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 lE ri I irnr
 
 THE 
 
 BRITISH NOVELISTS; 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 ESSAY, AND PREFACES 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. BARBAULD. 
 
 44Gan 
 
 VOL. XXXII. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON ; W. LOWNDES ; SCATCHERD 
 
 AND letterman; J. nunn ; j. cuthell; jeffery and son; 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME AND CO. ; T. WILKIE ; CADELL' 
 ANDDAVIES; J. AND W. T. CLARKE ; J. OTRIDGE ; LACKINGTOM 
 AND CO. ; S. BAGSTER ; J. MURRAY ; J. BOOKER ; J. BLACK ; 
 BLACK AND CO. ; J.RICHARDSON; J.M.RICHARDSON; R. SCHO- 
 
 ley; J. MAWMAN ; b. h. evans ; a. k. newman and co. ; 
 J. asperne; j. carpenter; j. booth ; w. ginger; Baldwin, 
 
 CRADOCK AND JOY ; T. HODGSON; J. BOHN ; J. EBERS ; SHER- 
 WOOD, NEELY and JONES ; G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER ; SETCH- 
 
 ell and son; whitmore and fenn ; r. hunter; g. cowif. 
 
 AND CO.; R. SAUNDERS ; T. AND J. ALLMAN ; T. BOONE; C. 
 
 brown ; j. brumby ; edwards and co. ; t. hamilton ; j. 
 lepard; g. mackie; w. mason; j. miller; ogle, duncan 
 AND CO. ; rodwell and martin; hurst, ROBINSON AND CO. ; 
 
 WILSON AND SONS, YORK; STERLING AND SLADE ; AND FAIR- 
 BAIRN AND ANDERSON, EDINBURGH. 
 
 1820.
 
 C. Baldwin, Printer, Lridse Street, Blackfriars, London.
 
 THE 
 
 SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE 
 
 OB, TUE 
 
 SUMMER'S RAMBLE 
 
 MR. GEOFFRY WILDGOOSE. 
 
 A COMIC ROMANCE. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 
 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IX TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I.
 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 This ingenious novel was the production of the 
 Rev. Richard Graves, rector of Claverton in Somer- 
 setshire ; a gentleman who has been considerably 
 distinguished in the literary world for above half a 
 century. His father was Richard Graves, Esq. of 
 Mickleton in Gloucestershire, who died in 1729, 
 and was a man of learning, particularly in the his- 
 tory and antiquities of his country. 
 
 The author of this work was born at Mickleton, 
 the seat of his father and grandfather, on May 4, 
 1715, and received his early education under the 
 Rev. Mr. Smith, the curate of the parish. About 
 the age of thirteen he was removed thence to the 
 school of Abingdon in Berkshire ; the reputation of 
 which, at that time, stood very high. At the age 
 of sixteen, he was chosen scholar of Pembroke col- 
 lege, Oxford, where he was soon distinguished for 
 uncommon proficiency. 
 
 Such was his eagerness for classical knowledge, 
 that he had not been long at Oxford before he join- 
 
 VOL, XXXII. B
 
 Z THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ed a small party of young men, who assembled in 
 the evenings to read Epictetus, Theophrastus, and 
 such Creek authors as were not, at that time, recom- 
 mended in the common course of study ; and it is 
 much to the credit of this party, that their only be- 
 verage at these meetings, was water. It was about 
 this time that he became acquainted with Shenstone 
 the poet ; and their intimacy, which continued till 
 the death of the latter, was frequently renewed by 
 epistolary correspondence, part of which has been 
 published. There does not appear to have been a per- 
 fect coincidence of sentiment between them in mat- 
 ters of taste ; but in general there was a congeniali- 
 ty, and a harmony of opinion and friendship, which 
 added not inconsiderably to the happiness of both. 
 
 In 1 736, Mr. Graves having left Pembroke, was 
 elected a fellow of All Souls ; but instead of pur- 
 suing theological studies, as he first intended, he was 
 led to the study of physic, and attended two courses 
 of anatomical lectures in London. From this, how- 
 ever, he was diverted by a long and dangerous 
 illness, which left him in a very languid state ; and 
 on his recovery, he resumed his original intention, 
 and was admitted to holy orders in IT-iO, at which 
 time also he took his master's degree. 
 
 Some time after he went to reside with Mr. Fitz- 
 herbert, at Tissington in Derbyshire, who had a 
 donative in his gift, and was desirous of the com- 
 pany of a ck-rgyman. In this house, Mr. Graves 
 enjoyed the advantage of elegant society for nearly 
 
 5
 
 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 3 
 
 three years. While making a tour in the north, he 
 accidentally met with a relation at Scarborough, Dr. 
 Samuel Knight, archdeacon of Berkshire, by whose 
 recommendation he obtained a curacy near Oxford ; 
 which, at this time, became necessary, as he had 
 come into office in his college, and was obliged to 
 reside within a convenient distance. For this pur- 
 pose he lodged with a gentleman farmer in the 
 neighbourhood, whose youngest daughter, a very 
 amiable young lady, so far captivated him, that he 
 resigned his fellowship and married her. This inci- 
 dent, with some fictitious circumstances, is supposed 
 to be related in the present work, in the history of 
 Mr. Rivers. 
 
 About the year 1750, he was presented by Mr. 
 Skrine to the rectory of Claverton, on which he 
 resided very constantly during the whole of his life; 
 and filled up his time, as well as improved his cir- 
 cumstances, by taking a few pupils to be educated 
 with his children. In 1763 he was presented to the 
 living of Kilmersdon, through the interest of his 
 steady friend Ralph Allen, Esq. of Prior Park, who 
 likewise procured him a scarf from Lady Chatham. 
 
 Although Mr. Graves frequently employed his 
 pen on light and gay subjects, he did not com- 
 mence author until the year 1765, when he pub- 
 lished The Festoon, a collection of Epigrams, 
 chosen with great judgment, and prefaced by a 
 valuable critical essay on that species of composi- 
 tion, for which he received a silver medal, offered by
 
 4 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 the proprietors of a periodical work for the best 
 essay on that subject. The success of The Festoon 
 was, however, not great ; although, perhaps, as 
 much as he expected. It was followed, at short 
 intervals, by Lucubrations in Prose and Rhime 
 The Spiritual Quixote A Treatise on Politeness, 
 translated from the Italian of De la Casa, arch- 
 bishop of Benevento Columella, or the Distress- 
 ed Anchorite Euphrosyne, consisting of poetical 
 pieces Eugenius, or Anecdotes of the Golden Vale 
 Recollections of some Particulars in the Life of 
 Mr. Shenstone Plexippus, or the Aspiring Ple- 
 beian The Rout-Fleurettes, a translation of Arch- 
 bishop Fenelon's Ode on Solitude, &c. The Life of 
 Commodus, from the Greek of Herodian Hiero, 
 on the Condition of Royalty, from Xenophon The 
 Meditations of Antoninus, from the Greek The 
 Reveries of Solitude The Coalition, or Rehearsal of 
 the Pastoral Opera of Echo and Narcissus Sermons 
 on various Subjects The Farmer's Son, as a coun- 
 terpart to Mr, Anstey's Farmer's Daughter The 
 Invalid, with the obvious Means of enjoying Long 
 Life, by a Nonagenarian and Senilities. 
 
 The merit of these compositions is various ; but 
 the general character of all Mr. Graves's works re- 
 solves itself into benevolence, instruction, and harm- 
 less amusement. He was himself the amiable cha- 
 racter he frequently portrays ; and, by habits of 
 cheerfulness and temperance, prolonged his life free 
 from blame and care, until his ninetieth year, when 
 he expired after a very short illness.
 
 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 5 
 
 Of the works now enumerated, the Spiritual 
 Quixote has been by far the most popular. Inde- 
 pendent of the design, which at the time of publi- 
 cation, was an object of some importance, the ex- 
 ecution of it made it soon be ranked among those 
 productions which are chiefly admired for ingenuity 
 of fiction. By occasionally introducing real charac- 
 ters and authenticated narratives, he has also diffused 
 a charm over the whole, by which curiosity is ex- 
 cited and gratified in the most pleasing manner. 
 
 B 3
 
 PREFATORY ANECDOTE, 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 Going lately into the shop of a little upholsterer, 
 not far from the celebrated haunt of the Muses, call- 
 ed Grub-street, I obser\'ed him with a bunch of 
 small keys in his hand, with one of which he had 
 just opened a black leather port-folio, or travelling 
 letter-case. The poor man shaking his head with 
 an air of disappointment, I enquired into the cause 
 of his chagrin ; upon which he gave rae the follow- 
 ing account : 
 
 Some years ago, says he, a jolly plump gentle- 
 man, with a very serious countenance, came to 
 lodge at my house, and rented an apartment up three 
 pair of stairs backwards. It is not usual, continues 
 he, to give any long credit to lodgers of that kind. 
 But the gentleman in question looked like a very 
 honest man. By his dress, indeed, I should have 
 taken him for a country clergyman ; but that he ne- 
 ver drank ale or smoked tobacco. I was unwilling, 
 therefore, after the first time, to give him the trou- 
 ble of a weekly payment ; so had let his rent run on 
 for near six weeks ; at which time, one Friday
 
 A PREFATORY ANECDOTE. 7 
 
 morning, before any one was stirring, he suddenly 
 decamped ; leaving nothing behind him, but an old 
 Bible, an old pair of shoes, and an old grizzled peri- 
 wig. 1 did not think it worth while to advertise my 
 lodger. I made enquiries after him at the coffee-, 
 house, however, which he frequented, and at the 
 chop-house where he dined ; but have heard nothing 
 of him to this day. 
 
 The upholsterer, it seems, was in hopes that this 
 letter-case (which, upon removing the bedstead, he 
 had found thrust over the tester) might have con- 
 tained a bank-bill, or something of value. But, to 
 his utter confusion, he found nothing in it except 
 the manuscript of the following history ; which he 
 considered as waste paper, and, prophetically of its 
 fate, perhaps, said it was good for nothing but to 
 line trunks and band boxes. 
 
 Upon casting my eyes, however, over two or three 
 difrcrent pages, I thought it might suit the taste of 
 the present age ; in which also the subject appeared 
 by no means unseasonable. I, tlierefore, offered the 
 honest man an equivalent for his six weeks' rent ; 
 and, after drinking half a pint of mountain together 
 at the next tavern, we finished our contract. 
 
 Upon examining my purchase, I found the fol- 
 lowing rough draft of the author's preface ; which, 
 notwithstanding the sagacious upholsterer's argu- 
 ment to the contrary, makes it probable that the 
 history was written by a clergyman.
 
 APOLOGY, 
 
 A WORD TO THE WISE. 
 
 The first romance that we read of (called The 
 Loves of Theagenes and Chariclea) was written by 
 Heliodorus, a Thracian bishop. The prelate was 
 called before a synod for this indecorum ; and hav- 
 ing his choice given him, either to suppress his ro- 
 mance or to quit his preferment, he is said to have 
 preferred the literary fame of that juvenile perform- 
 ance to the revenues of a bishopric. 
 
 But though the good man may be blamed for his 
 conduct, I think the synod were too severe in their 
 censure ; for I can see no more harm in a fable of 
 this kind (if properly conducted) than in any other, 
 either mythological or parabolical representation of 
 the truth. Nay, I am convinced that Don Quixote 
 or Gil Bias, Clarissa or Sir Charles Grandison, will 
 furnish more hints for correcting the follies and re- 
 gulating the morals of young persons, and impress 
 them more forcibly on their minds, than volumes of 
 severe precepts seriously delivered and dogmatically 
 enforced.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 9 
 
 The following narrative was intended to expose a 
 species of folly which has frequently disturbed the 
 tranquillity of this nation. The author, indeed, by 
 no means considers ridicule as a proper test of reli- 
 gious opinions. But they are the practices, rather 
 than the principles, of the people in question, which 
 he thinks exceptionable. And the following work 
 is so far from ridiculing religion (as, perhaps, may 
 be objected), that, he flatters himself, it has a direct 
 tendency to prevent i-eligion becoming ridiculous, 
 by the absurd conduct of such irregular teachers of 
 it. And he does not see how the honour of God is 
 any more concerned in an attempt to expose the ill- 
 judged zeal of a frantic enthusiast, than the authority 
 of the king would be in our laughing at the absur- 
 dities of some pragmatical country justice or a petty 
 constable. Thus far the author. 
 
 In a blank leaf, next to the title-page, I found an 
 odd instance of the author's peculiar turn : for he 
 had there written this whimsical parody upon Shake- 
 speare's whimsical epitaph : 
 
 Reader! for goodness' sake, forbear 
 To change one word thai's written here. 
 Ble?s'd l)e ihe man that spares my scribbling; 
 But cuis'd be he that would be nibbling. 
 
 Accordingly, as I found the language tolerably 
 correct, and the whole piece as highly finished as 
 this species of writing is thought to deservCj I have 
 given it to the public just as I found it; though I
 
 10 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 cannot but think that the author might have height- 
 ened the ridicule of his principal character, by mak- 
 ing more use of some modern journals ; which has 
 since been done, on a different occasion, with ex- 
 quisite humour by one of the first writers* of the 
 age for genius and learning. 
 
 Now, what became of the author of this history ; 
 whether he was picked up by those foes to indigent 
 merit, the bum-bailiffs, or those friends to bashful 
 courage, a press-gang ; it is impossible, in this par- 
 ticular, to gratify the reader's curiosity. But, from 
 his landlord's account, it seems probable that, hav- 
 ing some scruple about publishing the work, he left 
 it, as the ostrich does her eggs, to take its chance : 
 or, perhaps, made use of this innocent stratagem ; 
 that if ever, by any accident, his piece should see 
 the light, he might engage the attention of the pub- 
 lic to a subject which he thought of importance ; and 
 by his mysterious and sudden departure would insi- 
 nuate that he had put a voluntary period to his own 
 life. For, I cannot but think that, instead of an 
 editor's informing the world, that a work was pro- 
 duced, either amidst a hurry of business, or in re- 
 tirement ; in a fit of sickness, or on a journey ; by a 
 youth under twenty, or by a lady ; or the like unin- 
 teresting circumstances ; it would be more likely to 
 rouse the curiosity of mankind, to assure them, that 
 it was written by a man that had either hanged or 
 drowned himself. 
 
 Bp. of G.
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 After the above ludicrous defiance of the critics, 
 I could not but smile at the following memorandum ; 
 which partly accounts for the author's not giving his 
 work to the public, according to his first intention. 
 
 N. B. Having written the following tale for my 
 winter evenings* amusement, when a tveakness in my 
 eyes would not permit me to read ; and being con- 
 scious that I have transgressed, in several instances, 
 the strict rules of epopcea ; I was deterred from 
 publishing it by a set of censorious Christians, lately 
 started up, called Reviewers; who will not suffer a 
 man to nod in his elbow-chair, without giving him 
 a jog ; nor to talk nonsense, without contradicting 
 or ridiculing him.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Since the Preface was printed off, happening to 
 mention this adventure with the upholsterer, as also 
 the cipher at the end of the following Dedication, to 
 a Gloucestershire esquire, he lifted up his hands, 
 and, in a strain of alliteration, cried out. Cot's life ! 
 my old friend and crony ! that comical cur, Chris- 
 topher CoUop ! commonly called, the comely cu- 
 rate of Cotswold ! he was always scribbling ; and, I 
 remember, about ten years ago, took a walk to Lon- 
 don (as he always walked to keep down his fat\ 
 with an intent to publish something, as his friends 
 imagined ; but he would. never discover the event of 
 that journey. 
 
 What is remarkable, however, added the esquire, 
 if Kit were really the author of a thing of this kind, 
 is, that although he did not approve of the Method- 
 ists rambling about the country, as many of them 
 do; yet he was suspected to favour them in his 
 heart; and continued so to do to the day of his 
 death.
 
 THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S DEDICATION, 
 
 TO 
 
 MONSIEUR PATTYPAN, 
 
 Pastry-cook to his most sacred Majesty King George II. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 Though a stranger to your person, I am no stran- 
 ger to your ingenuity and your profound skill in 
 your profession. I have often amused myself with 
 some of those elegant compositions with which you 
 daily entertain the public. I have long been ac- 
 quainted with the virtues of your diet-bread ; am a 
 great friend to your xioigs; and think myself under 
 great obligations to your admirable 'piiffs. 
 
 As I am convinced, therefore, you will make a 
 proper use of my works; will do justice to their 
 merit, and cover their defects : that by the well- 
 known goodness of your taste, you will preserve 
 them from the attacks of the sourest critics ; and by 
 the siveetness of your disposition, defend them against 
 their bitterest enemies : if you are not over-stocked 
 with waste-paper by my brethren of the quill, I beg 
 leave to dedicate these few sheets to your service ; 
 and am, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your devoted humble servant, 
 
 3cs;
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Every barber and blind fiddler* is acquainted 
 with the false delicacy of Politian and Peter Bembo, 
 who would never read the Bible (the Vulgate trans- 
 lation of it, I suppose) for fear of corrupting their 
 style. Now, though I would not be so unreason- 
 able, as to expect the gentle reader of this trifling 
 history to have read his Bible, much less all the nu- 
 merous commentators upon it : to have perused the 
 profound treatises of John Burstamantius upon the 
 Sacred Animals, or Laurentius Codomannus upon 
 the Scripture Chronology ; to have studied Quistor- 
 pius's Annotations, or the learned labours of Co- 
 penstenius, Stumpius, Conrade Godenius, and the 
 like : yet, in order to relish many parts of this nar- 
 ration, and to enter into the humour which is some- 
 times aimed at, I think it absolutely necessary that 
 a man should have some smattering in the religion of 
 his country, some tincture of that education which 
 prevailed in England in the reign of Queen Eliza- 
 beth ; I mean, that he should have been taught his 
 Catechism in his infancy ; or at least, the Creed, the 
 
 * Lippis notum et tonsoribui. Hor.
 
 INTRODUCTION, 15 
 
 Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, in the 
 vulgar tongue : nay, that he should have dipped into 
 the Bible sometimes, or, at least, should have occa- 
 sionally conversed with those that have. For, as 
 the hero of this romance sallies forth in order to re- 
 vive the practice of, what he imagines to be, true 
 Christianity ; it is impossible that a person of a mere 
 modern education (of which the doctrines of Chris- 
 tianity seldom make the least part) should compre- 
 hend the writer's intention. 
 
 But, as I would wish, for the sake of the book- 
 seller, to have my work as universally interesting as 
 possible, such a person may yet, perhaps, find some 
 little amusement ; especially if he has a taste for re- 
 gular journals, or books of travels, where we fre- 
 quently attend the adventurer, with great patience, 
 from stage to stage ; though, perhaps, we meet with 
 nothing more material, than the distance of one 
 place from another ; the provisions the traveller finds 
 at his inn ; the number of aldermen that govern, or 
 the number of bells that entertain a borough town ; 
 or the like diverting particulars. 
 
 The reader will likewise meet with several trifling 
 incidents from real life, which, however, the author 
 flatters himself, are so far disguised by an alteration 
 of the circumstances of place and time, as to prevent 
 a particular a{)plication unless where a particular 
 application was intended. 
 
 c2
 
 THi-; 
 
 SPIIUTUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The education and juvenile pursuits of 
 Mr. Wildgoose. 
 
 In a sequestered village, whose Gothic spire 
 (though hardly discernible in a map of the world) 
 makes a picturesque appearance under the Cots- 
 wold hills, the family of the Wildgooses had been 
 settled for many generations. The only surviving 
 heir to their freehold estate, which, next to that of 
 the 'squire, was the most considerable in the pa- 
 rish, was Mr. Geoflry Wildgoose, the subject of 
 the following history. They had another son, in- 
 deed, who died in his infancy; and also a daughter : 
 but as she married young, contrary to her parents' 
 approbation, and became the careful mother of 
 many children, she, for that reason, made but a 
 small figure in the annals of the family. 
 
 Mr. GeofFry Wildgoose received the first rudi- 
 ments of his education at a little free-school by the 
 side of the church-yard ; from whence he was re- 
 moved, at a proper age, to a considerable grammar- 
 c 3
 
 L8 THE SPIIIITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 school : and having, by the time he was seventeen, 
 gained as much classical knowledge as is usually 
 taught in those seminaries, the master greatly ex- 
 tolled his parts and genius. His father, therefore, 
 whose veneration for learning rose in proportion to 
 his own want of it, thinking his son might augment 
 his fortune by some learned profession, sent him to 
 finish his studies in the university of Oxford. Young 
 Wildgoose applied himself to the sciences with great 
 assiduity. And, though he had been prevailed on 
 .to make one or two excursions to London, and had 
 taken a glimpse of the fashionable world : had seen 
 Quin in his meridian at Drury-lane, and Garrick in 
 his dawn at Goodman's-fields ; had shown his face 
 at the Bedford coffee-house, and even eat a jelly 
 with Betty Careless* in Covent-garden ; notwith- 
 standing these youthful sallies, young Wildgoose 
 went through the business of the college with dili- 
 gence and regularity. And having in his person 
 and behaviour something naturally agreeable, an 
 openness of countenance and a simplicity of man- 
 ners, he gained the love and esteem of his acquaint- 
 ance, which were pretty numerous, and of the gen- 
 teeler sort of young people in the university. But, 
 soon after he had been created senior soph, by the 
 solemn imposition of Aristotle upon this head (which 
 solemnity he made a pretence for drawing upon the 
 old gentleman for ten guineas extraordinary,) and 
 when he was just aspiring to the high dignity and 
 honourable privileges of a bachelor in arts, he was 
 recalled to his native seat by the death of his father. 
 Old Mr. Wildgoose had always shown a great af- 
 fection for his son. But the necessary expences of 
 a university education appearing to him the height 
 
 Carlesis ! ah! aostris et fieta et flenda camcBnis. 
 
 Merct. Brit.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 19 
 
 of extravagance, according to the opinion he now 
 entertained of his son Geoffry, he was afraid his 
 estate would be squandered away the moment he 
 was laid in his grave. Besides, as it had been freed 
 from a considerable encumbrance by IMrs. Wild- 
 goose's fortune, who was the daughter of a wealthy 
 clergyman, and as it had been greatly augmented 
 by her good economy and his own frugality, he left 
 a great part of his foilune in Mrs. Wildgoose's 
 power. As Mr. Geoffry, however, was the only son, 
 and was conscious of being the darling of his mo- 
 ther, this circumstance gave him no kind of unea- 
 siness. And though his father had intended him 
 for some learned profession (as was observed,) yet, 
 being now his own master; and the natural aversion 
 which most young people have to confinement, fall- 
 ing in with his mother's inclination to keep her son 
 always with her, he dwelt at home for some years ; 
 a comfort to his mother in her decline of life, a con- 
 versable companion to the neighbouring gentlemen, 
 an oracle amongst the farmers, and a wag amongst 
 the gossips at every christening and festival enter- 
 tainment. . 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose's chief employment was to ma- 
 nage that part of his mother's estate which she kept 
 in her hands, to the best advantage. This, however, 
 with the assistance of an old servant, gave him little 
 trouble, and left him at liberty to amuse himself, 
 either in company or in the common recreations of 
 the country ; or, what was more to his taste, in 
 reading history, poetry, and, in short, most of the 
 best authors in the English language. He frequent- 
 ly walked out, indeed, with his greyhound, or with 
 his spaniel and gun ; but the one was rather for a 
 companion, and the other for show, than for any 
 great pleasure which he took either in coursing or 
 shooting. In this obscurity Mr. Wildgoose had
 
 20 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTX. 
 
 probably spent his life, and joined the undistin- 
 guished list of his deceased ancestors, but for the 
 following contemptible incident. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A dispute xxdth the vicar, 
 
 Christmas being still observed amongst the lower 
 sort of people as a solemn festival, Wildgoose had 
 been invited by a substantial farmer, at that season, 
 to spend a sociable evening with Mr. Powell, the 
 vicar of the parish, and other company. Mr. Wild- 
 goose, though a sensible man, used frequently to 
 entertain his illiterate companions, and excite their 
 admiration, with some academical paradoxes ; and 
 was fond of exhibiting his dexterity in managing 
 an argument, on the most trifling occasions, in all 
 the forms of mood and figure, agreeably to the rules 
 of Aristotle or Locke. 
 
 In the course of this evening's conversation there 
 arose a dispute between Wildgoose and the vicar, 
 in which, according to the letter of the law, Wild- 
 goose, perhaps, had the right side of the question. 
 
 There had lately been a new window-tax im- 
 posed, which, amongst the middling sort of people^ 
 was a frequent subject of complaint. Wildgoose, 
 it seems, since his retreat into the country, had been 
 improving the old mansion-house, by opening a 
 glass-door into the garden. The question was, 
 whether this door ought to be taxed as a window or 
 not, as the overseer, supported by the vicar, seemed 
 to think it ought. Wildgoose insisted upon it, that, 
 however a set of country justices (who seldom were 
 great logicians) might determine, a door was not a
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 21 
 
 window ; that it was essentially distinguished from 
 it, by its name, it structure, its use, and what not. 
 
 The vicar, instead of answering him merely in a 
 serious way, turned his reasoning into ridicule, with 
 some humour, and, perhaps, with some solidity. 
 He said, that as a glass door conveyed light, it an- 
 swered the end of a window, and ought to be taxed 
 as such : that its being used as a door, did not de- 
 stroy the use of it as a window ; and, that the name 
 of a thing did not alter its nature. In short, says 
 the vicar, you may as well argue, that a pudding 
 and a dumpling are essentially distinguished, as 
 that a glass door and a glass window are so. 
 
 As a pun or a ludicrous expression has frequently 
 more weight with the vulgar, than the most solid 
 argument, the doctor by his raillery turned the 
 laugh against his antagonist, and put him to an 
 awkward silence. The conversation, however, was 
 soon changed, and the company continued their 
 mirth and good humour. But this defeat sunk 
 deeper into, Wildgoose's bosom than one would 
 easily imagine, and was attended with considerable 
 consequences, which greatly affected the future con- 
 duct of his life. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 The serions consequences of it. 
 
 Some of the most important events in history, if 
 traced to their original, have sprung from the most 
 trifling causes. The murder of Caesar in the capi- 
 tol was chiefly owing to his not rising from his seat, 
 when the senate tendered him some particular ho- 
 nours. The negociations with the pope for dissolv-
 
 22 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 ing Henry the Eighth's marriage (which brought 
 on the Reformation ) are said to have been inter- 
 rupted by the Earl of Wiltshire's dog biting his holi- 
 ness's toe, when he put it out to be kissed by that 
 ambassador : and, not to multiply instances in so 
 plain a case, the duchess of Marlborough's spilling 
 a bason of water on Mrs. Masham's gown, in Queen 
 Anne's reign, brought in the Tory ministry, and 
 gave a new turn to the affairs of Europe. 
 
 Thus, to descend from these heroic examples, the 
 greatest revolution in Mr. Wildgoose's life sprung 
 from a frivolous dispute, in which he was apparent- 
 ly so slenderly interested. 
 
 To account for his resentment on this occasion, 
 however, we must observe, that every man acts a 
 kind of subaltern part in conversation ; and he who 
 is an inferior or a common man in one company, 
 may be a captain, or a leading orator in another. 
 There are few persons of so mean a capacity, or so 
 despicable accomplishments, as not to have a circle 
 of acquaintance who reverence their opinions, and 
 amongst whom they are heard with attention, and 
 utter their decisions with a kind of oracular autho- 
 rity. This was the case with Mr. Wildgoose. In 
 company with any of the neighbouring gentlemen, 
 his superiors, he was modest, and patient of contra- 
 diction ; but in an assembly of yeomen he was in 
 his glory, in his very kingdom By ridiculing his 
 opinions, therefore, and diminishing his consequence 
 amongst his own subjects, Mr. Powell was guilty of 
 a kind of high treason, which Wildgoose could not 
 easily forgive. 
 
 Time, however, might have worn off this unrea- 
 sonable disgust against the vicar, if Mr. Wildgoose 
 had not gone to church the next Sunday, whilst the 
 impression was strong upon his imagination. He 
 had always been remarkably decent in his behavi-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 23 
 
 our at the public worship, aud not only made his 
 responses with an audible voice, but generally, lean- 
 ing over the pew, accompanied the minister through 
 both the lessons, with a Latin Bible, which he had 
 brought with him from the university. At the same 
 time, however, Mr. (ieofFry was shrewdly suspected 
 to have been guilty of some slight offences against 
 the rules of chastity, with his mother's maid. And 
 though, in general, he might not be worse than his 
 neighbours, yet he probably did not surpass them 
 so much in his private character, as he did in his 
 external deportment at church. 
 
 Now it happened unfortunately, that the doctor 
 was haranguing that day upon the sin of hypocrisy ; 
 which, one would think, is a subject the least liable 
 to a particular application by the hypocrite himself; 
 for what knave or debauchee would be encumbered 
 with the mask of piety, unless he flattered himself 
 that it concealed his real character, and screened 
 him from the attacks of public censure ? It is to 
 be feared, however, that Mr. Wildgoose was con- 
 scious to himself of some slight failings, incon- 
 sistent with his sanctified appearance, and was too 
 nearly concerned in the subject of the parson's dis- 
 course, not to make a particular application ; and 
 whether he suspected Mr. Powell to have pried into 
 his secrets, or whether, as he was piqued against 
 the vicar, he thought the resentment was mutual, 
 whatever was the cause, he from that time avoided 
 his company, and determined for the future to ab- 
 sent himself entirely from church. 
 
 As he could not, without exposing his weakness, 
 give any reasons for this alteration in his conduct, 
 he by degrees grew shy of the rest of his acquaint- 
 ance, and sunk insensibly into a gloomy, unac- 
 countable kind of misanthropy. Mrs. Wildgoose, 
 who was fond of her son, became very uneasy on
 
 ^i THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 his account, but could not guess at the cause of his 
 malady. She was always pressing him to go more 
 abroad, and visit his neighbours. Nay, she got 
 Mr. Powell, the vicar, himself (who was really a 
 good-natured man, and, with his wife, often drank 
 tea at Mrs. Wildgoose's) to talk to her son on the 
 subject. Mr. Geoffry pleaded lowness of spirits, 
 and a disrelish for company ; and said, with some 
 sullenness, that he chose to be alone. In short, he 
 found out so many excuses from time to time, that 
 at last it was looked upon as his way, his humour 
 to be always alone ; and Mrs. Wildgoose desisted 
 from her maternal expostulation. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose enters upon a new course of studies. 
 
 Buttered toast for breakfast now became unseason- 
 able, and gave way to sage and bread and butter. 
 Lamb and sallad ceased to be a Sunday's dinner, 
 or part of the second course, and was an obvious 
 dish at every table. The parson of F-field* no 
 longer threw his oyster-shell into the street, ambi- 
 tiously luxurious ! but supped in his garden upon 
 codlins and cream, or a bit of soft cheese and a 
 cucumber. In other words, the spring was far ad- 
 vanced when Mr. Wildgoose was, one day, sitting 
 in his old-fashioned parlour ; and, in an indolent 
 posture, ruminating upon such trifles as usually 
 employ a disgusted mind : the windows were shaded 
 with an over-grown laurel, and the solemn vibra- 
 tions of an old clock from its sable trunk, with the 
 
 On the Bath road
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 25 
 
 distant sound of a doleful ditty which the servant 
 whistled as he was digging in the garden, con- 
 curred to increase his melancholy. 
 
 He roird his eyes, that witness'd huge dismay," 
 
 and surveyed over and over again every picture, 
 and evei-y part of the hereditary furniture of the 
 mansion-house, which hiid been so familiar to his 
 eyes from his very infancy. At last, he happened 
 to fix them on an old forlorn quarto, that lay upon 
 a lofty shelf, covered with dust, and tinged with 
 smoke an inch within the margin. Something 
 prompted him to look into it, which, starting from 
 his elbow chair, he immediately put in execution. 
 He found it to contain a miscellaneous collection of 
 godly discourses, upon predestination, election and 
 reprobation, justification by faith, grace and free- 
 M ill, and the like controverted points of divinity ; 
 the productions of those self-taught teachers and 
 self-called pastors of the church, in the time of 
 Cromwell's usurpation. As his usual studies had 
 been very insipid to him, since he was become thus 
 a prey to melancholy, and out of humour with him- 
 self, the vicar, and all the neighbourhood, this 
 crude trash happened to suit Mr. Geoftry's vitiated 
 palate ; especially as these writings abounded with 
 bitter invectives against the regular clergy, and the 
 established church ; and with sentences of repro- 
 bation upon all mankind, except a few choice spi- 
 rits called the elect. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose read over this curious volume in 
 an indolent manner, which rather amused than 
 pleased him, and bewildered rather than instructed 
 him. He was so far from being cloyed, however, 
 with this crabbed food, that he found his appetite 
 increase by indulgence ; and recollecting that there 
 was a closet in the house, which had been locked
 
 26 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 up ever since the death of his grandmother, who 
 was a rigid Non-conformist, thither he instantly 
 resorts, and finds it stored with a variety of authors 
 of the same stamp; some Presbyterian, some Inde- 
 pendent, some Anabaptist, some Fifth-monarchy 
 men ; the works of that swarm of sectaries in the 
 last century ; all differing somewhat in their prin- 
 ciples, but all agreeing in their inveteracy against 
 the church of England. 
 
 This was no unpleasant food for Wildgoose's dis- 
 order ; for, having conceived so great a prejudice 
 against the vicar of the parish, he gladly embraced 
 any system that seemed to thwart his usual doctrine. 
 In short, in half a year's time he had gone through 
 the whole library of godly discourses; the Marrow 
 of Divinity, Crumbs of Comfort, and Honey-combs 
 for the Elect, The Spiritual Eye-salves and Cordials 
 for the Saints, and Shoves for heavy-ars'd Chris- 
 tians ; * and was forced at last to take up with an 
 old tattered folio of Foxe's Marty rology; and an- 
 other of Master Clark's Lives of famous Men ; 
 amongst others, that of Mr. Carter of Norwich, 
 who, the history informs us, was a mighty lover 
 of Norfolk-dumplings. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Adopts a new system of religion. 
 
 The puritanical principles which he had thus im- 
 bibed, prepared Mr. Wildgoose to relish the doc- 
 trines of the Methodists, which began, about this 
 time, to spread in every corner of the kingdom: 
 
 A very good book of old Baxter's.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 27 
 
 and he was much pleased with the journals of their 
 [)roceedings, two or three of which he had acciden- 
 tally met with, and which made no slight impres- 
 sion on his imagination. Such a multifarious body 
 of divinity, indeed, quite unsettled Mr. Geofiry's 
 mind, and filled his head with such a farraginous 
 medley of opinions as almost turned his brain. It 
 produced at least, to speak candidly of the matter, 
 that sort of phrenzy which we ascribe to enthu- 
 siasts in music, poetry, or painting, or in any other 
 art or science ; whose imaginations are so entirely 
 possessed by those ideas, as to make them talk and 
 act like madmen, in the sober eye of merely rational 
 people. 
 
 But to complete poor GeofFry's religious phrenzy, 
 some straggling itinerant had lately penetrated into 
 that neighbourhood, and held forth once or twice 
 a-week at a market town a few miles from the vil- 
 lage where Wildgoose lived. These nocturnal meet- 
 ings he now frequently attended ; at first without 
 his mother's knowledge, or that of any of his neigh- 
 bours ; and when she discovered it, by his frequent 
 absence, she thought it more prudent to connive at 
 his whimsies, than aggravate them by opposition. 
 
 A pious inclination to retail those doctrines which 
 he had heard at those meetings, as well as the na- 
 tural propensity which men have to propagate their 
 own opinions, concurring with the prejudice which 
 Mr. Wildgoose had conceived against the parson of 
 the parish, strongly urged him to give vent to that 
 fund of spiritual knowledge, which, like the volatile 
 bee, he had been the whole summer in gleaning 
 from those flowers of rhetoric, and from those flou- 
 rishing orators above-mentioned. 
 
 He would now and then venture to defend the 
 cause of the Methodists before his mother ; but she 
 would never hear him with patience on the subject. 
 
 D'2
 
 28 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 She said, if the clergy would but do their duty, as 
 her poor father did, and as the canons of the church 
 required, there would be no necessity for these ex- 
 traordinary proceedings : and if they neglected 
 their duty, complaint should be made to their law- 
 ful superiors. Her own father, she said, was a very 
 good man : and, whatever little show of piety these 
 upstart preachers might raise amongst their followers 
 by the novelty of the thing, she was sure her father 
 did more real good in his sphere, by a regular dis- 
 charge of his duty in an extensive parish : that he 
 instructed the ignorant, and reproved the vicious ; 
 that he catechised the children, visited the sick, 
 and (as far as his circumstances would pernnit) re- 
 lieved the poor ; and that not only his own parish, 
 but the whole neighbourhood, were the better for 
 his instructions and his example, to this day. 
 
 As Mrs. W idgoose was so zealous an advocate 
 for the church, Mr. GeofFry forbore to display his 
 sentiments any farther in her presence, though he 
 took an opportunity, now and then, of privately in- 
 sinuating his notions into the maid, who, being 
 young, was more attentive and more pliant than the 
 man whom age and habit had rendered stubborn 
 and averse to speculation. In other respects, as 
 "Wildgoose had long since deserted his old compa^ 
 nions amongst the credible part of the neighbour- 
 hood, he was under a necessity, at present, of keep- 
 ing silence from (what he thought) such good words, 
 though it was no small pain and grief to him,
 
 tHE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 29 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Preliminaries with the Jastidious render. 
 
 Mr. VViLDGOosE, being impatient ofany longer con- 
 finement, began, after some time, to creep out in 
 the dusk of the evening, and join the sober assem- 
 bly of labourers and mechanics under an old elm, at 
 the cottage gate of an honest, sociable cobbler, 
 where the news of the parish, or the weather of the 
 ensuing day, the badness of the times, or the scar- 
 city of money,and other matters of general concern, 
 were adjusted with great wisdom and penetration. 
 
 As Jeremiah Tugwell (which was the name of 
 this cobbler) will bear a considerable part in this 
 history, the polite reader will not be offended with 
 a slight sketch of his person and character. 
 
 Here, however, it may be necessary, once for all, 
 to settle preliminaries with such readers, as are pos- 
 sessed with the modern tapino-phoby, or dread of 
 every thing that is low, either in writing or in con- 
 versation. For as people in high life are less prone to 
 that excess of zeal or religious enthusiasm, which 
 gave occasion to the following tale, than people in 
 a less elevated sphere, the author could not, con- 
 sistently with probability, introduce him so fre- 
 quently amongst the former as amongst the latter. 
 
 I have sometimes been tempted to think, however, 
 that high and low are by no means necessarily con- 
 fined to the different ranks and stations in life ; and 
 have even suspected (though I do not presume to 
 have penetrated into the very sanctum sanctorum 
 of high life) that there may be as much low wit and 
 as many practical jokes going on over a bottle of 
 burgundy at the Star and Garter, or at Artliur's, as 
 over a pot of porter at the Robin Hood society. It 
 D 3
 
 so THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 seems at least probable, that as we sometimes find 
 very low wit employed upon the highest subjects, 
 8o there is room for high humour (if the author had 
 abilities) upon the lowest subjects. 
 
 If the reader, however, has otherwise determined 
 it ; if he is of opinion that every representation of 
 nature that does not relate to the great world is to 
 be exploded as contemptible stuff, he will certainly 
 repent of having read thus far ; and I would exhort 
 him, by all means, to return in peace to his card- 
 assembly, or to his chocolate-house, and pursue so 
 low a subject no further. 
 
 For the sake, however, of the less critical cus- 
 tomer, the fat, sleek-headed guest, who, like a pru- 
 dent traveller in a stage-coach, instead of affecting 
 to be more squeamish than his companions, is re- 
 solved to be pleased with whatever is set before bim, 
 we will proceed in our narration. 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 What sort of man Jeremiah Tugvoell ivas. 
 
 Come ! then, thou goddess Fame, if haply thou 
 canst steal a moment from high life ; from trum- 
 peting forth the praises of the great artist of the 
 golden boot in Berkeley-square,* and I do not blas- 
 phemously invoke thy power to record the humbler 
 virtues of a rural craftsman ; come to my aid! and 
 bestow one blast in honour of the fidelity, courage, 
 
 On a sign (liere, a painter had copied Roul>iliac's figure 
 of Fame on the w ing ; in h.r ri^lit hand exalting a goldeu 
 boot, nitli a irHinpet in the left, sounding forth the praises of 
 the illusirious hoot-maker.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 31 
 
 wit, and Immour, of the renowned Jeremiah Tug- 
 well. 
 
 Jeremiah Tugwell then, or Tagwell, or Tackwell 
 (for learning having been at a low ebb in the family, 
 the orthography is somewhat dubious ; nay, a con- 
 ceited fellow in the village, who pretended to ety- 
 mology, said it ought to have been written Tugwool, 
 and that wool was put for sheep, and sheep for mut- 
 ton (by a synecdoche :) so that the true meaning of 
 the name, according to his conceit, was Tug-mut- 
 ton. But I value at a nut-shell these fanciful ety- 
 mologies, which endeavour to elicit a significative 
 meaning from every family name, the originals of 
 which are infinitely uncertain ; and our conjectures 
 about them are often as far from the truth as the in- 
 terpretation of dreams by an old midwife.)* 
 
 Tugwell, then, was a thickset little fellow, near 
 fifty, but of a strong constitution and hale com- 
 plexion : and though time and accidents had made 
 considerable depredations on his person, had turned 
 the colour of his bushy locks, had made bald the 
 crown of his head, and robbed him of most of his 
 grinders, yet these strokes of time had only given 
 him a more picturesque appearance ; and one soli- 
 tary tooth in his upper mandible, when any thing- 
 excited his mirth, gave an inexpressibly droll and 
 joyous air to his physiognomy. 
 
 As to his character, Jerry had a tolerable share of 
 natural sense ; but having somewhat of a speculative 
 turn, and being fond of books, he tOo much disre- 
 garded the conunon maxims of prudence, and pass- 
 ed amongst his more provident, though really less 
 sagacious, neighbours, for a half-witted fellow. By 
 
 * A learned .Tiitiquary insists \ipon it, that Tugwell is a 
 corruption of Toghitl near Bath, and Toghill of the !'ak- 
 hill, hsing a wood of oaks, where the Druidii wei)t iu search 
 of the sacred .Misleto.
 
 S'2 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 which means, though Jerry was really a tolerable 
 hand, a more popular operator having started up, 
 he had lost most of his custom as a shoe-maker, and 
 was dwindled into a mere mender of shoes, or what 
 is vulgarly called a cobbler. He still worked for 
 Mrs. Wildgoose's family, however, who had always 
 made it a point of conscience, not wantonly to 
 change their tradesmen from any imaginary want 
 of skill in an old man, whose honesty and desire to 
 oblige them were unquestionable. 
 
 Though Jeriy was fond of books, it jvas chiefly 
 those of the fabulous kind, which dealt in the mar- 
 vellous and the romantic. As he did not trouble 
 himself about the niceties of chronology or geogra- 
 phy, Jerry was particularly fond of the Seven Cham- 
 pions of Christendom, who are said by the historian 
 to have sprung up soon after the destruction of 
 Troy ; that is, ^bout some thousand years before 
 Christ was born ; and one of them to have ridden 
 on horseback from Sicily, through Cappadocia, Tar- 
 tary, the Island of Cyprus, &c. the direct road to 
 Jerusalem. - Tugwell was possessed also of the old 
 edition of Mandeville's Travels, who is the author 
 alluded to by Shakespeare, as speaking of antres 
 vast and deserts idle, and of men whose heads do 
 grow beneath their shoulders. Jerry delighted to 
 talk of I'rester John, of the Holy-land, and of the 
 wandering Jew, that cursed shoemaker, who thrust 
 our Saviour out of the judgment-hall ; for which 
 he is condemned to a vagabond life, till Christ 
 comes in judgment : whose real existence * Jerry 
 as firmly believed as any part of the Gospel- 
 He had also some smattering in astronomy, 
 though he had not yet embraced the Newtonian 
 
 * Maitliew I'ari., i.o contemptible hUlorian, meiilioiis bis 
 being frequently seen in the East, about 400 yearb ago.
 
 THK SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 35 
 
 system : he could point out Charles's wain and the 
 polar star, and could give as good an account of the 
 northern lights as most other philosophers; yet 
 Jerry strenuously denied their appearance in Eng- 
 land before the beheading of the rebel lords, in the 
 year fifteen. 
 
 For, as to his political principles, Tugwell was 
 suspected, like some of his neighbours, to be strong- 
 ly attached to the Stuart family ; tl o gh this at- 
 tachment seemed to have no other foundation, than 
 a compassion for the distiessed ; and never showed 
 itself but in a harmless pun once a year, in wearing 
 a sprig of rue and thyme on the eleventh of June 
 {the accession of his late majesty,) as the tenth was 
 honoured with a white rose. 
 
 As for Jerry's moral character, his justice, tem- 
 perance, and fortitude, they will sufficiently appear 
 in the course of this history. 
 
 Tugwell had no family but his wife Dorothy, his 
 dog Snap, and a tabby cat. His only son Joseph, 
 having violated the chastity of the justice's maid 
 (who was known to be common to all men,) rather 
 than marry her, listed for a soldier ; and was sup- 
 posed to be dead in America. 
 
 Jerry and his spouse were more equally yoked 
 than Jobson and Nell in the farce ; though in the 
 present instance, the female prerogative rather pre- 
 ponderated ; by a proper exercise of which, not- 
 withstanding his censorious neighbours thought 
 Jerry cursedly hen-pecked, Dorothy contrived to 
 convince him, that he had the best wife in Christ- 
 endom.
 
 34 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sketch of Mr. Wild gooseys theological system. 
 
 No more of Jeremiah Tugwell ! for heaven's sake, 
 says the delicate reader, whose patience has hither- 
 to been unexhausted. I shall only add, therefore, 
 that as Tugwell's name was liable to puns, and ca- 
 pable of significant applications, so the situation of 
 his stall, within view of the street, exposed hiui to 
 the familiar salutation of those who passed by. And, 
 as every one had something to say to Jerry, so Jerry 
 had something to say to every one : and this gave 
 a sort of petulant didacity to his repartees, by no 
 means agreeable to the natural civility of his dis- 
 position. 
 
 The reader will observe likewise, that Tugwell's 
 profound knowledge of books had infected his lan- 
 guage ; which was frequently interlarded with hard 
 words, not always applied or pronounced with the 
 utmost propriety. 
 
 Such, then, were the circumstances, person, and 
 character of Jeremiah Tugwell, at whose cottage- 
 gate Mr. Wildgoose made the first essay towards 
 propagating the doctrines which he had lately 
 adopted. 
 
 He took occasion first to lament the great decay 
 of Christian piety (which with regard to his present 
 audience, was probably a complaint but too justly 
 founded.) He then began to insinuate, that the 
 present doctrine and discipline of the church were 
 the chief causes of this degeneracy : that, for his 
 part, he had attended the public worship, as others 
 did, merely because it was the custom of the coun- 
 try ; but that he had always found it a tedious piece 
 of hp-labour, without the least edificatign : that as
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 35 
 
 for the parson's preaching, it might serve just to 
 keep up some little appearance of religion amongst 
 us, and perhaps might prevent some people from 
 being quite so bad, as they would otherwise be ; but 
 could never reform one sinner, nor " make men 
 wise unto salvation." Besides, says he, if we could 
 live a good moral life, and practise all the good 
 works which the doctor so earnestly recommends, 
 all this would be little to the purpose. Faith iu 
 Christ, says he, is all in all. We must be clothed 
 with the splendid robes of his righteousness, instead 
 of the ''filthy rags of our own works." In short, 
 continues Wildgoose, we must be assured, that we 
 are in the number of the elect, and have the seal of 
 adoption (the impression of which, he hinted, none 
 but a few choice spirits like himself were acquaint- 
 ed with ;) and if our name were thus once up (ac- 
 cording to his doctrine,) we might lie a-bed, and 
 give ourselves no further trouble. 
 
 With this, and a great deal more to the same pur- 
 pose, Mr. GeofFry entertained his little circle under 
 the great elm at Tugwell's gate : and though they 
 were not capable of distinguishing nicely piJtvveea 
 his doctrine and what they heard at cbuPidi ; yet 
 being delivered to them in a more fanjiliar manner, 
 and by a new teacher, and in a new place, it made 
 a considerable impression upon them, and brought 
 them punctually the next evening to their usual 
 rendezvous. But, as the report of Mr. VVildgoose's 
 appearing amongst them soon increased the num- 
 ber of this little assembly, and also as the evenings 
 began now to be pretty cool, he thought it proper 
 to adjourn to Tugwell's chimney-corner. Besides, 
 Mr. Wildgoose was sufficiently sensible of the diffe- 
 rence between mere talking, and preaching in a 
 fanatical manner. Where nothing was intended 
 but informing the understanding, the former alone
 
 S6 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 might answer the end ; but where the passions were 
 to be moved and the afFections engaged, a more ve- 
 hement action (approaching to gesticulation,) a 
 greater earnestness, and more impassioned tone of 
 voice, were to be made use of: which an orator 
 upon a level with the crowd, and in the open street, 
 could by no means exert to the best advantage. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 He commences orator. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose, therefore, now borrowed a stool 
 of Dame Tugwell, and exalting himself above his 
 audience, harangued them in the true Gospel tone 
 and style of address. To shew them the necessity 
 of the new birth and of a divine faith, he began to 
 describe, in heightened colours, the universal depra- 
 vity of human nature. He confessed, that for his 
 part, he had violated every precept of the moral 
 law, as contained in the ten commandments. And, 
 in the heat of his oratory (with eyes fixed and foam- 
 ing mouth,) he insisted upon it, that he had blas- 
 phemed God, and cursed the king : that he had 
 dishonoured his father and his mother, and had 
 murdered his brother. Here the compan}'^ stared, 
 as it was well known that he never had but one bro- 
 ther, who died of the chin-cough. He declared, 
 that he had defiled his neighbour's wife ; that he 
 Jiad robbed upon the high-way Stop ! stop ! master, 
 ^cries Tugwell, who could hold no longer) why sure 
 you are beside yourself I believe your worship is 
 as honest a gentleman as any in the county 
 
 Ah ! Jerry, replies Wildgoose (correcting him- 
 self) 1 have not, perhaps, been actually guilty of
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. f}7 
 
 those enormous transgressions : but every unrege- 
 nerate man is daily guilty of them virtually, as we 
 say ; inasmuch, as he has the seeds of corruption 
 in his heart : and it is only by the grace of God, 
 that he is restrained from putting them in execu- 
 tion. 
 
 In this style Mr. Wildgoose usually addressed his 
 little audience ; and though he had really a classi- 
 cal taste, and, on common subjects, an elegance of 
 expression, yet b}' confining himself so long to the 
 puritanical writings above mentioned, and those of 
 the methodists, he had so strongly imbibed their man- 
 ner : and his language on religious topics abounded 
 with that strange jargon of those pious people, 
 which chiefly consists in applying the quaint He- 
 braisms of the Old Testament, and the peculiar ex- 
 pressions of the primitive apostles, to their own si- 
 tuations, and every trifling occurrence of modern 
 life. 
 
 Thus, in allusion to the sacred unction, he would 
 tell them, that God anointed (that is, greased) the 
 wheels of his soul ; and blasphemously makes him 
 act as a surgeon and apothecary, " purging him with 
 hyssop, healing his putrid sores, and binding up his 
 broken bones." Sometimes God is a Grub-street 
 writer, and writes bitter things against him. And 
 he always speaks of himself, as an apostle and evan- 
 gelist ; that few could resist the power with which 
 he spoke;* and that "he spake as one having au- 
 thority, and not as the scribes," that is, common 
 country parsons. 
 
 As Mr. Geoffry was sometimes rather prolix in 
 his discourses, Tugwell would put him in mind, 
 that talking was dry work. He, therefore, frequent- 
 ly enforced his arguments with a flagon of good ale 
 
 Journal, p. 108. 
 
 *'"""' 44036
 
 38 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 from his mother's cellar, which afforded great com- 
 fort to his thirsty audience, cemented their friend- 
 ship, and contributed not a little to convince them, 
 that they were in " the right way." And to keep 
 Dame Tugwell in good-humour (who was sovereign 
 in that mansion,) and to make her some recompense 
 for the use of her house, Mr.Geoflry ordered her to 
 come daily to his mother's kitchen, where, together 
 with her broth or pot-liquor, he contrived to slip 
 something more substantial into Dorothy's pipkin. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A peculiar species of ecclesiastical discipline. 
 
 By this kind of management, Mr. Wildgoose's au- 
 dience greatly increased, and became almost as nu- 
 merous as Mr. Powell's, the vicar's, at church. For 
 though Mr. Powell did his duty in the parish with 
 sufficient care, there was a peculiarity in his con- 
 duct, which made him many secret enemies, and 
 which deserves to be recorded. 
 
 Mr. Powell was a man of great benevolence ; but 
 being a Cambro-Briton, (of the Ap-hoels of Breck- 
 nockshire) he was subject to a national impetuosity 
 of temper ; and being endued with great bodily 
 strength and proportionable courage, if any of his 
 parishioners were notoriously guilty of swearing, 
 drinking, or any other scandalous vice, he would 
 address them in this manner : Look you, my friends, 
 your drunkenness and profaneness are an open in- 
 sult upon the laws of that great King whom I have 
 the honour to serve, and an affront to me who bear 
 his commission. As I have often admonished you, 
 therefore, against swearing and drinking, and you
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 39 
 
 Still persist in the same course, I give you fair warn- 
 ing once more, that the next time I hear or see any 
 thing of this kind, I will drub you most confound- 
 edly. This method had so good an effect, that as 
 they knew he had strength and courage to put his 
 threats in execution, he was very seldom under any 
 necessity of doing so. 
 
 Those, however, who were thus kept in awe, 
 though they could not but reverence Mr. Powell's 
 character, rather feared than loved him, and were 
 glad to listen to any doctrine which they thought 
 was in opposition to the vicar's. But to return from 
 this digression. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose takes an extraordinary resolution. 
 
 By haranguing so frequently upon the same to- 
 picks, Mr. Wildgoose began to talk very fluently : 
 and from attending to the applauses of his little au- 
 dience, and observing the effect of his oratory upon 
 them, he began to entertain no mean opinion of his 
 own eloquence, and to aspire after a more extensive 
 fame. Nay, he thought himself false to his trust, 
 thus to bury " his talent in a napkin," to hide his 
 " candle under a bushel," and not let his " light 
 shine before men," for the benefit of his fellow-crea- 
 tures. 
 
 Besides, from the accounts of God's dealings with 
 several of his saints, particularly with John Bunyauj 
 who, in his youth, had been greatly addicted to the 
 diabolical diversions of ringing bells, dancing at 
 may-poles, and other profane amusements (as he 
 himself informs us,) yet in his advanced age, was 
 e2
 
 40 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 thought worthy, for his pious labours in God's vine- 
 yard, to be sent to Newgate ; from perusing these 
 1 say, and the Acts of our modern Apostles, con- 
 tained in their Journals above mentioned, Mr. 
 Wildgoose was ambitious of emulating their spiri- 
 tual adventures, and even burnt with zeal to imi- 
 tate them in their sufferings, and wished for no- 
 thing so much as to be persecuted for the sake of 
 his religion. The suffering for one's opinions gives 
 a man an air of consequence in his own eyes ; as it 
 supposes him to think for himself, and to be distin- 
 guished from the herd of mankind, who live and die 
 unregarded, content with the hereditary notions of 
 their unthinking ancestors. 
 
 Mr. Geoffry Wildgoose, therefore, having no 
 longer any pleasure in the society of his more cre- 
 ditable neighbours, nor in his wonted amusements, 
 since his fancy became entirely possessed with these 
 enthusiastic ideas, determined to leave the manage- 
 ment of his mother's estate to their old servant Ste- 
 phen, and, like a true Spiritual Quixote, to aban- 
 don his dwelling : and, in imitation of Mr. Whit- 
 field and his associates, to use his earnest endea- 
 vours, to revive the practice of primitive piety and 
 the doctrines of the Reformation, by turning mis- 
 sionary, and publishing his religious notions in every 
 part of the kingdom. 
 
 END OF THR FIRST ROOK.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Original of Methodism. Mr. Wildgoose's resolution 
 to visit the society at Bristol. 
 
 When the learned Humphrey Prideaux (as the 
 story goes) ottered his Life of Mahomet to the 
 bookseller, he was desired to leave the copy with 
 him a few days for his perusal. The bookseller, 
 who had not the learning or taste of a modern ar- 
 tist, having consulted with his learned garreteers, 
 who were highly pleased with the performance, told 
 the doctor at his return : Well, Mr. What's-your- 
 name, says he, I have perused your manuscript ; 
 I do not know what to say to it : I believe I shall 
 venture to print it : the thing is well enough, but 
 I could wish there were a little more humour 
 in it. 
 
 Now though the courteous reader should be as 
 fond of humour, as this facetious bookseller was ; 
 yet if, in travelling through a flat country, he should 
 now and then meet with a picturesque prospect, 
 sometimes with a bit of galloping ground, and some- 
 times with a droll object upon the road, he must 
 patiently submit to jog on some parts of the way 
 witthout any thing to entertain or amuse; for such 
 e3
 
 421 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 probably will be the fate of the gentle reader of this 
 various history. 
 
 About this time the sect of the methodists (as was 
 before observed) began to spread into most parts of 
 the nation ; though, perhaps, it is doing them too 
 much credit, and at the same time an act of in- 
 justice, to call them a sect ; as I know of no new 
 opinions which they maintain, except that of the 
 liiwfulness of preaching without a legal call ; and 
 of assembling in conventicles or in the open fields, 
 in direct opposition to the laws of the land. 
 
 A late writer* does Mr. Whitfield the honour of 
 being the first author of methodism, whom he also 
 calls a fellow of Pembroke college in Oxford. But 
 as Mr. Whitfield disclaims all worldly grandeur, 
 and with great humility assures us, that like the 
 blessed founder of our religion, he was t)orn at arv 
 innf; so, like him, I am persuaded, he will confess, 
 that " he came not to be ministered unto, but to mi- 
 nister :" for he was really a servitor, and not a fellow 
 of that learned society. Neither was Mr. Whitfield 
 concerned in the first institution of methodism, 
 though he has since made so shining a figure 
 amongst them ; for, some years;}: before he came to 
 the university, Mr. John Wesley, fellow of Lincoln 
 college, his brother Charles, a student of Christ- 
 church, Mr. Clayton, of Brazen-nose, and two or 
 three more young gentlemen, with a very laudable 
 intention, agreed to spend two or three evenings in 
 
 * Historical Review of the Transactions of Europe, 
 f Vide God's Dealings with Mr. Whitfield. There is no- 
 thing so ridiculous, or rather profane, which pious writers 
 will not say for tile^aiieofa witty allusion. Thus the learn- 
 ed bishop Taylor says, that Christ was born at the sign of 
 the Star ia Bethlthem. 
 
 " Born at an inn, 
 
 A star the sign " (jold. Grove. 
 
 J About tiic year 1730.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 45 
 
 a week together, in reading history or other enter- 
 taining and instructive books, instead of drinking, 
 which, at that time, was too much in vogue among 
 the young people of the university. The Sunday 
 evenings they appropriated to religious authors, 
 which soon convinced them of the great neglect of 
 practical religion in that place, as well as in other 
 parts of the kingdom. In consequence of these con- 
 victions they formed themselves into a little society, 
 and raised a small fund for charitable uses; to re- 
 lieve the necessitous, buy medicines for the sick, 
 and to disperse books amongst the ignorant. They 
 agreed also to go occasionally and visit the prison- 
 ers in the castle, who at that time were much neg- 
 lected; and, that they might have the more leisure 
 for these charitable offices, without breaking in too 
 much upon the business of their colleges, they were 
 obliged to fix stated hours for these employments, 
 and their other religious exercises; to which they 
 were directed by Mr. Nelson's Practice of Devo- 
 tion. This strict regularity and methodical con- 
 duct, after some time, acquired them the name of 
 methodists ; though not without allusion probably 
 to an ancient school of physicians of that denomi- 
 nation. 
 
 Mr. Wesley, however, I am convinced, had no 
 thoughts at that time of separating from the esta- 
 blished church (the most essential of whose doc- 
 trines he has generally adhered to), much less of 
 robbing the community of so manj'^ useful mecha- 
 nics ; who, with a view of raising themselves above 
 their fellow-plebeians, without any other apparatus 
 than a long cravat, and a demure pertness of coun- 
 tenance, together with a little common-place jargon 
 (picked up at their weekly assemblies), forsake their 
 lawful callings, and commence reformers and teach- 
 ers of their brethren. But " the beginning of strife
 
 44 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 is as the letting out of water; " and if one man may 
 break through the established order of society, an- 
 other has the same right to do it; which must end 
 at last in utter confusion. 
 
 These people then had several societies at this 
 time in London, Bristol, and in most of the consi- 
 derable towns in England : but as Bristol was the 
 nearest to the place of Mr. Wildgoose's habitation, 
 and he saw by the newspapers, that Mr. Whitfield 
 at this time made that his principal residence, he 
 resolved to visit the society in that city, and con- 
 fer with them upon the subject of the cause in which 
 he was now a volunteer ; and to take instructions 
 for the better discharge of the mission, to which he 
 flattered himself he had a divine call. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Communicates his intentions to Jerry Tugwell. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose, having determined to go on a 
 pilgrimage to Bristol, after some deliberation, com- 
 municated his intentions to his foresaid honest 
 neighbour, Jeremiah Tugwell, but under a strict in- 
 junction of the greatest secrecy; and, as he thought 
 it would be more agreeable to have a eompanion in 
 his travels, finding him alone in his stall, he began 
 to sound Jerry upon that subject. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose esteemed Tugwell, and Tugwell 
 fancied himself a true convert to his religious sys- 
 tem : for, hearing him harangue so often upon the 
 same subject, Jerry had learned, whenever Mr. 
 Wildgoose talked to him upon that head, to echo 
 back most of his expressions with an appearance of 
 a sincere conviction. If Mr. Wildgoose lamented
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 45 
 
 the sad decay of Christian piety, Tugwell would 
 shake his head, and clinch it with a more vehe- 
 ment exclamation against the wickedness of the age. 
 If Wildgoose asserted the preference of faith to 
 works, Yes, yes, cries Jerry, faith's all; our good 
 works are no better than " filthy rags," in the sight 
 of God. 
 
 And as Jerry's passions were naturally tame and 
 moderate, he was not often guilty either of swear- 
 ing or drinking ; the most common foibles of men 
 in his rank of life. 
 
 As to the former, however, Jerry might rather be 
 called a Demi-juror, than a Non-juror; as, instead 
 of the usual profane execrations, he would content 
 himself with some softening modifications of them. 
 Instead of the shocking exclamation of G-d damn 
 you! Jerry would use, G-d mend you, or con- 
 vert you ! Instead of Od's blood, od's wounds, or 
 Pox take you, Jerry was content with Odsbodi- 
 kins, odszounterkins, pock-i-cat take you, and the 
 like: and even these castrated imprecations Jerry 
 seldom used, even in the paroxysms of his wrath, 
 without a decent salvo ; as, God forgive me for 
 swearing, or 1 was going to say, and the like. 
 Which, however, answered the purpose of venting 
 his rage, and at the same time secured him from 
 the imputation of impiety and profaneness. 
 
 As to drinking, Tugwell's greatest temptation was 
 from the Angel, in his neighbourhood: I mean, the 
 sign of the Angel, where he longed to be tippling 
 with the sociable part of his acquaintance ; but as 
 there is no law in England against the wife's wear- 
 ing that emblem of sovereignty, the breeches, Do- 
 rothy kept the cash, and by that means kept Jerry 
 within tolerable bounds, unless when he could secrete 
 a tester for some bye-job; on which occasions he 
 would sometimes elope and take his fill. But, since
 
 46 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Mr.Wildgoose had made use of his cottage for their 
 nightly assembHes, this suppHed the place of other 
 less innocent amusements: so thai Tugwell flattered 
 himself he was a true convert to religion ; that he 
 had made a great progress in the road to heaven, 
 and was qualified to teach others the way. 
 
 But to prepare Tugwell for a proper assistant in 
 his mission, Mr. Wildgoose took this opportunity 
 of examining him upon some of the distinguishing 
 doctrines which he had of late been inculcating. 
 
 Wildgoose asked Jerry, therefore, whether he 
 had a true sense of his fallen condition, and that he 
 was a wicked sinner, and had broken every com- 
 mandment of the moral law? for unless he was con- 
 vinced of sin, he said, he could not hope for par- 
 don. 
 
 Tell me, therefore, Jerry, says Wildgoose, have 
 you ever broke the first or second commandment, or 
 have you ever been guilty of worshipping idols ? 
 Idols! says Jerry, why yes, to be sure, I have 
 been very idle sometimes, that's sartain ; especially 
 at Christmas and Whitsuntide, and sich good times, 
 as one may say! Pshaw, says Wildgoose, you 
 mistake me, Jerry; I mean, did you ever worship 
 more gods than one, or any false gods, as the Jews 
 and heathens did? Oh! says Jerry; what Bel 
 and the dragon, and Nebuchadnezzar, and sich 
 like: no, no! thank God, I never troubles my head 
 about them. I says my prayers, and worships the 
 Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; but there is 
 no great harm in that; for they are all the same, as a 
 body may say. 
 
 Well, Jerry, but you may have been guilty of 
 idolatry, by setting up idols in your heart, and lov- 
 ing any thing more than God. 
 
 Ah ! says Jerry, God forgive me ! to be sure, 
 I formerly loved nine-pins and cudgel-playing, bet- 
 5
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 47 
 
 ter than going to church, and saying my prayers. 
 Well then, Jerry, thou hast broken the first and 
 second commandment. Now for the third ; 
 
 Didst thou never take the name of God in 
 vain? 
 
 No, says Jerry, I hope not. God be friends, I 
 never was guilty of that though to be sure when 
 a body is in a passion, a body may use a bad word 
 now and then, such as, pock-i-cat take you, ods- 
 bobs, odsbodikins, and the like but there is no 
 harm in that 
 
 Why, says Wildgoose, if you think them bad 
 words, there is harm in them, and they are very 
 wicked ; and if you do not, they are very ridiculous. 
 Do you know, Jerry, that many of those words are 
 corruptions, either of the most tremendous oaths, 
 or of the most shocking execration ? Pock-i-cat 
 take you, is only a corruption of The pox of God 
 take you ! Odsbobs, as you call it, means, As 
 sure as God's above us ! and Zounterkins, which 
 you frequently use, is a contraction of God's 
 wounds, and is a most shocking oath, as swearing 
 by the precious wounds of our Redeemer. In short, 
 Jerry, the only way to avoid the guilt of profane 
 swearing, is to use the greatest simplicity of speech ; 
 to let your Yea be yea, and your Nay nay, as our 
 great Master directs. 
 
 Tugwell stared at this exposition of his unmean- 
 ing gibberish ; but Wildgoose proceeded in his exa- 
 mination. 
 
 In the next place, Jerry, have you never pro- 
 faned the sabbath, by doing your ordinary work on 
 the Lord's day ? 
 
 No, says Jerry, except paring turnips now and 
 then, and boiling the pot ; which we han't time to 
 do always on working days and I remember I once
 
 48 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 sat up till Sunday morning, to Hnish a pair of shoes 
 against Easter. 
 
 Well, Jerry, continued VVildgoose, if I were to 
 examine you through the whole decalogue, I am 
 afraid there is not one of the moral precepts but 
 what thou hast transgressed, either in thought, word, 
 or deed : for, as the tenth commandment is intended 
 to guard against the breach of the rest, if you have 
 not actually been guilty, you may intentionally, 
 even by coveting your neighbour's house, your 
 neighbour's wife, or any thing that is his. 
 
 Nay, says Jerry, as for coveting ray neigh- 
 bour's wife, nobody can accuse me of that ; for, 
 thank God, I have the best wife in England. 
 
 Just as Jerry was saying this, Dorothy, who had 
 listened for some time, and did not hear the noise 
 of the hammer, called out with no very harmonious 
 voice. Why don't you mind your work? Don't you 
 know those shoes must all be finished against W^hit- 
 sunday ? 
 
 The dread of Dorothy's displeasure, therefore, 
 put a stop to Mr. Wildgoose's scrutiny, for the pre- 
 sent ; and so they parted. 
 
 -As Jerry then had no family to provide for, but 
 his wife Dorothy, who could support herself by her 
 own industry, and, as he suspected, had already 
 made a purse for herself, he wanted but little per- 
 suasion to come into Mr. Wildgoose's proposal ; 
 especially as the course of his studies had given him 
 a romantic turn, and a strong inclination for tra- 
 velling ; although his situation in life had never per- 
 mitted him to indulge that propensity. Besides, as 
 Jerry made a-sort of merit of accompanying Mr. 
 Wildgoose, he did not doubt but he would, some 
 time or other, recompense him for his trouble. 
 Tugwell, therefore, told Mr. Wildgoose, that he
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 49 
 
 should be very proud to bear him company, if he' 
 was resolved to go. But, please your worship 
 Jerry was here going to propose some artful scru- 
 ples, which will be related in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Jerry s affected scruples. 
 
 TuGWELL assured Mr. Wildgoose he should be 
 very proud to accompany him to the land's end, 
 if occasion were ; for that he always loved travel- 
 ling. But master, says he, what must we do for 
 money to pay for our lodgings, and to provide ne- 
 cessaries upon the road ? for as madam is not to 
 know of our going, belike your worship's purse will 
 soon be cf/ihausted Oh! as for that, says Mr. 
 Wildgoose, you may make yourself easy The la- 
 bourer is worthy of his hire. Those to whom we 
 impart our spiritual things, will abundantly supply 
 us with those carnal conveniences which you are so 
 anxious about : at least. Providence will infallibly 
 provide for those that rely upon him ; and I have as 
 good security for the necessaries of life, in God's 
 promises, as if I had millions in the Bank of Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Was not Elijah fed as well by ravens, dost thou 
 think, as he would have been from the king's table ? 
 and did not he sleep as sweetly under a juniper 
 tree, as he would have done upon a bed of state ? 
 Yes, yes, says Jerry, that is very true, but then 
 that was in the holy land, where belike it is much 
 warmer than it is in this country : and then, may- 
 hap, there were no inns nor ale-houses in those 
 days ; nor any thing to be got for love or money, in 
 
 F
 
 50 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE- 
 
 the wilderness where Elijah travelled ; so that he 
 was obliged to trust to Providence, as a body may 
 say- 
 However, folks were not so hard-hearted in those 
 days ; but were more given to hostility than they 
 are now. Hospitality, I suppose you mean, says 
 Wildgoose. Well, well, that is all one, replies 
 Tugwell ; but I am no Oxford scholar, that's sar- 
 tain ; which was all that Jerry thought requisite to 
 make him as wise as his master. But howsomever, 
 now-a-days, if a poor man does but ask for a cup of 
 drink upon the road, he's taken for a thief or a bug- 
 abond. Instead of giving a man any thing to eat, 
 they will only give one good advice ; Why don't 
 you get to your own parish ? says one ; Why don't 
 you work ? says another, and not beg ? Here 
 are so many idle fellows about the country, says 
 another. And then it's good luck, if the house-dog 
 be not set upon one, and one gets off without a torn 
 skirt ! I should like well enough to travel amongst 
 your Turks and Hometans (as Thomas Coryat, the 
 Somersetshire man, did,) where a man may lay down 
 his knapsack in an evening, and lodge in a sort of 
 alms-house or carry-fancy, as the book calls it, and 
 nobody ask any questions ; but there's no travelling 
 in a Christian country without a little money in one's 
 pocket. 
 
 Well, says Wildgoose, if that be all, I could 
 take money enough to provide us necessaries upon 
 the road. But I greatly question, whether it be 
 lawful for a preacher of the gospel to take any 
 thought for the things of this life. The first apostles, 
 you know, were forbid to take, *' either purse or 
 scrip, or to have two coats a-piece." W^ell, says 
 Tugwell, I believe we shall have but one coat be- 
 tween us, as your worship will hardly walk in a 
 great-coat this summer time, and mine is but a
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 51 
 
 waistcoat, and make the best of it ! Why, I sup- 
 pose, the only intention of those particular expres- 
 sions, replies Wildgoose, is, that we should not 
 distrust Providence but should give good christians 
 an opportunity of displaying their charity and be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 Well, but master, continues Tugwell, what 
 must we do for clean linen, as a body may say? for 
 your worship belike has been used to shift you twice 
 a week ; and I most commonly puts on a clean 
 neckcloth every Sunday, and sometimes a clean 
 shirt. Now 1 have thought (if so be it is not con- 
 trary to scripture) to take my wallet over my shoul- 
 der ; and that would hold some clean linen, and a 
 crust of bread and cheese sometimes ; for we may 
 happen to lose our way upon Cotswold, and that's 
 but a heathenish sort of a country at best 
 
 Why, to be sure, Jerry, replies Air. Wildgoose, 
 we ought to take all prudent means for our sub- 
 sistence, and not expect Providence to feed and 
 clothe us by a constant miracle, as he did the child- 
 ren of Israel in the wilderness. No, no, says 
 Tugwell, to be sure, their meat dropt into their 
 mouths, as a body may say ; and their shoes never 
 waxed old in their forty years' travel ; and yet 1 be- 
 lieve they trampt it on foot all the way. 
 
 Well, says Wildgoose, I do not recollect, that 
 either Mr. Wesley or Mr. Whitfield ever make any 
 mention, in their journals, that they took either 
 money or clean shirts with them, nor whether they 
 thought it lawful or unlawful to use any precaution 
 of this kind. But, let me see, you have got a brown 
 jug at home, I think, Jerry ; have you not? That 
 1 have, master ; and it will hold two quarts, good 
 measure. Well, well! you must know then, that 
 Mr. Whitfield and his friends have revived a custom 
 of deciding doubtful points, by lot. He does not 
 F 2
 
 52 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 tell US, indeed, the manner of doing this; but I 
 know the method amongst the ancients was to 
 write down the two questions upon scraps of paper, 
 and shake them in an urn or pitcher, and leave the 
 determination to Providence. Why, says Jerry, 
 if that be all, one may put those same papers into 
 an old hat ; or why cannot one toss up a halfpen- 
 ny, heads or tails, as boys do : but then, methinks, 
 it may happen wrong sometimes; and what is law- 
 ful at one time may be unlawful at another, just as 
 it turns up trump. Why, you must observe. Jerry, 
 this method is Only to determine particular facts, or 
 whether one should act so or so on any particular 
 occasion ; and this sure we may leave to the deci- 
 sion of Providence. 
 
 But, however, Jerry, without any more dispute 
 on the matter, we may be sure of this, that whilst 
 we are honestly employed in promoting the glory of 
 God, and the good of mankind, he will never suffer 
 us to want what is necessary for our support. " Seek 
 ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, 
 and all other necessary things shall be added unto 
 you." A text of Scripture, how absurdly soever ap- 
 phed, was always decisive with Tugwell : and he 
 was now worked up to a pitch of Spiritual Quixot- 
 ism, and grew impatient to set out ; and begged 
 Mr. Wildgoose to name a day for their departure 
 towards Bristol. 
 
 Wildgoose told him, that as Whitsunside was at 
 hand, and that great irregularities were practised 
 amongst the common people upon those festivals, at 
 wakes and revels, and other ungodly meetings ; par- 
 ticularly at a heathenish assembly of that kind, on 
 the Cotswold-hills, called Dover's Meeting*, he had 
 
 This was a meeting of great renown in the last century, 
 revived by one Captain Dover, for wre?Hing, back-sword, 
 and other athletic exercises; and Celebrated io verse by the 
 .Pindars of Oxford and Cambridge.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 53 
 
 thoughts of making that in their road to Bristol. 
 Ah ! says Tugwell, I have been many a time at 
 Dover's Meeting, and won a hat there, at cudgel- 
 playing, when 1 was a young man ; and they say 
 tliere is to be good sport there this year. Ah ! 
 Jerry, replies W ildgoose, dost thou call that sport, 
 where so many poor souls are devoted to destruc- 
 tion, by drinking, swearing, and all kinds of de- 
 bauchery ? These wakes or revels are the devil's 
 strong-holds, whence he issues forth, and takes cap- 
 tive the poor deluded people at his pleasure. How- 
 ever, I am determined to bear my testimony against 
 them, by preaching to our brethren, and warning 
 them of their danger, " whether they will hear, or 
 whether they will forbear:" and so, we'll resolve to 
 set out next Thursday morning, which I think is the 
 day when that meeting is always held. 
 
 Tugwell said he would be ready to attend his wor- 
 ship at break of day, if he could give Dorothy the 
 slip. But, says she, there is another thing, which 
 I had forgot ; how does your worship design to tra- 
 vel ; on foot or on horseback ? Why, Jerry, says 
 Wildgoose, didst thou ever hear that apostles ever 
 rode on horseback ? No, St. Peter himself never 
 thought of any such thing (much less of riding in a 
 coach or post-chaise, as many of his successors have 
 done), but performed all his journeys on foot, as I 
 intend to do. Well, well, master, says Tugwell, 
 I do not speak upon my own account ; for I never 
 have been on horseback since I was twelve years 
 old, when I used to ride the 'squire's horses to wa- 
 ter sometimes, along with old Thomas Heartwell, 
 the coachman. 
 
 Well, master GeofFry, I will be ready to attend 
 your worship on foot or on horseback, by land or by 
 sea, whenever you please : and so they parted for 
 F 3
 
 54- THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 the present ; each to make what little preparations 
 he thought necessary for such an expedition. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Essay on Quixotism, 
 
 Though the profession of chivalry has been exhi- 
 bited to us, by Cervantes, as an object of ridicule, 
 we must not imagine that it was in itself and in 
 its original, really ridiculous. Knight-errantry took 
 its rise from true heroism, and the most generous 
 principles of honour and public spirit. The most ce- 
 lebrated heroes of antiquity were in reality knights- 
 errant ; who wandered about to subdue monsters, 
 or to deliver men from oppression ; to protect the 
 innocent, or chastise the insolent ; and, in short, to 
 redress those grievances which were not sufficiently 
 provided against by established laws, in the ruder 
 ages of the world. 
 
 The absurdity which we laugh at in the celebrat- 
 ed Don Quixote is, his attempting to revive that 
 profession, when the more perfect regulations of 
 civil society had rendered it not only unnecessary, 
 but unlawful. 
 
 By poring incessantly over the legendary tales of 
 romance, his ideas of things were so strangely per- 
 verted, and his imagination possessed with such 
 frantic notions, that he thought himself obliged in 
 honour to sally forth and submit to voluntary hard- 
 ships in quest of adventures which he was not likely 
 to meet with, and to redress grievances which no 
 longer existed ; or in which, under a regular go- 
 vernment, he had no right to interfere. 
 
 Thus he not only mistook windmills for giants,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 55 
 
 and a harmless flock of sheep for an army of Pagans, 
 but challenged an honest farmer to mortal combat 
 for correcting his own servant, and set at liberty 
 some prisoners, who by legal authority had been 
 condemned to the galleys. 
 
 The like absurd imagination had possessed our 
 Spiritual Quixote. There was a time when Provi- 
 dence, for wise reasons, thought fit to delegate men 
 invested with extraordinary powers, to publish some 
 important truths to mankind ; to warn them of ap- 
 proaching calamities ; to combat the"^ superstitious 
 opinions, or to reform the immoral practices 
 which had prevailed in the world to an enormous 
 degree. 
 
 In this sense, patriarchs and prophets, apostles 
 and evangelists, and even St. Paul himself, might 
 be styled Spiritual Knights-errant; though they 
 had divine commissions to take the profession upon 
 them, for the most important ends. 
 
 And even our primitive reformers had both 
 reason and scripture so evidently on their side, 
 and the errors of popery were become so flagrant 
 and intolerable, that they seemed justified in 
 breaking through the restraints of human esta- 
 blishments, by the palpable necessity of the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 But our modern itinerant reformers, by the mere 
 force of imagination, have conjured up the powers 
 of darkness in an enlightened age. They are acting 
 in defiance of human laws, without any apparent 
 necessity or any divine commission. They are 
 planting the gospel in a Christian country; they 
 are combating the shadow of popery, where the 
 protestant religion is established ; and declaiming 
 against good works, in an age which they usually 
 represent as abounding in every evil work. 
 
 But there is another species, or rather a slighter
 
 56 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 degree of Quixotism, which proceeds merely from 
 the mimetic disposition of mankind, and is, per- 
 haps, more common in the world than is generally 
 imagined; what I mean is, a desire of imitating 
 any great personage whom we read of in history, 
 in their dress, their manner of life, their most in- 
 different actions, or their most trifling peculiarities; 
 especially of those who, by living in some distant 
 age of the world, have acquired a kind of venerable 
 heroism to their character ; and there are few people, 
 1 believe, so severely rational, as not to have some 
 slight tincture of this harmless frailty, or, as the wise 
 men of the world would call it, this ridiculous af- 
 fectation. 
 
 Indeed, life itself would be insipid ; nor could 
 human nature support itself upon merely rational 
 pleasures, did not fancy enlarge our sphere of en- 
 joyment, not only by giving an additional gloss to 
 the most substantial objects, but also by stamp- 
 ing an imaginary value upon the most trifling : 
 which, by that means, whilst the novelty lasts, 
 frequently become the source of the most exquisite 
 delight. 
 
 1 remember a gentleman of the house of com- 
 mons, a man of great learning and fine taste, who, 
 having been particularly conversant in the English 
 history and antiquities, and whose fondness for 
 the paintings of Vandyke had give him a relish 
 for the dress of our ancient nobility, indulged 
 himself, when at his country-seat, in the humour 
 of wearing shoe-strings, instead of shoe-buckles, 
 and a collar band, instead of a neckcloth ; and in 
 several other antiquated customs, which he would 
 gravely defend by arguments of convenience and 
 propriety. 
 
 1 also knew a man in the university, who, having 
 read at how great a price the earthen lamp of Epic-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 57 
 
 tetus was sold after his death, and flattering him- 
 self that the implements of his lucubrations might 
 be valued as curiosities by posterity, determined to 
 renounce the use of candles as a modern invention, 
 and, like that philosopher, to study by a lamp ; 
 which, to his utter confusion, he happened to over- 
 turn, and spilled a considerable quantity of oil upon 
 a handsome folio, which he had borrowed of his 
 tutor. 
 
 Nay, a whimsical gentleman within my memory, 
 took it into his head, that instead of a night-cap, he 
 would sleep, like the ancient heroes, in an iron hel- 
 met, which adorned his hall ; till one night it un- 
 fortunately fell off his head, and demolished his 
 chamber-pot. 
 
 Thus Mr. Wildgoose, in imitation of our primitive 
 reformers, and those other worthies in the frontis- 
 pieces of those books of the last century with which 
 he had been lately conversant, who wore their own 
 hair according to the fashion of the times ; that he 
 might resemble those venerable men, even in his 
 external appearance, Mr. Wildgoose, I say, since 
 his retreat from the world had suffered his own hair 
 to grow for some months. Though, perhaps, there 
 might also be something of convenience in this at 
 first, to avoid the impertinence of his officious bar- 
 ber, who, whilst he was working the lather into his 
 stubbed hair, would take upon him to insinuate 
 some sociable advice into his patient, which was 
 more irksome to Mr. Wildgoose in his present gloomy 
 situation, even than the rough instruments and 
 heavy hand of this rustical operator. This alone, 
 therefore, would have been a sufficient reason for 
 his omitting to be shaved, and nourishing his own 
 hair, which, though it was now thick enough to 
 keep him warm, yet as it did not extend below his 
 ears, he made but an uncouth appearance to those
 
 58 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 who had been used to see him in a decent periwig. 
 But to proceed in our story. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose and hisjriend Tugwell sally Jbrth in 
 quest of spiritual adventures. 
 
 Early on Thursday morning then, in the Whit- 
 sun-week, Mr. GeofFry Wildgoose forsook his 
 downy bed; and rejecting that artificial covering of 
 his head, called a peruke, just smoothed his locks 
 with his fingers, put on a plain blue coat, with a 
 black plush waistcoat and breeches, and with a few 
 guineas in his pocket, issued forth in quest of spiri- 
 tual adventures. 
 
 The harmless red-breast, with his solitary note, be- 
 gan to break in upon the stillness of the dawn, and, 
 from the sweet-briar that grew round the lattice, to 
 interrupt the gentle slumbers of Jeremiah Tugwell, 
 when Mr.Wildgoose arrived under his window, and, 
 by the signal agreed upon, summoned him to the 
 place of rendezvous. Jerry soon appeared at the 
 cottage gate, in his short jerkin (being somewhat 
 between a coat and a waistcoat), his jelly-bag linen 
 cap upon his head, with his oaken staff under his 
 arm, and his wallet on his shoulder. 
 
 Wildgoose delivered to him a couple of shirts, a 
 small Bible, and two or three pious manuals, which 
 were to be the companions of his pilgrimage. Tug- 
 well, however, who was a happy composition of 
 flesh and spirit, having some regard to the body as 
 well as the soul, had the precaution which Wild- 
 goose wanted, to thrust privately into his wallet a 
 good luncheon of brown bread, and some Glouces-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 59 
 
 tershire cheese ; which clandestine conduct it is 
 not recorded that Wildgoose ever thought proper 
 to resent. 
 
 The sun had hardly appeared above the horizon, 
 when the two pilgrims turned their backs upon their 
 native village, making what speed they could to- 
 wards the Cotswold-hills, to avoid meeting any of 
 their neighbours, whose curiosity might retard them 
 in their progress. 
 
 In about two hours they reached the brow of the 
 hill, when Mr. Wildgoose making a halt to take 
 breath, looked round upon the country below them. 
 The sun had now begun to exhale the dews of the 
 morning, which, being thinly dispersed through the 
 air, gave a charming freshness to every object that 
 rose to their view. There was an extensive prospect 
 of the rich vale of Evesham, bounded at a distance 
 by the Malvern hills. The towers and spires, which 
 rose amongst the tufted trees, were strongly illumi- 
 nated by the sloping rays of the sun ; and the whole 
 scene was enlivened by the music of the birds, the 
 responsive notes of the thrushes from the neigh- 
 bouring hawthorns, and the thrilling strains of the 
 skylark, who, as she soared towards the heavens, 
 seemed to be chanting forth her matins to the great 
 Creator of the universe. 
 
 Wildgoose was touched with a kind of sympathy ; 
 and a ray of true devotion darting into his soul, he 
 broke out in the words of Milton, with whom he 
 had been much conversant 
 
 These are thy s^hirious works. Parent of good, 
 
 Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, 
 
 Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then? 
 
 Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens. 
 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 
 In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 
 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
 
 60 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 After a little pause, Jerry, says he (addressing 
 himself to Tugwell,) I am always charmed with this 
 fine prospect, though I have viewed it so many 
 hundred times. Yes, says Jerry, who was slipped 
 behind his master, one may see a number of miles 
 here that's sartain. I don't think the beauty of 
 a prospect depends upon the number of miles one 
 may see, says Wildgoose, but upon the number 
 and distinctness of the objects, and the richness of 
 the country. Why, yes, says Tugwell, to be sure 
 the vale is rich land and most of it worth 
 forty shillings an acre but then it's plaguy dirty 
 in the winter 
 
 As Tugwell was going on, Mr. Wildgoose turned 
 about, and found that the breaks in his speech were 
 owing to the regular whiffs which he took at his 
 pipe : for whilst Wildgoose was engaged in contem- 
 plation and soliloquy, Jerry had been employed in 
 striking fire to some touch-wood, which he always 
 carried in his tobacco-box for that purpose; and had 
 just lighted, and was puffing, with violent efforts, 
 his short pipe. Ah ! Jerry, says Wildgoose, I find 
 thou art not yet weaned from the vanities of this 
 world. Thou art not content with the heavenly 
 manna of meditation, but still lustest after the 
 garlic and flesh-pots of Egypt. W^hy, then, master 
 Wildgoose, is it any sin to take a harmless pipe of 
 tobacco ? I don't think smoking now and then is 
 contrary either to the law or the gospel Jerry, 
 says Wildgoose, I don't think smoking tobacco ab- 
 solutely sinful ; for to the good all things are good, 
 if it be received with thanksgiving. Then belike 
 one ought to say grace over a pipe of tobacco ? says 
 Jerry. I don't say that, replies Wildgoose, but 
 I'll venture to say, that one ought not to take any 
 sort of pleasure, for which one cannot return God 
 ihanks. In short, Jerry, I am afraid thou hast got
 
 THE SPIlilTUAL QUIXOTE. 6L 
 
 such a habit of tickling thy palate with something 
 strong, that thou canst not easily do without it ; for 
 which reason thou oughtest to break it off at once. 
 Jerry, who was a little nettled at being interrupt- 
 ed in what he thought so innocent an enjoyment, 
 cried out. Well, well, I loves a pipe ; and, thank 
 God, can afford to buy an halfpennyworth of tobac- 
 co ; and I would not leave it off if the bishop him- 
 self, or even Mr. Whitfield, were to preach against 
 it. In short, master, if smoking a dry pipe be a sin, 
 God send us some good liquor ! which is all that I'll 
 say about the matter. 
 
 Wildgoose shook his head, and began to fear that 
 Tugvrel) was only half a convert ; but thought it was 
 best not to exasperate his fellow-traveller, or dis- 
 courage him by two much severity at their first set- 
 ting out ; he, therefore, dropped the dispute, and 
 trudged on at a round rate for some time. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Tugvoell meets with a perilous adventure. 
 
 The two friends now proceeded on their journey. 
 Mr. Wildgoose occasionally inculcating some whole- 
 some doctrine into his disciple, and Tugwell fumi- 
 gating the air with the incense of his tobacco. 
 
 They had travelled near two miles without any 
 occurrence worth recording : when, on a sudden, 
 they heard at a distance the cheerful cry of a pack 
 of hounds, accompanied with the music of French- 
 horns. As they trudged on, the sound approached 
 still nearer and nearer, and at last they were sur- 
 prised with the appearance, not of four or five fox- 
 hunters, as might be expected, but of fourscore or 
 
 G
 
 62 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 a hundred horsemen upon full speed. The case was, 
 Lord B of Nottinghamshire, had taken a seat upon 
 the Cotswold-hills, for buck-hunting and had that 
 morning turned out a fine stag, which the hounds 
 had pursued with great eagerness, and probably 
 over-run the scent ; for, coming to a wall, they were 
 now at a stand, and gave the whole company an 
 opportunity of coming to a rendezvous. 
 
 I have observed there is hardly a man amongst the 
 vulgar people but affects to be a sportsman, and 
 that would not think it as great a disgrace to be 
 thought a coward, or deficient in courage, as void 
 of taste, or ignorant of the terms peculiar to the 
 manly exercise of hunting. 
 
 Accordingly Tugwell, though his sedentary occu- 
 pation had permitted him to be but little conversant 
 with field sports, or the pleasures of the chase, yet 
 was ambitious of being thought a sportsman ; and 
 seeing the dogs at a stand, lagged behind Mr. Wild- 
 goose (who walked on, wrapped in meditation) to 
 wait the event. At last, in the midst of a furze- 
 brake, Tugwell spied the head of some animal ; 
 which his imagination immediately represented as 
 the branching horns of the stag : and now, fired 
 with ambition, and making sure of the applauses of 
 the whole field, Jerry waved his hat over his head, 
 and with the utmost vociferation, in the fox-hunters' 
 language, cries out, Tallio ! Tallio ! Tallio 1 * The 
 huntsman understood him, and immediately drew 
 off the dogs towards his bawling monitor, when, to 
 his great vexation and Tugwell's utter confusion, up 
 starts a swinging jack-ass, whose long ears Jerry 
 mistook for the horns of the stag. The jack-ass, 
 with his hideous braying, put to flight the hunts- 
 man's courser ; who, however, was wheeling round 
 
 Quasi, Tail-aho !
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 63 
 
 to reward Tugvvell for his intelligence, with the dis- 
 cipline of a horse-whip : and many of the gentle- 
 men being now come up, and disappointed of their 
 sport, and suspecting that Jerry had done it out of 
 fun, were surrounding him in great wrath, and 
 threatened to be the death of him. Poor Tugwell 
 threw himself upon his knees, and with one hand 
 flourishing his staff to guard his head, he extended 
 the other to sue for mercy ; but expected every mo- 
 ment to fall a sacrifice to the rage of the vociferous 
 stag-hunters. At last one of the gentlemen, who 
 saw these affairs in a less important light, turned it 
 off with a joke, and dismissed him in the polite 
 phrase (being a mixture of real compassion and af- 
 fected profaneness ) D-mn the fellow ; let the 
 poor devil go about his business. 
 
 Tugwell took them at their word, and gathering 
 up his steps with great agility, and without looking 
 behind him, soon joined his friend Wildgoose ; who, 
 wrapped in contemplation, was advanced a consi- 
 derable way before him, having not given the least 
 attention to what was going on ; but upon Jerry's 
 relating to him his danger, and his escape from it, 
 Wildgoose immediatelystarted from his reverie, and 
 in the first transports of his zeal for his friend, was 
 determined tq attack these sons of Nimrod with the 
 thunder of his eloquence. But, luckily for them, 
 they were by this time gone off many furlongs, in 
 pursuit of their game, and out of the reach of Wild- 
 goose's rebukes. 
 
 He, therefore, contented himself with sending a 
 pious ejaculation after them, and with reprimanding 
 Tugwell for his officious impertinence; recommend- 
 ing to him a more simple and uniform conduct for 
 the future, and not to entangle himself again in the 
 vain amusements of a carnal and wicked genera- 
 tion. 
 
 G 2
 
 4; THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The natural effects of hunger and Jatigue. 
 
 The two pilgrims had now almost reached the plain 
 called Dover's-hill, where the revel was to be held ; 
 but as the sport did not begin till the afternoon 
 and the sun now began to wax troublesome, Jerry 
 proposed resting under an oak, that cast an inviting 
 shade near the side of a wall ; and opening his wal- 
 let, he produced a large fragment of a brown loaf, 
 and cheese in proportion, the reviving odour of 
 which put Wildgoose in mind of his breakfast ; for 
 hitherto he had not bestowed a thought upon that 
 article, nor on the means of procuring it. 
 
 Now master, quoth Tugwell, if we had trusted 
 to Providence, and 1 had not brought some bread 
 and cheese in my wallet, what would your worship 
 have done for a breakfast? Hold thy profane 
 tongue ! replies Wildgoose ; this is not a difficulty 
 which requires the interposition of Providence. But 
 whenever that is the case, I am certain of his assist- 
 ance : and God often makes those his instruments 
 to bring about his gracious designs, who intend no- 
 thing but their own pleasure, as I suppose thou 
 didst, Jerry, in bringing thy bread and cheese in 
 thy wallet. 
 
 After making a hearty, though dry breakfast (for 
 his precaution did not extend, so far as to provide 
 drink as well as food,) Jerry's spirits having been 
 exhausted by his early rising, long walk, and the 
 consternation he had been in from the huntsman's 
 whip, he threw himself at length upon the turf, and 
 was soon got into a world of his own, snoring most 
 profoundly. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose at first pulled out one of his little
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 65 
 
 manuals, and began to read ; but he being likewise 
 a little fatigued, soon yielded to the demands of na- 
 ture, and followed his fellow-traveller's example: 
 where we shall leave them to their repose a little, 
 whilst we inquire what effect their departure had 
 upon Mrs. Wildgoose and Dame Tugwell, whom 
 they left at home. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Character of Mrs. Tugwell. And the perplexity oc- 
 casioned by Mr. Wildgoose^s a)id TugweWs elope- 
 ment. 
 
 Mrs. Wildgoose was a woman that wore a white 
 hood and breakfasted upon sage-tea which par- 
 ticularities, and the principles that gave rise to them, 
 were the distinguishing strokes of her character : for 
 in every instance, Mrs. Wildgoose (like a sensible 
 woman) preferred convenience to show, and always 
 sacrificed any present pleasure to the future ease 
 and happiness of her life. Accordingly, in con- 
 tempt of modern fashions, and to guard against the 
 tooth-ache, she continued in the venerable sarsenet 
 hood, which was the mark of gentility in the days of 
 her youth ; and she drank sage-tea rather than in- 
 dulge herself in the delicious flavour of hyson or 
 Congo, at the expense of her health; which she 
 found affected by that more agreeable beverage. 
 
 Mrs. Wildgoose had a truly maternal fondness for 
 her son, and was disappointed in not having him as 
 a constant companion at her meals, and her hours of 
 leisure from her domestic business. But as she was 
 sensible that he was at present under a wrong influ- 
 ence, she forbore to exasperate his malady by oppo- 
 G 8
 
 66 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 sition or teazing expostulations. She was no stranger 
 (as we observed) to her son's frequenting Tugw ell's 
 house, to the company he kept there, nor to the 
 manner in which he entertained them, had heard 
 
 of his attending the methodist's meeting at , 
 
 and had frequently consulted with Mr. Powell the 
 vicar, on that subject. But though she was afraid 
 this religious cast of mind was rather the effect of 
 melancholy than of any rational conviction ; yet 
 she thought it was the most innocent turn his dis- 
 order could take, the dram-bottle or other vicious 
 indulgences being too frequently the sad refuge of 
 such unsociable mortals in their solitudes. And as 
 his motions had of late been so very irregular and 
 he frequently walked out at the garden-gate very 
 early into the fields with his grey-hound, and break- 
 fasted at his own hours, she took no notice of his 
 absence this particular morning. 
 
 But Dame Tugwell, though Jerry had been often 
 as early as this at the labours of the strap, and was 
 frequently wistling and singing, to the disturbance 
 of his neighbours, before sun-rising yet she regu- 
 larly summoned him at eight o'clock, from his little 
 stall near the house, to partake with her of a warm 
 breakfast ; but not finding him this morning at his 
 station, if I may use that expression for want of a 
 better, she had made diligent inquiry amongst her 
 neighbours without success. At last, it came into 
 her head, that Mr. Wildgoose and he had been more 
 frequently together of late, than they ever used to 
 be before. She, without much hesitation, therefore, 
 repairs to Mrs. Wildgoose's, to inquire if he had been 
 there this morning. Upon being answered in the 
 negative, and also informed that Mr. Wildgoose had 
 not been seen that day, though it was now much 
 later than he had ever been absent before, both she 
 and Mrs. Wildgoose began to be greatly alarmed I
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 67 
 
 will be hanged now, says Dame Tugwell, if these two 
 have not some Jigari/ in their brain ; I have observed 
 liis worship and our Jerry always whispering and 
 laying their heads together of late; and whenever I 
 came near them, they were as mute as a fish forsooth. 
 For my part, I never liked all this preaching and 
 praying : there is no occasion for it is there now, 
 Madam Wildgoose ? If a body does but keep ones 
 church, and does one's best to live, and pays every 
 one his own, I do' not see what else is required of 
 us, (This she said as knowing Mrs. Wildgoose's opi- 
 nion of the matter). But what crotchet can be got 
 into their heads now ? continued Dorothy. Master 
 Wildgoose has been so malancoUy of late, to be sure 
 he would not go to such a place as Dover's meeting ; 
 for, else, our Jerry has been talking of the sport 
 there two or three times within this day or two 
 but what should Jerry do there now, unless he puts 
 in for the silver spoon that is to be grinned for? 
 However, I shall hear of him, if he is thereabout 
 and 1 will lock up his best waistcoat for the future 
 and make him know, he shall not run about 
 spending his money at this rate without my leave. 
 
 Mrs. Wildgoose, as soon as the volubility of Dame 
 Tugwell would ])ermit, desired her to make herself 
 easy about her husband ; that, if he was gone with 
 her son, she would pay him for his trouble, and be 
 answerable for his coming to any harm. No, God 
 forbid ! quoth Dorothy, for I am but a poor helpless 
 woman, you know, madam, since my poor Joseph 
 went for a soldier, and now if my husband leave me 
 too, what will become of me ? Times are so hard, 
 and money so scarce and I can earn but one poor 
 eighteenpence a week and that is but a small mat- 
 ter to keep a body, you know, madam. Dorothy 
 was running on, like the flier of a jack, when Mrs.
 
 68 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Wildgoose desired her to be pacified, ordered her 
 some victuals, and left her. 
 
 When Mrs. Wildgoose was alone, however, she 
 began to be very seriously alarmed for her son. She 
 could not possibly guess what project he was en- 
 gaged in. She was at first inclined to send her old 
 servant to Dover's-hill, which Dame Tugwell had 
 mentioned, that she might be satisfied whether he 
 were gone thither or not, but immediately rejected 
 that design, as she was convinced young Wildgoose, 
 in his present state of mind, would not appear at a 
 public meeting of that kind. 
 
 Whilst she was in this perplexity, Mr. Powell, the 
 clergyman of the parish, came in, as he frequently 
 did in the morning ; who being informed of the af- 
 fair, immediately said, he should not be at all sur- 
 prised to hear that Mr. Geoffry was gone somewhere 
 or other after these methodists ; for he was well as- 
 sured, he had been preaching up their puritanical 
 notions amongst his neighbours for this half year, 
 that he had lent two or three of their journals about 
 the parish, and had frequently attended an itinerant 
 
 preacher at , though it had been kept a secret 
 
 from Mrs. Wildgoose. I have often had a mind to 
 talk to Mr. GeofFry on this subject, continued the 
 vicar, but you know, madam, he has of late 
 avoided me, and, indeed, there is no reasoning with 
 people who refer you to their own inward feelings, 
 which you can no more deny than they can prove ; 
 and who take for sacred the wild suggestions of 
 their own fancy. 
 
 Mrs. W^ildgoose knew what Mr. Powell said to be 
 very true, and could not tell what to think of the 
 matter but as her son's conduct had for some time 
 been so unaccountable, she thought it in vain to form 
 any conjectures about it, so waited with patience for
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 69 
 
 his return, which she expected every hour. But 
 in that poor Mrs. Wildgoose was greatly disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Proceed toward Dover^s-hill revel. 
 
 The two fellow-travellers were left, under a spread- 
 ing oak, taking a comfortable nap together. Wild- 
 goose's high spirits, however, would not suffer him 
 to doze long: but having roused his companion, 
 they were now moving on toward the scene of ac- 
 -tion, refreshed from the fatigue of the morning ; 
 which refreshment proved by no means unseason- 
 able in the sequel. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose, being intent upon his adventurous 
 undertaking, that of preaching for the first time to 
 a mob of holiday clowns at a revel, moved on in 
 profound silence. And though he did not think 
 any premeditation necessary, as he depended upon 
 some supernatural power to give him utterance 
 yet he could not forbear anticipating, in some mea- 
 sure, the incidents which he should probably meet 
 with on this occasion nor avoid recollecting how 
 ingeniously Mr. Whitfield spiritualized every cir- 
 cumstance attendijig his ministration. 
 
 Thus when he was to preach from the starting- 
 post at Northampton, for instance. He took occa- 
 sion to speak home to their souls, concerning our 
 spiritual race.* And from the windmill at Bedford 
 He exhorted them not to be carried about by 
 every tmnd of doctrine ; and the like. So Wildgoose 
 
 * Couiinuation of Whitfield's Journal, p. 106, &;c.
 
 70 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 was devising with himself how to allegorize the 
 different athletic exercises, which were usually prac- 
 tised on these occasions, and apply them, to the 
 best advantage. 
 
 To the wrestlers, he intended to preach up the 
 necessity of struggling against flesh and blood, 
 against the world and the devil, and also frequently 
 to wrestle with God in prayer ; as Mr. Whitfield so 
 often did. 
 
 The cudgel-players, he thought, he might aptly 
 enough exhort to bruise and break the head of that 
 old red serpent the devil, as St. Austin calls him, 
 and to guard themselves against every attack of 
 their spiritual antagonists and the like. 
 
 They proceeded, therefore, in silent meditation 
 for some time, till at length Tugwell took the liberty 
 to expostulate a little with his master upon the sub- 
 ject- Please your worship, says he, I hare been 
 thinking about this same preachment of ours, which 
 we are now going about since we are almost got 
 to the place, methinks my heart begins to fail me a 
 little. To be sure, it does one's heart good to hear 
 your worship preach and talk about justification 
 and prestination and reperbation, and and gene- 
 ration, and sich like in our chimney corner in an 
 evening ; for then, as one may say, we have nothing 
 else to do, and nobody to contradict us. But here, 
 when folks are got together to make merry; that 
 is, to break heads and to kick shins, and sich as 
 that, methinks, they will hardly have time to hear 
 us preach; and mayhap, they may only laugh at 
 us, for talking about religion at sich a time as this 
 or belike may pelt us with dirt or horse-dung and 
 sich as that. 
 
 Ah ! Jerry, says Wildgoose, have not I told thee, 
 how Mr. Whitfield has preached to twenty thou- 
 sand people at a time, upon Kennington Common
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 71 
 
 where, as he assures us himself,* he was frequently 
 attended by fourscore coaches, and numbers of 
 horses; and yet all was hushed, the moment he 
 began to speak their hearts were melted ; they 
 would have plucked out their eyes, and have given 
 them to him ; they crowded about him, hugged, and 
 were even eager to salute him.f But be that as it 
 nia}^ Jerry, I am determined to discharge my duty, 
 and should think myself happy to suffer in so glo- 
 rious a cause. The true saints have often most ar- 
 dently thirsted after contumelies, derision, and other 
 instances of persecution. Well, well!. master, God's 
 will be done ! says Tugwell ; 1 did but speak not 
 that I am afraid of any one, for my part, nor would 
 not turn my back to the best man in Glo'stershire. 
 Well, do not be too confident, neither, Jerry ; re- 
 member the violent professions of St. Peter; and 
 yet he was found deficient in the time of danger. 
 We must trust in the Lord, and take the sword of 
 the spirit ; but if we confide to our own strength, 
 and to carnal weapons, we may find ourselves de- 
 serted in the day of temptation. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Wildgoose's Jirst Jiarangue. 
 
 They now approached the place of rendezvous, 
 where the revel was held, which was a large plain 
 on the Cotswold-hills. Their ears were saluted 
 with a confused noise of drums, trumpets, and whis- 
 tle-pipes; not those martial sounds, however, which 
 are heard in the field of battle, but such as those 
 
 * Vide Journal. + Journal.
 
 72 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 harmless instruments emit, with which children 
 amuse themselves in a country fair. There was a 
 great number of swains in their holiday clothes, 
 with their belts and silk handkerchiefs ; and nymphs 
 in straw hats and tawdry ribbands, flaunting, 
 ogling, and coquetting, in their rustic way, with 
 as much alacrity, as any of the gay flutterers in the 
 Mall. 
 
 A ring was formed about the wrestlers and cud- 
 gel-players, by the substantial farmers on their 
 long-tailed steeds, and two or three forlorn coaches 
 sauntering about with their vapourish possessors ; 
 who crept from their neighbouring seats to con- 
 template the humours of these awkward rustics, and 
 waste an hour of their tedious month in the cnuntryy 
 where, as a great* modern observes, small matters 
 serve for amusement. 
 
 Wildgoose and his friend Jerry, making but a 
 small figure in this humorous assembly, were at a 
 loss how to draw the attention of the multitude. 
 As they had made a dry breakfast, and had drunk 
 nothing the whole day, Jerry asked his master, 
 WTiether it were any sin, to call for a pint of ale, at 
 sick a time as this ? So with Wildgoose's consent, 
 they went to one of the booths, and were refreshing 
 themselves with the aforesaid potation, when the 
 company began to divide ; and proclamation was 
 made, that a holland shift, which was adorned with 
 ribbands, and displaj'ed on a pole, was going to be 
 run for, and six young women began to exhibit 
 themselves before the whole assembly, in a dress 
 hardly reconcileable to the rules of decency. 
 
 Nice people have been observed to have the 
 grossest ideas ; and, perhaps, such chsste men have 
 the most unchaste conceptions of things. Be that 
 
 Life of C CibljiT.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 73 
 
 as it will, Wildgoose no sooner perceived that mys- 
 terious veil of modesty, the holland smock, thus 
 rudely exposed to public view, and these young wo- 
 men prepared to engage in so loose a diversion, than 
 he perceived his wonted zeal revive ; and mounting 
 upon an inverted hamper, near the booth, he beck- 
 oned to the mob, crying out. 
 
 For Christ's sake, my Christian brethren, if you 
 have any regard to the health of your souls, desist 
 from these anti-christian, these more than paganish 
 recreations, which are poison, and listen to my 
 words ! 
 
 The people, seeing a man of a tolerable appear- 
 ance thus exalted above the crowd, and preparing 
 to harangue, began to stare, and to inquire of each 
 other what he would be at ! As they heard imper- 
 fectly the word health, and more words of a medi- 
 cinal tendency, the prevailing opinion was, that a 
 mountebank was going to dispense his medicines, for 
 the benefit of mankind ; and Tugwell's wallet was 
 supposed to contain the sovereign packet of the 
 learned doctor. Mr. Wildgoose, however, soon un- 
 deceived them, by addressing the crowd in the apos- 
 tolical style ; though he had not yet acquired the 
 true ban ton or gospel lingo of Mr. Whitfield and 
 his associates. 
 
 Men, brethren, and fellow-christians ! You are 
 here assembled to keep holiday! that is, to sacrifice 
 to the devil ; to perform the most agreeable service, 
 which you could possibly devise, to that enemy of 
 mankind. 
 
 This festival is called W^hitsuntide, and was ap- 
 pointed to commemorate the most solemn event re- 
 corded in the annals of our religion ; namely, the 
 effusion of the Holy Spirit upon the primitive apos- 
 tles. But instead of being filled with the Holy Spirit, 
 as the apostles were, you are filling yourselves with 
 
 VOL. XXXII. H
 
 74 THE SPiniTUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 spirituous liquors and strong chink ; with the spirits 
 of geneva, with English spirits, and foreign spirits, 
 and what not ! 
 
 Oh ! my brethren, consider what you are about ; 
 is this renouncing the devil and all his works ? Is 
 this despising the pomps and vanities of this wicked 
 world ? and resisting the sinful lusts of the flesh ? 
 The very purpose and intent of this ungodly meet- 
 ing is directly opposite to your most solemn vow 
 at your baptism. Instead of guarding 3'ourselves 
 against the attacks of your spiritual adversary, in- 
 stead of bruising the head of that old serpent, the 
 devil ; you are breaking one another's heads with 
 cudgels and quarter-staffs; instead of wrestling 
 against flesh and blood, you are wrestling with and 
 supplanting one another. So far from renouncing 
 the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, you 
 are running for holland smocks, and making provi- 
 sion for the lusts of the flesh. 
 
 Ah ! my dear country-women, you that are so 
 solicitous for these terrestrial garments, these gar- 
 ments spotted by the flesh ! let me beseech you to 
 labour after the celestial robes, the spiritual decora- 
 tions and saint-like ornaments of piety, meekness, 
 and chastity ; and not to set your hearts upon such 
 profane trappings as pink ribbands and holland 
 smocks. 
 
 Indeed, what use will you make of these tawdry 
 shifts, should you gain the prize ! I blush to answer 
 such a question. They may make a poor shift, like 
 the fig-leaves of Eve, to cover the nakedness of 
 your bodies, as our good works do the nakedness of 
 our souls. But unless you are clothed with abetter 
 righteousness than your own, you will hereafter be 
 stripped bare, and be exposed to the derision of men 
 and angels 
 
 From the secret connection which this subject had
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 75 
 
 with generation, Mr. Wildgoose was insensibly slid- 
 ing into the nature of regeneration, and the new- 
 birth; and was going to explain some of the most 
 mysterious doctrines of Christianity to these unruly 
 disciples, when a good orthodox publican, thinking 
 his craft was in danger, cried out, Odzounterkins! 
 lift up the smock ! come my maids ! stand ready for 
 the sport! 
 
 He was seconded by a shrewd young carter, with 
 a silk handkerchief about his neck, who could not 
 but laugh at the familiarity of Wildgoose's compari- 
 sons; and thinking also that this harangue would 
 spoil the diversion, which they were now intent 
 upon, he threw the rind of an orange at the orator's 
 head. Another levelled a piece of horse-dung, with 
 an unlucky dexterity, exactly into Tugwell's mouth 
 as he stood listening with a conceited attention to 
 his master's eloquence. Their example was followed 
 by a great part of the company ; who, as Jerry had 
 foretold, began to bombard them so furiously with 
 clods of dirt andhorse-dung, that Mr. Wildgoosewas 
 soon forced to dismount from the top of his hamper: 
 and one of them, tilting up the form on which Tug- 
 well was exalted, laid him sprawling in the moisture 
 occasioned by the staling of horses, or spilling of 
 the liquor ; where he lay wallowing for some time, 
 being saluted with several bumps and jostles in con- 
 trary directions, which prevented his emerging from 
 the slippery soil. 
 
 In short, Wildgoose thought it adviseable to pre- 
 serve himself for a more favourable opportunity; 
 wherefore, lifting up and disengaging his fellows-la- 
 bourer, they drew off from the field of battle, amidst 
 the loud scotFs and exulting shouts of the unthink- 
 ing multitude; Wildgoose only expressing his com- 
 passion for them, by a significant shake of the head, 
 and crying out. Poor souls! they know not what 
 H 2
 
 76 TttE SPIUITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 they do; and Jerry, when he was got pretty well 
 out of their reach, bawled out, Ay, ay ! parsecute 
 on parsecute on parsecute parsecute ! You have 
 the best of it in this world, but we shall be even 
 with you in the next. 
 
 Thus unsuccessfully ended Wildgoose's first effort 
 towards reforming the world; which, however, so far 
 from discouraging him, only excited liis zeal ; and 
 he thought himself extremely happy in being count- 
 ed worthy even of so slight a persecution; and de- 
 sired Jerry not to be disheartened, for that they 
 should meet with better success, when God should 
 think fit to incline the hearts of his people to listen 
 to their admonitions. 
 
 Tugwell, who was a little disconcerted by the bad 
 success of their first attempt, answered, that he did 
 not doubt but God would bring every thing about 
 in his own good time ; but, says he, perhaps the 
 time is not yet come. And having a great desire, 
 though he did not care to speak out, to return to 
 his own chimney-comer, he said, Suppose, master, 
 we were to go and try first what we can do with the 
 men in the vale: and now, I don't think there was 
 any body at Dover's-hill that knew us ; for I did not 
 see one soul of our town, and I know they are all 
 busy in hay-harvest ; so that we might slip home 
 again at night, and nobody be ever the wiser. 
 
 Why, Jerry, says W ildgoose, with some warmth, 
 dost thou think me such an apostate; what! to turn 
 back, as soon as I have put my hand to the plough? 
 No, Jerry, you may do as you please; but I will this 
 night make the best of my way towards Gloucester, 
 where Mr. Whitfield was born, and first preached 
 the word, and 1 make no doubt but I shall there 
 find a little flock at least ready to receive me. 
 
 This gentle rebuke had its effect upon Jerry, and 
 he found his spirit of travelling begin to revive. He
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. "77 
 
 told his muster, therefore, he scorned to forsake him, 
 and said, when he had washed his face, which was 
 a little sullied by his fall, he should not value what 
 had happened of a rush. But, adds he, if it were 
 to do again, I would have had one bout with the 
 cowardly dog who tilted up the form. 
 
 Wildgoose exhorted his friend to christian pa- 
 tience, and to return good for evil ; and so they 
 trudged on for some miles, without any other adven- 
 ture. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Armigerorura Laudes ; or, a Pmiegyric on Esquires, 
 both ancient and modern. 
 
 Whose house is that, said I, to some labourers on 
 the London road, with a little cupola on the top, 
 and an enormous length of Chinese rails before 
 it ? 'Squire Shapely 's, the Londoner's, says one 
 of the labourers. Yes, says another, with an arch 
 leer, he was a London taylor; but has got a little 
 money, and has built a fine house; and is now a 
 justice o'peace. and a 'squire. Such is the style 
 and title, taste and ceconomy, of your London 
 esquire. 
 
 A country 'squire is a gentleman in a remote pro- 
 vince, Avho resides constantly at the mansion-house of 
 his ancestors, which he keeps in tolerable repair 
 makes a new pair of gates, andbuilds a summer-house 
 at the corner of his garden. Relying upon his silver 
 spurs and a tight boot, he makes one attempt towards 
 gaining a rich heiress ; but not succeeding, he mar- 
 ries his maid, gets an heir to his estate, dies, and is 
 forgotten. 
 
 H 3
 
 "rS THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 He visits the metropolis once in his life-time ; and 
 takes up his quarters at the Ram in Smithfield goes 
 to visit his old aunt, from whom he has great expec- 
 tations ; who, for the credit of the family, makes him 
 put on a sword, which gets between his legs, and al- 
 most oversets him. He, therefore, walks through 
 Fleet-street in his boots ; a sharper jostles him into 
 the kennel another snatches his whip from under 
 his arm, under pretence of revenging the affront, and 
 makes clear ofFwithit gives five and six-pence for 
 a pair of buck-skin gloves, double stitched; returns 
 into the country, with a terrible idea of the extrava- 
 gance and tricks of the town and, though a con- 
 stant dupe to the knavish cunning of his tenants, 
 and the exorbitant gains of a country-shopkeeper, 
 detests every thing that bears the name of London, 
 except, the London Evening-post, and the London 
 carrier, that brings him down a barrel of oysters at 
 Christmas. Now this sort of man is your country 
 esquire.* 
 
 From these instances, I infer, that esquires are of 
 various kinds, and that an esquire, in the modern 
 sense of the word, is a being, in his definition, his 
 existence, and his ceconomy, totally distinct from 
 the 'squires of antiquity. The race of 'squires, whose 
 utility to the world in general, and to us diminutive 
 authors in particular, I wish to celebrate, were, in 
 their original, armigeri, or aciitiferi ; that is, armour- 
 bearers to some ancient heroes ; and from thence 
 transferred into modern tales and romances, in which 
 every knight has his esquire. Such was Automedon 
 to Achilles, the faithful Achates to iEneas, Sancho 
 Panza to Don Quixote, and Ralpho to Hudibras 
 Now, as the 'squires of the heroic ages performed 
 those inferior offices of life, which were beneath the 
 
 A ciiurucifr now ulinost foigoUen in England.
 
 THE SPlRITtfAL aUlXOTE. ?9 
 
 dignity of" the hero himself; drove his chariot, bridled 
 his horse, or ran on errands, and the like; so in mock 
 heroics, or familiar romance, the 'squire is fi'equently 
 the vehicle of low humour, or the subject of such 
 practical jokes, as would too much degrade the so- 
 lemnity of the knight-errant himself. Thus Sancha 
 Panza is tossed in a blanket, whilst good epic rib- 
 roastings, and heroic knocks on the pate, are reserv- 
 ed for the noble don, his master. 
 
 And as poetry and romance is, or ouglit to be, an 
 imitation of real life, the like subordination of cha- 
 racter is frequently to be met with in company, and 
 the conversation of the world. An esquire, in this 
 view, is a gentleman of an easy submissive temper, 
 of moderate appetites, and patient of injuries ; who 
 acts an under-part in life, and serves as a kind of 
 shield to protect, or a foil to set off, the principal 
 character. 
 
 Every person of any distinction is accordingly sur- 
 rounded by his proper satellites or attendants of this 
 kind. My lord has his dangler, who secures him a 
 proper deference amongst strangers, by setting the 
 example himself. The bishop has his chaplain, who, 
 at put or all-fours, lets his lordship name the trump. 
 Nay, every 'squire, in the modern sense of the word, 
 has a 'squire in the ancient sense, who attends him 
 on all occasions, in the shape of a hunting parson, 
 a nominal captain, or a pacific lawyer ; who shields 
 him from the vehemence of his brother justice's wit, 
 or acts the dwarf in understanding, whenever his 
 worship is disposed to shine or to be witty himself, 
 or explains his jokes, or defends his paradoxes, as 
 the occasion happens to require, 
 
 I might proceed to show the same convenient 
 subordination of character, in every rank of life; 
 but this would be too great a digression from my
 
 80 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 purpose, which ^yas, only to show the utility of this 
 race of men in works of this kind ; and to entreat 
 the reader to consider the 'squire as a lawful repre- 
 sentative of the knight, or rather as a merry andrew 
 to our spiritual quack; and that if Tugwell is not 
 only witty in himself, but the cause that wit is in 
 other men (as FalstafF says) if he utters a facetious 
 thing, or receives a kick on the breech, let it be 
 placed to account, as so much wit and humour in 
 the author, which he could with the same ease, 
 though not with the same propriety, have transfer- 
 red to Wildgoose himself, his principal character. 
 But to proceed in our history. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Wildgoose s hospitable reception at the house of an 
 orthodox clergyman, and the event of a dispute be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The two pilgrims had now proceeded near seven 
 miles from the place of their luckless achievement; 
 Wildgoose rejoicing that he was counted worthy to 
 suffer for religion (as he thought it,) and Tugwell 
 consoling himself with the hopes of better success 
 for the future ; when they arrived at an obscure vil- 
 lage on the side of the hills, a little before sun-set. 
 They were directed to a neat public-house, by a 
 small sign whose device it required some skill in 
 hieroglyphics to decipher. The painter had proba- 
 bly intended it for the Red Lion ; but some ambigui- 
 ty, which arose from an injudicious mixture of the 
 lights and shades, gave it rather the appearance of a 
 shoulder of mutton. When they entered the house, 
 they found it pre-occupied by a very sober party ;
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 81 
 
 consisting of an exciseman, a grazier, the parson of 
 the parish, and a mole-catcher. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose inquired of the landlord, whether 
 he could furnish them with a bed ? Instead of an- 
 swering his question, the landlord, according to cus- 
 tom, asked him, which way they were travelling ? 
 This not being to the present purpose, Wildgoose 
 desired an answer to his first question. Mine host 
 told him, theirs was but a bye-place, and no great 
 thoroughfare, and that they had seldom any body 
 lay there ; but, however, when his dame came home 
 (which she certainly would do before midnight, as 
 she was only gone to a merry-making in the next 
 parish,) he would see about it, and he did not doubt 
 but they could contrive to lodge them ; though, says 
 he, we have but one room, where I and my wife 
 lie, but then we have two beds in it. Well, but what 
 will vou please to drink, sir, continued my land- 
 lord." 
 
 Our travellers being a little disconcerted at this 
 account of my host's accommodations, Wildgoose 
 inquired, How far it was to Gloucester? To Glou- 
 cester, sir? Whyyou are out of your way to Glouces- 
 ter; but, hovosomever, we call it twelve miles, and I 
 believe it is pretty good measure, do not you think 
 it is, master Pottle ? This was the name of the ho- 
 nest clergyman, to whom mine host appealed, by 
 way of commencing a conversation between him 
 and the travellers ; as talking together is generally 
 an introduction to drinking together, which it was 
 his interest to promote : but Mr. Pottle being con- 
 scious of the impropriety of his present situation, 
 and that he must appear in a low light to a stranger 
 of a tolerable figure, as Wildgoose was, affected to 
 have no connection with the company, but to be 
 employed in some useful meditation. Instead of 
 regarding my landlord's app^l, therefore, he as-
 
 82 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 sumed all the dignity he was possessed of, inflated 
 his cheeks, and puffed out whole volumes of smoke, 
 which being reverberated by the low roof, he soon 
 filled the house with the fumes of his tobacco. 
 
 As the doctor did not vouchsafe them an answer, 
 Wildgoose had now given his attention to a common 
 subject of dispute, which was carrying on between 
 the grazier and the exciseman the former of whom 
 had asserted, That if a man happened to buy a 
 horse which was touched in the wind, or had any 
 other concealed defect, it was no harm to put him 
 off again, without discovering his faults. As this 
 disputebore some relation tothe precepts ofreligion, 
 and seemed to concern Wildgoose, who had taken 
 upon him the office of reforming pernicious princi- 
 ples and corrupt practices, he could not forbear inter- 
 posing ; and having been formerly a smart logician 
 (as was observed in the beginning of this history,) 
 after expressing his concern, that such a practice 
 should bear a dispute in a christian country ; he 
 said, that most controversies were perplexed for 
 want of settling precisely the question in debate, 
 and keeping strictly to the terms. He begged leave, 
 therefore, to reduce the dispute to the following ar- 
 gument*, or syllogistical form, as it is called : 
 
 All cheating is sinful : 
 
 The putting off an unsound horse for a sound one 
 is cheating ; therefore. 
 
 The putting off an unsound horse for a sound one 
 is certainly sinful. 
 
 Here the doctor, taking the pipe from his mouth, 
 could not forbear putting in his verdict. Oh ! ho ! 
 sir, says he, 1 find you have been bred at the uni- 
 versity.' Negatur minor : I deny your second pro- 
 
 * Though they despise human learning, those that have 
 had alearned education are fond enough of displaying ii.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 8S 
 
 position, That of putting off an unsound horse, in a 
 fair, is properly cheating, in the popular sense of 
 the word. Look you there now, says Wildgoose, 
 this is the common method of disputing ; you beg 
 the question, and have also changed the terms of 
 the proposition upon us, and put words into the 
 premises which have nothing to do with the con- 
 clusion. If we were to be governed by popular 
 opinions and popular practices, we should soon have 
 no more honesty amongst us than we have religion. 
 Religion ! says Pottle ; why, to be sure, it is a 
 very profligate age that we live in, and the world is 
 over-run with infidelity, heresy, and enthusiasm ; 
 and the church never was in so much danger from 
 atheists and sectaries as at this day- 
 Sir, says Wildgoose, I apprehend the church's 
 greatest danger is from the careless lives and dege- 
 nerate principles of its own members. Come, come, 
 replies Pottle, we will not dispute about religion in 
 this place ; and, as I am afraid my landlord cannot 
 very commodiougly lodge you, rather than you 
 should be distressed, you shall be welcome to such 
 a bed as I can give you at my house. 
 
 Though Wildgoose recollected what had passed 
 between him and the parson of his own parish, and 
 was a little apprehensive of being involved in some 
 controversy with a person whose professions would 
 probably lead him to combat his present opinions, 
 and discourage him from the undertaking in which 
 he was now engaged, yet he could not refuse so 
 kind an offer, especially as it was now too late for 
 them to think of going farther that night. He, there- 
 fore, thanked the doctor for his great civility, and, 
 attended by his trusty friend, accompanied him to 
 the parsonage-house. 
 
 As they were going out of the house, my land" 
 lord's curiosity prompted him to whisper Tugwell^
 
 84- THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 and ask him, Whether he and his fellow-traveller 
 did not deal in corks ? Or, perhaps, says he, in a 
 low voice, you have some run goods in your wallet 
 to dispose of. No, no, replied Tugwell, my master 
 is no such person as you take him for ; he is a gen- 
 tleman that is heir to three or four hundred pounds 
 a year, and scorns to sell any thing. But no matter 
 for that, I shall not tell our private matters to every 
 fool that asks me. No, no, I understand travelling 
 better than that comes to. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 What happened at tJie parson's habitation. 
 
 Mr. Pottle had now brought his two guests to his 
 own house, and, sending Tugwell into the kitchen, 
 took Wildgoose into a tolerably neat parlour. His 
 elbow-chair stood ready for his reception, and his 
 Tunbridge-ware tobacco-dish, with some scraps of 
 paper folded up for the use of his pipe, were placed 
 upon the table. There were several old newspapers 
 lying in the window, and a single picture of Cardi- 
 nal Fleury hung over the chimney-piece. 
 
 Mr. Pottle was a hale man, of about five and fifty; 
 was a bachelor ; and all his domestics were, an el- 
 derly housekeeper and a man-servant about his own 
 age. His character will sufficiently appear from the 
 evening's conversation. 
 
 Pottle had a cloth laid for himself and Mr. Wild- 
 goose, who eat pretty heartily of a cold shoulder of 
 mutton and cucumbers ; and Tugwell was very hap- 
 py in the kitchen, with a jug of good liquor, and the 
 remains of what came out of the parlour. 
 
 After supper Pottle filled his pipe, and began to
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 85 
 
 beat about and investigate what scheme Mr. Wild- 
 goose was engaged in ; what was his business at 
 Gloucester, and how he came to travel on foot. As 
 Wildgoose despaired of converting a man of his 
 years and profession, whose principles were proba- 
 bly settled for life, he was at first a little upon the 
 reserve, and evaded the hints Pottle had thrown 
 out in regard to the intention of his journey. 
 
 Pottle then began to make some apology for being 
 seen in an ale-house, and, that his guest might not 
 suspect it was his usual custom, he said, as the 
 parsonage-house was so far from the church, he had 
 gone thither to wait for the funeral of a poor man, 
 that died three miles off, in a hamlet belonging to 
 his parish. But, says he, they know my method ; 
 that if they do not come by six o'clock, I would 
 sooner leave the corpse in the church-yard all night 
 than bury it ; and so, 1 suppose, they have deferred 
 it till to-morrow. 
 
 Why, repHes Wildgoose, I beheve the poor coun- 
 try people are very troublesome upon these oc- 
 casions ; but their ignorance is rather to be pitied 
 than blamed. They fancy it a mark of respect to 
 their deceased friends, to keep them above ground 
 as long as possible. Yes, says Pottle, and don't 
 care what inconvenience they put us to, for the sake 
 of their ridiculous humour, which can be of no ser- 
 vice to the dead. Why, to be sure, says Wild- 
 goose, it is of no great consequence what becomes 
 of the bodies of the deceased : but yet, I think, one 
 should condescend a little to the scruples, and even to 
 the weaknesses of our brethren in indifferent things, 
 especially if our doing otherwise may probably pre- 
 judice them against us, and prevent our being of 
 service to them in their more important concerns. 
 I own, if I were a clergyman, I should consider 
 myself, in some measure, as the servant of the pub-
 
 86 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 lie ; and think myself obliged to bear with their 
 humours, in some degree, rather than forfeit the 
 good opinion of my parishioners. 
 
 Sir, replies Pottle, with some warmth, whatever 
 opinion a parcel of ignorant country bumpkins may 
 have of me, I'll never submit to their unreasonable 
 prejudices and superstitions. A pack of rascals ! 
 the more you humour them, the more they will im- 
 pose upon you. If they have any thing to complain 
 of, let them complain to the bishop ; but I'll do my 
 duty as to the cure of souls, and let them go and be 
 hang'd ! 
 
 Pray, sir, says Wildgoose, (if I may take the 
 freedom) what do you mean by the cure of souls ? 
 By the cure of souls? Why, I mean, burying the dead 
 baptising children, and marrying and and 
 reading prayers, and preaching and the like. 
 Why,as to buryingand marrying, replies Wildgoose, 
 those functions seem rather to belong to the care of 
 the body than to the cure of souls: and as for preach- 
 ing (though I don't doubt, sir, but your doctrine is 
 an exception) yet, from what I have observed from 
 the generality of preaching, whatever becomes of 
 our souls, Christianity cannot long subsist amongst 
 us, unless it should please God to send some better 
 labourers into his vineyard. 
 
 Upon this Pottle flew into a perilous passion; took 
 the pipe from his mouth, started up from his chair, 
 and advancing towards Wildgoose, Sir, says he, 
 what ! do you affront me in ray own house ? I am 
 afraid you are a presbyterian, or what is worse, one 
 of these raethodists, that ramble about the country, 
 unsettling people's minds, and prejudicing them 
 against their proper pastors a pack of rascals ! who 
 are a reproach to toleration. But s-s-s-sir, says he, 
 Though Pottle was eloquent enough in his pulpit, 
 where nobody contradicted him, yet, having natu-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL 'QUIXOTE. 87 
 
 rally some impediment in his speech, it showed it- 
 self upon the least opposition. Being, therefore, 
 in great wrath with Wildgoose, his choler almost 
 choaked him, and he could hardly utter his indigna- 
 tion intelligibly. But, cocking up his tobacco stop- 
 per on his little finger I'd have you to know, sir, 
 says he, the ch-ch-ch-church has po-po-power I 
 say, the ch-church haspo-power to pu-pu-pu-punish 
 such r-r-r-rascals I say, the ch-ch-church has po- 
 power Just as he was uttering these words, and was 
 retreating backwards from Wildgoose, who was got 
 up to pacify him, he happened to tread in a smoak- 
 ing-box, filled with leaves, and fell flat upon his back 
 bawling out and reiterating, The church has pow- 
 er, so loud, and in so angry a tone, that Pottle's 
 man (who, together with his housekeeper and Tug- 
 well, came to listen) threw open the parlour door, ' 
 and, seeing Wildgoose standing over his master 
 (whose wig was tumbled off in the fall,) and endea- 
 vouring to assist him in getting up ; the man mis- 
 took his intention, and imagined it was the posture 
 of a triumphant combatant. He, therefore, runs up 
 to him, and with great violence gave Wildgoose a 
 blow under the left jaw. Tugwell, seeing his master 
 thus rudely treated, attacks Pottle's man in his turn. 
 The old housekeeper fell upon Tugwell, tooth and 
 nail, crying out, in an exalted key, I thought they 
 were a couple of casuistical, ti/rannicnl rascah; and 
 would not have had my master harbour such vaga- 
 bonds. After filling his belly with the best in the 
 house, to knock a gentleman down ! adis-gratitude, 
 villa ntr 1/ feWow \ 
 
 The housekeeper's voice, being a sort of unison to 
 the barking of a dog, alarmed an old spaniel that 
 lay sleeping in the chimney corner, who began yelp- 
 ing round the combatants with great fierceness, 
 and completed the tunmltuous uproar. 
 i2
 
 88 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Pottle, however, had now raised himself, and with 
 Wildgoose, was endeavouring to part Tugwell and 
 his man Jonathan, who were the only parties that 
 continued the fray. Pottle also explained the affair 
 to the old housekeeper ; told her, the stranger was 
 in no fault as to his fall ; but, says he, I am afraid 
 we have taken a couple of wolves in sheeps' clothing 
 into our house. 
 
 Wildgoose, likewise, perceiving he had forfeited 
 the good opinion of his host, could not bear the 
 thoughts of remaining all night under his roof. He, 
 therefore, bade Tugwell follow him, and making the 
 best apology the circumstances would bear, to Mr. 
 Pottle, for the trouble he had occasioned in his fa- 
 mily, and, thanking him for his kind entertainment, 
 marched out of the house, without any interruption 
 from his reverend host. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Night-thou^Jds : of ghosts and goblins . They meet 
 with an uncommon adventure. 
 
 The character and conduct of this very orthodox 
 divine contributed not a little to convince Mr. 
 Wildgoose of the necessity of some reformation in 
 the church, and confirmed him in his resolution of 
 prosecuting with all diligence his romantic under- 
 taking. 
 
 The moon shining very bright, and there being but 
 little night at that time of the year, the two pilgrims 
 pursued their journey, taking the first road they 
 could find which pointed towards Gloucester. They 
 had travelled near a mile, and were now got into a 
 very dark lane, by the side of a wood, that led down
 
 THE SPIUITUAL QUIXOTE. 89 
 
 the hill on which the village stood. The gloominess 
 of the scene, and the stillness of the night, in a 
 strange place, raised in Tugwell some ideas of ter- 
 ror, which (notwithstanding his personal valour in 
 rencounters and at fist-i-cuffs) he had in his youth 
 been greatly subject to : and though he pretended 
 now to be above these childish fears, yet he stuck 
 very close to his master, and, with an affected bra- 
 very, began to fish out Wildgoose's opinion about 
 ghosts and apparitions. 
 
 Some folks now, quoth Jerry, would be a^nost 
 afraid to walk by themselves in such a dark lane, at 
 this time of night: but 1 don't suppose there is any 
 sich thing as spirits now-a-days do you think there 
 are, Master Wildgoose ? Any such thing as spirits, 
 Jerry ? Why, I believe there are no more walk by 
 night than there are by day ; and I am partly of 
 the same opinion with a great man,* who says, 
 That goblins and spirits have really no more to do 
 with darkness than with light ; and accounts for 
 our terror on these occasions from what he calls 
 " the association of ideas." Yes, yes, says Tug- 
 well, I remember the sociation in the time of the 
 rebellion : our squire would not sociate. No, no, 
 Jerry, what I mean is the joining things together in 
 our fancy ; so that when a child is told by his nurse, 
 of ghosts appearing by night, he shall never be able 
 to separate the notion of spirits from that of dark- 
 ness, as long as he lives. 
 
 But though this may account for that particular 
 kind of terror, yet certainly the sense of our being 
 off our guard, when alone in the dark, and ignorant 
 what enemies we maybe exposed to must necessa- 
 rily make us apprehensive of danger upon those oc- 
 casions. So that, let a man have never so clear a 
 
 * Ml. Locke. 
 
 I 3
 
 S>0 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 head to separate ideas, yet I think it almost impos* 
 sible to be equally calm and easy in darkness and 
 solitude, as we are in the open day-light. 
 
 Tugwell was as still as a mouse during this dis- 
 course of Wildgoose, though he did not understand 
 , a word that was said. 
 
 As for there being any such thing as spirits in 
 one sense, continued Wildgoose, no one that is not 
 an atheist can deny this ; but though, perhaps, be- 
 fore the times of Christianity, Providence might 
 think it necessary more frequently to interpose, by 
 permitting the visible appearance of superior beings 
 upon important occasions; and though I am con- 
 vinced the devil has still as real an influence over 
 the souls of men as he had then, yet yoft may take 
 it for granted, Jerry, that every story which you 
 ever heard of their visible appearance, is an impos- 
 ture, and, if more nearly inquired into, may be ac- 
 counted for from natoral means; taking its rise either 
 from the interested designs or terrified imaginations 
 of wicked or weak people. I myself remember, 
 when I first went to the university, I lived in a large 
 chamber, hung with green baize; the bed was placed 
 in a sort of recess, separated from the dining-room 
 by two large folding doors, which were thrown open 
 when I went to bed, to make it more airy. I hap- 
 pened once to wake about midnight, and it being 
 star-light, saw, on the farther side of the room, a 
 tall figure in white, near six feet high. It seemed 
 to have a square cap upon its shoulders, but was with- 
 out a head. Lord have mercy upon us ! says Tug- 
 well, laying hold of Wildgoose's skirt ; yes, with- 
 out a head ! So my grandmother used to say, that 
 
 ghosts commonly do appear without a head Well, 
 
 continues Wildgoose, though I used to laugh at 
 things of this kind, I could not account for this dread- 
 ful phenomenon. The more I stared at it, the more
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 91 
 
 I was convinced it was something real. After lying 
 some time, and mustering up my courage, I leaped 
 out of bed, determined to unravel the mystery 
 when lo ! I embraced in my arms a white surplice, 
 which a scholar of the house, having left in my room 
 after evening prayers, had hung upon a brass peg, 
 over which I had suspended my square cap, such 
 as they wear in the university. Yes, yes, your 
 trcnchard caps, I have heard of them, says Tug- 
 well. 
 
 Thus I am convinced would every story of appa- 
 ritions have ended, says Wildgoose, if the scared 
 spectator had had resolution enough to examine it 
 to the bottom. 
 
 Why, to be sure, says Tugwell, apparitions are 
 not so common now-a-days as they were in former 
 times ; but I remember when I was a boy, father had 
 been to fetch the midwife upon your grandfather's 
 mare, old Whitefoot. She was as good a servant as 
 ever went upon four legs. Your grandfather bought 
 her of old Simon Perkins. Well, says Wildgoose, 
 proceed with your tale. It was a very dark night, 
 continues Jerry, and father was riding by a lone 
 uninhabited house, at the end of a close lane, as 
 this may be, when he saw strange lights in every 
 window ; and when he came into the middle of the 
 lane, vast balls of fire rolled along under his horse's 
 feet : and then the squire's lady, who died in child- 
 bed, drove along in her coach and six, with her child 
 in her arms ; and and the coachman (it is sartain 
 true) the coachman was without a head and As 
 Jerry was going on with his terrible story, bounce 
 came his foot against something, and down he tum- 
 bled a se over head, bawling out. Lord have 
 mercy upon me ! I have tumbled over a coffin ! 
 Blockhead ! cries Wildgoose, why, thou wilt talk 
 so long about ghosts, till thou art frightened at thy
 
 92 THE SPIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 own shadow. Jerry, however, (strange as it was,) 
 happened to be in the i-ight ; and the reader will 
 easily guess at the cause of such a shocking inde- 
 cency : it was the very corpse which Parson Pottle 
 had been waiting for, of a poor man who died at the 
 extremity of his parish, and his surviving friends, 
 willing to take a decent leave of the deceased, had 
 continued drinking till after six o'clock, when, bring- 
 ing him to the bottom of this hill, and recollecting 
 that Mr. Pottle would certainly not perform the last 
 office that night, they had left the coffin there, to 
 the terror of poor Tugwell, and the astonishment of 
 his friend.* 
 
 They were now come into the open plain again, 
 and travelled a good pace till towards break of day, 
 and Tugwell pretended to know by the course of 
 the stars, that it was near three o'clock ; and, as his 
 zeal was not quite so active as his master's, he be- 
 gan to complain of fatigue and want of sleep. They, 
 therefore, made towards a barn, a little out of the 
 road, which being locked they were forced to repose 
 themselves upon some straw under a shed, where, 
 however, they slept soundly for some hours ; and, 
 rising greatly refreshed about eight o'clock, pro- 
 ceeded on their journey ; Jerry, according to cus- 
 tom, reminding his master to lay in a good breakfast 
 at the first public-house upon the road. 
 
 N.B. A real fact.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 93 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The event of Wildgoose's second harangue. 
 
 In the afternoon, when they were got within a few 
 miles of Gloucester, at a genteel house near the 
 end of a village, they saw almost the whole parish 
 assembled in the court, to see a set of morris- 
 dancers, who, this holiday-time, dressed up in bells 
 and ribbands, were performing for the entertainment 
 of the family, and some company that had dined 
 there. Wildgoose thought this a proper opportunity 
 of displaying his eloquence, and communicated his 
 intention to his fellow-traveller : but he, having not 
 so soon forgot the ill success of their yesterday's 
 adventure, would have dissuaded Wildgoose from 
 making a second attempt at so unseasonable a junc- 
 ture ; and said, moreover, that for his part he loved 
 to see people merry at sich a time as this ; but 
 Wildgoose soon silenced his scruples, and he being 
 by this time sufficiently convinced of his master's 
 obstinacy, immediately got amongst the morris- 
 dancers, and acquainted them of his intention. As 
 they were no strangers to itinerant orators in that 
 country, they suspended their diversion for a while, 
 and got round the preacher, who by this time was 
 mounted upon some steps, and began to hold forth 
 with great vehemence, against all festival amuse- 
 ments, as contrary to the serious spirit of the gos- 
 pel ; and particularly against those irregularities 
 which were practised at revels and W^hitsun-ales. 
 This doctrine, being rather ill-timed, was not much 
 relished by a great part of the audience, who soon 
 began to be impatient of the interruption which was 
 given to their entertainment. 
 
 Those who are acquainted with this sort of mar-
 
 94 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 ris-dance * (which is still practised in several parts 
 of England) must know, that they are usually at- 
 tended with one character called the torn fool, who, 
 like the clown in the pantomime, seems to be a bur- 
 lesque upon all the rest. His fool's cap has a fox's 
 tail depending like a ramillie wig ; and, instead of 
 the small bells which the others wear on their legs, 
 he has a great sheep-bell hung to his back-side. 
 
 Whilst the company, therefore, were all attentive 
 to the preacher, this buffoon contrived to slip the 
 fool's cap upon Tugwell's head, and to fix the sheep- 
 bell to his rump : which Jerry no sooner perceived, 
 than his choler arose, and spitting in his hands and 
 clenching his fists, he gave the tom-fool a swinging 
 blow in the face. The fool, having more wit than 
 courage, endeavoured to escape amongst the crowd, 
 Tugwell pursued him in great rage, with the sheep- 
 bell at his tail, the ridiculous sound of which form- 
 ing a sort of contrast to the wrath in Jerry's coun- 
 tenance, caused a great deal of loud mirth amongst 
 the company. 
 
 Wildgoose, now finding it to no purpose to conti- 
 nue his harangue, assisted in extricating Tugwell 
 from the throng, who had now formed a ring round 
 him and the jack-pudding ; and reprimanding him 
 for his want of christian meekness, he bad him fol- 
 low him, and shake off the dust from his feet, ac- 
 cording to the language of our modern apostles, when 
 they would decently extricate themselves from any 
 uncommon difficulty. They now, therefore, pursued 
 their journey without any farther molestation. 
 
 Wildgoose told Jerry, they had hitherto, indeed, 
 met with but unchristian-like usage ; but comforted 
 him with the assurance of meeting with a more 
 
 A corruption of Morisco dance, probably introduced 
 from Spain, by Jobn of Gaont. 
 5
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 95 
 
 friendly reception when they should arrive at the 
 Bell at Gloucester (where Mr. Whitfield was born-) 
 for, says he, where a true gospel-spirit prevails, 
 the genuine fruits of it are, peace, joy, brotherly 
 love, and christian charity. Jerry replied, that a 
 cup of good ale would be the greatest joy to him at 
 present, for that he was very dry. Wildgoose, how- 
 ever, would not take the hint, nor stop till they ar- 
 rived (early in the evening) at the ancient city of 
 Gloucester. 
 
 END Ol' THE SECONl) BOOK.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mr. fVildgoose's reception at the Bell at Gloucester^ 
 the birth-place oj" Mr. Whitjield. 
 
 It had been the custom of Mr. Wildgoose, in any 
 little excursions which he had formerly made, 
 whenever he came into any city or considerable 
 town, to inquire (like other travellers) into the trade 
 and manufactures of the place, or what curiosities 
 of art or nature were worthy of a stranger's notice. 
 But, in the present situation of his mind, he had 
 lost all relish for things of that kind ; instead, there- 
 fore, of making any observation upon the situation, 
 buildings, or antiquities of Gloucester, or being in 
 the least struck with the beauty of its cathedral, and 
 the remarkable lightness of its gothic tower, Mr. 
 Wildgoose considered it in no other light than as 
 the birth-place of Mr. Whitfield ; and immediately 
 inquired for the Bell Inn. 
 
 When they arrived under the gate-way, the tra- 
 vellers addressed themselves to a waiter (who was 
 carrying a dish of Scotch-collops into a parlour 
 across the court,) and asked, whether they could 
 have any lodgings there. He, surveying them with 
 a contemptuous air, did not vouchsafe them an 
 answer. 
 
 They then applied to a sort of scullion, who was
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 97 
 
 doing some drudgery near the kitchen. She, seeing 
 two people about her own level, as she thought, 
 spoke to the cook, who, after some muttering ex- 
 postulations, went to her mistress behind the bar, 
 and asked her, whether she would lodge two foot- 
 passengers. Mrs. Whitfield, being engaged with 
 company, rose up with some reluctance, and came 
 to the window of the bar, where spying two such 
 dusty figures, her usual politeness to strangers for- 
 sook her Hey-day, quoth she, lodghigs, indeed ! 
 yes, to be sure; because 'Squire Fielding, forsooth, 
 in that romancing book of his, pretends that Tom 
 Jones was harboured here, we shall be pestered with 
 all the trampers that pass the road ! 
 
 Wildgoose was thunderstruck at this unchristian- 
 like reception ; but Tugwell, who, on the first ap- 
 pearance of so fine a lady, had stood with his hat off, 
 now re-placed it on his head, and, repeating her 
 words, trampers, indeed ! I would have you to 
 know, says he, his worship could have rode upon as 
 good a gelding as any one in the county, and could 
 have mounted me too, for that matter, if it were not 
 more like good christians to travel on foot : but I 
 thought folks that keep an ale-house were obliged 
 to take in all comers. Keep an ale-house ! you 
 saucy jackanapes 1 says Mrs. Whitfield, who had not 
 much christian meekness you have mistaken the 
 house; you should have gone to the Bird in Hand, 
 in Tripe-lane. There, perhaps, you would find rest 
 for travellers, such as you. Well, well, dame, 
 says Tugwell, there's no harm done; if you won't 
 lodge us, I suppose there are others that will, and 
 be glad of our custom. Trampers, indeed! I think 
 Mr. Whitfield might have preached you into better 
 manners.
 
 98 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Procure a lodging. 
 
 The two pilgrims were a little disconcerted at this 
 mortifying reception, and at a loss how to proceed ; 
 and though Wildgoose had of late affected to de- 
 spise all worldly distinctions, and to make light of 
 external respect, the consequence of them ; yet he 
 was a little shocked at this unforeseen effect of his 
 voluntary humiliation, and almost began to wish 
 that he had travelled in a manner more suitable to 
 his station in life. 
 
 As they were deliberating what course to take, 
 Wildgoose espied a barber's pole ; and reflecting, 
 that perhaps Mrs. Whitfield, being ignorant of his 
 enlightened heart, might be scandalized at thefrouzy 
 appearance of the outward man, resolved to get rid 
 of his beard, have his hair refreshed, and his cravat 
 a little decently adjusted. He, therefore, entered 
 the shop, where the case was quite reversed. The 
 honest barber, whose less affluent circumstances in- 
 spired more gentle manners, and made him civil to 
 the meanest customer, received them with great af- 
 fability, and apparent benevolence ; and with a vo- 
 luble tongue, as he was preparing his razor, ran over 
 the heat of the weather, dustiness of the roads, and 
 other general topics, which those artists have ready 
 at hand, for the entertainment of their customers, 
 and to divert their attention from the pain which 
 often attends the operation under the most skilful 
 performer. 
 
 Whilst Wildgoose was doing penance under the 
 instrument of this ingenious tonsor, he took the op- 
 portunity of consulting him about a lodging for him- 
 self and fellow-traveller; and informed him what
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 99 
 
 treatment he had met with at the Bell. This Tug- 
 well confirmed, with some expressions of resent- 
 ment, assuring the barber, that his master could 
 afford to pay for whatever he called for, and did not 
 want to spunge upon any one. We know the custom 
 at such houses, continues he : His touch pot, touch 
 penntj we only want money's worth for our mo- 
 ney. 
 
 The barber, encouraged by these overtures of fa- 
 miliarity, took the liberty in his turn to inquire 
 which way they came, whither they were travelling, 
 what stay they should make at Gloucester, and, if he 
 might be so bold, what branch of business Mr. Wild- 
 goose was engaged in. Wildgoose, from the fulness 
 of his heart, soon let the barber into the nature of 
 his calling, and that he intended to employ the ta- 
 lent of preaching, which had been intrusted to him, 
 for the good of the poor inhabitants of that city. 
 The barber replied, that Mr. Whitfield, to be sure, 
 had preached there frequently with good success, 
 and had left a few scattered disciples amongst them; 
 but, says he, the shoemaker's wife often goes in 
 ragged shoes. That is an old saying, and a true 
 one, to my knowledge, cries Tugwell. Well, says 
 the barber, I was going to observe, that although 
 there had been a society begun here by Mr. Whit- 
 field, yet since he went to Georgia, and has been in 
 so great request in London, Bristol, and other parts 
 of England, the people of Gloucester are not much 
 the better for having had so great a prophet bcrn 
 amongst them. 
 
 As for lodgings, continued the barber, our house 
 is large enough for that matter, though it is a little 
 out of repair arid, as I have a wife and a family 
 of children, we are a little straitened for beds; 
 however, perhaps my wife will endeavour to ac- 
 commodate you. Wildgoose replied, that he wa? 
 K 2
 
 100 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 very easily accommodated in that respect, for he 
 had determined not to pamper the flesh, and would 
 submit to any hardships for the good of his bre- 
 thren. But, says he, what must we do for a room 
 to assemble in ? Why, as for that, returned the 
 barber, we have a sort of old dining-room, which 
 will exactly suit your purpose, though there is no 
 furniture in it, but a few broken chairs and an old 
 cider-cask or two, which will not be much in the 
 way. In short, the barber informed his wife of the 
 affair, who having peeped at them through the 
 kitchen door, and formed an opinion of them no 
 ways injurious to their honesty, they soon came to 
 an agreement; and the two pilgrims took up their 
 residence at this friendly barber's. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At Gloucester. 
 
 The barber's shop in a country town has been, 
 time out of mind, the grand office of intelligence ; 
 partly from the leisure and loquacity of that race 
 of men, and partly (as was hinted before) from 
 the peculiar nature of the connection which is form- 
 ed between the agent and the patient, during the act 
 of shaving, in which nothing but news or other ge- 
 neral topics can prudently be the subject of their 
 conversation. The arrival of a stranger, therefore, 
 of so extraordinary a character as that of Mr. Wild- 
 goose, could not long be a secret amongst the lower 
 class of plebeians, especially as the barber, in order 
 to bring more custom to his shop, took care to let 
 every one know, that a stranger of good fortune was 
 to hold forth there that very evening, for so Wild-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 101 
 
 goose had determined, if he could raise any thing 
 of an audience, being impatient to impart some spi- 
 ritual advice to his poor countrymen; whom, not- 
 withstanding the residence of their good bishop, 
 dean, and a whole college of learned prebends 
 amongst them, he considered as sheep not having 
 a shepherd. 
 
 He was attended the first night only by a few 
 mean persons, who either came accidentally to the 
 shop, or who had been invited by the barber's wife 
 from amongst her nearest neighbours. Butthefame 
 of this extraordinary preacher being spread abroad, 
 by each of these, in their several circles of acquaint- 
 ance, before the next evening it had reached the 
 remotest parts of the city, and had brought toge- 
 ther not only the straggling disciples of Mr. Whit- 
 field, but also the idle and the curious of every de- 
 nomination, most of whom bestowed no small en- 
 comiums upon the youthful orator. This success 
 encouraged Wildgoose to make a longer stay in 
 Gloucester, than he had at first intended ; so that in 
 a week's time it became a sort of fashion to hear 
 him ; and he was attended by people of all ranks 
 and degrees from the sauntering old batchelor and 
 antiquated virgin, who lived upon their annuities 
 and their card-money, to the penniless porter who 
 ran on errands, and the second-hand sempstress, 
 who got her bread by reconciling old tags and 
 making pin-cushions. 
 
 Let a man preach like an angel in his own church, 
 as Mr. Wesley justly observes, no one regards him; 
 but as soon as one comes unto them, and says, Lo ! 
 yonder is a man preaching upon a mountain ! the 
 multitude flocks out to hear him. It is the uncom- 
 monness of the thing, says he, that especially re- 
 commends field-preaching. 
 K 3
 
 102 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 The same may be said with regard to Mr. Wild- 
 goose's success in his conventicle at Gloucester. If 
 the sexton had given out on a Saturday night, that 
 a stranger was to preach the next day at the cathe- 
 dral, it might perhaps have brought those to church 
 who happened not to have upon their hands any 
 more agreeable Sunday's amusements ; but when it 
 was proclaimed, that a traveller was to preach at 
 the barber's, upon a cider-cask, leaning over the 
 top of an old cheese-press (which was all the pulpit 
 which the barber's lumber-room could supply), im- 
 mediately the house was crowded with attendants 
 from every quarter of the city. 
 
 But it must be remembered likewise, that Mr. 
 Wildgoose, notwithstanding the present uncouth 
 appearance of his short hair, had something natu- 
 rally agreeable in his countenance, and also a very 
 musical tone of voice; and though in the vehe- 
 mence of his harangues, he had a wildness in his 
 looks, proceeding from the enthusiastic zeal which 
 possessed his imagination, yet that very circum- 
 stance gave a more pathetic force to his eloquence ; 
 and he himself appearing so much in earnest and 
 affected with the subject, it had a proportionable 
 effect upon his audience. 
 
 He usually began his discourse with lamenting 
 the universal corruption of mankind, and with a 
 lively representation of the dreadful consequences 
 to be apprehended from the justice of God ; and in- 
 stead of speaking of hell and damnation in the re- 
 fined terms and elegant circumlocutions of modern 
 divines (as a place not proper to be mentioned to a 
 polite audience), he ran, perhaps, into the contrary 
 extreme, by too gross and minute a detail of parti- 
 culars: which, however, though it might render his 
 descriptions more ridiculous than terrible to sen-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 103 
 
 sible people, yet it had its effect upon the bulk of 
 his audience, and engaged their most earnest at- 
 tention. 
 
 When he had sufficiently terrified them by the 
 denunciation of eternal torments, he shifted the 
 scene, and melted them into tears by the tenderest 
 descriptions of the mercy and compassion of God, 
 and the fondest expressions of love from the great 
 Shepherd of their souls. 
 
 And having been so deeply read in the puritani- 
 cal writings of the last century, and their lineal de- 
 scendants, the methodists of these times, he had 
 thoroughly imbibed their manner and style of elo- 
 quence, which consists chiefly in a figurative appli- 
 cation of the most luscious expressions and sensual 
 ideas of spiritual subjects, and which have been ob- 
 served frequently to captivate the hearts of the most 
 profligate, and lull them into a strong persuasion, 
 at least, that they have received lively foretastes of 
 tile joys of heaven, when they have really been 
 soothing their fancies with the luxurious recollection 
 of their former sensual indulgences. 
 
 Thus did Mr. Wildgoose adapt his metaphors to 
 the various characters and failings of his different 
 hearers. For the lewd and lascivious, he abounded 
 with amorous expressions, and talked much in the 
 nuptial style. Their souls were espoused to Christ: 
 he shall carry the dear lambs in his bosom, and en- 
 tertain them with sweet kisses from his likj lips 
 more sweet than the sweet-smelling myrrh : * he 
 shall embrace them, and fill them with ravishing de- 
 lights. This sort of language particularly charmed 
 the female devotees. 
 
 For the thirsty soul and luxurious epicure, he had 
 streams of joy, and rivers of pleasure; feasts of fat 
 
 * WfiitSeld's Sermon-.
 
 I04f THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 things milk, honey, marrow, and fatness ; and all 
 the most savoury ideas, to express the comforts of 
 a spiritual life. 
 
 To the covetous and ambitious, he talked of no- 
 thing but of hidden treasures ; gold, silver, jewels, 
 and precious stones ; kingdoms, crowns, and scep- 
 tres ; and every thing that could captivate a worldly 
 imagination.* 
 
 In short, by this soothing eloquence, and the ear- 
 nestness of his manner, VVildgoose softened those 
 hearts, which for some years had resisted the ad- 
 monitions of friends, and the suggestions of con- 
 science ; and made many converts to religion ; at 
 least he made them so as long as the brightness of 
 those similes continued to glow in their imagina- 
 tions. But, their affections only being moved, and 
 their understandings not enlightened, nor their rea- 
 son convinced, too many of them soon relapsed into 
 their former dissolute courses. 
 
 There was a buxom widow, however, amongst his 
 disciples, who, enjoying a handsome house only for 
 her widowhood, and being, therefore, cut off from 
 iteration of nuptials, had allowed herself some va- 
 riety in her amours ; but she was now touched to 
 the quick, and determined for the future to keep 
 constant to a half-pay officer, who lodged in her 
 first floor. 
 
 And a drunken pettifogger, who had been en- 
 gaged in several dirty litigations, resolved hereafter 
 to be more sober in his conduct ; and also, never to 
 undertake any litigious suit, unless he were sure of 
 being well paid for his trouble. 
 
 Though these kiiidsof expression are used in scripture, 
 incompliance with the carnal notions of the Jews, and have 
 affected their common language yet on moral subjects, I 
 think, ihcy iiave but an uncouth effect.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 10.9 
 
 Nay, an inveterate miser felt such a lively com- 
 pulsion, that he formed, upon the spot, a solemn 
 resolution to distribute amongst the poor all his old 
 clothes, which had been hoarded in his wardrobe 
 from the very days of his courtship ; and so far per- 
 severed in his charitable design, as to give away, 
 the very next morning, an old waistcoat, that was 
 too little for him, and two pair of shoes, that pinched 
 his corns ; and even added a codicil to his will, by 
 which he ordered a suspicious moidore, which had 
 been refused by his banker, to be given in charity 
 on the day of his funeral. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 His popularity increases. 
 
 The fame of Mr. Wildgoose's eloquence being thus 
 spread through the city, Mrs. Whitfield was amongst 
 the first whose curiosity led them to make part of 
 his audience. She soon discovered him and his fel- 
 low-labourer to be the individual trampers whom 
 she had treated with so little ceremony at the Bell ; 
 and finding they were bound on a pilgrimage to 
 her brother-in-law and the society at Bristol, she 
 took an opportunity of making some apology for 
 her incivility, and told Wildgoose, that as he could 
 have but indifferent accommodations at his present 
 lodgings, he was very welcome to a bed at the Bell, 
 whilst he stayed in Gloucester. But though Mr. 
 Wildgoose was ready enough to overlook the per- 
 sonal slight which had been put upon him, he 
 thought there was something meritorious in his pre- 
 sent state of humiliation. He, therefore, thanked
 
 106 THE SPIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Mrs. Whitfield for her kindness, but chose to con- 
 tinue where he was. 
 
 One evening, when Wildgoose was deeply engaged 
 in haranguing to a full house, an ordinary fellow, 
 in a silver-laced hat, came into the room ; and, 
 squeezing through the crowd, gave a letter to one 
 of the company, who handed it to Tugwell, who 
 was sitting on the head of a c.nsk under his master, 
 and officiated as a sort of clerk. He watched his 
 opportunity till Wildgoose made a pause, and then 
 presented the letter. As soon as he began to look 
 on the direction, the man who brought it (who was 
 no other than the Gloucester Journal-man) calls 
 out, Read it, master, read it; it brings you some 
 news of your poor mother. Wildgoose, renouncing 
 all family connections, and disregarding whatever 
 concerned himself, stretched out his hand, and 
 cried out, Behold my mother, my sister, and my 
 brother ! And immediately went on with his dis- 
 course. 
 
 The case was, that, although there were none of 
 their towns-men at his first preachment on Dover's- 
 hill ; yet there were many that knew him by sight, 
 notwithstanding he was disguised in his own hair, 
 and the story had soon spread to Mrs. Wildgoose's 
 ears. The odd turn which her son's melancholy had 
 taken, we may be sure, must greatly affect a fond 
 parent ; and it had really thrown Mrs. Wildgoose 
 into a fit of sickness. Mr. Powel, therefore, the 
 vicar of the parish, having been informed by the 
 Journal-man, that an itinerant preacher of some for- 
 tune, as was given out, had been showing off at 
 Gloucester, soon guessed, from the description of 
 him and his attendant, that it was his good neigh- 
 bour Mr. Wildgoose; and so dispatched a letter by 
 him, on his return, to acquaint Wildgoose with the
 
 THIi SPIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 107 
 
 effect his extravagant whim had had upon his wor- 
 thy mother : but enthusiasm is deaf to the calls of 
 nature ; nay, esteems it meritorious to trample upon 
 all the relative duties of life. Men o( this cast 
 think nothing of any importance, but what corres- 
 ponds with the chimerical notions which have pos- 
 sessed their fancies. 
 
 Wildgoose, therefore, paid no other regard to 
 the doctor's intelligence, than writing a short letter 
 to his mother, in which he expressed his concern 
 for her illness ; but said, he was not at his own dis- 
 posal, and could not in conscience live in carnal 
 ease and security, when the spiritual harvest was so 
 great, and the true labourers so few. In short, says 
 he, in conclusion, woe be unto me if I preach not 
 the gospel. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Wildgoose s success with the ladies. 
 
 " If cbance some blooming nymph, with locks of gold, 
 The brilliant lustre sparkling in her eye. 
 Shading her lovely cheeks with hat of straw, 
 Or silken bonnet green of glossy hue, 
 Enters the shop of learned bibliopole. 
 That vends his ware at Tunbridge or at Bath, 
 Retailing modern trash to saunt'ring beaux " 
 
 Should any of my amiable country-women, I say, 
 smit with the love of novelty, carry home this 
 trifling volume from some circulating library, and 
 throwing herself negligently upon her settee or sofa, 
 or even on the fee.t of her truckle bed have pati- 
 ence to attend two such odd fellows thus far, still 
 will probably be disgusted that she has not been
 
 108 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 entertained with a single love-^ale, which are ge- 
 nerally looked upon as essential to works of this 
 kind, and not only make a principal part of every 
 episode, but are usually interwoven with the body 
 of the fable. But I would have them consider the 
 peculiar character of our hero, which is not, at first 
 sight, at all friendly to the softer passions. If they 
 can prevail on themselves, however, to attend him 
 a few pages farther, they may, perhaps, discover 
 some slight symptoms of an affection, not entirely 
 of the seraphic or platonic kind. 
 
 There was amongst Mr. Wildgoose's female vo- 
 taries, one Mrs. Sarsenet, a milliner, who, notwith- 
 standing she supported an infirm mother and a lame 
 sister by her industry, yet from the severity of Mr. 
 Wildgoose's doctrine, had conceived some scruples 
 about the innocence, or even the lawfulness, of her 
 profession. She, therefore, desired Mr.Wildgoose 
 to drink a dish of tea with her, and took that op- 
 portunity of consulting him as a casuist upon the 
 subject. Upon considering the affair with some de- 
 liberation, Wildgoose told her, that although some 
 branches of the trade, as it was often practised, 
 might accidentaUij promote vice, yet as some part 
 of the female dress was not only decent, but even 
 necessary in this cold climate ; and as the trade had 
 not directly any bad tendency, he could not look 
 upon it as absolutely sinful. However, says he, it 
 greatly concerns you not to countenance tlie ladies 
 that deal with you in any vain ornaments or wanton 
 attire ; but to discourage any thing of that kind, 
 even against yourown interest, as much as you de- 
 cently can. The reader will find in the sequel, 
 that Mrs. Sarsenet carried this doctrine rather to an 
 extreme, and to the prejudice of her temporal in^ 
 terest and that of her family. 
 
 We must not imagine, however, that this grave
 
 THE SPiniTUAL UUIXOTE. 109 
 
 matron was a proper object of" desire to a religious 
 enthusiast. There was with this milliner a young 
 lady, who seemed not to be in the capacity of an 
 apprentice, but rather as some friend upon a visit to 
 Mrs. Sarsenet, and who had something in her man- 
 ner and appearance above her present situation. A 
 nice critic might, perhaps, dispute her title to the 
 character of a perfect beauty; but she had a spright- 
 liness in her air, and a piercing brilliancy in her 
 eyes, which, joined to the gloss of youth, could not 
 fail to attract the particular regard of Mr. Wildgoose, 
 and made him very assiduous in directing his pious 
 precepts to so fair a disciple. Whenever he said any 
 thing to which he expected a particular attention, 
 he applied himself to Miss Townsend, by a kind of 
 instinct, for her approbation. But though this young 
 nymph seemed well enough pleased when Mr. Wild- 
 goose talked to her upon indifferent subjects, she 
 was inclined rather to disapprove of, and even to 
 rally, the severity of many of his opinions. Nay, 
 in one of his visits, which he repeated pretty often, 
 she took upon her to ask W^ildgoose, how he could 
 be so cruel, as not to visit his poor mother, who, 
 she found, was ill and desired to see him : for, says 
 she, with a sigh and down-cast look, Heaven will 
 never prosper disrespect to a parent! Miss Towns- 
 end's earnestness upon this subject excited Wild- 
 goose's curiosity ; and, with a more gallant air than 
 usual, he desired to know why she looked so very 
 dismal upon the occasion. After a little pause and 
 a few blushes, she replied, that the greatest mis- 
 fortune of her life, and her present unhappy situa- 
 tion, was owing to her disrespect to a worthy, and, 
 in general, a very kind father. Pray, what misfor- 
 tunes can so young a lady as you are have experi- 
 enced ? says Wildgoose, for you don't seem yet 
 to be above sixteen ! Miss Townsend seemed in 
 
 VOL. XXXII. h
 
 110 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 confusion at having discovered so much of her own 
 affairs ; but Mrs. Sarsenet told her, she need not 
 be afraid of talking freely to so good a man as Mr. 
 Wildgoose, who would never make any wrong use 
 of her confidence, and might probably give her 
 some spiritual consolation, which would make her 
 more easy under this little calamity, which her own 
 indiscretion, or rather my folly, says she, has 
 brought upon you. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose wishing it might be in his power 
 to give her any assistance, and entreating her to 
 gratify his impatience to be acquainted with her 
 story. Miss Townsend dropped a tear, then, pull- 
 ing up her spirits, gave the following account of 
 herself. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The history of Miss Toxvnsend. 
 
 My father (as Mrs. Sarsenet knows) has a small 
 estate on the borders of " shire, where he 
 now lives. No, says Mrs. Sarsenet, I know that 
 Mr. Townsend has a very considerable estate, which 
 has been in the family for many generations. 
 Well, says Miss Townsend, I don't know what it 
 
 is, but shire is my native place. My poor 
 
 mother has been dead about a twelvemonth, to my 
 inexpressible misfortune, and that of the whole fa- 
 mily. She left behind her me and two sisters, one 
 a few years older, the other considerably younger 
 than myself. Whilst my mother lived we saw a 
 great deal of genteel company ; and she took care 
 to have us instructed at home in all the usual ac- 
 complishments of our sex. But soon after her death
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. Ill 
 
 my father sent us all three (though two of us were 
 almost grown up, and my eldest sister capable of 
 managing his house), to a country boarding-school, 
 to the astonishment of the whole neighbourhood. 
 We soon found, however, that my father's intention 
 was, to make way for another housekeeper, to whom 
 he had taken an unaccountable fancy. This was an 
 Irish-woman, whom I shall call the widow Towns- 
 end ; as she came into the neighbourhood about 
 half a year before my mother's death, in the cha- 
 racter of an officer's wife, one Captain Townsend, 
 who had made a small fortune in America, and call- 
 ed himself a relation of ours ; but he dying soon 
 after, this woman took lodgings in a small market- 
 town, at a little distance from my father's ; and, as 
 she did not appear to be left in very affluent cir- 
 cumstances, she made no scruple, I believe, of un- 
 dertaking the management of my father's family, in 
 the capacity of a housekeeper. 
 
 The widow Townsend, as I said, is an Irish-wo- 
 mattj and about forty; not handsome, but has some- 
 thing in her manner which attracts the regard of the 
 gentlemen, as much as it disgusts the generality of 
 our sex. My poor mother (as Mrs. Sarsenet well 
 knows) could never bear her. She is a woman of 
 no sort of conversation, and yet my father now 
 makes a constant companion of her; and we have 
 no reason to doubt, that, after a decent time, he 
 will make her our step-mother ; in which case, 
 though I should think it my duty to show her all 
 the respect which is due to my father's wife, yet at 
 present I own I could not bring my stubborn heart 
 to submit with tolerable decency to the many mor- 
 tifications 1 daily met with from a woman in her 
 situation. 
 
 For you nmst know, at Christmas last, my father 
 thought it proper to permit my eldest sister and me 
 L 2
 
 112 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 to leave school, and return home again ; as it must 
 appear to every one, that we were banished for no 
 other reason than to make way for a woman in her 
 ambiguous situation. Though I believe she had 
 another view in having my sister at home, which I 
 will explain to you hereafter. 
 
 The widow Townsend affected at first to treat us 
 with great civility, and even apparent affection ; 
 and used great art to make us rest satisfied under 
 the authority which she had acquired. She indulged 
 us in several little instances and articles of finery, 
 in which I believe my own mother would have 
 thought it improper to have gratified us. These 
 things won my sister's heart, and it would be af- 
 fectation in me to say that I was not pleased with 
 my gold watch and other trinkets, which she had 
 persuaded my father to procure us. But still 1 
 could not bear to be obliged to a woman whom I 
 considered as having an improper influence over my 
 father, for what I imagined I might reasonably have 
 expected, from the great affection he had formerly 
 shown me in particular ; in whose favour I flattered 
 myself he had always discovered some little par- 
 tiality. - 
 
 For my father, you must know, was always a 
 very bookish, and is, I believe, a very learned man ; 
 and is reckoned a great antiquary and virtuoso. I 
 flattered myself, therefore, that he was particularly 
 pleased with the taste I discovered for reading, pre- 
 ferably to every other amusement; to humour which 
 taste he himself had contributed, by turning me 
 loose into one corner of his library, which contain- 
 ed a collection of books made by an old maiden 
 aunt of ours, and consisted of Dryden's Plays, and 
 all the dramatical works of the last age ; novels, and 
 romances of every kind. 
 
 1 am afraid, then, says Wildgoose, you had not
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 113 
 
 many religious books put into your hands by your 
 good father ? 
 
 No, says Miss Townsend, but I had a few by my 
 good mother, which I made a point of reading 
 every Sunday ; such as Tillotson's Sermons, the 
 Whole Duty of Man, and the like. 
 
 Why, replies Wildgoose, you might as well have 
 read the Seven Champions, or Jack the Giant-killer, 
 as either the Whole Duty of Man, or Tillotson, who 
 knew no more of Christianity than Mahomet*. 
 
 Well, says Miss Townsend, I am not a judge of 
 those things, but will go on with my story. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Miss Toixmsencfs story continued. 
 
 My taste for reading, continued Miss Townsend, 
 not only rendered me the object of my sister's jea- 
 lousy (who never looked in a book), but made me 
 less agreeable to the widow Townsend ; and has 
 been, I am afraid, the principal cause of my pre- 
 sent unhappy situation. 
 
 For this woman, you must know, though she af- 
 fects to be a great ceconomist, yet, like most of the 
 Irish ladies, is never completely happy, but at the 
 card-table; and as I was unpolite, or rather impolitic 
 enough constantly to declare my aversion to cards, 
 this gave her frequent occasions to represent me to 
 my father, as one that regarded nothing but my 
 own gratification, which, she said, was a very bad 
 symptom in a young person : and what is surpris- 
 ing, she had brought my father, who was formerly 
 
 * Whitfield's Journals. 
 l3
 
 114 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 never easy out of his study, to make one at qua- 
 drille or picquet, every evening ; and my sister, 
 who had rather do any thing than read, or work 
 at her needle, was always happy in being of the 
 party. 
 
 The widow Townsend having so far succeeded, 
 as to make my father less pleased with my favourite 
 amusements, as it was her interest to have no rival 
 in his affection, she began, by degrees, farther to 
 insinuate, that it would be much more to my credit, 
 if I would apply more carefully to my needle, in 
 which article she represented me very defective, 
 and even hinted, that another year's schooling 
 would be greatly to my advantage ; though Mrs. 
 Sarsenet, I believe, is far from making any com- 
 plaint of that kind. In short, my father began by 
 degrees not only to reprimand me, whenever he 
 found me with a book in my hand, but daily dis- 
 covered, on every occasion, less fondness for me 
 than he had formerly shown. This encouraged Mrs. 
 Townsend to treat me with less ceremony ; and as 
 for my sister, she not only became reserved to me, 
 in order to recommend herself more effectually to 
 our gouvernante, but began to consider me as a 
 troublesome rival in another affair, which 1 will 
 now explain to you. 
 
 My sister, you must know, had a very consider- 
 able fortune (near seven thousand pounds) left her 
 by a great-aunt, independently of my father ; and 
 this she will have in her own power the day she is 
 eighteen ; which will be within these six weeks. 
 This, I am inclined to think, was Mrs. Townsend's 
 chief motive for bringing her brother (one Captain 
 Mahony, as she calls him) into the neighbourhood, 
 and introducing him into our family, where he 
 comes almost every day, and frequently stays there 
 for a week together : he is a lieutenant, I believe.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 115 
 
 in a marching regiment, though upon half-pay. 
 He is about thirty, a tolerably good person, and 
 drosses very genteelly, but conceited and ignorant. 
 Yet, as we had seldom any other gentleman come 
 to the house (nor indeed much company of any 
 kind since this woman has been there), this cox- 
 comb contrived to make some impression, I believe, 
 upon my sister's heart: and because he would some- 
 times condescend to direct his nonsense to me 
 (either to conceal his design upon my sister, or to 
 raise her jealousy), she by degrees began to con- 
 sider me as her rival, and of course as an obstacle 
 to her wishes, and to treat me accordingly. 
 
 In short, this behaviour of my sister, the insults 
 I daily met with from the widow Townsend, and 
 the coldness with which my dear father began to 
 treat me, made my situation at home extremely dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 But completely to ruin me in the widow Towns- 
 end's good opinion, and of course in my father's fa- 
 vour, was a friendly letter which I happened to re- 
 ceive from my good Mrs. Sarsenet here, who, having 
 a particular regard for my late mother (they having 
 been schoolfellows at Chelsea), and hearing that 
 this woman, to whom she knew my poor mother 
 had a particular dislike, was come to keep my fa- 
 ther's house, she had written to me upon the sub- 
 ject, and, with more honesty than prudence, per- 
 haps, had declared her real sentiments of the mat- 
 ter ; which letter the widow Townsend, I believe, 
 by my sister's means, unluckily got a sight of, and 
 from that time grew so inveterate against me, that 
 presuming upon the influence she had over my fa- 
 ther, she insisted upon my being sent to school 
 again with ray little sister Quintilla, or somewhere 
 out of the house, otherwise she herself was deter- 
 mined to leave him.
 
 116 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTF. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Being now continually exposed to the widow 
 Townsend's forbidding looks and reproaches, as 
 also to the neglect of my dear father, and the ill- 
 natured treatment of my sister, who would not suf- 
 fer me quietly to enjoy the only relief which I 
 sought, that of reading alone in my closet; but 
 above all, the expectation of being sent to school 
 again, at my age all these things put together 
 provoked me beyond all patience. 
 
 My romances furnished me with innumerable in- 
 stances of this kind of domestic persecution, which 
 generally terminated in the elopement of the inno- 
 cent sufferer, her unexpected success in life, and 
 her triumphant return. 
 
 In short, I had a high idea of the grandeur and 
 politeness of London, and saw several instances 
 even of the lower sort of people, who, having been 
 sent for by rich relations or taken into good ser- 
 vices, came down more polite and entirely different 
 sort of creatures from those which I generally con- 
 versed with. 
 
 I last month, therefore, formed a most romantic 
 scheme, for seeing the world, and going to London 
 by myself. In order to this, I determined to get to 
 Oxford, and out from thence in the stage-coach, and 
 endeavour to find out a particular friend and distant 
 relation of ray mamma's, who I knew lodged some- 
 where in Westminster; and who had spent a good 
 part of the last summer before my mother's death 
 with us in the country, and used frequently to in- 
 vite me to London ; or if I should not find her out, 
 having twenty guineas given me at different times
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 117 
 
 by a god-mother, in my own possession, I thought 
 with ccconomy, I could subsist for some time, and 
 liad some vague ideas of introducing myself into 
 good company, or, perhaps, even of making my 
 fortune, as other distressed or persecuted damsels 
 had done. 
 
 As I had no confidante in my own family, I com- 
 municated my intentions to a woman in the neigh- 
 bourhood, who had been my mother's maid, and was 
 now married to a man, who in my mbther's time, 
 had been our coachman : both of them were fa- 
 vourites of my mothers, and of course not so to the 
 widow Townsend. The poor woman at first dis- 
 suaded me from pursuing so strange a resolution, 
 but when she found me bent upon it, and knew how 
 disagreeably I lived at home, the man consented to 
 carry me behind him (on a horse which he kept to 
 let) the next night to Oxford, as I had desired, 
 without considering the probable consequences of 
 so imprudent a step. , 
 
 As my sister was engaged almost every evening 
 at cards with my father and the widow Townsend, 
 I took those opportunities at least of sitting up in 
 my closet to read, and my sister frequently went to 
 bed without making any inquiries after me ; so that 
 I easily eluded any immediate search, and escaped 
 to the house appointed. 
 
 Not to trouble you with too many particulars ; 
 having packed up a handsome brocaded suit of 
 clothes, two silk night-gowns, with some pretty 
 good linen and my money, I got safe with my lug- 
 gage to Oxford, and met with a place in the coach, 
 which set out the next morning for London.
 
 118 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 There was amongst the passengers, a well-looking 
 elderly gentleman, of good fortune (as I had rea- 
 son to think), by his generous behaviour to me, 
 and by a genteel footman behind the coach. He 
 was a little surprised, I believe, at the first sight of 
 so young a person, tolerably well dressed, and of go- 
 ing a journey quite alone. He, by degrees, began 
 to sift out my situation in life, and what expedition 
 I was now engaged in. His humanity, and a de- 
 sire to serve me, rather than mere curiosity, seemed 
 to be the motives for his inquiries. When we came 
 to dinner, and I happened to be left alone with him, 
 J soon communicated my whimsical project to this 
 gentleman. He was vastly surprised, and expressed 
 great concern both for me and for my father, whom 
 he found to be almost the only person that I was 
 sorry to have left behind me. 
 
 He asked me, how I could think of supporting 
 myself for a time in so expensive a place as London 
 was. I told him the state of my finances, and that, 
 if I could not find out my mother's friend in West- 
 minster, I proposed lodging in some cheap part of 
 the suburbs. He smiled at my simplicity, and be- 
 gan to describe to me the extreme danger such a 
 young person, as I was, exposed myself to in so ro- 
 mantic an enterprise ; the wickedness of the werld 
 in general, and of the town in particular ; and, in 
 short, ventured to foretel my inevitable ruin ; which 
 he painted in such strong colours, that I burst into 
 tears, and begged him to advise what method to 
 pursue. What, says he, madam ? why as soon as 
 we arrive in town, give me leave to take another
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 119 
 
 place for you, the next day, in this same coach, and 
 return to your friends in the country. 
 
 I was a little staggered at this proposal, and could 
 not bear the thoughts of exposing myself to the re- 
 sentment of my father, the insults of Mrs. Towns- 
 end, and the ridicule of my sister. But when we 
 came to London, and saw the vast hurry and ex- 
 tent of that metropolis, my heart began to fail me, 
 and, in the evening especially, when we reached 
 the inn in Holborn, and the gentleman had bid 
 them send the chamber-maid to show me to my 
 bed-chamber, in came a bold ill-looking fellow, 
 who called himself the chamberlain. There, ma- 
 dam, says the old gentleman, you see who is to 
 wait on you to bed to-night, and to lace your 
 stays in the morning : this is the attendance 
 which a young lady must generally expect at the 
 inns in London. 
 
 I was now struck with all the horrors of my situ- 
 ation, and, therefore, told the gentleman, I should 
 gladly accept of his kind offer, and would beg him 
 to take a place for me against the next morning ; 
 which he very politely did, and insisted upon treat- 
 ing me with the earnest which he had paid for the 
 coach. I was ashamed to accept of such a favour 
 from a stranger, but he desired me to say no more 
 about it. I took my leave of him that evening, 
 without being able to discover his name : though I 
 found, by several circumstances, that he lived in 
 Herefordshire.
 
 120 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The storjf continued. 
 
 Being thoroughly fatigued with my journey, I slept 
 soundly till the morning, when I was called, 1 sup- 
 pose, by the chamberlain ; but was so drowsy, 
 that I knew not what answer I gave him, when he 
 told me the passengers were all in the coach, and 
 just setting out. However, he insisted upon it 
 afterwards, that I said, I could not get up, if they 
 went without me. In short, about nine o'clock 1 
 was awaked by the mistress of the house, who hav- 
 ing heard I was a very young woman, without any 
 attendants, came to satisfy her curiosity, and to 
 inquire into my intentions. The woman was civil 
 enough ; and when I expressed my surprise at the 
 coach's being gone without me, and my distress 
 what course to take, she said, as 1 was come to 
 London merely out of curiosity, and wat; now 
 obliged to stay till the next coaches went out, phe 
 would show me something of the town, if I would 
 give her leave. 
 
 I told her I had a relation in Westminster whom 
 I would now try to find out. She asked me what 
 street her house was in ? She has no house, says 
 I ; but I know she lodges somewhere in Westmin- 
 ster; and, as she is a lady of a large acquaintance, 
 though small fortune, I dare say I shall easily find 
 her out. The woman laughed at my ignorance of 
 the town, and said I might as well look for a needle 
 in a bundle of hay. 
 
 She then took me down to breakfast with her be- 
 hind the bar, where I spent most part of that day, 
 she not being at leisure to attend me abroad. lr 
 the afternoon a neighbour of hers, who had a small
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 121 
 
 house in one of the adjacent courts, came to drink 
 tea with her. The woman of the house being fre- 
 quently called away into the bar, I was left alone 
 with Mrs. Skelton (which was the name of the other 
 woman.) After inquiring into my motives for com- 
 ing to London, and finding I had no friends or ac- 
 quaintance there, she offered to take me to her 
 house, as a boarder, and to bring me acquainted 
 with every thing that was worth seeing in London. 
 To reconcile me to her proposal, she soon dis- 
 covered, that she was my country-woman, and said 
 she had relations in that part of England. In short, 
 I was so well pleased with the apparent friendship 
 of this woman ; and, for the reasons abovemen- 
 tioned, found so little inclination to return to my 
 friends in the country, that I began to be very well 
 pleased with the coach's going without me, and 
 leaving me in London. 
 
 I then acquainted the woman at the inn with 
 Mrs. Skelton's offer. She said I could not lodge 
 with a better sort of woman ; that she had known 
 her for some years, and she was a clever, sensible 
 person, and kept the best of company, ranking her- 
 self, I suppose, in that number. 1, therefore, paid 
 my bill at the inn, took my leave of the mistress of 
 the house, and accompanied Mrs. Skelton to her 
 house. 
 
 I am now astonished at my simplicity, but was 
 quite ignorant of the world ; and, indeed, after my 
 first imprudent step, what other scheme could I 
 pursue ? I soon found, however, that the world in 
 reality was very different from what it appeared in 
 poetry and romance.
 
 122 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Mrs. Skelton affected to have taken a great liking 
 to me, and the next morning performed her pro- 
 mise of showing me the town. That she might do 
 this in the most compendious manner, the first 
 place she took me to was the top of St. Paul's, where, 
 indeed, I was struck with astonishment at the ap- 
 pearance of that vast metropolis. 
 
 After dragging me on to the Tower, she made 
 me take a coach to bring us back to Holborn. By 
 the way, however, she stopped at a milliner's near 
 St. Paul's, and equipped me with what she thought 
 a more fashionable cap, and other things which she 
 thought necessary, but without putting me to any 
 great expence. When we came home she helped 
 me to adjust my dress according to her own taste, 
 and told me, the gentleman who lodged in her first 
 floor would dine with us. He is a gentleman of 
 very large fortune, I assure you, says she, and per- 
 haps may fall in love with you. He is rather too 
 old for you, continued she, but I know several 
 young ladies who would be very happy in such an 
 opportunity of setting their caps at him, I can tell 
 
 Well, at dinner this fine gentleman appeared, 
 dressed in blue and gold. He seemed to be about 
 fifty, and was agreeable enough in his person ; but 
 what gave me a sort of liking to him was, that he 
 put me much in mind of my own father. Nay, 
 finding how entirely unacquainted I was with the 
 town, he very kindly cautioned me against the ar- 
 tifices of the people I should probably meet with ; 
 and told me if I made any stay in London he would
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 123 
 
 introduce me to some of the female part of his own 
 family. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Blackman (which was the 
 gentleman's name) breakfasted with us, and though 
 he was engaged to dine with some gentlemen of 
 Lincoln's-inn, he said, he hoped to be at home 
 again with us in the evening. At the same time he 
 told Mrs. Skelton, that there was a very good play 
 to be acted that night, and asked her if she did not 
 intend to go ? She pretended to make a scruple of 
 leaving me alone ; on purpose, I suppose, to give 
 him an opportunity of oft'ering each of us tickets 
 for the play, which he immediately did. 
 
 Accordingly to the play we went, and sat in one 
 of the side galleries. There happened to sit next to 
 us, a young lady most splendidly dressed, who, I 
 found, was an acquaintance of M rs. Skelton's. She 
 talked a great deal, and even in the most interesting 
 parts of the play, and seemed to ridicule every 
 thing that was grave or decent. She was particu- 
 larly merry upon a country gentleman and his wife, 
 as we judged them to be, who sat together in one 
 of the side boxes, and said, it was astonishing to 
 her how any woman could think of burying her- 
 self with a husband in the country, to sit nodding 
 at each other whole winter evenings, on each side 
 the parlour fire, with nothing to amuse them but a 
 formal visit once a week from some unfashionable 
 creatures like themselves. In short, says she, I'd 
 rather be a mistress to a tradesman in town, than 
 the wife of any country squire in England. I was 
 greatly shocked, instead of being diverted, with 
 this lady's conversation, and began to wish myself 
 in some other place ; but I was highly oft'ended at 
 hearing Mrs, Skelton ask her, when she should have 
 the honour of seeing her in Holborn ? To which 
 m2
 
 124< THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 she answered, she would do herself that honour 
 very soon. 
 
 When we returned from the play, we found an 
 elegant supper ordered from the tavern, by the old 
 gentleman, who was waiting for us with great pa- 
 tience in the parlour. After supper Mr. Blackman 
 and Mrs. Skelton drank several glasses together, and 
 the latter would have forced me to pledge them ; 
 but Mr. Blackman desired I would drink no more 
 than was quite agreeable to me, as probably I had 
 never been used to any thing strong. In short, as 
 there was something of a paternal fondness in the 
 behaviour of Mr. Blackman, so it inspired me with 
 sentiments of quite a filial love and respect : and I 
 lived near a fortnight in the house quite agreeably : 
 Mr. Blackman and Mrs. Skelton treating me like a 
 daughter for whom they had a great affection, al- 
 ways contriving something to amuse and entertain 
 me. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 One morning Mrs. Skelton asked me whether I 
 should like to take a voyage by water ; for, said 
 she, I want to make a visit to an acquaintance as 
 far as Chelsea. We shall have another lady and 
 gentleman of our party, which will be more agree- 
 able, and lessen the expence of our voyage. 1 told 
 her I should be very glad of such u jaunt, as I had 
 never been upon the river, and was very fond 
 of water. She wished Mr. Blackman could go with 
 us ; but, said she, he has so many grand acquaint-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 125 
 
 ance it is hardly probable that he will be disen- 
 gaged. Upon her mentioning it to him at breakfast, 
 however, he replied, that he would meet us, if possi- 
 ble, about twelve o'clock at the water side. 
 
 When we came to the place appointed, I was 
 surprised to see not only Mr. Blackman, but the 
 lady whom we had met at the play, attended by 
 another gentleman. He was a genteel, or rather a 
 showy man, of about forty. He addressed us with 
 an air of familiarity, and affectation of gaiety, which 
 to me was very disgusting ; though he was what 
 some people would reckon a cheerful companion 
 and handsome man. 
 
 Mr. Blackman had provided a covered boat, and 
 furnished it with biscuits, almonds and raisins, and 
 a bottle of white wine ; the former, 1 suppose, for 
 mine, and the latter for Mrs. Skelton's entertain- 
 ment. As the other lady and gentleman, whom I 
 took to be husband and wife, were very fond of each 
 other, Mr Blackman was particular in his behaviour 
 to me, and took a great deal of pains to gain my 
 attention to every thing which he said. But nothing 
 attracted my notice so much as the fine prospect 
 on each side of the river, which he pointed out to 
 me, and explained ; fi'om the grand dome of St. 
 Paul's to the venerable Gothic piles of Westminster 
 Abbey and the palace of Lambeth, with the rural 
 objects which present themselves gradually till we 
 reached the noble hospital of Chelsea, whither we 
 were bound. 
 
 When we arrived at the end of our voyage, Mr, 
 Blackman went immediately out of the boat, and 
 said he would bespeak a room for us at a little sort 
 of tavern close to the water : for I soon found that 
 this visit of Mrs. Skelton's was only a pretence ; 
 and that we were to dine at this house, at these 
 gentlemen's expence.
 
 126 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 There was something in this which did not quite 
 please me : but my inexperience, or rather my en- 
 tire ignorance of the arts of mankind, prevented me 
 from suspecting any ill design. After dinner Mrs. 
 Skelton said, she would just step a door or two far- 
 ther, to call upon her friend, with whom she had 
 some particular business ; and charged Mr. Black- 
 man to take care of her daughter, as she affected to 
 call me. 
 
 Soon after Mrs. Skelton was gone, the other gen- 
 tleman and lady said, they would take a walk in the 
 garden, and return to us immediately. I stared a 
 little ; but as they were strangers to me, and I had 
 no inclination to cultivate an intimacy with the 
 lady, I made no overtures to accompany her ; espe- 
 cially as I supposed them to be man and wife : and 
 as 1 had never seen any thing in Mr. Blackman's 
 behaviour at all exceptionable, I was not uneasy 
 at being left alone with him. 
 
 After they had been gone a few minutes, I went 
 up to the window, which had a fine prospect of the 
 Thames ; and Mr. Blackman following me, opened 
 a door near the window, and told me, 1 might have 
 a better prospect in the next room . 
 
 Here Miss Townsend blushed, and made a pause 
 then turned pale and seemed unwilling to pro- 
 ceed in her story. Mrs. Sarsenet, who had heard it 
 more than once, made an excuse for her, but desired 
 she would go on, otherwise Mr. Wildgoose might 
 suspect she had been guilty of something which she 
 had reason to be ashamed of. 
 
 That I have, says Miss Townsend, of the whole 
 series of my folly ; though, I thank God, I have no- 
 thing to accuse myself of, but my unparalleled in- 
 discretion. However, I have great reason to be 
 thankful to Providence, for preserving me from the 
 probable effects of it.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 127 
 
 Why, says Wildgoose, Providence rarely deserts 
 us, even in those misfortunes vv^hich are the con- 
 sequences of our own inadvertency, if we humbly 
 apply for assistance, and sincerely endeavour to re- 
 trieve any false step as soon as we become sensible 
 of it, and do not presumptuously persist in a wrong 
 course of action, against the suggestions of his Holy 
 Spirit. 
 
 But come, madam, I must beg to hear the sequel 
 of this adventure, since you have interested me in 
 your escape from the critical situation in which you 
 have described yourself at the window, where you 
 were left alone with this fine gentleman. 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Well, sir, Mr. Blackman came up to me, as I told 
 you, and opened a door near the window, and told 
 me, there was a better prospect from that room. 
 Seeing it was a bed-chamber, I started back ; but 
 he laid hold on my arm, and pulled me in by force, 
 and shut the door. 
 
 I had read in poetry of fawns and satyrs ; in ro- 
 mances of discourteous knights and savages ; but 
 had no conception that a man of so respectable an 
 appearance, in a brigadier wig and grave habit, that 
 looked more like a justice of peace or high sheriff, 
 than a debauched rake, could be guilty of any rude- 
 ness or indecent behaviour. 
 
 I cried out with all my force, and said, I would 
 sooner die than remain with him alone. I struggled, 
 and at last got to the sash, but found it was screwed 
 down. I continued calling out with great violence,
 
 128 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 and made all the noise I could, but to no purpose- 
 This vile man continued his detestable importunity, 
 and I despaired of any assistance when I was pro- 
 videntially relieved by a pretty loud rapping at the 
 outer door. Upon his opening it, the waiter intro- 
 duced a very genteel modest-looking woman, and a 
 pretty girl about ten years old. On seeing me and 
 Mr. Blackman, who were both strangers to her, she 
 drew back, and made an apology for her mistake. 
 The waiter told us, the lady had inquired for one 
 Mr. Andrews ; and insisted upon it that he came 
 with the company in our boat. 
 
 Mr. Blackman reprimanded him for his imperti- 
 nent intrusion ; but I begged of him to inform me 
 where the other gentleman and ladies were ; and 
 upon my going out upon the staircase, I met Mrs. 
 Skelton coming up. I complained of her leaving 
 me alone with Mr. Blackman, and told her how 
 brutishly he had behaved. She affected great sur* 
 prise and indignation ; and, upon coming into the 
 room. Lord ! says she, Mr. Blackman, I did not 
 think you could be guilty of any thing so rude to 
 this young lady! Why, sure your love for her, 
 which you mentioned, has turned your head ; but 
 I will never suffer her to be injured whilst she is 
 under ray protection. 
 
 Thus this vile woman endeavoured to persuade 
 me that she was unconcerned in his villainy ; but I 
 began to have a very bad opinion of her, and to wish 
 myself out of her hands. 
 
 Though the fright 1 had been in raised my cou- 
 rage, yet I now found my spirits flag to such a de- 
 gree, that I was hardly kept from fainting ; but a 
 little water, which Mrs. Skelton gave me, soon 
 brought me to myself again. 
 
 Mr. Blackman pretended he was only in jest, and 
 was sorry he had frightened me ; and hoped I
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 129 
 
 would forgive him an innocent frolic. But how 
 monstrous is vice, especially in an elderly man ! 
 This gentleman, whom I had before regarded with 
 a filial love and esteem, I could not now behold 
 without detestation. Age ought in general to be 
 treated with so much reverence and respect, that I 
 do not love to hear the two words old villain or 
 old Jhol united ; yet I could not separate the ideas 
 in my mind whenever I beheld this man for the fu- 
 ture. But as I was determined to make my escape 
 the first opportunity, I dissembled my resentment 
 as well as I could, and returned with Mr. Blackman 
 and Mrs. Skelton, leaving the rest of the company 
 to themselves. 
 
 The gentleman and the lady that came with us 
 never returned after they left the room. But, as we 
 were going out of the house, we heard a great dis- 
 turbance in a parlour below stairs ; and, by what I 
 could collect, the lady who came so providentially 
 to my relief, was the real wife of that other gentle- 
 man who had been of our party ; and having long 
 suspected her husband's connection with the crea- 
 ture whom we had met at the play, had, by means 
 of a faithful servant, traced out his intended jaunt 
 for this particular day ; and with more passion, per- 
 haps, than prudence, came to reproach him with 
 his conduct: and, in order to make the greater 
 impression upon him, had taken her eldest daughter 
 to be witness to his imprudence ; who, 1 afterwards 
 found, was squandering away upon this strumpet a 
 good fortune, which his unhappy wife had brought 
 him, and with which he had hitherto carried on a 
 genteel trade in the city.
 
 ISO THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 In the evening when I was going to bed, I asked 
 the maid who assisted me to undress, what sort of 
 a man that was who lodged in the first floor. She 
 seemed at first a little reserved ; but upon my giving 
 some hints of his rude behaviour, she smiled, and 
 shook her head, as if she knew more than she dared 
 to express. 
 
 When I told her, I was determined to quit my 
 lodgings, if not the town of London, the next day, 
 she asked me where my clothes were ? I replied, 
 in the chest of drawers ; but upon looking there, 
 I found they were removed into Mrs. Skelton's 
 room ; and the maid whispered to me, that I should 
 find some difficulty in getting at them. Lord, said 
 I, and there's the little leather trunk gone, in which 
 is the chief part of my money! The girl then told 
 me, I had better say nothing about removing the 
 next day ; but, says she, if you are determined to 
 go, your things are in a dark press in my mistress's 
 room, and I will watch my opportunity some time 
 to-morrow to get your little trunk at least, if not 
 your clothes ; and will myself accompany you the 
 next night following ; for I live here little better 
 than a slave. But my mistress owes me a quarter's 
 wages, which, however, I don't regard; for I am 
 determined to go and live in the country again, 
 where I was born. 
 
 But, for God's sake, madam, continues she, don't 
 let my mistress know what I have said ; for she 
 would contrive, right or wrong, to send me to 
 Bridewell. I assured her of my secrecy ; which 
 promise it was so much my interest to observe.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 131 
 
 Having met with a sort of friend and confidante, 
 I was a little easier in my mind, and resolved to be- 
 have with cheerfulness the next day, the better to 
 conceal my intended escape. 
 
 In the afternoon the lady who sat next us at the 
 play, and had been of our party to Chelsea, came 
 to drink tea with us. On her affecting an astonish- 
 ment at our returning without them, Mrs. Skelton, 
 with unparalleled assurance, told her, that the poor 
 young lady which she had taken under her pro- 
 tection (meaning me) was terribly frightened yester- 
 day, by a gentleman that offered some rudeness to 
 her. She began to rally me most unmercifully, and 
 said, it was a sign that I came lately out of the 
 country ; for that those things must be expected to 
 happen to such a fine girl as I was (so she chose to 
 express herself,) if I went much into the polite 
 world. But, child, says she, I would make the 
 most of my charms, and get a good settlement, as 
 I have done, and then you would never wish to see 
 the country again. 
 
 As she ran on in this style, she took occasion to 
 adjust a diamond solitaire which she wore, and dis- 
 played to the best advantage three or four handsome 
 rings. But I was not so ignorant as to be dazzled 
 by such splendid trifles, or not to despise the 
 creature who, I had reason to believe, had pur- 
 chased these by the sacrifice of her virtue and inno- 
 cence.
 
 1S2 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Well, continued Miss Townsend, at length night 
 came, and the maid informed me, she had se- 
 cured all my things, except one silk night gown, 
 which her mistress had not hung up with the rest, 
 and she did not care to search after, for fear of 
 being discovered. I told her I should be glad to 
 leave that, as some recompense for near a fortnight's 
 board ; for, however wicked Mrs. Skelton's intentions 
 might be, I could not bear to be guilty of any act of 
 injustice, that 1 was not obliged to for my own pre- 
 servation. 
 
 We were forced to wait till near two o'clock, be- 
 fore the maid had seen her mistress, and Mr. Black- 
 man safe to bed ; for after he came home they sat 
 up for near an hour, in close debate ; and the maid 
 assured me, they were laying some other plot for 
 my destruction. 
 
 When we came down to the street door, the maid, 
 shaking her head, Ah ! says she, it is as I feared 
 the key is gone. I was thunder-struck at this news : 
 but she said, she knew a trick worth two of that ; 
 and bidding me follow her, we came down into the 
 kitchen, from which she opened a door into the 
 area (as I think they call it;) and, bringing a pair 
 of steps, which were made use of about the kitchen, 
 we clambered up to the balustrades, and got into 
 the court, narrowly escaping the watch who had 
 just cried, past two o'clock. In short, after several 
 frights and alarms, we got clear of the town ; 
 and, about sun-rising, found ourselves beyond Ham- 
 mersmith, I think, upon the western road. 
 
 As my dress was rather too good for a foot pas-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 133 
 
 senger, the girl proposed to rest that day, in some 
 house near the road, to prevent suspicion ; and so 
 take our chance of some carriage that might pass 
 
 I had hitherto been under much anxiety, for fear 
 of being pursued, though I was not conscious of 
 having injured any one, that I had no time to re- 
 flect, or to form any scheme, so complied with the 
 girl's proposal. Accordingly we stopped at a little 
 public-house where we reposed ourselves, and spent 
 theremainder of that day, not without a mixture of 
 joy and anxiety. 
 
 Whilst we were here the maid let me into the 
 true character of Mrs. Skelton ; who, 1 found, 
 made a practice of seducing young people ; and 
 that the fine lady, whom we had met at the play, 
 was an unhappy creature who had been drawn in 
 to prostitute her youth and beauty to Mr. Black- 
 man, for Mrs. Skelton's advantage ; though she was 
 now kept by that tradesman, who (as has been 
 mentioned) had almost ruined himself to support 
 her extravagance : that the gentleman who lodged 
 with her was really a man of good family, and con- 
 siderable fortune, but who spent it all in the grati- 
 fication of his own humour and vicious appetites ; 
 dividing his whole life between his tavern compa- 
 nions and his mistresses, with a variety of whom 
 this vile woman was well paid for supplying him. 
 So that I found I had great reason to bless myself 
 for this escape. 
 
 Wildgoose said, that Providence, for wise ends, 
 permitted such monsters to fulfil the measure of 
 their Jniquities ; but that they ought to be punished, 
 he thought, by human laws : that a double tax, 
 however, would be the least return such useless 
 wretches could make to the public, for the protec- 
 tion they enjoyed.
 
 134 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Well, continues Miss Townsend, we lay the next 
 night at the same house ; but the people, I suppose, 
 entertaining no very favourable opinion of our cha- 
 racters, took care to lodge us over a little room 
 distinct from the rest of the family. 
 
 As we had no sleep the preceding night, we went 
 early to bed, and 1 never waked till seven o'clock 
 the next morning, when, to my surprise, I missed 
 my bed-fellow ; and also, upon looking round the 
 room, I found she had eased me of a good part of 
 my luggage, particularly my little trunk which con- 
 tained my money, and the silk night-gown in which 
 I had escaped. My brocaded suit of clothes, how- 
 ever, and one silk and another cotton night-gown 
 were left me ; and I luckily had four guineas and 
 some silver, and my watch, in my pockets ; which, 
 according to custom, I had laid under my pillow. 
 
 I had now seen enough of the world to satisfy 
 my curiosity ; and had paid dear for about ten days' 
 experience. The loss of my clothes and money was 
 the least of my misfortune. I had certainly for- 
 feited my father's favour ; should expose myself to 
 the ridicule and reproaches of my sister and Mrs. 
 Townsend, and probably to the censures of the 
 whole neighbourhood, if I ventured thither. To go 
 back to town, where I had not one friend or ac- 
 quaintance that I knew where to find, was to run 
 into inevitable destruction. I immediately deter- 
 mined, therefore, to find out my good friend Mrs. 
 Sarsenet here ; whom having been' an old school-fel- 
 low Kkewise of my mamma's (though by the misfor- 
 tunes of her family in less affluent circumstances,)
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 135 
 
 and having been for a month at our house about two 
 years since, and showed a particular fondness for 
 me, I considered as the only friend I could apply 
 to in my present distress ; though I am now sensi- 
 ble it has given the widow Townsend a handle for 
 irritating my father still more against me, on ac- 
 count of the letter, which 1 before mentioned she 
 had seen, in which Mrs. Sarsenet expressed herself 
 with some freedom in regard to Mrs. Townsend's 
 character. In short, having inquired whether any 
 carriage went that road to Gloucester, 1 was in- 
 formed, that a Gloucester waggon would pass by 
 the house that day, which it accordingly did ; and, 
 meeting with an elderly woman and her daughter, 
 who were travelling into some part of Wales by the 
 same conveyance, 1 took my place, and got safe to 
 Mrs. Sarsenet, without any disagreeable event. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The story concluded. 
 
 Mrs. Sarsenet, was kind enough to write to my 
 father, and acquaint him with the whole progress 
 of my rash adventure ; and to assure him, that 
 I was thoroughly sensible of my folly ; and that I 
 was desirous to throw myself at his feet, and ask his 
 forgiveness. 
 
 I wrote at the same time to the poor woman who 
 had assisted me in my flight, to know what effect 
 my elopement had had on my poor father. She 
 wrote me word, that he was almost distracted at 
 the first news of it ; that it made a great disturbance 
 in the family, as was naturally to be expected ; but 
 that the widow Townsend found means to pacify my 
 n2
 
 136 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 father, by some false suggestion or other; and my 
 sister had persuaded them that I was certainly gone 
 to a relation of ours near Warwick (as I had really 
 talked about them to my sister;) and that my father's 
 first journey in quest of me was thither : but not 
 getting any intelligence of me there, somebody told 
 him, that I had been seen two or three times of late 
 at the coachman^s house above-mentioned. Upon 
 which he went, and threatened to send them both 
 to gaol, unless they discovered where they had con- 
 cealed me. Having extorted the secret from them, 
 he went immediately to Oxford, (where I had taken 
 coach,) and traced me to the inn in London ; but 
 the woman there being afraid, I suppose, to discover 
 into what hands she had recommended me, my father 
 went to "VTrs. Calvert's (the lady in Westminster whom 
 I wished to find out,) and not hearing any thing 
 of me, was returned into the country, where he 
 was quite melancholy, till he received Mrs. Sarse- 
 net's letter. What effect that had upon him, we are 
 yet to learn ; but as it is now above a fortnight since 
 he must have received it, I am afraid the widow 
 Townsend will not permit him to make any farther 
 inquiries after me : so here I am, an exile from 
 home, and an encumbrance to poor Mrs. Sarsenet; 
 and I do not know what return it will ever be in 
 my power to make for the trouble I have given her. 
 To this Mrs. Sarsenet made a complaisant reply, 
 which the author cannot recollect.
 
 THE Sl'IRITUAL QUIXOTE. 137 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The effects of Miss Toiunsend*s narration. 
 
 It is a vulgar maxim, that * a pretty woman should 
 rather be seen than heard : ' and, indeed, when a 
 fair lady seems to talk merely for the sake of talk- 
 ing, or with a direct intention to attract admirers, 
 she seldom prepossesses a stranger in her favour ; 
 but as Miss Townsend's story had interested Wild- 
 goose sufficiently to raise his compassion, there is 
 an easy transition from pity to love ; and it is fat 
 from certain that he did not begin to feel some- 
 thing of that mere human passion for this young 
 lady. But being desirous of acting in character, he 
 observed, that to be sure nothing but a prior obli- 
 gation which we are under to obey our heavenly Fa- 
 ther can justify our disobedience to an earthly pa- 
 rent: and although he by no means approved of 
 Miss Townsend's leaving her father upon so slight 
 a provocation, yet as Providence frequently pro* 
 duces good out of evil, and makes even our indis- 
 cretions concur with his gracious design of pro- 
 moting our felicity, perhaps, madam, says he, you 
 may be directed hither to receive instruction, in the 
 way of salvation, even from the meanest of God's 
 servants ; and I may, perhaps, be made a happy in- 
 strument of your conversion. 
 
 Miss Townsend, though a well-disposed girl, did 
 not much relish Wildgoose's enthusiastic notions, 
 or nice distinctions in divinity : but, as his person 
 was very agreeable, and they had learned from 
 Tugwell that he was heir to a pretty good fortune, 
 she had conceived no contemptible opinion of him ; 
 and listened with great attention whenever he talk- 
 ed upon common subjects. 
 
 N 3
 
 138 THE SPIUITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 I would not insinuate that Miss Townsend was of 
 a mercenary temper, for she really was not : but 
 though fortune alone, where the person is disagree- 
 able has seldom any considerable influence over the 
 affections of a young girl ; yet I believe, in conjunc- 
 tion with other circumstances, it operates insensibly 
 upon their fancies, and contributes to make the per- 
 son possessed of it more agreeable than he would 
 otherwise appear ; as the want of fortune frequently 
 prevents their seeing those perfections in a man 
 which he is really possessed of. 
 
 Miss Townsend, however, instead of answering 
 Wildgoose in a serious way, turned the discourse, 
 and began rallying him upon his external ap- 
 pearance. Lord ! Mr. Wildgoose, says she, what 
 makes you go about in that frightful hair of yours ? 
 I wonder you do not wear a wig, as other gentle- 
 men do. Madam, replies Wildgoose, I should be 
 sorry if any part of my dress were to prejudice 
 any one against me, much less would I willingly 
 raise a disgust in so pretty a lady against my per- 
 son. But pray, madam, why don't you like my 
 hair ? Oh ! frightful ! say she, 'tis so ungeriteel ; 
 so unlike other people ! Why, as for other people, 
 replies Wildgoose, I should choose to be unlike a 
 great part of the world, in their vain fashions and 
 idle customs : but as to its being ungenteel, I am 
 sorry any thing should be thought so that is na- 
 tural, convenient, and, I think, becoming. If you 
 do not think so, young lady, J am afraid it is owing 
 to mere prejudice, and the force of custom. Cics- 
 tom ! says .Miss Townsend, why, custom or fashion 
 is every thing, in regard to dress. I own it has 
 too great a force, replies Wildgoose ; and I dare 
 say, for that reason only, you think this great hoop 
 of yours very genteel, and very becoming ; and yet, 
 in the opinion of many people of the best taste, no-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 139 
 
 thing can be more monstrous, or more unnatural, 
 than hoop-petticoats are ; and 1 dare say we shall 
 live to see these Gothic ornaments banished from 
 the world.* What! hoops go out of fashion? Lord! 
 what a creature should I be without my hoop ! 
 
 Well, madam, says Wildgoose, as I should be 
 sorry to differ from you in the least trifle, and not 
 endeavour to comply with every one in matters of 
 indifference! I wish I could bring you, and all man- 
 kind, to my way of thinking, in this article of wear- 
 ing one's own hair ; for you must know, the honest 
 barber, where I lodge, had a great dispute with me 
 last night upon that very subject ; and almost in- 
 sisted upon making me a fine flowing white wig, as> 
 he said, he had done for Mr. Whitfield ; who, he 
 assured me, was of opinion, that nothing contri- 
 buted more to the conversion of sinners, than a good 
 periwig, as it gave a dignity to our appearance, and" 
 prepossessed people in favour of our preaching. 
 
 Why, says Mrs. Sarsenet, there may be some 
 truth in that observation. 
 
 Well, continues Wildgoose, it was in vain for 
 me to plead the examples of patriarchs, prophets, 
 apostles, and reformers. The poor barber, for the 
 credit of his trade, said, if there were no wigs in 
 those days, tliere were certainly barbers, by David's 
 allusion to the chief instrument of their art : " With 
 lies thou cuttest like a sharp razor." 
 
 Well, says Mrs. Sarsenet, who was apt to raise 
 scruples upon the most trifling occasions, but do 
 you really make a serious affair of this ? I should 
 be glad to beset right upon the lawfulness of using 
 art about one's person, and especially as to false 
 hair ; as many of my customers are as faulty in that 
 
 * This came to pas'; a few years after.
 
 l-iO THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 respect as the gentlemen ; and I believe I sell as 
 many wigs, or tetes, as any barber in town. 
 
 Wildgoose then, accustomed of late to harangue 
 upon all occasions, proceeded upon this important 
 subject in the following manner. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A dissertation on periivigs. 
 
 The use of false hair, madam, by particular peo- 
 ple, for particular reasons, is, I believe, very ancient 
 in the world. Vain persons of both sexes, either 
 to conceal some natural defect, or to improve (as 
 they imagine) their natural charms, have, in all 
 ages, had recourse to these artificial decorations. 
 Xenephon, a Greek writer, mentions the use of 
 them among the Medes ; and some commentators 
 are of opinion, that the hair of her head, with which 
 Mary Magdalene wiped our Saviour's feet, was 
 really a tete, or a set of false curls which she might 
 employ in that manner, to express her detestation 
 of the wanton and dissolute life which she had for- 
 merly led. It is certain, however, that these un- 
 natural ornaments were esteemed infamous in those 
 more early times, by all good and sensible people. 
 Julius Caisar, though he is said to have been parti- 
 cularly pleased with the laurels decreed him by the 
 senate, because they concealed the baldness of his 
 temples : yet that great man, I believe, would have 
 been highly offended, if his barber had proposed a 
 set of false curls for that purpose. Though it is con- 
 fessed, that the emperor Otho, many years after, 
 wore a periwig ; as he also is reproached with car-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 141 
 
 rying a looking-glass amongst his baggage in his mi- 
 litary expeditions. 
 
 The first mention which I remember to be made 
 of periwigs, in our English history, is in the account 
 of Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham's 
 appearing in disguise at a ball at Paris, in their way 
 to Madrid; * but that was evidently a masquerade 
 dress, as they wore false beards for the same pur- 
 pose ; which also was done by the players in Shake- 
 speare's time, Wigs were but little if at all used in 
 England till the Restoration of Charles the Second, 
 and then chiefly by persons of distinction. These, 
 indeed, by degrees, were imitated by the beaux and 
 fops of the age ; yet it was some time before the 
 fashion extended itself to the graver professions of 
 law, physic, and divinity. But when once it had 
 the sanction of those venerable bodies, it was not 
 long, we may suppose, before it spread amongst all 
 ranks and degrees of men in the nation. 
 
 At first, however, some resemblance of nature 
 was observed in these contrivances of art, and a pe- 
 riwig was only a more complete head of hair, suited 
 to the complexion, and fitted as exactly as possible 
 to the forehead and temples of the person who wore 
 it. But of late years any man that has a mind to 
 look more considerable or more wise than his neigh- 
 bours, goes to a barber's, and purchases fifty shil- 
 lings-worth of false hair (white, black, or grey) and 
 hangs it upon his head, without the least regard to. 
 his complexion, his age, his person, or his station 
 in life ; and certainly if an inhabitant of the Cape- 
 of Good Hope were to behold the stiff horse-hair- 
 buckles, or the tied wigs of our lawyers, physicians, 
 tradesmen, or divines, they would appear as barba- 
 rous and extraordinary to them, as the sheep's tripes 
 
 * In Kiiifc .James tla- First's r. io;n.
 
 142 TttE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 and chitterlins about the neck of a Hottentot do to 
 us. 
 
 Miss Townsend and Mrs. Sarsenet forced a smile 
 at Wildgoose's vehemence and far-fetched compari- 
 son. But he, correcting himself, went on. 
 
 I am ashamed, says he, to dwell so long upon 
 the absurdity of our modern periwigs, in point of 
 taste : but as Miss Townsend objected to the genti- 
 lity of my own locks, and as the chief intent of 
 hair, considered as ornamental, seems to be to give a 
 softness to the features, by rising in an easy manner 
 from the forehead, and falling loosely down upon 
 the parts which it was designed to cover, I own I 
 had rather see the worst head of natural hair, than 
 the most accurate wig that ever adorned a barber's 
 block : and as a good taste in other articles of dress 
 seems to prevail in the world, I should not be sur- 
 prised to see periwigs again banished from the gen- 
 teel part of mankind, tojour poor labourers and me- 
 chanics, to whom it may be sometimes convenient 
 to be freed from the incumbrance of a long or bushy 
 head of hair. 
 
 But, continued Wildgoose, I have a particular 
 and more important objection to those supplemental 
 locks, from the bad influence they certainly have 
 upon the moral and religious conduct of too many 
 in this age. 
 
 As how ? for goodness sake ! cries Miss Towns- 
 end. 
 
 Why, madam, says Wildgoose, perhaps there ne- 
 ver was a period that furnished so many in.stances 
 of unseasonable gaiety, or so great a number of old 
 debauchees, as the age we live in. You yourself 
 have met with one instance, in the short course of 
 your ramble. Now, I have often conceived, how 
 strange soever you may think it, that this was owing 
 in a great measure to the use of periwigs ; that is, to
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. I'l'S 
 
 the great ease with which the gentlemen of this 
 generation may conceal the effects of old age, and 
 exchange their grey locks for those which are ex- 
 pressive of youth and vigour. It was certainly the 
 kind intention of Providence, to remind us of the 
 approach of age and infirmity, by the several symp- 
 toms of wrinkled foreheads, decaying teeth, and 
 grey hairs. Now, when a man of a debauched and 
 dissolute mind is almost worn out in the service of 
 his lusts and sensual appetites, he puts on a fine flow- 
 in;^ Adonis or white periwig (and, perhaps, a set of 
 false teeth;) surveys himself in the glass, and imme- 
 diately forgets his real age ; commences beau again 
 in the winter of his days, and, if he cannot prevail 
 on any modest woman to accept of him as a husband, 
 he has probably recourse to some mercenary wretch, 
 who squanders away his money, ruins his health, 
 and exposes him to the ridicule of his very servants 
 and dependants ; and, what is worse, to the eternal 
 displeasure of his offended Creator. 
 
 Bless me ! cries Miss Townsend, why you have 
 given us quite a sermon upon periwigs. I really 
 never apprehended there was so much sin, though 
 there might be a great deal of folly, under the wig 
 of a beau : but you will persuade one to believe 
 that, in a literal sense, the hairs of our head are all 
 numbered, and that it is unlawful either to increase 
 or diminish them on any account. 
 
 Indeed, I myself was imposed upon by an old 
 gentleman in a solemn wig ; and, on the contrary, 
 1 heard lately of an old baronet, that fell in love with 
 a young lady of small fortune, at some public place, 
 for her beautiful brown locks. He married her on a 
 sudden : but was greatly disappointed upon seeing 
 her wig or tete the next morning thrown carelessly 
 upon her toilette ; and her ladyship appearing at 
 breakfast in very bright red hair, which Avas a co-
 
 144 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 lour the old gentleman happened to have a particu- 
 lar aversion to. - 
 
 Well, madam, replied Wildgoose, then I hope I 
 have almost made you a convert to my opinion, and 
 reconciled you to the natural ornaments of the hu- 
 man face, though you were so lately disgusted at 
 my appearance. Why, really, says she, whatever 
 may be naturally beautiful, yet custom, as I said 
 before, makes one like or dislike things, as the fa- 
 shion varies. 
 
 But, madam, if painting the face were as much 
 the fashion in England as it is in France, could you 
 think it lawful for a good Christian to comply with 
 such a fashion, or to make use of such meretricious 
 decorations? Lord! says Miss Townsend, you use 
 so many hard words; you may call one names, for 
 aught I know, and we not understand you. But, I 
 think, we have had more than enough upon this 
 foolish subject. 
 
 Wildgoose, therefore, made an apology for his 
 impertinence, and took his leave for the present : 
 and, having been now near a fortnight at Glouces- 
 ter, the next night he made a farewel harangue to 
 his usual audience ; appointed Mrs. Sarsenet a sort 
 of deaconess, and Mr. Keen, the barber, a ruler of 
 the little synagogue, with instructions to assemble 
 the brethren occasionally, and exhort them to per- 
 severance; and left Gloucester the next day, after 
 promising to visit them again in his return from 
 Bristol.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 145 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Jaretvell-harangue is attended tvith a disastrous 
 circumstance. 
 
 When Wildgoose came to take his leave of Mrs. 
 Sarsenet, she happened lo be gone out, and he 
 found nobody in the shop but Miss Townsend. 
 After a short conversation with her on the subject 
 of rehgion (on which head she never seemed to re- 
 Hsh his doctrine,) Wildgoose said, he hoped to have 
 the pleasure of hearing of her sometimes by the 
 hands of Mrs. Sarsenet. Miss Townsend answered, 
 she did not know how long she might stay at Glou- 
 cester ; but, fetching an involuntary sigh, which was 
 immediately succeeded by a blush, she owned she 
 sliould be always glad to hear of Mr. Wildgoose, 
 especially when he was returned to his disconsolate 
 mother. Wildgoose replied, that he had written to 
 his mother, and given her the reasons for his con- 
 duct; but must leave it to heaven to dispose of him 
 as it should think fit. Then, taking Miss Towns- 
 end's hand, and pressing it to his lips, he took his 
 leave, with a deep sigh, and a very expressive 
 silence. 
 
 At Wildgoose's farewell-harangue, there was a 
 piece of fun played off, which, as it was attended 
 with serious consequences to the poor barber, ought 
 not to be here omitted. 
 
 Under the same roof with the said artist, and in 
 part of the same ruinous mansion, there dwelt an 
 honest publican, to whose craft the pious conventi- 
 cle at Mr. Keen's was by no means ikvourable. The 
 publican, therefore, gladly connived at, or rather 
 aided and assisted, an unlucky project of his son 
 and some apprentices, to disturb at least, if not put 
 
 VOL. XXXII. Q
 
 146 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 a stop to, this dangerous assembly. The ancient 
 dining-room, in which they met, had a communi- 
 cation with each part of the house ; but the com- 
 mon door had been stopped up, by agreement, tor 
 some years. This, however, the lads contrived to 
 open, and from thence, early in the morning, had 
 carefully laid a train of gunpowder by the side of 
 the wall, as far as the tub upon which Tugwell usu- 
 ally seated himself near his master, and at pmper 
 intervals had bestowed squibs and crackers, with 
 balls of wild-fire ; and into the tub they had con- 
 veyed a considerable quantity of that infernal com- 
 position. 
 
 Having thus laid their plot, they waited with as 
 much inipatience for their time of meeting, as Guy 
 Fawkes and his associates did for the meeting of 
 the Parliament on the fifth of November. At length 
 the evening came, and whilst Wildgoose was in the 
 most pathetic part of his discourse, dealing about his 
 judgment of wrath and indignation, fire and brim- 
 stone, with great zeal and vehement gesticulations, 
 they set fire to their train, which, corresponding 
 with the heated imaginations of the audience, had 
 its proper effect, and threw them into the utmost 
 consternation. The saints and sinners fled promis- 
 cuously, without waiting for the benediction. The 
 tub, on which Tugwell was perched, burst into a 
 thousand pieces, with so loud a report, and such 
 violent force, that if Jerry's prudence had not pre- 
 vailed over his fortitude, and prompted him to make 
 his escape amongst the foremost of the company, 
 he would probably have been sent to heaven, before 
 his time, in a chariot of fire. A poor decrepit old 
 woman, however, in her crowned hat, who, on ac- 
 count of her deafness, was seated near the preacher, 
 was terribly battered and burnt by the bursting of 
 the barrel ; which of itself was a sufficient reason for
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 147 
 
 Mr. Keen's getting a warrant, and carrying the pub- 
 lican before the mayor ; who, unless he had found 
 sufficient bail, and given security to indemnify the 
 old woman for her burns and bruises, would have 
 committed him to the Castle. The publican, how- 
 ever, took an opportunity of revenging himself suf- 
 ficiently upon his pious neighbour ; which will be 
 related in its proper place. 
 
 END OF THE THIUD BOOK. 
 
 o2
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Sets out for Bath. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose, during his stay at Gloucester, 
 having heard that there was a considerable society 
 of godly people established at Bath, was resolved to 
 visit that place in his way to Bristol : and being 
 likewise informed, that there was, at this time, a 
 race at Cirencester, he was inclined to make an- 
 other effort at one of those public meetings, and 
 attack the devil a second time, in one of his itrong 
 holds; and resolved, therefore, to take his route 
 by that place and Tetbury, and so to Bath. 
 
 Accordingly they set out pretty early in the 
 morning, and about eight o'clock reached Birdlip- 
 hill. 
 
 Wildgoose, being a little thoughtful on parting 
 with his Christian brethren ; and a sort of melan- 
 choly likewise succeeding in his mind, to the inno- 
 cent sprightliness of Miss Townsend, but little con- 
 versation passed between the two pilgrims. Tug- 
 well, however, took the liberty to remind his master 
 of his mother's illness, and said, it was a little hard- 
 hearted in him, not to write her a letter, howsovievcr ; 
 that he himself should not mind the loss of his son
 
 THE SPIRITUAL aUIXOTE. 149 
 
 SO much, if he could but hear from him now and 
 then, that he might know whether he was alive or 
 not : he hoped, therefore, that Mr. Wildgoose 
 would write to madam, and let her know as how 
 they should be at home again very speedily. Wild- 
 goose replied, with some degree of peevishness, 
 that he had written to his mother ; but as to their 
 returning home again, that was according as Mr. 
 Whitfield should dispose of hitp, and according to 
 the success of his labours in the gospel. In short, 
 says he, hast thou forgot our great Master's decla- 
 ration, " Whosoever loves father or mother more 
 than me, is not worthy of me?" Jerry stood cor- 
 rected, and so trudged on without farther reply. 
 
 They now proceeded for several miles, without 
 meeting with any adventure ; and Wildgoose might 
 as well have thought of preaching the gospel in the 
 Deserts of Arabia, as on the Cotswold-hills. He 
 would have been like the preacher, whose discourses 
 generally produced such a solitude in his church, 
 that he was facetiously called, " the voice of one 
 crying in the wilderness," or desert, Vox clamantis 
 in deserto. 
 
 Indeed, the fame of Cirencester races operated 
 so strongly, that it had drawn every man, woman, 
 and child, for ten miles round, that could either 
 borrow a horse, or walk on foot, into its vortex ; so 
 that they did not meet a living creature, unless H 
 London waggon might be called so, upon the high 
 road. 
 
 In the afternoon, however, they saw a pompous 
 equipage, with a numerous attendance, come whirl- 
 ing along the road, amidst a cloud of dust. It was 
 a landau, or open coach, with six horses, and four 
 or five out-riders in most flaming liveries. They 
 came upon them so suddenly, that Wildgoose had 
 hardly time to get out of the road ; and one of the 
 o 3
 
 150 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 footmen gave Tugwell a hearty cut with his whip, 
 to quicken his pace and clear the way. 
 
 The principal figure in this gay party was a young 
 fellow, whom, on a sudden glance, Wildgoose im- 
 mediately recollected to have been an intimate ac- 
 quaintance in the university. He had unexpectedly 
 arrived at an immense fortune ; was just married, 
 and was conducting his bride, with some other com- 
 pany, to his country-house in shire. He 
 
 would hardly have reconnoitred Wildgoose, how- 
 ever, in his short hair, and present uncouth appear- 
 ance, if he had vouchsafed a look upon two such 
 dusty objects as he and his fellow-traveller now 
 were. The whole company consisted of three la- 
 dies and two gentlemen, who were laughing and 
 talking in all the gaiety and wanton levity of un- 
 thinking youth. Wildgoose, however, was so far 
 from envying them, that he only lamented their 
 unhappiness, that notwithstanding their splendid 
 appearance and seeming felicity, they had not yet 
 been blessed with the illumination of the Spirit, as 
 he flattered himself he and his humble companion 
 had happily been. 
 
 This scene was hardly shifted, when, as a contrast 
 to the splendour of it, they espied a poor tinker and 
 his trull, sitting calmly on a shady bank, under a 
 hedge, a little out of the road. Tugwell inquired 
 of the tinker, how far it was to Cirencester. Instead 
 of giving a direct answer to his question, the tinker 
 told him he would be too late for the sport, for that 
 the horses were to start at three o'clock, and that 
 this was the last day of the race. The first part of 
 this intelligence damped Tugwell's spirits, as the 
 latter made Wildgoose waver in his resolution of 
 going that way. He then asked the tinker, whe- 
 ther therfe was not a nearer way to Tetbury than 
 through Cirencester? Yes, says he, by some miles.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 151 
 
 If you keep the right-hand road at the next turning, 
 it will bring you to a public-house, called Park- 
 corner, where there is good ale and civil usage. 
 
 As the tinker and his doxy were regaling them- 
 selves with a bacon-bone, which they had got at a 
 neighbouring farm-house, it put Tugwell in mind 
 of what he had stored in his wallet ; and VVildgoose 
 considering it as an act of humiliation, and that he 
 might probably make a meal and make a convert at 
 the same time, complied with Jerry's request, to 
 join this happy couple, and refresh themselves with 
 what Mrs. Whitfield had furnished him at Glouces- 
 ter, where, besides a substantial slice or two of a 
 round of beef, he had laid in an old French flask, 
 filled with some good ale or strong beer. They, 
 therefore, with a proper apology, took their seat 
 upon the bank ; Wildgoose next the tinker, and 
 Tugwell by his trull. 
 
 They were hardly seated when Wildgoose (in his 
 way) asked the tinker, why he chose to lead such 
 an idle, vagabond life, as those of his profession ge- 
 nerally did ? Yes, says Tugwell, it is like a travel- 
 ling cobbler, that goes about, and takes the meat 
 out of the mouth of an honest workman, that is to 
 live by his trade. Hey! what the devil! says the 
 tinker, the pot calls the kettle black a-se ; why I 
 suppose thou art a pedlar, as well as myself; sure all 
 trades must live. Yes, says Wildgoose, very true ; 
 but I wonder any one should choose to live in such 
 an unsettled way, if it is in his power to avoid it. 
 Aye, says the tinker, but those that cannot live at 
 home must seek their fortune abroad. It is better 
 to pick a bone under a hedge, than to rot in a gaol, 
 as, perhaps, I might have done, if I staid at home. 
 How so ? sa3's Tugwell ; What, I suppose you owed 
 money, and had none to pay ? Yes, 'replied the 
 tinker, I was ruined by a piece of good fortane, or
 
 152 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 rather by trusting more to the smiles of fortune than 
 to my own industry. That is no uncommon case. 
 says Wildgoose ; but how did that come to pass ? 
 To which the tinker replied as in the following 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The tinker's tale. 
 
 I WAS settled in a very flourishing trade, as a bra- 
 zier, in a large town in the west of England, in 
 which I employed a great many hands ; and my 
 wife and I lived happily together. A distant rela- 
 tion dying without children, left five thousand 
 pounds betwixt me, my three brothers, and a sister; 
 which one would have thought might easily have 
 been divided between us, without the assistance of 
 a lawyer. But, as we were to pay an old aunt an 
 annuity for her life, of twenty pounds half yearly, 
 this part of the will being ambitiously expressed, 
 Ambiguousli/, I suppose you mean, says Wildgoose 
 I mean, says the tinker, what the lawyer told us, 
 that it was impossible to know, as the will was 
 worded, whether it meant twenty pounds or forty 
 pounds a year ; though every one knew the inten- 
 tion of my kinsman was, to leave her only twenty 
 pounds a year in the whole ; and the lawyer that 
 made the will had probably expressed it so, on pur- 
 pose to make work for the tinker, as the saying is. 
 Well, we were advised to put the affair into Chan- 
 cery, in an amicable way, as they call it ; which, as 
 they told us, would be a trifling expence, and would 
 soon be determined. But my sister and one of my 
 brothers dying in the mean time, and leaving chil-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 153 
 
 dren, we were forced to have bills of revivor, I 
 tliink they call them, one after another ; so that by 
 some means or other, we could never get a decree 
 to settle this affair under seven years. When that 
 was done our lawyer told us, the business would 
 now soon be ended ; for that there was nothing now 
 to do, but to settle the account before a Master in 
 Chancery, which, one would think, might have been 
 easily done. But we soon found, that not a few 
 years were required to settle an account which any 
 schoolmaster, or indeed, any schoolboy, might have 
 settled in a few hours. 
 
 But I should have told you before, that, after a 
 decent mourning for the death of my kinsman, I 
 had invited some of my friends to a tavern, to par- 
 take of my joy, for the legacy which he had left me. 
 I also thought it unnecessary to make myself any 
 longer a slave to my business ; and the respect with 
 which I found myself treated by the waiters and 
 tapsters at the public-houses which I frequented, 
 made me fond of repeating my visits at those places 
 of rendezvous. 
 
 My poor wife saw the absurdity of my conduct, 
 and whenever I came home elated with liquor, would 
 reproach me for my folly in no very gentle terms. 
 In short, home began to be disagreeable to me, and 
 I was never easy out of a public-house ; so that by 
 neglecting my business, and spending considerable 
 sums at the tavern, by the time our law-suit was 
 ended, I found myself more in debt than the share 
 of my legacy which the law had left me amounted 
 to ; for instead of one thousand pounds apiece, it 
 did not turn out above five hundred. Her vexation 
 on this account was the death of my poor wife ; and 
 though I held up my head a year or two longer, my 
 landlord at last seized upon my stock for rent, and 
 I was forced to abscond, and leave my three chil-
 
 I54< THE SPITITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 dren upon the parish, and to fly my country : and 
 thus, by my own folly, and the iniquity of a court 
 of equity, from a topping tradesman I am become 
 a travelling tinker, at your service. 
 
 Though Tugwell had been cramming in his cold 
 beef, during the tinker's narration, yet he shook 
 his head at the conclusion of it, and said that the 
 law was a bottomless pit, as the exciseman us5d to 
 say. 
 
 Wildgoose observed, that those forms of law, 
 which were sometimes so oppressive to individuals, 
 were the greatest security in general of justice and 
 of property. That is true, master, says Tugwell ; 
 but come, let us drink, and drive away care, quoth 
 Jerry. He then put the flask to his mouth, and 
 tossed off one half of it ; then clapping his hand 
 upon the young woman's knee, who was a hand- 
 some black girl (black I mean from the sooty con- 
 tact of her paramour, for naturally she was as fair 
 as the Venus of Corregio) Tugwell, T say, squeez- 
 ing her knees, with a waggish air, bid the lady 
 pledge him. But the tinker's dog, who lay at his 
 mistress's feet, not approving of Jerry's familiarity, 
 starts up, and snaps at his fingers; in return for 
 which he gave the dog a kick in the guts. This 
 roused the Tinker's choler, already provoked at 
 Tugwell's amorous freedom with his doxy, arid he 
 gave him a clink in the mazard. Tugwell had not 
 been used tamely to receive a kick or a cuff; he, 
 therefore, gave the tinker a rejoinder, which would 
 have brought on a regular boxing-match, had not 
 Wildgoose on one side, and Trulla on the other, in- 
 terposed, and put a stop to farther hostilities. The 
 tinker, however, sacked up his budget, and his 
 companion her bundle, and went growling off, with 
 hearty curses both upon Tugwell and his master, 
 for intruding upon them and interrupting their
 
 TIIK SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 155 
 
 tranquillity. Such was the event of Wildgoose's 
 benevolent intention of converting this itinerant 
 copper-smith and his female companion, which 
 Tugwell called, casting their pearls before swine ; 
 though his own indiscretion alone, and carnal wag- 
 gery, had defeated his master's purpose, and de- 
 prived him of an opportunity of giving them any 
 spiritual instruction. 
 
 Our two pilgrims finished their repast, took a 
 short nap to refresh themselves, and then proceeded 
 on their journey, leaving the Cirencester road, and 
 bending their course towards Park-corner : but the 
 shades of night overtook them before they reached 
 their intended quarters. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Their conifortable reception at Park-corner, near 
 Lord Bathursi's woods. 
 
 Blessed be the man that first invented warming- 
 pans ! said an old gentleman with whom I passed 
 the Alps, upon coming to a comfortable inn on 
 mount St. Bernard ; and blessed be that good chris- 
 tian who first found out chimney-corners, said 
 Tugwell to himself, upon spying the distant light of 
 the inn to which they had been directed. Nothing 
 is more comfortable, continued Jerry, than a pipe 
 of tobacco in a chimney-corner, after wandering 
 about in a dark night and in a strange country, as 
 we have done : and if I can but meet with a bit of 
 soft cheese and a raddish, to close the orifice of the 
 stomach (as the exciseman used to say,) 1 shall be 
 as happy as the Great Mogul. 
 
 Tugwell was consoling himself with these savoury 
 5
 
 156 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 ideas, when, about nine o'clock, they approached 
 Park-corner. But, lo ! instead of this snug scene, 
 which Jerry had formed in his imagination, they 
 found the inn so crowded with company from Ci- 
 rencester races, that they were forced to sit drink- 
 ing out at the door (it being a warm evening;) and 
 the stables also were so full, that there were near 
 twenty horses standing round the sign-post. 
 
 It was in vain for foot passengers to expect any 
 kind of lodgings upon such an occasion ; and it was 
 even with difficulty that they got any sort of re- 
 freshment. Tugwell began to complain of great 
 fatigue, and to lament their distress ; but Wild- 
 goose, attentive to nothing so much as the conver- 
 sion of sinners, cried out, in a strain of exultation, 
 Now for it, Jerry ! this is an unexpected opportu- 
 nity ! let us take possession of the devil's strong 
 hold ; we will make his kingdom shake, I'll warrant 
 you. 
 
 Having said this, in the warmth of his zeal, with- 
 out any more ceremony, he mounted the horse- 
 block contiguous to the sign post, and began to ha- 
 rangue with such vehemence, that he soon drew to- 
 gether all the company about the house; and though 
 some mocked, yet others were very attentive : for, 
 as many of them came at no great distance from 
 Gloucester, they had heard of Wildgoose's fame, 
 and were glad of an opportunity of gratifying their 
 curiosity at so easy a rate. 
 
 But, after a little time, some of them began to 
 regret the leaving their pipes and their punch- 
 bowls ; others were provoked at being interrupted 
 in the midst of their songs and catches, and could 
 not forbear renewing their melody at every period 
 of Wildgoose's discourse ; which he perceiving, 
 after some lime, addressed them in the apostolical 
 strain : " If any is merry, let him sing psalms ;" and 
 3
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 157 
 
 ordefed Tugwell to give out the hundredth psalm. 
 But the people of the house thinking their craft was 
 in danger, and that preaching and singing of psalms 
 interrupted more profitable business, were not much 
 pleased with these proceedings. They connived, 
 therefore, at a proposal of the hostler, who climb- 
 ing up the sign-post, which was not much illumi- 
 nated, discharged a bucket of water upon the heads 
 of the two pilgrims, which raised a great uproar, 
 threw all into confusion, and effectually cooled 
 their devotion. 
 
 They were now certainly in very evil plight, al- 
 most wet to the skin, and thoroughly tired, nor 
 likely to get any bed, or any comfortable accommo- 
 dations at Park-corner ; and they were assured, 
 there was no other house upon the road nearer than 
 Tetbury, which was six or seven miles. In the 
 midst of this distress, however, a gentleman's ser- 
 vant, in a green coat and black cap, with some 
 dog-couples by his side, having observed that Wild- 
 goose had a watch in his pocket, which he consult- 
 ed about the hour of the night, and that he had 
 otherwise the appearance of a gentleman, tliQught 
 he might safely invite him and his companion to 
 his habitation. This was part of an old Gothic 
 building, about a mile within Lord Bathurst's fine 
 woods, which extended for five or six miles to the 
 Avest of Cirencester, and are cut into glades and 
 avenues, most of which are terminated by towers or 
 spires, or some other striking objects, agreeable to 
 the magnificent taste of that worthy nobleman. 
 
 Upon the keeper's offering them such accommo- 
 dations as his house would afford, the travellers, we 
 may be sure, having no choice, were glad to accept 
 of so unexpected an invitation. They accompa- 
 nied their honest guide, therefore, who was then 
 going to his castle, together with a groom of ray 
 p
 
 158 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 lord's, who had staid out beyond his time, and in- 
 tended to lie at the house in the wood till the 
 morning. 
 
 The gloomy darkness and solemn silence of the 
 woods, through which they were conducted by mere 
 strangers, filled Tugwell with terrible apprehen- 
 sions, which were greatly aggravated upon their 
 approach to the house, by the loud barkings of 
 some wolf-dogs, pointers, and southern hounds, and 
 the like ; which, echoing from the ruinous walls, 
 revived in Tugwell's imagination his danger from 
 the adventure of the buck-hunters; but when they 
 came still nearer, the canking of some Spanish 
 geese, the gobling of turkeys, and the noise of 
 other uncommon fowls which are kept there, threw 
 poor Jerry into the utmost consternation. He was 
 soon freed from this alarm, however, on being con- 
 ducted into a cheerful kitchen, where the keeper's 
 wife was expecting the return of her husband by a 
 good fire. Being informed of the distress from 
 which his benevolence had freed the travellers, she 
 received them with tolerable civility; desired them 
 to come to the fire and dry themselves, and enter- 
 tained them with as much hospitality as their cir- 
 cumstances would allow of. 
 
 The keeper had but one spare bed, which Tug- 
 well could not be prevailed upon to partake with his 
 master, so took up his lodgings with the groom in 
 the hay-loft ; and Wildgoose, making it a point of 
 conscience, not to indulge himself in the softness 
 of a down-bed, when his fellow-labourer fared so 
 coarsely, wrapped himself up in the coverlet and lay 
 down upon the floor. So, though they were both 
 thoroughly tired, through the complaisance of the 
 one, and the Quixotism of the other, a very good 
 feather-bed remained useless and unoccupied. 
 Wildgpose,however, slept tolerably well on the floor,
 
 THE SPFRITUAL QUIXOTE. 159 
 
 and Tugwell would have slept better in the hay- 
 loft, had not the groom, who chose to lie in his 
 boots and spurs, given Jerry now and then an 
 involuntary titillation. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Spiritual advice. 
 
 In the morning as soon as the keeper arose, he pre- 
 pared them a good breakfast of toast and ale ; and, 
 as his wife was dressing a sucking child by the fire, 
 she expressed some concern, that Mr. Wildgoose 
 had so bad a lodging, and was forced to lie upon 
 the floor all night, as she found he had done. Wild- 
 goose, recollecting Mr. Whitfield's method of alle- 
 gorizing upon such occasions, shook his head, and, 
 turning towards Tugwell, in allusion to the child at 
 the breast, Ah! says he, I sweetly leaned on my 
 Saviour's bosom, and sucked out of the breasts of his 
 consolation ; and 1 can truly say, the banner of his 
 love was spread over me the whole night .^ 
 
 The poor woman, a stranger to this pious jargon, 
 stared at him with astonishment, to hear a jolly 
 man, as Wildgoose was, talk of sucking at the breast; 
 which Tugwell observing, and imagining he could 
 explain his master's meaning. Yes, yes, says he, his 
 worship only talks in the way of Christian discourse, 
 look ye ! that is, as a body may say, his worship 
 took a good swinging nap, and had a comfortable 
 night's rest. Wildgoose did not reflect upon the 
 improbability of his audience's not comprehending 
 his allegorical meaning, but thought the least he 
 
 * Vide Journals. 
 p2
 
 160 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 could do, in return for their kindness, was to im- 
 part some spiritual advice to his host and family. 
 
 After a few observations, therefore, upon the 
 laudable nature of hospitality, and putting them in 
 mind, that in the primitive times, some had enter- 
 tained angels, without suspecting an}' thing of the 
 matter, he proceeded to assure them, that in such 
 cases (as that of Kahab the harlot for instance) it 
 was her faith, and not her kindness to the Jewish 
 spies, that was so acceptable to God. In short, 
 says he, though it is a very commendable thing to 
 entertain strangers in distress, as you have done us, 
 yet you must be very cautious not to place the least 
 merit in this, or in any other good work which you 
 can possibly perform; for we must be saved by faith 
 alone, without works. 
 
 Faith and troth, master, replies the keeper, (lit- 
 tle used to religious speculations) I never thought 
 about merit, or any such thing. I did as I would be 
 done by. Our ale is but poor, indeed, but such as 
 it is, you are welcome to it as a king; and I don't 
 desire a farthing for my trouble. 
 
 However, master, 1 don't know what you mean 
 by being saved without xvork; but I am sure all the 
 faith in the world, without work, would not save me 
 from starving. It is true, continues he, I live in 
 my lord's house here, rent free; but never a man 
 in the country works harder to support his family 
 than I do: aixl if you choose to taken a turn here 
 in the woods, I will shew you some serpentine walks 
 which / advised my lord to let me cut out this last 
 week ; in which, indeed, the honest man probably 
 took more pride than my lord himself did. 
 
 Wildgoose, therefore, having given his hostess 
 half a crown for her trouble (which she did not at 
 all expect from such guests,) took his leave, and ac- 
 companied the keeper into the woods.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 161 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A stranger of a peculiar character arrives. 
 
 As the keeper and his guests were in the amphi- 
 theatre before the Gothic house, there arrived a tall 
 elderly gentleman, with his servant, whose curiosity 
 had brought him to see the place. Well, says he to 
 a country fellow, who had been his guide, where 
 are these turpentine walks which you told me of? 
 Then, alighting from his horse, and surveying the 
 structure, which represents the ruin of a castle over- 
 grown with ivy ; Aye, says he, a very ancient 
 place ! Probably one of the castra csstiva, or sum- 
 mer camps, of the Romans ; some appendage to 
 Cirencester, I suppose, which was one of the castra 
 hyberna, or winter stations, of the Roman legions. 
 The ckstle itself was probably built during the ba- 
 rons' wars, in the reign of Henry the third, or of 
 King John. Aha! look ye there now, says the 
 keeper, smiling, so several gentlemen have thought: 
 but, sir, I assure you, it was built by my present 
 lord, but a few years ago ; and his lordship used to 
 say, he could have built it as old again if he had 
 had a mind. Built by my present lord! cries the 
 gentleman, with a frown, and were there no ruins 
 of a castle here before ? Not that I ever heard of, 
 replies the keeper. Well, for my part, says the 
 stranger, I don't at all approve of these deceptions, 
 which must necessarily mislead future antiquaries, 
 and introduce great confusion into the English his- 
 tory. I don't wonder, continues the stranger, turn- 
 ing towards Wildgoose, that any gentleman should 
 wish to have his woods or gardens adorned with 
 these venerable Gothic structures, as they strike the 
 imagination with vast pleasure, both by the great- 
 p3
 
 162 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 ness of the object, and also by giving us amelancholjr 
 idea of their past grandeur and magnificence. But 
 for a man to build a ruin, or to erect a modern 
 house in the style of our Gothic ancestors, appears 
 to me the same absurdity, and must be attended 
 with the same inconvenience to posterity, as that 
 M'hich many people have of late run into, of hav- 
 ing their pictures drawn in the habits of Vandyke, 
 or Sir Peter Lely; or that of our modern mint-mas- 
 ters, of representing our English heroes in Roman 
 armour, and the dresses of anquity : for though I 
 myself have a great veneration for the Roman cus- 
 toms, yet this foolish practice, 1 think, destroys one 
 considerable use of pictures and medals, that of 
 conveying to posterity the habits and customs of 
 the age we live in. 
 
 I find, sir, says Wildgoose, you are a connoiseur 
 in these things, and I suppose have a taste for an- 
 tiquities. Sir, replies the gentleman, I have some 
 little taste that way, and took Cirencester in my 
 road to Gloucester, not to see the races, I assure 
 you, but to inquire after some of those Roman coins 
 which are found there in great abundance. 
 
 As the antiquary was talking, he pulled out his 
 sudariuin, or pocket handkerchief, to wipe his face, 
 when two or three silver and copper medals, which 
 he had met with at Cirencester, dropped out of his 
 pocket ; which he picked up, and began explaining 
 them to Wildgoose and the company ; upon which 
 Wildgoose observed, that the study of medals was 
 a curious study; but he could never be convinced 
 of the utility of it. The utility of it, replies the vir- 
 tuoso, with some vivacity, why as to that, I'll only 
 refer you to Mr. Addison's Dialogues upon that 
 subject, to which I think nothing can be added. 
 
 But people often run themselves into difficulties, 
 continued he, and lay themselves open to their au-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 165 
 
 tagonists, by resting their cause upon a wrong plea ' 
 everything must be proved ?^sr/w/ forsooth ! where- 
 as 1 think it sufficient if some things are proved 
 agreeable and entertaining. Why has not the ima- 
 gmation or fancy a right to be gratified, as well as 
 die passions or appetites, in a subordinate degree, 
 and under the directions of reason? 
 
 If I were to dispute with a Methodist about lux- 
 wry in food, and about the necessity of fasting and 
 mortification, I should not think myself obliged to 
 prove, that every thing we usually eat was abso- 
 lutely necessary to support life. 
 
 Sir, says Wildgoose, interrupting him, 1 never 
 heard that the Methodists laid any stress upon those 
 legal observances of fasting or distinction of meats, 
 but eat and dran-k just as other people do^ Proba- 
 bly they may, replies the virtuoso, notwithstanding 
 their mortified pretensions. At least from what I 
 tnow of their self-denial, they are the last people 
 with whom I would trust a wife or a daughter. 
 
 But, however, suppose I were disputing, I say, 
 with any superstitious person, upo the subject of 
 luxury in eating and drinking, I should say, that 
 bread and cheese, for instance, was a hearty, whole- 
 some food ; and the staff of life, as the saying is. 
 But I should think it a sufficient defence of the 
 lawfulness of eating cheesecake or custard, by say- 
 ing that it was agreeable. Thus we may say of se- 
 veral arts and sciences ; of law, physic, and divini- 
 ty, that they are necessary for the subsistence of 
 society ; but for poetry, painting, sculpture, and 
 the like, I think it enough if they are allowed to be 
 ornamental, and to contribute to the recreation of 
 mankind. 
 
 In short, sir, if history, chronology, and several 
 other branches of polite literature, are allowed to 
 be of any use to the world, the knowledge of me-
 
 I 
 
 164 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 dais must also be allowed to have its share of me- 
 rit, as instrumental in illustrating and confirming 
 several particulars in those sciences. 
 
 Why, sir, replies Wildgoose, I must confess my- 
 self to be one of those who think only one branch 
 of knowledge at all necessary or worth our pursuit ; 
 and that is, the knowledge of our fallen state, and 
 of our redemption, as revealed in the Bible. 
 
 The antiquary stared at first with some astonish- 
 ment at Wildgoose's declaration. But, soon guess- 
 ing at his religious turn. Well, says he, to carry 
 the matter still farther then, we could not under- 
 stand the Bible, at least several expressions in it, 
 without the assistance of this study. 
 
 The history of the Jews, from the time of the 
 Maccabees to the birth of Christ, was all obscurity 
 and confusion, till Monsieur Vaillant, from a col- 
 lection of Greek medals, had given the world a com- 
 plete series of the Syro-Macedonian kings. 
 
 And the title of EUERGETES, or benefactor, 
 which is found on the coins of the Antiochus's and 
 the Ptolemy's, very well explains what is meant by 
 the Gentile kings being called benefactors ; which 
 the commentators, I think, made but bungling work 
 of before. 
 
 The tribute-money, with Caesar's image and su- 
 perscription, was a Roman penny or denarius ; and 
 the two-pence, which the good Samaritan is sup- 
 posed to have given the landlord for his care of the 
 wounded traveller, were two of those denarii, or about 
 Ji/teeii pence of our money. These things, perhaps, 
 might have been known, from a slight acquaintance 
 with the collateral histories of those times; but still 
 it is a satisfaction to see the very coins which were 
 then current, and which are preserved in the cabi- 
 nets of the curious. 
 
 Ah ! says Wildgoose, I want no commentaries,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 165 
 
 nor. any assistance, to understand the Scriptures. 
 When God has once revealed himself to a man, every 
 expression speaks comfort to Ills soul ; and he can 
 Jed the truth of it, without any teaching or in- 
 struction. Neither do 1 doubt, that although all 
 other helps should be lost, Providence would pre- 
 serve the knowledge of the Scriptures in his church 
 to the world's end, I don't mean the established or 
 visible church, which I am afraid has departed from 
 its own doctrines : but the invisible church or so- 
 ciety of true Christians, by whatever denomination 
 they are distinguished. 
 
 As Wildgoose was launching beyond the compre- 
 hension of the virtuoso, and they were now come 
 into a beautiful avenue, which terminated upon a 
 visible church, the gentleman turned the discourse 
 to the beauty of the prospect ; and they being now 
 come near the Tetbury road, Wildgoose took his 
 leave, and, together with his trusty companion, 
 proceeded on his journey to Bath. 
 
 CHAPTER Vr. 
 
 Some account of the virtuoso. 
 
 As soon as they were got out of sight of the anti- 
 quary, Tugwell began to open. Od'slife, quoth he, 
 this is a desperate man for the Romans I suppose 
 he's one of your Papishes. 1 never heard of such a 
 whimsical gentleman since I was born. His sarvant 
 says, he almost starved one or two of his children, 
 by breeding them up in the Roman way ; for he 
 would never let them eat till sunset ; and would 
 never suffer his little boy to wear a hat, because the 
 Romans belike went bare-headed. He makes his
 
 166 THE StIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 children, instead of shoes and stockings, wear 
 leathern buskins, like Joseph and his brethren in 
 the Bible. 
 
 And his man says, he would have had the body 
 of his eldest son who died, burnt to ashes, because 
 the Romans did so ; but his wife would not consent 
 to it. Nay, he threatens to put his daughters to 
 death if they marry without his consent, as the old 
 Romans, he says, used to do. 
 
 His man says, if the gardener happens to dig up 
 a piece of an old cream-pot, he'll lock it tip in his 
 cupboard, and call it a piece of Roman crockery- 
 ware, such as they used to put the ashes of the dead 
 in : and he says, they came ten miles out of their 
 way to see this old castle and other curiosities. 
 
 Did you ask where he came from ? says Wild- 
 goose. Yes, replies Jerry, 'tis one 'Squire Towns- 
 end, and he comes out of shire. Wildgoose's 
 
 heart immediately rose to his mouth, and his colour 
 changed : for he was now convinced it was iNliss 
 Townsend's father with whom he had been talking ; 
 and he wondered at his own stupidity in not disco- 
 vering this before. 
 
 It instantly occurred to him, that Mr. Townsend 
 was going to Gloucester in quest of his daughter, 
 and he fancied he might have said many things to 
 him in her favour, if he had known who he was ; 
 though it is ten to one he could have said nothing 
 upon the occasion but what would have been im- 
 proper, and have done more harm than good. 
 
 Though Tugwell, as was observed, had some 
 smattering of history himself, yet, as the antiquary 
 did not touch upon any of those legendary subjects 
 with which Jerry had been chiefly conversant, such 
 as the Travels of Joseph of Arimathea the History 
 of Glastonbury Thorn or any romantic accounts of 
 the Holy Land, and the like, he had thought it ra-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 167 
 
 ther a dry discourse, and beginning to spit sixpences^ 
 as his saying was, he gave hints to Mr. Wildgoose 
 to stop at the first public-house they should come 
 to. But there was none till they came to Tetbury, 
 where they went into a second-rate inn, for fear of 
 meeting with the same insults which they had re- 
 ceived at the Bell at Gloucester. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A hurley -hurley in the modern taste. 
 
 Wildgoose having been thoroughly fatigued the 
 preceding day, and not slept very soundly upon the 
 floor at night ; having also breakfasted upon toast 
 and ale, which he was not much used to, he found 
 himself drowsy, and somewhat indisposed : he de- 
 sired, therefore, to go into a back parlour, and get- 
 ting an arm-chair, took a comfortable nap, whilst 
 Tugwell was smoking his pipe in the chimney 
 corner. 
 
 When Wildgoose waked, he desired to have some 
 little matter got ready for his dinner. My landlady 
 had a daughter-in-law, a pretty girl about eighteen, 
 who officiated as waiter, and went into the parlour 
 to lay the cloth. As our preacher always found a 
 particular propensity to exercise his talent on the 
 young and handsome, he could not forbear cate- 
 chising this fair maid, as she came backwards and 
 forwards into the room, about the state of her soul. 
 The poor girl, conscious of her ignorance in the prinr 
 ciples of religion, blushed, and seemed distressed 
 what answer to make ; and having placed the spoon 
 and pepper-box on one side of the table, and the 
 knife and fork in parallel lines on the other, would
 
 168 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 have made her escape from so disagreeable a perse- 
 cution. But Wildgoose finding his rhetoric had not 
 force enough to detain her, laid hold on her apron, 
 and desired her to hear what he had to say, which 
 he assured her was for her good ; nay, that nothing 
 could be more so : that it was better than all the 
 beauty in the world, and of more value than thou- 
 sands of gold and silver : that he himself was the 
 servant of God, and that he should be very happy 
 if he could prevail upon her to love him above all 
 things. 
 
 Just at that instant, Mrs. Tantrum, the landlady, 
 came into the parlour, having both hands filled with 
 Wildgoose's dinner. She herself, though now as 
 coarse as Pontius Pilate's cook-maid, yet having 
 been handsome in her youth, and being still amour- 
 ously inclined, watched her daughter-in-law with a 
 suspicious, or rather with a jealous eye. Seeing the 
 stranger, therefore, thus engaged about her apron, 
 and hearing the words, " beauty, love, gold, and sil- 
 ver," she immediately concluded that he was in hjve 
 with her beauty, and was bribing her with gold and 
 silver to her ruin. Mine hostess then, being equally 
 a stranger to Christian meekness and to delicacy, 
 vented her rage, without much ceremony, first up- 
 on Mr. Wildgoose. Then, setting down the dishes 
 which she had brought in, and falling foul upon the 
 poor girl with her brawny fists, You saucy slut, 
 says she, have not I charged you, often enough, 
 never to listen to any /oo/-passengers ! but to leave 
 the room if ever they pretended to trouble iheit heads 
 about you ? and here you stand with your brazen 
 face As she was going on scolding, and thumping 
 her daughter's shoulders, Wildgoose thought himself 
 obliged, as he had been the cause of the girl's stay, 
 to explain his motives, and to rescue her from the 
 onsequences of it. His interposition, however,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 169* 
 
 would of itself have made Mrs. Tantrum more out- 
 rageous. But Wildgoose, having rebuked her for 
 her passion with some asperity, and having also in 
 the scuffle unfortunately torn my landlady's gown, 
 this added to her fury, and gave her an opportunity 
 which she wanted, of venting her rage more effectu- 
 ally upon the ill-fated pilgrim. 
 
 There is a certain farinaceous composition, which, 
 from its being frequently used by our ancestors as 
 an extempore supplement to a scanty dinner, has 
 obtained the appellation of a hasty-pudding. It is 
 composed of flour and milk boiled together ; and, 
 being spread into a round shallow dish, and inter- 
 spersed with dabs of butter, and brown sugar fortui- 
 tously strewed over it, gives one no bad idea of a 
 map of the sun, spotted about according to the mo- 
 dern hypothesis. 
 
 A dish of this wholesome food, smoking hot, mine 
 hostess had brought in one hand, and a plate of ba- 
 con and eggs in the other : and upon Wildgoose's 
 presumptuously interposing between her and her 
 daughter (as has been related,) Mrs. Tantrum's fury 
 was infinitely augmented : and, snatching up the 
 dish, she discharged the hasty pudding full in Wild- 
 goose's face : which, with the oiled butter and melt- 
 ed sugar, ran down to the skirts of his plush waist- 
 coat, and made no very cleanly appearance. 
 
 Tugwell, hearing the uproar, was now come into 
 the room ; and seeing Mrs. Tantrum in the condition 
 of a tigress robbed of her whelps, attempted to lay 
 hold of her arms, and prevent any farther eflfbrts of 
 her fury: but, she snatching up the dish of bacon 
 and eggs, gave Jerry as warm a salute as she had 
 done his master : and one of the poached eggs burst- 
 ing in his face, and mixing with the greasy contents 
 of the frying pan, poor Jerry was in a worse plight 
 even than his fellow-traveller.
 
 170 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Mrs. Tantrum, having now satiated her fury, came 
 a little to herself again : when, reflecting upon the 
 damage she had probably done herself, if her guests 
 should refuse to pay for the dinner, which, though 
 they had smelt, they had not tasted ; and beholding 
 likewise the visible effects of her unbridled passion, 
 in greasing her floor, and making unnecessary work 
 for herself and her servant ; she was going to repeat 
 the outrage upon her innocent daughter-in-law : but 
 the girl had wisely withdrawn till the storm was 
 over. She, therefore, sent the maid to clean the 
 room, and set things to rights again : and the tra- 
 vellers, having craved the maid's assistance in 
 cleaning their persons, desired her to bring them 
 the loaf and cheese, and a tankard of ale ; with 
 which they endeavoured to console themselves for 
 the loss of the savoury food, by the sight of which 
 they had been so disagreeably tantalized. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The mistress of an inn not easily to be converted. 
 
 When Mrs. Tantrum was a little recovered from the 
 violence of her resentment, the daughter-in-law 
 ventured to assure her, that the stranger had not 
 offered to take the least freedom with her; but 
 had only talked to her about Mr. Whitfield, and 
 our Saviour Christ, and such sort of discourse. Mr. 
 Whitfield ! quoth she : I'll be hanged then, says 
 Mrs. Tantrum, if it is not one of these Methodists 
 that go about the country. Run, and take away 
 the silver spoon and pepper box ! Apack of canting 
 toads ! I thought he looked like one of those hypo- 
 thetical rascals. There was one of them at Salisbur}',
 
 THE SPIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 171 
 
 not long ago, married two wives ; and another was 
 hanged for sheep-stealing. Run, I say, and take 
 away the pepper-box. 
 
 The poor girl said, she did not think the gentle- 
 man would steal any thing neither, for all he talk- 
 ed about religion. He did not look like that sort 
 of man, she imagined. Whilst they were thus de- 
 bating the matter, Wildgoose and his friend came 
 into the kitchen, to pay the reckoning ; and Mrs. 
 Tantrum, surveying them more calmly, could not dis- 
 cover any thing very thievish in their physiognomy. 
 So, to make some little amends for the rough usage 
 with which she had treated her guests, she dismissed 
 them with a tolerably decent welcome, and wished 
 them a good journey. Wildgoose returned her com- 
 pliments with a prayer for her conversion ; and told 
 her, that, unless God would give her grace to sub- 
 due her boisterous passions, she could no more re- 
 lish the joys of heaven, than a hog or a sow could a 
 clean parlour. Ay ! ay ! added Tugwell, thou art 
 a vessel of wrath, doomed to perydition. I a vessel 
 of broth ! you pot-gutted rascal ! no more than 
 yourself! Marry come up! what does the fool mean? 
 Sure I know my own business best, says Mrs. Tan- 
 trum ; then concluded in her own way, that every 
 tub must stand upon its own bottom. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Pursue their journey. 
 
 Poor Wildgoose was a little chagrined at being sus- 
 pected of carnal intentions ; but comforted himself 
 with recollecting several of the chosen saints, who 
 q2
 
 172 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 had been thus buffeted by satan, and lain under 
 the same groundless suspicions. But he would, 
 probably, have been more shocked, if he had known 
 that he was judged capable of stealing a silver 
 spoon. Tliese were consequences of his extrava- 
 gance, which he could not foresee, and of which he 
 had hitherto no conception. I have often thought, 
 however, it is happy for us that we do not know 
 the half which is thought or said of us behind our 
 backs, by the smiling hostess or the surly hostler, 
 who attends us on our arrival or at our departure 
 from an inn upon the road. 
 
 Our sturdy pilgrims, having sufficiently refreshed 
 themselves, proceeded on their journey with great 
 alacrity ; and, as it was not yet past mid-day, push- 
 ed on to reach Bath that night. They travelled the 
 whole afternoon without any incident worthy the 
 notice of a grave historian. But reaching Lans- 
 down, within a few miles of Bath, toward sunset, 
 they spied a poor horse, which, being overloaded, 
 was fallen down, and struggling under his burthen; 
 and very near him two men, instead of assisting the 
 wretched animal, were scuffling and pummelling 
 each other without mercy. One of them was a 
 slender, gentleman-like man, and the other appeared 
 to be a butcher's servant or something in that style. 
 Wildgoose and his fellow-traveller having inter- 
 posed, and parted the combatants, the butcher began 
 to vent his wrath upon his antagonist, D-mn your 
 blood ! says he, who the devil are you ? What, 
 can't a man be in a passion, and beat his own horse, 
 for all you, and be pox'd to you ? 
 
 Wildgoose, having rebuked hira for his insolence 
 and profaneness, applied his hand to the stern of 
 the horse ; who after some further efforts, being 
 roused, the butcher remounted him, rode off, and, 
 instead of thanking Wildgoose for his assistance,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 173 
 
 calls out, D-mn you altogether, for a pack of 
 whores-birds as you are ! The gentleman, who had 
 fought the butcher, surveyed him for a moment with 
 great indignation and contempt : then, refreshing 
 himself with a pinch of snuff. There, says he, 
 there goes a true picture of English liberty i Pray, 
 sir, says Wildgoose, if I may make so free, what 
 was the subject of your altercation ? To which he 
 replied in the following manner. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A knight-errant of a peculiar kind. Compassion Jbr 
 dumb creatures. 
 
 You see, sir, says the gentleman, how hard that 
 poor beast is loaded. Now that brute of a fellow, 
 instead of driving the horse before him (as he was 
 probably ordered by his master to do,) had gallop- 
 ed him, loaded as he was, for near a mile along 
 the road, in my sight; when the poor creature hap- 
 pened to trip, and come down with his rider, who 
 began to bang him with that stick about the head 
 with so much fury, that, if I had not interposed, he 
 might probably have killed him upon the spot. 
 My officiousness, however, only made the fellow 
 change the object of his wrath ; for he fell upon 
 we with the same weapon, which, however, I wrest- 
 ed from his hands, and banged him with to some 
 purpose, till, he running into me, we came to that 
 close engagement from which you parted us. 
 
 Wildgoose staring at the gentleman with marks of 
 surprise, My compassion for dumb animals, conti- 
 nued he, is so excessive, that it often makes me 
 quite miserable. Oiu* sympathy and assistance is 
 Q 3
 
 174" THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 certainly due, in the first place, to our fellow-crea- 
 tures of the human species, as they stand in a nearer 
 relation to us, as they hold a superior rank in the 
 works of the creation ; but 1 own, the incapacity of 
 a poor brute creature to utter his distress, and his 
 want of reason to find out the means of relieving it, 
 often plead more powerfully with me, than all the 
 rhetoric of a beggar practised in the art of moving 
 compassion. 
 
 Yes, replies Wildgoose, and I think, sir, you have 
 suggested the reason of this ; because in the latter 
 case there is often a suspicion of insincerity in the 
 petitioner ; whereas in the former instances, undis- 
 guised nature, though void of speech, expresses her- 
 self in the most emphatical manner. For the san^ 
 reason, the silent rhetoric of tears, or of bashful- 
 ness, is often more pathetic than all the oratori- 
 cal flourishes in the world : and I dare say, sir, the 
 helpless condition of an infant in distress, must af- 
 fect you still more sensibly than that of any of those 
 dumb creatures for which you express so much con- 
 cern. 
 
 I doa't know, replies the gentleman ; it certainly 
 ought to do so : but I cannot reason myself out 
 of this strange effeminacy ; nor do I recollect any 
 instance of human distress, that has given me more 
 pain, than the sight of a poor hare, for instance, 
 almost run down, as they call it ; to see her squat- 
 ting behind a hedge, panting and listening, with her 
 ears erect, to the cries of her pursuers, from whom 
 her natural scent, augmented by the perspiration 
 she is thrown into, makes it almost impossible for 
 her to escape. 
 
 I entirely agree with Mr. Addison, in applauding 
 the humanity of the sultan, who chose rather to cut 
 off the sleeve of his robe, than awake his favourite 
 eat, which was asleep upon it ; and I myself, in my
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 175 
 
 walks, have often gone a furlong out of my way, 
 rather than disturb a poor unwieldy ox, that has 
 been lying down and chewing the cud ; or than in- 
 terrupt an innocent lamb that was sucking its anxi- 
 lOus dam. 
 
 Nay, I have gone so far, as to erect an urn in 
 my garden, as a testimony of my compassion for 
 dumb animals, with the inscription from Ovid's 
 speech of Pythagoras : 
 
 ^uid meruistis, oces, placidum pecus S^c. 
 tQuidmeruer.c boves animal fine fraude dolUque, 
 Jnnocuum? 
 
 What li;ive ye done, ye flocks, a peaceful race? 
 Or what the haro^Iess oj;, so void of guile. 
 To merit death? 
 
 Why, as for those animals which are fairly slaugh- 
 tered, without torture, for the support of human 
 life, says Wildgoose, I can easily reconcile myself 
 to their fate: as the pain of death consists, 1 be- 
 lieve, chiefly in the apprehension : and when it is 
 instantaneous (as in those cases it is, or ought to 
 be) they enjoy themselves, and feel nothing till the 
 stroke arrives ; and the moment it does so, the vio- 
 lence of it either deprives them of life, or at least 
 of .the sense of pain. Mr. Pope has finely described ^ 
 this in his e.thic epistles : 
 
 The lamb thy riot diioms to bleed te-day, 
 Had he thy reason would he skip and play ? 
 Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food. 
 And licks the hand just rais'd to shed hjs blood. 
 Oh! blindness to the future! kindly given. 
 That each might fill the circle mark''d by Heaven. 
 
 Why, doubtless, returns the gentleman, one feels 
 the most for those animals that are tortured and 
 abused: but I think none are more so than the 
 generality of horses and beasts of burden, from a
 
 176 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE 
 
 want of sensibility in the reasoning brutes to whose 
 care they are usually intrusted. You saw how 
 little compassion that butcher's lad has shown to 
 his noble steed ; and to see a noble creature start 
 and tremble at the passionate exclamation of a 
 mere Yahoo of a stable boy, who, if he knew his 
 own strength, could drive a dozen men before him, 
 I own equally excites my pity and my indignation. 
 I never meet a string of pack-horses, bending under 
 their loads, but my heart bleeds for the mute suf- 
 ferers ; and I make it a point of conscience to give 
 them the road. Nay, I have, in my own mind, 
 added one more to the curses denounced by Moses 
 against the unmerciful ; " Cursed be he that maketh 
 the pack-horse to go out of his way." 
 
 Here Tugwell could not forbear putting in his 
 verdict. Well, says Jerry, the tailor of our town 
 is the best man for that. He keeps a horse to let ; 
 but then he'll never let him to any one, till he has 
 made him promise faithfully, that the poor horse 
 shall stand still to do his needs. The gentleman 
 laughed at Tugwell's instance of compassion. But 
 Wildgoose silencing him with a significant look, ob- 
 served, that the good man to be sure was merciful, 
 even to his beast : and it is pity, continued he, that 
 cruelty to those animals cannot be provided against 
 by our laws, as it was in a great measure by the 
 laws of Moses. 
 
 Very true, sir, replies the gentleman; and as 
 that cannot well be done in this land of liberty^ I 
 wish every gentleman would endeavour to supply 
 that defect by discouraging all cruelty of that kind, 
 as far as his power or influence extends ; and cer- 
 tainly every parent should be particularly careful to 
 instil principles of mercy and tenderness, to birds, 
 beasts, and insects, into the tender minds of their 
 children. For ray part, I profess myself a sort oi
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 177 
 
 kniglit-errant in the cause ; and assure you, have 
 met with many such skirmishes as this which you 
 found me engaged in, by interfering where I had no 
 other motive but humanity and compassion. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The polite philosopher. 
 
 The frank disposition of this gentleman, who call- 
 ed himself Graham, encouraged Wildgoose, as 
 Ihey walked along, to communicate something of 
 his own pretensions ; and he informed the gentle- 
 inan, that he himself was a volunteer in the service 
 of his fellow-creatures ; and professed to regulate 
 their opinions in a matter of much greater import- 
 ance than any thing which regarded this life, even 
 the salvation of their immortal souls, 
 
 I presume then, says Mr. Graham, you are one 
 of these Methodists who have made such a noise 
 in the world. Wildgoose replied, that he might call 
 him by what name he pleased; but what he professed 
 was to preach up true Christianity, and the genuine 
 idoctrines of the reformation. 
 
 Why, returns Mr. Graham, though I have for- 
 merly conversed much in the world, I have of late 
 confined myself a great deal to books and medita- 
 tion, and the investigation of truth ; the result of 
 which is, that I cannot reflect with patience upon 
 the many absurd practices and opinions which pre- 
 vail in the world, and have often been tempted to 
 turn itiaerant myself, and sally forth in order to 
 reform njankind, and set them right in various par- 
 ticulars. 
 
 WMen I hear of a lather's marrying his daughter
 
 17iB tHE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 against her inclinations, and sacrificing her happi- 
 ness to her grandeur, I am ready, Hke the Spanish 
 Don, to challenge him to mortal combat, and res- 
 cue the unhappy victim from the power which he 
 abuses. 
 
 Though I am not in Parliament, nor am fond o- 
 politics, I could not forbear giving the public my 
 advice, in a pamphlet, upon the Militia Act, Trien- 
 nial Parliaments, and the Necessity of Siimptunri/ 
 Latvs. 
 
 I have by me also a manuscript, which I call 
 Litem Hottentoticcc, or Letters from a beautiful 
 young Hottentot to her Friends at the Cape; giving 
 an account of the many barbarous customs and 
 preposterous opinions which she had observed in 
 our metropolis, during her three years' abode 
 amongst us. 
 
 But, sir, you will pardon my freedom when I 
 declare, that of all the opinions which have been 
 the subject of my contemplation, none appears more 
 absurd to me, than that all religion should be made 
 to consist in thinking rightly upon a few abstruse 
 points, which have been controverted ever since the 
 reformation, and about which hardly any two per- 
 sons think exactly alike. I really believe, when the 
 Methodists first set out (as Providence often brings 
 about salutary ends by irregular means) they did 
 some good, and contributed to rouse the' negligent 
 clergy, and to revive practical Christianity amongst 
 us. But I'm afraid they have since done no small 
 prejudice to religion, by reviving the cobweb dis- 
 putes of the last century; and by calling off the 
 minds of men from practice to mere speculation. 
 For, by all the accounts I have heard of late, if 
 a man does but frequent their meetings regularly, 
 express himself properly upon justification, and a 
 few more of their favourite topics, he is immedi-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 17ft 
 
 ately ranked amongst the elect, and may live as 
 carelessly as he pleases in other respects ; nay, may 
 be guilty of drunkenness, fornication, luxury, and 
 what not. In short, if a man does but talk and look 
 like a saint, he may, without any reproach, live 
 like a sinner. 
 
 Sir, says Wildgoose, whatever the case may be 
 with a few individuals, who call themselves Me- 
 thodists, you cannot say that any of those irregula- 
 rities are the necessary consequence of their princi- 
 ples. 
 
 No, sir, replies the gentleman ; but they are the 
 probable consequences of their practices ; for by 
 being thus distinguished from their brethren, they 
 begin to look upon themselves as a sort of privi- 
 leged persons ; and finding so much stress laid 
 upon thinking rightly, they begin to be more care- 
 less about acting properly ; and the original depra- 
 vity of their nature returning upon them thus un- 
 guarded, they are but too prone to relapse into the 
 greatest enormities ; which reflection, I am afraid, 
 might be confirmed by too frequent experience ; 
 not to mention the tendency which their particular 
 doctrines of assurance and inward feelings have to 
 make men presumptuous, and to delude them to their 
 own destruction. 
 
 Wildgoose was not inclined to continue the dis- 
 pute with a person who appeared so much preju- 
 diced against his doctrines, and who, indeed, was 
 so full of reflections, made in his solitude, that he 
 would hardly give him leave to put in a word. 
 
 As their road, however, lay near a mile the same 
 way, they talked upon various subjects ; and Wild- 
 goo^ found, in the course of their conversation, 
 that Mr. Graham was quite a polite philosopher ; 
 had a competent knowledge of almost every science, 
 had travelled over most parts of Europe, and made
 
 180 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 many delicate and curious remarks upon the man- 
 ners and customs of the several people with whom 
 he had conversed. 
 
 But what gave a peculiar beauty to his conversa- 
 tion, was the delicacy of his taste, which selected 
 the most agreeable or the most striking circum- 
 stances, on every subject ; so that his descriptions 
 and narrations never became languid by too minute 
 a detail of uninteresting particulars. 
 
 He now lived a very retired life ; went sometimes 
 to Bath, as a mere spectator ; but, having seques- 
 tered himself from the world on a particular occa- 
 sion, and having had sufficient experience of the 
 selfishness, malignity, and insincerity of the vulgar 
 part of mankind, he confined hinaself to a few select 
 friends ; and by exercise and temperance contrived 
 to pass through the autumn of life, with health, 
 cheerfulness, and tranquillity. 
 
 Mr. Graham was a man of that natural benevo- 
 lence, that he rather affected the misanthrope than 
 was really such. He invited Wildgoose and his 
 friend, therefore, with great cordiality, to refresh 
 themselves at his hermitage (as he called it,) which 
 he pointed out to them amidst a tuft of lofty oaks, 
 at a little distance, on the descent of the hill. Mr. 
 Wildgoose, being impatient to join his christian 
 friends at Bath, would have waved the accepting 
 this invitation; but Tugwell having an habitual thirst 
 upon him at this time of the year, said he should be 
 obliged to the gentleman for a draught of small beer, 
 or a cup of cider. 
 
 They, therefore, accompanied him to his habita- 
 tion.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A singular mansiorim 
 
 MR.GnAHAM'shousewasalmostconcealed from the 
 road by trees, and was literally founded upon a 
 rock, some craggy parts of which appeared rising 
 upon each side of the house : a clear spring which 
 rose from the bottom of one of them, almost cover- 
 ed with moss, hart's tongue, and other fountain 
 plants, determined the situation. 
 
 They entered, by a strong door, into a sort of 
 porch, or vestibule; on one side of which Mr. Gra- 
 ham showed them a neat bed room, about sevea 
 feet square : on the other side, a beaufet, and other 
 conveniences about the same dimensions. He then 
 took them into a parlour, elegantly furnished, of 
 about twelve feet square, exclusive of a bow -win- 
 dow, which commanded an extensive prospect over 
 a beautiful valley, terminated by a distant view of 
 the city of Bath and its environs : and this was ap- 
 parently the whole house. 
 
 Mr. Graham, however, took them down a few- 
 winding steps, cutout of the rock, to another room 
 under the former, which served him for a kitchen, 
 cellar, and all other accommodations for himself 
 and his maid. She was a middle-aged woman, and 
 was sitting there at work with her needle. But, to 
 prevent all suspicion of her serving him in any other 
 capacity than that of a servant, Mr. Graham had 
 pitched upon a deserving person, with one eye, a 
 protuberant shoulder, and one or two more acci- 
 dental deformities, sufficient to stop the mouth of 
 that infernal fury, scandal herself A garden, pro- 
 portioned to the house and its inhabitants, was laid 
 out in a simple taste, and stored with those fruits, 
 
 VOL, XXXII. K
 
 182 TMB SPIHITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 6owera, herbs, and plants, which were natural to 
 the climate in which they were to grow. 
 
 Mr. Graham left Tugwell to drink some cider 
 with his maid Maritornes, and took Mr. Wildgoose 
 into his parlour, and offered him a glass of some- 
 thing better which it is not recorded that Wild- 
 goose refused. 
 
 As Mr. Graham opened the door of a little closet, 
 or rather niche in the Mall, which contained his 
 books and his cordials, Wildgoose could not forbear 
 fixing his eyes upon a small oval picture of a young 
 lady in a gilt frame, that was fixed in a pannel, 
 within side of the door; which Mr, Graliam ob- 
 serving, shook his liead with a sigh, and said, the 
 lady whom that picture represented had influenced 
 the whole tenour of his life, and was the original 
 cause of his present retreat from the world. Wild- 
 goose, expressing some curiosity on that subject, 
 and himself fetching a sympathetic sigh on having 
 the idea of Miss Townsend revived by the sight of 
 that picture, Mr. Graham said his story could not 
 be very interesting to a stranger. But, sir, says he, 
 as I take a sort of melancholy pleasure in recol- 
 lecting the occurrences of my youth, if you have 
 patience to hear me, 1 will relate the particulars. 
 He, therefore, began, without more ceremony, in 
 the following manner. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Mr. Graham's story. 
 
 I AM a younger brother, of a younger branch, of a 
 noble family ; but, partly by my own bad oeconomy 
 in the former part of my life, and partly by that of
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 183 
 
 my father, I have at present but a slender income, 
 yet sufficient to Uve very comfortably in my present 
 situation. I was bred at the university, and after 
 that was sent to the temple; and when a young 
 man there, went to make a visit to my sister, who 
 was married to a baronet in the northern part of 
 this county. Here Wildgoose listened with a more 
 earnest attention. During my stay here we were 
 invited to a supper and a ball, at a neighbouring 
 gentleman's, where was a great deal of genteel com- 
 pany. Amongst the rest there was a clergym:xn'3 
 daughter, whom I will call Ophelia, who had the 
 character of a learned lady, and a great wit. She 
 was tolerably handsome, but had a very melancholy 
 air ; which, upon inquiry, I found to be the effect 
 of a disappointment in her first love, by the sudden 
 death of a man of fortune, to whom she was upon 
 the verge of being united in marriage. As she 
 thought it a kind of indecorum to mix in the gaiety 
 of the company, though she had been invited with 
 a good-natured intention to divert her melancholy, 
 Ophelia sat by a bow-window in the room ; and, 
 as I was always of a studious turn, and not fond of 
 dancing, I chose to keep her company. 
 
 We two were of course engaged in a separate 
 conversation. But instead of what is usually meant 
 by a wit, a pert girl who values herself upon saying 
 smart things with a saucy petulance, I found her a 
 young woman of great good sense and delicacy oi 
 sentiment, and thoroughly versed in all the best 
 writers in the English language, and even the trans- 
 lations from the classics ; upon whose several beau- 
 ties and defects she passed sentence with a pene- 
 tration and judgment superior to any one I had 
 ever conversed with. 
 
 In short, I was quite charmed with this young 
 lady's conversation, which of course brought on a 
 R 2
 
 184 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 personal attachment : and I made an errand to her 
 father's the very next day, under a pretence of in- 
 quiring after his daughter's health, and how she got 
 home. He was a very learned and a very sensible 
 man, but had very small preferment; and, as he had 
 exerted all his abilities in instructing his daughter, 
 so he had gone to the utmost limits of prudence, in 
 dressing her out rather above hep rank. However, 
 they lived in a frugal, though genteel manner ; and 
 I was so pleased with my quarters that I stayed all 
 night, with my servant and two horses ; and repeat- 
 ed my visits very frequently. 
 
 You will imagine, from this account, that I met 
 with a very cordial reception from the young lady ; 
 but this was by no means the case. I found her af- 
 fections still so much attached to their first object, 
 that it was near half a year before 1 appeared to 
 have made any impression upon her heart. After 
 this, however, we continued an intimacy for above 
 two years ; during which time we lived in all the in- 
 nocent endearments of a mutual fondness, and I 
 was determined to make her my wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mr. GrahanCs story continued. 
 
 You will wonder, no doubt, says Mr. Graham, 
 what prevented my marrying Ophelia immediately. 
 Why, nothing but my absolute dependence on my 
 mother for my future support. She had a consi- 
 derable jointure; and, as I was a favourite, she 
 promised to increase my younger brother's fortune 
 by what she could save out of her annual income. 
 I had a considerable legacy left me by a relation ;
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 18^ 
 
 but as I had lived very expensively, I was obliged 
 to make free with the principal, and had almost 
 run through it ; so that I had reason to fear my 
 mother's resentment, who, you may suppose, was 
 not at all pleased with this indiscreet engagement : 
 as it not only disappointed her in her hopes of my 
 marrying advantageously in point of fortune, but 
 involved me in a life of indolence quite inconsis- 
 tent with my study of the law, and making any 
 figure in my profession. She, therefore, made use 
 of every prudent stratagem to break off my attach- 
 ment to this young creature ; in which, alas ! she 
 at length succeeded. 
 
 While I was in London for a month, at my mo- 
 ther's earnest request, who had a house in town, I 
 received an anonymous letter, full of invectives 
 against the clergyman, his daughter, and, in short, 
 against the whole family. As I was convinced many 
 of them were without foundation, so J had good 
 reason to believe the principal aspersion upon the 
 young lady herself, was entirely so; which was, 
 that she had got a habit of drinking spirituous li- 
 quors for her private amusement. 
 
 I was greatly shocked at the contents of this let- 
 ter ; but thought it unjust and ungenerous to be 
 influenced in an affair of such importance by a let- 
 ter of that kind, which was evidently written with a 
 malicious intent. 
 
 1 immediately, therefore, went down to my sis- 
 ter's, with a design to come to an eclaircissement 
 with poor Ophelia, or at least to inspect her con- 
 duct more narrowly in the particular alleged ; 
 though I confess 1 was shocked at the want of ge- 
 nerosity in such a proceeding with regard to a per- 
 son, with whom I had had so long an intimacy, 
 without the least reason for such a suspicion. 1 re- 
 collected, indeed, that she would drink two or 
 r3
 
 186 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 sometimes three glasses of wine after dinner, with- 
 out those squeamish airs which some ladies affect. 
 But I have aJways thought it a good rule in these 
 cases, that a woman, who upon proper occasions, 
 refuses one glass in public, will drink two or three 
 in private. 
 
 When I came to Lady 's, my sister, I found 
 
 there a young Lady of the neighbourhood, upon a 
 week's visit to my sister. She was a young woman 
 of good fortune, and a smart sprightly girl ; and 
 one that I might probably have liked well enough, 
 if my affections had not been pre-engaged. 
 
 I showed my sister the letter which I had re- 
 ceived, at which she affected a great surprise ; but 
 added, that she was afraid most of the facts al- 
 leged had too good a foundation : and, with regard 
 to the principal accusation with which the young 
 lady was charged, she used so many plausible argu- 
 ments to convince me of the reality of it, with so 
 many artful insinuations, that I began to waver in 
 my opinion of the matter ; and, in short, instead of 
 waiting on Ophelia, as I ought to have done, and 
 as I at first intended, I was prevailed upon only to 
 write her a letter ; in which, after some excuses 
 from the imprudence of such an engagement, as my 
 entire dependence on my mother would probably 
 involve us both in indigence and distress, 1 desired 
 the affair might proceed no farther. 
 
 This bare-faced declaration produced such an an- 
 swer as I had reason to expect from a girl of Ophe- 
 lia's spirit ; whom I had quite teazed into a return 
 of affection, and now very unhandsomely, not to say 
 basely, deserted ; so that her resentment, though so 
 well founded, contributed to abate my fondness; 
 and I now thought myself at liberty to attend to 
 the coquetry of Miss , whom I shall call La- 
 
 vima) upou whom my sister had prevailed to act a
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 187 
 
 part, and to play off her artillery, on purpose to 
 draw me off from my former engagement. 
 
 I proceeded so far as frequently to ride out 
 with her alone, attended only by a servant; and she, 
 very maliciously, made me accompany her one day, 
 to dine at a gentleman's house in the village where 
 poor Ophelia lived, and by whose very door we 
 must necessarily pass. 
 
 This behaviour, though it probably extinguished 
 the love, yet it so far wrought upon the honest pride 
 of Ophelia, that, in a few days, it brought on a fit 
 of distraction, which, in a few months, terminated 
 in her death. 
 
 This shocking event of my perfidy awakened my 
 fondness, and alarmed my conscience ; and I im- 
 mediately quitted my sister's house, where the art- 
 ful Lavinia was still detained, and returned to Lon- 
 don, I had been there but a few days, when I re- 
 ceived, enclosed in a frank, a large packet, which I 
 found sealed with Ophelia's seal, and the direction 
 in her hand writing. My mother and a younger sis- 
 ter were in the room ; the moment I saw the seal 
 and superscription the letter dropped out of my 
 liand, and I almost fainted away in my chair. My 
 mother and sister ran to my assistance, reasoned 
 with me upon my folly, and, by my permission, my 
 sister opened and perused the letter. 
 
 The case was this. The cause of my deserting 
 the celebrated Ophelia was not long a secret : and, 
 coming to her ears, though she disdained to vindi- 
 cate herself to a man who could treat her so unge- 
 nerously, yet she had written a long defence of her 
 conduct, and pointed out almost to a demonstra- 
 tion, from what quarter the rnalicious tale had 
 sprung ; and this she had ordered to be delivered to 
 me after her decease. 
 
 The person hinted at, as the conductor of this
 
 18ff THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 wicked artifice, was Lady , my sister ; against 
 
 whom I vented my indignation ; and could hardly 
 preserve the decency due to my mother, for op- 
 posing a match upon which my happiness depend- 
 ed. However, instead of settling again to the study 
 of the law, I found myself incapable of applying to 
 any thing. 
 
 I determined, therefore, by way of diverting my 
 melancholy, immediately to go abroad, and rambled 
 all over Europe for four or five years ; at the end 
 of which I was recalled by the death of my mother ; 
 which event was rather seasonable, as I was almost 
 reduced to the last hundred pounds of my own for- 
 tune. 
 
 I took possession of five thousand pounds, which 
 she left me, and which brings me in about two hun- 
 dred pounds a-year, I left the north of England, 
 where I was born ; changed my name, and came 
 and built this cottage near Bath, where I have lived 
 these ten years, and where I intend to pass the re- 
 mainder of my days. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Mr. Graham's loay of life. 
 
 When Mr. Graham had finished his story, Mr. 
 Wildgoose said, he was unwilling to interrupt him 
 in his narration ; but added, that an event of this 
 kind had happened when he was a boy, in almost 
 the next village to that where he was born ; but^ 
 as he had often heard the story, the gentleman's 
 
 name was . 
 
 Mr. Graham changed colour, and said, that was 
 his real name ; and that he was the guilty person.
 
 THE SPIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 189 
 
 Weil, says Wildgoose, the poor old gentleman 
 (Ophelia's father) is now very infirm, and, by various 
 unlucky accidents, in great distress. Good God! 
 cries Mr. (iraham, is he still alive ? Why, before 
 I went abroad I had begged leave to erect an urn 
 to poor Ophelia's memory; and, by the person 
 whom I employed for that purpose, was then in- 
 formed that her unhappy father was at the point of 
 death, of a broken heart. 
 
 But my meeting with you, sir, is very providen- 
 tial ; and it will be the greatest pleasure to me, to 
 make some atonement for my wickedness, and even 
 the expense I put the family to, by relieving his dis- 
 tress, which I will take the first opportunity of put- 
 ting in execution. 
 
 Wildgoose observed, that Mr. Graham's expression 
 of making an atonement for his wickedness, was 
 somewhat exceptionable, as our Saviour had made 
 a sufficient atonement and satisfaction for the sins 
 of the whole world; and that we should be cau- 
 tious in ascribing any merit to our own good works. 
 
 Zounds, sir! says Mr. Graham (who had no pa- 
 tience with such nice distinctions,) you don't think 
 there is any sin in relieving the distressed, upon 
 whatever motive it is done? As for placing any me- 
 rit in such an action, 1 should think myself a rogue 
 if I did not do it in the present case ; but if so 
 much caution is necessary upon such occasions, a 
 man that happens to tumble into a river or a ditch, 
 may be drowned or suffocated, whilst we are deli- 
 berating about the proper motive or state of mind 
 with which we are to pull him out again. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose did not think proper to reply to a 
 man of so warm a temper; but observed, by way. of 
 changing the discourse, that Mr. Graham seen ed 
 under a necessity almost of living the life of a her-
 
 190 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 mit, as the dimensions of his habitation would not 
 adnait of much company. 
 
 Why, says Mr. Graham, a life of absolute so- 
 litude is a visionary and unnatural state, and can 
 only subsist in poetry and romance. I don't pretend 
 to live upon roots and rock-water, though I can 
 feast upon mutton and potatoes, and a bread pud- 
 ding : and though I don't love mobs and routs, I 
 would not have you imagine I never entertain any 
 company in my cell ; 1 have two or three friends, 
 of the same simple taste with myself, who, for the 
 sake of varying the scene, frequently eat their mor- 
 sel with me, when we wait upon ourselves, and 
 limit each other as to the number and variety of 
 the particulars which are to constitute the entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 As to your paltry little esquires, or those who 
 have not sense enough to dispense with the forms 
 of life, or come without a servant to wait behind 
 their chair ; puppies, who will drink a bottle or two 
 with you in private, and perhaps not know you in 
 public, I affront them, if ever an impertinent curio- 
 sity brings them to my cottage so that I am seldom 
 troubled with any visitors of that kind. 
 
 Neither am I very fond of the company of ladies, 
 out of regard to the memory of poor Ophelia ; the 
 recollection of whose excellencies makes the gene- 
 rality of female conversation truly insipid Deleo 
 omnes dehinc ex animo mulieres I blot from my me- 
 mory every other woman ; those every-day beau- 
 ties, as Terence calls them, who have nothing but 
 their sex to recommend them. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose was a little scandalized at the 
 warmth of temper and appearance of uncharitable- 
 ness in Mr. Graham ; though, as was observed be- 
 fore, this misanthropy was rather in speculation
 
 THE SPIRITUAL ttUIXOTE. 191 
 
 Uian in practice, as he could not treat any one that 
 came to his house without the highest politeness. 
 
 Wildgoose, now looking at his watch, Mr. Gra- 
 ham said, if he was impatient to get to Bath, he 
 could show him a shorter road over the hill ; which 
 he accordingly did : and having pointed out the 
 great road to them again, he left the two pilgrims 
 to pursue their journey. 
 
 JtST> OF THE FOURTH BOOK.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The tV3o pilgrims arrive at Bath. 
 
 Some people, says an Italian writer* upon polite- 
 ness, in the midst of an agreeable conversation are 
 apt to fall asleep. This, says he, with great so- 
 leiniilty^ is by no means a genteel custom, as it 
 shows a contempt of our company. 
 
 Now, if I might differ from so profound an au- 
 thor, I should rather impute the infirmity of such 
 drowsy people to want of taste, than to a contempt 
 of their company ; and if the reader should have 
 taken a nap in the midst of the last chapter, for my 
 own credit I would willingly impute his drowsiness 
 to the same principle. But to proceed. 
 
 The sjtting sun now gilded the summit of the 
 mountains and the tops of the highest towers, when 
 the two pilgrims came within sight of Bath. Upon 
 the first view of that elegant city, Tugwell, who had 
 received all his ideas of grandeur from his bible, 
 and whose head always ran upon what he had read 
 of the Holy Land, observed, that Bath seemed to 
 be situated like Jerusalem, according to David's de- 
 scription of it : 
 
 As mighty mountains huge and ]arge 
 Jerusalem about do close, 
 
 Job. Casce, de Morum Slegantia.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 193 
 
 According to Sternhold and Hopkins' descriptiort 
 of it, you mean, says Wildgoosc. Well, well, mas- 
 ter, that's as our clerk sings it. But I suppose your 
 worship likes the 7ieiv diversion better. No, says 
 Wildgoose, I like neither of the poetical versions 
 so well as the plain prose. 
 
 But, continues Wildgoose, Bath seems huddled 
 so close together, that 1 should compare it to Jeru- 
 salem in another respect, " Jerusalem is built as a 
 city that is at unity in itself: " and yet, perhaps, this 
 little place may be divided into as many parties, and 
 abound as much in scandal, envy, and malice, as 
 London itself. 
 
 Wildgoose, however, being vastly struck with the 
 richness of the valley, and the elegance of the build- 
 ings, especially of the villas dispersed on the sur- 
 rounding hills, remarkable for the beauty of their 
 verdure, observed, that, however fruitful the Land 
 of Canaan might be formerly, when inhabited by a 
 populous nation and properly cultivated, yet, by all 
 accounts of modern travellers, the preseiit face of 
 the country about Jerusalem was not to be com- 
 pared to the environs of Bath. Though I cannot 
 but wonder, continued he, that any one should doubt 
 the veracity of the sacred writers in their encomiums 
 upon the ancient fertility of that country, which is 
 confirmed by the concurrent testimony of several 
 Pagan authors, yet I am inclined to think it was 
 called " a land flowing with milk and honey," 
 partly in opposition to the arable lands of Ej/}pt, 
 and partly in preference to the sandy detserts 
 through which they were to pass in their retreat 
 from thence, neither of which were to be compared 
 to the rich pastures or vine-clad hills of Palestine. 
 
 Wildgoose and his friend Tugwell, who were 
 now come into the town, cut but a dusty figure, in 
 comparison with the spruce inhabitants of Bath, 
 s
 
 194 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 which made them desirous of getting under cover 
 as soon as possible : and Tugwell, espj'^ing a sign, 
 whose device struck his fancy, exhorted his master 
 to set up his staff there, especially as the house 
 seemed suitable to Mr. Wildgoose's appearance in 
 his present voluntary humiliation. 
 
 Tugwell was no sooner entered, than he almost 
 mechanically called for a cup of the best. Ah ! my 
 lad, says mine host, who was a facetious sort of fel- 
 low, thou shalt have it in the turning of a pork 
 griskin. But let's see, what hast thou got in thy 
 wallet? some run tea, or some Welch stockings? 
 What dost thou deal in ? Cry thy trade. No, no, 
 says Jerry, we don't deal in stockings nor shoes nei- 
 ther ; though, for that matter, as good shoes as ever 
 trod the ground have gone through my hands. But 
 no matter for that. 1 hope God has called me and 
 my master here to a better occupation. 
 
 My landlord, not being willing to throw away any 
 longer conversation on such guests, without any 
 further reply, stepped to the tap, drew some ale, 
 and, having blown off the froth, which occupied a 
 third part of the cup, and drunk the travellers' 
 health in another third, he presented the remainder 
 to Tugwell, who had called for it ; whilst Jerry was 
 drinking, my landlord surveyed Wildgoose with 
 more attention ; and observing in him an air rather 
 above a common pedlar, asked if the gentleman 
 would not please to walk into another room. Tug- 
 well replied, that, to be sure, his Worship had not 
 been used to sit in a kitchen ; but hotvsomever, my 
 master, says he, scorns to despise a poor parson; 
 and is not above keeping company with any good 
 Christian. Hey, day! good Christian, quoth my 
 landlord; why, we are all good Christians, I hope; 
 but I fancy thou hast left off mending of shoes, and 
 art set up for a mender of souls. I suppose, thou
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 195 
 
 art one of these Methcdites, or Mithridates, or what 
 the devil do you call 'em ? Why, sure a gentleman 
 may be a good Christian, without keeping company 
 with all the tag-rags and scrubs in the country. 
 
 Then, turning to Wildgoose, having heard Tug- 
 well call him his worship, my landlord went a step 
 further ; and, to make amends for his first neglect, 
 Won't your honour walk into the parlour ? says he, 
 What shall I get your honour to eat? This was lan- 
 guage which mine host had learned from the foot- 
 men, who greatly frequented his house ; and who, 
 I have observed, rather than not discover that they 
 have been used to wait upon people of fashion, will 
 bestow those honourable appellations on the lowest 
 of their acquaintance, and even on persons whom 
 they despise. 
 
 And here, by the way, I cannot but lament the 
 ridiculous prostitution of titles of distinction amongst 
 the inferior part of mankind in this age. In the glo- 
 rious days of Queen Elizabeth, master was esteemed 
 a very respectful address to any one beneath the 
 dignity of a peer : and even in James the First's 
 reign your worship was the highest degree of adula- 
 tion or respect with which a servant or vassal ap- 
 proached his lord and master whom he served. 
 From the French, I believe, in the last century, we 
 learned to apply the monosyllable sir to any one, 
 whom we considered as greatly our superior. But 
 now, your honour is the title universally given, to 
 every one that appears in a clean shirt and powder- 
 ed wig, by the drawer, the chairman, or the shoe- 
 black ; who are unwilling to hazard the loss of a 
 customer, by addressing him m a style beneath his 
 real or fancied importance. 
 
 In higher life, indeed, where particular titles are 
 appropriated to particular ranks or offices, this con- 
 fusion has been hitherto avoided. Our sovereign, 
 s2
 
 196 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 the fountain of honour, is at present content with 
 that of sacred majesty, one of the lowest attributes 
 of divinity; as our religion does not admit of down- 
 right deification. Neither has any one, as yet, been 
 guilty of so presumptuous a piece of flattery, as to 
 bestow the title of majesty on any subject whatso- 
 ever. 
 
 And, as the several orders of our nobility are cre- 
 ated by patent, and their titles purchased either by 
 money or merit, it is not usual, amongst that right 
 honourable fraternity, to invade each other's pro- 
 perty in that respect, or to give the superior titles 
 to those of inferior quality. But amongst the afore- 
 said lower race of mortals, as the love of false ho- 
 nours increases in proportion to the decrease of real 
 worth ; and as the base multitude pay that respect 
 to money which is properly due to merit, it is not 
 easy to say to what a ridiculous extreme this humour 
 may at length be extended ; and I should not be 
 surprised, in process of time, to hear a haberdasher 
 saluted with, A coach, your grace ! or to see a shoe- 
 black importune a walking tailor with. Black your 
 shoes your majesty ! But to return to our pilgrims. 
 
 CHAPTER ir. 
 
 Popular reports sometimes a Utile erroneous, 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose did not choose to accept of my 
 landlord's invitation of going into a room at pre- 
 sent; but asked him, whether there were any of 
 those Methodists, as he meant to call them, in Bath. 
 Are there? says mine host. Yes, I believe there 
 are ; enough to turn the heads of all the 'prentices 
 and journeymen in the nation. I am sure, I cau-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 197 
 
 not keep a chambermaid, or a tapster ; but the toads 
 must be singing psalms, or preaching to my custom- 
 ers, and be pox d to 'em, from morning to night. 
 Well, but you should not blame the poor creatures 
 for being too good, says Wildgoose. Too good ! 
 replies my landlord : I don't know that they are any 
 better than other folks. I loves a psalm at church, 
 as well as a merry catch over a glass of liquor; but 
 to be singing sot Jax all day long, in such a house 
 as ours is, 1 does not approve of it, it's perphane : its 
 quite perphane. 
 
 Besides I continues my landlord, without giving 
 Wildgoose room to reply, they are some of the 
 worst people that is ; there is nothing but whoring 
 and rogueing amongst them. There was one of 
 'em, at Gloucester, as a gentleman's servant told 
 me that very morning, caught in bed with a milli- 
 ner's 'pretence but last week ; nay, and one of them 
 is in Gloucester gaol at this time, for setting fire to 
 the Cathedral. Not to the Cathedral, says a foot- 
 man, who was drinking in the house, but some other 
 church, as this gentleman here told me. D n 
 thee, says another footman, I did not say, set fire 
 to a church ; but to the little church, as they call 
 the Methodists' meeting. Wildgoose and Jerry stared 
 at this intelligence; and, after his astonishment 
 'would give him leave, Wildgoose assured him, that 
 he came from Gloucester but yesterday morning; 
 and that there was not a word of truth in what he 
 had heard. He told him, however, the probable 
 foundation of the latter report, and the story of 
 the gun-powder plot: but concluded with repri- 
 manding him for his credulity ; and made some re- 
 flections upon the malignity of the world, and the 
 absurdity of those popular stories, which are so 
 freely propagated by the vulgar part of mankind. 
 s3
 
 198 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Landlord alters his tone. AJemale sa'mt. 
 
 My landlord now began to smell a rat ; and as it 
 was his business to adapt himself to the taste and 
 principles of his customers, he suddenly changed 
 his tone, and said, that, to be sure, some of the Me- 
 thodists were good sort of people, for that matter, 
 and did a great deal of good in the world ; and 
 were vexy charitable to the poor ; and they preaches 
 main well, as they do say ; but for my part, conti- 
 nues he, I never was at their meeting. 
 
 What part of the town do they meet in, then ? 
 says Wildgoose. Why, I don't know ; but here ! 
 Deborah, says he to a woman that had been wash- 
 ing in the back kitchen, give the gentleman an ac- 
 count of your little Tabernacle in Avon-street, or 
 where the deuce is it ? Good lack-a-day ! quoth 
 Deborah, wiping her hands upon her apron. What ! 
 has the gentleman a mind to go and hear our preach- 
 ing then ? Why, to be sure, we have some fine men 
 come amongst us. I am a 'scriber ; I can introduce 
 the gentleman any night ; I 'scribes three-pence a 
 week. Ah ! sir, we have such soul searching* teach- 
 ers ! such ravishing* ministers! They come so close 
 to the point;* and does so grapple* with the sin- 
 ner ! they probe his sores to the very quick ; and 
 pour iti such cornfortable balsam!* and, as Mr. 
 Twangdillo told us last night, though it may pain, 
 yet, like physic in the bowels, it pains us to some 
 purpose ;* and, to be sure, as he said, conversion 
 ibllows conviction, as naturally* as thread does the 
 needle. Whilst the good woman was thus retailing 
 
 * All the expressions in one sermon, on redeeming timr.
 
 THE SPiniTUAL QUIXOTE. 193 
 
 ]ier pancpjyi'ic, she leaned over the chair of a jour- 
 neyman tailor, who was drinking a penny-pot, and 
 breathed in his face such blasts, so strongly tinc- 
 tured with gin and Scotch snuff, that the tailor 
 cried out, \Vhy, dame, thou savourest strongly of 
 the spirit truly. I fancy thou art a little intoxicated 
 to-night. TosticotedJ tosticated! I scorn your words, 
 cries Deborah. I defy the best man in Bath, to 
 say black is my eye ; or that I was ever consamed 
 in liquor, since my name was Deborah. Tosticated! 
 No ; God help me ! I have drunk nothing to-day, 
 but a little tea for breakfast, and half a pint of ale 
 at my dinner, except a little still'd water, that my 
 mistress gave me in the morning to keep out the 
 wind ! and I am sure there is no harm in that : is 
 there now, Mr. Alcock. 
 
 Mr. Alcock, which was my landlord's name, put 
 a stop to the torrent of her eloquence, by inquiring 
 again the place of their meeting. Which when he 
 had Ifearned, he sent his tapster to show Wildgoose 
 the house, where he was directed to some of the 
 most considerable of the fraternity. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Wildgoose attends a Bath Meeting. 
 
 When Mr. Wildgoose had made himself known, he 
 was surprised to find that his fame had reached 
 Bath before him : for during his residence at Glou- 
 cester, several passengers, who had come that road, 
 hearing that a young man of some fortune was 
 commenced Methodist Preacher, had brought the 
 news to Bath, not without enlarging his fortune 
 from four to seven or eight hundred pounds a year.
 
 200 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 So that Wildgoose came with the prepossession in 
 his favour, that he was the famous preacher, who 
 made so much noise at Gloucester. The brethren, 
 therefore, were not a httle pleased with a convert 
 of so much supposed consequence ; and accord- 
 ingly received him with great cordiality and dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 At their next meeting, Wildgoose attended as one 
 of the audience ; and both he and Tugwell were 
 greatly delighted with their spiritual hymns, which 
 Deborah had assured them were very melodious. 
 But when the preacher, who, that night, was nei- 
 ther better nor worse than a journeyman stay- 
 maker, began to display his eloquence, Mr. Wild- 
 goose, who had had something of an academical 
 education, could hardly digest the homeliness of 
 his language, or the meanness of his comparisons ; 
 and was a little mortified with the apprehensiori 
 that he himself probably should make no bettet 
 figure in the rostrum. But being encouraged by 
 some of his friends, who reminded him of the sa- 
 lubrious effects of his preaching at Gloucester, and 
 also of the heinous sin of " wrapping up his talent 
 in a napkin;" he was prevailed upon to promise, 
 that he would exhibit himself the next evening: 
 which accordingly he did ; and displayed his ora- 
 tory before a crowded audience, with no small ap- 
 probation and applause. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 He harangues on the parade. 
 
 Wildgoose's fame began now to be trumpeted 
 forth amongst all ranks of people : and, as he had
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 201 
 
 naturally a good elocution, an harmonious voice, 
 and an agreeable person, he was considered by the 
 society at Bath, as a proper instrument to represent 
 their doctrines to advantage,, in an harangue to the 
 company that resorted thither. 
 
 Accordingly it was given out, that a young gen- 
 tleman from Oxford, who had renounced the ease 
 and affluence of a good fortune for the sake of reli- 
 gion, was to preach on the grand parade the next 
 morning. 
 
 The greatest charity we can bestow on people of 
 fashion, at a public place, is the furnishing them 
 something new to talk of. A new singer, a new 
 philosopher, a new rope-dancer, or a new preacher, 
 are objects equally amusing to the idle and indolent 
 that frequent Bath. The company, therefore, ad- 
 journed from the pump-room to the parade, in ea- 
 ger expectation of seeing and hearing this youthful 
 adventurer. 
 
 But Mr. Nash, though he himself had greatly re- 
 formed and regulated the manners and behaviour of 
 his subjects in the public room ; yet, being orthodox 
 in his tenets, and very well content with the present 
 state of religion amongst them, he did not desire 
 any reformation in that article. Having notice, 
 therefore, of this intended preachment, he got ready 
 his band of music, with the addition of two or three 
 French-horns and kettle-drums : and as soon as the 
 orator had exhibited his person on the parade, 
 stretched forth his hand, and, like Paul in the Car- 
 toon, was i7i act to speak, Nash gave the signal for 
 the grand chorus of God save the king. The mu- 
 sic struck up ; and playing so loyal a piece of music, 
 no one had the hardiness to interrupt them. Nay, 
 a majority of the company were probably pleased 
 with Nash's humour ; and it being now breakfast 
 time, the mob was easily dispersed.
 
 202 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTK. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose's friends, however, would not 
 tamely give up a point of this importance ; but took 
 an opportunity that very evening, when the com- 
 pany were going to the rooms, to produce their 
 champion on a sudden, and met with better suc- 
 cess. 
 
 As Mr. Nash had given out that Wildgoose was 
 mad, he made use of St. Paul's words for his text ; 
 *' I am not mad, most noble Festus, but do speak 
 forth the words of soberness and truth." Wild- 
 goose did not confine himself, however, to the 
 words of the text ; but, as he had been instructed 
 by the brethren, inveighed with great severity 
 against luxury in dress, cards, dancing, and all the 
 fashionable diversions of the place; and even 
 against frequenting the rooms with the most inno- 
 cent intentions of recreation and amusement. 
 
 As soon as Wildgoose had finished his harangue, 
 which was almost of an hour's duration, a jolly foot- 
 man, about the size of one of the gentlemen in the 
 horse-guards, bustling through the crowd, stretched 
 out a gigantic fist, and presented the orator a single 
 card. Wildgoose who had not of late been much 
 in genteel life,* could not guess at the meaning of 
 this ceremony ; but imagined it was some joke upon 
 his invective against gaming. The footman, how- 
 ever, with a surly air, cried out. Read it friend ! 
 read it ; my lady desires to see you at her lodgings 
 here on the parade. Wildgoose, then, perusing his 
 billet, read as follows : 
 
 A lady, who is disgusted with the world, desires 
 half an hour's conversation with Mr. Wildgoose, as 
 soon as he is at leisure. 
 
 Wildgoose, after a short pause, told the footman 
 ht would wait on the lady immediately. So, as 
 
 * MS!>uge Cards had been lately introduced.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 203 
 
 soon as he had given a short answer to two people, 
 one a fan-painter, the other a butterfly-catcher, 
 who had consulted him about the lawfulness of their 
 several professions, he followed the footman to his 
 lady's place of abode. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A digression on message-cards. 
 
 There are few customs generally prevailing in the 
 world, how absurd soever they may appear, which 
 had not some real propriety or convenience for their 
 original ; but when the fashion is once established 
 amongst the polite, it descends of course amongst 
 the vulgar; who blindly imitate it, as such, with- 
 out any regard to its primitive institution. Thus, 
 for instance, the conveying messages by a card, 
 was introduced into the fashionable world, as the 
 readiest expedient against the blunders and stupid 
 dity of ignorant servants : and it must be confessed, 
 that, in some characters and on some occasions, 
 this practice has not only no impropriety, but car- 
 ries with it a genteel air of ease and negligence ; 
 and really saves a great deal of unnecessary trouble, 
 both to the person that sends, and him that receives 
 the message. 
 
 The man of pleasure, who transacts his most im- 
 portant concerns in a coffee-house or a tavern ; or 
 the modern lady, the whole sphere of whose exist- 
 ence is at a drawing-room, can never be supposed 
 without a card in readiness on every emergency ; 
 and, therefore, parties at whist can no way be more 
 aptly formed, nor messages of compliment more
 
 20* THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 elegantly conveyed, than by these diminutive ta- 
 blets, which are generally suited to the subject, to 
 the genius, and laconic style of the parties con- 
 cerned. 
 
 But, on the other hand, what can be more ab- 
 surd than this practice in more serious characters, 
 and on occasions of more solemnity ? How remote 
 /rom probability is it, that a grave divine, who is 
 continually inveighing against the vices and follies 
 of the age, should have a pack of soiled cards in 
 his pocket, ready for his engagements of business 
 or pleasure ? or that a venerable counsellor, who is 
 continually surrounded with briefs, leases, or acts 
 of parliament, should prefer a trifling card in trans- 
 acting business with his client, before a shred of 
 parchment, or even a scrap of common paper ; and 
 I should have kicked my tailor the other day, for 
 minuting down the dimensions of my sleeves and 
 pocket-holes upon a card if I had not luckil)'^ re- 
 collected that his last bill was unpaid. 
 
 Neither are message-cards proper on all occasiojts, 
 any more than in persons of all characters or pro- 
 fessions. It is a known impropriety in a French 
 marquis, who, coming to pay his devotions at the 
 shrine of a saint, whilst his image was gone to the 
 silver-smith to be repaired, left a card for his god- 
 ship, to acquaint him with his intended visit : and 
 though a certain lady, near St. James's, very inno- 
 cently invited a woman of quality to her rout, by 
 a tvkisper at the communion table ; yet, in my hum- 
 ble opinion, she could not so decently have slipped 
 a card into her ladyship's hand at so sacred a place 
 as the altar. 
 
 Granting, however, the general and unlimited 
 use of this paste-board correspondence, there is yet 
 a propriety to be observed, and many absurdities to
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 205 
 
 be avoided, in the choice of the cards, according to 
 the persons addressed, or the occasions on which 
 we address them. 
 
 It is too obvious a hint, and I suppose too trite 
 a piece of adulation to a fine woman, to convey our 
 compHments to her on the queen of hearts : as, on 
 the contrary, it would have been an affront to a late 
 East India governor,* though he laboured under so 
 groundless a slander, to have inquired after his 
 health by sending him the knave of diamonds. The 
 deuce, or two of clubs, I think, should be appro- 
 priated to challenges and duels : and the black aces 
 should be entirely discarded in our correspondence 
 with ladies of character ; as the nines and tens are 
 at ombre or quadrille f. But these hints are left ta 
 be improved by the facetious Mr. . 
 
 My intention was chiefly to observe, that the dis- 
 gusted lady, mentioned in the last chapter, should 
 have made use of paper with black edges, in a mes- 
 sage to Mr. Wildgoose, rather than a profane card, 
 which he could not but consider as a diabolical in- 
 vention, and consequently as intended for an affront 
 to so pious a man. However, he obeyed the sum- 
 mons, as has been related, and attended the lady in 
 her own apartment. 
 
 This seems to allude to some piece of modern history 
 now forgotten. 
 
 + A set of blank cards have since been invented, by 
 which the above absurdities may be avoided.
 
 SOS THE SPiniTUAL ttUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Tete a Tete. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose was introduced by the footman 
 into a handsome dining-room, elegantly furnished. 
 The lady received him in a genteel dishabille, sit- 
 ting, or rather leaning, on a rich sofa, in such a 
 posture as necessarily displayed a handsome foot, 
 somewhat above the instep. She was an agreeable 
 woman, about six and twenty ; and though her face 
 was not so exquisitely beautiful as it seemed to have 
 been in her earlier days, yet, being shaded by a 
 chip hat, and receiving a gloss from a white satin 
 night-gown in which she was dressed, she made 
 upon the whole no unpalatable figure. 
 
 I would not insinuate, that she had any intention 
 to captivate our hero : yet thus much 1 believe is 
 certain, that a woman who has once been hand- 
 some, and experienced the power of her charms, 
 seldom lays aside the hopes of making conquests, 
 but contracts an habitual fondness for admiration, 
 and would be disappointed in not receiving that in- 
 cense, even from a man whom she despised. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose, however, was at present no des- 
 picable object. He was now in his twenty-fifth 
 year. He was well made, and had an agreeable 
 countenance, which his late abstemious way of life 
 had improved, by giving quite a delicacy to his 
 complexion. His hair was of a dark brown ; and 
 though it had not received the fashionable frizure, 
 it was grown thick enough to shade his face, and 
 long enough to curl ; and his dress, though plain, 
 was tolerably neat and becoming. 
 
 In short, though Mrs. Booby (which was the name 
 of this lady) really fancied she had occasion for
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 207 
 
 some ghostly advice; yet probably she might not 
 have thought of this ceremony, if she bad not liked 
 the person of her casuit ; whom she viewed, as 
 he was declaiming, from the window of her apart- 
 ment. 
 
 After bowing to Mr. Wildgoose, and desiring him 
 to sit down, she pulled out her fan, and having 
 played it a little in a negligent manner, said, she 
 should make no apology for giving this trouble, as 
 she was convinced, from his character, he would 
 not refuse his advice to any one in affliction. 
 
 Wildgoose bowed, and made a proper speech 
 upon the occasion, and she proceeded. 
 
 In short, sir, says she, I am sick of the world. 
 But, that you may be a better judge of my situa- 
 tion, I will beg leave to trouble you with a short 
 history of my past life, which will let you into the 
 nature of my present uneasiness. 
 
 Wildgoose expressed his earnest desire to give 
 her some spiritual consolation ; and Mrs. Booby 
 thus began. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mrs. Boobt/s Story. 
 
 When I was about nineteen, I came with my mo- 
 ther for the first time to Bath ; and whether there 
 was a scarcity of beauty there that season, or whe- 
 ther in my bloom 1 might not be reckoned tolerably 
 handsome, I don't know. Here Wildgoose bowed 
 again; and, muttering a complaisant speech, Mrs. 
 Booby blushed, and went on. Well, sir, as I was 
 going to say, I found myself in great vogue; much 
 caressed by the gentlemen, and in possession of a 
 t2
 
 208 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 great number of admirers. Amongst the rest there 
 was a very sober youth, of a good person and a 
 genteel fortune, that was particular in his attach- 
 ment to me; and as my mother seemed to have 
 no objection, I encouraged his addresses ; and I 
 own he had made some progress towards gaining my 
 affections. But, after about a month's intimate cor- 
 respondence with Mr. Clayton (which was this 
 young man's name), application was made to my 
 old lady by another gentleman, of a much larger 
 fortune, but much older than myself; who offered 
 me a settlement of six hundred pounds a year, and, 
 if required, two hundred pounds a year for what is 
 called pin-money. 
 
 My mother was charmed with this proposal, and 
 hoped I would not hesitate a moment in prefer- 
 ing so advantageous an offer to that of the young 
 fellow who had been dangling after me for some 
 time. 
 
 I was startled at this speech, and told her I 
 should certainly pay a proper deference to her opi- 
 nion in an affair of that importance ; but, madam, 
 says I, you know I have encouraged Mr. Clayton's 
 addresses, and cannot, in honour, listen to any 
 other proposals.- In honour, cries she, a fiddle- 
 stick! well, continues she, you may do as you 
 please, I shall not force your inclinations ; but 
 whether you accept of Mr. Booby's offer or not, I 
 shall insist upon your not admitting that fellow's 
 visits (meaning Mr. Clayton's) any more. 
 
 This stern prohibition, though it obliged me to 
 alter my external behaviour, could make no altera- 
 tion in my affection for Mr. Clayton. I was denied 
 to him, indeed, the next time he came ; but we 
 contrived two or three short interviews at the 
 rooms ; and I told him, that although I could not 
 think of disobeying my mother's express com*
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 209* 
 
 mands, I would vow eternal constancy to him; and 
 promise faithfully never to give my hand, much 
 less my heart, to any other. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Continuation of Mrs. Booby's story. 
 
 Mr. Clayton was now obliged, by some business of 
 consequence, to leave Bath for some time, and was 
 detained near two months in the country. We 
 contrived, however, to carry on a correspondence 
 by letters, in which he lamented how much he suf- 
 fered by this separation, and how impossible it was 
 for him ever to be happy in my absence. I an- 
 swered his letters at first with more fondness, per- 
 haps, than it was prudent, or even decent, for any 
 young woman to express, whatever her real senti- 
 ments may be ; and made the most romantic decla- 
 rations of preferring retirement and a competence 
 with the person I loved, to the most splendid cir- 
 cumstances with one whom I detested. 
 
 The most ardent love, however, may grow cool, 
 by a long separation from its object ; for, though a 
 short absence increases, too long a one frequently 
 extinguishes a passion. In short, I am convinced 
 that time and a variety of amusements must weaken 
 the force even of the sincerest affection. 
 
 As my mamma, without mentioning a word of 
 Mr. Booby's proposals, was continually represent- 
 ing to my fancy the dazzling images of a splendid 
 equipage, a numerous attendance, and the deference 
 and respect which are usually paid to wealth and 
 affluence ; and the like topics which those parents 
 who prefer the grandeur of alliance to the happi- 
 T 3
 
 210 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 
 
 ness of their children are fond of inculcating ; I 
 must own my weakness, and confess, that I began 
 to feel my excessive tenderness for the absent Clay- 
 ton gradually to wear off; and, in short, I deter- 
 mined, at length, to find out some pretence for 
 breaking off all correspondence with him. 
 
 The engagements of lovers are like treaties be- 
 tween princes. The party that is desirous of coming 
 to a rupture is never at a loss for a pretence. In 
 one of his letters, poor Clayton, out of his great 
 fondness, perhaps, had expressed his concern, as 
 naturally he might, lest the constant solicitations 
 to which every woman, who is not absolutely ugly, 
 is exposed in this place, might prove prejudicial to 
 his love, and had even hinted how happy it would 
 make him, if I would not appear in public, more 
 than was necessary to oblige my mamma; who, he 
 knew, was more fond of the rooms, at that time, 
 than I myself was. 
 
 This modest request, the consequence probably 
 of the most tender regard, furnished me with the 
 opportunity which 1 wanted, of breaking with 
 Clayton. I told him, in my answer, that a woman 
 could never be happy with a man of his suspicious 
 temper; and, if I was to be abridged of the most 
 innocent amusements by a person who could claim 
 not the least right to that power, what must I ex- 
 pect from the authority of a husband of so jealous a 
 disposition ? In short, I added, as this engagement 
 was entirely inconsistent with the obedience due to 
 a parent, and the correspondence carried on in de- 
 fiance of my mother's express prohibition, 1 desired 
 the affair might proceed no further. 
 
 Instead of answering this letter, which greatly 
 alarmed him, Mr. Clayton came post to Bath; the 
 news of which, I must confess staggered my reso- 
 lution : and meeting him the next day by accident,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 211 
 
 at the house where, by agreement, our letters had 
 been left, 1 found all my fondness revive at the 
 sight of him; and, instead ofexchanging our letters 
 (which, after the receipt of so unaccountable a one 
 from me, he said was the utmost of his expectation), 
 we seemed to have established our correspondence 
 upon a more lasting foundation than ever. 
 
 After two or three clandestine interviews, Mr. 
 Clayton was again obliged to leave Bath, and we 
 agfiin renewed our literary correspondence. But 
 oh ! how little do we know our own hearts! Whether 
 the continual incense of flattery, which I have re- 
 ceived from a number of admirers, revived my am- 
 bition, or whether mere absence weaned my affec- 
 tions from their object, I began a second time, 
 to feel a great indifference in regard to Mr. Clayton. 
 In short, sir, not to trouble you with too tedious a 
 detail of particulars, I again found a pretence for 
 dropping all farther intercourse with him: and Clay- 
 ton himself, instead of coming again in person (or, 
 perhaps, thinking me now beneath his regard), only 
 wrote me a defence of his conduct. Such, at least, 
 I guessed to be the contents of his letter; for, with 
 unparalleled insolence, I sent it back unopened. 
 And thus ended our connection. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mrs, Booby^s story concluded. fVUdgooses opi- 
 nion of the marriage contra<;t, JJescription of a 
 Bath life. 
 
 My mother, perceiving the gloom which appeared 
 in my countenance Qii Mr. Clayton's departure be- 
 gin now to wear oflP, and my usual cheerfulness re- 
 
 8
 
 212 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 turn, gave Mr. Booby a hint to renew his addresses. 
 These, at first, I again rejected with great indig- 
 nation. But, when I perceived, that although my 
 mamma declared against forcing my inclinations, 
 yet that her constant frowns, and perhaps her last- 
 ing displeasure, and all the negative discourage- 
 ments in her power, would be the consequence of 
 my refusal, I began to listen to Mr. Booby's pro- 
 posals: and, after stipulating for a decent time to 
 consider of it, and insisting upon his first offer of 
 two hundred pounds a year, pin-money, I conde- 
 scended to accept his terms: and in short, our per- 
 sons were joined together in wedlock, though two 
 such hearts could never be united. 
 
 Mr. Booby, indeed, was not disagreeable in his 
 appearance: and though he was near twenty years 
 older than me ; yet, by his manner of dress, in a 
 public place, he concealed what little depredation 
 time had made on his person. But when we had 
 been married near three years, without the conse- 
 quence which he expected from our union (for he 
 was very desirous of an heir to his estate), he began 
 to lay aside the very desire of pleasing me. And, 
 as he became a sloven, I began to neglect my dress; 
 so that, from being merely indifferent, we soon be- 
 came thoroughly disagreeable to each other. Every 
 trifle was now made matter of dispute ; and we fre- 
 quently quarrelled one day, about what had been 
 the subject of our dispute the day before. 
 
 But what rendered Mr. Booby completely odious 
 to me, was the high opinion he had conceived of 
 the superiority of his sex; and the arbitrary notions 
 he entertained of the authority of the husband over 
 us poor domestic animals, called wives. In short, 
 Mr. Wildgoose, this was a constant subject of de- 
 bate, and, in fine, the real cause of our separa- 
 tiM).
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 213 
 
 Is Mr. Booby then alive? and do you live sepa- 
 rate from him? Why, sir, you shall hear. It 
 was a thing utterly unavoidable; and nothing but 
 an absolute necessity should have forced me to take 
 so imprudent a step. I was driven \o it by the 
 most brutal behaviour, as you shall hear. 
 
 Mr. Booby's family seat is in the north of Eng- 
 land; but, being so remote from Bath (which wa- 
 ters were thought necessary for his health), and a 
 bad sporting country, which is his whole delight, 
 he had taken a hunting seat near the Wiltshire 
 Downs; whither I was banished soon after our mar- 
 riage : or rather where I was imprisoned, and con- 
 fined to the conversation of dogs and horses ; or, 
 what is worse, mere country 'squires, parsons, and 
 fox-hunters : for there was not above one conver- 
 sible neighbour within ten miles of us; and that 
 family we rarely saw above once in a quarter. 
 
 One day, when Mr. Booby returned from hunt- 
 ing, he brought home with him, according to cus- 
 tom, the parson of the parish, and a neighbouring 
 attorney; though he knew that I had invited the 
 only genteel family, (which as I told you) we had 
 in the neighbourhood, to spend the evening with 
 me. As those politer meetings were but rarely in- 
 dulged me, I usually made a handsome supper; and 
 as our house was a mere box, though I had a dining 
 room to receive my company in on those occasions, 
 yet we were always obliged to sup in the common 
 parlour. As soon, therefore, as we had dined, 
 I desired Mr. Booby and his rustic companions to 
 adjourn into a little smoking-room, to take their 
 pipes and their bottles; which he absolutely re- 
 fused. Upon my pleading a right to the parlour, 
 to entertain my company in, he insisted upon his 
 prerogative of being master in his own house. In
 
 214' THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 short, after many aggravations, I proceeded so far 
 as to tell him, I would rather live in a cottage, than 
 with such a brute as he was ; to which he replied, 
 that he would sooner live in a wind-mill, than with 
 such a vixen as I was ; and, that he never desired 
 to see my face again. Upon which I threw my 
 hoop-ring in his face; and, having dispatched a 
 card to put off my company, ordered the chariot, 
 and drove immediately to Bath : where I have lived 
 ever since last October. 
 
 Now, sir, I should be gald of your opinion ; 
 whether I have done any thing inconsistent with 
 my duty, or contrary to my marriage vow, upon 
 this occasion. For you must observe, Mr. Wild- 
 goose, nothing but the most brutal usage could have 
 forced me to take this step; and you see I was 
 under an absolute necessity of acting as I have done. 
 You must mind that, Mr. Wildgoose : and then, 
 I am sure you must pass sentence in my favour, and 
 acquit me of any thing wrong in this affair. 
 
 Wildgoose was at first struck dumb with astonish- 
 ment, and could not tell what answer to make; 
 but, after recovering a little from his confusion, 
 Madam, says he, as you ask my opinion, I am 
 persuaded you expect me to give it you with the 
 utmost sincerity; and my conscience will not per- 
 mit me to speak what I do not really think ; and a 
 good Christian should rather run the risque of ap- 
 pearing unpolite than insincere. 
 
 I would by no means, madam, cast the blame 
 entirely upon you: for I think there was no proba- 
 bility that such an alliance as you have described 
 could be productive of any lasting felicity, as it was 
 not founded on a mutual affection; nor, I am 
 afraid, entered into on a religious principle, or in the 
 fear of God. Your affections, you own, were pre-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTK. 215 
 
 engaged, or at least, having been disappointed in 
 their first object, could not exert their natural force 
 on a second. 
 
 Then, I am afraid, madam, you have not suffi- 
 ciently considered your obligation to obey the per- 
 son to whom you have, by the marriage contract, 
 given up, in some measure, your natural freedom. 
 Given up my freedom ! cries Mrs. Booby ; I'd 
 sooner resign my life ! Give me leave, madam, to 
 explain myself, says Wildgoose. I do not speak 
 of this obligation as founded on the mere words of 
 the marriage ceremony (for all human ordinances 
 are vain and frivolous) ; but as evidently enjoined 
 by the holy Scripture, and to be deduced from that 
 superiority which nature seems to have given the 
 man over the more delicate sex. 
 
 Ay, that's so like my husband now ! cries Mrs. 
 Booby, turning red, and playing her fan with some 
 vivacity; but you must excuse me, sir, if I cannot 
 allow the superiority you plead for. Well, madam, 
 replies Mr. Wildgoose, 1 will not enter into the 
 dispute about the natural equality of the sexes, 
 which has of late been brought frequently upon the 
 carpet, though the novelty of the ladies' claim is, I 
 think, a strong presumption in our favour. But be 
 that as it will, 1 am clearly of opinion, that in do- 
 mestic as well as civil government, to prevent con- 
 tinual dissensions and struggles for superiority, 
 there must somewhere be lodged a dernier rexort, 
 an arbitrary, or, to use a softer name, a sovereign 
 power : and I am certain, that religion, as well as 
 reason, has placed this power in the husband. 
 Very well, says Mrs. Booby, with a contemptuous 
 sneer. For a proper use of this power, however, 
 continues Wildgoose, the huband is accountable 
 both to the laws of God and of man : and I am con- 
 vinced, madam, if you could have acknowledged
 
 216 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 this superior authority in Mr. Booby, and had 
 thought it your duty to submit in such trifles as that 
 which was the immediate cause of your separation, 
 you would have been much happier than by your 
 own account you now are. For I beheve, as de- 
 praved as our nature is, there is no man so brutish, 
 that could bear to tyrannise over a poor helpless 
 creature, who, instead of displaying that mascu- 
 line ferocity which is too common in the sex, ac- 
 knowledged her entire dependence upon him for 
 support and protection. 
 
 ^Support and protection, indeed ! exclaims Mrs. 
 Booby, my pin-money will support me, and I 
 scorn his protection ! Give me leave, madam, to 
 conclude my argument, says Wildgoose. The very 
 circumstance which you mention has, I am afraid 
 contributed not a little to bring on that separation 
 which you seem now to repent of: I mean that 
 monstrous article of modern refinement called pin- 
 money : which, I perceive, is always uppermost in 
 your thoughts. The allowing a woman a mainte- 
 nance, independent of her husband, is not only de- ' 
 stroying that mutual affection which arises from a 
 sense of their interest being inseparably united, but 
 is also a continual temptation to a woman to fly out 
 on the slightest dispute ; and to despise the autho- 
 rity of a husband, without whose assistance or sup- 
 port she has it in her power to live in affluence and 
 splendour. Separate purses between man and wife 
 are as unnatural as separate beds ; which, indeed, 
 one often hears of amongst people of fashion, where 
 there is no more difficulty in making up tvoo beds 
 than one. But the surest way of preventing such a 
 separation is to have but one bed to go to ; which 
 is most commonly the case with the happier couples 
 in lower life. 
 
 Jn short, madam, I am inclined to think, the
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUfXOTE.- 217 
 
 great facility which you found in exchanging the so- 
 litude you complain of, for the gaieties and plea- 
 sures of Bath, was a principal motive of your de- 
 serting Mr. Booby, and precipitating yourself into 
 this misfortune ; which rash conduct, I find, now 
 sits so heavy upon your conscience. 
 
 Indeed, sir, replied Mrs. Booby, starting from 
 a kind of reverie, you are vastly mistaken. I am 
 more sick of a public place, if possible, than of my 
 own home ; whither, indeed, I have lately had 
 some thoughts of returning, as I have received se- 
 veral overtures from Mr. Booby to that purpose. 
 The pleasures of Bath, indeed ! No ; I detest the 
 place, and could wish to be banished from it for 
 ever! It is a tedious circle of unmeaning hurry, 
 anxiety, and fatigue ; of fancied enjoyments, and 
 real chagrins : to-day one is in vogue, the Lord 
 knows why ; to-morrow deserted, and equally with- 
 out reason. In the former case one is pestered and 
 distracted with variety of engagements ; in the lat- 
 ter, left a prey to melancholy, and the disagreeable 
 reflections on the slights we meet with. Such, in- 
 deed, is the spirit of public places. Every one is 
 aspiring after the company of his superiors, while 
 he despises his equals, and sacrifices the real en- 
 joyment of friendly conversation to the foolish am- 
 bition of being seen in what is ciiWei\. good company. 
 In short, nothing can be more trifling than the life 
 of a lady, nor more insipid than than of a gentle- 
 man, at Bath ; the one is a constant series of flirting 
 and gadding about ; the other of sauntering from 
 place to place, without any scheme or pursuit. 
 Scandal or fashions engross the conversation of the 
 former ; the news of the day, the price of fish, the 
 history of the preceding night at the tavern, or 
 savoury anticipations of their next debauch, furnish 
 out the morning entertainment of the latter. 
 
 VOL. xxxii. u
 
 218 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Well, madam, I am glad to hear you speak witli 
 so much disgust of this scene of dissipation, which, 
 by all accounts, it highly deserves ; and I hope it 
 is a good symptom of the new birth. If you are 
 once properly sensible of your own misery, you will 
 soon be glad to take refuge where only true joys 
 are to be found. 
 
 Oh, sir, you do not knew half the follies and 
 impertinences of this place. There are some, in- 
 deed, who appear more seriously employed, and 
 who pore whole mornings over a game at whist, 
 with the attention and solemnity of mathematicians 
 or privy-counsellors. But one might as well affect 
 tranquillity in a storm or a whirlwind, as enjoy- 
 ment at a gaming-table. It is exposing oneself con- 
 tinually to the caprice and sport of fortune, and to 
 every boisterous, unsociable, and selfish passion. 
 For my part, though I confess I have been fond of 
 cards, yet they are now my utter aversion ; I re- 
 nounce them for ever ; and, if I know my own 
 mind, am determined never to touch a card again 
 as long as I live. 
 
 "Whilst Mrs. Booby was making this declaration, 
 and Wildgoose highly applauding her resolution, the 
 footman opened the door, and announced the arri- 
 val of Lady Fanny Flurry, who rushed in, tossing 
 her hoop three yards before her. But, seeing so 
 unfashionable a figure as Wildgoose, she started 
 back, and taking him for a shoe-maker, or something 
 in that style, she cried out. Oh Booby, you are 
 engaged, I see. But Mrs. Booby winking upon her, 
 and assuring her she was not; Well, my dear 
 Booby, says Lady Fanny, I only came to -bespeak 
 you for a party at quadrille to-night, and shall de- 
 pend upon your company at the rooms. Oh ! 
 Lady Fanny ! name it not, cries Mrs. Booby ; I 
 have just made Sijirm resolution never to touch 
 3
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 219 
 
 another card after the bad run I had last night. 
 But your la^ship is so obliging there's no resisting 
 you yet, I hate the rooms ; and positively I cannot 
 be of your party /Aere. Oh, ho! my dear, replies 
 her ladyship, have you betrayed yourself? What ! 
 you are piqued, then, at not being invited to poor 
 Clayton's public breakfast this morning? Come, 
 come ! you had the refusal of him ; and how can 
 you blame the creature for seeking consolation else- 
 where ? and really, thirty thousand pounds with a 
 pretty woman, is no unpromising prospect of con- 
 solation. 
 
 And now the secret was out. The true cause of 
 Mrs. Booby's disgust with the world, and of her de- 
 siring this conference with a quack preacher, was 
 the arrival of her former lover, Mr. Clayton, who, 
 a few years after she had sacrificed him, either to 
 her mother's importunity or to her own ambition, 
 had married a very agreeable heiress, with thirty 
 thousand pounds, whom he had now, for the first 
 time, brought to Bath, where she made a very bril- 
 liant appearance : and Mrs. Booby, not having been 
 particularly invited to a public breakfast which Mr. 
 Clayton gave that morning ; this slight, together 
 with a bad run at cards, had made her sick of the 
 iKorld ; and to amuse herself chiefly, she had had 
 recourse to this spiritual knight-errant. However, 
 she was so well pleased with our hero's company 
 (for, where the peculiarities of his religious system 
 were not concerned, Wildgoose was- really very 
 agreeable,) that, notwithstanding his offer to take 
 his leave, Mrs. Booby insisted upon his company to 
 tea and coffee, which now made its appearance. 
 
 u2
 
 220 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A scene in genteel life. Enter Mrs. Bardolph, Miss 
 Trufle, and Mr. Rouvill. Their characters. 
 
 The most material difference between keeping good 
 company and bad is, hearing the same things said 
 before a dozen wax Hghts at the court end of the 
 town, or before a couple of mould candles in the 
 city. This, or something to the same purpose, 
 was remarked by a celebrated genius of the last 
 age. But I am inclined to think, that the honest 
 citizens of our times would suffer by such a com- 
 parison ; for in that serious part of the metropolis, 
 there are still some remains of the British plainness 
 of speech and manliness of conversation. There, 
 business, politics, news, history, or even religion, 
 are, in their turn, sometimes admitted as interest- 
 ing subjects of discourse or argumentation. But 
 amongst those choice spirits who have monopolized 
 and appropriated to themselves the style and title 
 oi good company, one rarely hears any other topics 
 introduced than annals of the whist-table, or anec- 
 dotes of the turf, operas, routs, and masquerades ; 
 the most trifling relations of the most trifling trans- 
 actions : and, as Lord Shaftesbury observes of his 
 times, " If any thing of learning is introduced, it is 
 pedantry ; if any thing of morality, it is called 
 preaching." 
 
 In these reflections, however, the good company 
 now introduced is not particularly concerned. 
 
 Mrs. Booby not having appeared in public that 
 day, was visited by most of the idle and imperti- 
 nent part of her acquaintance. Amongst the rest 
 there now arrived those two amiable persons, Mrs. 
 Bardoljjh and Mr. Kouvill, or (as he was aptly
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 221 
 
 called) Beau Rueful, who were immediately fol- 
 lowed by the well-known Miss Trufle,* with a 
 black spaniel in her arms, and a squirrel in her 
 pocket. 
 
 Mrs. Bardolph was the wife of a very worthy man ; 
 which circumstance, together with the good table 
 which she kept, and her readiness to make one at a 
 party of quadrille, introduced her into a numerous 
 acquaintance amongst people of fashion ; of which 
 privilege, however, she made no other use, than 
 that of passing away the time less tediously ; of 
 dining and supping agreeably, and of transmitting 
 the insipid occurrences of one family into that of 
 another, the particulars of which her memory ena- 
 bled her to retain longer than people of more re- 
 flection ; so that she was a living chronicle of every 
 incident, good, bad, or indifferent, that had befallen 
 her acquaintance for twenty years together. 
 
 Of much the same importance was the character 
 of Miss Trufle. She was a woman of family ; but had 
 neither fortune, beauty, wit, nor even good-nature 
 to recommend her. Indeed, her person was not only 
 despicably small, but deformed likewise ; her un- 
 derstanding of the same dimensions, and her tem- 
 per as deformed as her person. Yet, under all these 
 disadvantages, her rank, and the good company she 
 always appeared in, might haply have captivated 
 some country esquire, who would have thought 
 himself honoured by the alliance, but for that eter- 
 nal bane to every thing that is amiable, her affecta- 
 tion. 
 
 Miss Trufle had two or three sisters who were ad- 
 mired ; and from two or three occasional compli- 
 ments which she had met with on their account, 
 she flattered herself, in downright contradiction to 
 
 
 Twenty years ago. 
 U 3
 
 222 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 her looking glass, that she herself had some preten- 
 sions to the family features. In consequence of his 
 she noddled her head, was saucy, and said rude 
 things to one's face, and gave herself all the coquet- 
 tish airs of a celebrated toast; the natural result of 
 which was, that, having lived a virgin to the age of 
 thirty, and now despaired of becoming a mistress of 
 any other sort of family, she had settled her af- 
 fections on squirrels, monkeys, and lap-dogs, with 
 which, for want of other gallants, she was constantly 
 attended; though they frequently supplied the wags 
 with personal comparisons, not much to Miss Trufle's 
 advantage. 
 
 Mr. Rouvill, or Beau Rueful, was a young fel- 
 low, who, by a strange concurrence of lucky cir- 
 cumstances, with the help of a convenient assurance, 
 and a laced coat, had wriggled himself into tolera- 
 ble company ; and what is more strange, by boldly 
 criticising every new pamphlet, laughing at every 
 thing serious, and by putting modest people out of 
 countenance, was, by some people esteemed a for- 
 midable wit. Nay, what is most strange of all, his 
 profuse expenses having almost dissipated a genteel 
 fortune left him by a relation, he was now com- 
 menced fortune-hunter, without any kind of merit, 
 either of person, which corresponded with his nick- 
 name, Rueful, or of understanding, which was of 
 the lowest standard ; or even of birth, which was 
 very mean, he being the son of a grocer in the an- 
 cient city of Coventry. 
 
 As straws and feathers attract each other on the 
 surface of the water, these three worthy persons, as 
 if linked together by a mutual sympaUiy, came in 
 a train to Mrs. Booby's apartment. 
 
 Rueful bowed to Mrs. Booby and to Lady Fanny; 
 nodded to Mrs. Bardolph, and patted Miss Trufle 
 upon her bare shoulders ; but took no more notice
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 223 
 
 of Wildgoose than of the footman that waited, or of 
 the Dutch mastiff, which lay sleeping on a mattress 
 in the corner of the room. Being seated, however, 
 he lolled over the settee, and with the corner of 
 his hat held to his face, asked Mrs. Booby in an 
 audible whisper, who, the devil, she had got there? 
 Mrs. Bardolph's curiosity likewise being raised, she 
 asked the same question in the same tone, but con- 
 cealing her face with her fan. Miss Trufle stared 
 in Wildgoose's face; burst into a laugh; then turning 
 to Rueful, asked him, why he did not wear his own 
 hair, which, she heard, was coming much into 
 fashion. 
 
 In answer to Rueful's and Mrs. Bardolph's ques- 
 tions, Mrs. Booby said aloud, that the gentleman 
 was Mr. Wildgoose ; and she hoped would make 
 them all as good Christians as he was himself. On 
 hearing Wildgoose's name, Mrs. Bardolph asked, if 
 he was any relation to the Wildgooses of Wiltshire? 
 Wildgooses of Wiltshire ! says Mrs. Booby, I know 
 no such family. What ! not Miss Wildgoose that 
 ran away with her father's butler ? Lord ! you 
 mean Miss Gosling. Bless me I says Mrs. Bar- 
 dolph, so I do : but I am the worst person in the 
 world to remember names, '(which, however, was 
 no inconsiderable part of her erudition.) Well, 
 Wildgoose or Gosling, they are not much unlike. 
 No, says Rueful, I suppose they are of the 
 same family, and bear the same arms a grey goose, 
 cankant, regardant. Ruefel's blazonry was unin- 
 telligible to all but himself, and consequently re- 
 ceived no applause, but from an affected laugh of 
 his own. 
 
 Wildgoose had no very pleasant time of it, whilst 
 the affair of his name and family was adjusting. 
 But his attention was diverted from this conversa- 
 tion by the footman's treading on his toe, as he was
 
 ^24; THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 handing the coffee to him. Wildgoose begged Mr- 
 John's pardon for putting his foot in the way ; and 
 moved his chair with no small trepidation. But Mr. 
 John, far from being mollified by his submissive be- 
 haviour, owed him another good turn ; and, in 
 handing his tea to him, did it with so scornful an 
 air, that it flashed plentifully over Wildgoose's plush 
 breeches. Mrs. Booby, however, observed the in- 
 solence of her servant, and very properly repri- 
 manded him for it ; upon which Mr. John vouch- 
 safed to wait with a little more dexterity. 
 
 Nothing would have kept Lady Fanny so long si- 
 lent, but the sublime contempt which she had con- 
 ceived of her company. She had been trifling with 
 her spoon, and cooling her tea with an absent air ; 
 and now drank half a dish, emptied the rest into 
 the slop-bason ; then, starting up. Lord ! says she, 
 what am I about? I am engaged to tea at the 
 rooms this evening ; and have a myriad of visits to 
 make before I go thither. Sir, says she to the 
 footman, please to order my chair. Then, pulling 
 out her pocket-book, let me see, says she. Lady 
 Loiter, old Lady Shockingphiz, Sir Arthur Lurch; 
 yes, our whist-parties are full for Thursday, Friday, 
 and Saturday evenings. But on Sunday night, 
 Booby, we will expect you for a party at quadrille. 
 Here Wildgoose erected his eyebrows, and fetched 
 a deep sigh, or rather groaned in spirit. But Lady 
 Fanny correcting herself, Bless me! cries she, what 
 do I talk of Sunday ? I forget that 1 am at Bath. 
 That superannuated old creature, Nash, will not 
 let us play on Sunday night in public. Well, to- 
 night, however, at eight o'clock, I shall depend 
 upon you. Then rising up, and tossing her hoop 
 over Wildgoose's head as she rushed by him, she 
 took her leave with, Adieu ! ma chere Booby ; je 
 vous attends, tout a /' heure .'
 
 THE Sl'IIUTUAL QUIXOTE. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Various chit-chat. 
 
 Aftkr Lad)' Fanny was gone, Mrs. Booby, with no 
 other view than to give Mr. Wildgoose an oppor- 
 tunify oi' saying something, asked him what his 
 opinion was of frequenting the Rooms at Bath, or- 
 other public places ? Wildgoose replied, that he 
 had had no opportunity of forming any opinion 
 upon that head, from his own experience. But, 
 madam, continues he, as, by all accounts, the chief 
 intent of those assemblies is either gaming, in- 
 triguing, or unmeaning dissipation; in short, to pre- 
 vent our being left a prey to our own thoughts, and 
 seeing our own misery and corruption, I cannot 
 think it advisable, even for people with the best in- 
 tentions, to countenance,^ by their example, meet- 
 ings of this kind. 
 
 Well, sir, says Rueful, you may preach as long 
 as you please, but I believe you will hardly prevail 
 upon people of fashion to give up so agreeable an 
 amusement. 
 
 Why, sir, replies Wildgoose, from the description 
 which Mrs. Booby has just now been giving me of a 
 Bath life, I am so far from thinking it even agree- 
 able, that it appears to me a mere scene of vanity 
 and folly. Fray, madam, continues Wildgoose, did 
 you ever read the Pilgrim's Progress. Ha ! ha I 
 ha ! cries Rueful, in a horse laugh ; I believe we 
 may all have read that, and Jack the Giant-killer 
 too, in the nursery. Well, sir, you may laugh ; I 
 now only mention that original author upon a ludi- 
 crous occasion, as I think his account of Vanity 
 Fair, seems to be no bad description of the insipid 
 intercourse (to say no worse of it) that usually
 
 *2'26 I HE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 passes between the thoughtless creatures, at most of 
 those public assemblies. 
 
 Well, says Rueful, granting it to be as insipid 
 as you please, yet wherever people of distinction 
 agree to assemble, those that would not be out of 
 the world must follow them. Even those that set 
 up for reformers of mankind must frequent those 
 sissemblies, if they would doany good amongst them. 
 I will answer for it, St. Paul himself, who became all 
 things to all men, if he had come to Bath, would 
 have gone to the Rooms ; and St. Luke, like other 
 physicians, would have frequented the coffee-house. 
 Very fine ! says Miss Trufle, and I suppose you 
 think the four evangelists would have made a party 
 at quadrille ! You will make a fine parson, indeed ! 
 Wildgoose was struck with horror at this profane 
 raillery ; but Mrs. Bardolph, by way of changing the 
 subject, asked Mrs. Booby, if she had heard how 
 old Lady Shockingphiz was mortified at the ball last 
 night, or rather at the Pump-room this morning? 
 No, says Mrs. Booby, T have not had a soul come 
 near me to-day, except the present company and 
 Lady Fanny. Why, says Mrs. Bardolph, you know 
 her ladyship's family pride. Yes, says Mrs Booby; 
 as she has no merit of her own to plead, her lady- 
 ship is forced to subsist upon the family fund, 
 and that is pretty well exhausted. She has only 
 one daughter, I think, to keep up the honour of 
 it. Well, it was for that daughter, says Mrs. Bar- 
 dolph, that she desired Nash to get a partner ; 
 who recommended a very genteel young man, and 
 very well dressed ; and miss jigged it down, the 
 whole evening, with great alacrity and satisfaction : 
 but this morning, at the Pump-room, the busy Mrs. 
 Marrall came, out of breath, to Lady Shockingphiz, 
 and told her, that the young man her daughter 
 danced with was a linen-draper in Cheapside. In-
 
 THE SI'IRITUAL QUIXOTE. 227 
 
 deed ! says her ladyship ; what does that saucy, 
 fellow, Nash, mean by using me thus ? and away 
 she trudges, to reprimand him for it. Mr. Nash, 
 after some inquiries into the affair, told her lady- 
 ship, that, to be sure, the gentleman did deal in 
 linen, but that it was in the wholesale way; and 
 that he never cut a piece of cloth in his life Are 
 you sui-e of that, cries her ladyship : Are you sure 
 he never cut, Mr. Nash? If the gentleman never aii, 
 why certainly there is no such great matter in it. 
 
 Thus her ladyship ran on, till the whole company 
 burst into a loud laugh, both at her ladyship's ridi- 
 culous pride, and at the mortification it had de- 
 servedly met with. 
 
 Well, says Rueful, as Mrs. Bardolph has told you 
 how Lady Shockingphiz was mortified this morn- 
 ing, I will tell you how Lord- was terrified 
 
 yesterday in the afternoon. 
 
 An honest tradesman, who has a handsome wife, 
 was busy in his shop, which is much frequented by 
 the company some parts of the day; but having oc- 
 casion to go up into his bed-chamber, to his bureau, 
 he saw a very fine point d'E.sjpagne laced hat lying 
 upon his wife's toilette ; and, upon casting his eye 
 round the room, he espied a man's foot, with a fine 
 stone buckle, peep out from under the bed-curtain; 
 
 behind whicli Lord , who lodged in the 
 
 house, was endeavouring to conceal himself. From 
 the confusion his lordship was in, and from several 
 other circumstances, the honest tradesman had now 
 no doubt that an amorous correspondence was car- 
 rying on between his lordship and his wife; a 
 glimpse of whom he had just seen, as she slipped 
 down the back stairs, from a closet of communi- 
 cation. 
 
 The tradesman, though a man of a tame dispo- 
 sition and mitigated resentment, yet, upon such an
 
 228 THE SFIKITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 occasion, burst forth into a most vehement rage, 
 venting his indignation in a menacing tone, and in 
 the following manner : 
 
 My lord ! as sure as you are now alive, if ever 
 I catch you in my bed-chamber again with my wife, 
 depend upon it, as sure as I have a head upon my 
 body, I will I will certainly throw your laced 
 hat out of the window ! 
 
 His lordship, though not greatly dismayed at this 
 terrible denunciation, yet determined, for the fu- 
 ture, to prosecute his intrigue with greater pre- 
 caution. 
 
 CHAPTER XHI. 
 
 Story nf Calomel and Lady Riot. 
 
 Mrs. Booby now observed that Lady Fanny had 
 looked very grave to-day ; one would think, says 
 she, her ladyship had met with some mortification. 
 Rueful remarked that people of rank Vs^ere always 
 so in mixed company; though, for my part, con- 
 tinues he, I have always found persons of. quality 
 the most affable creatures in the world. I remem- 
 ber the first time I spent a week at Lord Grandi- 
 son's, there was Sir Peter Pierpont, Jack North, 
 and half a dozen more of us : and I remember I 
 was as free with the young peer the first hour, as 
 I am at this day. Who suspects you of any mauvaise 
 honte, or bashfulness ? says Miss Trufle. I shall 
 never forget a droll accident that happened there, 
 continues Rueful, undaunted by Miss Trufle's hint. 
 His lordship had a Swiss servant, who pretended 
 to have discovered a new japan, or liquid blacking; 
 and the feUow must needs make the experiment' 
 5
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 229 
 
 upon our shoes. But, would you believe it? the 
 composition, whatever it was, had contracted the 
 pores of the leather to such a degree, that the next 
 morning we all came hobbling into the room, like 
 so many old gouty fellows Lord Grandison was so 
 diverted with the sceue, that I thought his lordship 
 would have split his diaphragm with laughing. 
 Why this was an incident worth recording, truly, 
 says Mrs. Booby. 
 
 O! now you talk of people of quality, cries Mrs. 
 Bardolph, there is Lady Sherwood wants much to 
 have some conversation with this gentleman. She 
 has heard a great character of his piety, and I be- 
 lieve her ladyship is well inclined towards the Me- 
 thodists: and I can take upon me to assure you, 
 sir, that she would be very glad if you would call 
 on her at her lodgings. Wildgoose replied, he 
 should be very happy in contributing to the con- 
 version of the lowest of his fellow-creatures : and 
 should certainly esteem it an honour to wait on her 
 ladyship, if she desired it. 
 
 But here Rueful again interposed, by observing, 
 that persons of distinction often diverted themselves, 
 at Bath, with odd creatures; and that people who 
 did not know the world might easily be drawn in, 
 to make themselves thoroughly ridiculous. Did you 
 never hear how Lady Riot served poor Calomel, an 
 eminent apothecary of this place ? Upon the com- 
 pany's answering in the negative, I will tell it you, 
 says Rueful. 
 
 Mr. Calomel, is a very honest man, and an expe- 
 rienced apothecary; but highly absurd in his con- 
 versation and manner of address. Lady Riot, who 
 is a woman of humour, has often detained him at 
 her lodgings for her amusement, when his patients 
 wanted his lenient hand for more salutary applica- 
 tions. Calomel was so elated by this distinction, 
 
 X
 
 530 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 that though he was turned of fifty, he entertained 
 some faint suspicions that his person, as well as his 
 conversation, might have pleased Lady Riot. 
 
 Having, therefore, some business in London, last 
 winter, he took it into his head to call upon her lady- 
 ship at her house in town, and not finding her 
 at home, he left her ladyship a card, with " Mr. Ca- 
 lomel's compliments to Lady Riot ; let's her lady- 
 ship know, that he did himself the honour to wait 
 on her ladyship; and that he is to be spoken with 
 at the White Bear, in Piccadilly." 
 
 When her ladyship came home to dinner, at five 
 o'clock, she was highly diverted with Calomel's style 
 of politeness; and it being her assembly night, she 
 produced his card before the whole company, who, 
 being let into the character of Calomel, voted to 
 send for him thither; and bets were laid, pro and 
 con come or not come for fifty guineas. 
 
 But Lady Riot, to make sure of her point, or- 
 dered her coach, and slipping slily out of the room, 
 took Lady Rattle with her, drove to the White Bear, 
 and inquired for Mr. Calomel. Calomel, being a so- 
 ber man, and having a reverend regard to his 
 health, had retired to his bed-chamber, got into his 
 night-gown and slippers, tied his night-cap under his 
 chin, and was just going to his repose, when the 
 drawer brought up the message. Calomel at first 
 said, he supposed they were some naughty women 
 of the town, and he would have nothing to say to 
 them. But upon the drawer's assuring him it was 
 some lady of quality in her own carriage, with a 
 couple of flambeaux, Calomel came down to the door 
 in his dishabille, to reconnoitre them. The moment 
 Lady Riot beheld him, she cries out. My dear Ca- 
 lomel, iiow do you do? Come I must have some chat 
 with you: do not stand in the street in your night- 
 cap; step into the coach a moment. Which, having
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 231 
 
 done, the footman, as he had been instructed, clap- 
 ped to the door: the coach drove immediately to 
 her ladyship's house; where Calomel was produced 
 before thirty card tables, in his night-cap, and 
 slippers. 
 
 The brilliancy of the assembly, and the wax- 
 lights, a little disconcerted poor Calomel at first ; 
 but his vanity soon prevailed over his bashfulness: 
 he mixed with the society, and greatly diverted 
 them with his absurd buffooneries. 
 
 To complete the farce, the butler had his cue to 
 mix a soporific with whatever he gave him to drink : 
 and upon Calomel's desiring some Madeira negus, 
 a bason was brought him, properly medicated ; 
 which soon began to operate, and before eleven 
 o'clock, Calomel was fast asleep in an elbow-chair. 
 They then rolled him up in his night-gown, like a 
 collar of brawn ; and swathing down his arms with 
 his sash, laid him safely to bed by a fat scullion, 
 where Calomel slept as sweetly as probably he would 
 have done in her ladyship's own bed-chamber. 
 
 Well, and how did the poor man get back to his 
 inn, in the morning? says Mrs. Bardolph. Nay, 
 says Rueful, I have put nim fairly to bed; let him 
 get back in a chair or hackney-coach, or how the 
 devil he pleases. Further this deponent saith not. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Universities defended, S^c^ 
 
 Well, says Mrs. Booby, to be sure, a mere citizen 
 of Bath is as pedantic a creature, as a mere fellow 
 of a collpge: is often as proud, has as absurd no- 
 tions of life, and is as much out of his element^ 
 x2
 
 232 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 when he gets out of his shop or his lodging-house, 
 as the other is out of his own common room. 
 
 Yes, rot them ! says Rueful ; and they get rich 
 by the money we spend here, before they know how 
 to carry their heads, or come into a room. 
 
 And yet I know a great many sensible, polite 
 people, says Mrs. Booby, amongst the inhabitants 
 of this place. 
 
 Why, it would be strange, indeed, replies Rue- 
 ful, if the great resort of the politest company in 
 Europe did not polish the creatures a little ; for I 
 take Bath, as a public place, to be a better school 
 for any young fellow, than all the universities or 
 colleges in the world; and I do not see, but those 
 who have had no other education, appear as well in 
 company, as people who have been plodding at the 
 sciences in a college for seven years together. 
 
 Here Wildgoose could not forbear interposing ; 
 and observed, that although religion was, he be- 
 lieved, at as low an ebb in the universities as in 
 other parts of the kingdom, notwithstanding the 
 excellence of its institution for that purpose, yet he 
 could not but think them still the chief fountains of 
 erudition. 
 
 There is, indeed, says he, a slight tincture of 
 learning a superficial knowledge, diffused amongst 
 all ranks in this generation. But if there were not 
 some repositories for the sciences, and some en- 
 couragements, such as those for our professors, to 
 search more deeply into them, than the generality 
 of the world seem disposed to do, I am of opinion 
 the very principles of them would, in time, be lost; 
 and we should again relapse into Gothic ignorance 
 and barbarism. 
 
 There may be men of courage that do not wear 
 a red coat, and a gentleman may know how to use 
 a sword, without going into the army, or to stand
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 235 
 
 fire, though not educated in the navy. But still 
 there is a kind of military spirit, pecuhar to gentle- 
 men of those professions ; a set of traditionary 
 maxims of honour and courage. Just at this in- 
 stant Wild goose started up with the utmost surprise 
 and trepidation, and alarmed the whole company. 
 Rueful burst out into a horse laugh Mrs. Booby 
 cried out, Lord ! Miss Truflc , what are you about? 
 . The case was, Miss Trufle, who for some time 
 had sat in silent contemplation of her own import- 
 ance, and playing with her lap-dog, whilst Wild- 
 goose was in the midst of his harangue, had put her 
 squirrel upon his shoulder: the little animal began 
 dancing about, and, fixing his claws in Wildgoose's- 
 neck, gave him so smart a pinch, that if he had had 
 the insensibility of a Stoic, or even a Spartan edu- 
 cation, he could not have borne it without some 
 emotion of terror or surprise. 
 
 When the company had sufficiently laughed at 
 Miss Trufle's wit, and were again composed, Mr. 
 Rueful resuming the discourse, said. He did not 
 undervalue a university education, as an old maid 
 rails at matrimony, because he had been denied the 
 sweets of it. Only say, continues he, casting a 
 look of complacency on his own person, that 1 am 
 more indebted to Bath, and the company of the 
 ladies, for being what I am, than to all the lectures 
 of tutors and professors which I attended in the 
 university. I dare say you are, Mr. Rueful, re- 
 plies Mrs. Booby; and I am sure the figure you 
 make does credit to your education, whatever place 
 had the honour of it. 
 
 Upon hearing Rueful's name for the first time, 
 Wildgoose observed his features more narrowly, and 
 asked him if he was not of such a college in Oxford 
 some years ago ; because I remember a person of 
 your name of our college, continues Wildgoose. 
 x3
 
 234 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 That may be, sir, replies Rueful ; but I am a Cam- 
 bridge man Well, ladies, continues Rueful, we 
 are very rude in troubling you with our pedantic 
 disputes. Then pulling out his watch, Pox take it! 
 says he, I was engaged to meet Sir James Townly 
 at seven o'clock, at the coffee-house. Having said 
 this, he started up, and somewhat abruptly took his 
 leave. 
 
 The truth was. Rueful had actually been of the 
 same college with Wildgoose, and now very well 
 remembered him ; though the alteration which his 
 own hair had made in the one, and the high frizure 
 and laced coat in the other, prevented tham at first 
 from recollecting each other's person, especially as 
 there had not been the least acquaintance between 
 them. Notwithstanding the airs which Rueful now 
 gave himself, he had worn a survitor's gown at Ox- 
 ford, which, upon an accession of fortune, he had 
 exchanged for a fellow commoner's at Cambridge. 
 
 As soon as Rueful was gone, the ladies, without 
 the least reserve, spoke of him in such a manner, as 
 convinced Wildgoose that he was the jest of the 
 place ; and the evening now drawing on, it was al- 
 most time for Wildgoose to attend their religious 
 assembly. He, therefore, took his leave, after Mrs. 
 Bardolph had acquainted him with Lady Sherwood's 
 lodgings, whom she desired him to wait upon the 
 next morning, notwithstanding Mr. Rueful's dis- 
 couraging insinuations to the contrary. 
 
 When Wildgoose was come down, he saw Rueful 
 walking upon the Parade, not with Sir James Townly, 
 whom he was to meet at the coffee-house, but with 
 elderly virgins, of that homely stamp, who, to view 
 them in a public place, seemed formed for no other 
 end than to make a variety in the works of cre- 
 ation, but who, if they would confine themselves 
 within their proper sphere (their own families in the.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 235 
 
 country,) might make tender nurses, to their aged 
 parents, exemplary aunts to their young nieces, or 
 charitable assistants to their indigent neighbours, 
 or even shining objects at a country assembly in a 
 remote province ; whilst at Bath or Tunbridge they 
 expose themselves to the insolent contempt of youth 
 and beauty, are almost shoved out of polite compa- 
 ny, as useless lumber, and are glad to take up with 
 such fellows as Rueful, who was but one remove 
 Irom the men described by Shakespeare, as fanci- 
 fully carved out of a cheese-paring after dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Tricks among servants. News fiom Mrs. Sarsenet. 
 
 WiLDGOOSE, having been sufficiently exhausted 
 with haranguing on the parade, as well as by sitting 
 in form at a ceremonious visit, made part of the 
 audience this evening at the Tabernacle, where a 
 tallow-chandler held forth, and me/ted his flock by 
 the jnithetic force, and promoted a plentiful con- 
 sumption of candles, by the tedious prolixity of his 
 discourse. 
 
 During Mr.Wildgoose's visits to Mrs. Booby, poor 
 Tugwell had been left to amuse himself at the inn; 
 he met his master, however, at the Tabernacle, 
 from whence they adjourned to their quarters. 
 
 As they were going along, Jerry informed his mas- 
 ter what a reprobate place they were in that there 
 was nothing but card-playing, gaming, and swear- 
 ing, from morning to night, amongst the servants 
 and apprentices that resorted thither. That he heard 
 a footman bragging, how cleverly a friend of his 
 had imposed upon his mistress That, having had
 
 236 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 the misfortune.to break his leg, he had been confined 
 to the house for three months : at last his mistress 
 told him it would do him good to lay up his leg 
 upon a stool, and ride behind her coach, as she 
 went out for an airing ; which accordingly he did. 
 The next morning he goes to his lady's maid, with 
 a sorrowful countenance, and told her that he had 
 had a sad misfortune by going behind the coach; 
 that, as he was forced to lay up his leg, the motion 
 of the coach had shaken six guineas, all the money 
 he had saved in service, out of his pocket. Upon 
 the maid's telling the case to her mistress, she very 
 good-naturedly gave him the money again out of 
 her own pocket. But it happened a little unluckily, 
 that a few days after, as the maid was in the butch- 
 er's shambles, she heard another servant tell the 
 butcher, that such a footman, which was her fellow-, 
 servant, had lost six guineas such a night, at the 
 gaming-table , which coming to the mistress's ears, 
 the fellow lost his place by his trick, and was forced 
 to march off to London. 
 
 Wildgoose was shocked at this instance of base- 
 ness and villany, and at the idle character of the 
 house they were in, but said, they should lie only 
 that night at Bath ; for that he had observed the 
 two brethren, who had preached there those two 
 nights, had preached almost contradictory doctrines, 
 and each of them different from that of his own : 
 that he was determined, therefore, to go to Bristol 
 the next day, and consult Mr. Whitfield, who he 
 did not doubt would resolve all his scruples, and 
 put him in the true road to salvation. 
 
 When they came to their quarters, my landlord 
 asked our hero if his name was not Wildgoose? To 
 which, when he had answered in the affirmative, my 
 landlord gave him a letter, which, he said, a gen- 
 tleman's servant had brought that afternoon from
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 237 
 
 the Bell at Gloucester, having been desired to find 
 such a gentleman out ; and, upon my describing 
 your honoui', and telling him that you lodged here, 
 he left it with me. 
 
 Wildgoose took the letter, which he found was 
 from Mrs, Sarsenet, and read it with great eager- 
 ness, in hopes of hearing some news of Miss Towns- 
 end, who, he found, engrossed a considerable share 
 of his thoughts, and whose sprightly idea none of 
 the fine-dressed ladies at Bath had power to efface. 
 
 Mrs. Sarsenet informed him of the state of their 
 little church, under hers and Mr. Keen the barber's 
 auspices and inspection ; that she already foresaw, 
 from one or two instances, some temporal inconve- 
 niences to herself, in regard to her trade, from so 
 strict an adherence to her duty : but that she counted 
 all things as dross, in comparison with the love of 
 Christ. She concluded with observing, that there 
 was something mysterious in Miss Townsend's be- 
 haviour ; that she could not persuade her to attend 
 their meeting since his departure ; and that though 
 she seemed seriously enough disposed, and even 
 talked respectfullyof Mr. Wildgoose, yet she seemed 
 inclined to ridicule his notions of religion. In short, 
 says Mrs. Sarsenet, I believe she is rather an enemy 
 to your principles, than to your person. 
 
 But the most extraordinary part of her letter was 
 the postscript, in which she informed him, that Miss 
 Townsend's father had come to Gloucester two days 
 after he left it ; that he had sent for Miss Townsend 
 to the inn, and received her with a mixture of fond- 
 ness and resentment ; that he was angry with her 
 for being with Mrs. Sarsenet, and yet had deter- 
 mined nothing about removing her from thence. 
 
 This letter upon the whole, gave Wildgoose ra- 
 ther more pleasure than pain ; and he sat down and 
 answered it before he went to bed. He gave them
 
 238 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 some account of his success at Bath, and of his in- 
 tention, however, of going to Bristol the next day. 
 He concluded with the warmest expressions of re- 
 spect to Miss Townsend : whose conversion, he said, 
 he should not cease earnestly to pray for. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A serious conversation with Mr. Rueful. 
 
 WiLDGOOSE having been kept awake with reflecting 
 on the transactions of the day past, and by the 
 hurry of spirits into which the news of Miss Towns- 
 end had thrown him, was but just dressed, when 
 a footman brought him a card, with Lady Sher- 
 wood's compliments, who begged the favour of 
 his company to breakfast; for Mrs. Bardolph had 
 not failed to visit her ladyship the preceding even- 
 ing, and to give her a faithful account of what 
 had passed at Mrs. Booby's lodgings ; and had 
 greatly extolled Mr. Wildgoose's person, modest 
 behaviour, and agreeable conversation. Wild- 
 goose, therefore, taking a direction from the foot- 
 man, promised to wait on her ladyship at the hour 
 appointed. 
 
 As he was going a back way into Orange-grove, 
 where Lady Sherwood lodged, he accidentally met 
 with Mr. Rueful, in a genteel dishabille. He sa- 
 luted Mr. VVildgoose with a more familiar air thaa 
 he had assumed at Mrs. Booby's ; and asked him 
 immediately, whether he was not of such a college 
 in Oxford? Yes, says Wildgoose. Why, look 
 you, sir, continues Rueful, you must know I was 
 of that college too ; but I thought you asked me 
 last night whether 1 was at t/iis time of Oxford : for
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 239 
 
 you must know, I had a considerable fortune left 
 me by a relation, which enabled me to enter myself 
 a fellow-commoner at Cambridge ; and, to be sure, 
 one would not choose to have it mentioned amongst 
 people of fashion, that one had worn a servitors 
 gown in the university. I don't imagine, replies 
 Wildgoose, that people of fashion, out of the uni- 
 versity , trouble themseWes about those things. How- 
 ever, I don't see why a man should be ashamed to 
 have appeared in a situation which was agreeable to 
 his circumstances. There is nothing ridiculous in 
 a small fortune, or even a low birth : but there is 
 in the discovery that we are too anxious to conceal 
 them, and even give the lie to them by our dress 
 and appearance. Sir, says Rueful, if you knew the 
 honour and happiness of being upon an agreeable 
 footing with people of distinction, you would not 
 scruple a little artifice, to conceal any trifling cir- 
 cumstance that might disgust them, or grudge an 
 expence a little beyond one's income, to enable one 
 to appear in some measure upon a level with them. 
 Sir, replies Wildgoose, I apprehend, it is neither 
 dress, birth, nor fortune, but education and behaviour, 
 that puts all gentlemen upon a level, even in the 
 opinion of the world. 
 
 But, Mr. Rueful, let me take the freedom to re- 
 turn the hint which you gave me yesterday, that 
 we may be easily deceived in the civilities which 
 people of distinction show us, and mistake mere 
 politeness for a particular attachment, and by pre- 
 suming too much upon their plausible behaviour to 
 our faces, expose ourselves to their ridicule behind 
 our backs ; and I really believe, Mr. Rueful, you 
 would meet with more real respect amongst people 
 of distinction by a more serious, or even religious 
 behaviour, and if you were to turn Methodist, as it 
 is called, than you do now.
 
 240 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Well, I am obliged to you, nly dear sir, for your 
 frank advice: and faith, betwixt you and me, though 
 I detest the solemnity of the sacerdotal character. 
 I have at this time some thoughts of exchanging 
 my laced coat for a black one. For, by a parlia- 
 mentary interest, I have now the offer of a very 
 good living in my own country ; which, if I do not 
 succeed in picking up a good fortune this season, I 
 may probably accept of.' For you must know, that 
 is another reason for my appearing rather above 
 what I can at present afford ; and I had actually 
 almost carried off a merchant's daughter of Bristol, 
 who will be worth twenty thousand pounds. But 
 old square-toes would not part with cash enough 
 down upon the nail : and the devil take me, if I 
 would marry an angel upon the footing of a mere 
 Smithfield bargain. 
 
 Wildgoose, though shocked at the libertine airs 
 which Kueful gave himself, could not but smile at 
 the opinion which he entertained of his own person; 
 but said he was obliged to attend Lady Sherwood at 
 ten o'clock. He, therefore, took his leave, and went 
 to her ladyship's lodgings, as he had been directed. 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 Lady Sherwood's character and present situation. 
 
 Lady Sherwood was of an ancient and noble fa- 
 mily, and wife to a peer of the realm. She was a 
 woman of fine understanding, though her judgment 
 appeared sometimes almost eclipsed by the brilli- 
 ancy of her imagination. Her ladyship was now 
 past her bloom ; yet in her youth she had been to- 
 lerably handsome, and made a splendid appearance
 
 TEIE SPIHITUAL QUIXOTE. 241 
 
 in the great world. But her lord, either from some 
 disgust, or from a fondness for retirement, having 
 early in life withdrawn from the court, Lady Sher- 
 wood had entirely conformed to his humour : and, 
 to amuse herself in her solitary situation, she had 
 formerly indulged the suggestions of her fancy, 
 and turned my lord's park into a poetical Arcadia ; 
 where her ladyship and a female companion or two 
 lived almost the whole summer a mere pastoral life, 
 and ranged about, with their crooks in their hands, 
 like so many Grecian shepherdesses. Garlands of 
 flowers, or baskets of fruit, were seen suspended on 
 every beautiful oak, with rustic pipes, rakes, pitch- 
 forks, and other rural implements, disposed in a 
 picturesque manner, in difterent parts of the park. 
 Nay, the poor chaplain was forced to leave his bot- 
 tle and his pipe, and backgammon table, with my 
 lord, and even neglect his pas/ora^ function, assigned 
 him by the bishop, to attend her ladyship and her 
 bleating lambkins ; and to sit whole afternoons 
 under a spreading tree, to entertain them with his 
 flute. For the steward had actually bought her 
 ladyship a score of sheep at Banbury fair (accord- 
 ing to Justice Shallow's expression) for this roman- 
 tic purpose. 
 
 The inclemency of the weather, however, in this 
 northern climate was by no means favourable to 
 these lovely Boeotians. Neither did many of the 
 pastoral functions suit with the delicacy of a mo- 
 dern woman of quality. For her ladyship frequently 
 caught the tooth-ache, and was forced to have re- 
 course to a neighbouring apothecary (a character 
 seldom introduced in the ancient bucoHcs ;) and 
 one of her companions met with a terrible accident 
 in the discharge of her office ; for having seized the 
 leg of a large bell-wether with her crook, which was 
 fastened to her wrist by a blue ribband, the rude 
 
 Y
 
 24-2 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 unclassical brute struggled with such force to dis- 
 engage himself, that he pulled down the poor Pas- 
 tora, dragged her some yards, and disfigured her 
 face to such a degree, that she could not appear 
 again for six weeks ; and this put an end to this ex- 
 travagant scene in pastoral life. 
 
 Lady Sherwood was now grown tired of the 
 country. But, as she could not decently go to town 
 against her lord's inclination, considering the com- 
 plaisant terms upon which they lived together, the 
 physician, therefore, had a hint given him, to order 
 her ladyship to Bath for her health. Not finding 
 that relish, however, in public places which she had 
 formerly done, when every passion was agreeably 
 flattered by her appearance in them, she grew sick 
 of the world, and began to see, in a true light, the 
 emptiness and unsatisfactory nature of all secular 
 enjoyments. 
 
 In such a situation it is evident, that nothing but 
 religion could yield any solid conversation. But, as 
 the plain rational scheme of the established religion, 
 which prescribes nothing more than our duty to 
 God, our neighbour, and ourselves, under the sanc- 
 tion of future rewards and punishments, could not 
 satisfy the uncommon genius, and lively fancy of 
 Lady Sherwood, she listened with the same atten- 
 tion to the enthusiastic doctrines of these itinerant 
 preachers, as a person labouring under a hypo- 
 chondriacal distemper does to the extravagant pre- 
 tensions of a mountebank ; and was glad of this 
 opportunity of conversing with so agreeable an en- 
 thusiast as Mrs. Bardolph had represented Wild- 
 goose to be.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A learned conversation, not essential to the story. 
 
 When Mr. Wildgoose arrived at the countess's 
 lodgings, he found her attended only by Mrs Bar- 
 dolph ; whose principal plan being to amuse the 
 time between breakfast and dinner, she preferred 
 every place to her own house ; and assisted with 
 equal satisfaction at making a convert, or making a 
 match, at a religious conversation, or at a pool at 
 quadrille. 
 
 Lady Sherwood, after a little preliminary chat, 
 opened the congress, by observing the great indif- 
 ference of the world with regard to religion ; and 
 asked Wildgoose, how he could reconcile the pre- 
 sent state of Christianity with the pompous descrip- 
 tions given by the prophets of the kingdom of the 
 Messiah ? Our hero was a little surprised at so 
 learned an attack. But, after pausing a moment, 
 answered, that the dispensations of Providence were 
 very mysterious; that, however, God might be sup- 
 posed to have given the prophets a general view of 
 the kingdom of Christ, from its first establishment 
 to the end of the world ; for which reason they 
 generally represent it as in its full lustre. 
 
 Well, replies Lady Sherwood, I can only say, 
 that, as far as I have observed, the lives of the ge- 
 nerality of Christians are so little better than those 
 of Heathens or Mahometans, that, I confess, it a 
 little puzzles me to account for so strange a pheno- 
 menon ; and how it comes to pass, that a divine in- 
 stitution should answer its end no better. 
 
 Why, says Wildgoose, as your ladyship, I dare 
 say, is very well acquainted with ancient history, if 
 you would compare thestate of rehgion andmorality 
 y2
 
 24-4- THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 in the world for several generations before the com- 
 ing of Christ, and that of the unconverted Heathens 
 afterwards, with the first three or four centuries of 
 the Christian sera, you would find a remarkable dif- 
 ference between them. 
 
 I don't imagine the world was worse than it is 
 now, says Lady Sherwood. 
 
 I am convinced it was, replies Wildgoose. The 
 Heathens were so utterly void of proper principles, 
 that impurities of every sort were scarce accounted 
 faults among them ; nay, most kinds of debauchery 
 were defensible, and even sanctified by their reli- 
 gious system. Exposing of infants, cruelty to slaves, 
 and the sanguinary diversions of gladiators, were 
 permitted, and even applauded, by the wisest and 
 politest nations of the world. 
 
 But how different a scene of things does Christ- 
 ianity present to us in its primitive state ! Its vo 
 taries were pious, humble, chaste, and temperate ; 
 and their lives were a just comment upon the pre- 
 cepts of their Master. 
 
 If our religion, therefore, must be judged by its 
 effects, we ought to take it at its first institution, as 
 its earliest were probably its most genuine fruits. 
 
 That is but reasonable, to be sure, says Mrs. 
 Bardolph, who affected to be very attentive to this 
 learned dissertation. 
 
 But, proceeds Wildgoose, such is the degene- 
 racy of our nature, that every effort of Providence 
 for our recovery, in time, loses its force, and becomes 
 ineffectual. It seems necessary, therefore, that the 
 Divine Power should, at different periods, interpose 
 in an extraordinary manner, and give fresh vigour 
 to his own institutions : and accordingly, I am per- 
 suaded, that, in the present age, he has poured out 
 an uncommon measure of grace upon his chosen ser- 
 vants Mr. Whitfield and Mr. Wesley, and their as-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 245 
 
 sociates ; which empowers them to break through 
 the cobweb restraints of human ordinances, and, by 
 seemingly irregular proceedings, to rouse men from 
 their dangerous lethargy, and engage their attention 
 to the pure and genuine doctrines of primitive Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 Sir, says Lady Sherwood, I have a great opinion 
 of Mr. Wesley and Mr. Whitfield ; and, as 1 hear 
 you are a follower of them, have taken the liberty 
 of desiring this conference with you. But give me 
 leave to ask you, sir, whether those doctrines are 
 not taught in our own church ? 
 
 Madam, replies Wildgoose, the articles and ho- 
 milies of our church, as drawn up by our pious re- 
 formers, certainly contain those doctrines in their 
 proper sense ; but, I am afraid, the present clergy 
 are departed from the most essential of those doc- 
 trines, as particularly that of justification by faith 
 alone ; and depend more upon their own works, 
 than on the merits of Christ, for their salvation. 
 
 I do not know, says Mrs. Bardolph. I have often 
 heard that said of late. I own I am a very bad 
 judge of those things ; but all the clergy, whom I 
 have happened to hear treat of that subject, have 
 taught me not to rely on my best performances, but 
 to confess myself still an unprofitable servant. In 
 short, continued she, I cannot but think, that, if 
 we practised what we heard at church, we should 
 have a tolerable chance for going to heaven. 
 
 Lady Sherwood observed, that she had attended 
 the public worship very regularly for some time, and 
 with a sincere endeavour to know the will of God ; 
 but found herself Httle edified by such formal de- 
 votions. 
 
 Wildgoose replied, he could not but own, that 
 there were several noble strains of true devotion in 
 our Liturgy; and though people, who went to 
 y3
 
 216 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 church with an intention to criticise, might, perhaps, 
 find out some trifling imperfections, yet that, upon 
 the whole, it was an admirable performance. But, 
 continues he, I am afraid the fault is not in the ser- 
 vice, but in those who perform it. The most pious 
 sentiments will affect us but little when delivered 
 by the lips of those who appear to have no religion 
 in their hearts ; and loll on their elbows, and stare 
 about for objects of amusement, as if their devo- 
 tions were a fatigue and confinement to them, and 
 they were impatient to return to the pleasures or 
 vanities of the world. 
 
 In short, my lady, as things are at present, we 
 must look elsewhere than at church for the means 
 of salvation. For my own part, I must confess my- 
 self as yet only in search of the right way, and in- 
 tend this very day to pay a visit to Mr. Whitfield at 
 Bristol ; to whom, with your ladyship's permission, 
 I shall communicate your good disposition ; whose 
 present uneasiness is, I hope, a promising symptoiH 
 of the new birth. 
 
 Lady Sherwood was going to inform Wildgoose, 
 that she had already frequently conversed both with 
 Mr. Whitfield and Mr. Wesley, when the servant 
 
 came and whispered to her ladyship that Mr. 
 
 was below, and desired to know if her ladyship had 
 any commands to London. Lord! says she, that 
 man teazes me to death ; he calls himself my cousin, 
 merely because his grandfather married my great- 
 grandfather's second wife's daughter by a former 
 husband. I wish we could make a convert of him ; 
 for I believe he is of no religion at all, and neither 
 loves nor cares for any body but himself. Well, 
 says she to the footman, desire the gentleman to 
 walk up. 
 
 When he came, he told Lady Sherwood that he 
 was tired of Bath, and was going the next day to
 
 THE SPIUITUAL QUIXOTE. 247 
 
 London. She said she had no commands, but told 
 him he had interrupted them in a very agreeable 
 conversation upon religion, and wished he had been 
 there to have heard it. Religion ! says he, I do not 
 want to hoar any thing about religion. It serves 
 people to talk and dispute about, but I do not see 
 that any body regulates their actions by their reli- 
 gious principles. That is, replies Lady Sherwood, 
 because they do not really believe them ; they have 
 not a true practical faith in those principles. 
 Faith ! cries the gentleman, for my part, 1 am of 
 Mr. Pope's way of thinking in that respect: 
 
 For modes of faiCh let senseless bigots fight ; 
 His can't be wrong, whcjse life is in the right. 
 
 I live as well as I can ; pay my taxes, and pay my 
 tradesmen ; and if I meet with an object of charity, 
 that really moves my compassion, I relieve him. 
 I go to the tavern, indeed, sometimes ; but I never 
 drink or eat more than does me good : and though 
 1 have no wife of my own, I never invade another's 
 property. In short, I do not see what the best 
 Christian can do more than I do. 
 
 Wildgoose was going to interrupt him in his ca- 
 reer ; but Lady Sherwood calling him by his name, 
 Wildgoose found himself disagreeably affected; 
 though he could not at first recollect upon what oc- 
 casion he had heard it before. But, after some time, 
 he remembered that was the name of the very gen- 
 tleman who had endeavoured to seduce Miss Towns- 
 end ; and, comparing it with his dress (which was 
 the same individual blue and gold she had de- 
 scribed,) his square person, his manner of life, but, 
 above all, his system of religion, he had not the 
 least doubt that it was the same man. 
 
 Wildgoose was at first inclined to lead him, by 
 some means, to the subject ; but reflecting that it 
 could not possibly answer any good end, and being
 
 248 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Mkewise impatient to set out for Bristol, and Mrs. 
 Bardolph beginning to gape, and to consult her 
 watch, he took his leave of Lady Sherwood, who 
 charged him witli her compHments to Mr. Whitfield, 
 and said, she should be glad to see him again, if he 
 returned through Bath. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Learned account of the Bath waters. Mr. Wildgoose 
 and hisjriend take their leave of that city. 
 
 When Wildgoose returned to the inn, he found 
 Tugwell just returned from visiting the hot baths; 
 the cause of which surprising phenomenon my 
 landlord, in conjunction with a journeyman apothe- 
 cary, was endeavouring to explain to honest Jerry. 
 My landlord said, he had heard say, though he did 
 net know it to be certainly so, that the heat of the 
 bath was caused by a constant fire in the bowels of 
 the earth, which had been burning ever since Noah's 
 flood, and would, in time, burn up the whole world, 
 which was to be destroyed by fire. 
 
 Fire in the bowels of the earth ! says Opifer, the 
 apothecary, with a sneer ; thou mayst as well tell 
 me the boiling of thy pot is caused by a fire in the 
 bowels of the earth. No,no; such a constant, regular 
 ebullition can never be the effect of a gross culinary 
 fire, but is produced by a more latent cause, which 
 we can explain by the operations o^ chemistry. By 
 a chemical process we can analyze the Bath waters, 
 and reduce them to their simple elements, or con- 
 stituent particles, which are nothing but sulphur and 
 a small quantity of steel. 
 
 And that the heat of these waters is caused by
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 249 
 
 their running over strata, or beds of steel and sul- 
 phur, we can demonstrate by an easy experiment. 
 For if you take an equal quantity of the filings of 
 steel and flowers of sulphur, or what the vulgar call 
 brimstone, and form these into a paste with water, 
 it will produce that fermentation to which the heaf 
 of the Bath waters is indubitably to be ascribed. 
 
 Yes, yes, says Tugwell, the gentleman talks main 
 well, and has made it as plain as the nose on one's 
 face, if one did but understand him, 
 
 Wildgoose, who had been present during part of 
 this learned discourse, observed, that the philoso- 
 phers of this age were not content to make all use- 
 ful experiments, but had a strange fancy to be cre- 
 ators ; and to find out the secret art, by which na- 
 ture performs all her operations. They would not 
 admit any such thing as mysteries in philosophy, 
 any more than in religion ; and seemed almost to 
 dispute with Providence his peculiar attributes of 
 omnipotence or unlimited power, as well as unli- 
 mited knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Wildgoose now called for his bill, and was 
 preparing to set out : but though he had been but 
 an indifferent customer, yet 'there was a secret 
 charm in his serious and religious deportment, 
 which made my landlord desirous of obliging him; 
 he, therefore, gave him a hearty invitation to a fillet 
 of veal, which was roasting at the fire ; and, as Tug- 
 well seemed unwilling to travel upon an empty 
 stomach, they made a hearty dinner, paid their 
 reckoning, and set out for Bristol. 
 
 END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 BOOK THE SIXTH. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 When the two pilgrims were now come into the 
 suburbs of Bath, Tugvvell very civilly inquired 
 VI hich was the Bristol road? Follow your nose, and 
 your a-se will tag after, says a tailor's 'prentice. 
 You might learn to be more civil to strangers, says 
 vTugwell ; for I am sure you live by them. Not 
 by such strangers as you, replies the 'prentice, 
 who preach against fine clothes and innocent pas- 
 times. Come, come, master, says Jerry, come 
 along ; let us shake off the dust of our feet, for a 
 testimony against them. 
 
 An elderly man, however, called out to them, that 
 the v/ay to Bristol was straight forwards at the first 
 turning on the right hand. Though this direction 
 was a little ambiguous, Tugwell was unwilling to 
 hazard a more minute inquiry : they trudged 
 straight along, therefore, without asking any further 
 questions. 
 
 Tugwell, being highly disgusted with the insolent 
 behaviour of the Bath people, and expressing him- 
 self with some bitterness against them, Wildgoose 
 observed, that the mob of all places were alike, and 
 that he ought not to reflect upon a whole body of 
 people, for the wanton petulance of a few ignorant 
 wretches.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 251 
 
 Jerry then asked what my landlord had charged 
 for his supper at Bath. Why, only eight-pence a 
 night, says Wildgoose. Eight-pence a night ! says 
 Jerry ; an unconscionable distorting rascal ! Why, 
 I will be hanged if I have eat three pennyworth of 
 bread and cheese for supper the three nights that 
 we have been there. I have a good mind to go and 
 make the rogue give me back your worship's money. 
 No, no, Jerry, these things are customary, and it 
 is best to pay it without making a disturbance. At 
 these houses one pays for lodging, and house-room, 
 and attendance, as well as merely for what one eats 
 and drinks ; and I think, upon the whole, we came 
 off very reasonably. 
 
 Thus they went on talking near two miles ; and, 
 having reached the summit of the hills when it drew 
 towards evening, they came to a place where the 
 roads divided. Mr. Wildgoose was inclined to turn 
 to the right, and Tugwell to the left hand ; which 
 created a little debate upon the probability of each 
 opinion ; but Tugwell, having learned to decide du- 
 bious points by lot, threw up a halfpenny, crying 
 out, that heads should determine him to the right, 
 and tails to the left-hand road. Fortune declared 
 for the former; which Jerry, then changing his note, 
 said must be the road to Bristol, by the course of the 
 country. 
 
 While they were yel debating the affair, Tugwell, 
 spying a man in a plain drab coat, walking soberly 
 at a small distance from the road, calls out, Holloo ! 
 master ! master ! which is the road to Bristol ? Whe- 
 ther the gentleman was immersed in thought, or 
 whether he disliked the familiarity of Jerry's com- 
 pellation, he made no answer. Wildgoose, there- 
 fore, advancing a little towards hiiu, repeated the 
 question in a more civilized manner, and asked 
 which of those two was the road to Bristol. Why,
 
 252 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 neither of them, replied the gentleman ; the road 
 you are in would lead you to Wells. Wildgoose 
 was going to crave his assistance, to put him in the 
 right way, when he and the stranger surveying each 
 other with an air of surprise, What, Mr. Rivers ! 
 cries Wildgoose. Bless my soul ! my friend Wild- 
 goose ! replies he ; what expedition can you pos- 
 sibly be upon in this part of the world? They then 
 embraced (in the language of romance), or in plain 
 English, took each other by the hand with great 
 cordiality, expressing great joy at this unexpected 
 rencounter ; for they had been very intimate in the 
 university, though no sort of intercourse had past 
 between them for six or seven years. 
 
 Wildgoose inquired how long he had been in this 
 country, and whether he was settled any where in 
 the neighbourhood, as he knew him to be originally 
 a north-country man. Mr. Rivers told him he had 
 a house within a mile of that place, whither he in- 
 sisted upon Wildgoose's accompanying him for that 
 night at least, as it was now too late to go to Bristol 
 on foot, if they had not been some miles out of 
 their road. Wildgoose and his companion were 
 well enough pleased with the invitation, in their 
 present circumstances : besides, as Wildgoose re- 
 collected that Mr. Rivers had in his youth a very 
 religious turn, and that was always uppermost in 
 his thoughts, he immediately conceived some hopes 
 of converting his old friend to his own opinions. As 
 they went along, Mr. Wildgoose, at Rivers's request, 
 let him into the nature of his present undertaking; 
 at which his friend expressed some concern, as well 
 as the greatest astonishment : but politely added, 
 that he was glad even of this opportunity of renew- 
 ing their friendship.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTK. 255 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Description of Mr. Rivers* s house, and some account 
 of his present situation. 
 
 Mr. Rivers had now brought his friend Wildgoose, 
 with Tugwell, to the brow of the hill, which over- 
 looked one of those rich valleys in which that part 
 of the country abounds. A gate opened into a 
 wood, through which they descended by a rough, 
 unfrequented road, 
 
 Where the gilt chariot never mark'd the way, 
 
 almost to the bottom of the hill. There an old Go- 
 thic mansion presented itself, surrounded towards 
 the road by a lofty stone wall, covered with moss, 
 maiden-hair, and other wild plants, enough to puz- 
 zle the whole Royal Society, and the indefatigable 
 Dr. Hill into the bargain. The house seemed to 
 have been built during the civil v/ars between the 
 houses of York and Lancaster ; but had been mo- 
 dernized in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and new glazed 
 and painted for the reception of Mr. Rivers. 
 
 Rivers knocked at the gate, v/hich being opened 
 by a servant in a russet coat, they now came into 
 an elegant court, where they were regaled with the 
 sight and fragrance of all the flowers of the season. 
 From thence they entered a gloomy old-fashioned 
 hall, but neatly fitted up ; the wall covered with 
 maps and chronological tables, above which were a 
 number of cheap prints, representing the customs 
 and habits of the various nations of the world. 
 
 Mr. Rivers then, showing Tugwell with his wallet 
 the way towards the kitchen, took his friend Wild- 
 goose into a large wainscoted parlour, adorned with 
 some fine prints, a few good paintings, and a bust or 
 
 VOL. x\xii. z
 
 254 l-HE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 two over the chimney : but all his attention was 
 immediately fixed upon Mrs. Rivers, to whom his 
 friend introduced him. She was sitting, like the 
 divinity of the place, at the upper end of the room, 
 at her needle, attended by a boy, and a fine girl, 
 about five or six years old. Mrs. Rivers received 
 W ildgoose, as her husband's friend, with a sweet 
 smile : which, like the sunshine so much admired in 
 the landscapes of Claude Lorraine, diffused an ad- 
 ditional cheerfulness over every other object. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers was about five and twenty, tall, and 
 well-shaped ; and though the pleasing cares of a 
 young family had taken off a little of her first bloom, 
 yet had it given such- a languishing air to her eyes, 
 and such a delicacy to her complexion, as rather 
 improved than diminished her charms. 
 
 Mr Rivers informed her who Mr.Wildgoose was, 
 and how accidentally they had met. She made 
 some obliging speech upon the occasion, and then 
 rang the bell for tea ; which being over, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Rivers attended Mr. Wildgoose into a garden, 
 which commanded a beautiful, though confined 
 prospect. It was laid out in a romantic taste, with 
 a proper n;ixture of the allegro and the penseroso, 
 the cheerful and the gloomy : tufts of roses, jas- 
 mines and the most fragrant flowering shrubs, with 
 a serpentine walk of cypresses and laurels, here and 
 there an urn, with suitable inscriptions, and termi- 
 nated by a rough arch of rock-work that covered 
 a dripping fountain, were its principal beauties. 
 
 After a few turns, Mrs. Rivers bemg summoned 
 by her maid to a consultation about sujper, \\ ild- 
 goose, notwithstanding his religious severity, made 
 si.nie one miunis upon her person and behaviour, 
 and said he was less surprised at his friend's mar- 
 rying so early in life, than at his good fortune in 
 nieeting witli so agreeable a woman. He expressed
 
 THE SPIRITUAI. QUIXOTE. 255 
 
 some desire, therefore, to be informed of the par- 
 ticular incidents of Mr. Rivers's Hfe since he left 
 the university. Why, says he, though my story has 
 nothing very uncommon in it, yet, as I flatter my- 
 self that 1 have escaped into one of the fortunate 
 islands, from that rock on which the happiness of 
 many a young fellow is totally shipwrecked, I think, 
 as an experienced voyager, 1 ought to satisfy the 
 curiosity of a friend, and give hiai all the intelli- 
 gence in my power, that he may steer the like course 
 with equal success. Then, taking Wildgoose into 
 an alcove, shaded with honeysuckles and sweet- 
 briars, Rivers thus began his narration. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The history of Mr. Rivers and Charlottle Woodville. 
 
 Soon after you left the university, says Mr. Rivers, 
 I was elected fellow of a very worthy society, where 
 I pursued my studies with some regularity, and spent 
 near two years greatly to my satisfaction : but whe- 
 ther the way of life was too sedentary, or too so- 
 ciable (for I usually spent the day in reading, and 
 the evening in company) whatever was the cause, I 
 found myself, after some time, in a very indiiferent 
 state of health. I determined, therefore, during the 
 long vacation, to retire into the country : but as I 
 had neither father nor mother living, and my fel- 
 lowship obliged me to an occasional residence, I 
 
 did not care to travel into shire, which you 
 
 know is my native county, and where I had an elder 
 
 brother, and some near relations, residing; but was 
 
 recommended by an acquaintance to a pleasant 
 
 2 2
 
 256 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 village in shire, about twenty miles from Ox- 
 
 ford ; who also prevailed upon a gentleman farmer, 
 of whom he had some knowledge, to take me as a 
 boarder. 
 
 Mr. Woodville, which was the farmer's name, was 
 a very worthy, honest man, and had a spirit of ge- 
 nerosity far above his situation. He was, indeed, 
 quite a gentleman in his appearance, behaviour, and 
 way of thinking. He was about fifty, and had mar- 
 ried for his first wife, a young lady of a genteel fa- 
 mily, by whom he had one son and two daughters ; 
 but, being afterwards almost a cripple, with a rheu- 
 matic gout, he had been persuaded to marry a good 
 motherly sort of woman, beneath his own circum- 
 stances, who was glad of the match, though sure to 
 be a nurse, for the sake of providing better for her 
 children by a former husband. 
 
 I had here a tolerable apartment, entirely distinct 
 from the rest of the family, which suited with my 
 scheme of prosecuting my studies, and of giving a 
 particular attention to my health, which was the 
 principal end of my retiring from college ; having, 
 as you know, little taste for the more robust diver- 
 sions of the country. But, in this retreat, remote 
 as I was from the intrusion of my former jovial as- 
 sociates, I did not long enjoy an absolute tranquil- 
 lity. 
 
 There are few persons of so phlegmatic a consti- 
 tution as to content themselves with merely rational 
 pursuits. The passions, the appetites, and the ima- 
 gination, all lay claim to their respective gratifica- 
 tions. Love particularly is a plant which springs up 
 so naturally in the breasts of joung people, that, 
 when I hear one in the heat of youth affect to talk 
 with a stoical indifference of that tender passion, I 
 generally suspect him of indulging it privately,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 257 
 
 cither for an unworthy, or at least for an improper 
 object. The latter only was my case ; for though an 
 engagement of that k'nd was highly improper in my 
 circumstances, yet the object itself was worthy the 
 love, I might say the ambition, of a prmce- 
 
 Mr. Woodvilie, as I have said, had two daughters. 
 The elder was about nineteen ; and though she had 
 nothing remarkably defective in her features, yet 
 the sour and selfish passions had taken such ab- 
 solute possession of her countenance, as to render 
 her almost ugly. The younger daughter was hardly 
 fifteen, and as diiferent from the elder as a grace 
 from a fury. 
 
 Descriptions of a beloved object are generally 
 heightened, and usually embellished with all the 
 charms which the enraptured imagination is able to 
 give them. Charlotte Woodvilie, however, was, I 
 think, so near perfection in that respect, that al- 
 tiiough a severe critic might possibly spy out some 
 trilling defect, yet upon the whole she h^d so strik- 
 ing an appearance, that few people could behold her 
 without admiration. 
 
 8he was rather tall than of a middling stature, 
 but every way finely proportioned and of a natural, 
 easy shape. Her features were neither too large, 
 nor too small ; the extremes, in either respect, be- 
 ing, I think, less agreeable. Her eyes had always 
 such a brilliant lustre, that I never knew their real 
 colour. But her hair, which she had in great abun- 
 dance, was of a bright brown, and gav3 an inimita- 
 bly fine shade to her complexion. Her complexion 
 had, at that time, rather the glossy bloom of high 
 health, than that transparent delicacy which is 
 generally the concomitant of too tender a constitu- 
 tion. 
 
 But what gave the greatest spirit and force to her 
 z-6
 
 258 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 external charms, was the beauty of her mind, which 
 was every thing that can be conceived of sweet and 
 artiiable. Good nature and good sense, sprightli- 
 ness, and an artless freedom, the emanations of her 
 charming soul, distinguished themselves in her eyes, ^ 
 and in every feature of her face. 
 
 Such was this young creature in her native sim- 
 plicity, without the least assistance of art, or, in- 
 deed, of any other education, than what was to be 
 met with in a country place: and which the loss of 
 a genteel mother, when she was very young, had 
 not suffered to be applied to the utmost advan- 
 
 Sir, Says Wildgoose, smiling, you might Imve 
 spared yourself the trouble, or rather denied your- 
 self the pleasure, of this description ; for, in the pic- 
 ture you have drawn, I can easily discover the fea- 
 tures of Mrs. Rivers, though a few years may havo 
 abated, or rather softened the glaring lustre of the 
 colouring. But proceed, my friend, in your nar- 
 ration. 
 
 Well, says Rivers, you may suppose a young fel- 
 low, though of more philosophy than ever 1 pre- 
 tended to, could not be long in the same family 
 without taking particular notice of so lovely an ob- 
 ject. But, as any sort of love-engagement would 
 have been highly improper in my circumstances, a 
 discreet person would certainly have checked any 
 tender sentiments, and not have thought of trifling 
 with so young a creature, who, considering my 
 education and future prospects in life, was, in a 
 prudential view, beneath my consideration. For, 
 according to the maxims of the world, 
 
 Love's but the frailty of the mind, 
 When 'tis uot witli ambition join'd.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 259 
 
 Ah! says Wildgoose, nothing but the love of God 
 can satisfy the rciuoiinole ambition of an immortal 
 soul. Well, replies Rivers, every man to his taste. 
 But to proceed in my story. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Rivers^s and Charlotte Woodville's story con- 
 tinued. 
 
 As I was at that time quite a valetudinarian, and 
 willing also to lose as little time as possible from my 
 studies, I desired to eat at my own hours, and 
 avoided ^lU irjtercourse with the family as much as I 
 decently could, without the appearance of pride or 
 moioseness. Mrs. Woodville kept one maid to do 
 the work within doors, and whose business it was to 
 wait upon me ; but as she was often otherwise en- 
 gaged, the daughters would frequently by turns 
 supply her place. After some time, however, I 
 could not but observe, that the younger was more 
 assiduous in her attendance on me than the elder, 
 whicli yet I looked upon as accidental, and imputed 
 it either to the good-nature of the one, or the chur- 
 lish temper of the other. Charlotte Woodville did 
 every thing in so pretty a manner, that although 
 it gave me no small pleasure, yet was it a somewhat 
 painful tax upon my complaisance, which would 
 not suffer me to receive any thing from so fair a 
 hand without some little gallant acknowledgement. 
 The more civility I showed, the more obliging was 
 this fair nymph ; so that by degrees as 1 seemed 
 disappointed whenever any other part of the family
 
 2G0 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 attended me, so she grew more kindly officious, in 
 her attendance, and, 
 
 Tiioug'i I ca I'd another, Charlotte came.* 
 
 I am convinced, however, that she was utterly void 
 of any design in this, and at present only followed 
 the dictates of her native benevolence and freedom 
 of disposition : though a more powerful motive, 
 I believe, soon took place in her little breast ; 
 and nit/ indiscretion put matters upon a diilerent 
 footing. 
 
 There happened to be a wedding in tlie village 
 one morning, and curiosity had drawn to church 
 the whole family except the younger daughter, who 
 staid to attend on her father, who was confined to 
 his bed by a fit of the gout. Charlotte came into 
 the parlour, upon some occasion or other, while the 
 bells were ringing upon this jocund occasion. A 
 wedding in a country place sets every girl in the 
 pari.sh to simpering; and, matrimony being an in- 
 exhaustible topic of raillery, I happened to joke with 
 Charlotte upon the happiness of the state. She 
 made me some very innocent reply, which, how- 
 ever, tempted me to chuck her under tlie chin, the 
 lowest degree of dalliance with an inferior. She 
 blushed, and retired with some precipitation, and 
 with such a sweet confusion, that I longed to repeat 
 the freedom ; and, begging her to return for a mo- 
 ment, as soon as she came within the door, I caught 
 her round the neck, and snatched a kiss. This in- 
 creased her surprize, and she again retired with a 
 glow upon her cheeks, which I fancied expressed 
 some indignation : at least it so alarmed her virgin 
 innocence, that 1 saw her no more that day. 
 
 Prior.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 261 
 
 I had now passed the rubicon of discretion. Yes, 
 says Wildgoose, you had tasted the forbidden fruit. 
 " The poison of asps is under the Hps" of the most 
 innocent of the sex. There is no security against 
 the encroachments of love, but by checking the first 
 emotions of the soul. " Whoso looketh upon a wo- 
 man, to lust after her, has committed adultery al- 
 ready with her in his heart." 
 
 You are too severe upon me, replied Rivers; but 
 I will proceed in my narration. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The story co7itinnecl. 
 
 I TOOK a walk before dinner; and, upon my return 
 through the hall, where the family generally sat, 
 Charlotte, instead of meeting my eyes with an open, 
 cheerful countenance, looked down with a bashful 
 consciousness, and almost hid her face in her 
 bosom. 
 
 My mind was now in such a situation, that if I 
 had believed the freedom which I took had really 
 offended this nmocent maid, 1 should, probably, 
 have entirely desisted, and have pursued the affair 
 no further ; but as a little coldness would easily have 
 nipped my passion in the bud, so the slightest en- 
 couragement sufficed to keep alive the flame. I 
 cannot omit a trifling circumstance, which I consi- 
 dered in that light. 
 
 Being uiukr a. kind of regimen as to my diet, I 
 usually supped upon a bason of niiik. This the ser- 
 vant brought nie that evening accompanied by a 
 plate of wood-strawberries. It being early in the
 
 262 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 year, I asked her whence they came. She said they 
 were a present to one of her young mistresses As 
 I had met with so httle complaisance from the el- 
 der, I easily guessed to whom I was obliged for this 
 favour. This slight instance of her forgiveness, ex- 
 pressed in so pretty a manner, tended but little to 
 the cure of my growing passion. 
 
 The next day, in the absence of the maid. Char- 
 lotte ventured again into my apartment. I gate 
 her a significant smile, in allusion to what had pass- 
 ed the day before ; and, taking her hand, pressed it 
 with some eagerness. She repulsed me in such a 
 manner, as seemed rather to return the compliment 
 than to be displeas.d with it. In short, though I 
 had no great opinion of my own person, yet I b^gan 
 to flatter myself that I had made some little im- 
 pression upon Charlotte's tender heart; and, as no- 
 thing is a stronger incentive to love than an opinion 
 of its being mutual, this naturally endeared her to 
 me and made her appear more amiable every time 
 I saw her. In reality, I began to love her extra- 
 vagantly. 
 
 And she more luvely S""^^? ^^ more belov'd. 
 
 Jealousy is often a sign of a little mind and a 
 meanness of spirit ; and a jealous husband is cer- 
 tainly a ridiculous animal; but a jealous hver, I 
 think, deserves the compassion rather than the con- 
 tempt of his mistress Suspicion after marriage be- 
 trays a want of confidence in her of whose fidelity 
 we are sui)posed to have received sufficient assu- 
 rance. But it is excusable in a lover to be a little 
 apprehensive of the success of his rival, when it* 
 w.)uld be esteemed a degree of presuaiplion to be 
 too confiJent of his own preRrence in her affection 
 and ^teem. In short, whatever a woman may 
 think of a jealous lover in other respects, she can
 
 THi: SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 263 
 
 have no reason to doubt of the sincerity of his 
 p;!Ssion. 
 
 For my part, T began to be so fond of my little 
 mistress, that I could hardly suffer her to be out of 
 my sight ; and, as I thought I had condescended a 
 little in settling my affections, 1 could not bear with 
 patience the thoughts of a rival ; nor, indeed, had 
 J any reason to fear one in her present situation. 
 However, I one evening saw her engaged in so 
 sprightly a conversation, and laughing vJth so co- 
 quettish an air, as I fancied, with a young I'ellow of 
 the neighbourhood, who was talking to her brother 
 at the door, that it innnediately alarmed my jea- 
 lousy, and 1 could not forbear discovering it. I 
 rang the bell with some vehemence, intending only 
 to put her in mind of me. Instead of sending the 
 maid, as I expected, she immediately left her com- 
 pany, and came herself. I bid her send in a glass 
 of water, which, with great good-nature, she brought 
 with her own hands. I had seated myself, sultan- 
 like, in a great chair ; and, lolling in an insolent pos- 
 ture, affected to be engi'ged in reading, and with a 
 haughty nod bid her set it down. She was sensible 
 of the insult, and, ia)mediately assuming the dignity 
 of her sex, drew herself up, and flung out of the 
 room with the air of a countess. 
 
 It appeared, afterwards, indeed, that the young 
 man, whom I feared as a rival, was at this time en- 
 gaged, and upon the brink of being married to an- 
 other girl in the neighbourhood ; and I was con- 
 vinced that my suspicions, with regard to Charlotte, 
 were entirely without the least foundation. 1 he 
 little quarrels of lovers generally conclude in more 
 tender reconciliations. Miss Woodville's spirited 
 behaviour on this occasion, and the explanation 
 which it produced, greatly augmented our fondness 
 for each other ; and this tender intercourse was con-
 
 264 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 tinued for some time, without being suspected by 
 any one. I was so happy in my amour, that I ne- 
 ver considered the probable consequences of so im- 
 proper an engagement, but rather shut my eyes 
 against any disagreeable reflections. 
 
 As a French writer* observes, " The most com- 
 mon view that people have when they commit im- 
 prudent actions, is the possibility of finding out al- 
 ways some resource or other : " so I flattered myself 
 with the notion of being able to recal my affections 
 when I thought it proper ; and imagined I might 
 amuse myself for some time innocently enough, in 
 so retired a place, without subjecting myself to the 
 censure or remarks of any one whose opinion I much 
 regarded. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 About this time I thought it necessary to visit my 
 friends in Staffordshire, being particularly invited 
 by an old relation, whom you have heard me men- 
 tion, the little fat clergyman, from whom I have 
 aUvay had some considerable expectations. Though 
 I found myself at present but little inclined to take 
 such a journey, yet I had tixed the day, which was 
 now at hand. 
 
 As my interviews with Miss Woodville had hi- 
 therto been very transient, and there was no pro- 
 bability of our ever being long together without 
 subjecting ourselves to observation, I made a request 
 to her, in which I was afraid she could not oblige 
 
 Card, de Retz.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 265 
 
 Die ; and that was, to give me an hour of her com- 
 pany iu the evening, after the family were in bed. 
 As Miss Woodville was very young and innocent, 
 and entirely ignorant of the arts of our sex, having 
 never had any female friend to caution her against 
 them, she made no scruple of promising me her 
 company, if she could get her sister, who was drow- 
 sily enough inclined, to sleep without her ; in order 
 to which, she would sit up in her chamber, she said, 
 under pretence of finishing some piece of needle- 
 work, which she was very intent upon. 
 
 When night came, and the family were retired, 
 I sat myself down with great composure, to wait the 
 event of our assignation. I even took a book, and 
 read, to amuse my impatience, but with as little 
 attention as our candidates for a degree read their 
 wall-lectures, when they expect the beadle every 
 moment with the joyful news that their time is 
 expired. Thus I waited for near two hours, and 
 now quite despaired of my promised happiness, 
 when, unexpectedly, the stillness of the night was 
 agreeably interrupted by a gentle rap at the parlour 
 door. 1 started up, and opened it with great ala- 
 crity. In she came, but with a down-cast look, and 
 sweet blush upon her countenance ; and with an 
 apology for the rashness of her conduct, which her 
 native modesty now represented to her in the strong- 
 est liglit. 
 
 I told her I had begun to despair of being fa- 
 voured with her company, and asked her if her sister 
 had any suspicion of her intention. I believe itDt, 
 says Charlotte, for she was asleep in five minutes 
 after she was in bed. Why, then, did you delay 
 my happiness so long? said I. She replied, that 
 upon thinking better of it, she was afraid she had 
 done wrong in promising me, and had more than 
 once resolved not to come down ; nay, that she had 
 2 a
 
 266 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 actually been in bed ; but as I talked of going early 
 in the morning, she had not the heart to disappoint 
 me. I acknowledged her goodness, and assured her, 
 she should never repent of the confidence she re- 
 posed in me. 
 
 I could not but take notice of one particularity 
 in Miss Woodville's conduct on this occasion, which 
 was, that she had taken the pains to put on a clean 
 apron, handkerchief, and ruffles, and adjusted every 
 part of her dress with the nicest exactness ; which 
 trifling circumstance convinced me both of the de- 
 licacy of her taste, and the purity of her imagina- 
 tion, or rather that she was absolutely void of the 
 least apprehension of any thing contrary to the 
 strictest decency in my behaviour to her. 
 
 Nothing can be more insipid upon repetition, 
 than the conversation of two fond lovers ; and it is 
 a sort of profanation to repeat any thing that passes 
 upon those occasions ; but, as something very se- 
 rious ensued from this interview, I cannot forbear 
 mentioning a few trifling particulars. I kept her 
 up pretty late. My journey and the month's ab- 
 sence was the principal subject of our conversation ; 
 in the coarse of which she expressed her apprehen- 
 sion, that there were probably more ladies whom I 
 was fond of in other places. Oh ! what is life with- 
 out love ? said I ; to be sure I must have a mistress 
 at every place I go to ; half a dozen at Oxford, you 
 may suppose. She affected a sort of laugh at the 
 humour of my descriptions, and I imagined took it, 
 as I designed it, merely as unmeaning chit-chat. 
 
 But, ni}' favourite girl, continued 1, is a shire 
 
 lass, the very picture of yourself, a tall, brown 
 beauty, and tlie best tempered creature in the 
 world. O ! how happy shall I be next Thursday 
 night! 
 
 Nothing can equal my astonishment at what now
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 167 
 
 happened. Whilst I was running on in thiscoxco- 
 niical strain, I found her sunk back in her chair, 
 pale as death, without breath or motion, or ihe least 
 appearance of life. I was shocked, and distressed 
 to the last degree how to proceed. J could not 
 bring myself to alarm tho family, and yet had ths 
 most terrible apprehensions of what might be the 
 event of this affair 
 
 There was a decanter of water stood on the table, 
 some of which I sprinkled in her face ; and, having 
 some spirit of lavender in my pocket, I rubbed her 
 temples with that, and applied some to her nostrils ; 
 which, after a few minutes, very happily brought 
 her to herself again. 
 
 '2 cursed my own folly, and assured her, that what 
 I had said was a mere jest; and that there was not 
 a girl in the world for whom I had the least fond- 
 ness, but herself. 
 
 This proof of Miss Woodville's affection for me, 
 you may be sure, endeared her to me extremely ; 
 and I parted from her the next morning with the 
 greatest reluctance. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The storij continued. 
 
 I HAD proposed being out a month on my journey; 
 but iny eager desire to see my fair villager made me 
 shorten my absence, and 1 returned in less than 
 three weeks. 
 
 As 1 had written to Mr. Woodville, and given 
 him notice of my intention, I found everything in 
 2 a2
 
 2G8 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 great order for my reception; but was disappointed 
 in not finding Charlotte Woodville ready to welcome 
 me on my arrival. The rest of the family were sit- 
 ting in their usual apartment. After making my 
 compliments to them, I affected to look round, and 
 inquired if some part of the family were not want- 
 ing. Mr. Woodville looked down with some con- 
 fusion; but Mrs. Woodville, affecting a smile, an- 
 swered, that their daughter Charlotte was gone to 
 school again for a little time : that, as she disco- 
 vered a tolerable hand at her needle, they were 
 willing to improve her as much as possible. She 
 will be at home again in the evening, continued she, 
 and then turned the discourse. i 
 
 I immediately suspected there was some mys%ery 
 in this, as I had often heard her extolled for her ex- 
 traordinary skill in needle-work; and was convinced 
 she could not learn much at the place they menti- 
 oned, which was at the next village, whither I found 
 she was forced to walk every morning, and return 
 in the evening. Besides, I knew it must be a 
 great mortification to a girl of Charlotte's spirit 
 (who was near fifteen, and very tall of her age), to 
 be sent to such a paultry school, amongst a parcel of 
 children. 
 
 I waited with great impatience for the evening, 
 and Charlotte Woodville's return. At last I heard 
 her voice in the next room, which was music to my 
 ear.s. I immediately ran towards the door, where 
 I could hear every thing that passed. I*oor Char- 
 lotte, seeing some unusual preparations for supper, 
 inquired into the occasion of them. Oh! says the 
 step-mother, I suppose you can give a shrewd 
 guess. It is for you and your gentleman, I sup- 
 pose, after we are in bed. 'I'his spiteful speech of 
 khe old lady let me a little into the secret, and
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 269 
 
 soon convinced nie that our intimacy was disco- 
 vered. 
 
 As I had imagined, therefore, I should have no 
 other opportunity of seeing or speaking to her that 
 evening, I innncdiattly went out into the room 
 where the family was, under pretence of inquiring 
 how long it was to supper. '1 he moment Charlotte 
 saw me, a blush overspread her cheeks, which was 
 succeeded by a total want of colour. She just cour- 
 tesied, and welcomed me home; when she was dis- 
 patched by the old lady, upon some frivolous pre- 
 tence or other, into another room; and 1 saw her no 
 more that evening. 
 
 The next morning, however, we found an oppor- 
 tunity of being alone together for a few minutes; 
 when Miss Charlotte informed me of the true situa- 
 tion of our affairs. She said, that her sister, having 
 some suspicion of my affection for her, had feigned 
 herself asleep the night when she came down to me, 
 and had discovered it to her father and mother; that 
 her father had given her a very serious lecture upon 
 the occasion; but that her mother-in-law had been 
 outrageous about it ; had talked at first of desiring 
 me to quit my lodgings immediately, to which her 
 father would not consent, he having expressed a 
 great opinion of my honour, and of my innocent in- 
 tentions. In short, that at last they had come to a 
 determination to send her out to school for the 
 present, till they could think of some other way 
 of disposing of her. 
 
 Any one might imagine from this, that Mrs. 
 Woodville was a very careful step-mother, and had 
 the true interest of her husband's children greatly 
 at heart. But the reverse of this was really the case. 
 She was what might be called, on the whole, a good 
 so: t of woman; but in all second marriages, if there 
 are children on both sides, 'there must necessarily be 
 2 A 3
 
 270 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 separate interests; and a woman who had changed 
 her state with that view, could not be much blamed 
 for consulting chiefly the good of her own ofF;>pring. 
 But, in order to do that effectually, another point 
 must be secured ; I mean an absolute sovereignty 
 over her husband's affections ; which Mrs. Wood- 
 villc seemed to have gained, and of which she was 
 excessively jealous. As Charlotte Woodville thea 
 was deservedly a favourite with her father, no won- 
 der that the mother-in-law took every opportunity 
 of lessening her in his esteem, and even desired to 
 wean his affection from the darling of his age. She 
 was pleased, therefore, with this instance of her in- 
 discretion, which she aggravated to the highest de- 
 gree. She said it confirmed what she had often in- 
 sinuated to him. that Charlotte was a proud and for- 
 ward hussy; and insulted him with the prudent be- 
 haviour of her eldest sister, who, for an obvious rea- 
 son, liad never beenguilty of any thing of this kind. 
 Mrs. Woodville had really no more regard for the 
 elder daughter than the other; but as Miss Betsy's 
 unhappy temper made her no great favourite with 
 the rest of the family, Mrs. Woodville, by a very 
 slender show of kindness, had bribed her to her in- 
 terest, and employed her as a sort of spy upon her 
 .^.ister; which office she executed with an ill-natured 
 fidelity, not scrupling sometimes to exceed the 
 bounds of veracity, in order to ingratiate herself 
 with her constituent. 
 
 For old Mrs. Woodville not only considered her 
 daughter Charlotte as a rival in her husband's af- 
 fections, but also envied her the probability of so 
 advantageous a match as mine was considered to be, 
 and could not bear the thoughts of her being treat- 
 ed by me with such distinction. She, therefore, 
 took every opportunity of mortifying her; and, in 
 order to lessen her consequence in my eyes, put
 
 THE SPIKITUAL QUIXffTE. 271 
 
 her upon any servile employment in the family for 
 whicli she could find a decent excuse. In short, 
 though she contrived to make poor Charlotte's si- 
 tuation (and mine upon her account) as disa- 
 greeable as an excessive spleen, joined with abso- 
 lute power, could do, yet her behaviour had a con- 
 trary effect from what she expected, and only the 
 more endeared to me the innocent object of her 
 persecution. 
 
 Accordingly, I found my passion for this young 
 creature daily increase; and we continued our inti- 
 macy for some tinjc. I had, indeed, indulged my 
 fondness the more freely, as I fancied myself en- 
 tirely retired from, and unnoticed by, the world ; 
 but in this I was greatly mistaken. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 It is more difficult for a man to live incognito in a 
 country village than in the most populous city. 
 The very precautions that he takes to conceal him- 
 self alarm the curiosity of the neighbourhood; and 
 as, in a retired place, small matters serve for amuse- 
 ment, the most trifling incidents soon become the 
 subject of general conversation. 
 
 As my regard for Miss Woodville was now no 
 longer a secret in the family, it soon spread through 
 the neighbourhood ; and by some means or other 
 the news had been conveyed to my friends in the 
 university. Accordingly, the next time I went 
 thither, I was attacked on all sides, and rallied with 
 great freedom, upon the subject of my amour; nay, 
 one of my more intimate friends, when we were
 
 272 THE SPiniTUAL QL'IXOTE. 
 
 alone together, took upon him, with great serious- 
 ness, to expostulate v/ith me about the imprudence 
 of it. He represented the ill consequences of such 
 early engagements, and the inconveniences of set- 
 tling in life without a proper competency, in such 
 glowing colours, and set the cruelty of involving a 
 young girl that I had an affection for, in the distress 
 of narrow circumstances, in so strong a light; and, 
 in short, he harangued upon these topics so long, 
 that at last 1 told him, I was resolved to break off 
 all correspondence with her ; and in order to that, 
 to quit my situation in Buckinghamshire as soon as 
 I conveniently could. Well, then, says my friend, 
 taking me at my word, I will ride over, and settle 
 your affairs there to-morrow morning, and make 
 some excuse for your sudden decampment. Here 
 I found my resolution begin to stagger. Charlotte 
 had taken such possession of my heart, that I could 
 not bear the thoughts of being banished from her for 
 ever. I hastily interrupted my officious counsellor, 
 and told him that my affairs were in such a situation 
 there, that I must necessarily go over, oirce more 
 myself; but, however, that I would, if possible, take 
 some opportunity of breaking off my imprudent en- 
 gageiient. He flew into a violent passion, and im- 
 mediately gave me up for lost. Then, says he, will 
 this little slut, with one false tear \_unajaba lacry- 
 mala qriniv vix vi expresserif], undo all that 1 have 
 been labouring; and, having said this, he left me 
 with an emphatical shake of the head, and a smile, 
 which expressed both indignation and contempt. 
 
 However, I returned into Buckinghamshire the 
 next day, full of philosophical reflections, and ab- 
 solutely determined, as I flattered myself, to regu- 
 late with prudence at least, if not to put an end to, 
 this imprudent amour. But it is very difficult to 
 know one's own heart; and, whenever reason pre-
 
 THE SPiniTUAL QUIXOTE. 2T5 
 
 vails over passion, it is more frequently, I believe* 
 to be attributed to the weakness of the one, than 
 to the sfrength of the other. The moment 1 saw 
 Miss WoodviJle, I found my resolution begin to fail 
 me; and though 1 was weak enough to inform her 
 of what had passed at Oxford, and even of the de- 
 sign I had formed of leaving her for some time, till 
 I had finished my studies, and was in such circum- 
 stances as might make it more prudent for us to 
 come together, yet I found my project so incon- 
 sistent with the present situation of my heart, and 
 the professions 1 had hitherto made, that 1 was 
 heartily ashamed of the figure I must make in this 
 young creature's eyes : and, as an unsuccessful re- 
 bellion strengthens the hands of the government, 
 so this temporary defection from my duty helped 
 to rivet my chains; and our interview ended, on 
 my part, with more earnest protestations of future 
 fidelity, and a solemn promise never to forsake 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Though Miss Woodville and I behaved with great 
 caution and reserve to each other in the family, so 
 as not to give Mrs. Woodville an opportunity of any 
 open expostulation with us upon the subject ; yet 
 she was so provoked at the succes^s (as she esteemed 
 it) of her daughter-in-law's charms, that with pre- 
 tended concern for her daughter's reputation, she 
 privately insisted upon Mr. Woodville's talking to 
 me upon it, and bringing me to an explanation.
 
 274 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 He took an occasion one day when I was alone with 
 him, to ask me, with great good-nature, what my 
 friends would say to my love-afFair? and added, 
 that as he could not give his daughter any consi- 
 derable fortune, it must be an imprudent match for 
 me, and that she would probably be happier with 
 one in her own station; and therefore he begged I 
 would not trifle with so young a girl, nor perplex 
 her with fruitless expectations. 
 
 I replied, that though I was certain I could not 
 be happy without her, yet I was certain, that as I 
 had only a younger brother's fortune, I must make 
 both myself and Miss Woodville unhappy, if we 
 should marry before 1 was settled in any profession; 
 that, however, as I had a very honourable passion 
 and sincere regard for her, I hoped he would not be 
 uneasy at my continuing the present correspondence 
 with her, till something should happen in my favour, 
 or that I was settled in some way of increasing my 
 fortune ; and that then I should prefer his daughter 
 to all the women in the world. 
 
 As Mr. Woodville was a good-natured, easy man, 
 and 1 believe had forced himself to make this re- 
 monstrance only in compliance with his wife, he 
 was soon answered ; and our conversation ended 
 without any peremptory stipulation as to my future 
 behaviour to Charlotte Woodville. Accordingly, 
 we took every opportunity of being alone together, 
 as usual, which so much increased Mrs. Woodville's 
 animosity against us both, that I soon found it would 
 be impossible for Charlotte to continue long under 
 the same roof with her step-mother. 
 
 Besides, though Mi^s Woodville had something 
 naturally polite and genteel in her manner, yet I 
 thought it would be highly necessary for her to re- 
 ceive soine better instructions in the common ac-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 275 
 
 compHsliments of the sex, than were to be met with 
 in that very retired situation. After consulting her, 
 therefore, though 1 found her dehcacy a little shock- 
 ed at the thoughts of being obliged to me for any 
 part of her education ; yet, upon setting the affair 
 in a proper light, and representing to her, how un- 
 likely it was that her step-mother would suffer her 
 father to be at any extraordinary expense, with a 
 view to forward a match which she seemed so much 
 averse to, Miss Woodville at last submitted to the 
 necessity ; and, with her permission, I at first pro- 
 posed to her father, to send her to a boarding-school, 
 at a large country town, some distance from home : 
 but after reflecting that London was the fountain- 
 head of politeness, and that she would be there fur- 
 ther removed from the speculation of her imperti- 
 nent neighbours, I determined, with his approbation, 
 to send her thither. He said, that for his part he 
 had an entire confidence in my honourable inten- 
 tions, and should not scruple to trust his daughter 
 wholly to my care. But, says he, the world will be 
 apt to censure both your conduct and mine, if I 
 suffer her to go from home before I have some se- 
 curity for your marrying her. Besides, continued 
 he. 1 am certain my wife will not consent to her 
 daughter's taking such an imprudent step upon any 
 other conditions. In this, however, Mr. Woodville 
 was mistaken. It had always been his wife's policy, 
 to work her own children as much as possible into 
 her husband's favour; and, in order to that, she was 
 continually filling his head with comparisons be- 
 tween their behaviour and that of his own children, 
 which were always injurious to the latter, and had a 
 particular pique, as I have observed, against his 
 daughter Charlotte, as her rival in Mr. Woodville's 
 affections. She, therefore, was not at all displeased 
 with the prospect of getting rid of so dangerous a
 
 276 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 competitor, by her engaging in an adventure of this 
 kind, which she foresaw would probably bring some 
 reflections on her prudence at least, if not entirely 
 ruin her reputation : for that reason, therefore, as 
 also because she found it in vain to oppose an affair 
 in which she saw rae now so seriously embarked, 
 she on a sudden altered her behaviour, both to me 
 and to her daughter-in-law. 
 
 As to my marrying Miss Woodville immediately, 
 I told her father, that, as I was fellow of a college, 
 though we did not absolutely forswear matrimony, 
 as was a vulgar opinion, when we accepted of a fel- 
 lowship, yet that a forfeiture of the preferment was 
 the penalty annexed ; which I must necessarily sub- 
 mit to, as soon as my marriage became public. As 
 I had therefore some particularly prudential reasons 
 for continuing at college for some time longer, I de- 
 sired him to dispense with our performing the cere- 
 mony ; and I would give him any security he should 
 require for fulfilling my engagements as soon as we 
 arrived in London. As he was of an honourable 
 temper himself, he was not apt to be suspicious of 
 others ; but, however, could not be brought to ac- 
 quiesce in such an ambiguous declaration. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ti'he sfori/ continued. 
 
 About this time we had an invitation from Mr. 
 Woodville's brother, who farmed a little estate of his 
 own, at a few miles distance, to spend the day with 
 him. The house he lived in war, situated in the 
 midst of woods, in a very solitary part of the coun- 
 try. It was a large old mansion-house, and had a
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 277 
 
 chapel contiguous to it, in which service was per- 
 formed once a month. As Mrs. Woodville was now 
 upon better terms with me and her daughter, she 
 graciously condescended to accompany us in this 
 little expedition. As the road lay through two or 
 three villages where we were known, this caused 
 some speculation; and it was generally believed in 
 the neighbourhood, that we went thither to be mar- 
 ried; and whether Mrs. Woodville endeavoured to 
 persuade her husband that we really were so, in or- 
 der to facilitate our removal, or whatever else was 
 the cause, soon after this, I found him disposed to 
 consent to his daughter's going with me to Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Accordingly, after a few days' preparation, but 
 without any previous provision for lodgings, or 
 for a place of education to settle my charge in (for I 
 had no friend in town to whom 1 could communi- 
 cate a scheme of this kind), I sent to a large town at 
 some distance from Mr. Woodville's, and took 
 ])laces in the stage coach, which set out every day 
 from thence to London. 
 
 As poor Charlotte had never been two days to- 
 gether from her father before, who was excessively 
 fond of her, and also in a precarious state of health 
 from very frequent returns of the gout, the parting 
 between them was very affecting; and I believe there 
 was not a servant, or any one of the family, that did 
 not shed tears at her departure : even Mrs. Wood- 
 ville herself behaved with a very decent dissimula- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Rivers was going on with his story, when the 
 servant let them know that supper was upon the ta- 
 ble. Mrs. Rivers had furnished out a plain, but ele- 
 gant supper ; and Wildgoose, being happy in the 
 company and friendly conversation of an old ac- 
 2b
 
 278 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 quaintance, forgot a little his usual austerity, and 
 seemed to enjoy himself like a man of this world. 
 
 After supper, however, upon Mr. Rivers's drink- 
 ing a health to \\i% friends in Gloucestershire, Wild- 
 goose, fetching a deep sigh, Ah ! says he, the 
 friendship of this world is enmity with God. Well, 
 my good friend, says Rivers, not to dispute the 
 I propriety of your application, 1 hope you do not 
 think natural affection, or the regard which one 
 feels for one's relations, is sinful. For my part, I 
 am so far of a different opinion, continued Rivers, 
 that however unsociable I may appear, or how- 
 ever I may renounce the common friendship, or ra- 
 ther impertinence of the world, yet I think the chief 
 happiness of this life was intended by Providence to 
 arise from the exercise of the social affections. In 
 this our present limited state, indeed, it must ne- 
 cessarily be confined within narrow bounds. The 
 pride, malice, and perverseness of too great a part 
 of mankind, arising from the opposition of their se- 
 veral interests, may make it prudent to restrain our 
 connections to a few friends, and almost within one's 
 own family : y et hereafter our benevolence, and con- 
 sequently our happiness, will be greatly enlarged : 
 and the whole universe will probably converse with 
 the same mutual love and harmony as a single fa- 
 inily._ 
 
 Wildgoose was going to reply, when a little boy, 
 about five years old, with the face of a cherubim, 
 ran into the room, and, leaping up into Mrs. Ri- 
 vers's lap, ran his head into her bosom, by way of 
 asking her blessing. She looked down upon him 
 with inexpressible sweetness, and the air of a Ma- 
 dona by Raphael or Corregio ; and, having squeez- 
 ed him to her breast, dismissed him with a thousand 
 kisses. W^ildgoose smiled, and owned, that was an
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 279 
 
 unanswerable proof of the happiness arising from 
 natural nflection. And Mrs. Rivers retiring soon 
 after, Mr. Rivers proceeded with his story. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mr. Rivers continues Iiis story. 
 
 Upon our setting out, as 1 told you, Mr. Woodville 
 sent a trustv domestic with us, to meet tlie coach at 
 
 , where we lay the first night at an inn which 
 
 the famil}^ always made use of. I committed my 
 charge to the care of the mistress of the house, who, 
 being a widow woman, let Charlotte sleep in her 
 own chamber, and in the morning saw her safe in 
 the stage-coach. I need not trouble you with the 
 p:irticulars of our journey ; but suppose us arrived 
 in town about the dusk of the evening, and set down 
 at the Bolt-in-Tun in Fleet-sireet. Whoever has 
 seen that ancient gloomy hotel (which, however, 
 may have been a magnificent paiace before the Re- 
 formation), v.ill easily imagine with what horror it 
 n)u.<t striko a young person who was never before 
 from h:r father's house in the country. We were 
 taken bv a tall masculine creature in petticoats, into 
 a dark back parlour, with one window in it ; which, 
 instead of green fields and blooming hedge-rows, 
 which she iiad been alway>; used to, had no other 
 prospect but into a dub^ky court, just large enough 
 to contain an old bottle-rack, which faced the win- 
 dow, and bounded our view. 
 
 The moment we came into this apartment, O, 
 li'javens ! cries Miss Woodyille, is this London ? 
 Weil, .V;r. Rivers. I am entirely under your pro- 
 tection. O, my poor father ! and almost fainted 
 2 a 2
 
 280 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 away in my arms. I endeavoured to soothe her, by 
 assuring her she should stay but one night in that 
 house ; and that the next morning I would look out 
 for someagreeable lodgings; and that she would soon 
 have a different opinion of that grand metropolis. 
 
 We were now interrupted by the entrance of a 
 drawer, to know if we called. He surveyed us both 
 with some accuracy ; and immediately sent in the 
 chamber-maid, to ask if we must have separate beds. 
 As soon as 1 had answered her in the affirmative, in 
 comes the mistress of the house ; and, after view- 
 ing Miss Woodville with an affected indifference, 
 desired to know what we would have for supper. In 
 *hort, I now began to reflect, which I had hardly 
 suffered myself to do before, in what light the dear 
 object of my sincerest affection must necessarily ap- 
 pear, and was not a little shocked at the reflection. 
 However, I again requested the mistress of the house 
 to get the young lady a safe bed-chamber, which 
 she did in a closet within her own apartment. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as we had break- 
 fasted, I sallied forth in quest of lodgings. The 
 most retired part of the town that first occurred to 
 me, was St Martin's-lane, where, upon the pave- 
 ment, I saw a bill up, with a second floor to be let. 
 Tjpon my rapping at the door, there came out a 
 small middle-aged woman, with a tolerable aspect, 
 who, upon my mentioning my business, entered at 
 once into my schemes, and with apparent benevo- 
 lence, and great volubility of tongue, told me she 
 
 had lately had a clergyman's wife, out of 
 
 shire, in just the same circumstances which I had 
 mentioned, and who loved her as if she had been 
 her own mother: that she had two daughters of her 
 own, who would be good companions for the young 
 lady, and went to a dancing-school in the neigh- 
 bourhood, which would answer my purpose.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTF. 2S1 
 
 In sliort, we soon came to terms for lodging and 
 boarding; and 1 brought Miss Woodville thitber 
 before dinner, who appeared much pleased with the 
 cheerfulness of the apartment, and I did not doubt 
 but she would be here very agreeably situated. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The storjj continued. 
 
 Well, I had now this young creature entirely in 
 mv power, and you might imagine that nothing was 
 wanting to complete my happiness: but, alas! 1 was 
 conscious to mvself that all was not right; and was 
 greatly at a loss how to proceed. There was evident- 
 ly but one patli which 1 could honourably pursue, 
 and that appeared, upon a superficial view, incom- 
 patible with prudence. I had no friend in town that 
 1 could consult upon this occasion ; nor, indeed, did 
 I care to conununicate an affair of this kind to any 
 of my acquaintance. 
 
 The next morning, happening to stroll into the 
 Park, by a groat accident, or rather by the parti- 
 cular care of Providence (for upon this incident, in 
 a gn at measure, depended the future ease and com- 
 fort of my life), I met an old friend, whom 1 had 
 not seen for many years. Mr. Hammond (which 
 was his name) inquired what brought me to town; 
 to which I made him some evasive answer. But, 
 during our walk, as I knew him to be a man of un- 
 common sense, a great knowledge of the world, and 
 also of impenetrable secrecy, I soon determined to 
 make him a confidant. I desired him, therefore, to 
 drink tea with me at my lodgings that very after- 
 noon, which he complied with ; and as soon as he 
 2b3
 
 282 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 came, I opened to him my adventure, and prepared 
 him for the appearance of Miss Woodville. 
 
 As he knew I was a fellow of a college, and had 
 only a younger brother's fortune ; and that such a 
 scheme must be in every light highly imprudent, he 
 began, with great earnestness, to conjure me by all 
 means to put an end -to it, begging me to reflect 
 what a concern it would be to my relations, and how 
 probably terminate in my own infelicity. 1 granted 
 all he suggested; but desired him to consider how 
 far the affair had proceeded : that 1 had brought a 
 young creature from her friends and frDin herfather, 
 Avho either believed that we were really married, or 
 at least depended upon my honour to make her my 
 wife. 
 
 Miss Woodville now qpade her appearance, and 
 I observed Mr. Hammond seemed vastly struck with 
 her person and figure. However, he spoke very lit- 
 tle, but seemed entirely wrapped in thought the 
 whole time she was in the room. When she had 
 made tea for us, and was again retired, Mr. Ham- 
 mond made some short encomiums upon her sweet 
 appearance, her easy and unaffected behaviour, 
 which was so natural to her ; then took his leave, 
 and said he would call upon me again the next day. 
 When he came, after some little pause, Mr. Ri- 
 vers, says he, I have been considering your affair 
 with great deliberation, and though 1 could have 
 wished you had not engaged in it at all, yet, as 
 things are circumstanced, and as I do not doubt 
 but you really intend to marry Miss Woodville, 1 
 do not see how you can possibly avoid the perform- 
 ing your engagements immediately. 
 
 Though this was whaj; 1 earnestly wished, and 
 was sensible it was what 1 ought in honour to do, yet 
 I own the thoughts of resigning my little prefer- 
 ment, and embarking in the wide world with SQ
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 283 
 
 young a consort, a little embarrassed me; yet, now 
 1 had so prudent and faithful a pilot to direct me, I 
 was glad not to defer my happiness any longer: and 
 he telling me, that he knew a person who was cu- 
 rate in a remote part of the city, and who would 
 perform the ceremony with great secrecy, we de- 
 termined, with Miss VVoodville's leave, to have it 
 done as soon as possible. 
 
 Though poor Charlotte had consented, under the 
 sanction of her father's approbation, to put herself 
 entirely under my protection ; yet I could not but 
 observe, by an air of dissatisfaction, and several hints 
 that dropped from her, that she was very uneasy in 
 her present situation. You must suppose, there- 
 fore, that in such circumstances she could make no 
 objection to my proposal. After some decent scru- 
 ples, then, she consented to my request, to com- 
 plete my felicity the very next morning ; ^vhich was 
 accordingly put in execution: and, it being neces- 
 sary to acquaint the people of the house with the 
 alteration of our condition, I ordered a handsome 
 dinner, and invited them to a participation: though, 
 by their behaviour afterwards, they affected to be- 
 lieve this no more than a sham wedding ; at least 
 they treated Mrs. Rivers as if they considered her 
 in no very honourable light. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 After staying a week in town, completely happy 
 in the possession of all that was dear to me, i wa 
 obliged to leave my wife, and go down to Oxford.
 
 284 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Whether Mr. Hammond considered me in the 
 character of a Spanish husband, or whatever was 
 his motive, he did not offer, nor did I think of ask- 
 ing him, to visit Mrs. Rivers in my absence; nor did 
 I acquaint her where he lodged, or give her, as I 
 ought to have done, any direction where to find him, 
 in case of any emergency. Such a precaution, how- 
 ever (as it proved), would have been no more than 
 necessary. I had often been in London before for 
 some months together, and fancied I knew the town 
 tolerably well; but I had no suspicion that about 
 one house in ten, near that part of it, was inhabited 
 by people of none, or rather of abandoned prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 I had not been ten days in the country before I 
 received a most terrible letter from my wife, in- 
 forming me, that she was in very bad hands ; and 
 conjuring me to come up to town immediately. I 
 set out, with post-horses, the very next morning, 
 and arrived at her lodgings early in the evening. 
 The woman of the house came to the door ; and, 
 upon my inquiry for ?vlrs. Rivers, Why, says she, 
 your lady is gone to bed already. Poor creature, 
 continued she, she is very whimsical, and fancies 
 she is not well. As I knew how healthy Charlotte 
 had always been, I was greatly alarmed. I flew up 
 to htr chamber; and, to my great concern, found 
 her in a high fever. Upon inquiring into the cause 
 of iier illness, I found it to be as follows. 
 
 There lodged in the same house a young gen- 
 tleman, of a very sober, modest appearance, with 
 whom we spent one or two evenings before I went 
 into the country. He told me he had commanded 
 a man of war in the Mediterranean; and I believe, 
 by several circumstances, that this account of him- 
 self was true. Soon after I was gone down, the wo- 
 man of the house came to Mrs. Rivers, and, after
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 285 
 
 some general insinuations, told her, that this Ox- 
 ford scholar who had brought her to town, would 
 leave her there, and never return any more ; that 
 it was a common trick among them ; and that she 
 would advise her to make herself as easy as she 
 could. Mrs. Rivers, you may be sure, was greatly 
 startled ; but her youth and inexperience was, in 
 this case, her consolation : for it could not enter 
 into her imagination, that there was any one in the 
 world so base, or that what this woman told her was 
 true. She proceeded, however, by degrees, to as- 
 sure my wife, that the young captain was violently 
 in love with her; and, if she would consent to live 
 with him, he would keep her a maid and a footman, 
 buy her much richer clothes, and, in short, take 
 much better care of her than ever I had done ; and 
 a great deal more to the same purpose. 
 
 The captain himself had frequent opportunities 
 given him of being in company with Mrs. Rivers ; 
 but, as he always behaved with great modesty and 
 politeness, she was not very uneasy at what the 
 good woman had said to her. 
 
 One evening, however, the captain came in to 
 them, and, pretending some particular occasion of 
 rejoicing, said he would treat them with a bowl of 
 arrack punch. At this the landlady of the house 
 aifocted to be (and probably was) greatly rejoiced, 
 promised how merry they would be, and talked with 
 great glee of the approaching evening. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers had no suspicion of any design ; but 
 was not much disposed to be cheerful, as she began 
 to have a very bad opinion of her company, and of 
 course to be impatient for my return. 
 
 The glass went merrily round, with my landlady, 
 her daughters, and two or three neighbours of her 
 own stamp, whom she had invited to partake of their 
 jollity. Mrs. Rivers could hardly be prevailed
 
 ^86 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 upon to swallow one or two half glasses : but whe- 
 ther it was owing to her not being used to any thing 
 strong, or whether they had contrived to convey 
 any thing intoxicating into her glass, she soon found 
 her head begin to grow giddy ; so, without taking 
 leave of her company, she slipped out of the room, 
 and retired to her own apartment. Being appre- 
 hensive that they might pursue her, she locked her 
 door; and observing that the bed ran upon castors, 
 she exerted her strength, and placed that against 
 it. She had hardly taken this precaution, when 
 she heard the whole company, like Comus and his 
 Bacchanals, come laughing and shouting, rather 
 than singing, up the stairs, and protesting that they 
 would pluck her out of bed. She was not undress- 
 ed ; but the timidity of her sex, and the particular 
 cause she had to be apprehensive in her situation, 
 almost threw her into hysterics, especially when she 
 heard them thundering at the door, and declaring 
 they would break it open. But her greatest danger 
 was from the abandoned part of her own sex ; for 
 when the captain perceived, from the tone of her 
 voice, and other circumstances, the excessive fright 
 she was in, he very honourably forced them to de- 
 sist from their frolic, as mine hostess affected after- 
 wards to call it. 
 
 Mrs Rivers was so much alarmed, that she could 
 not close her eyes the whole night ; which, together 
 with the pernicious liquor they had forced upon 
 her, made her very ill all the next day. 
 
 On' Sunday, which was the day following, she 
 was a little recovered; and the two girls, towards 
 the evening, made her take a walk with them into 
 the Park ; where she had never been but once be- 
 fore, with me and Mr Hammond. 
 
 After walking once round, they came tp the 
 canal, and stood some time to observe several peo-
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 2S7 
 
 pie who were feeding the ducks tliere. This rural 
 ainuseinent attracted Mrs. llivers's attention, and, 
 by recalling to her mind the ease and happiness of 
 her life in the country, soothed her melancholy, and 
 she stood fixed ia a sort of reverie; but on a sud- 
 den looking I'ound, she missed her companions, and 
 with great terror and surprise found herself amongst 
 a crosvd of strangers. 1 do not believe she knew 
 so nmch as the name of the street where she lodged, 
 nor one step of the way that led towards it. She 
 looked wildly round on every side, and her appre- 
 hension almost took away her senses ; but, in the 
 midst of her distress, she saw a gentleman come 
 bowing and smiling up towards her; and who should 
 this be but the captain ! His first appearance, you 
 may suppose, gave her some comfort in her distress; 
 but it immediately occured to her, that this was a 
 premeditated contrivance between him and the peo- 
 ple of the house. The captain conducted her to- 
 wards the bird-cage walk, and began to inquire se- 
 riously into the truth of her story, and whether she 
 was really married to me or not.' She told him so 
 many particular circumstances, and with an air of 
 so much simplicity, that he seemed convinced of 
 her sincerity. He then brought her towards the 
 gate at Spring-gardens, which, to Mrs. Rivers's 
 greaf terror, they found tb be shut. The captain, 
 however, led her through at the Horse-guards, con- 
 ducted her safe home, and never tendered her any 
 gallantries afterwards.* 
 
 These several frights and alarms, however, work- 
 ed so much upon >Jrs. Rivers's sensibility, that 
 they brought a return of her indisposition ; and 
 she, the next day, wrote the letter which hurried 
 me to town. 
 
 I found her in a high fever, as I have related ; 
 but the calmness which my return brought to her
 
 288 T.HE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 spirits, and the excellence of her constitution, soon 
 restored her to her usual health ; and, after a little 
 fruitless expostulation with the good lady of the 
 house, v,e immediately shifted our quarters. 
 
 I had now fixed upon an elegant lodging, in a 
 
 neat conrl, near square ; wTiich I was not the 
 
 less pleased with, when I found the people of the 
 house were rigid dissenters : for, though the cha- 
 racters and conduct of the people have seldom much 
 connection with their religious systems, yet as most 
 of those that dissent from the established church are 
 supposed to do it upon principle, they have an ad- 
 ditional check upon their behaviour, that they may 
 not discredit the sect to which they belong ; and, 
 as their teachers usually take more particular care 
 of them on that account, they have generally more 
 appearance of religion amongst them than the com- 
 mon people who call themselves of the established 
 church. 
 
 Ah ! says Wildgoose, with a sigh, it is of little 
 consequence what church, or what sect we belong 
 to, if we want a true vital faith, and are not born 
 again of the Spirit. 
 
 Well, sir, continued INIr. Rivers, I staid a week 
 with my wife at her new lodging, when I was again 
 obliged to go into the country ; but though the fa- 
 mily she was now in had a very sober appearance, 
 yet, as she had had such bad luck before, I was de- 
 termined at my return to fix her as a parlour boarder 
 in a genteel school, not far from tlie square, vihi- 
 ther she now went every day, for the sake of im- 
 proving herself under the several masters that at- 
 tended there : and I had also given her directions 
 where to apply to Mr. Hammond, in case of any 
 disagreeable contingency. 
 
 1 had not been a fortnight in the country before 
 I received a letter, to my no small surprise, that she 
 
 3
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 289 
 
 Jiad been again obliged to quit her lodgings, aftet 
 being again greatly alarmed, though she did not 
 nieiiiion the particulars. When I came to town I 
 found to my astonishment, the case to be as foi- 
 Jow's. 
 
 The mistress of the house went very regularly 
 every Sabbath-day to the meeting. She had not 
 been gone long, the Sunday after 1 left them, when 
 Mrs. Kivers rang the bell for the maid, to assist her 
 in altering her dress. After waiting a few minutes, 
 she heard her, as she thought, come tripping up the 
 stairs ; but, to her great amazement, the moment 
 she entered the door, in came the master of the 
 house. He was a little, middle-aged man, of a 
 Jewish complexion, with one leg considerably short- 
 er than the other; and being of a dirty, though one 
 of the genteeler kind of mechanic trades, gave one 
 no bad idea of the poetical Vulcan. His wife, how- 
 ever, being no Venus (like that of the Lemnian god), 
 he was greatly inclined to violate the matrimonial 
 contract. 
 
 He told Mrs. Rivers, then, that he had a very 
 _good hand at lacing stays ; and, seeing her without 
 a handkerchief, he offered to take great liberties. 
 She was more provoked than terrified at this despi- 
 cable gallant; and, bursting from him, ran imme- 
 diately to the sash, and called out to one Mrs. Tho- 
 mas, (a woman of good family, but small fortune), 
 who lodged upon the first floor across the court, and 
 who, seeing so agreeable a young person left in such 
 indiffjrent hands, had contrived to get acquainted 
 with her the day after I left her. This spirited pro- 
 ceeding in Mrs. Rivers soon put to flight her limp- 
 ing lover; and, upon telling the affair to Mrs. Tho- 
 mas, she assisted her in packing up her things, slip- 
 ped out, and called a coach; and conveyed her im- 
 mediately to the boarding-school which I had fixed 
 upon before I went down. 
 
 VOL. XXXII. 2 c
 
 290 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 Upon my expostulating with her gallant upon 
 this affair, he said, that happening to go by the din- 
 ing-room as Mrs. Rivers was dressing, he owned it 
 was a great temptation ; and, if God had not given 
 him grace, confessed he might have yielded to the 
 force of it ! but vowed he had not offered the least 
 incivility. As this wretch was beneath my resent- 
 ment, and I was desirous of causing as little specu- 
 lation as possible, I thought it best to pocket the 
 insult, as well as the money, which he voluntarily 
 returned, having a little unconscionably extorted 
 it, for the ensuing week's lodging, though Mrs, 
 Rivers was obliged to quit it on account of his ill 
 usage. 
 
 You may be apt to wonder what there could be 
 in Mrs. Rivers's person or behaviour, that could ex- 
 pose her to so many insults of this kind. You may 
 guess, by what you now see of her, that she must 
 have been a very desirable object, in the bloom of 
 fifteen ; which received no small addition by a very- 
 cheerful, though innocent behaviour. But I be- 
 lieve it was chiefly owing to the light she must ap 
 pear in, as my peculiar situation in life required 
 me to affect a privacy ; and her prudence and know- 
 ledge of my fortune would not permit me to keep 
 her a servant : so that these low people, presuming 
 upon the criminal appearance of our connection, 
 made those attempts, which they would probably 
 Jiave been afraid to have done upon a more favour- 
 able supposition.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 Mrs, Rivers was now settled in a tolerably agree- 
 able family, where she had an opportunity of im- 
 proving herself in every polite accomplishment from 
 the best masters, under whose care, in a very short 
 time, she made an incredible progress: and having 
 now equipped herself in a more fashionable manner, 
 and being somewhat improved in her carriage 
 (though she wanted but little addition to her natu- 
 ral gracefulness), she attracted great regard wher- 
 ever she made her appearance. If she happened to 
 walk the streets, no one passed by her without par- 
 ticular notice; and every young fellow thought her 
 an object worth a second view, and generally pur- 
 sued her with his eyes till she was out of sight. 
 
 Upon her appearing once or twice in the side- 
 boxes, she had several glasses levelled at her from 
 different parts of the theatre ; and though two or 
 three fashionable ladies of quality endeavoured to 
 stare her out of countenance, as one that nobody 
 knew, yet her conscious innocence, and her natural 
 good sense, which immediately penetrated through 
 the frippery of the milliner, and the tinsel of dress, 
 and saw nothing in those insolent fair ones which 
 gave them any real superiority over herself, prevent- 
 ed her discovering any mauvaisehonte, orrustic bash- 
 fulness : and she was distinguished by nothing but 
 by her attention to the interesting scenes on the 
 stage, from one that had been all her lifetime in 
 public places. 
 
 I cannot forbear mentioning an odd kind of dis- 
 tress, which was occasioned by her appearing once 
 2c2
 
 292 THE SPfRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 .in an improper part of the theatre. She went, with 
 the rest of the young ladies, to their dancing-mas- 
 ter's benefit, who was very eminent in his way, and 
 the chief dancer on the stage at Drury-lane. Hav- 
 ing a very full house, he was obliged to place his 
 scholars in one of the balconies, Mhich, you know, 
 on common nights are generally occupied by kept 
 mistresses, and people of dubious characters. Her 
 striking figure immediately drew the eyes of all the 
 gentlemen in the pit. Amongst the rest a young 
 man of fortune, one Mr. Fitz-Thomas, whose seat 
 was in her father's neighbourhood in the country, 
 and who had frequently dined with me at his house, 
 immediately knew her ; and, as he had heard of her 
 leaving the country with me, and was sensible that 
 those sort of elopements too frequently ended in the 
 ruin of such young creatures, it immediately occur- 
 red to him, that this was the case with poor Miss 
 Woodville, especially when he saw her in that igno- 
 minious part of the play-house. He was a man of 
 uncommon humanity, and began to be excessively 
 concerned, on account of the worthy man her fa- 
 ther, and the rest of the family. However, that he 
 mi^ht not too rashly take up with such a surmise, 
 he resolved to go round and speak to her; when he 
 was agreeably undeceived, and found, to his great 
 satisfaction, the true cause of her improper situ- 
 ation. 
 
 Ah ! says Wildgoose, with a sigh, I cannot but 
 think every situation m;9ro;9er in that temple of Sa- 
 tan, the play-house ; but please to proceed with 
 your story. 
 
 Well, continued Mr. Rivers, you will think I 
 dwell too much upon Mrs. Rivers 's personal charms. 
 But, matrimony being usually considered as making 
 a purchase at the expense of our liberty, nothing u
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 293 
 
 more natural than the pride we take in finding our 
 clioice approved by the suffrages of the world. I 
 will only trouble you with one instance more. 
 
 Tliere was a lady, who had a little daughter in 
 the school, and who was herself a parlour-boarder 
 in the absence of her husband. She and one of the 
 teachers (I know not with what view) dressed them- 
 selves out one day, and took Mrs. Rivers to the Chap- 
 el-Royal at St. James's, where, they assured me, a 
 young hero of the highest rank eyed her with his 
 glass the whole time: and, upon their meeting with 
 some difficulty io getting to their chairs, an officer 
 in his regimentals, under pretence of extricating 
 them, inquired very minutely in what part of the 
 town they lodged: in which this lady fancied he 
 had some mysterious view. But, as she was a wo- 
 man of intrigue herself, she was apt to suspect some 
 deep design in the most indifferent transactions. 
 
 The character and behaviour of this lady, indeed, 
 whose name was Mrs. Birdlime, rendered Mrs. Ri- 
 vers's situation far less agreeable than it would have 
 been, and was one cause of my removing her soon- 
 er than, perhaps, I should otherwise have done. 
 Mrs. Birdlime, as I told you, was a parlour-board- 
 er; and, as it is usual in that situation to find their 
 own wine, &c. and this lady was very fond of her 
 bottle, she was teazing Mrs. Rivers every evening 
 to join with her for a bottle of port, or a bowl of 
 punch; and because she had not politeness enough 
 to trifle away her money for what was disgustful to 
 iier, Mrs. Birdlime had often reproached her with 
 her low birth, and country education. 
 
 I had an opportunity one afternoon of drinking 
 tea with this high-bred lady ; and, after being in- 
 formed that she was an Oxford woman; and having 
 studied her features with some attention, i soon 
 discovered her to be our old toast, Sally Burrage, aa 
 2c3
 
 294 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 inn-keeper's daughter, who had so long powdered 
 her red locks, and prostituted her face to her father's 
 customers; and, by a judicious mixture of freedom 
 and reserve, had drawn in a genteel young fellow, 
 with a pretty fortune, to marry her ; who, partly 
 with a view of improving his income, and partly, 
 perhaps, of being more frequently absent from his 
 doxy, had purchased a commission in a marching 
 regiment, and was now recruiting in the north. 
 Mrs. Birdlime, however, contrived to console her- 
 self, in her occasional widowhood, sometimes with 
 a cheerful bowl, and sometimes, I am afraid, with 
 less innocent amusements, if one might judge by 
 her conversation and appearance. In short, though 
 I found Mrs. Rivers had, at present, almost an aver- 
 sion to this woman and her way of life, yet as it is 
 very unsafe for the best disposed young persons to 
 be too familiar with vice, I was determined to remove 
 her from hence as soon as possible. 
 
 Upon my mentioning this to the governess, who 
 was a very genteel woman, though elderly and very 
 infirm, she expressed great concern at the thoughts 
 of parting with her; for she assured me, that since 
 Mrs. Rivers had been with her, she had not liad the 
 least care upon her hands, having found her so pru- 
 dent and faithful, that, young as she was, she had 
 left the chief management of her domestic affairs to 
 her discretion. 
 
 This account of my wife's economy gave me as 
 much pleasure as the vast encomiums she bestowed 
 upon her improvement in dancing, music, and the 
 other superficial accomplishments, since I had now 
 no reason to doubt but she would appear to as much 
 advantage in the capacity of a mistress of a family, 
 she had hitherto done in every other situation.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The slory continued. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers had, by this time, been near a twelve- 
 month in town, when I received a message one day 
 from a gentleman of distinction, who was then in 
 London, rccjuesting me to bring Miss Woodville to 
 spend the day with his lady. This was one Mr. 
 Wylmot, whose seat in the country was not many 
 miles distant from Miss Woodville's father's ; and 
 who, though much older than myself, from some 
 accidental circumstances, had honoured me with a 
 particular friendship and esteem. Accordingly I 
 took my wife, in the character of Miss Woodville, 
 to dine with them at their lodgings; where she was 
 received with great complacency and politeness. 
 
 Upon my being left alone with Mr. Wylmot, af- 
 ter complimenting me upon my good choice, he, in 
 a very friendly manner, inquired, in what manner 
 I intended to settle in the world, if I should marry 
 before I was engaged in some profession, as he ap- 
 prehended, he said, I should be tempted to do. Up- 
 on finding myself thus closely attacked by a man 
 whom 1 knew to be my friend, and with whom I 
 should have been ashamed to triHe; after some he- 
 sitation 1 told him, that we had been already mar- 
 ried for some time; and, what was more, that Mrs. 
 Rivers, I believed, was pregnant. Why then, says 
 he, with some quickness, do you not own your mar- 
 riage, and resign your fellowship? 1 hardly knew 
 what reply to make to this question ; but told him, 
 however, that I intended it very soon, as the time 
 allowed by the college was already expired. Well, 
 says he, 1 have nothing to do with your conduct in 
 regard to the college, but, for God's sake, do not run
 
 296 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 the hazard of exposing yourself to the censure of th 
 world, by keeping your marriage private any lon- 
 ger. Bring Mrs. Rivers immediately into the coun- 
 try, and acknowledge her publickly as your wife. 
 Observing me struck silent at this proposal, he very 
 generously proceeded: I see, said he, you are un- 
 der some difficulty what scheme to pursue. He then 
 told me, that he liad such a particular house at my 
 service, and that he would assist me in furnishing 
 it; and that we should not only be welcome to live 
 there till we could determine upon some better si- 
 tuation, but that he should be very happy in having 
 us for his neighbours. 
 
 I was quite oppressed with the generosity of Mr. 
 Wylmot's behaviour, not only in offering me so ele- 
 gant an habitation in so polite a manner, but also 
 his patronage and countenance against the malevo- 
 lence of the world; for he was a man of such a strict 
 regard to decency, that no one in the neighbourhood 
 would presume to question the rectitude of our con- 
 duct, when we were under his protection. I there- 
 fore, gratefully accepted of his proposal ; told liim 
 
 I would go to , and settle my affairs, resign 
 
 my fellowship, and bring down Mrs. Rivers as soon 
 as possible. Mr. Wylmotsaid he should go into the 
 country the next day, and, when we came, would 
 send his chariot to meet the stage-coach, and con- 
 vey us in a more decent manner to the place of our 
 abode. 
 
 Upon my communicating my intentions to Mrs. 
 Rivers, she almost shed tears of joy at the thoughts 
 of returning into the country ; for, though she pa- 
 tienly acquisced in continuing so long in town, as 
 she thought it necessary for her improvement, yet 
 she had often sighed to herself, and sent forth ardent 
 wishes to see her father, her friends, and even her 
 native place again, from which she had never before 
 been absent a wek together.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 297 
 
 As to her father, old Mrs. Woodville, you may 
 suppose, had soon undeceived him with regard to 
 our being married before we left the country ; and 
 had taken occasion from thence to aggravate his fa- 
 vourite daughter's imprudence, in consenting to go 
 off in such a manner with an Oxford scholar. Upon 
 my having visited him, therefore, after 1 had settled 
 Mrs. lli\ers in London, he had discovered a great 
 anxiety on her account, and with tears in his e3'^es, 
 desired to know when he should have the pleasure 
 of seeing his daughter again, and when I intended 
 to fulfil my engagements to her. As I found what 
 made him uneasy, I gave him sufficient proofs of my 
 having done it already ; and assured him, that she 
 was my wife, and that he should see her again as 
 soon as was consistent with the end proposed in tak- 
 ing her from home. On his account, therefore, 
 Mrs. Rivers was particularly happy in the thoughts 
 of returning into that part of the country. 
 
 After preparing for our journey, and furnishing 
 ourselves wiih several elegant, though trifling arti- 
 cles of furniture, which are apt to occur to young 
 housekeepers before things of real use or conveni- 
 ence, we set out from London, accompanied also 
 by our good friend IVIr. Hammond, and arrived safe 
 at the place where Mr. Wylmot's chariot, with two 
 servants, met us and conveyed us with no small 
 state to his seat. As 1 was known to be a friend 
 of Mr. Wylmot's, and considered as a young man, 
 who, though of small fortune at present, had con- 
 siderable expectations, we were received with as 
 mucli staring and speculation as if we had been 
 people of more consequence. We staid a few days 
 in Mr. Wylmot's house; and when we were settled 
 in our elegant little mansion, partly out of respect 
 to him, and partly, I suppose, out of curiosity, we 
 received the compliments of the neighbouring ge^x-
 
 298 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 try: and for some time, I believe, were the subj,ect 
 of no small speculation. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The story continued. 
 
 As erery particular of this part of my life is very 
 interesting to me, continued Mr, Rivers, I may 
 probably have been a little tedious in my narration : 
 I will therefore hasten to a conclusion. 
 
 As soon as we were a little settled in our place 
 of residence, Mrs. Rivers was impatient to pay her 
 duty to her father, whither Mr. Wylmot sent a ser- 
 vant to attend us. You can more easily conceive 
 than I can describe, the tenderness of a meeting be- 
 tween a parent, who doated upon his daughter, and 
 had some reason to fear the event of the journey 
 she had taken, and a daughter, who had never be- 
 fore been absent from so indulgent a father. 
 
 Though Mrs. Rivers was greatly improved since 
 she left the country, both in her carriage, in her 
 manner, and in the delicacy of her complexion; yet 
 her travelling dress a little obscured her appearance 
 the first night. But the next day (being Sunday) 
 when she came down dressed for church, the whole 
 family were struck dumb with admiration. Mrs. 
 Rivers, indeed, wanted no ornaments to set her off, 
 but a full dress always became her; and she dressed 
 in so good a taste, tliat it greatly heightened her 
 natural charms. 
 
 The fame of Mrs. Rivers's beauty and appear- 
 ance soon spread amongst the neighbouring villages ; 
 and some of the young swainS; of the best substance 
 who had formerly looked upon themselves as Miss
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 299 
 
 Woodville's equals, began now to curse their folly, 
 in suffering such a prize to be carried oflF by a mere 
 stranger; nay, some of the most vain and sanguine 
 began to inquire, whether she were yet really mar.- 
 ried ; boasting that they could yet rescue her from 
 the clutches of such a mere milk-sop, as I found 
 they esteemed me. But these conceited rustics had 
 no conception that the improvements in Mrs. Ri- 
 vers's mind would have been a greater obstacle to 
 their ambition than those in her mere outward ap- 
 pearance ; for, besides her having read a great deal, 
 and conversed with people above their rank, Mr. 
 Hammond, as well as myself, had taken particular 
 pains to cultivate Mrs. Rivers's understanding: and 
 by letting her into the real characters of the seve- 
 ral persons into whose company she had been intro- 
 duced, and by giving her a few general maxims for 
 her conduct in life, a girl of her penetration and na- 
 tural good sense, soon became furnished with a suf- 
 ficient knowledge of the world : and Mrs. Rivers 
 Avas as quick-sighted in discovering a fool or a cox- 
 comb, as if she had conversed her whole life with 
 what is called the best company. 
 
 We spent a few days with Mrs. Rivers's father, 
 in that complete felicity which sincere friends en^ 
 joy after a tedious absence. I soon perceived, how- 
 ever, that the pleasure which Mr. Woodville took 
 in his daughter's company, was fatal to Mrs. Wood- 
 ville's peace of mind ; and that she had been insi- 
 nuating to her husband, how proud his daughter 
 was got ; that she almost disdained to set her foot 
 in the ground; and that nothing in their house 
 seemed good enough for so fine a lady. Though 
 rjothing could be further from the truth than this 
 representation, and though Mrs. Rivers behaved 
 with that sweetness and affability, as to gain almost 
 the adoration of the whole family, except her step-
 
 SOO THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 mother, yet I thought it best to shorten our visit; 
 and we returned to what we at present considered 
 as our home, and where for some time we Hved ex- 
 tremely happy. 
 
 Mr. Wylmot, indeed, took every opportunity of 
 showing us marks of his esteem, and endeavoured 
 to make every thing as agreeable to us as possible. 
 Mrs. Rivers was invited to partake in every party of 
 pleasure ; and Mr. Wylmot and I went frequently 
 whole mornings a-simpling, which botanical taste 
 was what I alluded to, as the original of our inti- 
 macy; and, in short, Mr. and Mrs. Wylmot did 
 every thing with so much delicacy and politeness, 
 that we were not sensible of any sort of dependence. 
 But yet you may be sure so precarious a situation 
 could not be entirely satisfactory to any man that 
 was not void of all consideration or foresight. 
 
 I could not bear to reflect upon the light we 
 must probably appear in to the neighbourhood (who 
 would not long be ignorant of ray slender fortune), 
 to the servants, and, perhaps (though I do not know 
 that it was so), to some distant relations of that 
 worthy man: for I have observed, that when a man 
 of fortune has no children (which was the case with 
 Mr. Wylmot), as soon as ever he begins to decline 
 from the meridian of life, he is marked out, by his 
 most remote collateral kindred, as one that exists 
 merely for their emolument; as a steward who is to 
 manage and improve his fortune for them or their 
 offspring; that he is generally beset by mercenary 
 people of that kind, to whom he is accountable for 
 every act of friendship or generosity; and that they 
 often contrive to supplant every one who seems to 
 have the least share in his favour or affection. 
 
 But though Mr. Wylmot was continually show- 
 ing us little marks of his kindness, as has been be- 
 fore mentioned; yet it was in such instances as wec&
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 301 
 
 rather convenient to us, than very expensive to him- 
 self; and he had too high a sense of justice to his 
 relations, to suffer his generosity to strangers to be 
 any real prejudice to them. 
 
 Another reason for our living less agreeably in 
 this situation was, what, perhaps, you would not 
 have imagined, its not being very distant from Mrs. 
 Rivers's native place: for, though I am convinced 
 no woman of the noblest birth or highest education 
 could behave with more true politeness or propriety 
 (as was acknowledged by every one that visited us 
 when we first came into the country, and whilst 
 they were pleased with the novelty of the affair), 
 yet I soon found that the humble station of some 
 part of her family, and Mrs. Jlivers's former situar 
 tion amongst them, were uppermost in the thoughts 
 of many trifling people of fashion; and that those 
 circumstances were made a pretence, at least, for 
 censuring that behaviour in her, which would have 
 been applauded in any other woman. If she dress- 
 ed genteelly, it was called giving herself airs which 
 did not become her of all people; surely a woman 
 of her rank had a very good excuse for not following 
 the fashions so very scrupulously. If she happened 
 to omit, or to be mistaken in the minutest particular 
 of ceremony, which was very seldom the case; then, 
 vhat could be expected from a person of her edu- 
 cation ? her behaviour shows what she was ; one 
 may always distinguish the true gentle-woman in 
 the most trifling particular. In short as no people 
 are so sensible of any little slights or indignities as 
 those who find themselves sunk, either by misfor- 
 tune or their own misconduct, below the rank which 
 they were born to (and for that reason people of the 
 best breeding are usually more careful not to omit 
 the usual marks of respect to persons in that situa- 
 tion); perhaps, I was more jealous of my little rights 
 
 VOL. XXXII. 2 D
 
 302 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 in this respect than many people would be, and was 
 less happy in my present situation on that account, 
 than I should otherwise have been. Notwithstand- 
 ing my friend's great goodness and generosity, I 
 was determined to get into some more independent 
 state of life as soon as possible. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Story continued. 
 
 You will be surprised, perhaps, my friend Wild- 
 goose, continued Mr. Rivers, that, after taking my 
 .degrees, and residing so many years in the univer- 
 sity, and having had what is called a learned edu- 
 cation, I had not pursued one of the learned pro- 
 fessions, law, physic, or divinity. But, in the first 
 place, in each of those professions, as well as in 
 higher life, " ambition should be made of sterner 
 stuff," as Shakespease says, than what my consti- 
 tution consisted of; and I fancied I had substantial 
 arguments against each of them; at least, though I 
 had formerly some inclination to the study of physic, 
 and had made some progress in botany, anatomy, 
 and the other preparatory sciences, yet, by marry- 
 ing so early in life I had precluded myself (as I ima- 
 gined) from a sufficient application either to that 
 profession or to the law; for few people will care to 
 trust either their health to a physician, or their for- 
 tune to the management of a lawyer, who is not an 
 adept in his profession: and, as to the church, the 
 usual sanctuary of many an idle young fellow, the 
 little progress I afterwards made in divinity, from a 
 wrong plan of study, and an ill-directed application,
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE, 305 
 
 discouraged me from engaging in so solemn a pro- 
 fession ; for though I might be qualified to read a 
 sermon once a week to a country congregation, I 
 think it would be much better for the community, 
 if more persons in such circumstances would descend 
 to a more humble sphere of life, rather than (by 
 intruding into a province for which nature, or at 
 least their education, never intended them) to mis- 
 lead others by their blunders and ignorance, in the 
 discharge of that sacred function. 
 
 Ah ! says Wildgoose, it is neither nature nor edu- 
 cation, but grace and the call of the Spirit, that can 
 qualify a man for that sacred function. 
 
 Why, that may be true, in some measure, says 
 Rivers. A man should not take upon him that of- 
 fice without some inward call from the Holy Spirit: 
 but the most material part of the ministerial call 
 now-a-days seems to be the outward call to a good 
 living; and, if I had not by this match disobhged 
 my good cousin Mr. Gregory Griskin, whom you 
 have often heard me mention, I should probably 
 have inherited the advowson of which he is now 
 possessed: but as somebody has taken care to mis- 
 represent my wife to him as a very vain extravagant 
 woman, he will neither see me, nor hear any thing 
 in our favour. I have, therefore now no prospect 
 of any living; and I do not choose to go into or- 
 ders to be a curate all my life-time, and work for 
 about fifteen-pence a day, or twenty-five pounds a 
 year. 
 
 'i 2
 
 5?0* THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Story concluded. 
 
 Well, sir, continued Mr. Rivers, whilst I was in 
 this uncertainty, and undetermined what scheme 
 to pursue, I went to spend a day or two with that 
 Mr. Fiz- Thomas, whom I mentioned to you as liv- 
 ing in the neighbourhood. I there met another 
 Oxford acquaintance, or rather true friend, who had 
 a good estate in this county where we are now set- 
 tled. It was Mr. Grandison, whom I believe you 
 remember ; a near relation to Sir Charles Grandison, 
 who has since made so great a figure in the world, 
 and little inferior to hiai in the most shining parts 
 of his character. 
 
 Upon talking over my precarious situation with 
 my two friends, Mr. Grandison said, in a jesting 
 manner, that I must go and take his farm, which 
 was then vacant by the death of an old tenant, and 
 was now upon my friend's hands. Mr. Grandison 
 had probably no serious design in this; but, though 
 I was very ignorant of the mystery of modern farm- 
 ing, yet having been so much conversant in the 
 classics, I had conceived a romantic notion of agri- 
 culture, with which my taste for botany also had 
 some connection. I was, therefore, agreeably struck 
 with the idea of turning farmer, and began to think 
 seriously of Mr. Grandison's random proposal. In 
 short, upon talking the affair over with him more 
 minutely, I found, that, supposing 1 should not 
 make the most of things, it would yet be no difficult 
 matter to raise the rent which ^Ir. Grandison ex- 
 pected from it ; and that, with the interest of my 
 fortune, I might live upon it very comfortably: and, 
 when he found 1 was really inclined to settle in
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 305 
 
 such a retired way, Mr. Grandison seemed pleased 
 with the thoughts of having a tenant, of whom he 
 could upon occasion make a disinterested compa- 
 nion, in that part of the year which he usually spent 
 in the country. 
 
 Not to trouble you with any more uninteresting 
 particulars, after consulting with Mrs. Rivers and 
 Mr. Wylmot, I came down with Mr. Grandisoji to 
 view the premises, which appearing every way 
 agreeable, he gave me a proper security for an un- 
 interrupted possession of my farm, upon paying the 
 old rent, wliich was a very moderate one; and we 
 
 soon after left our elegant modern cabinet in 
 
 shire, for this Gothic dwelling where you now find 
 us, and where, by the help of an honest old couple, 
 who live in that cottage behind the elms, and 
 take the chief drudgery of managing the farm off 
 our hands, we pass our time in a manner entirely 
 suitable to our love of ease and retirement. The 
 farm more than furnishes us with all the necessaries 
 of life; and it is incredible, with Mrs. llivers's econo- 
 my, how small an income supplies us plentifully 
 with all the elegancies which temperance and an 
 unexpensive taste requires. 
 
 We are happy in a friendly intercourse with the 
 rector of our parish and his lady, who are sensible, 
 worthy people. We are sometimes invited by peo- 
 ple of higher rank in the neighbourhood; but as I 
 am convinced, that, as soon as they have satisfied 
 their curiosity, and displayed their magnificence, 
 there is an end of their civility, I give but few of 
 them that satisfaction. 
 
 I converse as little with the generality of my 
 brother farmers ; yet, though many of them are 
 people of low cunning, and never speak a word, 
 even about the weather, without some artful design; 
 yet I now and then meet with a ereat deal of good 
 2 D 3
 
 S06 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 sense among them, and a plainness and simplicity 
 which is truly valuable wherever it is found. 
 
 But my study affords me sufficient relaxation from 
 the business of my farm, which, indeed, employs a 
 considerable part of each day, so that they never 
 hang heavy upon my hands; and 1 really take as 
 much pleasure in the neatness of my farm, as your 
 grander folks do in their woods and lawns. 
 
 Nay I have reconciled myself even to the dirti- 
 est part of my business, and can discover some sort 
 of beauty in a dunghill ; which, by reducing the 
 most worthless things in nature into a useful com- 
 post, gives me a pleasure similar to that of an artist, 
 who produces order out of confusion; or even that 
 of a painter, who exhibits a pleasing landscape from 
 contemptible materials, and from the confused jum- 
 ble of various colours upon his pallet. But I begin 
 to be tedious; and will conclude with the poet's 
 triumphant distich, 
 
 I've "lain'd the port, and safe at anchor ride ; 
 Farewell, vain hopes ! let others stem the tide. 
 
 Mr. Rivers having now brought his narrative to a 
 conclusion; though Wildgoose thought his friend's 
 situation favourable enough to his views of making 
 him a proselyte, and was inclined to give a spiritual 
 turn to the conversation : yet nature now prevailed 
 over grace; and being exhausted with attention, as 
 well as fatigued with his walk, he expressed his drow- 
 siness by a very significant extension of his jaws. 
 Rivers, therefore, waited upon his friend to his apart- 
 ment, and they retired to rest.
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Wildgoose questions Rivers on religion. 
 
 Pox take you ! I wish you were married and settled 
 in the country ! says the Duke of Buckingham to a 
 dog that snapped at him as he walked the street. 
 This his Grace considered as the greatest curxe he 
 could wish to his greatest enemy. Yet there have 
 been people who have found happiness in a country 
 life, and who have thought even matrimony a blesS' 
 ing ; and poor Rivers was weak enough to rank 
 himself in that number. 
 
 !Vlr. Wildgoose, being waked pretty early by the 
 singing of the birds and the vivacity of his own ima- 
 gination, was impatient to pursue his journey to 
 Bristol, the place of his destination ; and coming 
 down stairs, he found his friend and Mrs. Rivers, 
 with their little family, already assembled in the 
 breakfast-room, into which the sun darted his beams 
 through an eastern window. The neatness of the 
 tea-table, the freshness of Mrs. Rivers's complexion, 
 and the cheerfulness of her countenance, attended 
 by her little Cupids with their rosy cheeks, revived 
 in Wildgoose, for a moment, his social inclinations ; 
 and he began to think but meanly of the present 
 vagabond profession in which he had voluntarily 
 engaged, and could not forbear the tribute of a 
 sigh to the absent Miss Townsend. 
 
 After breakfast, however, he thought it his duty 
 to put in a word for God, as his usual expression 
 was, and began to examine his old friend about the 
 state of his religion. 
 
 I remember, says he, when we were acquainted 
 at college, you were very piously disposed ; and,
 
 308 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 though God had not then awakened me, I could 
 not but admire those who were more religious than 
 myself. 
 
 Why, I do not know, replies Rivers, that I was 
 any better than my neighbours. However, I am 
 indebted to a very good, though perhaps an odd 
 man, for what little notion I then had of religion : 
 ray good cousin I mean, Mr. Gregory Griskin, the 
 little fat Staffordshire clergyman, whom you have 
 often heard me mention, and with whom I lived 
 for some time after the death of my father. 
 
 My father, though a very learned and studious 
 man, took but little care of our religious education. 
 I had an old aunt, indeed, who lived with us after 
 the death of my mother, that used to talk to us up- 
 on the subject once a week: but she generally came 
 out of her closet on a Sunday night in such a peevish 
 humour as gave us no very amiable idea of devo- 
 tion ; for, if we did but laugh or talk, she would fall 
 into an outrageous passion, and reproach us with 
 minding nothing that was good. We used to read 
 " the Whole Duty of Man" to her [here Wildgoose 
 shook his head with a contemptuous smile] ; and I 
 remember her often inculcating to us what some 
 pious author says of temperance in eating and drink- 
 ing ; that the only end of those natural functions is 
 to preserve'jlife, and that it is even unlawful to pro- 
 pose any pleasure in them. So that I found the 
 most temperate meal I had ever made had been 
 highly sinful ; for I always found that the satisfying 
 one's hunger, even with bread and cheese, was ne- 
 cessarily attended with pleasure. Hitherto, there- 
 fore, the very mention of religion always damped 
 my enjoyment. 
 
 But at my uncle Gregory's I was inured to its 
 ueverities by an agreeable mixture of mortificatioR
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 309 
 
 and indulgence. There the flesh and spirit seemed 
 to -have entered into a very amiable compromise not 
 to invade each other's territories. My cousin Gre- 
 gory, as no man prayed more, so no man ate better. 
 He was as hearty at his meals, as at his devotions. 
 The bell often rang, indeed, three times a day, to 
 summon us to prayers, either in the family, or in 
 the church : but then we immediately adjourned, 
 either to breakfast, to dinner, or to supper ; from 
 collects to collations, and from litanies and absolu- 
 tions to hot roils in the morning, to tithe-pigs and 
 fat geese at noon, and to raspberries and cream and 
 appie-cuetards at night ; the very recollection of 
 which, at this distance of time, is no unsavoury 
 contemplation. 
 
 The good books, however, with which my cousin 
 Gregory supplied me, being better adapted to my 
 taste and to my capacity, gave me the first notions 
 of practical religion ; such as, '* Bishop Ken's Ma- 
 nual, the (ireat Importance of a Religious Life, 
 Nelson's Devotions, Burkit," and the like plain and 
 sensible writers. 
 
 Yet I cannot but confess, that, after 1 came to 
 the university, b}^ reading the writings of free- 
 thinkers, and conversing with dissolute people, I be- 
 came quite a sceptic in religion, and had hardly any 
 settled opinions at all : but, upon having recourse 
 to my Bible (though I found several things there, 
 which, from the nature of those writings, must ne- 
 cessarily be obscure), yet the essential duties of re- 
 ligion are so strongly delineated, that, I am con- 
 vinced, nothing is wanting, but an humble mind 
 and an lionest heart, to make us understand our 
 duty ; and the ordinary assistance of God's Spirit, 
 to enable us to practise it. 
 
 VVildgoose began to controvert his friend's opi-
 
 310 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 nions ; but, finding him rather obstinate, was un- 
 wilUng to push matters too far at present. He began, 
 therefore, to think of proceeding in his travels, and 
 setting out for Bristol, according to his first inten- 
 tions. 
 
 He had addressed himself once or twice to Mrs, 
 Rivers ; but Mr. Rivers interposing, my good friend, 
 says he, my wife says her prayers, and takes care 
 of her family, and does all the good in her power 
 amongst her poor neighbours ; but women, whose 
 affections are employed upon their children, and 
 their attention taken up with domestic concerns, 
 have not time for these nice speculations, in which 
 I find you have of late been so deeply engaged, and 
 which seem to have taken entire possession of your 
 imagination. We will, therefore, drop the subject, 
 if you please, and take a walk in the garden, or try 
 tocath some fish for our dinner. Wildgoose thanked 
 liis old friend ; but said, he could not possibly ac- 
 cept of his invitation, as he was determined to get 
 to Bristol that evening. He, therefore, took his 
 leave of Mrs. Rivers ; and, with his fellow-traveller 
 Tugwell, set out upon his expedition, Mr. Rivers 
 going with them to direct them into the great 
 road. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Comjoi'ts ofviatrimony. 
 
 Mr. Rivers walkedamile or two with his oldfriend 
 to direci him, as I observed, into the great road. 
 Wildgoose could not forbear complimenting him
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 311 
 
 upon the apparent happiness of his situation ; and 
 said, he only wanted the one thing needful to com- 
 plete his felicity. 
 
 Mr. Rivers replied, that he flattered himself with 
 the notion of being as happy as any one can be in 
 this world. I consider every man, says he, before 
 marriage, as climbing the hill of life. Every step 
 presents him with some new prospect, and natters 
 him with the hopes of more complete enjoyment* 
 I am now arrived at the summit of the hill, and, I 
 believe, in possession of all the felicity which thiis 
 world can afford. 
 
 At the same time, I have a clear and distinct 
 view down the whole vale of mortality, and can per- 
 ceive, that there is nothing very exquisite to be ex- 
 pected from it : but, by making the best of every 
 incident, whether fortunate or otherwise, I think a 
 wise man may make the journey tolerably easy 
 through this life, and must wait with patience for 
 more perfect happiness in the next. 
 
 Wildgoose made some objection to the inactivity 
 of such a situation for so young a man. To which 
 Rivers answered, that he saw, indeed, some of his 
 acquaintance rising into bishops, generals, admirals, 
 judges, or eminent physicians ; but, says he, they 
 have their reward in the splendour and the applause 
 of the world ; I have mine in the ease and tranquil- 
 lity of my life. 
 
 Before they parted, Rivers took the liberty, in 
 his turn, to expostulate with his friend on his present 
 romantic undertaking, and said, that although he 
 did not doubt his intention was good, and that the 
 world stood in need of some reformation, yet he 
 could not think that any private person could be 
 justified in disturbing the peace of society, without 
 some divine commission for that purpose. But rea-
 
 S12 THE SPIRfTUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 soning with a man under the influence of any pas- 
 sion, is like endeavouring to stop a wild horse, who 
 becomes niore violent from being pursued. The 
 two friends, however, took leave with mutual 
 good wishes. Wildgoose said, he should pray 
 for Mr. Rivers's conversion ; and Rivers, that it 
 would be a great pleasure to him, to hear that 
 Mr. Wildgoose was returned to his disconsolate 
 mother. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 Arrive at Bristol. 
 
 It was now past the middle of the day, and the 
 weather extremely hot. Tugwell, therefore, inter- 
 ceded with his master, to stop and refresh themselves 
 at a small inn, a few miles short of Bristol ; with 
 which request, though impatient to get to bis jour- 
 ney's end, Mr. Wildgoose thought it expedient to 
 comply. He took himself a very slight refreshment; 
 but desired Jerry to call for what he chose: which 
 having done, and taken his pipe according to cus- 
 tom, Jerry sat down upon a bench, between a Bath 
 postillion and the tapster, and took a comfortable 
 nap. But Wildgoose soon roused him from his 
 tranquil state, and again set out with h.isty strides 
 for the great commercial city of Bristol ; which he 
 cotisidered, however, in no other light than as the 
 Capernam, the present residence of that great 
 apostle, Sir Whitfield. Here they arrived about 
 six o'clock in the evening. 
 
 As soon as they were got Uirough the city gate
 
 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 313 
 
 into Temple-Street, which gives one no very favour- 
 able idea of that opulent city, some boys called after 
 Tugwell, who was a few yards behind his master. 
 Ha ! Jerry ! your humble servant, master Jerry. 
 Before he could express his surprise, another cries 
 out, God ha' mercy Jerry! A third hoUoos out, 
 Jerry for ever. 
 
 As soon as Tugwell could come up to Wildgoose, 
 Odsbobs, cries he, why, master, our name is up ; we 
 may lie a-bed ; I suppose they have heard of our 
 preaching all over England by this time ; the very 
 boys in the street seem to know us, and call us by 
 our names. Why, replies Wildgoose, I do not 
 suppose it is altogether the fame of our preaching 
 that makes us known here ; but I do not doubt that 
 God will send his angel before us, as he did before 
 Mr. Whitfield* in W ales ; and wherever we come 
 prepare people for our reception. 
 
 Wildgoose was going on in his observations, when 
 .Terry now getting before him, he saw his name, in 
 capital letters, written upon his back, with chalk ; 
 which was a piece of waggery of the tapster's, at 
 their last stage, who, having heard his master call 
 him Jerry, while Tugwell took a nap between him 
 and the postillion, as was related, had put that joke 
 upon him. Wildgoose rubbed out the chalk as well 
 as he could, to prevent them from being exposed to 
 unnecessary speculation ; and they trudged on to- 
 wards the heart of the city. 
 
 Upon inquiring after a lodging of a sober sort of 
 a tradesman at his door, they were directed down 
 to the Quay ; where they met with a tolerable de- 
 cent apartment, at a gingerbread baker's, on 
 reasonable terms; though they were obliged, 
 by a prudent precaution of their landlady, to 
 
 Vid. Journal. 
 VOL. XXXir. 2 E
 
 314 THE SPIRITUAL QUIXOTE. 
 
 pay a week's rent on their taking possession of the 
 premises. 
 
 Wildgoose, thinking it now too late to wait on 
 Mr. Whitfield that evening, employed it in making 
 proper inquiries after his lodgings, and in giving 
 good advice to the people where he himself lodged ; 
 and, after eating a slight supper, retired early to his 
 repose. 
 
 END OF VOL. XXXIL 
 
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