THE 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE, Esq. 
 
 /.V THREE VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL- IE 
 
 CONTAI»'ING, 
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 Printed hy Michael Andarson, 
 
 FOR JAMES ROBBKTSON. 7, PARLlAMtKT SQUARE, 
 AVD WIJ.MAM BLAIR, EDINBURGH. 
 
 J819.
 
 PR 
 
 I8ii 
 1/. 2L 
 
 THE 
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 I^irginibut Puerisquf Canto.— -Ho*. 
 
 PART L 
 
 VOL. II,
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 1 HOUGH the world is but little concerned to 
 know in what situation the author of any per- 
 formance that is ofiered to its perusal may be, 
 yet I believe it is generally solicitous to learn 
 some circumstances relating to him *, for my 
 (Hvn part, I have always experienced this desire 
 in myself, and read the ads-ertisement at the 
 beginning, and the postscript at the end of a 
 book, if they contain any information of that 
 sort, with a kind of melancholy inquietude 
 about the fate of him in whose company, as it 
 were, I have passed some harmless hours, and 
 whose sentiments have been unbosomed to me 
 with the openness of a friend. 
 
 The life of him who has had an opportunity 
 of presenting to the eye of the public the fol- 
 lowing tale, tliough sufficiently chequered with 
 vicissitude, has been spent in a state of ob- 
 scurity, the recital of which could but little ex- 
 cite admiration, or gratify curiosity. The man- 
 ner of his procuring the story contained in the 
 following sheets, is all he thinks himself enti- 
 tled to relate. 
 
 43S257
 
 4; INTRODUCIIONi. 
 
 After some wanderings at tliat time of life 
 Tvliich is most subject to wandering, I liad found 
 an opportunity of revisiting the scenes of my 
 earlier attachments, and returned to my native 
 spot with that tender emotion, which the heart, 
 that can be moved at all, will naturally feel ou 
 approaching it. The remembrance of my in- 
 fant days, like the fancied vibration of pleasant 
 sounds in the ear, Avas still alive in my mind j 
 and I flew to find out the marks by which even 
 inanimate things were to be known, as the 
 friends of my youth, not forgotten, though long 
 unseen, nor lessened in my estimation, from the 
 pride of refinement, or the comparison of ex- 
 perience. 
 
 In the shade of an ancient tree, that centered 
 a circle of elms, at the end of the village where 
 I was born, I found my old acquaintance, Jack 
 Ryland. He was gathering moss with one 
 hand, while the other held a flannel bag, con- 
 taining earth worms, to be used as bait in ang- 
 ling. On seeing me, Ryland dropped his moss 
 on the ground, and ran with all the warmth of 
 friendship to embrace me. * INIy dear Tom,' 
 said he, * how happy I am to see you I you liave 
 travelled, no doubt, a woundy long way since 
 we parted. — You fiiid me in the old way here. 
 — I believe they have but a sorry notion of sport 
 in Italy. — While I think on't, look on this 
 minnow •, I'll be hanged if the sharpest-eyed 
 trout in the river can know it from the natural. 
 It was but yesterday now — You remember the 
 cross-tree pool, just below the parsonage — there
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I hooked him, played him half an hour by tlie 
 clock, and landed him at last as far down as the 
 church-way ford. As for his size — Lord I how 
 unlucky it is that I have not my landing-net 
 Iiere ! for now I recollect that I marked his 
 length on the outside of the pole j but you 
 shall see it some other time.' 
 
 Let not my reader be impatient at my friend 
 Ryland's harangue. I give it him, because I 
 tvould have characters develope themselves. 
 To throw, however, some farther light upon 
 Kyland's : 
 
 He v/as first cousin to a gentleman who pos- 
 sessed a considerable estate in our county j born 
 to no fortune, and not much formed by nature 
 for acquiring one, he found pretty early that 
 he should never be rich, but that he might pos- 
 sibly be happy ; and happiness to him was ob- 
 tained without effort, because it was drawn 
 from sources which it required little exertion 
 to supply. Trifles were the boundaries of his 
 desire, and their attainment the goal of his fe- 
 licity. A certain neatness at all those little 
 arts in which the soul has no share, an immo- 
 derate love of sport, and a still more immo- 
 derate love of reciting its progress, with the 
 addition of one faculty which has some small 
 connection with letters, to wit, a remarkable 
 memory for puzzles and enigmas, made up his 
 character *, and he enjoyed a privilege uncom- 
 • nionto the happy, that no one envied the means 
 ^ by which he attained what every one pursues, 
 I interrupted hi< narrativK bv seme inquiiiti 
 A 2
 
 b INTRODUCTION'. 
 
 about my former acquaintance in the village ^ 
 for Ryland was the recorder of the place, and 
 could have told the names, families, relations, 
 and inter-marriages of the parish, with much 
 more accuracy than the register. 
 
 * Alack-a-day !' said Jack, * there have been 
 many changes among us since you left this : 
 here has died the old ganger Wilson, as good 
 a cricket-player as ever handled a bat j Rooke, 
 at The Salutation, is gone too j and his wife has 
 left the parish and settled in London, where, I 
 am told, she keeps a gin-shop in some street 
 they call Southwark ; and the poor parson, 
 ivhom you were so intimate with, the worthy 
 old Annesly j' — he looked piteously towards 
 the church-yard, and a tear trickled down his 
 cheek. — * I understand you,' said I, * the good 
 man is dead !'. — ' Ah ! there is more than you 
 think about his death,' answered Jack j ' he died 
 of a broken heart 1' I could make no reply but 
 by an ejaculation, and Ryland accompanied it 
 with another tear j for though he comnionly 
 looked but on the surface of things, yet Ryland 
 Jiad a heart to feel. 
 
 * In the middle of yon clump of alders,' said 
 lie, * you may remember a small house, that 
 was once farmer Higgins's. It is now occupied 
 by a gentlewoman of the name of Wistanly, 
 who was formerly a sort of servant-companion 
 to Sir Thomas Sindall's mother, the widow of 
 Sir William. Her mistress, who died seme 
 years ago, left her an annuity, and that house 
 for life, where she has lived ever since, I am
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 told she knows more of Aunesly's afl'airs tlian 
 any other body j but she is so silent and shy, 
 that I could never get a Avord from her on the 
 subject. She is reckoned a ^vonderful scholar 
 by the folks of the village ; and you, who are a 
 man of reading, might perhajjs be a greater fa- 
 vourite with her. If you chuse it, L shall in- 
 troduce you to her immediately.' I accepted 
 his offer, and we went to her house together. 
 
 We found her sitting in a little parlour, fitted 
 up in a taste much superior to what might have 
 been expected from the appearance of the house, 
 with some shelves, on which I observed several 
 of the most classical English and French au- 
 thors. She rose to receive us with something 
 in her manner greatly above her seeming rank. 
 Jack introduced me as an act^uaintance of her 
 deceased friend, Mr Annesly. ' Then, Sir,' 
 said she, * you knew a man who had fcAV fel- 
 lows I' lifting lier eyes gently upwards. The 
 tender solemnity of her look answered the very 
 movement which the remembrance had awakened 
 in my soul j and I made no other reply than by a 
 tear. She seemed to take it in good part, and 
 we met on that ground like old friends, who 
 had much to ask, and much to be answered. 
 
 When we were going away, she begged to 
 have a moment's conversation with me alone j 
 Ryland left us together. 
 
 ' If I am not deceived, Sir,' said she, ' in the 
 opinion I have formed of you, your feelings 
 are very different from those of Mr Ryland, 
 and indeed of most of my neighbours in the vil-
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lage. You seem toliave had a peculiar interest 
 in the fate of that worthiest of men, Mr An^ 
 nesly. The liistory of that life of purity whicli 
 he led, of that calamity by which it was short- 
 ened, might not be an unpleasing, though a me- 
 lancholy recital to you j but in this box, which 
 stands on the table by me, is contained a series 
 of letters and papers, v/hich if you will take 
 the trouble of reading them, w^ill save me the 
 task of recounting his sufferings. You will iind 
 many passages which do not indeed relate to itj 
 but, as they are often the entertainment of my 
 leisure hours, I have marked the most interest- 
 ing parts on the margin, Tliis deposit, Sir, 
 though its general importance be small, my af- 
 fection for my departed friend makes me con- 
 sider as a compliment, and I commit it to you, 
 as to one in wliose favour I have conceived a 
 prepossession from that very cause.' 
 
 Those letters and papers were the basis of what 
 I now offer to the public. Had it been my in- 
 tention to make a booh, I might have published 
 them entire *, and 1 am persuaded, notwith- 
 standing Mrs Wistanly's remark, that no part 
 of them would have been found more foreign 
 to the general drift of this volume, than many 
 that have got admittance into similar collec- 
 tions. But I have chosen rather to throw them 
 into the form of a narrative, and contented my- 
 self with transcribing such reflections as natu- 
 rally arise from the events, and such sentiments 
 as the situations alone appear to have excited. 
 There are indeed many suppletory facts, wliick
 
 IXTRODUCTIOy. 9 
 
 could not have been found In this collection of 
 Mrs Wistanly's. These I was at some pains to 
 procure through other channels. How I was 
 enabled to procure them, the reader may con- 
 ceive, if his patience can hold out to the end of 
 the story. To account for that now, would de- 
 lay its commencement, and anticipate its con- 
 clusion j for both which effects this introduc- 
 tory chapter may have already been subject to 
 reprehension.
 
 maint of the woeld. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 IN WHICH ARE SOME PARTICULARS PREVIOUS TO 
 THE C03IMENCEMSNT OF THE MAIN STORY. 
 
 XticiiARD AxN'ESLY ^vas the only child of a 
 T.caUhy tradesman in London, who, from the 
 experience of that proiit ^vhich his business af- 
 forded himself, was anxious it should descend 
 to his son. Unfortunately the young man had 
 acquired a certain train of ideas which were to- 
 tally averse to that line of life which his father 
 had marked out for hini. There is a degree 
 of sentiment, which, in the bosom of a maa des- 
 tined to the drudgery of the world, is the 
 source of endless disgust. Of this young An- 
 nesly was unluckily possessed *, and as he fore- 
 saw, or thought he foresaw, that it would not only 
 endanger his success, but take from the enjoy- 
 ment of prosperity, supposing it attained, he de- 
 clined following that road which his father had 
 smoothed for his progress ; and, at the risk of 
 those temnv;ral advantages whicli the old gcntle- 
 jnau's dispieasurc on this occasion mi^ht deny
 
 12 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 him, entered into tlie service of the church, and 
 retired to the country on one of the smallest en- 
 dowments she has to bestow. 
 
 That feeling wliicli prevents the acquisition 
 of wealth, is formed for the support of poverty. 
 The contentment of the poor, I had almost said 
 their pride, buoys up the spirit against the de- 
 pression of adversity, and gives to our very 
 wants tlie appearance of enjoyment. 
 
 Annesly looked on happiness as confined to 
 the sphere of sequestered life. The pomp of 
 greatness, the pleasures of the affluent, he con- 
 sidered as only productive of turbulence, dis- 
 quiet, and remorse j and thanked Heaven for 
 having placed him in his own little shed, which, 
 in his opinion, was the residence of pure and 
 lasting felicity. 
 
 With this view of things his father's ideas 
 did by no means coincide. His anger against 
 his son continued till his death j and, when that 
 event happened, with the preposterous revenge 
 of many a parent, he consigned him to misery, 
 as he thought, because he would not be un- 
 happy in that way which he had insisted on 
 his following, and cut him oiF from the inherit- 
 ance of his birth, because he had chosen a pro- 
 fession which kept him in poverty without it. 
 
 Though Annesly could support the fear of 
 poverty, he could not easily bear the thought 
 of a dying father's displeasure. On receiving 
 intelligence of his being in a dangerous situa- 
 tion, he hasted to London, with the purpose of 
 wringing fiom him his forgiveness for the only
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 13 
 
 nIFcnce with Avhich his son had ever been charge- 
 able ; but he arrived too late. 'His father had 
 breathed his last on the evening of the day pre- 
 ceding that on which lie reached the metropolis, 
 and his house was already in the possession of a 
 nephew, to whom his son understood he had left 
 every shilling of his fortune. This man had 
 been bred a haberdasher, at the express desire 
 of old Annesly, and had all that patient dulness 
 which qualifies for getting rich, which, therefore, 
 in the eyes of his uncle, was the most estimable 
 of all qualities. He had seldom seen Richard 
 Annesly before, for indeed this last was not 
 very solicitous of his acquaintance. He recol- 
 lected his face, however, and desiring him to sit 
 down, informed him particularly of the settle- 
 ment which his relentless father had made. 
 * It was unlucky,' said the haberdasher, ' that 
 you should have niade choice of such a profes- 
 I sion j but a parson, of all trades in the world, 
 ) he could never endure. It is possible you may 
 \ )e lo\V^ in cash at this time j if you Avant a small 
 I natter to buy mournings or so, I shall not 
 s cruple to advance you the needful y and I wish 
 5 ou would take them of neighbour Bullock the 
 A^ oollen-draper, who is as honest » man as any 
 o; the trade, and would not impose on a child.' 
 A nnesly's eyes had been hitherto fixed on the 
 gi ound, nor was there wanting a tear in each 
 fa r his unnatural father. He turned them on 
 hi s cousin with as contemptuous a look as his 
 m iture allowed them to assume, and walked out 
 oi the house without uttering a word. 
 
 VgL. II, B
 
 14? THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 He was now thrown upon the world with the 
 sentence of perpetual poverty for his inheri- 
 tance. He found himself in the middle of a 
 crowded street in London, surrounded by the 
 buzzing sons of industiy, and shrunk back at 
 the sense of his own insignificance. Jn the 
 faces of those he met, he savf no acknowledge- 
 ment of connection, and felt himself, like Cain 
 after his bother's murder, an unsheltered, un- 
 friended outcast. He looked back to his fa- 
 ther's door J but his spiiit was too mild for re- 
 proach — a tear dropped from his eye as he 
 looked ! 
 
 There was in London one person, whose 
 gentle nature, he knew, would feel for his mis- 
 fortunes ', yet to that one of all others, his 
 pride forbade to resort. 
 
 Harriet VVilkins was the daughter of a neigh- 
 boar of his father's, who had for some time 
 given up business, and lived on the interest oi 
 L.4000, which he had saved in the course ( 1 
 it. From this circumstance, his acquaintance, 
 old Annesly, entertained no very high opinion 
 of his understanding j and did not cultivate 
 much friendship with a man whom he consi- 
 dered as a drone in the hive of society. But 
 in this opinion, as in many others, his son had 
 the misfortune to differ from him. He used 
 frequently to steal into Wilkins' house of an 
 evening, to enjoy the conversation of one who 
 had passed through life with observation, and 
 had known the labour of business, without that 
 ccntractioii of «o^l which it often occasiti?
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLr;. 15 
 
 Harriet was commonly of tlie party, listening, 
 ■with Annesly, to her father's discourse, and, 
 with Annesly, ofFerinrr her remarks on it. She 
 was not handsome enough to attract notice *, 
 hut her look was of that complacent sort whicli 
 gains on the beholder, and pleases from the ac- 
 knowledgement that it is beneath admiration. 
 
 Nor Avas her mind ill suited to this ' Index 
 of the soul.' Without that brilliancy which ex- 
 cites the general applause, it possessed those 
 inferior sweetnesses which acquire the general 
 esteem ; sincere, benevolent, inoffensive, and 
 unassuming. Nobody talked of the sayings of 
 Miss VVilkins ^ but every one heard her with 
 pleasure, and her smile was the signal of uni- 
 versal complacency. • 
 
 Annesly found himself insensibly attached to 
 her by a chain, which had been imposed with- 
 out art, and suftered without consciousness. 
 During his acquaintance with Harriet, he had 
 come to that period of life, Vvhen men are most 
 apt to be impressed with appearances. In fact, 
 lie had looked on many a beauty with a rap- 
 ture which he thought sincere, till it was inter- 
 rupted by the reflecticu that siie was not Har- 
 riet Wilkins •, there was a certain indefinable 
 attraction which linked him every day closer 
 to her, and artlessness of manner had the effect 
 (which I presume, from their practice, few 
 young ladies believe it to have) of securing the 
 conquest she had gained. 
 
 Fioni the wealth which old Annesly was 
 known to possess, his sen was doubtless, in the
 
 l6 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 phrase of tlie world, a very advantageous match 
 lor Miss Wilkins ; but when her father disco- 
 vered the young man to be serious in liis at- 
 tachment to her, ho frequently took occasion to 
 suggest, how unequal the small fortune he could 
 leave his daughter was to the expectations of 
 the son of a man worth L.30,00v0, and, with a 
 frankness peculiar to himself, gave the father 
 to understand, that his son's visits were rather 
 more frequent than was consistent with that 
 track of prudence, which the old gentleman 
 would probably mark out for him. The father, 
 however, took little notice of this intelligence ; 
 the truth was, that, judging by himself, he gate 
 very little credit to it, because it came from 
 pne, who, according to his conception of things, 
 should, of all others, have concealed it from his 
 knowledge. 
 
 But though his son had the most sincere at- 
 tachment to Miss Wilkins, his present circum- 
 stances rendered it, in the language of pru- 
 dence, impossible for them to marry. They 
 contented themselves, therefore, with the assur- 
 ance of each other's constancy, and waited for 
 some favourable change of condition which 
 migiit allow them to be happy. 
 
 The first idea which struck Annesly's mind 
 on the disappointment he suftered from his fa- 
 ther's settlement, was the elfcct it would have 
 on his situation with regard to Harriet. There 
 is perhaps nothing more bitter in the lot of 
 poverty, than the distance to which it throws 
 a man from the woman he loves; that pride 1
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 17 
 
 Lave licfore taken notice of, \vhich in every 
 other circumstance tends to support, serves but 
 to wound him the deeper in this. That feel- 
 ing now turned Annesly's feet from his Har- 
 riet's doorj yet it was now that his Harriet 
 seemed the' more worthy of his love, in propor- 
 tion as his circumstances rendered it hopeless. 
 A train of soft reflections at length banished 
 this rugged guest from his heart — * 'Tis but 
 taking a last farewell I' said he to himself, and 
 trod hack the steps which he had made. 
 
 He entered the room where Harriet was sit- 
 ing by her father, with a sort of diffidence of 
 his reception that he w^as not able to hide j but 
 \\ ilkins Avelcomed him in such a manner as 
 soon dissipated the restraint under which the 
 tlioughts of his poverty had laid him. * This 
 visit, my dear Annesly,' said he, * flatters me, 
 Lccause it shew^s you leaning on my friendship. 
 I am not ignorant of your present situation, 
 and 1 know the effect which prudent men will 
 say it should have on myself 3 that I differ from 
 them, may be the consequence of spleen, per- 
 Iiaps, rather than generosity j for 1 have been 
 at war with the world from a boy. Come hi- 
 ther Harriet 5 this is Hichard Annesly. His 
 father, it is true, has left him L. 30,000 poorer 
 than it was once expected he would j but he is 
 Kichard Annesly still I you will therefore look 
 u]>on him as you did before. I am not Stoic 
 enough to deny, that riches atiord numberless 
 comforts and conveniences which arc denied to 
 ' :•:■ poox •, but that riches are not es2en.lial to 
 B 2
 
 18 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Iiappiness I know, because I have never yc^ 
 found myself unhappy j — nor shall 1 now sleep 
 unsound, from the consciousness of having 
 added to the pressure of afliiction, or wounded 
 merit afresh, because fortune had already 
 wounded it. 
 
 Liberal minds will delight in extending the 
 empire of virtue j for my own part, I am happy 
 to believe, that it is possible for an attorney to 
 be honest, and a tradesman to think like 
 Wilkins. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 MORE INTRODUCTORY MATTER, 
 
 Wilkins having thus overlooked the want of 
 fortune in his young friend, the lovers found 
 but little hindrance to the completion of their 
 wishes. Harriet became the wife of a poor 
 man, who returned the obligation he owed to 
 lier and her father's generosity, by a tenderness 
 and affection rarely found in wedlock, because 
 there are few minds from whom in reason they 
 can be expected. 
 
 His father-in-law, to whom indeed the sacri- 
 fice was but trifling, could not resist the joint 
 request of his daughter and her husband, to 
 leave the town and make one of their family in 
 the country. In somewhat less than a year lie 
 was the grandfather of a boy, and nearly at the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 19 
 
 iwme distance of time after, of a girl, both of 
 Tiviwm, in his opinion, Avere cherubs j but even 
 the gossips around them owned they had never 
 Seen more promising children. The felicity of 
 fheir little circle was now, perhaps, as perfect 
 as the lot of humanity admits j nor would it 
 have been easy to have found a group, whose 
 minds were better formed to deserve or attain 
 it. Health, innocence, and good humour, were 
 of their household j and many an honest neigh- 
 bour, who never troubled himself to account 
 for it, talked of the goodness of Annesly's ale, 
 and the cheerfulness of his fire-side. I have 
 been often admitted of the party, though I was 
 too young for a conjpanion to the seniors, and 
 too old for a play-fellow to the children 5 but 
 jio age, and often indeed no condition, excluded 
 from a participation of their happiness ; and I 
 have seen little Billy, before he could speak to 
 be well understood, lead in a long-bearded 
 beggar, to sing his song in his turn, and be re- 
 warded with a cup of that excellent liquor I 
 mentioned. 
 
 Their felicity was too perfect to be lasting ; 
 — such is the proverbial opinion of mankind. 
 The days of joy, however, are not more winged 
 in their course than the days of sorrow j but we 
 count not the moments of theii: duration with 
 so scrupulous an exactness. 
 
 Tiiree years after the birth of her first daugh- 
 ter, Mrs Annesly was delivered of another j but 
 the birtii of the last was fatal to her mother, 
 V:ho did not many days survive it.
 
 20 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ^ Annesly's grief on tliis occasion was immo- 
 derate j nor could all the endeavours of his fa- 
 ther-in-law, wliose mind was able to preserve 
 more composure, prevail upon liim, for some 
 days, to remember the coninion cilices of life, 
 or leave the room in which his liarriet had ex- 
 pired. Wllkins' grief, however, though of & 
 more silent sort, was not less deep in it.- effects j 
 and when the turbulence of the other's sorrow 
 had yielded to the soothings of time, the old 
 man retained all that tender regret," due to 
 the death of a child, an only child, whose filial 
 duty had led him down the slope of life with- 
 out -..nfFerinsi him to perceive the descent. The 
 infant she had left behind her was now doubly 
 endeared to his latlier and him, from bfeing con- 
 sidered as the last memorial of its dying mo- 
 ther j but of this niciancholy kind of comfort 
 they were also deprived in a few months by the 
 small-pox. Wilkins seemed, by this second 
 blow, to be loosened from the little hold he hud 
 struggled to keep of the world, and his resig- 
 nation was now built upon the hopes, not of 
 overcoming his affliction, but of escaping from 
 its pressure. The serenity which such an idea 
 confers, possesses, of all others, the greatest 
 dignity, because it possesses, of all others, the 
 best assured confidence, leaning on a basis that 
 is fixed above the rotation of sublunary things. 
 An old man, who has lived in the exercise of 
 virtue, looking back, without a blush, on the 
 tepor of his past days, and poir.ting to that better 
 state, where alone he can be perfectly rewarded.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 21 
 
 is a fioTire the most venerable that cao well be 
 imagined. Such did Wilkins now exhibit. 
 
 * My son,' said he to Annesly, ' I feel that I 
 shall not be with you long j yet I leave not the 
 world with that peevish disgust, which is some- 
 times mistaken tor the courage that overcomes 
 the dread of death. I lay down my being watli 
 gratitude, for having so long possessed it, Aviih- 
 out having disgraced it by any great violation 
 of the laws of him by whom it was bestowed. 
 There is something we cannot help feeling, on 
 the fall of those hopes we had been vainly dili- 
 gent to rear. I had looked forward to some 
 happy days, amidst a race of my Harriet's and 
 yours ', but to the good, there can be uo reason- 
 able regret from the disappointment of such ex- 
 pectations, because the futurity they trust in 
 after death, must far exceed any enjoyment 
 which a longer life here could have aftbrded. 
 It is otherwise with the prospect of duty to be 
 done j these two little ones I leave to your ten= 
 derness and care ', you will value life, as it gives 
 you an opportunity of forming them to virtue. 
 —Lay me beside my Harriet.' 
 
 Tlie old man's prediction was but to well 
 verified ; he did not long survive this pathetic 
 declaration. His son-in-law was now exposed, 
 alone and unassisted, to the cares of the world, 
 increased by the charge of his boy and girl j 
 but the mind ^vlll support much, when called 
 into exertion by the necessity of things. His 
 sorrow yielded by degi-ees to the thoughts of 
 that active duty he oAved his children*, in tim«i
 
 22 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 lij?: fire-slde was ai ain cIk errd 1 v their sports 
 ar(,n!u! it ; and tlu)u<j;h lie someliiDf.^s looked 
 upon tliem with a trar at the rrooUection of the 
 past, yet would he as often wjpe it from his 
 eyr, in silent {gratitude to Heaven, for the en- 
 joyment of the present, and the anticipation of 
 the future. 
 
 CHAP. TJI. 
 The open'ixgs or two ch aracteks with which 
 
 THE RfcAllIK MAY AFTERWARDS BE BETTtR 
 ACQUAINTED. 
 
 JH IS son had a warmtli of temper, which the 
 father often observed with mingled pleasure and 
 regret •, with pleasure, from considering the 
 generosity and nobleness of sentiment it be- 
 spoke ; with regret, from a foreboding of the 
 many inconveniencies to which its youthful 
 possessor might naturally be exposed. 
 
 Rut Harriet was softness itself. The spright- 
 iincss of her gayest moments would be checked 
 by the recital of the distress of a felloAV-crea- 
 ture, and she wou'd often \^T■ep all night irom 
 some tale which her maid had told of fictitious 
 disaster. Her brother felt the representation 
 of worth ill-treated, or virtue oppressed, with 
 indignation aL'^inst the oppressor, and wished 
 to be a man, that he mijrht, 1 kc Jack tlie Giant- 
 killer, gird OD his fcv.ord of sharpness, and re-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 23 
 
 vcnge the -vvrohirs of" the sulttrer ; wliile liis sis- 
 ter pressed his hand in her'?, and tremblfd for 
 the danger to wluch ?;he imut^lned hmi exi*o«5' d j 
 nay, she has been attnwards heard to try out 
 in her sleep, in a hurried voice, ' You shail not 
 go, my Billy, papa and i will die ir vou do.' 
 
 A trilling incident, ol wn.ch I find an ac- 
 count in one oF thtii father'.-^ h-iter^, will dis- 
 criminate their characters better tiian a train 
 of the most laboured expression. 
 
 At tiie bottom ol" his (garden ran a little ri- 
 vulet, which was there dammed up to iuriisli 
 water for a mill below. On the bank was a 
 linnet's nest, which Harriet had discovered in 
 her rambles, and often visited with uncommon 
 anxiety for the callow brood it contained. 
 One day, her brother and she were at play on 
 the green at a little distance, attended by a 
 servant of their father's, when a favourite ter- 
 rier of Billy's happened to wander amongst the 
 bushes w here this nest was sheltered. Harriet, 
 afraid of the consequences, begged the servant 
 to lun, a\id prevent his doing mischief to the 
 birds. Just as the fellow came up, the dog had 
 lighted on the bush, and surprised the dam, but 
 was prevented from doing her much harm by 
 the servant, who laid hold of him by the neck, 
 and snatched his prey out of his mouth. The 
 dog, resenting this rough usage, bit the man's 
 finger till it bled, who, in return, bestowed a 
 hearty drubbing upon him, without regarding 
 
 le entreaties or the threats of his little master. 
 tiilly, emaged at the suffering's of his favourite,
 
 24< THE AfAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 resolved to wreak liis vengeance where It wa? 
 in his power, and runninir up to the nest, threw 
 it down, with all its untie doed inhabitants, to 
 the ground. * Cruel Billy I' cried his sister, 
 while the tears ran down her cheeks. lie 
 turned sullenly from her, and walked up to the 
 house, while she, with the man's assistance, ga- 
 thered up the little fliitterers, and having fast- 
 ened the nest as well as she could, replaced 
 them safely within it. 
 
 When she saw her brother again, he pouted, 
 and would not speak to her. She endeavoured 
 to regain his favour by kindness, but he refused 
 her caresses j she sought out the dog, whohad 
 suffered on her linnet's account, and stroaklng 
 him on the head, fed him with some cold meat 
 from her own hand. When her brother saw it, 
 he called him away. She looked after Billy till 
 he was gone, and then burst into tears. 
 
 Next day they were down at the rivulet again. 
 Still was Harriet endeavouring to be reconciled, 
 and still was her brother averse to a reconcilia- 
 tion. He sat biting his thumb, and looking 
 angrily to the spot where his favourite had been 
 punished. 
 
 At that Instant the linnet, in whose cause the 
 quarrel had begun, was bringing out her young- 
 lings to their first imperfect flight, and two of 
 them, unfortunately taking a wrong direction, 
 fell short into the middle of the pool. Billy- 
 started from the ground, and, without consider- 
 ing the depth, rushed into the water, where he 
 was over head and ears the second step that he
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2.> 
 
 made. His sister^s screams alarmed the ser 
 vant, "who ran to his assistance : but before he 
 got to the place, the boy had reached a shal- 
 lower part of the pool, and, though staggering 
 from his first plunge, had saved both linnets, 
 Avhich he held carefully above the water, and 
 landed safelv on the opposite bank. He re- 
 turned to his sister by a ford below, and, pre- 
 sentino; her the birds, flung his arms round her 
 neck, and, blubbering, asked her, if she would 
 now forgive his unkindness. 
 
 Such were the minds which Annesly's tuition 
 was to form. To repress the warmth of te- 
 merity, withont extinguishing the generous 
 principles from which it arose, and to give firm- 
 ness to sensibility where it bordered on weak- 
 ness, without searing its feelings where they ltd 
 to virtue, was the task he had marked out for 
 his industry to accomplish. He ov;ned that hi^; 
 plan was frequently interrupted on both sides 
 by the tenderness of paternal aflection j but he 
 accustomed himself to remember, that for his 
 children he was accountable to God and their 
 countiy. Nor was t!ie situation I have de- 
 scribed without difficulties, from the delicacy 
 of preventing inclinations in the extreme, which 
 were laudable in degree j * but here also,' said 
 Annesly, * it i^ to be remembered, that no eviJ 
 is so pernicious as that which grows In the soil 
 from which good should have sprung.' 
 
 VOL. II. c
 
 2{) /HE MAN OF THE WORLU. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 a. VERY BRIl F ACCOUNT OF THEIR EDUCATIOX. 
 
 Annesly was not only the superintendant of 
 his children'^ manners, but their master in the 
 several branches of education. Rtadintr, writ- 
 ing, arithmetic, the elements ot" mathematics 
 and geography, v/ith a competent knowledge of 
 the French and itajian lam uages, they learned 
 together j and while Billy was employed with 
 jiis father in reading Latin and Greek, his sis- 
 .ter received instruction in the female accom- 
 plishments, from a better sort of servant, whom 
 Aonesly kept for that purpose, whose station 
 had once been superior to servitude, and whom 
 lie still treated more as a companion than a do- 
 inestic. This instructress, indeed, she lost 
 >vhen about ten years old j but the want vvas' 
 more than supplied by the assistance of anothei-, 
 to wit, Mrs A\istanly, who devoted many ot her 
 leisure hours to the daughter of Annesly, whom 
 she had then got acquainted with, and whom 
 reciprocal v/orth had attached to her with the 
 sincerest friendship and regard. The dancing- 
 master of a neighi)0urlng town paid them a 
 weekly visit for their instruction in the science 
 he professed ; at which time also were held 
 their family-concerts, where Annesly, who was 
 esteemed in his youth a first-rate player on the 
 violin, used to preside. Billy was an excellent 
 second j Mrs Wistanly or her pupil undertook
 
 THE MAV or THE WORLD. 27 
 
 for the harpsichord, and the dancing-master 
 played bass as well as he could.- He was not 
 a very capital performer, but he was always 
 very willin-i; and found as much pleasure la 
 his own performance a-, the best or ihem. Jack 
 Ryland, too, would sometimes join in a talch, 
 thoutrh indt'f^l he had but two, Chrid church- 
 bells, and Jack, thourt a toptr ; an<l Anntsly 
 a! etjed that lie was otlen out m the la>t j but 
 Jack w 'uld never allow it. 
 
 Besides these, there w-re certain evenin<x3 ap- 
 propriated to exercises of the mind. ' it is not 
 enoui^h,' said Annesly, * to put weapons into 
 those hands which have been never tauoht th» 
 use of them : the readini^ we recommend lo 
 youth will store their minds with intelliirence, 
 if they attend to it pioperly •, but to go a little 
 farther, we must accustom them to apply it, 
 we must teach them the art of comparing the 
 ideas with which it has furnished them. In 
 this view, it was the practice, at tho^e stated 
 times I have mentioned, for Billy, or his sister, 
 to read a select passage of some classical author, 
 on whose relations they delivered op.nions, or 
 on whose sentiments they oficred a comment. 
 Never was seen more satisfaction on a i ounte- 
 nance, than used to enlighten their father's, at 
 the delivery of those observations wh>e!: his 
 little philosophers were accu-itomed to r» ake. 
 Indeed there could scarcely, even lo a strani;;er, 
 be a more pleasing exhibition ; their very error* 
 were deliirhtful, because they were the errors 
 if benevolence, generosity, aud virtue.
 
 128 
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD* 
 
 As punlsliments are necessary in all societies, 
 Annesly was obliged to invent some for the re- 
 gulation oF his ; they consisted only of certain 
 modifications of disgrace. One of them I shall 
 mention, because it was exactly opposite to the 
 practice of most of our schools : while there, 
 offences are punished by doubling the task of 
 the s/jhohir j with Annesly the getting of a les- 
 son, or perfonning of an exercise, was a privi- 
 lege of which a forfeiture was incurred by mis- 
 behaviour ', to teach his children, that he offered 
 them instruction as a favour, instead of press- 
 ing it a« a hardship. 
 
 Billy had a small part of his father's garden 
 allotted him for his peculiar property, in which 
 he wrought himself, being furnished with no 
 other assistance from the gardener than direc- 
 tions how to manage it, and parcels of the 
 seeds which they enabled him to sow. When 
 lie had brought these to maturitv, his father 
 purchased the produce. Billy, with part of the 
 purchase-money was to lay in the stores neces- 
 sary for his future industrv, and the overplus he 
 liad the liberty of bestowing on charitable uses 
 in the village. The same institution prevailed 
 as to his sister's needle-work, or embroidery : 
 * For it is necessary,' said Annesly, ' to give an 
 idea of property, but let it not be separated 
 from the idea of beneficence.' 
 
 Sometimes, when these sums were traced to 
 their disbursements, it was found that Harriet's 
 money did not always reach the village, but 
 I-J'as intercepted by the piteous recital of a wan=
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOHLD. ^9 
 
 ieriiiff begfrar by tlie Avav j and tlmt Billy used 
 to appropriate part of his to purposes not purely 
 ekenio-ynary j as, when he once parted with 
 two thirds oi' his revenue, to reward a little boy 
 for beating a big one, who had killed his tame 
 sparrow j or another time, when he wont tiie 
 blameable lentcth of comforting with a shilling 
 a lad who had been ducked in a hoise-poud, ibr 
 robbing the. orchard of a mi-.eiv 
 
 Jt was chiefly in this manner of in-,til Ing 
 sentiments, (as in the case of the charitalde 
 establishment F have mentioned), by leading 
 insensibly to the practice of virtue, rather than 
 by downright precept, that Annesly proceeded 
 with his children ', tor it was his maxim, that 
 tlie heart must feel, as well as the judument be 
 convinced, before the principles we mean to 
 teach can be of habitual service j and that the 
 mind will aUvavs be more strongly impressed 
 with ideas which it is led to form of itself, thaii 
 witii those which it passively receives from an- 
 other. When, at any time, he delivered in- 
 structions, they were alway-; clothed in the liaib 
 rather of advices from a frirnd, than Retires 
 from a father ; and were listened to with the 
 warmth of friendship, a^ well as lue liuui.ja> of 
 \'eneration. It is in truth somewhat surpr z ng 
 how little intimacy subsists between parents and 
 their children, especially of our sex *, a Circum- 
 stance which must operate, in conjunciiqn with 
 their natural partiality, to keep tlie former m 
 ignorance of the genius and dispo.>»itioH of th« 
 latter. 
 
 c2
 
 jSO the man of the vroiiLi). 
 
 Besides all this, .his cliiWreii had tlic pcneral 
 advantage of a lather's example- They saw 
 the virtues he inculcated attended by all the 
 consequences in himself, %vhich lie had piomised 
 them as their reward. Piety in him was recom- 
 pensed by peace of mind, benevolence by self- 
 satisfaction, and integi-ity by the blessings of a. 
 good conscience. 
 
 But the time at last arrived when his son 
 was to leave those instructions, and that ex- 
 ample, for the walks of more public life. As 
 he was intended, or, more properly speaking, 
 seemed to have an inclination for a leanied pro- 
 fession, his father sent him, in his twentieth 
 year, to receive the finishings of education ne- 
 cessary for that purpose, at one of the univer- 
 sities. Yet he had not, I have heard him say, 
 the most favourable opinion of the general 
 course of education there , but he knew, that a 
 young man might there have an opportunity of 
 acquiring much knowledge, if he were inclined 
 to it ', and that good principles might preserve 
 him iincorrupted, even amidst the dangers of 
 some surrounding dissipation. Besides, he had 
 an additional inducement to this plan, from the 
 repeated request of a distant relation, who filled 
 an office of some consequence at Oxford, and 
 had expressed a very earnest desire to have his 
 young kinsman sent thither, and placed under 
 his own immediate inspection. 
 
 Before he set out for that place, Annesly, 
 though he had a sufficient confidence in his son, 
 yet thought it not inipropeA' to mark out to
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLl>. SI 
 
 liim some of those errors to ^vhich the inex- 
 perienced are liable. He was not wont, as I 
 have before observed, to press instruction upon 
 his children j but the young man himself seem- 
 ed to expfect it, with the solicitude of one who 
 ventured, not without anxiety, to leave that 
 road, where the hand of a parent and friend 
 had hitherto guided him in happiness and 
 safety. The substance of what he delivered to 
 his son and daughter (for she too was an audi- 
 tor of his discourses) 1 have endeavoured to 
 collect from some of the papers Mrs Wistanly 
 put into my hands, and to arrange, as far 
 as it seemed arrangeable, in the two following 
 chapters. 
 
 It will not, however, after all, have a per- 
 fectly connected appearance, because 1 imagine 
 it was delivered at different times, as occasion 
 invited, or leisure allowed him : but its ten- 
 dency appeared to be such, that even under 
 these disadvantages, I could not forbear insert- 
 ing it. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 PARENTAL IVSTRUCTIONS.— OF SUSPICION AND 
 CONFIDENCE. — -RIDICULE.—- RELIGION.— TKUE 
 PLEASURE. CAUTION TO THE F£MALi, SEX. 
 
 1 ou are now leaving us, my son, said An- 
 nesly, to make your ^mtrance into the world j
 
 S2 ' THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 for tliouglj, from the pale of a college, the 
 bustle oi" ambition, the plodding of business, 
 and the tinsel of gaiety, are suppobtd to be 
 excluded j yet as jt is the place \vhere thft 
 persons that are to perform in those several 
 characters often put on the dresse^- ot each, there 
 ■will not be wanting, even tiiere, those qualities 
 that distinguish in all. i will not shock jour 
 imayinatioa, with the picture whicii some men, 
 retried Irom its influence, have drawn of the 
 ■wo;ldj nor warn )ou against enormities, into 
 ^vhich, i, should equally i^ffront your under- 
 standing and your feelings, did J suppo.se \ou 
 capable of faiiii g. IS either would I arm you 
 ivith that suspicious caution which young men 
 are sonietinjes advitcd lo put on j they who 
 alwajs bu.'5p( ct will often be m!^taken, and 
 never be liappy. Yet there is a wide distinc- 
 tion between the confidence which becomes a 
 man, and the simplicity that disgraces a fool j 
 he who never trusts is a nigf aid of his boul, 
 who starves himself, and by whom no other is 
 enriched ; but he wha gives every one his con- 
 fidence, and every one his praise, ^^qu'anders 
 the iimd that should serve for the encourage- 
 ment of intcLTitj, and the reward of excellence. 
 In the circles of the world, your notice may 
 be frequently attiacttd l;y < Ijects glanng, not 
 useful y and your allachnunt won to characters 
 whose surfaces are showy, without intrinsic 
 value; In such ciici mstance>, be careful not 
 always to in put. Knouitlie to the appearance 
 of acutcnehs, or ^ive credit to opinions accord^
 
 THE MAN or THE WORLD. $S 
 
 ing to the confidence with which they are 
 urged. In the more important articles of be- 
 lief or conviction, let not the flow of ridicule 
 be mistaken for the force of argument. No- 
 thiug is so easy as to excite a laugh at that 
 time of life, when seriousness is held to be an 
 incapacity of enjoying it j and no wit so futile, 
 oT so dangerous, as that which is drawn from 
 the perverted attitudes of what is in itself mo- 
 mentous. There are in most societies a set of 
 self-important young men, who borrow conse- 
 quence from singularity, and take precedency 
 In wisdom fi'om the unfeeling use of the ludi- 
 crous : this is at best a shallow quality j in ob- 
 jects of eternal moment, it is poisonous to so- 
 ciety. 1 will not now, nor could you then, 
 stand fortli armed at all points to repel the at- 
 tacks which they may make on the great prin- 
 ciples of your belief 5 but let one suggestion 
 suffice, exculsive of all internal evidence, or 
 extrinsic proof of revelation. He who would 
 undermine those foundations upon which the 
 fabric of our future hope is reared, seeks to 
 beat down that column which supports the fee- 
 bleness of humanity :— let him but think a mo- 
 ment, and liis heart will arrest the cruelty of 
 his purpose *, — would he pluck, its little treasure 
 from the bosom of poverty ? Would he wrest 
 its crutch from the hand of age, and removg 
 from the eye of affliction the only solace of its 
 woe ? The way we tread is rugf/ed at best j 
 we tread it, however, lighter by the prospect 
 «f tliat better country to which we trust it will
 
 o4 THE MAN or THE WORLD. 
 
 lead j tell us not that it will end In the gnU 
 of « ternal dissolution, or bitak oft' in !some%\ild, 
 ^vhlcli fancy ma), fill up a^ she pleases, but 
 reason is unable lo delineate j quench not that 
 beam which, amidst the night of this evil world 
 has cheered the dtspondency of ill-requited 
 WO! th, and illumined the darkness of suffering 
 vij'tue. 
 
 The two great movements of the soul, which 
 the moulder of our frames ha- placed in them, 
 for the jncitement of virtue aiid the prevention 
 of vice, are the de-^.-re of hoi.our and the tear 
 of s! ame , but the perversion of thcM^ qualities, 
 which the r^-fineRient of society is pttuiiaily 
 unhappv in rnakinp, has drawn their ii flu- nee 
 from the standard ot morality, to the bai ncrs 
 of it" opposite 'j into the first otep on which a 
 youno; nian vei:lures in those paths which the 
 cautions of wisdom have warned him to avoid, 
 he is commoniy pushed by the fear of that ri- 
 dicule which he- has seen levelled at simplicity, 
 and the desire of that applause which the spi- 
 rit of the profligate has enabled him to acquire. 
 
 Pleasure is in truth subservient to virtue. 
 When th • fist is pursued without those re- 
 straints wliich the last would impose, every in- 
 fringrnitnt we make on them lessens the en- 
 joyment we mean lo attain ; and nature is thus 
 wise in our construction, that when we would 
 be blessed bevor.d the pale of reason, we are 
 blessed imperf* ctly. it is not by the roar of 
 riot, or the shout of ti)e bacc!;anal, that we 
 are to nieabure the de'^ree of jileasure which lie
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 35 
 
 ft^els ; the {crossness of the sense he ^ratiRes is 
 equally unsusceptible of the enjoyment, as it 
 is deaf to the voice of reason, and obdurated 
 by the repetition of debauch, is incapable of 
 that delioht. rvhich the finer sensations produce, 
 which thrills in the bosom of delicacy and 
 virtue. 
 
 Libertines have said, mv Harriet, that the 
 smiles of your sex attend them, and that the 
 pride of conquest, where Gonqu' st is difficult, 
 overcomes the fear of dis!j;race and defeat. I 
 hope there is less truth in this remark than is 
 generally imagined j let it be my Harriet's be- 
 lief that it cannot be true for the honour of 
 her sex ; let it be her care that, for her own 
 honour, it may be false as to her. Look oa 
 those men, my child, eve« in their gayest and 
 most alluring garb, as creatures dangerous to 
 the peace, and destructive of the welfare, ot 
 iiociety \ look on them as you would look on a 
 beautiful serpent, Vvhose mischief we may not 
 foriret while we admire the beauties of its 
 skin. I marvel, indeed, how the pride of the 
 fair can 'allow them to show a partiality to him 
 who rei^ards them as being riierely subservient 
 to his pleasure, in whose opinion they have lost 
 all that dignity which excites reverence, and 
 that excellence which creates esteem. 
 
 Be accustomed, my love, to think respect- 
 fully of yourself', it is the error of tjie gay 
 world to place your sex in a station somewhat 
 unworthy of a reasonable creature j and the 
 individuals of ours, who address themselves to 
 you, think it ^ necessary ingredient in their
 
 S6 THE MAN or THE WORLD. 
 
 discourse, that It should want every solid pro- 
 perty with which sense and understanding 
 would invest it. The character of a female 
 pedant is undoubtedly disgusting^ but it is 
 mucli less common than that of a trilling or an 
 ignorant woman y the intercourse of the sex is, 
 in this respect, advantageous, that each has a 
 desire to please, mingled with a certain defer- 
 ence for the other ; let not this purpose be 
 lost on one side, by its being supposed, that, 
 to please yours, we must speak something, in 
 which fashion has sanctified folly, and ease lent 
 her garb to insignificance. In general, it 
 should never be forgotten, that, though life 
 has its venial trifles, yet they cease to be inno- 
 cent when they encroach upon its important 
 concerns -, the mind that is often employed 
 about little things, will be rendered unfit for 
 any serious exertion ; and, though temporary 
 relaxations may recruit its strength, habitual 
 vacancy will destroy it. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 IN CONTINUATION.— —OF KNOWLEDGE. KNOW- 
 LEDGE OF THE WORLD. — POLITENESS. — HO- 
 NOUR.— ANOTHER RULE OF ACTION SUGGESTED. 
 
 As the mind may be weakened by the pursuit 
 of trivial matters, so its strength may be mis- 
 led in deeper investigations.
 
 THK MAy OF THE WORLD. S7 
 
 It is a capital error in the pLirsiiit of know- 
 ledge, to suppose that we are never to believe 
 what we cannot account for. There is no rea- 
 son why we should not attempt to understand 
 every thing j but to own, in some instances, our 
 limited knowledge, is a piece of modesty in 
 which lies the truest wisdom. 
 
 Let it be our care that our effort in its ten- 
 dency is useful^ and our eft'ort need not be re- 
 pressed ', for he who attempts the impossible, 
 will often achieve the extremely difficult \ but 
 the pride of knowledge often labours to gain 
 what, if gained, would be useless, and wastes 
 exertion upon objects that have been left unat- . 
 tained from their futility. Men possessed of 
 this desire you may perhaps find, my son, in 
 that seat of science whither you are going \ but 
 remember, that what claims our wonder does 
 not always merit our regard \ and in knowledge 
 and philosophy be careful to distinguish, that 
 the purpose of research should ever be fixed on 
 making simple what is abstruse, not abstruse 
 what is simple •, and that difficulty in acquisi- 
 tion will no more sanctify its inexpediencv, 
 than the art of tumblers, who have learned to 
 5tand on their heads, vail prove that to be the 
 proper posture for man. 
 
 There is a pedantry in being master of para- 
 doxes contrary to the common opinions of marx- 
 kind, which is equally diofrusting to the illite- 
 rate and the learned. The peasant who enjoys 
 the beauty of the tulip is equally delighted 
 with the philosopher, though he knows not the 
 
 VOL. II. JJ
 
 38 THE MAN or THE WORLD. 
 
 powers of the rays from wliicli its colours arc 
 derived J and the hoy who strikes a hall with his 
 racket is as certain v/hither it will he driven by 
 the blow, as it" he were perfectly versant in 
 the dispute about matter and motion. Vanity 
 of our knowledge is generally found in the first 
 stages of its acquirement, because we are then 
 looking back to that rank we have left, of such 
 as know nothing at all. Greater advantages 
 «ure us of this, by pointing our view' to those 
 ahove us ) and when we reach the summit, we 
 begin to discover, that human knowledge is so 
 imperfect, as not to warrant any vaniiy upon It. 
 In particular arts, beware of that affectation of 
 Speaking technically, by which ignorance is of- 
 ten disguised, and knowledge disgraced. They 
 ^vho are really skilful in the principles of 
 scienccj will acquire the veneration only of 
 shallow minds by talking scientifically ; for to 
 simplify expression is alv.ays the efiect of the 
 deepest knowledge and the clearest discern- 
 ment. On the other hand, there may be many 
 ■who possess taste, though they have not attained 
 skill j who, if they will be contented with the 
 expression of their own feelings, without la- 
 bouring to keep up the borrowed phrase of eru- 
 dition, will have their opinion respected by all 
 whose suffrages are worthy of being gained. 
 The music, the painting, the poetry of the pas- 
 sions, is the property of every one who has at 
 heart to be moved •, and though there may be 
 particular modes of excellence which national 
 or temporary fashions create, yet that stand-
 
 THE MA>J OF THE WORLD. 59 
 
 ard will ever remain whicli alone is common to 
 
 The ostentation of learning is indeed always 
 discrusting in the intercourse of society j for 
 even the benefit of instruction received can- 
 not allay the consciousness of inferiority, and 
 remarkable parts more frequently attract ad- 
 miration than procure esteem. To bring forth 
 knowledge agreeably, as well as usefullv, is 
 perhaps very difficult for those who have at- 
 tained it in the secluded walks of study and 
 speculation, and is an art seldom found but in 
 men who have likewise acquired some know- 
 ledge of the world. 
 
 I would, however, distinguish between that 
 knowledge of the world that fits us for inter- 
 course with the better part of mankind, and 
 that which we gain by associating with the 
 worst. 
 
 But there is a certain learned rust, which 
 men as well as metals acquire ; it is, simply 
 speaking, a blemish in both j the social feel- 
 ings grow callous from disuse, and we lose that 
 spring of little affections, which sweeten tlie 
 cap of life as we drink it. 
 
 Even the ceremonial of the world, shallow as 
 it may appear, is not without its use ', it may 
 indeed take from the warmth of friendship, but 
 it covers the coldness of indifference ; and if it 
 has repressed the genuine overflowings of kind- 
 uess, it has smothered the turbulence of passion 
 ind animosity. 
 
 Politeness taught as an art is ridiculous j as
 
 40 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 the expression of liberal sentiment and courte- 
 ous manners, it is truly valuable. There is a 
 politeness of the heart which is confined to no 
 rank, and dependant upon no education : the 
 desire of obliging, which a man possessed of this 
 quality will universally show, seldom fails of 
 pleasing, though his style may difter from that 
 of modern refinement. I knew a man in Lon- 
 don of the gentlest manners, and of the most 
 v> inning deportment, Avhose eye was ever bright- 
 ened with the smile of good humour, and whose 
 voice was mellowed with the tones of compla- 
 cency — and this man was a blacksmith. 
 
 The falsehood of politeness is often pleaded 
 for, as unavoidable in the commerce of man- 
 kind ; yet I Avould have it as little indulged as 
 possible. There is a frankness without rusti- 
 city, an openness of manner prompted by good- 
 humour, but guided by delicacy, which some 
 are happy enough to possess, that engages every 
 iworthy man, and gives not offence even to those 
 w^hose good opinion, though of little estimation, 
 it is the business of prudence not wantonly to 
 lose. 
 
 The circles of the gay, my children, vrould 
 smile to hear me talk of qualities which my re- 
 tired manner of life has allowed me so little op- 
 portunity of observing ; but true good-breeding 
 is not confined within those bounds to which 
 their pedantry (if I may use the expression) 
 would restrict it j true good-breeding is the 
 sister of philanthropy, with feelings perhaps not 
 .'O serious or tender, but equally inspired by a
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 41 
 
 iineuess of sou], and open to the impressions of 
 social atVection. 
 
 As politeness ii the rule of the world's man- 
 ners, so has it erected Honour the standard of 
 its morality j but its dictates too frequently de- 
 part from wisdom with respect to ourselves, from 
 justice and humanity with respect to others. 
 Genuine honour is undoubtedly the offspring 
 of both ; but there has arisen a counterfeit, 
 who, as he is more boastful and showy, has more 
 attracted the notice of gaiety and grandeur. 
 Generosity and courage are the virtues he 
 boasts of possessing j but his generosity is a 
 fool, and his courage a murderer. 
 
 The punctilios, indeed, on which he depends, 
 for his own peace and the peace of society, are 
 so ridiculous in the eye of reason, that it is not 
 a little surprising, how so many millions of rea- 
 sonable beings should have sanctified them 
 with their mutual consint and acquiescence : 
 <hat they should have agreed to surround the 
 seats of friendship, and the table of festivity, 
 with so many thorns of inquietude and snares 
 of destruction. 
 
 You will probably hear, my son, very fre- 
 quent applause bestowed on men of nice and 
 jealous honour, who suffer not the smallest af- 
 front to pass unquestioned or unrevenged ) but 
 tlo not imagine that the character which is most 
 sacredly guarded, is always the most unsullied 
 in reality, nor allow yourself to envy a reputa- 
 tion for that sort of vnlour which supports it. 
 Til ink how easily that man must pas? hi? 
 ' D 2
 
 41^ THE MAN or THE WORLD. 
 
 lime, Avho sits like a spulcr in the midst of liis 
 feeling web, ready to catch the niiinitest occa- 
 sion for quarrel and resentment. Tiicre is of- 
 ten more real pusillanimity in the mind that 
 starts into opposition ^vliere none is necessary, 
 than ii> him ivho overlooks the wanderings of 
 some unguarded act or expression, as not of 
 consequence enough to challenge indignation 
 or revenge. I am aware, that the young and 
 high-spirited will say, that men can only judge 
 of actions, and that they will hold as cowardice, 
 the blindness I would recommend to affront or 
 provocation j but there is a steady coolness and 
 possession of one's self, which this principle 
 will commonly bestow, equally remote from 
 the weakness of fear, and the discomposure of 
 anger, wliich gives to its possessor a station that 
 seldom fails of commanding respect, even from 
 the ferocious votaries of sanguinary Honour, 
 
 But some principle is required to draw a 
 line of action, above the mere precepts of mo= 
 ral equity, 
 
 ' Beyond the fixt and settled rules;' 
 
 and for this purpose is instituted the motive of 
 Honour ; — there is another at hand, which the 
 substitution of this phantom too often destroys 
 —it is Conscience — whose voice, were it not 
 stifled, (sometimes by this very false and spu- 
 rious Ho7iour) would lead directly to that libe- 
 ral construction of the rules of morality which 
 is here contended for. Let my children never 
 suffer this monitor to speak unheeded, nor
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 43 
 
 drown its whispers, amlJ.st tlie tliii of pleasure 
 or the bustle ot" life. Coiisitler it as the repre- 
 sentative of that power who spake the soul into 
 being, and in whose disposal existence is ! To 
 listen, therefore, to his unwritten law which he 
 promulgates by its- voice, has every sanction 
 whicli his authority can give. It were enough 
 to say that we are mortal :— r-but the argument 
 is irresistible, when we remember our immor- 
 tality. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 INTRODUCING A K£W AND CAPITAL CHARACTER, 
 
 XT was thus the good man instructed his chil- 
 dren. 
 
 But, behold I the enemy came in the night, 
 and sowed tares I 
 
 Such an enemy had the harmless family of 
 which Annesly was the head. It is ever to be 
 regretted, that mischief is seldom so weak but, 
 that worth may be stung by it : in the present 
 instance, however, it was supported by talents 
 misapplied, and ingenuity perverted. 
 
 Sir Thomas Sindall enjoyed an estate of 
 sC'.jOOO a-year in Annesly's parish. His father 
 left him, when but a child, possessed of an estate 
 to the amount we have just mentioned, and of 
 a very large sum of money besides, which his
 
 44 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 economy had saved lilm from its produce. His 
 Jiiotlier, though a very good woman, Avas a very 
 bad parent j she loved her son, as too many 
 mothers do, with that instinctive affection which 
 iiatm-e has bestowed on the lowest rank ot" 
 creatures. She loved him as her son, though 
 he inherited none of her virtues j and because 
 she happened to have no other child, she reared 
 this in such a manner as was most likely to pre- 
 vent the comfort he might have afforded lier- 
 self, and the usefulness of which he might have 
 been to society. In shmt, he did what he 
 liked, at first, because his spirit should not be 
 confined too early •, and afterwards he did what 
 he liked, because it was past being confined at 
 ail. 
 
 But his temper was not altogether of that 
 fiery kind, which some young men, so circum- 
 stanced, and so educated, are possessed of. 
 There was a degree of prudence which grew up 
 with him from a boy, ttiat tempered the sallies 
 of passion, to make its object more sure in the 
 acquisition. When at school, he was always 
 the conductor of mischief, though he did not 
 often participate in its execution : and his car- 
 riage to his master was such, that he was a fa- 
 vourite without any abilities as a scholar,, and 
 acquired a character for regularity, while his 
 associates were dally flogged for tran-^gresslons, 
 which he had guided in their progress, and en- 
 Joyed the fruits of in their completion. There 
 sometimes arose suspicions of the reality j but, 
 ^ven tho^e who discovered them mingled a cer-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 45 
 
 tain degree of praise with their censure, and 
 prophesied that he would be A Man of the 
 World. 
 
 As he advanced in life, he fashioned his be- 
 haviour to the different humours of the gentle- 
 men in the neighbourhood j he hunted with the 
 fox-hunters through the day, and drank with 
 them in the evening. AVith these he diverted 
 himself at the expence of the sober prigs, as he 
 termed them, who looked after the improvement 
 of their estates when it was fair, and read a 
 book within doors when it rained 5 and to-mor- 
 row he talked on farming with this latter class, 
 and ridiculed the hunting-phrases, and boister- 
 ouj mirth, of liis yesterday's companions. They 
 were well pleased to laugh at oue another, 
 while be laughed in his sleeve at both. This 
 was sometimes discovered, and people were go- 
 ing to be angry — but somebody said in excuse, 
 that Sindall was A Man of the IVorkl, 
 
 While the Oxford terms lasted, (to which 
 place he had gone in the course of modern edu- 
 cation), there were fiiiquent reports in the 
 country of the dissipated life he kd ', it was 
 even said, that he had disappeared from coIIclc 
 for six weeks togethci-, during which time he 
 was suspected of having taken a trip to Lon- 
 don with another man's wife j this was only 
 mentioned in a whisper j it was loudly denied •, 
 people doubted at first, and shortly forgot it. 
 Some little extravagances, they said, he might 
 have been guilty of. It was impossible for a 
 man of two-and-twenty to seclude himself alto-
 
 AG TIIK MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 oetlier from company ; and you could not look 
 for the temperance of a hermit in a young ba- 
 ronet of £5000 a-year. It is indispensible for 
 such a man to come forth into life a little ', with 
 ^5000 a-} ear, one must be A Man of the 
 World. 
 
 His first tutor, whose learninir was as exten- 
 sive as his manners were pure, left him in dis- 
 gust y sober people wondered at this 5 but he 
 was soon provided with another with whom he 
 had got acquainted at Oxford ; one whom every 
 body declared to be much fitter for the tuition 
 of youno; Sindall, being, like his pupil, A Man 
 of the World. 
 
 But though his extravagance in squandering 
 money, under the tuition of this gentleman, was 
 frequently complained of, yet it was found that 
 he was not altogether thoughtless of its acqui- 
 sition. Upon the sale of an estate in his rb&igh- 
 bourhood, it was discovered, that a very advarv- 
 tageous mortgage, which had stood in the name 
 of another, had been really transacted for the 
 benefit of young Sindall. His prudent friends 
 plumed themselves upon this intelligence \ and, 
 according to their use of the phrase, began to 
 hope, that, after sowing his wild oats, Sir Tho= 
 mas would turn out A Man of the World,
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 THE FOOTING ON WHICH HE STOOD WITH ANNLf- 
 LY AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 T 
 
 HOUGH such a man as we have described 
 ight be reckoned a valuable acquaintance by 
 '"any, he was otherwise reckoned by Annesiy : 
 he had heard enough (though he had heard but 
 part) of his character, to consider him as a 
 dangerous neiglibour ; but it was impossible to 
 avoid sometimes seeing him, from whose father 
 he had got the living which he now occupied. 
 There is no tax so heavy on a little man, as an 
 acqimintance with a great one. Annesiy had 
 found this in the lifetime of Sir \\ illiam Sindall. 
 lie was one of those whom the general voice 
 pronounces to be a good sort of man, under 
 Avhich denomination I never look for much sense, 
 or nmch delicacy. In fact, the baronet pos- 
 sessed but little of either } he lived hospitably 
 for his own sake, as well as that of his guests, 
 because he liked a good dinner and a bottle of 
 wine after it ; and in one part of hospitality he 
 excelled, which was, the faculty of making 
 every body drunk that had not uncommon for- 
 titude to withstand his attacks. Aunesly's cloth 
 protected him from liiis last inconvenience ; 
 but it often drew from Sir William a set of jests, 
 which his memory had enabled him to retain, 
 and had passed through the heirs of his family, 
 like their cotate, down fr©m the days of thai
 
 48 THE MAN or THE WORLD. 
 
 monarch of facetious memory, Charles the Se- 
 cond. 
 
 Though to a man of Annesly's delicacy all 
 this could not but be highly disagreeable, yet 
 gratitude made him Sir William's guest often 
 enough, to shew that he had not forgot that at- 
 tention which his past favours demanded , and 
 Sir William recollected them from another mo- 
 tive -y to wit, that they gave a sanction to those 
 liberties he sometimes used with him who had 
 received them. This might have been held suf- 
 ficient to have cancelled the obligation ; but 
 Annesly was not wont to be directed by the 
 easiest rules of virtue j the impression still re- 
 mained, and it even descended to the son after 
 the death of the father. 
 
 Sindall, therefore, was a frequent guest at 
 his house *, and, though it might have been 
 imagined, that the dissipated mind of a young 
 man of his fortune would have found but little 
 delight in Annesly's humble shed, yet he seemed 
 to enjoy his simplicity with the highest relish j 
 he possessed isdeed that pliancy of disposition 
 that could wonderfully accommodate himself to 
 the humour of every one around him j and lie 
 so managed matters in his visits to Annesly, 
 that this last began to imagine the reports he 
 had heard concerning him, to be either entirely 
 false, or at least aggravated much beyond truth. 
 
 From what motive soever Sindall began these 
 visits, he soon discovered a very strong induce- 
 bient to continue them. Harriet Annesly was 
 now arrived at the tize, if not the age, of wo-
 
 THE MA>f OF THE WORLD. 4D 
 
 KianliooH y and possessed an uncommon degree 
 of beauty and elegance of form. In her face, 
 joined to the most perfect symmetry of features, 
 ^\'^s--a.j«elting expression, suited to that sensi- 
 bility of soul we have mentioned her to be en- 
 dowed with. In her person, rather above the 
 common size, she exhibited a degree of ease 
 and gracefulness which nature alone had given, 
 and art was not allowed to diminish. Upon 
 such a woman Sindall could not look with iii- 
 ditlerence j and according to his principles of 
 libertinism, he had marked her as a prey, which 
 his situation gave him opportunities of pursuing, 
 and which one day he could not fail to possess. 
 In the course of his acquaintance, he began 
 to discover, that the softness of her soul was 
 distant from simplicity, and that much art would 
 be necessaiy to overcome a vir-tue, which the 
 hand of a parent had carefully fortified. He as- 
 sumed, therefore, the semblance of those tender 
 feelings, which were most likely to gain the es- 
 teem of the daughter, while he talked with that 
 appearance of candour and principle, which he 
 thought necessary to procure him the confidence 
 of the father. He would frequently confess, 
 •with a sigh, that his youth had been sometimes 
 unwarily drawn into error 5 then grasp An- 
 nesly's hand, and, looking earnestly in his face, 
 beg him to strengthen by his counsel the good 
 resolutions which, he thanked Heaven, he had 
 been enabled to make. Upon the whole, he 
 continued to gain such a degree of estima- 
 tion with the family, that the young folks spoke 
 
 Vt>L II, ' E
 
 50 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 of his seeming good qualities with pleasure, 
 and their father mentioned his supposed foibles 
 with re^rret. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 YOUN^G ANNESLY GOES TO OXFORD. THE FRIEXB* 
 
 SHIP or SIXDALL. — ITS CONSEQUENCES, 
 
 Upon its being determined that young Annes- 
 ]y should go to Oxford, Sir Thomas showed him 
 remarkable kindness and attention. He con- 
 ducted him thither in his own carriage j and as 
 his kinsman, to whose charge he was commit- 
 ted, happened accidentally to be for some time 
 unable to assign him an apartment in his house, 
 Sindall quitted his own lodging to accommodate 
 him. To a young man ncAvly launched into life, 
 removed from the only society he had ever 
 known, to another composed of strangers, such 
 assiduity of notice could not be but highly 
 pleasing j and in his letters to his father, he did 
 not fail to set fortli, in the strongest manner, 
 the obligations he had to Sir Thomas. His fa- 
 ther, whom years had taught wisdom, but whose 
 warmth of gratitude they had not diminished, 
 felt the favour as acutely as his son 5 nor did 
 the foresight of meaner souls arise in his breast 
 to abate its acknowledgment. 
 
 The li»n«s which he had formed uf tis Bill"
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 51 
 
 were not disappointed. He very soon distin- 
 guished himself in the iiniversily for learning- 
 and genius •, and in the correspondence of hh 
 kinsman, were recited daily instances of the no- 
 tice Avhicli his parts attracted. But his praise, 
 was cold in comparison Avith SindaU's ^ ho 
 •wrote to Annesly of his yonng friend's acquire- 
 ments and abilities, in a strain of enthusiastic 
 encomium j and seemed to speak the language 
 of his own enjoyment, at the applause of others 
 which he repeated. It was on this side that 
 Annesly's soul was accessible , for on this side 
 ]ay that pride which is the weakness of all. 
 On this side did Sindall overcome it. 
 
 From those very qualities also which he ap- 
 plauded in the son, he derived the temptation 
 with which he meant to seduce him : for such 
 was the plan of exquisite mischief he had form- 
 ed, besides the common desire of depravity to 
 make proselytes from innocence, he considered 
 the virtue of the brother as that structure, on 
 the ruin of which he was to accomplish the 
 conquest of the sister's. He introduced him, 
 therefore, into the company of some of the 
 most artful of his own associates, Avho loudly 
 echoed the praises he lavished on his friend, 
 and showed, or pretended to show, that value 
 for his acquaintance, which was the strongest 
 recommfudation of their bun. The diflidence 
 Vvhich Annesly's youth and inexperience had at- 
 fir^t laid upon his mind, they removed by the 
 f^ncouragement vvhich their approbation of his 
 ♦pinions bestowed; and he found himself itt
 
 52 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 debteil to them both for an ease of delivering 
 his sentiments, and tlie reputation ivhich their 
 suffrages conferied upon him. 
 
 For all this, ho\vever, they e^'pectcd a re- 
 turn ; and Anncsly had not fortitude to deny 
 it — an indulgence for some trivial irregularities 
 ivhicli they uoav and then permitted to appear 
 in their conversation. At first their new ac- 
 quaintance took no notice of them at all ; he 
 found that he could not approve, and it vould 
 have hurt him to condemn. By degrees he 
 began to allow them his laugh, though his soul 
 was little at ease under the gaiety which his 
 features assumed j once or twice, when the ma- 
 jority against him appeared to be small, he 
 ventured to argue, though with a caution of 
 giving offence, against some of the sentiments 
 he heard. Upon these occasions, Sindall art- 
 fully joine4 him in tlie argument ; but they 
 were always overcome. He had to deal v>itli 
 men who were skilled, by a mere act of the 
 memory, in all the sophisms which voluptuaries 
 have framed to justify the unbounded pursuit 
 of pleasure *, and those who had not learning 
 to argue, had assurance to laugh. Yet An- 
 nesly's conviction was not changed ; but the 
 edr^^e of liis abhorrence to vice was blunted j 
 and tliough his virtue kept her -post, she foun4 
 Jierself galled in maintaining it. 
 
 It was not till some time after, that they 
 ventured to solicit his participation of their 
 pleasures ; and it was not till after many soli- 
 citations that his innocence was overcome. But
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. .'J.t 
 
 the progress of their victories was rapid after 
 his first defeat ; aud he shortly attained the 
 station of experienced vice, and bcnan to as- 
 sume a superiority from the uudauntedness with 
 which he practised it. 
 
 But it was necessary, tlie while, to deceive 
 that relation under whose in.-.pection his faiher 
 had placed him j in truth, it was no very hard 
 matter to deceive him. He Avas a man of that 
 abstracted disposition, that is seldom conver- 
 sant with any thing around it. Simplicity of 
 manners was, in him, the effect of an apathy 
 in his constitution, (increased by constant stu- 
 dy), that was proof ao;ainst all violence of pas- 
 sion or desire ; and he thought, if he thought 
 of the matter at all, that all men were like 
 himself, whose indolence could never be over- 
 come by the pleasure of pursuit, or the joys of 
 attainment. Besides all this, Mr Lumlev^ 
 that tutor of Sindall's whom we have formerly 
 mentioned, was a man the best calculated in 
 the world for lulling his suspicions asleep, if 
 his nature had ever allowed them to arise. Tiiis 
 man, whose parts were of that pliable kind that 
 easily acquire a superficial knowledge of every 
 thing, possessed the talent of hypocrisy aa deep- 
 ly as the desire of pleasure , and while in rea- 
 lity he was the most profligate of men, he ha<l 
 tiiat command of passion, which never suUered 
 it to intrude where he could wish it concealed ; 
 he preserved, in the opinion of Mr Jephson, 
 the gravity of a studious and contemplative 
 tharactc-r, which was so congenial to his own ; 
 £2
 
 54 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 arul lie would often rise from a metapliysital 
 discussion with the old gentleman, leaving him 
 in admiration of the depth of his reading, and 
 the acuteness of his parts, to join the debauch 
 of Sindall and his dissolute companions. 
 
 By his assistance, therefore, Annesly's dissi- 
 pation was eflectiially screened from the notice 
 of his kinsman j Jephson was even prevailed 
 on, by false suggestions, to write to the coun- 
 try continued encomiums on his sobriety and 
 application to study j and the father, who was 
 happy in believing him, inquired no farthefc 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 A VERY GEOSS ATTEMPT IS MADE ON ANNESLy's 
 HONOUR. 
 
 Sindall having brought the mind of his pro- 
 selyte to that conformity of sentiment to which 
 he had thus laboured to reduce it, ventured to 
 discover to him the passion he had conceived 
 for his sister. The occasion, however, on 
 which he discovered it, was such a one as he 
 imagined gave him some title to be listened to. 
 Annesly had an allowance settled on him by 
 his father, rather in truth above what his cir- 
 cumstances might warrant with propriety ; but 
 as the feelings of the good man's heart were, 
 in every virtuous purpose, somewhat beyond 
 'the limitations of his fortune, he inclined rather
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD, 5,0 
 
 io pinch himself, tlian to step any channel 
 through "vvhich advantage might flow to his 
 son ; and meant his etlncation and his manners 
 to i)e in every respect liberal and accomplished. 
 
 But tliis allowance ill sufficed to^gratiiy the 
 extravagance uhich his late connection had 
 taught him j he began very soon to knoAV a 
 ivant which he had never hitherto experi- 
 enced : at first, this not only limited his plea- 
 sures, but began to check the desire of them, 
 and in some measure served to awaken that 
 sense of contrition which their rotation had be- 
 fore overcome. But Sindali took care that lie 
 should not be thus le4't to reflection ', and as 
 soon as he guessed the cause, prevented its con- 
 tinuance by an immediate supply, offered, and 
 indeed urged, with all the open Vv-armth of dis- 
 interested friendship. From being accustomeil 
 io receive, Annesly at last overcame the shame 
 of asking, and applied repeatedly for sums, un- 
 der the denomination of loans, for the payment 
 «f which he could only draw upon contingency. 
 His necessities were the more frequent, as, 
 amongst other arts of pleasure which he had 
 lately acquired, that of gaming had not been 
 omitted. 
 
 Having one night lost a sum considerably 
 above what he was able to pay, to a member of 
 their society with whom he was in no degree of 
 intlmacv, he gave him his note payable the 
 next morning, (for this was the regulated limi- 
 tation of their credit), though lie knew that 
 fC»-morro\v would find him as poor as to-night^
 
 .''£ THE MAN OF THE T/ORLT). 
 
 On these particular occasions, Avlien his honrti 
 Avould have been so liighly ineirular, that they 
 could not escape the censure of Mr Jephson or 
 his family, lie used to pretend, tiiat for the srike 
 of disenta^giinn" some point of study with 8in- 
 dall and his tutor, he had passed the night 
 nith them at their lodgings, and what small 
 portion of it was allowed for sleep he did ac- 
 tually spend there. After this lo^s, therefore, 
 he accompanie<l Sindall home, and could not, 
 it may well be supposed, conceal from him the 
 chagrin it occasioned. His friend, as usual, ad- 
 vanced him money for discharging the debt. 
 Annesly, who never had had occasion to bor- 
 row so much from him before, expressed his 
 sorrow at the necessity which his honour laid 
 him under, of accepting so large a sum. ' Poh ." 
 answered Sindall, ' 'tis but a trifle, and what a 
 man must now and then lose to be thouL'^ht 
 genteelly of.' ' Yes, if his fortune can afford 
 it,' said the other gloomily. ' Ay, there's the 
 rub,' returned his friend, ' that fortune should 
 have constituted an inequality where nature 
 made none. How just is the complaint pf 
 Jaffier, 
 
 « Tell me why, good Heaven ! 
 Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit. 
 Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires, 
 That fill the happiest man :' 
 
 That such should be the lot of my friend, I caa 
 regret — thanks to my better stars, J can more 
 than regret it. ^Vhat is the value of this dxoss
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 57 
 
 (holding a liandful «f gold) but to make the 
 situation of merit level with its deservings ? 
 Yet, believe me, there are -wants which riches 
 €annot remove, desires which sometimes they 
 canRot satisfy *, even at this moment, your 
 seeming happy Sindall, in whose lap fortune 
 has poured her blessings, has his cares, my An- 
 nesly, has i)is inquietudes, which need the hau4 
 of friendship to comfort and to soothe. ' 
 
 Annesly, with all the warmth of his nature, 
 insisted on partaking his uneasiness, that if he 
 could not alleviate, he might at least condole 
 with his distress. 
 
 Sindall embraced him. * I know your friend- 
 ship,' said he, * and I will put it to the proof. 
 \ou have a sister, the lovely, the adorable 
 Harriet-, she has robbed me of that peace 
 •which the smile of fortune cannot restore, as 
 her frown has been unable to take away I Did 
 you know the burning of this bosom ! — But I 
 speak unthinkingly what perhaps my delicacy 
 should not have whispered, even in the ear of 
 friendship. Pardon me — the ardour of a love 
 like mine may be forgiven some extravagance.' 
 
 Anneslv's eyes sufficiently testified his in- 
 ward satisfaction at this discovery j but he re- 
 collected the dignity which liis situation re- 
 quired, and replied calmly, * that he pretended 
 no guidance of his sister's inclinations; that his 
 own gratitude for Sir Thomas's favours he had 
 ever loudly declared j and that he knew his 
 sister felt eaough on his account, to maj;^c tlif
 
 53 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 introduction of her brother's friend a more thail 
 usually favourable one.' 
 
 * But my situation,' returned Bindull, * 1% 
 extremely particular-, you have heard my opi- 
 nions on the score of love often declared j ^nd, 
 trust me, they are the genuine sentiments of 
 my heart. The tranimels of form, ^vhich the 
 unfeeling custom of the world has thrown upon 
 the freedom of mutual affection, are insupport- 
 able to that fineness of soul, to which restraint 
 and happiness are terms of opposition. Let my 
 mistress be my mistress still, with all the pri- 
 vileges of a wife, without a wife's indilierence, 
 or a wife's disquiet — My fortune, the property 
 of her and her friends, but that liberty alonei 
 reserved, which is the strongest bond of the af- 
 fection she should wish to possess from me.' — 
 He looked steadfastly in Annesiy's face, which, 
 by this time, began to assume every mark of 
 resentment and indignation. He eyed him 
 askant with an affected smile : ' You smile. 
 Sir,' said Annesly, whose breath was stifled by 
 the swelling of his heart — Sindall laughed 
 aloud : ' I am a wretched hypocrite,' Rai<l l>e, 
 ' and could contain myself no longer.'' * So 
 you were but in jest, it seems,' replied th^ 
 other, settling his features into a dry composure. 
 * My dear Annesly,' returned he, * had yoti 
 but seen the countenance this trial of mine 
 gave you ', it would have made a picture 
 worthy of the gallery of Florence. I w^anted 
 to have a perfect idea of surprise, indignation^^ 
 «?truggling friendship, and swelling; honour, and
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. .59 
 
 1 think I succeeded. — But I keep you from 
 vour rest — Good night.' — And he walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 Annesly had felt too much to be able to re- 
 »ign himself speedily to rest. He could not but 
 tiiink this joke of his friend rather a serious 
 one J yet he had seen him sometimes carry this 
 species of wit to a very extraordinary length ; 
 but the indelicacy of the present instance was 
 not easily to be accounted for — he doubted, 
 believed, was angry and pacified by turns j the 
 remembrance of his favours arose ; they arose 
 at first in a form that added to the malignity of 
 the oft'ence ; then the series in which they had 
 been bestowed, seemed to plead on the other 
 side. At last, when worn by the fighting of 
 contrary emotions, he looked forward to the 
 consequences of a rupture with Sindall 5 the 
 pleasures of tliat society of which he was the 
 leader, the habitual tie which it had got on 
 Annesly's soul, prevailed ; for he had by this 
 time lost that satisfaction Avhich was wont to 
 flow from himself. He shut his mind against 
 the suggestions of any further suspicion, and, 
 with that winking cowardice, which many mis- 
 take for resolution, was resolved to trust him 
 for his friend, whom it would liave hurt him to 
 consider as an enemy. 
 
 Sindall, on the other hand, discovered that 
 the youth was not so entirely at his disposal as 
 be had imagined him ', and that thougli he was 
 jiroseiyte enough to be wicked j he must be led 
 s* UlLie farther to be ustfuL
 
 60 THE MAN OF THE WORTD, 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 JkNNESr.Y GIVES FARTHEll PROOFS OT DF.PRAVITy 
 
 or- MANNERS. THE EFFECT IT HAS ON IIlS FA- 
 
 THEU, AND THE CONSEQUENCES WITH REGARP 
 TO HIS CONNECTION WITH SINDALL. 
 
 1 o continue timt train of dissipation in whicli 
 their pupil had been initiated, was the business 
 of Sindall and his associates. Thoui^h they con- 
 trived, as we have before mentiancd, to escape 
 the immediate notice of ]\ir Jephson *, yet the 
 eyes of others could not be so easily blinded ', 
 the behaviour of Annesly began to be talked 
 of for its irregularity, and the more so, for the 
 change which it had undergone from that sim- 
 plicity of manners which he had brought with 
 him to Oxford. And some one, whether froni 
 regard to him, or wliat other motive, I know 
 not, informed his kinsman of what every one 
 but his kinsman suspected. 
 
 Upon this information, he gave the young 
 man a lecture in the usual terms of admonition -, 
 but an effort Avas ahvays painful to him, eveii 
 ivheie the office v.'as more agreeable than that 
 of reproof. He had recourse, therefore, to the 
 assistance of his fellow-philosopher Mr Luraley. 
 whom he informed of the accounts he had re- 
 ceived of Annesly's imprudence, and intreated 
 to take the proper measures, from his influence 
 v.ith the young gentleman, to make him sensi^
 
 THE MAN OF TilE WOItLJ). 6'i 
 
 ble of the impropriety of his past conduct, and 
 to prevent its continuance for the future. 
 
 Luniley expressed his surprise at this intelli- 
 gence with unparalleled conniiand of features j 
 regretted the too prevailing dissipation of yoath^ 
 affected to doubt the truth of the accusation, 
 but promised, at the same time, to make tiro 
 proper inquiries into the fact, and take the 
 most pi'udent method of preventing a conse- 
 quence so dangerous, as that of drawing from 
 the road of his duty, one whom he believed 
 to be possessed of so many good qualities as 
 Mr Annesly. 
 
 Whether Mr Lumley employed his talents 
 towards liis reformation, or degeneracy, it is 
 certain that Annesly's conduct betrayed many 
 marks of the latter. At last, in an hour of in- 
 toxication, having engaged in a quarrel with 
 one of his companions, it produced consequences 
 so notorious, that the proctor could not fail to 
 take notice of it 5 and that officer of the uni- 
 versity, having interposed his authority, in a 
 manner which the humour of Annesly, inflam- 
 mable as it then was, could not brook, he broke 
 forth into some extravagances so personally 
 offensive, that when the matter came to be 
 canvassed, nothing short of expulsion was talked 
 of as a punishment for the offence. 
 
 It was then that Mr Jephson first informed 
 his father of those irregularities which his son 
 had been guilty of. His father, indeed, from 
 the discontinuance of that gentleman's corres- 
 pondence much beyond the usual time, hn,d 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 62 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 begun to make some unfavourable conjectures j 
 ])nl lie accounted for this neglect from many 
 different causes j and when once his ingenuity 
 had taken that side of the argument, it quickly 
 found means to convince him, that his kins- 
 man's silence could not be imputed to any fault 
 of his son. 
 
 It was at the close of one of their solitary 
 meals that* this account of Jephson's happened 
 to reach Annesly and his daughter. Harriet 
 never forgot her Billy's health, and she had 
 Kow filled her father's glass to the accustomed 
 pledge, when the servant brought them a letter 
 xvith the Oxford mark on it. Read it, my love, 
 said Annesly with a smile, while he began to 
 blame his suspicions at the silence of his kins- 
 man. Harriet began reading accordingly, but 
 she had scarce got through the first sentence, 
 when the matter it contained rendered her 
 voice inarticulate. Her father took the letter 
 out of her hand, and, after [perusing it, he put it 
 in his pocket, keeping up a look of composure 
 amidst the anguish with which his heart was 
 wrung. ' Alas !' said Harriet, ' what has my 
 brother done ?' He pressed her involuntarily 
 to his bosom, and it was then that he could not 
 restrain his tears — ' Your brother, my love, 
 has forgotten the purity which here is happi- 
 ness, and I fear has ill exchanged it for what 
 the world calls pleasure ; but this is the first 
 of his wanderings, and Ave will endeavour to 
 call him back into the path he has left. Keach 
 »ie the pen, ink, and paper, my love.' — ' 1 will
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. T>^ 
 
 •0,' said she, sobbing, ' and pray for him tl»e 
 ■while.' Annesly sat donn to write. — ' My 
 dearest boy !' — 'twas a movement grown me- 
 chanical to his pen — he dashed through the 
 words, and a tear fell on the place j — ye know 
 not, ye who revel in the wantonness of dissi- 
 pation, and scoff at the solicitude of parental 
 affection ! ye know not the agony of such a 
 tear j else — ye are men, and it were beyond th« 
 depravity of nature. 
 
 It was not till after more than one blotted 
 scrawl, that he was able to write, what the man 
 might claim, and the parent should approve. 
 The letter which he at last determined to send 
 v.'as of the following tenor : 
 ' iMy Son, 
 
 ' With anguish I write what I trust will be 
 read with contrition. I am not skilled in the 
 language of rebuke, and it was once my pride 
 to have such a son that I needed not to acquire 
 it. If he has not lost the feelings by which the 
 silent sorrows of a father's heart are understood, 
 I shall have no need of words to recall him from 
 that conduct by which they are caused. In the 
 midst of what he will now term pleasure, he 
 may have forgotten the father and the friend ; 
 let this tear with which mv paper is blotted, 
 awaken his remembrance •, it is not the first i 
 have shed ; but it is the first which flowed from. 
 my affliction mingled with disgrace. Had 1 
 been only weepinu- for my son, I should havf 
 found some melancholy comfort to support me > 
 tvhile I blush for him 1 have no consolation.
 
 €4? THE MAN OF THE WORLP/. 
 
 * But the future is yet left to him and to mr j 
 let the reparation be immediate, as the ^vrong 
 was great, that tlie tongue which speaks of your 
 shame may be stopt with the information of 
 your amendment.' 
 
 Pie had just finished this letter \yhcn Harriet 
 entered the room : * Will my dear papa forgive 
 Jtiie,' said she, * if I inclose a few lines under 
 this cover?' — * Forgive you, my dear I it cannot 
 oiFend me.' She laid her hand on his letter, and 
 looked as if she would have said something 
 more , be pressed her hand in his j a tear, 
 V, hicli had just budded in her eye, now dropped 
 to the ground. ' You have not been harsh to 
 my Billy j she blushed as she spoke : and her 
 father kissed her cheek as it blushed. — She in- 
 closed the following note to her brother ; 
 
 * Did my dearest Billy but know the sorrow 
 which he has given the most indulgent of fa- 
 thers, he could not less than his Harriet regret 
 the occasion of it. 
 
 * But things may be represented worse than 
 they really are — I am busy at framing exouses, 
 but I will say nothing more on a subject, which, 
 h-y this time, my brother must have thought 
 enough on. 
 
 ' Alas ! that you should leave tliis seat of in- 
 nocent delight — but men were made for bustle 
 and society j yet we might have been happy 
 here together : there are in other hearts, wishes 
 which they call ambition j mine shrinks at the 
 thought, and would shelter for ever amidst the 
 sweets of this jtumble spot. Woukl that its
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLR. (T."5 
 
 partner were here to taste them! the shrub-vralk. 
 you marked out through the little grove, I have 
 been careful to trim in your absence — 'tis vv^ild, 
 melancholy, and thoughtful. It is there that i 
 think most of my Billy.' 
 
 ' But at this time, besides his absence, ther«, 
 is another caji-se lo allay tiis pleasure which the 
 beauties of nature should bestow. My doar 
 papa is far from being well. He has no fixed 
 complaint ; but he looks thin and pale, and li;» 
 appetite is almost entirely gone •, yet he will 
 not let me say that he ails. Oh I n)y brother ! 
 1 dare not think more that way. Would yoa 
 were here to comfort me •, in the mean time, 
 remember your ever a&ctionate 
 
 HaTiRIET.' 
 
 Annesly was just about to dispatch these 
 letters, v.hen he received one expressed in the 
 most sympathising terms from Sir Thomas Sin- 
 dall. That vouug gentleman, after touching, 
 in the tenderest manner, on the pain which a 
 lather must feel for the eiTors of his children, 
 administered the only comfort that was left t© 
 aduiinister, by representing, that young An- 
 nesly's fault had been exaggerated much bevond 
 the truth, and that it was entirely owing to the 
 elFects of a warm temper, accidentally inflamed 
 with liquor, and provoked bv some degree of 
 insolence in the officer to whom the outrage 
 had been offered. He particularly regretted 
 that his present disposition towards sobriety 
 had prevented him from being present at that 
 wieeting, in v-hich case, he said, he was prcttv 
 f2
 
 ^6 THE MAN' OF THE WOELB. 
 
 certain this unlucky affair had never happened', 
 that, as it was, the only thing left for his friend- 
 ship to do, was to amend what it had not lain 
 ^'.vithln his power to prevent ; and he begged, 
 as a testimony of the old gentleman's regard, 
 that he might honour him so far a* to commit 
 to him the care of setting matters to rights with 
 regard to the character of his son, which he 
 hoped to be soon able effectually to restore. 
 
 The earliest consolation Vv'hich a man receives 
 after any calamity, is hallowed for ever in his 
 regard, as a benighted traveller caresses the 
 dog, whose barking first announced him to be 
 near the habitations of men ; it was so with 
 Annesly j his unsuspecting heart overflowed 
 with gratitude towartls this friend of his son, 
 and he now grew lavish of his confidence to- 
 wards hira, in proportion as he recollected ha- 
 ving once (in iiis present opinion unjustly) 
 .denied it. 
 
 He returned, therefore, an answer to Sir 
 'Thomas, with all those genuine expressions of 
 acknowledgment, which the honest emotions 
 of his soul could dictate. He accepted, as the 
 greatest obligation, that concern which he took 
 in the welfare of his son, and cheerfully repos- 
 ed on his care the trust which his friendship 
 iiesired ; and, as a proof of it, he inclosed to 
 liini the letter he had wrote to William, to be 
 •delivered at what time, and enforced in what 
 ^nanner, his pruden-^e should suggc^^t.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 67 
 
 CHAR XII. 
 
 THE PLAN WHICH SIXDALL FORMS FOR OELITE- 
 KATING THE STAIN WHICH THE CHARACTER OF 
 HIS FRIEND HAD SUFFERED. 
 
 »^IR Thomas did accordingly deliver this letter 
 of xlnnesly's to his son j and as the penitence 
 which the young man then felt for his recent 
 oftence, made the assumption of a character of 
 sobriety proper, he accompanied this paternal 
 remonstrance with advices of his own, dictated 
 alike by friendship and prudence. 
 
 They v,'ere at this time, indeed, but little ne- 
 cessary J in the interval betvveen the paroxysms 
 of pleasure and dissipation, the genuine feelings 
 of his nature had time to ai'ise : and, awakened 
 as they now were by the letters of^^iis father 
 and sister, their voice was irresistible. He 
 kissed the signature of their fSames a thousand 
 times, and, Aveeping on Sindall's neck, impre- 
 cated the wrath of Heaven on his own head, 
 that could thus heap affliction on tlie age of the 
 best of parents. 
 
 He expressed at the same time his intention 
 of leaving Oxford, and returning home, as an 
 immediate instance of his desire of reformation. 
 Sir Thomas, though he gave all the praise to 
 this purpose which its filial piety deserved, yet 
 doubted the propriety of putting it in exe- 
 cution. He said, that in the little circles of 
 the country, Annesly's penitence would not so 
 immediately blot out Iiis offence, but that the
 
 6$ THE MAN OF THE WORLD* 
 
 weak and the illiberal would shun the conta- 
 gion, as it were, of his company-, and that he 
 itould meet every day with alfionts and ne* 
 gleets, which the sincerity of his repentance ill 
 deserved, and his consciousness of that since- 
 3'ity might not easily brook. He told him, tiiat 
 a young gentleman, a friend of his, who was 
 just going to set out on a tour abroad, had l)«t 
 a few days before v/ritten to him, desiring his 
 recommendation of somebody, with the manners 
 and education of a gentleman, to accompany 
 him on his travels, and that he believed he 
 could easily procure that station for his friend, 
 which would have the double advantage of re- 
 moving him from the obloquy to which the 
 late accident had subjected him, and of improv- 
 ing him in every respect, by the opportunity it 
 would give of observing the laws, customs, and 
 polity of our neighbours on the Continent. 
 
 While the depression produced by Anueslv'* 
 consciousness of his oflences remained stiong- 
 upon his mind, this proposal met with no very 
 warm reception ; but, in proportion as the 
 comfort and encouragement of iiis friend pre- 
 vailed, the ambition which a man of his age 
 naturally feels to see something of the world, 
 began to speak in its behalf j he mentioned, 
 however, the consent of his fatiicr as an indis- 
 pensibie preliminary. This Sir Thomas aU 
 loued to be just *, and shewing him that cou- 
 iidential letter which the old gentleman had 
 written him, undertook to mention this scheme 
 for his appjobation ia the ans\¥er he intended
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, GQ 
 
 tnakhig to it. In this, too, was inclosed his 
 young friend's return to the letters of his fa- 
 ther and sister, -which were contained in the 
 preceding chapter, full of that contrition 
 which, at the moment, he really felt, and of those 
 good resolutions which, at the time, he sin- 
 cerely formed. As to the matter of his going 
 abroad, he only touched on it as a plan of Sir 
 Thomas Sindali's, whose friendship had dic- 
 tated the proposal, and whose judgment of its 
 expediency his ov/n words were to contain. 
 
 His father received it, not without those 
 pangs, which the thought of separation from a 
 son on whom the peace of his soul rested must 
 cause y but he examined it with that impartia- 
 lity winch his wisdom suggested in every thing 
 that concerned his children : * My own satis- 
 faction,' he would often say, ' has for its ob- 
 ject only the few years of a waning life ; the 
 situation of my children — my hopes would ex- 
 tend to the importance of a much longer period.' 
 He held the balance, therefore, in an e^/en 
 liand •, the arguments of Sindall had much of 
 the specious, as his inducement to use them 
 had much of the friendly. The young gentle- 
 man whom Billy was to accompany, had con- 
 nections of such weight in the state, that the 
 fairest prospects seemed to open from their pa- 
 tronage 5 nor could the force of that argument 
 be denied, which supposed conveniency in the 
 change of place to Annesly at the present, and 
 improvement for the future. There were not, 
 however, wanting some considerations of rea-
 
 70 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 son to side with a parent's tears against the 
 journey ; but Slnclall had answers for them all 5 
 and at last he wrung from him his slow leave, 
 on condition that ^Mlliam should return home, 
 for a single day, to l.'id the last farewell to his 
 lather and his Harriet. 
 
 Meantime, the punishment of Annesly's late 
 olTencc in the university ^vas mititiated hy the 
 interest of Sindall, and the intercession of Mr 
 Jephson. Expulsion, ivhich had before been 
 insisted on, was changed into a sentence of less 
 indignity, to wit, that of being pnblicly repri- 
 manded by the head of the college to which 
 he belonged j after submitting to whicli, he set 
 out, accompanied by Sir Thomas, to bid adieu 
 to his fathtr's house, preparatoiy to his going 
 abroad. 
 
 His father, at meeting, touched en his late 
 irregularities with that delicacy of which a good 
 mind cannot divest itself, even amidst the pur- 
 posed severity of reproof j and, having thus far 
 sacrificed to justice and parental authority, he 
 opened his soul to all that warmth of aflVctioii 
 which his Billy had always experienced ; nor 
 was the mind of his son yet so perverted by 
 his former course of dissipation, as to be in- 
 sensible to that sympathy of feelings which this 
 indulgence should produce. The tear which 
 he offered to it was the sacrifice of his heart, 
 wrung by the recollection of the past, and 
 swelling with the purpose of the future. 
 
 When the morning of his departure arrived, 
 he stok softlv into his father's chamber, mean-
 
 THE MAN .OF THE WORLD. 71 
 
 ing to take leave of him without being seen by 
 his sister, whose tenderness of soul could not 
 easily bear the pangs of a solemn farexveil. 
 He found liis father on his knees. The ^ood 
 man, rising with that serene dignity of &.spect 
 which those sacred duties ever conferred on 
 him, turned to his son : * You go, my boy/ 
 said he, ' to a distant land, far from the guid- 
 ance and protection of your earthly parent ; I 
 was recommending you to the care of Him who 
 is at all times present with you ; though I am 
 Dot superstitious, yet I confess I feel something 
 about me as if I should never see you more : if 
 these are my last words, let them be treasured 
 in your remembrance. — Live as becomes a 
 man and a Christian^ live as becomes him nlie 
 is to live for ever !' 
 
 As he spoke, his daughter eiitered the room. 
 ' Ah I my Billv,' said she, ' could you have 
 been so cruel as to go witho\it seeing your 
 Harriet ? it would have broken my heart I Oh ! 
 1 have much to say, and, many farewells to take ; 
 yet now, methiaks, I can say nothing, and scarcjB 
 dare bid you farewell !' — ' My children, inter 
 rupted her father, * in this cabinet is a present 
 I have always intended for each of you j and 
 this, which is perliaps the last time we shall 
 meet togetlier, I think the iiltcst to bestow 
 them. Here, my Harriet, is a miniature of that 
 angel your mother ; imitate her virtues, and be 
 happy. — Here, my Billy, is its counterpart, a 
 picture of your father •, whatever he is, heaven 
 knows [ns .iflTcction to you j let that endear tV^
 
 72 THE MAN 01 THE W ORLI?. 
 
 memorial, and recommend that conduct to hi.-? 
 son, which will make his father's grey hairs go 
 down to the grave in peace !' Tears were the 
 only answer that either could give. Annesly 
 embraced his son, and blessed him. Harriet 
 blubbered on his neck ! Twice he ofi'ered to 
 go, and twice the agony of his sister pulled 
 him back j at last she flung herself into the 
 arms of her father, who beckoning to Sir Tho- 
 mas Sindall, just then arrived to carry off his 
 companion, that young gentleman, who was 
 himself not a little affected Avith the scene, took 
 his friend by the hand, and led him to the car- 
 riage that Avaited them. 
 
 CHAP. xin. 
 
 HE REACHES LONDON, WHERE HL REMAINS LONGER 
 THAN WAS EXPECTED. — THE EFFECTS OF HIS 
 STAY THERE. 
 
 JLN a few days Annesly and his friend the ba- 
 ronet arrived in the metropolis. His father 
 had been informed, that the gentleman whom 
 he was to accompany in his travels was to meet 
 him in that city, where they proposed to re- 
 main only a week or two, for the purpose of 
 seeing any thing curious in town, and of set- 
 tling some points of accommodation on their 
 route through the countries they meant to visit ; 
 nu intelligence he confessed very agreeable to
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 73 
 
 liini, because he knew tlie temptations to uhich 
 a yoLincr ukui is exposed by a life of idleue.-s in 
 London. 
 
 But, in truth, the intention of Sir Thomas 
 Sintlall never was, that his present pupil (if 
 we may so call him) should travel any farther. 
 The young gentleman, for whose companion 
 he had pretended to engage Annesly, was in- 
 deed to set out very soon after on the tour of 
 Europe ; but he had already been provided 
 with a travelling governor, who was to meet 
 him, upon his arrival at Calais, (for the air of 
 England agreed so ill with this gentleman's 
 constitution, that he never crossed the chan- 
 nel), and who had made the same journey se- 
 veral times before with some English young 
 men of great fortunes, wlsom he had the honour 
 of returning to their native country with the 
 same sovereign contempt for it that he liimself 
 entertained. The purpose of Sindall w'as 
 merely to remove him to a still greater dis- 
 tance from liis father, and to a scene vxhere his 
 own plan, of entire conversion, should meet 
 with every aid which the society of the idle and 
 the profligate could give it. 
 
 For some time, however, he found the dispo- 
 sition of Annesly averse to his designs. The 
 figure of his father venerable in virtue, of liis 
 sister lovely in innocence, were inipi jnted on 
 his mind ; and the variety of public places of 
 entertainment to which Sir Thomas conducted 
 him, could not innnediately efface the im- 
 pression. 
 
 VOL. ir. €i
 
 74? THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Ent as their novelty at first delighted, their 
 frequency at last subdued Jiim j his mind began 
 to accustom itself to the hurry of thoughtless 
 amusement, and to feel a painful vacancy, when 
 the bustle of the scene was at any time changed 
 for solitude. The unrestrained warmth and 
 energy of his temper yielded up his understand- 
 ing to the company of fools, and his resolutions 
 of reformation to the society of the dissolute, 
 because it caught the fervour of the present 
 moment, before reason could pause on the dis- 
 posal of the next j and, by the industry of Sin- 
 dall, he found every day a set of friends, among 
 whom the most engaging were always the most 
 licentious, and joined to every thing which the 
 good detest, every thing which the unthinking 
 admire. I have often, indeed, been tempted to 
 imagine that there is something unfortunate, if 
 not blameabie, in that harshness and austerity 
 whici) virtue too often assumes ; and have seen 
 with regret, some excellent men, the authority 
 of Avhose understanding, and the attraction of 
 whose wit, might have retained many a deserter 
 under the banners of goodness, lose all that 
 power of service by the unbending distance 
 which they keep from the little pleasantries 
 and sweetnesses of life. This conduct may be 
 safe, but there is something ungencroui; and 
 coAvardly in it ; to keep their forces, like an 
 over-cautious commander, in fastnesses and for- 
 tified towns, while they Nuffer the enemy to waste 
 and ravage the champaign. Praise is indeed due 
 to him who can in any way preserve his integrity^
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 75 
 
 but surely the heart that can retain it, even 
 while it opens to all the warmth of social feel- 
 ing, will be an oftering more acceptable in the 
 eye of Heaven. 
 
 Annesly was distant from any counsel or ex- 
 ample, that might counterbalance the conta- 
 gious influence of the dissolute society with 
 which his time was now engrossed ; but his se- 
 duction was not complete, till the better prin- 
 ciples which his soul still retained, were made 
 accessary to its accomplishment. 
 
 Sindall procured a woman infamous enough 
 for his purpose, the ca-t mistress of one of his 
 former companions, whom he tutored to invent 
 a plausible story of distress and misfortune, 
 Avhjch he contrived, in a manner seemingly ac- 
 cidental, to have communicated to Annesly. 
 His native compassion, and his native warmth, 
 were interested in her suiferings and her wrongs j 
 and he applauded Iiimself for the protection 
 which he aftorded her, while she was tlie aban- 
 doned instrument of his undoing. After having 
 retained, for some time, the purity of her guar- 
 dian and protector, in an hour of intoxication, 
 he ventured to approach her on a looser footing; 
 and she had afterwards the address to make him 
 believe, that the weakness of her gratitude had 
 granted to him, what to any other her virtue 
 would have refused ; and during the criminal in- 
 tercourse in which he lived with lier, she conti- 
 nued to maintain a character of affection and ten- 
 derness, which might excuse the guilt of her own 
 conduct, and account for the infatuation of his.
 
 76 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 In this fatal connection, every reniemhiancc 
 of that weeping home which he had so lately 
 left, with the resolutions of penitence and refor- 
 mation, was crazed from his mind j or, if at 
 times it intrnded, it came not that gentle 
 guest, at whose approach his bosom used to be 
 thrilled with reverence and love, but approach- 
 ed in the form of some ungracious monitor, 
 whose business it was to banish pleasure, and 
 awaken remorse ; and therefore the next amuse- 
 ment, folly, or vice, was called in to his aid to 
 banish and expel it. As it was sometimes ne- 
 cessary to write to his father, he fell upon an 
 expedient, even to save himself the pain of 
 thinking so long as that purpose required, on a 
 subject now grown so irksome to him, and em- 
 ployed that woman, in whose toils he was thus 
 shamefully entangled, to read the letters he re- 
 ceived, and dictate such answers as her'cunning 
 could suggest, to mislead the judgment of his 
 unsuspecting parent. 
 
 Ail this Avhile Sindall artfully kept so much 
 aloof, as to preserve, even with the son, some- 
 thing of that character which he had acquired 
 with the father. He was often absent from 
 parties of remarkable irregularity, and some- 
 times ventured a gentle censure on his friend 
 for having been led into them. But while he 
 seemed to clieck their continuance under this 
 cloak of prudence, he encouraged it in the re- 
 port he made of the vice of othere ; for while 
 the scale of character for temperance, sobriety, 
 and morals, sinks on one side, there is a balance
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 77 
 
 of fame in the mouths of part of the world rising 
 on the other. — Annesly could bear to be told of 
 his spirit, his generosity, and his honour. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 HE FEELS THE DISTRESSES OF POVERTY. HE IS 
 
 PUT ON A METHOD OF RELIEVING THEM. — AN 
 ACCOUNT OF ITS SUCCESS. 
 
 1 HE manner of life which Annesly now pur' 
 sued without restraint, was necessarily produc- 
 tive of such expence as he could very ill afford. 
 But the craft of his female associate was not 
 much at a loss for pretences to make frequent 
 demands on the generosity of his father. The 
 same excuses which served to account for his 
 stay in London, in some measure apologized for 
 the largeness of the sums he drew for j if it was 
 necessary for him to remain there, expence, if 
 not unavoidable, was at least difficult to be 
 avoided *, and for the causes of his stay in that 
 city, he had only to repeat the accounts which 
 he daily received from Sindall, of various acci- 
 dents ^vhlch obliged his young friend to post- 
 pone his intended tour. 
 
 Though in the country there was little op- 
 portunity of knowing the town irregularities of 
 Annesly, yet there were not wanting surmises 
 of it among some, of which it is likely his fa- 
 ther mii;ht have heard enough to alarra him, 
 G 3
 
 78 THE MAN OF THE WO II LI). 
 
 had he not been at this time in such a stale oi' 
 health :is prevented him from much society 
 Kith his neighbours j a slow aguish disorder, 
 which followed those symptoms his daughter's 
 letter to her brother had described, having con- 
 fined him to his chamber almost constantly from 
 the time of his son's departure. 
 
 Annesly had still some blushes left ; and 
 when he had pushed his father's indulgence in 
 the article of suppiy, as far as shame Avould al- 
 low him, he looked round for some other source 
 wlicnce present relief might be drawn, without 
 daring to consider how the arrearages of the 
 future should be cancelled. Sir.dull for some 
 time answered his exigencies without reluc- 
 tance j but at last he informed him, as be said, 
 ■with regret, that he could not, from particular 
 circumstances, afford him, at that inniiediute 
 juncture, any farther assistance than a small 
 sum, which he then put into Annesly 's hands, 
 and which tlie very next day was squandered 
 by the prodigality of his mistress. 
 
 The next morning he rose without knowing 
 how the wants of tlie day were to be provided 
 for, and strolling out into one of his accustomed 
 walks, gave himself up to all the pangs which 
 the retrospect of the past, and the idea of the 
 present, suggested. But he felt not that con- 
 trition which results from ingenuous sorrow for 
 our offences j his soul v.'as ruled by that gloomy 
 demon, who looks only to the anguish of their 
 ])unishmcnt, and accuses the hand of Frovi- 
 dsnce for calamity which himself has occasioned.
 
 THE .MA>T OF THE WORLD. . 7,9 
 
 III this situation he was met by one of his 
 now acquired tiiemls, who was walking ofi" the 
 inipression of last night's riot. The melan- 
 choly of his countenance was so easily observ- 
 abk, that it could not escape the notice of his 
 companion, who rallied him on the seriousness 
 of his aspect, in the cant phrase of those brutes 
 of our spciles, who are professed enemies to 
 t!ic faculty of thinking. Though Annesly's 
 pride for a while kept him silent, it was at last 
 overcome by the other's importunity, and he 
 confessed the desperation of his circumstances 
 to be the cause of his present depression. His 
 companion, whose puise, as himself informed 
 Annesly, had been Hushed by the success of 
 the preceding night, animated by the liberality 
 which attends sudden good fortune, freely of- 
 fered him the use of twenty pieces till better 
 times should enable him to repay them. * But,' 
 said he gaily, * it is a shame for a fellow of 
 ycur parts to want money, when fortune has 
 ])rovided so many rich fools for the harvest of 
 the wise and the industrious. If you'll allow me 
 to be your conductor this evening, I uili shew 
 you Avhere, by the traflic of your wits, in a very 
 short time you may convert these twenty 
 guineas into fifty.' ' At play,' replied Annesly 
 coolly. * Ay, at play,' returned the other, 
 ' and fair play tyo ; 'tis the only profession left 
 for a man of sjjirit and iionour to pursue j to 
 cheat as a merchant, to quibble as a lawyer, or 
 to cant as a churchman, is confined to fellows 
 who have no fire in their composition. Give
 
 80. THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 me but a bold set, and a fair throw for it, and 
 then for the life of a lord, or the death of a 
 gentleman.' ' I have had but little experience 
 in the profession,' said Annesly, ' and should 
 but throw away your money.' ' Never fear,' 
 replied the other \ * do but mark me, and I will 
 ensure you j I will shew you our men j pigeons, 
 mere pigeons, by Jupiter !' 
 
 It was not for a man in Annesly 's situation to 
 baulk the promise of such a golden opportu- 
 nity \ they dined together, and afterwards re- 
 paired to a gaming-house, where Annesly's 
 companion introduced him as a friend of his just 
 arrived from the country, to several young gen- 
 tlemen, who seemed to be waiting his arrival. 
 — ' I promised you your revenge,' said he, * my 
 dears, and you shall have it j some of my 
 friend's lady-day rents, too, have accompanied 
 him to London : if you win you shall wear 
 them. To business, to business.' 
 
 In the course of their play, Annesly, though 
 but moderately skilled in the game, discovered 
 that the cosupany to whom he iiad been intro- 
 duced were in reality such bubbles as his com- 
 panion had represented them \, after being 
 heated by some small success in the beginning, 
 they began to bet extravagantly against every 
 calculation of chances j and in an iiour or two 
 his associate and he had stripped them of a 
 very considerable sum, of which his own share, 
 though mncli the smaller, was upwards of three- 
 score guineas. When they left the house, he 
 ciTered his conductor the suai be had lent liim.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 81 
 
 ivith a profusion of thanks both for the use and 
 tlie improvement of it. ' No, my boy,' said lie, 
 ' not nowj your note is sufficient ; 1 will rather 
 call for it when I am at a pinch j you see no'vr 
 the road to wealth and independence ^ you will 
 meet me here to-morrow.' He promised to 
 meet him accordingly. 
 
 Thev had been but a few minutes m the 
 room this second night, when a gentleman en- 
 tered, whom the company saluted with tiie ap- 
 pellation of Squire ; the greater part of them 
 seemed to be charmed with his presence, but 
 the countenance of Annesly's companion fell 
 at his approach : * Damn him,' said he in a 
 whisper to Annesly, * he's a knowing one.' 
 
 In some degree, indeed, he deserved the title, 
 for he had attained, from pretty long experi- 
 ence, assisted by natural quickness of parts, a 
 considerable knowledge in the science j and in 
 strokes of genius, at games where genius was 
 required, was excelled by few. But after all, 
 he was far from being successful in the profes- 
 sion ; nature intended him for something bet- 
 ter; and as he spoiled a v;it, an orator, and per- 
 haps a poet, by turniufj gambler, so he often 
 spoiled a gambler by the ambition, which was 
 not yet entirely quenched, of shining occasioit- 
 ally in all those characters. And as a compa- 
 laion, he was too pleasing, and too well-pleased, 
 to keep that cool indifference whitli is l.he cha- 
 rt', cteristic of h.im who should always be pos- 
 sessed of hinis'jlf, and consider every other
 
 82 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 man only as the spungc from whom he is to, 
 squeeze advantage. 
 
 To the present party, however, he was un- 
 questionably superior \ and, of course, in a 
 short tine began to levy large contributions, 
 not only on the more inexperienced, whom 
 Annesly and his conductor had marked for 
 their own booty, but likewise on these two 
 gentlemen themselves, whose winnings of the 
 former evening were now fast diminishing be- 
 fore the superior skill of this ncAv antagonist. 
 
 But in the midst of his success, he was inter- 
 rupted by the Arrival of another gentleman, 
 who seemed also to be a well known character 
 in this temple of fortune, being saluted by the 
 familiar name of Black Beard. This man pos- 
 sessed an unmoved equality both of temper and 
 aspect J and though in reality he was of no 
 very superior abilities, yet had acquired the re- 
 putation both of depth and acuteness, from be- 
 ing always accustomed to think on his own in- 
 terest, and pursuing with the most sedulous at- 
 tention every object which led to it, unseduced 
 hy one single spark of those feelings Avhich the 
 world terms Weakness. 
 
 In the article of gaming, which he had early 
 pitched on as the means of advancement, he had 
 availed himself of that industry and saturnine 
 complexion, to acquire the most consummate 
 knowledge of its principles,' Avhich indeed he 
 had attained to a very remarkable degree of 
 perfection.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 83 
 
 Opposed to this man, even the skill of the 
 hitherto-successful squire was unavailing ; and 
 consequently, he not only stripped that gentle- 
 man of the gains he had made, but gleaned 
 whatever he had left in the purses of the infe- 
 rior members of the party, amongst whom An- 
 nesly and his associates were reduced to their 
 last guinea. 
 
 This they agreed to spend together at a ta- 
 vern in the neighbourhood, where they cursed 
 fortune, their spoiler, and themselves, in all the 
 bitterness of rage and disappointment. An- 
 nesly did not seek to account for their losses 
 otherwise than in the real way, to wit, from 
 the superior skill of their adversary ; but his 
 companion, who often boasted of his own, threw 
 out some insinuations of foul play and conni- 
 vance. 
 
 ' Jf I thought that,' said Annesly, laying his 
 hand on his sword, while his cheeks burnt with 
 indignation — ' Poh !' replied the other, ' 'tis 
 in vain to be angry • here's damnation to him 
 in a bumper.' 
 
 The other did not fail his pledge , and by a 
 liberal application to the bottle, they so far 
 overcame their lo.'^ses, that Annesly reeled 
 home, singing a catch, forgetful of the past, 
 ?ind regardless of to-morrow.
 
 84? THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 AXOTIIER ATTEMPT TO RETRIEVE «TS CIRCUM- 
 STANCES, THR CONSEQUENCES OF WHICH ARE 
 STILL MORE FATAL. 
 
 1 HOUGH the arrival of to-morrow raigbt be 
 overlooked, it could not be prevented. It rose 
 on Anuesly, one of the most wretched of man- 
 kind. Poverty, embittered by disgrace, was 
 now approacliing him, who knew of no friend 
 to ward oli" the blow, and had no consolation 
 in himself by Avhich it might be lightened : if 
 any thing could add to his present distress, it 
 was increased by the absence of Sindall, who 
 was then in the country, and the upbraidings 
 of his female companion, who now exclaimed 
 against the folly which herself had caused, and 
 the e5:travagance herself had participated. 
 
 About mid-day, his last night's fellow-suf- 
 ferer paid him a visit ; their mutual chagrin at 
 meeting, from the recollection of misfortune 
 which it produced, was evident in their coun- 
 tenances ; but it was not a little increased, 
 ^^hen the other told Annesly, he came to put 
 him in mind of the sum he had advanced him 
 two days before, for which he had now very 
 particular occasion. Annesly answered, tliat 
 he had frankly told him the state of his finan- 
 ces at the time of the loan, and accepted it on 
 no condition of speedy payment j that he had, 
 that same evening, offered to repay him when 
 it was in his power, and that he could not but
 
 THE T^IAX or THE WORLD. 85 
 
 liiink the demand ungentlemanlike, at a time 
 Avhen lie must know his utter inabihty to com- 
 ply %vlth it. 
 
 * Ungentlemanlike !' said the other j I don't 
 understand Avhat you mean, Sir, by such a 
 phrase : will you pay me my money or not ?' — 
 ' I cannot.' — ' Then, sir, you must expect me 
 to employ some gentleman tor the recovery of 
 it, who will speak to you, perhaps, in a more 
 ungentlemanlike style than 1 do.' And, so 
 saying, he flung out of the room. 
 
 * Infamous wretch I' exclaimed Anneslv, and 
 •walked about with a hurried step, gnawing his 
 lips, and muttering curses on him and on him- 
 self. — There was another gentleman wanted to 
 see him below stairs. — 'Twas a mercer, who 
 came to demand payment of some fineries his 
 lady, as he termed her, had purchased ; he was, 
 tvith difficulty, dismissed. — In a quarter of an 
 liour there was another call — 'Twas a dun of a 
 tailor for clothes to himself — he would take no 
 excuse — ' Come,' said Annesly, with a look 
 of desperation, * to-morrow morning, and I will 
 pay you.' 
 
 But how ? — he stared wildly on the ground, 
 then knocked his head against the wall, and 
 acted all the extravagances of a madman. At 
 last, with a more settled iiorror in his eye, he 
 put on his sword, and without knowing whither 
 he should go, sallied into the street. 
 
 He happened to meet in his way some of 
 tiio*;c boon companions, wltii whom his nights 
 of jollity had been spent; but thcix terms gf 
 
 VOL. II. li
 
 86 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 salutation were so cold and forbidding, as ob- 
 viously to show that the account of his circum- 
 stances had already reached them j and, with 
 them, he who had every thing to ask, and no- 
 thing to bestow, could possess no quality at- 
 tractive of regard. After sauntering from street 
 to street, and from square to square, he found 
 himself, towards the close of the day, within a 
 few paces of that very gaming-house where he 
 had been so unfortunate the evening before. 
 A sort of malicious curiosity, and s»me hope 
 of he knew not what, tempted him to re-enter 
 it. He found much the same company he had 
 seen the preceding night, with the exception, 
 however, of his former associate, and one or 
 two of the younger members of their party, ^vhom 
 the same cause prevented from attending. 
 
 Strolling into another room, he found an in- 
 ferior set of gamesters, -whose stakes were 
 lower, though their vociferation was infinitely 
 more loud. In the far corner sat a man, who 
 preserved a composure of countenance, up.dis- 
 turbed by the clamour and confusion that sur- 
 rounded him. After a little observation, An- 
 nesly discovered that he Avas a money-lender, 
 •who advanced certain sums at a very exorbi- 
 tant premium to the persons engaged in the 
 play. Some of those he saw, who could offer 
 no other security satisfyinor to this usurer, pro- 
 cure a few guineas from him, on pawning a 
 watch, ring, or som.e other appendage of for- 
 mer finely. Of such he had ^^eiore divested 
 himself for urgent demands, and had nothing
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 87 
 
 superfluous about him but his sword, which he 
 had kept the latest, and which he now depo- 
 sited in the hands of the old gentleman in the 
 corner, who furnished him with a couple of 
 pieces upon it, that with them lie might once 
 more try his fortune at tiie table. 
 
 The success exceeded his expectation '■, it 
 was so rapid, that in less than an hour he had 
 increased his two guineas to forty, with which 
 he determined to retire contented 5 but when 
 lie would have redeemed his sword, he was in- 
 formed that the keeper of it was just gone into 
 the other room, ^vhere, as he entered to demand 
 it, he unfortunately overheard the same gentle- 
 man who had gained his money the former 
 night, offering a bet to the amount of the sum 
 J^nnesly then possessed, on a cast where he 
 imagined the chance to be much against it. 
 Stimulated with the desire of doubling his gain, 
 and the sudden provocation, as it were, of the 
 offer, he accepted it •, and, in one moment, 
 lost all the fruits of his former good fortune. — 
 The transport of his passion could not express 
 itself in words : but taking up one of the dice, 
 with the seeming coolness of exquisite anguish, 
 he fairly bit it in two, and casting a look of 
 frenzy on his sword, which he was now unable 
 to ransom, lie rushed out of the house, unco- 
 vered as he was, his hat hanging on a peg 
 in the other apartment. 
 
 The agitation of his mind was such as de- 
 nied all attention to common things j and, in- 
 stead of taking the direct road to his lodgings,
 
 8S THE iMAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 he wandered off the street into an ol^sciirc al- 
 ley, where he had not advanced far, till he was 
 accosted by a fellow, who, in a very peremp- 
 tory tone, desired him to deliver his money, or 
 he would instantly blow oat his brains, present- 
 ing a pistol at less than half a yard's distance. 
 — ' I can give you nothing,' said Annesly, 
 * because 1 have nothing to give.' — ' Damn 
 you,' returned the other, ' do you think I'll be 
 fobbed off so ? Your money and be damn'd to 
 you, or I'll send you to hell in a twinkling' — 
 advancing his pistol, at the same time, within 
 a hand's-breadth of his face. Annesly, at that 
 instant, struck up the muzzle with his arm, and 
 laying hold of the barrel, by a sudden wrench 
 forced the weapon out of the hands of the vil- 
 lain, who, not chusing to risk any farther com- 
 bat, made the best of his way down the alley, 
 and left Annesly master of his arms. He stood 
 for a moment entranced in tliowght. — ' Who- 
 ever thou art,' said he, ' I thank thee j by 
 Heaven, thou instructest and armest me j this 
 may provide for to-morrow, or make its provi- 
 sion unnecessary.' He now returned with a 
 hurried pace to the mouth of the alley, where, 
 in the shade of a jutting wall, he could mark, 
 unperceived, the objects on the street. He 
 had stood there but a few seconds, and began 
 already to waver in his purpose, when he saw 
 come out of the gaming-house, which he had 
 left, the very man who had plundered him of 
 liis all. The richness of the prize, with imme- 
 diate revenge, awakened together in his mind j
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLJ}. SO 
 
 and the suspicion of foul play, wliicli lii? com- 
 panion had hinted the niglit before, gave him 
 a sanction of something like justice '-, he waited 
 till the chair, in ^vhich the gamester was con- 
 veyed, came opposite to the place where he 
 stood j then covering his face with one hand, 
 and assuming a tone different from his natural, 
 he pulled out his pistol, and commanded the 
 leading chairman to stop. This effected, he 
 went up to the chair, and the gentleman within 
 having let down one of the glasses to know the 
 reason of its stop, the stopper clapped the pis- 
 tol to his breast, and threatened him with in- 
 stant death if he did not deliver his money. 
 The other, after some little hesitation, during 
 which Annesly repeated his threats with the 
 most horrible oaths, drew a purse of gold from 
 his pocket, which Annesly snatched out of his 
 liand, and running down the alley, made his 
 escape at the other end j and, after turning 
 through several streets, in different directions, 
 so as to elude pursuit, arrived safely at home 
 Avith the booty he had taken. 
 
 Meantime, the gamester returned to the 
 house he had just quitted, with the account of 
 liis disaster. The wliole fraternitv, who could 
 make no allowance for a robber of this sort, 
 were alarmed at the accident ; every one was 
 busied in inquiry, and a thousand questions 
 ■»vere asked about his appearance, his behaviour, 
 and the route he had taken. The chairmen, 
 who had been somewhat more possessed of 
 theifselvcs, at the time of tlie robbeiy, than 
 u 2
 
 (jO THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 
 
 their master, had remarked the circumstance 
 ©f the robber's Avanting his hat : this Avas no 
 sooner mentioned, than a buz ran tlirough the 
 company, that the young gentleman, who liad 
 gone oft' a little ^vhile before, had been observed 
 to be uncovered ^vhen he left the house j and 
 upon search made, his hat was actually found 
 with his name marked on the inside. This was 
 a ground of suspicion too strong to be over- 
 looked ', messengers were dispatched in quest 
 of the friend w ho had introduced him there the 
 preceding night j upon his being found, and ac- 
 quainting them of Annesly's lodgings, proper 
 warrants were obtained for a search. 
 
 VV hen that unfortunate young man arrived at 
 home, he w^as met on the stairs by the lady we 
 have formerly mentioned, who, in terms of the 
 bitterest reproach, interrupted with tears, in- 
 veighed against the cruelty of his neglect, in 
 thus leaving her to pine alone, without even the 
 common comforts of a misei-eble life. Her cen- 
 sure, indeed, was the more violent, as there was 
 little reason for its violence *, for she had that 
 moment dismissed at a back door, a gallant who 
 was more attentive than Annesly. He, who 
 could very well allow the grounds of her com- 
 plaint, only pleaded necessity for his excuse j 
 he could but mutter this apology in imperfect 
 irords, for the perturbation of his mind almost 
 deprived him of the powers of speech. Upon 
 ber taking notice of this, with much seeming 
 concern for his health, he beckoned her into a 
 chamber, and dashing the purse ou tlie floor.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. f)! 
 
 pointed to it Avitli a look ot" horror, as an answer 
 to her iipbraiclings. 
 
 * What have you done for this ?* said she 
 taking it up : He threw himself into a chair, 
 ^vithout answering a word. 
 
 At that moment, the officers of justice, ^vho 
 had lost no time in prosecuting their informa- 
 tion, entered the house ; and some of them, 
 accompanied by an attorney, employed bv the 
 gentleman who had been robbed, walked softly 
 up stairs to the room where Anncoly was, and 
 bursting into it before he could prepare for any 
 defence, laid hold of him in rather a violent 
 manner, which the lawyer observing, desired 
 them to use the gentleman civilly, till he should 
 ask him a few questions. ' I Avill answer none,' 
 said Annesly j ' do your duty.' * Then, Sir,' 
 replied the other, ' you must attend us to those 
 who can question you with better authority ; 
 and I must make bold* to secure this lady, till 
 she answer some questions also.' The lady 
 saved hira the trouble ; for being now pretty 
 well satisfied, that her hero was at the end of 
 liis career, she thought it most prudent to break 
 off" a connection where nothing was to be gained, 
 and make a merit of contributing her endea- 
 vours to bring the offender to justice. She 
 called, therefore, this leader of tlie party into 
 another room, and being informed by him that 
 the young gentleman was suspected of liaving 
 committed a robbery scarce an hour before, she 
 pulled out the purse which she had just received 
 from him, and asked the lawyer, if it was thnt
 
 92 TME MAN OF THE U'ORLlT- 
 
 Tivliich had been taken from his client ? * Ajf 
 that it is, I'll be sworn,' said he j * and here 
 (pouring out its contents) is the ring lie men- 
 tioned at the bottom.' — ' But,' said she, pausing 
 a little, * it nill prove the thing as ivell without 
 the guineas.' * 1 protest,' returned the lawyer, 
 * thou art a girl of excellent invention — Hum 
 — here are fourscore ; one half of them might 
 have been spent — or dropt out by the "way, or 
 — any thing may be supposed ; and so we shall 
 have twenty a-piece. — Some folks, to be sure, 
 would take more, but 1 love conscience in 
 those matters.' 
 
 Having finished this transaction, in such a 
 manner as might give no oil'ence to the con- 
 science of this honest pettifogger, they returned 
 to the prisoner, who contented himself with 
 darting a look of indignation at his female be- 
 trayer ; and, after being- some time in the cus- 
 tody of the lawyer and his assistants, he -was 
 carried, in the morning, along with her, before a 
 magistrate. The several circumstances I have 
 related being sworn to,"Annes]y was committed 
 to Newgate, and the gamester bound over tb 
 prosecute him at the next sessions, which ^v^re 
 iiot th« n verv distant.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 THE MISERIES OF HIM WHOSE PUNISHMENT IS IN- 
 FLICTED BY CONSCILNCE. 
 
 1 HOUGH Annesly must have suflered muclidur- 
 ing tlie agitation of these proceedings, yet that 
 was little to what he felt, when left to reflection, 
 in the solitude of his new abode. Let the vir- 
 tuous remember, amidst their affliction, that 
 though the heart of the good man may bleed 
 even to death, it will never feel a torment equal 
 to the rendiugs of remorse. 
 
 For some time the whirling of his brain gave 
 him no leisure to exercise any faculty that could 
 be termed thinking j when that sort of delirium 
 subsided, it left him only to make room for more 
 exquisite though less turbulent anguish. 
 
 After he had visited every corner of resource, 
 and found them all dark and comfortless, he 
 started at last from that posture of despair in 
 which he sat, and turning the glare of his eye 
 intently upwards : — 
 
 * Take back,' said he, * thou Power that 
 gavest me being ! take back that life which 
 thou didst breathe into me for the best of pur- 
 poses, but which I have profaned by actions 
 equally mischievous to thy government, and ig- 
 nominious to myself. The passions which thou 
 didst implant in me, that reason which should 
 balance t!iem is unable to withstand; from one 
 tnly 1 received useful admonition ^ the sham©
 
 94 THE MAN OF THE WORLHi 
 
 that could not prevent, now punishes my crimes* 
 Her voice for once 1 will obey^ and leave a 
 state, in which if I remain, I continue a blot to 
 nature, and an enemy to man.' 
 
 He drew a penknife, now his only weapon, 
 from its sheath — he bared his bosom for the 
 horrid deed — when the picture of his father, 
 which the good man had bestowed on him at 
 parting, and he had v,'orn ever since in his bo- 
 som, struck his eye — (it was drawn in the mild- 
 ness of holy meditation, Vvith the hands folded 
 together, and the eyes lifted toheaTen), ' Mer- 
 ciful God I' said Annesly — he would have ut- 
 tered a prayer 5 but his soul was wound up to- 
 a pitch that could but one way be let down — 
 he fluntr himself on the g-round, and burst into 
 an agony of tears. 
 
 The door of the apartment opening, disco- 
 vered the jailor, folloAved by Sir Thomas Sin- 
 dall — ' My friend in this place!' said he to An- 
 nesly, — who covered his face with his hands, 
 and replied only by a groan. 
 
 Sindall made signs for the keeper of the pri- 
 son to leave them : — ' Come,' said he, ' my dear 
 Annesly, be not so entirely overcome ; ] flatter 
 myself, you know my friendship too well to 
 suppose that it will desert you even here. I 
 may, perhaps, have opportunities of comforting 
 you in many waysj at least I shall feel and pity 
 your distresses.' — ' Leave me,' answered the 
 other, * leave me ; I deserve no pity, and me- 
 thinks there is a pride in refusing it.' — ' You 
 must not say so j my love has much to plead
 
 THE MAy OF THE WORLD. Q5 
 
 for you J nor are you ^vithout excuse even to 
 the world.' — * Oh I Sindall,' said he, ' I am 
 without excuse to myself! when I look back to 
 that peace of mind, to that happiness I have 
 squandered I — I will not curse, but — Oh ! Fool, 
 fool, fool !' — ' I would not,' said Sir Thomas, 
 ' increase that anguish which you feel, were I 
 not obliged to mention the name of your father.' 
 — ' My father I' cried Annesly ; 'O hide me 
 from my father I' — 'Alas I' replied Sindall, ' he 
 must hear of your disaster from other hands ; 
 s.nd it were cruel not to acquaint him of it in a 
 way that should wound him the least.' — An- 
 nesly gazed with a look of entrancement on his 
 picture ; * Great God !' said he, * for what hast 
 thou reserved me? Sindall, do what thou wilt 
 — think not of such a wretch as I am *, but mi- 
 tigate, if thou canst, the sorrows of a father, 
 the purity of whose bosom must bleed for the 
 •vices of mine.' — ' Fear not,' returned Sir 
 Thomas ; ' I hope all will be better than you 
 imagine. It grows late, and I must leave you 
 now ; but promise rue to be more composed for 
 the future. I will see you again early to-mor- 
 row ; nor will 1 let a moment escape that can 
 be improved to your service.' — ' I must think,' 
 said Annesly, 'and therefore I must feel 5 but 
 1 will often remember your friendship, and my 
 ^Tatitude shall be some little merit left in me to 
 look upon Avithout blushing.' 
 
 Sintlall bade him farewell, and retired ; and 
 at tiiat instant he was less a villaiu than he used 
 It) be. The state of horror to which he sa^T
 
 96 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 this young man reduced, Avas beyond tlie liniiu 
 of his scheme: and he began to look upon the 
 victim of his designs ^vith that pity which de- 
 pravity can feel, and that remorse Avliich it can- 
 not overcome. 
 
 CHziP. XVII. 
 
 HIS FATHER IS ACQUAINTED WITH ANNESLt's 
 SITUATION — HIS BEilAViOUll IN CONSEQUENCE 
 OF IT. 
 
 1 HAT letter to old Annesly, which Sindall had 
 undertaken to write, he found a more difficult 
 task than at first he imaoined. The solicitude 
 
 o 
 
 of his friendship might have been easily ex- 
 pressed on more common occasions, and liypo- 
 crisy to him was usually no unpleasing garb; 
 but at this crisis of Annesly's fate, there Avere 
 feelings he could not suppress; and he blushed 
 to himself, amidst the protestations of concern 
 and regard, with which this account of his mis- 
 fortune (as he termed it) was accompanied. 
 
 Palliated, as it was, with all the art of Sir 
 Thomas, it may be easily conceived what effect 
 it must have on the mind of a father j a father 
 at this time labouring under the pressure of 
 disease, and confined to a sick bed, whose inter- 
 vals of thought were now to be pointed to the 
 misery, the disgiace, perhaps the disgraceful 
 death, of a daiiini? cliild. Hi* Harriet, after
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 97 
 
 tlie liist shock Avhicli the dreatlful tidings had 
 given her, sat by him, stilling the terrors of her 
 gentle soul, and speaking comfort when her tears 
 would let her. 
 
 Plis grief was aggravated, from the considera- 
 tion of being at present unable to attend a son, 
 wh.ose calamities, though of his own procuring, 
 called so loudly for support and assistance. 
 
 ' Unworthy as your brother is, my Harriet,' 
 said he, * he is my son and your brother stil! •, 
 and must he languish amid the horrors of a 
 prison, without a parent or a sister to lessen 
 them ? The prayers which I can put up from 
 this sick-bed are all the aid I can minister to 
 him; but your presence might soothe his an- 
 guish, and alleviate his sutlerings. A^ ith re- 
 gard to this life, perhaps — Do not weep my love 
 — -But you might lead him to a reconciliation 
 Avith that Being whose sentence governs eter- 
 nity I Would it frighten my Harriet to visit a 
 dungeon ? — ' Could 1 leave my dearest father,' 
 said she, * no place could frighten me where 
 
 my poor Billy is' ' Then you shall go, my 
 
 child, and I shall be the better ioi' thinking tliat 
 you are with him. Tell him, though he has 
 wrung my heart, it has not forgotten him. That 
 he should have forgotten me is little; let him 
 but now remember, that there is another Father 
 whose pardon is more momentous.' 
 
 Harriet luiving therefore intrusted her father 
 to the friendship of Mrs Wistanly, set out, ac- 
 companied by a niece of that gentlewoman's, 
 who had been on a visit to her aunt, for tiic 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 98 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 metropolis, ^vlicre slie arrived a few days before 
 that which was appointed for the trial of her 
 unhappy brother. 
 
 Though it was late in the evening when they 
 reached London, yet Harriet's impatience 
 would not suffer her to sleep till she had seen 
 the poor prisoner ^ and notwithstanding the re- 
 monstrances of her companion, to whom her 
 aunt had reconnnendcd the tendrrest concern 
 about her young friend, she called a hackney- 
 coach immediately, to convey her to the place 
 in which Annesly was confined ; and her fel- 
 low-traveller, when her dissuasions to going 
 had failed, very obligingly offered to accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 They were conducted, by the turnkey, through 
 a gloomy passage, to the wretched apartment 
 which Annesly occupied j they found him sit- 
 ting at a little table, on which he leaned, with 
 his hands covering his face. When they en- 
 tered he did not change his posture j but on 
 the turnkey's speaking, for his sister was unable 
 to speak, he started up, and exhibited a coun- 
 tenance pale and haggard, his eyes bloodshot, 
 and his hair dishevelled. On discovering his 
 sister, a blush crossed his cheek, and the hor- 
 ror of his aspect was lost in something milder 
 and more piteous — * Oh! my Billy !' she cried, 
 and sprung forward to embrace him : * This is 
 too much,' said he ; ' leave and forget a wretch 
 unworthy the name of thy brother.' — ' Would 
 my Billy kill me quite? this frightful place has 
 almost killed nx^ already I Alas I Billv, m\ dear-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLI>. 9S 
 
 Harriet, that namr, that 
 name I speak not of my father I' — ' Ah !' saitl 
 she, * if you knew his ooodness j he sent nie to 
 comfort and support my brother j he sent me 
 from liimself, stretched on a sick-bed, where 
 his Harriet should have tended hinv.' — ' On ! 
 cursed, carded !' — ' Nay, do not curse, my 
 ]}(lly, he sends you nonej his prayers, his bless- 
 ings, rise for you to heaven ; his forgiveness 
 he bade me convey you, and tell you to seek 
 that of the Father of all (roodoess I' — Kis sis- 
 ter's hands were clapped in his j he lifted both 
 together : ' If thou canst hear me,' said he — ' I 
 dare not pray for myself; but spare a father 
 whom my crimes have made miserable *, let me 
 abide the v/rath I have deserved, but weigh 
 not down his age for my offences j punish it 
 not with the remembrance of mel' He fell oa 
 his sister's neck, and they mingled their tears 5 
 nor could the young lady who attended Har- 
 riet, or the jailor himself, forbear accompany- 
 ing them j this last, however, recovered him- 
 self rather sooner than the other, and reminded 
 them it was late, and that he must lock up for 
 the night. — * Good night then, my Harriet,' 
 said Annesly. * And must we separate ?' an- 
 swered his sister ) ' could I not sit and support 
 that distracted head, and close those haggard 
 eyes ?' — ' Let me intreat you,' returned her 
 brother, * to leave me and compose yourself 
 after the fatif^ues of your journey, and the per- 
 turbation of your mind •, I feel myself comforted 
 and refreshed by the sight of my Harriet, i
 
 100 THE MAM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ^vlll try to sleep myself, which T have not done 
 those four gloomy nights, unless, perhaps, for a 
 few moments, when the torture of my dreams 
 made waking a deliverance. Good night, my 
 dearest Harriet.' She could not say, jjooil 
 night, but she wept it. 
 
 CHxiP. XMII. 
 
 HIS SISTER PAYS HIM ANOTHER VISIT — A DESCRIP- 
 TION OF WHAT PASSED IN THE PRISON. 
 
 J.T was late before Harriet could think even 
 of ooingj to bed, and later before her mind could 
 be quieted enough to allow her any sleep. But 
 nature was at last worn outj and the fatigue 
 of her journey, together with the conflict of her 
 soul in the visit she had just made, had so ex- 
 hausted her, that it was towards noon next day ^ 
 before she awaked. After having chid herself ! 
 for her neglect, she hurried away to her nuich- 
 loved brother, whom she found attended by that 
 baronet, to whose good offices I have had so 
 frequent occasion to show him indebted in the 
 course of my story. 
 
 At sight of him, her cheek was flashed with 
 tlie mingled glow of shame for her brother, 
 and gratitude towards his benefactor. He ad- 
 vanced to salute her j when, with the tears 
 startinsx into her eves, she fell on her knees 
 
 '^3
 
 THE IvrAN OF THE WORLD. lOt 
 
 before him, and poured forth a pra\er of hles.s- 
 ings on his head. There could not, perhaps, 
 be a figure more lovely or more striking than 
 that wliich she then exhibited. The lustre of 
 her eyes, heightened by those tears with which 
 the overflowing of her heart supplied thtm ; 
 the glow of her complexion, animated with the 
 suffusion of tenderness and gratitude ; these, 
 joined to the easy negligence of her dark 
 brown locks, that waved ia ringlets on her 
 panting bosom, made altogether such an as- 
 semblage as beauty is a word too weak for. 
 So forcibly, indeed, was Sindall struck with it, 
 that some little time passed before he thought 
 of lifting her from the ground ; he looked his 
 very soul at every glance j but it was a soul 
 unworthy of the object on which he gazed, 
 brutal, unfeeling, and inhuman ; he considered 
 her, at that moment, as already within the 
 reach of his machinations, and feasted the 
 grossness of his fancy with th^ anticipation of 
 her undoing. 
 
 And here let me pause a little, to consider 
 that account of pleasure which the votaries of 
 voluptuousness have frequently stated. I al- 
 low for all the delight which Sindall could ex- 
 perience for the present, or hope to experience 
 in the future. I consider it abstracted from 
 its consequences, and I will venture to affirm, 
 that there is a truer, a more exquisite volup- 
 tuary than he — Ha<l Virtue- been now looking 
 on the figure of beauty and of innocence I 
 have attempted to draw — I see the purpose of 
 I 2
 
 102 THi: MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Lcnevolence beaming in his eye ! — Its throb is 
 swelling in his heart !— He clasps her to his 
 bosom j — he kisses the falling drops from her 
 cheek. : — he weeps with her : — and the luxury 
 of his tears baffles description. 
 
 Bat whatever were Sir Thomas's sensations 
 at the sight of Harriet, they were interrupted 
 by the jailor, who now entered the room, and 
 informed him that a gentleman without was 
 earnest to speak with him. ' Who can it be ?' 
 said Sir Tiiomas somewhat peevishly. ' If I 
 am not mistaken,' replied the jailor, it is a 
 gentleman of the name of Camplin, a lawyer, 
 whom I have seen here with some of the pri- 
 soners before.' — ' This is he of wliom I talked 
 to you, my dear Annesly,' said the baronet j 
 ' let me introduce him to you.' — ' I liave taken 
 my resolcticn,' returned Annc-^ly, * and shall 
 have no nesd of lawyers for my defence.' — ' It 
 must not be,' rejoined the other 3 and going 
 out of tlie room, he presently returned with Mr 
 Camplin. All this while, Harriet's looks be- 
 trayed the strongest symptoms of terror and 
 perplexity j and when the stranger appeared, 
 she drew nearer and nearer to her brother, 
 v.'lth an involuntary sort of motion, till she had 
 twined his arm into her's, and placed lierself 
 between him and Camplin. This last observed 
 her fears, for indeed ,she bent her eyes most 
 fixedly upon him , and making her a bow, ' Be 
 not afraid. Miss,' said he, * here are nv)ne but 
 friends. 1 learn, Sir, that your day is now 
 very near, and that it is time to be thinkiutj of
 
 THE MAN OF THt: WORLD. 103 
 
 the business of It.' ' Gootl Heavens !' cried 
 Harriet, * what clay ?' ' Make yonr^scit' easy, 
 Madam,' continncd Camplin j ' beinir the iirst 
 trip, I hope lie may fall soft for this time y J 
 believe nobody doubts my abilities , I have 
 saved many a bra,ve man from the gallows, 
 whose case was more desperate than. I take this 
 voung gentleman's to be.' — Tiie colour, which 
 had been varying on her cheek during this 
 speech, now left it for a dead pale , and turn- 
 ing her languid eyes upon her brother, she fell 
 motionless into his arms. He supported her to 
 a chair that stood near him, and darting an in- 
 dignant look at the lawyer, begged of the 
 Jailor to procure her some immediate assistance. 
 iSindall, who was kneeling on the other side of 
 lier, ordered Camplin, who was advancing to 
 make offer of his services too, to be gone, and 
 send them the first surgeon he could find. A 
 surgeon, indeed, had been already procured, 
 5vho officiated in the prison, for the best of all 
 reasons, because he ^vas not at liberty to leave 
 it. The jailor now made his appearance, -with 
 a bottle ol wine in one hand, and some water 
 in the other 5 follovved by a tall, meagre, 
 rag«^cd figure, who, striding up to Harriet, 
 applied a small vial of volatile salt to her nose, 
 and chafing her temples, soon brought her t« 
 sense and life a'i;ai:i. Annesly pressing her to 
 his bosom, begged her to recollect herself, and 
 forget her fears. ' Pardon this weakness, my 
 dear Billy,' said she, * I will try to overcome 
 it: is that horrid \mu\ gone ? wlio is this g€n-
 
 104^ THE MAN OF TKE WORLD. 
 
 tleman ?' * I have the honour to be a doctor 
 of physic, madam,' said he, clapping at the 
 same time his greasy fingers to her pulse : * here 
 is a fullness that calls for venesection.' 80 
 without loss of time he pulled out a case of 
 lancets covered with rust, and spotted with the 
 "blood of former patients, * Oh ! for Heaven's 
 sake, no bleeding,' cried Harriet, ' indeed 
 there is no occasion for it.' ' How, no occa- 
 sion !' exclaimed the other j ' I have heard, in- 
 deed, some ignorants condemn phlebotomy in 
 such cases j but it is my practice, and I am 
 very well able to defend it. — It will be allowed, 
 that in plethoric habits' — ' Spare your demon- 
 stration,' inteiTupted Annesly, * and think of 
 your patient.' ' You shall not blood me,' said 
 she j * you shall not indeed, Sir !' ' Nay, ma- 
 dam,* said he, * as you please \ you are to 
 know that the operation itself is no part of my 
 profession ^ it is only propter necessitatem, for 
 want of chirurgical practitioners, that I some- 
 times condescend to it in this place.' Sir 
 Thomas gave him a hint to leave them, and at 
 the same time slipped a guinea into his hand. 
 He immediately retired, looking at the unusual 
 appearance of the gold with a joy that made 
 him forget the obstinacy of his patient, and 
 her rejection of his assistance. 
 
 Annesly, assisted by his friend, used every 
 possible argument to comfort and support his 
 sister. His concern for her had indeed banish- 
 ed for a while the consideration of his own 
 state J and when he came to think of that so-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. lOo 
 
 lemn day, on Avhich the trial for his life "vvas 
 appointed, his concern wsCs more interested for 
 its effect on his Harriet, than for that it should 
 have on himself. 
 
 After they had passed great part of the day 
 touether, Sir Thomas observed, that Miss An- 
 ncsly's present lodgings (in the house of her 
 fellow-traveller's father) were so distant, as to 
 occasion much inconvenience to her in her vi- 
 sits to her brother ; and very kindly made offer 
 of endeavouring to procure her others but a few 
 streets off, under the roof of a gentlevv'oman, he 
 said, an officer's widow of his acquaintance, 
 who, if she had any apartment unoccupied at 
 the time, he knew would be as attentive to Miss 
 Annesly as if she were a daughter of her ovm. 
 
 This proposal was readily accepted , and Sir 
 Thomas having gone upon the inquiry, return- 
 ed in the evening with an account of his iiaving 
 succeeded in procuring the lodgings ; that he 
 liad taken the liberty to call and fetch Miss 
 Annesly's baggage from those she had formerly 
 occupied, and that every thing was ready at 
 Mrs Eldridge's (that was the widow's name) 
 for her reception. After supper he conducted 
 her thither accordingly. 
 
 As he was going out, Annesly whispered him 
 to return for a few minutes after he had set 
 down his sister, as he had something particular 
 to communicate to him. When he came back, 
 * You have jjcard, i fancy, Sir Thomas,' said 
 he, * that the next day but one is the day of my 
 *<Ial. Ab to myself, I wait it with resignation,
 
 106 THE MAN OF THE WORLS. 
 
 and shall not give any trouble to my counliy 
 by a false defence ; but I tremble for my sister's 
 knowing it. Could we not contrive some me- 
 thod of keeping her in ignorance of its appoint- 
 ment till it be over, and then prepare iier for 
 the event, without subjecting her ta the tor- 
 tures of anxiety and suspense ?' Sindall agreed 
 in the propriety of the latter part of this scheme, 
 and they resolved to keep his sister that day at 
 home, on pretence of a meeting in the prison 
 between the lawyers of Annesly, and those of 
 his prosecutor. But he warmly insisted, that 
 Annesly should accept the services of Camplin 
 towards conducting the cause on his part. 
 * Endeavour not to persuade me, my fiiend,' 
 said Annesly j ' for I now^ rest satisj&ed with my 
 determination. I thank Heaven, which has en- 
 abled me to rely on its goodness, and meet my 
 fate with the full possession of myself. 1 will 
 not disdain the mercy which my country may 
 think 1 merit v but I will not entangle myself 
 in chicane and insincerity to avoid her justice.' 
 
 CHAP. XTX. 
 
 THE FATE OF ANNESLY DETERiMINED. SIN'- 
 
 DALl's FKIENDSHIP, and the GKATITUDE OT 
 HARRIET. 
 
 ■Tn OTHING remarkable happened till that day 
 when the fate of Annesly was to be determined 
 by the law s of his country. The project fornv= 
 
 /
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. l07 
 
 ed by Sindall and himself, for keeping liis sister 
 ignorant of its importance, succeeded to their 
 wish ', she spent it at home, comfortin;! herself 
 ivith the hope, that the meeting she understood 
 to be held on it, might turn out advantageously 
 for her brother, and soothed by the kindness of 
 her landlady, ^vho had indeed fuily answered 
 Sir Thomas's expectations in the attention she 
 Lad shewn her. 
 
 Meanwhile her unfortunate brother was 
 brought to the bar, indicted for the robbery 
 committed on the gamester. When he was 
 asked, in the customary manner, to plead, he 
 stood up, and, addressing himself to the judge — 
 
 ' I am now, my lord,' said he, ' in a situation 
 of all others the most solemn. I stand in the 
 presence of God and my country, and I am 
 called to confess or deny that crime for which 
 I have incurred the judgment of both. If I 
 have offended, my lord, 1 am not yet an obdu- 
 rate offender j I fly not to the subterfuge of 
 villany, thouoh I have fallen from the dignity 
 of innocence j and I will not screen a life whicli 
 my crimes have disgraced, by a coward lie to 
 prevent their detection. I plead guilty, my 
 lord, and await the judgment of that law, which, 
 though 1 have violated, I have not forgotten to 
 revere.' 
 
 When he ended, a confused murmur ran 
 through the Court, and for some time stopped 
 the judge in his reply. Silence obtained, that 
 upright magistrate, worthy the tribunal of 
 England, spoke to this effect:
 
 108 THE MAN OF THE WORLf). 
 
 * I am sincerely sorry, young gentleman, to 
 see one of your figure at this bar, cliarged Avitli 
 a crime for which the public safety has ijecn 
 obliged to avv-ard an exemplary punishment. 
 Much as I admire the heroism of your confes- 
 sion, I will not suffer advantage to be taken of 
 it to your prejudice •, reflect on the conse- 
 quences of a plea of guilt, which takes from 
 you all opportunity of a legal defence, and 
 speak again, as your own discretion, or your 
 friends, may best advise you.' ' 1 humbly thank 
 your lordship,' said Annesly, ' for the candour 
 and indulgence which you show me ', but I 
 have spoken the truth, and will not allow my- 
 self to think of retracting it.' * I am here,' re- 
 turned his lordship, * as the dispenser of jus- 
 tice, and T have nothing but justice to give j 
 the province of mercy is in other hands j if, 
 upon inquiry, the case is circumstanced as I 
 wish it to be, my recommendation shall not be 
 wanting to enforce an application there.' An- 
 nesly was then convicted of the robbery, and 
 the sentence of the law passed upon him. 
 
 But the judge before whom he was tried was 
 not unmindful of his promise j and having sa- 
 tisfied himself, that though guilty in this in- 
 stance, he w-as not habitually flagitious, he as- 
 sisted so warmly the applications v/hich, through 
 the interest of Sindall, (for Sindall was in tliis 
 sincere) ,^ were made in his behalf, that a par- 
 don was obtained for him, on the condition of 
 his suffering transportatien for the term of four- 
 teen years.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. J 09 
 
 This alleviation of his punishment was pro- 
 cured, before his sister was suffered to know 
 that his trial had ever come on, or what had 
 been its event. ^\hen his fate was by this 
 means determined, Sindall undertook to in- 
 struct the lady in Avhose house he had placed 
 her, that Miss Annesly should be acquainted 
 with the circumstances of it in such a manner 
 as might least discompose that delicacy and 
 tenderness of which her mind was so suscep- 
 tible. The event ansvvered his expectation ; 
 that good woman seemed possessed of as much 
 address as humanity ; and Harriet, by the in- 
 tervention of both, was led to the knov.ledg* 
 of her brother's situation with so much pru- 
 dence, that she bore it at first with resigna^ 
 tion, and afterwards looked upon it with thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 After that acknowledgment to Providence, 
 which she had been early instructed never to 
 forget, there was an inferior agent in this af- 
 fair, to whom her warmest gratitude was de- 
 , voted. Besides that herself h.ad the highest 
 opinion of Sindall's good offices, her obliging 
 landlady had taken every opportunity, since 
 their acquaintance began, to sound forth liis 
 praises in the most extravagant strain*, and, on 
 the present occasion, her encomiums were loud, 
 , in proportion as Harriet's happiness was con- 
 cerned in the event. 
 
 Sir .Thomas, therefore, began to be consi- 
 dered by the young lady as the worthiest of 
 friends ; jjis own language bore the stiongest 
 VOL. II. K
 
 110 THE MAN OF THB WORLD. 
 
 expressions of friendship — of friendship, and 
 Eo more •, but the ^vidow %vould often insinuate 
 that he felt more than he expressed ; and ^vhen 
 Harriet's spirits could hear a little raillery, her 
 landlady did not want for jokes on the subject. 
 
 These suggestions of another have a greater 
 effect than is often imagined j they are heard 
 with an ease which does not alarm, and the 
 mind habituates itself to take up such a credit 
 on their truth as it would be sorry to lose, 
 though it is not at the trouble of examining. 
 Harriet did not seriously think of Sindall as of 
 one that was her lover j but she began to make 
 s\ich arrangements, as not to be surprised if he 
 should. 
 
 One morning, when Sir Thomas had called 
 to conduct her on a visit to her brother, Mrs 
 Eldridge rallied him at breakfast on his being 
 still a bachelor. * AVhat is your opinion. Miss 
 Annesly,' said she 5 ' is it not a shame for one 
 of Sir Thomas's fortune not to make some wor- 
 thy woman happy in the participation of it ?' 
 Sindall submitted to be judged by so fair an 
 arbitress j he said, * the manners of the court- 
 ladies, whose example had stretched unhappily 
 too far, Avere such as made it a sort of venture 
 to be married j' he then paused for a moment, 
 sighed, and, fixing his eyes upon Harriet, drew 
 such a picture of the woman whom he would 
 chuse for a wife, that she must have had some 
 sillier qualities than mere modesty about her, 
 not to have made some guess at his meaning. 
 In short, though she was as little wanting in
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. Ill 
 
 delicacy as most women, she began to feel a 
 certain interest in the good opinion of Sindall, 
 and to draw some conclusions from his deport- 
 ment, which, for the sake of my fair readers, 
 I would have them remember, are better to be 
 slowly understood than hastily indulged. 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT, WHICH MAY POSSIBLY BE IMAGIN- 
 ED SOMEWHAT MOKE THAN ACCIDENTAL. 
 
 1 HOUGH the thoughts of Annesly's future si- 
 tuation could not but be distressful to his sister 
 and him, yet the deliverance from greater evils, 
 which they bad experienced, served to enliglifeii 
 the prospect of those tliey feared. His father, 
 whose consolation always attended the cala- 
 mity he could neither prevent nor cure, ex- 
 horted his son (In an answer to the account his 
 sister and he had transmitted him of the events 
 contained in the preceding chapter) to liave a 
 proper sense of the mercy of his God and his 
 king, and to bear what was a mitigation of his 
 punishment with a fortitude and resignation 
 becoming the subject of both. The same let- 
 ter informed his children, that though he was 
 not well enough recovered to be able to travel, 
 yet he was gaining ground on his distemper, 
 and hoped, as the season advanced, to get the
 
 112 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 better of it altogether. He sent that Llessing 
 to his son, ^vliich he was prevented from be- 
 stowing personally, with a credit for any sum 
 whicli he might have occasion for against his 
 approaching departure. 
 
 His children received additional comfort 
 from the good accounts of tlieir father which 
 this letter contained j and even in Anncsly'^ 
 piison, there were some intervals in which they 
 ibrgot the fears of parting, and indulged them- 
 selves in temporary happiness. 
 
 It was during one of these, that Sindall ob- 
 served to Harriet how little she possessed the 
 curiosity her sex was charged with, who had 
 never once thought of seeing any thing iu 
 London that strangers were most solicitous to 
 see y and proposed that very night to conduct 
 her to the playhouse, where the royal family 
 were to be present, at the representation of sl 
 new ccmedy. 
 
 Harriet turned a melancholy look towards 
 her brother, and made answer, that she could 
 not think of any amusemrnt that should subject 
 him to hours of solitude in a prison. 
 
 ■Upon this Annesly was earnest in pressing 
 her to accept Sir Thomas's invitation ', he said 
 she knew how often he chose to be alone, at 
 times when he could most command society ; 
 and that he should hnd an additional pleasure 
 in theirs, wlien they returned to him, frauglit 
 Avith the intelligence of the play. 
 
 ' But there is something unbecoming in it,' 
 »aid Harriet, ' in the eyes of others.'
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 113 
 
 • That objection,' replied Sindall, * will be 
 easily removed ; we shuU go, accompanied by 
 Mrs Eldridge, to the gallery, where even those 
 who have many acquaintance in town are dress- 
 ed so much in the incognito way, as never to be 
 discovered.' 
 
 Annesly repeated his intreaties, Mrs Eldridge 
 seconded, Sindall enforced them ^ and all three 
 urged so many arguments, that Harriet was at 
 last overcome j and to the play they accord- 
 ingly went. 
 
 Though this was the first entertainment of 
 the sort at which Harriet had ever been pre- 
 sent, yet the thoughts of her absent brother, in 
 whose company all her former amusements had 
 been enjoyed, so much damped the pleasure she 
 should have felt from this, that as soon as the 
 play was over, she begged of her conductor to re- 
 turn, much against the desire of Mrs Eldridge, 
 who entreated them to indulcre her by staying 
 the farce. But Harriet seeme d so uneasy at 
 the thoughts of a longer absenc e from her bro- 
 ther, that the others solicitations were at last 
 over-ruled ; and making shift to get through the 
 crowd, they left the house, and set out in a 
 hackney-coach on ther return. 
 
 They had got the lena;th of two or three 
 streets on their way, when the coachman, who 
 indeed had the appearance of being exceedingly 
 drunk, drove them against a post, by which ac- 
 cident one of the wheels was broken to pieces, 
 and the carriage itself immediat*^lv overturned. 
 Sindall had luckily put down the glass on that 
 K 2
 
 JI4 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 siilc but a moment before, to look jit some- 
 thing-, so that they escaped any mischief whicli 
 might have ensued from the breakings of it*, and, 
 except the ladies being extremely frightened, no 
 bad conseqnences followed. This disaster hap- 
 pened just at the door of a tavern *, the mistress 
 of which, seeing the discornposure of the ladies, 
 very politely begged them to step into her own 
 room, till they could re-adjust themselves, and 
 procure anoth.er coach from a neifihbouring 
 stand, for which she promised immediately to 
 dispatch one of her servants. All tiiis while Sir 
 Thomas was venting his wrath against the coach- 
 man, continumg to cane him most unmercifully, 
 till stopped by the intercession of Hairiet and 
 Mrs Eldridge, and prevailed upon to accom- 
 pany them into the house, at the obliging re- 
 quest of its jnistress. He asked pardon for 
 giving way to liis passion, which apprehension 
 for their safety, he said, had occasioned j and 
 taking Harriet's hand with a look of the utmost 
 tenderness, inquired if she felt no hurt from tlie 
 fall ? Upon her answering, that, except the 
 fright, she was perfectly well j ' then all is well,' 
 said he, pressing her hand to his bosom, which 
 lObe to meet it with a sigh. 
 
 He then called for a bottle of Madeira, of 
 which his companions drank each a glass •, but 
 upon his presenting another, Mrs Eldridge de- 
 clared she never tasted any thing between 
 meals, and Harriet said that her head was al- 
 ready ?.fF( cted by the glajis she had taken. 
 This, however, he attributed to the eflcets ef
 
 i:::: .mix of ti-ie \7ov.lj). 113 
 
 t]}Q overturn, for uhich another oTiir.pcr vras an 
 ini'ullible rcr.ie^lv j anJ, on Mrs Klilriilgc'^i sct- 
 tinfT the example, though Avith the utmost reluc- 
 tance, Harriet was prevailed upon to follow it. 
 
 She was seated on a setee at the upper end 
 of the room, Sindall sat on a chair by her, and 
 Mrs Eldridi,-e, from choice, was vralking about 
 the room i it somehow happened that, In a few 
 minutes, the last mentioned lady left her com- 
 panions by themselves. 
 
 Sindall, whose eyes had not been Idle before, 
 cast them now to the ground with a look of the 
 most feeling discomposure ; and gently lifting 
 them again, ' 1 know not,' said he, * most lovely 
 of women, whether 1 should venture to express 
 the sensations of my heart at this moment -, 
 that respect which ever attends a love so sin- 
 cere a? mine, has hitherto kept me silent ; but 
 the late accident, in which all that I hold dear 
 was endangered, has opened every sluice of ten- 
 derness in my soul, and I were more or less than 
 man, did I resist the impulse of declaring it.' 
 * This is no place, Sir,' — said Harriet, trembling, 
 and covered with blushes. — ' Kvery place,' 
 cried Sindall, ' is sacred to love, v\here my 
 Harriet is.' At the same time he threw^ him- 
 self on his knees before !:er, and imprinted a 
 thousand burning kisses on her hand. ' Let go 
 my hand. Sir Thomas,' she cried, lor voice 
 faultering, and lier cheek overspread with a 
 still higher glow : * Never, thou cruel one,' 
 Said he, (raising himself gently till he had 
 gained a place on the setec by her side}.
 
 116 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ' never, till you listen to the dictates of a passion 
 
 too violent to be longer resisted.' At that 
 
 instant some bustle was heard at the door, and 
 presently after, a voice, in a country accent, 
 vociferating, * It is my neighbour's own daugh- 
 ter, and I must see her immediately.' — The 
 door burst open, and discovered Jack Ryland, 
 Mrs Eldrldge following him, with a countenance 
 not the most expressive of good-humour. 
 
 ' Ryland !' exclaimed the baronet, * what is 
 the meaning of this •,' advancing towards him 
 with an air of fierceness and indignation, which 
 the other returned with a hearty shake by the 
 hand, saying, he w^as rejoiced to find Miss Har- 
 riet in so good company. — ' Dear Mr Ryland,' 
 said she, * a little confusedly, I am happy to see 
 you j but it is odd — I cannot conceive — tell us, 
 as Sir Thomas was just now asking, how you 
 came to find us out here ?' 
 
 * Why, you must understand. Miss,' returned 
 Jack, * that I have got a little bit of a legacy 
 left me bv a relation here in London j as I w^as 
 coming up on that business, I thought I could 
 do no less than ask vour worthy father's com- 
 mands for you and Mr ^\illiani. So we settled 
 matters, that, as our times, 1 believe, -will agree 
 well enough, I should have the pleasure, if you 
 are not otherwise engaged, of conducting you 
 home again. I came to town only this day, 
 and after having eat a mutton-chop at the inn 
 where I lighted, and got mvself into a little de- 
 cent trim, I set out from a place they call Pic- 
 cadilly, I think, asklnrjevei-y body I met which
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. H7 
 
 ^vas the shortest road to Newgate, where 1 
 luulerstood your brother was to be found. But 
 I was like to make a marvellous long journey 
 on't ; for besides that it is a huge long way, as 
 1 Mas told, I hardly met with one person that 
 would give a mannerly answer io my questions : 
 to be sure they are the most hunioursome 
 people here in London, that I ever saw in my 
 life ) when 1 asked the road to Newgate, one 
 told me, J was not likely to be long in finding 
 it 5 another bade me cut the first throat 1 met, 
 and it would shew me ; and a deal of such out- 
 of-the-way jokes. At last, while I was looking 
 round for some civil-like body to inquire of, 
 who should I see whip past me in a coach, but 
 yourself with that lady, as I take it j upon 
 which I hallooed out to the coachman to stop, 
 but he did not hear me, as I suppose, and 
 drove on as hard as ever. I followed him close 
 at the heels for some time, till the stroet he 
 turned into being much darker than where I 
 saw you first, by reason there were none of 
 your torches blazing there, I fell headlong into 
 a rut in the middle of it, and lost sight of ihe 
 carriage before I could recover myself. Hov.- 
 cvcr, I ran down a right-hand road, which I 
 guessed ycu Jiad taken, asking any body 1 
 thought would give me an answer, if they had 
 seen a coach with a handsome young woman 
 in't, drawn by a pair of dark bays ; but, I was 
 only laughed at for my p*ins, till \ fell in, by 
 chance, with a simple countryman liko myself, 
 .\i informed mc, that he had seen such a ona
 
 118 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 overturned just before this here large house ; 
 and the door being open, I stept in without 
 more ado, till I happened to hear this lady 
 whispering something to another about Sir 
 Thomas Sindall, when I guessed that you might 
 be with him, as acquaintances wull find one 
 another out, you know j and so here I am, at 
 your service and Sir Thomas's.' 
 
 This history afforded as little entertainment 
 to his hearers as it may have done to the great- 
 est part of my readers *, but it gave Sir Tho- 
 mas and Harriet time enough to recover from 
 that confusion into which the appearance of 
 Kyland had thrown both of them *, though 
 with this difference, that Harriet's was free 
 from the guilt of Sindall's, and did not even 
 proceed from the least suspicion of any thing 
 criminal in the intentions of that gentleman. 
 
 Sir Thomas pretended great satisfaction in 
 having met with his acquaintance, Mr Ryland j 
 and, liaving obtained another hackney-coach, 
 they drove together to Newgate, where Jack 
 received a much sincerer welcome from An- 
 nesly, and they passed the evening with the 
 greatest satisfaction. 
 
 Not but that there was something unusual 
 in the bosom of Harriet, from the declaration 
 of her lover, and in his, from the attempt 
 which Providence had interposed to disappoint. 
 He consoled himself, however, with the re- 
 flection, that he had not gone such a length as 
 to alarm her simplicity, and took from the 
 mortification of the j)ast, by the hope of more 
 feuccessful villanv.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 119 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF ANNESLy's DEPARTURE. 
 
 J.T was not long before the time arrived, in 
 which Annesly was to bid adieu to his native 
 country, for the term which the mercy of his 
 sovereign had allotted for his punishment. He 
 behaved, at this juncture, with a determined 
 sort of coolness, not easily expected from one 
 of his warmth of feelings, at a time of life 
 when these are in their fullest vigour. His 
 sister, whose gentle heart began to droop under 
 the thoughts of their separation, he employed 
 every argument to comfort. He bade her re- 
 member, that it had been determined he should 
 be absent for some years before this necessity 
 of his absence had arisen.' ' Suppose me on 
 my travels,' said he, ' my Harriet, but for a 
 longer term, and the sum of this calamity is 
 exhausted ^ if there are hardships awaiting me, 
 think how I should otherwise expiate my follies 
 and my crimes. The punishments of Heaven, 
 our father has often told us, are mercies to its 
 children •, mine, I hope, will have a double ef- 
 fect 'y to wipe away my former ofiences, and 
 prevent my oflending for the future.' 
 
 He was actuated by the same steadiness of 
 spirit in the disposal of wiiat money his father's 
 credit enabled him to command. He called in 
 an exact acrount of his debts, those to Sindall 
 not excepted, and discharged them in full,
 
 120 THE MAN OF THE VrORLD. 
 
 mucli against the inclination of Sir Tliomag^ 
 ^vl)0 insisted, as much as in decency he could, 
 on cancelling every obligation of that sort to 
 himself. But Annesly was positive in his re- 
 soliilion j and after having cleared these incum- 
 brances, he embarked, with only a few shillings 
 in his pocket, saying, that he would never 
 pinch his father's age to mitigate the punish- 
 ment which his son jiad more than deserved. 
 
 There was another account to settle, which 
 I]e found a more difficult task. The parting 
 with his sister he knew not how to accomplish, 
 without such a pang as her tender frame could 
 very ill support. At length he resolved to take 
 at least from its solemnity, if he could not alle- 
 viate its ai-jfyuish. Having sat, therefore,, with 
 Ilarriet till past midnight, on the eve of his 
 departure, which he employed in renewing his 
 arguments of consolation, and earnestly recom- 
 mending to her to keep up those spirits Vv'hich 
 should support her father and herself, he pre- 
 tended a desire to sleep, appointed an hour for 
 ibreakfastinir with her in the mornino; : and so 
 soon as he could prevail on her to leave him, 
 he went on board the boat, which waited to 
 carry him, and some unfortunate coujpanions 
 of his voyage, to the ship destined to transport 
 lb em. 
 
 Sir Tiiomas accompanied him a little way 
 down the river, till, at the earnest desire of his 
 friend, he was carried ashore in a sculler, 
 which they happened to meet on their way. 
 "When they parted, Annesly v/rung his hand.
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 121 
 
 and dropplni^ a tear on it, -^vliicli hltlieito lie 
 had never allowed himself to shed, ' To my 
 faithful Sindall,' said he, * I leave a trust more 
 precious to this bosom than every other eartijly 
 good. Be the friend of my father, as you have 
 been that of his undeservino- son, and protect 
 my Harriet's youth, who has lost that protec- 
 tion a brother should have afforded her. If the 
 prayers of a wretched exile in a foreign land 
 can be heard of Heaven, the name of his friend 
 shall rise with those of a parent and a sister in 
 his hourly benedictions *, and if at any time you 
 shall bestow a thouglit upon him, remember 
 the only comfort of which adversity lias not 
 deprived him, the confidence of his Sindall's 
 kindness to those whom he has left weenino; 
 behind him.' 
 
 Such was the charge which Annesly gave 
 and Sindall received ; he received it with a 
 tear j a tear, which the better part of his na- 
 ture had yet reserved from the ruins of prin^ 
 ciple, of justice, of humanity. It fell involun- 
 tarily at the time, and he thought of it after- 
 wards with a blush — Such was the system of 
 self-applause which the refinements of vice had 
 taught him, and such is the honour she has 
 reared for the Vvorship of her votaries ! 
 
 Annesly kept his eyes fixed on the lights of 
 London, till the increasing distance deprived 
 them of their object. Nor did his imagination 
 fail him in the picture, after that help was 
 taken from him. The form of tlie weeping 
 Harriet, lovely in her grief, still swam before 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 122 THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 
 
 his sight ', on the back-ground stood a vener- 
 able figure, turning his eyes to heaven, ^vhlle a 
 tear that swelled in each dropped for the sacri- 
 fice of his sorrow, and a bending angel accepted 
 it as incense. 
 
 Thus, by a series of dissipation, so easy in its 
 progress, that, if my tale were fiction, it would 
 be thought too simple, was this unfortunate 
 young man lost to himself, his friends, and his 
 country. Take but a few incidents away, and 
 it is the history of thousands. Let not those, 
 who have escaped the punishment of Annesly, 
 look with indifference on the participation of 
 his guilt, nor suffer the present undisturbed 
 enjoyment of their criminal pleasures, to blot 
 from their minds the idea of future retribution. 
 
 CHAP. XXII. 
 
 HARRIET IS INFORM KD OF HER BROTHER'S DE- 
 PARTURfi,— SHE LEAVJES LONDON ON HER RE- 
 TURN HOME. 
 
 SiNDALL took upon hlmsclf the charge of com- 
 municating the inlelligence of Annesly's de- 
 parture to his sister. She received it w^ith an 
 entrancemenl of sorrow, which deprived her of 
 its expression J. and when at last her tears found 
 their way to utter it, * Is he gone ?' said she, 
 * and shall J never see him more ? cruc' BiHy I 
 Oil ! Sir Thomas, I bad a thousand things to
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 123 
 
 say! and has he left me without a single atlieu?' 
 — ' It was in kintlness to you, Miss Annesly,' 
 answered the baronet, * that he did so.' — ' I 
 believe you,' said she, ' I know it was *, and 
 yet, methinks, he should have bid me farewell 
 — I could have stood it, indeed ^ could — I am 
 not so weak as you think me ^ yet Heaven 
 knows I have need of strength' — and she burst 
 into tears again. 
 
 Sir Thomas did not want for expressions of 
 comfort or of kindness, nor did he fail, amidst 
 the assurances of his friendship, to suggest 
 those tender sensations which his bosom felt 
 on account of Miss Annesly. She gave him 
 a warmth of gratitude in return, which, though 
 vice may sometimes take advantage of it, vir- 
 tue can never blame. 
 
 His protestations were interrupted by the 
 arrival of Ryland, who had accidentally heard 
 of Annesly's embarkment. Jack had but few 
 words to communicate his feelings by ', but his 
 eyes helped them out with an honest tear. 
 * Your brother, I hear, is gone. Miss Harriet, 
 said he : ' well, Heaven bless him wherever he 
 goes !' 
 
 Haniet begged to know when it would suit 
 his convenience to leave London, saying, that 
 every day she stayed there now, would reproach 
 l)er absence from her father. Jack made an- 
 swer, that he could be ready to attend her at 
 an hour's warning-, for that his business in 
 London was finished, and as for pleasure, he 
 could find none in it. It was agreed, therefore,
 
 124 THE II AX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 contrary to the zealous advice of Sir Thomas 
 and Mrs Eldiidge, that Harriet should set off, 
 accompanied by Mr Ryland, the very next 
 morning. 
 
 Their resolution was accomplished, and they 
 set out by the break of day. Sindall accom- 
 l)anied them on horseback several stages, and 
 they dined together/ about forty miles from 
 London. Here, having settled their route ac- 
 cording to a plan of Sir Thomas's, who seemed 
 to be perfectly versant in the geography of the 
 country through which they were to pass, he 
 was prevailed on, by the earnest entreaty of 
 Harriet, to return to London, and leave her to 
 perform the rest of the journey under the pro- 
 tection of Mr Ryland. 
 
 On their leaving the Inn at which they dined, 
 there occurred an incident, of which, though 
 the reader may have observed me not apt to 
 dwell on trifling circumstances, I cannot help 
 taking notice. While they were at dinner, 
 they were frequently disturbed by the boister- 
 ous, mirth of a company in the room imme- 
 diately adjoining. This, one of the waiters in- 
 formed them, proceeded from a gentleman, 
 who, he believed, was travelling from London 
 down into the country, and, having no compa- 
 nion, had associated with the landlord over a 
 bottle of claret, which, according to the wait- 
 er's account, his honour had made so free with, 
 as to be in a merrier, or, as that word may ge- 
 nerally be translated, a niore noise-making 
 mood than usual. As Sindall was handinir
 
 THE ifAN OF THE WORLD. 125 
 
 Harriet into the post-chaise, they observed a 
 gentleman, whom they concluded to be the 
 same whose voice they liad so often heard at 
 dinner, standing in the passage that led to the 
 door. When the lady passed him, he trod, 
 either accidentally or on purpose, on the skirt 
 of her gown behind ; and as she turned about 
 to get rid of the stop, having now got sight of 
 her face, he exclaimed, with an oath, that she 
 was an angel j and, seizing the hand with 
 which she was disengaging her gown, pressed it 
 to his lips in so rude a manner, that eren his 
 drunkenness could not excuse it *, at least it 
 could uot to Sindall ; who, stepping between 
 him and Miss Annesly, laid hold of his collar, 
 and shakinfT him violently, demanded how he 
 dared to afi'ront the lady ; and insisted on his 
 immediately asking her pardon. ' Dammee,"* 
 said he, hiccuping, ' not on compulsion, dam- 
 mee, for you nor any man, dammee.' The 
 landlord and Mr Ryland now interposed, and, 
 with the assistance of Harriet, pacified Sir 
 Thomas, from the consideration of the gentle- 
 man's being in a temporary state of insanity : 
 Sindall accordingly let go his hold, and went 
 on with Harriet to the chaise, ^vhile the other, 
 re-adjusting his neck-cloth, swore that he would 
 have another peep at the girl notwithstanding. 
 
 When Harriet was seated in the chaise, Sin- 
 dall took notice of the flutter into winch this 
 accident had thrown her •, she confessed that 
 she had been a good deal alarmed, lest there 
 should have been a quarrel on her account, and 
 l2
 
 126' TIIE :^IAN OF T>IE v.oiiLn. 
 
 ligged Sir Tlionuiv, if I:c hvA any regard foT 
 her ease of mind, to think no more of any 
 vengeance against the other gentleman. * Fear 
 not, my adorable Harriet,' T\'hispered Sir Tho- 
 mas J ' if I thonght there Aveie one kind re- 
 membrance of Sindall in that heavenly bosom' 
 the chaise drove on she blushed a re- 
 ply to this unfinished speech, and bowed, smil- 
 ing, to its author. 
 
 CHAP. XXIH. 
 
 HARRIET PROCEEDS OS HEIl JOUKNEY '\VITH RY- 
 
 L.^^D A Vf.KV DARING ATTACK IS MADE UPON 
 
 THl-M. THE C0NSEQUfc^CJ'"S. 
 
 JN OTiiiNG farther happened tvorlliy of record- 
 ing, till towards the close Dt that jcarney which 
 Sir Thomas's direction had marked out for 
 their first day's progress. Eyland had before 
 observed, that Sir Thomas's short roads had 
 tnrned oat very sorry ones ; and wlien it began 
 to be dark, Harriet's fears made her take 
 notice, that they had got upon a large com- 
 mon, where, for a great way round, there was 
 not a house to be seen. Nor w'as she at all re- 
 lieved by the information of the post-boy, who, 
 upon being interrogated by Eyland as to the 
 safety of the road, answered, * To be sure mas- 
 ter, I've known some highwaymen frequent this 
 common, and there stands a gibbet hard by.
 
 %Ur. Mi-N" OF THE WORLl^. Ii>7 
 
 where two of them have hung these three years.* 
 He had scarcely uttered this speech, when the 
 noise of horsemen was licard behind them, at 
 which Miss Annesly's heart began to palpitate, 
 Dor was her companion's free from unusual agi- 
 tation. He asked the post-boy in a low voice, 
 if he knew the riders who were coming up be- 
 hind ', the boy answered in the negative, but 
 that he needed not be afraid, as he observed a 
 carriage along with them. 
 
 The first of the horsemen now passed tli« 
 chaise in which Ryland and Harriet were, and 
 at the distance of a fev; yards they crossed the 
 road, and made a halt on the other side of it. 
 Harriet's fears w^ere now too mnch alarmed to 
 be quieted by the late assurances of the post- 
 boy : she was not, indeed, long suffered to re- 
 main in a state of suspense ; one of those ob- 
 jects of her terror called to the driver to stop j 
 which the lad had no sooner complied -ivith, than 
 \ lie rode up to the side of th-e carriage where 
 ' the ladv was seated, and told her, in a tone ra- 
 
 Ii ther peremptory than threatening, that she must 
 allow that gentleman (meaning Kyland) to ac- 
 cept of a seat in another carriage, which was 
 just behind, and do him and his friends the ho- 
 nour of taking one of them for her companion. 
 He received no answer to this demand, she to 
 whom i): vras made having fainted into the arms 
 of her terrified fellow-traveller. In this state 
 • of insensibility, Ityland was forced, by the in- 
 human ruilian and his associates, to leave her, 
 and enter a chaibe which novv drew up to re-
 
 128 THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 
 
 ceive him j and one of tlie gang-, -vvliose appear- 
 ance bespoke sometliinir of a higher rank than 
 the rest, seated himself" by her, and was very 
 assiduous in using proper means for her reco- 
 very. Wiien that was efiected, he begged her, 
 in terms of great politeness, not to make her- 
 self in the least uneasy, for that no harm was 
 
 intended. ' Oh heavens I' she cried, * where 
 
 am I ? What would you have ? Whither would 
 you carry me? Where is Mr Ryland ?' — 'If 
 you mean the gentleman in whose company 
 you were, Madam, you may be assured, that 
 nothing ill shall happen to him any more than 
 to yourself.' — ' Nothing ill !' said she 5 * mer- 
 ciful God I What do you intend to do with 
 me ?' — ' I would not do you a mischief for the 
 world,' answered he, * and if you will be pa- 
 tient for a little time, you shall be satisfied that 
 you are in danger of none.' — All this while 
 they forced the post-boy to drive on full speed j 
 and there was light enough for Harriet to dis- 
 cover, that the road they took had so little the 
 appearance of a frequented one, that there was 
 but a very small chance of her meeting with 
 any relief. In a short time after, however, 
 when the moon shining out made it lighter, she 
 found they were obliged to slacken their pace, 
 from being met, in a narrow part of the road, 
 by some persons on horseback. The thoughts 
 of relief recruited a little her exhausted spirits j 
 and having got down the front glass, she called 
 out as loud as she was able, begging their as- 
 sistance to rescue a miserable creature from
 
 THE MAN OF THE \VOnLD. Hi) 
 
 Ti'.maii?. One, avIio attended the cairia'/c by 
 ■^vay of guard, exclaimed, that it was only a 
 poor wretch out of her senses, ^vhom her 
 friends were conveying to a place of security : 
 but Harriet, notwithstanding some endeavours 
 of the man in the chaise to prevent her, cried 
 «nt with greater vehemence than before, en- 
 treating them, for God's sake, to pity and re- 
 lieve her. Ey' this time one, who had been 
 formerly behind, came up to the front of the 
 party thev had met, and overhearing this last 
 speech of Harriet's — ' Good God 1' said he, 
 ' can it be Miss Anncsly ?' Upon this, her 
 companion in the carriage jumped out with a 
 pistol in his hand, and presently she heard the 
 j report of lire-arms, at which the horses taking 
 I fright, ran furiously across the fields for a con- 
 siderable way before their driver was able to 
 J stop them. He had scarcely accomplished that, 
 \ when he was accosted by a servant in livery, 
 ■^ho bade him fear nothing, for that his master 
 Lad obliged the villains to make off. — ' Eternal 
 blessings on him I' cried Harriet, ' and to thai 
 Providence whose instrument he is.' — * To have 
 been of any service to INIiss Annesly,' re- 
 plied a gentleman who now appeared leading 
 
 his horse, ' rewards itself.' It was Slndall ! 
 
 — * Gracious powers !' exclaimed the astonished 
 Harriet, ' can it be you. Sir Thomas ?' — ' Com- 
 pose yourself, my dear Miss Annesly,' said he, 
 ' lest the surprise of your deliverance should 
 overpower your spirits.'^He had opened the 
 door of the chaise, and Harriet by a natu-
 
 ISO THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ral motion, made room for bim to sit by hf r.— 
 He accordingly gave bis borse to a servant, and 
 stepped into tbe cbaise, directing tbe drivtr to 
 strike down a particular patb, wbicb would 
 lead bim to a small inn, wbere he bad some- 
 times passed tbe nigbt wben a-bnnting. 
 
 When be pulled up tbe glass, * Tell me, tell 
 Bie, Sir Tbomas,' said Harriet, * wbat guardian 
 angel directed you so unexpectedly to my re- 
 lief"?' — * Tbat guardian angel, my fairest, 
 •which I trust will ever direct us to happiness j 
 my love, my impatient love, tbat could not 
 bear tbe tedious days which my Harriet's pre- 
 sence bad ceased to brighten.'— Wben she 
 
 would have expressed tbe warmth of her grati- 
 tude for bis services : * Speak not of them,' 
 said be *, * I only risked a life in thy defence, 
 which, without thee, it is nothing to possess.' 
 
 They now reached that inn to wbicb Sindall 
 had directed them ; where if they found a 
 homely, yet it was a cordial reception. Tbe 
 landlady, who bad the most obliging and atten- 
 tive behaviour in tbe world, having beard of 
 the accident which bad befallen the lady, pro- 
 duced some waters which, she said, were highly 
 cordial, and begged Miss Annesly to take a 
 large glass of them j informing her, tbat they 
 were made after a receipt of her grand-mother's, 
 w^bo was one of tbe most notable doctresses in 
 the country. Sir Thomas, however, was not 
 satisfied with this prescription alone, but dis- 
 patched one of his servants to fetch a neigh- 
 bourin|)p surgeon, as Miss Annesly's alarm, h^.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 131 
 
 said, might have more serious consequences 
 than people, ignorant of such things, could 
 imagine. For this surgeon, indeed, there 
 seemed more employments than one *, the sleeve 
 of Sir Thomas's shirt was discovered to be all 
 over blood, owing, as he imagined, to the graz- 
 ing of a pistol-ball which had been fired at him. 
 This himself treated veiy lightly, but it awak- 
 ened the fears and tenderness of Harriet in the 
 liveliest manner. 
 
 The landlady now put a question, which in- 
 deed might naturally have suggested itself be- 
 fore 5 to wit, Whom they suspected to be the 
 iustic^ators of this outracre ? Sir Thomas an- 
 swered, that, for his part, he could form no pro- 
 bable conjecture about the matter j and, turn- 
 ing to Miss 4nnesly, asked her opinion on the 
 subject ; * Sure,' said he, ' it cannot have been 
 that ruffian who was rude to you at the inn 
 where we dined.' Harriet answered, that she 
 could very w^ell suppose it might ; adding, that 
 though in the confusion she did not pretend to 
 have taken very distinct notice of things, yet 
 she thought there was a person standing at the 
 door, near to that drunken gentleman, who had 
 some resemblance of the man that sat by her 
 in the chaise. 
 
 They w^re interrupted by the arrival of the 
 surg( on, which, from the vigilance of the ser- 
 vant, happened in a much shorter time than 
 coaitl li:ive been expected ; and Harriet pe- 
 remptorily insisted, that, before he took any
 
 132 THE MAX OF THE WOIlLi:J. - 
 
 charge of her, lie should examine and dress the 
 wound on Sir Thomas's arm. To this, there- 
 fore, the baronet was obliged to consent •■, and 
 after having been some time with the operator 
 in an adjoining chamber, they returned toge- 
 ther, Sir Thomas's arm .being slung in a piece 
 of crape, and the surgeon declaring, higiily to 
 Miss Annesly's satisfaction, that with proper 
 care there was no sort of danger \ tliough he 
 added, that if the shot had taken a direction but 
 half an inch more to the left^ it would have 
 shattered the bone to pieces. This last decla- 
 ration drove the blood again from Harriet's 
 theek, and contributed, perhaps, more than 
 any thing else, to that quickness and tremula- 
 tion of pulse which the surgeon, on applying his 
 finger to her wrist, pronounced to Le the case. 
 He ordered his patient to be undrest 5 which 
 was accordiiifjly done ; the landlady accommo- 
 dated her Vv'ith a bed-gov/n of her own j and 
 then, having mulled a little wine, he mixed in 
 it some powders of his own composition, a se- 
 cret, he said, of the greatest efficacy in re-ad- 
 justing any disorders in the nervous system ^ 
 of which draught he recommended a large tea- 
 cupful to be taken immediately. Harriet ob- 
 jected strongly against these powders, till the 
 surgeon seemed to grow angry at her refusal, 
 and recapitslated, in a very rapid manner, the 
 success which their administration had in many 
 great families who did hini the honour of em- 
 ploying him. Harriet, the gentleness of Vvlio-jc
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. J S5 
 
 fiahiie could ofFeiul no one living, overcame lier 
 reluctance, and swallowed the dose that was 
 offered her. 
 
 The indignation of my soul has with dljQi- 
 culty submitted so long to this cool description 
 of a scene of the most exquisite villany. The 
 genuineness of my tale needs not the aid of sur- 
 prise to interest the feelings of my readers. 
 It is with horror I tell them, that the varion« 
 incidents, which this and the preceding chapter 
 contain, were but the prelude of a design formed 
 by Sindall for the destruction of that innocence, 
 tvhich was the dowry of Anuesly's da.ughter. 
 He had contrived a route the most proper for 
 the success of his machinations, which the ig- 
 norance of Iiyland was prevailed on to follow : 
 he had bribed a set of banditti to execute that 
 sham rape, which his seeming valour was t& 
 prevent j he had scratched his wrist with a pen- 
 knife, to make the appearance of being wounded 
 in the cause j he had trained his victim to the 
 Ijouse of a Avretch wh.om he had before em- 
 ployed in purposes of a similar kind j he had 
 dressed one of his own creatures to personate a 
 surgeon, and that surgeon, by his directions^ 
 had administered certain powders, of which the 
 damnable effects were to assist the execution 
 of Ills villany. 
 
 Beset with tolls like these, his helpless prey- 
 was, alas ! too much in Ins power to have any 
 chance of escape j and that guilty night com- 
 pleted the ruin of her, whom, but the tlay be- 
 fore, the friend of Sindall, iu the anguish of hi* 
 
 VOL II. M
 
 1.34 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 soul, had recommended to his care and protec- 
 tion. 
 
 Let me close this chapter on the monstrous 
 deed ! — That such things are, is a thought dis- 
 tressful to humanity their detail can gratify 
 
 no mind that deserves to be ratified. 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 THE SITUATION OF HARRIET, AND THE CONDaCT 
 
 OF SINDALL. THEY PROCEED HOMEWARD.— 
 
 SOME INCIDENTS IN THEIR JOURNEY. 
 
 1 WOULD describe, if I could, the anguish which 
 the recollection of the succeeding day brought 
 on the mind of Harriet Annesly. — But it is in 
 such passages, that the expression of the writer 
 will do little justice even to his own feelings ; 
 jimch must therefore be left to those of the 
 reader. 
 
 The poignancy of her own distress was dou- 
 bled by the idea of her father's ; — a father's 
 whose pride, whose comfort, but a few weeks 
 ago, she had been, to whom she was now to re- 
 turn deprived of that innocence which could 
 never be restored. I should rather say that 
 honour j for guilt it could not be called, under 
 the circumstances into which she had been be- 
 trayed ', but the world has little distinction to 
 jnake y and the fall of her, whom the deepest
 
 THE MAN OP THE WORLD. iSo 
 
 villany lias circumvented, it brands with that 
 common degree of infamy, which, in its jus- 
 tice, it always imputes to the side of the less 
 criminal party. 
 
 Sindall's pity (for we will do him no injus- 
 tice) might be touched; his passion was but 
 little abated j and he employed the language 
 of both to comfort the affliction he had caused. 
 From the violence of what, by tlie perversioa 
 of words, is termed love, he excused the guilt 
 of his past conduct, and protested his readiness 
 to wipe it away by the future. He beggci 
 that Harriet would not sutfer her delicacy to 
 make her unhappy under the sense of their 
 connection j he vowed that he considered her 
 as his wife, and that, as soon as particular cir- 
 cumstances would allow him, he would make 
 iier what the world called so, though the sa- 
 credness of his attachment was above being in- 
 creased by any form whatever. 
 
 There was something in the mind of Harriet 
 which allowed her little ease under all these 
 protestations of regard •, but they took off the 
 edge of her present affliction, and she heard 
 them, if not with a warmth of hope, at least 
 with an alleviation of despair. 
 
 They now set out on their return to the 
 peaceful mansion of Annesly. How blissful, iri 
 any other circumstances, had Harriet imagined 
 the sight of a father, whom she now trembled 
 to behold ! 
 
 They had not proceeded many miles, wheft 
 Iht y nere met by Ryland, attended by a ttum-
 
 136 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ber of rustics, -wliom he had assembled for the 
 purpose of searching after Miss Annesly. It 
 was only indeed by the lower class that the ac- 
 count he gave had been credited, for which 
 those who did not believe it cannot much be 
 blamed, when we consider its improbability, 
 and likewise that Jack's persuasive powers 
 were not of a sort that easily induces persua- 
 sion, even v/hen not disarranged by the confu- 
 sion and fright of such an adventure. 
 
 His joy at finding Harriet safe in the protec- 
 tion of Sir Thomas, was equally turbulent with 
 his former fears for her v.elfaie. Alter re- 
 warding his present associates with the greatest 
 part of the money in his pocket, he proceeded, 
 in a manner not the most distinct, to give an 
 account of what befel himself subsequent to 
 that violence which had torn him from his com- 
 panion. The chaise, he said, into which he 
 was forced, drove, by several cross roads, about 
 three or four miles from the place where they 
 were first attacked j it then stopping, his at- 
 tendant commanded him to get out, and, point- 
 ing to a farm-house, which by the light of th© 
 moon was discernible at some distance, told 
 him, that, if he went thither, he would find ac- 
 commodation for the night, and might pursue 
 his journey with safety in the morning. 
 
 He now demanded, in his turn, a recital 
 from Harriet of her shar€ of their common ca- 
 lamity, which she gave him in the few words 
 the present state of her spirits could afford. 
 When ghe had 45nded, Rylaud fell on his knees
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLS. 1^7 
 
 ia gratitude to Sir Thomas for her deliverance. 
 Harriet turned on Sindall a look infinitely ex- 
 pressive, and it Avas followed by a starting teas. 
 
 They now proceeded to the next stage on 
 their way homeward, Sindall declaring, that, 
 after what had happened, he would, on no ac- 
 count, leave Miss Annesly, till he had de- 
 livered her safe into the hands of her father. 
 She heard this speech with a sigh so deep, that 
 jfKylandhad possessed much penetration, he 
 would have made conjectures of something un- 
 common in her mind j but he was guiltless of 
 imputing to others, what his honesty never ex- 
 perienced in himself. Sir Thomas observed it 
 better, and gently chid it by squeezing her 
 hand in his. 
 
 At the inn where they first stopped, they 
 met with a gentleman who made the addition 
 of a fourth person to their party, being an olli- 
 cer who was going down to the same part of 
 the country on recruiting orders, and happened 
 to be a particular acquaintance of Sir Thomas 
 Sindall : his name was Camplin. 
 
 He afforded to their society an ingredient of 
 whicii at present it seemed to stand pretty 
 much in need ', to wit, a proper share of mirth 
 and lumiour, for which nature seemed, by a 
 profusion of animal spirits, to have very well 
 fitted him. She had not perhaps bestowed on 
 him much sterling wit ; but she had given hin> 
 abundance of that counterfeit assurance, whicli 
 frequently passes more current than the reaL 
 In this company, to which chance had assa- 
 M 2
 
 1S8 THE MAN 03" THE WORLD. 
 
 elated him, he had an additional advantage 
 from the presence of Eyland, whom lie very 
 soon discovered to be of that order of men 
 called Butts, those easy cushions (to borrow a 
 metaphor of Otway's) on whom the wits of tha 
 world repose and fatten. 
 
 Besides all this, he had a fund of conversa- 
 tion, arising from the adventures of a life, 
 which according to his own account, he had 
 passed equally in the perils of war and the 
 iuxari- s of peace j his memoirs ail'ording re- 
 peated instances of his valour in danfrers of the 
 field, his address in the society of the great, 
 and his gallantry in connections with the fair. 
 
 But lest the reader should imagine, that the 
 real portraiture of this gentleman was to be 
 found in those lineaments which he drew of 
 himself, I will take the liberty candidly, though 
 briefly, to communicate some particulars re- 
 lating to his {jjuallty, his situation, and his cha- 
 racter. 
 
 He was the son of a man who called himself 
 an attorney, in a village adjoining to Sir Tho- 
 mas Sindali's estate. Mis father, Sir William, 
 with whom I made my readers a little ac- 
 quainted in the beginning of my story, had 
 found this same lawyer useful in carrying on 
 some proceedings against his poor neigl) hours, 
 which the delicacy of more established pvacti- 
 tioners in the law might possibly have boggled 
 at 5 and he had grown into consequence with 
 the baronet, from that pliancy of disposition 
 Bhich was suited to I,iis service. Not thai
 
 THE MAN O? THE V:ORLD. iSj) 
 
 Sir VViliiani was naturally crnel or oppressive, 
 but he had an exalted idea of the consequence 
 which a great estate confers on its possessor, 
 Tvhich was irritated beyond measure when any 
 favourite scheme of his was opposed by a man 
 of little fortune, however just or proper his rea- 
 •ons for opposition might be ; and, though a 
 good sort of man,, as I have before observed, his 
 veni^eance ^vas implacable. 
 
 Young Complin, who was nearly of an arc 
 :*vith Mr Tommy Sindall, was frequently at 
 Sir William's in quality of a dependant com- 
 panion to his son ^ and before the baronet 
 died, he had procured him an ensign's commis- 
 sion in a regiment, which some years after vras 
 j stationed in one of our garrisons abroad, where 
 I Camplin, much against his inclination, vras 
 under a necessity of joining it. 
 
 Hei'e he happened to have an opportunity of 
 I obliging the chief in command, by certain 
 ' little offices, which, though not strictly honour- 
 able in ,tiiemselves, are sanctioned by the favour 
 I and countenance of many honourable men j 
 and so much did they attach his commander to 
 the ensign, that the latter was very soon pro- 
 moted by his interest to the rank of a Lieuten- 
 ant, and not long after w<i3 enabled to make a 
 very advantageous purchase of a company. 
 
 With this patron aUo he returned to Eng- 
 land, and v^as received at all times in a very 
 familiar manner into his house ; where he had 
 he honour of carving good dishes, which he 
 ^as sometimes permitted to taste, of laughing
 
 140 THE MAN OF THE WOnLP, 
 
 at jokes which he was sometimes allowed i» 
 make, and carried an obsequious face into all 
 companies, who were not treated with such ex- 
 traordinary respect as to preclude his approach. 
 
 About this time, his father, whose business 
 in the country had not increased since the death 
 of Sir William Sindall, had settled in London, 
 where the reader will recollect the having met 
 with him in a former chapter j but the captain^ 
 during his patron's residence there, lived too 
 near St James's to make many visits to Gray's 
 Inn ; and after that gentleman left the town, 
 he continued to move amidst a circle of men of 
 fashion, with whom he contrived to live in a 
 manner which has been often defined by the 
 expression of ' nobody knows how :' which sort 
 of life he had followed uninterruptedly without 
 ever joining his regiment, till he was now 
 obliged, by the change of a colonel, to take 
 some of the duty in his turn, and was ordered 
 a-recruiting, as 1 have taken due occasion to 
 relate. 
 
 In this company did Harriet return to her 
 father. As the news of disaster is commonly 
 speedy in its course, the good man had already 
 been confusedly informed of the attack which 
 had been made on his daughter. To him, 
 therefore, this meeting was so joyful, as almost 
 to blot from his lemevnbranee the calamities 
 which had lately befallen his family. But far 
 different were the sensations of Harriet : she 
 shrunk from the sight of a parent, of whose 
 purity she now conceived herself unworthy, and
 
 THE MAN O? THE WORLD. 141 
 
 fell bkisliInjT on liis neck, ■which she bathed with 
 a profusion of tears. This he imagined to pro- 
 ceed from her sensibility of those woes -which 
 lier unhappy brother had suffered 5 and he for- 
 bore to take notice of her distress, any other- 
 wise than ])y maintainiiig a degree of cheerful- 
 ness himself, much above what the feelings of 
 Jiis heart could warrant. 
 
 He VN'as attended, when her fellow travellers 
 accompanied Miss Annesly to his house, by a 
 gentlenian, whom he now introduced to her by 
 the name of Rawlinson, saying he was a very 
 worthy friend of his, who had lately returned 
 from abroad. Harriet, indeed, recollected to 
 have heard her father mention such a one in 
 their conversation before. Though a good 
 deal younger than Annesly, he had been a very 
 intimate school-fellow of his in London, from 
 which place he vras sent to the East Indies, 
 ■and returned, as was common in those days, 
 with some tliousand pound-}, and a good con- 
 science, to his native country. A genuine 
 plainness of manners, and a warm benevolence 
 of heart, neither the refinements of life, nor the 
 •ubtletles of traffic, had been able to weaken in 
 Rav.'linson ; and he set out under the impres- 
 sion of both, immediately after his arrival in 
 England, to visit a companion, whose virtues 
 he remembered v.ith veneration, and the value 
 of whose friendship he hud not forgotten. An- 
 nesly received him v,Ith the welcome whicli 
 his fire-side ever aiforded to the worthy , and 
 Harriet, through the dimness of her Q-ricf^ 
 siialled on the friend of her father.
 
 142 THE MAN OF THE W021LF/, 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 SOMETHING FAUTHER OF MR RAWLIKSON, 
 
 XVawlinson found his reception so agreeable^ 
 that he lengthened his visit miieh beyond the 
 limits which he at first intended it 5 und the 
 earnest request of Anncsly, to whom his friend's 
 company was equally pleasing, extended them 
 still a little farther. 
 
 During this period, he had daily opportunities 
 of observing the amiable dispositions of Harriet. 
 He observed, indeed, a degree of melancholy 
 about her, which seemed extraordinary in one 
 of her age ; but he was satisfied to account for 
 it, from the relation, which her father had given 
 him, of the situation of his son, and that re- 
 markable tenderness of which his daughter was 
 susceptible. When viewed in this light, it 
 added to the good opinion which he already 
 entertained of her. 
 
 His esteem for Miss Annesly shewed itself 
 by every mark of attention, which a regard for 
 the other sex unavoidably prompts in ours 5. 
 and a voung woman, or her father, who had no 
 more penetration in those matters than is com- 
 mon to many, would not have hesitated to pro- 
 nounce that Rawlinson was already the lover 
 of Harriet. But as neither she nor her father 
 had any wishes pointing that way, which had 
 been one great index for discovery, they were 
 •void of any suspicion of his intentions, till lie 
 declared them to Annesly himself.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 14$ 
 
 He dill this \vitli an openness and sincerity 
 conformable to the whole of his character. He 
 told his friend, that he had now made such a 
 fortune as enabled him to live independently, 
 and that he looked for a companion to partici- 
 pate it, whose good sense would improve what 
 were worthy, and whose good nature would 
 bear what were imperfect in him. He had 
 discovered, he said, so much of both in the 
 mind of Miss Annesly, that there needed not 
 the recommendation of being the daughter of 
 his worthiest friend to determine his choice j 
 and that, though he was not old enough to be 
 insensible to beauty, yet he was wise enough 
 to consider it as the least of her good qualities. 
 He added, that he made this application to her 
 father, not to ask a partial exertion of his in- 
 terest in his favour, but only, as the common 
 friend of both, to reveal his intentions to Miss 
 Harriet. * She has seen me,' said he, ' as I 
 am j if not a romantic lover, I shall not be a 
 flifferent sort of being, should she accept of me 
 for a husband j if she does not, I promise you, 
 I shall be far from being offended, and will al- 
 ways endeavour to retain her for my friend, 
 •whom I have no riglit to blame for not chusing 
 te be my wife.' 
 
 Annesly communicated this proposal to his 
 daughter, with a fairness, worthy of that with 
 which it had been entrusted to him: * J come 
 not,' said he, ' my Harriet, as a despot to com- 
 nmnd, not as a father to persuade, but merely 
 a? the fiiend of Mr Rawlinson, to disclose his
 
 141 THE MAN' OF THE WOKLD. 
 
 sentiments j tljat you sliould judge for y-ourselr^ 
 in a matter of the Inghest importance to yoii^ 
 is the voice of reason and of nature : 1 bluslv 
 for those parents who have thoiiglit otlierwise. 
 I would not even, with a view to this particu- 
 lar case, obtrude my advice j in general, you 
 have heard my opinion before, that the violence 
 Tvhich we have been accustomed to apply to 
 love, is not always iieccssary towards happiness 
 in marriiige j at tiro same time tliat it is a 
 treason of the liighest kind in a woman to take 
 Lim for a husband, whom a decent affection 
 has not placed in that situation, whence alcne 
 she should choose one. But my Harriet has^ 
 not merely been taught sentiments ; I know 
 she has learned the art of forming them j and 
 liere she shall be entrusted entirely to her own.' 
 
 The feelings of Harriet on tlsis proposal, 
 «nd the manner in which Iter father communi- 
 cated it, were of so tender a kind, that she 
 could not restrain her tears. There wanted, 
 indeed, but little to indr.ce her to confess all 
 that had passed with Sindall, and throw her- 
 self on the clemency of her indulgent jiarent. 
 Had she practised this sincerity, which is the 
 last virtue we should ever part with, how happy 
 had it been I But it required a degree of for- 
 titude, as well as softness, to make this disco- 
 very : besides, that her seducer had, with the 
 tendeiest entreaties, and assurances of a speedy 
 reparation of her injuries, prevailed on her to 
 give him something like a promise of secrecy. 
 
 Her answer to this oiler of Mr llawlinscn'Sy
 
 THE MAN OF THE W0BL3>. 14«o 
 
 expressed her sense of the obligation she lay- 
 under to hira, and to her father j she avowed 
 an esteem for his character equal to its excel- 
 lence, but that it amounted not to that tender 
 regard -which she must feel for the man whom 
 she could think of making her Jiusband. 
 
 Rawlinson received his friend's account of 
 this determination without discomposure. He 
 said, he knew himself well enough to believe 
 that Miss Annesiy had made an honest and a 
 proper declaration j and begged to have an in- 
 terview with herself, to shew her that he con- 
 ceived not the smallest resentment at her re- 
 fusal, which, on the contrary, though it de- 
 stroyed his hopes, had increased his veneration, 
 for her. 
 
 ' Regard me not,' said he to her when they 
 met, * with that aspect of distance, as if you 
 had offended or alFronted me j let me not lose 
 that look of kindness which, as the friend of 
 your father and yourself, 1 have formerly ex- 
 perienced, I confess there is one dispanty be- 
 tween us, which we elderly men are apt to 
 for<ret, but which I take no offence at being 
 put in mind of. It is more than probable that 
 I shall never be married at all. Since I am 
 not a match for you, Miss Annesiy, I would 
 endeavour to make you somewhat better, if it 
 is possible, for another ', do me the favour to 
 accept of this paper, and let it speak for me, 
 that I would contribute to your happiness, 
 without the selfish consideration of its being 
 made one with my own.' So saying, he bowed, 
 
 VOL. II. y
 
 1 i6 THE MAN OF THE WOnLB. 
 
 und retircJ into an adjoining apartment, Avherc 
 his friend Avas seated. Harriet, upon open- 
 ing the paper, found it to contain bank-bills 
 to tlie amount of a thousand pounds. Her 
 surprise at this instance of generosity held '.er, 
 for a few moments, fixed to the spot *, but she, 
 no sooner recollected herself, than she followed 
 Mr Rawlinson, and putting the paper, with 
 its contents, into his hand, ' Though I feel, 
 Sir,' said she, * with the utmost gTalitude, those 
 sentiments of kindness and generosity you have 
 expressed towards me, vou will excuse me, I 
 hope, from receiving this mark of them.' — 
 Rawlinson's countenance betrayed some indica- 
 tions of displeasure. — * You do wrong,' said he, 
 
 * young lady, and I will be judged by your fa- 
 ther This was a present, Sir, I intended for 
 
 the worthiest woman — the daughter of my wor- 
 thiest friend j she is a woman still, I see, and 
 her pride will no more than her affections sub- 
 mit itself to mv happiness.' Anncsly looked 
 upon the bank-bills : * There is a delicacy, my 
 best friend,' said he, ' in our situation j the poor 
 must ever be cautious, and there is a certain 
 degree of pride which is their safest virtue.' — 
 
 * Let me tell you,' interrupted the ether, * this 
 is not the pride of virtue. It is that fantastic 
 nicety which is a weakness in the soul, and the 
 dignity of great minds is above it. Believe me, 
 the churlishness which cannot oblige, is little 
 more selfish, though in a difi'erent mode, than 
 the haughtiness which will not be obliged.' 
 
 * We are instructed, my child,' said Annesly,
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 14?7 
 
 rt-eliverlng her the piiper ; * let us shew Mr 
 jRawlinsoii that we have not that narrowness of 
 mind which he has censured j and that we will 
 pay that last tribute to his worth which the re- 
 ceiving of a favour bestows.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Sir,' siiid Harriet, ' I little deserve 
 it 5 I am not, I am not what he thinks me. — I 
 am not worthy of his regard.' And she burst 
 into tears. They knew not why she wept : but 
 their eyes shed each a sympathetic drop, with- 
 out asking their reasons' leave. 
 
 Mr Rawlinson speedily set out for London, 
 where his presence was necessary towards dis- 
 patching some business he had left unfinished, 
 after his return to England. 
 
 He left his friend, and his friend's amiable 
 daughter, with a tender regret ; while they, 
 who, in their humble walk of life, had few to 
 whom that title would belong, felt his absence 
 with an equal emotion. He promised, how- 
 ever, at his departure, to make them another 
 visit with the return of the spring. 
 
 CHAP. xxvr. 
 
 CAPTAIN CAMPLIN IS AGAIN INTRODUCED. — THE 
 SITUATION OF MISS ANNESLY, WITH THAT 
 gentleman's CONCERN IN HER AFFAIRS. 
 
 Jhiis place was but ill supplied, at t!)eir win- 
 Ur's fire-side, by the occasional visits of Camp-
 
 14S THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 
 
 lin, wliom Sindall bad introduced to Annesly's 
 acquaintance. Yet, though this was a charac- 
 ter on which Annesly could not bestow much 
 of his esteem, it had some good-humoured qua- 
 lities, which did not fail to entertain and amuse 
 Lim. But the captain seemed to be less agree- 
 able in that quarter to which he principally 
 pointed his attention, to wit, the opinion of 
 Harriet, to whom he took frequent occasion to 
 make those speeches, which have just enough 
 of folly in them to acquire the name of compli- 
 ments, and sometimes even ventured to turn 
 them in so particular a manner, as if he wished 
 to have them understood to mean somewhat 
 more. 
 
 The situation of the unfortunate Harriet was 
 such as his pleasantry could not divert, and bis 
 attachment could only disgust. As she had 
 lost that peace of mind which inward satisfac- 
 tion alone can bestow, so she felt the calamity 
 doubled, by that obligation to secrecy she was 
 under, and the difficulty which her present con- 
 dition (for she was now with child) made such 
 a concealment be attended with. Often had 
 slie determined to reveal, either to her father 
 or to Mrs Wistanly, who, of her own sex, was 
 her only friend, the story of her dishonour ; 
 but Sindall, by repeated solicitations when in 
 the country, and a constant correspondence 
 when in town, conjured her to be silent, for 
 some little time, till he could smooth the way 
 for bestowing his hand on the only woman 
 whom he had ever sincerely loved. One prin-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 1 VJ 
 
 cipal reason for his postponing their anion, had 
 always been tlie necessitv for endeavouring to 
 gain over the assent of his grandfather by the 
 mother's side, from whom Sindall had great ex- 
 pectations ', he had, from time to time, sug- 
 gested this as difficult, and only to be attempted 
 with caution, fjom the proud and touchy dis- 
 position of the old gentleman. He now repre- 
 sented him as in a very declining state of 
 health ', and that, probably, in a very short 
 time, his death would remove this obstacle to 
 the warmest wish of a heart that was ever faith- 
 ful to his Harriet. The flattering language of 
 his letters could not arrest the progress of that 
 time, which muT.t divulge the shame of her he 
 had undone j but they soothed the tumults of 
 a soul to whom his villany was yet unknown, 
 and whose affection his appearance of worth, of 
 friendship, and nobleness of mind, had but too 
 much entangled. 
 
 However imperfectly he had accounted for 
 delaying a marriage, which he always professed 
 his intention to perform, the delusion was kept 
 up in the expectations of Harriet, till that 
 period began to draw near, when it would be 
 impossible any longer to conceal from the 
 world the effects of their intimacy. Then, in- 
 deed, her uneasiness was not to be allayed by 
 ^uch cxcu-.e3 as Sindall had before relied oa 
 her artless confidence to believe. He wrote 
 her, therefore, an answer to a letter full of the 
 most earnest as well as tender expostulations, 
 informing her, off his having determined to ruu 
 >- 2
 
 loO THE MAN OF THE ^VOKLD. 
 
 any risk of iRconvenience to himself, ratJu <: 
 than suffer her to it main longer in a state, such 
 as she had (pathetically indeed) dtsciibed— 
 That he was to set ont in a few days for the 
 country, to make himself indissolubly hers ; but 
 that it was absolutely necessary that she should 
 aIioA.y liim to conduct their marriage in a par- 
 ticular manner, wiiich he would communicate 
 to her on his arrival ; and begged, as she 
 valued his peace and her own, that the whole 
 matter might still remain inviolably secret, as 
 she had hitherto kept it. 
 
 In a few days after the receipt of this letter, 
 she received a note from Camplin, importing 
 his desire to have an interview with, her on 
 some particular business, which related equally 
 to her and to Sir Thomas Sindall. The time 
 appointed was early in the morning of the suc- 
 ceeding day ', and the place a little walk which 
 the villagers used to frequent in holiday-times, 
 at the back of her father's garden. This was 
 delivered to her, in a secret manner, by a little 
 boy. an attendant of that gentleman's, who was 
 a frequent guest in Annesly's kitchen, from his 
 talent at playing the flageolet, which he had 
 acquired in the capacity of a drummer to the 
 regiment to which his master belonged. Mys- 
 terious as the contents of this note was, the 
 mind of Harriet easily suggested to her, that 
 Camplin had been, in some rt-spect at least, let 
 into the confidence of Sir Thomas. She now 
 felt the want of that dignity which innocence 
 bestows j she blushed and tremblefl, even in the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 151 
 
 presence of this little boy, because he v,txs 
 Lamplin's j and, ^vith a shaking hand, scrawled 
 a note in ans^Yer to that he had brought her, to 
 let his master know that she would meet him 
 at the hour he had appointed. — She met him 
 accordingly. 
 
 lie began with making; many protestations 
 of his regard, both for Miss Annesly and the 
 baronet, which had induced him, he said, to 
 dedicate himself to the service of both in thxs 
 atfuir, though it was a matter of such delicacy 
 as he would not otiierwise have chosen to in- 
 terfere in j and, putting into her hand a letter 
 from Sindall, told her, he had taken measures 
 for carrying into execution the purpose it con- 
 tained. 
 
 It informed her that Sir Thomas was in the 
 house of an old domestic at some miles distance, 
 where he waited to be made her's : That he 
 had for this secrecy many reasons, with which 
 he could not by such a conveyance make her 
 acquainted, but which her own prudence would 
 probably suggest. He concluded with recom- 
 mending her to the care and protection of 
 Camplm, whose honour he warmly extolled. 
 
 She paused a moment on the perusal of this 
 billet. — ' Oh ! heavens 1' said she, ' to what 
 have I reduced myself! Mr Camplin, what am 
 I to do ? ^VhithLr are you to carry me ? Par- 
 don my confusion — I scarce know what 1 say 
 to you.' 
 
 ' I have a chaise-and-four ready,' answered 
 Camplin, ' at the end of the lane, which in an
 
 152 THE MAN OF THE W'ORLD» 
 
 hour or two, Madam, will convey you to Sir 
 Thomas Sindall.' — ' But my father ! good Hea- 
 ven ! to leave my father I' — * Consider,' said he, 
 
 * it is for a very little while. My boy shall 
 carry a note to acquaint him that you are gone 
 on a visit, and will return in the evening.' — 
 
 * Return ! methinks I feel a foreboding that I 
 shall never return.' — He put a piece of paper 
 and a pencil into her hand j the note v.as writ- 
 ten, and dispatched by the boy, to Avhom he 
 beckoned at some distance where he had waited. 
 — ' Now, INIadam,' said he, * let nie conduct 
 
 you.' Her knees knocked so against each 
 
 other, that it was with difficulty she could walk, 
 even with the support of his arm. They 
 reached the chaise, a servant, who stood by 
 it, opened the door to admit her j she put her 
 foot on the step, then drew it back again. ' Be 
 iiot afraid, Madam,' said Camplin, ' you go to 
 be happy.' She put her foot up again, and 
 stood in that attitude a moment 5 she cast back 
 a look to the little mansion of her father, 
 Avhence the smoke was now rolling its volumes 
 in the calm of a beautiful morning. A gush of 
 tenderness swelled her heart at the sight. — She 
 burst into tears — But the crisis of her fate was 
 come — and she entered the carriage, which 
 drove off' at a furious rate, Camplin command- 
 ing the postilion to make as much speed as 
 possible.
 
 THE MAN OF THE -WORLD. lo'J 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 THE EFFECTS WHICH THE EVENT CONTAINED IN 
 THE PRECEDING CHAPTEft HAD ON MR AN- 
 NESLY. 
 
 1 HE receipt of that note which Harriet was 
 persuaded by Camplin to write to her father, 
 (intimating, that she was gone upon a visit to 
 a family in the neighbourhood, and not to re- 
 turn till the evening), though her time of going 
 abroad was somewhat unusual, did not create 
 any surprise in the mind of Annesly j but it 
 happened that Mrs A\istanly, vr'ho called in the 
 afternoon to inquire after her young friend, 
 liad just left the very house where her message 
 imp«rted her visit to be made. This set her 
 father on conjecturing, yet without much 
 anxiety, and with no suspicion ; but his fears 
 were redoubled when, having sat up till a very 
 late hour, no tidings arrived of his daughter. 
 He went to bed, however, though it could not 
 aflord him sleep ', at every bark of the village- 
 dogs his heart bounded with the hopes of her 
 return ; but the morning arose, and did not re- 
 store him his Harriet. 
 
 His uneasiness had been observed by his ser- 
 vants, to whom he was too indulgent a master 
 to have his interests considered by them with 
 less warmtii than their own. Abraham, there- 
 fore, who was coeval with his master, and had 
 served him ever since he was murried, had
 
 l6-i> THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 sallied forth by day-break in search of intelli- 
 fj;ence. Ho was met accidentally by a hunts- 
 man of Sir Thomas Sindall's, Avho informed 
 liini, that as he crossed the lane at the back of 
 the village t!ie morning before, he saw Miss 
 Annesly leaning on Captain Camplin's arm, 
 and walking with him towards a chaise and 
 four, which stood at the end of it. Abraham's 
 cheeks grew pale at this intelligence, because 
 he had a sort of instinctive terror for Camplin, 
 wlio Avas in use to make his awkward simplicity 
 a fund for many jests and tricks of miscliicf, 
 during his visits to Annesly. He hastened 
 home to communicate this discovery to iiis 
 master, whicli he did with a faultering tongue, 
 and many ejaculations of fear and surprise. 
 Annesly received it with less emotion, though 
 not without an increase of uneasiness. * Yon- 
 der,' said Abraham, looking through the win- 
 dow, is the captain's little boy j' and he ran 
 out of the room to bring him to an examina- 
 tion. The lad, upon being interroirated, con- 
 fessed that his master had sent him to hire a 
 chaise, which was to be in waiting at the end 
 of that lane I have formerly mentioned, at an 
 early hour in the morning, and that he sav»r 
 Miss Annesly go into it attended by the captain, 
 who had not, any more than Miss Harriet, 
 been at home or heard of since that time. This 
 declaration deprived Annesly of utterance j 
 but it only added to the warmth of Abraham's 
 inquisition, who now mingling threats with his 
 i^uestions, drew from the boy the secret of his
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. Ij^ 
 
 having privately (kliveicd a letter from liis 
 master to Miss Annesly, the very night pre- 
 ceding the day of their departure j and that a 
 man of his acquaintance, Avho liad stopt about 
 mid-day at the ale-house where he was quarter- 
 ed, told him, by way of conversation, that 
 he had met his master with a lady, whom he 
 supposed, jeeringly, he was runninti; av.ay with, 
 driving at a great rate on the road towards 
 London. Abraham made a sign to the boy to 
 leave the room. — ' My poor dear young lady 1' 
 said he, as he shut the door, and the tears 
 gushed from his eyes. His master's were turn- 
 ed upwards to that Being to whom calamity ever 
 directed them. — The maid-servant now entered 
 the room, uttering some broken exclamations 
 of sorrow, which a violent sobbing rendered 
 inarticulate. — Annesly had finished his account 
 with Heaven ; and addressing her with a de- 
 gree of calmness, which the good man could 
 derive only thence, asked her the cause of her 
 being afflicted in so unusual a manner. * Ob, 
 Sir !' said she, stifling her tears, ' I have heard 
 what the captain's boy has been telling ; I fear 
 it is but too true, and worse than you imagine I 
 God forgive me, if I wrong Miss Harriet ^ but 
 3 suspect — I have suspected for some time- 
 she burst into tears again — that my young lady 
 is with child.' — Annesly had stretched his for- 
 titude to the utmost — this last blow overcame 
 it, and he fell senseless on the floor! Abraham 
 threw himself down by him, tearing his white 
 locks, and acting all the frantic extravagance^
 
 15C) THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 of grief. But the maid was more useful to her 
 inastfr , and liaving raised him gently, and 
 chafed his temples, be began to show some 
 signs of reviving, when Abraham recollected 
 himself so far as to assist his fellow-servant in 
 carrying him to his chamber, and laying him 
 on his bed, where he recovered the powers of 
 life, and the sense of his misfortune. 
 
 Their endeavours for iiis recovery were se- 
 conded by Mrs Wistanly, who had made this 
 early visit to satisfy some doubts which she, as 
 well as Annesly, had conceived, even from the 
 information of the preceding day. When he 
 first regained the use of speech, he complained 
 of a violent shivering, for which this good lady, 
 frOm the little skill she possessed in physic, 
 prescribed some simple remedies, and at the 
 same time dispatched Abrah.am for an apothe- 
 cary in the neighbourhood, who commonly at- 
 tended the family. 
 
 Before this gentleman arrived, Annesly had 
 received so much temporary relief from INIrs 
 TV'istanly's prescriptions, as to be able to speak 
 with more ease, than the incessant quivering of 
 his lips had before allowed him to do. * Alas 1' 
 said he, * Mrs Wistanly, have you heard of my 
 Harriet ?' — ' I have, Sir,' said she, ' with equal 
 astonishment and sorrow ; yet Jet me intreat 
 you not to abandon that hope whicii the pre- 
 sent uncertainly may warrant. I cannot allow 
 myself to think that things are so ill as your 
 servants have informed me.' — ' My foreboding 
 heart,' said he, * tells me they are •, I remem- 
 ber many circumstances now, which all meet
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. I57 
 
 to confirm my fears. 0!i ! Mrs Wistanly, slie 
 Ayas my darling, the irlol of my heart ! perhaps 
 too much so — tlie will of Heaven be done !' — 
 
 The apothecary now arrived, ^vho, upon ex- 
 amining into the state of his patient, ordered 
 some \varm applications to remove that univer- 
 sal coldness he complained of, and left Jiim 
 with a promise of returning in a few hours, 
 when he had finished some visits, Avhich he was 
 under a necessity of making in the village. 
 
 When he returned, he found Mr Annesly 
 altered for the worse ; the cold which the 
 latter felt before, having given place to a burn- 
 ing heat. He therefore told Mrs Wistanly, at 
 going aAvay, that in the evening he would bring 
 a physician, with whom he had an appointment 
 at a gentleman's not very distant, to see Mr 
 Annesly, as his situation appeared to him to be 
 attended with some alarmimr circumstances. 
 
 His fears of danger were justified by the 
 event. When these gentlemen saw Mr An- 
 nesly in the evening, his fever was increased. 
 Next day, after a restless night, they found 
 every bad symptom confirmed j they tried evcry 
 method which medical skill could suggest for 
 his relief, but, during four successive days, 
 their endeavours proved ineffectual ; and at the 
 expinition of that time, they told his friend, 
 Mrs Wistanly, who had enjoyed almost as little 
 sleep as the sick man whom she watched, that 
 unless some favourable crisis should happen 
 soon, the worst consequences were much to be 
 feared. 
 
 VOL IT. o
 
 5B THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR RAWLIXSON.— ANNESLv's 
 
 DISCOUKSE WITH HIM. THAT GENTLEMAN's 
 
 ACCOUNT OF HIS FRIENd's ILLNESS, AND ITS 
 CONStQUENCES. 
 
 At this melancholy period it happened that 
 Mr Rawlinson arrived, in pursuance of that 
 promise which Annesly had obtained from him, 
 at the time of his departure for London. 
 
 There needed not that warmth of heart we 
 have formerly described in this gentleman, to 
 feel the accumulated distress to which his 
 worthy friend was reduced. Nor was his asto- 
 nishment at the account which he received of 
 Harriet's elopement less than his pity for the 
 sufferings it had brought upon her father. 
 
 From the present situation of Anne«ly's fa- 
 mily, he did not chuse to incommode them with 
 any trouble of provision for him. He took up 
 his quarters, therefore, at the only inn, a pal- 
 try one indeed, which the village afforded, and 
 resolved to remain there till lie saw what issue 
 his friend's present illness should have, and en- 
 deavour to administer some comfort, either to 
 the last moments of his life, or to that affliction 
 Tvhich his recovery could not remove. 
 
 In the evening of the day on which he ar- 
 rived, Annesly seemed to feel a sort of relief 
 from the violence of his disease. He spoke 
 with a degree of coolness which he had never 
 before been able to command j and after having
 
 THE MAN OP THE WORLD. 15^ 
 
 talked some little time with his physicians, he 
 told Abraham, who seldom quitted his bed-side, 
 that he thought he had seen IMr Kawlinson 
 enter the room in the niornino;, thoudi he wr'-t 
 in a confused slumber at the time, and might 
 have mistaken a dream for the reality. Upon 
 Abraham's informing him that Mr Itawlin^ion 
 had been there, and he had left the house but 
 n, moment before, and that he was to remain in 
 the village for some time, he expressed the 
 warmest satisfaction at the intelligence ; and 
 having made Abraham fetch him a paper which 
 lay in his bureau, sealed up in a particular man- 
 ner, he dispatched him to the inn where his 
 friend was, with a message, importing an ear- 
 nest desire to see him as soon as should be 
 convenient. 
 
 Rawlinson had already returned to the house, 
 and was by this time stealing up stairs, to watch 
 at the bed-side of his friend, for which task 
 Mrs Wistanly's former unceasing solicitude had 
 now rendered her unfit. He was met by 
 Abraiiam with a gleam of joy on his counte- 
 nance, from the happy change which he thought 
 he observed in his master j and was conducted 
 to the side of the bed by that faithful domestic, 
 who placed him in a chair that the doctor had 
 just occupied by his patient. 
 
 Annesly stretched out his hands, and squeez- 
 ed that of Rawlinson between them for some 
 time, without speaking a word. * I bless God,' 
 said he at last, ' that he has sent me a comforter, 
 at a moment when I so much need one. Yon
 
 160 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 iniist by this time have heard, my friend, of that 
 latest and greatest of my family- misfortunes, 
 with which Providence has afflicted me/ 
 
 * You know, my dear Sir,' answered Ilawlinson, 
 
 * that no one would more sincerely fetl for your 
 sorrows than 1 *, but at present it is a subject 
 too tender for you.' * Do not say so,' re- 
 plied his friend ^ ' it will ease my labouring 
 heart to speak of it to my Rawlinson ; hut in 
 the first place I have a little business which I 
 will now dispatch. Here is a deed, making 
 over -all my eifects to you. Sir, and at youi? 
 death, to any one you shall name your execu- 
 tor in that trust for my children — if I have any 
 children remaining ! — Into your hands I deliver 
 it with a peculiar satisfaction, and I know there 
 will not need the desire of a dying friend to add. 
 to your zeal for their service. — Why should 
 that word startle you ? death is to me a mes- 
 senger of consolation !' He paused : — Raw- 
 linson put up the paper in silence ; for his 
 heart was too full to allow him the use of words 
 for an answer. 
 
 ' ^Yhen 1 lost my son,' continued Annesly, 
 
 * I suffered in silence •, and though it preyed on 
 me in secret, I bore up against the weight of 
 my sorrow, that I might not weaken in myself 
 that stay which Heaven had provided for my 
 Harriet. — She was then my only remaining 
 comfort, saved like seme precious treasure from 
 the shipwreck of my family ', and I fondly 
 hoped that m.y age might go down smoothly to 
 its rest, amidst the endearments of a fatliei"'«
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLI>. 3(Ji 
 
 care. — I have now lived to see the last resting^ 
 place which my soul could find in this world, 
 laid waste and desolate ! — yet to that Being, 
 w^hose goodness is infinite as his ways are in- 
 scrutable, let me bend in reverence ! I bless 
 his name that he has not yet taken from me 
 that trust in him, wiiich to lose is the only ir- 
 redeemable calamity. It is now indeed that I 
 feel its efficacy most, when every ray of human 
 comfort is extinguished. As for me — my de- 
 liverance is at hand ; I feel something here at 
 my heart that tells me I shall not have long to 
 strive with insufferable affliction. My poor de- 
 luded daughter— — I commit to thee, Father of 
 all 1 by whom the wanderings of thy unhappy 
 children are seen with pity, and to whom their 
 return cannot be too late to be accepted : if 
 jTiy friend should live to see her look back with 
 contrition towards that path from which she 
 lias strayed, I know his goodness will lead her 
 steps to find it. — Show her her father's grave ; 
 yet spare her for his sake, who cannot then 
 comfort or support her.' 
 
 Tiie rest ot" this narration T will give the 
 reader in Mr Rawlinson's own words, from a 
 letter of his I have now lying before me, of 
 which I will transcribe the latter part, begin- 
 ning its recital at the close of this pathetic ad- 
 dress of his friend. 
 
 As 1 had been told (says this gentleman) 
 
 that lie had not enjoyed one sound sleep since 
 
 Ills daughter went away, I left him now to 
 
 compose himself to rest, desiring his servant to 
 
 o 2
 
 1(52 THE MAN CF THE WOULD. 
 
 call nie insitanlly if he observed any thing pa|-» 
 ticular about his master. He whispered me^ 
 
 * that when he sat up with him in the night be- 
 fore, he could overhear him at times talk wildly, 
 and mutter to himself like one speaking in one's 
 sleep J that then he would start, sigh deeply, 
 and seei\i again to recollect himself.' I went 
 back to his master's bedside, and begged him 
 to endeavour to calm his mind so much as not 
 to prevent that repose which he stood so 
 greatly in need of. ' 1 have prevailed on my 
 physician,' answered he, * to give me an opiate 
 for that purpose, and I think I now feel drowsy 
 from its effects.' I wished him good night — 
 
 * Good night,' said he, — ' but give me your 
 hand j it is perhaps the last time I shall ever 
 clasp it !' He lifted up his eyes to heaven, 
 holding my hand in his, then turned away his 
 face, and laid his head upon his pillow. — 1 
 could not lay mine to rest. Alas I said I, that 
 such should be the portion of virtue like Au- 
 jiesly's J yet to arraign the distribution of Pro- 
 vidence, had been to forget that lesson which 
 the hcst of men had just been teaching me j— 
 but the doubtings, the darkness of feeble man, 
 still hung about my heart. 
 
 When I sent in the morning, I was told that 
 he was still asleep, but that his rest was ob- 
 served to be frequently disturbed by groans 
 and startlngs, and that he breathed much 
 thicker than he had ever hitherto done. I 
 went myself to get more perfect intelligence ', 
 liis faithful Abraham met me at the door.—
 
 Vi'iZ AiAN OF THE W0|IL1). l63 
 
 .* Oh ! Sir,' said he, * my poor master !' — 
 
 * What is the matter .^' — ' I fear. Sir, he is not 
 in bis perfect senses j for he talks more wildly 
 than fcver, and yet he is broad awake.' — He 
 led me into the room j I placed myself directly 
 tcfore him) but his eye, though it was fixed on 
 mine, did not seem to acknowledge his object* 
 There was a glaring on it that deadened its 
 ^ok. 
 
 He muttered something in a very low voice^ 
 
 * How does my friend ?' said I. — He suffered 
 me to take his hand, but answered nothing.— 
 After listening some time, I could hear the 
 came of Harriet. ' Do you want any thing, 
 srn^ dear Sir?' He moved his lips but I heard 
 not. what he said. — I repeated my question j he. 
 looked up piteously in my face, then turned his 
 eye round as if he missed some object on which 
 it meant to rest.---He shivered, and caught 
 liold of Abraham's hand, who stood at the side 
 of the bed opposite me. He looked round 
 again, then uttered with a feeble and broken, 
 voice, ' Where is my Harriet ? lay your hand 
 fon my head — this hand is not my Harriet's — 
 .she is dead, I know: — you v/ill not speak — my 
 poor child is dead ! yet I dreamed she was 
 alive, and had left me j left me to die alone ! — 
 1 have seen her weep at the death of a linnet ! 
 poor soul ! she was not made for this world— 
 we shall meet in heaven ! — Bless her ! bless 
 ter ! there I may you be as virtuous as your 
 piother, and more fortunate than your father 
 has been I — My head is strangely convulsed !— -
 
 104* THE MAN OF THE WOT^M?. 
 
 ifut, tell mc, %vlicn did she die ? you slioolii 
 have waked me tliat I might have prayed bj 
 her. — Sweet innoeerce,- she had no crimes to 
 roiness ! — I can speak but ill, for my tongue 
 sticks to my mouth. — Yet — oli ! — Most Merci- 
 ful, strengthen and support' — He sliivereel 
 
 again — ' into thy hands' He groaned and 
 
 died I 
 
 Sindall ! and ye who like Sindall — but I cau- 
 not speak I speak for rac their consciences ! 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 
 WHAT BEFEL HARRIET ANNESLY ON HEK LEAT- 
 ING HER TATHER. 
 
 1 AM not in a disposition to stop in the midst 
 of this part of my recital, solicitous to embel- 
 lish, or studious to arrange it. My readers 
 shall receive it simple, as becomes a tale of 
 sorrow, and I flatter myself, they' are at this 
 moment readier to feel than to judge it. 
 
 They have seen Harriet Annesly, by the ar- 
 tifice of Sindall, and the agency of Camplin, 
 tempted to leave the house of her father, in 
 hopes of meeting the man who had betrayed 
 her, and of receiving that only reparation for 
 Iier injuries which it was now in his power to 
 make. 
 
 But Sir Thomas never entertained the most 
 distant thought of that marriage, with the
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. J 65 
 
 faopes of which he hatl deluded her. Yet, 
 though he ^vas not siihject to the internal prin- 
 ciples of honour or morality, he -was man of 
 the world enough to know their value in the 
 estimation of others. The virtues of Annesly 
 bad so much endeared him to every one -within 
 their reach, that this outrage of Sindall's against 
 Elm, under the disguise of sacred friendship 
 and rci^ard, would have given the interest and 
 character of Sir Thomas such a blow, as he 
 could not easily have recovered, nor conveni- 
 ently borne. It is not therefore to be wonder- 
 ed at, that he wished for some expedient t© 
 conceal It from the eyes of the public. 
 
 For this purpose he had formed a scheme, 
 ■which all the knowledge he had of the delicacy 
 of Harriet's affection for him, did not prevent 
 liis thinking practicable, (for the female who 
 once falls from innocence, is held to be sunk 
 into perpetual debasement) j and that was t« 
 provide a husband for her in the person of an- 
 other. And for that husband he pitched on 
 Caraplln, with whose character he was too well 
 acquainted, to doubt the bringing him over to 
 any baseness which danger did not attend, and 
 a liberal rev/ard was to follow. Camplin, wlio 
 at this time was in great want of money, and 
 tad always an appetite for those pleasures 
 which money alone can purchase, agreed to his 
 proposals •, they settled the dowry of his future 
 •wife, and the scheme which he undertook to 
 lirocurc her. Part of its execution I have aU 
 XMst-dy related ', I proceed to relate the rest.
 
 165 t:ie ^rAN of the vrnnLT. 
 
 "^Vlicn tbeyliad been driven -wltli all tlic ftrr^ 
 Kbicli Camplin hiu\ enjoined the postilions, for 
 about eiglit or nine miles, tliey stopt at an inn, 
 ■tvhere tliey clian^^ed horses. Harriet expressed 
 )ier surprise at tlieir not Iiaving alreadv ieachr«i 
 the place where Sir 'i'iionias waited them : c'l 
 which Camplin told her, that it was not a great 
 way off, but that the roads were very bad, and 
 that he observed the horses to be exceedingly 
 jaded. 
 
 After haTjRg proceeded some miles farther, 
 on a road still more wild and less fre(juented_, 
 she repeated her wonder at the length of the 
 way y on which Camplin, entreating her pardon 
 for being concerned in any how deceiving her, 
 confe^:sed that Sir 1'homas was at a place much 
 farther from her father's than he had made her 
 believe ; which deceit lie had beggetl of him 
 (Camplin) to practise, that she might not be 
 alarmed at the distance, Avhich was necessary*, 
 be said, for that plan of secrecy Sir Thomas had 
 formed for his marriage. Her fears Avere suf- 
 ficiently roused at this intelligence, but it was 
 now too late to retreat, however terrible it 
 might be to go on. 
 
 Some time after they stopt to breakfast, and 
 changed horses again, Camplin informing her, 
 that it was the last time they should have oc- 
 casion to do so. Accordingly, in little more 
 than an hour, during which the speed of their 
 progress was nowise abated, they lialted at the 
 door of a house, which Harriet, upon coming" 
 €>ut of the chaise, immcdiatelv recollected to bc^
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 1G7 
 
 vtTiat fatal one to which Slndall had before con- 
 veyed her. She felt, on entering it, a degree 
 of horror, which the renit mhrance of that guilty 
 iiight she had before passed under its roof, 
 could not fail to suggest, and it was with difr- 
 ficulty she dragged her trembling steps to a 
 room above stairs, whither the landlady, with a 
 profusion of civility, conducted her. 
 
 * Where is Sir Thomas Slndall ?' said she, 
 lookinir about with terror on the well-remem- 
 bered objects around her. Camplin, shutting 
 tlie door of the chamber, told her, with a look 
 uf the utmost tenderness and respect, that Sir 
 Thomas was not then in the house, but had de- 
 sired him to deliver her a letter, which he now 
 put into her hand for her perusal. It contained 
 xvhat follows : 
 
 ' It is with inexpressible anguish I inform my 
 €ver-dearest Harriet, of my inability to perform 
 engagements, of which 1 acknowledge the so- 
 lemnity, and which necessity alone has power 
 to cancel. Tlie cruelty of my grandfather is 
 deaf to all the remonstrances of my love ', and 
 having accidentally discovered my attachment 
 for you, he insists upon my immediately setting 
 ©ut on my travels •, — a command which, in my 
 present situation, I find myself obliged to com- 
 ply with. I feel, with the most poignant sor- 
 row and remorse, for that condition to which 
 our ill-fated love has reduced the loveliest of 
 her sex. J would, therefore, endeavour, if 
 "jjosslble, to conceal the shame which the world 
 axbitririly afExes to it. With this viev/, I hav^
 
 16S THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 iaitl aside all selfish considerations, so much as 
 to yield to the suit of Mr Camplin that hand, 
 which I had once the happiness of expecting 
 for myself. This step the exigency of your 
 present circumstances renders hi/jhly eligible, 
 if your affections can bend themselves to a man, 
 of whose honour and good qualities I have had 
 the strongest proofs, and who has generosity 
 enough to impute no crime to that ardency of 
 the noblest passion of the mind, which has sub- 
 jected you to the obloquy of the undisceming 
 multitude. As Mrs Camplin, you will possess 
 the love and affection of that worthiest of my 
 friends, together with the warmest esteem and 
 regard of your unfortunate, but ever devoted, 
 humble servant, ' Thomas Sindall.' 
 
 Camplin was about to offer his commentary 
 upon this letter \ but Harriet, whose spirits had 
 just supported her to the end of it, lay now 
 lifeless at his feet. After several successive 
 faintings, from which Camplin, the landlady,^ 
 and other assistants, with difficulty recovered 
 her, a shower of tears came at last to her relief^ 
 and she became able to articulate some short 
 exclamations of horror and despair ! Camplin 
 tlirew himself on his knees before her. He pro- 
 tested the most sincere and disinterested pas- 
 sion -y and that, if she would bless him with the 
 possession of so many amiable qualities as she 
 possessed, the uniform endeavour of his life , 
 should be to promote her jiappiness. — ' I think / 
 flot of thee/ sJie exclaimed j ' Oh I Sindall !
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. i6<) 
 
 pcifidious, cruel, deliberate villain I' Campliii 
 again interrupted her, with protestations of hi» 
 own aiFection and regard. * Away I' said she, 
 * and let me hear no more I Or, if thou wouldst 
 show thy friendship, carry me to that father 
 from whom thou stolest me. — You v/ill not — 
 hut if I can live so long, I will crawl to his feet, 
 and expire before him.' 
 
 She was rumung towards the door j Camplin 
 gently stopped her. * My dearest Miss An- 
 nesly,' said he, * recollect yourself but a mo- 
 • ment ; let me conjure you think of your own 
 welfare, and of that father's whom you so justly 
 Jove. For these alone could Sir Thomas Sin- 
 dall have thought of the expedient which he 
 proposes. If you will now become the y/ife of 
 your adoring Camplin, the time of the celebra- 
 tion of our marriage need not be told to the 
 world : under the sanction of that holy tie, 
 every circumstance of detraction will be over- 
 looked, and that life may be made long and 
 happv, which your unthinking rashness would 
 cut off from yourself and your father.' — Harriet 
 had listened little to this speech -y but the 
 swellino; of her anger had subsided; she thre\y 
 herself into a chair ; and burst again into tears. 
 Camplin drew nearer, and pressed lier hand in 
 his : she drew it hastily from him ; ' If you 
 have any pity,' she cried, * I entreat you for 
 Heaven's sake to leave me.' He bowed re- 
 spectfully and retired, desiring the landlady to 
 attend Miss Annesly, and endeavour to aftbrd 
 her some assistance and consolation. 
 VOL. II. ?
 
 170 T4IE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Slie had, Indeed, more occasion for her assist- 
 ance than he was then aware of j the violent 
 agitation of her spirits having liad such an effect 
 on her, that, though she wanted a month of her 
 time, she was suddenly seized with the pains of 
 child-birth j and they were but just able to 
 procure a woman Avho acted as a midwife in the 
 rieighbonrhood, when she was delivered of a 
 girl. Distracted as her soul was, this new ob- 
 ject drew forth its instinctive tenderness j she 
 mingled tears with her kisses on its cheeks, 
 and forgot the shame attending its birth, in the 
 natural meltings of a mother. 
 
 For about a week after her delivery she re- 
 covered tolerably well, and Indeed those about 
 her spared no pains or attention to contribute 
 towards her recovery ; but, at the end of that 
 period, an accident threw her into the most 
 dangerous situation. She was lying in a slum- 
 ber, with a nurse watching her, when a servant 
 of Sir Thomas Sindall's, whom his master had 
 employed very actively in the progress of his 
 designs on Miss Annesly, entered the room 
 with a look of the utmost consternation and 
 horror j the nurse beckoned to him to make no 
 noise, signifying, by her gestures, tliat the lady 
 was asleep *, but the opening of the door had 
 already awakened her, and she lay listening, 
 xvhen he told the cause of his emotion. It was 
 the intelligence which he had just accidentally 
 received of Mr Annesly's death. The effect of 
 this shock on his unfortunate daughter may be 
 :€asily imagined) evciT fatal symptom, which
 
 Hhe man of the world. J 71 
 
 5»mlden terror or surprise causes in women nt 
 jiuch a season of Aveakness, was tlic conse- 
 qur-nce, and next morning a tlelirium succeed- 
 ed them. 
 
 She was not, Iiowover, Tvltliout intervals of 
 reason \ tbour^h these were Init intervals of an- 
 jruisli much more exquisite. Yet slie w^uld 
 sometimes express a sort of caihiness and sub- 
 mission to the will of Heaven, though it was 
 always attended with the hopes of a speedy re- 
 lief from the calamities of her existence. 
 
 In one of these hours of recollection, she 
 was asked by her attendants, whose pity was 
 now moved at her condition, if she chose to 
 have any friend sent for, who might tend to 
 alleviate her distress ; upon which she had 
 command enough of herself to dictate a letter 
 to Mrs "Wistanly, reciting bricflv the miseries 
 5>he had endured, and asking, with great diffi- 
 dence, however, of obtaining, if she could pai- 
 don her offences so far, as to come and receive 
 the parting breath of her once innocent and 
 much-loved Harriet. This letter was accord- 
 ingiv dispatched : and she seemed to feel a re- 
 lief from having accomplished it ', but her rea- 
 son had held out beyond its usual limits of ex- 
 ertion •, and immediately after she relapsed into 
 her former unconnectedness. 
 
 Soon after the birth of her daughter, Camp- 
 lin, according to iiis instructions, had proposed 
 sending it away, under the charge of a nurse 
 whom the landlady had procured, to a smalf 
 hamlet, Avhere she residetl, at a little distance.
 
 1 72 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 But this the mother opposed with such earnest- 
 ness, that the purpose had been delayed till 
 now, when it was given up to the care of this 
 woman, accompanied with a considerable sum 
 of money to provide every necessary for its use, 
 in the most ample and sumptuous manner. 
 
 When Mrs Wistanly received the letter we 
 have mentioned above, she was not long in 
 tloubt as to complying with its request. Her 
 ^leart bled for the distresses of that once ami- 
 able friend, ^rhom virtue mijjht now blame, but 
 goodness could not forsake. She set ont there- 
 fore immediately in a chaise, which Campliii 
 had provided for her, and reached the house, 
 to which it conveyed her on the morning of th« 
 following day, her impatience not suffering her 
 to consider either the danger or inconvenience 
 of travelling all night. — From her recital, I 
 took down the account contained in the follow- 
 ing chapter. 
 
 CHAP. XXX. 
 
 i£RS WISTANLy's TvECITAL. — CONCLUSION OF THS 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 Vv HEY I entered the house, and had got upon 
 the stairs leading to the room in which Harriet 
 lay, I heard a voice enchantingly sweet, but 
 low, and sometimes broken, singing snatches of 
 ^ongs, varying from the sad to the gay, and
 
 THE MAN OP THE WORLI>. 3/3 
 
 from the gay to the sad : it was she lierself, sit- 
 tincT up in her be<l, fingerintr her pillow us if it 
 had been an harpsichord. It is not easy to con- 
 ceive the horror [ felt on seeing her in svich a 
 situation I She seemed unconscious of my ap- 
 proach, thougli lier eye was ttirned towards me 
 as 1 entered 5 only that she stopt in the midst 
 of a quick and lively movement s^ie had begun, 
 and looking v.'istfully upon me, breathed such a 
 note of sorrow, and dwelt on it v'ith a cadence 
 so mournfuL that my heart lost all the firmness 
 I had resolved to preserve, and I iiung my 
 arms round her neck, which I washed with my 
 bursting tears I — Th.e traces which her brain 
 could now only recollect, were such as did not 
 admit of any object long y i had passed over it 
 in the moment of my entrance, and it now 
 wandered from the idea ; she paid no regard to 
 my caresses, l)ut pushed me gently from her, 
 gazing steadfastly in an opposite direction to- 
 wards the door of the apartment. A servant 
 entered with some medicine he had been sent 
 to procure 5 she put it by wlien I ollered it to 
 her, and kept looking earnestly upon him ; she 
 ceased her singing too, and seemed to articu- 
 late certain imperfect sounds. For some time 
 I could not make them out to be words, but at 
 last she spoke more distinctly, and with a firmer 
 
 tone 
 
 ' You saved my life once, Sir, and I could 
 
 (hen thank you, because I wished to preserve 
 
 it ; — but now — no matter, he is happier than 1 
 
 would have him. — I would have nursed the poor 
 
 r 2
 
 1*74 THE MAN O? THE WORLD. 
 
 old man till he had seen some better days ! 
 I)less his white beard I — look there ! I have 
 heard liow they grow in the grave I — poor old 
 
 aian I' 
 
 You weep, my dear Sir ; but had you heard 
 her speak, these vvords ! I can but coWly repeat 
 :them. 
 
 All that day she continued in a state of de- 
 lirium and insensibility to every object around 
 her •, tov/ards evening she se-emed exhausted 
 witii fatigue, and the tossing of her hands, 
 TV'hich her frenzy had caused, grew languid, as 
 of one breathless and worn out ; about midnight 
 she dropt asleep. 
 
 I sat with her during the night, and when 
 she waked in the morning, she gave signs of 
 having recovered her senses, by recollecting 
 me and calling me by my name. At first, in- 
 ideed, her questions were irregular and wild j 
 but in a short time she grew so distinct, as to 
 ■thank me for having complied v^ith the request 
 of her letter : * 'Tis an office of unmerited kind- 
 ness, which,* said she, (and I could observe her 
 let fall a tear), * will be the last your unwea- 
 ried friendship for me will have to bestow.' I 
 answ^ered, that I hoped not. * Ah ! Mrs Wis- 
 tanly,' she replied, ' can you hope so ? you are 
 not my friend if you do.' I wi.->hed to avoid a. 
 subject which her mind was little able to bear, 
 and therefore made no other return than by 
 kissing her hand, which she had stretched out 
 tp me as she spoke. 
 
 At that moment we hear4 some unusiial sti?
 
 THE r.IAN 07 THE WORLI>. 175' 
 
 "below stairs, and, as the floor ^vas thin and ill 
 laid, the Avord child was very distinctly audible 
 from every tongue. Upon this she started up 
 in her bed, and v.ith a look piteous and ivild 
 beyond description, exclaimed, 'Oh ! my God! 
 Avhat of my child ?' — She had scarcely uttered 
 the words, when the landlady entered the room, 
 and showed sufficiently by her countenance 
 •that she had some dreadful tale to tell. By 
 ^igns I begged her to be silent. — ' What is 
 tecome of my infant ?' cried Harriet, — ' No 
 ill. Madam, fanswered the woman, faultering), 
 is come to it, I hope,' — ' speak,' said she, ' I 
 charge you, for I will know the worst : speak, 
 as you would .give peace to my departing soul !^ 
 -springing out of bed, and grasping the wo- 
 man's hands with all her force. It was not 
 
 easy tc resist so solemn a charge.-——* Alas I' 
 said the landlady, * 1 fear she is drowned •, for 
 the nurse's cloak and the child's wrapper have 
 been found in some ooze which the river had 
 carried down below the ford.' — — She let go 
 :the woman's hands, and wringing her own to- 
 gether, threw up her eyes to heaven, till their 
 fright was lost in the sockets. — A\e were sup- 
 .porting her, each of us holding one of her arm?. 
 — She fell on her knees between us, and drop- 
 ping her hands for a moment, then raising them 
 again, uttered with a voice, that sounded hol- 
 low, as if sunk within her : 
 
 * Power Omnipotent ! who wilt not lay on 
 thy creatures calamity beyond their strength to 
 •t»*ari if thou hast aoi yet punished me enough^
 
 176 THE MAN 0? TUB WORLO, 
 
 continue to pour out the phials of thy wrat^ 
 upon me, and enable me to support what thou 
 infllctest ! But if my faults are expiated, sufl'er 
 me to rest in peace, and graciously blot out 
 the offences which thy judgments have punish- 
 ed here V She continued in the same pos- 
 ture for a few moments j then, leaning on us as 
 if she meant to rise, bent her head forward, and, 
 drawing her breath strongly, expired in our 
 arms, 
 
 ^ ^ ^ y^ ^ 
 
 Such v/as the conclusion of Mrs Wistanly'i& 
 tale of woe ! 
 
 Spirits of gentleness and peace I who look 
 ■with such pity as angels feel, on the distresses 
 of mortality ! often have ye seen me labouring 
 under the afflictions which Providence had laid 
 upon me. Ye have seen me in a strange land, 
 without friend, and witliout comforter, poor, 
 sick, and naked ; ye have seen me shivering 
 over the last faggot which my last farthing had 
 jjurchased, moistening the crust that supported 
 nature with the tears which her miseries shed 
 on it ! yet have ye seen me look inward with a 
 smile and overcome them. — If such shall ever 
 be my lot again, so let me alleviate its sorrows ; 
 let me creep to my bed of straw in peace, after 
 Wessing God that 1 am not a Man of the World, 
 
 EKI) OF PABT FIRST,
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 Virginllus Puerisque C'anfo.— .H^iR. 
 
 PART 11.
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 A was born to a life of wanderint]^, yet my 
 heart was ever at home 1 though the country 
 that gave me birth gave me but few fiiends, 
 and of those few the greatest part Avere early 
 lost, yet the remembrance of her was present 
 with me in every clime to which my fate con- 
 ducted me j and the idea of those, whose ashes 
 repose in that humble spot, where they liad 
 often been the companions of my infant sports, 
 hallowed it in my imagination, with a sort of 
 sacred enthusiasm. 
 
 I had not been many weeks an inhabitant of 
 my native village, after that visit to the lady 
 mentioned in the first part, which procured 
 me the information I have there laid before my 
 readers, till 1 found myself once more obliged 
 to quit it for a foreign country. My parting 
 with Mrs WIstanly was more solemn and af- 
 fectintf than commoTi souls will easily imagine 
 it could have been, upon an acquaintance, ac- 
 cidental in its beginning, and short in its dura- 
 tion '■) but there was something tender and me- 
 lancholy in the cause of it, which gave an im- 
 pression to our thoughts of one another, more 
 sympathetic, perhaps, than what a series of 
 mutual obligations could have effected. 
 
 Before we parted, I could not help asking 
 *he rea=pa of her secrecy ^vitli regard to ths
 
 180 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 story of Annesly and his daughter. In answer 
 to this, she informed me, that besides the dan- 
 ger to -nliicli she exposed herself by setting 
 up in opposition to a man, in the midst of 
 whose dependants she proposed ending her 
 days, she was doubtful if her story Avould be of 
 any service to the memory of her friend ; that 
 Camplin (as she supposed, by the direction of 
 Sir Thomas Sindall, who was at that time 
 abroad) had universally given out, that Miss 
 Annesly 's elopement was with an intention to 
 be married to him \ on which footing, thougli 
 a false one, the character of that young lady 
 stood no worse than if the truth were divulged 
 ^0 those, most of whom wanted discernment, as 
 well as candour, to make the distinctions which 
 should enable them to do it justice. 
 
 Several years elapsed before J retumed i<T 
 that place, whence, it is probable, I shall mi- 
 grate no more. My friend Mrs Wistanly was 
 one of the persons after whom I first enquired 
 on my arrival. 1 fojnd her subject to the 
 common debility, but not to any of the acuter 
 distresses of age 5 with the same powers of rea- 
 son, and the same complacency of temper, I had 
 seen her before enjoy * These,' said she, * are 
 the effects of temperance without austerity, and 
 case without indolence ; I have nothing now to 
 do, but to live without the solicitude of llfe^ 
 and to die without the fear of dying.' 
 
 At one of our first interviews, I found her 
 accompanied by a young lady, who, besides a^ 
 great »har« of what is universally allowed ths 
 
 I
 
 INTRODUCTION. IS I 
 
 name of beauty, had something in her appear- 
 ance which calls forth the esteem of its be- 
 holders, without their pausing to account for 
 it. It has sometimes deceived me, yet I am 
 resolved to trust it to the last hour of my life , 
 at that time I ir-ave it unlimited confidence, and 
 I had spoken the young lady's eulogium before 
 I had looked five minutes in her fiice. 
 
 Mrs Wistanly repeated it to me after she was 
 gone. * That is one of my children,' said she, 
 ' for I adopt the children of virtue *, and she 
 calls me her mother, because I am old, and she 
 can cherish me. — ' I could have sworn to her 
 goodness,' I replied, ' without any information 
 besides what her countenance afforded me.' — 
 
 * 'Tis a lovely one,' said she, ' and her mind is 
 not flattered in its portrait. Though she is a 
 member of a family with whom I have not much 
 intercourse, yet she is a frequent visitor at my 
 little dwellincr • her name is Sindall.'— — — ' Sin- 
 dall !' I exclaimed. ' Yes,' said Mrs Wistanly, 
 
 * but she is not therefore the less amiable. Sir 
 Thomas returned from abroad soon after you 
 left this place ; but for several years he did not 
 reside here, having made a purchase of another 
 cslate in a neighbouring county, and busied 
 lilmseif, during that time, in superintending the 
 improvement of It. When he returned hither, 
 he broarrht this young lady, then a child, along 
 with him, who, it seerns, was left to his care by 
 Jier father, a friend of Sir Thomas's, who died 
 abroad j and she has lived with his aunt, who 
 lueps house for him, ever since that period/ 
 
 vol,. I J. Q
 
 1^2 INTnODUCTlOK. 
 
 The mention of Sir Thomas Sindall naturali^ 
 recalled to my mind the fate of tlie worthy, 
 but unfortunate Annesly. Mrs Wistanly told 
 me, she had often been anxious in her enquiries 
 about his son William, the only remaining 
 branch of her friend's family ; but that neither 
 rhe nor Mr Eawlinson, with -whom she had 
 corresponded on the subject, had been able to 
 procure any accounts of him ; -whence tJiey con- 
 cluded, that he had died in the plantations, to 
 ^vhich he ^vas transported in pursuance of his 
 mitigTited sentence. 
 
 She farther informed me, * that Sindall had 
 shown some marks of contrition at the tiagical 
 2ssue of the scheme he had carried on against 
 the daughter's innocence and the father's 
 peace ; and to make some small atonement to 
 the dead for the injuries he had done to the 
 living, had caused a monument to be erected 
 over their graves in the village church-yard, 
 with an inscription, setting forth the piety of 
 Annesly, and the virtues and beauty oi Har- 
 riet. But whatever he might have felt at the 
 time,' continued she, * I fear the impression 
 Tvas not lasting.' 
 
 Frcm the following chapters, containing 
 some farther particulars of that gentleman's 
 life, which n.y residence ift his neighbourhood, 
 and my acquaintance with some of the persons 
 jmmediatfly concerned in them, gave me an 
 opportunity of learning, my readers will judge 
 if Mrs Wistanly's conclu.^ion was a just one.
 
 THE 
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 PART II 
 
 CHAP. r. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PERSONS Or WHOM SI& 
 
 THOMAS SINDALl's FAMILY CONSISTED. 
 
 1 HE baronet's family consisted, at this time, 
 of his aunt, and the young lady mentioned in 
 the introduction, together with a cousin of his, 
 of the name of Bolton, who was considered as 
 presumptive heir of the Sindall estate, and 
 whose education had been superintended by 
 Sir Thomas. 
 
 This young gentleman had lately returned 
 from the university, to which his kinsman had 
 sent him. The expectations of his acquaint- 
 ance were, as is usually the case, sanguine in 
 his favour j and, what is something less usual, 
 they were not disappointed Beside the stock 
 of learning which his studies had acquired him, 
 he possessed an elegance of manner, and a win- 
 ning softness of deportment, which a college- 
 life does not often bestow, but proceeded in 
 )?in), from a cause the least variable of any, a
 
 184' THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 disposition instinctively benevolent, and an ex- 
 quisite sen5-ibility of heart. 
 
 With all his virtues, however, he was a de- 
 pendent on Sir Thomas Sindall j and their ex- 
 ercise could only be indulged :^o far as his cousin 
 gave them leave. Bolton's father, who had 
 married a daughter of the Sindall family, had 
 a considerable patrimony left him by a parent, 
 who had acquired it in the sure and commou 
 course of mercantile application. 
 
 With this, and the dowry he received with 
 his wife, he might have lived up to the limits 
 of his utmost wish, if he had confined his wishes 
 to what are commonly considered the blessings 
 of life j but, though he was not extravagant to 
 spend, he was ruined by an avidity to gain. In 
 short, he was of that order or men, who are 
 known by the name of projectors *, and wasted 
 the means of present enjovmcnt in the pursuit 
 of luxury to come. To himself, indeed, the 
 loss was but small \ while his substance was 
 mouldering avray by degrees, its value was 
 annihilated in his expectations of the future \ 
 and he died amidst the horrors of a prison, 
 smiling at the prospect of ideal wealth and vi- 
 sionary grandeur. 
 
 But with his family it was otherwise. Plis 
 wife, who had often vainly endeavoured to pre- 
 vent, by her advice, the destructive schemes of 
 her husband, at last tamely yielded to her fate, 
 and died soon after him of a broken heart, leav- 
 ing an only son, the Bolton who is now intro- 
 duced into mv storv.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 1S5 
 
 The distresses of his father had been always 
 ridiculed by Sir Thomas Siiulall, as proceeding 
 from a degree of ivhim and madness, which it 
 would have been a v/eakness to pity : his aunt, 
 Mrs Seh\'yn, joined in the sentiment ; perhaps 
 it was really her own ; but, at any rate, she 
 was apt to agree in opinion with her nephew 
 Sir Thomas, and never had much regard for her 
 sister Bolton, for some reasons no less just than 
 common. In the first plac«, her sister was 
 handsomer than she j secondly, slie was sooner 
 married j and, thirdly, she had been blessed 
 with this promising boy, while Mrs Selwyn be- 
 came a widow^ w^ithout having had a child. 
 
 There appeared, then, but little prospect of 
 protection to poor Bolton from this quarter j 
 but, as he had no other relation in any degree 
 of propinquity, a regard to decency prompted 
 the baronet to admit the boy into his house. 
 His situation, indeed, was none of the most 
 agreeable ; but the happy dispositions which 
 nature had given him, suited themselves to the 
 harshness of his fortune ; and, in whatever so- 
 ciety he w^as placed, he found himself surround- 
 ed with friends. There was not a servant in the 
 house, who would not risk the displeai,ure of 
 their master or Mrs 8elwyn, to do some for- 
 bidden act of kindness to their little favourite 
 Harry Bolton. 
 
 Sir Thomas himself, from some concurring 
 accidents, had his notice attracted by the good 
 qualities of the boy , his indifference was con- 
 quered by decn'ees, and at last he began to tak^ 
 ^ Q 2
 
 iS6 THE MAN OF illL WOULD. 
 
 upon lilniself the charge oF r(;arlng bini to man- 
 hood. There wanted only this to fix his attach- 
 ment : benelits to those whom we set apart for 
 
 oi.r own manairement and assistance, liave some- 
 
 ... 
 thing so partienhir in their nature, that there 
 
 is scarce a selfish passion which their exercise 
 
 does not gratify. Tel 1 mean not to rob Sindall 
 
 of the honour of his beneficence j it t-hall no 
 
 more want my praise, than it did the gratitude 
 
 of Bolton. 
 
 CHAP. JI. 
 
 SOME FARTHER PARTICULARS OF THE PERSONS 
 MENTIONED IN THE FOKEGOING CHAPTER. 
 
 iioLTOx, however, felt that uneasiness which 
 will ever press upon an ingenuous mind along 
 with the idea of dependence. He had there-' 
 fore frequently hinted, though in terms of the 
 utmost modesty, a desire to be put into some 
 way of life that might give him an opportunity 
 of launching forth into the Avorld, and freeing 
 his cousin from the incumbrance of a useless 
 idler in his family. 
 
 Sir Thomas had often made promises of in- 
 dulging so laudable a desire j but day after 
 day elapsed without his putting any of them 
 in execution. I'he truth was, that he had 
 contracted a sort of paternal affection for Bol-
 
 THE MA.V OF TlIK WORLD. iSj 
 
 ton, aiul found it a difficult matter to brinL; 
 liimselt" to the resolution ot" parting Avith him. 
 
 He contented himself with employing the 
 young man's genius and activity in the direction 
 and superlntendance of his country affairs ; he 
 consulted him on plans for improving his estate, 
 and entrusted him Avith the ca.e of their execu- 
 tion j he associated him with himself in matters 
 of difficult discussion as a magistrate j and in 
 the sports of the field, he v.as his constant com- 
 p anion. 
 
 It was a long time before Mrs Sehvyn, from, 
 some of the reasons I have hinted, could look 
 on Harry with a favourable eye. W hen Sir 
 Thomas first began to take notice of him, she 
 remonstrated the danger of spoiling boys by in-* 
 dulgence, and endeavoured to counterbalance 
 the estimation of his good qualities, by the re- 
 cital of little tales, which she now and then 
 picked up against him. 
 
 It was not till some time after his return 
 from the university, that Harry began to gaiu 
 ground in the lady's esteem. That attachment 
 and deference to the softer sex, which, at ^ 
 certain age, is habitual to ours, is reckoned ef-^ 
 feminacy amongst boys, and fixes a stain upon 
 their manhood. Before he went to the univer- 
 sity, Harry was under this predicament ', but 
 by the time of his return, he had attained the 
 period of refinement, and shewed his aunt all 
 those trifling civilities, which it is the preroga- 
 tive of the ladies to receive ; and whicli Mrs 
 Selwyn v;as often more ready to demand, than
 
 18S THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 some males of her acquaintance were to pay. 
 In trutl), it required a knowledge of many fe- 
 minine qualities, which this lady doubtless pos- 
 sessed, to impress the mind with an idea of that 
 courtesy which is due to the sex ; for her coun- 
 tenance was not ^expressive of much softness, 
 the natural strength of her features being com- 
 monly heightened by the assistance of snufF, 
 and her conversation generally turning on 
 points of controversy in religion and philoso- 
 phy, which, requiring an intense exertion of 
 ^thought, are therefore, I presume, from the 
 practice of the fair in general, no way favour- 
 able to the preservation or the improvement of 
 beauty. 
 
 It was, perhaps, from this very inclination for 
 investigating truth, that Bolton drew an advan- 
 tage in his approaches towards her esteem. 
 As he was just returned from the seat of learn- 
 ing, where discussions of that sort are common, 
 she naturally applied to him for assistance in 
 her researches. By assistance, T mean oppo* 
 sition 3 it being the quality of that desire after 
 knowledge with which this lady was endued, 
 to delight in nothing so much, as in having its 
 own doctrines confronted with opposite ones, 
 till they pommel and belabour one another 
 without mercy j the contest having an advan- 
 tage peculiar to battles of this kind, that each 
 party, far from being weakened by its exertion, 
 commonly appears to have gained strength, as 
 well as honour, from the rencounter. 
 
 Bolton, indeed, did not possess quite so much
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLW. 189 
 
 of this quality as his antagonist. He coijltl not, 
 in common good-breeding, refuse her chal- 
 lenge \ but he often maintained the conflict in 
 a manner rather dastardly for a philosopiier. 
 He gave, however, full audience to the lady's 
 arguments j and if he sometimes showed an 
 unwillingness to reply, she considered it as a 
 testimony of her power to silence. But she 
 was generous in her victories. Whenever she 
 conceived them completely obtained, she cele- 
 brated the powers of her adversary, and al- 
 lowed him all that wisdom which retreats from 
 the fortress it cannot defend. 
 
 There was, perhaps, another reason, as for- 
 cible as that of ob'icring Mrs Selwyn, or at- 
 taining tiie recondite piinclpks of philosophy, 
 Vviiicti increased Bolton's willingness to indulge 
 that la«!v, in becoming a party to her disquisi- 
 tions. There w^as a spectatress of the combat, 
 whose company might have been purcliased at 
 the expense of silting to hear xVquinas himself 
 
 dispute upon theology Miss Lucy Sindall. 
 
 My readers have beun acquainted, in the In- 
 troduction, with my prepossession in her favour, 
 nd the character Mrs U"i;,tanly gave in justi- 
 fication of it. They were deceived by neither. 
 With remarkable quickness of parts, and the 
 liveliest temper, she possessed all that tender-! 
 ness which is the chief ornament of the female 
 character ; and, wilii a modesty that seemed lo 
 shrink from observation, she united an ease and 
 a dignity that universally commanded it. Her 
 vivacity only arose to be amiable j no enemy
 
 190 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 could ever repeat her wit, and she had no friend 
 •who did not boast of her good-humour. 
 
 I should first have described her person : my 
 readers will excuse it j it is not of such minds 
 that 1 am most solicitous to observe the dwell- 
 ings, I have hinted before, and I repeat it, 
 that her's was such a one as no mind need be 
 ashamed of. 
 
 Such was the attendant of Mrs Selwyn, whose 
 company the good lady particularly required 
 at those seasons, when she unveiled her know- 
 ledge in argument, or pointed her sagacity to 
 instruction. She would often employ Bolton 
 and Miss Lucy to read her select passages of 
 books, when a weakness in her own sight made 
 reading uneasy to her. The subjects were 
 rarely of the entertaining kind, yet Harry never 
 complained of their length. This she attri- 
 buted to his opinion of their usefulness j Lucy 
 called it good-nature \ he thought so himself at 
 first J but he soon began to discover that it 
 proceeded from some different cause j for when 
 Miss Lucy was, by anv accident, away, he read 
 with very little complacency. He never sus- 
 pected it to be love \ much less did Lucy j 
 they owned each other for friends ; and when 
 Mrs Selwyn used to call them children, Bolton 
 would call Lucy sister j yet he M'as often not 
 displeased to remember, that she was not his 
 sister indeed.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. Jijl 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 A NATURAL CONSEQUENCE OF SOME rARTICULARS 
 CONTAINED IN THE LAST. 
 
 1 HE state of the mind may be often disguised, 
 even from the owner, v»lien he means to inquire 
 into it J but a very trifle will throw it from its 
 guard, and betray its situation, when a formal 
 examination has failed to discover it. 
 
 Bolton Avould often catch himself sighing 
 when Miss Sindall was absent, and feel his 
 cheeks glow at her approach ; he wondered 
 what it was that made him sigh and blush. 
 
 He would sometimes take solitary walks, 
 without knowing why he Avandered out alone. 
 He found something that pleased him in the 
 melancholy of lonely recesses, and half-worn 
 paths, and h.is day dreams commonly ended in 
 some idea of Miss Sindall, though he meant 
 nothing less than to think of such an object. 
 
 He had strayed, in one of those excursions, 
 about half a mile from the house, through a 
 copse at the corner of the park, which opened 
 into a little green amphitheatre, in the middle 
 ef w^hich was a pool of water, formed by a ri- 
 vulet that crept through the matted grass, till 
 it fell into this liason by a gentle cascade. 
 
 The sun was gleaming through the trees, 
 which were pictured on the surface of the pool 
 beneath •, and the silence of the scene was only 
 interrupted by the murmuis of the water-fall,
 
 292 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 sometimes accompanied hy the querulous note 
 of the wood-pigeons who inhabited the neigh- 
 bouring copse. 
 
 Bolton seated himself on the bank, and 
 listened to their dirge. It ceased j for he had 
 disturbed the sacred, solitary haunt. ' I will 
 give you some music in return,' said he, * and 
 drew from his pocket a small-piped flute, which 
 he frequently carried with him in his evening- 
 walks, and serenaded the lonely shepherd re- 
 turning from his foltl. He played a little plain- 
 tive air which himself had composed j he 
 thought he had played it by chance ', but Miss 
 Sindall had commanded it tlie day before j the 
 recollection of ]\Iiss Sindall accompanied the 
 sound, and he had drav.-n her portrait listening 
 to its close. 
 
 She was indeed listening to its close •, for ac- 
 cident had pointed her walk in the very same 
 direction with Bolton's. She was just coming 
 out of the wood, when she heard the soft notes 
 of his flute j they had something of fairy music 
 in them that suited the scene, and she was ir- 
 resistibly drawn nearer the place where he sat, 
 though some wayward feeling arose, and whis- 
 pered, that she should not approach it. Her 
 feet were approaching it whether she would or 
 no ', and she stood close by his side, while the 
 last cadence was melting from his pipe. 
 
 She repeated it after him with her voice. 
 * Miss Sindall I' cried he, starting up with some 
 emotion. ' I know,' said she, * you will be sur- 
 prised to find me here ) l>';t I was cnclmntcd
 
 THE MAX or THE WORLD. ] 93 
 
 hither by the sound of your flute. Pray touch 
 that little melancholy tune asiain.' He began, 
 hut lie played very ill. ' You blow it,' said she, 
 ' not so sweetly as before j let me try what tone I 
 can give it.' — She put it to Iier mouth, but she 
 wanted the skill to give it voice. — * There can- 
 not be much art in it ;' — slie tried it aijain — 
 ' and yet it will not speak, at mv bidding.' — She 
 looked sieadfaslly on the flute, holding her lin- 
 gers on the stopi ; her lips were red from tlie 
 pressure, and her figure altogether so pastoral 
 and innocent, that I do not believe the kisses 
 with which the poet made Diana icreet her sis- 
 ter huntresses, wei;e ever more chaste than that 
 which Bolton now stole from her by surprise. 
 
 Her cheeks v/ere crimson at this little violence 
 of Harry's — ' Wliat do you mean, Mr Bolton ?' 
 said she, dropping the flute to the ground. 
 ' 'Tis a forfeiture,' he replied, stammering, 
 and blus!iin<r excessively, ' for attempting to 
 blow my flute.' — * I don't understand you,' an- 
 swered Lucy, and turned towards the house, 
 with some marks of resentment on her counte- 
 nance. Bolton was for some time rivetted to 
 the spot ; when he recovered the use of his feet, 
 he ran after Miss Sindall, and gently laying 
 hold of her hand, * I cannot bear your anger,' 
 said lie, * though I own your displeasure is just ; 
 ])ut forgive, 1 intreat you, this unthinking of- 
 fence of him, whose respect is equal to his 
 love.'. — ' Your love, Mr Bokon !' — ' I cannot 
 retract the v.ord, though my heart has betrayed 
 from me the prudence which might have stifled 
 
 VOL. ir, K
 
 I9i THE MAN OF THE WORLW. 
 
 the declaration. I Iiave not language, Miss 
 Lucy, tor the present feelings of my soul : till 
 this moment I never knew how much I loved 
 you, and never could 1 have expressed it so ill.* 
 — He paused — she was looking fixedly on the 
 ground, drawing her hand softly from his, which 
 refused, involuntarily, to quit its hold. — * May 
 1 not hope ?' said he, — * You have my pardon, 
 Mr Bolton' — ' But' — ' I beg you,' said Lucy, 
 interrupting him, ' to leave this subject \ I know 
 your merit, Mr Bolton — uiy esteem — you have 
 thrown me into such confusion — nay, let go my 
 hand.' — ' Pity, then, and forgive me.' She 
 sighed — he pressed her hand to his lips — she 
 
 blushed, — and blushed in such a manner 
 
 They have never been in Bolton's situation, by 
 whom that sigh, and that blush, would not 
 have been understood. 
 
 CHAR IV. 
 
 BOLTON IS SEPARATED FROM MISS STNDALL. 
 
 1 HERE was too much innocence in the breast 
 of Lucy, to sutler it to be furnished with dis- 
 guise. 1 mean not to tiirow any imputation on 
 that female delicacy, which, as INI il ton ex- 
 presses it, 
 
 •—would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.' 
 This, in truth, cannot be called art, because 
 nature has given it to all her females. Let it
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 395 
 
 simply proceed from modesty, and It will never 
 go too far ', but the affectation of" it is ever tlie 
 consequence of weakness in the head, or cruelty 
 in the heart. 
 
 I believe Miss Sindall to have been subject 
 to neither j she did not therefore assume the 
 pride of indifference which she did not feel, to 
 the attachment of so much worth as Bolton's j 
 and he had soon the happiness to find, that hi» 
 affection, which every day increased, was not 
 lavished without hope of a return. 
 
 But he did not seem to be so fortunate, 
 meanwhile, in the estimation of every person 
 in the family : Sir Thomas Sindall had not of 
 late shown that cordiality towards Bolton, with 
 which he had been wont to favour him. As 
 Harry was unconscious of any reason he could 
 have given for it, this alteration in his cousin's 
 behaviour was, for some time, altogether un- 
 noticed by him : and, when at last he v, as forced 
 to observe it, he attributed it to no particular 
 cause, but considered it as merely the effect of 
 some accidental and temporaiy chagrin : nor 
 did he altogether change his opinion, even when 
 Lucy suggested to him her fears on the subject, 
 and intreated him to recollect, if he liad, in any 
 respect, disobliged bis cousin, whose behaviour 
 seemed to her to indicate some disgust con- 
 ceived particularly against him. 
 
 Not long after, the baronet informed his fa- 
 mily of his intention of changing their place of 
 residence, for some time, from Sindall-park to 
 his other estate, where, he said, he found his
 
 196 THE MAN OF THE WOKLT). 
 
 presence Avas become necessary ; and at the 
 same time communicated to Bolton his desire, 
 that he should remain behind, to superintend 
 the execution of certain plans which he had 
 laid down with regard to the management of 
 some country-business at the first-mentioned 
 place. Harry thought this sufficiently war- 
 ranted his expressing a suspicion, that his com- 
 pany had not, of late, been so agreeable to Sir 
 Thomas as it used to be, and begged to be in- 
 formed in what particular he had oifended him. 
 ' Ofi'ended me ! my dear boy,' replied Sir 
 Thomas *, * never in the least. — From what sucli 
 an idea could have arisen, 1 know not : if from 
 my leaving you here behind, when we go to 
 Bilswood, it is the most mistaken one in the 
 world : 'tis but for a few months, till those afiairs 
 I talked to you of are finished j and I hope there 
 to have opportunity of shewing, that, in your 
 absence, 1 shall be far from forgetting you.' 
 
 During the time of their stay at Sindall- 
 park, he behaved to Harrv in so courteous and 
 -obliging a manner, that his suspicions w^ere to- 
 tally removed ; and he bore with less regret 
 than he should otherwise have done, a separa- 
 tion from his Lucy, which he considered as tem- 
 porary j besides that his stay behind was ne- 
 cessary to him, whose countenance and friend- 
 ship his attachment to that young lady liad 
 now rendered more valuable in his estimation. 
 Love increases the list of our dependencies ; I 
 mean it not as an argument against the passion j 
 that sex, I trust, whose power it cstablishe?,
 
 THE MAN OP THE WORLD. 1()7 
 
 ulll point its vassals to no pursuit but vliat is 
 laudable. 
 
 Their farewell-scene pas^ed on that very spot 
 Vrhich I have described in the last chapter, as 
 witness to the declaration oi" Bolton's passion. 
 
 Their farewell but where the feelings sav 
 
 mucli, and the expression little, description will 
 seldom succeed in the picture. 
 
 Their separation, however, was alleviated by 
 the hope, that it was not likely to be of long- 
 continuance j Sir Thomas's declaration, of his 
 intending that Harry should follow them in a 
 few months, was not forgotten ; and the inter- 
 mediate days were swallowed up, in the antici- 
 pation of the pleasures which that period should 
 produce. 
 
 Jn the mean time, they took something from 
 the pain of absence by a punctual correspond- 
 ence. These letters I have seen j they de- 
 scribe things little in themselves •, to Bolton 
 and Lucy they were no trifles, but by others 
 their importance would not be understood. 
 One recital only I have ventured to extract for 
 the perusal of the reader j because I observe, that 
 it strongly aftVcted them, who, in this instance, 
 were interested no more than any to whom the 
 feelings it addresses are known j and some of 
 my readers, probably, have the advantage of 
 not being altogether unacquainted with tli^ 
 c rsons of whom it speaks. 
 
 r2
 
 IQS THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE OF MISS SINDALL S AT BILS- 
 WOOD. 
 
 1 o assume her semblance, is a tribute ^vhicli 
 Vice must often pay to Virtue. There arc popu- 
 lar qualities which the world lookb for, because 
 it is aware, that it may be sometimes benefited 
 by their exertions. Generosity is an excel- 
 lence, by the apparent possession of which, I 
 have known many worthless characters buoyed 
 up from their infamy j though with them it was 
 but thoughtless protusiou : and on the other 
 hand, I have seen amiable men marked out 
 with a sneer by the million, from a temperance 
 Or reservedness of disposition, which shuns the 
 glare of public, and the pleasures of convivial 
 life, and gives to modesty and gentle manners 
 the appearance of parsimony and meanness of 
 spirit. 
 
 The imputation of merit with mankind, Sin- 
 dall knew to be a necessary appendage to his 
 character ; he was careful, therefore, to omit 
 no opportunity of stepping forth to their no- 
 tice as a man of generosity. There was not a 
 gentleman's servant in the county, who did not 
 talk of the knight's munificence in tlie article 
 of vails J and a park-keeper was thought a 
 happy man, whom iu^ master sent \\ah a haunch 
 of venison to Su- Tlioiiias. Once a-year, too,
 
 THE MAN* OF THE WOULD. 199 
 
 -Itie feasted his tenants, and indeed the whole 
 neighbourhood, on the large lawn in the front 
 of his house, where the strong beer ran cascade- 
 wise from the mouth of a leaden triton. 
 
 But there were objects of compassion, whose 
 relief would not have figured in the eye of the 
 public, on whom he was not so remarkable for 
 bestowing his liberality. The beg2:ars, he com- 
 plained, were perpetually stealing his fruit, and 
 xiestroying his shrubbery ; he therefore kept a 
 wolf-dog to give them their answer at the gate j 
 and soaie poor families in the village on his 
 estate had been brought to beggary by prose- 
 cutions for poaching, an offence which every 
 country-gentleman is bound, in honour, to pun- 
 ish with the utmost severity of tie law j and 
 cannot, therefore, without a breach of that ho- 
 nour, alleviate by a weak and ill-judged exer- 
 cise of benevolence. 
 
 Miss Lucy, however, as she could not so 
 strongly feel the offence, would sometimes con- 
 tribute to lessen the rigour of its punishment, 
 by making small presents to the wives and chil- 
 dren of the delinquents. Passing, one evening, 
 by the door of a cottage, where one of those 
 pensioners on her bounty lived, she observed, 
 standing before it, a very beautiful lap-dog, 
 with a collar and bell, ornamented mucii be- 
 yond the trappings of any animal that could be- 
 long to the iiouse. From this circumstance her 
 cuilosity was excited to enter, when she was 
 not a little surprised to find a young lady in a 
 cioot elegant undress, sitting on a joint-stjool
 
 200 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ]>y the fire, ^vitli one of tlie children of the fa- 
 iiuly on her lap. The ladies expressed mutual 
 astonishment in their countenances at this 
 meeting, -when the good woman of the house, 
 running up to them, and clasping a hand of 
 each in her's, ' Blessings,' said she, ' thousands 
 of blessings on you both I a lovelier couple, or 
 a better, my eyes never looked on.' — The in- 
 fant clapped its hands as if instinctively. 
 
 ' Dear heart!' continued its mother, * lock, if 
 my Tommy be not thanking you too I ■well 
 may he clap his hands : if it had not been for 
 your gracious selves, by this time his hands 
 "would have been cold clay! (mumbling liis 
 lingers in her mouth, and bathing his arms with 
 her tears) ; when you strictly forbade me to 
 tell mortal of your favours. Oh ! Iiow I longed 
 to let each of you know, that there was another 
 lady in the world as good as herself.' 
 
 I'he stranger had now recovered herself 
 enough to tell Miss Lucy, how much it de- 
 jighted her to find, that a young lady of her 
 figure did not disdain to visit affliction, even 
 amongst the poor and the lowly. * That re- 
 flection,' answered the other, ' applies more 
 strongly to the lady who makes it, than to her 
 who is the occasion of itsbeing made. I have 
 not, madam, tlie honour of your acquaintance j 
 but methinks, pardon my boldness, that I feel 
 as if we Avere not strangers •, at least I am surf- 
 that I should reckon it a piece of singular geod 
 fortune, if this inteiview could entitle me io 
 call you straijger no longer.' Their landladv
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 201 
 
 KLned and laughed by turns ; and her two guests 
 were so much pleased with this meeting, that 
 they appointed a renewal of it, at an hour sonie- 
 ■what earlier of the subsequent evening. 
 
 Lucy came a few minutes before the time 
 o^ appointment y when she learned, that the 
 stranger v^as the daughter of a neighbouring 
 gentleman, whom a difference of disposition 
 from that of Sir Thomas Sindall, arising at last 
 to a particular coolness, had entirely estranged 
 for many years from the baronet, and prevent- 
 ed all intercourse between the families. 
 
 AVhen this lady arrived, she brought such 
 tidings along with her, that I question, if in 
 all the sumptuous abodes of wealth and gran- 
 deur, there was to be found so much sincerity 
 of joy, as within the ragged and mouldering 
 walls of the hovel which she graced with her 
 presence. She informed the grateful mistress 
 of it, that by her intercession with some jus- 
 tice of the peace, who made part of the judi- 
 cature before whom the poor woman's husband 
 was brought, his punishment had been mitiga- 
 ted to a small fine, which she had undertaken 
 to pay, and that he would veiy soon be on his 
 way homewards. The joy of the poor man's 
 laniily at this intelligence was such as they 
 could not, nor shall I, attempt to express. 
 His deliverance was indeed unexpected, be- 
 caufjc his crime was great : no less than that ot 
 Iiaving set a gin in his garden, for some cats 
 that used to prey on a single brood of chickens, 
 Lis only property 3 which gin had, one nl^hr,
 
 202 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 wickedly and maliciously Iianged a hare, Aviiich 
 the baronet's game-keeper next morning disco- 
 vered in it. 
 
 His wife and little ones seemed only to Le 
 restrained by the respected presence of their 
 guests, from running out to meet a husband and 
 a father restored to them from captivity. The 
 ladies observing it, encouraged them in the 
 design j and having received the good woman's 
 benediction on her knees, they walked out to- 
 gether j and leaving the happy family on the 
 road to the prison, turned down a winding ro- 
 mantic walk, that followed the mazes of a rill, 
 in an opposite direction. 
 
 Lucy, whose eyes had been fixed with re- 
 spectful attention on her fair companion, ever 
 since her arrival at the cottage, now dropped a 
 tear from each. * You will not wonder at these 
 tears, madam,' said she, ' when you know that 
 they are my common sign of joy and admira- 
 tion ; they thank you on behalf of myself and 
 my sex, whose peculiar beauty consists in those 
 gentle virtues you so eminently possess *, my 
 heart feels not only pleasure, but pride, in an 
 instance of female Avorth so exalted. Though 
 the family in which I live, from some cause un- 
 known to me, have not the happiness of an in- 
 tercourse with yours, yet your name is fami- 
 liar to my ear, and carries Avith it the idea of 
 every amiable and engaging quality.' — * Nor 
 am I,' returned the other, * a stranger to the 
 name, of the w'orth of Miss Sindall, and 1 
 reckon myself singularly fortunate, not only t«
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 203 
 
 bavc accidentally made an acquaintance with 
 her, but to have made it in that very style, 
 which effectually secures the esteem her cha- 
 iucter had formerly impressed me with.' ' Be- 
 neficence, indeed,' replied Lucy, ' is a virtue, 
 of which the possession may entitle to an ac- 
 <jttaintance with one to whom that virtue is so 
 particularly known.' * It is no less a pleasure 
 than a duty,' rejoined her companion ', * but I, 
 Miss Sindall, have an additional incitement to 
 the exercise of it, which, perhaps, as the tongue 
 of curiosity is at one time as busy as its ear is 
 attentive at another, you may ere this have 
 heard of. That ancient building, to which 
 the walk we are on will in a few minutes con- 
 <!uct us, was formerly in the possession of one, 
 in whose bosom resided every gentle excellence 
 that adorns humanity j he, Miss Sindall, — why 
 should I blush to tell it ? — in the sordid calcu- 
 lation of the world, his attachment was not en- 
 viable ; tbvi remembrance of it, though it wrings 
 my heart with sorrow, is yet my pride and my 
 rfelii^ht ! your feelings, jNIiss Lucy, will under- 
 stand ti}is — the dear youth left me executrix of 
 that philanthropy which death alone could stop 
 in its course. To discharge this trust, is the 
 business of my life j for I hold myself bound to 
 discharge it.' 
 
 They had now reached the end of the walk, 
 whf^re it opened into a little circle surrounded 
 with trees, and fenced by a rail, in front of an 
 antique-looking house, the gate of which was 
 ornamented with a rudely-sculptured crest, cy-
 
 201' THE MAN OF THE WORr.D. 
 
 piiered round -with the initials of some name, 
 Mdiich time hud rendered illegible ; but, a few 
 paces before it, -was placed a small urn, of mo- 
 dern v;orkmansliip, and, on a tablet bcncatli, 
 ivas written, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 WILLIAM BARLEY. 
 
 Lucy stepped up to read this inscription ; 
 ' Harley!' said bhe, * how I blush to think thafc 
 I have scarcely ever heard of the uame 1' — - 
 * Alas !' said iMiss Walton, ' his actions were 
 not of a kind that is loudly talked of: but what 
 is the fame of the world ? by him its voice 
 could not now be heard!'' — There was an ardent 
 earnestness in her look, even amidst the me- 
 lancholy w'ith whicli her countenance w-as im- 
 pressed. * There is a blank at the bottom of 
 the tablet,' said Lucy: her companion smiled 
 gloomily at the observation, and, leaning on 
 the urn in a pensive attitude, replied, ' that it- 
 jshonid one day be filled up.' 
 
 They now heard the tread of feet approach- 
 ing the place: Lucy was somewhat alarme<l at 
 tlie sound j bnt her fears were removed, when 
 site discovered it to proceed from a venerable 
 old man, who, advancing towards them, accost- 
 ed Miss "Walton by her name, who, in her turn, 
 pronounced the word Peter 1 in the tone of
 
 THE ilAN OF THE WORLD. 2()5 
 
 ;uTprIse. She stretched out her hand, ^vhlch 
 he clasped in his, and looked in her face with 
 a certain piteous "wistfulness, ^vhile a tear -was 
 swelling in his eye. ' My dear lady,' said he, 
 * I have travelled many a mile since T saAv your 
 ladyship last : by God's blessing I have suc- 
 ceeded very well in the business your ladyship 
 helped me to set up *, and havincr some dealings 
 with a tradesman in London, 1 have been as far 
 as that city and back again ; and, said I to my- 
 self, if I could venture on such a journey for 
 the sake of gain, may I not take a shorter for 
 the sake of thanking my benefactress, and see- 
 ing my old friends in the country ? and I had 
 a sort of yearning to be here, to remember good 
 
 Mrs Margery, and my dear young master. 
 
 God forgive me for weeping, for he was too 
 
 good for this world !' The tears of Miss. 
 
 Walton and Lucy accompanied his. — * Alack- 
 a-day I' continued Peter, ' to think how things 
 will come to pass I that there tree was planted 
 by his own sv/eet hand I — I remember it well, 
 he was then bat a boy ', I stood behind him, 
 holding the plants in my apron thus : — * Peter,*" 
 said he, as he took one to stick it in the ground, 
 ' perhaps I shall not live to see this grow I' — 
 ' God grant your honour may,' said I, * when I 
 am dead and gone !' and I lifted up the apron 
 to my eyes, for my heart grew big at his words •, 
 but he smiled in my face, and said, * "SA e 
 ?hall both live, Peter, and that will be best.' 
 
 Ah ! I little thcRight then. Miss Walton, 
 
 I little tliought 1' — and lie shook lii.s thin grey 
 VOL. II. b-
 
 S06 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Jocks ! — the heart of apathy itself could not 
 have withstood it •, Miss Walton's and Lucy's, 
 melting and tender at all times, were qiiitft 
 overcome. 
 
 They stood some time silent; Miss Walton 
 at last recollected herself: * Pardon me, Miss 
 Sindall,' said she, * I was lost in the indulgence 
 of my grief: let us leave this solemn scene, I 
 have no right to tax you with my sorroAVS.' 
 * Call not their participation by that name,' an- 
 swered Lucy, ' 1 know the sacredness of sor- 
 row ; yours are such as strengthen the soul 
 nhile thev melt it.' 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 A CHANGE IX BOLTOK S SITUATION. 
 
 i HE reader will pardon the digression I have 
 made j I would not, willingly, lead him out of 
 his way, except into some path, where his feel- 
 ings may be expanded, and his heart improved. 
 
 He will remember, that I mentioned, in the 
 fourth chapter, the expectation which Bolton 
 entertained, of seeing his Lucy at a i>eriod not 
 very remote. 
 
 But that period was not destined to arrive so 
 soon. When he expected Sir Thoma.s's com- 
 mands, or rather his permission, to visit the fa- 
 mily at Bilswood; he received a letter frcm tfea
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 20? 
 
 gentleman, purporting, that he had at last been 
 able to put him in the ^vay of attaining that in- 
 dependence he had so often wisiied for, having 
 just procured him a commission in a regiment 
 then stationed at Gibraltar j that thoittrli he, 
 (Sir Thomas), as well as Mrs Sehvyn and Lucy, 
 was exceedingly desirous of having an oppor- 
 tunity of bidding him farewell, yet he had pre- 
 vailed on himself to wave that pleasure, from 
 the consideration of its inconvenience to Hariy, 
 as it was absolutely necessary that he should 
 join his regiment immediately. He inclosed 
 letters of introduction to several gentlemen of 
 his acquaintance in London, remitted him drafts 
 on that place for a considerable sum, to fit him 
 out for his intended expedition, and begged that 
 he might lose no time in repairing thither for 
 that purpose. He ended with assuring him of 
 the continuance of his friendship, which, he 
 declared, no distance of time or place could 
 alienate or impair. 
 
 The eflfect which this letter had upon Bol- 
 ton, as he was then circumstanced, my readers 
 can easily imagine. There was another ac- 
 companied it — a note from his Lucy ; she in- 
 tended it for comfort, for it assumed the lan- 
 guage of consolation *, but the depression oi her 
 own spirits was visible, amidst the hopes v;ith 
 which she meant to buoy up those of Bolton. 
 
 With this letter for its text, did his imagina- 
 tion run over all tlie delights of tlie past, and 
 compare them with the disappointment of tlie 
 present. Yet those tender regrets which the
 
 20S THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 better part of our nature feels, have something 
 in them to blunt the edge of that pain they in- 
 fliet, and confer on the votaries of sorrow a 
 •sensation that borders on pleasure. He visited 
 the walks which his Lucy had trod, the trees 
 under which he had sat, the prospects they had 
 marked together, and he would not have ex- 
 changed his feelings for all that luxury could 
 give, or festivity inspire. Nor did he part with 
 the idea after the object was removed j but, 
 even on the road to London, to which place he 
 began his journey next morning, 'twas but pull- 
 ing out his letter auain, humming over that 
 little melancholy air whicli his Lucy had praised, 
 and the scene was present at once. It drew 
 indeed a sigh from liis bosom, and an unmanly 
 tear stood in his eye j yet the sigh and the -ear 
 were such, tliat it was Impossible to wish it rc- 
 sioved. 
 
 CHAP. VIL 
 
 HIS ARRIVAL, AND SITUATION IN LONDOJiV'. 
 
 When Bolton reached the metropolis, he ap- 
 plied, without delay, to those persons for whom 
 he iiad letters from Sir Thomas Sindall, Avhose 
 instructions the baronet had directed him to 
 follow, in that course of military duty which lie 
 liad now enabled him to pursue. 
 
 Jo Ijie reception he met with, it is not sui*-
 
 THE MAJf OF THE WORLB, 209 
 
 prising that he was disappointed. He looked 
 lor that cordial frIc^d^hIp, that -warm attach- 
 ment, ^vhich is only to be found in the smaller 
 circles of private life, Avhich is lost in the bustle 
 and extended connection of large societies. 
 The letters he presented v.ere read %vlth a civil 
 indifl'erence, and produced tlije unmeaning pro- 
 fessions of ceremony and politeness. From 
 some of those to whom they were addrei^sed, he 
 had invitations, which he accepted with dlffi.- 
 dence, to feasts which he partook with disgust ; 
 where Ire sat, amidst the profusion of ostenta 
 tlous wealth, surrounded with company he did 
 not know, and listening to discourse in which 
 he was not qualiiied to join. 
 
 A plain honest tradesman, to whom he hap- 
 pened to carry a commission from ]Mrs Wis- 
 tanly, was the only person vvho seemed to take 
 an interest in his welfare. At this man's house 
 he received the welcome of a favoured acquain- 
 tance : he eat of the family dinner, and heard 
 the jest which rose for their amusement ; for 
 ceremony did not regulate the figure of their 
 table, nor had fashion banished the language of 
 nature from their lips. Under this man's guid- 
 ance, he transacted any little business his situa- 
 tion required, and was frequently conducted by 
 him to those very doors, whose lordly owners 
 received him in that manner, which grandeur 
 thinks itself entitled to assume, and dependence 
 is constrained to endure. 
 
 After some days of inquiry and solicitude, he 
 learned, that it was not necessary for him to 
 s
 
 ^10 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 join his regiment so speedily as Sir Thomas''s 
 -letter had induced him to helieve. 
 
 Upon obtaining this information, he imme- 
 <liately communicated it to the baronet, and 
 signitied at the same time, a desire of improving 
 that time, which this respite alloAved iiim for his 
 stay in England, in a visit to the family at Bils- 
 wood. But with this purpose his cousin's ideas 
 did not at all coincide j he wrote Harry an an- 
 swer, disapproving entirely his intentions of 
 leaving London, aiul laid down a plan for his 
 Improvement in military science, which could 
 only be followed in the metropolis. Here was 
 another disappointment 3 but Harry considered 
 it his duty to obey. 
 
 What he felt, however, may be gathered from 
 the following letter which he wrote to Miss 
 Sindall, by the post succeeding that which 
 brought him the instructions of Sir Thomas. 
 
 ' As I found, soon after my arrival here, that 
 the necessity of joining my regiment immedi- 
 ately was superseded, I hoped, by this time, to 
 have informed my dearest Lucy, of my in- 
 tended departure from London, to be once 
 more restored to her and the country. 
 
 * I have suftered the mortification of another 
 tllsappolntment ; Sir Thomas's letter is now 
 before me, which fixes me here for the winter j 
 1 confess the reasonableness of his opinion j 
 but reason and Sir Thomas cannot feel like 
 Bolton. 
 
 ' When we parted last, we flattered ourselves 
 with other prospects j cruel as the reflection
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 211 
 
 IS, I feel a sort of plea^^ure in recalling it ; espe- 
 cially wb^n I ventured to helieve, that my 
 Lucy has not forgotten our parting. 
 
 * To-morrow is Cliri^tma-»-c]ay j I call to re- 
 membrance our last year's holidays ; may these 
 be as happy with you, though i am not to par- 
 take them. Write me every particular of tiiese 
 days of jollity ; fear net, as your last letter ex- 
 presses it, tiring me with trifles ; nothing is a 
 trifle in which you are concerned. While I 
 read the account, 1 will fancy myself at Bils- 
 wood : here I will vvalk. forth, an unnoticed 
 thing amidst the busy crowd that surrounds 
 me ; your letters give me some interest in my- 
 self, because they show me that I am some- 
 thing to my Lucy j she is every thing to her 
 
 * Boston-' 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 FILIAL PIETY, 
 
 ijOLTON had a disposition toAvards society, 
 that did not allow him an indifference about 
 any thing of human form with whom he could 
 have an opportunity of intercourse. He was 
 every one's friend in his heart, till some posi- 
 tive demerit rendered a person unworthy his 
 good will. 
 
 He had not long possessed his lodiings in 
 town, till he cultivated an acquaintance with
 
 £12 THE MAN OP THB WORL». 
 
 his lantlloril and landlady : the latter he found 
 to be the representative of tlie family, from a 
 pouer of loquacity very much superior to her 
 husband, -who seemed to be wonderfully pleased 
 wtli his v,'ife's conversation, and veiy happy 
 under what might, not improperly, be termed 
 her government. 
 
 To Mrs Terwitt, therefore, (for that was the 
 lady's name), did Bolton address his approaches 
 towards an acquaintance, and from her he had 
 the good fortune to find them meet with a fa- 
 vourable reception : They were so intimate the 
 second week of his residence in the house, that 
 she told him the best part of the transactions 
 of her life, and consulted him upon the dispo- 
 sal of her eldest daughter in marriage, whom ar 
 young tradesman, she said, had been in suit 
 of ever since the Easter-holidays preceding. 
 
 * We can give her,' added she, ' something- 
 handsome enough for a portion ; and the old 
 gentleman above stall's has promised her a pre- 
 sent of a hundred pounds on h.er wedding-day, 
 
 .provided she marries to please him.'' 
 
 * The gentleman above stairs I' said Bolton j 
 
 * how have 1 been so unlucky as never to have 
 heard of him before ?' ' He is not at present 
 in town,' replied the landlady, ' having gone 
 about a fortnight ago to Bath, whence he is 
 not yet returned. Indeed, I fear, his health 
 requires some stay at that place, for he has 
 been but poorly of late : Heaven preserve his 
 life ! for he is a good friend of ours, and of 
 many one's else, who stand in need of his
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 215 
 
 friendship. He has an estate, Sir, of a thou- 
 sand pounds a-year, and money besides, as I 
 have been told j yet he chuses to live private, 
 as you will see j and spends, 1 believe, the most 
 of his income in charitable actions.' 
 
 * I did indeed,' said Harry, ' observe a 
 young man come to the <ioor this morning at 
 an early hour, and I heard him ask if the gen- 
 tleman was returned^ but [ did not then know 
 that he meant any person who lodged here.' 
 * Ay, sure enough he meant Mr Rawllnson,' 
 said Mrs Terwitt, * and I wish he may not feel 
 his absence much ; for he has called here fre- 
 quently of late, and, the last time, when he 
 was told of his not being yet returned, Betty 
 observed that th^ tears gushed from his eyes.' 
 ' When he calls again,' said Bolton, * 1 beg 
 that I may be informed of it.' 
 
 Next morning he heard somebody knock at 
 the door, much about the time he had seen 
 the young man approach it the preceding day : 
 ^ipon going to the window, he observed the 
 same stripling, but his dress was different ; he 
 had no coat to cover a thread-bare waistcoat, 
 nor had he any hat. Bolton let the maid 
 know, that he was aware of his being at the 
 door, and resume-d his own station at the win- 
 dow. The youth repeated his enquiries after 
 IMr Rawlinson, and, upon receiving the same 
 answer, cast up to heaven a look of resignation, 
 und retired. 
 
 Bolton slipped down --tairs and followed him^ 
 ins lodgings were situated near Queen-square .,
 
 gl4 THE MAN OF THE WORL». 
 
 the lad took the country-road, and went oft 
 without stopping till he reached Pancraa 
 church-yard. He stood seemingly entranced, 
 over a new-covered grave at one end of it. 
 Harry placed himself under cover of a tomb 
 hard by, where he could mark him unper* 
 ceived. 
 
 He held his hands clasped in one another, 
 and the tears began to trickle down his cheeks. 
 Bolton stole from out his hiding place, and ap- 
 proached towards the spot. The poor lad be- 
 gan to speak, as if addressing himself to the 
 dead beneath. 
 
 * Thou canst not feel their cruelty ; nor 
 shall the winds of winter chill thee, as they do 
 
 thy wretched son j inhuman miscreants j 
 
 but these shall cover thee.' — He threw himself 
 on the ground, and spread his arms over the 
 grave, on which he wept. 
 
 Bolton stooped down to raise him from the 
 earth j he turned, and gazed on him, with a look 
 'wildered and piteous. * Pardon a stranger, 
 young man,' said Bolton, ' who cannot but be 
 interested in your sorrow ; he is not entitled 
 so ask its cause, yet his heart swells with the 
 hope of removing it.' — * May Heaven requite 
 you,' replied the stranger, * for your pity to a 
 poor orphan ! Oh ! Sir, I have not been used 
 to beg, and even to receive charity is hard 
 upon me j did I mean to move compassion, I 
 have a story to tell. — You weep already, Sir I 
 hear me, and judge if I deserve your tears. 
 
 * Her« lies my father, the only relation
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 21 J 
 
 5vliora misfortune had left to own me j but 
 Heaven had sent us a friend in that best of 
 men, Mr Rawlinson. He came accidentally to 
 the knowledge of our sutfering>i, and took on 
 himself the charge of relieving them, which 
 the cruelty of our own connections had aban- 
 doned I but, alas I v/ben, by his assistance, my 
 father was put into a way of earning his bread, 
 he was seized with that illness of which he 
 died. Some small debts, which his short time 
 in business had not yet allowed hira to dis- 
 charge, were put in suit against him by his 
 creditors. His sickness and death, w^hich hap- 
 pened a few^ days ago, did but hasten their 
 -proceedings ; they seized. Sir, the very cover- 
 ing of that bed on which his body was laid. 
 Mr Rawlinson was out of town, and 1 fancy he 
 never received those letters I wrote him to 
 Bath. I had no one from whom to expect re- 
 lief 5 every thing but these rags on my back, I 
 sold to bury the best of fathers ; but my little 
 all was not enough ! and the man whom 1 em- 
 ployed foi- his funeral, took, yesterday, from off 
 these clods, the very sod which had covered 
 iiim, because I had not wherewithal to pay its 
 price.' Bolton fell on his neck, and answered 
 him with his tears. 
 
 He covered the dust of the father, and 
 clothed the nakedness of the son *, and lia- 
 ving placed him where it was in his power to 
 make future enquiries after his situation, left 
 him to bless Providence for the aid it had sent, 
 ^.vithout knonrirg the hand through which it«
 
 216 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 bounty bad flowed. That liand, indeed, the 
 grateful youth pressed to his lips at pai ting, 
 and begged earnestly to know the name of his 
 benefactor. * I am a friend,' said Bolton, ' of 
 Mr Rawlinson, and humanity.' 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 4 VERY ALARMING ACCIDENT ; WHICH PROVE? 
 THE MEANS OF BOLTOn's GETTING ACQUAINT- 
 ED WITH HIS FELLOW LODGER. 
 
 ♦'^ HEN Bolton returned, In the evening, from 
 those labours of charity he had undertaken, he 
 found that the family were abroad, supping, in 
 a body, with the daughter's lover : the maid 
 sat up to wait their home coming ; and Bol- 
 ton, who had more libertv, but much less in- 
 clination to sleep, betook himself to medita- 
 tion. 
 
 It was now near midnight, and the hum ov 
 Betty's spinning-wheel, which had frequently 
 intermitted before, became entirely silent, when 
 Bolton was alarmed with a very loud knocking 
 of the watchman at the door, and presently a 
 confused assemblage of voices crying out, 
 * Fire ! Fire !' echoed from one end of the 
 street to the other. Upon opening his window, 
 he discovered too plainly the reason of the 
 alarm : the flames were already appearing at 
 the. windows of the ground floor, to which they
 
 THE MAN OF THE ^VORLD. 217 
 
 had probably been communicated by tbe candle, 
 which the maid had burning by her in the 
 kitchen below. 
 
 She had now at last awaked, and was running 
 about before the door of the house, wrin;rinor 
 her hands, and speaking incoherently to the few 
 Avho were assembled by the outcry, without hav- 
 ing recollection enough to endeavour ' to save 
 any thing belonging to herself or her master. 
 
 Bolton, who had more the possession of his 
 faculties, entreating the assistance of some 
 watchmen, whom the occasion had drawn to- 
 gether, made shift to convey into the street, a 
 few things which he took to be the most valu- 
 able ; desiring Bettv to be so much mistres> of 
 herself, as to keep an eye upon them for her 
 master's benefit. 
 
 She continued, however, her broken excla- 
 mations of horror and despair, till, at last scart- 
 ing as it were into the remembrance of bome- 
 thinjf forgot, she cried out vehemently, * Oh ! 
 ray God ! where is iNIr Rawlinson ?' 
 
 Bolton caught the horrid meaning of her 
 question, and pushing through the fla.ncs wliicu 
 had now taken hold of the staircase, forc<d his 
 way into the bed-chamber occupied by lii< old 
 gentleman, who had returned from the country 
 that very evening, and, being fatigued with his 
 journey, had gone to bed before his fellow- lod- 
 ger's arrival at home. 
 
 He had not waked till the room under tiiat 
 
 Wi 
 
 ,1, 
 
 re lie lay was in a blaze, and, on attemptiuir 
 lo rise, was stilled with the smoke that poured 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 218 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 in at every cranny of the floor, and fell sense- 
 less at his bed-side, where Bolton found him 
 upon entering the room. 
 
 On endeavouring to carry him down stairs, 
 he found it had now become impracticabie, 
 several of the steps having been quite burnt 
 away, and fallen down in flaming brands, since 
 the moment before, wlien he liad ascended. 
 
 Pie had presence of mind enough left to ob- 
 serve, that the back-part of the houne was not 
 so immediatel}^ aftected by the flames j he car- 
 ried Mr Rawlinson therefore into a room on 
 that side, and, having beat out the sash, ad- 
 mitted air enough to revive him. The latter 
 presently recollected his situation, and asking 
 Harry, if it was possible to get down stairs, 
 heard him answer in the negative with remark- 
 able composure. * As for me,' said he, ' i shall 
 lose but few of my days j but I fear. Sir, youv 
 generous concern for a stranger, has endanger- 
 ed a life much more valuable than mine : let 
 me beg of you to endeavour to save yourself, 
 which your strength and agility may enable you 
 to do, without regarding a poor, worn-out, old 
 man, who would only encumber you in the 
 attempt.' Bolton, with a solemn earnestness, 
 declared, that no consideration should tempt 
 Lim to such a desertion. 
 
 He had, before this, vainly endeavoured to 
 procure a ladder, or some other assistance, from 
 the people below j the confusion of the scene 
 prevented their aff()rding it : he considered, 
 therefore, if he could not furnish some expe-
 
 TKE MAX OF THE WORLD. 2l9 
 
 «Ient from -within, and having united the cord- 
 age of a bed, which stood in the room, he found 
 it would make a sufficient length oi rope to reach 
 Avithin a few feet of the o-rouiul. This he fast- 
 ened round Mr llawlinson's wai ;t, insucii a way 
 that liis arms should support part of the weight 
 of his body, and sliding it over the edc:e of the 
 window, so as to cause somewhat more resist- 
 ance in the descent, he let him down, in that 
 manner, till he was within reach of some assist- 
 ance below, wlio caugJit him in their arms; then 
 fastening the end of the rope round the post of 
 tlie bed, he slid so far down upon it himself, 
 that he could safely leap to the ground. 
 
 He conveyed Mr Rawlinson to other lodgings 
 hard by, which then happened to be vacant j 
 and having got him accommodated with some 
 clothes belonging to the landlord, he returned 
 to see what progress the fire had been making, 
 when he found, that, happily, from a piece of 
 waste ground's lying between the house where 
 it broke out, and the other to the leeward, it 
 was got so much under, as to be in no danger 
 of spreading any further. 
 
 Upon going back to Mr Rawlinson, he found 
 him sitting in the midst of the family with 
 whom he hadl odged, ministeriuLi; comfort to 
 their distresses j the unfortunate Betty, whom, 
 as she stood self-condemned for her neglect, he 
 considered as the greatest sufferer, he had 
 placed next him. ' You shall not,' said he, ad- 
 dressing himself to the old folks, * interrupt the 
 happiness of my friend Nancy or her lover here,
 
 220 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 •vvith wailing your misibrtunp, or finding of 
 Betty. I will become bound to make np al! 
 your losses, provided your good humour is not 
 of the number. 
 
 ' But who,' continued the old gentleman, 
 * shall reward Mr Bolton for the service he has 
 done us all ?' ' May Heaven reward him !' 
 cried Mrs Terwitt, and all her audience an- 
 swered, Amen ! * You pray well,' said Mr 
 Rawlinson, ' and your petition is heard j on 
 him, to whom the disposition of benevolence Is 
 given, its recompcnce is already bestowed.' 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 EFFECTS OF HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR 
 RAWLINSON. 
 
 Ouch was Bolton's introduction to Mr Rav,lin- 
 son's acquaintance; and from the circumstance 
 of its commencement, my readers will easily 
 believe, that neither party could be indjtleient 
 to its continuation. Rawlinson saw his own 
 virtues warm and active in the bosom of his 
 young friend; while Harry contemplated with 
 equal delight, that serenity which their recol- 
 lection bestowed on the declining age of Raw- 
 linson. 
 
 In one of his visits to the old gentleman, 
 some time after the acclde.it related in the fore- 
 going chapter, he found with him that very
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 221 
 
 youth, whose sorrow, over the grave of his fa- 
 ther, he had so lately been the means of alle- 
 viating. The young man was, indeed, in the 
 midst of their recital as Bolton entered the 
 room, and had just mentioned with regret his 
 ignorance of his benefactor, when the door 
 opened and discovered him. Bolton could not 
 help blushing at the discovery^ the other, 
 starting from his seat, exclaimed, * It is he, it 
 is himself!' threv^ himself on his knees before 
 Harry, with tears in his eyes, and poured out 
 some broken expressions of the warmest grati- 
 tude. ' it Avas you then,' said Mr Rawlinson, 
 * who were the comforter of my poor boy, who 
 covered the grave of his unfortunate father I I 
 will not thank you, for Jack is doing it better 
 with his tears j but I will thank Heaven, that 
 there are some 8uch men to preserve my vene- 
 ration for the species.' ' I trust, my dear Sir,' 
 said Bolton, * there are many to whom such ac- 
 tions are habitual.' — * You are a young man,' 
 interrupted the other, * and it is fit you should 
 believe so j I will believe so too, for I have 
 sometimes known what it is to enjoy them. — Go, 
 my boy,' turning to the lad, * and wish for the 
 luxury of doing good ; remember Mr Bolton, 
 and be not forget I'al of Providence.' 
 
 ' The father of that young man,' said Mr 
 Rawlinson, when he was gone, * was a school- 
 fellow of mine here in town, and one of the 
 worthiest creatures in th« world ', but, from a 
 milkiness of disposition, without the direction 
 «f j)rudencc, or the guard of suspicion, he suf- 
 T 2
 
 222 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 fered himself to ])Ccome a dupe to the aitiilccs 
 <>F some designing- n)en •, an»l ulien, some time 
 ago, 1 discovered his phice of" abode in an ob- 
 scure vilhige in the country, i found lilm strip- 
 j)ed of his patrimony, and burthened with tlie 
 charge of t'.iat boy, who lias just now left n.^, 
 whose mother, it seems, had died when he was 
 a child. Yet, amidst the distresses of his po- 
 verty, I found that easiness of temper, which 
 had contributed to bring them on, had not for- 
 saken him j he met with a smile of satisfaction, 
 and talked of the cruel indifference of some 
 wealthy relations, without the emotions of angei", 
 or the acrimony of disappointment. He seemed, 
 indeed, to feel for his child j but comforted 
 himself at the same time with the reflection 
 that he had bred him to expect adversity with 
 composure, and to suffer poverty with content- 
 ment. He died, poor man, when 1 had put him 
 in a way of living with some comfort ; nor had I 
 even an opportunity of doing the common of- 
 fices of friendship to his last moments, my 
 health having obliged me to go down to Bath, 
 "whence I had removed to Bristol, and did not 
 receive any account of his illness till my return 
 to London. I am in your debt, Mr Bolton, 
 for some supplies to his son j let me know what 
 those were, that we may clear the account.' 
 Bolton replied, that he hoped Mr Rawlinson 
 could not wish to deprive him of the pleasure 
 he felt from the reflection of having assisted so 
 much filial piety in distress. ' It shall be in 
 your own way/ said the old gentleman j * 1 am
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 2-3 
 
 not such a niggard as to gvudge you the op- 
 portunity \ yet 1 cannot but regret n)y absencf^ 
 ■when 1 should have closed the eyes of poor 
 ennings. He was the last of those compa- 
 nions of my childhood, who?>e history in life 1 
 liad occaijion to be acquainted with; the rest, 
 Mr l^oltou, had already fallen around me, ar.d 
 I am now left within a little of the grave, with- 
 out a fiieiid (except one, whom accident bus 
 acquired me in you,) to smooth tlie path that 
 leads to it j but that is short, and therefore it 
 matters not much. At my age, nature herself 
 may be expected to decline ; but a lingering 
 illness is shortening her date. I would do, 
 therefore, what good \ can, in the space that 
 is left me, and look forward, if I may be al- 
 lowed, to make some provision for the service 
 of futurity. Here are two papers. Sir, which, 
 on mature deliberation, I have judged it proper 
 to commit to your custody ; that in the parch- 
 rnent-cover, which is not labelled, my death 
 alone will authorise you to open •, the other 
 marked, * Trust deed by Mr Annesly,' I can 
 explain to you now. That man, Mr Bolton, 
 who is now a saint in heaven, was prepared for 
 it by the severest calamities on earth: the guilt 
 and misfortune of two darling children, cut 
 .short the remnant of a life, whose business it was 
 to guide, and whose pleasure to behold them 
 in the paths of virtue and of happiness. . At 
 the time of his death they were both alivej one, 
 alas I did not long survive her father j what 
 has become of her brother, I have never been
 
 224? THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 able to learn ; but this trust put in my bands 
 in their behalf, may still be of importance to 
 him or his, and to you therefore I make it 
 over for that purpose j for thou2;h, by Mr An- 
 nesly's >»ettlement, the subject of trust accrues 
 to me on the failure of his own issue, yet would 
 I never consider it as mine, while the smallest 
 chance remained of his son, or the descendants 
 of his son, surviving- • and even were the nega- 
 tive certain, I should then only look on myself 
 as the stev/ard of my friend, for purposes which 
 his goodness would have dictated, and it be- 
 comes his trustee to fulfil. In such a charge I 
 Kill not instruct my executor ; I liave been for- 
 tunate enough to find one Avhose heart will in- 
 struct him.' 
 
 Bolton, while he promised an execution of 
 this trust worthy of the confidence reposed in 
 him, could not iielp expressing his surprise at 
 Mr Rawlinson's choice of him for that purpose. 
 * I do not wonder,' replied the other, ' that you 
 should think thus, for thus has custom taught 
 us to think J I have told you how friendless and 
 unconnected I am ; but while we trace the rela- 
 tives of birth and kindred, shall we allow no- 
 thing to the ties of the heart, or the sympathy 
 of virtue ?'
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 225 
 
 CHAP. xr. 
 
 A REMARKABLE EVENT IN THE IlISTOUY OF BOL- 
 TON — HIS EEHAVIOUli IN CONSEQUENCE OF IT. 
 
 1 HE provisions which Mr Kawllnson had made, 
 for an event of which he had accustomed him- 
 self to think with composure, were but too pre- 
 dictive of its arrival. That Avorthy man lived 
 not manv weeks after the conversation with 
 Bolton which I have just recorded. 
 
 Eolton was affected with t!ie most lively sor- 
 row for his death. This friendship, though but 
 lately acquired, had somethinii; uncommonly ar- 
 dent in its attachment, and liberal in its confi- 
 dence. Harry, who htid returned it in the most 
 unreserved manner, felt the want both of that 
 kindness which soothed, and that wisdom which 
 instiucted him. 
 
 Upon openlnir the sealed paper which had 
 been formerly put into his h.ands by Mr Bav.'- 
 linson, it was ibund to be that irentleman's will, 
 devlsino- his whole estate, real and personal, to 
 Mr Bolton. The reason ijiven f)r this, in t!;e 
 ])0(ly ot" the paper itself, was expressed in tlie 
 followlncT words : ' Bt cause I know no man 
 Avho has deserved more of UMself *, none who 
 will deserve more of mankind, in the di-posal of 
 what I ha\e thus bequeathed him.' 
 
 Bolton was fully sensible of the force of this 
 recommendation to the ex(n'cise of a virtue
 
 22.() Tirr man" of the worlh. 
 
 Tvhicfi lie h\id iilwavs possessed, and liad only 
 wanted power lo practise. He acted as the al- 
 moner of Mr ilau'linson, and justified liis friend's 
 method of benefaction, (for so this disposal of 
 h'i affairs might be called), by joining with the 
 inclination to do good, that choice of object, 
 and that attention to propriety, v/'iich dignifies 
 the purpose, and doubles the use of beneficence. 
 Having settled accounts of this kind in town 
 (amongst which those of young Jennings and 
 t!ie Terwitt family were not forgotten), he set 
 out for that estate v/hich had now devo-ved to 
 him by the vvill of Mr Rawlinson. With what 
 idea* he made this yisit, and in what manner 
 he expressed them on his arrival, I shall allow 
 his o'vvn word* to describe, in the follo^vinn; let- 
 ter to Miss Sindall : 
 
 • Wilbrook: 
 ' My Lucy will not blame me for want of 
 attention, because she has heard of what the 
 world will call my good fortune, only from the 
 relation of others. To her 1 could not address 
 those short letters of recital, which I was 
 obliged to write to Sir Thomas. She will not 
 doubt her Plcnry's remembrance at all times ; 
 it is only with relation to those we love that 
 prosperity can produce happiness, and our vir- 
 tues themselves are nourished from the consci- 
 ousness of some favourite suffrage. The length 
 of this letter shall make up for a silence occa- 
 sioned by various interruptions. I have had a 
 good deal of business for the present j I have
 
 THE MAN OF THE V»"ORLI). £27 
 
 been forming some projects for the future j the 
 itlea of my Lucy wub absent from neither. 
 
 * After the death of Mr Rawlinson, tlie friend 
 of mankind, as Aveli as of your Harry, tliert* 
 Mere some offices of duty which the successor 
 of sucli a man uas pecuiiarjy boand to pertoi m. 
 Thouvli I could dibcover no relation of hia but 
 one, (whose fortune, at it had formerly taught^ 
 Lim to overlooK. his kinsman, stood not r.ow in 
 need of that kinsman's acknowledL^ment), \tt 
 tliere were numbers whom iiiimanity had allied 
 to him. Their claim of affinity was now upon 
 me, and tlieir provision a debt which 1 was 
 called upon to discharge j this kept me some 
 time in London. 1 have another family i'.ere 
 whom it was also necessary to remenibtrj I 
 have been among them a week, and we base 
 not been unhapj)y. 
 
 ' When I looked into the conveyances ol" this 
 estate, I found it had been once before traii-jV r- 
 led, in a manner not very common in the dis- 
 posal of modern property. Itb owner immedi- 
 ately precediny- Mr Rawlinson, was a Iriend 
 and companion of his, who had gone out to In- 
 dia some years later than he, and, by his as- 
 sistance, had been put in the way of acquiring 
 a very large fortune. The greatest part of this 
 lie remitted to his former benefactor in Eng- 
 land, to be laid out in some purchase near the 
 place of his nativity, which it seems was a vil- 
 lage but a i't'W miles (l:-,tant from ^^ilbrook. 
 This estate w.is then in the possession of a gen- 
 tieman, whose London expenses had squan-
 
 228 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 dered the savings of four or five generations j 
 and, after having exhausted every other re- 
 source, he WHS obliged to sell this inheritance 
 of his family. Mr l^a^vlinson gave him the 
 price he asked, and made a present of a consi- 
 derable sum besides, to a very deserving wo- 
 man, who had the misfortune to be the wife of 
 this spendthrift. His friend ratified tiie bargain 
 with thanks j but he lived not to enjoy his pur- 
 chase. A fever carried him oft' in his passage 
 to England, and he bequeathed his estate to 
 iiim, by whose former good offices he had been 
 enabled to acquire it. 
 
 ' The new proprietor took a singular method 
 of improving its value. He lowered the rents, 
 Avhich had been laised to an extravagant 
 height, and recalled the ancient tenants of the 
 manor, most of whom had been driven from the 
 unfriendly soil, to make room for desperate ad- 
 venturers, • who undertook for rents they could 
 never be able to pay. To such a man svas 1 to 
 succeed, and I Avas conscious how much was 
 required of his successor. 
 
 * The third day after my arrival, 1 gave a 
 general invitation to my tenants and their fa- 
 milies to dine with me. The hall was trimmed 
 for their reception, and some large antique 
 pieces of plate, with which JMr liawlinson iiad 
 furnished his cupboard, were ranged on the 
 large table at the end of it. VVithout doors 
 stood a cask of excellent strong beer for any 
 one of inferior q'-ialitv who chose to drink of it,
 
 TilK MAK OF THE WORLD. 229 
 
 filsp-nsed by an old, but jolly-looking servant, 
 ^vliose face was the signal of welcome. 
 
 * I received my guests as friends and acquain- 
 tance j asked the names of their children, and 
 praised the bluftness of the boys, and the beauty 
 of the girls. I placed one of the most matronly 
 •wives in the wicker chair at the head of the 
 table y and, occupying the lowest place myself, 
 stationed the rest of the company, according to 
 their age, on either side. 
 
 ' The dinner had all the appearance of plain- 
 ness and of plenty : amongst other dishes, four 
 large pieces of roast beef were placed at uni- 
 form distances, and a ])!um-pudding, of a very 
 uncommon circumference, was raised conspi- 
 cuous in the middle. I pressed the bashful 
 among the girls, commended the frankness of 
 their fathers, and pledged the jolliest of the set 
 in repeated draughts of strong beer. 
 
 * But, thounji this had the desired effect with 
 some, I could observe in the countenances of 
 others evidc nt marks of distrust and apprehen- 
 sion. The cloth, therefore, was no sooner re- 
 moved, and the grace-cup drunk, than f rose 
 uj) in mv place, and addressed my guests to the 
 following purpose : — 
 
 ' The satisfaction, my worthy fiiends, with 
 which I now meet you, is damped by the re- 
 collection of that loss we have sustained in the 
 death of your late excellent master. He was 
 to me, as to you, a friend and a father ; so may 
 Heaven supply the want to nic, as I will eu- 
 
 VOL. II. ' U
 
 230 THE MAN OF THE WoRLJ). 
 
 (leavour to fill his j)lace to )0u, I call you to 
 v/itness, that I hold his estate by no ether title. 
 
 * J have given orders to my steward to re- 
 nev*' such of your leases as are near expiring, 
 at the vent which you have heretofore paid. If 
 tijere is an article of encouragement or con- 
 venience wanting to any of you, let him apply 
 to myself, and I will immediately inquire into it. 
 Ko man is above tlie business of doing good. 
 
 ' Jt is customary, I believe, on such occa- 
 sions, for the tenant to pay a certain fine or 
 premium to the landlord. I too, my friends, 
 will expect one ; you and your families shall pay 
 it me — be industrious, be virtuous, be happy.' 
 
 * An exclamation of joy and applause, which 
 the last part of my speech had scarcely been 
 able to stifle, now burst forth arouijd me. I 
 ueed not tell my Lucy what I felt 3 her heart 
 can judge of my feelings ; she will believe me 
 when 1 say, that I would not have exchanged 
 tiiem for the revenue of a monarch. 
 
 * The rest of the day w^as spent in all the 
 £;enuii« festivity of happy spirits. I had en- 
 larged a room adjoining to the hal!, by striking 
 down a partition at one end 5 and closed the 
 entertainment with a dance", which 1 led up 
 myself with the rosy-cheeked daughter of one 
 of my principal tenants. 
 
 ' This visit I have already returned to several 
 of those honest folks. 1 found their little 
 dwellinirs clean and comfortable, and happiness 
 and good-humour seemed the guests of them 
 all. i have commou'y observed cleanliness and
 
 THE MAN OF THE VrORLD. 2?)l 
 
 contentment to be companions amon_<Tst t'ic 
 lower ranks of the countiy-people ; nor is it 
 difficult to account for this; there is a se1i"-sa- 
 tisfaction in contented minds which disposes to 
 activity and neatness j wheieas, the reckless 
 Jassitude that weighs down the unhappy, stldom 
 fails to make drunkards of the men, and slatterns 
 of the women. I commended highly the neat- 
 ness which I found in tlie f:irm-houses on Ujy 
 estate j and made their owners presents of va- 
 rious household ornaments by way of encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 * I know the usual mode of improving estcxics '; 
 I was told by some sagacious advisers in Lon- 
 don, that mine was improveahle ; but I am too 
 selfish to be contented with money ; I would 
 increase the love of my people, 
 
 ' Yesterday, and to-day, I have been em- 
 ployed in surveying the grounds adjoining to 
 the house. Nature here reigns without con- 
 trol ; for Mr Rawlinson did not attend very 
 much to her improvement j and I have heard 
 him say, that he conceived a certain esteem for 
 an old tree, or even an old wall, that would 
 hardly allow him to think of cutting the one, or 
 pulling down the other. Nature, however, has 
 been liberal of her beauties; but these beauties 
 I view not with so partial an eve as the scenes 
 I left at Sindall-park. Were my Lucy here to 
 adorn the landscape ! — but the language of af- 
 fection like mine is not in words. She will not 
 ■feed them to believe how much 1 am her 
 
 ' Henry Bolton."*
 
 232 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 A CHANGE IN THE FAMILY OF SIR THOMAS SIN- 
 
 DALL. SOME ACCOUNT OF A PERSON WHOM 
 
 THAT EVENT INTKODOCES TO MISS LUCy's AC- 
 QUAINTANCE. 
 
 1 HE answer Avhich Bolton received to the fore- 
 going letter, contained a piece of Intelligence 
 material to the situation of Miss Sindall j it 
 conveyed to him an account of the death of 
 Mrs Sehvyn. 
 
 Though that lady was not possessed of many 
 amiable or engaging qualities, yet Lucy, to 
 whom s]]e had always shovrn as mucTi kindness 
 as her nature allowed her to bestow on any one, 
 felt a very lively sorrow for her death, even ex- 
 clusive of the immediate consequences wbicli 
 herself was to expect from that event. 
 
 These, indeed, were apparently momentous. 
 Mrs Selwj-n iuid been lier guardian and protec- 
 tress from her Infancy ; and, though Sir Tho- 
 mas Sindall had ever behaved to her like a fa- 
 ther, yet there was a feeling in the bosom of 
 Lucy that revolted against the idea of con- 
 tinuing in his house after his aunt's decease* By 
 that lady's will, she was entitled to a legacy of 
 six hundred pounds j by means of this sum she 
 had formed a scheme, which, though it would 
 reduce her to a state very different from the 
 ease and affluence of her foi'mer circumstances, 
 mldit vet secure her from the irksomcncss of
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 23* 
 
 •epemlence, or the accusation of inipropiietv ; 
 this was, to appropriate two-thiifls of the inter- 
 est of her capital to the payment of an annual 
 sum for her board with Mrs Wistanly. 
 
 it was now that Bolton felt the advantaG^e of 
 independence from the, hopes of being u^tiul 
 to Lucy \ but he had her delicacy to overcome. 
 She would not throw, herself, at this moment 
 of necessity, into the hands of a man whom for- 
 tune had now placed above her. She adhered 
 to lier first resolution. 
 
 But the kindness of Sir Thomas Sindall ren- 
 dered it unnecessary j for a short time after 
 Mrs Selwyn's death, when Miss Sindall com- 
 municated to him her intention of leaving iiis 
 house, he addressed her in the following tcrm.s : 
 * I have always looked upon you, Miss Lucy, 
 as a daughter j and, I hope, there has been no 
 want of tenderness or attention, on the side of 
 my aunt or myself, to have prevented ycur re- 
 garding us as parents. At the same time, £ 
 know the opinions of Uie world ; mistaken and 
 illiberal as they often are, there is a deference 
 which we are oMi^red to pay them. In your 
 sex the sense of decorum should be ever awake; 
 even in this case, I would not attempt to plead 
 against its voice *, but 1 hope 1 have hit on a 
 method which will perfectly reconcile propriety 
 and convenience. There is a lady, a distant 
 relation of our family, whom a marriage, such 
 as the world terms imprudent, banished in 
 early life from tiie notice or protection of it ; 
 but, though thcv could refuse their suffrage to 
 U 2
 
 234? THi: MAN OF THK WORLD. 
 
 tlie matcli, they could not controul its l)aj)j)i- 
 ness j and during tlic life of Mr Boothby (lor 
 that -vvas her husband's name), she experienced 
 all the felicity of which Avedlock is susceptible. 
 Yet on her husband's death, which happened 
 about five years after their marriage, the state 
 of his affairs was found to be such, that she 
 stood but too much in need of that assistance 
 which her relations denied her. At the time 
 of her giving the family this offence, I was a 
 boy j and I scarce ever heard of her name till 
 I was apprised of her misfortunes. AVhatever 
 services 1 have been abl^ to do her, I have 
 found repaid by the slncerest gratitude, and 
 improved to the worthiest purposes. Upon the 
 ]ate event of my aunt's death, I was naturally 
 led to wish her place supplied by Mrs Boothby 5 
 she has done me the favour to accept of my 
 invitation, and 1 expect her here this evening. 
 Of any thing like authoiity in this house. Miss 
 Lucy, you shall be always independent •, but I 
 flatter myself she has qualities sufiicient to me- 
 rit your friendship.' Lucy returned such an 
 answer as the kindness and delicacy of this 
 speech deserved j and it was agreed, that, for 
 the present, her purpose of leaving Bilswood 
 should be laid aside. 
 
 In the evening the expected lady arrived 5 
 she seemed to be about the age of fifty, with 
 an impression of melancholy on her coun- 
 tenance, that appeared to have worn away her 
 beauty before the usual period. Some traces, 
 however, still remained, and her eyes, when
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOKLO. ^35 
 
 tliey met tlic view of the world, whicli was but 
 seldom, discovered a brilliancy not extinguished 
 by her sorrow. 
 
 Her appearance, joined to the knowledge of 
 Jier story, did not fail to attract Miss Sindall's 
 regard : she received Mrs Boothby witii an 
 a'lTy not of civility, but friendship ; and the 
 €ther shewed a sense of the obligation conferied 
 on her, by a look of that modest, tender sort, 
 which equally acknowledges and solicits our 
 kindness. 
 
 With misfortune a good heart easily makes 
 an acquaintance. Miss Sindall endeavoured 
 bv a thousand little assiduities, to show this 
 lady the interest she took in her welfare. That 
 reserve, which the humility of affliction, not an 
 unsocial s])irit, seemed to have taught Mrs 
 JI3oothby, wore oft by degrees ; their mutual 
 tsteeni increased as their characters opened to 
 each other *, and in a short time their confi- 
 dence was unreserved, and their friendship ap- 
 peared to be inviolable. 
 
 Mxs Boothby had now the satisfaction of 
 pouring the tale of her distresses into the ear 
 of sympathy and friendship. Her story was 
 melancholy but not unconwnon j the wreck of 
 lier husband's aifairs, by a mind too enlarged 
 for his fortune, and an indulgence of inclina- 
 tions laudable in their kind, but faulty in rela- 
 tion to the circumstances of their owner. 
 
 In t!)e history of her young friend's life there 
 xvere but few incidents to communicate in re- 
 turn. She could cnlv say, that she remember-
 
 256i THE MAN OF THE -VVORLT?. 
 
 ed herself, from lier Infancy, an orphan, undef 
 the care of Sir Thomas Sintlall and his aunt j 
 that she had lived -vvith them in a state of quiet 
 and simplicity, ^vlthout having seen much of 
 the -world, or wishing: to see it. She had but 
 one secret to disclose in earnest of her friend- 
 ship ; it faultered for some time on her lips ; 
 at last she ventured to let Mrs Boothby kno\r 
 it — her attachment to Bolton. 
 
 From this intelligence the other ^vas led to 
 an inquiry into the situation of that young 
 gentfeman. She heard the particulars I have 
 formerly related, ivitli an emotion not suited ta 
 the feelings of Miss Sindall : and the sincerity 
 of her friendship declared the fears which her 
 prudence suggested. 
 
 Slie reminded Lucv of the dangers to -which 
 youth and inexperience are exposed, by the 
 sudden acquisition of riches •, she set forth the 
 many disadvantages of early independence, and 
 hinted the inconstancy of attachments, formed 
 in the period of romantic enthusiasm, in the 
 scenes of rural simplicity, Avhich are afterwards 
 to be tried by the maxims of the world, amidst 
 the society of the gay, the thoughtless, and the 
 dissipated. From all this followed conclusions, 
 which it was as difficult as disairreeable for the 
 heart of Lucy to form ', it could not untwist 
 those tender ties which linked it to Bolton ; 
 but it began to tremble for itself and him.
 
 TflE MAN OF THE UOKLT). -37 
 
 CHAP. XLII. 
 
 CERTAIN' OPINION'S OF M RS BOOTHBY AN ATTEMIT 
 
 TO ACCOUNT FOR THEM. 
 
 X ROM the particulars of her own story, and of 
 liolton's, Mrs Boothby drew one conclusion 
 common to both j to wit, the goodness of Sir 
 Thomas Slndall. This, indeed, a laudable 
 gratitude had so much impressed on her mind, 
 that the praise she frequently bestowed on 
 l)Im, even in his own presence, would liave sa- 
 voured of adulation to one, who had not known 
 the debt which this lady owed to his benefi- 
 cence. 
 
 Lucy, to whom she would often repeat her 
 culogium of the baronet, was ready enough to 
 own the obligations herself had received, and 
 to join her acknowledgments to those of her 
 friend. Yet there was a want of warmth in 
 lier panegyric, for which Mrs Boothby would 
 sometimes gently blame her : and one day, 
 when they were on that subject, she remarked, 
 witli a s(ut of jocular air, the difference of that 
 attachment which Miss Sindall felt, in return 
 for so mnch unwearied kindness as Sir Thomas 
 had shewn her, and that which a few soft 
 glances had procured to the more fortunate Mr 
 JBoltnn. 
 
 Miss Sindall seemed to feel the observation 
 with some degree of displeasure j and answered, 
 Llushinj, that she considered Sir Thomas »<= a
 
 233 THE MAN O^ THE WOnl,Jt?. 
 
 parent "wliom f>ho -was to este-em and revtte^ 
 not as one for whom she was to entertain any 
 sentiment of" a softer kind. 
 
 * But suppose,' replied the other, ' tliat he 
 should entertain sentiments of a s()fter kind for 
 you.' — * I cannot suppose it.' — ' There you are 
 in the -wronor 5 men of sense and knoT-.kdge of 
 the Avorld, like Sir Thomas, are not so prodi<fal 
 of unmeaning compliments as giddy young 
 people, who mean not half of what thev sav 5 
 but they feel more deeply the force of our at- 
 tractions, and vm\ retain the impression so 
 much the longer as it is grafted on maturity of 
 judgment. 1 am very much mistaken, Mis'? 
 Lucy, if the worthiest of men is not your lover. 
 — Lover I Sir Thomas Sindall my lover ! — - 
 * I profess, my dear, I cannot see the reason of 
 that passionate exclamation ; nor why that 
 man should not be entitled to love vou, who 
 has himself the best title to be beloved.' — * I 
 may reverence Sir Thomas Sindall, I may ad- 
 mire his goodness •, I will do any thing to shew 
 my gratitude to him j but to love him — good 
 heavens 1' 
 
 ' There is, I know,' rejoined Mrs Boothby, * a 
 certain romantic affection, which young people 
 suppose to be the only thing that comes under 
 that denomination. From being accustomett 
 to admire a set of opinions, which they term 
 sentimental, opposed to others whicli they look 
 upon as vulgar and unfeeling, they form to 
 themselves an ideal system in those matters, 
 which, from the nature of things, must always
 
 THE MAN' OF THE WORLD. 259 
 
 i>e uisappolnted. \oa wiil find, Miss SIndall, 
 when you have lived to see a little more of the 
 world, the insufficiency of those vi^^ionary arti- 
 cles of happiness, that are set forth with such 
 parade of language in novels and romances, 
 its consisting n\ sympathy of soul, and the 
 mutual attraction of hearts, destined for each 
 other.' 
 
 ' You will pardon rae,' said Lucy, * for mak- 
 ing one observation, tiiat you yourself are an 
 instance against the universal truth of your ar- 
 gument j you married for love, Mrs Boothby/ 
 — • 1 did so,' interrupted she, * and therefore 
 I am the better able to inform you of the short 
 duration of that paradise such a state is sup- 
 posed to imply. We were looked upon. Miss 
 JLucy, as patterns of conjugal felicity ; but folks 
 did little know, how soon the raptures with 
 which we w^ent together were changed into 
 feelings of a much colder kind. At the same 
 lime, Mr Boothby was a good-natured man ^ 
 and, I believe, we were on a better footing than 
 liiost of your codples who marry for love are at 
 tlie end of a twelvemonth. 1 am now but too 
 ywil convinced that those are the happiest 
 matches which are founded on the soberer Sv^n- 
 timents of gratitude and esteem.' 
 
 To this concluding maxim Lucy made no 
 reply. It was one of those which she could not 
 ea.'.ily bear to believe *, it even tinctured the 
 character of the person who made it, and she 
 found herself not so much disposed to love Mifc 
 Jioothby as she once had been.
 
 240 . THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 For this sort of leasonlng, lioAvcvcr, that lady 
 i)ad reasons wliicli it may not be improper to 
 explain to the reader, if indeed the reader lias 
 not already discovered thtm without tlie assist- 
 unce of explanation. 
 
 Sir Tliomas Sindall, thouL^li he was now vero;- 
 ing towards that time of life when 
 
 * the heyday of the blood is tame,' 
 
 was still as susceptible as ever of the influence 
 of beauty. Miss Lucy I have already men- 
 tioned as possessing an unconmion share of it > 
 and chance had placed her so immediately un- 
 der his observation and guardianship, that it 
 was scarce possible not ior him to remark, and 
 having remarked, not to desire it. In some 
 minds, indeed, there might have arisen sugges- 
 tions of honour and conscience, unfavourable to 
 the use of that opportunity which fortune had 
 put in his power j but these were restraints 
 which Sir Thomas had so frequently broken, as» 
 in a great measure to annihilate their force. 
 
 During the life of his aunt, there were other 
 motives to restrain liim j those were now re- 
 moved 5 and being solicitous to preserve the ad- 
 vantage which he drew from Miss Sindall's resi- 
 dence in the Iiouse, he pitched on Mrs Boothby 
 to fill Mrs Seiwyn's place, from whom his 
 former good offices g-ave him an additional title 
 to expect assistance, by means of the influence 
 she would naturally gain over the mind of one 
 wlio was in some sort to become her ward. 
 As I am willing at present to believe that lady'&
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2il 
 
 character a fair one, I shall suppose, that he 
 concealed from her the kind of addresses %vith 
 wblcii he meant to approach her young friend. 
 It is certain there was but one kind, which the 
 principles of Sir Thomas allowed him to make. 
 
 One obstacle, however, he foresaw in the at- 
 tachment which he had early discovered her to 
 have towards Bolton. This, on the most favour- 
 able supposition of the case, he miuht easily re- 
 present to Mrs Boothby, equally hurtful to 
 Lucy's interest, and destructive of his own 
 Avishes j and if she was prevailed on to espouse 
 liis cause, it may account for those lessons of 
 prudence Avhich she bestowed upon Miss Sin- 
 dall. 
 
 Besides this, the Bai'onet did not scruple to 
 use some other methods, still more dishonour- 
 able, of shaking her confidence in his cousin. 
 He fell upo:i means of secretly intercepting 
 that young gentleman's letters to Lucy ; from 
 this he drew a double advantage •, both of fast- 
 ening a suspicion on Harry's fidelity, and ac- 
 quijing such intelligTnce as might point his own 
 machinations to defeat the purposes which thai- 
 correspondent e contained. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 A DISCOVERY INTtUl'STING TO MISS SINDALL. 
 
 U''UER those circumstances of advantage itt 
 which Sir Thomas Sindall stood, it did not 
 VOL. II. X.
 
 "24.2 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 seem a matter of extreme difficulty to accom- 
 plish that design which 1 have hinted to my 
 readers in the preceding chapter. Let him, 
 whose indignation is roused at the mention of 
 it, carry his feelings abroad into life, he will 
 find other Sindalls %vhom the Avorld has not 
 marked with its displeasure. In the simpli- 
 city of my narrative, what is there that should 
 set up this one to his hatred or his scorn? Let 
 but the heart pronounce its judgment, and the 
 decision will be the same. 
 
 Hitherto Sir Thomas had appeared as the 
 parent and guardian of Lucy : and though, at 
 times, certain expressions er>caped him, which 
 the quickness of more experienced, that is, less 
 innocent minds, would have discovered to be- 
 long to another character j yet she to whom 
 they ^veie addressed, had heard them without 
 suspicion. But she was now alarmed by the 
 suggestions of Mrs Boothby j these suggestions 
 it is possible the baronet himself had prompted. 
 He knew the force of that poison -which is con- 
 veyed in those indirect approaches, ^vhen a wo- 
 Dian's vanity is set on the Avatch by the assistance 
 of a third person. She who imagines she hears 
 them -vvlth indifference, is in danger j but she 
 who listens to them with pleasure, is undone. 
 
 With Lucy, however, they failed of that ef- 
 fect which the baronet's experience had pro- 
 mised him ; She heard them with a sort of dis- 
 gust at Mrs Boothby, and something like fear 
 of Sir Thomas. 
 
 Her uneasiness increased as his declarations
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. Slw 
 
 began to be more pointed, though they -were 
 then only such as some women, who had meant 
 to give them no favourable ear, migiit perhaps 
 liave been rather flattered than displeased with ; 
 but Miss Sindall was equally void of the art by 
 which we disguise our own sentiments, and 
 the pride we assume from the sentiments of 
 otliers. 
 
 To her virtues Sir Thomas was no stranger 5 
 they were difficulties which served but as spurs 
 in his pursuit. That he contini}ed it with in- 
 creasing ardour, may be gathered from two 
 letters, which I subjoin for the information of 
 the reader. The first is addressed 
 
 ' To Mrs Wistan'x}. 
 
 * jMy dear Madam, 
 
 * I fear you begin to accuse me of neglect : 
 but there are reasons why I cannot so easily 
 write to you as formeily. Even without this 
 apolog)-, \ou would scarce believe me capable 
 of forgetting you, who are almost the only 
 friend I am possessed of. Alas ! I have need 
 of a friend I pity and direct me. 
 
 * Sir Tliomas Sindall — how shall I tell it ? 
 — he has ceased to be that guardian, that pro- 
 tector, I esteemed him ^ he savs he loves, he 
 
 adores me ; 1 know not why it is, but I 
 
 shudder when I hear these words from Sir 
 Thomas Sindall. 
 
 * Eut I have better reason for my fears ; he 
 kas us«d such expressions of late, that, thouoU
 
 £44 THE MAN OF THE WOKLl). 
 
 I am not bkllletl enough in the language of lii>. 
 sex to understanil tlieir meaning fully, yet they 
 convey too much for his honour and for my 
 peace. 
 
 ' Nor is this all. — Last night I was sitting Iii 
 tlie parlour v/lth him and Mrs Boothby, (ot 
 ■whom 1 have much to tell you) *, I got up, and 
 stood in the bow-window, looking at the rays 
 of the moon, v> hich glittered on the pond in the 
 garden. There was something of enviable tran- 
 quility in the scene; I sighed as I looked. — 
 * Thai's a deep one,' said Sir Thomas, patting 
 me on the shoulder behind ; 1 tmned round 
 somewhat in a flurry, when I perceived that 
 Mrs Boothbyhad left the room. 1 made amo- 
 tion towards the door y Sir Thomas placed him- 
 self with his back to it. * Where is Mrs.Booth- 
 by V said I, though I trembled so, that I could 
 scarcely articulate the words. 'What Is my 
 sweet girl frightened at ?' said he ; * iiere are 
 none but love and Sindall.' He fell on his 
 knees, and repeated a great deal of jargon, (I 
 was so confused, I knovv not what), holding my 
 hands all the while fast in his. I pu'ied them 
 away at last ', he rose, and clasping me round 
 the waist, would have forced a kiss •, I scream- 
 ed out, and he turned from me. ' VVhat's the 
 matter ?' said Mrs Boothby, who then entered 
 the room. * A mouse running across the car- 
 pet, frightened Miss Lucy,' answere<l Sir Tho- 
 mas. I could not speak, but I sat down on the 
 sofa, and had almost fainted. Sir Thomas 
 l^ronght me som^ wine and Avater, and, piessing
 
 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 24-i^ 
 
 my hand, whispered, that he hoped I ^vould fur- 
 give an offence which was ah'eady too mucli pu- 
 nished by its effects j but he looked so, wliile 
 he spoke this I 
 
 * Oh 1 Mrs Wistanly, -with what regret do I 
 now recollect the days of peaceful happiness I 
 have passed in your little dwelling, when we 
 were at Sindall-park. I remember I often 
 wished, like other foolish girls, to be a woman j 
 methinks I would now gladly return to the state 
 of harmless infancy I thei> neglected to value. 
 I am but 111 made for encountering difficulty 
 or danger ; yet [ fear my path is surrounded 
 with both. Could you receive me again under 
 your roof? there is something hallowed resides 
 beneath it. — Yet this may not now be so con- 
 venient — I know not w-hat to say — here I am 
 miserable. M rite to me, 1 entreat you, as 
 speedily as may be. You never yet denied me 
 your advice or assistance ; and never before 
 were they so necessary to your faithful 
 
 ' L. SlNDALL.' 
 
 To this letter Miss Sindall received no an- 
 sw^er j in truth it never reached Mrs Wistanly, 
 the servant, to whom she entrusted its convey- 
 ance, having, according to in?^tructionr, he had 
 received, delivered it into the hands of his mas- 
 ter Sir Thomas Sindall. She concluded, there- 
 fore, either that Mrs Wistanly found herself 
 unable to assist her in her present distress, or, 
 what she imagined more probable, that age had 
 now weakened her faculties so much, as to rcn-
 
 ^IC) THE MAN OF THE V^ORLl). 
 
 tier lier callous even to that feeling -wluch 
 hhoulil have pitied it. She next turned her 
 thou^ihts upon Miss Walton, the manner of her 
 getting acquainted Avitli whom I have related 
 in the fifth chapter of this part ; but she learned 
 that Mr Walton had, a few days before, set out 
 ivith his daughter on a journey to the Continent, 
 to which he had been advised by her physi- 
 cians, as she had, for some time past, been 
 threatened with symptoms of a consumptive 
 disorder. These circumstances and Sir Tho- 
 mas's farther conduct in the interval, induced 
 lier to address the following letter to Bolton, 
 though she began to suspect, from the supposed 
 failure of his correspondence, that the sugges- 
 tions s'he had heard of his change of circum- 
 stances having taught him to forget her, had 
 ibut too much foundation in reality. 
 
 ' To Henry liolton, Esq. 
 
 ' Is it true, that amidst the business, or the 
 pleasures of bis* ncAV situation, Harry Bolton 
 has forgotten Lucy Sindall ? Forlorn as I now 
 am — but 1 will not complain — I would now less 
 than ever complain to you — Yet it is not pride, 
 it is not — I weep while I write this ! 
 
 * But, perhaps, though I do not hear from 
 you, you may yet remember her to whom you 
 had once some foolisb attachment. It is fit you 
 think of her no more j she was then indeed a 
 dependent orphan, but there was a small chal- 
 lenge of prottcliou from friends, to whom it was
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2 i7 
 
 imagined her infancy had been entrusted. 
 Know, that this was a fabricated tale ^ slie 
 is, in trnti), a wretched foundling, exposed in 
 her infant-'itate, by the cruelty or necessity of 
 her parents, to the inclemency of a winter-storm, 
 from which miserable situation Sir Thomas Sin- 
 dall delivered her. This he has but a little 
 since told me, in the most ungenerous manner, 
 and from motives which I tremble to think on. 
 — Inhuman that he is! why did he save me, then? 
 
 ' Tli# Mrs Boothby too I encompassed as I 
 was with evils, was 1 not wretched enough be- 
 fore ? yet this new discovery has been able to 
 make me more so. My head grows dizzy whea 
 I think on it I — to be blotted out from the re- 
 cords of society I — A\ hat misery or what vice 
 have my paren-ts known ! yet now to be the 
 ■child of a beggar, in poverty and rags, is a si- 
 tuation I am forced to envy. 
 
 * I had one friend from whom I looked for 
 «ome assistance — Mrs Wistanly, from infirmity, 
 I fear, has forgotten me ; I have ventured t« 
 think on you. Be but my friend, and no more 
 talk not of lov^e, that you may not force me to 
 refuse your friendship. If you are not changed, 
 indeed, you will be rewarded enough when I 
 tell you, that, to remove me from the dangers 
 of this dreadful place, will call forth more bless- 
 ings from my heart, than any other can give, 
 that is not wrung with anguish like that of the 
 Jan fortunate 
 
 * L. SiXDALL.'
 
 248 THE MAN or THE WORLJT, 
 
 CHAP. XV, 
 
 «HE RECEIVES A LETTER FROM BGI.TOX. A NElT 
 
 ALARM FROM SIR THOMAS SJNDALL. 
 
 L'E happened that the messenger to ^vhom the 
 charge of the foregoing billet was commltteil, 
 ivas a person, not in that line of association 
 which the baronet had drawn around her 3 con- 
 sequently it escaped interception. 
 
 When Bolton received it, he was not only 
 alarmed with the intelligence it contained, but 
 his fears were doubly roused from the discovery 
 it made to him, of his letters not being suffered 
 to reach Miss Sindall. He dispatched his an- 
 swer, therefore, by a special messenger, wha 
 was ordered to watch an opportunity of deli- 
 vering it privately into the hands of the lady to- 
 whom it was addressed. This he found no 
 easy matter to accomplish ; nor would he, per- 
 haps, have been able to effect it at all, but for 
 an artifice to which he had recourse, of liiring 
 himself on a job in Sir Thomas's garden, for 
 which his knowledge in the business happened 
 to qualify him. He had, indeed, been former- 
 ly employed in that capacity at Sindall-park, 
 and had there been well enough known to Miss 
 Lucy, who was lierself a gardener for amuse- 
 ment J and, after leaving that place, having^ 
 gone to the neighbourhood of London for im- 
 provement, he %vas met, and hired by his for- 
 mer acquaintance, Mr Bolton,
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 249 
 
 The very next evening after he had irot into 
 ilils station, he observed Miss Sindall enter 
 the garden alone. This ^vas an opportunity 
 not to be missed j on pretence, therefore, of 
 fetching somewhat from the end of the walk 
 she was on, he passed her, and pulling off his 
 hat with a look significant of prior acquaint- 
 ance. Lucy observed him, and feeling a sort 
 of momentary comfort from the recollection, 
 began some talk with him respecting his for- 
 mer situation, and the changes it had under- 
 gone. She asked him many questions about 
 their old neighbours at Sindall-park, and par- 
 ticularly ^Irs ^^istanlyj wIk^u she was soon 
 convinced of her misapprehension with regard 
 .to a failure of that wmthy woman's intellects, 
 JeiTy (so the gardeiier was familiarly cuiWd,) 
 having seen her on his Avay to Bilswood, and 
 beard her speak of Miss Lucy witii the most 
 tender concern. * And what was your la^t ser- 
 vice, Jerry ?' said she. — * 1 wroujbr for Mr Bol- 
 ton, Madam.'—' Mr Bolton I'—' And I receiv- 
 ed this paper from him for your lady.^hip, which 
 I was ordered to deliver into your own hands, 
 and no other body's, anU please your ladvship.' 
 She took the letter with a trembling impatience, 
 and whispering, lliat she would find an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing him again, hurried up into her 
 ciiambcr to peruse it. 8hc found it to contain 
 V. hat follows : 
 
 * I have not words to tell my ever-dearest 
 Lucy, with what distracting anxiety I read the
 
 '250 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 letter that is now lying before me. To give 
 Iier suspicions of my faith, must have been the 
 ■\vovk of no common treachery : when she 
 knows that I wrote to her three several times 
 without receiving any answer, she will, at the 
 same time, acquit me of inconstancy, and judge 
 of my uneasiness. 
 
 ' That discovery which she had lately made, 
 is nothing to her or to me. My Lucy is the 
 child of heaven, and her inheritance every ex- 
 cellence it can bestow. 
 
 * But her present situation — my God ! what 
 horrible images has my fancy drawn of it I For 
 Heaven's sake, let not even the most amiable 
 of weaknesses prevent her escaping from it into- 
 the arms of her faithful Bolton. I dispatch a 
 messenger with this instantly. I shall follow 
 him myself, the moment I have made some ar- 
 rangements, necessary for your present safety 
 and future comfort. I shall be in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Bilswood, for I am forbidden to 
 enter, Sir Thomas having taken occasion, 
 from my resigning a commission Avhich would 
 have fixed me ingloriously in a garrison abroad^ 
 that I might be of some use to my country at 
 home,' to write me a letter in the angriest 
 terms, renouncing me, as he expresses it, for 
 ever. I see, I see the villainy of his purpose ; 
 'tis but a fev/ days hence, and I will meet him 
 in the covert of his falsehood, and blastit. Let 
 jay Lucy be but just to herself and to 
 
 ' Bolton,'
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 25l 
 
 She had scarcely read this, when Mrs Boothhy 
 entered the room. The baronet had, for some 
 days quitted that plan of intimidation, Vvhicit 
 had prompted him to discover to Lucy the cir- 
 cumstance of her being a wretched foundling, 
 supported by his charity, for a behaviour more 
 mild and insinuating j and Mrs Bootiiby, who 
 squared her conduct accordingly, had been 
 particularly attentive and obliging. She now 
 delivered to Miss Slndall a m.essage from a 
 young lady in the neighbourhood, an acquaint- 
 ance of her's, .begging her company, along with 
 Mrs Boothby's, io a party of pleasure the day 
 after. ' And really, Miss Sindall,' said she 
 with an air of concern, * 1 must eniorce the in- 
 vitation from a regard to your health, as you 
 seem to have been drooping for some days 
 past ' Lucy looked her full in the face, and 
 sighed j that look she did not choose to under- 
 stand, but repeated her question as to theii: 
 jaunt to-morrow. ' Miss Venhurst will call at 
 nine, and expects to find you ready to attend 
 her' — * What you please,' replied the other j 
 * if Miss Venhurst is to be of the party, 1 have 
 no objection.' The consent seemed to give 
 much satisfaction to Mrs Boothhy, who left her 
 with a gentle tap on the back, and an unusual 
 appearance of kindness in her aspect. 
 
 Lucy read her letter again ^ she had desired 
 Bolton to think of her no more ', but there is in 
 the worthiest hearts, a little hypocrisy attending 
 such requests : she found herself happy iii the 
 thought that he had not forgotten her.
 
 252 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 When she opened her bureau, to deposit tlii^ 
 fresh testimony of his attachment, she observed 
 the corner of a piece of paper, Avhich had been 
 thrust into a fissure occasioned by the shrinklnc*- 
 . of the wood. Her euriosity wa,s excited by 
 this circumstance 5 and unfolding the paper she 
 found it to contain 
 
 * To Miss Sindk, 
 
 * Madm. 
 * I writ this from a sincear regaird to ynr 
 welfer. Sir Tho. Sindle base a helitch pjott 
 against yur vartue, and base imployde Mrs 
 Buthbie, whu is a wooman of a notoreus karic- 
 ter in Londun to assist bim. They will putt 
 yu on a jant tomoro on pretens of seeing Mss 
 Venbrst, butt it is fals : for she is not to be 
 thair, and they only wants to inveegle yu for 
 a wicket purpes. therfor bi advyzd by a 
 frinde, and du not go. 
 
 * Yur secrt welwishar, 
 
 U.S.' 
 
 Amazement and horror filled the mind of 
 Lucy as she read this ; but, when the first per- 
 turbation of her soul was over, she bethought 
 herself of endeavouring to find out her friend 
 in the author of this epistle, Avhose compassion 
 seemed so much interested in her behalf. She 
 remembertd that one of the servants who v.as 
 sometimes employed to ride out with her, was 
 called Robert, which agreed with the first in-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 253 
 
 tial of the subscription of the note slie had re- 
 ceived. At supp«r, therefore, though she wore 
 a look of as much indifFereuce as possible, she 
 marked, with a secret attention, the appearance 
 of this man's countenance. Her belief of his 
 being the person who had communicated this 
 friendly intelligence, was increased from her ob- 
 servation 5 and she determined to watch an op- 
 portunity of questioning him with regard to it. 
 
 CHAP. xvr. 
 
 MISS SINDALL HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH ROBERT. 
 A BESOLUTION SHE TAKES IN CONSl QUENCE OF 
 IT. 
 
 A^TER a night of wakeful anxiety, she was 
 called in the morning by Mrs Boothby, who 
 told her, that breakfast waited, as it was nea* 
 the hour they proposed sett'ng out on their 
 jaunt. * Miss Veuhurst,' continut*d she, * has 
 sent to let you know, that she is prevented 
 from calling here as she promised, but that she 
 will meet us on the road".'- — * I am sorry,' 
 answered Lucy with a counterfeited soolness, 
 ' thrtt I should be forced to disappoint her in. 
 my turn •, but I rested so ill last night, and my 
 head aches so violently, that I cannot possibly 
 attend her.'—' Not go !' exclaimed Mrs 
 Boothby *, ' why, my dear, you will disjoint the 
 whole party ; besides, I have not tim« to ac" 
 vof.. i(. Y
 
 254) THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 quaint tlie Venliurst f^imily, and it will look so 
 odd.' — ' It will look odder,' said Lucy, * if I 
 should go abroad when 1 am really so very 
 much indisposed.' — * Nay, if you- are rcal/j/ so 
 much indisposed,' ansAvered the otlier, ' 1 Avili 
 send our apolojxy, late as it is.' — ' Bnt you shall 
 not stay at home to attend me,' inlcrrii])ted 
 L icy. * Indeed but 1 shall,' replied Mrs 
 lioothby ; ' it -vvas on your account only that I 
 proposed going. Keep your chamber, nvA I 
 will send you up some tea immediately.' — And 
 s\'e left the room for that purpose. 
 
 Her attention, indeed, was but too vigilant 
 for the sclieme which Lucy had formed of ex- 
 amining Robert about the note she had found 
 in her bureau ; but accident at last furnished 
 lier with the opportunity she sought. IMis 
 IBoothby having left her, in order to preside at 
 dinner, sent this very servant, with a plate of 
 something to her patient above stairs. He 
 would have delivered it to one of the maid-> at 
 the door ; but Lucy, bearing his voice, desired 
 that he might come in, on pretence of talking 
 to him about a young horse she had employed 
 liim to ride for her, and sending the maid on 
 sime errand, put the* paper into his hand, and 
 asKed him, if he was the person to whom she 
 \va<3 indebted for a piece of information so mo- 
 mentous. The fellow blushed, and stammered, 
 and seemed afraid to confess his kindness. 
 ' I'W God's sake,' said Lucy, * do not trifle 
 with my misery ', there is no time to lose in 
 evasions j what do you know of Sir Thomas's
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 255 
 
 <\esi[rns as^alnst me?' — ' Why, for certain, ma- 
 dam,' said he, * servautg should not blab their 
 master's secrets ; but your ladyship is so sweet 
 a ladv that I could not bear to see you so de- 
 ceived. Sir Thomas's valet-de-chamb is a chum 
 of mine, and he told me, after having made me 
 promise to keep it a profound secret, that his 
 master designed to entice you on a party with 
 Mrs Boothby •, that they were to stop at a soli- 
 tai-y farm house of his, and there Sir Thomas' 
 
 ' Forbear the shocking recital,' cried Lucy 
 
 — ' To be sure it is shocking,' said Robert, 
 ' and so I said to Jem when he told me ; but 
 he answered (vour ladyship wiii foraive me for 
 repeating his words) that it mastered not much; 
 for she is nothing better, said he, than a beg- 
 garly foundling, whom my master and I picked 
 up, one stormy night, on the road, near his 
 hunting-place there at Hazledeu ', and, having 
 taken a liking to the child, he brought her 
 home to Mrs Selwvn, pretending, tiiat she v>as 
 the (laughter of a gentleman of his own name, 
 a friend of his who died abroad; and his aunt, 
 believing the story, brouirht her up for all the 
 world like a lady, and left her forsooth a legacy 
 at her death ; but if all w^ere as it should be, 
 she would be following some draggle-tailed 
 gypsev, instead of flaunting in her fineries here.' 
 — ' Would that I Avere begging my bread, so 
 I were but out of this frightful house.' — * J 
 -wish you were,' said Robert simply, ' for ] fear 
 there are more plots hatching against you thau 
 you are aware of: is not Mrs Boothby 's Sukey
 
 ^56 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 to sleep tQ-nigbt in the room with your Lady- 
 iihip ?'———* 1 consented on Mrs Booihby's im- 
 portunity, that she should.' — * Why then/ con- 
 tinued he, * Ifsaw Jem carry a cast gown of 
 Mrs Boothby's, she had formerly given to 
 Sukey, but which she asked back from the girl, 
 on pretence of taking a pattern from it, into 
 his master's dressing-room ; and when 1 asked 
 him what he was doing with it there, he winked 
 thus, and said, it was for somebody to ma^sque- 
 rade in to-night.' ' Gracious God !' cried 
 Lucy, * whither shall I turn me ?— Robert, if 
 ever thou wouldst find grace with Heaven, pity 
 a wretch that knows not where to look for pro- 
 tection !' — She had thrown hersJeif on her knees 
 before him. — ' What can I do for your lady- 
 ship ?' said he, raising her from the ground. 
 
 * Take me from this dreadful place,' slie ex- 
 claimed, holding by the sleeve of his coat, as if 
 she feared his leaving her. * Alas !' answered 
 Robert, * I cannot take you from it.' — She 
 stood for some moments wrapt in thought, the 
 fellow looking piteously in her face. ' It will 
 do,' she cried, breaking from him, and running 
 into her dressing-closet. ' Look here, Robert, 
 look here -, could I not get from this Avindow 
 on the garden-wall, and so leap down into the 
 outer court ?' — * But supposing your ladyship 
 might, what would you do then ?' — * Could not 
 you procure me a horse ? — Stay — there is one 
 of the chaise-hoTses at grass in the paddock — 
 do you know the road to Mrb Wistaiily's ?' — 
 
 * Mrs Wistanly's I' — ' For Heaven's sake refuse
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2.57 
 
 uot my request •, you cannot be so cruel as to 
 refuse it.' — ' I wouUl do much to serve your 
 ladyship • but if they should diiscoveu us.' — 
 ' Talk not of ijs, my dear llobert j — but soft — • 
 I will manage it thus — no, that can't be either 
 — the servants are in bed by eleven.' — ' Before 
 it, an't please your ladyship.' — ' If you could 
 contrive to have that horse saddled at the gate 
 so soon as all is quiet within, 1 can get out and 
 meet you.' — ' I don't know what to say to it.' 
 — Somebody from below cried, Robert.— a-Lucy 
 was down on her knees again — ' Stay, I con- 
 jure vou, and answer me.' — ' For God's sake, 
 rise,' said he, * and do not debase yourself to a 
 poor servant, as 1 am.' — ' Never will I rise, till 
 you promise to meet me at eleven.' — ' I will, t 
 will, (and the tears gushed into his eyes), 
 whatever be the consequence.' Sukey appeared 
 at the door, calling, Robert, again j—he ran 
 down stairs, Lucy followed him some steps in- 
 sensibly, with her hands folded together \n the 
 attitude of supplication. 
 
 In the interval between this and the time of 
 putting her scheme in execution, she suffered 
 all that fear and suspense could inflict. She 
 wished to see again the intended companion of 
 lier escape ) but the consciousness of her pur- 
 pose stopped her tongue when she would have 
 uttered some pretence for talking vrith him. 
 At times her resolution was staggered by the 
 thoughts of the perils attending her flight : but 
 her imagination presently suggested the danger 
 
 Y 2
 
 ^J5S THE MAN OF XHli WOIlIl). 
 
 of her stay, and the dread of the greater evii 
 became a fortitude against a less. 
 
 The hour of eleven at last arrived. Mrs 
 Boothby, •whose attendance was afterwards to 
 be supplied by that of her maid, had just bid 
 her good-night, on her pretending an unusual 
 drowsiness, and promised to send up Sukey in a 
 very little after. Lucy went into her dressing- 
 eloset, and, fastening the door, got up on a 
 chair at the window, which she had taken care 
 to le^ve open some time before, and stepped 
 out on th'i' wall of the garden, which was broad 
 enough a-top to admit of her walking along it. 
 When she got as far as the gate, she saw, by 
 the light of the moon, Eobert standing at the 
 place of appointment : he caught her in his arms 
 when she leaped down. * Why do you tremble 
 so ?' said she, her own lips quivering as she 
 spoke * Is the horse ready ?' — * Here,' an- 
 swered Robert, stammering, * but' — * Get on,' 
 said Lucy, * and let us away, for Heaven's 
 sake !' — He seemed scarce able to mount the 
 horse j she sprung from the ground on the pad 
 behind him, * Does yQur ladyship think,' 
 said Robert faintly, as they left the gate, ' of 
 the danger you run ?' — * There is no danger 
 but within tho>;e hated myalls.' — ' 'Twill be a 
 dreadful night j' for it began to rain, and the 
 thunder rolled at a distance. — ' Fear not,' 
 said she, * we cannot miss our way.' — ' But if 
 
 they should overtake us.' ' They shall no^, 
 
 thev shall not overtake us J'i — Robert answered
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 250 
 
 with a deep sigh I — Bi.t they were now at some 
 distance from the house, and striking out of the 
 highway Into a lane, from the end of which a 
 short road lay over a common to the village in 
 which Mrs Wistanly lived, they put on a very 
 quick pace, and in a short time Lucy imagined 
 herself pretty safe from pursuit. 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 iOLTON SETS OUT FOR BILSWOOD. A RECITAL 
 
 or S03IE INCIDENTS IN HIS JOURNEY. 
 
 -A.S I flatter myself that my readers feel some 
 interest in the fate of Miss Sindall, I would not 
 leave that part of mv narration which regarded 
 her, till 1 had brought it to the period of her 
 escape. Having accompanied her tlms far, I 
 return to give some account of Mr Bolton. 
 
 According to the promise he had made to 
 Lucy, he set out for Bilswood two days after 
 the date of that letter she received from him by 
 the hands of his gardener. That faithful fel- 
 low had orders to return, after delivering it, and 
 on procuring what intelligence he could of the 
 family, to wait his master, at a little inn, about 
 five miles distant from Sir Thomas Sindall's. 
 Tijt' first part of his business the reader has 
 seen him accomplish j as to the rest, he was 
 only ab'e to learn something, confusedly, of
 
 260 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 the Baronet's attachment to Miss Lucy. He 
 expected to have seen that young lady again 
 on the day followlno; that of their first inter- 
 view ; bnt her attention had been so much oc- 
 cupied by the discoveries related in the two 
 last chapters, and contriving the means of avoid- 
 ing the danger with which she was threatened, 
 that her promise- to the bearer of Mr Bolton's 
 letter had escaped lier memory. He set out 
 therefore, for the place of appointment on the 
 evening of that day, and reached it but a very 
 short time before his master arrived. 
 
 Bolton, having learned what particulars Jerry 
 could inform liini of,' desired him to return in 
 the morning to his work in Sir Thomas's gar- 
 den, and remain there till he should receive far- 
 ther orders ', then, leaving his horses and ser- 
 vants for fear of discovery, he set out on foot, 
 in the garb of a peasant, which Jerry had found 
 means to procure him. 
 
 As he had passed several years of his life' at 
 Bllswood, he trusted implicitly to his own know- 
 leda'e of the way j but soon after his leaving the 
 inn, the moon was totally darkened and it rained 
 ■with such violence, accompanied with incessant 
 peals of thunder, that, in the confusion of the 
 scene, he missed his path, and had wandered a 
 great way over the adjacent common before he 
 discovered his mistake. When he endeavoured 
 to rcirain the road, he found himself entangled 
 in a very tiiick brake of furze, Avhich happened 
 to lie on that side whence he had turned j and, 
 after several fraitless eiloitss to make his way
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 26l 
 
 Ihrough it, h« was obliged to desist from the 
 attempt, aud tread back, the steps he had made, 
 till he returned to the open part of the heath. 
 Here he stood, uncertain what course to take j 
 when he observed at a distance the twinkling 
 of a light, v.hich imratdiately determined him. 
 On advancing somewhat nearer, he found a 
 little winding track that seemed to point to- 
 wards the place j and, after following it some 
 time, he could discern an object which he took 
 for the house to which it led. 
 
 The lightning which now flashed around 
 him, discovered on each hand the earth raised 
 into mounds that seemed graves of the dead, 
 and here and there a bone lay mouldering on the 
 walk he trod. A few paces farther, through a 
 narrow Gothic door, gleamed a light, which 
 faintly illuminated a length of vault within. . 
 To this Bolton approached, not without some 
 degree of fear j when he perceived at the far- 
 ther end, a person in a military uniform, sitting 
 by a fire he had made of some withered brush- 
 wood piled up against the wall. As Harry ap- 
 proached him, the echo of the place doubled 
 the hollow sound of his feet. — * Who is there ?* 
 cried the stranger, turning at the noise, and 
 half unsheathing a hanger which he wore at his 
 side. * A friend,' replied Harry, bowing, ' who 
 takes the liberty of begging a seat by your fire.' 
 * Your manner,' said the other, ' belies your 
 garb ; but whoever you are, you are welcome 
 to what shelter this roof can aflbrd, and what 
 warmth my fire can give. AVe are, for lli»
 
 25- Tiri-: ivfAN of th;: world. 
 
 time, joint lords of the mansion, for my title Is 
 119 other th;in the inclemency of the night. It 
 is tuch a one as makes even this gloomy shelter 
 enviable: and that broken piece of maltock, 
 and thij flint, are precious, because they lighted 
 some bits of dry straw, to kinille tlie flame t!;at 
 warms us. By the moss grown altar, and the 
 frequenc figures of the cross, I suppose these 
 are the remains of 8ome chapel devoted to an- 
 cient veneration. Sit down on this stone, if 
 you please, Sir, and our offerings shall be a 
 thankful heart over some humble fare which my 
 knapsack contains.' As he spoke, he pulled 
 out a loaf of coarse bread, a piece of ciieese, 
 and a bottle of ale. Bolton expressed his thanks 
 for the invitation, and partook of the repast. 
 ' I fear, Sir^' said his companion, ' you will be 
 poorly supped ; but I have knov/n what it is to 
 
 want even a crust of bread You look at me 
 
 with surprise j but, though I am poor, I am 
 Iionest.' — ' Pardon me,' answered Harry. ' I 
 entertain no suspicion ; there is something that 
 speaks for you in this bosom^ and answers for 
 your worth. It may be in mv power to pre- 
 vent, for the future, those hardsliips which, I 
 fear, you have formerly Indured.' The soldier 
 held forth the bit of bread which lie was putting 
 to his mouth. ' He, to whom this fare is lux- 
 ury, can scarcely be dependent ; yet my grati- 
 tude to you, Sir, is equally due \ — if I have felt 
 
 misfortune, I have deserved it.' He sighed, 
 
 and Harry answered him with a sigh — ' I see a 
 isert of question in your face, Sir, and I know
 
 THE MAN" OF THE AVORLD. 263 
 
 cannot 
 
 not Avliy it is, there are some faces I 
 easily resist. If my story outlasts the storm, it 
 Avill take from the nkscmencss of its duration.' 
 
 CHAr. xviir. 
 
 Till: STllANGEK nrLATES THE HISTORY OF HIS 
 
 LIFE- 
 IT is now upwards of twenty years since I left 
 my native country. You are too young, Sir, 
 to have gained much knowledge of mankind j 
 let me -warn you, from sad experience, to be- 
 "ware of those passions which at your age 1 v, as 
 unable to resist, and which, in the commerce 
 of the world, will find abundant occasion to 
 overcome incautious and inexperienced youth. 
 Start not when I tell you, that you see before 
 you one whom the laws of his country hiid 
 daomed to expiate his crimes by death, though, 
 from tiie mercy of his prince, that judgrnf nt 
 was mitigated into a term of transportation, 
 some time ago elapsed. Ihis punishment 1 in- 
 curred from ti)e commission of a robbery, to 
 which some particular circumstances, joined to 
 the poverty consequent on dissipation and ex- 
 travagance, had tempted me. 
 
 ' 'Jhe master to whom my service was ad- 
 judged in the West Indies, happened to die 
 soon after mv arrival there. 1 got my free- 
 dom, therefore, thoueii it was but to change it
 
 tjG4j THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 for a service as severe as my former : 1 was en- 
 listed in a regiment then stationed in the island, 
 and being considered as a felon, unworthy of 
 any mild treatment, was constantly exposed to 
 every hardship which the strictest duty, or the 
 most continual exposure to the dangers of the 
 climate, could inflict. Had I revealed my story, 
 and taken advantage of that distinction which 
 my birth and education would have made be- 
 tween the other convicts and me, it is probable 
 I might have prevented most of the evils both 
 of my former and present situation j but I set 
 out, from the first, with a fixed determination 
 of suffering every part of my punishment, which 
 the law allots to the meanest and most unfriend- 
 ed. All the severities, therefore, which were 
 now imposed upon me, I bore without repin- 
 ing : and, from an excellent natural constitu- 
 tion, was not only able to overcome them, but 
 they served to render me still more patient of 
 fatigue, and less susceptible of impression from 
 the vicissitudes of the weather *, and from a sul- 
 len disregard of life, with which the remem- 
 brance of better days inspired me, my soul be- 
 came as fearless as my body robust. These 
 qualities made me be taken notice of by some 
 of the officers in the regiment, and afterwards, 
 when it was ordered to America, and went on 
 some Indian expeditions, were still more ser- 
 viceable and more attractive of observation. 
 By these means I began to obliterate the dis- 
 grace which my situation at enlisting had fixed 
 upon me \ and, if still regarded as a ruffian, T
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 265 
 
 was £it least ackno^vle(l^•e(l to be a useful one. 
 Not long after, on occasion of a piece of service 
 I performed for an officer on an advanced 
 guard, that was attacked by a party of hostile 
 Indians, I was promoted to a halberd. The 
 stigma, however, of my transportation was not 
 yet entirely forgotten, and by some it was the 
 better remembered, because of my present ad- 
 vancement. One of those, with Avhom I had 
 never been on good terms, was particularly of- 
 fended at being commanded, as he termed it, 
 by a jail-bird ; and one day, Avhen I was on 
 guard, liad drawn on the back of my coat, the 
 picture of a gallows, on which was hung a fi- 
 gure in caricature, with the initials of my name 
 written over it. This Avas an affront too gross 
 to be tamely put up with \ having sought out 
 the man, Avho did not deny the charge, 1 chal- 
 lenged him to give me satisfaction by fighting 
 me. But this, from the opinion conceived of 
 my strength and ferocity, he did not chuse to 
 accept ; on which I gave him so severe a drub- 
 bing, that he was unable to mount guard in his 
 turn, and the surgeon reported that his life was 
 in danger. For this oilence I was tried by a 
 court-martial, and sentenced to receive five hun- 
 dred lashes as a punishment. When their sen- 
 tence was comnjunicated to me, I petitioned 
 that it might be changed into death •, bat my 
 request was refused. That very day, therefore, 
 1 received one hundred lashes, (for the sentence 
 was to be executed at different periods), and 
 next morning was to suffer as many more. Tlie 
 
 VOL. II. 7.
 
 266 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 remainder, however, I resolved, if possible, to 
 escape by an act of suicide. This I avhs only 
 prevented from putting in execution by the want 
 of opportunity *, as 1 had been stripped of every 
 the smallest Aveapon of offence, and Avas bound 
 ■with ropes to one of the posts of my bed. I 
 contrived, nevertheless, about midnii^rbt, to 
 reach tl^e fire-place with my feet, and having 
 drawn out thence a live ember, disposed it im- 
 mediately under the most combustible part of 
 the bed. It had very soon the effect I desired ; 
 the room was set on fire, and I regained my li- 
 berty, by the ropes, with which I vv^as tied, being 
 burnt. At that moment, the desire of life was 
 lekindled by the possibility of escaping j the 
 flames bursting out fiercely at one side of the 
 house where I lay, the attention of the soldiers 
 Avhora the fire had awakened, was principally 
 turned to that quarter, and I had an opportu- 
 nity of stealing off unpcrceived at the opposite 
 side. We were then in a sort of wooden huts, 
 which had been built for our accommodation on 
 the outside of one of our frontier forts ; so that, 
 when I had run two or three hundred yards, I 
 found myself in the shelter of a wood, pretty 
 «pcure from pursuit ; but, as there it was im- 
 possible for me long to subsist, and I had no 
 chance of escaping detection if I ventured to 
 approach the habitations of any of my countiy- 
 men, I had formed the resolution of endeavouring 
 to join the Indians, whose scouting parties I had 
 frequently seen at a small distance from our 
 put-posts. I held, therefore, in a direction which
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2G7 
 
 I judged the mo-^t probable for falliiiL!; iu ^x'llU 
 them, and in a very little after day-brealv dis- 
 covered a party, seated atter the manner v\' 
 their country, in a ring, with the a,shes or their 
 newly-extinguished fire in the middle. 1 ad- 
 vanced slowly to the place, which [ had almost 
 reached before T was perceived. When th( y 
 discovered me, they leaped up on their feet, and 
 seizinir their arras, screamed out the -war-hocp, 
 to alarm the different small parties who had 
 passed the night in resting-places near th<im. 
 One of them, presenting his piece, took aim at 
 me ; but I fell on my knees, shewed them ir.y 
 defenceless state, and held out my hands, as if 
 imploring their mercy and protection. .Upcn 
 this, one of the oldest among them made a si<:n 
 to the rest, and advancing towards me, asked iv.v, 
 in broken French, mixed with his own language, 
 of which too I understood something, what was 
 my intention, and whence 1 came ? I an^wt red 
 as distinctly as I could to these interrogato- 
 ries • and showing the sores on my back, which 
 I gave him to understand had been inflicted at 
 the fort, made protestations, both by imperfect 
 language and significant gestures, of my friend- 
 ship to his countiymen, and hatred to my own. 
 After holding a moment's conversation with the 
 rest, he took my hand, und, leading me a little 
 forward, phiced me in the midst of the party. 
 Some of them examined me attentively, and 
 upon some farther discourse together, brought 
 the baggage, with which two prisoneriL, lately 
 made from some adverse tribe, had been loa.dtd,
 
 268 THE ^rAN of the wokld. 
 
 and laid it upon me. This burden, nhieli to 
 any man -would liave been oppressively heavy, 
 you may believe, Avas much more intolerable 
 to me, whose flesh was yet raw from t!ie lashes 
 I had received ; but as I knew that fortitude 
 was an indispensable virtue with the Indians, I 
 bore it without wincinpr, and we proceeded on 
 the route which the party I had joined were 
 destined to pursue. During the course of our 
 first day's march, they often looked steadfastly 
 in my face, to discover if I showed any signs of 
 uneasiness. When they saw that 1 did not, 
 they lightened my load by degrees, and at last, 
 the senior chief, who had first taken notice of 
 me, -freed me from it altogether, and, at the 
 same time, chev/ing some herbs he found in the 
 wood, applied them to my sores, which in a 
 few days were almost entirely healed. I was 
 then entrusted with a tomahawk, and shortly 
 after with a gun, to the dextrous use of both 
 w^hich weapons 1 was frequently exercised by 
 the young men of our party, during the re- 
 mainder of our expedition. It lasted some 
 months, in which time I had also become to- 
 lerably acquainted with their language. At 
 the end of this excursion, in which they warred 
 on some other Indian nations, they returned to 
 their own country, and were received with all 
 the barbarous demonstrations of joy peculiar to 
 that people. In a day or two after their ar- 
 rival, their prisoners were brought forth into a 
 large plain, where the kindred of those who 
 liad been slain by the nations to which the cap-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2G9 
 
 tivc'S belonged, assembled to see them. Y.-ach 
 • singled oiil his expiatory prisoner, and liavin<^ 
 taken him home to his hut, siicii as chose thut 
 kind of satisfaction, adopted them in place of 
 the relations they had lost ; Avith the rest they 
 returned to their former place of meetintr, an.l 
 began to celebrate the festival of their revemrc. 
 You can hardly conceive a species of inventive 
 cruelty, which they did not inflict on tlic 
 Avretches whom fortune had thus put into their 
 power j during the course of which, not a 
 groan escaped from the sufterers ; but while 
 the use of their voices remained, they sung in 
 their rude, yet forcible manner, the ghiy of 
 their former victories, and the pleasure they 
 had received from the death of their foes , con- 
 cluding always with the hopes of revenge from 
 the surviving warriors of their nation. Nor 
 was it only for the pleasure of the reflection 
 that they caroled thus the triumphs cf the 
 pa^t ', for I could observe, that, when at any 
 time the rage of their tormentors seened to 
 subside, they poured forth those boastful .'trains 
 in order to rekindle their fury, that inteuseness 
 of pain might not be wanting in the tiial of 
 their fortitude. 1 perceived t!ie old man, whom 
 1 have before mentioned, -keep his eye fixed 
 upon me during this inhuman solemnity j and 
 frequently, when an extreme degree of torture 
 was borne with that calmness which I have de- 
 scribed, he would point, with an expressive 
 look, to him on whom it \va3 inflicted, as if be 
 kid desired nic to take particular notice of hi$
 
 270 THE MAN OF THE VVOULJ>. 
 
 resolution. I did not then fully comprehend 
 the meaning of this J but I afterwards under-, 
 stood it to have been a preparatory hint of 
 ^vhat I myself was to endure j for the next 
 morning, after the last surviving prisoner had 
 expired, I was seized by three or four Indians, 
 who stripped me of what little clothes I had 
 then left, tied me in a horizontal posture be- 
 tween the branches of two large trees they had 
 fixed in the ground, and, after the A?hole tribe 
 had danced round me to the music of a bar- 
 barous howl, they began to re-act upon me 
 nearly the same scene they had been engaged 
 in the day before. After each of a certain 
 select number had struck his knife into my 
 body, though they carefully avoided any mortal 
 wound, they rubbed it over, bleeding as it Avas, 
 with gunpowder, the salts of which gave me 
 the most exquisite pain. Nor did the ingenui- 
 ty of these practised tormentors stop here j 
 they tfterw^ards laid quantities of dry gunpow- 
 der on different parts of my body, and set fire 
 to theai, by which I was burnt in some places 
 to the bone. — But I see you shudder at the 
 horrid recital *, suffice it then to say, that these, 
 and some other such experiments of wanton 
 crueltj, I bore with that patience, with which 
 nothing but a life of hardship, and a certain 
 obduracy of spirit, proceeding from a contempt 
 of exii-tence, could have endow^ed me. 
 
 * After this trial was over, I was loosed from 
 my bonds, and set in the midst of a circle, who 
 shouted the cry of victory, and my aged friend
 
 THE MAN OF THt WORLD. 271 
 
 brought me a bowl of water, mixed with some 
 spirits, to drink. He took me then home to 
 bis hut, and laid applications of different sim- 
 ples to my mangled body. When I was so 
 v^ell recovered as to be able to walk abroad, he 
 called together certain elders of his tribe, and 
 acknowledging me for his son, gave me a name, 
 iiod fastened round my neck a belt of wampum. 
 ' It is thus,' said he, ' that the valiant are 
 tried, and thus are they rewarded j for how 
 »houldst thou be as one of us, if thy soul were 
 as the soul of little men j he only is worthy to 
 lift the hatchet with the Cherokees, to whom 
 shame is more intolerable than the stab of the 
 knife, or the burning of the fire.' 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 A CONTINOATION OF THE STRANGERS STORY. 
 
 ' In this society I lived till about a year and a 
 half ago j and it may seem extraordinary to 
 declare, yet it is certainly true, that during the 
 life of the old man who had adopted me, even 
 had there been no legal restraint on my return 
 to my native country, scarce any inducement 
 could have tempted me to leave the nation to 
 which lie belonged, except perhaps the desiie 
 of revisiting a parent, and a sister, Avhom 1 had 
 left in England, sunk beneath that ignominy
 
 272 THE MAN OF THE WOnLD. 
 
 which the son and the brother had draivn on 
 Ins guiltless connections. AVhen Ave consider 
 the perfect freedom subsisting in this rude and 
 simple state of society, where rule is only ac- 
 knowledged for the purpose of immediate uti- 
 lity to those who obey, and ceases whenever 
 that purpose of subordination is accomplished j 
 where greatness cannot use oppression, Kcr 
 wealth excite envy j wiiere the desires are na- 
 tive to the heart, and the languor of satiety is 
 unknown j where, if there is no refined sensa- 
 tion of delight, there is also no ideal source of 
 calamity j we shall the less wonder at the inha- 
 bitants feeling no regret for the want of those 
 delicate pleasures of which a more polished 
 people is possessed. Certain it is, that I am 
 far from being a single instance, of one who 
 had even attained maturity in Europe, and yet 
 found his mind so accomjuodated, by the habit 
 of a few years, to Indian manners, as to leave 
 that country with regret. The death of my 
 parent by adoption loosened, indeed, my at- 
 tachment to it ^ that event happened a short 
 time before my departure from America. 
 
 ' The composure with which the old man 
 met his dissolution, would have done honour 
 to the firmest philosopher of antiquity. W heu 
 he found himself near his end, he called me to 
 him, to deliver some final instructions respect- 
 ing my carriage to his countrymen ', he ob- 
 served, at the close of his discourse, that 1 re- 
 tained so much of the European, as to shed 
 some tears while he delivered it. ' In those
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 273 
 
 tears,' said he, * there is no ^visdoni, for there 
 is no use j 1 have heard, that, in your coun- 
 try, men prepare for death, by thinking on it 
 while they live •, this also is folly, because it 
 loses the good, by anticipating the evil ; we do 
 otherwise, my son, as our fathers have better 
 instructed us, and take from the evil by reflect- 
 ing on tiie good. I have lived a thousand 
 moons, without captivitv, and without disgrace j 
 in my youth I did not lly in battle, and in age, 
 the tribes listened while I spake. If I live in 
 another land after death, I shall remember 
 these things with pleasure j if the present is 
 our only life, to have done thus is to have used 
 it well. You have sometimes told me of your 
 countrymen's account of a land of souls j but 
 you were a young man when you came among 
 US, and the cunning among them may have de- 
 ceived you *, for the children of the French 
 king call themselves after the same God that 
 tlie English do ; yet their discourses concern- 
 ing him cannot he true, because they are oppo- 
 site one to another. Each says, that God shall 
 burn the others with fire j which could not 
 happen if both were Iiis children. Besides, 
 neither of them act as the sons of Truth, hut 
 as the sons of Deceit : tliey say their God 
 heareth all things, yet do they break the pro- 
 mises which thev have called upon him to hear : 
 but we know that tlie spirit within us listeneth, 
 and what we have said in its hearing, that we 
 do. If in another country the soul liveth, this 
 v/itness shall live with it 3 whom it hath her»
 
 274' THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 reproached, it sliall there disquiet •, ^vhom it 
 hath Jieie honoured, it shall there reward. 
 Live, therefore, my son, as your father halli 
 lived ; and die, as he dleth, fearless of death.' 
 
 ' ^Mth such sentiments, the old man reslp:nc{l 
 his breath, and I blushed for the life of Chris- 
 tians, while I heard them. 
 
 * I was now become an independent member 
 of the community j and my behaviour had been 
 such, that 1 succeeded to the condition of myv 
 father, with the respect of a people amongst 
 whom honour is attainable only by merit. Bat 
 his death had dissolved that tie which grati- 
 tude, and indeed affection for the old man, hud 
 on my heart *, and the scene of his death natu- 
 rally awakened in me the remembrance of a 
 father in England, v;hose age might now be 
 Iielpless, and call for the aid of a long-lost son 
 to solace and support it. This idea, once 
 roused, became every day more powerful, and 
 at last I resolved to communicate it to the Iribt, 
 and tell them my purpose of returning home. 
 
 * They heard me without surprise or emo- 
 tion -J as indeed it is their great characteristic 
 not to be easily awakened to either. * You re- 
 turn,' said one of the elders, * to a people who 
 sell affection to their brethren for money •, take, 
 therefore, with you some of the commodities 
 which their traders value. Strength, agility, 
 and fortitude, are sufficient to us ; but with 
 them they are of little use j and he who pos- 
 sesses wealth, having no need of virtue, among 
 the wealthy it will not be found. The la>t
 
 XHE MAN^ OF THE WORLD. 275 
 
 5"«ur father tauglit you, and amongst us you 
 iiave pi-actised ; the first he had not to leave, 
 nor hiive \vc to bestow j but take as many bea- 
 ver-skins as you can carry on your journey, 
 that it may reach that parent whom, you tell 
 u-s, you go to cherish.' 
 
 ' 1 returned thanks to the old man for hi» 
 counsel, and to tlie whole tribe for their kind- 
 ness ; and liaving, according to his advice, 
 taken a few of the furs they offered me, I re- 
 sumed the tattered remains of the European 
 dress which I had on when I escaped from the 
 fort, and took the nearest road to one of our 
 back-settlements, which I reached without any 
 accident, bv the assistance of an Indian, who 
 had lonx shown a particular attachment to me, 
 and who now attended me on my way. ' Yon- 
 der smoke,' said my conductor, ' rises from 
 the dwellings of your counti-ymen. You now 
 return to a world which I have heard you de- 
 scribe as full of calamity ', but the soul you 
 possess is the soul of a man j remember that 
 lo fortitude there is no sting in adversity, and 
 in death no evil to the valiant.' 
 
 ' When he left me, I stood for some minutes, 
 looklnnr back, on one hand to the wilds I had 
 passed^ and on the other to the scenes of culti- 
 vation which European industry had formed j 
 and it may surprise you to hear, that though 
 there wanted not some rekindling attachment 
 lo a people amongst whom my first breath had 
 been drawn, and my youth spent, yet my ima- 
 (;inatiou drew, on this side, fraud, hypocrisy.
 
 276 THE MAX OF THE WORLJ?. 
 
 and sordid baseness ; \vlille on that seemed to 
 preside honesty, truth, and savage noblcnes* 
 of soul. 
 
 * Wlien r appeared at the.door of one of the 
 houses in the settlement that was nearest me, I 
 was immediately accosted by its master, who, 
 judging from the bundle of lurs which I cairied, 
 that I had been trading among the Indians, 
 asked me, with much kindness, to take up my 
 Jodging with him. Of this offer I was very 
 glad to accept, though I found a scarcity of 
 words to thank my countryman for his favours ^ 
 as, from want of use, my remembrance of the 
 English language had been so much effaced, as 
 not only to repress fluency, but even to prevent 
 an ordinary command of expression ; and I was 
 more especially at a loss for ceremonious 
 phraseology, that department of language be- 
 ing unknown in the country whence I was just 
 returned. My landlord was not a little asto- 
 nished, when I could at last make shift to inform 
 him of my having passed so many years among 
 the Indians. He asked a thousand questions 
 about customs which never existed, and told nie 
 of a multitude of things, of which all the time 
 I had lived in that country, I had never dreamed 
 the possibility. Indeed, from the superiority 
 of his expression, joined to that fund of sup- 
 posed knowledge which it served to communi- 
 cate, a byestander would have been led to ima- 
 gine, that he was describing, to some ignorant 
 guest, a country with whose manners he had 
 been long conversant, and among whose inhii-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 277 
 
 bitants be had passed the greatest part of his 
 life. x=Vt length, however, his dlscourbC cen- 
 tered upon the fur-trade, and naturally glided 
 from that to an offer of purchasing my beaver- 
 skins. These things, I was informed by my 
 courteous entertainer, had fallen so much in their 
 price of late, that the traders could hardly de- 
 fray their journey in procuring them ; that him- 
 self had lost by some late bargains in that wav; 
 but that to oblige a stranger, the singularity of 
 whose adventures had interested him in his be- 
 half, he would give me the highest price at 
 which he had heard of their being sold for a 
 long time past. This I accepted without hesi- 
 tation, as 1 had neither language nor inclination 
 for haggling : and having procured as much 
 money by the bargain as, 1 imagined, would 
 inore than carry me to a sea-port, I proceeded 
 on my journey, accompanied by an inhabitant 
 of Williamsburg, who was returued fron) an an- 
 nual visit to a settlement on the back-frontiers, 
 w^hich he had purchased in partnership with 
 another, who constantly resided upon it. Ke 
 seemed to be naturally of an inquisitive di.-po- 
 sition ', and having learned from my former 
 landlord, that I had lived several years with the 
 Indians, tormented me, all the while our jour- 
 ney lasted, with interrogatories concerninir liieir 
 country and manners. But as he was less opi- 
 nionative of his own knowledge in the matter 
 than my last English acquaintance, I was the 
 more easily prevailed on to satisfy his curiosity, 
 though at the expence of a greater number of 
 VOL. ir. A a
 
 278 THE MAN OF THE WOILD. 
 
 words than I could conveniently spare j and, at 
 last, he made himself entirely master of my 
 story, from the time of leaving the regiment in 
 which I had served, down to the day on which 
 I delivered my recital. When I mentioned 
 my liaving sold my beaver skins for a certain 
 sum, he started aside, and then lifting up his 
 eyes in an ejaculatory manner, expressed his 
 astonishment how a Christian could be guilty 
 of such monstrous dishonesty, which, he said, 
 was no better than one would have expected in 
 a Savage ; for that my skins were worth at least 
 three times the money. I smiled at his notions 
 of comparative morality, and bore the intelli- 
 gence with a calmness ihat seemed to move his 
 admiration. He thanked God that all were not 
 so ready to take advantage of ignorance or mis- 
 fortune, and cordially grasping my hand, beg- 
 ged me to make his house at Williamsburg my 
 own, till such time as I could procure my pas- 
 sjige to England.' 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE STRANGEll's STORY. 
 
 ^ i unsuANT to this friendly invitation, I ac- 
 companied him to his house on our arrival in 
 that place. For some days my landlord be- 
 liaved to me in the most friendly manner, and 
 lurnished me, of his own accord, with linen
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 279 
 
 and wearing apparel; several articles of which, 
 though necessaries in the polished society of 
 those amongst whom I now resided, my ideas 
 of Indian simplicity made me consider super- 
 fluous. 
 
 * During this time, I frequently attended him 
 at his store, while he was receiving consign- 
 ments of goods, and assisted him and his ser- 
 vants in the disposal and assortment of them. 
 At first he received this assistance as a favour j 
 but I could observe that he soon began to look 
 upon it as a matter of right, and called me to 
 bear a hand, as he termed it, in a manner ra- 
 ther too peremptory for my pride to submit 
 to. At last, when he ventured to tax me with 
 some office of menial servility, I told him, I 
 did not consider myself his dependent, any far- 
 ther than gratitude for his favours demanded, 
 and refused to perform it. Upon which he let 
 me know, that he looked upon me as his ser- 
 vant, and that, if I did not immediately obey 
 his command, he would find a way to be re- 
 venged of me. This declaration heightened, 
 my resentment, and confirmed my refusal. I 
 desired him to give me an account of what mo- 
 ney he had expended, in those articles with 
 ^vhlch he had supplied me, that I might pay 
 him out of the small sum I had in my possession, 
 and, if that was not sufficient, I would rather 
 sell my new habiliments, and return to my rags, 
 than be indebted for a farthing to his genero- 
 sity. He answered that he would clear ac- 
 counts with niG by and bye. lie did io, by
 
 -280 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 
 
 aiiaking oath before a magistrate, that I was a 
 <leserter from his Majesty's service, and, accord- 
 ing to my own confession, had associated with 
 the savages, enemies of the province. As I 
 could deny neither of those charges, I was 
 thrown into prison, whera I should have been 
 in danger of starving, had not the curiosity of 
 some of the townsfolks induced them to visit 
 me, Avhen they commonly contributed some 
 trifle towards my support; till at length, partly, 
 I suppose, from the abatement of my accuser's 
 -anger^ and partly from the flagrancy of detain- 
 ing me iTi prison without any provision for my 
 maintenance, I was sufiered to be enlarged ; 
 and a vessel being then ready to sail for Eng- 
 land, several of whose hands had deserted her, 
 tlie master agreed to take me on board for the 
 consideration of my working the voyag:e. For 
 this, indeed, I was not in the le«st qualified as 
 to skill j but my strength and perseverance 
 made up, in some operations, for the want of it. 
 * As this was before the end of the war, the 
 ship in which I sailed happened to be taken by 
 a French privateer, who carried her into Brest. 
 This, to me, who had already anticipated my 
 arrival at home, to comfort the declining age 
 of a parent, was the most mortifying accident 
 of any I had hitherto met with ; but the cap- 
 tain, and some passengers v;ho were aboard of 
 lis, seemed to make light of their misfortune. 
 The ship was ensured, so that in property the 
 owner* conid suffer little ; as for ourselves, said 
 they, the French are the politest enemies in the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLT>. 281 
 
 world, and, till we are exchanged, Avill treat iia 
 -svith that civil demeanour j^o peculiar to their na- 
 tion. ' We are not (addressing themselves to 
 me,) among savages^ as you were.' — How it 
 fared with them I know not ', I, and other in- 
 ferior members of the crew, were thrust into a 
 dungeon, dark, damp, and loathsome •, where, 
 from the number confined in it, and the want 
 of proper circulation, the air became putrid to 
 the most horrible degree ; and tlie al!ouanc« 
 for our provision was not equal to two-pence a- 
 day. To hard living I could well enough sub- 
 mit, who had been frequently accustomed, 
 among the Cherokees, to subsist three or four 
 days on a stack of Indian corn moistened in the; 
 first brook I lighted on j but the want of air 
 and exercise I could not so easily endure. I 
 lost the use of my limbs, and lay motionless on 
 my back, in a corner of the hole we were con- 
 fined in, covered with vermin, and supported, 
 in that wretched state, only by the infrequent 
 humanity of some sailor, who crammed mv 
 mouth with a bit of his brown bread, softened 
 in stinking water. The natural vigour of mj 
 constltuilon, however, bore up against this com- 
 plicated misery, till, upon the conclusion of the 
 peace, we retrained our freedom. But when 1 
 was set at liberty, 1 had not strength to enjoy 
 it j and after my companions were gone, was 
 obliged to crawl several weeks about the streets; 
 of Brest, where the charity of some well dis- 
 pased Frenchmen bestowed now and then a trifle 
 upon th» pauvrc sauvage, as I was called, till 
 A a 2
 
 "282 THE MAN OF THE, WORLD. 
 
 I recovered the exercise of my limbs, and was 
 able to work my passage in a Dutch merchant- 
 ship bound for England. The mate of this ves- 
 sel happened to be a Scotsman, who, hearing 
 me speak the language of Britain, and having 
 inquired into the particulars of my story, hu- 
 manely attached himself to my service, and 
 made my situation nmch more comfortable than 
 any I had for some time experienced. We 
 sailed from Brest with a fair wind, but had not 
 been long at sea, till it shifted, and blew pretty 
 fresh at east, so that we were kept for several 
 tlays beating up the Channel j at the end of 
 which it increased to so violent a degree, that 
 it w'as impossible for us to hold a course, and 
 the ship was suffered to scud before the storm. 
 At the close of the second day, the wind sud- 
 denly chopped about into a westerly point, 
 though without any abatement of its violence ; 
 and very soon after day-break of the third, we 
 were driving on the soutiiwest coast of England, 
 right to the leeward. The consternation of the 
 crew became now so great, that if any expedi- 
 ent had remained to save us, it would have 
 scarce allowed them to put it in practice. The 
 mate, who seemed to be the ablest sailor on 
 "board, | exhorted them at least to endeavour 
 running the ship into a bay, which opened a 
 little on our starboard quarter, where the shore 
 Avas flat and sandy ; comforting them with the 
 reflection, that they should be cast on friendly 
 ground, and not among savages. His advice 
 ^nd encouiH2"ement had the desired e^ffect j and
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 283 
 
 notwithstanding the perils »vith which I saw 
 myself suirounded, I looked with a gleam of 
 satisfaction on the coast of my native land, 
 which for so many years I had not seen. Un- 
 fortunately a ridge of rocks ran almost across 
 the bason into which, with iniinite labour, we 
 were directing our course j and the sh.ip stiTvck 
 upon them, about the distance of half a league 
 from the shore. All was now uproar and con- 
 fusion. The long-boat was launched by some 
 of the crew, who, with the captain, got imme- 
 diately into her, and brandishing tlieir long- 
 knives, threatened with instant death any who 
 should attempt to follow them, as she was al- 
 ready loaded beyond her burden. Indeed, 
 there remained at this time in the ship only two 
 sailors, the mate, and myself; the first were 
 washed overboard vfhile they hung on the sliip's 
 side attempting^ to leap into the boat, and we 
 saw them no more j nor had their hard-hearted 
 companions a better fate j they had scarcely 
 rowed a cable's length from the ship, when the 
 boat overset, and every one on board her pe- 
 rished. There now remained only my friend 
 the mate, and I, who, consulting a moment to- 
 gether, agreed to keep by the ship till she 
 should split, and endeavour to save ours^^lves 
 on some broken plank which the storm ni'^ht 
 drive on shore. We had just time to come to 
 this resolution, when by the violence of a wave 
 that broke over the ship, her main-mast went 
 by the board, and we were swept oif the deck 
 fSLt the sime instant. My coippaoiou coiUd not
 
 2S4? THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 swim \ but I had been taught that art by my 
 Indian friends to the greatest degree of expert- 
 ness. 1 was, therefore, more uneasy about the 
 honest Scotsman's fate than my own, and, 
 quitting the mast, of which I had caught hold 
 in its fall, swam to the place where he first rose 
 to the surface, and catching him by the hair, 
 held his head tolerably above water, till he was 
 able so far to recollect himself, as to cling by a 
 part of the shrouds of our floating main-mast, 
 to which I bore him. In cur passage to the 
 shore on this slender float, he was several times 
 obliged to quit his hold, from his strength being 
 exhausted j but I was always so fortunate as to- 
 be able to replace him in his fbrmer situation, 
 till, at last, >ve were thrown upon the beach, 
 near to the bottom of that bay at the mouth of 
 which our ship had struck. 1 was not so much 
 5»pent by my fatigue, but that I -vvas able to draw 
 the mate safe out of the water, and advancing 
 to a crowd of people whom I saw assenibled 
 near us, began to entreat their assistance for 
 him in very pathetic terms, >vhen, to my utter 
 astonishment, one of them struck at me with a 
 bludgeon, while another making up to my fel- 
 low-sufferer, would have beat out his brains -with 
 a stone, if I had not run up nimbly behind liim, 
 and dashed it from his uplifted hand. This man 
 happened to be armed with a hanirer, which he 
 instantly drew, and made a furious stroke at my 
 head. I parried his blow with my arm, and, at 
 the same time, seized his wrist, gave it so sud« 
 4en at wrench, that the weapon dropped to the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 28S 
 
 groimd. I instantly possessed myself of it, and 
 stood astride my companion Avitli the aspect of 
 an angry lionnecS guarding her young from the 
 hunter. The appearance of strength and 
 fierceness which my figure exhibited, kept my 
 enemies a little at bav, when, fortunately, we 
 saw advancing a body of soldier?, headed by an 
 officer, v.bom a gentleman of humanity in the 
 neii::hbourhood had prevailed on to march to 
 the place for the preservation of any of the crew 
 whom the storm might spare, or any part of the 
 cargo that might chance to be thiown ashore. 
 At sight of this detachment the crov d dispersed, 
 and left me master of the field. The officer 
 very humanely took charge of my companion 
 and me, brought us to hi= quarters in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and accommodated me wath these 
 very clothes which I now iiave on. From him 
 I learned, that those Englishmen, who (as our 
 mate by way of comfort observed) v, (--re not sa- 
 vages, had the idea transmitted them from their 
 fathers, that all wrecks became their property 
 by the immediate hand of God j and as in their 
 apprehension that denomination belonged only 
 to ships from which there landed no living thing, 
 their hostile endeavours against the Scotsman's 
 life and mine, proceeded from a desire of bring- 
 ing our vessel into that suppo-ed condition. 
 
 ' After having weathered so many succeislve 
 disasters, ] am at last arrived near the place of 
 my nativity •, fain would I hope, that a parent 
 and a sister, whose tender remembrance, 
 tningled with that of happier days, now rushes
 
 2S6 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 
 
 on my soul, are yet alire to pardon the wander- 
 ings of my youth, and receive me after those 
 hardsliips to which its unjroverned passions have 
 tubjected me. Like the prodigal son, I bring 
 no worldly wealth along with me j but I return 
 with a mind conscious of its former errors, and 
 .seeking tliat peace v/hie!i they destroyed. To 
 have used prosperity well, is the first favoured 
 lot of Heaven ; the next is his, whom adversity 
 ias not smitten in vain.' 
 
 CHAP. XXL 
 
 lOLTON AND HIS COMPANION MEET WITH 
 AN UNCOMMON ADVENTURE. 
 
 V\ HEN the stranger had finished his narratioiif, 
 Bolton expressed, in very strong terms, liis 
 compassion for the hardships he had suffered. 
 * 1 do not wish,' said he, * to be the prophet of 
 evil ; but if it should happen, that your expec- 
 tations of the comfort your native country is to 
 afford you be disappointed, it will give me the 
 truest pleasure to shelter a head on which so 
 many vicissitudes have beat, under that roof of 
 ■which providence has made me master.' — He 
 was interrupted by the trampling of horses at 
 a distance j his fears, Avakefiil at this time, 
 were immediately roused ; the stranger ob- 
 served his confusion. ' You seem uneasy, Sir,' 
 said he ) * but they are not the retreats of
 
 TbiE M4N OF THE WO»LT>. S57 
 
 lioiKseless poverty like tliis, that violence and 
 rapine are wont to attack.' — * You mibtake,' 
 answered Harry, wko was now standing at LJic 
 door of the chapel, ' the ground of my .alarni j 
 at present 1 hav£ a particular reason for my 
 fears, which is nearer to me tiian my own per- 
 sonal safety.' — He listened j — the noise grew 
 fainter 5 but he marked, by the light of the 
 moon, which now slume out again, the direction 
 whence it seemed to proceed, which was over 
 an open part of the common. ' They are gone 
 this way,' he cried with an eagerness of look, 
 ^grasping one of the knotty branches which th« 
 soldier's tire had spared. * If tiieie is danger 
 in your way,' said his companion, * you shall 
 not meet it alone.' They sallied forth together. 
 Tliey had not proceeded above a quarter of 
 a mile, when they perceived, at a distance, the 
 twinkling of lights in motion: their pace was 
 quickened at the sight ; but in a few minutef 
 those were extingui.^iied, the moon was darken- 
 ed by another cloud, aiul the wind began to 
 howl again. They advanced, however, on the 
 line in Avhich they imagined the lights to have 
 appeared, when, in one of the pauses of the 
 storm, they heard shrieks, in a female voice, 
 that seemed to issue from some place but a 
 little way off. They rushed forward in the di- 
 rection of the sound, till they were stopped bv 
 a pretty high wall. Having made shiit to 
 scramble over this, they found themselves iw 
 the garden belonging to a low-built house, 
 from one of the windows of which they saw the
 
 2S8 THE MAN OF THE WORLD* 
 
 glimmer of a candle through the opeiiing-i of 
 the shutters, hut the voice had ceased, and all 
 was silent Tvithin. Bolton knocked at the 
 door, but received no answer j when, suddenly, 
 the screaming was repeated with more violence 
 than before. He and his companion now threw 
 themselves with so much force against the 
 door, as to burst it open. They rushed into 
 the room -whence the noise proceeded ; when 
 the first object that presented itself to Boiton 
 was Miss Sindall on her knees, her clothes 
 torn and her hair dishevelled, with two servants 
 holding her arms, imploring mercy of Sir Tho- 
 mas, who was calling out in a furious tone, 
 * Damn your pity, rascals, carry her to bed by 
 force.' — * Turn, villain !' cried Harry, * turn 
 and defend yourself.' Sindall started at the 
 well-known voice, and, pulling out a pistol, 
 fired it within a few feet of the other's face ; 
 he mis&td, and Bolton pushed forward to close 
 with him ; when one of the servants, quitting 
 Miss Sindall, threw himself between him and 
 his master, and made a blow at his head with 
 the but-end of a hunting whip : this Harry 
 catched on his stick, and in the return levelled 
 the fellow with the ground. His master now 
 fired another pistol, which would have proba- 
 bly taken more effect than the former, had not 
 Bolton's new acquaintance struck up the muzzle 
 just as it went off, the ball going through a 
 w^indow at Harry's back. The baronet had 
 his sword now drawn in the other hand, and, 
 changing the object of his attack, he made v.
 
 IJHE MAX ©F THE WORLD. SS^ 
 
 furious pass at the soldier, w!io parried it ^\^i\\ 
 his hanger. At the second lounge, Sir Tho- 
 mas's violence threw him on the point of his 
 adversary's weapon, which entered his body a 
 little below the breast. He staacrered a few 
 paces backwards, and clapping one hand on the 
 place, leaned with the other on a table that 
 stood beliind him, and cried out, that he was 
 a dead man. * My God I' exclaimed the 
 stranger, * are net you Sir Thomas Sindulli" — 
 * Sir TJ)onias Sindall !' cried a woman who now 
 entered half-dressed, with tlie mistress of the 
 house. * It is, it is Sir Thomas Sindall,' said 
 the landlady; ' for God's sake do his honour ne 
 hurt,' — ' I hope,' continued the other Avith a 
 look of earnest v/ildnes'^, ^ vou liave not been 
 a-bed with that young lady I' — She waited not 
 a reply — ' for as sure as there is a God in hea- 
 ven, she is your own daughter!' — fler hearers 
 stood aghast as she spoke. — Sindaii stared 
 wildly for a moment, then giving a deep groan, 
 fell senseless at the feet of the soldier, wh") had 
 sprung forward to support him. \\ hat as-^istance 
 the amazement of those about him could pJlow, 
 he received ; and in a short time began to re- 
 cover J but as he revived, his wound bled with 
 jTiore violence than before. A servant was in- 
 stantly dispatched for a surgeon ; in the mean 
 time, the soldier procured some lint, and <j;avc 
 it a temporary dressing. He was now raided 
 from the ground, and supported in an elbow 
 chair-, he bent his eyes fixedly on the woman ^; 
 "* Speak,' said he, ' v/hile 1 have life to hcai 
 \QL. II. « W
 
 2[K) THE MAN OF THE WOHLJ). 
 
 tliee.' On the faces of her audience sat asto- 
 nishment, suspense, and expectation j and a 
 chilly silence prevailed, while she delivered the 
 following recital. 
 
 CHAP. XXIL 
 
 A PROSBCUTION OF THE DISCOVERY MENTIONED 
 IN THE LAST CHAPTER. 
 
 1 HAVE been a ivlcked woman 5 may God 
 and this lady forgive me ! but heaven is my 
 witness, that I was thus far on my way to con- 
 fess all to your honour, (turning to Sir Thomas 
 Sindal],) that I might have peace in my mind 
 before I died. 
 
 * You will remember, Sir, that this young 
 lady's mother was delivered of her at the house 
 of one of your tenants, where Mr Camplin (I 
 think that was his name) brought her for that 
 purpose. I was intrusted with the charge of 
 her as her nurse, along with some trinkets, 
 such as young children are in use to have, and 
 a considerable sum of money, to provide any 
 other necessaries she should want. At that 
 very time I had been drawn in to associate with 
 a gang of pilfering vagrants, whose stolen goods 
 I had often received into my house, and helped 
 to dispose of. Fearing therefore that I might 
 one day be brought to an account for my past 
 oiFences, if I remained where I was, and having
 
 THE iMAN OF THE WORLD, 291 
 
 ut liie same time the temptation of such a 
 buoty before me, I formed a scheme for mak- 
 ing oft' with tlie money and trinkets 1 had got 
 from Mr Camplin: it was to make things appear 
 as if my charge and I had been lost in crossing 
 the river, which then happened to be in flood. 
 For this purpose, 1 daa]>ed my own cloak, and 
 the infant's wrapper, with mud and slcech, and 
 left them close to the overflow oi the stream, a 
 little below the common ford. With shame I 
 confess it, as I have ofien since thought on il 
 with horror, I was more than once tempted to 
 /Irown the child, that she might not be a bur- 
 ■den to me in my flight ; but she looked so in- 
 nocent and sweet, while she clasped my fingers 
 in her little hand, that I had not the heart to 
 execute my purpose. 
 
 ' Having endeavoured In this manner to ac- 
 count for my disappearing, so as to prevent all 
 further inquiry, I joined a party of those 
 wretches, whose associate [ had sometime been, 
 and left that part of the country altogether. 
 By their assistance, too, I wa^ put on a m .'thod 
 of disguising my face so much, that Ijad a-.y of 
 my acquaintance met me, of which there wa5 
 very little chance, it woi-ld have been scarce 
 possible for them to recollect it. My booty 
 was pat into t!ie common stock, and the child 
 ^vas found useful to raise compassion when we 
 . ent a-begging, which was one part of the oc- 
 cupation we followed. 
 
 * After I had continued in this society the 
 hcst part of a year, durin«^ which time wc met.
 
 £9^2 THE MAN 01 THE WOULD. 
 
 with vaiiGUs turns of fortune, a scheme was 
 formed hy the reniaining part of us (for several 
 of my companions had been banished, or con- 
 fined to Ijard labour in the interval) to break 
 into the house of a wealthy farmer, who, we 
 understood, had a few days before received a 
 large sum of money on a bargain for the lease 
 of an estate, winch the proprietor had redeem- 
 ed. Our project was executed vvith success j 
 but a quarrel arising about the distribution of 
 the spoil, one of the gang deserted, and in- 
 formed a neighbouring justice of the Avholc 
 transaction, and the places of our retreat. I 
 happened to be a fortune-telling in this gentle- 
 man's house when bis informer came to make 
 the discovery ; and, being closetted with one of 
 the maid-servants, overheard him inquiring for 
 the justice, and desiring to have some conver- 
 sation with him in private. 1 immediately sus- 
 pected his design, and having got out of the 
 house, eluded pursuit by my knowledge in the 
 bye-paths and private roads of the country. It 
 immediately occurred to me to disburden ray- 
 self of the child, as she not only retarded my 
 flight, but was a mark by whicli I might be dis- 
 covered : but, abandoned as 1 had then become, 
 I found myself attached to her by that sort of 
 affection which women conceive for the infants 
 they suckle. I would not, therefore, expose 
 Lerin any of those unfrequented places through 
 which I passed in my flight, where her death 
 must have been the certain consequence ; and, 
 tv/o or tliree times when I would have dropped
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 293 
 
 her at so.ne farmer's door, I wa^ prevented by 
 the fear of discovery. At last I happened to 
 meet u'ith your honour. You may recollect, 
 Sir, tliat the same night on which tliis lady, 
 then an infant, was found, a beggar asked aim^ 
 of you at a farrier's door, where you stopped to 
 have one ef your horse's shoes fastened. I was 
 that beggar •, and Iiearing from a boy who held 
 your horse that your name was Sir Thomas 
 Sindall, and that you were returning to a hunt- 
 ing; seat vou had in the neighbourhocd, I left 
 the infant on a narrow part of the road a little 
 way before you, where it was impossible you 
 should miss of finding her, and stood at the 
 back of a hedge to observe your behaviour 
 when you came up. I saw y^ou make your ser- 
 vant pick up the child, and place her on the 
 saddle before him. Then having, as I thought, 
 sufficiently provided for her, by thus throwing 
 lier under the protection of her father, I made 
 off as fast as I could, and continued my flight, 
 till I imagined I was out of the reach of detec- 
 tion. But being some time after apprehended 
 on su=ipicion, and not able to give a good ac- 
 count of myself, I was advertised in the papers, 
 and discovered to have been an accomplice in 
 committing that robbery I mentioned, for which 
 some of the gang had been already condemned 
 and executed. 1 was tried for the crime, and 
 wxs cast for transportation. Before I was put 
 on board the ship that was to carry me and se- 
 veral others abroad, I wrote a few lines to your 
 hoaour. acquainting you Avith tho clrcumslances 
 B b 2
 
 2^4! THE MAN OF THE AVORLD. 
 
 ef my behaviour towards your tiaugliter : but 
 this, I suppose, as it was entrusted to a boy 
 who used to go on errands for the prisoners, has 
 never come to your hands. Not long ago I 
 returned from transportation, and betook my- 
 sielf to my old course of life again. Rut I hap- 
 pened to be seized with the small-pox, that 
 raged in a village I passed through j and partly 
 iiom the violence of the distemper, partly from 
 the want of proper care in the first stages 
 of it, was brought so low, that a physician, 
 whose humanity induced him to visit me, gave 
 me over for lost. I found that the terrors of 
 death on a sick-bed had more effect on my con- 
 science than all the hardships I had formerly 
 undergone, and I began to look back with the 
 keenest remorse on a life so spent as mine had 
 been. Jt pleased God, however, that I should 
 recover j and I have since endeavoured to make 
 some reparation for my past oilences by my pe- 
 nitence. 
 
 ' Among other things, I often reflected on 
 ■what I had done with regard to your child ; and 
 being some days ago accidentally near Sindall- 
 park, I v/ent thither, and tried to learn some- 
 thing of what had befailen her. I understood 
 from some of the neighbours, that a young lady 
 had been brought up from her infancy witli 
 your aunt, and v,'as said to be the daughter of a 
 friend of your's, who had committed her to 
 your care at his death. But, upon inquiring 
 into the time of her being brought to your house, 
 I was persuaded that she must be the same I
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2.Q5 
 
 had conjectured, imputing the story of her he- 
 ing another's to your desire of concealing that 
 she \Tas your^s, which I imagined you !)ad learn- 
 ed from the letter 1 Avrote hefore my transpor- 
 tation J till meeting, at a house of entertain- 
 ment, with a servant of your honour's, he in- 
 formed me, in the course of our conversation^ 
 that it was reported you were going to be mar- 
 ried to the young lady who had lived so Jong in 
 your family. On hearing this I was confound- 
 ed, and did not know what to think 5 but, when 
 I began to fear that my letter liad never reach- 
 ed you, I trembled at the thought of what my 
 wickedness might occasion, and could have no 
 ease in my mind, till I should set out for Ells- 
 wood to confess the whole affair to your ho- 
 nour. I was to-night overtak<,'n by tlie storm 
 near thTs house, and prevailed on the landlady, 
 liiough it seemed muci] against her inclination, 
 to permit me to take up my quarters here. 
 About half an hour ago, 1 was waked with the 
 shrieks of some person in distress, and upon 
 asking the landlady, who lay in the same room 
 with me, what wa-s the matter, she bid me be 
 quiet and say iiothing ; for it was only a wor- 
 thy gentleman of her acquaintance, who had 
 overtaken a young girl, a foundling he had 
 bred up, that had stolen a sum of money from 
 Ills house, and run away with one of his foot- 
 men. At the won] fonnd/ing, I ft-lt a kind of 
 sometiiing I cannot descrll'e, and I was tenificd 
 when I overheard some part of your dl^course, 
 and guessed what your intentions were ', I rostv
 
 296 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 llieicibre, in spite of the landlady, and Iiad got 
 thus far dressed, ^vhen we lieard the door bur^t 
 open, and presently a noise of fighting above 
 stairs. Upon this ^ve ran up together 3 and to 
 what has happened since, this company has been 
 5vitness.' 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 
 JIISS SINDALL DISCOVERS ANOTHER RELATION, 
 
 Ir is not easy to describe the sensations of 
 Sindall or Lucy, when the secret of her birth 
 was unfolded. In the countenance of the last 
 were mingled the indications of fear and pity, 
 joy and wonder •, while her father turned upon 
 her an eye of tenderness chastened with shame. 
 * Oh I thou injured innocence !' said he, * for I 
 know not how to call thee child, canst thou for- 
 give those — Good God ! Bolton, from what 
 hast thou saved me !' Lucy was noAV kneeling 
 at his feet. — * Talk not, Sir,' said she, ' of the 
 errors of the past j methinks I look on it as 
 some horrid dream, which it dizzies my head to 
 recollect. My father ! — Gracious God I have 
 I a fatlier ? — I cannot speak j but there are a 
 thousand things that beat here I — Is there an- 
 other parent to whom I should also kneel ?' 
 Sir Thomas cast up a look to heaven, and his 
 groans stopped for a while his utterancej-r—
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 297 
 
 * Oh ! Harriet ! if thou art now an angel of 
 mercy, look down and lorgive tlie wretch that 
 murdered thee I' — ' Harriet I' exclaimed the 
 soUlier, starting at the sound, ' what Harriet? 
 what Harriet V Sindall looked earnfirtly in his 
 face — * Oh ! heavens !' he cried, * art thou — 
 sure thou art ! — Annesly ? — look not, leok not 
 on me — thy sister — but I shall not live for thy 
 upbraidings — thy sister was the mother of my 
 child I — Thy father — to what does this moment 
 of reflection reduce me ? — thy father fell with 
 his daughter, the victims of that villany which 
 overcame her innocence !' Annesly looked 
 sternly upon him, and anger for a moment in- 
 flamed his cheeks •, but it gave way to softer 
 feelings. — ' VV^hatl both? both?' — and he burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Bolton now stepped up to this^ new-acquireA 
 friend. ' I am,' said he, ' comparatively but a 
 spectator of this fateful scene ; let me endea- 
 vour to comfort the distress of the innocent, 
 and alleviate the pangs of the guilty. In Sir 
 Thomas Sindall's present condition resentment 
 would be injustice. See here, my friend, 
 (pointing to Lucy), a mediatrix, who forgets 
 the man in the father.' Annesly gazed upon 
 her. * She is, she is,' he cried, ' the daughter 
 of my Harriet •, — that eye, that lip, that look of 
 sorrow !' — He fiung himself on lier neck j Bol- 
 ton looked on them enraptured •, and even the 
 languor of Sindall's fnce was crossed with a 
 jrleam of momentary pleasure. 
 
 Sir Thomas's servant now arrived, accoav
 
 29S THE MAN OF THR WORLD. 
 
 panled by a wrgeon, who, upon examining and 
 ilres.sing his wound, was of opinion, that in it- 
 self it had not the appearance of imminent dan- 
 ger, but l!iat from the state of his pulse lie was 
 apprehensive of a supervening fever. He or- 
 dered him to be put to bed, and his room to 
 be kept as quiet as possible. As this gentle- 
 man was an acquaintance of Bolton's, the latter 
 in/ormed him of the state in which JSir Tho- 
 mas's mind must be from the discoveries that 
 the preceding hour had made to bin). Upon 
 which the surgeon begged that he might, for 
 the present, avoid seeing Miss Slndall or Mr 
 Aniiesly, or talking with any one on the sub- 
 ject of those discoveries j but he could not pre- 
 vent t!ie intrusion of tl'.ougiit j and not many 
 hours after, his patient fell into a roving sort of 
 slumber, in which he would often start and 
 mutter the words Harriet, Lucy, Murder, and 
 Incest 1 
 
 Bolton atid Lucy now enjoyed one of those 
 luxurious interviews, which absence, and hard- 
 ships during that absence, procure to souls 
 formed for each other. She related to him all 
 her past distresses, of which my rcad^rrs have 
 been already informed, and added the account 
 ,of that niprht's event, part of which only thev 
 have hi-ard. Herself indeed, Avas not then mis« 
 tress of it all ; the story at large was this : 
 
 The servant, Avhose attachment to her 1 have 
 formerlv mentioned, had been discovered, in 
 that conference which produced her resolution 
 ftf leaving- Bilsv.ood, bv Mrs Boothbv's maid.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2Q9 
 
 -vho immediately communicated to her mistress 
 her suspicions of the plot going forward be- 
 tween Miss Sindall and Robert. Upon this the 
 latter was severely interrogated by his master, 
 and being confronted with Sukcy, who repeat- 
 ed the Avords she had overheard of the young 
 jady and him, he confessed her intention of es- 
 caping by his assistance. Sir Thomas, drawing 
 his SAvord, threatened to put him instantly to 
 death, if he did not expiate his treachery by 
 obeying implicitly the instructions he should 
 then receive ; these were, to have the horse 
 saddled at the hour agreed on, and to proceed, 
 without revealing to Miss Sindall the confession 
 he had made, on the road which Sir Thomas 
 now marked out for him. With this, after the 
 most horrid denunciations of vengeance in ca!5<t 
 of a refusal, the poor fellow was fain to comply j 
 and hence his terror when they were leaving 
 the house. They had picceeded but jtist so 
 far on their way, as Sir Thomas had tlicught 
 proper for the accomplishn.ent of his design, 
 when he, with his valet de c!)ambre and ano- 
 ther servant, who were confidants of their mas- 
 ter's pleasures, made up to them, and after pre- 
 tending to upbraid Lucy for tlie imprudence 
 and tieachcry of her flight, he carried her to 
 this house of one of t]»ose profligate dependants, 
 whom his vices had made neccssarv on his estate. 
 When siie came to the close of this recital, 
 the idea of that relation in wliich she stood to 
 him from whom tiiese outrages were sufiVred, 
 stopped her tongue ; she blushed and faultcved.
 
 300 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 * This story,' said she, ' I will now forget for 
 ever, except to rcmeniher that gratitude whicU 
 1 owe to you.' During the vicitesitudes of her 
 narration, he hud clasped her iiaud with a fear- 
 ful earnestness, as if he had shared the dangers 
 she related j he pressed it to his lips. — ' Amidst 
 my Lucy's present momentous concerns, I 
 would not intrude my own \ but I am selfish in 
 the little services she acknowledges j I look for 
 a return.' — She blushed again — ' I have but 
 little art,^ said she, * and cannot disguise my 
 sentiments \ my Henry will trust them on a 
 subject v/hich at present I know his delicacy 
 will forbear.' 
 
 Annesly now entered the room, and Bolton 
 communicated the trust he was possessed of in 
 his belialf, offering to put him in immediate 
 possession of the sum which Mr Rawlinson had 
 bequeathed to his management, and which that 
 gentleman had move than doubled since the 
 time it had been left by Annesly's unfortunate 
 father. * 1 know not,' said Annesly, ' how to 
 talk of those matters, unacquainted as I have 
 been with the manners of polished and commer- 
 cial nations J when I have any particular desti- 
 nation for money, I will demand your assist- 
 aiice \ in the mean time, consider me as a mi- 
 nor, and use the trust already reposed in you 
 for my advantage, and the advantage of those 
 ^liom misfortune lir.s allied to me.'
 
 OiJlE MAN or THE WORLD. '501 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 iSrit THOMAS'S SITUATION. THE EXPRESSIOl* 
 
 OF HIS PtMTEKCE. 
 
 JNkxt niornlng-, Sindall, by the advice of hi» 
 fcuvgeon, TV as removed in a, litter to his own 
 liouse, where he was soon after attended by an 
 eminent physician in aid of that gentleman's 
 abilities. Pursuant to his earnest intreaties, he 
 ^vas accompanied thither by Annesly and Bol- 
 ton. Lucv, having obtained leave of his medi- 
 cal attendants, watched her father in the cha- 
 racter of nurse. 
 
 They found, on their arrival, that IMrs Booth- 
 by, liavhiL^ learned the revolutions of tlie pre- 
 ceding night, had left the place, and taken the 
 luad Inwards London. ' I think not of her,' 
 .said Sir Thomas j ' but there is another person, 
 Avhom my former conduct banished from my 
 house, whom I now wish to see in this asscm- 
 Wage of her friends, the worthy Mrs W istanly.' 
 Lucv undertook to write her an account of her 
 f.itUHtion, and to solicit her compliance with the 
 request of h<-r father. The old lady, who had 
 litill strength and activity enough for doing 
 p-ood, accepted the invitation j and the day fol- 
 lo\vin<r she was with them at Bilswood. 
 
 Sir Thomas seemed to feel a sort of melan- 
 «;))oly satisfaction in liavln^; the company of 
 those he had injured assembled under his roof. 
 VVhen he was tcld of Mrs Wistanly's arrival, h© 
 
 VOL. II. G G
 
 30^2 Tii:: man of rinc wouLTi- 
 
 desired to see her, and taking her hand, * I have 
 sent for yon, Madam,' said he, * that you may 
 help nie to unload my soul of the remembrance 
 of the past.' He then co!ife.s5ed to her that plan 
 of seduction by which he had overcome the vir- 
 tue of Annesly, and tlie honour of his sister. 
 * You were a witness,' iie concluded, * of the 
 fall of that worth and innocence Tvhich it was 
 in the power of my fojnier crimes to destroy ; 
 you are now come to behold the retribution of 
 Heaven on the guilty. ]]y that hand whom it 
 commissioned to avenge a parent and a sister, 
 1 am cut off in the midst of my days.' ' I hope 
 not, Sir,' answered she j * your life, 1 trust, will 
 make a better expiation. In the punishment* 
 of the Divinity there is no idea of vengeance j 
 and the infiicUon of what we term evil, serves 
 equally the purpose of universal benignity, with 
 the dispensation of good.' ' I feel,' replied Sir 
 Thomas, * the force of that observation : the 
 pain of ihis wound ; the presentiment of death 
 ■which it instils \ tiie horror with w hich the re- 
 collection of my incestuous passion strikes me > 
 all these are in the catalogue of my blessings : 
 They indeed take from m€ the World, but they 
 give me myself.' 
 
 A visit from his physician interrupted their 
 discourse ; that gentleman did not proguostl- 
 cate so fatally for his patient; he found the 
 frequency of his pulse considerably abated, and 
 expressed his ho])es that the succeeding night 
 his rest would be better than it had been. In 
 ihis he v,;i? aot niJ^.taken ) autl next Bioming:
 
 THK MAN OF THE WORLD. 303 
 
 the doctor continued to tliink Sir Thomas 
 mending \ but himself persisted in the belief 
 that he should not recover. 
 
 For several days, hoivever, he appeared ra- 
 ther to gain ground tlian to lose it j but after- 
 Avards he n-.is seized ^vith hectic fits at stated in- 
 tervals \ and Avhcn they left him, he complained 
 of a universal weakness and depression. Dar- 
 ing all this time Lucy was seldom away from 
 Iiis bed-side j from her presence he derived pe- 
 culiar pleasure j and sometimes, when he was 
 so low as to be scarce able to speak, would 
 mutter out blessings on her head, calling her 
 bis saint, his guardian angel ! 
 
 After he had exhausted all the powers of me- 
 dicine, under the direction of some of the ablest 
 of the faculty, they acknowledged all farther 
 assistance to be vain, and one of them warned 
 him, in a friendly manner, of hi> approaching 
 end. He received ibis intelligence ^vith the 
 utmost composure, as an event which he had 
 expected from the beginning, thanked the phy- 
 filcian for his candour, and de'^ired that his 
 trienus might be summoned around him, v;hile 
 he had yet •strengih enonirh lefi to bid them 
 
 VViien he saw them assembled, he delivered 
 into j^olton's hands a paper, wiiich he told him 
 was his will. ' To this,' said he, ' 1 v.'ould not 
 have any of those privy, who are interested in 
 its bequests •, and therefore I had it executed 
 at the beginning of my illnes,>, without their 
 participation. You will find yourself, my deaf
 
 Ji61? THE MAN OP THE WORLD. 
 
 Harry, master of my fortune, under a conditio^, 
 which, I believe, you will not esteem a hard- 
 ship. Give me your hand j let me join it to ray 
 Lucy's; — there ! — if Heaven receives the pray- 
 er of a penitent, it will pour its richest bless- 
 ings upon you. 
 
 * There are a few provisions in that paper, 
 which Mr Bolton, I know, will find a; pleasure 
 in fulfillincr. Of what I Iiave bequeathed to 
 you, Mrs Wistanly, the contentment you en- 
 joy in your present situation makes you Inde- 
 pendent -y but I Intend it as an evidence of ray 
 consciousness of your deserving. — My much- 
 injured friend, for he was once my friend (ad- 
 dressing himself to Annesly), will accept of the 
 memorial I have left him. — Give me vour hand. 
 Sir; receive my forgiveness for that MOund 
 which the arm of Providence made me provoke 
 from your's 5 and when you look on a part^nt s 
 and a sister's tomb, spare the memory of him 
 whose death shall then iiave expiated the wrongs 
 he did you !' — Tears were the only answer he 
 received. — He paused for a moment *, tlien 
 looking round with something in his eye more 
 elevated and solemn, * I have now,' said he, 
 * dlscharsced the world ; mine has been called a 
 life of pleasure ; had 1 breath I could tell you 
 liow^ false the title is ; alas ! I knew^ not how 
 to live. Merciful God ! I thank thee — thou 
 hast taught me how to die.' 
 
 At the close of this discourse, his stren2:th, 
 which he had exerted to the utmost, seemed al- 
 together spent ; and he sunk down In the bed.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 5G.1 
 
 in a state so like tlep.th, that for some time his 
 attendants imagined him to have actually ex- 
 pired. When he did revive, his speech ap- 
 peared to be lostj he could just make a feeble 
 siorn for a cordial that stood on the tahle ner.r 
 his bed ; he pat it to his lips, then laid h'S head 
 on the pillow, as if resignini^ himself to his fate. 
 Lucy was too tender to bear the scene •, her 
 friend, Mrs Wistanly, led her almost faintini;- 
 out of the ; room : * That grief, my dear Miss 
 Sindall,' said she, * is too amiable to be blamed •, 
 but your father suggested a consolation which 
 your piety will allow ; of those who have led 
 his life, bow few have closed it like him 1' 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 -EjARLY next morning Sir Thomas Sindall ex- 
 pired. The commendable zeal of the coroner 
 prompted him to hold an inquest on his body ) 
 the jury brought in their verdict — Self-defence. 
 But there was a judge in the bosom of An- 
 nesly, whom it was more difficult to satisfy : nor 
 could he for a long time be brought to pardon 
 himself that blow for which the justice of his 
 country had acquitted him. 
 
 After paying their last duty to Sir Thomas's 
 remains, the family removed to Sindall-park. 
 Mrs \\istanly was prevailed on to leave her 
 own house for a while, and preside in that of 
 m-\\[q\\ Bolton Avas now master. His delicacy
 
 306 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 needed not the ceremonial of fashion to restrain 
 liim from pressing Miss Sindall's consent to 
 th^ir marriage, till a decent time bad been 
 yielded to the memory of her father. When 
 that Avas elapsed, he received from her uncle 
 that hand, -which Sir Thomas had bequeathed 
 him, and ^vhich mutual attachment entitled him 
 to receive. 
 
 Their happiness is equal to their merit : I 
 am often a -witness of it j for they honour me 
 wth a friendship ^vhicli 1 kno^v not how I have 
 deserved, unless by having few other friends. 
 Mrs Wistanly and I are considered as members 
 of the family. 
 
 But their benevolence is universal 5 the coun- 
 try smiles around them with the etlccts of their 
 goodness. This is indeed the only real supcri- 
 oriiy which wealth has to bestow 5 I never en- 
 vied riches so much, as since I have known Mr 
 Bolton. 
 
 I have liv^d too long to be caught with the 
 pomp of declamation, or the glare of an apo- 
 thegm ', but I hlncerely believe, that you could 
 not take from them a virtue without depriving 
 ^hem of a pleasure. 
 
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