CHAP. XCV.

AS I was impreſſing my ſeal upon the wax of Mr. Blewitt's letter, a ſervant informed me that the taylor was waiting for me below; who, upon being uſhered into the ſtudy, ſaid he attended my pleaſure, by requeſt of Mr. Ben. Abrahams, and ſhould think [2]himſelf honoured by my commands. Yes, ſir, ſaid I, you will make me up a ſuit of genteel half-mourning, and as expeditiouſly as poſſible.

Upon this, he took out his inſtru⯑ments of menſuration, and began to make ſome ſmall objections to certain particulars in the workmanſhip and taſte of my preſent habiliments; ob⯑ſerving, with an acute eye of criticiſm, while he was notching and nipping the parchment, that, he ſaw the fellow who cut out my cloaths, would have disfigured me, if he could: So cobbled a job, ſir, cries he, I never yet ſaw. What do you chiefly diſlike in the thing, replied I? Oh, ſir, anſwers the taylor, it is very impertinent in me to diſlike any thing a gentleman pleaſes to wear; and moreover, it [3]looks like diſparaging another man's labour: but as to theſe cloaths, ſir, the Skip, begging your pardon, ought to be run through the eyes with his own needle: tho' indeed one would think he had loſt his eye-ſight long ago, for look, ſir, the ſleeves are too little, the ſkirts too ſhort, the flaps too long, the cheſt too narrow, and the collar too broad: then, ſir, what a ſkimping waiſtcoat is here! neither cut, nor turn, nor ſlope, nor figure: Oh the wretch! And as to the breeches, why they are mere hopſacks. I do not mean to prejudice you, ſir, againſt the man, becauſe, no doubt, he has done his beſt; I ſhall only obſerve, that I will do mine.

Here he dropt upon one knee, and took the dimenſions of my waiſt [4]and knees. It ſeems too, that the former work, was not only badly cut out, but worſe put together; for this connoiſſeur preſently found out, that the buttons were not equidiſtant, the ſeams were inelegantly finiſhed, the plaits were uneven, and the button⯑holes were boggled.

Now from theſe analytical premiſes I drew two poſitive inferences; firſt, that I had hitherto employed the worſt, and wickedeſt taylor that ever threaded a needle; and that I was now going to employ one of the moſt honeſt and ingenious of his trade. This, indeed, he ſoon thought proper to confirm with his own mouth, by aſſuring me, that I ſhould now have a ſuit fit for a chriſtian; that it ſhould grow to me as natural as if I was born [5]with it; that he had the honour to work for ſome of the firſt people in the kingdom, and amongſt others, for ſome of the blood royal.

At this aweful intelligence he purſed up his mouth, ſtroaked his chin, and made a pauſe; appearing perfectly to underſtand the importance of taking leave at the critical time; to ſtay a moment beyond which, is often to outſtay the moment of eclat and dignity. Having finiſhed therefore his climax, cloſing it full upon the ſacred perſons, yea, upon the very backs of the Blood Royal, he made his bow and exit in the ſame judicious inſtant.

He had ſcarce ſhut the door, before I caſt my eye upon the lacerated but⯑ton-hole, which I fully intended he [6]ſhould in ſome meaſure repair upon the ſpot; yet ſuch a ſtickler was I, at that moment, for the preſervation of dignity, that I determined to viſit my friend, with a rent in my garment, rather than lower the man's con⯑ſequence, by calling him back to the ignominy of threading a needle: and ſo off walked the taylor, without the leaſt diminution of his character or conſciouſneſs.

By this time the well-bred bell of Mr. Draper began to tingle, and I took the liberty of a friend to run up to his chamber, and amuſe him with the adventure. I wiſh, ſaid he, Benignus, you could wave your ap⯑pointment with that money-telling fellow, your agent, till to-morrow. Do, my dear Lad, ſend an apology to [7]Parſons, ſay you will meet him to⯑morrow, and dedicate the preſent time to mirth, and to me.

Such was the grace with which this young gentleman always ſpoke, when he wiſhed to perſuade, and by perſuaſion to gain his purpoſe; the ſmile upon his cheek looked ſuch affability, and his air was ſo attracting, that, whether he invited to pleaſure, or to buſineſs, he was ſure to conquer. I agreed to attend him, and went down again into the library to ſcribble an apology to the agent; for which indiſcretion I once more beg pardon of the mercantile reader, who, in ſpite of all I can ſay however, hath aſſuredly given me up, as a thought⯑leſs young fellow, who would never come to any thing.

[8]The truſty Benjamin now came loaded with my portmanteau, which he had laid over his own ſhoulder; ſo that I was enabled to dreſs myſelf with more neatneſs. Well, Benjamin, ſaid I, how are the ladies, and your uncle? Ah ſir, anſwered the good youth, they are but ſo, ſo,—Miſs Alicia is very indifferent indeed: the houſe looks as if it wanted ſomething: methoughts too my young Lady, has—but I aſk pardon, ſir: mayhap I ſhall ſay more than becomes me. Speak on, Benjamin, rejoined I, I am your friend—Sir, replies Ben, you are a goodlike young gentleman, as a woman ſhall ſee; and as miſs is a little melancholiſh, I can't help thinking ſhe pines a little bit after you, ſir: nay, ſir, don't be angry, but I I'm partly, al⯑moſt [9]ſure of it, for—! For what Ben, ſaid I, ſmiling? For did not you obſerve, ſir, cries Ben, how her colour went and came the other day, when you and ſhe were ſtanding at the parlour-door, and how ſhe bluſhed up, and was fluſtered becauſe I hap⯑pened to go by, and ſee you looking at one another—well, ſir, pray don't be offended, but ſhe's a ſweet lady, and I am ſure—

Hearing Mr. Draper come down ſtairs, I interrupted Benjamin, by jo⯑coſely thanking him for his intelli⯑gence, and telling him that, as I ſaw he was a keen obſerver, I muſt mind my looks for the future.

This compliment ſo perfectly de⯑lighted him (ſuch is the omnipotence of flattery, from whoſe inſinuating [10]qualities even ſimplicity is not guarded) that, with an unaccuſtomed air of ſufficiency he ſaid, Yes, yes ſir, I gueſſed in a moment, where-abouts the wind ſat, and though I ſay it, who ſhould not ſay it, I believe I can ſee as far intoa mill-ſtone, as he that pecks it.

This obſervation lifted up the lad's head; and, like a man who had juſt diſcovered his ſagacity, he ſtrutted away with as aſſured a ſtep, as if he had that moment dropt the commoner, and had a royal title, in futuro, to wear a ſtar upon his coat, and a coronet upon his carriage.

CHAP. XCVI.

I had in my own mind given a week for the putting together my new cloaths, but how rejoiced and ſurpriſed was I to find a man with a bundle wrapt up in a green cloth at Mr. Draper's door, early enough in the ſame evening, for our meditated excurſion: I ran up into my chamber followed by the man, who, as if by inſtinct, left his ſhoes (in which, by the bye, he went ſlipſhod) at the bot⯑tom of the ſtairs: And will your honour be kind enough to try them on? demanded the fellow, betraying the broad brogue of his country. [12]My maſter will be after coming here with me in a moment. The Iriſhman ſpoke partly truth, for the botcher to the blood royal, juſt as I had ſtrip⯑ped, came dropping his chin upon his breaſt, and ſliding a reſpectful foot along the floor like a well-bred taylor, while the ſhopman (whoſe garters were gaping from the knees of his breeches) retreated as became him, ſtep by ſtep, in proportion to the ad⯑vances of his governor.

Your moſt obedient, ſir, ſaid the taylor in chief, permit me to aſſiſt you; helping me at the ſame time to put on the coat, and ſaying I need not trouble myſelf about the breeches, as he was certain they muſt fit. Nay, continued he—I was ſure I could do it, if any man in England could. I was poſitive [13]certain of it: you have ſuch a ſhape, ſir, that a man hath credit in working for you. Here, Skip, looke here's a fall in the ſhoulders! Arrah maſter, anſwered Skipp, the gontlemin is a neat made craetur ſure enough. But, here then, Skip, if you talk of make, here's a back—ſir, you are a pattern to cut out by. Now I think on't. I wiſh you would be ſo kind to ſlip on the breeches.

I complied with his requeſt, after which he exclaimed in a tranſport— There then, Skip!—there's a thigh ſet off! there's wax for you!—why, ſir begging your pardon, you were really diſguiſed before, you were indeed— for I do declare, you are a man of a million: had you indeed, been as crooked as a bottle-ſcrew, I could [14]have brought you into ſhape, but you don't want any lifts from me. No, that's a ſure thing, ſaid Skip. The maſter then, turned me round, ſmoothed my arms, and faſtened the firſt button of my coat.

Are they not a little tightiſh or ſo, ſaid I, ſir, over the breaſt here? Not at all, ſir —eaſy as a glove after an hour's wearing. Pleaſe to play your arms ſir, and ſee that you have room enough—don't be afraid ſir—it paſſed through many good hands, before it came to Skip, who is only the finiſher. —I'll warrant the work. Upon this, I extended my right arm pretty forci⯑bly, and lo! the ſtitches flew from the elbow to the ſhoulder. I was pre⯑paring an obſervation, when turning about, I ſaw the undertaker, tugging [15]vigorouſly at the ears of the finiſher, who began to howl moſt characteriſti⯑cally. Sirrah, if you was not in a gentleman's houſe, I would murder you for this, ſaid the taylor; and then, coming to me—Sir, I aſk your pardon, I am grieved at the diſap⯑pointment, but it is not my fault, I only cut out the work—here he wiped the ſweat from his face, with his finger, and then, ſnapping that ſinger againſt its next neighbour cried, Sir, I'll run the ſtitches over again myſelf. He then ſquatted croſs-legged on the floor, ſaying, he was not, he thanked God, above his buſineſs, like ſome he could mention; and being ſupplied by Skip with thimble, thread, needle, and ſciſſars, he ſoon repaired the damages. There, ſir, ſays [16]he—but I am almoſt aſhamed to ſee you—I have not had ſuch a thing happen theſe ſeven years—Oh Skip how could you be ſo damned, con⯑founded careleſs!—ſaying this, he went away puffing, and fretting, with Skipp at his heels—abſolutely refuſing payment till the ſum was worth aſking for; an expreſſion, which at that time, appeared ſomewhat ſtrange, but of which, I have ſince, had many woful explanations. Indeed the principles upon which the London tradeſmen act, are pretty uniform: they give credit in proportion to the appearance of the cuſtomer; ſplendour attracts their obſequiouſneſs, and ſhabbineſs their contempt: yet, is it not ſo much from pride, as ſheer intereſt? Shab⯑bineſs does not even carry proſpect [17]of payment along with it; while ſplendor has at leaſt the air of a for⯑tune, and ſeems able to diſcharge even the running account of a taylor.

Alas poor Sudberry! while the ſmile of good fortune ſhone upon thee, whom ſo reſpected, whom ſo entruſted, by the venal Skane? But when, in the tenderneſs of her heart, thy faithful partner depoſited in the wretch's hands that precious likeneſs of all ſhe loved, how (from that ſingle circumſtance of thy neceſſity) how altered was the ſcene? The long ſeries of honourable exactneſs—the delicate intercourſe—which for many a fair year thou hadſt maintained, was in a moment forgotten! how differently did the hardened creditor view thy portrait, from thy lovely companion! [18]With a trembling hand ſhe ventured it from her: ſhe gave the copy, as ranſom for the original; yet ere ſhe hazarded it out of her ſight, ſhe often kiſſed—often bathed it with an af⯑fectionate tear,—and often preſſed it to her boſom.—While the inhuman caitiff, on the other hand, regarded only the ſurrounding ornaments, tore the dear image from the wife's embraces, and uſed it as he would have uſed, for gain, the ſimilitude of his Redeemer!

CHAP. XCVII.

There was a looking-glaſs on my dreſſing-table, that reflected my perſon in all the decorations of my new [19]dreſs; and really the taylor had done me juſtice at laſt; for, whether I re⯑ceived any additions from a flouriſhed button-hole, or from the ſable chain that bound the edges, or whether grey was more becoming to me than a darker colour, I cannot determine, but I certainly looked much more like a man, whom ſomebody knew, and who knew ſomebody, than I did an hour before; and that I might be, all of a piece, I indulged the vanity of em⯑ploying Mr. Draper's valet, to tor⯑ture my locks (which were rude and redundant) into taſte. I adjoined to theſe advantages, the charms of clean linen, with the benefits of ſoap and water, and made friends with the footman to make my ſhoes as black and gloſſy as my ſtockings. Thus [20]equipped, I walked—if I remember right, rather with more uprightneſs than uſual—into the parlour. Draper had that moment done dreſſing (his hair being finiſhed before I had left the taylor to the blood-royal) and poſſibly, no man at five and twenty ever diſplayed a finer figure than he made at this inſtant: he was all elegance, eaſe, breeding and ac⯑compliſhment, with leſs vanity, and with more excuſes to be vain, than moſt young people of the age. Upon my word, Benignus, cried he, as ſoon as he ſaw me, you are dreſſed for execution; I was thinking of giving miſs Dickens's poor old mother a call in the morning, and you ſhall accom⯑pany me, for I am determined that Spangle ſhall not poſſeſs ſo much [21]innocence; and, by the by, I have already taken care of that, and have received from the old lady a cordial invitation to breakfaſt. I will attend you, ſaid I, with joy, and am almoſt ready to kneel down to you, as the guardian angel of endangered virtue. Very well ſpoken indeed, replied Draper, tying up his garter, and a very pretty ſentence. Ha! ha! Guardian Angel indeed! I ſave the girl becauſe I would not have her fall into the hands of a coxcomb, who I believe cannot give her even carnal ſatisfaction, in exchange for her chaſtity,—yet, ſhe will be ever ſacred from any deſigns of mine: I care not how much beauty is thrown into my arms, by that mere jackal Tom Spangle; becauſe, if I did not receive [22]it, the fellow would leave it, after the firſt night's lodging, to the bawd, or the ſtews; and a ruined woman, ſhall always find refuge either in my purſe, or my bed-chamber, Benignus. But ſtill, ardent as I am, I bring no woman from the ſhade of honour, to the ſtreets of ſhame; whom I raiſe with one hand, I never deſtroy with the other; and may this ſword, which I am now taking from this hook, ſend my ſoul to eternal anguiſh, if I would ſeduce the angelic wife of Sudberry, to be in full poſſeſſion of the Grand Seignor's ſeraglio. Not ſeduce her, I ſay Benignus; yet, if ſhe (of her own free will) preferred me to Sudberry, I would ruſh to her boſom in all the luxury of throbbing expectation, let the conſequence be what it might. [23]By the by, Benignus, you ſhould do ſomething for that family: againſt their viſit we will think of a method: at preſent, we have an evening upon our hands, and I deſign to take care it ſhall not hang heavily upon them.

The chariot was now ordered to the door, and we were driven in it, agreeable to Mr. Draper's directions, to a beautiful villa about two miles and a half from the town, ſo that I apprehended he was going to paſs the evening, with ſome agreeable family. — The houſe was pleaſantly ſituated at a proper diſtance from the public road, amidſt the umbrage of trees, the verdure of graſs plats, and the variegation of flowers,—the air about this time grew extremely ſerene, [24]and the door was opened to us by a female ſervant.

There is a ſtrange palpitation ſeizes the young heart (accompanied by a certain degree of awe) whenever the eye is ſtruck with ſcenes, to which it is unfamiliariſed. I trembled to the very foot, as I entered a houſe, of whoſe inhabitants I knew nothing; and the converſation of Mr. Draper, a ſhort time before, did not ſerve to leſſen my confuſion. We were de⯑ſired to repoſe a moment in a room— My miſtreſs, gentlemen, ſaid the maid ſimpering, is walking with the ladies in the garden. Very well, Lucy, cried Draper, we'll go to her there: come Sir James (ſpeaking to me under that title) let us ſee if we can find [25]them. The ſervant now opened a glaſs door, and we paſſed into the garden.

It was the middle of May, and the weather, which upon my coming to town was remarkably cold, was now, as remarkably warm; but, at the time of our walking in the garden, the evening breezes, brought with them the bleſſing of coolneſs. The garden itſelf was delicious.

[26]After we had rambled for ſome time amidſt "a wilderneſs of ſweets," the ſound of a female voice came ſoftened through the ſhade, and on ſtanding ſtill to liſten, the trills of the tune, were ſuited to alarm the pulſes of youth: when the ſong was finiſhed, we walked forward till we came within view of a bower, where ſeveral young ladies, with a matron in the midſt, were drinking ſherbet. My tremor increaſed as I came near them, and yet I by no means wiſhed to retire. Draper addreſſed the ma⯑tron with great familiarity, and, with as little ceremony, gave every one of her daughters (for ſuch I thought them) a kiſs; deſiring me afterwards to follow his example: to which the young ladies ſeemed to [27]expreſs no averſion; and I undertook the point with leſs confuſion than might be expected from my natural baſhfulneſs. Elegance, variety, and faſhion, appeared to ſuperintend the features, forms, and dreſſes, of theſe young women; and I concluded the mother of ſuch a lovely train, to be at once the richeſt, happieſt, and clevereſt of all parents.

CHAP. XCVIII.

We ſoon entered into ſprightly converſation, for the ladies were by no means reſerved; and methought they talked a little oddly before ſtrangers, (for ſuch I was certainly) about the delights of love, and the [28]voluptuouſneſs of bathing at ſun-ſet. Draper too, was a little more free than I ever ſaw him, even with the frolickſome Alicia: he ſaid, to one of the ladies, that a bed of violets, was the bed of Paradiſe—to another, that Eve ſmelt upon lilies when ſhe con⯑ceived; and to a third, that ſhe was ſport for Jove. Preſently, we roſe to ramble round the garden, (which however, in one particular was by no means like that of Eden), [...]d it was not long before the company ſcat⯑tered. I took advantage of this, and, entering a little thicket of nut-trees, began (as the reader knows it was uſual with me) to whiſper forth my meditations. And whether hath thy changeable ſtars thrown thee now, Benignus? Amidſt regions of real [29]ſpring, or viſionary verdure? Amongſt a circle of living beauties, made of mere fleſh and blood, or imaginary goddeſſes? In one word: is it ſub⯑ſtance, or is it ſhadow? If ſhadow, may'ſt thou ſlumber under the ſweet enchantment for ever! If ſubſtance, ſurely it is not more natural than it is innocent, to enjoy it!—What un⯑common ſenſations ſeize me—I never felt ſuch feveriſh, yet not undelightful attacks before — Heigho! how my heart ſprings: how my cheek burns —what the duce is the matter with me—? Heigho! — I walked out of the thicket, and met one of the ladies, gathering ſome flowers which bordered the ſide of it. I aſſiſted her, and pil⯑laged the whole bed, to make her noſegay. Don't trouble yourſelf, [30]Sir, ſaid ſhe, diſplaying a dimple, and the moſt regular ranges of white teeth I ever ſaw. We walked toge⯑ther, and deviated from the paths into ſome ſhady mazes—there, as we were gliding along, ſomething caught her by the ſhoe-buckle, and in at⯑tempting briſkly to recover herſelf— ſhe fell down. Yet, where was all my good-nature? Where even my courteſy to a woman? I ſurely loſt it all, for though ſhe came with ſome ſhew of violence (indeed ſhe fell, upon a paigle bank) I never once en⯑deavoured to take her up. Some how or another her gown (which was of the pureſt white) and her under garments (which were white alſo) were ſo diſcompoſed by the tumble, that certainly, if I had re⯑tained [31]ever ſo ſmall a ſhare of friend⯑lineſs for a fellow-creature in diſtreſs, I ſhould have inſtantly knelt down to ſmooth them: however, to my ſhame be it ſpoken, I again confeſs—I did it not.

CHAP. XCIX.

When by her own efforts, ſhe had got upon her legs, I ran to her, with uncommon ardour, and drew her cloſe to my own boſom—the heart was forcibly ſtruck, and paſſion came ruſhing upon me (arrayed in the moſt bewitching temptation) without giving me a moment's warning. She was formed for love, and I imprinted the kiſs, till it echoed on her lip. [30] [...] [31] [...] [32]Ripe as the roſe in richneſs, in fra⯑grance, and in colour, were the cheeks of this lady; and, as I continued to preſs them to my own, her head ſunk ſoft upon my ſhoulder, while her hand, dropt languiſhly down by her ſide, and reſted upon—mine. Vitally inſpired by this, the bluſh deepened, and the zephyr afforded a tender coolneſs, not inconſiſtent with the occaſion. Again I ſeized her in my arms, and leading her once more to the edge of the thicket, I looked full into her eyes; and then—O God of feeling, what magic is there in the eye of woman! and then—both leaning down together—to crop primroſes, we heard ſomebody call, and went contentedly into the houſe.

CHAP. C.

After we plucked the primroſes—the lady told me that her name was Lucy, that ſhe was her own miſtreſs, that ſhe was very apt to fall in love, and that indeed ſhe lived at preſent in a very loving family; in a minute or two afterwards, ſhe took a fancy to my new watch-chain, and upon drawing it from my pocket, and finding ſhe made no objection to the watch itſelf, I gave her both. She then mentioned ſomething about ſpring ſilks, and pointing to a lilac then in her hand, ſaid, ſhe ſhould of all things, doat upon a ſack exactly of that colour; and in concluſion gave [34]me a gentle ſlap upon the cheek with a myrtle ſprig, wiſhing at the ſame time, in plain Engliſh, that it was bed-time.

This laſt ſentence it was, which induced me to examine her eyes. Very true indeed, ſparkled they, my lady tells you the truth; if you can't read ſo plain a page, then art thou no ſcholar. Nay then, thought I, if that be the caſe, let us go and pluck ſome more primroſes. When we had reached the houſe, I enquired for my companion, who it ſeems was ſet down to a game at whiſt with the ladies. Whiſt be whipped, ſaid Lucy, honeſt all-fours for me. Saying this, ſhe bade me again interpret her look; and her character was now fully explained.

[35]The room into which ſhe con⯑ducted me, ſeemed to have been furniſhed by Pleaſure herſelf: the moſt voluptuous magnificence appeared on all hands, and every ornament was emblematic of the purpoſe for which it was admitted into the place. A large luſtre was ſupported in the center by a naked figure, in the act of lighting the tapers, while the cieling repreſented the Graces binding the brows of a groupe of Bacchanals, with garlands of myrtle, intertwiſted with roſes. On one ſide ſtood a crimſon canopy, on drawing the curtains of which I diſcovered a ſopha of the blackeſt ſattin; at the top, Venus in a flowing rope of Tyrian purple was depicted in the attitude of preſenting a veil, while Adonis, who ſtood [36]ſmiling behind her, ſeemed to watch an opportunity to ſteal it away.

The ſun was juſt ſetting, and threw his farewell beam directly into the room; ſo that, as the canopy promiſed to ſhade us, we were obliged, in com⯑mon prudence, to place ourſelves under it. About this time, her white hand repoſed upon the couch, and ſhe had taken off her glove!

In contraſted pleaſures there is a delicacy not to be reſiſted. Now, when the ſun's laſt rays are darted upon any thing crimſon, every body knows the conſequence—the cheeks on the other ſide are coloured with "ſo roſy a red," that, to prevent hurting the eyes, it is neceſſary to —draw the curtains.

[37]As ſoon as the ſun was gone down, I roſe, and felt the force of this truth a ſecond time; that if to be good is ſometimes to be wretched, to be vicious is always to be ſo, after the madneſs of the moment. And in this manner, was I, for the firſt time in my life, ſeduced into the company of a courtezan. I found Draper at the card-table; and pretending ſudden illneſs, I earn⯑eſtly requeſted to go home, with which Mr. Draper complied.

As ſoon as the chariot-door was ſhut, I caught Draper by the hand, and exclaimed, O friend, how could you deceive me? You led me into the fire, and I have burnt myſelf to death. Pſhaw, ſaid Draper, never be ſo curſedly ſqueamiſh, what has hap⯑pened, is all for the beſt: you were a [38]mere baby before, and now I ſuppoſe you—have made a man of yourſelf.— Not contented with this, he rallied me moſt unmercifully. All would not do. I went melancholy into my chamber. I toſſed about the bed. There was a ſtain in the ermine of my hitherto ſpotleſs conſcience; re⯑flections upon the firſt violations, while the ſoul is yet unhardened by habitual crimes, are ſharp as the flaming ſword of the arch-angel, and all the night I lamented that I had ſo little virtue, when vice was ſmiling before me. I attempted to ſleep, but there was a thorn upon my pillow, and at the firſt peep of morning I got up—but I did not execrate the fair form that had betrayed me.

CHAP. CI.

How contradictory and inconſiſtent is man! how is he led captive, in the ſhackles of the paſſions, in de⯑fiance of his better reaſon?

It was impoſſible for any perſon upon earth to be more ſincerely diſ⯑pleaſed with the tranſactions of the preceding day than myſelf. I tumbled over ſeveral volumes in Mr. Draper's library, but I met no ſentiment that did not reproach me; and I was thoroughly angry, both with having yielded to the temptation, and with the cruel friend who had led me in the way of it. And yet I could not but reflect upon the fair ſeducer with [40]a degree of tenderneſs by no means merited on her ſide.

She was the very firſt of the ſex that had ſucceſsfully ſolicited my paſſions. It was ſhe who called them out, it was ſhe who gratified them. Ah, my good reader, let me beſeech thee, to guard vigilantly againſt the firſt allurements of vice. If once thou permitteſt her to embrace thee, (and ſhe will come to thee in the ſmile of joy, arrayed in the robe of volup⯑tuouſneſs) then beware; for, after the firſt treſpaſs, (I again repeat it to thee) the way to the next is eaſy, and more difficult to be reſiſted; till, in the end, thine error ſhall ſlide into habit, and all that is infamous ſhall become familiar to thine eye, and even ne⯑ceſſary [41]to the ill-directed wiſhes of thine heart.

Theſe truths will indeed, be but too forcibly elucidated in the fol⯑lowing pages, and, though to my own diſgrace, I have ſet them down with my pen exactly as they happened, for thine inſtruction, conſider the tranſcript, I pray thee, as the hand⯑writing on the wall, and let it be to thee as the warning voice that warneth thee from the paths of deſtruction.

In the ardour of my revels with this bewitching woman, I had, in the moſt ſolemn manner promiſed, at her requeſt, to reviſit her on the ſuc⯑ceeding evening, and I was to bring with me, according to her injunction, ſome tokens of my regard to her. [42]However, not to inſult the reader with the repetition of ſcenes, that bring bluſhes in my face, even as I mark them upon paper, I ſhall in brief inform him, that the moſt dan⯑gerous of all paſſions, were now awakened: Draper, rather fanned than extinguiſhed them—the path to perſonal exceſſes was now ſhewn me: I was in the hey-day of blood, and I now ſought happineſs, not in benevolence, but—in diſſipation.

And at this period it was, that the nicer delicacies of my character, and all the delightful ſimplicities of the country cottager began to fly off, and to leave me. For more than three months, I was a dupe to this handſome courtezan. She ſung, talked, looked, and embraced me into faſcination. [43]Her extravagance however was un⯑bounded, and yet I was ſufficiently enchanted to attempt its gratification; to attempt it at the riſque of fortune, character, and every thing elſe. I was ſoon taught the myſtery of keeping, and in the fondneſs of my fooliſh heart, I took lodgings for this Dul⯑cinea, in the moſt expenſive part of the town. Such, at laſt, became my infatuation, that I had a pride in ſeeing her eclipſe women of real faſhion in the elegance of her perſon, and in the richneſs of her dreſs; and I even doated upon her enough to go with her openly into the places of public reſort.

About this time however, I re⯑ceived a card from my agent, that a [44]little abated the violence of my career: it was to the following purport.

[45] I now began to perceive that the conſequence of keeping, was a pretty ſmart circumſtance; and the plain fact was, that I had ſquandered away upon this artful woman, in a very few weeks a very tolerable fortune, with⯑out having done a ſingle action that can be recorded to my advantage. So far otherwiſe, that I neglected my accuſtomed paſſion for adventure, I ſeldom viſited my old friends in the ſquare, forget both Benjamin and Abrahams, and was fairly making large ſtrides from faſhion and folly, to deſtruction.

CHAP. CII.

It ſo fell out that we were diſap⯑pointed of the promiſed company of the Sudberrys on the day they had taught us to expect them; nor had either Draper or myſelf the happineſs of ſeeing that amiable family for a conſiderable time afterwards. Poor Sudberry's diſtemper gained upon him too forcibly, either for the love of his wife, or the friendſhip of Mr. Draper to remove, and more than ſix months elapſed before he was able to leave his chamber: during which tedious interval, Mrs. Sudberry waited by his ſide, ſmoothed his pillow, and anticipated every wiſh that could [47]poſſibly be performed by attention and tenderneſs. Nor would Draper, who inſiſted upon it, this was his family allow me to ſhew them a ſingle civility beyond a meſſage card, to enquire after the ſtate of its health ^*

Sorry am I to ſay, I was leſs anxious about theſe matters than formerly. It was the very period of enchant⯑ment; and I was pinned to the petti⯑coat of a Dalilah, without a wiſh, either to recover my liberty, or to revive my curioſity. Plays, operas, [48]maſquerades, and tavern ſuppers now took poſſeſſion of me; and Draper, who was always ready for either the vice or virtue of the moment, kept up the ball, led me by the heart through all the ceremonies of elevated proſtitution, and equipped me at all points as a man of gallantry.

It was in one of theſe polite rambles that I became acquainted with a per⯑ſon through whoſe means I was again led into the world. As I was one evening treading the tedious round of Ranelagh, with my enchantreſs leaning upon my arm, when Draper, who generally attended me, was accoſted by a gentleman who preſſed him much to paſs the night rationally at a tavern, whither ſome ten or a dozen honeſt fellows of the ſet, as he termed it, [49]were to give him the meeting at eleven o'clock. Draper, who was always able to ſway me, and, indeed, carry any thing he undertook, not only obtained my promiſe to accompany him, but alſo prevailed upon Lucy, (ſo was my favourite called) to truſt me from her arms: for be it known, that ſhe always affected to love me beyond meaſure, and would frequently pretend ſtrokes of jealouſy on purpoſe to bind me the faſter. As ſoon then, as I had conveyed Lucy to her lodg⯑ings, we called an hackney coach and drove to the ſcene of appointment.

Now, my dear Benignus (ſaid Dra⯑per, in our way thither) you are going to a ſet of characters utterly new to you. They are all of them men of ſpirit, and talents; but profeſs to deſ⯑piſe [50]all forms and ceremonies, either in church or ſtate, ſave ſuch as di⯑rectly favour their own notions, prin⯑ciples, and modes of thinking. I very ſeldom join them, though I am a member of their ſociety: the reaſon is chiefly, becauſe, as I told you be⯑fore, I hate argument, and the con⯑verſation to which we are going, though ſupported with the utmoſt free⯑dom on all ſides, is wholly argumenta⯑tive. It is called the Society of Syſtems, where every man vigorouſly ſupports his own opinion againſt every other, and offers either debates to defend, or reaſons to recommend it.

Notwithſtanding my attachments to my miſtreſs, the proſpect of my approaching entertainment had ſuffi⯑cient attraction to awaken my curio⯑ſity, [51]and as the coach ſtopped at the door of the tavern, I felt my heart pant eagerly with expectation.

CHAP. CIII.

We were uſhered into a very ſpacious room, wherein (for we were ſome minutes paſt our hour) were ſeveral gentlemen, to the number of about twelve, ſitting in a ſemi-circle, and one mounted above the reſt, by two or three ſteps, whom I diſcovered to be the perſon that had given us the invitation, and who was, indeed, the Preſident of the Society.

As the debates were not yet begun, the Preſident, whoſe name was Blake, deſcended from his ſeat, and (as the [52]friend of their brother member, Mr. Draper) introduced me to the compa⯑ny, who were pleaſed to receive me very graciouſly. After this he re⯑mounted, took his chair, gave the uſual ſignal of preparation by tingling a bell, and the buſineſs of the night began.

Very fortunately for me, the queſ⯑tions then to be agitated, were the very ones I had ſo long been anxious to know the truth of; namely, whe⯑ther Providence had acted partially, or otherwiſe, in regard to terreſtrial diſpenſations, and which ſyſtem, of all the infinite variety of ſyſtems, was really moſt conducive to human wiſ⯑dom, dignity, and happineſs?"

Now then, thought I, now ſhall I indeed be ſatisfied; now will the grand ſecret, that has ſo long puzzled [53]me, be developed: I am amongſt men of meditation, liberty, and ex⯑perience; and this is aſſuredly the very night that ſhall ſettle my opini⯑ons, and eſtabliſh my hitherto fluctua⯑ing ideas, upon the ſolid baſis of conviction: my preſent notion how⯑ever is, that the felicity of life can⯑not be perfect without a miſtreſs. Heigho!—I wiſh my Lucy could ſit by my ſide, and enjoy with me this "feaſt of reaſon, and this flow of ſoul." Heigho—now for it: now for it.

Scarce had I indulged this ſoliloquy, before a pale, tall, ſkeleton figure roſe up, and in a voice at once ſhrill, pier⯑cing, and complaining, thus addreſſed the Preſident.

I ſhall ſhew you, Mr. Preſident, what true happineſs is, by telling you [54]what, of all other things, it is not. Is it a queſtion, whether Providence has been partial or not? Look at me, I am an inſtance of the partiality of Provi⯑dence. The only poor man of the ſociety is now ſpeaking; and I will take upon me to prove, that happineſs is every where, but in the garret of an author. When nature makes a poet, gentlemen, ſhe makes a crea⯑ture as little able to ſtand alone, and buſtle it thro' the dirty and difficult ways of this world, as if ſhe had given him but one leg; and I will prove it. It may be ſaid indeed, that an author hath the talents of genius, though he he hath not the purſe of fortune. He hath, you will ſay, the poetic power of building palaces, without either brick, cement, mathematics, or mortar; he [55]can deſcribe with the ſame facility he adorns; the gardens bloom at his bid⯑ding, and the flowers ſhoot up into beauty, and ſcatter fragrance, as he waves a feather. What of that? can theſe be a ſorrier privilege than his, who is able to ſpread a viſionary ban⯑quet, order ſervants to attend in their beſt liveries, and aſſemble together the politeſt company, when he who feedeth the ravens knoweth, that, in point of ſubſtantial eating and drink⯑ing, this identical poet, could as ſoon command the portals of the treaſury to turn upon their hinges, and open their coffers in obedience to his com⯑mands, as he could procure, either by caſh or credit, the chicken that is roaſt⯑ing upon the luxurious ſpit of an illi⯑terate alderman. What a multitude [56]are thrown monthly, weekly, hourly, daily into the world, without the in⯑heritance of a ſingle penny; and yet with a ſet of ſollicitous cravings, which demand gratification? you muſt know Mr. Preſident, that I am one of the many, who have real and ſound reaſons for thinking there are very unpardonable inequalities in the diviſion of human property. Even as I lay in the cradle I was deſerted by fortune; nature gave me a knack at book-making, and I have now for many years earned my bread by the fatigue of my fingers: not a dinner but what I extorted from the ſtandiſh; not a bed, but I literally made it, of geeſe feathers: in the day I worked with the quills upon the wing, that I might ſlumber at night upon the down [57]of the boſom; and yet, after all, in the firſt years of my apprenticeſhip, I did little more than pluck the bird, for the table of my bookſeller. He feaſted upon the body, and I ſtarved upon the feathers. Now will any man preſent pretend to ſay, there is not a moſt monſtrous diſproportion between the different fates of bookſellers and their authors? Surely, Mr. Preſident, all the Deities, nether and upper, were aſleep; ſurely they had no eye to the operations of matter and motion, when theſe crooked deeds were doing! I will maintain it, ſir, that a poet, ought to be in every reſpect as happy, ought to have as good a ſhare of this life's comforts as a bookſeller—ſhall a being, who exiſts by the purchaſe of a commodity, of the true value of [58]which he is as ignorant as the animal⯑cula at the verge of his noſtrils; ſhall a fellow, who lives by the ſale of an⯑other man's brains, fare better, look ſleeker, and ſleep ſofter than the very poets that furniſh them with the com⯑modity itſelf? I ſay, therefore, and I will ſupport it with my dying breath, authors are not ſufficiently conſidered by Providence; and a poet is the only creature of all creatures created, that is abſolutely neglected.—I ſay likewiſe Mr. Preſident—I ſay that—that—I ſay—ſir—

Here the ſtroke of a hammer from the Preſident, knocked down both the author and his argument, in the ſame inſtant: for by the laws of this ſociety, no man (unleſs his eloquence was particularly attracting) was al⯑lowed [59]to ſpeak upon any given ſub⯑ject, more than ten minutes; and, from his ſtrange method of utterance, the poet had exhauſted his ſtipend long before he had half run himſelf out.

The poet was no ſooner ſeated, than another member was upon his legs, and waving a white handker⯑chief in his hand with an air of gen⯑teel importance, thus began to har⯑rangue.

The worthy and learned member who ſpoke laſt, Mr. Preſident, hath diſplayed his ingenuity, at the expence of his veracity. It were eaſy to prove that the life of a poet is by no means ſo unhappy as he has coloured it; and that all his local diſtreſſes are richly compenſated by adequate bleſſings, and by priviledges peculiar to the poe⯑tical [60]character. Hath not the poet all the advantages and all pleaſures of li⯑terary reputation? Hath he not all the delights of fancy? Can he not paint—can he not deſcribe—can he not create? Hath he not the huzza of printed popularity, always ſnouted be⯑fore him? Do not all the honours be⯑long to him, jure divino, that reſult from the laurel, the whiſper, and the buſy buzz of celebrity? Doth not the pointed ſinger purſue him, where⯑ſoever he goes? Is not every lip upon the officious echo, telling us that there he goes, that's he, that's the famous Mr. Such-a-one? And do not theſe, together with a fame handed down by the hiſtorians from generation to to generation, more than make a⯑mends for temporal inconveniences? [61]Mr. Preſident, it is not to be diſputed; the life of a poet is not a bad life, nay ſir, I will take upon me to prove that it is a life, to all intents and purpoſes, enviable, when compared with many others. What think you, ſir, of the life of a patron? Is there any being amongſt all orders created, placed in ſo horrid a ſituation as a patron? A patron, ſir, I have the misfortune to know, is fixed by deſtiny as it were between two tremendous rocks: on this ſide of him glooms a Charybdis; on that a Scylla. If he patronizes he is for ever peſtered with dunces; if he refuſes to ſwallow the flummery of de⯑dication, he is immediately purged with a doſe of lampoon. Now I humbly ſubmit it to your judgment, if it is not a moſt ungracious buſineſs [62]to be for ever upon the harraſs—to have one's doors beſet and beſieged by a parcel of harpies, armed againſt one's pocket not only with talons, but ta⯑lents? Are we not obliged to keep an extra ſervant, on purpoſe to repeat the lye of the day to every man that hath the look of an author about him? Are we not for ever upon the fret by the ferment of printed contradictions! What temper can poſſibly bear the thouſand attacks that are made upon our purſes, by dunces in every form? This man preſenting his poem; that his play; this plucking you by the ſleeve with a deſcription of your country houſe, which you ſee every day in the ſummer, as the Lord made it; that ſkulking in a corner, to ſeize you as you come from a morning's ride, [63]with a raſcally liſt of ſubſcriptions. Is it not pitiable that a man of property, merely becauſe he hath property, ſhould be eternally invaded by the tribe of ſcribblers—and that he ſhould be pelted through all the twelve months in the year, both by pro and con, by queſtion and reſponſe, and ſtand the ſhot of ſimpletons and ſyſ⯑tem-mongers, without any thing ei⯑ther for the loſs of money or labour, except waſte paper. Upon theſe ac⯑counts therefore, Mr. Preſident, and many others to which patronage is heir to, I do not ſcruple to pronounce happineſs more out of the reach of a patron than any other character upon the face of the earth: for which rea⯑ſon I conceive that I (who have at this moment lying on my window-ſeats [64]upwards of forty epiſtles dedicatory, the offerings only of the laſt winter) am one of the moſt miſerable men of fortune that ever exiſted.

CHAP. CIV.

A third member began, as ſoon as the ſecond had finiſhed.

I have juſt heard, Mr. Preſident, ſome very able arguments in regard to the miſery of poets and patrons; and indeed, for my own part, I am of opinion, that a patron is amongſt the moſt wretched of all God's works: perhaps he has no equal, if we except the fate of the man who really has a paſſion for reading, and an ability as well as an ambition to purchaſe libraries. [65]To my diſtreſs be it ſpoken, I ever had a curioſity both to look at and into a great variety of volumes, and, for near thirty years of my life, ſcarce any thing, on any ſubject came out, that I had not patience enough to examine it.

The Alps and Pyrenees of literature ſunk before me. Folios, quartos, octavos, duodecimos, and ſo on to ſingle ſermons; poems publiſhed by deſire of friends; dedications, by permiſſion, two penny eſſays, penny ſonnets, half⯑penny elegies, and farthing epigrams, all, all had their ſhare, of my money and my attention. I was, indeed, what might very well be termed, a univerſal reader; and my experience now tells me, that there is no wretch⯑edneſs like his, who putteth his truſt [66]in ſyſtems. In the courſe of my readings, ſir, I have found the twenty⯑four letters of the alphabet, twenty thouſand times proſtituted: they have been perverted to innumerable ill pur⯑poſes, and amongſt others, to draw the deep veil of midnight over the fair form of Truth: to create an ar⯑tificial chaos, where Nature, and the God of it ſaid, Let there be light: to re-produce anarchy in the age, that ought to be the age of order: to puzzle the palpable, and make the opaque ſtill more obſcure; and all this, under the pretext of opening our eyes, and ſetting us right. If the patron complains of poets, I loudly execrate ſyſtem-mongers, ſir. Fie upon them! they have bent ten times treble that underſtanding which was [67]naturally ſtraight. While I continued in the ſwathing cloaths I was in a ſtate of nature, incorrupted. My eyes really ſaw, my hands really felt; and had I been permitted to go on, I ſhould have been intimate with ſub⯑ſtance, and rejected ſhadow: truth would have been my guide, nature my companion, and common ſenſe my friend. Inſtead of that, I loſt my happineſs with my petticoats, and the very day I diſtinguiſhed my ſex to the public, by aſſuming the breeches, was the firſt time I recollect to have ſeen the form of falſhood. The mo⯑ment, Mr. Preſident, that I began to ſee, feel, touch, taſte, and ſmell objects as they actually were, I was taught to conſider them, as they actually were not: but, according to the lights [68]wherein men (or rather children like men) inſiſted upon it they ſhould be. The firſt nonſenſe that miſled me, was the nurſe's; and from her, I was promoted to the deceits of a ſchool⯑maſter. By the one I was made to do as I was bid, at the peril of being given to a bug-bear in a white ſheet, who, it ſeems, always eat up naughty boys at a mouthful; or elſe, I was to be put into the burial-hole, or thrown to the beggar man: the con⯑ſequence of this was, that I began to tremble at every thing white after it was dark, I fancied a bug-bear in every thing I ſaw; I never beheld a new opened grave, that the fleſh did not creep upon my bones; and a ragged coat, or a long beard, always ſet me on the tremble, leaſt the beggar⯑man [69]ſhould be come for me: whereas, ſir, I am certain, had it not been for theſe pernicious documents, I ſhould have conſidered a white ſheet, as neither more nor leſs formidable than any other coloured object, and a tattered garment would rather have intereſted my ſenſibility than awakened my apprehenſion.

As to the ſchool-maſter, I was compelled (by virtue of that magic ſceptre, which whips in at the tail, the wiſdom which is to accompliſh the head) to adopt all the abſurdities of a pedant: and this prepared me for the ſtill greater abſurdity of colleges.

Though I was by this time, well ſitted for the ſyſtem of univerſities, yet I longed exceedingly to carry a halbert: but my parents were too [70]much bigoted to the old method of doing as others had done, and ſo wiſely reſolved to thwart natural inclinations, in favour of eſtabliſhed cuſtoms. Thus, after going through the proper courſe (as it is improperly called), they de⯑termined my genius to what—as they uſually do—it had the greateſt re⯑pugnance:—even to the CHURCH. To this end, I inſerted my name in the college-books, and I ſtudied with an intentneſs, that impaired the ſight of my ſoul, even more than that of my body. Weak however as I was, my curioſity was vigorous as ever, till at length, accuſtomed to deluſion, I forgot the horror with which I viewed her deformity in my child⯑hood, fancied charms in her perſon, admired the force of her intellect, and [71]adopted her as the friend and guardian of my ſtudies. By this time, Mr. Preſident, I had a paſſion for ſyſtems, and purchaſed, agreeable to her point⯑ing out to me, a ſyſtematical collec⯑tion of books, amongſt which were all the pens, pro and con. of church⯑hiſtory, chriſtianity, deiſm, and atheiſm. I was taught to believe, that a complete claſſical, critical paſtor, ſhould look with a nice eye, at the ſound and the rotten, the credulous and the incredulous, the Calviniſt and the Caviller—the Ro⯑man and the Proteſtant, the Metho⯑diſt and the Moravian. A very grave perſon told me, that it behoved me to examine all creeds, all faiths, and all orders of created beings, whether Chriſtian, Jew, Gentile, or Turk: that [72]it would be working in the way of my profeſſion, if, not contented with thoſe obvious truths that lay upon the ſurface of the ſcriptures, I would peep into the by-ways, allies, nooks, and corners of the multitudinous perſua⯑ſions, tenets, and opinions of men, with a ſort of virtuoſo vigilance.

Undaunted by the appearance of ſo gigantic a labour, I began the great work, purblind as I was: but, not to trouble you, Mr. Preſident, with the particulars of a long ſtory, I ſhall ac⯑quaint you, that about the time I had ſpoiled my eyes, and diſtracted my head with an attention to thirty com⯑mentaries in folio, upon my Bible in two pocket volumes, my vigilance was rewarded by the preſentation of an excellent living. I ſoon retired to an [73]admirable parſonage, where I was told by my phyſicians a pleaſant pad, the country air, regular duty, regular diet, the exerciſes of my office, and my tithe pigs would bring me about again.

The Sunday after my commencing paſtor, I deſigned to introduce myſelf to my new pariſhioners, in a kind of dedicatory diſcourſe; and, deſiring to adapt a ſuitable text thereto, I ſixt upon a verſe, by no means in⯑appoſite, though ſomewhat peculiar. Its ſingularity engaged my curioſity, and my curioſity ſent me into my library, to make an enquiry amongſt the annotators. Thirteen to the dozen of theſe, did I examine upon the verſe, the context, and the whole chapter; and I remember well, I entered the [74]library with the watch in my hand, about four o'clock on the Thurſday eve: I read till bed-time that night: I roſe with the ſun the next day, and, with ſhort intermiſſions, was upon the ſearch even to his down-ſetting. It was the buſineſs of Saturday to ac⯑count for ſo aſtoniſhing a variation in the ſenſe of the ſame verſe in every commentary. I compared one with another, and endeavoured to reconcile ſo many learned contradictions: but how was I alarmed, Mr. Preſident, when in the purſuit of ſyſtematic and orthodox accuracy, I heard the ſummons of the ſabbath duty ſteal upon me unprepared. Yes, ſir, I ſwear by my caſſock, the ſermon-bell was upon the toll when I had not ſo much as penned a ſlip of paper upon [75]the ſubject I had ſo long contemplated. I hurried on my band and gown, caught at the firſt ſermon that offered itſelf to my hand, and running to the deſk without ſtopping to put on the ſurplice, began in a trembling voice, to read the ſervice. But now, ſir, mark the upſhot of that utter con⯑fuſion into which I was thrown by thoſe moſt villainous commentators.

Beſides that I had wholly loſt the chain of the argument I meant to purſue, the ſermon, which, in the precipitation of my ſoul, I had brought with me, was no other than that (of which the third was Latin) preached before my lord the biſhop, and a learned body at my induction; and, to complete the matter, I had upon my head, inſtead of a canonical [76]full-bottom, the very cap of purple velvet, that I uſually wore in the la⯑borious hours of delving into the pith of ſyſtems.

And yet, Mr. Preſident, notwith⯑ſtanding the perplexity I was thrown into by the annotators, when I con⯑ſulted them upon a paſſage of ſcrip⯑ture, and ran my fooliſh noſe againſt the ſtumbling-blocks of thoſe diſmally dark explicators—notwithſtanding theſe misfortunes, ſir, I am now—what you ſee me—of reſponſible corpulence, and of decent bodily dimenſions; and had I not already too much treſpaſſed on your indulgence, I would inform you, what I feel to be HAPPINESS, and what, being now in poſſeſſion of, I would not part with, either for the viſions of poetry, the pride of pa⯑tronage, [77]or any thing elſe upon the globe. I have found out real felicity, Mr. Preſident, and I will not ſuffer her to depart again from me.

The whole company were ſo en⯑tertained by this venerable ſpeaker, (who appeared to be ſtepping into his ſeventieth year, and yet commanded attention, both by his manner and appearance) it was the unanimous deſire of the ſociety, that the Preſident ſhould diſpenſe with ordinary cere⯑monies, and allow the gentleman to finiſh his ſtory, in which he was to diſcover the road to real HAPPINESS.

CHAP. CV.

The torrid ſcorchings of midſum⯑mer (continued the gentleman) are wonderfully inauſpicious to both man and beaſt in certain diſtempers which affect the cerebellum: under theſe, the dog froths at the mouth, the bull bellows to Boreas for air; and the violent writer, and violent reader, are both ready for the whip and ſtraight waiſtcoat. But when the fierceneſs of the day is over, and the world is kept from fainting, at the ſame time that vegetation is recovered from her ſwoon, by the night breezes, it is as likely a time for an interval, as any in the whole year.

[79]It was, as I remember, upon an evening of this kind (when I had paſſed the hours of noon in all the furor of ſyſtematic madneſs), that I was walking at the back of my par⯑ſonage, in the meadow; when my ear was attracted by the voice of a perſon giving thanks. "The God of grace reward your worthineſs," ſaid the voice. I looked over the hedge, and by the help of a glaſs, which the com⯑mentators obliged me to uſe, I caſt my eye upon two figures very oppo⯑ſitely diſpoſed. The one, a courteous hale looking man, was binding his handkerchief pretty hard round the knee of the other, which was neither more or leſs than a horſe, that had, as I afterwards found, juſt before thrown his rider—the very man, who [80]was now employed in ſo humane an office.

He no ſooner perceived me, than he begged earneſtly that I would ſtep over the hedge, and hold the bridle, this I did at the coſt of firſt tumbling into the ditch, which my dimneſs prevented me from ſeeing on the other ſide, and for which fall (as well as a thouſand other blunders) I may thank ſyſtems, Mr. Preſident.

The owner of the beaſt, now began to ſtrip, and with the ſore-flap of his coat, to rub the blood from the noſtrils, and the dirt from the fore⯑head of the creature; and laſtly, in a voice (where tenderneſs ſoftened re⯑buke) thus ſpoke to the brute.

And wert thou affrighted; didſt thou ſtart aſide from thy path, for that [81]thou ſaweſt rags and wretchedneſs in the way of thy on going? See what thou haſt got by it. That fall, and theſe ſmarting teſtimonies of it, are ſo many judgments upon thy barbarity! So may every wretch fall; ſo may every wretch meet a fate like thine.—Oh thou unkindly beaſt—who turneth from that through pride, to which he ought through ſenſibility to approach. And yet thou wert not wont to be ſo cruel, and ſo hard⯑hearted, neither: from my firſt put⯑ting the bit into thy mouth, even unto this day, have I found no blame in thee, till this hour. On the con⯑trary, whenever I have eaſed the traveller, or the beggar upon thy back, thou, as if ſenſible of the gentle taſk in which I had engaged thee, [82]would ſtep, as if on a ſhoe of ſilk, and tread (even in the moſt uneven paths) as thou wert treading upon a carpet of velvet.

For this one time I will heal thy bruiſes, pity, and pardon thee—but— I charge thee to conſider my clemency, and ſin no more; for in the day that thou inſulteſt misfortune a ſecond time, thou ſhalt ſurely die.

It was not till this moment that I diſcovered a very poor creature of the female ſex, ſitting in a penſive poſture, with a ſmall ſcript by her ſide, and a baby neſtled in the ſoftneſs of ſlumber within her boſom; a boſom, which in defiance of her circum⯑ſtances, was white as ſnow. Pray, ſaid I, to the horſeman, who is that young woman at the border of the [83]bank? Who ſhe is, I really know not, replied the ſtranger, but what ſhe is appeared to me ſo manifeſt a little while ago, that I was diſmounting to relieve her, when this cruel animal (pointing to his horſe) affected to be frightened, flew out of the road, and as you ſee, got a broken knee and a bloody noſe for his pains: for which, though I love him tenderly, I am not ſorry: however, if you will con⯑tinue to hold his bridle—as there is no truſting to man or beaſt, when the devil has once got poſſeſſion of him —I will now go and perform my duty.

Saying this, the ſtranger went to the young woman, gave ſomething from his purſe, and immediately re⯑turned.

[84]I requeſted to know what ſhe ſaid I know not my friend, any thing about her, replied the horſeman, and the only words I ever heard her utter, were deſigned to thank me for not ſuffering my horſe to run over her, as ſhe laid fainting along the road.

But had you, ſaid I to the ſtranger, ſo little curioſity as not to inform yourſelf of her hiſtory? I had ſo little cruelty, ſo little impertinence, anſwered he; I offered as much as my circum⯑ſtances allowed; I gave her the mo⯑dicum I could ſpare, and that was too little a recompence for what ſhe gave me in return. What did ſhe give you? A tear, ſaid the man: lookee—'tis ſtill upon the back of my hand, verging to the very finger that brought my tribute-money from the purſe; and [85] there it ſhall remain: the heart from whence it roſe, conſecrated it, ere it [...]ell: I will not wipe it away; it will teach me ſenſibility. How cameſt thou my friend, ſaid I, by theſe peculiar ſentiments? By whom wert thou [...]aught them?

By nature, replied the man.

Whoſe ſyſtem haſt thou ſtudied?

The ſyſtem of nature, ſaid he.

He had now got his foot again within the ſtirrup, and thanking me for the trouble I had taken, was preparing to go forward. As it was a fine evening, I requeſted him to go ſlowly, that I might enjoy the company of ſo ſingu⯑lar a character.

With the moſt eaſy and natural complacence imaginable, he diſmount⯑ed, joined by my ſide, and led the [86]horſe in his hand. Within a few paces we ſaw a boy with a hat in his hand, and in it a bird's neſt, which he had juſt taken, filled with young: juſt as we paſſed him, he took one of the callow creatures from the hat, toſſed it into the air, and then let it cruſh itſelf againſt the ground. My companion threw the bridle into my hand, and ran to the boy without ſpeaking; whom, after having held for a conſiderable while ſuſpended by the leg, he thraſhed handſomely with his whip, threw him upon the graſs, and left him.

Wherefore did you beat the boy ſo ſeverely, ſaid I?

For the ſake of my ſyſtem, rejoined the ſtranger.

[87]Preſently we took notice of a per⯑ſon, who (though having loſt one of his arms) was extricating a lamb from the brambles, partly with his left hand, and partly with the ſtump of his right: my companion hurried away to the man with inconceivable eagerneſs—aſſiſted in the buſineſs— ſhook the maimed ſoldier (for ſuch he was) very cordially by the hand, and gave him money.

And what is all this, ſaid I?

It is my SYSTEM, anſwered the ſtranger, it is my SYSTEM: the only rational one in the world: the Syſtem of Nature.

It was now almoſt twilight, and I was about to bid him adieu, not a little ſtruck with the ſketch he had exhibited of his temper. At this in⯑ſtant [88]a hare, purſued by a neigh⯑bouring dog, croſſed our path. The ſtranger threw his whip at the dog, with the utmoſt violence, and ſnapt the leg bone; then, rubbing his hands joyouſly together, ſkipt about, and ſeemed infinitely delighted.

And pray what taught thee this action, I exclaimed?

My ſyſtem, ſaid the man (in a tone elevated at leaſt three full notes above his former articulation)

It began about this time to lighten: the thunder ran along the ſkies, and the hemiſphere was in a blaze. The ſtranger made a dead pauſe—folded his arms together — dropt upon his knee — bowed his head even to the earth, and went on. Rain ſucceeded the thunder: I was very thinly habited, [89]and had beſides a ſlight cold upon me. The man ſaw my diſtreſs, complained that the night was inſufferably hot, and begged I would carry his great coat upon my ſhoulders—There was no reſiſting him. The coat was on me in a moment, and the owner took ſhelter under an elm-tree, that offered a luxuriant arbourage by the road ſide. The ſtorm was ſoon over, and the moon aroſe in all her ſoftneſs, ele⯑gance, and majeſty. The ſudden ap⯑pearance of any glorious object ſeizes our attention, and the ſtranger hailed the riſing brightneſs with an unaf⯑fected fervor of gratitude.

Pray ſir, ſaid I, have you read much? The Bible, ſir, he replied, and two other books.

What are they?

[90] Theſe, rejoined the man, the volume of Nature, and the volume of Shake⯑ſpear?

Why Shakeſpear?

Becauſe one, is a commentary upon the other. Shakeſpear was born to il⯑luſtrate Nature: But it grows late, I wiſh you a very good night, ſir. He mounted his horſe, and rode on.

I went home, Mr. Preſident—made a ſacrifice of all my Annotators, the next morning, to Nature; bought Shakeſpeare; purchaſed his whole works; ſtudied my Bible without a Commentary; altered my Syſtem; embraced Nature, obeyed her real dictates, and from that very time began to recover apace, till, in the end, I got fleſh upon my bones, [91]ſight in my eyes, ſtrength in my ſoul, and quiet at my heart.

CHAP. CVI.

This member had no ſooner ended, than every one teſtified his appro⯑bation by clapping his hands; and yet, late as it was in the night, or rather early as it was in the morning, a fourth member aroſe to addreſs the Preſident.

The perſon that now ſtood up, had a deep gloom upon his face, his brow was purſed into a ſettled frown, and very rigid features (together with a hoarſe, querulous voice) rendered him extremely forbidding: yet he had a penetrating eye, and did not want [92]words. In ſhort, he was a downright Freethinker, and thus, to my entire amazement, ſhewed himſelf off.

Mr. Preſident, I have this night heard many pleaſant, many learned, and many ingenious obſervations, upon the ſubject of Human Happi⯑neſs. But, ſir, it often happens that pleaſantry, learning, and ingenuity, have nothing at all to do with matter of fact. This, I conceive to be the caſe at preſent. In my notion, we are hunting after a thing that never was, never is, nor ever ſhall be. If we talk for ever, we ſhall never talk ourſelves into Happineſs, and my opinion mili⯑tates againſt every man that pretends to have found any reſt for the ſole of his foot. Sir, I will take upon me to prove, that according to the preſent [93]government and eſtabliſhment of affairs terreſtrial, it is impoſſible a man of found thinking ſhould be happy. The ſpace of territory on which we tread, is too unequally, not to ſay abſurdly divided, to admit of it. I do not ſpeak, ſir, but upon deliberation: but after having turned this planet of ours on all ſides, I am obliged, upon the plain principles of common ſenſe, to conclude that it is upon the whole, a very moderate planet, and that the contriver of it could be no conjurer.

At this expreſſion, ſome of the members began to hiſs, and to cry, Down, down, down! but the Pre⯑ſident, obſerving that the freedom of debate muſt, on no account, be [94]checked, called to order, and the Freethinker proceeded.

Yes, Mr. Preſident, I will avow it, in oppoſition to all the hiſſes of either bigotry or prejudice:—the world is a bad world, and all that it inherits, little better than "the baſeleſs fabric of a viſion." It is too late to run into the detail, and therefore I ſhall con⯑tent myſelf with a very few argu⯑ments. Why, Mr. Preſident, ſhould there be diſproportions at all, natural, mental, or corporeal? Why ſuch ſtupendous hills, and deep ſunk val⯑lies? Why ſhould there be any de⯑formity? Wherefore ſhould this poor fellow go pointed at by the ſaucy finger through life, merely becauſe he hath a bandied leg, a wry neck, or a [95]bunch upon his back? Is any being [...]reated, or are any of its limbs ludi⯑crouſly diſtorted by the ſports of nature, on purpoſe to be the laughing⯑ſtock of another? What right has the raven to fly through the pure air, while the rational draggles it on foot upon the polluted earth? My very dog hath greater ſpeed than his maſter. Why, for the ſake of expedition, could not man have had four legs in⯑dead of two; and why, in the name of reaſon, are thoſe two unable (beſtir themſelves as they will) to keep pace with an aſs? Truly, ſir, I think moſt matters might be mended. Why ſhould the ordure of the brute be fra⯑grant, while that of the laſt beſt work of the moſt ſapient Creator is intoler⯑ably offenſive? Tell me, ye who ſtand [96]forth to defend the ſupremacy of man, and the dignity of human nature, tell me why the moſt beautiful part of it, is ſo imperfectly framed, as to become a mere thoroughfare for the dirty work of digeſtion? Wherefore too, is the ſeat of joy ſo indelicately made, at the ſame time, the ſeat of our actual off-ſcourings? And why pray, do we boaſt of our erect figure? I ſee nothing wherein to plume ourſelves, as to that prerogative: if we carry our noſes nearer to the heavens, we thereby are leſs ſenſible of the per⯑fume of vegetation: if we were nearer to the earth, the more exquiſite would be the ſcent of the flowers that adorn its ſurface: we might then ſmell the violet freſh as it grows: after being cropt, it languiſhes; and hence it is [97]manifeſt, that the ſallad of the horſe, is more highly reliſhed than the lord that rides him.

Then again, Mr. Preſident, as to our appetites. Can any man of common compaſſion think upon theſe, and the wile means by which their greedineſs is pacified, without quarrelling with the very teeth in his head? Why was I truſted with a periodical paſſion for the blood of innocence? Why muſt the lamb leave its paſture, the fiſh its ſtream, and the lark her ſong, for the voracious cravings of a fellow animal?

In regard to moral evils, why is the knave allowed, for many proſperous years, the range of a palace, while the good man, yea, even the man after [98]God's own heart is limited to the gratings of a dungeon?

With reſpect to natural miſeries, why am I to be wound up every twelfth hour like a mere clook, the ſtructure of men's fingers? Wherefore not made to laſt longer together? Or rather, why am I ſo crazily con⯑ſtructed as to be in danger of diſ⯑ſolution from ten thouſand accidents, and to be actually decaying from the moment I am born? Are not the firſt ten years of a very niggard appoint⯑ment of time, either whimpered away in the puling weakneſſes of infancy, or trifled out in the frivolouſneſs of childhood? Are not five more groaned away under the ſmartings of the rod? And, by the bye, Mr. Preſident, what [99]right hath one being to give pain to another, upon any pretence whatever? Are not twenty years more, paſſed under the tyranny, and the ſlavery of my paſſions? Are not love, hate, jealouſy, ambition, avarice, prodiga⯑lity, all in a conſpiracy againſt me: each, by turns predominant, and all fretting my heart, agonizing my boſom, diſtracting my head, and tear⯑ing my poor victim of a body all to pieces? Is not exquiſite joy ſo con⯑trived, as to do me as great an injury, and ſhake my frame as violently, as the extreme of grief? Are not many of my days, in moſt of my years, made often inſufferable, generally inſipid, by either the languors of ſickneſs, the throbs of anxiety — the miſeries of ſympathy, and the innumerable revo⯑lutions, [100]whirled at the peace of my ſoul, on the pilgrimage of my exiſt⯑ance? Are not, moreover, the lees of life (when the veſſel of mortality is running out its dregs) every way de⯑plorable? And am I not then, again to revert to the firſt principle, and re⯑inherit all the decrepitude of the babe, without finding any entertainment in its gewgaw or rattle? Horrible—hor⯑rible, moſt horrible!

In the laſt ſcene, when the breath hath deſerted my body, why am I—

Here the Freethinker ſtopt to blow his noſe, firſt begging pardon of the ſociety and their excuſe for yielding to that, amongſt other natural infir⯑mities.

[101]The Preſident took this opportu⯑nity to break the thread of his diabo⯑lical argument by the deciſion of the hammer. He ſtruck it forcibly againſt the deſk, and I could not but fancy I heard ſomething of a good heart in the ſound: certainly, ſaid I, the Preſident is tired of this wretch's ſyſtem, and knocks down his ſophiſtry with a be⯑coming indignation.

The Freethinker doubled up his pocket handkerchief diſdainfully, bit his lips, and ſat gloomy ſilent.

Without ſcarce feeling myſelf riſe, I got up, and contrary to all order, ſtood oppoſite to the Freethinker, and ſpoke to him with a loud voice.

CHAP. CVII.

You have given me a good deal of miſery, Mr. Freethinker; pray, con⯑deſcend to reward me now with a lit⯑tle pleaſure: anſwer me but two ſhort queſtions, and I wiſh thee a fair journey through the realms of interrogation? Why wert thou not made of moſt rare and excellent fleſh, that inſtead of digeſting, thou mighteſt have been digeſted; and wherefore in⯑ſtead of the noſe upon thy face, hadſt thou not the unweildy proboſcis of an elephant?

I felt my cheek glow and my heart beat againſt my corſlet, as I uttered [103]this, and yet it had like to have been attended with ſerious conſequences.

The freethinker drew his hanger, which he wore to defend himſelf a⯑gainſt the aſſaſſination of his fellow animals, and ſwore, he would put me to death for the inſult of calling him freethinker. The poet ſaid, the li⯑cence of a ſtranger to the regulations of the ſociety, ought to plead my apo⯑logy; the patron obſerved, that he ſaw authorſhip ſkulk under the pent⯑houſe of my eye, and that he ſhould not protect me. The prieſt left me to nature and providence, and Draper proteſted, as he threw his body, ſhield-like before me, that if any man dared but to touch a hair of my head, he would eradicate him from the face of the earth.

[104] The confuſion now become general, and the Preſident haſtily deſcended to diſarm the Freethinker, who was the only perſon that happended to have cold iron about him: the Preſident, ſtealing behind, gave his hanger to the Prieſt, who ran off with it to the waiter: The Poet called the Patron a jackanapes for reflecting on author⯑ſhip, which produced a ſneer from the patron, and that ſneer produced a blow from the Poet, and that blow a battle.

The Freethinker, meantime ſallied up to Draper, who with a hearty good⯑will gave him a ſlap upon the face, telling him at the ſame time, that he would do him for once, the honour to foul his fingers upon a Freethinker. The Freethinker upon this, doubled his fiſt, and flew upon Draper, while the Preſident declared I deſerved [105]thraſhing, for being the little inſigni⯑ficant inſtrument of ſo much confu⯑ſion. This innuendo nettled all that was irraſcible about me, and with my friend Draper's elegant cane, that was lolling indolently againſt my chair, I favoured the Preſident with as ſound a ſtroke upon the ſhoulders as could be poſſibly given by the arm of an angry man. And now, we were drawn up three deep, man to man, in a battle royal, victory remaining for a conſi⯑derable time doubtful. The Poet, hitting the Patron hard upon the right thigh, hurt his knuckles againſt the body of a certain ſolid metal that was there ſnugly depoſited, in a purſe of ſilk: and the patron, in return, ſtruck the man of ink upon the tem⯑ples, from whence iſſued a noiſe like [106]that from an empty veſſel being ſud⯑denly ſmitten. By this time I had compelled the Preſident to ſeek for ſhelter even in his roſtrum; and there, that I might complete my conqueſt, I purſued the fugitive, and at one blow, fairly knocked him down with his own hammer. Draper's victory too, was by this time manifeſted, for ſtriking the Freethinker upon the bridge of that noſe, to which he had ſo much objection, this audacious aſker of queſtions came to the earth even near enough to ſmell the per⯑fume of the duſt thereof; and the triumphant Draper, (who loved up⯑rightneſs), ſtood erect upon his body. At length however, like generous conquerors, we raiſed our foes: forgiveneſs was exchanged for the [107]pardon that was invited: the Patron put five pieces into the hand of the Poet, to prove, that patronage was after all, ſuperior to poetry: the Pre⯑ſident ſhook me by the hand, and declared himſelf to blame, giving me at the ſame time an invitation to viſit his cottage in the country, and the Freethinker proteſted he richly de⯑ſerved twenty bloody noſes for inter⯑rupting any man, for the ſake of cere⯑mony, in the progreſs of fair argu⯑ment. It being now really daylight, and peace ratified, Mr. Draper and I drank a glaſs of forgiveneſs to the company, and then departed, like a pair of conquerors.

CHAP. CVIII.

A very beautiful morning was be⯑ginning to dawn, as we left the ſociety of Syſtems; and I was ſo full of the ſtrange contradictory circumſtances I had juſt been a witneſs to, that I had no paſſion even for the long abſent arms of the expecting Lucy, and ſuf⯑fered Draper to lead me even where he thought proper. After having walked (for the ſtreets were quite clear from either chairs or coaches) ſome minutes without ſpeaking, I pulled Draper by the arm, and deſired his Syſtem. To the very bottom of my ſoul, I hate the very name of ſyſtem, ſaid he, and yet, as every man muſt [109]form to himſelf ſome opinion of this world, and its government, this, Be⯑nignus, is mine. I admire the ſyſtem juſt as it ſtands: I can ſee the hill and dale, buſh and briar, dell and dingle, wood and water, lawn and labyrinth of life, without being of⯑fended at them, either in the moral or natural world: on the contrary, I think they form a conſiderable part of its beauty, and even of its conve⯑nience: a fig, Benignus, for the ſmooth path alone; were it not now and then for the ruggedneſs of the mountain, we ſhould be inſenſible to the level of the plain: were it not for hurri⯑canes, we ſhould ceaſe to congratulate one another upon ſun-ſhine. I love variety, and the preſent world pleaſes me ſufficiently upon that account. It [110]is in itſelf one general up-and-down: the human ſoul abhors ſameneſs. When Nature turns ſo prudiſh as to quit her paſſion for variety, when ſhe is ſo far gone, as to paint one tulip, or form one feature exactly like an⯑other, it is then time to tremble, Be⯑nignus; for, after that, the world cannot hold together another click of the pendulum: but there is no reaſon to fear: there are too many charms in the preſent agreeable ſyſtem for me to complain of it: it hits happily my rambling temper: all the objects of it are pleaſing from their frequent changings; ſtreams love to meander, the very trees twiſt themſelves into a hundred ſhapes, the many-coloured clouds are ſhifting every minute be⯑fore us, wilderneſſes wind, flowers are [111]whimſically varied: the riſing light wears at this inſtant a different face from what it will preſently wear: all things gratify my love of viciſſitude, and in ſhort, Benignus, I am for a Syſtem of variety.

Mr. Draper had juſt cloſed his un⯑connected remarks upon the debates of the night, when he told me that if I would ſleep in Dover-ſtreet, he would ſhew me a little manuſcript that he found ſeveral years ago, as he was ſtrolling in St. James's Park. It is a mere a fragment, ſaid he, and, by the hand, was evidently the work of a female pen. The ſubject of which it treats, is that which we have this night heard ſo circumſtantially diſ⯑cuſſed; and if you are not ſufficiently ſick of talking about happineſs, I will [112]give it you directly on my getting home.

I agreed to the conditions, having indeed leſs reliſh for a miſtreſs at that time, than for meditation; and, upon our arrival at Draper's, he very obli⯑gingly examined his papers, and, after a pretty long ſearch, found that, which will be offered to the reader in the next chapter.

CHAP. CIX.

As ſoon as I withdrew to my cham⯑ber, I opened the paper, and read the following ſentiments of a mind tranquiliſed by the angel of content. It was entitled, "The offerings of gratitude," and began thus.

[113]—Praiſe be to the benignity of Heaven! my fortune is not great, but my frugality is in proportion to it, and hence it is that my cup is full and my heart ſatisfied. And yet are there not ſome ſad diſproportions; do we not ſee them, do we not feel them? What is to be done by thoſe who are born only to walk about a wide world without a friend? To what reſources ſhall ſuch unfortunates retreat? Shall they beg? Let them beware of the beadle. Shall they borrow? Let them dread the priſon. Shall they ſteal their own neceſſaries from the ſuperflux of another? Let them tremble at the halter. Muſt they really, notwithſtanding, exiſt? Is ſelf⯑murder the crime againſt which the everlaſting hath fixed his cannon? [114]Alas! what courſe — what honeſt courſe is to be taken? Could nature have contrived no method to have ſatisfied the deſires and wants of her pooreſt children without their finding a ſuccedaneum in criminal or illicit expedients? Could ſhe have made no conſtitutional diſtinctions, proportion⯑ed to the ſcantineſs of circumſtances? Was it not poſſible to edge the palate of poverty only for the herbs of the field, the flowers of the foreſt, and the nectar of the running water? No: It appears not. Not a ſingle link in the great chain that binds us to one another—that chain, which, deſcend⯑ing from heaven to earth, is pro⯑perly the ceſtus of ſociety, the girdle which draws the individual to the ſpecies—not a ſingle link of this [115]muſt be broken. The mechaniſm of Providence, intricate yet regular, may not be entangled, or injured, by the fantaſtical alterations of innovat⯑ing man. What then is to be done? Hath nature given being to any thing on purpoſe to torment it—given it eyes, to ſee that elegance which it may not ſhare; wants, which though perceived ſhall not be gratified; appe⯑tites, which ſollicit in vain; and feelings which are to be diſappointed: hath ſhe, like an improvident parent, beſtowed life, without the ordinary means of contrivance for its conti⯑nuity? Then ſhould we with juſtice, refuſe to offer praiſes to the power from whom we have received no be⯑neſits.

[116]But is this really, at any time, the caſe? Ah no: Truth, with a ſmile, utters a ſentiment the fartheſt from it poſſible. Far be ſuch propenſe bar⯑barity from the more hoſpitable de⯑ſigns of our governor?

—Praiſe be to the benignity of nature! where wealth is denied, be⯑hold how liberally ſhe gives the pro⯑per equivalents; hands to toil—head to project—ſpirits to perſevere, or talents to entertain. Into the arms of the indigent ſhe hath put ſtrength, muſcles more vigorous, form more athletic, or elſe ſhe allots an advan⯑tageous verſatility,—a brain prolific— a ſoul for enterprize, or ſome other capacity of providing for the exigen⯑cies of the day. All, or any of theſe, produce proper ſupplies. Happy in [117]my own ſituation, doth the ſigh heave, and the tear fall for the diffi⯑culty in which my fancy repreſents the cottager involved? Hath the God of nature refuſed her benignity to him? Here truth again ſettles the point agreeable to the benignity of Providence. Congratulate, ſaith ſhe, the labourer, upon the bread that is to be earned only by the ſweat of his brow: from his wants ariſe at once his virtues and his joys. Conſider well what thoſe joys produce.

They produce health, who diets upon the ears of the ſheaf, that he may ſnore at night upon the ſtalks, formed without difficulty into a bed of tranquility. The ſun, it is true, ſcorches; but then the poor man is ſeaſoned to it, and while he "ſweats in [118]the eye of Phoebus," he ſtoops to the exerciſe of the ſickle, whiſtles cheari⯑ly in his progreſs, and tells blithly to his companion the ſtory of his laſt frolic. It muſt be owned, likewiſe, that the rain often invades him at his work; but then it muſt be conſider⯑ed that the hedges are generally con⯑tiguous, and when they are not, the paſſing ſhower is grateful to the heated huſbandman. I will not deny the coarſeneſs of his raiment; but then it is the warmer upon that account. His food alſo is far from being delicate; but yet it is for that very reaſon the more wholeſome.

The ſun hath juſt made his "gol⯑den ſet" in the weſt: the hours of labour are over. Now then look at the cottager. The ſickle is laid acroſs his ſhoulder: his eldeſt boy trudges [119]after him with the gleanings of paſ⯑time in the one hand, and the emp⯑tied ſcrip in the other: his watch-dog, taught to keep the cloaths from the pilfering fingers of the vagabond, trots, pleaſed with his ſervitude, be⯑fore him: the zephyrs of the evening beſtow the gradual coolneſs; and the ſong of the nightingale attends him over the lees. Truth cannot yet be perſuaded to leave him: let us attend then, to the finiſhings of her picture.

The huſbandman is now within ſight of his ſhed; he is this minute plucking the latch of his ſtraw-built cottage. The houſewife hath left her wheel, and the children of this prolific matron, are playing the gam⯑bols of infancy upon the plain, clean, brick floor: the father's kiſs echoes [120]on every lip; the nurſe's nonſenſe ſinks the ſweet dimple in every face; the little ones, for the ſake of com⯑pany, as well as convenience, lie ſo⯑cially together: the parents retire to the nervous embraces of each other: hence another teſtimony of the father's virility ſoon appears. What of that? he only piques himſelf upon the ad⯑dition of his family, dandles the ſuck⯑ling upon his knee at his return from work, melts even into tears as it re⯑poſes on the boſom of the mother, and only works the harder to maintain it.

—Praiſe be to the benignity of heaven! all I ſee is right. For my own part, I do not envy even the cottager. My children are graced with all the elegancies of the human [121]figure; complexions clear, eyes bril⯑liant, lips rubied, ſhapes exact. One is indeed at preſent indiſpoſed, but the warm ſeaſon is at hand, and the roſe ſhall again reviſit his cheek. One is not, but it died in the moſt innocent part of life: the pang of the parent is huſhed in the boſom of piety, and who knows, but it may now be the guardian cherub of my other little ones. My huſband is ſaid to be de⯑formed, but the power that permits him to be ſo, hath ſuited my eyes to his ſituation, and I cannot but think him handſome. He is now aſleep, wearied with providing for his beſt beloved, and her dear aſſociates! what a bleſſing is repoſe? I will go ſit by his ſide, guard his ſlumbers, and watch the hour of his awaking.

[122]Happy infancy! my youngeſt is ſporting with its plaything: Happy childhood! my eldeſt is delighting it⯑ſelf with the pictures that illuſtrate the fable, painted and written to the ten⯑derneſs of the riſing ideas: Happy maturity! that beſtows upon one of either ſex, thoſe attractions which make them a world to each other. Ah! what ſweet ſenſations move the heart of a wife, a parent, and a friend!

But, as the eternal ſcale is for ever turned by the angel of indulgence, let me end as I began.

Praiſe be to the benignity of Provi⯑dence: it is to that we owe the fe⯑licities of earth. Who is he that can look round him, and ſtill be a mur⯑murer? who is he that can accept the [123]bleſſings on every ſide preſented to him, yet ceaſe to be virtuous? Praiſe be to the benignity of Providence, world without end.

CHAP. CX.

After having read the fragment twice over, with an attention that it appeared to merit, I went to bed: but never had I leſs inclination to ſleep, ſince I came into this world. Every thing that had paſſed before me in the courſe of the night, kept my eyes open, and my thoughts at work. The debates I had heard at the So⯑ciety of Syſtems; the battle which put an end to them; the ſituation of my own heart in regard to Lucy, whom I had ſeverely diſappointed; [124]the contrariety of ſentiment, reverber⯑ated from man to man, whereſoever! went; and the doctrine of the frag⯑ment, all united their efforts, not only to prevent me from the enjoyment of repoſe, but from poſſeſſing while awake the ſmalleſt degree of ſerenity. The more knowledge I acquired of the characters of men, and the more reſearches I made after happineſs, the leſs was I pleaſed with my ſurvey, and the leſs felicity did I acquire.

Nor was I a little aſtoniſhed to find the ſyſtem-mongers, all ſupporting an oppoſite opinion, and yet none of them cheriſhing that, which I then imagined to be the ſummum bonum: the pleaſures of a miſtreſs, were never ſo much as glanced at, nor did even Draper himſelf profeſs to adopt the Syſtem of Love: on the contrary, he [125]avowed himſelf devoted only to the joys of variety.

Unhappy is he, who, in the days of his youth traverſes this intricate world, without a guide; and of all other prepoſterous paſſions, the moſt prepoſterous is that which induces an orphan of fortune to truſt himſelf to mankind, with neither experience to direct, prudence to adviſe, nor oeco⯑nomy to regulate. Let no man that is new to the active ſcenes of a city, ever venture again into a metropolis, unattended: let no man indulge his inclinations for travelling, without firſt conſidering that if he is miſerable at home, he muſt tread warily in⯑deed, if he does not increaſe that miſery abroad. Let no man ruſh into the tumults of life without a virtuous [126]monitor: in a word, let every Telema⯑chus tremble at the conduct, that is not firſt ſanctified by the approbation of a Mentor!

With regard to my reflections upon the Society of Syſtems, and upon the irregularity of my own life, together with the conſtant fluctuation of my thoughts from opinion to opinion they were truly painful; and at length wrought ſo ſtrongly upon my imagi⯑nation, that I could no more repreſs the ſentiments that roſe to my lip; but folding my hands with an earneſt⯑neſs dictated by my heart, I thus pe⯑tioned for tranquility, the only Power that was able to inſpire it.

Condeſcend to guide an uneſtab⯑liſhed wanderer, thou Deity of Truth! condeſcend to direct one, whom the [127]contradictions of men have led into the thorny ways of inextricable di⯑lemma! thou only art equal to the diſentanglement; thou, whom I have ſo often heard arraigned; whoſe benevolence, mildneſs, will, wiſdom, and every other attribute, I have ſeen ſo often miſrepreſented! thou, who by one, art painted unkind and im⯑placable; by a ſecond, careleſs, and ſupine; by a third inefficient, and powerleſs; by a fourth, weak and im⯑perfect—by a fifth, ununiform, incon⯑ſiſtent, and variable: now depicted with the falſe emblem of a deſolating ſword—now with the laurel of a Creator's triumph at the downfall and degradation of thine own frail and fearful creatures. From the anarchy of theſe ideas do Thou call [128]my ſentiments into order, and into rectitude! do Thou—power of peace! parent of nature! and regulator of the heart, even when enthralled by the ſhackles of ſophiſtical men! do thou guide me into the right way— breathe into the ſpirit of thy inex⯑perienced ſubject—oh everlaſting eſ⯑ſence, that truth which ſurpaſſeth all ſyſtems—give me that genuine un⯑adulterated devotion, warm from the heart, and obedient to its impulſes— do thou reſcue me from the chicane of wit, the dreams of dulneſs, and the caſuiſtry of theoretic madmen: make me—henceforward to confeſs what I feel; to ſuſpect what I hear: examine what I ſee, and ſteadfaſtly to believe only thoſe ſentiments, whether written in volumes, or ſpoken from [129]the lips, that pourtray thee what thou really art, foe to controverſy, father of the fatherleſs, and friend of ſim⯑plicity.

CHAP. CXI.

Somewhat relieved by this addreſs, I roſe at the uſual hour, and found Draper, contrary to my expectation, at the breakfaſt table.

I am going, my dear Benignus, ſaid he, upon an affair of buſineſs that de⯑mands the niceſt punctuality, and it is for that purpoſe you ſee me up at this unſeaſonable hour; but pray, my good lad, what is the matter? you look as pale and diſmal this morning as a phantom: what! it could not [130]ſleep without its bed-fellow, I find▪ come then, drink its diſh of coffee, and away to its Lucy, for health's ſake.

I could not help telling him the ſtate of my mind; and in particular, the pain I felt from the conſtant per⯑turbation I was in, for the want of acting upon ſome ſtationary principle. You put me in mind, ſaid Draper, of a man I once knew, who, having heard much, and read more, pinn'd his faith upon the ſleeve of another, and, at laſt, indulged himſelf in ſuch habits of credulity, that he had no opinion of his own.

I requeſted a ſketch of the perſon's ſtory. This fellow, continued Draper, was an old ſchool-mate of mine: he was always fond of books, but one of [131]thoſe random readers, who run over volumes, to uſe the common phraſe, as a cat runs over an harpſichord: this abſurdity grew as he grew, till about the time that he came to his for⯑tune, he was ſo thoroughly variable, that, read whatever he might, he al⯑ways adopted the precept of the page in hand. One day he was a ſound philoſopher, and on the the morrow philoſophy was driven out, as it were by the wedge of politics. He was an arrant literary turncoat, ever chang⯑ing, and never the better for it. To humour the ſyſtem of one, he com⯑mitted private violences, for the ſake of public benefits; and had thereby brought himſelf within an inch of the gallows. To accommodate himſelf to two writers upon health, who diſſered [132]materially upon the ſubject, he gave each of their ſyſtems a month's practi⯑cal experiment: thus, in conformity to the one, he eat, drank, and ſlept, at ſtated ſtrokes of the pendulum; and, in compliance with the other, whenever he was hungry he eat, when drowſy he ſlept, and when thirſty he drank till he was ſatisfied. A poem, on the pleaſures of melan⯑choly, written by Milton, made him, I remember, ſit freezing under a yew tree, in the drear of December; and a ſecond, on the joys of chearfulneſs, by the ſame author, induced him to collect all his friends together, and get drunk three nights running, for the ſake of conviviality. A little trea⯑tiſe, written many years ago, upon politeneſs and manners, made him [133]alter the cut of his coat, the clip of his nails, the ſqueeze of his hat, the bend of his bow, and the ſlide of his foot. He ſhifted his religion much oftner than his linen. In his youth he read Virgil, and in order to follow the precepts laid down by that poeti⯑cal huſbandman, he commenced far⯑mer and graſier; turned out his old tenants, and cultivated his own eſtate, upon Virgilian principles. Soon after this, the Iliad of Homer falling in his way, he ſold his land, ſent his oxen to Smithfield, and, inſpired by the heroiſm of Hector, liſted for a ſoldier, loſt his limb, and came glo⯑riouſly back to his native land, with the ſtump of honour. But now, a diſcourſe that was put into his hand at his return, on the pleaſures of re⯑tirement, [134]and the great riches to be found by a wiſe Chriſtian, in poverty, over-ruled him—pliable as ever—to purchaſe a cottage, where, to heighten the ſcene, he read Cowley, Thomſon, and all the deſcriptive poets. After this, he unluckily dipt into an eſſay on taſte, and the decoration of garden grounds, which ſoon made him for⯑ſake his cottage, to embelliſh a curi⯑ous ſpot, which, with the laſt folly⯑money remaining out of a competent income, he bought, and was proceed⯑ing to build, and lay out, exactly ac⯑cording to the lucidus ordo of his au⯑thor, when, unfortunately, in the very criſis of his putting the finiſhing ſtroke to his houſe, he paid a viſit to a friend in Worceſterſhire; in his way to which place, he marked out, as he [135]rode along, a ſpot ſtill more conve⯑nient for his purpoſe, and command⯑ing exactly ſuch a ſite as the author recommended. This diſcovery ſet him upon the gallop, till he found the owner of the ground, whom he addreſſed that very evening upon the ſubject of the property. As he previ⯑ouſly declared money ſhould not part them, the owner, who deſigned to ſell, made his valuation accordingly; and now nothing remained, Benig⯑nus, but a ſingle objection. Upon putting his hand into his purſe, he found it contained only forty guineas. Upon recollecting the ſtate of affairs when he laſt drew upon his banker, he diſcovered—nothing. Alas, poor Jack Bookwit—what could he do, Be⯑nignus? There are, my friend, events [136]in life, which unſettle us from top to bottom, inſide and outſide, at once. A hard blow given by the hand of for⯑tune, when we expect a ſmile, has occaſioned many a whimſical exit out of this world. Such was the caſe with my old ſchool-fellow, Jack Bookwit: the poor man departed very diſconſolately out of the ſight of the land-owner, unbitted his horſe, which he turned to the clover of a contiguous field, made a melancholy uſe of the bridle, and was found dangling by the neck, the next mor⯑ning, a ſacrifice to SYSTEMS, and a memento to the children of men, (and, amongſt others, to thee, Benignus) now and then to follow their own noſes.

[137]When Mr Draper had concluded his ſtory, he obſerved, that the hour of his appointment was come, and (ſhaking me cordially by the hand) departed. I was now never more puzzled what to do; my ſentiments had undergone a ſurpriſing change within a few hours, and I was at a loſs whether to return to my miſtreſs, or endeavour by abſence, to wean myſelf from a connexion, that a lit⯑tle ſerious meditation had taught me to believe diſhonourable. While I was debating betwixt paſſion and conſcience upon this ſubject, a porter brought the following card, and five minutes afterwards, the poſtman pre⯑ſented me with the letters that ſucceed it. I ſhall offer them to the reader in the order they came to hand.

CHAP. CXII.

I was variouſly affected by the per⯑uſal of theſe epiſtles, particularly by the two laſt: I was aſhamed at having ſo ill returned my couſin's invitations; and I was very unwilling to cultivate any farther the connexion, that had already ſeduced me into ſuch num⯑berleſs [141]omiſſions. My heart, I con⯑feſs, pleaded but too pathetically the cauſe of love and Lucy; I felt the ab⯑ſtinence I impoſed on myſelf in its utmoſt ſeverity, yet I was now ſo convinced of the impropriety, that, coſt me what it would, I was deter⯑mined to break acquaintance with this bewitching Syren, that was charm⯑ing me every hour more powerfully.

In purſuit of this laudable reſolu⯑tion, I would not even truſt myſelf to the temptation of a parting inter⯑view, but ſitting down to the writing-deſk, while the tears were in my eyes, penned an anſwer to my miſtreſs, wherein I, like a ſimpleton as I was, entered into long arguments upon the neceſſity of leaving her. Among other things, equally cogent, I told her, [142]that, though I loved her tenderly, my conſcience demanded the ſacrifice of a ſeparation, which, however agoniz⯑ing, muſt enſue: that, her company captivated me, even to the deſtruction of all other attentions, due to friends, relations, and what I owed to my own character: that I found myſelf unfit for any pleaſure, but the plea⯑ſures of her ſociety; and that, as thoſe were not ſanctified by any laws, either divine or human, even the taſte of the times, and the imprimatur of faſhion, could not, upon delibera⯑tion, reconcile me to their enjoy⯑ment: that I lamented the impoſſibi⯑lity of entering into a nearer, dearer, and more ſacred alliance, without in⯑curring that cenſure, which would inivitably attend ſuch a meaſure: [143]but that, nevertheleſs, I ſhould al⯑ways think it my duty, as it would always be my inclination, to contri⯑bute to her convenience, comfort, and accommodation, as to money-matters; and intreated, that my departure from ſuch ſcenes of tranſport, might be conſidered in the right light; not as the frivolous paſſion of a libertine, tired with the poſſeſſion of his object, and upon the look-out for another; but the reſolutions of a man who dared no longer yield to feelings that are manifeſtly repugnant to that delicacy of conduct which alone preſerves and ſuſtains the character.

After having finiſhed my letter, which, all points conſidered, was ſurely no bad effort of philoſophy, I read it over with a triumph that cer⯑tainly [144]aroſe from the ſenſe of a part well acted. On reading it over a ſe⯑cond time, the ſigh involuntarily broke from me at the name of Lucy: I found tender ideas again ruſhing upon me; and, leſt I ſhould relapſe, I had the fortitude to incloſe a bank bill, juſt for her preſent uſe, ſealed it up with a religious haſte, leſt my re⯑ſolution ſhould relax, and diſpatched it by that ſervant of Draper's, who had been converſant in meſſages of gallantry, ſince he came into the ſer⯑vice of that gentleman.

I had ſcarce delivered it, before I wiſhed it again in my hand, and was more than once tempted to run after the meſſenger, and recover it: but, virtue at laſt prevailed over paſſion, and I ſuffered in ſilence: nor dared I [145]wait the return of the ſervant, leſt Lucy's anſwer ſhould contain ſuch ſoftening arguments, as it would be impoſſible to reſiſt. To viſit Mrs. Darlington, however, was a buſineſs to which I was at preſent by no means equal; I was not prepared for the company of an innocent woman, and an amiable family: That, therefore, which at another moment would have been an inſipid invitation, now be⯑came really acceptable; and I conſi⯑dered the ſociety at the White Bear, as a critical refuge from the anguiſh of my reflections.

To this aſſignation then I attended, as ſoon as I could riſe from the in⯑genious fingers of Monſieur Crimpa; and after I had left word for Draper, that I ſhould certainly return in the [146]evening, I went out of the houſe with a heavy heart.—

CHAP. CXIII.

In my way to the White Bear, I endeavoured, as much as poſſible, to command my thoughts from the ac⯑cuſtomed object of their tender con⯑templation; and particularly adverted them to the various adventures I had met in the metropolis, in my ſearch after Happineſs. Full of theſe ideas, and wondering to find opinions ſo ex⯑tremely diſſimilar, in beings who were of the ſame ſpecies, and ultimately in purſuit of the very ſame good, I was walking along in a ſort of philoſo⯑phical perplexity, when my curioſity [147]was attracted by a groupe of females, whom I found ſitting upon the lower ſtone-ſtep of the tavern door. As they were employed in a matter that ſtrongly interreſted my feelings, I ſtood ſtill to obſerve them. There were two women and a child neſtled between them: one of the women untied a dirty looking bundle, from which, ſhe took a miſcellaneous heap of broken victuals, which appeared to be the ſcrapings of twenty tables. Having very cautiouſly divided it into two equal ſhares, with the ſtricteſt re⯑gard to juſtice, (inſomuch, that I be⯑lieve ſhe held the ſcale ſo evenly, a preponderating crumb prevailed nei⯑ther way) ſhe offered the parted ſpoil to the choice of her companion. When this point was ſettled, both the [148]women gave ſomething from their portion to the infant; which, neither having, nor ſeeming to want the com⯑fort of cloathing, looked eagerly upon the buſineſs in hand, as if, at firſt, it thought itſelf not quite ſo fairly treated.

When art ſpreads not her page⯑antries before us, nature is frugally and expediouſly gratified: Their meal was the meal of a moment.

Preſently, a little ſtockingleſs boy, hearty, and happy in his nakedneſs, came running up with a can of water; the women took it, ſhook hands, pledg'd health, ſtroaked the boy on the head, kiſſed the child, and all was over.

I might now go up to the door, which they intercepted without diſ⯑turbing [149]them: I am ſorry to make you get up, good folks, ſaid I, but ſurely you have choſen an unfortu⯑nate place to dine in? the door of a tavern is liable to a thouſand inter⯑ruptions. They got up. What a pretty ſpoken Gentleman, (ſaid one to the other); yes, God love your ho⯑nour, to be ſure, we are often inter⯑rupted, but what little we have is ſoon eaten: our lap is a table, our apron the cloth, and any place ſerves our turn: boy, duſt away the crumbs with your hat, that the gentleman may not ſoil his ſhoes.

The humility of this expreſſion touched me; what a diſtinction is here, (ſaid I ſoftly) without any in⯑trinſic difference? Can the want of a decent dreſs occaſion all this? at that [150]rate, if my cloaths were put upon tht poor man's back, he would aſſume my conſequence, and I ſhould, in⯑veſted with his tatters, ſink, of courſe, into his obſequiouſneſs?

All this time the mendicants, in⯑ſtead of the ſallies of pleaſantry, and ſatisfaction that before zeſted their repaſt, were beginning to mumble out their tale: the notes of content were ſoon changed into the whinings of complaint, and they now ſeemed to be as wretched, as they were before happy. A ſtrange alteration, thought I! however, I was determined to do ſcrupulous juſtice, and therefore, threw them four ſix-pences. A ſcram⯑ble enſued: the boy caught up one, the woman with the child the three others, and made off, while the de⯑frauded [151]creature that remained, who was lame, in the moſt piercing key of reprobation, ſent, upon the wings of the wind, ſuch a volley of curſes after her comrade, that I heartily deſpiſed myſelf for having acted ſo injudici⯑ouſly, even where I imagined I was dealing ſo exactly equitable. The cheats, turning into an alley, were ſoon out of ſight, and the lame wo⯑man renewed her good wiſhes for their immediate perdition; and juſt as I had got into the entry of the ta⯑vern, ſhe prevented my repairing her injury, by fairly telling me, in a language tolerably intelligible, that if I had been inclined to do a good thing, and be curſed to me, I might have parted the money myſelf, and not ſet poor folks a ſcuffling for a trifle, that [152]might break a good-will of ſo much ſervice to both.

I did not like the malice that I ſaw gathering in her countenance, and I therefore hurried into the houſe: as no ſervants were in the long entry that led to the interior parts of the ta⯑vern, the jade had the ſaucineſs to at⯑tack me through the key-hole, as I took ſhelter in an apartment that op⯑pened into the paſſage; and in a voice, which I am ſure came from the bottom of her ſoul, ſhe told me, I put her in mind of the brat, who ſet a whole pariſh a little while ago, by the ears, about a ſhabby twenty pound that was left to poor folks, by Parſon Placid, his guardian.

The name of Placid, which was really that of my late excellent pro⯑tector, [153]immediately arrouſed my at⯑tention; and, without any appre⯑henſion from the offended woman's preſent ſtate of mind, I opened the door, and looking ſteadfaſtly in her face, deſired to know if ſhe had ever ſeen Mr. Placid? Seen him, (ſaid ſhe) yes, I have ſeen him, for I lived at the market-town, three mile from the village where he did duty; and I heard my huſband talk a good deal of that young fellow, who fell heir to the parſonage on Miniſter Placid's death.

Why, who is your huſband then, ſaid I? Ah, fie upon him (ſaid the woman) why, Gerrard Brown, the grocer of Graſſington, is my huſband. And where is he now ſaid I? He's a vile rogue be where he will, replied the beggar, and I will ſooner ſtarve than [154]ſee his face again: a good-for-nothing fellow indeed; to go up to London, and ſpend his ſubſtance, among a parcel of proſtitutes, and come down to his honeſt pains taking lawful wife in the country, by whom he has had lawful children, and give her the de⯑fection of bad diſorders. Oh Gerrard Brawn, Gerrard Brawn, what a villain you are. Have not I been from ſun's riſe to ſunſet, behind the counter, dropping the good ſix-pences in the till, and ſaving my farthing where⯑ſoever I could nip it out of my ſerv⯑ings, till you was a better man than any in town, and could ſhew your face with the 'ſquire himſelf; and was all my care to be rewarded with a —, you dirty fellow: Oh Gerrard Brawn, Gerrard Brawn, what a villain you are!

[155]The poor wretch, here wept bit⯑terly, and I was reſolved to know the particulars of a ſtory that already be⯑came ſo intereſting, for I had heard enough to convince me that I was now in company with the wiſe of the very grocer, (of notorious memory,) whom I left bruiſed in bed at the inn, when I was coming to London. As Mrs. Brawn's appearance was not likely to gain admiſſion into a tavern, I aſked her, if ſhe could accompany me to any place where we might have half an hour's converſation; for that I believed I had once travelled with her huſband, and was ſurpriſed to ſee the wife, whom I remembered he praiſed for her oeconomy, ſo ſoon reduced from a plentiful ſituation; and would do every thing in my power, to effect a reconciliation.

[156]Mrs. Brawn appeared ſenſible of my kindneſs, and, with many courteſies, hopped away to a little public houſe, at ſome diſtance, where ſhe told me her hiſtory; the heads of which were, that, "upon her huſband's return into the country, he had communicated to her, a ſmarting inſtance of his inſi⯑delity; which, being diſcovered, pro⯑duced an altercation that terminated in a domeſtic battle; the fruits of which, were a bruiſed leg, and a ſepa⯑ration: for Mrs. Brawn, declared ſhe would die a thouſand deaths rather than have any farther concern with a man, who not only injured her virtuous ſheets, (as ſhe called them,) but, who had beaten her into the bar⯑gain, and given her a defection, that ſhe believed would carry her to the grave. She farther informed me, that [157]if there was any excuſe to be made for the grocer, it was his having the miſ⯑fortune to find his daughter with child, upon his going to London, by a fellow not worth a groat; and that, ſhe did not know, but upon his per⯑ceiving this, it might turn his head, as it were, and make him go aſtray, to kill care: that, as to his daughter, he told the mantua-maker, to whom ſhe was bound 'prentice, he would have nothing more to ſay to her board or lodgings, and ſo ſhe was turned out of doors; and as for Gerrard himſelf, ſhe knew nothing at all about him; and had rather continue to eat the coarſe and caſual bread of beg⯑gary, than hear, ſee, or have any thing more to do with him. She con⯑feſſed, moreover, that ſhe was in a de⯑plorable way, having no friends alive, [158]except her daughter, whom ſhe could by no means hear of; and therefore, ſhe was the more ſorry I had given the poor woman, I ſaw with her, a temptation to run away from her; add⯑ing, that, as they had been accuſ⯑tomed to beg together, and divide their gettings very punctually ſince ſhe firſt met with this aſſociate in po⯑verty: it would be a loneſome thing, to aſk for charity without a friend of any kind, either to tell her luck to, or to ſooth her in her many diſap⯑pointments. However, ſhe aſked my pardon for the ill-language ſhe had given me; and, (though ſhe ſaid ſhe did not deſerve it) yet, if I could be good enough to ſpare her a ſmall matter, ſhe would limp about to the places where her companion had been uſed to take her charity-ſtands; and, [159]if ſhe found her, would endeavour to buy her company back again, with half my bounty.

This was really very affecting, and I gave, at once to her fidelity, and misfortunes, the tear of undiſ⯑ſembled pity.

Here, Mrs. Brawn, ſaid I, make uſe of this ſilver, till I can do you a more eſſential ſervice; and pray let me know, where I can ſee you to morrow morning.

She made the appointment at the houſe ſhe then was; and after once more aſking forgiveneſs for the abuſe ſhe had beſtowed on me, limped away in ſearch of her colleague.

CHAP. CXIV.

The ſenſations excited by this un⯑expected adventure, and the diſco⯑very attending it, drew from me one of thoſe fervent ejaculations ſo pe⯑culiar to my temper.

And art thou ſo ſoon rewarded (ſaid I), art thou already puniſhed for thy hardneſs of heart, thou Benefac⯑tor of Raſpins? Didſt thou come up to the metropolis, in the pride of thy circumſtances, to ſee an only daughter, of whoſe ſobriety thou boaſted, and didſt thou find her the victim of a villain? and haſt thou loſt the gainful partner of all thy thrifti⯑neſs—ſhe, who ſo well knew how to [161]turn the penny, while thou wert ſmoking the pipe of luxury in thy parlour? Perhaps thou art, by this time, thyſelf in the ſad condition of him, whom, on the journey, thou refuſedſt to relieve, yea, ever ſo lit⯑tle; or, it may be thou, art in a ſitu⯑ation, ſtill more pitiable;—lamenting the ruin of a daughter, whom thy raſhneſs hath made the more exqui⯑ſitely unhappy, and the deſertion of a partner, the old aſſiſtant of thy cares and joys, whom thy inconti⯑nence hath reduced to beggary. If that is the caſe, thy fate is to be com⯑paſſionated, and I have a ſorrow in my ſympathizing breaſt, even for thee.

This was one of thoſe theatrical ſoliloquies I have already celebrated, [162]in which a man thinks as loud, as well-bred people chooſe at any time to ſpeak: ſo that, what ſhould have been aſide, was very plainly heard by the landlady of this manſion. On riſing to pay for the beer I had given to Mrs. Brawn, I beheld our hoſteſs with a pot in the one hand, and hold⯑ing up the corner of her apron to her eyes with the other, ſtanding ſtill as a ſtatue behind me: then perceiving I had done thinking, ſhe exclaimed with an audible voice, "The Lord have mercy upon me! I never heard any thing half ſo moving, ſince I was able to turn the cock: the Lord have mercy upon us! 'tis as good as a ſermon.

Upon laying down the money on the table, ſhe renewed her applauſes, [163]and with great vehemence, "wiſhed with all her ſoul, that I had not two-pence in my pocket, nor a ſhirt to my back, that ſhe might give me the price of the beer, and one of her huſband Jeffery's ſhirts (with frills to the boſom) as a reward for my vartue and larning: both which, ſhe proteſted, were dearer to her than the fleſh upon her bones." I paid her a compliment upon her love of vartue, returned thanks for her good wiſhes, and ſet for⯑ward once more for the White Bear.

CHAP. CXV.

Without meeting any new preven⯑tative in my way, I at length took by the hand my friend Mr. Green; who, with his uſual rapidity of ut⯑terance, told me, that by my ſtaying ſo long, he ſuppoſed I had been mak⯑ing ſome of my benevolent blunders, and had given me over: but, come my dear boy, added he, ſit down, and make yourſelf merry: I am a thouſand-pound man: I have turned up trumps: the game's my own, and lookee, lookee, my lad of a thou⯑ſand, here here I have the honours in my hand: you muſt underſtand, that I have been within four per⯑pendiculars—four [165]bricks walls—my dear youth, ſince our adventure of the eating houſe; but—whew—what of that? a ſnap of a nut for misfor⯑tune: I played out; I got my liberty, by general conſent of all their paſte⯑board majeſties: a pair-royal of kings fanctified my freedom. You muſt know, a rich raſcal, who made a break of it, came into jail to ſhew his poverty and honeſty: I know the fellow, when he flouriſhed like a fig⯑tree; marked him down, ſoon found that the thing was a ſure lay, and now my boy, he is (by Heaven's, and my aſſiſtance) as pennileſs as he ought to have been before he ſneaked into priſon. Oddſbobs that's true, —he muſt not ſtarve neither—here waiter, pray pull the bell.—Here, [166]waiter, carry this guinea to Fleet-pri⯑ſon, to one Doublecrack, with the compliments of Alexander Green, eſq. But I beg a thouſand pardons: my joy makes me as bungling as your⯑ſelf, Benignus—give me your hand— Pray gentlemen, know the prince of ſimplicity, and the pink of liberality— this is, Benignus, the promiſing lad you heard me mention—Pray Niggy, know my friends: this is Jack Blake—this Jerry Smack—there, there, —now is it over—now you are old friends—Come forth then long purſe, and to a laudable purpoſe—to en⯑tertain four of the worthieſt fel⯑lows, perhaps that ever deſpiſed a guinea.

This was the firſt opportunity either I, or any body elſe had, to [167]open our lips; for Green not only engroſſed the converſation, but gave me ſo often the ſqueeze of wel⯑come, and led me ſo heartily through the ceremonies of introduction, that I could only humour his motions, as faſt as my legs could carry me, and how to the company as frequently as he thought proper to anounce me to them; ſometimes under the name of Niggy, ſometimes as his Pink of Li⯑berality; and ſometimes as his Lad of a Thouſand.

The appearance of dinner (the pro⯑fuſion of which, beſpoke the ſituation of the gamſter's pocket) put a ſhort period to the eloquence of this ſtrange mortal, who was ſo truly elevated by the preſent fluſhings of his proſperity, that he ſaid, and did, a thouſand [168]things, which in a calmer ſtate of mind than I then enjoyed, might have inſpired merriment; and which, even as it was, protected me from melan⯑choly. He deſired to know how many my Benevolence had ſaved from the kennel? how many it had promoted from the kitchen to the parlour? who I had reſcued from the ditch; and how many harpies I had permit⯑ted to put their hands into my breeches pocket?

I venerate the gentleman's ſpirit and ſenſibility (ſaid Blake, whom I now diſcovered to be the perſon that I had thraſhed with the hammer, which, as preſident, he commanded) I have, before to-day, ſeen an evi⯑dence of the goodneſs of his heart; and though we have exchanged a [169]word or two more than is agreeable, I dare ſay we ſhall henceforward agree perfectly together, upon all good-natured occaſions nem. con.

We now ſhook hands, in teſti⯑mony of total forgiveneſs, and forget⯑fulneſs, of every thing that happened at the ſociety of ſyſtems: and then Green drank a glaſs to our better ac⯑quaintance; declared that he loved us both better than his purſe ſtrings, and that, as far as his thouſand pound would go, he was at our ſer⯑vice.

CHAP. CXVI.

Dinner being over, Mr Green ſaid it was always a rule with him to drink [170]the founder of the feaſt; and there⯑fore, ſaid he, (pouring out ſome wine into all the glaſſes) here's Mr. Deve⯑reux Doublecrack. This ceremony over, Mr. Blake aſked me what I thought of the ſpeakers of the ſo⯑ciety? D—n ſocieties, ſaid Green; it is impoſſible for a man to talk of ſocieties, till he is a little elucidated by the juice of the grape: for my part, I can never argue till I am happy, and I never am happy without the aſſiſt⯑ance of this ſame roſy-coloured deity Bacchus. Come, about with it, my caſh actually weighs me down: in pity help me to liquify ſome of it, dear lads.

Come, here's John Dryden's health— here's to the memory of the everlaſting John Dryden.

Never ſaw I any creature ſo little able to ſupport good luck, and a happy hand of cards, as this Alexan⯑der Green: his hilarity became more and more animated every minute: he ſung catches; he ſtruck me in the violence of his friendly profeſſions, many times upon, firſt the ſhoulder, then the thigh; ſwore at the ſame time, that I was a lad of a thouſand; that I ſhould not leave him till his purſe was as light as eleven pence: he affected to deteſt every thing but Champaigne; and at laſt grew ſo out⯑rageouſly [172]kind, frolicſome and funny, that he leapt up and mounted the table, inſiſted that we ſhould all do the ſame, and drink out of our hats by general conſent.

Theſe fallies of delirious joy laſted for near two hours, at the end of which, Green had really exhauſted his ſpirits, till he fairly ‘yawned at alteration,’ and fell aſleep in his chair.

And now, Meſſrs. Blake and Smack began to ſhew off, particularly the latter; who, underſtanding that I had a country-houſe, and a garden now in full bloom, was led into his fa⯑vourite train of converſation, which was what he called, "rural felicity;" and, after wiſhing that he was out of trade, that he could live for ever [173]amongſt the "roſes and poſes," thus began.

"Oh Heavens, Benignus! and have you left ſo ſweet a part of the country, at this time of the year too, for this vile peſtilent congregation of vapours, the city of London? Why, ſir, I would give half what I am worth in the world, to live in ſuch a retreat as yours. I am the moſt miſerable lump of money that ever exiſted; for, as I always ſay, and as all other wiſe men have ſaid before me, what are riches without health? When I came firſt from Hull in Yorkſhire, to this town, I was quite another ſort of a thing to what I am now—quite a dif⯑ferent perſon, as maſter Green that's now aſleep very well knows: my eyes were black, my forehead was [174]white, my cheeks were red, my hair was brown; and, in ſhort, I was within an ace, of what you might call a handſome man. And yet, Mr. Benignus, pray look at me now— quite changed you ſee:—an abſolute metamorphoſie, as the poet has it—quite altered my friend. I am even "like Patience near the Monument (for I live in Laurence-lane), ſmiling at Grief." But no matter for that, I ſhall bring it about yet; for you muſt know, I intend to take a bit of a box in the country towards Kennington, which Mr. Launcelot Squib, my apo⯑thecary ſays, is the very heath of health. Yes Benignus, and there I mean to live amongſt the ſalutiferarious gales of rural life, as the poet has it: I ha'n't time for ſuch journeys on [175]working days, but if you have a mind, I'll take a trip with you there next Sunday, along with my friend Blake, who has a ſnug little piece of pro⯑perty there himſelf; have you not, Mr. Blake?

Before Mr. Blake had time to reply, Mr Smack proceeded to enquire into the taſte of my "rural felicity;" whether I admired quick-ſets or box⯑hedges, or the humours of the yew⯑tree? Whether I was for ever-greens, or monthlys? and whether I choſe naturals or artificials; the open air, or hot beds?"

When I told Mr. Smack, that I valued myſelf chiefly upon an excel⯑lent fiſh-pond, that was in the centre of my garden, he cried out in a tone of envy: "Ah Benignus! what a [176]happy man you ought to be; and yet you muſt be miſerable too, for otherwiſe you never could think of ſtewing yourſelf up in this dungeon of darkneſs, now

as the poet ſays. If I was in your place, I would take the cold bath every morning, till I clean and cleverly brought round my complexion: the cold bath, ſir, is perſcribed by all your phizycians here, without exception, un⯑leſs in particular caſes: it is a bracer of the ſolids; it will wind you up as tight as a drum: why, even at my little hole in Laurence-lane, what do you think I do? why, I make my ſer⯑vant pump me four pails-full of water [177]every morning, and ſet it in the cellar, into which, as ſoon as ever I am up, I ſouſe head over heels, and ſo brace my ſolids in a brewing tub.

And pray, do you find any re⯑lief from this immerſion, ſaid I, Mr. Smack?

Why, I think I do, (he replied with great gravity) I think I do; I cer⯑tainly am not ſo yellow as I was: it is not like a pond, or a river, or a ditch, or a regular bath, to be ſure; Ars not eſt natural, as the poet ſays. But its a reaſonable good make-ſhift too. While you ſtay in town, Benignus, (if you come ſo far) I beg you will uſe me like a friend, and dive in my veſſel as often as you like.

Here he looked me full in the face, and ſhaking his head, as if he did not [178]like the proſpect, aſſured me that I was going very faſt. You begin to change, ſaid he, I can tell you that: your cheek is upon the turn: I ſee the claw of the crow, as the poet ſays, under your eye: aye, aye, here it is, preſſing upon the pupil, as yel⯑low as a colly-flower. If you have any regard for your complexion, dip im⯑mediately; dip my dear friend, and keep yourſelf out of the jaundice; or elſe, as the poet ſays, you'll be juſt like the lady, who

All this time, Green was repairing his ſpirits, and Mr. Blake, who had drank pretty freely, was liſtening to [179]the ſtory of "rural felicity," with his eyes half-cloſed, and his head leaning in his hand. Mr. Smack now ad⯑verted to the affair of the fiſh-pond; and after particular inquiries as to its weadth and breadth, aſked me, whe⯑ther it was a pond merely for uſe, or ornament, and in ſhort, what it was about?

About? ſaid I.

Aye, about, rejoined Smack; I mean, is it like our ponds in and about town; or is it only a downright country puddle, without either ge⯑nius or entertainment?

I don't underſtand you Mr. Smack.

Dont you? cried Smack; to ſpeak plain then, as the poet ſays, what conceits and fancies does it exhibit? Is there not a figure playing off a fountain? Is there not a little chubby⯑cheeked [180]fellow p—f—g pure water? Is there any pipes and pleaſure en⯑gines? Can you ſprinkle your viſitors all over, and wet them to the ſkin without warning? Hey?

No, indeed, ſaid I.

No, he replied, I thought ſo; I thought you was too far from Lon⯑don for that: there, it muſt be owned we have the advantage of you! we can make the water play all manner of tricks.

Indeed! ſaid I.

Oh ſir, cried Smack, our improve⯑ments are amazing and perdigus, in this reſpect. Some of your littereaty, really think we now have got as far as we can go in this particular: why, we can make the water riſe, and roar like a ſky-rocket; we can make our images caſcade from every part of the [181]human body: then, ſir, our figures are finely done, admirably executed: the Venuſſes, the Graces, and the Maidoners, as the poet ſays, are enough to make a man jump out of his ſkin: all juſt like nature, ſir; all naked:—there's the face, and the arms, and the ſhoulders, and the— what not—for all the world, as if it was the thing itſelf—aye, as if it was the very moral of the woman—there, you ſee all for nothing, as the poet ſays: they are all fronting the road, with their faces turned to entertain the paſſengers, and their b—k—d—s to the family!—Oh Mr. Benignus, taſte is come to a monſtrous pitch indeed!

By this time, Mr. Green began to open his eyes, after the refreſhment of his panacea; and, without mak⯑ing any ſort of apology, for having [182]been caught napping, puſhed about the bottle with renovated vigour; and ſaid, that he who firſt refuſed his glaſs, ſhould be puniſhed with a pair of challengers: even you, Benignus, ſaid he, muſt for once play the rake; for I am a thouſand pound man, and if you don't get elevated beyond all the cares of this world, upon the oc⯑caſion, I ſhall think you envy my good fortune, and have not a ſpice of benevolence in your nature: try for once, my dear boy, what a ſtoop of good liquor will do. I am afraid, Benignus, you are too ſober a man for felicity. Odſbobs my friend, one may ſtarve happineſs by bad living; and take my word for it, if a man is in good circumſtances, Champaigne will make him ſtill better; and if he is in a poor, diſpirited way, a chear⯑ful [183]glaſs will ſet his heart a dancing, and his head will be too light for the leaden weight of calamity.

Some how or another, Green chat⯑ted me into tolerable ſpirits, and I drank more than enough to make me (who was not uſed to ſuch freedoms) particularly talkative.

In the midſt of theſe diſſipations, Mr. Blake propoſed, as it was a fine evening, that we ſhould take a hack⯑ney-coach, and cool ourſelves with a ride, and a comfortable diſh of tea, at his cottage at Kennington. This propoſal was no ſooner made, than it was agreed to, and we ſet off imme⯑diately, after clearing decks, as Green termed it. Accurſed is he who ſpill⯑eth his liquor, ſaid this rattle of a character: not the fiftieth part of a drop muſt be left upon the table.

[184]At the coſt of ſome ſevere drink⯑ing, the decks were cleared, and the bill introduced; to which, when I offered to contribute my ſhare, Green caught hold of my hand, and ex⯑claimed—Fie on't, Benignus, what are you going to do? Am not I a thouſand pound man; and did not you treat laſt? not a creature preſent pays a farthing of this but myſelf! So ſaying, he rang luſtily for the waiter, to whom he gave half a crown as a compliment; paid the amount of the bill, without examining the particu⯑lars, hung upon my arm as he ſtaggered to the coach, and bid the coachman drive to Kennington-com⯑mon like a devil.