THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD


By Oliver Goldsmith


Chapter 1

The description of the Family of Wakefield, in which a kindred likeness 
prevails as well of minds as of persons


I was ever of opinion that the honest man who married and brought up a large 
family did more service than he who continued single and only talked of 
population. From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year before I began 
to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife as she did her wedding 
gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well. To 
do her justice, she was a good-natured notable woman; and as for breeding, 
there were few country ladies who at that time could show more. She could read 
any English book without much spelling; and for pickling, preserving, and 
cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself much also upon being an 
excellent contriver in house-keeping; yet I could never find that we grew 
richer with all her contrivances.
However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased with age. 
There was in fact nothing that could make us angry with the world or each 
other. We had an elegant house, situated in a fine country and a good 
neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusements, in visiting 
our rich neighbours, or relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to 
fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fireside, and 
all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.
As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger come to 
taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation; and I profess 
with the veracity of an historian that I never knew one of them find fault 
with it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered their 
affinity, without any help from the herald's office, and came very frequently 
to see us. Some of them did us no great honour by these claims of kindred; for 
literally speaking, we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the 
number. However, my wife always insisted that as they were the same flesh and 
blood with us, they should sit with us at the same table. So that if we had 
not very rich, we generally had very happy friends about us; for this remark 
will hold good through life, that the poorer the guest, the better pleased he 
ever is with being treated; and as some men gaze with admiration at the 
colours of a tulip, and others are smitten with the wing of a butterfly, so I 
was by nature an admirer of happy human faces. However, when any one of our 
relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome guest, 
or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house for the first time, 
I ever took care to lend him a riding coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes 
an horse of small value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he never 
came back to return them. By this the house was cleared of such as we did not 
like; but never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the 
poor dependant out of doors.
Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that we 
sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of 
its other favours. My orchard was often robbed by schoolboys, and my wife's 
custards plundered by the cats or the children. The 'Squire would sometimes 
fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my 
wife's civilities at church with a mutilated curtsey. But we soon got over the 
uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in three or four days we 
began to wonder how they vexed us.
My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without 
softness, so they were at once well formed and healthy; my sons hardy and 
active, my daughters dutiful and blooming. When I stood in the midst of the 
little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could 
not avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abensberg, who, in Henry II's 
progress through Germany, when other courtiers came with their treasures, 
brought his thirty-two children and presented them to his sovereign as the 
most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, 
I considered them as a very valuable present made to my country, and 
consequently looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son was named George, 
after his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I 
intended to call after her aunt Grissel; but my wife, who during her pregnancy 
had been reading romances, insisted upon her being called Olivia. In less than 
another year we had a daughter again, and now I was determined that Grissel 
should be her name; but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the 
girl was, by her directions, called Sophia; so that we had two romantic names 
in the family; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next, 
and after an interval of twelve years, we had two sons more.
It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw my little ones about 
me; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even greater than 
mine. When our visitors would usually say, "Well, upon my word, Mrs. Primrose, 
you have the finest children in the whole country." -"Ay, neighbour," she 
would answer, "they are as heaven made them, handsome enough, if they be good 
enough; for handsome is that handsome does." And then she would bid the girls 
hold up their heads; who, to conceal nothing, were certainly very handsome. 
Mere outside is so very trifling a circumstance with me that I should scarce 
have remembered to mention it, had it not been a general topic of conversation 
in the country. Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriancy of beauty with 
which painters generally draw Hebe; open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's 
features were not so striking at first, but often did more certain execution; 
for they were soft, modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, 
the other by efforts successfully repeated.
The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features; at 
least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers, Sophia to 
secure one. Olivia was often affected from too great a desire to please. 
Sophia even repressed excellence from her fears to offend. The one entertained 
me with her vivacity when I was gay, the other with her sense when I was 
serious. But these qualities were never carried to excess in either, and I 
have often seen them exchange characters for a whole day together. A suit of 
mourning has transformed my coquette into a prude, and a new set of ribands 
given her younger sister more than natural vivacity. My eldest son George was 
bred at Oxford, as I intended him for one of the learned professions. My 
second boy Moses, whom I designed for business, received a sort of 
miscellaneous education at home. But it would be needless to attempt 
describing the particular characters of young people that had seen but very 
little of the world. In short, a family likeness prevailed through all, and 
properly speaking, they had but one character, that of being all equally 
generous, credulous, simple, and inoffensive.


Chapter 2

Family misfortunes. The loss of fortune only serves to increase the pride of 
the worthy.


The temporal concerns of our family were chiefly committed to my wife's 
management, as to the spiritual I took them entirely under my own direction. 
The profits of my living, which amounted to but ú35 a year, I gave to the 
orphans and widows of the clergy of our diocese; for having a sufficient 
fortune of my own, I was careless of temporalities and felt a secret pleasure 
in doing my duty without reward. I also set a resolution of keeping no curate, 
and of being acquainted with every man in the parish, exhorting the married 
men to temperance and the bachelors to matrimony; so that in a few years it 
was a common saying that there were three strange wants at Wakefield, a parson 
wanting pride, young men wanting wives, and alehouses wanting customers.
Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics, and I wrote several sermons 
to prove its utility and happiness: but there was a peculiar tenet which I 
made a point of supporting; for I maintained with Whiston that it was unlawful 
for a priest of the church of England, after the death of his first wife, to 
take a second, or to express it in one word, I valued myself upon being a 
strict monogamist.
I was early initiated into this important dispute, on which so many laborious 
volumes have been written. I published some tracts upon the subject myself, 
which, as they never sold, I have the consolation of thinking are read only by 
the happy Few. Some of my friends called this my weak side; but alas! they had 
not like me made it the subject of long contemplation. The more I reflected 
upon it, the more important it appeared. I even went a step beyond Whiston in 
displaying my principles: as he had engraven upon his wife's tomb that she was 
the only wife of William Whiston, so I wrote a similar epitaph for my wife, 
though still living, in which I extolled her prudence, economy, and obedience 
till death; and having got it copied fair, with an elegant frame, it was 
placed over the chimney-piece, where it answered several very useful purposes. 
It admonished my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity to her; it inspired 
her with a passion for fame, and constantly put her in mind of her end.
It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often recommended, that my 
eldest son, just upon leaving college, fixed his affections upon the daughter 
of a neighbouring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the church, and in 
circumstances to give her a large fortune, but fortune was her smallest 
accomplishment. Miss Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all (except my two 
daughters), to be completely pretty. Her youth, health, and innocence were 
still heightened by a complexion so transparent, and such an happy sensibility 
of look, that even age could not gaze on with indifference. As Mr. Wilmot knew 
that I could make a very handsome settlement on my son, he was not averse to 
the match; so both families lived together in all that harmony which generally 
precedes an expected alliance. Being convinced by experience that the days of 
courtship are the most happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen 
the period; and the various amusements which the young couple every day shared 
in each other's company seemed to increase their passion. We were generally 
awaked in the morning by music, and on fine days rode a-hunting. The hours 
between breakfast and dinner the ladies devoted to dress and study: they 
usually read a page, and then gazed at themselves in the glass, which even 
philosophers might own often presented the page of greatest beauty. At dinner 
my wife took the lead; for as she always insisted upon carving every thing 
herself, it being her mother's way, she gave us upon these occasions the 
history of every dish. When we had dined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, I 
generally ordered the table to be removed; and sometimes, with the music 
master's assistance, the girls would give us a very agreeable concert. Walking 
out, drinking tea, country dances, and forfeits shortened the rest of the day, 
without the assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gaming, except 
backgammon, at which my old friend and I sometimes took a twopenny hit. Nor 
can I here pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we 
played together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce ace 
five times running.
Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at last it was thought 
convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the young couple, who seemed 
earnestly to desire it. During the preparations for the wedding, I need not 
describe the busy importance of my wife, nor the sly looks of my daughters; in 
fact, my attention was fixed on another object, the completing a tract which I 
intended shortly to publish in defence of monogamy. As I looked upon this as a 
masterpiece both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my heart 
avoid showing it to my old friend Mr. Wilmot, as I made no doubt of receiving 
his approbation; but too late I discovered that he was most violently attached 
to the contrary opinion, and with good reason; for he was at that time 
actually courting a fourth wife. This, as may be expected, produced a dispute 
attended with some acrimony, which threatened to interrupt our intended 
alliance; but on the day before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to 
discuss the subject at large.
It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted that I was 
heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined. In the meantime, 
while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by one of my relations, 
who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up the dispute and allow the 
old gentleman to be a husband if he could, at least till my son's wedding was 
over. "How," cried I, "relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be an 
husband, already driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as well 
advise me to give up my fortune as my argument." -"That fortune," returned my 
friend, "I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. Your merchant in 
town, in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute 
of bankruptcy, and it is thought has not left a shilling in the pound. I was 
unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till after the wedding, 
but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the argument; for, I suppose, 
your own prudence will enforce the necessity of dissembling at least till your 
son has the young lady's fortune secure." -"Well," returned I, "i f what you 
tell me be true, and if I am to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, 
or induce me to disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the 
company of my circumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my 
former concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to 
be an husband either de jure, de facto, or in any sense of the expression."
It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both families when 
I divulged the news of my misfortunes; but what others felt was slight to what 
the young lovers appeared to endure. Mr. Wilmot, who seemed before 
sufficiently inclined to break off the match, was by this blow soon 
determined: one virtue he had in perfection, which was prudence, too often the 
only virtue that is left us unimpaired at seventy-two.


Chapter 3

A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally found at 
last to be of our own procuring.


The only hope of our family now was that the report of our misfortunes might 
be malicious or premature; but a letter from my agent in town soon came with a 
confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to myself alone would 
have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was for my family, who were to 
be humble without such an education as could render them callous to contempt.
Near a fortnight passed away before I attempted to restrain their affliction; 
for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this 
interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of supporting them; 
and at last a small cure of ú15 a year was offered me in a distant 
neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my principles without molestation. 
With this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined to increase my salary 
by managing a little farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the wrecks of 
my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds 
we had now but four hundred remaining. My chief attention therefore was next 
to bring down the pride of my family to their circumstances; for I well knew 
that aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. "You can't be ignorant, my 
children," cried I, "that no prudence of ours could have prevented our late 
misfortune; but prudence may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now 
poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us 
then, without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are 
wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be 
happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help, and we are not so 
imperfectly formed as to be incapable of living without theirs. No, my 
children, let us from this moment give up all pretensions to gentility; we 
have still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon 
content for the deficiencies of fortune."
As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him to town, where 
his abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation of 
friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances 
attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for the 
first time. My son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, who mingled 
their tears with their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him 
from my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had 
now to bestow. "You are going, my boy," cried I, "to London on foot, in the 
manner Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me 
the same horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff, and 
take this book too, it will be your comfort on the way; these two lines in it 
are worth a million -I have been young, and now am old; yet never saw I the 
righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread. Let this be your 
consolation as you travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune let me see 
thee once a year; still keep a good heart, and farewell." As he was possessed 
of integrity and honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing him naked 
into the amphitheatre of life; for I knew he would act a good part whether he 
rose or fell.
His departure only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few days 
afterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours 
of tranquillity was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could 
suppress. Besides, a journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto 
never been above ten from home filled us with apprehension, and the cries of 
the poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to increase it. The 
first day's journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our future 
retreat, and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a village by the 
way. When we were shown a room, I desired the landlord, in my usual way, to 
let us have his company, with which he complied, as what he drank would 
increase the bill next morning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood to 
which I was removing, particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my 
landlord, and who lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he 
described as one who desired to know little more of the world than the 
pleasures it afforded, being particularly remarkable for his attachment to the 
fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist his arts and 
assiduity, and that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles round but what 
had found him successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some pain, 
it had a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features seemed to 
brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor was my wife less 
pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our thoughts were 
thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform her husband that the 
strange gentleman, who had been two days in the house, wanted money, and could 
not satisfy them for his reckoning. "Want money!" replied the host, "that must 
be impossible; for it was no later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our 
beadle to spare an old broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town 
for dog-stealing." The hostess, however, still persisting in her first 
assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be 
satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce me to 
a stranger of so much charity as he described. With this he complied, showing 
in a gentleman who seemed to be about thirty, dressed in clothes that once 
were laced. His person was well formed, though his face was marked with the 
lines of thinking. He had something short and dry in his address, and seemed 
not to understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's leaving the 
room, I could not avoid expressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a 
gentleman in such circumstances, and offered him my purse to satisfy the 
present demand. "I take it with all my heart, sir," replied he, "and am glad 
that a late oversight in giving what money I had about me has shown me that 
there is still some benevolence left among us. I must, however, previously 
entreat being informed of the name and residence of my benefactor, in order to 
remit it as soon as possible." In this I satisfied him fully, not only 
mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the place to which I was going to 
remove. "This," cried he, "happens still more luckily than I hoped for, as I 
am going the same way myself, having been detained here two days by the 
floods, which, I hope, by tomorrow will be found passable." I testified the 
pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife and daughters joining in 
entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay for supper. The stranger's 
conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive, induced me to wish 
for a continuance of it; but it was now high time to retire and take 
refreshment against the fatigues of the following day.
The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback, while 
Mr. Burchell, our new companion, walked along the footpath by the roadside, 
observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he would be too 
generous, to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods were not yet subsided, 
we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr. Burchell and I 
bringing up the rear. We lightened the fatigues of the road with philosophical 
disputes, which he seemed perfectly to understand. But what surprised me most 
was that though he was a money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as much 
obstinacy as if he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to 
whom the different seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the 
road. "That," cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood at 
some distance, "belongs to Mr. Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a large 
fortune, though entirely dependant on the will of his uncle, Sir William 
Thornhill, a gentleman who, content with a little himself, permits his nephew 
to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town." -"What!" cried I, "is my 
young landlord then the nephew of a man whose virtues, generosity, and 
singularities are so universally known? I have heard Sir William Thornhill 
represented as one of the most generous, yet whimsical, men in the kingdom: a 
man of consummate benevolence." -"Something, perhaps, too much so," replied 
Mr. Burchell; "at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young; for 
his passions were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of virtue, 
they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at the 
qualifications of the soldier and scholar, was soon distinguished in the army, 
and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation ever follows the 
ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was 
surrounded with crowds, who showed him only one side of their character; so 
that he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal sympathy. He 
loved all mankind; for fortune prevented him from knowing that there were 
rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder in which the whole body is so 
exquisitely sensible that the slightest touch gives pain: what some have thus 
suffered in their persons this gentleman felt in his mind. The slightest 
distress, whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul 
laboured under a sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus disposed 
to relieve, it will be easily conjectured he found numbers disposed to 
solicit: his profusions began to impair his fortune, but not his good-nature; 
that, indeed, was seen to increase as the other seemed to decay; he grew 
improvident as he grew poor; and though he talked like a man of sense, his 
actions were those of a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with 
importunity, and no longer able to satisfy every request that was made him, 
instead of money he gave promises. They were all he had to bestow, and he had 
not resolution enough to give any man pain by a denial. By this means he drew 
round him crowds of dependants whom he was sure to disappoint, yet wished to 
relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and left him with merited reproaches 
and contempt. But in proportion as he became contemptible to others, he became 
despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation, and that 
support taken away, he could find no pleasure in the applause of his heart, 
which he had never learnt to reverence itself. The world now began to wear a 
different aspect; the flattery of his friends began to dwindle into simple 
approbation that soon took the more friendly form of advice, and advice when 
rejected ever begets reproaches. He now found that such friends as benefits 
had gathered round him were by no means the most estimable: it was now found 
that a man's own heart must be ever given to gain that of another. I now found 
that -but I forget what I was going to observe: in short, sir, he resolved to 
respect himself, and laid down a plan of restoring his shattered fortune. For 
this purpose, in his own whimsical manner, he travelled through Europe on 
foot, and before he attained the age of thirty, his circumstances were more 
affluent than ever. At present, therefore, his bounties are more rational and 
moderate than before; but still he preserves the character of an humourist, 
and finds most pleasure in eccentric virtues."
My attention was so much taken up by Mr. Burchell's account that I scarce 
looked forward as we went along, till we were alarmed by the cries of my 
family, when, turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the midst of a 
rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling with the torrent. She had 
sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage myself in time to bring her 
relief. My sensations were even too violent to permit my attempting her 
rescue: she would have certainly perished had not my companion, perceiving her 
danger, instantly plunged in to her relief, and, with some difficulty, brought 
her in safety to the opposite shore. By taking the current a little farther 
up, the rest of the family got safely over, where we had an opportunity of 
joining our acknowledgments to hers. Her gratitude may be more readily 
imagined than described: she thanked her deliverer more with looks than words, 
and continued to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive assistance. 
My wife also hoped one day to have the pleasure of returning his kindness at 
her own house. Thus, after we were all refreshed at the next inn, and had 
dined together, as he was going to a different part of the country, he took 
leave; and we pursued our journey. My wife observing as we went that she liked 
Mr. Burchell extremely, and protesting that if he had birth and fortune to 
entitle him to match into such a family as ours, she knew no man she would 
sooner fix upon. I could not but smile to hear her talk in this strain: one 
almost at the verge of beggary thus to assume language of the most insulting 
affluence might excite the ridicule of ill-nature; but I was never much 
displeased with those innocent delusions that tend to make us more happy.


Chapter 4

A proof that even the humblest fortune may grant happiness and delight, which 
depend not on circumstance, but constitution.


The place of our new retreat was in a little neighbourhood consisting of 
farmers who tilled their own grounds and were equal strangers to opulence and 
poverty. As they had almost all the conveniences of life within themselves, 
they seldom vi sited towns or cities in search of superfluity. Remote from the 
polite, they still retained a primeval simplicity of manners, and frugal by 
long habit, scarce knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with 
cheerfulness on days of labour, but observed festivals as intervals of 
idleness and pleasure. They kept up the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots 
on Valentine morning, ate pancakes on Shrovetide, showed their wit on the 
first of April, and religiously cracked nuts on Michaelmas eve. Being apprized 
of our approach, the whole neighbourhood came out to meet their minister, 
dressed in their finest clothes, and preceded by a pipe and tabor: also a 
feast was provided for our reception at which we sat cheerfully down; and what 
the conversation wanted in wit, we made up in laughter.
Our little habitation was situated at the foot of sloping hill, sheltered with 
a beautiful underwood behind, and a prattling river before; on one side a 
meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted of about twenty acres of 
excellent land, having given ú100 for my predecessor's good-will. Nothing 
could exceed the neatness of my little enclosures, the elms and hedge rows 
appearing with inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but one story, and 
was covered with thatch, which gave it an air of great snugness; the walls on 
the inside were nicely whitewashed, and my daughters undertook to adorn them 
with pictures of their own designing. Though the same room served us for 
parlour and kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept 
with the utmost neatness, the dishes, plates, and coppers being well scoured 
and all disposed in bright rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably 
relieved, and did not seem to want rich furniture. There were three other 
apartments, one for my wife and me, another for our two daughters within our 
own, and the third, with two beds, for the rest of my children.
The little republic to which I gave laws was regulated in the following 
manner: by sunrise we all assembled in our common apartment, the fire being 
previously kindled by the servant. After we had saluted each other with proper 
ceremony, for I always thought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of good 
breeding, without which freedom ever destroys friendship, we all bent in 
gratitude to that Being who gave us another day. This duty being performed, my 
son and I went to pursue our usual industry abroad, while my wife and 
daughters employed themselves in providing breakfast, which was always ready 
at a certain time. I allowed half an hour for this meal, and an hour for 
dinner; which time was taken up in innocent mirth between my wife and 
daughters, and in philosophical arguments between my son and me.
As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labours after it was gone 
down, but returned home to the expecting family, where smiling looks, a neat 
hearth, and pleasant fire were prepared for our reception. Nor were we without 
other guests: sometimes farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbour, and often 
the blind piper, would pay us a visit and taste our gooseberry wine, for the 
making of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. These 
harmless people had several ways of being good company; while one played the 
pipes, another would sing some soothing ballad, Johnny Armstrong's Last 
Good-night, or The Cruelty of Barbara Allen. The night was concluded in the 
manner we began the morning, my youngest boys being appointed to read the 
lessons of the day; and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best was to 
have an halfpenny on Sunday to put in the poor's box.
When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery, which all my sumptuary edicts 
could not restrain. How well so ever I fancied my lectures against pride had 
conquered the vanity of my daughters, yet I still found them secretly attached 
to all their former finery: they still loved laces, ribands, bugles, and 
catgut; my wife herself retained a passion for her crimson paduasoy, because I 
formerly happened to say it became her.
The first Sunday in particular their behaviour served to mortify me. I had 
desired my girls the preceding night to be dressed early the next day; for I 
always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation. 
They punctually obeyed my directions; but when we were to assemble in the 
morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters, dressed out in all 
their former splendour: their hair plastered up with pomatum, their faces 
patched to taste, their trains bundled up into an heap behind, and rustling at 
every motion. I could not help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of 
my wife, from whom I expected some discretion. In this exigence, therefore, my 
only resource was to order my son, with an important air, to call our coach. 
The girls were amazed at the command; but I repeated it with more solemnity 
than before. "Surely, my dear, you jest," cried my wife; "we can walk it 
perfectly well: we want no coach to carry us now." -"You mistake, child," 
returned I, "we do want a coach; for if we walk to church in this trim, the 
very children in the parish will hoot after us for a show" -"Indeed," replied 
my wife, "I always imagined that my Charles was fond of seeing his children 
neat and handsome about him." -"You may be as neat as you please," interrupted 
I, "and I shall love you the better for it; but all this is not neatness, but 
frippery. These rufflings, and pinkings, and patchings will only make us hated 
by all the wives of all our neighbours. No, my children," continued I more 
gravely, "those gowns may be altered into something of a plainer cut; for 
finery is very unbecoming in us, who want the means of decency. I don't know 
whether such flouncing and shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we 
consider, upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent 
world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain."
This remonstrance had the proper effect; they went with great composure, that 
very instant, to change their dress; and the next day I had the satisfaction 
of finding my daughters, at their own request, employed in cutting up their 
trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones, and what 
was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed improved by being thus curtailed.


Chapter 5

A new and great acquaintance introduced. What we place most hopes upon 
generally proves most fatal.


At a small distance from the house my predecessor had made a seat, overshaded 
by an hedge of hawthorn and honeysuckle. Here, when the weather was fine, and 
our labour soon finished, we usually all sat together, to enjoy an extensive 
landscape, in the calm of the evening. Here too we drank tea, which now was 
become an occasional banquet; and as we had it but seldom, it diffused a new 
joy, the preparations for it being made with no small share of bustle and 
ceremony. On these occasions, our two little ones always read for us, and they 
were regularly served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety to our 
amusement, the girls sung to the guitar; and while they thus formed a little 
concert, my wife and I would stroll down the sloping field, that was 
embellished with bluebells and centaury, talk of our children with rapture, 
and enjoy the breeze that wafted both health and harmony.
In this manner we began to find that every situation in life might bring its 
own peculiar pleasures; every morning waked us to a repetition of toil, but 
the evening repaid it with vacant hilarity.
It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday, for I kept such as 
intervals of relaxation from labour, that I had drawn out my family to our 
usual place of amusement, and our young musicians began their usual concert. 
As we were thus engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within about twenty 
paces of where we were sitting, and by its panting, it seemed pressed by the 
hunters. We had not much time to reflect upon the poor animal's distress, when 
we perceived the dogs and horsemen come sweeping along at some distance 
behind, and making the very path it had taken. I was instantly for returning 
in with my family; but either curiosity or surprise, or some more hidden 
motive, held my wife and daughters to their seats. The huntsman, who rode 
foremost, past us with great swiftness, followed by four or five persons more, 
who seemed in equal haste. At last, a young gentleman of a more genteel 
appearance than the rest came forward, and for a while regarding us, instead 
of pursuing the chase, stopped short, and giving his horse to a servant who 
attended, approached us with a careless superior air. He seemed to want no 
introduction, but was going to salute my daughters as one certain of a kind 
reception; but they had early learnt the lesson of looking presumption out of 
countenance. Upon which he let us know that his name was Thornhill, and that 
he was owner of the estate that lay for some extent round us. He again, 
therefore, offered to salute the female part of the family; and such was the 
power of fortune and fine clothes that he found no second repulse. As his 
address, though confident, was easy, we soon became more familiar; and 
perceiving musical instruments lying near, he begged to be favoured with a 
song. As I did not approve of such disproportioned acquaintances, I winked 
upon my daughters in order to prevent their compliance; but my hint was 
counteracted by one from their mother, so that with a cheerful air they gave 
us a favourite song of Dryden's. Mr. Thornhill seemed highly delighted with 
their performance and choice, and then took up the guitar himself. He played 
but very indifferently; however, my eldest daughter repaid his former applause 
with interest, and assured him that his tones were louder than even those of 
her master. At this compliment he bowed, which she returned with a curtsey. He 
praised her taste, and she commended his understanding: an age could not have 
made them better acquainted. While the fond mother too, equally happy, 
insisted upon her landlord's stepping in and tasting a glass of her 
gooseberry. The whole family seemed earnest to please him: my girls attempted 
to entertain him with topics they thought most modern, while Moses, on the 
contrary, gave him a question or two from the ancients, for which he had the 
satisfaction of being laughed at; for he always ascribed to his wit that 
laughter which was lavished at his simplicity: my little ones were no less 
busy, and fondly stuck close to the stranger. All my endeavours could scarce 
keep their dirty fingers from handling and tarnishing the lace on his clothes 
and lifting up the flaps of his pocket-holes to see what was there. At the 
approach of evening he took leave; but not till he had requested permission to 
renew his visit, which, as he was our landlord, we most readily agreed to.
As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on the conduct of the day. 
She was of opinion that it was a most fortunate hit; for that she had known 
even stranger things at last brought to bear. She hoped again to see the day 
in which we might hold up our heads with the best of them; and concluded, she 
protested she could see no reason why the two Miss Wrinklers should marry 
great fortunes, and her children get none. As this last argument was directed 
to me, I protested I could see no reason for it neither, nor why one got the 
ten thousand pound prize in the lottery and another sat down with a blank. 
"But those," added I, "who either aim at husbands greater than themselves or 
at the ten thousand pound prize have been fools for their ridiculous claims, 
whether successful or not." -"I protest, Charles," cried my wife, "this is the 
way you always damp my girls and me when we are in spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my 
dear, what do you think of our new visitor? Don't you think he seemed to be 
good-natured?" -"Immensely so, indeed, mamma," replied she. "I think he has a 
great deal to say upon every thing, and is never at a loss; and the more 
trifling the subject, the more he has to say; and what is more, I protest he 
is very handsome." -"Yes," cried Olivia, "he is well enough for a man; but for 
my part, I don't much like him, he is so extremely impudent and familiar; but 
on the guitar he is shocking." These two last speeches I interpreted by 
contraries. I found by this that Sophia internally despised as much as Olivia 
secretly admired him. "Whatever may be your opinions of him, my children," 
cried I, "to confess a truth, he has not prepossessed me in his favour. 
Disproportioned friendships ever terminate in disgust; and I thought, 
notwithstanding all his ease, that he seemed perfectly sensible of the 
distance between us. Let us keep to companions of our own rank. There is no 
character among men more contemptible than that of a fortune-hunter; and I can 
see no reason why fortune-hunting women should not be contemptible too. Thus, 
at best, it will be contempt if his views are honourable; but if they are 
otherwise! I should shudder but to think of that; for though I have no 
apprehensions from the conduct of my children, I think there are some from his 
character." I would have proceeded, but for the interruption of a servant from 
the 'Squire, who, with his compliments, sent us a side of venison and a 
promise to dine with us some days after. This well-timed present pleaded more 
powerfully in his favour than any thing I had to say could obviate. I 
therefore continued silent, satisfied with just having pointed out danger, and 
leaving it to their own discretion to avoid it. That virtue which requires to 
be ever guarded is scarce worth the sentinel.


Chapter 6

The happiness of a country fireside.


As we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in order to 
accommodate matters, it was universally concluded upon that we should have a 
part of the venison for supper, and the girls undertook the task with 
alacrity. "I am sorry," cried I, "that we have no neighbour or stranger to 
take a part in this good cheer: feasts of this kind acquire a double relish 
from hospitality." -"Bless me," cried my wife, "here comes our good friend Mr. 
Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you down fairly in the 
argument." -"Confute me in argument child!" cried I. "You mistake there, my 
dear. I believe there are but few that can do that. I never dispute your 
abilities at making a goose-pie, and I beg you'll leave argument to me." As I 
spoke, poor Mr. Burchell entered the house, and was welcomed by the family, 
who shook him heartily by the hand, while little Dick officiously reached him 
a chair.
I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for two reasons: because I knew 
that he wanted mine, and I knew him to be friendly as far as was able. He was 
known in our neighbourhood by the character of the poor gentleman that would 
do no good when he was young, though he was not yet above thirty. He would at 
intervals talk with great good sense; but in general he was fondest of the 
company of children, whom he used to call harmless little men. He was famous, 
I found, for singing them ballads and telling them stories, and seldom went 
without something in his pockets for them, a piece of gingerbread or a 
halfpenny whistle. He generally came into our neighbourhood once a year and 
lived upon the neighbours' hospitality. He sat down to supper among us and my 
wife was not sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went round; he sung us 
old songs, and gave the children the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the 
history of Patient Grissel. The adventures of Catskin next entertained them, 
and then Fair Rosamond's bower. Our cock, which always crew at eleven, now 
told us it was time for repose; but an unforeseen difficulty started about 
lodging the stranger: all our beds were already taken up, and it was too late 
to send him to the next alehouse. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him his 
part of the bed, if his brother Moses would let him lie with him. "And I," 
cried Bill, "will give Mr. Burchell my part, if my sisters will take me to 
theirs." -"Well done, my good children," cried I, "hospitality is one of the 
first Christian duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and the bird flies 
to its nest; but helpless man can only find refuge from his fellow creature. 
The greatest stranger in this world was he that came to save it. He never had 
an house, as if willing to see what hospitality was left remaining amongst us. 
Deborah, my dear," cried I to my wife, "Give those boys a lump of sugar each, 
and let Dick's be the largest, because he spoke first."
In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving an 
aftergrowth of hay, and our guest offering his assistance, he was accepted 
among the number. Our labours went on lightly, we turned the swath to the 
wind, I went foremost, and the rest followed in due succession. I could not 
avoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr. Burchell in assisting my 
daughter Sophia in her part of the task. When he had finished his own, he 
would join in hers, and enter into a close conversation: but I had too good an 
opinion of Sophia's understanding, and was too well convinced of her ambition, 
to be under any uneasiness from a man of broken fortune. When we were finished 
for the day, Mr. Burchell was invited as on the night before; but he refused, 
as he was to lie that night at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a 
whistle. When gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our late 
unfortunate guest. "What a strong instance," said I, "is that poor man of the 
miseries attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no means wants 
sense, which only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor forlorn creature, 
where are now the revellers, the flatterers, that he could once inspire and 
command! Gone, perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown rich by his 
extravagance. They once praised him, and now they applaud the pander: their 
former raptures at his wit are now converted into sarcasms at his folly: he is 
poor, and perhaps deserves poverty; for he has neither the ambition to be 
independent, nor the skill to be useful." Prompted, perhaps, by some secret 
reasons, I delivered this observation with too much acrimony, which my Sophia 
gently reproved. "Whatsoever his former conduct may be, papa, his 
circumstances should exempt him from censure now. His present indigence is a 
sufficient punishment for former folly; and I have heard my papa himself say 
that we should never strike our unnecessary blow at a victim over whom 
providence already holds the scourge of its resentment." -"You are right, 
Sophy," cried my son Moses, "and one of the ancients finely represents so 
malicious a conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose skin, 
the fable tells us, had been wholly stripped off by another. Besides, I don't 
know if this poor man's situation be so bad as my father would represent it. 
We are not to judge of the feelings of others by what we might feel if in 
their place. However dark the habitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the 
animal itself finds the apartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a 
truth, this man's mind seems fitted to his station; for I never heard any one 
more sprightly than he was today, when he conversed with you." This was said 
without the least design; however, it excited a blush, which she strove to 
cover by an affected laugh, assuring him that she scarce took any notice of 
what he said to her, but that she believed he might once have been a very fine 
gentleman. The readiness with which she undertook to vindicate herself, and 
her blushing, were symptoms I did not internally approve; but I repressed my 
suspicions.
As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to make the venison 
pasty: Moses sat reading, while I taught the little ones; my daughters seemed 
equally busy with the rest; and I observed them for a good while cooking 
something over the fire. I at first supposed they were assisting their mother; 
but little Dick informed me in a whisper that they were making a wash for the 
face. Washes of all kinds I had a natural antipathy to; for I knew that 
instead of mending the complexion they spoiled it. I therefore approached my 
chair by sly degrees to the fire, and grasping the poker, as if it wanted 
mending, seemingly by accident overturned the whole composition, and it was 
too late to begin another.


Chapter 7

A town wit described. The dullest fellows may learn to be comical for a night 
or two.


When the morning arrived on which we were to entertain our young landlord, it 
may be easily supposed what provisions were exhausted to make an appearance. 
It may also be conjectured that my wife and daughters expanded their gayest 
plumage upon this occasion. Mr. Thornhill came with a couple of friends, his 
chaplain and feeder. The servants, who were numerous, he politely ordered to 
the next ale-house: but my wife in the triumph of her heart, insisted on 
entertaining them all; for which, by the bye, the family was pinched for three 
weeks after. As Mr. Burchell had hinted to us the day before that he was 
making some proposals of marriage to Miss Wilmot, my son George's former 
mistress, this a good deal damped the heartiness of his reception: but 
accident, in some measure, relieved our embarrassment; for one of the company 
happening to mention her name, Mr. Thornhill observed with an oath, that he 
never knew any thing more absurd than calling such a fright a beauty: "For 
strike me ugly," continued he, "i f I should not find as much pleasure in 
choosing my mistress by the information of a lamp under the clock at St. 
Dunstan's." At this he laughed, and so did we: the jests of the rich are ever 
successful. Olivia too could not avoid whispering, loud enough to be heard, 
that he had an infinite fund of humour.
After dinner, I began with my usual toast, the church; for this I was thanked 
by the chaplain, as he said the church was the only mistress of his 
affections. "Come, tell us honestly, Frank," said the 'Squire, with his usual 
archness, "suppose the church, your present mistress, dressed in lawn sleeves, 
on one hand, and Miss Sophia, with no lawn about her, on the other, which 
would you be for?" -"For both, to be sure," cried the chaplain. -"Right, 
Frank," cried the 'Squire; "for may this glass suffocate me but a fine girl is 
worth all the priestcraft in the nation. For what are tithes and tricks but an 
imposition, all a confounded imposture, and I can prove it." -"I wish you 
would," cried my son Moses, "and I think," continued he, "that I should be 
able to combat in the opposition." -"Very well, sir," cried the 'Squire, who 
immediately smoked him, and winking on the rest of the company, to prepare us 
for the sport, "if you are for a cool argument upon that subject, I am ready 
to accept the challenge. And first, whether are you for managing it 
analogically or dialogically?" -"I am for managing it rationally," cried 
Moses, quite happy at being permitted to dispute. -"Good again," cried the 
'Squire, "and firstly, of the first. I hope you'll not deny that whatever is, 
is. If you don't grant me that, I can go no further." -"Why," returned Moses, 
"I think I may grant that, and make the best of it." -"I hope too," returned 
the other, "you'll grant that a part is less than the whole." -
"I grant that too," cried Moses, "It is but just and reasonable." -"I hope," 
cried the 'Squire, "you will not deny that the two angles of a triangle are 
equal to two right ones." -"Nothing can be plainer," returned t'other, and 
looked round with his usual importance. -"Very well," cried the 'Squire, 
speaking very quick, "the premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe 
that the concatenation of self-existences, proceeding in a reciprocal 
duplicate ratio, naturally produce a problematical dialogism, which in some 
measure proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second 
predicable" -"Hold, hold," cried the other, "I deny that. Do you think I can 
thus tamely submit to such heterodox doctrines?" -"What," replied the 'Squire, 
as if in a passion, "not submit! Answer me one plain question: Do you think 
Aristotle right when he says that relatives are related?" -"Undoubtedly," 
replied the other. -"I f so then," cried the 'Squire, "answer me directly to 
what I propose: Whether do you judge the analytical investigation of the first 
part of my enthymeme deficient secundum quoad, or quoad minus, and give me 
your reasons too; give me your reasons, I say, directly." -"I protest," cried 
Moses. "I don't rightly comprehend the force of your reasoning; but if it be 
reduced to one simple proposition, I fancy it may then have an answer." -"Oh, 
sir," cried the 'Squire, "I am your most humble servant, I find you want me to 
furnish you with argument and intellects both. No, sir, there I protest you 
are too hard for me." This effectually raised the laugh against poor Moses, 
who sat the only dismal figure in a group of merry faces: nor did he offer a 
single syllable more during the whole entertainment.
But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a very different effect upon 
Olivia, who mistook this humour, which was a mere act of the memory, for real 
wit. She thought him therefore a very fine gentleman; and such as consider 
what powerful ingredients a good figure, fine clothes, and fortune are in that 
character will easily forgive her. Mr. Thornhill, notwithstanding his real 
ignorance, talked with ease, and could expatiate upon the common topics of 
conversation with fluency. It is not surprising then that such talents should 
win the affections of a girl who by education was taught to value an 
appearance in herself, and consequently to set a value upon it when found in 
another.
Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate upon the merits of our 
young landlord. As he directed his looks and conversation to Olivia, it was no 
longer doubted but that she was the object that induced him to be our visitor. 
Nor did she seem to be much displeased at the innocent raillery of her brother 
and sister upon this occasion. Even Deborah herself seemed to share the glory 
of the day, and exulted in her daughter's victory as if it were her own. "And 
now, my dear," cried she to me, "I'll fairly own that it was I that instructed 
my girls to encourage our landlord's addresses. I had always some ambition, 
and you now see that I was right; for who knows how this may end?" -"Ay, who 
knows that indeed," answered I, with a groan: "for my part I don't much like 
it; and I could have been better pleased with one that was poor and honest 
than this fine gentleman with his fortune and infidelity; for depend on't, if 
he be what I suspect him, no freethinker shall ever have a child of mine."
"Sure, father," cried Moses, "you are too severe in this; for heaven will 
never arraign him for what he thinks, but for what he does. Every man has a 
thousand vicious thoughts, which arise without his power to suppress. Thinking 
freely of religion may be involuntary with this gentleman: so that allowing 
his sentiments to be wrong, yet as he is purely passive in their reception, he 
is no more to be blamed for their incursions than the governor of a city 
without walls for the shelter he is obliged to afford an invading enemy."
"True, my son," cried I; "but if the governor invites the enemy, there he is 
justly culpable. And such is always the case with those who embrace error. The 
vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs they see; but in being blind to 
many of the proofs that offer. Like corrupt judges on a bench, they determine 
right on that part of the evidence they hear; but they will not hear all the 
evidence. Thus, my son, though our erroneous opinions be involuntary when 
formed, yet as we have been wilfully corrupt, or very negligent in forming 
them, we deserve punishment for our vice, or contempt for our folly."
My wife now kept up the conversation, though not the argument: she observed 
that several very prudent men of our acquaintance were freethinkers and made 
very good husbands; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill enough to 
make converts of their spouses. "And who knows, my dear," continued she, "what 
Olivia may be able to do. The girl has a great deal to say upon every subject, 
and to my knowledge is very well skilled in controversy."
"Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read?" cried I. "It does not 
occur to my memory that I ever put such books into her hands; you certainly 
overrate her merit." -"Indeed, papa," replied Olivia, "she does not; I have 
read a great deal of controversy. I have read the disputes between Thwackum 
and Square; the controversy between Robinson Crusoe and Friday the savage, and 
I am now employed in reading the controversy in Religious courtship." -"Very 
well," cried I, "that's a good girl. I find you are perfectly qualified for 
making converts, and so go help your mother to make the gooseberry-pie."


Chapter 8

An amour, which promises little good fortune yet may be productive of much.


The next morning we were again visited by Mr. Burchell, though I began, for 
certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his return; but I 
could not refuse him my company and fireside. It is true his labour more than 
requited his entertainment; for he wrought among us with vigour, and either in 
the meadow or at the hayrick put himself foremost. Besides, he had always 
something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the 
way and yet so sensible that I loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only 
dislike arose from an attachment he discovered to my daughter; he would, in a 
jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the 
girls a set of ribands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day 
seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to 
assume the superior airs of wisdom.
Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather reclined, round a 
temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell seemed to 
give cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction two blackbirds 
answered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and 
pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of 
tranquillity. "I never sit thus," says Sophia, "but I think of the two lovers, 
so sweetly described by Mr. Gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms 
under a barley mow. There is something so pathetic in the description that I 
have read it an hundred times with new rapture." -"In my opinion," cried my 
son, "the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the Acis 
and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better, 
and upon that figure artfully managed all strength in the pathetic depends." 
-"It is remarkable," cried Mr. Burchell, "that both the poets you mention have 
equally contributed to introduce a false taste into their respective 
countries, by loading all their lines with epithet. Men of little genius found 
them most easily imitated in their defects, and English poetry, like that in 
the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of 
luxuriant images without plot or connection; a string of epithets that improve 
the sound without carrying on the sense. But perhaps, madam, while I thus 
reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity 
to retaliate, and indeed I have made this remark only to have an opportunity 
of introducing to the company a ballad which, whatever be its other defects, 
is I think at least free from those I have mentioned."


A BALLAD

"Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale,
With hospitable ray.

"For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

"Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good-will.

"Then turn tonight, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

"No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:

"But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
For earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell:
The grateful stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
The wicket, just opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly pressed, and smiled,
And skilled in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care oppressed:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurned,
Reluctant dost thou rove;
Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?

"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex," he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His lovelorn guest betrayed.

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast
Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried;
"Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.

"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

"My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was marked as mine,
He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.

"Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove:
Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.

"In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

And when, beside me in the dale,
He carolled lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.

"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but, woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain.

"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."


"Forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cried,
And clasped her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turned to chide,
'Twas Edwin's self that pressed.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev'ry care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life, -my all that's mine?

"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."


While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with 
her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a 
gun just by us, and immediately after a man was seen bursting through the 
hedge to take up the game he had killed. This sportsman was the 'Squire's 
chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. 
So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive 
that Sophia in the fright had thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for 
protection. The gentleman came up and asked pardon for having disturbed us, 
affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down by 
my youngest daughter, and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that 
morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon 
induced her to correct the mistake and accept his present, though with some 
reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing 
that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain as well as her sister had of 
the 'Squire. I suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections 
were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us 
that Mr. Thornhill had provided music and refreshments, and intended that 
night giving the young ladies a ball by moonlight on the grass-plot before our 
door. "Nor can I deny," continued he, "but I have an interest in being first 
to deliver this message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with Miss 
Sophy's hand as a partner." To this my girl replied that she should have no 
objection, if she could do it with honour. "But here," continued she, "is a 
gentleman," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has been my companion in the task 
for the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements." Mr. Burchell 
returned her a compliment for her intentions, but resigned her up to the 
chaplain, adding that he was to go that night five miles, being invited to an 
harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a little extraordinary, nor could I 
conceive how so sensible a girl as my youngest could thus prefer a middle-aged 
man of broken fortune to a sprightly young fellow of twenty-two. But as men 
are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often form 
the truest judgments upon us. The two sexes seem placed as spies upon each 
other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual 
inspection.


Chapter 9

Two ladies of great distinction introduced. Superior finery ever seems to 
confer superior breeding.


Mr. Burchell had scarce taken leave, and Sophia consented to dance with the 
chaplain, when my little ones came running out to tell us that the 'Squire was 
come with a crowd of company. Upon our return, we found our landlord with a 
couple of under gentlemen and two young ladies richly dressed, whom he 
introduced as women of very great distinction and fashion from town. We 
happened not to have chairs enough for the whole company; but Mr. Thornhill 
immediately proposed that every gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. This I 
positively objected to, notwithstanding a look of disapprobation from my wife. 
Moses was therefore dispatched to borrow a couple of chairs; and as we were in 
want of ladies also to make up a set at country dances, the two gentlemen went 
with him in quest of a couple of partners. Chairs and partners were soon 
provided. The gentlemen returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy 
daughters, flaunting with red topknots. But there was an unlucky circumstance 
which was not adverted to; though the Miss Flamboroughs were reckoned the very 
best dancers in the parish, and understood the jig and the roundabout to 
perfection, yet they were totally unacquainted with country dances. This at 
first discomposed us; however, after a little shoving and dragging, they began 
to go merrily on. Our music consisted of two fiddles, with a pipe and tabor. 
The moon shone bright. Mr. Thornhill and my eldest daughter led up the ball, 
to the great delight of the spectators; for the neighbours hearing what was 
going forward came flocking about us. My girl moved with so much grace and 
vivacity that my wife could not avoid discovering the pride of her heart, by 
assuring me that though the little chit did it so cleverly, all the steps were 
stolen from herself. The ladies of the town strove hard to be equally easy, 
but without success. They swam, sprawled, languished, and frisked; but all 
would not do: the gazers indeed owned that it was fine; but neighbour 
Flamborough observed that Miss Livy's feet seemed as pat to the music as its 
echo. After the dance had continued about an hour, the two ladies, who were 
apprehensive of catching cold, moved to break up the ball. One of them, I 
thought, expressed her sentiments upon this occasion in a very coarse manner, 
when she observed, that by the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat. 
Upon our return to the house, we found a very elegant cold supper, which Mr. 
Thornhill had ordered to be brought with him. The conversation at this time 
was more reserved than before. The two ladies threw my girls quite into the 
shade; for they would talk of nothing but high life and high-lived company, 
with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the 
musical glasses. 'Tis true they once or twice mortified us sensibly by 
slipping out an oath; but that appeared to me as the surest symptom of their 
distinction (though I am since informed swearing is now perfectly 
unfashionable). Their finery, however, threw a veil over any grossness in 
their conversation. My daughters seemed to regard their superior 
accomplishments with envy, and what appeared amiss was ascribed to tip-top 
quality breeding. But the condescension of the ladies was still superior to 
their other accomplishments. One of them observed that had Miss Olivia seen a 
little more of the world, it would greatly improve her. To which the other 
added that a single winter in town would make her little Sophia quite another 
thing. My wife warmly assented to both; adding that there was nothing she more 
ardently wished than to give her girls a single winter's polishing. To this I 
could not help replying that their breeding was already superior to their 
fortune; and that greater refinement would only serve to make their poverty 
ridiculous and give them a taste for pleasures they had no right to possess. 
"And what pleasures," cried Mr. Thornhill, "do they not deserve, who have so 
much in their power to bestow? As for my part," continued he, "my fortune is 
pretty large; love, liberty, and pleasure are my maxims; but curse me if a 
settlement of half my estate could give my charming Olivia pleasure, it should 
be hers; and the only favour I would ask in return would be to add myself to 
the benefit." I was not such a stranger to the world as to be ignorant that 
this was the fashionable cant to disguise the insolence of the basest 
proposal; but I made an effort to suppress my resentment. "Sir," cried I, "the 
family which you now condescend to favour with your company has been bred with 
as nice a sense of honour as you. Any attempts to injure that may be attended 
with very dangerous consequences. Honour, sir, is our only possession at 
present, and of that last treasure we must be particularly careful." I was 
soon sorry for the warmth with which I had spoken this, when the young 
gentleman, grasping my hand, swore he commended my spirit, though he 
disapproved my suspicions. "As to your present hint," continued he, "I protest 
nothing was farther from my heart than such a thought. No, by all that's 
tempting, the virtue that will stand a regular siege was never to my taste; 
for all my amours are carried by a coup de main."
The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the rest, seemed highly 
displeased with this last stroke of freedom, and began a very discreet and 
serious dialogue upon virtue; in this my wife, the chaplain, and I soon 
joined; and the 'Squire himself was at last brought to confess a sense of 
sorrow for his former excesses. We talked of the pleasures of temperance, and 
the sunshine in the mind unpolluted with guilt. I was well pleased that my 
little ones were kept up beyond the usual time to be edified by such good 
conversation. Mr. Thornhill even went beyond me, and demanded if I had any 
objection to giving prayers. I joyfully embraced the proposal, and in this 
manner the night was passed in a most comfortable way, till at last the 
company began to think of returning. The ladies seemed very unwilling to part 
from my daughters, for whom they had conceived a particular affection, and 
joined in a request to have the pleasure of their company home. The 'Squire 
seconded the proposal, and my wife added her entreaties: the girls too looked 
upon me as if they wished to go. In this perplexity I made two or three 
excuses, which my daughters as readily removed; so that at last I was obliged 
to give a peremptory refusal, for which we had nothing but sullen looks and 
short answers the whole day ensuing.


Chapter 10

The family endeavour to cope with their betters. The miseries of the poor when 
they attempt to appear above their circumstances.


I now began to find that all my long and painful lectures upon temperance, 
simplicity, and contentment were entirely disregarded. The distinctions lately 
paid us by our betters awaked that pride which I had laid asleep, but not 
removed. Our windows now again, as formerly, were filled with washes for the 
neck and face. The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin without doors, and 
the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. My wife observed that rising 
too early would hurt her daughters' eyes, that working after dinner would 
redden their noses, and convinced me that the hands never looked so white as 
when they did nothing. Instead therefore of finishing George's shirts, we now 
had them new modelling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon catgut. The poor 
Miss Flamboroughs, their former gay companions, were cast off as mean 
acquaintance, and the whole conversation ran upon high life and high lived 
company, with pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.
But we could have borne all this, had not a fortune-telling gypsy come to 
raise us into perfect sublimity. The tawny sybil no sooner appeared than my 
girls came running to me for a shilling a piece to cross her hand with silver. 
To say the truth, I was tired of being always wise, and could not help 
gratifying their request, because I loved to see them happy. I gave each of 
them a shilling; though, for the honour of the family, it must be observed 
that they never went without money themselves, as my wife always generously 
let them have a guinea each to keep in their pockets, but with strict 
injunctions never to change it. After they had been closeted up with the 
fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their looks, upon their returning, 
that they had been promised something great. "Well, my girls, how have you 
sped? Tell me, Livy, has the fortune-teller given thee a pennyworth?" -"I 
protest, papa," says the girl, with a serious face, "I believe she deals with 
some body that's not right; for she positively declared that I am to be 
married to a great 'Squire in less than a twelvemonth?" -"Well now, Sophy, my 
child," said I, "and what sort of a husband are you to have?" -"Sir," replied 
she, "I am to have a Lord soon after my sister has been married to the 
'Squire." -"How," cried I, "is that all you are to have for your two 
shillings! Only a Lord and a 'Squire for two shillings! You fools, I could 
have promised you a Prince and a Nabob for half the money."
This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with very serious effects: we 
now began to think ourselves designed by the stars for something exalted, and 
already anticipated our future grandeur.
It has been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it once more, that 
the hours we pass with happy prospects in view are more pleasing than those 
crowned with fruition. In the first case we cook the dish to our own appetite; 
in the latter nature cooks it for us. It is impossible to repeat the train of 
agreeable reveries we called up for our entertainment. We looked upon our 
fortunes as once more rising; and as the whole parish asserted that the 
'Squire was in love with my daughter, she was actually so with him; for they 
persuaded her into passion. In this agreeable interval, my wife had the most 
lucky dreams in the world, which she took care to tell us every morning with 
great solemnity and exactness. It was one night a coffin and cross bones, the 
sign of an approaching wedding; at another time she imagined her daughters' 
pockets filled with farthings, a certain sign of their being one day stuffed 
with gold. The girls had their omens too: they felt strange kisses on their 
lips; they saw rings in the candle, purses bounced from the fire, and true 
love-knots lurked at the bottom of every teacup.
Towards the end of the week we received a card from the town ladies; in which, 
with their compliments, they hoped to see all our family at church the Sunday 
following. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in consequence of this, my 
wife and daughters in close conference together, and now and then glancing at 
me with looks that betrayed a latent plot. To be sincere, I had strong 
suspicions that some absurd proposal was preparing for appearing with 
splendour the next day. In the evening they began their operations in a very 
regular manner, and my wife undertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I 
seemed in spirits, she began thus. "I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a 
great deal of good company at our church tomorrow." -"Perhaps we may, my 
dear," returned I; "though you need be under no uneasiness about that, you 
shall have a sermon whether there be or not." -"That is what I expect," 
returned she; "but I think, my dear, we ought to appear there as decently as 
possible, for who knows what may happen?" -"Your precautions," replied I, "are 
highly commendable. A decent behaviour and appearance in church is what charms 
me. We should be devout and humble, cheerful and serene." -"Yes," cried she, 
"I know that; but I mean we should go there in as proper a manner as possible; 
not altogether like the scrubs about us." -"You are quite right, my dear," 
returned I, "and I was going to make the very same proposal. The proper manner 
of going is to go there as early as possible, to have time for meditation 
before the service begins." -"Phoo, Charles," interrupted she, "all that is 
very true; but not what I would be at. I mean, we should go there genteelly. 
You know the church is two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my 
daughters trudging up to their pew all blowzed and red with walking, and 
looking for all the world as if they had been winners at a smock race. Now, my 
dear, my proposal is this: there are our two plough horses, the colt that has 
been in our family these nine years and his companion Blackberry, that have 
scarce done an earthly thing for this month past and are both grown fat and 
lazy. Why should not they do something as well as we? And let me tell you, 
when Moses has trimmed them a little, they will not be so contemptible."
To this proposal I objected that walking would be twenty times more genteel 
than such a paltry conveyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed and the colt wanted 
a tail; that they had never been broke to the rein, but had an hundred vicious 
tricks; and that we had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house. All 
these objections, however, were overruled, so that I was obliged to comply. 
The next morning I perceived them not a little busy in collecting such 
materials as might be necessary for the expedition; but as I found it would be 
a business of much time, I walked on to the church before, and they promised 
speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the reading desk for their 
arrival; but not finding them come as expected, I was obliged to begin, and 
went through the service, not without some uneasiness at finding them absent. 
This was increased when all was finished and no appearance of the family. I 
therefore walked back by the horseway, which was five miles round, though the 
footway was but two, and when got about half way home, perceived the 
procession marching slowly forward towards the church; my son, my wife, and 
the two little ones exalted upon one horse, and my two daughters upon the 
other. I demanded the cause of their delay; but I soon found by their looks 
they had met with a thousand misfortunes on the road. The horses had at first 
refused to move from the door, till Mr. Burchell was kind enough to beat them 
forward for about two hundred yards with his cudgel. Next the straps of my 
wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged to stop to repair them before 
they could proceed. After that, one of the horses took it into his head to 
stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties could prevail with him to 
proceed. It was just recovering from this dismal situation that I found them; 
but perceiving every thing safe, I own their present mortification did not 
much displease me, as it might give me many opportunities of future triumph, 
and teach my daughters more humility.


Chapter 11

The Family still resolve to hold up their heads.


Michaelmas-eve happening on the next day, we were invited to burn nuts and 
play tricks at neighbour Flamborough's. Our late mortifications had humbled us 
a little, or it is probable we might have rejected such an invitation with 
contempt; however, we suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest neighbour's 
goose and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's-wool, even in the opinion of my 
wife, who was a connoisseur, was thought excellent. It is true, his manner of 
telling stories was not quite so well. They were very long, and very dull, and 
all about himself, and we had laughed at them ten times before; however, we 
were kind enough to laugh at them once more.
Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always fond of seeing some innocent 
amusement going forward, and set the boys and girls to blind man's buff. My 
wife too was persuaded to join in the diversion, and it gave me pleasure to 
think she was not yet too old. In the meantime, my neighbour and I looked on, 
laughed at every feat, and praised our own dexterity when we were young. Hot 
cockles succeeded next, questions and commands followed that, and last of all 
they sat down to hunt the slipper. As every person may not be acquainted with 
this primeval pastime, it may be necessary to observe that the company at this 
play plant themselves in a ring upon the ground, all except one who stands in 
the middle, whose business it is to catch a shoe, which the company shove 
about under their hams from one to another, something like a weaver's shuttle. 
As it is impossible, in this case, for the lady who is up to face all the 
company at once, the great beauty of the play lies in hitting her a thump with 
the heel of the shoe on that side least capable of making a defence. It was in 
this manner that my eldest daughter was hemmed in, and thumped about, all 
blowzed, in spirits, and bawling for fair play, fair play, with a voice that 
might deafen a ballad singer, when confusion on confusion, who should enter 
the room but our two great acquaintances from town, Lady Blarney and Miss 
Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs! Description would but beggar, therefore it 
is unnecessary to describe this new mortification. Death! To be seen by ladies 
of such high breeding in such vulgar attitudes! Nothing better could ensue 
from such a vulgar play of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We seemed stuck to the 
ground for some time, as if actually petrified with amazement.
The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and finding us from home, came 
after us hither, as they were uneasy to know what accident could have kept us 
from church the day before. Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor and 
delivered the whole in a summary way, only saying, "We were thrown from our 
horses." At which account the ladies were greatly concerned; but being told 
the family received no hurt, they were extremely glad; but being informed that 
we were almost killed by the fright, they were vastly sorry; but hearing that 
we had a very good night, they were extremely glad again. Nothing could exceed 
their complaisance to my daughters; their professions the last evening were 
warm, but now they were ardent. They protested a desire of having a more 
lasting acquaintance. Lady Blarney was particularly attached to Olivia; Miss 
Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to give the whole name) took a 
greater fancy to her sister. They supported the conversation between 
themselves, while my daughters sat silent, admiring their exalted breeding. 
But as every reader, however beggarly himself, is fond of high-lived 
dialogues, with anecdotes of Lords, Ladies, and Knights of the Garter, I must 
beg leave to give him the concluding part of the present conversation.
"All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs, "is this, that it may be 
true, or it may not be true: but this I can assure your Ladyship, that the 
whole rout was in amaze; his Lordship turned all manner of colours, my Lady 
fell into a swoon; but Sir Tomkyn, drawing his sword, swore he was hers to the 
last drop of his blood."
"Well," replied our Peeress, "this I can say, that the Duchess never told me a 
syllable of the matter, and I believe her Grace would keep nothing a secret 
from me. But this you may depend upon as fact, that the next morning my Lord 
Duke cried out three times to his valet de chambre, Jernigan, Jernigan, 
Jernigan, bring me my garters."
But previously I should have mentioned the very impolite behaviour of Mr. 
Burchell, who, during this discourse, sat with his face turned to the fire, 
and at the conclusion of every sentence would cry out fudge, an expression 
which displeased us all, and in some measure damped the rising spirit of the 
conversation.
"Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our Peeress, "there is nothing of this in 
the copy of verses that Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion." -Fudge!
"I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs; "for he seldom leaves any thing 
out, as he writes only for his own amusement. But can your Ladyship favour me 
with a sight of them?" -Fudge!
"My dear creature," replied our Peeress, "do you think I carry such things 
about me? Though they are very fine to be sure, and I think myself something 
of a judge; at least I know what pleases myself. Indeed I was ever an admirer 
of all Dr. Burdock's little pieces; for except what he does, and our dear 
Countess at Hanover-Square, there's nothing comes out but the most lowest 
stuff in nature; not a bit of high life among them." -Fudge!
"Your Ladyship should except," says t' other, "your own things in the Lady's 
Magazine. I hope you'll say there's nothing low-lived there? But I suppose we 
are to have no more from that quarter?" -Fudge!
"Why, my dear," says the Lady, "you know my reader and companion has left me, 
to be married to Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer me to write 
myself, I have been for some time looking out for another. A proper person is 
no easy matter to find, and to be sure ú30 a year is a small stipend for a 
well-bred girl of character that can read, write, and behave in company; as 
for the chits about town, there is no bearing them about one." -Fudge!

"That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, "by experience. For of the three companions 
I had this last half year, one of them refused to do plainwork an hour in the 
day, another thought twenty-five guineas a year too small a salary, and I was 
obliged to send away the third, because I suspected an intrigue with the 
chaplain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, virtue is worth any price; but where 
is that to be found?" -Fudge!
My wife had been for a long time all attention to this discourse, but was 
particularly struck with the latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twenty-five 
guineas a year made fifty-six pounds five shillings English money, all which 
was in a manner going a-begging, and might easily be secured in the family. 
She for a moment studied my looks for approbation; and, to own a truth, I was 
of opinion that two such places would fit our two daughters exactly. Besides, 
if the 'Squire had any real affection for my eldest daughter, this would be 
the way to make her every way qualified for her fortune. My wife therefore was 
resolved that we should not be deprived of such advantages for want of 
assurance, and undertook to harangue for the family. "I hope," cried she, 
"your Ladyships will pardon my present presumption. It is true we have no 
right to pretend to such favours; but yet it is natural for me to wish putting 
my children forward in the world. And I will be bold to say my two girls have 
had a pretty good education, and capacity, at least the country can't show 
better. They can read, write, and cast accounts; they understand their needle, 
broad-stitch, cross and change, and all manner of plainwork; they can pink, 
point, and frill; and know something of music; they can do up small clothes, 
work upon catgut; my eldest can cut paper and my youngest has a very pretty 
manner of telling fortunes upon the cards." -Fudge!
When she had delivered this pretty piece of eloquence, the two ladies looked 
at each other a few minutes in silence, with an air of doubt and importance. 
At last Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs condescended to observe that the 
young ladies, from the opinion she could form of them from so slight an 
acquaintance, seemed very fit for such employments. "But a thing of this kind, 
madam," cried she, addressing my spouse, "requires a thorough examination into 
characters and a more perfect knowledge of each other. Not, madam," continued 
she, "that I in the least suspect the young ladies' virtue, prudence, and 
discretion; but there is a form in these things, madam, there is a form."
My wife approved her suspicions very much, observing that she was very apt to 
be suspicious herself; but referred her to all the neighbours for a character; 
but this our Peeress declined as unnecessary, alleging that her cousin 
Thornhill's recommendation would be sufficient, and upon this we rested our 
petition.


Chapter 12

Fortune seems resolved to humble the Family of Wakefield. Mortifications are 
often more painful than real calamities.


When we were returned home, the night was dedicated to schemes of future 
conquest. Deborah exerted much sagacity in conjecturing which of the two girls 
was likely to have the best place, and most opportunities of seeing good 
company. The only obstacle to our preferment was in obtaining the 'Squire's 
recommendation; but he had already shown us too many instances of his 
friendship to doubt of it now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual theme: 
"Well, faith, my dear Charles, between ourselves, I think we have made an 
excellent day's work of it." -"Pretty well," cried I, not knowing what to say. 
-"What, only pretty well!" returned she. "I think it is very well. Suppose the 
girls should come to make acquaintances of taste in town! And this I am 
assured of, that London is the only place in the world for all manner of 
husbands. Besides, my dear, stranger things happen every day; and as ladies of 
quality are so taken with my daughters, what will not men of quality be! Entre 
nous, I protest I like my Lady Blarney vastly, so very obliging. However, Miss 
Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs has my warm heart. But yet, when they came to 
talk of places in town, you saw at once how I nailed them. Tell me, my dear, 
don't you think I did for my children there?" -"Aye," returned I, not knowing 
well what to think of the matter, "heaven grant they may be both the better 
for it this day three months!" This was one of those observations I usually 
made to impress my wife with an opinion of my sagacity; for if the girls 
succeeded, then it was a pious wish fulfilled; but if any thing unfortunate 
ensued, then it might be looked upon as a prophecy. All this conversation, 
however, was only preparatory to another scheme, and indeed I dreaded as much. 
This was nothing less than that as we were now to hold up our heads a little 
higher in the world, it would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown old, 
at a neighbouring fair, and buy us an horse that would carry single or double 
upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church or upon a visit. This 
at first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly defended. However, as I 
weakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at last it was resolved to part 
with him.
As the fair happened on the following day, I had intentions of going myself; 
but my wife persuaded me that I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail upon 
her to permit me from home. "No, my dear," said she, "our son Moses is a 
discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good advantage; you know all our 
great bargains are of his purchasing. He always stands out and higgles, and 
actually tires them till he gets a bargain."
As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was willing enough to entrust 
him with this commission; and the next morning I perceived his sisters mighty 
busy in fitting out Moses for the fair; trimming his hair, brushing his 
buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over, 
we had at last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted upon the colt, with a 
deal box before him to bring home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that 
cloth they call thunder and lighting, which, though grown too short, was much 
too good to be thrown away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and his 
sisters had tied his hair with a broad black riband. We all followed him 
several paces from the door, bawling after him good luck, good luck, till we 
could see him no longer.
He was scarce gone, when Mr. Thornhill's butler came to congratulate us upon 
our good fortune, saying that he overheard his young master mention our names 
with great commendations.
Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone. Another footman from the same 
family followed, with a card for my daughters, importing that the two ladies 
had received such a pleasing account from Mr. Thornhill of us all, that after 
a few previous enquiries more, they hoped to be perfectly satisfied. "Ay," 
cried my wife, "I now see it is no easy matter to get into the families of the 
great; but when one once gets in, then, as Moses says, they may go sleep." To 
this piece of humour, for she intended it for wit, my daughters assented with 
a loud laugh of pleasure. In short, such was her satisfaction at this message 
that she actually put her hand to her pocket and gave the messenger sevenpence 
halfpenny.
This was to be our visiting-day. The next that came was Mr. Burchell, who had 
been at the fair. He brought my little ones a pennyworth of gingerbread each, 
which my wife undertook to keep for them, and give them by letters at a time. 
He brought my daughters also a couple of boxes in which they might keep 
wafers, snuff, patches, or even money, when they got it. My wife was usually 
fond of a weasel-skin purse, as being the most lucky; but this by the bye. We 
had still a regard for Mr. Burchell, though his late rude behaviour was in 
some measure displeasing; nor could we now avoid communicating our happiness 
to him and asking his advice: although we seldom followed advice, we were all 
ready enough to ask it. When he read the note from the two ladies, he shook 
his head and observed that an affair of this sort demanded the utmost 
circumspection. This air of diffidence highly displeased my wife. "I never 
doubted, sir," cried she, "your readiness to be against my daughters and me. 
You have more circumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when we come to 
ask advice, we will apply to persons who seem to have made use of it 
themselves." -"Whatever my own conduct may have been, madam," replied he, "is 
not the present question; though as I have made no use of advice myself, I 
should in conscience give it to those that will." As I was apprehensive this 
answer might draw on a repartee, making up by abuse what it wanted in wit, I 
changed the subject by seeming to wonder what could keep our son as long at 
the fair, as it was now almost nightfall. "Never mind our son," cried my wife; 
"depend upon it he knows what he is about. I'll warrant we'll never see him 
sell his hen of a rainy day. I have seen him buy such bargains as would amaze 
one. I'll tell you a good story about that, that will make you split your 
sides with laughing. But as I live, yonder comes Moses, without an horse, and 
the box at his b ack."
As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating under the deal box, 
which he had strapped round his shoulders. "Welcome, welcome, Moses; well, my 
boy, what have you brought us from the fair?" -"I have brought you myself," 
cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser. -"Ay, 
Moses," cried my wife, "that we know, but where is the horse?" -"I have sold 
him," cried Moses, "for three pounds five shillings and two-pence." -"Well 
done, my good boy," returned she; "I knew you would touch them off. Between 
ourselves, three pounds five shillings and two-pence is no bad day's work. 
Come, let us have it then." -"I have brought back no money," cried Moses 
again. "I have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is," pulling out a 
bundle from his breast: "here they are; a gross of green spectacles, with 
silver rims and shagreen cases." -"A gross of green spectacles!" repeated my 
wife in a faint voice. "And you have parted with the colt, and brought us back 
nothing but a gross of green paltry spectacles!" -"Dear mother," cried the 
boy, "why won't you listen to reason? I had them a dead bargain, or I should 
not have bought them. The silver rims alone will sell for double the money." 
-"A fig for the silver rims," cried my wife, in a passion: "I dare swear they 
won't sell for above half the money at the rate of broken silver, five 
shillings an ounce." -"You need be under no uneasiness," cried I, "about 
selling the rims; for I perceive they are only copper varnished over." 
-"What," cried my wife, "not silver, the rims not silver!" -"No," cried I, "no 
more silver than your saucepan." -"And so," returned she, "we have parted with 
the colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and 
shagreen cases! A murrain take such trumpery. The blockhead has been imposed 
upon, and should have known his company better." -"There, my dear," cried I, 
"you are wrong, he should not have known them at all." -"Marry, hang the 
idiot," returned she again, "to bring me such stuff; if I had them, I would 
throw them in the fire." -"There again you are wrong, my dear," cried I; "for 
though they be copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you 
know, are better than nothing."
By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. He now saw that he had 
indeed been imposed upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had 
marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumstances of his 
deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked the fair in search of 
another. A reverend-looking man brought him to a tent, under a pretence of 
having one to sell. "Here," continued Moses, "we met another man, very well 
dressed, who desired to borrow ú20 upon these, saying that he wanted money, 
and would dispose of them for a third of the value. The first gentleman, who 
pretended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to 
let so good an offer pass. I sent for Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up 
as finely as they did me, and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two 
gross between us."


Chapter 13

Mr. Burchell is found to be an enemy, for he has the confidence to give 
disagreeable advice.


Our family had now made several attempts to be fine; but some unforeseen 
disaster demolished each as soon as projected. I endeavoured to take the 
advantage of every disappointment, to improve their good sense in proportion 
as they were frustrated in ambition. "You see, my children," cried I, "how 
little is to be got by attempts to impose upon the world, in coping with our 
betters. Such as are poor and will associate with none but the rich are hated 
by those they avoid and despised by those they follow. Unequal combinations 
are always disadvantageous to the weaker side; the rich having the pleasure 
and the poor the inconveniences that result from them. But come, Dick, my boy, 
and repeat the fable that you were reading today, for the good of the company."
"Once upon a time," cried the child, "a Giant and a Dwarf were friends, and 
kept together. They made a bargain that they would never forsake each other, 
but go seek adventures. The first battle they fought was with two Saracens, 
and the Dwarf, who was very courageous, dealt one of the champions a most 
angry blow. It did the Saracen but very little injury, who lifting up his 
sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a woeful plight; 
but the Giant, coming to his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens 
dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the dead man's head out of spite. 
They then travelled on to another adventure. This was against three 
bloody-minded Satyrs, who were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf 
was not quite so fierce now as before; but for all that struck the first blow, 
which was returned by another that knocked out his eye; but the Giant was soon 
up with them, and had they not fled, would certainly have killed them every 
one. They were all very joyful for this victory, and the damsel who was 
relieved fell in love with the Giant and married him. They now travelled far, 
and farther than I can tell, till they met with a company of robbers. The 
Giant, for the first time, was foremost now; but the Dwarf was not far behind. 
The battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came all fell before him; 
but the Dwarf had like to have been killed more than once. At last the victory 
declared for the two adventurers; but the Dwarf lost his leg. The Dwarf was 
now without an arm, a leg, and an eye, while the Giant, who was without a 
single wound cried out to him, `Come on, my little hero; this is glorious 
sport; let us get one victory more, and then we shall have honour for ever.' 
-`No,' cries the Dwarf, who was by this time grown wiser, `no, I declare off; 
I'll fight no more; for I find in every battle that you get all the honour and 
rewards, but all the blows fall upon me.' "
I was going to moralize this fable, when our attention was called off to a 
warm dispute between my wife and Mr. Burchell, upon my daughters' intended 
expedition to town. My wife very strenuously insisted upon the advantages that 
would result from it. Mr. Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded her with great 
ardour, and I stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the second part 
of those which were received with so ill a grace in the morning. The dispute 
grew high, while poor Deborah, instead of reasoning stronger, talked louder, 
and at last was obliged to take shelter from a defeat in clamour. The 
conclusion of her harangue, however, was highly displeasing to us all: she 
knew, she said, of some who had their own secret reasons for what they 
advised; but, for her part, she wished such to stay away from her house for 
the future. "Madam," cried Burchell, with looks of great composure, which 
tended to inflame her the more, "as for secret reasons, you are right; I have 
secret reasons, which I forbear to mention because you are not able to answer 
those of which I make no secret. But I find my visits here are become 
troublesome; I'll take my leave therefore now, and perhaps come once more to 
take a final farewell when I am quitting the country." Thus saying, he took up 
his hat, nor could the attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed to upbraid his 
precipitancy, prevent his going.
When gone, we all regarded each other for some minutes with confusion. My 
wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a 
forced smile and an air of assurance, which I was willing to reprove: "How, 
woman," cried I to her, "is it thus we treat strangers? Is it thus we return 
their kindness? Be assured, my dear, that these were the harshest words and to 
me the most unpleasing that ever escaped your lips!" -"Why would he provoke me 
then," replied she; "but I know the motives of his advice perfectly well. He 
would prevent my girls from going to town, that he may have the pleasure of my 
youngest daughter's company here at home. But whatever happens, she shall 
choose better company than such low-lived fellows as he." -"Low-lived, my 
dear, do you call him," cried I; "it is very possible we may mistake this 
man's character: for he seems upon some occasions the most finished gentleman 
I ever knew. Tell me, Sophia, my girl, has he ever given you any secret 
instances of his attachment?" -"His conversation with me, sir," replied my 
daughter, "has ever been sensible, modest, and pleasing. As to aught else, no, 
never. Once, indeed, I remember to have heard him say he never knew a woman 
who could find merit in a man that seemed poor." -"Such, my dear," cried I, 
"is the common cant of all the unfortunate or idle. But I hope you have been 
taught to judge properly of such men, and that it would be even madness to 
expect happiness from one who has been so very bad an economist of his own. 
Your mother and I have now better prospects for you. The next winter, which 
you will probably spend in town, will give you opportunities of making a more 
prudent choice."
What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion, I can't pretend to 
determine; but I was not displeased at the bottom that we were rid of a guest 
from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went to my conscience 
a little; but I quickly silenced that monitor by two or three specious 
reasons, which served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which 
conscience gives the man who has already done wrong is soon got over. 
Conscience is a coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to 
prevent, it seldom has justice enough to punish by accusing.


Chapter 14

Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities may be real 
blessings.


The journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill 
having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by 
letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably necessary that 
their appearance should equal the greatness of their expectations, which could 
not be done without some expense. We debated therefore in full council what 
were the easiest methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we 
could most conveniently sell. The deliberation was soon finished: it was found 
that our remaining horse was utterly useless for the plough without his 
companion, and equally unfit for the road as wanting an eye; it was therefore 
determined that we should dispose of him for the purposes above-mentioned, at 
the neighbouring fair, and, to prevent imposition, that I should go with him 
myself. Though this was one of the first mercantile transactions of my life, 
yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man 
forms of his own prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps, and as 
mine was mostly in the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments 
of my worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next morning at parting, after I had 
got some paces from the door, called me back to advise me, in a whisper, to 
have all my eyes about me.
I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse through all 
his paces; but for some time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached, 
and, after he had for a good while examined the horse round, finding him blind 
of one eye, would have nothing to say to him; a second came up, but observing 
he had a spavin, declared he would not take him for the driving home; a third 
perceived he had a windgall, and would bid no money; a fourth knew by his eye 
that he had the botts: a fifth, more impertinent than all the rest, wondered 
what a plague I could do to the fair with a blind, spavined, galled hack that 
was only fit to be cut up for a dog kennel. By this time I began to have a 
most hearty contempt for the poor animal myself, and was almost ashamed at the 
approach of every new customer; for though I did not entirely believe all the 
fellows told me, yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong 
presumption they were right, and St. Gregory, upon good works, professes 
himself to be of the same opinion.
I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an old 
acquaintance, who had also business to the fair, came up, and shaking me by 
the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house and taking a glass of whatever 
we could get. I readily closed with the offer, and entering an ale-house, we 
were shown into a little back room, where there was only a venerable old man, 
who sat wholly intent over a large book, which he was reading. I never in my 
life saw a figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver 
grey venerably shaded his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the 
result of health and benevolence. However, his presence did not interrupt our 
conversation; my friend and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune we 
had met: the Whistonian controversy, my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, 
and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time 
taken off by the appearance of a youth who, entering the room, respectfully 
said something softly to the old stranger. "Make no apologies, my child," said 
the old man; "to do good is a duty we owe to all our fellow creatures; take 
this, I wish it were more; but ú5 will relieve your distress, and you are 
welcome." The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was 
scarce equal to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms, his 
benevolence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we resumed our 
conversation, until my companion, after some time, recollecting that he had 
business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back, adding that he 
always desired to have as much of Dr. Primrose's company as possible. The old 
gentleman, hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me with attention, and 
when my friend was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any way related 
to the great Primrose, that courageous monogamist, who had been the bulwark of 
the church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that moment. 
"Sir," cried I, "the applause of so good a man, as I am sure you are, adds to 
that happiness in my breast which your benevolence has already excited. You 
behold before you, sir, that Dr. Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been 
pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate Divine who has so long, 
and it would ill become me to say successfully, fought against the deuterogamy 
of the age." -"Sir," cried the stranger, struck with awe, "I fear I have been 
too familiar; but you'll forgive my curiosity, sir: I beg pardon." -"Sir," 
cried I, grasping his hand, "you are so far from displeasing me by your 
familiarity that I must beg you'll accept my friendship, as you already have 
all my esteem." -"Then with gratitude I accept the offer," cried he, squeezing 
me by the hand, "thou glorious pillar of unshaken orthodoxy; and do I behold 
-" I hereto interrupted what he was going to say; for though, as an author, I 
could digest no small share of flattery, yet now my modesty would permit no 
more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented a more instantaneous 
friendship. We talked upon several subjects: at first I thought he seemed 
rather devout than learned, and began to think he despised all human doctrines 
as dross. Yet this no way lessened him in my esteem; for I had for some time 
begun privately to harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took occasion 
to observe that the world in general began to be blameably indifferent as to 
doctrinal matters, and followed human speculations too much. "Ay, sir," 
replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that moment, "ay, sir, 
the world is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has 
puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a medley of opinions have they not 
broached upon the creation of the world? Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and 
Ocellus Lucanus have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, 
Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which imply that all things have neither 
beginning nor end. Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon-Asser 
-Asser being a Syriac word usually applied as a surname to the kings of that 
country, as Teglat Phael-Asser, Nabon-Asser -he, I say, formed a conjecture 
equally absurd; for as we usually say ek to biblion kubernetes, which implies 
that books will never teach the world; so he attempted to investigate -But, 
sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the question." That he actually was; nor 
could I for my life see how the creation of the world had any thing to do with 
the business I was talking of; but it was sufficient to show me that he was a 
man of letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to 
bring him to the touchstone; but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for 
victory. Whenever I made any observation that looked like a challenge to 
controversy, he would smile, shake his head, and say nothing; by which I 
understood he could say much, if he thought proper. The subject therefore 
insensibly changed from the business of antiquity to that which brought us 
both to the fair; mine I told him was to sell an horse, and very luckily, 
indeed, his was to buy one for one of his tenants. My horse was soon produced, 
and in fine we struck a bargain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he 
accordingly pulled out a ú30 note, and bid me change it. Not being in a 
capacity of complying with his demand, he ordered the landlady to call up his 
footman, who made his appearance in a very genteel livery. "Here, Abraham," 
cried he, "go and get gold for this; you'll do it at neighbour Jackson's, or 
any where." While the fellow was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic 
harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I undertook to improve, by 
deploring also the great scarcity of gold; and by the time Abraham returned, 
we had both agreed that money was never so hard to be come at as now. Abraham 
returned to inform us that he had been over the whole fair and could not get 
change, though he had offered half a crown for doing it. This was a very great 
disappointment to us all; but the old gentleman having paused a little, asked 
me if I knew one Solomon Flamborough in my part of the country; upon replying 
that he was my next door neighbour, "I f that be the case then," returned he, 
"I believe we shall deal. You shall have a draught upon him, payable at sight; 
and let me tell you he is as warm a man as any within five miles round him. 
Honest Solomon and I have been acquainted for many years together. I remember 
I always beat him at three jumps; but he could hop upon one leg farther than 
I." A draught upon my neighbour was to me the same as money; for I was 
sufficiently convinced of his ability: the draught was signed and put into my 
hands, and Mr. Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man Abraham, and my horse, 
old Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased with each other.
Being now left to reflection, I began to recollect that I had done wrong in 
taking a draught from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon having back 
my horse and following the purchaser. But this was now too late. I therefore 
made directly homewards, resolving to get the draught changed into money at my 
friend's as fast as possible. I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe at 
his own door, and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he read it 
twice over. "You can read the name, I suppose," cried I, "Ephraim Jenkinson." 
-"Yes," returned he, "the name is written plain enough, and I know the 
gentleman too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This is the 
very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable-looking 
man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes? And did he not talk a 
long string of learning about Greek and cosmogony and the world?" To this I 
replied with a groan. "Ay," continued he, "he has but one piece of learning in 
the world, and he always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar in company; 
but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet."
Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my greatest struggle was to come 
in facing my wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of returning 
to school, there to behold the master's sweet visage, than I was of going 
home. I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury by first falling 
into a passion myself.
But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no way disposed for battle. My 
wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there that day to 
inform them that their journey to town was entirely over. The two ladies 
having heard reports of us from some malicious person about us were that day 
set out for London. He could neither discover the tendency, nor the author of 
these, but whatever they might be, or whoever might have broached them, he 
continued to assure our family of his friendship and protection. I found, 
therefore, that they bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was 
eclipsed in the greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most was to 
think who could be so base as to asperse the character of a family so harmless 
as ours, too humble to excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.


Chapter 15

All Mr. Burchell's villainy at once detected. The folly of being overwise.


That evening, and a part of the following day, was employed in fruitless 
attempts to discover our enemies; scarce a family in the neighbourhood but 
incurred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinion best known 
to ourselves. As we were in this perplexity, one of our little boys, who had 
been playing abroad, brought in a letter-case, which he found on the green. It 
was quickly known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it had been seen, and, 
upon examination, contained some hints upon different subjects; but what 
particularly engaged our attention was a sealed note, superscribed, the copy 
of a letter to be sent to the two ladies at Thornhill Castle. It instantly 
occurred that he was the base informer, and we deliberated whether the note 
should not be broke open. I was against it; but Sophia, who said she was sure 
that of all men he would be the last to be guilty of so much baseness, 
insisted upon its being read. In this she was seconded by the rest of the 
family, and, at their joint solicitation, I read as follows:

"LADIES, -The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as to the person from whom 
this comes: one at least the friend of innocence, and ready to prevent its 
being seduced. I am informed for a truth that you have some intentions of 
bringing two young ladies to town, whom I have some knowledge of, under the 
character of companions. As I would neither have simplicity imposed upon, nor 
virtue contaminated, I must offer it as my opinion that the impropriety of 
such a step will be attended with dangerous consequences. It has never been my 
way to treat the infamous or the lewd with severity; nor should I now have 
taken this method of explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at 
guilt. Take therefore the admonition of a friend, and seriously reflect on the 
consequences of introducing infamy and vice into retreats where peace and 
innocence have hitherto resided."

Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed indeed something applicable to 
both sides in this letter, and its censures might as well be referred to those 
to whom it was written, as to us; but the malicious meaning was obvious, and 
we went no further. My wife had scarce patience to hear me to the end, but 
railed at the writer with unrestrained resentment. Olivia was equally severe, 
and Sophia seemed perfectly amazed at his baseness. As for my part, it 
appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had met 
with. Nor could I account for it in any other manner than by imputing it to 
his desire of detaining my youngest daughter in the country, to have the more 
frequent opportunities of an interview. In this manner we all sat ruminating 
upon schemes of vengeance, when our other little boy came running in to tell 
us that Mr. Burchell was approaching at the other end of the field. It is 
easier to conceive than describe the complicated sensations which are felt 
from the pain of a recent injury, and the pleasure of approaching revenge. 
Though our intentions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, yet it 
was resolved to do it in a manner that would be perfectly cutting. For this 
purpose we agreed to meet him with our usual smiles, to chat in the beginning 
with more than ordinary kindness, to amuse him a little; but then in the midst 
of the flattering calm to burst upon him like an earthquake, and overwhelm him 
with the sense of his own baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife 
undertook to manage the business herself, as she really had some talents for 
such an undertaking. We saw him approach, he entered, drew a chair, and sat 
down. "A fine day, Mr. Burchell." -"A very fine day, Doctor; though I fancy we 
shall have some rain by the shooting of my corns." -"The shooting of your 
horns," cried my wife, in a loud fit of laughter, and then asked pardon for 
being fond of a joke. -"Dear madam," replied he, "I pardon you with all my 
heart; for I protest I should not have thought it a joke till you told me." 
-"Perhaps not, sir," cried my wife, winking at us, "and yet I dare say you can 
tell us how many jokes go to an ounce." -"I fancy, madam," returned Burchell, 
"you have been reading a jest book this morning, that ounce of jokes is so 
very good a conceit; and yet, madam, I had rather see half an ounce of 
understanding." -"I believe you might," cried my wife, still smiling at us, 
though the laugh was against her; "and yet I have seen some men pretend to 
understanding that have very little." -"And no doubt," replied her antagonist, 
"you have known ladies set up for wit that had none." I quickly began to find 
that my wife was likely to gain but little at this business; so I resolved to 
treat him in a style of more severity myself. "Both wit and understanding," 
cried I, "are trifles, without integrity; it is that which gives value to 
every character. The ignorant peasant, without fault, is greater than the 
philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without an heart?

" `An honest man's the noblest work of God'."

"I always held that favourite maxim of Pope," returned Mr. Burchell, "as very 
unworthy a man of genius, and a base desertion of his own superiority. As the 
reputation of books is raised not by their freedom from defect, but the 
greatness of their beauties, so should that of men be prized not for their 
exemption from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of. The 
scholar may want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and the champion 
ferocity; but shall we prefer to these men the low mechanic, who laboriously 
plods on through life without censure or applause? We might as well prefer the 
tame correct paintings of the Flemish school to the erroneous, but sublime 
animations of the Roman pencil."
"Sir," replied I, "your present observation is just, when there are shining 
virtues and minute defects; but when it appears that great vices are opposed 
in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves 
contempt."
"Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such monsters as you describe, of 
great vices joined to great virtues; yet in my progress through life, I never 
yet found one instance of their existence: on the contrary, I have ever 
perceived that where the mind was capacious, the affections were good. And 
indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in this particular, thus to 
debilitate the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish the 
power where there is the will to do mischief. This rule seems to extend even 
to other animals: the little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and 
cowardly, whilst those endowed with strength and power are generous, brave, 
and gentle."
"These observations sound well," returned I, "and yet it would be easy this 
moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon him, "whose 
head and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, sir," continued I, raising 
my voice, "and I am glad to have this opportunity of detecting him in the 
midst of his fancied security. Do you know this, sir, this pocket-book?" 
-"Yes, sir," returned he, with a face of impenetrable assurance, "that 
pocket-book is mine, and I am glad you have found it." -"And do you know," 
cried I, "this letter? Nay, never falter man; but look me full in the face. I 
say, do you know this letter?" -"That letter," returned he, "yes, it was I 
that wrote that letter." -"And how could you," said I, "so basely, so 
ungratefully presume to write this letter?" -"And how came you," replied he, 
with looks of unparalleled effrontery, "so basely to presume to break open 
this letter? Don't you know, now, I could hang you all for this? All that I 
have to do is to swear at the next justice's that you have been guilty of 
breaking open the lock of my pocket-book, and so hang you all up at his door." 
This piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a pitch that I could 
scarce govern my passion. "Ungrateful wretch, begone, and no longer pollute my 
dwelling with thy baseness. Begone, and never let me see thee again: go from 
my doors, and the only punishment I wish thee is an alarmed conscience, which 
will be a sufficient tormentor!" So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which 
he took up with a smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost composure, 
left us quite astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was 
particularly enraged that nothing could make him angry or make him seem 
ashamed of his villainies. "My dear," cried I, willing to calm those passions 
that had been raised too high among us, "we are not to be surprised that bad 
men want shame; they only blush at being detected in doing good, but glory in 
their vices.
"Guilt and shame, says the allegory, were at first companions, and in the 
beginning of their journey inseparably kept together. But their union was soon 
found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both; guilt gave shame frequent 
uneasiness, and shame often betrayed the secret conspiracies of guilt. After 
long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented to part for ever. Guilt 
boldly walked forward alone to overtake fate, that went before in the shape of 
an executioner; but shame, being naturally timorous, returned back to keep 
company with virtue, which, in the beginning of their journey, they had left 
behind. Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages in 
vice, they no longer continue to have shame at doing evil, and shame attends 
only upon their virtues."


Chapter 16

The Family use art, which is opposed with still greater.


Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was 
easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, 
whose visits now became more frequent and longer. Though he had been 
disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the town, as he 
designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with those little 
recreations which our retirement would admit of. He usually came in the 
morning, and while my son and I followed our occupations abroad, he sat with 
the family at home and amused them by describing the town, with every part of 
which he was particularly acquainted. He could repeat all the observations 
that were retailed in the atmosphere of the playhouses, and had all the good 
things of the high wits by rote long before they made way into the jest-books. 
The intervals between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters 
piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to box to make them sharp, 
as he called it; but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law in some measure 
blinded us to all his defects. It must be owned that my wife laid a thousand 
schemes to entrap him, or to speak it more tenderly, used every art to magnify 
the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were 
made by Olivia; if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of 
her gathering; it was her fingers gave the pickles their peculiar green; and 
in the composition of a pudding, her judgment was infallible. Then the poor 
woman would sometimes tell the 'Squire that she thought him and Olivia 
extremely like each other, and would bid both stand up to see which was 
tallest. These instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which 
every body saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every 
day some new proofs of his passion, which though they had not arisen to 
proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it; and his 
slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his 
fear of offending a rich uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon 
after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of the family; my 
wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.
My wife and daughters happening to return a visit to neighbour Flamborough's 
found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who 
travelled the country, and did them for fifteen shillings a head. As this 
family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took 
the alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwithstanding all I could say, 
and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too. 
Having therefore, engaged the limner, for what could I do? our next 
deliberation was to show the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for 
our neighbour's family, there were seven of them and they were drawn with 
seven oranges, a thing quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition 
in the world. We desired to have something done in a brighter style, and, 
after many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution to be drawn 
together, in one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper since 
one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for 
all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not 
immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each 
with being drawn as independent historical figures. My wife desired to be 
represented as Venus, with a stomacher richly set with diamonds, and her two 
little ones as Cupids by her side, while I, in my gown and band, was to 
present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would be drawn 
as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green joseph laced 
with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as 
many sheep as the painter could spare; and Moses was to be dressed out with an 
hat and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the 'Squire that he insisted 
on being put in as one of the family in the character of Alexander the Great, 
at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire 
to be introduced into the family in reality, nor could we refuse his request. 
The painter was therefore set to work, and as he wrought with assiduity and 
expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece was 
large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which my wife 
gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his 
performance; but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred till the picture 
was finished, which now struck us with dismay. It was so very large that we 
had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard so material 
a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we were this time all greatly 
overseen. Instead therefore of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, there it 
leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the 
canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the 
doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson 
Crusoe's longboat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled 
a reel in a bottle; some wondered how it should be got out, and still more 
were amazed how it ever got in.
But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more 
ill-natured suggestions in many. The 'Squire's portrait being found united 
with ours was an honour too great to escape envy. Malicious whispers began to 
circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity continually to be disturbed by 
persons who came as friends to tell us what was said of us by enemies. These 
reports we always resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by 
opposition. We again therefore entered into a consultation upon obviating the 
malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much 
cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our principal object 
was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to 
sound him, by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of an husband for her 
eldest daughter. If this was not found sufficient to induce him to 
declaration, it was then fixed upon to terrify him with a rival, which it was 
thought would compel him, though never so refractory. To this last step, 
however, I would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most 
solemn assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon 
this occasion, if Mr. Thornhill did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such 
was the scheme laid, which though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not 
entirely approve.
The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls took 
care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of 
putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to the next room, from 
whence they could overhear the whole conversation, which my wife artfully 
introduced by observing that one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a 
very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the 'Squire assenting, she 
proceeded to remark that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of 
getting good husbands: "But heaven help," continued she, "the girls that have 
none. What signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue, 
and all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is 
not, what is she? but what has she? is all the cry."
"Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty, 
of your remarks, and if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It would then, 
indeed, be fine times with the girls without fortunes; our two young ladies 
should be the first for whom I would provide."
"Ah, sir!" returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious; but I wish I 
were a queen and then I know where they should look for an husband. But now 
that you have put it into my head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you 
recommend me a proper husband for my eldest girl? She is now nineteen years 
old, well grown and well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want 
for parts."
"Madam," replied he, "i f I were to choose, I would find out a person 
possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. One with 
prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such, madam, would be, in my opinion, 
the proper husband." -"Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of any such 
person?" -"No, madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know any person that 
deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for one man's 
possession: she's a goddess. Upon my soul, I speak what I think, she's an 
angel." -"Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl: but we have been 
thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, 
and who wants a manager; you know whom I mean, farmer Williams; a warm man, 
Mr. Thornhill able to give her good bread; ay, and who has several times made 
her proposals" (which was actually the case): "but, sir," concluded she, "I 
should be glad to have your approbation of our choice." -"How, madam," replied 
he, "my approbation! My approbation of such a choice! Never. What! Sacrifice 
so much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the 
blessing! Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice! And I 
have my reasons!" -"Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "i f you have your reasons, 
that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons," -"Excuse 
me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery" (laying his hand 
upon his bosom); "they remain buried, riveted here."
After he was gone, upon general consultation, we could not tell what to make 
of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most 
exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine: it seemed to me pretty plain 
that they had more of love than matrimony in them: yet, whatever they might 
portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of farmer Williams, who, 
since my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.


Chapter 17

Scarce any virtue found to resist the power of long and pleasing temptation.


As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr. Williams 
pleased me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required 
but very little encouragement to revive his former passion; so that in an 
evening or two after, he and Mr. Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed each 
other for some time with looks of anger: but Williams owed his landlord no 
rent, and little regarded his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the 
coquette to perfection, if that might be called acting which was her real 
character, pretending to lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr. 
Thornhill appeared quite dejected at this preference, and with a pensive air 
took leave, though I own it puzzled me to find him so much in pain as he 
appeared to be, when he had it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by 
declaring an honourable passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, 
it could easily be perceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After 
any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there were several, she 
usually retired to solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in such a 
situation I found her one evening, after she had been for some time supporting 
a fictitious gayety. "You now see, my child," said I, "that your confidence in 
Mr. Thornhill's passion was all a dream: he permits the rivalry of another, 
every way his inferior, though he knows it lies in his power to secure you by 
a candid declaration himself." -"Yes, papa," returned she, "but he has his 
reasons for this delay. I know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words 
convince me of his real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover the 
generosity of his sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of him has been 
more just than yours." -"Olivia, my darling," returned I, "every scheme that 
has been hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration has been proposed and 
planned by yourself, nor can you in the least say that I have constrained you. 
But you must not suppose, my dear, that I will be ever instrumental in 
suffering his honest rival to be the dupe of your ill-placed passion. Whatever 
time you require to bring your fancied admirer to an explanation shall be 
granted; but at the expiration of that term, if he is still regardless, I must 
absolutely insist that honest Mr. Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity. 
The character which I have hitherto supported in life demands this from me, 
and my tenderness, as a parent, shall never influence my integrity as a man. 
Name then your day, let it be as distant as you think proper, and in the 
meantime take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact time on which I design 
delivering you up to another. If he really loves you, his own good sense will 
readily suggest that there is but one method alone to prevent his losing you 
for ever." This proposal, which she could not avoid considering as perfectly 
just, was readily agreed to. She again renewed her most positive promise of 
marrying Mr. Williams, in case of the other's insensibility; and at the next 
opportunity, in Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for 
her nuptials with his rival.
Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety; but what 
Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle between prudence 
and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every opportunity of solitude 
was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed away; but her lover made no 
efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was still assiduous; 
but not more open. On the third he discontinued his visits entirely, and 
instead of my daughter testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed to 
retain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own 
part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be 
secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently applauded her 
resolution. It was within about four days of her intended nuptials that my 
little family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of 
the past, and laying schemes for the future; busied in forming a thousand 
projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. "Well, Moses," cried 
I, "we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family; what is your opinion 
of matters and things in general?" -"My opinion, father, is that all things go 
on very well; and I was just now thinking, that when sister Livy is married to 
farmer Williams, we shall then have the loan of his cider-press and brewing 
tubs for nothing." -"That we shall, Moses," cried I, "and he will sing us 
Death and the Lady to raise our spirits into the bargain." -"He has taught 
that song to our Dick," cried Moses; "and I think he goes through it very 
prettily." -"Does he so?" cried I, "then let us have it: where's little Dick? 
let him up with it boldly." -"My brother Dick," cried Bill my youngest, "is 
just gone out with sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and 
I'll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you choose, The Dying Swan, or the 
Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog?" -"The elegy, child, by all means," said I; 
"I never heard that yet; and Deborah, my life, grief you know is dry, let us 
have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept 
so much at all sorts of elegies of late that without an enlivening glass I am 
sure this will overcome me; and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in 
with the boy a little."


AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wond'rous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Isling town there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad,
To ev'ry Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite -
The dog it was that died.


"A very good boy, Bill, upon my word, and an elegy that may truly be called 
tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a 
bishop."
"With all my heart," cried my wife; "and if he but preaches as well as he 
sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the mother's side, 
could sing a good song: it was a common saying in our country, that the family 
of the Blenkinsops could never look straight before them, nor the Hugginses 
blow out a candle; that there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, 
or of the Marjorams but could tell a story." -"However that be," cried I, "the 
most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine 
modern odes and things that petrify us in a single stanza, productions that we 
at once detest and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses. The great 
fault of these elegists is that they are in despair for griefs that give the 
sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her lapdog, and so the 
silly poet runs home to versify the disaster."
"That may be the mode," cried Moses, "in sublimer compositions; but the 
Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in 
the same mold: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together; he gives 
her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and 
then they go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs 
and swains to get married as fast as they can."
"And very good advice too," cried I, "and I am told there is not a place in 
the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there; for, as 
it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and surely that 
must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want and 
supplied with it when wanting."
"Yes, sir," returned Moses, "and I know but of two such markets for wives in 
Europe, Ranelagh in England and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is 
open once a year, but our English wives are saleable every night."
"You are right, my boy," cried his mother. "Old England is the only place in 
the world for husbands to get wives." -"And for wives to manage their 
husbands," interrupted I. "It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built 
across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent would come over to take 
pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own.
"But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and Moses give us a good 
song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity, 
health, and competence. I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch 
upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, 
Deborah, my dear, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is 
likely to be happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we 
shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live they 
will be our support and our pleasure here, and when we die they will transmit 
our honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for your song; let us 
have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia? That little cherub's voice is 
always sweetest in the concert." Just as I spoke Dick came running in. "O 
papa, papa, she is gone from us, she is gone from us, my sister Livy is gone 
from us for ever." -"Gone, child?" -"Yes, she is gone off with two gentlemen 
in a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and said he would die for her; 
and she cried very much, and was for coming back; but he persuaded her again, 
and she went into the chaise, and said, `O what will my poor papa do when he 
knows I am undone!' " -"Now then," cried I, "my children, go and be miserable; 
for we shall never enjoy one hour more. And O may heaven's everlasting fury 
light upon him and his! Thus to rob me of my child! And sure it will, for 
taking back my sweet innocent that I was leading up to heaven. Such sincerity 
as my child was possessed of. But all our earthly happiness is now over! Go, 
my children, go, and be miserable and infamous; for my heart is broken within 
me!" -"Father," cried my son, "is this your fortitude?" -"Fortitude, child! 
Yes, he shall see I have fortitude! Bring me my pistols. I'll pursue the 
traitor. While he is on earth I'll pursue him. Old as I am, he shall find I 
can sting him yet. The villain! The perfidious villain!" I had by this time 
reached down my pistols, when my poor wife, whose passions were not so strong 
as mine, caught me in her arms. "My dearest, dearest husband," cried she, "the 
Bible is the only weapon that is fit for your old hands now. Open that, my 
love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has vilely deceived." Her 
sorrow repressed the rest in silence. "Indeed, sir," resumed my son, after a 
pause, "your rage is too violent and unbecoming. You should be my mother's 
comforter, and you increase her pain. It ill suited you and your reverend 
character thus to curse your greatest enemy; you should not have cursed the 
wretch, villain as he is." -"I did not curse him, child, did I?" -"Indeed, 
sir, you did; you cursed him twice." -"Then may heaven forgive me and him if I 
did. And now, my son, I see it was more than human benevolence that first 
taught us to bless our enemies! Blest be his holy name for all the good he has 
given, and for that he has taken away. But it is not, it is not, a small 
distress that can wring tears from these old eyes, that have not wept for so 
many years. My child! -to undo my darling! May confusion seize -Heaven forgive 
me, what am I about to say! You may remember, my love, how good she was, and 
how charming; till this vile moment all her care was to make us happy. Had she 
but died! But she is gone, the honour of our family contaminated, and I must 
look out for happiness in other worlds than here. But my child, you saw them 
go off: perhaps he forced her away? If he forced her, she may yet be 
innocent." -"Ah no, sir!" cried the child; "he only kissed her, and called her 
his angel, and she wept very much, and leaned upon his arm, and they drove off 
very fast." -"She's an ungrateful creature," cried my wife, who could scarce 
speak for weeping, "to use us thus. She never had the least constraint put 
upon her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted her parents without 
any provocation, thus to bring your grey hairs to the grave, and I must 
shortly follow."
In this manner that night, the first of our real misfortunes, was spent in the 
bitterness of complaint, and ill supported sallies of enthusiasm. I 
determined, however, to find out our betrayer, wherever he was, and reproach 
his baseness. The next morning we missed our wretched child at breakfast, 
where she used to give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife, as before, 
attempted to ease her heart by reproaches. "Never," cried she, "shall that 
vilest stain of our family again darken these harmless doors. I will never 
call her daughter more. No, let the strumpet live with her vile seducer: she 
may bring us to shame, but she shall never more deceive us."
"Wife," said I, "do not talk thus hardly: my detestation of her guilt is as 
great as yours; but ever shall this house and this heart be open to a poor 
returning repentant sinner. The sooner she returns from her transgression, the 
more welcome shall she be to me. For the first time the very best may err; art 
may persuade, and novelty spread out its charm. The first fault is the child 
of simplicity; but every other the offspring of guilt. Yes, the wretched 
creature shall be welcome to this heart and this house, though stained with 
ten thousand vices. I will again hearken to the music of her voice, again will 
I hang fondly on her bosom, if I find but repentance there. My son, bring 
hither my Bible and my staff; I will pursue her, wherever she is, and though I 
cannot save her from shame, I may prevent the continuance of iniquity."


Chapter 18

The pursuit of a father to reclaim a lost child to virtue.


Though the child could not describe the gentleman's person who handed his 
sister into the post-chaise, yet my suspicions fell entirely upon our young 
landlord, whose character for such intrigues was but too well known. I 
therefore directed my steps towards Thornhill Castle, resolving to upbraid 
him, and, if possible, to bring back my daughter; but before I had reached his 
seat, I was met by one of my parishioners, who said he saw a young lady 
resembling my daughter in a post-chaise with a gentleman whom, by the 
description, I could only guess to be Mr. Burchell, and that they drove very 
fast. This information, however, did by no means satisfy me. I therefore went 
to the young 'Squire's, and though it was yet early, insisted upon seeing him 
immediately; he soon appeared with the most open familiar air, and seemed 
perfectly amazed at my daughter's elopement, protesting upon his honour that 
he was quite a stranger to it. I now therefore condemned my former suspicions, 
and could turn them only on Mr. Burchell, who I recollected had of late 
several private conferences with her; but the appearance of another witness 
left me no room to doubt of his villainy, who averred, that he and my daughter 
were actually gone towards the wells, about thirty miles off, where there was 
a great deal of company. Hearing this, I resolved to pursue them there. I 
walked along with earnestness, and enquired of several by the way; but 
received no accounts, till entering the town, I was met by a person on 
horseback whom I remembered to have seen at the 'Squire's, and he assured me 
that if I followed them to the races, which were but thirty miles farther, I 
might depend upon overtaking them; for he had seen them dance there the night 
before, and the whole assembly seemed charmed with my daughter's performance. 
Early the next day I walked forward to the races, and about four in the 
afternoon I came upon the course. The company made a very brilliant 
appearance, all earnestly employed in one pursuit, that of pleasure; how 
different from mine, that of reclaiming a lost child to virtue! I thought I 
perceived Mr. Burchell at some distance from me; but, as if he dreaded an 
interview, upon my approaching him, he mixed among a crowd, and I saw him no 
more. I now reflected that it would be to no purpose to continue my pursuit 
farther, and resolved to return home to an innocent family, who wanted my 
assistance. But the agitations of my mind, and the fatigues I had undergone, 
threw me into a fever, the symptoms of which I perceived before I came off the 
course. This was another unexpected stroke, as I was more than seventy miles 
distant from home; however, I retired to a little ale-house by the roadside, 
and in this place, the usual retreat of indigence and frugality, I laid me 
down patiently to wait the issue of my disorder. I languished here for near 
three weeks; but at last my constitution prevailed, though I was unprovided 
with money to defray the expenses of my entertainment. It is possible the 
anxiety from this last circumstance alone might have brought on a relapse, had 
I not been supplied by a traveller, who stopped to take a cursory refreshment. 
This person was no other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's 
churchyard, who has written so many little books for children: he called 
himself their friend; but he was the friend of all mankind. He was no sooner 
alighted, but he was in haste to be gone; for he was ever on business of the 
utmost importance, and was at that time actually compiling materials for the 
history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I immediately recollected this good-natured 
man's red pimpled face; for he had published for me against the Deuterogamists 
of the age, and from him I borrowed a few pieces to be paid at my return. 
Leaving the inn, therefore, as I was yet but weak I resolved to return home by 
easy journeys of ten miles a day. My health and usual tranquillity were almost 
restored, and I now condemned that pride which had made me refractory to the 
hand of correction. Man little knows what calamities are beyond his patience 
to bear till he tries them; as in ascending the heights of ambition, which 
look bright from below, every step we rise shows us some new prospect of 
hidden disappointment; so in our descent to the vale of wretchedness, which, 
from the summits of pleasure, appears dark and gloomy, the busy mind, still 
attentive to its own amusement, finds something to flatter and surprise it. 
Still as we descend, the objects appear to brighten, unexpected prospects 
amuse, and the mental eye becomes adapted to its gloomy situation.
I now proceeded forward, and had walked about two hours, when I perceived what 
appeared at a distance like the waggon, which I was resolved to overtake; but 
when I came up with it, found it to be a strolling company's cart that was 
carrying their scenes and other theatrical furniture to the next village, 
where they were to exhibit. The cart was attended only by the person who drove 
it and one of the company, as the rest of the players were to follow the 
ensuing day. Good company upon the road, says the proverb, is always the 
shortest cut. I therefore entered into conversation with the poor player; and 
as I once had some theatrical powers myself, I dissertated on such topics with 
my usual freedom: but as I was pretty much unacquainted with the present state 
of the stage, I demanded who were the present theatrical writers in vogue, who 
the Drydens and Otways of the day. "I fancy, sir," cried the player, "few of 
our modern dramatists would think themselves much honoured by being compared 
to the writers you mention. Dryden and Row's manner, sir, are quite out of 
fashion; our taste has gone back a whole century, Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and 
all the plays of Shakespeare, are the only things that go down." -"How," cried 
I, "is it possible the present age can be pleased with that antiquated 
dialect, that obsolete humour, those over-charged characters, which abound in 
the works you mention?" -"Sir," returned my companion, "the public think 
nothing about dialect, or humour, or character; for that is none of their 
business, they only go to be amused, and find themselves happy when they can 
enjoy a pantomime under the sanction of Jonson's or Shakespeare's name." -"So 
then, I suppose," cried I, "that our modern dramatists are rather imitators of 
Shakespeare than of nature." -"To say the truth," returned my companion, "I 
don't know that they imitate any thing at all; nor indeed does the public 
require it of them: it is not the composition of the piece, but the number of 
starts and attitudes that may be introduced into it that elicits applause. I 
have known a piece with not one jest in the whole shrugged into popularity, 
and another saved by the poet's throwing in a fit of the gripes. No, sir, the 
works of Congreve and Farquhar have too much wit in them for the present 
taste; our modern dialogue is much more natural."
By this time the equipage of the strolling company was arrived at the village, 
which, it seems, had been apprized of our approach and was come out to gaze at 
us; for my companion observed that strollers always have more spectators 
without doors than within. I did not consider the impropriety of my being in 
such company till I saw a mob gathered about me. I therefore took shelter, as 
fast as possible, in the first ale-house that offered, and being shown into 
the common room, was accosted by a very well-dressed gentleman who demanded 
whether I was the real chaplain of the company or whether it was only to be my 
masquerade character in the play. Upon informing him of the truth, and that I 
did not belong to the company, he was condescending enough to desire me and 
the player to partake in a bowl of punch, over which he discussed modern 
politics with great earnestness and seeming interest. I set him down in my own 
mind for nothing less than a parliament-man at least; but was almost confirmed 
in my conjectures, when upon my asking what there was in the house for supper, 
he insisted that the player and I should sup with him at his house, with which 
request, after some entreaties, I was prevailed on to comply.


Chapter 19

The description of a person discontented with the present government, and 
apprehensive of the loss of our liberties.


The house where we were to be entertained, lying at a small distance from the 
village, our inviter observed that as the coach was not ready, he would 
conduct us on foot, and we soon arrived at one of the most magnificent 
mansions I had seen in the country. The apartment into which we were shown was 
perfectly elegant and modern; he went to give orders for supper, while the 
player, with a wink, observed that we were perfectly in luck. Our entertainer 
soon returned, an elegant supper was brought in, two or three ladies, in an 
easy dishabille, were introduced, and the conversation began with some 
sprightliness. Politics, however, was the subject on which our entertainer 
chiefly expatiated; for he asserted that liberty was at once his boast and his 
terror. After the cloth was removed, he asked me if I had seen the last 
Monitor, to which replying in the negative, "What, nor the Auditor, I 
suppose?" cried he. -"Neither, sir," returned I. -"That's strange, very 
strange," replied my entertainer. "Now, I read all the politics that come out. 
The Daily, the Public, the Ledger, the Chronicle, the London Evening, the 
Whitehall Evening, the seventeen magazines, and the two reviews; and though 
they hate each other, I love them all. Liberty, sir, liberty is the Briton's 
boast, and by all my coal mines in Cornwall, I reverence its guardians." 
-"Then it is to be hoped," cried I, "you reverence the king." -"Yes," returned 
my entertainer, "when he does what we would have him; but if he goes on as he 
has done of late, I'll never trouble myself more with his matters. I say 
nothing. I think only. I could have directed some things better. I don't think 
there has been a sufficient number of advisers: he should advise with every 
person willing to give him advice, and then we should have things done in 
another manner."
"I wish," cried I, "that such intruding advisers were fixed in the pillory. It 
should be the duty of honest men to assist the weaker side of our 
constitution, that sacred power that has for some years been every day 
declining, and losing its due share of influence in the state. But these 
ignorants still continue the cry of liberty, and if they have any weight, 
basely throw it into the subsiding scale."
"How," cried one of the ladies, "do I live to see one so base, so sordid, as 
to be an enemy to liberty and a defender of tyrants? Liberty, that sacred gift 
of heaven, that glorious privilege of Britons!"
"Can it be possible," cried our entertainer, "that there should be any found 
at present advocates for slavery? Any who are for meanly giving up the 
privileges of Britons? Can any, sir, be so abject?"
"No, sir," replied I, "I am for liberty, that attribute of Gods! Glorious 
liberty! that theme of modern declamation. I would have all men kings. I would 
be a king myself. We have all naturally an equal right to the throne: we were 
all originally equal. This is my opinion, and was once the opinion of a set of 
honest men who were called Levellers. They tried to erect themselves into a 
community, where all should be equally free. But, alas! it would never answer; 
for there were some among them stronger, and some more cunning than others, 
and these became masters of the rest; for as sure as your groom rides your 
horses, because he is a cunninger animal than they, so surely will the animal 
that is cunninger or stronger than he sit upon his shoulders in turn. Since 
then it is entailed upon humanity to submit, and some are born to command and 
others to obey, the question is, as there must be tyrants, whether it is 
better to have them in the same house with us, or in the same village, or 
still farther off, in the metropolis. Now, sir, for my own part, as I 
naturally hate the face of a tyrant, the farther off he is removed from me, 
the better pleased am I. The generality of mankind also are of my way of 
thinking and have unanimously created one king, whose election at once 
diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at the greatest distance 
from the greatest number of people. Now those who were tyrants themselves 
before the election of one tyrant are naturally averse to a power raised over 
them, and whose weight must ever lean heaviest on the subordinate orders. It 
is the interest of the great, therefore, to diminish kingly power as much as 
possible; because whatever they take from it is naturally restored to 
themselves; and all they have to do in a state is to undermine the single 
tyrant, by which they resume their primeval authority. Now, a state may be so 
constitutionally circumstanced, its laws may be so disposed, and its men of 
opulence so minded, as all to conspire to carry on this business of 
undermining monarchy. If the circumstances of the state be such, for instance, 
as to favour the accumulation of wealth, and make the opulent still more rich, 
this will increase their strength and their ambition. But an accumulation of 
wealth must necessarily be the consequence in a state when more riches flow in 
from external commerce than arise from internal industry, for external 
commerce can only be managed to advantage by the rich, and they have also at 
the same time all the emoluments arising from internal industry; so that the 
rich, in such a state, have two sources of wealth, whereas the poor have but 
one. Thus wealth in all commercial states is found to accumulate, and such 
have hitherto in time become aristocratical. Besides this, the very laws of a 
country may contribute to the accumulation of wealth; as when those natural 
ties that bind the rich and poor together are broken, and it is ordained that 
the rich shall only marry among each other; or when the learned are held 
unqualified to serve their country as counsellors merely from a defect of 
opulence, and wealth is thus made the object of a wise man's ambition; by 
these means, I say, and such means as these, riches will accumulate. The 
possessor of accumulated wealth, when furnished with the necessaries and 
pleasures of life, can employ the superfluity of fortune only in purchasing 
power. That is, differently speaking, in making dependents, in purchasing the 
liberty of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to bear the 
mortification of contiguous tyranny for bread. Thus each very opulent man 
generally gathers round him a circle of the poorest of the people; and the 
polity abounding in accumulated wealth may be compared to a Cartesian system, 
each orb with a vortex of its own. Those, however, who are willing to move in 
a great man's vortex are only such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind, 
whose souls and whose education are adapted to servitude, and who know nothing 
of liberty except the name. But there must still be a large number of the 
people without the sphere of the opulent man's influence, namely, that order 
of men which subsists between the very rich and the very rabble; those men who 
are possessed of too large fortunes to submit to the neighbouring man in 
power, and yet are too poor to set up for tyranny themselves. In this middle 
order of mankind are generally to be found all the arts, wisdom, and virtues 
of society. This order alone is known to be the true preserver of freedom, and 
may be called the People. Now it may happen that this middle order of mankind 
may lose all its influence in a state, and its voice be in a manner drowned in 
that of the rabble; for if the fortune sufficient for qualifying a person at 
present to give his voice in state affairs be ten times less than was judged 
sufficient upon forming the constitution, it is evident that greater number of 
the rabble will thus be introduced into the political system, and they ever 
moving in the vortex of the great will follow where greatness shall direct. In 
such a state, therefore, all that the middle order has left is to preserve the 
prerogative and privileges of the one principal tyrant with the most sacred 
circumspection. For he divides the power of the rich, and calls off the great 
from falling with tenfold weight on the middle order placed beneath them. The 
middle order may be compared to a town of which the opulent are forming the 
siege, and which the tyrant is hastening to relieve. While the besiegers are 
in dread of the external enemy, it is but natural to offer the townsmen the 
most specious terms, to flatter them with sounds and amuse them with 
privileges; but if they once defeat the tyrant, the walls of the town will be 
but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they may then expect may be seen 
by turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the 
poor, and the rich govern the law. I am then for, and would die for, monarchy, 
sacred monarchy; for if there be any thing sacred amongst men, it must be the 
anointed sovereign of his people, and every diminution of his power in war or 
in peace is an infringement upon the real liberties of the subject. The sounds 
of liberty, patriotism, and Britons have already done much; it is to be hoped 
that the true sons of freedom will prevent their ever doing more. I have known 
many of those bold champions for liberty in my time, yet do I not remember one 
that was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant."
My warmth, I found, had lengthened this harangue beyond the rules of good 
breeding; but the impatience of my entertainer, who often strove to interrupt 
it, could be restrained no longer. "What," cried he, "then I have been all 
this while entertaining a Jesuit in parson's clothes; but by all the coal 
mines of Cornwall, out he shall pack, if my name be Wilkinson." I now found I 
had gone too far, and asked pardon for the warmth with which I had spoken. 
"Pardon," returned he in a fury; "I think such principles demand ten thousand 
pardons. What, give up liberty, property, and, as the Gazetteer says, lie down 
to be saddled with wooden shoes! Sir, I insist upon your marching out of this 
house immediately, to prevent worse consequences. Sir, I insist upon it." I 
was going to repeat my remonstrances; but just then we heard a footman's rap 
at the door, and the two ladies cried out, "As sure as death there is our 
master and mistress come home." It seems my entertainer was all this while 
only the butler, who, in his master's absence, had a mind to cut a figure and 
be for a while the gentleman himself; and, to say the truth, he talked 
politics as well as most country gentlemen do. But nothing could now exceed my 
confusion upon seeing the gentleman with his lady enter, nor was their 
surprise at finding such company and good cheer less than ours. "Gentlemen," 
cried the real master of the house to me and my companion, "I am your most 
humble servant; but I protest this is so unexpected a favour that I almost 
sink under the obligation." However unexpected our company might be to him, 
his, I am sure, was still more so to us, and I was struck dumb with the 
apprehensions of my own absurdity, when whom should I next see enter the room 
but my dear Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was formerly designed to be married to 
my son George, but whose match was broken off, as already related. As soon as 
she saw me, she flew to my arms with the utmost joy. "My dear sir," cried she, 
"to what happy accident is it that we owe so unexpected a visit? I am sure my 
uncle and aunt will be in raptures when they find they have the good Dr. 
Primrose for their guest." Upon hearing my name, the old gentleman and lady 
very politely stepped up, and welcomed me with most cordial hospitality. Nor 
could they forbear smiling upon being informed of the nature of my present 
visit; but the unfortunate butler, whom they at first seemed disposed to turn 
away, was, at my intercession, forgiven.
Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house belonged, now insisted upon having 
the pleasure of my stay for some days, and as their niece, my charming pupil, 
whose mind in some measure had been formed under my own instructions, joined 
in their entreaties, I complied. That night I was shown to a magnificent 
chamber, and the next morning early Miss Wilmot desired to walk with me in the 
garden, which was decorated in the modern manner. After some time spent in 
pointing out the beauties of the place, she enquired, with seeming unconcern, 
when last I had heard from my son George. "Alas! madam," cried I, "he has now 
been near three years absent, without ever writing to his friends or me. Where 
he is I know not; perhaps I shall never see him or happiness more. No, my dear 
madam, we shall never more see such pleasing hours as were once spent by our 
fireside at Wakefield. My little family are now dispersing very fast, and 
poverty has brought not only want, but infamy upon us." The good-natured girl 
let fall a tear at this account; but as I saw her possessed of too much 
sensibility, I forbore a more minute detail of our sufferings. It was, 
however, some consolation to me to find that time had made no alteration in 
her affections, and that she had rejected several matches that had been made 
her since our leaving her part of the country. She led me round all the 
extensive improvements of the place, pointing to the several walks and 
arbours, and at the same time catching from every object a hint for some new 
question relative to my son. I n this manner we spent the forenoon, till the 
bell summoned us in to dinner, where we found the manager of the strolling 
company, who was come to dispose of tickets for the Fair Penitent, which was 
to be acted that evening, the part of Horatio by a young gentleman who had 
never appeared on any stage before. He seemed to be very warm in the praises 
of the new performer, and averred that he never saw any who bid so fair for 
excellence. Acting, he observed, was not learned in a day; "but this 
gentleman," continued he, "seems born to tread the stage. His voice, his 
figure, and attitude are all admirable. We caught him up accidentally in our 
journey down." This account, in some measure, excited our curiosity, and, at 
the entreaty of the ladies, I was prevailed upon to accompany them to the 
playhouse, which was no other than a barn. As the company with which I went 
was incontestably the chief of the place, we were received with the greatest 
respect and placed in the front seat of the theatre, where we sat for some 
time with no small impatience to see Horatio make his appearance. The new 
performer advanced at last, and I found it was my unfortunate son. He was 
going to begin, when, turning his eyes upon the audience, he perceived us, and 
stood at once speechless and immovable. The actors behind the scene, who 
ascribed this pause to his natural timidity, attempted to encourage him; but 
instead of going on, he burst into a flood of tears and retired off the stage. 
I don't know what were the sensations I felt, for they succeeded with too much 
rapidity for description; but I was soon awakened from this disagreeable 
reverie by Miss Wilmot, who, pale and with trembling voice, desired me to 
conduct her back to her uncle's. When we got home, Mr. Arnold, who was as yet 
a stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, being informed that the new 
performer was my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him; and as he 
persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, the players put 
another in his place, and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave him the 
kindest reception, and I received him with my usual transport; for I could 
never counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed with 
seeming neglect, and yet I could perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult 
in her mind seemed not yet abated; she said twenty giddy things that looked 
like joy, and then laughed loud at her own want of meaning. At intervals she 
would take a sly peep at the glass, as if happy in the consciousness of 
unresisting beauty, and often would ask questions, without giving any manner 
of attention to the answers.


Chapter 20

The history of a philosophic vagabond, pursuing novelty, but losing content.


After we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her 
footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decline; but upon 
her pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her that a stick and a 
wallet were all the movable things upon this earth that he could boast of. 
"Why, ay, my son," cried I, "you left me but poor, and poor I find you are 
come back; and yet I make no doubt you have seen a great deal of the world." 
-"Yes, sir," replied my son, "but travelling after fortune, is not the way to 
secure her; and, indeed, of late I have desisted from the pursuit." -"I fancy, 
sir," cried Mrs. Arnold, "that the account of your adventures would be 
amusing: the first part of them I have often heard from my niece; but could 
the company prevail for the rest, it would be an additional obligation." 
-"Madam," replied my son, "I can promise you the pleasure you have in hearing 
will not be half so great as my vanity in the recital; and yet in the whole 
narrative I can scarce promise you one adventure, as my account is not of what 
I did, but what I saw. The first misfortune of my life, which you all know, 
was great; but though it distressed, it could not sink me. No person ever had 
a better knack at hoping than I. The less kind I found fortune then, the more 
I expected from her another time, and being now at the bottom of her wheel, 
every new revolution might lift, but could not depress me. I proceeded, 
therefore, towards London in a fine morning, no way uneasy about tomorrow, but 
cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road. I comforted myself with 
various reflections, that London was the true mart where abilities of every 
kind were sure of meeting distinction and reward.
"Upon my arrival in town, sir, my first care was to deliver your letter of 
recommendation to our cousin, who was himself in little better circumstances 
than me. My first scheme, you know, sir, was to be usher at an academy, and I 
asked his advice on the affair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true 
sardonic grin. `Ay,' cried he, `this is a pretty career, indeed, that has been 
chalked out for you. I have been once an usher at a boarding school myself; 
and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under turnkey in 
Newgate. I was up early and late. I was browbeat by the master, hated for my 
ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys within, and never permitted to 
stir out to meet civility abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a school? 
Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred apprentice to the business? 
No. Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair? No. Then you 
won't do for a school. Have you had the smallpox? No. Then you won't do for a 
school. Can you lie three in a bed? No. Then you will never do for a school. 
Have you got a good stomach? Yes. Then you will by no means do for a school. 
No, sir, if you are for a genteel easy profession, bind yourself seven years 
as an apprentice to turn a cutler's wheel; but avoid a school by any means. 
But come,' continued he, `I see you are a lad of spirit and some learning, 
what do you think of commencing author, like me? You have read in books, no 
doubt, of men of genius starving at the trade; but at present I'll show you 
forty very dull fellows about town that live by it in opulence. All honest 
jog-trot men, who go on smoothly and dully, and write history and politics, 
and are praised; and who, had they been bred cobblers, would all their lives 
have only mended shoes, but never made them.'
"Finding that there was no great degree of gentility affixed to the character 
of an usher, I resolved to accept his proposal; and having the highest respect 
for literature, I hailed the antiqua mater of Grub Street with reverence. I 
thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before me. 
In fact, I considered the goddess of this region as the parent of excellence; 
and however an intercourse with the world might give us good sense, the 
poverty she granted was the nurse of genius! Big with these reflections, I sat 
down, and finding that the best things remained to be said on the wrong side, 
I resolved to write a book that should be wholly new. I therefore dressed up 
three paradoxes with some ingenuity. They were false, indeed, but they were 
new. The jewels of truth have been so often imported by others that nothing 
was left for me to import but some splendid things that at a distance looked 
every bit as well. Witness, you powers, what fancied importance sat perched 
upon my quill while I was writing. The whole learned world, I made no doubt, 
would rise to oppose my systems; but then I was prepared to oppose the whole 
learned world. Like the porcupine I sat self-collected, with a quill pointed 
against every opposer."
"Well said, my boy," cried I, "and what subject did you treat upon? I hope you 
did not pass over the importance of hierarchal monogamy. But I interrupt, go 
on; you published your paradoxes; well, and what did the learned world say to 
your paradoxes?"
"Sir," replied my son, "the learned world said nothing to my paradoxes; 
nothing at all, sir. Every man of them was employed in praising his friends 
and himself, or condemning his enemies; and, unfortunately, as I had neither, 
I suffered the cruellest mortification, neglect.
"As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on the fate of my paradoxes, a 
little man happening to enter the room placed himself in the box before me, 
and after some preliminary discourse, finding me to be a scholar, drew out a 
bundle of proposals, begging me to subscribe to a new edition he was going to 
give the world of Propertius, with notes. This demand necessarily produced a 
reply that I had no money; and that concession led him on to enquire into the 
nature of my expectations. Finding that my expectations were just as great as 
my purse, `I see,' cried he, `you are unacquainted with the town. I'll teach 
you a part of it. Look at these proposals; upon these very proposals I have 
subsisted very comfortably for twelve years. The moment a nobleman returns 
from his travels, a Creolian arrives from Jamaica, or a dowager from her 
country seat, I strike for a subscription. I first besiege their hearts with 
flattery, and then pour in my proposals at the breach. If they subscribe 
readily the first time, I renew my request to beg a dedication fee. If they 
let me have that, I smite them once more for engraving their coat of arms at 
the top. Thus,' continued he, `I live by vanity, and laugh at it. But between 
ourselves, I am now too well known. I should be glad to borrow your face a 
bit: a nobleman of distinction has just returned from Italy; my face is 
familiar to his porter; but if you bring this copy of verses, my life for it 
you succeed, and we divide the spoil.' "
"Bless us, George," cried I, "and is that the employment of poets now! Do men 
of their exalted talents thus stoop to beggary! Can they so far disgrace their 
calling as to make a vile traffic of praise for bread?"
"O no, sir," returned he, "a true poet can never be so base; for wherever 
there is genius there is pride. The creatures I now describe are only beggars 
in rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every hardship for fame, so he is 
equally a coward to contempt, and none but those who are unworthy protection 
condescend to solicit it.
"Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune too 
humble to hazard a second attempt for fame, I was now obliged to take a middle 
course and write for bread. But I was unqualified for a profession where mere 
industry alone could ensure success. I could not suppress my lurking passion 
for applause; but usually consumed that time in efforts after excellence which 
takes up but little room, when it should have been more advantageously 
employed in the diffusive productions of fruitful mediocrity. My little piece 
would come forth in the midst of periodical publications, unnoticed and 
unknown. The public were more importantly employed than to observe the easy 
simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet was 
thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays upon liberty, 
eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog; while Philautos, 
Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Philanthropos all wrote better, because they 
wrote faster, than I.
"Now, therefore, I began to associate with none but disappointed authors, like 
myself, who praised, deplored, and despised each other. The satisfaction we 
found in every celebrated writer's attempts was inversely as their merits. I 
found that no genius in another could please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had 
entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with 
satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my 
trade.
"In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was one day sitting on a bench 
in St. James's park, a young gentleman of distinction, who had been my 
intimate acquaintance at the university, approached me. We saluted each other 
with some hesitation, he almost ashamed of being known to one who made so 
shabby an appearance, and I afraid of a repulse. But my suspicions soon 
vanished; for Ned Thornhill was at the bottom a very good-natured fellow."
"What did you say, George?" interrupted I. "Thornhill, was not that his name? 
It can certainly be no other than my landlord." -"Bless me," cried Mrs. 
Arnold, "is Mr. Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours? He has long been a 
friend in our family, and we expect a visit from him shortly."
"My friend's first care," continued my son, "was to alter my appearance by a 
very fine suit of his own clothes, and then I was admitted to his table upon 
the footing of half-friend, half-underling. My business was to attend him at 
auctions, to put him in spirits when he sat for his picture, to take the left 
hand in his chariot when not filled by another, and to assist at tattering a 
kip, as the phrase was, when he had a mind for a frolic. Beside this, I had 
twenty other little employments in the family. I was to do many small things 
without bidding: to carry the cork screw; to stand godfather to all the 
butler's children; to sing when I was bid; to be never out of humour; always 
to be humble, and, if I could, to be happy.
"In this honourable post, however, I was not without a rival. A captain of 
marines, who seemed formed for the place by nature, opposed me in my patron's 
affections. His mother had been laundress to a man of quality, and thus he 
early acquired a taste for pimping and pedigree. As this gentleman made it the 
study of his life to be acquainted with lords, though he was dismissed from 
several for his stupidity, yet he found many of them who permitted his 
assiduities, being as dull as himself. As flattery was his trade, he practised 
it with the easiest address imaginable; but it came awkward and stiff from me; 
and as every day my patron's desire of flattery increased, so every hour being 
better acquainted with his defects, I became more unwilling to give it. Thus I 
was once more fairly going to give up the field to the captain, when my friend 
found occasion for my assistance. This was nothing less than to fight a duel 
for him with a gentleman whose sister it was pretended he had used ill. I 
readily complied with his request, and though I see you are displeased at my 
conduct, yet as it was a debt indispensably due to friendship, I could not 
refuse. I undertook the affair, disarmed my antagonist, and soon after had the 
pleasure of finding that the lady was only a woman of the town and the fellow 
her bully and a sharper. This piece of service was repaid with the warmest 
professions of gratitude; but as my friend was to leave town in a few days, he 
knew no other method to serve me, but by recommending me to his uncle Sir 
William Thornhill and another nobleman of great distinction, who enjoyed a 
post under the government. When he was gone, my first care was to carry his 
recommendatory letter to his uncle, a man whose character for every virtue was 
universal, yet just. I was received by his servants with the most hospitable 
smiles; for the looks of the domestics ever transmit their master's 
benevolence. Being shown into a grand apartment, where Sir William soon came 
to me, I delivered my message and letter, which he read, and after pausing 
some minutes, `Pray, sir,' cried he, `inform me what you have done for my 
kinsman, to deserve this warm recommendation? But I suppose, sir, I guess at 
your merits, you have fought for him; and so you would expect a reward from 
me, for being the instrument of his vices. I wish, sincerely wish, that my 
present refusal may be some punishment for your guilt; but still more, that it 
may be some inducement to your repentance.' The severity of this rebuke I bore 
patiently, because I knew it was just. My whole expectations now, therefore, 
lay in my letter to the great man. As the doors of the nobility are almost 
ever beset with beggars all ready to thrust in some sly petition, I found it 
no easy matter to gain admittance. However, after bribing the servants with 
half my worldly fortune, I was at last shown into a spacious apartment, my 
letter being previously sent up for his lordship's inspection. During this 
anxious interval I had full time to look round me. Every thing was grand, and 
of happy contrivance: the paintings, the furniture, the gildings, petrified me 
with awe and raised my idea of the owner. Ah, thought I to myself, how very 
great must the possessor of all these things be, who carries in his head the 
business of the state, and whose house displays half the wealth of a kingdom: 
sure his genius must be unfathomable! During these awful reflections I heard a 
step come heavily forward. Ah, this is the great man himself! No, it was only 
a chambermaid. Another foot was heard soon after. This must be He! No, it was 
only the great man's valet de chambre. At last his lordship actually made his 
appearance. `Are you,' cried he, `the bearer of this here letter?' I answered 
with a bow. `I learn by this,' continued he, `as how that -' But just at that 
instant a servant delivered him a card, and without taking further notice, he 
went out of the room and left me to digest my own happiness at leisure. I saw 
no more of him, till told by a footman that his lordship was going to his 
coach at the door. Down I immediately followed and joined my voice to that of 
three or four more, who came, like me, to petition for favours. His lordship, 
however, went too fast for us and was gaining his chariot door with large 
strides, when I hallooed out to know if I was to have any reply. He was by 
this time got in and muttered an answer, half of which only I heard, the other 
half was lost in the rattling of his chariot wheels. I stood for some time 
with my neck stretched out, in the posture of one that was listening to catch 
the glorious sounds, till looking round me, I found myself alone at his 
lordship's gate.
"My patience," continued my son, "was now quite exhausted: stung with the 
thousand indignities I had met with, I was willing to cast myself away, and 
only wanted the gulf to receive me. I regarded myself as one of those vile 
things that nature designed should be thrown by into her lumber room, there to 
perish in unpitied obscurity. I had still, however, half a guinea left, and of 
that I thought fortune herself should not deprive me; but in order to be sure 
of this, I was resolved to go instantly and spend it while I had it, and then 
trust to occurrences for the rest. As I was going along with this resolution, 
it happened that Mr. Cripse's office seemed invitingly open to give me a 
welcome reception. In this office Mr. Cripse kindly offers all his majesty's 
subjects a generous promise of ú30 a year, for which promise all they give in 
return is their liberty for life and permission to let him transport them to 
America as slaves. I was happy at finding a place where I could lose my fears 
in desperation, and therefore entered this cell; for it had the appearance of 
one, being dark, damp, and dirty. Here I found a number of poor creatures, all 
in circumstances like myself, expecting the arrival of Mr. Cripse, presenting 
a true epitome of English impatience. Each untractable soul at variance with 
fortune wreaked her injuries on their own hearts: but Mr. Cripse at last came 
down, and all our murmurs were hushed. He deigned to regard me with an air of 
peculiar approbation, and indeed he was the first man who for a month past 
talked to me with smiles. After a few questions, he found I was fit for every 
thing in the world. He paused a while upon the properest means of providing 
for me, and slapping his forehead, as if he had found it, assured me that 
there was at that time an embassy talked of from the synod of Pennsylvania to 
the Chickasaw Indians, and that he would use his interest to get me made 
secretary. I knew in my own heart that the fellow lied, and yet his promise 
gave me pleasure, there was something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly, 
therefore, divided my half guinea, one half of which went to be added to his 
thirty thousand pound, and with the other half I resolved to go to the next 
tavern, to be there more happy than he.
"As I was going out with that resolution, I was met at the door by the captain 
of a ship with whom I had formerly some little acquaintance, and he agreed to 
be my companion over a bowl of punch. As I never chose to make a secret of my 
circumstances, he assured me that I was upon the very point of ruin in 
listening to the office-keeper's promises; for that he only designed to sell 
me to the plantations. `But,' continued he, `I fancy you might, by a much 
shorter voyage, be very easily put into a genteel way of bread. Take my 
advice. My ship sails tomorrow for Amsterdam. What if you go in her as a 
passenger? The moment you land all you have to do is to teach the Dutchmen 
English, and I'll warrant you'll get pupils and money enough. I suppose you 
understand English,' added he, `by this time, or the deuce is in it.' I 
confidently assured him of that, but expressed a doubt whether the Dutch would 
be willing to learn English. He affirmed with an oath that they were fond of 
it to distraction; and upon that affirmation I agreed with his proposal and 
embarked the next day to teach the Dutch English in Holland. The wind was 
fair, our voyage short, and after having paid my passage with half my 
movables, I found myself, fallen as if from the skies, a stranger in one of 
the principal streets of Amsterdam. In this situation I was unwilling to let 
any time pass unemployed in teaching. I addressed myself therefore to two or 
three of those I met, whose appearance seemed most promising; but it was 
impossible to make ourselves mutually understood. It was not till this very 
moment I recollected that, in order to teach Dutchmen English, it was 
necessary that they should first teach me Dutch. How I came to overlook so 
obvious an objection is to me amazing; but certain it is I overlooked it.
"This scheme thus blown up, I had some thoughts of fairly shipping back to 
England again; but happening into company with an Irish student, who was 
returning from Louvain, our conversation turning upon topics of literature 
(for by the way it may be observed that I always forgot the meanness of my 
circumstances when I could converse upon such subjects), from him I learned 
that there were not two men in his whole university who understood Greek. This 
amazed me. I instantly resolved to travel to Louvain, and there live by 
teaching Greek; and in this design I was heartened by my brother student, who 
threw out some hints that a fortune might be got by it.
"I set boldly forward the next morning. Every day lessened the burden of my 
movables, like Aesop and his basket of bread; for I paid them for my lodgings 
to the Dutch as I travelled on. When I came to Louvain, I was resolved not to 
go sneaking to the lower professors, but openly tendered my talents to the 
principal himself. I went, had admittance, and offered him my service as a 
master of the Greek language, which I had been told was a desideratum in his 
university. The principal seemed at first to doubt of my abilities; but of 
these I offered to convince him, by turning a part of any Greek author he 
should fix upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly earnest in my proposal, he 
addressed me thus: `You see me, young man,' continued he. `I never learned 
Greek, and I don't find that I ever missed it. I have had a doctor's cap and 
gown without Greek: I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek; and I 
eat heartily without Greek. In short,' continued he, `I don't know Greek, and 
I do not believe there is any use in it.'
"I was now too far from home to think of returning; so I resolved to go 
forward. I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now turned 
what was once my amusement into a present means of bare subsistence. I passed 
among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were 
poor enough to be very merry; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to 
their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards nightfall, I 
played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, 
but subsistence for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play for people 
of fashion; but they still thought my performance odious, and never rewarded 
me even with a trifle. This was to me the more extraordinary, as whenever I 
used formerly to play for company, when playing was my amusement, my music 
never failed to throw them into raptures, and the ladies especially; but as it 
was now my only means, it was received with contempt: a proof how ready the 
world is to underrate those talents which a man lives by.
"In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no design but just to look about 
me, and then to go forward. The people of Paris are much fonder of strangers 
that have money, than of those that have wit. You may imagine then, as I could 
not boast much of either, that I was no great favourite. After I had walked 
about the town four or five days, and seen the outsides of the best houses, I 
was preparing to leave this retreat of venal hospitality, when passing through 
one of the principal streets, whom should I meet but our cousin, to whom you 
first recommended me. This meeting was very agreeable to me, and I believe not 
displeasing to him. He enquired into the nature of my journey to Paris and 
informed me of his business there, which was to collect pictures, medals, 
intaglios, and antiques of all kinds for a gentleman in London who had just 
stepped into taste and a large fortune. I was still more surprised at seeing 
our cousin pitched upon for this office, as himself had often assured me he 
knew nothing of the matter. Upon my asking how he had been taught the art of a 
cognoscente so very suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy. The 
whole secret consisted in a strict adherence to two rules: the one always to 
observe that the picture might have been better if the painter had taken more 
pains; and the other, to praise the works of Pietro Perugino. `But,' says he, 
`as I once taught you how to be an author in London, I'll now undertake to 
instruct you in the art of picture buying at Paris.'
"With this proposal I very readily closed, as it was a living, and now all my 
ambition was to live. I went therefore to his lodgings, improved my dress by 
his assistance, and after some time, accompanied him to auctions of pictures, 
where the English gentry were expected to be purchasers. I was not a little 
surprised at his intimacy with people of the best fashion, who referred 
themselves to his judgment upon every picture or medal, as to an unerring 
standard of taste. He made very good use of my assistance upon these 
occasions; for when asked his opinion, he would gravely take me aside and ask 
mine, shrug, look wise, return, and assure the company that he could give no 
opinion upon an affair of so much importance. Yet there was sometimes an 
occasion for a more supported assurance. I remember to have seen him, after 
giving his opinion that the colouring of a picture was not mellow enough, very 
deliberately take a brush with brown varnish, that was accidentally lying in 
the place, and rub it over the piece with great composure before all the 
company, and then ask if he had not improved the tints.
"When he had finished his commission in Paris, he left me strongly recommended 
to several men of distinction, as a person very proper for a travelling tutor; 
and I was after some time employed in that capacity by a gentleman who brought 
his ward to Paris, in order to set him forward on his tour through Europe. I 
was to be the young gentleman's governor, with this injunction, that he should 
always be permitted to direct himself. My pupil in fact understood the art of 
guiding in money concerns much better than me. He was heir to a fortune of 
about two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle in the West Indies; 
and his guardians, to qualify him for the management of it, had bound him 
apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing passion; all his 
questions on the road were how money might be saved: which was the least 
expensive course of travel; whether any thing could be bought that would turn 
to account when disposed of again in London. Such curiosities on the way as 
could be seen for nothing he was ready enough to look at; but if the sight was 
to be paid for, he usually asserted that he had been told it was not worth 
seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not observe how amazingly expensive 
travelling was, and all this though he was not yet come to the age of 
twenty-one. When arrived at Leghorn, as we took a walk to look at the port and 
shipping, he enquired the expense of the passage by sea home to England. This 
he was informed was but a trifle, compared to his returning by land; he was 
therefore unable to withstand the temptation; so paying me the small part of 
my salary that was then due, he took leave and embarked with only one 
attendant for London.
"I now therefore was left once more upon the world at large, but then it was a 
thing I was used to. However, my skill in music could avail me nothing in a 
country where every peasant was a better musician than I; but by this time I 
had acquired another talent, which answered my purpose as well, and this was a 
skill in disputation. In all the foreign universities and convents, there are 
upon certain days philosophical theses maintained against every adventitious 
disputant; for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim 
a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. In this manner 
therefore I fought my way towards England, walked along from city to city, 
examined mankind more nearly, and, if I may so express it, saw both sides of 
the picture. My remarks, however, were few: I found that monarchy was the best 
government for the poor to live in, and commonwealths for the rich. I found 
that riches in general were in every country another name for freedom; and 
that no man is so fond of freedom himself that he would not choose to subject 
the will of some individuals of society to his own.
"Upon my arrival in England, I resolved to pay my respects first to you, and 
then to enlist as a volunteer in the first expedition that was sent out; but 
on my journey down my resolutions were changed by meeting an old acquaintance, 
who I found belonged to a company of comedians that were going to make a 
summer campaign in the country. The company seemed not much to disapprove of 
me for an associate. They all, however, apprized me of the importance of the 
task at which I aimed; that the public was a many headed monster, and that 
only such as had very good heads could please it; that acting was not to be 
learnt in a day; and that without some traditional shrugs, which had been on 
the stage, and only on the stage, these hundred years, I could never pretend 
to please. The next difficulty was in fitting me with parts, as almost every 
character was in keeping. I was driven for some time from one character to 
another, till at last Horatio was fixed upon, which the presence of the 
present company happily hindered me from acting."


Chapter 21

The short continuance of friendship amongst the vicious, which is coeval only 
with mutual satisfaction.


My son's account was too long to be delivered at once; the first part of it 
was begun that night, and he was concluding the rest after dinner the next 
day, when the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at the door seemed to 
make a pause in the general satisfaction. The butler, who was now become my 
friend in the family, informed me with a whisper that the 'Squire had already 
made some overtures to Miss Wilmot, and that her aunt and uncle seemed highly 
to approve the match. Upon Mr. Thornhill's entering, he seemed, at seeing my 
son and me, to start back; but I readily imputed that to surprise, and not 
displeasure. However, upon our advancing to salute him, he returned our 
greeting with the most apparent candour; and after a short time his presence 
seemed only to increase the general good humour.
After tea he called me aside, to enquire after my daughter; but upon my 
informing him that my enquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised; 
adding that he had been since frequently at my house, in order to comfort the 
rest of my family, whom he left perfectly well. He then asked if I had 
communicated her misfortune to Miss Wilmot or my son; and upon my replying 
that I had not told them as yet, he greatly approved my prudence and 
precaution, desiring me by all means to keep it a secret: "For at best," cried 
he, "it is but divulging one's own infamy; and perhaps Miss Livy may not be so 
guilty as we all imagine." We were here interrupted by a servant, who came to 
ask the 'Squire in, to stand up at country dances; so that he left me quite 
pleased with the interest he seemed to take in my concerns. His addresses, 
however, to Miss Wilmot were too obvious to be mistaken; and yet she seemed 
not perfectly pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to the will of her 
aunt than from real inclination. I had even the satisfaction to see her lavish 
some kind looks upon my unfortunate son, which the other could neither extort 
by his fortune nor assiduity. Mr. Thornhill's seeming composure, however, not 
a little surprised me: we had now continued here a week, at the pressing 
instances of Mr. Arnold; but each day the more tenderness Miss Wilmot showed 
my son, Mr. Thornhill's friendship seemed proportionably to increase for him.
He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of using his interest to 
serve the family; but now his generosity was not confined to promises alone: 
the morning I designed for my departure, Mr. Thornhill came to me with looks 
of real pleasure to inform me of a piece of service he had done for his friend 
George. This was nothing less than his having procured him an ensign's 
commission in one of the regiments that was going to the West Indies, for 
which he had promised but ú100, his interest having been sufficient to get an 
abatement of the other two. "As for this trifling piece of service," continued 
the young gentleman, "I desire no other reward but the pleasure of having 
served my friend; and as for the ú100 to be paid, if you are unable to raise 
it yourselves, I will advance it, and you shall repay me at your leisure." 
This was a favour we wanted words to express our sense of. I readily therefore 
gave my bond for the money, and testified as much gratitude as if I never 
intended to pay.
George was to depart for town the next day to secure his commission, in 
pursuance of his generous patron's directions, who judged it highly expedient 
to use dispatch, lest in the meantime another should step in with more 
advantageous proposals. The next morning, therefore, our young soldier was 
early prepared for his departure, and seemed the only person among us that was 
not affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he was going to 
encounter, nor the friends and mistress, for Miss Wilmot actually loved him, 
he was leaving behind, any way damped his spirits. After he had taken leave of 
the rest of the company, I gave him all I had, my blessing. "And now, my boy," 
cried I, "thou art going to fight for thy country, remember how thy brave 
grandfather fought for his sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a 
virtue. Go, my boy, and imitate him in all but his misfortunes, if it was a 
misfortune to die with Lord Falkland. Go, my boy, and if you fall, though 
distant, exposed and unwept by those that love you, the most precious tears 
are those with which heaven bedews the unburied head of a soldier."
The next morning I took leave of the good family that had been kind enough to 
entertain me so long, not without several expressions of gratitude to Mr. 
Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in the enjoyment of all that 
happiness which affluence and good breeding procure, and returned towards 
home, despairing of ever finding my daughter more, but sending a sigh to 
heaven to spare and to forgive her. I was now come within about twenty miles 
of home, having hired an horse to carry me, as I was yet but weak, and 
comforted myself with the hopes of soon seeing all I held dearest upon earth. 
But the night coming on, I put up at a little public-house by the roadside, 
and asked for the landlord's company over a pint of wine. We sat beside his 
kitchen fire, which was the best room in the house, and chatted on politics 
and the news of the country. We happened, among other topics, to talk of young 
'Squire Thornhill, whom the host assured me was hated as much as an uncle of 
his, who sometimes came down to the country, was loved. He went on to observe 
that he made it his whole study to betray the daughters of such as received 
him to their houses, and after a fortnight or three weeks possession, he 
turned them out unrewarded and abandoned to the world. As we continued our 
discourse in this manner, his wife, who had been out to get change, returned, 
and perceiving that her husband was enjoying a pleasure in which she was not a 
sharer, she asked him, in an angry tone, what he did there, to which he only 
replied in an ironic way, by drinking her health. "Mr. Symmonds," cried she, 
"you use me very ill, and I'll bear it no longer. Here three parts of the 
business is left for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished; while you do 
nothing but soak with the guests all day long, whereas if a spoonful of liquor 
were to cure me of a fever, I never touch a drop." I now found what she would 
be at, and immediately poured her out a glass, which she received with a 
curtsey, and drinking towards my good health, "Sir," resumed she, "it is not 
so much for the value of the liquor I am angry, but one cannot help it, when 
the house is going out of the windows. If the customers or guests are to be 
dunned, all the burden lies upon my back; he'd as lief eat that glass as budge 
after them himself. There now above stairs, we have a young woman who has come 
to take up her lodgings here, and I don't believe she has got any money by her 
over-civility. I am certain she is very slow of payment, and I wish she were 
put in mind of it." -"What signifies minding her," cried the host, "i f she be 
slow, she is sure." -"I don't know that," replied the wife; "but I know that I 
am sure she has been here a fortnight, and we have not yet seen the cross of 
her money." -"I suppose, my dear," cried he, "we shall have it all in a lump." 
-"In a lump!" cried the other, "I hope we may get it any way; and that I am 
resolved we shall this very night, or out she tramps, bag and baggage." 
-"Consider, my dear," cried the husband, "she is a gentlewoman, and deserves 
more respect." -"As for the matter of that," returned the hostess, "gentle or 
simple, out she shall pack with a sassarara. Gentry may be good things where 
they take; but for my part I never saw much good of them at the sign of the 
Harrow." Thus saying, she ran up a narrow flight of stairs that went from the 
kitchen to a room overhead, and I soon perceived by the loudness of her voice, 
and the bitterness of her reproaches, that no money was to be had from her 
lodger. I could hear her remonstrances very distinctly: "Out I say, pack out 
this moment; tramp, thou infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark thou 
won't be the better for this three months. What! you trumpery, to come and 
take up an honest house, without cross or coin to bless yourself with; come 
along, I say." -"O dear madam," cried the stranger, "pity me, pity a poor 
abandoned creature for one night, and death will soon do the rest." I 
instantly knew the voice of my poor ruined child, Olivia. I flew to her 
rescue, while the woman was dragging her along by the hair, and caught the 
dear forlorn wretch in my arms. "Welcome, any way welcome, my dearest lost 
one, my treasure, to your poor old father's bosom. Though the vicious forsake 
thee, there is yet one in the world that will never forsake thee; though thou 
hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget them all." -"O my own 
dear" -for minutes she could no more -"my own dearest good papa! Could angels 
be kinder! How do I deserve so much! The villain, I hate him and myself, to be 
a reproach to such goodness. You can't forgive me. I know you cannot." -"Yes, 
my child, from my heart I do forgive thee! Only repent, and we both shall yet 
be happy. We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia!" -"Ah! never, sir, 
never. The rest of my wretched life must be infamy abroad and shame at home. 
But, alas! papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could such a thing 
as I am give you so much uneasiness? Sure you have too much wisdom to take the 
miseries of my guilt upon yourself." -"Our wisdom, young woman," replied I. 
-"Ah, why so cold a name, papa?" cried she. "This is the first time you ever 
called me by so cold a name." -"I ask pardon, my darling," returned I; "but I 
was going to observe that wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble, 
though at last a sure one."
The landlady now returned to know if we did not choose a more genteel 
apartment, to which assenting, we were shown a room where we could converse 
more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of tranquillity, I 
could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations that led to her 
present wretched situation. "That villain, sir," said she, "from the first day 
of our meeting made me honourable, though private, proposals."
"Villain indeed," cried I; "and yet it in some measure surprises me how a 
person of Mr. Burchell's good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of such 
deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo it."
"My dear papa," returned my daughter, "you labour under a strange mistake. Mr. 
Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead of that he took every 
opportunity of privately admonishing me against the artifices of Mr. 
Thornhill, whom now I find was even worse than he represented him." -"Mr. 
Thornhill," interrupted I; "can it be?" -"Yes, sir," returned she, "it was Mr. 
Thornhill who seduced me, who employed the two ladies, as he called them, but 
who, in fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeding or pity, to 
decoy us up to London. Their artifices, you may remember, would have certainly 
succeeded, but for Mr. Burchell's letter, who directed those reproaches at 
them, which we all applied to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence 
as to defeat their intentions still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced 
he was ever our warmest, sincerest friend."
"You amaze me, my dear," cried I; "but now I find my first suspicions of Mr. 
Thornhill's baseness were too well grounded: but he can triumph in security; 
for he is rich and we are poor. But tell me, my child, sure it was no small 
temptation that could thus obliterate all the impressions of such an 
education, and so virtuous a disposition as thine?"
"Indeed, sir," replied she, "he owes all his triumph to the desire I had of 
making him, and not myself, happy. I knew that the ceremony of our marriage, 
which was privately performed by a popish priest, was no way binding, and that 
I had nothing to trust to but his honour." -"What," interrupted I, "and were 
you indeed married by a priest, and in orders?" -"Indeed, sir, we were," 
replied she, "though we were both sworn to conceal his name." -"Why then, my 
child, come to my arms again, and now you are a thousand times more welcome 
than before; for you are now his wife to all intents and purposes; nor can all 
the laws of man, though written upon tables of adamant, lessen the forces of 
that sacred connection."
"Alas, papa," replied she, "you are but little acquainted with his villainies: 
he has been married already, by the same priest, to six or eight wives more, 
whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned."
"Has he so?" cried I, "then we must hang the priest, and you shall inform 
against him tomorrow." -"But, sir," returned she, "will that be right, when I 
am sworn to secrecy?" -"My dear," I replied, "i f you have made such a 
promise, I cannot, nor will not, tempt you to break it. Even though it may 
benefit the public, you must not inform against him. In all human institutions 
a smaller evil is allowed to procure a greater good; as in politics, a 
province may be given away to secure a kingdom; in medicine, a limb may be 
lopped off to preserve the body. But in religion the law is written, and 
inflexible, never to do evil. And this law, my child, is right; for otherwise, 
if we commit a smaller evil to procure a greater good, certain guilt would be 
thus incurred in expectation of contingent advantage. And though the advantage 
should certainly follow, yet the interval between commission and advantage, 
which is allowed to be guilty, may be that in which we are called away to 
answer for the things we have done, and the volume of human actions is closed 
for ever. But I interrupt you, my dear; go on."
"The very next morning," continued she, "I found what little expectations I 
was to have from his sincerity. That very morning he introduced me to two 
unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had deceived, but who lived in contented 
prostitution. I loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in his affections, 
and strove to forget my infamy in a tumult of pleasures. With this view, I 
danced, dressed, and talked; but still was unhappy. The gentlemen who visited 
there told me every moment of the power of my charms, and this only 
contributed to increase my melancholy, as I had thrown all their power quite 
away. Thus each day I grew more pensive, and he more insolent, till at last 
the monster had the assurance to offer me to a young Baronet of his 
acquaintance. Need I describe, sir, how his ingratitude stung me. My answer to 
this proposal was almost madness. I desired to part. As I was going he offered 
me a purse; but I flung it at him with indignation, and burst from him in a 
rage, that for a while kept me insensible of the miseries of my situation. But 
I soon looked round me and saw myself a vile, abject, guilty thing, without 
one friend in the world to apply to.
"Just in that interval, a stagecoach happening to pass by, I took a place, it 
being my only aim to be driven at a distance from a wretch I despised and 
detested. I was set down here, where, since my arrival, my own anxiety and 
this woman's unkindness have been my only companions. The hours of pleasure 
that I have passed with my mamma and sister now grow painful to me. Their 
sorrows are much; but mine is greater than theirs; for mine is guilt and 
infamy."
"Have patience, my child," cried I, "and I hope things will yet be better. 
Take some repose tonight, and tomorrow I'll carry you home to your mother and 
the rest of the family, from whom you will receive a kind reception. Poor 
woman, this has gone to her heart: but she loves you still, Olivia, and will 
forget it."


Chapter 22

Offences are easily pardoned where there is love at bottom


The next morning I took my daughter behind me, and set out on my return home. 
As we travelled along, I strove, by every persuasion, to calm her sorrows and 
fears, and to arm her with resolution to bear the presence of her of fended 
mother. I took every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine country through 
which we passed, to observe how much kinder heaven was to us than we were to 
each other, and that the misfortunes of nature's making were very few. I 
assured her that she should never perceive any change in my affections, and 
that during my life, which yet might be long, she might depend upon a guardian 
and an instructor. I armed her against the censures of the world, showed her 
that books were sweet unreproaching companions to the miserable, and that if 
they could not bring us to enjoy life, they would teach us to endure it.
The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that night at an inn by the way, 
within about five miles from my house, and as I was willing to prepare my 
family for my daughter's reception, I determined to leave her that night at 
the inn, and to come for her, accompanied by my daughter Sophia, early the 
next morning. It was night before we reached our appointed stage; however, 
after seeing her provided with a decent apartment, and having ordered the 
hostess to prepare proper refreshments, I kissed her and proceeded towards 
home. My heart caught new sensations of pleasure the nearer I approached that 
peaceful mansion. As a bird that has been frighted from its nest, my 
affections outwent my haste, and hovered round my little fireside with all the 
rapture of expectation. I called up the many fond things I had to say, and 
anticipated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife's tender 
embrace, and smiled at the joy of my little ones. As I walked but slowly, the 
night waned apace. The labourers of the day were all retired to rest; the 
lights were out in every cottage; no sounds were heard but of the shrilling 
cock and the deep-mouthed watchdog, at hollow distance. I approached my little 
abode of pleasure, and before I was within a furlong of the place, our honest 
mastiff came running to welcome me.
It was now near midnight that I came to knock at my door; all was still and 
silent; my heart dilated with unutterable happiness, when, to my amazement, 
the house was bursting out in a blaze of fire and every aperture was red with 
conflagration! I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement 
insensible. This alarmed my son, who, perceiving the flames, instantly waked 
my wife and daughter, and all running out, naked, and wild with apprehension, 
recalled me to life with their anguish. But it was only to objects of new 
terror; for the flames had, by this time, caught the roof of our dwelling, 
part after part continuing to fall in, while the family stood, with silent 
agony, looking on as if they enjoyed the blaze. I gazed upon them and upon it 
by turns, and then looked round me for my two little ones; but they were not 
to be seen. O misery! "Where," cried I, "where are my little ones?" -"They are 
burnt to death in the flames," says my wife calmly, "and I will die with 
them." That moment I heard the cry of the babes within, who were just awaked 
by the fire, and nothing could have stopped me. "Where, where, are my 
children?" cried I, rushing through the flames and bursting the door of the 
chamber in which they were confined. "Where are my little ones?" -"Here, dear 
papa, here we are," cried they together, while the flames were just catching 
the bed where they lay. I caught them both in my arms and snatched them 
through the fire as fast as possible, while just as I was got out, the roof 
sunk in. "Now," cried I, holding up my children, "now let the flames burn on, 
and all my possessions perish. Here they are, I have saved my treasure. Here, 
my dearest, here are our treasures, and we shall yet be happy." We kissed our 
little darlings a thousand times, they clasped us round the neck, and seemed 
to share our transports, while their mother laughed and wept by turns.
I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some time, began to 
perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched in a terrible manner. It was 
therefore out of my power to give my son any assistance, either in attempting 
to save our goods or preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By this 
time, the neighbours were alarmed, and came running to our assistance; but all 
they could do was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity. My goods, 
among which were the notes I had reserved for my daughters' fortunes, were 
entirely consumed, except a box with some papers that stood in the kitchen and 
two or three things more of little consequence, which my son brought away in 
the beginning. The neighbours contributed, however, what they could to lighten 
our distress. They brought us clothes and furnished one of our outhouses with 
kitchen-utensils; so that by daylight we had another, though a wretched, 
dwelling to retire to. My honest next neighbour and his children were not the 
least assiduous in providing us with everything necessary and offering 
whatever consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.
When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know the cause of my 
long stay began to take place; having therefore informed them of every 
particular, I proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our lost one, and 
though we had nothing but wretchedness now to impart, yet to procure her a 
welcome to what we had. This task would have been more difficult but for our 
recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's pride and blunted it by more 
poignant afflictions. Being unable to go for my poor child myself, as my arm 
now grew very painful, I sent my son and daughter, who soon returned, 
supporting the wretched delinquent, who had not courage to look up at her 
mother, whom no instructions of mine could persuade to a perfect 
reconciliation; for women have a much stronger sense of female error than men. 
"Ah, madam," cried her mother, "this is but a poor place you are come to after 
so much finery. My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to 
persons who have kept company only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy, 
your poor father and I have suffered very much of late; but I hope heaven will 
forgive you." During this reception, the unhappy victim stood pale and 
trembling, unable to weep or to reply; but I could not continue a silent 
spectator of her distress; wherefore assuming a degree of severity in my voice 
and manner, which was ever followed with instant submission, "I entreat, 
woman, that my words may be now marked once for all: I have here brought you 
back a poor deluded wanderer; her return to duty demands the revival of our 
tenderness. The real hardships of life are now coming fast upon us; let us not 
therefore increase them by dissension among each other. If we live 
harmoniously together, we may yet be contented, as there are enough of us here 
to shut out the censuring world and keep each other in countenance. The 
kindness of heaven is promised to the penitent, and let ours be directed by 
the example. Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to view a repentant 
sinner, than many persons who have supported a course of undeviating 
rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort by which we stop short in 
the downhill path to perdition is itself a greater exertion of virtue than an 
hundred acts of justice."


Chapter 23

None but the guilty can be long and completely miserable.


Some assiduity was now required to make our present abode as convenient as 
possible, and we were soon again qualified to enjoy our former serenity. Being 
disabled myself from assisting my son in our usual occupations, I read to my 
family from the few books that were saved, and particularly from such as, by 
amusing the imagination, contributed to ease the heart. Our good neighbours 
too came every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a time in which they 
were all to assist at repairing my former dwelling. Honest farmer Williams was 
not last among these visitors, but heartily offered his friendship. He would 
even have renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she rejected them in such 
a manner as totally repressed his future solicitations. Her grief seemed 
formed for continuing, and she was the only person of our little society that 
a week did not restore to cheerfulness. She now lost that unblushing innocence 
which once taught her to respect herself and to seek pleasure by pleasing. 
Anxiety now had taken strong possession of her mind, her beauty began to be 
impaired with her constitution, and neglect still more contributed to diminish 
it. Every tender epithet bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her heart 
and a tear to her eye; and as one vice, though cured, almost ever plants 
others where it has been, so her former guilt, though driven out by 
repentance, left jealousy and envy behind. I strove a thousand ways to lessen 
her care, and even forgot my own pain in a concern for hers, collecting such 
amusing passages of history as a strong memory and some reading could suggest. 
"Our happiness, my dear," I would say, "is in the power of one who can bring 
it about a thousand unforeseen ways that mock our foresight. I f example be 
necessary to prove this, I'll give you a story, my child, told us by a grave, 
though sometimes a romancing, historian.
"Matilda was married very young to a Neapolitan nobleman of the first quality, 
and found herself a widow and a mother at the age of fifteen. As she stood one 
day caressing her infant son in the open window of an apartment, which hung 
over the river Volturna, the child, with a sudden spring, leaped from her arms 
into the flood below and disappeared in a moment. The mother, struck with 
instant surprise, and making an effort to save him, plunged in after; but, far 
from being able to assist the infant, she herself with great difficulty 
escaped to the opposite shore, just when some French soldiers were plundering 
the country on that side, who immediately made her their prisoner.
"As the war was then carried on between the French and Italians with the 
utmost inhumanity, they were going at once to perpetrate those two extremes, 
suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base resolution, however, was opposed 
by a young officer who, though their retreat required the utmost expedition, 
placed her behind him and brought her in safety to his native city. Her beauty 
at first caught his eye, her merit soon after his heart. They were married; he 
rose to the highest posts; they lived long together and were happy. But the 
felicity of a soldier can never be called permanent; after an interval of 
several years, the troops which he commanded having met with a repulse, he was 
obliged to take shelter in the city where he had lived with his wife. Here 
they suffered a siege, and the city at length was taken. Few historians can 
produce more various instances of cruelty than those which the French and 
Italians at that time exercised upon each other. It was resolved by the 
victors upon this occasion to put all the French prisoners to death; but 
particularly the husband of the unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally 
instrumental in protracting the siege. Their determinations were, in general, 
executed almost as soon as resolved upon. The captive soldier was led forth, 
and the executioner, with his sword, stood ready, while the spectators in 
gloomy silence awaited the fatal blow, which was only suspended till the 
general, who presided as judge, should give the signal. It was in this 
interval of anguish and expectation that Matilda came to take her last 
farewell of her husband and deliverer, deploring her wretched situation and 
the cruelty of fate that had saved her from perishing by a premature death in 
the river Volturna, to be the spectator of still greater calamities. The 
general, who was a young man, was struck with surprise at her beauty, and pity 
at her distress; but with still stronger emotions when he heard her mention 
her former dangers. He was her son, the infant for whom she had encountered so 
much danger. He acknowledged her at once as his mother and fell at her feet. 
The rest may be easily supposed: the captive was set free, and all the 
happiness that love, friendship, and duty could confer on each were united."
In this manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter, but she listened with 
divided attention; for her own misfortunes engrossed all the pity she once had 
for those of another, and nothing gave her ease. In company she dreaded 
contempt, and in solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the colour of her 
wretchedness when we received certain information that Mr. Thornhill was going 
to be married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I always suspected he had a real 
passion, though he took every opportunity before me to express his contempt 
both of her person and fortune. This news only served to increase poor 
Olivia's affliction; such a flagrant breach of fidelity was more than her 
courage could support. I was resolved, however, to get more certain 
information, and to defeat, if possible, the completion of his designs by 
sending my son to old Mr. Wilmot's with instructions to know the truth of the 
report, and to deliver Miss Wilmot a letter intimating Mr. Thornhill's conduct 
in my family. My son went, in pursuance of my directions, and in three days 
returned, assuring us of the truth of the account; but that he had found it 
impossible to deliver the letter, which he was therefore obliged to leave, as 
Mr. Thornhill and Miss Wilmot were visiting round the country. They were to be 
married, he said, in a few days, having appeared together at church the Sunday 
before he was there, in great splendour, the bride attended by six young 
ladies dressed in white and he by as many gentlemen. Their approaching 
nuptials filled the whole country with rejoicing, and they usually rode out 
together in the grandest equipage that had been seen in the country for many 
years. All the friends of both families, he said, were there, particularly the 
'Squire's uncle, Sir William Thornhill, who bore so good a character. He added 
that nothing but mirth and feasting were going forward, that all the country 
praised the young bride's beauty and the bridegroom's fine person, and that 
they were immensely fond of each other, concluding that he could not help 
thinking Mr. Thornhill one of the most happy men in the world.
"Why let him if he can," returned I, "but, my son, observe this bed of straw 
and unsheltering roof, those mouldering walls and humid floor, my wretched 
body thus disabled by fire and my children weeping round me for bread; you 
have come home, my child, to all this; yet here, even here, you see a man that 
would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations. O, my children, if you 
could but learn to commune with your own hearts and know what noble company 
you can make them, you would little regard the elegance and splendours of the 
worthless. Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and 
themselves the travellers. The similitude still may be improved when we 
observe that the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going 
towards home; the wicked but by intervals happy, like travellers that are 
going into exile."
My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this new disaster, 
interrupted what I had further to observe. I bade her mother support her, and 
after a short time, she recovered. She appeared from this time more calm, and 
I imagined had gained a new degree of resolution; but appearances deceived me, 
for her tranquillity was the languor of overwrought resentment. A supply of 
provisions, charitably sent us by my kind parishioners, seemed to diffuse 
cheerfulness amongst the rest of the family, nor was I displeased at seeing 
them once more sprightly and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their 
satisfactions, merely to condole with resolute melancholy, or to burden them 
with a sadness they did not feel. Once more, therefore, the tale went round 
and the song was demanded, and cheerfulness condescended to hover round our 
little habitation.


Chapter 24

Fresh calamities.


The next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for the season; so that we 
agreed to breakfast together at the honeysuckle bank, where, while we sat, my 
youngest daughter, at my request, joined her voice to the concert on the trees 
about us. It was here my poor Olivia first met her seducer, and every object 
served to recall her sadness. But that melancholy which is excited by objects 
of pleasure or inspired by sounds of harmony soothes the heart instead of 
corroding it. Her mother too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, 
and wept, and loved her daughter as before. "Do, my pretty Olivia," cried she, 
"let us have that little melancholy air your papa was so fond of; your sister 
Sophy has already obliged us. Do child, it will please your old father." She 
complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom is -to die.

As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an interruption in her voice 
from sorrow gave peculiar softness, the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage 
at a distance alarmed us all, but particularly increased the uneasiness of my 
eldest daughter, who, desirous of shunning her betrayer, returned to the house 
with her sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from his chariot, and making 
up to the place where I was still sitting, enquired after my health with his 
usual air of familiarity. "Sir," replied I, "your present assurance only 
serves to aggravate the baseness of your character; and there was a time when 
I would have chastised your insolence for presuming thus to appear before me. 
But now you are safe; for age has cooled my passions, and my calling restrains 
them."
"I vow, my dear sir," returned he, "I am amazed at all this; nor can I 
understand what it means! I hope you don't think your daughter's late 
excursion with me had any thing criminal in it."
"Go," cried I, "thou art a wretch, a poor, pitiful wretch, and every way a 
liar; but your meanness secures you from my anger! Yet, sir I am descended 
from a family that would not have borne this! And so, thou vile thing, to 
gratify a momentary passion thou hast made one poor creature wretched for 
life, and polluted a family that had nothing but honour for their portion."
"I f she or you," returned he, "are resolved to be miserable, I cannot help 
it. But you may still be happy; and whatever opinion you may have formed of 
me, you shall ever find me ready to contribute to it. We can readily marry her 
to another, and what is more, she may keep her lover beside; for I protest I 
shall ever continue to have a true regard for her."
I found all my passions awakened at this new degrading proposal; for though 
the mind may often be calm under great injuries, little villainy can at any 
time get within the soul and sting it into rage. "Avoid my sight, thou 
reptile," cried I, "nor continue to insult me with thy presence. Were my brave 
son at home, he would not suffer this; but I am old, and disabled, and every 
way undone."
"I find," cried he, "you are bent upon obliging me to talk in an harsher 
manner than I intended. But as I have shown you what may be hoped from my 
friendship, it may not be improper to represent what may be the consequences 
of my resentment. My attorney, to whom your late bond has been transferred, 
threatens hard, nor do I know how to prevent the course of justice, except by 
paying the money myself, which, as I have been at some expenses lately, 
previous to my intended marriage, it is not so easy to be done. And then my 
steward talks of driving for the rent; it is certain he knows his duty, for I 
never trouble myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still I could wish to 
serve you, and even to have you and your daughter present at my marriage, 
which is shortly to be solemnized with Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of 
my charming Arabella herself, whom I hope you will not refuse."
"Mr. Thornhill," replied I, "hear me once for all: as to your marriage with 
any but my daughter, that I never will consent to; and though your friendship 
could raise me to a throne, or your resentment sink me to the grave, yet would 
I despise both. Thou hast once woefully, irreparably, deceived me. I reposed 
my heart upon thine honour and have found its baseness. Never more, therefore, 
expect friendship from me. Go, and possess what fortune has given thee, 
beauty, riches, health, and pleasure. Go, and leave me to want, infamy, 
disease, and sorrow. Yet humbled as I am, shall my heart still vindicate its 
dignity, and though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my contempt."
"I f so," returned he, "depend upon it you shall feel the effects of this 
insolence, and we shall shortly see which is the fittest object of scorn, you 
or me." Upon which he departed abruptly.
My wife and son, who were present at this interview, seemed terrified with the 
apprehension. My daughters also, finding that he was gone, came out to be 
informed of the result of our conference, which, when known, alarmed them not 
less than the rest. But as to myself, I disregarded the utmost stretch of his 
malevolence; he had already struck the blow, and now I stood prepared to repel 
every new effort, like one of those instruments used in the art of war, which, 
however thrown, still presents a point to receive the enemy.
We soon, however, found that he had not threatened in vain; for the very next 
day his steward came to demand my annual rent, which, by the train of 
accidents already related, I was unable to pay. The consequence of my 
incapacity was his driving my cattle that evening, and their being appraised 
and sold the next day for less than half their value. My wife and children now 
therefore entreated me to comply upon any terms, rather than incur certain 
destruction. They even begged of me to admit his visits once more, and used 
all their little eloquence to paint the calamities I was going to endure: the 
terrors of a prison, in so rigorous a season as the present, with the danger 
that threatened my health from the late accident that happened by the fire. 
But I continued inflexible.
"Why, my treasures," cried I, "why will you thus attempt to persuade me to the 
thing that is not right! My duty has taught me to forgive him; but my 
conscience will not permit me to approve. Would you have me applaud to the 
world what my heart must internally condemn? Would you have me tamely sit down 
and flatter our infamous betrayer; and to avoid a prison continually suffer 
the more galling bonds of mental confinement! No, never. If we are to be taken 
from this abode, only let us hold to the right, and wherever we are thrown, we 
can still retire to a charming apartment and look round our own hearts with 
intrepidity and with pleasure!"
In this manner we spent that evening. Early the next morning, as the snow had 
fallen in great abundance in the night, my son was employed in clearing it 
away and opening a passage before the door. He had not been thus engaged long, 
when he came running in, with looks all pale, to tell us that two strangers, 
whom he knew to be officers of justice, were making towards the house.
Just as he spoke they came in, and approaching the bed where I lay, after 
previously informing me of their employment and business, made me their 
prisoner, bidding me prepare to go with them to the county gaol, which was 
eleven miles off.
"My friends," said I, "this is severe weather on which you have come to take 
me to a prison; and it is particularly unfortunate at this time, as one of my 
arms has lately been burnt in a terrible manner, and it has thrown me into a 
slight fever, and I want clothes to cover me, and I am now too weak and old to 
walk far in such deep snow: but if it must be so, I'll try to obey you."
I then turned to my wife and children and directed them to get together what 
few things were left us, and to prepare immediately for leaving this place. I 
entreated them to be expeditious, and desired my son to assist his elder 
sister, who, from a consciousness that she was the cause of all our 
calamities, was fallen and had lost anguish in insensibility. I encouraged my 
wife, who, pale and trembling, clasped our affrighted little ones in her arms, 
that clung to her bosom in silence, dreading to look round at the strangers. 
In the meantime my youngest daughter prepared for our departure, and as she 
received several hints to use dispatch, in about an hour we were ready to 
depart.


Chapter 25

No situation, however wretched it seems, but has some sort of comfort 
attending it.


We set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood, and walked on slowly. My 
eldest daughter being enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for some days 
to undermine her constitution, one of the officers, who had an horse, kindly 
took her behind him; for even these men cannot entirely divest themselves of 
humanity. My son led one of the little ones by the hand, and my wife the 
other, while I leaned upon my youngest girl, whose tears fell not for her own 
but my distresses.
We were now got from my late dwelling about two miles, when we saw a crowd 
running and shouting behind us, consisting of about fifty of my poorest 
parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations, soon seized upon the two 
officers of justice, and swearing they would never see their minister go to 
gaol while they had a drop of blood to shed in his defence, were going to use 
them with great severity. The consequence might have been fatal, had I not 
immediately interposed, and with some difficulty rescued the officers from the 
hands of the enraged multitude. My children, who looked upon my delivery now 
as certain, appeared transported with joy and were incapable of containing 
their raptures. But they were soon undeceived upon hearing me address the poor 
deluded people, who came, as they imagined, to do me service.
"What! my friends," cried I, "and is this the way you love me? Is this the 
manner you obey the instructions I have given you from the pulpit? Thus to fly 
in the face of justice and bring down ruin on yourselves and me! Which is your 
ringleader? Show me the man that has thus seduced you. As sure as he lives he 
shall feel my resentment. Alas! my dear deluded flock, return back to the duty 
you owe to God, to your country, and to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see 
you in greater felicity here and contribute to make your lives more happy. But 
let it at least be my comfort when I pen my fold for immortality, that not one 
here shall be wanting."
They now seemed all repentance, and melting into tears, came one after the 
other to bid me farewell. I shook each tenderly by the hand, and leaving them 
my blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any further interruption. Some 
hours before night we reached the town, or rather village; for it consisted 
but of a few mean houses, having lost all its former opulence, and retaining 
no marks of its ancient superiority but the gaol.
Upon entering, we put up at an inn, where we had such refreshments as could 
most readily be procured, and I supped with my family with my usual 
cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that night, I next 
attended the sheriff's officers to the prison, which had formerly been built 
for the purposes of war and consisted of one large apartment, strongly grated 
and paved with stone, common to both felons and debtors at certain hours in 
the four and twenty. Besides this, every prisoner had a separate cell, where 
he was locked in for the night.
I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but lamentations and various 
sounds of misery; but it was very different. The prisoners seemed all employed 
in one common design, that of forgetting thought in merriment or clamour. I 
was apprized of the usual perquisite required upon these occasions, and 
immediately complied with the demand, though the little money I had was very 
near being all exhausted. This was immediately sent away for liquor, and the 
whole prison soon was filled with riot, laughter, and profaneness.
"How," cried I to myself, "shall men so very wicked be cheerful, and shall I 
be melancholy? I feel only the same confinement with them, and I think I have 
more reason to be happy."
With such reflections I laboured to become cheerful; but cheerfulness was 
never yet produced by effort, which is itself painful. As I was sitting 
therefore in a corner of the gaol, in a pensive posture, one of my fellow 
prisoners came up, and sitting by me, entered into conversation. It was my 
constant rule in life never to avoid the conversation of any man who seemed to 
desire it: for if good, I might profit by his instruction; if bad, he might be 
assisted by mine. I found this to be a knowing man, of strong unlettered 
sense, but a thorough knowledge of the world, as it is called, or, more 
properly speaking, of human nature on the wrong side. He asked me if I had 
taken care to provide myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had never 
once attended to.
"That's unfortunate," cried he, "as you are allowed here nothing but straw, 
and your apartment is very large and cold. However, you seem to be something 
of a gentleman, and as I have been one myself in my time, part of my 
bedclothes are heartily at your service."
I thanked him, professing my surprise at finding such humanity in a gaol in 
misfortunes; adding, to let him see that I was a scholar, "That the sage 
ancient seemed to understand the value of company in affliction, when he said, 
Ton kosmon aire, ei dos ton etairon; and in fact," continued I, "what is the 
world if it affords only solitude?"
"You talk of the world, sir," returned my fellow prisoner; "the world is in 
its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has puzzled the 
philosophers of every age. What a medley of opinions have they not broached 
upon the creation of the world. Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus 
Lucanus have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, Anarchon 
ara kai atelutaion to pan, which implies -" "I ask pardon, sir," cried I, "for 
interrupting so much learning; but I think I have heard all this before. Have 
I not had the pleasure of once seeing you at Wellbridge fair, and is not your 
name Ephraim Jenkinson?" At this demand he only sighed. "I suppose you must 
recollect," resumed I, "one Dr. Primrose, from whom you bought a horse."
He now at once recollected me; for the gloominess of the place and the 
approaching night had prevented his distinguishing my features before. "Yes, 
sir," returned Mr. Jenkinson, "I remember you perfectly well. I bought an 
horse, but forgot to pay for him. Your neighbour Flamborough is the only 
prosecutor I am any way afraid of at the next assizes, for he intends to swear 
positively against me as a coiner. I am heartily sorry, sir, I ever deceived 
you, or indeed any man; for you see," continued he, showing his shackles, 
"what my tricks have brought me to."
"Well, sir," replied I, "your kindness in offering me assistance, when you 
could expect no return, shall be repaid with my endeavours to soften or 
totally suppress Mr. Flamborough's evidence, and I will send my son to him for 
that purpose the first opportunity; nor do I in the least doubt but he will 
comply with my request, and as to my own evidence, you need be under no 
uneasiness about that."
"Well, sir," cried he, "all the return I can make shall be yours. You shall 
have more than half my bedclothes tonight, and I'll take care to stand your 
friend in the prison, where I think I have some influence."
I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised at the present youthful 
change in his aspect; for at the time I had seen him before he appeared at 
least sixty. "Sir," answered he, "you are little acquainted with the world; I 
had at that time false hair, and have learnt the art of counterfeiting every 
age from seventeen to seventy. Ah, sir, had I but bestowed half the pains in 
learning a trade, that I have in learning to be a scoundrel, I might have been 
a rich man at this day. But rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, and 
that perhaps when you least expect it."
We were now prevented from further conversation by the arrival of the gaoler's 
servants, who came to call over the prisoners' names and lock up for the 
night. A fellow also, with a bundle of straw for my bed attended, who led me 
along a dark narrow passage into a room paved like the common prison, and in 
one corner of this I spread my bed and the clothes given me by my fellow 
prisoner; which done, my conductor, who was civil enough, bade me a 
good-night. After my usual meditations, and having praised my heavenly 
corrector, I laid myself down and slept with the utmost tranquillity till 
morning.


Chapter 26

A reformation in the gaol. To make laws complete, they should reward as well 
as punish.


The next morning early I was awakened by my family, whom I found in tears at 
my bedside. The gloomy strength of every thing about us, it seems, had daunted 
them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, assuring them I had never slept with 
greater tranquillity, and next enquired after my eldest daughter, who was not 
among them. They informed me that yesterday's uneasiness and fatigue had 
increased her fever, and it was judged proper to leave her behind. My next 
care was to send my son to procure a room or two to lodge the family in, as 
near the prison as conveniently could be found. He obeyed, but could only find 
one apartment, which was hired at a small expense, for his mother and sisters, 
the gaoler with humanity consenting to let him and his two little brothers lie 
in the prison with me. A bed was therefore prepared for them in a corner of 
the room, which I thought answered very conveniently. I was willing, however, 
previously to know whether my little children chose to lie in a place which 
seemed to fright them upon entrance.
"Well," cried I, "my good boys, how do you like your bed? I hope you are not 
afraid to lie in this room, dark as it appears."
"No, papa," says Dick, "I am not afraid to lie any where where you are."
"And I," says Bill, who was yet but four years old, "love every place best 
that my papa is in."
After this, I allotted to each of the family what they were to do. My daughter 
was particularly directed to watch her declining sister's health; my wife was 
to attend me; my little boys were to read to me: "And as for you, my son," 
continued I, "it is by the labour of your hands we must all hope to be 
supported. Your wages, as a day-labourer, will be full sufficient, with proper 
frugality, to maintain us all, and comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years 
old, and hast strength, and it was given thee, my son, for very useful 
purposes; for it must save from famine your helpless parents and family. 
Prepare then this evening to look out for work against tomorrow, and bring 
home every night what money you earn, for our support."
Having thus instructed him and settled the rest, I walked down to the common 
prison, where I could enjoy more air and room. But I was not long there when 
the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that invaded me on every side drove 
me back to my apartment again. Here I sat for some time, pondering upon the 
strange infatuation of wretches, who finding all mankind in open arms against 
them were, however, labouring to make themselves a future and a tremendous 
enemy.
Their insensibility excited my highest compassion and blotted my own 
uneasiness a while from my mind. It even appeared as a duty incumbent upon me 
to attempt to reclaim them. I resolved therefore once more to return, and in 
spite of their contempt to give them my advice and conquer them by 
perseverance. Going therefore among them again, I informed Mr. Jenkinson of my 
design, at which he laughed, but communicated it to the rest. The proposal was 
received with the greatest good-humour, as it promised to afford a new fund of 
entertainment to persons who had now no other resource for mirth, but what 
could be derived from ridicule or debauchery.
I therefore read them a portion of the service with a loud unaffected voice, 
and found my audience perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd whispers, groans 
of contrition burlesqued, winking, and coughing alternately excited laughter. 
However, I continued with my natural solemnity to read on, sensible that what 
I did might amend some, but could itself receive no contamination from any.
After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, which was rather calculated at 
first to amuse them than to reprove. I previously observed that no other 
motive but their welfare could induce me to this; that I was their fellow 
prisoner, and now gained nothing by preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hear 
them so very profane; because they got nothing by it, but might lose a great 
deal: "For be assured, my friends," cried I, "for you are my friends, however 
the world may disclaim your friendship, though you swore twelve thousand oaths 
in a day, it would not put one penny in your purse. Then what signifies 
calling every moment upon the devil and courting his friendship, since you 
find how scurvily he uses you. He has given you nothing here, you find, but a 
mouthful of oaths and an empty belly; and by the best accounts I have of him, 
he will give you nothing that's good hereafter.
"I f used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally go elsewhere. Were it 
not worth your while then, just to try how you may like the usage of another 
master, who gives you fair promises at least to come to him. Surely, my 
friends, of all stupidity in the world, his must be greatest, who, after 
robbing an house, runs to the thief takers for protection. And yet how are you 
more wise? You are all seeking comfort from him that has already betrayed you, 
applying to a more malicious being than any thief taker of them all; for they 
only decoy and then hang you; but he decoys and hangs, and what is worst of 
all, will not let you loose after the hangman has done."
When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some of whom 
came and shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest fellow, and 
that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore promised to repeat my 
lecture next day, and actually conceived some hopes of making a reformation 
here; for it had ever been my opinion that no man was past the hour of 
amendment, every heart lying open to the shafts of reproof, if the archer 
could but take a proper aim. When I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back to 
my apartment, where my wife had prepared a frugal meal, while Mr. Jenkinson 
begged leave to add his dinner to ours and partake of the pleasure, as he was 
kind enough to express it, of my conversation. He had not yet seen my family; 
for as they came to my apartment by a door in the narrow passage, already 
described, by this means they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at the 
first interview therefore seemed not a little struck with the beauty of my 
youngest daughter, which her pensive air contributed to heighten, and my 
little ones did not pass unnoticed.
"Alas, Doctor," cried he, "these children are too handsome and too good for 
such a place as this!"
"Why, Mr. Jenkinson," replied I, "thank heaven my children are pretty 
tolerable in morals, and if they be good, it matters little for the rest."
"I fancy sir," returned my fellow prisoner, "that it must give you great 
comfort to have this little family about you."
"A comfort, Mr. Jenkinson," replied I, "yes, it is indeed a comfort, and I 
would not be without them for all the world; for they can make a dungeon seem 
a palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding my happiness, and that 
is by injuring them."
"I am afraid then, sir," cried he, "that I am in some measure culpable; for I 
think I see here" (looking at my son Moses) "one that I have injured, and by 
whom I wish to be forgiven."
My son immediately recollected his voice and features, though he had before 
seen him in disguise, and taking him by the hand, with a smile forgave him. 
"Yet," continued he, "I can't help wondering at what you could see in my face, 
to think me a proper mark for deception."
"My dear sir," returned the other, "it was not your face, but your white 
stockings and the black riband in your hair, that allured me. But no 
disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you in my time; 
and yet, with all my tricks, the blockheads have been too many for me at last."
"I suppose," cried my son, "that the narrative of such a life as yours must be 
extremely instructive and amusing."
"Not much of either," returned Mr. Jenkinson. "Those relations which describe 
the tricks and vices only of mankind, by increasing our suspicion in life, 
retard our success. The traveller that distrusts every person he meets, and 
turns back upon the appearance of every man that looks like a robber, seldom 
arrives in time to his journey's end.
"Indeed, I think from my own experience I may say that the knowing one is the 
silliest fellow under the sun. I was thought cunning from my very childhood; 
when but seven years old the ladies would say that I was a perfect little man; 
at fourteen I knew the world, cocked my hat, and loved the ladies; at twenty, 
though I was perfectly honest, yet every one thought me so cunning that not 
one would trust me. Thus I was at last obliged to turn sharper in my own 
defence, and have lived ever since, my head throbbing with schemes to deceive, 
and my heart palpitating with fears of detection.
"I used often to laugh at your honest simple neighbour Flamborough, and one 
way or another generally cheated him once a year. Yet still the honest man 
went forward without suspicion and grew rich, while I still continued tricksy 
and cunning, and was poor without the consolation of being honest.
"However," continued he, "let me know your case, and what has brought you 
here; perhaps, though I have not skill to avoid a gaol myself, I may extricate 
my friends."
In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him of the whole train of 
accidents and follies that had plunged me into my present troubles, and my 
utter inability to get free.
After hearing my story and pausing some minutes, he slapped his forehead, as 
if he had hit upon something material, and took his leave, saying he would try 
what could be done.


Chapter 27

The same subject continued.


The next morning I communicated to my wife and children the scheme I had 
planned of reforming the prisoners, which they received with universal 
disapprobation, alleging the impossibility and impropriety of it; adding that 
my endeavours would no way contribute to their amendment, but might probably 
disgrace my calling.
"Excuse me," returned I, "these people, however fallen, are still men, and 
that is a very good title to my affections. Good counsel rejected returns to 
enrich the giver's bosom; and though the instruction I communicate may not 
mend them, yet it will assuredly mend myself. If these wretches, my children, 
were princes, there would be thousands ready to offer their ministry; but, in 
my opinion, the heart that is buried in a dungeon is as precious as that 
seated upon a throne. Yes, my treasures, if I can mend them I will; perhaps 
they will not all despise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from the gulf, 
and that will be great gain; for is there upon earth a gem so precious as the 
human soul?"
Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the common prison, where I found 
the prisoners very merry, expecting my arrival, and each prepared with some 
gaol trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was going to begin, one turned 
my wig awry, as if by accident, and then asked my pardon. A second, who stood 
at some distance, had a knack of spitting through his teeth, which fell in 
showers upon my book. A third would cry amen in such an affected tone as gave 
the rest great delight. A fourth had slily picked my pocket of my spectacles. 
But there was one whose trick gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; 
for observing the manner in which I had disposed my books on the table before 
me, he very dexterously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of 
his own in the place. However, I took no notice of all that this mischievous 
group of little beings could do; but went on, perfectly sensible that what was 
ridiculous in my attempt would excite mirth only the first or second time, 
while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeeded, and in less 
than six days some were penitent, and all attentive.
It was now that I applauded my perseverance and address at thus giving 
sensibility to wretches divested of every moral feeling, and now began to 
think of doing them temporal services also, by rendering their situation 
somewhat more comfortable. Their time had hitherto been divided between famine 
and excess, tumultuous riot and bitter repining. Their only employment was 
quarrelling among each other, playing cribbage, and cutting tobacco stoppers. 
From this last mode of idle industry I took the hint of setting such as chose 
to work at cutting pegs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being 
bought by a general subscription, and when manufactured, sold by my 
appointment; so that each earned something every day: a trifle indeed, but 
sufficient to maintain him.
I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the punishment of immorality, 
and rewards for peculiar industry. Thus, in less than a fortnight, I had 
formed them into something social and humane, and had the pleasure of 
regarding myself as a legislator, who had brought men from their native 
ferocity into friendship and obedience.
And it were highly to be wished that legislative power would thus direct the 
law rather to reformation than severity; that it would appear convinced that 
the work of eradicating crimes is not by making punishments familiar, but 
formidable. Instead of our present prisons, which find or make men guilty, 
which enclose wretches for the commission of one crime, and return them, if 
returned alive, fitted for the perpetuation of thousands, it were to be wished 
we had, as in other parts of Europe, places of penitence and solitude, where 
the accused might be attended by such as could give them repentance if guilty, 
or new motives to virtue if innocent. And this, but not the increasing 
punishments, is the way to mend a state: nor can I avoid even questioning the 
validity of that right which social combinations have assumed of capitally 
punishing offences of a slight nature. In cases of murder their right is 
obvious, as it is the duty of us all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off 
that man who has shown a disregard for the life of another. Against such, all 
nature rises in arms; but it is not so against him who steals my property. 
Natural law gives me no right to take away his life, as by that the horse he 
steals is as much his property as mine. If then I have any right, it must be 
from a compact made between us that he who deprives the other of his horse 
shall die. But this is a false compact, because no man has a right to barter 
his life, no more than to take it away, as it is not his own. And next, the 
compact is inadequate and would be set aside even in a court of modern equity, 
as there is a great penalty for a very trifling convenience, since it is far 
better than two men should live than that one man should ride. But a compact 
that is false between two men is equally so between an hundred, or an hundred 
thousand; for as ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the 
united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to falsehood. It 
is thus that reason speaks, and untutored nature says the same thing. Savages 
that are directed nearly by natural law alone are very tender of the lives of 
each other; they seldom shed blood but to retaliate former cruelty.
Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had but few executions in 
times of peace; and in all commencing governments that have the print of 
nature still strong upon them, scarce any crime is held capital.
It is among the citizens of a refined community that penal laws, which are in 
the hands of the rich, are laid upon the poor. Government, while it grows 
older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age; and as if our possessions were 
become dearer in proportion as they increased, as if the more enormous our 
wealth, the more extensive our fears, our possessions are paled up with new 
edicts every day, and hung round with gibbets to scare every invader.
Whether is it from the number of our penal laws or the licentiousness of our 
people that this country should show more convicts in a year then half the 
dominions of Europe united? Perhaps it is owing to both; for they mutually 
produce each other. When by indiscriminate penal laws a nation beholds the 
same punishment affixed to dissimilar degrees of guilt, from perceiving no 
distinction in the penalty, the people are led to lose all sense of 
distinction in the crime, and this distinction is the bulwark of all morality: 
thus the multitude of laws produce new vices, and new vices call for fresh 
restraints.
It were to be wished then that power, instead of contriving new laws to punish 
vice, instead of drawing hard the cords of society till a convulsion come to 
burst them, instead of cutting away wretches as useless before we have tried 
their utility, instead of converting correction into vengeance, it were to be 
wished that we tried the restrictive arts of government, and made law the 
protector but not the tyrant of the people. We should then find that creatures 
whose souls are held as dross only wanted the hand of a refiner; we should 
then find that wretches, now stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should 
feel a momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to sinew the state in 
times of danger; that, as their faces are like ours, their hearts are so too; 
that few minds are so base as that perseverance cannot amend; that a man may 
see his last crime without dying for it; and that very little blood will serve 
to cement our security.


Chapter 28

Happiness and misery rather the result of prudence than of virtue in this 
life. Temporal evils or felicities being regarded by heaven as things merely 
in themselves trifling and unworthy its care in the distribution.


I had now been confined more than a fortnight, but had not since my arrival 
been visited by my dear Olivia, and I greatly longed to see her. Having 
communicated my wishes to my wife, the next morning the poor girl entered my 
apartment, leaning on her sister's arm. The change which I saw in her 
countenance struck me. The numberless graces that once resided there were now 
fled, and the hand of death seemed to have moulded every feature to alarm me. 
Her temples were sunk, her forehead was tense, and a fatal paleness sat upon 
her cheek.
"I am glad to see thee, my dear," cried I; "but why this dejection, Livy? I 
hope, my love, you have too great a regard for me to permit disappointment 
thus to undermine a life which I prize as my own. Be cheerful, child, and we 
may yet see happier days."
"You have ever, sir," replied she, "been kind to me, and it adds to my pain 
that I shall never have an opportunity of sharing that happiness you promise. 
Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for me here; and I long to be rid of 
a place where I have only found distress. Indeed, sir, I wish you would make a 
proper submission to Mr. Thornhill; it may, in some measure, induce him to 
pity you, and it will give me relief in dying."
"Never, child," replied I, "I never shall be brought to acknowledge my 
daughter a prostitute; for though the world may look upon your offence with 
scorn, let it be mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of guilt. My 
dear, I am no way miserable in this place, however dismal it may seen, and be 
assured that while you continue to bless me by living, he shall never have my 
consent to make you more wretched by marrying another."
After the departure of my daughter, my fellow prisoner, who was by at this 
interview, sensibly enough expostulated upon my obstinacy in refusing a 
submission which promised to give me freedom. He observed that the rest of my 
family was not to be sacrificed to the peace of one child alone, and she the 
only one who had offended me. "Beside," added he, "I don't know if it be just 
thus to obstruct the union of man and wife, which you do at present, by 
refusing to consent to a match which you cannot hinder, but may render unhappy."
"Sir," replied I, "you are unacquainted with the man that oppresses us. I am 
very sensible that no submission I can make could procure me liberty even for 
an hour. I am told that even in this very room a debtor of his, no later than 
last year, died for want. But though my submission and approbation could 
transfer me from hence to the most beautiful apartment he is possessed of, yet 
I would grant neither, as something whispers me that it would be giving a 
sanction to adultery. While my daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall 
ever be legal in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I should be the basest of 
men, from any resentment of my own, to attempt putting asunder those who wish 
for an union. No, villain as he is, I could then wish him married, to prevent 
the consequences of his future debaucheries. But should I not now be the most 
cruel of all fathers, to sign an instrument which must send my child to the 
grave, merely to avoid a prison myself; and thus to escape one pang, break my 
child's heart with a thousand?"
He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but could not avoid observing 
that he feared my daughter's life was already too much wasted to keep me long 
a prisoner. "However," continued he, "though you refuse to submit to the 
nephew, I hope you have no objections to laying your case before the uncle, 
who has the first character in the kingdom of every thing that is just and 
good. I would advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimating all his 
nephew's ill usage, and my life for it that in three days you shall have an 
answer." I thanked him for the hint and instantly set about complying; but I 
wanted paper, and unluckily all our money had been laid out that morning in 
provisions; however, he supplied me.
For the three ensuing days I was in a state of anxiety, to know what reception 
my letter might meet with; but in the meantime was frequently solicited by my 
wife to submit to any conditions rather than remain here, and every hour 
received repeated accounts of the decline of my daughter's health. The third 
day and the fourth arrived, but I received no answer to my letter; the 
complaints of a stranger against a favourite nephew were no way likely to 
succeed, so that these hopes soon vanished like all my former. My mind, 
however, still supported itself, though confinement and bad air began to make 
a visible alteration in my health, and my arm that had suffered in the fire 
grew worse. But my children still sat by me, and while I was stretched on my 
straw, read to me by turns, or listened and wept at my instructions. But my 
daughter's health declined faster than mine; every message from her 
contributed to increase my apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning after I 
had written the letter which was sent to Sir William Thornhill, I was alarmed 
with an account that she was speechless. Now it was that confinement was truly 
painful to me; my soul was bursting from its prison to be near the pillow of 
my child, to comfort, to strengthen her, to receive her last wishes, and teach 
her soul the way to heaven! Another account came. She was expiring, and yet I 
was debarred the small comfort of weeping by her. My fellow prisoner, some 
time after, came with the last account. He bade me be patient. She was dead! 
-The next morning he returned and found me with my two little ones, now my 
only companions, who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me. They 
entreated to read to me, and bid me not to cry, for I was now too old to weep. 
"And is not my sister an angel, now, papa," cried the eldest, "and why then 
are you sorry for her? I wish I were an angel out of this frightful place, if 
my papa were with me." -"Yes," added my youngest darling, "heaven, where my 
sister is, is a finer place than this, and there are none but good people 
there, and the people here are very bad."
Mr. Jenkinson interrupted their harmless prattle by observing that now my 
daughter was no more, I should seriously think of the rest of my family and 
attempt to save my own life, which was every day declining for want of 
necessaries and wholesome air. He added that it was now incumbent on me to 
sacrifice any pride or resentment of my own to the welfare of those who 
depended on me for support; and that I was now, both by reason and justice, 
obliged to try to reconcile my landlord.
"Heaven be praised," replied I, "there is no pride left me now. I should 
detest my own heart if I saw either pride or resentment lurking there. On the 
contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parishioner, I hope one day to 
present him up an unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal. No, sir, I have no 
resentment now, and though he has taken from me what I held dearer than all 
his treasures, though he has wrung my heart, for I am sick almost to fainting, 
very sick, my fellow prisoner; yet that shall never inspire me with vengeance. 
I am now willing to approve his marriage, and if this submission can do him 
any pleasure, let him know that if I have done him any injury, I am sorry for 
it." Mr. Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down my submission nearly as I 
have expressed it, to which I signed my name. My son was employed to carry the 
letter to Mr. Thornhill, who was then at his seat in the country. He went, and 
in about six hours returned with a verbal answer. He had some difficulty, he 
said, to get a sight of his landlord, as the servants were insolent and 
suspicious; but he accidentally saw him as he was going out upon business, 
preparing for his marriage, which was to be in three days. He continued to 
inform us that he stepped up in the humblest manner and delivered the letter, 
which, when Mr. Thornhill had read, he said that all submission was now too 
late and unnecessary; that he had heard of our application to his uncle, which 
met with the contempt it deserved; and as for the rest, that all future 
applications should be directed to his attorney, not to him. He observed, 
however, that as he had a very good opinion of the discretion of the two young 
ladies, they might have been the most agreeable intercessors.
"Well, sir," said I to my fellow prisoner, "you now discover the temper of the 
man that oppresses me. He can at once be facetious and cruel; but let him use 
me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite of all his bolts to restrain me. 
I am now drawing towards an abode that looks brighter as I approach it; this 
expectation cheers my afflictions, and though I shall leave an helpless family 
of orphans behind me, yet they will not be utterly forsaken; some friend, 
perhaps, will be found to assist them for the sake of their poor father, and 
some may charitably relieve them for the sake of their heavenly father."
Just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that day before, appeared with 
looks of terror, and making efforts, but unable to speak. "Why, my love," 
cried I, "why will you thus increase my affliction by your own? What though no 
submissions can return our severe master, though he has doomed me to die in 
this place of wretchedness, and though we have lost a darling child, yet still 
you will find comfort in your other children when I shall be no more." -"We 
have indeed lost," returned she, "a darling child. My Sophia, my dearest, is 
gone, snatched from us, carried off by ruffians!"
"How, madam," cried my fellow prisoner, "Miss Sophia carried off by villains! 
Sure it cannot be?"
She could only answer with a fixed look and a flood of tears. But one of the 
prisoners' wives, who was present, and came in with her, gave us a more 
distinct account; she informed us that as my wife, my daughter, and herself 
were taking a walk together on the great road a little way out of the village, 
a post-chaise and four drove up to them and instantly stopped. Upon which, a 
well-dressed man, but not Mr. Thornhill, stepping out, clasped my daughter 
round the waist, and forcing her in, bid the postilion drive on, so that they 
were out of sight in a moment.
"Now," cried I, "the sum of my miseries is made up, nor is it in the power of 
any thing on earth to give me another pang. What! not one left! not to leave 
me one! the monster! the child that was next to my heart! she had the beauty 
of an angel and almost the wisdom of an angel. But support that woman, nor let 
her fall. Not to leave me one!" -"Alas! my husband," said my wife, "you seem 
to want comfort even more than I. Our distresses are great; but I could bear 
this and more, if I saw you but easy. They may take away my children and all 
the world, if they leave me but you."
My son, who was present, endeavoured to moderate our grief; he bade us take 
comfort, for he hoped that we might still have reason to be thankful. "My 
child," cried I, "look round the world and see if there be any happiness left 
me now. Is not every ray of comfort shut out; while all our bright prospects 
only lie beyond the grave?" -"My dear father," returned he, "I hope there is 
still something that will give you an interval of satisfaction; for I have a 
letter from my brother George." -"What of him, child," interrupted I, "does he 
know of our misery? I hope my boy is exempt from any part of what his wretched 
family suffers." -"Yes, sir," returned he, "he is perfectly gay, cheerful, and 
happy. His letter brings nothing but good news; he is the favourite of his 
colonel, who promises to procure him the very next lieutenancy that becomes 
vacant!"
"And are you sure of all this," cried my wife, "are you sure that nothing ill 
has befallen my boy?" -"Nothing indeed, madam," returned my son; "you shall 
see the letter, which will give you the highest pleasure; and if any thing can 
produce you comfort, I am sure that will." -"But are you sure," still repeated 
she, "that the letter is from himself, and that he is really so happy?" -"Yes, 
madam," replied he, "it is certainly his, and he will one day be the credit 
and the support of our family!" -"Then I thank providence," cried she, "that 
my last letter to him has miscarried. Yes, my dear," continued she, turning to 
me, "I will now confess that though the hand of heaven is sore upon us in 
other instances, it has been favourable here. By the last letter I wrote my 
son, which was in the bitterness of anger, I desired him, upon his mother's 
blessing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see justice done his father and 
sister, and avenge our cause. But thanks to him that directs all things, it 
has miscarried, and I am at rest." -"Woman," cried I, "thou hast done very 
ill, and at another time my reproaches might have been more severe. Oh! what a 
tremendous gulf hast thou escaped, that would have buried both thee and him in 
endless ruin. Providence, indeed, has here been kinder to us than we to 
ourselves. It has reserved that son to be father and protector of my children 
when I shall be away. How unjustly did I complain of being stripped of every 
comfort, when still I hear that he is happy and insensible of our afflictions, 
still kept in reserve to support his widowed mother, to protect his brothers 
and sisters. But what sisters has he left, he has no sisters now, they are all 
gone, robbed from me; and I am undone." -"Father," interrupted my son, "I beg 
you will give me leave to read his letter. I know it will please you." Upon 
which, with my permission, he read as follows:

"HONOURED SIR, -I have called off my imagination a few moments from the 
pleasures that surround me to fix it upon objects that are still more 
pleasing, the dear little fireside at home. My fancy draws that harmless group 
as listening to every line of this with great composure. I view those faces 
with delight which never felt the deforming hand of ambition or distress! But 
whatever your happiness may be at home, I am sure it will be some addition to 
it to hear that I am perfectly pleased with my situation, and every way happy 
here.
"Our regiment is countermanded and is not to leave the kingdom; the colonel, 
who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all companies where he 
is acquainted, and after my first visit I generally find myself received with 
increased respect upon repeating it. I danced last night with Lady G -, and 
could I forget you know whom, I might be perhaps successful. But it is my fate 
still to remember others, while I am myself forgotten by most of my absent 
friends, and in this number, I fear, sir, that I must consider you; for I have 
long expected the pleasure of a letter from home to no purpose. Olivia and 
Sophia, too, promised to write, but seem to have forgotten me. Tell them they 
are two arrant little baggages, and that I am this moment in a most violent 
passion with them: yet still, I know not how, though I want to bluster a 
little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them, sir, 
that after all, I love them affectionately, and be assured of my ever remaining
Your dutiful Son."

"In all our miseries," cried I, "what thanks have we not to return, that one 
at least of our family is exempted from what we suffer. Heaven be his guard, 
and keep my boy thus happy to be the supporter of his widowed mother, and the 
father of these two babes, which is all the patrimony I can now bequeath him. 
May he keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and be their 
conductor in the paths of honour." I had scarce said these words, when a 
noise, like that of a tumult, seemed to proceed from the prison below; it died 
away soon after, and a clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that 
led to my apartment. The keeper of the prison entered, holding a man all 
bloody, wounded and fettered with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion 
on the wretch as he approached me, but with horror when I found it was my own 
son. "My George! My George! and do I behold thee thus! Wounded! Fettered! Is 
this thy happiness! Is this the manner you return to me! O that this sight 
could break my heart at once and let me die!"
"Where, sir, is your fortitude?" returned my son with an intrepid voice. "I 
must suffer, my life is forfeited, and let them take it; it is my last 
happiness that I have committed no murder, though I have lost all hopes of 
pardon."
I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes in silence, but I thought I 
should have died with the effort. "O my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee 
thus, and I cannot, cannot help it. In the moment that I thought thee blest, 
and prayed for thy safety, to behold thee thus again! Chained, wounded. And 
yet the death of the youthful is happy. But I am old, a very old man, and have 
lived to see this day. To see my children all untimely falling about me, while 
I continue a wretched survivor in the midst of ruin! May all the curses that 
ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer of my children. May he live, 
like me, to see -"
"Hold, sir," replied my son, "or I shall blush for thee. How, sir, forgetful 
of your age, your holy calling, thus to arrogate the justice of heaven and 
fling those curses upward that must soon descend to crush thy own grey head 
with destruction! No, sir, let it be your care now to fit me for that vile 
death I must shortly suffer, to arm me with hope and resolution, to give me 
courage to drink of that bitterness which must shortly be my portion."
"My child, you must not die. I am sure no offence of thine can deserve so vile 
a punishment. My George could never be guilty of any crime to make his 
ancestors ashamed of him."
"Mine, sir," returned my son, "is, I fear, an unpardonable one. I have sent a 
challenge, and that is death by a late act of parliament. When I received my 
mother's letter from home, I immediately came down, determined to punish the 
betrayer of our honour, and sent him an order to meet me, which he answered, 
not in person, but by his dispatching four of his domestics to seize me. I 
wounded one, but the rest made me their prisoner. The coward is determined to 
put the law in execution against me; the proofs are undeniable, and as I am 
the first transgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon. But you 
have often charmed me with the lessons of fortitude; let me now, sir, find 
them in your example."
"And, my son, you shall find them. I am now raised above this world and all 
the pleasures it can produce. From this moment I break from my heart all the 
ties that held it down to earth, and will prepare to fit us both for eternity. 
Yes, my son, I will point out the way, and my soul shall guide yours in the 
ascent, for we will take our flight together. I now see and am convinced you 
can expect no pardon here, and I can only exhort you to seek it at that 
greatest tribunal where we both shall shortly answer. But let us not be 
niggardly in our exhortation, but let all our fellow prisoners have a share: 
good gaoler, let them be permitted to stand here, while I attempt to improve 
them." Thus saying I made an effort to rise from my straw, but wanted 
strength, and was able only to recline against the wall. The prisoners 
assembled according to my directions, for they loved to hear my counsel; my 
son and his mother supported me on either side; I looked and saw that none 
were wanting, and then addressed them with the following exhortation.


Chapter 29

The equal dealings of providence demonstrated with regard to the happy and the 
miserable here below. That from the nature of pleasure and pain, the wretched 
must be repaid the balance of their sufferings in the life hereafter.


"My friends, my children, and fellow-sufferers, when I reflect on the 
distribution of good and evil here below, I find that much has been given man 
to enjoy, yet still more to suffer. Though we should examine the whole world, 
we shall not find one man so happy as to have nothing left to wish for; but we 
daily see thousands who by suicide show us they have nothing left to hope. In 
this life then it appears that we cannot be entirely blest; but yet we may be 
completely miserable!
"Why man should thus feel pain, why our wretchedness should be requisite in 
the formation of universal felicity, why, when all other systems are made 
perfect only by the perfection of their subordinate parts, the great system 
should require for its perfection, parts that are not only subordinate to 
others, but imperfect in themselves? These are questions that never can be 
explained, and might be useless if known. On this subject providence has 
thought fit to elude our curiosity, satisfied with granting us motives to 
consolation.
"In this situation man has called in the friendly assistance of philosophy, 
and heaven, seeing the incapacity of that to console him, has given him the 
aid of religion. The consolations of philosophy are very amusing, but often 
fallacious. It tells us that life is filled with comforts, if we will but 
enjoy them; and on the other hand, that though we unavoidably have miseries 
here, life is short, and they will soon be over. Thus do these consolations 
destroy each other; for if life is a place of comfort, its shortness must be 
misery, and if it be long, our griefs are protracted. Thus philosophy is weak; 
but religion comforts in an higher strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting 
up his mind and preparing it for another abode. When the good man leaves the 
body and is all a glorious mind, he will find he has been making himself a 
heaven of happiness here, while the wretch that has been maimed and 
contaminated by his vices shrinks from his body with terror, and finds that he 
has anticipated the vengeance of heaven. To religion then we must hold in 
every circumstance of life for our truest comfort; for if already we are 
happy, it is a pleasure to think that we can make that happiness unending, and 
if we are miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is a place of 
rest. Thus to the fortunate religion holds out a continuance of bliss, to the 
wretched a change from pain.
"But though religion is very kind to all men, it has promised peculiar reward 
to the unhappy; the sick, the naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and the 
prisoner have ever most frequent promises in our sacred law. The author of our 
religion every where professes himself the wretch's friend, and unlike the 
false ones of this world, bestows all his caresses upon the forlorn. The 
unthinking have censured this as partiality, as a preference without merit to 
deserve it. But they never reflect that it is not in the power even of heaven 
itself to make the offer of unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy as 
to the miserable. To the first eternity is but a single blessing, since at 
most it but increases what they already possess. To the latter it is a double 
advantage; for it diminishes their pain here and rewards them with heavenly 
bliss hereafter.
"But providence is in another respect kinder to the poor than the rich; for as 
it thus makes the life after death more desirable, so it smooths the passage 
there. The wretched have long familiarity with every face of terror. The man 
of sorrows lays himself quietly down; he has no possessions to regret, and but 
few ties to stop his departure: he feels only nature's pang in the final 
separation, and this is no way greater than he has often fainted under before; 
for after a certain degree of pain, every new breach that death opens in the 
constitution nature kindly covers with insensibility.
"Thus providence has given the wretched two advantages over the happy in his 
life, greater felicity in dying, and in heaven all that superiority of 
pleasure which arises from contrasted enjoyment. And this superiority, my 
friends, is no small advantage, and seems to be one of the pleasures of the 
poor man in the parable; for though he was already in heaven, and felt all the 
raptures it could give, yet it was mentioned as an addition to his happiness 
that he had once been wretched and now was comforted, that he had known what 
it was to be miserable, and now felt what it was to be happy.
"Thus, my friends, you see religion does what philosophy could never do: it 
shows the equal dealings of heaven to the happy and the unhappy, and levels 
all human enjoyments to nearly the same standard. It gives to both rich and 
poor the same happiness hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire after it; but if 
the rich have the advantage of enjoying pleasure here, the poor have the 
endless satisfaction of knowing what it was once to be miserable, when crowned 
with endless felicity hereafter; and even though this should be called a small 
advantage, yet being an eternal one, it must make up by duration what the 
temporal happiness of the great may have exceeded by intenseness.
"These are therefore the consolations which the wretched have peculiar to 
themselves, and in which they are above the rest of mankind; in other respects 
they are below them. They who would know the miseries of the poor must see 
life and endure it. To declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy is only 
repeating what none either believe or practise. The men who have the 
necessaries of living are not poor, and they who want them must be miserable. 
Yes, my friends, we must be miserable. No vain efforts of a refined 
imagination can soothe the wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the 
dank vapour of a dungeon, or ease to the throbbings of a woe-worn heart. Let 
the philosopher from his couch of softness tell us that we can resist all 
these. Alas! the effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain! 
Death is slight, and any man may sustain it; but torments are dreadful, and 
these no man can endure.
"To us then, my friends, the promises of happiness in heaven should be 
peculiarly dear; for if our reward be in this life alone, we are then indeed 
of all men the most miserable. When I look round these gloomy walls, made to 
terrify as well as to confine us, this light that only serves to show the 
horrors of the place, those shackles that tyranny has imposed or crime made 
necessary, when I survey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans, O my 
friends, what a glorious exchange would heaven be for these. To fly through 
regions unconfined as air, to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carol 
over endless hymns of praise, to have no master to threaten or insult us, but 
the form of goodness himself for ever in our eyes, when I think of these 
things, death becomes the messenger of very glad tidings; when I think of 
these things, his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support; when I think 
of these things, what is there in life worth having; when I think of these 
things, what is there that should not be spurned away: kings in their palaces 
should groan for such advantages; but we, humbled as we are, should yearn for 
them.
"And shall these things be ours? Ours they will certainly be if we but try for 
them; and what is a comfort, we are shut out from many temptations that would 
retard our pursuit. Only let us try for them, and they will certainly be ours, 
and what is still a comfort, shortly too; for if we look back on past life, it 
appears but a very short span, and whatever we may think of the rest of life, 
it will yet be found of less duration; as we grow older, the days seems to 
grow shorter, and our intimacy with time ever lessens the perception of his 
stay. Then let us take comfort now, for we shall soon be at our journey's end; 
we shall soon lay down the heavy burden laid by heaven upon us, and though 
death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary 
traveller with the view, and like his horizon, still flies before him, yet the 
time will certainly and shortly come, when we shall cease from our toil; when 
the luxurious great ones of the world shall no more tread us to the earth; 
when we shall think with pleasure on our sufferings below; when we shall be 
surrounded with all our friends, or such as deserved our friendship; when our 
bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all, unending."


Chapter 30

Happier prospects begin to appear. Let us be inflexible, and fortune will at 
last change in our favour.


When I had thus finished, and my audience was retired, the gaoler, who was one 
of the most humane of his profession, hoped I would not be displeased, as what 
he did was but his duty, observing that he must be obliged to remove my son 
into a stronger cell, but that he should be permitted to revisit me every 
morning. I thanked him for his clemency, and grasping my boy's hand, bade him 
farewell and be mindful of the great duty that was before him.
I again, therefore, laid me down, and one of my little ones sat by my bedside 
reading, when Mr. Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was news of my 
daughter; for that she was seen by a person about two hours before in a 
strange gentleman's company, and that they had stopped at a neighbouring 
village for refreshment and seemed as if returning to town. He had scarce 
delivered this news, when the gaoler came with looks of haste and pleasure to 
inform me that my daughter was found. Moses came running in a moment after, 
crying out that his sister Sophy was below and coming up with our old friend 
Mr. Burchell.
Just as he delivered this news my dearest girl entered, and with looks almost 
wild with pleasure, ran to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her mother's 
tears and silence also showed her pleasure. "Here, papa," cried the charming 
girl, "here is the brave man to whom I owe my delivery; to this gentleman's 
intrepidity I am indebted for my happiness and safety -" A kiss from Mr. 
Burchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater than hers, interrupted what she 
was going to add.
"Ah, Mr. Burchell," cried I, "this is but a wretched habitation you now find 
us in; and we are now very different from what you last saw us. You were ever 
our friend; we have long discovered our errors with regard to you, and 
repented of our ingratitude. After the vile usage you then received at my 
hands, I am almost ashamed to behold your face; yet I hope you'll forgive me, 
as I was deceived by a base ungenerous wretch who, under the mask of 
friendship, has undone me."
"It is impossible," replied Mr. Burchell, "that I should forgive you, as you 
never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and as it was 
out of my power to restrain, I could only pity it!"
"It was ever my conjecture," cried I, "that your mind was noble; but now I 
find it so. But tell me, my dear child, how hast thou been relieved, or who 
the ruffians were who carried thee away?"
"Indeed, sir," replied she, "as to the villain who brought me off, I am yet 
ignorant. For as my mamma and I were walking out, he came behind us, and 
almost before I could call for help, forced me into the post-chaise, and in an 
instant the horses drove away. I met several on the road to whom I cried out 
for assistance; but they disregarded my entreaties. In the meantime the 
ruffian himself used every art to hinder me from crying out: he flattered and 
threatened by turns, and swore that if I continued but silent, he intended no 
harm. In the meantime I had broken the canvas that he had drawn up, and whom 
should I perceive at some distance but your old friend Mr. Burchell, walking 
along with his usual swiftness, with the great stick for which we used so much 
to ridicule him. As soon as we came within hearing, I called out to him by 
name and entreated his help. I repeated my exclamations several times, upon 
which, with a very loud voice, he bid the postilion stop; but the boy took no 
notice, but drove on with still greater speed. I now thought he could never 
overtake us, when in less than a minute I saw Mr. Burchell come running up by 
the side of the horses, and with one blow knock the postilion to the ground. 
The horses when he was fallen soon stopped of themselves, and the ruffian 
stepping out, with oaths and menaces; drew his sword, and ordered him at his 
peril to retire; but Mr. Burchell running up, shivered his sword to pieces, 
and then pursued him for near a quarter of a mile; but he made his escape. I 
was at this time come out myself, willing to assist my deliverer; but he soon 
returned to me in triumph. The postilion, who was recovered, was going to make 
his escape too; but Mr. Burchell ordered him at his peril to mount again and 
drive back to town. Finding it impossible to resist, he reluctantly complied, 
though the wound he had received seemed, to me at least, to be dangerous. He 
continued to complain of the pain as we drove along, so that he at last 
excited Mr. Burchell's compassion, who, at my request, exchanged him for 
another at an inn where we called on our return."
"Welcome then," cried I, "my child, and thou her gallant deliverer, a thousand 
welcomes. Though our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to 
receive you. And now, Mr. Burchell, as you have delivered my girl, if you 
think her a recompense she is yours; if you can stoop to an alliance with a 
family so poor as mine, take her, obtain her consent, as I know you have her 
heart, and you have mine. And let me tell you, sir, that I give you no small 
treasure; she has been celebrated for beauty it is true, but that is not my 
meaning. I give you up a treasure in her mind."
"But I suppose, sir," cried Mr. Burchell, "that you are apprized of my 
circumstances, and of my incapacity to support her as she deserves?"
"I f your present objection," replied I, "be meant as an evasion of my offer, 
I desist; but I know no man so worthy to deserve her as you; and if I could 
give her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my honest brave 
Burchell should be my dearest choice."
To all this his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal, and without 
the least reply to my offer, he demanded if we could not be furnished with 
refreshments from the next inn, to which being answered in the affirmative, he 
ordered them to send in the best dinner that could be provided upon such short 
notice. He bespoke also a dozen of their best wine and some cordials for me. 
Adding, with a smile, that he would stretch a little for once, and though in a 
prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon 
made his appearance with preparations for dinner, a table was lent us by the 
gaoler, who seemed remarkably assiduous, the wine was disposed in order, and 
two very well-dressed dishes were brought in.
My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's melancholy situation, and 
we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was 
in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful; the circumstances of my 
unfortunate son broke through all efforts to dissemble, so that I was at last 
obliged to damp our mirth by relating his misfortunes, and wishing that he 
might be permitted to share with us in this little interval of satisfaction. 
After my guests were recovered from the consternation my account had produced, 
I requested also that Mr. Jenkinson, a fellow prisoner, might be admitted, and 
the gaoler granted my request with an air of unusual submission. The clanking 
of my son's irons was no sooner heard along the passage than his sister ran 
impatiently to meet him, while Mr. Burchell, in the meantime, asked me if my 
son's name were George, to which replying in the affirmative, he still 
continued silent. As soon as my boy entered the room, I could perceive he 
regarded Mr. Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence. "Come on," 
cried I, "my son, though we are fallen very low, yet providence has been 
pleased to grant us some small relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to 
us, and there is her deliverer; to that brave man it is that I am indebted for 
yet having a daughter; give him, my boy, the hand of friendship, he deserves 
our warmest gratitude."
My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still continued 
fixed at respectful distance. "My dear brother," cried his sister, "why don't 
you thank my good deliverer? the brave should ever love each other."
He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our guest at last 
perceived himself to be known, and assuming all his native dignity, desired my 
son to come forward. Never before had I seen any thing so truly majestic as 
the air he assumed upon this occasion. The greatest object in the universe, 
says a certain philosopher, is a good man struggling with adversity; yet there 
is still a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it. After he 
had regarded my son for some time with a superior air, "I again find," said 
he, "unthinking boy, that the same crime -" But here he was interrupted by one 
of the gaoler's servants, who came to inform us that a person of distinction, 
who had driven into town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his 
respects to the gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when he should 
think proper to be waited upon. "Bid the fellow wait," cried our guest, "till 
I shall have leisure to receive him"; and then turning to my son, "I again 
find, sir," proceeded he, "that you are guilty of the same offence for which 
you once had my reproof, and for which the law is now preparing its justest 
punishments. You imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your own life gives you 
a right to take that of another; but where, sir, is the difference between a 
duelist who hazards a life of no value and the murderer who acts with greater 
security? Is it any diminution of the gamester's fraud when he alleges that he 
has staked a counter?"
"Alas, sir," cried I, "whoever you are, pity the poor misguided creature; for 
what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother, who in the bitterness 
of her resentment required him upon her blessing to avenge her quarrel. Here, 
sir, is the letter, which will serve to convince you of her imprudence and 
diminish his guilt."
He took the letter, and hastily read it over. "This," says he, "though not a 
perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault as induces me to forgive 
him. And now, sir," continued he, kindly, taking my son by the hand, "I see 
you are surprised at finding me here; but I have often visited prisons upon 
occasions less interesting. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, 
for whom I have the most sincere esteem. I have long been a disguised 
spectator of thy father's benevolence. I have at his little dwelling enjoyed 
respect uncontaminated by flattery, and have received that happiness that 
courts could not give, from the amusing simplicity round his fireside. My 
nephew has been apprized of my intentions of coming here, and I find is 
arrived; it would be wronging him and you to condemn him without examination: 
if there be injury, there shall be redress; and this I may say without 
boasting, that none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William Thornhill."
We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as an harmless 
amusing companion was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to 
whose virtues and singularities scarce any were strangers. The poor Mr. 
Burchell was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom 
senates listened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who was 
the friend of his country, but loyal to his kin. My poor wife, recollecting 
her former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a 
few moments before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to 
which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears.
"Ah, sir," cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, "how is it possible that I 
can ever have your forgiveness; the slights you received from me the last time 
I had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I audaciously 
threw out, these jokes, sir, I fear can never be forgiven."
"My dear good lady," returned he with a smile, "i f you had your joke, I had 
my answer. I'll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours. 
To say the truth, I know no body whom I am disposed to be angry with at 
present but the fellow who so frighted my little girl here. I had not even 
time to examine the rascal's person so as to describe him in an advertisement. 
Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again?"
"Indeed, sir," replied she, "I can't be positive; yet now I recollect he had a 
large mark over one of his eyebrows." -"I ask pardon, madam," interrupted 
Jenkinson, who was by, "but be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his 
own red hair?" -"Yes, I think so," cried Sophia. -"And did your honour," 
continued he, turning to Sir William, "observe the length of his legs?" -"I 
can't be sure of their length," cried the Baronet, "but I am convinced of 
their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I thought few men in the 
kingdom could have done." -"Please your honour," cried Jenkinson, "I know the 
man: it is certainly the same; the best runner in England; he has beaten 
Pinwire of Newcastle, Timothy Baxter is his name, I know him perfectly, and 
the very place of his retreat this moment. If your honour will bid Mr. Gaoler 
let two of his men go with me, I'll engage to produce him to you in an hour at 
farthest." Upon this the gaoler was called, who instantly appearing, Sir 
William demanded if he knew him. "Yes, please your honour," replied the 
gaoler, "I know Sir William Thornhill well, and every body that knows any 
thing of him will desire to know more of him." -"Well then," said the Baronet, 
"my request is that you will permit this man and two of your servants to go 
upon a message by my authority, and as I am in the commission of the peace, I 
undertake to secure you." -"Your promise is sufficient," replied the other, 
"and you may at a minute's warning send them over England whenever your honour 
thinks fit."
In pursuance of the gaoler's compliance, Jenkinson was dispatched in search of 
Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy 
Bill, who had just come in and climbed up to Sir William's neck in order to 
kiss him. His mother was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but 
the worthy man prevented her; and taking the child, all ragged as he was upon 
his knee, "What, Bill, you chubby rogue," cried he, "do you remember your old 
friend Burchell? And Dick too, my honest veteran, are you here? You shall find 
I have not forgot you." So saying, he gave each a large piece of gingerbread, 
which the poor fellows ate very heartily, as they had got that morning but a 
very scanty breakfast.
We now sat down to dinner, which was almost cold; but previously, my arm still 
continuing painful, Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made the 
study of physic his amusement and was more than moderately skilled in the 
profession; this being sent to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm 
was dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief. We were waited upon at 
dinner by the gaoler himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour 
in his power. But before we had well dined, another message was brought from 
his nephew, desiring permission to appear in order to vindicate his innocence 
and honour, with which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr. Thornhill 
to be introduced.


Chapter 31

Former benevolence now repaid with unexpected interest.


Mr. Thornhill made his entrance with a smile, which he seldom wanted, and was 
going to embrace his uncle, which the other repulsed with an air of disdain. 
"No fawning, sir, at present," cried the Baronet with a look of severity; "the 
only way to my heart is by the road of honour; but here I only see complicated 
instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression. How is it, sir, that this 
poor man, for whom I know you professed a friendship, is used thus hardly? His 
daughter vilely seduced, as a recompense for his hospitality, and he himself 
thrown into a prison perhaps but for resenting the insult? His son too, whom 
you feared to face as a man -"
"Is it possible, sir," interrupted his nephew, "that my uncle could object 
that as a crime which his repeated instructions alone have persuaded me to 
avoid?"
"Your rebuke," cried Sir William, "is just, you have acted in this instance 
prudently and well, though not quite as your father would have done: my 
brother indeed was the soul of honour, but thou -yes, you have acted in this 
instance perfectly right, and it has my warmest approbation."
"And I hope," said his nephew, "that the rest of my conduct will not be found 
to deserve censure. I appeared, sir, with this gentleman's daughter at some 
places of public amusement; thus what was levity, scandal called by a harsher 
name, and it was reported that I had debauched her. I waited on her father in 
person, willing to clear the thing to his satisfaction, and he received me 
only with insult and abuse. As for the rest, with regard to his being here, my 
attorney and steward can best inform you, as I commit the management of 
business entirely to them. I f he has contracted debts and is unwilling or 
even unable to pay them, it is their business to proceed in this manner, and I 
see no hardship or injustice in pursuing the most legal means of redress."
"I f this," cried Sir William, "be as you have stated it, there is nothing 
unpardonable in your offence; and though your conduct might have been more 
generous in not suffering this gentleman to be oppressed by subordinate 
tyranny, yet it has been at least equitable."
"He cannot contradict a single particular," replied the 'Squire; "I defy him 
to do so, and several of my servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, 
sir," continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact I could not 
contradict him, "thus, sir, my own innocence is vindicated; but though at your 
entreaty I am ready to forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his 
attempts to lessen me in your esteem excite a resentment that I cannot govern. 
And this too at a time when his son was actually preparing to take away my 
life; this, I say, was such guilt that I am determined to let the law take its 
course. I have here the challenge that was sent me and two witnesses to prove 
it; and even though my uncle himself should dissuade me, which I know he will 
not, yet I will see public justice done, and he shall suffer for it."
"Thou monster," cried my wife, "hast thou not had vengeance enough already, 
but must my poor boy feel thy cruelty? I hope that good Sir William will 
protect us, for my son is as innocent as a child; I am sure he is, and never 
did harm to man."
"Madam," replied the good man, "your wishes for his safety are not greater 
than mine; but I am sorry to find his guilt too plain; and if my nephew 
persists -" But the appearance of Jenkinson and the gaoler's two servants now 
called off our attention, who entered, hailing in a tall man, very genteelly 
dressed, and answering the description already given of the ruffian who had 
carried off my daughter. "Here," cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, "here we 
have him, and if ever there was a candidate for Tyburn, this is one."
The moment Mr. Thornhill perceived the prisoner and Jenkinson, who had him in 
custody, he seemed to shrink back with terror. His face became pale with 
conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn; but Jenkinson, who perceived his 
design, stopped him. "What, 'Squire," cried he, "are you ashamed of your two 
old acquaintances, Jenkinson and Baxter? But this is the way that all great 
men forget their friends, though I am resolved we will not forget you. Our 
prisoner, please your honour," continued he, turning to Sir William, "has 
already confessed all. He declares that it was Mr. Thornhill who first put him 
upon this affair, that he gave him the clothes he now wears to appear like a 
gentleman, and furnished him with the post-chaise. The plan was laid between 
them that he should carry off the young lady to a place of safety, and that 
there he should threaten and terrify her; but Mr. Thornhill was to come in in 
the meantime, as if by accident, to her rescue, and that they should fight 
awhile and then he was to run off, by which Mr. Thornhill would have the 
better opportunity of gaining her affections himself under the character of 
her defender."
Sir William remembered the coat to have been frequently worn by his nephew, 
and all the rest the prisoner himself confirmed by a more circumstantial 
account, concluding that Mr. Thornhill had often declared to him that he was 
in love with both sisters at the same time.
"Heavens," cried Sir William, "what a viper have I been fostering in my bosom! 
And so fond of public justice too as he seemed to be. But he shall have it; 
secure him, Mr. Gaoler -yet hold, I fear there is not legal evidence to detain 
him."
Upon this, Mr. Thornhill, with the utmost humility, entreated that two such 
abandoned wretches might not be admitted as evidences against him, but that 
his servants should be examined. "Your servants," replied Sir William, 
"wretch, call them yours no longer; but come let us hear what those fellows 
have to say; let his butler be called."
When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by his former master's looks 
that all his power was now over. "Tell me," cried Sir William sternly, "have 
you ever seen your master and that fellow dressed up in his clothes in company 
together?" -"Yes, please your honour," cried the butler, "a thousand times; he 
was the man that always brought him his ladies." -"How," interrupted young Mr. 
Thornhill, "this to my face!" -"Yes," replied the butler, "or to any man's 
face. To tell you a truth, Master Thornhill, I never either loved you or liked 
you, and I don't care if I tell you now a piece of my mind." -"Now then," 
cried Jenkinson, "tell his honour whether you know any thing of me." -"I can't 
say," replied the butler, "that I know much good of you. The night that 
gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, you were one of them." -"So 
then," cried Sir William, "I find you have brought a very fine witness to 
prove your innocence: thou stain to humanity! to associate with such 
wretches!" (But continuing his examination) "You tell me, Mr. Butler, that 
this was the person who brought him this old gentleman's daughter?" -"No, 
please your honour," replied the butler, "he did not bring her, for the 
'Squire himself undertook that business; but he brought the priest that 
pretended to marry them." -"It is but too true," cried Jenkinson, "I cannot 
deny it; that was the employment assigned me, and I confess it to my confusion."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the Baronet, "how every new discovery of his 
villainy alarms me. All his guilt is now too plain, and I find his present 
prosecution was dictated by tyranny, cowardice, and revenge; at my request, 
Mr. Gaoler, set this young officer, now your prisoner, free, and trust to me 
for the consequences. I'll make it my business to set the affair in a proper 
light to my friend the magistrate who has committed him. But where is the 
unfortunate young lady herself? Let her appear to confront this wretch; I long 
to know by what arts he has seduced her honour. Entreat her to come in. Where 
is she?"
"Ah, sir," said I, "that question stings me to the heart. I was once indeed 
happy in a daughter, but her miseries -" Another interruption here prevented 
me; for who should make her appearance but Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next 
day to have been married to Mr. Thornhill. Nothing could equal her surprise at 
seeing Sir William and his nephew here before her, for her arrival was quite 
accidental. It happened that she and the old gentleman, her father, were 
passing through the town on their way to her aunt's, who had insisted that her 
nuptials with Mr. Thornhill should be consummated at her house; but stopping 
for refreshment, they put up at an inn at the other end of the town. It was 
there from the window that the young lady happened to observe one of my little 
boys playing in the street, and instantly sending a footman to bring the child 
to her, she learnt from him some account of our misfortunes, but was still 
kept ignorant of young Mr. Thornhill's being the cause. Though her father made 
several remonstrances on the impropriety of going to a prison to visit us, yet 
they were ineffectual; she desired the child to conduct her, which he did, and 
it was thus she surprised us at a juncture so unexpected.
Nor can I go on without a reflection on those accidental meetings which, 
though they happen every day, seldom excite our surprise but upon some 
extraordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous concurrence do we not owe every 
pleasure and convenience of our lives. How many seeming accidents must unite 
before we can be clothed or fed. The peasant must be disposed to labour, the 
shower must fall, the wind fill the merchant's sail, or numbers must want the 
usual supply.
We all continued silent for some moments, while my charming pupil, which was 
the name I generally gave this young lady, united in her looks compassion and 
astonishment, which gave new finishings to her beauty. "Indeed, my dear Mr. 
Thornhill," cried she to the 'Squire, who she supposed was come here to 
succour and not to oppress us, "I take it a little unkindly that you should 
come here without me, or never inform me of the situation of a family so dear 
to us both; you know I should take as much pleasure in contributing to the 
relief of my reverend old master here, whom I shall ever esteem, as you can. 
But I find that, like your uncle, you take a pleasure in doing good in secret."
"He find pleasure in doing good!" cried Sir William, interrupting her. "No, my 
dear, his pleasures are as base as he is. You see in him, madam, as complete a 
villain as ever disgraced humanity. A wretch, who after having deluded this 
poor man's daughter, after plotting against the innocence of her sister, has 
thrown the father into prison and the eldest son into fetters, because he had 
courage to face his betrayer. And give me leave, madam, now to congratulate 
you upon an escape from the embraces of such a monster."
"O goodness," cried the lovely girl, "how have I been deceived! Mr. Thornhill 
informed me for certain that this gentleman's eldest son, Captain Primrose, 
was gone off to America with his new-married lady."
"My sweetest miss," cried my wife, "he has told you nothing but falsehoods. My 
son George never left the kingdom nor never was married. Though you have 
forsaken him, he has always loved you too well to think of any body else; and 
I have heard him say he would die a bachelor for your sake." She then 
proceeded to expatiate upon the sincerity of her son's passion; she set his 
duel with Mr. Thornhill in a proper light; from thence she made a rapid 
digression to the 'Squire's debaucheries, his pretended marriages, and ended 
with a most insulting picture of his cowardice.
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Wilmot, "how very near have I been to the brink of 
ruin! But how great is my pleasure to have escaped it! Ten thousand falsehoods 
has this gentleman told me! He had at last art enough to persuade me that my 
promise to the only man I esteemed was no longer binding, since he had been 
unfaithful. By his falsehoods I was taught to detest one equally brave and 
generous!"
But by this time my son was freed from the encumbrances of justice. Mr. 
Jenkinson also, who had acted as his valet de chambre, had dressed up his hair 
and furnished him with whatever was necessary to make a genteel appearance. He 
now therefore entered, handsomely dressed in his regimentals, and, without 
vanity (for I am above it), he appeared as handsome a fellow as ever wore a 
military dress. As he entered, he made Miss Wilmot a modest and distant bow, 
for he was not as yet acquainted with the change which the eloquence of his 
mother had wrought in his favour. But no decorums could restrain the 
impatience of his blushing mistress to be forgiven. Her tears, her looks, all 
contributed to discover the real sensations of her heart for having forgotten 
her former promise and having suffered herself to be deluded by an impostor. 
My son appeared amazed at her condescension and could scarce believe it real. 
"Sure, madam," cried he, "this is but delusion! I can never have merited this! 
To be blest thus is to be too happy." -"No, sir," replied she, "I have been 
deceived, basely deceived, else nothing could have ever made me unjust to my 
promise. You know my friendship, you have long known it; but forget what I 
have done, and as you once had my warmest vows of constancy, you shall now 
have them repeated; and be assured that if your Arabella cannot be yours, she 
shall never be another's." -"And no other's you shall be," cried Sir William, 
"i f I have any influence with your father."
This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who immediately flew to the inn 
where the old gentleman was, to inform him of every circumstance that had 
happened. But in the meantime the 'Squire, perceiving that he was on every 
side undone, now finding that no hopes were left from flattery or 
dissimulation, concluded that his wisest way would be to turn and face his 
pursuers. Thus laying aside all shame, he appeared the open hardy villain. "I 
find then," cried he, "that I am to expect no justice here; but I am resolved 
it shall be done me. You shall know, sir," turning to Sir William, "I am no 
longer a poor dependant upon your favours. I scorn them. Nothing can keep Miss 
Wilmot's fortune from me, which, I thank her father's assiduity, is pretty 
large. The articles, and a bond for her fortune, are signed and safe in my 
possession. It was her fortune, not her person, that induced me to wish for 
this match, and possessed of the one, let who will take the other."
This was an alarming blow. Sir William was sensible of the justice of his 
claims, for he had been instrumental in drawing up the marriage articles 
himself. Miss Wilmot therefore perceiving that her fortune was irretrievably 
lost, turning to my son, she asked if the loss of fortune could lessen her 
value to him. "Though fortune," said she, "is out of my power, at least I have 
my hand to give."
"And that, madam," cried her real lover, "was indeed all that you ever had to 
give; at least all that I ever thought worth the acceptance. And I now 
protest, my Arabella, by all that's happy, your want of fortune this moment 
increases my pleasure, as it serves to convince my sweet girl of my sincerity."
Mr. Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little pleased at the danger his 
daughter had just escaped, and readily consented to a dissolution of the 
match. But finding that her fortune, which was secured to Mr. Thornhill by 
bond, would not be given up, nothing could exceed his disappointment. He now 
saw that his money must all go to enrich one who had no fortune of his own. He 
could bear his being a rascal; but to want an equivalent to his daughter's 
fortune was wormwood. He sat therefore for some minutes employed in the most 
mortifying speculations, till Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. "I 
must confess, sir," cried he, "that your present disappointment does not 
entirely displease me. Your immoderate passion for wealth is now justly 
punished. But though the young lady cannot be rich, she has still a competence 
sufficient to give content. Here you see an honest young soldier, who is 
willing to take her without fortune; they have long loved each other, and for 
the friendship I bear his father, my interest shall not be wanting for his 
promotion. Leave then that ambition which disappoints you, and for once admit 
happiness which courts your acceptance."
"Sir William," replied the old gentleman, "be assured I never yet forced her 
inclinations, nor will I now. If she still continues to love this young 
gentleman, let her have him with all my heart. There is still, thank heaven, 
some fortune left, and your promise will make it something more. Only let my 
old friend here" (meaning me) "give me a promise of settling six thousand 
pounds upon my girl, if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am ready 
this night to be the first to join them together."
As it now remained with me to make the young couple happy, I readily gave a 
promise of making the settlement he required, which, to one who had such 
little expectations as I, was no great favour. We had now therefore the 
satisfaction of seeing them fly into each other's arms in a transport. "After 
all my misfortunes," cried my son George, "to be thus rewarded! Sure this is 
more than I could ever have presumed to hope for. To be possessed of all 
that's good, and after such an interval of pain! My warmest wishes could never 
rise so high!" -"Yes, my George," returned his lovely bride, "now let the 
wretch take my fortune; since you are happy without it so am I. O what an 
exchange have I made from the basest of men to the dearest best! Let him enjoy 
our fortune, I now can be happy even in indigence." -"And I promise you," 
cried the 'Squire, with a malicious grin, "that I shall be very happy with 
what you despise." -"Hold, hold, sir," cried Jenkinson, "there are two words 
to that bargain. As for that lady's fortune, sir, you shall never touch a 
single stiver of it. Pray your honour," continued he to Sir William, "can the 
'Squire have this lady's fortune if he be married to another?" -"How can you 
make such a simple demand?" replied the Baronet; "undoubtedly he cannot." -"I 
am sorry for that," cried Jenkinson; "for as this gentleman and I have been 
old fellow sporters, I have a friendship for him. But I must declare, well as 
I love him, that his contract is not worth a tobacco stopper, for he is 
married already." -"You lie, like a rascal," returned the 'Squire, who seemed 
roused by this insult; "I never was legally married to any woman." -"Indeed, 
begging your honour's pardon," replied the other, "you were; and I hope you 
will show a proper return of friendship to your own honest Jenkinson, who 
brings you a wife, and if the company restrains their curiosity a few minutes, 
they shall see her." So saying he went off with his usual celerity, and left 
us all unable to form any probable conjecture as to his design. "Ay, let him 
go," cried the 'Squire; "whatever else I may have done I defy him there. I am 
too old now to be frightened with squibs."
"I am surprised," said the Baronet, "what the fellow can intend by this. Some 
low piece of humour, I suppose!" -"Perhaps, sir," replied I, "he may have a 
more serious meaning. For when we reflect on the various schemes this 
gentleman laid to seduce innocence, perhaps some one more artful than the rest 
has been found able to deceive him. When we consider what numbers he has 
ruined, how many parents now feel with anguish the infamy and the 
contamination which he has brought into their families, it would not surprise 
me if some one of them -Amazement! Do I see my lost daughter! Do I hold her! 
It is, it is my life, my happiness. I thought thee lost, my Olivia, yet still 
I hold thee -and still shalt thou live to bless me." The warmest transports of 
the fondest lover were not greater than mine when I saw him introduce my 
child, and held my daughter in my arms, whose silence only spoke her raptures. 
"And art thou returned to me, my darling," cried I, "to be my comfort in age!" 
-"That she is," cried Jenkinson, "and make much of her, for she is your own 
honourable child, and as honest a woman as any in the whole room, let the 
other be who she will. And as for you, 'Squire, as sure as you stand there, 
this young lady is your lawful wedded wife. And to convince you that I speak 
nothing but truth, here is the licence by which you were married together." So 
saying, he put the licence into the Baronet's hands, who read it and found it 
perfect in every respect. "And now, gentlemen," continued he, "I find you are 
surprised at all this; but a few words will explain the difficulty. That there 
'Squire of renown, for whom I have a great friendship, but that's between 
ourselves, has often employed me in doing odd little things for him. Among the 
rest, he commissioned me to procure him a false licence and a false priest, in 
order to deceive this young lady. But as I was very much his friend, what did 
I do but went and got a true licence and a true priest, and married them both 
as fast as the cloth could make them. Perhaps you'll think it was generosity 
that made me do all this. But no. To my shame. I confess it, my only design 
was to keep the licence and let the 'Squire know that I could prove it upon 
him whenever I thought proper, and so make him come down whenever I wanted 
money." A burst of pleasure now seemed to fill the whole apartment; our joy 
reached even to the common room, where the prisoners themselves sympathized,

...And shook their chains
In transport and rude harmony.

Happiness expanded upon every face, and even Olivia's cheek seemed flushed 
with pleasure. To be thus restored to reputation, to friends and fortune at 
once, was a rapture sufficient to stop the progress of decay and restore 
former health and vivacity. But perhaps among all there was not one who felt 
sincerer pleasure than I. Still holding the dear-loved child in my arms, I 
asked my heart if these transports were not delusion. "How could you," cried 
I, turning to Mr. Jenkinson, "how could you add to my miseries by the story of 
her death! But it matters not; my pleasure at finding her again is more than a 
recompense for the pain."
"As to your question," replied Jenkinson, "that is easily answered. I thought 
the only probable means of freeing you from prison was by submitting to the 
'Squire and consenting to his marriage with the other young lady. But these 
you had vowed never to grant while your daughter was living; there was 
therefore no other method to bring things to bear but by persuading you that 
she was dead. I prevailed on your wife to join in the deceit, and we have not 
had a fit opportunity of undeceiving you till now."
In the whole assembly now there only appeared two faces that did not glow with 
transport. Mr. Thornhill's assurance had entirely forsaken him; he now saw the 
gulf of infamy and want before him, and trembled to take the plunge. He 
therefore fell on his knees before his uncle, and in a voice of piercing 
misery implored compassion. Sir William was going to spurn him away, but at my 
request he raised him, and after pausing a few moments, "Thy vices, crimes, 
and ingratitude," cried he, "deserve no tenderness; yet thou shalt not be 
entirely forsaken, a bare competence shall be supplied, to support the wants 
of life, but not its follies. This young lady, thy wife, shall be put in 
possession of a third part of that fortune which once was thine, and from her 
tenderness alone thou art to expect any extraordinary supplies for the 
future." He was going to express his gratitude for such kindness in a set 
speech; but the Baronet prevented him by bidding him not aggravate his 
meanness, which was already but too apparent. He ordered him at the same time 
to be gone, and from all his former domestics to choose one such as he should 
think proper, which was all that should be granted to attend him.
As soon as he left us, Sir William very politely stepped up to his new niece 
with a smile and wished her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wilmot and 
her father; my wife too kissed her daughter with much affection, as, to use 
her own expression, she was now made an honest woman of. Sophia and Moses 
followed in turn, and even our benefactor Jenkinson desired to be admitted to 
that honour. Our satisfaction seemed scarce capable of increase. Sir William, 
whose greatest pleasure was in doing good, now looked round with a countenance 
open as the sun and saw nothing but joy in the looks of all except that of my 
daughter Sophia, who, for some reasons we could not comprehend, did not seem 
perfectly satisfied. "I think now," cried he, with a smile, "that all the 
company, except one or two, seem perfectly happy. There only remains an act of 
justice for me to do. You are sensible sir," continued he, turning to me, "of 
the obligations we both owe Mr. Jenkinson for his late assiduity in detecting 
a scoundrel. It is but just we should both reward him for it. Your youngest 
daughter, Miss Sophia, will, I am sure, make him very happy, and he shall have 
from me ú500 as her fortune, and upon this I am sure they can live very 
comfortably together. Come, Miss Sophia, what say you to this match of my 
making? Will you have him?" My poor girl seemed almost sinking into her 
mother's arms at the hideous proposal. "Have him, sir!" cried she faintly. 
"No, sir, never." -"What," cried he again, "not have Mr. Jenkinson, your 
benefactor, an handsome young fellow, with ú500 and good expectations!" -"I 
beg, sir," returned she, scarce able to speak, "that you'll desist, and not 
make me so very wretched." -"Was ever such obstinacy known," cried he again, 
"to refuse a man whom the family has such infinite obligations to, who has 
preserved your sister. What! not have him!" -"No, sir, never," replied she 
angrily, "I'd sooner die first." -"I f that be the case then," cried he, "i f 
you will not have him -I think I must have you myself." And so saying, he 
caught her to his breast with ardour. "My loveliest, my most sensible of 
girls," cried he, "how could you ever think your own Burchell could deceive 
you, or that Sir William Thornhill could ever cease to admire a mistress that 
loved him for himself alone? I have for some years sought for a woman who, a 
stranger to my fortune, could think that I had merit as a man. After having 
tried in vain, even amongst the pert and the ugly, how great at last must be 
my rapture to have made a conquest over such sense and such heavenly beauty." 
Then turning to Jenkinson, "As I cannot, sir, part with this young lady 
myself, for she has taken a fancy to the cut of my face, all the recompense I 
can make is to give you her fortune, and you may call upon my steward tomorrow 
for ú500." Thus we had all our compliments to repeat, and Lady Thornhill 
underwent the same round of ceremony that her sister had done before. In the 
meantime Sir William's gentleman appeared to tell us that the equipages were 
ready to carry us to the inn, where every thing was prepared for our 
reception. My wife and I led the van and left those gloomy mansions of sorrow. 
The generous Baronet ordered ú40 to be distributed among the prisoners, and 
Mr. Wilmot, induced by his example, gave half that sum. We were received below 
by the shouts of the villagers, and I saw and shook by the hand two or three 
of my honest parishioners, who were among the number. They attended us to our 
inn, where a sumptuous entertainment was provided, and coarser provisions 
distributed in great quantities among the populace.
After supper, as my spirits were exhausted by the alternation of pleasure and 
pain which they had sustained during the day, I asked permission to withdraw, 
and leaving the company in the midst of their mirth, as soon as I found myself 
alone, I poured out my heart in gratitude to the giver of joy as well as of 
sorrow, and then slept undisturbed till morning.


Chapter 32

The Conclusion.


The next morning, as soon as I awaked, I found my eldest son sitting by my 
bedside, who came to increase my joy with another turn of fortune in my 
favour. First having released me from the settlement that I had made the day 
before in his favour, he let me know that my merchant who had failed in town 
was arrested at Antwerp, and there had given up effects to a much greater 
amount than what was due to his creditors. My boy's generosity pleased me 
almost as much as this unlooked for good fortune. But I had some doubts 
whether I ought in justice to accept his offer. While I was pondering upon 
this, Sir William entered the room, to whom I communicated my doubts. His 
opinion was that as my son was already possessed of a very affluent fortune by 
his marriage, I might accept his offer without any hesitation. His business, 
however, was to inform me that as he had the night before sent for the 
licences and expected them every hour, he hoped that I would not refuse my 
assistance in making all the company happy that morning. A footman entered 
while we were speaking to tell us that the messenger was returned, and as I 
was by this time ready, I went down, where I found the whole company as merry 
as affluence and innocence could make them. However, as they were now 
preparing for a very solemn ceremony, their laughter entirely displeased me. I 
told them of the grave, becoming, and sublime deportment they should assume 
upon this mystical occasion, and read them two homilies and a thesis of my own 
composing, in order to prepare them. Yet they still seemed perfectly 
refractory and ungovernable. Even as we were going along to church, to which I 
led the way, all gravity had quite forsaken them, and I was often tempted to 
turn back in indignation. In church a new dilemma arose, which promised no 
easy solution. This was, which couple should be married first; my son's bride 
warmly insisted that Lady Thornhill (that was to be) should take the lead; but 
this the other refused with equal ardour, protesting she would not be guilty 
of such rudeness for the world. The argument was supported for some time 
between both with equal obstinacy and good breeding. But as I stood all this 
time with my book ready, I was at last quite tired of the contest, and 
shutting it, "I perceive," cried I, "that none of you have a mind to be 
married, and I think we had as good go back again; for I suppose there will be 
no business done here today." This at once reduced them to reason. The Baronet 
and his Lady were first married, and then my son and his lovely partner.
I had previously that morning given orders that a coach should be sent for my 
honest neighbour Flamborough and his family, by which means, upon our return 
to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the two Miss Flamboroughs alighted 
before us. Mr. Jenkinson gave his hand to the eldest and my son Moses led up 
the other (and I have since found that he has taken a real liking to the girl, 
and my consent and bounty he shall have whenever he thinks proper to demand 
them). We were no sooner returned to the inn, but numbers of my parishioners, 
hearing of my success, came to congratulate me; but among the rest were those 
who rose to rescue me, and whom I formerly rebuked with such sharpness. I told 
the story to Sir William, my son-in-law, who went out and reproved them with 
great severity; but finding them quite disheartened by his harsh reproof, he 
gave them half a guinea a piece to drink his health and raise their dejected 
spirits.
Soon after this we were called to a very genteel entertainment, which was 
dressed by Mr. Thornhill's cook. And it may not be improper to observe with 
respect to that gentleman that he now resides in quality of companion at a 
relation's house, being very well liked and seldom sitting at the side-table, 
except when there is no room at the other; for they make no stranger of him. 
His time is pretty much taken up in keeping his relation, who is a little 
melancholy, in spirits, and in learning to blow the French-horn. My eldest 
daughter, however, still remembers him with regret; and she has even told me, 
though I make a great secret of it, that when he reforms she may be brought to 
relent. But to return, for I am not apt to digress thus, when we were to sit 
down to dinner our ceremonies were going to be renewed. The question was 
whether my eldest daughter, as being a matron, should not sit above the two 
young brides, but the debate was cut short by my son George, who proposed that 
the company should sit indiscriminately, every gentleman by his lady. This was 
received with great approbation by all, excepting my wife, who I could 
perceive was not perfectly satisfied, as she expected to have had the pleasure 
of sitting at the head of the table and carving all the meat for all the 
company. But notwithstanding this, it is impossible to describe our good 
humour. I can't say whether we had more wit amongst us now than usual; but I 
am certain we had more laughing, which answered the end as well. One jest I 
particularly remember: old Mr. Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose head was turned 
another way, my son replied, "Madam, I thank you." Upon which the old 
gentleman, winking upon the rest of the company, observed that he was thinking 
of his mistress. At which jest I thought the two Miss Flamboroughs would have 
died with laughing. As soon as dinner was over, according to my old custom, I 
requested that the table might be taken away, to have the pleasure of seeing 
all my family assembled once more by a cheerful fireside. My two little ones 
sat upon each knee, the rest of the company by their partners. I had nothing 
now on this side of the grave to wish for, all my cares were over, my pleasure 
was unspeakable. It now only remained that my gratitude in good fortune should 
exceed my former submission in adversity.