CHAP. I.

SOME few Days paſs'd in the common Way, when Mr. Sang⯑froid entered, and with Plea⯑ſure told Conyers, he had pro⯑vided him a good Place.— ‘My Lord Biſhop of —, ſaid he, wants juſt ſuch an one as you to tranſcribe his Works, and keep ſome Accounts.’—Conyers, without Heſitation, accepted the Offer, and next Morning was [4] preſented to the Biſhop, and immediately entered on his Office.

HIS Lordſhip was a great Writer; but his Works were intended for the Uſe of Poſterity, having never publiſhed but a Thankſgiving Sermon, and one on the 30th of January by Order of the Houſe of Lords. His Tracts were very voluminous, but all eſſential, and of the utmoſt Conſequence to Mankind. His Treatiſe on the Uſe and Abuſe of Surplices and Lawn Sleeves was filled with the profoundeſt Erudition.— His Diſcourſe on Pews, Cuſhions, and Mats, in Churches, was extremely well handled; but the Poſtſcript on the Crime of ſleeping in thoſe Places, was ſo artfully worded, that you felt an Example in yourſelf. —His Letter to the Inhabitants of the Pariſh of — clearly demonſtrated the Abſurdity of a Steeple without Bells.—His Apology and Vindication of Murder, Adultery, and Forni⯑cation, proving, mathematically, that the Nature and Name of theſe Crimes were en⯑tirely changed by Circumſtance, Time, and Place, was a moſt learned and elaborate Performance; but his favourite Work was his Hiſtory and Doctrine of Tithes, which he demonſtrated to be an Eſſential of True Re⯑ligion.

[5]HIS Lordſhip, at different Times, was ſo good as fully to explain theſe Subjects to Conyers, who in three Months had tranſcribed the Treatiſe on Surplices, and had juſt began the laſt-mentioned Work. He had full Employment, but was not extremely pleaſed with the Nature of it, for his Taſte was ſo vitiated, that he found no Charms in what he did not underſtand.

THE Biſhop kept a plentiful Table, where his Clergy were welcome, except the poorer Sort, to whom he made ample Amends for the Diſtinction by ſmall Pre⯑ſents and large Promiſes. He was a Man of Virtue, and religiouſly kept his Word, when his Memory, which was none of the beſt, fail'd him not. So weak was he in that Quarter, that he remembered and for⯑got his Promiſe to a poor Curate ten dif⯑ferent Times, and as often was angry with himſelf. On theſe Occaſions he uſed to ſay, ‘Well, God help me! I find I am grown old; my Faculties can't laſt for ever;— The Lord gave, and the Lord ta⯑keth away.’—Sometimes indeed his Me⯑mory was very ſharp, for if one, or ten of his Clergy, were ſick, he never failed a daily Enquiry after their Health; and when any died, he never ſuffered the Li⯑ving to lapſe. He could not bear Contra⯑diction, [6] and no Doubt his Dependants were careful not to offend in that Article.—He did not like Money, but he paſſionately lov'd it.

JACK did not much approve of his Si⯑tuation. He lived well, but he plainly ſaw he had no great Proſpect of a future Fortune, and looked on himſelf as Gil Blas when with the Archbiſhop, which deter⯑mined him to be ſoon convinced of what he had to depend on. He had Thoughts of writing a modeſt and moving Letter to his Lordſhip; but then he remembered, That 'a Verſe may catch him, who a Sermon flies; ſo reſolved to write a Stanza or two, and leave it on my Lord's Deſk next Morning. Accordingly he ſat down and wrote,

[7]MY LORD mounted to his Study as uſual, and found the Scrowl, which he carefully read, and as carefully put into his Pocket.—Family Prayers and Breakfaſt being ended, Jack was ordered to attend him.— ‘Good-morrow, Mr. Conyers, ſaid his Lordſhip, I am extremely concerned that my Underſtanding did not diſcover your Worth and Genius before this Morn⯑ing. They are ſo uncommon, they ought to be rewarded.’—Jack applauded himſelf for his lucky Thought, but my Lord proceeded — ‘I have a Paper in my Hand, on which you will permit my making a few Remarks. I believe it is intended for Poetry, which at the beſt, is an idle unprofitable Study; I ſhall not ſpeak of the Rhime, but of the Subject. — Your firſt Line is falſe, for as you want Prudence, you cannot have every Virtue.—Your ſecond is not Fact, for I never ſaw you bluſh in my Life.—Oh— I aſk your Pardon, you bluſh now in⯑deed.—As to the Worth of your Virtues and Modeſty, I am afraid you will find it of little or no Value, and your Art muſt be extraordinary, if you think to impoſe on me. — But it ſeems you want a Place. — I ſhall ſoon put you into the High-road to Preferment.—Your Second Stanza [8] is moſt admirable. — You can't Praiſe yourſelf, poor Gentleman! although you tell us of your Virtue and Modeſty.— This indeed is the Height of Modeſty! Then, like a true Heathen, you believe in Fate. — If ſo, pray Mr. John take care of your Fate.—Here you complain bitterly of Want. Can any Man be ſaid to want, who has three good Meals a Day?— Now comes the beſt of all.— You are one of thoſe fine Gentlemen who can't play the Fool but they muſt bring in the Church. You abuſe Sermons.— Who make Sermons but the Clergy?— and the Clergy make the Church. Theſe Matters, Mr. John, ought to be held in Reverence by all Men, much more by ſuch as you.'— 'I moſt humbly beſeech your Lordſhip, ſaid Jack, to —' 'Pray Sir, ſpare me, ſaid my Lord, for I have but a few Words more to ſay.—You were ſo good as to give me a Bit of Poetry, and, in Return, permit me to give you a Bit of Proſe.’—He then rung his Bell, and giving him a Paper pro⯑ceeded.—‘Here is, Mr. John Conyers, ſome of my own Compoſition, and to ſhew you it is of ſome Value, pray tack theſe ten Guineas to it.—So now, Mr. John Conyers, you are a Free-Man, and have [9] my Conſent to get what Place you pleaſe.’ —My Lord's Gentleman then entered the Chamber.—‘Lewis, ſaid my Lord, here is Mr. John, who has given me ſuch a Lecture on his Modesty, that convinces me is the moſt impudent Fellow breath⯑ing: So, bid the Porter open the Door and let him out. Such Modeſty ought to be ſeen in the World.’—Jack was ex⯑tremely mortified, and attempted to ſpeak, but Lewis ſhoulder'd him out of the Room. Finding he could have no Remedy, he bundled up his little Effects, quitted the Houſe, and ſoon viſited Mr. Sangfroid, to whom he told his Story.

‘THIS Accident, ſaid his Friend, gives me little Concern, for I believe his Lord⯑ſhip would never have provided for you as you deſerve; but, if you will wear a Livery, I can get you into Sir Peter Shallow's Service To-morrow. He is a Member of Parliament, and perhaps, in Time, may procure you an Employ⯑ment.'—'It is worth the Trial, ſaid Conyers, and a Livery ſhall be no Ob⯑jection.’—Next Day Jack attended Sir Peter, and received the Badge of Office; but, by the Advice of his Friend, he took the Name of Conſtant.

CHAP. II.

SIR PETER SHALLOW was a Gentleman of large Fortune, but more remarkable for his eaſy, quiet Temper, than ſtrong Judgment. His Lady had ſomewhat of the oppoſite Character, and, as her Under⯑ſtanding informed her Sir Peter had but a ſmall Share, ſhe took the accuſtomed Pri⯑viledge of, ſometimes, impoſing on it, and indeed his great Fondneſs gave her frequent Opportunities.—Her Ladyſhip had a very delicate Conſtitution, and was afflicted with the Spleen and Vapours to ſuch a Degree, that ſhe has ſometimes been ſilent for ten [11] Minutes, then has burſt out into La⯑mentations and Tears, then into violent Laughter, and end in a Swoon.—Doctor Noſtrum conſtantly attended; but one Even⯑ing when he had finiſhed above, Sir John, got him to taſte ſome Cape Wine, and give ſome Account of her Ladyſhip's Diſorder. —‘Sir John, ſaid the Doctor, who was a dry Joker, here is my Service to you.— Upon my Word very good Wine—very good Wine indeed, Sir. But—you were ſaying ſomething of that there Diſorder. —Why—to be ſure, your Hypochondriac and Hyſteric Diſorders are troubleſome,— very troubleſome, and tedious, but ſeem, I may ſay, to be more ſo to the Huſband or Wife, or Attendants, than to the Pa⯑tient and Phyſician. I think I have had theſe Diſorders, in a peculiar Manner under my Care, for theſe Thirty or Thir⯑ty-two Years laſt paſt; and I think I may ſay, that I underſtand them; that is, I know how to treat them properly.— There is no certain Rule to go by, for,— for as a ſkilful Mariner muſt find out the Trim of his Ship; ſo I ſay a ſkilful Phy⯑ſician muſt find out the Temper of his Patient. — If I preſcribe a China Jarr, when the Malady is fix'd on a Japan Cabinet, I ſhall do Wrong,—be all out, [12] and perchance may double the Diſorder upon me.’

‘I OWN, Doctor, ſaid Sir Peter, I am no Judge of theſe Matters, but for my Blood, I cannot conceive what Jarrs or Cabinets have to do in the Affair'—O Lord, Sir Peter, cry'd the Doctor — but here's my beſt Reſpects.—In Truth it has a charming Flavour!—but, as you were ſaying,—or—as I was ſaying.—To explain this Phoenomenon, I ſhall not call in the Ancients, for they were igno⯑rant, very ignorant of ſundry modern Ailments, but account, that is, Reaſon upon them, on the Principles of the mo⯑dern Philoſophy. — Hem — hem — The Diſorder is of the Feminine Gender. — When it attacks a Maſculine Figure, it then becomes of the doubtful.— It is termed, by Pre-eminence, Vapour, from its aſcending Quality; for it riſes (you'll pleaſe to obſerve, Sir) in the Heart by the too quick Viberation of the Blood, and mounts directly to the Brain.—Thus —when an Object is placed before a Lady in ſuch a Point of Light, that the Rays of her Eyes center, and form a Focus upon it, the Effect is ſurprizing.— The Object indeed remains ſound and entire, but her Heart burns for it.— [13] When the Heart Strings are untuned, no Wonder that the Voice is all Diſcord.— A Diamond Solitair—A Gilt Chariot—Fine Dreſden China —An Indian Skreen — and the like, cauſe ſuch a Fluttering of the animal Spirits, and raiſe ſuch a longing for poſſeſſing them, that clearly demon⯑ſtrates Sir Iſaac's Doctrine of Attraction and Viſion.—Contrary Principles will ſometimes produce the ſame dreadful Effects—When a Lady delights in the innocent Amuſement of PLAY, and has what they call, an ill Run, it undoubt⯑edly will over-heat the Blood, and ſour the Temper,— but I ſay—when ſhe is not in a Condition to diſcharge ſuch honourable Debts, the whole Maſs is on a Ferment, and frequently produces Con⯑ſequences very fatal to the Repoſe of the Family.’

‘WOULD to Heaven, ſaid Sir Peter, it was the Caſe of my dear Creature, I then could ſoon apply the Remedy.'—Why truly, Sir Peter, replyed the Doctor, two or three hundred Guineas make won⯑derful Alterations. I would adviſe you, Sir Peter, to ſee how my Preſcriptions will operate for a Day or two.—If the Diſorder don't take a Turn in that Time, why, apply your's.—But, here's [14] my good Lady's better Health.—I pro⯑feſs it is a moſt delicious Cordial! — It warms my Heart.' — 'I fancy, Doctor, ſaid Sir Peter, this Wine would be very proper for my dear Girl.—It would raiſe her Spirits.—'Raiſe her Spirits, cryed the Doctor, why, it is their being too high that cauſes the Diſorder.—Beſides—Be⯑ſides—All dulciferous Fluids are bad.— Acid is her proper Regimen, and tho' it is true, there is an Acidity in all Sweets; it is not of the right Sort—Your right genuine Sour, is the ſureſt Remedy.—I have ordered the Juice of the Crab Apple to be taken internally, and the fungous Matter to be apply'd, Plaiſter-ways, to the Shoulders and Back, with great Suc⯑ceſs.—I was once ſent for to a rich Car⯑penter's in Southwark, whoſe Wife was ſuddenly ſeiz'd with the Vapours.—The poor Woman was as extremely ill as any Lady of the firſt Quality.—So, Sir,—as I was ſaying,—I was going to order her the Apples, but the Seaſon not affording any, and her Caſe being very deſperate, I directed her Huſband to take a ſlender Twig of that there Tree of about three Foot long, and apply the ſame in ſo ſmart a Manner to the Shoulders, that the Part might be thoroughly warmed, [15] and the Pores ſo opened, as at once to draw, and ſuffer the malignant Effluvia to evaporate with Eaſe.—Next Morning, Sir, I viſited my Patient, but, to my very great Surprize, I found her chear⯑fully ſitting by the Kitchen Fire, darning her Huſband's Stockings.—The Fellow was an ungrateful Dog — for he never employed me ſince.—I ſhall not, Sir Pe⯑ter, take up more of your Time at pre⯑ſent, but refer you to a ſmall Folio on that Subject, which I have now ready for the Preſs,—This one Glaſs and no more.—Amongſt a Variety of Obſerva⯑tions, one is pretty general.—In all the Practice and Experience I have had, I never knew a Lady ſubject to Spleen or Vapours, who was bleſs'd with a ſurly ill-natur'd Huſband.—In Ruſſia the Diſ⯑order is unknown, otherwiſe the Great Klincoſky, and the celebrated Baroniwiſky, would have taken ſome Notice of it; but you frequently meet with the Uſe and Efficacy of the Crab Tree, and find it in moſt of their Preſcriptions, which, per⯑haps, is given by way of Prevention.— But my Hour is come for a Conſultati⯑on,—ſo—Sir Peter, your moſt obedient and moſt faithful humble Servant.’—

[16]POOR Sir Peter was greatly edified by the Doctor's learned Diſſertation, but had not Judgment enough to take his Advice; for, with the Impatience of a Lover, he flew to my Lady's Apartment, and finding her ſomewhat compoſed, tho' extremely feeble, he ventured to mention, ‘That perhaps ſhe might want ſome little Ne⯑ceſſaries he was unacquainted of, and intreated her Acceptance of Three Hun⯑dred Guineas.’ — He threw the Money on the Table; but it was aſtoniſhing to obſerve, how quickly the Remedy opera⯑ted.—Her Face glowed, Vermillion ſpread her Cheeks, ſhe ſmil'd heavenly, and, at laſt, moſt tenderly embracing her dear Sir Peter, ſhe ſunk into his Arms, and every Symptom of the Malady vaniſhed.

CHAP. III.

THE Servants had perſuaded Jack to be a Member, and pay Quarteridge to a Society of Footmen, which they called a Parliament. This Convocation regulated diverſe weighty Matters, and raiſed a Fund for the Maintenance of their Brethren out of Place. The Members took the Titles of their reſpective Maſters, and ſpoke and acted ſo near their Characters, that it might be termed a Saturnalia. Jack was but too punctual a Viſiter. If he improved not in his Manners by ſuch Company, he [18] thought, at leaſt, that he was well di⯑verted.

THE Conſtitution of this motly Synod, with their Conduct and Reſolutions, muſt be poſtponed to another Chapter, that the Chain of this Hiſtory may not be broken.

WAS our Hero intitled to an Eſtate, his Age would permit him to enjoy it.—His Complexion, his Manner, his Voice, but above all, his generous good-humoured Diſpoſition, could not eſcape the piercing Eyes of Mrs. Suſanna Pinup. This Lady acted in the humble Station of Waiting-Woman to Lady Shallow. From her Know⯑ledge of ſundry domeſtick Secrets, ſhe had great Power in the Family, and, as the Servants phraſe it, had feathered her Neſt. Her great Sagacity not only diſcovered Charms in the Perſon of Mr. John Conſtant, but that he had Money likewiſe. The Union of ſuch Perfections, merited her tendereſt Regard, to which, ſhe thought, if her own were added, the Syſtem of Happineſs would be compleat.

WITH theſe Views Mrs. Pinup began to notice our Jack in a particular Manner. She ſhewed him every Civility; ſhe ho⯑noured him frequently with her Conver⯑ſation, and was ſo intimate and gracious, that he often drank Tea in her Chamber. [19] Such a manifeſt Partiality drew on her the Reſentment and ſcandalous Tongues of the other Servants; but, from her exalted Seat, ſhe looked down with Contempt on the vulgar Wretches.—Mr. Buffett, the Butler, ſeemed moſt concerned, and, with a jaun⯑dic'd Eye, beheld this growing Paſſion, ſo fatal to his Hopes. This Gentleman had long ſighed for Mrs. Pinup, and made ſun⯑dry Libations of Pints of Sack, and other choice Wines, on the Shrine of her Beauty. His Project was as extenſive as it was am⯑bitious. He judged, that could he ob⯑tain the Heart of this Lady, the cheating the Family in every Branch, from the Cellar, upwards, would centre in his own Pocket. This was a Loſs his Philoſophy was not Proof againſt, and made him meditate dire Revenge.

Mrs. PINUP was ſo fond of Jack, and ſo ſecure of her darling Scheme, that ſhe omitted ſome Eſſentials in bringing it to bear; for one Evening, when Proteſtations and Vows were plentifully beſtowed on each other, and fervent Kiſſes and Em⯑braces given, and returned with mutual Ardour, the World and all its idle Ceremo⯑nies, were forgotten, and equal Happineſs cemented their Hearts without the Aſſiſt⯑ance of any Prieſt, except that of Love.

[20]MATTERS were thus conducted for ſome Time; but Mrs. Pinup had praiſed Jack ſo much to Miſs Shallow, that ſhe longed to converſe with him, and Pinup's Cham⯑ber gave her frequent Opportunities. Miſs Shallow was Siſter to Sir Peter, and had a Fortune of Ten Thouſand Pounds. Her Education had been none of the beſt, and her Perſon was of that Sort, that a Man paſſes by without noticing. However, Jack's Vanity was ſtrangely up, and Ten Thouſand Pounds put a Million of Schemes into his Head, and his waking and ſleep⯑ing Dreams were filled with Equipage and Splendor.—With ſome Difficulty and weighty Reaſons, he perſuaded Pinup to aſſiſt him, and Miſs Shallow ſeemed no-ways averſe to his Careſſes and Propoſal, tho' the was actu⯑ally engaged to 'Squire Hunt, and the Mar⯑riage Writings drawn. In ſhort, nothing was wanting to compleat this Affair but a convenient Opportunity, which would ſoon have happened, had not adverſe Fate, in the Shape of Mr. Buffett, maliciouſly in⯑terpos'd.

JEALOUSY, Envy, Intereſt and Revenge, are powerful ſeparate, but make ſtrange Havock when united. Buffett had them all. He had never ceas'd watching the Motions of Mrs. Pinup; and his Diſco⯑veries [21] were ſuch, that they added to his Pain; but, when he found Miſs Shallow was of the Party, Revenge opened an am⯑ple Field.

SIR Peter, as I've before obſerved, was not the brighteſt Genius in England; but, in Recompence, Nature had indulged him with a large Share of Pride, (that Vice of little Minds!) with which he ſometimes impoſed himſelf on the World as a Man of Conſequence and great Importance.— Mr. Buffett knew his ruling Paſſion, and applied to it. On the firſt Notice, the Knight ſtormed and ſwelled with Rage; but the Butler moderated his Anger, and perſuaded him into Patience, until he ſhould convince him of the Truth.—Next Evening the Lovers met; but the artful Buffett had ſo contrived, that Sir Peter ab⯑ruptly entered, and caught the unguarded Pair in their innocent Embraces, and Mrs. Pinup in the Midſt of a Diſcourſe on Con⯑ſtancy.—‘Fine Doings in my Houſe, cryed Sir Peter, — But I'll ſpoil your Sport, you impudent Son of a W—re.’— He ran directly at Jack, but Love and Miſs Shallow averted the Blow, and gave him an Opportunity of ſlipping out of the Room. His Retreat was ſo precipitate, that he did not obſerve the Butler liſt'ning [22] on the Stair-head, but drove againſt his Breaſt with ſuch Force, that poor Mr. Buffett was hurried down a little improperly, for his Head went foremoſt. He fell with a mighty Noiſe, and the Alarm was ge⯑neral through the Family. — Had there been Earth or Air-quakes in thoſe Days, no Doubt they had all ran to Prayers, and laughed at themſelves for ſo doing, when the Danger was over.—Sir Peter thundered —Miſs ſcreamed, and Pinup wept ſo loud, that my Lady with her Company, and al⯑moſt all the Servants, filled the Room in an Inſtant.

THE Knight thought he acted very cun⯑ningly, by not telling the Whole of this Affair before ſo many; but as he dropt ſome Words about Miſs, and inſiſted that Pinup and Jack ſhould be immediately diſ⯑charged, he left them all Room enough to think the worſt, tho', perhaps, their Charity and Good-nature wanted not his Help.—My Lady pleaded ſtrongly for poor Pinup; yet at laſt ſhe was obliged to con⯑ſent, but with a Proviſo, that the Butler ſhould make a Third. Sir Peter gave him up very readily, ſo that in leſs than an Hour, the ill-fated Mr. Buffett loſt his Cellar.—The unhappy Pinup loſt all her Lover's Promiſes.—The unfortunate Jack [23] loſt Ten Thouſand Pounds, and — next Day Miſs Shallow loſt her Reputation, but luckily ſhe found it on the Third, in the Arms of 'Squire Hunt.

I FORGOT to mention, that Mr. Sang⯑froid had been lately obliged to accompany a Nobleman to Liſbon; ſo that Jack loſt this Aſylum, with his Advice and Friend⯑ſhip.—When he had packed up his Goods, and reſigned his Livery, he found Mrs. Pinup waiting for him in the Hall, becauſe, as ſhe ſaid, ‘One Coach might ſerve both.’ — They mounted, but where to drive was not determined; but at laſt they ſtopt in Southampton-ſtreet. Jack alighted, and ſoon found a convenient Lodging, where the happy Pair acted the Part of Man and Wife, with great Harmony for about a Fortnight. Pinup often boaſted her Riches, and tempted him, by ſhewing Thirty Guineas in hard Gold, beſides Linens and Woollens, and ſundry Gowns and Pet⯑ticoats.— ‘Jack was Proof againſt all Tears and Intreaties. — 'Pſha, ſaid he, I've more than that myſelf. Marry! — we ſhould be pretty Devils truly! No, no, Child, keep your Money, and I'll keep your Secret.'—'I don't underſtand, ſaid ſhe, what you mean by Secrets. — If I have any, I believe it won't be a Secret [24] long.—I wiſh your Money was no more a Secret than mine.'—'So much for Se⯑crets, reply'd Jack, now for the Proof. Do you ſee that large Trunk, my Dear? 'Tis the faithful Repoſitory of fifty Gui⯑neas.' Ay, ay, ſaid ſhe, I ſee both your Trunks, but for the Money, ſeeing's be⯑lieving.' 'You have no more Faith, cry'd Jack, than an Ebrew Jew; but I ſhall convince you in a Moment.’—The large Trunk had not been open'd, by him, theſe ſix Months, and he found the Lock ruſty, and more difficult than it uſed to be. At laſt he got the better, but was ſurprized at ſeeing ſome of his Effects out of order. In a little Flutter, he ſearch'd for his Purſe, but not readily finding it, his Hurry increaſ⯑ed, and he pull'd out an old Great Coat, and ſome tatter'd Shirts artfully mingl'd with ſome of his Things of little Value.—In a Word, his Money and his beſt Effects were vaniſh'd. — He flew in an Inſtant to the ſmall Trunk, which contain'd his ordinary wear, and in which he had very oddly placed the ſmall Box his old Friend Mr. Kindly had given him, and moſt of Mr. Villeneuf's and his own Papers. Finding this ſafe and untouch'd, he ſat down in Silence, tho' greatly perplex'd.

[25] ‘BLESS me, ſaid Mrs. Pinup, what ails the Man?—Sure, you haven't loſt your Money? — Yes, ſaid Jack, 'tis gone, — every Shilling gone! but how, or which Way, Heaven knows!—Heaven knows! ſaid ſhe, I believe Heaven knows very well you had no ſuch Thing, but that you've betray'd and cheated a poor innocent Woman; but ſince I find theſe are your Tricks, I ſhall take Care of myſelf, I aſſure you.—Very well, reply'd Jack, pray proceed, for I am in a Temper to pro⯑voke a Saint; for I ſha'n't anſwer.’—As ſhe had nothing to fear, ſhe ſaluted him with bitter Terms, and many ſtinging Re⯑proaches, till Tears interven'd, and gave him a Receſs.— ‘Since, ſaid he, you are ſo good to be ſilent, becauſe you have no more to ſay, pray let me be heard.—I have my Quarter's Wages in my Pocket, which will more than pay the Lodging. Let me have a little Repoſe this Night, and To-morrow you may diſpoſe of your⯑ſelf how and which way you pleaſe, for, by the Lord, this ſhall be the laſt.’ — Pinup attempted a Reply, but he ſwore in ſo peremptory a Manner, as frighten'd the poor Woman into Silence. They retir'd to Bed, but Love and Repoſe had forſaken it, and Hatred and Diſquietude took their [26] Place. The dawning Day rous'd Jack from his Pillow, and Pinup unwillingly follow'd. He generouſly paid all Charges, and put⯑ting his Trunks on a Bier, parted with this Lady, telling her, before the Land-lady, that ſhe might follow at her Leiſure, but, as he intended, ſo, he never ſaw her after.

CHAP. IV.

AS the dropping Water will, in Time, impreſs even Marble, ſo low and mean Company will communicate their Sen⯑timents and infect even an Heart of Un⯑derſtanding and Virtue. Jack now ceas'd to be the agreeable and the polite. He ſwore much, and ſometimes drank. He had contracted a ſaucy impertinent Air, and inſtead of that humble, modeſt Deport⯑ment that drew on him the Love and Eſteem of the World, his Looks and Acti⯑ons ſeem'd to demand them as his Right, and as due to his Perſon and ſuperior Me⯑rit. [27] He forgot all the Leſſons and In⯑ſtructions of his Friends, and thought his own Experience and great Knowledge were ſufficient to conduct him, without the Aſ⯑ſiſtance of pedantick Rules, or the muſty Gravity of old Philoſophers.

HOWEVER, this laſt Stroke of Fortune had alter'd his Thermometer, and Pride ſunk down to extreme Humility. In this Tem⯑per he apply'd to Mr. Edge, a Barber, to whom he made known his Situation. Ho⯑neſt Edge was ſorry to find him in ſuch Diſtreſs, and provided him a Room for two Shillings a Week, but for his Diet, he was to manage the beſt Way he could. He had ſtill three Guineas and ſome Silver remaining, and waited, with great Anxiety, for a Turn of Fortune.

AS our Hero, like other Heroes, has found a Time for Idleneſs and Inaction, it furniſhes me an Opportunity of exa⯑mining the Memoirs of the Parliament of Footmen, and making ſuch Extracts as I judge of publick Uſe and Benefit.

THIS noble Order held their Aſſemblies at ſundry Beer-Houſes, but all united in the main View of giving Laws to, and providing a Maintenance for the Brethren who came within their Rules. The Cham⯑ber our Friend frequented was fill'd with [28] the Servants of Dukes, Lords, Biſhops, Knights and Squires, and made up a ſubſcribing Body of about two hundred, of which forty or fifty were commonly preſent at each weekly Aſſembly. As theſe great Men, follow'd the Example of their great Supe⯑riors, they were leſs clamorous than might be expected. An old Gentleman fill'd the Chair as Speaker, and kept Matters in moſt excellent order.

THE following are a few of their prin⯑cipal Reſolutions; for by the Advice of Friends, I ſhall ſpeedily publiſh, by Sub⯑ſcription, a full and impartial Hiſtory of this noble Order, in ſeven Volumes Octavo, in which will be included all their Speeches on the moſt intereſting Subjects, and a com⯑plete Syſtem of Wiſdom and Prudence. The Reſolutions neceſſary in this Place are as follow.

RESOLVED, That each Member, when out of Place, ſhall receive two Shillings each Week, for the Term of ſix Months, but no longer. On his getting a new Li⯑very to pay freſh Entrance.

RESOLVED, That each Member pay five Shillings on his Admittance, and two Shil⯑lings and Sixpence each Quarter.

RESOLVED, That no Member, when accompanying his Maſter or Miſtreſs in [29] their Viſits, ſhall attempt to open or hold the Coach Door, or afford them any the leaſt Aſſiſtance, but leave them to the Care of the Servants of the Family viſited.

RESOLVED, That the Hats, Swords or Canes of Gentlemen viſiting our reſpective Maſters, ſhall be ſeized upon, and kept in ſafe Cuſtody, until the ſaid Gentlemen de⯑part. Should any of the ſaid Gentlemen refuſe or neglect to pay the uſual Compli⯑ment, it ſhall and may be lawful to change his ſaid Hat, &c. or have them miſlaid or loſt, and, as Occaſion ſerves, to give him Water when he calls for Wine; ſmall Beer when he deſires Bread; and, if he be an obſtinate Offender, entirely to diſregard and affront him.

RESOLVED, That as we look on the Tables of our Maſters as Ordinaries, ſo we expect to be paid in Proportion to their Rank, from half a Crown to half a Gui⯑nea.

RESOLVED, That no Perſons paying a Morning Viſit to our reſpective Maſters, and particularly Trades-People with Bills, ſhall be permitted to ſee them, except on Payment of the uſual and accuſtomed Fee, but on their Compliance, then our ſaid Maſters to be made viſible, notwithſtand⯑ing any Orders to the contrary.

[30]RESOLVED, That all Tradeſmen ſhall be obliged to pay at the Rate of Five Pounds by the Hundred, for every Commodity ſold to our reſpective Maſters; and the ſaid Tradeſmen are hereby empower'd to make an extraordinary Charge of ten Pounds by the Hundred.

RESOLVED, That in attending our Ma⯑ſters or Miſtreſſes to the Play-houſe, or any other publick Spectacle where we are ad⯑mitted, we will endeavour to imitate their Conduct, by doing our utmoſt to diſturb the Audience. This will demonſtrate our Power, and ſhew the Uſe of exalting us.

RESOLVED, That no Member ſhall be entitled to the Benefit of this Society, who ſhall live more than three Months in any Family who do not play Cards five Nights in the Week, Sunday Night included; nei⯑ther ſhall he receive any Benefit, if it can be proved that he has ſuffer'd any Dimi⯑nution to his Authority and legal Privi⯑leges.

RESOLVED, And it is hereby moſt ſo⯑lemnly agreed, by the Honour and Dig⯑nity of our Cloth, that ſhould any Member of this Society marry the Relict of his Ma⯑ſter, or the Daughter of his Maſter or Miſtreſs, that he ſhall pay into the Hands of our Treaſurer, Ten Shillings for every [31] Hundred Pounds obtained by ſuch Mar⯑riage.

RESOLVED, That any Member, guilty of Robbery or Theft, ſhall be expell'd this Society. Nevertheleſs, this is not under⯑ſtood to extend to Breach of Truſt, Embez⯑zlement of Goods, and the neceſſary Frauds in Bread, Coals, Candles, Oats, &c. which we regard as Privileges annexed to our Poſts, and Part of our juſt Perquiſites.

RESOLVED, That each Member be as careful as poſſible of all his Apparel, except the Livery, and that he practiſes all lawful Ways and Means to wear out his Maſter's Shirts, Shoes, Stockings, &c.

THEY had many more, equally whole⯑ſome Laws, not made, like ſome others, to be broken or deſpiſed, for I apprehend they kept ſtrictly to each.

CHAP. V.

JACK remain'd at the Barber's about three Weeks; and tho' he received his Parliamentary Penſion very punctually, yet his Money diminiſhed apace.

HE ſaw no Appearance of Advance⯑ment, and gloomy melancholy Thoughts rack'd his Brain. With a View of allevi⯑ating his Sorrows, he frequently took a Dram, and innocently amuſed himſelf with one or two very low Amours. This made his Purſe feel a very ſenſible Decay, for it now contain'd but a very few Shillings.— Mad and wild at the Cruelty of his Fate, a thouſand Projects fill'd his Head, and at laſt ended in the noble Reſolution of ſpend⯑ing the Little he had in Pleaſure, and then to reſign a Life that became burthenſome to him. He brought many weighty Rea⯑ſons to vindicate the Action, and call'd, to [33] his Mind the Example of ſundry great Men who accounted it meritorious. — ‘Why are we, ſaid he, brought into the World but to enjoy the few Pleaſures of it with Eaſe and Content.—What Eaſe have I? —What Content?—If the Rea⯑ſons of Being ceaſe, it is but juſt we ſhould ceaſe to Be—Beſides, What are all the Pleaſures of this World, even in the higheſt Gratification, but idle ſtupid Re⯑petitions of the ſame ſtupid Amuſements? —Come, gentle Thames, and peaceful Grave now come, for Conyers is aweary of this World, and longs to lay his troubled Head in Duſt!’

HE was now in St. James's Park. His Steps were ſlow; his Arms were folded; his Head reclined, and a fix'd Melancholy was ſeated on his Brow.—In the Midſt of theſe Reflections, two of his quondam Bre⯑thren paſs'd him by; but one, turning about, cry'd,— ‘Z—ns, Jack Conſtant!— Such a Man alive! Where the Devil have you hid yourſelf theſe thouſand Years?’—Theſe Sort of Greetings finiſh⯑ed, they enter'd into Particulars. ‘I ſuppoſe, ſaid Tom Smart, you are now one of thoſe poor daſtardly Scoundrels, who ſtarve in a rich World.'— 'Let him ſtarve, cry'd Jack Brazen, if he han't Spirit enough [34] to fiſh in troubled Waters.' 'Come, come, ſaid Smart, d'ye really want Mo⯑ney?'— 'Not much, reply'd our Friend, for I believe I have a Shilling; but where to get another, the Lord knows.' — 'Here's a Guinea, my Boy, ſaid Smart, you ſee I don't want Money, nor need you, if you'll take our Advice; but let's dine together, and talk that Matter over.’

THEY dined, and a Bottle of Port was open'd, as well as the Converſation. Smart dwelt long on the partial Diſtribution of the good Things of this World, and on the Neceſſity of correcting the Scheme.— ‘Is it juſt, ſaid he, that Numbers of good-for-nothing worthleſs Animals ſhall wal⯑low in Plenty and Abundance, whilſt ſuch young Fellows as us may want the com⯑mon Conveniencies of Life?'—Very juſt, ſaid Brazen, provided they will permit our uſing ſome of their Superfluities.'— D—me, ſaid Jack, but I am all in the Dark. I wiſh you'd ſpeak a little plainer, or not ſpeak at all. You may depend on my Secrecy, for I am almoſt already in the Grave. Now, Gentlemen, if you've a Mind to bring me to Life, come to the Point directly, and a thouſand to one but I'll join in your Scheme.' — 'Well [35] ſaid, honeſt Jack, cry'd Smart, then to the Point.—You muſt know, that Brazen and I were turn'd a-drift together from my Lord's. We wore out our Shoes and the Pavement, but could get no Em⯑ployment; and ſomething told us, that Eating was neceſſary, ſo, my dear Con⯑ſtant, we padded it about the Fields for ſome Time, and, by our Induſtry, have riſen to Horſe. We are at this Time Commiſſioners of the Highways, and col⯑lect thoſe Duties omitted in the Acts of Parliament.'— 'I underſtand you, ſaid Jack; but does it anſwer? Is it not dan⯑gerous?' — 'It anſwers, ſaid Smart, ex⯑tremely well, tho', to be ſure, it is a little hazardous; but where is the Employ⯑ment without it? — Don't the Merchant venture for Lucre, and the Soldier and Sailor riſk their Lives for Six-pence a Day?— Some riſk their Reputation, and moſt People riſk their Souls. — Believe me, Jack, the whole World is a Game of Hazard, and (ſhewing his Piſtols) here are my Dice.—Will you ſet?’

OUR Hero paus'd, and a violent Con⯑flict aroſe in his Breaſt between Virtue and Neceſſity.—At laſt, Brazen clapp'd him on the Shoulder, and cry'd, — ‘What ſays my dear Boy?—Will you make a Third, [36] and then our Party is compleat?— Gen⯑tlemen, ſaid Jack, give me your Hands. Now I am a Brother. — Command and lead me where you pleaſe.’

That Night they conducted him to their Lodging, and gave him a Horſe for the Morning Expedition, and three Guineas more. They roſe very early, and Jack put on a Pair of Spatterdaſhes, examin'd his Saddle and Piſtols, and found all Things in tolerable Order.

THE Plan of Operation was ſettled by Smart, but, providentially, Jack made a ſmall Alteration. ‘No, Gentlemen, ſaid he, let us not ſet out together, or keep Company on the Road, as it may cauſe Suſpicion; let us rather divide, and ride on to Staines, but join on Hounſlow-heath preciſely at Eleven o'Clock, when we can't fail of meeting the Coach we look for. — Beſides, when ſeparate, we may each pick up a ſingle Traveller to amuſe us before the principal Action.'—'Very right, ſaid Smart, then I'll advance firſt, Brazen will follow in half an Hour, and you will bring up the Rear in another; ſo, Gentlemen, Good-morrow, Succeſs attend us.’—He rode off, and Brazen but reſted his proper Time.

[37]WHEN alone, Jack began to conſider this Affair more circumſpectly, but not with a Deſign of breaking his Engagement. The Fellow, who took Care of the Horſes, was no Stranger to the Expedition, and congratulated his new Maſter, on the Pro⯑ſpect of making his Fortune. ‘Tim, ſaid Jack, I have a Thought that will ſur⯑prize my Friends; if you will aſſiſt me I'll give your a Crown for your Trouble.' —That I will, Maſter, anſwer'd Tim, and be true and faithful too.'— 'Well, then, ſaid Jack, take my Horſe, and ride a little beyond the Church at Hounſlow, and wait for me; you may depend I ſhan't keep you long. When you de⯑liver me the Horſe, go directly acroſs the Heath.’ — Tim promis'd to obey his Orders, and ſet forwards.

TWO odd Circumſtances happen'd to Jack. He very fortunately knew the Name of a Family that liv'd juſt by Hounſlow, of which he intended to make a proper Uſe; and the Old Great Coat which he found in his Trunk, he had made into a Surtout, and was then on his Back. This Coat was of that Sort of Cloath that is one Side Scarlet, and the other Blue; it was ſingle, and not lined. This Day the Blue was outſide, and the Sleeves turn'd up, [38] made Scarlet Cuffs. Thus dreſs'd, he walk'd to Piccadilly, and took a Poſt-Chaiſe to Hounſlow, where he arrived at Ten o'Clock. With great Civility he en⯑quired of Mrs. Day about the Family he ſaid he was going to viſit. He call'd for a Gill of Wine, and the good Woman an⯑ſwer'd all his Queſtions, which were ſuch, as made her imagine he was a Relation of the Family, and had juſt come from Abroad. He hinted, that perhaps he might ſtay there a Week, or return in an Hour, when he'd be glad of a Poſt-Chaiſe ready for London. Mrs. Day aſſuring him he ſhould have one at a Moment's Warn⯑ing, he walk'd forward tho' with a troubled Mind, and ſoon found his Horſe. When Tim had march'd off, he turn'd his Surtout, and was now in Scarlet, with Blue Sleeves.

HE rode on about three Miles, and met with his Friends, who began to be in ſome Pain about him.

‘Z—ds, ſaid Smart, what the Devil kept you ſo long?—but we have no Time to talk, for the Coach is at Hand. You are to keep the Poſtillion and Coachman in Awe; Brazen will do the ſame with the Servants, and let me alone for con⯑verſing with the Paſſengers. When the Jobb's over, let's ſeparate, and meet at our Lodging.’

[39]THEY had no Time for further Delibe⯑ration, for the Coach drew near.— Cou⯑rage! cry'd Smart, and all rode briſkly for⯑ward.—Jack did his Duty with the Poſtil⯑lion;—The Servants, making a Reſiſtance, received a Fire from Brazen, which did no Harm; but the Compliment was inſtantly return'd, and poor Brazen fell from his Horſe. Whilſt this was doing, Smart attack'd the Coach, but a Gentleman in it, with great Reſolution, ſo nimbly, and with ſuch Strength, turn'd his Wriſt, that the Piſtol went off in the Air, and immedi⯑ately one of the Servants rode up, and knock'd him down.

JACK, finding two Wings of his Army taken Priſoners, was determin'd to ſave the Remainder by a ſpeedy Flight. The Gentlemen and Servants were ſo buſy about Smart and Brazen, that he was not purſu'd, but got near Hounſlow in a ſhort Time.— His former Caution had now its Uſe; for tying his Horſe to a Tree, a little out of the Road, he once more turn'd his Coat, and walk'd leiſurely on to the Inn. With a tolerable Coolneſs of Temper, he deſir'd a Poſt-Chaiſe; but accidentally a Horſe was wanting, which obliged him to wait a full half Hour, which, no doubt, he thought was half an Age. He ſummon'd [40] all his Reſolution to avoid Suſpicion, and talk'd to Mrs. Day about the Family he had viſited. His Chaiſe was juſt ready when Mr. Day enter'd.—‘There, now, ſaid he, is two fine Gentlemen that have made a noble Kettle of Fiſh of it this Morning.' — 'Bleſs me, my Dear, ſaid Mrs. Day, what's the Matter? — Not much, reply'd her Huſband, only a Coach was ſtopp'd on the Heath by three High-waymen, and two of 'em is taken, and now at next Inn.'—'Dear Sirs, ſaid Mrs. Day, 'tis the moſt prepoſterouſteſt Thing in Life, that Gentlefolks won't travel in Poſt Chaiſeſes, and then they're always ſafe from theſe Fellows.'—'Well, well, ſaid her Huſband, I muſt ſend after the Third who eſcap'd; I'll engage to find out his Scarlet Coat before Night.'— Were it not, ſaid Mrs. Day, that theſe poor Creatures pay for being Taken, I am ſure and certain my Huſband would never trouble his Head about them; becauſe, you know, Sir, one of the Gang will peach, and then the others hang of Courſe.’

WHAT were the Emotions of Jack's Soul, cannot be expreſs'd. He felt Ago⯑nies that all his former Diſtreſſes had never plung'd him into; but, recollecting his [41] Situation, he chim'd in with Mrs. Day, and ſpoke greatly againſt the Diſturbers of the Publick.—At laſt, he took his Leave of Mrs. Day, mounted his Chaiſe, and got ſafe to London, but often thought the Horſes were very bad.

CHAP. VI.

GUILT is a Fiend, that ſeizing the Conſcience, becomes a Tyrant over every Idea of Man. Remorſe is his Com⯑panion, and Suſpicion and Fear conſtantly purſue his Steps. Diſquietude engroſſes every Thought, and even his ſleeping Ima⯑gination is fill'd with Dread and Horror. —Our poor Hero is now an Object of the greateſt Compaſſion.—He knew not whom [42] to truſt, where to fly for Safety, or how to live; and he had now diſcover'd that he was very unfit to die.—He got to his Lodg⯑ing, and telling the Barber that he was engaged to a Gentleman at Hampſtead, he paid a Week's Rent, call'd a Coach, and drove, with his Effects, to an Inn in South-wark.

NOT ſecure in ſo publick a Place, he found out a poor Widow in a neighbour⯑ing Village, with whom he agreed for Diet and Lodging. Here he was ſafe and quiet, had his anxious Thoughts permit⯑ted him any Repoſe. A Fortnight paſs'd, and he paid the poor Woman very punc⯑tually. She began to conceive a very great Opinion of Mr. Conyers, as his whole De⯑portment was very regular and decent. His Mind now grew ſomewhat more calm, and his Sleep was leſs diſturb'd, for he moſt ſincerely repented of his Folly and Wickedneſs, and with great Fervency and Devotion, confeſs'd his manifold Tranſ⯑greſſions, and humbly pray'd for Mercy and Forgiveneſs.

HIS Purſe was extremely low. He had Thoughts of applying to ſome People he knew, but durſt not venture to London; and his Landlady was ſo poor, ſhe could not afford to give him Credit.—He almoſt [43] determin'd to break his Promiſe to Mr. Johnſton, and write to Lord Truegood, or Mr. Kindly; but as he knew not what Apology to make for deferring it ſo long, or how to account for his Conduct, he was obliged to lay the Thought aſide, at leaſt for the preſent.—He frequently wept moſt bitterly, and bewail'd his wretched Condition. The Agitation of his Mind affected his Health, and threw him into a dangerous Fever. The poor Woman was extremely tender and careful of him, but his Soul wanting as ſalutary Remedies as his Body, he begg'd that a Clergyman might be ſent for; and Doctor St. Amour, Miniſter of the Pariſh, attended on the firſt Notice. This Gentleman was one of thoſe who reproach many of his Profeſſion, for he was pious without Moroſeneſs, and charitable without Oſtentation. Jack, tho' extremely weak, politely thank'd the Doc⯑tor for his Condeſcenſion in viſiting ſo poor, ſo wretched, ſo miſerable a Being. — The good Man, with an eaſy Countenance, re⯑ply'd.—‘If your Situation, Sir, is ſo bad, I think you require, and have a natural Right to my more immediate and parti⯑cular Attention.’

THE Doctor pray'd by him in the true Spirit of Devotion. His Exhortations [44] were ſo fill'd with Chriſtian Eloquence, as warm'd and chear'd the Heart of Conyers, and inſenſibly lighten'd his Burthens.— The Fever ſtill continued, and the Doctor never fail'd his Morning and Evening Viſits.— Jack was ſo charm'd, that he open'd his whole Soul to this good Man, and hid not the minuteſt Part of all his Affairs ſince his Return from France.—The Gentleman flatter'd not his Sins, neither did he at⯑tempt to affright him with the diſmal Pro⯑ſpect of endleſs Miſery. He ſkilfully pro⯑bed and cleanſed his Wounds, and then pour'd in the Balſam of Peace, Comfort, and Hopes of Pardon by Repentance, and a Newneſs of Life.—Had Mr. Dryden been acquainted with one Man of Dr. St. Amour's Character, I apprehend he would not have ſaid, that Religion and Roguery go together.

IN one of theſe Converſations, Jack took an Opportunity of mentioning the Promiſe he made to Mr. Kindly when he gave him the ſmall Box, as ſpoken of in a former Chapter. — ‘I am now, Sir, ſaid he, ſo poor, ſo indigent, that I think I may ſafely open the Preſent; but I am ſo fee⯑ble, that I muſt beg your Aſſiſtance.’ The Doctor found the Box in the Trunk, and open'd it by the Bed-ſide.—He pull'd out a Quantity of Straw, and, at laſt, a [45] Sheet of Paper which he read, and con⯑tained theſe Words.

AS the Doctor read, Jack wept. The good Man could not avoid ſympathizing, and with ſtreaming Eyes, purſued the Di⯑rections of the Poſtſcript; but when he open'd a Paper nicely roll'd, and threw Twenty Guineas on the Table, poor Jack attempted to ſpeak, but his Tongue faulter⯑ing, he fainted on his Pillow. With ſome Difficulty he recover'd, and a violent Fit of Crying enſu'd.—‘Yes, cry'd he, I will obey my Father, my Friend, and my Guardian Angel! Oh Sir! What has not this moſt worthy Man done for me! — He ſaved me when an Infant, and pre⯑ſerves me when a Man. Good God! Can I be ungrateful to his Hopes?—Can [47] I diſregard his charitable Inſtructions?— No! If Heaven prolongs my Days, they ſhall be employ'd in Virtue and Honour.' Your Reſolution, ſaid Dr. St. Amour, is truly juſt, and I pray God to keep you firm in it, but this preſent Mark of his Bounty, is not the only one you have lately received.—His Providence has pre⯑ſerv'd you from the ſhameful, infamous Death that your Hounſlow Companions ſuffer'd laſt Week. I have enquir'd par⯑ticularly into that Affair, and find you have nothing to dread. A third Perſon was indeed ſpoken of at the Tryal, but the Name of Conſtant or Conyers was never mention'd. Let this ſuffice to eaſe your Mind.—Follow Mr. Kindly's Advice, and be happy!’

WHEN alone, he ſhudder'd and wept at the Fate of Smart and Brazen. He reflect⯑ed on the dreadful Conſequences of lawleſs Purſuits. He traced back his own Life and wicked Conduct, and found, that one Vice generates another; that as they grow in Strength; they corrupt the Heart by Degrees, until the whole Man is ſwallow'd up in Debauchery, and his Name and Na⯑ture eraz'd out of the Volume of the World. —‘How fatal, continued he, is the Begin⯑ning of Evil! and who can foreſee the [48] End?—We go on from Step to Step re⯑gardleſs of Danger. We walk on Fire cover'd with Aſhes. No Thought, no Prudence guides. We dream of Pleaſure and Delight, but, too often, awake in the Gulph of Sorrow and Perdition! — How few, like me, have prov'd an almoſt mi⯑raculous Eſcape, and what Thanks, what Gratitude do I not owe for my Deliver⯑ance!’—His Reflections were very juſt and moving, and he promis'd to himſelf an entire Change of Conduct.

HIS Spirits began to revive, and in a few Days the Fever left him. He thank'd the Apothecary, and deſir'd his Bill, but the good Doctor St. Amour had been before⯑hand with him. So generous was this Gentleman, that he would not permit him to mention that, or any other Obligation he lay under.—‘All I now want, ſaid the Doctor, is to ſee you quite recovered, and then we ſhall think of ſomewhat for your Service.’— In a Week he was perfectly well, tho' a little Pale, and when neatly dreſs'd, the Doctor was ſurpris'd at his comely Appearance.—At laſt he propos'd an Employment to Jack, which, he ſaid, he knew he could diſcharge extremely well. —‘Sir John Curious, continued he, wants a young Man, like you, to read to him, [49] and keep his private Accounts. I have ſatisfied him as to your Abilities, and he is willing to give you thirty Pounds a Year. He is very old, rich and gouty, and ſometimes peeviſh, but a Man muſt bear with the Infirmities of Superiors.’ He then proceeded in a very uſeful Lecture on a moral and political Conduct.—Conyers return'd him many Acknowledgements, and in two Days he took a grateful Adieu of the good Widow, and fix'd in London with the Family of Sir John Curious.

CHAP. VII.

NEVER Man began an Employment with more Pleaſure. He ſeem'd as if return'd again into Life, and was de⯑termin'd to ſpare no Pains in enjoying it.— His firſt Care was a particular Attention to his Duty, and his next was to find out the [50] Family Oeconomy, that he might adapt himſelf to their different Tempers.

SIR JOHN CURIOUS was Sixty-ſeven Years of Age, very corpulent, and ex⯑tremely infirm. When his Gout was not violent, he din'd with his Company, and was very chearful. From Seven to Nine at Night, Jack read to him; at Ten he went to Bed, but never roſe till about Eleven next Morning. Two Servants at⯑tended him, and about One o'Clock, all his Flannels were remov'd, and in an old embroider'd Coat and great Wig, he ſat in his Arm-Chair, and Jack did the Duty of his Office till Three o'Clock.—He did SIR ROBERT WALPOLE the Honour of being his Enemy, and look'd on the Craftſ⯑man, equal, if not ſuperior to Holy Writ, conſequently theſe Papers were every Mo⯑ment quoted. In this Choice of Books he had great Judgment, and to ſhew it fully, he delighted in the Works of TAYLOR the Water Poet; in an old and only Tranſla⯑tion of DUBARTUS; in huge Folios of Heraldry; and when inclin'd to Sleep, in the modern Pamphlets and weekly Papers.

HIS Houſe-Steward had a good Salary, and a certain Quarterly Sum for providing all Things for the Family. This Sum was accounted for, but could not be exceeded. [51] To examine, and checque theſe Accounts, was part of Jack's Duty.

SIR JOHN had always maintain'd the Character of A fine Gentleman. His Dreſs was gay, and his Manner ſuch, that ſup⯑ported the Dignity he aſſum'd. It was a Queſtion, whether Pride or Avarice had the Superiority in his Conſtitution, but it is certain, they frequently acted in concert. Pride obliged him to a Punctuality in pay⯑ing his Debts, but Avarice prevented his going a Step beyond it.—Pride made him extremely Courteous, Complaiſant and Cere⯑monious, becauſe he lov'd to be ſo treated himſelf, but Avarice ſtopp'd his Ears againſt the Cries of the Poor, expell'd every Senti⯑ment of Charity and Benevolence, and con⯑tracted and abridg'd ſome of his Vices, even when he had the Power of being Vicious. In a Word, Sir John had a Negative Cha⯑racter, and acquir'd the Title of a good Sort of Man; that is, his Vices were not many, but he had not a ſingle Virtue.

HE had ſeen enough of one Part of the World to convince him that there was no ſuch Thing as a modeſt Woman. This happy Imagination kept him a Batchelor, till, at the Age of Sixty-three, Love, or ſome other Monoſyllable, ſtumbled into his Head. —The Charms of Miſs Bridoon, his Sadler's [52] Daughter, made him ſo generous as to propoſe a Marriage and relinquiſh a For⯑tune. Whilſt this Treaty was on Foot, his Relations interpos'd, and ſome of his moſt intimate Friends ſpoke pretty freely about it. They ſaid, ‘It was highly pru⯑dent in him to marry, but begg'd he would conſider his Age and the Infirmi⯑ties growing on him. That a Girl of Eighteen was quite out of the Rule of Proportion. That a Mechanick's Daugh⯑ter was unworthy his Rank and Fortune, and an Indignity to his Family. That no one could anſwer for the Conduct of a young Girl, eſpecially one of low Edu⯑cation, and begg'd him to turn his Eyes on ſome Lady, whoſe Years would Gua⯑rantee her Virtue, and make him happy in a faithful Companion.’

‘OONS, cry'd the Knight, what the Plague would you be at? I tell you, my Age is no Impediment, for I find myſelf as vigorous as at Twenty. If Children, not my own, inherit my Name and Eſtate, is it not the Practice of every Day? Is it not much better than the Heathen Scheme of Adoption?—The Honour of my Family, which my virtuous Siſter makes ſuch a Noiſe about, is a Farce, and I ſuppoſe ſhe thought ſo, when ſhe [53] ran away with my Father's Footman. Does ſhe imagine, that the Son of ſuch a Scoundrel ſhall enjoy my Fortune?— Then as to a virtuous Wife, I know the World too well to expect ſuch a one, but I likewiſe know, that I had rather have a Part in a young Wench, than the Whole of any old Woman breathing.’—In ſhort, Sir John was reſolute, or rather, poſitive. Miſs Bridoon was advanc'd to his Bed, and Conſummatum eſt, rang through the Pariſh.

LADY CURIOUS was extremely pretty. Her Eyes ſpoke, and her great Vivacity and Sprightlineſs had attractive Qualities. —An Houſe magnificently furniſh'd.—A Number of Servants, with Coach, Chariot, &c. were ſo infinitely beyond her Hopes, that her little Head began to turn. Her Conſtitution and Soil were ſo good, that the ſeeds of Example grew up ſurprizingly faſt, and afforded a plentiful Crop of the moſt faſhionable Follies. In a ſhort Time, ſhe had contracted a Variety of Acquaint⯑ance, and vaſtly improv'd in modern Po⯑liteneſs.—Plays, Operas and Viſits, went a conſtant Round, and Drums, Routs and Aſſemblies employ'd her Time, at Home and Abroad. She had a Paſſion for Play, and play'd very deep. Here, indeed, her low Birth was conſpicuous, for, not being [54] educated from her Childhood, like other Ladies of Quality, in the true Principles of Gaming, ſhe made but a ſmall Progreſs in that Science, and play'd ſo ill, and loſt ſo much Money, that her charming Com⯑pany was greatly courted and admir'd.

SIR JOHN was very indifferent about theſe Matters. He allow'd her two hundred Pounds a Year as Pin-Money, but was ſo rigid and exact, that no Art, nor all her Ladyſhip's Contrivances, could extract a Shilling more. — Conyers knew of large Sums loſt at Cards, and was ſurprized how her Ladyſhip could anſwer ſo many Demands; but at laſt he diſcover'd, that her Play-Purſe was inexhauſtible.—Notwith⯑ſtanding the Multitude of Affairs, and the Variety of Employments on her Hands, ſhe found a Time to preſent to Sir John a Brace of fine Boys. Her Ladyſhip was Happy, the old Knight was Content, and Family Affairs went on with great Har⯑mony.

IN about three Months Conyers pick'd out this Information from the Steward, and Mrs. Sieve, her Ladyſhip's Woman. This laſt threw in ſome Nods, Winks, and In⯑nuendos, but the Honour of her Lady was always ſacred. Mrs. Sieve conceived a good Opinion of Jack, and on many Oc⯑caſions [55] gave him Proofs of her Eſteem.— He had felt the fatal Effects of ſuch Friend⯑ſhip, and was determin'd to avoid every Temptation.—He ſhunn'd her Preſence as much as poſſible, and even ſlighted her Favours.—His Conduct was ſuch an Af⯑front to her Pride and Beauty, that ſhe ſhifted Sides, and became an implacable Enemy.

THIS kind Creature had laid many Schemes to prepoſſeſs her Lady againſt Jack. She inſinuated, that his Impudence had not only dar'd to make Attempts on her Virtue, but had even mutter'd Re⯑flections on her Ladyſhip. — Fir'd at his Inſolence, my Lady determin'd to have him immediately kicked out, but the artful Sieve begg'd of her Lady⯑ſhip not to diſparage herſelf ſo much as to ſpeak of ſuch an Affair, but to worm the the Fellow out by Degrees.

THE Reſolution being taken, my Lady never ceaſed teizing Sir John till he grew peeviſh.—Mrs. Sieve affronted Jack openly, and the Steward treated him with great Impertinence. Conyers found a very viſible Change in the Countenances of the whole Family, and was made very uneaſy in his Duty, but knew not what to aſcribe it to. [56] —One Evening, Sir John uſed him a little harſhly, but the Humility of Jack ſpoke much in his Favour, and oblig'd the Knight, with ſome good Humour, to aſk him, What he had done to my Lady and her Woman?— I proteſt, Sir, ſaid Jack, I have done no⯑thing. — ‘Nothing! cry'd Sir John, Nay then I know your Crime; you can never be forgiven.—Oons! a Handſome Fellow of your Age in ſuch a Family as this, and do Nothing! — Thou art a ſilly Blockhead, and I am ſorry for it, but, Travel you muſt; however, I'm deter⯑min'd you ſhall ſtay till I get you another Service, and have one in your Place.’

JACK had been ſo accuſtom'd to Diſ⯑appointments, that he bore this with great Temper and Reſignation. He inform'd his Friend Dr. St. Amour of this Revolu⯑tion, and told him what was the Occaſion of it, which he had learn'd from the Houſe-Maid. The good Man lifted up his Eyes, begg'd of him to have Patience, and pro⯑mis'd to look out for a more agreeable Employment.

SOME Days after, Conyers was buſy with Sir John when Mr. Sampſon enter'd. The Knight had a great Regard for this Gentle⯑man, and was extremely Civil to him. ‘Well, Friend Sampſon, ſaid he, Time was, [57] when we us'd to meet oftner, but this plaguy Gout makes me perform a tedi⯑ous Quarentine you ſee.'—'Ah, Sir John, reply'd Mr. Sampſon, you are at Anchor in a ſafe Harbour, but I have all your Ailments, and am buffetted about in ſtormy Winds. — 'Not ſo, not ſo, an⯑ſwer'd the Knight, I hope my old Friend and Acquaintance is in no Danger of Shipwreck.—No Misfortunes I hope.'— None, ſaid Mr. Sampſon, but what my Temper can bear.—I have loſt my only Child, juſt ſuch a Youth as that, (point⯑ing to Jack.) I have loſt the beſt Part of my Subſtance by the War, and I have found old Age and Infirmities.—But, is it not juſt, I ſhould reſign with Patience what I enjoy'd and held but at the Will of the Donor?’

‘MR. SAMPSON, ſaid Sir John, you were always a Philoſopher, but I am really concern'd at your Misfortunes. Perhaps ſome Money, at this Time, may have its Uſe, and I wiſh it was in my Power to aſſiſt you, but, really my Fa⯑mily is ſo expenſive, that I am quite poor at preſent. I wiſh I had ſeen you laſt Week, for, 'tis but two Days ago ſince I parted with all my ready Money on a Mortgage.—Truly I am angry at [58] your not acquainting me with your Di⯑ſtreſſes—Indeed I am — and you know the Pleaſure I take in aſſiſting my wor⯑thy Friends.'—'You are extremely good, reply'd Mr. Sampſon, but, thank God, I am in no want. When my Debts are collected, which are very numerous, I ſhall have more than ſufficient to main⯑tain my dear Wife and I, in a comfort⯑able Manner. Indeed I am ill able to attend my Friends, and much want an honeſt young Fellow to aſſiſt me.'—'I believe, ſaid Sir John, I am pretty deep in your Books. — The laſt Chriſtening con⯑ſum'd a deal of Wine; but if you have the Bill, I ſhall ſee and diſcharge it.’— Mr. Sampſon thank'd the Knight, and re⯑ceiv'd one hundred and forty Pounds, for which Jack drew a Receipt for him to ſign. —‘I proteſt, Sir, ſaid the Merchant, your young Man writes a charming Hand, and I dare ſay underſtands Accounts.'— That he does, anſwer'd Sir John, and ex⯑tremely well. He is honeſt, ſober, and diligent, and I heartily wiſh you had his Equal. What will you give me, Mr. Sampſon, if I aſſign him over to you, provided he conſents?—I ſhall give you, anſwer'd the other, my ſincere Thanks, and the young Man the beſt Uſage in [59] my Power.'—'In two Words, reply'd the Knight, I know of no Fault he has, but being too virtuous and modeſt for my good Family. My Lady's Maid has ſet my Lady againſt him. I know their Tricks, but I don't mind them.’

SOME Queſtions paſs'd, and in leſs than half an Hour the Affair was concluded on. — Jack received fifteen Pounds for ſix Months Wages, and wiſhing Sir John all Happineſs, once more ſhifted his Station.

CHAP. VIII.

OUR Hero is now brought to that Time of Life, when Senſe and Judg⯑ment are to be expected, or never. He has been happy.—He has been in Trouble.— He has been (for him) rich.—He has been poor, and in the utmoſt Affliction. Theſe [61] are the Pages of the Book of Nature, and thoſe who read them not carefully, muſt have very imperfect Ideas of the Syſtem of the Univerſe.

HE was once more happy. He had a Pleaſure from the Countenance of Mr. Sampſon, which was open and free, with every Indication of an honeſt and tender Heart. Mrs. Sampſon could not refrain a few Tears at the Sight of Conyers, for it happen'd that he much reſembled her de⯑ceaſed Son. She view'd him with Pleaſure, but it was mix'd with Anxiety. She re⯑garded him as a Child, and he reſpected her as a Parent.

IN his Employment he was extremely aſſiduous and careful, and went on very ſucceſsfully in collecting Mr. Sampſon's Debts, and ſettling his Accounts. The good Man was happy; for Conyers, as much as poſſible, made all Things eaſy to him. In a ſhort Time he acquir'd their Favour and Confidence, and was perfectly fami⯑liar.—The Boy, the very young Man was quite over. His Thoughts were ſerious, but he acted with Vigour. His Deport⯑ment was decent, and his Converſation chearful and agreeable. His Duty was his Pleaſure, and the Love and Reſpect of the Family was his Reward, which they [60] [...] [61] [...] [62] could not avoid ſhewing before all their Friends.

MRS. Sampſon and her Siſter had been Coheireſſes, and had each an Eſtate in *******, of about Five hundred Pounds a Year. The Siſter had been married to Mr. Gold, a Turkey Merchant, who died about four Years ſince, and added Fifteen thouſand Pounds to her Fortune. Mrs. Gold was near Thirty-ſeven Years of Age, of a noble Preſence, with great good Nature and Prudence. She continued a Widow in Spite of many Sollicitations, and ſo affectionate⯑ly lov'd her Siſter, that ſhe remov'd her Habitation to be nearer to her. When Mr. Sampſon was in Diſtreſs with his Cre⯑ditors, Mrs. Gold advanc'd him Six thou⯑ſand Pounds on his and her Siſter's Secu⯑rity.

THE Siſters were almoſt conſtantly with each other, and Conyers was always of the Party.—Mrs. Gold had read, and had an excellent Underſtanding. Mrs. Sampſon was a chearful and agreeable Companion. — Her Huſband had ſolid Senſe, and great good Humour; and Conyers enliven'd the Converſation by a thouſand pleaſant Cir⯑cumſtances, but with ſuch natural Elegance and Beauty, that greatly pleas'd, improv'd and diverted.

[63]SOMETIMES their Entertainment was of a ſerious Nature, and fell on the Follies of the World; — The mad Extravagance of ſome, and the equally mad Penury of o⯑thers.—On Juſtice, Virtue, Charity, and the like. — Mrs. Gold ſpoke on theſe Heads with great Strength of Reaſon, and Mr. Conyers enforced her Arguments by ſundry hiſtorical Paſſages, and by Accidents to which he had been Witneſs. He was a Maſter of the Subject, and, at different Times, went through the moral and ſocial Duties, with ſuch Spirit and Force, that they were charm'd with his Knowledge, and edified by his Words.

‘HAPPY would it be, ſaid Mrs. Gold, if all Mankind thought like Mr. Conyers.'— And ſtill more ſo, reply'd her Siſter, if they acted like him, for I verily believe he practiſes his own Doctrine.'—'Madam, anſwer'd Conyers, I am extremely happy in your good Opinion; but permit me to ſay, tho' I endeavour, and I hope, do my Duty as I ought, yet I have greatly err'd. I have been idle; I have been extravagant, and, I ſpeak it to my Shame, I have been vicious; but the Goodneſs of this Family ſtrengthens my Reſolution, and confirms me in my honeſt Purpoſes of Amendment.'—'If, [64] reply'd Mrs. Gold, you have been crimi⯑nal, your Confeſſion and Repentance en⯑creaſes your Worth.'—'Who has not been criminal? ſaid Mr. Sampſon. — To commit a Fault is bad, but to perſevere is infamous. For aught I know, Vice has its Uſe, as it ſets off and heightens the Beauties of Virtue to ſuch a Degree, that Common Senſe, and even Ignorance, muſt be charm'd with it.—'Mr. Conyers, ſaid Mrs. Gold, has one Virtue which I wiſh was a little more general. Tho' he has been ſo good, agreeably to en⯑tertain us with Perſons and Things, yet has he never dropp'd an harſh Expreſ⯑ſion againſt Particulars, nor has he given Matters an ill natur'd Conſtruction.’

‘SCANDAL, Madam, ſaid Conyers, let it inhabit where it will, is a mean and vulgar Vice. It is a poor and vile At⯑tempt to raiſe our own Reputation on the Ruins of another. When ſome con⯑demn the Actions of a Man, and paint his Conduct in odious Colours, do they not at the ſame Time modeſtly intimate, that They are incapable of ſuch Errors?— Pride ſpeaks; not their Pity. To com⯑paſſionate the Frailties and Weakneſſes of a Man, is the Duty of a Man. It is his Office to ſet him Right by Tenderneſs [65] and Humanity, and not by Reproach and Slander to lead him more aſtray. Should he continue in his Folly, the wiſeſt Maxim is, to commiſerate his In⯑firmities, and avoid an Imitation.’

SOME Evenings they paſs'd their Time at Cards, and ſometimes the Ladies went to a Play, attended by Conyers. This gave Riſe to a Variety of pleaſant Chat, where Jack ſhew'd his Memory and good Taſte, but it was a conſiderable Time before they diſcover'd he had an excellent Voice. Mrs. Gold was fond of Muſick, and he hum⯑ming a favourite Air,—‘Bleſs me, ſaid ſhe, I proteſt you have it quite perfect,—we muſt inſiſt on your Singing it out.’—He made a few Apologies but obey'd.—This was what the Family did not expect, and increaſed their Surprize and Pleaſure.—By degrees he ſhew'd his Skill in the French Language, — that he was no Stranger to Latin and Greek, and that he underſtood Dancing, Fencing and Horſemanſhip. In a Word, he ſhew'd them what a Gentleman ought to be.

THE Behaviour of Conyers puzzled Mrs. Gold.—She could not conceive how a Man in his Station could acquire ſo many genteel Accompliſhments. She thought there was a Myſtery in it, and when ſhe had juſt de⯑termin'd [66] to find it out, ‘Lord bleſs me, ſaid ſhe, why ſhould I trouble myſelf about what is not my Concern?’ At that Inſtant ſhe felt a prodigious Fluſhing in her Face, and ſome Senſations ſhe had not been lately accuſtom'd to. She began to ſuſpect the Cauſe, and with great Cau⯑tion, ſat down to examine her Heart, and reaſon with herſelf, — that is — to find out Reaſons to correſpond with her Inclinations. The Truth is, ſhe diſcover'd ſo many, that Intereſt and the Pride of Family, were fairly routed, and Prudence and Eſteem got the better. She would not call it Love, as ſhe thought it a too ſenſual Term for one of her Years. She own'd ſhe regarded the Virtues and Qualifications of Mr. Conyers, but the Comelineſs of his Perſon was merely accidental, and quite out of the Queſtion. However, that Contingent and his Youth had certainly ſome Weight.

BE this as it will, her Reſolution was taken, but determin'd not to proceed too raſhly. On a certain Day, when ſhe knew her Siſter would not ſtir out, ſhe wrote her a Card, and begg'd Mr. Conyers might be ſent to take care of her to the Play, where ſhe was engaged with ſome Company. Jack dreſs'd himſelf properly, and waited on Mrs. Gold. He had no Schemes in [67] View, ſo his Actions were Free, and with⯑out Reſerve. He had a great Regard for the Widow, which made him fond of every Opportunity of obliging her. Perhaps ſhe had obſerved this, and gave it a flattering Conſtruction. He found her moſt neatly dreſs'd, and, for the firſt Time, particu⯑larly remark'd her Charms.

‘I AM quite aſham'd, ſaid ſhe, to give Mr. Conyers ſo much Trouble for no⯑thing. Our Party is broke, but rather than miſs the Conſcious Lovers, I was de⯑termin'd to beg your Company alone, had not Mrs. Talkative and her Daughter ſent Word, they'd drink Tea with me.’— Conyers ſaid, he was ſorry ſhe was diſap⯑pointed, but rejoiced at every Occaſion that could ſhew his Readineſs in obeying her Commands. A few Words paſs'd, and he attempted to take his Leave, which ſhe would not permit. ‘After all, ſaid ſhe, we can be as well at Home, and my Brother will not expect you till after the Play.’ A Converſation then began on the Comedy, and many Remarks were made on the odd Situation of Indiana, and the noble Conſtancy of Bevil. A loud Rap at the Door ſpoke the Arrival of Mrs. and Miſs Talkative, and ſtopp'd their Proceedings.

[68]A NEW Field now open'd. In a ſhort Time all the Tittle-tattle of the Pariſh was diſplay'd. Lord, Mrs. Gold, you ſurpriſe me.—Not hear of this before! Not I indeed, Madam. Dear Madam, I purteſt I've for⯑got moſt of the Particlers, for the Story is four Days old. Very ſtrange indeed! Why, my dear, they were actually caught, but Matri⯑mony ſalves all. This Sort of rational En⯑tertainment laſted till Tea was produced, which a little eaſed the Thoughts of Conyers. He ſeem'd to bend his Eyes and Regard on Miſs Talkative, who was very pretty, and had began a Sort of Converſation. Mrs. Gold obſerved it; which added not to her Repoſe. She was ſo abſent, that her Tea-Cup ſlip'd from her Hand, and broke to Pieces, which broke off their Chat. Tea finiſh'd, ſhe put on a grave Air, and the Ladies put on their Capuchins, to com⯑pleat their Evening Viſits.

CONYERS, unwittingly, had like to have ſpoil'd all, but Mrs. Gold's hinting, ‘One muſt be civil to ſuch Sort of People, gave him an Opportunity of ſaying, He won⯑der'd of what Uſe they were in the World. The Daughter, ſaid he, is pretty, but the eternal Clatter of her little Tongue will give ſome poor Man a great deal of Vex⯑ation.' 'And yet, ſaid Mrs. Gold, her [69] Fortune will get her a Huſband. You Men are all alike, and, I dare ſay, you would ſnap at her in an Inſtant, if you could.' 'I ſhall not, ſaid Jack, affirm or deny a Thing I have not thought about, for I neither know the Lady or her Fortune; but really, Madam, I think I ought to have been exempted in your general Cenſure. Were I capable of marrying merely for Money, the Situation I am in, and my Poverty, would excuſe me to the World, but who would excuſe me to my Conſcience? Who would give me Joy of an Equipage, when compell'd to take Pride, Affectation, Folly, and Non-ſenſe to my Arms? I may be ambitious, but, I aſſure you, Madam, poor as I am, I have not the leaſt Ambition of being mi⯑ſerable.’

MRS. GOLD was not diſpleaſed at his Sentiments, and the Converſation turn'd on more diverting Subjects, tho' ſhe, at laſt, very dextrouſly contrived to bring Matri⯑mony once more on the Carpet. ‘I own my Surprize, ſaid ſhe, that a young Man of your Underſtanding has not found out one Woman capable of making you happy and eaſy. Such there are, but you are either too indolent or indifferent, or elſe your Heart is engaged to ſome diſtant [70] Fair One. — Come, Mr. Conyers, be ſin⯑cere, and indulge a Curioſity our Sex is ſubject to, and recite your Adventures, for I am apt to believe they muſt be ſomewhat extraordinary. — 'In Truth, Madam, ſaid Conyers, they are not worth your Notice; but ſince you command, it is my Duty to obey.’

HE then began a Narrative of his Life, and painted his Sufferings in a very moving Manner. He artfully avoided the Place of his Birth, or the leaſt Hint of Ireland, as it might occaſion Scandal. He carried her to the Weaver's in Spittlefields; conducted her to France, and brought her back to London. His Amours were very delicately handled, but his Hounſlow Expedition was quite expunged. He dwelt long on Mr. Kindly's Inſtructions and Letter, and the Miſery he was in in Surry. His Hiſtory was long, and ſometimes ſo affecting, that Mrs. Gold was obliged to make frequent Uſe of her Handkerchief. She pity'd him becauſe he was unfortunate, and he began to love her, becauſe he ſaw ſhe pity'd him.—When he had ended, a profound Silence en⯑ſued.

‘SINCE, ſaid ſhe, at laſt, your Heart is free, perhaps I may aſſiſt in ſetting your Mind at Eaſe.— I thing I know a Lady [71] who has Power, and Inclination equal to it. Will you give me Leave to try my Skill? Permit me, Madam, ſaid Jack, to return my moſt humble Acknowledge⯑ments for your Goodneſs; but as you have required my Sincerity, I ſhall ſtill continue it, and with that honeſt Free⯑dom your good Senſe will excuſe. I have no Objections, Madam, to Matri⯑mony, and have a certain Conſtancy in my Nature, that might make me a good Huſband; but I cannot anſwer for my Temper, if I did not moſt affectionately love my Wife. To have that Love, I muſt know her, I muſt converſe with her; I muſt firſt admire her Virtues, and eſteem her Underſtanding. This, Madam, is not the Work of a Week, or a Month; and to marry otherwiſe, there is a Poſſi⯑bility of being happy, but the Chances are infinitely againſt me. True, I may be made rich, but an hundred to one I may be made wretched.’

‘YOUR Reaſons, ſaid Mrs. Gold, are very juſt; yet I believe you will al⯑low there are ſome Exceptions, neither do I want any perſonal Compliment when I aſk you, if a Woman of Fortune, and every-way like me, could pleaſe you?— Madam,—ſaid Jack,—I—I—really know [72] not how or what to anſwer.’ She ſaw him confuſed, and added,—‘I ſhall make it plainer. Suppoſe for Argument-Sake, I ſhould have ſuch a Notion in my Head, —Do you think you could truly and ſincerely regard me?' Regard you, Ma⯑dam, reply'd Conyers,— 'Yes, on my Soul, I ſhould for ever regard, love and adore you! — But, dear Madam, why do you take Pleaſure in tormenting ſo poor an Animal? — Why do you queſtion me like a Priſoner on the Rack, and make me confeſs, what my Safety obliges me to hide?—'But I have done, and can ſcarcely hope your Pardon, for what I've already ſaid.'—'Mr. Conyers, ſaid ſhe, with a baſhful Air, I not only pardon, but ſhall endeavour to mitigate your Anxieties. I have ſeen and examin'd your Conduct; I have view'd your Actions; I have read your Heart, and, I think, have diſcover'd in you a Soul incapable of Meanneſs or Falſhood.—Though you have no Fortune, I have often thought you deſerv'd one. — I ſpeak to your Under⯑ſtanding, and am not afraid of being cenſur'd by it. Let the lucrative World run after Wealth. It has pleas'd Heaven to indulge me with enough to make too rational Creatures happy. Should you be [73] of the ſame Opinion, the little Share I can give, is freely at your Service.’

SHE hung down her Head, and impa⯑tiently waited a Reply.—Conyers gaz'd— his Eyes were fix'd, and his Mouth could only ſeem to ſpeak. At length he roſe up, and throwing aſide all Conſideration, embrac'd Mrs. Gold in ſo tender, ſo ardent a Manner, that convinc'd her of his Sin⯑cerity, beyond the Utterance of a thouſand Words, and vain Speeches. ‘Confeſs, ſaid ſhe, that I have acted like a Woman of Courage, by making the firſt Attack; I wiſh my Prudence be not more ſuſpected.' Tho', ſaid Conyers, the World will talk, yet, believe me, I ſhall give them ſuch a Subject, that our Love and Harmony ſhall be rather envy'd than imitated. — Give me Leave to call you my deareſt Life, and to aſſure you, without Vanity, that you entirely poſſeſs an Heart free from Flattery, Art, or Deceit. Oh! make me once more happy, and ſay you will be mine.' Mr. Conyers, ſaid ſhe, there is my Hand. My Heart you have already. But, no more. You have my Promiſe, and rely on it.' 'Dear Madam, ſaid Conyers, let me not ſeem too impatient, by aſking when?' 'Be ſatisfied, ſaid ſhe, it ſhall not be long, for I hope ſoon [74] to bring my Brother and Siſter into my Scheme; but I beg your Silence till then.’

CONYERS promis'd to be directed by her; and Supper being ſerv'd, a different Converſation began. However it was once more renew'd, and many tender and affec⯑tionate Expreſſions, the Eloquence of un⯑diſguis'd Paſſion, were mutually given and receiv'd, till Time, with haſty Steps ap⯑proach'd the Hour of Twelve.—With ſome Difficulty they parted.—He ſoon retir'd to Bed, but not to Reſt, for Mrs. Gold had murder'd Sleep.

'TWOULD be tedious to mention the Method ſhe took to open this Affair to her Siſter. She was her own Miſtreſs, but ſtill wanted a Sanction. No doubt the Reader will imagine the Surprize of the Family, and he muſt likewiſe imagine the many Arguments on both Sides, before Mrs. Sampſon, and her Huſband, conſent⯑ed, which at laſt they did. The Truth is, Mrs. Gold, like moſt of the World, aſk'd Advice, but was determin'd to follow her own. There was no Neceſſity for a Set⯑tlement, but a ſmall Writing was drawn in Favour of Children, on Failure of which, the longeſt Liver took all, except Five thou⯑ſand Pounds, which each had a Power to bequeath by Will.

[75]THUS all Matters being adjuſted, the Day was fix'd, and Doctor St. Amour ac⯑quainted with it, who provided a proper Place at Putney, where he met the Com⯑pany. The good Man loaded Jack with Careſſes and Compliments, and felicitated Mrs. Gold on her happy Choice. ‘I muſt, Madam, ſaid he, admire, and ſhall for ever admire your Judgment and Under⯑ſtanding, that could diſcover Virtue and Honour under the Cloud of Poverty; diſ⯑pel the Miſt, and take it to your Arms.’ —He made a very pathetick Diſcourſe, but his Concluſion was infinitely pleaſing to Mr. Conyers, and, perhaps, not leſs ſo to Mrs. Gold, for he join'd their Hands, and, ending his Part of the Ceremony, bleſs'd the Happy Pair, and left them to finiſh the Remainder.

CHAP. IX.

THE Generality of the World regard the Actions of Men, but according to the Event. A proſperous Villain may be internally deſpiſed, tho' his Wealth and Grandeur will be outwardly admir'd, and even envy'd.—Praiſe is ſacrificed to poor and indigent Virtue, but every other Re⯑ward is too frequently neglected. The wiſe Man of Old tells us, That Time and Chance happeneth unto all Men.—When Miſ⯑fortunes and Calamities attack us, the World is ſo good to pity, but at the ſame Time, impute the Unhappineſs to a Want of pro⯑per Conduct, and to a Multitude of Errors. —When Affluence pours in, and Plenty ſur⯑rounds [77] us, they admire the Judgment, and applaud the Underſtanding. —Thus, the Wretched and Miſerable tax Providence with Partiality, but the Happy and Succeſsful, attribute all to their own Prudence and ſu⯑perior Merit.

OUR Friend Mr. Conyers could not avoid ſome few Compliments to his Perſon and Abilities, as they were the Motives of his Advancement; but when he reflected on the Goodneſs of his Wife in noticing and rewarding them ſo amply, he diſcover'd, that they proceeded from a ſuperior Cauſe, which, as it reach'd above his Comprehen⯑ſion, he could only wonder at, and, by praiſing the Giver, make Returns of Love and Gra⯑titude to the Inſtrument.—By reaſoning thus, and lowering his own Value as much as he heighten'd the Goodneſs of Providence, his Mind became more calm, and his Heart leſs liable to Vanity. He was not too elate, or puff'd up; for, by regarding his Wife more than her Fortune, the World was compell'd to believe he deſerv'd both.— Never was Woman more happy than Mrs. Conyers, and never could a Huſband take more Pains to oblige a Wife. ENVY ſaw this, but hid her Head.—MALICE, with ſquinting Eye, and jibing Tongue, look'd and ſpoke in vain. JEALOUSY and vile [78] INSINUATION found their Arrows blunted, or ſticking in the Shield of right Under⯑ſtanding. The Fabrick was ſo firmly fix'd on Honour and Good Senſe, that the Decay of Nature could alone ſap the Foundation.

MR. CONYERS ſtill aſſiſted his Brother Sampſon, and having got in moſt of his Debts, and ſettled all his Affairs, propoſed, at the Requeſt of his Wife, to retire to the Country. They agreed to live in a ſmall Town near their Eſtate, and having pro⯑vided every Houſhold Neceſſary, and a good Collection of Books, they quitted the noiſy City, for the Peace, Tranquillity and Joys of a Rural Life. He now found him⯑ſelf poſſeſs'd of above Twelve Hundred Pounds a Year, and, calling to his Me⯑mory the Conduct of Lord Truegood, re⯑ſolved, as near as poſſible, to follow the Example of ſo worthy a Nobleman. Like a prudent General, he plann'd out his Operations; he collected his Forces, and aſſign'd to each Part a juſt Proportion. His Diſtribution was exact; but Mrs. Conyers changed it a little, by making him ſenſible, that his Scheme had not provided for Sickneſs, and many other Accidents they were liable to. ‘Let us, my Dear, ſaid ſhe, live as genteely as you pleaſe; But where is the abſolute Neceſſity of [79] ſpending our whole Income? My Ad⯑vice is, to ſave at leaſt Three hundred Pounds a Year, to anſwer Contingencies, and aſſiſt a worthy Friend on Occaſion; neither do I ſee how we can well lay out the Remainder. My Life, ſaid Jack; you are quite in the Right; then be it ſo: It is but ſtriking out theſe two ex⯑traordinary Horſes, a Servant, one Diſh a Day, ſomething from the Wine, and a little from the Allowance of Cloaths and pleaſurable Expences, and the Affair is juſt as you deſire.’

THE Behaviour of this Family ſoon ac⯑quired the Eſteem and Reſpect of the neighbouring Gentlemen and Ladies. Par⯑ticular Friendſhips were form'd, and a charming Society enlivened every Amuſe⯑ment.—Some Gentlemen met twice a Week at the beſt Inn in the Town, to benefit the Houſe, and keep up a proper Intereſt, and our Friend was ſoon invited to be of the Number. It will not be amiſs to mention ſome of this good Company.

SIR John Dobſon, and old Colonel Manly, were the principal. The Knight had been Member for the County in three Parliaments, as the Colonel had been for the Town for almoſt Forty Years. Mr. Leatherhead, Mr. Aſh, Doctor Grace, who was Miniſter of the [80] Pariſh, and Mr. Conyers, made ſix conſtant Companions. Our Ladies were happy with Mrs. Grace and Family, and with Miſs Lucy Manly the Daughter of the Colonel, now a moſt amiable Girl of Seventeen Years of Age. Her Wit and Underſtand⯑ing, with her tender and compaſſionate Heart, made her the Joy of her Friends. No Wonder the Colonel was extremely fond, for ſhe was the Child of his Age, and his only one. He ſpoke with Plea⯑ſure of the vaſt Fortune he intended to leave her, and often ſaid, he almoſt envy'd the happy Man to whoſe Lot ſhe fell.

WITH great Care and Attention have I examined the original Memoirs of this Hiſ⯑tory, but unfortunately found not the leaſt Hint of Amours, or, as it is called, the Gallantry of Mr. Conyers, during his Reſi⯑dence in the Country. This muſt certain⯑ly be a tedious Time to a Reader of Genius, who expects at every Page, a well or ill-contrived Intrigue, or ſomewhat wonderful or ſurpriſing to raiſe his Imagination, and keep up his Attention.—Tho' I cannot anſwer theſe valuable Ends, I cannot paſs in Silence this Space, as my Materials are large, but muſt ſupply the Want of extra⯑ordinary Adventures in this ſeeming State of Inactivity, with the Subſtance of the [81] moſt intereſting Subjects, that made their Evenings paſs uſefully and agreeably away.

IN doing this I ſhall ſtick to my uſual Brevity, and treſpaſs as little as poſſible on the Patience of the Good-natur'd. I ſhall not ſummon them to every Aſſembly, but vary the Subject by an Aſteriſm, (*) and avoid that Sort of Connection that might pin me down to Form and Ceremonies.

* * *

* * *

MR. CONYERS examin'd the Plan of France, as laid down by Mr. Villeneuf, in which he made many Alterations, and the next Evening's Converſation happening to turn on the Subject of the laſt, — ‘I beg, ſaid he, to be permitted to add a Poſt⯑ſcript to the Colonel's Lecture, and to carry you to the Fountain-head of, what I imagine, the Liberty of England.’

IT is not eaſy to paint the ſerious Coun⯑tenances of the Company. The Colonel lifted up his Eyes; Sir John and 'Squire Aſh ſhook their Heads, the Doctor cry'd, Lord have Mercy upon us! but Mr. Leather⯑head was ſo affected, that he let fall his Pipe, and ſeem'd to neglect his favourite Tankard.

* * *

THE Converſation was on various Sub⯑jects, and at laſt fell on the Laws of Eng⯑land.—The Colonel own'd they were wiſe and wholeſome; but declar'd, that the vaſt Delay and Chicanerie of the Practitioners was the greateſt Burthen a Nation could groan under.— ‘Speedy Juſtice, ſaid Mr. Conyers, is the Spirit and Eſſence of Laws both Civil and Criminal. A French Au⯑thor of Humour obſerves, "That the Engliſh are infinitely more tenacious of their Properties than their Lives; for, ſays he, Life or Death is generally de⯑cided in Twenty-four Hours; but Pro⯑perty, be it ever ſo trivial, may employ as many Years.’

MR. CONYERS was proceeding on the Subject, when the Terror of the Poor, in the Shape of John Clinch the Conſtable, [105] enter'd the Room. — ‘Pleaſe your Wor⯑ſhips, ſaid he, an't pleaſe you, there's Moll Stevens has gotten her Belly up, and ſo, an't pleaſe your Worſhips, as the Wench lays the Matter on Paddy Murphy the Iriſh Drawer below Stairs, I thoughten beſt to bring her before your Worſhips that ſhe might ſwear it, for, pleaſe your Worſhips, that Iriſh Dog does a Power of Miſchief in the Pariſh.' — 'Why, Friend, ſaid the Colonel, we do not meet here for Buſineſs, but, however, let her come up. — When the Conſtable with⯑drew,—Give me Leave, Gentlemen, ſaid the Doctor, to examine this Affair, and to beg of you to do exactly like me, for I want to try an Experiment.—They promis'd, and then enter'd the Conſtable, Moll Stevens, Paddy Murphy, the Maſter and Miſtreſs of the Houſe, and moſt of the Servants.’

THE Staff-Officer produc'd the Bible, and very learnedly began to open the Cauſe; but the Doctor ſtopp'd him ſaying, ‘Pray, Friend, hold your Peace: You have nothing to ſay in the Affair, and I charge you all to keep Silence.—Come hither, young Woman, ſaid he, Don't tremble.—We ſhall do you no Harm.— You are here to ſwear to the Perſon who [106] has greatly injur'd you in your Reputa⯑tion, and brought you into ſome Diſ⯑grace.—Do you know, Child, the Na⯑ture of an Oath? — Poor Molly Stevens, with downcaſt Looks, and faultering Tongue, anſwer'd—Yes—Conſider, young Woman, ſaid the Doctor, that an Oath is the only Security between Man and Man. —Conſider that an Oath is a ſolemn Affirmation in the Preſence of Almighty God, that what we ſpeak is the Truth, and ſtake our precious Souls on it.—Con⯑ſider the Situation you are now in, and that you muſt, very ſpeedily, be put to a Tryal, where your Life will be in Dan⯑ger.—To ſwear falſely, and, perhaps, in a few Days be called to Judgment, is a Thought that ſhould make every Crea⯑ture tremble. — Conſider ſeriouſly, my Child, that God will puniſh Sinners, there⯑fore, be certain of the Truth, and do not raſhly riſk your Soul, and add a Crime of the blackeſt Dye, to the Crime, that, by Repentance, God Almighty may for⯑give.—Be reſolute, and ſay the Truth.’— Tears flow'd very plentifully down poor Molly's Cheeks; but the Doctor, taking off his Hat, and kneeling down, all the Com⯑pany did the ſame.—In this Poſture, he gave her the Book, and adminiſter'd the [107] Oath in the moſt ſolemn Manner, and then roſe up.—‘Now, Child, ſaid he, you are bound to anſwer with Truth.—Is this young Man, whoſe Name is Patrick Mur⯑phy, the Father of the Child you now go with, or not?' — With many Sobbs and Tears ſhe, at laſt, anſwered—No— Who then, ſaid he, is the Father of it?’— She heſitated for ſome Time, and with great Difficulty, anſwer'd — John Clinch.— ‘Who was it, ſaid the Doctor, that did adviſe, and would have perſuaded you to ſwear falſely againſt Patrick Murphy.’ She anſwer'd — John Clinch. — Very well, ſaid he, your Affair is finiſhed — But for you, Mr. Conſtable, it is my Orders, that you find good Security by To-morrow Morning, for the Maintenance of the Child; and that you immediately pay One Gui⯑nea to Patrick Murphy, or I will have you indicted for Subornation of Perjury.

THE Conſtable, tho' vaſtly confounded, had ſo much Wit that he paid his Fine, and the extra Company withdrew, triumph⯑ing with Murphy, and applauding the Wiſ⯑dom of the Parſon.—‘Doctor, ſaid the Co⯑lonel, I wiſh you Joy, for if Perjury be a damning Sin, you have certainly, for this Bout, ſav'd one poor Soul.'—'I have often thought, reply'd the Doctor, that we [108] have not only multiply'd Oaths, and made them familiar, but that our com⯑mon Way of adminiſtring them, is an Inlet to the greateſt of Evils, and ſin⯑cerely wiſh, that all Juſtices of the Peace, and other Magiſtrates, would ſee it per⯑form'd in a more decent and Chriſtian-like Manner.—Well, well, ſaid Mr. Leather⯑head, tho'ff John Clinch be to Father the Child, I believe Iriſh Paddy has had a Finger in the Pye.—The Son of a Wh—re has a moſt ſwinging Brogue, and the Girls begin with Laughing, but he makes ſome of them Cry for all that. The Fel⯑low makes Love to my Wife's Maid, and I've a Letter of his'n in my Pocket. —Come, ſaid the Colonel, now for an Iriſh Billet-doux.’

‘WELL ſaid, Paddy! cry'd the Colonel, I aſſure you the young Rogue has got the Laconick Stile, and ſays a great deal in few Words. In ſpite of the Brogue on his Pen, you find he comes to the Point, and very likely will carry it.— That he won't, reply'd Mr. Leatherhead, for the Girl hates him, and abuſes him all Day long.'—And yet, ſaid Sir John, ſhe may love him all Night.—There have been ſuch Tricks.—'I am in Love, ſaid Mr. Conyers, with this Iriſh Epiſtle; but I have one from a Shoemaker in London to my Farmer Tom Driver, whoſe Son is his Apprentice. As it is a Sample of low Londonſhire Engliſh, I beg Leave to read it.’

‘I DON'T ſee, ſaid Mr. Leatherhead, why we ſhould laugh at the Shoemaker be⯑cauſe he don't write ſo fine as a Parſon; tho'ff he don't, he writes well enough, and he's an Engliſhman; But what a Plague have we to do with a Parcel of [111] Iriſh, who take the Bread out of our Mouths, and debauch all our Women? Why don't we tranſport 'em back to their Bogs and Potato's; I'm ſure 'twould be happy for us if Ireland was at the Bottom of the Sea.'—'No, no, ſaid Sir John, not that neither; but I think we ought to give them no Trade, and make them pay ſome of our Taxes.' — 'That's an odd Maxim, Sir John, ſaid the Colonel:—Now I ſhould think, that the beſt Way to make them pay ſome of our Taxes, is to put them in a Condition to do it.— Should we keep them Poor, we may lay on Taxes, but how ſhall we collect them?—Where ſhall we find the Money? —'I ſhall not, ſaid the Doctor, reaſon on the Prudence or Juſtice of England, be⯑cauſe, tho' Mr. Leatherhead forgets it, I was born in Ireland, and might be ſuſ⯑pected of Partiality, but Mr. Conyers has a Letter, with ſome Account of that Kingdom, which, I own, gave me great Pleaſure, becauſe I ſincerely love Great-Britain, and honour the King.' — 'The Account, ſaid Mr. Conyers, that the Doc⯑tor has mentioned, is a Copy of a Let⯑ter from an Engliſh Gentleman, to a noble Lord, which fell into my Hands by Accident. If you think proper, it ſhall [112] make Part of our Entertainment at next Meeting.’

* * *

THE Reader will pleaſe to remember, that Mr. Villeneuf gave Jack a Paper rela⯑ting to Ireland. This Paper Mr. Conyers altered, and threw into the Shape of the following Letter, which he read in his Place.

CHAP. X.

I AM afraid I have carried my Reader too far from the Subject-Matter of this Hiſtory, and try'd his Patience; but I aſ⯑ſure him that my Indulgence has been very great; for, at infinite Pains, I have cur⯑tail'd the laſt Chapter at leaſt Sixty Pages. —Few know the Difficulty of Bridling the Imagination, and Reining back an hard-mouth'd Pen. It ſometimes gets a-head, and, in Spite of all our Skill, runs away with us into Mire and Dirt; nay, this Mi⯑nute I find my Quill in a Humour to gal⯑lop, ſo ſhall ſtop him ſhort in Time.

THUS we have ſeen the agreeable Man⯑ner Mr. Conyers paſs'd away many Even⯑ings; and thus did he eſtabliſh himſelf in [124] the Affections of his Company, and in the Love of the Inhabitants, by many Acts of generous Charity. Colonel Manly, in par⯑ticular, held him in great Eſteem, and carried his Friendſhip ſo far, as to promiſe his Intereſt with the Borough for a Seat in Parliament on the firſt Vacancy.

MR. CONYERS had now experienced perfect Happineſs for above a Year.—He knew the great Secret of enjoying the good Things of this World, ſo as not to abuſe them.—His Fortune, his faithful and agree⯑able Companion, his Family, and the Love and Reſpect of all, were the Rewards of his honeſt Intentions to all Mankind. In a Word, the Elements in him were ſo mix'd, that he deſerv'd the honourable Title of a Man.— But this World is not made for permanent and laſting Joys! — His Happi⯑neſs, Tranquillity, and every domeſtick Plea⯑ſure, vaniſh'd in a Moment, and left him as awaken'd out of a Dream of Bliſs.—He had a Proſpect of an Increaſe to his Hap⯑pineſs, but the Diſappointment added to his Pains.

MRS. CONYERS was near Lying-in, but an ignorant Servant Maid telling her a moſt frightful Story of the Rebellion, which had juſt then broke out, threw her into a Fit and violent Tremor, which brought [125] on an improper Labour. She was deli⯑vered of a Boy, who died ſoon after, and in four Days the kind, the tender, the af⯑fectionate and agreeable Mrs. Conyers, fol⯑low'd her Child.

THE Diſtraction and real Grief of the Family and their Friends is not to be ex⯑preſs'd. Mr. Conyers bore this dreadful Stroke like a Man, but he felt it like a Man. His Exclamations were few, but his Sighs and the Throbbings of his Heart were without Number. His inky Coat was not the only Sign of Sorrow. The invo⯑luntary Tear, the Heavings of his Breaſt, and the Alteration of his Countenance, gave viſible Marks of ſincere Affliction.—Let me at once quit the melancholy Subject, and bring my Friend to a State of Mind a lit⯑tle more compoſed and reſigned.—He aſ⯑ſured Mr. and Mrs. Sampſon of his con⯑ſtant Affection and Love, and that not⯑withſtanding his deareſt Wife had made no Will, he knew her Intention, and would fulfil it. Accordingly, new Writings were drawn, and he made them a Compliment of Three thouſand Pounds.

HIS gloomy Countenance would have had a much longer Duration, had not the Re⯑bellion rous'd his Indignation. He thought his Duty to his Sovereign call'd him from [126] Inaction, and the Love of his Country ſeem'd prior to every other Regard. To beſtow hard Names on Rebels, and ſupinely to ſigh at inteſtine War, he judg'd, was un⯑manly and imprudent. He had no Idea, that the Choice of Liberty or Slavery re⯑quir'd a Moment's Heſitation. Full of Freedom and Glory, he unboſom'd his Thoughts to the Colonel. — ‘My dear Friend, ſaid this venerable but hearty old Gentleman, I muſt love you the more for this.—Yes, my dear Conyers, go — fight for your Country, and God Al⯑mighty preſerve and give you Victory!— Did my great Age permit, I would be your Companion, and ſhare in the Dan⯑ger.—I well remember, tho' then a Boy, the Inſolence of a Popiſh Government. I remember the Seven Biſhops in the Tower. —The Swarms of Friers in St. James's Park.— The Sham Liberty of Conſcience, and a thouſand other Enormities. — Young as I was, I follow'd my Father, and join'd the Prince of Orange.—I fought and bled for him and Liberty at the Boyne. —I fought for Liberty and KING GEORGE at Dumblain, and what Man, who has a Soul, and a Senſe of our invaluable Bleſ⯑ſings, but would venture, nay lay down his Life for them?— Now I am Old and Infirm, but my Heart is good, —indeed [127] it is’—The poor Gentleman could pro⯑ceed no farther, for Tears choak'd his Words. Mr. Conyers was greatly affected, and ſaid all in his Power to eaſe the Colo⯑nel's Heart.— ‘You muſt forgive, ſaid the Colonel, the Weakneſs of an old Man.— I cannot help it.—But, when I think on Times paſt,—On the Danger our Conſti⯑tution has, ſo often, been in, and the noble and ſucceſsful Struggles we have made to defend it.—When I think on theſe Things, my Pulſe forgets its Age, and beats as ſtrong as in Youth.—Good God!—What is it we want!—Is there a reaſonable Bleſſing that we do not, or may not enjoy! — Are we blind to our own Happineſs, and can ſome, who call them⯑ſelves Proteſtants, even think of a Popiſh King but with Horror?—Can we be ſo ſtupid as not to ſee the old, the ſtale Trick of France? And muſt ſome of us always fall into ſo weak a Project?—Poor de⯑luded Men! But thank God, we have ſtill Honour and Wiſdom ſufficient to con⯑vince them of their Errors.’

‘FROM my Soul I wiſh it, reply'd Mr. Conyers, neither have I the leaſt Doubt. —For my Part, I am determin'd, and will immediately prepare for the Field.— I believe, ſaid the Colonel, I can aſſiſt [128] you.—Let me ſee—Ay—I have a Tent, and every Camp-Neceſſary, in good Or⯑der, for I frequently viſit them to refreſh my Memory. — Theſe are your's, with two excellent Baggage Horſes, and a Baw-Man that underſtands his Buſineſs. —Dear Sir, ſaid Mr. Conyers, you have made me quite happy.—I am already in the Field. — Softly, ſoftly, anſwer'd the Colonel, perhaps I may do ſomewhat more. I would not have you go with Irregulars, for it will not be ſo Satisfac⯑tory.—A Noble Duke is about raiſing a Regiment of HORSE.—He does me the Honour to rank me with his intimate Friends, and I will immediately ſend an Expreſs, and write him ſuch a Letter, that, perhaps, ſhall put you in a Light of Honour, and enable you to be really uſeful.’—Mr. Conyers return'd him many Thanks, and he was exact to his Promiſe.

‘WE muſt now, ſaid the Colonel, think of engaging a few good Volunteers to accompany you to the Regiment, in caſe you ſucceed. We muſt be buſy, and go roundly to work.’ — In a few Days they fix'd on twenty young Fellows, moſtly Sons of Tenants. — In a ſhort Time the Colonel received a moſt polite and obli⯑ging Anſwer to his Letter. It concluded— [129] ‘From the great Character you give Mr. Conyers, he cannot fail of being extremely agreeable. I am ſorry I have but a Lieu⯑tenancy to offer him. Should this be ac⯑cepted of, I beg an Anſwer by Expreſs, and that he would join the Regiment at ***** with all Speed, with whatever good Men he can pick up.’

‘LIEUTENANT Conyers, ſaid the Colonel, I moſt heartily wiſh you Joy.—Now in⯑deed Matters put on a better Face, and you are equipp'd as you ought to be.— But, Buſtle, Buſtle.—Take Leave of the good People at Home; make your Will, and—To Horſe and away.’

TAKING Leave, was a Taſk he could wiſh to be excus'd, but it was impoſſible. Mr. Sampſon was ſtruck Dumb at the News, but his good Wife loſt all Patience. She could not comprehend the Neceſſity of his going in Perſon, when he might by De⯑puty. She quoted many Examples of Gen⯑tlemen, of Fortunes infinitely ſuperior to his, who contented themſelves with paying a little Money, and drinking Succeſs to the Cauſe.—‘Yes, yes, my Dear, ſaid her Huſ⯑band, they muſt be ſpecial good Subjects, who are only warm in the Cauſe, by the Quantity of Liquor they drink. I vio⯑lently ſuſpect ſuch Sort of People, and [130] am not ſorry to find my dear Brother of another Way of Thinking. I am only concern'd that ſuch an unhappy Occa⯑ſion ſhould deprive us of his Company, and throw him into Danger; but I truſt in God, he will return in Safety and with Victory.'—If he muſt go, reply'd Mrs. Sampſon, I pray God to protect and ſhield him.’—The Converſation became more familiar, and by degrees he perſuaded them to excuſe the Ceremony of Parting, which would give Pain, and make him miſe⯑rable.

WITH all imaginable Diligence he pre⯑pared for his Departure. He ſent forward twenty-three Recruits under the Care of two of his Tenants. He left a Will with Dr. Grace, and a Power with Mr. Sampſon to receive his Rents, and remitted Five Hundred Pounds to the Agent of the Re⯑giment, that he might draw on him as Occaſions required. He concerted Mat⯑ters with the Colonel, and his Horſes and Baggage filed off by Degrees to the next Town. He invited ſome Friends to Din⯑ner the next Day, which was Sunday; ſo the Family was ſure of him for one Meal more. However, whilſt they were at Church, the Colonel called in his Chariot and accompany'd him, where the Horſes [131] attended. The old Gentleman gave him a proper Letter to his Grace, and ſtay'd with him that Night. In the Morning he took a Soldier-like Farewell; ſaw him ſet out for the Regiment, and return'd in the Evening to give Mr. Sampſon an Account of their Expedition.

CHAP. XI.

OUR Lieutenant ſoon arrived at the appointed Place, and found his Re⯑cruits in good Order. He was received with great Politeneſs, and preſented with his Commiſſion, and to all his Brother-Officers. The Regiment was near com⯑pleat, and only waited the General's Orders to march where the Service required. He was extremely pleaſed with this New Society, as he found the Officers were not only Gen⯑tlemen of Good Senſe, but of conſiderable Fortunes. He readily joined in every Ex⯑pence that was propoſed to make the Regi⯑ment [132] live comfortably, and do Honour to the Cauſe.

IN about three Weeks he received a Let⯑ter from Colonel Manly, with ſome Books. The Letter is ſo conciſe, and ſo full of good Inſtruction, that I cannot avoid giving it a Place verbatim.

MR. CONYERS was greatly pleaſed at the Sincerity and Goodneſs of the Colonel. He read his Letter many Times, and com⯑pared it with the Inſtructions of Mr. Kindly, with a determin'd Reſolution of adhering to both as far as he was able. He read Feuquiere and Polibius with Pleaſure, but Monſieur de la Colonie, and the Maxims of Turenne, afforded equal Inſtruction and De⯑light.

CHAP. XII.

WHY ſhould I take up the Time of the Reader, by going minutely into the Conduct of the Rebels or our own. My Taſk is only relative to the private Character of Jack Connor, or Mr. Conyers. A Lawyer only ſpeaks from his Brief, and in all thoſe Pages on which this Hiſtory is founded, I find little or no Traces of the Actions of the Times.—I own I met with [140] a Paper, that I ſuppoſe ſerv'd as Memoran⯑dums and Hints to Mr. Conyers. It was dated like a Journal, but gave me little Inſight into Affairs. I find the Words — They ſlipp'd by — We march'd to — Miſs'd again — Slipp'd again — Men much harraſs'd —Vaſtly oblig'd to London Subſcription—The Inhabitants of ***** deſerve Encouragement, but the City of ***** to be burnt.—Thank God we have got our Troops from Flanders. —The DUKE to command.—Our People in great Spirits.—Victory or Death.—Then fol⯑low'd in Capital Letters, CULLODEN 16th APRIL 1746. THEY WERE WEIGH'D IN THE BALLANCE, AND FOUND LIGHT.

WHEN he reflected on the happy Con⯑ſequences of the Glorious Day.— When he conſidered, that Freedom, Liberty, Religion, and his Majeſty's Auguſt Family were more firmly eſtabliſh'd and confirmed to Great Britain.—That a full Period was put to Blood and Slaughter, and to that unnatural Monſter, CIVIL WAR, his Heart exulted, and his Joy was extreme. — He very de⯑voutly returned his Acknowledgments to that Providence, which had ſo often and ſo ſignally preſerved our invaluable Privi⯑leges, and had protected him in the Midſt of ſo many Dangers.

[141]HE wrote a particular Account of this Battle to Mr. Sampſon and Colonel Manly. He vaſtly extoll'd the Skill and Judgment of the General, and the Valour of the Troops. In his Letter to the Colonel, he has theſe remarkable Words:

‘I THINK I ſee all England in a Joy next to Madneſs. All admire the Con⯑duct and Intrepidity of his Royal Highneſs. They cannot now find Words ſufficient to expreſs their Praiſes. But of you, who know the National Infirmity, give me Leave to aſk, How long will this laſt? —Will they not ſoon be equally eager to ſtrip him of his Laurels?—Will not Envy, Malice, and Diſaffection ſoon endeavour to poiſon the Minds of the People, and blaſt the Reputation of Him, who riſ⯑qued his own to preſerve their Lives and Properties?—I fear he muſt expect ſuch Treatment. I doubt our Gratitude, and moſt heartily wiſh, for the Honour of the Kingdom, that I may be deceived. This War, and the Danger of it is over, conſequently the Inſtruments of Safety, will ſoon be ſacrific'd to the Parſimony of their Purſe, and every diſbanded Sol⯑dier expoſed to the Inſults of every Pea⯑ſant. — For my own Part, I ſo much admire the Military Virtues of my Leader, [142] he ſhall command my Hand and my Heart, where-ever and as long as he judges proper.’

HE greatly commiſerated the unfortu⯑nate Priſoners, now ſubject to the injured Laws of their Country. To avert the Pu⯑niſhment due to ſuch Crimes, was not in his Power; but to make them eaſy, and alleviate their Sorrows, was his daily Em⯑ployment.—He lay'd no Streſs on Victory, as it is an uncertain Determination of Right or Wrong; but he argued in the gentleſt Terms, and endeavour'd to convince them, from Hiſtory, Reaſon, and Experience, that their Prejudices were ill founded. — That, they were Dupes to the Politicks of France, and acted like Children who diſobey the beſt of Parents.—That as Criminal as they were, his Majeſty was cloathed with Mercy, and adviſed an immediate Application to his Clemency.—He ſhewed them the Good⯑neſs of the late King in 1715, and very judiciouſly referred them to the Memoirs of Marchal Villars, and many other French Books, for the oppoſite Conduct of Lewis the Fourteenth to his Proteſtant Subjects in the Cevennes, who had taken Arms merely to defend their Religion, not to dethrone their Monarch.—Such a Conduct made Mr. Conyers vaſtly beloved, and brought ſome, [143] who were violent, to think with more Mo⯑deration. He greatly pity'd the poor Clans, as they were bred up in a blind and im⯑plicit Obedience to their Chiefs. He lament⯑ed thoſe Gentlemen who acted from Con⯑ſcience and Principle, but regarded thoſe, as the moſt wicked of human Beings, whoſe only Motive was to fiſh in Troubled Waters.

NOT content with this Sort of Behaviour, he endeavoured to remove our own Preju⯑dices, and take off that Acrimony and Ill-nature, which ſome of us are too ſubject to.—He prov'd the Injuſtice and Cruelty of Branding a whole Kingdom, for the Faults of a Few. That, even thoſe Few were fall'n Brethren, and erred in their Duty, but from their Zeal to miſtaken Opinions. That moſt of them deſerved our Pity more than our Anger. That, ſo far from perpetuating Animoſity, all Encouragement and Regard ſhould be ſhewn to the Good, and every Scheme ſet on Foot to convert the Bad.— Time and proper Management, would con⯑vince every Mortal, that, as a Union of Minds was our reciprocal Intereſt, ſo Love and Friendſhip would ſoon make us, the af⯑fectionate Children of an indulgent Parent.

HAPPY, thrice Happy ſhould we be, if every Man reaſoned like Mr. Conyers! — Diviſion and Envy and Malice and Madneſs would ceaſe to diſtract and confound the [144] real Beauty and Harmony of our moſt ex⯑cellent Conſtitution. — Were our Souls ce⯑mented by Love, Tenderneſs and Charity.— Did we take half the Pains to aſſiſt, as we do to deſtroy each other, what Joys would not this Land afford!—With what Reſpect would Foreign Nations behold us! — What Terror to our Enemies, and to the Diſturbers of Europe!

CHAP. XIII.

CERTAINLY it is almoſt Time to proceed to the perſonal Account of Lieutenant Conyers, but I muſt crave a little Indulgence for the following Chapter, and ſhall then follow him more cloſely.

AMONGST the Manuſcripts ſo often men⯑tioned, I found one relative to the un⯑happy Subject of laſt Chapter. I ſuppoſe Mr. Conyers had ſeen ſome of the Declara⯑tions [145] publiſhed by the Son of the Pretender, which induced him to form one by way of Parody, and by taking off the Maſk ſhew the Picture in a full and juſt Light.—Whe⯑ther this Piece was publiſhed or not, I can⯑not learn, but to omit it in this its proper Place, would be unpardonable in a Faith⯑ful Hiſtorian; to which honourable Title I hope I have a Right.— The Paper runs thus.

CHAP. XIV.

DOMESTICK Peace was once more eſtabliſhed, and the late confuſed and diſtracted Kingdom now more ſenſibly felt the Joys of publick Tranquillity.

THE War with France ſtill raged in Flanders, and required the Preſence of thoſe Troops, which a Rebellion had com⯑pelled [152] to withdraw from their Allies, and the neceſſary Orders were diſpatched for embarking ſundry Corps. Mr. Conyers was preſented to a Troop of Dragoons under theſe Orders. He now equipt himſelf in a much better Manner, and was ſo em⯑ployed, that he had not Time to viſit his Friends; but contented himſelf with tender Letters to Mr. Sampſon, Colonel Manly, and Doctor Grace.—When the Regiments were compleated, the final Orders were given, and Captain Conyers attended his Duty.

HE certainly obſerved a profound Si⯑lence on the Military Operations, for I only found ſome Orderly Books, written in his own Hand, which, undoubtedly, every Of⯑ficer ought to do.

FOR the Marches and Encampments of the Army, I muſt refer to the Gazettes of the Time.—As I ever conſult the Eaſe of my Reader, he will not condemn my Si⯑lence, when he conſiders I have no Lights to guide either Him or myſelf into Affairs ſo much above our Knowledge.—However I muſt follow the Glimmerings I have, and purſue him through his Variety of Marches and foraging Parties, till I find him en⯑camped near Maeſtricht. I muſt attend him in croſſing the Maeſe with the Army, [153] and encamping in the Vicinity of the French, but, even to the Night before the laſt Battle, I have nothing particular to mention.—This Night, indeed, an Affair happened, which makes ſo material a Part of this Hiſtory, that compels a Recital, tho' with my uſual Brevity.

THE Captain had been ordered, with Detachments from other Regiments, on a Command to Venlo, for Forage. Diſputes frequently happen on theſe Occaſions, which the Commanding Officer muſt be extremely careful to prevent.—By an Of⯑ficer's inſiſting to be ſerved out of his Tour, a Quarrel began: The Clamour was great; but the Captain running to the Spot, ex⯑erted his Authority, and directed the Fo⯑rage in the proper Channel. The Officer whoſe Name was Thornton, and a Lieute⯑nant of Dragoons, was much out of Hu⯑mour, and dropt ſome Words, as much as to ſay—Captain Conyers would not be al⯑ways at the Head of a Command!

THE Foraging being over, they return⯑ed to Maeſtricht, where the Captain found an Order, from the Adjutant-General, to join the Army as ſpeedily as poſſible, after the Men and Horſes were refreſhed. He communicated this Order to the Officers of the Party, and directed them to join at [154] the Port, preciſely at Two o'Clock in the Morning. Theſe Orders were given to the Men, and he invited the Officers to ſup with him at the Helmet, and Lieutenant Thornton was of the Party. This Gentle⯑man was younger than Captain Conyers, but in his Size, and many other Reſpects, extremely reſembled him. He had a very good Character in the Army, but was too apt to imagine an Affront where none was intended. As he was well liked for many good Qualities, this Fault was imputed to his Youth, and Want of Experience.

LIEUTENANT Thomas was likewiſe of the Company. He was an elderly, rough Sort of a Man, who, from a low Station, had, by Accident, arrived to this Rank. He was educated, and took his Degrees, in a Stable, and, forgetful of the Title he was honoured with by his Majeſty's Com⯑miſſion, ſwore and talked as if ſtill a Dra⯑goon.—This Gentleman began the Affair of the Forage, and ſeemed to think that Lieutenant Thornton had been injured.— ‘By the L—d, ſaid he, if any Man had ſerved me ſo, I'd have ſhewn him the Difference.—Sir, reply'd Mr. Thornton, I know as well as any Man, when I am ill uſed, and ſhall take a proper Time to explain myſelf.'— 'Sir, ſaid the Captain, [155] who began to be warm, I don't know the Meaning of all this; but ſhould you imagine any ill Treatment, I beg you will ſhew the Manner, and you ſhall find me vaſtly ready to give you every Sa⯑tisfaction in my Power.— 'Spoke, cry'd Thomas, like a Gentleman, and a Man of Honour.' — Sir, ſaid Thornton, ſince I muſt ſpeak, I muſt tell you, I am a Gentleman of Family and Fortune, per⯑haps, ſuperior to your ſelf! You inſult⯑ed me at Venlo; you ſtopt my Men in their Duty, in a rude and uncivil Man⯑ner. This, Sir, may injure my Charac⯑ter and Honour, and calls for immedi⯑ate Satisfaction.' — 'That's right, ſaid Thomas, the preſent Time is always the beſt, therefore, my Advice is, to take a cool Turn on the Parade, and decide the Matter like Friends and Men of Ho⯑nour.—Thornton roſe up, as did Captain Conyers.’—The reſt of the Company in⯑terpoſed, and contrary to all Mr. Thomas's Arguments, obliged them to ſit down in Peace.

THE young Lieutenant was on fire, and the Captain almoſt as hot; but a little Re⯑flection brought him to his Reaſon.—Gen⯑tlemen, ſaid the Captain, I am ſorry for this Affair, and believe I can convince Mr. [156] Thornton of a miſtaken Point of Honour.— ‘By the L—d, ſaid Thomas, your only beſt Way, is, by the Point of the Sword.’ —Sir! ſaid the Captain, with a ſtrong Em⯑phaſis, Did I affront you, too?—‘No, Sir, ſaid Thomas, not me.'— 'Then, Sir, re⯑ply'd the other, let me adviſe you, as you regard your Commiſſion, or your Safety, no more to interfere in our Diſputes.’— Thomas bit his Lips, but, prudently held his Tongue.—Conyers turned to Mr. Thorn⯑ton, and ſaid,— ‘You have deſired Satiſ⯑faction, Sir, and it is my Duty to give it, but permit me firſt to ſay, I think you began at the wrong End. What Satisfaction could my Life have afforded you, or your Death have given me, your Family or Friends? — I hope we have had Time to reflect on the Conſequences of too precipitate a Reſolution.' — 'Sir, reply'd Thornton, the Honour of an Officer is a tender Point.' — 'I confeſs it, ſaid the Captain, and therefore ought to be tenderly uſed.—No Satisfaction, Sir, can equal a Conviction of being in an Error. —Here, Sir, are the Orders I received, and ſubmit to the Gentlemen preſent, if I exceeded them, or ſhewed the leaſt Partiality.’—The Company agreed, that he could not avoid acting as he did; and [157] he proceeded: — ‘As to your Family and Fortune, they are in this Caſe, quite out of the Queſtion. I own, Sir, I was in an Hurry to prevent a Diſpute; but if any Expreſſions of Rudeneſs or Incivi⯑lity eſcaped from me, I am ſorry for it, and before theſe Gentlemen, moſt hear⯑tily aſk your Pardon. This, Sir, I hope, is the rational and juſt Satisfaction one Gentleman ought to aſk of another; if more is required, I muſt comply, tho' with Reluctance.’

ALL the Company, except Lieutenant Thomas, who was aſleep, cryed out, — No Gentleman can deſire more, and greatly praiſed Captain Conyers. — Mr. Thornton confeſſed his Error, excuſed himſelf for his Raſh⯑neſs, and begged that no more might be ſaid about it.—The Captain, affectionately embracing him, wiſh'd for an Opportu⯑nity of ſhewing his Regard and Friend⯑ſhip.—‘What Pity it is, ſaid he, that tri⯑vial and inſignificant Words ſhould raiſe our Anger, to the Deſtruction of our Peace and Happineſs, and that Incendi⯑aries are not more ſeverely puniſhed.— Had not this good Company been more prudent than Two of us, and honeſter than a Third, One might, by this Time, have ſlept with his Fathers, and perhaps [158] both. — But, come, Gentlemen, let us prepare for Duty where real Honour calls. Let us fight with the common Enemy, but never amongſt ourſelves. — One Bottle more and then.' — 'And then, ſaid Mr. Thornton, have at the French.’ — They finiſhed two Bottles with great Harmony, and often drank Succeſs to the DUKE, and preciſely at the Time appointed, marched out of Maeſtricht, and ſoon arrived at the Camp.

THIS proved a very buſy Day, and made the ſmall Village of LAWFELD Famous.— Thoſe who deſire an Account of the Bat⯑tle, muſt not apply to me, for my whole Attention is taken up with Capt. Conyers. — When our Dragoons were ordered to Charge, the Captain did ſingular Service. He reſcued his Major, and a Lieutenant-Colonel of another Regiment.—He ſtop⯑ped ſeveral Parties who were driving to their Ruin, and directed them where to turn their Swords. — His Head and his Hands were at Work, and in ſhort, as the French Memoir Writers phraſe it, He per⯑formed Prodigies of Valour.—In the Midſt of this, he ſaw Lieutenant Thornton, with the greateſt Bravery, waging unequal War, for he was ſurrounded by three Cavaliers. —In an Inſtant, he flew to his Relief, and [159] effectually took Care of one. By this Time Mr. Thornton was wounded in many Places, and on the Ground; the Captain received a violent Blow on his Head, and two Wounds on his left Shoulder. His Horſe was ſhot, but he manfully defended the Body of his Friend on Foot. Finding the Foe encreaſed, he deſired Quarters, and reſigned his Sword to an Officer who had juſt come up.—At firſt he imagined Mr. Thornton was killed; but obſerving ſome Signs of Life, he perſuaded ſome of the French to carry him to a Place of Safety, and was conducted along with him by the Officer, who was a Gentleman of great Humanity. All poſſible Care was taken of both; and, the Action over, they were ſent to Tongres with other Priſoners.

THE Gentleman to whom he had ſur⯑rendered, was the Marquis de Briſſac, Co⯑lonel of a Regiment of Dragoons. His Politeneſs and good Manners, correſpond⯑ed with his Quality. He daily viſited the Captain, and procured him and Mr. Thorn⯑ton every Neceſſary.—The Lieutenant had been ſeverely treated, having no leſs than ſeven Wounds in the Head, Shoulders, and Body. Two of them were dangerous, but his Youth and good Conſtitution ſurmount⯑ed the Difficulty. In three Weeks the Sur⯑geons [160] declared him in a fair Way of Re⯑covery; but it would require great Time.

THE Marquis was extremely pleaſed, and expreſſed himſelf very genteely on the Occaſion. He aſſured him, that aſſiſting two ſuch valiant Gentlemen was the higheſt Proof of his good Fortune.— ‘Tho' I was not, ſaid he, a Witneſs of your Bravery, I am ſure it muſt have been great, but the Courage of the Captain in defending you, is what I ſhall ever eſteem and ad⯑mire him for. To his Valour you really owe your Life, more than to my En⯑deavours to ſave it.’

AS our two Priſoners recovered their Strength, the Marquis introduced them to the Duke d'Ayen, with other Officers of Family and Diſtinction, and every Polite⯑neſs and Reſpect was paid them.— They had now their own Servants and Neceſſa⯑ries, and a Credit for Money. In two Months Capt. Conyers was in good Health, but his Left Arm was uſeleſs. He got Permiſſion, on his Parole, to go to his Re⯑giment, but promiſed his Friend to return ſoon, and, if poſſible, go with him to Aix-la-Chapelle, which was neceſſary for both.

CAPTAIN Conyers was received with the greateſt Joy by his Corps, and highly ho⯑noured by his Superiors. He ſpoke of [161] Mr. Thornton in ſo noble a Manner, that the DUKE gave him a Troop of Dragoons, and Permiſſion to both, to go to Aix, or where they thought proper, to eſtabliſh their Healths. Capt. Thornton was extreme⯑ly ſenſible of the Bounty and Goodneſs of his Royal Highneſs, and affectionately em⯑bracing Conyers, called him his Father, Bro⯑ther and Preſerver, and vow'd a perpetual Friendſhip. Capt. Conyers was not behind Hand, and promis'd to attend him, and, if poſſible, never to part.

AS ſoon as Capt. Thornton was able to travel, the Friends took their Leave of the Marquis de Briſſac, the Duke d'Ayen, and others, in the politeſt Terms, and teſtified their Gratitude for all the Civilities recei⯑ved. Capt. Thornton could not think of going to Aix till he had paid his Duty to the Duke, and kiſſed that Hand which had ſo nobly rewarded his little Services. He met with a moſt gracious Reception, and in a few Days left the Camp.

CAPT. Thornton was the Second Son of Sir Roger Thornton, a Gentleman of large Fortune in Ireland and in Eſſex, and a Member of the Houſe of Commons. He was about Twenty-four Years of Age, ſpoke French and Italian perfectly well, and underſtood Drawing, and thoſe Branches [162] of the Mathematicks, ſo neceſſary to every Officer who chooſes to diſtinguiſh himſelf. Sir Roger allowed him Three Hundred Pounds a Year, but on this Occaſion he very liberally ſupplied him. He wrote Capt. Conyers a moſt obliging Letter, for his Son had informed him of the Obliga⯑tions he lay under. The young Captain received many Letters from his Uncle the Earl of Mountworth, in which Mr. Conyers was always honourably mentioned.

CAPT. Thornton recovered very ſlowly, and Capt. Conyers's Arm proved much worſe than was at firſt imagined. They ſtayed a long Time at Aix-la-Chapelle and Spa, and were determined to go to Eng⯑land; but the Peace being juſt ſigned, they changed their Reſolution, and ſet out for France.

CHAP. XV.

ON their Arrival at Paris, they hired very grand Apartments in the beſt Hotel. In a few Days they were prepared to viſit the Marquis de Briſſac and the Duke d'Ayen, who received them with Marks of the greateſt Reſpect and Eſteem. They were viſited in Return, and ſoon made ac⯑quainted with the Families of the Firſt Diſtinction. The Marquis recommended the ableſt Surgeon, and they went on very ſucceſsfully under his Care.

THEY had been about a Month at Paris, when one Day Capt. Conyers took it into [164] his Head to dreſs himſelf as formerly, and dine at the old Ordinary. The People of the Houſe immediately recollected him, and were much rejoiced at his Return— It ſeems Paris had greatly miſs'd the Engliſh Guineas that ſo plentifully roll'd about be⯑fore the War, and now promiſed them⯑ſelves that my Lord Anglais would ſoon pay the Expence of all their Fireworks and Illuminations.—He found none of his for⯑mer Acquaintances at Table; but after Dinner he begg'd the good Woman would accept of a Pot of Coffee, and enquired after them.

‘MONSIEUR Maquereau, ſaid ſhe, had very bad Fortune at Play, and was ſo reduced, that for ſome Time he lived on the Women of the Town; but at laſt he got Religion into his Head, and went into La Trappe.—The Chevalier Fanfaron was very unlucky, for about a Year ago he died of his Wounds.'—I ſuppoſe, ſaid Co⯑nyers, the Chevalier had an Affair of Ho⯑nour, and fell by it.' — 'All I know, ſaid the Landlady, is, the Chevalier killed a Gentleman one Night on Pont-Neuf, and was ſo unfortunate as to be taken and broke Alive on the Wheel, at the Greve.'—'So much for the Chevalier, ſaid the Captain, but you don't tell me [165] a Word of my good Friend Monſieur Penſé. I hope no Accident has happened to him.'— 'Ah, poor Gentleman! ſaid ſhe, indeed, he is greatly to be pity'd. 'Tis now juſt two Years ſince the Archers got into his Lodgings, took him out of Bed, ſeized all his Papers and Effects, and carry'd them to the Baſtile. God knows if he be dead or alive. Some⯑body ſaid he was a Spy for the Engliſh, and ſo the poor good Man was ruined.’

THE Captain enquired for no more, but finiſhed the Coffee, thank'd the good Wo⯑man, and went in a Hurry to his Lodg⯑ings. He was vaſtly moved at the Fate of Penſé, and determin'd to try his Intereſt to ſave him, if it was not too late.—He ſoon dreſs'd, and follow'd Captain Thorn⯑ton to the Marquis's, where he had dined. The Company were informed of the Morn⯑ing diſhabillé and imputed it, and his long Stay, to ſome Affair of Gallantry, on which he was heartily railly'd. He railly'd in his Turn, and the Converſation fell into the uſual Channel. The Duke d'Ayen came in ſoon after, and in a little Time the whole Company went to the Opera.

CAPTAIN Conyers took Care to place himſelf next to the Duke, and at laſt found an Opportunity of mentioning the Caſe of [166] Penſé. He concluded with aſſuring his Lordſhip, that he held the Office of a Spy in the utmoſt Contempt: ‘But, ſaid he, this unhappy Man has formerly render'd me more Services than I can ever repay; therefore I hope your Lordſhip will con⯑ſider the Gratitude I owe, and grant a Favour to me, and not to him.'—'I pro⯑teſt, ſaid the Duke, I never heard of this Man, but all in my Power you may command. I ſhall ſpeak to my Father, (Marſhal Noailles) and intereſt myſelf to the utmoſt. Should I ſucceed, you ſhall ſoon hear of it, but my Silence will con⯑vince you of the Impoſſibility.’

CONYERS paſs'd four Days in great Anxiety, but the fifth he had a Viſit from the Duke, who, after ſome Converſation, told him, his Friend was alive.— ‘Then, my Lord, ſaid the Captain, ſo am I. This is a great Point gain'd; but I hope more remains.'— 'Yes, reply'd the Duke, I will not keep you longer in Suſpence. The Marſhal with ſome Difficulty, un⯑dertook the Cauſe, and I have brought you an Order to the Governor, to deliver Mr. Penſé and all his Effects, into your Hands, but with this Injunction, that he quits Paris in twenty-four Hours, and France in a Week.’—The Captain took [167] the Order, and moſt heartily thank'd the Duke.— ‘I know not, ſaid this Nobleman, how Penſé eſcaped, for he has been a moſt notorious Offender; but his Art was great, and by little Diſcoveries pro⯑tracted his Time ſo long, that I believe, at laſt, they were aſhamed to hang him. —But I ſee you are impatient to be the Meſſenger of good News, and ſhall only add, that I expect you To-morrow at Dinner.’—He was in the higheſt Delight, and immediately drove to the Baſtile, ac⯑companied by Capt. Thornton.

THE proper Compliments being paid to the Governor, the Captain mentioned Mr. Penſé, but was anſwer'd civilly, tho' in a cold unſatisfactory Manner.— ‘Sir, ſaid the Captain, I believe I have a Paper in my Hand, that will convince you I am not here to aſk impertinent Queſtions.’— When the Governor had read and care⯑fully examin'd the Order, he behaved quite in another Manner, and directed a Servant to call Mr. Penſé to him.—He ſpoke much of the poor Man, but ſeem'd to hint, that all Things conſider'd, he had ſurpriſing good Fortune.—Penſé was conducted into the Chamber, but his Countenance was ſo changed, that his Friend ſcarcely knew him.—He bow'd and trembled. — A ſmall [168] Silence intervened, but, fixing his Eyes in⯑tently on Captain Conyers, and, at laſt, cre⯑diting their Evidence, he cry'd out.—It is he, and flew to his Arms. He hung on his Neck. He had not Words to teſtify his Amazement. He claſp'd him, and was in an Agony of Joy, till Tears moderated the Exceſs. He ſobb'd, and aſk'd broken Queſtions, every Moment embracing his Friend.—The Scene was very moving, nor could the Captain refrain the manly honeſt Tribute of a Tear.

THE Governor told Mr. Penſé, that he was at Liberty to go with the Gentlemen. That his Papers were ſealed up, as was the Value of his Effects in a Box, which he might take with him; but gave him the Orders about quitting the Kingdom. — Mr. Penſé made many Compliments, but ſeem'd to wiſh he was out of the Walls, which Half an Hour ſaw done; and the Captain conducted him to his Lodgings.

AS his Time was to be ſhort in Paris, they abridg'd a thouſand Queſtions to each other, and reſerved them for a more fa⯑vourable Opportunity, only the Captain mention'd the Situation he was in, as to Rank and Fortune, which gave the old Man a moſt ſenſible Pleaſure. — They now ex⯑amin'd his Finances, and found he had a [169] Remainder of ſix hundred Pounds Sterling. They debated on the Application of the Money, but found, that the mere Intereſt would by no Means afford him a decent Maintenance. — ‘My dear Friend, ſaid Penſé, let me ſettle this Affair.— Take the Money, and allow me what you think proper, by way of Penſion, during my Life.’—Be it ſo, reply'd the Captain, and immediately he drew up a little Inſtrument, and gave him a Letter to his Banker in London, to honour his Bills for twenty-five Pounds for every three Months.—Poor Penſé once more ſhed Tears, and could only add —You are too good, and I am too happy.

MANY Towns were propoſed for his Reſidence, for to England he could not ſafely go, and the Captain fixed on Bruſſels as a cheap and agreeable Place. Matters being thus adjuſted, they paſs'd the Re⯑mainder of the Day to their mutual Sa⯑tisfaction; and next Morning Penſé bid Adieu to his faithful Friend, and took the Coach to Liſle, but not before the Cap⯑tain had obliged him to accept of Forty Pieces.

PERHAPS I ought to extol the Good⯑nature of Capt. Conyers: — To paint his Friendſhip in the brighteſt Colours, and to ſhew the Amiableneſs and Self-Satisfaction [170] of a grateful Heart.—By ſo doing, ſhould I not deprive my Reader of the Pleaſure of doing it himſelf? — When I conſult my own Eaſe, 'tis only with a View of indulging his Judgment.

CHAP. XVI.

CAPT. Thornton was not yet quite cured; for his Wounds, by ſome lit⯑tle Irregularities, had frequently opened. Capt. Conyers was perfectly recover'd; and as his Regiment had been for ſome Time in England, he began to conſider that his Duty required his Preſence. Whilſt he was preparing to attend it, he received a Letter that gave him Pain and Pleaſure. In ſhort, the Regiment was broke. He was now his own Maſter, and determin'd to ſtay with his Friend till he was quite fit to Travel.

[171] ‘SINCE, ſaid he, that I am now at full Liberty, and have an eaſy Fortune, ought I not to think on thoſe Friends to whom I owe my very Being? Perhaps that dear good Man Mr. Kindly, or ſome of his Family may want my Aſſiſtance.— Perhaps I may be uſeful to the worthy Lord Truegood, or his charming Sons. Heavens! what a Joy muſt I not feel at contributing to their Satisfaction! What Pleaſure will they not receive at ſeeing their little Jack completely happy! — Ought I not to think on my Mother? Ought I not to ſeek her out, and relieve her Diſtreſſes? and have I not neglected theſe Duties too long?’—Such Thoughts made him glow with alternate Shame and Pleaſure, and determin'd him to viſit Ire⯑land as ſoon as poſſible.

THE Captains paſs'd their Time in Pa⯑ris in the moſt agreeable Manner, and were much reſpected by the Ladies. I find a few Hints that perſuade me, they were not without Amuſements of a delicate Nature; but as the Papers are ſilent as to the Parti⯑culars, ſo muſt I.

IT happen'd that Capt. Magragh of Lord Clare's Regiment, had lately taken Apart⯑ments in the ſame Hotel. This Gentleman thought it his Duty to pay his Reſpects to [172] the two Engliſh Officers, and made them a very civil Viſit. They received him in a polite Manner, and in an Hour's Conver⯑ſation found out his Rank and his Charac⯑ter. He was of a lively Soldier-like Diſ⯑poſition, and very communicative. His Father had quitted Ireland, and follow'd the Fortune of King James the Second. He was born in France, but ſpoke Engliſh with a prodigious Iriſh Accent, tho' he had ne⯑ver been in that Kingdom. He told them of the vaſt Eſtate his Father loſt in Ire⯑land, and how near he was, the other Day, of recovering it. He ſpoke of the War in Germany and in Flanders, and gave them a Hiſtory of his own Exploits. He men⯑tioned the Valour of the Iriſh, and without conſidering the French Policy, ſeem'd to glory in their being ſent foremoſt on the moſt deſperate Attacks. His Converſation, and the Oddity of his Language, was agree⯑able enough, and made our Friends deſire a further Acquaintance.

IN a few Days he invited them to a gen⯑teel Supper, with two other Officers of the Iriſh Brigade. The Chat turn'd on War, and Capt. Magragh ſpoke very eloquently on Sieges and Battles, for he could really ſpeak on little elſe.—One of the Officers, in a laughing Way, mention'd ſomething of [173] an unfortunate Expedition into Spain, which obliged the Captain to enlarge upon it. ‘Gentlemen, ſaid he, I muſt tell you my fatal Story. You muſt know, that my Father's Brother, that is, my Uncle by the Father's Side, was a Merchant at Cadiz. He was as rich as a thouſand Jews, and always promiſed to make me his Son and Heir, but — the Devil fire all Prieſts! About ſeventeen or eighteen Years ago, a Son of a Whore, one Fa⯑ther Kelly, came over from Ireland, and brought his Siſter with him. She was the Widow of one Squire Connor, and young and handſome enough. What will you have of it, but my fooliſh Uncle got acquainted with this Father Kelly and his Siſter, and by my own Sowle he married her. To be ſure I wrote to my Uncle, and towld him what a Fool he was, and what a Rogue he was to cheat a Gentleman like me, and his own Fleſh and Blood. The old Fellow was very ſaucy, and by my own Sowle I had a great Mind to go to Spain and beat his Coat. Well, Gentlemen, about two Years agon I got a Letter from a Friend at Cadiz, that my Uncle was growing ſickly; ſo I took Poſt, thinking to make it up with him, but by my Sowle, I was [174] late, for the old Teef hid himſelf under Ground. Now, will you believe it? The Devil take me, and I ſwear by him that made me, if the old Rogue left me a grey Groat. I ſpoke to Madam my Aunt, and towld her of my Journey, and my great Expences, and of the Wrong ſhe did me, and the like, and only begg'd her to let us fairly divide the Money be⯑twixt us. The Lady began to laugh, but ſaid, ſhe had ſome Commiſeration on me, and made ſome fine Speeches; but the Devil a Farthing would ſhe give but four hundred Piſtoles. I took the Money, and giving her a hearty Curſe, wiſh'd her and her thirty thouſand Pound at Hell.'—'You had hard Fortune, in⯑deed, ſaid Capt. Thornton; but perhaps ſhe may make you Amends ſome Time or other.' Sir, reply'd Magragh, I ſhall never trouble her no more. I am now a Captain in the firſt beſt Regiment in Eu⯑rope; I have the Croſs of St. Lewis, which the King gave me, becauſe I wouldn't be kill'd at Philipſbourg, and I have a Royal Donation of three hundred Livres a Year; ſo, my Dear, what do I want? I love my Friends, and my good Friends love me; and I vow to God, I am as happy as the King himſelf, God bleſs him. I [175] love my Countrymen the Iriſh, and I love the Engliſh well enough, but Faith and Sowle, they are too hard upon us.’

CAPTAIN Thornton obſerv'd a peculiar Gravity in the Countenance of his Friend, and thought, by changing the Current of Converſation, to remove it. He try'd many Ways, but Conyers ſeem'd loſt in Thought. His Silence gave a ſerious Turn to the Company, and they broke up much ſooner than was intended.

NEXT Morning Captain Thornton had a very early Viſit from Mr. Conyers, for he had not ſlept. — ‘My dear Thornton, ſaid he, you muſt wonder at my Behaviour, but I inſiſt on your Friendſhip, and beg you will not require an Explanation of the only Thing I cannot divulge.’— Thornton imagin'd a Quarrel, and roſe in a Hurry to ſtop his going out of the Room. His Friend could not forbear laughing at his ſerious Figure, but aſſur⯑ing him on his Honour, that a Quarrel was the leaſt in his Thoughts, the other was pacify'd and returned to his Bed.—‘I am, ſaid Conyers, in the oddeſt Situation, per⯑haps, ever Man was in. I am far from unhappy; but ſome Doubts and Anxi⯑eties ſo much torment me, that I cannot be at Peace till they are ſatisfy'd.' 'Dear [176] Conyers, ſaid the other, I hope you will indulge me with my Share of what gives you Uneaſineſs; I think I have a juſt Claim to it.—'I believe, reply'd Conyers, your Friendſhip is ſincere; but my Caſe is of ſuch a Nature, that as you cannot aſſiſt me, I muſt only deſire your Pati⯑ence.’

HE revolv'd a thouſand Projects to bring about his Affair in the propereſt Manner. He remember'd Father Kelly, and call'd back every Circumſtance of his Childhood ſo clearly, that he had not the leaſt Doubt but Mrs. Magragh was his Mother.—He reflected on her Features, and brought her Face familiar to his Imagination. He own'd ſhe had not been the tendereſt of Parents, but Nature ſpoke, and threw her Faults into the moſt favourable Light. He ardently wiſh'd to embrace her, and, as his filial Affection aroſe, the tender Tear fell down his Cheeks. The good, the hu⯑mane Heart, will not call this an unmanly Weakneſs. — The Senſations of his Soul were natural, and the reſult of an honeſt Mind. At laſt he determin'd on a Jour⯑ney to Cadiz, and went immediately to Mr. Waters, his Banker, for proper Let⯑ters.

[177]WHILST he was ſpeaking to this Gen⯑tleman on the neceſſary Credit he might want, he took an Opportunity of aſking him if he knew Mr. Magragh, who had been a Merchant at Cadiz. ‘Yes, Sir, reply'd Mr. Waters, extremely well, for he was my Correſpondent many Years.' I hear, ſaid the Captain, he has left a Widow, and ſhould be glad to know if ſhe be alive.' 'She was ſo, very lately, anſwer'd the Banker, for I have had Let⯑ters from her about ſome Effects remain⯑ing in my Hands. I aſſure you, ſhe is a very notable Woman, and vaſtly rich.' As for her Riches, ſaid Conyers, I have nothing to ſay; but you would much oblige me, by recommending me to her Notice and good Offices, in a friendly Manner; and likewiſe for another Let⯑ter, wherein you will pleaſe to mention me as her near Relation. This laſt I ſhall only make Uſe of, in caſe I find her really ſo.’ Mr. Waters very readily com⯑ply'd, and promis'd to be very ſecret in the Affair.

CAPTAIN Conyers was now much eaſier in his Mind, and the Alteration in his Conduct, gave a very ſenſible Pleaſure to his Friend, but it was of ſhort Duration, for he inform'd him, that he was oblig'd [178] to ſet out immediately for Madrid, where his Stay ſhould be as ſhort as poſſible. Captain Thornton was oblig'd to acquieſce, and Preparations were made for his Jour⯑ney. The Marquis de Briſſac was ſurpriz'd at the Project of Mr. Conyers, but got him Recommendatory Letters to the French Mi⯑niſter, and advis'd his travelling with the King's Meſſenger, eſpecially as he ſeem'd in Haſte. — A Meſſenger was diſpatch'd the Week following, who had Orders to take particular Care of the Captain.—He took a Servant with him, and, with ſome Reluctance, bid adieu to his Friends.

CHAP. XVII.

AN Account of a Journey, Poſt, muſt be very unſatisfactory to a Reader, and tire and fatigue him as much as the Traveller. I ſhall, therefore, avoid the dry, inſipid Relation, and beg of him to ſuppoſe, that no Accident happen'd on the Road, and that our Captain got ſafe to Madrid in the uſual Time. I ſhall omit the Civilities ſhew'd by the French Miniſter, who advis'd him, in the beſt Manner, for his further Journey to Cadiz. He was impatient to be there, and ſo am I.

ON his Arrival, he waited on Mr. Fitz⯑gerald, the Merchant, on whom he had a Credit. This Gentleman received him in the moſt courteous Manner, and inſiſted [180] on his accepting an Apartment in his Houſe. In a Day or two, Captain Conyers made an Enquiry about Mrs. Magragh, and mention'd a Letter he had for her. The Merchant told him, ſhe was an inti⯑mate Friend, and offering to accompany him, they immediately paid her a Viſit.— Judge, gentle Reader, the Emotions of his Soul, when Mr. Fitzgerald preſented him to his Mother, for ſuch ſhe really was.— Tho' he was determin'd in his Conduct, and had put on every Reſolution, yet he trembled and grew pale when he ſaluted her; but recovering himſelf, he attribu⯑ted his Tremor to the Fatigue of his Jour⯑ney, which was eaſily credited. Mrs. Ma⯑gragh read the Letter, and with great Po⯑liteneſs, aſſur'd him of her Reſpects, and Readineſs to ſerve him. They din'd that Day at Mr. Fitzgerald's, and the Captain endeavour'd to make himſelf as agreeable as poſſible, and few Men could be more ſo. He obſerv'd, that every Body paid Mrs. Magragh a particular Reſpect; that ſhe was vaſtly improved, and ſpoke with great Strength of Reaſon and Senſe, tho' in her former Tone of Voice. Time had ad⯑ded a few Wrinkles to her Brow, but had taken away very little of the Beauty of [181] her Complexion. — He frequently caught himſelf too earneſtly looking at her, and very often met her Eyes.

NEXT Day the Company din'd at her Houſe. Mirth and Good-humour abound⯑ed, and each ſtrove who ſhould add moſt. Mrs. Magragh ſhew'd a more than com⯑mon Civility to the Captain, and often re⯑peated, that he had much of the Air of a Gentleman who had been a very dear Friend to her and her Family. In a Word, ſhe be⯑came familiar, which ſtill made her more agreeable.

MR. FITZGERALD aſk'd, when they got home, What he had done to the Widow? ‘For, ſaid he, ſhe told me in Spaniſh, that you had ſuch a Face, and ſuch a Voice, ſhe could ſcarce keep her Eyes off of you. Faith, Captain, continued he, 'twould be very unkind to ſnap up one of our greateſt Fortunes at ſo ſhort a Warning, when ſhe has held out half a Dozen re⯑gular Sieges.’ — Mrs. Fitzgerald a little raillied him, ‘But I aſſure you, ſaid ſhe, without a Jeſt, I never ſaw Mrs. Ma⯑gragh ſo free, and ſo pleas'd with a Gen⯑tleman in all my Life.’—The Captain laugh'd in his Turn, and each had ſome⯑what to ſay.

[182]HE thought Matters were pretty ripe for an Explanation, and as Mrs. Magragh had given him a general Invitation, he de⯑termin'd on a Viſit, and, if poſſible, to open the Scene. Next Morning he went to Breakfaſt with her, and was very kindly received. When the ordinary Chat was over, and her Maid had retir'd, he began to put his Scheme in Practice, but not without many Heſitations.—‘Madam, ſaid he, I never thought to be ſo much be⯑holden to my Friend Mr. Waters, as I find I am, by being introduc'd to a Lady of your Merit, who has certainly afford⯑ed me more Joy than ever I expected to receive.' — 'This other Letter, Ma⯑dam, will a little help me in what I am to ſay.'—'She took the Letter, and very attentively read it, and her Eyes ſeem'd to examine him as carefully.'—'This Letter, Sir, ſaid ſhe, informs me, that you are my Relation. I cannot ſay the contrary, but I proteſt I am at a Loſs how it can be. I own I have a very particular Regard for you on account of my Friend's hearty Recommendation.— I confeſs my Eſteem for your Perſon and Behaviour, and as you appear a Gentleman, I ſhould be ſorry to change [183] my Conduct, by your going on any er⯑roneous Project.' — 'Give me Leave, Madam, reply'd the Captain, to aſſure you on my Honour, I have no Views, other than paying the greateſt Reſpect and Duty where I ſo naturally owe them.' — 'I ſhould think myſelf, ſaid ſhe, extremely happy to have a Re⯑lation of your Character and Figure. Tho' I cannot imagine ſuch a Thing poſſible, yet I own there is ſomething that makes me wiſh it, therefore, I beg Sir, you will inform me, and doubt not but it will be to our mutual Satisfaction.’

‘IS it poſſible, Madam, ſaid he, that twenty Years can have worn out all Re⯑membrance of my Face?—Can you for⯑get our wretched Situation on the Com⯑mon in Ireland?—Can my poor blind Fa⯑ther—'Stop, Sir, cry'd ſhe, for Heaven's Sake! — I know not what to think! Good God! —Pray, have Patience, and let me recover my Breath.’—Her Agony was extreme, and he was oblig'd to ſup⯑port her to the Window for Air. — ‘Gra⯑cious Heaven, ſaid ſhe at laſt, I dare not hope for ſuch a Bleſſing, but let me be⯑ſeech you, Sir, to pull down your right Stocking.’ — He inſtantly obey'd, and [184] when ſhe diſcover'd a large Mole on his Leg, (which he had never obſerv'd) Yes! cry'd ſhe, 'It is my deareſt, my ill-us'd Son.' —Oh, Jack! — and claſping him in her Arms in Tranſport, was, for ſome Mo⯑ments depriv'd of every Senſe. He em⯑brac'd her with the ſincereſt Affection, and, for a long While, neither could utter a Syllable.

ONCE more I muſt indulge the Imagi⯑nation of the kind Reader, and permit him to ſupply, from his own natural Stock, what mine is defective in.—Let him call forth every tender Idea. Let him think on the Affection of a Parent; on the Love of a Child, and, if he can, let him conceive the mighty Joy at recovering our long loſt darling Hopes. Let him do this, and it is poſſible he may have ſome faint Idea of what this poor Woman felt. But to paint convulſive Motions, to mark the alternate Complexion, and to ſet down every drop⯑ping paſſionate Word, is not in the Power of Mr. Le Sage, Crebillon, Fielding, or even a Ch—t—f—d.—When the good-natur'd Rea⯑der has finiſh'd his private Reflections, I beg he will go one Step farther, and bring back the Mother and Son to their wonted Senſe and Underſtanding.

[185] ‘MY deareſt Jack, ſaid ſhe, I have treat⯑ed you barbarouſly.—Indeed I have,— but I ſhall try to atone for all my Sins. God has been bountiful to you, and moſt merciful to me! — I have not merited his Goodneſs, but ſhall endeavour to de⯑ſerve his Favour.—I hope I ſhall.—But, my dear Jack, give me ſome Account of yourſelf. Tell me of all your Accidents; how you arriv'd to the honourable Sta⯑tion I ſee you in, and why your Name is Conyers.—Tell me all, my dear Child, and I ſhall moſt faithfully recount, tho' I bluſh for it, every Part of my Life ſince we parted.— Oh, my Son! Could you have known the Trouble, my Uſage to you has given me, you would pity an unhappy Woman.—But, tell me, my dear Jack, can you forgive me?—I fear it is impoſſible.'—'My Conduct, ſaid he, ſhall convince my deareſt Mother, that I have forgot all Things, but my Duty and my Love.'—Then, ſaid ſhe, I am happy, and my Love ſhall reward you.—But no more now. — You muſt change your Quarters, and live with me.—Does Mr. Waters know you are my Son?'—'No, Madam, ſaid the Captain, he knows no more than what I deſir'd him to men⯑tion [186] in his Letter.' — 'That's well, ſaid ſhe, neither is it neceſſary he ſhould. I muſt not own you for my Son, as it would contradict what I have always re⯑ported, but you muſt be my Nephew, the Son of my Siſter, which will ſuffici⯑ently warrant my Affection for you.’

THIS Matter being ſettled, they went together to Mr. Fitzgerald's. The Family were greatly ſurpris'd and pleas'd when Mrs. Magragh preſented her Nephew. She told them the Method he took to diſcover himſelf, and all Compliments were made ſuitable to the Occaſion. That Night he return'd to her Houſe, and the whole Town viſited and congratulated them.

CHAP. XVIII.

NO doubt Mrs. Magragh was impa⯑tient to hear the Story of her Son, and begg'd he would begin, and not omit the minuteſt Circumſtances. He obey'd, and carried her through every Scene of his Life, except a few Parts not ſo fit for her to hear, and concluded, by his being a Captain of Dragoons; the Accident that brought him to the Knowledge of her be⯑ing alive, and how ſoon he determin'd to pay his Duty.—He did not mention his being on Half-Pay, leſt ſhe ſhould have inſiſted on his ſtaying at Cadiz, which he by no Means intended to do.—He recited all his Adventures in a full and clear Man⯑ner, and ſo pathetically worded his Suffer⯑ings, [188] that ſhe wept moſt bitterly, but, his good Fortune ſucceeding, a viſible Joy ſpread over her Countenance. — She em⯑braced him a thouſand Times, and bleſt God for reſtoring to her a Son, and a Son of ſuch Prudence and ſo many Virtues.

Now, ſaid ſhe, my dear Jack, it is but juſt to recount my own Hiſtory, and in⯑form you of ſome Things that you are a Stranger to.

SHE then began from her being a Ser⯑vant at Sir Roger Thornton's. — ‘In this Family, ſaid ſhe, I lived very happily. I was young, and tolerably handſome, and it pleaſed Sir Roger to think me more ſo than perhaps I really was. He made me Preſents, ſeem'd very fond of me, was a mighty fine comely Gentleman; and, in ſhort, overcome my fooliſh Weakneſs. I proved with Child, and he married me to Jerry Connor. You came into the World with that Name, but my dear Jack, your real Father was Sir Roger Thornton.'— 'More Wonders! cry'd her Son, — Is it poſſible! — She ſeem'd ſurpriſed at his Exclamations, but he inform'd her of his Intimacy with Captain Thornton, and of the Accident that brought on their great Friendſhip. She was vaſtly delighted with this In⯑cident, [189] and charm'd to find Sir Roger was ſtill alive.’

THIS obliged her to begin a little more particularly, and ſhe continued her Ac⯑count to the Death of Jerry Connor, and the Parting with her Son.—As I have pla⯑ced all theſe Facts in the firſt Pages of this Hiſtory, where I imagin'd they naturally came in, I muſt refer my Reader to them, and take up her Story where I dropt it.

[198]THE Captain moſt ardently embrac'd her, and return'd every Acknowledgement that ſo much Goodneſs deſerv'd. She ſet about her Promiſe immediately, and, in a ſhort Time, gave him Bills on London for fifteen thouſand Pounds.

WHILST theſe Matters were tranſacting, he received a Letter from his Friend Thorn⯑ton, declaring his Unhappineſs without him, and preſſing his Return. He like⯑wiſe received Letters from Colonel Manly, and Doctor Grace. Theſe gave him great Concern, for they inform'd him of the Death of his old Maſter, good Mr. Samp⯑ſon. He had requeſted his Wife to ſettle the Fortune on Captain Conyers, at her Death, and ſhe had moſt generouſly exe⯑cuted the proper Deeds, reſerving two thouſand Pounds to diſpoſe of as ſhe thought proper.

HE acquainted his Mother with theſe Matters, and how neceſſary his Preſence was, to take Care of his Eſtate, and his Military Poſt. She confeſs'd the Reaſona⯑bleneſs of his Deſires, and promiſing to part with him, with as little Regret as poſ⯑ſible, he prepared to ſet out, the firſt Op⯑portunity, by Sea, to Marſeilles.

SHE gave him many uſeful Inſtructions, and advis'd him to Secrecy with Regard to [199] his Family, and the Obſurity of his Birth. —‘Tho', ſaid ſhe, you are in Fact more Praiſe-worthy, by having made your For⯑tune with a fair Character, than had it deſcended from your Father; yet the World is made of ſuch envious Stuff, they take Pleaſure in leſſening the Vir⯑tues of others; yet it is certain he riſes the Higher with the ſenſible Part of the World, the Lower he ſprung from.’

‘YOUR Fortune, my dear Son, continu⯑ed ſhe, will be now very conſiderable, but let me beg of you to believe, that no Fortune can ſtand long againſt bad Ma⯑nagement. Be an Oeconomiſt, and put your Affairs in ſo regular a Channel, that, in an Inſtant, you may know your Income and your Expences. Without Re⯑gularity, all will be in Confuſion. Let your Accounts and your Watch be wound up punctually to a Time, or both will go wrong.—Avoid a Number of idle and ſuperfluous Servants, that eat out an Eſtate; keep from expenſive Schemes and Projects; and trouble, or rather pleaſe, the Lawyers as little as poſſible.—Deter⯑mine to be happy, for you know the Means.—One Word more, and I have done.—I gueſs at your Conſtitution by your Complexion, therefore I adviſe you [200] to marry, but ſubmit the Manner to your own Prudence.’

HE was often aſtoniſh'd how ſhe came to reaſon, ſpeak and write ſo correctly, and could not avoid aſking her the Queſtion. —‘It is not, ſaid ſhe, ſo difficult a Matter as you imagine, though we muſt have ſome Aſſiſtance from Nature.—I very ſeverely felt the Want of theſe Accom⯑pliſhments, and reſolv'd, if poſſible, to acquire them.—I told you I read much. I got good Authors, and apply'd cloſely to them. They gave me Sentiments I was a Stranger to. I improv'd conſide⯑rably by the Help of Company, but my own Project vaſtly ſhorten'd my Labour. I ſet myſelf a Taſk every Day, and care⯑fully wrote out two or three Pages of the Spectator, Guardian, and other ſenſi⯑ble Works, ſo that in a ſhort Time I be⯑came Miſtreſs of their Stile and Manner, had always ſomething to ſay in Converſa⯑tion, and ſpelt well, without the Aſſiſ⯑ſtance of a Grammar. Beſides, the Ac⯑counts I kept, and the Numbers of Let⯑ters I wrote, made theſe Matters familiar to me.—This may ſerve to ſhew you, That a little Pains and Induſtry in the Be⯑ginning, prevents a vaſt Deal of Trouble and Labour in the End.’

[201]IF Captain Conyers was pleas'd at finding his Mother, he was prodigiouſly more ſo, at diſcovering in her all the Marks of good Senſe and Prudence.—He remitted his Mo⯑ney to his Correſpondent in London, but at the ſame Time acquainted Colonel Manly of it, and added a Codicil to his Will. He wrote to all his Friends, and promis'd to join them as ſoon as poſſible.

A GOOD Ship being now ready to ſail, he paid his Reſpects to all his Acquaintances at Cadiz, and made ſome genteel Preſents, particularly to the Family of Mr. Fitzge⯑rald.—All were concern'd at loſing ſo po⯑lite a Companion, and he was loaded with Praiſes and Careſſes. His Mother could not bear it with that Reſignation ſhe at firſt thought; but however, ſhe rais'd her Spi⯑rits, and, with many Bleſſings, ſaw him ſet Sail.

THE Voyage was proſperous, and he ar⯑rived at Marſeilles ſafe, and in good Health. He took Poſt for Paris, and once more embrac'd his dear Friend Capt. Thornton, after an Abſence of eight Months.

CHAP. XIX.

HE found Paris extremely crouded with Engliſh, and began to think, that the Scheme of Doctor Grace, for a Duty on the Exportation of our Nobility and Gentry, would yield a much larger Revenue than could be well imagin'd.—Capt. Thorn⯑ton was quite recover'd, and had waited a Month extraordinary.—‘I aſſure you, ſaid he, I almoſt deſpair'd of you, and was juſt preparing to ſet out with my Couſin Lord Truegood.'—'Lord Truegood! cry'd Captain Conyers in a Hurry.'—'Yes, reply'd the other, Lord Truegood, my Uncle, the Earl of Mountworth's Son.— [203] Do you know him?'—'No, anſwer'd Conyers, but the Similitude of a Name I have a great Reſpect for, certainly gave me a Flutter.'—'Now I think of it, ſaid Thornton, you could not know him, at leaſt by this Title, for his Father was created an Earl but ſince the Rebellion.— I promiſe you, my Couſin is well worth your Acquaintance.’—Juſt then Lord Truegood enter'd.—‘My Lord, ſaid Thorn⯑ton, give me Leave to preſent to you my deareſt and moſt worthy Friend Captain Conyers, and I inſiſt on your loving him as well as I do.'—'It always affords me, ſaid my Lord, the higheſt Satisfaction to be known to Gentlemen of your diſtin⯑guiſh'd Worth and Merit, and wiſh I may deſerve the Honour of your Friend⯑ſhip.'—'If it be an Honour, ſaid Con⯑yers, what muſt mine be, ſhould your Lordſhip grant me your favourable Opi⯑nion and Countenance?'—'A Truce with your Compliments, cry'd Thornton, let us be a Triumvirate, and make the World ſtare at our Friendſhip.’

BY Degrees, they dropp'd into the fami⯑liar Stile, and each ſeem'd happy in the o⯑ther two.—Conyers very attentively exa⯑min'd the Features of my Lord, and call'd to his Remembrance his much belov'd [204] Maſter Harry.—His Heart felt an unuſual Pleaſure; Joy ſparkled in his Eyes, and added ſuch Charms to his Converſation, that his Friend proteſted, he believ'd the Gravity of the Spaniards had only ſerved to give him more Spirits.—‘Perhaps, ſaid my Lord, they were ſo confin'd, when there, that now they ruſh out with greater Force; but be it as it will, I am vaſtly pleas'd to find Wit and good Senſe ſo agree⯑ably blended.’—Conyers made the proper Reply, but retir'd pretty ſoon, for he want⯑ed Repoſe.

NEXT Day they viſited their Friends, and a Week was very chearfully employ'd. In this Time, Mr. Conyers receiv'd a Letter from his Correſpondent in London, ‘That he had credited him with the Money re⯑mitted from Cadiz; That he had paid three Bills drawn on him by Mr. Penſé, of Bruſſels, amounting to Seventy-five Pounds, and that his Correſpondent of that City had advis'd him of the Death of the ſaid Mr. Penſé.’—Captain Conyers was much concern'd for the poor Man, but his ſuperior Joy ſoon got the better. He did not think on his Death, as ſo much gained, but determined to employ Penſé's Money to other Purpoſes than his own.

[205]LORD TRUEGOOD had all the Softneſs and Delicacy of Behaviour; that Tender⯑neſs to Mankind; that Eaſe, and, at the ſame Time, that Dignity in his Deport⯑ment, that diſtinguiſhes, or ought to diſ⯑tinguiſh the Nobleman. He was Generous without Profuſeneſs, Mild without Childiſh⯑neſs, and Courteous to all; but ſupported his Station. He had ſeen the different States with critical Eyes, and obſerved the Faults and Perfections, with a View to the Good of his Country, and his own Honour. This Gentleman conceived a moſt particu⯑lar Eſteem for Captain Conyers, and every Day improved it.—To be applauded and regarded by Men of Senſe and Knowledge, is the higheſt Honour a Man can receive. The Captain had this from Lord Truegood, and was ſenſible of it.

A LITTLE more Time was ſpent in Pa⯑ris, in Compliments on taking Leave, par⯑ticularly of the Marquis de Briſſac, and the Duke d'Ayen.— Thoſe paid to Ladies, I am as ignorant of, as the Reader.—Every Thing being prepared, the Three Friends took Poſt for Calais. The Packet ſoon landed them at Dover, and each had a pe⯑culiar Satisfaction at arriving at London.

CHAP. XX.

IT is not to be expreſſed, the hearty and affectionate Manner Sir Roger Thornton and Lord Mountworth received Captain Con⯑yers, neither is it poſſible to deſcribe the Joys He felt, when he embraced the Au⯑thor of his Life, and the Founder of his Happineſs. Each inſiſted on his living with them, and contended ſtrongly about it, but Captain Conyers ended the kind Diſpute by aſſuring them, he had many Reaſons for being in private Lodgings, but hoped they would indulge him the Honour of viſiting with Freedom.—He was preſented to each Family, who could not enough ad⯑mire the many excellent Qualifications they ſoon found he poſſeſſed. His generous Va⯑lour was the Subject of each Day, particu⯑larly [207] with the Ladies.—It is juſt They ſhould peculiarly admire the Brave, when They only are capable of rewarding them.

LADY MOUNTWORTH ſtill preſerved a large Reſidue of Beauty. The accuſtom'd Sweetneſs of her Temper, and her good Senſe, remained; but all her Charms ſeem⯑ed tranſplanted, and to blow a-freſh in her Daughter, Lady Harriot. She was now about Twenty-four Years of Age; her Beauty was exquiſite, and none could be inſenſible of it; but the Rectitude of her Manners, the Integrity of her Soul, and the Affability of her Behaviour, could not fail of Numbers of Admirers. Perhaps ſhe was too delicate in the Choice of a Huſband, and required more Perfections in a Man, than a large Fortune and high Titles. She was ſo whimſical and ſingular in her No⯑tions, that ſhe thought a rational, tender, and faithful Companion, was infinitely more eſſential to a Scheme of Happineſs, than a Multitude of Servants, and the moſt bril⯑liant Retinue.—My Lord and Lady often raillied this Temper; but as they knew her Underſtanding and Judgment, they always left her Free.

CAPTAIN Conyers admired her Virtues. He was charmed at the eaſy Elegance of her Converſation. He gazed on her Beauties, [208] and his Heart inſenſibly ſtole from him, and became her Property.—Certain it is, Lady Harriot began to have Sentiments much in his Favour, and ſome delicate Ex⯑preſſions, and the Conduct of the Eyes, ſoon diſcovered what paſſed in their Souls.

THO' Lady Harriot poſſeſſed his Imagi⯑nation, yet his private Affairs were attended to. Lord Mountworth was an excellent Adviſer in Money Affairs, as well as other Matters. He therefore begged his Lord⯑ſhip's Aſſiſtance in the Management of Twenty Thouſand Pounds, which brought on a Converſation that diſcovered the Circum⯑ſtances of the Captain.—His Money was ſoon diſpoſed of in the Funds, and he pre⯑pared to ſet out for his Eſtate. Whilſt this was doing, he remembered his Promiſe to himſelf, and ſent Five hundred Pounds of Mr. Penſé's to the Correſpondent Society in London, for promoting Engliſh Proteſtant Schools in Ireland, but his Name was not mentioned.

HE likewiſe remembered his old Friend Mr. Sangfroid the Surgeon, and after much Enquiry, found him in very obſcure Lod⯑gings. The Captain was dreſſed in his Re⯑gimentals, and Sangfroid received him with very great Reſpect.—‘Sir, ſaid he, I am ſorry for your Accident. A ſlight Touch, [209] I preſume, but my Care and Diligence, will ſoon make Matters eaſy to you, and you may depend on being quite ſafe in my Hands.’—He was going on in the uſual Stile; but the Captain with an hearty laugh, cry'd out, ‘Bleſs me, Mr. Sang⯑froid!—Have you really forgot me?’— Sangfroid looked up, and ſtaring at him for ſome Time, cry'd,—Forget you!— —‘Eh!—Oons! I believe 'tis honeſt Conyers—Oh God! — Come to my Arms my dear Friend, ſaid the Captain, and uſe me as ſuch.’—They embraced, and the Surgeon was quite confounded at his Appearance, and teſtify'd his Surprize. —‘We ſhall, ſaid Conyers, have Time enough to talk of that, but at preſent let us think on your Affairs, for you do not ſeem ſo happy as I could wiſh. You have been my kind Benefactor, now try my Gratitude, and honeſtly tell me your Wants, for I fear you have ſome.’

POOR Sangfroid began a moſt melancholy Story. He told the Variety of Misfortunes he had met with;—he placed them all to the Account of his Folly and Extravagance, and concluded by his being in a poor, wretched Condition.—His Story was ex⯑tremely moving, but it convinced the Cap⯑tain of the Miſery That Man draws on him⯑ſelf, [210] who chuſes to be directed by Paſſions and Appetites, rather than Prudence and Oeconomy.—However, he was determined to ſerve him, and put Forty Guineas into his Hands.—‘Now, ſaid he, this is only for the preſent; when you find a Surge⯑oncy to be bought, command my Purſe moſt freely.'—'Heavens! ſaid Sangfroid, how ill they argue, that call this a bad World!—You are in it!—Ten ſuch Men, attone for the Faults of Millions! —My dear Friend, continued he, with Tears in his Eyes, I believe ſome Rela⯑tions would advance Two Hundred Pounds, if I had the Remainder I could this Moment purchaſe a Surgeoncy to a Regiment of Guards.—But 'tis impoſ⯑ſible to expect ſo much Goodneſs.'— Expect, ſaid Conyers every Thing from me. Go about it, my Friend, immedi⯑ately, and in three Days I ſhall call and finiſh the Affair.’—The Captain per⯑formed his Promiſe, and with the Aſ⯑ſiſtance of £ 600 Mr. Sangfroid was made completely happy.

HIS next Enquiry was for Doctor St. Amour; but he had been lately made a Biſhop in Ireland. He viſited his good Widow Landlady in Surry, whom he made vaſtly happy, by a Preſent of Fifty Gui⯑neas, [211] and an Annuity of Ten Pounds a Year.—He found out that his old Maſter Monſieur Champignon had been ſometime dead; and that Miſs Tonton having the Guardianſhip of her own Perſon, had wiſely diſpoſed of it to a Life-Guard Man.—SIR PETER SHALLOW was ſtill alive, and of the ſame weak Importance.—SIR JOHN CU⯑RIOUS was at Reſt, but his Lady was very buſy with a ſecond Huſband, whom ſhe married in her Weeds.—Poor Mrs. CAN⯑NON had failed in ſome of her Annuities, and was obliged to retire to Yorkſhire for Cheapneſs.—The BISHOP had long ſince been tranſlated, and his Works followed him.—As to many others, whom he knew, he judged it not proper to renew his Ac⯑quaintance, or even inquire after. In a Word, he diſcharged all thoſe Duties, that good Men recommend, and what few prac⯑tice.

CAPTAIN Thornton had been ſo long ab⯑ſent from his Regiment, that he was oblig'd to take Leave of his Friends, and join his Poſt in Scotland, and his Father Sir Roger had been ſome Time in Berkſhire on Buſi⯑neſs. This encreaſed the Intimacy of Cap⯑tain Conyers with Lord Mountworth's Fa⯑mily, particularly with Lord Truegood.— He found out, by Degrees, the Situation [212] of Affairs, and that the young Lord's Bro⯑ther Maſter William had taken a Fancy to the Sea Service, and had diſtinguiſhed him⯑ſelf on many late Occaſions as a Captain of a Man of War, and was then at his Sta⯑tion.

WHATEVER good Opinion the Family conceived of Capt. Conyers, an Affair hap⯑pened that did not leſſen it. It ſeems Mr. Sangfroid had been at the Captain's Lod⯑gings, and was informed of his being at Lord Mountworth's. He followed, and tho' the Captain was not there, yet the Ser⯑vant conducted him into the Chamber where ſat my Lord and Lady with Lady Harriot. My Lord, with his uſual Polite⯑neſs, ordered a Chair, and told him he ex⯑pected the Captain every Moment. A little Chat aroſe, which, at laſt, fell on his Friend. —Sangfroid was ſilent as to former Times, but mentioned his having been in good Circumſtances, and had rendered ſome Ser⯑vices to Mr. Conyers. He then painted out the laſt Action of his Friend, and his real Worth and Honour in ſuch lively Colours, that drew from my Lord and Lady, the higheſt Encomiums on the Captain. Lady Harriot was ſilent, but Pleaſure bluſhed in her Face. — Sangfroid waited for ſome Time, but at laſt took his Leave.

[213]LADY HARRIOT now opened on the Charms of Gratitude and true Generoſity.— ‘Theſe, ſaid ſhe, are the maſterly Touches of a finiſh'd Piece, and no Character can be compleat without them.—They argue every humane Sentiment, and are an Ab⯑ſtract of all Virtues.'—'Your Servant, Lady Harriot, ſaid my Lord, and bowed, —I proteſt you would make an excellent Painter. But tell me, my deareſt Har⯑riot, Which would you chuſe to trace, the Perſon, or the Mind of the Captain?’ —She bluſhed, but anſwered—‘You know, my Lord, I always ſpeak Truth, and can ill diſguiſe my Heart.—I hope I ſhall not be thought Criminal, when I aſſure your Lordſhip, I would chuſe both his Perſon and his Mind.'—'And if I can, ſaid my Lord, you ſhall have your Choice.'—He then moſt tenderly em⯑braced her, and Lady Mountworth almoſt wept with Joy.’

THE Captain was much preſſed to return to the Country, particularly by Colonel Manly, who mentioned ſomething of the Borough. It happened that the Colonel and Lord Mountworth were intimate Friends, ſo was eaſily perſuaded to let his Son Lord Truegood accompany the Captain, but not before he had acquainted him with the [214] Sentiments of his Siſter, and his own In⯑clinations to ſuch a Match. The poor Captain ſcarcely knew how to bid Adieu to his dear Lady Harriot; but as he had given ſome Hints to Lord Truegood, his Lord⯑ſhip eaſed him in ſo delicate an Affair.— ‘Lady Harriot, ſaid he, I muſt beg your Hand to help me to raiſe my Friends for he is your's and you his.’—She ſaluted the Captain, and each attempted to anſwer the other.—‘Theſe are broken Words, ſaid my Lord, but we ſhall piece them to⯑gether on our Return.—One Kiſs more. —Now adieu.’

THEY went to my Lord and Lady, who, as ſoon as acquainted with this Affair, em⯑braced Mr. Conyers, and looked on him as a Son.—‘Your Lordſhip, ſaid the Cap⯑tain, is no Stranger to my Fortune, but this Paper contains an Abſtract of it, and I moſt chearfully ſubmit myſelf to your Lordſhip's Determination.’—A few Compliments enſued, and Lord Truegood, with Capt. Conyers, ſtepped into their poſt Chaiſe, and ſoon arrived to the End of their Journey.

CHAP. XXI.

NEVER was Man received with more Affection, particularly by his Siſter, the Colonel, and Doctor Grace.— It was a Jubilee in the Village.—The Re⯑membrance of paſt, and the Enjoyment of preſent Happineſs, occaſioned many Tears. —He paid every Duty to Mrs. Sampſon, and ſhe regarded him as her Brother and her Son. He recited every Circumſtance ſince they parted, and did not forget his Aunt Magragh at Cadiz, and propoſed her living with her when ſhe arrived in England.— Mrs Sampſon was extremely pleaſed in his good Fortune; but, as ſhe imagined the Colonel wiſhed an Alliance with him, ſhe hinted, that, perhaps, there was more in [216] Store.—‘Indeed, ſaid ſhe, I think you ought to marry; nor do I know a Wo⯑man in the World I would ſooner re⯑commend to you than Miſs Manly.— She is grown a Delightful Creature, and is ſo good, I am ſure ſhe would make an excellent Wife. You know the Colonel has Fifteen hundred Pounds a Year, and a great Deal of ready Money. If you will ſet about it, I'il engage it ſhall be done.'—'My dear Siſter, replyed Con⯑yers, I know not how to thank you as I ought; but this Affair is impoſſible.— I am no Stranger to Miſs Manly's Beau⯑ty and Merit; but we are not always Maſters of our Inclinations.’—He then told her the Hiſtory of his Heart, and ſpoke ſo tenderly on the Charms of Lady Harriot, that ſhe entirely agreed with him.

COLONEL MANLY was ſtill hearty, and tolerably well. He was vaſtly pleaſed at the Figure and Behaviour of Lord True⯑good. He ſpoke with great Pleaſure of his Grandfather and the preſent Earl, and re⯑ceived him with the utmoſt Affection and Regard. They frequently dined with the Colonel, and Miſs did the Honours of the Table in ſo polite and well-bred a Manner, that charm'd all, but particularly Lord [217] Truegood. He was ſtruck with her Beau⯑ty, but the Elegance of her Converſation, firmly fixed every tender Thought.—Con⯑yers perceived his Lordſhip's Anxiety, and gueſſing the Cauſe, hinted his Suſpicion.— ‘True, ſaid my Lord, I own my Love, nor am I aſhamed of it. An Object ſo infinitely worthy, muſt engroſs my Heart. Dear Conyers, let me require your Friend⯑ſhip. Aſſiſt me with the Colonel and his deareſt Daughter, as I aſſiſted you with Harriot. I am certain of my Father's Conſent, and I ſhall be the happieſt of Men.’—The Captain, who was rejoiced at this Incident, aſſured him of his Intereſt, and the next Day, not only obtained the Colonel's Conſent, but artfully found out from Miſs, that my Lord was far from be⯑ing diſagreeable to her.—Lord Truegood was in Raptures, and the Friendſhip of Conyers curtailed a long Courtſhip, which of all People, Men of Senſe and Sincerity are the leaſt capable of doing for themſelves. The Way being now paved, the Affair went ſmoothly on, and only wanted Lord and Lady Mountworth's Approbation.

The Captain reſigned to the Colonel the Promiſe of his Intereſt for a Seat in Parlia⯑ment, and begged him to transfer it where, ſoon, it would be naturally due. When [218] his Family Affairs were ſettled, they all agreed on a Journey to London; and, as the Colonel and Mrs. Sampſon were infirm, they were obliged to make eaſy Stages. His Lordſhip daily made freſh Diſcoveries of the Underſtanding and good Nature of Miſs Manly, and ſhe found her Pleaſure and Satisfaction ariſe, the more ſhe con⯑verſed with him.—In ſhort, it is not in Na⯑ture to give more real Joy, than what this good Company felt.

ON their Arrival in London, Captain Conyers flew to Lady Harriot, and Lord Truegood to his Father. One diſcovered his Soul more openly, and the other mentioned, what Lord Mountworth and my Lady were charmed to hear.

MATTERS were in this Situation, when HONOUR attacked the Captain with ſuch Force, as almoſt to unhinge his flattering Hopes. This buſy Companion ſeemed to hint, That he ought in Juſtice to make him⯑ſelf known to my Lord before the Marriage; that it would heighten his Character, and prevent the Imputation of an Impoſtor.— He owned the Truth of this, but at the ſame Time, he looked on his Perſon, Ac⯑compliſhments and Fortune, as very far from Counterfeits. His diſcovering him⯑ſelf, gave him no Uneaſineſs, but he dread⯑ed, [219] that his Love might be injured by it; and, as he could by no Means think of putting it to the Hazard, he determined ſtill to be ſilent.—I write the Fact, and will neither approve or condemn this Conduct. The Truth is, he loved, and thoſe who have felt that Paſſion, perhaps will make Al⯑lowances for the Faults it occaſions.

WHY ſhould I take up the Time of my kind Reader?—He will naturally ſuppoſe, that Viſits were paid and returned;—That a Settlement was agreed on;—That the Lawyers were Fee'd, and all Neceſſaries done, to the finiſhing a Matter of ſuch Conſequence, but without my Help he will not know that Lady Harriot's Fortune was but Ten Thouſand Pounds.

Two People, if not Four, imagined the Lawyers were very ſlow in their Motions, and the Clerks very dilatory in their Buſi⯑ſineſs. A few Guineas enlivened their Pens, and the happy Day, at laſt came. The Biſhop of—joined all their Hands, and eſtabliſhed the Love and Affection of their Souls.

LORD MOUNTWWORTH would not too ſoon diſturb the Pleaſure of his Sons and Daughters, but in ſix Weeks, he began to think of returning to Ireland, from whence he had been abſent three Years. As he [220] found Captain Conyers and Lady Harriot greatly inclined to go, he adviſed him to keep his Money Matters in ſuch a Readi⯑neſs, that he might diſpoſe of it the firſt convenient Opportunity.—‘Whatever, ſaid my Lord, ſome may imagine, let me adviſe you to Purchaſe in that Kingdom, but in one of thoſe Counties the leaſt im⯑proved. A Man of your Turn of Mind, will ſoon diſcover the many Advantages. You will build convenient Houſes for the poor People, and ſet them a Spinning. You will almoſt compel them to Induſtry and Labour. They will thrive under you, and your Fortune increaſe in Proportion.’ —His Lordſhip then gave him an Account of his own Management, (as was formerly related) and aſſured him the People were all content, tho' his annual Income was aug⯑mented almoſt One Thouſand Pounds.— —‘If, continued he, a Man takes a Plea⯑ſure in viewing the Trees he planted, in ſeeing them bloſſom, and in taſting their Fruit, what Joy, what a rational Joy muſt he receive, who beholds a Colony of human Creatures, eſtabliſhed by his Care, flouriſhing by his Bounty, and Bleſſing his Soul, who bleſſed them?— Believe me, my dear Son, no Earthly Happineſs can equal this.’—The Captain [221] was too ſenſible of theſe Truths, not to a⯑gree with my Lord.—His Spirit was al⯑ready in Ireland, and his Imagination plan⯑ed out his future Conduct.

COLONEL MANLY grew impatient to re⯑turn Home, there, as he ſaid, to reſt for ever. Lady Truegood could not think of quitting her Father, and the young Lord could not part from his deareſt Wife, ſo that the old Gentleman was perfectly happy, when they agreed to accompany him. —He took a moſt tender Leave of all his Friends; but, embracing Conyers with Tears of the trueſt Affection, call'd him his Friend, his Soldier,—but could utter no more than, Heaven bleſs and protect you, and retir'd with Eyes full of the tender Paſſion, to which Lady Mountworth and Lady Harriot moſt liberally ſubſcribed.

THE Captain took a good Houſe and Garden at Richmond for Mrs. Sampſon, who promiſed to be moſt careful of Mrs. Ma⯑gragh when ſhe arrived. He wrote to his Mother of all his Tranſactions, and gave her full Inſtructions. Every Thing being adjuſted, this chearful and happy Family quitted London, and ſet out for Ireland.

CHAP. XXII.

THE Journey was made leſs tedious by their ſprightly and agreeable Con⯑verſation.—His Lordſhip often ſpoke of Ireland, but in ſuch a Manner, as to re⯑move the Prejudices he ſuppoſed Mr. Con⯑yers might have to it.—‘The Face of the Country, ſaid he, is certainly charming, and the Soil, the Rivers, and the Climate abundantly ſupply every Neceſſary for Life. It was formerly ſo Woody, that the Ex⯑halations of the Earth were confined, and the Air wanted a Currency, conſequent⯑ly, it was very fatal to Strangers. Now indeed, you will find the other Extreme, and a ſhameful Neglect of Trees; but, as they have promiſed, ſo do they mend every Day.—You will be ſurprized at their Herds of Cattle. The City of Cork alone, ſlaughters for the Weſt Indies above Eighty Thouſand every Year. No doubt, [223] it is a profitable Branch, but ſo much Paſturage depopulates a Country, and makes the common People extremely poor and miſerable. The Inhabitants ſeem now to have a Reliſh and a Taſte for In⯑duſtry, and they feel the Sweets of it. In many Things, no People act Wiſer, and in others it is the Reverſe, particu⯑larly in Corn. When a Scarcity happens, they all run to the Plow. Next Year, Corn is a Drugg, the Dutch buy it at their own Price, and the poor Farmers are undone. The following Year the Plow is neglected, and Corn again riſes to an exorbitant Price, and then the Dutch re⯑turn them their own.’

[228]SUCH was the general Run of Converſa⯑tion.—They pleaſed and inſtructed each other.—They ſpoke of Things with Free⯑dom, but of Perſons with Good-nature.— They had no Conception of the Joys of turning all into Ridicule;—of the Pleaſure of Sarcaſm, nor of the Delight of finding out Faults, and magnifying them.—No.— They had Souls above the vulgar Topic of Slander.—They loved Mankind, and Mankind loved them.

A YATCHT attended for my Lord and Family, and they arrived ſafe in Dublin the 16th of April, 1750. They ſtayed a ſhort Time in that City, and then ſet out for BOUNTY-HALL. His Lordſhip's Tenants met him on the Road, and their unfeign'd Joy is paſt Deſcription.

AS ſoon as Conyers perceived the venera⯑ble Seat, wherein he had experienced ſo much Humanity and ſo many Bleſſings, his Heart ſwell'd with Gratitude. Every tender Senſation ruſhed ſo violently on him, that he was ſcarce able to ſpeak. Lady Harriot obſerved his Countenance changed, and was dreadfully frightened, as were my Lord and Lady. With ſome Difficulty he got into the Houſe, and begged to lye down a few Minutes, and all would be well, but no Perſuaſion could remove Lady Har⯑riot [229] from his Bed-Side. He indulged his Tears, and permitted them to flow in Si⯑lence, and unperceived by Lady Harriot.— In two Hours he was quite recovered, and joined the Family to their inexpreſſible Joy.

THO' he took Care not to enquire for particular Perſons, yet he ſoon found, that the Good, the Honeſt Mr. Kindly, had been dead above two Years. This was a morti⯑fying Blow, and coſt him many Sighs. He had often figured to his Mind the Joy the Old Man would receive when he diſcover'd himſelf, which he intended to do, by re⯑claiming his Old Waiſtcoat and tatter'd Bree⯑ches.—All the Gratitude he had reſolved to ſhew this Good Man, he now determined to tranſplant to his Family.—Mr. Caſſock had been Miniſter of the Pariſh Eleven Years, and his Wife was well, and had a fine Family of Children. Theſe he fix'd in his Thoughts.—The old Butler and Mrs. Mathews were dead.—Mademoiſelle Le Mea⯑gre was old, but lived happily with Mrs. Caſſock on a Penſion from my Lord. The Good-natur'd Groom was a favourite Coach⯑man, and had a conſiderable Farm, and was well married. Conyers determin'd in himſelf to do him Service.—He viewed the Land with the utmoſt Pleaſure, but it was ſo changed, and the Inhabitants and [230] little Houſes ſo alter'd and ſo decent, that all ſeemed Enchantment. With Difficulty could he perſuade himſelf, that Eighteen Years could make ſuch a wonderful Change. —Such is the Power of good Management, and ſuch the Effect of Induſtry!

CAPTAIN CONYERS was in ſuch vaſt De⯑light, that he fear'd he ſhould diſcover him⯑ſelf improperly, and determin'd to watch a convenient Opportunity of opening his Heart to my Lord.—Thus they liv'd for two Months, when an Addition was made to the general Joy. In ſhort, Lady Har⯑riot could no longer hide a Pregnancy which ſhe had taken great Pains to conceal.

HE ſoon found out, that his Good Friend DOCTOR ST. AMOUR, now Biſhop of ****, lived about Twenty Miles from Bounty-Hall, which determin'd him to make an Excuſe for viſiting that Part of the Country.—He waited on the Good Man, from whoſe Character, it is eaſy to gueſs, how the Captain was received, for Advance⯑ment had only made him, if poſſible, more Humble.—Thoſe who cannot imagine the Beauty of Good-nautre, Tenderneſs, Love, and Gratitude, muſt be very unhappy, and to attempt to deſcribe what they do not underſtand, would be as abſurd as to do it to thoſe who have that Bleſſing.—Conyers [231] told him his Situation, and begg'd his Ad⯑vice and Aſſiſtance in properly bringing about a Diſcovery to Lord Mountworth.— The Biſhop took it on himſelf, but an Ac⯑cident turn'd it another Way.

A FEW Days after his Return, my Lord heard of an Eſtate to be ſold in the next County, and that the Proprietor was in Waterford. He knew the Lands and the Owner, and ſo much wiſh'd to have his Son fix'd there, that he propoſed a Jour⯑ney to Waterford, as the ſhorteſt and ſureſt Way of coming to an Agreement. No doubt the Ladies were in ſome Trouble, particularly Lady Harriot, but his Lord⯑ſhip raillied them out of ſuch Whimſies, and in three Days ſet out on this Expedi⯑tion.

CHAP. XXIII.

ON their Arrival at Waterford, they were inform'd, that the Gentleman they wanted was then at Clonmell, and next Morning they purſued their Journey to that City. In the Evening, they travell'd lei⯑ſurely on, and my Lord was diverting him with a merry Story of his Youth, when ſuddenly Mr. Conyers cry'd out, Great God! and fainted in the Poſt-Chaiſe. — His Lordſhip, in prodigious Trouble, ſtop⯑ped the Chaiſe, and all were employed in recovering the Captain. They took him out, and no Houſe being at Hand, car⯑ry'd him to the Hut of a Beggar. When his Senſes weree recall'd, what was his [233] Aſtoniſhment at finding himſelf actually placed in his firſt Habitation!—He utter'd ſome Words that greatly affected his Lord⯑ſhip, who imagined a Lightneſs in the Brain, and made him moſt ardently deſire to be in a Place where proper Aſſiſtance could be had.—In a little Time his Spirits ſo much revived, that my Lord hurry'd him into the Chaiſe, and the Beggar had Reaſon to be thankful for the Accident.

THE CAPTAIN was loſt in Thought. The Idea of former Times was ſo ſtrong, and every childiſh Circumſtance recurr'd ſo clearly to his Memory, that it might have been fatal to him, had not his Eyes given Vent to the Throbbings of his Heart.— This laſted a conſiderable Time; but he was quite himſelf when he arrived at Clon⯑mell.

‘MY dear Conyers, ſaid my Lord, you give me vaſt Pain; I perceive your Diſ⯑order is not occaſioned by Sickneſs, but by ſomewhat that oppreſſes your Mind. —Relieve it, I beſeech you, and con⯑fide in me, not merely as a Father, but as a Friend.—If my Power or Fortune can give you Eaſe, count it already done. Let me intreat you not to ſtifle your Cares, if you have any, which muſt tor⯑ture [234] your Imagination, and keep me on the Rack.’

‘HEAVEN is my Witneſs, ſaid Mr. Conyers, I mean not to give your Lordſhip the leaſt Uneaſineſs. But, my Lord, I have ſuch a Tale of Wonder to unfold, that overcomes my Reaſon.—Can you believe, can your Lordſhip imagine, that the Hovel I was juſt now in, was my Dwelling for Years?’—My Lord thought him diſtracted, and advis'd him to forbear any further Relation, and go to Reſt.

‘I SEE, ſaid Mr. Conyers, your Lordſhip thinks my Mind is diſturb'd.—'Tis true; but my Reaſon is clear.—Oh, my Lord! I am not capable of injurious De⯑ceits, but that I have deceived you, is certain.' 'My dear Son, reply'd the good Lord, I know your Honour, and your Virtue, but I know not of a Deceit.'— Yes, my Lord, anſwer'd Conyers, you are my Father; — your Bounty rais'd me;—your Humanity ſupported my Infant Weakneſs;— your Virtues form'd my Soul;—the Will of the Almighty has conducted my Steps, and now throws at your Feet, the Poor, — the Helpleſs, —the Abandon'd JACK CONNOR.’

LORD MOUNTWORTH was all Amaze⯑ment.—He forgot Mr. Conyers was on his [235] Knees, but gazing, with Eyes of Aſtoniſh⯑ment, at laſt he rais'd him, and look'd again.—When he had fully brought to his Memory the long unthought-of Features of Jack Connor, he flew with Tranſport to his Arms.—‘Gracious Heaven! cry'd he, how unſearchable are thy Ways.—Oh, my dear Jack, you have amply,—amply rewarded the Kindneſs I have ſhewn you. —You are now mine by every Tie.'— If your Lordſhip, ſaid Conyers, can par⯑don the only Fallacy I was ever guilty of, you will, a ſecond Time, give me Life and Being.'—'My dear Jack, reply'd my Lord, you every Moment give me new Pleaſure;—I think you are now my ſon more than ever:—But, my Child, tell my impatient Ear how this Wonder has happen'd;—tell me how it is poſſible, when Mr. Johnſton was ſo certain of your being drown'd, that I now find, now hold you in my Arms!'—'I ſhall, anſwer'd Mr. Conyers, moſt faithfully inform your Lordſhip of every Part of my Life, but the Hurry of my Spirits is ſo great, and my Imagination, ſo fill'd with the Viciſ⯑ſitudes of my Fortune, that I am unable, at preſent to utter any Part. —All I can now ſay, is, moſt humbly to thank your Lordſhip, for your Humanity and Bounty, [236] to a Poor, Diſtreſſed, Helpleſs Infant, and to beſeech you, to believe, that nothing but Real Love, of my deareſt Harriot, and the dread of loſing her, could have prevented a ſooner Diſcovery. Forgive this Crime, my Lord, if Love can be a a Crime; and your Lordſhip may be aſ⯑ſured, that my Duty, my Gratitude, and every Sentiment of an Honeſt Heart, ſhall for ever wait on you, and on every Crea⯑ture for whom you have the leaſt Friend⯑ſhip or Regard.’

‘MY dear Son, ſaid my Lord, I can eaſily judge of the pleaſing Anxiety you are in, but retire to Reſt, and may gentle Sleep, reſtore your Peace and Tranquil⯑lity; and may Heaven long continue it.’

Next Morning, Lord Mountworth in the moſt affectionate Manner, embraced Con⯑yers, and call'd him his Son,—his Friend.— ‘Permit me, ſaid the Captain, to aſk your Lordſhip, if you can give me any Ac⯑count of Mr. Johnſton's Niece Nannett?' —'To the beſt of my Memory, ſaid my Lord, ſhe married Mr. Lilly the Uſher, about the Time you left the School. Your old Maſter died Six Years ago, and Mr. Lilly continues the former Plan of Tuition, with great Credit.’

[237] ‘NOW I am ſatisfied, ſaid Conyers; and now give me Leave to recount every Circumſtance of my Story, and your Lordſhip will obſerve the viſible Hand of Providence conducting and leading me to the Fruition of the moſt perfect Hap⯑pineſs this World can afford.—It has con⯑ducted me to the Arms of the deareſt and beſt of Wives, and to the Sight of the nobleſt and beſt of Men. —Heaven, I beſeech thee, make me moſt truly thank⯑ful.’

HE then began the Narrative of his Life, ‘which, if the Reader has forgot, he has my Permiſſion to read again, for I have not Time to Recapitulate.’

EVERY Incident and Change of his Life, gave his Lordſhip freſh Matter for Won⯑der; but what ſtruck him the moſt, was his being the Son of Sir Roger Thornton, who had married his Siſter.—‘I ſhall ever, ſaid he, admire your Prudence, in keep⯑ing your Affairs ſo ſecret, and I ſhall al⯑ways Honour your laudable Ambition and Gratitude.—When our dear Harriot has bleſs'd you with a Child, both ſhe and my dear Wife ſhall partake of the Joy your Story has given me, and my Son Harry, muſt ſhare in the Pleaſure.—As for Sir Roger, he muſt know nothing of [238] it, for he has a certain Pride in his Na⯑ture, that would ſoon divulge it to the World, and, perhaps, not in its genu⯑ine Colours.—For my own Part, my deareſt Jack, I am ſo far from being a⯑ſhamed of your Alliance, that I glory in it; yet, my Son, I would not chuſe to be the conſtant Theme of the Ignorant.— TITLES are but the Rewards of Merit, but Pride and Haughtineſs debaſe them.— Diſtinctions, are only Incentives to Noble Deeds; and true Nobility will ever encou⯑rage them. — Charity and Tenderneſs, are the Characteriſticks of A MAN, and did Mankind love Truth and Honour, more than Pride, Falſhood and Detraction, the Occurrences of your Life would ſtrengthen their Reſolves, and convince ALL,— That to be REALLY HAPPY, they muſt be TRULY VIRTUOUS.’

Gentle Reader,

RIGHT ſorry is the Compiler of this Work, that his Materials can carry him no further, and he is not permitted to to ſearch into Futurity. Should our good JACK CONNOR, or CAPTAIN CONYERS, live Thirty or Forty Years longer, per⯑haps he will furniſh Matter for a much abler Hiſtorian. The Work thou haſt now [239] read, has been little alter'd from the Origi⯑nal Papers, but ſome Obſervations, or rather ſlight Hints, have been added, and are the Reſult of not a little Experience of Sixty Years.—If thou findeſt Errors, reprove with Freedom, but judge of the Intention. —If thou applaudeſt any one Part of the Moral, thou wilt make the Compiler happy, as he will imagine thou wilt follow the Precept.—To the well-minded, to the honeſt Man, he ſays from Shakeſpear's CORIOLA⯑NUS,

FAREWELL.