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. rSD OF VOLLME SFCOND- UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. University of Calrtofnia L 005 281 269 iM«fflS'i.?E'^'ONAL LIBRARY B 000 014 138