, and now I reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to bring him to the touchstone ; but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for victory. Whenever I made an observation that looked liked 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 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 bar- gain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me change it. Not being in a capacity of com- plying with his demand, he ordered his footman to be caScd up, who made his appearance in a very genteel livery. ^Here, Abrahsma,'* cried he, **go and get gold for this ; youll do it at neighbour Jackson's, or anpr where." While the fellow waa gone^ he entertamed me with a pathetic haiangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I undertook , to improve, by deploring also the great scarcity ot sold ; so that bv 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, thai he had been over the whole fair, and could not get change, though he had offered half a crovm &pt doing it. This was a very great disappoint- ment to us all ; but the old gentleman, having paus- ed a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flam- borough in my part of the country. Upon reply- ing mX he was my next-door neighbour ; '* If that be the case then,'' returned he, ^* I believe we shall deal. You sliall have a draft upon him, payable m U YICAR OF WAKXFIBLD. ^ right ; and let me tell you» he is as wann a man as any within fire miles round him. Honest Solo- mon and I have been acquainted for many ^ears \ together. I remember I oould always beat hmi at tteee Jumps ; but he could hop on one leg farther than 1.*' A draft upon my neighbour was to me the Skis') as money ; for I was suffioientW convinc- ed of his ability. The draft was signed, and put into my hands, and Mr. Jenkinson, we old gentle- man, ms man Abraham, and my horse, old olac)i* berry, trotted off very well pleased with eadi other. After a short Interval, beins left to reflection, I bMan to recollect that I had oone wrong in taking a draft from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon followinff the purchaser, and having back my horse. But this was now too late: i therefore made directly homewards, resolving to get the dn^ changed into monev at my friend's as fast as possi- ble. I found my honest neighbour smokinff his inpe at h|s own door, and infcnrmin^ him that 1 had a small bill upon him, he read it twice over. ** You can read the name I suppose,'* cried I, " Ephrahn Jenkinson." — ^**YeB," returned he, ''the name is y written plain enough, and I know the gentleman Btoop the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This is the very same rogue who sold us the specta- cles. Was he not a venerable looking man, with srey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes? And did he not talk a long string of leamine about Greek, and cosmogony, and the world ?" Tx> this I replied with a groan. " Ay," continued he, **" he has but that one piece of learning, and he idways talks it away whenever he finds a scholar in com- panv ; but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet*^ Though I was already sufficiently mortified^ mv greatest struggleVas to come, in facing my wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of returning to school, there to behold the master^s YIGiJl OP WAKJBFIIBLO. 75 yiiape, tlum I ynm of going home. I was determin- ed, Eoweyer, to aatioipi^te their fiiry, by fir«t falling into a paanon myielf. Bnt alas! upon entering, I fonnd the lamilj no wajr dispoeed for battle. Mj wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. ThomhiU haying been there that day to inform them, thai their Journey to town was entirehr over. The two ladies haying h«urd reports of us from some malicioos person abont ns, were that day set out for London. He could neither discover the tendency, nor the author of these ; bnt whatever they might be, or whoever might have broached them, he continued to assure our family of his friendship and protection. I found, there- fore, that they bore my disappointment with great resi^pmtion, as it was eclipsed in the greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most, was to think who co?ild be so oase as to asperse the char raoter of a family so harmless as ours, too humble to excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust. ♦ 3Z . CHAPTER XV. ALL MR. BURCHBLL'S VILLAIfY AT ONOB DKTBCTBD. THB FOLLY OF BBINO OVBR-WI8B. That eveninff, and a part of the following day, was employed in fruitless attempts to discover onr ene- mies : scarcely a family in the neighbourhood but incurred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinions 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 auickljr known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it h|ul been seen, and, upon examination, contained some hhits upon different subjects ; but what par- ticularly engaged our attention was a sealed note, iuperscribed, The copy of a letter to he tent to the two ladHes at ThomhiU Cattle. It instantly oo- onrred that he wa? the base informer, and we deU- lerated whether the > note should not be broke open. 1 was against it ; bit Sophia, who said she was sore that of all men he ^ould 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: "Ladies,- ^ "The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you aa to the person itmn, whom this comea : one at leait the :># VIOAR or WAKBPIBLD. 7f friend of innocence, and femlj to prartnt its being •educed, I am informed for a troth, that Ton hare some intention of Inringing two jonng ladieii to town, whom I have eome knowledge of, nnder the character of companions. As I would neither have simplidtj imposed upon, nor virtue contaminated, I must oner it as my opinion, that the impropriety of snch a step will he attended with oangerous conseouences. 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 mjM^y 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 let- ter, 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. M v wife had scarcely patience to hear me to the end, but railed at the writer with unrestrained resent- ment. Olivia was equally severe, and Sophia seem- ed perfectly amazocf at his baseness. As for my part, it appeared to me one of the vilest inbtances of unprovoked ingratitude I had met with ; nor could I account for it in any other manner, than by imputing it to his desire of detaining my young- est daughter in the country, to have the more fre- quent opportunities of an mterview. In this man- ner we adl sat ruminating upon schemes of ven- geance, 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 pleaskcrt of an approaching vengeance. Though our iiit^ 7S VICAB OF WAKEFIELD* tions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, vet 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 beginninjs with more than ordinary kindness ; to amuse him a little ; and then, in the midst of the flattering calm, to burst upon him like an earth- quake, and overwhelm him with a sense of his own oasenesB. This being resolved upon, mv wife un- dertook to manage the business herself, as she really had some tolents 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 ymie, in a fit of laughter, and then asked pardon for beine fond Of a joke. — ^Dear Madam," replied he, **I pardon vou vnth all my heart, for I protest I should not have thought it a Joke had you not told me.*^ — '* Perhaps not, Sir," cried my virife, vidnking at us ; "and yet I dare say you can tell us how many jokes go to an ounqp." — **I fancy. Madam," re- turned Burchell, "you have been reading a jest- book* this morning, that ounce of joke is so very good a conceit ; and yet. Madam, I had rather see half an ounce of understanding.^' — ** I believe you might/' cried my virife, still snnling at us, though the laugh was against her ; and yet I have seen some men pretend to understandinff that have very little.^^ — "And no doubt,^' returned her antagonist, "you have known ladies set un for vidt that had none." I qcdckly began to find that my virife was likely to gain but little at this business ; so I re- solved to treat him in a style of more severity my- self. " Both wit and understanding," cried I, "are trifles without Integrity ; it is that which gives va- lue to every character. The ignorant peasant with- out fault is greater than the philosopher virith many ; '¥r. mmmfmi VIGAE OF WAKEFIELD. 79 for what is genius or courage without an heart ? An honeit man is the noblest work of God,*'' *'I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope/* returned Mr. Burchell, "as very unworthy a man of genius, and a hase desertion of his own superio- rity. 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 statesmen may have pride, and the champion ferocity ; but shall we prefer to these the low mechanic, who laboriously plods through life without censure or applause ? We mieht as well prefer the tame correct painting of the Flem- idi sdiool, to the erroneous but sublmie animations of the Roman pencil.'' **Sir," replied I, *'your present observation is iust, when there are shining virtues and minute defects ; but when it appears that great vices are opposed in the same mmd to al extraordinary vir- tues, such a character deserves contempt." ** Perhaps,*' cried he, **th^e 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 Uie contrary, I have ever perceived, that where the mind was capacious, the affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly om* friend in this particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish 'he power, where there is the will ;;o do mischief. 'Thu rule seems to extend even to other animals : the IMe vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cow* ardly, 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 eyes steadfastly upon him. [ f» ■' 'I i¥''' immmmmi mimm ■Ma •MMi HO VIGAA OF WAKBFl£LO, "* whose hmd aad heaxt form a most dttoitable con*^ trast. Ay, Sir/' oontinued I, raiung my yoioe, "and I am glad to havo this opportonity of detect- ing him in the midst of his fanded security. Do yon know this, Sir, this pocket-book?"— '*Ye8) mr," returned he, wi|h a face of impenetrable asm- ranee, 'Uhat pocket-book is mine, ami I am gkd yon have foond it."—'* And do you know," cried I, ** this letter ? Nay, never falter man : bat look me fi]dl in the face : I say do von know this letter P"*— - **That letter," returned he, *w VICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 81 companioiiSy tok^isk ^ bqpnoiiig of their Jooraey, inseparablir kinl^|eth6r. Biit their onion wae soon found to pe ■pftl iJf ilihle and inconvenient to both ; Guilt gat% '9bttnii fireqnent nneasineei, and Shame often betraved the secret oonspirades ot Guilt. After long disagreement, therefbre, tiiey at lenirth consented to part for ever. Ghult 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 oul- dren, 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." %:. %■■' 46 CHAPTER XVI. THK FAMILY USB ART, WHICH IS OPPOSBD WITH STILL ORBATER. Whatever might have been Sophisms sensations, the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr. Barcheirs absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits now became more frequent and longer. Tiiough he had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusiiements of the town as he design- ed, tie 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 amu- sed them by describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquaint^d. He could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the playhouses, and had all the good things of the high wxts by rote, long before they made their way into their jest books. The intervals between conversation were employed in teaching my daushtera piquet, or sometimes in setting my two Htile ones to box, to make them sharps as he called it : l|ut the hopes of having him for a son- in-law, in some measure blinded us to all his im- perfections. It must be owned that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him : or, to speak ▼ICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 88 more tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made hy OUyia ; if the gooseberry- wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her ^thering ; it was her fingers which gave the pickles their peonliar green ; and in the comp(mition of a pnddnig, it was her judgment that mixed the in- gredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the Squire, that she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and \vould bid both stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which every body saw through, were very pleasing to our bene- factor, who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which, though they had not risen to propo- sals of marriajgc, yet we thought fell but little short of it ; and his slowness was attributed 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 ot our fa- mily ; my wife even regarded it as an absolute pro- mise. ( My wife and daughters happening to return a vi- sit to neighbour Flamborough^s, found that that £»- mily had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled me country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings ^-head. As this family and ottrs had long a sort of rivalry in point <^ taste, our spi- rit took the alarm at this stolon niUN^^tpon us, and notwithstanding all I coi:dd iiy, i^#^I aaid mueh, it Was resolved that we shoula lii^^j^ttf pietiires done too. Having, therefore, engi||Mf Hie toner, —for what could I do ? — our next d^lbeHi^SA was, to show the superiority of our tastes in lilp Ntti- tudes. As for our neighbour's family, ^miBWlm seren of them, and they were drawn with iMiii oranges, a thin^ quite out of taste, no vari^ in life, no composition in the world. We desirea to have something in a brighter style, and after many ■ta. 84 YIGAB OF WAILBPIBLD. debates, at length came to an unanimouB reiolntion of being dbrawn together in one large hiftorical fiir mily-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 nor drawn in the same manner. As we did not iir.j(iediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with bein^ drawn as inde- pendent historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and tho painter desired not to be too frugal of his diamonolB 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 hcur with my books on the Whistoniaii con- tioyersy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon sittinc upjon 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 mudi pleased the ^Squire, ihat he insisted on being put in as one of the lunilT in the character of Alexander the Ghreat, at Olivia s feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his demre to be introduced into Uie funily, nor could we refuse his request The pain- ter was therefore set to work, and as he wrou|^t 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 perform- ance ; but an unfortunate circumstance nad not oconmd till the picture was finished, which now struck us with dismay. It was so very large that we had no place in the house to Ax it. How we all came to disregard so material a point is inconceiv- able ; but certain it is, we had been all greatly re- miss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying YICAB OF WAK£FIBLD. is out vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most mortify- ing manner, against the kitchen-wall, where the canyass was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the lest of all onr neighhoors. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's long boat, too large to be removed ; ano- ther 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 efPectuallv raised more malicious suggestions in many. The *Squire*s portrait being round united with ours, was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers be^an to circidate at our ex- pense, and our tranquillity was continually disturB' ed by persons who came as friends to teU us what was said of us by enemies. These reports we always re&ented, with becoming spirit ; but scandal ever improves by opposition. We once again therefore entered into a consulta- tion upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at Ifust 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 vdfe nn- d^ook to sound him, by pretending to a^k his ad- vice in the choice of a husband for her eldest daughter. If this was not found sufficient to l||- duce him to a decUuration, it was then resolved ti terrify him with a rival To this last step, how- ever, 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 Mm upon tins occasion, if he did not prevent it, bv taking her himself. Such was the scheme laid, which tl^gh I did noit strenuously oppose, I did not entirely approve. The next time, therefore, that Mr. ThornhiU came to see us, my girls took care to be out of the 4i 86 YICAR OF WAKBFIBLD, w*y, in order to eive their Mamma an opportaidty of patting her scheme in execution ; Imt they only retured to the next room, whence the^ conld over- hear the whole conversation. My wife artfully in- troduced it, by observing, that one of the Miss FUuD.boroagh*s was likis to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the *8aaire assent- ing, she proceeded to remark, that they who had warm fortunes, werealwavs sure of getting good husbands : " But heaven help,^* continued she, ^* the girls that have none. What signifies beauty, Mr. ThomhiU ? 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 kins, it should be otherwise. It should then, indeed, be fine times with the sirls without fortunes : our two youns 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 snoula look for a husband. But, now that jou have put it into my head, seriously, Mr. Thomhill, can't you recom- mend me a proner husband for her ? the is now nineteen years old, well grown and well educated, and in my humble opinion, does not want for parts.'* "Madam," replied he, "If I v?ere to choose, I would find on^t a person possessed of every accom- plishment that can make an angel happy. One with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity : such, Madam, would be in my opinion, the proper hus- band." " 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 .« reat a treasure for ?ICAE OF WAKSPI8LD. 87 ni one min'f poMeadon ; she's a goddess I Upon my sonl| I speak what I think, she^s an angeL'^*' Ah» Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter mj poor girl: but we bare been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who v^ants a manager ; yon know whom I mean, £snner Williams ; a warm man, Mr. Thomhill, able to give her good bread ; and who has several times made her proposals, (which was actually the case) : but,' Sir,^ continued she, ** I should be glad to have your approbation of our choice." — ^^ How, Madam,** re- plied he, ^my approbation! — My approbation of such a choice ! Never. What ! sacrmce so much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature in- sensible 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 ano3er affair : but I should be glad to know these rea8ons.*'-r*' Excuse After hfi was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine senti- ments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion ; but I wes not auite so san- guine : it seemed to me pretty plain, that they had more of love than matrimony in them : yet what- ever they might portend, it was resolved to prose* cute the scheme of farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid herhis addresses. %>:.- CHAPTER XVII. aOABCBLY ANY VIRTUB FOUND TO RRSYST THB POWBR OF LONG AND PLKASINO TKMPTATION. As I only studied my child^s real happiness, the as- •idiiity of Mr. Williams pleased me, as he was in eiMiy circumstances, pmcbnt, and sincere. It re- auired but very little encouragement to revive his Knrmer passion ; so that in an evening or two he and Mr. Thomhill met at our house, and surveved each other for some time with looks of anser ; but Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little re- ttrded his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to perfection, if that might be called actitag which was her real character, pretendins to lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thomhill ai>peared quite dejected at this prefer- enbe, and with a pensive lur took leave, thQnj|;h I own it puszled me to find him so much in pain as he appeared to be, when he had it in his power to easily to remove the cause, by declaring an honour- able passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemedL to enaure, it could easily be perceived that OUvlii^^ angniih was still greater. After any of these w^, temews between ner lovers, of which there several, she usuallv retired to solitude, and . .^ indulged her grie£ It was in such a sitaatkni wm^ ▼ICULB OF WAKBFTBLD. 89 fonnd her one evening, after she had been for some time fupnorting a fictitioos gaiety. ** Yon now lee, my ohild,*^ said I, ''that your confidence in Mr. Thomhill's passion was all a dream : he permits the rivalry of another, every way his infer&r, thongh he knows it lies in his power to secure yon to him- self bv a candid decliuration.^' — " Yes, Papa,** re- tnmea the, "but he has his reasons for this delay : I I know he has. The sincerity of his looks and wordik convince me of his real esteem. A short time I hope, will discover the generosity of his sen- timents, and convince you that my opinion of him has been more just than yours." " Ouvia, my dar- ling," returned I, '* every scheme that has been hi- therto 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 toan ex- planation, shall be ^pranted ; but at the expiration of that term, if he is still r^sardless, I must abso- lutely insist that honest Mr. Williams shall be re- warded 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 dav ; let it be as distant as you think ^oper"; and in the meantime, take care to let Mr. Thomhill know Htk exact tima on which I design delivering you up 10 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 eveh'^-— This ymoeal, which she could not avoid considering^' perfectlv just, was readily agreed to. She mm g g a ewed hermost positive promise of mamingllfr. w^fianu, in case of the other^s insensibilitv ; and at lis next opportunity, in Mr. Thomhill's pro- i£i4suc 1- •fv » IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 US lU 14.0 I 2.2 2.0 U_ 11.6 «^ /: ^^ 'W °^ Photographic Sdences Corporation <<^J^ '^iijiiy^^ 7.3 WBT MAIN STMET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) •72-4503 90 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Ir^i^ sence, that day m'>nth was fixed upon for her nup- tials with his rival Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thomhiirs anxiety : but what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle be- tween prudence and passion, her vivacity quite for- sook her, and every opportunity of solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed away ; but Mr. Thomhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was still assidu- ous : but not more open. On the third he discon- tinued his visits entirely, and instead of my daugh- ter testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed tQ regain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was now sincerely pleased vnth thinking that my diild was going to be secured in a continuance of compet.ence and peace, and frequently applauded her resolution, in preferring happiness to ostenta- tion. It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little family at night were gathe]^ ed round a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future ; busied in form- ing a tnousand projects, and laughing at whatever foUy came uppermost. "Well Moses," cried I, " we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the fa- mily : what is your opinion of matters and things in general?^* — "My opinion, father, is, that £ul things go on very well ; and I was just now think- inff, that when sister Livy is married to farmer mlliams, we shall then have the loan of his cyder- press and brewing-tubs for nothing." — ^**That we •hall, Moses, crieid I, "and he will sing us Death and the Ladpy to raise our spirits into the bargain." <— ^Pe* has taught that song to our Dick,^' cried Moaes, "and I think he eoes through it very pret- Uly." " Does he so ?" cned I, "then let us have H : whexe'8 little Dick ? let him iq;» with it boldly." 1 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 91 u IS '* My brother Dick/* cried Bill, my youngest, _ j lost gone out with sister Livy : but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and 111 sing them for you, Papa. Which song do yon choose, the Dying Swauy or the Unegy on the Death qf, a Mad DogV^ " The elegy, child, by all means,'* said I ; "I never heard tmit 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 went 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 gni- , tar, and thrum in with the boy a little.** AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A BIAD DOO. 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 vras 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 neighbouring streets, The wondering neighbours ran. And swortt the diog had lost his wils. To Mfce so good a roaa. .r0.fjA 92 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 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 show'd the rogues they lied— The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died. ** A very good boy, Bill, upon my word, and an elegy that may be truly callea tragical. Come^ my ^Idren, here's BilPs 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 hmi. The most of his family by the mother's side, could sing a good song : it was a common saying in our countrv, that the family of the Blen- kinsops could never look straight before them, nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle ; that there were none of the Grogfams but could sing a song, or of the Majorams but could tell a story." — ^^ However that be," cried I, " the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine mo- dem 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 freat fault of these elegiasts is, that they are in espair 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 diSister.'^ " That may be the mode,^' cried Moses, "in sub- limer con'positions ; but the Ranelagjh 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 nose- gay ; and then they go together to church, where VICAU OF WAKEFIELD. 93 they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to eet 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 ad- vice can he given v^th so much propriety as there ; for as it persuades us to marry, it also famishes us vnth a wife : and surely that must he an excellent market, my ho^, where we are told what we want, and supplied vnth it when wanting.'' "Yes, Sir," returned Moses, "and I know hut of two such markets for vtrives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarahia in Spain. The Spa- nish market is open once a year ; hut our Engpsh wives are saleable every night." '•You are right, my hoy," cried his mother, "Old England is tne only place in the world for hus- bands to get wives." — "And for vdves 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 sndi 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 Mo we not owe to hea- ven for thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence. I think myself happier now thui the ipreatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fire- lide, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Debo- rah, we are now growing old ; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are descended frova, ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave agood and virtuous race of children behind OS. Wnile we live, they will be our support and our pleasure here : ana when we die^ they will transmit our honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a sons : let us have a chorus. But where is mv darling Olivia ? That little che- rub's voice is aiways sweetest in the concert."— Just as I spoke, Dick came running in. " O Papa, . 94 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Papa, she is gone from us, she is gone from os; my sister Livy is gone from us for ever.*' — ^**<3rone, child !"— " Yes, she is gone off with two gentlemen in a post-chaise, and one of them kissecT her, and said he would die for her : and she cried very mucl^ and was for coming back ; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise, and said, O what will my poor Papa do when he knows I am undone!" — "Now then," cried I, "my poor chil- dren go and be miserable : for we shall never enjoy one hour more. And O may Heaven's everlastmg fury light upon him and his ! — Thus to rob me of my chud ! — 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 chil- dren, go and be miserable and infamous ; for my heart is broken within me !" — ^" Father," cried my son, " is this your fortitude ?" " Fortitude, child ! — ^yes, ye shall see I have fortitude ! Bring me my pistols, ril pursue the traitor: While he is on earth I'll pursue him. Old as I am, he shall find I can sting him vet. The villain! The perfidious villain !"' — I haa 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 husbiEind,'' cried she, "the Bible is the only weapon that is fit for your hands now. Open that, my love, and read our anguish into par tience, 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 iU suited you and your reverend character, thus to curse youi* 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 curst him twice." — " Then may Heaven forgive me land him if I did ! And now, my son, I see it was y VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 95 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 that he hath taken away. But it is not — it is not a small di»- tress that can wring tears from these old eves, 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 charminjB;, till this vile moment all her care was to make us happy. Had she but died ! — But she is gone, the honour of our family contaminated, and 1 must look out for happiness in other worlds than here. But, mv child, you saw them go off; per^ haps he forcea her away ? If he forced her, E^e may yet be innocent." — ^** Ah no. Sir," cried the child ; *'he only kissed her, and called her his an- gel, and she wept very much, and leaned upon his arm, and they drove off very fast." — " She's an un- grateful creature," cried my wife, who coule ; however, I retired to a little ale-house by the road-side, and in this place, the usual retreat ot indigence and frugality, I laid me down patieptly VICA& OF WAK£FIBLD. 99 to wait tne issue of my disorder. I languished here for nearW 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 circumstance alone might have brought on a relapse, had I not been supplied bv a traveller, who stopped to take a cur- sory refreshment. This person was no other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Church- yard, who has written so manv little books for lit- tle 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 import- ance, and was at that time actually compiling ma- terials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Tnp. I immediately recollected this eood-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 re- turn. Leaving the inn, therefore, as I was yet but weak, I resolved to return home by easv joumeprs of ten miles a-day. My health and usual tranqui- lity were almost restored, and I now condemned that pride which had made me refractory to the hand of correction. Man little knows what cala- mities 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 sum- mits of pleasure, though the vale of miseiy below in&j appear at first dani and gloomy, yet tne 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 adiapted to its gloomy situation. I now proceeded forward, and had walked about 100 YICAR OF WAKEFIELD. two hours, when I perceived what appeared at a distance like a waggon, which I was resolved to overtake ; hat wheiil came np with it, found it to be a strolling oompany^s cart, that was carrying their scenes and other theatrical furniture to the next village, where thev 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 mto conversation with the poor player ; and as I once had some theatrical powers myself, I descanted on such topics vnih my usual freedom ; but as I was pretty much unacquainted with the present state of the stage, I demanded who were the principal theatrical writers in vogue, who the Drydens or Otways of the day ? " J fancy, Sir," cried the player, " few of our modem drama- tists would think themselves much honoured by being compared to the writers ^ou mention. Dry- den^s and Rowe's manner, Sir, are quite out of fashion : our taste has gone back a whole centurr ; Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and all the plays of Shak- speare, are the only things that go down. — ^ How," cried I, "is it possible the present age can be pleas- ed with that antiquated dialect, tmit obsolete hu- mour, those overcharged characters, which abound in the works you mention ?" " Sir," returned my companion, "the public think nothing about dia- lect, 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 panto- mime, under the sanction of Jonson's or Shak- speare's name.** "So then, I suppose,'* cried I, " that our modem dramatists are rather imitators of Shakspeare than of nature.*' " To say the truth,*' returned my companion, " I don't know that they imitate any thing at all ; nor indeed does the pub- lic require it of them : it is not the composition of VICAR OF WAKEFIKLD. 101 the piece, but the number of starts and attitudes that ma^ be introduced into it, that elicits applause. I have known a piece, with not one jest in the whole, shrugged into popularity, and another saved by the poet^s throwing in a fit of the gripes. No, Sir, the works of Congreve and Farquhar have too much wit in them for the present taste ; our mo- dem dialect is much more natural." Bj this time the equipage of the strolling com- pany was arrived at the village, which, it seems, had been apprised of our approach, and was come out to gaze at us ; for my companion observed, that strollers always lutve more spectators without doors than within. I did not consider the impropriety of my being in such company, till I saw a mob gather about me. I therefore took shelter, as fast as pos- sible, in the first ale-house that offered, and being shown into the common room, v^as accosted by a very well-dressed gentleman, who demanded whe- ther I was the real chaplain of the company, or whether it was only to be mj mas<][uerade chara<^ ter in the play. Upon my informing him of the truth, and that I did not belong in any sort to the company, he was condescending enough to desire me and the placer to partake in a bov^ of punch, over which he discussed modem politics with great earnestness and interest. I set him down in my own mind for nothing less than a parliament man at least : and was almost confirmed in my conjectures, when, upon asking what there was in the house for supper, he insisted that the player and I should sup with him at his house : with which request, after some entreaties, we were prevailed on to comply. CHAPTER XIX. THB DB8CRIPTI0N OF A PERSON DISCONTBNTBO WITH THB PRBSBNT GOVBRNMBNT, AND APPRB- HBN8IVB OF THB L088 OF OUR LIBBRTIB8. The house where we were to be entertained lying at a small distance from the village, our inciter ob- served, that as the coach was not ready, he would conduct us on foot ; and we soon arrived at one of the most magnificent mansi ns I had seen in that part of the country. The partment into which we were shown was perfectl elegant and modem : he went to give orders for so tper, while the player, with a wink, observed tha' we were perfectly in luck. Our entertainer s jn returned: an ele- gant supper was brought f , two or three ladies in easy didmlnlle wjre intrc uced, and the conversa- tion began with some sph^^diness. Politics, how- ever, was the subject on which our entertuner chiefly expatiated ; for he asserted that liberty was at once his boast and his terror. After the cloth was removed, he asked me if I had seen the last Monitor? to which I replied in the negative. '^What, nor the Auditor, I suppose?'* cried he. 45 Neither, sir," returned I. '* That's strange, veir strange,'* replied my entertainer. '* Now I read au the politics that come out. The Daily, the Publk, X om VICAR CF WAKEFIELD. 103 the Ledger, the Chronicle, the London Evening, the Whitehall Evening, the seventeen Magazines, and two Reviews ; and though thej|r hate each other, I love them all Liberty, Sir, hbertv is the Bri- ton's boast, and by all my coal-mines in Cornwall, I reverence its goardians.^*— ''Then it is to be ho- ped," cried I, " you reverence the king,"'—** Yes," returned my entertainer, **when he does what we would have him ; but if he goes on as he has done of late, 1*11 never trouble myself more with his mat- ters. I say nothing. I think, only, I could have directed some things better. I don^t think there has been a sufficient number of advisers : he sliould advise vnth every person vdlling to give him advice, and then we shocud have things done in another guess manner." *' I wish," cried I, ** that such intruding advisers were fixed in the pillory. It should be the duty of honest men to assist the weaker side of our consti- tution, that sacred power which has for some years been every day declining, and losing its due share of influence in the state. But these ignorants still continue the same cry of liberty ; and if they have any weight, basely throw it into the subsiding scale." *' How," cried one of the ladies, ** do I live to see one so base, so sordid, as to be an enemy to libert)^ and a defender of tyrants ? Liberty, that sacM gift of Heaven, that glorious privilege of Britons !" ** Can it be possible,'* cried our entertainer, ** that there should be any found at present advocates for slavery ? Any who are for meanly giving up the privileges of Britons ? Can any. Sir, be so abjfect ?'* ** No, Sir," replied I, ** I am for liberty, that at- tribute of God ! Glorious liberty ! that ^h^e of modem declamation. I would have all men kinss. I would be a king myself. We have all naturally an eaual right to the throne, we are all orisinallv equal. This is my opinioiii and was once the opi- ia4 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. nion of a set of honest men who were called Level- len. They tried to erect themselves into a commu- nity, where all should be equally free. But, alas ! it would never answer : for there were some among them stronger, and some more cunning than others, and these oecame masters of the rest ; for as sure as your groom rides your horses, because he is a cunninger animal than they, so surely will the ani- mal that is cunninger and stronger than he, sit upon his shoulders in turn. Since then it is en- tailed upon humanity to submit, and some are bom to command, and others to obey, the question is, as there must be tyrants, whether it is better to have them in the same house with us, or in the same vil- lage, or still farther off, in the metropolis. Now, Sir, for my own part, as I naturally bate the face of a tyrant, the farther he is removed from me, the better pleased am I. The generality of mankind also are of mv way of thinking, and have unani- mously created one king, whose election at once diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at the greatest distance from the greatest number of people. Now, the great, who were tyrants them- selves before the election of one tyrant, are natu- rally averse to a power raised over them, and whose weight must ever lean heaviest on the suborcU- nate orders. It is the interest of the great, there- fore, to diminish kingly power as much as possible ; because whatever they take from that, is naturally restored to themselves ; and all they have to do in the state, is to undermine the single tyrant, bv which tluBy resume their primeval authority. Now the state may be so circumstanced, or its laws may be so disposed, or its men of opulence so minded!, as all to conspire in carrying on this business of un- dermining monarchy. For, in the first place, if tl»9 circumstances of our state be such as to favour the accumulation'Of wealth, ax|d make the opulent still more rich, this will increase their ambition. An VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 105 accumulation of wealth, however, must necessarily be the consequence, when, as at present, more riches flow in from external commerce than arise from inteinal industry ; for external commerce can only be managed to advantage by the rich, and they have also at the same time all the emoluments arising from internal industry ; so that the ric^, with us,' have two sources of wealth, whereas the poor have but one. For this reason, wealth, in all commercial states, is found to accumulate, and all such have hitherto in time become aristocratical. Again, the very laws also of this country may con- trmute to the accumulation of wealth ; as when, by their means, the natural ties that bind the rich and poor together are broken, and it is ordained, that the rich shall only marry with the rich : or when the learned are held unqualified to serve their country as councillors, merely ^om a defect of opulence, and wealth is thus made the object of a wise man's ambition ; by these means, I say, and such means as these, riches will accumulate. Now the possessor of accumulated wealth, when furnish- ed with the necessaries and pleasures of life, has no otiier method to employ the superfluity of his for- tune but in purchasing power. That is, differently speaking, in making dependents, by purchasing the liberty of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to bear the mortification of contiguous tyranny for bread. Thus. each very opulent man generally gathers round him a circle of the poorest of the people ; and the polity abounding in accu- mulatea wealth, may be compared to a Cartesian system, each orb with a vortex of its own. lliose, however, who are willing to move in a great man's vortex, are only such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind, whose souls and whose education are adapted to servitude, and who know nothins of li- berty except the name. But there must stm be a large numoerof the people without the sphere of T I J 106 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, [ijl the opulent man's influence, namely, that order of men which subsist between the very rich and the very rabble ; those men who are possest^of too Uir^e fortunes to submit to the neighbouring man m power, and yet are too poor to set up for tyranny themselves. In this middle order of mankind are geneially to be found aU the arts, wisdom, and vir- tues of society. This order alone is known to be the true preserver of freedom, and may be called the people. Now it may happen that this middle order of mankind ma^ lose all its influence in a state, and its voice be m a manner drowned in that of the rabble : for if the fortune sufficient for qua- lifying a person at present to give his voice in state afnirs be ten times less than was judged sufficient upon forming the constitution, it is evident that greater numl^rs of the rabble will thus be introdu- ced into the political system, and they ever moving in the vortex of the great, will follow where great- ness shall direct. In such a state, therefore, all that the middle orckr has left, is to preserve the prerogative and privileges of the one principal co- vemor with the most sacred circumspection. For he divides the power of the rich, and calls off the Seat from falling with tenfold weight on the mid- e order placed beneath them, llie middle order may be compared to a town, of which the opulent are forming the siege, and to which the ffovemor from without is hastening the relief. While the besiegers are in dread of an enemy over them, it is but natural to offer the townsmen the most speci- ous terms ; to flatter them with sounds, and amuse them with privileges ; but if they once defeat the eovemor from behind, the walls of the town will be but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they mAj then expect, may be seen bv turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laWs govern the poor, and the rich govern the laws. I am then for, and would die for monazchy, aaered J VICAR OF WAKEFIBLD. 107 monarchy ; for if there he any thing sacred amongst men, it mast he the anointed Sovereign of his people ; and every diminution of his power, in war, or ia peace, is an infringement upon the real liher- ties of the subject. The sounds of liberty, patriot- ism, and Britons, have already done much ; it is to be hoped that the true sons of freedom will prevent their ever doing more. I have known many of those pretended champions for liberty in my time, yet do I not remember one that was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant."' My warmth I found had lengthened this harangue beyond the rules of good breeding ; but the impa- tience of tny entertainer, who often strove to inter- rupt it, could be restrained no longer. ** What," cried he, *' then I have been all this while enter- taining a Jesuit in parson's clothes ! but by all my coal-mines of Cornwall, out he shall pack, if my name be Wilkinson." I now found 1 rnkd gone too far, and asked pardon for the warmth wim which I had spoken. " Pardon !" returned he, in a fury : *' i think such principles demand ten thousand par- dons. What? give up liberty, property, and, as the Gazetteer says, he down to be saddled with wooden shoes ! Sir, I insist upon your marching out of this house immediately, to prevent worse consequences : Sir, I insist upon it." I was going to repeat my remonstrances; but just then we heard a footman^s rap at the door, and the two la- dies cried out, ** As sure as death there is our mas- ter and mistress come home." It seems my enter- tainer was all this while only the butler, who, in his Blaster's absence, had a mind to cut a figure, and be for a while the gentleman himself ; and, to say the truth, he talked politics as well as most eouhtnr gentlemen do. But nothing could now exceed my confusion upon seeing the gentleman and 1^ laidy enter : nor was their surprise at find- ing such company and good cheer, less than ours. 108 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. ''Gtentlemen," cried the real master of the house to me and mv companion, ''my wife and I are your most humble servants ; but I protest this is so unex- pected a favour, that we ahnost sink under the ob- figation*'* However unexpected our company might be to them, theirs I am sure was still more so to us, and I was struck dumb with the apprehensions of my own absurdity, when whom should I next see enter the room but m^ dear Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was formerly designed to be married to my son George, but whose match was broken off as already lifted. As soon as she saw me, she flew to my arms with the utmost joy. — " My dear sir," cried she, '* to what happy accident is it that we owe so unexpected a visit. I am sure my uncle and aunt will be in raptures when they find they have the good Dr. Primrose for their guest." Upon hearing my name, the old gentleman and lady very politely stept up, and welcomed me with the most coz^iiu hospitality. Nor could they forbear smiling, upon being informed of the nature of my present visit : but me unfortunate butler, whom they at first seem- ed disposed to turn away, was at my intercession fomven. Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house be- longed, now insisted upon having the pleasure of my stay for some days ; and as their niece, my charming pupil, whose mind in some measure had been formed under my own instructions, joined in their entreaties, I complied. That nieht I was shown to a magnificent chamber, and the next morning early Miss Wilmot desired to walk with me in tne garden, which was decorated in the mo- dem manner. After some time spent in pointing out the beauties of the place, she inquired with seeming unconcern, when last I had heard from my son George.^ *'Alas! madam," cried I, **he has now been nearly three years absent, without ever writing to his friends or me. Where he is I TICAR OF WAKEFIELD 109 know not ; perhaps I shall never see hhn or happi- ness more. No, my dear Madam, we shall never more see suoh pleasing hours as were once spent hy onr fire-side at Wakefield. Mj little family are now dispersing very fast, and poverty has brought not only want, but infamy upon us." The good- natured girl let fall a tear at tnis account ; but as I saw her possessed of too much sensibility, I forbore a more minutis detail of our sufferings. It was, however, some consolation to me, to find that time had made no alteration in her affections, and that she had rejected several offers that had been made her, since our leaving her part of the country. She led me round all the extensive improvemisnts of the place, pointing to the several walks and ai^ bours, and at the same time catching from every object a hint for some new question relative to my son. In this manner we spent the forenoon, till the bell summoned us in to dinner, where we foand the manager of the strolling company that I mentioned before, who was come to dispose of tick- ets for the Fair Penitent, which was to be acted that evening, the part of Horatio by a young gen- tleman who had never ajipeared on any staee. He seemed to be very warm in the praises of the new performer, and averred that he never saw any w)io bid so fair for excellence. *^ Acting," he observed, **was not learned in a day ; but this gentleman,*' continued he, '* seems born to tread the stage. His voice, his figure, and attitudes, are all admirable. We caught him up accidently in our journey down." This account, in some measure, excited our curio- sity, and, at the entreaty of the ladies, I was pre^ vailed upon to accompany them to the play-house, which was no other than a barn. As the company with which I went was incontestably the chief of the place, we were received with the greatest res- pect, and placed in the front seat of the theatre ; where we sat for some time with no small impar no VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. tience to see Horatio make his appearance. The new performer advanced at last ; and let parents Udnk of my sensations by their own, when 1 found it was my unfortunate son. He was going to be- gin, when, tumins his eyes upon the audience, he perceived Miss Wumot and me, and stood at once speechless and immoveable. The actors behind the scene, who ascribed this pause to his natural timi- dity, attempted to encourage him ; but instead of goinff on, he burst into a flood of tears, and retired off the stage. I don^t know what were my feelings on this occasion, for they succeeded with too much ra- pidity for description ; but I was soon awaked from this aisagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who, pale, and with a trembling voice, desired me to conduct her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr. Arnold, who was yet a stranger to our extraordi- nary behaviour, being informed that the new per- former was my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him ; ana as he persisted in his refusal to ap- pear again upon the stage, the players put another m his place, and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold ^ave him the kindest reception, and I re- ceived him with my usual transport ; for I could never counterfeit false resentnient. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I could perceive she acted a studied part. The tu- mult in her mind seemed not yet abated ; she said twenty giddy things that looked like joy, and then kughed loud at her x>wn want of meaning. At in- terns she would take a sly peep at the ^ass, as if happy in the consciousness of irresistible beauty, and often would ask questions without giving any manner of attention to the answers. CHAPTER XX. THE HISTORY OF A PHILOSOPHIC VAGABOND, PVRSVINO NOVELTY, BUT LOSING CONTENT. After we had sapped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her footmer for my son's bag- gage, \v-hich he at first seemed to decline ; but upon her pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, tliat a stick and wallet were all the moveable thinss upon this earth Uiat he could boast of. "Why, ay, my son," cried I, "you left me but poor, and poer I find you are come back ; and yet I make no doubt you have seen a great deal of the world.^* — ** Yes, Sir," replied my son, "but travelling after fortune is not tEe way to secure her ; and indeed of late I have desisted from the pursuit." — " I fancy, Sir,** cried Mrs. Arnold, "that the account of your adventures would be amusing: the first part of them I have often heard from my niece : but could the company prevail for the rest, it would be an ad#tkn^ obligation."— " Madam,'* replied my son, i "I pfomise you the pleasure you have in hearing I wm n<)f be hc^lf so great as my vanity in repeating i titem *, yot in the whole narrative I can scarcely ! piomise you one adventure, as my account is rather of what I saw than what I did. The first misfof^ ' tune of my life, which you all know, was great ^ Imt Ihough it distressed, it could not sink me. No Fm VICAR OP WAKEFIELD. person ever had a better knack of hoping than I. The less kind I found fortune at one time, the more I expected from her another, and beins now at the bottom of her wheel, every new revolution might Uft, but could not depress me. I proceeded, there- fore, towards London on a fine morning, no ways uneasy about to-morrow, but cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road, and comforted myself with reflecting, that London was the mart where abilities of every kind wei^ sure of meeting dis- tinction and reward. " Upon my arrival in town. Sir, my first care was to deliver your letter of recommendation to our cousin, who was himself in little better circum- stances than I. My first scheme, you know. Sir, was to be usher at an academy, and I asked his ad- vice on the affair. Qur cousin received the propo- sal with a true Sardonic grin. * Ay,* cried he, ' tnis is indeed a very pretty career that nas been chalked out for you. I have been an usher at a boarding- school myself ; and may I die by an anodyne neck- lace, but I had rather be an under^tumkev in New- gate. I was up early and late : I was brow-beat y the master, hated for my uely face by the mis- tress, worried by the boys wiwin, and never per- mitted to stir out to meet civility abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a school ? Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred an apprentice to the business?* No. * Then you won't do for a school Can you dress the boys' hair ?' No. ' Then ypu won't do for a school. Have you had the small-pox ?' No. ' Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed ?' No. * Then you will never do for a sdbooL Have you got a good stomach ?* Yes. ' Then yon will by no means do for a schooL No, Sir, if you are for a genteel easy profession, bind yourself se- ven years an apprentice to turn a cutler V wheel; but avoid a school by any means. Yet comoi' oon- Unued he, ' I see you are a lad of spirit and ii^me s "i^'^ YIOAR OP WAKEFIELD. 118 learning— what do you think of oommencinff au- thor, like me ? You have read in books, no c^nbt, of men of genius starving at the trade : at present, I'll show you forty very dull fellows about town that live by it in opulence ; all honest jogtrot men, who go on smoothly and dully, and write history and politics, and are praised : men, Sir, who, had they Deen bred coblers, would all their lives have only mended shoes, but never made them/ ** Finding that there was no degree of gentility affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved to accept his proposals ; and having the highest res- pect for literature, hailed the antiqiuz mater of Grub-street with reverence. I thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before me. I considered the goddess of this region as the parent of excellence ; and however an inter- course with the world might give us good sense, the poverty she entailed I supposed to be the nurse of genius! Big with these reflections, I sat down, and finding that the best things remained to be said on the wrong side, I resolved to write a book that should be ^i/moUy new. I therefore drest up three paradoxes vnth some ingenuity. They were false, indeed, but they were new. The jewels of truth have been so often imported by others, that nothing was left for me to import but some splen- did things that at a distance looked every bit as well. Witness, ye powers, what fancied importance sat perched upon my quill while I was writing ! The whole learned world, I made no doubt, would rise to oppose my systems ; but then I was prepa- red to oppose the whole learned world. Like the porcupine, I sat self-collected, ynih. a quill pointed against every opposer." * " Well said, my boy," cried I, "and what subject did you treat upon ? I hope you did not pass over the importance of monogamy. But I interrupt ; 46 i 114 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. go on : yoa published jour paradoxes ; well, and what did the learned world say to your naradoxes ?'' **Sir," replied my son, 'Hhe leamea world said nothing to my paradoxes; nothing at all. Sir. Every man of them was employed in ]f raising his friends and himself, or condemning his enemies; and unfortunately, as I had neither, I suffered the cruellest mortification, neglect. '* As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on the fate of my paradoxes a little man happening to enter the room, placed himself in the box before me, and after some preliminarv discourse, finding me to be a scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, bej^ging me to subscribe to a new edition he was ffomg to give to the world of Propertius with notes. This demand necessarily produced a repljr that I had no money ; and that concession led mm to in> quire into the nature of my expectations. Finding that my expectations were just as great as m]^ nurse, *I see,^ cried he, 'you are unacquainted with the town ; 111 teach you a part of it. Look at these proposals, — upon these very proposals I have sub- sisted very comfortably for twelve yearn. The mo- ment a nobleman returns from his travels, a Greo- lian arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from her country-seat, I strike for a subscription. I first be- siege their hearts with flattery, and then pour in my proposals at the breach. If they subscribe readily the first time, I renew my request to beg a dedica- tion fee. If they let me have that, I smite them once more for en^ving their coat of arms at the top. Thus,^ continued he, ' I live by vanity, and laugh at it. But between ourselves, I am now too well known : I should be glad to borrow your face a bit ; a nobleman of distinction has just returned from Ital^ ; mv face is familiar to his norter ; but if you brins; this copy of verses, my life for i^ jou succeed, and we divide the spoil. ^^ *' Bless us, George," cried I, "and is this the em- III II I III nil I ▼ICAR OP WAKBFIKLD 115 ployment of poets now ! Do men of their exalted talents thus stoop to beggary ! Can they so far dis- grace their calling, as to make a yUe tramo of praise for bread?" '*0 no, Sir/' returned he, 'f I could, to be very happy. " In this honourable post, however, I was not without a rivaL A captain of marines, who was formed for the place by nature, opposed me in my patron^s affectiona His mother had been laundress VICAR OF WAKSPIBLD. 117 to a man of quality, and thus he earlj acqnired a taste for pimpinff and pedisree. As this gentleman made it the study of his life to be acquainted with lords, though he was dismissed from several for his stupiditv, yet he found many of them who were as dull as niiLielf, that permitted his assiduities. As flattery was his trade, he practised it with the easi- est address imaginable ; but it came awkward and stiff from me : and as every day my patron's desire of flattery increased, so every hour being better ac- quainted with his defects, I became more unwiUing to give it. Thus I was once more fairly goinj; to ffive up the field to the raptasn, when my fnend found occasion for my assistance. This was nothing less than to fight a duel for him, with a gentleman whose sister it was pretended he had used ill. I readily complied with bis request, and though I see you are cUspieaSed with my conduct, yet as it was a debt indispensably due to friendship, I could not refiise. I undertook the affair, disarmed my antar gonist, and soon afte;: had the pleasure of findinir that the lady was only a woman of the town, and the fellow her bully and a sharper. This piece of service was repaid with the warmest professions of eratitude ; but as my friend was to leave town in a few days, he knew no other method of senring me, but by recommending me to his uncle Sir Wmiam Thornhill,' and another nobleman of great distinc- tion, who enjoyed a post under the government. When he was gone, my first care was to carry his recommendatory letter to his uncle, a man whose character for every virtue was universal, yet just. I was received by his servants with the most hospi- table smiles ; for the looks of the domestics ever transmit their master^s benevolence. Being shovm into a grand apartment, where Sir William soon came to me, I delivered my message and letter, wldeh he retA, and after pausing some minute% 'Pray, Sir/ cried he, 'inform me what you have 118 yiCAR O^ WAKBFISLD. done for my kinsman, to deserve this vnrm recom- mendation ? But I suppose, Sir, I guess jour me- rits ; you have fought ror him: and so yon would expect a reward from rne for b^jB^ the instrument of his vices ? I wish, sincerely wish, that my ||re> sent refusal may he some punishment for your guilt ; but still more, that it may be some inducement to vour repentance/ — The severity of this rebuke I bore patiently, because I knew it was just. My whole expectations now. therefore, lay in my letter to the great man. As tne doors of the nobility are almost ever beset with beggars, all ready to thrust in some sly petition, I found it no easy matter to gain admittance. However, after bribing the ser^ vants with half my worldly fortune, I was at last shown into a spacious apartment, mv letter being previously sent up for his lordship s inspection. During tiiis anxious interval I had full time to look round me. Every thing was grand, and of Lappy contrivance ; the paintings, the furniture, the ^d- ingSy petrified me with awe, and raised my idea of the owner. Ah ! thought I to myself, how very great must the possessor of all these things be, who carries in his head the business of the state, and whose house displays half the wealth of a kingdom ; sure his genius must be unfathimiable ! During these awful reflections, I heard a step come heavily forward. Ah, this is ihe peat man himself ! No, it was only a chambermiaid. Another foot was heard soon after. This must be he ! No, it was only the great man^s valet-de-chambre. At last his lordship actually made his appearance. ' Are you,' cried he, ' the bearer of this here letter ?' I answer- ed with a bow. * I learn by this^' continued he, 'as how that — ^ But just at that instant a servant delivered bun a card ; and vnthout taking farther notice, he went out of the room, and left me to di- gest my own happiness at leisure. I saw no more of him, till told by his footman that his lordship VICAR OP WAKBFIBLD.. 119 was going to his coach at the door. Down I imme- diatmy followed, and joined my voice to that of three or four more, who came, like me, to petition for favours. His lordship), however, went too fast for ns, and was gaining his chariot door with large strides, when I hallooed out to know if I was to have any reply. He was by this time got in, and mattered an answer, half of which only I heard, the other half was lost in the rattling of his chariot wheels. I stood for seme time with my neck stretched out, in the posture of one that was listen- ing to catch the glorious sounds, till looking round me, I found myself alone at his lordship's gate. "My patience,*' continued my son, "was now qmte exhausted : stung with the thousand indigni- ties I had met with, I was willing to cast myself away, and only wanted the gulf to receive me. I regarded myself as one of those vile things that nature designed should be thrown by into her lum- ber-room, &ere to perish in obscurity. I had still, however, half a guinea left, and of that I thought fortune herself should not deprivp me ; but in or- der to be sure of this, I was resolved to go instantly and spend it, while I had it, and then trust to oc- currences for the rest. As I was going along with this resolution, it happened that Mr. Crispe's office seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome re- ception. In this office, Mr. Orispe kindlj offers all his Majesty's subjects a generous promise of £flO a-year ; for which promise, all' they give in return is their liberty for life, and permission to let him transport them to America as slaves. I was hapjpy at finding a place, where I could lose my fears in desperation, and entered this cell (for it had th« appearance of one) with the devotion of a monastic Here I found a number of poor creatures, all in cir- cumstances like myself, expecting the arrival of Mr. Crispe, presenting a true epitome of English impatience. Each nntractable soul, at variance 120 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. with fortune, wreaked her mjories on their own hearts : but Mr. Crispe at last came down, and all our murmurs were hushed. He deifped to regard me with an air of peculiar approbation ; and, in- deed, he was the first man who, for a month past, had talked to me with smiles. After a few ques- tions, he found I was fit for every thing in the world. He paused awhile upon the properest means of providing for me ; and, slapping his fore- head as if he had found it, assured me, that there was at that time an embassy talked of from the sy- nod of Ponnsylvania to the Chickasaw Indians, and that he would use his interest to get me made se- cretary. I knew in my own heart that the fellow lied, and yet his promise gave me pleasure, there was something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly therefore divided my half guinea, one half of which went to be added to his thirty thousand pounds, and with the other half I resolved to go to the next tavern, to be there more happy than he. ** As I was going out with that resclution, I was met at the door by a captain of a ship, with whom I had formerly some little acquaintance, and he agreed to be my companion over a bowl of punch. Aa I never choose to make a secret of my circum- stances, he assured me that I was upon the very point of ruin, in list^ening to the office-keeper's pro- mises : for that he only designed to sell me to the plantations. 'But,^ continued he, 'Ifancv you might, by a much shorter voyage, be very easily put into a genteel way of bread. Take my advice. My •hip sails to-morrow for Amsterdam : what if you Sin l^r as a passenger P The moment you land, yon have to do is to teach the Dutchmen Eng- lish^ and rU warrant youll get pupils and money enoiug;ii. I suppose you understand English,' added hfiy * by this time, or the deuce is in it.' I confidently aflBored hun of that ; but expressed a doubt whe- t^r Uie Dutoh would be willing to learn English. YIGAIl OF WAKEFIELD. 121 He ftfRnned with an oath that thej were fond of it to distraction ; and, upon that affirmation, I a|;reed with his proposal, and emharked the next &y to teach the Datch English in HoUand. The wind was fair ; our voyage short : and, after having paid my passage with half my moveables, I fonnd my- self, fallen as from the skies, a stranger in one of the principal streets of Amsterdam. In this situa- tion, I was unwilling to let any time pass unem- ployed in tcachinff. I addressea myself, therefore, to two or three of those I met, whose appearance seemed most promising ; but it was impossible to make ourselves mutuaUy understood. It was not till this very moment I recollected, that in order to teach the Dutchmen English, it was necessary that they should first teach me Dutch. How I came to overlook so obvious an obiection, is to me amazing ; but certain it is I overlooked it. *'ThiB scheme thus blown up, I had some thoujp^ts of fairly shipping back to England again ; but falling into companjrwith an Irish student who was returning from Louvaine, our conversation turning upon topics of literature, (for by the way it maybe observed, that I always foreot the meanness of my circumstances when I could converse upon such subjects,) from him I learned that tLere were not two men in his whole university who under* stood Greek. This amazed me. I instantly resolv- ed to travel to Louvaine, and there live by teaching Greek ; and in this design I was heartened bv my brother student, who threw out some hints tnat a fortune might be got by it **I set boldly forward the next morning. Every day ]^ssened the burden of my moveables, uke ^sop and his basket of bread ; for I paid them for mf lodgings to the Dutch as I travelled on. Whenl came to Louvaine, I was resolved not to go sneaking to the lower professors, but openly tendered my ta- lents to the principal himself. I went, had awit- 122 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. tance, and offered him my servioe as a master of the Greek laDgiia«;e, which, I had heen told, was a de- sideratum in his nniversity. The principal seemed at first to doubt of my abilities ; but of tjiese I of- fered to convince him by turning a pwrt of anv Greek author he should fix upon into Latin. Find- ing me perfectly earnest in my proposal, he addres- sed me thus : ' You see me, youne man : I never learned Greek, and I don^t find that I have 'ever missed it. I have had a doctor^s cap and gown without Greek ; I have ten thousand florins a-year without Greek ; I eat heartily without Greek ; and, in short,' continued he, 'as I don't know Greek, I do not believe there is any good in it.* *' I was now too far from home to think of re- luming ; so I resolved to go forward. I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now turned what was my amusement into a present means of subsistence. I passed among the harm- less peasants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough to be very merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards nightfall, I played one of my most meny tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play for people of fashion ; but they always thongnt my performance odiouli, and never rewarded me even with a trifle. This was to me more extraordinary, as whenever I used in better days to play for company, when pla3ring was my amusement, my music never failed to tmrow them into raptures, and the Ifbdies especially ; but as it was now my only means, it was received with con- tempt — a proof how ready the world is to ander- rate those talents by which a man is supported. *' In this manner I proc^'Hied to Pans, vnth no design but just to look a«K,at me, and then to go forwiurd. llie people of Paris are muo?i fonder of VICAR OP WAKBFISLD. 123 strangers that have money than of those that have wit. As I could not boast much of either, I was no mat favcnrite. After walking about the town four or five days, and seeing the outsides of the best houses, I was preparing to leave this retreat of. ve- nal hospitality, when passing through one of the principal streets, whom shomd I meet but our cou- sin, to whom you first recommended me. This meeting was very agreeable to me, and I believe not displeasing to him. Ue inquired into the na- ture of my journey to Paris, and informed me of Jiis own business there, which was to collect pic- tures, medals, intaglios, and antiques of all kinds for a gentleman in London, who had Just stept into taste, and a large fortune. I was the more surpri- sed at seeing our cousin pitched upon for this office, as he himself had often assured me he knew nothing of the matter. Upon asking how he had beNTINUANCS OF FRIKND8HIP AMONOST THH VICIOUS, WHICH IS COKVAIi ONLY WITH MUTUAL SATISFACTION. My son's aooonnt was too long to be deUvered at once. The first part of it was begun that night, and he was concmding the rest met dinner the next day, when the appearance of Mr. Thomhill's equipage at the door seemed to make a pause in the general satisfaction. The batler, who w4s now be- come my friend in the family, informed me with a whisper, that the ^Squire had already made some orertores to Miss Wilmot, and that her aont and ancle seemed highly to approve the match. Upon Thomhill^s entering, he seemed, at seeing n^^aon and me, to start biMk ; but I readily imputed that to surprise, and not cUspleasure. However, upon our advancing to ailute him, he returned our greet- ing with the most apparent candour ; and, luter a short time, his presence served only to increase the general good humour. After tea, he called me aside, to inquire after my daughter ; but, upon my informing nim that m inquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surpr^ sea ; adding, that he had been since frequently at my house, in order to lomf ort the rest of my faiml^ wnom he left perfectly well. He then asked if^ •wm i iV l h | i i| irM ii |T i i »i#j ''- 128 VICAB OP WAKEFIELD. I had eommumcated her miifortane to Miss Wilmot, or my Bon ; and upon my replying that I had not told them as yet, he gjreaUy approred my pmdence and precaution, desiring me, hy all means, to keep it a secret : '| For at host,** cried he, <*it is hnt df- vnlging on^s own infamy ; and perhaps Miss livy may not he so guilty as we ^11 imagine.^^ We were here interrupted hy a servant, who came to ask the ^Squire in, to stand up at countr]r dances ; so that he left me quite pleased with the interest he seem- ed to take m my concerns. His addresses, how- ever, to Miss Wilmot, were too ohvious to he mista- ken : and yet she seemed Aot perfectly pleased, hut hore them rather in compliance to the will of her aunt than real inclination. I had even the satis- faction to see her lavidi some kind looks upon my unfortunate son, which the other could neither ex- tort hy his fortune nor assiduity. Mr. Thomhill's seeming composure, however, not a little surprised me : we had now continuea here a week at the pressing instances of Mr. Arnold ; hut each day the more tenderness Miss Wilmot showed my son, Mr. Thomhill's friendship seemed proportionahly to in- crease for him. He had formerly made us the most kind assu- rances of using his interest to serve the family ; hut now his generosity was not confined to promises fldone. The mommg I designed for my departure, Mr. Hiomhill came to me with looks of real plea- sure, to inform me of a piece of friendship he had done for his friend Qeorge. This was notning less than his having procured him an ensign's commis- sion in one of the regiments that was going to the West Indies, for which he had promised but one hundred pounds, his interest having been sufficient to get an abatement of the other two. ^ As for this trifling piece of service,^' continued the young gentleman, ** I desire no oth# reward but the plear sure of having served my friend ; and as for the TICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 129 hundred pounds to be paid, if you are unable to i^ise it yourselves, I will advance it, and yon shall repay me at your leisure.'* This was a favour we wanted words to express our sense of : I readily, therefore, gave my bond for the money ; and testi- fied as much gratitude as if I never intended to pay. George was to depart for town the next day to secure his commission, in pursuance of his generous patron's directions, who judsed it highly expedient to use despatch, lest, in the meantime, another should step in with more advantageous proposals. The next morning, therefore, our young soldier was early prepared for his departure, and seemed the only person among us that was not affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he Was going to encounter, nor uir friends and mistress — for Miss Wilmot actually loved him — ^he was leaving behind, any way damped his spirits. After he had taken leave of the rest of the company, I gave him all I had, my blessing. "And now, my ooy," cried I, "thou art going to fight for thy country, remember how thy brave grandfather fought for his sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue. Go, my boy, and imitate him in all but his misfor- tunes, if it was a misfortune to die with Lord Falk' load. Go, my boy, and if vou fall, though distant, exposed, and unwept by those that love yon, the most precious tears are those with Which heaven bedews the unburied head of a soldiet.** The next morning I took leave of the flood fa- mily, that had been kind enough to entertain me so long ; not without several expressions of gratitude to Mr. Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in the enjoyment of all that happiness which afflu- ence and good-breeding procure, and returned to- wards home, despairing of ever finding my daugh- ter more, but sending n sigh to heaven to spare and forgive her. I was noW come within about twenty 46 K i^ao VICAB OF WAKEFIELD. miles of home, having hired a horse to carry me, as I was yet but weak, and comforted myself with hopes of soon seeing all I held dearest upon earth. But the nieht coming on, I put up at a little publio- house by the road-side, and asked for the landlord's company over a pint of wine. We sat beside his kitchen-fire, which was the best room in ^e house, and chatted on politics, and the news of the coun- try. We happened, among other topics, to talk of youn^ 'Squire Thomhill, who, the host assured me, was hated as much as his uncle, Sir William, who sometimes came down to the country, was loved. He went on to observe, that he made it his whole study to betray the daughters of such as received bim to their houses ; and, after a fortnight's or three weeks' possession, turned them out, unrewarded, and abandoned to the world. As we continued our discourse in this manner, his wife, who had been oat to get change, returned, and perceiving that her hui&nd was enjoying a pleasure in whidi she wa#iiot a^er, she asked him m an angry tone, what he did there ? to which he only replied, in an iivmieal way, by drinking her health. *' Mr. Sym- monds,'' cried she, '' you use me very ill, and PU bear it no longer. Here three parts of the business is left for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished ; while you do nothing but soak with the guests j^ll day loQg: whereas, if a spoonful of liquor were to etire me of a fever, I never touch a drop." I now lound what she would be at, and immediately p^Mtfed her out a glass, which she received with a tmfiBiBfi and drimiing towards my good health, ^Sir,'' resumed she, ^it is not so much for the va- lue of the liquor I am angry, but one cannot help lit when the house is going out of the windows, if thie customers or guests are to be dunned, all the iMurden lies upon my back r he'd as lief eat that glass as budge after them%imself. There, now, alx>T« stairs, we have a young woman, who has ^mki^Sm-,., VICAB OF WAKBFISLD. lai come to take up her lodgings here, and I donH be- Ueve she has got any money, by her over civility. I am certain me is very slow of payment, and I wish she were put in mind of it** — ""^ What signifies mindinff her ?*' cried the host, *'if she be slow, die is sure. — " I don't know that," replied the wife ; **but I know that I am sure she has been here a fortnight, and we have not yet seen the cross of her monev.'' — "I sui>pose, my dean" cried he, "we shall have it all in a lump." — '* In a lump !*' cried the other, ** I hope we may set it an;f vi^y ; and that I am resolved we will this very night, or out she tramps, bag and bagsaffe.*' — ^'^ Consider, my dear," cned the husband,^' me is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect." — ^'^ As for the matter of that," returned the hostess, "gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a sassarara. Gentry may be good things where thev take ; but for my part, I never saw much good of them at the agn of the Harrow." — ^Thns saving, she ran up a narrow flight of stairs that virent from the kitchen to a^roomtiver head ; and I soon perceived by the loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her reproaches, that no money was to be had from her lodger. I could hear her remonstrance very distinctly: '^Out, I say ; pack out this moment ! tramp, thou infamous strumpet, or VU give thee a mark thou won*t be the better for these three months. What ! you tnsm- pery, to come and take up an honest house with^itt cross or coin to bless yourself with ; come along, 1 say.'* — "O, dear Madam,*' cried the stranger, '*fity me, mtj a poor abandoned creature for one night,, and death will soon do the rest.'* — I instantly knew the voice of my poor ruined child Olivia. I flew to her rescue, while the woman was dragging her along hj the hair, and I caught the dear forlorn wretdi in mv arms, ^^elcome, any way welcome my dearest lost one, vy treasure, to your poor d4 faiher's bosom ! Though the vicious forsake thac^ rrfV m TICAR OF WAKEFIELD^ f.V'" '.«.-' ■ '■4! there is yet one in the world that will never fdrsakd thee ; though thou hast ten thousand crimes to an- swer for, he will forgive them all.** "O my own dear," — for minutes she could say no more — "my own dearest good Papa ! Could angels he kinder ! How do I deserve so much ! The villain, I hate him and myself, to he a reproach to such goodness. You can't forgive me, I know you cannot. " Yes, my child, from my heart I do forgive thee ! Only repent, and we hoth shall yet he Imppy. We shall see many pleasing days yet, my Olivia!" **Ah\ never, Sir, never. The rest of my wretched life must he infamy ahroad, and shame at home. But, alas ! Papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could such a thing as I am give you so much uneasiness ? Surely you have too much wisdom to take the miseries of my guilt upon yourself." " Oar wisdom, young woman," rephed I. "Ah ! why so cold a name, rapa ?" cried she. " This is the first time you ever called me by so cold a name." "I ask pardon, my darling," returned I, "but I was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow de- fence against trouble, though at last a sure one." The landlady now returned to know if we did not choose a more genteel apartment, to which assent- ing, we were Siown a room where we could con- Verse more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of the ^radatiotis that led to her present wretched situation. "That villain, Sir," said she, " from the first day of our meeting, made me honourable, though private proposals.'* " Villain, indeed!" cried I ; "and yet it in some measure surprises me, how a person of Mr. Burchell's fp6d sense and seeding honour could be guilty of su0h deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to rnido it." ^ •♦My dear Papa," returns my daughter, "you kbour under a strange mistake. Mr. Burchell ne- ""•'im vrCAU OF WAKEFIBLD. 138 ver ftttempted to deceive me ; instead of that, he took everr opportunity of privately admonidiing me against the furtifioes ^l Mr. Thomhill, who I now find was even worse than he represented hinu*' "Mr. ThomhiUr interrupted!; "can it be?"— "Yes, Sir;' returned she, "It was Mr. Thomhill who seduced me ; who em|^oyed the two ladies, aa he called them, but who, m fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeI deed. Sir,'' replied she, "he owes all his ti^- umpii to the desire I had of making him and not vayaeU happy. I knew that the ceremony of oiv marriace, which was privately performed by a po- pidi priest, was no way binding, and that I had no- Uiing to trust to but his honour." — ^ What !" in- terrupted I, "and were you indeed married byii priest, and in orders ?"— " Indeed, Sir, we were,'' replied she, " though we were both sworn to con- ceal his name."—" Why, then, my child, conie to my arms agun : and now you are a thousand limm more welcome than before ; for you are now Ml wife to all intents and ^urpos^vJill CW%I1 #i laws of man, though written mant, lessen the force of that coi 134 YICAR OF WAKEFIBLD. m ''Alas! Papa," rej^Hedshe, ''joa are bat little acquainted with his villanies ; he has been married already by the same priest to six or eight wives more, whom, like me, he has deceived and aban- doned.'* ''Has he so ?" cried I, "then we must hang the priest, and yon shall inform against him to-mor- row.''— " But, Sir," returned she, "will that be right, when I am sworn to secresy ?" — ^" My dear," I replied, "if you have made such a promise, I can- not, nor vrill I tempt you to break it. Even though it may benefit the public, jrou must not inform against him. In all human institutions, a smaller eril is allowed to procure a greater good ; as, in politics, a province may be given away to secure a Kingdom ; in medicine, a limb may be lopped off to preserve the bodv ; but in religion, the law is writ- ten, and inflexible, never to do evil. And this law, my child, is right ; for, otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil to procure a greater good, certain guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of contin- gent advantage. And though tne advantage should oertainlv follow, yet the interval between commis- sion and advantage, which is allowed to be guilty, may be that in which we are called away to answer for the things we have done, and the volume of hu- man actions is closed for ever. But I interrupt, my dear ; go on.'* "The vety next morning," continued she, "I found w^t little expectation I was to have from hit sincerity. That very morning he introduced me > to two unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had 46Mived, but who lived in contented prostitu- tion. I loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in hii ifiboHons, and strove to forget my infamy in Jk^oQ^nlt of i^Ml With this view I danced, -M. A nimf^|jj||[|ji ; but still vfBA unhappy. The ited there told me every moment ly charms, and this iMiIy oOntribu- VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 135 ted to increiBise my melanchqlv, as I had thrown all their power quite away. Hhm eaeh day I grew more pensive, and he more insolent^ till at^Mt the mpnst«rhad the assurance to <^fier me to a young Baronet of his acquidntance. Need' I describe, Sir, how his ingratituaejrtung me ? My answer to this proposal was almost madness. I desired to part. As I wfeB gdng, he offered me a purse ; hut I nung it at him with indignation, and burst from him in a ragi^ that for a while kept me insensible of the miseries of my situation. But I soon looked round me, and saw myself a vile, abject, and guilty thing, without one fnend in the world to apply to. Just in that interval, a stage-coach happening to pass by, I took a place, it being my aim to be driven to a distance from a wretch i despised and detested. I was set down here, where, since my arrival, my own anxiety, and this woman^s unkindness, have been my only companions. The hours of pleasure that I have passed with my mamma and sister, now grow painfcu to me. Their sorrows are much ; but mine are greater than theirs, for mine are mixed with guilt and infamy.^' *^Have patience, my child,'* cried I, '*and I hope things will yet be better. Take some repose to- n%ht, and to-morrow I'll carry you home to your mdther and the rest of the family, from whom you will receive a kind reception. — Poor woman ! this W gone to her heart : but she loves you still, Oli- via, and will forget it." W' •w* as CHAPTER XXII. OFFENCBS ARR EASILY PARDONED WHBRB THSRK 18 LOVE AT BOTTOM. Thib next morning I took my daughter behind me. Mid set out on my return home. As we trarellea along, I strove by every persuasion to calm her sor- rows and ie&rti, and to arm her with resolution to bear the presence of her offended mother. I took every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine coun- try, through which we passed, to observe how much knider Heaven was to us than we to each other, and that the misfortunes of nature's making w^re very few. I assured her, that she should ney^ pMToeive any change in my affections, and that d ring^my life, which yet micht be long, slie i ,4[^|iend upon a guardian and an instructor. I ed lier against the censures of the world, sb( hti^ thai books were sweet unreproaching com 0u^ to the miserable, and that if they coulc I bdng us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it. The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that nicht ^ an inn by the way, within abcmt fivo mileB mm mf house ; and as I was willing to pre piP my nanily for my daughter's reception, I de- lOTained iaujwtie her that night at the inn, and to ccompanied by my daughter So^ VIC^U OF WAKEFIELD. 137 phia, early the next morning. It was night before ' vre reached our appointed stage : lio^ij^eyer, after seeing her provided iviih a decent apartiQiiii^ j^d having ordered the hostess to provide . freahments, i ki«sed her, and prpoc9iddn us: let us not, tiierelore, increase thm bf dissension among each other. If we live h^tauuAowAy together, we may yet be contented, as thmre are enough of us to shut out the censuring world, and keep eacth o4her in countenance. The kindness of Heaven is promised to the penitent and let our's be directed oy the examnle. Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to view a re- pentant sinner, than ninety-nine persons who have supported a course of undeviating rectitude. And tlus is right ; for that single Bnort by which we ttUm short in the down-hill path to perdition, is it- sdtf a greater exer^on of virtue than a hundred acts of justice;^' """" ' "il ' . ' .'^!}:m\}:. > j iiNlfiiiifeB' aim ; CHAPTER XXHL NONE BUT THB GUILTY CAN BR LONG AND COMPLBTJlLY MIBBRABLB* jioME agsiduity was now required to make our pre- sent abode as convenient as possible, fi^#e wet^ soon again qualified to enjoy our former lerehHy* B^inc disabled myself fi^om aisi^ng m^ son in mar nsuaf occupations, I read t& iofmciij the fbw books that were saved, and partiCiiliirly from such as, by amuring the imagination, contributed to ease the heart Our good neidibours, too, came every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a time in wHch they were all to assist at repairing my former dwelhng. Honest Farmer Williams was not last among those visitors ; but heartily offered hk friendship. He would even have renewed Mb addresses to my daughter ; but she re|ected him in sudi a manner, as totally repressed his future soli- citations, tier grief seemed formed for continuiiut, and shi ^m the only person of our little tticwij that a week did not restore to cheerfulness Bm iiow lost that unblushing innocence which oiiee taott^ hi^ to respect herself, and to seek pleasure by pitetng. Anxiety now had taken strong wm- Sdindn ofmf mind ; her beautv beean to belm^ p9&M with her constitution, and neglect still more dont^buted to diminish it lEimef tender ej^Hm ■4' 142 VICAR OF WAKSFIBLD. bettowed on her sister, brought a pang to her heart, and a tear to her eve ; and as one vice, though cu- red, ever plants others where it has been, so her former guilt, though driven out by repentance, left jealousy and envy behind. I strove a thousand ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own pain in a concern for hers ; collecting such amusing passages of history, as a strons memoiy and some reading could sufigest, " Our happiness, my dear/ ' I would say, ** is m the power of One who can bring it about a thousand unforeseen ways, that mock .oar foresight If example be necessary to prove this, 111 give you a story, my child, told us by a grave, though sometimes a romancing historian. ''Matilda was married very young to a Neapoli- tan nobleman of the first quality, and found herself '# 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 Voltuma, the child, with a sudden spring, leaped from her arms into the flood below, and dis- app^Hared in a moment. The mother, struck with infant surprise, and making an effoict 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 plunderinff 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, tifeey were going at once to j>erpetrate those two extremes suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base resokition, however, was opposed by a young officer, iri^o, though their retreat required the utmost expedition, placed her behind him, and bqp^ht her in safety to his native city. Her beauty allpnt caught his eye, her merit soon titer his heiii^ They were married ; he rose to the h^|^|^ pejjm^ihey lived long together, and w^e W&piJ* But *\ VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 143 Bat the felicitv of a toldier can never be called permanent : alter an interval of several years, the troops which he commanded having met with a re- pnlse, he was obliged to take shelter in the city where he had lived with his wife. Here they suf- fered a siege, and the city at length was taken. Few histories can produce more various instances of cruelty than those which the Frend^ and Itali- ans at that time exercised upon each other. It was resolved by the victors, upon tins occasion, to put all the French prisoners to death ; but particularly the husband of the unfortunate Matuda, as he was principally instrumental in protracting the siege. Their determinations were in general exe- cuted almost as soon as resolved upon. The captive solcUer was led forth, and the executioner, witn his sword, stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy fdlence awaited the fatal blow, wluch was only susr- pended till the general, who presided as judge, should give the signal. It was ingthis 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 hj a pre- mature death in the river Voltuoaa. to be the spec- tator of still greater calamities. The general, who was a young man, was struck with surprise 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 £kI encountered 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 hiq^piness that love, friendship, and duty, could confer on each, were united.'' In %Mb manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter ; but ahe listened with divided attention : . for 1^ own misfortunes engrossed all the pity she Jl. 144 VICAR OF WAKBFIELD. once had for those of another, and nothing gave her ease, hi company she dreaded contempt ; and in solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the co- lour of her wretchedness, when we received certain information that Mr. Thomhill was going to he married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I always sus^ pected he had a real passion, thoi^;h he took every opportunity before me to express his contempt both Of tier person and fortune. This news only served to increase 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, \dth instructions to know the truth of the report, Und to deliver Miss Wilmot a letter, intimating Mr. Thornhill^s conduct in my familj. My son went in pursuance of my directions, and m three days returned, assuring us of the truth of the account ; but ^|kt he had found it impossible to ddiver the lett#, which he was therefore obliged to leave, aa Mr. Thomhill and Miss Wilmot were vidildng round the cotmtry. They were to be mar- ried, fie siud, in a few days, having appeared toge- ^aat at church, th& Sunday before he was there, in grejtt splendour ; the bride atte^nded by six ^ung udies, and he by as many gentlemen. Their ap- proaching nuptials filled the whole countrv with y«|oieing; kna they usually rode out togetner in m i^randest equipage that had been seei^ in the OQantry for many years. All the friends of both flui^i6es, he said, were there, particularly the 19qaire's uncle. Sir William Thomhill, who bore, so gci^ A character. He added, that nothing bat I B^h and feasting were going forward ; tkai all the country praised the young bride's beauty, and ^nB bridegroom's fine person, and that thevwere immensely fond of each other ; concluding^ that be VIGAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 145 could not h€|lp thinking Bftr. Thomhill one of the most happy men in the world. " Why, let him live if he can," returned I ; •♦hut, dren ifroeping round me for hreiui : you htt?e come home, my child, to all this ; yet hcare, eteii here, you see a man that would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations. O, my children, if you could hut learn to commune with your own hearts, and know what nohle company you can make them, you would little regiurd the elegance and splendour of the worthless. Almost all men have heen taught to call life a passage, and thems^ves the travellers. The similitude stiU may he improved, when we ob- serve that the good are joyful and serene, like tra- vellers that are going towards home ; the vdeked but by intervals happy, like travell«p that are goii^ into exile." & Hy compassion for my poor daiig)iter, overoow- ered by this new disaster, interrupted idiat I had farther to observe. I bade her motner support h«r, 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 appearand ces deceived me ; for her tranquillity was tbe laB* gai» of over-wreuffht resentment. A^wxpffy of provisions, charitably sent us by my Idi^ pMdeil ers, ieemed to diffuse new cheerfulness aiQ0nifilt| rest of the family ; nor was I cUspleased at seehut them once more sprightly and at ease. It woud have been unjust to damp their satisfaction, merely to condole with resolute melancholy, or to bnidiui them ^th a sadness they did not feel. Thus, onoe mor^ the tile went round, and the sons waa^ d»- maoded, and dieevfulness condescended to hotm round our little habitation. 41$ L iii w i M i ' |is M a /ii 1 1 I , n il ■■ ' ii III' I ' "" ' r ■«-..■, i M / CHAPTE^^XIV. WBMsa jCALAuvma, Tbb next nioniiii|^ the san arose with peculiar warmth for the s^itBOii, so that we agreed to break- fast together 01^ the honev-snckle bank ; where, while we sat, n^jr yonngest danghter, at my request, Joined her ydoe to tlS concert on the trees about m. It was in 1^ place that my poq^ Olivia first met her seiniQi||| and everr object served to recall her sadnetk Bat that melancnoljr» which is exci- ted l^ olijects of pleasore, or mspued by sounds of htTBiOip^, soothes the heart instead of corroding it Her ji^ther, too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasiog diiiiiM, and w«^. and loved her daughter as be- ii|i ^Do, my pretty (^via/' cried edbe, * it We can marry her to another in a shcNrt time ; | and what is more, she may keep her loyot beside | for I protest I i^iall ever contraue to have a true f lenva for her.^ liMind aH my paariona alarmed at thk new d»- giading proposal ; for tiiongh the mind may often be cahn unme ex- •iage, is rd talks iows his s of that on, and it at my »dwith lanning refuse. »nce for r dangh- ighyour your re- despise Wy, de- hononr, B, there- possess , health, infamy, Isn, shall though have my i upon it and we VICAR OF WAKBFl£LD. 149 shall shortbr see which is the fittest oblect of scorn, you or me.^— Upon which he departea abruptly. My wife and son, who were present at this inter- view, seemed ternfied with apprehensions. My daughters also, finding Uiat he was gone, came out to M informed of the result of our conference, which, when known, alarmed them not less than the rest. But as to myself, I disregarded Ihe ut- most stretch of his malevolence : he had already struck the blow, and now I stood prepared to repel every new effort ; like one of Uiose mstruments used in the art of war, which, however thrown, still pte- sents a point to receive the enemv. We soon, however, found that he had not threat- ened in vain ; for the very next morning his stew- ard came to demand my annual rent, wmch, 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 ap- praised and sold the next cby for less than half their value. My wife and children now therefore entreated me to comply upon any terms, rather than incur certain destruction. Thej even begged of me to admit his visits once more, and used all their little eloquence to paint the csJamities I was going to endure ;— the terrors of a prison in so ri- gorous 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 auty has taught me to forgive him, but my conscience will not T^fsrmit me to approve. Would you have me applaud to the world, what my heart must internally condemn? Woidd you have me tamely sit down and flatter our infamoc^ 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 abacbty rmtttmrn MMtHH* ''■i f:. 150 VICAE OF WAKEFIELD. .* only let us hold ta the ri§^t ; and ^^Mrever we tan thrown, we can eUU letiie to a charming apart- iL^nty when we ean look round our own heuts with intrepidity and with pleasure !" In this manner we spent that evening. Early the next morning, as the snow had fallen in great ahandanoe in the night, my son was employed in clearing it away, ana opening a passage befor.^ ihe door, lie had not been thns engaged long, v lion he came ranning in, with looks 2l pale, to tell us that two strangers, whom he knew to be officers of justice, were makins towards the house. Just as he spoke they came, and approaching the bed where I my, after previously informing me of their emplojrment and business, made me their pri- soner, biddmg me prepare to go with them to the county niol, which was eleven miles ofL *^My friends,'* said I, ''this is severe weather in 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 terriUe man- ner, and it has thrown me into a slight fever, and I want clothes to cover me ; and i am now too weak and old to walk &r in such deep snow ; but if it must be 80- w I then turned to my wife and children, and di- rected thjun to get together what few thinj^s were left us, and to prepare munediately for leaving this place. I entreated them to be expeditious, and deflired my son to assist his eldest sister, who, from a consciousness that she was the cause of all our calamities, was fallen, and had lost anguish in in- sensibility. I encouraged my wife, who, pale and tremblis^, dasped our aflrignted little ones in her arms, that ^ung to her bosmn in silence, dreading to look roimd at the strangers. In the meantime, my youngi^ daughter prenared for our dMMurture ; ana as she received several hints to use ae sp a t dt, ni about an hour we were ready to depart. t n CHAPTER XXV. NO SITUATION, HOWBVSR WRBTCHBD IT 81BM8, HAS 80MB SORT OF COMFORT ATTBNDINO IT. BUT W£ set forward from this peaceful neighbonrhocd, and walked on slowly. My eldest daughter heing enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begim for some days to undermine her constitution, one of the officers, who had a horse, kindly took her be- hind him : for even these men cannot entirely di- vest themselves of humanity. My son led one of the little ones by the hand, and my wife the other ; while I leaned upcn my youn^st 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 the poorest of my parishioners. These, with dreadful miprecations, soon seized upon the two officers of justice, and, swearing thev would never see their minister go to gaol while tney had a drop of ^bN)d to shed in his cfofence, were going tp use them With the greatest severity. The conseq u^ee is||^ hat0 been fatal, had I not immediately 6i t|ft |fe e ed ^ tmA wi^ some difficulty rescued the opcfon firotn tl^ ' hands of the enraged multitude. ' iHy chilf*"""" who looked upon my delivery now as certain, aim •ed transported with joy, and were incapab 152 VICAR OF WAKBFIELD. containing their raptures. Bat thej were soon an- deceived, upon hearing me address the poor deluded jMople, who came, as they imagined, to do me ser- vice. ^What! my friends,'' cried I, "and is this the way you love me ? Is this the manner you ohev the instructions I have given you from the pulpit? Thus to fly in the face of Justice, and hring down ruin dn yourselves and me ? Wnich is your ring- leader? Show me the man that has thus seduc^ you. As sure as he lives, he shall feel my resent- ment. — Alas ! my dear deluded flock, return hack to ihe duty vou owe to God, to your country, and to me. I snail yet perhaps one day see you in greater felicity here, and contrihute to make your Eves more happy. But let it at least be m v com- fort, when I pen my fold for immortality, that no one here shall he wanting.** They now seemed all repentance, and melting into tears, came one after tne other to bid me fare- weU. I imook each tenderly bv the hand, and leav- ing them my blessing, proceeaed forward, without meeting any farther mterruption. Some hours be- fore night we reached the town, or rather village ; for it consisted of but a few mean houses, having lost all its former opulence, and retaining no marKs of its ancient superiority but the gaol. Upon entennff we put up at the inn, where we had such refreimments as could most readily be Iproeured, and I supped with my family with my iisaal cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that night, I next attended the i^eriflTs officers to the prison, which had formerly iMtti built for the purposes of war, and consisted of fine large apartment, stronglv grated and paved with stone, common to both telo^ and debtors at certain hours in the four and twenty. Besides thisi evaiy prisoner had a separate cell, where he was lodtea in for the night TICAB OF WAKRFIBLD. 158 I expected, npon my entrance, to find nothing bat lamentations, and various sounds of miseiy; but it was very different. The prisoners seemed all employed in one common design, that of forget- ting thought in merriment or clamour. I was ap- prisidd of the usual perijuisire required upon these occasions, and immediately comnlied witn the de- mand, though the little money I nad was very near being all exhausted. This was immediately sent away for liquor, and the whole prison was soon fil- led with riot, laughter, and profaneness. **How," cried I to myself, ** shall men so very wicked be cheerful, and shall I be melancholy j 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 cheer- ful ; but cheerfulness vras never yet produced by effort which is itself painful As I was sitting, therefore, in a comer m the gaol, in a pensive pos- ture, one of my fellow-prisoners came up, and sit- ting 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 instructions : if bad, he mi^ be assisted by mine. I found this to be a knowmg man, of strong unlettered sense, but a thorough knowledge of the world, as it was called ; or, more properly speaking, of human nature on the wrong side. He ticked me if I had taken care to proritte myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had never once attended to. ** That's unfortunate,*' cried he, **a8 you are al- lowed 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-clothes are heartily at your service." I thanked him, professing mv surprise at finearfectly well ; I bought a horse, but for^t to pay for him. Your nei^^bour Flamborough is the onl^ proaecutor I am any way afraid of at the next ass^ zes : for he intends to swear positively against me as a coiner. I am heartily sorry. Sir, 1 ever de- ceived you, ox indeed any man : for yon see,'' con- tinned he, showing his soaekles, "what my tridra have brought me to.'' "Well, Sir," replied I, "your kindness in offe^ ing me asdstance when you could expect no return, shall be repaid with my endeavours to soften^ or to- tally suppress, Mr. Flamborough's evidence, and I will aeiMf my son to him the first opportunity ; fifflr •Man r ▼lOAR OF WAKIFIILD. 155 do I in the least doabt bat he will oomply with my reqpeit : and m to my own eridenoe, yon need he nnder no nneedneM Mboat that.* ^ Well, Sir/ cried he, ''all the return I oaamake ihall he yoors. Yon nail have mftre than half my hed-ekihea to-night, and 111 take care to atand yonr friend in the priaon, where I think I ha?e some inflnence.** I thanked him, and could not aroid being sorprl- sed at the present yonthfiil chance in his aspect : for at the tune I haa seen him berore, he appeared at least sixty. — ^''Sir,'* answered he, ''yon are little acquainted with the world ; I had at that time fobe hair, and have learned the art of counterfeit- ing every ase 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, aad that, p^baps, when you least expect it.'* We were now prevented from fhrther conversar tion by the arrival of the gaoler's servants, who came to call over the prisonm naines, and lock up for the night A fellow, also, vrith a bundle of straw for my bed, attended, who led me along a dark narrow passace into a room paved like we common prison, and in one comer of this I spread my bed, and the clothes given me by mv fellow-pri- soner ; which done, my conductor, who was civil enouffh, bade me ^ood night After my usual me- ^tatu>n8^ and having praised my Heavenly Cor- rector, I laid myself down, and slept with the up- most tranquilltty till morning. •*'j CHAPTER XXVI. A RSrORMATIOlf IN THB OAOL. TO MAKE LAWS €X>M- PLITB, TRBY SHOULD MWARD AS WILL AS PUNISH. The next morning early I was awakened hw mj £»- mily, whom I found in tears at my bed-siae. The gloomy utrength of every thing about us, it seems, had daunted them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, asffiRiig them I had never slept with greater tran- quiltitv ; and next inquired iJter my eldest daugh- ter, wao was not among them. They informed me that yesterday's uneasiness and fatigue had inereas- ed her fever, and it was judged proper to leave her behind. My next care was to send my son to pro- enre a room or two to lodge the family in, as near the prison as conveniently oould be found. He obeyed ; but could only find one apartment, which was hind at a small expense for his mother and sisters ; the gaoler, with humanity, consenting to let him and ms two little brothers lie in the prison with me. A bed was tiberefore prepared for them in a comer of the room, which I thought answered very conveniently. I was wUling, however, previ- ously to knoWy whether my little children chose to lie m a place which seemed to fright them upon entrance. *' WelV* cried I, **my good boys, how do you •-r rjMgW VICAR OB WAKBFISLD. 157 like your bed ? I hope yoa are not afraid to lie in this room, dark ae it appears ?" "^ No, Papa,** saji Dick, *« I am not afraid to Ue anvwhere where yon are.'* ** And I,'* says Bill, who was yet bnt four years old, *'loYC 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 di- rected to watch her deolininj^ sister's health : my wife was to attend me ; my httle boys were to read to me. ''And as for yon, my son,'* continued L '* it is by the labour of your hands we must all hope to be supported. Your wages as a day-la- bourer will be fully sufficient, with proper frugality, to maintain us all, and comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years old, and hast strensth, 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 agamst to-morrow, and bnng home every night what money you can earn for our sup- port.** Havins thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I walked down to Uie common prison, where I could enjoy more air and room. Bnt I was not long there when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that invaded me on every side, drove me back to mv apartment again. Here I sat for some time, pondering upon the Strang infatuation of wretches, who, finding all mankind in open arms against ^hem, wwe labouring to make themselves a future and a tremendous enemy. Their insensibility excited my highest compas- sion, and blotted my own uneasiness from my nund. It even appeared a duty incumbent upon me to atr tempt to reclaim thooi. I resolved, therefore, once more to return ; and, in spite of their contempt, to give them my advice, and conquer tibem by my par- severance. Qtnng, therefore, among them again, I 158 ▼ICAR OP WAKSriBLD. infonaed Mr. Jenkinacm of mj darigD. at idiioh lie laughed heartily, bat ocxmmiinicaited it to the rest The propoial wai feoeiyed with the greatest good- hamour, aa it promised to aiOford » new Amd m eob- tertainment to persons who had now no other re- source for mirth, hot what could he derived firam ridicule or debaachery. I therefore read them a portion of the service with a loud unaffected voice, and found mj audi- ence perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd whiq>ers, groans of contrition burleiqned, winking and coughing, alternately excited laughter. How^ ever, I continued with my natural solemnity to read on, sensible that what I did might mend some, but eould itself receive no contamination from any* After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, viidch vras rather calculated at first to amuse them than to reprove. I preriously observed, that no other motive but their vralfare could induce me to this : that I was their fellow-prisoner, and now got nothing by preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hasr thttoti so very profane, because they got nothing bv it» and might lose a great deal : '* For be assmd^ InofMaadBy" cried I, ^'for you are my friends, how- ever the world may disclaim your friendship, though yoB swore a thousand oaths in a day, it would not psit one penny in your purse. Then what signifies «iUin|( every moment upon the devil, and courting hb friendshjip, since you find how seurvily he uses you ? He has giv«[i vou nothing here, you find, but a mouthful of oatns and an emp^ belly ; and by the best accounts I have of him, he will give you noUiing that^s good hereafter. *' If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturaUv go elsewhere. Were it not worth your while, theu, just to tir bow you may like the uaage of another master, wno gives you fair promises at bast to come to him ? Surely, my friwids, of all slBj^ty in the world, his must be the greateti, >*ii VICAII OF WAKEriBIJI. 16& frbo, after robbing a hoaae, ran8 to the ihiel*taksn Iemt protection. And yet how are yea more wise ? Yon are all seeking comfort from one that has al- leady betrajped you, applying to a more malidoas being than any thief-taker of them all ; for they only deooy 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 receifed the oompUf ments of my audience, some of wh iiared a frugal mcttl, while Mr. Jenkinson begged leave to add his dinner to ours, and partake ofthe pleasure, as he was kind enough to express it, of ray conversation. He had not yet seen my fanulv ; for as they came to my apartment by a door in md narrow passage already described, by this moans they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at the first interview, therefore, seemed not a little ^ruck with the beauty of my youngeft daughteiv which her pensive air contributed to heighten :. and my littb ones did not pass unnotioed. '* Alas, Doctor,'' cried he, ** these children are too handsome and too good for such a place as this !'* '* Why, Mr. Jenkinson,'' repUed I, '* thank Hear van, my children are pretty tolerable in morals; and if tney be good, it matters little for the rest." "I fancy, Sir," returned my fellow-prisoner, " that it. must give you great comfort to nave all tlus little family about you." t, '■■ " ' I I I' m i l ■ •* ii' i . I ' . I III ■ I " I I " " 'ss^w-'^mfmrn leo ▼lOAE or WAKBFIBLD. ^^Aoonifoit, Mr. Jenkinson r replied I; **yfii, it is incteed a oomfort, and I would nol be without tbem lIII | I IH !»| L II | |II . TICAB OF WAKKftBLD. 16i | twenty, thoai^ I was pcH^fectlir honest, yet evenr one toonght me so cunnings that not one would trust me. Thus I was at last obliged to turn sharp- er in mj own defence, and have lived ever sinoe, my head ^rohhing with sehemes to deoeiTe, and my heart palpitawig with fears of detection* I used often to klv^h at your honest «mple illi^ hour Fkmbovough, and one way or other geniiiuly cheated him onee a year. Yet still the honest ttiaa went forward without suspicion, and grew rich« wMle I still continued tricksy and cunning, and was poor, without the consolation of being honest. However/' continued he, 'Uet me know your case, and what has brought you here ; perhaps, though I have not dcill to avoid a gaol myself, I may extri- cate my friends." In compliance with h*s curiosity, I informed him of the whole train of acddents and follies that had plunged me into my present troubles, and my utter ma^uity to get free. After hearing m^ storv, and jMiusing some iuh nutes, >e dappM his forehead, as if he had Mt upon something material, and took his leave, saying, hm would try idiat coidd be done. ': ^m if, i 46 M I iMmtMlHimi CHAPTER XXVIL THB 8AMB SUBJBCT OONTINUBD. Tnfi next morning, I oommnnicated to my wife and children the scheme I had planned of reforming the prisoners, which they received with nniyersfu disapprobation, alle|;ing the impossibility and im- propriety of it ; adding, that my endeayonrs would no way contribate to their amendment, but might probaoly disgrace my caUinc. C^^pBxcQse me,'* returned I; ''these people, how- iedlen, are still men ; and that is a very good ^^1*^ to my affections. Good counsel rejected, re- 'li^ns to enrich the giver's bosom ; and Uiough the ihsftruetion 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 dunseon is as precious as that seated upon a throne: Yes, my treasures, if I can mend them, I vrill : perhaps they will not all deroise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from the gulf, and that will be great flun ; for is there upon earth a gem so precious as m human soul ?** Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the eomnon prison, where I found the prisoners very wiwfy, expecting my arrival ; and each prepim •»m "S^ TICAU OF WAKEFIELD. 168 with tome gaol trick to ptlay npon the debtor. Ihiu, 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 spittinff through his teeth, which Mk in showers upon my book. A third would cry amen, in such an affected tone, as gate the nist great dtMg^A. A fourth had sUly picked my pocket of my spMtltcles. But there was oiie trick gayemore uniyersal pleasure than all the rest ; for one obserying the manner in which I had disposed my books on we table before, he yery dexterously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the plac«. How- eyer, I tooK no notice of all that this mischieyous group of little beings could do ; but went on, per- fectly sensible that what was ridiculous in my at- tempt would excite mirth only the first or second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeeded;. and in less tlum six days some were peniteni, taSSi all attentiye. It was now that I ajiplauded my perHByerauoe and address, at thus giving seusibility to wretches diyested of eyery moral feeling ; and now begai^^ think of doin|| them temporal sendees also, by retl- dering their situation somewhat more comfortid^ Their time had hitherto beendiyided betweeitfa^ mine and excess, tumultuous riot and bitter r^pH^ ning. Their only employment was quarrelling among each other, playing at cribbage, and cuttu^ tobacco-stoppers. From this last mode of idle inr dustry, I took the hint of setting such as ehose to work at cutting pegs for tobacconists and shoemar kers, 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. A did not stop here, but instituted fines for the Snishment of immorality, and rewards for pecu- rindui^. Thus, in less than a fortnight I had JV IH WlCkR OF WAKBFISLI>. formad them into loaiething social and bmnaiM, and bad the pleasure of regarding m jaelf as a legis> lator» who had brought men firom their native f ero- oitjT into friendship and obedience. And it were highljr to be wished, that legislative power would thus direct the law, raUier to ref or* matioB than severity : that it woiUd seem convin- ced, that the vrork of eradicating crimes is not by making punishments lamtUar, but formidable. Aen, instead of our present prisons, which find, or make men guilty ; which enclose wretcher for the eommimon of one crime, and return them, if re- turned alive, fitted for the perpetration of thoxt- sands ; we should see, as in othe^ parts of Europe, f^es of penitenoe and solitude, where the accused might be attended by such as could give them i pentanoe, if guilty, or new motives to virtue, if in- nocent And this, but not the increasing punish- ment, is the way to mend a state. Nor can 1 avoid even questioning the validity of that ri|jht which social combinations have assumed, of capitally pu- nishtng offences of a slight nature. In cases of mmder, their right is obvious, as it is the duty of us all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off Uiat man who has shown a disregard for the life of ano- ther. Against such, all nature rises in arms ; but k is not so a^nst him who steals my property. Natural law gives me no right to take away his life, as, by thatp the horse he steals is as much his pro- pertv as mine. If then I have any right, it must be nrom a compact made between us, that he who deprives the otner of hii^ horse shall die. But this is a false compact, because no man has a right to barter his life any more than to take ^^ . ^vay, as it> is not his own. And, besides, the compact is ina- deqmate, and would be set aside even in a court of m(Kbm equity, as there is a great penalty for a very teiflinc convenience ; since it is fu better that two men should live, than one should ride. But a com- Aas ▼IGAm OF WAKBFIXLD. 166 pel that is £die between two men, ii eqimlly lo between a hnndred, or a hundred thoviana ; for as ten millions of eindes can never midce a sqnare, so the nnited yoice of tnjriads cannot lend the small* est iirandaticm to fiOsehood. It is thns that reason meaks, and nntntored natove says the same thing. Savages that are directed by natraral law alone, are yeiy tender of the lives of each other ; they seldom died blood bat to retaliate f (nrmer cmelty. Oar Sanon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had but few execations in times of peace ; and in all commencing goyemments that have the print of nature still strong upon them, scarcely any crime is hdd 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, (^ovemment^ whilst it grows older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age ; and as if our property were become dearer in proportion as it lucreased ; as if the more enormous our wealth, the more extensive our fears; a^ our possessions are paled up with new edicts every day, and hung round with gibbets to scare every indivi- duaL I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our penal lav^s, or the licentiousness of our peopk^ that this country should show more ccmviets m a year than half the dominions of Europe united. Perhaps it is owing to both ; for they mutually pro- duce each other. When, by indiscriminate penal lawi^ 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 djySf tinction is the bulwark of all morality. Hius mi multitude of the laws produce new vices, and new ^oes call for fresh restraints. It were to be wished, then, that power, instead of contriving new laws to punish vice ; instead of IM 166 TicAK 01 wakivisld; dmring hard the ooids of toeiot j IQI » eonfnliioii ouBo to bonl thorn; iiutood of ooitkp oim wntehitMiiMlMi, boforowebavo tfiod tGwoll* lily; Imtood of ooovertkig oorrec tioa iaio vio^ geoaoo; it wwo to be wished that we tried tki fo- gkriedfO arte of gofenmient, and make law the proteetOTr a&d not the tjrant of the peeflft We ihoiild then find that craaturML whMO aoi^ an held ae dioaiy on^ wanted tho nand of a refiner. We ihoald then find that oreatoiea now itnok np §n long tortnrei, leet Inxnry dioald feel a momen- tary pang, mk^t, if propokiy treated, lerve to ilnew the itate m tunea of danger : that ae theb faoee are ]£ke oon, their hearts are so too ; that lew minds are so baae as that p er severanee cannot amend ; that a man may see nis last erime withont dying for it; and that yesy little blood will serve to eement onr aeeiirity. ■■■MMwn ssse -»tf':^)^*^ ! CHAPTER XXVIII. MAFKNB88 AND MI8BRY RATHSR THS RKSULT OF PBU- DSNCB THAN TIRTUI, tM THIS LIFI ; TEMPORAL SVILS OR FBUCinRS BRING RROARDBD BY HBAVBN A8 TBIMOS MBRBLY IN THSMBBLVES TRIFLING, AND UNWOR- THY ITS CARB IN THB DISTRIBUTION. I HAD now been confined more than a fortnigbt^ bat had not since my arrival been visited hy my dear Olivia, and I greatly longed to see her. Hav- ing communicated my virishes to my wife, the next morning the poor girl entered my apartment, lean- mg on her sister^s arm. The change wlni^I saw on her countenance struck me. The ihuilwrliii mces that once resided there were now ied, and toe hand of death seemed to have moulded ev^ feature to alarm me. Her temples were sunk^ her forehead was tense, and a fatal paleness sat upon her cheek. " I am glad to see thee, my fieta/* cried I : ''but why this dejection, liyv ? I hope, my love. |@ii have too great a regard for me, to pexpit oid^^ pointment thus to undermine a life which I priil as my own. Be cheerful, child, and we may yil see happier days.'' ''You have ever. Sir," replied she, "been kind me, and it adds to my pain that I shall wsn^ iiave an opportunity of sliarin^ that happineipfili Uppiae. Happiness, I fear, is no longer ti ''■ I > ii 999 MM -mim 168 VICAB OF WAKKFIBLD. i'trt" for me here ; and I long to be rid of a place where I. have only foand dislroM. Ii^deed, Sir, I wiah Su would make a proper mbmittiion to Mr. Thom- 11 : it may in aome meatnre indaoe him to pity yon, and it will give me reUef in dying/' "Never, child/' raplied I; "« never will I he hroittht to acknowledge mv daughter a proetitnte ; for though the world may look upon your offBUoe with Mom» let it be mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of guilt. — My dear, I am no way mi- ■erable m 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 mv daughter, my fellow- prisoner, who was by at tnis interview, sensibly enough expostulated on my obstinacy in refusing a submission which promised to give me freedom. He observed, that tne rest of my familv was not to be sacrified to the peace of one child alone, and die the only one who had offended me. *^ Besides," added he, ^ I don^ know if it be just thus to ob- struct the union of man and wife, which you do at present, by refusing to consent to a match 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 1 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 appro- bation could transfer me from hence to the most beautiful apartment he is possessed of, yet I virould grant neither, as something whispers me that it would be ^ying a sanction to adultery. — While my daughter hves, no other marriage of his shall ever be logal in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I shoidd be the baiBest of men from any resentment td my own« to attempt putting asunder those who VICAR OV WAKXFIILD. 169 wldi for an miion. No ; ?Ulaiii m lie is, I ihonld tiiiB wiih him married, to prerent the oonteqiieiioea of hfai failure debanohenee. But now, ihoiala I not be the most omel of all fathers to sign an inatm- meat which mnst send mj ehUd to the grafe, merely to avoid a prison myself ; aad tbns, to es- cape one pang, brMk my omld*s heart with a Uura- sandP" He acquiesced in the jnstice of this answer, but oonld not avoid obeervinff, that he feared my daughter's life was already too much wasted to keep me long a prisoner. ^However," continued he, "though yon refose to submit to the nephew, I hope vou have no objections to laying your case before the uncle, who has the first character in the kingdom for every thing that is lust and good. I would advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimatkig all his nephew's ill usage, and my life for it, that in three days ^ou shall have an answer." I thanked 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 pr^ visions : however, he supplied me. '^ For the three ensuing days I was in a anxiety to know what reception my letter meet with ; but in the meantime, was frequettlfy solicited by my wife to submit to any conditions rather than remain here, and every hour received repeated acer>ants 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 van- ished like all mv former. My mind, however, still supported itself, though confinement and bad air b^can to make a visible alteration in my health, and my arm that had suffered in the fire, grew worse. My children, however, sat by me, and while j I was stretched on my straw, read to me by tums^ * [ . 170 TICAB OF WAIUBFIILD. Mr liitened and wept al my initraotiont. Bol my danghler't health oeolined faster than min# | «iv«ry meieage from her contrihated to inereaae msr wj^ after pehensions and pain. The fifth mominc after I had written the letter which was lent to Sir Wil- liam Hiomhill, I was alarmed with anaooount that she was speechless. Now it was that confinement was truly painful to me ; mysoolwasbarstingfrom its prison to be near the pillow of my child, to com- fort, to strengthen her, to receive her last wiihes, and teach her soul the way to Heaven ! Another account came : she was expiring, and yet I was de- barred the small comfort of weeping by her. My fellow-prisoner, some time after, came wkh 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 compani- ons, who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me. They entreated to read to me, and bade me not cry, for I was now too old to weep. *' And is not my sister an angel, now, Papa ?*' cried tiie eldest, ^and why then are^ou sorrvfor her? I wish I were an angel out of this firiffhtnil place, if my Papa were virith me." ** Yes,** adaed m^ young- est 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 interrupted their harmless prattle by obsemrin^, that, now my daughter vi^as ho moi ^, I should seriously think of the rest of my family, and attempt to save my own life, which was every day dedminff, for want of necessaries and whole- some 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, ^^re is no pride left me now : I should detest aaf cmn heart, *i ▼I04B OF WAKBFIIdUO. 171 tf I nw eithttk* pride or mcntmeut lurking there. On the oontnun% ai mj opprenor has been onoe mj periihioner, I liope one akj to preient him np en nnpollnted lonl at the eternal tnhonaL No, Sir, I have no reientment now ; and though he has taken from me what I held dearer than ul his treasures, though he has wrung my heart,-— for I am sick al- most to fainting, verr nek, mj fellow-prisoner, — yet that shall never inspire me mth 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 himanymjury, I am sorry for it." Mr. Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote dovm my submission nearly as I have expressed, towhieh I siened my name. M? son was employed to carry the letter to Mr. Thomhill, who was then at his seal in the country. He went, and in about Mn hours returned vnth a verbal answer. — He had some diift- culty, he said, U> get a sight of his landlord, as the servants were insolent and suspicious : but he acci- dentally saw him as he viras going out upon busir ness, preparinir for his marriage, which was to be iHi , three days, fie continued to inform ui^ that hii stept up in the humblest manner, and delivered the letter, which when Mr. Thomhill had read, he said that all submission was now too late and unnecee* sary ; 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 opinio on of the discretion of the two young ladies, they might have been the most agreeable intercessors. " WeU, Or," said I to my fellow-prisoner, **yeu now diaceiver the temper of the man that opnresaes me. He;iMat once be facetious and cruel ; but 0fl/tiB of idMfebolts to restrain me. lam now drsW* •,/::•••■ ■--fc- f 173 YIOAB OF WAKBFIILD. ing towards an abode that looks Mf^tsr as I ap- proach it: this expectation cheers mr afflictions) and though I leaTe a helpless fuailj of ondians be- hind me, jet they will not be utterlj forsaken ; some friend perhaps will be found to assbt them, lor the sake of their poor father, and some may eharitably relieve them foi; the sake of their hear venly Father." Jnst as I had spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that day before, appeared with looks of terror, and making efforts, bat unable to speak. '*Why, my love,'* cried I, **why vrill you thus increase my afflictions by your own ? What though no submis- sion can turn our severe master, though he has doomed me to die in this place of wretchednen, and thoujdi 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,** re- turned she, ** a darling child. My Sophia^ my dearest, is gone ; snatched from n% carried oif by ruffians !" She could only answer iTith a fixed look and a flood of tears. But one of the prisoners* wives who wi\s present, and came in with her, gave us a more dibtinct account : she informed us, that as my wife, my daughter, and herself were taking a walk to^ ther on the great road, a little way out of the vil- lage, a post-chaise and pair drove up to them, and instantly stopped. Upon which a well-dreeaed man, but not Mr. ThomhiU, steppiuji^ out, clasped my daughter round the waist, and "^cing her in, bid the postillion drive on, so that they were out of sight in a moment. ** Now,** cried I, ** the sum of my miseries is made up, nor is it in the power of any thing on earth to give me another pang. What, not one left I not to leave me one ? — ^The monster !-rThe child that was neit to my heart, she has the beauty of an an- ^id and almost the wisdom of an angeL — But sup- YICAB OF WAKSFIBUI. 173 port that woman, nor let her falL— Not to leave me one !'* ^ Alat ! my hnshandy" laid my wife, " yon seem to want comfort even more than I. Omi oistresies are great ; but I conld bear this, and more if I saw you bat easy. Theprmay take away my children, and all the world, if the? leave me bat yoa." My son, who was present, endeavoared to mode- rale her grief ; he bade as take comfort, for he hoped that we still might have reason to be thank- fol.— '* M^ child," cried I, '* look roand the world, and see if there be any happiness left for me now. — Is not every ray of comfort shut oat, while all oar bright prospects only lie beyond the grave !" — ^* Mv dear father,*' retamed he, '* I hope there is still something that will give yoa an interval of satis- faction ; for I have a letter from my brother George/'— '< What of him, child ?" jnterrapted I, ''does he know oar misery? I 4iippe my boy is exempt from any part of wnat his wMdied Ismily saffers ?*'—<* Yes, Sir,*' retamed he, ''he is per- fectly gay, cheerfrd, and happy. His letter brmp nothinff but good news : he is the favoarite of his colonel who promises to procare him the very next lieatenantcy that becomes vacant." " And are yoa sare of all this?'* cried my wife : " Are yoo sare that nothing ill has befallen my boy ?**•—" Nothing, indeed. Madam, retamed my son: prou shall see the letter, which will give yoa the highest pleaeare ; and if anything can procare yoa comfort, I am sare that will.' -''But are yoa sore,*' still repeated she, ''that the letter is from himself, and that he is really so happy ?** ** Yes, Madam,** replied he, " it is certainly bis, and h^ will one day be the credit and support of oar femi^ ly."— " Then I thank Providence,'^ cried she " that my last letter to him has miscarried. — Yiss, my dear," oontinaed she, taming to me, " I vrill confeis, that Uioagh the hand of Heaven is 174 VfCAR OP WAKBFIBLD. ujmn U8 in other instances, it has been favoorable here. By the last letter I wrote my son, which was in the bitterness of an^r, 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 avense oar 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 nave been more severe. Oh ! what a tremendous gulf hast thou escaped, that would have buried hijh and thee 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 chil- dren when I shall be away. How unjustly did I complain of being stripped of every comfort, when still I hear that he is happy, and insensible of our affiictions ; still kept in reserve to support his wi- dowed mother, and to protect his brothers and sis- ters. But what sisters has he left ? he has no sisters they are all gone, robbed from me, and I ain now uAdone.''— '* 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 group 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 dis- tress! But whatever may be your happiness at home, I am sure it will be some addition to it f o 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 t t VICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 176 himself my friend, takes me with him to all com- panies where he is acquainted, and after my first visit I generally find myself received with increased respect upon repeating it. I danced last night with X^ad^ 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 forgot- ten by most of my absent friends ; and in this number, I fear, Sir, that I must consider you ; for I have lone expected the pleasure of a letter from home, to no purpose. Olivia and Sophia, too, pro- mised to vmte, but seem to have forgotten ipe. Tell them thev are two arrant little bagga|^es, and that I am at this moment in a violent passion with them ; yet still, I know not how, though I vnad 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 re- maining Your dutiful Son. **In all our miseries," cried I, **what thanks havje 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 sup- porter of his widowed mother, and the father of these two babes, which is now all the patrimony I can bequeath him ! May he keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and be their con- ductor in the paths of honour!" I had scarcely said these words, when a noise like thati^ a tumult seemed to proceed from the prison beili^^^ died away soon after, and a clankinfill^ f#(M|^vv^ heard along the passa^ that led to my' aiMMnl* The keeper of the prison entered, holding a ipan all bloody, wounded, and fettered with the n^viest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch as he approached me, but with horror when I fcmnd it waa my own son.—" My George ! my George ! M ■il'i i L^■'''■ 176 TICAB OP WAKBFIBLa and do I behold thee thus ? Wounded— fettered I Is this thy happiness ? Is this the manner yon re- tnm to me P O that this sight could break my heart at ottoe, and let me die !*' *' Where, Sir, is jonr fortitude ?" returned my son, with an intrepid voice. ** I must suffer ; my life is forfeited, and let them take it^* I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes in silence, but J. thought I should have died with the effort. — ** O my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee thus, and I cannot, cannot help it. In the moili^nt when I thought thee blest, and praved for thy safety, to behold thee thus again ! Chained, wounded ! And yet the death of the youthful is lu^>py. But I am old, a very old man, and have lived to see this day ! To see my children all un- timely &lling about me, while I continue a wretch- ed survivor in the midst of ruin ! May all the curses that ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer aie> I immediately came down, deter- mined to punish the betrayer of our honour, and sent him an order to meet me, which he answered, tiered! youre- ty heart led my 'er ; my ninntes m1 with behold In the ved for Ihained, bhfol is id have all un- ^retch- ) curses arderer 3e " 1 blush ;e, your leaven, >on de- uction ! 'or that ae with ) drink ny por- j no of- ihment. rime to vn un- lother's , deter- ir, and iwered, YICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 177 not in person, but by despatching fonr of his do- mestics to seize me. 1 wounded one who first as- saulted me, and I fear dobperately ; but the rest made me their prisoner. The coward is determin- ed to put the law in execution against me ; the proofs are undeniable; I have sent a chaJUpnge, and as I am the first trancfgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon. But yon have often oluurmed me with your lessons of fortitude ; let me now, Sir, find them in your example." *^ And, my son, you shall find them. I am now raised above this world, and all the pleasures ^tpii groduce. From this moment I break from faf eart all the ties that held it dovm to earth, vm will preiMire to fit us both for eternity. Yes, «iy son, 1 will point out the way, and mf soul shall enide yours in the aacent, for we will take omr light together. I now see, and am convinced you can expect no pardon here : and I can onlv exlml you to seek it at that greatest tribunal where w^ both shall shortly answer. But let us not be n%^ gardly in our euiortation, but let all our fellow- prisoners have a share : — Good gaoler, let them be permitted to stand here while I attempt to improve them.*' Thus saying, I made an eflfort to rise from my straw, but wanted strength, and was able only to recline against the wall. The prisoners assem- bled themselves according to my directions, fwr they loved to hear my council : my son and hu mother supported me on either side ; I looked and saw that none were wanting, and then addressed them vrith the foUovving exhortation. 46 N •■^.■i..-'V^« t CHAPTER XXIX. VBB OQUAL DBALIN68 OF PBOVIDBNCB rSMONITRATBD WITB RBa4RD TO THB HAPPY AND THB MISBRABLS | MMBM BELOW, THAT FROM THB NATURJB OF PLBASURB AND FAIN, THH WRBTCHBD MUST BB RBPAID THB | BALANCE OF THBIB SUPFBRINOB IN n THB LIFB HBBBAFTBB. Mr friends, my children, and fellow-snfferera^ when I yefleet on the distribution of good and evil here Mow, I find that much has been given man to en- j^j y^i still more to suffer. Though we should ex- aoune the whole world, we shall not find one man BO hajmy as to have nothing left to wish for ; but we dauy see thousands, who, by suicide, show us they have nothing left to hope. In this Ufe, then, it appears that vre cannot be entirely blest, but yet w» may be completely miserable. Why man should thus feel pain ; why our wretch- edness should be requisite in the formation of uni- versal felicity; why, when all other systems are made perfect by the perfection of their subordinate parts, the greet system should require for its per- fection parts that are not subordinate to others, but i^^Mrfect in themselves i — ^thede are questions that never can be explAe^* A^d nught jht useless if laiown. On this SOT^ct, -Providence nas thought fit to elude our curionty, satisfied vnth granting us motives i6 consolation. I ▼ICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 179 In tbSii dtnation man has called in tlie Iriendlj anistance of philoBophj) and Heav«in, semng the incapadtjr of that to console him^ has given him the t&d of rehdon. The consolations of nmlosophy are Tery amnmng, but often fallacions. It tdls ns that Itfe is filled with comforts, if we will hi^^enjoy them ; and, on the other hand, that though we nn- avoidablj haTe miseries here, lifSe is short, and they will soon be over. Thns do these consolations de- stroy each other ; for, if life is a place of comfort, its snortness must be misery ; and if it be long, onr ffriefiB are protracted. Thus philosophy is weak ; but religion comforts in a hi^er strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting up his mind, and preparing it for another abode. When the good man leaves the body, and is all a glorious mind, he will find he has been making himself a heaven of happiness here ; while the wretch that has been maimed and contaminated by his vices, shrinks from his body with terror, and finds that he has anticipated the venseanoe of heaven. To religion, then, wo must hold, in every drcumstance of life, for our truest comfort ; for if ahready we are happy, it is a plear sure to Uunk that vre can make that luippiness un- ending ; and if we are miserable, it is v&ej consoling to think that there i3 a place of rest Thus, to the fortunate, re^don holds out a continuance of bliss to the vnretched, a chance from pun. But; thouffh relision va very kmd to all men, it Itts promisea pecunar rewards to the unhappy ; the sick, the naked, the houseless, the heavjr-laden, and the prisoner, have ever most frequent promises in our samd law. The Author of our reli^n every- where professes himself the wretch's fhend, wnd, mdike ^e false ones of this world, hmiU>vfniB his caresses up^i the forlorn. The unthin^g have censured this as partiality, as a preference vnthout mii^ to deserve it But they never reflect, ^lat it is not in the power even of Heaven itsell to make 180 TICAR OF WAKEFIBLD. the offer of nncoMiiig felioity m great & gilt to the happj ai to the miserable. To the first, eternity is bat a tingle blessing, nnce at most it bat increases what they already possess. To the Utter, it is a doable advantage: for it diminishes their pain here, and rewaras them with heavenly bliss here- after. Bat providence is in another respect kinder to the poor than the rich ; for as it thus makes the life after death more desirable, so it smooths the passage there. The wretched have had a long far miliarity with everv face of terror. The man of sorrows lays himseu dovm, withoat possession to regret, and bat few ties to stop his departure : he feels only nature^s pang in the final separation^ and this is no way greater than he has often fainted under before : for after a certain degree of pab, every new breach that death opens in the constitu- tion, nature kindly covers with insensibilitv. Thus Providence has given the vnretched two ad- vantages over the happy in tMs life— greater feli- city in djin^, and in neaven all that saperiority of pleasure which arises from contrasted enjoyment And this superiority, my friends, is no nnall ad- vantage, and seems to be one of the pleasures of the poor man in the parable ; for though he was already in heaven, and felt all the raptures it could ffivo, yet it was mentioned as an addition to his happiness, that he had once been vnretched, and now was comforted ; that he had known what it was to be miserable, and now felt what it was to be happy. Thus, my friends, you see religion does what phi- losophv could never do : it shows the equal deal- ings of Heaven to Cie happy and the unhappy, and lev^ all human enjoyment's to nearly the same standard. It gives to both rich and poor the same happiness hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire af- ter It ; but if the rich h*;ve the advantage of enjoy -tL VIOAIi OF WAKSFISLD. 181 re: on, ^ to the mityii crease it iia ir pain B here- nder to Kes the bhs tbe ong fa- man of sion to he and fainted >f pain, [>n8tita- two ad- ber feli- ority of }yment. lall ad- Buresof he was it could L to his Bd, and what it as to be bat phi- al deal- ►py, and xe same be same ipireaf- rf enjoy- ing pleasure here, the poor have the endless satis- faction of knowing; what it was once to be mistfft- ble. when crowned with endless felicity hereafter ; and even though this should be called a small ad- vantage, jet being an eternal one, it must make up by duration what the temporal happiness of the great may have exceeded by iatenseness. These are, therefore, the consolations which the wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which they are above the rest of mankind ; in other rea- pects, they are below them. They who would know the miseries of the poor, must see life and endure it. To declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy, is only repeating what none other believe or practise. The men who have the necessaries of liv* mg are not poor, and they who want them must be miserable. Yes, my firienr^s, we must be miserable. No vain eflbrts of a refined imagination can sooth the wants of nature, can give dastic sweetness to the dark vapour of a dungeon, or ease to the throb- bings of a broken heart. Let the philosopher from his uch of softness tell tis that we can resirt all these. Alas ! the effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain. Death is slight, and any man may sustain it; but torments are dreadful^ and these no man can endure. To us then, my friends, the promises of happi- ness in heaven should be peculiarly dear ; for if our reward be in this life alone, we are then indeed of all men the most miserable. When I look round these gloomy walls, made to terrify as well as to confine us ; this light, that only serves to shew the horrors of the place ; those shackles, that tyranny has imposed, or crime made necessary ; when I sur- vey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans, O ! my friends, what a glorious exchange would Heaven be for these. To fly through regions un- confined as air, to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carol over endless hymns of praise, to have 182 ▼ICAR OP WAKBFIBLD. no BUMlor to threaten or iniolt us, but the form of Gk)odneii himaelf for ever in our ejei ! when I think of theee things, death becomee the messenger of vmj glad tidings ; when I think of theee things, his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support ; when I think of these things, wliat is there m life worth having ? when I think of these things, what is tiieie that dionld not be spnmed away ? Kings in their nakees si lold groan f6r such advantages ; but we, humbled as we are, should yearn for them. And shall these things be ours ? Ours they will certainly be, if we but try for them ; and what is a oomfort, we are shut out from many temptations that would retard our pursuit Only let us try for them, and they will certainly be ours ; and, what is still a oomfort, shortly too : for if we look back on a past Ufe, it appears but a very short span ; and whatever we may think of the rest of life, it will yet be found of less duration ! as we grow older, the days seem to grow shorter, jmd our intimacy with time ever lessens the periiption of his stay. Then let us take comfort now, for we shall soon be at our journey's end ; we shall* soon lay down the heavy burden laid by Heaven upon us ; and though death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little wlule mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon still mes before him : yet the time will certainly and shortly come, when we sliall oeaae from our toil ; when the luxurious great ones of the world shall no more tread us to the earth ; when we shall think with pleasure of our sufferings bek>w ; when we shall be surrounded with all.^our friends, or such as deserved our friendship ; when our bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all, anendmg. 'ji CHAPTER XXX. liAPPIBR PR08PBCTS BBOIN TO APPBAR. LBT U8 BB IN- PLBXIBLB, AND PORTUNB WILL AT LAST CHANOB IN OUR FAVOUR. When I had thos finished, and my andienoe waa retired, the gaoler, who vna one of the most Irah mane of his profession, hoped I would not be dia- pleased, as what^ did was bnt his duty, ohsenring, that he must hdpldiged to remove my eon into a stronger cell, bin that he should be permitted to revisit me every morning. I thanked him lor faia clemency, and gra|q[>ing my boy's hand, bade him farewell, and be mindfiu of the great duty that was before him. I again therefore laid me down, and one of my little ones sat bj my bed-side reading, when Mr. Jenkinson entenng, informed me that there waa news of my daughter ; for that she waa seen by a person about two hours befofe, in a strange genUe- maii^s company; and thai thev had stopped at a n^hbonring village for lelnahment, and seemed as if retomi^i to town. He had scarcely delivered this news, wl£n the gaoler came with looks of haste and nleasore to inform me, that my daughter was founcL MdMs came running in a moment after, crying out that his sister Sophy was below, and coming up with our old Mend Mr. Burchell. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 m ■ 2.2 WUu Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WKT MAIN STRICT WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 '^ l/.A • 1 184 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Just aB he delivered this news, my dearest girl entered, and with looks almost wild with pleasure, ran to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her mother^s tears and silence also showed her plea- sure. "Here, Papa,^' cried the charming eirl, *' here is the hrave man to whom I owe my deli- very : to this gentleman^s intrepidity I am indehted for my happiness and safety 1^' A kiss from Mr. Bnrchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater thaxi her's, interrupted what she was going to add. ** Ah, Mr. Burchell," cried I, « tliis is but a wretched habitation you now find us in ; and we are now very different from what you last saw us. You were ever our friend ; we have long discovered our errors with regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After the vile usage you then receiv- ed at our hands, I am almost ashamed to behold your face : yet I hope you'll forgive me,i as I was deceived by a base ungenerous wretch, w^o^^mder the mask of friendship, has undone me.'* '*It is impossible,'' cried Mr.||iirdiell, ''that I shculd forgive you, as you never deserved my re- sentment. I partly saw your delusion then, taofi as it was out of my power to restrain, I coulc^Ax^y pity it." y " It was ever my conjecture," cried I, ** iha^^fowt mind was noble, but now I find it so. But tett xne, my dear ehild, how thou hast been relieved, or who the ruffians were who carried thee away.** *' Indeed, Sir," replied she, "as to the yiUain who carried me off, I am yet ignorant. For, as my Mamma and I were walking; out, he came behind us, and almost before I could call for help, forced me into the post-cluuse, and in an instant toe horses drove away. I met several on the road, to whom 1 cried out for assistance ; but they disregarded my entreaties. In the meantime, the roffian himself used every art to hinder me from crying out ; he flattered and threatened by tarns, and swore that VICAB OF WAKEFIELD. 185 if I contiDned but silent, he intended no hano. In the meaatlme I had broken the canvass that he had drawn up, and whom should I perceive at some distance but your old friend Mr. Burchell, walking along with his usual quickness, with the great stick, for which we used so much to ridicule im. As soon zs we came within hearing, I called out to him by name, and entreated his help. I re- peated my exclamations several times, upon which, with a very loud voice, he bid the postillion stop ; but the boy took no notice, but drove on with still greater speed. I now thought he could never over- take us, when, in less than a minute, I saw Mr. Burchell come running up by the side of the horses, and with one blow knock the postillion to the ground. The horses, when he was fallen, soon stopped of themselves, and the ruffian stepping out, with oaths and menaces, drew his sword, and or- dered him at his peril to retire ; but Mr. Burchell running up, shivmd his sword to pieces, and then pursued him lor Ittar a quarter of a mUe ; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The postillion, who was recovered, was goiartomake his escape too ; but Mr. Burchell ordei^ him at his peril to mount aeain, and drive back to town. Finding it impos^ble to resist, he reluctantly complied, thou^ the wound he had received seemed, to me at leaSt, to be dangerous. He continued to complain of the Sain as we drove alon^, so that he at last excited Ir. Burchell's compassion, who, at my request, ex- changed him for another at an inn where we called on our return." *' Welcome, then,'^ cried I, '^my child ! and thou her galUuit deliverer, a thousand welcomes! Though our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to receive you^ And now, Mr. Burchell, as you have delivered my girl, if you think her a recom- pense, she is yours ; if you can stoop to an alliance Vfiih a family so poor as mine, take her, obtain 186 TICAB OF WAKEFIELD. her eonaent, m I know you have her heart, and yovL hare mine. And let me tell you, Sir, that I give vou no small treasure : she has heen celehrated f or beauty, it is true, but that is not my meaning, I give you up a treasure in her mind/* " But I suppose. Sir," cried Mr. Burchell, ** that you are apprized of my circumstances, and of my mcapacity to support her as she deserves ?" ^ If your present objection," replied I, '* be meant as an evasion of my offer, I desist : but I know no man so worthy to deserve her, as you ; and if I could give her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my honest, brave Burchell, would be my dearest choice." To all this, his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal, and vvithout the least reply to my offer, he demanded if he could not be furnished with refreshments from the next inn ; to which be- ing answered in rhe affirmative, he ordered them to send in the best dinner that could be provided upon such short notice. He bsljpoke, also, a dozen of their best wine, and some cordials for me ; add- ing, with a smile, that he would stretch a litUe for once, and, though in a prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon made his appearance, with preparations for din- ner ; a table was lent us by the gaoler, who seemed remarkably assiduous ; the wine was disposed in order, and two very well-dresaed dishes were brought in. My daughter had not yet heard of her poor bro- ther's melancholy situation, and we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful, the circumstances of my unfortunate son, broke through all efforts to dissemble ; so that 1 was at last obliged to damp our mirth by relatim^ hi. miafortones,^ widung that he mi^ht be peT mittad to than with n* in this little inteml of at I give >ratecrf or aaning, I jU, « that ad of my be meant know no if I could her from Id be my to give a reply to famished nrhichbe- red them provided , a dozen Eie ; add- little for vas never ter soon for din- [> seemed posed in es were )Oorbro- seemed relation. > appear late son, so that relating the per erval of VICAR OF WAKBFIELD. ia7 satisfaction. After my guests were recoverea from the consternation my account had produced, I re- quested also that Mr. Jenkinson, a fellow-prisoner^ might be admitted, and the gaoler granted my re- quest, with an air of unusual submission. The Clanking of my son's irons was no sooner heard along the passage, than his sister ran impatiently to meet him ; while Mr. Burchell, in the meantime, asked me, if my son's name was George ; to which, replying in the affirmative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy entered the room, I could per- ceive he regarded Mr. Burchell with a look of a»- tonishment and reverence. ''Come on,'' cried I, "my son ; though we have fallen very low, yet Providence has men pleased to grant us some re- laxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her deliverer : to that brave man it is that I am indebted for yet having a daughter ; give him, my boy, the hand of friendship, he deserves our warmest gratitude.*' My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still continued fixed at a respectful dis- tance. " My dear brother,*' cried his sister, '* why don't you thank my good deliverer, the brave should ever love each oUier.*' He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our guest at last perceived himself to be known, and, assuming all his native dignity, desired my son to come forward. Never before had I seen any thing so truly majestic as the air he assumed upon this occasion. The greatest object in the universe, says a certain philosopher, is a eoodmanstrugji^linj^ witn adversity ; yet there is still a greater, which is the srood man that comes to relieve it. After he had • ' - .. ..^ -.^- L one of the gaoler's servants, who came to inform us that a person of distinction, who had driven l&lo ^188 TICAR OF WAKEFIELD. town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his respects to the gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when he should think proper to be waited upon. "Bid the fellow wait/' cried our guest, "till I shall have leisure to receive him ;" and then turning to my son, " I again find. Sir," proceeded he, " that you are guilty of the same offence, for which you once haa my rei>roof, and for which the law is now preparing its justest punishments. You imagine, perhaps, that a con- tempt for your own life gives jrou a right to take that of another : but where, Sir, is the difference between a duellist who hazards a life of no value, and the murderer, who acts with greater security? Is it any diminution of the eamester*s fraud, when he alleges that he has staked a counter?'* " Alas, Sir," cried I, " whoever you are, pity the poor misguided creature ; for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother, who, in the bit- terness of her resentment, required him, upon her blessings, to avenge her quarrel Here, Sir, is the letter, which will serve to convince you of her im- prudence, and diminish his guilt." He took the letter, and hastily read it over. — ** This," says h€, " though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault, as induces me to for- give him. And now. Sir,** continued he, kindly tiUrine my son by the hand, " I see you are sdr- prised at finding me here ; but I have often visited prisons upon occasions less interesting. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom I have the most sincere esteem. 1 have long been a disguised spectator of thy father*s benevolence. I have at his little dwelling, enjoyed respect uncon- tamiii£ted by flattery ; and have received that hap- piness that courts could not give, from the amusing simplicity round his fire-side. My nephew has been apprized of my intentions of comine here, and I find 18 arrived. It would be wronging him and you, to m yiCAR OF WAKEFI£LD* 189 condemn him without examination ; if there be in- jury, there shall be redress ; and thh I may say without boasting, that none ever taxed the injn»- tice of Sir Wilham Thomhill." We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as a harmless, amusing compani- on, was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thomhill, to whose virtues and singularities, scarcely any were strangers. The podr Mr. Bur- chell, was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates listened with ap- plause, and whom party heard with conviction ; who was the friend of his country, but loyal to his kin^. My poor wife, recollecting her former fami- lianty, seemed to shrink with apprehension ; but Sopma, who a few moments before, thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears. " Ah, Sir,'* cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, '* how is it possible that I can ever have your for- S'veness ? The slights you received from me, the Bt time I had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I audaciously threw out, — ^these. Sir, I fear, can never be forgiven." '* My dear good lady," returned he with a smile, '' if you had your joke, I had my answer : I'll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours. To say the truth, I know nobody whom I am disposed to be angry with at present, but the fellow who so frightea my girl here. I had not even time to examine the rascal's person, so as to describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again ?'' '* Indeed, Sir,'' replied she, ** I can't be positive ; vet now I recollect he had a large mark over one of his eyebrovra." '*I ask pardon, Madam,^ inter- rupted Jenkinson, who was by, '' but be so gbod as 190 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. to infonn me if the fellow wore his own ired hair ?'' *' Yes, I think so/' replied Sop^hia. " And did your honour,'^ continaed ne, turning to Sir WilUam, *• observe the length of his legs ? " I can't be sure of their length/' cried the Baronet, ** but lam con- vinced of their swiftness ; for he out-ran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom could have done/' '* Please jour honour," cned Jenkin- son, " I know the man ; it is certainly the same ; the best runner in England ; he has beaten Pin- wire of Newcastle ; Timothy Baxter is his name. I know him perfectly, and the very place of his re- treat at this moment. If your Honour will bid Mr. Qaoler let two ot his men go with me, 111 engage to produce him to you in an hour at farthest." Upon this the filler was called, who instantly ap- pearing, Sir W illiam demanded if he knew him. ** Yes, please your honour,** replied the gaoler, ^ I know Sir Wiluam Thomhill well, and every body that knows anv thine of him, will desire to know more of him.*'^ '* Well, then," said the Baronet, ** my request is, that you will permit this man and two of your servants, to fjo upon a message by my Authority ; and, as I am m the commission of the peace, i undertake to secure you.*' '* Yomr pro- mise is sufficient," replied the other, " and you may at a moment's warning, send them over England whenever your honour thinks fit.*' In pursuance of the gaoler*8 compliance, Jenkin- son was dispatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy Bill, who had just come in and climb* ed up Sir William's neck, in order to kiss him. His mother was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but the worthy man prevented her ; and taking the child, all rag^ as he was, upK>n lus knee, ** What, Bill, you chubby rogue,*' cried he, '*do you remember your old friend Burchell? mod Dick, too, my honest veteran, are you here ? edhair?" d did your Waiiam, n't be sure lamcon- ne, which om could d Jenkin- he same ; iten Pin- liis name, of his re- ill bid Mr. 11 engage farthest." tantly ap- new him. ^ler, ** I rery body to know Baronet, man and je by my >n of the bmr pro- l yoQ may England , Jenkin* Baxter, ;y of our id climb* dss him. kstise his ted her ; uiK>n cried ^urchell? m here? as. TICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 191 ;|rott shall find I have not for^^otten you.'' So say- ing, he save each a large piece of^^ ginger-bread, which the poor fellows ate very heartily, as they had got that morning but a very scanty breakfast. We now sat down to dinner, which was almost cold ; but previously, my arm still continuins pain- ful. Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made the study of physic his amusement, and was more than moderately skilled in the profession: this being sent to an apothecarv who hved in the place, my arm was dressed, and I found almost in- stantaneous relief. We were waited upon at dinner by the gaoler himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour in his power. But before, we had well dined, another message was brought from his nephew, desiring to appear, in order to vindi- cate his innocence and honour ; with which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr. Thomhill to be introduced. It; T TK CHAPTER XXXI. FORMER BBNEVOLBNCX NOW RBPAID WITH UNSX- PECTKD INTBRBBT. Mr. Thornhill made his appearance with a smile, which he seldom wanted, and was going to embrace his uncle, which the other repulsed wim an air of disdain. *' No fawning, Sir, at present,'* cried the Baronet, with a look of severity ; '* the onlj way to my heart is by the road of honour ; but here I only see complicated instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression. How is it. Sir, that tins poor man, for whom 1 know you professed a friendship, is used thus hardly ? His daughter vilely seduced as a recompense ror his hospitality, and he himself thrown into prison, perhaps but for resenting the insult ? His son, too, whom you feared to face as a man— J* ** Is it possible. Sir,*' interrupted bis nephew, ^ that my uncle should object that as a crime, which his repeated instructions alone havepenoaded me to avoid r* *« Your rebuke," cried Sir WillUm, « is just ; yon have acted in this instance prudenUy and well, though not quite as your father would have done : my brother, indeed, was the soul of honour ; but Hioa Yes, you have acted, in this instance, perfectly right, and it has my warmest approba- tion." VICAR OF WAKBPIBLD. 193 H UNSX- ithasmile, to embrace I an air of * cried the )nly way to lere I only cowardice, I poor man, mdship, is seducea as he himself enting the to face as E nephew, e, which !tded me <* is jnst ; r and well, laye done : nonr ; but instance, ; approba- '* And I hope,'* said his nephew, *' that the rest of my conduct will not be found to deserve censure. I appeared, Sir, with this gentleman's daughter, at some places of public amusement : thus, \mat was levity, scandal called by a Ivirsher name, and it was reported that I had debauched her. I waited on her father in person, willing to clear the thing to his satisfaction, and he received me only with in- sult and abuse. As for the rest, with regard to his being here, my attorney and steward can best in- form you, as I commit the management of business entirely to them. If he has contracted debts, and is unwilling, or even unable to pay them, it is their business to proceed in this manner ; and I see no hardship or injustice in pursuing the most legal means of redress.** ** If this," cried Sir William, " be as you have stated it, there is nothing unpardonable in your offence ; and though your conduct might have been more generous, in not suffering thia gentleman to be oppressed by subordinate tyranny, yet it has been at least equitable.'* *' He cannot contradict a single particular,*' re- plied the 'Squire ; '* I defy him to do so ; and seve- ral of my servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, Sir," continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact 1 could not contradict him ; ** thus. Sir, my own innocence is vindicated: but though at your entreaty, I am ready to forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his attempts to lessen me in your esteem, excite a resentment that I cannot go- vern ; and this, too, at a time when his son was ac- tually preparing to take away my life ; — this, I say, veas such guilt, that I am determined to let the law take its course. I have here the challenge that was sent me, and two witnesses to prove it : one of my servants has been wounded dangerously ; and even though my uncle himself should mssuade tne, 46 194 YlC^ii OF WAKliFlfiLD. which I know he will not, yet I will see public jus- tice done, and he shall suffer for it." "Thou monster/' cried mv wife, "hast thou not had vengeance enough already ? but must my poor boy feel thy cruelty ? I hope tliat good Sir Willi- am will protect us ; for my son is as innocent as a child: I am sure he is, and never did harm to man." " Madam," replied the good man, " your wishes for his safety are not greater than mine ; but I am sorry to find his guilt too plain ; and if mj nephew persists" But the appearance of Jenkmson and the gaoler's two servants now called off our atten- tion, who entered, hauling in a tall man, very gen- teelly dressed, and answering the description al- ready given of the ruffian who had carried off my daughter : — " Here," cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, " here we have him ; and if ever there was a candidate for Tyburn, this is one." The moment Mr. Thornhill perceived the pri- soner, and Jenkinson who had him in custody, he seemed to shrink back with terror. His face be- came pale with conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn ; but Jenkinson, who perceived his de- sign, stopped him. — "What, 'Squire," cried he, "are you aishamed of your two old acquaintances, Jenkinson and Baxter ? but this is the way that all great men forget their friends, though I am resolv- ed we will not forget you. Our prisoner, please your honour," continued he, turning to Sir William, " has already confessed alL This is the gentleman reported to be so dangerously wounded. He de- clares that it was Mr. Thornhill who first put him upon this affair ; that he gave him the clothes he now wears, to appear like a gentleman ; and fur- nished him with the post-chaise. The plan was laid between them, that he should carry off the young lady to a place of safety, and that there he should threaten and terrify her ; but Mr. Thornhill VICAR OF WAKBFIBLD. 195 iblic juB- thou not my poor iir Willi- cent as a harm to ur wishes but I am V nephew in son and OUT atten- very gen- iption al- ,ed off my lUing him lere was a I the pri- istody, he J face be- ^ould have ed his de- cried he, aintances, ay that all am resolv- er, please r William, gentleman He de- (t put him clothes he and fur- plan was L-y off the t there he ThoKubill WM to oome in, in the meantime, as if b? accident, to her rescue ; and that they should fight a while, and then he was to mn off, — ^by which Mr. Thorn- hill wonld have the better opportunity of gaining her affections himself, under the character of her defender." Sir William remembered the coat to have been worn b^ his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner himself confirmed by a more circumstantial ao- count ; concluding, that Mr. Thomhill had often declared to him that he was in love with both sis- ters at the same time. ** Heaven !*' cried Sir William, *' what a viper have I been fostering in my bosom ! And so fond of public justice, too, as he seemed to be! But he shall have it ! secure him, Mr. Gaoler : — yet, hold ; I fear there is not legal evidence to detain him." Upon this, Mr. Thomhill, with the utmost humi- lity, entreated that two such abandoned wretches might not be admitted as evidences againil him, but that his servants should be examin^ ^ Your servants!** replied Sir William; '* wretch I call them yours no longer : but come, let vm hear what those fellows have to say ; let bis butler be called." When the butler was introduced, he soon per- ceived, by his former master's looks, that all lus newer was now over. *' Tell me" cried Sir WU- liam, sternly, ''have you ever seen your master, and that fellow dressed up in his clothes, in company together ?" — " Yes, please your honour," cried the butler ; '* a thousand times: he was the man that always brought him his ladies." — ^ How," inter- rupted youn^ Mr. Thomhill, " this to my face !" — ** Yes,'* rephed the butler, *^ or to any man's face. To tell you a troth, Mr. Thomhill, I never either loved or liked you, anc^ I don't care if I tell yOtt now, A piece of my mind.'* *'Now then,'* cnsd 196 VICAR OP WAKBFIKLD* '? JenkixMon, ** tell his honour whether yon knew any thing of rae." — ^* I can\ say,*' replied the but* ler, *' that I know roach good of jou. The night that gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, Tou were one in them.'* — ** So then," cried Sir William, *' I find jou have brought a very fine witness to prove your innocence. Hiou stain to humanity I to associate with sueh wretches ! But," continuing his examination, *'you tell me, Mr. Butler, that this was the person who brought him this old gentleman^s daughter.'* — ^^'No,'* please ▼our honour,'* replied the butler, '' he did not bring her, for the *Squ!ire himself undertook that business ; but he brought the priest that pretended to marry them.** — ^** ft is but too true," cried Jmikinson, " I cannot deny it ; that was the em- ployment assigned to me, and I confess it to 'my confusion.'* ''€bod heavens!" exclaimed the Baronet, "how every new dir.oovery of his villany alarms me. All his goHt is now too plaii , and I find his prosecu- tion was dictated by t; <'anny, cowardice, and re- venge. At my request, Mr. Gaoler, set this young officerf;nesr your prison r, free, and trust to me for the coiis^<|aenees. 1*1] nake it my business to set the affair m a proper ' ght to mf friend the magis- trate, who has oommi .ed him.-^Bnt where is the unfortunate young h Ij herself? Let her appear to confront this wret^ ^ I long to know by what arts he has seduced her. Entreat her to ccmie in. Where is she? *' Ah, Sir,'* said I, ** that question stings me to the heart : I was once indeed happy in a daughter, but her miseries " Anouier interruption here prevented me ; for who should make her ap- pearance but Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next to have been married to Mr. ThomhilL No- g could equal her surprise at seeing Sir Wi^am his nephew here before her ; fw tor anriM m know the but* tie night to our i/' cried. rery fine stain to ! But," ne, Mr. ght him please did not ook that retended " cried the em- it to 'my t, " how ne. All prosecu- and re- is young 10 me for 88 to set emagie- 'e 18 the r appear by what some in* ^ me to aughter, irruption her ap- Mraanezt UL No- Wiffiam r anHnwi VICAJt OF WA&EFIBLD. 197 was quite aeddentaL It happened that she, and the old gentleman her father, were passing throi^h the town on their way to her aunt% who had m- sisted that her nuptials with Mr. Thomhill should be consummated at her house ; but stopping for re- Irerimient, they put up at an inn at the other end of the town. It was there, from the window, that the youn^ ladjr happened to obsenreone of my little boys playing m the street, and instantly sending a footman to bring the child to her, she learnt mm him, some account of our misfortunes ; but was still kept ignorant of young Mr. Thomhill^s being the cause. ThoujB^ her father made several remon- strances on the impropriety of going to a prison to visit us, yet they were ineffectual ; she desired the child to conduct her, which he did, and it was thus she surprised us at a juncture so vtnexr pected. Nor can I ^ on without a reflection oii those ac- cidental meetings, which, though they happen every day, seldom excite our surprise but upon some ex- traordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous occur- rence do we not owe every pleaanre «nd conveni- ence of our liv:^ ! How manv aeemii^ aoddents mufit unite before we can be clothed or fed ? The peasant must be disposed to kbottr, the shower must fall, the wind fiU the merchantls ship, or muar hers must want their usual supply. We all oontinned silent for some momendk Tflitip mv charming pupil, which was the naino I g^pi? lally gave this young lady, united in her looks^lNilif passion and astonismnent, whidb gave new finiimiff to her beauty. — ^** Indeed, my dear Mr. Thomhill,^ cried she to the Squire, who she supposed waacome hero to succour, and not to oppress us, ** 1 take it^# Mtlleunkindi^ that you should come here witiboBt ai^er never inform me of the situation of a i$sm^ •» iear to us both : you know I should take as mooii pleasure in oon^p^ting to the relief of lif 198 TICAB OP WAKBFIBLD. reverend old master here, whom I ehall ever esteem, as jovL can. But I find that, like your uncle, 70a take a pleasure in doing good in secret." ** He find pleasure in doing good !'* cried Sir William, interrapting her, ** no, my dear, his plea- sores are as hase as he is. Yoaseein him. Madam, as complete a viDain as ever dii^graced homanity. A wretch, who, after having deladed this poor man's daughter, after plotting against the inno- cence of her sister, has thrown the father into prison, and the eldest son into fetters, hecause he had the courage to face her betrayer. And give me leave. Madam, now to congratulate you upon an escape from the embraces of such a mleasare, my sin- it a little ist escar nof the lich was not be ntment. oenridi YIGAB OF WAKBFIBLD. 201 one who bad no fortune of his own. He conld bear his being a raseal, but to want an equivalent to his daughter's fortune was wormwood. He sat therefore for some minutes emplo?ed in the most mortifying q>eculations, till Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. ''I must confess, Sir," cried he, ''that your present disappointment does not entirely displeaise me. Your immoderate passion for wealth is now justly punished. But though the young lady cannot be nch, she has still a compe- tence sufficient to give content. Here you see an honest young soldier, who is willing to take her without fortune : they have long loved each other : and for the friends^p I bear his father, my interest shall not be wanting in his promotion. Leave th«i that ambition which disappoints you, and for once admit that happiness which courts your ftccept- ance." "Sir William," replied the old gentleman, "be assured I never yet forced her inclinations, nor will I now. If she still continues to love this young gentleman, let her have him with all my heart. There is still, thank Heaven, some fortune left, and vour promise will make it something more. Only let mj old friend here ^meaning me) give ipe a promise of settling six tnousand pounds up«ai my girl, if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am ready this night to be the first to join them to- gether.** As it now remained with me to make the young couple happy, I readily gave a promise of making the settlement he required, which to one who had such little expectations as i, was no great fevour.— We had now therefore the satisfaction of seeing them fly into each other^s arms in transport. — ^"Af- ter all my misfortunes,** cried my son George, " to be thus rewarded! Sure this is more than I could ever have presumed to hope for. To be pos- sessed of all that*s good, and after such an intwval •¥*■ 202 VICAR OF WARBFIBLD, of pain ! My warmrst wishes could never rise so high !'» "Yes, my George,'* returned his loveljr bride, '* now let the wretch take my fortune ; since you are happy without it, so am I. O what an ex- change have I made, from the basest of men to the dearest, best ! — Let him enjoy our fortune, I now can be happy even in indigence." — "And I pro- mise you," cried the 'Squire, with a malicious grin, " that I shall be veiy nappy with what you des- pise."—** Hold, hold. Sir," cried Jenkinson, ** there are two words to that bargain. As for that lady's fortune, Sir, you shall never touch a single stiver of it. Pray, your honour," continued he to Sir William, ** can the 'Squire have this lady's fortune if he be married to another?" **How can you make such a simple demand?" replied the Baro- net: ** undoubtedly he cannot." **I am sorry for that," cried Jenkinson; '*for as this gentleman and I have been old fellow-sporters, I have a friend- ship for him. But I must declare, well as I love bim, that this contract is not worth a tobacco-stop- per^ for he is married already." ** You lie, like a rascal," returned the 'Squire, who seemed roused by this insult ; **I never was legally married to any woman." ** Indeed, begging your honour's pardon," replied the other, **you were ; and I hope you will show a proper return of friendship to your own honest Jenkinson, who brings you a wife ; and if the com- probable conjecture as to his design. ** Ay, let him ffo," cried the 'Squire ; ** whatever else I may have done, I defy him there. I am too old now to be frightened with squibs." **I am smrprised," said the Baronet, **what the ,ow can intend by this. Some low piece of hn- ise 80 bride, je you in ex- to the I now I pro- sgrin, u dea- there ; lady's stiver to Sir brtune «i you Baro- )rry for itleman friend- s I love 30-atop- , like a roused L to any replied show a honest tie com- «, thej irith his rm any let him Ay have wto he rhat the i of hn- VIGAB OF WAKKFI£LD. 203 moor, I suppose." ^Perhaps, Sir," ireplied I, '* he miiy have a more serions meaning. For when we reflect on the various schemes this gentleman has laid to seduce innocence, perhaps some one, more artful than the rest, has been found able to deceive him. When we now consider what numbers he has ruined, how many now feel vrith anguish, the infamy and the contamination which he Yuis brought into their families, it would not surprise me if some one of them — Amazement ! Do I see my lost daugh- ter ? do I hold her ? It is, it is my life, my happi- ness. I thought thee lost, my Olivia, yet still I hold thee — ^and still thou shalt live to bless me.'' The warmest transi>orts of the fondest lover were not greater than mine, when I saw him introduce mv child, and held my daughter in my arms, whose silence only spoke her raptures. '* And art thou returned to me, my darling," cried I, '* to be my comfort in age !" '* That she is," cri- ed Jenkinson ; **and make much of her, for she is your own honourable child, and as honest a woman as any in the whole room, let the other be who dto wilL And as for vou, 'Squire, as sure as vou stand there, this young lady is your lawful weaded wife. And to convince you that I speak nothing but truth, here is the license by which you were mar- ried together." — So saying, he put the license into the Baronet's hands, who read it, and found it per- fect in every respect. **And now, gentlemen,^' continued he, *' I find you are surprised at all this ; but a few words will explain the difficulty. That there 'Squire of renown, for whom I have a great friendship, ^but that's between ourselves), has of- ten employea me in doing odd little tilings for him. AmonA the rest, he commissioned me to procure him a mlie license and a false priest, in order to deceive this vounis lady. But as I was very much w hk Ifiendy wnat did I do, but went and got a true Ueenatiip a true priest, and married them bothwi / •"' ■■■ •r',^JrM^}. 204 VICAR OF WAKBFUBLD. fiMt M the ololh coald make them. Perhaps yoall • think it was generosity that made me do all ^is : But no : to my shame I confess it, my only design was to keep the license, and let the 'Squire know that I could prove it upon him whenever I thou^t proper, and to make him come down whenever I wanted money." A burst of pleasure now seemed to fill the whole apartment ; our joy reached even to the common room, where the prisoners them- selves sympathised. And shook their chains In transport and rude harmony. Happiness was expanded upon every face, and ev^n Olivia's cheek seemed flushed with pleasure. To be thus restored to reputation, to friends and fortune at once, was a rapture sufficient to stop the progress of decay, and restore former health and vivacity. But perhaps among all, there was not one who felt sineerer pleasure than I. Still hold- ing the dear loved child in my arms, I adced my heart if these transports were not delusion. *' How could you,^* cried I, turning to Mr. Jenkinson, ** how could you add to my miseries by the story of her death ? But it matters not : my pleasure at finding her again is more than a recompense for the pam.'* '* As to your question,'' replied Jenkinson, ^that is easily answered. I thought the only probable means of freeing; yon from prison, was by submit- tinff to the 'Squire, and consenting to his marriage wiuL the other young lady. But these you had vowed never to grant while your daughter was liv- ing ; there was tnerefore no other method to bring thincs to be^, but by persuading you that she was deaa I prevailed on your wife to join in Hie de- ceit, and we have not had a fit opportunity of unde- flifaring you till now.^* me whole assembly there now appeared only Jaoes that did not glow witli transport. Mr. VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, 205 Thornhill's assurance had entirely forsaken him ; he now saw the ffulf of infamy and want before him, and trembled to take the plunge. He there- lore fell on his knees, before his nnele, and in a yoice of piercing misery implored compassion. Sir William was going to spurn him away, but at my request he raised him, and after pausm^ a few moments, '*Thy vices, crimes, and ingratitude,^' cried he, "deserve no tenderness; yet thou shalt not be entirely forsaken — ^a bare competence shall be supplied, to support the wants of life, but not its follies. This young lady, thy wife, shall be put in possession of a third part of that fortune which once was thine, and from her tenderness alone, thou art to expect any extraordinary supplies for the future.'' He was going tr> express his gratitude for such kindness in a set speech ; but the Baronet prevented him, by bidding him not aggravate his meanness, which was already but too apparent He ordered him at the same time to be gone, and from all his former domestics, to choose one, such as he should think proper, which was ill that should be granted to attend him. AB soon as he left us, Sir William very politely stept up to his new niece with a smile, and wished her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wil- mot and her father. My wife, too, kissed her daughter with much affection ; as, to use her own expression, she was now made an honest woman of. Sophia and Moses followed in turn, and even our benefactor Jenkinson, desired to be admitted to that honour. Our satisfaction seemed scarcely capable of increase. Sir William, whose greatest pleasure was in doing good, now looked round with a countenance open as the sun, and saw nothing but joy in the looks of all, except that of my daughter Sophia, who, for some reasons we could not com- prehend, did not seem perfectly satisfied. ** I think now/' cried he, with a smile, '' that all theoompauy 306 VICAR OF WAKEFIKLD. exoept one or two, seem perfectly happj. There only remains an act of justice for me to do. Yon are sensible, Sir,'* continued he, turning to me, '^ of the obligations we both owe Mr. Jenkinson, and it is but just that we should both reward him for it Miss Sophia will, I am sure, make lum very happy, and fie Miall have from me five hundred pounas as her fortune : and upon this I am sure they can live very comfortably together. Come, Miss SophifL what say vou to this match of my making ? \Vill you have him ?** — My poor girl seemed almost sink- ing into her mother^} arms at the hideous proposal **Have him. Sir!** cried she, faintly: ''no. Sir, never.*' ^ What !" cried he fu;ain, '* not have Mr. Jenkinson, your benefactor, a nandsome young fel- low, with five hundred pounds, and good expecta- tions ?'' '* I beg. Sir,'* returned she, scarcely able to speak, '* that you'll desist, and not make me so very wretched." ''Was ever such obstinacy known ?" cried he again, " to refuse a man whom the familv has such infinite obligations to, who has preservea your sister, and who has five hundred pounds! What, not have him!'* "No, Sir, never,'' replied she ansrily, " I'd sooner die first.'* " If that be the case, tnen," cried he, " if you will not have him — I think I must have you myself.'* And so sayinff, he caught her to his breast with ar- dour. " My loveliest, my most sensible of girls,'* cried he, *^how could you ever think your own Burcheli could deceive you, or that Sir William Thornhill could ever cease to admire a mistress that loved him for himself alone ? I have for some years sought for a woman, who, a stranger to my Icnrtune, could think that I had merit as a man. 4fter having tried in vain, even amongst the pert pid the uglv, how great at last must be my rapture ^" have made a conquest over such sense and such avenly beauty." Then turning to Jenkinson, Aa I cannot, Sir, part with this young lady ii|y- 1 There You ae, ** of and it for it happy, indsas sanlive Sophia, ' Will st Bink- 'oposaL 10, Sir, we Mr. ing f el> xpecta- ly able I me so »stinacy i whom rhohas Lundred o, Sir, I first*' ou will nyself." nnthaiv P girls," nr own William oiistress or some to my a man. he pert rapture id sQch ikinson, liy niy- VICAB OF WAK£FI£LO. 207 self, for she has taken a fancy to the cut of my face, all the recompense I can make is to give you her fortune ; and you may call upon my steward to- morrow for five hundred pounds.'* Thus we had jdl our com jiliments to repeat, and Lady Thomhill underwent the same round of ceremony that her sister had done before. In the meantime. Sir William's gentleman appeared to tell us that the equipages were ready to carry us to the inn, where every thing was prepared for our reception. My wife and I led the van, and left those gloomy man- sions of sorrow. The generous Baronet ordered forty pounds to be distributed among the prisoners, and Mr. Wilmot, induced by his example, gave half that sum. We were received below by the shouts of the villagers, and I saw and shook by the hand two or three of my honest parishioners, who were amone the number. They attended us to our inn, where a samptuoug entertainment was provided! and coarser provisions were distributed in great quantities among the populace. After supper, as my spirits were exhausted by the alternation of pleasure and pain which they had sustained durine the day, I asked permission to withdraw ; and leaving the company in the midst of their mirth, as soon as I found myself alone, I poured out my heart in gratitude to the Giver df joy as well as of sorrow, and then slept undisturbed till morning. ■N^aMi^aiMMMpM^iMWlM F ■■■•' F •I't^ f.^ vi- ^fe CHAPTER XXXIL THB CONCLUSION. :!• The next morning, as aoon as I waked, I found my eldest son sitting bj my bed-side, who came to in- erease my joy with another turn of fortune in my favour. First having released me from the settle- ment that I had made the day before in his favour, he let me know that my merchant, who had failed intovm, was arrested at Antwerp, and there had given up effects to a much greater amount than what was due to his creditors. My boy^s generosity pleased me almost as much as this unlooked-for good fortune ; but I had some doubts whether I ought in justice to accept his offer. While I was ponderinff upon this. Sir William entered the room, to whom I communicated my doubts. His opinion was, that as my son was already possessed of a very affluent fortune by his marriage, I might accept his offer without any hesitation. His business, how- ever, was to inform me, that he had the night be- fore sent for the licenses, and expected them every hour, he hoped that I would not refuse my assist- aiiee in making all the company happy that mom- io|^ A footman entered while wo were speaking, 'Vos that the messenger was retun^; and as bv this time ready, I went doVr^(ii^^Sm I the whole company as merry lHi|||^^pee t '.V -■\.. I found my me to in- ne in my he settle- is favour, umI failed ;here had >nnt than generosity ooked-for Birhether I bile I was the room, is opinion of a very accept his less, how- night be- hem every my assist- ;hat mom- gpeaking, 4; and as f^rij^ere I VICAft OV WAKBFIBLD. 90d and innocence could make them. However, as they were now preparing for a very solemn cere- mony, their laughter entireljr displeased me. I told them of the grave, becoming, and sublime de- portment they should assume upon this mjrstical occasion, and read them two homilies, and a thesis of my own composing, in order to prepare them. Yet they still seemed perfectly refractory and un- governable. Even as we were going along to church, to which I led the way, all gravity nad quite forsaken them, and I was of^en tempted to turn back in indignation. In church a new di- lemma arose, which promised no easy solution. This was, which couple should be married first. Mv son's bride warmlv insisted that ladv Thomhill (that was to be) should take the lead : but this the other refused vnth equal ardour, protesting she would not be guilty of such rudeness for the world. The argument was supported for some time be- tween both vnth equal obstinac^y and good-breed- ing. But as I stood all this time with my bo6k ready, I was at last quite tired of the contest ; and shutting it, •*! perceive," cried I, "that none of you have a mind to be married, and I think we haa as good go back again ; for I suppose there will be no usiness done here to-day." This at once reduced them to reason. The Baronet and his lady were first married, and then my son and his lovely partner. I had previously that morning given orders that a coach should be sent for my honest neighbour Flamborough and his family ; by which means, upon our return to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the two Miss Flamboroughs alighted before us. Mr. Jenkinson gave his Imnd to the eldest, and my son Moaes 1^ up the other (and I have^ since found that he has taken a real liking to the giri^ and my consent and bounty he shall have, M p ■ 11 I K ^ I 1. ■ I ' ■ ■ ■ ■■ — — ^ 910 TICAR OF WAKEFIELD. whenever he thinks proper to demand them.) We were no sooner returned to the inn, but num- bers of my pai^ioners, hearing of my success, came to congratulate me ; but among the rest were those who rose to rescue me, and whom I formerly rebuked with such sharpness. I told the story to Sir William, my son-in-law, who went out and re- proved them with great severity, but finding them quite disheartened by his luursh reproof, he gave tnem half a guinea a-piece to drink nis health, and raise their dejected spurits. Soon after this, we were called to a very genteel entertainment, which was dressed by Mr. Thorn- hill's cook. And it may not be improper to ob- serve with respect to that gentleman, that he now resides, in quality of companion, a' a relation's Wurase, being very well liked, and seldom sitting at f^^e side-table, except when there is no room at the other; for they make no stranger of him. His time is pretty much taken up in keeping his rela^ tion, who is a little melancholy, in spirits, and in learning to blow the French horn. My eldest daughter, however, still remembers him with re- gret ; and she has even told me, though I make a great secret of it, that when he reforms she may be brought to relent. — But to return, for I am not apt to digress thus ; when we were to sit down to din- our ceremonies were going to be renewed. ner. The question was, whether my eldest daughter, as being a matrop, should not sit above the two young brides ; but the debate was cut short by my son George, who proposed that the company should sit indiscriminately, everv gentleman by his lady. This was received with great approbation by aU, excepting my wife, who, I could perceive, was not perfectly satisfied, as she expectea to have had the pleasure of sitting at the head of the table, and carving the meat for all the company. But, not- liil^tanding this, it is impossible to* describe our ■Ml =31;= 4^\ m TICAR OF WaKBFIBLD. 211 I. ds them.) t num- niccess, 8t were snnerly story to and re- g them le gaye th, and genteel Thom- to ob- he now ilation's tting at a at the His rehi?- and in r eldest vith re- make a maybe not apt I todin- 9newed. ^ter, as young my son omd sit is lady, by aft, was not had the »le, and [it, not- ibe our gcod-humoiir. I can't say whether we had mora wit among ns now than nsoal ; bat I am certain we had more langhhig, which answered the end as welL One jest J particularly remember; old Mr. Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose head was turned another way, my son replied, "Madam, I thank you." Upon which the old gentleman, wfnking upon the rest of the company, obseryed, thai he was thinking of his mistress ; at lyhich jest I thought the two Miss Flamboroughs yirould haye died with laughing. As soon as dinner was oyer, according to my md custom, I requested that the table miuit be taken ar^ay, to haye Ihe pleasure of seeing aU my family assembled once more by a cheemd fire-side. My two little ones sat upon each knee, the rest of the company by their part- . ners. I had nothing now on this side the graye to^ wish for ; all my cares were oyer ; my pleasure was unspeakable. It now only remained, that iny gra- titude in good fortune should exceed my rormer sttbmissioii in adteriity. ■ND OF THB yiCAR OF WAKEFIBLO. '"rtiJ,.: i .:..iJi. i . i I v3J * DESERTIIJ VILLAGl: A POEM. BT OLIVER GOUHIlEni. 1KB. #: 4WWMIMMWIMIMIMIMIMMIIMMMIM SWBBT Attbnni ! loydieit vUlage of the pbtii^ Where health and plenfy ebamd the kbcranDg swain, . Where smiling sprins its aaxlkst yinl paid. And parting smraiers lingering Idooms deiay'd \ Dear lovely bowen of uEmoot&ce Mod eaa^ Seats of my yonth, when eteiy qMnt could please ; How often have I loitered o^er thy graen, Where hnmble luqppineaa endearM eadt aoanej How often have I paused on every ^ann, The dielter'd cot, the enltivaled nnn. Tlie never-failing brook, the bnqr niir The decent chnrch, that Um^ the neighboring hi& ; The hawthorn bom vMk seats benea^ the shade^ For talking age and whispering loveni made I How often have I bless^ the condog day, When toil remitttng lent its tarn to play, And all the village ti«in from labow me^ Led up tiMir sports beaeatii the spiea#iw toee ! Whi^ mai^ a pastime eseled in the afaade, The yoimg conten^foig as the old sarvey^d f And maiyr * gambol mlidi^d o'e? the groondt # AndiiiWit«i3agt| and l^rtsof strength went «wfi iiqA. fri'':g;,ii.iiliWi.i 214 THB DB8EBTED VILLAQB. And still, as each repeated pleasure tur'd, ^ Succeeding sports tne mirthful band inspir'd. The dancing pair that simply sought renown, Bt holding out to tire each other down ; The swain mistmstless of his smutted face. While secret laughter titter'd round the place ; The hashftd vimn^s side-lone looks of love : The matron^s glance that would those looks reprove ; These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these. With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms — ^but all these charms are fled. Sweet smihnff village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdravim i Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : ^ One only master grasps the wnole domain. And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; No more thy glassy brook reflects tne day, But choak'd with sedges, works its weedy way ; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards his nest ; Amidst thy desert walks the mpwins flies. And tires their echoes with unvaried cries: Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. And the lon^ grass overtops the mouldering wall, And» trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fiures the land, to hast'ninff ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decav. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade, A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; But a bold peasantry, their country^s pride. When once destroyed, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained iis man ; 9or him light Labour si>read her wholesome store, JUst gave what life requir'4» but gave no more : THS DESBETED YILLAOB. 215 His best companions, innocence and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; Along the lawn where scatter^ hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose ; And every want to luxury allied. And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentler hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those caha desires that ask'd but little room, Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceM scene, Liv'd in each look, and'brighten'd all the green ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. And rural mirth and manners are no more. Sweet Auburn, parent of the blissful hour. Thy glades forlorn, confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds. Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elapsM, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wand'rines through this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has giv'n my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper to a close. And keep the flame from wasting by repose : I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. Amidst the swains to shew my book-leam'd skill i Around my fire an evening group to draw^ And tell of all I felt, and all I saw : And, ai| a hare when hounds and horns pursue. Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return — and die at home at last. O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreat horn cares that never must be mine, ^16 THB DXSB&TBO YILLAOJi. How blast is he who crownsy in shades like these, Ayonth of labour with an age of ease ; Who ^uits a world where strons temptations try, And, since His hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, bom to work and weep. Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'roos deep ! No surly porter stands in guilty state. To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave vdth nnnerceiv'd decay. While resignation gently slopes the way ; And, all his prospects brightening to the last. His heav'n commences ere the world be past. Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's dose. Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There, as I pass'd with* careless steps and slow ; The mingled notes came soften'd /rom below ; The swam responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young. The noisy seese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playnu children just let loose from school. The wath-dog's voice that bay*d the whispering virind. And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. And fiU'd each pause the nightingale had made. Bat now the sounds of population fail. No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. No busy steps the grass-grown foot- way tread. But all the olooming flu^ of life is fled : \ AH but yon widow'd, solitary thins;, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread. To strip the brook with mantling cresses apre^. To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. To seek her nightnr sl^d, an^ v/eep till mg- ^ windy ind ; Bhde. iftd, ii Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And BtiU where many a garden-flower groi^ wili ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disdose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year. Remote from towns he ran hlT godly race. Nor e*er had changed, nor wished to change, hisplace ; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power By doctrines fashioned to the varyine hour ; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train. He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain : The long-remember'd beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruinM spendthrift now no longer ]^roud, Claimed kindred there, and had his chums allowed ; The broken soldier kindly bade to stay. Sat by the fire, and talkM the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and shewed how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man leam'd to glow* And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan. His pity gave, e*er charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at ev'ry call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd axkd felt, for alL And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies ; He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pains, by turns dismayed, I r 218 THE OESBRTBO YILLAOB. The reverend champion stood. At his cpntrol, Bespair and anguish fled the straggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise. And his last fanltering accents whisper'd praise. At charch, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adom'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran : ' Even children foUow'd, with endearing wile, And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parentis warmth exprest ; Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts hacr rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom^ furiee unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion skilPd to rule, The village master taught his little school: A man severe he was, and stem to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers leamM to trace The day's disasters in hb morning face ; Full well they laugh'd vnth counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when ne frown'd: Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault : Tho village all declared how much he kneW ; 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too ; ]»and8 he could measure, terms and tides presage. And e'en Uie story ran that he could guage ,* 11111 1 THB DE8BRTBD TILLAOB. 219 » raisey lise. B smile. istrest; given, ^en. B storm, I spread, leway race I'd: o; iresage, In arguinff too the parson own'd his skill, For e en thouffh vanqnishM he could argne still While words ofleam^ length, and thandVing sound, ^maz'd the gazins mstics ranged around. And still they gas^d, and still the wonder grew. That one smalfhead should carry all he knew ; But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high. Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye. Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts in- spired. Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil, retired ; Where village statesmen talk'd vnth looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour-splendours of that festive place ; The white- washed wall, the nicely sanded floor. The vamish'd clock that clickM behind the door ; The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use. The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chiird the day. With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay. While broken tea cups, wisely kept for show, Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten^ in a row. Vain transitory splendours, could not all Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall ? Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance tc the poor man's heart Tluther no more the peasant shall repair, To sweet oblivion of nis daily care : No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman*sl>allad shall prevail ; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear. Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear ; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to soe the mantlmg bliss go round ; ^^ 1 ' . • 220 THB DISBBTBD TTLLAOB. Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prett, Aall kiss tne cup to pass it to the rest. Yes! let the rich deride, the prcnd disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art* Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, Tne soul adopts, and owns their first-bom sway ; Li^tljr they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, nnconfln'd ; But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. With all the freaks of wanton wealth anay'd. In these, ere triflers half their vnsh obtain. The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; And, even while fashion's b:';ghtest arts decoy. The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ? Ye friends of truth, ye str.tesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor*s decay, 'TIS yours to jnage, how wide tbe^imits ntaaa. Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loaos of freighted ore. And shouting Fo>1.v hails them from her shore ; Hoards, even b^ond the miser^s wish, abound. And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This vrealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride, Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his parks extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken cloth. Has robb'd the nei|^ib«Nmng fields of half their growth ; His seat, vriHre solitary spots are seen, Indignaot vpums the cottage from the green ; Aroiuid tke.world each netful brpduct files, «r att the luxuries of the worla supplies, bile thus the land, adom'd for pkasura aQ, In barren i^endour feebly waits the fslL V TH£ DESERTED VILLAQB* 231 As tMmie fiur female mudomM and plain. Secure to pleaee while youth confirms ner reign, ^. Slights every borrow'd charm that dress suppuesi Nor sliares with art the triumph of her eyes ; But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When times advance, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, ^ In all the glaring impotence of dress : Thus fares the land by luxury betray'd ; In nature's simplest cnarms at first array'd. But, verging to decline, its splendours nse. Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling land, The moamfm peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks without one arm to save. The country blooms — a garden and a grave. Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside. To ^scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd. He drives lus flock to pick the scanty blade. Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide. And even the bare-worn common U denied. If to the city sped, what waits him there ? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and tiiin mankind ; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature^ woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade. There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; Hero, while the proud, thdr long-drawn pomps dis- play. There the blade gibbet glooms beside the way : The dome where rleasure holds her midnight reign. Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glaro. Sure scenes like these, no trouble e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy ! — ttmmmm mM 232 THl DB8KBTBD TILLAOB. 1-. i* I Are thMe thy serious thonghts ? ah, torn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female UeSp She onee, perhaps, in vilhi^ plenty hlest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrsst ; Her modest look the cottage might adorn. Sweet as the primrose peeps hereath the thorn. Now lost to all her friends, her virtne fled. Near her hetrayer*s door she lays her head. And, pinched with cold, and idirinking from the shower. With heavy heart deplores fhat luckless hour. When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine the loyeliest traio. Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ! Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! Ah, no. To distant cUmes, a dreary scene. Where half the convex world intrudes between, llirough torrid tracts with faintinff steps they go. Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all that charm'd before. The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those biasing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day ; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But nlent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Those pois Wus fields, vnth rank luxuriance crown'd, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step tne stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouoMng tigers wait their hapless prey, And savage men more murd'rons still than they : While oft ill whirls the mad tornado flies. Mingling the r»vag^d landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene. The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green ; The breezy covert of the warbling grove, piat only sheltered thefts of harmless love. ,'^ij nm DB8BRTED VILLAOX. Good Heaven t what aorrowi gloom'd that parting day. n That caird them from their native walks away ; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past ; Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain, For seats like those beyond the western main ; And shuddering still to face the distant deep. Returned and wept, and still returned to weep ! The good old sire, the first prepared to go To new-found wc^ds, and wept for others' woe ; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wishM for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovtlier in her tears. The fond companion of his helpless years. Silent, went next, neglectful of her charms. And left a lover^s for a father^s arms. With louder plaintflL the mother spoke her woes. And blest the cot where every pleasure rose ; And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear ; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.-^ luxury ; thou curs'd by Heaven's decree. How ill exchanj^'d are tning|s like these for thee ! How do thy potions with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own ; At every draught large and more large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Even now the devastation is boj^n, .« And half the business of destruction done ; Even now, methinks, as pondering herd I stand, 1 see the rural Virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, That idly waiting fli^B with every gale, * f I MMmJKm i I ■ if THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Downward they move, a melancholy band, Bm8 from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, And kind connubial Tenderness, are there ; And Piety, with wishes placed above. And steady lioyalty, and faithful Love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degen'rate times of shame. To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; Dear channing nymph, neglecte4 and decried^ My shame in crowds, mv solitarv pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe. Thou found'st me poor at &rst, and keep^st me so ; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fture thee well : Farewell ; and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, On Tomo's clifb, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, > Or winter wraj^is tne polar world in «iow. Still let thy voice, prevuling over time, Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ; Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain, Teach ernns man to spurn the rage of sain ; Teach him that states, of native strength posaest, Though very poor, may still be very blest ; That trade's i^roud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away ; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. THE END. 4J} WILUAM MILITBR, PBINTBm, CHBAPSIBI, HALIFAX. trand. aid, >•» Etme ; icried) i^st me so ; el. t: 9 tried, V, 9 le ; ;rain, un ; r • fy, D cy , HALIFAX.