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rr I E
3irar    uf'i33hrkfi Pti
BY
OLIVEtl GOLDSMITH, M. B.,
AND
RASSELAS,
PRINCE OF ABYSSINIA,
BY
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
o   0Tholumez in  En't.
NEW YOR K:
PUBLISHED BY DERBY & JACKSON'
NO. 119 NASSAU STREET.
1857.








CHARACTERISTICS
OF
GOLDSMITH'S WRITINGS.
THE "Vicar of Wakefield" has long been considered one of the most interesting tales in our language. It is seldom that a story presenting merely
a picture of common life, and a detail of domestic
events, so powerfully affects the reader. The irresistible charm this novel possesses, evinces how
much may be done, without the aid of extravagant incident, to excite the imagination and interest
the feelings. Few productions of the kind afford
greater amusement in the perusal, and still fewer
inculcate more impressive lessons of morality.
Though wit and humour abound in every page, yet
in the whole volume there is not one thought injurious in its tendency, nor one sentiment that can
offend the chastest ear. Its language, in the words
of an elegant writer, is what "angels might have
heard and virgins told." In the delineation of his
characters, in the conduct of his fable, and in the
moral of the piece, the genius of the author is
equally conspicuous. The hero displays with unafCr)




CHARACTERISTICS.
fected simplicity the most striking virtues that can
adorn social life; sincere in his professions, humane
and generous in his disposition, he is himself a pattern of the character he represents. The other personages are drawn with similar discrimination.
Each is distinguished by some peculiar feature; and
the general grouping of the whole has this particular excellence, that not one could be wanting without injuring the unity and beauty of the design.
The drama of the tale is also managed with equal
skill and effect.  There are no extravaganlt incidents, and no forced or improbable situations; one
event rises out of another in the same easy and
natural manner as flows the language of the narration; the interest never flags, and is kept up to the
last by the expedient of concealing the real character of Burchell. But t is the moral of the work
which entitles the ~ Ahor to the praise of supereminent merit in this species of writing. No writer
has arrived more successfully at the great ends of a
moralist. By the finest examples, he inculcates the
practice of benevolence, patience in suffering, and
reliance on the providence of God.
As a writer of prose, Dr. Anderson, in his " British Poets," says: "Goldsmith must be allowed to
have rivalled and even exceeded Dr. Johnson and
his imitator Dr. Hawkesworth, the most celebrated
professional prose writer of his time.  His prose
may be regarded as the model of perfection, and the
standard of our language; to equal which the efforts
of most will be vain, and, to exceed it, every expectation of folly."




CHARACTERISTICS.           Vii
Johnson, according to Boswell, said of his friend,
"whether we take him as a poet, as a comic writer,
or as a historian, he stands in the first class. He
has the art of saying everything he has to say in a
pleasing manner." In his works the Doctor has
pronounced him to be, "A man of such variety of
powers, and such felicity of performance, that he
always seemed to do best that which he was doing;
a man who had the art of being minute without
tediousness, and general without confusion; whose
language was copious without exuberance, exact
without constraint, and easy without weakness.""He was," said Johnson emphatically, on another
occasion, "a very great man. Every year he lived
he would have deserved Westminster Abbey the
more 1"
Sir Walter Scott has added his tribute to the
throng. "The wreath of Goldsmith," he says, "is
unsullied.  He wrote to exalt virtue and expose
vice; and he accomplished his task in a manner
which raises him to the highest rank among British
authors. We close his volume [The Vicar of
Wakefield] with a sigh that such an author should
have been so prematurely removed from the sphere
of literature which he so highly adorned."
As a poet, all that he has written has been pronounced good by Lord Byron, while in the passage
which contains this judgment, his Lordship says
that not one-half is good of the IEneid, of Milton, or
of Dryden. Campbell, the author of the " Pleasures
of Hope," says that "Goldsmith's poetry presents
a distinct and unbroken view of poetical delight



iii            CHARACTERISTICS.
fulness. His descriptions and sentiments have the
purest zest of nature. He is refined, without false
delicacy, and correct without insipidity.
Hie unbends from graver strains of reflection to tenderness, and even to playfulness, with an ease and
grace almost exclusively his own; and connects extensive views of the happiness and interests of
society with pictures of life that touch the heart by
their familiarity."
To these ample praises it is unnecessary to make
any addition. It may however be interesting to
the reader to be informed that, both in his poetry
and prose, Goldsmith usually drew from nature,
not only in the common acceptation of the phrase,
but literally and in fact.




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY OF WAKEFIELD, IN WHICH A
KINDRED LIKENESS PREVAILS, AS WELL OF MINDS AS OF PERSONS.
I WAS ever of opinion, that the honest man who
married and brought up a large family, did more
service than he who continued single and only
talked of a population. From this motive, I had
scarcely taken orders a year, before -I began to
think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife,
as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy
surface, but for such qualities as would wear well
To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable
woman; and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could show more. She could read
any English book without much spelling; but for
pickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel
her. She prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver 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
1*                 Gc)




10          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
world or each other. We had an elegant house
situated 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 had 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 traveller or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry
wine, for which we had great reputation; and I
profess with the veracity of a historian, that I never
knew one of them to find fault with it. Our cousins
too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered
their affinity, without any help from the herald's
office, and came very frequently to see us. Some
of them did us no great honour by these claims of
kindred; as we had the blind, the maimed, and the
halt among the number. However, my wife always
insisted, that as they were the same flesh and blood,
they should sit with us at the same table. So that
if we had not very 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 nature
an admirer of happy human faces. However, when
any one of our 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 house
I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat, or a




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            11
pair of boots, or sometimes a horse of small value,
and I always had the satisfaction of finding 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 dependent 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 the
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 sometimes 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 they were at once
well formed and healthy; my sons hardy and active,
my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I
stood in the midst of the little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could
not avoid repeating the famous story of Count
Abensberg, who in Henry the Second's progress
through Germany, while other courtiers came with
their treasures, brought his thirty-two children, and
presented them to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner,
though I had but six, I considered them as a very
valuable present made to my country, and conse



12          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
quently 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 intended to call after her aunt Grissel; but my
wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading
romances, insisted upon her being called OLIVIA.
In less than another year we had another daughter,
and now I was determined that Grissel should be
her name; but a rich relation taking a fancy to
stand godmother, the girl was, by her directions,
called SOPHIA; so that we had two romantic names
in the family; but I solemnly protest I had no
hand in it. MOSES was our next, and after an interval of twelve years we had two sons more.
It would be fruitless to deny 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, upon
my word, Mrs. Primrose, you have the finest children 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 conversation in the country. \ Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriance of beauty with which
painters generally draw iebe; open, sprightly, and
commanding. Sophia's features were not so strik



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.             13
ing 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
successfully 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 from too
great a desire to please. Sophia even repressed excellence from her fears to offend. The one entertained me with her vivacity when I was gay, the
other with her sense when I was serious.  But
these qualities were never carried to excess in
either, and I have often seen them exchange characters, for a whole day together. A suit of mourning has transformed my coquette into a prude, and
a new set of ribands has given her younger sister
more than natural vivacity. My eldest son George
was bred at Oxford, as I intended him for one of
the learned professions. My second boy Moses,
whom I designed for business, received a sort of
miscellaneous education at home. But it is needless to attempt describing the particular characters
of young people that had seen but very little of the
world. In short, a family likeness prevailed through
all, and properly speaking, they had but one character, that of being all equally generous, credulous,
simple, and inoffensive.




CHAPTER II
FAMILY MISFORTUNES-TIHE LOSS OF FORTUNE ONLY SERVES TO
INCREASE THE PRIDE OF THE WORTHY.
THE temporal concerns of our family were chiefly
committed to my wife's management; as to the
spiritual, I took them entirely under my own direction. The profits of my living, which amounted
to but thirty-five pounds a-year, I made over to the
orphans and widows of the clergy of our diocese:
for having a fortune of my own, I was careless of
temporalities, and felt a secret pleasure in doing my
duty without reward. I also set a resolution of
keeping no curate, and of being acquainted with
every man in the parish, exhorting the married
men to temperance, and the bachelors to matrimony, so that in a few years it was a common saying, that there were three strange wants at Wakefield, a parson wanting pride, young men wanting
wives, and ale-houses wanting customers.
Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics,
and I wrote several sermons to prove its happiness;
but there was a peculiar tenet which I made a point
of supporting; for I maintained with Whiston, that
it was unlawful for a priest of the church of England, after the death of his first wife to take a second;
(14)




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           15
or to express it in one word, I valued myself on
being a strict monogamist.
I was early initiated into this important dispute,
on which so many laborious volumes have been
written. I published some tracts upon the subject
myself, which, as they never sold, I have the consolation of thinking were read only by the happy few.
Some of my friends call this my weak side; but
alas! they had not like me made it the subject of
long contemplation. The more I reflected upon it,
the more important it appeared. I even went a
step beyond Whiston in displaying my principles:
as he had engraven upon his wife's tomb that she
was the only wife of William Whiston; so I wrote
a similar epitaph for my wife, though still living, in
which I extolled her prudence, economy, and obedience till death; and having got it copied fair, with
an elegant frame, it was placed over the chimneypiece, where it answered several very useful purposes.
In admonishing my wife of her duty to me, and my
fidelity to her, it inspired her with a passion for
fame, and constantly put her in mind of her end.
It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so
often recommended, that my eldest son, just upon
leaving college, fixed his affections upon the daughter of a neighboring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the church, and in circumstances to give her
a large fortune.  But fortune was her smallest
accomplishment. AMiss ARABELLA WILMOT was
allowed by all, (except my two daughters) to be
completely pretty! Her youth, health and innocence, were still heightened by a complexion so




16          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
transparent, and such a happy sensibility of look,
as even age could not gaze on with indifference.
As Mr. Wilmot knew I could make a very handsome settlement on my son, he was not averse to
the match: so both families lived together in all
that harmony which generally preceeds an expected
alliance. Being convinced by experience that the
days of courtship are the most happy of our lives,
I was willing enough to lengthen the period; and
the various amusements which the young people
every day s hared in each other's company seemed
to increase their passion. We were generally awaked
in the morning by music, and on fine days rode a
hunting. The hours between breakfast and dinner
the ladies devoted to dress and study: they usually
read a page, and then gazed at themselves in the
glass, which even philosophers might own often presented the page of greatest beauty. At dinner my
wife took the lead; for as she always insisted on
carving everything herself, it being her mother's
way, she gave us upon these occasions the history
of every dish. When we had dined, to prevent the
ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table to be
removed; and sometimes, with the music master's
assistance, the girls would give us a very agreeable
concert. Walking out, drinking tea, country dances,
and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without
the assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of
gaming, except backgammon, at which my old
friend and I sometimes took a twopenny hit. Nor
can I here pass over an ominous circumstance that
happened the last time we played together; I only




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            17
wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce ace
five times running.
Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at
last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the
nuptials of the young couple, who seemed earnestly
to desire it.  During the preparations for the
wedding, I need not describe the busy importance
of my wife, nor the sly looks of my daughters: in
fact, my attention was fixed on another object, the
completing a tract which I intended shortly to publish in defence of my favourite principle. As I
looked upon this as a master-piece, both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my heart
avoid showing it to my old friend Mr. Wilmot, as I
made no doubt of receiving his approbation; but
not till too late I discovered that he was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with
good reason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This, as may be expected, produced a dispute attended with some acrimony, which
threatened to interrupt our intended alliance: but
the day before that appointed for the ceremony, we
agreed to discuss the subject at large.
It was managed with proper spirit on both sides:
he asserted that I was heterodox, I retorted the
charge; he replied and I rejoined. In the mean time
while the controversy was hottest, I was called out
by one of my relations, who, with a face of concern
advised me to give up the dispute, at least till my
son's wedding was over. " How I" cried I, "relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be a husband,
already driven to the very verge of absurdity




18          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
You might as well advise me to give up my fortune
as my argument. "Your fortune," returned my
friend, "I am now sdrry to inform you is almost
nothing. The merchant in town, in whose hands
your money was lodged, has gone off to avoid a
statute of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have
left a shilling in the pound. I was unwilling to
shock you or the family with the account until after
the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate
your warmth in the argument; for, I suppose your
own prudence will enforce the necessity of dissembling, at least till your son has the young lady's
fortune secure."  " Well," returned I,' if what you
tell me be true, and if I am to be a beggar, it shall
never make me a rascal, or induce me to disavow
my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the
company of my circumstances: and as for the argument, I even here retract my former concessions in
the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him
now to be a husband in any sense of the expression."
It would be endless to describe the different sentiments of both families when I divulged the news
of our misfortune: but what others felt was slight
to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr. Wilmot
who seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off
the match, was by this blow soon determined: one
virtue he had in perfection, which was prudence,
too often the only one that is left at seventy-two.




CHAPTER III.
A MIGRATION-THE FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES OF OUR LIVES
ARE GENERALLY FOUND AT LAST TO BE OF OUR OWN PROCURING.
THE only hope of our family now was, that the
report of our misfortunes might be malicious or
premature; but a letter from my agent in town soon
came with a confirmation of every particular. The
loss of fortune to myself alone would have been trifling: the only uneasiness I felt was for my family,
who were to be humble without an education to
render them callous to contempt.
Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to
restrain their affliction; for premature consolation is
but the remembrance of sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future
means of supporting them; and at last a small cure
of fifteen pounds a year was offered me in a distant
neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my principles without molestation.  With this proposal I
joyfully closed, having determined to increase my
salary by managing a little farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was
to get together the wrecks of my fortune: and, all
debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand
[19]




20          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My
chief attention, therefore, was now to bring down
the pride of my family to their circumstances; for
I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchednes,
itself. "You cannot be ignorant, my children,"
cried I, "that no prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence may do
much in disappointing its effects. We are now
poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to
our humble situation. Let us then, without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy.
The poor live pleasantly without our help, why then
should not we learn to live without theirs? No,
my children, let us from this moment give up all
pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left
for happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon
content for the deficiencies of fortune."
As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined
to send him to town, where' his abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation
of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most
distressful circumstances attendant on penury. The
day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for
the first time. My son, after taking leave of his
mother and the rest, who mingled their tears and
their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This
I gave him from my heart, and which, added to five
guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow.
"You are going, my boy," cried I, "to London on
foot, in the manner Hooker, your great ancestor,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           21
travelled there before you. Take from me the same
horse that was given him by the good Bishop Jewel,
this staff, and this book too, it will be your comfort
on the way: these two lines in it are worth a million,' I have been young, and now am old; yet never
saw I the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging
their bread.' Let this be your consolation as you
travel on. Go, my boy; whatever be thy fortune,
let me see thee once a year; still keep a good heart,
and farewell." As he was possessed of integrity and
honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life; for I
knew he would act a good part, whether vanquished
or victorious.
His departure only prepared the way for our own,
which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving
a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many
hours of tranquillity, was not without a tear which
scarcely fortitude itself could suppress. Besides, a
journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto never been above ten from home, filled us with
apprehension; and the cries of the poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to increase it.
The first day's journey brought us in safety within
thirty miles of our future retreat, and we put up for
the night at an obscure inn in a village by the way.
When we were shown a room, I desired the landlord,
in my usual way, to let us have his company, with
which he complied, as what he drank would increase
the bill next morning. He knew, however, the whole
neighbourhood to which I was removing, particularly'Squire THORNHILL, who was to be my landlord,




22          VIOAR OF WAKEFIELD.
and who lived within a few miles of the place. This
gentleman he described as one who desired to know
little more of the world than its pleasures, being particularly remarkable for his attachment to the fair
sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist
his arts and assiduity, and that scarcely a farmer's
daughter within ten miles round, but what had found
him successful and faithless. Though this account
gave me some pain, it had a very different effect upon
my daughters, whose features seemed to brighten
with the expectation of an approaching triumph;
nor was my wife less pleased and confident of their
allurements and virtue. While our thoughts were
thus employed the hostess entered the room to inform
her husband, that the strange gentleman, who had
been two days in the house, wanted money, and
could not satisfy them for his reckoning. "Want
money!" replied the host, "' that must be impossible,
for it was no later than yesterday he paid three guineas
to our beadle to spare an old broken soldier that was
to be whipped through the town for dog-stealing."
The hostess, however, still persisting in her first assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be satisfied one way or another,
when I begged the landlord would introduce me to
a stranger of so much charity as he described. With
this he complied, showing in a gentleman who seemed
to be about thirty, dressed in clothes that once were
laced. His person was well formed, and his face
marked with the lines of thinking.
He had something short and dry in his address,
and seemed not to understand ceremony, or to des



VICAR OF WAKEGIELD.           23
pise it. Upon the landlord's leaving the room, I
could not avoid expressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, and
offered him my purse to satisfy the present demand.
"I take it with all my heart, sir," replied he, "and
am glad that a late oversight, in giving what money
I had about me, has shown me that there are still
some men like you. I must, however, previously
entreat being informed of the name and residence of
my benefactor, in order to repay him as soon as possible." In this I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the place
to which I was going to remove. "This," cried he,
"' happens still more luckily than I had hoped for, as
I am going the same way myself, and having been
detained here two days by the floods, which I hope
to-morrow will be found passable." I testified the
pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife
and daughters joining in entreaty, he was prevailed
upon to stay to supper. The stranger's conversation,
which was at once pleasing and instructive, induced
me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now
high time to retire and take refreshment against the
fatigues of the following day.
The next morning we all set forward together:
my family on horseback, while Mr. BURCHELL, our
new companion, walked along the foot-path by the
road-side, observing with a smile, that as we were
ill mounted, he would be too generous to attempt
leaving us behind. As the floods were not yet subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted
on before, Mr. Burchell and I bringing up the rear.




24          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
We lightened the fatigues of the road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was that though
he was a money-borrower, he defended his opinions
with as much obstinacy as if he had been my
patron.  He now and then also informed me to
whom the different seats belonged that lay in our
view as we travelled the road.  " That," cried
he, pointing to a very magnificent house which
stood at some distance, "belongs to Mr. Thornhill,
a young gentleman who enjoys a large fortune,
though entirely dependent on the will of his uncle, Sir William  Thornhill, a gentleman who,
content with a little himself, permits his nephew
to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town."
"What I" cried I, "is my young landlord then the
nephew of a man whose virtues, generosity, and
singularities are so universally known?  I have
heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of
the most generous yet whimsical men in the kingdom; a man of consummate benevolence." "Something, perhaps, too much so," replied Mr. Burchell;
"at least he carried benevolence to an excess when
young; for his passions were then strong, and as
they were all upon the side of virtue, they led it
up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim
at the qualifications of the soldier and scholar; was
soon distinguished in the army, and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation ever follows the ambitious; for such alone receive most
pleasure from flattery. He was surrounded with
crowds, who showed him only one side of their




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            25
character: so that he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal sympathy. He loved all
mankind; for fortune prevented him from knowing
that there were rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder, in which the whole body is so exquisitely
sensible that the slightest touch gives pain: what
some have thus suffered in their persons, this gentleman felt in his mind.  The slightest distress,
whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick,
and his soul laboured under a sickly sensibility to
the miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve, it
will be easily conjectured he found numbers disposed to solicit; his profusions began to impair his
fortune; but not his good nature; that, indeed, was
seen to increase as the other seemed to decay: he
grew improvident as he grew poor; and though he
talked like a man of sense, his actions were those
of a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with
importunity, and no longer able to satisfy every
request that was made him, instead of money he
gave prornises. They were all he had to bestow,
and he had not resolution enough to give any man
pain by a denial. By this he drew around him
crowds of dependents, whom he was sure to disappoint, yet he wished to relieve. These hung upon
him for a time, and left him with merited reproaches
and contempt. But in proportion as he became
contemptible to others, he became despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation,
and that support taken away, he could find no pleasure in the applause of his heart, which he had never
learned to reverence. The world now began to
2




26          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
wear a different aspect; the flattery of his friends
began to dwindle into simple approbation. Approbation soon took the more friendly form of advice,
and advice, when rejected, produced their reproaches.  He now  therefore found, that such
friends as benefits had gathered round him, were
little estimable; he now found that a man's own
heart must be ever given to gain that of another.
I now found, that-that —I forget what I was going
to observe; in short, sir, he resolved to respect
himself. and laid down a plan of restoring his fallen
fortune. For this purpose, in his own whimsical
manner, he travelled through Europe on foot, and
now, though he has scarcely attained the age of
thirty, his circumstances are more affluent than
ever. At present, his bounties are more rational
and moderate than before; but still he preserves
the character of a humorist, and finds most pleasure
in eccentric virtues."
My attention was so much taken up by Mr. Burchell's account, that I scarcely looked forward as we
went along, till we were alarmed by the cries of
my family, when turning, I perceived my youngest
daughter in the midst of a rapid stream, thrown from
her horse, and struggling with the torrent. She
had sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage
myself in time to bring her relief. My sensations
were even too violent to permit my attempting her
rescue: she must have certainly perished had not
my companion, perceiving her danger, instantly
plunged in to her relief, and, with some difficulty,
brought her in safety to the opposite shore. By




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           27
taking the current a little further up, the rest of
the family got safely over, where we had an opportunity of joining our acknowledgments to hers.
Her gratitude may be more readily imagined than
described; she thanked her deliverer more with
looks than words, and continued to lean upon his
arm, as if still willing to receive assistance. My
wife also hoped one day to have the pleasure of
returning his kindness at her own house. Thus,
after we were refreshed at the next inn, and had
dined together, as Mr. Burchell was going to a different part of the country, he took leave: and we
pursued our journey; my wife observing as he
went, that she liked him extremely, and protesting
that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him to
match into such a family as ours, she knew no man
she would sooner fix upon. I could not but smile
to hear her talk in this lofty strain: but I never was
much displeased with those harmless delusions that
tend to make us more happy.




CHAPTER IV
A PROOF THAT EVEN THE HUMBLEST FORTUNE MAY GRANT HAPPINESS, WHICH DEPENDS NOT ON CIRCUMSTANCES BUT CONSTITUTION.
THE place of our retreat was in a little neighbourhood, consisting of farmers, who tilled their own
grounds, and were equal strangers to opulence and
poverty. As they had almost all the conveniences
of life within themselves, they seldom visited towns
or cities in search of superfluity. Remote from the
polite, they still retained the primeval simplicity of
manners: and frugal by habit, they scarcely knew
that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with
cheerfulness on days of labour; but observed festivals as intervals of idleness and pleasure. They kept
up the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Valentine morning, ate pancakes on Shrove-tide, showed
their wit on the first of April, and religiously cracked
nuts on Michaelmas eve. Being apprised of our approach, the whole neighbourhood came out to meet
their minister, dressed in their finest clothes, and
preceded by a pipe and tabor. A feast also was provided for our reception, at which we sat cheerfully
down: and what the conversation wanted in wit was
made up in laughter.
(28]




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            29
Our little habitation was situated at the foot of a
sloping hill, sheltered with a beautiful underwood
behind, and a prattling river before; on one side a
meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted
of about twenty acres of excellent land, having given
a hundred pounds for my predecessor's good-will.
Nothing could exceed the neatness of my little enclosures; the elms and hedge rows appearing with
inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but
one story, and was covered with thatch, which gave
it an air of great snugness; the walls on the inside
were nicely whitewashed, 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 utmost neatness, the dishes,
plates, and coppers being well scoured, and all disposed on bright rows on the shelves, the eye was
agreeably relieved, and did not want richer furniture.
There were three other apartments, one for my wife
and me, another for our two daughters, within our
own, and the third, with two beds, for the rest of the
children.
The little republic to which I gave laws, was regulated in the following manner: by sunrise we all assembled in our common apartment; the fire being
previously kindled by the servant. After we had
saluted each other with proper ceremony, for I always
thought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of
good-breeding, without which freedom ever destroys
friendship, we all bent in gratitude to that Being
who gave us another day. This duty being per



30          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
formed, my son and I went to pursue our usual industry abroad, while my wife and daughters employed
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 between my wife and
daughters, and in philosophical arguments between
my son and me.
As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our
labours after it was gone down, but returned home
to the expectant family; where smiling looks, a neat
hearth, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our reception. Nor were we without guests; sometimes
Farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbour, and
often the blind piper would pay us a visit, and taste
our gooseberry-wine; for the making of which we
had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. 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 Barbara Allen. The night was concluded in the manner 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 day of finery,
which all my sumptuary edicts could not restrain.
How well soever I fancied my lectures against pride
had conquered the vanity of my daughters; yet I
found them still secretly attached to all their former
finery: they still loved laces, ribands, bugles, and




VICAR. OF WAKEFIELD.           81
catgut; my wife herself retained a passion for her
crimson peduasoy, because I formerly happened to
say it became her.
The first Sunday in particular their behaviour
served to mortify me: I had desired my girls the
preceding night to be dressed early the next day;
for I always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation. They punctually
obeyed my directions; but when we were to assemble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife
and daughters dressed out in all their former splendour: their hair plastered up with pomatum, their
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, particularly that of
my wife, from whom I expected more discretion. In
this exigence, therefore, my only resource was to
order my son, with an important air, to call our
coach. The girls were amazed at the command; but
I repeated it with more solemnity than before" Surely, my dear, you jest," cried my wife, " we can
walk it perfectly well: we want no coach to carry
us now."  "You mistake, child," returned I, "we
do want a coach; for if we walk to church in this
trim, the very children in the parish will hoot after
us." Indeed," replied my wife, " I always imagined
that my Charles was fond of seeing his children neat
and handsome about him," " You may 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 rufflings, and pinkings, and patchings, will only make us hated by all the wives of all




32          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
our neighbours. No, my children," continued I,
more gravely, "those gowns may be altered into
something of a plainer cut; for finery is very unbecoming in us, who want the means of decency. I
do not know whether such flouncing and shredding
is becoming even in the rich, if -we consider, upon a
moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent world might be clothed from the trimmings of
the vain."
This remonstrance had the proper effect; they
went with great composure, that very instant, to
change their dress; and the next day I had the satisfaction of finding my daughters, at their.own request, employed in cutting up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones,
and what was still more satisfactory, the gowns
seemed improved by this curtailing.




CHAPTER  V.
A NEW AND GREAT ACQUAINTANCE INTRODUCED-WHAT WE PLACE
MOST HOPES UPON, GENERALLY PROVES MOST FATAL.
AT a small distance from the house, my predecessor
had made a seat, overshadowed by a hedge of hawthorn and honeysuckle. Here, when the weather
was fine and our labour soon finished, we usually
sat together, to enjoy an extensive landscape in the
calm of the evening. Here too we drank tea, which
was now become an occasional banquet; and as we
had it butt seldom, it diffused a new joy, the preparations forit being made with no small shareof bustie 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 sang to the
guitar; and while they thus formed a little concert,
my wife and I would stroll down the sloping field,
that was embellished with blue-bells and centaury,
talk of our children with rapture, and enjoy the
breeze that wafted both health and harmony.
In this manner we began to find that every situation id life might bring its own peculiar pleasures:
every morning awaked us to a repetition of toil;
but the evening repaid it with vacant hilarity.
[38]




34          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday, for I kept such as intervals of relaxation from
labour, that I had drawn out my family to our
usual place of amusement, and our young musicians began their usual concert. As we were thus
engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within
about twenty paces of where we were sitting, and
by its panting seemed pressed by the hunters. We
had not much time to reflect upon the poor animal's
distress, when we perceived the dogs and horsemen
come sweeping along at some distance behind, and
making the very path it had taken. I was instantly
for returning with my family; but either curiosity
or surprise, or some more hidden motive, held my
wife and daughters to their seats. The huntsman,
who rode foremost, passed us with great swiftness,
followed by four or five persons more who seemed
in equal haste. At last a young gentleman of a
more genteel appearance than the rest came forward,
and for a while regarding us, instead of pursuing
the chase, stopped short, and giving his horse to a
servant who attended, approached us with a careless superior air. He seemed to want no introduction, but was going to salute my daughters, as one
certain of a kind reception; but they had early
learned the lesson of looking presumption out of
countenance. Upon which he let us know his name
was Thornhill, and that he was owner of the estate
that lay for some extent around us. He again,
therefore, offered to salute the female part of the
family, and such was the power of fortune and fine
clothes, that he found no second repulse. As his




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           35
address, though confident, was easy, we soon became
more familiar; and perceiving musical instruments
lying near, he begged to be favoured with a song.
As I did not approve of such disproportioned acquaintances, I winked upon my daughters in order
to prevent their compliance; but my hint was counteracted by one from their mother; so that, with a
cheerful air, they gave us a favourite song of Dryden's. Mr. Thornhill seemed highly delighted with
their performance and choice, and then took up the
guitar himself. He played but very indifferently;
however, my eldest daughter repaid his former
applause with interest, and assured him that his
tones were louder than even those of her master.
At this compliment he bowed, which she returned
with a courtesy. He praised her taste, and she
commended his understanding: an age could not
have made them better acquainted, while the fond
mother, too, equally happy, insisted upon her landlord stepping in, and tasting a glass of her gooseberry. The whole family seemed earnest to please
him; my girls attempted to entertain him with topics
they thought most modern, while Moses on the contrary, gave him a question or two from the ancients,
for which he had the satisfaction of being laughed
at: my little ones were no less busy, and fondly
stuck close to the stranger. All my endeavours
could scarcely keep their dirty fingers from handling
and tarnishing the lace on his clothes, and lifting up
the flaps of his pocket-holes, to see what was there.
At the approach of evening he took leave; but not
till he had requested permission to renew his visit,




36          V ICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
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
known even stranger things at last brought to bear.
She hoped again to see the day in which we might
hold up our heads with the best of them; and concluded, she protested she could see no reason why
the two Miss Wrinkles should marry great fortunes,
and her children get none. As this last argument
was directed to me, I protested I could see no
reason for it neither, nor why Mr. Simkins got the
ten thousand pound prize in the lottery, and we sat
down with a blank. " I protest, Charles," cried my
wife, " this is the way you always damp my girls
and me when we are in spirits. Tell me, Sophy,
my dear, what do you think of our new visitor?
Don't you think he seemed to be good-natured?
"Immensely so indeed, mamma," replied she, "I
think he has a great deal to say upon everything,
and is never at a loss; and the more trifling the subject, the more he has to say." "' Yes," cried Olivia,
"' he is well enough for a man; but for my part, I
don't much like him, he is so extremely impudent
and familiar; but on the guitar he is shocking."
These two last speeches I interpreted by contraries.
I found by this, that Sophia internally despised, as
much as Olivia secretly admired him "Whatever
may be your opinions of him, my children," cried
I, -" to confess the truth he has not prepossessed me
in his favour. Disproportioned friendships ever




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           37
terminate in disgust; and I thought, notwithstanding all his ease, that he seemed perfectly sensible
of the distance between us. Let us keep to companions of our own rank. There is no character
more contemptible than a man that is a fortunehunter; and I can see no reason why fortune-hunting women should not be contemptible too. Thus,
at best, we shall be contemptible if his views be
honourable; but if they be otherwise! I should
shudder to think of that. It is true I have no
apprehensions from the conduct of my children, but
I think there are some from his character." I would
have proceeded, but for the interruption of a servant
from the'Squire, who, with his compliments, sent
us a side of venison, and a promise to dine with us
some days after. This well-timed present pleaded
more powerfully in his favour, than anything I had
to say could obviate. I therefore continued silent,
satisfied with just having pointed out danger, and
leaving it to their own discretion to avoid it. That
virtue which requires to be ever guarded is scarcely
worth the sentinel.




CHAPTER VI.
THE HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY FIRE-SIDE.
As we carried on the former dispute with some
degree of warmth, in order to accommodate matters,
it was universally agreed that we should have a
a part of the venison for supper; and the girls
undertook the task with alacrity. - "I am sorry,"
cried I, "that we have no neighbour or stranger to
take a part in this good cheer: feasts of this kind
acquire a double relish from hospitality." " Bless
me," cried my wife, " here comes our good friend Mr.
Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you
down fairly in the argument."  "Confute me in
argument, child 1" cried I. "You mistake there,
my dear: I believe there are but few that can do
that: I never dispute your abilities at making a
goose-pie, and I beg you'll leave argument to me."
As I spoke, poor Mr. Burchell entered the house,
and was welcomed by the family, who shook him
heartily by the hand, while little Dick officiously
reached him a chair.
I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for
two reasons: because I knew that he wanted mine,
and, I knew him to be friendly as far as he was able.
[38t




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           39
lie was known in our neighborhood by the character
of the poor gentleman that would do no good when
he was young, though he was not yet thirty. He
would at intervals talk with great good sense; but
in general he was fondest of the company of children, whom he used to call harmless little men.
He was famous, I found, for singing them ballads,
and telling them stories; and seldom went out without something in his pockets for them; a piece of
gingerbread, or a halfpenny whistle. He generally
came for a few days into our neighbourhood once a
year, and lived upon the neighbours' hospitality.
He sat down to supper among us, and my wife was
not sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went
round; he sang us old songs, and gave the children
the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the history
of Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, and
then Fair Rosamond's Bower. Our cock, which
always crew at eleven, now told us it was time for
repose: but an unforseen difficulty started about
lodging the stranger-all our beds were already
taken up, and it was too late to send him to the
next ale-house. In this dilemma little Dick offered
him his part of the bed, if his brother Moses would
let him lie with him: "And I," cried Bill, "will
give Mr. Burchell my part, if my sisters will take
me to theirs."  "Well done, my good children,"
cried I, "hospitality is one of the first Christian
duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and the bird
flies to its nest; but helpless man can only find
refuge from his fellow-creature. The greatest stranger in this world, was he that came to save it. He




40          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
never had a house, as if willing to see what hospitality was left remaining amongst us. Deborah,
my dear," cried I to my wife, " give those boys a
lump of sugar each, and let Dick's be the largest,
because he spoke first."
In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving an aftergrowth of hay, and our
guest offering his assistance, he was accepted
amongst the number: Our labours went on lightly,
we turned the swath to the wind. I went foremost,
and the rest followed in due succession. I could
notavoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr.
Burchell in assisting my daughter Sophia in her
part of the task. When he had finished his own
he would join in hers, and enter into a close conversation: but I had too good an opinion of Sophia's
understanding, and was too well convinced of her
ambition, to be under any uneasiness from a man
of broken fortune. When we were finished for the
day, Mr. Burchell was invited as on the night before; but he refused, as he was to lie that night at
a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a
whistle. When gone, our conversation at supper
turned upon our late unfortunate guest. " What a
strong instance," said I, " is that poor man, of the
miseries attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no means wants sense, which only
serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor forlorn
creature, where are now the revellers, the flatterers,
that he could once inspire and command? Gone,
perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown rich
by his extravagance. They once praised him, and




VICAR OF ~WAKEFIELD.          41
now they applaud the pander: their former raptures at his wit are now converted into sarcasms at
his folly; he is poor, and perhaps deserves poverty;
for he has neither the ambition to be independent,
nor the skill to be useful." Prompted perhaps by
some secret reasons, I delivered this observation
with too much acrimony, which my Sophia gently
reproved. "Whatsoever his former conduct may
have been, papa, his circumstances should exempt
him from censure now. His present indigence is a
sufficient punishment for former folly; and I have
heard my papa himself say, that we should never
strike an unnecessary blow at a victim over whom
Providence holds the scourge of its resentment."
"You are right, Sophy," cried my son Moses, " and
one of the ancients finely represents so malicious a
conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas,
whose skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly
stripped off by another. Besides, I don't know if
this poor man's situation is so bad as my father
would represent it.  We are not to judge of the
feelings of others by what we might feel if in their
place. However dark the habitation of the mole to
our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the apartment
sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a truth, this
man's mind seems fitted to his station; for I never
heard any one more sprightly than he was to-day,
when he conversed with you." This was said without the least design; however, it excited a blush,
which she strove to cover by an affected laugh,
assuring him that she scarcely took any notice of
what he said to her; but that she believed he might




42          V ICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
once have been a very fine gentleman. The readiness with which she undertook to vindicate herself,
and her blushing, were symptoms I did not internally approve; but I repressed my suspicions.
As we expected our landlord next day, my wife
went to make the venison pasty. Moses sat reading, while I taught the little ones: my daughters
seemed equally busy with the rest; and I observed
them for a good while cooking something over the
fire. I at first supposed that they were assisting
their mother; but little Dick informed me, in a
whisper, that they were making a wash for the face.
Washes of all kinds I had a natural antipathy to;
for I knew that instead of mending the complexion
they spoiled it. I therefore approached my chair
by slow degrees to the fire, and grasping the poker,
as if it wanted mending, seemingly by accident overturned the whole composition, and it was too late
to begin another.




CHAPTER VII.
A TOWN WIT DESCRIBED-THE DULLEST FELLOWS MAY LEARN
TO BE COMICAL FOR A NIGHT OR TWO.
WHEN the morning arrived on which we were to
entertain our young landlord, it may be easily supposed what provisions were exhausted to make an
appearance. It may also be conjectured that my
wife and daughters expanded their gayest plumage
upon this occasion. Mr. Thornhill came with a
couple of his friends, his chaplain and feeder. The
servants, who were numerous, he politely ordered
to the next ale-house, but my wife, in the triumph
of her heart, insisted on entertaining them all; for
which, by the by, our family was pinched for three
weeks after. As Mr. Burchell had hinted to us
the day before, that he was making some proposals
of marriage to Miss Wilmot, my son George's former mistress, this a good deal damped the heartiness of his reception; but accident in some measure
relieved our embarrassment; for one of the company happening to mention her name, Mr. Thornhill observed with an oath, that he never knew anything more absurd than calling such a fright a
beauty: " For strike me ugly," continued he, "if I
should not find as much pleasure in choosing my
[43]




44          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
mistress by the information of a lamp under the
clock at St. Dunstan's." At this he laughed, and
so did we: —the jests of the rich are ever successful.
Olivia, too, could not avoid whispering loud enough
to be heard, that he had an infinite fund of humour.
After dinner, I began with my usual toast, the
Church; for this I was thanked by the chaplain, as
he said the Church was the only mistress of his affections. "Come, tell us honestly, Frank, said the'Squire, with his usual archness, " suppose the
Church, your present mistress, dressed in lawn
sleeves, on one hand, and Miss Sophia, with no
lawn about her, on the other, which would you be
for?"  "For both, to be sure," cried the chaplain.
"Right, Frank," cried the'Squire, "for may this
glass suffocate me, but a fine girl is worth all the
priestcraft in the creation. For what are tithes and
tricks but an imposition, all a confounded imposture,
and I can prove it." " I wish you would," cried my
son Moses; "and I think," continued he, "that I
should be able to answer you."  "Very well, sir,"
cried the'Squire, who immediately smoked him, and
winking on the rest of the company to prepare us
for the sport, "if you are for a cool argument upon
that subject, I am ready to accept the challenge.
And first, whether are you for managing it anologically or dialogically?"  "I am for managing it rationally," cried Moses, quite happy at being permitted
to dispute. " Good again," cried the'Squire, " and
firstly, of the first: I hope you'll not deny, that
whatever is, is. If you don't grant me that, I can go
no further."  "Why," returned Moses, " I think I




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            45
may grant that, and make the best of it."  "I hope
too," returned the other, "you'll grant that a part is
less than the whole." "I grant that too," cried Moses,
"it is but just and reasonable."  "I hope," cried
the'Squire, " you'll not deny that the two angles of a
triangle are equal to two right ones." " Nothing can
be plainer," returned t'other, and looked round with
his usual importance. " Very well," cried the'Squire,
speaking very quick, " the premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe, that the concatenation of
self-existence, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate
ratio, naturally produce a problematic dialogism,
which in some measure proves that the essence of
spirituality may be referred to the second predicable."
" Hold, hold," cried the other, "I deny that': Do you
think I can thus tamely submit to such heterodox
doctrines?"  "What!" replied the'Squire, as if in
a passion, "not submit!  Answer me one plain
question: Do you think Aristotle right when he
says, that relatives are related?"  "Undoubtedly,"
replied the other. " If so, then," cried the'Squire,
" answer me directly to what I propose: Whether do
you judge the analytical investigation of the first part
of my enthymem deficient secundum quoad, or
quoad minus, and give me your reasons: give me
your reasons I say, directly."  "I protest," cried
Moses, "I don't rightly comprehend the force of
your reasoning: but if it be reduced to one simple
proposition, I fancy that it may then have an
answer."  "0 sir," cried the'Squire, "I am your
most humble servant; I find you want me to furnish
you with argument and intellects too. No, sir,




46          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
there I protest you are too hard for me."  This
effectually raised the laugh against poor Moses, who
sat the only dismal figure in, a group of merry
faces; nor did he offer a single syllable more during
the whole entertainment.
But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a
very different effect upon Olivia, who mistook it
for humour, though but a mere act of the memory.
She thought him therefore a very fine gentleman;
and such as consider what powerful ingredients a
good figure, fine clothes, and fortune are in that
character, will easily forgive her. Mr. Thornhill,
notwithstanding his real ignorance, talked with ease,
and could expatiate upon the common topics of
conversation with fluency.  It is not surprising
then that such talents should win the affections of
a girl, who by education was taught to value an
appearance in herself, and consequently to set a
value upon it in another.
Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate upon the merits of our young landlord. As he
directed his looks and conversation to Olija, it was
no longer doubted but that she was the object that
induced him 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
Deborah 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 encourage our landlord's addresses. I
had always some ambition, and you now see that I




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           47
was right; for who knows how this may end?"
"Ay, who knows that indeed!" answered I, with a
groan: "For my part, I don't much like it: and I
could have been better pleased with one that was
poor and honest, than this fine gentleman with his
fortune 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 that allowing his sentiments to be wrong, yet as he is purely
passive in his assent, he is no more to be blamed
for his errors, than the governor of a city without
walls for the shelter he is obliged to afford an invading enemy."
" True, my son," cried I; " but if the governor
invites the enemy there, he is justly culpable.
And such is always the case with those who embrace error. The vice does not lie in assenting to
the proofs they see; but in being blind to many of
the proofs that offer. So that, though our erroneous
opinions be involuntary when formed, yet as we
have been wilfully corrupt, or very negligent in
forming them, we deserve punishment for our vice,
or contempt for our folly."
My wife now kept up thGs conversation, though
not the argument; she observed, that several very
prudent men of our acquaintance were free-thinkers,




48          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
and made very good husbands; and she knew some
sensible girls that had skill enough to make converts
of their spouses: "And who knows, my dear,"
continued she, "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 such books in her hands: you certainly
overrate 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 Friday the savage, and am now eimployed in reading the controversy on Religious
Courtship."  " Very well," cried I, "that's a good
girl; I find you are perfectly qualified for making
converts; and so go help your mother to make the
gooseberry pie."




CHAPTER  VIII.
AN AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD FORTUNE, YET MAY BE
PRODUCTIVE OF MUCH.
THE next morning we were again visited by Mr.
Burchell, though I began, for certain reasons, to be
displeased with the frequency of his return; but I
could not refuse him my company and my fireside.
It is true, his labor more than requited his entertainment: for he wrought among us with vigour,
and either in the meadow or at the hay-rick put
himself foremost.  Besides, he had always something 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 him. 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 wisdom.
Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or
rather reclined round a temperate repast, our cloth
spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction,
3                     [491




50          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
two blackbirds answered each other from opposite
hedges, the familiar red-breast came and pecked the
crumbs from our hands, and every one seemed but
the echo of tranquillity.  " I never sit thus," says
Sophia, "but I think 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 a hundred times
with new rapture."  "In my opinion," cried my
son, " the finest strokes in that description are much
below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The
Roman poet understands the use of contrast better:
and upon that figure artfully managed, all strength
in the pathetic depends."  "It is remarkable," cried
Mr. Burchell, " that both the poets you mentioned
have equally contributed to introduce a false taste
into their respective countries, by loading all their
lines with epithet. Men of little genius found
them most easily imitated in their defects, and English poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome,
is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant
images, without plot or connexion; a string of
epithets that improve the sound, without carrying
on the sense. But perhaps, madame, while I thus
reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should
give them an opportunity to retaliate, and indeed I
have made this remark only to have an opportunity
of introducing to the company a ballad, which,
whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least
free from those I have mentioned."




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.                   51
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 immeasurably spread
Seem length'ning as I go."
"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
" To tempt 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 still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good-will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share
What'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
"No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied
And water from the spring.




52             VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong;
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from 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 opening with a latch
Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly press'd, and smiled;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.                    53
His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care oppress'd:
" And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
The sorrows of thy breast?
" From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
"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,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
" And love is still an emptier sound
The modern 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
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.




54             VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried;
" Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.
"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
" My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.
"Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.
"In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
" And when beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.
"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of Heaven refined,
Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.                  55
"The dew, the blossom on the tree
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but woe to me I
Their constancy was mine.
"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain:
"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought
And stretch me where he lay.
" And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."
"' Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit, cried,
And clasp'd her to his breast;
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide —'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign;
And shall we never, never part,
My life-mv all that's mine?




56           VICAR OF WAKEFIELD
"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love-so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to
mix an air of tenderness with her approbation.
But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just by us, and immediately after a
man was seen bursting through the hedge, to take
up the game he had killed. This sportsman was
the'Squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the
blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us.  So
loud a report and so near, startled my daughters;
and I could perceive that Sophia in her fright had
thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection. The gentleman came up, and asked pardon
for having disturbed us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down
by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman-like,
offered her what he had killed that morning. She
was going to refuse, but a private look from'her
mother soon induced her to correct the mistake,
and accept his present, though with some reluctance.
My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing that Sophy had made a conquest of
the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the'Squire.
I suspected, however, with more probability, that
her affections were placed upon a different object.
The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr.
Thornhill had provided music and refreshments,
and intended that night giving the young ladies a
ball by moonlight, on the grassplot before our door.




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            57
"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 should have no objection if she could
do it with honour: " But here," continued she, "is
a gentleman," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has
been my companion in the task for the day, and it
is fit he should share 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, being invited to a
harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a little
extraordinary; nor could I perceive how so sensible
a girl as my youngest, could thus prefer a man of
broken fortunes to one whose expectations were
much greater. But as men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often
form the truest judgment of us. The two sexes
seem placed as spies upon each other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted for -mutual
inspection.




CHAPTER IX.
TWO LADIES OF GREAT DISTINCTION INTRODUCED-SUPERIOR
FINERY EVER SEEMS TO CONFER SUPERIOR BREEDING.
MR. BURCHELL had scarcely taken leave, and Sophia 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, we found our landlord, with a couple
of under gentlemen and two young ladies richly
dressed, whom he introduced as women of very great
distinction and fashion from town.  We happened
not to have chairs enough for the whole company;
but Mr. Thornhill immediately proposed that every
gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. This I positively objected to, notwithstanding a look of disapprotion from my wife. Moses was therefore dispatched
to borrow a couple of chairs: and as we were in
want of ladies to make up a set of country dances,
the two gentlemen went with him in quest of a
couple of partners. Chairs and partners were soon
provided. The gentlemen returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy daughters, flaunting with
red top-knots; but an unlucky circumstance was
not adverted to-though the Miss Flamboroughs
were reckoned the best dancers in the parish, and
[58]




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           59
understood the jig and round-about to perfection,
yet they were totally unacquainted with country
dances.  This at first discomposed us: however,
after a little shoving and dragging, they at last went
merrily on.  Our music consisted of two fiddles,
with a pipe and tabor. The moon shone bright.
Mr. Thornhill and my eldest daughter led up the
ball, to the great delight of the spectators; for the
neighbours, hearing what was going forward, came
flocking about us. My girl moved with so much grace
and vivacity, that my wife could not avoid discovering the pride of her heart, by assuring me that
though the little chit did it so cleverly, all the steps
were stolen from herself. The ladies of the town
strove hard to be equally easy, but without success.
They swam, sprawled, languished, and frisked; but
all would not do; the gazers indeed owned that it
was fine; but neighbour Flamborough observed,
that Miss Livy's feet seemed as pat to the music as
its echo. After the dance had continued about an
hour, the two ladies, who were apprehensive of
catching cold, moved to break up the ball. One of
them, I thought, expressed her sentiments upon this
occasion in a very coarse manner, when she observed,
that, by the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat.
Upon our return to the house, we found a very elegant cold supper, which Mr. Thornhill had ordered
to be brought with him. The conversation at this
time was more reserved than before.  The two
ladies threw my girls quite into the shade; for they
would talk of nothing but high life and high-lived
company; with other fashionable topics, such as




60          VICAR OF WAKEFIEL).
pictures, taste, Shakspeare, and the musical glasses.'Tis true they once or twice mortified us sensibly by
slipping out an oath; but that appeared to me as
the surest symptom of their distinction (though I
am since informed that swearing is perfectly unfashionable). Their finery, however, threw a veil over
any grossness in their conversation. My daughters
seemed to regard their superior accomplishments
with envy; and what appeared amiss was ascribed
to tip-top quality breeding. But the condescension
of the ladies was still superior to their other accomplishments. One of them 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 little
Sophia quite another thing. My wife warmly assented 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 replying, that their breeding was already superior to their
fortune; and that greater refinement would only
serve to make their poverty ridiculous, and give
them a taste for pleasures they had no right to possess.-" And what pleasures," cried Mr. Thornhill,
"do they not deserve to possess, who have so much
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."




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           61
I was not such a stranger to the world as to be
ignorant that this was the fashionable cant to disguise the insolence of the basest proposal; but I
made an effort to suppress my resentment. "Sir,"
cried I, " the family which you now condescend to
favour with your company, has been bred with as
nice a sense of honour 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 must be particularly careful."  I was soon sorry for the warmth
with which I had spoken this, when the young gentleman, grasping my hand, swore he commended my
spirit, though he disapproved my suspicions. " As
to your present hint," continued he, "I protest
nothing was further from my heart than such a
thought. No, by all that's tempting, the virtue that
will stand a regular siege was never to my taste;
for all my amours are carried by a coup-de-main."
The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the
rest, seemed highly displeased with this last stroke
of freedom, and began a very discreet and serious
dialogue upon virtue; in this my wife, the chaplain,
and I, soon joined: and the'Squire himself was at
last brought to confess a sense of sorrow for his
former excesses. We talked of the pleasures of
temperance, and of the sunshine in the mind unpolluted with guilt. I was so well pleased, that my
little ones were kept up beyond the usual time to
be edified by so much good conversation. Mr.
Thornhill even went beyond me, and demanded if
I had any objections to giving prayers. I joyfully




62          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
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 my daughters, for whom they had conceived a particular affection, and joined in a request to have the pleasure of
their company home. The'Squire seconded the
proposal, and my wife added her entreaties; the
girls too looked upon me as if they wished me to
go. In this perplexity I made two or three excuses,
which my daughters as readily removed; so that at
last I was obliged to give a peremptory refusal; for
which we had nothing but sullen looks and short
answers the whole day ensuing.




CHAPTER X.
THE FAMILY ENDEA.VOURS TO COPE WITH THEIR BETTERS —THE
MISERIES OF THE POOR WHEN THEY ATTEMPT TO APPEAR
ABOVE THEIR CIRCUMSTANCES.
I Now began to find, that all my long and painful
lectures upon temperance, simplicity and contentment, 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 dreaded 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 daughters' eyes,
that working after dinner would redden their noses,
and she convinced me that the hands never looked
so white as when they did nothing. Instead, therefore, of finishing George's shirts, we now had them
new-modelling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon
catgut. The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former
gay companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance,
and the whole conversation ran upon high life and
high-lived company, with pictures, taste, Shakspeare,
and the musical glasses.
[631




64          VICAR OF WKREFIELD,
But we could have borne all this, had not a
fortune-telling gipsy come to raise us into perfect
sublimity. The twany sibyl no sooner appeared,
than my girls came running to me for a shilling
a-piece to cross her hand with silver. To say the
truth I was tired of being always wise, and could
not help gratifying their request, because I love to
see them happy. I gave each of them a shilling;
though for the honour of the family it must be observed, that they never went without money themselves, as my wife always generously let them have
a guinea each, to keep in their pockets, but with
strict injunctions 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 Ueen promised something great.
"Well, my girls, how have you sped?  Tell me,
Livy, has the fortune-teller given thee a pennyworth?" "I protest, papa," says the girl, "I believe
she deals with somebody that's not right; for she
positively declared that I amr to be married to a'squire in less than a twelvemonth I" " Well now,
Sophy, my child," said I, "and what sort of a husband are you to have?"  "Sir," replied she, " I am
to have a lord soon after my sister has married the'squire."
" How!" cried I, "is that all you are to have for
your two shillings? Only a lord and a'squire for
two shillings! You fools, I could have promised
you 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




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.             65
ourselves designed by the stars to something exalted,
and already anticipated our future grandeur.
It has been a thousand times observed, and I must
observe it once more, that the hours we plass with
happy prospects in view, are more pleasing than
those crowned with fruition. In the first case, we
cook the dish to our own appetite; in the latter,
nature cooks it for us. It is impossible to repeat
the train of agreeable reveries we call up for our
entertainment.  We looked upon our fortunes as
once more rising; and as the whole parish asserted
that the'squire was in love with my daughter, she
was actually so with him: for they persuaded her
into the passion. In this agreeable interval, my
wife had the most lucky dreams in the world, which
she took care to tell us every morning with great
solemnity and exactness. It was one night a coffin
and cross-bones, the sign of an approaching wedding; at another time she imagined her daughter's
pockets filled with farthings, a certain sign of their
being shortly stuffed with gold. The girls themselves had their omens. They felt strange kisses
on their lips; they saw rings in the candle, purses
bounced from the fire, and true love-knots lurked
in the bottom of every tea-cup.
Towards the end of the week we received a card
from the town ladies; in which, with their compliments, they hoped to see all our family at church the
Sunday following. 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 that betrayed a




66          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
latent plot. To be sincere, I had strong suspicions
that some absurd proposal was preparing for appearing with splendour the next day. In the evening
they began their operations in a very regular manner, and my wife undertook to conduct the siege.
After tea, when I seemed in spirits, she began thus:
"I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a great
deal of good company at our church to morrow."
"' Perhaps we may, my dear," returned I, " though
you need be undei no uneasiness about that, you
shall have a sermon whether there be or not."
" That is what I expect," returned she; "but I
think, my dear, we ought to appear there as decently
as possible, for who knows what may happen?"
"Your precautions," replied I, "are highly commendable. A decent behaviour and appearance in
church is what charms me. We should be devout
and humble, cheerful and serene."  "Yes," cried
she, "I know that; but I mean we should go there
in as proper a manner as possible; not altogether
like the scrubs about us."  "You are quite right,
my dear," returned I, " and I was going to make the
very same proposal. The proper manner of going
is to go there as early as possible, to have time 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 church is two miles
off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters
trudging up to their pew all blowzed and red with
walking, and looking for all the world as if they had
been winners at a smock-race. Now, my dear, my




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           67
proposal is this: there are two plough horses, the
colt that has been in our family these nine years, and
his companion Blackberry, that has scarcely done an
earthly thing for this month past. They are both
grown fat and lazy. Why should not they do something as well as we?  And let me tell you, when
Moses has trimmed them a little, they will cut a very
tolerable figure."
To this proposal I objected, that walking would
be twenty times more genteel than such a paltry conveyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the colt
wanted a tail; that they had never been broke to the
rein, but had a hundred vicious tricks; and that we
had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house.
All these objections, however, were overruled; so
that I was obliged to comply. The next morning I
perceived them not a little busy in collecting such
materials as might be necessary for the expedition;
but as I found it would be a business of time, I
walked on to the church before, and they promised
speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the
reading-desk for their arrival; but not finding them
come as expected, I was obliged to begin, and went
through the service, not without some uneasiness at
finding them absent. This was increased when all
was finished, and no appearance of the family. I
therefore walked back by the horse-way, which was
five miles round, though the foot-way was but two,
and when got about half way home, perceived the
procession marching slowly forward towards the
church; my son, my wife, and the two little ones,
exalted upon one horse, and my two daughters upon




C(-         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
the other. I demanded the cause of their delay;
but I soon found by their looks they had met with
a thousand misfortunes on the road. The horses had
at first refused to move from the door, till Mr. Burchell was kind enough to beat them forward for about
two hundred yards with his cudgel. Next, the straps
of my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged to stop to repair them before they could proceed. After that, one of the horses took it into his
head to stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties
could prevail with him to proceed. He was just recovering from this dismal situation when I found
them; but perceiving everything safe, I own their
present mortification did not much displease me, as
it would give me many opportunities of future triumph, and teach my daughters more humility.




CHAPTER XI.
THE FAMILY STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR HEADS.
MICHAELMAS eve happening on the next day, we
were invited to burn nuts and play tricks at neighbour Flamborough's. Our late mortifications had
humbled us a little, or it is probable we might have
rejected such an invitation with contempt: however,
we suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest
neighbour's goose and dumplings were fine, and the
lamb's wool, even in the opinion of my wife, who
was a connoisseur, was excellent. It is true, his manner of telling stories' was not quite so well. They
were very long, and very dull, and all about himself,
and we had laughed at them ten times before: however, we were kind enough to laugh at them once
more.
Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always
fond of seeing some innocent amusement going forward, and set the boys and girls to blind man's buff.
My wife too was persuaded to join in the diversion,
and it gave me pleasure to think she was not yet too
old. In the mean time, my neighbour and I looked
on, laughed at every feat, and praised our.own dexterity when we were young. Hot cockles succeeded
[691




70         0VICAR OF.NWAKEFIELD.
next, questions and commands followed that, and last
of all they sat down to hunt the slipper. As every
person may not be acquainted with this primeval
pastime, it may be necessary to observe, that the
company at this play plant themselves in a ring upon
the ground, all except one, who stands in the middle, whose business it is to catch a shoe, which the
company shove about under their hams from one to
another, something like a weaver's shuttle. As it is
impossible, in this case, for the lady who is up to
face all the company at once, the great beauty of the
play lies in hitting her a thump with the heel of the
shoe on that side least capable of making a defence.
It was in this manner that my eldest daughter was
hemmed in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in
spirits, and bawling for fair play, with a voice that
might deafen a ballad-singer, when, confusion on confusion! who should enter the room but our two great
acquaintances from town, Lady Blarney and Miss
Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs! Description
would but beggar, therefore it is unnecessary to describe this new mortification. Death! to be seen by
ladies of such high breeding in such vulgar attitudes!
Nothing better could ensue from such a vulgar play
of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We seemed struck
to the ground for some time, as if actually petrified
with amazement.
The two ladies had been at our house to see us,
and finding us from 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 whole




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           71
in a summary way, only saying, "We were thrown
from our horses." At which account the ladies
were greatly concerned; but being told the family
received no hurt, they were extremely glad: but
being informed that we were almost killed by the
fright, they were vastly sorry; but hearing that we
had a very good night, they were extremely glad
again. Nothing could exceed their complaisance to
my daughters; their professions the last evening
were warm, but now they were ardent. They protested a desire of having a more lasting acquaintance. Lady Blarney was particularly attached to
Olivia; Miss Carolina Wilhelrnina Amelia Skeggs
(I love to give the whole name) took a greater fancy
to her sister. They supported the conversation between themselves, while my daughters sat silent,
admiring their exalted breeding.  But as every
reader, however beggarly himself, is fond of highlived dialogues, with anecdotes of Lords, Ladies,
and Knights of the Garter, I must beg leave to give
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 whole rout was in amaze; his lordship turned
all manner of colours, my lady fell into a swound,
but Sir Tonquin, drawing his sword,.swore he was
hers to the last drop of his blood."
"Well, replied our peeress, "this I can say, that
the duchess never told me a syllable of the matter,
and I believe her grace would keep nothing a secret




72          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
from me. This you may depend upon as a fact,
that the next morning my lord duke cried out three
times to his valet de chamrnbre, Jernigan, Jernigan,
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 fire,
and at the conclusion of every sentence would cry
out fudge! an expression which displeased us all,
and in some measure damped the rising spirit of the
conversation.
"Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our peeress, "there is nothing of this in the copy of verses
that Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion." Fudge!
"I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs;
"for he seldom leaves anything out, as he writes
only for his own amusement. But can your ladyship favour me with a sight of them?" Fudge!
"My dear creature," replied our peeress, " do you
think I carry such things about me? Though they
are very fine to be sure, and I think myself something of a judge; at least I know what pleases myself. Indeed I was ever an admirer of all Dr. Burdock's little pieces: for, except what he does, and
our dear countess at Hanover-square, there's nothing
comes out but the most lowest stuff in nature; not
a bit of high life among them." Fudge!
"Your ladyship 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!




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           73
"Why, my dear," says the lady, " you know my
reader and companion has left me, to be married to
Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer
me to write myself, I have been for some time looking out for another. A proper person is no easy
matter to find, and to be sure thirty pounds a-year
is a small stipend for a well-bred girl of character,
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 experience. For of the three companions I had this last
half-year, one of them refused to do plain-work an
hour in a day; another thought twenty-five guineas
a-year 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!
My wife had been for a long time all attention
to this discourse; but was particularly struck with
the latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twenty-five
guineas a-year, made fifty-six pounds five shillings
English money, all of which was in a manner going
a-begging, and might easily be secured in the family. She for a moment studied my looks for approbation; and, to own a truth, I was of opinion that
two such places would fit our two daughters exactly. Besides, if the'Squire had any real affection
for my eldest daughter, this would be the way to
make her every way qualified for her fortune. My
wife was therefore resolved that we should not be de4




74          V ICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
prived of such advantages for want of assurance,
and undertook to harangue 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 wish putting my children forward in the
world. And I will be bold to say my two girls
have had a pretty good education and capacity, at
least the country can't show better. They can read,
write, and cast accounts; they understand their
needle, broadstitch, cross and change, and all manner of plain-work; they can pink, point, and frill,
and know something of music; they can do up
small clothes; work upon catgut: my eldest can
cut paper, and my youngest has a very pretty manner of telling fortunes upon the cards." Fudge I
When she had delivered this pretty piece of eloquence, the two ladies looked at each other a few
minutes in silence, with an air of doubt and import.
ance. At last Miss Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia
Skeggs condescended to observe, that the young
ladies, 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 thorough examination into characters, and a more
perfect knowledge of each other. Not, madam,"
continued she, " that I in the least suspect the young
ladies' virtue, prudence, and discretion: but there is
a form in these things, madam, there is a form."
My wife approved her suspicions very much, observing that she was very apt to be suspicious her



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.              75
self; but referred her to all the neighbours for a
character: but this our peeress declined as unnecessary, alleging that her cousin Thornhill's reconmmendation would be sufficient; and upon this we
rested our petition.




CHAPTER XII.
FORTUNE SEEMS RESOLVED TO HUMBLE THE FAMILY OF WAKE
FIELD-MORTIFICATIONS ARE OFTEN MORE PAINFUL THAN REAT
CQALAMITIES.
WHEN we were returned home the night was dedicated to schemes of future conquest.  Deborah
exerted much sagacity in conjecturing which of the
two girls was likely to have the best place, and most
opportunities of seeing good company. The only
obstacle to our preferment was in obtaining the'Squire's recommendation; but he had already shown
us too many instances of his friendship to doubt of
it now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual
theme: " Well, faith, my dear Charles, between
ourselves, I think we have made an excellent day's
work of it." "Pretty well," cried I, not knowing
what to say. "What! only pretty well!" returned
she. "I think it is very well. Suppose the girls
should come to make acquaintances of taste in town I
Th is I am assured of, that London is the only place
in the world for all manner of husbands. Besides,
my dear, stranger things happen every day: and as
ladies of quality are so taken with my daughters,
what will not men of quality be?  Entre nous, I
protest I like my Lady Blarney vastly, so very
[761




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            77
obliging. However, Miss Carolina Wilhelmina
Amelia Skeggs has my warm heart. But yet when
they came to talk of places in town, you saw at once
how I nailed them. Tell me, my dear, don't you think
I did for my children there?" "Ay," returned I, not
knowing well what to think of the matter, " Heaven
grant they may be both the better for it this day
three months 1" This was one of those observations I
usually made to impress my wife with an opinion of
my sagacity: for if the girls succeeded, then it was
a pious wish fulfilled; but if any thing unfortunate
ensued, then it might be looked upon as a prophecy.
All this conversation, however, was only preparatory
to another scheme, and indeed I dreaded as much.
This was nothing less than that, as we were now to
hold up our heads a little higher in the world, it
would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown
old, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us a horse that
would carry single or double upon an occasion, and
make a pretty appearance at church or upon a visit.
This at first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly
defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonist
gained strength, till at last it was resolved to part
with him.
As the fair happened on the following day, I had
intentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded
me that I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail
upon her to permit me from home. " No, my dear,"
said she, "our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can
buy and sell to very good advantage: you know all
our great bargains are of his purchasing. HIe always




78          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
stands out and higgles, and actually tires them till
he gets a bargain."
As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I
was willing enough to intrust him with this commission; and the next morning I perceived his sisters
mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair: trimming his hair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his
hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over,
we had at last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted
upon the colt, with a deal box before him to bring
home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that
cloth they call thunder and lightning, which, though
grown too short, was much too good to be thrown
away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and his
sisters had tied his hair with a broad black riband.
We all followed him several paces from the door,
bawling after him good luck, good luck, till we could
see him no longer.
He was scarcely gone when Mr. Thornhill's butler
came to congratulate us upon our good fortune,
saying that he overheard his young master mention
our names with great commendation.
Go.od fortune seemed resolved not to come alone.
Another footman from the same family followed,
with a card for my daughters, importing that the
two ladies had received such pleasing accounts from
Mr. Thornhill of us all, that, after a few previous
inquiries, they hoped to be perfectly satisfied. " Ay,"
cried my wife, "I now see it is no easy matter to
get into the families of the great; but when one o'ce
gets in, then, as Moses says, one may go to sleep."
To this piece of humor, for she intended it for wit,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           79
my daughters assented with a loud laugh of pleasure.
In short, such was her satisfaction at this message,
that she actually put her hand in her pocket, and
gave the messenger seven-pence half-penny.
This was to be our visiting day. The next that
came was Mr. Burchell, who had been at the fair.
He brought my little ones a pennyworth of gingerbread each, which my wife undertook to keep for
thbm and give them by letters at a time. He brought
my daughters also a couple of boxes, in which they
might keep wafers, snuff, patches, or even money,
when they got it. My wife was usually fond of a
weasel-skin purse, as being the most lucky; but this
by the by. We had still a regard for Mr. Burchell,
though his late rude behaviour was in some measure
displeasing: nor could we now avoid communicating cur happiness to him, and asking his advice;
although we seldom followed advice, we were all
ready enough to ask it. When he read the note
from the two ladies, he shook his head, and observed,
that an affair of this sort demanded the utmost circumspection. This air of diffidence highly displeased
my wife. "I never doubted, sir," cried she, " your
readiness to be against my daughters and me. You
have more circumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when we come to ask advice, we will
apply to persons who seem to have made use of it
themselves." "Whatever my own conduct may
have been, madam," replied he, " is not the present
question; though as I have made no use of advice
myself, I should in conscience give it to those who
will." As I was apprehensive that this answer




80          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
might draw on a repartee, making up by abuse
what it wanted in wit, I changed the subject, by
seeming to wonder what could keep our son so long
at the fair, as it was now almost nightfall. "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 his hen of a rainy day. I have seen
him buy such bargains as would amaze one. I'll
tell you a good story about that, that will make you
split your sides a laughing. But as I live, yonder
comes Moses, without a horse, and the box at his
back."
As she spoke Moses came slowly on foot, and
sweating under the deal box which he had strapped
round his shoulders like a pedlar."  "Welcome,
welcome, Moses; well, my boy, what have you
brought us from the fair?"  " I have brought you
myself," cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the
box on the dresser."  "Ah, 3Moses," cried my wife,
"that we know; but where is the horse?" "I have
sold him," cried Moses, " for three pounds five shillings and two pence."  "Well done, my good
boy," returned she; "I knew you would touch
them off. Between ourselves, three pounds five shillings and two pence is no bad day's work. Come
let us have it then."  "I have brought back no
money," cried Moses again. " I have laid it all out
in a bargain, and here it is," pulling out a bundle
from his breast; " here they are; a gross of green
spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen cases."
" A gross of green spectacles!" repeated my wife in
a faint voice. " And you have parted with the colt,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            81
and brought us back nothing but a gross of paltry
green spectacles!"  " Dear mother," cried the boy,
" why won't you listen to reason? I had them a
dead bargain, or I should not have bought them.
The silver rims alone will sell for double the money."
" A fig for the silver rims," cried my wife in a pas
sion: I dare swear they won't sell for above half
the money at the rate of broken silver, five shillings
an ounce."  " You need be under no uneasiness,"
cried I, "about selling the rims, for they are not
worth sixpence, for I perceive they are only copper
varnished 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 with the colt, and have
only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper
rims and shagreen cases! A murrain take such trumpery. The blockhead has been imposed 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 idiot,"
returned she, "to bring me such stuff; if I had them
I would throw them in the fire." " There again you
are wrong, my 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 undeceived. He now saw that he had been imposed upon
by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure,
had marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked
the circumstance of his deception. He sold the horse,
it seems, and walked the fair in search of another,
4*




82          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
A reverend looking man brought him to a tent,
under pretence of having one to sell: "I Here," continued Moses, "we met another man very well
dressed, who desired to borrow twenty pounds upon
these, saying that he wanted money, and would dispose of them for a third of the value. The first
gentlemen, who pretended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let
so good an offer pass. I sent for Mr. Flamborough,
and they talked him up as finely as they did me,
and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two
gross between us."




CHAPTER  XIII.
MR. BURCHELL IS FOUND TO BE AN ENEMY; FOR HE HAS THE CONFIDENCE TO GIVE DISAGREEABLE ADVICE.
OUR family had now made several attempts to be
fine; but some unforseen disaster demolished 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 our betters. Such as are poor,
and will associate with none but the rich, are hated
by those they avoid, and despised by those they
follow. Unequal combinations are always disadvantageous 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 reading to day, for the good
of the company."
" Once upon a time," cried the child, " a giant and
a dwarfwere friends, and kept together. They made
a bargain that they would never forsake each other,
but go seek adventures. The first battle they fought
was with two Saracens, and the dwarf, who was very
courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry
blow. It did the Saracen very little injury, who,
r831




84          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
lifting up his sword, fairly struck off the poor dwarf's
arm. IIe was now in a woful plight; but the giant
coming to his assistance, in a short time left the Saracens dead on the plain, and the dwarf cut off the
dead man's head out of spite. They then travelled
on to another adventure. This was against three
bloody-minded Satyrs, 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 returned by another that knocked
out his eye; but the giant was soon up with them,
and had they not fled, would certainly have killed
them every one. They were all very joyful for this
victory, and the damsel who was relieved fell in love
with the giant and married him. They now travelled
far, and farther than I can tell, till they met with a
company of robbers. The giant for the first time
was foremost now; but the dwarf was not far behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever
the giant came, all fell before him; but the 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
without an arm, a leg, and an eye, while the giant
was without a single wound. Upon which he cried
out to his little companion,'My little hero, this is
glorious sport! let us get one victory more, and then
we shall have honour forever.''No,' cries the dwarf,
who was by this time grown wiser,'no, I declare
off; I'll fight no more: for I find in every battle that
you get all the honour and rewards, but all the blows
fall upon me."'




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            85
I was going to moralize this fable, when our attention was called off to a warm dispute between
my wife and Mr. Burcheli; upon my daughter's intended expedition to town. My wife very strenuously insisted upon the advantages that would result
from it, Mr. Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded
her with great ardour, and I stood neuter. His
present dissuasions seemed but the second part oi
those which were received with so ill a grace in the
morning. The dispute grew high, while poor Deborah, instead of reasoning stronger talked louder, and
at last was obliged to take shelter from a defeat in
clamour. The conclusion of her harangue, however,
was highly displeasing to us all: "she knew," she
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 composure, which tended to inflame her the more, " as
for secret reasons, you are right; I have secret reasons,
which I forbear to mention, because you are not able
to answer those of which I made no secret: -but I
find my visits here are become troublesome; I'll take
my leave therefore now, and perhaps come once more
to take a final farewell when I am quitting the
country." Thus saying, he took up his hat, nor
could the attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed
to upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his going.
When gone we all regarded each other for some
minutes with confusion. My wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with
a forced smile, and an air of assurance, which I was




86          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
willing to reprove: " How, woman," cried I to her,
" is it thus we treat strangers?"  Is it thus we return their kindness? Be assured, my dear, that these
were the harshest words, and to me the most unpleasing that ever escaped your lips!" "Why would he
provoke me then?" replied she; "but I know the
motives of his advice perfectly well. He would
prevent my girls from going to town, that he may
have the pleasure of my youngest daughter's company here at home. But whatever happens, she shall
choose better company than such low-lived fellows
as he."  "Low-lived, my dear, do you call him?"
cried I; "it is very possible we may mistake this
man's character, for he seems upon some occasions
the most finished gentleman I ever knew. Tell me,
Sophia, my girl, has he ever given you any secret
instances of his attachment?"  "His conversation
with me, sir," replied my daughter, " has ever been
sensible, modest, and pleasing. - As to aught else, no,
never. Once, indeed, I remember to have heard him
say, he never knew a woman who could find merit
in a man that seemed poor."
"' Such, my dear," cried I, " 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 very bad an economist of his
own. Your mother and I have now better prospects
for you. The next winter, which you will probably
spend in town, will give you opportunities of making
a more prudent choice."
What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            87
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
silenced that monitor by two or three specious
reasons, which served to satisfy and reconcile me to
myself. The pain which conscience gives the man
who has already done wrong, is soon got over.
Conscience is a coward, and those faults it has not
strength enough to prevent, it seldom has justice
enough to accuse.




CHAPTER XIV.
FRESH MORTIFICATIONS, OR A DEMONSTRATION THAT SEEMING CALAMITIES MAY BE REAL BLESSINGS.
THE journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill having kindly promised
to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by
letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably- 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
methods of raising money, or more properly speaking, what we could most conveniently sell. The
deliberation was soon finished; it was found that
our remaining horse was utterly useless for the
plough without his companion, and equally unfit for
the road, as wanting an eye; it was therefore determined that we should dispose of him for the purposes above mentioned, at the neighbouring fair, and
to prevent imposition that I should go with him myself. Though this was one of the first mercantile
transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man
forms of his own prudence is measured by that of
the company he keeps; and as mine was mostly in
the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable
[58]




VICAR OF NVAKEFIELD.         89
sentiments of my worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had got some
paces from the door, called me back to advise me in
a whisper, to have all my eyes about me.
I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair,
put my horse through all his paces; but for some
time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached,
and after he had for a good while examined the horse
round, finding him blind of one eye, he would have
nothing to say to him; a second came. up, but observing he had a spavin, declared he would not take
him for the driving home: a third person 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, galled hack, that was only
fit to be cut up for a dog-kennel. By this time I
began to have a most hearty contempt for the poor
animal 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 they were right; and St. Gregory upon Good
Works, professes himself to be of the same opinion.
I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother
clergyman, an old acquaintance, who had also business at the fair, came up, and shaking me by the
hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house, and
taking a glass of whatever we could get. I readily
closed with the offer, and entering an ale-house we
were shown into a little back room, where there was
only a venerable old man, who sat wholly intent




90          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
over a large book, which he was reading. I never
in my life saw a figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver gray venerably shaded
his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the
result of health and benevolence. However, his
presence did not interrupt our conversation: my
friend and I discoursed on the various 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 by the appearance of a
youth, who entering the room, respectfully said
something softly to the old stranger. "Make no
apologies, my child," said the old man, " to do good
is a duty we owe to all our fellow-creatures; take
this, I wish it were more; but five pounds will
relieve your distress, and you are welcome." The
modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his
gratitude was scarcely equal to mine. I could have
hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we
resumed our conversation, until my companion, after
some time, recollecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back, adding,
that he always desired to have as much of Dr. Primrose's company as possible.  The old gentleman
hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me
with attention for some time, and when my friend
was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any
way related to the great Primrose, that courageous
monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the
church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            91
than at that moment. "Sir," cried I, "the applause
of so good a man, as I am sure you are, adds to that
happiness in my breast which your benevolence has
already excited. You behold before you, sir, that
Dr. Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been
pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate divine, who has so long, and it would ill become
me to say successfully, fought against the deuterogomny of the age." " Sir," cried the stranger, struck
with awe, " I fear I have been too familiar; but you'll
forgive my curiosity, sir: I beg pardon."  "Sir,"
cried I, grasping his hand, "you are so far from
displeasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg
you'll accept my friendship, as you already have my
esteem." " Then with gratitude I accept the offer,"
cried he, squeezing me by the hand, " thou glorious
pillar of unshaken orthodoxy! and do I behold-"
I here interrupted'what he was going to say; for
though, as an author, I could digest no small share
of flattery, yet now my modesty would permit no
more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented
a more instantaneous friendship. MWe talked upon
several subjects, at first I thought he seemed rather
devout than learned, and began to think he despised
all human doctrines as dross. Yet this no way lessened him in my esteem; for I had for some time
begun privately to harbour such an opinion myself.
I therefore took occasion to observe, that the world
in general began to be blamably indifferent as to doctrinal matters, and followed.human speculations too
much-" Ay, sir," replied' he, as if he had reserved
all his learning to that moment, " ay, sir, the world




92          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation
of the world has puzzled philosophers of all ages.
What a medley of opinions have they not broached
upon the creation of the world! Sanchoniathon,
Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have all
attempted it in vain. The latter has these words,
Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which imply that
all things have neither beginning nor end. Manetho
also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon
Asser,-Asser being a Syriac word usually applied
as a surname to the kings of that country, as Teglat
Phael-Asser, Nabon-Asser,-he, I say, formed a
conjecture equally absurd; for as we usually say,
ek to biblion kubernetes, which implies that books will
never teach the world; so he attempted to investigate-But, sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the
question."  That he actually was; nor could I for
my life see how the creation of the world had anything to do with the business I was talking of; but
it was sufficient to show me that he was a man of
letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was
resolved therefore to bring him to the touch-stone;
but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for
victory.  Whenever I made an observation that
looked like a challenge to controversy, he would
smile, shake his head, and say nothing: by which
I understood he could say much, if he thought proper.
The subject therefore insensibly changed from the
business of antiquity to that which brought us both
to the fair: mine, I told him, was to sell a horse,
and very luckily indeed, his was to buy one for one
of his tenants. My horse was soon produced, and




VICAR OF WAAKEFIELD.         93
in fine we struck a bargain. 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 complying with this demand, he
ordered his footman to be called up, who made his
appearance in a very genteel livery. "I Here, Abraham," cried he, "go and get gold for this; you'll do
it at neighbour Jackson's or anywhere." While the
fellow was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic
harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I
undertook to improve, by deploring also the great
scarcity of gold; so that by the time Abraham returned, we had both agreed that money was never
so hard to be come at as now. Abraham returned
to inform us that he had been over the whole fair,
and could not get change, though he had offered
half a crown for doing it. This was a very great
disappointment to us all; but the old gentleman,
having paused a little, asked me if I knew one
Solomon Flamborough in my part of the country?
Upon replying that he was my next-door neighbour;
"if that be the case then," returned he, "I believe
we shall deal. You shall have a draft upon him
payable at sight; and let me tell you, he is as warm
a man as any within five miles round him. Honest
Solomon and I have been acquainted for many years
together. I remember I always beat him at three
junips; but he could hop on one leg further than I."
A draft upon my neighbour was to me the same as
money; for I was sufficiently convinced of his ability. The draft was signed, and put into my hands,
and Mr. Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man




94          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
Abraham, and my horse, old Blackberry, trotted
off very well pleased with each other.
After a short interval, being left to reflection, I
began to recollect that I had done wrong in taking
a draft from a stranger, and so prudently resolved
upon following the purchaser, and having back my
horse.  But this was now too late; I therefore
made directly homewards, resolving to get the draft
changed into money at my friend's as fast as possible.
I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe
at his own door, and informing him that I had a
small bill upon him, he read it twice over. "You
can read the name, I suppose," cried I, "Ephraim
Jenkinson."  "Yes," returned he, "the name is
written plain enough, and I know the gentleman
too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven.
This is the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable looking man, with
gray hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes? And
did he not talk a long string of learning about
Greek, and cosmogony, and the world?" To this
I replied with a groan. "Ay," continued he, "he
has but this one piece of learning in the world, and
he always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar
in company; but I know the rogue, and will catch
him yet."
Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my
greatest struggle was to come, in facing my wife
and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of
returning to school, there to behold the master's
visage, than I was of going home. I was deter



VICAR OF WALKEFIELD.           95
mined, however, to anticipate their fury, by first
falling into a passion myself.
But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no
way disposed to battle. My wife and girls were all
in tears, Mr; Thornhill having been there that day
to inform them, that their journey to town was entirely over. The two ladies having heard reports
of us from some malicious person about us, were
that day set out for London. He could neither discover the tendency, nor the author of these; but
whatever they might be, or whoever might have
broached them, he continued to assure our family of
his friendship and protection. I found, therefore,
that they bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in the greatness of their
own. But what perplexed us most, was to think
who could be so base as to asperse the character of
a family so harmless as ours, too humble to excite
envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.




CHAPTER XV.
ALL MR. BURCHELL'S VILLAINY AT ONCE DETECTED-THE FOLLY OP
BEING OVER-WISE.
THAT evening, and a part of the following day,
was employed in fruitless attempts to discover our
enemies: scarcely a family in the neighbourhood
but incurred our suspicions, and each of us had
reasons for our opinion best known to ourselves.
As we were in this perplexity, one of our little boys,
who had been playing abroad, brought in a lettercase which he found on the green. It was quickly
known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it
had been seen, and, upon examination, contained
some hints upon different subjects; but what particularly engaged our attention was a sealed note
superscribed, The copy of a letter to be sent to the two
ladies at Thornhill-castle.  It instantly occurred that
he was the base informer, and we deliberated
whether the note should not be broken open. I
was against it; but Sophia, who said she was sure
that of all men he would be the last to be guilty of
so much baseness, insisted upon its being read. In
this she was seconded by the rest of the family, and
at their joint solicitation I read as follows:
[961




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           97
" LADIES,
"The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as to the
person from whom this comes: one at least the
friend of innocence, and ready to prevent its being
seduced. I am informed for a truth that you have
some intention of bringing two young ladies to
town, whom I have some knowledge of, under the
character of companions. As I would neither have
simplicity imposed upon, nor virtue contaminated,
I must offer it as my opinion, that the impropriety
of such a step will be attended with dangerous consequences. It has never been my way to treat the
infamous or the lewd with severity; nor should I
now have taken this method of explaining myself,
or reproving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take
therefore the admonition of a friend, and seriously
reflect on the consequences of introducing infamy
and vice into retreats, where peace and innocence
have hitherto resided."
Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed
indeed something applicable to both sides in this
letter, and its censures might as well be referred to
those to whom it was written, as to us; but the
malicious meaning was obvious, and we went no
further. My wife had scarcely patience to hear me
to the end, but railed at the writer with unrestrained
resentment. Olivia was equally severe, and Sophi,
seemed perfectly amazed at his baseness.  As for
my part, it appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had.met with;
nor could I account for it in any other manner,
5




98          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
than by imputing it- to his desire of detaining my
youngest daughter in the country, to have the more
frequent opportunities of an interview.  In this
manner we all set ruminating upon schemes of -vengeance, when our other little boy came running in
to tell us that Mr. Burchell was approaching at the
other end of the field. It is easier to conceive than
describe the complicated sensations which are felt
from the pain of a recent injury, and the pleasure
of approaching vengeance. Though our intentions
were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, yet
it was resolved to do it in a manner that would be
perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to
meet him with our usual smiles; to chat in the beginning with more than ordinary kindness; to
amuse him a little; and then, in the midst of the
flattering calm, to burst upon him like an earthquake, and overwhelm him with a sense of his own
baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to manage the business herself, as she really
had some talents for such an undertaking. We
saw him approach; he entered, drew a chair, and
sat down. "A fine day, Mr. Burchell."  " A very
fine day, doctor; though I fancy we shall have some
rain by the shooting of my corns." " The shooting
of your horns!" cried my wife with a loud fit of
laughter, and then asked pardon for being fond of a
joke. " Dear madam," replied he, " I pardon you
with all my heart, for I protest I should not have
thought it a joke had you not told me."  "Perhaps
not, sir," cried my wife, winking at us; "and yet
I dare say you can tell us how many jokes go to an




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            99
ounce."  "I fancy, madam," returned Mr. Burchell,
" you have been reading a jest book this morning,
that ounce of jokes is so very good a conceit; and
yet, madam, I had rather see half an ounce of uncterstanding."  "I believe you might," cried my
wife, still smiling at us, though the laugh was
against her: " and yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding that have very little." " And
no doubt," returned her antagonist, "you have
known ladies set up for wit that had none." I
quickly began to find that my wife was likely to
gain but little at this business; so I resolved to
treat him in a style of more severity myself. " Both
wit and understanding," cried I, "are trifles without integrity; it is that which gives value to every
character. The ignorant peasant without fault, is
greater than the philosopher with many; for what
is genius or courage without a heart? An honest
man 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 base desertion of his own superiority. As the reputation of books is raised, not by
their freedom from defect, but the greatness of their
beauties, so should that of men be prized, not for
their exemption from fault, but the size of those
virtues they are possessed of.  The scholar may
want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and
the champion ferocity; but shall we prefer to these
the low mechanic, who laboriously plods througn
life without censure or applause? We might as
well prefer the tame, correct paintings of the Flem



100         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ish school to the erroneous but sublime animations
of the Roman pencil."
" Sir," replied I, " your present observation is just,
when there are shining virtues and minute defects,
but when it appears that great vices are opposed in
the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a
character deserves contempt."
" Perhaps," cried he, " there may be some such
monsters as you describe, of great vices joined to
great virtues; yet in my progress through life, I
never yet found one instance of their existence; on
the contrary, I have ever perceived, that where the
mind was capacious, the affections were good. And
indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in this
particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where
the heart is corrupt, and diminish the power, where
there is the will to do mischief. This rule seems to
extend even to other animals: the little vermin race
are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst
those endowed with strength and power are generous,
brave, and gentle."
"These observations sound well," returned I,
" and yet it would be easy this moment to point out
a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon him,
" whose head and heart form a most detestable contrast.  Ay, sir," continued I, raising my voice,
"and I am glad to have this opportunity of detecting him in the midst of his fancied security. Do
you know this, sir, this pocket book?" "Yes, sir,"
returned he, with a face of impenetrable assurance,
" that pocket-book is mine, and I am glad you have
found it."  " And do you know," cried I, "this let



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          101
ter? Nay, never falter, man; but look me full in
the face: I say, do you know this letter?" " That
letter," returned he; "yes, it was I that wrote that
letter." " And how could you," said I, " so basely,
so ungratefully presume to write this letter?" "And
how came you," replied he with looks of unparalleled
effrontery, " so basely to presume to break open this
letter? Don't you know, now, I could hang you all
for this?  All that I have to do is to swear at the
next justice's, that you have been guilty of breaking
open the lock of my pocket-book, and so hang you
all up at this door." This piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a pitch, that I could scarce
govern my passion. " Ungrateful wretch I begone,
and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness! begone, and never let me see thee again! Go
from my door, and the only punishment I wish thee
is an alarmed conscience, which will be a sufficient
tormentor." So saying, I threw him his pocketbook, which he took up with a smile, and shutting
the clasps with the utmost composure, left us quite
astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife
was particularly enraged that nothing could make
him angry, or make him  seem  ashamed of his
villanies. "My dear," cried I, willing to calm
those passions that had been raised too high among
us, "we are not to be surprised that bad men want
shame; they only blush at being detected in doing
good, but glory in their vices."
" Guilt and Shame, says the allegory, were at first
companions, and in the beginning of their journey,
inseparably kept together. But their union was soon




102         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both:
Guilt gave Shame frequent uneasiness, and Shame
often betrayed the secret conspiracies of guilt. After
long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented to part forever. Guilt boldly walked forward
alone, to overtake Fate, that went before them in the
shape of an executioner; but Shame being naturally
timorous, returned back to keep company with
Virtue, which in the beginning of theirjourney they
had left behind. Thus, my children, after men have
travelled through a few stages in vice, shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon the few
virtues they have still remaining."




CHAPTER XVI.
THE FAMILY USE ART, WHICH IS OPPOSED WITH STILL GREATER.
WHATEVER might have been Sophia's sensations,
the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr.
Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord,
whose visits now became more frequent and longer.
Though he had been disappointed in procuring my
daughters the amusements of the town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them
with those little recreations which our retirement
would admit of. He usually came in the morning,
and while my son and I followed our occupations
abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused
them by describing the town, with every part of
which he was particularly acquainted. He could
repeat all the observations that were retailed in the
atmosphere of the play-houses, and had all the good
things of the high wits by rote, long before they
made their way into the jest-books. The intervals
between conversation were employed in teaching my
daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two
little ones to box, to make them sharp, as he called
it: but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law, in
some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It
[1031




104         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
must be owned that my wife laid a thousand schemes
to entrap him; or, to speak more tenderly, used every
art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the
cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by
Olivia; if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the
gooseberries were of her gathering: it was her fingers
which gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in
the composition of a pudding, it was her judgment
that mixed the ingredients. Then the poor woman
would sometimes tell the'Squire, that she thought
him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid
both stand up to see which was the tallest. These
instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very
pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some
new proofs of his passion, which, though they had
not arisen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought
fell but little short of it; and his slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and
sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An
occurrence, however, which happened soon after,
put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become
one of our family; my wife even regarded it as an
absolute promise.
My wife and daughters happening to return a
visit to neighbour Flamborough's, found that family
had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner who
travelled the country and took likenesses for fifteen
shillings a-head. As this family and ours had long
a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the
alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          105
resolved that we should have pictures done too.
Having, therefore, engaged the limner-for what
could I do?-our next deliberation was to show the
superiority of our tastes in the attitudes. As for
our neighbour's family, there were seven of them,
and they were drawn with seven oranges, a thing
quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition
in the world. We desired to have something in a
brighter style, and, after many debates, at length
cams to an unanimous resolution of being drawn
together in one large historical family piece. This
would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for
all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for all
families of any taste were now drawn in the same
manner. As we did not immediately recollect an
historical subject to hit us, we were contented each
with being drawn as independent historical figures.
My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and
the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his
diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little
ones were to be as Cupids by her side, while I in
my gown and band, was to present her with my
books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would
be drawn as an Amazon sitting upon a bank of
flowers, dressed in a green joseph, richly laced with
gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a
shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could
put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed
out with a hat and white feather. Our taste so
much pleased the'Squire, that he insisted as being
put in as one of the family in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was consid.
5*




106         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ered by us all as an indication of his desire to be
introduced into the family, nor could we refuse his
request. The painter was therefore set to work,
and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition,
in less than four days the whole was completed.
The piece was large, and it must be owned he did
not spare his colours; for which my wife gave him
great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied
with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred 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 fix it.
How we all came to disregard so material a point is
inconceivable; but certain it is, we had been all
greatly remiss.  The picture, therefore instead of
gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most
mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where
the canvas was stretched and painted, much too large
to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of
all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson
Crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed; another
thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle: some
wondered how it could be got out, but still more
were amazed how it ever got in.
But though it excited the ridicule of some, it
effectually raised more malicious suggestions in
many. The'Squire's portrait being found united
with ours, was an honour too great to escape envy.
Scandalous whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed
by persons who came as friends to tell us what was
said of us by enemies. These reports we always




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          107
resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by opposition.
We once again therefore entered into a consultation upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and
at last came to a resolution which had too much
cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this:
as our principal object was to discover the honour
of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to
sound him, by pretending to ask his advice in the
choice of a husband for her eldest daughter. If this
was not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to terrify him with a rival.
To this last step, however, I would by no means
give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn
assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if he did not
prevent it by taking her himself. Such was the
scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously
oppose, I did not entirely approve.
The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came
to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way,
in order to give their mamma an opportunity of
putting her scheme into execution; but they only
retired to the next room, whence they could overhear the whole conversation. My wife artfully
introduced it, by observing, that one of the Miss
Flamboroughs was like to have a very good'match
of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the'Squire assenting,
she proceeded to remark, that they who had warm
fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands.
"But heaven help," continued she, "the girls that
have none. What signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill?




108         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
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, "II highly approve the
justice, as well as the novelty of your remarks, and
if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It should
then, indeed, be fine times with the girls without
fortunes: our two young ladies should be the first
for whom I would provide."
" Ah, sir," returned my wife " you are pleased to
be facetious: but I wish I were a queen, and then
I know where my eldest daughter should look for a
husband. But now, that you have put it into my
head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend
me a proper husband for her? she is now nineteen
years old, well grown and well educated, and, in
my humble opinion, does not want for parts."
"Madame," replied he, "if I were to choose, I
would find out a person possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. One
with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such,
madam, would be, in my opinion, the proper husband."  "Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of
any such person?"  "No, madam," returned he,
" it is impossible to know any person that deserves
to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for
one man's possession; she's a goddess! Upon my
soul, I speak what I think; she's an angel."  " Ah
Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl; but
we have been thinking of marrying her to one of
your tenants whose mother is lately dead, and who




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          109
wants a manager: you know whom I mean, Farmer
Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give
her good bread; and who has several times made
her proposals (which was actually the case): but,
sir," concluded she, "I should be glad to have your
approbation of our choice."  "How! madam! replied he, "my approbation! My approbation of
such a choice! Never! What! sacrifice so much
beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing! Excuse me, I can never
approve of such a piece of injustice! And I have
my reasons." "'Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "if
you have your reasons, that's another tffair; but I
should be glad to know those reasons." " Excuse
me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery (laying his hand upon his bosom); they remain buried, rivetted here."
After he was gone, upon a general consultation,
we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the
most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine; it seemed to me pretty plain, that they had
more of love than matrimony in them; yet whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of Farmer Williams, who, from
my daughter's first appearance in the country, had
paid her his addresses.




CHAPTER XVII.
SCARCELY LNY VIRTUE FOUND TO RESIST THE POWER OF LONG
AND PLEASING TEMPTATION.
As I only studied my child's real happiness, the
assiduity of Mr. Williams pleased me, as he was in
easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required
but very little encouragement to revive his former
passion; so that in an evening or two he and Mr.
Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed each
other for some time with looks of anger; but
Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his indignation. Olivia on her side, acted
the coquette to perfection, if that might be called
acting which was her real character, pretending to
lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr.
Thornhill appeared quite dejected at this preference,
and with a pensive air took leave, though I own it
puzzled me to find him  so much in pain as he
appeared to be, when he had it in his power so easily
to remove the cause, by declaring an honourable
passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to
endure, it could easily be perceived that Olivia's
anguish was still greater. After any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there were
several, she usually retired to solitude, and there
D[10o




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           111
indulged her grief. It was in such a situation I
found her one evening, after she had been for some
time supporting a fictitious gaiety. "You now see,
my child," said I, "that your confidence in Mr.
Thornhill's passion was all a dream: he permits
the rivalry of another, every way his inferior,
though he knows it lies in his power to secure you
to himself by a candid declaration."  "Yes, papa,"
returned she, " but he has his reasons for this delay,
I know he has.  The sincerity of his looks and
words convinces me of his real esteem. A short
time, I hope, will discover the generosity of his
sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of
him has been more just than yours."  " Olivia, my
darling," returned I, " every scheme that has been
hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration,
has been, proposed and planned by yourself, nor can
you in the least say that I have constrained you.
But you must not suppose, my dear, that I will be
instrumental in suffering his honest rival to be the
dupe of your ill-placed passion. Whatever time
you require to bring your fancied admirer to an
explanation shall be granted; but at the expiration
of that term, if he is still regardless, I must absolutely insist that honest Mr..Williams shall be
rewarded for his fidelity. The character which I
have hitherto supported in life demands this from
me, and my tenderness as a parent shall never influence my integrity as a man. Name then your
day; let it be as distant as you think proper; and
in the mean time take care to let Mr. Thornhill
know the exact time on which I design delivering




112         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
you up to another. If he really loves you, his own
good sense will readily suggest that there is but
one method alone to prevent his losing you for
ever." This proposal, which she could not avoid
considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to.
She again renewed her most positive promise of
marrying Mr. Williams in case of the other's insensibility; and at the next opportunity, in Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for
her nuptials with his rival.
Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble
Mr. Thornhill's anxiety: but what Olivia really
felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle between prudence and passion, her vivacity quite
forsook her, and every opportunity of solitude was
sought and spent in tears. One week passed away;
but Mr. Thornhill made no effort to restrain her
nuptials. The succeeding week he was still assiduous but not more open. On the third he discontinued his visits entirely, and instead of my
daughter testifying any impatience, as I expected,
she seemed to retain a pensive tranquillity, which
I looked upon as resignation. For my own part,
I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my
child was going to be secured in a continuance of
competence and peace, and frequently applauded her
resolution, in preferring happiness to ostentation.
It was within about four days of her intended
nuptial, that my little family at night were gathered
round a charming fire, telling stories of the past,
and laying schemes for the future; busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           113
folly came uppermost.  "Well, Moses," cried I, "we
shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family;
what is your opinion of matters and things in general?"  "My opinion, father, is, that all things go
on very well; and I was just now thinking, -that
when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we
shall then have the loan of his cider press and
brewing tubs for nothing." "That we shall, Moses,"
cried I, "and he will sing us Death and the Lady, to
raise our spirits, into the bargain." "He has taught
that song to our Dick," cried Moses, "and I think
he goes through it very prettily."  "Does he so?"
cried I, " then let us have it: where's little Dick?
let him up with it boldly."  " My brother Dick,"
cried Bill, my youngest, "is just gone out with
sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has taught me two
songs, and I'll sing them for you, papa. Which
song do you choose, The Dying Swan, or the Elegy
on the Death of a Mad Dog?"  " The elegy, child,
by all means," said I: "I never heard that yet; and
Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry, let us
have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine to keep
up our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of
elegies of late, that, without an enlivening glass, I
am sure this will overcome me; and Sophy, love,
take your guitar, and thrum in with the boy a little."
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
GOOD people all of every sort,
Give ear unto my song,
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.




114           VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,'The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets,
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they liedThe man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
"A very good boy, Bill, upon my word, and an
elegy that may truly be called tragical. Come, my
children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day
be a bishop I"




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            115
"With all my heart," cried my wife; "and if he
but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt
of him. The most of his family by the mother's
side could sing a good song: it was a common saying in our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight before them, nor the
Hugginsons blow out a candle; that there were none
of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of Marjorams but could tell a story."  " However that be,"
cried I, " the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes,
and things that petrify us in a single stanza; pro.
ductions that we at once detest and praise. Put the
glass to your brother, Moses. The great fault of
these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs
that give the sensible part of mankind very little
pain. A lady loses her muff, her fan, or her lapdog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the
disaster."
"That may be the mode," cried Moses,' in sublimer compositions; but the Ranelagh songs that
come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast
in the same mould- Colin meets Dolly, and they
hold a dialogue together; he gives her a fairing to
put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and then they go together to church, where
they give good advice to young nymphs and swains
to get married as fast as they can."
" And very good advice too," cried I; "and I am
told there is not a place in the world where advice
can be given with so much propriety as there; for
as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with




116         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
a wife: and surely that must be an excellent market,
my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with it when wanting."
"Yes, sir," returned Moses,' and I know of but
two such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in
England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish
market is open once a year; but our English wives
are saleable every night."
" You are right, my boy," cried his mother; " Old
England is the only place in the world for husbands
to get wives."  "And for wives to manage their
husbands," interrupted I. " It is a proverb abroad,
that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the
ladies of the continent would come over to take
pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in
Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle
more, Deborah, my life; and Moses, give us a good
song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for
thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence.
I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fire-side, nor such
pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now
growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to
be happy. We are descended from ancestors that
knew no stain, and we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live,
they will be our support and our pleasure here; and
when we die, they will transmit our honour untainted
to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song: let
us have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia?
That little cherub's voice is always sweetest in the
concert." Just as I spoke, Dick came running in,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           117
"0 papa, papa, she is gone from us, she is gone
from us; my sister Livy is gone from us for ever."
"Gone, child i"  "Yes, she is gone off with two
gentlemen in a postchaise, and one of them kissed
her, and said he would die for her: and she cried
very much, and was for coming back; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise,
and said, 0 what will my poor papa do when he
knows I am undone!"  "Now then," cried I, "my
children, go and be miserable; for we shall never
enjoy one hour more. And 0, may H1eaven's everlasting fury light upon him and his!-Thus to rob
me of my child!-And sure it will, for taking back
my sweet innocent that I was leading up to Heaven.
Such sincerity as my child was possessed of!-But
all our earthly happiness is now over! Go, my
children, go and be miserable and infamous: for
my heart is broken within me!"  "Father," cried
my son, "is this your fortitude?" "Fortitude, child!
Yes, he shall see I have fortitude! Bring me my
pistols. I'll pursue the traitor: while he is on earth
I'll pursue him. Old as I am he shall find I can
sting him yet. The villain! The perfidious villain!" I had by this time reached down my pistols,
when my poor wife, whose passions were not so
strong as mine, caught me in her arms. " My dearest, dearest husband," cried she, "the Bible is the
only weapon that is fit for your old hands now.
Open that, my love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has vilely deceived us."  "Indeed,
sir," resumed my son, after a pause, "your rage is
too violent and unbecoming. You should be my




118         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
mother's comforter, and you increase her pain. It
ill suited you and your reverend character, thus to
curse your greatest enemy: you should not have
cursed him, villain as he is." "I did not curse him,
child, did I?"  "Indeed, sir, you did; you cursed
him twice."  "Then may Heaven forgive me and
him if I did! And now, my son, I see it was more
than human benevolence that first taught us to bless
our enemies! Blessed be his holy name for all the
good he hath given, and for all that he hath taken
away. But it is not-it is not a small distress that
can wring tears from these old eyes that have not
wept for so many years. My child!-To undo my
darling!-May confusion seize-Heaven forgive me,
what am I about to say!-You may remember, my
love, how good she was, and how charming; till this
vile moment, all her care was to make us happy.
Had she but died!-But she is gone, the honour of
our family contaminated, and I must look out for
happiness in other worlds than here. But, my child,
you saw them go off: perhaps he forced her away?
If he forced her, she may yet be innocent." " Ah
no, sir," cried the child; "he only kissed her, and
called her his angel, and she wept very much, and
leaned upon his arm, and they drove off very fast."
" She's an ungrateful creature," cried my wife, who
could scarcely speak for weeping, "to use us thus.
She never had the least constraint put upon her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted her
parents withiout any provocation-thus to bring your
gray hairs to the grave, and I must shortly follow."
In this manner that night, the first of our real




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            119
misfortunes, was spent in the bitterness of complaint,
and ill-supported sallies of enthusiasm. I determined,
however, to find out her betrayer, wherever he was,
and reproach his baseness. The next morning we
missed our wretched child at breakfast, where she
used to give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife,
as before, attempted to ease her heart by reproaches.
"Never," cried she, "shall that vilest stain of our
family again darken these harmless doors. I will
never call her daughter more. No, let the strumpet
live with her vile seducer: she may bring us to
shame, but she shall never more deceive us."
" Wife," said I, " do not talk thus hardly: my detestation of her guilt is as great as yours; but ever
shall this house and this heart be open to a poor
returning, repentant sinner.  The sooner she returns from her transgressions, the more welcome
shall she be to me. For the first time the very best
may err; art may persuade, and novelty spread
out its charms. The first fault is the child of simplicity, but every other the offspring of guilt. Yes,
the wretched creature shall be welcome to this heart
and this house, though stained with ten thousand
vices. I will again hearken to the music of her
voice, again will I hang fondly on her bosom, if I
find but repentance there. My son, bring hither my
Bible and my staff: I will pursue her, wherever she
is; and though I cannot save her from shame, I
may prevent the continuance of iniquity."




CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PURSUIT OF A FATHER TO RECLAIM A LOST CHILD TO VIRTUE.
THOUGH the child could not describe the gentleman's
person who handed his sister into the postchaise, yet
my suspicions fell entirely upon our young landlord,
whose character for such intrigues was but too well
known.  I therefore directed my steps towards
Thornhill-castle, resolving to upbraid him, and, if
possible, to bring back my daughter: but before I
had reached his seat, I was met by one of my parishioners, who said he saw a young lady, resembling
my daughter, in a postchaise with a gentleman, whom
by the description, I could only guess to be Mr.
Burchell, and that they drove very fast. This information, however, did by no means satisfy me. I
therefore went to the young'Squire's, and though it
was yet early, insisted upon seeing him immediately.
He soon appeared with the most open, familiar air,
and seemed perfectly amazed at my daughter's elopement, protesting upon his honour that he was quite
a stranger to it. I now therefore condemned my
former suspicions, and could turn them only on Mr.
Burchell, who I recollected had of late several private conferences with her: but the appearance of
another witness left me no room to doubt his vil[120]




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          121
lainy, who averred, that he and my daughter were
actually gone towards the Wells, about thirty miles
off, where there was a great deal of company. Being
driven to that state of mind in which we are more
ready to act precipitately than to reason right, I
never debated with myself, whether these accounts
might not have been given by persons purposely
placed in my way to mislead me, but resolved to
pursue my daughter and her fancied deluder thither.
I walked along with earnestness, and inquired of
several by the way; but received no accounts, till,
entering the town, I was met by a person on horseback, whom I remembered to have seen at the'Squire's, and he assured me, that if I followed them
to the races, which were but thirty miles further, I
might depend upon overtaking them; for he had
seen them dance there the night before, and the whole
assembly seemed charmed with my daughter's performance. Early the next day, I walked forward to
the races, and about four in the afternoon I came
upon the course. The company made a very brilIiant appearance, all earnestly employed in one pursuit, that of pleasure: how different from mine, that
of reclaiming a lost child to virtue! I thought I
perceived Mr. Burchell at some distance from me;
but as if he dreaded an interview, upon my approaching him, he mixed among a crowd, and I saw
him no more. I now reflected that it would be to
no purpose to continue my pursuit further, and resolved to return home to an innocent family, who
wanted my assistance. But the agitations of my
mind, and the fatigues I had undergone, threw me
6




122         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
into a fever, the symptoms of which I perceived before I came off the course. This was another utexpected stroke, as I was more than seventy miles
distant from home: however, I retired to a little alehouse by the roadside, and in this place, the usual
retreat of indigence and frugality: I laid me down
patiently to wait the issue of my disorder. I languished here for nearly three weeks; but at last my
constitution prevailed, though I was unprovided
with money to defray the expenses of mny entertainment. It is possible the anxiety from this last circumstance alone might have brought on a relapse,
had I not been supplied by a traveller, who stopped
to take a cursory refreshment. This person was no
other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's
Church-yard, who has written so many little books
for children: he called himself their friend; but he
was the friend of all mankind. He was no sooner
alighted, but he was in haste to be gone; for he was
ever on business of the utmost importance, and was
at that time actually compiling materials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I immediately recollected the good-natured man's red-pimpled face;
for he had published for me against the Deuterogamists of the age, and from him I borrowed a few
pieces to be paid at my return. Leaving the inn,
therefore, as I was yet but weak, I resolved to return home by easy journeys of ten miles a day. My
health and usual tranquillity were almost restored,
and I now condemned that pride which had made
me refractory to the hand of correction. Man little
knows wli',il! mnities are beyond his patience to




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          123
bear, till he tries them: as in ascending the heights
of ambition, which look bright from below, every
step we rise shows us some new and gloomy prospect
of hidden disappointment; so in our descent from
the summits of pleasure, though the vale of misery
below may appear at first dark and gloomy, yet the
busy mind, still attentive to its own amusement,
finds, as we descend, something to flatter and to
please. Still, as we approach, the darkest objects
appear to brighten, and the mental eye becomes
adapted to its gloomy situation.
I now proceeded orward, and had walked about
two hours, when I perceived what appeared at a
distance like a wagon, which I was resolved to
overtake; but when I came up with it, found it to
be a strolling company's cart, that was carrying
their scenes and other theatrical furniture to the
next village, where they were to exhibit. The cart
was attended only by the person who drove it, and
one of the company, as the rest of the players were
to follow the ensuing day. "Good company upon
the road," says the proverb, "is the shortest cut."
I therefore entered into conversation with the poor
player; and as I once had some theatrical powers
myself, I disserted upon such topics with my usual
freedom: but as I was pretty much unacquainted
with the present state of the stage, I demanded who
were the present theatrical writers in vogue, who
the Drydens and Otways of the day?  "I fancy,
sir," cried the player, "few of our modern dramatists would think themselves much honoured by
being compared to the writers you mention. Dry



124         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
den's and Rowe's manner, sir, are quite out of
fashion; our taste has gone back a whole century;
Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and all the plays of Shakspeare, are the only things that go down."  "How,"
cried I,  "is it possible the present age can be pleased
with that antiquated dialect, that obsolete humour,
those over-charged characters, which abound in the
works you mention?"  " Sir," returned my companion, " the public think nothing about dialect, or
humour, or character, for that is none of their business; they only go to be amused, and find themselves happy when they can enjoy a pantomime
under the sanction of Jonson's or Shakspeare's
name."  "So, then, I suppose," cried I, "that our
modern dramatists are rather imitators of Shakspeare than of nature."  "To say the truth," returned my companion, "I don't know that they
imitate anything at all; nor indeed does the public
require it of them: it is not the composition of the
piece, but the number of starts and attitudes that
may be introduced 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 modern dialect is much more natural."
By this time the equipage of the strolling company was arrived at the village, whic*l it seems,
had been apprised of our approach, and was come
out to gaze at us; for my companion observed, that
strollers always have more spectators without doors




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          125
than within. I did not consider the impropriety
of my being in such company, till I saw a mob
gather about me. I therefore took shelter, as fast
as possible, in the first ale house that offered, and
being shown into the common room, was accosted
by a very well dressed gentleman, who demanded
whether I was the real chaplain of the company, or
whether it was only to be my masquerade character in the play. Upon my informing him of the
truth, and that I did not belong in any sort to the
company, he was condescending enough to desire
me and the player to partake in a bowl of punch,
over which he discussed modern politics with great
earnestness and interest. I set him down in my own
mind for nothing less than a parliament-man at least;
but was almost confirmed in my conjectures, when,
upon asking what there was in the house for supper,
he insisted that the player and I should sup with
him at his house: with which request, after some
entreaties, we were prevailed on to comply.




CHAPTER XIX.
THE DESCRIPTION OF A PERSON DISCONTENTED WITH THE PRE.
SENT GOVERNMENT AND APPREHENSIVE OF THE LOSS OF OUR
LIBERTIES.
THE house where we were to be entertained lying
at a small distance from the village, our inviter observed, that as the coach was not ready, he would
conduct us on foot; and we soon arrived at one
of the most magnificent mansions I had seen in
that part of the country.  The apartment into
which we were shown was perfectly elegant and
modern; he went to give orders for supper, while
the player, with a wink, observed that we were perfectly in luck.  Our entertainer soon returned; an
elegant supper was brought in, two or three ladies
in dishabille were introduced, and the conversation
began with some sprightliness. Politics, however,
was the subject on which our entertainer chiefly
expatiated; for he asserted that liberty was at once
his boast and his terror.
After the cloth was removed, he asked me if I
had seen the last Monitor? to which replying in
the negative, " What, nor the Auditor, I suppose?"
cried he.  "Neither, sir," returned I.  "That's
strange, very  strange,"  replied  my  entertainer.
"Now I read all the politics that come out. The
[1261




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            127
Daily, the Public, the Ledger, the Chronicle, the
London Evening, the Whitehall Evening, the seventeen Magazines, and the two Reviews; and though
they hate each other, I love them all. Liberty, sir,
liberty, is the Briton's boast, and by all my coalmines in Cornwall, I reverence its guardians."
" Then it is to be hoped," cried I, " you reverence
the king."  " Yes," returned my entertainer, " when
he does what we would have him; but if he goes
on as he has done of late, I'll never trouble myself
more with his matters. I say nothing. I think,
only, I could have directed some things better. I
don't think there has been a sufficient number of
advisers; he should advise with every person willing to give him advice, and then we should have
things done in another guess manner."' I wish," cried I, "that such intruding advisers
were fixed in the pillory. It should be the duty of
honest men to assist the weaker side of our constitution, that sacred power 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 thrown it into the subsiding scale."
"How," cried one of the ladies, "do. I live to see
one so base, so sordid, as to be an enemy to liberty,
and a defender of tyrants?  Liberty, that sacred
gift of Heaven, that glorious privilege of Britons?"
"Can it be possible," cried our entertainer, "that
there should be any found at present advocates for
slavery? Any who are for meanly giving up the
privilege of Britons? Can any, sir, be so abject?"




128         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
"No, sir," replied I, " I am for liberty, that attribute of God! Glorious liberty! that theme of modern
declamation. I would have all men kings. I would
be a king myself. We have all naturally an equal
right to the throne; we are all originally equal.
This is my opinion, and was once the opinion of a
set of honest men who were called Levellers. They
tried to erect themselves into a community where
all would be equally free.- But, alas! it would
never answer; for there were some among them
stronger, and some more cunning than others, and
these became masters of the rest; for as sure as
your groom rides your horses, because he is a cunninger animal than they, so surely will the animal
that is cunninger and stronger than he, sit upon
his shoulders in turn. Since then it is entailed
upon humanity to submit, and some are born to
command, and others to obey, the question is, as
there must be tyrants, whether it is better to have
them in the same house with us, or in the same
village, or still further off, in the metropolis. Now,
sir, for my own part, as I naturally hate the face
of a tyrant, the further off he is removed from me,
the better pleased am I. The generality of mankind also are of my way of thinking, and have
unanimously created one king, whose election at
once diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts
tyranny at the greatest distance from the greatest
number of people. Now  the great, who were
tyrants themselves before the election of one tyrant,
are naturally averse to a power raised over them,
and whose weight must ever lean heaviest on the




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            129
subordinate orders. It is the interest of the great,
therefore, to diminish kingly power as much as
possible; because whatever they take from that, is
naturally restored to themselves; and all they have
to do in the state, is to undermine the single tyrant,
by which they resume their primeval authority.
Now the state may be so circumstanced, or its laws
may be so disposed, or its men of opulence so
minded, as all to conspire in carrying on this business of undermining monarchy. For in the first
place, if the circumstances of our state be such as
to favor the accumulation of wealth, and make the
opulent still more rich, this will increase their ambition. An accumulation of wealth, however, must
necessarily be the consequence, when as at present
more riches flow in from external commerce, than
arise from internal industry; for external commerce can only be managed to advantage by the
rich, and they have also at the same time all the
emoluments arising from internal industry; so that
the rich, with us, have two sources of wealth,
whereas the poor have but one. For this reason,
wealth, in all commercial states, is found tQ accumulate, and all such have hitherto in time become
aristocratical. Again, the very laws also of this
country may contribute to the accumulation of
wealth; as when, by their means, the natural ties
that bind the rich and poor together are broken,
and it is ordained, that the rich shall only marry
with the rich: or when the learned are held unqualified to serve their country as counsellors,
merely from a defect of opulence, and wealth is
6*




130         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
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 wvealth, when furnished with the necessaries
and pleasures of life, has no other method to employ the superfluity of his fortune but in purchasing power. That is, differently speaking, in making
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 accumulated wealth, may be compared
to a Cartesian system, each orb M ith a vortex of its
own. Those, however, who are willing to move in
a great man's vortex, are only such as must be
slaves, the rabble of mankind, whose souls and
whose education are adapted to servitude, and who
know nothing of liberty except the name. But there
must still be a large number of the people without
the sphere of the opulent man's influence, namely,
that order of men which subsists between the very
rich and the very rabble; those men who are possessed of too large fortunes to submit to the neighbouring man in power, and yet are too poor to set up
for tyranny themselves. In this middle order of man.
kind are generally to be found all the arts, wisdom,
and virtues of society. This order alone is known
to be the true preserver of freedom, and may-be
called the people. Now it may happen'that this
middle order of mankind may lose all its influence
in a state, and in its voice be in a manner drowned




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           131
in that of the rabble: for if the fortune sufficient for
qualifying a person at present to give his voice in
state affairs be ten times less than was judged sufficient upon forming the constitution, it is evident that
greater numbers of the rabble will be thus introduced
into the political system, and they ever moving in
the vortex of the great, will follow where greatness
shall direct. In such a state, therefore, all that the
middle order has left, is to preserve the prerogatives
and privileges of the one principal governor with
the most sacred circumspection. For he divides the
power of the rich, and calls off the great from falling with tenfold weight on the middle order placed
beneath them. The middle order may be compared
to a town, of which the opulent are forming the siege,
and of which the governor from without is hastening
the relief. While the besiegers are in dread of an
enemy over them, it is but natural to offer the townsmen the most specious terms; to flatter them with
sounds, and amuse them with privileges; but if they
once defeat the governor from behind, the walls of
the town will be but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they may then expect, may be seen by
turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice,
where the laws govern the poor, and the rich govern
the law. I am then for, and would die for monarchy,
sacred monarchy; for if there be anything sacred
amongst men, it must be the anointed SOVEREIGN
of his people; and every diminution of his power
in war, or in peace, is an infringement upon the real
liberties of the subject. The sons of liberty, patriotism, and Britons, hlve already done much; it is to




132         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
be hoped that the true sons of freedom will prevent
their ever doing more. I have known many of these
lretended champions for liberty in my time, yet do
I not remember one that was not in his heart and in
bis family a tyrant."
My warmth I found had lengthened this harangue
beyond the rules of good breeding; but the impatience of my entertainer, who often strove to interrupt it, could be restrained no longer.  "What,"
cried he, " then I have been all this while entertaining a Jesuit in parson's clothes! but by all the coalmines of Cornwall, out he shall pack, if my name
be Wilkinson." I now found I had gone too far,
and asked pardon for the warmth with which I had
spoken. "lPardon!" returned he, in a fury: "I
think such principles demand ten thousand pardons.
What? give up liberty, property, and, the Gazetteer
says, lie down to be saddled with wooden shoes!
Sir, I insist upon your marching out of this house
immediately, to prevent worse consequences: sir, I
insist upon it." I was going to repeat my remonstrances; but just then we heard a footman's rap at
the door, and the two ladies cried out, " As sure as
death there is our master and mistress come'home."
It seems my entertainer was all this while only the
butler, who, in his master's absence, had a mind to
cut a figure, and be for a while the gentleman himself: and to say the truth, he talked politics as well
as most country gentlemen do. But nothing could
now exceed my confusion upon seeing the gentleman
and his lady enter; nor was their surprise at finding
such company and good cheer, less than ours. " Gen



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          133
tlemen," cried the real master of the house to me and
my companion,' my wife and I are your most humble servants; but I protest this is so unexpected a
favour, that we almost sink under the obligation."
However unexpected our company might be to
them, theirs, I am sure, was still more so to us, and
I was struck dumb with the apprehensions of my
own absurdity, when whom should I next see enter
the room but my dear Miss Arabella Wilmot, who
was formerly designed to be married to my son
George, but whose match was broken off as already
related. As soon as she saw me, she flew to my
arms with the utmost joy. "My dear sir," cried
she, " to what happy accident is it that we owe so
unexpected a visit? I am sure my uncle and aunt
will be in raptures when they find they have the
good Dr. Primrose for their guest." Upon hearing
my name, the old gentleman and lady very politely
stepped up, and welcomed me with the most cordial
hospitality. Nor could they forbear smiling, upon
being informed of the nature of my present visit;
but the unfortunate butler, whom they at first seemed
disposed to turn away, was at my intercession forgiven.
Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house belonged, 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 night I was
shown to a magnificent chamber, and the next
morning early Miss Wilmot desired to walk with




134         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
me in the garden, which was decorated in the
modern 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 know
not; perhaps I shall never see him or happiness
more. No, my dear madam, we shall never more
see such pleasing hours as were once spent by our
fireside at Wakefield. My 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 this account; but as I saw
her possessed of too much sensibility, I forbore a
more minute 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 improvements of the
place, pointing to the several walks and arbours,
and at the same time catching from every object a
hint for some new questions relative to my son.
In this manner we spent the forenoon, till the bell
summoned us in to dinner, where we found the manager of the strolling company that I mentioned
before, who was come to dispose of tickets for the
Fair Penitent, which was to be acted that evening,
the part of Horatio by a young gentleman who had
never appeared on any stage. He seemed to be
very warm in the praises of the new performer, and




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          135
averred that he never saw any who 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.  WTe caught
him up accidentally in our journey down." This
account, in some measure, excited our curiosity,
and, at the entreaty of the ladies, I was prevailed
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 respect,
and placed in the front seat of the theatre; where
we sat for some time with no small impatience to
see Horatio make his appearance. The new performer advanced at last; and let parents think of
my sensations by their own, when I found it was
my unfortunate son. He was going to begin, when
turning his eyes upon the audience, he perceived
Miss Wilmot and me, and stood at once speechless
and immovable. The actors behind the scene, who
ascribed this cause to his natural timidity, attempted
to encourage him; but instead of going 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 rapidity for
description; but I was soon awaked from this disagreeable 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 as yet a stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, being informed that the new performer was




136         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him:
and as he persisted in his refusal to appear again
upon the stage, the players put another in his place,
and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave
him the kindest reception, and I received him with
my usual transport; for I could never counterfeit
false resentment.  Miss Wilmot's reception was
mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I could
perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult in
her mind seemed not yet abated: she said twenty
giddy things that looked like joy, and then laughed
loud at her own want of meaning. At intervals she
would take a sly peep at the glass, 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, PURSUING NOVELTY,
BUT LOSING CONTENTMENT.
AFTER we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered
to send a couple of her footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decline; but upon
her pressing the request, he was obliged to inform
her, that a stick and a wallet were all the moveable
things upon this earth that he could boast of.
"Why, ay, my son," cried I, "you left me but
poor, and poor 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 the 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 additional obligation."  "Madam,"
replied my son, " I promise you the pleasure you
have in hearing will not be half so great as my
vanity in repeating them; and yet in the whole
narrative I can scarcely promise you one adventure,
as my account is rather of what I saw than what
[1371




138         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
I did. The first misfortune of my life, which you
all know, was great; but though it distressed, it
could not sink me. No 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 being now at the bottom of her wheel,
every new revolution might lift, but could not depress me. I proceeded, therefore, toward London,
in a fine morning, no way uneasy about to-morrow,
but cheerful as the birds that caroled by the road,
and comforted myself with reflecting, that London
was the mart where abilities of every kind were sure
of meeting distinction 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 circumstances than I. My first scheme, you know, sir,
was to be usher at an academy, and I asked his
advice on the affair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true Sardonic grin. Ay, cried he, this
is indeed a very pretty career that has been chalked
out for you. I have been an usher at a boardingschool myself; and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up early and late: I was brow-beat by
the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress,
worried by the boys within, and never permitted 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 apprentice to the business? No. Then you wont do for a school. Can
you dress the boys' hair? No. Then you won't do




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          139
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 school. Have you got a good stomach?  Yes.
Then you will by no means do for a school. No,
sir, if you are for a genteel easy profession, bind
yourself seven years as an apprentice to turn a
cutler's wheel; but avoid a school by any means.
Yet come, continued he, I see you are a lad of spirit
and some learning, what do you think of commencing author, like me? You have read in books, no
doubt, 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 jog-trot
men, who go on smoothly and dully, and write
history and politics, and are praised: men, sir, who,
had they been bred cobblers, would all their lives
have only mended shoes, but never made them.
"' Finding that there was no great degree of gentility affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved
to accept his proposal; and having the highest
respect for literature, hailed the antiqua 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 intercourse 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 wholly new. I therefore dressed up three




140         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
paradoxes with 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 splendid things
that at a distance looked every bit as well. Witness,
you 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 prepared to oppose the
whole learned world. Like the porcupine, I sat selfcollected, with 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; go
on: you published your paradoxes; well, and what
did the learned world say to your paradoxes?"
"Sir," replied my son, " the learned world said
nothing to my parodoxes; nothing at all, sir. Every
man of them was employed in praising his friends
and himself, or condemning his enemies: and unfortunately, as I had neither, I suffered the cruelest
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 preliminary discourse,
finding me to be a scholar, drew out a bundle of
proposals, begging me to subscribe to a new edition
he was going to give the world of Propertius with
notes. This demand necessarily produced a reply
that I had no money; and that concession led him
to inquire into the nature of my expectations. Find



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            141
ing that my expectations were just as good as my
purse, I see, cried he, you are unacquainted with
the town; I'll teach you a part of it. Look at these
proposals,-upon these very proposals I have subsisted very comfortably for twelve years.  The
moment a nobleman returns from his travels, a
Creolean arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from
her country seat, I strike for a subscription. I first
besiege their hearts with flattery, and then pour in
my proposals at the breach.  If they subscribe
readily the first time, I renew my request to beg a
dedication fee. If they let me have that, I smite
them once more for engraving their coat of arms at
the top. Thus, continued he, I live by vanity, and
laugh at it. But between ourselves, I am now too
well known: I should be glad to borrow your face
a bit: a nobleman of distinction has just returned
from Italy; my face is familiar to his porter; but
if you bring this copy of verses, my life for it you
succeed, and we divide the spoil."
" Bless us! George," cried I, "and is this the employment of poets now? Do men of their exalted
talents thus stoop to beggary? Can they so far disgrace their calling as to make a vile traffic of praise
for bread?"
" 0 no, sir," returned he, "a true poet can never
be so base; for wherever there is genius, there is
pride. The creatures I now describe are only beggars in rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every
hardship for fame, so he is equally a coward to contempt; and none but those who are unworthy pro.
tection, condescend to solicit it:




142         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
" Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune too humble to hazard a
second attempt for fame, I was now obliged to take
a middle course, and write for bread. But I was unqualified for a profession where mere industry alone
was to insure success. I could not suppress my
lurking passion for applause; but usually consumed
that time in efforts after excellence which takes up
but little room, when it should have been more advantageously employed in the diffusive productions
of fruitful mediocrity. My little piece would therefore come forth in the midst of periodical publications, unnoticed and unknown. The public were
more importantly employed than to observe the
easy simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my
periods. Sheet after sheet was thrown off to oblivion.
My essays were buried among the essays upon liberty, eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad
dog; while Philautos, Philalethes, Philelutheros and
Philanthropos all wrote better, because they wrote
faster than I.
"Now, therefore, I began to associate with none
but disappointed authors, like myself, who praised,
deplored, and despised' each other. The satisfaction we found in every celebrated writer's attempts,
was inversely as their merits. I found that no
genius in another could please me. My unfortunate
paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion,
and writing was my.trade.
"In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I




VICAR OF WVAKEFIELD.          143
was one day sitting on a bench in St. James' park,
a young gentleman of distinction, who had been my
intimate acquaintance at the university, approached
me. We saluted each other with some hesitation:
he almost ashamed of being known to one who
made so shabby an appearance, and I afraid of a
repulse. But my suspicions soon vanished; for Ned
Thornhill was at the bottom a very good-natured
fellow."
"What did you say, George?" interrupted I.
" Thornhill, was not that his name?  It can certainly be no other than my landlord." " Bless me,"
cried Mrs. Arnold, " is Mr. Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours?  He has long been a friend in our
family, and we expect a visit from him shortly."
"My friend's first care," continuod my son, "was
to alter my appearance by a very fine suit of his
own clothes, and then I was admitted to his table,
upon the footing of half-friend, half-underling. My
business was to attend him at auctions, to put him
in spirits when he sat for his picture, to take the
left hand in his chariot when not filled by another,
and to assist at tattering a kip, as the phrase was,
when we had a mind for a frolic. Besides this, I
had twenty other little employments in the family;
I was to do many small things without bidding: to
carry the corkscrew; to stand godfather to all the
butler's children; to sing when I was bid; to be
never out of humour; always to be humble; and, if
I could, to be very happy."
" In this honourable post, however, I was not without a rival. A captain of marines, who was formed




144         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
for the place by nature, opposed me in my patron's
affections. His mother had been laundress to a
man of quality, and thus he early acquired a taste
for pimping and pedigree. As this gentleman
made it the study of his life to be acquainted with
lords, though he was dismissed from several for his
stupidity, yet he found many of them who were as
dull as himself, that permitted his assiduities. As
flattery was his trade, he practised it with the
easiest address imaginable; but it came awkward
and stiff from me: and as every day my patron's
desire for flattery increased, so every hour being
better acquainted with his defects, I became more
unwilling to give it. Thus I was once more fairly
going to give up the field to the captain, when my
friend found occasion for my assistance. This was
nothing less than to fight a duel for him, with a
gentleman whose sister it was pretended he had
used ill. I readily complied with his request, and
though I see you are displeased with my conduct,
yet it was a debt indispensably due to friendship
I could not refuse. I undertook the affair, disarmed
my antagonist, and soon after had the pleasure of
finding that the lady was only a woman of the
townl, and the fellow her bully and a sharper.
This piece of service was repaid with the warmest
professions of gratitude; but as my friend was
to leave town in a few days, he knew no other
method of serving me, but by recommending me
to his uncle Sir William Thornhill, and another
nobleman of great distinction who enjoyed a post
under the government. When he was gone, my




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          145
first care was to carry his recommendatory letter
to his uncle, a man whose character for every
virtue was universal, yet just. I was received by
his servants with the most hospitable smiles; for
the looks of the domestic ever transmit their master's benevolence.  Being shown into a grand
apartment, where Sir William soon came to me, I
delivered my message and letter, which he read,
and after pausing some minutes,'Pray, sir,' cried
he,'inform me what you have done for my kinsman to deserve this warm recommendation: but I
suppose, sir, I guess your merits: you have fought
for him; and so you would expect a reward from
me for being the instrument of his vices. I wish,
sincerely wish, that my present refusal may be some
punishment for your guilt, but still more that it may
be some inducement to your repentance.' The severity of this rebuke I bore patiently, because I
knew it was just. My whole expectations now, therefore, lay in my letter to the great man. As the
doors of the nobility are almost ever beset with
beggars, all ready to thrust in some sly petition, I
found it no easy matter to gain admittance. However, after bribing the servants with half my
worldly fortune, I was at last shown into a spacious apartment, my letter being previously sent
up for his lordship's inspection.  During this
anxious interval I had full time to look around me.
Everything was grand and of happy contrivance;
the paintings, the furniture, the gildings, petrified
me with awe, and raised my idea of the owner.Ah, thought I to myself, how very great must the
7




146         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
possessor of these things be, who carries in his
head the business of the state, and whose house
displays half the wealth of a kingdom: sure his
genius must be unfathomable I During these awful
reflections, I heard a step coming heavily forward.
Ah, this is the great man himself! No, it was
only a chamber-maid.  Another foot was heard
soon after. This must be he! No, it was only the
great man's valet de chambre. At last his lordship
actually made his appearance.' Are you,' cried he,'the bearer of this here letter?' I answered with a
bow.'I learn by this,' continued he,'as how
that'- But just at that instant a servant delivered
hirh a card, and without taking further notice, he
went out of the room, and left me to digest my own
happiness at leisure. I saw no more of him, till
told by a footman that his lordship was going to
his coach at the door. Down I immediately followed and joined my voice to that of three or four
more, who came, like me, to petition for favours.
His lordship, however, went too fast for us, and
was gaining his chariot door with large strides,
when I halloed out to know if I was to have any
reply. He was by this time got in, and muttered
an answer, half of which only I heard, the other
half was lost in the rattling of his chariot wheels.
I stood for some time with my neck stretched out,
in the posture of one that was listening to catch the
glorious sounds, till looking round me, I found myself alone at his lordship's gate.
"My patience," continued my son, "was now
quite exhausted: stung with the thousand indigni



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            147
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 lumber-room, there to perish in obscurity. I had still,
however, half a guinea left, and of that I thought
fortune herself should not deprive me; but in order
to be sure of this, I was resolved to go instantly
and spend it while I had it, and then trust to occurrences for the rest. As I was going along with this
resolution, it happened that Mr. Crispe's office
seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome reception. In this office, Mr. Crispe kindly offers
all his majesty's subjects a generous promise of 301.
a year, for which promise all they give in return
is their liberty for life, and permission to let him
transport them to America as slaves. I was happy
at finding a place where I could lose my fears in
desperation, and entered this cell (for it had the
appearance of one) with the devotion of a monastic.
Here I found a number of poor creatures, all in
circumstances like myself, expecting the arrival of
Mr. Crispe, presenting a true epitome of English
impatience.  Each untractable soul at variance
with Fortune, wreaked her injuries on their own
hearts: but Mr. Crispe at last came down, and all
our murmurs were hushed. He deigned to regard
me with an air of peculiar approbation, and indeed
he was the first man who for a month past had
talked to me with smiles. After a few questions,
he paused awhile upon the priperest means of providing for me, and slapping his forehead as if he




148         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
had found it, assured me, that there was at that
time an embassy talked of from the Synod of
Pennsylvania to the Chickasaw Indians, and that he
would use his interest to get me made secretary.
I knew in my own heart that the fellow lied, and
yet his promise gave me pleasure, there was something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly therefore divided my half-guinea, one-half of which went
to be added to his thirty 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 resolution, I was
met at the door by the captain of a ship, with
whom I had formerly some little acquaintance, and
he agreed to be my companion over a bowl of punch.
As I never chose to make a secret of my circumstances, he assured me that I was upon the very
point of ruin, in listening to the office-keeper's promises: for that he only designed to sell me to the
plantations. But, continued he, I fancy you might,
by a much shorter voyage, be very easily put into
a genteel way of bread.' Take my advice. My
ship sails to-morrow for Amsterdam.  What if
you go in her as passenger? The moment you
land, all you have to do is to teach the Dutchmen
English, and I'll warrant you'll get pupils and
money enough. I suppose you understand English,' added he,'by this time, or the deuce is in it.'
I confidently assured him of that; but expressed a
doubt whether the Dutch would be willing to learn
English. He affirmed with an oath that they were
fond of it to distraction; and upon that affirmation




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          149
I agreed with his proposal, and embarked the next
day to teach the Dutch English in Holland. The
wind was fair, our voyage short, and after having
paid my passage with half my moveables, I foundmyself, fallen as from the skies, a stranger in one
of the principal streets of Amsterdam.  In this
situation I was unwilling to let any time pass unemployed in teaching. I addressed myself, therefore, to two or three I met, whose appearance seemed
most promising; but it was impossible to make
ourselves mutually understood. It was not till this
very moment I recollected that, in order to teach
the Dutchmen English, it was necessary that they
should first teach me Dutch. How I came to overlook so obvious an objection is to me amazing! but
certain it is I overlooked it.
"This scheme, thus blown up, I had some thoughts
of fairly shipping back to England again; but falling into company with an Irish student who was
returning from Louvain, our subject turning upon
topics of literature (for by the way it may be observed, that I always forgot the meanness of my circumstances when I could converse upon such subjects,)
from him I learned that there were not two men in
his whole university who understood Greek. This
amazed me. I instantly resolved to travel to Louvain, and there live by teaching Greek; and in this
design I was heartened by my brother student, who
threw out some hints that a fortune might be got
by it.
"I set boldly forward the next morning. Every
day lessened the burden of my moveables, like.Esop




150         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
and his basket of bread; for I paid them for my lodgings to the Dutch as I travelled on. When I came
to Louvain, I was resolved not to go sneaking to the
lower professors, but openly tendered my talents to
the principal himself. I went, had admittance, and
offered him my service as a master of the Greek
language, which I had been told was a desideratum
in his university. The principal seemed at first to
doubt my abilities; but of these I offered to convince
him by turning a part of any Greek author he should
fix upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly earnest
in my proposal, he addressed me thus: You see me,
young man; I never learned Greek, and I don't find
that I have ever missed it. I have had a doctor's
cap and gown without Greek; I have ten thousand
florins a-year without Greek; I eat heartily without
Greek; and in short, continued he, as I don't know
Greek, I do not believe there is any good in it.
"I was now too far from home to think of returning; so I resolved to go forward. I had some
knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and
now turned what was my amusement into a present
means of subsistence. I passed among the harmless
peasants of Flanders, and among such of the French
as were poor enough to be very merry, for I ever
found them sprightly in proportion to their wants.
Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards
nightfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and
that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence
for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play
for people of fashion; but they always thought my
performance odious, and never rewarded me even




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          151
with a trifle. This was to me the more extraordinary, as whenever I used in better days to play for
company, when playing was my amusement, my
music never failed to throw them into raptures, and
the ladies especially; but as it was now my only
means, it was received with contempt-a proof how
ready the world is to underrate those talents by
which a man is supported.
"In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no
design but just to look about me, and then to go
forward. The people of Paris are much fonder of
strangers that have money than of those that have
wit. As I could not boast much of either, I was no
great favourite. SAfter walking about the town four
or five days and seeing the outsides of the best
houses, I was preparing to leave this retreat of
venal hospitality, when passing through one of the
principal streets, whom should I meet but our cousin,
to whom you first recommended me. This meeting
was very agreeable to me, and I believe not displeasing to him. He inquired into the nature of my
journey to Paris, and informed me of his own business there, which was to collect pictures, medals,
intaglios, and antiques of all kinds for a gentleman
in London, who had just stepped into taste and a
large fortune. I was the more surprised at seeing
our cousin pitched upon for this office, as he himself
had often assured me he knew nothing of the matter. Upon asking how he had been taught the art
of a cognoscente so very suddenly, he assured me
that nothing was more easy. The whole secret consisted in a strict adherence to two rules; the one,




152         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
always to observe the picture might have been better if the painter had taken more pains; and the
other, to praise the works of Pietro Perugino. But,
says he, as I once taught you how to be an author
in London, I'll now undertake to instruct you in
the art of picture-buying at Paris.
"With this proposal I very readily closed, as it
was living, and now all my ambition was to live.
I went therefore to his lodgings, improved my dress
by his assistance, and after some time accompanied
him'to auctions of pictures, where the English gentry were expected to be purchasers. I was not a
little surprised at his intimacy with people of the
best fashion, who referred themselves to his judgment upon every picture or medal, as to an unerring standard of taste. He made very good use of
my assistance upon these occasions; for when asked
his opinion, he would gravely take me aside and
ask mine, shrug, look wise, return, and assure the
company that he could give no opinion upon an
affair of so much importance. Yet there was sometimes an occasion for a more supported assurance.
I remember to have seen him, after giving his opinion that the colouring of a picture was not mellow
enough, very deliberately take a brush with brown
varnish, that was accidentally lying by, and rub it
over the piece with great composure before all the
company, and then ask if he had not improved the
tints.
" When he had finished his commission in Paris,
he left me strongly recommended to several men of
distinction, as a person very proper for a travelling




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         153
tutor; and after some time I was employed in that
capacity by a gentleman who brought his ward to
Paris, in order to set him forward on his tour through
Europe. I was to be the young gentleman's governor but with a proviso that he should always be
permitted to govern himself. My pupil in fact understood the art of guiding in money concerns much
better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about
two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle
in the West Indies: and his guardians, to qualify
him for the management of it, had bound him apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing passion; all his questions on the road were,
how money might be saved; which was the least
expensive course to travel; whether anything could
be bought that would turn to account when disposed
of again in London? Such curiosities on the way
as could be seen for nothing, he was ready enough
to look at; but if the sight of them was to be paid
for, he usually asserted that he had been told they
were not worth seeing. He never paid a bill that
he would not observe how amazingly expensive
travelling was, and all this though he was not yet
twenty-one. When arrived at Leghorn, as we took
a walk to look at the port and shipping, he inquired
the expense of the passage by sea home to England.
This he was informed was but a trifle compared to
his returning by land; he was therefore unable to
withstand the temptation; so paying me the small
part of my salary that was due, he took leave, and
embarked with only one attendant for London.
" I now therefore was left once more upon the




154         VICGAR OF WAKEFIELD.
world at large; but then it was a thing that I was
used to. However, my skill in music could avail
me nothing in a country where every peasant was a
better musician than I; but by this time I had acquired another talent which answered my purpose
as well, and this was a skill in disputation. In all
the foreign universities and convents there are, upon
certain days, philosophical theses maintained against
every adventitious disputant; for which, if the
champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim
a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one
night. In this manner, therefore, I fought my way
towards England, walked along from city to city,
examined mankind more nearly, and, if I may so
express it, saw both sides of the picture. My remarks, however, are but few; I found that monarchy
was the best government for the poor to live in, and
commonwealths for the rich. I found that riches in
general were in every country another name for freedom, and that no man is so fond of liberty himself,
as not to be desirous of subjecting the will of some
individuals in society to his own.
" Upon my arrival in England I resolved to pay
my respects first to you, and then to enlist as a volunteer in the first expedition that was going forward; but on my journey down my resolutions
were changed, by meeting an old acquaintance, who
I found belonged to a company of comedians that
were going to make a summer campaign in the
country. The company seemed not much to disapprove of me for an associate. They all however apprised me of the importance of the task at which I




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          155
aimed; that the public was a many-headed monster,
and that only such as had very good heads could
please it; that acting was not to be learned in a day,
and that without some traditional shrugs, which had
been on the stage, and only on the stage, these hundred years, I could never pretend to please.' The
next difficulty was in. fitting me with parts, as almost every character was in keeping. I was driven
for some time from one character to another, till at
last Horatio was fixed upon, which the presence of
the present company has happily hindered me from
acting."




CHAPTER XXI.
THE SHORT CONTINUANCE OF FRIENDSHIP AMONGST THE VICIOUS,
WHICH IS COEVAL ONLY WITH MUTUAL SATISFACTION.
AMY son's account was too long to be delivered at
once; the first part of it was begun that night, and
he was concluding the rest after dinner the next day,
when the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at
the door seemed to make a pause in the general satisfaction., The butler, who was now become my
friend in the family, informed me with a whisper,
that the'Squire had already made some overtures to
Miss Wilmot, and that her aunt and uncle seemed
highly to approve the match. Upon Mr. Thornhill's
entering, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, to
start back; but I readily imputed that to surprise,
and not displeasure. However, upon our advancing
to salute him, he returned our greeting with the most
apparent candour; and after a short time his presence
served only to increase the general good humour.
After tea he called me aside to inquire after my
daughter; but upon my informing him that my
inquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised; adding, that he had been since frequently
at my house in order to comfort the rest of my
family, whom  he left perfectly well. He then
Rf156




VICAR OF W\tK.EFIELI).       157
asked if I had communicated her misfortune to
Miss Wilmot or my son; and upon my replying
that I had not told them as yet, he greatly approved
my prudence and precaution, desiring me by all
means to keep it a secret: " For at best," cried he,
" it is but divulging one's own infamy; and perhaps
Miss Livy may not be so guilty as we all imagine."
We were here interrupted by a servant, who came
to ask the'Squire in, to stand up at country dances,
so that he left me quite pleased with the interest
he seemed to take in my concerns. His addresses,
however, to Miss Wilmot, were too obvious to be
mistaken; and yet she seemed not perfectly pleased,
but bore them rather in compliance to the will of
her aunt than from real inclination. I had even
the satisfaction to see her lavish some kind looks
upon my unfortunate son, which the other could
neither extort by his fortune nor assiduity. Mr.
Thornhill's seeming composure, however, not a little
surprised me: we had now continued here a week
at the pressing instances of Mr. Arnold: but each
day the more tenderness Miss Wilmot showed my
son, Mr. Thornhill's friendship seemed proportionably to increase for him.
He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of using his interest to serve the family: but
now his generosity was not confined to promises
alone. The morning I designed for my departure,
Mr. Thornhill came to me with looks of real pleasure, to inform me of a piece of service he had done
for his friend George. This was nothing less than
his having procured him an ensign's commission in




158         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
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 toaget an
abatement of the other two. "As for this trifling
piece of service," continued the young gentleman,
"I desire no other reward but the pleasure of having
served my friend; and as for the hundred pounds
to be paid, if you are unable to raise it yourselves,
I will advance it, and you shall 4epay me. at your
leisure. This was a favour we wanted words to express our sense of. I readily therefore gave my bond
for the money, and testified as much gratitude as if
I never intended to pay.
George was to depart for town the next day to
secure his commission, in pursuance of his generous
patron's directions, who judged it highly expedient
to use dispatch, lest in the mean time another should
step in with more advantageous proposals. The
next morning therefore our young soldier was early
prepared for his departure, and seemed the only
person among us that was not affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he was going to encounter, nor the friends and mistress-for Miss
Wilmot actually loved him —he was leaving behind,
any way damped his spirits. After he had taken
leave of the rest of the company, I gave him all
I had, my blessing. " And now, my boy," cried I
"thou art going to fight for thy country, remember
how thy brave grandfather fought for his sacred
king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue.
Go, my boy, and imitate him in all but his misfor.
tunes, if it was a misfortune to die with Lord Falk



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          159
land. Go, my boy, and if you fall, though distant,
exposed, and unwept by those that love you, the
most precious tears are those with which Heaven
bedews the unburied head of a soldier."
The next morning I took leave of the good family,
that had been kind enough to entertain me so long,
not without several expressions of gratitude to
Mr. Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in
the enjoyment of all that happiness which afiluence and good breeding procure, and returned
towards home, despairing of ever finding my daughter more, but sending a sigh to Heaven to spare
and to forgive her. I was now come within about
twenty miles of home, having hired a horse to carry
me, as I was yet but weak, and comforted myself
with the hopes of soon seeing all I held dearest
upon earth. But the night coming on I put up at a
little public house by the road-side, and asked for
the landlord's company over a pit of wine. We sat
beside his kitchen fire, which was the best room in
the house, and chatted on politics and the news of
the country. We happened, among other topics
to talk of young'Squire Thornhill, who, the host
assured me, was hated as much as his uncle Sir
William, who sometimes came down to the country,
was loved. He went on to observe that he made
it his whole study to betray the daughters of such
as received him to their houses, and after a fortnight or three weeks' possession, turned them out
unrewarded and abandoned to the world. As we
continued our discourse in this manner, his wife,
who had been out to get change, returned, and per



160         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ceiving that her husband was enjoying a pleasure
in which she was not a sharer, she asked him, in an
angry tone, what he did there? to which he only
replied in an ironical way, by drinking her health.
" Mr. Symmonds," cried she, "you use me very ill,
and I'll bear it no longer. Here three parts of the
business is left for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished; while you do nothing but soak with the
guests all day long: whereas if a spoonful of liquor
were to cure me of a fever, I never touch a drop."
I now found what she would be at, and immediately
poured her out a glass, which she received with a
courtesy, and drinking towards my good health,
" Sir" resumed she, " it is not so much for the value
of the liquor I am angry, but one cannot help it
when the house is going out of the windows. If
the customers or guests are to be dunned, all the
burden lies upon my back; he'd as lief eat that
glass as budge after them himself. There, now,
above stairs, we have a young woman who has come
to take up her lodgings here, and I don't believe
she has' got any money by her over civility. I am
certain she is very slow of payment, and I wish she
were put in mind of it."  " What signifies minding
her," cried the host, "if she be slow she is sure."'I don't know that," replied the wife; " but I know,
that I am sure she has been here a fortnight, and
we have not yet seen the cross of her money."  "I
suppose, my dear," cried he, "we shall have it all in
a lump."' " In a lump 1" cried the other, "I hope
we may get it any way; and that I am resolved we
will this very night, or out she tramps, bag and




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          161
baggage." "Consider, my dear," cried the husband,
"she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect."
" As for the matter of that," returned the hostess,
"gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a sassarara.
Gentry may be good things where they take: but
for my part, I never saw much good of them at the
sign of the Harrow." Thus saying, she ran up a
narrow flight of stairs that went from the kitchen to
a room  overhead; and I soon perceived, by the
loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her reproaches, that no money was to be had from her
lodger. I could hear her remonstrances very distinctly: " Out I say; pack out this moment! tramp,
thou infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark
thou won't be the better for these three months.
What! you trumpery, to come and take up an honest
house without cross or coin to bless yourself with;
come, along, I say."  "O, dear madam," cried the
stranger, I pity me, pity a poor abandoned creature
for one night, and death will soon do the rest." I
instantly knew the voice of my poor ruined child,
Olivia; I flew to her rescue, while the woman was
dragging her along by the hair, and I caught the
dear forlorn wretch in my arms. "Welcome, any
way welcome, my dearest lost one, my treasure, to
your poor old father's bosom? Though the vicious
forsalk thee, there is yet one in the world that will
never forsake thee; though thou hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget them all."
"O my own dear"-for mrinutes she could say no
more —" my own dearest, good papa! could angels
be kinder! how do I deserve so much I The villain,




162         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
I hate him and myself, to be a reproach to such goodness. You can't forgive me, I know you cannot."
" Yes, my child, from my heart I do forgive thee I
Only repent, and we both shall yet be happy. WVe
shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia?" " Ah
never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched life must
be infamy abroad and shame at home. But, alas!
papa, you look much paler than you used to do.
Could such a thing as I am give you so much uneasiness? Surely you have too much wisdom to
take the miseries of my guilt upon yourself." " Our
wisdom, young woman," replied I. "Ah, why so
cold a name, papa?" cried she. "This is the first
time you ever called me by so cold a name." I ask
pardon, my darling," returned I; "but I was going
to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow defence
against trouble, though at last a sure one." The
landlady now returned to know if we did not choose
a more genteel apartment; to which assenting, we
were shown into a room where we could converse
more freely. After we had talked ourselves into
some degree of tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations that led to her
present wretched situation.  "That villain, sir,"
said she, "from the first day of our meeting made
me honourable though private proposals."
" Villain, indeed!" cried I: " and yet it in some
measure surprises me, how a person of Mr. Burchell's
good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of
such deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family
to undo it."
" My dear papa," returned my daughter, " you la



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           163
bour under a strange mistake. Mr. Burchell never attempted to deceive me; instead of that, he took every
opportunity of privately admonishing me against the
artifices of Mr. Thornhill, who I now find was even
worse than he represented him." " Mr. Thornhill,"
interrupted I, "can it be?"  "Yes, sir," returned
she; "it was Mr. Thornhill who seduced me; who
employed the two ladies, as he called them, but who
in fact were abandoned women of the town, without
breeding or-pity, to decoy us up to London. Their
artifices, you may remember, would have certainly
succeeded, but for Mr. Burchell's letter, who directed
those reproaches at them, which we all applied to
ourselves. How he came to have so much influence
as to defeat their intention, still remains a secret to
me; but I am convinced he was ever our warmest,
sincerest friend."
" You amaze me, my dear," cried I; " but now I
find my first suspicions cf Mr. Thornhill's baseness
were too well grounded: but he can triumph in
security, for he is rich and we are poor. But tell
me, my child, sure it was no small temptation that
could thus obliterate all the impressions of such an
education, and so virtuous a disposition as thine."
"Indeed, sir, " replied she, " he owes all his triumph to the desire I had of making him, and not
myself, happy. I knew that the ceremony of our
marriage, which was privately performed by a popish
priest, was no way binding, and that I had nothing
to trust to but his honour."  " What?" interrupted
I, " and were you indeed married by a priest, and
in orders?"  " Indeed, sir, we were," replied she,




164         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
"though we were both sworn to conceal his name.'
"Why, then, my child, come to my arms again;
and now you are a thousand times more welcome
than before; for you are now his wife to all intents
and purposes; nor can all the laws of man, though
written upon tables of adamant, lessen the force of
that sacred connexion."
"Alas, papa," replied she, "you are but little acquainted with his villainies; he has been married
already by the same priest to six or eight wives
more, whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned."
"Has he so?" cried I, " then we must hang the
priest, and you shall inform against him to-morrow."
"But, sir," returned she, "will that be right, when
I am sworn to secrecy?" " My dear," I replied, " if
you have made such a promise I cannot, nor will I
tempt you to break it. Even though it may benefit
the public, you must not inform against him. In
all human institutions a smaller evil is allowed to
procure a greater good; as in politics, a province
may be given away to secure a kingdom; in medicine, a limb may be lopped off to preserve the body;
but in religion, the law is written, and inflexible,
never to do evil. And this law, my child, is right;
for otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil to procure a greater good, certain guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of contingent advantage. And
though the advantage should certainly follow, yet
the interval between commission and advantage,
which is allowed to the guilty, may be that in which
we are called away to answer for the things we have




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          165
done, and the volume of human actions is closed for
ever. But I interrupt you, my dear; go on."
"The very next morning," continued she, "I
found what little expectation I was to have from his
sincerity. That very morning he introduced me to
two unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had
deceived, but who lived in contented prostitution. I
loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in his
affections, and strove to forget my infamy in a tumult
of pleasures. With this view, I danced, dressed, and
talked; but still was unhappy. The gentlemen who
visited there told me every moment of the power of
my charms, and this only contributed to increase
my melancholy as I had thrown all their power
quite away. Thus each day I grew more pensive,
and he more insolent, till at last the monster had
the assurance to offer me to a young baronet of his
acquaintance. Need I describe, sir, how his ingratitude stung me? My answer to this proposal was
almost madness. I desired to part. As I was going
he offered me a purse; but I flung it at him with
indignation, and burst from him in a rage, that for
awhile kept me insensible of the miseries of my situation. But I soon looked around me, and saw myself
vile, abject, guilty thing, without one friend in the
world to apply to. Just in that interval a stagecoach happening to pass by, I took a place, it being
my aim to be driven at a distance from a wretch I
despised and detested. I was set down here, where,
since my arrival, my own anxiety and this woman's
unkindness have been my only companions. The
hours of pleasure that I have passed with my mam



166         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ma and sister now grow painful to me. Their sorrows are much; but mine are greater than their's 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 tonight, and to-morrow I'll carry you home to your
mother and the rest of the family, from whom you
will receive a kind reception. Poor woman, this has
gone to her heart: but she loves you still, Olivia,
and will forget it."




CHAPTER  XXII.
OFFENCES ARE EASILY PARDONED WHERE THERE IS LOVE AT
BOTTOM.
THE next morning I took my daughter behind me,
and set out on my return home. As we travelled
along, I strove by every persuasion to calm her sorrows and fears, and to arm her with resolution to
bear the presence of her offended mother. I took
every opportunity from the prospect of a fine country, through which we passed, to observe how much
kinder heaven was to us than we to each other, and
that the misfortunes of nature's making were very
few. I assured her, that she should never perceive
any change in my affections, and that during my
life, which yet might be long, she might depend
upon a guardian and an instructor. I armed her
against the censures of the world, showed her that
books were sweet unreproaching companions to the
miserable, and that if they could not bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it.
The hired horse that we rode was to be put up
that night at an inn by the way, within about five
miles from my house; and as I was willing to prepare my family for my daughter's reception, I determined to leave her that night at the inn, and to




168         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
return for her, accompanied by my daughter Sophia,
early the next morning. It was night before we
reached our appointed stage: however, after seeing
her provided with a decent apartment, and having
ordered the hostess to prepare proper refreshments,
I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And
now my heart caught new sensations of pleasure the
nearer I approached that peaceful mansion. As a
bird that has been frighted from its nest, my affections outwent my haste, and hovered round my little
fireside with all the rapture of expectation. I called
up the many fond things I had to say, and anticipated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt
my wife's tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of
my little ones. As I walked but slowly, the night
waned apace. The labourers of the day were all
retired to rest; the lights were out in every cottage;
no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and
the deep-mouthed watch-dog at hollow distance. I
approached my little abode of pleasure, and before
I was within a furlong of the place, our honest
mastiff came running to welcome me.
It was now near midnight that I came to knock
at my door; —all was still and silent; —my heart
dilated with unutterable happiness, when, to my
amazement, I saw the house bursting out into a
blaze of fire, and every aperture red with conflagration! I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and fell,upon the pavement insensible. This alarmed my
son, who had till this been asleep, and he perceiving
the flames, instantly waked my wife and daughter;
and all running out, naked, and wild with appre



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          169
hension, recalled me to life with their anguish.
But it was only to objects of new terror; for the
flames had by this time caught the roof of our
dwelling, part after part continuing to fall in, while
the family stood with silent agony looking on as if
they enjoyed the blaze. I gazed upon them and
upon it by turns, and then looked round me for my
two little ones; but they were not to be seen. O
misery!  "Where, cried I, where are my little
ones?"  "They are burnt to death in the flames,"
says my wife, calmly, " and I will die with them."
That moment I heard the cry of the babes within,
who were just awakened by the fire, and nothing
could have stopped me. " Where, where are my
children?" cried I, rushing through the flames, and
bursting the door of the chamber in which they
were confiend; " where are my little ones?" "' Here,
dear papa, here we are," cried they together, while
the flames were just catching the bed where they
lay. I caught them both in my arms, and snatched
them through the fire as fast as possible, while, just
as I was got out, the roof sunk in. "Now," cried
I, holding up my children, "now let the flames burn
on, and all my possessions perish. Here they are;
I have saved my treasure. Here, my dearest, here
are our treasures, and we shall yet be happy." We
kissed our little darlings a thousand times; they
clasped us round the neck, and seemed to share our
transports, while their mother laughed and wept by
turns.
I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and
after some time began to perceive that my arm to
8




170         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
the shoulder was scorched in a terrible manner. It
was therefore out of my power to give my son any
assistance, either in attempting to save our goods,
or preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By
this time the neighbours were alarmed, and came
running to our assistance; but all they could do
was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity.
My goods, among which were the notes I had reserved for my daughters' fortunes, were entirely
consumed, except a box with some papers that
stood in the kitchen, and two or three things more
of little consequence, which my son brought away
in the beginning.  The neighbours contributed,
however, what they could to lighten our distress.
They brought us clothes, and furnished one of our
out-houses with kitchen utensils; so that by daylight we had another, though a wretched dwelling
to retire to. My honest next neighbour and his
children were not the least assiduous in providing
us with everything necessary, and offering whatever consolation untutored benevolence could sug.
gest.
When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know the cause of my long stay began to
take place: having therefore informed them of
every particular, I proceeded to prepare them for
the reception of our lost one, and though we had
nothing but wretchedness now to impart, I was
willing to procure her a welcome towhat we had.
This task would have been more difficult but for
our recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's
pride, and blunted it by more poignant afflictions.




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          171
Being unable to go for my poor child myself, as
my arm  grew very painful, I sent my son and
daughter, who soon returned, supporting the wretched delinquent, who had not the courage to look up at
her mother, whom no instruction of mine could persuade to a perfect reconciliation; for women have
a much stronger sense of female error than men.
"Ah, madam," cried her mother, "this is but a
poor place you have come to after so much finery.
My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to persons who have kept company
only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy,
your poor father and I have suffered very much of
late: but I hope Heaven will forgive you." During
this reception, the unhappy victim stood pale and
trembling, unable to weep or reply; but I could
not continue a silent spectator of her distress;
wherefore, assuming a degree of severity in my
voice and manner, which was ever followed with
instant submission, "I entreat, woman, that my
words may be now marked once for all: I have
here brought you back a poor deluded wanderer;
her return to duty demands the revival of our tenderness. The real hardships of life are now coming
fast upon us; let us not, therefore, increase them by
dissension among each other I If we live harmoniously together we may yet be contented, as there
are enough of us to shut out the censuring world,
and keep each other in countenance. The kindness
of Heaven is promised to the penitent, and let ours
be directed by the example. Heaven, we are
assured, is much more pleased to view a repentant




172         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
sinner, than ninety-nine persons who have supported a course of undeviating rectitude. And this
is right; for that single effort by which we stop
short in the down-hill path to perdition, is itself a
greater exertion of virtue than a hundred acts of
justice.




CHAPTER XXIII.
NONE BUT THE GUILTY CAN BE LONG AND COMPLETELY MISERABLE.
SOME assiduity was now required to make our present abode as convenient as possible, and we were
soon again qualified to enjoy our former serenity.
Being disabled myself from assisting my son in our
usual occupations, I read to my family from the
few books that were saved, and particularly from
such as, by amusing the imagination, contributed
to ease the heart. Our good neighbours, too, came
every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a
time in which they were all to assist in repairing
my former dwelling.  Honest Farmer Williams
was not the last among these visitors; but heartily
offered his friendship. He would even have renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she rejected him in such a manner as totally repressed his
future solicitations. Her grief seemed formed for
continuing, and she was the only person of our little society that a week did not restore to cheerfulness.  She now lost that unblushing innocence
which once taught her to respect herself, and to
seek pleasure by pleasing. Anxiety now had taken
possession of her mind; her beauty began to be
impaired with her constitution, and neglect still




174         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
more contributed to diminish it. Every tender epi.
thet bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her
heart and a tear to her eye; and as one vice, though
ctred, 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 eyen forgot my own
pain in a concern for hers, collecting such amusing
passages of history as a strong memory and some
reading could suggest. "Our happiness, my dear,"
I would say, " is in the power of one who can bring
it about a thousand unforeseen ways that mock our
foresight. If example be necessary to prove this,
I'll give you a story, my child, told us by a grave,
though sometimes a romancing, historian.
" Matilda was married very young to a Neapolian nobleman of the first quality, and found herself a widow and a mother at the age of fifteen.
As she stood one day carressing her infant son in
the open window of an apartment which hung over
the river Volturna, the child, with a sudden spring
leaped from her arms into the flood below, and disappeared in a moment. The mother, struck with
instant surprise, and making an effort to save him,
plunged in after; but far from being able to assist
the infant, she herself with great difficulty escaped
to the opposite shore, just when some French soldiers
were plundering the country on that side, who immediately made her their prisoner.
"As the war was then carried on between the
French and Italians with the utmost inhumanity
they were going at once to perpetrate those two ex



VICAR OP WAKEFIELD.           175
tremes suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base
resolution, however, was opposed by a young officer,
who, though their retreat required the utmost expedition, placed her behind him, and brought her in
safety to his native city. Her beauty at first caught
his eye, her merit soon after his heart. They were
married; he rose to the highest posts; they lived
long together, and were happy. But the felicity of
a soldier can never be called permanent: after an
interval of several years, the troops which he commanded having met with a repulse, he was obliged
to take shelter in the city where he had lived with
his wife. Here they suffered a siege, and the city
at length was taken. Few histories can produce
more various instances of cruelty than those which
the French and Italians at that time exercised upon
each other. It was resolved by the victors, upon
this occasion, to put all the French prisoners to
death; but particularly the husband of the unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally instrumental
in protracting the siege. Their determinations were
in general executed almost as soon as resolved upon.
The captive soldier was led forth, and the executioner with his sword stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy silence awaited the fatal blow, which
was only suspended till the general, who presided
as judge, should give the signal. It was in this
interval of anguish and expectation that Matilda
came to take a last farewell of her husband and
deliverer, deploring her wretched situation, and the
cruelty of fate, that had saved her from perishing
by a premature death in the river Volturna, to be




176         VICAR -OF WAKEFIELD.
the spectator 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 had encountered so much danger. IHe
acknowledged her at once as his mother, and fell at
her feet. The rest may be easily supposed: the
captive was set free, and all the happiness that love,
friendship, and duty could confer on each, were
united."
In this manner I would attempt to amuse my
daughter, but she listened with divided attention;
for her own misfortunes engrossed all the pity she
once had for those of another, and nothing gave her
ease. In company she dreaded contempt; and in
solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the
colour of her wretchedness, when we received certain information that Mr. Thornhill was going to be
married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I always suspected he had a real passion, though he took every
opportunity before me to express his contempt both
of her 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 with instructions to know the truth of the
report, and to deliver Miss Wilmot a letter, intimating Mr. Thornhill's conduct in my family. My
son went in pursuance of my directions, and in




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         177
three days returned, assuring us of the truth of the
account; but that he had found it impossible to
deliver the letter, which he was therefore obliged
to leave, as Mr. Thornhjll and Miss Wilmot were
visiting round the country. They were to be married, he said, in a few days, having appeared together at church the Sunday before he was there,
in great splendour, the bride attended by six young
ladies, and he by as many gentlemen. Their approaching nuptials filled the whole country with
rejoicing, and they usually rode out together in the
grandest equipage that had been seen in the country
for many years. All the friends of both families,
he said were there, particularly the'Squire's uncle,
Sir William Thornhill, who bore so good a character.
He added that nothing but mirth and feasting were
going forward; that all the country praised the
young bride's beauty, and the bridegroom's fine person, and that they were immensely fond of each
other; conhluding that he could not help thinking
Mr. Thornhill one of the most happy men in the
world.
"Why, let him, if he can," returned I: "but my
son, observe this bed of straw, and unsheltering
roof; those mouldering walls, and humid floor; my
wretched body thus disabled by fire, and my children weeping round me for bread;-you have come
home, my child, to all this; yet here, even here you
see a man that would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations. 0, my children, if you could
but learn to commune with your own hearts, and
know what noble company you can make them,
8*




178         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
you would little regard the elegance and splenaour
of the worthless. Almost all men have been taught
to call life a passage, and themselves the travellers.
The similitude still may be improved, when we
observe that the good are joyful and serene, like
travellers that are going towards home; the wicked
but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going
into exile."
My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this new disaster, interrupted what I had
further to observe. I bade her mother support her,
and after a short time she recovered. She appeared
from that time more calm, and I imagined had
gained a new degree of resolution: but appearances
deceived me; for her tranquillity was the languor
of over-wrought resentment. A supply of provisions, charitably sent us by my kind parishioners,
seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness among the rest
of the family, nor was I displeased at seeing them
once more sprightly and at ease. It would have
been unjust to damp their satisfactions, merely to
condole with resolute melancholy, or to burden them
with sadness they did not feel. Thus once more
the tale went round, and the song was demanded,
and cheerfulness condescended to hover round our
little habitation.




CHAPT.R XXIV.
FRESH CALAMITIES.
THE next morning the sun arose with peculiar
warmth for the season, so that we agreed to breakfast together on the honey-suckle bank: where,
while we sat, my youngest daughter at my request
joined her voice to the concert on the trees about
us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met
her seducer, and every object served to recall her
sadness. -But that melancholy which is excited by
objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the heart instead of corroding it.
Her mother, too, upon this occasion felt a pleasing
distress, and wept, and loved her daughter as before.
"Do, my pretty Olivia," cried she, "let us have
that little melancholy air your papa was so fond of,
your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, child,
it will please your old father." She complied in a
manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away.
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is to die.
179]




180         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
As she was concluding the last stanza, to wliich
an interruption in her voice from sorrow gave a peculiar softness, the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's
equipage at a distance alarmed us all, but particularly increased the uneasiness of my eldest daughter,
who, desirous of shunning her betrayer, returned to
the house with her sister. In a few minutes he was
alighted from his chariot, and making up to the
place where I was still sitting, inquired after my
health with his usual air of familiarity.  "Sir," replied I, " your present assurance only serves to ag.
gravate the baseness of your character; and there
was a time when I would have chastised your insolence for presuming thus to appear before me. But
now you are safe; for age has cooled my. passions,
and my calling restrains them."
"I vow, my dear sir," returned he, " I am amazed
at all this; nor can I understand what it means! I
hope you don't think your daughter's late excursion
with me had any thing criminal in it?"
" Go, cried I, "thou art a wretch, a poor pitiful
wretch, and every way a liar: but your meanness
secures you from my anger'Yet, sir, I am descended from a family that would not have borne
this I And so, thou vile thing, to gratify a momentary passion, thou hast made one poor creature
wretched for life, and polluted a family that had
nothing but honour for their portion I"
" If she or you," returned he, " are resolved to be
miserable, I cannot help it. But you may still be
happy; and whatever opinion you may have formed
of me, you shall ever find me ready to contribute to




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          181
it.' We can marry her to another in a short time,
and what is more, she may keep her lover beside;
for I protest I shall ever continue to have a true
regard for her."
I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading proposal; for though the mind may often
be calm under great injuries, little villany can at any
time get within the soul, and sting it into rage.
" Avoid my sight, thou reptile!" cried I, " nor continue to insult me with thy presence. Were my
brave son at home he would not suffer this; but I
am old and disabled, and every way undone."
"I find," cried he, "you are bent upon obliging
me to talk in a harsher manner than I intended.
But as I have shown you what may be hoped from
my friendship, it may not be improper to represent
what may be the consequences of my resentment.
My attorney to whom your late bond has been
transferred, threatens hard, nor do I know how to
prevent the course of justice, except by paying the
money myself, which, as I have been at some expenses lately, previous to my intended marriage, is
not so easy to be done. And then my steward talks
of driving for the rent: it is certain he knows his
duty; for I never trouble myself with affairs of that
nature. Yet still I could wish to serve you, and
even to have you and your daughter present at my
marriage, which is shortly to be solemnized with
Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of my charming
Arabella herself, whom I hope you will not refuse."
"Mr. Thornhill," replied I, "hear me once for
all: As to your marriage with any but my daughter,




182        VICAR OF WAKFIELD.
that I never will consent to; and though your friendship could raise me to a throne, or your resentment
sink me to the grave, yet would I despise both.
Thou hast once wofully, irreparably deceived me.
I reposed my heart upon thine honour, and have
found its baseness. Never more therefore expect
friendship from me. Go, and possess what fortune
has given thee, beauty, riches, health, and pleasure.
Go, and leave me to want, infamy, disease and sorrow. Yet, humbled as I am, shall my heart still
vindicate its dignity: and though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my contempt."
"If so," returned he, "depend upon it you shall
feel the effects of this insolence! and we shall shortly
see which is the fittest object of scorn, you or me."
Upon which he departed abruptly.
My wife and. son, who were present at this interview, seemed terrified with apprehension. My
daughters, also, finding that he was gone, came out
to be informed of the result of our conference, which,
when known, alarmed them not less than the rest.
But as to myself, I disregarded the utmost stretch of
his malevolence: he had already struck the blow,
and now I stood prepared to repel every new effort;
like one of those instruments used in the art of war,
which, however thrown, still presents a point to receive the enemy.
We soon however found that he had not threatened in vain; for the very next morning his steward
came to demand my annual rent, which by the train
of accidents already related, I was unable to pay.
The consequence of my incapacity was his driving




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         183
my cattle that evening, and their being appraised
and sold the next day for less than half their value.
My wife and children now therefore entreated me to
comply upon any terms, rather than incur certain
destruction. They even begged of me to admit his
visits once more, and used all their little eloquence
to paint the calamities I was going to endure; —the
terrors of a prison in so rigorous a season as the
present, with the danger that threatened my health
from the late accident that happened by the fire. But
I continued inflexible.
"Why, my treasures," cried I, "why will you
thus attempt to persuade me to the thing that is not
right! My duty has taught me to forgive him, but my
conscience will not permit me to approve. Would
you have me applaud to the world what my heart
must internally condemn?  Would you have me
tamely sit down and flatter our infamous betrayer;
and, to avoid a prison, continually suffer the more
galling bonds of mental confinement?  No, never.
If we are to be taken from this abode, only let us hold
to the right; and wherever we are thrown, we can
still retire to a charming apartment, when we look
round our own hearts with intrepidity and pleasure I"
In this manner we spent that evening. Early the
next morning, as the snow had fallen in great abun.
dance in the night, my son was employed in clearing it away, and opening a passage before the door.
He had not been thus engaged long, when he came
running in, with looks all pale, to tell us that two
strangers, whom he knew to be officers of the justice,
were making towards the house.




184         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
Just as he spoke, they came in, and approaching
the bed where I lay, after previously informing me
of their employment and business, made me their
prisoner, bidding me prepare to go with them to the
county gaol, which was eleven miles off.
"IMy friend," 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 terrible manner, 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 far in such deep snow; but if it must
be so —— "
I then turned to my wife and children, and directed them to get together what few things were
left us, and prepare immediately for leaving this
place. I entreated them to be expeditious, and desired 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 insensibility. I encouraged my wife, who, pale and
trembling, clasped our affrighted little ones in her
arms, that clung to her bosom in silence, dreading
to look round at the strangers. In the mean time
my youngest daughter prepared for our departure,
and as she received several hints to use dispatch, in
about an hour we were ready to depart.




CHAPTER XXV.
NO SITUATION HOWEVER WRETCHED, IT SEEMS, BUT HAS SOME
SORT OF COMFORT ATTENDING IT.
WE set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood,
and walked on slowly. My eldest daughter being
enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for
some days to undermine her constitution, one of the
officers, who had a horse, kindly took her behind
him; for even these men cannot entirely divest
themselves of humanity. My son led one of the
little ones by the hand, and my wife the other, while
I leaned upon my youngest girl, whose tears fell not
for her own but my distresses.
We were now got from my late dwelling about
two miles, when we saw a crowd running and shouting behind us, consisting of about fifty of my poorest parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations,
soon seized upon the two officers of justice, and swearing they world never see their minister go to gaol
while they had a drop of blood to shed in his defence,
were going to use them with great severity. The
consequence might have been fatal had I not immediately interposed, and with some difficulty rescued
the officers from the hands of the enraged multitude.
My children, who looked upon my delivery now as
certain, appeared transported with joy, and were
[L85J




186         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD,
incapable of containing their raptures. But they
were soon undeceived, upon hearing me address the
poor deluded people, who came as they imagined to
do me service.
"What! my friends," cried I, "and is this the
way you love me? Is this the manner you obey
the instructions I have given you from the pulpit?
Thus to fly in the face of justice, and bring down
ruin on yourselves and me! Which is your ringleader? Show me the man that has thus seduced
you. As sure as. he lives he shall feel my resentment. Alas  my dear deluded flock, return back
to the duty you owe to God, to your country, and
to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see you in
greater felicity here, and contribute to make your
lives more happy. But let it at least be my comfort when I pen my fold for immortality, that not
one here shall be wanting."
They now seemed all repentance, and melting into
tears, came one after the other to bid me farewell.
I shook each tenderly by the hand, and leaving
them my blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any further interruption. Some hours before
night we reached the town, or rather village, for it
consisted but of a few mean houses, having lost all
its former opulence, and retaining no marks of its
ancient superiority but the gaol.
Upon entering we put up at the inn, where we
had such refreshments as could most readily be procured, and I supped with my family with my usual
cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that night, I next attended the sheriff's




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          187
officers to the prison, which had formerly been built
for the purpose of war, and consisted of one large
apartment, strongly grated and paved with stone,
common to both felons and debtors at certain hours
in the four-and-twenty. BesideS this, every prisoner
had a separate cell, where he was locked in for the
night.
I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but
lamentations and various sounds of misery: but it
was very different. The prisoners seemed all employed in one common design, that of forgetting
thought in merriment or clamour. I was apprised
of the usual perquisite required upon these occasions,
and immediately complied with the demand, though
the little money I had was very near being all exhausted. This was immediately sent away for liquor,
and the whole prison soon was filled with riot,
laughter, and profaneness.
"How," cried I to myself "shall men so very
wicked be cheerful, and shall I be melancholy? I
feel only the same confinement with them, and I
think I have more reason to be happy."
With such reflections I laboured to become cheerful, but cheerfulness was never yet produced by
effort, which is itself painful. As I was sitting,
therefore, in a corner of the gaol in a pensive posture, one of my fellow-prisoners came up, and sitting
by me, entered into conversation. It was my constant rule in life never to avoid the conversation of
any man who seemed to desire it: for, if good, I
might profit by his instruction; if bad he might be
assisted by mine. I found this to be a knowing




188         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
man, of strong unlettered sense, but a thorough
knowledge of the world, as it is called, or more
properly speaking, of human nature on the wrong
side. He asked me if I had taken care to provide
myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had
never attended to.
"That's unfortunate," cried he, "as you are allowed here nothing but straw, and your apartment
is very large and cold. However, you seem to be
something of a gentleman, and as I have been one
myself in my time, part of my bed-clothes are heartily at your service."
I thanked him, professing my surprise at finding
such humanity in a gaol in misfortunes; adding to
let him see that I was a scholar, "That the sage
ancient seemed to understand the value of company
in affliction, when he said, Ton kosmon aire, ei dos
ton etairon; and in fact," continued I, " what is the
world if it affords only solitude?"
" You talk of the world, sir," returned my fellowprisoner; " the world is in its dotage; and yet the
cosmogony or creation of the world has puzzled
the philosophers of every age. What a medley of
opinions have they not broached upon the creation
of the world! Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus,
and Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted it in vain.
The latter has these words, Anachron ara kai atelutaion to pan, which imply-"  "I ask pardon, sir,"
cried I, " for interrupting so much learning; but I
think I have heard all.this before. Have I not had
the pleasure of once seeing you at Welbridge fair,
and is not your name Ephraim Jenkinson?"  At




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         189
this demand he only sighed. "I suppose you must
recollect," resumed I, "one Doctor Primrose, from
whom you bought a horse?"
He now at once recollected me; for the gloominess
of the place and the approaching night had prevented
his distinguishing my features before. "Yes, sir,"
returned Mr. Jenkinson, " I remember you perfectly
well; I bought a horse but forgot to pay for him.
Your neighbour Flamborough is the only prosecutor
I am any way afraid of at the next assizes; for he
intends to swear positively against me as a coiner.
I am heartily sorry, sir, I ever deceived you, or indeed any man; for you see," continued he, showing
his shackles " what my tricks have brought me to."
"' Well, sir," replied I, "your kindness in offering
me assistance when you could expect no return,
shall be repaid with my endeavours to soften or
totally suppress Mr. Flamborough's evidence, and I
will send my son to him for that purpose the first
opportunity; nor do I in the least doubt but he
will comply with my request; and as to my own
evidence, you need be under no uneasiness about
that."
"Well, sir," cried he,'all the return I can make
shall be yours. You shall have more than half my
bed-clothes to-night, and I'll take care to stand your
friend in the prison, where I think I have some
influence."
I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised at the present youthful change in his aspect,
for at the time I had seen him before, he appeared
at least sixty. "Sir," answered he, "you are little




190         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
acquainted with the world; I had at that time false
hair, and have learned the art of counterfeiting every
age from seventeen to seventy. Ah I sir, had I but
bestowed half the pains in learning a trade that I
have in learning to be a scoundrel, I might have
been a rich man at this day. But, rogue as I am,
still I may be your friend, and that perhaps when
you least expect it."
We were now prevented from further conversation by the arrival of the gaoler's servants, who came
to call over the prisoner's names and lock up for the
2ight. A fellow also with a bundle of straw for my
bed attended, who led me along a dark narrow passage into a room paved like the common prison,
and in one corner of this I spread my bed, and the
clothes given me by my fellow-prisoner; which
done, my conductor, who was civil enough, bade
me a good night. After my usual meditations, and
having praised my Heavenly Corrector, I laid myself down, and slept with the utmost tranquillity
till morning.




CHAPTER XXV1.
A REFORMATION IN THE GAOL-TO MAKE LAWS COMPLETE THEY
SHOULD REWARD AS WELL AS PUNISH.
THE next morning early I was awakened by my
family, whom I found in tears at my bed-side. The
gloomy strength of everything about us, it seems,
had daunted them. I gently rebuked their sorrow,
assuring them I had never slept with greater tranquillity, and next inquired after my eldest daughter,
who was not among them. They informed me that
yesterday's uneasiness and fatigue had increased her
fever, and it was judged proper to leave her behind.
My next care was to send my son to procure a room
or two to lodge the family in, as near the -prison as
conveniently could be found. HIe obeyed; but
could only find one apartment, which was hired at a
small expense for his mother and sisters, the gaoler
with humanity consenting to let him and his two
little brothers lie in the prison with me. A bed was
therefore prepared for them in a corner of the room.
which. I thought answered very conveniently. I
was willing, however, previously to know whether
my children chose to lie in a place which seemed to
fright them upon entrance.
"Well," cried I, "my good boys, how do you
[191]




192         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
like your bed? I hope you are not afraid. to lie in
this room, dark as it appears?"
"No, papa," says Dick, "I am not afraid to lie
anywhere where you are."
"And I," says Bill, who was yet but four years
old, "love every place best that my papa is in."
After this I allotted to each of the famil1y what
they were to do. My daughter was particularly
directed to watch her declining sister's health; my
wife was to attend me; my little boys were to read
to me. " And as for you, my son," continued I, "it
is by the labour of your hands we must all hope to
be supported. Your wages as a day-labourer will
be fully sufficient, with proper frugality, to maintain
us all, and comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen
years old, and hast strength; and it was given thee
my son, for very useful purposes; for it must save
from famine your helpless parents and family. Prepare then this evening to look out for work against
to-morrow, and bring home every night what money
you can earn for our support."
Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I
walked down to the common prison, where I could
enjoy more air and room. But I was not long there
when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that
invaded me on every side, drove me back to my
apartment again. Here I sat for some time pondering upon the strange infatuation of wretches, who,
finding all mankind in open arms against them,
were labouring to make themselves a future and a
tremendous enemy.
Their insensibility excited my highest compassion,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           1$3
and blotted my own  uneasinessfrom   my mid. It
even appeared a duty incumbent upo-n me to aempt
to reclaim them.:I'resol-ved, therefore, once more to
return, and, in spite of theeor pt, to gie them
my advice, and conquer them by my: pe sevrance.
Goi'g therefore armong thm n:a'   I informed Mr.
Jenkison of- my; design, at which he laughed
heartily, but communicatd it to the rest.:: Theproposal was received with th-gteatest,good-humour,
as it promised to afford:a new fund of entertainment to persons who had no n d othe resouree for
-mirth, but what could: be denived-t from ndcule or
debauchery.
I therefore'read -them a portion of the'service
with a loud unaffected voice,tandfound myauience
perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd whispers,
groans of contrition burlesqued, winking and cotughing, alternately excited laughter.  However:I con.
tinued with my naturalsolem:nity to read -on, sensible
that what I did might mend some, but could itself
received no contamination from any.
After reading I entered:: upon my exhortation,
which was rather calculated at first to amuse them
than to reprove- I previously-observ-d, that no
other motive but their welfare could induce me to
this; that I was their fellow-prisoner, and -now- got
nothing by preaching. I was sorry,tI said,:tOhear
them so very profane; because: -they got nothing by
it, but might lose- a gre: -deal: "For e::  assured,
my friends," cried I, "for you: are my friends, however the world may disclaim your friendship,though
you swore twelve thousa oaths in a day, it -would
9




19)4 9     VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
not put one penny in your purse. Then what sig.
nifies calling every moment upon the devil, and
courting his friendship, since you see how scurvily
he uses you? He has given you nothing here, you
find, but a mouthful of oaths and an empty belly:
and by the best accounts I have of him, he will give
you nothing that's good hereafter.
"If used ill in our dealings with one nian, we
naturally go elsewhere. Were it not worth your
while, then, just to try how you may like the usage
of another master, who gives you fair promises at
least to come to him? Surely, my friends, of all
stupidity in the world, his must be the greatest, who
after robbing a house, runs to the thief-takers for
protection. And yet how are you more wise? You
are all seeking comfort from one that has already
betrayed you, applying to a more malicious being
than any thief-taker of them all; for they only
decoy and then hang you: but he decoys and hangs,
and, what is worst of all, will not let you loose
after the hangman has done."
When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some of whom came and
shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very
honest fellow, and that they desired my further
acquaintance. I therefore promised to repeat my
lecture next day, and actually conceived some hopes
of making a reformation here; for it had ever been
my opinion, that no man was past the hour of
amendment, every heart lying open to the shafts of
reproof, if the archer could but take a proper aim.
When I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back to




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          195
my apartment, where my wife prepared a frugal
meal, while Mr. Jenkinson begged leave to add his
dinner to ours, and partake of the pleasure, as he
was kind enough to express it, of my conversations.
He had not yet seen my family; for as they came
to my apartment by a door in the narrow passage
already described, by this means. they avoided the
common prison. Jenkinson at the first interview,
therefore, seemed not a little struck with the beauty
of my youngest daughter, which her pensive air
contributed to heighten; and my little ones did not
pass unnoticed.
" Alas, doctor," cried he, " these children are too
handsome and too good for such a place as this!"
"Why, Mr. Jenkinson!" replied I, " thank Heaven
my children are pretty tolerable in morals; and if
they be good, it matters little for the rest."
" I fancy, sir," returned my fellow-prisoner " that
it must give you great comfort to have all this little
family about you."
" A comfort, Mir. Jenkinson I" replied I; I" yes, it
is indeed a comfort, and I would not be without
them for all the world; for they can make a dungeon seem a palace. There is but one way in this
life of wounding my happiness, and that is by injuring them."
"I am afraid then, sir," cried he, " that I am in
some measure culpable; for I think I see here (looking at my son Moses), one that I have injured, and
by whom I wish to be forgiven."
My son immediately recollected his voice and
features, though he had before seen him in disguise,




196         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
and taking him by the hand, with a smile forgave
him. "Yet," continued he, "I can't help wondering at what you could see in my face, to think me a
proper mark for deception."
" My dear sir," returned the other, "it was not
your face, but your white stockings, and the black
riband in your hair, that allured me. But no disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser
men than you in my time; and yet, with all my
tricks, the blockheads have been too many for me
at last."
"I suppose," cried my son, " that the narrative
of such a life as yours must be extremely instructive and amusing."'" Not much of either," returned Mr. Jenkinson.
" Those relations which describe the tricks and vices
only of mankind, by increasing our suspicion in life,
retard our success. The traveller that distrusts
every person he meets, and turns back upon the
appearance of every man that looks like a robber,
seldom arrives in time at his journey's end."
" Indeed I think, from my own experience, that
the knowing one is the silliest fellow under the sun.
I was thought cunning from my very childhood:
when but seven years old, the ladies would say that
I was a perfect little man; at fourteen I knew the
world, cocked my hat, and loved the ladies; at
twenty, though I was perfectly honest, yet every
one thought me so cunning that not one would trust
me. Thus I was at last obliged to turn sharper in
my own defence, and have lived ever since, my
head throbbing with schemes to deceive, and my




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          197
heart palpitating with fears of detection. I used
often to laugh at your honest, simple neighbour
Flamborough, and one way or another generally
cheated him once a year. Yet still the honest man
went forward without suspicion, and grew rich,
while I still continued tricksy and cunning, and
was poor, without the consolation of being honest.
However," continued he, " let me know your case,
and what has brought you here; perhaps, though I
have not skill to avoid a gaol myself, I may extricate my friends,"
In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him
of the whole train of accidents and follies that had
plunged me into my present troubles, and my utter
inability to get free.
After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes, he slapped his forehead, as if he had hit upon
something material, and took his leave, saying he
would try what could be done.




CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
THE next morning I communicated to my wife and
children the scheme I had planned of reforming the
prisoners, which they received with universal disapprobation, alleging the impossibility and impropriety of it, adding, that my endeavours would no
way contribute to their amendment, but might probably disgrace my calling.
" Excuse me," returned I, "'these people, however
fallen, are still men; and that is a very good title to
my affections. Good counsel rejected, returns to
enrich the giver's bosom; and though the instruction I communicate may not mend them, yet it will
assuredly mend myself. If these wretches, my children, were princes, there would be thousands ready
to offer their ministry; but in my opinion, the heart
that is buried in a dungeon is as precious as that
seated upon a throne. Yes, my treasures, if I
can mend them, I will: perhaps they will not all
despise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from
the gulf, and that will be a great gain; for is there
upon earth a gem so precious as the human soul?"
Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the
common prison, where I found the prisoners very
[198]




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          199
merry, expecting my arrival; and each prepared
with some gaol trick to play upon the doctor. Thus,
as I was going to begin, one turned my wig awry,
as if by accident, and then asked my pardon. A
second, who stood at some distance, had a knack of
spitting through his teeth, which fell in showers
upon my book. A third would cry amen in such an
affected tone, as gave the rest great delight. A
fourth had slily picked my pocket of my spectacles.
But there was one whose trick gave more universal
pleasure than all the rest; for observing the manner
in which I had disposed my books on the table before me, he very dexterously displaced one of them
and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the
place. However, I took no notice of all that this
mischievous group of little beings could do, but
went on perfectly sensible that what was ridiculous
in my attempt would excite mirth only the first or
second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeeded, and in less than six
days some were penitent, and all attentive.
It was now that I applauded my perseverance and
address, at thus giving sensibility to wretches divested
of every moral feeling; and now began to think of
doing them temporal services also, by rendering their
situation somewhat more comfortable. Their time
had hitherto been divided between famine and excess,
tumultuous riot, and bitter repining. Their only employment was in quarrelling among each other, playing at cribbage, and cutting tobacco-stoppers. From
this last mode of idle industry I took the hint of
setting such as chose to work at cutting pegs for




200         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being
bought by a general subscription, and when manufactured, sold by my appointment, so that each earned
something every day-a trifle indeed, but sufficient
to maintain him.
I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the
punishment of immorality, and rewards for peculiar
industry. Thus, in less than a fortnight I had formed
them into something social and humane, and had the
pleasure of regarding myself as a legislator, who
had brought men from their native ferocity into
friendship and obedience.
And it were highly to be wished, that legislative
power would thus direct the law rather to reformation than severity; that it would seem convinced,
that the work of eradicating crimes is not by making punishments familiar, but formidable. Then,
instead of our present prisons, which find or make
men guilty, which enclose wretches for the commission of one crime and return them, if returned alive,
fitted for the perpetration of thousands; we should
see, as in other parts of Europe, places of penitence
and solitude, where the accused might be attended
by such as could give them repentance if guilty, or
new motives to virtue if innocent. And this, but
not the increasing punishments, is the way to mend
a state. Nor can I avoid even questioning the validity of that right which social combinations have
assumed, of capitally punishing offences of a slight
nature. In cases of murder their right is obvious,
as it is the duty of us all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off that man who has shown a disregard




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           201
for the life of another. Against such, all nature
rises in arms; but it is not so against him who steals
my property. Natural law gives me no right to
take away his life, as, by that, the horse he steals is
as much his property as mine. If then I have any
right, it must be from a compact made between us,
that he who deprives the other of his horse shall die.
But this is a false compact; because no man has a
right to barter his life any more than to take it
away, as it is not his own. And beside, the compact is inadequate, and would be set aside even in a
court of modern equity, as there is a great penalty
for a very trifling convenience, since it is far better
that two men should live than that one man should
ride. But a compact that is false between two men,
is equally so between a hundred or a hundred thousand; for as ten million of circles can never make
a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend
the smallest foundation to falsehood. It is thus that
reason speaks, and untutored nature says the same
thing. Savages that are directed by natural law
alone, are very tender of the lives of each other;
they seldom shed blood but to retaliate former
cruelty.
-Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war,
had but few executions in time of peace; and in all
commencing governments that have the print of
nature still strong upon them, scarcely any crime is
held capital.
It is among the citizens of a refined community
that penal laws, which are in the hands of the rich,
are laid upon the poor.'Government, while it grows
9*




202          VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age; and
as if our property were become dearer in proportion as it increased; as if the more enormous our
wealth the more extensive our fears, all our possessions are paled up with new edicts every day, and
hung round with gibbets to scare every invader.
I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our
penal laws, or the licentiousness of our people, that
this country should show more convicts in a year than
half the dominions of Europe united. Perhaps it is
owing to both; for they mutually produce each other.
When by indiscriminate penal laws, a nation beholds
the same punishment affixed to dissimilar degrees of
guilt, from perceiving no distinction in the penalty,
the people are led to lose all sense of distinction in
the crime, and this distinction is the bulwark of all
morality; thus the multitude of laws produce new
vices, and new vices call for fresh restraints.
It were to be wished, then, that power, instead
of contriving new laws to punish vice: instead of
drawing hard the cords of society till a convulsion
comes to burst them; instead of cutting away
wretches as useless before we have tried their utility; instead of converting correction into vengeance
-it were to be wished that we tried the restrictive
arts of government, and made law the protector,
but no; the tyrant of the people. We should then
find that creatures, whose souls are held as dross,
only wanted the hand of a refiner: we should then
find that creatures, now stuck up for long tortures,
lest luxury should feel a momentary pang, might,
if properly treated, serve to sinew the state in times




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           203
of danger; that as their faces are like ours, their
hearts are so too; that few minds are so base that
perseverance cannot amend; that a man may see
his last crime without dying for it; and that very
little blood will serve to cement our security.




CHAPTER XXVIII.
HAPPINESS AND MISERY RATHER THE RESULT OF PRUDENCE
THAN OF VIRTUE IN THIS LIFE; TEMPORAL EVILS OR FELICITIES BEING REGARDED BY HEAVEN AS THINGS MERELY IN
THEMSELVES TRIFLING, AND UNWORTHY ITS CARE IN THE DISTRIBUTION.
I HAD now been confined more than a fortnight,
but had not since my arrival being visited by my
dear Olivia, and I greatly longed to see her.  Having communicated my wishes to my wife the next
morning the poor girl entered my apartment leaning on her sister's arm. The change which I saw
in her countenance struck me.  The numberless
graces that once resided there were now fled, and
the hand of death semed to have moulded every 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 dear," cried I, "but
why this dejection, Livy? I hope, my love, you
have too great a regard for me to permit disappointment thus to undermine a life which I prize as my
own. Be cheerful, child, and we yet may see happier days."
"You have ever, sir," replied she, " been kind to




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         205
me, and it adds to my pain that I shall never have
an opportunity of sharing that happiness you promise. Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for
me here; and I long to be rid of a place where I
have only found distress. Indeed, sir, I wish you
would make a proper submission to Mr. Thornhill,
it may in come measure induce him to pity you,
and it will give me relief in dying."
"Never, child," replied I; "never will I be
brought to acknowledge my daughter a prostitute;
for though the world may look upon your offence
with scorn, let it be mine to regard it as a mark of
credulity, not of guilt. My dear, I am no way miserable in this place, however dismal it may seem;
and be assured, that while you continue to bless me
by living, he shall never have my consent to make
you more wretched by marrying another."
After the departure of my daughter, my fellowprisoner, who was by at this interviewr sensibly
enough expostulated upon my obstinacy in refusing
a submission which promised to give me freedom.
He observed, that the rest of my family were not to
be sacrificed to the peace of one child alone, and
she the only one who had offended me. "Beside,"
added he, " I don't know if it be just thus to obstruct the union of man and wife, which you do at
present, by refusing to consent to a match you cannot hinder, but may render unhappy."
"Sir," replied I, "you are unacquainted with the
man that oppresses us. I am very sensible that no
submission I can make would procure me liberty
even for an hour. I am told that even in this very




206        VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
room a debtor of his, no later than last year, died
for want. But though my submission and approbation could transfer me from hence to the most
beautiful apartment he is possessed of, yet I would
grant neither, as something whispers me it would
be giving a sanction to adultery. While my daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall ever be
legal in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I
should be the basest of men, from any resentment
of my own, to attempt putting asunder those who
wish for a union. No, villain as he is, I should
then wish him married, to prevent the consequences
of his future debaucheries. But now, should I not
be the most cruel of all fathers to sign an instrument
which must send my child to the grave, merely to
avoid a prison myself; and thus, to escape one pang,
break my child's heart with a thousand?"
He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but
could nota void observing, that he feared my daughter's life was already too much wasted to keep me
long a prisoner. " However," continued he, " though
you refuse to submit to the nephew, I hope you
have no objections to laying your case before the
uncle, who has the first character in the kingdom
for everything that is just and good. I would advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimating
all his nephew's ill usage, and my life for it, that in
three days you shall have an answer." I 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 provisions: how.
ever, he supplied me,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          207
For the three ensuing days I was in a state of
anxiety to know what reception my letter might
meet with; but in the mean time was frequently
solicited by my wife to submit to any conditions
rather than remain here, and every hour received
repeated accounts of the decline of my daughter's
health. The third day and the fourth arrived, but
I received no answer to my letter: the complaints
of a stranger against a favourite nephew were no
way likely to succeed; so that these hopes soon
vanished like all my former. My mind, however,
still supported itself, though confinement and bad
air began to make a visible alteration in my health,
and my arm that had suffered in the fire grew worse
My children, however, sat by me, and while I was
stretched on the straw, read to me by turns, or
listened and wept at my instructions. But my
daughter's health declined faster than mine: every
message from her contributed to increase my apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning after I had
written the letter which was sent to Sir WilliamThornhill, I was alarmed with an account that she
was speechless. Now it was that confinement was
truly painful to me; my soul was bursting from its
prison to be near the pillow of my child, to comfort,
to strengthen her, and to receive her last wishes
and teach her soul the way to heaven!  Another
account came; she was expiring, and yet I was
debarred the small comfort of weeping by her. My
fellow-prisoner some time after came with the last
account. He bade me be patient; she was deadI
The next morning he returned, and found rfe with




208         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
my two little ones, now my only companions, who
were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me.
They entreated to read to me, and bade me not to
cry, for I was now too old to weep. " And is not
my sister an angel now, papa?" cried the eldest;
"and why then are you sorry for her?  I wish I
were an angel out of this frightful place, if my papa
were with me." " Yes," added my youngest darling,
"Heaven, where my sister is, is a finer place than
this, and there are none but good people there, and
the people here are very bad."
Mr. Jenkinson interrupted their harmless prattle
by observing, that, now my daughter was no more,
I should seriously think of the rest of my family,
and attempt to save my own life, which was every
day declining for want of necessaries and wholesome
air. He added, that it was now incumbent on me
to sacrifice any pride or resentment of my own to
the welfare of those who depended on me for support; and that I was now, both by reason and justice, obliged to try to reconcile my landlord.
"' Heaven be praised," replied I, " there is no pride
left me now; I should detest my own heart if I saw
either pride or resentment lurking there. On the
contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parishioner, I hope one day to present him up an unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal. No, sir, I have
no resentment now, and though he has taken from
me what I held dearer than all his treasures, though
he has wrung my heart, —for I am sick almost to
fainting, very sick, my fellow-prisoner,-yet that
shall never inspire me with vengeance. I am now




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           209
willing to approve his marriage,; and if this submission can do him any pleasure, let him know, that if
I have done him any injury I am sorry for it."
Mr. Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down
my submission nearly as I have expressed it, to
which I signed my name. My son was employed
to carry the letter to Mr. Thornhill, who was then
at his seat in the country. He went, and in about
six hours returned with a verbal answer. He had
some difficulty, he said, to get a sight of his landlord,
as the servants were insolent and suspicious; but
he accidentally saw him as he was going out upon
business, preparing for his marriage, which was to
be in three days. He continued to inform us, that
he stepped up in the humblest manner and delivered
the letter, which, when Mr. Thornhill had read, he
said that all submission was now too late and unnecessary; that he had heard of our application to
his uncle, which met with the contempt it had deserved; and as for the rest, that all future applications should be directed to his attorney, not to him.
He observed, however, that as he had a very good
opinion of the discretion of the two young ladies
they might have been the most agreeable intercessors.
"Well, sir," said I to my fellow-prisoner, "you
now discover the temper of the man that oppresses
me. He can at once be facetious and cruel; but let
him use me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite
of all, his bolts to restrain me. I am now drawing
towards an abode that looks brighter as I approach
it; this expectation cheers my afflictions, and though




210         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
I leave a helpless family of orphans behind me, yet
they will not be utterly forsaken, some friend perhaps will be found to assist them for the sake of
their poor father, and some may charitably relieve
them for the sake of their Heavenly Father."
Just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen
that day before, appeared with looks of terror, and
making efforts, but unable to speak. " Why, my
love," cried I, "why will you thus increase my afflictions by your own? What though no submission
can- turn our severe master, though he has doomed
me to die in this place of wretchedness, and though
we have lost a darling child, yet still you will find
comfort in your other children when I shall be no
more."  "We have indeed lost," returned she, "a
darling child. My Sophia, my dearest, is gone;
snatched from us, carried off by ruffians!"  "How,
madam," cried my fellow-prisoner, "Miss Sophia
carried off by villians I sure it cannot be."
She could only answer with a fixed look and a
flood of tears. - But one of the prisoner's wives who
was present, and came in with her, gave us a more
distinct account: she informed us, that as my wife,
my daughter, and herself were taking a walk together on the great rode, a little way out of the
village, a post-chaise and a pair drove up to them,
and instantly stopped. Upon which a well-dressed
man, but not Mr. Thornhill, stepping out, clasped
my daughter round the waist, and forcing her in,
bid the postillion drive on, so that they were out of
sight in a moment.
" Now,"' cried I, " the sum of my miseries is made




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          211
up, nor is it in the power of anything on earth to
give me another pang. What  not one leftl not
to leave me one! —The monster I-The child that
was next my heart l she had the beauty of an
angel, and almost the wisdom of an angel. But
support that woman, nor let her fall. Not to leave
me one "
" Alas! my husband," said my wife, "you seem
to want comfort even more than I. Our distresses
are great; but I could bear this and more, if I saw
you but easy. They may take away my children
and all the world, if they leave me but you."
My son, who was present, endeavoured to moderate her grief; he bade us take comfort, for he hoped
that we might still have reason to be thankful.
"My child," cried I, "look round the world, and
see if there be any happiness left me now. Is not.very ray of comfort shut out, while all our bright
prospects only lie beyond the grave?"  "My dear
father," returned he, "I hope there is still something
that will give you an interval of satisfaction; for
I have a letter from my brother George."  "What
of him, child?" interrupted I, " does he know our
misery? I hope my boy is exempt from any part
of what his wretched family suffers?" "Yes, sir,"
returned he, "he is perfectly gay, cheerful, and
happy. His letter brings nothing but good news;
he is the favourite of his colonel, who promises to
procure him the very next lieutenancy that becomes
vacant."
"And are you sure of all this?" cried my wife:
"are you sure that nothing ill has befallen my




212         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
boy?"  "Nothing, indeed, madam," returned my
son; " you shall see the letter, which will give you
the highest pleasure; and if anything can procure
you comfort, I am sure that will." " But are you
sure," still repeated she, "that the letter is from
himself, and that he is really so happy?"  "Yes,
madam," replied he, "it is certainly his, and he
will one day be the credit and support of our family."  "Then I thank Providence," cried she, "that
my last letter to him has miscarried. Yes, my dear,
continued she, turning to me, " I will now confess,
that though the hand of Heaven is sore upon us in
other instances, it has been favourable here. By
the last letter I wrote my son, which was in the
bitterness of anger, I desired him, upon his mother's
blessing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see
justice done his father and sister, and avenge our
cause. But thanks be to Him that directs all things,
it has miscarried, and I am at rest."  "Woman,"
cried I, " thou hast done very ill, and at another
time my reproaches might have been more severe.
Oh I what a tremendous gulf hast thou escaped, that
would have buried both thee and him in endless
ruin. Providence indeed has here been kinder to
us than we to ourselves. It has reserved that son
to be the father and protector of my children when
I shall be away. How unjustly did I complain of
being stripped of every comfort, when still I hear
that he is happy, and insensible Df our afflictions;
still kept in reserve to support his widowed mother,
and to protect his brothers and sisters. But what
sisters has he left? he has no sisters now; they are




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          213
all gone, robbed from  me, and I am undone."
"Father," interrupted my son, " I beg you will give
me leave to read this letter, I know it will please
you." Upon which, with my permission, he read
as follows:
" HONOURED SIR:
I have called off my imagination a few moments
from the pleasures that surround me, to fix it upon
objects that are still more pleasing, the dear little
fireside at home. My fancy draws that harmless
group listening to every line of this with great composure. I view those faces with delight which
never felt the deforming hand of ambition or distress I But whatever your happiness may be at
home, I am sure it will be some addition to it to
hear, that I am perfectly pleased with my situation,
and every way happy here.
" Our regiment is countermanded, and is not to
leave thoe kingdom: the colonel, who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all companies
where he is acquainted, and after my first visit I
generally find myself received with increased respect
upon repeating it. I danced last night with lady
G0, and could I forget you know whom, I might
be perhaps successful. But it is my fate still to
remember others, while I am myself forgotten by
most of my absent friends; and in this number, I
fear, sir, that I must consider you; for I have long
expected the pleasure of a letter from home, to no
purpose. Olivia and Sophia too promised to write,
but seem to have forgotten me. Tell them they are




214         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
two arrant little baggages, and that I am this
moment in a most violent passion with them: yet
still I know not how, though I want to bluster a
little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them, sir, that after all I -love
them affectionately, and be assured of my ever remaining                    Your dutiful son."
"In all our miseries," cried I, "what thanks have
we not to return, that one at least of our family is
exempted from what we suffer. Heaven be his guard,
and keep my boy thus happy, to be the supporter
of his widowed mother, and the father of these two
babes, which is all the patrimony I can now bequeath
him. May he keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and be their conductor in the paths
of honour!" I had scarcely said these words, when
a noise like that of a tumult seemed to proceed from
the prison below; it died away soon after, and a
clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that
led to my apartment. The keeper of the prison
entered, holding a man all bloody, wounded, and
fettered with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch as he approached me, but with
horror when I found it was my own son. "My
George! my George! and do I behold thee thus?
wounded-fettered! Is this thy happiness? is this
the manner you return to me? 0 that this sight
could break my heart at once, and let me die!"
" Where, sir, is your fortitude?" returned my son
with an intrepid voice. " I must suffer; my life is
forfeited, and let them take it."




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          215
I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes
in silence, but I 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
moment that I thought thee blessed, and prayed for
thy safety, to behold thee thus again  Chained,
wounded! And yet the death of the youthful is
happy., But I am old, a very old man, and have
lived to see this day!  To see my children all untimely falling about me, while I continue a wretched
survivor in the midst of ruin! May all the curses
that ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer
of my children! May he live, like me, to see-"
"Hold, sir," replied my son, " or I shall blush for
thee. How, sir, forgetful of your age, your holy
calling, thus to arrogate the justice of Heaven, and
fling those curses upward that must soon descend to
crush thy own gray head with destruction! No, sir,
let it be your care now to fit me for that vile death
I must shortly suffer; to arm me with hope and
resolution; to give me courage to drink of that
bitterness which must shortly be my portion."
"My child, you must not die: I am sure no offence
of thine can deserve so vile a punishment. My
George could never be guilty of any crime to make
his ancestors ashamed of him."
"Mine sir," returned my son, "is, I fear, an unpardonable one. When I received my mother's letter
from home, I immediately came down, determined
to punish the betrayer of our honour, and sent him
an order to meet me, which he answered, not in person, but by despatching four of his domestics to




216         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
seize me. I wounded one who first assaulted me,
and I fear desperately; but the rest made me
their prisoner. The coward is determined to put
the law in execution against me; the proofs are undeniable: I have sent a challenge, and as I am the
first transgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of
pardon. But you have often charmed 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 it can
produce. From this moment I break from my
heart all the ties that held it down to earth, and
will prepare to fit us both for eternity. Yes, my son,
I will point out the way, and my soul shall guide
yours in the ascent, for we will take our flight
together. I now see and am convinced you can expect no pardon here; and I can only exhort you to
seek it at that greatest tribunal where we both shall
shortly answer. But let us not be niggardly in our
exhortation, 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 effort to rise from my straw, but
wanted strength, and was able only to recline against
the wall. The prisoners assembled themselves
according to my directions, for they loved to hear
my counsel; my son and his mother supported me
on either side; I looked and saw that none were
wanting, and then addressed them with the follow
ing exhortation.




CHAPTER XXIX.
THE EQUAL DEALINGS OF PROVIDENCE DEMONSTRATED WITH REGARD TO THE HAPPY AND THE MISERABLE HERE BELOW. THAT
FROM THE NATURE OF PLEASURE AND PAIN, THE WRETCHED
MUST BE REPAID THE BALANCE OF THEIR SUFFERINGS IN THE
LIFE HEREAFTER.
MY friends, my children, and my fellow-suft rers,
when I reflect on the distribution of good and evil
here below, I find that much has been given man
to enjoy, yet still more to suffer. Though we should
examine the whole world, we shall not find one man
so happy as to have nothing left to wish for; but we
daily see thousands, who, by suicide, show us they
have nothing left to hope. In this life, then it
appears that we cannot be entirely blessed, but yet
we may be completely miserable.
Why man should thus feel pain; why our wretchedness should be requisite in the formation of universal felicity; why, when all other systems are made
perfect by the perfection of their subordinate parts,
the great system should require for its perfection
parts that are not only subordinate to others, but
imperfect in themselves: these are questions that
never can be explained, and might be useless if
known. On this subject, Providence has thought
10                    mm17




218         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
fit to elude our curiosity, satisfied with granting us
motives to consolation.
In this situation man has called in the friendly
assistance of philosophy, and Heaven, seeing the incapacity of that to console him, has given him the
aid of religion. The consolations of philosophy are
very amusing, but often fallacious. It tells us that
life is filled with comforts, if we will but enjoy them:
and on the other hand, that though we unavoidably
have miseries here, life is short, and they will soon
be over. Thus do these consolations destroy each
other: for, if life is a place of comfort its shortness
must be misery, and if it be long, our griefs are protracted. Thus philosophy is weak; but religion
comforts in a higher 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 vengeance of
Heaven. To religion then we must hold in every
circumstance of life for our truest comfort; for if
already we are happy, it is a pleasure to think we
can make that happiness unending; and if we are
miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is
a place of rest. Thus, to the fortunate, religion
holds out a continuance of bliss; to the wretched a
change from pain.
But though religion is very kind to all men, it
has promised peculiar rewards to the unhappy: the




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.            219
sick, the naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and
the prisoner, have ever most frequent promises in
our sacred law. The author of our religion everywhere professes himself the wretch's friend, and, unlike the false ones of this world, bestows all his
caresses upon the forlorn. The unthinking have
censured this as partiality, as a preference without
merit to deserve it. But they never reflect, that it is
not in the power even of Heaven itself to make the
offer of unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy
as to the miserable. To the first, eternity is but a
single blessing, since at most it but increases what
they already possess. To the latter, it is but a
double advantage; for it diminishes their pain here,
and rewards them with heavenly bliss hereafter.
But 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 familiarity with every
face of terror. The man of sorrows lays himself
quietly down, without possessions to regret, and but
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 pain, every new breach that
death opens in the constitution, nature kindly covers
with insensibility.
Thus Providence has given the wretched two advantages over the happy in this life-greater felicity
in dying, and in heaven all that superiority of
pleasure which arises from contrasted enjoyment.
And this superiority my friends, is no small advan



220         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
tage, 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 give, yet it
was mentioned as an addition to his happiness, that
he had once been wretched, 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 philosophy could never do: it shows the equal dealings
of Heaven to the happy and the unhappy, and levels
all human enjoyments to nearly the same standard.
It gives to both rich and poor the same happiness
hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire after it; but
if the rich have the advantage of enjoying pleasure
here, the poor have the endless satisfaction of knowing what it was once to be miserable, when crowned
with endless felicity hereafter; and even though this
should be called a small advantage, yet being an
eternal one, it must make up by duration what the
temporal happiness of the great may have exceeded
by intenseness.
These are, therefore, the consolations which the
wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which
they are above the rest of mankind; in other respects, 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 either believe or practice. The men who have the necessaries of living are
not poor, and they who want them must be miserable. Yes, my friends, we must be miserable. No
vain efforts of a refined imagination can soothe the




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           221
wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the
dark vapour of a dungeon, or ease the throbbings of
a broken heart. Let the philosopher from his couch
of softness tell us that we can resist 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 happiness
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 show the horrors
of the place; those shackles, that tyranny has imposed or crime made necessary; when I survey these
emaciated looks, and hear those groans, 0! my
friends, what a glorious exchange would heaven be
for these. To fly through regions unconfined as air,
to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carol over
endless hymns of praise, to have no master to
threaten or insult us, but the form of Goodness
himself forever in our eyes I when I-think of these
things, Death becomes the messenger of very glad
tidings; when I think of these things, his sharpest
arrow becomes the staff of my support; when I
think of these things, what is there in life worth
having? when I think of these things, what is there
that should not be spurned away? Kings in their
palaces should groan for such advantages; but we
humbled as we are, should yearn for them.
And shall these things be ours? Ours they will




222         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
certainly be, if we but try for them; and what is
a confort, 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 comfort, shortly too; for if we look back
on a past life, 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, and our intimacy with
time ever lessens the perception 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 while
mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like
his horizon still flies before him, yet the time will
certainly and shortly come, when we shall cease
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 below;
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, unending.




CHAPTER XXX.
HAPPIER PROSPECTS BEGIN TO APPEAR-LET US BE INFLEXIBLE,
AND FORTUNE WILL AT LAST CHANGE IN OUR FAVOUR.
WHEN I had thus finished, and my audience was
retired, the gaoler, who was one of the most humane
of his profession, hoped I would not be displeased,
as what he did was but his duty, observing, that he
must be obliged to remove my son into a stronger
cell, but that he should be permitted to revisit me
every morning. I thanked him for his clemency,
and grasping my boy's hand, bade him farewell,
and be mindful of the great duty that was before
him.
I again therefore laid me down, and one of my
little ones sat by my bedside reading, when Mr.
Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was
news of my daughter; for that she was seen by a
person about two hours before in a strange gentleman's company, and that they had stoped at a
neighbouring village for refreshment, and seemed
as if returning to town. He had scarcely delivered
this news when the gaoler came with looks of haste
and pleasure to inform me, that my daughter was
found. Moses came running in a moment after,
M_3]




224         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
crying out that his sister Sophy was below, and
coming up with our old friend Mr. Burchell.
Just as 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 pleasure.
"Here, papa," cried the charming girl, "here is the
brave man to whom I owe my delivery; to this
gentleman's intrepidity I am indebted for my happinesss and safety-" A kiss from Mr. Burchell,
whose pleasure seemed even greater than hers, interrupted what she was going to add.
"Ah, Mr. Burchell," cried I, "this 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 repent of our
ingratitude. After the vile usage you then received
at my hands, I am almost ashamed to behold your
face; yet I hope you'll forgive me, as I was deceived
by a base, ungenerous wretch, who under the mask
of friendship has undone me."
"' It is impossible," replied Mr. Burchell, " that I
should forgive you, as you never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and as
it was out of my power to restrain, I could only
pity it."
" It was ever my conjecture," cried I, "that your
mind was noble, but now I find it so. But tell me,
my dear child, how thou hast been relieved, or who
the ruffians were who carried thee away."
"Indeed, sir," replied she, "as to the villain who




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.         225
carrried me off, I am yet ignorant. For, as my
mamma and I were walking out, he came up behind
us, and almost before I could call for help, forced
me into the post-chaise, aYhd in an instant the horses
drove away. I met several on the road to whom I
cried out for assistance but they disregarded my
entreaties. In the mean time the ruffian himself
used every art to hinder me from crying out: he
flattered and threatened by turns, and swore that if
I continued but silent he intended no harm. In
the mean time I had broken the canvas that he had
drawn up, and whom should I perceive at some
distance but your old friend Mr. Burchell, walking
along with his usual swiftness, with the great stick
for which we so much used to ridicule him. As
soon as we came within hearing, I called out to him
by name, and entreated his help. I repeated 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 overtake 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 ordered him at his peril to
retire; but Mr. Burchell running up shivered his
sword to pieces, and then pursued him for near a
quarter of a mile; but he made his escape. I was
at this time come out myself, willing to assist my
deliverer; but he soon returned to me in triumph.
10*




226         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
The postillion, who was recovered, was going to
make his escape too; but Mr. Burchell ordered him
at his peril to mount again and drive back to town.
Finding it impossible to resist he reluctantly complied, though the wound he had received seemed to
me at least to be dangerous. He continued to complain of the pain as we drove along, so that he at
last excited Mr. Burchell's compassion, who at my
request exchanged him for another, at an inn where
we called on our return."
" Welcome, then,"  cried I, " my child! and
thou, her gallant deliverer, a thousand welcomse 
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 she is a
recompense, she is yours: if you, can stoop to an
alliance with a family so poor as mine, take her;
obtain her consent, as I know you have her heart,
and you have mine. And let me tell you, sir, that
I give you no small treasure: she has been celebrated for 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 apprised of my circumstances, and of my
incapacity 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 should be
my dearest choice."
To all this his silence alone seemed to give a




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          227
mortifying refusal, and without the least reply to
my offer, he demanded if we could not be furnished
with refreshments from  the next inn; to which
being answered in the affirmative, he ordered them
to send in the best dinner that could be provided
upon such short notice. He bespoke also a dozen
of their best wine, and some cordials for me: adding with a smile, that he would stretch a little for
once, and though in a prison, asserted he was never
better disposed to be merry. The wailer soon made
his appearance with preparations for dinner; a table
was lent us by the gaoler, who seemed remarkably
assiduous; the wine was disposed in order, and
two very well-dressed dishes were brought in.
My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's melancholy situation, and we all seemed iinwilling 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 I was at
last obliged to damp our mirth, by relating his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be permitted
to share with us in this little interval of satisfaction.
After my guests were recovered from the consternation my account had produced, I requested also
that Mr. Jenkinson, a fellow-prisoner, might be admitted, and the jailor granted my request with an
air of unusual submission. The clanking of my son's
irons were 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'a




228         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
name was George; to which replying in the affirm.
ative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy
entered the room, I could perceive he regarded Mr.
Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence.
"Come on, cried I, "my son; though we are fallen
very low, yet Providence has been pleased to grant
us some small relaxation 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 distance,  "My dear brother," cried his sister, "why
don't you thank my good deliverer? the brave
should ever love each other."
He still continued in 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 anything so truly majestic as the air he assumed upon
this occasion. The greatest object in the universe,
says a certain philosopher, is a good man struggling
with adversity; yet there is still a greater, which
is the good man that comes to relieve it.  After he
had regarded my son for some time with a superior
air, " I again find," said he, 7" unthinking boy, that
the same crime"-But here he was interrupted by
one of the gaoler's servants, who'came to inform us
that a person of distinction, who had driven into
town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           229
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 had my reproof, and for which
the law is now preparing its justest punishments.
You imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your
own life gives you the 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 gamester'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 bitterness of her resentment, required him, upon her
blessing, to avenge her quarrel. Here, sir, is the
letter, which will serve to convince you of her imr
prudence, and diminish his guilt."
Re took the letter and hastily read it over.'This,"
says he, " though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault as induces me to forgive him. And,
now, sir," continued he, kindly taking my son by
the hand, "I see you are surprised 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. I have long been a disguised spectator of




230         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
thy father's benevolence. I have at his little dwelling enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery; and
have received that happiness that courts could not
give from the amusing simplicity round his fireside.
My nephew has been apprised of my intentions of
coming here, and I find is arrived. It would be
wronging him and you to condemn him without an
examination: if there be injury, there shall be redress; and this I may say, without boasting, that
none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William
Thornhill."
We now found the personage whom we had so
long entertained as a harmless, amusing companion,
was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarcely any
were strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell was in reality
a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom
senates listened with applause, and whom party heard
with conviction; who was the friend of his country,
but loyal to his king. My poor wife, recalling her
former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, 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 forgiveness? The slights you received from me the
last 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."




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          231
"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 frighted my little 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, Sophy,
my dear, whether you should know him again?"
"Indeed, sir," replied she, "I can't be positive;
yet now I recollect he had a large mark over one of
his eyebrows." "I ask pardon, madam," interrupted
Jenkinson, who was by, "be so good as to inform if
the fellow wore his own red hair?" Yes, I think
so," cried Sophia. "And did your honour," continued he, turning to Sir William, "observe the
length of his legs?"  "I can't be sure of their
length," cried the baronet, "but I am convinced of
their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I
thought few men in the kingdom could have done."
"Please your honour," cried Jenkinson, "I know
the man: it is certainly the same; the best runner
in England: he has beaten Pinwire of Newcastle;
Timothy Baxter is his name. I know him perfectly,
and the very place of his retreat at this moment. If
your honour will bid Mr. Gaoler let two of his men
go with me, I'll engage to produce him to you in an
hour at furthest.?' Upon this the gaoler was called,
who instantly appearing, Sir William demanded if
he knew him. "Yes, please your honour," replied
the gaoler, "I know Sir William Thornhill well




232         yICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
and every body that knows anything of him will
desire to know more of him."  "Well, then," said
the baronet,'my request is, that you permit this
man and two of your servants to go upon a message
by my authority; and as I am in the commission of
the peace, I undertake to secure you."  "Your
promise is sufficient," replied the other, "and you
may at a minute's warning send them over England
whenever your honour thinks fit."'
In pursuance of the gaoler's compliance Jenkinson
was despatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while
we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest
boy Bill, who had just come in, and climbed 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 ragged as he was, upon his knee, "What,
Bill, you chubby rogue," cried he, "do you remember your old friend Burchell? and Dick too, my
honest veteran, are you here? you shall find I have
not forgot you." So saying, he gave each a large
piece of gingerbread, 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 continuing painful, 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 apothecary who lived in the
place, my arm was dressed, and I found almost in



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          233
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 permission to appear in order
to vindicate his innocence and honour; with which
request the baronet complied, and desired Mr.
Thornhill to be introduced.




OHAPTTER XXXI.
FORMER BENEVOLENCE NOW REPAID WITH UNEXPECTED INTIEEST.
MR. THORNHILL made his appearance with a smile,
which he seldom wanted, and was going to embrace
his uncle, which the other repulsed with an air of
disdain.  "No fawning, sir, at present," cried the
baronet, with a look of severity: the only 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 this poor man,
for whom I know you professed a friendship, is used
thus hardly? His daughter vilely seduced as a
recompense for his hospitality, and he himself
thrown into prison, perhaps but for resenting the
insult? His son too, whom you feared to face as a
man11   1 "
" Is it possible, sir," interrupted his nephew, " that
my uncle could object that as a crime, which his
repeated instructions alone have persuaded me to
avoid?"
" Your rebuke," cried Sir William, " is just; you
have acted in this instance prudently and well,
though not quite as your father would have done:
my brother, indeed, was the soul of honour; but
A.d




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD            236
thou-Yes, you have acted in this instance- perfectly
right, and it has my warmest approbation."
"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, what was levity,
scandal called by a harsher 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 insult and abuse. As
for the rest, with regard to his being here, my attorney and steward can best inform 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 WVilliam, "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 this gentleman to be
oppressed by subordinate tyranny, yet it has been
at least equitable."
" He cannot contradict a single particular," replied
the'Squire; " I defy him to do so; and several of
my servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus,
sir," continued he, finding that I was silent, for in
fact I 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 govern; and this,




236         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
too, at a time when his son was actually preparing
to take away my life;-this, I say, was 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 dissuade me, which I know he will
not, yet I will see public justice done, and he shall
suffer for it."
"Thou monster," cried my wife, " hast thou not
had vengeance enough already, but must my poor
boy feel thy cruelty? I hope that good Sir William
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 fault too plain; and if my nephew
persists-"  But the appearance of Jenkinson and
the gaoler's two servants now called off our attention, who entered, hauling in a tall man, very genteely
dressed, and answering the description already 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 prisoner
and Jenkinson who had him in custody, he seemed
to shrink back with terror. His face became pale
with conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn;
but Jenkinson, who perceived his design, stopped
him. "What,'Squire," cried he, " are you ashamed
of your two old acquaintances, Jenkinson and Bax



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          237
ter? but this is the way that all great men forget
their friends, though I am resolved 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 declares 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 furnished 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 was to come in the mean time, as if
by accident, to her rescue; and that they should fight
awhile, and then he was to run off,-by which Mr.
Thornhill would have the better opportunity of
gaining her affections himself, under the character
of her defender.
Sir William remembered the coat to have been
worn by his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner
himself confirmed by a more circumstantial account,
concluding that Mr. Thornhill had often declared to
him that he was in love with both sisters at the same
time.
" Heavens!" 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 no legal evidence to detain him."
Upon this Mr. Thornhill, with the utmost humility, entreated that two such abandoned wretches
might not be admitted a's evidences against him, but




238         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
that his servants should be examined. Your servants!" replied Sir William; "wretch! call them
yours no longer; but come let us hear what these
fellows have to say; let his butler be called."
When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by his former master's looks that all his
power was now over. " Tell me," cried Sir William
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," interrupted young Mr. Thornhill, "this to my face I"
"Yes," replied the butler, " or to any man's face.
To tell you a truth, Master Thornhill, I never either
loved or liked you, and I don't care if I tell you now
a piece of my mind."  "Now, then," cried Jenkinson, "tell his honour whether you know any thing
of me."  I can't say," replied the butler, "that I
know much good of you. The night that gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, you'were
one of them."  "So, then," cried Sir William, "I
find you have brought a very fine witness to prove
your innocence: thou stain to humanity I to associate with such wretches I But," continuing his examination, "you tell me, Mr. Butler, that this was
the person who brought him this old gentleman's
daughter." " No, please your honour," replied the
butler, he did not bring her, for the'Squire himself
undertook that business: but he brought the priest
that pretended to marry them." " It is but too true,"
cried Jenkinson, "I cannot deny it; that was the




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          239
employment assigned me, and I confess it to my
confusion."
"Good heavensl" exclaimed the baronet, "how
every new discovery of his villainy alarms me. All
his guilt is now too plain, and I find his prosecution
was dictated by tyranny, cowardice, and revenge.
At my request, Mr. Gaoler, set this young officer,
now your prisoner, free, and trust to me for the consequence. I'll make it my business to set the affair
in a proper light to my friend the magistrate who
has committed him. But where is the unfortunate
young lady herself? Let her appear to confront this
wretch: I long to know by what arts he has seduced
her. Entreat her to come 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-" Another interruption here prevented me; for who should make her appearance
but Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next day to
have been married to Mr. Thornhill.  Nothing
could equal her surprise at seeing Sir William and
his nephew here before her; for her arrival was
quite accidental. It happened that she and the old
gentleman, her father, were passing through the
town on her way to her aunt's, who insisted that her
nuptials with Mr. Thornhill should be consummated
at her house; but stopping for refreshment, they put
up at an inn at the other end of the town. It was
there, from the window, that the young lady happened to observe one of my little boys, playing in
the street, and instantly sending a footman to bring
the child to her, she learned from him some account




240         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
of our miffo ounes:-but was st ill ept ignorant of
young Mr. Thornhill's beingthecause. Though her
father made several remonstrances on the impropriety of going to a prison to visit u% yet they
were ineffectual; she- desired the child- to conduct
her, _which, -he did, and itwas thi she surprisedus
at a juncture so unexpected.
Nor can I:gon  owithout"  a reflection on those accidental meetings — which, though they happen every
day, seldom excite our surprise but upon some extraordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous concurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenienee
of our livesl H ow many seeming accidents must
unite before we  anbe clothed or fed! The peasant
must be disposed to labour, the shower must fall, the
wind fill the merchaint's sail, or numbers must want
the usual supply.
We all continued silent for some moments, while
my charming pupil, which was the name I generally
gave this young lady, united in her looks compassion and astonishment, which gave new finishing to
her beauty.,  " Indeed, my dear Mr. Thornhill,"
cried she to:the'Squire, who she supposed was come
here to succour, and not to oppress us, "I take it a
little unkindly that you should come here without
me, or never inform me of the situation of a family
so dear to us both;. you know I should take as
much pleasure in contributing to the relief of my
reverend old master here, whom I shall ever esteem,
as you can. But I find that, like your uncle, you
take a pleasure in doing good in secret."
"H e find pleasure in doing g(od I" cried Sir Wil



VICAR OF WAKKEFIELD.         241
liam, interrupting her. " No, my dear, his pleasures
are as base as he is. You see in him, madam, as
complete a villain as ever disgraced humanity. A
wretch, who, after having deluded this poor man's
daughter, after plotting against the innocence of her
sister, has thrown the father into prison, and the
eldest son into fetters, because 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 monster."
" O goodness," cried the lovely girl, "how have
I been deceived I Mr. Thornhill informed me for
certain that this gentleman's eldest son, Captain
Primrose, was gone off to America with his newmarried lady."
~" My sweetest miss," cried my wife, " he has told
you nothing but falsehoods. My son George never
left the kingdom, nor ever was married. Though
you have forsaken him, he has always loved you too
well to think of any body else; and I have heard
him say, he would die a bachelor for your sake."
She then proceeded to expatiate upon the sincerity of
her son's passion. She set his duel with Mr. Thornhill in a proper light; from thence she made a rapid
digression to the'Squire's debaucheries, his pretended marriages, and ended with a most insulting
picture of his cowardice.
"Good Heaven!" cried Miss Wilmot, "how very
near have I been to the brink of ruin I Ten thousand falsehoods has this gentleman told me: he had
at last art enough to persuade me, that my promise
to the only man I esteemed was no longer binding,
11




242         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
since he had been unfaithful. By his falsehoods I
was taught to detest one equally brave and generous."
But by this time my son was freed from the incumbrances of justice, as the person supposed to be
wounded was detected to be an impostor. Mr. Jenkinson also, who had acted as his valet de chambre,
had dressed up his hair, and furnished him with
whatever was necessary to make a genteel appearance. He now therefore entered, handsomely dressed
in his regimentals; and without vanity (for I am
above it), he appeared as handsome a fellow as ever
wore a military dress. As he entered, he made Miss
Wilmot a modest and distant bow, for he was not as
yet acquainted with the change which the eloquence
of his mother had wrought in his favour. But no
decorums could restrain the impatience of his blushing mistress to be- forgiven. Her tears, her looks,
all contributed to discover the real sensations of her
heart, for having forgotten her former promise, and
having suffered herself to be deluded by an imposter. My son appeared amazed at her condescension,
and could scarcely believe it real. "Sure, madam,"
cried he, "this is but delusion! I can never have
merited this!  To be blessed thus is to be too
happy."  "No, sir," replied she: "I have been
deceived, basely deceived, else nothing could have
ever made me unjust to my promise. You know
my friendship, you have long known it; but forget
what I have done, and as you once had my warmest
vows of constancy, you shall now have them repeated: and be assured, that if your Arabella can



VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.           243
not be yours, she shall never be another's." And no
other's you shall be," cried Sir William, "if I have
any influence with your father."
This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who
immediately flew to the inn where the old gentleman
was, to inform him of every circumstance that had
happened. But in the mean time the'Squire, perceiving that he was on every side undone, now
finding that no hopes were left from flattery and
dissimulation, concluded that his wisest way would
be to turn and face his pursuers. Thus, laying aside
all shame, he appeared the open hardy villain. " I
find, then," cried he, "that I am to expect no justice here; but I am resolved it shall be done me.
You shall know, sir," turning to Sir William, "I
am no longer a poor dependent upon your favours.
I scorn them. Nothing can keep Miss Wilmot's fortune from me, which, I thank her father's assiduity,
is pretty large. The articles and a bond for her
fortune are signed, and safe in my possession. It
was her fortune, not her person that induced me to
wish for this match; and possessed of the one, let
who will take the other."
This was an alarming blow. Sir William was
sensible of the justice of his claims, for he had been
instrumental in drawing up the marriage articles
himself.  Miss Wilmot, therefore, perceiving that
her fortune was irretrievably lost, turning to my
son, she asked if the loss of her fortune could lessen
her value to him?  "Though fortune," said she,
"is out of my power, at least I have my heart to
give."




244         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
"And that, madam," cried her real lover, "was
indeed all that you ever had to give; at least all
that I ever thought worth the acceptance. And I
now protest, my Arabella, by all that's happy, your
want of fortune this moment increases my pleasure,
as it serves to convince my sweet girl of my sincerity."
Mr. Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little
pleased at the danger his daughter had just escaped,
and readily consented to a dissolution of the match.
But finding that her fortune, which was secured to
Mr. Thornhill by bond, would not be given up, nothing could exceed his disappointment. He now
saw that his money must all go to enrich one who
had no fortune of his own. He could bear his being
a rascal, but to want an equivalent to his daughter's
fortune was wormwood. He sat therefore for some
minutes employed in the most mortifying speculations, till Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. "I must confess, sir," cried he, "that your
present disappointment does not entirely displease
me. Your immoderate passion for wealth is now
justly punished. But though the young lady cannot
be rich, she has still a competence 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 friendship
I bear his father, my interest shall not be wanting
in his promotion. Leave then that ambition which
disappoints you, and for once admit that happiness
which courts your acceptance."
"Sir William," replied the old gentleman, "be




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          245
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
your promise will make it something more. Only
let my old friend here (meaning me) give me a
promise of settling six thousand pounds upon my
girl if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am
ready this night to be the first to join them together."
As it now remained with me to make the young
couple happy, I readily gave a promise of making
the settlement he required, which from one who
had such little expectations as I, was no great
favour. We had now, therefore, the satisfaction of
seeing them fly into each other's arms in a transport. "After all my misfortunes," cried my son
George, " to be thus rewarded I Sure this is more
than I could have presumed to hope for. To be
possessed of all that's good, and after such an interval of pain r My warmest wishes could never rise
so high I"
"Yes, my George," returned his lovely bride,
"now let the wretch take my fortune; since you
are happy without it, so am I. 0 what an exchange
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 promise you,"
cried the'Squire, with a malicious grin, "that I
shall be very happy with what you despise."
"Hold, hold, sir," cried Jenkinson, "there are two
words to that bargain. As for that ladv's fortune,




246         VIOAR OF WAtEFIELD.
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 baronet: c" undoubtedly he cannot."  " I am sorry for that," cried Jenkinson; "for as this gentleman and I have been
old fellow-sporters, I have a friendship for him.
But I must declare, well as I love him, that his.
contract is not worth a tobacco-stopper, 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
properireturn of friendship to your own honest
Jenkinson, who brings you a wife; and if the company restrain their curiosity a few minutes, they
shall see her." So saying, he went off with his
usual celerity, and left us all unable to form any
probable conjecture as to his design.- "Ay, let
him go," 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 surprised," said the baronet, "what the
fellow can intend by this. Some low piece of
humour, I suppose."  "Perhaps, sir," replied I,
" he may have a more serious 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 consider what numbers he




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          247
has ruined, how many parents now feel with aiguish the infamy and the contamination which he
has brought into their families, it would not surprise
me if some one of them-Amazement! Do I see
my lost daughter? Do I hold her? It is, it is my
life, my happiness. I thought thee lost, my Olivia,
yet still I hold thee-and still thou shalt live to
bless me." The warmest transports of the fondest
lover were not greater than mine, when I saw him
introduce my 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,"
cried 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 she will. And as for you,'Squire, as sure as
you stand there, this young lady is your lawful
wedded wife. And to convince you that I speak
nothing but the truth, here is the license by which
you were married together." So saying, he put the
license into the baronet's hands, who read it, and
found it perfect in every respect. "c 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 often employed me in doing odd little
things for him. Among the rest he commissioned
me to procure him a false license and a false priest,
order to deceive this young lady. But as I -was
very much his friend, what did I do, but went and




248         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD
got a true license and a true priest, and married them
oath as fast as the cloth could make them. Perhaps you'll think it was generosity that made me
do all this: 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 thought proper, and so 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 themselves sympathized,
And shook their chains
In transport and rude harmony.
Happiness was expanded upon every face, and
even 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 sincerer pleasure than I. Still holding the
dear loved child in my arms, I asked 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 pleasures at finding
her again is more than a recompense for the pain."
"As to your question," replied Jenkinson, " that
is easily answered. I thought the only probable
means of freeing you from prison, was by submitting to the'Squire, and consenting to his marriage




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          249
with the other young lady. But these you had vowed
never to grant while your daughter was living;
there was therefore no other method to bring things
to bear, but by persuading you that she was dead.
I prevailed on your wife to join in the deceit, and we
have not had a fit opportunity of undeceiving you
till now."
In the whole assembly there now appeared only
two faces that did not glow with transport. Mr.
Thornhill's assurance had entirely forsaken him:
he now saw the gulf of infamy and want before him,
and trembled to take the plunge. He therefore fell
on his knees before his uncle, and in a voice of
piercing misery, implored compassion. Sir William
was going to spurn him away, but at my request
he raised him, and, after pausing 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>6f 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 fuiture." He
was going to express his gratitude for such kindness
in a set speech; but the baronet prevented him, by
bidding him not to aggravate his meanness, which
was already but too apparent. He ordered him at
the same time to begone, and from all his former
domestics to choose one, such as he should think
proper, which was all that should be granted to
attend him.
11*




200         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD,
As soon as he left us, Sir William very politely
stepped up to his new niece with a smile, and wished
her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wilmot
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 look 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 comprehend, did not seem
perfectly satisfied. "I think, now," cried he, with
a smile, " that all the company except one or two
seem perfectly happy. There only remains an act
of justice for me to do. You are sensible, sir," continued he, turning to me, "of the obligations we
both owe Mr. Jenkinson, and it is but just we
should both reward him for it. Miss Sophia will, I
am sure, make him very happy, and he shall have
from me five hundred pounds as her fortune: and
upon this I am sure they can live very comfortably
together. Come, Miss Sophia, what say you to
this match of my making. Will you have him?"
My poor girl seemed almost sinking into her
mother's arms at this hideous proposal. "Have
him, sir!" cried she faintly: " No, sir, never!"
" What I" cried he again, " not have Mr. Jenkinson,
your benefactor, a handsome young fellow, with
five hundred pounds, and good expectations?" "I




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          251
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 family have such infinite obligations to, who has preserved your sister,
and who has five hundred pounds! What, not
have him?"  "No, sir, never," replied she angrily; "I'd sooner die first."  "If that be the case,
then," cried he, "if you will not have him-I
think I must have you myself." And so saying,
he caught her to his breast with ardour.  "My
loveliest, my most sensible of girls," cried he, " how
could you ever think your own Burchell 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 fortune, could think
that I had merit as a man. After having tried in
vain, even amongst the pert and the ugly, how
great at last must be my rapture to have made a conquest over such sense and such heavenly beauty 1"
Then turning to Jenkinson; "IAs I cannot, sir,
part with this young lady myself, 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 all our compliments to repeat, and Lady Thornhill underwent the same round
of ceremony that her sister had done before. In
the mean time, 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 re



252         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ception. My wife and I led the van, and left those
gloomy mansions 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 among the number. They attended us to our
inn, where a sumptuous 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 during 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 of joy as well as
of sorrow, and then slept undisturbed till morning.




CHAPTER XXXII.
THE CONCLUSION.
THE next morning as soon as I awaked I found my
eldest son sitting by my bedside, who came to increase my joy with another turn of fortune in my
favour. First having released me from the settlement that I had made the day before in his favour,
he let me know that my merchant who had failed
in town 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
pondering 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, however,
was to inform me, that as he had the night before
sent for the licenses, and expected them every hour,
he hoped that I would not refuse my assistance in
making all the company happy that morning. A
footman entered while we were speaking, to tell us
that the messenger was returned; and as I was by
ron,91




254        VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
this time ready, I went down, where I found the
whol& company as merry as affluence and innocence
could make them. However, as they were now preparing for a very solemn ceremony, their laughter
entirely displeased me. I told them of the grave,
becoming, and sublime deportment they should assume upon this mystical 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 ungovernable. Even as we were going
along to church, to which I led the way, all gravity
had quite forsaken them, and I was often tempted to
turn back in indignation. In church a new dilemma
arose, which promised no easy solution. This was,
which couple should be married first. My son's
bride warmly insisted that Lady Thornhill (that was
to be) should take the lead: but this the other refused with equal ardour, protesting she would not
be guilty of such rudeness for the world. The argument was supported for some time between both
with equal obstinacy and good-breeding. But as I
stood all this time with my book ready, I was at last
quite tired of the contest; and shutting it, "I perceive," cried I, "'that none of you have a mind to be
married, and I think we had as good go back again;
for I suppose there will be no business done here today." 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,




VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.          255
upon our return to the inn, we had the pleasure of
finding the two Miss Flamboroughs alighted before
us. Mr. Jenkinson gave his hand to the eldest, and
my son Moses led up the other (and I have since
found that he has taken a real liking to the girl, and
my consent and bounty he shall have, whenever he
thinks proper to demand them). We were no sooner
returned to the inn, but numbers of my parishioners,
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-inlaw, who went out and reproved them with great
severity; but finding them quite disheartened by
his harsh reproof, he gave them half a guinea a-piece
to drink his health, and raise their dejected spirits.
Soon after this we were called to a very genteel
entertainment, which was dressed by Mr. Thornhill's cook. And it may not be improper to observe
with respect to that gentleman, that he now resides,
in quality of companion, at a relation's house, being
very well liked, and seldom sitting at the 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 relation, who is a little
melancholy, in spirits, and in learning to blow the
French horn. My eldest daughter, however, still
remembers him with regret; and she has even told
me, though I make a 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 dinner our ceremonies were going to be




256         VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
renewed. The question was, whether my eldest
daughter, as being a matron, 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, every gentleman by his
lady. This was received with great approbation by
all, excepting my wife, who, I could perceive, was
not perfectly satisfied, as she expected to have had
the pleasure of sitting at the head of the table, and
carving the meat for all the company. But, notwithstanding this, it is impossible to describe our
good-humour. I can't say whether we had more
wit among us now than usual; but I am certain we
had more laughing, which answered the end as well.
One jest I 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, winking upon the rest of
the company, observed, that he was thinking of his
mistress: at which jest I thought the two Miss
Flamboroughs would have died with lau!hing. As
soon as dinner was over, according to miy old custom, I requested that the table might be taken away,
to have the pleasure of seeing all my family assembled once more by a cheerfuil fireside. My two little
ones. sat upon each knee, the rest of the company
by their partners. I had nothing now on this side
of the grave to wish for; all my cares were over;
my pleasure was unspeakable. It now only remained, that my gratitude in good fortune should exceed
my former submission in adversity.




P as setas t
PRINCE OF ABYSSINIAP








CONTENTS.
PAGI
Memoir of Samuel Johnson, LL. D.,.
Description of a'Palace in a Valley,.        15
Discontent of Rasselas in the Happy Valley,.         19
The Wants of him that wants Nothing,...              23
The Prince continues to Grieve and Muse,               26
The Prince meditates his Escape,... 31
A Dissertation on the Art of Flying,.                33
The Prince finds a Man of Learning,.         36
The History of Imlac,.                               40
The History of Imlac continued,..     45
Imlac's History continued-A Dissertation upon Poetry,   49
Imlac's Narrative continued-A Hint on Pilgrimage,.   51
The Story of Imlac continued,...                      58
Rasselas Discovers the Means of Escape,..       64
Rasselas and Imlac receive an Unexpected Visit,.    67
The Prince and Princess leave the Valley and see many
Wonders,..69
They enter Cario, and find Every Man Happy,.. 72
The Prince associates with Young Men of Spirit and Gaiety, 76
The Prince finds a Wise and Happy Man,...   78
A Glimpse of Pastoral Life,. 82
The Danger of Prosperity,..84




iV                   CONTENTS,
PAGE
The Happiness of Solitude-The Hermit's History,.. 87
The Happiness of a Life led according to Nature,    91
The Prince and his Sister divide between them the Work
of Observation,..95
The Prince examines the Happiness of High Stations,.   97
The Princess pursues her Inquiry with more Diligence
than Success,.. 99
The Princess continues her remarks upon Private Life,.  102
Disquisition upon Greatness,.                     106
Rasselas and Nekayah continue their Conversation,  109
The Debate of Marriage continued,..... 113
Imlac enters, and changes the Conversation,...  118
They visit the Pyramids,.. 122
They enter the Pyramid,.                125
The Princess meets with an Unexpected Misfortune,. 127
They return to Cairo without Pekuah,.             129
The Princess languishes for Want of Pekuah,.. 133
Pekuah is still Remembered-The Progress of Sorrow,   138
The Princess hears News of Pekuah,.               140
The Adventures of Lady Pekuah,. 142
The Adventures of Pekuah continued,.              147
The History of a Man of Learning,..154
The Astronomer discovers the Cause of his Uneasiness,   157
The Opinion of the Astronomer is Explained and Justified. 159
The Astronomer leaves Imlac his Directions,..  162
The Dangerous Prevalence of Imagination,... 164
They Discourse with an Old Man,....  167
The Princess and Pekuah visit the Astronomer,.. 171
The Prince enters, and brings a New Topic,..  178
Imlac discourses on the Nature of the Soul,... 183
The Conclusion, in which Nothing is concluded,..  189




E  O  I 
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
AUTHOR OF RASSELAS, ETC.
THIS giant of literature was born on the 18th of
September, 1709, at L.ichfield, in Staffordshire, at
which place his father carried on the business of a
bookseller. Our author received the rudiments of
his education at Lichfield Grammar-school, where he
surpassed all his schoolfellows in learning. In 1725,
he was removed to a school at Stourbridge; and in
1728, he entered Pembroke College. His principal
reputation at the university arose from his Latin
compositions; else he paid little attention to his
studies. Shortly after the death of his father, Johnson accepted the situation of usher at the free-school
of Market Bosworth; but this situation he found so
irksome, that he went to reside at Birmingham,
where he translated for a bookseller Lobo's Voyage
to Abyssinia, and for this his first prose work he received five guineas.  In 1735, he married Mrs.
Porter, a widow, by whom he acquired about ~800,
with which he attempted to establish a boardingschool near Lichfield- he only, however, obtained
[v]




Vi                   MEMOIR OF
three pupils, one of whom was the celebrated David
Garrick.
Johnson now determined on trying his fortune in
London; and accordingly, in 1737, he set out for
the metropolis, in company with Garrick. He endeavoured to obtain employment from the booksellers; one of whom took the liberty to inform him
he " had better buy a. porter's knot, than attempt to
get his livelihood as an author."* In March 1738,
he appeared as a contributor to the Gentleman's
Magazine, and soon after published his London, a
poem, which produced him ten guineas. As his only
means of subsistence, he continued his contributions
to the magazine; until, in 1740, he began to compose the parliamentary speeches, which, being then
deemed a breach of privilege, were published under
the fiction  of Debates in  the  Senate of Magna
Lilliputia.t
0 According to Mr. Cumberland, during his first stay in London, Johnson subsisted for a considerable space of time on twopence-halfpenny per day.
t It was scarcely known that Johnson was the author of the
debates, until he avowed the fact at a party at which Mr. Wedderburn, Dr. Francis and others were present. Dr. Francis having
declared that one of Mr. Pitt's speeches was superior to any of
the orations of Demosthenes, Johnson calmly exclaimed, " That
speech I wrote in a garret in Exeter Street! I had never been in
the gallery of the House of Commons but once. Cave and his
assistants brought away the subject of discussion, the names of
the speakers, the sides they took, the order in which they rose,
together with notes of the arguments, all which were communicated to me, and I then composed the speeches in the form which
they now have in the parliamentary debates." " The company
(says Boswell) stared at each other in silent amaze, and then bestowed on Johnson their lavish encomiums. "




SAMUEiL JOHNSON.                   Vii
In 1744, he published his excellent Life of Savage,
and three years afterwards, addressed his plan for
an English Dictionary to- the earl of Chesterfield,
which he stipulated with the booksellers to complete
in three years for ~1575. In 1749, he published
his beautiful poem of The Vanity of Human Wishes,
for which he only received five guineas.*  In 1750,
the first number of the Rambler appeared, which
work he completed in 1752.t In 1753, he- began to
write for the Adventurer; and in 1755, his celebrated Dictionary was published in two folio volumes,
as the work of Samuel Johnson, M.A., that degree
having been previously obtained from Oxford,
through the kindness of his friend Mr. Warton.
0 Sir Walter Scott says: " The Vanity of Human Wishes has
often extracted tears from those whose eyes wander dry over
pages professedly sentimental." And Lord Byron observes on
the same subject: " Read Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.'Tis a grand poem-and so true!-true as the 10th of Juvenal
himself. The lapse'of ages changes all things-time-language
-the earth-the bounds of the sea-the stars of the sky, an4
everything about, around, and underneath man, except man
himself, who has always been, and always will be, an unlucky
fellow. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and
the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment."
Mr. Lockhart mentions, in his Life of Sir Walter Scott, that
the great novelist frequently remarked that he derived more
pleasure from reading The Vanity of Human Wishes, and London,
than from any other poetical compositions he could mention.
"And I think (continues that inestimable biographer) I never saw
his countenance more indicative of high admiration than while
reciting aloud from those masterly productions."
t Many of the characters in the Rambler are said to be drawn
from life, particularly that of Prospero, from Garrick, a satire
(though applicable) which the actor never forgave.




V1U                  MEMOIR OF
In 1757 he was offered, but declined taking orders,
a church-living of considerable value; and in 1758,
he commenced the Idler, which was continued till
1760.
The death of his mother in 1759, led to the production of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, which
Johnson wrote for the express purpose of defraying
the expense of her funeral. He received for the
copy ~100, and ~25 when it came to the second
edition.* Eulogy on a work which is so well
known in our own country, and has been translated
into most, if not all of the modern languages, would
be superfluous; but the following notice of Rasselas,
by Boswell, will be read with pleasure:
"This tale, with all the charms of oriental imagery, and all
the force and beauty of which the English language is capable,
leads us through the most important scenes of human life, and
shows us that this stage of our being is full of'vanity and
vexation of spirit.' To those who look no farther than the
present life, or who maintain that human nature has not fallen
from the state in which it was created, the instruction of this
sublime story will be of no avail. But they who think justly
and feel with strong sensibility will listen with eagerness and
admiration to its truth and wisdom.
"It may be considered as a more enlarged and more deeply
philosophical discourse in prose, upon the interesting truth,
which, in his Vanity of Human Wishes, he had so successfully
enforced in verse.
"The fund of thinking which this work contains is such that
almost every sentence of it may furnish a subject of long meditation. I am not satisfied if a year passes without my having
o Johnson told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he composed Rasselas
in the evenings of one week, sent it to press in portions as it
was written, and had never since read it over.




SAMUEL JOHNSON.                    ix
read it through; and at every perusal, my admiration of the
mind which produced it is so highly raised, that I can scarcely
believe that I had the honor of enjoying the intimacy of such a
man.
"I restrain myself from quoting passages from this excellent
work, or even referring to them, because I should not know what
to select, or rather what to omit.
"Notwithstanding my high admiration of Rasselas, I will not
maintain that the' morbid melancholy' in Johnson's constitution
may not, perhaps, have made life appear to him more insipid and
unhappy than it generally is; for I am sure that he had less enjoyment from it than I have. Yet, whatever additional shade his
own particular sensations may have thrown on his representation
of life, attentive,observation and close inquiry have convinced me
that there is too much reality in the gloomy picture. The truth,
however, is, that we judge of the happiness and misery of life
differently at different times, according to the state of our changeable frame. I always remember a remark made to me by a
Turkish lady educated in Erance:' Ma foi Monsieur, notre bon.
heur depend de la faeon que notre sang circule.' This I have
learned from a pretty hard course of experience, and would, from
sincere benevolence, impress upon all who honour this book with
a perusal, that, until a steady conviction is obtained, that the
present life is an imperfect state, and only a passage to a better,
if we comply with the divine scheme of progressive improvement; and also that it is a part of the mysterious plan of Providence that intellectual beings must' be made perfect through
suffering;' there will be a continual recurrence of disappointment
and uneasiness. But if we walk with hope in the'mid-day sun'
of revelation, our temper and disposition will be such that the
comforts and enjoyments in our way will be relished, while viwe
patiently support the inconveniences and pains."
In  1762, Johnson accepted, with  reluctance, a
pension of ~300 per annum; and in 1764-5 he was
engaged in preparing his edition of Shakspeare.
In 1767, he had the honour of a personal interview
1*




X                MEMOIR OF
with George the Third, and about the same period
he was introduced to the house of Mr. Thrale, at
Streatham. In 1773, he took a tour to the Hebrides;
in 1775, he published an account of his journey;
and in the same year he received the degree of Doctor
of Laws from the University of Oxford. In 1779,
he undertook, for ~210, to write the Lives of the
Poets, which he completed in 1781. In the same
year his friend Mr. Thrale died, who left him a
legacy of ~200. In 1783, he was seized with a
paralytic stroke, which, for some time, rendered him
speechless. He gradually grew worse, and it was
evident to his physician that his end was fast approaching. On being told that nothing but a miracle
could save him, he observed: " Then I will take no
more physic, not even my opiates; for I have prayed
that I may render up my soul to God unclouded."
His aversion to the prospect of death operated so
strongly, that it was some time before he could be
prevailed on to make his will, or even to hear the
subject mentioned with patience. As his end drew
near, he expressed his firm belief in the Christian
religion, and grew gradually calmer; and at length
he expired on the 13th of December, 1785, in the
75th year of his age. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, and a monument has since been erected
to his memory in St. Paul's Cathedral.
As an author, Johnson was more distinguished
than any other literary character which this country
ever produced. His great works, and those on which
his reputation chiefly rests, are his Dictionary,
Rambler, Lives of the Poets, and Rasselas. In




SAMUEL JOHNSON.             xi
his Rasselas and his Rambler he is in his peculiar
element.
Of the Doctor's general character, Bishop Gleig
has drawn an able summary, who says: "Without
claiming for Johnson the highest place among his
contemporaries, we may use his own expression,'that he brought more mind to every subject, and
had a greater variety of knowledge ready for all occasions than almost any other man.' Though religious
to superstition, he was in every other respect so remarkably incredulous, that Hogarth said, while
Johnson firmly believed the Bible, he seemed determined to believe nothing else. The same energy
which was displayed in his literary productions,
was exhibited also in his conversation, which was
various, striking, and instructive. But he had a
roughness in his manner which subdued the saucy,
and terrified the meek: it was only, however, in his
manner; for no man was more beloved than Johnson, and his works will be read with veneration for
their author, as long as the language in which they
are written shall be understood."
Johnson's figure was large, robust, and unwieldy
from corpulency.  His appearance was rendered
strange and somewhat uncouth by sudden emotions,
which appeared to be involuntary and convulsive.
He had the use of only one eye, yet his visual perceptions, as far as they extended, were uncommonly
quick and accurate. In his dress he was singularly
slovenly; and so morbid was his temperament, that
he never enjoyed the free and vigorous use of his
limbs.




xii      MEMOIR OF SAMUEL JOHNSON.
The flattery of friends, and the homage paid to
his abilities, made him dictatorial, arrogant, and rude,
and caused him sometimes to exceed the bounds of
politeness; but when he discovered that he had
given real cause for offence, he was always ready to
make reparation. " But there was no occasion (said
Bishop Howe) that Johnson should teach us to
dance, to make a bow, or to turn a compliment: he
could teach us better things."
Dr. Johnson was above equivocation, and scorned
to convey the language of truth, however unpleasant
to those who heard him, by any of those circumlocutory channels which are the medium of discussion
in polite society. Laconic and sensible in his conversation, he despised verbosity amd frivolity in others.
He was fond of good living and good company.
"Many a day did he fast (says Mr. Boswell), many
a year did he refrain from wine; but when he did
eat, it was voraciously; when he did drink, it was
copiously." No man, however, possessed more of
the milk of human kindness; was more ready to
assist distress; or conferred a benefit in a more
generous and delicate manner.




RA S S E L A S.
CHAPTER I.
DESCRIPTION OF A PALACE IN A VALLEY.
YE who listen with credulity to the whispers of
fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of
hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present
day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the
history of Rasselas, prince of Abyssinia.
Rasselas was the fourth son of the mighty, emperor, in whose dominions the father of waters
begins his course; whose bounty pours down the
streams of plenty, and scatters over half the world
the harvests of Egypt.
According to the custom which has descended
from age to age among the monarchs of the torrid
zone, Rasselas was confined in a private palace, with
the other sons and daughters of Abyssinian royalty,
till the order of succession should call him to the
throne.
The place, which the wisdom or policy of antiquity had destined for the residence of the Abyssin[15]




16                RASSELAS.
ian princes, was a spacious valley in the kingdom
of Amhara, surrounded on every side by mountains, of which the summits overhung the middle
part. The only passage by which it could be entered, was a cavern that passed under a rock, of
which it has long been disputed whether it was the
work of nature or of human industry. The outlet
of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and
the mouth which opened into the valley was closed
with gates of iron, forged by the artificers of ancient
days, so massy that no man without the help of engines could open or shut them.
From the mountains on every side rivulets descended that filled all the valley with verdure and
fertility, and formed a lake in the middle inhabited
by fish of every species, and frequented by every
fowl whom nature has taught to dip the wing in
water. This lake discharged its superfiuities by a
stream which entered a dark cleft of the mountain
on the northern side, and fell with dreadful noise
from precipice to precipice till it was heard no
more.
The sides of the mountains were covered with
trees, the banks of the brooks were diversified with
flowers; every blast shook spices from the rocks,
and every month dropped fruits upon the ground.
All animals that bite the grass, or browse the shrubs,
whether wild or tame, wandered in this extensive
circuit, secured from beasts of prey by the mountains which confined them. On one part were
flocks and herds feeding in the pastures, on another
all the beasts of chase frisking in the lawns: the




RASSELAS.                17
sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks, the subtle
monkey frolicking in the trees, and the solemn elephant reposing in the shade. All the diversities of
the world were brought together, the blessings of
nature were collected, and its evils extracted and
excluded.
The valley, wide and fruitful, supplied its inhabitants with the necessaries of life, and all delights
and superfluities were added at the annual visit
which the emperor paid his children, when the iron
gate was opened to the sound of music; and during
eight days every one that resided in the valley was
required to propose whatever might contribute to
make seclusion pleasant, to fill up the vacancies of
attention, and lessen the tediousness of time. Every
desire was immediately granted. All the artificers
of pleasure were called to gladden the festivity;
the musicians exerted the power of harmony, and
the dancers showed their activity before the princes,
in hopes that they should pass their lives in this
blissful captivity, to which those only were admitted
whose performance was thought able to add novelty
to luxury. Such was the appearance of security
and delight which this retirement afforded, that they
to whom it was new always desired that it might
be perpetual: and as those, on whom the iron gate
had once been closed, were never suffered to return,
the effect of longer experience could not be known.
Thus every year produced new schemes of delight,
and new competitors for imprisonment.
The palace stood on an eminence raised about
thirty paces above the surface of the lake. It was
1*




18                RASSELAS.
divided into many squares or courts, built with
greater or less magnificence, according to the rank
of those for whom they were designed.  The roofs
were turned into arches of massy stone joined by a
cement that grew harder by time, and the building
stood from century to century, deriding the solstitial
rains and equinoctial hurricanes, without need of
reparation.
This house, which was so large as to be fully
known to none but some ancient officers who successively inherited the secrets of the place, was built
as if suspicion herself had dictated the plan. To
every room there was an open and secret passage,
every square had a communication with the rest,
either from the upper stories by private galleries, or
by subterranean passages from the lower apartments.
Many of the columns had unsuspected cavities, in
which a long race of monarchs had deposited their
treasures. They then closed up the opening with
marble, which was never to be removed but in the
utmost exigencies of the kingdom; and recorded
their accumulations in a book which was itself concealed in a tower not entered but by the emperor,
attended by the prince who stood next in succession.




CHAPTER II.
DISCONTENT OF RASSELAS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY.
HERE the sons and daughters of Abyssinia lived
only to know the soft vicissitudes of pleasure and
repose, attended by all that were skilful to delight,
and gratified with whatever the senses can enjoy.
They wandered in the gardens of fragrance, and
slept in the fortresses of security. Every art was
practised to make them pleased with their own condition. The sages who instructed them, told them
of nothing but the miseries of public life, and described all beyond the mountains as regions of
calamity, where discord was always raging, and
where man preyed upon man. To heighten their
opinion of their own felicity, they were daily entertained with songs, the subject of which was the happ,
valley. Their appetites were excited by frequent
enumerations of different enjoyments, and revelry
and merriment was the business of every hour from
the dawn of morning to the close of even.
These methods were generally successful; few of
the princes had ever wished to enlarge their bounds,
but passed their lives in the full conviction that they
had all within their reach that art or nature could
bestow and pitied those whom fate had excluded
[191




20                 RASSELAS.
from this seat of tranquillity, as the sport of chance,
and the slaves of misery.
Thus they arose in the morning and lay down at
night, pleased with each other and with themselves,
all but Rasselas, who, in the twenty-sixth year of
his age, began to withdraw himself from their pastimes and assemblies, and to delight in solitary walks
and silent meditation. He often sat before tables
covered with luxury, and forgot to taste the dainties
that were placed before him; he rose abruptly in
the midst of the song, and hastily retired beyond
the sound of music. His attendants observed the
change, and endeavoured to renew his love of
pleasure; he neglected their. officiousness, repulsed
their invitations, and spent day after day on the
banks of rivulets sheltered with trees, where he
sometimes listened to the birds in the branches,
sometimes observed the fish playing in the stream,
and anon cast his eyes upon the pastures and mountains filled with animals, of which some were biting
the herbage, and some sleeping among the bushes.
This singularity of his humour made him much observed. One of the sages, in whose conversation he
had formerly delighted, followed him secretly, in
hopes of discovering the cause of his disquiet. Rasselas, who knew not that any one was near him,
having for some time fixed his eyes upon the goats
that were browsing among the rocks, began to compare their condition with his own.
"What," said he, "makes the difference between
man, and all the rest of the animal creation? Every
beast that strays beside me has the same corporeal




RASSELAS.                 21
necessities with myself; he is hungry and crops
the grass, he is thirsty and drinks the stream, his
thirst and hunger are appeased; he is- satisfied and
sleeps; he rises again and is hungry; he is again
fed and is at rest. I am hungry and thirsty like
him, but when thirst and hunger cease, I am not at
rest; I am, like him, pained with want, but am not,
like him, satisfied with fulness. The intermediate
hours are tedious and gloomy; I long again to be
hungry that I may again quicken my attention.
The birds peck the berries or the corn, and fly away
to the groves, where they sit in seeming happiness
on the branches, and waste their lives in tuning one
unwearied series of sounds. I likewise can call the
lutanist and the singer, but the sounds that pleased
me yesterday weary me to-day, and will grow yet
more wearisome to-morrow. I can discover within
me, no power of perception which is not glutted
with its proper pleasure, yet I do not feel myself
delighted. Man surely has some latent sense, for
which this place affords no gratification, or he has
some desires distinct from sense, which must be satisfied before he can be happy."
After this he lifted up his head, and seeing the
moon rising, walked towards the palace. As he
passed through the fields, and saw the animals around
him, "Ye," said he, "are happy, and need not envy
me that walk thus among you, burthened with myself; nor do I, ye gentle beings, envy your felicity;
for it is not the felicity of man. I have many dis.
tresses from which ye are free; I fear pain when I
do not feel it; I sometimes shrink at evils recol



22                RASSELAS.
lected, and sometimes start at evils anticipated;
surely the equity of Providence has balanced peculiar
sufferings with peculiar enjoyments.
With observations like these the prince amused
himself as he returned, uttering them with a plaintive voice, yet with a look that discovered him to
feel some complaisance in his own perspicuity, and
to receive some solace of the miseries of life, from
consciousnes of the delicacy with which he felt, and
the eloquence with which he bewailed them. He
mingled cheerfully in the diversions of the evening,
and all rejoiced to find that his heart was lightened.




CHAPTER III.
THE WANTS OF HIM THAT WANTS NOTHING,
ON the next day his old instructor, imagining that
he had now made himself acquainted with his disease of mind, was in hope of curing it by counsel,
and officiously sought an opportunity of conference,
which the prince, having long considered him as one
whose intellects were exhausted, was not very willing to afford: " Why," said he, " does this man thus
obtrude on me; shall I be never suffered to forget
those lectures which pleased only while they were
new, and to become new again must be forgotten?"
He then walked into the'wood, and composed himself to his usual meditations; when, before his
thoughts had taken any settled form, he perceived
his pursuer at his side, and was at first prompted by
his impatience to go hastily away; but, being unwilling to offend a man whom he had once reverenced and still loved, he invited him to sit down
with him on the bank.
The old man, thus encouraged, began to lament
the change which had been lately observed in the
prince, and to inquire why he so often retired from
the pleasures of the palace, to loneliness and silence.
"I fly from pleasure," said the prince, "because
231




24               RASSELAS.
pleasure has ceased to please: I am lonely because
I am miserable, and am unwilling to cloud with my
presence the happiness of others."  " You, sir,"
said the sage, "are the first who has complained of
misery in the happy valley. I hope to convince
you that your complaints have no real cause. You
are here in full possession of all the emperor of
Abyssinia can bestow; here is neither labour to be
endured nor danger to be dreaded, yet here is all
that labour or danger can procure or purchase.
Look round and tell me which of your wants is
without supply: if you want nothing, how are you
unhappy?"
"That I want nothing," said the prince, " or that
I know not what I want, is the cause of my complaint; if I had any known want, I should have a
certain wish: that wish would excite endeavour, and
and I should not then repine to see the sun move so
slowly towards the western mountains, or lament
when the day breaks and sleep will no longer hide
me from myself. When I see the kids and the
lambs chasing one another, I fancy that I should be
happy if I had something to pursue. But possessing all that I can want, I find one day and one hour
exactly like another, except that the latter is still
more tedious than the former. Let your experience
inform me how the day may now seem as short as
in my childhood, while nature was yet fresh, and
every moment showed me what I never had observed
before. I have already enjoyed too much; give me
something to desire." The old man was surprised
at this new species of affliction, and knew not what




RASSELAS.                 25
to reply, yet was unwilling to be silent.  "Sir,"
said he, " if you had seen the miseries of the world
you would know how to value your present state."
"Now," said the prince, " you have given me something to desire: I shall long to see the miseries of
the world, since the sight of them is necessary to
happiness."




CHAPTER IV.
THE PRINCE CONTINUES TO GRIEVE AND MUSE.
AT this time the sound of music proclaimed the hour
of repast, and the conversation was concluded. The
old man went away sufficiently discontedied, to find
that his reasons had produced the only conclusion
which they were intended to prevent. But in the
decline of life, shame and grief are ~.f short duration; whether it be that we bear easily what we have
borne long, or that, finding ourselves in age less regarded, we less regard others; or, that we look with
slight regard upon afflictions, to which we know
that the hand of death is about to put an end.
The prince, whose views were extended to a wider
space, could not speedily quiet his emotions. HE
had been before terrified at the length of life which
nature promised him, because he considered that in
a long time much must be endured: he now rejoiced
in his youth, because in many years much might be
done. The first beam of hope, that had been ever
darted into his mind, rekindled youth in his cheeks,
and doubled the lustre of his eyes. He was fired
with the desire of doing something, though he knew
not yet his distinctness, either end or means. He
was now no longer gloomy and unsocial; but, con~261




RASSELAS.                27
sidering himself as master of a secret stock of happiness which he could enjoy only by concealing it,
he affected to be busy in all schemes of diversion,
and endeavored to make others pleased with the
state of which he himself was weary. But pleasures
never can be so multiplied or continued, as not to
leave much of life unemployed; there were many
hours, both of the night and day, which he could
spend without suspicion in solitary thought. The
load of life was much lightened: he went eagerly into
the assemblies, because he supposed the frequency
of his presence necessary to the success of his purposes; he retired gladly to privacy, because he had
now a subject of thought. His chief amusement
was to picture to himself that world which he had
never seen; to place himself in various conditions;
to be entangled in imaginary difficulties, and to be
engaged in wild adventures; but his benevolence
always terminated his projects in the relief of distress, the detection of fraud, the defeat of oppression,
and the diffusion of happiness.
Thus passed twenty months of the life of Rasselas. He busied himself so intensely in visionary
bustle, that he forgot his real solitude; and, amidst
hourly preparations for the various incidents of
human affairs, neglected to consider by what means
he should mingle with mankind.
One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned
to himself an orphan virgin robbed of her little
portion by a treacherous lover, and crying after him
for restitution and redress. So strongly was the
image impressed upon his mind, that he started up




28                RASSELAS.
in the maid's defence, and ran forward to seize the
plunderer with all the eagerness of real pursuit.
Fear naturally quickens the flight of guilt. Rasselas
could not catch the fugitive with his utmost efforts;
but, resolving to weary by perseverance, him whom
he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on till the
foot of the mountain stopped his course.
Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own
useless impetuosity. Then raising his eyes to the
mountain, "This," says he, "is the fatal obstacle
that hinders at once the enjoyment of pleasure, and
the exercise of virtue. How long is it that my
hopes and wishes have flown beyond this boundary
of my life, which yet I never have attempted to
surmount!" Struck with this reflection, he sat down
to muse, and remembered that since he first resolved
to escape from his confinement, the sun had passed
twice over him in his annual course. He now felt
a degree of regret with which he had never been
before acquainted. He considered how much might
have been done in the time which had passed,
and left nothing real behind it. He compared twenty
months with the life of man. "In life," said he,
"' is not to be counted the ignorance of infancy, or
the imbecility of age. We are long before we are
able to think, and we soon cease from the power of
acting. The true period of human existence may
be reasonably estimated at forty years, of which I
have mused away the four-and-twentieth part. What
I have lost was certain, for I have certainly possessed it; but of twenty months to come who can
assure me?"




RASSELAS.                29
The consciousness of his own folly pierced him
deeply, and he was long before he could be reconciled to himself. "The rest of my time," said he,
" has been lost by the crime or folly of my ancestors,
and the absurd institutions of my country; I remember it with disgust, yet without remorse: but the
months that have passed since new light darted into
my -soul, since I formed a scheme of reasonable
felicity, have been squandered by my own fault.
I have lost that which can never be restored; I
have seen the sun rise and set for twenty months,
an idle gazer on the light of heaven: in this time
the birds have left the nest of their mother and committed themselves to the woods and to the skies;
the kid has forsaken the teat, and learned by degrees
to climb the rocks in quest of independent sustenance. I only, have made no advances, and am
still helpless and ignorant. The moon, by more
than twenty changes, admonished me of the flux of
life; the stream that rolled before my feet upbraided
my inactivity. I sat feasting on intellectual luxury,
regardless alike of the examples of the earth, and
the instruction of the planets. Twenty months are
passed, who shall restore them?"
These sorrowful meditations fastened upon his
mind; he passed four months in resolving to lose no,
more time in idle resolves, and was awakened to
more vigorous exertion, by hearing a maid, who had
broken a porcelain cup, remark, that what cannot
be repaired is not to be regretted.
This was obvious; and Rasselas reproached himself that he had not discovered it, having not known




30                RASSELAS.
or not considered, how many useful hints are ob.
tained by chance, and how often the mind, hurried
by her own ardor to distant views, neglects the
truths that lie open before her. He, for a few hours,
regretted his regret, and from that time bent his
whole mind upon the means of escaping from the
valley of happiness.




CHAPTER V.
THE PRINCE MEDITATES HIS ESCAPE.
HE now found that it would be very difficult to
effect that which it was very easy to suppose effected.
When he looked round about him, he saw himself
confined by the bars of nature which had never yet
been broken, and by the gate, through which none
that once had passed it, were ever able to return.
He was now impatient as an eagle in a grate. He
passed week after week in clambering the mountains, to see if there were any aperture which the
bushes might conceal, but found all the summits
inaccessible by their prominence. The iron gate he
despaired to open; for it was not only secured with
all the power of art, but was always watched by
successive sentinels, and was by its position exposed
to the perpetual observation of all the inhabitants.
He then examined the cavern through which the
waters of the lake were discharged; and, looking
down at a time when the sun shone strongly upon
its mouth, he discovered it to be full of broken rocks
which, though they permitted the stream to flow
through many narrow passages, would stop any
body of solid bulk. He returned discouraged and
dejected; but having now known the blessing of
hope, resolved never to despair.
[I




32                RASSELAS.
In these fruitless searches he spent ten months.
The time, however, passed cheerfully away: in the
morning he rose with new hope, in the evening applauded his own diligence, and in the night slept
sound after his fatigue. He met a thousand amusements which beguiled his labour, and diversified his
thoughts. He discerned the various instincts of
animals and properties of plants, and found the
place replete with wonders, of which he proposed to
solace himself with the contemplation, if he should
never be able to accomplish his flight; rejoicing that
his endeavours, though yet unsuccessful, had supplied him with a source of inexhaustible inquiry.
But his original curiosity was not yet abated; he
resolved to obtain some knowledge of the ways of
men. His wish still continued, but his hope grew
less. He ceased to survey any longer the walls of
his prison, and spared to search by new toils for
interstices which he knew could not be found, yet
determined to keep his design always in view, and
lay hold on any expedient that time should offer.




CHAPTER VI.
A DISSERTATION ON THE ART OF FLYING.
AMONG the artists that had been allured into the
happy valley, to labour for the accommodation and
pleasure of its inhabitants, was a man- eminent for
his knowledge of the mechanic powers, who had
contrived many engines, both of use and recreation.
By a wheel, which the stream turned, he forced the
water into a tower, whence it was distributed to all
the apartments of the palace. He erected a pavilion
in the garden, around which he kept the air always
cool by artificial showers. One of the groves appropriated to the ladies, was ventilated by fans,, to
which the rivulet that ran through it gave a constant
motion; and instruments of soft music were placed
at proper distances, of which some played by the
impulse of the wind, and some by the power of the
stream.
This artist was sometimes visited by Rasselas, who
was pleased with every kind of knowledge, imagining that the time would come when all his acquisitions should be of use to him in the open world.
HIe came one day to amuse himself in his usual
manner, and found the master busy in building a
sailing chariot: he saw that the design was practi2*             I33]




34                RASSELAS.
cable on a level surface, and with expressions of
great esteem solicited its completion. The workman
was pleased to find himself so much regarded by the
prince, and resolved to gain yet higher honours.
"Sir," said he, "you have seen but a small part of
what the mechanic.sciences can perform. I have
been long of opinion, that instead of the tardy conveyance of ships and chariots, man might use the
swifter migration of wings; that the fields of air
open to knowledge, and that only ignorance and
idleness need crawl upon the ground."
This hint rekindled the prince's desire of passing
the mountains; having seen what the mechanist had
already performed, he was willing to fancy that he
could do more: yet resolved to inquire further,
before he suffered hope to afflict him by disappoint.
ment. "I am afraid," said he to the artist, "that
your imagination prevails over your skill, and that
you now tell me rather what you wish, than what
you know. Every animal has his element assigned
him; the birds have the air, and man and beast the
earth."  "So," replied the mechanist, "fishes have
the water, in which yet beasts can swim by nature,
and men by art. He that can swim needs not despair
to fly; to swim is to float in a grosser fluid, and to
fly is to swim in a subtler. We are only to proportion our: power of resistance to the different
density of matter through which we are to pass.
You will be necessarily upborne by the air, if you
can renew any impulse upon it faster than the air
can recede from the pressure."
"But the exercise of swimming," said the prince,




RASSELAS.                 85
"is very laborious; the strongest limbs are soon
wearied; I am afraid the act of flying will be yet
more violent: and wings will be of no great use,
unless we can fly further than we can swim."
"The labour of rising from the ground," said the
artist, "will be great, as we see it in the heavier
domestic fowls, but as we mount higher, the earth's
attraction, and the body's gravity, will be gradually
diminished, till we shall arrive at a region where
the man will float in the air without any tendency
to fall: no care will then be necessary but to move
forwards, which the gentlest impulse will effect.
You, sir, whose curiosity is so extensive, will easily
conceive with what pleasure a philosopher, furnished
with wings, and hovering in the sky, would see
the earth, and all its inhabitants rolling beneath
him, and presenting to him successively, by its
diurnal motion, all the countries within the same
parellel. How must it amuse the pendant spectator to see the moving scene of land and ocean,
cities and deserts I To survey with equal security
the marts of trade, and the fields of battle; mountains infested by barbarians, and fruitful regions
gladdened by plenty and lulled by peace I How
easily shall we then trace the Nile through all
his passage; pass over to distant regions, and examine the face of nature from one extremity of the
earth to the other."
"All this," said the prince,," is much to be desired,
but I am afraid that no'man will be able to breathe
in those regions of speculation and tranquillity. I
have been told, that respiration is difficult upon lofty




36                RASSELAS.
mountains, yet from these precipices, though so high
as to produce great tenuity of air, it is very easy to
fall; therefore I suspect, that from any height, where
life can be supported, there may be danger of too
quick descent."
"Nothing," replied the artist, "will ever be attempted, if all possible objections must be first overcome. If you will favor my project, I will try the
first flight at my own hazard. I have considered
the structure of all volant animals, and find the folding continuity of the bat's wings most easily accommodated to the human form. Upon this model I
shall begin my task to-morrow, and in a year expect
to tower into the air beyond the malice and pursuit
of man. But I will work only on this condition,
that the art shall not be divulged, and that you shall
not require me to make wings for any but ourselves."
" Why," said Rasselas, "should you envy others
so great an advantage?  All skill ought to be exexted for universal good; every man has owed
mfih to others, and ought to repay the kindness
that he has received."
"If men were all virtuous," returned the artist,
"I should with great alacrity teach them all to fly.
But what would be the security of the good, if the
bad could at pleasure invade them from the sky?
Against an army sailing through the clouds, neither
walls, nor mountains, nor seas, could afford any
security. A flight of northern savages might hover
in the wind and light at once, with irresistible violence, upon the capital of a fruitful region that was




RASSELAS.                3 7
rolling under them. Even this valley, the retreat
of princes, the abode of happiness, might be violated by the sudden descent of some of the naked
nations that swarm on the coast of the southern
sea."
The prince promised secrecy, and waited for the
performance, not wholly hopeless of success. He
visited the work from time to time, observed its
progress, and remarked many ingenious contrivances
to facilitate motion and unite levity with strength.
The artist was every day more certain that he should
leave vultures and eagles behind him, and the contagion of his confidence seized upon the prince.
In a year the wings were finished, and on a morning appointed, the maker appeared furnished for
flight on a little promontory: he waved his pinions
awhile to gather air, then leaped from his stand,
and in an instant dropped into the lake. His wings,
which were of no use in the air, sustained him in
the water, and the prince drew him to land, half
dead with terror and vexation.




CHAPTER VII.
THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING.
THE prince was not much afflicted with this disaster,
having suffered himself to hope for a happier event
only because he had no other means of escape in
view; he still persisted in his design to leave the
happy valley by the first opportunity.
His imagination was now at a stand; he had no
prospect of entering into the world; and, notwithstanding all his endeavors to support himself, discontent by degrees preyed upon him, and he began
again to lose his thoughts in sadness, when the rainy
season, which in these countries is periodical, made
it inconvenient to wander in the woods.
The rain continued longer and with more violence
than had been ever known: the clouds broke on the
surrounding mountains, and the torrents streamed
into the plain on every side, till the cavern was too
narrow to discharge the water. The lake overflowed
its banks, and all the level of the valley was covered
with the inundation. The eminence, on which the
palace was built, and some other spots of rising
ground, were all that the eye could now discover.
The herds and flocks left the pastures, and both the
wild beasts and the tame retreated to the mountains.
[38]




RASSELAS.                39
This inundation confined all the princes to domestic amusements, and the attention of Rasselas was
particularly seized by a poem, which Imlac rehearsed,
upon the various conditions of humanity. He commanded the poet to attend him in his apartment, and
recite his verses a second time; then entering into
a familiar talk, he thought himself happy in having found a man who knew the world so well, and
could so skilfully paint the scenes of life. He asked
a thousand questions about things, to which, though
common to all other mortals, his confinement from
childhood had kept him a stranger. The poet pitied
his ignorance, and loved his curiosity, and entertained him from day to day with novelty and instruction, so that the prince regretted the necessity
of sleep, and longed till the morning should renew
his pleasure.
As they were sitting together, the prince commanded Imlac to relate his history, and to tell by
what accident he was forced, or by what motives
induced, to close his life in the happy valley. As
he was going to begin his narrative, Rasselas was
called to a concert, and obliged to restrain his curiosity till the evening.




CHAPTER VIII.
THE HISTORY OF IMLAC.
THE close of the day is, in the regions of the torrid
zone, the only season of diversion and entertainment, and it was therefore midnight before the music
ceased, and the princesses retired. Rasselas then
called for his companion, and required him to begin
the story of his life.
" Sir," said Imlac, " my history will not be long:
the life that is devoted to knowledge passes silently
away, and is very little diversified by events. To
to talk in public, to think in solitude, to read and
to hear, to inquire, and to answer inquiries, is the
business of a scholar. He wanders about the world
without pomp or terror, and is neither known nor
valued but by men like himself.
" I was born in the kingdom of Goima, at no great
distance from the fountain of the Nile. My father
was a wealthy merchant, who traded between the
inland countries of Afric and the ports of the Red
Sea. He was honest, frugal, and diligent, but of
mean sentiments and narrow comprehension: he
desired only to be rich, and- to conceal his riches,
lest he should be spoiled by the governors of the
province."
401]




RASSELAS.               41
"Surely," said the prince, "my father must be
negligent of his charge, if any man in his dominions
dares take that which belongs to another. Does he
not know that kings are accountable for injustice
permitted as viell as done? If I were emperor, not
the meanest of my subjects should be oppressed with
impunity. My blood boils when I am told that a
merchant durst not enjoy his honest gains, for fear
of losing them by the rapacity of power. Name the
governor who robbed the people, that I may declare
his crimes to the emperor."
"Sir," said Imlac, "your ardor is the natural effect
of virtue animated by youth: the time will come
when you will acquit your father, and perhaps
hear with less impatience of the governor. Oppression is, in the Abyssinian dominions, neither
frequent nor tolerated; but no form of government
has been yet discovered, by which cruelty can be
wholly prevented. Subordination supposes power
on one part, and subjection on the other; and if
power be in the hands of men, it will sometimes be
abused. The vigilance of the supreme magistrate
may do much, but much will still remain- undone.
He can never know all the crimes that are committed, and can seldom punish all that he knows."
"This," said the prince, "I do not understand,
but I had rather hear thee, than dispute. Continue
thy narration."
" My father," proceeded Imlac, "originally intended
that I should have no other education than such as
might qualify me for commerce: and discovering in
me great strength of memory and quickness of ap



42                RASSELAS.
prehension, often declared his hopes that I should
be some time the richest man in Abyssinia."
"Why," said the prince, " did thy father desire
the increase of his wealth, when it was already
greater than he durst discover or enjoy? I am unwilling to doubt thy veracity, yet inconsistencies
cannot both be true."
"Inconsistencies," answered Imlac, "cannot both
be right, but, imputed to man, they may both be
true.  Yet diversity is not inconsistency.  My
father might expect a time of greater security.
However, some desire is necessary to keep life in
motion, and he whose real wants are supplied, must
admit those of fancy."
"This," said the prince, "I can in some measure
conceive. I repent that I interrupted thee."
" With this hope," proceeded Imlac, " he sent me
to school; but when I had once found the delight
of knowledge, and felt the pleasure of intelligence
and the pride of invention, I began silently to
despise riches, and determined to disappoint the purpose of my father, whose grossness of conception
raised my pity. I was twenty years old before his
tenderness would expose me to the fatigues of travel,
in which time I had been instructed by successive
masters in all the literature of my native country.
As every hour taught me something new, I lived
in a continual course of gratifications; but, as I advanced towards manhood, I lost much of the reverence with which I had been used to look on my
instructors; because, when the lesson was ended, I
did not find them wiser or better than common men.




RASSELAS.               43
"At length my father resolved to initiate me in
commerce, and opening one of his subterranean
treasuries, counted out ten thousand pieces of gold I'This, young man,' said he,'is the stock with
which you must negotiate. I began with less than
the fifth part, and you see how diligence and parsimony have increased it. This is your own to waste
or improve. If you squander it by negligence or
caprice, you must wait for my death before you will
be rich; if, in four years, you double your stock,
we will thenceforward let subordination cease, and
live together as friends and partners: for he shall
always be equal with me, who is equally skilled in
the art of growing rich.'
"' We laid our money upon camels, concealed in
bales of cheap goods, and travelled to the shore of
the Red Sea. When I cast my eye on the expanse
of waters, my heart bounded like that of a prisoner
escaped. I felt an inextinguishable curiosity kindle
in my mind, and resolved to snatch this opportunity
of seeing the manners of other nations, and of learning sciences unknown to Abyssinia.
"I remembered that my father had obliged me
to the improvement of my stock, not by a promise
which I ought not to violate, but by a penalty
which I was at liberty to incur: and therefore determined to gratify my predominant desire, and by
drinking at the fountains of knowledge, to quench
the thirst of curiosity.
" As I was supposed to trade without connection
with my father, it was easy for me to become acquainted with a master of a ship, and procure a




44                RASSELA.S.
passage to some other country. I had no motives
of choice to regulate my voyage: it was sufficent
for me that, wherever I wandered, I should see a
country which I had not seen before. I therefore
entered a ship bound for Surat, having left a letter
for my father, declaring my intention."




CHAPTER IX.
THE HISTORY OF IMLAO CONTINUED.
"WHEN I first entered upon the world of waters,
and lost sight of land, I looked round about me
with pleasing terror, and thinking my soul enlarged
by the boundless prospect, imagined that I could
gaze round forever without satiety; but, in a short
time, I grew weary of looking on barren uniformity,
where I could only see again what I had already
seen. I then descended into the ship, and doubted
for a while whether all my future pleasures would
not end like this, in disgust and disappointment.
Yet surely, said I, the ocean and the land are very
different; the only variety of water is rest and motion, but the earth has mountains and valleys,
deserts and cities; it is inhabited by men of different
customs and contrary opinions; and I may hope to
find variety in life though I should miss it in
nature.
"With this thought I quieted my mind, and
amused myself during the voyage, sometimes by
learning from the sailors the art of navigation,
which I have never practised, and sometimes by
forming schemes for my conduct in different situations, in not one of which I have been ever placed.
[45]




46                RASSELAS.
"I was almost weary of my naval amusements
when we landed safely at Surat. I secured my
money, and purchasing some commodities for show,
joined myself to a caravan that was passing into the
inland country. My companions, for some reason
or other, conjecturing that I was rich, and by my
inquiries and admiration, finding that I was ignorant, considered me as a novice whom they had a
right to cheat, and who was to learn at the usual
expense, the art of fraud. They exposed me to the
theft of servants and the exaction of officers, and
saw me plundered upon false pretences, without any
advantages to themselves, but that of rejoicing in
the superiority of their own knowledge."
"Stop a moment," said the prince. "Is there
such depravity in man, as that he should injure
another without benefit to himself? I can easily
conceive that all are pleased with superiority; but
your ignorance was merely accidental, which being
neither your crime nor your folly, could afford them
no reason to applaud themselves; and the knowledge which they had, and which you wanted, they
might as effectually have shown by warning, as by
betraying you."
"Pride," said Imlac, "is seldom delicate, it will
please itself with very mean advantages; and envy
feels not its own happiness, but when it may be
compared with the misery of others. They were
my enemies, because they grieved to think me rich;
and my oppressors, because they delighted to find
me weak."
"Proceed," said the prince, "I doubt not of the




RASSELAS.               47
facts which you relate, but imagine that you impute
themr to mistaken motives."
"In this company," said Imlac, "I arrived at
Agra, the capital of Indostan, the city in wich the
great Mogul commonly resides. I applied myself
to the language of the country, and in a few months
was able to converse with the learned men; some
of whom I found morose and reserved, and others
easy and communicative; some were unwilling to
teach another what they had with difficulty learned
themselves: and some showed that the end of their
studies was to gain the dignity of instructing.
"To the tutor of the young princess I recommended myself so much, that I was presented to the
emperor as a man of uncommon knowledge. The
emperor asked me many questions concerning my
country and my travels; and though I cannot now
recollect anything that he uttered above the power
of a common man, he dismissed me astonished at
his wisdom, and enamoured of his goodness.
"My credit was now so high, that the merchants,
with whom I had travelled, applied to me for recommendations to the ladies of the court. I was surprised at their confidence of solicitation, and gently
reproached them with their practices on the road.
They heard me with cold indifference, and showed
no tokens of shame or sorrow.
"They then urged their request with the offer of
a bribe; but what I would not do for kindness, I
would not do for money; and refused them, not
because they had injured me, but because I would
not enable them to injure others; for I knew they




48                RASSELAS.
would have made use of my credit to cheat those
who should buy their wares.
c" Having resided at Agra till there was no more
to be learned, I travelled into Persia, where I saw
many remains of ancient magnificence, and observed
many new accommodations of life. The Persians
are a nation eminently social, and their assemblies
afforded me daily opportunities of remarking characters and manners, and of tracing human nature
through all its variations.
" From Persia I passed into Arabia, where I saw
a nation at once pastoral and warlike; who live
without any settled habitation; whose only wealth
is their flocks and herds; and who have yet carried
on through all ages, an hereditary war with all
mankind, though they neither covet nor envy their
possessions."




CHAPTE R  X.
IMLAC'S HISTORY CONTINUED-A DISSERTATION UPON POETRY.
" WHEREVER I went, I found that poetry was considered as the highest learning, and regarded with a
veneration somewhat approaching to that which
man would pay to the Angelic Nature. And yet
it fills me with wonder, that, in almost all countries,
the most ancient poets are considered as the best;
whether it be that every other kind of knowledge is
an acquisition gradually attained, and poetry is a
gift conferred at once; or that the first poetry of
every nation surprised them as a novelty, and retained the credit by consent, which it received by
accident at first: or whether, as the province of
poetry is to describe nature and passion, which are
always the same, the first writers took possession of
the most striking objects for descrijtion, and the
most probable occurrences for fiction, and left nothing to those that followed them, but transcription
of the same events, and new combinations of the
same images. Whatever be the reason, it is commonly observed that the early writers are in possession of nature, and their followers of art: that
the first excel in strength and invention, and the
latter in elegance and refinement.
"I was desirous to add my name to this illustri3 a491




50                RASSELAS.
ous fraternity. I read all the poets of Persia and
Arabia, and was able to repeat by memory the volumes that are suspended in the mosque of Mecca.
But I soon found that no man was ever great by
imitation. My desire of excellence impelled me to
transfer my attention to nature and to life. Nature
was to be my subject, and men to be my auditors.
I could never describe what I had not seen: I could
not hope to move those with delight or terror, whose
interests and opinions I did not understand.
" Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw everything with a new purpose: my sphere of attention
was suddenly magnified; no kind of knowledge was
to be overlooked. I ranged mountains and deserts
for images and resemblances, and pictured upon my
mind every tree of the forest and flower of the valley. I observed with equal care the crags of the
rock and the pinnacle of the palace. Sometimes I
wandered along the mazes of the rivulet, and sometimes watched the changes of the summer clouds.
To a poet nothing can be useless. Whatever is
beautiful, and whatever is dreadful, must be familiar
to his imagination: he must be conversant with all
that is awfully vast or elegantly little. The plants
of the garden, the animals of the wood, the minerals
of the earth, and meteors of the sky, must all concur to store his mind with inexhaustible variety:
for every idea is useful for the enforcement or decoration of moral or religious truth: and he, who
knows most, will have most power of diversifying
his scenes, and of gratifying his reader with remote
allusions and unexpected instruction.




RASSELAS.                51
"All the appearances of nature I was therefore
careful to study, and every country which I have
surveyed has contributed something to my poetical
powers."
"In so wide a survey," said the prince, "you
must surely have left much unobserved. I have
lived, till now, within the circuit of these mountains,
and yet cannot walk abroad without the sight of
something which I had never beheld before, or never
heeded."
"The business of a poet," said Imlac, "is to examine, not the individual, but the species; to remark
general properties, and large appearances; he does
not number the streaks of the tulip, or describe the
different shades in the verdure of the forest. He is
to exhibit in his portraits of nature such prominent
and striking features, as recall the original to every
mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations,
which one may have remarked, and another have
neglected, for those characteristics which are alike
obvious to vigilance and carelessness.
"But the knowledge of nature is only half the
task of a poet; he must be acquainted likewise with
all the modes of life. His character requires that
he estimate the happiness and misery of every condition; observe the power of all the passions in all
their combinations, and trace the changes of the
human mind as they are modified by various institutions and accidental influences of climate or custom, from the sprightliness of infancy to the despondence of decrepitude. He must divest himself of
the prejudices of his age or country; he must con



52                RASSELAS.
sider right and wrong in their abstracted and invariable state; he must disregard present laws and
opinions, and rise to general and transcendental
truth, which will always be the same: he must therefore content himself with the slow progress of his
name; contemn the applause of his own time, and
commit his claims to the justice of posterity. He
must write as the interpreter of nature, and the
legislator of mankind, and consider himself as presiding over the thoughts and manners of future generations; as a being superior to time and place.
" His labor is not yet at an end: he must know
many languages and many sciences; and, that his
style may be worthy of his thoughts, must, by incessant practice, familiarize to himself every delicacy
of speech and grace of harmony."




CHAPTER XI.
IMLAC'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED —A HINT ON PILGRIMAGE.
IMLAC now felt the enthusiastic fit, and was proceeding to aggrandize his own profession, when the
prince cried out, "Enough! thou hast convinced
me that no human being can ever be a poet. Proceed with thy narration."
"To be a poet," said Imlac, " is indeed very diffiult."  "So difficult," returned the prince, " that I
sill at present hear no more of his labors. Tell me
whither you went when you had seen Persia."
" From Persia," said the poet, " I travelled through
Syria, and for three years resided in Palestine, where
I conversed with great numbers of the northern and
western nations of Europe: the nations which are
now in possession of all power and all knowledge,
whose armies are irresistible, and whose fleets command the remotest parts of the globe. When I
compared these men with the natives of our own
kingdom, and those that surround us, they appeared
almost another order of beings. In their countries
it is difficult to wish for anything that may not be
obtained: a thousand arts, of which we never hea
are continually laboring for their convenience and
[53J




64                RASSELAS.
pleasure: and whatever their own climate has denied them, is supplied by their commerce."
" By what means," said the prince, I" are the Europeans thus powerful: or why, since they can so
easily visit Asia and Africa for trade or conquest,
cannot the Asiatics and Africans invade their coasts,
plant colonies in their ports, and give laws to their
natural princes? The same wind that carries them
back would bring us thither."
" They are more powerful, sir, than we," answered
Imlac, "because they are wiser: knowledge will
always predominate over ignorance, as man governs
the other animals. But why their knowledge is
more than ours, I know not what reason can be
given, but the unsearchable will of the Supreme
Being."
"When," said the prince, with a sigh, " shall I be
able to visit Palestine, and mingle with this mighty
confluence of nations? Till that happy moment
shall arrive, let me fill up the time with such representations as thou canst give.. me. I am not ignorant of the motive that assembles such numbers in
that place, and cannot but consider it as the centre
of wisdom and piety, to which the best and wisest
men of every land must be continually resorting."
"There are some nations," said Imlac, "that send
few visitors to Palestine: for many numerous and
learned sects in Europe concur to censure pilgrimage
as superstitious, or deride it as ridiculous."
"You know," said the prince, "' how little my life
has made me acq uainted with diversity of opinions;
it will be too long to hear the arguments on both




RASSELAS.                55
sides: you, that have considered them, tell me the
result."
"Pilgrimage," said Imlac, "like many other acts
of piety, may be reasonable or superstitious, according to the principles upon which it is performed.
Long journeys in search of truth are not commanded.
Truth, such as is necessary to the regulation of life,
is always found when it is honestly sought. Change
of place is no natural cause of the increase of piety,
for it inevitably produces dissipation of mind. Yet,
since men go every day to view the fields where
great actions have been performed, and return with
stronger impressions of the event, curiosity of the
same kind may naturally dispose us to view that
country whence our religion had its beginning: and
I believe no man surveys those awful scenes without some confirmation of holy resolutions. That
the Supreme being may be more easily propitiated
in one place than in another, is the dream of idle
superstition; but that some places may operate
upon our own minds in an uncommon manner, is
an opinion which hourly experience will justify. He
who supposes that his vices may be more successfully combated in Palestine, will, perhaps, find
himself mistaken, yet he may go thither without
folly: he who thinks they will be more freely pardoned, dishonors at once his reason and religion."
"These," said the prince, " are European distinctions. I will consider them another time. What
have you found to be the effect of knowledge? Are
these nations happier than we?"




56                 RASSELAS.
"There is so much infelicity," said the poet, "in
the world, that scarce any man has leisure from his
own distresses to estimate the comparative happiness of others. Knowledge is certainly one of the
means of pleasure, as is confessed by the natural
desire which every mind feels of increasing its ideas.
Ignorance is mere privation, by which nothing can
be produced: it is a vacuity in which the soul sits
motionless and torpid for want of attraction; and,
without knowing why, we always rejoice when we
learn, and grieve when we forget. I am therefore
inclined to conclude, that if nothing counteracts the
natural consequences of learning, we grow more
happy as our minds take a wider range.
" In enumerating the particular comforts of life,
we shall find many advantages on the side -of Europeans.  They cure wounds and diseases with
which we languish and perish. We suffer inclemencies of weather which they can obviate. They
have engines for the dispatch of many laborious
works, which we must perform by manual industry. There is such communication between distant
places, that one friend can hardly be said te be absent from another. Their policy removes all public inconveniences: they have roads cut through
their mountains, and bridges laid upon their rivers.
And if we descend to the privacies of life, their
habitations are more commodious, and their possessions are more secure."
"They are surely happy," said the prince, "who
have all these conveniences, of which I envy none




RASSELAS.               57
so much as the facility with which separated friends
interchange their thoughts."
" The Europeans," answered Imlac, " are less unhappy than we, but they are not happy. Human
life is everywhere a state in which much is to be
endured, and little to be enjoyed.''
3*




CHAPTER  XII.
THE STORY OF IMLAC CONTINUED.
" 1 AM not yet willing," said the prince, "to suppose that happiness is so parsimoniously distributed
to mortals; nor can I believe but that, if I had the
choice of life, I should be able to fill every day with
pleasure. I would injure no man, and should provoke no resentment. I would relieve every distress,
and should enjoy the benedictions of gratitude. I
would choose my friends among the wise, and my
wife among the virtuous; and therefore should be
in no danger from treachery or unkindness. My
children should, by my care, be learned and pious,
and would repay to my age what their childhood had
received. What would dare to molest him who
might call on every side to thousands enriched by
his bounty, or assisted by his power? And why
should not life glide quietly away in the soft reciprocation of protection and reverence? All this
may be done without the help of European refinements, which appear by their effects to be rather
specious than useful. Let us leave them, and pursue our journey."
"From Palestine," said Imlac, "I passed through
many regions of Asia; in the more civilized king[38]




RASSELAS.                59
doms as a trader, and among the barbarians of the
mountains as a pilgrim. At last I began to long
for my native country, that I might repose after my
travels and fatigues, in the places where I spent my
earliest years, and gladden my old companions with
the recital of my adventures. Often did I figure to
myself those with whom I had sported away the
gay hours of dawning life, sitting round me in the
evening, wondering at my tales, and listening to my
counsels.
"When this thought had taken possession of my
mind, I considered every moment as wasted which
did not bring mne nearer to Abyssinia. I hastened
into Egypt, and notwithstanding my impatience,
was detained ten months in the contemplation of its
ancient magnificence, and inquiries after the remains
of its ancient learning. I found in Cairo a mixture
of all nations; some brought thither by the love of
knowledge, some by the hope of gain, and many by
the desire of living after their own manner without
observation, and of lying hid in the obscurity of
multitudes: for in a city, populous as Cairo, it is
possible to obtain at the same time the gratifications
of society, and the secrecy of solitude.
" From Cairo I travelled to Suez, and embarked
on the Red Sea, passing along the coast till I arrived
at the port from which I had departed twenty years
before. Here I joined my caravan, and reentered
my native country.
" I now expected the caresses of my kinsmen, and
the congratulations of my friends, and was not without hope that my father, whatever value he had set




60                RASSELAS.
upon riches, would own with gladness and pride a
son who was able to add to the felicity and honour
of a nation. But I was soon convinced that my
thoughts were vain. My father had been dead
fourteen years, having divided his wealth among my
brothers, who were removed to some other provinces.
Of my companions the greater part was in the grave,
of the rest, some could with difficulty remember
me, and some considered me as one corrupted by
foreign manners.
" A man used to vicissitudes is not easily dejected.
I forgot, after a time, my disappointment, and endeavored to recommend myself to the nobles of the
kingdom; they admitted me to their tables, heard
my story, and dismissed me. I opened a school,
and was prohibited to teach. I then resolved to sit
down in the quiet of domestic life, and addressed a
lady that was fond of my conversation, but rejected
my suit because my father was a merchant.
"Wearied at last with solicitation and repulses, I
resolved to hide myself forever from the world, and
depend no longer on the opinion or caprice of others.
I waited for the time when the gate of the happy
valley should open, that I might bid farewell to
hope and fear; the day came; my performance was
distinguished with favour, and I resigned myself
with joy to perpetual confinement."
"Hast thou here found happiness at last?" said
Rasselas.  "Tell me without reserve: art thou
content with thy condition? or, dost thou wish
to be again wandering and inquiring? All the inhabitants of this valley celebrate their lot, and at




RASSELAS.                61
the anual visit of the emperor, invite others to partake of their felicity."
"IGreat prince," said Imlac, "'I shall speak the
truth; I know not one of all your attendants who
does not lament the hour when he entered this retreat. I am less unhappy than the rest, because I
have a mind replete with images, which I can vary
and combine at pleasure. I can amuse my solitude
by the renovation of the knowledge which begins to
fade from my memory, and by recollection of the
incidents of my past life. Yet all this ends in the
sorrowful consideration, that my acquirements are
now useless, and that none of my pleasures can be
again enjoyed. The rest, whose minds have no impression but of the present moment, are either corroded by malignant passions, or sit stupid in the
gloom of perpetual vacancy,"
"What passion can infest those," said the prince,
"who have no rivals? We are in a place where
impotence precludes malice, and where all envy is
repressed by community of enjoyments."
"There may be community," said Imlac, "of
material possessions, but there can never be community of love or of esteem. It must happen that
one will please more than another: he that knows
himself despised, will always be enXous; and still
more envious and magTevolent, if he be condemned
to live in the presence of those who despise him.
The invitations, by which they allure others to a
state which they feel to be wretched, proceed from
the natural malignity of hopeless misery. They are
weary of themselves, and of each other, and expect




62                RASSELAS.
to find relief in new companions. They envy the
liberty which their folly has forfeited, and would
gladly see all mankind imprisoned like themselves.
"From this crime, however, I am wholly free.
No man can say that he is wretched by my persuasion. I look with pity on the crowds who are
annually soliciting admission to captivity, and wish
that it were lawful for me to warn them of their
danger."
" My dear Imlac," said the prince, "I will open
to thee my whole heart. I have long meditated an
escape from the happy valley. I have examined the
mountains on every side, but find myself insuperably barred: teach me the way to break my prison;
thou shalt be the companion of my flight, the guide
of my rambles, the partner of my fortune, and my
director in the choice of life."
" Sir," answered the poet, "your escape will be
difficult, and, perhaps, you may soon repent your
curiosity. The world, which you figure to yourself
smooth and quiet as the lake in the valley, you will
find a sea foaming with tempests, and boiling with
whirlpools: you will be sometimes overwhelmed
by the waves of violence, and sometimes dashed
against the rocks of treachery. Amidst wrong and
frauds, competitions and anxieties, you will wish a
thousand times for these seats of quiet, and willingly
quit hope to be free from fear."
"Do not seek to deter me from my purpose,"
said the prince; " I am impatient to see what thou
hast seen; and, since thou art thyself weary of the
valley, it is evident that thy former state was better~




RASSELAS.                 63
than this. Whatever be the consequence of my experiment, I am resolved to judge with mine own
eyes Ir the various conditions of men, and then to
make deliberately my choice of life."
"I am afraid," said Imlac, "you are hindered by
stronger restraints than my persuasions; yet, if you!
determination be fixed, I do not counsel you to
despair. Few things are impossible to diligence
and skill."




CHIAPTER  XIII.
RASSELAS DISCOVERS THE MEANS OF ESCAPE.
THE prince now dismissed his favorite to rest, but
the narrative of wonders and novelties filled his
mind with perturbation. He revolved all that he
had heard, and prepared innumerable questions for
the morning.
Much of his uneasiness was now removed. He
had a friend to whom he could impart his thoughts,
and whose experience could assist him in his dedesigns. His heart was no longer condemned to
swell with silent vexation. He thought that even
the happy valley might be endured with such a
companion, and that if they could range the world
together, he should have nothing further to desire.
In a few days the water was discharged, and the
ground dried. The prince and Imlac then walked
out together to converse without the notice of the
rest. The prince, whose thoughts were always on
the wing, as he passed by the gate said, with a
countenance of sorrow, "Why art thou so strong,
why is man so weak?"
"Man is not weak," answered his companion;
"knowledge is more than equivalent to force. The
master of mechanics laughs at strength. I can burst
[4]




RASSELAS.                65
the gate, but cannot do it secretly. Some other expedient must be tried."
As they were walking, on the side of the mountain, they observed that the conies, which the rain
had driven from their burrows, had taken shelter
among the bushes, and formed holes behind them,
tending upwards in an oblique line. "It has been
the opinion of antiquity," said Imlac, "that human
reason borrowed many arts from the instinct of animals: let us, therefore, not think ourselves degraded by learning from the coney. We may escape by
piercing the mountain in the same direction. We
We will begin where the summit hangs over the
middle part, and labor upward till we shall issue
up beyond the prominence."
The eyes of the prince, when he heard this pro.
posal sparkled with joy. The execution was easy,
and the success certain.
No time was lost. They hastened early in the
morning to choose a place proper for their mine.
They clambered with great fatigue among crags
and brambles, and returned without having discovered any part that favored their design. The second and the third days were spent in the same manner, and with the same frustration. But, on the
fourth, they found a small cavern, concealed by a
thicket, where they resolved to make their experiment.
Imlac procured instruments proper to hew stone
and remove earth, and they fell to their work on
the next day with more eagerness than vigor. Theywere presently exhausted by their efforts, and sat




66                 RASSELAS.
down to pant upon the grass. The prince, for a
moment, appeared to be discouraged.  "Sir," said
his companion, "practice will enable us to continue
our labor for a longer time; mark, however, how
far we have advanced, and you will find that our
toil will some time have an end. Great works are
performed, not by strength, but by perseverance;
yonder palace was raised by single stones, yet you
see its height and spaciousness. He that shall walk
with vigor three hours a day, will pass in seven
years a space equal to the circumference of the
globe."
They returned to their work day after day, and
in a short time found a fissure in the rock, which
enabled them to pass far with very little obstruction. This Rasselas considered as a good omen.
"Do not disturb your mind," said Imlac, "with
other hopes or fears than reason may suggest; if
you are pleased with prognostics of good, you will
be terrified likewise with tokens of evil, and your
whole life will be a prey to superstition. Whatever facilitates our work is more than an omen, it
is a cause of success. This is one of those pleasing
surprises which often happens to active resolution.
Many things difficult to design, prove easy to performance."




CHAPTER XIV.
RASSELAS AND IMLAC RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.
THEY had now wrought their way to the middle,
and solaced their toil with the approach of liberty,
when the prince, coming down to refresh himself
with air, found his sister Nekayan standing before
the mouth of the cavity.  He started and stood
confused, afraid to tell his design, yet hopeless to
conceal it. A few moments determined him to repose on her fidelity, and secure her secregy by a
declaration without reserve..
"Do not imagine," said the princess, "that I
came hither as a spy: I had long observed from my
window that you and Imlac directed your walk
every day towards the same point, but I did not
suppose that you had any better reason for the preference than a cooler shade, or more fragrant bank;
nor followed you with any other design than to
partake of your conversation. Since, then, not suspicions but fondness has detected you, let me not
lose the advantage of my discovery. I am equally
weary of confinement with yourself, and not less
desirous of knowing what is done or suffered in the
world. Permit me to fly with you from this tasteless tranquillity, which will yet grow more loathsome when you have left me. You may deny me
[671




68                RASSELAS.
to accompany you, but cannot hinder me from following."
The prince, who loved Nekayah above his other
sisters, had no inclination to refuse her request, and
grieved that he had lost an opportunity of showing
his confidence by a voluntary communication. It
was therefore agreed that she should leave the valley
with them; and that, in the mean time, she should
watch lest any other straggler should, by chance or
curiosity, follow them to the mountain.
At length their labor was at an end; they saw
light beyond the prominence, and issuing to the top
of the mountain, beheld the Nile, yet a narrow current, wandering beneath them.
The prince looked round with rapture, anticipated
all the pleasures of travel, and in thought was already
transported beyond his father's dominions. Imlac,
though very joyful at his escape, had less expectation of pleasure in the world, which he had before
tried, and of which he had been weary.
Rasselas was so much delighted with a wider horizon, that he could not soon be persuaded to return
into the valley. He informed his sister that the way
was open, and that nothing now remained but to
prepare for their departure.




CHAPTER XV.
THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS LEAVE THE VALLEY AND SEE MANY
WONDERS.
THE prince and princess had jewels sufficient to
make them rich whenever they came into a place
of commerce, which, by Imlac's direction, they hid
in their clothes, and, on the night of the next full
moon, all left the valley. The princess was followed
only by a single favorite, who did not know whither
she was going.
They clambered through the cavity and began to
go down on the other side. The princess and her
maid turned their eyes towards every part, and,
seeing nothing to bound their prospect, considered
themselves as in danger of being lost in a dreary
vacuity.  They stopped and trembled.   "I am
almost afraid," said the princess, "to begin a journey of which I cannot perceive an end, and to venture into this immense plain, where I may be approached on every side by men whom I never saw."
The prince felt nearly;the same emotions, though
he thought it more manly to conceal them.
Imlac smiled at their terrors, and encouraged
them to proceed; but the princess continued irresolute till she had been imperceptibly drawn forward
too far to return.
In the morning they found some shepherds in the
[691




i 0              RASSELAS.
field, who set milk and fruits before them. The
princess wondered that she did not see a palace
ready for her reception and a table spread with delicacies; but being faint and hungry, she drank the
milk and ate the fruits, and thought them of a higher
flavor than the produce of the valley.
They travelled forward by easy journeys, being
all unaccustomed to toil or difficulty, and knowing,
that though they might be missed, they could not
be pursued. In a few days they came into a more
populous region, where Imlac was diverted with the
admiration which his companions expressed at the
diversity of manners, stations, and employments.
Their dress was such as might not bring upon
them the suspicion of having anything to conceal,
yet the prince, wherever he came, expected to be
obeyed, and the princess was frightened, because
those that came into her prensence did not prostrate
themselves before her. Imlac was forced to observe
them with great vigilance, lest they should betray
their rank by their unusual behavior, and detained
them several weeks in the first village, to accustom
them to the sight of common mortals.
By degrees the royal wanderers were taught to
understand that they had for a time laid aside their
dignity, and were to expect only such regard as liberality and courtesy could procure. And Imlac,
having by many admonitions, prepared them to
endure the tumults of a port, and the ruggedness
of the commercial race, brought them down to the
sea-coast.
The prince and his sister, to whom everything




RASSELAS.                71
was new, were gratified equally at all places, and
therefore remained for some months at the port
without any inclination to pass further: Imlac was
content with their stay, because he did not think it
safe to expose them, unpractised in the world, to
the hazards of a foreign country.
At last he began to fear lest they should be
discovered, and proposed to fix a day for their departure. They had no pretensions to judge for
themselves, and referred the whole scheme to his
direction. He therefore took passage in a ship.to
Suez; and, when the time came, with great difficulty
prevailed on the princess to enter the vessel. They
had a quick and prosperous voyage, and from Suez
travelled by land to Cairo.




CHAPTER  XVI.
THEY ENTER CAIRO AND FIND EVERY MAN HAPPY.
As they approached the city, which filled the strangers with astonishment, "This," said Imlac to the
prince, " is the place where travellers and merchants
assemble from all corners of the earth. You will
here find men of every character and every occupation. Commerce is here honourable: I will act
as a merchant, and you shall live as strangers, who
have no other end of travel than curiosity; it will
soon be observed that we are rich; our reputation
will procure us access to all whom we shall desire to
know; you will see all the conditions of humanity,
and enable yourself at leisure to make your choice
of life."
They now entered the town, stunned by the noise,
and offended by the crowds. Instruction had not yet
so prevailed over habit, but that they wondered to
see themselves pass undistinguished along the street,
and met by the lowest of the people without reverence or notice. The princess could not at first bear
the thought of being levelled with the vulgar, and,
for some days, continued in her chamber, where she
was served by her favourite Pekuah as in the palace
of the valley.
l]




RASSELAS.               73
Imlac, who understood traffic, sold part of the
jewels the next day, and hired a house, which he
adorned with such magnificence, that he was immediately considered as a merchant of great wealth.
His politeness attracted many acquaintance, and his
generosity made him courted by many dependants.
His table was crowded by men of every nation, who
all admired his knowledge and solicited his favour.
His companions, not being able to mix in the conversation, could make no discovery of their ignorance or surprise, and were gradually initiated in
the world as. they gained knowledge of the language.
The prince had, by frequent lectures, been taught
the use and nature of money; but the ladies could
not, for a long time, comprehend what the merchants
did with small pieces of gold and silver, or why
things of so little use should be received as equivalent to the necessaries of life.
They studied the language two years, while Imlac
was preparing to set before them the various ranks
and conditions of mankind. He grew acquainted
with all who had anything uncommon in their
fortune and conduct. He frequented the voluptuous
and the frugal, the idle and the busy, the merchants
and the men of learning.
The prince being now able to converse with fluency, and having learned the caution necessary to be
observed in his intercourse with strangers, began to
accompany Imlac to places of resort, and to enter
into all assemblies, that he might make his choice of
life.
For some time he thought choice needless, be4




74                RASSELAS.
cause all appeared to him equally happy. Wherever
he went he met gaiety and kindness, and heard the
song of joy, or laugh of carelessness. He began to
believe that the world overflowed with universal
plenty, and that nothing was withheld either from
want or merit; that every hand showered liberality,
and every heart melted with benevolence; "and who
then," says he, "will be suffered to be wretched?"
Imlac permitted the pleasing delusion, and was
unwilling to crush the hope of inexperience, till one
day, having sat awhile silent, "I know not," said
the prince, " what can be the reason that I am more
unhappy than any of our friends. I see them perpetually and unalterably cheerful, but feel my own
mind restless and uneasy. I am unsatisfied with
those pleasures which I seem most to court. I live
in the crowds of jollity, not so much to enjoy company as to shun myself, and am only loud and
merry to conceal my sadness."
"Every man," said Imlac, "may, by examining
his own mind, guess what passes in the minds of
others: when you feel that your own gaiety is counterfeit, it may justly lead you to suspect that of your
companions not to be sincere. Envy is commonly
reciprocal. We are long before we are convinced
that happiness is never to be found, and each believes it possessed by others, to keep alive the hope
of obtaining it for himself. In the assembly, where
you passed the last night, there appeared such
sprightliness of air and volatility of fancy, as might
have suited beings of a higher order, formed to
inhabit serener regions, inaccessible to care or sor



RASSELAS.                75
row: yet, believe me, prince, there was not one who
did not dread the moment when solitude should
deliver him to the tyranny of reflection."
"This," said the prince, " may be true of others,
since it is true of me: yet whatever be the general
infelicity of man, one condition is more happy than
another, and wisdom surely directs us to take the
least evil in the choice of life."
"The causes of good and evil," answered Imlac,
"are so various and uncertain, so often entangled
with each other, so diversified by various relations,
and so much subject to accidents which cannot be
foreseen, that he who would fix his condition upon
incontestable reasons of preference, must live and
die inquiring and deliberating."
"But surely," said Rasselas, "the wise men, to
whom we listen with reverence and wonder, chose
that mode of life for themselves which they thought
most likely to make them happy."
" Very few," said the poet, " live by choice. Every
man is placed in his present condition by causes
which acted without his foresight, and with which
he did not always willingly co-operate; and therefore you will rarely meet one who does not think
the lot of his neighbor better than his own."
"I am pleased to think," said the prince, "that
my birth has given me at least one advantage over
others, by enabling me to determine for myself. I
have here the world before me; I will review it at
leisure: surely happiness is somewhere to be found."




CHAPTER XVII.
THE PRINCE ASSOCIATES WITH YOUNG MEN OF SPIRIT AND
GAIETY.
RASSELAS rose next day, and resolved to begin his
experiments upon life. "Youth," cried he, "is the
time of gladness: I will join myself to the young
men, whose only business is to gratify their desires,
and whose time is only spent in a succession of enjoyments."
To such societies he was readily admitted, but a
few days brought him back weary and disgusted.
Their mirth was without images; their laughter
without motive; their pleasures were gross and sensual, in which the mind had no part; their conduct
was at once wild and mean; they laughed at order
and at law, but the frown of power dejected, and
the eye of wisdom abashed them.
The prince soon concluded that he should never be
happy in a course of life of which he was ashamed.
Ite thought it unsuitable to a reasonable being to
act without a plan, and to be sad or cheerful only
by chance. " Happiness," said he, "must be something solid and permanent, without fear and without
uncertainty."
But his young companions had gained so much
[76]




RASSELAS.                77
of his regard by their frankness and courtesy, that
he could not leave them without warning and remonstrance.  " My friends," said he, "I have seriously considered our manners and our prospects,
and find that we have mistaken our own interest.
The first years of man must make provision for the
last. He that never thinks never can be wise. Perpetual levity must end in ignorance: and intemperance, though it may fire the spirits for an hour,
will make life short or miserable. Let us consider
that youth is of no long duration, and that in maturer age, when the enchantments of fancy shall
cease, and phantoms of delight dance no more about
us, we shall have no comforts but the esteem of wise
men, and the means of doing good. Let us, therefore, stop, while to stop is in our power: let us live
as men who are sometime to grow old, and to whom
it will be the most dreadful of all evils to count
their past years by follies, and to be reminded of
their former luxuriance of health only by the maladies which riot has produced."
They stared awhile in silence one upon another,
and at last drove him away by a general chorus of
continued laughter.
The consciousness that his sentiments were just,
and his intentions kind, were scarcely sufficient to
support him against the horror of derision. But he
recovered his tranquillity, and pursued his search.




CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PRINCE FINDS A WISE AND HAPPY MAN,
As he was one day walking in the street, he saw a
spacious building, which all were, by the open doors,
invited to enter; he followed the stream of people,
and found it a hall or school of declamation, in
which professors read lectures to their auditory.
He fixed his eye upon a sage raised above the rest,
who discoursed with great energy on'the government of the passions. His look was venerable, his
action graceful, his pronunciation clear, and his
diction elegant. He showed with great strength of
sentiment, and variety of illustration, that human
nature is degraded and debased, when the lower
faculties predominate over the higher; that when
fancy, the parent of passion, usurps the dominion
of the mind, nothing ensues but the natural effect
of unlawful government, perturbation and confusion; that she betrays the fortresses of the intellect to rebels, and excites her children to sedition
against reason, their lawful sovereign. He compared reason to the sun, of which the light is constant, uniform, and lasting; and fancy to a meteor,
of bright but transitory lustre, irregular in its motion,
and delusive in its direction..
L78J




RASSELAS.                79
He then communicated the various precepts given
from time to time, for the conquest of passion, and
displayed the happiness of those who had obtained
the important victory, after which man is no longer
the slave of fear, nor the fool of hope; is no more
emaciated by envy, inflamed by anger, emasculated
by tenderness, or depressed by grief: but walks on
calmly through the tumults or privacies of life, as
the sun pursues alike his course through the calm
or the stormy sky.
He enumerated many examples of heroes immovable by pain or pleasure, who looked with indifference on those modes or accidents to which the
vulgar gave the names of good and evil. He exhorted his hearers to lay aside their prejudices, and
arm themselves against the shafts of malice or misfortune, by invulnerable patience; concluding, that
this state only was happiness, and that this happiness was in every one's power.
Rasselas listened to him with the veneration due
to the instructions of a superior being, and waiting
for him at the door, humbly implored the liberty of
visiting so great a master of true wisdom. The lecturer hesitated a moment, when Rasselas put a purse
of gold into his hand, which he received with a
mixture of joy and wonder.
"I have found," said the prince, at his return to
Imlac, "a man that can teach all that is necessary to
be known, who from the unshaken throne of rational
fortitude looks down on the scenes of life changing
beneath him. He speaks, and attention watches his
lips. He reasons, and conviction closes his- periods.




80                RASSELAS.
This man shall be my future guide; I will learn his
doctrines; and imitate his life."
"Be not too hasty," said Imlac, "to trust, or to
admire the teachers of morality: they discourse
like angels, but they live like men."
Rasselas, who could not conceive how any man
could reason so forcibly without feeling the cogency
of his own arguments, paid his visit in a few days,
and was denied admission. He had now learned
the power of money, and made his way by a piece
of gold to the inner apartment, where he found the
philosopher in a room half-darkened, with his'eyes
misty, and his face pale. " Sir," said he, "you are
come at a time when all human friendship is useless; what I suffer cannot be remedied, what I
have lost cannot be supplied. My daughter, my
only daughter, from whose tenderness I expected all
the comforts of my age, died last night of a fever.
My views, my purposes, my hopes are at an end: I
am now a lonely being disunited from society."
"Sir," said the prince, " mortality is an event by
which a wise man can never be surprised; we know
that death is always near, and it should, therefore,
always be expected."  "Young man," answered the
philosopher, "you speak like one that has never felt
the pangs of separation."  "Have you then forgot
the precepts," said Rasselas, " which you so powerfully enforced? Has wisdom no strength to arm
the heart against calamity? Consider, that external
things are naturally variable, but truth and reason
are always the same."  "What comfort," said the
mourner, "can truth and reason afford me? of




RASSELAS.               81
what effect are they now but to tell me that my
daughter will not be restored?"
The prince, whose humanity would not suffer him
to insult misery with reproof, went away, convinced
of the emptiness of rhetorical sound, and the inefficacy of polished periods and studied sentences.




CHAPTER XIX.
A GLIMPSE OF PASTORAL LIFE.
HE was still eager upon the same inquiry; and
having heard of a hermit, that lived near the lowest cataract of the Nile, and filled the whole country
with the fame of his sanctity, resolved to visit his
retreat, and inquire whether that felicity, which
public life could not afford, was to be found in solitude; and whether a man, whose age and virtue
made him venerable, could teach any peculiar art
of shunning evils or enduring them?
Imlac and the princess agreed to accompany him,
and, after the necessary preparations, they began
their journey. Their way lay through the fields
where shepherds tended their flocks, and the lambs
were playing upon the pasture. "This," said the
poet, "is the life which has been often celebrated
for its innocence and quiet: let us pass the heat of
the day among the shepherds' tents, and know
whether all our searches are not to terminate in
pastoral simplicity."
The proposal pleased them, and they induced the
shepherds by small presents and familiar questions,
to tell their opinion of their own state: they were
82J




RASSELAS.               83
so rude and ignorant, so little able to compare the
good with the evil of the occupation, and so indistinct in their narratives and descriptions, that very
little could be learned from them. But it was evident that their hearts were cankered with discontent,
that they considered themselves as condemned to
labour for the luxury of the rich, and looked up
with stupid malevolence towards those that were
placed above them.
The princess pronounced with vehemence that
she would never suffer these envious savages to be
her companions, and that she should not soon be.
desirous of seeing any more specimens of rustic
happiness, but could not believe that all the accounts
of primeval pleasures were fabulous: and was yet
in doub, whether life had anything that could be
justly preferred to the placid gratifications of fields
and woods. She hoped that the time would come,
when, with a few virtuous and elegant companions,
she should gather flowers planted by her own hand,
fondle the lambs of her own ewe, and listen without care, among brooks and breezes, to one of her
maidens reading in the shade.




CHAPTER XX.
THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY,
ON the next day they continued their joult ey till
the heat compelled them to look round for shelter.
At a small distance they saw a thick wood, which
they no sooner entered than they perceived that
they were approaching the habitations of men. The
shrubs were diligently cut away to open walks where
the shades were darkest; the boughs of opposite
trees were artificially interwoven; seats of flowery
turf were raised in vacant spaces, and a rivulet that
wantoned along the side of a winding path, had its
banks sometimes opened into small basins, and its
stream sometimes obstructed by little mounds of
stone heaped together to increase its murmurs.
They passed slowly through the wood, delighted
with such unexpected accommodations, and entertained each other with conjecturing what, or who he
could be, that, in those rude and unfrequented regions, had leisure and art for such harmless luxury.
As they advanced they heard the sound of music,
and saw youths and virgins dancing in the grove;
and going still further, beheld a stately palace built
upon a hill surrounded with woods. The laws of
84




RASSELAS.               85
eastern hospitality allowed them to enter, and the
master welcomed them like a man liberal and
wealthy.
He was skilful enough in appearances soon to discern that they were no common guests, and spread
his table with magnificence. The eloquence of
Imlac caught his attention, and the lofty courtesy
of the princess excited his respect.  When they
offered to depart he entreated their stay, and was
the next day still more unwilling to dismiss them
than before. They were easily persuaded to stop,
and civility grew up in time to freedom and confidence.
The prince now saw all the domestics cheerful,
and all the face of nature smiling round the place,
and could not forbear to hope that he should find
here what he was seeking; but when he was congratulating the master upon his possessions, he answered with a sigh, "My condition has indeed the
appearance of happiness, but appearances are delusive. My prosperity puts my life in danger; the
Bassa of Egypt is my enemy, incensed only by my
wealth and popularity. I have been hitherto protected against him by the princes of the country;
but, as the favor of the great is uncertain, I know
not how soon my defenders may be persuaded to
share the plunder with the Bassa. I have sent my
treasures into a distant country, and, upon the first
alarm, am prepared to follow them. Then will my
enemies riot in my mansion, and enjoy the gardens
which I have planted."




86                RASSELAS.'They all joined in lamenting his danger, and de.
precating his exile: and the princess was so much
disturbed with the tumult of ief and indignation,
that she retired to her apartment. They continued
with their kind inviter a few days longer, and then
went forward to find the hermit.




CHAPTER XXI.
THE HAPPINESS OF SOLITUDE-THE HERMIT'S HISTORY.
THEY came on the third day, by the direction of
the peasants, to the hermit's cell; it was a cavern
in the side of the mountain, overshadowed with
palm-trees; at such a distance from the cataract, that
nothing more was heard than a gentle uniform murmur; such as composed the mind to pensive meditation, especially when it was assisted by the wind
whistling among the branches. The first rude essay
of nature had been so much improved by human
labor, that the cave contained several apartments
appropriated to different uses, and often afforded
lodging to travellers, whom darkness or tempests
happened to overtake.
The hermit sat on a bench at the door, to enjoy
the coolness of the evening. On one side lay a
book with pens and papers, on the other mechanical instruments of various kinds. As they approached him unregarded, the princess observed
that he had not the countenance of a man that had
found, or could teach the way to happiness.
They saluted him with great respect, which he
repaid like a man not unaccustomed to the forms of
r871




88                RASSELAS.
courts.  "My children," said he, " if you have lost
your way, you shall be willingly supplied with
such conveniences for the night as this cavern will
afford. I have all that nature requires, and you
will not expect delicacies in a hermit's cell."
They thanked him, and entering, were pleased
with the neatness and regularity of the place. The
hermit set flesh and wine before them, though he
fed only upon fruits and water. His discourse was
cheerful without levity, and pious without enthusiasm. He soon gained the esteem of his guests,
and the princess repented of her hasty censure.
At last Imlac began thus: " I do not now wonder
that your reputation is so far extended; we have
heard at Cairo of your wisdom, and came hither to
implore your direction for this young man and
maiden in the choice of life.,'
"To him that lives well," answered the hermit,
"every form of life is good: nor can I give any
other rule for choice, than to remove from all apparent evil."'" He will remove most certainly from evil," said
the prince, "who shall devote himself to that solitude which you have recommended by your example."
"I have indeed lived fifteen years in solitude,"
said the hermit, " but have no desire that my example should gain any imitators. In my youth I professed arms, and was raised by degrees to the highest military rank. I have traversed wide countries
at the head of my troops, and seen many battles
and sieges. At last, being disgusted by the prefer



RASSELAS.               89
ments of a younger officer, and feeling that my
vigor was beginning to decay, I resolved to close my
life in peace, having found the world full of snares,
discord, and misery. I had once escaped from the
pursuit of the enemy by the shelter of this cavern,
and therefore chose it for my final residence. I
employed artificers to form it into chambers, and
stored it with all that I was likely to want.
" For some time after my retreat, I rejoiced like
a tempest-beaten sailor at his entrance into harbor,
being delighted with the sudden change of the noise
and hurry of war to stillness and repose. When
the pleasure of novelty went away I employed my
hours in examining the plants which grew in the
valley, and the minerals which I collected from the
rocks. But that inquiry is now grown tasteless
and irksome. I have been for some time unsettled
and distracted: my mind is disturbed with a thousand perplexities of doubt, and vanities of imagination, which hourly prevail upon me, because I have
no opportunities of relaxation or diversion. I am
sometimes ashamed to think that I could not secure
myself from vice. but by retiring from the exercise
of virtue, and begin to suspect that I was rather
impelled by resentment, than led by devotion, into
solitude. My fancy riots in scenes of folly, and I
lament that I have lost so much, and have gained
so little. In solitude, if I escape the example of
bad men, I want likewise the counsel and conversa,
tion of the good. I have been long comparing thq
evils with the advantages of society, and resolve to
return to the world to-morrow. The life of a soli



90               RASSELAS.
tary man will be certainly miserable, but not certainly devout."
They heard his resolution with surprise, but after
a short pause offered to conduct him to Cairo. He
dug up a considerable treasure which he had hid
among the rocks, and accompanied them to the
city, on which, as he approached it, he gazed with
rapture.




CHAPTER  XXII.
THE HAPPINESS OF A LIFE LED ACCORDING TO NATURE.
RASSELAS went often to an assembly of learned
men, who met at stated times to unbend their minds,
and compare their opinions. Their manners were
somewhat coarse, but their conversation was instructive, and their disputations acute, though sometimes too violent, and often continued till neither
controvertist remembered upon what question they
began.  Some faults were almost general among
them: every one was desirous to dictate to the rest,
and every one was pleased to hear the genius or
knowledge of another depreciated.
In this assembly Rasselas was relating his interview with the hermit, and the wonder with which
he heard him censure a course of life which he had
so deliberately chosen, and so laudably followed.
The sentiments of the hearers were various. Some
were of opinion, that the folly of his choice had been
justly punished by condemnation to perpetual perseverance. One of the youngest among them, with
great vehemence, pronounced him a hypocrite.
Some talked of the right of society to the labor of
individuals, anid considered retirement as a desertion
[91]




92                 RASSELAS.
of duty. Others readily allowed, that there was a
time when the claims of the public were satisfied,
and when a man might properly sequester himself,
to review his life, and purify his heart.
One, who appeared more affected with the narrative than the rest, thought it likely, that the hermit
would in a few years go back to his retreat, and,
perhaps, if shame did not restrain, or death intercept
him, return once more from his retreat into the
world.  "For the hope of happiness," said he, "is
so strongly impressed, that the longest experience is
not able to efface it. Of the present state, whatever
it be, we feel, and are forced to confess, the misery;
yet, when the same state is again at a distance, imagination paints it as desirable. But the time will
surely come, when desire will be no longer our torment, and no man shall be wretched but by his own
Mfault."
"This," said a philosopher, who had heard him
with tokens of great impatience, "is the present
condition of a wise man. The time is already come,
when none are wretched but by their own fault.
Nothing is more idle, than to inquire after happiness, which nature has kindly placed within our
reach. The way to be happy is to live according to
nature, in obedience to that universal and unalterable law with which every heart is originally impressed; which is not written on it by precept, but
engraven by destiny, not instilled by education, but
infused at our nativity. He that lives according to
nature, will suffer nothing from the delusions of
hope, or importunities of desire: he will receive and




RASSELAS.               93
reject with equability of temper; and act or suffer
as the reason of things shall alternately prescribe.
Other men may amuse themselves with subtle definitions, or intricate ratiocinations. Let them learn
to be wise by easier means: let them observe the
hind of the forest, and the linnet of the grove;~ let
them consider the life of animals, whose motions are
regulated by instinct; they obey their guide and
are happy. Let us therefore, at length, cease to
dispute, and learn to live; throw away the incumbrance of precepts, which they who utter them with
so much pride and pomp do not understand, and
carry with us this simple and intelligible maxim,'That deviation from nature is deviation from happiness.' "
When he had spoken, he looked round him with
a placid air, and enjoyed the consciousness of his
own beneficence. "Sir," said the prince, with great
modesty, "as I, like all the rest of mankind, am
desirous of felicity, my closest attention has been
fixed upon your discourse: I doubt not the truth
of a position which a man so learned has confidently
advanced. Let me only know what it is to live
according to nature?"
" When I find young men so humble and so docile," said the philosopher, "I can deny them no
information which my studies have enabled me to
afford. To live according to nature, is to act always
with a due regard to the fitness arising from the
relations and qualities of causes and effects; to
concur with the great and unchangeable scheme
of universal felicity: to co-operate with the general




94               RASSELAS.
disposition and tendency of the present system of
things."
The prince soon found that this was one of the
sages whom he should understand less as he heard
him longer. lie therefore bowed and was silent,
and the philosopher, supposing him satisfied, and
the rest vanquished, rose up and departed with the
air of a man that had co-operated with the present
system.




CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PRINCE AND HIS SISTER DIVIDE BETWEEN THEM THE WORK
OF OBSERVATION.
RASSELAS returned home full of reflections, doubtful how to direct his future steps. Of the way to
happiness he found the learned and simple equally
ignorant; but as he was yet young, he flattered
himself that he had time remaining for more experiments, and further inquiries. He communicated to
Imlac his observations and his doubts, but was
answered by him with new doubts, and remarks
that gave him no comfort. He therefore discoursed
more frequently and freely with his sister, who had
yet the same hope with himself, and always assisted
him to give some reason why, though he had been
hitherto frustrated, he might succeed at last.
"We have hitherto," said she, "known but little
of the world; we have never yet been either great
or mean. In our own country, though we had
royalty, we had no power, and in this we have not
yet seen the private recesses of domestic peace.
Imlac favors not our search, lest we should in time
find him mistaken. We will divide the task between us: you shall try what is to be found in the
splendor of courts, and I will range the shades of
E95]




9  RASSELAS.
humbler life. Perhaps command and authority may
be the supreme blessings, as they afford most opportunities of doing good; or, perhaps, what this world
can give may be found in the modest habitations of
middle fortune; too low for great designs, and too
high for penury and distress."




CHAPTER  XXIV.
THE PRINCE EXAMINES THE HAPPINESS OF HIGH STATIONS.
RASSELAS applauded the design, and appeared next
day with a splendid retinue at the court of the Bassa.
He was soon distinguished for his magnificence, and
admitted, as a prince whose curiosity had brought
him from distant countries, to an intimacy with the
great officers, and frequent conversation with the
Bassa himself.
He was at first inclined to believe, that the man
must be pleased with his own condition, whom all
approached with reverence, and heard with obedience, and who had the power to extend his edicts to
a whole kingdom. " There can be no pleasure,"
said he, "equal to that of feeling at once the joy of
thousands all made happy by wise administration.
Yet, since by the law of subordination this sublime
delight can be in one nation but the lot of one, it is
surely reasonable to think, that there is some satisfaction more popular and accessible, and that millions
can hardly be subjected to the will of a single man
only to fill his particular breast with incommunicable content."
These thoughts were often in his mind, and he
found no solution of the difficulty. But as presents
[973 J




98                 RASSELAS.
and civilities gained him more familiarity, he found
that almost every man whQ stood high in employment hated all the rest, and was hated by them, and
that their lives were a continual succession of plots
and detections, stratagems and escapes, faction and
treachery. Many of those who surrounded the
Bassa, were sent only to watch and report his conduct; every tongue was muttering censure, and
every eye was searching for a fault.
At last the letters of revocation arrived, the Bassa
was carried in chains to Constantinople, and his name
was mentioned no more.
"What are we now to think of the prerogatives
of power," said Rasselas to his sister; " is it without
any efficacy to good? or, is the subordinate degree
only dangerous, and the supreme safe and glorious?
Is the Sultan the only happy man in his dominions?
or, is the Sultan himself subject to the torments of
suspicion, and the dread of enemies?"
In a short time the second Bassa was deposed.
The Sultan, that had advanced him, was murdered
by the Janizaries, and his successor had other views
and different favourites.




CHAPTER XXV.
THE PRINCESS PURSUES HER INQUIRY WITH MORE DILLIGENCE
THAN SUCCESS.
THE princess, in the mean time, insinuated herself
into many families; for there are few doors through
which liberality, joined with good humour, cannotfind its way. The daughters of many houses were
airy and cheerful, but Nekayah had been too long
accustomed to the conversation of Imlac and her
brother, to be much pleased with childish levity and
prattle which had no meaning. She found their.
thoughts narrow, their wishes law, and their merriment often artificial. Their pleasures, poor as they
were, could not be preserved pure, but were embittered by petty competitions and worthless emulation. They were always jealous of the beauty of
each other; of a quality to which solicitude can add
nothing, and from which detraction can take nothing
away. Many were in love with triflers like theme
selves, and many fancied that they were in love whey!
in truth they were only idle. Their affection was fixed
neither on sense or virtue, and therefore seldom
ended but in vexation. Their grief, however, like
their joy, was transient; everything floated in their
mind unconnected with the past or future, so that
r99]




100                RASSELAS.
one desire easily gave way to another, as a second
stone cast into the water effaces and confounds the
circles of the first.
Witl these girls she played as with inoffensive
animals, and found them proud of her countenance
and weary of her company.
But her purpose was to examine more deeply
and her affability easily persuaded the hearts that
were swelling with sorrow to discharge their secrets
in her ear: and those whom hope flattered, or prosperity delighted, often courted her to partake their
pleasures.
The princess and her brother commonly met in
the evening in a private summer-house on the bank
of the Nile, and related to each other the occurrences of the day. As they were sitting together,
the princess cast her eyes upon the river that flowed'before her.  "Answer," said she, "great father of
waters, thou that rollest thy floods through eighty
nations, to the invocations of the daughters of thy
native king. Tell me if thou waterest, through all
thy course, a single habitation from which thou dost
not hear the murmurs of complaint?"
"You are, then," said Rasselas, "not more successful in private houses than I have been in court."
" I have, since the last partition of our provinces,"
said the princess, " enabled myself to enter familiarly
into many families, where there was the fairest show
of prosperity and peace, and know not one house
that is not haunted by some fury that destroys their
quiet.
"I did not see ease among the poor, because I




RASSELAS.               101
concluded that there it could not be found. But I
saw many poor, whom I had supposed to live in
affluence. Poverty has, in large cities, very different
appearances: it is often concealed in splendor, and,
often in extravagance. It is the care of a very great
part of mankind to conceal their indigence from the
rest; they support themselves by temporary expedients, and every day is lost in contriving for the
morrow.
"This, however, was an evil which, though frequent, I saw with less pain, because I could relieve
it. Yet some have refused my bounties; more
offended with my quickness to detect their wants,
than pleased with my readiness to succor them: and
others, whose exigencies compelled them to admit
my kindness, have never been able to forgive their
benefactress. Many, however, have been sincerely
grateful, without the ostentation of gratitude, or the
hope of other favors."




CHAPTER XXVI.
THE PRINCESS CONTINUES HER REMARKS UPON PRIVATE LIFE.
NEK.AYAH, perceiving her brother's attention fixed,
proceeded in her narrative.
"In families, where there is or is not poverty,
there is commonly discord: if a kingdom be, as
Imlac tells us, a great family, a family likewise is a
little kingdom, torn with factions, and exposed to
revolutions. An unpractised observer expects the
love of parents and children to be constant and
equal; but this kindness seldom continues beyond
the years of infancy; in a short time the children
become rivals to their parents. Benefits are allayed
by reproaches, and gratitude debased by envy.
" Parents and children seldom act in concert: each
child endeavors to appropriate the esteem or fondness of the parents, and the parents, with yet less
temptation, betray each other to their children: thus
some place their confidence in the father, and some
in the mother, and by degrees the house is filled
with artifices and feuds.
"The opinions of children and parents, of the
young and the old, are naturally opposite, by the
contrary effects of hope and despondency, of expectation and experience, without crime or folly on
[102]




RASSELAS.               103
either side. The colors of life in youth and age
appear different, as the face of nature in spring and
winter. And how can children credit the assertions
of parents, which their own eyes show them to be
false?
"Few parents act in such a manner as much to
enforce their maxims by the credit of their lives.
The old man trusts wholly to slow contrivance and
gradual progression: the youth expects to force his
way by genius, vigor, and precipitance. The old
man pays regard to riches, and the youth reverences
virtue. The old man deifies prudence: the youth
commits himself to magnanimity and chance. The
young man, who intends no ill, believes that none
is intended, and therefore acts with openness and
candor; but his father, having suffered the injuries
of fraud, is impelled to suspect, and too often allured
to practise it. Age looks with anger on the temerity
of youth, and youth with contempt on the scrupulosity of age. Thus parents and children, for the
greatest part, live on to love less and less: and, if
those whom nature has thus closely united are the
torments of each other, where shall we look for tenderness and consolation?"
"Surely," said the prince, "you must have been
unfortunate in your choice of acquaintance: I am
unwilling to believe, that the most tender of all relations is thus impeded in its effects by natural necessity."
"Domestic discord," answered she, "is not inevitably and fatally necessary; but yet it is not easily
avoided.  We seldom see that a whole family is




104               RASSELAS.
virtuous: the good and evil cannot well agree; and
the evil can yet less agree with one another: even
the virtuous fall sometimes to variance, when their
virtues are of different kinds, and tending to extremes. In general, those parents have most reverence who most deserve it: for he that lives well
cannot be despised.
"Many other evils infest private life. Some are
the slaves of servants whom they have trusted with
their affairs. Some are kept in continual anxiety by
the caprice of rich relations, whom they cannot please
and dare not offend. Some husbands are imperious,
and some wives perverse: and as it is always more
easy to do evil than good, though the wisdom or
virtue of one can very rarely make many happy, the
folly or vice of one may often make many miserable."
" If such be the general effect of marriage," said
the prince, "I shall, for the future, think it dangerous to connect my interests with that of another, lest
I should be unhappy by my partner's fault."
"I have met," said the princess, "with many who
live single for that reason; but I never found that
their prudence ought to raise envy. They dream
away their time without friendship, without fondness, and are driven to rid themselves of the day, for
which they have no use, by childish amusements or
vicious delights. They act as beings under the constant sense of some known inferiority, that fills their
minds with rancor, and their tongues with censure.
They are peevish at home, and malevolent abroad;
and, as the outlaws of human nature, make it their
business and their pleasure to disturb that society




RASSELAS.                105
which debars them from its privileges. To live
without feeling or exciting sympathy, to be fortunate
without adding to the felicity of others, or afflicted
without tasting the balm of pity, is a state more
gloomy than solitude: it is not retreat, but exclusion
from mankind. Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures."
" What then is to be done?" said Rasselas; "the
more we inquire, the less we can resolve. Surely he
is most likely to please himself that has no other
inclination to regard."




CHAPTER XXVII.
DISQUISITION UPON GREATNESS.
THE conversation had a short pause. The prince
having considered his sister's observations, told her
that she had surveyed life with prejudice, and supposed misery where she did not find it. "Your
narrative," says he, "throws yet a darker gloom
upon the prospects of futurity: the predictions of
Imlac were but faint sketches of the evils painted by
Nekayah. I have been lately convinced that quiet
is not the daughter of grandeur nor of power: that
her presence is not to be bought by wealth, nor enforced by conquest. It is evident, that as any man
acts in a wider compass, he must be more exposed
to opposition from enmity, or miscarriage from
chance; whoever has many to please or to govern,
must use the ministry of many agents, some of whom
will be wicked, and some ignorant: by some he will
be misled, and by others betrayed. If he gratifies
one, he offends another: those that are not favored
will think themselves injured; and, since favors can
be conferred but upon few, the greater number will
be always discontented."
"The discontent," said the princess, "which is
thus unreasonable, I. hope that I shall always have
spirit to despise, and you, power to repress."
(10]1




RASSELAS.               107
"Discontent," answered Rasselas, "will not always be without reason under the most just and
vigilant administration of public affairs.  None,
however attentive, can. always discover that merit
which indigence or faction may happen to obscure:
and none, however powerful, can always reward it.
Yet he that sees inferior desert advanced above him,
will naturally impute that preference to partiality or
caprice  and, indeed, it can scarcely be hoped that any
man, however magnanimous by nature, or exalted
by condition, will be able to persist forever in the
fixed and inexorable justice of distribution: he will
sometimes indulge his own affections, and sometimes
those of his favorites; he will permit some to please
him who can never serve him; he will discover in
those whom he loves, qualities which in reality they
do not possess; and to those, from whom he receives
pleasure, he will in his turn endeavor to give it.
Thus will recommendations sometimes prevail which
were purchased by money, or by the more destructive bribery of flattery and servility.
"I He that has much to do will do something
wrong, and of that wrong must suffer the consequences; and, if it were possible that he should
always act rightly, yet when such numbers are to
judge of his conduct, the bad will censure and obstruct him by imalevolence, and the good sometimes
by mistake.
" The highest stations cannot therefore hope to be
the abodes of happiness, which I would willingly
believe to have fled from thrones and palaces to
seats of humble privacy and placid obscurity. For




1 08              RASSELAS.
what can hinder the satisfaction, or intercept the
expectations of him whose abilities are adequate to
his employments, who sees with his own eyes the
whole circuit of his influence, who chooses by his
own knowledge all whom he trusts, and whom none
are tempted to deceive by hope or fear? Surely he
has nothing to do but to love and be loved, to be
virtuous and to be happy."
"Whether perfect happiness would be procured by
perfect goodness," said Nekayah, "this world will
never afford an opportunity of deciding. But this,
at least, may be maintained, that we do not always
find visible happiness in proportion to visible virtue.
All natural, and almost all political evils, are incident alike to the bad and good: they are confounded
in the misery of famine, and not much distinguished
in the fury of a faction; they sink together in a
tempest, and are driven together from their country
by invaders. All that virtue can afford is quietness
of conscience, a steady prospect of a happier state;
this may enable us to endure calamity with patience:
but remember that patience must oppose pain."




CHAPTER XXVIII.
RASSELAS AND NEKAYAH CONTINUE THEIR CONVERSATION.
"DEAR princess," said Rasselas, "you fall into the
common errors of exaggeratory- declamation, by producing, in a familiar disquisition, examples of national calamities, and scenes of extensive misery,
which are found in books rather than in the world,
and which, as they are horrid, are ordained to be
rare. Let us not imagine evils which we do not
feel, nor injure life by misrepresentations. I cannot
bear that querulous eloquence which threatens every
city with a siege like that of Jericho, that makes
famine attend on every flight of locusts, and suspends
pestilence on the wing of every blast that issues
from the south.
"' On necessary and inevitable evils, which overwhelm kingdoms at once, all disputation is vain;
when they happen they must be endured. But it is
evident, that these bursts of universal distress are
more dreaded than felt; thousands and ten thousands
flourish in youth, and wither in age, without the
knowledge of any other than domestic evils, and
share the same pleasures and vexations, whether
their kings are mild or cruel, whether the armies of
their country pursue their enemies, or retreat before
them. While courts are disturbed with intestine
[109]




110               RASSELAS.
competitions, and ambassadors are negotiating in
foreign countries, the smith still plies his anvil, and
the husbandman- drives his plough forward; the
necessaries of life are required and obtained; and
the successive business of the seasons continues to
make its wonted revolutions.
"Let us cease to consider what, perhaps, may
never happen, and what, when it shall happen, will
laugh athuman speculation. We will not endeavor
to modify the motions of the elements, or to fix the
destiny of kingdoms. It is our business to consider
what beings like us may perform, each laboring
for his own happiness, by promoting within his
circle, however narrow, the happiness of others.
"Marriage is evidently the dictate of nature: men
and women are made to be the companions of each
other, and therefore I cannot be persuaded but that
marriage is one of the means of happiness."
"I know not," said the princess, whether " marriage be more than one of the innumerable modes
of human misery. When I see and reckon the
various forms of connubial infelicity, the unexpected
causes of lasting discord, the diversities of temper,
the oppositions of opinion, the rude collisions of
contrary desire where both are urged by violent impulses, the obstinate contests of disagreeable virtues,
where both are supported by consciousness of good
intention, I am sometimes disposed to think with
the severer casuists of most nations, that marriage
is rather permitted than approved, and that none,
but by the instigation of a passion too much indulged,
entangle themselves with indissoluble compacts."




RASSELAS.               1l1
"' You seem to forget," replied Rasselas, " that you
have, even now, represented celibacy as less happy
than marriage. Both conditions may be bad, but they
cannot both be worst. Thus it happens when wrong
opinions are entertained, that they mutually destroy
each other, and leave the mind open to truth."
"I did not expect," answered the princess, "to
hear that imputed to falsehood which is the consequence only of frailty. To the mind, as to the eye,
it is difficult to compare with exactness objects vast
in their extent, and various in their parts. Where
we see or conceive the whole at once, we readily
note the discriminations, and decide the preference:
but of two systems, of which neither can be surveyed by any human being in its full compass of
magnitude and multiplicity of complication, where
is the wonder, that judging of the whole by parts,
I am alternately affected by one and the other
as either presses on my memory or fancy? We
differ from ourselves just as we differ from each
other, when we see only part of the question, as in
the multifarious relations of politics and morality:
but when we perceive the whole at once, as in numerical computations, all agree in one judgment,
and none ever varies his opinion."' Let us not add," said the prince, " to the other
evils of life, the bitterness of controversy, nor endeavor to vie with each other in subtilities of argument. We are employed in a search of which both
are equally to enjoy the success, or suffer by the
miscarriage. It is therefore fit that we assist each
other. You surely conclude too hastily from the




112               RASSELAS.
infelicity of marriage against its institution: will not
the misery of life prove equally that life cannot be
the gift of heaven? The world must be peopled
by marriage, or peopled without it."
"How the world is to be peopled," returned
Nekayalr, "is not my care, and need not be yours.
I see no danger that the present generation should
omit to leave successors behind them: we are not
now inquiring for the world, but for ourselves."




CHAPTER XXIX.
THE DEBATE OF MARRIAGE CONTINUED.
"THE good of the whole," says Rasselas, "is the
same with the good of all its parts. If marriage be
best for mankind, it must be evidently best for individuals, or a permanent and necessary duty must be
the cause of evil, and some must be inevitably sacrificed to the convenience of others. In the estimate
which you have made of the two states, it appears
that the incommodities of a single life are, in a
great measure, necessary and certain, but those of
the conjugal state accidental and avoidable.
" I cannot forbear to flatter myself, that prudence
and benevolence will make marriage happy. The
general folly of mankind is the cause of general
complaint. What can be expected but disappointment and repentance from a choice made in the immaturity of youth, in the ardor of desire, without
judgment, without foresight, without inquiry after
conformity of opinions, similarity of manners, rectitude of judgment, or purity of sentiment?
"'Such is the common process of marriage. A
youth or maiden meeting by chance, or brought together by artifice: exchange glances, reciprocate civilities, go home and dream of one another. Having
[113]




114               RASSELAS.
little to divert attention, or diversify thought, they
find themselves uneasy when they are apart, and
therefore conclude that they shall be happy together. They marry, and discover what nothing but
voluntary blindness before had concealed: they
wear out life in altercations, and charge nature with
cruelty.
" From those early marriages proceeds likewise
the rivalry of parents and children: the son is
eager to enjoy the world before the father is willing
to forsake it, and there is hardly room at once for
two generations.  The daughter begins to bloom
before the mother can be content to fade, and neither can forbear to wish for the absence of the
other.
" Surely all these evils may be avoided by that
deliberation and delay which prudence prescribes to
irrevocable choice. In the variety and jollity of
youthful pleasures life may be well enough supported without the help of a partner. Longer time
will increase experience, and wider views will allow
better opportunities of inquiry and selection: one
advantage, at least, will be certain: the parents will
be visibly older than their children."
"What reason cannot collect," said Nekayah,
"and what experiment has not yet taught, can be
known only from the report of others. I have been
told that late marriages are not eminently happy.
This is a question too important to be neglected,
and I have often proposed it to those whose accuracy of remark, and comprehensiveness of knowledge, made their suffrages worthy of regard. They




RASSELAS.               115
have generally determined that it is dangerous for
a man and woman to suspend their fate upon each
other, at a time when opinions are fixed, and habits
are established; when friendships have been contracted on both sides, when life has been planned
into method, and the mind has long enjoyed the
contemplation of its own prospects.
" It is scarcely possible that two travelling through
the world under the conduct of chance, should have
been both directed to the same path, and it will not
often happen that either will quit the track which
custom has made pleasing. When the desultory
levity of youth has settled into regularity, it is soon
succeeded by pride ashamed to yield, or obstinacy
delighting to contend. And even though mutual
esteem produces mutual desire to please, time itself,
as it modifies unchangeably the external mien, determines likewise the direction of the passions, and
gives an inflexible rigidity to the manners. Long
customs are not easily broken; he that attempts to
change the course of his own life, very often labors
in vain: and how shall we do that for others, which
we are seldom able to do for ourselves?"
"But surely," interposed the prince, "you suppose the chief motive of choice forgotten or neglected. Whenever I shall seek a wife, it shall be my
first question, whether she be willing to be led by
reason? "'Thus it is," said Nekayah, "that philosophers
are deceived. There are a thousand familiar disputes which reason never can decide: questions
that elude investigation, and make logic ridiculous:




116               RASSELAS.
cases where something must be done, and where
little can be said. Consider the state of mankind,
and inquire how few can be supposed to act upon
any occasion, whether small or great, with all the
reasons of action present to their minds.  Wretched
would be the pair above all names of wretchedness,
who should be doomed to adjust by reason, every
morning, all the minute detail of a domestic day.
" Those who marry at an advanced age will probably escape the encroachments of their children;
but, in diminution of this advantage, they will be
likely to leave them, ignorant and helpless, to a
guardian's mercy; or, if that should not happen,
they must at least go out of the world before they
see those whom they love best either wise or great.
"From their children, if they have less to fear,
they have less also to hope, add they lose, without
equivalent, the joys of early love, and the convenience of uniting with manners pliant, and minds
susceptible of new impressions, which might wear
away their dissimilitudes by long cohabitation, as
soft bodies, by continual attrition, can form their
surfaces to each other.
" I believe it will be found that those who marry
late are best pleased with their children, and those
who marry early with their partners."
"The union of these two affections," said Rasselas, "would produce all that could be wished.
Perhaps there is a time when marriage might unite
them, a time neither too early for the father,.nor
too late for the husband."
"Every hour," answered the princess, confirms




RASSELAS.               117
my prejudice in favor of the position so often
uttered by the mouth of Imlac.'That nature sets
her gifts on the right hand and on the left.' Those
conditions which flatter hope and attract desire, are
so constituted that, as we approach one, we recede
from another. There are goods so opposed that we
cannot seize both, but, by too much prudence, may
pass between them at too great a distance to reach
either.  This is often the fate of long consideration: he does nothing who endeavors to do more
than is allowed to humanity. Flatter not yourself
with contrarieties of pleasure. Of the blessings set
before you make your choice and be content. No
man can taste the fruits of autumn while he is delighting his scent with the flowers of spring; no
man can, at the same time, fill his cup from-the
source and from the mouth of the Nile."




CHAPTER XXX.
IMLAC ENTERS AND CHANGES THE CONVERSATION.
HERE Imlac entered, and interrupted them. "Imlac," said Rasselas, "I have been taking from the
princess the dismal history of private life, and am
almost discouraged from further search."
"It seems to me," said Imlac, "that while you
are making the choice of life, you neglect to live.
You wander about a single city, which, however
large and diversified, can now afford few novelties,
and forget that you are in a country, fatnous among
the earliest monarchies for the power and wisdom of
its inhabitants; a country where the sciences first
dawned that illuminate the world, and beyond
which the arts cannot be traced of civil society or
domestic life.
" The old Egyptians have left behind them monuments of industry and power, before which all
European magnificence is confessed to fade away.
The ruins of their architecture are the schools of
modern builders, and from the wonders which time
has spared, we may conjecture, though uncertainly,
what it has destroyed."
"My curiosity," said Rasselas, "does not very
[111p




RASSELAS.               119
strongly lead me to survey piles of stones or mounds
of earth; my business is with man. I came hither
not to measure fragments of temples, or trace choked
aqueducts, but to look upon the various scenes of
the present world."
"The things that are now before us," said the
princess, "require attention, and deserve it. What
have I to do with the heroes or the monuments of
ancient times? with times which never can return,
and heroes whose form of life was different from all
that the present condition of mankind requires or
allows?"
"To know anything," returned the poet, "we
must know its effects; to see men we must see their
works, that we may learn what reason has dictated,
or passion has incited, and find what are the most
powerful motives of action.  To judge rightly of
the present, we must oppose it to the past; for all
judgment is comparative, and of the future nothing
can be known. The truth is, that no mind is much
employed upon the present; recollection and anticipation fill up almost all our moments. Our pas:
sions are joy and grief, love and hatred, hope and
fear. Of joy and grief the past is the object, and
the future of hope and fear; even love and hatred
respect the past, for the cause must have been before the effect.
"The present state of things is the consequence
of the former, and it is natural to inquire what were
the sources of the good that we enjoy, or the evil
that we suffer. If we act only for ourselves, to
neglect the study of history is not prudent: if we




120               RASSELAS.
are intrusted with the care of others, it is not just.
Ignorance, when it is voluntary, is criminal; and he
may properly be charged with evil who refused to
learn how he might prevent it.
" There is no part of history so generally useful
as that which relates to the progress of the human
mind, the gradual improvement of reason, the successive advances of science, the vicissitudes of learning and ignorance, which are the light and darkness
of thinking beings, the extinction and resuscitatiqon
of arts, and the revolutions of the intellectual world.
If accounts of battles and invasions are peculiarly
the business of princes, the useful or elegant arts are
not to be neglected; those who have kingdoms to
govern, have understandings to cultivate.
" Example is always more efficacious than precept.
A soldier is formed in war, and a painter must copy
pictures. In this, contemplative life has the advantage; great actions are seldom seen, but the labors
of art are always at hand for those who desire to
know what art has been able to perform.
" When the eye or the imagination is struck with
any uncommon work, the next transition of an active
mind is to the means by which it was performed.
Here begins the true use of such contemplation;
we enlarge our comprehension by new ideas, and
perhaps recover some art lost to mankind, or learn
what is less perfectly known in our own country.
At least we compare our own with former times, and
either rejoice at our improvements, or, what is the
first motion towards good, discover our defects."
"I am willing," said the prince, "to see all that




RASSELAS.                121
can deserve my search."  "And I," said the princess, "shall rejoice to learn something of the manners
of antiquity."
"The most pompous monuments of Egyptian
greatness, and one of the most bulky works of
manual industry," said Imlac, "are the Pyramids;
fabrics raised before the time of history, and of which
the earliest narratives afford us only uncertain traditions. Of these the greatest is still standing, very
little injured by time."
" Let us visit them to-morrow," said Nekayah,
"I have often heard of the Pyramids, and shall not
rest, till I have seen them within and without with
my own eyes."
C




CHlAPTER XXXI.
THEY VISIT THE PYRAMIDS.
THE resolution being thus taken, they set out the
next day. They laid tents upon their camels, being
resolved to stay among the Pyramids till their curiosity was fully satisfied.  They travelled gently,
turned aside to everything remarkable, stopped from
time to time and conversed with the inhabitants, and
observed the various appearances of towns ruined
and inhabited, of wild and cultivated nature.
When they came td the great Pyramid, they were
astonished at the extent of the base, and the height
of the top. Imlac explained to them the principles
upon which the pyramidal form was chosen for a
fabric intended to co-extend its duration with that
of the world: he showed that its gradual diminution
gave it such stability as defeated all the common
attacks of the elements, and could scarcely be overthrown by earthquakes themselves, the least resistible of natural violence. A concussion that should
shatter the Pyramid would threaten the dissolution
of the continent.
They measured all its dimensions, and pitched
their tents at its foot. Next day they prepared to
enter its interior apartments, and having hired the
a122]




RASSELAS.               123
common guides, climed up to the first passage, when
the favorite of the princess, looking into the cavity,
stepped back and trembled. " Pekuah," said the
princess, "of what art thou afraid?"  "Of the narrow entrance," answered the lady, and of the dreadful gloom. I dare not enter a place whi6h must
surely be inhabited by unquiet souls. The original
possessors of these dreadful vaults will start up
before us, and perhaps shut us in forever." She
spoke, and threw her arms round the neck of her
mistress.
"If all your fear be of apparitions," said the
prince, "I will promise you safety: there is no
danger from the dead; he that is once buried will
be seen no more."
"That the dead are seen no more," said Imlac,
"I will not undertake to maintain against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of
all nations. There is no people, rude or learned,
among whom apparitions of the dead are not related
and believed. This opinion, which perhaps prevails
as far as human nature is diffused, could become
universal only by its truth: those that never heard
of one another, would not have agreed in a tale
which nothing but experience can make credible.
That it is doubted by single cavillers, can very little
weaken the general evidence; and some who deny
it with their tongues confess it by their fears.
"' Yet I do not mean to add new terrors to those
which have already seized on Pekuah. There can
be no reason why spectres should haunt the Pyramid more than other places, or why they should




124              RASSELAS.
have power or will to hurt innocence and purity.
Our entrance is no violation of their privileges; we
can take nothing from them, how then can we offend
them?"
"My dear Pekuah," said the princess, "I will
always go before you, and Imlac shall follow you.
Remember that you are the companion of the princess of Abyssinia."
" If the princess is pleased that her servant should
die," returned the lady, "let her command some
death less dreadful than inclosure in this horrid
cavern. You know I dare not disobey you: I must
go if you command me; but if I once enter, I never
shall come back."
The princess saw that her fear was too strong for
expostulation or reproof, and embracing her, told
her that she should stay in the tent till their return.
Pekuah was not yet satisfied but entreated the princesq not to pursue so dreadful a purpose as that of
entering the recesses of the Pyramid. " Though I
cannot teach courage," said Nekayah, "I must not
learn cowardice; nor leave at last undone what I
came hither only to do."




CHAPTER    XXI I.
THEY ENTER THE PYRAMID.
PEKUAH descended to the tents, and the rest entered
the Pyramid: they passed through the galleries,
surveyed the vaults of marble, and examined the
chest in which the body of the founder is supposed
to have been reposited. They then sat down in one
of the most spacious chambers to rest awhile before
they attempted to return.
"We have now," said Imlac, "gratified our minds
with an exact view of the greatest work of man,
except the wall of China.
" Of the wall it is very easy to assign the motive.
It secured a wealthy and timorous nation from the
incursions of barbarians, whose unskilfulness in arts
made it easier for them to supply their wants by
rapine than by industry, and who from time to time
poured in upon the Habitations of peaceful commerce, as vultures descend upon domestic fowl.
Their celerity and fierceness made the wall necessary and their ignorance made it efficacious.
"But for the Pyramids no reason has ever been
given adequate to the cost and labor of the work.
The narrowness of the chambers proves that it could
afford no retreat from enemies, and treasures might
have been reposited at far less expense, with equal
Elam]




126               RASSELAS.
security. It seems to have been erected only In
compliance with that hunger of imagination which
preys incessantly upon life, and must be always appeased by some employment.'Those who have
already all that they can enjoy, must enlarge their
desires. He that has built for use, till use is supplied, must begin to build for vanity, and extend
his plan to the utmost power of human performance,
that he may not be soon reduced to form another
wish.
" I consider this mighty structure as a monument
of the insufficiency of human enjoyments. A king,
whose power is unlimited, and whose treasures surmount all real and imaginary wants, is compelled to
solace, by the erection of a Pyramid, the satiety of
dominion and tastelessness of pleasures and to amuse
the tediousness of declining life, by seeing thousands
laboring without end, and one stone, for no purpose,
laid upon another. Whoever thou art, that, not
content with a moderate condition, imaginest happiness in royal magnificence, and dreamest that command or riches can feed the appetite of novelty with
perpetual gratifications, survey the Pyramids, and
confess thy folly"




CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE PRINCESS MEETS WITH AN UNEXPECTED MISFORTUNE.
THEY rose up, and returned through the cavity at
which they had entered, and the princess prepared
for her favorite a long narrative of dark labyrinths,
and costly rooms, and of the different impressions
which the varieties of the way had made upon her.
But when they came to their train, they found
every one silent and dejected: the men discovered
shame and fear in their countenances, and the
women were weeping in the tents.
What had happened they did not try to conjecture, but immediately inquired. " You had scarcely
entered into the Pyramid," said one of the attendants, "when a troop of Arabs rushed upon us: we
were too few to resist them, and too slow to escape.
They were about to search the tents, set us on our
camels, and drive us along before them, when the
approach of some Turkish horsemen put them to
flight: but they seized the Lady Pekuah with her
two maids, and carried the;n away; the Turks are
now pursuing them by our instigation, but I fear
they will not be able to overtake them."
The princess was overpowered with surprise an!
grief. Rasselas, in the first h]eat of his resentnment,
[1271




128               RASSELAS.
ordered his servants to follow him, and prepared to
pursue the robbers with his sabre in his hand.
"Sir," said Imlac, "what can you hope from violence or valor? the Arabs are mounted on horses
trained to battle and retreat; we have only beasts
of burden. By leaving our present station we may
lose the princess, but cannot hope to regain Pekuah."
In a short time the Turks returned, not having
been able to reach the enemy. The princess burst
out into new lamentations, and Rasselas could
scarcely forbear to reproach them with cowardice;
but Imlac was of opinion, that the escape of the
Arabs was no addition to their misfortune, for perhaps they would have killed their captives rather
than have resigned them.




CHAPTER XXXIV.
THEY RETURN TO CAtRO WITHOUT PEKUAH.
THERE was nothing to be hoped from longer stay.
They returned to Cairo repenting of their curiosity,
censuring the negligence of the government, lamenting their own rashness, which had neglected to procure a guard, imagining many expedients by which
the loss of Pekuah might have been prevented, and
resolving to do something for her recovery, though
none could find anything proper to be done.
Nekayah retired to her chamber, where her
women attempted to comfort her by telling her that
all had their troubles, and that Lady Pekuah had
enjoyed much happiness in the world for a long
time, and might reasonably expect to change of fortune. They hoped that some good would befal her
wheresoever she was, and that their mistress would
find another friend who might supply her place.
The princess made them no answer, and they
continued the form of condolence, not much grieved
in their hearts that the favorite was lost.
Next day the prince presented to the Bassa a
memorial of the wrong which he had suffered, and
a petition for redress. The Bassa threatened to
6*               tM




130              RASSELAS.
punish the robbers but did not attempt to catch
them, nor indeed could. any account or description
be given by which he might direct the pursuit.
It soon appeared that nothing would be done by
authority. Governors being accustomed to hear of
more crimes than they can punish, and more wrongs
than they can redress, set themselves at ease by indiscriminate negligence, and presently forget the
request when they lose sight of the petitioner.
Imlac then endeavored to gain some intelligence
by private agents. He found many who pretended
to an exact knowledge of all the haunts of the Arabs,
and to regular correspondence with their chiefs, and
who readily undertook the recovery of Pekuah. Of
these some were furnished with monev for their
journey, and came back no more: some were liberally paid for accounts which a few days discovered
to be false. But the princess would not suffer any
means, however improbable, to be left untried.
While she was doing something she kept her hope
alive. As one expedient failed, another was suggested; when one messenger returned unsuccessful
another was dispatched to a different quarter.
Two months had now passed, and of Pekuah
nothing had been heard; the hopes which they had
endeavored to raise in each other grew more languid,
and the princess, when she saw nothing more to be
tried, sunk down inconsolable in hopeless dejection.
A thousand times she reproached herself with the
easy complianee by which she permitted her favorite
to stay behind her. "Had not my fondn.ess," s7id
she, "lessened my authority, Pckuah had not dared




RASSELAS.              131
to talk of her terrors. She ought to have feared
me more than spectres. A severe look would have
overpowered her; a peremptory command would
have compelled obedience. Why did foolish indulgence prevail upon me? Why did I not speak,
and refuse to hear?"
"Great princess," said Imlac, "do not reproach
yourself for your virtue, or consider that as blamable by which evil has accidentally been caused.
Your tenderness for the timidity of Pekuah was
generous and kind. When we act according to our
duty, we commit the event to him by whose laws
our actions are governed, and who will suffer none
to be finally punished for obedience. When, in
prospect of some good, whether natural or moral,
we break the rules prescribed us, we withdraw from
the direction of superior wisdom, and take all consequences upon ourselves. Man cannot so far know
the connection of causes and events, as that he may
venture to do wrong in order to do right. When
we pursue our end by lawful means, we may always
console our miscarriage by the hope of future recompense. Wihen we consult only our own policy, and
attempt to find a nearer way to good, by overleaping
the settled boundaries of right and wrong, we cannot
be happy even by success, because we cannot
escape the conscipusness of our fault; but, if we
miscarry, the disappointment is irremediably embittered.  I-ow comfortless is the sorrow of hint
who feels at once the pangs of guilt, and the vexation of calamity which guilt has brought upon him I
" Consider, princess, what would have been your




132              RASSELAS.
condition, if the lady Pekuah had entreated to accompany you, and being compelled to stay in the tents,
had been carried away; or how would you have
borne the thought, if you had forced her into the
Pyramid, and she had died before you in agonies
of terror?"
"Had either happened," said Nekayah, "II could
not have endured life till now: I should have been
tortured to madness by the remembrance of such
cruelty, or must have pined away in abhorrence of
myself."
"This at least," said Imlac, "is the present reward of virtuous conduct, that no unlucky consequence can oblige us to repent it."




CH APTER XXXV.
THE PRINCESS LANGUISHES FOR WANT OF PEKUAH.
NEKAYAH, being thus reconciled to herself, found
that no evil is insupportable but that which is accompanied with consciousness of wrong. She was
from that time delivered from the violence of tempestuous sorrow, and sunk into silent pensiveness and
gloomy tranquillity. She sat from morning to evening recollecting all that had been done or said by
her Pekuah, treasured up with care every trifle on
which Pekuah had set an accidental value, and
which might recall to mind any little incident or
careless conversation. The sentiments of her whom
she now expected to see no more, were treasured in
her memory as rules of life, and were deliberated to
no other end than to conjecture on any occasion what
would have been the opinion and counsel of Pekuah.
The women by whom she was attended knew
nothing of her real condition, and therefore she
could not talk to them but with caution and reserve.
She began to remit her curiosity, having no great
desire to collect notions which she had not convenience of uttering.  Rasselas endeavored first to
comfort, and afterwards to divert her; he hired musicians, to whom she seemed to listen, but did not
[1331




134               RASSELAS.
hear them, and procured masters to instruct her in
various arts, whose lectures, when they visited her
again, were again to be repeated. She had lost her
taste of pleasure, and her ambition of excellence.
And her mind, though forced into short excursions,
always recurred to the image of her friend.
Imlac was every morning earnestly enjoined to
renew his inquiries, and was asked every night
whether he had yet heard of Pekuah, till not being
able to return the princess the answer that she desired, he was less and less willing to come into her
presence. She observed his backwardness, and
commanded hiIn to attend her.  "You are not,"
said she, "to confound impatience with resentment,
or to suppose that I charge you with negligence,
because I repine at your unsuccessfulness. I do not
much wonder at your absence; I know that the
unhappy are never pleasing, and that all naturally
avoid the contagion of misery. To hear complaints
is wearisome alike to the wretched and the happy;
for who would cloud, by adventitious grief, the short
gleams of gaity which life allows us? or who, that
is struggling under his own evils, will add to them
the miseries of another?
"The time is at hand, when none shall be disturbed any longer by the sighs of Nekayah: my
search after happiness is now at an end. I am resolved to retire from the world with all its flatteries
and deceits, and will hide myself in solitude without
any other care than to compose my thoughts, and
regulate my hours by a constant succession of innocent occupations, till, with a mind purified from all




RASSELAS.               135
earthly desires, I shall enter into that state to which
all are hastening, and in which I hope again to enjoy
the friendship of Pekuah."
"Do not entangle your mind," said Imlac, "by
irrevocable determinations, nor increase the burden
of life, by a voluntary accumulation of misery: the
weariness of retirement will continue to increase
when the loss of Pekuah is forgotten. That you
have been deprived of one pleasure, is no very good
reason for rejection of the rest."
"Since Pekuah was taken from me,' said the
princess, "I have no pleasure to reject or retain.
She that has no one to love or trust, has little to
hope. She wants the radical principle of happiness.
We may, perhaps, allow, that what satisfaction this
world can afford, must arise from the conjunction of
wealth, knowledge, and goodness: wealth is nothing
but as it is bestowed, and knowledge nothing but
as it is communicated: they must, therefore, be imparted to others, and to whom could I now delight
to impart them? Goodness affords the only comfort
which can be enjoyed without a partner, and goodness may be practised in retirement."
"How far solitude may admit goodness, or advance it, I shall not,' replied Imlac, "dispute at
present. Remember the confession of the pious
hermit. You will wish to return into the world,
when the image of your companion has left your
thoughts."
"That time," said Nekayah, "will never come.
The generous frankness, the modest obsequiousness,
and the faithful secrecy of my dear Pekuah, will




136               RASSELAS.
always be more missed, as I shall live longer to see
vice and folly."
"The state of a mind oppressed with a sudden
calamity," said Imlac, " is like that of the fabulous
inhabitants of the new-created earth, who, when the
first night came upon them, supposed that day would
never return. When the clouds of sorrow gather
over us, we see nothing beyond them, nor can imagine how they will be dispelled; yet a new day
succeeded to the night, and sorrow is never long
without a dawn of ease. But they who restrain
themselves from receiving comfort do as the savages
would have done, had they put out their eyes when
it was dark. Our minds, like our bodies, are in
continual flux; something is hourly lost, and something acquired. To lose much at once is inconvenient to either, but while the vital powers remain
uninjured, nature will find the means of reparation.
Distance has the same effect on the mind as on the
eye, and while we glide along the stream of time,
whatever we leave behind us is always lessening,
and that which we approach increasing in magnitude. Do not suffer life to stagnate; it will grow
muddy for want of motion; commit yourself again
to the current of the world; Pekuah will vanish by
degrees; you will meet in your way some other
favorite, or learn to diffuse yourself in general conversation."
"At least," said the prince, ";' do not despair before
all remedies have been tried; the inquiry after the
unfortunate lady is still continued, and shall be
carried on with yet greater diligence, on condition




RASSELAS.              137
that you will promise to wait a year for the event,
without any unalterable resolution."
Nekayah thought this a reasonable demand, and
made the promise to her brother, who had been advised by Imlac to require it. Imlac had, indeed, no
great hope of regaining Pekuah, but he supposed
that if he could secure the interval of a year, the
princess would be in no danger of a cloister.




CHAPTER XXXVI.
PEKtUAH IS STILL REMEMBERED-THE PROGRESS OF SORROW.
NEKAYAH, seeing that nothing was omitted for
the recovery of her favorite, and having, by her
promise, set her intention of retirement at a distance,
began imperceptibly to return to common cares and
common pleasures. She rejoiced without her own
consent at the suspension of her sorrows, and sometimes caught herself with indignation in the act of
turning away her mind from the remembrance of her
whom yet she resolved never to forget.
She then appointed a certain hour of the day for
meditation on the merits and fondness of Pekuah,
and for some weeks retired constantly at the time
fixed, and returned with her eyes swollen and her
countenance clouded.  By degrees she grew less
scrupulous, and suffered any important and pressing
avocation to delay the tribute of daily tears. She
then yielded to less occasions; sometimes forgot
what she was indeed afraid to remember, and, at
last, wholly released herself from the duty of periodical affliction.
Her real love of Pekuah was not yet diminished.
A thousand occurrences brought her back to memory, and a thousand wants, which nothing but the
138]




RASSELAS.                139
confidence of friendship can supply, made her frequently regretted. She therefore solicited Imlac
never to desist from inquiry, and to leave no art of
intelligence untried, that at least she might have the
comfort of knowing that she did not suffer by negligence or sluggishness. "Yet what," said she, "is
to be expected from our pursuit of happiness, when
we find the state of life to be such, that happiness
itself is the cause of misery? Why should we endeavor to attain that of which the possession cannot
be secured? I shall henceforward fear to yield my
heart to excellence, however bright, or to fondness,
however tender, lest I should lose again what I have
lost in Pekuah."




CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE PRINCESS HEARS NEWS OF PEKUAH.
IN seven months, one of the Mressengers, who had
been sent away upon the day when the promise was
drawn from the princess, returned, after many unsuccessful rambles, from the borders of Nubia, with
an account that Pekuah was in the hands of an Arab
chief, who possessed a castle or fortress on the extremity of Egypt. The Arab, whose revenue was
plunder, was willing to restore her, with her two
attendants, for two hundred ounces of gold.
The price was no subject of debate. The princess
was in ecstasies when she heard that her favorite
was alive, and might so cheaply be ransomed. She
could not think of delaying for a moment Pekuah's
happiness or her own, but entreated her brother to
send back the messenger with the sum required.
Imlac being consulted, was not very confident of the
veracity of the relator, and was still more doubtful
of the Arab's faith, who might if he were too liberally trusted, detain at once the money and the captives. He thought it dangerous to put themselves
in the power of the Arab by going into his district,
and could not expect that the rover would so much
expose himself as to come into the lower country,
where he might be seized by the forces of the Bassa.
[140)




RASSELAS.               141
It is difficult to negotiate where neither will trust.
But Imlac, after some deliberation, directed the messenger to propose that Pekuah should be conducted
by ten horsemen to the monastery of St. Antony,
which is situated in the deserts of Upper Egypt,
where she should be met by the same number, and
her ransom should be paid.
That no time might be lost, as they expected that
the proposal would not be refused, they immediately
began their journey to the monastery; and when
they arrived, Imlac went forward with the former
messenger to the Arab's fortress.  Rasselas was
desirous to go with them; but neither his sister nor
Imlac would consent. The Arab, according to the
custom of his nation, observed the laws of hospitality
with great exactness to those who put themselves
into his power, and, in a few days, brought Pekuah
with her maids, by easy journeys, to the place appointed, where, receiving the stipulated price, he
restored her with great respect to liberty and her
friends, and undertook to conduct them back towards Cairo beyond all danger of robbery or violence.
The princess and her favorite embraced each other
withn transport too violent to be expressed, and went
out together to pour the tears of tenderness in secret,
and exchange professions of kindness and gratitude.
After a few hours they returned into the refectory
of the Convent, where, in the presence of the prior
and his brethren, the prince required of Pekuah the
history of her adventures.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE ADVENTURES OF LADY FEKUAH.
"AT what time, and in what manner I was forced
away," said Pekuah, " your servants have told you.
The suddenness of the event struck me with surprise,
and I was at first rather stupefied than agitated with
any passion of either fear or sorrow. My confusion
was increased by the speed and tumult of our flight,
while we were followed by the Turks, who, as it
seemed, soon despaired to overtake us, or were afraid
of those whom they made a show of menacing.
"When the Arabs saw themselves out of danger
they slackened their course, and as I was less harassed by external violence, I began to feel more
uneasiness in my mind. After some time we stopped
near a spring, shaded with trees in a pleasant
meadow, where we were set upon the ground, and
offered such refreshments as our masters were partaking. I was suffered to sit with my maids apart
from the rest, and none attempted to comfort or
insult us. Here I first began to feel the full weight
of my misery. The girls sat weeping in silence,
and from time to time looked on me for succor. I
knew not to what condition we were doomed, nor
[142




RASSELAS.               143
could conjecture where would be the place of our
captivity, or whence to draw any hope of deliverance. I was in the hands of robbers and savages,
and had no reason to suppose that their pity was
more than their justice, or that they would forbear
the gratification of any ardor of desire, or caprice of
cruelty. I, however, kissed my maids, and endeavored to pacify them by remarking, that we were yet
treated with decency, and that, since we were now
carried beyond pursuit, there was no danger of violence to our lives.
"When we were to be set again on horseback,
my maids clung round me, and refused to be parted,
but I commanded them not to irritate those who had
us in their power. We travelled the remaining part
of the day through an unfrequented and pathless
country, and came by moonlight to the side of a hill,
where the rest of the troop were stationed. Their
tents were pitched, and their fires kindled, and our
chief was welcomed as a man much beloved by his
dependants.
"We were received into a large tent, where we
found women who had'attended their husbands in
the expedition.  They set before us the supper
which they had provided, and I ate rather to encourage my maids, than to comply with any appetite of my own. When the meat was taken away,
they spread the carpets for repose. I was weary,
and hoped to find in sleep that remission of distress
which nature seldom denies. Ordering myself therefore to be undrest, I observed that the women looked
very earnestly upon me, not expecting, I suppose,




144               RASSELAS.
to see me so submissively attended. When my
upper vest was taken off, they were apparently
struck with the splendor of my clothes, and one of
them timorously laid her hand upon the embroidery.
She then went out, and in a short time came back
with another -woman, who seemed to be of higher
rank, and greater authority. She did, at her entrance.
the usual act of reverence, and taking me by the
hand, placed me in a smaller tent, spread with' finer
carpets, where I spent the night quietly with my
maids.
"In the morning, as I was sitting on the grass,
the chief of the troops came-towards me. I rose up
to receive him, and he bowed with great respect.'Illustrious lady,' said he,'my fortune is better than
I have presumed to hope: I am told by my women,
that I have a princess in my camp.''Sir,' answered
I,'your women have deceived themselves and you;
I am not a princess, but an unhappy stranger who
intended soon to have left this country, in which I
am now to be imprisoned forever.''Whoever, or
whencesoever you are,' returned the Arab,'your
dress, and that of your servants, show your rank to
be high, and your wealth to be great. Why should
you, who can so easily procure your ransom, think
yourself in danger of perpetual captivity?  The
purpose of my incursions is to increase my riches,
or, more properly, to gather tribute. The sons of
Ishmael are the natural and hereditary lords of this
part of the continent, which is usurped by late invaders, and low-born tyrants, from whom we are
compelled to take by the sword what is denied to




RASSELAS.               145
justice. The violence of war admits no distinction;
the lance, that is lifted at guilt and power, will sometimes fall on innocence and gentleness.'"
"' How little, said I, did I expect that yesterday
it should have fallen upon me!'''Misfortunes,' answered the Arab,'should always be expected. If the eye of hostility could
learn reverence or pity, excellence like yours had
been exempt from injury. But the angels of affliction spread their toils alike for the virtuous and the
wicked, for the mighty and the mean. Do not he
disconsolate: I am not one of the lawless and cruel
rovers of the desert: I know the rules of civil life:
I will fix your ransom, give a passport to your messenger, and perform my stipulations with nice punc.
tuality.'
"You will easily believe that I was pleased with
his courtesy: and finding that his predominant passion was desire of money, I began now to think my
danger less, for I knew that no sum would be thought
too great for the release of Pekuah. I told him,
that he should have no reason to charge me with
ingratitude, if I was used with kindness, and that
any ransom which could- be expected for a maid of
common rank, would be paid; but that he must not
persist to rate me as a princess. He said he would
consider what he should demand, and then smiling,
bowed and retired.
" Soon after the women came about me, each contending to be more officious than the other, and my
maids themselves were served with reverence. We
travelled onward by short journeys. On the fourth
7




146               RASSELAS.
day the chief told me, that my ransom must be two
hundred ounces of gold; which I not only promised
him, but tdld him, that I would add fifty more, if I
and my maids were honorably treated.
"I never knew the power of gold before. From
that time I was the leader of the troop. The march
of every day was longer or shorter as I commanded,
and the tents were pitched where I chose to rest.
We now had camels and other conveniences for
travel, my own women were always at my side, and
I amused myself with observing the manners of the
vagrant nations, and with viewing remains of ancient
edifices, with which these deserted countries appear
to have been, in some distant age, lavishly embellished.
"' The chief of the band was a man far from illiterate: he was able to travel by the stars or the compass, and had marked, in his erratic expeditions,
such places as are most worthy the notice of a passenger. He observed to me, that buildings are always best preserved in places little frequented, and
difficult of access: for, when once a country declines
from its primitive splendor, the more inhabitants are
left, the quicker ruin will be made. Walls supply
stones more easily than quarries, and palaces and
temples will be demolished, to make stables of granite, and cottages of porphyry."




CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE ADVENTURES OF PEKUAH CONTINUED.
" WE wandered about in this manner for some weeks,
as our chief pretended, for my gratification, or, as I
rather suspected, for some convenience of his own.
I endeavored to appear contented, where sullenness
and resentment would have been of no use, and that
endeavor conduced much to the calmness of my
mind; but my heart was always with Nekayah, and
the troubles of the night much overbalanced the
amusements of the day. My women, who threw
all their cares upon their mistress, set their minds at
ease from the time when they saw me treated with
respect, and gave themselves up to the incidental
alleviations of our fatigue without solicitude or sorrow. I was pleased with their pleasure, and animated with their confidence. My condition had lost
much of its terror, since I found that the Arab
ranged the country merely to get riches. Avarice
is an uniform and tractable vice: other intellectual
distempers are different in different constitutions of
mind; that which soothes the pride of one.will offend the pride of another; but to tihe favor of the
covetous there is a ready way; bring mnoney, lanil
nothing is denied.
r[147'




148               RASSELAS.
" At last we came to the dwelling of our chief, a
strong and spacious house built with stone in an
island of the Nile, which lies, as I was told, under
the tropic.'Lady,' said the Arab,'you shall rest
after your journey a few weeks in this place, where
you are to consider yourself as sovereign. My occupation is war; I have therefore chosen this obscure
residence, from which I can issue unexpected, and
to which I can retire unpursued. You may now
repose in security: here are few pleasures, but here
is no danger.' He then led me into the inner apartments, and seating me on the richest couch, bowed
to the ground. His women, who considered me as
a rival, looked on me with malignity; but being
soon informed that I was a great lady detained only
for my ransom, they began to vie with each other
in obsequiousness and reverence.
"Being again comforted with new assurances of
speedy liberty, I was for some days diverted from
impatience by the novelty of the place. The turrets
overlooked the -country to a great distance, and
afforded a view of many windings of the stream.
In the day I wandered from one place to another,
as the course of the sun varied the splendor of the
prospect, and saw many things which I had never
seen before. The crocodiles and river horses are
common in this unpeopled region, and I often looked
upon them with terror, though I knew that they
could not hurt me. For some time I expected to
see mermaids and tritons, which, as Imlac has told
me, the European travellers have stationed in the
Nile; but no such beings ever appeared, and the




RASSELAS.              149
Arabs, when I inquired after them, laughed at my
credulity.
"At night the Arab always attended me to a
tower set apart for celestial observations, where he
endeavored to teach me the names and courses of
the stars. I had no great inclination to this study,
but an appearance of attention was necessary to
please my instructor, who valued himself for his
skill; and in a little while I found some employment
requisite to beguile the tediousness of time, which
was to be passed always amid the same objects. I
was weary of looking in the morning on things from
which I had turned away weary in the evening; I
therefore was at last willing to observe the stars
rather than do nothing, but could not always compose my thoughts, and was very often thinking on
Nekayah when others imagined me contemplating
the sky. Soon after the Arab went upon another
expedition, and then my only pleasure was to talk
with my maids about the accident by which we were
carried away, and the happiness that we should all
enjoy at the end of our captivity."
"There were women in your Arab's fortress,"
said the princess; "why did you not make them
companions, enjoy their conversation, and partake
of their diversions? In a place where they found
business or amusement, why should you alone sit
corroded with idle melancholy? or why could not
you bear, for a few months,- that condition to which
they were condemned for life?"
"The diversions of the women," answered Pekuah, "were only childish play, by which the mind




150               RASSELAS.
accustomed to stronger operations, could not be
kept busy. I could do all which they delighted in
doing by powers merely sensitive, while my intellectual faculties were flown to Cairo.  They ran
from room to room, as a bird hops from wire to
wire in his cage. They danced for the sake of motion, as lambs frisk in a meadow. One sometimes
pretended to be hurt, that the rest might be alarmed;
or hid herself, that another might seek her. Part
of their time passed in watching Mfhe progress of
light bodies that floated on the river, and part in
marking the various forms into which clouds broke
in the sky.
"Their business was only needle-work, in which
I and my maids sometimes helped them; but you
know that the mind will easily struggle from the
fingers; nor will you suspect that captivity and absence from Nekayah could receive solace from silken
flowers.
"Nor was much satisfaction to be hoped from
their conversation: for of what could they be expected to talk? They had seen nothing; for they
had lived from early youth in that narrow spot;
of what they had not seen they could have no
knowledge, for they could not read. They had no
ideas but of the few things that were within their
view, and had hardly names for anything but their
clothes and their food. As I bore a superior character, I was often called to terminate their quarrels,
which I decided as equitably as I could.  If it
could have amused me to hear the complaints of
each against the rest, I might have been often de



RASSELAS.              151
tained by long stories; but the motives of their
animosity were so small that I could not listen
without interrupting the tale."
"How," said Rasselas, "can the Arab, whom
you represented as a man of more than common
accomplishments, take any pleasure in his seraglio,
when it is filled only with women like these? Are
they exquisitely beautiful?"
"They do not," said Pekuah, "want that unaffecting and ignoble beauty which may subsist without sprightliness or sublimity, without energy of
thought or dignity of virtue. But to a man like
the Arab such beauty was only a flower casually
plucked and carelessly thrown  away.  Whatever pleasures he might find among them, they
were not those of friendship or society. When
they were playing about him, he looked on them
with inattentive superiority: when they vied for
his regard, he sometimes turned away disgusted.
As they had no knowledge, their talk could take
nothing from the tediousness of life: as they had no
choice, their fondness, or appearance of fondness,
excited in him neither pride nor gratitude; he was
not exalted in his own esteem by the smiles of a
woman who saw no other man, nor was much
obliged by that regard of which he could never
know the sincerity, and which he might often perceive to be exerted, not so much to delight him as
to pain a rival. That which he gave, and they received, as love, was only a careless distribution of
superfluous time, such love as man can bestow upon




152               RASSELAS.
that which he despises, such as has neither hope
nor fear, neither joy nor sorrow."
"You have reason, lady, to think yourself
happy," said Imlac, "that you have been thus
easily dismissed. How could a mind, hungry for
knowledge, be willing, in an intellectual famine, to
lose such a banquet as Pekuah's conversation?"
"I am inclined to believe," answered Pekuah,
"that he was for some time in suspense; for notwithstanding his promise, whenever I proposed to
dispatch a messenger to Cairo, he found some excuse
for delay. While I was detained in his house he made
many incursions into the neighboring countries, and
perhaps he would have refused to discharge me, had
his plunder been equal to his wishes.. He returned
always courteous, related his adventures, delighted
to hear my observations, and endeavored to advance
my acquaintance with the stars. When I importuned him to send away my letters, he soothed me
with professions of honor and sincerity; and, when
I could no longer be decently denied, put his troop
again in motion, and left me to govern in his absence.
I was much afflicted by this studied procrastination,
and was sometimes afraid that I should be forgotten;
that you would leave Cairo, and I must end my
days in an island of the Nile.
"II grew at last hopeless and dejected, and cared
so little to entertain him, that he for a while more
frequently talked with my maids. That he should
fall in love with them, or with me, might have been
equally fatal, and I was not much pleased with the




RASSELAS.               153
growing friendship. My anxiety was not long; for,
as I recovered some degree of cheerfulness, he returned to me, and I could not forbear to despise my
former uneasiness.
"He still delayed to send for my ransom, and
would perhaps never have determined, had not your
agent found his way to him. The gold, which he
would not fetch, he could not reject when it was
offered. He hastened to prepare for our journey
hither, like a man delivered from the pain of an intestine conflict. I took leave of my companions in
the house, who dismissed me with cold indifference."
Nekayah having heard her favorite's relation, rose
and embraced her, and Rasselas gave her an hundred
olnces of gold, which she presented to the Arab for
the fifty that were promised.




CHAPTER XL.
THE HISTORY OF A MAN OF LEARNING.
THEY returned to Cairo, and were so well pleased
at finding themselves together, that none of them
went much abroad. The prince began to love learning, and one day declared to Imlac, that he intended
to devote himself to science, and pass the rest of
his days in literary solitude.
"Before you make your final choice, answered
Imlac, "you ought to examine its hazards, and converse with some of those who are grown old in the
company of themselves. I have just left the observatory of one of the most learned astronomers in the
world, who has spent forty years in unwearied attention to the motions and appearances of the celestial
bodies, and has drawn out his soul in endless calculations. HIe admits a few friends, once a month, to
hear his deductions and enjoy his discoveries. I
was introduced as a man of knowledgse worthy of
his notice. Men of various ideas, and fluent converversation, are commonly welcome to those whose
thoughts have been long fixed upon a single point,
and who find the images of other things stealing
away. I delighted him with my remarks, he smiled
at the narrative of my travels and was glad to for[1l41




RASSELAS.               155
get the constellations and descend for a moment into
the lower world.
" On the next day of vacation I renewed my visit,
and was so fortunate as to please him again. He
relaxed from that time the severity of his rule, and
permitted me to enter at my own choice. I found
him always busy, and always glad to be relieved.
As each knew much which the other was desirous
of learning, we exchanged our notions with great
delight. I perceived that I had every day more of
his confidence, and always found new cause of admiration in the profundity of his mind. His comprehension is vast, his memory capacious and retentive,
his discourse is methodical, and his expression clear.
"His integrity and benevolence are equal to his
learning. His deepest researches and most favorite
studies are willingly interrupted for any opportunity
of doing good by his counsel or his riches. To his
closet retreat, at his most busy moments, all are admitted that want his assistance:' For though I exclude idleness and pleasure, I will never,' says he,'bar my doors against charity. To man is permitted
the contemplation of the skies, but the practice of
virtue is commanded.'"
"Surely," said the princess, "this man is happy."
"I visited him," said Imlac, "with more and more
frequency, and was every time more enamored with
his conversation: he was sublime without haughtiness, courteous without formality, and communicative without ostentation. I was.at first, great princess, of your opinion, thought him the happiest of
mankind, and often congratulated him on the bless



CHAPTER XXI.
THE SHORT CONTINUANCE OF FRIENDSHIP AMONGST THE VICIOUS,
WHICH IS COEVAL ONLY WITH MUTUAL SATISFACTION.
BMY son's account was too long to be delivered at
once; the first part of it was begun that night, and
he was concluding the rest after dinner the next day,
when the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at
the door seemed to make a pause in the general satisfaction. The butler, who was now become my
friend in the family, informed me with a whisper,
that the'Squire had already made some overtures to
Miss Wilmot, and that her aunt and uncle seemed
highly to approve the match. Upon Mr. Thornhill's
entering, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, to
start back; but I readily imputed that to surprise,
and not displeasure. However, upon our advancing
to salute him, he returned our greeting with the most
apparent candour; and after a short time his presence
served only to increase the general good humour.
After tea he called me aside to inquire after my
daughter; but upon my informing him that my
inquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised; adding, that he had been since frequently
at my house in order to comfort the rest of my
family, whom he left perfectly well. He then
I156]




CHAPTER  XLI.
THE ASTRONOMER DISCOVERS THE CAUSE OF HIS UNEASINESS.
"AT last the time came when the secret burst his
reserve. We were sitting together last night in the
turret of his house, watching the emersion of a
satellite of Jupiter. A sudden tempest clouded the
sky, and disappointed our observation. We sat a
while silent in the dark, and then he addressed himself to me in these words:'Imlac, I have long considered thy friendship as the greatest blessing of my
life. Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous
and dreadful I have found in thee all the qualities
requisite for trust, benevolence, experience, and fortitude. I have long discharged an office which I
must soon quit at the call of nature, and shall rejoice
in the hour of imbecility and pain to devolve it
upon thee.'
" I thought myself honored by this testimony, and
protested that whatever could conduce to his happiness would add likewise to mine.
"'Hear, Imlac, what thou wilt not without difficulty credit. I have possessed for five years the
regulation of the weather, and the distribution of
the seasons; the sun has listened to my dictates, and
L157




158               Ia)SSELAs.
passed from tropic to tropic by my direction; the
clouds, at my call, have poured their waters, and
the Nile has overflowed at my command; I have
restrained the rage of the dog-star, and mitigated
the fervors of the crab. The winds alone, of all the
elemental powers, have hitherto refused my authority,
and multitudes have perished by equinoctial tempests,
which I found myself unable to prohibit or restrain.
I have administered this great office with exact justice, and made to the different nations of the earth
an impartial dividend of rain and sunshine. What
must have been.the misery of half the globe, if I
nad limited the clouds to particular regions, or confined the sun to either side of the equator?"'




CHAPTER XLII.
THE OPINION OF THE ASTRONOMER IS EXPLAINED AND JUSTIFIED.
"I SUPPOSE he discovered in me, through the
obscurity of the room, some tokens of amazement
and doubt, for, after a short pause, he proceeded
thus.
"'Not to be easily credited will neither surprise
nor offend me: for I am, probably, the first of human beings to whom this trust has been imparted.
Nor do I know whether to deem this distinction a
reward or punishment; since I have possessed it I
have been far less happy than before, and nothing
but the consciousness of good intentions could have
enabled me to support the weariness of unremitted
vigilance.'
"''How long, sir,' said I,'has this great office been
in your hands?'
"' About ten years ago,' said he,'my daily observations of the changes of the sky led me to consider,
whether, if I had the power of the seasons, I could
confer greater plenty upon the inhabitants of the
earth. This contemplation fastened on my mind,
and I sat days and nights in imaginary dominion,
pouring upon this country and that the showers of
fertility, and seconding every fall of rain with a due
[1591




160               RtASSELAS.
proportion of sunshine. I had yet only the will to
do good, and did not imagine that I should ever
have the power.
"' One day, as I was looking on the fields withering with heat, I felt in my mind a sudden wish that
I could send rain on the southern mountains, and
raise the Nile to an inundation. In the hurry of
my imagination I commanded rain to fall, and by
comparing the time of my command with that of the
inundation, I found that the clouds had listened to
my lips.'
"'Might not some other cause,' said I,'produce
this concurrence? the Nile does not always rise on
the same day.'
"'Do not believe,' said he with impatience,'that
such objections could escape me: I reasoned long
against my own conviction and labored against
truth with the utmost obstinacy. I sometimes suspected myself of madness, and should not have dared
to impart this secret but to a man like you, capable
of distinguishing the wonderful from the impossible,
and the incredible from the false.'
"' Why, sir,' said I,' do you call that incredible,
which you know, or think you know, to be true?'
"'Because,' said he,'I cannot prove it by any
external ev idence; and I know too well the laws of
demonstration to think that my conviction ought to
influence another, who cannot, like me, be conscious
of its force. I therefore shall not attempt to gain
credit by disputation. It is sufficient that I feel this
power, that I have long possessed, and every day
exerted it. But the life of man is short: the in



RASSELAS.              161
firmities.of age increase upon me, and the time will
soon come, when the regulator of the year must
mingle with the dust. The care of appointing a
successor has long disturbed me; the night and the
day have been spent in comparisons of all the characters which have come to my knowledge, and I
have yet found none so worthy as thyself.'"




CHAPTER XLIII.
THE ASTRONOMER LEAVES IMLAC HIS DIRECTIONS.
"' HEAR, therefore, what I shall impart, with attention, such as the welfare of a world requires. If
the task of a king be considered as difficult, who has
the care only of a few millions, to whom he cannot
do much good or harm, what must be the anxiety
of him, on whom depends the action of the elements,
and the great gifts of light and heat!-Hear me
therefore with attention.
"' I have diligently considered the position of the
earth and sun, and formed innumerable schemes in
which I changed their situation. I have sometimes
turned aside the axis of the earth, and sometimes
varied the ecliptic of the sun; but I have found it
impossible to make a disposition by which the world
may be advantaged; what one region gains, another
loses by any imaginable alteration, even without
considering the distant parts of the solar system
with which we are acquainted. Do not therefore, in
thy administration of the year, indulge thy pride by
innovation; do not please thyself with thinking that
thou canst make thyself renowned to all future ages,
by disordering the seasons. The memory of mischief
is no desirable fame. Much less will it become thee
[162]




RASSELAS.                163
to let kindness or interest prevail. Never rob other
countries of rain to pour it on thine own. For us
the Nile is sufficient.'
" I promised, that when I possessed the power, I
would use it with inflexible integrity; and he dismissed me, pressing my hand.'My heart,' said he,'will now be at rest, and my benevolence will no
more destroy my quiet; I have found a man of wisdom and virtue, to whom I can cheerfully bequeath
the inheritance of the sun.'"
The prince heard this narration with very serious
regard; but the princess smiled, and Pekuah convulsed herself with laughter. "Ladies," said Imlac,'to mock the heaviest of human afflictions is neither
charitable nor wise.  Few can attain this man's
knowledge, and few practice his virtues; but all may
suffer his calamity.  Of the uncertainties of our
present state, the most dreadful and alarming is the
uncertain continuance of reason."
The princess was recollected, and the favorite was
abashed. Rasselas, more deeply affected, inquired
of Imlac, whether he thought such maladies of the
mind frequent, and how they were contracted?




CHAPTER XLIV.
THE DANGEROUS PREVALENCE OF IMAGINATION.
" DISORDERS Of intellect," answered Imlac, "happen
much more often than superficial observers will
easily believe. Perhaps, if we speak with rigorous
exactness, no human mind is in its right state.
There is no man whose imagination does not sometimes predominate over his reason, who can regulate
his attention wholly by his will, and whose ideas
will come and go at his command. No man will be
found in whose mind airy notions do not sometimes
tyrannize, and force him to hope or fear beyond the
limits of sober probability. All power of fancy
over reason is a degree of insanity; but while this
power is such as we can control and repress, it is
not visible to others, nor considered as any depravation of the mental faculties: it is not pronounced
madness but when it becomes ungovernable, and
apparently influences speech or action.
"To indulge the power of fiction, and send imagination out upon the wing, is often the sport of
those who delight too much in silent speculation.
When we are alone, we are not always busy; the
labor of excogitation is too violent to last long; the
ardor of inquiry will sometimes give way to idleness
(1643




RASSELAS.                165
or satiety. He who has nothing external that can
divert him, must find pleasure in his own thoughts,
and must conceive himself what he is not; for who
is pleased with what he is? He then expatiates in
boundless futurity, and culls from all imaginable
conditions that which for the present moment he
should most desire, amuses his desires with impossible enjoyments, and confers upon his pride unattainable dominion. The mind dances from scene to
scene, unites all pleasures in all combinations, and
riots in delights which nature and fortune, with all
their bounty, cannot bestow.
" In time, some particular train of ideas fixes the
attention; all other intellectual gratifications are
rejected; the mind, in weariness or leisure, recurs
constantly to the favorite conception, and feasts on
the luscious falsehood, whenever she is offended with
the bitterness of truth. By degrees the reign of
fancy is confirmed; she grows first imperious, and
in time despotic. Then fictions begin to operate as
realities, false opinions fasten upon the mind, and
life passes in dreams of rapture or of anguish.
"- This, sir, is one of the dangers of solitude, which
the hermit has confessed not always to promote
goodness, and the astronomer's misery has proved
to be not always propitious to wisdom."
"I will no more," said the favorite, "imagine myself the queen of Abyssinia. I have often spent the
hours, which the princess gave to my own disposal,
in adjusting ceremonies and regulating the court; I
have repressed the pride of the powerful, and granted
the petitions of the poor; I have built new palaces




166               RASSELAS.
in more happy situations, planted groves upon the
tops of mountains, and have exulted in the beneficence of royalty, till, when the princess entered, I
had almost forgotten to bow down before her."
"And I," said the princess, " will not allow my
self any more to play the shepherdess in my waking
dreams. I have often soothed my thoughts with
the quiet and innocence of pastoral employments,
till I have in my chamber heard the winds whistle,
and the sheep bleat; sometimes freed the lamb entangled in the thicket, and sometimes with my crook
encountered the wolf. I have a dress like that of the
village maids, which I put on to help my imagination, and a pipe on which I play softly, and suppose
myself followed by my flocks."
"I will confess," said the prince, " an indulgence
of fantastic delight more dangerous that yours. I
have frequently endeavored to image the possibility
of a perfect government, by which all wrong should
be restrained, all vice reformed, and all the subjects preserved in tranquillity and innocence. This
thought produced innumerable schemes of reformation, and dictated many useful regulations and salutary edicts. This has been the sport, and sometimes
the labor, of my solitude; and I start, when I think
with how little anguish I once supposed the death
of my father and my brothers."
"Such," says Imlac, " are the effects of visionary
schemes: when we first form them we know them
to be absurd, but familiarize them by degrees, and
in time lose sight of their folly."




CHAPTER XLV.
THEY DISCOURSE WITH AN OLD MAN.
THE evening was now far past, and they rose to return home. As they walked along the bank of the
Nile, delighted with the beams of the moon quivering on the water, they saw at a small distance an
old man, whom the prince had often heard in the
assembly of the sages. " Yonder," said he, "is one
whose years have calmed his passions, but not
clouded his reason: let us close the disquisitions of
the night, by inquiring what are his sentiments of
his own state, that we may know whether youth
alone is to struggle with vexation, and whether any
better hope remains for the latter part of life."
Here the sage approached and saluted them. They
invited him to join their walk, and prattled awhile
as acquaintance that had unexpectedly met one
another. The old man was cheerful and talkative,
and the way seemed short in his company. He was
pleased to find himself not disregarded, accompanied
them to their house, and, at the prince's request,
entered with them. They placed him in the seat of
honor, and set wine and conserves before him.
"Sir," said the princess, " an evening walk must
give to a man of learning, like you, pleasures which
[167)




168              RASSELAS
ignorance and youth can hardly conceive. You
know the qualities and the causes of all that you
behold, the laws by which the river flows, the
periods in which the planets perform their revolution. Everything must supply you with contemplation, and renew the consciousness of your own
dignity."
" Lady," answered he, " let the gay and the vigorous expect pleasure in their excursions; it is enough
that age can obtain ease. To me the world has lost.s novelty; I look round, and see what I remember
to have seen in happier days. I rest against a tree,
and consider, that in the same shade I once disputed
upon the annual overflow of the Nile with a friend
who is now silent in the grave. I cast my eyes upwards, fix them on the changing moon, and think
with pain on the vicissitudes of life. I have ceased
to take much delight in physical truth; for what
have I to do with those things which I am so soon
to leave?"
" You may at least recreate yourself," said Imlac,
"with recollections of an honorable and useful life,
and enjoy the praise which all agree to give you."
"Praise," said the sage with a sigh, "is to an old
man an empty sound. I have neither mother to bG
delighted with the reputation of her son, nor wife
to partake the honors of her husband. I have out
lived my friends and my rivals. Nothing is now of
much importance: for I cannot extend my interest
beyond myself. Youth is delighted with applause,
because it is considered as the earncst of some-future
good, and because the prospect of life is far extended:




RASSELAS.              169
but to me who am now declining to decrepitude,
there is little to be feared from the malevolence of
men, and yet less to be hoped from their affection
or esteem. Something they may yet take away, but
they can give me nothing. Riches would now be
useless, and high employment would be pain. My
retrospect of life recalls to my view many opportunities of good neglected, much time squandered upon
trifles, and more lost in idleness and vacancy. I
leave many great designs unattempted, and many
great attempts unfinished. My mind is burdened
with no heavy crime, and therefore I compose myself to tranquillity: endeavor to abstract my thoughts
from hopes and cares, which, though reason knows
them to be vain, still try to keep their old possession of the heart; expect, with serene humility, that
hour which nature cannot long delay; and hope to
possess, in a better state, that happiness which here
I could not find, and that virtue which here I have
not attained."
He arose and went away, leaving his audience not
much elated with the hope of long life. The prince
consoled himself with remarking, that it was not
reasonable to be disappointed by this account; for
age had never been considered as the season of
felicity; and if it was possible to be easy in decline
and weakness, it was likely that the days of vigor
and alacrity might be happy: that the noon of life
might be bright, if the evening could be calm.
The princess suspected that age was querulous and
malignant, and delighted to repress the expectations
of those who had newly entered the world. She
8




170              RASSELAS.
had seen the possessors of estates look with envy on
their heirs, and known many who enjoyed pleasure
no longer than they can confine it to themselves.
Pekuah conjectured that the man was older than
he appeared, and was willing to impute his complaints to delirious dejection; or else supposed that
he had been unfortunate, and was therefore discontented: "For nothing," said she, "is more common,
than to call our own condition the condition of life."
Imlac, who had no desire to see them depressed,
smiled at the comforts which they could so readily
procure to themselves, and remembered, that at the
same age, he was equally confident of unmingled
prosperity, and equally fertile of consolatory expedients. He forbore to force upon them unwelcome
knowledge, which time itself would too soon impress.
The princess and her lady retired; the madness of
the Astronomer hung upon their minds, and they
desired Imlac to enter upon his office, and delay next
morning the rising of the sun.




CHAPTER XLVI.
TIHE PRINCESS AND PEKUAH VISIT THE ASTRONOMER.
THE princess and Pekuah having talked in private
of Imlac's astronomer, thought his character at once
so amiable and so strange, that they could not be
satisfied without a nearer knowledge; and Imlac
was requested to find the means of bringing them
together.
This was somewhat difficult: the philosopher had
never received any visits from women, though he
lived in a city that had in it many Europeans, who
followed the manners of their own countries, and
many from other parts of the world, that lived there
with European liberty. The ladies would not be
refused, and several schemes were proposed for the
accomplishment of their design. It was proposed
to introduce them as strangers in distress, to whom
the sage was always accessible: but, after some deliberation, it'appeared, that by this artifice, no acquaintance could be formed, for their conversation
would be short, and they could not decently importune him  often.  "This," said Rasselas, "is true;
but I have yet a stronger objection against the misrepresentation of your state. I have always considered it as treason against the great republic of
[171]




172               RASSELAS.
human nature, to make any man's virtues the means
of deceiving him, whether on great or little occasions. All imposture weakens confidence, and chills
benevolence. When the sage finds that you are not
what you seemed, he will feel the resentment natural
to a man, who, conscious of great abilities, discovers
that he has been tricked by understandings meaner
than his own, and, perhaps, the distrust which he
can never afterwards wholly lay aside, may stop the
voice of counsel, and close the hand of charity; and
where will you find the power of restoring his benefactions to mankind, or his peace to himself?"
To this no reply was attempted, and Imlac began
to hope that their curiosity would subside; but next
day, Pekuah told him, she had now found an honest
pretence for a visit to the astronomer, for she would
solicit permission to continue under him the studies
in which she had been initiated by the Arab, and
the princess might go with her either as a fellowstudent, or because a woman could not decently
come alone. "I am afraid," said Imlac, "that he
will soon be weary of your company: men advanced far in knowledge do not love to repeat the
elements of their art, and I am not certain that even
of the elements, as he will deliver them, connected
with inferences, and mingled with reflections, you
are a very capable auditress."  "That," said Pekuah, "must be my care; I ask of you only to take
me thither. My knowledge is, perhaps, more than
you imagine it, and by concurring always with his
opinions, I shall make him think it greater than it is."
The astronomer, in pursuance of this resolution,




RASSELAS.              173
was told that a foreign lady, travelling in search of
knowledge, had heard of his reputation, and was
desirous to become his scholar. The uncommonness of the proposal raised at once his surprise and
curiosity; and when, after a short deliberation, he
consented to admit her, he could not stay without
impatience till the next day.
The ladies dressed themselves magnificently, and
were attended by Imlac to the astronomer, who was
pleasea to see himself approached with respect by
persons of so splendid an appearance. In the exchange of the first civilities he was timorous and
bashful; but when the talk became more regular,
he recollected his powers, and justified the character
which Imlac had given. Inquiring of Pekuah, what
could have turned her inclination towards astronomy,
he received from her a recital of her adventure at
the Pyramid, and of the time passed in the Arab's
Island. She told her tale with ease and elegance,
and her conversation took possession of his heart.
The discourse was then turned to astronomy:
Pekuah displayed what she knew; he looked upon
her as a prodigy of genius, and entreated her not to
desist from a study which she had so happily begun.
They came again and again, and were every time
more welcome than before. The sage endeavored
to amuse them that they might prolong their visits,
for he found his thoughts grow brighter in their
company; the clouds of solicitude vanished by degrees, as he forced himself to entertain them. and
he grieved when he was left at their departure to
his old employment of iregulating the seasons.




174               RASSELAS.
The princess and her favorite had now watched
his lips for several months, and could not catch a
single word from which they could judge whether
he continued, or not, in the opinion of his preternatural commission. They often contrived to bring
him to an open declaration: but he easily eluded all
their attacks, and on which side soever they pressed
him, escaped from them to some other topic.
As their familiarity increased, they invited him
often to the house of Imlac, where they distinguished
him by extraordinary respect. He began gradually
to delight in sublunary pleasures. He came early,
and departed late; labored to recommend himself
by assiduity and compliance: excited their curiosity
after new arts, that they might still want his assistance; and wher they made any excursion of pleasure or inquiry, entreated to attend them.
By long experience of his integrity and wisdom
the.prince and his sister were convinced that he
might be trusted without danger; and lest he should
draw any false hopes from the civilities which he
received, discovered to him their condition, with the
motives of their journey; and required his opinion
on the choice of life.
" Of the various conditions which the world
spreads before you, which you shall prefer," said
the sage, "I am not able to instruct you. I can
only tell that I have chosen wrong. I have passed
my time in study without experience: in the attainment of sciences, which can, for the most part, be
but remotely useful to mankind; I have purchased
knowledge at the expense of all the common com



RASSELMS.              175
forts of life; I have missed the endearing elegance
of female friendship, and the happy commerce of
domestic tenderness. If I have obtained any prerogatives above other students, they have been
accompanied with fear, disquiet, and scrupulosity;
but even of these prerogatives, whatever they were,
I have, since my thoughts have been diversified by
more intercourse with the world, begun to question
the reality. When I have been for a few days lost
in pleasing dissipation, I am always tempted to think
that my inquiries have ended in error, and that I
have suffered much and suffered it in vain."
Imlac was delighted to find that the sage's understanding was breaking through its mists, and resolved to detain him from the planets till he should
forget his task of ruling them, and reason should
recover its original influence.
From this time the astronomer was received into
familiar friendship, and partook of all their projects
and pleasures: his respect kept him attentive, and
the activity of Rasselas did not leave much time
unengaged. Something was also to be done: the
day was spent in making observations which furnished talk for the evening, and the evening was
closed with a scheme for the morrow.
The sage confessed to Imlac, that since he had
mingled in the gay tumults of life, and divided his
hours by a succession of amusements, he found the
conviction of his authority over the skies fade gradually from his mind, and began to trust less to an
opinion which he never could prove to others, and
which he now found subject to variation, from




176               RASSELAS.
causes in which reason had no part. "If I am accidentally left alone for a few hours," said he, "my
inveterate persuasion rushes upon my soul, and my
thoughts are chained down by some irresistible violence; but they are soon disentangled by the prince's
conversation, and instantaneously released at the
entrance of Pekuah. I am like a man habitually
afraid of spectres, who is set at ease by a lamp, and
wonders at the dread which harassed him in the
dark; yet, if his lamp be extinguished, feels again
the terrors which he knows that when it is light he
shall feel no more. But I am sometimes afraid lest
I indulge my quiet by criminal negligence, and voluntarily forget the great charge with which I am
intrusted. If I favor myself in a known error, or
am determined by my own ease in a doubtful question of this importance, how dreadful is my crime 1"
" No disease of the imagination," answered Imlac,
"is so difficult of cure as that which is complicated
with the dread of guilt: fancy and conscience then
act interchangeably upon us, and so often shift their
places, that the illusions of one are not distinguished
from the dictates of the other. If fancy presents
images not moral or religious, the mind drives them
away when they give it pain: but when melancholic
notions take the form of duty, they lay hold on the
faculties without opposition, because we are afraid
to exclude or banish them. For this reason the' superstitious are often melancholy, and the melancholy
almost always superstitious.
"But do not let the suggestions of timidity overpower your better reason: the danger of neglect can




RASSELAS.              177
be but as the probability of the obligation, which,
when you consider it with freedom, you find very
little, and that little growing every day less. Open
your heart to the influence of the light, which from
time to time, breaks in upon you: when scruples
importune you, which you in your lucid moments
know to be vain, do not stand to parley, but fly to
business or to Pekuah, and keep this thought always
prevalent, that you are only one atom of the maiss
of humanity, and have neither such virtue nor vice,
as that you should be singled out for supernatural
favors and afflictions."




CHAPTER XLVII.
THE PRINCESS ENTEIR, AND BRINGS A NEW TOPIC.
"ALL this," said the astronomer, "I have often
thought, but my reason has been so long subjugated
by an uncontrollable and overwhelming idea, that it
durst not confide in its own decisions. I now see
how fatally I betrayed my quiet, by suffering chimeras to pray upon me in secret; but melancholy
shrinks from communication, and I never found a
man before to whom I could impart my troubles,
though I had been certain of relief I rejoice to
find my own sentiments confirmed by yours, who
are not easily deceived, and can have no motive or
purpose to deceive. I hope that time and variety
will dissipate the gloom that has so long surrounded
me, and the latter part of my days will be spent in
peace."
"Your learning and virtue,"'said Imlac, "may
justly give you hopes."
Rasselas then entered with the princess and
Pekuah, and inquired, whether they had contrived
any new diversions for the next day?  "Such,'i
said Nekayah, "is the state of life, that none are
happy but by the anticipation of change: the change
itself is nothing; when'we have made it, the next
[178]




RASSELAS.                179
wish is to change again. The world is not yet exhausted; let me see something to-morrow which I
never saw before."
"Variety," said Rasselas, "is so necessary to content, that even the happy valley disgusted me by
the recurrence of its luxuries; yet I could not forbear to reproach myself with impatience, when I
saw the monks of St. Antony support without complaint, a life, not of uniform delight, but uniform
hardship."
" These men," answered Imlac, "are less wretched
in their silent convent than the Abyssinian princes in
their prison of pleasure. -Whatever is done by the
monks is incited by an adequate and reasonable
motive. Their labor supplies them with necessaries;
it therefore cannot be omitted, and is certainly rewarded. Their devotion prepares them for another
state, and reminds them of its approach, while it fits
them for it. Their time is regularly distributed:
one duty succeeds another, so that they are not left
open to the distraction of unguided choice, nor lost
in the shades of listless inactivity. There is a certain
task to be performed at an appropriated hour; and
their toils are cheerful, because they consider them
as acts of piety, by which they are always advancing
towards endless felicity."
" Do you think," said Nekayah, "that the monastic rule is a more holy and less imperfect state than
any other? May not he equally hope for future
happiness who converses openly with mankind,:who
succors the distressed by his charity, instructs the
ignorant by his learning, and contributes by his in



180               RASSELAS.
dustry to the general system of life; even though
he should omit some of the mortifications which are
practised in the cloister, and allow himself such
harmless delights as his condition may place within
his reach?"
"This," said Imlac, " is a question which has long
divided the wise, and perplexed the good. I am
afraid to decide on either part. He that lives well
in the world is better than he that lives well in a
monastery. But, perhaps, every one is not able to
stem the temptations of public life: and if he cannot
conquer, he may properly retreat. Some have little
power to do good, and have likewise little strength
to resist evil. Many are weary of their conflicts
with adversity, and are willing t6 reject those passions which have long busied them in vain. And
many are dismissed by age and diseases from the
more laborious duties of society. In monasteries
the weak and timorous may be happily sheltered,
the weary may repose, and the penitent may medi.tate. Those retreats of prayer and contemplation
have something so congenial to the mind of man,
that, perhaps, there is scarcely one that does not
purpose to close his life in pious abstraction with a
few associates serious as himself."
"Such," said Pekuah, " has often been my wish
and I have heard the princess declare, that she should
not willingly die in a crowd."
"The liberty of using harmless pleasures," proceeded Imlac, "will not be disputed: but it is still
to be examined what pleasures are harmless. The
evil of any pleasure that Nekayah can imagine, is




RASSELAS.               181
not in the act itself, but in its consequences. Pleasure
in itself harmless, may become mischievous, by endearing us to a state which we know to be transient
and probatory, and withdrawing our thoughts from
that of which every hour brings us nearer to the
beginning, and of which no length of time will bring
us to the end. Mortification is not virtuous in itself
nor has any other use, but that it disengages us from
the allurements of sense. In the state of future perfection, to which we all aspire, there will be pleasure
without danger, and security without restraint."
The princess was silent, and Rasselas turning to
the astronomer, asked him, whether he could not
delay her retreat, by showing her something which
she had not seen before?
"Your curiosity," said the sage, " has been so
general, and your pursuit of knowledge so vigorous,
that novelties are not now very easy to be found:
but what you can no longer procure from the living
may be given by the dead. Among the wonders of
this country are the Catacombs, or the ancient repositories, in which the bodies of the earliest generations were lodged, and where, by the virtue of the
gums which embalmed them, they yet remain without corruption."
" I know not," said Rasselas, "what pleasure the
sight of the Catacombs can afford; but, since nothing else offers, I am resolved to view them, and
shall place this with many other things which I
have done, because I would do something."
They hired a guard of horsemen, and the next
day visited the Catacombs. When they were about




182              RASSELAS.
to descend into the sepulchral caves, "Pekuah,"
said the princess, " we are now again invading the
habitations of the dead; I know that you will stay
behind; let me find you safe when I return." "No,
I will not be left," answered Pekuah, "I will go
down between you and the prince."
They then all descended, and roved with wonder
through the labyrinth of subterraneous passages,
where the bodies were laid in rows on either side.




CHAPTER XLVIII.
IMLAC DISCOURSES ON THE NATURE OF THE SOU
"WHAT reason," said the prince, " can be given why
the Egyptians should thus expensively preserve
those carcasses which some nations consume with
fire, others lay to mingle with the earth, and all
agree to remove from their sight, as soon as decent
rites can be performed?"
" The original of ancient customs," said Imlac,
"is commonly unknown; for the practice often continues when the cause has ceased; and concerning
superstitious ceremonies it is vain to conjecture: for
what reason did not dictate, reason cannot explain.
I have long believed that the practice of embalming
arose only from tenderness to the remains of relations or friends, and to this opinion I am more inclined, because it seems impossible that this care
should have been general: had all the dead been
embalmed, their repositories must in time have been
more spacious than the dwellings of the living. I
suppose only the rich or honorable were secured
from corruption, and the rest left to the course of
nature.
" But it is commonly supposed that the Egyptians
believed the soul to live as long as the body con[183]




184               RASSELAS.
tinued undissolved, and therefore tried this method
of eluding death."
"Could the wise Egyptians," said Nekayah,
"think so grossly of the soul?  If the soul could
once survive its separation, what could it afterwards
receive or suffer from the body?"
" The Egyptians would doubtless think erroneously," said the astronomer, " in the darkness of
heathenism, and the first dawn of philosophy. The
nature of the soul is still disputed amidst all our
opportunities of clearer knowledge; some yet say
that it may be material, who, nevertheless, believe
it to be immortal."
"Some," answered Imlac, "have indeed said that
the soul is material, but I can scarcely believe that
any man has thought it who knew how to think:
for all the conclusions of reason enforce the immateriality of mind, and all the notices of sense' and
investigations of science concur to prove -the unconsciousness of matter.
" It was never supposed that cogitation is inherent
in matter, or that every particle is a thinking being.
Yet, if any part of matter be devoid of thought, what
part can we suppose to think? Matter can differ
from matter only in form, density, bulk, motion,
and direction of motion: to which of these, however
varied or combined, can consciousness be annexed?
To be round or square, to be solid or fluid, to be
great or little, to be moved slowly or swiftly, one
way or another, are modes of material existence, all
equally alien from  the nature of cogitation. If
matter be once without thought, it can only be made




RASSELAS.              185
to think by some new modification, but all the
modifications which it can admit are equally unconnected with cogitative powers."' But the materialists," said the astronomer, "urge
that matter may have qualities with which we are
unacquainted."
"He who will determine," answered Imlac,
"against that which he knows, because there may
be something which he knows not; he that can set
hypothetical possibility against acknowledged certainty, is not to be admitted among reasonable
beings. All that we know of matter is, that matter is
inert, senseless, and lifeless; and if this conviction cannot be opposed but by referring us to something that
we know not, we have all the evidence that human
intellect can admit. If that which is known may
be overruled by that which is unknown, no being
not omniscient, can arrive at certainty."
"Yet let us not," said the astronomer, "too arrogantly limit the Creator's power."
"It is no limitation of Omnipotence," replied the
poet, "to suppose that one thing is not consistent
with another, that the same proposition cannot be
at once true and false, that the same number cannot
be even and odd, that cogitation cannot be conferred
on that which is created incapable of cogitation."
"I know not," said Nekayah, "any great use of
this question. Does that immateriality, which, in my
opinion, you have sufficiently proved, necessarily
include eternal duration."
"Of immateriality," said Imlac, "our ideas are
negative, and therefore obscure. Immateriality seems




186              RIASSELAS.
to imply a natural power of perpetual duration as a
consequence of exemption from all causes of decay:
whatever perishes is destroyed by the solution of its
contexture, and separation of its parts; nor can we
conceive how that which has no parts, and therefore
admits no solution, can be naturally corrupted or
impaired."
"I know not," said Rasselas,''how to conceive
anything without extension: what is extended must
have parts, and you allow, that whatever has parts
may be destroyed."
" Consider your own conceptions," replied Imlac,
" and the difficulty will be less. You will find substance without extension. An ideal form is no less
real than material bulk; yet an ideal form has no
extension. It is no less certain, when you think on
a pyramid, that your mind possesses the idea of a
pyramid, than that the pyramid itself is standing.
What space does the idea of a pyramid occupy more
than the idea of a grain of corn? or how can either
idea suffer laceration? As is the effect, such is the
cause: as thought, such is the power that thinks; a
power impassive and indiscerptible."
I" But the Being," said Nekayah, "' whom I fear to
name, the Being which made the soul, can destroy
it."
"He, surely, can destroy it," answered Imlac,
"since, however unperishable, it receives from a
superior nature its power of duration. That it will
not perish by any inherent cause of decay, or principle of corruption, may be shown by philosophy;
but philosophy can tell no more. That it will not




RASSELAS.               187
be annihilated by him that made it, we must humbly
learn from higher authority.
The whole assembly stood awhile silent and collected. " Let us return," said Rasselas, "from -this
scene of mortality. How gloomy would be these
mansions of the dead to him who did not know
that he should never die; that what now acts shall
continue its agency, and what now thinks shall think
on forever I Those that lie here stretched before us,
the wise and the powerful of ancient times, warn us
to remember the shortness of our present state: they
were, perhaps, snatched away, while they were busy
like us in the choice of lif"&
" To me," said the princess, "the choice of life is
become less important: I hope hereafter to think
only on the choice of eternity,"
They then hastened out of the cavern, and under
the protection of their guard, returned to Cairo.




CHAPTER XLIX.
THE CONCLUSION, IN WHICH NOTHING IS CONCLUDED.
IT was now the time of the inundation of the Nile:
a few days after their visit to the Catacombs, the
river began to rise.
They were confined to their house. The whole
region being under water gave them no invitation
to any excursions, and being well supplied with
materials for talk, they diverted themselves with
comparisons of the different forms of life which
they had observed, and with various schemes of
happiness, which each of them had formed.
Pekuah was never so much charmed with any
place as the convent of St. Antony, where the
Arab restored her to the princess, and wished only
to fill it with pious maidens, and to be made prioress
of the order: she was weary of expectation and
disgust, and would gladly be fixed in some unvariable state.
The princess thought, that of all sublunary things,
knowledge was the best: she desired first to learn
all sciences, and then proposed to found a college of
learned women, in which she would preside, that by
conversing with the old, and educating the young,
she might divide her time between the acquisition
[1881




RASSELAS.              189
and the communication of wisdom, and raise up for
the next age models of prudence, and patrons of
piety.
The prince desired a little kingdom, in which he
might administer justice in his own person, and see
all the parts of government with his own eyes; but
could never fix the limits of his dominion, and was
always adding to the number of his subjects.
Imlac and the astronomer were contented to be
iriven along the stream of life, without directing
their course to any particular port.
Of these wishes that they had formed, they well
knew that none could be obtained. They deliber.
ated awhile what was to be done, and resolved,
when the inundation should cease, to return to
Abyssinia.