THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE, Esq.
 
 U. fftifJ'i/rn ju/un 
 
 Ji.ii/T sitJpjiJ 
 
 HENKY MA€JK]ENaiEs,ES(g)? 
 
 liihUfhrU Jpnl H>!''2So8,ir OiJdl tcDanrj. Strand. li'TuLm .
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE, Esq. 
 
 IN EIGHT VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED BY JAMES BAILANTYNE AND CO. 
 
 FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. WILLIAM CREECH, 
 
 AND MANNERS AND MILLER, EDINBURGH ; AND 
 
 T. CADELL, AND W. DAVIES, LONDON. 
 
 1808.
 
 t • 
 
 • • . "»
 
 ERRATA TO VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Page 69. line 12. For his, read this. 
 
 126. — 8. For his, read this. 
 
 • 155. — 11. For usual, Tea.d iiseful. 
 
 164. — penult. For remarkable, read remarkably, 
 
 179. — 7. For fcnoic, read g'nato. 
 
 175). — penult. For venerable, read venerabk-hoking, 
 
 ——•301. — 7. For sear^ read sexes.
 
 \SOS 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IVI y dog had made a point on a piece of 
 fallow- ground, and led the curate and me 
 two or three hundred yards over that and 
 some stubble adjoining, in a breathless 
 state of expectation, on a burning first of 
 September, 
 
 It was a false point, and our labour was 
 vain : yet, to do Ilover justice, (for he's 
 an excellent dog, though I have lost his 
 pedigree,) the fault was none of his : The 
 birds were gone ; the curate shewed me 
 the spot where they had lain basking, at 
 the root of an old hedge. 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
 JL. 
 
 .87812
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I stopped, and cried Hem ! The curate 
 is fatter than I ; he wiped the sweat from 
 his brow. 
 
 There is no state where one is apter to 
 pause and look round one, than after such 
 a disappointment. It is even so in hfe. 
 When we have been hurrying on, impel- 
 edl)y some warm wish or other, looking 
 neither to the right hand nor to the left — 
 we fmd, of a sudden, that all our gay 
 hopes are flown ; and the only slender 
 consolation that some friend can give us, 
 is to point where they were once to be 
 found : And if we are not of that com- 
 bustible race, who will rather beat their 
 heads in spite, than wipe their brows with 
 the curate, we look round and say, with 
 the nauseated listlessness of the king of 
 Israel, " All is vanity and vexationofspi- 
 rit." 
 
 I looked round with some such grave 
 apophthegm in my mind, when I dis- 
 covered, for the first time, a venerable
 
 INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 pile, to which the inclosure belonged. An 
 air of melancholy hung about it. There 
 was a languid stillness in the day, and a 
 single crow, that perched on an old tree 
 by the side of thp gate, seemed to delight 
 in the echo of its own croaking. 
 
 I leaned on my gun, and looked ^ but 
 I had not breath enough to ask the cu- 
 rate a question. I observed carving on 
 the bark of some of the trees : 'twas in- 
 deed the only mark of human art about 
 the place, except that some branches ap- 
 peared to have been lopped, to give a view 
 of the cascade, which was formed by a 
 httle rill at some distance. 
 
 Just at that instant I saw pass between 
 the trees, a young lady with a book in her 
 hand. I stood upon a stone to observe 
 her ; but the curate sat him down on the 
 grass, and, leaning his back where I stood, 
 told me, " That was the daughter of a 
 neighbouring gentleman of the name of
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Walton, whom he had seen walking there 
 more than once. 
 
 " Some time ago," he said, " one Har- 
 ley Uved there, a whimsical sort of a man 
 I am told, but I was not then in the cure ; 
 though, if I had a turn for such things, I 
 might know a good deal of his history, for 
 the greatest part of it is still in my posses- 
 sion." 
 
 " His history !" said I. " Nay, you 
 may call it what you please," said the 
 curate ; " for indeed it is no more a his- 
 tory than it is a sermon. The way I came 
 by it was this : — Some time ago, a grave, 
 oddish kind of a man boarded at a farmer's 
 in this parish. The country people called 
 him the ghost 3 and he was known by the 
 slouch in his gait, and the length of his 
 stride. I was but little acquainted with 
 him, for he never frequented any of the 
 clubs hereabouts. Yet, for all he used to 
 walk a-nights, he was as gentle as a lamb 
 at times ; for I have seen him playing at
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 tee-totum with the children, on the great 
 stone at the door of our church-yard. 
 
 " Soon after I was made curate, he left 
 the parish, and went nobody knows whi- 
 ther ; and in his room was found a bundle 
 of papers, which was brought to me by 
 his landlord. I began to read them, but 
 I soon grew w^eary of the task ^ for, be- 
 sides that the hand is intolerably bad, I 
 could never fmd the author in one strain 
 for two chapters tosrether;. land I doij't 
 believe there's a sin^e syllogism froiii be- 
 ginning to end. ' ' 
 
 " I should be glad to see this medley," 
 said I. " You shall see it now," answer- 
 ed the curate, " for I always take it along 
 wdth me a-shooting." " How came it so 
 torn?" — " 'Tis excellent wadding," said 
 the curate. This was a plea of expediency 
 I w^as not in a condition to answer ; for I 
 had actually in my pocket great part of 
 an edition of one of the German Illustris- 
 simi, for the very same purpose. We ex^^
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 changed books ; and by that means (for 
 the curate is a strenuous logician) we pro- 
 bably saved both. 
 
 When I returned to town, I had leisure 
 to peruse the acquisition I had made. I 
 found it a bundle of little episodes, put to- 
 gether without art, and of no importance 
 on the whole ; with something of nature, 
 and little else in them. I was a good deal 
 affected with some very trifling passages 
 in it j and, had the name of a Marmon- 
 tel, or a Richardson, been on the title- 
 page, — 'tis odds that I should have wept. 
 But 
 
 One is ashamed to be pleased with the 
 . works of one knows not whom.
 
 THE 
 
 MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XI.* 
 
 Of Bashfulmss. — A Charader. — His Opinion 
 on that Subject. 
 
 There is some rust about every man at 
 the beginning ; though in some nations 
 (among the French, for instance) the ideas 
 of the inhabitants, from chmate, or what 
 other cause you will, are so vivacious, so 
 
 * The reader will remember, that the Editor is ac- 
 countable only for scattered chapters, and fragments 
 of chapters ; the curate must answer for the rest. The 
 number at the top, when the chapter was entire, he 
 has given as it originally stood, with the title which 
 its author had affixed to it.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELIISG. 
 
 eternally on the wing, tliat they must, 
 even in small societies, have a frequent 
 collision ; the rust therefore will wear off 
 sooner : But in Britain it often goes with 
 a man to his grave ; nay, he dares not 
 even pen a hie jacet to speak out for him 
 after his death. 
 
 " Let them rub it off by travel," said 
 the baronet's brother, who was a striking 
 instance of excellent metal, shamefully 
 rusted. I had drawn my chair near his. 
 Let me paint the honest old man : 'tis but 
 
 (^ne passing sentence to preserve his image 
 
 / in my mind. 
 
 He sat in his usual attitude, with his el- 
 bow rested on his knee, and his fmgers 
 pressed on his cheek. His face was sha- 
 ded by his hand; yet it was a face that 
 might once have been well accounted 
 handsome ; its features were manly and 
 striking, and a certain dignity resided on 
 his eye-brows, which were the largest I 
 remember to have seen. His person was
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 9 
 
 tall and well made ; but the indolence of 
 his nature had now inclined it to corpu- 
 lency. 
 
 His remarks were few, and made only 
 to his familiar friends; but they were 
 such as the world might have heard with 
 veneration ; and his heart, uncorrupted 
 by its ways, was ever warm in the cause ^' 
 of virtue and his friends. 
 
 He is now forgotten and gone ! The last 
 time I was at Silton-hall, I saw his chair 
 stand in its corner by the fire-side ; there 
 was an additional cushion on it, and it 
 was occupied by my young lady's fa- 
 vourite lap-dog. I drew near unperceiv- 
 ed, and pinched its ears in the bitterness 
 of my soul ; the creature howled, and ran 
 to its mistress. She did not suspect the 
 author of its misfortune, but she bewail- 
 ed it in the most pathetic terms ; and, 
 kissing its lips, laid it gently on her lap, 
 and covered it with a cambric handker- 
 chief. I sat in my old friend's seat; I
 
 10 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 heard the roar of mirth and gaiety around 
 me : — poor Ben Silton ! I gave thee a tear 
 then : accept of one cordial drop that falls 
 to thy memory now. 
 
 " Let them rub it off by travel." — 
 Why, it is true, said I, that will go far^ 
 but then it will often happen, that in the 
 velocity of a modern tour, and amidst the 
 materials through which it is commonly 
 made, the friction is so violent, that not 
 only the rust, but the metal too, will be 
 losFin 'the progress. - .— - 
 
 Give me leave to correct the expression 
 of your metaphor, said Mr Silton ; tliis 
 covering, of which you complain, is not 
 always rust which is produced by the in- 
 activity of the body on which it preys ; 
 such, perhaps, is the case with me, though 
 indeed I was never cleared from my youth ; 
 but (taking it in its first stage) it is rather 
 an encrustation, which nature has given 
 for purposes of the greatest wisdom 
 
 You are right, I returned ^ and some-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 11 
 
 times, like certain precious fossils, there 
 may be hid under it gems of the purest 
 brilliancy. 
 
 Nay, farther, continued Mr Silton, there 
 are two distinct sorts of what we call bash- 
 fulness ; this, the awkwardness of a booby, 
 which a few steps into the world will con- 
 vert into the pertness of a coxcomb ; that, 
 a consciousness, which the most delicate 
 feelings produce, and the most extensive 
 knowledge cannot always remove. 
 
 From the incidents I have already re- 
 lated, I imagine it will be concluded, that 
 Harley was of the latter species of bash- 
 ful animals ; at least, if Mr Silton's prin- 
 ciple be just, it may be argued on this 
 side ; for the gradation of the fust men- 
 tioned sort, it is certain, he never attain- 
 ed. Some part of his external appearance 
 was modelled from the company of those 
 gentlemen, whom the antiquity of a fa- 
 mily, now possessed of bare 2501. a year, 
 entitled its representative to approach :
 
 12 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 these, indeed, were not many ; great part 
 of the propei'ty in his neighbourhood be- 
 ing in the hands of merchants, who had 
 got rich by their lawful calling abroad, 
 and the sons of stewards, who had got rich 
 by their lawful calling at home ; persons 
 so perfectly versed in the ceremonial of 
 thousands, tens of thousands, and him- 
 dreds of thousands, (whose degrees of pre- 
 cedency are plainly demonstrable from 
 the first page of the Complete Acomp- 
 tant, or Young Man's Best Pocket Com- 
 panion,) that a bow at church from them 
 to such a man as Harley, would have 
 made the parson look back into his ser- 
 mon for some precept of Christian humi- 
 lity.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 13 
 
 CHAP. XI r. 
 
 Of Worldltj Interests. 
 
 There are certain interests which the 
 world svipposes e\^ery man to, have, and 
 which therefQreaffiPLroperf enough term- 
 ed w^orldlv ; but the world is apt to make 
 an erroneous estimate : ignorant^ pX Jthe 
 dispositions which constitute our happi- 
 ness or misery, it brings, to an undis- 
 tino-uished scale, the means of the one, "as 
 connected with power, wealth, or gran- 
 deur, and of the other with their contra- 
 ries. Philosophers and poets have often 
 protested aojainst this decision ; but their 
 ars:uments have been despised -§§J3l€iCla- 
 matory, or ridiculed as romantic. / 
 
 There are never wanting, to a young ' 
 man, some grave and prudent friends to
 
 14 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 set him right in this particular, if he need 
 it ; to watch his ideas as they arise, and 
 point them to those objects which a wise 
 man should never forget. 
 
 Harley did not want for some monitors 
 >" of this sort. He was frequently told of 
 men, whose fortunes enabled them to 
 command all the luxuries of life, whose 
 fortunes were of their own acquirement ; 
 his envy was excited by a description of 
 their happiness, and his emulation by a 
 recital of the means which had procured 
 it. 
 
 Harley was apt to hear those lectures 
 with indifference ; nay, sometimes they 
 got the better of his temper j and, as the 
 instances were not always amiable, pro- 
 voked, on his part, some reflections, which, 
 I am persuaded, his good-nature would 
 else have avoided. 
 
 Indeed, I have observed one ingredient, 
 somewhat necessary in a man's composi- 
 tion towards ha])piness, which people of
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 15 
 
 feeling would do well to acquire— a cer-> 
 tain respect for the follies of mankind : for 
 there are so many fools, whom the opinion 
 of the world entitles to regard, whom 
 accident has placed in heights of which 
 they are unworthy, that he, who cannot 
 restrain his contempt or indignation at 
 the sight, will be too often quarrelling 
 with the disposal of things, to relish that 
 share which is allotted to himself. I do 
 not mean, however, to insinuate this to 
 have been the case with Harley ; on the 
 contrary, if we might rely on his own tes- 
 timony, the conceptions he had of pomp 
 and e:randeur served to endear the state 
 which Providence had assigned him. ^ 
 He lost his father, the last surviving of 
 his parents, as I have already related, when 
 he was a boy. The good man, from a fear 
 of offending, as well as from a regard to 
 his son, had named him a variety of guar- 
 dians ; one consequence of which was, 
 that they seldom met at all to consider 
 
 /
 
 16 THE MAX OF FELLING. 
 
 the affairs of their ward ; and when they 
 did meet, their opinions were so opposite, 
 that the only possible method of concilia- 
 tion, was the mediatory power of a din- 
 ner and a bottle, which commonly inter- 
 rupted, not ended, the dispute ; and, after 
 that interruption ceased, left the consult- 
 ing parties in a condition not very proper 
 for adjusting it. His education, therefore, 
 had been but indifferently attended to ; 
 and, after being taken from a country- 
 school, at which he had been boarded, 
 the young gentleman was suffered to be 
 his own master in the subsequent branches 
 of literature, with some assistance from 
 the parson of the parish in languages and 
 philosophy, and from the exciseman in 
 arithmetic and book-keeping. One of his 
 guardians, indeed, who, in his youth, had 
 been an inhabitant of the Temple, set him 
 to read Coke upon Lyttclton ; a book 
 which is very properly put into the hands 
 of beginners in that science, as its simpli-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 city is accommodated to their understand- 
 ings, and its size to their incUnation. He 
 profited but httle by the perusal : but it 
 was not without its use in the family ; for 
 his maiden aunt applied it commonly to 
 the laudable purpose of pressing her re- 
 bellious linens to the folds she had allot- 
 ted them. 
 
 There were particularly two ways of 
 increasing his fortune, which might have 
 occurred to people of less foresight than 
 the counsellors we have mentioned. One 
 of these was, the prospect of his succeed- 
 ing to an old lady, a distant relation, who 
 was known to be possessed of a very large 
 sum in the stocks ; but in this their hopes 
 were disappointed ; for the young man 
 was so untoward in his disposition, that, 
 notwithstanding the instructions he daily 
 received, his visits rather tended to alien- 
 ate than gain the good- will of his kinswo- 
 man. He sometimes looked grave when 
 the old lady told the jokes of her youth ; 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 , THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 he often refused to eat when she pressed 
 him, and was seldom or never provided 
 with sugar-candy or hquorice when she 
 was seized with a fit of coughing ; nay, 
 he had once the rudeness to fall asleep, 
 while she was describing the composition 
 and virtues of her favourite cholic-water. 
 In short, he accommodated himself so ill 
 to her humour, that she died, and did not 
 leave him a farthing. 
 
 The other method pointed out to him, 
 was an endeavour to get a lease of some 
 crown lands, which lay contiguous to his 
 little paternal estate. This, it was imagin- 
 ed, might be easily procured, as the crown 
 did not draw so much rent as Harley could 
 afford to give, with very considerable pro- 
 fit to himself; and the then lessee had 
 rendered himself so obnoxious to the mi- 
 nistry, by the disposal of his vote at an 
 election, that he could not expect a re- 
 newal. This, however, needed some in- 
 
 6
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 19 
 
 terest with the great, which Harley or his 
 father never possessed. 
 
 His neighbour, Mr WaUon, having 
 heard of this affair, generously offered his 
 assistance to accomphsh it. He told him, 
 that though he had long been a stranger 
 to courtiers, yet, he believed, there were 
 some of them who might pay regard to his 
 recommendation ; and that, if he thought 
 it worth the while to take a London jour- 
 ney upon the business, he would furnish 
 him with a letter of introduction to a 
 baronet of his acquaintance, who had a 
 great deal to say with thg^first lord of the 
 treasury. 
 
 When his friends heard of this offer, 
 they pressed him with the utmost earnest- 
 ness to accept of it. They did not fail to 
 enumerate the many advantages which a 
 certain degree of spirit and assurance gives 
 a man who would make a figure. in the 
 world : they repeated their , instances of 
 good fortune in others, ascribed them all
 
 20 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 to a happy forwardness of disposition ; and 
 made so copious a recital of the disad-'* 
 vantages which attend the opposite weak- 
 ness, that a stranger who had heard them, 
 would have been led to imagine, that, in 
 the British code, there was some disquali- 
 fying statute against any citizen who 
 should be convicted of — modesty. ^ 
 
 Harley, though he had no great relish 
 for the attempt, yet could not resist the 
 torrent of motives that assaulted him ; and 
 as he needed but little preparation for his 
 journey, a day, not very distant, was fix- 
 ed for his departure.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 21 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 The Man of Feeling in Love. 
 
 1 HE day before that on which he set out, 
 he went to take leave of Mr Walton. — 
 We would conceal nothing; — there was 
 another person of the family to whom al- 
 so the visit was intended, on whose ac- 
 count, perhaps, there were some tenderer 
 feelings in the bosom of Harley, than his 
 gratitude for the friendly notice of that gen- 
 tleman (though he was seldom deficient in 
 that virtue) could inspire. Mr Walton 
 had a daughter ; and such a daughter ! 
 we" will attempt some description of her 
 by and by. 
 
 Harley's notions of the x«aci', or beau- 
 tiful, were not always to be defined, nor 
 indeed such as the world would always 
 assent to, though we could define them.
 
 22 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 A blush, a phrase of affabihty to an in- 
 ferior, a tear at a moving tale, were to 
 him, like the cestus of Cytherea, unequal- 
 led in conferring beauty. For all these. 
 Miss Walton was remarkable; but as 
 these, like the above-mentioned cestus, 
 are perhaps still more powerful, when the 
 wearer is possessed of some degree of beau- 
 ty, commonly so called ; it happened, 
 that, from this cause, they had more than 
 usual power in the person of that young 
 lady. 
 
 She was now arrived at that period of 
 life, which takes, or is supposed to take, 
 from the flippancy of girlhood those spright- 
 linesses with which some good-natured old 
 maids oblige the world at threescore. She 
 had been ushered into life (as that word is 
 used in the dialect of St James's) at seven- 
 teen, her father being then in parliament, 
 and living in London : at seventeen, there- 
 fore, she had been a miiversal toast ; her 
 health, now she was four-and-twenty, was
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 23 
 
 only drank by those who knew her face at 
 least. Her complexion was mellowed in- 
 to a paleness, which certainly took from 
 her beauty ; but agreed, at least Harley 
 used to say so, with the pensive softness 
 of her mind. Her eyes were of that gentle 
 hazel colour, which is rather mild than 
 piercing ; and, except when they were 
 lighted up by good-humour, which was 
 frequently the case, were supposed by the 
 fine gentlemen to want fire. Her air and 
 manner were elegant in the highest de- 
 gree, and were as sure of commanding re- 
 spect, as their mistress was far from de- 
 manding it. Her voice was inexpressibly 
 soft ; it was, according to that incompar- 
 able simile of Otway's, 
 
 " like the shepherd's pipe upon the 
 mountains, 
 « When all his little flock's at feed before him." 
 
 The effect it had upon Harley, himself 
 used to paint ridiculously enough ; and
 
 ^ 
 
 21 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ascribed it to powers, which few behev- 
 ed, and nobody cared for. 
 
 Her conversation was always cheerful, 
 but rarely witty , and without the smallest 
 aflectation of learning, had as much senti- 
 ment in it as would have puzzled a Turk, 
 upon his principles of female materialism, 
 to account for. Her beneficence was uja- 
 bounded j indeed the natural tenderness of 
 her heart might have been argued, by the 
 frigidity of a casuist, as detracting from 
 her virtue in this respect ; for her humanity 
 was a feeling, not a principle : but minds 
 hke Harley's are not very apt to make 
 this distinction, and generally give our 
 virtue credit for all that benevolence which 
 is instinctive in our nature. 
 
 As her father had for some years reti- 
 red to the country, Harley had frequent 
 opportunities of seeing her. He looked 
 on her for some time merely with that re- 
 spect and admiration which her appear- 
 ance seemed to demand, and the opinion
 
 THE WAN OF FEELING. 25 
 
 of Others conferred upon her : from this 
 cause, perhaps, and from that extreme 
 sensibihty of which we have taken fre- 
 quent notice, Harley was remarkably si- 
 lent in her presencer He heard her seriti- ' 
 merits with peculiar attention, sometimes 
 with looks very expressive of approba- 
 tion -y but seldom declared his opinion on 
 the subject, much less made compliments 
 to the lady on the justness of her remarks. 
 
 From this very reason it was, that Miss 
 Walton frequently took more particular 
 notice of him than of other visitors, who, 
 by the laws of precedency, were better 
 entitled to it : it was a mode of politeness 
 she had peculiarly studied, to bring to the 
 line of that equality, which is ever ne- 
 cessary for the ease of our guests, those 
 whose sensibility had placed them below 
 it. 
 
 Harley saw this ; for, though he was a 
 child in the drama of the world, yet was 
 it not altogether owing to a want of know-
 
 26 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ledge of his part; on the contrary, the 
 most dehcate consciousness of propriety 
 often kindled that blush which marred the 
 performance of it : this raised his esteem 
 something above what the most sanguine 
 descriptions of her goodness had been able 
 to do ; for certain it is, that notwithstand- 
 ing the laboured definitions which very 
 wise men have given us of the inherent 
 beauty of virtue, we are always inclined 
 to think her handsomest when she con- 
 descends to smile upon ourselves. 
 
 It would be trite to observe the easy 
 gradation from esteem to love : in the 
 bosom of Harley there scarce needed a 
 transition ; for there were certain seasons 
 when his ideas were flushed to a degree 
 much above their common complexion. 
 In times not credulous of inspiration, we 
 should account for this from some natural 
 cause ; but we do not mean to account 
 for it at all ; it were sufficient to describe 
 its effects ; but they were sometimes so
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 2T 
 
 ludicrous, as might derogate from the 
 dignity of the sensations which produced 
 them to describe. They were treated in- 
 deed as such by most of Harley's sober 
 friends, who often laughed very heartily 
 at the awkward blunders of the real Har- 
 ley, when the different faculties, which 
 should have prevented them, were entirely 
 occupied by the ideal. In some of these 
 paroxysms of fancy. Miss AValton did not 
 fail to be introduced ; and the picture 
 which had been drawn amidst the sur- 
 rounding objects of unnoticed levity, was 
 now singled out to be viewed through 
 the medium of romantic imagination : it 
 was improved of course, and esteem was 
 a word inexpressive of the feelings which 
 it excited.
 
 28 THE MAN OF IttLUSO. 
 
 ^I*^'' 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 He sets out on his Journey. — The Beggar and 
 his Dog. 
 
 JtlE had taken leave of his aunt on the 
 eve of his intended departure ; but the 
 good lady's affection for her nephew in- 
 terrupted her sleep, and early as it was 
 next morning when Harley came down 
 stairs to set out, he found her in the par- 
 lour with a tear on her cheek, and her 
 caudle-cup in her hand. She knew enough 
 of physic to prescribe against going abroad 
 of a morning with an empty stomach. 
 She gave her blessing with the draught ; 
 her instructions she had delivered the night 
 before. They consisted mostly of nega- 
 tives j for London, in her idea, was so re- 
 plete with temptations, that it needed the
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 29 
 
 whole armour of her friendly cautions to 
 repel their attacks. 
 
 Peter stood at the door. We have men- 
 tioned this faithful fellow formerly : Har- 
 ley*s father had taken him up an orphan, 
 and saved him from being cast on the 
 parish ; and he had ever since remained 
 in the service of him and of his son. Har- 
 ley shook him by the hand as he passed, 
 smiling, as if he had said, " I will not 
 weep." He sprung hastily into the chaise 
 that waited for him : Peter folded up the 
 step. *' My dear master (said he, shaking 
 the solitary lock that hung on either side 
 of his head,) I have been told as how Lon- 
 don is a sad place." — He was choaked 
 wlHi the 'thought, and his benediction 
 could not be heard : but it shall be heard, 
 lionest Peter ! where these tears will add 
 to its energy. 
 
 In a few hours Harley reached the inn 
 where he proposed breakfasting ; but the 
 fulness of his heaxt would not suffer him
 
 30 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 to eat a morsel. He walked out on the 
 road, and, gaining a little height, stood 
 gazing on the quarter he had left. He 
 looked for his wonted prospect, his fields, 
 his woods, and his hills : they were lost 
 in the distant clouds ! He pencilled them 
 on the.clouds, and bade them farewelL.irVith 
 a sigh ! 
 
 He sat down on a large stone to take 
 out a little pebble from his shoe, when 
 he saw, at some distance, a beggar ap- 
 proaching him. He had on a loose sort 
 of coat, mended with different-coloured 
 rags, amongst which the blue and the rus- 
 set were the predominant. He had a short 
 knotty stick in his hand, and on the top 
 of it was stuck a ram's horn ; his knees 
 (though he was no pilgrim) had worn the 
 stuff of his breeches ; he wore no shoes, 
 and his stockings had entirely lost that 
 part of them which should have covered 
 his feet and ancles : in his face, however, 
 was the plump appearance of good hu-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 31 
 
 mour ; he walked a good round pace, and 
 a crook-legged dog trotted at his heels. 
 
 " Our delicacies," said Harley to him- 
 self, " are fantastic ; they are not in na- 
 ture ! that beggar walks over the sharpest 
 of these stones barefooted, whilst I have 
 lost the most delis-htful dream in the world, 
 from the smallest of them happening to 
 get into my shoe." — The beggar had by 
 this time come up, and, pulling off a 
 piece of hat, asked charity of Harley ; 
 the dog began to beg too : — it was impos- 
 sible to resist both ; and in truth, the want 
 of shoes and stockings had made both un- 
 necessary, for Harley had destined six- 
 pence for him before. The beggar, on ^'. q< 
 receiving it, poured forth blessings with- ^ 
 out number ; and with a sort of smile on 
 his countenance, said to Harley, " that 
 if he wanted to have his fortune told" — 
 Harley turned his eye briskly on the beg- 
 gar : it was an unpromising look for the 
 subject of a prediction, and silenced the
 
 32 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 prophet immediately. " I would much 
 rather learn," said Ilarley, " what it is 
 in your power to tell me : your trade must 
 be an entertaining one : sit down on this 
 stone, and let me know something of your 
 profession ; I have often thought of turn- 
 ing fortune-teller for a week or two my- 
 self." 
 
 " Master," replied the beggar, " I like 
 your frankness much ; God knows I had 
 the humour of plain-dealing in me from 
 a child ; but there is no doing with it in 
 this world ; we must live as we can, and 
 lying is, as you call it, my profession : but 
 I was in some sort forced to the trade, 
 for I dealt once in telling truth, 
 
 " I was a labourer. Sir, and gained as 
 much as to make me live : I never laid by 
 indeed : for I was reckoned a piece of a 
 wag, and your wags, I take it, are sel- 
 dom rich, Mr Harley." " So," said Har- 
 ley, " you seem to know me." " Ay, 
 there are few folks in the county that I
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 33 
 
 don't know something of : bow should I 
 tell fortunes else?" " True ; but to go on 
 with your story : you were a labourer, you 
 say, and a wag ; your industry, I suppose, 
 you left with your old trade ; but your 
 humour you preserve to be of use to you 
 in your new." 
 
 " What signifies sadness. Sir ? a man 
 grows lean on't: but I was brought to 
 my idleness by degrees ; first I could not 
 work, and it went against my stomach to 
 work ever after. I was seized with a jail 
 fever at the time of the assizes being in 
 the county where I lived ; for I was al- 
 ways curious to get acquainted with the 
 felons, because they are commonly fellows 
 of much mirth and little thought, quali- 
 ties I had ever an esteem for. In the height 
 of this fever, Mr Harley, the house where 
 I lay took fire, and burnt to the ground ; 
 I was carried out in that condition, and 
 lay all the rest of my illness in a barn. I 
 got the better of my disease, however, but 
 
 VOL. I. c 5
 
 3t THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 I was SO weak that I spit blood whenever 
 I attempted to work. I had no relation 
 living that 1 knew of, and I never kept a 
 friend above a week, when I was able to 
 joke ; I seldom remained above six months 
 in a parish, so that I might have died be- 
 fore I had found a settlement in any : 
 thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a 
 sorry trade I found it, Mr Harley. I told 
 all my misfortunes truly, but they were 
 seldom believed -, and the few who gave 
 me a halfpenny as they passed, did it with 
 a shake of the head, and an injunction not 
 to trouble them with a long story. In 
 short, I fouri(i_J;h.at people don't care to 
 give alms without some security for their 
 money ; a wooden leg, or a withered arm, 
 is a sort of draft upon heaven for those 
 who chuse to have their money placed to 
 account there ; so I changed my plan, 
 and, instead of telling my own misfor- 
 tunes, began to prophecy happiness to 
 others. This I foiuid by much the better
 
 THE MAN OF TEELING. 35 
 
 way: folks will alwayaJisl^u when the 
 tale is their own ; and of many who say 
 they" do not bOTeve in fqrjtoie^telling, I 
 have Known few on whom JJt had not a 
 very sensible effect. I pick up the names 
 of their acquaintance ; amours and little 
 squabbles are easily gleaned among ser- 
 vants and neighbours; and indeed people 
 themselves are the best intelligencers in 
 the world for our purpose : they dare not 
 puzzle us for their own sakes, for every 
 one is anxious to j3£S!^,j£ha.t-.,tljey..wisli^ ta 
 believe ; and they who repeat j|^^g.,.Jaugh 
 at it when they have done, are generally 
 more serious than their hearers are apt to 
 imagine. With a tolerable good memory, 
 and some share of cunning ; with the help 
 of walking a-nights over heaths and church- 
 yards ; with this, and shewing the tricks of 
 that there dog, whom I stole from the Ser- 
 jeant of a marching regiment (and by the 
 way he can steal too upon occasion,) I 
 make shift to pick up a livelihood. My
 
 36 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 trade, indeed, is none of the honestest ; 
 Y^ people are not much cheated neither, 
 who give a few halfpence for a prospect 
 of happiness, which I have heard some 
 persons say is all a man can arrive at in 
 this world. — But I must bid you good-day. 
 Sir ; for I have three miles to walk before 
 noon, to inform some boarding-school 
 young ladies, whether their husbands are 
 to be peers of the realm, or captains in 
 the army: a question which I promised 
 to answer them by that time." 
 
 Harley had drawn a shilling from_his 
 pocket j jDut_yirtue bade him consider on 
 whom he was going to bestow it. — Virtue 
 held back his arm : — but a milder form, a 
 younger sister of Virtue's, not so severe 
 as \^irtue, nor so serious as Pity, smiled 
 upon him: his fingers lost their compres- 
 sion ; — nor did Virtue offer to catch the 
 money as it fell. It had no sooner reach- 
 ed the ground than the watchful cur (a 
 trick he had been taught,) snapped it up ;
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 37 
 
 and, contrary to the most approved me- 
 thod of stewardship, dehvered it immedi- 
 ately into the hands of his master. 
 
 ********** 
 
 .87812
 
 38 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 He makes a second expedition to the Baronet's, 
 The laudable ambition of a young man to he 
 thought something by the a'or/^?.'""'"''"^*"^'*"''^** 
 
 \y h have related, in a former chapter, 
 the httle success of his first visit to the 
 great man, for whom he had the introduc- 
 tory letter from Mr Walton. To people 
 of ec[ual feasibility, the influence of those 
 trifles we mentioned on his deportment 
 will not appear surprising ; but to his 
 friends in the country, they could not be 
 stated, nor would they have allowed them 
 any place in the account. In some of 
 their letters, therefore, which he received 
 soon after, they expressed their surprise at 
 his not having been more urgent in his 
 application, and again recommended the 
 blushless^assiduity of successful merit.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING, 39 
 
 He resolved to make another attempt 
 at the baronet's; fortified with higher no- 
 tions of his own dignity, and with less 
 apprehension of repulse. In his way to 
 Grosvenor-square he began to ruminate 
 on the folly of mankind, who affix those 
 ideas of superiority to riclies, which re- 
 dut^-themmds^"Wt!liBTi,Dy nature e^ 
 withnffie^mor^ foitmiajtej^ 
 servility which he felt in his ow^. By the 
 time he had reached the Square, and was 
 walking along the pavement which led to 
 the baronet's, he had brought his reason- 
 ing on the subject to such a point, that 
 the conclusion, by every rule of logic, | 
 should have led him to a thorough iiidif- 
 ference m his approaches to a teliow^-mor- 
 tal, whether that fellow-mortal was pos- 
 sessed of six, or six thousand pounds a 
 yearr"" It is probable, however, that the 
 preite^s had been improperly fomiefTrfor 
 it is certain, that when he approached theT 

 
 40 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 great man's door, he felt his heart agitated 
 by an unusual pulsation. 
 
 He had almost reached it, when he ob- 
 served a young gentleman coming out, 
 dressed in a white frock, and a red laced 
 waistcoat, with a small switch in his hand, 
 which he seemed to manage with a parti- 
 cular good grace. As he passed him on 
 the steps, the stranger very politely made 
 him a bow, which Harley returned, though 
 he could not remember ever having seen 
 him before. He asked Harley in the same 
 civil manner, if he was going to wait on 
 his friend the baronet } " for I was just 
 calling," said he, " and am sorry to fmd 
 that he is gone for some days into the 
 country." Harley thanked him for his 
 information ; and was turning from the 
 door, when the other observed that it 
 would be proper to leave his name, and 
 very obligingly knocked for that purpose. 
 " Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant 
 to have waited on your master." " Your
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 41 
 
 name, if you please. Sir ?" — " Harley." — 
 " You'll remember, Tom, Harley." — The 
 door was shut. " Since we are here," said 
 he, " we shall not lose our walk, if we 
 add a little to it by a turn or two in Hyde- 
 park." He accompanied this proposal 
 with a second bow, and Harley accepted 
 of it by another in return. 
 
 The conversation, as they walked, was 
 brilliant on the side of his companion. 
 The playhouse, the opera, with every oc- 
 currence in high life, he seemed perfectly 
 master of; and talked of some reigning 
 beauties of quality, in a m^ingr .the.roost 
 feehng in the world. Harl_ey_admired the 
 happiness of his vivacity ; and, opposite 
 as it was to the reserve of his own nature, 
 began to be much pleased with its effects. 
 
 Though I am not of opinion with some 
 wise men, that the existence of objects 
 depends on idea ; yet, I am convinced, 
 that their appearance is not a little in- 
 fluenced by it. The optics of some minds
 
 42 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 are so unhappily constructed, as to, throw 
 a certain shade on evejry picture that is pre- 
 sented to them j while tliose of others (of 
 which nuniher was Harley,) hke the mir- 
 rors of the ladies, have^a ^vonderful effect 
 in Bettering their complexions. Through 
 such a medium, perhaps, he was looking 
 oil his present companion. 
 
 When they had fniished their walk, and 
 were returning by the corner of the Park, 
 they observed a board hung out of a win- 
 dow, signifying, " an excellent ordinary 
 on Saturdays and Sundays." It happen- 
 ed to be Saturday, and the table was cover- 
 ed. ^' WhatJ£v^^e s^^^^^ 
 here, if you happen not to be engaged. 
 Sir ?" said the young gentleman. " It is 
 not impossible but we shall meet with some 
 original or other ; it is a sort of humour I 
 like hugely." Harley made no objection j 
 and the stranger showed him the way in- 
 to the parlour. 
 
 He was placed, by the courtesy of his
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 43 
 
 iiitroductor, in an arm-chair that stood at 
 one side of the fire. Over against him was 
 seated a man of a grave considering as- 
 pect, with that look of sober prudence 
 which indicates what is commonly called 
 a warm man. He wore a pretty large 
 wig, which had once been white, but was 
 now of a brownish yellow ; his coat was 
 one of those modest- coloured drabs which 
 mock the injuries of dust and dirt ; two 
 jack-boots concealed, in part, the well- 
 mended knees of an old pair of buckskin 
 breeches, while the spotted handkerchief 
 round his neck, preserved at once its owner 
 from catching cold, and his neckcloth 
 from being dirtied. Next him sat another 
 man, with a tankard in his hand, and a 
 quid of tobacco in his cheek, whose eye 
 was rather more vivacious, and whose dress 
 was something smarter. 
 
 The first-mentioned gentleman took 
 notice, that the room had been so lately 
 washed, as not to have had time to dry ;
 
 44 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 and remarked, that wet lodging was un- 
 wholesome for man or beast. He looked 
 round, at the same time, for a poker to stir 
 the fire with, which, he at last observed 
 to the company, the people of the house 
 had removed, in order to save their coals. 
 This difficulty, however, he overcame, by 
 the help of Harley's stick, saying, " that 
 as they should, no doubt, pay for their 
 fire in some shape or other, he saw no 
 reason why they should not have the use 
 of it while they sat." 
 
 The door was now" opened for the ad- 
 mission of dinner. " I don't know how 
 it is with you, gentlemen," said Harley's 
 new acquaintance ; " but I am afraid I 
 shall not be able to get down a morsel at 
 this horrid mechanical hour of dining." 
 He sat down, however, and did not shew 
 any want of appetite by his eating. He 
 took upon him the carving of the meat, 
 and criticised on the goodness of the pud- 
 ding.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 45 
 
 When the table-cloth was removed, he 
 proposed calling for some punch, which 
 was readily agreed to ; he seemed at first 
 inclined to make it himself, but afterwards 
 changed his mind, and left that province 
 to the waiter, telling him to have it pure 
 West Indian, or he could not taste a drop 
 of it. 
 
 When the punch was brought, he un- 
 dertook to fill the glasses, and call the 
 toasts. — " The King." — The toast natu- 
 rally produced politics. It is the privilege 
 of Englishmen to drink the king's health, 
 and to talk of his conduct. The man who 
 sat opposite to Harley (and who by this 
 time, partly from himself, and partly from 
 his acquaintance on his left hand, was dis- 
 covered to be a grazier) observed, " That 
 it was a shame for so niany pensioners to 
 be allowed to take the bread out of the 
 mouth of the poor." " Ay, and provi- 
 sions," said his friend, " were never so 
 dear in the memory of man ; I wish the
 
 46 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 king, and his counsellors, would look to 
 that " " As for the matter of provisions, 
 neighbour Wrightson," he replied, " I 
 am sure the prices of cattle" — A dispute 
 would have probably ensued, but it was 
 prevented by the spruce toast-master, who 
 gave a sentiment j and turning to the two 
 politicians, " Pray, gentlemen," said he, 
 " let us have done with these musty po- 
 ntics : I would always leave them to the 
 beer-suckers in Butcher-row.* Come, let 
 us have something of the fine arts. That 
 was a damn'd hard match between the 
 Nailor and Tim Bucket. The knowing 
 ones were cursedly taken in there ! I lost 
 a cool hundred myself, faith." 
 
 At mention of the cool hundred, the 
 grazier threw his eyes aslant, with a ming- 
 led look of doubt and surprise , while the 
 
 * It may be necessary to inform readers of the 
 present day, that the noted political debating So- 
 ciety, called the Rohinhood, was held at a house in 
 Butcher-row,
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 4T 
 
 man at his elbow looked arch, and gave a 
 short emphatical sort of cough. 
 
 Both seemed to be silenced, however, 
 by this intelligence ; and, while the re- 
 mainder of the punch lasted, the conver- 
 sation was wholly engrossed by the gen- 
 tleman with the fine waistcoat, who told 
 a great many " immense comical stories," 
 and '* confounded smart things," as he 
 termed them, acted and spoken by lords, 
 ladies, and young bucks of quality, of his 
 acquaintance. At last, the grazier, pul- 
 ling out a watch, of a very unusual size, 
 and telling the hour, said, that he had an 
 appointment. " Is it so late .?" said the 
 young gentleman ; " then I am afraid I 
 have missed an appointment already ; but 
 the truth is, I am cursedly given to mis- 
 sing of appointments." 
 
 When the grazier and he were gone^ 
 Harley returned to the remaining person- 
 age, and asked him, if he knew that young 
 gentleman? " A gentleman !" said he;
 
 43 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 " ay, he is one of your gentlemen, at the 
 top of an affidavit. I knew him, some 
 years ago, in the quahty of a footman ; 
 and, I beheve, he had sometimes the ho- 
 nour to be a pimp. At last, some of the 
 great folks, to whom he had been service- 
 able in both capacities, had him made a 
 ganger ; in which station he remains, and 
 has the assurance to pretend an acquaint- 
 j/ ance with men of quality. The impudent 
 dog ! with a few shillings in his pocket, 
 he will talk you three times as much as 
 my friend Mundy there, who is worth nine 
 thousand, if he's worth a farthing. But I 
 know the rascal, and despise him, as he 
 deserves." 
 
 Harley began to despise him too, and 
 to conceive some indi2:nation at havinjr 
 sat w ith patience to hear such a fellow 
 speak nonsense. But he corrected him- 
 self, by reflecting, that he was perhaps as 
 welienterteiincd, and instructed too, by 
 this same modest ganger, as he shoidd
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 49 
 
 have been by such a man as he had thought 
 proper to personate. And surely the fault 
 may more properly be imputed to that 
 rank where the futility is real, than where 
 it is feigned ; to that rank, whose oppor- 
 tunities for nobler accomplishments have 
 only served to rear a fabric of folly, which 
 the untutored hand of affectation, even 
 among the meanest of mankind, can imi- 
 tate with success. 
 
 VOL. T. D
 
 50 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 He visits Bedlam. — The distresses of a Daughter. 
 
 y) F those things called Sights in London, 
 which every stranger is supposed desirous 
 to see. Bedlam is one. To that place, 
 therefore, an acquaintance of Harley's, af- 
 ter having accompanied him to several 
 other shows, proposed a visit. Harley ob- 
 jected to it, " because," said he, " I think 
 it an inhuman practice to expose the 
 greatest misery with which our nature is 
 afflicted, to every idle visitant, who can 
 afford a trifling perquisite to the keeper ; 
 especially as it is a distress which the hu- 
 mane must see with the painful reflection, 
 that it is not in their power to alleviate 
 it." He was overpowered, however, by 
 the solicitations of his friend and the other 
 ]:)ersons of the party, (amongst whom were
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 51 
 
 several ladies;) and they went in a body 
 to Moorfields. 
 
 Their conductor led them first to the 
 dismal mansions of those who are in the 
 most horrid state of incurable madness. 
 The clanking of chains, the wildness of 
 their cries, and the imprecations which 
 some of them uttered, formed a scene in- 
 expressibly shocking. Harley and his 
 companions, especially the female part 
 of them, begged their guide to return : 
 he seemed surprised at their uneasiness, 
 and was with difficulty prevailed on to 
 leave that part of the house without show- 
 ing them some others ; who, as he ex- 
 pressed it, in the phrase of those that keep 
 wild beasts for show, were much better 
 worth seeing than any they had passed, 
 being ten times more fierce and unmanage- 
 able. 
 
 He led them next to that quarter where 
 those reside, who, as they are not danger- 
 ous to themselves or others, enjoy a cer*
 
 32 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 tain degree of freedom, according to the 
 state of their distemper. 
 
 Harley had fallen behind his compa- 
 nions, looking at a man who was making 
 pendulums with bits of thread, and little 
 balls of clay. He had delineated a seg- 
 ment of a circle on the wall with chalk, 
 and marked their different vibrations, by 
 intersecting it with cross lines. A decent- 
 looking man came up, and smiling at the 
 maniac, turned to Harley, and told him, 
 that gentleman had once been a very ce- 
 lebrated mathematician. '* He fell a sa- 
 crifice," said he, *' to the theory of co- 
 mets ; for having, with infinite labour, 
 formed a table on the conjectures of Sir 
 Isaac Newton, he was disappointed in the 
 return of one of those luminaries, and was 
 very soon after obliged to be placed here 
 by his friends. If you please to follow me. 
 Sir," continued the stranger, " I believe 
 I shall be able to give a more satisfactory 
 account of the unfortunate people you see
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 53 
 
 feere, than the man who attends your com- 
 panions." Harley bowed, and accepted 
 his offer. 
 
 The next person they came up to had 
 scrawled a variety of figures on a piece of 
 slate. Harley had the curiosity to take 
 a nearer view of them. They consisted 
 of different columns, on the top of w^hich 
 were marked South-sea annuities, India- 
 stock, and Three per cent, annuities con- 
 sol, " This," said Harley 's instructor, 
 " was a gentleman well known in Change- 
 alley. He was once worth fifty thousand 
 pounds, and had actually agreed for the 
 purchase of an estate in the West, in or- 
 der to realize his money ; but he quarrel- 
 led with the proprietor about the repairs 
 of the garden-wall, and so returned to 
 town to follow his old trade of stock-job- 
 bing a little longer ; when an unlucky 
 fluctuation of stock, in which he was en- 
 gaged to an immense extent, reduced him 
 at once to poverty and to madness. Poor
 
 / 
 
 54 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 wretch ! he told me t'other day, that 
 agahist the next payment of differences, 
 he should be some hundreds above a 
 plum." — 
 
 " It is a spondee, and I will maintain 
 it," interrupted a voice on his left hand. 
 This assertion was followed by a very 
 rapid recital of some verses from Ho- 
 mer. " That figure," said the gentle- 
 man, " whose clothes are so bedaubed 
 with snuff, was a schoolmaster of some 
 reputation : he came hither to be resol- 
 ved of some doubts he entertained con- 
 cerning the genuine pronunciation of the 
 Greek vowels. In his highest fits, he 
 makes frequent mention of one Mr Bent- 
 ,^"'"" ley. ~ 
 
 " But delusive ideas. Sir, are the mo- 
 tives of the greatest part of mankind, and 
 a heated imagination the power by which 
 /] their actions are incited : tlie world, in 
 the eye of a philosopher, -may be said tcL 
 be a large madhouse." " It is true," 
 
 »,.--.'-X---' <-*.'.>MiJ.»
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 55 
 
 answered Harley, " the passions of men 
 are temporary madnesses ; and sometimes 
 very fatal in tlieir effects. 
 
 From Macedonia's madman to the Swede." 
 
 " It was, indeed," said the stranger, " a 
 very mad thing in Ciiarles, to think of 
 adding so vast a country as Russia to his 
 dominions ; that would have been fatal in- 
 deed ; the balance of the North would then 
 have been lost ; but the Sultan and I would 
 never have allowed it." — " Sir !" said Har- 
 ley, with no small surprise on his counte- 
 nance. " Why, yes," answered the other, 
 " the Sultan and I ; do you know me ? I 
 am the Chan of Tartary." 
 
 Harley was a good deal struck by this 
 discovery ; he had prudence enough, how- 
 ever, to conceal his amazement, and, 
 bowing as low to the monarch as his dig- 
 nity required, left him immediately, and 
 joined his companions.
 
 56 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 He found them in a quarter of the 
 house set apart for the insane of the other 
 sex, several of whom had gathered about 
 the female visitors, and were examining, 
 with rather more accuracy than might 
 have been expected, the particulars of 
 their dress. 
 
 Separate Irom the rest stood one, whose 
 appearance had something of superior 
 dignity. Her face, though pale and 
 wasted, was less squalid than those of the 
 others, and showed a dejection of that 
 decent kind, which moves our pity unmix- 
 ed with horror : upon her, therefore, the 
 eyes of all were immediately turned. The 
 keeper, who accompanied them, obser- 
 ved it : " This," said he, "is a young 
 lady, who was born to ride in her coach 
 and six. She was beloved, if the story I 
 have heard be true, by a young gentle- 
 man, her equal in birth, though by no 
 means her match in fortune : but love, 
 they say, is blind, and so she fancied him
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. M 
 
 as much as he did her. Her father, it 
 seems, would not hear of their marriage, 
 and threatened to turn her out of doors, 
 if ever she saw him again. Upon this, 
 the young gentleman took a voyage to 
 the West Ijidies, in hopes of bettering his 
 fortune, and obtaining his mistress ; but 
 he was scarce landed, when he was sei- 
 zed with one of the fevers, which are 
 common in those islands, and died in a 
 few days, lamented by every one that 
 knew him. This news soon reached his 
 mistress, who was at the same time pres- 
 sed by her father to marry a rich miserly 
 fellow, who was old enough to be her 
 grandfather. The death of her lover had 
 no effect on her inhuman parent : he was 
 only the more earnest for her marriage 
 with the man he had provided for her ; 
 and what between her despair at the deatl^ ^ 
 of the^one, and her aversion to the other, 
 the^poor j'^oung lady was reduced to the ^ 
 con^jHoiTyou see her in, But God would
 
 5g THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 not prosper such cruelty : her father's af- 
 fairs soon after went to wreck, and he died 
 almost a beggar." 
 
 Though this story was told in very 
 plain language, it had particularly attrac- 
 ted Harley's notice ; he had given it the 
 tribute of some tears. The unfortunate 
 young lady had, till now, seemed entran- 
 ced in thought, with her eyes fixed on a 
 little garnet ring she wore on her finger : 
 she turned them now upon Harley. 
 " My Billy is no more !" said she; " Do 
 you weep for my Billy ? Blessings on 
 your tears ! I would weep too, but my 
 brain is dry; and it burns, it burns, it 
 burns!" She drew nearer to Harley. 
 " Be comforted, young lady," said he, 
 ** your Billy is in heaven."—" Is he, in- 
 deed ? and shall we meet again } and 
 shall that frightful man (pointing to the 
 keeper) not be there ? Alas ! I am grown 
 naughty of late ; I have almost forgotten 
 to think of heaven: yet I pray some-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 59 
 
 times; when I can, I pray; and some- 
 times I sing ; when I am saddest I sing. 
 You shall hear me— hush ! 
 
 " Light be the earth on Billy's breast, 
 
 *' And green the sod that wraps his grave !" 
 
 There was a plaintive wildness in the air 
 not to be withstood ; and, except the 
 keeper's, there was not an unmoistened 
 ejre around her. 
 
 " Do you weep again?" said she; "I 
 would not have you weep. You are like 
 my Billy : you are, believe me ; just so 
 he looked, when he gave me this ring; 
 poor Billy ! 'twas the last time ever we 
 met!— 
 
 " 'Twas when the seas were roaring" — 
 
 I love you for resembling my Billy ; Jiut 
 I shall never love any man. like him. '^' — 
 Slie'ltretched out her hand to Harley ; he
 
 60 THE MAN OF FEELING. ^ 
 
 pressed it between both of his, and bathed 
 it with his tears. " Nay, that is Billy's 
 ring," said she, " you cannot have it, in- 
 deed j but here is another, look here, 
 which I plated, to-day, of some gold- 
 thread from this bit of stuff; will you 
 keep it for my sake? I am a strange 
 girl ; but my heart is harmless : my poor 
 heart ! it will burst some day ; feel how it 
 beats !" She pressed his hand to her bo- 
 som, then holding her head in the attitude 
 of listening,—" Hark ! one, two, three ! 
 be quiet, thou little trembler ; my Billy's 
 is cold .'--but I had forgotten the ring." 
 She p,ut jt on his fmger. *' Farewell ! I 
 must leave you now." She would have 
 withdrawn her hand; Harley held it to 
 his lips. " I dare not stay longer; my 
 head throbs sadly : farewell !" She walk- 
 ed with a hurried step to a little apart- 
 ment at some distance. Harley^stgod 
 fixed in astonishment and pity; his friend 
 gave money to the keeper. Harley look-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 61 
 
 ed on his ring. He put a couple of 
 guineas into the ma^ hand:—" Be kind 
 to that unfortunate." He burst into tears, 
 and left them.
 
 62 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 The Misanthrope. 
 
 1 HE friend, who had conducted him to 
 Moorfields, called upon him again the next 
 evening. After some talk on the adven- 
 tures of the preceding day; " I carried 
 you yesterday," said he to Harley, " to 
 visit the mad ; let me introduce you to- 
 night, at supper, to one of the wise : but 
 you must not look for any thing of the 
 Socratic pleasantry about him; on the 
 contrary, I warn you to expect the spirit 
 of a Diogenes. That you may be a little 
 prepared for his extraordinary manner, I 
 will let you into some particulars of his 
 history :— 
 
 " He is the elder of the two sons of a
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 6S 
 
 o-entleman of considerable estate in the 
 country. Their father died when they 
 were young: both were remarkable at 
 school for quickness of parts, and extent 
 of genius ; this had been bred to no pro- 
 fession, because his father's fortune, which 
 descended to him, was thought sufficient 
 to set him above it ; the other was put ap- 
 prentice to an eminent attorney. In this 
 the expectations of his friends were more 
 consulted than his own inclination; for 
 both his brother and he had feelings of 
 that warm kind, that could ill brook a 
 study so dry as the law, especially in that 
 department of it which was allotted to 
 him. But the difference of their tempers 
 made the characteristical distinction be- 
 tween them. The younger, from the 
 gentleness of his nature, bore, with pa- 
 tience, a situation entirely discordant to 
 his genius and disposition. At times, in- 
 deed, his pride would suggest, of how little 
 importance those talents were, which the
 
 64 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 partiality of his friends had often extolled : 
 they were now incumbrances in a walk of 
 life where the dull and the ignorant passed 
 him at every turn ; his fancy, and his feeling 
 were invincible obstacles to eminence, in a 
 situation, where his fancy had no room for 
 exertion, and his feeling experienced per- 
 petual disgust. But these murmurings he 
 never suffered to be heard ; and that he 
 might not offend the prudence of those 
 who had been concerned in the choice of 
 his profession, he continued to labour in 
 it several years, till, by the death of a re- 
 lation, he succeeded to an estate of little 
 better than one hundred pounds a-year, 
 with which, and the small patrimony left 
 him, he retired into the country, and 
 made a love-match with a young lady of 
 a similar temper to his own, with whom 
 the sagacious world pitied him for finding 
 happiness. 
 
 " But his elder brother, w^hom you are 
 to see at supper, if you will do us the fa-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 65 
 
 vour of your company, was naturally im- 
 petuous, decisive, and. overbearing. -'■He 
 entered into life with those ardent expec- 
 tations, by which young men are com- 
 monly deluded : in his friendships, warm 
 to excess ^ and equally violent in his dis- 
 likes. He was on the brink of marriage 
 with a young lady, when one of those 
 friends, for whose honour he would have 
 pawned his life, made an elopement with 
 that very goddess, and left him besides ' 
 deeply engaged for sums, which that good 
 friend's extravagance had squandered. 
 
 " The dreams he had formerly enjoyed 
 were now changed for ideas of a very dif- 
 ferent nature. He abjured all confidence 
 in any thing of human form j sold his 
 lands, which still produced him a very 
 large reversion; came to town, and im- 
 mured himself with a woman, who had 
 been his nurse, in little better than a gar- 
 ret; and has ever since applied his_talents (^ 
 to tliS~viinymg of his species. Jfn. one 
 
 VOL. T. E
 
 «6 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 thing I must take the hberty to instruct 
 you ;— however different your sentiments 
 maybe, (and different they must be,) you 
 will suffer him to go on without contra- 
 diction, otherwise he will be silent imme- 
 diately, and we shall not get a word from 
 him all the night after." Harley promi- 
 sed to remember this injunction, and ac- 
 cepted the invitation of his friend. 
 
 When they arrived at the house, they 
 were informed, that the gentleman was 
 come, and had been shewn into the par- 
 lour. Thev found him sittincr with a 
 daughter of his friend's, about three years 
 old, on his knee, whom he was teaching 
 the alphabet from a horn-book : at a little 
 distance stood a sister of hers, some years 
 older. ** Get you away, miss," said he 
 to this last ; " you are a pert gossip, and 
 'I will have nothing to do with you."— 
 " Nay," answered she, " Nancy is your 
 favourite; you arc (piitc in love with 
 Nancy."—" Take away that girl," said
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 6T 
 
 he to her father, whom he now observed 
 to have entered the room, " she has wo- 
 man about her already." The children 
 were accordingly dismissed. 
 
 Betwixt that and supper-time, he did . 
 not utter a syllable. When supper came, / 
 he quarrelled with every dish at table, . 
 but eat of them all j only exempting from 5 
 his censures a sallad, *' which you have | 
 not spoiled," said he, " because you have I 
 not attempted to cook it." 
 
 When the wine was set upon the table, 
 he took from his pocket a particular 
 smoking apparatus, and filled his pipe, 
 without taking any more notice of Har- 
 ley, or his friend, than if no such persons 
 had been in the room. 
 
 Harley could not help stealing a look 
 of surprise at him; but his friend, who 
 knew his humour, returned it, by annihi- 
 lating his presence in the like manner, 
 and, leaving him to his own meditations, 
 addressed himself entirely to Harley.
 
 68 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 In their discourse, some mention hap- 
 pened to be made of an amiable charac- 
 ter, and the words honour and politeness 
 were appHed to it. Upon this, the gen- 
 tleman laying down his pipe, and chan- 
 ging the tone of his countenance, from an 
 ironical grin to something more intently 
 
 contemptuous : " Honour," said he, 
 
 " Honour and Politeness ! this is the coin 
 \ of the world, and passes current with the 
 fools of it. You have substituted the 
 shadow Honour, instead of the substance 
 \ Vi't'tue ; and have banished the reality of 
 / I friendship for the fictitious semblance, 
 / \ which you have termed Politeness: po- 
 
 I liteness, which consists in a certain cere- 
 I monious jargon, more ridiculous to the 
 -; ear of reason than the voice of a puppet. 
 I You have invented sounds, which you 
 ' worship, though they tyrannize over your 
 peace; and are surrounded with empty 
 forms, which take from the honest emo- 
 tions of joy, and add to the poignancy of
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 61) 
 
 misfortune."—" Sir!" said Harley— His 
 friend winked to him, to remind him of 
 the caution he had received. He was 
 silenced by the thought— The philoso- 
 pher turned his eye upon him : he exa- 
 mined him from top to toe, with a sort of 
 triumphant contempt. Harley's coat hap- 
 pened to be a new one ; the other's was 
 as shabby as could possibly be supposed 
 to be on the back of a gentleman : there 
 was much significance in his look with, 
 regard toj[iiscoatj; it spoke of the sleek--* 
 ness^^pf, folly, and the threadbareness .©f,^ 
 wisdom. 
 
 ^"^"Truth," continued he, " the most 
 amiable, as well as the most natural, of 
 virtues, you are at pains to eradicate. 
 Your very nurseries are seminaries of 
 falsehood ; and what is called Fashion in 
 manhood, completes the system of avow- 
 ed insincerity. Mankind, in the gross, 
 is a gaping monster, that loves to be de- 
 ceivedj ancl has seldom been disappoint- 

 
 70 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ed : nor is their vanity less fallacious to 
 f your philosophers, who adopt modes of 
 ' trlitli to follow them through the paths 
 of error, and defend paradoxes merely to 
 \/ be singular in defending them. These^^ 
 
 are they whom ye term Ingenious ; 'tis a 
 plwase of commendation I detest; it im- 
 plies an attempt to impose on my judg^ 
 ment, by flattering my imagination ; yet 
 thesS~iaTe they whose works are read by 
 the old with delight, which the young 
 are "taught to look upon' as ib^ codes of 
 knowledge and philosophy. 
 
 " Indeed, the education of your youth 
 is every way preposterous; you waste. at 
 school years in improving talents, without 
 having ever spent an hour in discovering 
 them ; one promiscuous line of instruc- 
 tion is followed, without regard to genius, 
 capacity, or probable situation in the" — -* 
 commonwealth. From this bear-garden 
 of the pedagogue, a raw unprincipled 
 boy is turned loose upon the world to
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 71 
 
 travel ; without any ideas but those of 
 impo^ngW|rei,jjt^i^^ ; 
 
 into taste by gazing on some paintings at f^ 
 Rome. Ask him of the manners of the 
 people, and" he: wiir tell yoii , That the 
 skirt is worn much shorter inFrance^ and 
 that every body eats macaroni in Italy. 
 When he returns home, he buys a seat in 
 Parliamentr'aiid studies the constitution Lss-* 
 at Arthur's, -^ 
 
 " Nor are your females trained to any 
 more useful purpose : they are taught, by 
 the very rewards which their nurses pro- 
 pose for good behaviour, by the first thing 
 like a jest which they hear from every 
 male visitor of the family, that a young- 
 woman is a creature to be married; and, 
 when they are grown somewhat older, are 
 instructed, that it is the purpose of mar- 
 riage to have the enjoyment of pin- 
 money, and the expectation of a join- 
 ture."
 
 72 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 * ** These indeed are tlie effects of 
 luxury, which is perhaps inseparable from 
 a certain degree of power and grandeur 
 in a nation. But it is not simply of the 
 progress of luxury that we have to com- 
 plain : did its votaries keep in their own 
 sphere of thoughtless dissipation, we might 
 despise them without emotion; but the 
 frivolous pursuits of pleasure are mingled 
 with the most important concerns of the 
 state; and public enterprise shall sleep 
 till he who should guide its operation has 
 
 * Though the curate could not remember having 
 shown this chapter to any body, I strongly suspect 
 that these political observations are the work of a 
 later pen than the rest of this performance. There 
 seems to have been, by some accident, a gap in the 
 manuscript, from the words, " Expectation of a join- 
 ture," to these, " In short, man is an animal," where 
 the present blank ends ; and some other person (for 
 the hand is diflerent, and the ink whiter) has fdled 
 part of it with sentiments of his own. Whoever he 
 was, he seems to have caught some portion of the 
 spirit of the man he personates.
 
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 73 
 
 decided his bets at Newmarket, or fidfd- 
 led his engagement with a favourite mis- 
 tress in the country. We want some 
 man of acknowledged eminence to point 
 our counsels with that firmness which the 
 counsels of a great people require, /^g, 
 have hundreds of ministers, who press for- 
 ward into office, witjput Jiavm 
 tearned that art wlTicJi.i^ .necessary for ;* 
 every business,— the art of thinking ; and ^*a* 
 mistake the petulance, which could give 
 inspiration to smart sarcasms on an ob- 
 noxious measure in a popular assembly, 
 for the ability which is to balance the in- 
 terest of kingdoms, and investigate the 
 latent sources of national superiority. 
 With the administration of such men, the 
 people can never be satisfied; for, besides 
 that their confidence is gained only by 
 the view of superior talents, there needs 
 that depth of knowledge, which is not 
 only acquainted with the just extent of 
 power, but can also trace its connection
 
 T4 THE MAN OF PEELING. 
 
 with the expedient, to preserve its posses- 
 sors from the contempt which attends ir- 
 resolution, or the resentment which fol- 
 lows temerity." 
 
 7^ /|v /|\ Jft ^ "^t ^T ^^ 
 
 [Here a considerable part is wanting.] 
 
 * * " In short, man is an animal equally 
 selfish and vain. Vanity, indeed^ is but 
 a modification of selfishness. From the 
 latter, there are some who pretend to be 
 free : they are generally such as declaim 
 against the lust of wealth and power, be- 
 cause they have never been able to attain 
 any high degree in either : they boast of 
 1 generosity and feeling. They tell us, 
 (perhaps they tell us in rhyme,) that the 
 sensations of an honest heart, of a mind 
 universally benevolent, make up the quiet 
 bliss which they enjoy 3 but they w ill not, 
 by this, be exempted from the charge oJ[
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING, 75 
 
 selfishness. Whence the hixurious hap- 
 piness they describe in their httle family- 
 circles ? Whence the pleasure which they 
 feel, when they trim their evening-fires, 
 and listen to the howl of the winter's 
 wind ? Whence, but from the secret re- 
 flection of what houseless wretches feel 
 from it ? Or do you administer comfort 
 in affliction— the motive is at hand ; I 
 have had it preached to me in nineteen 
 out of twenty of your consolatory dis- 
 courses — tlie comparative littleness of our 
 own misfortunes. 
 
 " With vanity your best virtues are 
 grossly tainted : your benevolence, which 
 ye deduce immediately from the natural 
 impulse of the heart, squints to it for its 
 reward. There arfe some, indeed, who tell 
 us of the satisfaction which flows from a 
 secret consciousness of ^ood actions : this 
 
 secret satisfaction is truly excellent 
 
 when we have some friend to whom we 
 may discover its excellence."
 
 16 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 He now paused a moment to relight his 
 pipe, when a clock, that stood at his back, 
 struck eleven; he started up at the sound, 
 took his hat and his cane, and, nodding 
 good night with his head, walked out of 
 the room. The gentleman of the house 
 called a servant to bring the stranger's 
 surtout. " What sort of a night is it, fel- 
 low.''" said he:—*' It rains, sir," answer- 
 ed the servant, *' with an easterly wind," 
 — *' Easterly for ever!"— -He made no 
 .3«€|tiief reply; but shrugging up his shoul- 
 ders, till they almost touched his ears, 
 wrapped himself tight in his great coat, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 " This is a strange creature," said his 
 friend to Harley. " I cannot say," an- 
 swered he, *' that his remarks are of the 
 pleasant kind : itjiixurious to observe, 
 hojv the natur£..Qf^truth may be changed 
 by the earb it wears ; softened to the ad- 
 monition of friendship, or soured into the 

 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 77 
 
 severity of reproof. Yet this severity may 
 be useful to some tempers: it somewhat 
 resembles a file ; disagreeable in its opera- 
 tion;^ but hard metals may be the brighter 
 for it." _ 
 
 j£, ^ J^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 /f* iy\ /js /js vfi ■T- T«
 
 78 THE xMAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 His Skill in Pliysiognomif, 
 
 The company at the baronet's removed 
 to the playhouse accordingly, and Harley 
 took his usual route into the Park. He 
 observed, as he entered, a fresh-looking 
 elderly gentleman in conversation with a 
 beggar, who, leaning on his crutch, was 
 recounting the hardships he had under- 
 gone, and explaining the wretchedness of 
 his present condition. This was a very 
 interesting dialogue to Harley ^ he was 
 rude enough, therefore, to slacken his 
 pace, as he approached, and, at last, to 
 make a full stop at the gentleman's back, 
 who was just then expressing his compas- 
 sion for the beggar, and regretting that 
 he had not a farthing of change about
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 19 
 
 him, At saying this, he looked piteously 
 on the fellow : there was something in his 
 physiognomy which caught Harley's no- 
 tice: indeed physiognomy was one of 
 Harley's foibles, for which he had been 
 often rebuked by his aunt in the country ; 
 who used to tell him, that when he was ^ 
 
 come to her years, and experience, he ^^^^^ 
 would know, that all's _ not gold that ^ 
 glisters : and it must be owned, that his 
 aunt was a very sensible, harsh-lookmg, 
 maiden-lady, of threescore and upwards. 
 But he was too apt to forget this caution; 
 and now, it seems, it had not occurred to 
 him : stepping up, therefore, to the gen- 
 tleman, who was lamenting the want of 
 silver, " Your intentions, sir," said he 
 " are so good, that I cannot help lending 
 jyou my assistance to carry them into ex- 
 ecution," and gave the beggar a shilling. 
 The other returned a suitable compliment, 
 and extolled the benevolence of Harley.
 
 \ 
 
 w 
 
 80 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 They kept walking together, and benevo- 
 lence grew the topic of discourse. 
 
 The stranger was fluent on the subject. 
 * There is no use of money," said he, 
 " equal to that of beneficence : with the 
 profuse, it is lost ; and even with those 
 who lay it out according to the prudence ^ 
 of the world, the objects acquired by it 
 pall on the sense, and have scarce become 
 our own till they lose their value with the 
 "power of pleasing ; but here the enjoyment 
 grows on reflection, and our money is most 
 truly ours, when it ceases being in our pos- 
 session." 
 
 *' Yet I agree in some measure," an- 
 swered Harley, " with those who think, 
 that charity to our common beggars is of- 
 ten misplaced ; there are objects less job- 
 trusive, whose title is a better one." 
 
 " We cannot easily distinguish," said 
 the stranger ; " and even of the worthless, 
 are there not many whose imprudence, or
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 81 
 
 whose vice, may have been one dreadful 
 consequence of misfortune ?" 
 
 Harley looked again in his face, and 
 blessed himself for his skill in physiogno- 
 my. 
 
 By this time they had reached the end 
 t)f the walk, the old gentleman leaning on 
 the rails to take breath, and in the mean 
 time they were joined by a younger man, 
 whose figure was much above the appear- 
 ance of his dress, which was poor and 
 shabby : Harley's former companion ad^ 
 dressed him as an acquaintance, and they 
 turned on the walk together. 
 
 The elder of the strangers complained 
 of the closeness of the evening, and asked 
 the other if he would go with him into a 
 house hard by, and take one draught of 
 excellent cyder. " The man who keeps 
 this house," said he to Harley, " was once 
 a servant of mine : I could not think of 
 turning loose upon the world a faithful 
 old fellow, for no other reason but that his 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 age had incapacitated him ; so I gave him 
 an annuity of ten pounds, with the help 
 of which he has set up this Httle place 
 here, and his daughter goes and sells milk 
 in the city, while her father manages his 
 tap-room, as he calls it, at home. I can't 
 jvvell ask a gentleman of your appearance 
 to accompany me to so paltry a place." — 
 " Sir," replied Harley, interrupting him, 
 " I would much rather enter it than the 
 most celebrated tavern in town : to ^ive 
 to the necessitous, may sometimes be a 
 weakness in the man; to encourasre in- 
 dustry, is a duty in the citizen." They 
 entered the house accordingly. 
 
 On a table at the corner of the room 
 lay a pack of cards, loosely thrown toge- 
 ther. The old gentleman reproved the 
 man of the house for encouraging so idle 
 an amusement. Harley attempted to de- 
 fend him, from the necessity of accom- 
 modating himself to the humour of his 
 guests, and, taking up the cards, began to 
 
 3
 
 t THE MAN OF FEELING. 83 
 
 shuffle them backwards and forwards in 
 his hand. " Nay, I don't think cards so 
 unpardonable an amusement as some do," 
 rephed the other; " and now and then, 
 about this time of the evening, when my 
 eyes begin to fail me for my book, I di- 
 vert myself with a game at piquet, with- 
 out finding my morals a bit relaxed by it. 
 Do you play piquet. Sir ?" (to Harley.) 
 Harley answered in the affirmative ; upon 
 which the other proposed playing a pool 
 at a shilling the game, doubling the stakes j 
 adding, that he never played higher with 
 any body. 
 
 Harley's good nature could not refuse 
 the benevolent old man : and the younger 
 stranger, though he at first pleaded prior 
 engagements, yet being earnestly solicit- 
 ed by his friend, at last yielded to solicita- 
 tion. 
 
 When they began to play, the old gen- 
 tleman, somewhat to the surprise of Har- 
 ley, produced ten shillings to serve for
 
 84 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 markers of his score. " He had no change 
 for the beggar," said Harley to himself; 
 \ ** but I can easily account for it ; it is cu- 
 / rious to observe the affection that inani- 
 / mate things will create in us by a long 
 acquaintance : if I may judge from my 
 own feelingSj the old man would not part 
 with one of these counters for ten times 
 its intrinsic value ; it even got the better 
 of his benevolence ! I myself have a pair 
 of old brass sleeve-buttons" — Here he was 
 interrupted by being told, that the old 
 gentleman had beat the younger, and that 
 it was his turn to take up the conqueror. 
 ** Your game has been short," said Har- 
 ley. '* I repiqued him," answered the 
 old man, with joy sparkling in his coun- 
 tenance. Harley wished to be repiqued 
 too, but he was disappointed ; for he had 
 the same good fortune against his oppo- 
 nent. Indeed, never did fortune, mutable 
 as she is, delight in mutability so much as 
 at that moment : the victory was so quick.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 85 
 
 and so constantly alternate, that the stake, 
 in a short time, amounted to no less a sum 
 than 121. ; Harley's proportion of which 
 was within half a guinea of the money he 
 had in his pocket. He had before pro- 
 posed a division, but the old gentleman 
 opposed it with such a pleasant warmth 
 in his manner, that it was always over- 
 ruled. Now, however, he told them, that 
 he had an appointment with some gentle- 
 men, and it was within a few minutes of 
 his hour. The young stranger had gain- 
 ed one game, and was engaged in the se- 
 cond with the other ; they agreed, there- 
 fore, that the stake should be divided if 
 the old gentleman won that ; which was 
 more than probable, as his score was 90 
 to 35 y and he was elder hand ; but a mo- 
 mentous repique decided it in favour of his 
 adversary, who seemed to enjoy his vic- 
 tory mingled with regret, for having won 
 too much, while his friend, with great 
 ebullience of passion, many praises of his
 
 86 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 own good play, and many maledictions on 
 the power of chance, took up the cards, 
 and threw them into the fire.
 
 THE MAN OF FE.EUN(t. 81 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 
 The Man of Feeling in a Brothel. ^^^ 
 
 The company he was engaged to meet 
 were assembled in Fleet-street. He had 
 walked some time along the Strand, amidst 
 a crowd of those wretches who wait the 
 uncertain wages of prostitution, with ideas 
 of pity suitable to the scene around him, 
 and the feelings he possessed, and had 
 got as far as Somerset-house, when one 
 of them laid hold of his arm, and with a 
 voice tremulous and faint, asked him for 
 a pint of wine, in a manner more suppli- 
 catory than is usual with those whom the 
 infamy of their profession has deprived of 
 shame : he turned round at the demand, 
 and looked stedfastly on the person who 
 made it.
 
 88 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 She was above the common size, and 
 elegantly formed ; her face was thin and 
 hollow, and showed the remains of tar- 
 nished beauty. Her eyes were black, but 
 had little of their lustre left : her cheeks 
 had some paint laid on without art, and 
 productive of no advantage to her com- 
 plexion, which exhibited a deadly pale- 
 ness on the other parts of her face. 
 
 Harley stood in the attitude of hesita- 
 tion ; which she interpreting to her ad- 
 vantage, repeated her request, and endea- 
 voured to force a leer of invitation into 
 her countenance. He took her arm, and 
 they walked on to one of those obsequious 
 taverns in the neighbourhood, where the 
 dearness of the wine is a discharge in full 
 for the character of the house. From what 
 impulse he did this, we do not mean to 
 inquire ; as it has ever been against our 
 nature to search for motives where bad 
 ones are to be found. — ^They entered, and
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING- 89 
 
 a waiter shewed them a room, and placed 
 a bottle of wine on the table. 
 
 Harley filled the lady's glass; which 
 she had no sooner tasted, than, dropping 
 it on the floor, and eagerly catching his 
 arm, her eye grew fixed, her lip assmned 
 a clayey whiteness, and she fell back life- 
 less in her chair. 
 
 Harley started from his seat, and, catch- 
 ing her in his arms, supported her from 
 falling to the ground, looking wildly at 
 the door, as if he wanted to run for as- 
 sistance, but durst not leave the miserable 
 creature. It was not till some minutes af- 
 ter, that it occurred to him to ring the 
 bell, which at last, however, he thought 
 of, and rung with repeated violence even 
 after the waiter appeared. Luckily the 
 waiter had his senses somewhat more about 
 him ; and snatching up a bottle of water, 
 which stood on a buffet at the end of the 
 room, he sprinkled it over the hands and 
 face of the dying figure before him. She
 
 90 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 began to revive, and, with the assistance 
 of some hartshorn drops, which Harley 
 now for the first time drew from his pocket, 
 was able to desire tlie waiter to bring her 
 a crust of bread ; of which she swallowed 
 «ome mouthfuls with the appearance of 
 the keenest hunger. The waiter with- 
 drew : when, turning to Harley, sobbing 
 at the same time, and shedding tears, *' I 
 am sorry. Sir," said she, " that I should 
 have given you so much trouble ; but you 
 will pity me when I tell you, that till now 
 I have not tasted a morsel these two days 
 past," — He fixed his eyes on her's — every 
 circumstance but the last was forgotten; 
 and he took her hand with as much re- 
 spect as if she had been aduchessT' It" 
 was ever the privilege of misfortune to be 
 revered by him. — " Two days !"— said 
 he ; " and I have fared sumptuously every 
 day !" — He was reaching to the bell ; she 
 imderstood his ineaning, and prevented 
 him. " I beg. Sir," said she, " that you
 
 THE MAN OF FEEUNG. 91 
 
 would give yourself no more trouble about 
 a wretch who does not wish to live ; but, 
 at present, I could not eat a bit ; my sto- 
 mach even rose at the last mouthful of that 
 crust." — He offered to call a chair, say- 
 ing, that he hoped a little rest would re- 
 lieve her. — He had one half-guinea left : 
 " I am sorry," he said, " that at present 
 I should be able to make you an offer of 
 no more than this paltry sum." — She burst 
 into tears : " Your generosity. Sir, is abu- 
 sed ; to bestow it on me is to take it from 
 the virtuous : Ihave no title but misery 
 to. plead i misery,of my Qwii prbcuring^r* 
 " No more of that," answered Harley ; 
 " there is virtue in these tears ; let the 
 fruit of them be virtue." — He rung, and 
 ordered a chair. — " Though I am the 
 "vilest of beings," said she, " I have not 
 forgotten every virtue ; gratitude, I hope, 
 I shall still have left, did I but know who 
 is my benefactor." — " My name is Har- 
 ley,"— "Could I ever have an opportuni- 
 
 NJ 
 
 l^
 
 «« THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ty" — " You shall, and a glorious one too ! 
 your future conduct — but I do not mean 
 to reproach you — if, I say — it will be the 
 noblest reward — I will do myself the plea- 
 sure of seeing you again." — Here the 
 waiter entered, and told them the chair 
 was at the door ; the lady informed Ilar- 
 ley of her lodgings, and he promised to 
 wait on her at ten next morning. 
 
 He led her to the chair, and returned 
 to clear with the waiter, without ever once 
 reflecting that he had no money in his 
 pocket. He was ashamed to make an ex- 
 cuse ; yet an excuse must be made : he 
 was beginning to frame one, when the 
 waiter cut him short, by telling him, that 
 he could not run scores ; but that, if he 
 would leave his watch, or any other pledge, 
 it would be as safe as if it lay in his pocket. 
 Harley jumped at the proposal, and, pul- 
 ling out his watch, delivered it into his 
 hands immediately ; and having, for once, 
 had the precaution to take a note of the
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 93 
 
 lodging he intended to visit next morning, 
 sallied forth with a blush of triumph on 
 his face, without taking notice of the sneer 
 of the waiter, who, twirling the watch in 
 his hand, made him a profound bow at the 
 door, and whispered to a girl, who stood 
 in the passage, something, in which the 
 word CULLY was honoured with a parti- 
 cular emphasis.
 
 94 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 His skill in Physiognomy is doubted. 
 
 After he had been some time with the 
 company he had appointed to meet, and 
 the last bottle was called for, he first re- 
 collected that he would be again at a loss 
 how to discharge his share of the reckon- 
 ing. He applied, therefore, to one of them, 
 with whom he was most intimate, acknow- 
 ledging that he had not a farthing of money 
 about him ; and, upon being jocularly ask- 
 ed the reason, acquainted them with the 
 two adventures we have just now related. 
 One of the company asked liim, if the old 
 man in Hyde-park did not wear a brown- 
 ish coat, A\ ith a narrow gold edging, and 
 his companion an old green frock, with a 
 buff-coloured waistcoat. Upon Harley's
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 95 
 
 recollecting that they did, " Then," said 
 he, " you may be thankful you have come 
 off so well ; they are two as noted sharpers, 
 in their way, as any in town, and but t'o- 
 ther night took me in for a much larger 
 sum : I had some thoughts of applying to 
 a justice, but one does not like to be seen 
 in those matters." 
 
 Harley answered, " That he could not 
 but fancy the gentleman was mistaken, as 
 he never saw a face promise more honesty 
 thanthat of the old man he had met with." 
 — " His face !" said a grave-looking man, 
 who sat opposite to him, squirting the 
 juice of his tobacco obliquely into the 
 grate. There was something very emphati- 
 cal in the action ; for it was followed by a 
 burst of laughter round the table. " Gen- 
 tlemen," said Harley, '* you are disposed 
 to be merry ; it may be as you imagine, 
 
 ^orJ[ confess. my.sel£ig]M>ranlQf,theJ 
 but there is one thing which makes me 
 bear the loss of my money with temper :
 
 96 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 the young fellow who won it must have 
 been miserably poor ; I observed him bor- 
 row money for the stake from his friend : 
 he had distress and hunger in his coun- 
 tenance : be his character what it may, 
 his necessities at least plead for lyim." — 
 At this there was a louder laugh than be- 
 fore, "^ Gentlemen," said the lawyer, one 
 of whose conversations with Harley we 
 have already recorded, " here's a very 
 pretty fellow for you : to have heard him 
 talk some nights ago, as I did, you might 
 have sworn he was a saint ; yet now he 
 games with sharpers, and loses his money ; 
 and is bubbled by a fine story invented by 
 a whore, and pawns his watch ; here are 
 sanctified doings with a witness !" 
 
 ** Young gentleman," said his friend on 
 the other side of the table, " let_me .ad- 
 vise you to be a httle jiiQni..cautvq^^^ for 
 tKe^ Future ; and as for C'tceST;:::ryou may 
 look into them to knoWa.ydiether a man's 
 nose be a long or a short one." 
 
 'i*^r«-«o<.rr*iii*/«iifti^ ■»!-?-■
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 9T 
 
 CHAP. xxvm. 
 
 He keeps his Appointment. 
 
 1 HE last night's raillery of his companions 
 was recalled to his remembrance when he 
 awoke, and the colder homilies of prudence 
 began to suggest some things which were 
 nowise favourable for a performance of his 
 promise to the unfortunate female he had 
 •met with before. He rose uncertain of 
 his purpose ; but the torpor of such con- 
 siderations was seldom prevalent over the 
 warmth of his nature. He walked some 
 turns backwards and forwards in his room ; 
 he^recaUed the languid form of the faint- 
 ing wretch to his mind ; he wept at the 
 recollection of her tears. " Though I am 
 the vilest of beings, I have not forgotten 
 every virtue ; gratitude, I hope, I shall 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 tr' 
 
 still have left." — He took a larger stride 
 — " Powers of mercy that surround me !" 
 cried he, " do ye not smile upon deeds 
 like these? to calculate the chances of 
 deception is too tedious a business for the 
 life of man." — The clock struck ten! 
 — When he had got down stairs, he found 
 that he had forgot the note of her lod- 
 gings ; he gnawed his lips at the delay : 
 he was fairly on the pavement, when he 
 recollected having left his purse ; he did 
 but just prevent himself from articulating 
 an imprecation. He rushed a second time 
 up into his chamber, " What a wretch 
 I am," said he ; " ere this time perhaps" — 
 'Twas a perhaps not to be borne ; — two 
 vibrations of a pendulum would have ser- 
 ved him to lock his bureau; — but they 
 could not be spared. 
 
 When he reached the house, and inqui- 
 red for Miss Atkins, (for that was the lady's 
 name,) he was shown up three pair of 
 stairs into a small room lighted by one 
 
 3
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 99 
 
 narrow lattice, and patched round with 
 shreds of different-coloured paper. In the 
 darkest corner stood something like a bed, 
 before which a tattered coverlet hung by 
 way of curtain. He had not waited long- 
 when she appeared. Her face had the 
 glister of new- washed tears on it. " I am 
 ashamed. Sir," said she, " that you should 
 have taken this fresh piece of trouble about 
 one so little worthy of it ; but, to the hu- 
 mane, I know there is a pleasure in good- 
 ness for its own sake : if you have patience 
 for the recital of my story, it may palliate, 
 though it cannot excuse, my faults. ' ' Har- 
 ley bowed, as a sign of assent ; and she 
 began as follows : 
 
 " I am the daughter of an officer, whom 
 a service of forty years had advanced no 
 higher than to the rank of captain. I have 
 had hints from himself, and been inform- 
 ed by others, that it was in some measure 
 owing to those principles of rigid honour, 
 which it was his boast to possess, and which
 
 100 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 he early inculcated on me, that he had 
 been able to arrive at no ])etter station. 
 My mother died when I was a child 5 old 
 enough to grieve for her death, but in- 
 capable of remembering her precepts. 
 Though my father was doatingly fond of 
 her, yet_there were some sentiments in 
 which they materially differed : she had 
 been bred from her infancy in the strictest 
 principles of religion, and took the mo- 
 rality of her conduct from the motives 
 which an adherence to those principles 
 suggested. My father, who had been in 
 the army from his youth, affixed an idea 
 oi^pusillanimity to that virtue, which was 
 formed by the doctrines, excited by the 
 rewards, or guarded by the terrors of re- 
 velation ; his darling idol was the honour 
 of a soldier ; a term which he held in such 
 reverence, that he used it for his most sa- 
 cred asseveration. Wlien my mother died, 
 I was for some time suffered to continue 
 in those sentiments which her instructions
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 101 
 
 had produced ; but soon after, though, 
 from respect to her memory, my father 
 did not absolutely ridicule them, yet he 
 shewed, in his discourse to others, so little 
 regard to them, and at times suggested to 
 me motives of action so different, that I 
 was soon weaned from opinions, which I 
 began to consider as the dreams of super- 
 stition, or the artful inventions of design- 
 ing hypocrisy. My mother's books were 
 left behind at the different quarters we re- 
 moved to, and my reading was principally 
 confined to plays, novels, and those poe- 
 tical descriptions of the beauty of j^ittue 
 and honour, which the circulating libraries 
 easily afforded. 
 
 " As I was generally reckoned hand- 
 some, and the quickness of my parts ex- 
 tolled by all our visitors, niy father had a 
 pride in showing me to the world. I was 
 '™y^img7 giddyj open to adulation, and vain 
 of those talents which acquired it. 
 '<* After the last war, my lather was re- 
 
 'Uwe'**'*
 
 102 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 duced to half-pay ; with which we retired 
 to a village in the country, which the ac- 
 quaintance of some genteel families who 
 resided in it, and the cheapness of living, 
 particularly recommended. My father 
 rented a small house, with a piece of 
 ground sufficient to keep a horse for him, 
 and a cow for the benefit of his family. 
 An old man-servant managed his ground ; 
 while a maid, who had formerly been my 
 mother's, and had since been mine, under- 
 took the care of our little dairy : they 
 were assisted in each of their provinces 
 by my father and me ; and_we_passed_our 
 time in a state of tranquillity^ wjiich he 
 ha,d always talked of witli^delight,^^and 
 which my traiftjoteading hsici^migkLme 
 to admire. 
 
 " Though I had never seen the polite 
 
 circles of the metropolis, the company my 
 
 ather had introduced me into had given 
 
 me a degree of good-breeding, which soon 
 
 discovered a superiority over the young
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 163 
 
 ladies of our village. I was quoted as an 
 example of politeness, and my company 
 courted by most of the considerable fa- 
 milies in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Amongst the houses to which I was 
 frequently invited, was Sir George Win- 
 brooke's. He had two daughters nearly 
 of my age, with whom, though they had 
 been bred up in those maxims of vulgar 
 doctrine, which my superior understand- 
 ing could not but despise, yet as their 
 good-nature led them to an imitation of 
 my manners in every thing else^ I culti- 
 vated a particular friendship. 
 
 " Some months after our first acquaint- 
 ance. Sir George's eldest son came home 
 from his travels. His figure, his address, 
 and conversation, were not unlike those 
 warm ideas of an accomplished man which 
 my favourite novels had taught me to form j 
 and his sentiments on the article of religion 
 were as liberal as my own : when any of 
 these happened to be the topic of our dis-
 
 184 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 course, I, who before had been silent, from 
 a fear of being single in opposition, now 
 kindled at the fire he raised, and defend- 
 ed our mutual opinions with all the elo- 
 quence I was mistress of. He would be 
 respectfully attentive all the while; and 
 when I had ended, would raise his eyes 
 from the ground, look at me with a gaze 
 of admiration, and express his applause 
 in the highest strain of encomium. This 
 was an incense the more pleasing, as I 
 seldom or never had met with it before j 
 for the young gentlemen who visited Sir 
 George were for the most part of that 
 common race of country squires, the plea- 
 sure of whose lives is derived from fox- 
 hunting : these are seldom solicitous to 
 please the women at all ; or if they were, 
 would never think of applying their flat- 
 tery to the mind. 
 
 *' Mr Winbrooke observed the weak- 
 ness of my soul, and took every occasion 
 of improving the esteem he had gained.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 105 
 
 He asked my opinion of every autlior, of 
 every sentiment, with that submissive dif- 
 fidence, which shewed an unhmited con- 
 fidence in my understanding. I s aw my- 
 self revered, as a superior being, by one 
 wliosc judgment myjanjtyf told mie was 
 not Tikely to ^,,:...p]:efexred by Jiim to all 
 the ,other visitoj^^X jjiy, sex^. whose for- 
 tun^^and rank ^llQjtlld toe^^j^^^ 
 to a much hioher degree, of uatiQ^e,.:.. I saw 
 their little jealousies at the distinguished 
 attention he paid me ; it was gratitude, it 
 was pride, it was love! love, which had 
 made too fatal a progress in my heart, be- 
 fore any declaration on his part should 
 have warranted a return : but.1 interpret- 
 ed every look of attention, every expres- 
 sion of compliment, to the passion I ima- 
 gined him inspired with, and imputed to 
 his sensibility that silence which was tlie 
 effect of art and design. At length, how- 
 ever, he took an opportunity of declaring 
 liis love : he now expressed himself in such
 
 Y 
 
 1«6 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ardent terms, that prudence might have 
 
 suspected their sincerity : but prudence 
 
 is rarely found in the situation I had been 
 
 unguardedly led into ; besides, that the 
 
 course of reading to which I had been 
 
 A accustomed, did not lead me to conclude, 
 
 / that his expressions could be too warm to 
 
 be sincere : nor was I even alarmed at the 
 
 manner in which he talked of marriage, 
 
 a subjection, he often hinted, to which 
 
 genuine love should scorn to be confined. 
 
 The woman, he would often say, who 
 
 had merit like mine to fix his affection, 
 
 could easily command it for ever. That 
 
 honour, too, which I revered, was often 
 
 called in to enforce his sentiments. I did 
 
 not, however, absolutely assent to them; 
 
 but I found my regard for their opposites 
 
 "ndiminish by degrees. If it is dangerous to 
 
 be convinced, it is dangerous to listen ; for 
 
 our reason is so much of a machine, that 
 
 it will not always be able to resist, when 
 
 the ear is perpetually assailed.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 107 
 
 " In short, Mr Harley, (for I tire you 
 with a relation, the catastrophe of which 
 you will already have imagined,) I fell a 
 prey to his artifices. He had not been 
 able so thoroughly to convert me, that my 
 conscience was silent on the subject; but 
 he was so assiduous to give repeated proofs 
 of unabated affection, that I hushed its 
 suggestions as they rose. The world, how- 
 ever, I knew, was not to be silenced ; and 
 therefore I took occasion to express my 
 uneasiness to my seducer, and entreat him, 
 as he valued the peace of one to whom he 
 professed such attachment, to remove it 
 by a marriage. He made excuses from 
 his dependence on the will of his father, 
 but quieted my fears by the promise of 
 endeavouring to win his assent. 
 
 " My father had been some days absent 
 on a visit to a dying relation, from whom 
 he had considerable expectations. I was 
 left at home, with ijo. other company than 
 my books ; my books I found were not 
 
 '■■ T--'i^ ■.--■-. -^ — 
 
 <^S)»
 
 108 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 now such companions as they used to be ; 
 I was restless, melancholy, unsatisfiedwith 
 myself. But judge my situation when I 
 received a billet from Mr Winbrooke, 
 informing me, that he had sounded Sir 
 George on the subject we had talked of, 
 and found him so averse to any match so 
 unequal to his own rank and fortune, that 
 he was obliged, with whatever reluctance, 
 to bid adieu to a place, the remembrance 
 of which should ever be dear to him. 
 
 " I read this letter a hundred times over. 
 Alone, helpless, conscious of guilt, and 
 abandoned by every better thought, my 
 mind was one motley scene of terror, 
 confusion, and remorse. A thousand ex- 
 pedients suggested themselves, and a thou- 
 sand fears told me they would be vain : at 
 last, in an agony of despair, I packed up 
 a few clothes, took what money and trin- 
 kets were in the house, and set out for 
 London, whither I understood he was 
 gone j pretending to my maid, that I had
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 109 
 
 received letters from my father requiring 
 my immediate attendance. I had no other 
 companion than a boy, a servant to the 
 man from whom I hired my horses. I ar- 
 rived in London within an hour of Mr 
 Winbrooke, and accidentally alighted at 
 the very inn where he was. 
 
 " He started and turned pale when he 
 saw me ; but recovered himself in time 
 enough to make many new protestations 
 of regard, and beg me to make myself easy 
 under a disappointment which was equal- 
 ly afflicting to him. He procured me 
 lodgings, where I slept, or rather endea- 
 voured to sleep, for that night. Next 
 morning I saw him again ; he then mild- 
 ly observed on the imprudence of my 
 precipitate flight from the country, and 
 proposed my removing to lodgings at ano- 
 ther end of the town, to elude the search 
 of my father, till he should fall upon some 
 method of excusing my conduct to him, 
 and reconcilins' him to mv return. We 
 
 ft? •'
 
 110 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 took a hackney-coach, and drove to the 
 house he mentioned. 
 
 " It was situated in a dirty lane, fur- 
 nished with a taudry affectation of finery, 
 with some old family pictures hanging on 
 walls which their own cobwebs would 
 better have suited. I was struck with a 
 secret dread at entering ; nor was it lessen- 
 ed by the appearance of the landlady, who 
 had that look of selfish shrewdness, which, 
 of all others, is the most hateful to those 
 whose feelings are untinctured with the 
 world. A girl, who she told us was her 
 niece, sat by her, playing on a guitar, 
 while herself was at work, with the assist- 
 ance of spectacles, and had a prayer-book, 
 with the leaves folded down in several 
 places, lying on the table before her. Per- 
 haps, Sir, I tire you with my minuteness ; 
 but the place, and every circumstance 
 about it, is so impressed on my mind, 
 that I shall never forget it. 
 
 " I dined that day with Mr Winbrooko
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. Ill 
 
 alone. He lost by degrees that restraint 
 which I perceived too well to hang about 
 him before, and, with his former gaiety 
 and good-humour, repeated the flattering 
 things, which, though they had once been 
 fatal, I durst not now distrust. At last, 
 taking my hand and kissing it, " It is 
 thus," said he, " that love will last, while 
 freedom is preserved ; thus let us ever be 
 blest, without the galling thought that 
 we are tied to a condition where we may 
 cease to be so." I answered, " That the 
 world thought otherwise ; that it had cer- 
 tain ideas of good fame, which it was im- 
 possible not to wish to maintain." " The 
 world," said he, " is a t;^rant; they are \ j^ 
 slaves who obey it : let us be happy with- 
 out the pale of the world. To-morrow I 
 shall leave this quarter of it, for one where 
 the talkers of the world shall be foiled, 
 and lose us. Could not my^mily accom- 
 pany me ? my friend, my companion, the 
 mistress of mv soul ! Nay, do not look so.
 
 112 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 Emily ! your father may grieve for a while, 
 but^your father shall be taken care of j 
 this bank-bill I intend as the comfort for 
 his daughter." 
 
 " I could contain myself no longer : 
 " Wretch !" I exclaimed, " dost thou ima- 
 gine that my father's heart could brook 
 dependence on the destroyer of his child, 
 and tamely accept of a base equivalent 
 for her honour and his own ?" *' Honour, 
 / my Emily," said he,^Ms the mw 
 \/ fools, or of those wiser men who, cheat 
 them. 'Tis a fantastic bauble, that does 
 not suit the gravity of your father's age ; 
 but, whatever it is, I am afraid it can never 
 be perfectly restored to you: exchange 
 the word then, and let pleasure be your 
 object now." At these words he clasped 
 me in his arms, and pressed his lips rude- 
 ly to my bosom. I started from my seat. 
 " Perfidious villain !" said I, " who dar'st 
 insult the weakness thou hast undone ; 
 were that father here, thy coward soul
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 113 
 
 would shrink from the vengeance of his 
 honour! Curst be that wretch who has 
 deprived him of it ! oh ! doubly curst, who 
 has dragged on his hoary head the infamy 
 which should have crushed her own!" I 
 snatched a knife which lay beside me, and 
 would have plunged it in my breast ; but 
 the monster prevented my purpose, and 
 smiling with a grin of barbarous insult, 
 " Madam," said he, *' I confess you are 
 too much in heroics for me : I am sorry 
 we should differ about trifles; but as I 
 seem somehow to have offended you, I 
 would willingly remedy it by taking my 
 leave. You have been put to some foolish 
 expence in this journey on my account ; 
 allow me to reimburse you." So saying, 
 he laid a bank-bill, of what amount I had 
 no patience to see, upon the table. Shame, 
 grief, and indignation, choked my utter- 
 ance ; unable to speak my wrongs, and 
 unable to bear them in silence, I_fell i» <*• 
 swoon at his feet. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 " What happened in the interval I can- 
 not tell ; but when I came to myself, I 
 was in the arms of the landlady, with her 
 niece chafing my temples, and doing all 
 in her power for my recovery. She had 
 much compassion in her countenance : the 
 old woman assumed the softest look she 
 was capable of, and both endeavoured to 
 bring me comfort. They continued to 
 show me many civilities, and even the 
 aunt began to be less disagreeable in my 
 sight. To the wretched, to the forlorn, 
 as I was, small offices of kindness are en- 
 dearing. 
 
 " Mean time my money was far spent, 
 nor did I attempt to conceal my wants 
 from their knowledge. I had frequent 
 thoughts of returning to my father; but 
 the dread of a life of scorn is insurmount- 
 able. I avoided therefore going abroad 
 when I had a chance of being seen by 
 any former acquaintance, nor indeed did 
 my health for a great while permit it ; and
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 115 
 
 suffered the old woman, at her own sug- 
 gestion, to call me niece at home, where 
 we now and then saw (when they could 
 prevail on me to leave my room) one or 
 two other elderly women, and sometimes 
 a grave business-like man, who shewed 
 great compassion for my indisposition, and 
 made me very obligingly an offer of a room 
 at his country-house for the recovery of 
 my health. This offer I did not chuse to 
 accept ; but told my landlady, " that I 
 should be glad to be employed in any way 
 of business which my skill in needlework 
 could recommend me to ; confessing, at 
 the same time, that I was afraid I should 
 scarce be able to pay her what I already 
 owed for board and lodging ; and that for 
 her other good offices, I had nothing but 
 thanks to give her." 
 
 " My dear child," said she, " do not 
 talk of paying ; since I lost my own sweet 
 girl, (here she wept,) your very picture 
 she was. Miss Emily, I have nobody.
 
 !16 THE MAN OP FEELING. 
 
 except my niece, to whom I should leave 
 any little thing I have been able to save : 
 you shall live with me, my dear ; and I 
 have sometimes a little millinery work, in 
 which, when you are inclined to it, you 
 may assist us. By the way, here are a 
 pair of ruffles we have just finished for 
 that gentleman you saw here at tea ; a 
 distant relation of mine, and a worthy man 
 he is. 'Twas pity you reftised the offer of 
 an apartment at his country-house ; my 
 niece, you know, was to have accompa- 
 nied you, and you might have fancied 
 yourself at home : a most sweet place it is, 
 and but a short mile beyond Hamp stead, 
 ^ho knows. Miss Emily, what effect such 
 a visit might have had i if I had Jialf your 
 beauty^ I shoiild not-Wiiiite iJLpiuiog after 
 e'er a worthless fellow of th^m all." I felt 
 my heart s^vell at her words ; I would have 
 been angry if I could ; but I was in that 
 stupid state which is not easily awakened 
 to anger: \\\w\\ 1 would have chid her.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELIiNG. IH 
 
 the reproof stuck in my throat j Ijcould 
 only weep ! 
 
 ** Her want of respect increased, as I 
 had not spirit to assert it ; my work was 
 now rather imposed than offered, and I 
 became a druds^e for the bread I eat : but 
 my dependance and servihty grew in pro- 
 portion, and I jy.as .iiow in a situation 
 which could not make any extraordinary 
 exertions to disengage itself-fr^m either ; 
 I found myself witlj^ child,_ -'-^ 
 
 " At last the wretch, who had thus 
 trained me to destruction, hinted the pur- 
 pose for which those means had been 
 used. I discovered her to be an artful 
 procuress for the pleasures of those, who 
 are men of decency to the world in the 
 midst of debauchery. 
 
 " I roused every spark of courage with- 
 in me at the horrid proposal. She treated 
 my passion at first somewhat mildly j but 
 when I continued to exert it, she resented 
 it with insult, and told me plainly. That
 
 118 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 if I did not soon comply with her desires, 
 I should pay her every farthing I owed, 
 or rot in a jail for life, I trembled at the 
 thought ; still, however, I resisted her im- 
 portunities, and she put her threats in exe- 
 cution. I was conveyed to prison^weak 
 from my condition, weaker from that 
 struggle of _grief and niisiTy wliicli for 
 some time I had sulT(gred.. _ A miscarriage 
 was the consequence^ 
 
 " Amidst all the horrors of such a state, 
 surrounded with wretches totally callous, 
 lost alike to humanity and to shame, think, 
 Mr Harley, think what I endured ; nor 
 wonder that I at last yielded to the soli- 
 citations of that miscreant I had seen at 
 her house, and sunk to the prostitution 
 which he tempted. But that was happi- 
 ness compared to wiiat-JLita,ve--ftttffered 
 since,,..-JEJe soon abandoned me to the 
 
 common u9e-^f4fee»4Gwn,^ajQ<d_ I. was ^Qast 
 among those miserable beings in whose so- 
 ciety I have since remained.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 119 
 
 ", Oil ! did the daughters of virtue know 
 Qur sufferings ; did they see our hearts 
 torn with anguish amidst the affectation \ 
 of gaiety wliich our faces are obliged to i 
 assume I our bodies tortured by disease, / 
 our minds with that consciousness which 
 -they -cannot lose 1 Did they know, did 
 they think of this, Mr Harley ! — their 
 censures are just ; but their pity, perhaps, 
 might spare the wretches whom their jus- 
 tice should condemn. 
 
 " Last night, but for an exertion of be- 
 nevolence which the infection of our infamy 
 prevents even in the humane, I had been 
 thrust out from this miserable place which 
 misfortune has yet left me j exposed to the 
 brutal insults of drunkenness, or dragged 
 by that justice which I could not bribe, 
 to the punishment which may correct, 
 but, alas I can never amend, the abandon- 
 ed objects of its terrors. From that, Mr 
 Harley, your goodness has reheved me." 
 He beckoned with his hand : he would
 
 120 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 have stopped the mention of his favours j 
 but he could not speak, had it been to beg 
 a diadem. 
 
 She saw his tears ; her fortitude began 
 to fail at the sight, when the voice of some 
 stranger on the stairs awakened her atten- 
 tion. She listened for a moment ; then 
 starting up, exclaimed, " Merciful God ! 
 my father's voice !" 
 
 She had scarce uttered the word, when 
 the door burst open, and a man entered 
 in the garb of an officer. When he dis- 
 covered his daughter and Harley, he start- 
 ed back a few paces ; his look assumed a 
 furious wildness ! he laid his hand on his 
 sword. The two objects of his wrath did 
 not utter a syllable. " Villain," he cried, 
 " thou seest a father who had once a 
 daughter's honour to preserve j blasted as 
 it now is, behold him ready to avenge its 
 loss!" 
 
 Harley had by this time some power of 
 utterance. " Sir," said he, " if you will be
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 121 
 
 a moment calm" — " Infamous coward!" 
 interrupted the other, " dost thou preach 
 calmness to wrongs hke mine ?" He drew 
 his sword. " Sir," said Harley, " let me 
 tell you" — The blood ran quicker to his 
 cheek — his pulse beat one — no more — 
 and regained the temperament of humani- 
 ty. — " You are deceived. Sir," said he, 
 " you are much deceived ; but I forgive 
 suspicions which your misfortunes have 
 justified : I would not wrong you, upon 
 my soul I would not, for the dearest gra- 
 tification of a thousand worlds ; my heart 
 bleeds for you !" 
 
 His daughter was now prostrate at his 
 feet. " Strike," said she, " strike here a 
 wretch, whose misery cannot end but with 
 that death she deserves." Her hair had 
 fallen on her shoulders ; her look had the 
 horrid calmness of out-breathed despair ! 
 Her father would have spoken ; his lip 
 quivered, his cheek grew pale ; his eyes 
 lost the lightning of their fury ! there was
 
 132 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 a reproach in them, but with a minghng 
 of pity ! he turned them up to heaven- 
 then on his daughter.— He laid his left 
 hand on his heart— the sword dropped 
 from his right— he burst into tears.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 123 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 
 The Distressts of a Father. 
 
 xIarley kneeled also at the side of the 
 unfortunate daughter ; " Allow me. Sir," 
 said he, " to entreat your pardon for one 
 whose offences have been already so sig- 
 nally punished. I know, I feel, that those 
 tears, wrung from the l^eart of a father, 
 are more dreadful to her than all the pu- 
 nishments your sword could have inflict- 
 ed: accept the contrition of a child, 
 whom heaven has restored to you." — 
 ** Is she not lost," answered he, " irre- 
 coverably lost ? Damnation ! a common 
 prostitute to the meanest ruffian !" — 
 " Calmly, my dear Sir," said Harley ; 
 — " did you know by what complicated 
 misfortunes she has fallen to that miser-
 
 124 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 able state, in ^vhich you now behold her, 
 I should have no need of words to excite 
 your compassion. Think, Sir, of what 
 once she was ! Would you abandon her 
 to the insults of an unfeeling world ; deny 
 her opportunity for penitence ; and cut 
 off the little comfort that still remains for 
 your afflictions and her own !"—" Speak,'* 
 said he, addressing himself to his daughter i 
 " speak, I will hear thee." The despera- 
 tion that supported her was lost ; she fell 
 to the ground, and bathed his feet with 
 her tears ! 
 
 Harley undertook her cause : he re- 
 lated the treacheries to which she had 
 fallen a sacrifice, and again solicited the 
 forgiveness of her father. He looked on 
 her, for some time, in silence ; the pride 
 of a soldier's honour checked, for a while, 
 jthe yearnings of his heart ; but nature at 
 last prevailed, he fell on her neck, and 
 mingled his tears with hers. 
 
 Harley, who discovered from the dress
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 125 
 
 of the stranger, that he was just arrived 
 from a journey, begged that jthey would 
 both remove to his lodgings, till he could 
 procure others for them. Atkins looked 
 at him with some marks of surprise. His 
 daughter now first recovered the power 
 of speech; " Wretch as I am," said she, 
 "^ yet there is some gratitude due to the 
 preserver of your child. See him now be- 
 fore you. To him I owe my life, or at 
 least the comfort of imploring your for- 
 giveness before I die." — " Pardon me, 
 young gentleman," said Atkins, " I fear 
 my passion wronged you." — " Never, 
 never. Sir," saidHarley; " if it had, your 
 reconciliation to your daughter were an 
 atonement a thousand fold." He then 
 repeated his request, that he might be al- 
 lowed to conduct them to his lodgings; 
 to which Mr Atkins at last consented. 
 He took his daughter's arm. " Come, my 
 Emily," said he, " we_can never, never 
 recover that happmes^jve have 1^ ! but
 
 126 
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 time may teach us^to remember our mis- 
 fortunes with patience. ' ' 
 
 When they arrived at the house where 
 Harley lodged, he was informed, that the 
 first floor \vas then vacant, and that the 
 gentleman and his daughter might be ac- 
 commodated there. While he was upon 
 this enquiry. Miss Atkins informed her fa- 
 ther more particularly what she owed to 
 his benevolence. When he returned into 
 the room where they were, Atkins ran 
 and embraced him ; begged him again to 
 forgive the offence he had given him, and 
 made the warmest protestations of grati- 
 tude for his favours. We would attempt 
 to describe the joy which Harley felt on 
 this occasion, did it not occur to us, jthat 
 one half of the world could not undCTstand 
 it, though we did^ and the other half will, 
 by tliis time, have understood it without 
 any description at all. 
 
 Miss Atkins now retired to her cham- 
 ber to take some rest, from the violence
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 12? 
 
 of the emotions she had suffered. When 
 she was gone, her father, addressing him- 
 self to Harley, said ; " You have a right. 
 Sir, to be informed of the present situa- 
 tion of one who owes so much to your 
 compassion for his misfortunes. My 
 daughter, I find, has informed you what 
 that was at the fatal juncture when they 
 began. Her distresses you have heard, 
 you have pitied as they deserved; with 
 mine, perhaps, I cannot so easily make 
 you acquainted. You have a feeling \ 
 heart, Mr Harley ; I bless it that it has \ 
 saved my child; but you never were a ^ 
 father, a father torn by that most dread- 
 ful of calamities — the dishonour of a child 
 he doated on ! You have been already 
 informed of some of the circumstances of 
 her elopement. I was then from home, 
 called by the death of a relation, who, 
 though he would never advance me a shil- 
 ling, on the utmost exigency, in his life- 
 time, left me all the gleanings of his fni-
 
 128 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 gality at his death. I would not write 
 this intelligence to my daughter, because 
 I intended to be the bearer myself; and, 
 as soon as my business would allow me, I 
 set out, on my return, winged with all 
 the haste of paternal affection. I fondly 
 built those schemes of future happiness, 
 which present prosperity is ever busy to 
 suggest : my Emily was concerned in 
 them all. As I approached our little 
 dwelling, my heart throbbed with the an- 
 ticipation of joy and welcome. I imagi- 
 ned the cheering fire, the blissful content- 
 ment of a frugal meal, made luxurious by 
 a daughter's smile : I painted to myself 
 her surprise at the tidings of our new-ac- 
 quired riches, our fond disputes about the 
 disposal of them. 
 
 " The road was shortened by the dreams 
 of happiness I enjoyed, and it began to 
 be dark as I reached the house : I alight- 
 ed from my horse, and walked softly up 
 stairs to the room we commonly sat in.. 

 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 129 
 
 I was somewhat disappointed at not find- 
 ing my daughter there. I rung the bell ; 
 her maid appeared, and shewed no small 
 signs of wonder at the summons. She 
 blessed herself, as she entered the room : 
 I smiled at her surprise. ' Where is Miss 
 Emily, Sir ?' said she. — * Emily !' — * Yes, 
 Sir ; she has been gone hence some days, 
 upon receipt of those letters you sent her.' 
 — ' Letters!' said I. — * Yes, Sir, so she 
 told me; and M'ent off in all haste that 
 very night.' 
 
 " I stood aghast, as she spoke; but was 
 able so far to recollect myself, as to put 
 on the affectation of calmness, and telling 
 her there was certainly some mistake in 
 the affair, desired her to leave me. 
 
 " When she was gone, I threw myself 
 into a chair, in that state of uncertainty 
 which is of all others the mo^t dreadful. 
 The gay visions, with which I had de- 
 lighted myself, vanished in an instant : I 
 was tortured with tracing back the same 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 circle of doubt and disappointment. My 
 head grew dizzy, as I thought. I called 
 the servant again, and asked her a hun- 
 dred questions, to no purpose ; there was 
 not room even for conjecture. 
 
 " Something at last arose in my mind, 
 which we call hope, without knowing 
 \/ what.it is. I wished myself deluded by 
 iti but it could not prevail ®ver my 
 returning fears. I arose, and walked 
 through the room. My Emily's spinnet 
 stood, at the end of it, open, with a book 
 of music, folded down at some of my fa- 
 vourite lessons. I touched the keys; there 
 was a vibration in the sound that froze 
 my blood. I looked around, and me- 
 thought the family-pictures on the walls 
 gazed on me with compassion in their 
 faces. I sat down again, with an attempt 
 at more composure; I started at every 
 creaking of the door, and my ears rung 
 with imaginary noises ! 
 
 <' I had not remained long in this situ- 
 
 8
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 131 
 
 ation, when the arrival of a friend, who 
 had accidentally heard of my return, put 
 an end to my doubts, by the recital of 
 my daughter's dishonour. He told me he 
 had his information from a young gentle- 
 mariTlo whom Winbrooke had blasted of 
 having seduced her. 
 
 " I started from my seat, with broken 
 curses on my lips, and, without knowing 
 whither I should pursue them, ordered 
 my servant to load my pistols, and saddle 
 my horses. My friend, however, with 
 great difficulty, persuaded me to compose 
 myself for that night, promising to accom- 
 pany me on the morrow to Sir George 
 Winbrooke's in quest of his son. 
 
 " The morrow came, after a night 
 spent in a state little distant from mad- 
 ness. We went as early as decency 
 would allow to Sir George's. He recei- 
 ved me with politeness, and indeed com- 
 passion ; protested his abhorrence of his 
 son's conduct, and told me, that he had
 
 132 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 set out some days before for London, on 
 which place he had procured a draft for 
 a large sum, on pretence of finishing his 
 travels ; but that he had not heard from 
 him since his departure. 
 
 " I did not wait for any more, either of 
 information or comfort, but, against the 
 united remonstrances of Sir George and 
 my friend, set out instantly for London, 
 with a frantic uncertainty of purpose; 
 but there all manner of search was in vain. 
 I could trace neither of them any farther 
 than the inn where they first put up on 
 their arrival ; and, after some days fruit- 
 less inquiry, returned home, destitute of 
 every little hope that had hitherto sup- 
 ported me. The journeys I had made, 
 the restless nights I had spent, above all, 
 the perturbation of my mind, had the ef- 
 fect which naturally might be expected : 
 a very dangerous fever was the conse- 
 quence. From this, however, contrary to 
 the expectation of my physicians, I reco-
 
 !*«£ MAN OF FEELING. 133 
 
 vered. It was now that I first felt some- 
 thing hKe calmness of mind ; probably 
 from being reduced to a state which could 
 not produce the exertions of anguish or 
 despair. A stupid melancholy settled on 
 mv soul : I could endure to live with an 
 apathy of life : at times, I forgot my re- 
 sentment, and wept at the remembrance 
 01 my child. 
 
 "Such has been the tenor of my days 
 since that fatal moment when these mis- 
 fortunes began, till yesterday, that I re- 
 ceived a letter from a friend in town, ac- 
 quainting me of her present situation. 
 Could such tales as mine, Mr Harley, be 
 sometimes suggested to the daughters of 
 levity j did they but know with what 
 anxiety the heart of a parent flutters 
 round the child he loves j they would be 
 less apt to construe into harshness that 
 delicate concern for their conduct, which 
 they often complain of as laying restraint 
 upon things, to the young, the gay, and 
 
 n-
 
 134 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 the thoughtless, seemingly harmless and 
 indifferent. Alas ! I fondly imagined, that 
 I needed not even these common cau- 
 tions ! my Emily was the joy of my age, 
 and the pride of my soul ! — Those things 
 are now no more ! they are lost for ever ! 
 Her death I could have borne ; but the 
 death of her honour has added obloquy 
 and shame to that sorrow which bends 
 my gray hairs to the dust !" 
 
 As he spoke these last words, his voice 
 trembled in his throat; it was now lost 
 in his tears ! He sat with his face half- 
 turned from Harley, as if he would have 
 hid the sorrow which he felt. Harley 
 was in the same attitude himself; he 
 durst not meet Atkins' eye with a tear ; 
 but gathering his stifled breath, '' Let 
 me intreat you. Sir," said he, *' to hope 
 better things. The world is ever tyran- 
 nical ; it warps our sorrows to edge them 
 with keener affliction : let us not be 
 slaves to the names it affixes to motive or
 
 TPIE MAN OF FEELING. 135 
 
 to action. I know an ingenuous mind 
 cannot help feeling when they sting : but 
 there are considerations by which it may 
 be overcome : its fantastic ideas vanish as 
 they rise ; they teach us— to look be- 
 yond it." 
 
 * \I/ ^l/ ^ly si/ \1/ \ly St/ \L/
 
 136 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Shewing his Success with the Baro7iet. 
 
 1 HE card he received was in the 
 pohtest style in which disappointment 
 could be communicated : the baronet 
 *' was under a necessity of giving up his 
 application for Mr Harley, as he was in- 
 formed, that the lease was engaged for a 
 gentleman who had long served his ma- 
 jesty in another capacity, and whose me- 
 rit had entitled him to the first lucrative 
 thing that should be vacant." Even Har- 
 ley could not murmur at such a disposal. 
 " Perhaps," said he to himself, " some 
 war-worn ofTiper, who, like poor Atkins, 
 had been neglected from reasons which 
 merited the highest advancement j whose
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 137 
 
 honour could not stoop to solicit the pre- 
 ferment he deserved -, perhaps, with a 
 family, taught the principles of delica- 
 cy, without the means of supporting it ; 
 
 a wife and children gracious heaven ! 
 
 whom my wishes would have deprived of 
 
 bread!" 
 
 He was interrupted in his reverie by 
 some one tapping him on the shoulder; 
 and, on turning round, he discovered it 
 to be the very man who had explained to 
 him the condition of his gay companioi; 
 at Hydepark-corner. " I am glad to see 
 you. Sir," said he; "I believe we are 
 fellows in disappointment." Harley start- 
 ed, and said, that he was at a loss to un- 
 derstand him. " Poll ! you need not be 
 so shy;" answered the other, " everyone 
 for himself is but fair, and I had much 
 rather you had got it than the rascally 
 ganger." Harley still protested his ig- 
 norance of what he meant. " Why, the 
 lease of Bancroft-manor: had not you
 
 138 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 been applying for it ?" — " I confess 1 
 was," replied Harley; " but I cannot 
 conceive how you should be interested in 
 the matter." — " Why, I was making in- 
 terest for it myself," said he, " and I think 
 I had some title : I voted for this same baro- 
 net at the last election, and made some of 
 my friends do so too ; though I would not 
 have you imagine that I sold my vote; no, 
 I scorn it, let me tell you, I scorn it ; but 
 I thought as how this man was staunch 
 
 /and true, and I find he's but a double- 
 „ faced fellow after all, and speechifies in 
 
 the House for any side he hopes to make 
 most by. Oh ! how many fine speeches, 
 and squeezings by the hand, we had of 
 him on the canvas ! — * And if ever I shall 
 be so happy as to have an opportunity of 
 serving you ;' — a murrain on the smooth- 
 tongued knave ! and after all to get it 
 for this pimp of a ganger." — *' The gan- 
 ger ! there must be some mistake," said 
 Harley 3 " he writes me, that it was en-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 139 
 
 gaged for one, whose long services" — 
 ** Services !" interrupted the other, " you 
 shall hear. Services ! Yes, his sister ar- 
 rived in town a few days ago, and is now 
 sempstress to the baronet. A plague on 
 all rogues ! says honest Sam Wrightson : 
 I shall but just drink damnation to them 
 to-night, in a crown's worth of Ashley's, 
 and leave London to - morrow by sun- 
 rise." — " I shall leave it too," said Har- 
 ley ; and so he accordingly did. 
 
 In passing through Piccadilly, he had 
 observed, on the window of an inn, a no- 
 tification of the departure of a stage-coach 
 for a place in his road homewards ; in the 
 way back to his lodgings, he took a seat 
 in it for his return.
 
 140 THE MAN OF FELLING. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIII. 
 
 lie leaves London. — Characters in a Siage- 
 Coack. 
 
 1 HE company in the stage-coach con- 
 sisted of a grocer and his wife, who were 
 going to pay a visit to some of their 
 comitry friends j a young ofticer, who 
 took this way of marching to quarters j 
 a middle-aged gentlewoman, who had 
 been hired as housekeeper to some family 
 in the country j and an elderly well- 
 looking man, with a remarkable old-fa- 
 shioned periwig. 
 
 Harley, upon entering, discovered but 
 one vacant seat, next the grocer's wife, 
 which, from his natural shyness of temper, 
 he made no scruple to occupy, however
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 141 
 
 aware that being driven backwards always 
 disagreed with him. ^,„^-<<- 
 
 Though his inchnation to physiognomy 
 had met with some rubs in the metropohs, ' 
 he had not yet lost his attachment to 
 that science : he set himself, therefore, to 
 examine, as usua], the countenances of 
 his companions. Here, indeed, he was 
 not long in doubt, as to the preference ; 
 for, besides that the elderly gentleman, 
 who sat opposite to him, had features by 
 nature more expressive of good disposi- 
 tions, there was something in that peri- 
 wig we mentioned, peculiarly attractive 
 of Harley's regard. 
 
 He had not been long employed in 
 these speculations, when he found him- 
 self attacked with that faintish sickness, 
 which was the natural consequence of his 
 situation in the coach. The paleness of 
 his countenance was first observed by the 
 housekeeper, who immediately made of- 
 fer of her smelling-bottle, which Harley,
 
 142 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 however, declined, telling, at the same 
 time, the cause of his uneasiness. The 
 gentleman on the opposite side of the 
 coach now first turned his eye from the 
 side-direction in which it had been fixed, 
 and begged Harley to exchange places 
 with him, expressing his regret that he 
 had not made the proposal before. Har- 
 ley thanked him, and, upon being assured 
 that both seats were alike to him, was 
 about to accept of his offer, when the 
 young gentleman of the sword, putting 
 on an arch look, laid hold of the other's 
 arm. " So, my old boy," said he, " I 
 find you have still some youthful blood 
 about you, but, with your leave, I will do 
 myself the honour of sitting by this lady;" 
 and took his place accordingly. The 
 grocer stared him as full in the face as his 
 own short neck would allow ; and his 
 wife, who was a little round-faced woman 
 with a great deal of colour in her cheeks, 
 drew up at the compliment that was paid
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 143 
 
 her, looking first at the officer, and then 
 at the housekeeper. 
 
 This incident was productive of some 
 discourse; for before, though there was 
 sometimes a cough or a hem from the 
 grocer, and the officer now and then 
 humm'd a few notes of a song, there had 
 not a single word passed the lips of any 
 of the company. 
 
 Mrs Grocer observed, how ill-convenient 
 it was tor people, who could not bear to 
 ride backwards, to travel in a stage. This 
 brought on a dissertation on stage-coaches 
 in general, and the pleasure of keeping a 
 chay of one's own ; which led to another, 
 on the great riches of Mr Deputy Bear- 
 skin, who, according to her, had once 
 been of that industrious order of youths 
 who sweep the crossings of the streets for 
 the conveniency of passengers, but, by 
 various fortunate accidents, had now ac- 
 quired an immense fortune, and kept his 
 coach and a dozen livery-servants. All
 
 14* THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 this afforded ample fund for conversation, 
 if conversation it might be called, that was 
 -CJJfflecl oil solely by the before-mefitioned 
 lady, nobody offering to interrupt her, 
 except that the officer sometimes signified 
 his approbation by a variety of oaths, a 
 sort of phraseology in which he -seemed 
 extremely conversant. She appealed in- 
 deed frequently to her husband for the 
 authenticity of certain facts,'ofwhicirihe 
 good man as often protested his total ig- 
 norance ; but as he*wd-s always called fool, 
 or something very like it, for his pains, he 
 at last contrived to support the credit of 
 his wife without prejudice to his conscience, 
 and signified his assent by a noise not un- 
 like the grunting of that animal which in 
 shape and fatness he somewhat resembled. 
 The housekeeper, and the old gentle- 
 man who sat next to Harley, were now 
 observed to be fast asleep j at which the 
 lady, who had been at such pains to en- 
 tertain them, muttered some words of dis- 
 
 6
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 145 
 
 pleasure, and, upon the officer's whisper- 
 ing to smoke the old put, both she and 
 her husband pursed up their mouths into a 
 contemptuous smile. Harley looked stern- 
 ly on the grocer : " You are come. Sir," 
 said he, " to those years when you might 
 have learned some reverence for age : as 
 for this young man, who has so lately es- 
 caped from the nursery, he may be allow- 
 ed to divert himself." " Damme, Sir," 
 said the officer, " do you call me young ?" 
 striking up the front of his hat, and stretch- 
 ins: forward on his seat, till his face almost 
 touched Harley's. It is probable, how- 
 ever, that he discovered something there 
 which tended to pacify Jiim ; for, on the 
 lady's entreating them not to quarrel, he 
 very soon resumed his posture and calm- 
 ness together, and was rather less profuse 
 of his oaths during the rest of the journey. 
 It is possible the old gentleman had 
 waked time enough to hear the last part 
 of this discourse j at least (whether from 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 that cause, or that he too was a physiog- 
 nomist) he wore a look remarkably com- 
 placent to Harley, who, on his part, shew- 
 ed a particular observance of him : indeed 
 they had soon a better opportunity of ma- 
 king their acquaintance, as the coach arri- 
 ved that night at the town where the of- 
 ficer's regiment lay, and the places of des- 
 tination of their other fellow-travellers, it 
 seems, were at no great distance ; for next 
 morning the old gentleman and Harley 
 were the only passengers remaining. 
 
 When they left the inn in the morning, 
 Harley, pulling out a little pocket-book, 
 began to examine the contents, and make 
 some corrections with a pencil. " This," 
 said he, turning to his companion, " is 
 an amusement with which I sometimes 
 pass idle hours at an inn : these are quota- 
 tions from those humble poets, who trust 
 tlieir fame to the brittle tenure of windows 
 and drinking-glasses." " From our inns," 
 returned the gentleman, " a stranger might
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 147 
 
 imagine that we were a nation of poets ; 
 machines at least containing poetry, which 
 the motion of a journey emptied of their 
 contents : is it from the vanity of being 
 thought geniuses, or a mere mechanical 
 imitation of the custom of others, that we 
 are tempted to scrawl rhyme upon such 
 places?" 
 
 " Whether vanity is the cause of our 
 becoming rhymesters or not," answered 
 Harley, " it is a pretty certain effect of 
 it. An old man of my acquaintance, who 
 dealt in apophthegms, used to say. That 
 he had known few men without envy, few 
 wits witTiout ill-nature, and no poet with- 
 out vanitji and I believe his remark is a 
 pretty j ust on^~ySriv^niaI"'bem" immS-'^^ 
 morially the charter of poets. In this the 
 ancients were more honest than we are: 
 the old poets frequently make boastful 
 predictions of the immortality their works 
 will obtain for them ; ours, in their dedi- 
 cations and prefatory discourses, employ
 
 14fi Tirb MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 much eloquence to praise their patrons^ 
 and much seeming honesty to condemn 
 themselves, or at least to apologize for 
 their productions to the world : but this, 
 in my opinion, is the more assuming man- 
 ner of the two ; for of all the garbs I ever 
 saw Pride put on, that of her humility is 
 to me the most disgusting." 
 
 " It is natural enough for a poet to be 
 vain," said the stranger : " thehttle worlds 
 which he raises, the inspiration which he 
 claims, may easily be productive of self- 
 , importance ; though that inspiration is fa- 
 bulous, it brings on egotism, which is al- 
 'wavs the parent of vanity." 
 
 *' It may be supposed," answered Har- 
 ley, " that inspiration of old was an article 
 of religious faith ; in modern times it may 
 be translated, a propensity to compose ; 
 and I believe it is not always most readily 
 found where the poets have fixed its resi- 
 dence, amidst groves and plains, and the 
 scenes of pastoral retirement. The mind
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 149 
 
 may be there unbent from the cares of 
 the world ; but it will frequently, at the 
 same time, be unnerved from any great 
 exertion : it will feel the languor of indo- 
 lence, and wander without effort over the 
 regions of reflection." 
 
 " There is at least," said the stranger, 
 ^*^ one advantage in the poetical inclina- 
 tion, that it is an incentive to philanthropy. 
 There is a certain poetic ground, on which 
 a man cannot tread without feelings that 
 enlarge the heart : the causes of human 
 depravity vanish before the romantic en- 
 thusiasm he professes, and many who are 
 not able to reach the Parnassian heights, 
 may yet approach so near as to be better? 
 ed by the air of the climate." 
 
 ^' I have always thought so," replied 
 Harley ; " but this is an argument with 
 the prudent against it ; they urge the 
 dano-er of unfitness for the world." 
 
 " I allow it," returned the other ; " but 
 I believe it is not always rightfully impu^
 
 150 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ted to the bent for poetry : that is only one 
 effect of the common cause. — Jack, says 
 his father, is indeed no scholar ; nor could 
 all the drubbings from his master ever 
 bring him one step forward in his acci- 
 dence or syntax : but I intend him for a 
 merchant. — Allow the same indulgence 
 to Tom. — Tom reads Virgil and Horace 
 when he should be casting accounts ; and 
 but t'other da}^ he pawned his great-coat 
 for an edition of Shakespeare. — But Tom 
 would have been as he is, though Virgil 
 and Horace had never been born, though 
 Shakespeare^had died a link-boy j for his 
 nurse will tell you, that when he was a 
 child, he broke his rattle, to discover what 
 it was that sounded within it ; and burnt 
 the sticks of his go-cart, because he liked 
 to see the sparkling of timber in the fire. 
 — 'Tis a sad case ; but what is to be 
 done ? — Why, Jack shall make a fortune, 
 dine on venison, and drink claret. — Ay, 
 but Tom — Tom shall dine with his bro-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 151 
 
 ther, when his pride will let him ; at other 
 times, he shall bless God over a half-pint 
 of ale and a Welsh-rabbit ; and both shall 
 go to heaven as they may.— That's a poor 
 prospect for Tom, says the father.— To 
 go to heaven ! I cannot agree with him." 
 " Perhaps," said Harley, " we now-a- 
 days discourage the romantic turn a little 
 too much. Our boys are prudent too soon. 
 Mistake me not, I do not mean to blame 
 them for want of levity or dissipation ; but 
 their pleasures are those of hackneyed 
 vice, blunted to every finej; emotion by 
 the repetition of debauch ; \\\d their de- 
 sireof pleasure is warped to the desire of 
 wealth, as the means of procuring it. The 
 immense riches acquired by individuals 
 have' erecte3^ a standard of ambition, de- 
 structive of private morals, and of public 
 virtue. The weaknesses of vice are left 
 us ; but the most allowable of our failings 
 we are taught to despise. Love, the pas- 
 sion most natural to the sensibility of
 
 152 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 youth, has lost the phiiiitive dignity it once 
 possessed, for the unmeaning simper of a 
 dangHng coxcomb ; and the only serious 
 concern, tliat of a dowry, is settled, even 
 amongst the beardless leaders of the dan- 
 cing-school. The Frivolous and the In- 
 terested (might a satirist say) are ttiietjhcir-- 
 racteristical features of the a^e ; they are 
 visible even in the essays of our philoso- 
 phers. They laugh at the pedantry of our 
 fathers, who complained of the times in 
 which they lived ; they are at pains to 
 persuade us how much those were deceiv- 
 ed ; they pride themselves in defending 
 things as they find them, and in exploding 
 the barren sounds which had been reared 
 into motives for action. To this their style 
 is suited ; and the manly tone of reason is 
 exchanged for perpetual elForts at sneer 
 and ridicule. This I hold to be an alarm- 
 ing crisis in the corruptionofai state j 
 when not only is virtue declined, and vice 
 prevailing, l^ut jvKen'l;'Ire;;grag|rpf y
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 153 
 
 are forgotten, and tlie iiifamy of vice un~ 
 felt^' 
 
 They soon after arrived at the next inn 
 upon the route of the stage-coach, when 
 the stranger told Harley, that his brother's 
 house, to v^^hich he was returning, lay at 
 no great distance, and he must therefore 
 unwillingly bid him adieu. 
 
 " I should like," said Harley, taking his 
 hand, " to ha,ye splge word to remember 
 so much seeming worth by : my name is 
 Harley."—" I shall rememberit," answer- / 
 ed the old gentleman, " in my prayers ; 
 mine is Silton.'^'*"**'-''''^'''="=^---^ 
 
 "And Silton indeed it was ! Ben Silton 
 (hirnself 4~On€e~mor-e, my honoured friend^ 
 farewell r--—Borh to bejiappy without the 
 world, to tlfat Deaceful happiness which 
 the world has not to bestow ! Envy never 
 scowled on thy life, nor hatred smiled on 
 thy grave. 
 
 \
 
 154 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIV. 
 
 He meets an old acquaintance. 
 
 VV HEN the stage-coach arrived at the 
 place of its destination, Harley began to 
 consider how he should proceed the re- 
 maining part of his journey. He was very 
 civilly accosted by the master of the inn, 
 who offered to accommodate him either 
 with a post-chaise or horses, to any dis- 
 tance he had a mind : but as he did thinss 
 frequently in a way dilYerent frprn^ what, 
 otlier people call natural, he refused these 
 offers, and set out immediately a-foot, ha- 
 ving first put a spare shirt in his pocket, 
 and given directions for tl>e forwarding of 
 his portmanteau. This was a method of 
 travelling whicli he was accustomed to 
 take J it saved the trouble of provision
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 135 
 
 for any animal but himself, and left him 
 at liberty to chuse his quarters, either at 
 an inn, or at the first cottage in which he 
 saw a face he liked : nay, when he was 
 not peculiarly attracted by the reasonable 
 creation, he would sometimes consort with 
 a species of inferior rank, and lay himself 
 down to sleep by the side of a rock, or on 
 the banks of a rivulet. He did few things 
 ^AothmiJt a^^iafttjyjg^j^^^ 
 rather eccentric : and the asam and ex- 
 pedient were terms which he held to be 
 very indefinite, and which, therefore, he 
 did not always apply to the sense in which 
 they are commonly understood. 
 
 Tlie°sim was now in his decline, and the 
 evening remarkably serene, when he enter- 
 ed a hollow part of the road, which wind- 
 ed between the surrounding banks, and 
 seamed the sward in ditferent lines, as the 
 choice of travellers had directed them to 
 tread it. It seemed to be little frequented 
 now, for some of those had partly recover-
 
 158 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ed their former verdure. The scene was 
 such as induced Harlev to stand and en- 
 joy it i when, turning round, his notice 
 was attracted by an object, which the fix- 
 ture of his eye on tiie spot he walked had 
 before prevented him from observing. 
 
 An old man, who, from his dress, seem- 
 ed to have been a soldier, lay fast asleep 
 on the ground ; a knapsack rested on a 
 stone at his right hand, while his staff and 
 brass-hilted sword were crossed at his left. 
 
 Ilarley looked on him with the most 
 earnest attention. He was one of those 
 figures which Salvator would have drawn ; 
 nor was the surrounding scenery unlike the 
 wildness of that painter's back-grounds. 
 The banks on each side were covered with 
 fantastic shrub-wood, and at a little dis- 
 tance, on the top of one of them, stood a 
 finger-post, to mark the directions of two 
 roads which diverged from the point where 
 it was placed. A rock, with some dang- 
 ling Avild flowers, jutted out above wherq
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 157 
 
 the soldier lay ; on which grew the stump 
 of a large tree, white with age, and a single 
 twisted branch shaded his face as he slept. 
 His face had the marks of manly comeli- 
 ness impaired by time ; his forehead was 
 not altogether bald, but its hairs might 
 have been numbered ; while a few white 
 locks behind crossed the brown of his 
 neck with a contrast the most venerable 
 to a mind like Harley's. " Thon art old^" 
 said he to himself jj',.but_age has not \^ 
 brought thee rest for its infirmities : I fear 
 those""sirver hairs have not found shelter 
 from thy country, though that neck has 
 been bronzed in its service." The stranger 
 waked. He looked at Harley with the ap- 
 pearance of some confusion : itwas a pain 
 the latter knew too well to think of cau- 
 sing in another ; he turned and went on. 
 The old man re- adjusted his knapsack, 
 and followed in one of the tracks on the 
 opposite side of the road. 
 
 When Harley heard the tread of liis feet
 
 ViS THE MAN OF FEELIAG. 
 
 behind him, he could not help stealing 
 back a glance at his fellow-traveller. He 
 seemed to bend under the weight of his 
 knapsack ; he halted in his walk, and one 
 of his arms was supported by a sling, and 
 lay motionless across his breast. He had 
 that steady look of sorrow, which indicates 
 that its owner has gazed upon his griefs 
 tilT lie has forgotten to lament them ; yet 
 not without those streaks of complacency, 
 wfiiicli'a'gobd mmd will sometimes throw 
 into the countenance, through all the in- 
 cumbent load of its depression. 
 
 He had now advanced nearer to Har- 
 ley, and, with an uncertain sort of voice, 
 begged to know what it was o'clock ; 
 <' I fear," said he, " sleep has beguiled me 
 of my time, and I shall hardly have light 
 enough left to carry me to the end of my 
 journey." " Father !" said Harley, (who 
 by this time found the romantic enthusi- 
 asm rising within him,) "how far do you 
 mean to go ?" " But a little way. Sir,"
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 159 
 
 returned the other; " and indeed it is but 
 a httle way I can manage now : 'tis just 
 four miles from the height to the village, 
 whither I am going." " I am going thither 
 too," said Harley ; " we may make the 
 road shorter to each other. You seem to 
 have served your country, Sir, to have 
 served it hardly too ; 'tis a character I 
 have the highest esteem for. — I would not 
 be impertinently inquisitive ; but there is 
 that in your appearance which excites my 
 curiosity to know something more of you : 
 in the mean time, suifer me to carry that 
 knapsack." 
 
 The old man gazed on him ; a tear 
 stood injiis eye! " Young gentleman," 
 said he, " you are too good ; may Hea- 
 ven bless you for an old man's sake, who 
 has nothing but his blessing to give !^_.but 
 nu£ lyiapsack is so familiar to my shoul- 
 ders^hat I should walk the worse for 
 wanting it ; and it would be troublesome 
 to you, who have not been used to its 
 
   ---.yaa- '■' ' I, »,Lnii.iiuj»in.i.j.-ii.»iiii 
 
 .HL.ilni.RMijilin i>.i,„, «iiii«ii i*U'Jl*-JW««W»*»S!3*»'*'^
 
 160 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 weight.'^. f* Far from it," answered Har- 
 Tey, " I should tread the Hghter ; it would 
 be the most honourable badgel ever wore." 
 " Sir," said the stranger, who had look- 
 ed earnestly in Harley's face during the 
 last part of liis discourse, " is not your 
 name Harley ?" " It is," replied he; " I 
 am ashamed to say I have forgotten yours." 
 " You may well have forgotten my face," 
 said the stranger ; — " 'tis a long time since 
 you saw it ; but possibly you may remem- 
 ber something of old Edwards." — " Ed- 
 wards!" cried Harle}^ "oh! heavens!" 
 and sprung to embrace him ; " let me 
 clasp tliosc knees on which I have sat so 
 often : Edwards ! — I shall never forget that 
 fire^sidc, round which I have been so hap- 
 py ! But where, where have you been ? 
 where is Jack ? where is vour daughter } 
 How has it fared with them, when for- 
 tune, I fear, has been so unkind to you ?" 
 — " 'Tis a long tale," replied Edwards ; 
 " but I will try to tell it you as we walk.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 16J 
 
 " When you were at school in the 
 neighbourhood, you remember me at 
 South-hill : that farm had been possessed 
 by my father, grandfather, and great- 
 grandfather, which last was a younger 
 brother of that very man's ancestor, who 
 is now lord of the manor. I thought I 
 managed it as they had done, with pru- 
 dence ; I paid my rent regularly as it be- 
 came due, and had always as much be- 
 hind as gave bread to me and my children. 
 But my last lease was out soon after you 
 left that part of the country ; and the 
 squire, who had lately got a London at- 
 torney for his steward, would not renew 
 it, because, he said, he did not chuse to 
 have any farm under 3001. a year value 
 on his estate; but offered to give me the 
 preference on the same terms with ano- 
 ther, if I chose to take the one he had 
 marked out, of which mine was a part. 
 
 " What could I do, Mr Harley ? I fear- 
 ed the undertaking was too great for me ; 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 103 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 yet to leave, at my age, the house I had 
 lived in from my cradle ! I could not, Mr 
 Harley, I could not ; there w^as not a tree 
 about it that I did not look on as my fa- 
 ther, my brother, or my child : so I even 
 ran the risk, and took the squire's offer of 
 the whole. But I had soon reason to re- 
 pent of my bargain ; the steward had 
 taken care that my former farm should 
 be the best land of the division : I was 
 obliged to hire more servants, and I could 
 not have my eye over them all ; some un- 
 favourable seasons followed one another, 
 and I found my affairs entangling on my 
 hands. To add to my distress, a consider- 
 able corn-factor turned bankrupt with a 
 sum of mine in his possession : I failed 
 paying my rent so punctually as I was 
 wont to do, and the same steward had my 
 stock taken in execution in a few days af- 
 ter. So, Mr Harley, there was an end of 
 my prosperity. However, there was as 
 much produced from the sale of my effects
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 163 
 
 as paid my debts and saved me from a 
 jail : I thank God I wronged no man, and 
 the world could never charge me with 
 dishonesty. 
 
 " Had you seen us, Mr Harley, when 
 we were turned out of South- hill, I am 
 sure you would have wept at the sight. 
 You remember old Trusty, my shag house- 
 dog ; I shall never forget it while I live ; 
 the poor creature was blind with age, and 
 could scarce crawl after us to the door: 
 he went, however, as far as the gooseberry- 
 bush, which you may remember stood on 
 the left side of the yard ; he was wont to 
 bask in the sun there : when he had reach- 
 ed that spot, he stopped ; we went on : I 
 called to him j he wagged his tail, but did 
 not stir : I called again ; he lay down : I 
 whistled, and cried Trusty ; he gave a 
 short howl, and died ! — I could have lain 
 down and died too ; but God gave me 
 streng^i to live for my children." 
 
 The old man now paused a moment to
 
 164 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 take breath. He eyed Harley's face j it 
 was bathed with tears : the story was 
 grown famihar to himself j he dropped 
 one tear, and no more. 
 
 " Though I was poor," continued he, 
 ** I was not altogether without credit. A 
 gentleman in the neighbourhood, who 
 had a small farm unoccupied at the time, 
 offered to let me have it, on giving secu- 
 rity for the rent ; which I made shift to 
 procure. It was a piece of ground which 
 required management to make any thing 
 of; but it was nearly within the compass 
 of my son's labour and my own. We ex- 
 erted all our industry to bring it into 
 some heart. We began to succeed tole- 
 rably, and lived contented on its produce, 
 when an unlucky accident brought us 
 under the displeasure of a ^leighbouring 
 justice of the peace, and broke all our 
 family happiness again. 
 
 " My son was a remarkabljj^ good 
 shooter ; he had always kept a pointer on
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 165 
 
 our former farm, and thought no harm in 
 doing so nowi when, one day, having 
 sprung a covey of partridges, in our own 
 ground, the dog, of his own accord, fol- 
 lowed them into the justice's. My son 
 laid down his gun, and went after his dog- 
 to bring him back : the game-keeper, 
 who had marked the birds, came up, and, 
 seeing the pointer, shot him, just as my 
 son approached. The creature fell : my 
 son ran up to him : he died, with a com- 
 plaining sort of cry, at his master's feet» 
 Jack could bear it no longer, but, flying 
 at the game-keeper, wrenched his gun 
 out of his hand, and, with the butt end of 
 it, felled him to the ground. 
 
 " He had scarce got home, when a 
 constable came with a warrant, and drag- 
 ged him to prison ; there he lay, for the 
 justices would not take bail, till he was 
 tried at the quarter-sessions for the assault 
 and battery. His fine was hard upon us 
 to payj we contrived, however, to lire
 
 166 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 the worse for it, and make ii]^ the loss by 
 our frugality. But the justice was not 
 content with that punishment, and soon 
 after had an opportunity of punishing us 
 indeed. 
 
 r " An officer, with press-orders, came 
 down to our country, and, having met 
 with the justices, agreed, that they should 
 pitch on a certain number, who could 
 most easily be spared from the county, 
 of whom he would take care to clear it : 
 my son's name was in the justices' list. 
 
 " 'Twas on a Christmas eve, and the 
 birth-day, too, of my son's little boy. The 
 night was piercing cold, and it blew a 
 stoiTO, with showers of hail and snow. 
 We had made up a cheering fire in an in- 
 ner room ; I sat before it in my wicker- 
 chair, blessing Providence, that had still 
 left a shelter for me and my children. 
 My son's two little ones were holding their 
 gambols around us ; my heart wanned at 
 the sight : I brought a bottle of my best
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. ten 
 
 ale, and all our misfortunes were forgot- 
 ten. _^ 
 
 " It had long been our custom to play 
 a game at blind-man's-buff on that night, 
 and it was not omitted now ; so to it 
 we fell, I, and my son, and his wife, the 
 daughter of a neighbouring farmer, who 
 happened to be with us at the time, the 
 two children, and an old maid- servant, 
 who had lived with me from a child. The 
 lot fell on my son to be blindfolded. We 
 had continued some time at our game, 
 when he groped his way into an outer 
 room, in pursuit of some of us, who, he 
 imagined, had taken shelter there; we 
 kept snug in our places, and enjoyed his 
 mistake. He had not been long there, 
 when he was suddenly seized from be- 
 hind; * I shall have you now,* said he, 
 and turned about. * Shall you so, mas- 
 ter?* answered the ruffian, who had laid 
 hold of him; ' we shall make you play 
 at another sort of game by and by.*—
 
 168 THE MAN OF FEELlNa 
 
 At these words, Harley started with a 
 convulsive sort of motion, and, grasping 
 Edwards' sword, drew it half out of the 
 scabbard, with a look of the most frantic 
 ^^'ildness. Edwards gently replaced it in 
 its sheath, and went on with his rela- 
 tion. 
 
 " On hearing these words in a strange 
 voice, we all rushed out to discover the 
 cause; the room, by this time, was al- 
 most full of the gang. My daughter-in- 
 law fainted at the sight ; the maid and I 
 ran to assist her, while my poor son re- 
 mained motionless, gazing by turns on 
 his children and their mother. We soon 
 recovered her to life, and begged her to 
 retire, and wait the issue of the affair; 
 but she flew to her husband, and clung 
 round him in an agony of terror and 
 
 grief. 
 
 *' In the gang was one of a smoother 
 aspect, whom, by his dress, we discover- 
 ed to be a seijeant of foot : he came up
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 1(& 
 
 to me, and told me, that my son had his 
 choice of the sea or land service, whisper- 
 ing, at the same time, that, if he chose 
 the land, he might get off, on procuring 
 him another man, and paying a certain 
 sum for his freedom. The money we 
 could just muster up in the house, by the 
 assistance of the maid, who produced, in 
 a green bag, all the little savings of her 
 service; but the man we could not exr 
 pect to find. My daughter-in-law gazed 
 upon her children, with a look of the 
 wildest despair. * My poor infants ! ' said 
 she, * your father is forced from you ;. who 
 shall now labour for your bread ? or must 
 your mother beg for herself and you }' I 
 prayed her to be patient ; but comfort I 
 had none to give her. At last, calling the 
 Serjeant aside, I asked him, * If I was too 
 old to be accepted in place of my son?* — r 
 * Why, I don't know,' said he; * you are 
 rather old to be sure, but yet the money 
 may do much.' I put the money in his
 
 170 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 hand 3 and coming back to my children, 
 * Jack,' said I, * you are free ; hve to give 
 your wife and these httle ones bread j I 
 will go, my child, in your stead : I have 
 but little life to lose, and if I staid, I 
 should add one to the wretches you left 
 behind.' — ' No,' replied my son, * I am 
 not that coward you imagine me; Heaven 
 forbid, that my father's gray hairs should 
 be so exposed, while I sat idle at home ; 
 I am young, and able to endure much, 
 and God will take care of you and my fa- 
 mily.' — ' Jack,' said I, * I will put an end 
 to this matter; you have never hitherto 
 disobeyed me ; I will not be contradicted 
 in this : stay at home, I charge you, and, 
 for my sake, be kind to my children.' 
 r " Our parting, Mr Harley, I cannot 
 describe to you ; it was the first time we 
 ever had parted : the very press-gang could 
 scarce keep from tears 5 but the serjeant, 
 who had seemed the softest before, was 
 now the least moved of them all. He
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 171 
 
 conducted me to a party of new-raised 
 recruits, who lay at a village in the neigh- 
 bourhood ; and we soon after joined the 
 regiment. I had not been long with it, 
 when we were ordered to the East- Indies, 
 where I was soon made a serjeant, and 
 might have picked up some money, if my 
 heart had been as hard as some others 
 w^ere : but mv nature was never of that 
 kind, that could think of getting rich at 
 the expence of my conscience. 
 
 " Amongst our prisoners was an old 
 Indian, whom some of our officers sup- 
 posed to have a treasure hidden some- 
 where ; which is no uncommon practice 
 in that country. They pressed him to 
 discover it. He declared he had none; 
 but that would not satisfy them : so they 
 ordered him to be tied to a stake, and 
 suffer fifty lashes every morning, till he 
 should learn to speak out, as they said. 
 Oh ! Mr Harley, had you seen him, as I 
 did, with his hands bound behind him.
 
 172 niE MAN OF FEELING, 
 
 suffering in silence, while the big drops 
 trickled down his shrivelled cheeks, and 
 wet his gray beard, which some of the in- 
 human soldiers plucked in scorn ! I could 
 not bear it, I could not for my soul ; and 
 one morning, when the rest of the guard 
 were out of the way, I found means to let 
 him escape. I was tried by a court- 
 martial for negligence on my post, and 
 ordered, in compassion of my age, and 
 having got this wound in my arm, and 
 that in my leg, in the service, only to suf- 
 fer three hundred lashes, and be turned 
 out of the regiment ; but my sentence 
 was mitigated, as to the lashes, and I had 
 only two hundred. When I had suffered 
 these, I was turned out of the camp, and 
 had betwixt three and four hundred miles 
 to travel before I could reach a sea port, 
 without guide to conduct me, or money 
 to buy me provisions by the way. I set 
 out, however, resolved to walk as far as I 
 could, and then to lay myself down and
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. ITS 
 
 die. But I had scarce gone a mile, when 
 I was met by the Indian whom I had de- 
 livered. He pressed me in his arms, and 
 kissed the marks of the lashes on my back 
 a thousand times ; he led me to a little 
 hut, where some friend of his dwelt ; and, 
 after I was recovered of my wounds, con- 
 ducted me so far on my journey himself, 
 and sent another Indian to guide me 
 through the rest. When we parted, he 
 pulled out a purse with two hundred pieces 
 of gold in it : — ' Take this,' said he, ' my 
 dear preserver, it is all I have been able 
 to procure.' I begged him not to bring 
 himself to poverty for my sake, who should 
 probably have no need of it long ; but he 
 insisted on my accepting it. He embra- 
 ced me. * You are an Englishman,' said 
 he, ' but the (jreat Spirit has given you an 
 Indian heart ; may he bear up the weight 
 of your old age, and blunt the arrow that 
 brings it rest !' We parted, and not long
 
 iT4 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 after I made shift to get my passage to 
 England. 'Tis but about a week since I 
 landed, and I am going to end my days 
 in the arms of my son. This^um may be 
 of use to him and his children; 'tis all the 
 value I put upon it. I thank Heaven, I 
 never was covetous of wealth ; I never had 
 much, but was always so happy as to be 
 content with my little." — 
 
 When Edwards had ended his relation, 
 Harley stood a while looking at him in 
 silence ; at last he pressed him in his arms, 
 and when he had given vent to tlie fulness 
 of his heart by a shower of tears, " Ed- 
 wards," said he, " let me hold thee to my 
 bosom ; let me imprint the virtue of thy 
 sufferings on my soul. Come, my ho- 
 noured veteran ! let me endeavour to soften 
 the last days of a life, worn out in the 
 serv ice of humanity : call me also thy son, 
 \ and let me cherish thee as a father." Ed- 
 wards, from whom the recollection of his
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 175 
 
 own sufferings had scarce forced a tear, 
 now blubbered like a boy ; he could not 
 speak his gratitude, but by some short ex- 
 clamations of blessings upon Harley.
 
 UG THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXXV. 
 
 lie misses an old Acquaintance. — Jn Adventure 
 consequent upon it. 
 
 vV HEX they had arrived within a httle 
 way of the village they journeyed to, 
 Harley stopped short, and looked sted- 
 fastly on the mouldering walls of a ruined 
 house that stood on the road-side. " Oh, 
 heavens !" he cried, *' what do I see ! si- 
 lent, unroofed, and desolate ! Are all the 
 gay tenants gone } Do I hear their hum 
 no more ? Edwards, look there, look 
 there ! the scene of my infant joys, my 
 earliest friendships, laid waste* and ruin- 
 ous ! That was the very school where I 
 was boarded when you were at South-hill; 
 'tis but a twelvemonth since I saw it
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 177 
 
 Standing, and its benches filled with little 
 cherubs : that opposite side of the road 
 was the green on which they sported ; see 
 it now ploughed up ! I would have given 
 fifty times its value to have saved it from 
 the sacrilege of that plough/* 
 
 " Dear Sir," replied Edwards, " per- 
 haps they have left it from choice, and 
 may have got another spot as good." 
 — " They cannot," said Harley, *' they 
 cannot; I shall never see the sward co- 
 vered with its daisies, nor pressed by the 
 dance of the dear innocents : I shall never 
 see that stump decked with the garlands 
 which their little hands had gathered. 
 These two long stones, which now lie at the 
 foot of it, were once the supports of a hut I 
 myself assisted to rear : I have sat on the 
 sods within it, when we had spread our 
 banquet of apples before us, and been more 
 blest— Oh! Edwards! infinitely more blest 
 than ever I shall be again." 
 
 Just then a woman passed them on the 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 TilE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 road, and discovered some signs of wonder 
 at the attitude of Harley, who stood, with 
 his hands folded together, looking with a 
 moistened eye on the fallen pillars of the 
 hut. He was too much entranced in 
 thought to observe her at all ; but Ed- 
 wards civilly accosting her, desired to know, 
 if that had not been the school-house, and 
 how it came into the condition in which 
 they now saw it ? " Alack a day !" said 
 she, " it was the school-house indeed ; 
 but to be sure. Sir, the squire has pulled 
 it down, because it stood in the way of 
 his prospects." — " What ! how ! pros- 
 pects ! pulled down !" cried Harley. 
 " Yes, to be sure. Sir ; and the green, 
 where the children used to play, he has 
 ploughed up, because, he said, they hurt 
 
 his fence on the other side of it." 
 
 " Curses on his narrow heart," cried Har- 
 ley, « that could violate a right so sacred I 
 Heaven blast the wretch !
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 179 
 
 '•' And from his derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour him !" 
 
 But I need not, Edwards, I need not," re- 
 covering himself a little; " he is cursed 
 enough already : to him the noblest source 
 of happiness is denied jaiJdtKie cares of 
 his sordid soul shall *fib9W it, while thou 
 sittest ov6r a brown crust, smiling on 
 those mangled limbs that have saved thy 
 son and his children !" " If you want any 
 thing with the school-mistress. Sir," said 
 the woman, " I can shew you the way to 
 her house." He followed her, without 
 knowing whither he went. 
 
 They stopped at the door of a snug ha- 
 bitation, where sat an elderly woman with 
 a boy and a girl before her, each of whom 
 held a supper of bread and milk in their 
 hands. *' There, Sir, is the school-mistress." 
 — " Madam," said Harley, " was not 
 an old venerable^ man school-master here 
 some time ago ?" " Yes, Sir, he was : poor
 
 180 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 man ! the loss of his former school-house^ 
 I believe, broke his heart, for he died soon 
 after it was taken down ; and as another 
 has not yet been found, I have that charge 
 in the mean time." — " And this boy and 
 girl, I presume, are your pupils ?" — " Ay, 
 Sir, they are poor orphans, put under my 
 care by the parish j and more promising 
 children I never saw." " Orphans !" said 
 Harley. " Yes, Sir, of honest creditable 
 parents as any in the parish ; and it is a 
 shame for some folks to forget their rela- 
 tions, at a time when they have most need 
 to remember them." — " Madam," said 
 Harley, " let us never forget that we are 
 all relations." He kissed the children. 
 
 " Their father. Sir," continued she, 
 *' was a farmer here in the neighbour- 
 hood, and a sober industrious man he was ; 
 but nobody can help misfortunes : what 
 with bad crops, and bad debts, which are 
 worse, his affairs went to wreck ; and 
 both he and his wife died of broken hearts.
 
 THE xMAN OF FEELING. 181 
 
 And a sweet couple they were. Sir ; there 
 was not a properer man to look on in tlie 
 country than John Edwards, and so in- 
 deed w^ere all the Edwards's." " What 
 Edwards's?" cried the old soldier hastily. 
 " The Edwards's of South-hill ; and a 
 worthyfamily they were." — " South-hill !" 
 said he, in a languid voice, and fell hack 
 into the arms of the astonished Harley. 
 The school-mistress ran for some water, 
 and a smelling-bottle, with the assistance 
 of which they soon recovered the unfor- 
 tunate Edwards. He stared wildly for 
 some time; then folding his orphan grand- 
 children in his arms, *' Oh ! my children, 
 my children !" he cried, " have I found 
 you thus ? My poor Jack ! art thou gone ? 
 I thought thou shouldst have carried thy 
 father's gray hairs to the grave ! and these 
 little ones" — his tears choked his utter- 
 ance, and he fell again on the necks of the 
 children. 
 
 " My dear old man !" said Harley^
 
 182 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 " Providence has sent you to relieve them; 
 it will bless me, if I can be the means of 
 assisting you." — " Yes, indeed, Sir," an- 
 swered the boy ; '' father, when he was a- 
 dying, bade God bless us; and prayed, 
 that if grandfather lived, he might send 
 him to support us." — '* Where did they 
 lay my boy?" said Edwards. " In the 
 Old Church-yard," replied the woman, 
 " hard by his mother."—" I will shew it 
 you," answered the boy ; " for I have 
 wept over it many a time, when first I 
 came among strange folks." He took the 
 old man's hand, Harley laid hold of his 
 sister's, and they walked in silence to the 
 church-yard. 
 
 There was an old stone, with the cor- 
 ner broken off, and some letters, half-co- 
 vered with moss, to denote the names of 
 the dead : there was a cyphered R. E. 
 plainer than the rest : it was the tomb 
 they sought. " Here it is, grandfather," 
 said the boy. Edwards gazed upon it
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 183 
 
 without uttering a word : the girl, who 
 had only sighed before, now wept out- 
 right : her brother sobbed, but he stifled 
 his sobbing. " I have told sister," said 
 he, " that she should not take it so to 
 heart; she can knit already, and I shall 
 soon be able to dig : we shall not starve, 
 sister, indeed we shall not, nor shall grand- 
 father neither."— -The girl cried afresh ; 
 Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, 
 and wept between every kiss.
 
 13A THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. 
 
 He returns home. — A description of his retinue. 
 
 It was with some difficulty that Harley 
 prevailed on the old man to leave the spot 
 where the remains of his son were laid. 
 At last, with the assistance of the school- 
 mistress, he prevailed ; and she accommo- 
 dated Edwards and him with beds in her 
 house, there being nothing like an inn 
 nearer than the distance of some miles. 
 
 In the morning, Harley persuaded Ed- 
 wards to come with the children to his 
 house, which was distant but a short day's 
 journey. The boy walked in his grand- 
 father's hand ; and the name of Edwards 
 procured him a neighbouring farmer's 
 horse, on which a servant mounted, with 
 the girl on a pillow before him.
 
 THE MA?J OF TEELING. 185 
 
 "Witii this train Harley returned to the 
 abode of his fathers : and we cannot but 
 think, that his enjoyment was as great as 
 if he had arrived from the tour of Europe, 
 with a Swiss valet for his companion, and 
 half a dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible 
 hinges, in his pocket. But we take our 
 ideas from sounds which follv has invent- 
 ed ; Fashion, Bon ton, and Vertii, are the 
 names of certain idols, to which we sacri- 
 fice the genuine pleasures of the soul : in 
 this world of semblance, we are content- 
 ed with personating happiness j to feel it, 
 is an art beyond us. 
 
 It was otherwise with Harley ; he ran 
 up stairs to his aunt, with the history of 
 liis fellow-travellers glowing on his lips. 
 His aunt was an economist ; but she knew 
 the pleasure of doing chafttaBle things, 
 and withal was fond of her nephew, and 
 solicitous to oblige him. She received old 
 Edwards, therefore, with a look of more 
 complacency than is perhaps natural to 
 
 s 
 
 ■A
 
 196 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 maiden ladies of threescore, and was re- 
 markably attentive to his grand-children : 
 she roasted apples with her own hands for 
 their supper, and made up a little bed be- 
 side her own for the girl. Edwards made 
 some attempts towards an acknowledge- 
 ment for these favours ; but his young 
 friend stopped them in their beginnings. 
 *' Whosoever receiveth any of these chil- 
 dren" — said his auntj for her acquaint- 
 ance with her Bible was habitual. 
 
 Early next morning, Harley stole into 
 the room where Edwards lay : he expect- 
 ed to have found him a-bed ; but in this 
 he was mistaken : the old man had risen, 
 and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, 
 with the tears flowing down his cheeks. 
 At hrst he did not perceive Harley ; when 
 he did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, 
 and crossing his eyes with his hand, ex- 
 pressed his surprise at seeing him so early 
 astir. *' I was thinking of you," said 
 Harley, " and your children : I learned
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 187 
 
 last night that a small farm of mine in the 
 neighbourhood is now vacant : if you will 
 occupy it, I shall gain a good neighbour, 
 and be able, in some measure, to repay 
 the notice you took of me when a boy ; 
 and as the furniture of the house is mine, 
 it will be so much trouble saved." Ed- 
 wards' tears gushed afresh, and Harley 
 led him to see the place he intended for 
 him. 
 
 The house upon this farm was indeed 
 little better than a hut j its situation, how- 
 ever, was pleasant ; and Edwards, assisted 
 by the beneficence of Harley, set about 
 improving its neatness and convenience. 
 He staked out a piece of the green before 
 for a garden, and Peter, who acted in 
 Harley's family as valet, butler, and gar- 
 dener, had orders to furnish him with par- 
 cels of the different seeds he chose to sow 
 in it. I have seen his master at work in 
 this little spot, with his coat off, and his 
 dibble in his hand : it was a scene of tran-
 
 188 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 c[uil virtue to have stopped an angel on 
 his errands of mercy ! Harley had contri- 
 ved to lead a little bubbling brook through 
 a green vi^alk in the middle of the ground, 
 upon which he had erected a mill in mi- 
 niature for the diversion of Edwards' in- 
 fant grandson, and made shift in its con- 
 struction to introduce a pliant bit of wood, 
 that answered with its fairy clack to the 
 murmuring of the rill that turned it. I 
 have seen him stand, listening to these 
 mingled sounds, with his eye fixed on the 
 boy, and the smile of conscious satisfac- 
 tion on his cheek ; while the old man, 
 with a look half turned to Harley, and 
 half to Heaven, breathed an ejaculation 
 of gratitude and piety. 
 
 Father of mercies ! I also would thank 
 thee, that not only liast tliou assigned 
 eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even 
 in this bad world, the lines of our duty, 
 and our happiness, are so frequently woven 
 together.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELINO. 180 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The Man of Feeling talks of what he does not 
 understand. — Ait incident. 
 
 * * * * <c Edwards," said he, " I have a 
 proper regard for the prosperity of my 
 country : every native of it appropriates 
 to himself some share of the power or the 
 fame, which, as a nation, it acquires ; but 
 I cannot throw olY the man so much, as 
 to rejoice at our conquests in India. You 
 tell me of immense territories subject to 
 the English : I cannot think of their pos- 
 sessions, without being led to enquire, by 
 what right they possess them. They came 
 there as traders, bartering the commodi- 
 ties they brought for others which their 
 purchasers could spare ; and however great 
 their profits were, they were then equi-
 
 199 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 table. But wliat title have the subjects of^ 
 another kingdom to establish an empire 
 in India ? to give laws to a country where 
 the inhabitants received them on the term* 
 of friendly commerce } You say they are 
 happier under our regulations than under 
 the tyranny of their own petty princes. I 
 must doubt it, from the conduct of those 
 by whom these regulations have been 
 made. They have drained the treasuries 
 of Nabobs, who must fill them by oppres- 
 sing the industry of their subjects. Nor 
 is this to be wondered at, when we con- 
 sider the motive upon which those gen- 
 tlemen do not deny their going to India. 
 The fame of conquest, barbarous as that 
 motive is, is but a secondary considera- 
 tioii_: there arc certain stations iu wealth, 
 as well as 4n rank'andhonotir, to which™ 
 the warriors of the East aspire. It is there 
 indeed where the wishes of their friends 
 assign them eminence, and to that object 
 the question of their country is pointed at
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 191 
 
 their return. When shall I see a com- 
 mander return from India in the pride of 
 honourable poverty? — You describe the 
 victories they have gained ; they are sul- 
 lied by the cause in which they fought : 
 you enumerate the spoils of those victories ; l^ 
 they are covered with the blood of the 
 vanquished! 
 
 " Could you tell me of some conqueror 
 giving jpeace and JiappmFs¥^Io the con- 
 quered ? did he accept the gifts of their 
 princes, to use them for the comfort of 
 those whose fathers, sons, or husbands, 
 fell in battle ? did he use his power to 
 gain security and freedom to the regions 
 of oppression and slavery ? did he endear 
 the British name by examples of generosi- 
 ty, which the most barbarous or most de- 
 praved are rarely able to resist ? did he 
 return with the consciousness of duty dis- 
 charged to his country, and humanity to 
 his fellow-creatures ? did he return with 
 no lace on his coat, no slaves in his reti-
 
 192 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 nue, no chariot at his door, and no bur- 
 gundy at his table ? — these were laurels 
 which princes might envy — which jin ho- 
 nest man would not condemn !" 
 
 " Your maxims, Mr Harley, are cer- 
 tainly right," said Edwards. " I am not 
 capable of arguing with you ; but I ima- 
 ginejthere are great temptations in a gre_at 
 degree of riches, which it is no easy mat-., 
 ter to resist : those a poor maniike-me 
 cannot des cribe, be cause he never knew 
 them ; and perhaps I have reason to bless 
 God that I never did ; for then, it is like- 
 ly, I should have withstood them no bel- 
 ter than my neighbours. For you know. 
 Sir, that it is not the fashion now, as it 
 was in former times, that I have read of 
 in books, when your great generals died 
 so poor, that they did not leave where- 
 withal to buy them a collin ; and people 
 thought the better of their memories for 
 it : if they did so now-a-days, I question
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 198 
 
 if any body, except yourself, and some 
 few like you, would thank them." 
 
 '^' I am sorry," replied Harley, " that 
 there is so much truth in what you say ; 
 but, however the general current of opi- 
 nion may point, the feelings are not yet 
 lost that applaud benevolence, and cen- 
 sure inhumanity. Let us endeavour to 
 strengthen them in ourselves ; and we, 
 who live sequestered from the noise of the 
 multitude, have better opportunities of 
 listening undisturbed to their voice." 
 
 They now approached the little dwelling 
 of Edwards. A maid-servant, whom he 
 had hired to assist him in the care of his 
 grand-children, met them a little way from 
 the house : " There is a young lady with- 
 in with the children," said she. Edwards 
 expressed his surprise at the visit : it was, 
 however, not the less true ; and we mean 
 to account for it. 
 ^JThis'younglady, then, was no other than 
 QMiss Walton. She had heard the old man's 
 
 ::£gir~F«: —-^ N
 
 194 THE MAN OF FEELlNfi. 
 
 history from Ilarley, as we have ah'eady 
 related it. Curiosity, or some other mo- 
 tive, made her desirous to see his grand- 
 children : this she had an opportunity of 
 gratifying soon; the children, in some^ of 
 their walks, having strolled as far as her 
 father's avenue. She put several questions 
 to both ; she was delighted with the sim- 
 plicity of their answers, and promised, 
 that if they continued to be good children, 
 and do as their grandfather bid them, she 
 would soon see them again, and bring some 
 present or other for their reward. This 
 promise she had performed now : she came 
 attended only by her maid, and brought 
 with her a complete suit of green for the 
 boy, and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit 
 of ribbands, for bis sister. She had time 
 enough, with her maid's assistance, to 
 equip them in their new habiliments be- 
 fore Harley and Edwards returned. The 
 boy heard his grandfather's voice, and, 
 with that silent joy which his present 
 
 s
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 195 
 
 finery inspired, ran to the door to meet 
 him: putting one hand in his, with the 
 other pointing to his sister, " See," said 
 he, " what Miss Walton has brought 
 us !" — Edwards gazed on them. Harley 
 fixed his eyes on Miss Walton ; her's were 
 turned to the ground j — in Edwards' was 
 a^eamy moisture. — He folded his hands 
 together — " I cannot speak, young lady," 
 said he, " to thank you." Neither could 
 Harley. There were a thousand senti- 
 ments ; but they gushed so impetuously 
 on his heart, that he could not utter a 
 salable. * * * *
 
 196 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. XL. 
 
 The Man of Fteling jealous, 
 
 1 HE desire of communicating knowledge 
 or intelligence, is an argument with those 
 who hold, that man is naturally a social 
 animal. It is, indeed, one of the earliest 
 propensities we discover ; but it may be 
 doubted whether the pleasure (for plea- 
 sure there certainly is) arising from it be 
 not often more selfish than social : for we 
 frequently observe the tidings of ill com- 
 municated as eagerly as the annunciation 
 of good. Is it that we delight in obser- 
 ving the effects of the stronger passions } 
 for we are all philosophers in this respect j 
 and it is, perhaps, amongst the spectators 
 at Tyburn that the most genuine are to 
 be found.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 197 
 
 Was it from this motive that Peter 
 came one morning into his master's room 
 with a meaning face of recital ? His mas- 
 ter, indeed, did not at first observe it; 
 for he was sitting with one shoe buckled, 
 delineating portraits in the fire. " I have 
 brushed those clothes. Sir, as you ordered 
 me." Harley nodded his head; but Peter 
 observed that his hat wanted brushing 
 too : his master nodded again. At last 
 Peter bethought him, that the fire needed 
 stirring ; and taking up the poker, demo- 
 lished the turban'd head of a Saracen, 
 while his master was seeking out a bod}^ 
 for it. " The morning is main cold, Sir," 
 said Peter.^ — " Is it ?" said Harley. — 
 " Yes, Sir, I have been as far as Tom 
 Dowson's to fetch some barberries he had 
 picked for Mrs Margery. There was a 
 rare junketting last night at Thomas's 
 among Sir Harry Benson's servants; he 
 lay at Squire Walton's, but he would not 
 suffer his servants to trouble the family :
 
 198 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 SO, to be sure, they were all at Tom's, and 
 had a fiddle and a hot supper in the big 
 room where the justices meet about the 
 destroying of hares and partridges, and 
 them things ; and Tom's eyes looked so 
 red and so bleared when I called him to 
 get the barberries. — And I hear as how 
 Sir Harry is going to be married to Miss 
 Walton." — " How ! Miss Walton mar- 
 ried!" said Harley. — " Why, it may'nt 
 be true, Sir, for all that ; but Tom's w ife 
 told it me, and to be sure the servants 
 told her, and their master told them, as I 
 guess. Sir ; but it mayn't be true for all 
 that, as I said before." — " Have done 
 with your idle information," said Harley- 
 " Is my aunt come down into tlie parlour 
 to breakfast .?"—'* Yes, Sir."—" Tell her 
 I'll be with her immediately." 
 
 When Peter was gone, he stood Avith 
 his eyes fixed on the ground, and the last 
 words of his intelligence vibrating in his 
 ears ; — " Miss Walton married !" he sigh-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 19(> 
 
 ed — and walked down stairs, with his 
 shoe as it was, and the buckle in hi^ 
 hand. His aunt, however, was pretty 
 well accustomed to those appearances of 
 absence; besides, that the natural gravity 
 of her temper, which was commonly call- 
 ed into exertion by the care of her house- 
 hold concerns, was such as not easily to 
 be discomposed by any circumstance of 
 accidental impropriety. She, too, had 
 been informed of the intended match bg= 
 tweeaSir Harry Benson and Miss Waltom 
 " I have been thinking," said she, " that 
 they are distant relations : for the great- 
 grandfather of this Sir Harry Benson, who 
 was knight of the shire in the reign of 
 Charles the First, and one of the cavaliers 
 of those times, was married to a daughter 
 of the Walton family." Harley answered 
 drily, that it might be so; but that he 
 never troubled himself about those mat- 
 ters. " Indeed," said she, " you are to 
 blame, nephew, for not knowing a little
 
 i-'OO THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 more of them : before I was near your age, 
 I liad sewed the pedigree of our family in 
 a set of chair-bottoms, that were made a 
 present of to my grandmother, who was 
 a very notable woman, and had a proper 
 regard for gentility, I'll assure you ; but 
 no\y-a- days, it is m oney^ iiot birth, that 
 'makes people respected; the more shame 
 for the times."' 
 
 Harley was in no very good humour 
 for entering into a discussion of this ques- 
 tion ; but he always entertained so much 
 filial respect for his aunt, as to attend to 
 her discourse. 
 
 " We blame the pride of the rich," 
 said he, " but are not we ashamed of our 
 poverty ?" 
 
 " Why, one would not choose," replied 
 his aunt, ** to make a much worse figure 
 than one's neighbours ; but, as I was say- 
 ing before, the times (as my friend Mrs 
 Dorothy Walton observes) are shamefully 
 degenerated in this respect. There was
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 21« 
 
 but t'other day, at Mr Walton's, that fat 
 fellow's daughter, the London merchant, 
 as he calls himself, — though I have heard 
 that he was little better than the keeper 
 of a chandler's shop,— we were leaving 
 the gentlemen to go to tea. She had a 
 hoop, forsooth, as large and as stiff— and 
 it shewed a pair of bandy legs, as thick 
 as two— I was nearer the door by an 
 apron's length, and the pert hussy brush- 
 ed by me, as who should say. Make way 
 for your betters, and with one of her 
 London-bobs— but Mrs Dorothy did not t 
 let her pass with it ; for all the time of \ 
 drinking tea, she spoke of the precedency j 
 of family, and the disparity there is be- | 
 tween people who are come of some- 
 thing, and your mushroom-gentry who i 
 wear their coats of arms in their purses." 
 Her indignation was interrupted by the 
 arrival of her maid with a damask table- 
 cloth, and a set of napkins, from the 
 loom, which had been spun by her mis-
 
 S02 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 tress's own hand. There was the family- 
 crest in eacli corner, and in the middle a 
 view of the battle of Worcester, where 
 one of her ancestors had been a captain 
 in the king's forces; and with a sort of 
 poetical licence in perspective, there was 
 seen the Royal Oak, with more wig than 
 leaves upon it. 
 
 On all this the good lady was very co- 
 pious, and took up the remaining inter- 
 vals of filling tea, to describe its excel- 
 lencies to Ilarley; adding, that she in- 
 tended this as a present for his wife, when 
 he should get one. He sighed, and look- 
 ed foolish, and commending the serenity 
 of the da}^ walked out into the garden. 
 
 He sat down on a little seat which 
 commanded an extensive prospect round 
 the house. He leaned on his hand, and 
 scored the ground with his stick : " Miss 
 Walton married !" said he; " but what is 
 that to me .? May she be happy ! her 
 virtues deserve it ; to me, her marriage is
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 20S 
 
 Otherwise indifferent :— I had romantic 
 dreams : they are fled !— it is perfectly 
 indifferent." 
 
 Just at that moment, he saw a servant, 
 with a knot of ribbands in his hat, go into 
 the house. His cheeks grew flushed at 
 the sight! He kept his eye fixed for 
 some time on the door by which he had 
 entered ; then, starting to his feet, hastily- 
 followed him. 
 
 When he approached the door of the 
 kitchen, where he supposed the man had 
 entered, his heart throbbed so violently, 
 that, when he would have called Peter, 
 his voice failed in the attempt. He stood 
 a moment listening in this breatliless state 
 of palpitation: Peter came out by chance. 
 " Did your honour want any thing?" — 
 " Where is the servant that came just 
 now from Mr Walton's ?" — " From Mr 
 Walton's, Sir ! there is none of his ser- 
 vants here, that 1 know of." — " Nor of Sir 
 Harry Benson's?" — He did not wait for
 
 Wi THE MAN or I'EELIN(}. 
 
 an answer j but, having by this time ob- 
 served the hat with its party-coloured 
 ornament hanging on a peg near the door, 
 he pressed forwards into the kitchen, and 
 addressing himself to a stranger whom he 
 saw there, asked him, with no small tre- 
 mor in his voice, '^ If he had any com- 
 mands for him ?" The man looked silly, 
 and said, " That he had nothing to 
 trouble his honour with." — "Are not you 
 a serv^ant of Sir Harry Benson's ?" — " No, 
 Sir." — " You'll pardon me, young man; 
 I judged by tlie favour in your hat." — 
 " Sir, I am his Majesty's servant, God 
 bless him ! and these favours we always 
 wear when we are recruiting." — " Re- 
 cruiting!" his eyes glistened at the word: 
 he seized the soldier's hand, and shaking 
 it violently, ordered Peter to fetch a 
 bottle of his aunt's best dram. The bottle 
 was brought. *' You shall drink the king's 
 health," said Harley, *' in a bumper." — 
 *' The king, and your honour." — " Nay,
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 205 
 
 you shall drink the king's health by it- 
 self j you may drink mine in another." 
 Peter looked in his master's face, and fill- 
 ed with some little reluctance. " Now, 
 to your mistress," said Harley ; *' every 
 soldier has a mistress." The man excu- 
 sed himself — " To your mistress ! you 
 cannot refuse it." 'Twas Mrs Margery's 
 best dram ! Peter stood with the bottle a 
 little inclined, but not so as to discharge 
 a drop of its contents. " Fill it, Peter," 
 said his master, " fill it to the brim." 
 Peter filled it ; and the soldier, having na- 
 med Sukey Simpson, dispatched it in a 
 twinkling, " Thou art an honest fellow," 
 said Harley, " and I love thee;" and 
 shaking his hand again, desired Peter to 
 make him his guest at dinner, and walk- 
 ed up into his room with a pace much 
 quicker and more springy than usual. 
 
 This agreeable disappointment, how- 
 ever, he was not long suffered to enjoy. 
 The cuvate happened that day to dine
 
 206 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 with liim: his visits, indeed, were more 
 properly to the aunt than the nephew ; 
 and many of the intelhgent ladies in the 
 parish, who, like some very great philo- 
 sophers, have the happy knack at ac- 
 counting for every thing, gave out, that 
 there was a particular attachment be- 
 tween them, which wanted only to be 
 matured by some more years of courtship 
 to end in the tenderest connection. In 
 this conclusion, indeed, supposing the 
 premises to have been true, they were 
 somewhat justified by the known opinion 
 of the lady, who frequently declared her- 
 self a friend to the ceremonial of former 
 times, when a lover might have sighed 
 seven years at his mistress's feet, before 
 he was allowed the liberty of kissing her 
 hand. 'Tis true, Mrs Margery was now 
 about her grand climacteric ; no matter ; 
 that is just the age when we expect to 
 grow younger. But I verily believe there 
 was nothing in the report; the curate's
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 207 
 
 connection was only that of a genealo- 
 gist ; for in that character, he was no 
 way inferior to Mrs Margery herself. He 
 dealt also in the present times ; for he was 
 a politician and a newsmonger. 
 
 He had hardly said grace after dinner 
 when he told Mrs Margery, tliat she 
 might soon expect a pair of white glov es, 
 as Sir Harry Benson, he was very well in- 
 formed, was just going to be married to 
 Miss Walton. Harley spilt the wine he 
 was carrying to his mouth. He had time, 
 however, to recollect himself before the 
 curate had fmished the different particu- 
 lars of his intelligence, and summing up 
 all the heroism he was master of, fdled a 
 bumper, and drank to Miss Walton. 
 " ^Kith all my heart," said the curate, 
 " the bride that is to be." Harley would 
 have said Bride too ; but the word Bride 
 stuck in his throat. His confusion, in- 
 deed, was manifest : but the curate began 
 to enter on some point of descent with
 
 S08 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 Mrs Margery, and Harley had very soon 
 after an opportunity of leaving them, while 
 they were deeply engaged in a question, 
 whether the name of some great man, in 
 the time of Henry the Seventh, was Rich- 
 ard or Hum{)hrey. 
 
 He did not see his aunt again till sup- 
 per ; the time between he spent in walk- 
 ing, like some troubled ghost, round the 
 place where his treasure lay. He went 
 as far as a little gate, that led into a copse 
 near Mr Walton's house, to which that 
 gentleman had been so obliging as to let 
 him have a key. He had just begun to 
 open it, when he saw, on a terrace below. 
 Miss M'alton walking with a gentleman 
 in a riding dress, wiiom he immediately 
 guessed to be Sir Harry Benson. He 
 stopped of a sudden ; his hand shook so 
 much thai he could hardly turn the key ; 
 he opened the gate, however, and advan- 
 ced a few paces. The lady's lap-dog
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 209 
 
 pricked up its ears, and barked 3 he stop- 
 ped again — 
 
 " The little dogs and all. 
 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me." 
 
 His resolution failed ; he slunk back, and 
 locking the gate as softly as he could, 
 stood on tiptoe looking over the wall till 
 they were gone. At that instant a shep- 
 herd blew his horn : the romantic melan- 
 choly of the sound quite overcame him ! 
 — it was the very note that wanted to be 
 touched — he sighed ! he dropped a tear ! 
 — and returned. 
 
 At supper, his aunt observed that he 
 was graver than usual; but ^he did not 
 suspect the cause : indeed, it may seem 
 odd that she was the only person in the 
 family who had no suspicion of his at- 
 tachment to Miss Walton. It was fre- 
 quently matter of discourse amongst the 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 210 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 seiTants : perhaps her maiden-coldness — 
 but for those things we need not account. 
 In a^day^r two, he was so much mas- 
 ter of himself as to be able to rhyine upon 
 the subject. The following~pasforal he 
 left, some time after, on the handle of a 
 tea-kettle, at a neighbouring house where 
 we were visiting ; and as I filled the tea- 
 pot after him, I happened to put it in my 
 pocket by a similar act of forgetfulness. 
 It is such as might be expected from a 
 man who makes verses for amusement. I 
 am pleased with somewhat of good- nature 
 that runs throu<i:h it, because I have com- 
 monly observed the writers of those com- 
 plaints to bestow epithets on their lost mis- 
 tresses rather too harsh for the mere liberty 
 of choice, which led them to prefer another 
 to the poet himself: I do not doubt the 
 vehemence of their passion ; but, alas ! 
 the sensations of love are something more 
 than the returns of gratitude. 
 
 10
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 211 
 
 LAVINIA. 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 W HY steals from my bosom the sigh ? 
 
 Why fixed is my gaze on the ground ? 
 Come, give me my pipe, and I'll try 
 
 To banish my cares with the sound. 
 
 Erewhile were its notes of accord 
 
 With the smile of the flower-footed Musej 
 Ah . why, by its master implored. 
 
 Should it now the gay carol refuse ? 
 
 *Twas taught by Lavinia's smile 
 In 'the mirth-loving chorus to join : 
 
 Ah me ! how unweeting the while ! 
 Lavinia cannot be mine ! 
 
 Another, more happy, the maid 
 By fortune is destined to bless — r- 
 
 Though the hope has forsook that betrayed. 
 Yet why should 1 love her the less ?
 
 212 THE MAN OF FKELING. 
 
 Her beauties are bright as the morn. 
 With rapture I counted them o'er; 
 
 Such virtues these beauties adorn, 
 
 I knew her, and praised them no more. 
 
 I termed her no goddess of love, 
 1 called not her beauty divine : 
 
 These far other passions may prove, 
 J3ut they could not be figures of mine. 
 
 It ne'er was apparel'd vvith art. 
 On words it could never rely ; 
 
 It reigned in the throb of my heart, 
 It spoke in the glance of my eye. 
 
 Oh fool ! in the circle to shine 
 
 That fashion's gay daughters approve. 
 
 You must speak as the fashions incline ;— 
 Alas ! are there fasliions in love ? 
 
 Yet sure they are simple who prize 
 The tongue that is smooth to deceive ; 
 
 Yet sure she had sense to despise 
 The tinsel that folly may weave. 
 
 When I talked, I have seen her recline 
 With an aspect so pensively sweet,— 
 
 Though I spoke what the shepherds opine, 
 A fop were ashamed to repeat.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 213 
 
 She is soft as the dew-drops that fall 
 From the lip of the sweet-scented pea ; 
 
 Perhaps when she smiled upon all, 
 
 I have thought that she smiled upon me. 
 
 But why of her charms should I tell ? 
 
 Ah me ! whom her charms have undone ! 
 Yet I love the reflection too well. 
 
 The painful reflection to shun. 
 
 Ye souls of more delicate kind. 
 
 Who feast not on pleasure alone. 
 Who wear the soft sense of the mind. 
 
 To the sons of the world still unknown; 
 
 Ye know, though I cannot express. 
 Why I foolishly doat on my pain j 
 
 Nor will ye believe it the less 
 
 That I have not the skill to complain. 
 
 I lean on my hand with a sigh. 
 
 My friends the soft sadness condemn ; 
 
 Yet, methinks, though I cannot tell why, 
 I should hate to be merry like them. 
 
 When I walked in the pride of the dawn, 
 Methought all the region looked bright : 
 
 Has sweetness forsaken the lawn ? 
 
 For, methinks I grow sad at the sight.
 
 214 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 When I stood by the stream, I have thought 
 There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound; 
 
 But now 'tis a sorrowful note. 
 
 And the banks are all gloomy around ! 
 
 I have -laughed at the jest of a friend ; 
 
 Now they laugh, and I know not the cause. 
 Though I seem with my Jooks to attend. 
 
 How silly ! I ask what it was ! 
 
 They sing the sweet song of the May, 
 They sing it with mirth and with glee ; 
 
 Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay, 
 But now 'tis all sadness to me. ~^ 
 
 Oh ! give me the dubious light 
 
 That gleams through the quivering shade; 
 Oh ! give me the horrors of night 
 
 By gloom and by silence arrayed ! 
 
 Let me walk where the soft-rising wave 
 Has pictured the moon on its breast : 
 
 Let me walk where the new-covered gravp 
 Allows the pale lover to rest ! 
 
 When shall I in its peaceable womb 
 Be laid with my sorrows asleep ! 
 
 Should Lavinia chance on my tomb — 
 I could die if_l_tUouglit. she would weep.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 2l5 
 
 Perhaps, if the souls of the just 
 
 Revisit these mansions of care. 
 It may be my favourite trust 
 
 To watch o'er the fate of the fair j 
 
 Perhaps the soft thought of her breast 
 With rapture more favoured to warm; 
 
 Perhaps, if with sorrow oppressed. 
 Her sorrow with patience to arm. 
 
 Then ! *hen ! in the tenderest part 
 
 May I whisper, " Poor Colin was true;" 
 
 And mark if a heave of her heart 
 The thought of her Colin pursue.
 
 216 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 THE PUPIL. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 **** " But as to the higher part of 
 education, Mr Harley, the culture of the 
 mind j — let the feeUngs be awakened, let 
 the heart be brought forward to its ob- 
 ject, placed in the light in which nature 
 would have it stand, and its decisions will 
 ever be just. The world 
 
 Will smile, and smile, and be a villain j 
 
 and the youth, who does not suspect its 
 deceit, will be content to smile with it. — 
 His teachers will put on the most forl)id- 
 ding aspect in nature, and tell him of the 
 beauty of virtue. 
 
 " I have not, under these gray hairs, 
 forgotten, that I was once a young man, 
 warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but mean-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING* 217 
 
 ing to be honest as well as happy. I had 
 ideas of \^rtue, of honour, of benevolence, 
 which I had never been at the pains to de- 
 fine ; but I felt my bosorn heave at the 
 thoughts of them, and I made the most 
 delightful soliloquies. — " It is impossible," 
 said I J " that there can be half so many 
 rogues as are imagined." 
 
 " I travelled, because it is the fashion 
 for young men of my fortune to travel : 
 I had a travelling tutor, which is the 
 fashion too ; but my tutor was a gentle- 
 man, which it is not always the fashion 
 for tutors to be. His gentility indeed was 
 all he had from his father, whose prodiga- 
 hty had not left him a shilling to support 
 it. 
 
 " I have a favour to ask of you, my 
 dear Mountford," said my father, " which 
 I will not be refused : You have travelled 
 as became a man ; neither France nor 
 Italy have made any thing of Mountford, 
 which Mountford before he left England
 
 218 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 would have been ashamed of : my son Ed- 
 ward goes abroad; would you take him 
 under your protection ?" — He blushed — 
 my father's face was scarlet — he pressed 
 his hand to his bosom, as if he had said, — 
 mv heart does not mean to offend you. 
 Mountford sighed twice — " I am a proud 
 fool," said he, " and you will pardon it j 
 — there ! (he sighed again) I can hear of 
 dependance, since it is dependance on my 
 Sedley." — "Dependance !" answered my 
 father ; " there can be no such word be- 
 tween us: what is there in 90001. a vear 
 that should make me unworthy of Mount- 
 ford's friendship ?" — They embraced ; and 
 soon after I set out on my travels, with 
 Mountford for my guardian. 
 
 " We Avere at Milan, where my father 
 happened to have an Italian friend, to 
 whom he had l)een of some service in Eng- 
 land. The count, for he was of quality, 
 was solicitous to return the obligation, by 
 a particular attention to his son : we lived
 
 THE MAN OF FEELTNG. 219 
 
 in his palace, visited with his family, were 
 caressed by his friends, and I began to be 
 so well pleased with my entertainment, 
 that I thought of England as of some fo- 
 reign country. 
 
 *' The count had a son not much older 
 than myself. At that age a friend is an 
 easy acquisition : we were friends the JOirst 
 night of our acquaintance. 
 
 " He introduced me into the company 
 of a set of young gentlemen, whose for- 
 tunes gave them the command of plea- 
 sure, and whose inclinations incited them 
 to the purchase. After having spent some 
 joyous evenings in their society, it became 
 a sort of habit which I could not miss 
 without uneasiness ; and our meetings, 
 which before were frequent, were now 
 stated and regular. 
 
 " Sometimes in the pauses of our mirth, 
 gaming was introduced as an amusement : 
 it was an art in which I was a novice : I 
 received instruction, as other novices do.
 
 2jW THE MAN OF FEELING, 
 
 by losing pretty largely to my teachers. 
 Nor was this the only evil which Mount- 
 ford foresaw \\oiil(l arise from the con- 
 nexion I liad formed ; but a lecture of 
 sour injiuictions was not his method of 
 reclaiming. He sometimes asked me ques- 
 tions about the company; but they were 
 such as the curiosity of any indifferent 
 man might have prompted : I told him of 
 their wit, their eloquence, their warnvth 
 of friendship, and their sensibility of heart : 
 *' And their honour," said I, laying my 
 hand on my breast, " is unquestionable." 
 Aloimtford seemed to rejoice at my good 
 fortune, and begged that I would intro- 
 duce him to their acquaintance. At the 
 next meeting I introduced him accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 " The conversation was as animated as 
 usual : they displayed all that sprightliness 
 and ffood-humour which mv V)i'aises had 
 led Mountford to expect ; subjects tod of 
 sentinient occurred, and their speeches.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 221 
 
 particularly those of our friend the son of 
 count Respino, glowed with the warmth 
 of honour, and softened into the tender- 
 ness of feeling. Mountford was charmed 
 with his companions ; when we parted, 
 he made the highest evilogiums upon them : 
 "When shall we see them again ?" said 
 he. I was deliglited with the demand, and 
 promised to reconduct him on the mor- 
 row. 
 
 " In going to their place of rendezvous, 
 he took me a little out of the road, to see, 
 as he told me, the performances of a young 
 statuary. When we were near the house 
 in which Mountford said he lived, a boy 
 of about seven years old crossed us in the 
 street. At sight of Mountford he stopped, 
 and grasping his hand, " My dearest Sir," 
 said he, *' my father is likely to do well j 
 he will live to pray for you, and to bless 
 you : yes, he will bless you, though you 
 are an Englishman, and some other hard 
 word that the monk talked of this morn-
 
 222 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ing, which I have forgot, but it meant 
 that you should not go to heaven ; but 
 he shall go to Heaven, said I, for he has 
 saved mv father : come and see him, Sir, 
 that we may be happy." — " My dear, I 
 am engaged at present with this gentle- 
 man." — " But he shall come alono- with 
 you ; he is an Englishman too, I fancy ; 
 he shall come and learn how an English- 
 man may go to heaven." — Mountford 
 smiled, and we followed the boy together. 
 *^ After crossing the next street, we ar- 
 rived at the gate of a prison. I seemed 
 surprised at the sight; our little conductor 
 observed it. " Are you afraid, Sir?" said 
 he ; *' I was afraid once too, but my fa- 
 ther and mother are here, and I am never 
 afraid when I am with them." He took 
 my hand, and led me through a dark pas- 
 sage that fronted the gate. When we came 
 to a little door at the end, he tapped ; a 
 boy, still younger than himself, opened it 
 to receive us. Mountford entered with a
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 223 
 
 look in which was pictured the benign as- 
 surance of a superior being. I followed 
 in silence and amazement, 
 
 " On something like a bed, lay a man, 
 with a face seemingly emaciated with sick- 
 ness, and a look of patient dejection ; a 
 bundle of dirty shreds served him for a 
 pillow ; but he had a better support — the 
 arm of a female who kneeled beside him, 
 beautiful as an angel, but with a fading 
 languor in her countenance, the still life 
 of melancholy, that seemed to. borrow its 
 shade from the object on which she gazed. 
 There was a tear in her eye; — the sick 
 man kissed it off in its bud, smiling through 
 the dimness of his own ! — when she saw 
 Mountford, she crawled forward on the 
 ground, and clasped his knees ; he raised 
 her from the floor ; she threw her arms 
 round his neck, and sobbed out a speech of 
 thankfulness, eloquent beyond the power 
 of language. 
 
 " Compose yourself, my love," said the
 
 •224 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 man on the bed ; " but he, wliose good- 
 ness has caused that emotion, will pardon 
 its effects." — " How is this, Mountford ?" 
 said I ; " what do I see ? what must I do ?" 
 — ** You see," replied the stranger, " a 
 wretch, sunk in poverty, starving in pri- 
 son, stretched on a sick bed ! but that is 
 little : — there are his wife and cliildren, 
 wanting the bread which he has not to 
 give them ! Yet you cannot easily ima- 
 gine the conscious serenity of his mind ; 
 in the gripe of affliction, his heart swells 
 with the pride of virtue ! it can even look 
 down with pity on the man whose cruelty 
 has wrung it almost to bursting. You are, 
 I fancy, a friend of Mr Mountf )rd's -, 
 come nearer, and I'll tell you ; for, short 
 as my story is, I can hai'dly command 
 breath enough for the recital. The son of 
 count Respino (I started as if I had trod 
 on a viper) has long had a criminal pas- 
 sion for my wife ; this her prudence had 
 concealed from me; but he had lately the
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. .225 
 
 boldness to declare it to myself. He pro- 
 mised me affluence in exchange for ho- 
 nour ; and threatened misery, as its at- 
 tendant, if I kept it. I treated him with 
 the contempt he deserved : the conse- 
 quence was, that he hired a couple of 
 bravoes, (for I am persuaded they acted 
 under his direction,) who attempted to as- 
 sassinate me in the street ; but I made 
 such a defence as obliged them to fly, after 
 having given me two or three stabs, none 
 of which, however, were mortal. But his 
 revenge was not thus to be disappointed : 
 in the little dealings of my trade I had 
 contracted some debts, of which he had 
 made himself master for my ruin. I was 
 confmed here at his suit, when not yet 
 recovered from the wounds I had recei- 
 ved ; this dear woman, and these two boys, 
 followed me, that we might starve toge- 
 ther ; but Providence interposed, and sent 
 Mr Mountford to our support : he has re- 
 lieved my family from the gnawings of 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 220 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 hunger, and rescued me from death, to 
 which a fever, consequent on my wounds, 
 and increased by the want of every neces- 
 sary, had almost reduced me." 
 
 " Inhuman villain !" I exclaimed, lift- 
 ing up my eyes to heaven. *' Inhuman 
 indeed !" said the lovely woman who stood 
 at my side : " Alas ! Sir, what had we 
 done to offend him ? what had these little 
 ones done, that they should perish in the 
 toils of his vengeance .?" — I reached a pen 
 which stood in the ink-standish at the 
 bed-side — *' May I ask what is the amount 
 of the sum for which you are imprison- 
 ed ?" — " I w^as able," he replied, '' to pay 
 all but 500 crowns." — I wrote a draught 
 on the banker with whom I had a credit 
 from my father for 2500, and presenting 
 itJ;o the stranger's wife, " You will re- 
 ceive, Madam, on presenting this note, a 
 ^um more than suflicient for your hus- 
 band's discharge; the remainder I leave 
 for liis industry to improve." I would
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 227 
 
 liave left the room : each of them laid 
 hold of one of my hands ; the children 
 clung to my coat : — Oh ! Mr Harley, me- 
 thinks I feel their gentle violence at this 
 moment ; it beats here with delight inex- 
 pressible ! — " Stay, Sir," said he, " I do 
 not mean attempting to thank you ; (he 
 took a pocket-book from under his pil- 
 low;) let me but know what name I shall 
 place here next to Mr Mountford?" — 
 *' Sedley" — he writ it down — " An Eng- 
 lishman too, I presume." — '* He shall go 
 to heaven notwithstanding," said the boy 
 who had been our guide. It began to be 
 too much for me; I squeezed his hand 
 that was clasped in mine ; his wife's I 
 pressed to my lips, and burst from the 
 place, to give vent to the feelings that la- 
 boured within me. 
 
 Oh ! Mountford !" said I, when he had 
 overtaken me at the door: *' It is time," 
 replied he, " that we should think of our 
 appointment ; young Respino and his
 
 S28 TJIL MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 friends arc waiting us." — " Damn him, 
 damn him !" said I; " let us leave Milan 
 
 instantly ; but soft 1 will be calm ; 
 
 Mountford, your pencil." I wrote on a 
 slip of paper, 
 
 " To Signor Respino. 
 
 *' When you receive this, I am at a dis- 
 tance from Milan. Accept of my thanks 
 for the civilities I have received from you 
 and your family. As to the friendship with 
 which you were pleased to honour me, 
 the prison, which I have just left, has ex- 
 hibited a scene to cancel it for ever. 
 You may possibly be merry with your 
 companions at my weakness, as I suppose 
 you will term it. I give you leave for de- 
 rision : you may affect a triumph 3 1 shall 
 feel it. 
 
 EnMARD Sedley." 
 
 " You may send this if you will," said 
 Mountford coolly; " but still Respino is
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 229 
 
 a man of honour -, the world will continue 
 to call him so." — " It is probable," I an- 
 swered, " they may ; I envy not the ap- 
 pellation. If this is the world's honour, 
 if these men are the guides of its man- 
 ners" — "Tut !" said Mountford, " do you 
 eat macaroni ?" — 
 
 \tj M/ sL- .^ ^ ^ ^ jAl 
 
 [At this place had the greatest depreda- 
 tions of the curate begun. There were so 
 very few connected passages of the sub- 
 sequent chapters remaining^ that even the' 
 partiality of an editor could not offer them 
 to the public. I discovered, from some 
 scattered sentences, that they were of 
 much the same tenor with the preceding j;^^ 
 recitals of little adventures, jn which the / 
 dispositions of a man, sensible to judge, 
 and still more warm to feel, had room to 
 unfold themselves. Some instruction, and 
 some example, I fnake no doubt they con-
 
 230 TilE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 taincd ; but it is likely that many of those, 
 whom chance has led to a perusal of what 
 I have already presented, may have read 
 it with little pleasure, and will feel no dis- 
 appointment from the Want of those parts 
 which I have been unable~fb procure : to 
 such as may have expected the intricacies 
 of a novel, a few incidents in a life undis- 
 tinguished, except by some features of the 
 heart, cannot have afforded much enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Harley's own story, from the mutilated 
 passages I have mentioned, as well as from 
 some inquiries I was at the trouble of 
 making in the country, I found to have 
 been simple to excess. His mistress, I 
 could perceive, was not married to Sir 
 Harry Benson : but it would seem, by one 
 of the following chapters, which is still 
 entire, that Harley had not profited on 
 the occasion by making any declaration 
 of his own passion, after those of the other 
 had been unsuccessful. The state of his
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 231 
 
 health, for some part of this period, ap- 
 pears to have been such as to forbid any 
 thoughts of that kind : he had been seiz- 
 ed with a very dangerous fever, caught 
 by attending old Edwards in one of an in- 
 fectious kind. From this he had recover- 
 ed but imperfectly, and though he had 
 no formed complaint, his health was mani- 
 festly on the decline. 
 
 It appears that the sagacity of some 
 friend had at length pointed out to his aunt 
 a cause from which this might be suppo- 
 sed to proceed, to wit, his hopeless love for 
 Miss Walton ; for, according to the con- 
 ceptions of the world, the love of a man of 
 Harley's fortune for the heiress of 40001. 
 a year, is indeed desperate. Whether it 
 was so in this case may be gathered from 
 the next chapter, which, with the two 
 subsequent, concluding the performance, 
 have escaped those accidents that proved 
 fatal to the rest.]
 
 232 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. LV. 
 
 lie sees Miss Walton, and is happy. 
 
 rl All LEY was one of those ivw friend* 
 whom the malevolence of fortune had yet 
 left me : I could not, therefore, but be 
 sensibly concerned for his present indis- 
 position ; tliere seldom passed a day on 
 which I did not make inquiry about him. 
 
 The physician who attended him had 
 informed me the evening before, that he 
 thought him considerably better than he 
 had been for some time past. I called 
 next m.orning to be confirmed in a piece 
 of intelligence so welcome to me. 
 
 When I entered his apartment, I found 
 him sitting on a couch, leaning on his 
 hand, with his eye turned upwards in the 
 attitude of thouglitful inspiration. His
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 233 
 
 look had always an open benignity, which 
 commanded esteem ; there was now some- 
 thing more — a gentle triumph in it. 
 
 He rose, and met me with his usual 
 kindness. When I gave him the good 
 accounts I had had from his physician, 
 " I am foolish enough," said he, " to rely 
 but little, in this instance, upon physic : 
 my presentiment may be false; but I 
 think I feel myself approaching to my 
 end, by steps so easy, that they woo me 
 to approach it. 
 
 ** There is a certam dignity in retiring 
 from life at a time, when the infirmities 
 ^-of tige4iave not sapped our faculties. This 
 orld, my dear Charles, was. a scene in 
 which I never much delighted, I was not 
 formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the 
 dissipation of the gay ; a thousand things 
 occurred, where I blushed for the impro- 
 priety of my^conduct when I thought on 
 the world, though my reason told me I 
 Bhould have blushed to have done other-
 
 234 
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 wise. It was a scene of dissimulation, of 
 restraint, of disappointment. I leave it 
 to enter on that state, which I have learn- 
 ed to believe is replete with the genuine 
 happiness attendant upon virtue. I look 
 back on the tenor of my life, with the 
 consciousness of few great offences to ac- 
 count for. There are blemishes, I con- 
 fess, which deform in some degree the 
 picture. But I know the benignity of the 
 Supreme Being, and rejoice at the thoughts 
 of^ its exercise in my favour. My mind 
 expands at the thought that I shall enter 
 into the society of the blessed, wise as 
 angels, with the simplicity of children." 
 He had, by this time, clasped my hand, 
 and found it wet by a tear which had just 
 fallen upon it. — His eye began to moisten 
 top — we sat for some time silent. — At last, 
 with an attempt to a look of more com- 
 posure, "There are some remembrances," 
 said Harky, " which rise involuntarily 
 on my heart, and make me almost wish
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 235 
 
 to live. I have been blessed with a few 
 friends, who redeem my opinion of man- 
 kind. I recollect, with the tenderest emo- 
 tion, the scenes of pleasure I have passed 
 among them ; but we shall meet again, 
 my friend, never to be separated. There 
 are some feelings, which, perhaps, are too 
 tender to be suffered by the world. The 
 world is in general selfish, interested, and 
 unthinking, and throws the imputation of 
 romance, or melancholy, on every temper 
 more susceptible than its own. I cannot 
 think but in those regions which I con- 
 template, if there is any thing of mortali- 
 ty left about us, that these feelings will 
 subsist : — they are called, — perhaps they 
 are — weaknesses here; — but there may 
 be some better modifications of them in 
 heaven, which may deserve the name of 
 virtues." He sighed as he spoke these last 
 words. He had scarcely finished them, 
 when the door opened, and his aunt ap- 
 peared, leading in Miss Walton. " My
 
 S;iG THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 dear," says she, " here is Miss Walton, 
 who has been so kind as to comaiiml in- 
 quire for you herself." I could observe a 
 transient glow upon his face. He rose 
 from his seat — " If to know Miss Wal- 
 ton's goodness," said he, " be a title to 
 deserve it, I have some claim." She beg- 
 ged him to resume his seat, and placed 
 herself on the sofa beside him. I took 
 my leave. Mrs Margery accompanied 
 mc to the door. He was left with Miss 
 AValton alone. She inquired anxiously 
 about his health. " I believe," said he, 
 " from the accounts which my physicians 
 unwillingly give me, that they have no 
 great hopes of my recovery." — She start- 
 ed as he spoke ; but, recollecting herself 
 immediatelv, endeavoured to flatter him 
 into a belief that his apprehensions were 
 groundless. " I know," said he, '' that 
 it is usual with persons at my time of life 
 to have these hopes, which your kindness 
 suggests ; but I would not wish to be de-
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 237 
 
 ceived. To meet death as becomes a man, 
 is a privilege bestowed on few. — I would 
 endeavour to make it mine ; — nor do I 
 think that I can ever be better prepared 
 for it than now : — It is that chiefly which 
 determines the fitness of its approach." 
 " Those sentiments," answered Miss Wal- 
 ton, " are just; but your good sense, Mr 
 Harley, will own, that life has its proper 
 value. — As the province of virtue, life is 
 ennobled ; as such, it is to be desu'cd. — 
 To virtue has the Supreme Director of all 
 things assigned rewards enough even here 
 to fix its attachment." 
 
 The subject began to overpower her. — 
 Harley lifted his eyes from the ground — 
 " There are," said he, in a very low voice, 
 ^' there are attachments, Miss Walton" — 
 His glance met her's — They both betrayed 
 a confusion, and were both instantly with- 
 drawn. — He paused some moments — " I 
 am in such a state as calls for sincerity, 
 let that also excuse it — It is perhaps the
 
 238 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 last time we shall ever meet. I feel some- 
 thing particularly solemn in the acknow- 
 ledgment, yet my heart swells to make it, 
 awed as it is by a sense of my presump- 
 tion, by a sense of your perfections" — He 
 paused again — " Let it not oftcnd you, 
 to know their power over one so unworthy 
 — it will, 1 believe, soon cease to beat, 
 even with that feeling which it shall lose 
 the latest. — To love Miss Walton could 
 not be a crime ; — if to declare it is one — 
 the expiation will be made." — Her tears 
 were now flowing without controul. — 
 " Let me intreat you," said she, " to 
 have better hopes — Let not life be so in- 
 different to you ; if my wishes can put any 
 value on it — I will not pretend to misun- 
 derstand you — I know your worth — I 
 have known it long — I have esteemed it— 
 What would, you have me say ? — I have 
 loved it as it deserved." — He seized her 
 hand— a languid colour reddened his cheek 
 —a smile briglitcned faintly in his eye. As
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 239 
 
 he gazed on her, it grew dim, it fixed, it 
 closed — He sighed, and fell back on his 
 seat — Miss Walton screamed at the sight 
 — His aunt and the sen ants rushed into 
 the room — They found them lying mo- 
 tionless together. — His physician hap- 
 pened to call at that instant. Every art 
 was tried to recover them — With Miss 
 Walton they succeeded — But Harley was 
 gone for ever !
 
 240 THK MAX OF FEELING. 
 
 CHAP. LVI. 
 
 The emotions of the heart. 
 
 I ENTERED the Foom wlicre his hody lay^ 
 I approached it with reverence, not fear : 
 I looked ; the recollection of the past 
 crowded upon me. I saw that form 
 which, but a little before, was jmimated 
 with a soul which did honour to humani- 
 ty, stretched without sense or feeling be- 
 fore me. 'Tis a connexion we cannot 
 easily forget : — I took his hand in mine ; 
 I repeated his name involuntarily ; — I felt 
 a ]julse in every vein at the sound. I look- 
 ed earnestly in his face ; his eye was clo- 
 sed, his lip pale and motionless. Ther e is 
 an enthusiasm in sorrow that forgets im- 
 possibility; I wondered that it was so.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 241 
 
 The sight drew a prayer from my heart : 
 it was the voice of frailty and of man ! 
 the confusion of my mind began to sub- 
 side into thought j I had time to weep. 
 
 I turned with the last farewell upon my 
 lips, when I observed old Edwards stand- 
 ing behind me. I looked him full in the 
 face; but his eye was fixed on another 
 object : he pressed between me and the 
 bed, and stood gazing on the breathless 
 remains of his benefactor. I, spoke to him 
 I know not what ; but he took no notice 
 of what I said, and remained in the same 
 attitude as before. He stood some minutes 
 in that posture, then turned and walked 
 towards the door. He paused as he went; 
 — he returned a second time : I could ob- 
 serve his lips move as he looked ; but thfe 
 voice they would have uttered was lost. 
 He attempted going again ; and a third 
 time he returned as before. — I saw him 
 wipe his cheek 5 then, covering his face 
 
 VOL. I, Q
 
 242 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 with his hands, his breast heaving with the 
 most convulsive throbs, he flung out of the 
 room.
 
 THE MAN OF FEELING. 24S 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 tl E had hinted that he should hke to be 
 buried in a certain spot near the grave 
 of his mother. This is a weakness ; but 
 it is universally incident to humanity : 'tis 
 at least a memorial for those who survive : 
 for some indeed a slender memorial will 
 serve ; and the soft affections, when they 
 are busy that way, will build their struc- 
 tures, were it but on the paring of a nail. 
 He was buried in the place he had de- 
 sired. It was shaded by an old tree, the 
 only one in the church-yard, in which 
 was a cavity worn by time. I have sat 
 with him in it, and counted the tombs. 
 The last time we passed there, methought 
 he looked wistfully on the tree : there was 
 a branch of it, that bent towards us, wa-
 
 244 THE MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 ving in the wind ; he waved his hand, as 
 if he mimicked its motion. There was 
 something predictive in his look ! perhaps 
 it is foohsli to remark it ; but there are 
 times and places when I am a child in 
 those things. 
 
 I sometimes visit his grave ; I sit in the 
 hollow of the tree. It is worth a thou- 
 sand homilies ; every noble feeling rises 
 within me ! every beat of my heart awa- 
 kens a virtue ! — but it will make you hate 
 
 the world No : there is such an air of 
 
 gentleness around, that I can hate no- 
 thing ; but, as to the world — I pity the 
 mein of it. 
 
 THE END.
 
 THE 
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 Virginibus Puerisque Canto. HOR. 
 
 PART I.
 
 THE 
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1 HOUGH the world is but little concern- 
 ed to know in what situation the author 
 of any performance, that is offered to its 
 perusal, may be, yet I believe it is gene- 
 rally solicitous to learn some circum- 
 stances relating to him : for my own part, 
 I have always experienced this desire in 
 myself; and read the advertisement at the 
 beginning, and the postscript at the end, 
 of a book, if they contain any informa-
 
 248 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 tioii of that sort, with a kind of melaii- 
 clioly inquietude about the fate of him, 
 in whose company, as it were, I have 
 jiassed some harmless hours, and whose 
 sentiments have been unbosomed to me 
 with the openness of a friend. 
 
 The hfe of him who has had an oppor- 
 tunity of presenting to the eye of the pub- 
 he the following tale, though sufficiently 
 chequered with vicissitude, has been spent 
 in a state iifobscuxity, the recital of which 
 could but little excite admiration, or gra- 
 tify curiosity : the manner of his procu- 
 ^ ring the story contained in the following 
 ' sheets, is all he thinks himself entitled to 
 relate. 
 
 After some wanderings at that time of 
 life which is most subject to wandering, 
 I had found an opportunity of revisiting 
 the scenes of my earlier attachments, and 
 returned to my native spot with that ten- 
 der emotion, which the heart, that can 
 be moved at all, will naturally feel on ap-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 249 
 
 preaching it. The remembrance of my 
 infant days, hke the fancied vibration of 
 pleasant sounds in the ear, was still alive 
 in my mind ; and I flew to fmd out the 
 marks by which even inanimate things 
 were to be known, as the friends of my 
 youth, not forgotten, though long unseen, 
 nor lessened in my estimation, from the 
 pride of refmement, or the comparison of 
 experience. 
 
 In the shade of an ancient tree, that 
 centered a circle of elms, at the end of the 
 village where I was born, I found my old 
 acquaintance Jack Ryland : he was ga- 
 thering moss with one hand, while the 
 other held a flannel bag, containing earth- 
 worms, to be used as bait in angling. On 
 seeing me, Ryland dropped his moss on 
 the ground, and ran with all the warmth 
 of friendship to embrace me. " My dear 
 Tom," said he, " how happy I am to see 
 you ! you have travelled no doubt a woundy 
 long way since we parted. — You fmd mc
 
 250 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 in the old way here. — I beheve they have 
 but a sorry notion of sport in Italy. — 
 While I think on't, look on this minnow ; 
 I'll be hanged if the sharpest eyed trout 
 in the river can know it from the natural. 
 
 -' It was but yesterday now — You remem- 
 ber the cross-tree pool, just below the 
 parsonage — there I hooked him, played 
 
 V him half an hour by the clock, and land- 
 ed him at last as far down as the church- 
 way ford. As for his size — Lord ! how 
 unlucky it is that I have not my landing- 
 net here ! for now I recollect that I mark- 
 ed his length on the outside of the pole ; 
 but you shall see it some other time." 
 Let not my reader be impatient at my 
 
 / friend Ryland's harangue. I give it him, 
 because I would have characters develope 
 themselves. To throw, however, some 
 farther light upon Ryland's : 
 
 He was first cousin to a gentleman who 
 possessed a considerable estate in our 
 county, born to no fortune, and not much
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 251 
 
 formed by nature for acquiring one j he 
 found pretty early that he should never 
 be rich, but that he might possibly be 
 happy ; and happiness to him was ob- 
 tained without effort, because it was drawn 
 from sources which it required little exer- 
 tion to supply : trifles were the boundaries 
 of his desire, and their attainment the goal 
 of his felicity. A certain neatness at all 
 those little arts in whicli the soul has no 
 share, an immoderate love of sport, and a 
 still more immoderate love of reciting its 
 progress, with the addition of one faculty 
 which has some small connection with let- 
 ters, to wit, a remarkable memory for 
 puzzles and enigmas, made up his cha- 
 racter ; and he enjoyed a privilege un- 
 common to the happy, that no one envied 
 the means by which he attained what 
 every one pursues. 
 
 I interrupted his narrative by some in- 
 quiries about my former acquaintance in 
 the village j for Ryland was the recorder of
 
 252 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 the place, and could have told the names, 
 families, relations, and intermarriages of 
 the parish, with much more accuracy than 
 the register. 
 
 " Alackaday !" said Jack, " there have 
 been many changes among us since you 
 left this : here has died the old ganger 
 Wilson, as good a cricket-player as ever 
 handled a bat ; Rooke, at the Salutation, 
 is gone too ; and his wife has left the parish 
 and settled in London, where I am told 
 she keeps a gin-shop, in some street they 
 call Southwark ; and the poor parson, 
 whom you were so intimate with, the 
 worthy old Annesly" — He looked piteous- 
 ly towards the church-yard, and a tear 
 trickled down his check. — " I under- 
 stand you," said I, " the good man is 
 dead !" — " Ah ! there is more than you 
 think about his death," answered Jack ; 
 " he died of a broken heart ! " I could make 
 no reply but by an ejaculation, and Ry- 
 land accompanied it with another tear 3
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 253 
 
 for, though he eommonly looked but on 
 the surface of things, yet Ryland had a 
 heart to feel. 
 
 " In the middle of yon clump of alders," 
 said he, "you may remember a small house, 
 that was once farmer Higgins's ; it is now 
 occupied by a ^gentlewoman of the name 
 of Wistanly, who was formerly a sort of 
 servant-companion to Sir Thomas Sindall's 
 mother, the widow of Sir William ; her 
 mistress, who died some years ago, left 
 her an annuity, and that house for life, 
 where she has lived ever since. I am told 
 that she knows more of Annesly's affairs 
 than any other body ; but she is so silent 
 and shy, that I could never get a word 
 from her on the subject : she is reckoned 
 a wonderful scholar by the folks of the 
 village ; and you, who are a man of read- 
 ing, might perhaps be a greater favourite 
 with her ; if you choose it, I shall intro- 
 duce you to her immediately." I accept-
 
 254 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ed his offer, and we went to her house 
 together. 
 
 We found her sitting in a httle parlour, 
 fitted up in a taste much superior to what 
 might have been expected from the ap- 
 pearance of the house, with some shelves, 
 on which I observed several of the most 
 classical English and French authors. She 
 rose to receive us with something in her 
 manner greatly above her seeming rank : 
 Jack introduced me as an acquaintance of 
 her deceased friend, Mr Annesly. " Then, 
 Sir," said she, " you knew^ a man who had 
 few fellows !" lifting her eyes gently up- 
 wards. The tender solemnit}^ of her look 
 answered the very movement which the 
 remembrance had awaked in my soul, and 
 I made no other reply than by a tear. 
 She seemed to take it in good part, and 
 we met on that ground like old friends, 
 who had much to ask, and much to be 
 answered. 
 
 When we were going aw^ay, she begged
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 253 
 
 to have a moment's com-ersation with me 
 alone ; Ryland left us together. 
 
 " If I am not deceived. Sir," said she, 
 " in the opinion I have formed of you, your 
 feelings are very different from those of 
 Mr Ryland, and indeed of most of my 
 neighbours in the village j you seem to 
 have had a peculiar interest in the fate of 
 that worthiest of men, Mr Annesly. The 
 history of that life of purity which he led, 
 of that calamity by which it was shorten- 
 ed, miglit not be an unpleasing, though 
 a melancholy recital to you ; but in this 
 box, which stands on the table by me, is 
 contained a series of letters and papers, 
 which, if you will take the trouble of read- 
 ing them, will save me the task of recount- 
 ing his sufferings. You will find many 
 passages which do not indeed relate to it ; 
 but, as they are often the entertainment 
 of my leisure hours, I have marked the 
 most interesting parts on the margin. 
 This deposit. Sir, though its general im-
 
 256 Tin: MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 portance be small, my affection for my 
 departed friend makes me consider as a 
 compliment, and I commit it to you, as 
 to one in whose favour I have conceived 
 a prepossession from that very cause." 
 
 r Those letters and papers were the basis 
 of wh?»t I now offer to the public : had it 
 been my intention to make a Book, I might 
 liave published them entire ; and I am 
 persuaded, notwithstanding Mrs Wistan- 
 ly's remark, that no part of them would 
 have been found more foreign to the ge- 
 neral drift of this volume, than many that 
 have got admittance into similar collec- 
 tions : but I have chosen rather to throw 
 them into the form of a narrative, and con- 
 tented myself with transcribing such re- 
 flections as naturally arise from the events, 
 
 ' and such sentiments as the situations alone 
 appear to have excited. There are indeed 
 many suppletory facts, which could not 
 have been found in this collection of Mrs 
 Wistanly's ; these I was at some pains to
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 257 
 
 procure through other channels : how 1 
 was enabled to procure them the reader 
 may conceive, if his patience can hold out 
 to the end of the story ; to account for 
 that now, would delay its commencement, 
 and anticipate its conclusion ; for both 
 which effects this introductory chapter 
 may have already been subject to repre- 
 hension,. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 258 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 In which are some particulars previous to the com- 
 mencement of the main story. 
 
 JxiCHAiiD Annesly was the only child 
 of a wealthy tradesman in London, who, 
 from the experience of that profit which 
 his business afforded himself, was anxious 
 it should descend to his son. Unfortunate- 
 ly, the young man had accpiired a certain 
 X train of ideas, whicii were totally averse to 
 that line of life which his father had mark- 
 ed out for him. There is a degree ofLgen- 
 timent, which, in the bosom of a man des- 
 tined to the drudgery of the world, is the 
 source of endless disgust : of this young 
 Annesly was unluckily possessed ^ and as 
 he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, that it 
 would not only endanger his success, but 
 
 2
 
 TilE MAN OF THE WORLD. 259 
 
 take from the enjoyment of prosperity, 
 supposing it attained, he declined follow- 
 ing that road which his father had smooth- 
 ed for his progress; and at the risk of those 
 temporal advantages, which the old gen- 
 tleman's displeasure, on this occasion, 
 might deny him, entered into the service 
 of the church, and retired to the country 
 on one of the smallest endo^vments she 
 has to bestow. 
 
 That feeling which prevents the acquisi- 
 tion of wealth, is formed for the support 
 of poverty ; the contentment of the poor, 
 I had almost said their pride, buoys up 
 the spirit against the depression of adver- 
 sity, and gives to our very wants the ap- 
 pearance of enjoyment. 
 
 Annesly looked on happiness as confi- 
 ned to the sphere of sequestered life. The 
 pomp of greatness, the pleasures of the 
 affluent, he considered as only productive 
 of turbulence, disquiet, and remorse ; and 
 thanked heaven for having placed him in
 
 260 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 his own little shed, which, in his opinion, 
 was the residence of pure and lasting fe- 
 licity. 
 
 With this view of things, his father's 
 ideas did by no means coincide : his anger 
 against his son continued till his death ; 
 and, when that event happened, with the 
 preposterous revenge of many a parent, 
 he consigned him to misery, as he thought, 
 because he would not be unhappy in that 
 way which he had insisted on his follow- 
 ing:, and cut him off from the inheritance 
 of his birth, because he had chosen a pro- 
 fession which kept him in poverty w ith- 
 out it. 
 
 Though Annesly could support the fear 
 of poverty, he could not easily bear the 
 thought of a dying father's displeasure. 
 On receiving intelligence of his being in 
 a dangerous situation, he hasted to Lon- 
 don, with th(' purpose of wringing from 
 him his Ibrgiveness for the only olfence 
 with which his son had ever been charge-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. §61 
 
 able : but he arrived too late ; his father 
 had breathed his last on the evening of 
 the day preceding that on which he reach- 
 ed the metropolis, and his house was al- 
 ready in the possession of a nephew, to 
 whom his son understood he had left every 
 shilling of his fortune. This man had been 
 bred a haberdasher, at the express desire 
 of old Annesly, and had all that patient 
 dulness which qualifies for getting rich ; ^ 
 which, therefore, in the eyes of his vmcle, 
 was the most estimable of all qualities. 
 He had seldom seen Richard Annesly be- 
 fore ; for indeed this last was not very so- 
 licitous of his acquaintance ; he recollect- 
 ed his face, however, and, desiring him to 
 sit down, informed him particularly of the 
 settlement which his relentless father had 
 made. " It was unlucky," said the ha- 
 berdasher, " that you should have made 
 choice of such a profession ; but a parson, 
 of all trades in the world, he could never 
 endure. It is possible you may be low in
 
 262 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 cash at this time : if you want a small 
 matter to buy mournings, or so, I shall not 
 scruple to advance you the needful ; and 
 I wish you would take them of neighbour 
 Bullock, the woollen-draper, who is as ho- 
 nest a man as any of the trade, and would 
 not impose on a child." Annesly's eyes 
 had been hitherto fixed on the ground ; 
 nor was there wanting a tear in each for 
 his unnatural father : he turned them on 
 this cousin with as contemptuous a look 
 as his nature allowed them to assume, and 
 walked out of the house without uttering 
 a word. 
 ^ He was now thrown upon the world 
 with the sentence of perpetual poverty 
 for his inheritance. He found himself in 
 the middle of a crowded street in London, 
 surrounded by the buzzing sons of indus- 
 try, and shrunk back at the sense of his 
 own insignificance. In the faces of those 
 he met, he saw no acknowledgment of 
 connexion, and felt himself, like Cain af-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 263 
 
 ter his brother's murder, an unsheltered, 
 unfriended outcast. He looked back to 
 his father's door; but his spirit was too 
 mild for reproach — a tear dropped from 
 his eye as he looked i 
 
 There was in London one person, whose 
 gentle nature he knew would feel for his 
 misfortunes ; yet to that one, of all others, 
 his pride forbade him to resort. 
 
 Harriet Wilkins was the daughter of a 
 neighbour of his father's, who had for 
 some time given up business, and lived 
 on the interest of 40001. which he had 
 saved in the course of it. From this cir- 
 cumstance, his acquaintance, old Annesly, 
 entertained no very high opinion of his un- 
 derstanding ; and did not cultivate much 
 friendship with a man whom he consider- 
 ed as a drone in the hive of society : but 
 in this opinion, as in many others, his son 
 had the misfortune to differ from him. He 
 used frequently to steal into Wilkins's 
 house of an evening, to enjoy the con-
 
 X 
 
 264 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 versation of one who had passed through 
 life with observation, and liad known the 
 labour of business, without that contrac- 
 tion of soul which it often occasions. Har- 
 riet was commonly of the party, listening 
 with Annesly to her father's discourse, 
 and with Annesly offering her remarks on 
 it. She was not handsome enous^h to at- 
 tract notice ; but her look was of that 
 complacent sort which gains on the be- 
 holder, and pleases from the acknowledge- 
 ment that it is beneath admiration. 
 
 Nor was her mind ill suited to this " In- 
 dex of the Soul." AVithout that brilliancy 
 which excites the general applause, it pos- 
 sessed those inferior sweetnesses which ac- 
 quire the general esteem ; sincere, bene- 
 volent, inoffensive, and unassuming. No- 
 body talked of tlie sayings of Miss Wil- 
 kins; but every one heard her with plea- 
 sure, and her smile was the signal of uni- 
 versal complacency. 
 
 Annesly found himself insensibly at-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 265 
 
 Cached to her by a chain, which had been 
 imposed without art, and suffered without 
 consciousness. During his acquaintance 
 with Harriet, he had come to that period 
 of hfe, when men are most apt to be im- 
 pressed with appearances ; in fact, he had 
 looked on many a beauty with a rapture 
 which he thought sincere, till it was in- 
 terrupted by the reflection that she was 
 not Harriet Wilkins : there was a certain 
 indefinable attraction which linked him 
 every day closer to her, and artlessness of 
 manner had the effect (which I presume, 
 from their practice, few young ladies be- 
 lieve it to have) of securing the conquest 
 she had gained. 
 
 From the wealth which old Annesly 
 was known to possess, his son was, doubt- 
 less, in the phrase of the world, a very 
 advantageous match for Miss Wilkins ; 
 but when her father discovered the young 
 man to be serious in his attachment to 
 ner, he frequently took occasion to sugr
 
 266 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 gest, how unequal the small fortune he 
 could leave his daughter was to the ex- 
 pectations of the son of a man worth 
 30,0001. ; and with a frankness peculiar to 
 himself, gave the father to understand, that 
 his son's visits were rather more frequent 
 than was consistent with that track of 
 prudence which the old gentleman would 
 probably mark out for him. The father, 
 however, took little notice of this intelli- 
 gence : the truth was, that, judging by 
 himself, he gave very little credit to it ; 
 because it came from one, who, accord- 
 ing to his conception of things, should, of 
 all others, have concealed it from his know- 
 ledge. 
 
 But though his son had the most sin- 
 cere attachment to Miss Wilkins, his pre- 
 sent circumstances rendered it, in the 
 language of prudence, impossible for therri 
 to marry. They contented themselves, 
 therefore, with theassuranceof each other's 
 constancy, and \\ aited ior some favourable
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S67 
 
 change of condition which might allow 
 them to be happy. 
 
 The first idea which struck Annesly's 
 mind on the disappointment he suffered 
 from his father's settlement, was the ef- 
 fect it would have on his situation w ith re- 
 gard to Harriet. There is perhaps nothing 
 more bitter in the lot of poverty, than the 
 distance to which it throws a man from the 
 woman he loves : that pride I have before 
 taken notice of, which in every other cir- 
 cumstance tends to his support, serves but 
 to wound him the deeper in this. That 
 feeling now turned Annesly's feet from his 
 Harriet's door ; yet it was now that his 
 Harriet seemed the more worthy of his 
 love, in proportion as his circumstances 
 rendered it hopeless. A train of soft re- 
 flexions at length banished this rugged 
 guest from his heart — " 'Tis but taking 
 a last farewell !" said he to himself, and 
 trod back the steps which he had made. 
 
 He entered the room where Harriet was
 
 268 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 sitting by her father, with a sort of diffi- 
 dence of his reception that he was not 
 able to hide ; but Wilkins welcomed him 
 in such a manner, as soon dissipated the 
 restraint under which the thoughts of his 
 poverty had laid him. " This visit, my 
 dear Annesly," said he, " flatters me, be- 
 cause it shows you leaning on my friend- 
 ship. I am not ignorant of your present 
 situation, and I know the effect which 
 prudent men will say it should have on 
 myself; that I differ from them, may be 
 the consequence of spleen perhaps, rather 
 than generosity j for I have been at war 
 with the world from a boy. Come hither, 
 Harriet : this is Richard Anneslv : his fa- 
 ther, it is true, has left him 30,000 1. poorer 
 than it was once expected he would ; but 
 he is Richard Annesly still ! you will there- 
 fore look upon him as you did before. 1 
 am not stoic enough to deny, that riches 
 afford numberless comforts and conveni- 
 ences which are denied to the poor; but
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 269 
 
 that riches are not essential to happiness, 
 I know, because I have never yet found 
 myself unhappy ; — nor shall I now sleep 
 unsound, from the consciousness of ha- 
 ving added to the pressure of affliction, or 
 wounded merit afresh, because fortune 
 had already wounded it." 
 
 Liberal minds will delight in extending 
 the empire of virtue j for my own part, I 
 am happy to believe, that it is possible 
 for an attorney to be honest, and a trades- 
 man to think like Wilkins. 
 
 ^
 
 '2V) THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 More introductory matter. 
 
 W ILK INS having thus overlooked the 
 want of fortune in his young friend, the 
 lovers found but httle hinderance to the 
 completion of their wishes : Harriet be- 
 came the wife of a poor man, who re- 
 turned the obligation he owed to her and 
 her father's generosity, by a tenderness 
 and affection rarely found in wedlock ; be- 
 cause there are few minds from whom, in 
 reason, they can be expected. 
 
 His father-in-law, to whom indeed the 
 sacrifice was but trifling, could not resist 
 the joint request of his daughter and her 
 husjjand, to leave the town, and make one 
 of their family in the country. In some- 
 what less than a year, he was the grand-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 271 
 
 father of a boy, and nearly at the same 
 distance of time after, of a girl, both of 
 whom, in his opinion, were cherubs; but 
 even the gossips around them owned they 
 had never seen more promising children. 
 The felicity of their little circle was now, 
 perhaps, as perfect as the lot of huma- 
 nity admits ; nor would it have been 
 easy to have found a group, whose minds 
 were better formed to deserve or attain 
 it. Health, innocence, and good-humour, 
 were of their household ; and many an 
 honest neighbour, who never troubled 
 himself to account for it, talked of the 
 goodness of Annesly's ale, and the chear- 
 fulness of his fire-side. I have been often 
 admitted of the party, though I was too 
 young for a companion to the seniors, 
 and too old for a playfellow to the chil- 
 dren ; but no age, and often indeed no 
 condition, excluded from a participation 
 of their happiness ; and I have seen little 
 Billy, before he could speak to be well
 
 272 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 understood, lead in a long-bearded beg- 
 gar, to sing his song in his turn, and be 
 rewarded with a cup of that excellent li- 
 quor I mentioned. 
 
 Their felicity was too perfect to be last- 
 ing : — such is the proverbial opinion of 
 mankind. The days of joy, however, are 
 l' not more winged in their course than the 
 days of sorrow ; but we count not the mo- 
 ments of their duration with so scrupulous 
 an exactness. 
 
 Three years after the birth of her first 
 daugltter, Mrs Annesly was delivered of 
 another -, but the birth of the last was fa- 
 tal to her mother, who did not many days 
 survive it. Annesly's grief on this occar 
 sion was immoderate ; nor could all the 
 endeavours of his father-in-law, whose 
 mind was able to preserve more compo- 
 sure, prevail upon him, for some days, to 
 remember the common offices of life, or 
 leave the room in which his Harriet had 
 expired. Wilkins's grief however, though
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 273 
 
 of a more silent sort, was not less deep in 
 its effects ; and when the turbulence of the 
 other's sorrow had yielded to the sooth- 
 ings of time, the old man retained all that 
 tender regret, due to the death of a child, 
 an only child, whose fdial duty had led 
 him down the slope of life without suffer- 
 ing him to perceive the descent. The 
 infant she had left behind her was now 
 doubly endeared to his father and him, 
 from being considered as the last memo- 
 rial of its dying mother ; but of this me- 
 lancholy kind of comfort they were also 
 deprived in a few months by the small- 
 pox. Wilkins seemed by this second blow 
 to be loosened from the little hold he had 
 struggled to keep of the world, and his re- 
 signation was now built upon the hopes, 
 not of overcoming his affliction, but of es- 
 caping from its pressure. The serenity 
 which such an idea confers, possesses, be- 
 yond all others, the greatest dignity, be- 
 VOL. I. s
 
 274 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 cause it possesses, beyond all others, the 
 best assured confidence, leaning on a 
 basis that is fixed above the rotation of 
 sublunary things. An old man, who has 
 lived in the exercise of virtue, looking 
 back, without a blush, on the tenor of his 
 past days, and pointing to that better 
 state, where alone he can be perfectly re- 
 warded, is a figure the most venerable 
 that can well be imagined : such did 
 Wilkins now exhibit. 
 
 " My son," said he to Annesly, " I feel 
 that I shall not be with you long ; yet I 
 leave not the world with that peevish dis- 
 gust, which is sometimes mistaken for the 
 courage that overcomes the dread of death : 
 I lay down my being with gratitude, for 
 having so long possessed it, w ithout having 
 disgraced it, by any great violation of the 
 laws of Him by whom it was bestowed. 
 There is something we cannot help feel- 
 ing, on the fall of those hopes we had 
 been vainly diligent to rear; I had look-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 275 
 
 ed forward to some happy days, amidst a 
 race of my Harriet's and yours ; but to 
 the good, there can be no reasonable re- 
 gret from the disappointment of such ex- 
 pectations, because the futurity they trust 
 in after death, must far exceed any enjoy- 
 ment which a longer life here could have 
 afforded. It is otherwise with the pros- 
 pect of duty to be done ; these two little 
 ones I leave to your tenderness and care ; 
 you will value life, as it gives you an op- 
 portunity of forming them to virtue. • 
 
 Lay me beside my Harriet !" 
 
 The old man's prediction was but too 
 well verified ; he did not long survive this 
 pathetic declaration. His son-in-law was 
 now exposed, alone and unassisted, to the 
 cares of the world, increased by the charge 
 of his boy and girl; but the mind will 
 support much, when called into exertion 
 by the necessity of things. His sorrow 
 yielded by degrees to the thoughts of that 
 active duty he owed his children ; in time
 
 176 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 his fire-side was again cheered by their 
 sports around it ; and, though he some- 
 ^ times looked upon them wdth a tear at the 
 __ recollection of the past^ yet would he as 
 often wipe it from his eye, in silent grati- 
 tude to Heaven, for the enjoyment of the 
 present, and the anticipation of the fu- 
 •^ ture.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 277 
 
 CHAR III. 
 
 The openings of two characters, with which the read- 
 er may afterwards be better acquainted. 
 
 His son liad a warmth of temper, which 
 the father often observed with mingled 
 pleasure and regret ; with pleasure, from 
 considering the generosity and nobleness 
 of sentiment it bespoke ; with regret, from 
 a foreboding of the many inconveniences 
 to which its youthful possessor might na- 
 turally be exposed. 
 
 But Harriet was softness itself. The 
 sprightiiness of her gayest moments would 
 be checked by the recital of the distress 
 of a fellow-creature, and she would often 
 weep all night fronj some tale which her 
 maid had told of fictitious disaster. Her 
 brother felt the representation of worth 
 ill-treated, or virtue oppressed, with indig-
 
 S78 THE jMAN of THE WORLD. 
 
 nation against the oppressor, and wished 
 to be a man, that he might, hke Jack the 
 Giant-killer, gird on his sword of sharp- 
 ness, and revenge the wrongs of the suf- 
 ferer ; while his sister pressed his hand in 
 hers, and trembled for the danger to which 
 she imagined him exposed ; nay, she has 
 been afterwards heard to cry out in her 
 sleep, in a hurried voice, " You shall not 
 go, my Billy, papa and I will die if you 
 do!" 
 
 A trifling incident, of which I find an 
 account in one of their father's letters, 
 will discriminate their characters better 
 than a train of the most laboured e2i;pres- 
 sion. 
 
 At the bottom of his garden ran a lit- 
 tle rivulet, which was there dammed up 
 to furnish water for a mill below. On the 
 bank was a linnet's nest, which Harriet had 
 discovered in her rambles, and often visit- 
 ed with unconmion anxiety for the callow 
 brood it contained. One day her brother
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 279 
 
 and she were at play on the green at a 
 little distance, attended by a servant of 
 their father's, w hen a favourite terrier of 
 Billy's happened to wander amongst the 
 bushes where this nest was sheltered : Har- 
 riet, afraid of the consequences, begged 
 the servant to run, and prevent his doing 
 mischief to the birds. Just as the fellow 
 came up, the dog had lighted on the bush, 
 and surprised the dam, but was prevented 
 from doing her much harm by the servant, 
 Avho laid hold of him by the heck, and 
 snatched his prey out of his mouth : the 
 dog, resenting this rough usage, bit the 
 man's finger till it bled, who, in return, 
 bestowed a hearty dnibliing upon him, 
 without regarding the entreaties or the 
 threats of his little master. Billy, enra- 
 ged at the sufferings of his favourite, resol- 
 ved to wreak his vengeance where it was 
 in his power ; and running up to the nest, 
 threw it down, wath all its unfledged in-
 
 CiJO THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 habitants, to the ground. *' Cruel Billy !" 
 cried his sister, while the tears ran down 
 her cheeks. He turned sullenly from her, 
 and walked up to the house, while she, 
 with the man's assistance, gathered up 
 the little flutterers, and having fastened 
 the nest as well as she could, replaced 
 them safely within it. 
 
 When she saw her brother again, he 
 pouted, and would not speak to her ; she 
 endeavoured to regain his favour by kind- 
 ness, but he refused her caresses ; she 
 sought out the dog who had suffered on 
 her linnet's account, and stroking him on 
 the head, fed him with some cold meat 
 from her own ha)id : when her brother 
 saw it, he called him away. She looked 
 after Billy till he was gone, and then burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Next day they were down at the rivu- 
 let again. Still was Harriet endeavouring 
 to be reconciled, and still was her brother
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 281 
 
 averse to a reconciliation : he sat biting 
 his thumb, and looking angrily to the 
 spot where his favourite had been punish- 
 ed. 
 
 At that instant the linnet, in vi^hose 
 cause the quarrel had bv gun, was bring- 
 ing out her youn.dings to their first im- 
 perfect flight, and two of them, unfortvi- 
 nately taking a wrong direction, fell short 
 into the middle of the pool. Billy start- 
 ed from the ground, and without consi- 
 dering the depth, rushed into the water, 
 where he was over head and ears the 
 second step that he made. His sister's 
 screams alarmed the servant, who ran to 
 his assistance ; but before he got to the 
 place, the boy had reached a shallower 
 part of the pool, and, though stagger- 
 ing from his first plunge, had saved both 
 the linnets, which he held carefidiy above 
 the water, and landed safely on the op- 
 posite bank. He returned to his sister
 
 282 THE MAxN OF THE AVORLD. 
 
 by a ford below, and, presenting her the 
 birds, flung his arms round her neck, and, 
 blubbering, asked her, if she would now 
 foririve his unkindness. 
 
 Such were the minds which Annesly's 
 tuition was to form. To repress the warmth 
 of temerity, without extingviishing the ge- 
 nerous principles from which it arose, and 
 to give firmness to sensibility where it 
 bordered on weakness, without scaring 
 its feelings where they led to virtue, was 
 the task he had marked out for his indus- 
 try to accomplish. He owned, that his 
 plan was frequently interrupted on both 
 sides by the tenderness of paternal affec- 
 tion ; but he accustomed himself to re- 
 member, that, for his children, he was ac- 
 countable to God and their country. Nor 
 was the situation I have described with- 
 out difiiculties, from the delicacy of pre- 
 venting inclinations in the extreme, which 
 were laudable in degree ; " but here also,"
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 283 
 
 said Annesly, " it is to be remembered, that 
 no evil is so pernicious as that which grows 
 in the soil from which good should have 
 gprung."
 
 2^4 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. JV. 
 
 A very brief account of thdr education. 
 
 Annesly was not only the superinten- 
 dant of his children's manners, but their 
 master in the several branches of educa- 
 tion. Reading, writing, arithmetic, the 
 elements of mathematics and geography, 
 with a competent knowledge of the French 
 and Italian languages, they learned toge- 
 ther i and while Billy was employed with 
 his father in reading Latin and Greek, 
 his sister received instruction in the female 
 accomplishments, from a better sort of 
 servant, whom Annesly kept for that pur- 
 pose, whose station had once been superior 
 to servitude, and whom he still treated 
 more as a companion than a domestic. 
 This instructress indeed she lost when
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S85 
 
 about ten years old ; but the want was 
 more than supphed by the assistance of 
 another, to wit, Mrs Wistanly, who de- 
 voted many of her leisure hours to tlie 
 daughter of Annesly, whom she had then 
 got acquainted with, and whom recipro- 
 cal worth had attached to her with the 
 sincerest friendship and regard. The dan- 
 cing-master of a neighbouring town paid 
 them a weekly visit for their instruction 
 in the science he professed ; at which 
 time also were held their family concerts, 
 where Annesly, who was esteemed in his 
 youth a first-rate player on the violin, used 
 to preside. Billy was an excellent second ; 
 Mrs AVistanly, or her pupil, undertook for 
 the harpsichord ; and the dancing-master 
 played bass as well as he could. He was 
 not a very capital performer, but he was 
 always very wilMng ; and found as much 
 pleasure in his own performance as the 
 best of them. Jack Ryland, too, would 
 .sometimes join in a catch, though indeed 
 
 7
 
 286 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 lie had but two, — Christ-church-bdls, and 
 Jack thoiCrt a toper i and Annesly alleg- 
 ed that he was often out in the last, but 
 Jack would never allow it. 
 
 Besides these, there were certain even- 
 ings appropriated to exercises of the mind. 
 " It is not enough," said Annesly, " to 
 put weapons into those hands which never 
 have been taught the use of them ; the 
 reading we recommend to youth will store 
 their minds with intelligence, if they at- 
 tend to it properly j but to go a little far- 
 ther, we must accustom them to apply 
 it, — we must teach them the art of com- 
 paring the ideas with which it has fur- 
 nished them." In this view it was the 
 practice, at those stated times I have men- 
 tioned, for Billy, or his sister, to read a 
 select passage of some classical author, 
 on whose relations they delivered opinions, 
 or on whose sentiments they offered a com- 
 ment. Never was seen more satisfac:tion 
 on a countenance, than used to enlighten
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 287 
 
 their father's, at the dehvery of those ob- 
 servations, which his Httle philosophers 
 were accustomed to make : indeed there 
 could scarcely, even to a stranger, be a 
 more pleasing exhibition ; their very errors 
 were delightful, because they were the er- 
 rors of benevolence, generosity, and virtue. 
 
 As punishments are necessary in all so- 
 cieties, Annesly was obliged to invent 
 some for the regulation of his : they con- 
 sisted only of certain modifications of dis- 
 grace. One of them I shall mention, be- 
 cause it w^as exactly opposite to the prac- 
 tice of most of our schools : while there, 
 offences are punished by doubling the 
 task of the scholar ; with Annesly, the 
 getting of a lesson, or performing of an 
 exercise, was a privilege, of which a for- 
 feiture was incurred by misbehaviour ; to 
 teach his children, that he offered them 
 instruction as a favour, instead of pressing 
 it as a hardship. 
 
 Billy had a small part of his father's 
 garden allotted him for his peculiar pro-
 
 1888 THE MA.N OF THE WORLD. 
 
 perty, in which he wrought himself, be- 
 ing furnished with no other assistance 
 from the gardener than directions how to 
 manage it, and parcels of the seeds which 
 they enabled him to sow. When he had 
 brought these to maturity, his father pur- 
 chased the produce: Billy, with part of 
 the purchase-money, was to lay in the 
 stores necessary for his future industry, 
 and the overplus he had the liberty of be- 
 stowing on charitable uses in the village. 
 The same institution prevailed as to his 
 sister's needle- work or embroidery. ** For 
 it is necessary," said Annesly, " to give 
 an idea of property, but let it not be se- 
 parated from the idea of beneficence." 
 
 Sometimes, when these sums were tra- 
 ced to their disbursements, it was found 
 that Harriet's money did not always reach 
 the village, but was intercepted by the 
 piteous recital of a wandering beggar by 
 the way ; and that Billy used to a])pro- 
 priate part of his to purposes not purely 
 eleemosynary ; as, when he . once parted
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 289 
 
 with two-thirds of his revenue, to reward 
 ahttle boy for beating a big one, who had 
 killed his tajne sparrow ; or another time, 
 when he went the blameable length of 
 comforting with a shilling a lad who had 
 been ducked in a horse-pond, for robbing 
 the orchard of a miser. 
 
 It was chiefly in this manner of instil- 
 ling sentiments, (as in the case of the 
 charitable establishment I have mention- 
 ed,) by leading insensibly to the practice 
 of virtue, rather than by downright pre- 
 cept, that Annesly proceeded with his 
 children ; for it was his maxim, that the 
 heart must feel, as well as the judgment y( 
 be convinced, before the principles we 
 mean to teach can be of habitual service ; 
 and that the mind will always be more 
 strongly impressed with ideas which it is 
 led to form of itself, than with those which 
 it passively receives from another. When, 
 at any time, he delivered instructions, 
 they were always clothed in the garb ra- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ther of advices from a friend, than lec- 
 tures from a father ; and were listened to 
 with the warmth of friendship, as well as 
 the humility of veneration. It is in truth 
 somewhat surprising, how little intimacy 
 subsists between parents and their chil- 
 dren, especially of our sex ; a circumstance 
 which must operate, in conjunction with 
 their natural partiality, to keep the for- 
 mer in ignorance of the genius and dis- 
 position of the latter. 
 
 Besides all this, his children had the 
 general advantage of a father's example : 
 they saw the virtues he inculcated attended 
 by all the consequences in himself, which 
 he had promised them as their reward : 
 piety in him was recompensed by peace 
 of mind, benevolence by self-satisfaction, 
 and integrity by the blessings of a good 
 conscience. 
 
 But the time at last arrived, when his 
 son was to leave those instructions, and 
 that example, for the walks of more pub- 
 
 3
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 291 
 
 lie life : as he was intended, or, more pro- 
 perly speaking, seemed to have an incli- 
 nation, for a learned profession, his father 
 sent him, in his twentieth year, to receive 
 the finishings of education necessary for 
 that purpose, at one of the universities. 
 Yet he had not, I have heard him say, 
 the most favourable opinion of the general 
 course of education there ; but he knew, 
 that a young man might there have an 
 opportunity of acquiring much know- 
 ledge, if he were inclined to it ; and that 
 good principles might preserve him un- 
 corrupted, even amidst the dangers of 
 some surrounding dissipation : besides, he 
 had an additional inducement to this plan, 
 from the repeated request of a distant re- 
 lation, who filled an ofiice of some con- 
 sequence at Oxford, and had expressed a 
 very earnest desire to have his young kins- 
 man sent thither, and placed under his 
 own immediate inspection. 
 
 Before he set out for that place, Annes-
 
 «92 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ly, though Jie had a sufficient confidence 
 in his son, yet thought it not improper to 
 mark out to him some of those errors to 
 which the unexperienced are liable : he 
 ■u'as not wont, as I have before observed, 
 to press instniction upon his children j 
 but the 3"0ung man himself seemed to ex- 
 pect it, with the solicitude of one who 
 ventured, not without anxiety, to leave 
 thiit road, where the 4i and of a parent and 
 friend had hitherto guided iiim in happi- 
 ness and safety. The substance of what 
 he delivered to his son and daughter, (for 
 she too was an auditor of his discourses,) 
 I have endeavoured to collect from some 
 of the pa})ers Mrs Wistanly put into my 
 hands ; ai>d to arrang-e, as far as it seem- 
 ed arrangeable, in the twofollowing chap- 
 ters. 
 
 It will not, however, after all, have a 
 perf€?ctly ■connected appearance ; because, 
 I imagine, it w^as delivered at dilTerent 
 times, as occasion invited, or leisure al-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 2»S 
 
 lowed him ; but its tendency appeared 
 to be such, that, even under these disad- 
 vantages, I could not forbear inserting 
 it.
 
 994 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Paternal instrnctions. — Of suspicion and confi- 
 dence. — Ridicule. — Heligion, — True pleasure. 
 — Caution to the female sex. 
 
 "You are now leaving us, my son," said 
 Annesly, " to make your entrance into 
 the world : for, though from the pale of 
 a college, the bustle of ambition, the plod- 
 ding of business, and the tinsel of gaiety, 
 are supposed to be excluded ; yet as it is 
 the place where the persons that are to 
 perform in those several characters often 
 put on the dresses of each, there will not 
 be wanting, even there, those qualities 
 that distinguish in all. I will not shock 
 your imagination with the picture which 
 some men, retired from its influence, have 
 «lrawn of the world 3 nor warn you against
 
 THP: man of the world. 296 
 
 enormities, into which, I should equally 
 affront your understanding and your feel- 
 ings, did I suppose you capable of falling. 
 Neither would I arm you with that sus- 
 picious caution, which young men are 
 sometimes advised to put on : they who 
 always suspect will often be mistaken, and 
 never be happy. Yet there is a wide dis- 
 tinction between the confidence which 
 becomes a man, and the simplicity that 
 disgraces a fool : he who never trusts is a 
 niggard of his soul, who starves himself, 
 and by whom no other is enriched ; but 
 he who gives every one his confidence, 
 and every one his praise, squanders the 
 fund that should serve for the encourage- 
 ment of integrity, and the reward of ex- 
 cellence. 
 
 " In the circles of the world your no- 
 tice may be frequently attracted by ob- 
 jects glaring, not useful ; and your attach- 
 ment won to characters, whose surfaces 
 are showv, without intrinsic value : in
 
 296 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 such circumstances, be careful not always 
 to impute knowledge to the appearance 
 of acuteness, or give credit to opinions 
 according to the confidence with which 
 they are urged. In the more important 
 articles of belief or conviction, let not the 
 flow of ridicule be mistaken for the force 
 of argument. Nothing is so easy as to 
 excite a laugh, at that time of life when 
 seriousness is held to be an incapacity of 
 enjoying it; and no wit so futile, or so 
 dangerous, as that which is drawn from 
 the perverted attitudes of what is in itself 
 momentous. There are in most societies 
 a set of self-important young men, who 
 borrow consequence from singularity, and 
 take precedency in wisdom from the un- 
 feeling use of the ludicrous : this is at best 
 a shallow quality ; in objects of eternal 
 moment, it is poisonous to society. I will 
 not now, nor coidd you then, stand forth 
 armed at all i)oints to repel the attacks 
 which they may make on the great prin-
 
 tHE MAN OF THE WORLD. 29T 
 
 ciples of your belief; but let one sugges- 
 tion suffice, exclusive of all internal evi- 
 dence, or extrinsic proof of revelation. He 
 who would undermine those foundations 
 upon which the fabric of our future hope 
 is reared, seeks to beat down that column, 
 which supports the feebleness of huma- 
 nity : — let him but think a moment, and 
 his heart will arrest the cruelty of his 
 purpose ; — would he pluck its httle trea- 
 sure from the bosom of poverty ? would 
 he wrest its crutch from the hand of age, 
 and remove from the eye of affliction the 
 only solace of its woe ? The way we tread 
 is rugged at best ; we tread it, however, 
 lighter by the prospect of that better coun- 
 try to which we trust it will lead ; tell us 
 not that it will end in the gulph of eternal 
 dissolution, or break off in some wild, 
 which fancy may fill up as she pleases, 
 but reason is unable to delineate ; quench 
 not that beam, which, amidst the night 
 of this evil world, has cheered the de-
 
 •2*)8 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 spondency of ill-requited worth, and illu- 
 mined the darkness of suffering virtue. 
 
 " The two great movements of the soul, 
 which the moulder of our frames has pla- 
 ced in them for the incitement of virtue 
 and the prevention of vice, are the desire 
 of honour, and the fear of shame : but the 
 perversion of these qualities, which the re- 
 finement of society is peculiarly unhappy 
 in making, has drawn their influence from 
 the standard of morality, to the banners 
 of its opposite ; into the first step on which 
 a young man ventures, in those paths 
 which the cautions of wisdom have warn- 
 ed him to avoid, he is commonly pushed 
 by the fear of that ridicule which he has 
 seen levelled at simplicity, and the desire 
 of that applause which the spirit of the 
 profligate has enabled him to acquire. 
 
 " Pleasure is in truth subservient to vir- 
 tue. When the first is pursued without 
 those restraints which the last would im- 
 pose, every infringement we make on
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 299 
 
 them lessens the enjoyment we mean to 
 attain ; and nature is thus wise in our 
 construction, that, when we would be 
 blessed beyond the pale of reason, we 
 are blessed imperfectly. It is not by the 
 roar of riot, or the shout of the baccha- 
 nal, that we are to measure the degree of 
 pleasure which he feels ; the grossness of 
 the sense he gratifies is equally unsuscep- 
 tible of the enjoyment, as it is deaf to the 
 voice of reason ; and, obdurated by the 
 repetition of debauch, is incapable of that 
 delight which the finer sensations pro- 
 duce, which thrills in the bosom of deli- 
 cacy and virtue. 
 
 *' Libertines have said, my Harriet, that 
 the smiles of your sex attend them ; and 
 that the pride of conquest, where con- 
 quest is difficult, overcomes the fear of 
 disgrace and defeat. I hope there is less 
 truth in this remark than is generally im- 
 agined ; let it be my Harriet's belief that 
 it cannot be true, for the honour of her
 
 300 THE MAN OF THE WORLD; 
 
 sex ; let it be her care that, for her owrt 
 honour, it may be false as to her. Look 
 on tliose men, my child, even in their 
 gayest and most alluring garb, as crea- 
 tures dangerous to the peace, and de- 
 structive of the welfare, of society ; look 
 on them as you would on a beautiful ser- 
 pent, whose mischief we may not forget 
 while we admire the beauties of its skin. 
 I marvel indeed how the pride of the fair 
 can allow them to show a partiality to 
 him, who regards them as beings merely 
 subservient to his pleasure, in whose opi- 
 nion they have lost all that dignity which 
 excites reverence, and that excellence 
 which creates esteem. 
 
 " Be accustomed, my love, to think 
 respectfully of yourself j it is the error of 
 the gay world to place your sex in a sta- 
 tion somewhat unworthy of a reasonable 
 creature , and the individuals of ours, 
 who address themselves to you, tliink it a 
 necessarv incrrcdient in their discourse.
 
 TflE MAN OF THE WORLD. SOI 
 
 that it should want every solid property 
 with which sense and understanding would 
 invest it. The character of a female pe- 
 dant is undoubtedly disgusting ; but it is 
 much less common than that of a trifling 
 or an ignorant woman : the intercourse of 
 the sejaps, in this respect, advantageous, 
 that each has a desire to please, mingled 
 with a certain deference for the other ; let 
 not this purpose be lost on one side, by 
 its being supposed, that, to please yours, 
 we must speak something, in which fa- 
 shion has sanctified follv, and ease lent 
 her garb to insignificance. In general it 
 should never be forgotten, that, though 
 life has its venial trifleSj yet they cease to 
 be innocent when they encroach upon its 
 important concerns ; the mind that is of- 
 ten employed about little things, will be 
 rendered unfit for anv serious exertion ; 
 and, though temporary relaxations may 
 recruit its strengtli, habitual vacancy will 
 destroy it."
 
 S02 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 In continuation. — Of knowledge. — Knowledge of 
 the world. — Politeness. — Honour. — Aifot her rule 
 of action suggested. 
 
 ** As the mind may be weakened by the 
 pursuit of trivial matters, so its strength 
 may be misled in deeper investigations. 
 
 " It is a capital error in the pursuit of 
 knowledge, to suppose that we are never 
 to believe what we cannot account for. 
 There is no reason why we should not at- 
 tempt to understand every thing : but to 
 own in some instances our limited know- 
 ledge, is a piece of modesty in which lies 
 the truest wisdom. 
 
 " Let it be our care, that our effort in its 
 tendency is useful, and our effort need 
 not be repressed ; for he who attempts the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 303 
 
 impossible, will often atchieve the extreme- 
 ly difficult ; but the pride of knowledge 
 often labours to gain, what if gained would 
 be useless, and wastes exertion upon ob- 
 jects that have been left unattained from 
 their futility. Men possessed of this de- 
 sire, you may perhaps fmd, my son, in 
 that seat of science whither you are go- 
 ing : but remember, that what claims our 
 wonder does not always merit our re- 
 gard ; and in knowledge and philosophy 
 be careful to distinguish, that the pur- 
 pose of research should ever be fixed on 
 making simple what is abstruse, not ab- 
 struse what is simple ; and that difficult}^ 
 in acquisition will no more sanctify its in- 
 expediency, than the art of tumblers, who 
 have learned to stand on their heads, will 
 prove that to be the proper posture for 
 man. 
 
 " There is a pedantry in being master 
 of paradoxes contrary to the common opi- 
 nions of mankind, which is equally disgust-
 
 301 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ing to the illiterate and the learned. The 
 peasant, who enjoys the beauty of the 
 tulip, is equally delighted with the philoso- 
 pher, though he knows not the powers of 
 the rays from which its colours are deri- 
 ved ; and the boy who strikes a ball with 
 his racket, is as certain whither it will be 
 driven by the blow, as if he were perfect- 
 ly conversant in the dispute about matter 
 and motion. Vanity of our knowledge is 
 generally fovmd in the first stages of its 
 acquirement, because we are then look- 
 ing back to that rank we have left, of 
 such as know nothing at all. Greater 
 advances cure us of this, by pointing our 
 view to those above us ; and when we 
 reach the summit, we begin to discover, 
 that human knowledge is so imperfect, as 
 not to warrant any vanity upon it. In 
 particular arts, beware of that affectation 
 of speaking technically, by which igno- 
 rance is often disguised, and knowledge 
 disgraced. They who are really skilful 
 
 10
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 305 
 
 in the principles of science, will acquire 
 the veneration only of shallow minds by 
 talking scientifically ; for, to simplify ex- 
 pression, is always the effect of the deep- 
 est knowledge, and the clearest discern- 
 ment. On the other hand, there may be 
 m-any who possess taste, though they have 
 not attained skill ; who, if they will be 
 contented with the expression of their 
 own feelings, without labouring to keep 
 up the borrowed phrase of erudition, will 
 have their opinions respected by all whose 
 suffrages are worthy of being gained. The 
 music, the painting, the poetry of the pas- 
 sions, is the property of every one who has 
 a heart to be moved ; and though there may 
 be particular modes of excellence which 
 national or temporary fashions create, yet 
 that standard will ever remain, which alone 
 is common to all. 
 
 *' The ostentation of learning is indeed 
 always disgusting in the intercourse of so- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ciety ; for even the benefit of instruction 
 received cannot allay the consciousness of 
 inferiority, and remarkable parts more fre- 
 quently attract admiration than procure 
 esteem. To bring forth knowledge agree- 
 ably, as w^ell as usefully, is perhaps very 
 difficult for those who have attained it in 
 the secluded walks of study and specula- 
 tion, and is an art seldom found but in 
 men who have likewise acquired some 
 knowledge of the world. 
 
 *' I would, however, distinguish between 
 that knowledge of the world that fits us 
 for intercourse with the better part of 
 mankind, and that which we gain by as- 
 sociating with the \vorst. 
 
 " But there is a certain learned rust which 
 men as well as metals acquire ; it is, simply 
 speaking, a blemish in both ; the social 
 feelings grow callous from disuse, and we 
 lose that spring of little affections, which 
 sweeten the cup of life as we drink it. 
 
 ** Even the ceremonial of the world, shal-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 307 
 
 low as it may appear, is not without its 
 use j it may indeed take from the warmth 
 of friendship, but it covers the coldness of 
 indifference ; and if it has repressed the 
 genuine overflowings of kindness, it has 
 smothered the turbulence of passion and 
 animosity, 
 
 *' Politeness, taught as an art, is ridicu- 
 lous ; as the expression of liberal senti- 
 ment and courteous manners, it is truly 
 valuable. There is a politeness of the 
 heart, which is confined to no rank, and 
 dependent upon no education ; the de- 
 sire of obliging, which a man possessed of 
 this quality will universally show, seldom 
 fails of pleasing, though his style may 
 differ from that of modern refinement. I 
 knew a man in London, of the gentlest 
 manners, and of the most winning de- 
 portment, whose eye was ever brighten- 
 ed with the smiles of good-humour, and 
 whose voice was mellowed with tlie tones
 
 308 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 of complacency ; — and this man was a 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 " The falsehood of politeness is often 
 pleaded for, as mi avoidable in the com- 
 merce of mankind ; yet I would have it as 
 little indulged as possible. There is a 
 frankness without rusticity, an openness^ 
 of manner, prompted by good-humour, 
 but guided by delicacy, which some are 
 happy enough to possess, that engages 
 every worthy man, and gives not oiTence 
 even to those, whose good opinion, though 
 of little estimation, it is the business of 
 prudence not wantonly to lose. 
 
 " The circles of the gay, my children, 
 would smile to hear me talk of qualities 
 which my retired manner of life has allowed 
 me so little opportunity of observing; but 
 true good-breeding is not confmed within 
 those bounds to which their pedantry (if 
 I may use the expression) would restrict 
 it; true good-breeding is the sister of phi-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 3Q9 
 
 lanthropy, with feelings perhaps not so 
 serious or tender, but equally inspired by 
 a fineness of soul, and open to the impres- 
 sions of social affection. 
 
 *' As politeness is the rule of the world's 
 manners, so has it erected Honour the 
 standard of its morality ; but its dictates 
 too frequently depart from wisdom with 
 respect to ourselves, from justice and hu- 
 manity with respect to others. Genuine 
 honour is undoubtedly the offspring of 
 both ; but there has arisen a counterfeit, 
 who, as he is more boastful and showy, 
 has more attracted the notice of gaiety 
 and grandeur. Generosity and courage 
 are the virtues he boasts of possessing ; 
 but his generosity is a fool, and his cour- 
 age a murderer. 
 
 " The punctilios, indeed, on which he de- 
 pends, for his own peace, and the peace 
 of society, are so ridiculous in the eye of 
 reason, that it is not a little surprising, 
 how so many millions of reasonable be-
 
 310 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ings should have sanctified them with 
 their mutual consent and acquiescence ; 
 that they should have agreed to surround 
 the seats of friendship, and the table of 
 festivity, with so many thorns of inquie- 
 tude, and snares of destruction. 
 
 " You will probably hear, my son, very 
 frequent applause bestowed on men of 
 nice and jealous honour, who suffer not 
 the smallest affront to pass unquestioned, 
 or unrevenged ; but do not imagine that 
 the character which is most sacredly 
 guarded, is always the most unsullied in 
 reality, nor allow yourself to envy a re- 
 putation for that sort of valour which sup- 
 ports it. Think how uneasily that man 
 must pass his time, who sits like a spider 
 in the midst of his feeling web, ready to 
 catch the minutest occasion for quarrel 
 and resentment. There is often more real 
 pusillanimity in the mind that starts into 
 opposition where none is necessary, than 
 in him who overlooks the wanderinos of
 
 THE MAN OF THE WOULD. 311 
 
 some unguarded act or expression, as not 
 of consequence enough to challenge in- 
 dignation or revenge. I am aware, that 
 the young and high-spirited will say, that 
 men can only judge of actions, and that 
 they will hold as cowardice, the blind- 
 ness I would recommend to affront or 
 provocation ; but there is a steady cool- 
 ness and possession of one's self, which this 
 principle will conanonly bestow, equally 
 remote from the weakness of fear, and 
 the discomposure of anger, which gives 
 to its possessor a station that seldom fails 
 of commanding respect, even from the 
 ferocious votaries of sanguinary Honour. 
 " But some principle is required to draw 
 a line of action, above the mere precepts 
 of moral equity, 
 
 " Beyond the fixt and settled rules ;" 
 
 and for this purpose is instituted the mo- 
 tive of Honour : — there is another at 
 hand, which the substitution of this phan-
 
 312 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 torn too often destroys — it is Conscience 
 — whose voice, were it not stifled, (some- 
 times by this very false and spurious 
 Honour,) would lead directly to that li- 
 beral construction of the rules of mora- 
 lity which is here contended for. Let 
 my children never suffer this monitor to 
 speak unheeded, nor drown its whispers, 
 amidst the din of pleasure, or the bustle 
 of life. Consider it as the representative of 
 that Power who spake the soul into being, 
 and in whose disposal existence is ! To 
 listen therefore to his unwritten law, which 
 he promulgates by its voice, has every 
 sanction which his authority can give. 
 It were enough to say that we are mor- 
 tal :- — but the argument is irresistible, 
 when we remember our immortality."
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 313 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Litroducing a new and capital Character. 
 
 It was thus the good man instructed his 
 
 children. 
 
 But, behold ! the enemy came in the 
 night, and sowed tares ! 
 
 Such an enemy had the harmless family 
 of which Annesly was the head. It is 
 ever to be regretted, that mischief is sel- 
 dom so weak but that worth may be stung 
 by it ; in the present instance, however, 
 it was supported by talents misapplied, 
 and ingenuity perverted. 
 
 Sir Thomas Sindall enjoyed an estate 
 of 50001. a year in Annesly 's parish. His 
 father left him, when but a childj possessed 
 of an estate to the amount we have just 
 mentioned, and of a very large sum of
 
 314 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 money besides, which liis cEConomy had 
 saved him from its produce. His mo- 
 ther, though a very good woman, was 
 a very bad parent ; she loved her son, 
 as too many mothers do, with that in- 
 stinctive affection which nature has be- 
 stowed on the lowest rank of creatures. 
 She loved him as her son, though he 
 inherited none of her virtues ; and, be- 
 cause she happened to have no other 
 child, she reared this in such a man- 
 ner, as was most likely to prevent the 
 comfort he might have afforded herself, 
 and the usefulness of whicli he might have 
 been to society. In short, he did what 
 he liked, at first,, because his spirit should 
 not be confined too early; and afterwards 
 he did what he liked, because it was past 
 being confined at all. 
 
 But his temper was not altogether of 
 that fiery kind, which some young men, 
 so circumstanced, and so educated, are 
 possessed of. There was a degree of pru-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 315 
 
 dence, which grew up with him from a 
 boy, that tempered the saUies of passion, 
 to make its object more sure in the ac- 
 quisition. When at school, he was al- 
 ways the conductor of mischief, though 
 he did not often participate in its execu- 
 tion ; and his carriage to his master was 
 such, that he was a favourite without any 
 abihties as a scholar, and acquired a cha- 
 racter for regularity, while his associates 
 were daily flogged for transgressions, which 
 he had guided in their progress, and en- 
 joyed the fruits of in their completion. 
 There sometimes arose suspicions of the 
 reality ; but even those who discovered 
 them mingled a certain degree of praise 
 with their censure, and prophesied, that 
 he would be A Man of the IVorld. 
 
 As he advanced in life, he fashioned his 
 behaviour to the different humours of the 
 gentlemen in the neighbourhood : he hunt- 
 ed with the fox-hunters through the day, 
 and drank with them in the evening.
 
 316 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 AVith these he diverted himself at the ex- 
 pence of the- sober prigs, as lie termed 
 them, who looked after the improvement 
 of their estates when it was fair, and read 
 a book within doors when It rained ; and 
 to-morrow he talked on farming with this 
 latter class, and ridiculed the hunting 
 phrases, and boisterous mirth of his yes- 
 terday's companions. They were well- 
 pleased to laugh at one another, while he 
 laughed in his sleeve at both. This was 
 sometimes discovered, and people were 
 going to be angry — but somebody said in 
 excuse, that Sindall was A Man of the 
 World. 
 
 While the Oxford terms lasted, (to which 
 place he had gone in the course of modern 
 education,) there were frequent reports in 
 the country of the dissipated life he led : 
 it was even said, that he had disappeared 
 from college for six weeks tooether, du- 
 ring which time he was suspected of ha- 
 ying taken a trip to London with another
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. SIT 
 
 man's wife ; this was only mentioned in 
 a whisper ; it was loudly denied ; people 
 doubted at first, and shortly forgot it. 
 Some little extravagancies they said he 
 might have been guilty of. It was impos- 
 sible for a man of two-and-twenty to se- 
 clude himself altogether from company ; 
 and you could not look for the temperance 
 of a hermit in a young baronet of 50001. 
 a year. It is indispensable for such a man 
 to come forth into life a little ; with 50001. 
 a year, one must be A Man of the World. 
 
 His first tutor, whose learning was as 
 extensive as his manners were pure, left 
 him in disgust : sober people wondered at 
 this ; but he was soon provided with an- 
 other, with whom he had got acquainted 
 at Oxford ; one whom every body decla- 
 red to be much fitter for the tuition of 
 young Sindall; being, like his pupil, A 
 Man of the World. 
 
 But though his extravagance in squan- 
 dering money, under the tuition of this
 
 318 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 gentleman, was frequently complained of, 
 yet it was found that he was not altoge- 
 ther thoughtless of its acquisition. Upon 
 the sale of an estate in his neighbourhood, 
 it was discovered that a very advantageous 
 mortgage, which had stood in the name 
 of another, had been really transacted for 
 the benefit of young Sindall. His prudent 
 friends plumed themselves upon this in- 
 telligence ; and, according to their use of 
 the phrase, began to hope, that, after sow- 
 ing his wild oats. Sir Thomas would turn 
 out A Man of the World.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 319 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 The Footing on which he stood with Annesly and 
 his Family. 
 
 Though such a man as we have descri- 
 bed might be reckoned a valuable acquaint- 
 ance by many, he was otherwise reckon- 
 ed by Annesly : he had heard enough 
 (though he had heard but part) of his cha- 
 racter, to consider him as a dangerous 
 neighbour ; but it was impossible to avoid 
 sometimes seeing him, from whose father 
 he had got the living which he now oc- 
 cupied. There is no tax so heavy on a 
 little man, as an acquaintance with a great 
 one. Annesly had found this in the life- 
 time of Sir William Sindall. He was one 
 of those whom the general voice pro- 
 nounces to be a good sort of man, under
 
 S20 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 which denomination I never look for much 
 sense, or much dehcacy. In fact, the ba- 
 ronet possessed but httle of either : he 
 hved hospitably for his own sake, as well 
 as that of his guests, because he liked a 
 good dinner and a bottle of wine after it ; 
 and in one part of hospitality he excelled, 
 which was, the faculty of making every 
 body drunk, that had not uncommon for- 
 titude to withstand his attacks. Annesly's 
 cloth protected him from this last incon- 
 venience j but it often drew from Sir Wil- 
 liam a set of jests, which his memory had 
 enabled him to retain, and had passed 
 through the heirs of his family, like their 
 estate, down from the days of that monarch 
 of facetious luemory, Charles the Second. 
 Tliough to a man of Annesly's delicacy 
 all tliis could not but be highly disagree- 
 able, yet gratitude made him Sir William's 
 guest often enough to shew that he had 
 not forgot that attention which his past 
 favours demanded ; and Sir A\'illiam re-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 321 
 
 collected them from another motive ; to 
 wit, that they gave a sanction to those 
 liberties he sometimes used witli him who 
 had received them. This might have been 
 held sufficient to have cancelled the obli- 
 gation ; but Annesly was not wont to be 
 directed by the easiest rules of virtue ; 
 the impression still remained, and it even 
 descended to the son after the death of the 
 father. 
 
 Sindall, therefore, was a frequent guest 
 at his house ; and, though it might have 
 been imagined, that the dissipated mind 
 of a young man of his fortune would have 
 found but little delight in Annesly 's humble 
 shed, yet he seemed to enjoy its simplicity 
 with the highest relish ; he possessed in- 
 deed that pliancy of disposition, that could 
 wonderfully accommodate himself to the 
 humour of every one arovmd him ; and he 
 so managed matters in his visits to Annes- 
 ly, that this last began to imagine the re- 
 ports he had heard concerning him, to 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 323 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 be either entirely false, or at least aggra- 
 vated much beyond truth. 
 
 From what motive soever Sindall began 
 these visits, he soon discovered a very 
 strong inducement to continue them. Har- 
 riet Annesly was now arrived at the size, 
 if not the age, of womanhood j and pos- 
 sessed an uncommon degree of beauty 
 and elegance of form. In her face, join- 
 ed to the most perfect symmetry of fea- 
 tures, was a melting expression, suited to 
 that sensibility of soul with which we have 
 mentioned her to be endowed. In her 
 person, rather above the common size, she 
 exhibited a degree of ease and gracefiil- 
 ness which nature alone had given, and 
 art was not allowed to diminish. Upon 
 such a woman Sindall could not look with 
 indifference j and according to his prin- 
 ciples of libertinism, he had marked her 
 as a prey, which his situation gave him 
 opportunities of pursuing, and which one 
 day he could not fail to possess. 
 
 3
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 323 
 
 In the course of his acquaintance he be- 
 gan to discover, that the softness of her 
 soul was distant from simphcity, and that 
 much art would be necessary to overcome 
 a virtue, which the hand of a parent had 
 carefully fortified. He assumed therefore 
 the semblance of those tender feelings, 
 which were most likely to gain the es- 
 teem of the daughter, while he talked 
 with that appearance of candour and prin- 
 ciple, which he thought necessary to pro- 
 cure him the confidence of the father. He 
 would frequently confess, with a sigh, that 
 his youth had been sometimes unwarily 
 drawn into error ; then grasp Annesly's 
 hand, and looking earnestly in his face, 
 beg him to strengthen, by his counsel, the 
 good resolutions which, he thanked hea- 
 ven, he had been enabled to make. Upon 
 the whole, he continued to gain such a 
 degree of estimation with the family, that 
 the young folks spoke of his seeming good
 
 324 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 qualities with pleasure, and their father 
 mentioned his supposed foibles with re- 
 gret.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 325 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Young Ayinesly goes to Oxford — The Friendship 
 of Sindall — Its Consequences. 
 
 Upon its being determined that young 
 Annesly should go to Oxford, Sir Thomas 
 showed him remarkable kindness and at- 
 tention. He conducted him thither in 
 his own carriage ; and as his kinsman, to 
 whose charge he was committed, happened 
 accidentally to be for some time unable to 
 assign him an apartment in his house, Sin- 
 dall quitted his own lodging to accommo- 
 date him. To a young man newly launch- 
 ed into life, removed from the only socie- 
 ty he had ever known, to another com- 
 posed of strangers, such assiduity of no- 
 tice could not but be highly pleasing; 
 and in his letters to his father, he did not
 
 326 THE MAN OF THE WORLd. 
 
 fail to set forth, in the strongest manneiv 
 the obhgations he had to Sir Thomas. His 
 father, whom years had taught wisdom, 
 but whose warmtli of gratitude they had 
 not diminished, felt the favour as acutely 
 as his son ; nor did the foresight of meaner 
 souls arise in his breast to abate its ac- 
 knowleds^ment. 
 
 The hopes which he had formed of his 
 Billy were not disappointed. He very 
 soon distinguished himself in the univer- 
 sity for learning and genius ; and in the 
 correspondence of his kinsman were re- 
 cited daily instances of the notice which 
 his parts attracted. But his praise was 
 cold in comparison with Sindall's : he 
 wrote to Annesly of his yoimg friend's 
 acquirement and abilities, in a strain of 
 enthusiastic encomium ; and seemed to 
 speak the language of his own enjoy- 
 ment, at the applause of others, which he 
 repeated. It was on this side that An- 
 nesly's soul was accessible ; for on this
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 327 
 
 side lay that pride which is the weakness 
 of all. On this side did Sindall overcome 
 it. 
 
 From tliose very qualities also which 
 he applauded in the son, he derived the 
 temptation with which he meant to se- 
 duce him ; for such was the plan of ex- 
 quisite mischief he had formed ; besides 
 the common desire of depravity to make 
 proselytes from innocence, he considered 
 the virtue of the brother as that structure, 
 on the ruin of which he was to accom- 
 plish the conquest of the sister's. He in- 
 troduced him therefore into the company 
 of some of the most artful of his own as- 
 sociates, who loudly echoed the praises 
 he lavished on his friend, and showed, or 
 pretended to show, that value for his ac- 
 quaintance, which was the strongest recom- 
 mendation of their own. The diffidence 
 which Annesly's youth and inexperience 
 had at first laid upon his mind, they re- 
 moved by the encouragement which their
 
 328 THE MAx\ OF THE WORLD. 
 
 approbation of his opinions bestowed ; 
 and he found himself indebted to them 
 both for an ease of dehvering his senti- 
 ments, and the reputation which their suf- 
 frages conferred upon him. 
 
 For all this, however, they expected a 
 return ; and Annesly had not fortitude to 
 deny it — an indulgence for some trivial 
 irregularities, which they now and then 
 permitted to appear in their conversation. 
 At first their new acquaintance took no 
 notice of them at all; he found that he 
 could not approve, and it would have hurt 
 him to condemn. By degrees he began 
 to allow them his laugh, though his soul 
 was little at ease under the gaity which 
 his features assumed — once or twice when 
 the majority against him appeared to be 
 small, he ventured to argue, though with 
 a caution of giving offence, against some 
 of the sentiments he heard. Upon these 
 occasions Sindall artfully joined him in the 
 argument ; but they were always over-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 329? 
 
 come. He had to deal with men who 
 were skilled, by a mere act of the me- 
 mory, in all the sophisms which volup- 
 tuaries have framed to justify the un- 
 bounded pvirsuit of pleasure , and those 
 who had not learning to argue, had as- 
 surance to laugh. Yet Annesly's con- 
 viction was not changed ; but the edge 
 of his abhorrence to vice was blunted j 
 and though his virtue kept her post, she 
 found herself galled in maintaining it. 
 
 It was not till some time after, that 
 they ventured to solicit his participation 
 of their pleasures ; and it was not till af- 
 ter many solicitations that his innocence 
 was overcome. But the progress of their 
 victories was rapid after his first defeat. 
 And he shortly attained the station of ex- 
 perienced vice, and began to assume a 
 superiority from the undauntedness with 
 which he practised it. 
 
 But it was necessary, the while, to de- 
 ceive that relation under whose inspec-
 
 330 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 tion his father had placed him ; in truth, 
 it was no very hard matter to deceive 
 him. He was a man of that abstracted 
 disposition, that is seldom conversant with 
 any thing around it. Simplicity of man- 
 ners was, in him, the effect of an apathy 
 in his constitution, (encreased by constant 
 study,) that was proof against all violence 
 of passion or desire ; and he thought, if 
 he thought of the matter at all, that all 
 men were like himself, whose indolence 
 could never be overcome by the pleasure 
 of pursuit, or the joys of attainment. Be- 
 sides all this, Mr Lumley, that tutor of 
 Sindall's whom we have formerly men- 
 tioned, was a man the best calculated in 
 the world for lulling his suspicions asleep, 
 if his nature had ever allowed them to 
 arise. This man, whose parts were of 
 that pliable kind that easily acquire a su- 
 perficial knowledge of every thing, pos- 
 sessed the talent of hypocrisy as deeply 
 as the desire of pleasure ; and while in
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 331 
 
 reality he was the most profligate of men, 
 he had that command of passion, which 
 never suffered it to intrude where he could 
 wish it concealed ; he preserved, in the 
 opinion of Mr Jephson, the gravity of 
 a studious and contemplative character, 
 which was so congenial to his own : and 
 he would often rise from a metaphysical 
 discussion with the old gentleman, leaving 
 him in admiration of the depth of his read- 
 ing, and the acuteness of his parts, to 
 join the debauch of Sindall and his disso- 
 lute companions. 
 
 By his assistance, therefore, Annesly's 
 dissipation was effectually screened from 
 the notice of his kinsman ; Jephson was 
 even prevailed on, by false suggestions, 
 to write to the country continued enco- 
 miums on his sobriety and application to 
 study ; and the father, who was happy 
 in believing him, enquired no farther.
 
 332 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 A very gross attempt is made on Anneslys honour. 
 
 oiNDALL having brought the mmd of his 
 proselyte to that conformity of sentiment 
 to which he had thus laboured to reduce 
 it, ventured to discover to him the pas- 
 sion he had conceived for his sister. The 
 occasion, however, on which he discover- 
 ed it, was such a one as he imagined gave 
 him some title to be listened to. 
 
 Annesly had an allowance settled on 
 him by his father, rather in truth above 
 what his circumstances might warrant 
 with propriety ; but as the feelings of the 
 good man's heart were, in every virtuous 
 purpose, somewhat beyond the limita- 
 tions of his fortune, he inclined rather to
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 333 
 
 pinch himself, than to stop any channel 
 through which advantage might flow to 
 his son ; and meant his education and his 
 manners to be in every respect liberal and 
 accomplished. 
 
 But this allowance ill sufficed to grati- 
 fy the extravagance which his late con- 
 nection had taught him ; he began very 
 soon to know a want which he had never 
 hitherto experienced : at first, this not 
 only limited his pleasures, but began to 
 check the desire of them, and in some 
 measure served to awaken that sense of 
 contrition, which their rotation had be- 
 fore overcome. But Sindall took care that 
 he should not be thus left to reflection ; 
 and as soon as he guessed the cause, pre- 
 vented its continuance by an immediate 
 supply, offered, and indeed urged, with all 
 the open warmth of disinterested friend- 
 ship. From being accustomed to receive, 
 Annesly at last overcame the shame of 
 asking, and applied repeatedly for sums.
 
 334 THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 under the denomination of loans, for the 
 payment of which he could only draw 
 upon contingency. His necessities were 
 the more frequent, as, amongst other arts 
 of pleasure which he had lately acquired, 
 that of gaming had not been omitted. 
 
 Having one night lost a sum consider- 
 ably above what he was able to pay, to a 
 member of their society with whom he 
 was in no degree of intimacy, he gave 
 him his note payable the next morning, 
 (for this was the regulated limitation of 
 their credit,) though he knew that to- 
 morrow would fmd him as poor as to- 
 night. On these particular occasions, 
 when his hours w ould have been so high- 
 ly irregular, that they could not escape 
 the censure of Mr Jephson, or his family, 
 he used to pretend, that, for the sake of 
 disentangling some point of study with 
 Sindall and his tutor, he had passed the 
 night with them at their lodgings, and 
 what small portion of it w^as allowed for
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 333 
 
 sleep he did actually spend there. After 
 this loss, therefore, he accompanied Sin- 
 dall home, and could not, it may well be 
 supposed, conceal from him the chagrin 
 it occasioned. His friend, as usual, ad- 
 vanced him money for discharging the 
 debt. Annesly, who never had had occa- 
 sion to borrow so much from him before, 
 expressed his sorrow at the necessity which 
 his honour laid him under, of accepting so 
 large a sum. " Poh!" answered Sindall, 
 " 'tis but a trifle, and what a man must 
 now and then lose to be thought genteelly 
 of." " Yes, if his fortune can afford it," 
 said the other, gloomily. " Ay, there's 
 the rub," returned his friend 3 " that for- 
 tune should have constituted an inequa- 
 lity where nature made none. How just 
 is the complaint of Jaffier, 
 
 Tell me why, good Heaven ! 
 Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit. 
 Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires. 
 That fill the happiest man ?
 
 336 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 That such should be the lot of my friend, 
 I can regret — thanks to my better stars, 
 I can more than regret it. AVhat is the 
 value of this dross, (holding a handful of 
 gold,) but to make the situation of merit 
 level with its deservings ? Yet, believe me, 
 there are wants which riches cannot re- 
 move, desires which sometimes they can- 
 not satisfy ; even at this moment, your 
 seeming happy Sindall, in whose lap for- 
 tune has poured her blessings, has his 
 cares, my Annesly, has his inquietudes, 
 which need the hand of friendship to com- 
 fort and to soothe." 
 
 Annesly, with all the warmth of his na- 
 ture, insisted on partaking his uneasiness, 
 that if he could not alleviate, he might at 
 least condole with his distress. 
 
 Sindall embraced him : " I know vour 
 friendship," said he, '' and I will put it to 
 the proof. You have a sister, the lovely, 
 the adorable I larrict ^ she has robbed me
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S3T 
 
 of that peace which the smile of fortune 
 cannot restore, as her frown has been un- 
 able to take away ! Did you know the 
 burning of this bosom ! but I speak un- 
 thinkingly what perhaps my delicacy 
 should not have whispered, even in the 
 ear of friendship. Pardon me — the ardour 
 of a love like mine may be forgiven some 
 extravagance." 
 
 Annesly's eyes sufficiently testified his 
 inward satisfaction at this discovery ; but 
 he recollected the dignity which his situa- 
 tion required, and replied calmly, " That 
 he pretended no guidance of his sister's 
 inclinations ; that his own gratitude for 
 Sir Thomas's favours he had ever loudly 
 declared ; and that he knew his sister felt 
 enough on his account, to make the in- 
 troduction of her brother's friend a more 
 than usually favourable one." 
 
 " But my situation," returned Sindall, "is 
 extremely particular ; you have heard my 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 338 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 opinions on the score of love often decla- 
 red ; and, trust me, they are the genuine 
 sentiments of my heart. The trammels 
 of form, which the unfeeling custom of 
 the w^orld has thrown upon the freedom 
 of mutual affection, are insupportable to 
 that fineness of soul, to which restraint 
 and happiness are terms of opposition. 
 Let my mistress be my mistress still, with 
 all the privileges of a wife, without a wife's 
 indifference, or a wife's disquiet. — My for- 
 tune the property of her and her friends ; 
 but that liberty alone reserved, which is 
 the strongest bond of the affection she 
 should wish to possess from me." — He 
 looked stedfastly in Annesly's face, which 
 by this time began to assume every mark 
 of resentment and indignation. He eyed 
 him askant with an affected smile : — " You 
 smile. Sir," said Annesly, whose breath 
 was stifled by the swelling of his heart. — 
 Sindall laughed aloud : " I am a wretched 
 hypocrite," said he, " and could contain 
 
 2
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 330 
 
 myself no longer." " So you were but in 
 jest, it seems," replied the other, settling 
 his features into a dry composure. " My 
 dear Annesly," returned he, " had you 
 but seen the countenance this trial of 
 mine gave you, it would have made a 
 picture worthy of the gallery of Florence. 
 I wanted to have a perfect idea of surprise, 
 indignation, struggling friendship, and 
 swelling honour, and I think I succeed- 
 ed. — But I keep you from your rest — 
 Good-night." — And he walked out of the 
 room. 
 
 Annesly had felt too much to be able 
 to resign himself speedily to rest : he could 
 not but think this joke of his friend rather 
 a serious one ; yet he had seen him some- 
 times carry this species of wit to a very 
 extraordinary length ; but the indelicacy 
 of the present instance was not to be easily 
 accounted for — he doubted, believed, was 
 angry, and pacified by turns ; the remem- 
 brance of his favours arose ; they arose at
 
 340 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 first in a form that added to the malignity 
 of the offence ; then the series in which 
 tliey had been bestowed, seemed to plead 
 on the other side. At last, when worn 
 by the fighting of contrary emotions, he 
 looked forward to the consequences of a 
 rupture with Sindall ; the pleasures of that 
 society of which he was the leader, the 
 habitual tie which it had got on Annesly's 
 soul prevailed ; for he had by this time 
 lost that satisfaction which was wont to 
 flow from himself He shut his mind 
 against the suggestions of any further sus- 
 picion, and, with that winking cowardice, 
 which many mistake for resolution, was 
 resolved to trust him for his friend, whom 
 it would have hurt him to consider as an 
 enemy, 
 
 Sindall, on the other hand, discovered, 
 that the youth was not so entirely at his 
 disposal as he had imagined him ; and 
 that though he was proselyte enough to 
 be wicked, he must be led a little farther 
 to be useful.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 3tl 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 .innesly gives farther proofs of depravity of man' 
 tiers. — The effect it has on his Father, and the 
 consequences with regard to his connexion with 
 SindalL 
 
 1 o continue that train of dissipation in 
 which their pupil had been initiated, was 
 the business of Sindall and his associates. 
 Though they contrived, as we have be- 
 fore mentioned, to escape the immediate 
 notice of Mr Jephson, yet the eyes of 
 others could not be so easily blinded : the 
 behaviour of Annesly began to be talked 
 of for its irregularity ; and the more so, 
 for the change which it had undergone 
 from that simplicity of manners which he 
 had brought with him to Oxford. And 
 some one, whether from regard to him.
 
 342 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 or what other motive I know not, inform- 
 ed his kinsman of what every one but his 
 kinsman suspected. 
 
 Upon this information, he gave the 
 young man a lecture in the usual terms 
 of admonition ; but an effort was always 
 painful to him, even where the office was 
 more agreeable than that of reproof. He 
 had recourse therefore to the assistance of 
 his fellow philosopher Mr Lumley, whom 
 he informed of the accounts he had re- 
 ceived of Annesly's imprudence, and in- 
 treated to take the proper measures, from 
 his influence with the young gentleman, 
 to make him sensible of the impropriety 
 of his past conduct, and to prevent its 
 continuance for the fiiture. 
 
 Lumley expressed his surprise at this 
 intelligence, with unparalleled command 
 of features; regretted the too prevailing 
 dissipation of youth, affected to doubt 
 the truth of the accusation, but promised, 
 at the same time, to make the proper in-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 343 
 
 quiries into the fact, and take the most 
 prudent method of preventing a conse- 
 quence so dangerous, as that of drawing 
 from the road of his duty, one whom he 
 beheved to be possessed of so many good 
 quahties as Mr Annesly. 
 
 Whetlier Mr Lumley employed his ta- 
 lents towards his reformation or degene- 
 racy, it is certain that Annesly's conduct 
 betrayed many marks of the latter : at 
 last, in an hour of intoxication, having 
 engaged in a quarrel with one of his com- 
 panions, it produced conseqviences so no- 
 torious, that the proctor could not fail to 
 take notice of it ; and that officer of the 
 university having interposed his authority, 
 in a manner which the humour of Annes- 
 ly, inflammable as it then was, could not 
 brook, he broke forth into some extrava- 
 gances so personally offensive, that when 
 the matter came to be canvassed, nothing 
 short of expulsion was talked of as a pu- 
 nishment for the offence.
 
 344 TIJE MAN OF THE WORLt). 
 
 It was then that Mr Jephson first in- 
 formed his father of those irregularities 
 which his son had been guilty of His 
 father indeed, from the discontinuance of 
 that gentleman's correspondence much 
 beyond the usual time, had begun to 
 make some unfavourable conjectures ; but 
 he accounted for this neglect from many 
 different causes ; and when once his in- 
 genuity had taken that side of the argu- 
 ment, it quickly found means to convince 
 him, that his kinsman's silence could not 
 be imputed to any fault of his son. 
 
 It was at the close of one of their soli- 
 tary meals, that this account of Jephson's 
 happened to reach Annesly and his daugh- 
 ter. Harriet never forgot her Billy's health, 
 and she had now filled her father's glass 
 to the accustomed pledge, when the ser- 
 vant brought them a letter with the Ox- 
 ford mark on it. " Read it, my love," said 
 Annesly, with a smile, while he began 
 to blame his suspicions at the silence of
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 315 
 
 his kinsman. Harriet began reading ac- 
 cordingly, but she had scarce got through 
 the first sentence, when the matter it con- 
 tained rendered her voice inarticulate. 
 Her father took the letter out of her hand, 
 and, after perusing it, he put it in his 
 pocket, keeping up a look of composure 
 amidst the ano-uish with which his heart 
 was wrung. *' Alas ! " said Harriet, '* what 
 has my brother done ?" He pressed her in- 
 voluntarily to his bosom, and it was then 
 that he could not restrain his tears — "Your 
 brother, my love, has forgotten the purity 
 which here is happiness, and I fear has ill 
 exchanged it for what the world calls plea- 
 sure ; but this is the first of his wander- 
 ings, and we will endeavour to call him 
 back into the path he has left. Reach me 
 the pen, ink, and paper, my love." — " I 
 will go," said she, sobbing, " and pray 
 for him the while." Annesly sat down 
 to write. — '* My dearest boy !" — 'twas a 
 movement grown mechanical to bis pen
 
 34G THE MATT OF THE WORLD. 
 
 — he dasht through the words, and a tear 
 fell on the place ; — ye know not, ye who 
 revel in the wantonness of dissipation, and 
 scoff at the solicitude of parental affec- 
 tion ! ye know not the agony of such a 
 tear ; else — ye are men, and it were be- 
 yond the depravity of nature. 
 
 It was not till after more than one blot- 
 ted scrawl, that he was able to write, what 
 the man might claim, and the parent 
 should approve. The letter which he at 
 last determined to send was of the follow- 
 ing tenor: 
 
 " My son, 
 
 " With anguish I write what I trust 
 will be read with contrition. I am not 
 skilled in the language of rebuke -, and it 
 was once my pride to have such a son, 
 that I needed not to acquire it. If he 
 has not lost the feelings by which the si- 
 lent sorrows of a father's heart are under- 
 stood, I shall have no need of words to 
 recal him from that conduct by which
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 347 
 
 they are caused. In the midst of what 
 he will now term pleasure, he may have 
 forgotten the father and the friend ; let 
 this tear, with which my paper is blotted, 
 awaken his remembrance; it is not the 
 first I have shed ; but it is the first which 
 flowed from my affliction mingled with 
 disgrace. Had I been only weeping for 
 my son, I should have found some me- 
 lancholy comfort to support me ; while I 
 blush for him, I have no consolation. 
 
 " But the future is yet left to him and 
 to me ; let the reparation be immediate, 
 as the wrong was great ; that the tongue 
 which speaks of your shame may be stopt 
 with the information of your amendment." 
 
 He had just finished this letter when 
 Harriet entered the room : " Will my 
 dear papa forgive me," said she, " if I 
 inclose a few lines under this cover?" — 
 *« Forgive you, my dear ! it cannot offend 
 me." She laid her hand on his letter, 
 and looked as if she would have said some-
 
 348 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 thing more ; he pressed her hand in his ', 
 a tear whicli had just budded in her eye, 
 now dropped to the ground. " You have 
 not been harsh to my Billy:" she blushed 
 as she spoke; and her father kissed her 
 cheek as it blushed. — She inclosed the 
 following note to her brother : 
 
 " Did my dearest Billy but know the 
 sorrow which he has given the most in- 
 dulgent of fathers, he could not less than 
 his Harriet regret the occasion of it. 
 
 *' But things may be represented worse 
 than they really are — I am busy at fra- 
 ming excuses J but I will say nothing more 
 on a subject, which, by this time, my bro- 
 ther must have thought enough on. 
 
 " Alas ! that you should leave this seat 
 of innocent delight ; but men were made 
 for bustle and society : yet we might have 
 been happy here together : there are in 
 other hearts, wishes wjiich they call am- 
 bition j mine shrinks at the thought, and 
 would shelter for ever amidst the sweets
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S49 
 
 of this humble spot. Would that its part- 
 ner were here to taste them ! the shrub- 
 walk, you marked out through the little 
 grove, I have been careful to trim in 
 your absence — 'tis wild, melancholy, and 
 thoughtful. It is there that I think most 
 of my Billy. 
 
 " But at this time, besides his absence, 
 there is another cause to allay the plea- 
 sure which the beauties of nature should 
 bestow. My dear papa is far from being 
 well. He has no fixed complaint ; but 
 he looks thin and pale, and his appetite 
 is almost entirely gone ; yet he will not 
 let me say that he ails : oh ! my brother ! 
 I dare not think more that way. AVould 
 you were here to comfort me ; in the 
 mean time remember your ever affec- 
 tionate, 
 
 Harriet." 
 
 Annesly was just about to dispatch 
 these letters, when he received one ex- 
 pressed in the most sympathizing terms
 
 350 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 from Sir Thomas Sindall. That young 
 gentleman, after touching, in the ten- 
 clerest manner, on the pain which a fa- 
 ther must feel for the errors of his chil- 
 dren, administered the only comfort that 
 was left to administer, by representing, 
 that young Annesly's fault had been ex- 
 aggerated much beyond the truth, and 
 that it was entirely owing to the effects 
 of a warm temper, accidentally inflamed 
 with liquor, and provoked by some degree 
 of insolence in the officer to whom the 
 outrage had been offered : he particular- 
 ly regretted, that his present disposition 
 towards sobriety had prevented himself 
 from being present at that meeting, in 
 which case, he said, he was pretty certain 
 this unlucky affair had never happened j 
 that, as it was, the only thing left for his 
 friendship to do, was to amend what it 
 had not lain within his power to prevent ^ 
 and he begged, as a testimony of the old 
 gentleman's regard, that he might honour
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S51 
 
 him SO far as to commit to him the care 
 of setting matters to rights with regard to 
 the character of his son, which he hoped 
 to be soon able effectually to restore. 
 
 The earliest consolation which a man 
 receives after any calamity, is hallowed 
 for ever in his regard, as a benighted tra- 
 veller caresses the dog, whose barking first 
 announced him to be near the habitations 
 of men. It was so with Annesly; his un- 
 suspecting heart overflowed with gratitude 
 towards this friend of his son, and he now 
 grew lavish of his confidence towards him, 
 in proportion as he recollected having 
 once (in his present opinion unjustly) de- 
 nied it. 
 
 He returned therefore an answer to Sir 
 Thomas, with all those genuine expres- 
 sions of acknowledgment, which the ho- 
 nest emotions of his soul could dictate ; 
 he accepted, as the greatest obligation, 
 that concern which he took in the wel- 
 fare of his son, and cheerfully reposed on
 
 352 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 his care the trust which his friendship de- 
 sired ; and, as a proof of it, he inclosed to 
 him the letter he had wrote to William, 
 to be delivered at what time, and enfor- 
 ced in what manner, his prudence should 
 suggest.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S53 
 
 CHAP. Xlt. 
 
 The plan which Sindall forms for obliterating the 
 stain which the character of his friend had suf- 
 fered. 
 
 Sir Thomas did accordingly deliver this 
 letter of Annesly 's to his son ; and as the 
 penitence which the young man then felt 
 for his recent offence, made the assump- 
 tion of a character of sobriety proper, he 
 accompanied this paternal remonstrance 
 with advices of his own, dictated alike by 
 friendship and prudence. 
 
 They were at this time, indeed, but 
 little necessary ; in the interval between 
 the paroxysms of pleasure and dissipa- 
 tion, the genuine feelings of his nature 
 had time to arise ^ and, awakened as they 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 35* THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 now were by the letters of his father and 
 sister, their voice was irresistible : he kis- 
 sed the signature of their names a thou- 
 sand times, and, weeping on Sindall's 
 neck, imprecated the wrath of heaven on 
 his own head, that could thus heap afflic- 
 tion on the age of the best of parents. 
 
 He expressed at the same time his in- 
 tention of leaving Oxford, and returning 
 home, as an immediate instance of his de- 
 sire of reformation. Sir Thomas, though 
 he gave all the praise to this purpose 
 which its filial piety deserved, yet doubt- 
 ed the propriety of putting it in execu- 
 tion : he said, that in the little circles of 
 the country, Annesly's penitence would 
 not so immediately blot out his offence, 
 but that the weak and the illiberal would 
 shun the contagion, as it were, of his 
 company, and that he would meet every 
 day with affronts and neglects, which 
 the sincerity of his repentance ill dc-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 355 
 
 served, and his consciousness of that 
 sincerity might not easily brook. He 
 told him, that a young gentleman, a 
 friend of his, who was just going to set 
 out on a tour abroad, had but a few days 
 before written to him, desiring his re- 
 commendation of somebody, with the 
 manners and education of a gentleman, 
 to accompany him on his travels, and 
 that he believed he could easily procure 
 that station for his friend ; which would 
 have the double advantage, of removing 
 him from the obloquy to which the late 
 accident had subjected him, and of im- 
 proving him in every respect, by the op- 
 portunity it would give, of observing the 
 laws, customs, and polity of our neigh- 
 bours on the Continent. 
 
 While the depression produced by An- 
 nesly's consciousness of his offences re- 
 mained strong upon his mind, this pro- 
 posal met with no very warm reception ; 
 but, in proportion as the comfort and en-
 
 S56 THE MAN OP THE WORLD. 
 
 couragement of his friend prevailed, the 
 ambition, which a man of his age natu- 
 rally feels to see something of the world, 
 began to speak in its behalf j he mention- 
 ed, however, the consent of his father as an 
 indispensable preliminary. This Sir Tho- 
 mas allowed to be just ; and showing him 
 that confidential letter which the old gen- 
 tleman had written him, undertook to 
 mention this scheme for his approbation 
 in the answer he intended making to it. 
 In this too was inclosed his young friend's 
 return to the letters of his father and sis- 
 ter, which were contained in the preced- 
 ing chapter ; full of that contrition which^ 
 at the time, he really felt, and of those 
 good resolutions which, at the time, he 
 sincerely formed. As to the matter of 
 his going abroad, he only touched on it 
 as a plan of Sir Thomas Sindall's, whose 
 friendship had dictated the proposal, and 
 whose judgment of its expediency his own 
 words were to contain.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 357 
 
 His father received it, not without those 
 pangs which the thought of separation 
 from a son, on whom the peace of his soul 
 rested, must cause j but he examined it 
 with that impartiahty which his wisdom 
 suggested in every thing that concerned 
 his children: " My own satisfaction," he 
 would often say, " has for its object only 
 the few years of a waning life j the situa- 
 tion of my children, my hopes would ex- 
 tend to the importance of a much longer 
 period." He held the balance therefore 
 in an even hand ; the arguments of Sin- 
 dall had much of the specious, as his in- 
 ducement to use them had much of the 
 friendly. The young gentleman, whom 
 Billy was to accompany, had connexions 
 of such weight in the state, that the fairest 
 prospects seemed to open from their pa- 
 tronage ; nor could the force of that argu- 
 ment be denied, which supposed conve- 
 niency in the change of place to Annesly 
 at the present, and improvement for the
 
 358 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 future. There were not, however, want- 
 ing some considerations of reason to side 
 with a parent's tears against the journey ; 
 but Sindall had answers for them all ; and 
 at last he wrung from him his slow leave, 
 on condition that William should return 
 home, for a single day, to bid the last fare- 
 well to his father and his Harriet. 
 
 Meantime, the punishment of Annesly's 
 late offence in the university was mitiga- 
 ted by the interest of Sindall, and the in- 
 tercession of Mr Jephson. Expulsion, 
 which had before been insisted on, was 
 changed into a sentence of less indignity, 
 to wit, that of being publicly reprimand- 
 ed by the head of the college to which he 
 belonged ; after submitting to which, he 
 set out, accompanied by Sir Thomas, to 
 bid adieu to his father's house, prepara- 
 tory to his going abroad. 
 
 His father at meeting touched on his 
 late irregularities with that delicacy, of 
 which a good mind cannot divest itself
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 35» 
 
 ;even amidst the purposed severity of re- 
 proof : and, having thus far sacrificed to 
 justice and parental authority, he opened 
 his soul to all that warmth of affection 
 which his Billy had always experienced ; 
 nor was the mind of his son yet so per- 
 verted by his former course of dissipation, 
 as to be insensible to that sympathy of 
 feelings which this indulgence should pro- 
 duce. The tear which he offered to it was 
 the sacrifice of his heart ; wrung by the 
 recollection of the past, and swelling with 
 the purpose of the future. 
 
 When the morning of his departure ar- 
 rived, he stole softly into his father's cham- 
 ber, meaning to take leave of him with- 
 out being seen by his sister, whose ten- 
 derness of soul could not easily bear the 
 pangs of a solemn farewell. He found 
 his father on his knees. — The good man, 
 rising with that serene dignity of aspect 
 which those sacred duties ever conferred 
 on him, turned to his son : " You go, my
 
 Sm THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 boy," said he, " to a distant land, far from 
 the guidance and protection of your earth- 
 ly parent j I was recommending you to 
 the care of Him who is at all times present 
 with you : though I am not superstitious, 
 yet, I confess, I feel something about me 
 as if I should never see you more j if these 
 are my last words, let them be treasured 
 in your remembrance — Live as becomes 
 a man and a Christian ; live as becomes 
 him who is to live for ever !" 
 
 As he spoke, his davighter entered the 
 room. "Ah .' my Billy," said she, "could 
 you have been so cruel as to go without 
 seeing your Harriet ? it would have broken 
 my heart ! Oh ! I have much to say, and 
 many farewells to take; yet now, me- 
 thinks, I can say nothing, and scarce dare 
 bid you farewell !" — " My children," in- 
 terrupted her father, " in this cabinet is 
 a present I have al ways intended for each 
 of you ; and this, which is perhaps the 
 Ifist tipie we shall meet together, I thiiik
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S6I 
 
 the fittest to bestow them. Here, my 
 Harriet, is a miniature of that angel your 
 mother ; imitate her virtues, and be happy. 
 — Here, my Billy, is its counterpart, a 
 picture of your father j whatever he is. 
 Heaven knows his affection to you ; let 
 that endear the memorial, and recommend 
 that conduct to his son which will make 
 liis father's grey hairs go down to the grave 
 in peace!" Tears were the only answer 
 that either could give. Annesly embraced 
 his son, and blessed him. Harriet blub- 
 bered on his neck ! Twice he offered to 
 go, and twice the agony of his sister pull- 
 ed him back ; at last she flung herself in- 
 to the arms of her father, who beckoning 
 to Sir Thomas Sindall, just then arrived to 
 carry off his companion, that young gen- 
 tleman, who was himself not a little affec- 
 ted with the scene, took his friend by the 
 hand, and led him to the carriage that 
 waited them.
 
 362 THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 CHAP. xiir. 
 
 He reaches London, where he remains longer than 
 was expected — The effects of his stay there. 
 
 In a few days Annesly, and his friend 
 the baronet, arrived in the metropohs. His 
 father had been informed, that the gen- 
 tleman whom he was to accompany in 
 his travels was to meet him in that city, 
 where they proposed to remain only a 
 week or two, for the purpose of seeing 
 any thing curious in town, and of settling 
 some points of accommodation on their 
 rout through the countries they meant to 
 visit : an intelligence, he confessed, very 
 agreeable to him, because he knew the 
 temptations to which a young man is ex- 
 posed by a life of idleness in London. 
 But, in truth, the intention of Sir Tho-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 363 
 
 mas Sindall never was, that his present 
 pupil (if we may so call him) should tra- 
 vel any farther. The young gentleman, 
 for whose companion he had pretended to 
 engage Annesly, was indeed to set out 
 very soon after on the tour of Europe j 
 but he had already been provided with a 
 travelling governor, who was to meet him 
 upon his arrival at Calais, (for the air of 
 England agreed so ill with this gentleman's 
 constitution, that he never crossed the 
 channel,) and who had made the same 
 journey, several times before, with some 
 English young men of great fortunes, 
 whom he had the honour of returning to 
 their native country, with the same sove- 
 reign contempt for it that he himself en- 
 tertained. The purpose of Sindall was 
 merely to remove the son to a still greater 
 distance from his father, and to a scene 
 where his own plan, of entire conversion, 
 should meet with every aid, which the so-
 
 3Gt THE MAX OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ciety of the idle and the profligate could 
 give it. 
 
 For some time, however, he found the 
 disposition of Annesly averse to his designs. 
 The figure of his father venerable in vir- 
 tue, of his sister lovely in innocence, were 
 imprinted on his mind ; and the variety 
 of public places of entertainment, to which 
 Sir Thomas conducted him, could not im- 
 mediately efface the impression. 
 
 But as their novelty at first delighted, 
 their frequency at last subdued him ; his 
 mind began to accustom itself to the hurry 
 of thoughtless, amusement, and to feel a 
 painful vacancy, when the bustle of the 
 scene was at any time changed for soli- 
 tude. The unrestrained warmth and ener- 
 gy of his temper, yielded up his under- 
 standing to the company of fools, and his 
 resolutions of reformation to the society 
 of the dissolute, because it caught the 
 fervour of the present moment, before rea- 
 son could pause on the disposal of the
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. M5 
 
 next ; and by the industry of Sindall, he 
 found, every day, a set of friends, among 
 whom the most engaging were always the 
 most Hcentious, and joined to every thing 
 which the good detest, every thing whicli 
 the unthinking admire. I have often in- 
 deed been tempted to imagine, that there 
 is something unfortunate, if not blameable, 
 in that harshness and austerity, which vir- 
 tue too often assumes ; aiKl have seeUj 
 with regret, some excellent men, the au- 
 thority of whose understanding, and the 
 attraction of whose wit, might have re- 
 tained many a deserter under the banners 
 of goodness, lose all that power of service, 
 by the unbending distance which they 
 kept from the little pleasantries and sweet- 
 ness of life. This conduct may be safe, 
 but there is something ungenerous and 
 cowardly in it ; to keep their forces, like 
 an over-cautious commander, in fastnesses 
 and fortified towns, while they suffer the 
 enemy to waste and ravage the cliam-
 
 36ft THE MAN OF THE AVOIiLD. 
 
 palgn. Praise is indeed due to him, who 
 can any way preserve his integrity ; but 
 surely the heart that can retain it, even 
 while it opens to all the warmth of social 
 feeling, will be an offering more accepta- 
 ble in the eye of heaven. 
 
 Annesly was distant from any counsel 
 or example, that might counterbalance 
 the contagious influence of the dissolute 
 society with which his time was now en- 
 grossed 3 but his seduction was not com- 
 plete, till the better principles, which his 
 soul still retained, were made accessary 
 to its accomplishment. 
 
 Sindall procured a woman infamous 
 enough for his purpose, the cast mistress 
 of one of his former companions, whom 
 he tutored to invent a plausible story of 
 distress and misfortune, which he contri- 
 ved in a manner seemingly accidental, to 
 have communicated to Annesly. His na- 
 tive compassion, and his native warmth, 
 Avere interested in her sufferings and her
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 361 
 
 Wrongs ; and he applauded himself for the 
 protection which he afforded her, while 
 she was the abandoned instrument of his 
 undoing. After having retained, for some 
 time, the purity of her guardian and pro- 
 tector, in an hour of intoxication, he ven- 
 tured to approach her on a looser foot- 
 ins ; and she had afterwards the address 
 to make him believe, that the weakness of 
 her gratitude had granted to him, what to 
 any other her virtue would have refused ; 
 and during the criminal intercourse in 
 which he lived with her, she continued 
 to maintain a character of affection and 
 tenderness, which might excuse the guilt 
 of her own conduct, and account for the 
 infatuation of his. 
 
 In this fatal connection every remem- 
 brance of that weeping home which he 
 had so lately left, with the resolutions of 
 penitence and reformation, was erased 
 from his mind ; or, if at times it intruded, 
 it came not that gentle guest, at whose
 
 ^68 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 approach his bosom used to be thrilled 
 with reverence and love, but approached 
 in the form of some ungracious monitor, 
 whose business was to banish pleasure 
 and awaken remorse ; and, therefore, the 
 next amusement, folly, or vice, w as call- 
 ed in to his aid to banish and expel it. 
 As it was sometimes necessary to write 
 to his father^ he fell upon an expedient, 
 even to save himself the pain of thinking 
 so long as that purpose required, on a 
 subject now grown so irksome to him, and 
 employed that w^oman, in whose toils he 
 was thus shamefully entangled, to read 
 the letters he received, and dictate such 
 answers as her cunning could suggest, to 
 mislead the judgment of his unsuspecting 
 parent. 
 
 All this while Sindall artfully kept so 
 much aloof, as to preserve, even with the 
 son, something of that character which 
 he had acquired with the father -, he was 
 (i)ften absent from parties of remarkable ir-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 309 
 
 regularity, and sometimes ventured a gen- 
 tle censure on his friend for having been 
 led into them. But while he seemed to 
 check their continuance under this cloak 
 of prudence, he encouraged it in the re- 
 port he made of the voice of others -, for 
 while the scale of character, for temper- 
 ance, sobriety, and morals, sinks on one 
 side, there is a balance of fame in the 
 nK>utlis of part of the world rising on the 
 other — Annesly could bear to be told of 
 his spirit, his generosity, and his honour. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 a
 
 .170 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 He feels the distresses of poverty. He is put on a 
 method of relieving them. An account of its 
 success. 
 
 1 HE manner of life which Annesly now 
 pursued, without restraint, was necessari- 
 ly productive of such expence as he could 
 very ill afford. But the craft of his fe- 
 male associate was not much at a loss for 
 pretences, to make frequent demands on 
 the generosity of his father. The same 
 excuses which served to account for his 
 stay in London, in some measure apolo- 
 gized for the largeness of the sums he 
 drew for ; if it was necessary for him to 
 remain there, expence, if not unavoida- 
 ble, was at least difficult to be avoided j 
 and for the causes of his stay in that city.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 371 
 
 he had only to repeat the accounts which 
 he daily received from Sindall, of various 
 accidents which obliged his young friend 
 to postpone his intended tour. 
 
 Though in the country there was little 
 opportunity of knowing the town irregu- 
 larities of Annesly, yet there were not 
 wanting surmises of it among some, of 
 which it is likely his father might have 
 heard enough to alarm him, had he not 
 been at this time in such a state of health 
 as prevented him from much society with 
 his neighbours ; a slow aguish disorder, 
 which followed those symptoms his daugh- 
 ter's letter to her brother had described, 
 having confmed him to his chamber al- 
 most constantly from the time of his son's 
 departure. 
 
 Annesly had still some blushes left ; 
 and when he had pushed his father's in- 
 dulgence, in the article of supply, as far 
 as shame would allow him, he looked round 
 for some other source whence present re-
 
 372 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 lief migiit be drawn, without daring to 
 consider liow the arrearages of the future 
 should be cancelled. Sindall for some 
 time answered his exigencies without re* 
 luctance ; but at last he informed him, as 
 he said with regret, that he could not, 
 from particular circumstances, afford him, 
 at that immediate juncture, any farther 
 assistance than a small sum, which he 
 then put into Annesly's hands, and which 
 the very next day was squandered by the 
 prodigality of his mistress. 
 
 The next morning he rose without know- 
 ing how the wants of the day were to be 
 provided for ; and strolling out into one of 
 his accustomed walks, gave himself up to 
 all the pangs which the retrospect of the 
 past, and the idea of the present, suggest- 
 ed. But he felt not that contrition which 
 results from ingenuous sorrow for our of- 
 fences ; his soul was ruled by that gloomy 
 demon, who looks only to the anguish of 
 tlieir punishment, and accuses the hand
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 373 
 
 of Providence, for calamity which him- 
 self has occasioned. 
 
 In this situation he was met by one of 
 his new acquired friends, who was walk- 
 ing off the oppression of last night's riot. 
 The melancholy of his countenance was 
 so easily observable, that it could not es- 
 cape the notice of his companion, who 
 rallied him on the seriousness of his as- 
 pect, in the cant-phrase of those brutes 
 of our species, who are professed enemies 
 to the faculty of thinking. Though An- 
 nesly's pride for a while kept him silent, 
 it was at last overcome by the other's im- 
 portunity, and he confessed the despera- 
 tion of his circumstances to be the cause 
 of his present depression. His compa- 
 nion, whose purse, as himself informed 
 Annesly, had been flushed by the success 
 of the preceding night, animated by the 
 liberality which attends sudden good for- 
 tune, freely offered him the U3e of twenty 
 pieces, till better times shoiild enable him
 
 374 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 to repay them. " But," said he, gaily, 
 " it is a shame for a fellow of your parts 
 to want money, when fortune has provi- 
 ded so many rich fools for the harvest of 
 the wise and the industrious. If you'll 
 allow me to be your conductor this even- 
 ing, I will show you where, by the traffic 
 of your wits, in a very short time you 
 may convert these twenty guineas into 
 fifty." " At play," replied Annesly, 
 CQolly. " Ay at play," returned the 
 other, " and fair play too ; 'tis the only 
 profession left for a man of spirit and ho- 
 nour to pursue : to cheat as a merchant, 
 to quibble as a lawyer, or to cant as a 
 churchman, is confined to fellows who 
 have no fire in their composition. Give 
 me but a bold set, and a fair throw for it, 
 and then for the life of a lord, or the death 
 of a gentleman." " I have had but little 
 experience in the profession," said An- 
 nesly, " and should but throw away your 
 money." " Never fear," replied the others
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 375 
 
 •' do but mark me, and I will ensure you : 
 I will show you our men ; pigeons, mere 
 pigeons, by Jupiter !" 
 
 It was not for a man in Annesly's situa- 
 tion to baulk the promise of such a gol- 
 den opportunity ; they dined together, 
 and afterwards repaired to a gaming- 
 house, where Annesly's companion intro- 
 duced him, as a friend of his just arrived 
 from the country, to several young gen- 
 tlemen, who seemed to be waiting his ar- 
 rival. — " I promised you your revenge," 
 said he, '' my dears, and you shall have it ; 
 some of my friend's Lady-day rents, too, 
 have accompanied him to London ; if you 
 win, you shall wear them. To business, 
 to business." 
 
 In the course of their play, Annesly, 
 though but moderately skilled in the game, 
 discovered, that the company, to whom 
 he had been introduced, were in reality 
 such bubbles as his companion had repre- 
 sented them : after being heated by some
 
 S76 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 small success in the beginning, they began 
 to bet extravagantly against every calcur 
 lation of chances ; and in an hour or two, 
 his associate and he had stripped them of 
 a very considerable sum, of which liis own 
 share, though much the smaller, was up- 
 wards of threescore guineas. When they 
 left the house, he oftered his conductor 
 the sum he had lent him, with a profu- 
 sion of thanks, both for the use and the 
 improvement of it. " No, my boy," said 
 he, " not now ; your note is sufficient : 
 I will rather call for it when I am at a 
 pinch j you see now the road to wealth 
 and independence ; you will meet me here 
 to-morrow." He promised to meet him 
 accordingly. 
 
 They had been but a kw minutes in 
 the room this second night, when a gen- 
 tleman entered, whom the company sa- 
 luted with the appellation of squire : the 
 greater part of them seemed to be charm- 
 ed with his presence j but the counter
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 377 
 
 nance of Amiesly's companion fell at his 
 approach : " Damn him," says he, in a 
 whisper to Annesly, *' he's a knowing 
 one." 
 
 In some degree indeed he deserved the 
 title : for he had attained, from pretty 
 long experience, assisted by natural quick- 
 ness of parts, a considerable knowledge in 
 the science ; and in strokes of genius, at 
 games where genius was required, was 
 excelled by few. But after all, he was 
 far from being successful in the pro- 
 fession : nature intended him for some- 
 thing better ; and as he spoiled a wit, an 
 orator, and perhaps a poet, by turning 
 gambler ; so he often spoiled a gambler 
 by the ambition, which was not yet en- 
 tirely quenched, of shining occasionally 
 in all those characters. And as a com- 
 panion, he was too pleasing, and too well 
 pleased, to keep that cool indifference, 
 which is the characteristic of him, who 
 s^liould be always possessed of himself, and
 
 318 THE MAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 consider every other man only as the 
 spunge from whom he is to squeeze ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 To the present party, however, he was 
 unquestionably superior; and of course, 
 in a short time, began to levy large con- 
 tributions, not only on the more inexpe- 
 rienced, whom Annesly and his conduc- 
 tor had marked for their own booty, but 
 likewise on these two gentlemen them- 
 selves, whose winnings of the foimer even- 
 ing were now fast diminishing before the 
 superior skill of this new antagonist. 
 
 But in the midst of his success, he was 
 interrupted by the arrival of another gen- 
 tleman, who seemed also to be a well- 
 known character in this temple of fortune, 
 being saluted by the familiar name of 
 Black-beard. This man possessed an un- 
 moved equality both of temper and as- 
 pect ; and though, in reality, he was of 
 no very superior abilities, yet had acqui- 
 red the reputation both of depth and acute-
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 379 
 
 ness, from being always accustomed to 
 think on his own interest, and pursuing 
 with the most sedulous attention every 
 object which led to it, unseduced by one 
 single spark of those feelings which the 
 world terms weakness. 
 
 In the article of gaming, which he had 
 early pitched on as the means of advance- 
 ment, he had availed himself of that in- 
 dustry, and saturnine complexion, to ac- 
 quire the most consummate knowledge of 
 its principles, which indeed he had attain- 
 ed to a very remarkable degree of perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 Opposed to this man, even the skill of 
 the hitherto-successful squire was una- 
 vailing ; and consequently he not only 
 stripped that gentleman of the gains he 
 had made, but gleaned whatever he had 
 left in the purses of the inferior members 
 of the party, amongst whom Annesly and 
 his associates were reduced to their last 
 guinea.
 
 .380 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 This they agreed to spend together at 
 a tavern in the neighbourhood, wliere tliey 
 cursed fortune, their spoiler, and them- 
 selves, in all the bitterness of rage and 
 disappointment. Annesly did not seek 
 to account for their losses otherwise than 
 in the real way, to wit, from the superior 
 skill of their adversary ; but his compa- 
 nion, who often boasted of his own, threw 
 out some insinuations of foul play and 
 connivance. 
 
 " If I thought that," said Annesly, 
 laying his hand on his sword, while his 
 cheeks burnt with indignation. '* Poh!" 
 replied the other, " 'tis in vain to be an- 
 gry J here is danmation to him in a bump- 
 er." 
 
 The other did not fail his pledge ; and, 
 by a liberal application to the bottle, they 
 so far overcame their losses, that Annes- 
 ly reeled home, singing a catch, forget- 
 ful of the past, and regardless of to-mor- 
 row.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 381 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Another attempt to retneve his circumstances, the 
 consequences of which are still more fatal. 
 
 1 HOUGH the arrival of to-morrow might 
 be overlooked, it could not be prevent- 
 ed. It rose on Annesly, one of the most 
 wretched of mankind. Poverty, embit- 
 tered by disgrace, was now approaching 
 him, who knew of no friend to ward off 
 the blow, and had no consolation in him- 
 self by which it might be lightened : if 
 any thing could add to his present dis- 
 tress, it was increased by the absence of 
 Sindall, who was then in the country, and 
 the upbraidings of his female companion, 
 who now exclaimed against the folly which 
 herself had caused, and the extravagance 
 herself had participated.
 
 .1S2 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 About mid-day, his last night's fellow- 
 sufferer paid him a visit : their mutual 
 chagrin at meeting, from the recollection 
 of misfortune which it produced, was evi- 
 dent in their countenances ; but it was 
 not a little increased, when the other told 
 Annesly he came to put him in mind 
 of the sum he had advanced him two days 
 before, for which he had now very parti- 
 cular occasion. Annesly answered, that 
 he had frankly told him the state of his 
 finances at the time of the loan, and ac- 
 cepted it on no condition of speedy pay- 
 ment ; that he had, that same evening, of- 
 fered to repay him when it was in his 
 power ; and that he could not but think 
 the demand ungentlemanlike, at a time 
 when he must know his utter inability to 
 comply with it. 
 
 ** Ungentlemanlike!" said the other; 
 " I don't understand what you mean, Sir, 
 by such a phrase ; will you pay me my 
 money, or not?" — " I cannot." — " Then,
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 383 
 
 sir, you must expect me to employ some 
 gentleman for the recovery of it, who will 
 speak to you, perhaps, in a more ungen- 
 tlemanlike style than I do." And, so say- 
 ing, he flung out of the room. 
 
 " Infamous wretch !" exclaimed An- 
 nesly, and walked about with a hurried 
 step, gnawing his lips, and muttering 
 
 curses on him, and on himself. ^There 
 
 was another gentleman wanted to see him 
 below stairs. — 'Twas a mercer, who came 
 to demand payment of some fineries his 
 lady, as he termed her, had purchased : 
 he was, with difficulty, dismissed. — In a 
 quarter of an hour there was another call — 
 'Twas a dun of a tailor for clothes to him- 
 self — he would take no excuse — " Come," 
 said Annesly, with a look of desperation, 
 " to-morrow morning, and I will pay 
 you." 
 
 But how ? — he stared wildly on the 
 
 ground, then knocked his head against 
 
 ' the wall, and acted all the extravagan-
 
 384 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 cies of a madman. At last, with a more 
 settled horror in his eye, he put on his 
 sword, and without knowing whither he 
 should go, sallied into the street. 
 
 He happened to meet in his way some 
 of those boon companions, with whom 
 his nights of jollity had been spent ; but 
 their terms of salutation were so cold and 
 forbidding, as obviously to show that the 
 account of his circumstances had already 
 reached them ; and, with them, he who 
 had every thing to ask, and nothing to 
 bestow, could possess no quality attractive 
 of regard. After sauntering from street 
 to street, and from square to square, he 
 found himself, towards the close of the 
 day, within a few paces of that very 
 gaming-house where he had been so un- 
 fortunate the evening before. A sort of 
 malicious curiosity, and some hope of he 
 knew not what, tempted him to re-enter 
 it. He found much the same company 
 he had seen the preceding night, with
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. #85 
 
 the exception, however, of his former as- 
 sociate, and one or two of the younger 
 members of their party, whom the same 
 cause prevented from attending. 
 
 StroHing into anotlier room, he found 
 an inferior set of gamesters, whose stakes 
 were lower, though their vociferation was 
 infinitely more loud. In the far corner 
 sat a man, who preserved a composure of 
 countenance, undisturbed by the clamour 
 and confusion that surrounded him. Af- 
 ter a little observation, Anneslv discover- 
 ed that he was a money-lender, who ad- 
 vanced certain sums at a very exorbitant 
 premium to the persons engaged in the 
 play. Some of those he saw, who could 
 offer no other security satisfying to this 
 usurer, procure a few guineas from him, 
 on pawning a watch, ring, or some other 
 appendage of former finery. Of such he 
 had before divested himself for urgent de- 
 mands, and had nothing superfluous about 
 
 VOL. I. 2! B
 
 386 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 him but his sword, which he had kept the 
 latest, and wliich he now deposited in the 
 hands of the old gentleman in the corner, 
 who furnished him with a couple of pieces 
 upon it, that with them he might once 
 more try his fortune at the table. 
 
 The success exceeded his expectation : 
 it was so rapid, that in less than an hour 
 he had increased his two guineas to forty, 
 with which he determined to retire con- 
 tented ; but when he would have redeem- 
 ed his sword, he w as informed that the 
 keeper had just gone into the other room, 
 where, as he entered to demand it, he un- 
 fortunately overheard the same gentleman 
 who had gained his money the former 
 night, offering a bet, to the amount of the 
 sum Annesly then possessed, on a cast 
 where he imagined the chance to be 
 much against it. Stimulated with the de- 
 sire of doubling his gain, and the sudden 
 [)ro vocation, as it were, of the offer, he 
 accepted it 3 and, in one moment, lost all
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 387 
 
 the fruits of his former good fortune.— 
 The transport of his passion could not ex- 
 press itself in words ; but taking up one 
 of the dice, with the seeming coolness of 
 exquisite anguish, he fairly bit it in two, 
 and casting a look of frenzy on his sword, 
 which he was now unable to ransom, he 
 rushed out of the house, uncovered as he 
 w as, his hat hanging on a peg in the other 
 apartment. 
 
 The agitation of his mind was such as 
 denied all attention to common things ; 
 and, instead of taking the direct road to 
 his lodgings, he wandered off the street 
 into an obscure alley, where he had not 
 advanced far, till he was accosted by a 
 fellow, who, in a very peremptory tone, 
 desired him to deliver his money, or he 
 would instantly blow out his brains, pre- 
 senting a pistol at less than half a yard''s 
 distance. — " I can give you nothing," said 
 Annesly, " because I have nothing to 
 give." — " Damn you," returned the other.
 
 3S8 THE MAN OF TITE WORLD. 
 
 " do you think I'll be fobbed off so ; your 
 money and be damned to you, or I'll send 
 you to hell in a twinkling" — advancing 
 his pistol, at the same time, within a 
 hand's-breadth of his face. Annesly, at 
 that instant, struck up the muzzle with 
 his arm, and, laying hold of the barrel, by 
 a sudden wrench forced the weapon out 
 of the hands of the villain, who, not choos- 
 ing to risk any farther combat, made the 
 best of his way down the alley, and left 
 Annesly master of his arms. He stood 
 for a moment entranced in thought. — 
 " Whoever thou art," said he, " I thank 
 thee ; by heaven, thou instructest and 
 armest me ; this may provide for to-mor- 
 row, or make its provision unnecessary." 
 He now returned with a hurried pace to 
 the mouth of the alley, where, in the shade 
 of a jutting wall, he could mark, imper- 
 ceived, the objects on the street. He had 
 stood there but a few seconds, and began 
 already to waver in his purpose, when he
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 389 
 
 saw come out of the gaming-house, which 
 he had left, the very man who had plun- 
 dered him of his all. The richness of the 
 prize, with immediate revenge, awaken- 
 ed together in his mind ; and the suspi- 
 cion of foul play, which his companion 
 had hinted the night before, gave them ^ 
 sanction of something like justice 3 he 
 waited till the chair, in which the game- 
 ster was conveyed, came opposite to the 
 place where he stood ; then covering his 
 face with one hand, and assuming a tone 
 different from his natural, he pulled out 
 his pistol, and commanded the leading 
 chairman to stop. This effected, he went 
 up to the chair, and the gentleman with- 
 in having let down one of the glasses to 
 know the reason of its stop, the stopper 
 clapped the pistol to his breast, and 
 threatened him with instant death if he 
 did not deliver his money. The other, 
 after some little hesitation, during which 
 Annesly repeated his threats with the
 
 390 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 most horrible oaths, drew a purse of gold 
 from his pocket, which Amiesly snatched 
 out of his hand, and, running down the 
 alley, made his escape at the other end; 
 and, after turning through several streets, 
 in different directions, so as to elude pur- 
 suit, arrived safely at home with the booty 
 he had taken. 
 
 Meantime, the gamester returned to the 
 house he had just quitted, with the account 
 of his disaster. The whole fraternity, who 
 could make no allowance for a robber of 
 this sort, were alaraied at the accident ; 
 every one was busied in inquiry, and a 
 thousand questions were asked about his 
 appearance, his behaviour, and the rout 
 he had taken. The chairmen, who had 
 been somewhat more possessed of them- 
 selves at the time of the robbery than their 
 master, had remarked the circumstance of 
 the robber's wanting his hat : this was no 
 sooner mentioned, than a buz ran through 
 the company, that the young gentleman.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 391 
 
 who had gone off a little while before, had 
 been observed to be uncovered when he 
 left the house ; and upon search made, his 
 hat was actually found, with his name 
 marked on the inside. This was a ground 
 of suspicion too strong to be overlooked : 
 messengers were dispatched iu quest of 
 the friend who had introduced him there 
 the preceding night ; upon his being found, 
 and acquainting them of Annesly's lod- 
 gings, proper w arrants were obtained for 
 a search. 
 
 When that unfortunate young man ar- 
 rived at home, he was met on the stairs 
 by the lady we have formerly mentioned, 
 who, in terms of bitter reproach, interrup- 
 ted with tears, inveighed against the cruel- 
 ty of his neglect, in thus leaving her to 
 pine alone, without even the common 
 comforts of a miserable life. Her censure 
 indeed was the more violent, as there was 
 little reason for its violence ; for she had 
 tliat moment dismissed, at a back door, a
 
 392 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 gallant, who was more attentive than An- 
 nesly. He, who could very well allow the 
 grounds of her complaint, only pleaded 
 necessity for his excuse : he could but 
 mutter this apology in imperfect words ; 
 for the perturbation of his mind almost 
 deprived him of the powers of speech. 
 Upon her taking notice of this, with much 
 seeming concern for his health, he beckon- 
 ed her into a chamber, and, dashing the 
 purse on the floor, pointed to it with a 
 look of horror, as an answer to her up- 
 braidings. 
 
 " What have you done for this?" said 
 she, taking it up : He threw himself in- 
 to a chair, without answering a word. 
 
 At that moment the officers of justice, 
 who had lost no time in prosecuting their 
 information, entered the house ; and some 
 of them, accompanied by an attorney, em- 
 ployed by the gentleman who had been 
 robbed, walked softly up stairs to the room 
 where Annesly was, and bursting into it
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. ^9$ 
 
 before he could prepaj;^ for any defence, 
 laid hold of him in rather a violent man- 
 ner ; which the lawyer observing, desired 
 them to use the gentleman civilly, till he 
 should ask him a few questions. " I will 
 answer none," said Annesly; " do your 
 duty." — " Then, Sir," replied the other, 
 " you must attend us to those who can 
 question you with better authority j and 
 I must make bold to secure this lady, till 
 she answer some questions also." The 
 lady saved him the trouble ; for, being now 
 pretty well satisfied, that her hero was at 
 the end of his career, she thought it most 
 prudent to break oiT a connection where 
 nothing was to be gained, and make a 
 merit of contributing her endeavours to 
 bring the offender to justice. She called, 
 therefore, this leader of the party into an- 
 other room, and being informed by him 
 that the young gentleman was suspected 
 of having committed a robbery scarce an 
 hour before, she pulled out the purse, which
 
 S94 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 she had just received from him, and asked 
 the lawyer, " If it was that which had been 
 taken from his chent ?" — " Ay, that it is, 
 I'll be sworn," said he^ *' and here (pour- 
 ing out its contents) is the ring he men- 
 tioned at the bottom." — " But," said she, 
 pausing a little, *' it will prove the thing 
 as well without the guineas." — " I pro- 
 test," returned the lawyer, " thou art a 
 girl of excellent invention — Hum — here 
 are fourscore ; one half of them might have 
 been spent — or dropt out by the way, or 
 — any thing may be supposed ; and so we 
 shall have twenty a-piece. — Some folks to 
 be sure would take more, but I love con- 
 science in those matters." 
 
 Having finished this transaction, in such 
 a manner as might give no offence to the 
 conscience of this honest pettifogger, they 
 returned to the prisoner, w ho contented 
 himself w^th darting a look of indignation 
 at his female betrayer ; and, after being 
 some time in the custody of the lawyer
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 395 
 
 and his assistants, he was carried, in the 
 morning, along with her, before a magis- 
 trate. The several circumstances I have 
 related being sworn to, Annesly was com- 
 mitted to Newgate, and the gamester 
 bound over to prosecute him at the next 
 sessions, which were not then very distant.
 
 3% THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 The miseries of him whose punishment is injiicted 
 by conscience. 
 
 1 HOUGH Annesly must have suffered 
 much during the agitation of these pro- 
 ceedings, yet that was httle to what he felt, 
 when left to reflection, in the solitude of 
 his new abode. Let the virtuous remem- 
 ber, amidst their affliction, that though the 
 heart of the good man may bleed even to 
 death, it will never feel a torment equal to 
 the rendings of remorse. 
 
 For some time the whirling of his brain 
 gave him no leisure to exercise any facul- 
 ty that could be termed thinking ; when 
 that sort of delirium subsided, it -left him 
 only to make room for more exquisite, 
 though less turbulent anguish.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 597 
 
 After he had visited every corner of re- 
 source, and found them all dark and com- 
 fortless, he started at last from that pos- 
 ture of despair in which he sat, and turn- 
 ing the glare of his eye intently upwards : 
 
 '' Take back," said he, " thou Power 
 that gavest me being ! take back that life 
 which thou didst breathe into me for the 
 best of purposes, but which I have profa- 
 ned by actions equally mischievous to thy 
 government,, and ignominious to myself. 
 The passions which thou didst implant in 
 me, that reason which should balance 
 them is unable to withstand : from one on- 
 ly I receive useful admonition ; the shame, 
 that could not prevent, now punishes my 
 crimes. Her voice for once I will obey ; 
 and leave a state, in which if I remain, I 
 continue a blot to nature, and an enemy 
 to man." 
 
 He drew a penknife, now his only wea- 
 pon, from its sheath — he bared his bosom 
 for the horrid deed — when the picture of
 
 iJDB THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 his father, which the good man had be- 
 stowed on hhn at parting, and he had 
 worn ever since in his bosom, struck his 
 eye — (it was drawn in the mildness of 
 holy meditation, with the hands folded to- 
 gether, and the eyes lifted to heaven) 
 " Merciful God!" saidAnnesly — he would 
 have uttered a prayer, but his soul was 
 wound up to a pitch that could but one 
 way be let down — he flung himself on 
 the ground, and burst into an agony of 
 tears. 
 
 The door of the apartment opening, 
 discovered the jailor, folloM'cd by Sir Tho- 
 mas Sindall — " My friend in this place ?'* 
 said he to Annesly, — who covered his 
 face with his hands, and replied only by 
 a groan. 
 
 Sindall made signs for the keeper of 
 the prison to leave them ; — " Come," said 
 he, " my dear Annesly, be not so entire- 
 ly overcome ; I flatter myself, you know 
 my friendship too well, to suppose that it
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. S99 
 
 will desert you even here. I may, per- 
 haps, have opportunities of comforting you 
 in many ways ; at least I shall feel and 
 pity your distresses." — " Leave me," an- 
 swered the other, " leave me ; I deserve 
 no pity, and methinks there is a pride in 
 refusing it." — " You must not say so ; my 
 love has much to plead for you ; nor are 
 you without excuse even to the world." 
 *' Oh ! Sindall," said he, " I am without 
 excuse to myself I when I look back to 
 that peace of mind, to that happiness I 
 have squandered ! — I will not curse, but 
 — oh ! fool, fool, fool !"— " I would not," 
 said Sir Thomas, " increase that anguish 
 which you feel, were I not obliged to 
 mention the name of your father." — " My 
 father!" cried Annesly ; " O hide me 
 from my father !" — " Alas !" replied Sin- 
 dall, " he must hear of your disaster from 
 other hands ; and it were cruel not to ac- 
 quaint him of it in a way that should 
 wound him the least." — Annesly gazed
 
 wo THE MAN OF THE WORLB. 
 
 ^vith a look of entrancement on his pic- 
 ture ; " Great God !" said he, " for what 
 hast thou reserved me ? Sindall, do what 
 thou wilt — think not of such a wretch as 
 I am ; but mitigate, if thou canst, the 
 sorrows of a father, the purity of whose 
 bosom must bleed for the vices of mine." 
 — " Fear not," returned Sir Thomas ; " I 
 hope all will be better than, you imagine. 
 It grows late, and 1 must leave you now ; 
 but promise me to be more composed for 
 the future. I will see you again early 
 to-morrow ; nor will I let a moment es- 
 cape, that can be improved to your ser- 
 vice." — " I must think," said Annesly, 
 " and therefore I must feel ; but I will of- 
 ten remember your friendship, and my gra- 
 titude shall be some little merit left in me 
 to look upon without blushing." 
 
 Sindall bade him farewell, and retired; 
 and at that instant he was less a villain 
 than he used to be. Tlie state of horror 
 to which he saw this young man reduced.
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 401 
 
 was beyond the limits of his scheme j and 
 he began to look upon the victim of his 
 designs, with that pity which depravity 
 can feel, and that remorse which it can- 
 not overcome. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUMF.. 
 
 Edinburgh : 
 Printed by James Ballantvnc Sc Co.
 
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