DILIGENCE and DISSIPATION: OR THE PROGRESS OF
A Modest Girl and a Wanton,
EXEMPLIFIED IN TEN DIFFERENT STAGES OF THEIR LIVES: BEING AN ATTEMPT TO EXHIBIT THE NATURAL CONSEQUENCES WHICH ATTEND ON GOOD AND ON BAD CONDUCT.
THE PLATES ARE ENGRAVED FROM PICTURES
INVENTED AND PAINTED BY JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY H. L. GALABIN, INGRAM-COURT, FENCHURCH-STREET.
M.DCC.XCVI.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE following description of the pictures will hereafter be printed in a proper size to accompany the series of plates when finished, and is intended for those subscribers who do not choose to frame them as furniture, but who may wish to bind them together in a port-folio and give them a place in their library.
PREFACE.
THAT the art of Painting is not unjustly ranked in the humble class of imitative arts cannot be denied; but, were this its only claim to the attention of mankind, it would hardly be allowed the privilege of being called the sister of Poetry, and it is therefore evident that the rank, thus assigned to it, can refer only to the mechanical part, the
language,
as it may be termed, of the
art;
the
means,
and not the
end;
which bear nearly the same affinity to the genius and essence of painting, as the skill of the writing-master does to the muse of the poet. The various powers of painting, like Aesop's dish of tongues, may, according to the management of them, become come the instruments of the best or of the worst purposes. Painting addresses itself to our noblest faculties, and makes the highest pretensions: it is able to inflame the passions, delight the imagination, and correct the heart.
It may, with some, become a subject of doubt, whether the lessons of virtue are better enforced by the exhibition of grand and rare events, or the more humble and familiar circumstances of daily life: but a little reflection will ascertain, that, though the former may fill the mind for a while with tumult and astonishment, they, for the most part, leave untouched the affections of the heart, which the latter are calculated to enchain with irresistible interest, and, by that channel, to diffuse instruction more widely through the various ranks of society.
The author of the Rambler has observed, that the downfal of kingdoms and revolutions of empires afford few lessons applicable to private life, the comfort or wretchedness of which flows from the right or wrong management of things, which are made considerable only by their frequency; that the mischievous consequences of irregular desires and predominant passions are best discovered in those scenes, which are levelled to the general surface of the world, and which shew, in natural and familiar instances, by what means misery pursues guilt, that virtue is the highest proof of understanding, and that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts, that it begins in mistake and ends in infamy.
The following series of designs has been constructed for the entertainment of young minds,
easily susceptible of impressions, not fixed by principles, and therefore following the current of fancy,
to whom the familiar objects, which it presents, may be productive of greater good than the solemnities of more stately examples. And it may be hoped, that, by displaying with circumspection the natural contingencies of life, they will be seen in future with less hazard by the incautious and unexperienced, encourage to virtue, and warn from the delusive path of vice, which invariably leads to misery.
PICTURE I. The MODEST GIRL and the WANTON, FELLOW-SERVANTS In a Gentleman's House.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XXXI.
v.
27.
She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XIV.
v.
1.
Every wise woman buildeth her house; but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.
IT is the purpose, as we have already observed, of the following series of Pictures, to place in the strongest light the probable consequences of GOOD and BAD CONDUCT merely in this life. Nothing so fully impresses the mind as EXAMPLE; and therefore two characters are chosen from a large class of society, in order to render the moral more extensively useful. But, though the characters are thus selected from one order of the community, the moral is not confined to that order; for every person, in any other state, may apply the lesson at home, learn to avoid such conduct as necessarily leads to the loss of fortune and reputation, and, on the other hand, to act upon such principles as tend to raise the esteem of mankind, and, consequently, to procure their favour and protection. The examples, held forth in this work, consist of two FEMALE SERVANTS, who are supposed to live in the house of a young unmarried man of fortune. They are conceived to be of an equal age, and upon a level with respect to situation, talents, and personal attractions. One, however, acts uniformly from motives of prudence, delicacy, and virtue; the other is careless, dissipated, and inclined to immoral gratifications. The progress of their conduct, and the final result, illustrate that homely, but important, axiom in morals,
"HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY."
The first picture unfolds, in some degree, the characters of the heroines of this graphic drama. The GOOD SERVANT is industriously employed in the proper duties of her station. The circumstances, in which she is placed, manifest order and economy, and display her natural disposition. The almanack implies that her time is always properly assigned to her respective duties. The introduction of the ant and the grasshopper is symbolical of the two characters; which are also indicated by the picture over the door, representing the parable of the wise and foolish virgins.—The BAD SERVANT, a giddy wanton girl, instead of minding her work, is playing; and the confusion and disorder, with which she is surrounded, afford an unpromising specimen of her future behaviour. The scheme of the lottery, above her head, shews that her mind is filled with foolish hopes of fortuitous prosperity, and that she is not likely to adopt the proper means for securing a situation of permanent comfort and respectability. She is supposed to be a
coquette
in her class; consequently, all the men-servants, who are toying with her, equally share in her favours, and naturally take liberties, where they meet with encouragement. The prudent old housekeeper, from a convenient station, observes the whole, and expresses a compassionate foreboding of the melancholy effects likely to result from such heedless proceedings. Hence may be inferred how necessary it is to check the first tendency to immoral pursuits, lest the passions should be rendered stronger by indulgence, till they lead the profligate to the last excesses of vice and infamy.
—Let no one say,
Thus far, no farther, shall my passions stray;
One crime indulg'd impels us into more,
And that is fate, which was but choice before.
A. HILL.
PICTURE II. GOOD ADVICE from an OLD SERVANT To the YOUNG ONES.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XIX.
v.
20.
Hear counsel and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end.
PROVERBS, CHAP. 1.
v.
22.
How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity, and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge?
THE next scene of our moral drama exhibits the heroines of the piece acting according to the qualities, which form the distinguishing features of their respective characters. The housekeeper, benevolent from nature, and wise from experience, anxious to direct the unwary servant towards the paths of virtue, and to confirm the well-disposed girl in those good intentions which appear to guide her conduct, is delivering such exhortations as observation and a knowledge of the snares, that overspread life, naturally enforce. The girls are supposed to be in the housekeeper's room, called thither for the purpose of listening, undisturbed by the ridicule of the maleservants, to the lessons of experience. And here we see a conspicuous proof of the feelings, that are likely to influence their future lives.—The amiable girl is meekly lending an attentive ear to the remarks of the sage and benevolent housekeeper, as if she hoped to derive from the discourse such a plan of behaviour, as may secure the approbation of her own conscience, and lead her through a life of innocence and tranquillity.—The other girl, compelled to attend to a lecture repugnant to her feelings, can hardly preserve even the outward marks of decorum, but shews, by a listless yawn, that she is deaf to all admonition, which may contradict the passions she is inclined to indulge, though misery and ruin should be the inevitable consequences. Her hand, indeed, seems to be lifted towards her mouth, as if to conceal the effect of a discourse which she thinks tedious; but the manner of the action shews, that it is rather the result of habit than dictated by any regard to civility. The disorder of her dress, in perfect opposition to the near attire of her fellow-servant, and the negligence of her attitude, contribute to develop the licentiousness of her character; while the pocket-glass, which she has carelessly dropped, completes the portrait of vanity and folly. — The china-closet, the books on the shelf, the decayed finery of the chairs, which may be supposed to be discarded from better apartments, all indicate, as we said, the room of the housekeeper; a place, where advice could be given with the least chance of interruption.
Temptations are in beauty and in youth: —
Weigh well the danger with the doubtful bliss,
And thank yourself if ought should fall amiss.
DRYDEN.
PICTURE III. The WANTON In her Bed-Chamber.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XI.
v.
22.
As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.
PROVERBS, CHAP. V.
v.
4.
But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword.
THE scene now represented may be considered as the natural consequence of what appeared in the two former pictures, relative to the character of the bad servant. Wholly devoted to the impulse of unruly passions, she no longer guards her door from the invasions of the midnight libertine; but, being now become the slave of appetite, meditates only the means of gratifying it. Her bed-room is in disorder, and her clothes scattered around in careless negligence. The decorations of her apparel manifest the corruptness of her taste and the irregularity of her desires; and the papers, which she has chosen as ornaments to her room, or rather as incentives to her misguided imagination, demonstrate her thoughts to have been more employed on such fallacious artifices as she thinks may add allurements to her person, than on the solid attainments, which may make her a desirable companion for life. Amongst these we likewise discover the portrait of one, whom she admired as a man of spirit. Devoted to loose novels or idle love-letters, she appears to have endangered the house by her nocturnal studies, as is evidently seen by the smoke of a candle against the wall. Her garters display a love-motto, and the hat of her lover, in the corner, denotes that he is familiar to her apartment; where he is now conceived to be a constant visitor when the rest of the family have retired to repose. The pride and folly of her character is still farther observable in the name of
Eliza,
appended to one of her letters dropped upon the pillow; and which, taught by some of her silly romances, she has chosen as a more elegant appellation, and one more suitable to her ambitious hopes, than the vulgar name of
Betty,
by which she imagines herself degraded in her domestic situation. After this general appearance of carelessness and sensuality, it is no wonder to find, that her lover is stealing into her apartment; or that, in waiting for him, she sinks into slumbers, over which the images of her waking fancy still appear to preside.
— When beauty prostituted lies,
Women no more their empire can maintain,
Nor hope, vile slaves of lust, by love to reign.
Superior charms but make their lot the worse,
And what should be their blessing, prove their curse.
BOLINGBROKE.
PICTURE IV. The GOOD GIRL In her Bed-Chamber.
PROVERBS, CHAP. III.
v.
24.
When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.
PSALMS, CHAP. LXII.
v.
I.
Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation.
WE have here a striking and interesting contrast to the subject of the last scene. Instead of any dissipated thoughts and licentious wishes, we see the good servant preparing for the season of repose by a proper submission to the Supreme Being; but, though employed in the duties of religion, there is no appearance of gloomy melancholy or frantic enthusiasm. Her conscience is wholly exempt from
the compunctious visitings of nature;
and, as her life is pure, her devotion is simple. The mild radiance of the silver moon, which appears through the window, gives a pleasing solemnity to the scene, and is symbolical of the chastity that marks the character of our good girl. The state of the room shews the regularity of her manners; the sampler, worked by herself, containing the
Lord's Prayer,
the
twelve good rules
of King Charles the First; a paper, inculcating the
duty of servants
to their employers; the
Prayer-book;
and the
Young Man's best Companion;
all tend to shew, that her feelings take a moral direction in every pursuit; and the print of
connubial happiness
indicates a well-regulated disposition to support the proper duties of a wife, when it shall please Providence to place her in that situation. Finally, the bolting of the door shews that she is prepared against the assaults of the midnight libertine, who might reasonably be supposed to inhabit a mansion, where temptation and encouragement were so grossly held forth in the conduct of her profligate fellowservant. Upon this occasion, we may not unsuitably introduce the following passage from the pensive and amiable COLLINS:
Come, thou, whose thoughts as limpid springs are clear,
To lead the train, sweet Modesty, appear!
Here make thy court, amidst our silent scene,
And faithful girls shall own thee for their queen.
With thee be CHASTITY, of all afraid,
Distrusting all,
a wise suspicious maid:
But MAN the most; — not more the mountain doe
Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe.
PICTURE V. The WANTON Turned out of Doors For Misconduct.
PROVERBS, CHAP. VII.
v.
12.
Now is she without, now in the streets, and lieth in wait at every corner.
PROVERBS, CHAP. II.
v.
13.
Who leave the paths of uprightness to walk in the ways of darkness.
HITHERTO our young wanton, however misguided her desires may have been, however unfortunate the tendency of her conduct, has sound nothing to check the indulgence of her wishes, or the success of her youthful projects. We are now come to a period, where the scale begins to turn against her, and where instruction assumes a graver tone. The bitterness of sorrow, which succeeds immoral pleasures, now forces itself on her heart. She perceives at once the fatal delusion of those dazzling allurements, which, glittering for a moment, and gaudy, like the colours of the rainbow, like those, are vanished and dissolved in tears.
At length the destin'd hour was near,
That rose to fix her fate;
For, still on folly's wild career
Chastizing sorrows wait.
LOVE's VICTIMS.
The irregularities of this thoughtless girl having been detected by the vigilance of the attentive housekeeper, she is now discarded with just disgrace, and turned out upon a world, ever more inclined to insult than pity the victims of imprudence; and she has thus, by her own misconduct, totally forfeited the protection of a respectable and friendly mansion, which might otherwise have been her constant shelter and comfort through the whole course of her life. On which-ever side she
here
casts her eye, the objects it meets may be readily construed into omens of her future fate; on one, is presented a distressing instance of want and wretchedness; and, on the other, a scene of the most brutal depravity. As she passes along, she is stung by the insulting scoffs and jeerings of her very associates, on whom she has lavished the unguarded dower of innocence; and who, untouched with pity for the degraded situation, to which they have contributed to reduce her, now crowd the window to mock her sorrows. She has the mortification to find that the only persons, who still regard her with compassion, are those whom she before considered as enemies to her happiness, or, at best, as ill-natured spies on her conduct. Happy for her, (but she now perceives it too late,) if she had been warned by those salutary reproofs, of which the intent and effort were to recall her from error, rescue her from danger, and avert the evil which has now fallen on her head.
With the little stock of her remaining apparel, and the more weighty evidence of her past misconduct, she takes a melancholy, solitary leave of her late happy abode, to which she dares not look back. — The amiable girl, so lately her companion, has attended her to the door, and expresses for her that compassion, which the view of misery, however merited, always excites in a tender and feeling mind. Conscious of her unavailing regret, she hides her sorrows on the neck of her revered protectress and guardian, who stretches out her hand to bestow on the parting steps of the wretched wanderer a last and fruitless benediction.
Learn here, that peace from innocence must slow;
All else is empty sound and idle show.
JOHNSON.
PICTURE VI. The GOOD GIRL Rejects the illicit Addresses Of her Master.
PROVERBS, CHAP. 11.
v.
11.
Discretion shall preserve thee; understanding shall keep thee.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XI.
v.
16.
A gracious woman retaineth honour.
IN the scene now before us, we find the amiable subject of our story involved in circumstances likely to tempt her to evil, if her virtue were not founded upon the strongest principles, that morality can dictate and religion enforce. Her master, a gentleman in the bloom of youth, recommended by an agreeable person, and possessing a fortune capable of supporting her in luxury and splendor, if she could be wrought to listen to his licentious advances, has watched his opportunity, and rushed into the bed-chamber, while she was putting it in order, for the purpose of taking her unawares, and rendering her, if possible, a sacrifice to his ungovernable passions. The disorder, that appears in her dress, shews that he has been rude in his attacks; but, finding that he was repelled with all the firmness of virtuous indignation, he has recourse to the milder expedient of persuasion, and has even been induced, by the eagerness of his wishes, to the condescension of kneeling, in order to soften and subdue her modest resolutions. All his efforts however are in vain, and produce no other effect than to make her turn weeping out of the room, at the consciousness of being subject to such an indignity because she is in a servile situation, and therefore supposed incapable of a high sense of honour. This conduct, were the mind altogether depraved, might be expected to excite a spirit of resentment in her master, that would have ended in the loss of her place, if her own delicacy did not induce her to withdraw from a scene of such an insult: but her master, though betrayed by temporary passion, such as the dissipation of modern manners is too apt to stimulate and encourage, is a man of sense and feeling, and therefore is likely, on reflection, to view our heroine with sentiments of respect and a nobler admiration. — Here, as in the foregoing scenes, the embellishments of the room bear close analogy to characters and events, and tend to illustrate the main design. Cupid, on the chimney-piece, is discharging an arrow, the point of which is directed to the master of the house, while he is in his submissive state of libertine entreaty. In another part, Cupid is seen astride upon a lion, expressive of the power of
love
over
strength.
The Janus-head shews, in front, the face of Cupid, and, behind, that of a satyr; implying that love is too often used as the disguise to a passion of a much grosser nature. The allegorical picture above, representing Time discovering Truth, is to be considered as an auspicious omen of the recompense that waits on virtue.
Turn from the glitt'ring bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor fell for gold what gold could never buy,—
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsully'd same, and conscience ever gay.
JOHNSON.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
Take honour from me, and my life is done.
SHAKESPEAR.
PICTURE VII. The WANTON Revelling with her Companions.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XIV.
v.
13.
Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XXII.
v.
3.
The simple pass on, and are punished.
FROM the engaging scene of an unaffected and genuine modesty, which the solicitations of youth, wealth, and persuasion, were unable to vanquish, we now turn our eyes to a picture of a totally different nature. Here the rash and deluded wanton, elevated, as she falsely conceives, to the height of good fortune, encouraged and caressed by those, whose present gratifications are interested in secluding her entirely from reputation and virtue, abandons herself, amidst the most profligate of either sex, to the wildest tumults of riot and debauchery. That no galling remorse may steal in to frustrate the indulgence of licentious passion, sense and reflection are previously drowned in intoxicating liquors, while the various luxuries of the table (now overturned before them) shew that every means, prodigality could devise, has been eagerly employed to screen this abode of revelry from the painful return of reason and recollection, which, like the golden beam of day, lighting the vault of the dead, would but have served to discover the hideous objects it contains. We see our heroine bestowing the disordered caresses of intoxication on her paramour, who is distinguished by the apparatus of a highwayman, and who is on the eve of paying the forfeit of his depredations on the public. She lifts an ill-poised bumper over his head, and drinks to his fortunate escape from the perils which are now evidently impending, while one of her female companions, equally depraved and abandoned as herself, in a fit of drunken jealousy, threatens to tear her, by violence, from the arms of this favorite desperado. In the mean time, the noisy roar of their disorderly mirth has attracted the observation of the constable of the night, who, attended by watchmen, link-boys, and a mob of various description, has forced his way into the riotous assembly, to the no small consternation and dismay of those few in it, who are still able to form a competent judgement of their own danger. One of these is seen hiding himself under the table, in order to watch a convenient opportunity of escaping, and another attempts to get up the chimney, with the same intent. The landlady of the house appears alarmed for the credit of her mansion, in which she fears, not without reason, that her own may be eventually implicated. Fear however is by no means the predominant expression of the company. Several are resolute in resistance of the lawful guardians of the night, and threaten to fire on those who attempt to seize them. One, still awake to the usual employment of his more sober thoughts, is busied in securing to himself the deserted stakes of the gaming-table; while another, under pretence of assisting the female combatant, whom we have mentioned, is attentive to the opportunity of purloining her watch and trinkets from her side: just emblems of the friendship of such profligates, whose union is cemented only by conspiracies of mischief. The remaining guests appear totally lost in the delirium of drunkenness, and one, more easily vanquished and more unfortunate than the rest, is lying in senseless intoxication on the floor, while a pistol, on the lock of which the candle has just fallen, threatens him with instant destruction.
The decorations of the room need no comment. The picture representing Venus scourged by Mercury, the figure of Liberty without a head to guide its activity, the vicious Loves which form the frame of the broken looking-glass, the cards, dice, pistols, &c. some the emblematical, some the real complement of such a scene, all speak sufficiently for themselves. One allusion however, if not noticed here, may perhaps escape the attention of the spectator, viz. that of the two pistols lying on the overturned table in such a direction as shews they have been presented against each other, which is meant to indicate what is very probable to have passed amongst those who herd together without social confidence, and in whom mutual intimacy never fails to produce reciprocal distrust.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen:
Yet, seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
POPE.
PICTURE VIII. The GOOD GIRL Receives the honourable Addresses Of her Master.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XXXI.
v.
10.
Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XIX.
v.
14.
House and riches are the inheritance of fathers, and a prudent wife is from the Lord.
TO relieve the mind from the painful emotions naturally arising from the last disorderly scene, we are here presented with an earnest of the happiness which our GOOD SERVANT is going to receive, as a reward for the virtue she has preserved from the contagion of example and the snares of temptation. Her master has found it impossible to efface the impression of her personal attractions; and, as the uniform propriety of her conduct has added esteem to his love, after an ineffectual contest, maintained by his pride and the prejudices connected with the superiority of his fortune and rank, he has at last determined not to "barter happiness for state," but to raise the object of his desires to a situation, to which her virtues give her a just claim, and which her many excellent qualities may reasonably be expected to adorn. To obviate therefore all suspicion of any dishonourable artifice, which his former libertine assaults might induce her to apprehend, he has called her into his library, and has ordered the venerable housekeeper to attend as a witness of his formal offer of his hand in marriage. Young, handsome, and wealthy, it is natural to conceive that our heroine must have looked upon her master with feelings of regard, though restrained by humility, resulting from reflection on the disparity of their conditions; and such a sentiment tends to enhance the merit of her former resistance. Nor is it to be supposed that the licentious advances, he made towards her, have excited an unconquerable resentment, since they have been succeeded by respect and the just sense of her real value. The various emotions of surprize, modesty, pleasure, and gratitude, operate so forcibly, that she throws herself upon her knees; but is raised by her master, who kisses her trembling hand with ecstasy, while the friendly housekeeper is in an attitude of pious acknowledgement to heaven for thus recompensing that goodness, which her maternal care and constant admonitions had contributed to direct and confirm. — The ornamental part of this plate is still subordinate and accessory to the object generally in view. Several pictures adorn the room. That first entitled to our notice is supposed to be the famous work of GUIDO; the subject of which is, LIBERALITY rewarding MODESTY. The next represents the triumph of love over a satyr; by which we are of course to understand, that the impulse of a brutal inclination has given way to a refined sentiment of virtuous tenderness. Another picture represents a wedding, and, near it, is one of an allegorical kind, exhibiting the SEASONS dancing in a ring, while TIME is acting as musician; implying the continued happiness that is to be expected from an union of hearts, in which no sordid views of interest have had the least share. The next picture is partly hid behind the door, to signify the awful mystery that veils a future state; but, as the subject is an angelic host, we are to infer, that bliss in another life is to be the final lot of those who conduct themselves properly through the present. The picture of a storm is placed behind the master of the house, to indicate the struggles he suffered, while pride was contending with love in his heart; but the mental tempest has now passed away, as we see farther exemplified by the picture of a calm on the other side, expressive of the tranquillity of his feelings; and, being a morning scene, of the opening prospect of connubial felicity.
To virtuous love resign thy breast,
And be, by blessing beauty, blest.
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No: — all that's worth a wish, a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
JOHNSON.
PICTURE IX. The WANTON, Dying in Poverty and Disease, Visited by the MODEST GIRL.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XXXI.
v.
20.
She stretches out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.
PROVERBS, CHAP. V.
v.
11, 12, 13.
And thou mourn at the last, when thy flesh and thy body are consumed.
And say, how have I hated instruction, and my heart despised reproof!
And have not obeyed the voice of my teachers, nor inclined mine ear to them that instructed me.
THE scenes, which we have hitherto contemplated, have progressively led us to one of the most affecting nature, in which we at length behold the unhappy victim of vice and delusion arrived at a catastrophe as miserable as the tenor of her life has been erroneous: such indeed as is the natural effect of the conduct we have before witnessed, and such as on a moment's recollection we shall perceive to be more immediately the consequence of the unhappy state of riot and debauchery in which we last left her.
The splendor of vanity, the intemperance of laughter, the feverish triumph of presumption and heedless arrogance, are ceased. While the wanton flew headlong and irrevocably through the paths which pleasure has strewed with blossoms torn rudely from the stalk, she was not aware that poverty and disease lurked on her way; they have assailed her, they have seized her, they have laden her with anguish, which she was equally unprepared and unable to support, and the sufferings of a distempered frame are at last about to be closed in death.
The present scene exhibits the poor friendless prostitute in the agonies of expiring life, destitute of every means of relief, and wanting all those consolations and supports, which in this awful period attend the virtuous. An outcast from society, which she has dishonoured; banished from that humanity and benevolence, whose protection she has forfeited; to whom in this hour of extreme necessity does she consign herself, to watch the painful moments of her dissolution? The minister of this charge,
fit watch in such a night,
is before us. A wretch, in whom, hardened by being a continual witness of such scenes of misery, every vestige of feeling appears to be finally extinguished. Callous to the anguish she was hired to relieve, instead of attending to the pitiable object of her care, assiduously inquiring her wants, or administering comfort to her last moments, her only solicitude appears to have been habitually directed to herself. Her body sweltering and bloated with gluttony, the dram and cordial "standing rubrick" on her cheek, this miscreant, wholly inebriated, snores over the exhausted flaggon, while the lamentable victim of more fatal imprudence, dropping the phial of unavailing medicine, expires unnoticed at her feet. — Such is inevitably the miserable exit of those, whom a disgraceful and an illspent life leaves disregarded and forlorn in death.
In a gloomy chamber, near whose door a rope, suspended from the roof, reminds us of some former sufferer, who has sought relief in suicide, we behold our unfortunate heroine, lying on a ruined floor, with no other bed than a little straw, while the fragments of a wretched meal and the tattered remnants of her former gaiety, a faded feather, hat, and cloak, are strewed on the ground around her, and at her side a poor little innocent, ignorant of its pitiable situation, embraces with filial tenderness his cold and lifeless mother, on whose ear the last sounds that vibrated, were the cries of this her now destitute and helpless orphan.
From objects, the one so affecting, the other so disgusting, we should shrink at once with terror, if our attention were not more pleasingly drawn to the engaging and now doubly-interesting appearance of the former amiable friend and companion, who, though too late to afford the relief that would have gratified her tender heart, has sought out the gloomy retreat of poverty and shame; and, overcome with grief at the sight which presents itself to her, wipes from her eyes the tears that fall for the sufferings of a fellow-creature;
"Tears, from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent to all."
Prepared to offer every means of assistance, she has filled her frugal purse with the savings of her own industry, and the larger bounty which her entreaties, ever the ready advocates of distress, have obtained from the worthy and benevolent housekeeper. In the hurry of taking her purse from her pocket, she has dropped her
housewife;
which being observed by the little messenger of gluttony, just returning to the old nurse with a fresh supply of her favourite cordial, accustomed to watch the opportunities of knavery, he is artfully employed in drawing it, by means of a crooked stick, towards the door, behind which he hides himself during the commission of the theft. A melancholy presage of that ruinous course of life, which must bring him to the most fatal and disgraceful end.—The principal intention of the scene, exhibited to us in this picture, may be more forcibly impressed by the following lines:
How could I once look up or heave the head,
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck'd
My vessel, trusted to me from above!
— Thou bear'st
Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault;
Bitterly hast thou paid and still art paying
That rigid score.
MILTON.
PICTURE X. and LAST. The GOOD GIRL, Married to her Master. The WANTON Laid in her Grave.
PROVERBS, CHAP. XI.
v.
31.
Behold, the righteous shall be recompensed upon earth.
PROVERBS, CHAP. II.
v.
22.
But the wicked shall be cut off from the earth, and trangressors shall be rooted out of it.
AS in the last scene was ended the life of one, the disastrous heroine of these designs, in the present, the other, the
good girl,
is supposed to have received a reward acquired by virtuous perseverance in her duty, and is become the wife of a man, in whom the strict propriety of her behaviour has changed illicit desire into respect and love; and we are thus arrived at the conclusion of our moral drama. The hand of the wealthy and generous master atones for the indiscretion which had served to prove the virtues of this child of modesty; and she is, in the bloom of life, raised to a state of affluence, and placed in the possession of all that promises the utmost happiness in this world. After mutual faith plighted at the altar, the enamoured bridegroom conducts her to his carriage, and her old friend and guardian, the benevolent housekeeper, enjoys the heartfelt satisfaction of seeing her pious admonitions thus singularly recompensed.
While, on one side of this picture, so bright a prospect opens itself before us, on the other, we see the last sad offices paid to the remains of the once gay, healthy, and beautiful wanton. The clergyman, still interested in the happiness of the young couple, whose hands he has joined, advances to perform the solemn rites: but his sacred character is not sufficient to inspire in the attendants of the funeral that decency which the occasion surely demands. The cossin is surrounded by the former comrades of the deceased, amongst which the drunken nurse, who was present at her last moments, is distinguished by the same intemperance that before marked her character; to the indulgence of which all times and all circumstances are, under various pretences, made equally subservient. To those of a lighter or more licentious turn of thinking, who are inclined to look rather with compassion than censure on her whose follies are now laid for ever in the dust, it will afford some consolation, that all sorrow, all suffering, all pain, and all remorse, are here closed in the peaceful grave; but a reflecting mind, endued with real sensibility, will not forbear to sigh on recollecting that a youth of hopeful promise, a temper suited to hilarity, and a health calculated to sweeten toil and render virtuous industry delightful, were all wasted with thankless profusion in the gradual destruction of every bodily and mental consolation, and life at last hastily cut off in misery.
How strikingly contrasted is the fate of these two girls, of whom we are now going to take leave! Both started in the race of life with equal pretensions to hope and success. The one, by a placid and even course, has reached a goal, to which prudence directed and virtue led her; the other, disdaining the bridle of instruction, flung herself madly on precipices and quicksands, in which she is at last fallen and overwhelmed.
The several incidental circumstances introduced into this picture, though not immediately dependent on the principal subject, must not be wholly passed over without notice. On the wall of the church we perceive a fragment of a broken monument, which was formerly placed there in the vain presumption of perpetuating the memory of its now-forgotten object; its boast being rendered ineffectual by the ravages of time or accident, which have swept away the name of him whom it was intended to immortalize. In the corner of the picture, a chimney-sweeper, carelessly insulting over the dead with a triumph which he knows must now be suffered with impunity, is seated on the tomb of a stately warrior, whose rank once inspired awe, and whose looks struck terror into the hearts of all beholders. What greater humiliation of mortal vanity, or what greater proof can be exhibited that every man's best monument is found in his virtues, and that distinctions cease to be regarded with reverence, when they are no longer useful to the world.
— Thus pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, the pageant of a day.
POPE.
It may perhaps seem necessary to make some apology for representing an union between persons of unequal rank as the specimen of a reward, which should excite others to imitation. In the view of a general rule, it cannot be doubted that, from the many favourable co-incidences of manners, connections, and opinions, which arise from a similarity of education in similar stations, the most frequent chances of happiness will be found in a partner of equal rank; but it will surely be allowed that virtue and merit may be found equally in the lower as in the higher classes of life, and that these endowments will generally meet with their reward. In an instance like the present, a virtuous young woman, whose amiable disposition and qualities have been demonstrated in every part of her conduct, is sufficiently proved to be a valuable acquisition to any rank; and it will scarcely be denied that no fortuitous difference of manners or deportment can so far supersede her real virtues as to become a bar to the most perfect state of domestic connubial happiness. A short review of the scenes, in which she has been shewn, will serve to evince this truth: — in the first stage of this work, she is represented as careful and industrious; in the second, she meekly, humbly, and with a due sense of its value, receives wholesome instruction and admonition; in the fourth, she shews innocence and piety; in the fifth, a tender and compassionate heart; in the sixth, inflexible chastity; in the eighth, gratitude, modesty, and humility; and, in the ninth, she appears benevolent, charitable, and forgiving.
Surely the question may with safety be asked, whether such a character does not deserve a reward, at least equal to that with which she is crowned in this our GRAPHIC and (we trust we shall again be allowed so to call it) our MORAL DRAMA.
Intaminatis fulget honoribus.
HOR.
PROPOSALS
For publishing by Subscription
TEN PRINTS, TO BE ENGRAVED BY T. GAUGAIN AND T. HELLYER, FROM A SERIES OF PICTURES, PAINTED BY J. NORTHCOTE, R. A.
And now in the Exhibition of the Royal Academy,
REPRESENTING THE PROGRESS OF DILIGENCE and DISSIPATION, EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LIVES OF TWO FEMALE SERVANTS.
CONDITIONS.
I. THE dimensions of the prints are twenty inches wide, by sixteen inches high.
II. The price to subscribers will be six guineas the set. For a hundred proofs, (which are all that will be taken off,) twelve guineas the set.
For impressions in colours, fifteen guineas the set.
One-half to be paid at the time of subscribing, when the four first prints will be delivered; the other half to be paid on the delivery of the six last prints, which will be in May, 1797, or sooner if possible.
An exception must be made to this condition in regard to the time of delivering the coloured impressions, as they cannot be printed until a sufficient number are taken off to supply the subscribers to the plain ones.
III. The prints are to be delivered in the order they are subscribed for; that is to say, the first subscriber is entitled to the best impressions, the second to the second best, and so on. Mr. Gaugain engages to be very attentive that there be no deviation from this condition; and, to insure it, a mark shall be made on the plates to distinguish each hundred impressions. The receipts shall be numbered at the time of payment, and no person shall be considered as a subscriber until he has a receipt.
IV. The price to non-subscribers will be advanced.
For the accommodation of such as wish to have them bound for libraries, the descriptions will be printed on large folio, to bind with the prints, and will be sold at the price necessary to defray the expense of printing and paper.
Subscriptions are received for T. GAUGAIN, the proprietor, at
Part's Printshop,
No. 52,
Pall-Mall,
where the prints may be seen, or at his house, No. 15,
Five-Field-Row, Chelsea;
where orders in writing will be punctually attended to.
Subscriptions may also be received by the print-sellers.