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EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY 
 EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS 
 
 FICTION 
 
 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD 
 BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
THE PUBLISHERS OF 
 
 LIB c R^ / f ( %T WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND 
 FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST 
 OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED 
 VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER 
 THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS: 
 
 TRAVEL ^ SCIENCE ^ FICTION 
 
 THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY 
 
 HISTORY ^ CLASSICAL 
 
 FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 ESSAYS ^ ORATORY 
 
 POETRY & DRAMA 
 
 BIOGRAPHY 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 IN TWO STYLES OF BINDING, CLOTH 
 FLAT BACK COLOURED TOP AND 
 LEATHER ROUND CORNERS GILT TOP. 
 
 LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO. 
 
 NEW YORK: E. P. BUTTON & CO. 
 
<J 
 
 PR<_ 
 
 .BIERl 
 
THE VICAR 
 
 6y OLIVERS 
 GOLDSMITH 
 
 LONDON : PUBLISHED 
 by J-M-DENT- &-CO 
 
 AND IN NEW YORK 
 BY E-P-DUTTON 
 
All nghtt reserved 
 
 * 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 TURNBULL AND SPEARS) 
 EDINBURGH 
 
Introduction 
 
 OF all those pieces of fine literature which depend for 
 their charm on the presentment of the simpler life and 
 emotion amid the sweet country scenes around our old 
 English homes, there is no book that has so perennial a hold 
 upon the affection of all conditions of men the world over 
 as Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield." "We read it in 
 youth and age," says Walter Scott, " we return to it again 
 and again, and bless the memory of an author who 
 contrives so well to reconcile us to human nature." 
 
 The history of this book is one long steady growth 
 in popular favour. The first editions were by no means 
 successful ventures to their publishers, for even the com- 
 paratively small sum paid to its author (j6o, part of 
 which went immediately to pay the rent for which he was 
 being dunned by his landlady) was more than its market 
 value during the lives of those first interested in it. We 
 find indeed that the fourth edition, published by Collins. 
 of Salisbury, started with a loss. It was first published 
 in 1766, and although twenty editions appeared in this 
 country up to the end of the eighteenth century, they did 
 not represent any large circulation, as it is unlikely that 
 any~edition exceeded one thousand, and'some of them were 
 perhaps not more than five hundred copies. Twenty-four 
 more editions were published in Great Britain up to 1850, 
 but since then no fewer than eighty separate editieas- have 
 appeared in addition to those published as part of his 
 collected works. It has been translated also into almost 
 
viii Introduction 
 
 /all civilised languages, including Greek, Danish, Dutch, 
 Finnish, Polish, Roumanian, Hungarian, Russian, Bohemian, 
 and Hebrew, not to speak, we believe, of some oriental 
 languages. 
 
 We venture to think that not even " Robinson Crusoe " 
 could show such a record of increasing affection among 
 the people. 
 
 Goldsmith, in one of his essays in " The Citizen of 
 the World," says : 
 
 " At present the few poets of England no longer depend on 
 the Great for subsistence, they have now no other patrons but 
 the public, and the public, collectively considered, is a good and 
 generous master. It is indeed too frequently mistaken as to the 
 merits of every candidate for favour ; but to make amends, it is 
 never mistaken long. A performance, indeed, may be forced for 
 a time into reputation, but destitute of real merit it soon sinks ; 
 time, the touchstone of what is truly valuable, will soon discover 
 the fraud, and an author should never arrogate to himself any share 
 of success till his works have been read at least ten years with 
 satisfaction." 
 
 The sanity and truth of these words have been proved 
 at least in the ever-increasing appreciation of the great 
 public for this one chef-d'oeuvre of Goldsmith's. But 
 alas, how much they have neglected his other work. A 
 poem a comedy a story is all that they remember or 
 bring within their daily life and conversation. That 
 wonderful series of essays, of as high a quality and with 
 as much right to be written on the nation's heart as those 
 of Charles Lamb himself, are, alas, relegated to dusty 
 shelves, only now and then to be taken down by "the 
 student" who has to " pass in English literature" in order 
 to get his degree in arts. All their fine wisdom and 
 philosophy, their keen but always genial satire, their 
 
Introduction ix 
 
 pictures of character and manners, and above all, that 
 broad and fine humanity so indulgent and yet so enamoured 
 of sweet goodness, are lost upon us of this generation, 
 only, we hope, to be re-discovered by our children to 
 their increasing delight. 
 
 To return to the Vicar. One naturally asks what is 
 the charm that holds us and makes us return to it again 
 and again as a source of such consolation and delight 
 remember it is not only over the simple that it holds such 
 sway with Bunyan's allegory it lies constantly on the 
 table of even the illiterate. It was the book Charles 
 Dickens took to bed with him every night, they say. 
 Goethe claimed that it was the greatest novel of his day; 
 and finely acknowledged his debt to it at the critical period 
 of his life. 
 
 If one were to attempt to analyse its power over us, 
 one would be inclined to use an almost unforgivable 
 paradox and say that it lay in the " art of perfect artless- 
 ness," the power so to break down the dam of self- 
 consciousness that the stream of pure feeling and fine 
 humanity might flow freely from the heart into the course 
 prepared for it of perfect style. The paradox will seem 
 even more evident as we look at the outward life of the 
 author in all its wayward pomp and vanity and self- 
 consciousness. But the truth contained therein, we 
 venture to think, will be still more clear when we know 
 intimately all there is to know of Oliver Goldsmith. In 
 other words, to feel all the charm of the " Vicar of 
 Wakefield," we must know fully the life of him who 
 wrote it, for then we shall find the story is but thinly 
 disguised biography, the biography of a man whateveTthe 
 outward show might be of as true gentleness and pure 
 feeling, and of as fine a humanity as ever lived. 
 
Introduction 
 
 Of illustrated editions there has been a constant out- 
 put almost from the very beginning, though the first 
 four or five editions appeared without pictures. Since 
 these, however, a large number of artists have followed 
 one another in attempting to delineate the creations of 
 Goldsmith, some of them as curiously opposed in feeling 
 as Stothard and Rowlandson, Cruikshank and Mulready. 
 ^ 
 
 The following is a list of Oliver Goldsmith's works 
 
 (1728-1774) : ~ 
 
 Memoirs of a Protestant condemned to the Galleys of France for his 
 Religion (translation), 2 vols., 1758; Enquiry into the Present State 
 of Polite Learning in Europe, 1759; The Bee, being Essays on the 
 Most Interesting Subjects (eight numbers of a weekly periodical), 1759; 
 History of Mecklenburgh, 1762; The Mystery Revealed, containing a 
 Series of Transactions and Authentic Testimonials respecting the supposed 
 Cock-Lane Ghost, 1762; The Citizen of the World, or Letters from a 
 Chinese Philosopher residing in London to his Friends in the East (from 
 the Public Ledger, 1760, 1761), 2 vols., 1762; Life of Richard Nash, of 
 Bath, Esquire, 1762; A History of England in a Series of Letters from 
 a Nobleman to his Son, 2 vols., 1764; The Traveller, 1765; Essays, 
 1765 ; ThevYJcar of Wakefield, a tale supposed to be written by himself, 
 2 vols., 1766; The Good-Natured Man, a Comedy, 1768; The Roman 
 History, from the foundation of the City of Rome to the destruction of 
 the Western Empire, 2 vols., 1769; Abridgment by the Author, 1772; 
 The Deserted Village, 1770 ; The Life of Thomas Parnell, compiled from 
 original papers and memoirs, 1770; Life of Henry St John, Lord 
 Viscount Bolingbroke, 1770; The History of England, from the Earliest 
 Times to the Death of George II., 4 vols., 1771 ; Abridged Edition, 1774; 
 Threnodia Augustatis, sacred to the memory of Her Royal Highness the 
 Princess Dowager of Wales, 1 772 ; She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mis- 
 takes of a Night, 1773; Retaliation, a Poem, including Epitaphs on the 
 most distinguished Wits of this Metropolis, 1774 (five editions were 
 published this year; the fifth edition contains the postscript and epitaph 
 on Caleb Whitefoord) ; The Grecian History, from the Earliest State to 
 the Death of Alexander the Great, 2 vols., 1774; An History of the 
 Earth and Animated Nature, 8 vols., 1774; The Haunch of Venison, 
 a Poetical Epistle to Lord Clare, 1776 ; another edition, with additions 
 and corrections, appeared this same year ; A Survey of Experimental 
 Philosophy considered in its Present State of Improvement, 2 vols., 1776 ; 
 The Captivity, an Oratorio, 1836 (first printed in the Trade edition of 
 Goldsmith's Works, 1820. See Anderson's Bibl. ). 
 
 Goldsmith contributed to the Monthly Review, Critical Review, Literary 
 Magazine, Busy Body, Public Ledger, British Magazine, Lady's Magazine, 
 
Introduction xi 
 
 Westminster Magazine, and Universal Magazine ; he edited Poems for Young 
 Ladies, 1766 ; Beauties of English Poesy, 1767; to him is attributed The 
 History of Little Goody Two-Shoes, published by Newbery, 3rd ed., 
 1766 ; and also A Pretty Book of Pictures for Little Masters and Misses, 
 etc., 1767; and his translations include Formey's Concise History of 
 Philosophy, 1766 ; Scarron's Comic Romance, 1780. An abridged edition 
 of Plutarch's Lives was undertaken by him in collaboration with Joseph 
 Collyer, 1762; The Grumbler, an adaptation of Brueys and Palaprat's 
 Le Grondeur, was performed once at Covent Garden in 1773, but not 
 printed by the author. 
 
 The miscellaneous works of Goldsmith (containing all his Essays and 
 Poems) were published in 1775, 1792, and in 1801 with the Percy 
 Memoir; Poems and Plays, 1777; Poetical and Dramatic Works, 1780. 
 
 Among later editions are those by Prior, 4 vols., 1837; Cunningham, 
 4 Tols., 1854; J. F. Waller, 1864, etc.; J. W. M. Gibbs, 1884-6; the 
 Globe Edition, 1869; Bonn's Standard Library has also included Gold- 
 smith's miscellaneous works. Many smaller collections have been 
 published. 
 
 The complete works were edited by Austin Dobson (Oxford Edition), 
 iop6._ 
 
 j The Vicar of Wakefield has appeared in innumerable editions, has 
 blgen .frequently illustrated, and translated into nearly every European 
 languageT) 
 
 A bibliography of Goldsmith's works is appended to the Life by Austin 
 Dobson. 
 
 Life: The life known as the " Percy Memoir" (see above), 1801, and 
 later editions; by James Prior, 1837 ; John Forster, Life and Adventures 
 of Oliver Goldsmith, 1848, 1854, 1855, I 93 5 Washington Irving (founded 
 in two previous biographies), with selections, 1844, x ^49? I ^55 W. Black 
 (English Men of Letters), 1878 ; Austin Dobson (Great Writers), 1887 ; 
 Macaulay (Encyclopzdia Britannica), ed. H. B. Cotterill, 1904, and 
 published in Blackie's English Classics, 1901 ; Oliver Goldsmith (Cameo 
 Classics, No. 4), 1905. 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER I. The description of the Family of Wakefield, 
 in which a kindred Likeness prevails, as well of 
 Minds as of Persons .... I 
 
 CHAPTER IT. Family Misfortunes. The Loss of 
 Fortune only serves to increase the Pride of the 
 Worthy ...... 6 
 
 CHAPTER III. A Migration. The fortunate Circum- 
 stances of our Lives are generally found at last to 
 be of our own procuring . . . .11 
 
 CHAPTER IV. A Proof that even the humblest Fortune 
 may grant Happiness, which depends, not on 
 Circumstance, but Constitution . . . 19 
 
 CHAPTER V. A new and great Acquaintance introduced. 
 What we place most hopes upon generally proves 
 most fatal ..... 23 
 
 CHAPTER VI. The Happiness of a Country Fireside . 28 
 
 CHAPTER VII. A Town Wit described. The dullest 
 Fellows may learn to be comical for a Night 
 or two . . . . . .32 
 
xiv Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. An Amour, which promises little good 
 
 Fortune, yet may be productive of much . . 37 
 
 CHAPTER IX Two Ladies of great Distinction intro- 
 duced. Superior Finery ever seems to confer 
 superior Breeding .... 45 
 
 CHAPTER X. The Family endeavour to cope with their 
 Betters. The Miseries of the Poor when they 
 attempt to appear above their Circumstances . 49 
 
 CHAPTER XL The Family still resolve to hold up 
 
 their Heads . ">-^ ... 54 
 
 CHAPTER XII. Fortune seems resolved to humble the 
 Family of Wakefield. Mortifications are often 
 more painful than real Calamities ... 60 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. Mr Burchell is found to be an Enemy, 
 for he has the confidence to give disagreeable 
 Advice ...... 66 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. Fresh Mortifications, or a Demon- 
 stration that seeming Calamities may be real 
 Blessings ..... 70 
 
 CHAPTER XV. All Mr Burchell's Villainy at once 
 
 detected. The Folly of being overwise . . 77 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. The Family use Art, which is opposed 
 
 with still greater . . . . .83 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. Scarcely any Virtue found to resist 
 
 the Power of long and pleasing Temptation . 90 
 
Contents xv 
 
 PAGB 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. The Pursuit of a Father to reclaim 
 
 a Lost Child to Virtue .... 99 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. The Description of a person dis- 
 contented with the present Government, and appre- 
 hensive of the loss of our liberties . . . 105 
 
 CHAPTER XX. The History of a philosophic Vagabond, 
 
 pursuing Novelty, but losing Content . . 1 1 5 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. The short continuance of friendship 
 amongst the vicious, which is coeval only with 
 mutual satisfaction . . . .132 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. Offences are easily pardoned, where 
 
 there is Love at bottom . . . .142 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. None but the Guilty can be long and 
 
 completely miserable . . . .147 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. Fresh Calamities . . .153 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. No situation, however wretched it 
 
 seems, but has some sort of comfort attending it 159 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. A Reformation in the Gaol : to 
 make laws complete, they should reward as well as 
 punish ...... 165 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. The same subject continued . 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. Happiness and Misery rather the 
 result of Prudence than of Virtue in this life ; 
 temporal evils or felicities being regarded by Heaven 
 as things merely in themselves trifling, and unworthy 
 its care in the distribution , . . 16 
 
xvi Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. The equal dealings of Providence 
 demonstrated with regard to the Happy and the 
 Miserable here below. That, from the nature of 
 Pleasure and Pain, the wretched must be repaid the 
 balance of their sufferings in the life hereafter . 188 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. Happier Prospects begin to appear. 
 Let us be inflexible, and Fortune will at "last 
 change in our favour . . . .193 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. Former Benevolence now repaid 
 
 with unexpected Interest .... 202 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. The Conclusion . . . 219 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 I WAS ever of opinion, that the honest man who married 
 and brought up a large family, did more service than he 
 who continued "ingle and only talked of population. 
 From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year, be- 
 fore I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose 
 my wife, as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine 
 glossy surface, but such qualities as wou^d wear well. 
 To do her justice, she was a good-natured, notable 
 woman; and as for breeding, there were few country 
 ladies who could show more. She could read any English 
 book without much spelling ; but for pickling, preserving, 
 and cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself 
 also upon being an excellent contriver in housekeeping ; 
 though I could never find that we grew richer with all 
 her contrivances. 
 
 However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fond- 
 ness increased as we grew old. There was, in fact, 
 nothing that could make us angry with the world or 
 each other. We had an elegant house, situated in a 
 fine country, and a good neighbourhood. The year was 
 spent in a moral or rural amusement; in visiting our 
 rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We 
 
rVjcjir J bf Wakefield 
 
 had no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo ; all 
 our adventures were by the fireside, and all our migra- 
 tions from the blue bed to the brown. 
 
 As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller 
 or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry-wine, for 
 which we had great reputation ; and I profess, with the 
 veracity of an historian, that J. never knew one of them 
 find fault with it. Our cousins, too, even to the fortieth 
 remove, all remembered their affinity, without any help 
 from the herald's office, and came very frequently to see 
 us. Some of them did us no great honour by these claims 
 of kindred, as we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt 
 amongst the number. However, my wife always insisted 
 that, as they were the same flgsh and blood, they should sit 
 with us at the same table. So that, if we had not very 
 rich, we generally had very happy friends about us ; for 
 this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer 
 the guest, the better pleased he ever is with being 
 treated ; and as some men gaze with admiration at the 
 colours of a tulip or the wing of a butterfly, so I was, 
 by nature, an admirer of happy human faces. However, 
 when any one of our relations was found to be a person 
 of very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we 
 desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house I ever 
 took care to lend him a riding-coat or a pair of boots, 
 or sometimes an horse of small value, and I always had 
 the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return 
 them. By this the house was cleared of such as we 
 did not like ; but never was the family of Wakefield 
 known to turn the traveller or the poor dependant out of 
 doors. 
 
 Thus we lived several years in a state of much happi- 
 ness, not but that we sometimes had those little rubs 
 * 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 3 
 
 which Providence sends to enhance the value of its favours. 
 My orchard was often robbed by schoolboys, and my 
 wife's custards plundered by the cats or the children. 
 The 'Squire would sometimes fall asleep in the most 
 pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my wife's 
 civilities at church with a mutilated curtsey. But we 
 soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, 
 and usually in three or four days began to wonder how 
 they vexed us. 
 
 My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were 
 educated without softness, so they were at once well 
 formed and healthy ; my sons hardy and active, my 
 daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in 
 the midst of the little circle, which promised to be the 
 supports of my declining age, I could not avoid repeating 
 the famous story of Count Abensberg, who, in Henry 
 the Second's progress through Germany, while other 
 courtiers came with their treasures, brought his thirty- 
 two children, and presented them to his sovereign as 
 the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this 
 manner, though I had but six, I considered them as a 
 very valuable present made to my country, and conse- 
 quently looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son 
 was named George, after his uncle, who_left us ten 
 thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I intended 
 to call after her aunt Grissel ; but my wife, who during 
 her pregnancy had been reading romances, insisted on 
 her being called Olivia. In less tlian another year we 
 had another daughter, and now I was determined that 
 Grissel should be her name ; but a_rjch^ relation taking 
 a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by her direc- 
 tions, called Sophia ; so that we had two romantic names 
 in the family ; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in 
 
4 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 it. Moses was our next, and after an interval of twelve 
 years, we had two sons more. 
 
 It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw 
 my little ones about me ; but the vanity and the satisfac- 
 tion of my wife were even greater than mine. When our 
 visitors would say, " Well, upon my word, Mrs Primrose, 
 you have the finest children in the whole country."- 
 " Ay, neighbour," she would answer, " they are as heaven 
 made them handsome enough, if they be good enough ; 
 for handsome is that handsome does." And then she 
 would bid the girls hold up their heads, who, to conceal 
 nothing, were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is 
 so very trifling a circumstance with me, that I should scarce 
 have remembered to mention it had it not been a general 
 topic of conversation in the country. Olivia, now about 
 eighteen, had that luxuriancy of beauty with which 
 painters generally drew Hebe ; open, sprightly, and com- 
 manding. Sophia's features were not so striking at first, 
 but often did more certain execution ; for they were soft, 
 modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single 
 blow, the other by efforts successfully repeated. 
 
 The temper of a woman is generally formed from the 
 turn of her features ; at least it was so with my daughters. 
 Olivia wished for many lovers ; Sophia to secure one. 
 Olivia was often affected, from too great a desire to 
 please ; Sophia even repressed excellence, from her fears 
 to offend. The one entertained me with her vivacity 
 when I was gay ; the other with her sense when I was 
 serious. But these qualities were never carried to excess 
 in either, and I have often seen them exchange characters 
 for a whole day together. A suit of mourning has trans- 
 formed my coquette into a prude, and a new set of ribbons 
 has given her younger sister more than natural vivacity. 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 5 
 
 My eldest son George was bred at Oxford, as I intended 
 him for one of the learned professions. My second boy 
 Moses, whom I designed for business, received a sort of 
 a miscellaneous education at home. But it is needless 
 to attempt describing the particular characters of young 
 people that had seen but very little of the world. In 
 short, a family likeness prevailed through all, and properly 
 speaking, they had but one character that of being all 
 equally generous, credulous, simple, and inoffensive. 
 
Chapter II 
 
 THE temporal concerns of our family were chiefly com- 
 mitted to my wife's management ; as to the spiritual, I 
 took them entirely under my own direction. The profits 
 of my living, which amounted to but thirty-five pounds 
 a year, I made over to the orphans and widows of the 
 clergy of our diocese ; for, having a fortune of my own, 1 
 was careless of temporalities, and felt a secret pleasure in 
 doing my duty without reward. I also set a resolution of 
 keeping no curate, and of being acquainted with every man 
 in the parish, exhorting the married men to temperance, 
 and the bachelors to matrimony ; so that in a few years it 
 was a common saying that there were three strange wants 
 at Wakefield a parson wanting pride, young men want- 
 ing wives, and ale-houses wanting customers. 
 
 Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics, and 
 I wrote several sermons to prove its happiness : but there 
 was a peculiar tenet which I made a point of supporting ; 
 for I maintained with Whiston, that it was unlawful for 
 a priest of the Church of England, after the death of his 
 first wife, to take a second ; or, to express it in one word, 
 I valued myself upon being a strict monogamist. 
 
 I was early initiated into this important dispute, on 
 which so many laborious volumes have been written. I 
 published some tracts upon the subject myself, which, as 
 they never sold, I have the consolation of thinking were 
 read only by the happy Few . Some of my friends called 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 7 
 
 this my weak side ; but, alas ! they had not, like me, 
 made it the subject of long contemplation. The more I 
 reflected upon it, the more important it appeared. I even 
 went a step beyond Whiston in displaying my principles ; 
 as he had engraven upon his wife's tomb that she was the 
 only wife of William Whiston, so I wrote a similar epitaph 
 for my wife, though still living, in which I extolled her 
 prudence, economy, and obedience till death ; and having 
 got it copied fair, with an elegant frame, it was placed 
 over the chimney-piece, where it answered several very 
 useful purposes. It admonished my wife of her duty 
 to me, and my fidelity to her ; it inspired her with a 
 passion for fame, and constantly put her in mind of her 
 end. 
 
 It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often 
 recommended, that my eldest son, just upon leaving 
 college, fixed his affections upon the daughter of a 
 neighbouring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the 
 church, and in circumstances to give her a large fortune. 
 But fortune was her smallest accomplishment. Miss 
 Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all (except my two 
 daughters) to be completely pretty. Her youth, health, 
 and innocence were still heightened by a complexion so 
 transparent, and such an happy sensibility of look, as even 
 age could not gaze on with indifference. As Mr Wilmot 
 knew that I could make a very handsome settlement on 
 my son, ne was not averse to the match ; so both families 
 lived together in all that harmony which generally pre- 
 cedes an expected alliance. Being convinced, by experi- 
 ence, that the days of courtship are the most happy of 
 our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen the period ; 
 and the various amusements which the young couple every 
 day shared in each other's company seemed to increase 
 
8 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 their passion. We were generally awaked in the morning 
 by music, and on fine days rode a-hunting. The hours 
 between breakfast and dinner the ladies devoted to dress 
 and study ; they usually read a page, and then gazed at 
 themselves in the glass, which, even philosophers might 
 own, often presented the page of greatest beauty. At 
 dinner my wife took the lead ; for, as she always insisted 
 upon carving everything herself, it being her mother's 
 way, she gave us upon these occasions the history of every 
 dish. When we had dined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, 
 I generally ordered the table to be removed ; and some- 
 times, with the music-master's assistance, the girls would 
 give us a very agreeable concert. Walking out, drinking 
 tea, country dances, and forfeits shortened the rest of the 
 day, without the assistance of cards, as I hated all manner 
 of gaming, except back-gammon, at which my old friend 
 and I sometimes took a twopenny hit. Nor can I here 
 pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last 
 time we played together. I only wanted to fling a quatre, 
 and yet I threw deuce ace five times running. 
 
 Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at last it 
 was thought convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of 
 the young couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it. 
 During the preparations for the wedding, I need not 
 describe the busy . importance of my wife, nor the sly 
 looks of my daughters ; in fact my attention was fixed 
 on another object the completing a tract, which I in- 
 tended shortly to publish, in defence of my favourite 
 principle. As I looked upon this as a masterpiece, 
 both for argument and style, I could not, in the pride 
 of my heart, avoid showing it to my old friend Mr 
 Wilmot, as I made no doubt of receiving his approba- 
 tion ; but not till too late I discovered that he was 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 9 
 
 most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with 
 good reason ; for he was at that time actually courting 
 a fourth wife. This, as may be expected, produced a 
 dispute, attended with some acrimony, which threatened 
 to interrupt our intended alliance ; but on the day before 
 that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the 
 subject at large. 
 
 It was managed with proper spirit on both sides. He 
 asserted that I was heterodox : I retorted the charge , 
 he replied, and I rejoined. In the meantime, while the 
 controversy was hottest, I was called out by one of my 
 relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me to 
 give up the dispute, at least till my son's wedding was 
 over. "How," cried I, "relinquish the cause of truth, 
 and let him be a husband, already driven to the very 
 verge of absurdity ? You might as well advise me to 
 give up my fortune as my argument." " Your fortune," 
 returned my friend, " I am now sorry to inform you, 
 is almost nothing. The merchant in town, in whose 
 hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid 
 a statute of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have 
 left a shilling in the pound. I was unwilling to shock 
 you or the family with the account till after the wedding ; 
 but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the 
 argument ; for, I suppose, your own prudence will en- 
 force the necessity of dissembling, at least till your son 
 has the young lady's fortune secure." " Well," re- 1 
 turned I, "if what you tell me be true, and if I am' 
 to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or 
 induce me to disavow my principles. I'll go this moment 
 and inform the company of my circumstances $ and as 
 for the argument, I even here retract my former con- 
 cessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will allow 
 
io The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 him now to be an husband in any sense of the ex- 
 pression." 
 
 It would be endless to describe the different sensations 
 of both families when I divulged the news of our mis- 
 fortune ; but what others felt was slight to what the 
 lovers appeared to endure. Mr Wilmot, who seemed 
 before sufficiently inclined to break of? the match, was 
 by this blow soon determined : one virtue he had in 
 perfection, which was prudence, too often the only one 
 that is left us at seventy-two. 
 
Chapter III 
 
 THE only hope of our family now was, that the report of 
 our misfortune might be malicious or premature ; but a 
 letter from my agent in town soon came, with a confirma- 
 tion of every particular. The loss of fortune to myself 
 alone would have been trifling ; the only uneasiness I felt V 
 was for my family, who were to be humble without an I 
 education to render them callous to contempt. J 
 
 Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to re- 
 strain their affliction ; for premature consolation is but 
 the remembrancer of sorrow. During this interval my 
 thoughts were employed on some future means of sup- 
 porting them ; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds 
 a year was offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where 
 I could still enjoy my principles without molestation. 
 With this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined 
 to increase my salary by managing a little farm. 
 
 Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get 
 together the wrecks of my fortune ; and, all debts col- 
 lected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds we 
 had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention, 
 therefore, was now to bring down the pride of my 
 family to their circumstances ; for I well knew that 
 aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. " You cannot 
 be ignorant, my children," cried I, " that no prudence 
 of ours could have prevented our late misfortune ; but 
 prudence may do much in disappointing its effects. We 
 
1 2 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 are now poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform 
 to our humble situation. Let us, then, without repin- 
 ing, give up those splendours with which numbers are 
 wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace 
 with which all may be happy. The poor live pleasantly 
 without our help ; why, then, should not we learn to 
 live without theirs ? No, my children, let us from this 
 moment give up all pretensions to gentility : we have 
 still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let 
 us draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune." 
 
 As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to 
 send him to town, where his abilities might contribute 
 to our support and his own. The separation of friends 
 ami families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful 
 circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon 
 arrived on which we were to disperse for the first time. 
 My son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, 
 who mingled their tears with their kisses, came to ask 
 a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, 
 and which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony 
 I had now to bestow. " You are going, my boy," cried 
 I, " to London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your 
 great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from 
 me the same horse that was given him by the good 
 Bishop Jewel this staff; and take this book too ; it 
 will be your comfort on the way ; these two lines in 
 it are worth a million / have been young, and noiv am 
 old; yet never sa e w I the righteous man forsaken, or his 
 seed begging their bread. Let this be your consolation as 
 you travel on. Go, my boy ; whatever be thy fortune, 
 let me see thee once a year ; still keep a good heart, 
 and farewell." As he was possessed of integrity and 
 honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 13 
 
 him naked into the amphitheatre of life ; for I knew 
 he would act a good part, whether vanquished or 
 victorious. 
 
 His departure only prepared the way for our own, 
 which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving a 
 neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of 
 tranquillity was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude 
 itself could suppress. Besides a journey of seventy miles, 
 to a family that had hitherto never been above ten from 
 home, filled us with apprehension ; and the cries of the 
 poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to 
 increase it. The first day's journey brought us in safety 
 within thirty miles of our future retreat, and we put up 
 for the night at an obscure inn in a village by the way. 
 When we were shown a room, I desired the landlord, in 
 my usual way, to let us have his company, to which he 
 complied, as what he drank would increase the bill next 
 morning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood 
 to which I was removing, particularly 'Squire Thornhill, 
 who was to be my landlord, and who lived within a few 
 miles of the place. This gentleman he described as one 
 who desired to know little more of the world than its 
 pleasures, being particularly remarkable for his attachment 
 for the fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able to 
 resist his arts and assiduity, and that scarce a farmer's 
 daughter within ten miles round but what had found him 
 successful and faithless. Though this account gave me 
 some pain, it had a very different effect upon my daughters, 
 whose features seemed to brighten with the expectation of 
 an approaching triumph ; nor was my wife less pleased 
 and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our 
 thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the 
 room to inform her husband that the strange gentleman 
 
14 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 who had been two days in the house wanted money, and 
 P could not satisfy them for his reckoning. " Want money !" 
 replied the host, " that must be impossible ; for it was no 
 later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle 
 ; to spare an old broken soldier that was to be whipped 
 L'through the town for dog-stealing." The hostess, how- 
 ever, still persisting in her first assertion, he was preparing 
 to leave the room, swearing that he would be satisfied 
 one way or another, when I begged the landlord would 
 introduce me to a stranger of so much charity as he 
 described. With this he complied, showing in a gentle- 
 man who seemed to be about thirty, dressed in clothes 
 that once were laced. His person was well formed, and 
 his face marked with the lines of thinking. He had some- 
 thing short and dry in his address, and seemed not to 
 understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's 
 leaving the room, I could not avoid expressing my concern 
 to the stranger at seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, 
 and offered him my purse to satisfy the present demand. 
 "I take it with all my heart, Sir," replied he, "and am 
 glad that a late oversight in giving what money I had about 
 me has shown me there are still some men like you. I 
 must, however, previously entreat being informed of the 
 name and residence of my benefactor, in order to repay 
 him as soon as possible." In this I satisfied him fully, not 
 only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the 
 place to which I was going to remove. "This," cried he, 
 " happens still more lucky than I hoped for, as I am going 
 the same way myself, having been detained here two days 
 by the floods, which I hope by to-morrow will be found 
 passable." I testified the pleasure I should have in his 
 company ; and my wife and daughters joining in entreaty, 
 he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The stranger's 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 15 
 
 conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive, 
 induced me to wish for a continuance of it ; but it was 
 now high time to retire and take refreshment against the 
 fatigues of the following day. 
 
 The next morning we all set forward together, my 
 family on horseback, while Mr Burchell, our new com- 
 panion, walked along the footpath by the roadside,, 
 observing with a smile, that, as we were ill-mounted, he 
 would be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. 
 As the floods were not yet subsided, we were obliged to- 
 hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr Burchell and I 
 bringing up the rear. We lightened the fatigues of the 
 road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to 
 understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, 
 that though he was a money-borrower, he defended his 
 opinions with as much obstinacy as if he had been my 
 patron. He now and then also informed me to whom 
 the different seats belonged that lay in our view as we 
 travelled the road. " That," cried he, pointing to a very- 
 magnificent house which stood at some distance, "belongs 
 to Mr Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a large 
 fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of his 
 uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman who, content 
 with a little himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest,, 
 and chiefly resides in town." "What!" cried I, "is my 
 young landlord, then, the nephew of a man whose virtues, 
 generosity, and singularities are so universally known ? 
 I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of 
 the most jgenerous yet whimsical^ men in the kingdom a. 
 man of consummate benevolence." "Something, perhaps, 
 too much so," replied Mr Burchell , " at least he carried 
 benevolence to an excess when young ; for his passions- 
 were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of 
 
1 6 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 virtue, they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early 
 began to aim at the qualifications of the soldier and 
 the scholar, was soon distinguished in the army, and had 
 some reputation among men of learning. Adulation ever 
 follows the ambitious ; for such alone receive most plea- 
 sure from flattery. He was surrounded with crowds, who 
 showed him only one side of their character ; so that he 
 began to lose a regard for private interest in universal 
 sympathy. He loved all mankind ; for fortune prevented 
 him from knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell 
 us of a disorder in which the whole body is so exquisitely 
 sensible that the slightest touch gives pain. What some 
 have thus suffered in their persons, this gentleman felt in 
 his mind : the slightest distress, whether real or fictitious, 
 touched him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a 
 sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus disposed 
 to relieve, it will be easily conjectured he found numbers 
 disposed to solicit ; his profusions began to impair his 
 fortune, but not his good-nature that, indeed, was seen 
 to increase as the other seemed to decay. He grew im- 
 provident as he grew poor ; and though he talked like 
 a man of sense, his actions were those of a fool. Still, 
 however, being surrounded with importunity, and no 
 longer able to satisfy every request that was made him, 
 instead of money he gave promises. They were all he had 
 to bestow, and he had not resolution enough to give any 
 man pain by a denial. By this he drew round him crowds 
 of dependants, whom he was sure to disappoint, yet wished 
 to relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and left him 
 with merited reproaches and contempt. But in proportion 
 as he became contemptible to others, he became despicable 
 to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation, 
 and that support taken away, he could find no pleasure in 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 17 
 
 the applause of his heart, which he had never learned to 
 reverence. The world now began to wear a different 
 aspect ; the flattery of his friends began to dwindle into 
 simple approbation ; approbation soon took the more 
 friendly form of advice ; and advice, when rejected, 
 produced their reproaches. He now, therefore, found 
 that such friends as benefits had gathered round him were 
 little estimable ; he now found that a man's own heart 
 must be ever given to gain that rf another. I now foun4 
 that that I forgot what T was going to observe ; in 
 short, sir, he resolved to respect himself, and laid down 
 a plan of restoring his falling fortune. For this purpose, in 
 his own whimsical manner, he travelled through Europe 
 on foot ; and now, though he has scarce attained the age 
 of thirty, his circumstances are more affluent than ever. 
 At present his bounties are more rational and moderate 
 than before ; but still he preserves the_charar f ^ r ^f an_ 
 Jhjimorintj nnH findr. mo^t pleasure in prrentrir virtues." 
 
 My attention was so much taken up by Mr BurchelFs 
 account that I scarce looked forward as he went along, 
 till we were alarmed by the cries of my family ; when, 
 turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the midst 
 of a rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling 
 with the torrent. She had sunk twice, nor was it in my 
 power to disengage myself in time to bring her relief. 
 My sensations were even too violent to permit my 
 attempting her rescue. She must have certainly perished 
 had not my companion, perceiving her danger, instantly 
 plunged in to her relief, and with some difficulty brought 
 her in safety to the opposite shore. By taking the current 
 a little further up, the rest of the family got safely over, 
 "where we had an opportunity of joining our acknowledg- 
 ments to hers. Her gratitude may be more readily 
 
1 8 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 imagined than described ; she thanked her deliverer more 
 with looks than with words, and continued to lean upon 
 his arm, as if still willing to receive assistance. My wife 
 also hoped one day to have the pleasure of returning his 
 kindness at her own house. Thus, after we were re- 
 freshed at the next inn, and had dined together, as Mr 
 Burchell was going to a different part of the country, he 
 took leave, and we pursued our journey, my wife observ- 
 ing as we went, that she liked him extremely, and 
 I protesting that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him 
 to match into such a family as ours, she knew no man she 
 would sooner fix upon. I could not but smile to hear her 
 talk in this lofty strain ; but I was never much displeased 
 with those harmless delusions that tend to make us more 
 happy* 
 
Chapter IV 
 
 THE place of our retreat was in a little neighbourhood 
 consisting of farmers, who tilled their own grounds, and 
 were equal strangers to opulence and poverty. As they 
 had almost all the conveniences of life within themselves, 
 they seldom visited towns or cities in search of superfluity. 
 Remote from the polite, they still retained the primeval 
 simplicity of manners ; and, frugal by habit, they scarce 
 knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with 
 cheerfulness on days of labour, but observed: festivals 
 as intervals of idleness and pleasure. They kept up 
 the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Valentine 
 morning, ate pancakes on Shrovetide, showed their wit 
 on the first of April, and religiously cracked nuts on 
 Michaelmas eve. Being apprised of our approach, the 
 whole neighbourhood came out to meet their minister, 
 dressed in their fine clothes, and preceded by a pipe and 
 tabor. A feast also was provided for our reception, at 
 which we sat cheerfully down ; and what the conversation 
 wanted in wit was made up in laughter. 
 
 Our little habitation was situated at the foot of a 
 sloping hill, sheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, 
 and a prattling river before ; on the one side a meadow, on 
 the other a green. My farm consisted of about twenty 
 acres of excellent land, having given an hundred pound 
 for my predecessor's good-will. Nothing could exceed the 
 neatness of my little enclosures, the elms and hedgerows 
 
2O The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 appearing with inexpressible beauty. My house consisted 
 of but one story, and was covered with thatch, which 
 gave it an air of snugness ; the walls on the inside were 
 nicely whitewashed, and my daughters undertook to adorn 
 them with pictures of their own designing. Though the 
 same room served us for parlour and kitchen, that only 
 made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept with the 
 utmost neatness the dishes, plates, and coppers being 
 well scoured, and all disposed in bright rows on the 
 shelves the eye was agreeably relieved, and did not want 
 richer furniture. There were three other apartments ; 
 one for my wife and me, another for our two daughters 
 within our own, and the third, with two beds, for the 
 rest of the children. 
 
 The little republic to which I gave laws was regulated 
 in the following manner : By sunrise we all assembled in 
 our common apartment, the fire being previously kindled 
 by the servant. After we had saluted each other with 
 proper ceremony for I always thought fit to keep up 
 some mechanical forms of good breeding, without which 
 freedom ever destroys friendship we all bent in gratitude 
 to that Being who gave us another day. This duty being 
 performed, my son and I went to pursue our usual industry 
 abroad, while my wife and daughters employed themselves 
 in providing breakfast, which was always ready at a certain 
 time. I allowed half an hour for this meal, and an hour 
 for dinner, which time was taken up in innocent mirth 
 between my wife and daughters, and in philosophical 
 arguments between my son and me. Mfl'jW ? 
 
 As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our 
 labours after it was gone down, but returned home to 
 the expecting family, where smiling looks, a neat hearth, 
 and pleasant fire were prepared for our reception. Nor 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 21 
 
 were we without guests : sometimes Farmer Flamborough, 
 our talkative neighbour, and often the blind piper, would 
 pay us a visit, and taste our gooseberry wine, for the 
 making of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the 
 reputation. These harmless people had several ways of 
 being good company ; while one played, the other would ^ 
 sing some soothing ballad Johnny Armstrong's Last **e 
 Good-night, or the cruelty of Barbara Allen. The night 
 was concluded in the manner we began the morning, my 
 youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the 
 day \ and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best was to 
 have an halfpenny on Sunday to put into the poor's box. 
 
 When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery, which 
 all my sumptuary edicts could not restrain. How well 
 soever I fancied my lectures against pride had conquered 
 the vanity of my daughters, yet I still found them secretly 
 attached to all their former finery ; they still loved laces, 
 ribbons, bugles, and catgut ; my wife herself retained a 
 passion for her crimson paduasoy, because I formerly 
 happened to say it became her. 
 
 The first Sunday, in particular, their behaviour served 
 to mortify me. I had desired my girls the preceding 
 night to be dressed early the next day ; for I- always loved 
 to be at church a good while before the rest of the con- 
 gregation. They punctually obeyed my directions ; but 
 when we were to assemble in the morning at breakfast, 
 down came my wife and daughters dressed out in all their 
 former splendour ; their hair plastered up with pomatum, 
 their faces patched to taste, their trains bundled up into a 
 heap behind, and rustling at every motion. I could not 
 help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of my wife, 
 from whom I expected more discretion. In this exigence, 
 therefore, my only resource was to order my son, with an 
 
22 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 important air, to call our coach. The girls were amazed 
 at the command ; but I repeated it with more solemnity 
 than before. "Surely, my dear, you jest," cried my wife; 
 "we can walk it perfectly well; we want no coach to 
 carry us now." "You mistake, child," returned I, "we 
 do want a coach ; for if we walk to church in this trim, 
 the very children in the parish will hoot after us."- 
 " Indeed," replied my wife ; " I always imagined that my 
 Charles was fond of seeing his children neat and hand- 
 some about him." " You may be as neat as you please," 
 interrupted I, "and I shall love you the better for it; 
 but aJLthis is not jieatness, but frippery. These rufflings, 
 and pinkings and patchings will only make us hated by 
 all the wives of our neighbours. No, my children," 
 continued I, more gravely, " those gowns may be altered 
 into something of a plainer cut ; for finery is very un- 
 becoming in 'us who want the means of decency. I do 
 not know whether such flouncing and shredding is 
 becoming even in the rich, if we consider, upon a 
 moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent 
 world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain." 
 
 This remonstration had the proper effect. They went 
 with great composure, that very instant, to change their 
 dress ; and the next day I had the satisfaction of finding 
 my daughters, at their own request, employed in cutting 
 up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, 
 the two little ones, and what was still more satisfactory, 
 the gowns seemed improved by this curtailing. 
 
Chapter V 
 
 AT a small distance from the house my predecessor had 
 made a seat overshadowed by a hedge of hawthorn and 
 honeysuckle. Here, when the weather was fine and our 
 labour soon finished, we usually sat togetheiM:o enjoy an 
 extensive landscape, in the cjihn_^.j.hiLjaviiing J . Here, 
 too, we drank tea, which now was become an occasional 
 banquet ; and as we had it but seldom, it diffused a new 
 joy, the preparations for it being made with no small share 
 of bustle and ceremony. On these occasions our two 
 little ones always read for us, and they were regularly 
 served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety 
 to our amusements, the girls sung to the guitar ; and 
 while they thus formed a little concert, my wife and I 
 would stroll down the sloping fteld, that was embellished 
 with blue-bells and centaury, talk of our children with 
 rapture, and enjoy the breeze that wafted both health and 
 harmony. 
 
 In this manner we began to find that every situation in 
 life may bring its own peculiar pleasures : every morning 
 waked us to a repetition of toil, but the evening repaid it 
 with vacant hilarity. 
 
 It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday 
 for I kept such as intervals of relaxation from labour 
 that I had drawn out my family to our usual place of 
 amusement, and our young musicians began their usual 
 
 23 
 
24 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 concert. As we were thus engaged, we saw a stag bound 
 nimbly by, within about twenty paces of where we were 
 sitting, and by its panting it seemed pressed by the 
 hunters. We had not much time to reflect upon the 
 poor animal's distress, when we perceived the dogs and 
 horsemen come sweeping along at some distance behind, 
 and making the very path it had taken. I was instantly 
 for returning in with my family, but either curiosity or 
 surprise, or some more hidden motive, held my wife and 
 daughters to their seats. The huntsman who rode fore- 
 most passed us with great swiftness, followed by four or 
 five persons more, who seemed in equal haste. At last 
 a young gentleman of more genteel appearance than the 
 rest came forward, and for a while regarding us, instead 
 of pursuing the chase, stopped short, and giving his horse 
 to a servant who attended, approached us with a careless, 
 superior air. He seemed to want no introduction, but 
 was going to salute my daughters as one certain of a kind 
 reception ; but they had early learnt the lesson of looking 
 presumption out of countenance, upon which he let us 
 know that his name was Thornhill, and that he was 
 owner of the estate that lay for some extent around us. 
 He again, therefore, offered to salute the female part of 
 the family, and such was the power of fortune and fine 
 clothes that he found no second repulse. As his address, 
 though confident, was easy, we soon became more familiar; 
 and perceiving musical instruments lying near, he begged 
 to be favoured with a song. As I did not approve of 
 such disproportioned acquaintances, I winked upon my 
 daughters in order to prevent their compliance ; but my 
 hint was counteracted by one from their mother ; so that, 
 with a cheerful air, they gave us a favourite song of 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 25 
 
 Dryden's. Mr Thornhill seemed highly delighted with 
 their performance and choice, and then took up the guitar 
 himself. He played but very indifferently ; however, my 
 eldest daughter repaid his former applause with interest, 
 and assured him that his tones were louder than even 
 those of her master. At this compliment he bowed, 
 which she returned with a curtsey. He praised her taste, 
 and she commended his understanding ; an age could not 
 have made them better acquainted ; while the fond mother 
 too, equally happy, insisted upon her landlord's stepping 
 in and tasting a glass of her gooseberry. The whole 
 family seemed earnest to please him : my girls attempted 
 to entertain him with topics they thought most modern ; 
 while Moses, on the contrary, gave him a question or 
 two from the ancients, for which he had the satisfac- 
 tion of being laughed at. My little ones were no 
 less busy, and fondly stuck close to the stranger. All 
 my endeavours could scarce keep their dirty fingers 
 from handling and tarnishing the lace on his clothes, 
 and lifting up the flaps of his pocket-holes to see 
 what -was there. At the approach of evening he took 
 leave ; but not till he had requested permission to re- 
 new his visit, which, as he was our landlord, we most 
 readily agreed to. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on 
 ; the conduct of the day. She was of opinion that it was 
 a most fortunate hit ; for she had known even stranger 
 things than that brought to bear. She hoped again to 
 see the day in which we might hold up our heads with 
 the best of them ; and concluded, she protested she could 
 see no reason why the two Miss Wrinklers bhould marry 
 great fortunes, and her children get none. As this last 
 argument was directed to me, I protested I could see no 
 
26 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 reason for it neither ; nor why Mr Simpkins got the ten 
 thousand pound prize in the lottery, and we sat down 
 with a blank. " I protest, Charles," cried my wife, " this 
 is the way you always damp my girls and me when we are 
 in spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think 
 of our new visitor ? Don't you think he seemed to be 
 good-natured ? " " Immensely so, indeed, mamma," re- 
 plied she; "I think he has a great deal to say upon 
 everything, and is never at a loss ; and the more trifling 
 the subject, the more he has to say." " Yes," cried 
 Olivia, " he is well enough for a man ; but, for my part, 
 I don't much like him ; he is so extremely impudent and 
 familiar ; but on the guitar he is shocking." These two 
 last speeches I interpreted by contraries. I found by this, 
 that Sophia internally despised, as much as Olivia secretly 
 admired him. " Whatever may be your opinions of him, 
 my children," cried I, " to confess a truth, he has not pre- 
 possessed me in his favour. Disproportioned friendships 
 ever terminate in disgust , and I thought, notwithstanding 
 all his ease, that he seemed perfectly sensible of the dis- 
 tance between us. Let us keep to companions of our own 
 rank. There is no character more contemptible than a 
 man that is a fortune-hunter ; and I can see no reason why 
 fortune-hunting women should not be contemptible too. 
 Thus, at best, we shall be contemptible if his views are 
 honourable ; but if they be otherwise ! I should shudder 
 but to think of that. It is true, I have no apprehensions 
 from the conduct of my children ; but I think there are 
 some from his character." I would have proceeded but 
 for the interruption of a servant from the 'Squire, who, 
 with his compliments, sent us a side of venison, and a 
 promise to dine with us some days after. This well- 
 timed present pleaded more powerfully in his favour 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 27 
 
 than anything I had to say could obviate. I therefore 
 continued silent, satisfied with just having pointed out 
 danger, and leaving it to their own discretion to avoid 
 it. That virtue which requires to be ever guarded i c 
 scarce worth the sentinel. 
 
Chapter VI 
 
 As we carried on the former dispute with some degree 
 of warmth, in order to accommodate matters, it was uni- 
 versally agreed that we should have a part of the venison 
 for supper ; and the girls undertook the task with alacrity. 
 " I am sorry," cried I, " that we have no neighbour or 
 stranger to take part in this good cheer ; feasts of this 
 kind acquire a double relish from hospitality." " Bless 
 me," cried my wife, " here comes our good friend Mr 
 Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you down 
 fairly in the argument." " Confute me in argument, 
 child ! " cried I. " You mistake there, my dear ; I believe 
 there are but few that can do that. I never dispute your 
 abilities at making a goose-pie, and I beg you'll leave 
 argument to me." As I spoke, poor Mr Burchell entered 
 the house, and was welcomed by the family, who shook 
 him heartily by the hand, while little Dick officiously 
 reached him a chair. 
 
 I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for two 
 reasons : because I knew that he wanted mine, and I knew 
 him to be friendly as far as he was able. He was known 
 in our neighbourhood by the character of the poor Gentle- 
 man, that would do no good when he was young^though 
 he was not yet thirty- He would at intervals talk with 
 great good sense, but in general he was fondest of the 
 company of children, whom he used to call harmless little 
 men. He was famous, I found, for singing them ballads 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 29 
 
 and telling them stories, and seldom went out without 
 something in his pockets for them a piece of ginger- 
 bread or a halfpenny whistle. He generally came for a 
 few days into our neighbourhood once a year, and lived 
 upon the neighbours' hospitality. He sat down to supper 
 among us, and my wife was not sparing of her gooseberry 
 wine. The tale went round ; he sung us old songs, and 
 gave the children the story of the Buck of BeverlanJTwith 
 the history of Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, 
 and then Fair Rosamond's Bower. Our cock, which 
 always crew at eleven, now told us it was time for re- 
 pose ; but an unforeseen difficulty started about lodging 
 the stranger all our beds were already taken up, and 
 it was too late to send him to the next alehouse. In 
 this dilemma little Dick offered him his part of the bed, 
 if his brother Moses would let him lie with him. " And 
 I," cried Bill, "will give Mr Burchell my part, if my 
 sisters will take me to theirs." " Well done, my good 
 children," cried I, " hospitality is one of the first Christian 
 duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and the bird flies 
 to its nest ; but helpless man can only find refuge from his 
 fellow-creature. The greatest stranger in this world was 
 He that came to save it. He never had a house, as if 
 willing to see what hospitality was left remaining among 
 us. Deborah, my dear," cried I to my wife, " give those 
 boys a lump of sugar each ; and let Dick's be the largest, 
 because he spoke first." 
 
 In the morning early I called out my whole family to 
 help at saving an after-growth of hay, and our guest offer- 
 ing his assistance, he was accepted among the number. 
 Our labours went on lightly , we turned the swath to the 
 wind. I went foremost, and the rest followed in due suc- 
 cession. I could not avoid, however, observing the assiduity 
 
30 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 of Mr Burchell in assisting my daughter Sophia in her part 
 of the task. When he had finished his own, he would 
 join in hers, and enter into a close conversation ; but I had 
 of Sophia's understanding, and was 
 
 too weli_convinced of her ambition, to be under any un- 
 easiness from a man of broken fortune. When we were 
 finished for the day, Mr Burchell was invited as on the 
 night before, but he refused, as he was to lie that night 
 at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a whistle. 
 When gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our 
 late unfortunate guest. "What a strong instance," said I, 
 " is that poor man of the miseries attending a youth of 
 levity and extravagance. He by no means wants sense, 
 which only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor 
 forlorn creature ! where are now the revellers, the 
 flatterers, that he could once inspire and command ? Gone, 
 perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown rich by his 
 extravagance. They once praised him, and now they 
 applaud the pander ; their former raptures at his wit are 
 now converted into sarcasms at his folly : he is poor, and 
 perhaps deserves poverty ; for he has neither the ambition 
 to be independent nor the skill to be useful." Prompted 
 perhaps by some secret reasons, I delivered this observa- 
 tion with too much acrimony, which my Sophia gently 
 reproved. " Whatsoever his former conduct may be, 
 papa, his circumstances should exempt him from censure 
 now. His present indigence is a sufficient punishment for 
 former folly ; and I have heard my papa himself say that 
 we should never strike our unnecessary blow at a victim 
 over whom Providence holds the scourge of its resent- 
 ment." " You are right, Sophy," cried my son Moses ; 
 " and one of the ancients finely represents so malicious a 
 conduct by the attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 31 
 
 skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly stripped off by 
 another. Besides, I don't know if this poor man's situa- 
 tion be so bad as my father would represent it. We are 
 not to judge of the feelings of others by what we might 
 feel in their place. However dark the habitation of the 
 mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the apartment 
 sufficiently lightsome. And, to confess a truth, this man's 
 mind seems fitted to his station ; for I never heard any one 
 more sprightly than he was to-day, when he conversed 
 with you." This was said without the least design ; 
 however, it excited a blush, which she strove to cover 
 by an affected laugh, assuring him that she scarce took 
 any notice of what he said to her, but that she believed 
 he might once have been a very fine gentleman. The 
 readiness with which she undertook to vindicate herself, 
 and her blushing, were symptoms I did not internally 
 approve j but I repressed my suspicions. 
 
 As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife 
 went to make the venison pasty. Moses sat reading, 
 while I taught the little ones. My daughters seemed 
 equally busy with the rest, and I observed them for a 
 good while cooking something over the fire. I at first 
 supposed they were assisting their mother, but little Dick 
 informed me in a whisper that they were making a wash 
 for the face. Washes of all kinds I had a natural anti- 
 pathy to ; for I knew that, instead of mending the com- 
 plexion, they spoiled it. I therefore approached my chair 
 by sly degrees to the fire, and grasping the poker as if it 
 wanted mending, seemingly by accident overturned the 
 whole composition, and it was too late to begin another. 
 
Chapter VII 
 
 WHEN the morning arrived on which we were to entertain 
 our young landlord, it may be easily supposed what pro- 
 visions were exhausted to make an appearance. It may 
 also be conjectured that my wife and daughters expanded 
 their gayest plumage on this occasion. Mr Thornhill came 
 with a couple of friends, his chaplain and feeder. The 
 servants, who were numerous, he politely ordered to the 
 next ale-house ; but my wife on the triumph of her heart, 
 insisted on entertaining them all ; for which, by the by, 
 our family was pinched for three weeks after. As Mr 
 Burchell had hinted to us the day before that he was 
 making some proposals of marriage to Miss Wilmot, my 
 son George's former mistress, this a good deal damped the 
 heartiness of his reception ; but accident in some measure 
 relieved our embarrassment ; for one of the company, 
 happening to mention her name, Mr Thornhill observed, 
 with an oath, that he never knew anything more absurd 
 than calling such a fright a beauty: "For, strike me ugly," 
 continued he, "if I should not find as much pleasure in 
 choosing my mistress by the information of a lamp under 
 the clock of St Dunstan's." At this he laughed, and so 
 did we : the jests of the rich are ever successful. Olivia, 
 too, could not avoid whispering, loud enough to be heard, 
 that he had an infinite fund of humour. 
 
 After dinner I began with my usual toast, the Church. 
 For this I was thanked by the chaplain, as he said the 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 33 
 
 church was the only mistress of his affections. " Come, 
 tell us honestly, Frank," said the 'Squire, with his usual 
 archness, " suppose the church, your present mistress, 
 dressed in lawn sleeves, on the one hand, and Miss Sophia 
 with no lawn about her, on the other, which would you 
 be for?" "For both, to be su$e," cried the chaplain. 
 " Right, Frank," cried the 'Squire ; " for may this glass 
 suffocate me, but a fine girl is worth all the priestcraft in 
 the creation ! For what are tithes and tricks but an im- 
 position, all a confounded imposture ? and I can prove it." 
 "I wish you would," cried my son Moses; "and I 
 think," continued he, " that I should be able to answer 
 you." "Very well, sir," cried the 'Squire, who im- 
 mediately smoked him, and winked on the rest of the 
 company to prepare us for the sport ; " if you are for a 
 cool argument on that subject, I am ready to accept the 
 challenge. And, first, whether are you for managing it 
 analogically or dialogically ? " "I am for managing it 
 rationally," cried Moses, quite happy at being permitted 
 to dispute. "Good again," cried the 'Squire; "and 
 firstly, of the first. I hope you'll not deny that whatever 
 is, is. If you don't grant me that, I can go no further." 
 "Why," returned Moses, "I think I may grant that, 
 and make the best of it." "I hope, too," returned the 
 other, "you'll grant that a part is less than the whole."- 
 "I grant that too," cried Moses, "it is but just and 
 reasonable." "I hope," cried the 'Squire, " you will not 
 deny that the two angles of a triangle are equal to two 
 right ones." "Nothing can be plainer," returned t'other, 
 and looked round with his usual importance. " Ver) 
 well," cried the 'Squire, speaking very quick, " the 
 premisses being thus settled, I proceed to observe that 
 the concatenation of self-existences, proceeding in a re- 
 
 r 
 
34 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 ciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally produces a problematical 
 dialogism, which in some measure proves that the essence 
 of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable." 
 " Hold, hold ! " cried the other, " I deny that. Do you 
 think that I can thus tamely submit to such heterodox 
 doctrines?" "What!" replied the 'Squire, as if in a 
 passion ; " not submit ! Answer me one plain question : 
 Do you think Aristotle right when he says that relatives 
 are related ? " " Undoubtedly," replied the other. " If 
 so, then," cried the 'Squire, " answer me directly to what 
 I propose : Whether do you judge the analytical investiga- 
 tion' of the first part of my enthymem deficient secundum 
 quoad, or quoad minus ; and give me your reasons give 
 me your reasons, I say, directly." "I protest," cried Moses, 
 " I don't rightly comprehend the force of your reasoning ; 
 but if it be reduced to one simple proposition, I fancy it 
 may then have an answer." "Oh, sir," cried the 'Squire, 
 " I am your most humble servant ; I find you want me to 
 furnish you with argument and intellects too. _No, sir ; 
 e I protest you are too hard for me." This effectually 
 raised the laugh against poor Moses, who sat the only 
 dismal figure in a group of merry faces ; nor did he offer 
 a single syllable more during the whole entertainment. 
 
 But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a very 
 different effect upon Olivia, who mistook it for humour, 
 though but a mere act of the memory. She thought him, 
 therefore, a very fine gentleman ; and such as consider 
 what powerful ingredients a good figure, fine clothes, and 
 fortune are in that character, will easily forgive her. Mr 
 Thornhill, notwithstanding his real ignorance, talked with 
 ease, and could expatiate upon the common topics of con- 
 versation with fluency. It is not surprising, then, that 
 such talents should win the affections of a girl, who by 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 35 
 
 education was taught to value an appearance in herself, 
 and consequently to set a value upon it in another. 
 
 Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate 
 upon the merits of our young landlord. As he directed 
 his looks and conversation to Olivia, it was no longer 
 doubted but that she was the object that induced him to 
 be our visitor. Nor did she seem to be much displeased at 
 the innocent raillery of her brother and sister upon this 
 occasion. Even Deborah herself seemed to share the glory 
 of the day, and exulted in her daughter's victory as if it 
 were her own. " And now, my dear," cried she to me, 
 " I'll fairly own that it was I that instructed my girls to 
 encourage our landlord's addresses. I had always some 
 ambition, and you now see that I was right ; for who 
 knows how this may end?" "Ay, who knows that 
 indeed ! " answered I with a groan : " for my part, I don't 
 much like it ; and I could have been better pleased with 
 one^that was poor and honest, than this fine gentleman^ 
 jwith his fortune and infidelity ; for depend on't, if he be 
 what I suspect him, no freethinker shall ever have a child 
 of mine." 
 
 "Sure, father," cried Moses, "you are too severe in 
 this ; for heaven will never arraign him for what he thinks, 
 but for what he does. Every man has a thousand vicious 
 thoughts, which arise without his power to suppress. 
 Thinking freely of religion may be involuntary with this 
 gentleman ; so that, allowing his sentiments to be wrong, 
 yet as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no more to 
 be blamed for his errors than the governor of a city with- 
 out walls for the shelter he is obliged to afford an invading 
 enemy." 
 
 " True, my son," cried I ; " but if the governor invites 
 the enemy there, he is justly culpable. And such is 
 
36 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 always the case with those who embrace error. The vice 
 does not lie in assenting to the proofs they see, but :"n 
 being blind to many of the proofs that offer ; so that, 
 though our erroneous opinions be involuntary when formed, 
 yet, as we have been wilfully corrupt or very negligent 
 in forming them, we deserve punishment for our vice or 
 contempt for our folly." 
 
 My wife now kept up the conversation, though not the 
 argument. She observed that several very prudent men 
 of our acquaintance were freethinkers, and made very good 
 husbands ; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill 
 enough to make converts of their spouses. " And who 
 knows, my dear," continued she, " what Olivia may be 
 able to do ? The girl has a great deal to say upon every 
 subject, and to my knowledge is very well skilled in 
 controversy." 
 
 " Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read ? " 
 cried I. " It does- not occur to me that I ever put such 
 books into her hands ; you certainly overrate her merit." 
 "Indeed, papa," replied Olivia, "she does not; I have 
 read a great deal of controversy. I have read the disputes 
 ween Thwackum and Square ; the controversy between 
 Robinson Crusoe and Friday the savage ; and I am now 
 employed in reading the controversy in Religious Court- 
 ship." "Very well," cried I, "that's a good girl; I find 
 you are perfectly qualified for making converts, and so go 
 help your mother to make the gooseberry pie." 
 
Chapter VIII 
 
 f THE next morning we were again visited by Mr 
 
 j Burchell, though I began, for certain reasons, to be dis- 
 
 ^ pleased with the frequency of his return ; but I could not 
 
 refuse him my company and fireside. It is true, his labour 
 
 more than requited his entertainment ; for he wrought 
 
 among us with vigour, and, either in the meadow or at the 
 
 hay-rick, put himself foremost. Besides, he had always 
 
 something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was 
 
 _at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I 
 
 loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose 
 
 1 from an attachment h^ Hisrnvpr^d t-n my Hanght-pr. He 
 
 ( would, in a jesting manner, call her his little mistress ; and 
 
 when he bought each of the girls a set of ribbons, hers 
 was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day seemed 
 to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his 
 "simplicity to assume the superior airs of wisdom. 
 
 Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather 
 reclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon 
 the hay, while Mr Burchell gave cheerfulness to the feast. 
 To heighten our satisfaction, two blackbirds answered 
 each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast 
 came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every 
 sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. " I never sit 
 thus," says Sophia, "but I think of the two lovers, so 
 sweetly described by Mr Gay, who were struck dead in 
 each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the 
 
 37 
 
38 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 description, that I have read it an hundred times with new 
 rapture." "In my opinion," cried my son, " the finest 
 strokes in that description are much below those in the 
 Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands 
 the use of contrast better ; and upon that figure, artfully 
 managed, all strength in the pathetic depends." " It is 
 remarkable," cried Mr Burchell, " that both the poets you 
 mention have equally contributed to introduce a false taste 
 into their respective countries, by loading all their lines 
 with epithet. Men of little genius found them most easily 
 imitated in their defects ; and English poetry, like that in 
 the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a 
 combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connection 
 a string of epithets that 'improve the sound without 
 carrying on the sense. But perhaps, Madam, while I thus 
 reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give 
 them an opportunity to retaliate ; and, indeed, I have made 
 this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to 
 the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, 
 is, I think, at least free from those I have mentioned." 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 "Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, 
 
 And guide my lonely way 
 To where yon taper cheers the vale 
 
 With hospitable ray. 
 
 " For here forlorn and lost I tread, 
 
 With fainting steps and slow, 
 Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 
 
 Seem lengthening as I go." 
 
 " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, 
 
 " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 
 For yonder faithless phantom flies 
 
 To lure thee to thy doom. 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 39 
 
 " Here to the houseless child of want 
 
 My door is open still ; 
 And, though my portion is but scant, 
 
 I give it with good-will. 
 
 " Then turn to-night, and freely share 
 
 Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
 My rushy couch and frugal fare, 
 
 My blessing and repose. 
 
 " No flocks that range the valley free 
 
 To slaughter I condemn ; 
 Taught by that Power that pities me, 
 
 I learn to pity them : 
 
 " But from the mountain's grassy side 
 
 A guiltless feast I bring ; 
 A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 
 
 And water from the spring. 
 
 "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego j 
 All earth-born cares are wrong : 
 
 Man wants but little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 Soft as the dew from heaven descends 
 
 His gentle accents fell : 
 The modest stranger lowly bends, 
 
 And follows to the cell. 
 
 Far in a wilderness obscure 
 
 The lonely mansion lay, 
 A refuge to the neighbouring poor, 
 
 And strangers led astray. 
 
 No stores beneath its humble thatch 
 
 Required a master's care ; 
 The wicket, opening with a latch, 
 
 Received the harmless pair. 
 
 And now, when busy crowds retire 
 
 To take their evening rest, 
 The Hermit trimmed his little fire 
 
 And cheered his pensive guest ; 
 
40 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 And spread his vegetable store, 
 
 And gaily pressed and smiled, 
 And, skilled in legendary lore, 
 
 The lingering hours beguiled. 
 
 Around, in sympathetic mirth, 
 
 Its tricks the kitten tries, 
 The cricket chirrups on the hearth, 
 
 The crackling faggot flies. 
 
 But nothing could a charm impart 
 
 To soothe the stranger's woe ; 
 For grief was heavy at his heart, 
 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 His rising cares the Hermit spied, 
 With answering care oppressed ; 
 
 And " Whence, unhappy youth," he cried, 
 " The sorrows of 'thy breast ? 
 
 " From better habitations spurned, 
 
 Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
 Or grieve for friendship unreturned, 
 
 Or unregarded love ? 
 
 " Alas I the joys that fortune brings 
 
 Are trifling, and decay ; 
 And those who prize the paltry things, 
 
 More trifling still than they. 
 
 *' And what is friendship but a name, 
 
 A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
 A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
 
 But leaves the wretch to weep ? 
 
 " And love is still an emptier sound, 
 
 The modern fair one's jest ; 
 On earth unseen, or only iound 
 
 To warm the turtle's nest. 
 
 " For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush. 
 
 And spurn the sex," he said ; 
 But while he spoke, a rising blush 
 
 His love-lorn guest betrayed. 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 41 
 
 Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, 
 
 Swift mantling to the view ; 
 Like colours o'er the morning skies, 
 
 As bright, as transient too. 
 
 The bashful look, the rising breast, 
 
 Alternate spread alarms ; 
 The lovely stranger stands confessed 
 
 A maid in all her charms. 
 
 And, " Ah ! forgive a stranger rude 
 
 A wretch forlorn," she cried ; 
 " Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 
 
 Where Heaven and you reside. 
 
 " But let a maid thy pity share, 
 
 Whom love has taught to stray ; 
 Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
 
 Companion of her way. 
 
 u My father lived beside the Tyne, 
 
 A wealthy lord was he ; 
 And all his wealth was marked as mine 
 
 He had but only me. 
 
 " To win me from his tender arms 
 
 Unnumbered suitors came, 
 Who praised me for imputed charms, 
 
 And felt, or feigned, a flame. 
 
 " Each hour a mercenary crowd 
 
 With richest proffers strove ; 
 Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed, 
 
 But never talked of love. 
 
 " In humble, simple habit clad, 
 
 No wealth nor power had he ; 
 Wisdom and worth were all he had, 
 
 But these were all to me. 
 
 " And when, beside me in the dale, 
 
 He carolled lays of love, 
 His breath lent fragrance to the gale 
 
 And music to the grove. 
 
42 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 " The blossom opening to the day, 
 
 The dews of heaven refined, 
 Could nought of purity display 
 To emulate his mind. 
 
 u The dew, the blossom on the tree, 
 With charms inconstant shine : 
 Their charms were his, but, woe to me 
 Their constancy was mine. 
 
 For still I tried each fickle art, 
 
 Importunate and vain ; 
 And while his passion touched my heart, 
 I triumphed in his pain : 
 
 " Till, quite dejected with my scorn, 
 
 He left me to my pride, 
 
 And sought a solitude forlorn, 
 
 In secret, where he died. 
 
 '* But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 
 
 And well my life shall pay ; 
 Pll seek the solitude he sought, 
 And stretch me where he lay. 
 
 "And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, 
 
 I'll lay me down and die ; 
 Twas so for me that Edwin did, 
 And so for him will I." 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! " the Hermit cried, 
 
 And clasped her to his breast : 
 The wondering fair one turned to chide 
 Twas Edwin's self that pressed ! 
 
 " Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 
 My charmer, turn to see 
 Thine own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 
 Restored to love and thee. 
 
 " Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 
 
 And every care resign : 
 And shall we never, never part, 
 My life, my all that's mine ? 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 43 
 
 " No, never from this hour to part, 
 
 We'll live and love so true, 
 The .sigh that rends thy constant heart 
 Shall break thy Edwin's too." 
 
 While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix 
 an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tran- 
 quillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just 
 by us, and immediately after a man was seen bursting 
 through the hedge to take up the game he had killed. 
 This sportsman was the 'Squire's chaplain, who had shot 
 one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. 
 So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters ; 
 and I could perceive that Sophia, in the fright, had thrown 
 herself into Mr Burchell's arms for protection. The 
 gentleman came up and asked pardon for having disturbed 
 us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. 
 He therefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and, 
 sportsman-like, offered her what he had killed that morn- 
 ing. She was going to refuse, but a private look from 
 her mother soon induced her to correct the mistake and 
 accept his present, though with some reluctance. My 
 wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observ- 
 ing that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as 
 well as her sister had of the 'Squire. I suspected, how- 
 ever, with more probability, that her affections were 
 placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand 
 was to inform us that Mr Thornhill had provided music 
 and refreshments, and intended that night giving the 
 young ladies a ball by moonlight on the grass plot before 
 our door. " Nor can I deny," continued he, " but I have 
 an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I 
 expect for my reward to be honoured with Miss Sophy's 
 hand as a partner." To this my girl replied that she 
 
44 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 should nave no objection if she could do it with honour. 
 " But here," continued she, " is a gentleman," looking at 
 Mr Burchell, " who has been my companion in the task 
 for the day, and it is fit he should share in its amuse- 
 ments." Mr Burchell returned her a compliment for her 
 intentions, but resigned her up to the chaplain ; adding 
 that he was to go that night five miles, being invited to 
 a harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a little 
 extraordinary ; nor could I conceive Jmw so sensible n girl 
 -7>( as my youngest could thus prefer a man of broken fortunes 
 to one__w]iQ^e__expectations were much greater. But as 
 men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, 
 so the ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The 
 two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and are 
 furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual 
 inspection. 
 
Chapter IX 
 
 MR BURCHELL had scarce taken leave, and Sophia con- 
 sented to dance with the chaplain, when my little ones 
 came running out to tell us that the 'Squire was come 
 with a crowd of company. Upon our return, we found 
 our landlord with a couple of under gentlemen and two 
 young ladies richly dressed, whom he introduced as 
 women of very great distinction and fashion from town. 
 We happened not to have chairs enough for the whole 
 company ; but Mr Thornhill immediately proposed, that 
 every gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. This I posi- 
 tively objected to, notwithstanding a look of disapproba- 
 tion from my wife. Moses was therefore dispatched to 
 borrow a couple of chairs ; and as we were in want of 
 ladies to make up a set at country dances, the two gentle- 
 men went with him in quest of a couple of partners. 
 Chairs and partners were soon provided. The gentle- 
 men returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy 
 daughters, flaunting with red top-knots ; but an unlucky 
 circumstance was not adverted to though the Miss 
 Flamboroughs were reckoned the very best dancers in 
 the parish, and understood the jig and the round-about 
 to perfection, yet they were totally unacquainted with 
 country dances. This at first discomposed us : however, 
 after a little shoving and dragging they at last went 
 merrily on. Our music consisted of two fiddles, with 
 a pipe and tabor. The moon shone bright. Mr Thornhiii 
 
 45 
 
46 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 and my eldest daughter led up the ball, to the great de- 
 light of the spectators ; for the neighbours, hearing what 
 was going forward, came flocking about us. My girl 
 moved with so much grace and vivacity, that my wife 
 could not avoid discovering the pride of her heart by 
 assuring me that, though the little chit did it so cleverly, 
 all the steps were stolen from herself. The ladies of the 
 town strove hard to be equally easy, but without success. 
 They swam, sprawled, languished, and frisked ; but all 
 would not do : the gazers indeed owned that it was fine ; 
 but neighbour Flamborough observed that Miss Livy\s 
 feet seemed as pat to the music as its echo. After the 
 dance had continued about an hour, the two ladies, who 
 were apprehensive of catching cold, moved to break up 
 the ball. One of them, I thought, expressed her senti- 
 ments upon this occasion in a very coarse manner, when 
 she observed, that, by the living jingo she was all of a muck 
 of sweat. Upon our return to the house, we found a very 
 elegant cold supper, which Mr Thornhill had ordered to 
 be brought with him. The conversation at this time was 
 w/more reserved than before. The two ladies threw my 
 JaSf girls into the shade ; for they would talk of nothing but 
 g j high life, and high-lived company ; with other fashionable 
 topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical 
 lasses. 'Tis true they once or twice mortified us sensibly 
 by slipping out an oath ; but that appeared to me as the 
 surest symptom of their distinction (though I am since in- 
 formed that swearing is perfectly unfashionable). Their 
 finery, however, threw a veil over any grossness in their 
 conversation. My daughters seemed to regard their 
 superior accomplishments with envy ; and what appeared 
 amiss, was ascribed to tip-top quality breeding. But the 
 condescension of the ladies was still superior to their other 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 47 
 
 accomplishments. One of them observed, that had Miss 
 Olivia seen a little more of the world, it would greatly 
 improve her ; to which the other added, that a single 
 winter in town would make her little Sophia quite another 
 thing. My .wife warmly assented to both, adding that 
 there was nothing she more ardently wished than to give 
 her girls a single winter's polishing. To this I could not 
 help replying, that their breeding was already superior to 
 their fortune ; and that greater refinement would only 
 serve to make their poverty ridiculous, and give them a 
 taste for pleasures they had no right to possess. " And 
 what pleasures," cried Mr Thornhill, " do they not deserve 
 to possess, who have so much in their power to bestow ? 
 /~As for my part," continued he, "my fortune is pretty 
 large ; love, liberty, and pleasure are my maxims ; but 
 \ curse me, if a settlement of half my estate could give my 
 i charming Olivia pleasure, it should be hers ; and the only 
 \ favour I would ask in return would be to add myself to 
 Uhe benefit." I was not such a stranger to the world as 
 to be ignorant that this was the fashionable cant to dis- 
 guise the insolence of the basest proposal ; but I made an 
 effort to suppress my resentment. " Sir," cried I, " the 
 family which you now condescend to favour with your 
 company has been bred with as nice a sense of honour as 
 you. Any attempts to injure that may be attended with 
 rvery dangerous consequences. Honour, sir, is our only 
 Vjxjssession at present, and of that last treasure we must 
 be particularly careful." I was soon sorry for the warmth 
 with which I had spoken this, when the young gentleman, 
 grasping my hand, swore he commended my spirit, though 
 (jie disapproved my suspicions. " As to your present 
 hint," continued he, " I protest that nothing was farther 
 from my heart than such a thought. No, by all that's 
 
 
48 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 tempting ! the virtue that will stand a regular siege was 
 never to my taste; for all my amours are carried by a 
 coup-de-main." 
 
 The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the 
 rest, seemed highly displeased with this last stroke of 
 freedom, and began a very discreet and serious dialogue 
 upon virtue ; in this, my wife, the chaplain, and I soon 
 joined ; and the 'Squire himself was at last brought to 
 confess a sense of sorrow for his former excesses. We 
 talked of the pleasures of temperance, and of the sunshine 
 in the mind unpolluted with guilt. I was so well pleased, 
 that my little ones were kept up beyond the usual time 
 to be edified by so much good conversation. Mr Thorn- 
 hill even went beyond me, and demanded if I had any 
 objection to giving prayers. I joyfully embraced the 
 proposal ; and in this manner the night was passed in the 
 most comfortable way, till at last the company, began to 
 think of returning. The ladies seemed very unwilling to 
 part with my daughters, for whom they had conceived a 
 particular affection, and joined in a request to have the 
 pleasure of their company home. The 'Squire seconded 
 the proposals, and my wife added her entreaties ; the 
 girls, too, looked upon me as if they wished to go. In 
 this perplexity, I made two or three excuses, which my 
 daughters as readily removed : so that at last I was 
 obliged to give a peremptory refusal, for which we had 
 nothing but sullen looks and short answers the whole day 
 ensuing. 
 
Chapter X 
 
 I NOW began to find that all my long and painful 
 lectures upon temperance, simplicity, and contentment 
 were entirely disregarded. The distinctions lately paid 
 us by our betters awaked that pride which I had laid 
 asleep, but not removed. Our windows, again, as 
 formerly, were filled with washes for the neck and face. 
 The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin without 
 doors, and the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. 
 My wife observed that rising too early would hurt her 
 daughters' eyes, that working after dinner would redden 
 their noses ; and she convinced me that the hands never 
 looked so white as when they did nothing. Instead there- 
 fore of finishing George's shirts, we now had them new- 
 modelling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon catgut. 
 The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former *gay com- 
 panions, were cast off as mean acquaintance, and the 
 whole conversation ran upon high life, and high-lived 
 company, with pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and th_ 
 musical glasses. 
 
 But we could have borne all this, had not a fortune- 
 telling gipsy come to raise us into perfect sublimity. 
 The tawny sibyl no sooner appeared, than my girls came 
 running to me for a shilling a-piece to cross her hand with 
 silver. To say the truth, I was tired of being always 
 wise, and could not help gratifying their request, because 
 I loved to see them happy. I gave each of them a shilling ; 
 
 D 49 
 
jo The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 though for the honour of the family it must be observed, 
 that they never went without money themselves, as my 
 wife always generously let them have a guinea each, to 
 keep in their pockets, but with strict injunctions never to 
 ^.change it. After they had been closeted up with the 
 fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their looks, upon 
 their returning, that they had been promised something 
 great. " Well, my girls, how have you sped ? Tell me, 
 Livy, has the fortune-teller given thee a pennyworth ? " 
 "I protest, papa," says the girl, " I believe she deals with 
 somebody that's not right ; for she positively declared, that 
 I am to be married to a 'Squire in less than a twelve- 
 month !" "Well, now, Sophy, my child," said I, "and 
 what sort of an husband are you to have?" "Sir, "replied 
 she, " I am to have a Lord soon after my sister has married 
 the 'Squire," "How!" cried I, "is that all you are to 
 have for your two shillings ? Only a Lord and a 'Squire 
 for two shillings ? You fools, I could have promised you 
 a Prince and a Nabob for half the money." 
 
 This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with 
 very serious effects : we now began to think ourselves 
 designed by the stars to something exalted, and already 
 anticipated our future grandeur. 
 
 It has been a thousand times observed, and I must 
 observe it once more, that the hours we pass with happy 
 prospects in view, are more pleasing than those crowned 
 with fruition. In the first case, we cook the dish to our 
 own appetite j in the latter Nature cooks it for us". It is 
 impossible to repeat the train of agreeable reveries we 
 called up for our entertainment. We looked upon our 
 fortunes as once more rising ; and, as the whole parish 
 asserted that the 'Squire was in love with my daughter, 
 vshe was actually so with him ; for they persuaded her into 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 51 
 
 the passion. In this agreeable interval my wife had the 
 most lucky dreams in the world, which she took care to 
 tell us every morning, with great solemnity and exactness. 
 It was one night a coffin and cross-bones, the sign of an 
 approaching wedding ; at another time she imagined her 
 daughters' pockets filled with farthings, a certain sign they 
 would shortly be stuffed with gold. The girls themselves 
 had their omens. They felt strange kisses on their lips ; 
 they saw rings in the candle ; purses bounced from the , 
 lire, and true-love-knots lurked in the bottom of every 
 teacup. 
 
 Towards the end of the week we received a card from 
 the town ladies, in which, with their compliments, they 
 hoped to see all our family at church the Sunday following. 
 All Saturday morning I could perceive, in consequence of 
 this, my wife and daughters in close conference together, 
 and now and then glancing at me with looks that betrayed 
 a latent plot. To be sincere, I had strong suspicions that 
 some absurd proposal was preparing for appearing with 
 splendour the next day. In the evening they began their 
 operations in a very regular manner, and my wife under- 
 took to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in 
 spirits, she began thus : "I fancy, Charles, my dear, we 
 shall have a great deal of good company at our church 
 to-morrow." " Perhaps we may, my dear," returned I, 
 "though you need be under no uneasiness about that; 
 you shall have a sermon whether there be or not." 
 " That is what I expect," returned she ; " but I think, my 
 dear, we ought to appear there as decently as possible, for 
 who knows what may happen?" "Your precautions," 
 replied I, " are highly commendable. A decent behaviour 
 and appearance in church is what charms me. We should 
 be devout and humble, cheerful and serene." " Yes," cried 
 
52 The Vicar of Wakeiield 
 
 she, " I know that ; but I mean we should go there in as 
 proper a manner as possible , not altogether like the scrubs 
 about us," "You are quite right, my dear," returned I, 
 "and I was going to make the very same proposal. The 
 proper manner of going is to go there as early as possible, 
 to have time for meditation before the service begins."- 
 "Phoo, Charles," interrupted she, "all that is very true; 
 but not what I would be at ; I mean, we should go there 
 genteelly. You know the church is two miles off, and I 
 protest I don't like to see my daughters trudging up to 
 their pew all blowzed and red with walking, and looking 
 for all the world as if they had been winners at a smock 
 race. Now, my dear, my proposal is this : there are our 
 two plough-horses, the colt that has been in our family 
 these nine years, and his companion Blackberry, that has 
 scarce done an earthly thing for this month past. They 
 are both grown fat and lazy. Why should not they do 
 something as well as we ? And let me tell you, when 
 Moses has trimmed them a little, they will cut a very 
 tolerable figure." 
 
 To this proposal I objected that walking would be 
 twenty times more genteel than such a paltry conveyance, 
 as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the colt wanted a tail ; 
 that they had never been broke to the rein, but had a 
 hundred vicious tricks ; and that we had but one saddle 
 and pillion in the whole house. All these objections, 
 however, were overruled ; so that I was obliged to comply. 
 The next morning I perceived them not a little busy in 
 collecting such materials as might be necessary for the 
 expedition ; but, as I found it would be a business of time, 
 I walked on to the church before, and they promised 
 speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the reading 
 desk for their arrival ; but not finding them come as ex- 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 53 
 
 pected, I was obliged to begin, and went through the 
 service, not without some uneasiness at finding them 
 absent. This was increased, when all was finished, and 
 no appearance of the family. I therefore walked back by 
 the horse-way, which was five miles round, though the 
 footway was but two, and, but when got about half-way 
 home, perceived the procession marching slowly forward 
 towards the church ; my son, my wife, and the two little 
 ones exalted on one horse, and my two daughters upon 
 the other. I demanded the cause of their delay ; but I 
 soon found by their looks they had met with a thousand 
 misfortunes on the road. The horses had at first refused 
 to move from the door, till Mr Burchell was kind enough 
 to beat them forward for about two hundred yards with 
 his cudgel. Next, the straps of my wife's pillion broke 
 down, and they were obliged to stop to repair them before 
 they could proceed. After that, one of the horses took it 
 into its head to stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties 
 could prevail with him to proceed. It was just recovering 
 from this dismal situation that I found them ; but perceiv- 
 ing everything safe, I own their present mortification did not 
 much displease me, as it would give me many opportunities 
 of future triumph, and teach my daughters more humility. 
 
Chapter XI 
 
 MICHAELMAS-EVE happening on the next day, we were 
 invited to burn nuts and play tricks at neighbour Flam- 
 borough's. Our late mortifications had humbled us a 
 little, or it is probable we might have rejected such an in- 
 vitation .with contempt ; however, w_e suffered ourselves to 
 be happy. Our honest neighbour's goose and dumplings 
 were fine, and the lamb's-wool, even in the opinion of my 
 wife, who was a connoisseur, was excellent. It is true, 
 his manner of telling stories was not quite so well. They 
 were very long, and very dull, and all about himself, and 
 we had laughed at them ten times before : however, we 
 were kind enough to laugh at them once more. 
 
 Mr Burchell, who was of the party, was always fond of 
 seeing some innocent amusement going forward, and set 
 the boys and girls to blind-man's buff. My wife, too, was 
 persuaded to join in the diversion, and it gave me pleasure 
 to think she was not yet too old. In the meantime, my 
 neighbour and I looked on, laughed at every feat, and 
 praised our own dexterity when we were young. Hot 
 cockles succeeded next, questions and commands followed 
 that, and last of all, they sat down to hunt the slipper. 
 As every person may not be acquainted with this primeval 
 pastime, it may be necessary to observe, that the company 
 at this play plant themselves in a ring upon the ground, all 
 except one, who stands in the middle, whose business it is 
 to catch a shoe, which the company shove about under 
 
 54 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 55 
 
 their hams from one to another, something like a weaver's 
 shuttle. As it is impossible, in this case, for the lady who 
 is up to face all the company at once, the great beauty of 
 the play lies in hitting her a thump with the heel of the 
 shoe on that side least capable of making a defence. It 
 was in this manner that my eldest daughter was hemmed 
 in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in spirits, and bawling 
 for fair play, fair play, with a voice that might deafen a 
 ballad-singer, when, confusion on confusion ! who should 
 enter the room but our two great acquaintances from town, 
 Lady Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs! 
 Description would but beggar, therefore it is unnecessary 
 to describe, this new mortification. Death ! To be seen 
 by ladies of such high breeding in such vulgar attitudes ! 
 Nothing better could ensue from such a vulgar play of 
 Mr Flamborough's proposing. We seemed struck to the 
 ground for some time, as if actually petrified with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and 
 finding us from home, came after us hither, as they were 
 uneasy to know what accident could have kept us from 
 church the day before. Olivia undertook to be our pro- 
 locutor, and delivered the whole in a summary way, only 
 saying, " We were thrown from our horses." At which 
 account the ladies were greatly concerned ; but being told 
 the family received no hurt, they were extremely glad ; but 
 being informed that we were almost killed by the fright, 
 they were vastly sorry ; but hearing that we had a very 
 good night, they were extremly glad again. Nothing 
 could exceed their complaisance to my daughters : their 
 professions the last evening were warm, but now they 
 were ardent. They protested a desire of having a more 
 lasting acquaintance. Lady Blarney was particularly 
 
56 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 attached to Olivia ; Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia 
 Skeggs (I love to give the whole name) took a greater 
 fancy to her sister. They supported the conversation 
 between themselves, while my daughters sat silent, 
 admiring their exalted breeding. But as every reader, 
 however beggarly himself, is fond of high-lived dia- 
 logues, with anecdotes of Lords, Ladies, and Knights 
 of the Garter, I must beg leave to give him the con- 
 cluding part of the present conversation. 
 
 " All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs, 
 " is this, that it may be true or may not be true ; but this 
 I can assure your Ladyship, that the whole rout was in 
 amaze ; his Lordship turned all manner of colours, my 
 Lady fell into a swound, but Sir Tomkyn drawing his 
 sword, swore he was hers to the last drop of his blood." 
 
 " Well," replied our Peeress, " this I can say, that 
 the Duchess never told me a syllable of the matter, and 
 I believe her Grace would keep nothing a secret from 
 me. This you may depend upon as fact, that the next 
 morning my Lord Duke cried out three times to his 
 valet-de-chambre, Jernigan ! Jernigan ! Jernigan ! bring 
 me my garters." 
 
 But previously I should have mentioned the very im- 
 polite behaviour of Mr Burchell, who, during this dis- 
 course, sat with his face turned to the fire, and, at the 
 conclusion of every sentence, would cry out fudge, an 
 expression which displeased us all, and in some measure 
 damped the rising spirit of the conversation. 
 
 "Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our Peeress, 
 "there is nothing of this in the copy of verses that Dr 
 Burdock made upon the occasion." Fudge ! 
 
 " I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs : " for he 
 seldom leaves anything out, as he writes only for his own 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 57 
 
 amusement. But can your Ladyship favour me with a 
 sight of them ? " Fudge! 
 
 " My dear creature," replied our Peeress, " do you 
 fhink I carry such things about me ? Though they are 
 yery fine, to be sure, and I think myself something of a 
 judge at least I know what pleases myself. Indeed, I 
 was ever an admirer of all Dr Burdock's little pieces ; for 
 except what he does, and our dear Countess at Hanover 
 Square, there's nothing comes out but the most lowest 
 stuff in nature ; not a bit of high life among them." 
 Fudge ! 
 
 " Your Ladyship should except," says the other, "your 
 own things in the Lady's Magazine. I hope you'll say 
 there's nothing low-lived there ? But I suppose we are to 
 have no more from that quarter ?" Fudge! 
 
 "Why, my dear," says the lady, " you know my reader 
 and companion has left me, to be married to Captain 
 Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer me to write 
 myself, I have been for some time looking out for another. 
 A proper person is no easy matter to find ; and, to be 
 sure, thirty pounds a year is a small stipend for a well- 
 bred girl of character, that can read, write, and behave in 
 company ; as for the chits about town, there is no bearing 
 them about one." Fudge! 
 
 "That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, "by experience. 
 For of the three companions I had this last half year, 
 one of them refused to do plain-work an hour in the day ; 
 another thought twenty-five guineas a year too small a 
 salary ; and I was obliged to send away the third, because 
 I suspected an intrigue with the chaplain. Virtue, my 
 dear Lady Blarney, virtue is worth any price ; but where 
 is that to be found ? " Fudge ! 
 
 My wife had been, for a long time, all attention to this 
 
58 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 discourse, but was particularly struck with the latter part 
 of it. Thirty pounds and twenty-five guineas a year, 
 made fifty-six pounds five shillings English money, all 
 which was in a manner going a-begging, and might easily 
 be secured in the family. She for a moment studied my 
 looks for approbation ; and, to own a truth, I was of 
 opinion, that two such places would fit our two daughters 
 exactly. Besides, if the 'Squire had any real affection for 
 my eldest daughter, this would be the way to make her 
 every way qualified for her fortune. My wife, therefore, 
 was resolved that we should not be deprived of such 
 advantages for want of assurance, and undertook to 
 harangue for the family. "I hope," cried she, " your 
 Ladyships will pardon my present presumption. It is 
 true, we have no right to pretend to such favours ; but 
 yet it is natural for me to wish putting my children 
 forward in the world. And, I will be bold to say, my 
 two girls have had a pretty good education and capacity ; 
 at least the country can't show better. They can read, 
 write, and cast accounts ; they understand their needle, 
 broad-stitch, cross and change, and all manner of plain- 
 work ; they can pink, point, and frill, and know something 
 of music ; they can do up small clothes, work upon 
 catgut ; my eldest can cut paper, and my youngest has a 
 very pretty manner of telling fortunes upon the cards."- 
 Fudge ! 
 
 When she had delivered this pretty piece of eloquence, 
 the two ladies looked at each other a few minutes in 
 silence, with an air of doubt and importance. At last 
 Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs condescended to 
 observe that the young ladies, from the opinion she could 
 form of them from so slight an acquaintance, seemed very 
 fit for such employments. " But a thing of this kind, 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 59 
 
 madam," cried she, addressing my spouse, ' ' requires a 
 thorough examination into characters, and a more perfect 
 knowledge of each other. Not, Madam," continued she, 
 " that I in the least suspect the young ladies' virtue, 
 prudence, and discretion : but there is a form in these 
 things, Madam there is a form." 
 
 My wife approved her suspicions very much, observing 
 that she was very apt to be suspicious herself, but referred 
 her to all the neighbours for a character ; but this our 
 Peeress declined as unnecessary, alleging that her cousin 
 ThornhilPs recommendation would be sufficient j and upon 
 this we rested our petition. 
 
Chapter XII 
 
 WHEN we were returned home, the night was dedicated 
 to schemes of future conquest. Deborah exerted much 
 sagacity in conjecturing which of the two girls was likely 
 to have the best place, and most opportunities of seeing 
 good company. The only obstacle to our preferment was 
 in obtaining the 'Squire's recommendation; but he had 
 already shown us too many instances of his friendship to 
 doubt of it now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual 
 theme: "Well, faith, my dear Charles, between ourselves 
 I think we have made an excellent day's work of it." 
 "Pretty well!" cried I, not knowing what to say. 
 " What, only pretty well ! " returned she : " I think it 
 is very well. Suppose the girls should come to make 
 acquaintances of taste in town ! This I am assured of, 
 that London is the only place in the world for all manner 
 of husbands. Besides, my dear, stranger things happen 
 every day; and as ladies of quality are so taken with 
 my daughters, what will not men of quality be ? Entre 
 k J2QUS-, I protest I like my Lady Blarney vastly so very 
 obliging. However, Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia 
 Skeggs has my warm heart. But yet, when they came 
 to talk of places in town, you saw at once how I nailed 
 them. Tell me, my dear, don't you think I did for 
 my children there?" "Ay," returned I, not knowing 
 well what to think of the matter ; " Heaven grant they 
 may be both the better for it this day three months ! " 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 61 
 
 This was one of those observations I usually made to 
 impress my wife with an opinion of my sagacity : for if 
 the girls succeeded, then it was a pious wish fulfilled ; 
 but if anything unfortunate ensued, then it might be 
 looked upon as a prophecy. All this conversation, how- 
 ever, was only preparatory to another scheme ; and in- 
 deed I dreaded as much. This was nothing less than 
 that, as we were now to hold up our heads a little 
 higher in the world, it would be proper to sell the 
 Colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring fair, and 
 buy us a horse that would carry a single or double upon 
 an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church, or 
 upon a visit. This at first I opposed stoutly ; but it 
 was stoutly defended. However, as I weakened, my 
 antagonist gained strength, till at last it was resolved to 
 part with him. 
 
 As the fair happened on the following day, I had in- 
 tentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded me that 
 I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail upon her to 
 permit me from home. " No, my dear," said she, " our 
 son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and sell to a 
 very good advantage ; you know all our great bargains are 
 of his purchasing. He always stands out and higgles, and 
 actually tires them till he gets a bargain." 
 
 As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was 
 willing enough to entrust him with this commission ; and 
 the next morning I perceived his sisters mighty busy in 
 fitting out Moses for the fair : trimming his hair, brushing 
 his buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The business 
 of the toilet being over, we had at last the satisfaction 
 of seeing him mounted upon the Colt, with a deal box 
 before him to bring home groceries in. He had on a 
 coat made of that cloth they call thunder-and-lightning,. 
 
62 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 which, though grown too short, was much too good to 
 be thrown away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, 
 and his sisters had tied his hair with a broad black ribbon. 
 We all followed him several paces from the door bawling 
 after him, " Good luck ! good luck ! " till we could see 
 him no longer. 
 
 He was scarce gone, when Mr ThornhilPs butler came 
 to congratulate us upon our good fortune, saying that he 
 overheard his young master mention our names with great 
 commendation. 
 
 Good fortune seemed not to come alone. Another 
 footman from the same family followed, with a card for 
 my daughters, importing that the two ladies had received 
 such pleasing accounts from Mr Thornhill of us all, that 
 after a few previous inquiries they hoped to be perfectly 
 satisfied. " Ay," cried my wife, " I now see it is no easy 
 matter to get into the families of the great ; but when 
 one once gets in, then, as Moses says, one may go to 
 sleep." To this piece of humour, for she intended it for 
 wit, my daughters assented with a loud laugh of pleasure. 
 In short, such was her satisfaction at this message, that 
 she actually put her hand in her pocket and gave the 
 messenger sevenpence halfpenny. 
 
 This was to be our visiting day. The next that came 
 was Mr Burchell, who had been at the fair. He brought 
 my little ones a pennyworth of gingerbread each, which 
 my wife undertook to keep for them, and gave them by 
 letters at a time. He brought my daughters also a couple 
 of boxes, in which they might keep wafers, snuff, patches, 
 or even money, when they got it. My wife was usually 
 fond of a weasel-skin purse, as being the most lucky ; but 
 this by the by. We had still a regard for Mr Burchell, 
 though his late rude behaviour was in some measure 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 63 
 
 displeasing ; nor could we now avoid communicating our 
 happiness to him, and asking his advice : although we 
 seldom followed advice, we were all ready enough to 
 ask it. When he read the note from the two ladies, 
 he shook his head, and observed, that an affair of this 
 sort demanded the utmost circumspection. This air of 
 diffidence highly displeased my wife. " I never doubted, 
 sir," cried she, "your readiness to be against my daughters 
 and me. You have more circumspection than is wanted. 
 However, I fancy when we come to ask advice, we will 
 apply to persons who seem to have made use of it them- 
 selves." "Whatever my own conduct may have been, 
 Madam," replied he, " is not the present question : though, 
 as I have made no use of advice myself, I should in 
 conscience give it to those that will." As I was appre- 
 hensive this answer might draw on a repartee, making up 
 by abuse what it wanted in wit, I changed the subject, 
 by seeming to wonder what could keep our son so long 
 at the fair, as it was now almost nightfall. "Never 
 mind our son," cried my wife ; " depend upon it he 
 knows what he is about. I'll warrant we'll never see 
 him sell his hen of a rainy day. I have seen him buy 
 such bargains as would amaze one. I'll tell you a good 
 story about that, that will make you split your sides with 
 laughing. But, as I live, yonder comes Moses, without 
 a horse, and the box at his back." 
 
 As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating 
 under the deal box, which he had strapt round his 
 shoulders like a pedlar. " Welcome, welcome, Moses ! 
 well, my boy, what have you brought us from the fair ? " 
 "I have brought you myself," cried Moses, with a sly 
 look, and resting the box on the dresser. " Ay, Moses," 
 cried my wife, " that we know ; but where is the horse ? " 
 
64 The Vicar of WakefieJd 
 
 "I have sold him," cried Moses, " for three pounds five 
 shillings and twopence." " WelJ done, my good boy," 
 returned she; "I knew you would touch them off. Be- 
 tween ourselves, three pounds five shillings and twopence 
 is no bad day's work. Come, let us have it then." " I 
 have brought back no money," cried Moses again. " I 
 have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is," pulling out 
 a bundle from his breast : " here they are ; a gross of 
 green spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen cases."- 
 " A gross of green spectacles ! " repeated my wife in a 
 faint voice. " And you have parted with the Colt, and 
 brought us back nothing but a gross of green paltry 
 spectacles ! " "Dear mother," cried the boy, " why won't 
 you listen to reason ? I had them a dead bargain, or I 
 should not have bought them. The silver rims alone will 
 sell for double the money." " A fig for the silver rims," 
 cried my wife, in a passion : "I dare swear they won't sell 
 for above half the money at the rate of broken silver, five 
 shillings an ounce." " You need be under no uneasi- 
 ness," cried I, " about selling the rims, for they are not 
 worth sixpence ; for I perceive they are only copper 
 varnished over." " What ! " cried my wife, " not silver ! 
 the rims not silver!" "No," cried I, "no more silver 
 than your saucepan." " And so," returned she, " we 
 have parted with the Colt, and have only got a gross of 
 green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases ? 
 A murrain take such trumpery ! The blockhead has been 
 imposed upon, and should have known his company 
 better." " There, my dear," cried I, " you are wrong ; 
 he should not have known them at all." "Marry, hang 
 the idiot !" returned she, "to bring me such stuff: if I 
 had them, I would throw them in the fire." "There 
 again you are wrong, my dear," cried Ij "for though 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 65 
 
 they be copper, we will keep them by us, as copper 
 spectacles, you know, are better than nothing." 
 
 By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. 
 He now saw that he had indeed been imposed upon by a 
 prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had marked 
 him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumstances 
 of his deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked 
 the fair in search of another. A reverend-looking man 
 brought him to a tent, under the pretence of having one 
 to sell. "Here," continued Moses, "we met another 
 man, very well dressed, who desired to borrow twenty 
 pounds upon these, saying that he wanted money, and 
 would dispose of them for a third of the value. The first 
 gentleman, who pretended to be my friend, whispered me 
 to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer 
 pass. I sent for Mr Flamborough, and they talked him 
 up as finely as they did me ; and so at last we were 
 persuaded to buy the two gross between us." 
 
Chapter XIII 
 
 OUR family had now made several attempts to be fine ; 
 but some unforeseen disaster demolished each as soon as 
 projected. I endeavoured to take the advantage of every 
 disappointment to improve their good sense, in proportion 
 as they were frustrated in ambition. " You see, my 
 \children," cried I, "how little is to be got by attempts to 
 jimpose upon the world in coping with our betters. Such 
 :*as are poor, and will associate with none but the rich, are 
 i hated by those they avoid, and despised by those they 
 \follow. Unequal combinations are always disadvan- 
 tageous to the weaker side, the rich having the pleasure, 
 and the poor the inconveniences that result from them. 
 But come, Dick, my boy, and repeat the fable you were 
 reading to-day, for the good of the company." 
 
 " Once upon a time," cried the child, " a Giant and 
 a Dwarf were friends, and kept together. They made a 
 bargain that they would never forsake each other, but 
 go seek adventures. The first battle they fought was 
 with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was very cour- 
 ageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow. 
 It did the Saracen but very little injury, who, lifting 
 up his sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. 
 He was now in a woful plight ; but the Giant, coming to 
 his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens dead 
 on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the dead man's head 
 out of spite. They then travelled on to another adven- 
 
 66 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 6^7 
 
 ture. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who 
 were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf 
 was not quite so fierce now as before, but for all that 
 struck the first blow, which was returned by another 
 that knocked out his eye ; but the Giant was soon up 
 with him, and had they not fled, would certainly have 
 killed them every one. They were all very joyful for 
 this victory, and the damsel, who was relieved, fell in 
 love with the Giant, and married him. They now travelled 
 far, and farther than I can tell, till they met with a 
 company of robbers. The Giant, for the first time, was 
 foremost now ; but the Dwarf was not far behind. The 
 battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came, 
 all fell before him ; but the Dwarf had liked to have 
 been killed more than once. At last the victory declared 
 for the two adventurers ; but the Dwarf lost his leg. 
 The Dwarf had now lost an arm, a leg, and an eye, 
 while the Giant was without a single wound ; upon 
 which he cried out to his little companion, ' My little 
 hero, this is glorious sport ! let us get one victory more, 
 and then we shall have honour for ever.' * No,' cries 
 the Dwarf, who was by this time grown wiser, * no, 
 I declare off; I'll fight no more; for I find in every 
 battle that you get all the honour and rewards, but all 
 the blows fall upon me.' " 
 
 I was going to moralise this fable, when our .attention 
 was called off to a warm dispute between my wife /and 
 Mr Burchell upon my daughters' intended expedition 
 to town. My wife very strenuously insisted upon the 
 ) advantages that would result from it ; Mr Burchell, on 
 the contrary, dissuaded her with great ardour; and I 
 stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the 
 second part of those which were received with so ill 
 
68 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 a grace in the morning. The dispute grew high ; while 
 poor Deborah, instead of reasoning stronger, talked 
 louder, and at last was obliged to take shelter from a 
 defeat in clamour. The conclusion of her harangue, 
 however, was highly displeasing to us all. She knew, 
 she said, of some who had their own secret reasons 
 for what they advised ; but, for her part, she wished 
 such to stay away from her house for the future. 
 " Madam," cried Burchell, with looks of great com- 
 posure, which tended to inflame her the more, " as for 
 secret reasons, you are right : I have secret reasons, 
 which I forbear to mention, because you are not able 
 to answer those of which I make no secret; but I find 
 /my visits here are become troublesome ; I'll take my 
 / leave, therefore, now, and perhaps come once more to 
 take a final farewell when I am quitting the country." 
 Thus saying, he took up his hat ; nor could the attempts 
 of Sophia, whose looks seemed to upbraid his precipitancy, 
 prevent his going. 
 
 When gone, we all regarded each other for some 
 minutes with confusion. My wife, who knew herself 
 to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a 
 forced smile and an air of assurance, which I was 
 willing to reprove. "How, woman," cried I to her, 
 " is it thus we treat strangers ? Is it thus we return 
 nieir kindness ? Be assured, my dear, that these were 
 the harshest words, and' to me the most unpleasing, 
 that ever escaped your lips ! " " Why would he pro- 
 voke me, then?" replied she; "but I know the motives 
 of his advice perfectly well. He would prevent my 
 girls from going to town that he may have the pleasure 
 of my youngest daughter's company here at home. But, 
 whatever happens, she shall choose better company than 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 69 
 
 such low-lived fellows as he." " Low-lived, my dear, 
 do you call him?" cried I; "it is. Jiy_pQSsible._ we^ 
 
 may mistake^ jhis man's changer, for hp seems, upon 
 
 some occasions, the most finished gpnHpmsn T ^ver 
 knej^ Tell me, Sophia, my girl, has he ever given 
 you any secret instances of his attachment ? " " His 
 conversation with me, Sir," replied my daughter, " has 
 ever been sensible, modest, and pleasing. As to ought 
 else no, never. Once, indeed, I remember to have 
 heard him say, he never knew a woman who rnnld 
 find merit irL^-inaii-Jthat : _seemed poor." " Such, my 
 dear," cried I, "is the common cant of all the un- 
 fortunate or idle. But I hope you have been taught 
 .to judge properly of such men, and that it would be 
 \ even madness to expect happiness from one who has 
 1 been so very bad an economist of his own. Your 
 [jnother and I have now better prospects for you. The 
 next winter, which you will probably spend in town, 
 will give you opportunities of making a more prudent 
 choice." 
 
 What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion I 
 
 cannot pretend to determine ; but I was not displeased 
 
 at the bottom that we were rid of a guest from whom 
 
 /{. had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went 
 
 1 to my conscience fi little ; but I quickly silenced that 
 
 \ monitor by two or three specious reason.Sj which served 
 
 \tp satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which 
 
 conscience gives the man who has already done wrong 
 
 is soon got over. Conscience is a coward ; and those 
 
 faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom 
 
 has justice enough to accuse. 
 
Chapter XIV 
 
 THE journey of my daughters to town was now resolved 
 upon, Mr Thornhill having kindly promised to inspect 
 their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of their 
 behaviour. But it was thought indispensably necessary 
 that their appearance should equal the greatness of their 
 expectations, which could not be done without expense. 
 We debated therefore in full council what were the 
 easiest methods of raising money, or, more properly 
 speaking, what we could most conveniently sell. The 
 deliberation was soon finished : it was found that our 
 remaining horse was utterly useless for the plough 
 without his companion, and equally unfit for the road, 
 as wanting an eye : it was therefore determined that 
 we should dispose of him, for the purposes above 
 mentioned, at the neighbouring fair j and to prevent 
 imposition, that I should go with him myself. Though 
 this was one of the first mercantile transactions of my 
 life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with 
 /reputation. The opinion a man forms of his own 
 ^prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps : 
 lv ~ and as mine was most in the family way, I had con- 
 ceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wisdom. 
 My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had 
 got some paces from the door, called me back to advise 
 me, in a whisper, to have all my eyes about me. 
 
 I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, 
 
 70 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 7! 
 
 put my horse through all his paces, but for some time 
 had no bidders. At last a chapman approached, and 
 after he had for a good while examined the horse 
 round, finding him blind of one eye, he would have 
 nothing to say to him ; a second came up, but observing 
 that he had a spavin, declared he would not take him 
 for the driving home ; a third perceived he had a 
 wind-gall, and would bid no money ; a fourth knew 
 by his eye that he had the botts ; a fifth wondered 
 what a plague I could do at the fair with a blind, 
 spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a 
 dog kennel. By this time, I began to have a most hearty 
 contempt for the poor animal myself, and was almost 
 ashamed at the approach of every customer ; for though I 
 did not entirely believe all the fellows told me, yet I 
 reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong pre- 
 sumption they were right ; and St Gregory, upon Good 
 Works, professes himself to be of the same opinion. 
 
 I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergy- 
 man, an old acquaintance, who had also business at the fair, 
 came up, and, shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourn- 
 ing to a public-house, and taking a glass of whatever we 
 could get. I readily closed with the offer, and entering an 
 alehouse, we were shown into a little back room, where 
 was only a venerable old man, who sat wholly intent over 
 a large book, which he was reading. I never in my life 
 saw a figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His 
 locks of silver grey venerably shaded his temples, and his 
 green old age seemed to be the result of health and bene- 
 volence. However, his presence did not interrupt our 
 conversation : my friend and I discoursed on the various 
 turns of fortune we had met ; the Whistonian controversy, 
 my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, and the hard 
 
72 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short 
 time taken off, by the appearance of a youth, who, entering 
 the room, respectfully said something softly to the old 
 stranger. " Make no apologies, my child," said the old 
 man; "to do good is a duty we owe to all our fellow- 
 creatures. Take this, I wish it were more ; but five 
 pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome." 
 The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his 
 gratitude was scarce equal to mine. I could have hugged 
 the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me 
 so. He continued to read, and we resumed our conversa- 
 tion, until my companion, after some time, recollecting that 
 he had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon 
 back ; adding, that he always desired to have as much of 
 Dr Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman, 
 hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me with 
 attention for some time ; and when my friend was gone, 
 most respectfully demanded if I was any way related to 
 the great Primrose, that courageous monogamist, who had 
 been the bulwark of the Church. Never did my heart feel 
 sincerer rapture than at that moment. " Sir," cried I, 
 "the applause of so good a man as I am sure you are, adds 
 to that happiness in my breast which your benevolence has 
 already excited. You behold before you, Sir, that Dr. 
 Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been pleased 
 to call great. You here see that unfortunate divine, who 
 has so long, and it would ill become me to say, successfully 
 fought against the deuterogamy of the age." " Sir," cried 
 the stranger, struck with awe, " I fear I have been too 
 familiar, but you'll forgive my curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon." 
 " Sir," cried I, grasping his hand, " you are so far from 
 displeasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg you'll 
 accept my friendship, as you have already my esteem." 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 73 
 
 "Then with gratitude I accept the offer," cried he, squeez- 
 ing me by the hand, " thou glorious pillar of unshaken 
 
 orthodoxy ! and do I behold " 1 here interrupted what 
 
 he was going to say ; for though, as an author, I could 
 digest no small share of flattery, yet now my modesty 
 would permit no more. However, no lovers in romance 
 ever cemented a more instantaneous friendship. We talked 
 upon several subjects : at first I thought he seemed rather 
 devout than learned, and began to think he despised all 
 human doctrines as dross. Yet this no way lessened him 
 in my esteem, for I had for some time begun privately to 
 harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took occasion 
 to observe, that the world in general began to be blameably 
 indifferent as to doctrinal matters, and followed human 
 speculations too much. " Ay, Sir," replied he, as if he 
 had reserved all his learning to that moment, "Ay, Sir^the, 
 jworld is in its dotage ; and yet the cosmogony, or creation 
 ^oLthe world, has puzzled philosophers of all ages. What 
 a medley of opinions have they not broached upon the 
 creation of the world ! Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, 
 and Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted it in vain. The 
 latter has these words, Anarcbon ara kai atelutalon to pan, 
 which imply that all things have neither beginning nor end. 
 Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon- 
 Asser Asser being a Syriac word, usually applied as a 
 surname to the kings of that country, as Teglat Phael- 
 Asser, Nabon-Asser he, I say, formed a conjecture 
 equally absurd; for as we usually say, ek to bibllon kubernetes, 
 which implies that books will never teach the world; so he 
 
 attempted to investigate But, Sir, I ask pardon, I am 
 
 straying from the question." That he actually was ; nor 
 could I, for my life, see how the creation of the world had 
 anything to do with the business I was talking of ; but it 
 
74 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 was sufficient to show me that he was a man of letters, and 
 I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved, therefore, 
 to bring him to the touchstone ; but he was too mild and 
 too gentle to contend for victory. Whenever I made an 
 observation that looked like a challenge to controversy, he 
 would smile, shake his head, and say nothing ; by which I 
 understood he could say much, if he thought proper. The 
 subject, therefore, insensibly changed from the business 
 of antiquity, to that which brought us both to the fair : 
 mine, I told him, was to sell a horse, and very luckily, 
 indeed, his was to buy one for one of his tenants. My 
 horse was soon produced; and, in fine, we struck a bar- 
 gain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he 
 accordingly pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me 
 change it. Not being in a capacity of complying with 
 this demand, he ordered his footman to be called up, 
 who made his appearance in a very genteel livery. 
 " Here, Abraham," cried he, " go and get gold for 
 this ; you'll do it at neighbour Jackson's or any- 
 where." While the fellow was gone, he entertained 
 me with a pathetic harangue on the great scarcity of 
 silver, which I undertook to improve, by deploring also 
 the great scarcity of gold ; so that, by the time Abraham 
 returned, we had both agreed that money was never 
 so hard to be come at as now. Abraham returned to 
 inform us, that he had been over the whole fair, and 
 could not get change, though he had offered half-a- 
 crown for doing it. This was a very great disappoint- 
 ment to us all ; but the old gentleman, having paused a 
 little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flamborongh in 
 my part of the country. Upon replying that he was 
 my next-door neighbour : " If that be the case, then," 
 returned he, " I believe we shall deal. You shall have 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 75 
 
 a draft upon him, payable at sight ; and, let me tell 
 you, he is as warm a man as any within five miles 
 round him. Honest Solomon and I have been ac- 
 quainted for many years together. I remember I always 
 beat him at three jumps ; but he could hop on one leg 
 further than I." A draft upon my neighbour was to 
 me the same as money ; for I was sufficiently convinced 
 of his ability. The draft was signed, and put into my 
 hands, and Mr Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man 
 Abraham, and my horse, old Blackberry, trotted off very 
 well pleased with each other. 
 
 After a short interval, being left to reflection, I began 
 to recollect that I had done wrong in taking a draft 
 from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon 
 following the purchaser, and having back my horse. 
 But this was now too late ; I therefore made directly 
 homewards, resolving to get the draft changed into 
 money at my friend's as fast as possible. I found my 
 honest neighbour smoking his pipe at his own door, 
 and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he 
 read it twice over. " You can read the name, I sup- 
 pose," cried I " Ephraim Jenkinson." " Yes," re- 
 turned he, '^the name is written plain enough, and I 
 know the gentleman too the greatest rascal under the 
 canopy of heaven. This is the very same rogue who 
 sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable-looking 
 man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes ? 
 And did he not talk a long string of learning about 
 jGreek, and cosmogony, and the world ? " To this I 
 replied with a groan. " Ay," continued he, " he has; 
 but that one piece of learning in the world, and he 
 always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar in 
 company ; but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet." \ 
 
 o u 
 
 \ A . 
 
76 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my 
 greatest struggle was to come, in facing my wife and 
 daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of return- 
 ing to school, there to behold the master's visage, 
 than I was of going home. I was determined, how- 
 ever, to anticipate their fury, by first falling into a 
 passion myself. 
 
 But, alas ! upon entering, I found the family no way 
 disposed for battle. My wife and girls were all in tears, 
 Mr Thornhill having been there that day to inform them 
 that their journey to town was entirely over. The two 
 ladies, having heard reports of us from some malicious 
 person about us, were that day set out for London. 
 He could neither discover the tendency nor the author 
 of these ; but whatever they might be, or whoever might 
 have broached them, he continued to assure our family 
 of his friendship and protection. I found, therefore, 
 that they bore my disappointment with great resigna- 
 tion, as it was eclipsed in the greatness of their own. 
 But what perplexed us most, was to think who could 
 be so base as to asperse the character of a family so 
 harmless as ours ; too humble to excite envy, and too 
 inoffensive to create disgust. 
 
Chapter XV 
 
 THAT evening, and a part of the following day, was 
 employed in fruitless attempts to discover our enemies : 
 scarcely a family in the neighbourhood but incurred 
 our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our 
 opinions best known to ourselves. As we were in 
 /this perplexity, one of our little boys, who had been 
 playing abroad, brought in a letter-case, which he found 
 on the green. It was quickly known to belong to Mr 
 JBurchell, with whom it had been seen, and, upon ex- 
 amination, contained some hints upon different subjects; 
 but what particularly engaged our attention was a 
 sealed note, superscribed, the copy of a letter to be sent to 
 the ladles at Thornhill Castle. It instantly occurred that 
 ie was the base informer, and we deliberated whether 
 the note should not be broken open. I was against it ; 
 but Sophia, who said she was sure that of all men he 
 would be the last to be guilty of so much baseness, 
 insisted upon its being read. In this she was seconded 
 by the rest of the family, and at their joint solicitation 
 I read as follows : 
 
 " Ladies, The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as 
 to the person from whom this comes : one at least the 
 friend of innocence, and ready to prevent its being 
 seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you have 
 some intention of bringing two young ladies to town, 
 whom I have some knowledge of, under the character 
 
 th 
 he 
 
78 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 of companions. As I would neither have simplicity 
 imposed upon, nor virtue contaminated, I must offer it 
 as my opinion, that the impropriety of such a step will 
 be attended with dangerous consequences. It has never 
 been my way to treat the infamous or the lewd with 
 severity ; nor should I now have taken this method of 
 explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at 
 guilt. Take, therefore, the admonition of a friend, and 
 seriously reflect on the consequences & introducing in- 
 famy and vice into retreats where peace and innocence 
 have hitherto resided." 
 
 Ouf doubts were now at an end. There seemecL-iii:: 
 jleed, something applicable__tr> both siHps in this IPHW, 
 ajid its censures might as well_bf ref prrf> d r> thnQP to 
 whom it was writtoyas-ta-us ; but the malicious meaning 
 was obvious, and we went no farther. My wife had 
 scarcely patience to hear me to the end, but railed at 
 the writer with unrestrained resentment. Olivia was 
 equally severe, and Sophia seemed perfectly amazed 
 at his baseness. As for my part, it appeared to me 
 one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I 
 had met with ; nor could I account for it in any other 
 manner than by imputing it to his desire of detaining 
 my youngest daughter in the country, to have the more 
 frequent opportunities of an interview. In this manner 
 we all sat ruminating upon schemes of vengeance, when 
 our other little boy came running in to tell us that Mr 
 Burchell was approaching at the other end of the field. 
 It is easier to conceive than describe the complicated 
 sensations which are felt from the pain of a recent injury, 
 and the pleasure of approaching vengeance. Though our 
 intentions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, 
 yet it was resolved to do it in a manner that would be 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 79 
 
 perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to meet 
 him with our usual smiles ; to chat in the beginning with 
 I more than ordinary kindness, to amuse him a little; and 
 then, }n the midst of the flattering calm, to burst upon him 
 like an earthquake, and overwhelm him with a sense of 
 is own baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife 
 ; undertook to manage the business herself, as she really 
 ^ had some talents for such an undertaking. We saw him 
 approach ; he entered, drew a chair, and sat down. " A 
 fine day, Mr Burchell." "A very fine day, Doctor; 
 though I fancy we shall have some rain by the shooting 
 of my corns." "The shooting of your horns!" cried 
 my wife, in a loud fit of laughter, and then asked 
 pardon for being fond of a joke. " Dear madam," replied 
 he, " I pardon you with all my heart, for I protest I 
 should not have thought it a joke had you not told 
 me." " Perhaps not, Sir," cried my wife, winking at 
 us ; " and yet I dare say you can tell us how many 
 jokes go to an ounce." " I fancy, madam," returned 
 Burchell, "you have been reading a jest book this morn- 
 ing, that ounce of jokes is so very good a conceit ; and 
 yet, madam, I had rather see half an ounce of under- 
 standing." "I believe you might," cried my wife, still 
 smiling at us, though the laugh was against her ; " and 
 yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding that 
 have very little." " And no doubt," returned her antago- 
 nist, " you have known ladies set up for wit that had 
 none." I quickly began to find that my wife was likely 
 to gain but little at this business ; so I resolved to treat 
 him in a style of more severity myself. " Both wit and 
 understanding," cried I, " are trifles, without integrity j 
 it is that which gives value to every character. The 
 ignorant peasant without fault is greater than the philo- 
 
8o The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 sopher with many , for what is genius or courage without 
 an heart ? 
 
 " * An honest man's the noblest work of God.' " 
 
 " I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope," re- 
 turned Mr Burchell, " as very unworthy a man of genius, 
 and a base desertion of his own superiority. As the 
 reputation of books is raised, not by their freedom from 
 defect, but the greatness of their beauties ; so should 
 that of men be prized, not for their exemption from 
 fault but the size of those virtues they are possessed 
 of. The scholar may want prudence, the statesman 
 may have pride, and the champion ferocity ; but shall 
 we prefer to these the low mechanic, who laboriously 
 plods on through life without censure or applause ? We 
 might as well prefer the tame correct paintings of the 
 Flemish school to the erroneous but sublime animations 
 of the Roman pencil." 
 
 "Sir," replied I, "your present observation is just, 
 when there are shining virtues and minute defects ; but 
 when it appears that great vices are opposed in the same 
 mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves 
 contempt." 
 
 "Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such mon- 
 sters as you describe, of great vices joined to great 
 virtues , yet in my progress through life, I never yet 
 found one instance of their existence : on the contrary, 
 I have ever perceived, that where the mind was capacious, 
 the affections were good. And indeed Providence seems 
 kindly our friend in this particular, thus to debilitate 
 the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish 
 the power where there is the will to do mischief. This 
 rule seems to extend even to other animals: the little 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 81 
 
 vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, 
 whilst those endowed with strength and power are 
 generous, brave, and gentle." 
 
 "These observations sound well," returned I, "and 
 yet it would be easy this moment to point out a man," 
 and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon him, " whose head 
 and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, Sir," 
 continued I, raising my voice, "and I am glad to have 
 this opportunity of detecting him in the midst of his 
 fancied security. Do you know this, Sir, this pocket- 
 book?" "Yes, Sir," returned he, with a face of im- 
 penetrable assurance,- "that pocket-book is mine, and I 
 am glad you have found it." " And do you know," 
 cried I, " this letter ? Nay, never falter, man, but look 
 me full in the face ; I say do you know this letter ? " 
 "That letter?" returned he; "yes, it was I that 
 wrote that letter." "And how could you." said L "so 
 basely, so ungratefully presume to write this l^ft^ 
 * * And how came you T " repli^H hp ; with looks of 
 paralleled effrontery, " so basely to presume to break 
 open this letter ? Don't you know, now, I could hang| 
 you all for this ? All that I have to do is to swear atj 
 the next justice's that you have been guilty of breaking 
 open the lock of my pocket-book, and so hang you all\ 
 up at his door." This piece of unexpected insolence/ 
 raised me to such a pitch, that I could scarce govern 
 my passion. " Ungrateful wretch ! begone, and no longer 
 pollute my dwelling with thy baseness ! begone, and 
 never let me see thee again ! Go from my door, and 
 the only punishment I wish thee is an alarmed conscience, 
 which will be a sufficient tormentor ! " So saying, I 
 threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a 
 smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost com- 
 
82 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 posure, left us, quite astonished at the serenity of his 
 
 ["assurance. My wife was particularly enraged that nothing 
 
 { could make him angry, or make him seem ashamed of 
 
 vjiis villainies: " My dear," cried I, willing to calm those 
 
 passions that had been raised too high among us, " we 
 
 are not to be surprised that bad men want shame : they 
 
 j)nly blush at being detected in doing good, but glory 
 
 in their vices. 
 
 " Guilt and Shame, says the allegory, were at first com- 
 panions, and, in the beginning of their journey, inseparably 
 kept together. But their union was soon found to be dis- 
 agreeable and inconvenient to both. Guilt gave Shame 
 frequent uneasiness, and Shame often betrayed the secret 
 conspiracies of Guilt. After long disagreement, therefore, 
 they at length consented to part for ever. Guilt boldly 
 walked forward alone, to overtake Fate, that went before 
 in the shape of an executioner ; but Shame, being naturally 
 timorous, returned back to keep company with Virtue, 
 which in the beginning of their journey they had left 
 behind. Thus, my children, after men have travelled 
 though a few stages in vice, shame forsakes them, and 
 returns back to wait upon the few virtues they have 
 still remaining." 
 
Chapter XVI 
 
 WHATEVER might have been Sophia's sensations, the 
 rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr Burchell's 
 absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits 
 now became more frequent, and longer. Though he 
 had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the 
 amusements of the town, as he designed, he took 
 every opportunity of supplying them with those little 
 recreations which our retirement would admit of. He 
 usually came in the morning ; and, while my son and 
 I followed our occupations abroad, he sat with the 
 family at home, and amused them by describing the 
 town, with every part of which he was particularly 
 acquainted. He could repeat all the observations that 
 were retailed in the atmosphere of the play-houses, and 
 had all the good things of the high wits by rote, long 
 before they made their way into the jest books. The 
 intervals between conversation were employed in teach- 
 ing piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to 
 box, to make them sharp, as he called it : but the hopes 
 of having him for a son-in-law in som,e measure bjmded_ 
 us^lo__aIL_Jus imperfections. It must be owned, that 
 my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him ; or to 
 speak it more tenderly, used every art to magnify the 
 merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and 
 crisp, they were made by Olivia ; if the gooseberry wine 
 was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering : it 
 
 83 
 
84 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 was her fingers which gave the pickles their peculiar 
 green ; and, in the composition of a pudding, it was her 
 judgment that mixed the ingredients. Then the poor 
 woman would sometimes tell the ' Squire, that she thought 
 him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both 
 stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of 
 cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which every- 
 body saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, 
 who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, 
 which, though they had not arisen to proposals of mar- 
 riage, yet we thought fell but little short of it ; and his 
 slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, 
 and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An 
 occurrence, however, which happened soon after, put it 
 beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of 
 our family ; my wife even regarded it as an absolute 
 promise. 
 
 My wife and daughters happening to return a visit to 
 neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had lately 
 got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the 
 country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. 
 As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point 
 of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march 
 upon us ; and, notwithstanding all I could say, and I said 
 much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures 
 done too. 
 
 Having, therefore, engaged the limner, for what could 
 I do ? our next deliberation was to show the superiority 
 of our tastes in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's 
 family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn 
 with seven oranges, a thing quite out of taste, no variety 
 in life, no composition in the world. We desired to have 
 something in a brighter style ; and, after many debates, at 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 85 
 
 length came to a unanimous resolution of being drawn 
 together, in one large historical family piece. This would 
 be cheaper, since one frame wnnlH SPTVP for ^]] > ^nH it 
 wonjd he-itAutely more genteel ; for all families of any 
 taste jwgre-nQML d raw n i" the same manner. As_wg_diH 
 not immediately recollect an hisfnriral snhjprf to hit nsj w*> 
 were contented each with K^ing drawn a* 
 
 historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as 
 Venus, and the"~painter was desired not to be too frugal 
 of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two 
 little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while 1,1 
 in my gown and band, was to present her with myl 
 books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would be 
 drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, 
 dressed in a green Joseph, richly laced in gold, and a 
 whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, 
 with as many sheep as the painter could put in for 
 nothing ; and Moses was to be dressed out with a hat 
 and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the 
 'Squire, that he insisted on being put in as one of the 
 family, in the character of Alexander the Grpat^ at 
 Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indica- 
 tion of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor 
 could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore 
 set to work, and, as he wrought with assiduity and ex- 
 pedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. 
 The piece was large, and, it must be owned, he did not 
 spare his colours ; for which my wife gave him great 
 encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his per- 
 formance ; but an unfortunate circumstance had not oc- 
 curred till the picture was finished, which now struck us 
 with dismay. It was so very large, that we had no place 
 in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard so 
 
86 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 material a point is inconceivable ; but certain it is, we had 
 been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, instead 
 of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most 
 mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the 
 canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be 
 got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our 
 neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's long- 
 boat, too large to be removed ; another thought it more 
 resembled a reel in a bottle ; some wondered how it 
 could be got out, but still more were amazed how it 
 ever got in. 
 
 But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually 
 raised more malicious suggestions in many. The 'Squire's 
 portrait being found united with ours was an honour too 
 great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers began to 
 circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was con- 
 tinually disturbed by persons, who came as fr.iends to tell 
 us what was said of us by enemies. These reports we 
 always resented with becoming spirit ; but scandal ever 
 improves by opposition. 
 
 We once again, therefore, entered into a consultation 
 upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at last 
 came to a resolution which had too much cunning to 
 give me entire satisfaction. It was this : as our principal 
 object was to discover the honour of Mr Thornhill's 
 addresses, my wife undertook to sound him, by pretend- 
 ing to ask his advice in the choice of a husband for her 
 eldest daughter. If this was not found sufficient to 
 induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to 
 terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I 
 would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave 
 me the most solemn assurances that she would marry 
 the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 87 
 
 he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was 
 the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously 
 oppose, I did not entirely approve. 
 
 The next time, therefore, that Mr Thornhill came to 
 see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in order 
 to give their mamma an opportunity of putting her scheme 
 in execution ; but they only retired to the next room, 
 from whence they could overhear the whole conversa- 
 tion. My wife artfully introduced it, by observing that 
 one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a very 
 good match of it in Mr Spanker. To this the 'Squire 
 assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who 
 had warm fortunes were always sure of getting 
 good husbands : " But Heaven help," continued she, 
 " the girls that have none ! What signifies beauty, 
 Mr Thornhill ? or what signifies all the virtue, and 
 all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self- 
 interest ? It is not, What is she ? but, What has she ? 
 is all the cry." 
 
 " Madam," returned he, " I highly approve the justice, 
 as well as the novelty, of your remarks ; and if I 
 were a king, it should be otherwise. It should then, 
 indeed, be fine times with the girls without fortunes : 
 our two young ladies should be the first for whom I 
 would provide." 
 
 "Ah, Sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be 
 facetious : but I wish I were a queen, and then I know 
 where my eldest daughter should look for a husband. 
 But, now that you have put it into my head, seriously, 
 Mr Thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband ] 
 for her ! She is now nineteen years old, well grown, and 
 well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want 
 for parts." 
 
88 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 " Madam," replied he, " if I were to choose, I would 
 find out a person possessed of every accomplishment 
 that can make an angel happy. One with prudence, 
 fortune, taste, and sincerity ; such, madam, would be, in 
 my opinion, the proper husband." " Ay, Sir," said 
 she, "but do you know of any such person?" " No, 
 madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know any 
 person that deserves to be her husband : she's too 
 great a treasure for one man's possession ; she's a 
 goddess ! Upon my soul, I speak what I think she's 
 an angel ! " " Ah, Mr Thornhill, you only flatter my 
 poor girl : but we have been thinking of marrying 
 her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately 
 dead, and who wants a manager ; you know whom 
 I mean, farmer Williams ; a warm man, Mr Thornhill, 
 able to give her good bread, and who has several times 
 made her proposals " (which was actually the case) ; " but, 
 Sir," concluded she, " I should be glad to have your 
 approbation of our choice." "How, madam," replied he, 
 
 my approbation ! my approbation of such a choice ! 
 er. What ! sacrifice so much beauty, and sense, and 
 goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing ! 
 Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of 
 injustice. And I have my reasons." " Indeed, Sir," cried 
 Deborah, " if you have your reasons, that's another affair ; 
 but I should be glad to know those reasons." " Excuse 
 me, madam," returned he, " they . lie too deep for 
 discovery" (laying his hand upon his bosom); "they 
 remain buried, riveted here." 
 
 After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we 
 could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. 
 Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted 
 passion ; but I was not quite so sanguine : it seemed to me 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 89 
 
 pretty plain, that they had more of love than matrimony 
 jn themj_ yet, whatever they might portend, it was re- 
 solved to prosecute the scheme of farmer Williams, who, 
 from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had 
 paid her his addresses. 
 
Chapter XVII 
 
 As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity 
 of Mr Williams pleased me, as he was in easy circum- 
 stances, prudent, and sincere. It required but very little 
 encouragement to revive his former passion ; so that in an 
 evening or two he and Mr Thornhill met at our house, and 
 surveyed each other for some time with looks of anger ; 
 but Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded 
 his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to 
 perfection, if that might be called acting which was her 
 ^al ^EaracterT^pTHendmg to lavish ^TTTierTenderness on 
 her new lover. Mr Thornhill appeared quite dejected at 
 this preference, and with a pensive air took leave, though 
 I own it puzzled me to find him in so much pain as he 
 appeared to be, when he had it in his power so easily to 
 remove the cause, by declaring an honourable passion. But 
 whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it could easily 
 be perceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After 
 any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there 
 were several, she usually retired to solitude, and there 
 indulged her grief. It was in such a situation I found her 
 one evening, after she had been for some time supporting 
 a fictitious gaiety. " You now see, my child," said I, 
 " that your confidence in Mr ThornhilPs passion was all 
 a dream : he permits the rivalry of another, every way his 
 inferior, though he knows it lies in his power to secure 
 .you to himself by a candid declaration." " Yes, papa," 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 91 
 
 returned she ; " but he has his reasons for this delay : I 
 know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words con- 
 vinces me of his real esteem. A short time, I hope, will 
 discover the generosity of his sentiments, and convince you 
 that my opinion of him has been more "just than yours." 
 " Olivia, my darling," returned I, " every scheme that 
 has been hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration 
 has been proposed and planned by yourself; nor can you 
 in the least say that I have constrained you. But you must 
 not suppose, my dear, that I will ever be instrumental in 
 suffering his honest rival to be the dupe of your ill-placed 
 passion. Whatever time you require to bring your fancied 
 admirer to an explanation shalh~be g^mted"; but ar~tEeT 
 expirafidrr-of- that term, if he is still regardless, I must 
 absolutely insist thatjionest Mr Williams shall be rewarded 
 for hijTfidelity. The character which I have hitherto sup- 
 ported in life demands this from me, and my tenderness as 
 a parent shall never influence my integrity as a man. Name, 
 then, your day ; let it be as distant as you think proper ; 
 and in the meantime, take care to let Mr Thornhill know! 
 the exact time on which I design delivering you up to \ 
 another. If he really loves you, his own good sense will I 
 readily suggest that there is but one method alone to pre- / 
 vent his losing you for ever." This proposal, which she * 
 could not avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily 
 agreed to. She again renewed her most positive promise 
 of marrying Mr Williams, in case of the other's insensi- 
 bility ; and at the next opportunity, in Mr Thornhill's 
 presence, that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials 
 with his rival. 
 
 Such vigorous proceedings seem to redouble Mr Thorn- 
 hill's anxiety : but what Olivia really felt gave me some 
 uneasiness. In this struggle between prudence and pas- 
 
92 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 sion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every opportunity 
 of solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week 
 passed away ; but Mr Thornhill made no efforts to restrain 
 her nuptials. Thj5ucceeding week he was stiTTassiduous ; 
 
 btrt-nornmonTopen. On the third he discontinued his visits 
 entirely, and instead of my daughter testifying any im- 
 patience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive 
 tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my 
 
 ^owiT]part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that 
 my child was going to be secured in a continuance of 
 competence and peace, and frequently applauded her re- 
 solution in preferring happiness to ostentation. 
 
 It was within about four days^of Jiex Intended nuptials, 
 that my littTeTfamily at night were gathered round a charm- 
 ing fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for 
 the future : busied in forming a thousand projects, and 
 laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. "Well, 
 Moses," cried I, " we shall soon, my boy, have a wed- 
 ding in the family : what is your opinion of matters and 
 things in general?" "My opinion, father, is, that all 
 things go on very well : and I was just now thinking, 
 that when sister Livy is married to farmer Williams, we 
 shall then have the loan of his cider-press and brewing- 
 tubs for nothing." " That we shall, Moses," cried I, 
 " and he will sing us Death and the Lady, to raise our 
 spirits into the bargain." " He has taught that song to 
 our Dick," cried Moses ; " and I think he goes through 
 it very prettily." " Does he so?" cried I; "then let 
 us have it : where's little Dick ? let him up with it 
 boldly." " My brother Dick," cried Bill, my youngest, 
 " is just gone out with sister Livy : but Mr Williams 
 has taught me two songs, and I'll sing them for you, 
 papa. Which song do you choose, The Dying Swan, or 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 93 
 
 the Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog? 9 ' "The elegy, 
 child, by all means," said I; "I never heard that yet: 
 and Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry ; let us 
 have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up 
 our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of elegies 
 of late, that without an enlivening glass I am sure this 
 will overcome me ; and Sophy, love, take your guitar, 
 and thrum in with the boy a little." 
 
 AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 
 
 Good people all, of every sort, 
 
 Give ear unto my song, 
 And if you find it wond'rous jshort, 
 
 It cannot hold you long. 
 
 In Islington there was a man, 
 
 Of whom the world might say 
 That still a godly race he ran, 
 
 Whene'er he went to pray. 
 
 A kind and gentle heart he had, 
 
 To comfort friends and foes ; 
 The naked every day he clad, 
 
 When he put on his clothes. 
 
 And in that town a dog was found, 
 
 As many dogs there be, 
 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 
 
 And curs of low degree. 
 
 This dog and man at first were friends ; 
 
 But when a pique began, 
 The dog, to gain some private ends, 
 
 Went mad, and bit the man. 
 
 Around from all the neighbouring streets 
 
 The wond'ring neighbours ran, 
 And swore the dog had lost his wits, . 
 
 To bite so good a man. / 
 
94 The Vicar of Wcakefield 
 
 The wound it seemed both sore and sad 
 
 To every Christian eye ; 
 And while they swore the dog was mad, 
 
 They swore the man would die. 
 
 (But soon a wonder came to light, 
 That showed the rogues they lied : 
 The man recovered of the bite 
 The dog it was that died. 
 
 " A very good boy, Bill, upon my word ; and an elegy 
 that may truly be called tragical. Come, my children, 
 here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a bishop ! " 
 
 <4 With all my heart," cried my wife: "and if he but 
 preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of him. 
 The most of his family, by the mother's side, could sing 
 a good song : it was a common saying in our country, that 
 the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight 
 before them, nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle ; that 
 there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, 
 or of the Marjorams but could tell a story." "However 
 that be," cried I, " the most vulgar ballad of them all 
 generally pleases me better than the fine modenj^gdes. and 
 things that petrify us in a single stanza productions that 
 we at once detest and praise. Put the glass to your 
 brother, Moses. The great fault of these elegiasts is, 
 that they are in despair for griefs that give the sensible 
 part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, 
 her fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to 
 versify the disaster." 
 
 "That may be the mode," cried Moses, "in sublimer 
 compositions : but the Ranelagh songs that come down to 
 us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the same mould : 
 Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together ; he 
 gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 95 
 
 with a nosegay ; and then they go together to church, 
 where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains 
 to get married as fast as they can." 
 
 " And very good advice, too," cried I , " and I am told 
 there is not a place in the world where advice can be given 
 with so much propriety as there : for as it persuades us to 
 marry, it also furnishes us with a wife ; and surely that 
 must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told 
 what we want, and supplied with it when wanting." 
 
 " Yes, Sir," returned Moses, " and I know but of two 
 such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, 
 and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open 
 once a year ; but our English wives are saleable every 
 night." 
 
 " You are right, my boy," cried his mother ; " Old 
 England is the only place in the world for husbands to get 
 wives." " And for wives to manage their husbands," 
 interrupted I. " It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge 
 were built across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent 
 would come over to take pattern with ours ; for there are 
 no such wives in Europe as our own. But let us have one 
 bottle more, Deborah, my life ; and, Moses, give us a 
 good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for 
 thus bestowing tranquillity, health and competence! I 
 think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon 
 earth. He has no such fireside, nor such pleasant faces 
 about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old ; but 
 the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are 
 descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall 
 leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. 
 While we live, they will be our support and our pleasure 
 here : and when we die, they will transmit our honour 
 untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a 
 
96 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 song : let us have a chorus. But where is my darling 
 Olivia ? that little cherub's voice is always sweetest in 
 the concert." Just as I spoke Dick came running in. 
 " O papa, papa, she is gone from us, she is gone from 
 us ; my sister Livy is gone from us for ever ! " " Gone, 
 
 ^chiUT^^^^ Yes, she-^~gQiie"ofF with two gentlemen in 
 a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and said he 
 would die for her : and she cried very_much, and was for 
 coming back; but he persuaded her again, and she went 
 
 jinto_the_ chaise, and said, ' Oh, what will my poor papa 
 do when he knows I am undone ! ' : -" Now, then," 
 cried I, " my children, go and be miserable ; for we 
 shall never enjoy one hour more. And oh, may Heaven's 
 everlasting fury light upon him and his ! thus to rob 
 me of my child ! And sure it will, for taking back 
 my sweet innocent that I was leading up to Heaven. 
 Such sincerity as my child was possessed of! But all 
 our earthly happiness is now over ! Go, my children, go 
 and be miserable and infamous ; for my heart is broken 
 within me!" " Father,"cried my son, "is this your 
 
 , child ? yes, he shall see I have 
 
 _ 
 
 fortitude ! Bring me my pistols. I'll pursue the traitor 
 
 Awhile he is on earth I'll pursue him. Old as I am, he 
 shall find I can sting him yet. The villain, the perfidious 
 villain ! " I had by this time reached down my pistols, 
 when my poor wife, whose passions were not so strong 
 as mine, caught me in her arms. "My dearest, dearest 
 husband ! " cried she, " the Bible is the only weapon 
 that is fit for your old hands now. Open that, my 
 love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has 
 vilely deceived us." " Indeed, Sir," resumed my son, 
 after a pause, "your rage is too violent and unbecom- 
 ing. You should be my mother's comforter, and you 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 97 
 
 increase her pain. It ill suited you and your reverend 
 character thus to curse your greatest enemy : you should 
 not have cursed him, villain as he is." "I did not 
 curse him, child, did I?" "Indeed, Sir, you did; you 
 cursed him twice." "Then may Heaven forgive me 
 and him if I did ! And now, my son, I see it was 
 more than human benevolence that first taught us to 
 bless our enemies : Blessed be His holy name for all 
 the good He hath given, and for all that He hath taken 
 away. But it is not it is not a small distress that can 
 wring tears from these old eyes, that have not wept 
 for so many years. My child ! to undo my darling ! 
 
 May confusion seize Heaven forgive me ! what am 
 
 I about to say ! You may remember, my ^ove,_how 
 good shejwas, and how charmmgTTIirthis vile moment 
 "alTTier care was to make us happy. Had she but died ! 
 But she is gone, the honour of our family contaminated, 
 and I must look out for happiness in other worlds than 
 here. But, my child, you saw them go off: perhaps he 
 forced her away ? If he forced her, she may yet be 
 innocent." "Ah, no, sir," cried the child; "he only 
 kissed her, and called her his angel, and she wept very 
 much, and leaned upon his arm, and they drove off 
 very fast." " She's an ungrateful creature," cried my 
 wife, who could scarcely speak for weeping, " to use 
 us thus. She never had the least constraint put upon 
 her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted 
 her parents without any provocation, thus to bring your 
 grey hairs to the grave ; and I must shortly follow." 
 
 In this manner that night, the first of oar real mis- 
 fortunes, was spent in the bitterness of complaint, and 
 ill-supported sallies of enthusiasm. I determined, how- 
 ever, to find out our betrayer, wherever he was, and 
 
 G 
 
98 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 reproach his baseness. The next morning we missed 
 our wretched child at breakfast, where she used to 
 give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife, as 
 before, attempted to ease her heart by reproaches. 
 " Never," cried she, "shall that vilest stain of our 
 family again darken these harmless doors. I will never 
 call her daughter more. No, let the strumpet live^witrl~ 
 "tier" vile seducer : she~may bring us to shame, but she 
 shall never more deceive us." 
 
 ^J^ " do no^jtalk thus hardly : my de- 
 
 testation of her guilt is as great as yours ; but__ever^ 
 shaHthis "house and this hear? be open to a poor re- 
 turning repentant sinner. The sooner she returns from 
 Jier transgressions, the more welcome shall she be to 
 me. For the first time the very best may err ; art may 
 persuade, and novelty spread out its charm. The first 
 fault is the child of simplicity, but every other, the off- 
 spring of guilt. Yes, the wretched creature shall be 
 welcome to this heart and this house, though stained 
 with ten thousand vices. I will again hearken to the 
 music of her voice, again will I hang fondly on her 
 bosom, if I find but repentance there. My son, bring 
 hither my Bible and my staff: I will pursue her, wherever 
 she is j and though I cannot save her from shame, I may 
 prevent the continuance of iniquity." 
 
Chapter XVIII 
 
 
 
 THOUGH the child could not describe the gentleman's 
 / person who handed his sister into the post-chaise, yet 
 L_ my__suspicions fell entirely upon our young landlord, 
 whose character tor such intngues~~was~~btrt--toe wel 1 
 known. I therefore directed my steps towards Thorn- 
 hill Castle, resolving to upbraid him, and, if possible7 To 
 bring back my daughter : but before I had reached his 
 ( seat, I was met by one of my parishioners, who said he 
 I saw a young lady resembling my daughter in a post- 
 I chaise with a gentleman, whom by the description I 
 \ould only guess to be Mr BurchelL^and that they 
 drove very fasH This information, however, did by no 
 means satisfy me. I therefore went to the young 
 'Squire's, and, though it was yet early, insisted upon 
 seeing him immediately. He soon appeared with the 
 most open familiar air, and seemed perfectly amazed at 
 my daughter's elopement, protesting, upon his honour, 
 that he was quite a stranger to it. I now therefore 
 condemned my former suspicions, and could turn them 
 f"only on Mr Burchell, who, I recollected, had of late 
 I several private conferences with her ; but the appearance 
 of another witness left me no room to doubt his villainy, 
 who averred, that he and my daughter were actually 
 gone towards the Wells, about thirty miles off, where 
 there was a great deal of company. Being driven to 
 that state of mind in which we are all more ready to act 
 
 99 
 
ioo The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 precipitately than to reason right, I never debated with 
 myself whether these accounts might not have been 
 given by persons purposely placed in my way to mis- 
 lead me, but resolved to pursue my daughter and her 
 fancied deluder thither. I walked along with earnest- 
 ness, and inquired of several by the way ; but received 
 no accounts, till entering the town, I was met by a 
 person on horseback, whom I remembered to have seen 
 at the 'Squire's, and he assured me that if I followed 
 them to the * races, which were about thirty miles 
 farther, I might depend upon overtaking them ; for he 
 had seen them dance there the night before, and the 
 whole assembly seemed charmed with my daughter's 
 performance. Early the next day, I walked forward 
 to the races, and about four in the afternoon I came 
 upon the course. The company made a very brilliant 
 appearance, all earnestly employed in one pursuit, 
 that of pleasure ; how different from mine, that of 
 reclaiming a lost child to virtue ! I thought I per- 
 jceived Mr Burchell_ at some distance from me ; but, 
 as if he dreaded an interview, upon my approach- 
 ing him he mixed among a crowd, and I saw him no 
 more. 
 
 I now reflected that it would be to no purpose to 
 continue my pursuit farther, and resolved to return 
 home to an innocent family, who wanted my assistance. 
 But the agitations of my mind, and the fatigues I had 
 undergone, threw me into a fever, the___symptoms-- of 
 which I perceived before F came offthe course. This 
 was another unexpected stroke, as I was more than 
 seventy miles distant from home : however, I retired 
 to a little alehouse by the road-side ; and in this place, 
 the usual retreat of indigence and frugality, I laid me 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 101 
 
 down patiently to wait the issue of my disorder. I 
 languished here for near three weeks ; but at last my 
 constitution prevailed, though I was unprovided with 
 money to defray the expenses of my entertainment. It 
 is possible the anxiety from this last circumstance alone 
 might have brought on a relapse, had I not been 
 supplied by a traveller, who stopped to take a cursory 
 refreshment. This person was no other than the phil- 
 anthrophic bookseller in St Paul's Churchyard, who has 
 written so many little books for children : he called 
 himself their friend, but he was the friend of all man- 
 kind. He was no sooner alighted, but he was in haste 
 to be gone ; for he was ever on business of the utmost 
 importance, and was at that time actually compiling 
 materials for the history of one Mr Thomas Trip. I 
 immediately recollected this good-natured man's red 
 pimpled face ; for he had published for me against the 
 Deuterogamists of the age ; from him I borrowed a 
 few pieces, to be paid at my return. Leaving the inn, 
 therefore, as I was yet but weak, I resolved to return 
 home by easy journeys of ten miles a day. My health 
 and usual tranquillity were almost restored, and I now 
 condemned that pride which had made me refractory 
 to the hand of correction. Man little knows what 
 calamities are beyond his patience to bear, till he tries 
 them : as in ascending the heights of ambition, which 
 look bright from below, every step we rise shows us 
 some new and gloomy prospect of hidden disappoint- 
 ment : so in our descent from the summits of pleasure, 
 though the vale of misery below may appear at first 
 dark and gloomy, yet the busy mind, still attentive to 
 its own amusement, finds, as we descend, something to 
 flatter and to please. Still as we approach, the darkest 
 
102 - ;t .-3h6- -Vicar /.of 'Wakefield 
 
 " ' 
 
 objects appear to brighten, and the mental eye becomes 
 adapted to its gloomy situation. 
 
 I now proceeded forward, and had walked about two 
 hours, when I perceived what appeared at a distance 
 like a waggon, which I was resolved to overtake ; but 
 -"when I came up"with it, found it to be a strolling 
 company's cart, that was carrying their scenes and other 
 theatrical furniture to the next village, where they were 
 to exhibit. The cart was attended only by the person 
 who drove it, and one of the company, as the rest of 
 the players were to follow the ensuing day. " Good 
 company upon the road," says the proverb, " is the 
 shortest cut." I therefore entered into conversation 
 with the poor player ; and as I onde had some theatrical 
 powers myself, I disserted on such topics with my 
 usual freedom : but as I was pretty much unacquainted 
 with the present state of the stage, I demanded who 
 were the present theatrical writers in vogue who the 
 Drydens and Otways of the day ? " I fancy, Sir," cried 
 the player, " few of our modern dramatists would think 
 themselves much honoured by being compared to the 
 writers you mention. Dryden and Rowe's manners, Sir, 
 are quite out of fashion : our taste has gone back a 
 hole century ; .Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and all the plays 
 Shakespeare are the"""onl y things that KU down." 
 "How," cried I, "is it possible the present age can 
 be pleased with that antiquated dialect, that obsolete 
 humour, those overcharged characters, which abound in 
 the works you mention?" "Sir," returned my com- 
 panion, " the public think nothing about dialect, or 
 humour, or character, for that is none of their business ; 
 they only go to be amused, and find themselves happy 
 when they can enjoy a pantomime, under the sanction of 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 Jonson's or Shakespeare's name." "So then I suppose," 
 cried I, "that our modern dramatists are^rath^r-Jmitators 
 ->f nature." "To say the truth," 
 
 returned my companion, "T^on't know that they i 
 anything at all : nor, indeed, does the public require 
 it of them 5 it is not the composition of the piece, but 
 the number_of_starts and ptHfnrtpg that- may V intr - 
 duced[ into it, that elicits applause. I have known a 
 piece, with not one jest in the whole, shrugged into 
 popularity, and another saved by the poet's throwing 
 in a fit of the gripes. No, Sir, the works of Congreve 
 and Farquhar have too much wit in them for the present 
 taste ; our modern dialect is much more natural." 
 
 By this time, the equipage of the strolling company 
 was arrived at the village, which, it seems, had been 
 apprised of our approach, and was come out to gaze 
 at us ; for my companion observed, that strollers always 
 have more spectators without doors than within. I 
 did not consider the impropriety of my being in such 
 company, till I saw a mob gather about me. I there- 
 fore took shelter, as fast as possible, in the first ale- 
 house that offered ; and being shown into the common 
 room, was accosted by a well-dressed gentleman, who 
 demanded whether I was the real chaplain of the 
 company, or whether it was only to be my masquerade 
 character in the play ? Upon informing him of the 
 truth, and that I did not belong, in any sort, to the 
 company, he was condescending enough to desire me 
 and the player to partake in a bowl of punch, over 
 which he discussed modern politics with great earnestness 
 and interest. I set him down, in my own mind, for 
 nothing less than a parliament-man at least ; but was 
 
104 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 almost confirmed in my conjectures, when, upon asking 
 what there was in the house for supper, he insisted that 
 the player and I should sup with him at his house ; with 
 which request, after some entreaties, we were prevailed 
 on to comply. 
 
joy 
 
 Chapter XIX 
 
 THE house where we were to be entertained lying at 
 a small distance from the village, our inviter observed, 
 that as the coach was not ready, he would conduct us 
 on foot ; and we soon arrived at one of the mostmag- 
 nificent mansions rjiad seen in that" part of tKe^country 
 The apartment into which we were shown was perfectly 
 elegant and modern : he went to give orders for supper, 
 while the player, with a wink, observed that we were 
 perfectly in luck. Ou^entert^iner soon returned ; an 
 elegant supper was brought in ; two or three ladies in 
 easy^ dishabille were introduced, and the conversation 
 began with some sprightliness. Politics, however, were 
 the subject on which our entertainer chiefly expatiated ; 
 for he asserted that liberty was at once his boast and 
 his terror. After the cloth was removed, he asked me 
 if I had seen the last Monitor? to which, replying in the 
 negative, " What ! nor the Auditor, I suppose?" cried 
 he. " Neither, Sir," returned I. "That's strange, very 
 strange ! " replied my entertainer. " Now, I read all the 
 politics that come out : the Daily, the Public, the Ledger, 
 the Chronicle, the London Evening, the Whitehall Evening, 
 the seventeen Magazines, and the two Reviews ; and, 
 though they hate each other, I love them all. Liberty, 
 Sir, liberty is the Briton's boast ! and, by all my coal- 
 mines in Cornwall, I reverence its guardians." " Then, 
 it is to be hoped," cried I, " you reverence the king ? " 
 
104 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 almo^ Sj returned my entertainer, " when he does what 
 w J?e would have him ; but if he goes on as he has done 
 of late, I'll never trouble myself more with his matters. 
 I say nothing. I think only. I could have directed some 
 things better. I don't think there has been a sufficient 
 number of advisers : he should advise with every person 
 willing to give him advice, and then we should have 
 things done in another-guess manner." 
 
 "I wish," cried I, " that such intruding advisers were 
 fixed in the pillory. It should be the duty of honest 
 men to assist the weaker side of our constitution, that 
 sacred power that has for some years been every day 
 declining, and losing its due share of influence in the 
 State. But these ignorants still continue the same cry 
 of liberty, and, if they have any weight, basely throw it 
 into the subsiding scale." 
 
 " How ! " cried one of the ladies, " do I live to see one 
 so base, so sordid, as to be an enemy to liberty, and a 
 defender of tyrants ? jLiberty, thaj^sacred gift of Heaven^ 
 that glorious privilege oFBfltnns ! " 
 
 " Can it be possible," cried our entertainer, " that there 
 should be any found at present advocates for slavery ? 
 Any who are for meanly giving up the privileges of 
 Britons ? Can any, Sir, be so abject ? " 
 
 "No, Sir," replied I, "I am for liberty! that attribute 
 of gods ! Glorious liberty !_ that theme of modern 
 eclamation ! L_woii]H have all men kings ! T wonlH hp 
 
 king myself. We have all naturally an equal right to 
 the throne : we are all originally equal. This is my 
 opinion, and was once the opinion of a set of honest 
 men who were called Levellers. They tried to erect 
 themselves into a community, where all should be equally 
 free. But, alas ! it would never answer : for there were 
 
 A/ ^d 
 
 ^ 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 107 
 
 some among them stronger, and some more cunning, 
 than others, and these became masters of the rest ; for, 
 as sure as your groom rides your horses, because he is 
 a cunninger animal than they, so surely will the animal 
 that is cunninger or stronger than he, sit upon his 
 shoulders in turn. Since, then, it is entailed upon 
 humanity to submit, and some are born to command 
 and others to obey, the question is, as there must be 
 tyrants, whether it is better to have them in the same ?$ 
 house with us, or in the same village, or, still further ft*V 
 off, in the metropolis. Now, Sir, for my own part, as I j 
 naturally hate the face of a tyrant, the farther off he is n 
 removed from me the better pleased am I. The generality ' 
 of mankind also are of my way of thinking, and have 
 unanimously created one king, whose election at once 
 diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at 
 the greatest distance from the greatest number of people. 
 Now the great, who were tyrants themselves before 
 the election of one tyrant, are naturally averse to a 
 power raised over them, and whose weight must ever 
 lean heaviest on the subordinate orders. It is the interest 
 of the great, therefore, to diminish kingly power as much as 
 possible ; because, whatever they take from that is naturally 
 restored to themselves ; and all they have to do in the 
 state is to undermine the single tyrant, by which they 
 resume their primeval authority. Now the state may be 
 so circumstanced, or its laws may be so disposed, or its 
 men of opulence so minded, as all to conspire in carrying 
 on this business of undermining monarchy. For, in the 
 first place, if the circumstances of our state be such as to 
 favour the accumulation of wealth, and make the opulent 
 still more rich, this will increase their ambition. An 
 accumulation of wealth, however, must necessarily be 
 
io8 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 the consequence, when, as at present, more riches flow 
 in from external commerce than arise from internal 
 industry ; for external commerce can only be managed 
 to advantage by the rich, and they have also at the 
 same time all the emoluments arising from internal in- 
 dustry ; so that the rich, with us, have two sources 
 of wealth, whereas the poor have but one. For this 
 reason, wealth, in all commercial states, is found to ac- 
 cumulate ; and all such have hitherto in time become 
 aristocratical. Again, the very laws also of this country 
 may contribute to the accumulation of wealth ; as when, 
 by their means, the natural ties that bind the rich and 
 poor together are broken, and it is ordained that the rich 
 shall only marry with the rich ; or when the learned are 
 held unqualified to serve their country as counsellors, 
 merely from a defect of opulence, and wealth is thus made 
 the object of a wise man's ambition : by these means, I 
 say, and such means as these, riches will accumulate. 
 Now, the possessor of accumulated wealth, when furnished 
 with the necessaries and pleasures of life, has no other 
 method to employ the superfluity of his fortune but in 
 purchasing power. That is, differently speaking, in mak- 
 ing dependants, by purchasing the liberty of the needy 
 or the venal, of men who are willing to bear the mortifica- 
 tion of contiguous tyranny for bread. Thus each very 
 opulent man generally gathers round him a circle of the 
 poorest of the people; and the polity abounding in accumu- 
 lated wealth may be compared to a Cartesian system, each 
 orb with a vortex of his own. Those, however, who are 
 willing to move in a great man's vortex, are only such as 
 must be slaves, the rabble of mankind, whose souls and 
 whose education are adapted to servitude, and who know 
 nothing of liberty except the name. But there must still 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 109 
 
 be a large number of the people without the sphere of the 
 opulent man's influence ; namely, that order of men which 
 subsists between the very rich and the very rabble ; those 
 men who are possessed of too large fortunes to submit to 
 the neighbouring man in power, and yet are too poor to 
 set up for tyranny themselves. In this middle order of 
 mankind nrp genially ** * fmmd all ffrp arts. wisdom T 
 
 and Virtues of society. This ordpr alnn^ IQ fcnnwn tn Kg_ 
 thf> trnp prpsprvpr nf frppHnm^ anH may hp rallpH -TWT? 
 
 ^PEOPLE. Now, it may happen that this middle order of 
 mankind may lose all its influence in a state, and its voice 
 be in a manner drowned in that of the rabble : for if the 
 fortune sufficient for qualifying a person at present to 
 give his voice in state affairs be ten times less than was 
 judged sufficient upon forming the constitution, it is 
 evident that great numbers of the rabble will thus be 
 introduced into the political system, and they, ever moving 
 in the vortex of the great, will follow where greatness 
 shall direct. In such a state, therefore, all that the middle 
 order has left, is to preserve the prerogative and privileges 
 of the one principal governor with the most sacred cir- 
 cumspection. For he divides the power of the rich, and 
 calls off the great from falling with tenfold weight on the 
 middle order placed beneath them. The middle order 
 may be compared to a town of which the opulent are 
 forming the siege, and of which the governor from without 
 is hastening the relief. While the besiegers are in dread 
 of an enemy over them, it is but natural to offer the towns- 
 men the most specious terms ; to flatter them with sounds, 
 and amuse them with privileges ; but if they once defeat 
 the governor from behind, the walls of the town will be 
 but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they may 
 then expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to Holland, 
 
1 1 o The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the poor, and 
 the rich govern the law. I am then for, and would die_ 
 formonarchy, sacred monarchy : for if there be anything 
 stSfeii among bTTnun7~it-must be the anointed SOVEREIGN^ 
 his people; and every diminution of his power, in war or 
 in peace, is an infringement upon the real liberties of the 
 subject. The sounds of Libertj^JPatriausm^ and Britons, 
 have already done much ; it is to be hoped that the true 
 sons of freedom will prevent their ever doing more. _^I 
 have^lTOWTrTirare champions for liberty 
 
 jnjny time, yet do I not remember one that was not in his 
 heart and in his family a tyrant." 
 
 My^~WaTmfh7 I found, had lengthened this harangue 
 beyond the rules of good breeding ; but the impatience of 
 my entertainer, who often strove to interrupt it, could be 
 restrained no longer. " What ! " criedjie^then I have 
 been all this while entertaining a Jesuit in parson's clofRes ! 
 But, by alTThe~coalHmines of Cornwall, out he sharl-pack , 
 if_nyj^name be Wilkinson." I now found I had gone too 
 far, and asked pardon for the warmth with which I had 
 spoken. " Pardon ! " returned he in a fury : " I think 
 such principles demand ten thousand pardons. What ! 
 give up* lib^nj^^ropertj , and as the Gazetteer says, lie 
 down to be saddled with wooden shoes ! Sir, I insist 
 nrponT'your" marching out of this house immediately, to 
 prevent worse consequences : sir, I insist upon it." I was 
 going to repeat my remonstrances, but just then we heard 
 a footman's rap at the door, and the two ladies cried out, 
 " As sure as death, there is our master and mistress come 
 home ! " It seems my entertainer was all this while only 
 tkgjputler, who, in his niaster's absence, had a mind to cut 
 a figure, and be for a while the gentleman himself; and, 
 to say the truth, he talked politics as well as most country 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 1 1 1 
 
 gentlemen do. But nothing could now exceed my con- 
 fusion upon seeing the gentleman and his lady enter ; nor 
 was their surprise, at finding such company and good 
 
 cheer, less than OUrS. "Qpnflprnpn/' rripH thp rpnl mag^r 
 
 of the house to me and my companion, " my wife and I 
 are your most humble servants ; but I protest this is so 
 unexpectedTTTavouvthat we almost sink under the obliga- 
 tion." However unexpected our company might be to 
 them, theirs, I am sure, was still more so to us, and I was 
 struck dumb with the apprehension of my own absurdity, 
 when whom should I next see enter the room but my dear 1 
 Miss Arabella_Wilmot, who was formerly~designed to be 
 mSme3TTomy son George, but whose match was broken 
 off, as already related. As soon as she saw me, she flew 
 to my arms with the utmost joy. " My dear sir," cried 
 she, " to what happy accident is it that we owe" so \ 
 unexpected a visit? I am sure my "uncle and aunt will 
 be in raptures when they find they have the good Dr 
 Primrose for their guest." Upon hearing my name, the 
 old genfteman^and lady very politely stepped up, and 
 welcomed me with most cordial hospitality. Nor could 
 they forbear smiling, upon being informed of the nature 
 of my present visit : but the unfortunate butler, whom 
 they at first seemed disposed to turn away, was at my 
 intercession forgiven. 
 
 Mr Arnold jLnd__l\is^[a^^J^-vf\\om the house belonged, 
 now insisted upon having the pleasure of my stay for 
 some days; and as their niece, my charming pupil, 
 whose mind in some measure had been formed under 
 my own instructions, joined in their entreaties, I complied. 
 That night I was shown to a magnificent chamber 5 and 
 the next morning early Miss Wiimot desired to walk 
 with me in the garden, which was decorated in the 
 
112 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 modern manner. After some time spent in pointing out 
 the beauties of the place, she inquired, with seeming 
 unconcern, when last I had heard from my son George. 
 " AlasT~madam," cried I, "he has now been nearly 
 three years absent, without ever writing to his friends 
 or me. Where he is I know not ; perhaps I shall never 
 see him or happiness more. No, my dear madam, we 
 shall never more see such pleasing hours as were once 
 spent by our fireside at Wakefield. My little family 
 are now dispersing very fast, and poverty has brought 
 not only want, but infamy upon us." The good-natured 
 girl let fall a tear at this account ; but as I saw her 
 possessed of too much sensibility, I forbore a more 
 minute detail of our sufferings. It was, however, some 
 consolation to me to find that time had made no altera- 
 tion in her affections, and that she had rejected several 
 matches that had been made her since our leaving her 
 part of the country. She led me round all the extensive 
 improvements of the place, pointing to the several walks 
 and arbours, and at the same time catching from every 
 object a hint for some new question relative to my 
 son. In this manner we spent the forenoon, till the 
 bell summoned us in to dinner, where we found the 
 manager of the strolling company that I mentioned 
 before, who was come to dispose of tickets for the 
 Fair Penitent, which was to be acted that evening : the 
 pan_of_Hoi^do--^--a_yojjng^ who had never 
 
 ^appeared on any stage. He seemed to be very warm 
 in the praises of the new performer, and averred that he 
 never saw any who bid so~laiF~for excellence. Acting, 
 
 ^Jhe observed, was not learned in a day j "but this 
 gentleman," continued he, " seems born to tread the 
 stage. His voice, his figure, and attitudes are all ad- 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 113 
 
 mirable. We caught him up accidentally in our journey 
 down." This account in some measure excited our 
 curiosity, and, at the entreaty of the ladies, I was pre- 
 vailed upon to accompany them to the play-house, which 
 was no other than a barn. As the company with which 
 I went was incontestably the chief of the place, we 
 were received with the greatest respect, and placed in 
 the front seat of the theatre, where we ~sat for some 
 time with no small impatience to see Horatio make his 
 appearance. The new performer advanced at last ; and 
 let parents' think of my sensations by their own, when \ 
 I found it was^my unfortunate__SQnJ He was going to j 
 begin; when, turning his eyes upon the audience, he 
 perceived Miss Wilmot and me, and stood at once speech- 
 less and immovable. 
 
 The actors behind the scene, who ascribed this pause 
 to his natural timidity, attempted to encourage him ; but 
 instead of going *on, he burst into a flood of tears, and 
 retired off the stage. I don't know what were my 
 feelings on this occasion, for they succeeded with too 
 much rapidity for description ; but I was soon awaked 
 from this disagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who, 
 pale, and with a trembling voice, desired me to concTuct 
 her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr Arnold^, 
 who was asTyet a stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, 
 being informed that the new performer was my son, 1 
 sent his coach and an invitation for him ; and as he j 
 persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, \ 
 the players put another in his place, and we soon had ) 
 him with us. Mr Arnold gave him the kindest reception,^ 
 and I received him with my usual transport ; for I could 
 never counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's re- 
 ception was mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I could 
 
 H 
 
vlcar of 
 
 perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult in her 
 inrnH seemednSoT"yeF abated : she said twenty giddy 
 things that looked like joy, and then laughed loud at 
 her own want of meaning. At intervals she would take 
 a sly peep at the glass, as if happy in the consciousness 
 of unresisted beauty ; and often would ask questions, 
 without giving any manner of attention to the answers. 
 
Chapter XX 
 
 AFTER we had supped, Mrs Arnold politely offered to 
 /Isend a couple of her footmen^Jor my son's baggage, 
 I which he at first seemed to decline; 5ut~~upon her 
 f pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, 
 that a stick and wallet were all the movable things upon 
 this earth that he could boast of. " Why, ay, my son," 
 cried I, " you left me but poor, and poor I find you 
 are come back : and yet I make no doubt you have 
 seen a great deal of the world."' " Yes, Sir," replied 
 my son, "but travelling after Fortune is not the way 
 to secure her; and, indeed, of late I have desisted from 
 the pursuit." "I fancy, Sir," cried Mrs Arnold, "that 
 the account of your adventures would be amusing ; the 
 first part of them I have often heard from my niece ; 
 but could the company prevail for the rest, it would 
 be an additional obligation." " Madam," replied my 
 son, " I promise you the pleasure you have in hearing 
 will not be half so great as my vanity in repeating 
 them ; yet in the whole narrative I can scarcely pro- 
 mise you one adventure, as my account is rather of 
 what I saw than what I did. The first misfortune of 
 my life, which you all know, was great ; but though 
 it distressed, it could not sink me. No person ever 
 had a better knack at hoping than I. The less kind I 
 found Fortune at one time, the more I expected from 
 her another; and being now at the bottom of her 
 
1 1 6 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 wheel, every new revolution might lift, but could not 
 depress me. I proceeded, therefore, towards London 
 in a fine morning, no way uneasy about to-morrow, 
 but cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road ; 
 and comforted myself with reflecting, that London was 
 the mart where abilities of every kind were sure of 
 meeting distinction and reward. 
 
 "Upon my arrival intownj^Sir, my first care was to 
 deliver your letter of recommendation to our cousin, 
 who was himself in little better circumstances than I. 
 My first scheme, you know, Sir, was to be usher at an 
 academy ; and I asked his advice on the affair. Our 
 cousin received the proposal witk^^_true sardonic_^rin. 
 6 Ay,' cried he, ' this is indeed a very pretty career that 
 has been chalked out for you. I have been an usher 
 at a boarding-school myself; and may I die_ by jm_ 
 anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under-turnkey 
 in Newgate. I was up early and late : I was browbeat 
 by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, 
 worried by the boys within, and never permitted to 
 stir out to meet civility abroad. But are you sure you 
 are fit for a school ? Let me examine you a little. 
 Have you been bred apprentice to the business ? '- 
 'No.' 'Then you won't do for a school. Can you 
 dress the boys' hair ? ' ' No.' ' Then you won't do 
 for a school. Have you had the smallpox ? ' ' No.' 
 f Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three 
 in a bed ? ' ' No.' * Then you will never do for a 
 school. Have you got a good stomach ? ' < Yes.' 
 ' Then you will by no means do for a school. No, 
 sir : if you are for a genteel, easy profession, bind 
 yourself seven years an apprentice to turn a cutler's 
 wheel; but avoid a school by any means. Yet, come,' 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 1 1 7 
 
 continued he, ' I see you are a lad of spirit and learn- 
 ing ; what do you think of commencing author like me ? 
 You have read in books, no doubt, of men of genius 
 starving at the trade. At present I'll show you forty 
 very dull fellows about town that live by it in opulence, 
 all honest, jog-trot men, who go on smoothly and dully, 
 and write history and politics, and are praised men, 
 Sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all their 
 lives have only mended shoes, but never made them.' 
 
 " Finding that there was no great degree of gentility 
 affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved to 
 accept his proposal ; and having the highest respect for 
 literature, hailed the antiqua mater of Grub Street with 
 reverence. I thought it my glory to pursue a track 
 which Dryden and Otway trod before me. I con- 
 sidered the goddess of this region as the parent of ex- 
 cellence ; and however an intercourse with the world 
 might give ue, good sense, the poverty she granted I 
 supposed to be the nurse of genius ! Big with these 
 reflections, I sat down, and finding that the best things 
 remained to be said on the wrong side, I resolved to 
 write a book that should be wholly new. I therefore 
 dressed up three paradoxes with some ingenuity. They 
 were false, indeed, but they were new. The jewels of 
 truth have been so often imported by others, that 
 nothing was left for me to import but some splendid 
 things that at a distance looked every bit as well. 
 Witness, you powers, what fancied importance sat 
 perched upon my quill while I was writing ! The 
 whole learned world, I made no doubt, would rise to 
 oppose my systems ; but then I was prepared to oppose 
 the whole learned world. Like the porcupine, I sat 
 self-collected, with a quill pointed against every opposer." 
 
u8 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 "Well said, my boy," cried I; "and what subject 
 did you treat upon ? I hope you did not pass over 
 the importance of monogamy. But I interrupt : go on. 
 You published your paradoxes ; well, and what did the 
 learned world say to your paradoxes ? " 
 
 "Sir," replied my son, "the learned world said 
 nothing . to my paradoxes ; nothing at all, Sir. Every 
 man of them was employed in praising his friends or 
 himself, and condemning his enemies ; and unfor- 
 tunately, as I had neither, I suffered the cruellest 
 mortification neglect. 
 
 " As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on 
 the fate of my paradoxes, a little man, happening to 
 enter the room, placed himself in the box before me, 
 and after some preliminary discourse, finding me to be 
 a scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, begging me 
 to subscribe to a new edition he was going to give to 
 the world of Propertius, with Notes. This demand 
 necessarily produced a reply that I had no money ; and 
 that concession led him to inquire into the nature of 
 my expectations. Finding that my expectations were 
 just as great as my purse c I see,' cried he, ' you are 
 unacquainted with the town : I'll teach you a part of it. 
 Look at these proposals, upon these very proposals I 
 have subsisted very comfortably for twelve years. The 
 moment a nobleman returns from his travels, a Creolian 
 arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from her country 
 seat, I strike for a subscription. I first besiege their 
 hearts with flattery, and then pour in my proposals at 
 the breach. If they subscribe readily the first time, 
 I renew my request to beg a dedication fee. If they 
 let me have that, I smite them once more for engraving 
 their coat-of-arms at the top. Thus,' continued he, ' I 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 119 
 
 live by vanity, and laugh at it. But, between our- 
 selves, I am now too well known ; I should be glad to 
 borrow your face a bit. A nobleman of distinction has 
 just returned from Italy ; my face is familiar to his porter ; 
 but if you bring this copy of verses, my life for it you 
 succeed, and we divide the spoil.' " 
 
 " Bless us, George," cried I, " and is th} ^ 
 ment of poets now ? Do men of their exalted talents 
 stoop to beggary ? Can they so far disgrace their calling 
 as to make a vile traffic of praise for bread ? " 
 
 "Oh no, Sir," returned he, "a true poet can never 
 be so base ; for wherever there is genius, there is 
 jgride. The creatures I now describe are only beggars 
 in rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every hardship/ 
 for fame, so he is equally a coward to contempt ; ancH: 
 none but those who are unworthy protection, condescend 
 to solicit it. 
 
 " Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, 
 and yet a fortune too humble to hazard a second attempt 
 for fame, I was now obliged to take a middle course, and 
 write for bread. But I was unqualified for a profession 
 where mere industry alone was. to ensure success. I could 
 not suppress my lurking passion for applause ; but usually 
 consumed that time in efforts after excellence which takes 
 up but little room, when it should have been more advan- 
 tageously employed in the diffusive productions of fruitful 
 mediocrity. My little piece would therefore come forth in 
 the midst of periodical publications, unnoticed and unknown. 
 The public were more importantly employed than to ob-. 
 serve the easy simplicity of my style or the harmony of my 
 periods. Sheet after sheet was thrown off to oblivion. My 
 essays were buried among the essays upon liberty, Eastern 
 tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog ; while Philautos, 
 
120 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Philanthropos all wrote 
 better, because they wrote faster than I. 
 
 eNow, therefore, I began to associate with none but 
 >pointed authors like myself, who praised, deplored, 
 ana despised each other. The satisfaction we found in 
 every celebrated writer's attempts was inversely as their 
 merits. I found that no genius in another could please 
 me. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that 
 source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with 
 satisfaction ; for excellence in another was my aversion, 
 and writing was my trade. 
 
 "In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was one 
 day sitting on a bench in St James's Park, a young gentle- 
 man of distinction, who had been my intimate acquaintance 
 at the university, approached me. We saluted each other 
 with some hesitation ; he almost ashamed of being known 
 to one who made so shabby an appearance, and I afraid 
 of repulse. But my suspicions soon vanished; for Ned 
 Thornhill was at the bottom a very good-natured fellow." 
 
 " What did you say, George ? " interrupted I. " Thorn- 
 hill was not that his name ? It can certainly be no other 
 than my landlord." " Bless me," cried Mrs Arnold, " is 
 Mr Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours ? He has long 
 been a friend in our family, and we expect a visit from him 
 shortly." 
 
 I "My friend's first care," continued my son, " was to 
 Lalter my appearance by a very fine suit of his own clothes, 
 and then I was admitted to his table, upon the footing of 
 half friend, half underling. My business was to attend 
 him at auctions, to put him in spirits when he sat for 
 his picture, to take the left hand in his chariot when not 
 filled by another, and to assist at tattering a kip, as the 
 phrase was when he had a mind for a frolic. Besides this, 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 121 
 
 iJLhad twenty other little employments in the family. I 
 was to do many small things without bidding : to carry 
 the corkscrew ; to stand godfather to all the butler's 
 children ; to sing when I was bid ; to be never out of 
 humour ; always to be humble, and, if I could, to be 
 very happy. 
 
 " In this honourable post, however, I was not without a 
 rival. A captain of marines, who was formed for the place 
 by nature, opposed me^jn_ji^_pa^mn^s_^ffections. His 
 mother had-^Te^TTlauiidresT to a man of quality, and thus 
 he early acquired ataste for pimping and pedigree. As 
 this gentleman made it the study of his life to be 
 acquainted with lords, though he was dismissed from 
 several for his stupidity, yet he found many of them, 
 who were as dull as himself, that permitted his assid- 
 uities. As flattery was his trade, he practised it with 
 the easiest address imaginable ; but it came awkward and 
 stiff from me ; and as every day my patron's desire of flattery 
 increased, so every hour, being better acquainted with his 
 defects, I became more unwilling to give it. Thus, I was 
 once more fairly going to give the field to the captain, 
 when my friend found occasion for my assistance. This 
 was nothing less than to fight a duel for him with a 
 gentleman whose sister it was pretended he had used 
 ill. I readily complied with this request ; and though 
 I see you are displeased at my conduct, yet, as it was 
 a debt indispensably due to friendship, I could not re- 
 fuse. I undertook the affair, disarmed my antagonist, 
 and soon after had the pleasure of finding that the lady 
 was only a woman of the town, and the fellow her bully 
 and a sharper. This piece of service was repaid with the 
 warmest professions of gratitude ; but, as my friend was 
 to leave town in a few days, he knew no other method 
 
122 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 of serving me but by recommending me to his uncle, Sir 
 William Thornhill, and another nobleman of great distinc- 
 tion, who enjoyed a post under the government. When 
 he was gone, my first care was to carry his recommenda- 
 tory letter to his uncle, a man whose character for every 
 virtue was universal, yet just. I was received by his 
 servants with the most hospitable smiles ; for the looks 
 of the domestic ever transmit the master's benevolence. 
 Being shown into a grand apartment, where Sir William 
 soon came to me, I delivered my message and letter, which 
 he read, and after pausing some minutes ' Pray, Sir,' 
 cried he, ' inform me what you have done for my kinsman, 
 to deserve this warm recommendation ? But I suppose, Sir, 
 I guess your merits : you have fought for him : and so you 
 would expect a reward from me for being the instrument 
 of his vices. I wish sincerely wish that my present 
 refusal may be some punishment for your guilt ; but still 
 more, that it may be some inducement to your repentance.' 
 The severity of this rebuke I bore patiently, because I 
 knew it was just. My whole expectations now, therefore, 
 lay in my letter to the great man. Alfrtre doors of the 
 "nobility areTatffiost ever beset with beggars, all ready to 
 thrust in some sly petition, I found it no easy matter to 
 gain admittance. However, after bribing the servants 
 with half my worldly fortune, I was at last shown into a 
 spacious apartment, my letter being previously sent up for 
 his lordship's inspection. During this anxious interval I 
 had full time to look round me. Everything was grand 
 and of happy contrivance ; the paintings, the furniture, the 
 gildings, petrified me with awe, and raised my idea of the 
 owner. Ah, thought I to myself, how very great must 
 the possessor of all these things be, who carries in his 
 head the business of the state, and whose house displays 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 123 
 
 half the wealth of a kingdom ! Sure his genius must be 
 unfathomable ! During these awful reflections I heard a 
 step come heavily forward. Ah, this is the great man 
 himself! No; it was only a chamber-maid. Another 
 foot was heard soon after. This must be He ! No ; it 
 was only the great man's valet-de-chambre. At last his 
 Ior4ship actually made his appearance. * Are you,' cried 
 he, * tEenfearcr of this^hefe^letter ? ' I answered with a 
 bow. ' riearn by this/ continued lie, _as_how_thatr-^ 
 But just at that instanFaTservant delivered him a card, and 
 without taking further notice, he went out of the room, 
 and left me to digest my own happiness at leisure. I saw 
 no more of him, till told by a footman that his lordship 
 was going to his coach at the door. Down I immediately 
 followed^ and joined my voice to that of three or four 
 more, who came, like me, to petition for favours. His 
 lordship, however, went too fast for us, and was gaining 
 his chariot door with large strides, when I hallooed out to 
 know if I was to have any reply. He was by this time 
 got in, and muttered an answer, half of which only I 
 heard ; the other half was lost in the rattling of his chariot 
 wheels. I stood for some time with my_neck stretched 
 out, in the posture of one -tkat-^w'SsTisteningtcT catch the 
 glorious souncfc, till, lDoking~TDirmd-nie7"f "found myself 
 alone at his lordship's gate. 
 
 "My patience," continued my son, "was now quite 
 exhausted. Stung with the thousand indignities I had 
 met with, I was willing to cast myself away, and only 
 wanted the gulf to receive me. I regarded myself as one 
 of those vile things that Nature designed should be thrown 
 by into her lumber-room, there to perish in obscurity. I 
 had still, however, half a guinea left, and of that I thought 
 Nature herself should not deprive me ; but in order to be 
 
124 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 sure of this, I was resolved to go instantly and spend 
 it while I had it, and then trust to occurrences for the 
 rest. As I was going along with this resolution, it hap- 
 pened that Mr Crispe's office seemed invitingly open to 
 give me a welcome reception. In thigjoffice Mr Crispe 
 kindly offers all His Majesty's subjects a generous promise 
 r, for~wKicrT^romise all they give in return 
 
 ~is~their liberty for life, and permission to let him transport 
 them to America as slaves. I was happy at finding a 
 
 "place wKereTl could lose my fears in desperation, and 
 entered this cell (for it had the appearance of one) with 
 the devotion of a monastic. Here I found a number of 
 poor creatures, all in circumstances like myself, expecting 
 the arrival of Mr Crispe, presenting a true epitome of 
 English impatience. Each untractable soul, at variance 
 with Fortune, wreaked her injuries on their own hearts ; 
 but Mr Crispe at last came down, and all our murmurs 
 were hushed. He deigned to regard me with an air of 
 peculiar approbation, and indeed he was the first man who, 
 for a month past, had talked to me with smiles. After a 
 few questions, he found I was fit for everything in the 
 world. He paused awhile upon the properest means of 
 providing for me ; and slapping his forehead as if he had 
 found it, assured me that there was at that time an 
 embassy talked of from the synod of Pennsylvania to the 
 Chickasaw Indians, and that he would use his interest to 
 get me made secretary. I knew in my own heart that the 
 fellow lied, and yet his promise gave me pleasure, there 
 was something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly, 
 therefore, divided my half-guinea, .one half of which went 
 to be added to his thirty thousand pounds, and with the 
 other half I resolved to go to the next tavern, to be there 
 more happy than he. 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 125 
 
 " As I was going out with that resolution, I was met 
 at the door by the captain of a ship with whom I had 
 formerly some little acquaintance, and he agreed to be 
 my companion over a bowl of punch. As I never chose 
 to make a secret of my circumstances, he assured me that 
 I was upon jjje^ very point of ruin, moistening to the 
 office-keeper's promises ; for that he only designed to sell 
 me to the plantations. ' But,' continued he, * I fancy 
 you migRt, by a much shorter voyage, be very easily put 
 into a genteel way of bread. Take my advice. My ship"" 
 sails to-morrow for Amsterdam : what if you go in her as 
 a passenger ? The moment you land, all you have to do 
 is to teach the Dutchmen English, and I'll warrant you'll 
 get pupils and money enough. I suppose you understand 
 English,' added he, * by this time, or the deuce is in it.' 
 I confidently assured him of that ; but expressed a doubt 
 whether the Dutch would be willing to learn English. 
 He affirmed, with an oath, that they were fond of it to 
 distraction ; and upon that affirmation I agreed with his 
 proposal, and embarked the next day to teach the Dutch 
 English in Holland. The wind was fair, our voyage 
 short ; and after having paid my passage with half my 
 movables, I found myself fallen as from the skies, a 
 stranger in one of the principal streets of Amsterdam. In 
 this situation I was unwilling to let any time pass unem- 
 ployed in teaching. I addressed myself, therefore, to two 
 or three of those I met whose appearance seemed most 
 promising ; but it was impossible to make ourselves 
 mutually understood. It was not till this very moment I 
 recollected, that in order to teach_the__Dutchmen English, 
 it was necessary that they should firstTjteach "me""f)utch. 
 How I came to overlook so obvious aiTobjection is to me 
 amazing : but certain it is I overlooked it. 
 
126 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 16 This scheme thus blown up, I had some thoughts of 
 fairly shiing_back to England again ; but happening into 
 company with luTTHslr^student, who was returning from 
 Louvain, our conversation turning upon topics of literature 
 (for, by the way, it may be observed that I always forgot 
 the meanness of my circumstances when I could converse 
 upon such subjects), from him I learned that there were 
 not two meji in bjs_jwjhoJ^university who understood 
 Greek. This amazed me. flnstantlyTe^olved to travel 
 to Louvain, and there live by teaching Greek : and in this 
 design I was heartened by my brother student, who threw 
 out some hints that a fortune might be got by it. 
 
 " I set boldly forward the next morning. Every day 
 lessened the burden of my movables, like .^Esop and his 
 basket of brea3~;~for I paid them for my lodgings to the 
 Dutch, as I travelled on. When I came to Louvain, I was 
 resolved not to go sneaking to the lower professors, but 
 openly tendered my talents to the Principal himself. I 
 went, had admittance, and offered him my service as a 
 master of the Greek language, which I had been told was 
 a desideratum in this university. The Principal seemed at 
 first to doubt of my abilities ; but of these I offered to 
 convince him, by turning a part of any Greek author he 
 should fix upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly earnest 
 in my proposal, he addressed me thus : ' You see me, 
 young man; I never learned Greek, and I don't find that I 
 have ever missed it. I have had a Doctor's cap and gown 
 without Greek; I have ten thousand florins a year without 
 Greek ; I eat heartily without Greek ; and, in short,' 
 continued he, * as I don't know Greek, I do not believe 
 there is any good in it/ 
 
 **T"was now too far from home to think of returning ; 
 so I resolved to go forward. I had some knowledge of 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 127 
 
 music, with a tolerable voice, and now turned what was 
 my amusement into a present means of subsistence. I 
 passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and 
 among such of theTFrench as'were puui enough to be very 
 merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to 
 their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house 
 towards night-fall, I played one of my most merry tunes, 
 and that procured me not only r !fTc>3ging, buFTubslstence 
 for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play for 
 people of fashion, but they always thought my performance 
 odious, and never rewarded me even with a trifle. This 
 was to me the more extraordinary, as, whenever I used, in 
 better days, to play for company, when playing was my 
 amusement, my music never failed to throw them into 
 raptures, and the ladies especially ; but as it was now my 
 only means, it was received with contempt a proof how 
 ready the world is to underrate those talents by which a 
 man is supported. 
 
 " In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no design 
 but just to look about me, and then to go forward. The ^ 
 people of Paris are much fonder of strangers that have 
 money, than those that have wit. As I could not boast 
 much of either, I was no great favourite. After walking 
 about the town four or five days, and seeing the outsides 
 of the best houses, I was preparing to leave this retreat of 
 venal hospitality, when passing through one of the princi- 
 pal streets, whom should I meet but our cousin, to whom 
 you first recommended me. This meeting was very agree- 
 able to me, and I believe not displeasing to him. He 
 inquired into the nature of my journey to Paris, and in- 
 formed me of his own business there, which was to collect 
 pictures, medals, intaglios, and antiques of all kinds, for a 
 gentleman in London who had just stepped into taste and 
 
128 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 a large fortune. I was the more surprised at seeing our 
 cousin pitched upon for this office, as he himself had often 
 assurecTm^TIie knew nothing oTthe matter. Upon asking 
 how he had been taught the^r^of^a^cpgnqscento so very 
 suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy. 
 The whole secret consisted in a strict adherence to two 
 rules : the one, always to observe thaLJthfi^picture--might 
 Jhaye Jbeen tetter df the painter had taken more pains : and 
 the other, to praise thejworJis^-IUetr^-Per-ugino. ' But,' 
 says he, ' as I once taught youjiow to be an author in 
 London^U now undertake to instruct you in the art of 
 picture-buying at Paris.' 
 
 " With this proposal I very readily closed, as it was 
 living, and now all my ambition was to live. I went 
 therefore to his lodgings, improved my dress by his 
 assistance ; and, after some time, accompanied him to 
 auctions of pictures, where the English gentry were 
 expected to be purchasers. I was not a little surprised 
 at his intimacy with people of the best fashion, who 
 referred themselves to his judgment upon every picture 
 or medal, as_an unerring standard of taste. He made very 
 good use of my assistance upon these occasions; for, when 
 asked his opinion, he would gravely take me aside and 
 ask mine, shrug, look wise, return, and assure the com- 
 pany that he would give no opinion upon an affair of so 
 much importance. Yet there was sometimes an occasion 
 for a more supported assurance. I remember to have seen 
 him, after giving his opinion thaLJthe_ jColQiiring of a picture 
 was not mellow enough, very deliberately take a brush 
 with brown varnish, that was accidentally lying by, and rub 
 it over the piece with great composure before all the 
 company, and then asked if he had not improved the 
 tints. 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 129 
 
 " When he had finished his commission in Paris, he left 
 me strongly recommended to several men of distinction, as 
 a person very proper for a travelling tutor; and after 
 some time, I was employed in that capacity by a gentle- 
 man who brought his ward to Paris, in order to set him 
 forward on his tour through Europe. I was to be the 
 young- gentleman's governor ; but with a proviso, that he 
 should always BeTpermitted to goverfTHImself. My pupil, 
 irPFactT^understood the art of guiding in money concerns 
 much better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about 
 two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle in the 
 West Indies ; and~his guardians, to qualify him for the 
 management of it, had bound him apprentice to an 
 attorney. Thus avaricejMis his P r evailin^assion ; all his 
 questions on the road were, how money might be saved ; 
 which was the least expensive course of travel ; whether 
 anything could be bought that would turn to account 
 when disposed of again in London ? Such curiosities on 
 the way as could be seen for nothing, he was ready enough 
 to look at ; but if the sight of them was to be paid for, he 
 usually asserted that he had been told they were not 
 worth seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not 
 observe how amazingly expensh^'^fTavelting was ! and all 
 thirrhougE Tie ; "was" hot yet twenty-one. When arrived at 
 Leghorn, as we took a walk to look at the port and 
 shipping, he inquired the expense of the passage by sea 
 home to England. This he was informed was but a trifle 
 compared to his returning by land ; he was therefore 
 unable to withstand the temptation ; so paying me the 
 small part_gjny salary that was due, he took leave, and 
 embarked with only one attendant for London. 
 
 " I now therefore was left once more upon the world at 
 large ; but then, it was a thing I was used to. However, 
 
130 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 my skill in ijiusic could avail me nothing in a country 
 where every peasant was a better musician than I : but by 
 this time I had acquired another talent, which answered 
 my purpose as well, and this was a skill in disputation. 
 In all the foreign universities and convents there are, 
 upon certain days, philosophical theses maintained against 
 every adventitious disputant ; for which, if the champion 
 opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in 
 money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. In this manner, 
 therefore, I fou^htL_my way towards England ; walked 
 along from city to city ; examined mankind more nearly ; 
 L and, if I may so express it, saw both sides of the picture. 
 My remarks, however, are but few : I found that mon- 
 archy was the best government for the poor to live in, 
 and commonwealths for the rich. I found thatjjches in 
 general were in every country another name for freedom ; 
 and that no man^TscTfohd of liberty himself as not to be 
 desirous of subjecting the will of some individuals in 
 society to his own. 
 
 " Upon my arrival in England, I resolved to pay my 
 respects first to you, and then to enlist as a volunteer in 
 the first expedition that was going forward : but on my 
 journey down, my resolutions were changed by meeting 
 an old acquaintance, who I found belonged to a company 
 of comedians that were going to make a summer campaign 
 in the country. The company seemed not much to 
 disapprove of me for an associate. They all, however, 
 apprised__rne of the importance of the task at which I 
 aimed ; that the public was a many-headed monster, and 
 that only such as had very good heads could please it ; 
 that acting was not to be learned in a day ; and that 
 without some traditional shrugs, which had been on the 
 stage, and only on the stage, these hundred years, I 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 could never pretend to please. The next difficulty was in 
 fitting me with parts, as almost every character was in 
 keeping. I was driven for some time from one character j 
 to another, till at last Horatiojwas^xed upon, whichrthe 7 
 presence of tEe~present company has happily hindered me 
 from acting." 
 
Chapter XXI 
 
 MY son's account was too long to be delivered at once ; 
 the first part of it was begun that night, and he was con- 
 cluding the rest after dinner the next day, when the 
 appearance of Mr Thornhill's equipage at the door seemed 
 to make a pause in the general satisfaction. The butler, 
 who was now become my friend in the family, informed 
 
 / me, with a whisper, that the 'Squire had already made 
 some overtures to Miss Wilmot, and that her aunt and 
 uncle seemed highly to approve the match. Upon Mr 
 Thornhill's entering, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, 
 to start back; but I readily imputed that to surprise, and 
 not displeasure. However, upon our advancing to salute 
 him, he returned our greeting with the most apparent 
 
 candour ; and after a short time his presence served only 
 to increase the general good humour. 
 
 After tea he called me aside to inquire after my 
 daughter ; but upon my informing him that my inquiry 
 was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised ; adding 
 that he had been since frequently at my house in order to 
 comfort the rest of my family, whom he left perfectly 
 well. He then asked if I communicated her misfortune 
 to Miss Wilmot or my son ; and upon my replying that 
 I had not told them as yet, he greatly approved my 
 prudence and precaution, desiring me by all means to 
 keep it a secret : " For at best," cried he, " it is but 
 divulging one's own infamy ; and perhaps Miss Livy may 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 133 
 
 not be so guilty as we all imagine." We were here in- 
 terrupted by a servant who came to ask the 'Squire in, 
 to stand up at country dances : so that he left me quite 
 pleased with the interest he seemed to take in my 
 concerns. His addresses, however, to Miss Wilmot were 
 too obvious to be mistaken: and yet, she seemed not 
 perfectly pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to 
 the will of her aunt than from real inclination. I had 
 even the satisfaction to see her lavish some kind looks 
 upon my unfortunate son, which the other could neither 
 extort by his fortune nor assiduity. Mr Thornhill's 
 seeming composure, however, not a little surprised me : 
 we had now continued here a week at the pressing 
 instances of Mr Arnold ; but each day the more tender- 
 ness Miss Wilmot showed my son, Mr Thornhill's 
 friendship seemed proportionably to increase for him. 
 
 He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of 
 using his interest to serve the family j but now his 
 generosity was not confined to promises alone. The 
 morning I designed for my departure, Mr Thornhill 
 came to me with looks of real pleasure, to inform me 
 of a piece of service he had done for his friend George/^ 
 This was nothing less than his having procured him an 
 ensign's commission in one of the regiments that was 
 going to the West Indies, for which he had promised but 
 one hundred pounds, his interest having been sufficient to 
 get an abatement of the other two. " As for this trifling 
 piece of service," continued the young gentleman, "I 
 desire no other reward but the pleasure of having served 
 my friend ; and as for the hundred pounds to be paid, if 
 you are unable to raise it yourselves, I will advance it, and 
 you shall repay me at your leisure." This was a favour 
 we wanted words to express our sense of; I readily, 
 
 I 
 
134 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 therefore, gave my bond for the money, and testified 
 as much gratitude as if I never intended to pay. 
 
 George was to depart for town the next day, to secure 
 his commission, in pursuance of his generous patron's 
 directions, who judged it highly expedient to use despatch, 
 lest in the meantime another should step in with more 
 advantageous proposals. The next morning, therefore, 
 our young soldier was early prepared for his departure, 
 and seemed the only person among us that was not affected 
 by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he was going to 
 ' encounter, nor the friends and mistress for Miss Wilmot 
 ~ actually loved him he was leaving behind, any way 
 damped his spirits. After he had taken leave of the rest 
 of the company, I gave him all I had, my blessing. " And 
 now, my boy," cried I, " thou art going to fight for thy 
 country ; remember how thy brave grandfather fought for 
 his sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue. 
 Go, my boy, and imitate him in all but his misfortunes, if 
 it was a misfortune to die with Lord Falkland. Go, my 
 boy, and if you fall, though distant, exposed, and unwept 
 by those that love you, the most precious tears are those 
 with which Heaven bedews the unburied head of a 
 soldier." 
 
 The next morning I took leave of the good family that 
 had been kind enough to entertain me so long, not without 
 several expressions of gratitude to Mr Thornhill for his 
 late bounty. I left them in the enjoyment of all that 
 happiness which affluence and good breeding procure, and 
 returned towards home, despairing of ever finding my 
 daughter more, but sending a sigh to Heaven to spare 
 and to forgive her. 
 
 I was now come within about twenty miles of home, 
 having hired a horse to carry me, as I was yet but weak, 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 135 
 
 and comforted myself with the hopes of soon seeing all 
 I held dearest upon earth. But the night coming on, I 
 put up at a little public-house by the road-side, and asked 
 for the landlord's company over a pint of wine. We sat 
 beside his kitchen fire, which was the best room in the 
 house, and chatted on politics and the news of the 
 country. We happened, among other topics, to talk of 
 young 'Squire Thornhill, who, the host assured me, was 
 hated as much as his uncle Sir William, who sometimes 
 came down to the country, was loved. He went on to 
 observe, that he made it his whole study to betray the 
 daughters of such as received him to their houses, and, 
 after a fortnight or three weeks' possession, turned them 
 out unrewarded, and abandoned to the world. As we 
 continued our discourse in this manner, his wife, who 
 had been out to get change, returned, and perceiving 
 that her husband was enjoying a pleasure in which she 
 was not a sharer, she asked him in an angry tone, what 
 he did there ? to which he only replied, in an ironical 
 way, by drinking her health. " Mr Symmonds," cried 
 she, " you use me very ill, and I'll bear it no longer. 
 Here three parts of the business is left for me to do, 
 and the fourth left unfinished, while you do nothing but 
 soak with the guests all day long ; whereas, if a spoonful 
 of liquor were to cure me of a fever, I never touch 
 a drop." I now found what she would be at, and im- 
 mediately poured her out a glass, which she received 
 with a courtsey ; and, drinking towards my good health, 
 "Sir," resumed she, "it is not so much for the value of 
 the liquor I am angry, but one cannot help it when the 
 house is going out of the windows. If the customers or 
 guests are to be dunned, all the burden lies upon my back ; 
 he'd as lief eat that glass as budge after them himself. 
 
136 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 There, now, above stairs, we have a young woman who 
 has come to take up her lodging here, and I don't believe 
 she has got any money, by her over-civility. I am certain 
 she is very slow of payment, and I wish she were put in 
 mind of it." "What signifies minding her?" cried the 
 host ; " if she be slow she is sure." "I don't know that," 
 replied the wife ; " but I know that I am sure she has 
 been here a fortnight, and we have not yet seen the cross 
 of her money." "I suppose, my dear," cried he, "we 
 shall have it all in a lump." "In a lump!" cried the 
 other; "I hope we may get it any way; and that I am 
 resolved we will this very night, or out she tramps, bag 
 and baggage." " Consider, my dear," cried the husband, 
 " she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect." 
 "As for the .matter of that," returned the hostess, 
 "gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a sussarara. 
 Gentry may be good things where they take ; but, for my 
 part, I never saw much good of them at the sign of the 
 Harrow." Thus saying, she ran up a narrow flight of 
 stairs that went from the kitchen to a room overhead ; 
 and I soon perceived, by the loudness of her voice, and 
 the bitterness of her reproaches, that no money was to 
 be had from her lodger. I could hear her remonstrance's 
 very distinctly : " Out, I say ; pack out this moment ! 
 tramp, thou infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark 
 thou won't be the better for this three months. What ! 
 you trumpery, to come and take up an honest house 
 without cross or coin to bless yourself with ! Come 
 along, I say!" "Oh, dear madam," cried the stranger, 
 "pity me pity a poor abandoned creature, for one night, 
 and death will soon do the rest ! " I instantly knew the 
 voice of my poor ruined child Olivia. I flew to her 
 rescue, while the woman was dragging her along by her 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 137 
 
 hair, and I caught the dear forlorn wretch in my arms. 
 " Welcome, any way welcome, my dearest lost one my 
 treasure to your poor old father's bosom ! Though the J 
 vicious forsake thee, there is yet one in the world that 
 will never forsake thee \ though thou hadst ten thousand 
 crimes to answer for, he will forget them all!" "Oh, 
 my own dear," for minutes she could no more " my 
 own dearest papa ! Could angels be kinder ? How jdo 
 I deserve so much ? The villain, I hate him and myself, 
 to be a reproach to so much goodness ! You can't forgive j 
 me, I know you cannot." " Yes, my child, from my hearrtJ 
 I do forgive thee : only repent, and we both shall yet be 
 happy. We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia." 
 " Ah ! never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched life 
 must be infamy abroad, and shame at home. But, alas ! 
 papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could 
 such a thing as I am give you so much uneasiness ? Surely 
 you have too much wisdom to take the miseries of my 
 guilt upon yourself." " Our wisdom, young woman," 
 replied I. " Ah, why so cold a name, papa?" cried she. 
 " This is the first tune you ever called me by so cold a 
 name." " I ask pardon, my darling," returned I ; " but I 
 was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow 
 defence against trouble, though at last a sure one." The 
 landlady now returned, to know if we did not choose a 
 more genteel apartment ; to which assenting, we were 
 shown a room where we could converse more freely. 
 After we had talked ourselves into some degree of 
 tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of 
 the gradations that led her to her present wretched situa- 
 tion. "That villain, sir," said she, "from the first day 
 of our meeting, made me honourable, though private 
 proposals." 
 
138 The Viear of Wakefield 
 
 " Villain, indeed ! " cried I ; " and yet it in some 
 measure surprises me how a person of Mr Burchell's 
 good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of such 
 deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo 
 it." 
 
 " My dear papa," returned my daughter, "you labour 
 under a strange mistake. Mr Burchell nver attempted 
 to deceive me ; instead of that, he took every opportunity 
 of privately admonishing me against the artifices of Mr 
 Thornhill, who, I now find, was even worse than he re- 
 oresented him." " Mr Thornhill," interrupted I ; " can it 
 be?" "Yes, Sir," returned she, "it was Mr Thornhill 
 who seduced me ; who employed the two ladies as he 
 called them, but who in fact were abandoned women of 
 the town, without breeding or pity, to decoy us up to 
 ^London. Their artifices, you may remember, would have 
 certainly succeeded but for Mr Burchell's letter, who 
 directed those reproaches at them which we all applied 
 to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence 
 as to defeat their intentions still remains a secret to me ; 
 but I am convinced he was ever our warmest, sincerest 
 friend." 
 
 " You amaze me, my dear," cried 1 ; " but now I find 
 ^.my first suspicions of Mr Thornhill' s baseness were too 
 
 Lwell grounded. But he can triumph in security ; for he 
 is rich, and we are poor. But tell me, my child, sure it 
 was no small temptation that could thus obliterate all the 
 impressions of such an education and so virtuous a dis- 
 position as thine ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," replied she, " he owes all his triumph 
 
 to the desire I had of making him, and not myself, happy. 
 
 / 1 knew that the ceremony of our marriage, which was 
 
 Lprivately performed by a popish priest, was in no way 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 139 
 
 binding, and that I had nothing to trust to but his 
 honour." " What ! " interrupted I, " and were you indeed 
 married by a priest in orders ? " " Indeed, Sir, we 
 were," replied she, " though we were both sworn to 
 conceal his name." " Why, then, my child, come to my 
 arms again ; and now you are a thousand times more 
 welcome than before ; for you are now his wife to all 
 intents and purposes ; nor can all the laws of man, though 
 written upon tables of adamant, lessen the force of that 
 sacred connection." 
 
 " Alas ! papa," replied she, " you are but little ac^ 
 quainted with his villainies. He has been married already / 
 by the same priest to six or eight wives more, whom, like / 
 me, he has deceived and abandoned." 
 
 " Has he so ? " cried I ; " then we must hang the priest^ 
 and you shall inform against him to-morrow." " But, Sir," 
 returned she, "will that be right, when I am sworn to/ 
 secrecy ? " " My dear," I replied, " if you have made such ' 
 a promise, I cannot, nor will I attempt you to break it. 
 Even though it may benefit the public, you must not) 
 inform against him. In all human institutions a smaller] 
 evil is allowed to procure a greater good ; as, in politics, 
 a province may be given away to secure a kingdom ; in 
 medicine, a limb may be lopped off to preserve the body ; 
 but in religion the law is written, and inflexible, never to 
 do evil. And this law, my child, is right ; for otherwise, 
 if we commit a smaller evil to procure a greater good> 
 certain guilt would be thus incurred in expectation of 
 contingent advantage. And though the advantage should 
 certainly follow, yet the interval between commission 
 and advantage, which is allowed to be guilty, may be 
 that in which we are called away to answer for the 
 things we have done, and the volume of human actions 
 
140 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 is closed for ever. But I interrupt you, my dear ; go 
 on." 
 
 " The very next morning," continued she, "I found 
 what little expectation I was to have from his sincerity. 
 That very morning he introduced me to two unhappy 
 women more, whom, like me, he had deceived, but 
 who lived in contented prostitution. I loved him too 
 tenderly to bear such rivals in his affections, and strove 
 to forget my infamy in a tumult of pleasures. With 
 this view I danced, dressed, and talked ; but still was 
 unhappy. The gentlemen who visited there told me 
 every moment of the power of my charms, and this 
 only contributed to increase my melancholy, as I had 
 thrown all their power quite away. Thus each day 
 I grew more pensive, and he more insolent, till at last 
 the monster had the assurance to offer me to a young 
 baronet of his acquaintance. Need I describe, Sir, how 
 his ingratitude stung me ? My answer to this proposal 
 was almost madness. I desired to part. As I was 
 going he offered me a purse : but I flung it at him with 
 indignation, and burst from him in a rage, that for a 
 while kept me insensible of the miseries of my situa- 
 tion. But I soon looked round me, and saw myself a 
 vile, abject, guilty thing, without one friend in the 
 world to apply to. Just in that interval,, a stage coach 
 happening to pass by, I took a place, it being my only 
 aim to be driven at a distance from a wretch I despised 
 and detested. I was set down here, where, since my 
 arrival, my own anxiety and this woman's unkindness have 
 been my only companions. The hours of pleasure that 
 I have passed with my mamma and sister now grow pain- 
 ful to me. Their sorrows are much; but mine are greater 
 than theirs, for mine are mixed with guilt and infamy." 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 141 
 
 "Have patience, my child," cried I, "and I hope 
 things will yet be better. Take some repose to-night, 
 and to-morrow I will carry you home to your mother 
 and the rest of the family, from whom you will receive 
 a kind reception. Poor woman ! this has gone to her 
 heart; but she loves you still, Olivia, and will forget 
 it." 
 
Chapter XXII 
 
 THE next morning I took my daughter behind me, and 
 set out on my return home. As we travelled along, I 
 strove, by every persuasion, to calm her sorrows and 
 fears, and to arm her with resolution to bear the pres- 
 ence of her offended mother. I took every opportunity, 
 from the prospect of a fine country, through which we 
 passed, to observe how much kinder Heaven was to us 
 than we to each other; and that the misfortunes of 
 Nature's making were very few. I assured her, that 
 she should never perceive any change in my affections, 
 and that, during my life, which yet might be long, 
 she might depend upon a guardian and an instructor. I 
 armed her against the censure of the world, showed 
 her that books were sweet unreproaching companions 
 to the miserable, and that, if they could not bring us 
 to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure 
 it. 
 
 The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that 
 night at an inn by the way, within about five miles 
 from my house ; and as I was willing to prepare my 
 family for my daughter's reception, I determined to leave 
 her that night at the inn, and to return for her, accom- 
 panied by my daughter Sophia, early the next morning. 
 It was night before we readied our appointed stage ; 
 however, after seeing her provided with a decent apart- 
 ment, and having ordered the hostess to prepare proper 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 143 
 
 refreshments, I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. 
 And now my heart caught new sensations of pleasure, 
 the nearer I approached that peaceful mansion. As a 
 bird that had been frightened from its nest, my affec- 
 tions outwent my haste, and hovered round my little 
 fireside with all the rapture of expectation. I called 
 up the many fond things I had to say, and anticipated 
 the welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife's 
 tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of my little ones. 
 As I walked but slowly, the night waned apace. The 
 labourers of the day were all retired to rest; the lights 
 were out in every cottage; no sounds were heard but 
 of the shrilling cock, and the deep-mouthed watch- 
 dog, at hollow distance. I approached my little abode 
 of pleasure, and, before I was within a furlong of the 
 place, our honest mastiff came running to welcome me. 
 It was now near midnight that I came to knock at 
 my door ; all was still and silent ; my heart dilated 
 with unutterable happiness, when, to my amazement, 
 I saw the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, and 
 every aperture red with conflagration. I gave a loud 
 convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement, insensible. 
 This alarmed my son, who had, till this, been asleep; 
 and he, perceiving the flames, instantly waked my wife 
 and daughter; and all running out, naked, and wild 
 with apprehension, recalled me to life with their anguish. 
 But it was only to objects of new terror ; for the flames 
 had, by this time, caught the roof of our dwelling, part 
 after part continuing to fall in, while the family stood, 
 with silent agony, looking on, as if they enjoyed the 
 blaze. I gazed upon them and upon it by turns, and 
 then looked round me for my two little ones; but they 
 were not to be seen. O misery! "Where," cried I, 
 
144 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 "where are my little ones?" "They are burnt to 
 death in the flames," said my wife calmly, " and I will 
 ciie with them." That moment I heard the cry of the 
 babes within, who were just awaked by the fire, and 
 nothing could have stopped me. " Where, where are 
 my children ? " cried I, rushing through the flames, 
 and bursting the door of the chamber in which they 
 were confined! "Where are my little ones?" "Here, 
 dear papa, here we are," cried they together, while the 
 flames were just catching the bed where they lay. I 
 caught them both in my arms, and snatched them 
 through the fire as fast as possible, while, just as I 
 got out, the roof sunk in. "Now," cried I, holding 
 up my children, " now let the flames burn on, and all 
 my possessions perish. Here they are ; I have saved 
 my treasure. Here, my dearest, here are our treasures, 
 and we shall yet be happy." We kissed our little 
 darlings a thousand times ; they clasped us round the 
 neck, and seemed to share our transports, while their 
 mother laughed and wept by turns. 
 
 I now stood a calm spectator of the flames ; and, after 
 some time, began to perceive that my arm to the shoulder 
 was scorched in a terrible manner. It was, therefore, out 
 of my power to give my son any assistance, either in 
 attempting to save our goods, or preventing the flames 
 spreading to our corn. By this time the neighbours were 
 alarmed, and came running to our assistance ; but all they 
 could do was to stand, like us spectators of the calamity. 
 
 My goods, among which were the notes I had reserved 
 for my daughters' fortunes, were entirely consumed, except 
 a box with some papers that stood in the kitchen, and two 
 or three things more of little consequence, which my son 
 brought away in the beginning. The neighbours con- 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 145 
 
 tributed, however, what they could to lighten our dis- 
 tress. They brought us clothes, and furnished one of 
 our outhouses with kitchen utensils ; so that by day- 
 light we had another, though a wretched dwelling, to 
 retire to. My honest next neighbour and his children 
 were not the least assiduous in providing us with every- 
 thing necessary, and offering whatever consolation un- 
 tutored benevolence could suggest. 
 
 When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity 
 to know the cause of my long stay began to take place : 
 having therefore informed them of every particular, I 
 proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our lost 
 one ; and though we had nothing but wretchedness now 
 to impart, I was willing to procure her a welcome to what 
 we had. This task would have been more difficult but 
 for our recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's 
 pride, and blunted it by more poignant afflictions. Being 
 unable to go for my poor child myself, as my arm grew 
 very painful, I sent iny son and daughter, who soon 
 returned, supporting the wretched delinquent, who had 
 not the courage to look up at her mother, whom no 
 instructions of mine could persuade to a perfect reconcilia- 
 tion ; for women have a much stronger sense of female 
 error than men. " Ah, madam," cried her mother, " this 
 is but a poor place you are come to after so much finery. 
 My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertain- 
 ment to persons who have kept company only with people 
 of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy, your poor father and 
 I have suffered very much of late ; but I hope Heaven 
 will forgive you." During this reception, the unhappy 
 victim stood pale and trembling, unable to weep or to 
 reply : but I could not continue a silent spectator of her 
 distress ; wherefore, assuming a degree of severity in my 
 
 K 
 
146 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 voice and manner which was ever followed with instant 
 submission, " I entreat, woman, that my words may be 
 now marked once for all : I have here brought you back a 
 poor deluded wanderer ; her return to duty demands the 
 revival of our tenderness. The real hardships of life are 
 now coming fast upon us ; let us not, therefore, increase 
 them by dissension among each other. If we live har- 
 moniously together, we may yet be contented, as there 
 are enough of us to shut out the censuring world, and 
 keep each other in countenance. The kindness of Heaven 
 is promised to the penitent, and let ours be directed by 
 the example. Heaven, we are assured, is much more 
 pleased to view a repentant sinner, than ninety-nin2 
 persons who have supported a course of undeviating recti- 
 tude. And this is right ; for that single effort by which 
 we stop short in the down-hill path to perdition, is it- 
 self a greater exertion of virtue than an hundred acts 
 of justice." 
 
Chapter XXIII 
 
 SOME assiduity was now required to make our present 
 abode as convenient as possible, and we were soon again 
 qualified to enjoy our former serenity. Being disabled 
 myself from assisting my son in our usual occupations, I 
 read to my family from the few books that were saved, 
 and particularly from such as, by amusing the imagination, 
 contributed to ease the heart. Our good neighbours, too7~] 
 came every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a j 
 time in which they were all to assist at repairing myj 
 former dwelling. Honest Farmer Williams was not last 
 among these visitors ; but heartily offered his friendship. 
 He would even have renewed his addresses to my 
 daughter ; but she rejected him in such a manner, as 
 totally repressed his future solicitations. Her grief 
 seemed formed for continuing ; and she was the only 
 person of our little society that a week did not restore to 
 cheerfulness. She now lost that unblushing innocence 
 which once taught her to respect herself, and to seek 
 pleasure by pleasing. Anxiety now had taken strong 
 possession of her mind , her beauty began to be impaired 
 with her constitution, and neglect still more contributed to 
 diminish it. Every tender epithet bestowed on her sister 
 brought a pang to her heart, and a tear to her eye ; and as 
 one vice, though cured, ever plants others where it has 
 been, so her former guilt, though driven out by repent- 
 ance, left jealousy and envy behind. I strove a thousand 
 
148 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own pain in 
 a concern for hers, collecting such amusing passages of 
 history as a strong memory and some reading could 
 suggest. " Our happiness, my dear," I would say, 
 "is in the power of One who can bring it about in 
 a thousand unforeseen ways, that mock our foresight. 
 If example be necessary to prove this, I'll give you a 
 story, my child, told us by a grave, though sometimes a 
 romancing historian. 
 
 " Matilda was married very young to a Neapolitan 
 nobleman of the first quality, and found herself a widow 
 and a mother at the age of fifteen. As she stood one day 
 caressing her infant son in the open window of an apart- 
 ment which hung over the river Volturna, the child with 
 a sudden spring leaped from her arms into the flood 
 below, and disappeared in a moment. The mother, 
 struck with instant surprise, and making an effort to 
 save him, plunged in after ; but far from being able to 
 assist the infant, she herself with great difficulty escaped 
 to the opposite shore, just when some French soldiers 
 were plundering the country on that side, who immediately 
 made her their prisoner. 
 
 " As the war was then carried on between the French 
 and Italians with the utmost inhumanity, they were going 
 at once to perpetrate those two extremes suggested by 
 appetite and cruelty. This base resolution, however, was 
 opposed by a young officer, who, though their retreat 
 required the utmost expedition, placed her behind him, 
 and brought her in safety to his native city. Her beauty 
 at first caught his eye ; her merit, soon after, his heart. 
 They were married ; he rose to the highest posts ; they 
 lived long together, and were happy. But the felicity of 
 a soldier can never be called permanent ; after an interval 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 149 
 
 of several years, the troops which he commanded having 
 met with a repulse, he was obliged to take shelter in 
 the city where he had lived with his wife. Here they 
 suffered a siege, and the city at length was taken. Few 
 histories can produce more various instances of cruelty 
 than those which the French and Italians at that time 
 exercised upon each other. It was resolved by the 
 victors, upon this occasion, to put all the French 
 prisoners to death ; but particularly the husband of the 
 unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally instrumental 
 in protracting the siege. Their determinations were, in 
 general, executed almost as soon as resolved upon. The 
 captive soldier was led forth, and the executioner with 
 his sword stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy 
 silence awaited the fatal blow, which was only sus- 
 pended till the general who presided as judge should 
 give the signal. It was in this interval of anguish and 
 expectation that Matilda came to take her last farewell 
 of her husband and deliverer, deploring her wretched 
 situation, and the cruelty of fate, that had saved her 
 from perishing by a premature death in the river Volturna, 
 to be the spectator of still greater calamities. The 
 general, who was a young man, was struck with sur- 
 prise at her beauty, and pity at her distress ; but with 
 still stronger emotions when he heard her mention her 
 former dangers. He was her son, the infant for whom 
 she had encountered so much danger. He acknowledged 
 her at once as his mother, and fell at her feet. The rest 
 may be easily supposed \ the captive was set free, and all 
 the happiness that love, friendship, and duty could confer 
 on each, were united." 
 
 In this manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter : 
 but she listened with divided attention ; for her own 
 
150 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 misfortunes engrossed all the pity she once had for 
 those of another, and nothing gave her ease. In com- 
 pany she dreaded contempt ; and in solitude she only 
 found anxiety. Such was the colour of her wretched- 
 
 fliess, when we received certain information that Mr 
 Thornhill was going to be married to Miss Wilmot, 
 for whom I always suspected he had a real passion, 
 though he took every opportunity before me to express 
 his contempt both of her person and fortune. This news 
 only served to increase poor Olivia's affliction : such a 
 flagrant breach of fidelity was more than her courage 
 could support. I was resolved, however, to get more 
 certain information, and to defeat, if possible, the com- 
 
 I pletion of his designs, by sending my son to old Mr 
 Wilmot's with instructions to know the truth of the 
 report, and to deliver Miss Wilmot a letter, intimating 
 Mr Thornhill's conduct in my family. My son went 
 in pursuance of my directions, and in three days returned, 
 assuring us of the truth of the account ; but that he had 
 found it impossible to deliver the letter, which he was 
 therefore obliged to leave, as Mr Thornhill and Miss 
 Wilmot were visiting round the country. They were to 
 be married, he said, in a few days, having appeared 
 together at church the Sunday before he was there, in 
 great splendour, the bride attended by six young ladies, 
 and he by as many gentlemen. Their approaching 
 nuptials filled the whole country with rejoicing, and they 
 usually rode out together in the grandest equipage that 
 had been seen in the country for many years. All 
 jjie friends of both families, he said T were there, pnr- 
 tjcularly jthg 'Sqii^'s nnr1p ; .Sir William Thornhill T who 
 boreso good a character. He added, that nothing 
 but mirth and feasting were going forward ; that all 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 151 
 
 the country praised the young bride's beauty, and the 
 bridegroom's fine person, and that they were immensely 
 fond of each other ; concluding, that he could not help 
 thinking Mr Thornhill one of the most happy men in 
 the world. 
 
 "Why, let him, if he can," returned I: "but, my 
 son, observe this bed of straw and unsheltering roof; 
 those mouldering walls and humid floor ; my wretched 
 body thus disabled by fire, and my children weeping 
 round me for bread : you have come home, my child, 
 to all this ; yet here, even here, you see a man that 
 would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations. 
 Oh, my children, if you could but learn to commune 
 with your own hearts, and know what noble company 
 you can make them, you would little regard the elegance 
 and splendour of the worthless. Almost all men have 
 been taught to call life a passage, and themselves the 
 travellers. The similitude still may be improved, when 
 we observe that the good are joyful and serene, like 
 travellers that are going towards home; the wicked but 
 by intervals happy, like travellers that are going into 
 exile." 
 
 My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by 
 this new disaster, interrupted what I had further to observe. 
 I bade her mother support her, and after a short time she 
 recovered. She appeared from that time more calm, and 
 I imagined had gained a new degree of resolution ; but 
 appearances deceived me : for her tranquillity was the 
 languor of overwrought resentment. A supply of pro- 
 visions, charitably sent us by my kind parishioners, seemed 
 to diffuse new cheerfulness among the rest of the family, 
 nor was I displeased at seeing them once more sprightly 
 and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their 
 
152 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 satisfactions, merely to condole with resolute melancholy, 
 or to burden them with a sadness they did not feel. 
 Thus once more the tale went round, and the song was 
 demanded, and cheerfulness condescended to hover round 
 our little habitation. 
 
Chapter XXIV 
 
 THE next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for 
 the season, so that we agreed to breakfast together on the 
 honeysuckle bank ; where, while we sat, my youngest 
 daughter at my request joined her voice to the concert 
 on the trees above us. It was in this place my poor Olivia 
 first met her seducer, and every object served to recall her 
 sadness. But that melancholy which is excited by objects 
 of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the 
 heart instead of corroding it. Her mother, too, upon this 
 occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept, and loved her 
 daughter as before. "Do, my pretty Olivia," cried she, 
 "let us have that little melancholy air your papa was so 
 fond of; your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, 
 child ; it will please your old father." She complied in a 
 manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me : 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 
 And finds too late that men betray, 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy? 
 
 What art can wash her guilt away ? 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover, 
 
 To hide her shame from every eye, 
 To give repentance to her lover, 
 
 And wring his bosom, is to die. 
 
 As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an 
 interruption in her voice from sorrow gave peculiar soft- 
 ness, the appearance of Mr Thornhill's equipage at a 
 
154 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 distance alarmed us all, but particularly increased the 
 uneasiness of my eldest daughter, who, desirous of 
 shunning her betrayer, returned to the house with her 
 sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from his chariot, 
 and making up to the place where I was still sitting, 
 inquired after my health with his usual air of familiarity. 
 " Sir," replied I, " your present assurance only serves to 
 aggravate the baseness of your character ; and there was 
 a time when I would have chastised your insolence for 
 presuming thus to appear before me. But now you are 
 safe ; for age has cooled my passions, and my calling 
 restrains them." 
 
 "I vow, my dear Sir," returned he, "I am amazed at 
 all this ; nor can I understand what it means ! I hope you 
 don't think your daughter's late excursion with me had 
 anything criminal in it ? " 
 
 "Go," cried I, " thou art a wretch, a poor, pitiful 
 wretch, and every way a liar : but your meanness secures 
 you from my anger ! Yet, Sir, I am descended from a 
 family that would not have borne this ! And so, thou 
 vile thing, to gratify a momentary passion, thou hast made 
 one poor creature wretched for life, and polluted a family 
 that had nothing but honour for their portion ! " 
 
 "If she or you," returned he, "are resolved to be 
 miserable, I cannot help it. But you may still be happy ; 
 and whatever opinion you may have formed of me, you 
 shall ever find me ready to contribute to it. We can 
 marry her to another in a short time ; and what is more, 
 she may keep her lover beside ; for I protest I shall ever 
 continue to have a true regard for her." 
 
 I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading 
 proposal ; for though the mind may often be calm under 
 great injuries, little villainy can at any time get within the 
 
 ' 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 155 
 
 soul, and sting it into rage. " Avoid my sight, thou 
 reptile ! " cried I, " nor continue to insult me with thy 
 presence. Were my brave son at home, he would not 
 suffer this ; but I am old and disabled, and every way 
 undone." 
 
 " I find," cried he, " you are bent upon obliging me to 
 talk in a harsher manner than I intended. But as I have 
 shown you what may be hoped from my friendship, it may 
 not be improper to represent what may be the consequences 
 of my resentment. My attorney, to whom your late bond 
 has been transferred, threatens hard ; nor do I know how 
 to prevent the course of justice, except by paying the 
 money myself, which, as I have been at some expenses 
 lately previous to my intended marriage, is not so easy to 
 be done. And then my steward talks of driving for the 
 rent ; it is certain he knows his duty ; for I never trouble 
 myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still I could 
 wish to serve you, and even to have you and your 
 daughter present at my marriage, which is shortly to be 
 solemnized with Miss Wilmot ; it is even the request of 
 my charming Arabella herself, whom I hope you will not 
 refuse." 
 
 "Mr Thornhill," replied I, "hear me once for all : as | 
 to your marriage with any but my daughter, that I 
 never will consent to ; and though your friendship could 
 raise me to a throne, or your resentment sink me to the 
 grave yet would I despise both. Thou hast once woe- 
 fully, irreparably deceived me. I reposed my heart upon 
 thine honour, and have found its baseness. Never more, 
 therefore, expect friendship from me. Go, and possess 
 what fortune has given thee beauty, riches, health, and 
 pleasure. Go, and leave me to want, infamy, disease, and 
 sorrow. Yet, humbled as I am, shall my heart still 
 
156 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 vindicate its dignity ; and though thou hast my forgive- 
 ness, thou shalt ever have my contempt." 
 
 "If so," returned he, "depend upon it you shall feel 
 the effects of this insolence ; and we shall shortly see 
 which is the fittest object of scorn, you or me." Upon 
 which he departed abruptly. 
 
 My wife and son, who were present at this interview, 
 seemed terrified with apprehension. My daughters also, 
 finding that he was gone, came out to be informed of the 
 result of our conference, which, when known, alarmed 
 them not less than the rest. But as to myself, I dis- 
 regarded the utmost stretch of his malevolence : he had 
 already struck the blow, and now I stood prepared to 
 repel every new effort, like one of those instruments used 
 in the art of war, which, however thrown, still presents a 
 point to receive the enemy. 
 
 We soon, however, found that he had not threatened 
 in vain j for the very next morning his steward came to 
 demand my annual rent, which, by the train of accidents 
 already related, I was unable to pay. The consequence of 
 my incapacity was his driving my cattle that evening, and 
 their being appraised and sold the next day for less than 
 half their value. My wife and children now therefore 
 entreated me to comply upon any terms, rather than incur 
 certain destruction. They even begged of me to admit 
 his visits once more, and used all their little eloquence to 
 paint the calamities I was going to endure, the terrors 
 of a prison in so rigorous a season as the present, with 
 the danger that threatened my health from the late 
 accident that happened by the fire. But I continued 
 inflexible. 
 
 " Why, my treasures," cried I, " why will you thus 
 attempt to persuade me to the thing that is not right ? 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 157 
 
 My duty has taught me to forgive him ; but my conscience 
 will not permit me to approve. Would you have me 
 applaud to the world what my heart must internally 
 condemn ? Would you have me tamely sit down and 
 flatter our infamous betrayer ; and, to avoid a prison, 
 continually suffer the more galling bonds of mental con- 
 finement ? No, never ! If we are to be taken from this 
 abode, only let us hold to the right ; and wherever we 
 are thrown, we can still retire to a charming apartment, 
 when we can look round our own hearts with intrepidity 
 and with pleasure ! " 
 
 In this manner we spent that evening. Early the next 
 morning, as the snow had fallen in great abundance in the 
 night, my son was employed in clearing it away, and 
 opening a passage before the door. He had not been thus 
 engaged long, when he came running in, with looks all 
 pale, to tell us that two strangers, whom he knew to be 
 officers of justice, were making towards the house. 
 
 Just as he spoke they came in, and approaching the bed 
 where I lay, after previously informing me of their em- 
 ployment and business, made me their prisoner, bidding 
 me prepare to go with them to the county gaol, which 
 was eleven miles off. 
 
 "My friends," said I, " this is severe weather in which ; 
 you have come to take me to a prison ; and it is 
 particularly unfortunate at this time, as one of my arms 
 has lately been burnt in a terrible manner, and it has 
 thrown me into a slight fever, and I want clothes to cover 
 me, and I am now too weak and old to walk far in such 
 deep snow ; but, if it must be so 
 
 I then turned to my wife and children, and directed 
 them to get together what few things were left us, and to 
 prepare immediately for leaving this place. I entreated 
 
158 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 them to be expeditious ; and desired my son to assist his 
 eldest sister, who, from a consciousness that she was the 
 cause of all our calamities, was fallen, and had lost 
 anguish in insensibility. I encouraged my wife, who, pale 
 and trembling, clasped our affrighted little ones in her 
 arms, that clung to her bosom in silence, dreading to look 
 round at the strangers. In the meantime my youngest 
 daughter prepared for our departure, and as she received 
 several hints to use despatch, in about an hour we were 
 ready to depart. 
 
Chapter XXV 
 
 WE set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood and 
 walked on slowly. My eldest daughter being enfeebled 
 by a slow fever, which had begun for some days to 
 undermine her constitution, one of the officers who had an 
 horse kindly took her behind him ; for even these men 
 cannot entirely divest themselves of humanity. My son 
 led one of the little ones by the hand, and my wife the 
 other, while I leaned upon my youngest girl, whose tears 
 fell, not for her own, but my distresses. 
 
 We were now got from my late dwelling about two 
 miles, when we saw a crowd running and shouting behind 
 us, consisting of about fifty of my poorest parishioners. 
 These, with dreadful imprecations, soon seized upon the 
 two officers of justice, and swearing they would never see 
 their minister go to gaol while they had a drop of blood 
 to shed in his defence, were going to use them with great-' 
 severity. The consequence might have been fatal, had 
 I not immediately interposed, and with some difficulty 
 rescued the officers from the hands of the enraged 
 multitude. My children, who looked upon my delivery 
 now as certain, appeared transported with joy, and were 
 incapable of containing their raptures. But they were 
 soon undeceived, upon hearing me address the poor 
 deluded people, who came, as they imagined, to do me 
 service. 
 
 "What! my friends," cried I, "and is this the way 
 
160 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 you love me ? Is this the manner you obey the in- 
 structions I have given you from the pulpit ? Thus to 
 fly in the face of justice, and bring down ruin on your- 
 selves and me ? Which is your ringleader ? Show me 
 the man that has thus seduced you. As sure as he lives 
 he shall feel my resentment. Alas ! my dear deluded 
 flock, return back to the duty you owe to God, to your 
 country and to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see you 
 in greater felicity here, and contribute to make your 
 lives more happy. But, let it at least be my comfort, 
 when I pen my fold for immortality, that not one here 
 shall be wanting." 
 
 They now seemed all repentance, and melting into 
 tears, came one after the other to bid me farewell. I 
 shook each tenderly by the hand, and leaving them my 
 blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any further 
 interruption. Some hours before night, we reached the 
 town, or rather village, for it consisted but of a few 
 mean houses, having lost all its former opulence, and 
 retaining no marks of its ancient superiority but the 
 gaol. 
 
 Upon entering we put up at an inn, where we had 
 such refreshments as could most readily be procured, and 
 I supped with my family with my usual cheerfulness. 
 After seeing them properly accommodated for that night, 
 I next attended the sheriff's officers to the prison, which 
 had formerly been built for the purposes of war, and 
 consisted of one large apartment, strongly grated, and 
 paved with stone, common to both felons and debtors 
 at certain hours in the four-and-twenty. Besides this, 
 every prisoner had a separate cell, where he was locked 
 in for the night. 
 
 I expected, upon my entrance, to find nothing but 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 161 
 
 lamentations and various sounds of misery : but it was 
 very different. The prisoners seemed all employed in 
 one common design, that of forgetting thought in 
 merriment or clamour. I was apprised of the usual 
 perquisites required upon these occasions, and im- 
 mediately complied with the demand, though the 
 little money I had was very near being all exhausted. 
 This was immediately sent away for liquor, and the 
 whole prison was soon filled with riot, laughter, and 
 profaneness. 
 
 " How," cried I to my self, " shall men so very wicked 
 be cheerful, and shall I be melancholy ? I feel only the 
 same confinement with them, and I think I have more 
 reason to be happy." 
 
 With such reflections I laboured to become cheerful ; 
 but cheerfulness was never yet produced by effort, which 
 is itself painful. As I was sitting, therefore, in a corner 
 of the gaol, in a pensive posture, one of my fellow- 
 prisoners came up, and, sitting by me, entered into con- 
 versation. It was my constant rule in life never to avoid 
 the conversation of any man who seemed to desire it ; for 
 if good, I might profit by his instruction ; if bad, he 
 might be assisted by mine. I found this to be a knowing 
 man, of strong unlettered sense, but a thorough know- 
 ledge of the world, as it is called, or, more properly 
 speaking, $>f human nature on the wrong side. He 
 asked me if I had taken care to provide myself with 
 a bed, which was a circumstance I had never once 
 attended to. 
 
 "That's unfortunate," cried he, " as you are allowed 
 here nothing but straw, and your apartment is very 
 large and cold. However, you seem to be something 
 of a gentleman, and, as I have been one myself in 
 
1 62 The Vicar of Wakefidd 
 
 my time, part of my bed-clothes are heartily at your 
 service." 
 
 I thanked him, professing my surprise at finding such 
 humanity in a gaol in misfortunes ; adding, to let him 
 see that I was a scholar, " That the sage ancient 
 seemed to understand the value of company in affliction, 
 when he said, Ton kosmon aire, el dos ton etairon ; and, in 
 fact," continued I, " what is the world if it affords only 
 solitude ? " 
 
 " You talk of the world, sir," returned my fellow- 
 prisoner ; "the world is in its dotage: and yet the 
 cosmogony or creation of the world has puzzled the 
 philosophers of every age. What a medley of opinions 
 have they not broached upon the creation of the world ! 
 Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, 
 have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, 
 
 Anarchon ara kai atelutawn to pan, which implies " " I 
 
 ask pardon, Sir," cried I, " for interrupting so much 
 learning : but I think I have heard all this before. Have 
 I not had the pleasure of once seeing you at Wellbridge 
 fair, and is not your name Ephraim Jenkinson ? " At this 
 demand he only sighed. " I suppose you must recollect," 
 resumed I, "one Doctor Primrose, from whom you bought 
 a horse ? " 
 
 He now at once recollected me ; for the gloominess of 
 the place and the approaching night had prevented his 
 distinguishing my features before. "Yes, Sir," returned 
 Mr Jenkinson, " I remember you perfectly well ; I bought 
 a horse, but forgot to pay for him. Your neighbour 
 Flamborough is the only prosecutor I am any way afraid 
 of at the next assizes ; for he intends to swear positively 
 against me as a coiner. I am heartily sorry, Sir, I ever 
 deceived you, or indeed any man ; for you see," continued 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 163 
 
 he, showing his shackles, ".what my tricks have brought 
 me to." 
 
 "Well, Sir," replied I, "your kindness in offering me 
 assistance when you could expect no return, shall be repaid 
 with my endeavours to soften, or totally suppress Mr 
 Flamborough's evidence, and I will send my son to him 
 for that purpose the first opportunity ; nor do I in the 
 least doubt but he will comply with my request ; and as 
 to my own evidence, you need be under no uneasiness 
 about that." , 
 
 "Well, Sir," cried he, "all the return I can make 
 shall be yours. You shall have more than half my 
 bed-clothes to-night, and I'll take care to stand your 
 friend in the prison, where I think I have some in- 
 fluence." 
 
 I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised 
 at the present youthful change in his aspect ; for at 
 the time I had seen him before, he appeared at least 
 sixty. "Sir," answered he, "you are little acquainted 
 with the world ; I had at that time, false hair, and have 
 learnt the art of counterfeiting every age from seventeen 
 to seventy. Ah, sir ! had I but bestowed half the 
 pains in learning a trade that I have in learning to be 
 a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man at this day. 
 But, rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, and that, 
 perhaps, when you least expect it." 
 
 We were now prevented from further conversation by 
 the arrival of the gaoler's servants, who came to call 
 over the prisoners' names, and lock up for the night. 
 A fellow also, with a bundle of straw for my bed, 
 attended, who led me along a dark narrow passage, into 
 a room paved like the common prison, and in one corner 
 of this I spread my bed, and the clothes given me by 
 
164 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 my fellow-prisoner ; which done, my conductor, who was 
 civil enough, bade me a good night. After my usual 
 meditations, and having praised my heavenly corrector, 
 I laid myself down, and slept with the utmost tran- 
 quillity till morning. 
 
Chapter XXVI 
 
 THE next morning early I was awakened by my family, 
 whom I found in tears at my bedside. The gloomy 
 strength of everything about us, it seems, had daunted 
 them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, assuring them 
 I had never slept with greater tranquillity ; and next 
 inquired after my eldest daughter, who was not among 
 them. They informed me that yesterday's uneasiness 
 and fatigue had increased her fever, and it was judged 
 proper to leave her behind. My next care was to send 
 my son to procure a room or two to lodge the family 
 in, as near the prison as conveniently could be found. 
 He obeyed; but could only find one apartment, which 
 was hired at a small expense for his mother and sisters, 
 the gaoler, with humanity, consenting to let him and 
 his two little brothers lie in the prison with me. A 
 bed was therefore prepared for them in a corner of the 
 room, which I thought answered very conveniently. I 
 was willing, however, previously to know whether my 
 little children chose to lie in a place which seemed to 
 fright them upon entrance. 
 
 "Well," cried I, "my good boys, how do you like 
 your bed ? I hope you are not afraid to lie in this 
 room, dark as it appears ? " 
 
 "No, papa," says Dick, "I am not afraid to lie any- 
 where, where you are." 
 
 165 
 

 166 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 " And I," says Bill, who was yet but four years old, 
 " love every place best that my papa is in." 
 
 After this I allotted to each of the family what they 
 were to do. My daughter was particularly directed to 
 watch her declining sister's health ; my wife was to 
 attend me ; my little boys were to read to me : " And 
 as for you, my son," continued I, "it is by the labour 
 v_of your hands we must all hope to be supported. Your 
 wages as a day-labourer will be fully sufficient, with 
 proper frugality, to maintain us all, and comfortably too. 
 Thou art now sixteen years old, and hast strength ; and 
 it was given thee, my son, for very useful purposes; 
 for it must save from famine your helpless parents and 
 family. Prepare then, this evening, to look out for 
 work against to-morrow, and bring home every night 
 what money you earn for our support." 
 
 Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I 
 walked down to the common prison, where I could 
 enjoy more air and room. But I was not long there 
 when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that in- 
 vaded me on every side, drove me back to my apart- 
 ment again. Here I sat for some time pondering upon 
 the strange infatuation of wretches, who, finding all 
 mankind in open arms against them, were labouring to 
 make themselves a future and a tremendous enemy. 
 
 Their insensibility excited my highest compassion, and 
 blotted my own uneasiness from my mind. It even 
 appeared a duty incumbent upon me to attempt to reclaim 
 them. I resolved therefore, once more to return, and, 
 in spite of their contempt, to give them my advice, and 
 conquer them by my perseverance. Going, therefore, 
 among them again, I informed Mr Jenkinson of my 
 design, at which he laughed heartily, but communicated 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 167 
 
 it to the rest. The proposal was received with the 
 greatest good humour, as it promised to afford a new 
 fund of entertainment to persons who had now no other 
 resource for mirth but what could be derived from ridicule 
 or debauchery. 
 
 I therefore read them a portion of the service with a 
 loud, unaffected voice, and found my audience perfectly 
 merry upon the occasion. Lewd whispers, groans of 
 contrition burlesqued, winking and coughing, alternately 
 excited laughter. However, I continued with my natural 
 solemnity to read on, sensible that what I did might 
 mend some, but could itself receive no contamination 
 from any. 
 
 After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, which 
 was rather calculated at first to amuse them than to 
 reprove. I previously observed, that no other motive 
 but their welfare could induce me to this ; that I was 
 their fellow-prisoner, and now got nothing by preaching. 
 I was sorry, I said, to hear them so very profane ; be- 
 cause they got nothing by it, but might lose a great 
 deal : " For be assured, my friends," cried I, " for 
 you are my friends, however the world may disclaim 
 your friendship, though you swore twelve thousand 
 oaths in a day, it would not put one penny in your 
 purse. Then what signifies calling every moment upon 
 the devil, and courting his friendship, since you find 
 how scurvily he uses you ? He has given you nothing 
 here, you find, but a mouthful of oaths and an empty 
 belly ; and, by the best accounts I have of him, he will 
 give you nothing that's good hereafter. 
 
 " If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally 
 go elsewhere. Were it not worth your while, then, 
 just to try how you may like the usage of another 
 
1 68 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 master, who gives you fair promises at least to come 
 to him ? Surely, my friends, of all stupidity in the 
 world, his must be the greatest, who, after robbing a 
 house, runs to the thief-takers for protection. And yet, 
 how are you more wise ? You are all seeking comfort 
 from one that has already betrayed you, applying to a 
 more malicious being than any thief-taker of them all ; 
 for they only decoy and then hang you ; but he decoys 
 and hangs, and, what is worst of all, will not let you 
 loose after the hangman has done." 
 
 When I had concluded, I received the compliments of 
 my audience, some of whom came and shook me by the 
 hand, swearing that I was a very honest fellow, and 
 that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore 
 promised to repeat my lecture next day, and actually 
 conceived some hopes of making a reformation here ; 
 for it had ever been my opinion, that no man was past 
 the hour of amendment, every heart lying open to the 
 shafts of reproof; if the archer could but take a proper 
 aim. When I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back 
 to my apartment, where my wife prepared a frugal meal, 
 while Mr Jenkinson begged leave to add his dinner to 
 ours, and partake of the pleasure, as he was kind enough 
 to express it, of my conversation. He had not yet seen 
 my family ; for as they came to my apartment by a 
 door in the narrow passage already described, by this 
 means they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at 
 the first interview, therefore, seemed not a little struck 
 with the beauty of my youngest daughter, which her 
 pensive air contributed to heighten ; and my little ones 
 did not pass unnoticed. 
 
 "Alas, Doctor," cried he, "these children are too 
 handsome and too good for such a place as this ! " 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 169 
 
 " Why, Mr Jenkinson," replied I, " thank Heaven, my 
 children are pretty tolerable in morals j and if they be 
 good, it matters little for the rest." 
 
 " I fancy, Sir," returned my fellow-prisoner, " that it 
 must give you great comfort to have all this little family 
 about you." 
 
 " A comfort, Mr Jenkinson!" replied I; "yes, it is 
 indeed a comfort, and I would not be without them for 
 all the world ; for they can make a dungeon seem a 
 palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding 
 my happiness, and that is by injuring them." 
 
 " I am afraid then, Sir,'' cried he, " that I am in some 
 measure culpable ; for I think I see here (looking at my 
 son Moses)- one that I have injured, and by whom I wish 
 to be forgiven.'" 
 
 My son immediately recollected his voice and features, 
 though he had before seen him in disguise, and taking him 
 by the hand, with a smile, forgave him. " Yet," con- 
 tinued he, -"I can't help wondering at what you could see 
 in my face, to think me a proper mark for deception." 
 
 "My dear Sir," returned the other, "it was not your 
 face, but your white stockings, and the black ribbon in 
 your hair, that allured me. But, no disparagement to 
 your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you in my 
 time; and yet, with all my tricks, the blockheads have 
 been too many for me at last." 
 
 "I suppose," cried my son, "that the narrative of such 
 a life as yours must be extremely instructive and amusing." 
 
 " Not much of either," returned Mr Jenkinson. " Those 
 relations which describe the tricks and vices only of man- 
 kind, by increasing our suspicion in life, retard our success. 
 The traveller that distrusts every person he meets, and 
 turns back upon the appearance of every man that looks 
 
170 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 like a robber, seldom arrives in time at his journey's 
 end. 
 
 " Indeed, I think, from my own experience, that the 
 knowing one is the silliest fellow under the sun. I was 
 thought cunning from my very childhood , when but 
 seven years old, the ladies would say that I was a perfect 
 little man ; at fourteen, I knew the world, cocked my hat, 
 and loved the ladies ; at twenty, though I was perfectly 
 honest, yet every one thought me so cunning, that no one 
 svould trust me. Thus I was at last obliged to turn 
 sharper in my own defence, and have lived ever since, my 
 head throbbing with schemes to deceive, and my heart 
 palpitating with fears of detection. I used often to laugh 
 at your honest simple neighbour Flamborough, and, one 
 way or another, generally cheated him once a year. Yet 
 still the honest man went forward without suspicion, and 
 grew rich, while I still continued tricksy and cunning, and 
 was poor, without the consolation of being honest. How- 
 ever," continued he, " let me know your case, and what 
 has brought you here ; perhaps, though I have not skill 
 to avoid a gaol myself, I may extricate my friends." 
 
 In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him of the 
 whole train of accidents and follies that had plunged me 
 into my present troubles, and my utter inability to get 
 free. 
 
 After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes, he 
 slapped his forehead, as if he had hit upon something 
 material, and took his leave, saying, he would try what 
 could be done. 
 
Chapter XXVII 
 
 THE next morning I communicated to my wife and 
 children the scheme I had planned of reforming the 
 prisoners, which they received with universal disapproba- 
 tion, alleging the impossibility and impropriety of it ; 
 adding that my endeavours would no way contribute to 
 their amendment, but might probably disgrace my calling. 
 
 "Excuse me," returned I; "these people, however 
 fallen, are still men ; and that is a very good title to my 
 affections. Good counsel rejected returns to enrich the 
 giver's bosom ; and though the instruction I communicate 
 may not mend them, yet it will assuredly mend myself. 
 If these wretches, my children, were princes, there would 
 be thousands ready to offer their ministry ; but in my 
 opinion, the heart that is buried in a dungeon is as 
 precious as that seated upon a throne. Yes, my treasures, 
 if I can mend them, I will: perhaps they will not all 
 despise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from .the 
 gulf, and that will be great gain ; for is there upon earth 
 a gem so precious as the human soul ? " 
 
 Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the common 
 prison, where I found the prisoners very merry expecting 
 my arrival; and each prepared with some gaol trick to 
 play upon the Doctor. Thus, as I was going to begin, 
 one turned my wig awry, as if by accident, and then asked 
 my pardon. A second, who stood at some distance, had 
 a knack of spitting through his teeth, which fell in 
 
 171 
 
172 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 showers on my book. A third would cry Amen in such 
 an affected tone as gave the rest great delight. A fourth 
 had slyly picked my pocket of my spectacles. But there 
 was one whose trick gave more universal pleasure than 
 all the rest ; for, observing the manner in which I had 
 disposed my books on the table before me, he very 
 dexterously displaced one of them, and put an obscene 
 jest-book of his own in the place. However, I took no 
 notice of all that this mischievous group of little beings 
 could do, but went on, perfectly sensible that what was 
 ridiculous in my attempt would excite mirth only the first 
 or second time, while what was serious would be per- 
 manent. My design succeeded, and in less than six days 
 some were penitent, and all attentive. 
 
 It was now that I applauded my perseverance and 
 address, at thus giving sensibility to wretches divested of 
 every moral feeling, and now began to think of doing 
 them temporal services also, by rendering their situation 
 somewhat more comfortable. Their time had hitherto 
 been divided between famine and excess, tumultuous riot 
 and bitter repining. Their only employment was quarrel- 
 ling among each other, playing at cribbage, and cutting 
 tobacco-stoppers. From this last mode of idle industry 
 I took the hint of setting such as chose to work at cutting 
 pegs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood 
 being bought by a general subscription, and, when manu- 
 factured, sold by my appointment ; so that each earned 
 something every day a trifle indeed, but sufficient to 
 maintain him. 
 
 I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the punish- 
 ment of immorality, and rewards for peculiar industry. 
 Thus in less than a fortnight I had formed them into 
 something social and humane, and had the pleasure of 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 173 
 
 regarding myself as a legislator, who had brought men 
 from their native ferocity into friendship and obedience. 
 
 And it were highly to be wished, that legislative power 
 would thus direct the law rather to reformation than 
 severity ; that it would seem convinced that the work of 
 eradicating crimes is not by making punishment familiar, 
 but formidable. Then, instead of our present prisons, 
 which find or make men guilty, which enclose wretches 
 for the commission of one crime, and return them, if 
 returned alive, fitted for the perpetration of thousands ; 
 we should see, as in other parts of Europe, places of 
 penitence and solitude, where the accused might be 
 attended by such as could give them repentance, if 
 guilty, or new motives to virtue, if innocent. And this, 
 but not the increasing punishments, is the way to mend 
 a state. Nor can I avoid even questioning the validity of 
 that right which social combinations have assumed, of 
 capitally punishing offences of a slight nature. In cases 
 of murder, their right is obvious, as it is the duty of us 
 all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off that man who 
 has shown a disregard for the life of another. Against 
 such, all nature rises in arms ; but it is not so against him 
 who steals my property. Natural law gives me no right 
 to take away his life, as, by that, the horse he steals is as 
 much his property as mine. If, then, I have any right, it 
 must be from a compact made between us, that Jie who 
 deprives the other of his horse shall die. But this is a 
 false compact ; because no man has a right to barter his 
 life no more than to take it away, as it is not his own. 
 And besides, the compact is inadequate, and would be set 
 aside, even in a court of modern equity, as there is a great 
 penalty for a very trifling convenience, since it is far better 
 that two men should live than that one man should ride. 
 
174 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 But a compact that is false between two men, is equally 
 so between a hundred or a hundred thousand ; for as ten 
 millions of circles can never make a square, so the united 
 voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to 
 falsehood. It is thus that reason speaks, and untutored 
 nature says the same thing. Savages, that are directed by 
 natural law alone, are very tender of the lives of each 
 other; they seldom shed blood but to retaliate former 
 cruelty. 
 
 Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had 
 but few executions in times of peace ; and, in all com- 
 mencing governments that have the print of nature still 
 strong upon them, scarce any crime is held capital. 
 
 It is among the citizens of a refined community that 
 penal laws, which are in the hands of the rich, are laid 
 upon the poor. Government, while it grows older, seems 
 to acquire the moroseness of age, and, as if our property 
 were become dearer in proportion as it increased as if the 
 more enormous our wealth the more extensive our fears 
 all our possessions are paled up with new edicts every day, 
 and hung round with gibbets to scare every invader. 
 
 I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our penal 
 laws, or the licentiousness of our people, that this country 
 should show more convicts in a year than half the dominions 
 of Europe united. Perhaps it is owing to both ; for they 
 mutually produce each other. When, by indiscriminate 
 penal laws, a nation beholds the same punishment affixed 
 to dissimilar degrees of guilt, from perceiving no distinc- 
 tion in the penalty, the people are led to lose all sense of 
 distinction in the crime, and this distinction is the bulwark 
 of all morality ; thus the multitude of laws produce new 
 vices, and new vices call for fresh restraints. 
 
 It were to be wished, then, that power, instead of con- 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 175 
 
 triving new laws to punish vice ; instead of drawing hard 
 the cords of society till a convulsion come to burst them ; 
 instead of cutting away wretches as useless before we 
 have tried their utility ; instead of converting correction 
 into vengeance, it were to be wished that we tried the 
 restrictive arts of government, and made law the protector, L 
 but not the tyrant of the people. We should then find 
 that creatures, whose souls are held as dross, only wanted 
 the hand of a refiner : we should then find that wretches, 
 now stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should feel a 
 momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to sinew 
 the state in times of danger ; that as their faces are like 
 ours, their hearts are so too ; that few minds are so base 
 as that perseverance cannot amend ; that a man may see 
 his last crime without dying for it ; and that very little 
 blood will serve to cement our security. 
 
Chapter XXVIII 
 
 I HAD now been confined more than a fortnight, but had 
 not since my arrival been visited by my dear Olivia, and I 
 greatly longed to see her. Having communicated my 
 wishes to my wife, the next morning the poor girl entered 
 my apartment, leaning on her sister's arm. The change 
 which I saw in her countenance struck me. The number- 
 less graces that once resided there were now fled, and the 
 hand of death seemed to have moulded every feature to 
 alarm me. Her temples were sunk, her forehead was 
 tense, and a fatal paleness sat upon her cheek. 
 
 " I am glad to see thee, my dear," cried I ; " but why 
 this dejection, Livy ? I hope, my love, you have too great 
 a regard for me to permit disappointment thus to under- 
 mine a life which I prize as my own. Be cheerful, child, 
 and we may yet see happier days." 
 
 " You have ever, Sir," replied she, " been kind to me, 
 and it adds to my pain that I shall never have an oppor- 
 tunity of sharing that happiness you promise. Happiness, 
 I fear, is no longer reserved for me here ; and I long to be 
 rid of a place where I have only found distress. Indeed, 
 Sir, I wish you would make a proper submission to Mr 
 Thornhill ; it may in some measure induce him to pity 
 you, and it will give me relief in dying." 
 
 "Never, child," replied I; "never will I be brought to 
 -acknowledge my daughter a prostitute ; for though the 
 
 world may look upon your offence with scorn, let it be 
 
 176 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 177 
 
 mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of guilt. 
 My dear, I am no way miserable in this place, how- 
 ever dismal it may seem ; and be assured, that while 
 you continue to bless me by living, he shall never have 
 my consent to make you more wretched by marrying 
 another." 
 
 After the departure of my daughter, my fellow-prisoner, 
 who was by at this interview, sensibly enough expostulated 
 on my obstinacy in refusing a submission which promised 
 to give me freedom. He observed that the rest of my 
 family was not to be sacrificed to the peace of one child 
 alone, and she the only one who had offended me. " Be- 
 sides," added he, "I don't know if it be just thus to 
 obstruct the union of man and wife, which you do at 
 present, by refusing to consent to a match you cannot 
 hinder, but may render unhappy." 
 
 "Sir," replied I, "you are unacquainted with the man^ 
 that oppresses us. I am very sensible that no submission J 
 I can make could procure me liberty even for an hour. I 
 am told that even in this very room a debtor of his, no 
 later than last year, died for want. But though my sub- 
 mission and approbation could transfer me from hence, to 
 the most beautiful apartment he is possessed of, yet I 
 would grant neither, as something whispers me that it 
 would be giving a sanction to adultery. While my 
 daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall ever be 
 legal in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I should 
 be the basest of men, from any resentment of my own, to 
 attempt putting asunder those who wish for a union. No, 
 villain as he is, I should then wish him married, to prevent 
 the consequences of his future debaucheries. But now, 
 should I not be the most cruel of all fathers, to sign an 
 instrument which must send my child to the grave, merely 
 
 M 
 
178 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 to avoid a prison myself; and thus, to escape one pang, 
 break my child's heart with a thousand ? " 
 
 He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but could 
 not avoid observing, that he feared my daughter's life was 
 already too much wasted to keep me long a prisoner. 
 "However," continued he, "though you refuse to submit 
 to the nephew, I hope you have no objections to laying 
 ^your case before the uncle, who has the first character in 
 the kingdom for everything that is just and good. I would 
 advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimating all 
 his nephew's ill-usage ; and my life for it, that in three 
 days you shall have an answer." I thanked him for the 
 hint, and instantly set about complying ; but I wanted 
 paper, and unluckily all our money had been laid out that 
 morning in provisions : however, he supplied me. 
 
 For the three ensuing days I was in a state of anxiety 
 to know what reception my letter might meet with ; but 
 in the meantime was frequently solicited by my wife to 
 submit to any conditions rather than remain here, and 
 every hour received repeated accounts of the decline of 
 my daughter's health. The third day and the fourth 
 arrived, but I received no answer to my letter : the 
 complaints of a stranger against a favourite nephew were 
 no way likely to succeed ; so that these hopes soon 
 vanished like all my former. My mind, however, still 
 supported itself, though confinement and bad air began 
 to make a visible alteration in my health, and my arm 
 that had suffered in the fire grew worse. My children, 
 however, sat by me, and while I was stretched on my 
 straw, read to me by turns, or listened and wept at my 
 instructions. But my daughter's health declined faster 
 than mine : every message from her contributed to in- 
 crease my apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 179 
 
 after I had written the letter which was sent to Sir 
 William Thornhill, I was alarmed with an account that 
 she was speechless. Now it was that confinement was 
 truly painful to me ; my soul was bursting from its prison 
 to be near the pillow of my child, to comfort, to strengthen 
 her, to receive her last wishes, and teach her soul the way 
 to Heaven ! Another account came : she was expiring, 
 and I was debarred the small comfort of weeping by her.N 
 My fellow-prisoner, some time after, came with the last 
 
 account. He bade me be patient : she was dead ! The , 
 
 next morning he returned, and found me with my two 
 little ones, now my only companions, who were using all 
 their innocent efforts to comfort me. They entreated to 
 read to me, and bade me not to cry, for I was now too 
 old to weep. " And is not my sister an angel now, papa ? " 
 cried the eldest ; " and why, then, are you sorry for her ? 
 I wish I were an angel out of this frightful place, if my 
 papa were with me." " Yes," added my youngest darling, 
 " Heaven, where my sister is, is a finer place than this, 
 and there are none but good people there, and the people 
 here are very bad." 
 
 Mr Jenkinson interrupted their harmless prattle by 
 observing, that, now my daughter was no more, I should 
 seriously think of the rest of my family, and attempt to 
 save my own life, which was every day declining for want 
 of necessaries and wholesome air. He added, that it was 
 now incumbent on me to sacrifice any pride or resentment 
 of my own to the welfare of those who depended on me 
 for support ; and that I was now, both by reason and 
 justice, obliged to try to reconcile my landlord. 
 
 " Heaven be praised," replied I, " there is no pride left 
 me now : I should detest my own heart if I saw either 
 pride or resentment lurking there. On the contrary, as my 
 
180 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 oppressor has been once my parishioner, I hope one day to 
 present him up an unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal. 
 No, Sir, I have no resentment now ; and though he has 
 taken from me what I held dearer than all his treasures, 
 though he has wrung my heart, for I am sick almost to 
 fainting, very sick, my fellow-prisoner, yet that shall 
 never inspire me with vengeance. I am now willing to 
 approve his marriage ; and, if this submission can do him 
 any pleasure, let him know that if I have done him any 
 injury I am sorry for it." 
 
 Mr Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down my 
 submission nearly as I have expressed it, to which I 
 signed my name. My son was employed to carry the 
 letter to Mr Thornhill, who was then at his seat in 
 the country. He went, and, in about six hours, re- 
 turned with a verbal answer. He had some difficulty, 
 he said, to get a sight of his landlord, as the servants 
 were insolent and suspicious : but he accidentally saw him 
 ("~as he was going out upon business, preparing for his 
 marriage, which was to be in three days. He continued 
 to inform us, that he stept up in the humblest manner, 
 and delivered the letter, which, when Mr Thornhill 
 ^"had read, he said that all submission was now too 
 late and unnecessary ; that he heard of our application 
 to his uncle, which met with the contempt it deserved ; 
 and, as for the rest, that all future applications should 
 be directed to his attorney, not to him. He observed, 
 however, that as he had a very good opinion of the 
 discretion of the two young ladies, they might have been 
 the most agreeable intercessors. 
 
 "Well, Sir," said I to my fellow-prisoner, "you now 
 discover the temper of the man that oppresses me. He 
 can at once be facetious and cruel : but, let him use 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 181 
 
 me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite of all his 
 bolts to restrain me. I am now drawing towards an 
 abode that looks brighter as I approach it : this expecta- 
 tion cheers my afflictions, and though I leave an helpless 
 family of orphans behind me, yet they will not be utterly 
 forsaken : some friend, perhaps, will be found to assist 
 them for the sake of their poor father, and some may 
 charitably relieve them for the sake of their heavenly 
 Father." 
 
 Just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that 
 day before, appeared with looks of terror, and making 
 efforts, but unable, to speak. "Why, my love," cried 
 I, " why will you thus increase my afflictions by your 
 own ? What though no submissions can turn our severe 
 master, though he has doomed me to die in this place 
 of wretchedness, and though we have lost a darling child, ; 
 yet still you will find comfort in your other children when j 
 I shall be no more." " We have indeed lost," returned r 
 she, "a darling child. My Sophia, my dearest, is gone;! 
 snatched from us, carried off by ruffians ! " " How,[ 
 madam," cried my fellow-prisoner, " Miss Sophia carried 
 off by villains ! sure it cannot be ? " 
 
 She could only answer by a fixed look, and a flood 
 of tears. But one of the prisoners' wives who was 
 present, and came in with her, gave us a more distinct 
 account : she informed us, that as my wife, my daughter, 
 and herself were taking a walk together on the great 
 road, a little way out of the village, a post-chaise and 
 pair drove up to them, and instantly stopped ; upon 
 which a well-dressed man, but not Mr Thornhill, 
 stepping out, clasped my daughter round the waist, 
 and forcing her in, bade the postillion drive on, so 
 that they were out of sight in a moment. 
 
1 82 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 " Now," cried I, " the sum of my miseries is made up, 
 nor is it in the power of anything on earth to give me 
 another pang. What ! not one left ! not to leave me 
 one ! The monster ! The child that was next my 
 heart ! she had the beauty of an angel, and almost the 
 wisdom of an angel. But support that woman, nor let 
 her fall. Not to leave me one ! " 
 
 " Alas ! my husband," said my wife, " you seem to 
 want comfort even more than I. Our distresses are 
 great, but I could bear this and more, if I saw you but 
 easy. They may take away my children, and all the 
 world, if they leave me but you." 
 
 My son, who was present, endeavoured to moderate 
 our grief; he bade us take comfort, for he hoped that 
 we might still have reason to be thankful. " My child," 
 cried I, " look round the world, and see if there be any 
 happiness left me now. Is not every ray of comfort shut 
 out, while all our bright prospects only lie beyond the 
 grave?" "My dear father," returned he, "I hope that 
 there is still something that will give you an interval of 
 satisfaction ; for I have a letter from my brother George." 
 " What of him, child ? " interrupted I ; " does he know 
 our misery ? I hope my boy is exempt from any part of 
 what his wretched family suffers ? " " Yes, Sir," re- 
 turned he, " he is perfectly gay, cheerful, and happy. 
 His letter brings nothing but good news ; he is the 
 favourite of his colonel, who promises to procure him 
 the very next lieutenancy that becomes vacant." 
 
 " And are you sure of all this ? " cried my wife : "are 
 you sure that nothing ill has befallen my boy?" "No- 
 thing, indeed, madam," returned my son; "you shall see 
 the letter, which will give you the highest pleasure ; and 
 if anything can procure you comfort, I am sure that will." 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 183 
 
 " But are you sure," still repeated she, " that the letter 
 is from himself, and that he is really so happy ?" " Yes, 
 madam," replied he, "it is certainly his, and he will one 
 day be the credit and support of our family." " Then, I 
 thank Providence," cried she, " that my last letter to him 
 has miscarried. Yes, my dear," continued she, turning to 
 me, " I will now confess, that though the hand of Heaven 
 is sore upon us in other instances, it has been favourable 
 here. By the last letter I wrote my son, which was in 
 the bitterness of anger, I desired him, upon his mother's 
 blessing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see justice 
 done his father and sister, and avenge our cause. But, 
 thanks be to Him that directs all things, it has miscarried, 
 and I am at rest." " Woman ! " cried I, " thou hast done 
 very ill, and at another time, my reproaches might have 
 been more severe. Oh ! what a tremendous gulf hast 
 thou escaped, that would have buried both thee and him 
 in endless ruin ; Providence, indeed, has here been kinder 
 to us than we, to ourselves. It has reserved that son to 
 be the father and protector of my children when I shall 
 be away. How unjustly did I complain of being stripped 
 of every comfort, when still I hear that he is happy, and 
 insensible of our afflictions; still kept in reserve to support 
 his widowed mother, and to protect his brothers and 
 sisters ! But what sisters has he left ? He has no sisters 
 now : they are all gone, robbed from me, and I am un- 
 done." "Father," interrupted my son, "I beg you will 
 give me leave to read his letter I know it will please 
 you." Upon which, with my permission, he read as 
 follows : 
 
 " HONOURED SIR, I have called off my imagination a 
 few moments from the pleasures that surround me, to fix 
 
184 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 it upon objects that are still more pleasing, the dear little 
 fireside at home. My fancy draws the harmless group, 
 as listening to every line of this with great composure. 
 I view those faces with delight, which never felt the 
 deforming hand of ambition or distress ! But, whatever 
 your happiness may be at home, I am sure it will be 
 some addition to it to hear that I am perfectly pleased 
 with my situation, and every way happy here. 
 '"" Our regiment is countermanded, and is not to leave 
 the kingdom. The colonel, who professes himself my 
 friend, takes me with him to all companies where he is 
 acquainted, and, after my first visit, I generally find my- 
 self received with increased respect upon repeating it. 
 
 I danced last night with Lady G , and could I forget 
 
 you know whom, I might be perhaps successful. But it 
 is my fate still to remember others, while I am myself 
 forgotten by most of my absent friends ; and in this 
 number, I fear, Sir, that I must consider you ; for I have 
 long expected the pleasure of a letter from home, to no 
 purpose. Olivia and Sophia too promised to write, but 
 seem to have forgotten me. Tell them they are two 
 arrant little baggages, and that I am at this moment in a 
 most violent passion with them ; yet still, I know not 
 how, though I want to bluster a little, my heart is 
 respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them, 
 Sir, that after all, I love them affectionately ; and be 
 assured of my ever remaining 
 
 Your dutiful Son." 
 
 " In all our miseries," cried I, " what thanks have we 
 not to return, that one at least of our family is exempted 
 from what we suffer ! Heaven be his guard, and keep 
 my boy thus happy, to be the support of his widowed 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 185 
 
 mother, and the father of these two babes, which is all the 
 patrimony I can now bequeath him ! May he keep their 
 innocence from the temptations of want, and be their con- 
 ductor in the paths of honour ! " I had scarce said these 
 words, when a noise like that of a tumult seemed to 
 proceed from the prison below : it died away soon after, 
 and a clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that 
 led to my apartment. The keeper of the prison entered, 
 holding a man all bloody, wounded, and fettered with the 
 heaviest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch 
 as he approached me, but with horror, when I found it 
 was my own son. " My George ! my George ! and do 
 I behold thee thus ? Wounded fettered ? Is this thy 
 happiness ? is this the manner you return to me ? Oh 
 that this sight could break my heart at once, and let me 
 die ! " 
 
 " Where, Sir, is your fortitude ? " returned my son, 
 with an intrepid voice. " I must suffer - 9 my life is for- 
 feited, and let them take it." 
 
 I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes in 
 silence, but I thought I should have died with the effort. 
 " Oh, my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee thus, and 
 I cannot, cannot help it. In the moment that I thought 
 thee blest, and prayed for thy safety, to behold thee thus 
 again ! Chained wounded ; and yet the death of the 
 youthful is happy. But I am old, a very old man, and 
 have lived to see this day ! To see my children all 
 untimely falling about me, while I continue a wretched 
 survivor in the midst of ruin ! May all the curses that 
 ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer of my 
 children ! May he live, like me, to see " 
 
 "Hold, Sir!" replied my son, "or I shall blush for 
 thee. How, Sir ! forgetful of your age, your holy call- 
 
1 86 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 ing, thus to arrogate the justice of Heaven, and fling those 
 curses upward that must soon descend to crush thy own 
 grey head with destruction ! No, Sir, let it be your care 
 now to fit me for that vile death I must shortly suffer ! 
 to arm me with hope and resolution ! to give me courage 
 to drink of that bitterness which must shortly be my 
 portion." 
 
 " My child, you must not die ; I am sure no offence of 
 thine can deserve so vile a punishment. My George 
 could never be guilty of any crime to make his ancestors 
 ashamed of him." 
 
 """ Mine, Sir," returned my son, " is, I fear, an unpardon- 
 able one. When I received my mother's letter from home, 
 I immediately came down, determined to punish the be- 
 
 V^trayer of our honour, and sent him an order to meet me, 
 which he answered, not in person, but by despatching 
 four of his domestics to seize me. I wounded one who 
 first assaulted me, and I fear desperately ; but the rest 
 
 I made me their prisoner. The coward is determined to 
 put the law in execution against me ; the proofs are un- 
 deniable ; I have sent a challenge, and as I am the first 
 transgressor upon the statute, I see no hope of pardon. 
 But you have often charmed me with your lessons of 
 fortitude ; let me now, Sir, find them in your example." 
 
 " And, my son, you shall find them. I am now raised 
 above this world, and all the pleasures it can produce. 
 From this moment I break from my heart all the ties that 
 held it down to earth, and will prepare to fit us both for 
 eternity. Yes, my son, I will point out the way, and my 
 soul shall guide yours in the ascent, for we will take our 
 flight together. I now see, and am convinced, you can 
 expect no pardon here ; and I can only exhort you to 
 seek it at that greatest tribunal where we both shall 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 187 
 
 shortly answer. But let us not be niggardly in our 
 exhortation, but let all our fellow-prisoners have a share. 
 Good gaoler, let them be permitted to stand here while 
 I attempt to improve them." Thus saying, I made an 
 effort to rise from my straw, but wanted strength, and 
 was able only to recline against the wall. The prisoners 
 assembled themselves according to my directions, for they 
 loved to hear my counsel : my son and his mother sup- 
 ported me on either side ; I looked and saw that none 
 were wanting, and then addressed them with the follow- 
 ing exhortation. 
 
Chapter XXIX 
 
 "My friends, my children, and fellow-sufferers, when I 
 reflect on the distribution of good and evil here below, 
 I find that much has been given man to enjoy, yet still 
 more to suffer. Though we should examine the whole 
 world, we shall not find one man so happy as to have 
 nothing left to wish for ; but we daily see thousands who 
 by suicide show as they have nothing left to hope. In 
 this life, then, it appears that we cannot be entirely blesf, 
 but yet we may be completely miserable. 
 
 " Why man should thus feel pain ; why our wretched- 
 ness should be requisite in the formation of universal 
 felicity ; why when all other systems are made perfect by 
 the perfection of their subordinate parts, the great system 
 should require for its perfection parts that are not only 
 subordinate to others, but imperfect in themselves these 
 are questions that never can be explained, and might be 
 useless if known. On this subject, Providence has thought 
 fit to elude our curiosity, satisfied with granting us motives 
 to consolation. 
 
 "In this situation man has called in the friendly assist- 
 ance of philosophy ; and Heaven, seeing the incapacity of 
 that to console him, has given him the aid of religion. 
 The consolations of philosophy are very amusing, but 
 often fallacious ; it tells us that life is filled with comforts, 
 if we will but enjoy them ; and, on the other hand, that 
 though we unavoidably have miseries here, life is short, 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 189 
 
 and they will soon be over. Thus do these consolations 
 destroy each other ; for, if life is a place of comfort, its 
 shortness must be misery, and if it be long, our griefs are 
 protracted. Thus philosophy is weak : but religion com- 
 forts in a higher strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting 
 up his mind, and preparing it for another abode. When 
 the good man leaves the body, and is all a glorious mind, 
 he will find he has been making himself a heaven of 
 happiness here ; while the wretch that has been maimed 
 and contaminated by his vices, shrinks from his body 
 with terror, and finds that he has anticipated the vengeancg- > 
 of Heaven. To religion, then, we must hold, in every 
 circumstance of life, for our truest comfort : for if 
 already we are happy, it is a pleasure to think that 
 we can make that happiness unending ; and if we are 
 miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is 
 a place of rest. Thus, to the fortunate, religion holds 
 out a continuance of bliss ; to the wretched, a change 
 from pain. 
 
 " But though religion is very kind to all men, it has 
 promised peculiar rewards to the unhappy : the sick, the 
 naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and the prisoner, 
 have ever most frequent promises in our sacred law. The 
 Author of our religion everywhere professes himself the 
 wretch's friend, and, unlike the false ones of this world, 
 bestows all his caresses upon the forlorn. The unthinking 
 have censured this as partiality, as a preference without 
 merit to deserve it. But they never reflect, that it is not 
 in the power even of Heaven itself to make the offer of 
 unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy as to the 
 miserable. To the first, eternity is but a single blessing, 
 since at most it but increases what they already possess. 
 To the latter, it is a double advantage; for it diminishes 
 
190 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 their pain here, and rewards them with heavenly bliss 
 , hereafter. 
 
 "But Providence is in another respect kinder to the 
 poor than to the rich, for as it thus makes the life after 
 death more desirable, so it smoothes the passage there. 
 The wretched have had a long familiarity with every face 
 of terror. The man of sorrows lays himself quietly down, 
 without possessions to regret, and but few ties to stop his 
 departure : he feels only nature's pang in the final separa- 
 tion, and this is no way greater than he has often fainted 
 under before ; for, after a certain degree of pain, every 
 new breach that death opens in the constitution nature 
 kindly covers with insensibility. 
 
 "Thus Providence has given the wretched two advan- 
 tages over the happy in this life, greater felicity in dying, 
 and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure which arises 
 Vom contrasted enjoyment. And this superiority, my 
 friends, is no small advantage, and seems to be one of 
 the pleasures of the poor man in the parable ; for though 
 he was already in heaven, and felt all the raptures it could 
 give, yet it was mentioned as an addition to his happiness, 
 that he had once been wretched, and now was comforted ; 
 that he had known what it was to be miserable, and now 
 felt what it was to be happy. 
 
 " Thus, my friends, you see religion does what philo- 
 sophy could never do : it shows the equal dealings of 
 Heaven to the happy and the unhappy, and levels all 
 human enjoyments to nearly the same standard. It gives 
 to both rich and poor the same happiness hereafter, and 
 equal hopes to aspire after it ; but if the rich have the 
 advantage of enjoying pleasure here, the poor have the 
 endless satisfaction of knowing what it was once to be 
 miserable, when crowned with endless felicity hereafter ; 
 
 ar 
 > f* 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 191 
 
 and even though this should be called a small advantage, 
 yet, being an eternal one, it must make up by duration 
 what the temporal happiness of the great may have ex- 
 ceeded by intenseness. 
 
 " These are, therefore, the consolations which the 
 wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which they 
 are above the rest of mankind : in other respects, they are 
 below them. They who would know the miseries of the 
 poor, must see life and endure it. To declaim on the 
 temporal advantages they enjoy, is only repeating what 
 none either believe or practice. The men who have the 
 necessaries of living are not poor ; and they who want 
 them must be miserable. Yes, my friends, we must be 
 miserable. No vain efforts of a refined imagination can 
 soothe the wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to j 
 the dank vapour of a dungeon, or ease to the throbbings//^ 
 of a broken heart. Let the philosopher from his couch 
 of softness tell us that we can resist all these : alas ! the 
 effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain. 
 Death is slight, and any man may sustain it ; but tormentsA. 
 are dreadful, and these no man can endure. 
 
 "To us then, my friends, the promises of happiness in 
 heaven should be peculiarly dear ; for if our reward be 
 in this life alone, we are then, indeed, of all men the most 
 miserable. When I look round these gloomy walls, made 
 to terrify as well as to confine us ; this light, that only 
 serves to show the horrors of the place - 9 those shackles, 
 that tyranny has imposed, or crime made necessary ; when 
 I survey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans 
 oh, my friends, what a glorious exchange would heaven 
 be for these ! To fly through regions unconfined "as air 
 to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss to carol over 
 endless hymns of praise to have no master to threaten or 
 
192 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 insult us, but the form of Goodness himself for ever in 
 our eyes ! when I think of these things, death becomes 
 the messenger of very glad tidings , when I think of these 
 things, his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support; 
 when I think of these things, what is there in life worth 
 having ? when I think of these things, what is there that 
 should not be spurned away ? Kings in their palaces 
 should groan for such advantages ; but we, humbled as 
 we are, should yearn for them. 
 
 " And shall these things be ours ? Ours they will 
 certainly be, if we but try for them ; and, what is a 
 comfort, we are shut out from many temptations that 
 would retard our pursuit. Only let us try for them, 
 and they will certainly be ours ; and, what is still a 
 comfort, shortly too : for if we look back on past life, 
 it appears but a very short span, and whatever we may 
 think of the rest of life, it will yet be found of less 
 duration ; as we grow older, the days seem to grow 
 shorter, and our intimacy with Time ever lessens the 
 perception of his stay. Then let us take comfort now, 
 for we shall soon be at our journey's end ; we shall 
 soon lay down the heavy burden laid by Heaven upon 
 us , and though death, the only friend of the wretched, 
 for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the 
 view, and like his horizon still flies before him ; yet 
 the time will certainly and shortly come, when we shall 
 cease from our toil ; when the luxurious great ones of 
 the world shall no more tread us to the earth ; when 
 we shall think with pleasure of our sufferings below ; 
 when we shall be surrounded with all our friends, pr 
 such as deserved our friendship ; when our bliss shall 
 be unutterable, and still, to crown all, unending." 
 
Chapter XXX 
 
 WHEN I had thus finished, and my audience was retired, 
 the gaoler, who was one of the most humane of his 
 profession, hoped I would not be displeased, as what 
 he did was but his duty, observing that he must be 
 obliged to remove my son into a stronger cell, but that 
 he should be permitted to revisit me every morning. 
 I thanked him for his clemency, and grasping my boy's 
 hand, bade him farewell, and be mindful of the great 
 duty that was before him. 
 
 I again therefore laid me down, and one of my little 
 ones sat by my bedside reading, when Mr Jenkinson 
 entering, informed me that there was news of my 
 daughter; for that she was seen by a person about 
 two hours before in a strange gentleman's company, 
 and that they had stopped at a neighbouring village for 
 refreshment, and seemed as if returning to town. He 
 had scarcely delivered this news when the gaoler came, 
 with looks of haste and pleasure, to inform me that my 
 daughter was found. Moses came running in a moment 1 
 after, crying out that his sister Sophy was below, and 
 coming up with our old friend Mr Burchell. 
 
 Just as he delivered this news, my dearest girl entered, 
 and, with looks almost wild with pleasure, ran to kiss 
 me, in a transport of affection. Her mother's tears and 
 silence also showed her pleasure. "Here, papa," cried 
 the charming girl, "here is the brave man to whom I 
 
194 The Vicar of Wakeneld 
 
 owe my delivery ; to this gentleman's intrepidity I am 
 
 indebted for my happiness and safety " A kiss from 
 
 Mr Burchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater than 
 hers, interrupted what she was going to add. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr Burchell," cried I, " this is but a wretched 
 habitation you now find us in ; and we are now very 
 different from what you last saw us. You were ever 
 our friend : we have long discovered our errors with 
 regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After 
 the vile usage you then received at my hands, I am 
 almost ashamed to behold your face ; yet I hope you'll 
 forgive me, as I was deceived by a base ungenerous 
 wretch, who, under the mask of friendship, has undone 
 me." 
 
 "It is impossible," cried Mr Burchell, "that I should 
 forgive you, as you never deserved my resentment. I 
 partly saw your delusion then, and as it was out of my 
 power to restrain, I could only pity it." 
 
 " It was ever my conjecture," cried I, " that your 
 mind was noble ; but now I find it so. But tell me, 
 my dear child, how thou hast been relieved, or who the 
 ruffians were who carried thee away ? " 
 
 x " Indeed, Sir," replied she, "as to the villain who 
 carried me off, I am yet ignorant. For, as my mamma 
 and I were walking out, he came behind us, and almost 
 before I could call for help, forced me into the post- 
 chaise, and in an instant the horses drove away. I met 
 several on the road, to whom I cried out for assistance, 
 but they disregarded my entreaties. In the meantime, 
 the ruffian himself used every art to hinder me from 
 crying out : he flattered and threatened by turns, and 
 swore that, if I continued but silent, he intended no 
 harm. In the meantime, I had broken the canvas that 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 195 
 
 he had drawn up, and whom should I perceive at some 
 distance but your old friend Mr Burchell, walking along 
 with his usual swiftness, with the great stick for which 
 we used so much to ridicule him. As soon as we came 
 within hearing, I called out to him by name, and en- 
 treated his help. I repeated my exclamations several 
 times, upon which, with a very loud voice, he bid the 
 postillion stop ; but the boy took no notice, but drove 
 on with still greater speed. I now thought he could 
 never overtake us, when, in less than a minute, I saw 
 Mr Burchell come running up by the side of the horses, 
 and, with one blow, knock the postillion to the ground. 
 The horses, when he was fallen, soon stopped of them- 
 selves, and the ruffian, stepping out, with oaths and 
 menaces, drew his sword, and ordered him, at his peril, 
 to retire ; but Mr Burchell, running up, shivered his 
 sword to pieces, and then pursued him for nearly a 
 quarter of a mile ; but he made his escape. I was at/ 
 this time come out myself, willing to assist my deliverer ; 
 but he soon returned to me in triumph. The postillion, 
 who was recovered, was going to make his escape too ; 
 but Mr Burchell ordered him at his peril to mount 
 again and drive back to town. Finding it impossible 
 to resist, he reluctantly complied, though the wound he 
 had received seemed, to me at least, to be dangerous. 
 He continued to complain of the pain as we drove along, 
 so that he at last excited Mr Burchell's compassion, 
 who, at my request, exchanged him for another, at an 
 inn where we called on our return." 
 
 "Welcome, then," cried I, "my child! and thou, 
 her gallant deliverer, a thousand welcomes ! Though 
 our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to 
 receive you. And now, Mr Burchell, as you have delivered 
 
196 The Vicar of Waketield 
 
 my girl, if you think her a recompense, she is yours :JiiL 
 an sllianre with fl family so poor as mine, 
 
 take her^obtain her consent. as I know ymi Have her 
 heart, and-yau have mine. And let me tell you, Sir, that 
 I give you no small treasure : she has been celebrated for 
 beauty, it is true, but that is not my meaning, I give you 
 up a treasure in her mind." 
 
 "But I suppose, Sir," cried Mr Burchell, " that you are 
 apprised of my circumstances, and of my incapacity to 
 support her as she deserves ? " 
 
 " If your present objection," replied I, "be meant as an 
 evasion of my offer, I desist but I know no man so 
 worthy to deserve her as you ; and if I could give her 
 thonsandis, and thousands sought her from me, yet my 
 honest brave Burchell should be my dearestjjioice." 
 
 To all this his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying 
 refusal: and, without the least reply to my offer, he 
 demanded if he could not be furnished with refresh- 
 ments from the next inn ; to which being answered in 
 the affirmative, he ordered them to send in the best dinner 
 that could be provided upon such short notice. He 
 bespoke also a dozen of their best wine, and some cordials 
 for me ; adding, with a smile, that he would stretch a 
 little for once, and, though in a prison, asserted he was 
 never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon 
 made his appearance with preparations for dinner ; a table 
 was lent us by the gaoler, who seemed remarkably 
 assiduous ; the wine was disposed in order, and two very 
 well dressed dishes were brought in. 
 
 My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's 
 melancholy situation, and we all seemed unwilling to damp 
 her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was in vain that 
 I attempted to appear cheerful : the circumstances of my 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 197 
 
 unfortunate son broke through all efforts to dissemble ; so 
 that I was at last obliged to damp our mirth by relating 
 his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be permitted to 
 share with us in this little interval of satisfaction. After 
 my guests were recovered from the consternation my 
 account had produced, I requested also that Mr Jenkinson, 
 a fellow-prisoner, might be admitted, and the gaoler 
 granted my request with an air of unusual submission. 
 The clanking of my son's irons was no sooner heard 
 along the passage, than his sister ran impatiently to meet 
 him, while Mr Burchell, in the meantime, asked me if 
 my son's name was George ; to which replying in the 
 affirmative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy 
 entered the room, I could_perceive he regarded Mr 
 Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence. 
 " Come on," cried I, " my son ; though we are fallen very 
 low, yet Providence has been pleased to grant us some 
 small relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, 
 and there is her deliverer : to that brave man it is that I 
 am indebted for yet having a daughter : give him, my 
 boy, the hand of friendship; he deserves our warmest 
 gratitude." 
 
 My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, 
 and still continued fixed at respectful distance. " My dear 
 brother," cried his sister, " why don't you thank my good 
 deliverer ? the brave should ever love each other." 
 
 He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our 
 guest at last perceived himself to be known, and, assuming 
 all his native dignity T desired my son to come forward. 
 Never before had I seen anything so truly majestic as the 
 air he assumed on this occasion. The greatest object in 
 the universe, says a certain philosopher, is a good man 
 struggling with adversity ; yet there is still a greater, 
 
198 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 which is the good man that comes to relieve it. After he 
 had regarded my son for some time with a superior air 
 "I again find," said he, "unthinking boy, that the same 
 
 crime " But here he was interrupted by one of the 
 
 gaoler's servants, who came to inform us that a person of 
 distinction, who had driven into town with a chariot and 
 several attendants, sent his respects to the gentleman that 
 was with us, and begged to know when he should think 
 proper to be waited upon. " Bid the fellow wait," cried 
 our guest, " till I shall have leisure to receive him ; " and 
 then turning to my son, " I again find, Sir," proceeded he, 
 " that you are guilty of the same offence for which you 
 once had my reproof, and for which the law is now pre- 
 paring its justest punishments. You imagine, perhaps, 
 that a contempt for your own life gives you a right to take 
 that of another : but where, Sir, is the difference between 
 a duellist, who hazards a life of no value, and the 
 murderer who acts with greater security ? Is it any 
 diminution of the gamester's fraud, when he alleges that 
 he has staked a counter ? " ? 
 
 " Alas, Sir," cried I, "Tyhoever you are, pity the 
 poor misguided creature ; for what he has done was in 
 obedience to a deluded mother, who, in the bitterness of 
 her resentment, required him, upon her blessing, to avenge 
 her quarrel. Here, Sir, is the letter, which will serve to 
 convince you of her imprudence, and diminish his guilt." 
 
 He took the letter, and hastily read it over. " This," 
 says he, " though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation, 
 of his fault as induces me to forgive him. And now, Sir," 
 continued he, kindly taking my son by the hand, " I see 
 you are surprised at finding me here ; but I have often 
 visited prisons upon occasions less interesting. I am now 
 come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom I have 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 199 
 
 the most sincere esteem. J_have long; been a disguised. 
 ftpe^taror of thy father's benevolence. I have, at his little 
 dwelling, enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery ; and 
 have received that happiness that courts could not give, 
 from the amusing simplicity around his fireside. My 
 nephew has been apprised of my intentions of coming 
 here, and, I find, is arrived. Jt wm-jld hp wronging him 
 and_vouj:Q condemn him without examination: if there be 
 injury^jthere shall be redress ; and this T may .say^ without 
 boasting, that none have ever taxH ^^ 
 
 William ThornhilL" 
 
 We now found the personage whom we had so long \ 
 entertained as an harmless amusing companion was no 
 other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose 
 virtues and singularities scarce any were strangers. The. 
 ox Mr Burchell was in reality a man of larfrp forMinje 
 and great interest, to whom senates listened with applause, 
 and whom party heard with conviction : who was the 
 friend of his country, but loyal to his king. My poor 
 wife, recollecting her former familiarity, seemed to shrink 
 with apprehension ; but Sophia, who a few moments^ 
 before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense / 
 distance to which he was removed by fortune, was unable / 
 to conceal her tears. 
 
 " Ah ! Sir," cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, 
 " how is it possible that I can ever have your forgiveness ? 
 The slights you received from me the last time I had the 
 honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I 
 audaciously threw out these jokes, sir, I fear, can never 
 be forgiven." 
 
 "My dear good lady," returned he with a smile, "if 
 you had your joke, I had my answer : I'll leave it to all 
 the company if mine were not as good as yours. To say 
 
2oo The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 the truth, I know nobody whom I am disposed to be 
 angry with at present, but the fellow who so frighted my 
 little girl here. I had not even time to examine the 
 rascal's person so as to describe him in an advertisement. 
 Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should 
 know him again ? " 
 
 "Indeed, sir," replied she, "I can't be positive; yet 
 now I recollect, he had a large mark over one of his eye- 
 brows." " I ask pardon, madam," interrupted Jenkinson, 
 who was by, " but be so good as to inform me if the 
 fellow wore his own red hair?" "Yes, I think so," 
 cried Sophia. " And did your honour," continued he, 
 turning to Sir William, "observe the length of his 
 legs ? " " I can't be sure of their length," cried the 
 Baronet, " but I am convinced of their swiftness ; for he 
 outran me, which is what I thought few men in the 
 kingdom could have done." "Please your honour," cried 
 Jenkinson, "I know the man: it is certainly the same: 
 the best runner in England ; he has beaten Pinwire of 
 Newcastle : Timothy Baxter is his name ; I know him 
 perfectly, and the very place of his retreat this moment. 
 If your honour will bid Mr Gaoler let two of his men go 
 with me, I'll engage to produce him to you in an hour at 
 farthest." Upon this the gaoler was called, who instantly 
 appearing, Sir William demanded if he knew him. 
 " Yes, please your honour," replied the gaoler, " I know 
 Sir William Thornhill well, and everybody that knows 
 anything of him will desire to know more of him." 
 " Well, then," said the Baronet, "my request is, that you 
 will permit this man and two of your servants to go upon 
 a message by my authority ; and as I am in the commission 
 of the peace, I undertake to secure you." " Your 
 promise is sufficient," replied the other, " and you may, at 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 201 
 
 a minute's warning, send them over England whenever 
 your honour thinks fit." 
 
 In pursuance of the gaoler's compliance, Jenkinson 
 was despatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while we 
 were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy 
 Bill, who had just come in and climbed up Sir William's 
 neck, in order to kiss him. His mother was immediately 
 going to chastise his familiarity, but the worthy man 
 prevented her ; and taking the child, all ragged as he 
 was, upon his knee, " What, Bill, you chubby rogue," 
 cried he, " do you remember your old friend Burchell ? 
 and Dick, too, my honest veteran, are you here ? you 
 shall find I have not forgot you." So saying, he gave 
 each a large piece of ginger-bread, which the poor 
 fellows ate very heartily, as they had got that morning 
 but a very scanty breakfast. 
 
 We now sat down to dinner, which was almost cold; 
 but previously, my arm still continuing painful, Sir 
 William wrote a prescription, for he had made the 
 study of physic his amusement, and was more than 
 moderately skilled in the profession : this being sent 
 to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm was 
 dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief. We 
 were waited upon at dinner by the gaoler himself, who 
 was willing to do our guest all the honour in his power. 
 But before we had well dined, another message was 
 brought from his nephew, desiring permission to appear 
 in order to vindicate his innocence and honour ; with 
 which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr 
 Thornhill to be introduced. 
 
Chapter XXXI 
 
 MR THORNHILL made his appearance with a smile, which 
 he seldom wanted, and was going to embrace his uncle, 
 which the other repulsed with an air of disdain. " No 
 fawning, Sir, at present," cried the Baronet, with a look 
 of severity ; " the only way to my heart is by the road 
 of honour ; but here I only see complicated instances 
 of falsehood, cowardice and oppression. How is it, Sir, 
 that this poor man, for whom J know you professed a 
 friendship, is used thus hardly ? His daughter vilely 
 seduced as a recompense for his hospitality, and he him- 
 self thrown into prison, perhaps but for resenting the 
 insult ? His son, too, whom you feared to face as a 
 man " 
 
 " Is it possible, Sir," interrupted his nephew, " that my 
 uncle should object that as a crime, which his repeated 
 instructions alone have persuaded me to avoid ? " 
 
 " Your rebuke," cried Sir William, " is just ; you -have 
 acted, in this instance, prudently and well, though not 
 quite as your father would have done : my brother, indeed 
 
 was the soul of honour ; but thou Yes, you have 
 
 acted, in this instance, perfectly right, and it has my 
 warmest approbation." 
 
 " And I hope," said his nephew, " that the rest of my 
 
 'conduct will not be found to deserve censure. I appeared, 
 
 Sir, with this gentleman's daughter at some places of 
 
 public amusement : thus, what was levity, scandal called 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 203 
 
 by a harsher name, and it was reported I had debauched 
 her. I waited on her father in person, willing to clear 
 the thing to his satisfaction, and he received me only with 
 insult and abuse. As for the rest, with regard to his 
 being here, my attorney and steward can best inform you, 
 as I commit the management of business entirely to them. 
 If he has contracted debts, and is unwilling, or even un- 
 able to pay them, it is their business to proceed in this 
 manner: and I see no hardship or injustice in pursuing the 
 most legal means of redress." 
 
 " If this," cried Sir William, " be as you have stated it, 
 there is nothing unpardonable in your offence ; and though 
 your conduct might have been more generous in not 
 suffering this gentleman to be oppressed by subordinate 
 tyranny, yet it has been at least equitable." 
 
 " He cannot contradict a single particular," replied the 
 'Squire; " I defy him to do so; and several of my 
 servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, Sir," 
 continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact I 
 could not contradict him " thus, Sir, my own innocence 
 is vindicated : but though, at your entreaty, I am ready 
 to forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his 
 attempts to lessen me in your esteem excite a resentment 
 that I cannot govern. And this, too, at a time when his 
 son was actually preparing to take away my life, this, I 
 say, was such guilt, that I am determined to let the law 
 take its course. I have here the challenge that was sent 
 me, and two witnesses to prove it : one of my servants 
 has been wounded dangerously ; and even though my 
 uncle himself should dissuade me, which I know he will 
 not, yet I will see public justice done, and he shall suffer 
 for it." 
 
 "Thou monster! " cried my wife, " hast thou not had 
 
204 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 vengeance enough already, but must my poor boy feel thy 
 cruelty ? I hope that good Sir William will protect us ; 
 for my son is as innocent as a child : I am sure he is, and 
 never did harm to man." 
 
 " Madam," replied the good man, " your wishes for his 
 safety are not greater than mine ; but I am sorry to find 
 his guilt too plain ; and if my nephew persists But 
 the appearance of Jenkinson and the gaoler's two servants 
 now called off our attention, who entered, hauling in a tall 
 man, very genteelly dressed, and answering the descrip- 
 tion already given of the ruffian who had carried off my 
 daughter. " Here," cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, 
 "here we have him; and if ever there was a candidate 
 for Tyburn, this is one." 
 
 The moment Mr Thornhill perceived the prisoner, and 
 Jenkinson who had him in custody, he seemed to shrink 
 back with terror. His face became pale with conscious 
 guilt, and he would have withdrawn, but Jenkinson, who 
 perceived his design, stopped him. "What, 'Squire," 
 cried he, "are you ashamed of your two old acquaintances, 
 Jenkinson and Baxter ? But this is the way that all great 
 men forget their friends, though I am resolved we will 
 not forget you. Our prisoner, please your honour," con- 
 tinued he, turning to Sir William, " has already confessed 
 all. This is the gentleman reported to be so dangerously 
 r wounded. He declares that it was Mr Thornhill who 
 ! first put him upon this affair ; that he gave him the 
 / clothes he now wears, to appear like a gentleman, and 
 furnished him with the post-chaise. The plan was laid 
 between them, that he should carry off the young lady 
 to a place of safety, and that there he should threaten 
 and terrify her - 9 but Mr Thornhill was to come in, in the 
 meantime, as if by accident, to her rescue ; and that they 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 205 
 
 should fight awhile, and then he was to run off, by 
 which Mr Thornhill would have the better opportunity 
 of gaining her affections himself, under the character of 
 her defender." 
 
 Sir William remembered the coat to have been worn 
 by his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner himself con- 
 firmed by a more circumstantial account : concluding, that 
 Mr Thornhill had often declared to him that he was in 
 love with both sisters at the same time. 
 
 1 ^Heavens ! " cried Sir William, " what a viper have I 
 been fostering in my bosom ! And so fond of public 
 justice, too, as he sfrprpe^ fn he J But he shall have it ; 
 secure him, Mr Gaoler Yet, hold ! I fear there is not 
 legal evidence to detain him." 
 
 Upon this, Mr Thornhill, with the utmost humility, 
 entreated that two such abandoned wretches might not be 
 admitted as evidences against him, but that his servants 
 should be examined. " Your servants ! " replied Sir 
 William, "Wretch! call them yours no longer: but 
 come, let us hear what those fellows have to say ; let his 
 butler be called." 
 
 When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by 
 his former master's looks that all his power was now over. 
 "Tell me," cried Sir William, sternly, "have you ever / 
 seen your master and that fellow dressed up in his clothes, / 
 in company together ? " " Yes, please your honour," cried 
 the butler, " a thousand times : he was the man that always 
 brought him his ladies." " How ! " interrupted young Mr 
 Thornhill, " this to my face ? " " Yes," replied the butler, 
 " or to any man's face. To tell you a truth, Master Thorn- 
 hill, I never either loved you or liked you, and I don't 
 care if I tell you now a piece of my mind." "Now, 
 then," cried Jenkinson, " tell his honour whether you 
 
206 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 know anything of me." "I can't say," replied the butler, 
 " that I know much good of you. The night that gentle- 
 man's daughter was deluded to our house, you were one 
 of them." " So then," cried Sir William, " I find you 
 have brought a very fine witness to prove your innocence : 
 thou stain to humanity ! to associate with such wretches ! 
 But," continuing his examination, "you tell me, Mr Butler, 
 that this was the person who brought him this old gentle- 
 man's daughter." " No, please your honour," replied the 
 butler, " he did not bring her, for the 'Squire himself 
 undertook that business ; but he brought the priest that 
 pretended to marry them." " It is but too true," cried 
 Jenkinson ; "I cannot deny it ; that was the employment 
 assigned me, and I confess it to my confusion." 
 
 "Good heavens," exclaimed the Baronet, " how every 
 new discovery of his villainy alarms me ! All his guilt 
 is now too plain, and I find his present prosecution was 
 dictated by tyranny, cowardice, and revenge. At my 
 "'request, Mr Gaoler, set this young officer, now your 
 prisoner, free, and trust to me for the consequences. 
 I'll make it my business to set the affair in a proper light 
 to my friend the magistrate, Avho has committed him. 
 But where is the unfortunate young lady herself? Let 
 her appear to confront this wretch : I long to know by 
 what arts he has seduced her. Entreat her to come in. 
 Where is she ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Sir," said I, " that question stings me to the 
 heart : I was once indeed happy in a daughter, but her 
 
 miseries " Another interruption here prevented me ; 
 
 for who should make her appearance but Miss Arabella 
 Wilmot, who was next day to have been married to Mr 
 Thornhill. Nothing could equal her surprise at seeing 
 Sir William and his nephew here before her; for her 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 207 
 
 arrival was quite accidental. It happened that she and 
 the old gentleman, her father, were passing through the 
 town, on the way to her aunt's, who had insisted that 
 her nuptials with Mr Thornhill should be consummated 
 at her house ; but stopping for refreshment, they put up 
 at an inn at the other end of the town. It was there, 
 from the window, that the young lady happened to 
 observe one of my little boys playing in the street, and 
 instantly sending a footman to bring the child to her, 
 she learned from him some account of our misfortunes ^ 
 but was still kept ignorant of young Mr Thornhiirs 
 being the cause. Though her father made several 
 remonstrances on the impropriety of going to a prison 
 to visit us, yet they were ineffectual; she desired the 
 child to conduct her, which he did, and it was thus she 
 surprised us at a juncture so unexpected. 
 
 Nor can I go on without a reflection on those accidental 
 meetings, which though they happen every day, seldom 
 excite our surprise but upon some extraordinary occasion. <r 
 To what a fortuitous concurrence do we not owe every , /' 
 pleasure and convenience of onr livps I How many seem^ u 
 ing accidents must unite before we ran hf* rWhpH or ^ 
 ikdJ- The peasant must be disposed to labour, the shower 
 must fall, the wind fill the merchant's sail, or numbers 
 must want the usual supply. 
 
 We all continued silent for some moments, while my 
 charming pupil, which was the name I generally gave 
 this young lady, united in her looks compassion and 
 astonishment, which gave new finishings to her beauty. 
 "Indeed, my dear Mr Thornhill," cried she to the 
 'Squire, who she supposed was come here to succour, 
 and not to oppress us, "I take it a little unkindly that 
 you should come here without me, or never inform me 
 
208 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 of the situation of a family so dear to us both : you know 
 I should take as much pleasure in contributing to the 
 relief of my reverend old master here, whom I shall ever 
 esteem, as you can. But I find that, like your uncle, you 
 take a pleasure in doing good in secret." 
 
 " He find pleasure in doing good ! " cried Sir William, 
 interrupting her. " No, my dear, his pleasures are as 
 base as he is. You see in him, madam, as complete a 
 villain as ever disgraced humanity. A wretch, who, after 
 having deluded this poor man's daughter, after plotting 
 against the innocence of her sister, has thrown the father 
 into prison, and the eldest son into fetters because he 
 had the courage to face her betrayer. And give me leave, 
 madam, now to congratulate you upon an escape from the 
 embraces of such a monster." 
 
 " O goodness ! " cried the lovely girl, " how have I 
 been deceived ! Mr Thornhill informed me for certain 
 that this gentleman's eldest son, Captain Primrose, was 
 gone off to America with his new-married lady." 
 
 " My sweetest miss," cried my wife, " he has told you 
 nothing but falsehood. My son George never left the 
 kingdom, nor ever was married. Though you have 
 forsaken him, he has always loved you too well to think 
 of anybody else ; and I have heard him say he would die 
 a bachelor for your sake." She then proceeded to ex- 
 patiate upon the sincerity of her son's passion : she set 
 his duel with Mr Thornhill in a proper light ; from 
 thence she made a rapid digression to tho 'Squire's 
 debaucheries, his pretended marriages, and ended with a 
 most insulting picture of his cowardice. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Miss Wilmot, " how very near 
 have I been to the brink of ruin ! But how great is my 
 pleasure to have escaped it ! Ten thousand falsehoods 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 209 
 
 has this gentleman told me ! He had at last art enough to 
 persuade me, that my promise to the only man I esteemed 
 was no longer binding, since he had been unfaithful. By 
 his falsehoods I was taught to detest one equally brave 
 and generous ! " 
 
 But by this time my son was freed from the encumbrance^ 
 of justice, as the person supposed to be wounded was\ 
 detected to be an impostor. Mr Jenkinson, also, who had] 
 acted as his valet-de-chambre, had dressed up his hair, and 
 furnished him with whatever was necessary to make a 
 genteel appearance. He now therefore entered, hand- 
 somely dressed in his regimentals ; and, without vanity \ 
 (for I am above it), he appeared as handsome a fellow as 
 ever wore a military dress. As he entered, he made Miss 
 Wilmot a modest and distant bow, for he was not as yet 
 acquainted with the change which the eloquence of his 
 mother had wrought in his favour. But no decorums 
 could restrain the impatience of his blushing mistress to 
 be forgiven. Her tears, her looks, all contributed to dis- 
 cover the real sensations of her heart, for having forgotten 
 her former promise, and having suffered herself to be 
 deluded by an impostor. My son appeared amazed at her 
 condescension, and could scarce believe it real. " Sure, 
 madam," cried he, " this is but delusion ! I can never 
 have merited this ! To be blessed thus is to be too 
 happy." " No, sir,' replied she ; " I have been deceived, 
 basely deceived, else nothing could have ever made 
 me unjust to my promise. You know my friendship 
 you have long known it but forget what I have 
 done, and as you once had my warmest vows of con- 
 stancy, you shall now have them repeated ; and be 
 assured, that, if your Arabella cannot be yours, she 
 shall never be another's." " And no other's you shall 
 
 o 
 
210 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 be," cried Sir William, " if I have any influence with 
 your father." 
 
 This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who im- 
 mediately flew to the inn where the old gentleman was, 
 to inform him of every circumstance that had happened. 
 But in the meantime, the 'Squire, perceiving that he was 
 on every side undone, now finding that no hopes were 
 left from flattery or dissimulation, concluded that his 
 wisest way would be to turn and face his pursuers. 
 Thus, laying aside all shame, he appeared the open, 
 hardy villain. " I find, then," cried he, " that I am to 
 expect no justice here ; but I am resolved it shall be 
 done me. You shall know, Sir," turning to Sir William, 
 " I am no longer a poor dependant upon your favours. 
 I scorn them. Nothing can keep Miss Wilmot's fortune 
 from me, which, I thank her father's assiduity, is pretty 
 large. The articles, and a bond for her fortune, are 
 
 N signed, and safe in my possession. It was her fortune, 
 not her person, that induced me to wish for this 
 match ; and, possessed of the one, let who will take 
 the other " 
 
 This was an alarming blow. Sir William was sensible 
 of the justice of his claims, for he had been instrumental in 
 
 ^drawing up the marriage articles himself. Miss Wilmot, 
 therefore, perceiving that her fortune was irretrievably 
 lost, turning to my son, she asked if the loss of fortune 
 could lessen her value to him ? "Though fortune," said 
 she, "is out of my power, at least I have my hand to 
 give." 
 
 " And that, madam," cried her real lover, " was indeed 
 all that you ever had to give \ at least all that I ever 
 thought worth the acceptance. And now I protest, my 
 Arabella, by all that's happy, your want of fortune this 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 2 1 1 
 
 moment increases my pleasure, as it serves to convince my 
 sweet girl of my sincerity." 
 
 Mr Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little pleased 
 at the danger his daughter had just escaped, and readily 
 consented to a dissolution of the match. But finding that 
 her fortune, which was secured to Mr Thornhill by bond, 
 would not be given up, nothing could exceed his dis- 
 appointment. He now saw that his money must all go 
 to enrich one who had no fortune of his own. He could 
 bear his being a rascal, but to want an equivalent to his 
 daughter's fortune was wormwood. He sat, therefore, . 
 for some minutes employed in the most mortifying specula- 
 tions, till Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. " I 
 must confess, Sir," cried he, " that your present dis- 
 appointment does not entirely displease me. Your im- 
 moderate passion for wealth is now justly punished. But 
 though the young lady cannot be rich, she has still a' 
 competence sufficient to give content. Here you see an 
 honest young soldier, who is willing to take her without 
 fortune: they have long loved each other; and for the 
 friendship I bear his father, my interest shall not be want- 
 ing in his promotion. Leave, then, that ambition which 
 disappoints you, and for once admit that happiness which 
 courts your acceptance." 
 
 "Sir William," replied the old gentleman, "be assured 
 I never yet forced her inclinations, nor will I now. If she"] 
 still continues to love this young gentleman, let her have 
 him, with all my heart. There is still, thank Heaven, 
 some fortune left, and your promise will make it some- 
 thing more. Only let my old friend here " (meaning me) 
 " give me a promise of settling six thousand pounds upon 
 my girl if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am 
 ready, this night, to be the first to join them together." 
 
212 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 As it now remained with me to make the young couple 
 happy, I readily made a promise of making the settlement 
 he required ; which, to one who had such little expecta- 
 tions as I, was no great favour. We had now, therefore, 
 the satisfaction of seeing them fly into each other's arms in 
 a transport. " After all my misfortunes," cried my son 
 George, " to be thus rewarded ! Sure this is more than 
 I could ever have presumed to hope for. To be possessed 
 of all that's good, and after such an interval of pain ! My 
 warmest wishes could never rise so high ! " 
 
 "Yes, my George," returned his lovely bride, "now 
 let the wretch take my fortune ; since you are happy 
 without it, so am I. Oh, what an exchange have I made, 
 from the basest of men, to the dearest, best ! Let him 
 enjoy our fortune, I can now be happy even in indigence." 
 " And I promise you," cried the 'Squire, with a malicious 
 grin, " that I shall be very happy with what you despise." 
 "Hold, hold, sir," cried Jenkinson, "there are two 
 words to that bargain. As for the lady's fortune, Sir, 
 you shall never touch a single stiver of it. Pray, your 
 /"honour," continued he to Sir William, " can the 'Squire 
 I have this lady's fortune if he be married to another ? " 
 \ " How can you make such a simple demand ? " replied the 
 ^Baronet : " undoubtedly he cannot." " I am sorry for 
 that," cried Jenkinson ; " for as this gentleman and I have 
 been old'fellow-sporters, I have a friendship for him. But 
 I must declare, well as I love him, that this contract is not 
 worth a tobacco-stopper, for he is married already."- 
 " You lie, like a rascal!" returned the 'Squire, who seemed 
 roused by this insult ; " I never was legally married to any 
 woman." 
 
 " Indeed, begging your honour's pardon," replied the 
 other, "you were: and I hope you will show a proper 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 213 
 
 return of friendship to your own honest Jenkinson, who 
 brings you a wife ; and if the company restrain their 
 curiosity a few minutes, they shall see her." So saying, 
 he went off, with his usual celerity, and left us all unable 
 to form any probable conjecture as to his design. " Ay, 
 let him go," cried the 'Squire ; " whatever else I may 
 have done, I defy him there. I am too old now to be 
 frightened with squibs." 
 
 "I am surprised," said the Baronet, "what the fellow 
 can intend by this. Some low piece of humour, I 
 suppose!" "Perhaps, Sir," replied I, "he may have a 
 more serious meaning. For when we reflect on the 
 various schemes this gentleman has laid to seduce 
 innocence, perhaps some one more artful than the rest has 
 been found able to deceive him. When we consider what 
 numbers he has ruined, how many parents now feel, with 
 anguish, the infamy and the contamination which he has 
 brought into their families, it would not surprise me jf 
 
 some one of them Amazement ! Do I see my lost 1 
 
 daughter ? Do I hold her ? It is, it is my life, my j 
 happiness ! I thought thee lost, my Olivia, yet still I- 
 hold thee and still thou shalt live to bless me." The 
 warmest transports of the fondest lover were not greater 
 than mine, when I saw him introduce my child, and held 
 my daughter in my arms, whose silence only spoke her 
 raptures. 
 
 "And art thou returned to me, my darling," cried I, 
 "to be my comfort in age?" "That she is," cried 
 Jenkinson; "and make much of her, for she is your own 
 honourable child, and as honest a woman as any in the 
 whole room, let the other be who she will. And as for x 
 you, 'Squire, as sure as you stand there, this young lady 
 is your lawful wedded wife : and to convince you that I 
 
214 The vicar of Wakefield 
 
 speak nothing but the truth, here is the license by which 
 you were married together." So saying, he put the 
 license into the Baronet's hands, who read it, and found it 
 perfect in every respect. " And now, gentlemen," con- 
 tinued he, " I find you are surprised at all this ; but a few 
 words will explain the difficulty. That there 'Squire of 
 renown, for whom I have a great friendship (but that's 
 between ourselves), has often employed me in doing odd 
 little things for him. Among the rest, he commissioned 
 '' me to procure him a false license and a false priest, in 
 Border to deceive this young lady. But as 'I was very 
 much his friend, what did I do, but went and got a true 
 . license and a true priest, and married them both as fast as 
 the cloth could make them. Perhaps you'll think it was 
 generosity that made me do all this ; but no ; to my shame 
 I confess it, my only design was to keep the license, and 
 let the 'Squire know that I could prove it upon him 
 whenever I thought proper, and so make him come down 
 whenever I wanted money." A burst of pleasure now 
 deemed to fill the whole apartment ; our joy reached even 
 to the common room, where the prisoners themselves 
 sympathized, 
 
 . . . And shook their chains 
 In transport and rude harmony. 
 
 / Happiness was expanded upon every face, and even 
 Olivia's cheek seemed flushed with pleasure. To be thus 
 \ restored to reputation, to friends, and fortune at once, was 
 a rapture sufficient to stop the progress of decay, and 
 restore former health and vivacity. But, perhaps, among 
 all, there was not one who felt sincerer pleasure than I. 
 Still holding the dear loved child in my arms, I asked my 
 heart if these transports were not delusions. " How 
 -could you," cried I, turning to Mr Jenkinson, " how 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 215 
 
 could you add to my miseries by the story of her death ? 
 But it matters not ; my pleasure at finding her again is 
 more than a recompense for the pain." 
 
 " As to your question," replied Jenkinson, "that is 
 easily answered. I thought the only probable means of 
 freeing you from prison was by submitting to the 'Squire, 
 and consenting to his marriage with the other young lady. 
 But these you had vowed never to grant while your 
 daughter was living : there was therefore no other method 
 to bring things to bear, but by persuading you that she 
 was dead. I prevailed on your wife to join in the 
 deceit, and we have not had a fit opportunity of undeceiv- 
 ing you till now." 
 
 In the whole assembly now there appeared only two 
 faces that did not glow with transport. Mr Thornhill's 
 assurance had entirely forsaken him ; he now saw the gulf 
 of infamy and want before him, and trembled to take the 
 plunge. He therefore fell on his knees before his uncle, 
 and in a voice of piercing misery implored compassion. 
 Sir William was going to spurn him away, but at my 
 request he raised him, and, after pausing a few moments, 
 " Thy vices, crimes, and ingratitude," tried he, " deserve 
 no tenderness ; yet thou shalt not be entirely forsaken,-^--'-'] 
 a bare competence shall be supplied to support the wants 
 of life, but not its follies. This young lady, thy wife, J 
 shall be put in possession of a third part of that fortune ) 
 which once was thine, and from her tenderness alone thou ' 
 art to expect any extraordinary supplies for the future." 
 He was going to express his gratitude for such kindness 
 in a set speech ; but the Baronet prevented him, by 
 bidding him not aggravate his meanness, which was already 
 but too apparent. He ordered him at the same time to be 
 gone, and from all his former domestics to choose one, 
 
216 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 such as he should think proper, which was all that should 
 be granted to attend him. 
 
 As soon as he left us, Sir William very politely 
 stepped up to his new niece with a smile, and wished 
 her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wilmot 
 and her father. My wife, too, kissed her daughter 
 with much affection ; as, to use her own expression, 
 she was now made an honest woman of. Sophia and 
 Moses followed in turn ; and even our benefactor Jenkin- 
 son desired to be admitted to that honour. Our satis- 
 faction seemed scarcely capable of increase. Sir William, 
 whose greatest pleasure was in doing good, now looked 
 round with a countenance open as the sun, and saw 
 nothing but joy in the looks of all except that of my 
 daughter Sophia, who, for some reasons we could not 
 comprehend, did not seem perfectly satisfied." " I 
 think now," cried he, with a smile, " that all the com- 
 pany except one or two seem perfectly happy. There 
 only remains an act of justice for me to do. You are 
 sensible, Sir," continued he, turning to me, "of the 
 obligations we both owe to Mr Jenkinson ; and it is 
 but just we should both reward him for it. Miss 
 Sophia will, I am sure, make him very happy, and he 
 , shall have from me five hundred pounds as her fortune \ 
 and upon this I am sure they can live very comfortably 
 together. Come, Miss Sophia, what say you to this 
 match of my making ? Will you have him ? " My poor 
 girl seemed almost sinking into her mother's arms at 
 the hideous proposal. " Have him, Sir ! " cried she 
 faintly ; " no, Sir, never ! " " What ! " cried he again, 
 " not have Mr Jenkinson, your benefactor, a handsome 
 young fellow, with five hundred pounds, and good ex- 
 pectations ? " " I beg, Sir," returned she, scarce able 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 217 
 
 to speak, " that you'll desist, and not make me so very 
 wretched." "Was ever such obstinacy known?" cried 
 he again ; "to refuse a man whom the family have such 
 infinite obligations to, who has preserved your sister, 
 and who has five hundred pounds ! What ! not have 
 him!" "No, Sir, never!" replied she angrily; "I'd 
 sooner die first." " If that be the case, then," cried he, 
 " if you will not have him I think I must have you 
 myself." And, so saying, he caught her to his breast 
 with ardour. " My loveliest, my most sensible of girls," 
 cried he, "how could you ever think your own Burcheil 
 could deceive you, or that Sir William Thornhill could 
 ever cease to admire a mistress that loved him for him- 
 self alone ? I have for some years sought for a woman, 
 who, a stranger to my fortune, could think that I had 
 merit as a man. After having tried in vain, even 
 amongst the pert and ugly, how great at last must 
 be my rapture, to have made a conquest over such 
 sense and such heavenly beauty." Then turning to 
 Jenkinson : "As I cannot, Sir, part with this yourig^? 
 lady myself, for she has taken a fancy to the cut of 
 my face, all the recompense I can make is to give you 
 her fortune; and you may call upon my steward to-morrow 
 for five hundred pounds." Thus we had all our compli- 
 ments to repeat, and Lady Thornhill underwent the same 
 round of ceremony that her sister had done before. In 
 the meantime Sir William's gentleman appeared to tell 
 us that the equipages were ready to carry us to the inn, 
 where everything was prepared for our reception. My 
 wife and I led the van, and left those gloomy mansions 
 of sorrow. The generous Baronet ordered forty pounds 
 to be distributed among the prisoners, and Mr Wilmot, 
 induced by his example, gave half that sum. We were 
 
2i 8 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 received below by the shouts of the villagers, and I 
 saw and shook by the hand two or three of my honest 
 parishioners, who were among the number. They 
 attended us to our inn, where a sumptuous entertain- 
 ment was provided, and coarser provisions were dis- 
 tributed in great quantities among the populace. 
 
 After supper, as my spirits were exhausted by the 
 alternation of pleasure and pain which they had sustained 
 during the day, I asked permission to withdraw ; and, 
 leaving the company in the midst of their mirth, as soon 
 as I found myself alone, I poured out my heart in gratitude 
 to the Giver of joy as well as of sorrow, and then slept 
 undisturbed till morning. 
 
Chapter XXXII 
 
 THE next morning, as soon as I awaked, I found my 
 eldest son sitting by my bedside, who came to increase 
 my joy with another turn of fortune in my favour. First 
 having released me from the settlement that I had made 
 the day before in his favour, he let me know that my 
 merchant, who had failed in town, was arrested at 
 Antwerp, and there had given up effects to a much 
 greater amount than what was due to his creditors. My 
 boy's generosity pleased me almost as much as this un- 
 looked-for good fortune ; but I had some doubts whether 
 I ought, in justice, to accept his offer. While I was 
 pondering upon this Sir William entered the room, to 
 whom I communicated my doubts. His opinion was that, 
 as my son was already possessed of a very affluent fortune 
 by his marriage, I might accept his offer without any 
 hesitation. His business, however, was to inform me, 
 that as he had the night before sent for the licenses, 
 and expected them every hour, he hoped that I would 
 not refuse my assistance in making all the company happy 
 that morning. A footman entered while we were speak- 
 ing, to tell us that the messenger was returned ; and as 
 I was by this time ready, I went down, where I found 
 the_whole company as merry as affluence and innocence 
 coulcLmake them. However, as they were now preparing 
 for a very solemn ceremony, their laughter entirely dis- 
 pleased me. I told them of the grave, becoming, and 
 
 219 
 
22O The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 sublime deportment they should assume upon this mystical 
 occasion, and read them two homilies, and a thesis of my 
 own composing, in order to prepare them. Yet they still 
 seemed perfectly refractory and ungovernable. Even as 
 we were going along to church, to which I led the way, 
 all gravity had quite forsaken them, and I was often 
 tempted to turn back in indignation. In church a new 
 dilemma arose, which promised no easy solution. This 
 was, which couple should be married first : my son's 
 bride warmly insisted that Lady Thornhill (that was to 
 be) should take the lead ; but this the other refused with 
 equal ardour, protesting she would not be guilty of such 
 rudeness for the world. The argument was supported 
 for some time between both, with equal obstinacy and 
 good breeding. But, as I stood all this time with my 
 book ready, I was at last quite tired of the contest ; and, 
 shutting it, "I perceive," cried I, " that none of you 
 have a mind to be married, and I think we had as good 
 go back again ; for I suppose there will be no business 
 done here to-day." This at once reduced them to reason. 
 The Baronet and his lady were first married, and then my 
 .son and his lovely partner. 
 
 I had previously, that morning, given orders that a 
 coach should be sent for my honest neighbour Flam- 
 borough and his family ; by which means, upon our 
 return to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the 
 two Miss Flamboroughs alighted before us. Mr Jenkin- 
 son gave his hand to the eldest, and my son Moses led 
 up the other (and _I have since found, that he has taken 
 a real liking to the girl, and my consent and bounty he 
 shall have whenever he thinks proper to demand them). 
 We were no sooner returned to the inn, but numbers of 
 any parishioners, hearing of my success, came to con- 
 
The Vicar of Wakefield 221 
 
 gratulate me ; but, amongst the rest, were those who 
 rose to rescue me, and whom I formerly rebuked with 
 such sharpness. I told the story to Sir William, my 
 son-in-law, who went out and reproved them with great 
 severity j but finding them quite disheartened by his 
 harsh reproof he gave them half-a-guinea apiece to drink 
 his health, and raise their dejected spirits. 
 
 Soon after this we were called to a very genteel enter 
 tainment, which was dressed by Mr Thornhill's cook. 
 And it may not be improper to observe with respect to 
 that gentleman, that he now resides, in quality of com- 
 panion, at a relation's house, being very well liked, and 
 seldom sitting at the side-table, except when there is no 
 room at the other ; for they make no stranger of him. 
 His time is pretty much taken up in keeping his relation, 
 who is a little melancholy, in spirits, and in learning to 
 blow the French horn. My eldest daughter, however, 
 still remembers him with regret : and she has even told 
 me, though I make a great secret of it, that when he 
 reforms, she may be brought to relent. But to return, 
 for I am not apt to digress thus ; when we were to sit 
 down to dinner, our ceremonies were going to be renewed. 
 The question was, whether my eldest daughter, as being a 
 matron, should not sit above the two young brides ; but 
 the debate was cut short by my son George, who proposed 
 that the company should sit indiscriminately, every gentle- 
 man by his lady. This was received with great, approba- 
 tion by all, excepting my wife, who, I could perceive, was 
 not perfectly satisfied, as she expected to have had the 
 pleasure of sitting at the head of the table, and carving all 
 the meat for all the company. But notwithstanding this, 
 it is impossible to describe our good humour. I can't say 
 whether we had more wit among us now than usual ; but 
 
222 The Vicar of Wakefield 
 
 I am certain we had more laughing, which answered the 
 end as well. One jest I particularly remember : old Mr 
 Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose head was turned an- 
 other way, my son replied, " Madam, I thank you." 
 Upon which the old gentleman, winking upon the rest 
 of the company, observed that he was thinking of his 
 mistress. At which jest I thought the two Miss Flam- 
 boroughs would have died with laughing. As soon as 
 dinner was over, according to my old custom, I requested 
 that the table might be taken away to have the pleasure 
 of seeing all my family assembled once more by a cheerful 
 fireside. My two little ones sat upon each knee, the rest 
 of the company by their partners. I had nothing now on 
 this side of the grave to wish for : all my cares were 
 over ; my pleasure was unspeakable. It now only re- 
 mained, that my gratitude in good fortune should exceed 
 my former submission in adversity. 
 
 
 
 
 FINIS 
 

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 LIBRARY OF THE ONIVEF 
 
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