THE HISTORY OF
Jack Connor.
VOLUME I.
THE SECOND EDITION, Corrected.
Whoever thinks a
faultless Piece
to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In ev'ry Work, regard the
Writer's End,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the Means be
Just,
the Conduct
True,
Applause,
in Spite of trivial Faults, is due.
POPE.
LONDON:
Printed for W. JOHNSTON, at the
Golden Ball,
in St.
Paul
's Church-Yard. MDCCLIII.
To the Right Honourable HENRY FOX,
Esq
His MAJESTY'S Secretary at WAR.
SIR,
THE Generality of Dedications are drawn like Bills of Exchange for full Value supposed to be given in Compliment and Encomium, but this Address expects no pecuniary Indulgence; neither does it beg a Protection which no Man can give from public Censure; neither does it seek your Favour to the Author, since he is already honoured therewith. The Performance which it introduces, is founded on the Principles of INTEGRITY and HONOUR, and naturally inclines to Him who excells in those Virtues; and did I know a Person who enjoys a larger Portion, you might probably have seen another Name at the Head of these Pages. If they afford Matter of Amusement to you, and Matter of Improvement to those who want it, they will answer every End that the Author proposes, while, by the Concealment of his Name, as well from you as from the Publick, he can, without Suspicion of Partiality to your Person or Virtues, have the secret Pleasure of declaring himself, with the justest Esteem and Regard,
Sir,
Your most obliged, and most obedient humble Servant,
W. C.
Ashburton,
1
July,
1751.
TO THE READER.
THE Historian is an absolute Stranger to most of the People of the present Age, therefore can never pretend to the Honour of satyrizing any Man, or any Body of Men.
HE has had a Bundle of Papers left him by a deceas'd Friend, who was infinitely more capable of putting them in Form, than he can pretend to, tho' the Recluseness of his Life afforded him abundant Leisure. These Papers contain'd a Variety of Observations, which, he thought, might be useful to Mankind. He has extended these Observations; he has, in some Measure, commented on them; he has dress'd them in the Garb of the Times; he has given them the Air of Romance, and he gives to the Reader, the absolute Power of determining whether he has done
RIGHT
or
WRONG.
THE Historian has this Advantage over most others, and this only, That the Trifle he now presents to the Publick, has a fair Chance of being impartially dealt with; for, as he is unknown, and will remain so, the critical Eye cannot condemn his Person, whatever it may his Work. His Scribbling may be abused, but he has taken Care to secure his Person from such Treatment, tho' he is not conscious that he has ever merited it.
IRONY, well managed, has ever been a successful Way to fix the Attention; and
NOVEL
and
ROMANCE
may be conducted to very laudable Purposes, and answer the End of more learned Writings. The Moral of the following History may correspond with an old physical Aphorism, which I apprehend may be found in the
SCHOLA SALERNI,
wrote in the Days of
WILLIAM
the Conqueror.
Qui medicas artes exercet, noscere partes
Debet ad aegrotum dandi mistum bene potum.
Nam varium est herbis genus: haec impletur acerbis,
Illa salutaris succis ditescit amaris.
Horum quodque datum per se, vomitum atque screatum
Excitet, ast istis inerit sua gratia mistis.
Expedit ergo cato medico studere palato,
Ne stomacho turbas det, cum dedit, inscius, herbas;
Effectum et perdat, dum, sic quod praecipitur, dat.
Expedit et cautè praescribere, fallere lautè;
Mollibus hoc verbis, hoc mitibus efficit herbis.
Has monitas tu res et praeceptas nisi cures,
Non Medici, Vir, te adpellem, sed nomine Agyrtae.
PURE and elegant Latin is not to be expected in Monkish Verses, and a classical Nicety is too unreasonable a Request. Such as they are, they afford me a Conjecture, that the learned
DOCTOR MEAD
is oblig'd to them, at least for the Title of his new Book,
Monita et Praecepta Medica.
Be this at it will, I shall only beg Leave to give, to the
English
Reader, their Meaning in his own Language.
A skilful Physician will consult the Constitution of his Patient, and not madly pour down even the most salutary Medicines. Some Herbs are fill'd with sour, and some with bitter Juices, too disagreeable to be given singly. Physick, like good Counsel, must be administer'd with Caution, or the Stomach will revolt. The Patient must be decoy'd into a Cure, and the unpalatable Drug must be convey'd in the most innocent Vehicle his Judgment can furnish. He who acts otherwise, merits not the Title of a Physician, but of a Quack.
THE HISTORY OF
Jack Connor.
CHAP. I.
The Rise, the Progress, of the human Heart,
The
real Honour,
the
Disguise
of
Art;
The
Wise,
the Good, the Vicious;—all I sing,
Oh Thou! from whom our ev'ry Actions spring,
Not the poor Author, but the World inspire,
If not the Stile, the Moral to admire.
Learn from the Child, he places in your Sight,
To act with Justice, and to judge aright.
ANONIMOUS.
T HE Actions of
Monarchs,
the Intrigues of
Ministers,
the History of
Battles
and
Slaughter,
and the Revolutions of
Kingdoms,
are Subjects, that rather surprise and astonish the Generality of Readers, than
improve
or
amend
the Heart. A great, wicked, or virtuous Man, plung'd into the utmost Distress, must raise our Pity and Compassion: A Glorious and a Wise
Prince,
triumphing over
Foreign
or
Domestick
Enemies, and fixing his Crown in the
Affections
of his People, must warm the rational Mind, and give Delight and Pleasure; but what have the Bulk of Mankind to do with their Greatness? Their Misfortunes or Successes may make us cry out,
'Tis strange!—'Tis wondrous strange!
But how can we make the Application to ourselves? The wide Difference in our Situations, almost renders it impossible, and, if by Chance, something like a Parallel should arise, it must be stript of all pompous Terms;—the Rubbish of State and Parade must be removed; and the Whole levell'd to the Sphere we act in.
PERHAPS, Reflections of this Nature, gave Rise to BIOGRAPHY. The Story of the
Calamities,
or
good Fortune
of
private Persons,
must sensibly affect every
private Reader,
and, as the Incidents are natural, and what
every Man
is subject to, he with Ease applies the Inferences, and, in some Measure, may be said to
read himself.
THE
Papers
and
Memorandums,
committed to my Care, gave Rise to the following Account of JOHN CONNOR.—I will not affirm that I have acted
impartially,
because I will not presume doing, what, I am afraid, no Historian
ever did.
If I assure my Readers I am quite
unbias'd,
yet I hope to be indulged, like the Rest of my Brethren, when I sometimes act
otherwise.
I cannot avoid saying, I have consulted the Ease of my Reader as much as possible, by not swelling this Work into
Twenty Volumes.
As a Proof of my Indulgence, I have shortened my Prefatory Discourse and this Introduction above
One Hundred Pages,
and shall proceed directly to the History.
JEREMIAH CONNOR, the Father of JOHN, whose Story I now write, had been a well made, athletic Man, and a Soldier in
King
WILLIAM'S Army in the War in
Ireland.
When that Matter was settled, he quitted that Sort of Life, and passing through sundry Services, at last settled with Sir
Roger Thornton,
a Gentleman of great Honour and Fortune, in the County of
Limerick,
in
Ireland.
Here he lived, and his Warlike
Scars of Credit,
made him assume some Authority, and furnished a large Fund for Conversation. He found the Happiness of being Virtuous in the
Cause of Liberty
and
Common-Sense.
Though he was one of the famous
Enniskilliners
that joyn'd
King William,
yet his Reward, like other
great Men,
was confined to the secret Pleasure of having done
his Duty.
IN this Family liv'd DOLLY BRIGHT, who perform'd the Function of
Landry-Maid;
she was young and handsome; and
Jerry
observing, she had a docile and tractable Turn, he encourag'd her in it. Being himself a Man of
Learning,
he took some Pains to inculcate all his Knowledge, and taught her to
Read
and
Write.
The Fame of her Erudition a little hightened her Vanity, especially when
Sir Roger
examined her himself, and declaring her a very surprising Genius, gave her a Kiss and
two Guineas
to buy a Gown and Linnen.— This unfortunate Present, and a few more of the same Nature, at last alarm'd
Lady Thornton,
and brought on some Alteration, in which the Lady seem'd in the Right. All
Sir Roger
's Affirmations were of no Effect; my Lady most violently protested
the impudent Slut should quit the House, or she would
—. Sir
Roger
knew the World, and what's more, he knew himself and his Wife, which determined him to make all this easy. He told
Jerry Connor,
that if he would marry
Dolly Bright,
he would give him a Cabbin and five Acres of Ground at a small Rent, and compleat his Happiness, who had been so careful of her Education.
LADY THORNTON objected to this, but finding Sir
Roger
grow warm and somewhat peremptory, she acquiesced.—Though
Jerry Connor
was thirty Years older than
Dolly,
they willingly consented to the Match, and Peace was restor'd to the Family.
THUS
Jack
's Parents were fix'd in a Farm about twenty Miles from
Thornton Castle. Jerry
was Fifty-five and
Dolly
Twenty-four Years of Age. To compleat their Joy, the
Hero of this History
stepp'd forth, and was usher'd into the World the 15th Day of
December
1720, just
seven Months
after their Nuptials, a fine healthy Boy, and the
very
Picture of
Jerry Connor.
WHETHER it was from the
frequent
Visits Sir
Roger
paid them, or from some other Motive, my
Lady Thornton
never rested till she had persuaded him to remove his Family to
England.
This was a mighty Loss, and poor
Connor
felt it more and more every Day. They were much in Arrear, and as the Steward could no longer indulge them, they were put to vast Difficulties. This shagrin'd Mrs.
Connor,
and her Husband was sometimes peevish. Every Misfortune was imputed to
one
or the
other,
consequently many bitter Invectives passed between them, and sometimes
Blows.
Mrs.
Connor
generally conquer'd, for an
old Wound
broke out in
his Knee
and lam'd him. The good Woman had always
great Spirits,
which rais'd itself on certain Occasions, to that noble Ardour, which the Vulgar call
Termagant,
in which her
Neighbours
and
Husband
gave her Opportunities to
improve.
AT last another Wound appear'd in
his Head,
and oblig'd him to have Recourse to the Surgeon of the next Town, though ill able to bear the Expence of, at least,
a Shilling
a Day. However, the
Surgeon
was a
skillful Man,
and so managed his Patient, that in a Month he brought a Humour into
his Eyes,
and in
six Weeks
he was
quite Blind.
The
Surgeon
declared his Sorrow for the Accident, but believed, that had it not
providentially
happen'd, it must have cost him
his Life.
The Wound at last heal'd, but
Connor
thought, and his
Wife
saw, they were ruin'd; which the Seizing their two remaining
Cows,
and a Barrel of
Potatoes,
completely finished; and next Night the good Woman threw
Jack
on her Back, took her
blind Husband
by the Hand, and march'd off, with about
six Shillings,
to seek better Fortune.
CHAP. II.
He tells us,
"When one Sense is supprest,
"It but retires into the rest."
So
Poverty,
against the Will,
Gives
Cunning
to assuage the Ill.
ANONIMOUS.
SULLEN and
silent
were their Travels all that Night, but when Day appeared, they determined to repose themselves at the first Inn that seem'd proper to entertain such Guests, mutually agreeing to postpone all Talk of Affairs, till their Bodies were a little refresh'd. At length a
Cabbin
appear'd, to which they bended their Steps, and, by the Information of a
Linnen Rag
over the Door, and a
Pipe
stuck in the
Thatch,
they boldly enter'd and call'd for
Milk
and
Bread.
Before this could be had, the Woman of the House demanded
three Half-pence,
and Mrs.
Connor
pulling out a Piece of an
old Glove,
which contained all her
Treasure,
paid for the approaching Breakfast.
AT this Repast the
good Creature
seem'd very tender of Mrs.
Connor,
whose Eyes were swell'd with Crying. She ask'd many Questions, as,
Where they came from,
and
whither going;
to which she received a melancholy Account of the past, but not of what they intended to do, being ignorant of it themselves. The poor Woman sympathiz'd with her Guest, who, by a Change of Fortune grew
strangely humble,
and was now all
Humility
and
Meekness.— God Almighty
help you,
said the Landlady,
I'm sure you've Troubles enough;—I pray the
sweet Jesus
to comfort you, and send you safe in your Journey; — but
my dear Sowle, added she, rocking herself,
you must not set Grief too much about your
Heart,
for my poor
dear Man
in his Grave (God be with his Sowle) left me the Mother of
three Children,
and one in my
Belly,
and the
Devil
a Farthing to bless myself, but three Shillings and Five-pence in
Silver and Brass.
To be sure it was the
Holy Virgin
put it into my Head to speak to the
Quality
that travell'd the Road, and by my own Sowle I got Pence enough, and bred my poor
little Creturs
to get their Bread as well as myself; for
Thady
is a fine Boy, and a
poor Scolard,
and speaks his
Latin,
and brings home many a
Happeny; sweet Jesus
bless him! and send me once to hear him
say Mass!
for my
dear Child
will be nothing but a
Priest,
and
Father O'Sloughnesey
will send him to
France
on his own Means; God's Blessing on the
sweet Man.
—Then my
dear little Terence
drives the
Cows
out and home for
Mr. Flaherty,
and brings me
broken Meat,
and a
Bottle of good Ale
when he finds it after the Servants; for the
Rogue
is as cunning as a Fox.—
Pray Jesus
I could see him a
Priest
too!—And my Daughter
Noragh,
poor Sowle, is always busy enough, and minds the
Hens
and the
Turf,
and digs the
Potatoes,
and serves the
Carryers
very well ever since
Father O'Sloughnesey
got me this good House.
SHE was going on, but finding Mr.
Connor
was more inclin'd to Sleep than Hear, she call'd to her Daughter
Noragh
to settle the
Straw
in the other Room, and advis'd the Travellers to rest for a few Hours; assuring them, that the
Cow
and the
Pigs
at one End of it, kept it
pure and warm.
Mrs.
Connor
conducted her Husband to the Apartment, where, in Spite of every Calamity,
Sleep
attended and diverted every anxious Thought.
'TWAS about Twelve o'Clock at Noon when they join'd the Landlady. Mrs.
Connor
was putting her Hand in her Pocket to pay for her
Bed,
but the
kind Woman
held it fast and prevented her, swearing she would not take a
Farthing,
and order'd
Noragh
to give them a large
Bowl of Milk;
then putting some
boil'd Potatoes
into her Apron, she fix'd the
Child
on her Back, and, with a
sweet Jesus be with you,
let them depart.
JERRY greatly prais'd the
Tenderness
of the poor Woman, and a Conversation ensu'd on their present Circumstances.
To be sure,
said his Wife,
since
God Almighty
has made you
stone blind,
and given me this
helpless Infant,
you can't
Work,
nor can I go into Service,
God help me;
so, to be sure,
myself
can't find out a better Way than to speak to the
Quality
on the Road, as the
Landlady
did, though to be sure none of my
Kiff
or
Kin
ever did so before; but you know,
Jerry, God
's Will must be done,
—and then she cry'd heartily.
DON'T cry,
said Connor,
for what Good will that do us?—Though we never begg'd yet, 'tis
a Trade
soon learn'd, and
God knows,
our
Poverty
ought to make us set up very soon.—I formerly mimick'd an
old blind Man
for
Sport,
and now I must do it in Reality for
Profit.
— Take care of the Child
Dolly,
and don't leave your poor
Jerry,
and I warrant we shall
eat
and
drink
well enough,—and,
what more can any body do?
THE
Transition
from an
Irish Cottager
to a
Beggar,
is very
natural
and common in the Country. The many Examples of that Sort, enabled the
poor Couple
to
bear,
and in some Measure
lighten'd
their Afflictions. —They now seriously determin'd to begin this new Occupation on the first
proper Object,
resolving with themselves, not to touch the
Capital Stock,
but at the last Extremity.
THEY had march'd about seven Miles without meeting any Passengers, but what seem'd as
poor
as themselves; at last she cry'd out, that a Gentleman in Scarlet appear'd, with two Servants well mounted. This put them into some Confusion, but
Jerry,
boldly raising his Spirits, assisted his Voice, and in the most pathetick Manner, begg'd
a little Charity to a poor blind, old Soldier, who once serv'd most faithfully his King and Country.
—His
Help-mate
was not
Eloquent
on this Occasion, but the Abundance of her
Tears
supply'd her want of Speech; and perhaps inclin'd the Gentleman to throw them a few
Half-pence,
which he did in a hasty Manner; and riding smartly on, was followed by a Million of
Blessings:
But how great was her Surprise and Joy, when she pick'd up
Three Half-pence,
and a
Shilling?
— She kiss'd the
Silver
a thousand Times, and in her Transport as often kiss'd the
Child
and
Jerry,
who were now
squatted
in the
Ditch.
She talk'd of
Providence
and the
blessed Virgin;
and in Rapture concluded,
that please God they'd cheer their Hearts by a Pot of Ale, at the first House.
— The poor Man objected to this, and begg'd of her only to spend the
Brass,
but to put the
Shilling
in the Glove with the rest.—After much Dispute, and sundry Dissertations on
Extravagance
and
Stinginess,
she consented.—But, who can
paint
the
Wildness of her Looks,
and the
frantick
Motion of her Limbs, nor describe her dreadful
Shrieks
and
Exclamations,
when she neither found
Glove
nor
Pocket?
—They were fairly cut off.—
Heaven,
and
Hell,
and
Purgatory,
and all
Mankind,
were in an Instant engaged in her
Quarrel,
till
fatigu'd
and
tir'd
with the Violence of her
Passion,
she threw herself on the Ground, and in a Torrent of
Tears,
assuaged the
Storm
in her swelling Breast.
CONNOR bore this Misortune with great
Patience,
and comforted his Wife out of the
Proverbs.
He gave her many on this Occasion; and concluded, that
Solomon, who was a wise Man, told us, that Riches made themselves Wings and flew away.
—'Don't tell me,
Jerry, said she,
of such
Stuff.
I say again and again, our poor Matter of Money would have been safe enough in my Pocket, if we had not slept at that
cursed Inn;
and as for your
Wings,
I'm sure they must have been in the
old B—'s Fingers.
'—'Or,
said Jerry,
in her Daughter's.—But hang it,
'tis gone— What can't be cur'd must be endur'd.—A Pound of Sorrow never paid an Ounce of Debt.
—I've heard a wise Man say,
that when the worst has happen'd, we ought to be content, because we know the worst.— Many a cloudy Morning turns out a fine Day.
—We are now Beggars,
Dolly,
and 'twould be a Sin to be Rich; for,
sufficient to the Day is the Evil thereof,
—and St. PAUL says — Hold your foolish Tongue,
cry'd Dolly,
—this is fine
prating
indeed!— Will your
Solomon
provide a
Bed
for us to Night? Or will St. PAUL pay for our Supper?—Not they by my
Sowle;
—They'll
talk
and make a fine
Story,
but the
Devil a bit
will they give to fill a
hungry Belly?
—Come, come,
said he,
we have a
Shilling
still left; let us keep that and our Wits, and my Life for it, we shall pick up a
pretty Living.'
—So saying,
Jack
took his Post on his Mother's Back, and got safe to the next Village. They finish'd the Remainder of their
Potatoes,
had their Pint of
Ale,
and went to
Rest
pretty much as in the former Manner.
CHAP. III.
Begging is not so vile a Trade
As some imagine—some have made.
Vary the Stile, or change the Dress,
You'll find 'tis what we all profess;
The Diff'rence lies 'twixt Rich and Poor,
Some beg for little—Others more.
HUDIBRASTICK.
THE good People continued their daily Travels, and wander'd through many Counties, and greatly improv'd in the
Art
and
Mystery,
that was to furnish them with Bread; and indeed, every Day produc'd its Supply. Three Months past in this Manner, till the
old Man
complain'd of the Fatigue, and most ardently wish'd for a settled Habitation. They were now in the great Road, and within a few Miles of
Clonmel,
on a pretty Eminence that commanded a good Prospect. 'Twas agreed to fix here, and lodge about a Quarter of a Mile from the Road; where was an
old Hut,
which a few Boughs cover'd well enough for the present.
THE Venerableness of
Jerry
's Beard, which no
Razor
was suffer'd to visit, had a very good Effect, and the
tatter'd
Condition of
Dolly
's Cloaths; Her
Hair
hanging about her
Eyes,
a
dirty Clout
on her Head, and
Face
and
Hands
almost of the same Colour, made her look near
as old
as her
Husband,
and procur'd the Charity of
well disposed Christians
so amply, that they had no Reason to repent of their Situation.—In a short Time, the Hut was better cover'd; and they provided themselves with
two Cadows,
a
small Pot, two wooden Platters, two Trenchers, one Knife,
and
two Horn Spoons.
However, this Abode being so distant from what they might call
their Shop,
made it very inconvenient, and lost them many
Customers.
This determin'd them to double Diligence, and to save as much as would build
a Cabbin
by the Road Side, on the
Common.
A few
Shillings
compleated this Structure, and their Effects were soon removed.
THUS were they fix'd in a more comfortable Manner than could be imagined, from the Appearance of the
Hovel.
Business went on in a very prosperous Way; and, as Money came in, they increas'd their Conveniencies and Utensils; but every thing was added
externally
that gave an Idea of
Misery
and
Wretchedness.
—They often drank
Ale,
eat
Bread,
and sometimes
Meat,
which most Cottagers in the
Kingdom
are utter Strangers to. In short, they lived as happily as the Impetuosity of
Dolly's
Temper would admit, which at some Seasons vented itself on
Jerry,
in
old Rogue
and
old Scoundrel,
and such
affectionate
Epithets, which he bore with the Calmness of a
Philosopher,
seldom answering but in
Proverbs.
SCARCELY had they been settled three Months before some of their Neighbours
smoak'd a Pipe
with
blind Connor
and
poor Doll.
Their great Knowledge surpriz'd them, particularly when they found
She
could
both Read and Write.
The
Priest
of the Parish, who was a young Man, being at last made acquainted with this
Prodigy,
determin'd to pay her a Visit. One Morning, when she was
cleaner
dress'd than usual, she was
sweetly singing
on the Ditch Side, and
his Reverence
surpriz'd her in the Act of
giving Suck.
As she knew him, she blush'd, and was going to cover her
Neck,
which the
holy Man
prevented with his Hand, saying,
God speed your Work, my dear Child. — Don't be ashamed at what God has given you.—I'm well enough us'd to such Sights!
—Perhaps he was; but Mrs.
Connor
had a
Skin
of such an wholesome
Sanguineness,
and
Breasts
so
prominent and firm,
as puzzled his
Reverence,
and made his
Blood
rise in his Face, and his
Speech
to faulter.
AS Mrs.
Connor
durst not disoblige the
Priest,
she made all the fine Speeches in her Power, and told him almost as much as if she had been at
Confession.
His
Reverence
spoke very compassionately on her unhappy Circumstances, and, in a
tender Manner,
insinuated the hard Fortune, that
so young
and
well-spoken a Woman,
should be reduc'd to
ask a Favour
of any
Man;
when if she had
her due,
they ought to
ask Favours
of her.—
Not, my
dear Child, said he,
that I would be after finding Fault with your
Industry,
or putting
bad Thoughts
in your Head. No! no! God forbid! But as you are a
sensible Woman,
I may tell you, we ought to know
Good
as well as
Bad,
that we may avoid the
one
and follow the
other:
But when we make
a Slip,
as we are all
frail Mortals,
it must be great Comfort to a
good Catholick,
to have a
Holy Priest
to pray for, and
absolve us.
—At this, he put on a Countenance of
primitive Piety,
or at least, so much of it, as his
Eyes
would permit, which still sparkled, and being fixed on the
beautiful Part
before-mention'd, spoke a Language
truly Catholick.
JACK'S Mother was quite confounded at all these fine Words; and not perfectly understanding
Logical
Distinctions, was afraid the
Holy Father
was endeavouring to make her Proof against
good
or
bad Fortune,
not against
good
or
bad Morals. Father Kelly
soon solv'd her Doubts; for as the
Child
still continued at the
Breast,
he prais'd its
Beauty,
patted its
Cheeks,
and utter'd every
infantine
Expression, which Mothers are so naturally fond to hear.—
The sweet little Fellow,
said he,
it looks like an Angel, I must
kiss it,
were it but for the Sake of the Nurse.
—He kept his Word; but guiding his
Head
a little more on
one Side,
he feasted his Lips (as if by Accident) on
those Charms
his Eyes had been Witness of for half an Hour.
HIS Reverence recover'd himself at last, and—
I ask your Pardon, good Mrs.
Connor, said he,
for by my
own Conscience
I had no Harm in my Thoughts; but God forgive me! in troth I was going to t'other Side, for fear it would be jealous; tho' if I had, you know, there would be no
Sin
in it neither; for what is a
Breast
but
Flesh?
and so is
your Hand;
and what
Sin,
my Dear, in touching a
Hand?
—This Reasoning was so strong that Conviction sat on Mrs.
Connor
's Countenance; which the
good Man
perceiving, he very fervently transported his
Kisses
from
one Side
to
the other.
SOME Travellers appearing, and
Jerry
being summon'd to his Post, the charitable
Priest
slipt Sixpence into her Hand, and gave the old Man a Yard of good Tobacco; so wishing them
good Luck,
added his
Benediction,
and promis'd to call in his Walks.
IT would be endless to point out the Virtues of this
good Man.
He visited frequently, and always left
something
behind him. He mention'd to
Dolly
the most charitable Families in the Country; and taught
Jerry
how to tell the weary Traveller the
Hour of the Day.
He repair'd the
first Hut,
where she always cook'd the Victuals when he
honour'd
them with his Company. He put a Door to it, and sent in good Store of
Whiskey
and
Straw,
with
two Cadows.
This serv'd
his Reverence
for a Country Retreat; and answered every End of a
Confessional.
His Conversation was
truly pious,
and his Pains were great to convert
Jerry
to the
Bosom of that Church,
out of which there is
no Salvation.
Sometimes, indeed, his
Zeal
was rather too great; for when Mr.
Connor
made strong Objections, he
most charitably,
and with a
truly Christian Spirit,
hurry'd poor
Jerry
's Soul
to the Devil and all his Angels;
in which Journey his Wife always added an hearty
Amen.
ABOUT the Age of Five Years, JACK remembers his daily sitting on a Ditch with his
Father
and
Mother,
industriously employed in that
most antient
and
most noble
Profession of
Begging.
The Situation was well contriv'd, and three Roads terminated just at their Mansion, and, as it were, empty'd themselves into the
great one.
Besides the Beauty of the Prospect, I apprehend,
his Parents
had some
Regard
and
Love
to Society; for no Traveller could pass, but were attack'd with all the
Oratory
in their Power. Without Vanity I may say, few People of
their Distinction
enjoy'd that
Talent
to greater Perfection, especially Mrs.
Connor.
When she was determin'd to
extract
a
Penny
from a
good Christian,
she mounted the Ditch, and with Eyes rais'd to Heaven, and uplifted Hands, she bespoke his Favour: She saluted him with every
tender, moving
Expression. The
Tear
was ready; and sometimes she pleaded a
numerous Family of Orphans,
and sometimes an
antient helpless Husband.
— Did his
hard Heart
pass by
untouch'd,
she followed him with her rais'd Voice, invoking every
Saint
to prosper his Journey, and to commiserate her
wretched Condition.
—Many a Time, and oft', has she compelled the most
obdurate Lawyer
or
Parson
to
Rein-back,
and fumble for
Farthings.
JERRY had his Excellence: He was really advanced in Years; was infirm and
blind.
The Loss of Sight, so dreadful to many, was to them of infinite Use. From this he drew the
Pity
of the
Good-natur'd,
and the
Compassion
of most Travellers; but his being an
old Soldier who had serv'd by Sea and Land,
afforded an Addition to his
Revenue;
to which a
red Coat
contributed not a little.
YOUNG as our
Hero
was, his Employment had its Use; for whilst his dear Parents were solacing themselves in
their Castle,
and enjoying the Comforts of
Ale, Tobacco,
and the Conversation of
Friends,
he was on the Watch for the Approach of Passengers; when his
Father
or
Mother,
and sometimes
both,
sally'd out, and he always attended to join in the
Cry
and pick up the
Copper
that Humanity threw them.
JACK now grew a sturdy Fellow, of Six Years old. As his Mother had been so good to teach him to
read,
he was a great Comfort to his
Father,
and entertained him out of
The whole Duty of Man,
which he took particular Care of, ever since Mrs.
Connor
had sold his
Bible.
The Child read so frequently, that at last he was very
expert,
and began to relish the Subject. One Day, he asked his Father,
If there was any more Books in the World, for he would read them all.
God bless you, poor Child,
said Jerry,
and give you
Grace
to
learn,
and
practice
all good Things.
—Then, folding him in his Arms, with many Tears, and uplifted Hands, beseech'd the
Almighty
to succour his helpless
Age,
and guide his Steps, that he might live by
Honesty
and
Labour.
—Though
Jack
knew not what he meant, yet his Words made so great an Impression, that he
cry'd
most heartily.— In this Situation the Mother found them, which soon changed the Scene: She storm'd like a Fury, and swore he was sending the Boy to the Devil, as well as himself;
But,
continued she,
with all my Heart, an obstinate Bastard as he is; but I'll take Care, I warrant, of your
damn'd Book.
—She then
curs'd herself
most bitterly, for teaching
Jack
to
read;
and mutter'd something of
sending him far enough out of his Reach.
No,
Dolly, said her Husband,
you need not do that; for
Father Kelly
and
You
will soon send me to my
long Home!
—'Tis too good News to be true,—
said she.
—Well, well,
reply'd Jerry,
I shan't trouble you long;— you may let me have a little Peace whilst I live.
—Some Passengers interrupted this Conversation; and the common Occurrences of the Day, gave
Jerry
some Respite till Dinner.—He said
Grace
as usual, but could not eat. At Supper 'twas the same Way; and in the Night a
Fever
came on which open'd his Wounds, and, for Want of
proper Care,
a
Mortification
ensued, and the fourth Day
he slept with his Fathers.
—The pious
Priest
was determined to have the better of the
Argument
at last, and make him a good
Catholick,
by performing the final
Rites of the Church,
before the
Body
was
quite cold.
ON this melancholy Occasion, it must be confessed, the poor Widow behav'd as the most fashionable of her Sex.—She
shrieked
and
wrung her Hands,
and call'd on
Death
to ease her
Misery.
—She
fainted,
and fell into
Fits;
and the Neighbours with great Difficulty brought her to herself.— When recover'd, she bore her
Fate
with great
Resignation,
and gave Directions about the
Funeral
with much Composure of Mind, except when more Friends dropt in, which renewed her
Sorrows;
and then the whole Company sympathiz'd in the
most doleful Cadences.
THE Deceased being stripped and washed, was laid out on some
Straw,
cover'd with a Sheet that was formerly white. On his
Breast
was a large Dish fill'd with Salt, which undoubtedly had its Use. The good People, three Miles round, flock'd to
blind Connor's Wake,
with Loads of
Whiskey
and
Tobacco; Pipers
were in Abundance; and sundry
Gentlemen
amused the Company with the
sweet Harmony
of their
Trumps
or
Jews-harps.
—When
Father Kelly
had declared that
Jerry Connor
died a
True Son of the Church,
being by him converted almost by a
Miracle,
a
Buzz
of Content ran thro' the whole Assembly, and he finished a few Prayers for the
Repose of his Soul.
THE
common Irish
are chearful at a
Wedding;
but, at a
Wake,
their
Joy
and
Mirth
is seemingly
extravagant. Ill Nature,
and the Want of
Compassion
and
Tenderness,
are not placed amongst their
natural Vices.
If the Moral of this antient Custom be examined, and found to proceed from their Pleasure, in believing that their
Friend
or
Companion
has quitted all
human Infirmities,
and now enjoys a Fulness of
Bliss,
we cannot think the Practice
irrational
or
absurd.
MIRTH in every Shape abounded; but
Jack
seem'd to drop all the romping Sporters. He listened with great Attention to a Knot of
Old Ladies,
who entertained each other with true
Stories
of
Giants
and
Witches,
and
Spirits,
and
Kings of Ireland.
—From these he went to another Cluster, who spoke of the Deceased, like the
Egyptian Priests.
They magnify'd his
supposed Virtues,
and gave him
Vices,
to which he was a
Stranger. —Scandal
and
Malice,
and
Envy,
were present! Some hinted, that
Dolly
was not
his Wife;
some called her his
Niece,
and some his
Daughter;
but
all
agreed, in wondering, what he Devil
Father Kelly
could see, to make him so
civil to her.
—I much fear many grand Societies are but
humble
Imitators of this
equally polite
Assembly.
AT last the
Funeral
set out, directing their Course to a
ruin'd Monastery,
about Six Miles distant. The March was solemn; and ever and anon a
Sacred Dirge
was rais'd, that shook the
Hills,
and eccho'd through the
Vales.
The Company still encreas'd from the neighbouring Cabins, whose Inhabitants having walked two or three Miles, and rais'd their
Notes
of Condolence with the rest; perhaps would at last find Time to ask,
who is dead?
THE necessary
Rites
being finished, Mr.
Kelly,
with some of the Company, return'd to the
Hut,
where
Jack
soon found he wanted a
Father,
and had not a
Mother.
CHAP. IV.
What by this Name, then, shall be understood?
What? but the glorious Lust of doing good?
The Heart that finds it Happiness to please,
Can feel another's Pain, and taste his Ease.
The Cheek that with another's Joy can glow,
Turn pale, and sicken, with another's Woe,
Free from Contempt and Envy, he who deems
Justly of Life's two opposite Extremes.
Who to make all, and each Man, truly blest,
Does all he can, and wishes all the rest.
FIELDING
on Good Nature.
I May with Truth affirm, that
Jack's
Parents, tho' Beggars, gave better
Education
to their Son, than most of their Neighbours; witness his
reading
at so tender an Age, when not one in a
Thousand
know a single Letter. His
Dress
was pretty much the same with
young Gentlemen
of his Years, or rather with almost
all
in the Parish. He had something on that resembled
Breeches,
and a Remnant of a
Rug
very artfully hung over his Shoulders, and fastened round his Waist by Pieces of
Wood
nicely carv'd, of the Size of a
Packer
's
Needle.
—A
Shirt
was an idle and
uncomfortable
Ornament; and
Shoes
and
Stockings
made Youth too
tender
and
delicate.
This
noble
and
manly Dress
is most carefully preserved; and scarcely has
Novelty
and
Fashion
found an Opportunity of making any
Variations.
—Tho' the
Romans
never visited
Ireland,
yet their
Dress
certainly did. Were our
Virtuosi
seriously to consider this, they might save the vast Expence they are at in purchasing a Piece of
Leaden,
or
Marble,
or
Copper
Roman
Figure
and
Drapery;
when, by stepping to
Ireland,
they may see
Thousands,
even at this Day, in the
Original Habit,
and whole
Groups
in the antient Manner,
eating on the Ground.
PERHAPS I may be thought too free with so great a Name as LOCKE, when I say I imagine he borrows Part of his Treatise on
Education
from this People, to whom, I've been told, he was
no Stranger.
All the World knew that the common
Romans
wore no
Shoes;
but Mr.
Locke
could not infer from thence, with all his
more than Human Understanding,
that going without
them,
or having the
Feet
constantly
wet,
was conducive to
Health
or
Vigour,
till he saw such numberless Examples.—But to return to the Family.
FATHER KELLY'S Visits to the
Widow
were more frequent than usual, as she stood in Need of more frequent
Consolation.
From his
pious
Intentions the evil-minded of the Parish drew Conclusions no-way favourable to either, especially as Mrs.
Connor
dropt her former
Occupation,
and retir'd to the first
Hut,
where she suffer'd herself to be visited but by a few select Friends; and was never publickly seen but at
Mass.
—How different! How chang'd in her Appearance! Her
Face
was
wash'd;
—her fine black Hair was
comb'd,
and nicely plaited;—her
Kercher
was clean, which passing under her Chin, was neatly ty'd at the back of her Neck;—her brown
Jacket
with
red Cuffs;
—her
red Petticoat,
and, above all, her
yellow Stockings
and new
Brogues
drew the Eyes of the whole Congregation; some to
admire
her real Comeliness, but more to whisper,
They wished she came honestly by them.
WHATEVER were their
private
Opinions,
Father Kelly
received many
publick
Marks of their Dis-esteem. The old Ladies, and the young, extreamly resented this
open
and
particular
Attachment, so injurious to their own Beauties and superior Merit. They wrought on their Husbands, their Brothers and Sweethearts; and the good and charitable
Priest
was condemn'd a Sacrifice to
Malice
and
Envy.
WHETHER the People had just Cause to complain to the titular
Archbishop
of
Cashel,
or whether
Father Kelly
and Mrs.
Connor
were conscious of
Guilt;
or, whether they found the Current of
Slander
too strong to stem, I know not; neither can I tell the Resolution they took on this Occasion, but certain it is, they came to one very speedily.
MRS. CONNOR had converted the old
red Coat
into a Sort of Waistcoat for
Jack,
who having a Pocket, never failed carrying his
Book
in it. One Morning she called him up earlier than usual, and with more than common good Humour, wash'd his
Face
and comb'd his Head, and having put on something like a
Shirt,
she kiss'd him, saying,
'he was a charming pretty Boy.'
In Reality he was so.—
Come,
Jack, says she,
now we'll walk to
Town
and see your Aunt.
—Poor
Jack
was vastly pleas'd at going to Town, though he knew not where, and followed his
Mother
with great Chearfulness. They had not walk'd above a Mile or two, when a Man overtook them, whom Mrs.
Connor
knew. Some Questions being ask'd,
I am going,
said she,
to leave
Jack
at my
Sister
's for a Day or two, and must be back to
Squire Disney
's to Night. —That's too far,
said the Man,
to walk in one Day; go you to the
Squire
's, and I shall take care of
Jack.
—The
Child
cry'd, but his Mother coax'd, and prevail'd on him to go without Murmuring. She kiss'd, and promising to see him To-morrow, turn'd about, and
Jack
and the Stranger marched on.
NOTHING remarkable happened in this Journey, but
Jack
complain'd that the
Town
was a great ways off.—That he wish'd he was there;—that he was
Hungry,
or
Dry,
or
Sleepy,
and some childish Talk of that Sort, to which the Man gave Answers, and relieved all his Wants.—Many Days passed in small Journeys, till the Fellow found he was in the
County
of
Meath.
He fed the Child as well as he could, and having got a Woman to wash his Rags and clean him, march'd on till he came to a large fine House.—
Now,
Jack, said he,
we shall soon see your Aunt; stay here, my good Child, a little, and I'll be with you
by and by;
but be sure don't go beyond that
great Gate.
(Pointing to the Gate of the House.) The Man walk'd off, and
Jack
never saw him after.
THE poor Child waited a long Time for him with great Patience, till
Hunger
and
Night
coming on, he
cry'd
till his little Heart was almost broke.—At last he ventured to walk to the Gate, and found it open. He went into a large Court-yard, and finding a House, which was a deserted
Dog-kennel,
he boldly enter'd; and what with his Fatigues, and little Sorrows, he lay down and
slept
soundly 'till next Morning.—One of the
Grooms
going by, heard the Cries of the Boy, and relieved him from his Prison.—He was ask'd many Questions, to which he could give no Answers; except that a Man was going with him to his
Aunt
's, and that his Name was
Jack Connor.
—The Groom ask'd him
if he was
hungry?
Yes, said
Jack,
and very
dry
too, and my
Feet
are very
sore.
— The Servant was good natur'd, and taking him into one of the Stables, gave him a Piece of Bread and some small Beer. He wash'd his little Feet with warm
Brand and Water,
which was ready to be given to a
sick Horse,
and laid him on some clean Straw. The poor Child went to Sleep, but waken'd so refresh'd, and so happy, that, on seeing the Groom, he
smil'd,
and utter'd every Expression, that shew'd the
Gratitude
of his Heart.
THUS was he fed for a Fortnight, and all Enquiry was made by the Servants about him, but in vain.—
Jack
grew quite well, and mightily pleas'd with his Situation, for
Providence
had directed him to the House of LORD TRUEGOOD, a Nobleman less remarkable for his
large Fortune,
than his
Humanity,
and extensive
Charity
to all Mankind.
MR. KINDLY, his Lordship's Domestick Steward, had heard something of this Story, and determined to see the Child.— He watch'd when the Servants were out, and stole privately into the
Stable.—Jack
was mounted in one of the Windows, with his
Book
in his Hand, but when he saw the Gentleman, he stuff'd it into his Pocket, and got on his Feet in an Instant. Mr.
Kindly,
with a Smile of good Nature, cry'd out—'Who have we got here?—Where did you come from, Child?'—'Indeed, Sir,
reply'd Jack, almost in Tears,
I don't know.'—'Don't
cry,
my Dear,
said the good Steward,
I shall do you no Harm; —Have you a
Mother,
and where is she gone to?—I don't know indeed Sir,
reply'd Jack,
but she gave me to a Man to see my Aunt, and he bid me stay at the Gate, and so I did, and so he did'nt come for me.'—'That's my good Boy,
said Kindly;
come, now tell me all the rest.'—The poor Child was not at a Loss, but told as much of his Affairs as he possibly could know, and in so innocent a Manner, that greatly pleas'd the good Man. —
That's my good Dear,
said he;
but what
Book
was it, you put in your Pocket? Let me see it my Man.
—
Jack
deliver'd it, telling him,
his Father said it was a good Book, and would make every Body good.
—Mr.
Kindly
look'd at the Title, and was greatly surpriz'd.—'Your Father,
said he,
was a good Man, and you'll be a very
good Boy,
when you can read it.'— Oh dear,
said Jack,
indeed, Sir, I can read it very well.'—'Can you so,
reply'd the Steward,
let me see.'—He opened the Book, where least mark'd, and
Jack
began, and pretty distinctly read.—
So also for the Calamities and Miseries that befall a Man, be it Want or Sickness, or whatever else, these also come by the Providence of God, who raiseth up and putteth down, as seems good to him, and it belongs not to us to judge what are the Motives to him to do so, as many do, who, upon any Affliction that befalls another, are presently concluding, that sure it was some extraordinary Guilt, which puts this upon him, though they have no particular to lay to his Charge.
—As the Boy read, the Tenderness of the
good Man
mounted to his Eyes.—
That's enough my Child,
said he,
—God bless you.
—So quitting him in an Instant, got into the Yard, and gave vent to a few Tears.—Good God,
cry'd he,
how infinitely is thy loving Kindness, who, out of the Mouths of
Babes
and
Sucklings,
teacheth us our
Duty.
MR. KINDLY walked to the House, and having call'd Mrs.
Mathews,
an elderly Servant, begg'd her to get him a Leg or a Wing of a Fowl, with a Piece of Bread, and some small Beer. 'Lord, dear Sir,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
may hap your Morning's Walk has
gotten
you a Stomach; pray let me broil you a
Pigeon,
and give you a Glass of
white Wine.
'—'Thank you heartily, good Mrs.
Mathews, reply'd the Steward,
you know I seldom eat in a Morning, but I never
drink.
What I want is for a poor Stranger.'— Lord bless you, dear Sir,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
you are so good, all the Servants are bound to
pray for you.'
—She did not wait for a Reply, but ran to the Pantry, and soon returned, properly loaded. — 'Thank you, my dear Friend,
said
Mr.
Kindly,
now I have a great Favour to beg of you; which is, to carry these to the farthest Stable, where you'll find a poor
little Boy.
See him eat his Dinner, and take him to
John Long
's Wife.'—'Yes that I will,
said she.
'—'The Lord preserve your good Heart.—I'm sure you're always the
poor Man
's Friend. — The Lord keep you your Health, for you're too good for
this World.
'—'We must assist one another,
said Kindly,
but pray go and help the Child, and I'll walk on to
John Long
's.'
MRS. MATHEWS thought there was some
Mystery
in this Affair, but resolved to
hear
and
see,
but say nothing. She determined to be as
secret
as could be expected from her
Sex
and
Station;
so, wisely took
Jenny
the House Maid to the Stable, to whom she communicated the Matter, with many notable Remarks.—
You know,
Jenny, said she,
Mr.
Kindly
is a Man as well as another, and though he is
antient
or
so,
yet, let me tell you, 'tis an
old Rat
that won't
eat Cheese.
—He's a hearty Man,
Jenny,
and a good natur'd Man, and they say lives a Widower for the Sake of his Children; now putting
Things
and
Things
together, who knows what may have happen'd?—But
please
God it shall go no farther for me;'—nor for me neither,
said Jenny,
for I would not hurt a Hair of his Head,
poor dear Man.
THEY got to the Stable and found
Jack
with the Groom.—So so,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
have I found you, young Spark.— 'Come, sit down my little fellow, and try how a bit will agree with you.'—'What
Jenny, said the Groom,
are you come too? I'll say that for you, you've as good a Nose at finding out a
pretty Boy,
as any Wench in the Parish; I suppose he's some Relation of your's,
Eh, Jenny?
— The Fellow's a Fool,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
tho' may hap he may have as good Relations as any here.—Come, my brave Man, eat heartily, and much good may do you.—So—you say your Name is
Jack,
—'Yes, Madam,
said the Child,
my Name is
Jack Connor.
—Very well,
said the good Woman,
very well; now come, my dear, and take a Walk with me, we'll not go far, only to
John Long's.'
—Then turning to the Groom, said, with a Wink,
Mr.
Kindly
bid me fill his little Belly, and carry him to
John
's Wife.
THE Groom was pleas'd, and the
Ladies
marched on.—
'Jenny, said
Mrs.
Mathews,
look at the little Fellow, how sturdily he walks, and for all the World, like good Mr.
Kindly.
'Faith and troth, said
Jenny,
and so he does, and his Name is
Jack
too.' 'Faith,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
I forgot that, and then the little Rogue has the
very
Smile of him.—Now I think on it
Jenny,
I'll be hang'd but I knew the Mother of him. Do you remember
Bryan Connor
the Miller, that lived at the Ford two Miles off.'—'Yes that I do,
reply'd Jenny,
and
by the same Token,
he had four Daughters and three Sons.'— Very true,
said
Mrs.
Methews,
and all the Neighbours believed Mr.
Kindly
was a great Help to the Family, for he went very often there. The old People died, and the Children went up and down, I don't know what became of them all; but
Molly Connor
was a
pretty Hussey enough,
but was
no better
than she
should be,
and about seven or eight Years agon, she contriv'd to get her
Belly up,
and then went to
Dublin.
'—'Goodness Sirs,
said Jenny,
how strangely Things
comes
about; so, to be sure this is her Child.' Ay, ay,
said Mathews,
as sure as
I'm in this Spot alive.
Murder will out, you know, but that's none of our Business,—we are only Servants, and must hold our Tongues; so, besure
Jenny, said she,
don't open your Lips about it, for it shan't be
computed
to me, for I hate
fending
and
proving,
and wou'd'nt be brought into a
Primeiniron
for all I'm
worth in the World.'
THE Steward and Mrs.
Long
were waiting at the Door till
Jack
arrived.—
There, Madam
Long, said
Mr.
Kindly,
There's a Boy for you; don't you think him very like me? Heaven knows,
reply'd
Mrs.
Long,
for the poor little Face of him is so dirty, 'tis impossible to tell who he is like; but please
God,
I'll know more of him by To-morrow! Do so,
said Kindly,
and in a little Time I hope to see him look as well as
my own Son.
— Then turning to Mrs.
Mathews,
thank'd her for her Civilities, and promis'd her a Present of some good
Bohea Tea.
THE Ladies made great haste Home, and by Mr.
Kindly
's Words, they were more confirm'd in their first Conjectures, and in the Necessity of being
very Secret.
— No doubt they were mighty cautious, but on Mr.
Kindly
's Return to
Bounty-Hall,
he found a strange Alteration in the Countenances of the Servants.—When he spoke, he was answer'd with a
Smile
or a
Grin.
— A general
Titter
and
Whisper
ran through the Family, and on his Enquiry into the Cause of so much Mirth, they vanish'd with a loud Laugh.—Though a little surpriz'd at their Behaviour, he knew there was no Mischief done, so was perfectly easy. He always permitted them to be as chearful as they pleas'd, for he thought an
Openness
and
Freedom
of Manners, was an Indication of an
honest Heart;
but he ever suspected a Servant of a
gloomy
or
sullen
Countenance.
CHAP. V.
There is a Lust in Man no Charm can tame,
Of loudly publishing his Neighbour's Shame:
On Eagles Wings immortal
Scandals
fly,
While
virtuous Actions
are but
born and die.
HARVEY'S JUVENAL.
A SECRET, like many other Disorders, is
Epidemical
and
Contagious,
but in the whole History of Physick, none is more
Instant,
or whose Quality is more
Diffusive.
—Every Part of
human
Matter is immediately affected, and the first Symptom, most commonly appears on the
Tongue.
To curious Persons, this Malady would afford an Infinity of Observations.—Where a
Secret
takes its Rise from
Charity, Good-nature, Friendship, Benevolence,
or other remarkable Virtues, be assured the
Disorder is
not of long Continuance. It attacks us, and we must be a little sensible of its Power, but it soon flies off by the Operation of the
Lips.
—Some have been cured by saying,
I never thought him that Sort of Man.—He's a great Cheat, if what you say be true.— That may be, but to be sure, he had his Ends in it.—I find Miracles are not ceas'd.—I've a little of the
THOMAS
in me
—and so on.— Against this Sort of
Pestilence,
the
Bishop
need never order
public Prayers;
for when it happens, it seldom goes beyond the Neighbourhood, but never marches to the
next Parish.
ON the other Hand, when the
Plague
of
Secrecy
has its Source from
Scandal, Malice, Envy,
and sometimes,
mere Ignorance,
the Effects are astonishing. Every Breast is enflam'd, and the Fire communicates itself like
Electricity.
The Heart swells, and the
Tongue,
with loud Clamour, utters Millions of
Falsehoods.
—The farther the Contagion spreads, the Disorder encreases its Force, nor does it stop, till it encounters some
new Frenzy
or
Secret.
THOUGH the learned Dr.
Mead
has been silent on this Article, yet it certainly is of as subtil and poisonous a Nature, as any mentioned in
his History.
—Indeed it seldom carries its baneful Influence to the
Life
of the Person pointed at, but it violently attacks, and often
destroys
the
Reputation, the Bread, the Peace
and
Happiness
of whole Families. The
Doctor
may cure th'enraged
Mastiff's Bite;
but who can heal the
Wounds
that
Slanderers Tongues
have made? —Dr.
Monroe,
is a Stranger to this Species of
Madness,
nor did I ever hear that Mr.
Ward
has attempted to palliate it. If 'tis not in
Physick
to relieve this dreadful Malady, what
Prayers
should we not offer up, to avert the
Evil!
DO thou therefore,
kind Reader,
give up thy Neighbour or thy Friend, who labours under this
Madness.
—Avoid him; —his Breath is
Infectious,
and the
Saliva
of his
Tongue,
will destroy thy
Peace.
—Listen not to his Words, neither repeat them.—Be firm in
Truth,
and the
Pest
may escape thee, and perhaps, in Time, the Name of the
Malady
may be lost.
BUT to return.—The mighty Secret was now in the Possession of every Servant, mounting by Degrees, till it arrived to Mrs.
Betty Tittle,
Lady
Truegood
's Woman; who, like a good Christian, suffer'd not
the Sun to go down,
till she imparted the valuable Discovery to her
Ladyship.
—
'Tittle, said her Ladyship,
I can't imagine what ails the Servants: Surely something must have vastly pleas'd them, they seem so merry!—
Tittle
put her Handkerchief to her Face to hide her Blushes.'—'Pray,
said my Lady,
what is the Matter?—I suppose some
Maid
has got a
Sweetheart,
or stolen a
Wedding,
or some such Thing.' —'No indeed,
Mem, said Tittle,
I assure your
Laship,
there's nothing like a
Wedding
in the Case.'—'I hope,
reply'd my Lady,
there is nothing worse, though you are all too apt to laugh at
Mischief;
but whatever it is, I insist Mrs.
Tittle,
you'll instantly tell me.—Lord Mem,
said Tittle,
I don't know how to speak of
naughty Things,
especially to your
Laship;
but all the Servants
knows
as well as I, for Mrs.
Mathews
and
Jenny
told me of it, and they went to see the
Child.
'— Child!
cry'd my Lady, greatly alarm'd,
what Child.'—I once more desire, and I lay my Commands on you, to tell me the whole Story this Moment.'—'I hope,
said Tittle,
your
Laship
won't be angry with me; but 'tis only, please your
Laship,
that
Molly Connor,
the Miller's Daughter, made Mr.
Kindly
a Present of a
fine Boy
this Morning. The Nurse brought it Home, because Mr.
Kindly
would not pay for its Keeping this
four
or
five Years,
so the poor Man was forced to take the Child, and send it to
John Long
's; and indeed, please your
Laship,
that's all, only they say, that the
Boy
is
seven
or
eight
Years old, and as like Mr.
Kindly
as
two Peas;
but they say
Mem.
— Hold your impertinent Tongue,
said my Lady,
is this the Occasion of so much Giggle?—You are an ungrateful Pack. I am sure 'tis false, therefore I charge you all, not to appear before me with such
saucy Airs.
'—'Indeed
Mem, said Tittle,
if I've said any thing to offend your
Laship.
—Yes, Madam,
said my Lady,
you have very greatly offended me, and so you have all; but hold your scandalous Tongue, and leave me this Minute.'
POOR Mrs.
Tittle
was not only vastly disappointed, but greatly frighten'd, as she had never heard her
Ladyship
speak in such a Manner, or seem in such a
Passion.
—She inform'd the rest, of the Reception she met with; and the Faces of the Servants seem'd more compos'd at Supper. They were quite surpriz'd at the
Oddity
of her
Ladyship
's Temper, and quoted many Examples diametrically opposite.'—
I'm sure,
said
Mrs.
Tittle,
had I told as much to
Squire Smart
's Lady, we should have laugh'd together about it, the whole
live long Night!
—Ay, ay,
said
Mrs.
Mathews,
God bless the good
Lady Malign.
When I waited on her in
Yorkshire,
many a
Gown
and
Petticoat,
and
Smock,
have I
gotten
for telling her half as much; but to be sure some People think themselves wiser than all the World.'—'Hold, hold,
said Tom Blunt the Butler;
'Now d'ye see, if so be that as how, my
Lady
is wrong, she'll do you
Right;
and if my
Lady
is right, how like
Fools
and Ninni-hammers will you all look? So d'ye see, take a Fool's Advice, and go and sleep upon't.—
Tom
went to Bed, and as he left them no more to say, we may suppose they follow'd his Example.
MY
Lord
and
Lady
were now retir'd, when she reveal'd to him with an Air of Concern and Emotion, what Mrs.
Tittle
had told her, every now and then asking his
Advice
and
Opinion.
—'My dear Betty,
reply'd my Lord,
don't be uneasy; I've heard of this Affair pretty much in the same Manner. I've privately examin'd into it, and have great Reason to applaud Mr.
Kindly
's Conduct. As you always judge right, I am not surpriz'd at your checking the
Tattling
of Servants, which, if once encourag'd, as ignorant People too frequently do, 'tis impossible to say where it may end: However,
continued his Lordship,
as trifling as this Affair is, I hope to make it useful. When I bring it on the
Carpet;
I must beg your Asistance.'—'My dear
Harry, said my Lady,
I shall not fail; but come to
Bed,
and if you think proper, tell me
then
all the rest.'
THE Curtains were drawn, but, as nothing of the Conversation
transpir'd,
I cannot draw this Chapter to a greater Length.
CHAP. VI.
Hail wedded Love! mysterious Law! true Source
Of Human Off-spring! sole Propriety
In Paradise, of all Things common else!
By thee adult'rous Lust was driv'n from Man
Among the Bestial Herds to range: By thee,
Founded in Reason, loyal, just, and pure,
Relations dear, and all the Charities
Of Father, Son, and Brother, first were known!
MILTON.
AS the Reader must reside with
Lord
and
Lady Truegood
for some Time, perhaps they will be pleas'd at being properly acquainted with them. To those who know not their Persons, I can only introduce them to their
Personal Conduct,
and
Family Behaviour.
This may be as useful and entertaining, and rather less tedious, than a Description of their
Features,
their
Stature,
or other visible Marks of
Elegance, Beauty,
or
Deformity.
HIS
Lordship
had about Five Thousand a Year in
Ireland,
and about Two Thousand in
England,
all in his own Power. Her
Ladyship
was the Daughter of Sir
William Templeton,
of
Lancashire.
She was Heiress to Two Thousand Pounds a Year in that County; and his
Lordship
's Estate lay contiguous to it. Miss
Templeton
was endow'd with all those Charms that
Men of Sense
admire, because they know they are
lasting.
Her
Wit
and
Knowledge
had that Sort of sprightly and solid Turn, that enliven'd, at the same Time, it pleas'd and improv'd her Hearers. Her many Virtues were more admir'd than imitated; and her Person, tho' not a
Beauty,
was so genteel and
elegantly neat,
that she rais'd
Desire
in every Breast, and commanded more than common Respect. They had been well acquainted when Children; and from the Intimacy of each Family, a Friendship, if not something stronger, insensibly grew up with them. His Collegiate Studies being over, and his Father dead, he was sent to finish the Accomplishments of a Gentleman by
Travel.
In this Time he constantly corresponded with Miss
Betty Templeton,
and the most agreeable and entertaining Letters pass'd, greatly to their Satisfaction and mutual Improvement. Mr.
Johnston,
a Clergyman, and his Lordship's Tutor and Companion, vastly encourag'd these good Dispositions in his Pupil, foreseeing the
happy
Consequences that might arise from it.
AT Twenty-four Years of Age,
his Lordship
return'd from his Travels, a
truly polite,
and
well-bred Man.
—He found Miss
Templeton,
now about Nineteen Years of Age, with every Qualification he could wish in a
Wife.
—He spoke to her, at some Distance, on that Head, and found her Answers sensible and just, and no-ways against his Views.—His
Lordship,
then, apply'd to Mrs.
Jordon,
a Widow Lady, and Aunt to Miss, who had bred her from a Child, and supply'd the Loss of a Mother. The good Lady was overjoy'd to put her dear Niece into the Hands of a Nobleman of such Fortune; and whose great Good-nature, and many Virtues, promis'd a Life of real Happiness and Content.
HIS Lordship now paid his Addresses publickly; every one agreeing, they were born for each other.—A Jointure was soon fix'd on; but the Settling his Estate was a Matter of some Difficulty, as his Notions on that Head were uncommon.—He always thought, that the Undutifulness of Children to their Parents, especially of the
Eldest Son,
proceeded often from a Knowledge of the Fortune they were entitled to, at their Father's Decease.—His Lordship convinced the young Lady of the
Absurdity
of placing Children out of the Power of Parents, either to
reward
some for their Goodness, or
chastise
others for their Misdeeds. At last he perswaded her Guardians, and Four Thousand Pounds a Year was settled on the Issue of the Marriage, in such Proportion, as my Lord thought proper to make by Will, or any future Deed or Gift, except an Estate of Five Hundred Pounds a Year, which should follow the Title: Two Thousand Pounds a Year, and Ten Thousand Pounds in Money, was settled on Miss
Templeton;
and my Lord reserv'd the Remainder as a Settlement on any future Wife, or to be disposed of, as he thought proper. —The young Lady was so weak, that she absolutely insisted, that
Pin,
or
Alimony,
should not be mentioned in any of the Writings.—All these Matters being regularly adjusted, the Day was fix'd, and Mr.
Johnston
joyn'd their Hands, and compleated the Happiness of this truly affectionate Pair.
MY Lord and Lady stay'd above Two Years in
England;
but finding his Presence quite necessary in
Ireland,
to settle his Fortune, which had somewhat suffer'd by the Death of his Father, and his own long Absence, he hasten'd over, and determin'd chiefly to reside there.—He took with him his two Sons,
Henry
and
William,
with my Lady's Aunt, Mrs.
Jordon,
and a numerous Retinue of Servants.—Mr.
Johnston
had been already there Twelve Months, and settled in a good Living, which my Lord had procured him.
BOUNTY-HALL, the Seat of Lord
True-good,
was a regular, well-built House, tho' not altogether in the
Modern Taste.
—The Company, to congratulate my Lord and Lady on their safe Arrival, was very numerous and very gay. They seem'd free, and of chearful Dispositions, inviting my Lord and Family to their Houses, in such an hearty sincere Manner, as quite pleas'd and surpriz'd my Lady and Mrs.
Jordon,
who were not a little
prejudiced
against the
Irish.
—Mrs.
Jordon
could not avoid telling my Lord, she
lik'd them extreamly, but wish'd they'd speak with another Tone of Voice.
— My Lord laugh'd, and said,
I assure you, one of the Ladies ask'd me, if all the
English
spoke in so strange a Manner as Mrs.
Jordon?
But she added, she believ'd you were a very good Lady, for all that.
—My Lady and her Aunt smil'd, and took this tender Rebuke in the proper Manner; acknowledging, that
Infant Prejudices
were difficult to remove, but hoped, Time would get the better of some of them.
MRS. JORDON took great Pains to reform the Pronunciation of the People. She made such Progress in transplanting the
Lancashire
Dialect, that on her Return to that County, she was heartily laugh'd at, and by her Friends was constantly called an
Irish Bog-Trotter,—a Brogue-a-neer,—a Teague,
and sundry other
endearing
Names. —But I must follow my Lord.
HIS first Care was to get out of the Hands of the
Lawyers,
for he had three
Chancery Suits:
Two of them he soon finished in an amicable Manner, but the Third was so glaring an Affront on his Understanding and his Right, that he would hear of no Composition, lest he might be tax'd with
Weakness,
and draw on himself
others.
— This determin'd him to prosecute the Suit with the utmost Vigour; and the
Expedition
of the
Law
was such, that the Cause was ripe for an Hearing, just as my Lord—
became a Grandfather.
WHILST his Law Affairs were put in a Channel, he at the same Time settled with his different
Receivers,
two of whom he discharged, as likewise his
Auditor,
taking that Branch into his own Management. He oblig'd his Receivers to return him Monthly Abstracts of their Receipts and Payments, by which he was enabled to settle each Tenant's Account, and at
one View,
knew their Arrear, and gave Orders for
Severity
or
Indulgence,
as the Circumstances required.
As my Lord's chief Residence was in the Country, he saw, with real Uneasiness, the
wretched Condition
of the poor Inhabitants. Their
Idleness
and
Sloth,
with the Swarms of
ignorant Priests,
and the Treatment of
some Landlords,
kept them in a constant
miserable
Situation, and even depriv'd them of sufficient Spirits to
wish
a Change of Condition. My Lord clearly saw, that such Dispositions could never improve the Face of the Country. He considered, that the People, however
poor
and
miserable,
were by Nature, strong; and, when set on by Example and Encouragement, were not the
least Docile
of all Nations. These Sort of Reflections, as a faithful and good Subject, engrossed his whole Thoughts. He knew, that the Strength of the Crown, was in the Number of faithful Inhabitants; and, to reclaim those who were otherwise, was a Duty worthy the Attention of every Man who lov'd the
King
or his
own Happiness.
AT a Meeting of the Justices of the Peace for the County, his Lordship very pathetically laid before them, what
Popery
was productive of, in a
Protestant Government;
or, as it is elegantly express'd by the brightest Genius of the Age,
The
EARL
of
CHESTERFIELD'S
Speech to the
PARLIAMENT
of
IRELAND.
That the speculative Errors
(of POPERY)
would only deserve Pity, if their pernicious Influence upon
CIVIL SOCIETY
did not both
REQUIRE
and
AUTHORIZE
Restraint.
That the
Laws
against
Papists,
tho' severe in the Letter, and tho' mostly taken from the
Edicts of France
against
Hugonots,
but greatly soften'd, were connived at, and, in a great Measure, made useless.—That the Condition of the poorer Sort in
Ireland,
was a
Scandal
to a Nation who piqued themselves at being
Polite
and
Humane,
and almost compell'd the
few Strangers
who visited the Country, to imagine they were rather with the Natives of the
Cape of Good Hope,
than in a
civilized Kingdom.
—That as natural Justice and Tenderness obliged us to indulge them with a
Priest
in each Parish; yet Justice and Tenderness to ourselves, ought to oblige us to prosecute every
Interloper
who attempted to officiate.—He added, that he was so convinced of the Necessity of it, he was determin'd to begin in his own District, and wish'd every one present would concur with him.
MANY Debates arose: but the chief Opposition was from
tender Minds,
who fear'd such a Conduct would be call'd a
Persecution.
One of the Gentlemen answer'd, he did not doubt, but
Popery
would blacken it with every
odious
Name.—That whatever was the Practice of other Nations, he was far from
Oppressing
or
Forcing
the
Wills
or
Consciences
of Men in
religious Matters.
— That the present Debate was not so much levell'd at their Religion, as the preventing the Ignorant being deceived and impoverished by those who pretended to the
Name of it
—as in the Case of
Gypsies
and
Fortune-tellers,
who rob the Weak, where a Justice of the Peace may, and ought, to send them to the House of Correction, if not to the Plantations.—That the
Maxim
was perfectly true, in Regard to
Ireland,
that
Ignorance
was the
Mother of Devotion;
and that, were it possible to give the poor Natives a
little
Learning, they would be
Honester,
more
Industrious,
and in Time, find out how grosly they were deceived.
MUCH more was said on the Occasion, and all agreed to do their utmost for the Relief of the
Poor,
in Respect to Supernumerary
Priests,
and in every other Way for the General Good.—A few Examples being made, obliged those
Holy Nusances
to shift their Abode, and fly to a County in the
West,
where
One
or
Two Hundred
extraordinary, were little regarded; and where
Fryaries
are common, and
Nunneries
more open, than at
Hammersmith
near
London.
THAT the poorer Sort might not want Examples of Industry to spur them on, my Lord annually settled two or three poor
Lancashire
Families on the Home Estate. He built them decent Dwellings, and lett them proper Farms. The more Children they had, his private Encouragement was the greater.
HIS happy Imagination suggested to him a
Scheme,
productive of more Good, than was at first thought on.—He gave out, that in Compassion to the Poor of the Parish, he would take and maintain
Ten Boys,
not older than
Twelve,
or younger than
Seven
Years of Age, and have them taught some
Trade
or Business, that they might earn their Bread in an honest Way. The poor People press'd their Children on him with such Eagerness, that he might have had an
Hundred.
His Number was fix'd for Boys; but he permitted my Lady to add
Ten Girls
to his Plan. For these he built a convenient House; maintain'd, and uniformly cloath'd, and fix'd a Protestant Family from the North, to teach them
two Hours
a Day to
Read,
and the Remainder, in such Branches of the
Linen Manufacture,
as their Age would admit of.
MY Lord made Regulations as he saw convenient. The Progress they made gave him vast Pleasure, and her Ladyship a rational Amusement, as she frequently visited the Children, and heard them say their
Prayers
and
Catechism,
and encouraged them in their Work. In a little Time they were able to join in the
Psalms
on
Sundays,
and their Voices were a great Addition to the Service in a
Country Church.
Some few Attempts were made to pervert the Children, and make them return to their Parents, and consequently to
Sloth, Ignorance
and
Filth,
but the Actors were soon oblig'd to quit the Country, and they were found to be
Popish School-Masters,
who, generally speaking, are
Priests
in Disguise.
FROM this Hint, so self evidently advantageous to the Kingdom, and from the Bounty and infinite Labours of a truly RIGHT REVEREND PRELATE, sprung those Schools of Industry, now known by the Name of the
Incoporated Society, for promoting English Protestant Schools in Ireland.
The Application of the first Subscription had so good an Effect, that HIS MAJESTY supported the Scheme by a
Royal Charter;
and encouraged the Spreading these Schools over
Ireland,
by a Grant of
One Thousand Pounds
a Year. This, with the annual Bounties, and casual Legacies from both Kingdoms, have enabled the Trustees to extend their Views, and make the Charity more General. A Charity! where not a single Instance of Misapplication can be given. A Charity unparallell'd! and for which the next Generation must Bless the Promoters, as they must feel the happy Consequences.
FOR fuller Particulars of this
noble Charity,
I must refer my kind Readers to the annual Accounts publish'd in
Ireland,
and by their
Correspondent Society
in
London.
When they examine and seriously consider it, if they have Hearts, they must rejoice.
BUT to return to my Lord.—Though Part of his Time was given to the Publick, his private Affairs were not neglected. He
employ'd
the Poor, which is the best Sort of Charity, in draining and making good Land of some Bogs. He planted Trees of all Sorts. He mended and shortened the Roads; and, in a Word, he contrived, and spared no Expence in executing, what he judg'd of Publick Utility.
CHAP. VII.
Children like tender Oziers, take the Bow,
And as they first are fashion'd always grow:
For what we learn in Youth, to that alone
In Age we are by second Nature prone.
DRYDEN.
THOUGH his Lordship had began and forwarded these
great Works,
he attended the
British Parliament
three Winters, as a Member of the House of Commons. He thought himself ill us'd at a new Election, and declined engaging too far, lest it might frustrate his future Views. In some Disgust at the Treatment he had met with, he return'd to
Ireland.
His Son HENRY was now about Five, WILLIAM, Four, and his Daughter HARRIOT, Three Years of Age. These began to demand his particular Attention. Her Ladyship was an uncommon Mother, for she had not only taught them what their Age was capable of; but had most prudently prevented their being taught sundry bad Habits, which might never be thoroughly erased. Scarcely were any of her Children able to
walk,
when she took Opportunities of sending them into the next Room at Night
without a Candle;
and as they grew up, she found Reasons to oblige them to go over the
whole House
in the same Manner, neither did she ever permit a
Servant
to stay with them, or a Candle to burn in the Room, when they were put to Bed. No
Nurse
or
Domestick,
durst venture to mention a single
Word,
or
idle Story
that could inspire
Fear
into the Minds of the Children, except they chose their immediate Discharge, which happened twice or thrice.—By this Method they had no Notion of
imaginary Dangers,
which saved them many uneasy Hours in their Lives, which others feel for Want of such a
Management.
THEIR little Learning was not inculcated by the common Means of
Obligation
and
Duty.
If my Lord gave them Halfpence, and they listen'd to the Story of a
poor Person,
and relieved him, he was in great Delight.—When he had mentioned all the Blessings attending a
Charitable
and
Compassionate
Temper; he'd turn to my Lady, and say,
My Dear, the Children have been very good, and I desire you will
love
and encourage them, and give them Leave to
learn
as much as they please.'— To this my Lady answer'd, 'Because they have so much Sense as to oblige you, I will take that Trouble on myself.
ON the contrary, was any one of them guilty of a Fault, the highest
Correction
was, being depriv'd of their
Book,
refused being taught their Lesson, and not regarded in the usual Manner. On these Occasions, the poor Delinquent was oblig'd to make his Peace, and enter into Grace, by
Prayer, Repentance,
and double Diligence; yet still, this Matter was so contrived, that no
Jealousy
could arise amongst them. The
Good
were suffered to pity the
Faulty,
and intercede for them; and, after the necessary Difficulties, always succeeded. Often have they requested, and even supplicated her Ladyship to teach them, and she often refus'd, as what gave her too much
Pain,
or, having other Matters to mind of
more Consequence:
However, she commonly suffer'd herself to be prevail'd on at last.
WHATEVER some may imagine, there is certainly an Activity or Impulse in the Soul, that gives it a Desire and Longing for
those Things
that are attainable but by
Difficulty
and
Labour;
and a Disregard, and sometimes, a Loathing even of our
real Happiness
or
Pleasure,
when, in a Manner, they are
forced on us,
or too
cheaply purchased.
Whether this arises from the Obstinacy or Perverseness of our Nature; or, is given to convince us, that the
Love of Freedom
is strongly implanted in our Breasts; or whether for the wise End of employing the Mind, in searching after, and
surmounting
Difficulties, and to raise in us the Spirit of
Emulation
and proper
Ambition,
so absolutely necessary to Mankind, I shall not determine, as it is out of my Province; but I can safely say, that whether this Principle springs from a
Defect
or
Perfection
in our Nature; these Parents chang'd the
strong Bias,
if the
First,
and
cultivated
and greatly
improved
it, if the
Latter;
—if a
Defect,
their Manner is still more Praise-worthy, as they made it answer all the Ends of a
Perfection.
—The same Scheme, varied in Proportion as Age open'd their Minds, was constantly pursued in their Education, and the
Lessons
and
Customs
that were sown, and had taken Root in their
Childhood,
grew up insensibly into
Habits
with their Years, and became
Constitutional.
PRIDE, another Attendant on our Frame, was to be encounter'd and conquer'd by my Lord.—As the little ones were, what is commonly call'd,
fine Children,
Care was taken to prevent their having
too good
an Opinion of their
Persons.
—The Servants had particular Instructions on that Head; nor could they, without greatly disobliging my Lord, praise a Child for its beautiful Face, Skin, or the like. Even the
Visitors
were privately requested to avoid any Applause of that Sort; but when some began to
extol,
my Lord or Lady always
drew back
the Flattery, by assuring the Person, that all the Merit
Harry
had, was his being a
good Boy;
did what he was
bid,
said his
Prayers,
and thank'd
God
that he had given him all his
Limbs,
and not made him
crooked
or
deform'd,
like many poor Children.
IF my Lady caught
Miss
looking too frequently in the Glass, and seemingly admiring her
Features,
she order'd a beautiful
China
Figure to be brought, and desiring her to observe its
Complexion,
its
Eyes,
its
Teeth,
&c. would add,—
Perhaps this
fine Lady
is as fond of her dear Person as
other Folks,
and indeed I think, with as good Reason; for, do you know, my dear
Harriot,
what this
pretty Thing
is made of?—I assure you, 'tis of
dirty Earth,
just like
you
or
me;
so you may well imagine this
Lump of Clay
has great Reason to value itself, when in an Instant, if I think proper, I can brake it into a Thousand Pieces, and make it
Dirt
again.'—Here,
said she to a Servant,
'take this
Thing
away, it seems too much pleas'd with
itself,
to please me, or any body else.
—There needed no more to persuade Miss
Harriot
to retire from the Mirror, asham'd of herself and of the Comparison.
WHEN the Business of their Book, which was always a voluntary Duty, or rather a Pleasure, was over, they were indulged in every Amusement, and not kept up in
warm Rooms,
to weaken their
Sinews
and enfeeble their
Constitutions.
The Boys were permitted to ramble in the Fields with a careful Servant or two, and use as much
Exercise
as they pleased, and their being
dirty
or
wet
on those Occasions, was never counted a Fault.—Sometimes my Lord and Lady were vastly amus'd, in entering into the
Spirit
of their Plays, and my Lord tumbled about the Room and join'd in their Mirth and Pastime. By this Means, the Children were never happier than when with them. They seem'd like
Companions
and
Friends
to each other; and, as they had no Secrets to hide, their Behaviour was
chearful
and without
Restraint.
If sometimes, they were timorous, it was the Consequence of Love and Affection, and Fear of disobliging.
AT their Meals my Lord and Lady instructed them without their perceiving their main Design; for they never directly applied to any one, or gave them Directions or Advice to
do this,
or
avoid that.
—Their Counsel was always given
obliquely,
by praising such a Gentleman's Son,
who was so
extreamly good;
that, though no more than Five Years old, he read exceedingly well, had all the
Psalms
by heart, and wanted much to learn to
Write.
Then my Lord would add,
I have entreated his Father to
indulge
the Child, and have prevail'd.'—'I told you,
reply'd my Lady,
that
that Boy
would do well, for I have always found him fond of his
Book.
—Sometimes my Lord much pity'd a Gentleman, who had spent a great deal of Money on his Son's Education. 'The Boy,
said he,
was such a
Fool
he would learn nothing, but was always with the
Servants;
so that now, the poor Man is obliged to bind him
Apprentice
to a Captain of a
dirty Ship.
'—'I am heartily sorry,
reply'd my Lady,
for the good Man, and for his
silly Son;
but since the Boy would not be a
Gentleman,
I think his Father was in the Right to oblige him to live in
Dirt
and
Nastiness,
especially since he lov'd it.'
NOT a Word of these Sort of Insinuations was lost to the Children. Their little Thoughts were set to work, and they never failed making the Application. They were very fond of
Gay's Fables,
and always apply'd to my Lord and Lady for the just Meaning when in Doubt, and received Answers, not only satisfactory, but pleasant and entertaining. On these and every other Occasion, they were spoken to by their Parents and Tutor in
proper
and
elegant English,
and were set right if their Answers were not in the best Terms.
A severe Reprimand was scarcely ever used, but when they were guilty of some
Act,
that had the least Tendency to
Cruelty
or
Ill-nature.
—The
Torturing a Fly
or a
Sparrow
—a
pert Answer
to a poor Person or a Servant, were
Crimes,
that brought a
Rebuke
and a
Lesson
that ended in
Tears,
and an Acknowledgment of the Fault; but if they told an
Untruth,
or
prevaricated
on any Examination, no
Interest,
nor all the Promises they could make, were capable to prevent a
Chastisement
that made the Guilty and Innocent
tremble.
The Maxim of my Lord was, never to punish in a
Passion,
and as seldom as possible; but when really necessary, to do it
effectually;
and not make it a
mere Ceremony.
WITH regard to their
Servants,
they were look'd on, almost in the Light of
Children,
and had a natural Right to
Protection
and
Advice.
As
Servants,
they were obliged to a Strictness in their
Duty,
but as
Men,
they were treated with that
Humanity
and
Tenderness
every Creature is intitled to. They
obey'd
their Orders with
Alacrity
and
Chearfulness,
because they were never given with
Haughtiness,
or in an
angry
Manner.
FOR a Nobleman, he had many uncommon and singular Notions. He had
Prayers
every Morning and Night, and all the Family assisted with great Decency. His Lordship thought, that the Duties of
Religion,
were of the utmost Consequence to
Society,
and the only Security for the
Faith
and
Confidence
of Man to Man.—He was surprized, how People could, with Justice, complain of the
Theft, Drunkenness,
and other Immoralities of their
Servants,
when they not only took no Care to persuade them of the Odiousness of such Practices, by ordering them to attend the Service of the
Church,
but too frequently gave Examples of
these Vices
themselves.
THOUGH I have mentioned
Theft
amongst the Vices of Gentlemen, surely those who run in
Debt
to Tradesmen, and suffer them to waste their
Time
in vain Enquiries after ther
Property,
commit a
Robbery
of the blackest Kind, and deserve equal Punishment with those Wretches, who have openly ventur'd their Lives to maintain their Extravagancies, and sometimes to satisfy their
real
Wants.
THIS Sort of Conduct was unknown in the Family, where, on the Delivery of any Commodity,
the Value
was instantly paid. By this Means he was better serv'd, less impos'd on, and bought cheaper than most of his Neighbours. Few Things surpriz'd him more, than how a Man can live and pretend to
any Degree
of Comfort or Content, when
indebted
to Numbers, and for large Sums.—He imagined that the many Examples of the
fatal
Consequence of such absurd Management, ought to persuade them into an opposite Behaviour; but the Want of Thought or proper Reflection, plung'd them into Extravagance, then into Mortgages, Law-Suits, and Discredit.—If possible, they avail themselves of an infamous and scandalous Practice,
And fly from Bailiffs into Parliament.
Still the Evils accumulate, and often end in a
Gaol,
in the
Ruin
of their Families, and the Families of many of their
Creditors.
MY Lord was not only punctual and exact in his Dealings, but every one under him was almost compell'd to the like Conduct, for they knew his being a
Nobleman
gave them no
Authority
to commit, nor would protect them from the
Punishment
due to an
illegal
or
unjust
Action.
METHOD makes seeming Difficulties quite easy, and a prudent Conduct brings that Peace and Satisfaction of Mind, which we term
Happiness.
His Lordship's Felicity was not merely confin'd to the Prospect of his own regular Family; for he had the Pleasure to observe, that many of his Neighbours adopted some of his Rules, and that the
poorer Sort
began to practice a few. —If my Lord and his whole Family were constant at
Church,
the Gentry round, ceased to think it
ungenteel,
and were as constant as they.—If my Lord made
Responses
of the
Service,
or sung
Psalms
with an audible Voice, and was really
intent
on the
Duties
of the Place, the rest of the Congregation were brought to believe, that their assembling was for other Purposes than shewing their
Finery, Gigling, Laughing, Bowing,
and the like. The Prevalency of Example, ought to oblige us to a Rectitude of Conduct, for a
bad one
makes us, in some Measure, guilty of the Faults of
others,
as a
good one
adds to
their
Virtues, and
our own Merit.
AS my Lord and Lady were blessed with great Good-nature and Understanding, so were they happy in a sincere and mutual Affection. The World was not convinc'd of this from a
foolish idle Fondness,
when in Company; but by their
Chearfulness, good Humour
and
Complacency
to each other, and all present.—MY Lord knew of what
Human Nature
is compounded, and that, to keep up this Harmony, so essential to their
Happiness,
a little Management was sometimes necessary. He knew, that the most precious Cordials become
insipid,
if too frequently used, and that Nothing contributed more to preserve the true Relish of
Conjugal Felicity,
than a
Decency,
even to
Delicacy.
—They rose early in the Morning, and instantly retir'd to their own Apartments, and never appear'd to each other, but, if not
as fine,
at least
as clean,
as when going to
Court.
They were so exact in this Point, that they had
two Beds
in their Chamber, and frequently slept asunder. This gave a
Relish
and a
Poignancy
to their most
refined Joys,
and brought with it that Sort of
Pleasure
that attends on
Novelty,
without the Assistance of
Variety.
WERE I to be minute on the whole
Oeconomy
of the Family, this would rather be the
Memoirs of Lord
TRUEGOOD, than the History of JACK CONNOR.—The many Methods he practised to avoid
Drinking to Excess
himself, and preventing it in others; —His sundry Contrivances to convince the
Poor
of the Necessity of
Labour
and
Industry;
His successful Arts to abolish
profane Swearing
in his Family and Neighbourhood, and the many Schemes made use of, to persuade the Natives into
Justice
and
Honesty,
would fill a Volume.—What has already been said, are merely
Sketches,
and the
Out-lines
of the Picture: The nice Finishing of the
Features,
with the
Colouring
and
Drapery,
I must leave to the Management of the
skilful
Reader, whilst I pursue the Account of my little Friend.
CHAP. VIII.
From
Thomas Thumb
to
Thomas Jones,
You'll find some
Diamonds
and some
Stones.
Read where you will, and all remark,
Much will be
Light,
but more be Dark.
If Judgment guides not your Intention,
The Poet loses his Invention.
ANONIMOUS.
NEXT Morning Mr.
Kindly
found the Servants in the same merry Mood, and very chearfully agreed with them, but could by no Means guess the
real Cause.
He forgot not however, to send Mrs.
Mathews
to
John Long
's, to enquire after little
Jack.
She return'd in Raptures.—'Lord, Mr.
Kindly, said she,
I never saw so fine a Child in all my
born Days;
to be sure his Father was a healthy Man, and a good natur'd Man, for the little Fellow is as strong as
Herclus,
and his Complexion is as fine
White
and
Red,
as any
King's Son
in the Land; and he laughs and smiles, and is as happy as
any Thing.
God bless it!—Though I am a
Virgin,
as I may say, yet I
thinks
I should not blush, if he was my own Son, and I am sure you need not be ashamed of him, for 'tis no Harm for a Man.'—'How, how,
said Kindly,
so, Mrs.
Mathews,
you would infer that the Child is mine'—'Eh? Lord, Sir,
said she,
He's so like'—She would have said more, but the
Muscles
of her Face took an involuntary Motion, and oblig'd her to run off in a loud Laugh.—
I believe,
said he,
I have at last found out the Reason of so much Diversion in the Family. How apt are People to think
amiss,
and
invent
Scandal. They are happy, when they can indulge the Thought, that their Superiors do
wrong;
because, in some Sort, it brings them down to their own
Level,
and when we walk in the same Line, no wonder if our
Authority
is diminished.—I'm pleas'd however, they think no worse of me, for in this they will soon find their Error.
—He was going on with many moral Reflections, and considering how to proceed, when the Bell summoned him to Dinner.
AT Table, my Lady's Woman was a little merry, and gave such Hints about
old Men
and
young Girls,
that my Lord's Gentleman could not forbear joyning in the Satyr. He declar'd, that if venerable
Nestors
practis'd such Gambols in the Parish, he, and all the young Fellows would be obliged to run away for Shame.—
No, no, Mr.
Sympson, cry'd
Mrs.
Tittle,
You ought rather to stay, when you are sure of finding an
old Fellow
to Father your
Handy-work.
' —Very true indeed, Madam,
said Sympson;
but you know they say, an
old Cock
treads sure.
—At this witty Stroke Mrs.
Tittle
laugh'd immoderately, and fix'd her Eyes on Mr.
Kindly,
but the
Butler
look'd grave, and having empty'd his Glass, said,
Why lookee, Madam,
d'ye see,
when I am in Company, I love to understand what the Company say; so,
d'ye see,
because
as how,
I don't know what you and that Gentleman laugh at, mayhap it is at me. If so, out with it a God's Name, for if it be
true,
I'll own it, but if it be a
Lye,
as I suspect it is, keep it to yourselves, for I can't scold with a
Gilflirt,
and I have something else to do, than knock down a
Butterfly.
—Then clapping his Hand on Madam the Governant's Shouder, who had not spoke a Word, cry'd,—
What say you, Madam, to all this? You that know the very
Marrow
and
Quintessence
of good Manners. For my Part,
d'ye see,
I am for letting every
Tub
stand on its own Bottom.—That's my Way,
Mamzell.
Mon Dieu, Monsieur de
Butler,
said
Mademoiselle le Meagre,
I protes I am quite confus. Mademoiselle
Tittel,
she talk of
de Men,
and of de Girl, and laff so mouch, dat I assure you is ver mouch contre de
bien Séance.
Monsieur
Kindly
say noting, but Monsieur de
Sympson
he laff at one Monsieur
Nestor
and Monsieur
Oldcock,
but say noting
non plus,
and Monsieur
Butler,
he look serieux, and make a beau Discours on de
Gilfleur,
de
Papillon
and a
Tub.
—Bon Dieu! I understand not one
Syllabe.
'—'I protest, Madamoiselle,
said
Mr.
Kindly,
you are just on a Par with the Rest of the good Company; but People of
Wit
and
fine Teeth,
are apt to shew their Excellencies.
—In all Probability Mrs.
Tittle
was going to make some very smart Answer, when a Servant entered, and told Mr.
Kindly,
that my Lord desired the Favour of his Company, which broke up the Party for this Time.
MR. CASSOCK, a young Clergyman, who was Tutor to the Children, constantly dined with my Lord, where Mr.
Kindly
was often sent for, as his Lordship particularly esteemed him; for he was most
careful
and
diligent
in his Duty, of just Principles, and strong and nervous Understanding. Mr.
Kindly
found only my Lord, my Lady and the Chaplain at Table. When two or three Glasses, and some common Chat had gone round, my Lady ask'd him when he heard from his Sons?—'Very lately, Madam,
said Mr. Kindly,
thank God, and this good Family, the Boys are in a Way of advancing themselves; for they know that their
Virtue
and
Industry
only can recommend them to his Lordship's Favour and Protection.'—They shall not want that,
reply'd my Lord,
my last Letters mention your Son
Jack,
as the most diligent Reader in the
Temple.
I was so pleas'd with the Character they gave him, that I have wrote to my Friend and Relation, the
Lord Chancellor,
in his Favour; so that, who knows but
Councellor Kindly
may be imported into this Kingdom with the next
Chancellor?'
—The good old Man could not refrain from Tears of Joy.— 'You have not mentioned,
said my Lady,
how my Favourite
Billy
is; he was always fond of going to
Church,
and Reading
Prayers;
so, of Course he must be a
Parson.
'—'Yes, Madam,
said Kindly,
he was so inclin'd.—Thank God, he is in good Health, and minds his Duty in the
College,
but I fear he reads too much, for I'm informed he intends to sit for the next
Fellowship,
unknown to his Friends.'— Mr.
Kindly, said my Lady,
you are very happy in your Sons, and I assure you, your Daughter
Betty
has her Share of Merit. She is a very good Girl, and minds her Work with Mrs.
Le Meagre
extreamly well. In a Year or two she will be able to manage a
House;
so, Mr.
Kindly,
you must open your
Bags,
and I shall try and get her a good
Husband.
'—'I humbly thank your Ladyship,
said Kindly;
but a Child of Sixteen, bred up so much under your Ladyship's good Instructions, I hope can't entertain Thoughts of that Sort.'—'Who,
reply'd my Lord,
can tell the Thoughts of Girls! We must leave them to Time; but Mr.
Kindly,
since your
three Children
are in some Measure
provided for,
I should be glad to know, if you have
any more,
that I could assist you in.'—More, my Lord,
said Kindly,
I protest I don't rightly comprehend your Lordship.' — 'Why, Mr.
Kindly, said the Chaplain,
you blush, and that is a sure Sign of your comprehending; but since your
Memory
is so bad, permit me to rub it up, by asking you a single Question.'—'Sir,
reply'd Kindly,
you may ask as many as you please; but, as I am ignorant of any particular
Obligation,
I shall certainly only give you such Answers as I think proper.'—'Guilty, guilty, my Lord,
cried the Parson,
'tis plain by his Evasions.— Come, come, old Gentleman, to the Point, answer fairly, Have you not been
Flesh
and
Blood?
—Did not Temptation appear in the Shape of
Molly Connor,
the Miller's Daughter;—And was not the Fruit of your Labour a —'a Bastard,
said Kindly,
Is it not so you mean, Sir?' —'Just so, indeed, Sir,
reply'd the Chaplain,
a fine chopping Boy.'
'SINCE,
said Mr. Kindly,
my Lord and Lady are present at the heavy Charge laid on me by this
very young Gentleman,
I think myself bound in Duty to answer. —Your Lordship knows me incapable of
Falshood,
therefore I aver, in the most solemn Manner, there is not the least Foundation for so
malicious
and
scandalous
a Report. I am not ignorant of the Cause. and shall fully satisfy my Lord and Lady, but not before this worthy Gentleman, to whom I hope to be permitted to ask a Question or two, in my Turn.'—'Undoubtedly,
said my Lady,
'tis but fair and just.'—'Stand fast, Mr.
Cassock, said my Lord,
or Old
Kindly
will be too many for you.'—'Oh, my Lord,
answered Cassock,
I fear no one but an old Woman; if he will prove himself such, I shall run for it immediately.'—Very well, Sir,
said Kindly,
very well; will your Reverence permit me to ask, How would you have behaved to me, if I vented on you the same
Wit
and
Slander
you were just now so good to bestow
so liberally
upon me?—I hope, Sir,
reply'd Cassock,
the Dignity of my
Function
makes a wide Difference between
me,
and
People
in
your
Sphere.'— You mean, Sir,
said Kindly,
that it
ought
to make a
wide Difference;
but as you seem to want that Knowledge, I shall, with my Lord's Permission, tell you wherein the
Dignity
consists.—When
we,
the poor
Laity,
who
work
for, and
pay
you, are
Proud, Tyrannical, Envious,
and the like, your
Function
obliges you to
Meekness, Modesty, Love,
and universal
Charity,
and Good-will to all Mankind, that we may see and
admire
the
Charms
of such a Conduct, and be
almost
compell'd to imitate it; 'tis then, and then only, that a
real
Dignity is added to your
Function;
but when a
Parson
busies himself only about his
Tythes,
is
immoral,
too
low-minded,
or
too
full of
Grandeur,
to help or administer Comfort to his
poor Parishioners;
—when he notoriously
follows God
for the
Loaves and the Fishes;
—when he performs the
Offices of the Church,
with his
Eyes
wandering to every
Object,
and his Hand adjusting a new-acquir'd
Tippet,
or displaying a
Brilliant Ring;
—when he forgets the
Fervour of his Duty,
and seems to
Read
with a slighting Indifference;—when he takes
no Pains
to
reconcile
the Divisions of his Neighbours, but foments little Animosities, and adds
Slander to Slander,
'tis then, tho' his
Function
remains, his
Dignity
is lower'd even
below the Sexton
's.—Now, Mr.
Cassock,
if you know any of your
Brethren
who act in this Manner, tho' they
preach like Angels,
you may assure them, the
ignorant Laity
will hold them, and
their Dignity,
in very
great Contempt,
—at least I promise you,
John Kindly
will.'
'WELL said, old Gentleman,
cry'd my Lord,
upon my Word a notable Discourse!—Discouse,
said my Lady,
I really think it a most admirable Lesson.—Why, Mr.
Cassock, continued she,
Mr.
Kindly
has furnish'd you with
Texts
enow for twenty Sermons.'—Ay, ay,
said my Lord,
but I hope Mr.
Cassock
's good Sense will rather incline him to apply the Moral, which will certainly add to my good Opinion of him.'
'MR. CASSOCK blush'd, but answer'd, I am not so vain as to believe myself faultless; but perhaps I may be guilty of some, that I have not properly attended to. To shew your Lordship my Willingness to amend, I am extreamly pleased at Mr.
Kindly's plain Dealing,
and shall endeavour to take the Hint.'—'And I am,
said my Lord,
as much pleas'd, you take his
honest Freedom
in the true Light; for, believe me, 'tis
less criminal
to commit a Fault, than impatiently to bear a
gentle Admonition.
'—'Sir,
said Kindly to the Chaplain,
since you are so good to forgive me, I most heartily ask your Pardon, if I have made Use of any unguarded Expressions.'—'Why,
said my Lady,
this Matter is settled just as it ought to be;— but about this
Boy,
for a
Boy
there certainly is.'—'Madam,
said Kindly,
if you will permit me, I shall mention all I know of this Affair.'—'We can spare you that Trouble,
said my Lord,
for my Lady and I know it already; but let us send for the young Stranger, for I long to see him.'—'I was,
said my Lady,
as impatient as you, and have sent for him already.'—She rung the Bell, and having enquir'd of the Servant, was told,
John Long
's Wife had been in the Kitchen this half Hour.—
Then,
said my Lady,
pray desire her, and her little Charge to come in.
—All the Servants had been admiring poor
Jack,
and mounted with him and Mrs.
Long,
almost into the Parlour. Mrs.
Long
made her profound Honours, and my Lady spoke very tenderly to her, and of her Family.—Mr.
Kindly
then presented
Jack Connor,
saying,
My Lord, this is my
little Boy,
who is much improv'd since Yesterday.
MRS. LONG had taken great Care to wash him well and clean, and comb his Head. His fine light-brown Hair hung in natural Curls, and his Complexion was remarkably good. He had clean Linen, and his own
red Waistcoat
and
old Breeches;
but the good Woman had not yet given him a
Coat,
nor
Shoes
nor
Stockings.
MY Lord and Lady seem'd charm'd with his Countenance, tho' the poor Child was in the utmost Confusion and Astonishment.—My Lord's two Sons now came in, and my Lady call'd them to her.—'My dear
Harry, said she,
here is a poor little Boy that has lost his Father and Mother, and was stripp'd of all his Cloaths. I believe he is a very good Child; so, you know, 'twould be a Sin to let him go quite naked, and starve.'—'O dear,
said Harry,
indeed I'll give him my brown Coat and Breeches.'—'And indeed, Madam,
said Billy,
I'll give him a Shirt and a Pair of Stockings.'—'And I'm sure,
said Harry,
my Shoes will be large enough.' —They saw my Lady's consenting Looks, and instantly ran to perform their Promise. All were pleas'd at the Tenderness and Good-nature of the Children; and whilst they were absent, Mr.
Kindly
ask'd
Jack,
where was his Book? The Boy could just say,
'here, Sir,'
and gave it him.—
This Book, my Lord,
said Kindly,
has greatly prejudiced me in Favour of this
poor Child.
I caught him reading in it, and I made him turn to another Part, which he distinctly read; and, by Accident, it was this Paragraph.
—Mr.
Kindly
gave the Book to Mr.
Cassock,
who read it, which affected my Lord, but brought Tears into my Lady Eyes.
THERE seems to me,
said my Lord,
somewhat remarkable in the Story of this Child; I'll try him a little.
Then turning to Mrs.
Long,
told her to leave the Boy with him. When Mrs.
Long
had retired, he took
Jack
between his Knees, and with great Fondness and Good-humour, ask'd him many Questions, and received short, but very proper Answers. He then shew'd him
a Guinea
and
a Shilling,
but the Child knew not what they were. At last he produc'd an
Halfpenny,
and
Jack
readily told the Name.—'Well, my Dear,
said my Lord,
what will you do with that Halfpenny? —I must,
reply'd Jack,
give it to my Mother, for I always give it to her.'— And which Way,
said my Lord,
do you get an Halfpenny?'—'I run,
said the Child,
after every Body in the
Road,
and they give me an Hapeny for the
Love of God.
' 'That's my good Child,
said my Lord;
' and turning to Mr.
Kindly,
added, I can easily discover the Profession of his Parents, or those he was with; but his
Reading
and his
Accent,
I own, surprize me. However, since
Providence
has directed him to take Sanctuary in my House, I am determin'd to take Care of him.— I think,
continued he,
the saving an
Innocent
from Perdition, and breeding him up in
virtuous Principles,
is in Fact giving him a
new Birth,
and encreasing our own
Happiness,
in the same Degree we give it to
others.
'—'The Power,
said my Lady,
of doing Good, is certainly the highest Gratification a
rational
Mind is capable of receiving.'—'True, indeed Madam,
said Kindly,
your Power to do Good, is
Great,
but Heaven has added another Blessing to you both, in giving you
Hearts
and
Minds
ready and willing to exercise that
Power
on every
proper Object.
—In the Name of this poor tender Creature, I humbly thank your Lordship, and my good Lady; and I
pray God
he may live to shew his
Gratitude
to such
bountiful Benefactors.'
THE two Boys, by this Time, had got the Cloaths, and running with them into the Parlour, were going immediately to strip
poor Jack,
but my Lord stopp'd them, and kissing
Harry,
told him, 'He was so good and
charitable,
he would give him the prettiest
little Horse
he could get, and a Bridle and Saddle.'—'And because,
said my Lady,
my dear
Billy
follow'd his Brother's good Example, I shall do as much for him.'—The Children were quite happy, and
Harry
ran, as my Lord bid him, for Mrs.
Long.
—
Here, Mrs.
Long, said my Lord,
take back your little Fellow for this Night. Dress him in these Cloaths, and be so good to come with him To-morrow, for we all intend to take some Care of
Jack.
—His Lordship then put the
Boy
and
Half a Guinea
into her Hand, and she bless'd their Honours, and retir'd.—Before Mrs.
Long
quitted the House, Mr.
Kindly
desir'd her to pack up all the
old Rags
belonging to
Jack,
and bring them to him.
CHAP. IX.
What can our Judgment or our Prudence do
If Chains of Accidents concur not too?
One happy
Accident,
One lucky
Hit,
Out-ballances our
Wisdom
and our
Wit.
ANONIMOUS.
MRS. LONG found the Coat and other Things, fitted
Jack
very well, and had dress'd him with great Neatness. On his Arrival at my Lord's, the whole Family admir'd his
Strength
and his exact
Make,
but he seem'd more
aukward
than before, and was very uneasy with his Shoes. Mr.
Kindly
provided him with some Necessaries, and employ'd him in attending my Lord's Sons in their Amusements, and in cleaning their Shoes, and brushing their Coats. At leisure Times he heard him read in the
Bible,
or his own Book, and my Lord and Lady often did the same.
IN six Months the Boy was quite chang'd. The chearful and happy Disposition indulg'd him by Nature, shew'd itself on a thousand Occasions; insomuch, that he became a general Favourite, and was sensible of his Happiness. Mr.
Kindly,
from Time to Time gave him such Lessons of
Duty
and
Gratitude,
as suited his Age, and Mr.
Cassock
taught him his
Prayers, Catechism,
and other Matters, equal with my Lord's Children.
ONE Day, as Mr.
Kindly
was writing in his Office,
Jack
approach'd him, and blushing, but with a modest Smile, look'd up, and seem'd as if he had a Favour to ask. —'Well
Jack, said the good Man,
d'ye want another Book.'—'No indeed, Sir,
reply'd the Child,
I don't want a Book.' —'Why, you Rogue,
said Kindly,
I hope you are not tir'd of Reading?' 'Yes indeed, Sir,
said Jack.
' 'O ho,
said the old Man,
very well, since you will not read, and be a good Boy, I shall get you a Leather Coat and Cap, and you shall be a Postillion, and lie with the Horses.'
Jack
's Countenance chang'd, his Eyes swell'd, and he burst into a violent Fit of Crying.—Mr.
Kindly
was a long Time before he could dry his Tears, or get him to speak and explain what he wanted.—
Sir,
said Jack at last,
indeed and indeed, I am not tir'd of Reading, for if you please, I would be very good, and write as you do, if you'd give me Pens and Paper.
—The Tenderness of the old Gentleman was touch'd at the Child's Request.—
Yes,
said he,
my dear
Jack,
you shall have Pens and Paper, and I will get you a little Desk in the Office, and teach you to write myself.
—
Jack
was quite delighted, and the Novelty of the Employment diverted and pleased Mr.
Kindly,
particularly as his Pupil was so apt a Scholar, that in eighteen Months he wrote a very good Hand, and perfectly understood the four first Rules of Arithmetick.
HE was now about Ten Years of Age, and seem'd to have a Faculty in learning whatever he undertook. In the Plays of Children he was dexterous, and in the little Occupations of the Family, he was Handdy and Neat. He had a certain Manner of doing Things, that
Nature
alone can give, and what some can only
imitate,
even by
Labour
and
Pains.
Another natural Gift began at this Time to be remarkable, for he had a fine Voice, and greatly diverted the Maids with
Irish
Songs. Some were of Humour, and requir'd a proper Management of Voice and Words to keep up the Drollery. This he was a perfect Master of.
The Boys were one Morning at Play in the Fields, and Mr.
Cassock,
who commonly attended them, was, by Accident, at a good Distance. Master
Harry
and
Jack
had some Words, and
Harry
gave him a Blow on the Face.
Jack
greatly resented this, and told him, if he was not my Lord's Son, he'd beat him heartily.
Harry,
fir'd at the Rebuke and Menace, pull'd off his Coat, and flew at him like a little Tiger.
Jack
defended himself without returning a Stroke, though his Hair was almost torn off his Head. At last he receiv'd a violent Cut which stunn'd him, and made his Nose bleed. He then cried out most bitterly, and run directly Home. The Tutor heard his Cries, and saw him running, and joining the Boys, Master
Billy
told him the real Truth. As
Jack
was entering the House, my Lord saw him from a Window in his Study, and order'd a Servant to bring him up. With some Difficulty he got the Story out of him, and Mr.
Cassock
and the two Boys entering with my Lady, my Lord was confirm'd in the Truth of what he said, and looking very
serious,
and in great
Concern,
sat down and took up his Book.
'I AM,
said my Lady,
quite surpriz'd and astonish'd, that
Harry
could behave in so brutal a Manner to a poor Boy that loves him.— Come hither
Jack, said she,
—Do you think you could beat
Harry,
if you were to box and fight fairly?' 'Yes indeed, please your Ladyship,
said Jack,
for Master
Harry
knows I'm stronger than him.'—'Very well,
reply'd my Lady,
I believe what you say, and now remember, you have my Lord's Leave and mine, to beat him soundly whenever he strikes you again.'—Then turning to a Servant, order'd
Jack
to be taken down and clean'd.— Poor
Harry
was in great Tribulation; but when my Lady, very gravely, directed
him to go to the Kitchen, and dine with the Servants,
he cry'd most dreadfully. —
Why, Sir,
said my Lady,
you are fit for no other Company; for, when a young Gentlemen will fight with his Servant, does he not make him his equal? But I suppose you think you may do what you please with
Jack;
but to convince you, Sir, you are no better than him, except you behave better, you shall wear
his Cloaths,
and he
yours,
and then I believe every Stranger will take him for
Master Harry,
and you for
Jack Connor.
HARRY begg'd and intreated, and gave many Promises of never doing the like again.—
You see,
said my Lady,
when one does a naughty Thing, no-body speaks in our Favour. I cannot forgive you, except my Lord does.
—Then turning about, 'Will your Lordship,
said she,
pardon
Harry
this one Fault, he promises, and is penitent.'—'My Dear,
said my Lord,
what can I do in the Affair? If Master
Harry
was a Gentleman, and had beaten a Servant of mine, I should certainly resent the Affront, except he begg'd, and obtain'd my Servant's Pardon.'— That's true indeed,
said my Lady,
so, my dear
Billy,
call up
Jack,
and I am sure
Harry
will beg his Pardon very sincerely.' —Mr.
Cassock,
who knew his Time, began now to intercede for Master
Harry,
and assur'd my Lord he never knew him do a Thing of that Sort, or put himself into so violent a Passion before; that, as it was the
first Fault,
he begg'd my Lord to forgive him, and could almost promise it would be the last.
MY Lord shak'd his Head, and the two Boys entering, my Lady spoke to
Harry,
who immediately went and kiss'd
Jack,
and very heartily ask'd his Pardon.
Jack
blush'd, but with a Smile bow'd, and kiss'd him again.—
Harry
then went to my Lord, and on his Knees begg'd his Forgiveness. My Lord rais'd him, saying,
I forgive you, my Dear, this Fault, since you are sorry for committing it, but depend on
your Honour,
that you will keep your Word, and never vex your Papa again. Now go and beg my Lady's Pardon, for you have greatly offended and fretted her.
—My Lady took him in her Arms, and the Affair ended much to the Satisfaction of all Parties.
TWO Days after, the three Boys, the Chaplain, and a Servant with a Gun, went in the Morning to walk as usual. A small Rivulet run by one of the Fields, which they generally cross'd by the Help of large Stones, but an Abundance of Rain having fallen, it was rais'd above four Feet, and very rapid. This stopp'd their Progress; but, as they mounted the Brook to find another
Passage, Harry
saw a
Jack-daw
in a Tree on the opposite Side, and the Boys begg'd the Servant to fire at it, and they mounted the Ditch to see it fall.
Jack
went a little lower to get a convenient Stand, but scarcely had he been there a Moment, when, the Earth breaking under
Harry
's Feet, he fell into the River.—His Brother shriek'd, but
Jack
instantly took Hold of a Bough of a Tree that fell near the Water, and stretching out as far as he was able, caught
Harry
by the Hair, just as he rose, having been carryed by the Stream about ten Yards, and held him fast.—
Billy
roar'd and stamp'd, and the poor Parson and Servant were frighten'd almost into
Stupidity,
till
Jack
call'd out
here—here.
—They got to him just in Time, for his whole Weight resting on his left Arm, his
little
Force was almost exhausted.—
Cassock
and the Servant jump'd in directly, and rescu'd
Harry;
but, not immediately attending to the Care of
Jack,
the poor Boy could not retire, but fell in between them. However, they divided their Labour, and brought the Children safely out.
JACK had only got a Ducking, but
Harry
was some Time before he could speak, but being laid on the Grass, he soon recovered. The Tenderness of the Boys is not to be express'd; they kiss'd him a thousand Times, and even cry'd with Joy. Mr.
Cassock,
fearing they might catch Cold, walk'd pretty smartly towards the House, near which they met my Lord, looking over some Improvements. He was greatly surpriz'd at the Condition they were all in, but much more so, when the Chaplain told him of the Accident, and particularly of
Jack
's ready Thought. My Lord was much mov'd, and most affectionately embracing the Children, carry'd them to my Lady, who waited their coming in to Breakfast. —As my Lord told her the Story,
Love, Tenderness, Surprise
and
Fear,
were visible in her Countenance. Her Heart seemed ready to leap from its Habitation, and the
whole Mother
rushing violently on her Spirits, she seiz'd
Harry
in her Arms, and would have fall'n with him, had not my Lord and Mr.
Cassock
supported her to her Chair, where she did not recover till her Tears were suffer'd to come to her Assistance.
THE Boys were put in warm Beds, and the Chaplain was advis'd to change his Cloaths. My Lord and the Women stayed with my Lady, and indeed she had great Occasion for them.—Mr.
Kindly
had been absent on Business; but when he return'd, and heard of the Affair, he trembled excessively; but Joy succeeding, he ran to my Lord, and Lady, then to the two Boys, whom he almost smother'd with Caresses, then to the Chaplain, and then to my Lord again. In a Word, the
poor Man
could think and speak of Nothing else, and even of that not very distinctly.
THE Hurry of the Family ceas'd by Degrees, and all Matters were set right by Dinner Time, and
Jack
took his Place behind the Boys, whom he always waited on. A Neighbouring Gentleman hearing of the Accident, came to felicitate my Lord on Master
Harry
's providential Escape.—At Dinner it was the particular Conversation, and Mr.
Cassock
was compell'd to repeat the Morning Adventure with all its Circumstances, which often oblig'd
Jack
to blush and hold down his Head.—My Lord bid him never to be ashamed at doing Good, and the Gentleman was very lavish of his Praises.—My Lady look'd at Master
Harry,
and hinting at the Quarrel, said,—
We may plainly see how much it is our
Interest
to be
Good
and
Friendly
to, and avoid giving Offence to the
poorest Creature,
since every Man, however
low
or
mean,
may, if he pleases, be of
great Use,
or do an irreparable
Injury
to the
Greatest.
Let what will be our Situations, we are born to
help
and
assist
each other, according to our Power and Abilities, and he, who does it not, destroys the End of his Creation.—This,
said she,
is a plain Truth, and I hope you and your Brother will remember and practise it, as long as you live.
THUS, out of every Accident, or the most common Occurences, did these
wise Parents
inculcate
Virtue
and
Humanity
in the Minds of their Children, and gave them a moral Certainty of their being hereafter
happy
in themselves, and of making others
happy.
IN the Evening the Gentleman took his Leave, and calling
Jack,
kiss'd him and put a Crown in his Hand, which he immediately deposited with Mr.
Kindly.
My Lord gave the Servant which had been with the Children, a Farm worth Ten Pounds a Year. Many poor neighbouring Families felt, on this Occasion, his Goodness and Liberality, and he added ten Children more to the Charity Scheme before-mentioned. The Chaplain was not forgot in my Lord's Thoughts, and my Lady order'd
Jack
new Cloaths from Head to Foot.
AS the Family was extremely belov'd, no Wonder if all the Gentlemen round continued for some Time to visit and congratulate them on their good Fortune. Scarcely one quitted
Bounty-Hall,
without a Mark of Regard for
Jack.
These he always consign'd to Mr.
Kindly,
so that his Riches at last amounted to the mighty Sum of
Ten Pounds.
CHAP. X.
The Reason why so few Marriages are happy, is, Because young
Ladies
spend their
Time
in making
Nets,
and not in making
Cages.
SWIFT'S MAXIMS.
PERHAPS my merry Readers are extremely angry at being so long detain'd in Company with
Boys,
whilst others of a more serious Turn are pleas'd with the Opening of the Heart, and the gradual Increase of Knowledge in the Minds of Children. Others again, reading only as a mere Amusement, and to
kill Time,
are in an actual State of Indifference, and provided the great End is answer'd, are equally charm'd with
Clarissa,
as
Tom Jones.
That these Classes may be gratified, I shall beg Leave to introduce a young Lady, by way of Episode; and because she is the Daughter of my good Friend Mr.
Kindly.
MISS BETTY KINDLY, now turn'd of Twenty, was a most agreeable Girl, with good Sense and good Humour. Mr.
Cassock
had a small paternal Fortune, a good Allowance from my Lord, and forty Pounds a Year, for officiating for the Minister of the Parish, who was about Fourscore Years of Age. This young Gentleman was not insensible of the Charms of Miss
Betty,
and of her more essential Qualifications; and knowing my Lord's Sons would soon be removed from
his Care,
determin'd to take the Advantage of the general Joy, and sollicit my Lady's Interest. He suffer'd not the Time to elapse, but took the first Opportunity when my Lady was alone.—She rally'd him a little at first, on his being
in Love,
but assuring him of all her good Offices, added, —
I believe a
little
of my Interest will go
a great Way,
for I much doubt if you have not a powerful
Friend
already in the
Garrison.
—Mr.
Cassock
blush'd, and, aukwardly thanking her Ladyship, retir'd.—It seems Mademoiselle
Le Meagre
had inform'd her of what pass'd in Miss
Betty
's Heart, which she was convinced of, by some Observations on her late Conduct.
MY Lord was extremely pleased at this Discovery, and declar'd it was what he had always wish'd. After Dinner he sent for Mr.
Kindly,
and the Chat at last fell on
Jack Connor.
—
I wish, my Lord,
said
Mr.
Kindly,
you would permit my instructing that poor Boy in the Duty of my Station. He is surprisingly
diligent, notable,
and
honest;
and so expert at his Pen, that, young as he is, he has often assisted me.—I think I have been a faithful Servant to your Lordship, and your truly
noble Father,
who bred me from a Child; and it would give me the greatest Joy to have almost a Certainty of leaving as just a one to succeed me.—Age, my Lord, steals on, and should Heaven indulge me with a few more Years of Strength and Abilities, I must then submit to our common Destiny.
—My Lord wink'd at her
Ladyship,
and she at Mr.
Cassock,
who instantly withdrew, and my Lady soon follow'd.
'JACK,
said my Lord,
has sav'd my Son; if I had no other Motive than that, you may be assur'd he is greatly in my Thoughts; but I love the Boy for many Reasons, having notic'd particularly his Behaviour; but as I am determin'd to send him with my Sons to Mr.
Johnston
's, where he may learn a little more, we must postpone your Scheme till his Return.— Since you think,
continued my Lord,
so much of my
Jack,
give me Leave to think a little of
your Betty.
—The Girl is of Age, and you know young Wenches are
Flesh
and
Blood.
—In two Words, poor
Cassock
loves her; and, if my Intelligence be right,
Betty
is far from disliking him; therefore, if you approve of the Match, the
Parson
must have some Money to buy a
new Gown,
and a fresh Cargoe of
Sermons.
'—'Does your Lordship approve of it,
said Kindly?
'I do,
said my Lord.
'—'Then,
reply'd the old Man,
I have no Will, but your Lordship's, and To-morrow, Sir, I shall put into your Hands the Value of three hundred Pounds, and submit my
dear Child
to your Lordship's Judgment, thinking myself the happiest of Men, by the Favour and Indulgence of the
best of Masters.'
I thank you,
said my Lord,
for your Compliment, and to shew you how much I approve of this Union, and that your Daughter may be under your own Eye, I intend to present Mr.
Cassock
to this Parish, on the Death of the present
Incumbent.
You know 'tis worth two hundred Pounds a Year, and that Dr.
Canter
is superannuated, and cannot last long.
—
Kindly,
with uplifted Hands, was attempting to utter his Gratitude, but my Lord stopp'd him, saying,—
No more of that, Mr.
Kindly,
I am now going to advance this Matter,
And retiring, left the happy
old Man
but the Power of thanking
Providence,
and admiring the Goodness of
my Lord.
IN a few Days Mr.
Cassock
was presented in Form to Miss
Kindly.
All the Conversation of the Family was on the approaching Wedding, which was fix'd at no longer a Distance than a Week, and some neighbouring Families were invited.
WERE I a
French
Memoir Writer, I should naturally embrace this Opportunity to extol the
Virgin Charms
of the Bride, and describe the Beauty and Propriety of every Part of her Dress without a slavish Regard to Truth. I should then have said,—
Scarcely were the Curtains drawn which permitted the Sun's Appearance, when
Miss
opened those
Eyes,
that alone could eclipse his
Brightness.
She sigh'd, and sometimes wish'd, and sometimes trembled at the Approach of the Time, when she was to
be,—she knew not what,
—she knew
not where.
Hope and Fear ingross'd her whole Imagination till the Hour arriv'd, when she bid an eternal Adieu to that Bed, destin'd never more to embrace her
Virgin Innocence.
Mademoiselle
Le Meagre
and Mrs.
Tittle
assisted in adjusting her Dress, and her Ladyship deigned to give her Advice and Help. Her
Tresses
were of the finest Brown, which hanging behind in small natural Ringlets, were nicely order'd to crown her Forehead, and touch her Ears which were ornamented with
Brilliants;
and, though of the first Water, her
Charms
added a particular
Lustre
and
Refulgency
to. Diamonds likewise sparkled round her lovely
Neck,
and, a little above the heavenly
Orbs,
hung the glittering Cross,
Which
JEWS
might kiss and Infidels adore.
Her Stays discover'd a Shape the most exact and delicate, and the Robe that clos'd on it, was of the finest white Silk of
Padua.
A Bunch of
Jasmin, Hyacinths
and
Roses,
took their Place near her Neck, and seem'd to envy the Vicinity of a
superior
Fragrancy. She descended to the Apartment where the Company, and her desiring Lover, impatiently attended, and where a most magnificent and elegant Dinner was provided. The first Course consisted of
—I hope the courteous Reader will excuse my not proceeding farther in
mere Sound,
and permit me to say in plain
English,
that the Wedding-Day at last came, and that Miss
Betty
behav'd as Girls naturally do on the Occasion. My Lady had made her a Present of genteel
plain Cloaths;
and her good Complexion Shape and Size, made her a very desirable Object. Mr.
Cassock
look'd, and seem'd to think her a Subject
worth handling.
—When the Ceremony, and the usual Compliments were over, my Lord declar'd his Intention of giving the Parish to Mr.
Cassock,
on the Death of Doctor
Canter.
—This was a
Comment
on the
Text,
that Mr.
Cassock
had not known before; and, as it perfectly agreed with his Way of Thinking, he look'd on the
Author
as a very
learned
and
wise
Man.—The Truth is, he was so struck with my Lord's Bounty, that neither he nor his Bride could return their Thank but by their humble Obeisances.
MY Lord had still in Reserve what was to complete the Reward of Mr.
Kindly
's Fidelity.—He first bestow'd many Compliments on him before all the Company, and then added, —
When my Boys are settled at Mr.
Johnston
's School, my Lady and I purpose staying for some Time in
England.
You will then, Mr.
Kindly,
be so good to audit the Accounts of my Receivers, and take the Charge and Management of my
Charity Children.
You and the young Couple must keep this House warm in my Absence; and, that the Roof may be always in good Order, and to defray the Expences attending your Increase of Business, I desire you will charge me with one hundred Pounds a Year extraordinary; and now, Mr.
Kindly,
give me Leave to regard you as my
Companion
and my
Friend.
A PROFOUND Silence ensu'd, till the
old Man,
finding his Tongue, he pour'd out whatever his
grateful
Heart suggested, and ending in most fervent Prayers, retir'd in Haste, to give his Tears of Joy full Scope. —At Dinner he was pretty chearful; and
Mirth, Good-humour
and
Happiness
admir'd
Bounty-Hall,
and resided there.
As I am call'd another Way, it cannot be expected I should wait on this Company the whole Evening, much less pretend to conduct Mr.
Cassock
and his
Bride
to that
Theatre,
where we are suffer'd to see the
Actors,
but by the Reflection of
Fancy.
— Let it suffice to say, that the young Lady was next Morning Mrs.
Cassock.
So much has been said of this
noble Family,
that I fear some will be apt to suspect my Veracity.—
Envy
will positively assert, that the Characters are
absurd, unnatural,
and without a
Precedent.—Ill-naure
will discover the
Sarcasm,
in placing in full View, what the
Nobility
ought
truly to be,
in Opposition to what some
really
are.— The Thought of such
scandalous
Insinuations, determines me to quit
Bounty-Hall,
and shift the Scene.
'Tis necessary to inform my Readers, that Mr.
Johnston,
who I am now going to visit, is the
Clergyman
that was a Companion to my Lord in his Travels.—During their Stay at
Paris,
Mr.
Johnston
became acquainted with Madam
Bonfoy,
the Widow of a Captain who had been kill'd in the Service. She had sollicited for a Pension; but, being known to be a
Hugonot,
could never obtain it. As she had two thousand Livres a Year on the Town-House of
Paris,
and the Interest of some Money, she kept genteel Apartments, and liv'd in a very decent Manner with her
Niece,
who was about four Years old.
THE Temper of Madam
Bonfoy
was so like Mr.
Johnston
's, an Inclination for each other ensu'd, which
ended,
or rather
increased,
in Matrimony.—My Lord got him a good Living in the North of
Ireland,
but afterwards advis'd him to exchange for one of less Value near
Portarlington,
in the
King's County,
inhabited mostly by
French Protestants,
and where little of any other Language was spoken. My Lord gave him the Plan of a
School,
which, by Mr. and Mrs.
Johnston
's good Management, could not fail of being extremely advantageous to them. Mr.
Johnston
had now been in that Situation near four Years, and met with great Approbation, as he had Talents peculiar to that Profession.
MASTER
Harry
was now twelve Years of Age, and all Things were preparing for the Journey of the three Boys. Every one in the Family began to dread the Loss of such Children, who, by a thousand little Pranks, were extremely dear to them. Miss
Harriot
began to pine and cry, that she was to lose her Brothers, and her Favourite
little Jack.
In short, it is impossible to express the silent Grief that reign'd in the House.
MR. KINDLY took up whole Days in preaching to
Jack,
and giving him good Advice.—
Perhaps, my dear Child,
said he,
I may never see you again; if so, mind my Words, and I shall be always present with you, and shield you from those Evils the World is full of. If you
despise
and
neglect
them, depend upon it,
Calamity
and
Misfortunes
will attend you. That my Counsel may not be forgotten, I have wrote it down, and put it in your Trunk, that you may read, and get it by Heart. They are the same Instructions I gave to my own Sons when they went from me, and, in general, will answer your Purposes. I have likewise,
continued he,
put up a good Store of Paper and Pens, and I insist on your Writing frequently to me, with a particular Account how the young Gentlemen behave, and how you employ your Time.
—
Jack
cry'd most heartily, and faithfully promis'd to obey all his Commands, and be a good
Boy.
—The Children took Leave of the Neighbours, but
Jack,
in a very tender and particular Manner, took
his
of Mrs.
Long
and the good-natur'd
Groom.
THE Coach and Servants were prepared, and the young Travellers were to set out next Morning with my Lord and Mr.
Cassock.
Her Ladyship being with Child, prevented her being of the Party.
THE Morning came, and the Horses were ordered to be put too.—Mr.
Kindly
took
Jack
in his Hand to the Office, and, shewing him his little Effects in a small Trunk he had provided, put therein a Purse, saying,—
Jack,
here is all your Money, with some Interest, amounting to
Fifteen
Guineas. I know you will take great Care and keep it, till you really want it. You are no
Fool,
my Dear, and he must be the greatest Fool that spends his Money idly.
—
Jack
gave him his Word, he should find it all when he came back.—
Yesterday,
said
Mr.
Kindly,
I told you I might never see you more. I have, this small Box to give you as my last Legacy. It contains a Book, that in Time you may read; but as I know you
love Truth,
I must have your Promise never to open it, but at the Time I direct.
—
Jack
fell on his Knees, and assur'd him, he would never open it, if he order'd.—
Then,
said the old Man,
mind what I say: I lay my Commands on you, never to open this Box, except you be reduced to the greatest Necessity, and almost want Bread.
—So saying, he lock'd it in the Trunk, and gave
Jack
the Key. —
Now
said
Mr.
Kindly,
I have but one Word more to say:—If
God
should
prosper
you in the World, and your Heart should swell with
Pride
and
Arrogance,
remember that
Drawer,
and correct those
Vices.
—Pray, Sir.
said Jack,
what is in that Drawer?—'You shall see,'
said Kindly,
and, producing his
old red Waistcoat, tatter'd Shirt
and
Breeches,
said,—
This,
Jack,
is your
Original,
so judge if
Pride
and
Haughtiness
will agree with such a Dress.
—The Boy blush'd, and embracing Mr.
Kindly
's Waist, assur'd him, he would always remember the
Drawer
and the
Dog-Kennel.
THEY now join'd the Children, whom they found in Tears, having just quitted her Ladyship.
Jack
was sent in by my Lord, and on his Knees, most humbly thank'd her Ladyship for all her Goodness to him.—The parting with her Sons made her scarcely able to speak, but she bid him mind his Business, and
serve God.
—She could utter no more, but with a tender Embrace let him depart.
THE Servants had their Turn, and the Boys were almost hugg'd to Death.—With great Difficulty they quitted this moving Scene, and the Coach driving off, were followed by the Prayers and Blessings of a thousand of the poor Inhabitants.
CHAP. XI.
Seek you to train your fav'rite Boy?
Each Caution, ev'ry Care employ;
And e'er you venture to confide,
Let his Preceptor's Heart be try'd;
Weigh well his Manners, Life and Scope,
On these depends thy future Hope.
GAY.
THE Occurrences on the Road are not worth mentioning; but my Lord and Mr.
Cassock
gave the Lads a good Impression of their new Master, and explain'd the Rules and Customs of the School. Mr.
Johnston
was prepar'd for their Reception, and thank'd my Lord for the Honour he did him. After Supper, my Lord and Mr.
Cassock
went to private Lodgings. The two Brothers had a Chamber to themselves, and
Jack
had a small one near the Back-Stairs at the End of the Gallery.
BEFORE Eight next Morning, my Lord and Mr.
Cassock
went to Mr.
Johnston
's. All the Scholars had not yet made their Appearance; but the Bell ringing, the rest soon were in the School, where Mr.
Johnston
and the Family attended my Lord, when all were seated, one of the
Lads
mounted a Desk, and with great Reverence began the
Morning
Service of the
Church;
another read the
Lessons
of the Day; Mr.
Lilly,
the Usher, rais'd the
Psalm,
and the first Boy finish'd the
Prayers,
except the
Blessing,
which Mr.
Johnston
always pronounced.—This over, an Hour was employ'd in examining their Exercises, and giving others for the following Day, and then they retir'd to Breakfast.
MY Lord was again conducted to School, when one of the most
ingenious
of the Gentlemen ascended the
Pulpit,
and made a
Latin Oration
on the
Rise of Nobility.
He very artfully insinuated, how happy some
Families
were, in always leaving Heirs to their
Virtues
as well as their
Titles;
and, that he could point out, even in these degenerate Days, a
living
Example of that
Blessing,
were he at Liberty to speak, without being suspected of
Flattery;
and concluded, that tho' many
Patricians
were a Scandal to their
own
and every
other Order,
yet some were always found who added a
Lustre
to the
Dignity,
as their Lives were an
Ornament
to human Nature, and their
Actions
the Glory of their
Fellow-Citizens.
WHEN this Gentleman had finish'd, another mounted, and made a short Speech in
English,
on the
Happiness of a good Education,
which he compar'd to a
tender Plant,
under the Management of a skilful
Gardiner,
who not only made it bear
exquisite Fruit,
but gave the Branches such an
elegant
Turn, as added a
Beauty
to the Place, and a
Delight
to the Eye.
HIS Lordship was extremely pleas'd with this Entertainment, but particularly with the distinct, emphatical and graceful Manner in which they pronounced their Words. He was not wanting in returning his Thanks to the young Gentlemen, and, giving the Usher
Ten Guineas,
begg'd he would be so good to buy a Dozen
Bows and Arrows,
and erect two
Butts
in the next Field, which would not only agreeably entertain them, but be a most healthful Exercise.
HIS Lordship then gave some private Directions to Mr.
Johnston,
and recommending the Boys to the Care of his Wife, took a most tender Leave, and return'd to
Bounty-Hall.
I MUST continue at
Portarlington-School
above three Years. If my Reader pleases, I shall indulge his residing with me, and making all the Remarks and Applications his Understanding may suggest. Imagination must furnish him with the many
Pranks
and
Tricks
School-Boys are wont to play, as I am not at Leisure, at present, to entertain him in that Manner. I shall confine myself to the narrow Compass of hinting at the Conduct of this School, as there is somewhat
peculiar
in it, and what I could wish every other had a
Part
of, if not the
Whole.
MR. JOHNSTON was a Gentleman of very extensive Knowledge, great Application and Temper, chearful and easy in Conversation, and, above all, knew
Mankind
and the
World
perfectly well. As he had Talents peculiar for
Instruction,
and delighted in it, so his
Virtue
and
Understanding
convinc'd him, that rearing up
good
and
useful
Members of Society, was the
most honourable
Employment of Man.
HIS House could hold but twenty-five Youths, and each paid
thirty Pounds
a Year. When his Conduct was known, it is not to be imagined what
Interest
was made by Gentlemen, to have their Sons admitted, on a Vacancy.
HIS first Care was the inculcating into his Pupils, the Principles of
true Religion,
as the surest Foundation on which to build the
moral Virtues.
His next, was the inspiring into them, a
certain
Proportion of
Ambition
and
temporal Happiness,
and demonstrating, that
Learning, Honour,
and
Integrity
were the most probable, if not the
only Way,
to attain them. For these Purposes, they constantly attended
Divine Service
at Church and at Home: He made them read the
Prayers
alternately, and, as Occasions requir'd, gave historical Accounts to explain or illustrate some Passages in the
Old
or
New Testament.
—He always treated them, not as Children, but as
Gentlemen,
which made them endeavour to act as such. If some were negligent of their Duty, he seem'd concern'd at it, and pity'd the
unhappy Youth,
that forgot himself so much as to undo, by a voluntary Neglect, all that his Ancestors had acquir'd by
Knowledge
and
Industry.
HE took great Pains to give them an early Habit of
Civility
and
Good Manners;
and, by his own Practice, convinc'd them how agreeable such a Conduct was to every Man. He always spoke with a
Bow,
and Marks of Respect, and encouraged them to act in the like Manner to each other. He shew'd them, by sundry
serious
and
comic
Examples, the Use and Beauty of
Politeness,
and the Absurdity and bad Consequences of a
clownish
and
brutish
Behaviour.
THE Mornings were given to School Learning, in which, by his Skilfulness and Assiduity, they made great Progress. As to fix'd
Holidays,
they were Strangers; but when all the Lads were perfect in their different Lessons, Mr.
Johnston
always return'd them Thanks, and then added,—
This is very clever.—I find, Gentlemen, you have taken more than ordinary Pains; but I am so far from desiring too much
Study,
that,
please God,
if To morrow be a fine Day, we will take the Diversion of
Hunting
or
Fishing,
—just, Gentlemen, as you please.
— Thus they could always command a Day of Amusement; but that Lad pass'd his Time very
disagreeably,
who, by his
Idleness,
had stopp'd the Pleasure of the rest.
THE Evenings, in some Degree, were their own, either to study in their Chambers, or divert themselves in the large Yard or Field. If the Weather did not permit the latter, Mr.
Johnston
us'd to say,—
Well, Gentlemen, how shall we pass our Time? I have a great Notion Mr.
Moore
can pronounce one of
Cicero
's Orations as well as Mr.
Stevenson.
—Sometimes he pitch'd on one of
Atterbury
's or
Tillotson
's Sermons; sometimes on Speeches in
Tacitus
or
Livy;
sometimes on
Parliamentary Debates,
and sometimes on
Milton,
or on occasional Pieces of Poetry, of Beauty and Elegance.—The Reader always mounted the Pulpit; but if he err'd from the
right
Pronounciation and
true
Meaning of the Author, or lessen'd the Sense by
false Action
or
too languid
a Delivery, Mr.
Johnston
begg'd his Pardon, and desir'd to be permitted to shew, wherein
he thought
it might be utter'd more to the Satisfaction of the Audience.—He then took his Place, and display'd the Orator.—His
determin'd
and
resolute
Voice, stirr'd their young Blood; but when he
softened
into
Pity
at some Distress, it caught the Lads, and their Countenances shew'd it.
HE thought it absolutely necessary that a young Man should be acquainted with the
History
of his
own Country,
at least as soon as that of
Egypt, Greece,
or
Rome.
This was a fix'd Entertainment twice a Week; and his Comments, Observations and Reflections on the different Parts, were adapted to those he made them to, and had always somewhat that shew'd the Value of
Liberty,
and the Danger in not putting
proper Bounds
to it.—The Effects of
Tyranny
and
Oppression;
—the Nature of
Laws
and
Government;
—the Obligation of a
King
to his
Subjects,
and his
Subjects
to him;—the Happiness of a
good Monarch,
with the
Infamy
and
Punishment
due to those, who
wantonly
attempt to disturb the Peace of the
Crown,
and the Peace of the
People.
OF a chearful Evening Mr.
Johnston
has propos'd the Repetition of a good
Comedy;
but, as he did not conceive that acting a Play was of Use to Youth, he placed them in their Seats, and assign'd them their different Parts, which they read from different Copies. The Comedies he generally chose were
Steele
's,
Farquhar
's, and some of
Cibber
's, as they not only had Wit and Humour, but a certain
Moral
in them, not to be found in
Congreve, Wycherly, Dryden,
or
Vanbrugh,
but by wading through
Obscenity.
—If the Gentlemen chose a
Tragedy,
he made them carefully observe the Difference between a
passionate
Utterance, and
Ranting,
and between the
soft
and
tender
Manner of Expression, and the
Whining,
and gave them Examples himself.
BUT the most favourite Manner he had of entertaining them, because he had a Scheme in it, was giving short and pleasing Accounts of the
Lives
of
great Men
of all Nations.—The
Conqueror
and
Captive.
— The
Tyrant,
and the
Father
of his People. —The
Law giver
and the
Incendiary.
— The
Patriot,
and the
Pretenders
to Patriotism.—The
Orator
and the
Declaimer.
—The
Divine.
—The
Lawyer.
—The
moral
and
experimental Philosopher.
—The
Botanist.— Physician,
and the
Merchant.
—The many Professions that spring from these
Fountains,
were at different Times set in proper and clear Lights.—Their
Virtues
and
Uses
to Society, or the
Abuses
of Power and
Knowledge
were touch'd, so as not to descend too deeply into the
Sciences;
but to fix the Attention of the Lads, and give him an Opportunity of discovering the
Bent
of their Inclinations and Geniuses.
SUCH a Conduct, he thought as necessary a Part of the
Duty
of a Master, as teaching them
Latin
or
Greek,
and he never fail'd communicating his Discoveries to their Parents.
HAPPY had it been for many Gentlemen, if their Genius had been properly attended to in their Youth!—The many Absurdities in the World would be avoided, and each have the Rank the
Law of Nature
had assign'd them.—The
Martial Spirit
would not be compell'd to expose himself in a Pulpit.—The tender and meek Mind would not be drove to the Field of Bustle and Slaughter.—The Physician would not prescribe at the Bar, nor the Lawyer administer Physick by Act of Parliament. — Each would be in their just Point of View, and each have a fair Opportunity of excelling.
AS Nature gives not equal Talents to all, this good Master made proper Allowances: He was never displeas'd at one Gentleman's being less apt to learn than another, provided he found him equally diligent: On the contrary, he encourag'd and indulg'd him, and frequently stole into his Room at Night, and gave him half an Hour's private Instruction for the Business of next Day, but insisted on its being kept secret from the rest.
SELDOM was their Book an Occasion of Chastisement, but they never were excused for any vicious Act. When he found a Lad of an obstinate sullen Temper, who despis'd Learning, good Advice, or Correction, he sent him home to his Friends. —On such Occasions he always made a pathetic Speech to the School, and placed the unhappy Boy separate from the rest.— When he was to depart, Mr.
Johnston
walk'd with him to the Gate, and all the Gentlemen follow'd with profound Silence. Here he embrac'd him and took his Leave, praying God that this gentle Admonition might make him reflect in Time, and change his Conduct, so as to be an Honour, and not a Discredit to Society.—Then, in a ceremonious Manner, all the rest took a melancholy Farewel.
AMONGST the many Advantages of this Seminary, Mrs.
Johnston,
and her Niece
Nannett
contributed in improving the Boys in
French;
and, as all the Inhabitants commonly spoke it, they acquired that Language with great Facility.—Some Evenings, when Mr.
Johnston
could not attend, his Wife has extremely diverted and amused them by
Molier
's Comedies,
Gil-Blas, Scaron,
and other Books of that Tendency.
THUS did this good Family look on themselves as Parents to the Children, and the Children regarded them as such.—Instruction and profitable Entertainment were so agreeably and nicely blended, that the one was never suffered to become tedious and irksome, nor the other to cloy or fill the Mind too much.
CHAP. XII.
Persuasive
Folly
has strong Charms,
T'allure the
Feeble
to her Arms.
Weakness
and
Vice
go Hand in Hand,
And seem united by one Band.
Let
Reason
but
assume
her Seat,
Folly
and
Vice
will soon retreat.
ANONIMOUS.
AS
Jack Connor
was not intended for a perfect Scholar, Mr.
Johnston
's Care on that Account was not so exact as to other Lads; but what regarded the moral and social Duties, he received in common with them. In the three Years at this School, he had acquir'd a good Share of
Latin
and some
Greek,
but his chief Pleasure was in Reading, and making Extracts of useful and entertaining Passages from History, Voyages, Poetry, and the like, of which Mr.
Johnston
had a good Collection always open to the Gentlemen. This improved him in Writing, made strong Impressions on his Mind, and gave him a Falicity, and a genteel and easy Turn of Language, that much better Scholars are Strangers to. He spoke
French
with great Fluency, for Mademoiselle
Nannett
took some Pains to perfect him in it, and as he had a charming Voice, she taught him many agreeable
French
Songs.
HE was now in the Spring of Life, tall and well made. Health, Beauty, and Sprightliness were always present with him, and Mirth and Joy danc'd in his Eyes. These, and his little Accomplishments, made him caress'd by all, and were so remarkable, that even Madam
Johnston
has been frequently heard to say,
Ma Foy, c'est un beau Garçon!—Voila de quoi faire un Joli Homme!
—If
Nannett
was silent, she looked, and perhaps thought the more.—
The Dial spoke not, but it made shrewd Signs.
THE Juice of the Grape is insipid, nor can yield a Spirit till
fermented.
In this State, the Vessel must be pierc'd, and a Vent given to the jarring Particles, or it will burst its Tenement.—The Hand of Experience knows when to stop this Chasm, —to fine it down, and give it the proper Time to acquire a Mellowness and Flavour that gladdens the Heart of Man, and adds Chearfulness and good Humour to every rational Company.—If Ignorance interferes in the Management, the Wine will become sour, and of little or no Value.
IS there not somewhat of a fermenting Quality in human Nature? Or rather, is it not certain that there is?—Without this Fermentation, which the Passions only can give, Man would be but a moving Statue. 'Tis the
Passions
that open his Understanding.—They lay the Plan of all his Operations.—They conduct him first to Objects of Pleasure, and then branch out his Imagination to Glory—Honour—Riches. They polish him, and raise a Desire of loving, and of being loved.—In a Word, they alone, when justly guided, can make him a rational Creature.—If unheeded, and suffer'd to take an unnatural Bent, neither Fame nor Honour can result from them, and the Man becomes the Pest of Society instead of the Pleasure.
OUR little Hero was not form'd without these Passions. If from Inexperience, they sometimes hurry'd him into imprudent Acts, and brought him into dangerous Situations, he was the first to censure his own Conduct, and recur instantly to the Principles imbib'd in his Youth.—Of what Use these
Passions
and these
Principles
were to him, is too much a Part of this History, to be omitted in their proper Place.— Since, therefore, it is impossible for me to act the impartial Historian, and omit the Consequences of these
Passions,
I hope the candid Reader will excuse the seeming
Levity
of this Chapter.—My
Hero
is not a
perfect Hero.
—He is young, and without Experience. He has the Seeds of
Man
in him, and consequently is faulty. Besides, as his whole Life turns on this Incident, I am compell'd to insert it, but hope the
Moral
will excuse the
Tale.
THE Time was now come when
Jack
was to be tempted, and unwarily to yield. When he became
criminal,
he became
unhappy.
—Of late he took a particular Pleasure in
Nannett
's Company, and she, in Return, treated him with great Freedom, and with somewhat more than mere Complaisance. His Years prevented his seeing the secret Motives of her Kindness. He was happy, because she was fond of him; but her Fondness arose from a different Principle.—She lov'd.
How far this Passion will extend itself, few are unacquainted, and poor
Nannett
practis'd every female Wile to gain a Heart invincible to her Charms, only from Ignorance. Often has she told him,
he ought, at his Age, to avoid blushing when he spoke to her, and be more a Man, than to tremble at touching her Hand.
—These and many other forcible Expressions she has reiterated, and sometimes even kiss'd him, but they only serv'd to give him a secret uneasy Pleasure, and a constant Desire of her Presence, without a Knowledge of the Meaning.—She remark'd his confus'd Behaviour, and found, she must either renounce all Shame, by speaking in direct Terms, or absolutely avoid him.—The Delicacy of her Sex as much forbid the one, as her violent Love did the other.
HER Invention was on the Rack, but at ast she remember'd a certain
French
Book, where a Lady is placed exactly in her Situation. To this dear Volume she turn'd, and determin'd to try the Experiment. She found Opportunities to oblige
Jack
to read most Part of it to her, but defer'd the Lecture of the interesting Scene, till the first Day Mr.
Johnston
and the Lads went a Hunting. That Time soon came, and the Evening before she whisper'd him, to avoid being of the Party, and they would finish that charming Story. He with Eagerness consenting, she told him how inconvenient it would be to read in his little Room,
but,
said she,
as soon as they are all gone, if you will promise to be very secret, and make no Noise, you may come to my Chamber, and we can read at our Ease.
—He promis'd, and this Conversation ended.
IT was now
June,
and being fine Weather, all were ready for the Sport of the Field at Four in the Morning.
Jack
excus'd himself to Master
Harry,
on Account of a Book he was to finish, and a Letter to write to Mr.
Kindly;
and, slily slipping up into his Room, remain'd there till he saw them all at some Distance. With cautious Steps he quietly mounted the Back-Stairs, and found
Nannett
's Chamber Door on a Jarr ready to admit him. His Treading was not so light, but her attentive Ear heard him, and putting the Curtain back, in a low Voice she cry'd,—
Lord bless me,
Jack!
Who would have expected you so early?—I thought to have been up and dress'd, and now you surprise a-body in Bed. Indeed I am quite asham'd of myself,—but—shut the Door, and sit down softly.
—She then open'd the Curtain a little more, and
Jack
sat at some Distance. A Silence ensu'd for some Minutes, till at last he ventur'd to say something of the Book.—
Well, said
Nannett,
look for it under my Pillow, and I'll read.
—
Jack
search'd for some Time, but in vain; and, she calling him an aukward Fellow, rose carelesly and soon found it.—Undoubtedly she had no Intention of exposing to his View her lovely Neck; for, no sooner had she caught his Eyes fix'd on that Part, and saw the Tumult it occasion'd in him, than with great Precipitation she cover'd it.— Her Head was once more laid on her Pillow, and the Book in her Hand.—
If, said she, you keep so far off, you can't hear me, and you had better come and sit on the Bed-side.
—The poor Boy, willing to oblige, carefully mov'd, but found her right Arm negligently thrown out. This Impediment he gently remov'd, but not before he had frequently kiss'd it. She call'd him a Fool, but her good Nature did not forbid this Sort of Folly.
JACK'S Spirits were up in Arms, so we must presume he was going to sit down improperly, otherwise she certainly would not have said—
Bless me!—Why sure you an't so mad as to lie on the Bed;—But— if you are afraid your Shoes will make a Noise, and will absolutely do it, can't you pull them off?
—His Shoes vanish'd in an Instant, and he placed himself where before he had no Intention.—
COME, come, said
Nannett,
let me make an End of my Story, but if you attempt to serve me, as
Amyntor
does his
Phillis,
positively I shan't endure you,— but—here's one Kiss more to keep you quiet.
—She then fix'd on the Page and began.—
Thus situated were this happy Pair. Silence and Secrecy reign'd, and no Eyes to witness their Joys, but those of laughing Cupids, who hover'd round the inchanting Bower.
Amyntor
was all Desire and Love, but his invincible Modesty, oblig'd the equally enamour'd
Phillis
to supply by Management, what her Tongue could not utter. She insensibly conducted him to the Beginning of Charms, to which the Youth was an absolute Stranger.
—
Nannett
continued to read, and, with great Judgment, laid the proper Emphasis on every Word; but at every tender or delicate Period, as many such there were,
Jack
became an exact Imitator, and frequently interrupted the Narration. She often wonder'd at his Assurance, and declar'd her Anger, but her Countenance did not seem to imply that Passion, and at last she was permitted to continue.—
Too pressing
Amyntor,
too yielding
Phillis!
—The Time, the Place, and every Opportunity conspir'd with their mutual Inclinations.—A thousand Dalliances interven'd, 'till Prudence,— Virtue,—and
Phillis
were lost.
NANNETT would have proceeded, but
Jack,
still faithful to his Copy, prevented it by acting
Amyntor.
—I hope the Reader will not insist on too nice a Description of this Scene, for I am permitted but to add, that at last, as Reading was become useless, she clos'd the Book, and—I must close this Chapter.
CHAP. XIII.
Ah thoughtless Mortals! ever blind to Fate!
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate!
Sudden these Honours shall be snatch'd away,
And curs'd for ever this victorious Day.
DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.
THE Clock struck Seven, which rous'd them from their Dream of Happiness, to think on their Safety.
Nannett
was unwilling to part; but
Jack,
now
more prudent,
took an hasty Kiss or two, and got to his Room unperceiv'd. He now began to reflect on his Conduct, and he judg'd himself greatly criminal. He now remember'd Mr.
Kindly
's Precepts, which had for some Time been neglected, and call'd to Mind his last Words of
Calamity
and
Misfortunes,
if he departed from
Virtue.
These Thoughts gave him extreme Uneasiness, but he found himself greatly reliev'd by resolving to be guilty no more, and to shun the Object. An unusual Gravity attended him the whole Day, which greatly disturb'd
Nannett,
as he gave her no Opportunity of inquiring into the Reason.
HE was extremely pleas'd with this Conquest over himself, but alas! he little knew his own Heart; and, as he was a Stranger to the Ways of
Men,
how could he possibly know that of
Women?—Nannett,
impatient to learn what passed in his Soul, waited in her Chamber till Two in the Morning, not doubting but
Jack
would find his Way there. The Disappointment extremely mortify'd her Pride; however, she determin'd at all Events, to have her Doubts
satisfied,
and resolutely ventur'd down, and got to his Bed-side. She prevented a Noise on his awaking, by telling her Name, and as she was undress'd, without more Ceremony slipp'd in, and took him in her Arms.
WHERE now were all his mighty Resolutions?—Where were all Mr.
Kindly
's moral Lessons?—Vanish'd,—Lost in the Obscurity of the Night, and in the Arms of Youth and Beauty!—She made him many tender Reproaches, but her Love forgave all.—His Reflections that Day were quite of another Complexion to the former, and he even thought himself a
Fool,
for being more timorous than a
Girl.
Besides, he argu'd the Impossibility of Danger, or being discover'd; and, that if it was a Crime, he at most, was answerable but for
Half;
but the strongest Reason for continuing this Affair was, that he believed every Man would do the same, had he the same Opportunity.—Thus, his Understanding was quite defeated by, what he thought, good Reason.—How many are there, who, by such fallacious Arguments, persuade, or endeavour to persuade themselves into Evil, even contrary to their real Opinion? And how many are there, who are but too successful in their Attempts to deceive themselves?
HIS Amour went charmingly on for about six Weeks, nor could there be, in his Imagination, an happier Mortal.—He insensibly dropt all boyish Amusements, and was much less punctual and exact at School, than formerly. His Visage began to change, and the Roses in his Cheeks to fade; insomuch, that
Madam Johnston
really thought him out of Order, and very innocently directed
Nannett
to take some Care of the poor Boy, and give him
something warm,
when he was in Bed.
Nannett
most punctually obey'd her Commands, but
Jack
grew paler notwithstanding.
MR. JOHNSTON, at last, observ'd an Alteration in
Jack,
and, for some Time, was of his Wife's Opinion; but, as Nothing could escape his Penetration, he perceiv'd that the Boy's Eyes sparkl'd, and his Face had an uncommon Glow, whenever
Nannett
enter'd the Room. He likewise remark'd a peculiar Pleasure in their Countenances, when they spoke to each other, and even when their Eyes chanc'd to meet, which they frequently did.—'Tis a Question would puzzle
Monsieur de Moivre,
Whether most Intrigues were began, or were discover'd by the
Eyes?
Certain it is, they are as apt to betray as seduce. If these faithless Companions have a Language to persuade us into secret Deeds, they have another to divulge it.—What Pity it is, they are placed in so conspicuous a Spot!
MR. JOHNSTON in his Youth was a Master of this Language, and read in their Hearts, what gave him extreme Pain. He was tortur'd with suspecting the worst, and reason'd himself into the Conduct he was to observe, should his Suspicions be well grounded.—He knew, should his Resentment vent itself in Words, the
Reputation
of his
Niece
was lost, and the Character of his School would suffer a severe Wound.— To chastise the Boy, would answer but the same End.—To join them in Marriage was ridiculous, and, to suffer them to live peaceably in Iniquity was impossible.—For two Days was he thus agitated, before he could fix on a Scheme to save all Appearances, but particularly those that could affect his own Family.—When he had revolved his Plan, and taken a Resolution, his next Step was to satisfy his eager Doubts.
The third Morning, about Three o'Clock, he quietly stepp'd into
Jack
's Room. He examined the Bed, which he founded unruffled and cold, and immediately concluded
Jack
was in a
warmer Place.
He paused for a few Minutes to stifle his Indignation, and let the Hurry of his Spirits subside, and then quietly mounted to his
Niece
's Apartment. He gently open'd the Curtain, and found the happy criminal Pair lock'd in each other's Arms, bidding Defiance to all worldly Cares, for they were fast asleep. —For some Time he gazed with Astonishment, and scarcely credited the Evidence of his Eyes.—At last he stirred
Nannett,
who wakened with a tender Expression to
Jack;
but when she perceiv'd her
Uncle,
she was just going to scream out, when he put his his Hand on her Mouth, and conjured her to make no Noise, but lie still.—
Jack
now opened his Eyes, but the Moment he beheld the
old Gentleman,
he hid himself under the Cloaths.
POOR
Nannett
put on a most supplicating Countenance, which her ready Tears greatly assisted. Mr.
Johnston,
with as much Coolness as he could collect, first desired her to pin her
Tucker;
and,
Now,
said he,
Child, though you have been very foolish, yet I promise you, if you will keep your own Counsel, I shall do the same, and it shall for ever be a Secret, even from your Aunt.
—So much Goodness gave her new Life, and she promised never more to transgress, and be all Obedience.—
Dry your Eyes, my Dear, said he, you see I am not angry with you or
Jack,
so bid him get up and meet me in the Garden immediately; where we will consult how to manage this silly Affair.
— When he was gone,
Jack
ventured to peep out, and was quite overjoyed to find Mr.
Johnston
in such good Humour, and much wonder'd at it. They were both extremely pleased, and imagined they even had his Consent to continue their agreeable Amusement. —
Jack
soon dressed himself, and taking a tender Leave of his dear
Nannett,
promised to meet earlier the following Night; but alas! that Meeting never happened.
JACK got to the Garden as directed, but trembled at Mr.
Johnston
's Approach, who, assuming a Smile, gave the Boy not a little Courage.—'Well, Sir,
said his Master,
it seems you have lately passed your Time very chearfully, and turned over other Leaves besides
Latin
and
Greek;
however, I am not now here to upbraid you with Ingratitude, or with the Breach of all Laws, Human and Divine; neither shall I now correct you, or send you to Prison, and have you hang'd, as the Laws direct; but, as I shall always have it in my Power, so I shall certainly put it in Practice, except you will give me your most sacred Promise, to do whatever I shall order.' —'Sir,
said Jack,
with great Confusion, I really don't know how to appear before God or you, after my Transgressions; but I hope my sincere Repentance, with my most solemn Vow to obey all your Directions, will atone for my Crimes'— I know, reply'd Mr.
Johnston,
you abhor a Lye, therefore I will trust you. The last Letters I received from my Lord particularly mention you, about a Project I had of sending you to
London,
of which he has approved. Now,
Jack,
if you will set out this Day, in the Manner I shall direct, I will pardon all, and put you in a Way of making your Fortune.' —'Sir, reply'd
Jack,
(who was fired at going to
London
) I have already given you my Oath to obey, and, to convince you of my Readiness, I am willing to set out this Minute.'
IN the first Place, said Mr.
Johnston,
I must insist on your not speaking a Syllable to
Nannett,
on any Account whatever, nor to any Person in the Family about what has happened. In the next Place, I desire you will press me this Morning for Leave to visit Mr.
Wilson
's Family, who have so often invited you.—Go that Road about a Mile, and then turn back through the Fields, which you know will, in about an Hour, lead you into the great Road to DUBLIN. On this Side the Windmill you will find my Man
John
with a Carr, who will have particular Orders to take Care of you, and you will follow his Directions. As I know you will believe me, I give you my Word and Honour, that I intend only your own Good; but it is absolutely necessary for your Peace and mine, that you promise punctually to obey my Orders, and that on no Account you will ever write yourself, or cause any other Person to write to my Lord, Mr.
Kindly,
or me. These are the Conditions on which my Pardon is founded: If you transgress, be assur'd my utmost Rensentment will follow.
JACK threw himself on his Knees, and most solemnly vow'd, in the Presence of God, religiously to observe all his Directions; and rising, ask'd his Master what he intended to do with his Shirts, Books, and his other little Effects? But being assur'd he should find them all safe in
Dublin,
was quite easy on that Account.—
Now, said Mr.
Johnston,
I am satisfy'd, and I hope you will have Reason to be content. Lest you may want Money on the Road, here is a Guinea, and more will be given you in Town.
AS they walk'd towards the House, Mr.
Johnston
gave him many good Lessons for his future Conduct.—He very earnestly recommended a modest, sober, and religious Life, as what only could give him true Joy and real Happiness.—He told him, that God sometimes permitted Good to come out of Evil and pray'd it might be so in the present Case; but, that no Man ought to depend that such a Grace would at all Times be bestowed on us;—that, as the Mercy of God was great, so was his Jealousy; equally capable of forgiving young rash Sinners, as of punishing obstinate and unrepenting Offenders.
MUCH more was said on this Subject, and in so tender a Manner, as greatly to affect the Boy, and make a strong Impression on his Mind. Mr.
Johnston
concluded, with saying,
You have not much of the common
Irish
Manner of speaking, but let me advise you to forget the little you have, and endeavour to speak like the People you live with, which will prevent your being often laugh'd at, and ridicul'd by the Ignorant and Vulgar, and none other can do it.—Your Name is quite
Irish,
but I shall call you JOHN CONYERS, in my Letters, and henceforward let that be your Name. And now, Mr.
Conyers,
I think we have fully settled this Matter; therefore go in, and behave as usual; but remember your Promise.
THEY got to the House before any of the Servants were up, so their Meeting was a Secret.—When
Jack
was alone, he began very seriously to reflect on his Situation. He was conscious of deserving very severe Punishment, and thank'd God Mr.
Johnston
had treated him so well.—On the other Hand, he regretted parting with his dear
Nannett,
especially in the Manner he had promis'd, and had a violent Inclination to take one tender Farewel, but his Vow prevented him. The Injunctions laid on him, he thought very extraordinary; but the Dread of Punishment and Shame, and the Anger of my Lord and Mr.
Kindly,
made him acquiesce with Patience to these hard Terms. Besides, as he really had an entire Confidence in, and a Love for Mr.
Johnston,
he doubted not but he had good Reasons for what he ordered.
THO' his Effects were to meet him in
Dublin,
he had the wise Precaution of putting on two Shirts, and taking his Purse, which now contained but eleven Guineas. He likewise put in his Coat Pocket the little Box and Instructions given him by Mr.
Kindly,
and all the little Manuscripts he had. Thus dress'd, and fix'd in his Resolutions, he waited on Mr.
Johnston,
and begged his Leave to visit Mr.
Wilson,
who lived about four Miles to the West.—Mr.
Johnston
hesitated for some Time, but his Wife interceding, she obtained Permission, provided he promised to go Half a Mile round, and not cross the Ford which was sometimes dangerous.
IT seems Mr.
Johnston
had given Orders to
John
to go that Morning with a Carr to
Dublin
for an Hogshead of Wine; and, as he was an old faithful Servant, was the only Person he trusted with the Secret. He gave him his Instructions, and a Letter to his Brother, who was a Merchant of that City.—
John
had set out about Eight o'Clock, and
Jack
took a different Road about Nine. —He went off with tolerable Spirits; but, when he came to the appointed Turn, his Heart swelled, and the Thoughts of parting with
Nannett,
Master
Harry, Billy,
and all his dear Friends for ever, almost made him distracted, and obliged him to sit down and give Way to a Torrent of Tears.—At last the Thoughts of seeing DUBLIN and LONDON, and the Hopes of making his
Fortune,
throwing his Situation into a more favourable Light, he found Strength to proceed, and joyned old
John
about Eleven o'Clock.—The Man was prepared for him; and, under the Pretence of keeping him from the Sun, seated him on a Bundle of Straw on the Carr, and cover'd him with a Sort of Awning, so close, that no Passengers could see him, and then march'd on to
Dublin,
where he was well received by the Merchant.
PERHAPS the good-natured Reader may be desirous of knowing what passed at
Portarlington
when
Jack
was missed, and how
Nannett
and the Family behaved on this melancholy Occasion; and sorry I am, that it is not in my Power to gratify so reasonable a Curiosity. He may, if he pleases, suppose with me, that they sent next Day to Mr.
Wilson
's, and that their Surprize was great, when inform'd they had not seen or heard of him. No doubt, many were their Conjectures; some, I imagine, thought he had run away; but I apprehend the most probable and general Surmise was, that in crossing the Ford he was drown'd.
BE this as it will, I must, tho' with some Regret, leave this good Family, and follow my Friend JACK CONYERS through Scenes of a much different Nature.—The calm, tranquil Life he has hitherto led, must give Place to the
Hurry
and
Bustle
of the World. —
Deceit, Craft, Flattery
and
Vice,
must succeed to Lessons of
Honour, Probity
and
Virtue.
CHAP. XIV.
Take sound Advice proceeding from the Heart,
Sincerely your's and free from fraudful Art.
DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.
HAPPY that
Being,
who sometimes permits himself to think seriously; who suffers his Imagination deliberately to reflect on external Objects, and internally apply those Lessons of Morality, and Instruction that may be drawn from every Action of Man—
Vice
trails with it those Marks, that shew us its
Odiousness,
as some poisonous Animals carry their Antidote.— Affluence and Plenty are not generally productive of such Thoughts; for, in that Situation, we are apt to look no farther than ourselves, nor conceive the Possibility of being wretched and unhappy, till we have experienced some of its Bitters.—There is a pleasing and a useful Sensation, in the Soul, at viewing and commiserating the Distresses of the Unfortunate. The more we have pitied and raised our
Tenderness
and
Charity
to others, the happier we find ourselves, should
Distress
and
Penury,
visit us in its Rounds—Independent of the Christian Duty of
Compassion,
this Consideration alone, makes it
good to have been in Trouble.
JACK, tho' tenderly treated by the Merchant, and now in a large City where Variety of unaccustom'd Objects presented themselves to his View, yet melancholy Ideas fill'd his Mind. To abandon and be abandon'd by those Friends he had so sincerely loved—To live amongst Strangers in a distant Country, and to begin to labour and work for the Bread he was to eat, were to him most dreadful Vicissitudes of Fortune; and what he imagin'd, were peculiar to himself. In these gloomy Reflections, he acknowledged his manifold Offences, and in his fervent Prayers, which had lately been neglected, most heartily begg'd Forgiveness. He read Mr.
Kindly
's Instructions to his Son, over and over, and made the properest Observations on them in his Power.
AS I have now some spare Time, it cannot be better employ'd, than laying before my Reader the Instructions so often mention'd.—Should he be wise enough not to stand in Need of these Precepts, I beg he will pass them over, and skip on to the mere Narration.
To my Son
John Kindly.
Bounty Hall.
My dear Child,
WHEN you reflect on the Relation I bare to you, and on my Tenderness and Affection, you must be convinc'd that all my Care and Pains is to endeavour to make, and perhaps see you an happy and a worthy Man.—You are now to begin a new Scene of Life, where, instead of the Guardianship of a fond Father you must be guided and directed by so dangerous a Tutor as yourself—Tho' you must be far remov'd from my Presence, yet, I conjure you by every sacred Tye, to think on your Father and the Advice he now gives you.
BE careful in observing every Duty of RELIGION. You will find it the surest, and perhaps the only Way to keep
Peace
and
Content
in your Heart, and a Serenity and Chearfulness in your Countenance—
By being a Man, be not asham'd of being a Christian.
CANDOUR,
Integrity
and
Gratitude,
are some of the strongest Links that bind Men to each other. When these are absent, Suspicion, Fraud and Deceit, will fill each Breast, and make us rather Companions for the wild Inhabitants of the Forest, than Associates to Animals, who boast superior Reason.
YOU are to live in the World.—You are to study the large Volume of Mankind.—Whilst thus employ'd, forget not that Mankind are studying you.— Nature has given you an easy flexible Temper, therefore guard against the Charms of
Flattery.
—I know you will avoid the
Profligate
and
Prophane:
Shun likewise the
Demure,
the
Precise,
and the
Very Godly.
— Experience demonstrates that
Hypocrisy, Cunning
and
Deceit,
generally lurk under it, and that the
Righteous overmuch,
have other Schemes to
work out,
besides their Salvation.
WITH
Virtue, Truth
and
Justice,
which I trust you will preserve, there are Duties of Society that give Beauty and Harmony, and therefore must not be neglected.
A TENDERNESS for our Fellow-Creatures, a compassionate Turn for their Misfortunes, and Pity for their Weaknesses, are what we owe ourselves and them.—By not paying this Debt, we renounce our Claim to Humanity.
POLITE Behaviour and Complacency of Manners places every Action in the most advantageous Light, and adds irresistible Grace to every Word and every Motion.—Be sincere in such a Conduct, and suffer not your Lips to give the Lye to your Heart.—There is a Medium to be followed even to Persons we have an ill Opinion of.
AS a general good Behaviour is necessary to, and required by all, you cannot fail of being remarkably so to some particulars; but avoid making Friendships, till by Time you are convinced they deserve your's.—When you have found a Friend, detest the old and false Maxim of
living with him as tho' he may become an Enemy.
GO not into the Way of Temptation; for, believe me, it will but too often fall in your's. Resolution is strong; but the strongest is lodg'd in a
frail Body,
therefore depend not too much upon it, but, rather owe your Safety to a timely Flight.
IN your Dress, avoid as much as possible the Gaudy and Fluttering, but in the Neat and Clean, endeavour to be remarkable. A Carefulness in properly setting off the Person, is commendable and useful. It argues a Desire of pleasing, and gratifies the Eye of every Beholder. A Propriety in Dress, and a certain Sobriety of Deportment, free from Affectation and Formality, will always add Weight to your Conversation, and make it sought after.
COMPANY and Chearfulness are necessary, and of infinite Use; but a constant Jollity and Mirth betrays such a Levity in the Mind, that your Presence will never be desir'd but merely to
divert
others, whose Regard ceases the Instant the Laughter is over.—Should your Wit offend, be assured of an Enemy for ever.
AS your Inclinations lead you to the Study of the Laws, you will soon perceive the Strength of the Foundation on which the
British
Constitution is built.— You will soon observe the Happiness of that Kingdom, where the different Ranks of Men have their different Operations, all coinciding and centering in the Preservation of the Whole.—Let your Heart and your Hand be always ready to support this Structure.—It has often been in Danger, and suffered mighty-Revolutions; but, as it is now fully repaired by a PROTESTANT ARCHITECT, be it your Care, as much as in you lies, to defend it from every Foreign
Political,
and from every Domestick
wicked
Attempt.
AMBITION and Pride are Crimes of the most dangerous Tendency, yet, like Opiates, a small Quantity is sometimes necessary, as a large one gives the Patient up to Frenzy and Madness, and, in the End, destroys him.—To have these in a just Degree, will raise a Desire of excelling, and prevent a Meanness of Conduct.
A POET says, '
There is a Pleasure in being mad, which none but mad Men know.
'—Be it so, but desire not to experience it. Rather try what Pleasure
Common Sense
will afford.—
She
will instruct you in Oeconomy, and in that proper Management of your Fortune, that will bid Defiance to a Goal, and make your Sleep truly a Blessing.—
She
will teach you the right Use of Learning, and shew the Folly of being impertinent with it.—
She
will hold a Mirror to your Person, and point out the Absurdity of being vain of it.—
She
will advise, direct, and shew you the World in its true and genuine Colours, and give you that Taste, which
Ignorance, Pride
and
Folly,
will ever be Strangers to.
LEARN, if possible, to be content with the Station Heaven has allotted you, and endeavour to attain that Sort of Philosophy which gives
Patience
and
Resignation
in all Sorts of Calamities.— The happiest of Beings not only are subject to them, but almost daily feel them in different Shapes.—To be a Master of this truly noble Science, believe me, the Heart must be unconscious of
Guilt,
and a Rectitude of Thought must dwell in it.—In a Word, let your Intentions and your Schemes of Life be always founded in
Virtue
and
Honour;
but, whilst human and prudential Means are pursu'd, submit the Issue, with all Humility, unto that BEING, who is incapable of Error or Falshood, and into whose Hands I chearfully submit you.
JOHN KINDLY.
AS often as
Jack
read over these Lessons, he found his Cares to lighten, and received such Strength to support himself, as made him determine to pursue them as exactly as he could.—He had now been in
Dublin
about a Month, and had received all the Effects he left in
Portarlington.
The Merchant having prepared all Things for his Expedition, and equipp'd him tolerably well in Cloaths, gave him Five Guineas, and a Letter to his Correspondent Mr.
Joshua Strong,
of
Throgmorton-Street,
and embark'd him on board the
Hibernia,
bound for
London.
I HOPE it will not be expected I should furnish my Readers with the Adventures of this Voyage of ten Days, as there happen'd but the common Occurrences on such Occasions; but I am strongly inclin'd to present them, according to the Practice of other
wise Authors,
with a most extraordinary and surprising Dream
Jack
had the first Night.—He dream'd—But I beg Pardon, for I find myself at this Instant so drowsy, that I must request my kind Reader will follow my Example, and by taking a Nap, dream the Remainder of this Chapter.
CHAP. XV.
When Pleasure stumbles in our Way,
Our best Resolves too oft' decay.
Frail Nature prompts, and giddy Youth
Falls into Crimes, in spite of Truth.
ANONIMOUS.
MR. STRONG had by Post received a full Account of
Jack,
and what he was destin'd for, so that when he appear'd with his Letter, he was received with a Sort of Civility that gave him some Uneasiness. Mr.
Strong,
was at Dinner, and having asked him a few trifling Questions, desir'd him to go to the Kitchen and get some Victuals. He bore this Indignity tolerably well, for his Appetite did not permit his quarrelling with Punctilios. In the Evening some more Questions were put to him, and was told he should be taken next Morning where he was to live. It seems Mr.
Strong
had had Time to prepare Matters.
THIS was not the pleasantest Night
Jack
pass'd in his Life, but the Morning at last came that was to solve some Doubts. Mr.
Strong
took his Hat and Cane, and desir'd
Jack
to follow him. As they walk'd he told him they were going to Mr.
Champignon
's the Weaver in
Spittle Fields,
with whom he had agreed to bind him Apprentice.
You may, said Mr.
Strong,
stay seven or eight Months on Trial; but I dare say you will like your Situation so well, that you will have Reason to thank your Friends.
—
Jack,
though not quite pleas'd, was glad to find Matters no worse, and with more Chearfulness continued his March to the Weaver's.
MR. STRONG entering, cry'd, 'Well, Monsieur, here is the Boy I spoke to you about; take him, and be sure dont keep him idle.'—'Ha hah, said
Champignon,
Parbleau he be a ver pritty Garçon, and I sure you muste workè ver well, for be gar si he no Travail he fall avè de ver good Soupe-maigre!—'That's right, said Mr.
Strong,
no Work, no Meat; but I hope he'll prove a good Boy, so, Monsieur, your Servant,—I'll call on you as I go by.'— 'Serviteur, Serviteur, Monsieur de
Strang,
cry'd
Champignon,
as you plese call en pessant.'—
Jack
eye'd his new Master, and could scarcely forbear laughing at the Oddity of his Figure. He was about Sixty-five or Seventy Years of Age, tall and very thin. His swarthy Skin did not seem to belong to what it cover'd, and his Cheek-Bones, in particular, discover'd a violent Inclination to escape through. He had on an old greasy Stuff Gown, and a double mill'd Cap, that perhaps was formerly Scarlet. In short,
Jack
thought he was bound Apprentice to a Skeleton, but a certain good natur'd Smile, and an agreeable Vivacity in the old Man, gave him some Prospect of being better than he imagin'd.
MONSIEUR
Champignon,
was one of the Million whom the Religious Wisdom of LEWIS the
Fourteenth
compell'd to visit
England
and other Protestant Countries, and who brought with them many useful Arts and Manufactures. He was a Man of great Application and Industry, which, with great
Saving
for a Course of Years, made him worth about Twenty Thousand Pounds. He had a Gaiety in his Temper, and such a Fund of natural good Understanding, that his Company was extremely agreeable to many eminent Merchants. His Wife was a good Sort of old Woman; but his only Child Mademoiselle TONTON, was a most lively and pritty Girl of Twenty-four Years of Age. Her Complexion was not of the brightest, but her sparkling Eyes, and her good Shape, made her a very desirable Object. Her Father, from the Stinginess of his Temper, had disappointed her of two very good Matches, and the scandalous Chronicle of the Neighbourhood said, she had taken a proper Revenge.
CHAMPIGNON was so whimsical, that he scarcely ever spoke
French,
and his
English
was such a Medley, as to occasion frequent Laughter. When he was ask'd, Why he spoke not better
English,
he always answer'd,—
De par tout les Diables! — How you avè me speak so better Englis? Sacre Chien! I avè live dans Londres no more as Forty Year, but avec de Time, me sal avè de Conversation, Piff—Paff— so well as Monsieur me lor Merè.
JACK was employ'd in the usual Business of a junior Apprentice, and in weaving Ribbons, which he did tolerably well, but found he had not a natural Call to be ty'd to a Loom.
IT would be impertinent to attempt to entertain the Reader with the many arch Tricks
Jack
play'd his new Master, or with the Mirth
Monsieur Champignon
's English afforded. He was extremely passionate, and often call'd
Jack
a
Jean Fou-re,
an
Irland son-ma-biche,
and many other whimsical Names that always excited Llaughter.
HE had now liv'd with Mr.
Champignon
above Twelve Months, and was pretty well reconciled to the Family, whose Love he had got by Songs, and a thousand
Irish
Stories. Miss, in particular, was greatly diverted with his agreeable Chat, and he overheard her one Morning, tell her Maid;
That considering
Conyers
was
Irish,
he was the prettiest young Fellow she ever saw in her Life.
—Though his Manner of speaking was greatly improved, yet there remained enough of his Country to be severely banter'd by Miss
Tonton.
She often insisted on his making Bulls and Blunders. She laugh'd at the Words,
Unwell — Big Coat, — E're Yesterday,
and the like. —
Jack,
who was now become pretty free, ask'd her, if she understood him when he spoke.—'Yes, said she, I comprehend your Meaning well enough; but you have such unaccountable Phrases, one had need of an
Irish
Expositor.'—'I'm glad, Madam, said
Jack,
you are pleas'd to allow I speak so as to be comprehended, but a Gentleman, the other Day, in our Warehouse cry'd out,
"Did no body see any body take up never a Hat."
—'I beg, Madam, you will be so good to explain this
English
Phrase; for, upon my
Sowl,
I cannot.'—'Upon my Sowl!
said she,
and laugh'd violently at his Tone, without answering his Question.'
SUCH Sort of Conversation happen'd frequently, and was equally amusing, but as he artfully suffer'd her to have the Superiority in every Argument, and even ask'd her Advice and Instruction, she conceived a vast Opinion of his uncultivated
Genius,
and his natural good Parts.—These Sort of Beginnings, generally lead to, and are but the Forerunners of Thoughts, not so proper to be plainly set down.—These impertinent Thoughts but too often occur'd,—
Jack
had them not,—Guess who then?
MISS TONTON was one Morning at her Toilet very judiciously adjusting her Headdress before she fix'd her Stays. Young
Conyers,
passing her Chamber, was perceiv'd by the Reflection of her Glass, and calling him in a great Hurry, begg'd he'd look down her back for a Flea that teaz'd her immoderately.
Jack,
very innocently, examin'd the Part, and declar'd he saw nothing.—
Lord, said
Tonton,
you're such an unhandy Booby, you'll let the Creature escape, but look sharp,
Jack,
I beg of you.
—
Jack
look'd, but his Imagination being warm'd by the Touch, his Understanding became the clearer.—
Now, cry'd he, I see it.—There it hops, faith 'tis a Swinger.
—He then vigourously pursu'd the flying Animal, which, traversing the whole Plain of her Back, took its Course to the Eminencies in Front, where it afforded a most delightful Chase. It skip'd from Hill to Hill, practis'd all the Craft of the Hare, but
Jack
was so keen a Sportsman, that he rested not till he had fairly caught it.
ASSOCIATES in Amusements become Intimates, and frequently form Friendships. 'Twas so in the present Case.
Tonton
began to be extremely fond of
Jack
's Company, and found so many Opportunities to hunt, that one would imagine she had collected all the Fleas in the Parish, to afford him Diversion. Her Maid
Bersheba,
who was old and ugly, prevented many an Evening's Sport, so she was oblig'd to make Use of her as a Whipper-in, or as a Groom to hold the Horses. By this notable Contrivance,
Jack
was frequently introduc'd when the Family were in Bed, and stay'd till they were near rising, when he quietly retir'd through the old Maid's Room, whose
Hey-day of the Blood
was not over, but sometimes
mutiny'd in the Matron's Bones.
—It seems poor
Bersheba
was likewise subject to Fleas, and the Hunting them became not a little troublesome to
Jack.
It chagreen'd him much, and made
Tonton
very uneasy.—At last he obtain'd a long Respite, but not in the Manner he chose, for he was taken extremely ill, and a violent Fever ensu'd. No doubt he wanted not proper Care, and in Six Weeks he began to return to his Senses, and a little to recover.
THE first Use he made of his Reason, was to confess the Justice of the Punishment for his repeated Crimes.—
Bounty-Hall, Portarlington,
his Friends, and all their good Advice, now came rushing into his Thoughts with such Force, that he relapsed, and had like never to have given me the Opportunity of writing his History. His Youth and good Constitution at length prevail'd, and all Danger was over, except what might proceed from his extreme Weakness, or falling into a Consumption. He recover'd so slowly, that the Doctor, like his Brethren, when they know not what else to do, advis'd a Change of Air for a Month or two.
Champignon
was one of the few
Frenchmen
of Substance, who had not a Country House, and to take Lodgings and maintain
Jack,
would be attended with an Expence he by no means could bring himself to think of.
MR. VILLENEUF, a very eminent Merchant in
Black-Fryars,
was an intimate Friend, and had frequently diverted himself with
Jack,
whose pertinent Answers and good Understanding, made him a Sort of Favourite.—
'Champignon,
said he one Day, Why don't you send poor
Conyers
to the Country?—The Lad will die here, and his Funeral will cost you more than a Month's Lodging.'—'Ha, Ha, said
Champignon,
I do no such a-ting.—
Parbleu
I send
Jean
to de Diable—to Monsieur
de Strang.
—Dat Gentilman he never come say,
Champignon,
how
Jean Conyer
do?—Monsieur de
Strang
say noting, do noting—Poor
Champignon
muste do tout.—
Ventrebleu!
Je crois dat de Monde tink me diablement richè!—I tellê you,
Monsieur Villeneuf,
poor
Champignon
sall dye, alors you will see, you will regardé all my pauvre Richesse.'—'A d'autres,
said Villeneuf,
I know you better. Besides, if Mr.
Strong
be a
Brute,
I hope my Friend
Champignon
is not?—But I shall make this Matter easy, and honest
Conyers
shall not be lost.—Send him Tomorrow to my House at
Greenwich,
where he may be a Companion for my
sober melancholy Son,
and perhaps do each other good.'—
Champignon
was not averse to this Proposal, and
Jack,
with his Trunk, were put into a Coach, and sent off next Day.
MR. VILLENEUF, the Son, was a Gentleman of Twenty-four Years of Age. He passionately lov'd
Reading
and
Retirement,
was extremely good natur'd and
charitable;
but had a
Gloominess
in his Temper, that made him averse to much Company and Mirth. His Father, who had no other Child, was oblig'd to indulge him in his Humour, and supply him liberally with
Money
to gratify his
generous Spirit.
His large Fortune could very well afford this Expence.
JACK was as happy as his disturb'd Thoughts would permit, which were ever reflecting on his past Conduct, and upbraiding him with Actions of which he dreaded the Consequence.—
Repentance,
he thought, might avert a further Punishment, and set himself seriously to think of it.— He knew, that
truly
to
repent,
he must lead a
new Life,
and avoid his
former,
and
all other
Crimes.—But how difficult! what Struggles had he to forget
Nannett
and
Tonton!
he could not avoid
remembring
the very Thing he wanted to be
blotted
from his
Memory;
then how could he say
he would forget them?
—No, but as he could not prevent the Intrusion of
Thought,
he was determin'd to refrain from
actual Evil.
As this was the utmost he could bring himself to, he rested satisfy'd that this
Resolution
would hold firm.
THE first Week at
Greenwich
was not extreamly pleasant, as young Mr.
Villeneuf,
seldom spoke to, or seem'd to regard him, but as the Apprentice of a Weaver, for whom his Father had some Value.
Jack
perceived the Reason of this Coolness, and by Degrees stole in a
Latin Sentence;
and some
judicious
Observations, but in such Language and Accent (for he had quite lost the
Irish
Tone) that surpriz'd the young Gentleman, and made him desirous of a more intimate Acquaintance. This he easily accomplished, and as
Jack
's Health and Spirits encreas'd, he made great Progress in the Affections of Mr.
Villeneuf.
THE old Gentleman had determin'd to send his Son to
Paris
for a Year or two, that by Travel, and a different Climate and Company, he might be brought insensibly to act
like other Men.
He found his Son was much pleas'd with
Jack,
and propos'd his going with him as a kind of
Servant,
of whom he might at Times make a
Companion.
The young Gentleman express'd his Satisfaction, and
Conyers
was vastly delighted at seeing a little more of the World, and not be oblig'd to return to the
perpetual Motion of the Shuttle.
I MUST leave the Management of
Monsieur Champignon
to the old Gentleman, and bid adieu to
Spittle-Fields, Tonton
and
Bersheba,
for in three Months Mr.
Villeneuf
and
Conyers
found themselves in the Capital of
France.
CHAP. XVI.
The Learned, full of inward Pride,
The Fops of Outward show Deride;
The Fop, with Learning at Defiance,
Scoffs at the Pedant, and the Science:
The
Don,
a formal, solemn Strutter,
Despises
Monsieur
's Airs and Flutter;
While
Monsieur
mocks the formal Fool
Who looks, and speaks, and walks by Rule.
Britain,
a Medley of the Twain,
As pert as
France,
as grave as
Spain,
In Fancy wiser than the Rest,
Laughs at them both,—
GAY.
JACK was now in his Ninteenth Year, of a good Stature, good Complexion, and, when dress'd, was a very
genteel
and
handsome
Fellow. His Eyes were black and sprightly; he had a most agreeable Smile, and something so easy in his Manner, that he prepossessed every one in his Favour, almost at first Sight. When he spoke, it was with
great Modesty,
but his Learning and good Sense made him heard with Pleasure. He had found out the
grand Secret
of Conversation, which was to
speak seldom, but to the Purpose,
and he had likewise learn'd to get the better in an Argument,
by sometimes giving it up.
HIS fix'd Allowance from Mr.
Villeneuf
was but small, but he equipp'd him with decent Cloaths, ruffled Shirts, and from Time to Time with
Money
sufficient to dine at a good Ordinary, and be always clean and neat. Mr.
Villeneuf
generally went out about Ten in the Morning, and return'd to his Lodgings about Five in the Evening, except he went to the Comedy, but never expected
Conyers
till about Eight or Nine o'Clock.
Jack
always attended when he was dressing, but was of little Use, as a
French
Footman performed all that Operation.
MR. VILLENEUF had a
Fencing
and a
Dancing
Master, rather because it was the
Fashion,
and that his Father insisted on it, than for any Use they might be of to him. The Gentlemen constantly attended, but
Conyers
principally received the Benefit of their Instructions. He likewise was very diligent at a Neighbouring Academy for Riding. This was of infinite Advantage, as it strengthened his Limbs, and gave him a Carriage that still added to the Gracefulness of his Person. When his Curiosity was pretty much gratify'd, he applied closely to the best
French
Authors, making their
History
and
Language
familiar to him. He examined and enquired, as far as he was able, into their
Laws,
their
Customs
and
Manners;
and made such Observations, that more learned Travellers need not have been asham'd of. He had a Genius for Figures, and made himself a tolerable Master of some Branches in Mathematicks. In a Word, he took Care to be fully employ'd.
HIS young Master, or rather his
Friend,
had Books enough, and in Conversation gave him many Hints which he improv'd. One Night at Supper,
Villeneuf
told him, he wonder'd at his staying so much in the House; and that he ought to go more into the
World!
'You are always
said he,
poring over Books, and advising me against what you practise yourself.'—'I confess, Sir,
said Conyers,
it is but too true. I am necessitated to act like the
Gascoin;
for, not having it in my Power to read the
Great,
I must content myself with the
small World,
as I find it in Books.'— Pray,
said Mr. Villeneuf,
how did the
Gascoin
manage?—'Why, Sir,
reply'd Conyers,
the
Gascoin
was just as
poor
a Fellow as I am, but he took it into his Head to be
industrious,
and amuse himself with selling Water in
Paris.
An old Friend met him and his Pitchers, and was vastly surpriz'd that a
Gentleman
of his
Noble Blood,
could so demean himself, as to follow
so low
an Occupation. Lord!
reply'd
the
Gascoin,
you quite mistake the Matter, for I am a Man of
great Importance,
and such a Favourite at Court, that the
King
has granted me
the Waters of the Sein,
but, as I have not found a
Chap
to buy the
Whole
at once, you see I am oblig'd to
retail it.
—'So,
said Villeneuf,
the Moral of the Story is, that your
Poverty
prevents your following my Advice; but henceforward, that shall be no Obstacle. My Appointment is more than I possibly know how to spend, and must desire your Assistance in the Management of Part of it. To begin, take these
Fifty Pieces,
and command more when they are gone.'—Sir,
said Conyers,
I own I meant to beg a little Money, but could never imagine your
Generosity
and
Goodness,
extensive and great as they are, could lead you into such an Act, that my poor Services can
never repay.'
CONYERS, like
Numps
in the Comedy, was quite another Creature with
Money
in his Pocket, and so elate, that he could not avoid imparting his good Fortune to
Madam Commode,
the Milliner where they lodg'd. She rejoic'd exceedingly, and extoll'd Mr.
Villeneuf
's Generosity to the Skies, but still insinuated, that
the Bounty was vastly lessen'd, when the Worth and Value of the Receiver was consider'd.
—Many were the Compliments and Encomiums bestow'd on him by the
good Woman
and her fair Daughter,
Madamoiselle
MADELAIN. This young
Lady
was bless'd with peculiar
Eloquence,
and such a Fluency of Speech, that
Conyers
press'd her Acceptance of a Couple of
Lewis d'Ors,
which, by some
accidental
Words, he found she stood in Need of. With great Difficulty she consented, but assur'd him,
it was owing to his irresistable Politeness.
—He imagin'd sometimes, she was
troubled with Fleas,
but he found those of
Paris
more nimble than those he had before hunted; for, though he often attempted, yet he never could catch one of
Madelain
's.
HE din'd most commonly at a neighbouring Hotel frequented by very good Company, where he had the
Honour
of hearing the
English
pretty severely handled, particularly by
Monsieur
MAQUEREAU, and the
Chevalier
FANFARON.—'I can't conceive,
said Maquereau,
how
London
maintains itself, for most of the Inhabitants transport themselves to
Paris.
'—'True,
cry'd Fanfaron,
those
English
of
some Understanding,
know they can never improve but by
our Company.
'—'I can't blame them,
reply'd the other,
for it shews some
Glimmering
of a good
Taste.
The
English, continued he,
have that
plodding
Turn, and that Sort of
blunt Stupidity,
that enables them to
make Money,
and as foolishly to
throw it away.
Were it not for their
Guineas,
their Company would be
insupportable.
'—'It must be confess'd,
said the Chevalier,
that their Purse is the
best furnish'd
Part about them. They are
aukward and clumsey,
and have not the least Spark of
French Politeness.
'—'I'm sure,
said Maquereau,
(raising his Shoulders) we take great Pains to make them
reasonable Animals,
by sending such a constant Provision of
Cooks, Milliners, Taylors, Footmen, Silks, Embroideries,
and a Million of other useful Ingredients in the Composition of a
fine Gentleman
or
Lady;
and so
ungrateful
are the Creatures, that they send us
nothing
in Return.'— Fo—re,
cry'd the Chevalier,
what the Devil have they to send us? So
Monsieur
BALLANCE comes
in Person
to return their Thanks.'—Many more
vain
and
impertinent
Remarks pass'd between them; and the
Chevalier
concluded, by saying,
It must be allowed,
France
is the Nation in the World, where People see good Manners and true Politeness.
CONYERS was very uneasy at this Conversation; but
Monsieur
DE PENSE, an elderly Gentleman, took a Glass of Wine, and said to him, 'Mr.
Englishman,
I have the Honour to drink your Health. 'Tis the
English Fashion,
and I love it the better. I have great Obligations to the
English,
and regard them as a
brave
and
generous People.
As for their
Politeness,
I swear they have more than what you have seen this Day at Table.'—'Sir,
said Conyers,
I am very glad to find so much in
one
Gentleman, and am disappointed at not discovering the same in
all.
'— How, Sir!
cry'd the Chevalier, in an half Angry Tone.
—Sir,
reply'd Jack very briskly,
you'll be so good to indulge me two Words, before your Warmth encreases. Gentlemen,
continued he,
I am in
Paris
by Command; therefore, am not one of those who come meerly to
learn Fashions.
All Nations have
Fools
in Abundance.—
English Fools
go Abroad, because they have Money, and perhaps the
Fools
of this Country stay at
Home,
because they have none. I frequently meet them, and sometimes
dine
with them, and, if you will take their Words, they are Men of
Taste
and
Politeness;
and, to convince you of it, they will tell you the
English
are
stupid
and
barbarous.
They'll say the
rudest
Expressions with the most
respectful
Bow, and call it
Good Manners.
I own, Gentlemen, my Ignorance cannot comprehend the vast
Politeness
of such a Conduct, but my little Experience has taught me not to judge of a whole Nation, by a few recent
bad Samples.'
—
Fanfaron
and
Maquereau
swell'd with Choler, but
Pensé,
in a Sort of peremptory Manner, desir'd them to be easy, and added,—'I am asham'd of all this. Every one here knew this young Gentleman was
English,
and every one of us ought to strive who could most oblige him. If Gentlemen will strike the
Ball,
they must expect it will
rebound,
and I doubt not but the young
Englishman
is as capable of handling a
Racket
as either of you; but by G— he that offends him, by Design, offends me.' —'I offend the Gentleman?
cry'd the Chevalier,
I hope I have more good Manners.'—'I am truly sorry,
said Maquereau,
any Pleasantry of mine should offend a Stranger, much more one of so
respectable
a Nation as
England,
and I hope the Gentleman will be so good to grant me his Pardon.'—'Sir,
said the Chevalier to Jack,
I ask the same with the utmost Sincerity, and flatter myself the
Good Nature,
so peculiar to the
English Nation,
will demonstrate itself on this unhappy Occasion; for, be assur'd, Sir, we had not the least Intention of
affronting you,
or our dear Friend
Monsieur de Pensé.'
—Mutual Compliments having pass'd, the Affair was finally adjusted, but Mr.
Pensé
begg'd a further Acquaintance with
Conyers,
for he was vastly satisfy'd with his Conduct.
AT Supper,
Jack
acquainted Mr.
Villeneuf
with his Adventure, who seem'd extremely pleas'd he had come off so well.— 'That idle Partiality to
our Country,
and the
despising
all others,
said Mr. Villeneuf,
gives Rise to a thousand Quarrels. Do not our vulgar Countrymen most heartily abuse the
French,
and all other Nations? And I believe many of our Great-ones do the same.'—'In this, Sir,
said Jack,
you may very justly say,
The Great Vulgar, and the Small,
Differ in little,—if at all.
The
highest
and
lowest
Class only vary in their
Vices,
by the Manner of committing them. They have their
Amours,
and are equally gratified.—One may drink
Champaign
or
Burgundy
to Excess, and the other be as happily drunk with
Beer
or
Gin.
—One may
game
for a Thousand Pounds, and
the others
be as eager, and
cheat
as much in Play for Two-pence.' —'But,
said
Mr.
Villeneuf,
in
Swearing
and
Cursing,
as their Capacities are
equal,
they are equal in every Part.'—'In abusing the
French, said Conyers,
they may have a Shadow of Reason, because they are always
publick
or
private
Enemies; but what can be said, Sir, when they
abuse
and
insult
a whole
Kingdom,
govern'd by the
same Monarch,
the
same Laws,
and
inhabited
by the
same People,
as themselves?'—'I suppose,
said Villeneuf,
you mean the People of IRELAND, for I know you have a warm Side to it.'—'Sir,
said Conyers,
I shall not deny it, neither do I think it a
criminal Warmth;
for he who wishes well to
a Part
of his
Majesty
's faithful Subjects, ought to do so to the
Remainder.
'—'Not only so,
reply'd Villeneuf,
but is bound in
Duty
to wish well, that is, to endeavour to convert the
bad ones.
Your Observation on the Insults offer'd the
Irish,
is, I think, rather too general, and holds true; but, with Regard to what you term the
great
and
small Vulgar,
Gentlemen of a
certain Education,
think differently, and are not Slaves to
old Popular Errors
and
Prejudices.
However, I believe you will confess, that the
infamous
Practices of some of the
Irish,
don't much contribute to remove the
Partiality.
'—''Tis too true, Sir,
said Conyers,
and many pay for their Pranks with their Lives, and die suddenly in
Tyburn Road.
If a poor Wretch has, or takes on himself a Name, something like the
common Irish,
every
News-Paper
charges him to the Account of
Ireland,
when perhaps some other Part was intitled to the
Honour.
This has often made me wish, that the
Hibernians
had a
Gallows
erected for their own proper Use, as they have here for the
Normans;
and, who knows, but a
certain Shame
might operate more forcibly than the
Severity
of Laws.'
Well, well,
cry'd Villeneuf,
I am for the
Ford,
let it fit whom it will. As for the
Abuse
and
Banter
bestow'd in general on the
Irish Tone,
or Manner of Speaking, I think it falls only on
those
who give it; but as you seem to interest yourself about
them,
and I believe know little of the
Conduct
of
England,
with Regard to that
Kingdom,
I shall give you, some Time or another, a short Tract on that Subject, which I have chiefly collected from the Observations of my Father.
—
Conyers
return'd him many Thanks, and Mr.
Villeneuf
desiring him to keep up his Acquaintance with
Monsieur Pensé,
retir'd to his Chamber.
CHAP. XVII.
Of all the Follies we can boast,
None, sure, can be so strong,
As pay a Fool to rule the Roast,
And guide our Children wrong.
What Man, who plows the fertile Soil,
And hopes
Reward
for
Cares,
Will call the
Crows
to reap his Toil,
And be content with
Tares?
ANONIMOUS.
NEXT Morning
Conyers
paid a Visit to
Monsieur Pensé,
and was genteely received. The usual Compliments being over, I doubt not, Sir,
said he,
but you 'were greatly shock'd, Yesterday, at the Impertinencies of the
two Scoundrels;
but, as you very justly said, that you would not brand a
whole Nation
for the Faults of a
few,
I believe I can strengthen your good Sense, by informing you who those Men are.'—'I am sure, Sir,
said Conyers,
they are Persons of low Minds, which made my Resentment fall the lighter; but I must own my Obligations to you, for extricating me from an Affair that might have been as
troublesome
as
necessary.
'—'I promise you,
said Pensé,
you owe me nothing, and you will be convinc'd of it, when I have the Pleasure of being better known to you. At present, permit me to give you a short Account of those Gentlemen who gave themselves so many
Airs.'
FANFARON was very early dubb'd a
Knight
of the
famous
and
ancient Order of
INDUSTRY. It is impossible to inform you of his many Exploits in
France, Italy,
and in
England,
where I had the Honour of meeting him and
Maquereau
at a Gaming-Table, and detected them of using loaded Dice:
Fanfaron
fell to my Share, and
Maquereau
to a Friend. The Discipline of the
Cane
and
Kicking
lasted a full half Hour, and was so entertaining, that they have ever since done me the
Honour
of being extremely complaisant.
THE
Chevalier
got acquainted in
London
with Mrs.
Smith,
the Wife of an
Italian
Merchant. She was a most charming Woman, and her Husband was extremely fond. His Business calling him to
Leghorn,
he prudently settled his Affairs, and made his
dear Wife
sole Executrix, and divided his Fortune between her and a Child. Poor Mr.
Smith
went off, and his tender Consort would have been inconsolable, had not the good-natur'd
Fanfaron
comforted her in her Afflictions.
AT last the
Chevalier
persuaded her into a Scheme to make their Joys more compleat, and not so liable to be interrupted by the Curiosity of a
Husband.
He very dexterously forg'd a Letter from the Correspondent at
Leghorn
to Mrs.
Smith,
full of kind Expressions and Friendship, and the great Difficulty he was under, by being oblig'd to mention the
Loss
of so
worthy
and good a Man as Mr.
Smith,
who took a
Fever,
and, in Spite of all Assistance, and the Skill of Physicians, died in his Arms the Ninth Day, confirming a
Testament
made in
England.
MRS. SMITH was now a
Widow,
and acted that Part to such Perfection, that her Relations thought she could not long survive.'—'Good Heaven!
cry'd Conyers,
I shudder at the Consequences.'— Well, Sir,
said Pensé,
notwithstanding her mighty Grief, her
Weeds
and
Administring
to the Will were not forgotten. In fine, she call'd in the Debts, sold off the Stock in Trade, the House, and every Thing belonging to it, and finding herself in Possession of
Six Thousand Pounds
in Cash, very fairly bid
Adieu
to her
Husband,
her
Child,
her
Father,
and all her Relations, and flew with her beloved
Fanfaron
to this famous City.
POOR Mr.
Smith
return'd soon after to
England.
If his Pleasure was great at the Thoughts of meeting his
dearest Wife,
what were the Torments he endur'd, when he found he had not only lost
her,
but was reduc'd to
Beggary?
Words cannot express his melancholy Situation, and the Manner of it afflicted him more than had he been depriv'd of all, by any other Accident. His Friends did all in their Power to asswage his Woes; and, as he had an extream good Character, and was really an honest Man, the
Merchants of London
acting like themselves, supported his Credit abroad, advanc'd him Money, and set him so fairly in the World, that I left him greatly recover'd in his Spirits and Fortune.
'DEAR Sir,
said Conyers,
you give me great Joy, but I am curious to know, if possible, what became of Mrs.
Smith.
'— Her Fate,
reply'd Pensé,
was dreadful enough.
Fanfaron,
for some Time, liv'd a gay and splendid Life.
Constancy
and
Humanity
were not amongst his Virues or Vices; so that in about Twelve Months,
Madam
was sent to
Graze on the Common,
till at last, having run through every Scene of Misery, attended by a
guilty
Conscience, she finish'd her Days in the Hospital of
La Charitè.'
TEARS stood in
Conyers
's Eyes; but when he a little recover'd, 'poor Wretch,
said he,
as the Hand of Providence is so visible, I shall not pretend to arraign its Justice or Mercy.—I presume,
continued he,
Monsieur
Fanfaron
enjoys the Remainder of her Fortune with
vast
Comfort and Satisfaction, and doubt not, but he will some Day or other, have the Honour of entertaining a Crowd at the
Greve;
'—'and very likely,
added Pensé,
attended by his Friend
Maquereau.
—This other fine Gentleman,
continued he,
was a Footman in
Paris,
and went to
London
with an
English
Lord. Had he had common Honesty, he might have made a Fortune, for he don't want Sense. He pass'd through many Services, and was remarkably dextrous in the
nice
Conduct of an Affair, which in
Italy
is managed by
a Secretario de Amore,
and what in
England
is term'd
Pimping.
The Money he got by this Branch of Business, was all laid out at the
Gaming-Table.
However, I found him in
Paris
a few Years ago, with an
Equipage;
but by some Circumstances that then happen'd, I have Reason to believe his last Master was not the richer for him.—But let us drop these Fellows, for they are not worth our Thoughts, tho' we are compell'd sometimes to
dine
with, and be
civil
to them.'
'I OBSERV'D,
said Conyers,
an
Englishman,
at Table Yesterday with a young Lad, and what surpriz'd me was, they never open'd their Mouths, but to
eat
and
drink.
'—'O,
reply'd Pensé with a Laugh,
the Gentleman you mention, is a BEAR-LEADER.'—'A BEAR-LEADER,
cry'd Conyers,!
In the Name of Wonder, what Profession is that?' Why, Sir,
answer'd Pensé,
A Bear-leader is a Man who understands
Latin
and
Greek,
and is well paid by a rich Father, to take his
Child
and
expose
him through every great Town in
Europe.
'—'I suppose,
said Conyers,
you mean a
Governor
to a young Gentleman in his Travels.'—'You may give it,
reply'd the other,
what Name you please in
England,
but I am sure they here give it the proper Appellation; for the
Boys
that generally follow these
Leaders,
may very justly be call'd
Cubs.'— Conyers
smil'd, and the Conversation continued on various Subjects till they withdrew to Dinner.'
IN the Evening,
Jack
gave Mr.
Villeneuf
some Account of his Visit, and did not forget the Description of a
Bear-leader.
—
Certain it is,
said Villeneuf,
nothing improves the Mind of a young Man like
prudent Travel.
We are sensible of this in
England,
but
few
know how to conduct it.—We generally take a
Lad
from the
University,
where, tho' he has acquir'd
some Learning,
yet he is as ignorant of the
World
as his
Bed-maker,
and at once
Case
him up in fine Cloaths, and let him
Run
a Winter or two in
London.
He is then
taken up
and
saddled
with a Governor, who
Races
him round
Europe,
and in two or three Years he returns to his
dear Parents
loaded with the
Bawbles
and
Vices
of each Country.'— And is this, Sir,
said Conyers,
the mighty Uses of Travelling?'—''Tis but too frequently so,
reply'd Villeneuf,
but when a Youth of Education, improved by good Company, travels with a Gentleman of
Sense
for his Companion, his Friends may expect the
Harvest
of a thorough Accomplishment. This Youth will remark on the
Strength
and
Weakness
of different Countries; on the
Usefulness
of different
Manufactures,
and endeavour to
transplant
those Sciences that may advantage his Country, and improve it. This I call
travelling,
and not
riding Post;
but to send a
Boy
of Sixteen or Seventeen Years of Age, who knows nothing of his own Country, with a
Pedant
as
ignorant
as himself, is truly, what your Friend calls
exposing both
to the
Ridicule
and
Imposition
of Foreigners, and brings a Contempt on our Country.—
One
will improve by the
good Customs
and
Manners,
and the
other
as certainly catch the
Follies
and
Impertinences
of every Nation they travel through; and every Nation have some of
one,
and too much of the
other.
'SIR,
said Conyers,
tho' I do not pretend to be a Traveller, yet I cannot help observing, that the
Courtesy
of this Country is not of
the right Breed.
Their Civilities, or, as they call it,
their Politeness,
seems to me rather an Habit, and
Jingle of Words,
than to carry a Meaning significant of what they express.'— Sometimes,
said Villeneuf,
it is so; yet, when I find myself deceived, their Manner of doing it, prevents my finding Fault, and even pleases. 'Tis
this Sort
of Manner that makes a Stranger
pass his Time,
more agreeably in
France,
than in most other Countries, and what I wish our People had a little more of.'—I believe, Sir,
answered Conyers,
if our
English
want that
Manner,
they make it fully up by their
Sincerity.
—So we say,
reply'd Villeneuf,
but suppose it Fact, What have I to do with the
Sincerity
of a People with whom I mean to pass but a short Time; to contract no particular
Friendships;
and to keep myself in that neutral
civil Stile
which every Man has a Title to? Believe me,
Conyers,
Men of Fortune will be naturally drawn to
that Place
where they can purchase most
Pleasure,
and receive most
Honour.
You may, if you please, call it
Flattery;
but since we choose to
swallow,
they are in the Right to administer
the Dose.
'—'I wonder,
said Conyers,
that so much of it don't turn the Stomach.'—Just the contrary,
reply'd Villeneuf,
for the Stomach is so accustom'd to it, that it becomes a
real Nutriment,
and a Nutriment, that many
Courts
in
Europe
are so fond of, that they will purchase it, tho' their
Liberties
may be the Price.—I have often heard,
said Conyers,
that the
French
have always aimed at
Universal Monarchy,
but I should imagine, that the Fate of the
Romans
who fell by their own Weight, would deter them from such a Project; but
Ambition
and
Glory
have no Bounds.'— If,
said Villeneuf,
they have such Notions, they may manage in another Manner. By the Conversation I have frequently had with some Gentlemen of Understanding, I have laid down a Plan of
French Politicks
by Way of
Hypothesis,
and not as
Truth,
which is very difficult to come at. If my Conjectures are right, their System is short, and far from
impracticable.
—But it is now late, so take it, and examine it at your Leisure.'
WHEN both were retir'd,
Conyers
read, and copied, as he always did, the Observations of Mr.
Villeneuf.
He now began, from the Study of
Books,
to examine the
Truth
from the Study of
Man,
and compare them together. — The Reflections of Mr.
Villeneuf,
and the Additions made by
Conyers,
according to the Time he had occasion to mention them, must be left to that
Time
to discover; for he is now going to Bed, and so am I.
CHAP. XVIII.
'Tis an Old Maxim in the Schools,
That Flatt'ry is the Food of Fools;
Yet now and then your Men of Wit
Will condescend to take a Bit.
SWIFT.
CONYERS constantly visited Monsieur
Pensé
and was much improv'd by his Company. Mr.
Villeneuf
was so extreamly pleas'd, that he supplied him very liberally with Money; but whatever good Sense
Jack
possessed, he by no Means understood the Uses of
that Commodity.
His
Landlady
and the fair
Madelain
were determined to enjoy an
equal Share
of it, at the small Expence of a little
Flattery,
and the nice tickling the String of
Vanity
and
Self-Opinion,
so common in
Youth,
and what
Age
and
Experience
are not always Proof against.
THESE Ladies had engaged the Esteem of
Conyers,
by a thousand winning Ways; but now, his
Person
and his
vast
Accomplishments were the Theme of every Hour. When they spoke of him to Strangers, it was with
Rapture,
but they took Care that he was
within hearing.
This Sort of Conduct not only produced frequent
Plays, Operas
and Parties of Pleasure; but often extracted
half a dozen
Pieces for some pretended Emergency, which were repaid by
Madelain
in
Caresses,
and by every Freedom except
the last.
THEY often wished that
Conyers
had a Fortune agreeable to his Merit, and insinuated, that perhaps they might be of Service to him. —'It is not,
said Madame Commode,
a New or Uncommon Thing for
Ladies
of
Fortune
to make themselves Happy with a young Gentleman of your
Figure
and
Understanding.
'—'And I know,
said Madelain,
a most beautiful Lady with
half a Million of Livres;
that, I believe, sees Monsieur
Conyer
oftener then he imagines.'—'In a Word,
cry'd Madame,
since my Girl has blabbed out so much, I must tell you a little more. The Daughter of a
rich
Banker of
Paris,
has seen you, and is actually in
Love.
Her Companion sups with me this Evening, and you must be of the Party.'— Lord, Madame,
cry'd Madelain,
what a charming Couple they will be! how
delightfully
will they live!—What a
superbe
Equipage, and
magnificent
Hotel! Good God! What cannot
Youth, Beauty,
and
Riches
do together.'—'Hold, hold,
said her Mother,
not so fast if you please. Fair and softly:—This must be a Work of some Time, and managed with
great Address,
or we shall stumble on many Difficulties.'—
Conyers
blush'd, and gave many Thanks for the good Opinion she was pleased to entertain of him—that he would study to deserve her Favour, and would be entirely guided by her.—'Leave it to me,
reply'd Madame,
and I will engage to make something of it.—I need not desire you to be chearful and free with the
Lady
to Night, but don't think of making her any
Presents
till you become a little more intimate, which I hope will be about the third Visit.—
Presents
must be made, but let them be
genteel
and
frequent.
—They
pave
the Way, and
oyl
the Hinges,—
You understand me.
'— Extremely well,
reply'd Conyers,
and as I know they are absolutely necessary they shall not be wanting.'
CONYERS provided some excellent
Burgundy
and
Champaign,
and in the Evening was presented, with great Form and Encomiums, to the
amiable
Companion of the Fair
unknown.
At Supper he was extremely Gay and polite, and, at her Request, sung several new Songs in an elegant Taste.—
Mademoiselle
FARDE was highly delighted with his agreeable Company, and gave many Proofs of it.—
Madame Commode
and
Madelain
were very lavish in their Praises, and the Night concluded with mutual Marks of Esteem and Respect.
A SECOND and a Third Evening past pretty much like the First, except that
Mademoiselle Fardé
and
Conyers
were very intimate and free;
Madame Commode,
by Accident shewing some fine new fashioned
Caps
and
Ruffles, Conyers
embraced the luckly Opportunity of presenting
Mademoiselle Fardé
with what she seemed to like most. The Gift was a
Trifle
of about
Twelve Lewis d'Or's;
and, with great Entreaty, was accepted. That Night the
good Lady
of the House brought on the proper Subject, and with some Hesitation
Mademoiselle Fardé
acknowledged that
Monsieur Conyer
was not indifferent to the
Lady
she had the
Honour
to live with.—
Conyers
bow'd and assured her he was in
Love
with the Description of that
beautiful Angel,
and with many Apologies, begged she would convey a small
Billet
to her fair Hands.
Mademoiselle Fardé
objected to such a Proceedure, and would have absolutely refused it, had not
Madame Commode
and
Madelain
most artfully pleaded his Cause.—He had a
Letter
prepared, which he most respectively gave her.—She was equally
ready,
and, with a wink, slipped a
Note
into his Hand.
WHEN all were retired he read his
Billet
which contained these Words,
I have my Reasons. Let me see you To-morrow Evening at Six o'Clock in the Tuilleries. Keep this a profound Secret. Adieu.
—
Conyers
was punctual, and
Fardé
was exact.— She told him, 'twas impossible to meet so often at
Madame Commode
's without being observed, and to take him to the
Lady
's House was impossible; that to be of Service to both, she had taken a
private
Lodging, where they could settle Matters, and where the
Lady
would certainly meet him, were it in her Power. She then added,
We may be observed even here, let us retire.
—
Conyers
attended, and was conducted to a little Lane, and a very
indifferent
Chamber of which she had the Key.—Here she informed him of many Particulars with Regard to the
young Lady,
and gave him Hopes of bringing Matters to bear, and promised her utmost Assistance. — So much Goodness naturally claimed a
grateful
Return, and at last she was prevailed on to accept
Ten Pieces.
His
Generosity
charmed her, nor could she forbear answering his tender
Embraces,
which by Degrees became more
Fervent,
so that —
you will permit a Continuance of this History.
HE had now compleatly fixed
Mademoiselle Fardé
on his Side, yet they met at his Lodgings as usual, but more frequently in this.—The young
Lady
answered his Billets in a proper and polite Manner, and permitted him to
Hope.
He reply'd as politely, and the Correspondence went on in the most agreeable Manner, though he sometimes thought that
the Postage was rather too expensive;
however, as he was sure of the Lady's Affections, he judged it well bestowed, and waited for the Issue with great Patience for above Four Months.
ONE Morning as he was going out, he found a Letter to
Madame Commode,
which had been dropt by Accident, and he read,
Dear Commode,
YOU have afforded me infinite Pleasure by the Company of the
English Man.
Were he
richer,
our
Profit
would be greater; however, I shall do my Part to ease the
poor Devil
of what he don't know the Value of. I send you back the embroidered Petticoat, which the
Fool
gave me last Night, so give the Bearer
Six Lewis d'Or's.
I shall call on you To-morrow, and think I have a Scheme to keep the
silly Fellow
's Hopes alive, at least
three Months
longer. Adieu.
FARDE.
No
London
Citizen look'd so much
Aghast,
At the
dread Shock
of first or second
Earthquake;
Nor
Broughton,
famous Bruiser! felt such Pangs
When
Slack,
the Pupil of his Iron Hands,
Rais'd his tough
Fists,
and with a mighty Stroke
Bury'd those
Eyes
that saw to aim so well;
As
look'd
and
felt,
the
Poor,
the
bubbl'd Conyers.
He stared and read, but at last cry'd out,
I am an
English Man
—I am a
poor Devil,
a
Fool,
and
silly Fellow,
but—
Art to Art,
'—and then he left the Letter just where he found it.
HE recover'd his usual Sprightliness, and went to find Mr.
Pensé,
to whom he communicated the Beginning of this Affair in a very serious Manner; but
Pensé
had no sooner heard
Madame Commode
named, than he bid him,
have a Care.
—'I am surprized,
said he,
that a young Fellow of your Understanding, has not found out that
that Lady
is but of the middling Order of
Bawds.
—You are her
Dupe,
her
Cully,
and give me but Permission, and I shall demonstrate it to you.'— Permit me,
said Conyers,
to thank and save you the Trouble, for I know it perfectly well, but my Knowledge is not Three Hours old.'—He then told him the Remainder of the Story, and begged his Advice, which
Pensé
gave, with an Addition of good Instructions.
CONYERS found Means to persuade
Villeneuf
to change Lodgings, and on various Pretences to borrow a few
Louis
from
Madame Commode,
and even from
Mademoiselle Fardé.
—At last he contrived a Letter as from
London
to a Merchant in
Paris,
wherein, among many Particulars, he expressed his Surprise,
that
Mr.
Conyers would choose to live in the Manner he did with
Mr.
Villeneuf, when a large Estate waited his Orders, by the Death of his Father.
A Gentleman delivered to Mrs.
Commode
this Letter open with Directions where he lived, but that he would have the
Honour
of waiting on Mr.
Conyers,
in a few Days.
'TIS not easy to conceive the Impression this Letter made on the Mother and Daughter. They gave it to
Conyers
with prodigious Respect, and formed Projects infinitely more
extensive
than the first.—He told them he knew of this before, therefore was not elate on any Advancement of
Fortune;
but he likewise found a Time to persuade
Madelain
to accompany him to
England,
and
share
it with him.—As she consented to his generous Proposal, it is not surprising that they
sealed
the Agreement in the
most solemn Manner.
HE was now out of the House of
Madame Commode,
and constantly visited
Mademoiselle Fardé.
This
good Creature
was much more liberal of her
Favours
than he expected; but
Jack
being of a free communicative Temper, Miss
Madelain
shared in her
Bounty.
He soon was sensible of his Situation, and applyed to his Friend
Pensé,
who, with a Smile, said,
This Affair has ended with strict
poetical Justice,
and let it there remain. Drop these
fine Ladies,
and make your Court to a
Surgeon.
POOR
Conyers
was greatly mortified.— The Reflections of his
Mind
were not
lightened
by the Pains of his
Body.
He found he had not only acted
imprudently,
but
wickedly;
and, once more, began to
repent,
that is, to dread a sharper Punishment; for he had that Sort of uneasy
Fore-boding
in the Soul, that many
feel,
but what none can
describe
or account for.
HIS Intimacy with
Pensé,
for almost two Years, had grown into a strict Friendship. —To this sensible Man, he discovered his present Situation, and almost his whole Life, and received such Consolation and Comfort, that greatly alleviated his Sorrow. —They were now in the
Tuilleries,
and the Surprise of
Conyers
was extream, when Mr.
Pensé
began to speak in
very good English.
—
'Tis but just,
my dear Conyers, said he,
to repay your Confidence in me, by giving you some Account of myself, which I shall fairly do, and in few Words.
I WAS born,
continued he,
in
London,
of
French
Protestant Parents, and my real Name is
Villars.
My Father was a
Mercer,
and bred me to the Business; but it seems, my idle Inclinations led me more to
Plays, Gaming-Houses,
and
Horse Races.
—My Father thought, that a prudent
Wife
would take off my Wildness, and provided me with as good a one as ever Man was blessed with.—We commenced in Trade, and had tolerable Business; but
Diversion,
or what they call
innocent Recreation,
was
strong
in my
weak
Head. I was often at the
Play-Houses,
and a constant Member of two or three
notable Clubs.
—I sometimes tryed my Fortune at a
Masquerade,
where my Disguise saved my
Reputation,
but not my
Purse.
— I kept a Brace of good Geldings, and frequently ventured Fifty or an Hundred Pieces at
Epsom, Tunbridge,
and other
Races.
—My poor
dear Girl,
with gentle Words, and Tears in her Eyes, has remonstrated the
Injury
I did my
Credit;
— That I
lost
not only my Money to
Sharpers,
but my
Youth
and
Time,
which never could be recall'd.—I laugh'd at her sober Follies, but she never replyed, but, —Well, well, I hope my dear
Tom
will
think
before it is too late.
NOTWITHSTANDING my idle Extravagancies, my
dear Wife
managed the Shop so well, that my Circumstances rather increased than diminished.—The Folly of appearing
rich
in the Eyes of the World, is a sure Way of being
poor
in Reality.— This Folly I had, and without considering my
Force,
I took a House and Garden at
Dulwich,
kept my
Chair
and more Servants; and, according to Custom, went there on
Saturdays,
and returned on
Mondays;
but to my Shame I speak it, I did worse, much worse, for I kept a
Whore.
—Oh, Mr.
Conyers!
could my Example, could the Compunction of Mind I now feel be a
Warning
to Mankind, I should have some Pleasure in being a
Sacrifice
for their Use!—Well, Sir, these Matters took their
natural
Course. I began to think People asked for their Money more frequently than they were wont.—I was pestered with
Duns.
—I practised all the
low Arts,
and Contrivances to silence their Importunities.—My
Plate
and
Silks
often visited the
Pawnbrokers,
and sometimes I was privately
arrested.
—My Mind was on the
Rack.
I suffered the Torments of the
damn'd;
and all this, for
Follies
and Imprudencies, that, in the highest Enjoyment, afforded but an
insipid Pleasure.—Good God!
what exquisite
Misery!
Though my Temper was soured, my
dearest Girl
bore my Peevishness with a peculiar Sweetness of Manners. —So far from reproaching my Conduct, she had laid down a
rational Plan
for retrieving all.—No doubt her Trouble was
great,
but it was
internal,
and her delicate, tender Nature
sunk
under the Weight, and she—
died in my Arms!— Oh Conyers!
—
Poor Pensé
could utter no more, for his Heart swell'd, and
the round Drops chac'd one another down his manly Cheeks.—Conyers
was much in the same Situation, but at last he said from
Shakespear,
'Thy Heart is big, get thee apart and weep:
'Passion I see is catching; for my Eyes,
'Seeing those Beads of Sorrow stand in thine,
'Begin to water.'
They took two or three silent Turns in the Walks, and in about a Quarter of an Hour
Pensé
had so much recovered as to be able to proceed.
To the Loss of my
Wife
was added the
Infidelity
of my Servants, which my Carelesness made an easy Matter.—Finding the Impossibility of re-establishing my Credit, I secreted to the Value of
Five Hundred Pounds,
and leaving my
Shop
and
Effects
to the Mercy of my
Creditors,
took Shelter in
Paris.
—I had but one Comfort in all my Misfortunes, for I had no
Child
to share the Afflictions of a
guilty Father.
IN this City I have chiefly resided for Fifteen Years, and get a seeming Livelihood by lending Money on Pledges, but the
British Minister
is my principal Support. He has employed me on many Occasions, and to give him Intelligence of every Occurrence these Ten Years past. Four Years ago I went to
London
on his Affairs, where I met those two worthy Gentlemen,
Fanfaron
and
Maquereau.
— The
French
look on me as one of themselves.—I live quietly, and as a Gentleman, and believe I am not suspected.
—
Conyers
return'd him many Thanks for his candid Relation, and assured him of his inviolable '
Secrecy.
THEY were now talking of indifferent Matters, when
Pensé
turn'd suddenly and said,
Pray what is the Motto to the
Order
of the
Bath?
—
Conyers,
though surpriz'd at the Question, answer'd, 'TRIA JUNCTA IN UNO.'—'Then,
reply'd Pensé,
observe those
three
Gentlemen by yonder Tree in such earnest Conversation, and then you will see the
Motto
in
Reality.
—One,
continued he,
is an
English Non-Juring Parson;
the
other
is a
Irish
Man of the
Society of Jesus,
and the
Third
is a
Scotch Man
of the
Episcopal Church.
— Those three, and many others of the same Stamp, have Pensions here, and at different Times reside in
London,
and
divert
themselves, and
frighten
the credulous People by numberless
Pamphlets
and Paragraphs in
News-Papers,
full of
the Decay of Trade.—The Weakness and Wickedness of the Ministry, be they whom it will. —The Danger of our Liberties by Pribery and Corruption.—The dreadful Consequences of a Standing Army,
and many other popular Subjects.—The
Scotch Man
is a Master of his Trade, and keeps up the Credit of his Books by, very ingeniously,
answering them himself,
which furnishes him an Opportunity of
replying to himself.
—They really are Men of Learning and strong Parts, and meet with great Encouragement from the
Enemies of England.'
I SHALL not, said
Conyers,
interrupt their
pious
Meditations, for I am call'd to Mr.
Villeneuf,
who, I fear, waits, for my Appetite informs me it is near Dinner-time.
—Few Ceremonies suffice amongst Friends, and they parted, but promis'd to meet soon again.
CHAP. XIX.
If Dame
Partial'ty
but holds the Glass,
Full sure, in ev'ry Virtue we surpass.
Change but the Mirror, and let
Prudence
speak,
We'll blush at Error, and our fond Mistake.
ANONIMOUS.
FOR some Time past, Mr.
Villeneuf
had frequently made
Conyers
of his Party, and was not disgrac'd by his Behaviour. This Day a select Company din'd at an eminent Citizen's.—Chearfulness and good Humour added the true Relish to the Entertainment; but when the Servants were withdrawn, the Conversation fell on particular Subjects.—
As no Man,
said Monsieur St. Martin,
can judge so impartially of his
own Country
as a
Stranger
of Understanding, I should be glad Mr.
Villeneuf
would give us his Opinion of
France,
with Freedom, and his accustom'd Sincerity.
—Many Apologies were made, and Compliments returned, till at last Mr.
Villeneuf
consented, provided that the Question was fairly stated.—'I cannot suppose,
said he,
you mean to have my Opinion on what regards State Affairs.'—'No, no,
reply'd the other,
we only beg your Thoughts of the
People,
their
Politeness,
their
Manners,
their
Dress
and their
Happiness,
or otherwise.'—''Tis a difficult Task you have assigned me,
said Villeneuf,
and will require your Patience: But as
great
and
little—long
and
short—strong
and
weak,
are made such, only by
Comparison,
I hope you will permit an alternate Account of
England,
under the several Articles.' —The Company approv'd of his Method, and he began.
FEW People on Earth are blessed with such a Fund of Spirits and
natural Gaiety
of Temper as the
French;
and yet few Nations are more crampt in the
natural
Exercise of it. They
laugh,
they
sing,
they
dance,
and seem content. The Publick are constantly supplyed with Amusements, and
Policy
has so contrived, as to make
Glory
and
War
be thought a rational Recreation. All are disregarded but those who serve the
King
in his Troops; his
Majesty
's Name is never mentioned, but with the profoundest Respect. We never see his Portrait hung out as a
Sign,
in
Paris,
because it would be treating the
Monarch
with too much Freedom, but the Sign of the
Holy-Ghost,
and all the
Saints
are dispersed through every Street. A King is always the Head of the most childish
Games,
and at
Cards,
the Best, is honoured with that Title.— Such Principles are propagated with great Art, and the Religion of the Country admitting
Auricular Confession
and
Absolution,
an
Absolute Monarch
can, with Ease, direct the Current of Opinion.—Men of Learning and Judgment must go with the Stream, for it falls from too high a Fountain to be resisted, whatever their private Sentiments may be. Besides, Two or Three Hundred Thousand
Orators
well armed, will always carry Demonstration and Conviction. In
England,
where the Constitution admits the full Enjoyment of
Property,
and where
Property
is proportionably divided amongst all the Inhabitants, one would imagine they should be more chearful than the
French,
but the Fact is otherwise; for this very
Property,
and the
Liberty
of employing it, has the contrary Effect. They have the
Blessing,
but a
Jealousy,
and the perpetual Dread of
losing it,
throws
Thorns
on their
Pillows,
and, like the Miser, they
starve
in the midst of
Plenty.
They employ
Watchmen for their Security,
yet are in constant Fear of being
plundered
by them.—This is the Rise of all the Clamour against an
Handful
of Troops.—The Religion of
England
teaches
Duty
and
Submission
to the
King,
and those in Authority under him, but some imagine, that the
Liberty of England
gives the People a Right to
abuse all;
not considering, that by
lessening
and
ridiculing
the just Power and Authority of their
Governors,
they
lessen
their own
Weight
and
Consequence
in the World.
FRANCE has propagated the Notion of
Military Honour
to such a Degree, that they are become a Nation of JANISARIES, and perhaps must be treated as such,—that is, they must,
Right
or
Wrong,
be frequently employed.
Commerce
and
Traffick
flourish in Peace.—
Riches
and
Plenty, Learning
and
Knowledge
are the Consequences, as well as
Pride
and
Luxury.
Men naturally become fond of these Sweets, and will not quietly forego them. They will find out their own
Strength
and
Power.
They will expect a Freedom of
Action,
as well as
Thought,
and
absolute Monarchy
will fall before them.—RICHELIEU knew this.— He broke and divided the Power of the
Nobility,
not like
Henry
the Seventh of
England,
amongst the People, but added
all
to the Dignity and Power of the
Crown.
—MAZARIN did the same, and LOUVOIS, FOUQUET and COLBERT compleated the Project, and the long Reign and Ambition of LEWIS confirmed it. The
King
of GREAT-BRITAIN is the Fountain of
Honour;
but the Monarch of this Kingdom is not only the
Fountain
of
real,
but the
Creator
of
imaginary
Honours. A trivial
Cross
dangling at a Button-hole, gives a
French
Gentleman such a Spirit of
Honour,
as to intreat a General to permit him to mount a Breach. In
England,
it must be a
valuable Consideration
that can persuade most Men even to do their Duty.
THE Fashions of the two Nations are on different Footings. Here, in whatever Manner the
King
or those about him are pleased to wear their
Swords,
or dress their
Hair,
it instantly becomes the Practice of all
Paris.
Every Man from the
Duke,
to the
Porter,
has his
Hat
cocked and his
Coat
cut nearly in the same Manner.
London
affords more Variety.—There every Man dresses according to his
Fancy.
Some have Coats below the
Knees,
and Breeches down to the Middle of the Leg. Others mount their Breeches to the
Thighs,
and raise their Skirts to their
Waists.
Some Shopkeepers dress like
Privy Counsellors,
and some of
high Rank
may be mistaken
for Coach-men.
—I am ignorant who had the Honour of inventing
Weepers,
when in Mourning, but I think I may venture to affirm our Manner of wearing them answers the End of Ornament, and keeps the Shirt from being
blacken'd
by the
Coat.
To wear them on the Top of the Sleeve, can answer no End.
THE
English Ladies
rely on their native Charms, nor want the Assistance of
Paint
to heighten their Complexions. Whether the
French Ladies
really stand in Need of Art, I know not, but their Conduct seems to imply it.—Whatever good Sense the
French
are Masters of, this is certainly not the most glaring Instance.
IN
France, Politeness
is not always
good Manners,
neither is the
Bluntness
of an
Englishman
always a Mark of
Sincerity.
The
Lye
is more frequently given in
France,
than is generally imagin'd, but the
Pardon
that is
begg'd,
and the
Excuse
that is
demanded, (Je demand Excuse; Pardonne moi)
softens the
Negative,
which, with the Addition of sundry significant
Gestures,
Custom has made That genteel, which frequently is the Reverse.—In
England,
these Customs are accounted superfluous, and they
deny
or
contradict
in plain Terms, even without the Assistance of the
rude
Monosyllable.
I HAVE been often told,
"I must own."
(Il faut avouer) 'I confess I do not understand the Phrase.—If
I must believe,
I am depriv'd of the Liberty of thinking for myself, and my Arguments must cease, when I am pinn'd down to the Reasons of my Antagonist. In
England,
the Freedom of judging is held more sacred.
THE Theatres of the two Nations were different. The Tragedies and Plays of the
English Shakespear
gave Rise to those of
France.
His Imagination was not confin'd by the Rules of
Aristotle,
as, perhaps, he thought he had as good a Right to
Alter,
as the other had to
Make.
If the
English,
by following new
Models,
are more regular in
Unity, Time
and
Place,
I am sorry to say, their
Fire
is not so
bright,
nor will their
Heat
last so long. —
Monsieur de Voltaire
and
l'Abbé le Blanc
take great Pains to shew the Absurdity of some of our Authors, in transporting the Audience to different Kingdoms, and continuing the Scenes of one Play for many Years, but they do not tell us, that in Tragedy or Comedy, where we are to suppose an
easy, natural
Conversation, it is
unnatural
to make the Parties speak in
Rhyme.
They insist, that the Action should be confin'd to twenty-four Hours; if so, I apprehend it is unnatural to have it represented in three. If twenty-four Hours Business can be shewn in so short a Time, we may as well have twenty-four Years.—The
Abbé
complains of our murdering on the Stage, and says, that a Man, not understanding our Language, must take us for a barbarous People, delighting in Blood. Should a Man, not understanding
French,
see the Stage in Tears, and in the utmost Agony of Grief, must he not wonder what has occasioned it? The Truth is, neither of the Stages are made for those who do not understand the Language, but I really think every Stranger, or
Frenchman
of Sense, must be shock'd at the
unnatural absurd
Entertainment of a
Speaking Harlequin
with a
patch'd Coat, and a black Face.
THE
English
are full
loose
in their Morals, but I really think,
Libertinism
reigns here in a much higher Degree. The
French
have a Way of varnishing their
Vices,
and making them more dangerous and catching than our aukward Manner can arrive at.—When an
Englishman
swears by his
Maker,
it is shocking, but when the
French,
with Eyes and Hands lifted up, cry out,
Sacred God!
(Sacré Dieu!) it is little regarded, as it is the common Expression of every Ten Minutes. The
French
have another
Phrase,
which is but too commonly us'd, even before
Ladies,
and what some Ladies are as familiar with. This
Phrase
serves to shew
Pleasure
or
Anger,
according to the Tone or Manner of speaking.—How often are the Words,
Fou-re, Fou-u, Bou-re, Bou-sse,
pronounc'd in the
politest Assemblies,
and pass'd over as if no
Idea
was annex'd to them?—I am ignorant of any Rules that establish such Indecencies, except the strong
Law
of a
bad Custom.
I am much pleas'd that
Voltaire,
and
le Blanc,
could not mark
these
amongst our other
Follies;
but they totally forget them when they mention their
own.
The
Abbé
very justly censures the
Looseness
and
Ribaldry
of some of our Comedies, but he omits to inform us,
that no Nation excels
France
in the Multitude of abomiable and filthy Books.
INFORMERS against the
Breach
of the Laws, are absolutely necessary in every
civiliz'd
Government. The Informer, when his Motive springs from
Conscience,
and the Good of his Country, is a most
valuable
Subject, and merits the Regard of Mankind. But to be inform'd against, and hurried to the
Bastile,
or
banish'd
in an Instant by a
Letter de Cachet,
without knowing the
Accuser
or the
Crime,
may, for aught I know, be very good
Policy,
but I am sure it is not
Justice.
—In
England,
let the Motives of
Information
be what they will, the
Informer
is, not only, not
skreen'd
and
shelter'd
from his Enemies, but is given up to the
Reproach
and
Invectives
of an
engrag'd
Populace.
Laws
are made, and
Punishments
assign'd for Transgressors, but our
Vox Populi
decrees a severer Treatment to the
Discoverer,
and
saps
the very Foundation of Laws.
WITH regard to the Happiness of the
French
or
English,
no Mortal can judge. It must be left to their own Decision; that is,
each
will give the Preference to
themselves,
for each have that
natural
Prejudice and Partiality to their own Country, that persuades them into an Opinion of their
peculiar Felicity.
—Did not Mankind deceive themselves, by imagining an
ideal
Happiness, they would be miserable in
Reality.
—Deform'd Persons have generally a large Share of
Vanity
and
Self-Opinion.
They are infinitely happy, when their Mirror discovers
Beauty
and
Charms
which the World do not find out. Such a Conduct is justify'd by the wise Scheme of
Providence,
as it gives Ease and Comfort to their Lives, which otherwise would be almost insupportable. —Perhaps the same Argument may be apply'd to
Kingdoms.
Thus, Gentlemen, I have given short
Hints
of my private Opinion, taking Things in a
general
Light, but I know there are many Exceptions.—The
Wise,
the
Good,
the
Honest
of both Nations, have equal Sentiments, and speak one
common Language.
—Both Nations have their
peculiar
Virtues as well as Vices.— In a Word, if the People of
one
were less a Dupe to
Glory
and
arbitrary Power,
and the
other
less a Prey to
extravagant Liberty,
I apprehend,
both
would have more Content.—But to be
perfectly happy,
is not given to
human Nature.
THE Company express'd much Satisfaction at Mr.
Villeneuf
's Discourse, particularly at the Manner he conducted it.—At last one of the Gentlemen said, I know
England,
and some of their Laws. I know the Nature of their
Parliament,
and the Power of the
Crown.
I know the vast Benefit of their
Juries,
and the good Effects of their
Habeas Corpus
Act. My Knowledge but increases my Astonishment, that a People, enjoying a
Liberty
and
Freedom
unknown to all
other Nations on Earth,
should
repine
at their Situation, and take Pains to imbitter the
blessed Waters
of
Peace
and
Plenty.
Since all Things, as you say,
rise
or
fall
by Comparison, what Happiness would the
English
enjoy, did they but turn their Eyes on the
Miseries
of other Kingdoms?' As
Frenchmen, reply'd another,
we ought not to be angry at their Conduct; for, were they
truly
sensible of their Happiness, and
all united
to their
real Interest,
what
Power
could stand before them? No doubt, our
Ministry
know this too well, to neglect any Opportunity of
dividing
them, nor is it a difficult Task; for the
Liberty
of the Country, and the unbounded Licence of the
Press,
easily furnishes
Tools
to work with.'—'I am afraid, Sir,
said Villeneuf,
your Conjecture, is but too well founded, yet I must hope,
Time
will open our Eyes, not by supressing the
Press,
but by despising the
Invectives,
the
Slander,
and the
vile Insinuations
it too frequently throws out.
THE Conversation insensibly became more general, and their different Opinions were given with Freedom and good Humour.
Conyers
had his Share, and made himself very agreeable by sprightly and chearful Turns.—
Come, come,
said Monsieur St. Martin,
talk as you will, I think it is given up, that we live with
Gaiety, Mirth
and
Chearfulness,
and
that
is Living. The Want of this, I believe, is the Reason that SUICIDE and MADNESS are much more common in
England
than in
France.
'—'Pray, Sir,
said Conyers,
let me be permitted to take off a little of the Imputation, and account for the
seeming Difference
from other Reasons, than what Monsieur
le Blanc,
and other
French
Authors have given.
MANKIND,
continued Conyers,
are pretty much the same in every Clime. Our
frantick Disorders
are conspicuous to the World.—If
France
be equally liable to them, the Nature of their Government casts a
Veil
over the Misfortune.—With
us,
if a poor Wretch
hangs
or
drowns
himself, the
News-writers
immediately give the Circumstances and his
Name
to the whole Kingdom.—Such an Affair in
Paris
is seldom known beyond the District he liv'd in.—As to
Madness,
we cannot insist on a Parity in Numbers.— We have
publick
and
private
Mad-houses in Abundance, and many unhappy Creatures are expos'd to
publick
View.— Perhaps
France
has less Need of these
Edifices,
when 'tis consider'd they have, at least, an
hundred Thousand
of both Sexes in
Monasteries
and
Convents.
—As these
Seminaries
take in the several
Degrees
from the most
Austere
to a Life of easy
Inaction,
may we not naturally suppose, that Numbers of the
Inhabitants
take Shelter into those ORDERS, that have the
nearest
Affinity to the Degree of
Enthusiasm
and
Madness
with which they are possess'd?—Of this, the many thousand Volumes of
Lives
of
Saints,
many of whom never
existed,
but in the Brains of
Monks,
is a convincing Proof.—If we meet Numbers in different Habits walking the Streets, and
seemingly
exercising the Function of
right Reason
and
Understanding,
who can count those confined to their
Cells,
or to the Limits of their
Garden?
I am not singular in my Conjecture, for the famous
Monsieur d' Aubigny,
about the Year 1600, writes this Epigram.
HUGUENOTS, fascheux & Austeres,
Qui blamez tant les
Monasteres,
A la Pareille, dites nous
Où l'en pourroit loger les
Fous?
Ill-natur'd
CALVINISTS,
who scold
At
MONASTERIES,
and what they hold;
Without their Aid, pray tell us plain,
Where could we all the
MAD
maintain?
THE Epigram furnish'd the Company with a good deal of laughing Chat, though they did not deny but there was some
Truth
in the Question.—Time puts an End to all Things, as it did to this Conversation. —The usual Compliments and Bows being made on all Sides, each separated to their Places of
Repose,
which affords me and my Reader an Opportunity of doing the like.
CHAP. XX.
What God, alas! will Caution be
For living Man's Security,
Or will insure his Vessel in this faithless Sea?
Where Fortune's Favours, and her Spight,
Roll with alternate Waves, like Day and Night.
COWLEY.
NEXT Morning Mr.
Villeneuf
found himself much out of Order, yet he could not avoid mentioning what, with Design, he had omitted in the Conversation of Yesterday.—
God forbid,
said he,
that persecuting Spirit should ever prevail in
England,
yet I should imagine,
Self-preservation
ought at least to keep us upon our Guard against the Encroachments of POPERY; for, though
we
are not their
Enemies,
because they are
Papists,
yet they are certainly our's, because we are
Protestants.
—We suffer them in
England
to
purchase Estates;
and the Influence Property carries with it, is sometimes too visible.—They are likewise permitted to
sell
their Estates, but the
Hugonots
in
France
may
purchase,
but cannot sell.— We allow our Subjects to attend the
Romish Chapels
of Foreign
Ministers,
but what
Frenchman
dare visit our Ambassador's Chapel at
Paris?
—Without forcing the
Consciences
of Men, I think we
might,
and
ought
to take some Example from our Neighbours.—Sending
Protestant
Youths of both Sexes, to be educated in the
Colleges of Jesuits,
or in the
Convents
of
Nuns,
is such a
monstrous,
such an
absurd
Practice, that, as no Name can be given, so no Punishment can be equal to the Crime.
THIS, Sir,
reply'd Conyers,
has often surprised me, but there is another Matter, equally astonishing.—I know what was formerly understood by a
Nonjuror.
I know that a scrupulous Conscience might refuse the Oaths to
King
WILLIAM, when he had before taken them to
King
JAMES, but I cannot conceive what a
Nonjuror
is in these Days.'—'And you will, said
Villeneuf,
be more amazed, when I tell you, he is one of those
rank Weeds
that the best
Land
is most subject to. A
Nonjuror
is a Person that avails himself of that
Liberty,
and Constitution of
England,
which his
Principles,
and the
Study
of his whole Life,
labours to destroy.
—He denies the
Validity
of the Foundation of our
Laws.
—He calls himself a
Protestant,
and yet acts on
Popish
Tenets.—How it is possible, such a Being can be suffer'd in our State, is past my Comprehension. —If he refuses the
Oath
of Allegiance, which I wish was more frequently tender'd, what
Security
has the Government for his Conduct? And ought he not to be
expell'd
a Society, to which he
avows
himself an Enemy?—If he must be Resident, why is he not serv'd like the
Jews
in
Germany,
and oblig'd to wear a
Badge
of Distinction.
ON this Subject Mr.
Villeneuf
gave many Hints, but
Conyers
prevented his enlarging too much; and, as he saw his Countenance frequently change, he persuaded him to lie down.—All the Morning he complained of a violent Head-Ach, and Pain in the Back. —All Precautions were taken, and the best Physicians employ'd, but all prov'd ineffectual, for this
good,
this
valuable
young Gentleman
died
the fourteenth Day.
POOR
Conyers
was in the utmost Affliction, for he lost his
Brother,
his
Friend,
his
Master,
and his whole Support.—For some Time he was not able to attend his own Interest; but the good Nature of Mr.
Pensé
shar'd his Sorrows, and directed his Conduct. —By the Will of Mr.
Villeneuf,
he found himself possess'd of Sixty Pounds, with all the Books and wearing Apparel he had in
France. Pensé
advis'd the selling the Books and all the Cloaths, except the Shirts; which done, he had about
One Hundred and Fifty
Pounds to begin a new Life. —
Pensé
knew perfectly his Situation, and many Projects were thought on to put this Sum to a proper Use; but, as neither of them could contrive how he might
live
on it, they pass'd them over without fixing, but
Pensé
promis'd to think for him.
WHILST their Imaginations were busily employ'd in forming Plans for his future Conduct, an Accident happen'd which I am almost asham'd to mention. I once intended to have suppress'd this Accident, but my strict Adherence to
Truth,
obliges me, though with Reluctance, to make it a Part of this History. Besides, as all the Memoirs and Papers that serv'd in compiling this
great Work,
are now deposited in the
Cotton Library,
for the Perusal of the Curious, and to vouch the Authenticity and Impartiality of this Performance, with what Face could I
omit
or
gloss over
a material Circumstance, and make my Veracity doubtful to the Publick. If
some
have taken a contrary Method, I am determin'd to
keep mine Integrity.
CONYERS did not always dine at the same
Hotel,
for different Companies afforded him different Remarks. At one of these Ordinaries, he had made a Sort of Acquaintance with a genteel young Man, of about his own Age, without inquiring into his Character. The Conversation happen'd to turn on the Folly and Absurdity of
Gaming,
and this Gentleman laid open the Subject and the Schemes of
Sharpers,
in so clear and convincing a Manner, that charm'd
Conyers.
—After Dinner, they took a Walk together, and renewed the Subject.—'Few Men,
said the Stranger,
understand
Play
better than I. Formerly I was a
Bubble
to it, but when I became a Master, and might have won back the Money I had lost, though I don't much want it, my Friends and Relations got round me, and oblig'd me to renounce
Gaming
for myself. I now assist some Friends, and but last Night I won
two hundred Pieces
for the Gentleman in Blue, with Gold
Brandenburghs,
that din'd with us. This I frequently do, and am of Use to some
honest Fellows.
'—'I should imagine,
said Conyers,
that a Man who constantly
plays,
must sometimes be liable to
Quarrels, Disputes,
and many other Difficulties.'—'I grant you,
reply'd the Gentleman,
such Affairs happen in poor low Company, but the Assemblies I frequent, are composed but of People of
Rank
and
Fortune.
Most of them
incog.
so no one takes Notice, or seems to know another, but all are on the same Footing.'
OUR Hero listen'd with great Attention, and, by his many Questions, seem'd desirous to venture a small Matter, which perchance might
double
his Fund. The two hundred Pieces won last Night, ran strangely in his Head, and his Imagination put him already in Possession of such a Sum. Like a
Fish,
he went round and round, and often nibled at the Bait, till at length his eager Desires surmounted his Fears, and he swallow'd the
Hook.
WHEN
Conyers
propos'd visiting the
Temple
of
Fortune,
the other made some few Difficulties, but was at last prevail'd on to lend him his Skill. In Pursuance to the Plan of Operation,
Conyers
gave him
Forty Louis,
and put
Twenty
more into his own Pocket. It was too soon to begin the Project; and, to divert the Time and raise their Spirits, the Gentleman proposed a Bottle of
Champaign.
They finish'd two, and
Conyers
found himself extremely elate, and prognosticated vast good Fortune. He was like
Alnaschar
the famous
Glass Man,
for he had rais'd his Thoughts, and built the Edifice of
Grandeur,
but others had the Honour of
kicking
it all down.
THEY arriv'd at the Temple, where the
Priests
were assembled, and very earnest at their
Devotions.—Conyers
was fix'd at a Table with good Company, where he won and lost, but much wonder'd his Friend did not appear and assist him. He grew a little uneasy, but when he enquir'd, the Gentleman was not to be found, neither did any one know his Name.
Conyers
was unwilling to suspect him, and pursu'd his Fortune singly.—As no Man knows his own Courage till he is try'd, so
Conyers
knew not his
Passion for Play,
until he was at a Gaming Table.—His twenty Pieces being near expir'd, he ventur'd to ask,
If any Gentleman would give him Credit till next Morning, in case he lost.
With great Politeness they all agreed,
there was no Difficulty in confiding in a Gentleman of his Appearance.
THE Play continued, and the
Dice
flew about with the usual Vehemence.—The
fickle Goddess
held the changing
Balance,
and joy'd to see such true, such fervent Zeal in all her Votaries.—The
Rites
and
Ceremonies
being finish'd,
Conyers
began to examine the
Mythology.
He now discover'd that the
Doctrine
was extremely erroneous, for he had not only lost
all
his
ready Money,
but was indebted above
Fifty Louis d'Ors.
—The small Remains of the Night was not employ'd in the most agreeable Reflections, neither was the Morning usher'd in with happier Thoughts, for the Crime of last Night
star'd
him full in the Face, in the Shape of
three Gentlemen
with Demands of Money. Whilst employ'd in discharging these
Debts
of Honour, Mr.
Pensé
enter'd, which put him in the utmost Confusion.
Pensé
began to imagine that his Friend had taken up the Business of
lending Money
on
Pledges,
but a little of their Conversation soon convinc'd him of his Error.
WHEN the three Gentlemen had retir'd, our Friends stood silent, and gaz'd on each other for some Time.—
Well Sir,
said Pensé,
I find the
Prudent,
the
Wise,
the
Sagacious
Mr.
Conyers
is beholden to
Sharpers
for making his Fortune, and giving him Experience.
—
Conyers
blush'd, and, with some Hesitation, told his melancholy Tale; but concluded, with heartily
cursing
the Falshood of the
French.
—
Very fine,
cry'd Pensé,
very fine, indeed. You have been bubbled by
Pickpockets,
and you damn a whole Nation; but the Truth is, you ought to quarrel with your own
Folly
and
Imprudence,
and I hope you will so effectually do it, as for ever to banish them your Company.—
Gaming, continued Pensé,
is the most ruinous of all Vices. It is—
AS an
Historian,
I must be extremely angry with one HENRY FIELDING, who has wrote the Memoirs of a
profligate Fellow,
whom he calls TOM JONES.—This Man has done me great Injury, and I am apt to believe has seen the
Materials
of this History; for in one of his Volumes, he has not only copy'd the very long Discourse Mr.
Pensé
made on
Gaming,
but has rak'd together all that the
Wisest
have said, or
could
say on that Subject; so that he has very
unfairly
depriv'd me of the Benefit of a Dozen or Twenty Pages, which I must strike out, or be thought a Plagiary.— This is not the only Place where the said FIELDING has curtail'd my Reputation and crampt my Genius.—Without saying more on this
barbarous
and
ungentleman-like
Usage, I must insist, that the good natur'd Public will believe, I should have had
more Reflections,
and have been as fertile
in Wit
and
Humour
as the said
Fielding,
had he not
cruelly
and
enviously
forestall'd my Invention.
CONYERS was all Attention to Mr.
Pense
's Harangue, and most faithfully promis'd to shun Temptation and avaricious Thoughts. —
The Mischief is done,
said Pense,
so I shall upbraid no more. I had a Scheme for your Service, but doubt your consenting to it. I shall not flatter you, for,
Why should the Poor be flatter'd?
But what I have to say is my sincere Opinion. —You are,
continued he,
a very handsome genteel young Fellow, you have Learning and Understanding. You have cultivated your Talents by the Additions of polite Accomplishments; and the Excellency of your Voice, and your good Nature, make you belov'd by all. My
dear Conyers,
it is no Crime to be conscious of our Perfections, the
Folly
lies in being vain of, or over-rating them.— With your Endowments, and a prudent Management, you may make your Fortune, and be happy.—A Man must
stoop,
before we can justly say, he
rises.
In a Word, I wish you would act the Part of a
Servant.
—You will be maintain'd and cloath'd. By your Address, I know you will acquire Esteem; and, as there are Secrets in all Families, no doubt but some may pass through your Hands. Out of these, and sundry Accidents that unavoidably happen, you may scheme some civil Employ, and establish yourself in the World, as many
worthy Men
have done, not bless'd with half your Capacity.'—
Jack
listen'd, but made no Reply. —'There is,
said Pensé,
another Argument in Favour of my Project, and a strong one, for I do not see what else you can do.
—This last Reason got the Better of Pride, and
Conyers
consented.
NOW,
said his Friend,
to convince you I have had you in my Thoughts, I can promise you a Service with an
English Lord,
now returning to
London;
he is rich, extremely good humour'd, but not the
brightest
Genius in the World.—He keeps an
English Wench.
—I need not
desire
you to endeavour to have her Favour.
AT Dinner they met again, when
Pensé
inform'd him that my
Lord Weakhead
with Pleasure consented, as he wanted one to take Care of his
Wardrobe,
and write his
Letters.
—
I would not,
continued he,
have you always fix'd to a particular
Service
or
Family;
for, except your Judgment shews you a Probability of succeeding in your
chief
Design, shift about, and try another Soil; but be sure to take Care of the
little Money
you have left, lest you should be too long unemploy'd.
NEXT Morning they waited on
Lord Weakhead,
who would not agree, until his
Dulcinea
had approved. In some Time the Lady made her Appearance, and was so good to say,
she
believ'd the Fellow would do well enough.
His
Lordship
told
Conyers
the Duty he expected from him, and the
Lady
added some for herself.—He was to have thirty Pounds a Year, and some
Perquisites,
to enable him to be decent.
IN three Days they set out for
England.
— The Friends parted with great Regret, and took a most tender Adieu.
Pensé
gave a Hint, that in all Likelihood a
War
would soon break out, and begg'd of
Conyers
never to write to him.
CHAP. XXI.
—Fie, fie upon her!
There's Language in her Eye, her Cheek, her Lip:
Nay, her Foot speaks; her wanton Spirits look out
At every Joint, and Motion of her Body:
Oh, these Encounterers! so glib of Tongue,
They give a coasting Welcome ere it comes;
And wide unclasp the Tables of their Thoughts
To every ticklish Redder: Set them down
For sluttish Spoils of Opportunity,
And Daughters of the Game.
SHAKESPEAR
'S Troilus
&
Cressida.
JACK
was soon settled in a Family-way in
London,
but found a mighty Difference between his last and present Master.
My Lord
had a fine House, and a Number of Servants were maintain'd at a vast Expence; yet the Whole was conducted in so slovenly a Manner, that nothing was in Order, and something was always wanting to compleat the intended Elegance.—
Madam Haughty
ruled all, and govern'd with a Power as uncontroul'd as it was extensive. She frequently school'd his
Lordship
in such Terms, that made
Conyers
conceive an utter Aversion for her. Some Times she had violent Fits of Jealousy, and on those Occasions my
Lord
was never permitted to approach, neither could any Rhetorick, except that of a
Purse,
persuade her into any tolerable Temper.—Her male Acquaintances were
Singers, Fidlers,
young
Fops,
and a Couple of worn-out
Sharpers.
Her female Friends were
Milliners, Mantua-Makers
of small Repute, and some
Nymphs
of her own Order. For these a plentiful Table was kept, and the Incense of Praise was constantly perfuming on the Altars of the
Goddess Haughty.
Tho' the House was perpetually crowded, yet properly speaking,
Lord Weakhead
saw no Company.
MADAM HAUGHTY had a strong
Levée
almost every Morning; and, because she had been in
France,
and heard something of the Conduct of their Ladies of Quality, she frequently received their Visits in Bed.
Conyers
always made the Tea, and, with a Footman, attended the Duty of the Table. One Morning, when the Company were pretty numerous,
Jack
was busy employ'd in this Office, but happening to go into the Lady's Dressing-Room, he found a Bottle with a Label, on which was wrote
Mouth Water;
and, as his Gums were swell'd with a Cold, he innocently used this Water as a Gargle. Whilst he was filling out the Tea, his Lips shrunk up, and his Mouth almost clos'd. The Company could not forbear smiling at the Oddity of his Face, which was quite distorted. Madam, at last perceived the Queerness of his Phiz, and, with a Laugh, ask'd him, What was the Matter? When he attempted to answer, his whole Face was in Convulsions; but, as he could not articulate a Word, he ran to the Dressing-Room, and produced the Bottle.
Haughty
burst into a violent Laugh, and whisper'd a Lady near her, who communicated the Secret to a Third, and in a Moment all present were in the utmost Mirth; and a thousand Witticisms were thrown out, till
Conyers
was oblig'd to quit his Station, and seek Refuge in his Chamber, where, with Patience and warm Water, he brought his Features to their accustom'd Regularity; but it was not till some Years after, he found out what had occasion'd his Disorder, and the immoderate Banter he suffer'd.
MRS. HAUGHTY carry'd her Ridicule so far, that it raised his Resentment, and determin'd him to watch her Motions more narrowly. In the mean Time he could not avoid making some serious Reflections on the Conduct and Situation of
Lord Weakhead.
He thought that the Life of a
Man of Quality
was to be employ'd in shewing good Examples to the World; and, with some Sighs, compar'd the Behaviour of his present Master to that of
Lord True good.
—He was surpriz'd how a
Peer
could run from the Dignity his
Ancestors
had purchas'd, and act below the Character of the meanest Mechanic. He was astonish'd that a
Nobleman,
who might almost command the best Society, and a Lady of the first Family, where good Sense and Honour would grace his Table, should renounce these rational Comforts, and amuse himself with the Dregs of Mankind, and a
Woman
of a most abandon'd Life. He was at last convinced, that his
poor Lord
had all the Plagues the worst Wife could give, without any one of those Pleasures she might sometimes bestow.
THIS
Lady
hath discover'd, that Delicacy and Tenderness were not the Charms most admir'd by my
Lord
in a Mistress, but that his Constitution was to be govern'd only by absolute Power. The more she seem'd to hate and despise him, the fonder he grew. Her insolent Security was such, that she scarcely made a Secret of her Infidelity, so that
Conyers
caught her one Morning
beating Time
to the Musick of a dirty Fidler. She colour'd a little, at being so fairly discover'd; but, with a matchless Assurance, propos'd his taking a Part in the
Concert. Conyers,
with a Smile of Disdain, answer'd, He had too good a
Taste,
to be charm'd with a
common vulgar Ballad.
Her Rage is not to be express'd, she swore like an old Dragoon; and in this Temper he quitted her in Contempt.
AMONGST the many who paid Court to my
Lord
and
Madam Haughty,
Mr.
Sangfroid,
a young Surgeon of
French
Extraction, was pretty constant. He had a particular Regard for
Conyers,
and was the only Person who found out his Value and Merit.
Sangfroid
was a Man of Sense, and whose Conversation was seriously diverting, and his speaking
French
extremely well, made
Conyers
fond of being often with him. To this Gentleman he told his Story, and begg'd his Advice.
I see,
said Sangfroid,
you are not perfectly acquainted with this Part of the World. I have sometimes interfered between a
Gentleman
and his
Wife,
and have made up mighty Quarrels occasion'd by
Lap-Dogs, Parrots,
and the like; but I never meddle between a Gentleman and his
Mistress.
It is of too sacred and delicate a Nature, neither can my Probe search to the Bottom of the Wound; and, as I perceive that a Mortification must of Necessity ensue, why should I give my Patient unnecessary Pain? However,
continued he,
don't repine at being dismissed this Service, but live with me until I can provide you another.
Conyers
return'd him many Thanks, and that Evening accepted his kind Invitation, for my
Lord
very gravely paid him three Months Wages, and gave him a Discharge.
MR. SANGFROID received him with great Kindness, and apologiz'd for not having it in his Power to be more constantly with him, but he never fail'd at Dinner, and seldom in the Evenings. In these Conversations
Conyers
took Care to ingratiate himself with his new Friend, and display'd his Learning and Accomplishments in so agreeable a Manner, as not a little surprized the Surgeon, who confess'd he merited an happier Fate:
But,
continued he,
it shall not be my Fault, if something don't turn out to your Advantage.
CONYERS pass'd his Time in a very satisfactory Manner, for
Sangfroid
entertain'd him with Histories of sundry Families, but with such Humour, as created Abundance of Mirth and most useful Observations; which last,
Jack
constantly added to his Collection.
CHAP. XXII.
Hail thou! who ne'er as yet was sung
By any Bard, or old or young,
Inchanting Riot! God of
Drink!
(Whatever ancient Poets think.)
Thou to the World, chief Foe or Friend,
Making some
mount,
and some
descend,
Inspire my Verse.
ANONIMOUS.
ONE Evening our Friends had agreed to go to a favourite Play, where Mr.
Sangfroid
met several of his Acquaintance. 'I see,
said he to Conyers,
a Knot of choice Spirits in the third Row; should they ask me to a Tavern, I must desire your Company; for, though it will be
Time thrown away, it will not be lost.
' 'I cannot,
reply'd Conyers,
rightly understand your Distinction, but command me.' 'That young Gentleman,
continued the Surgeon,
in a white Fustian Frock, and checquer'd Flannel Waistcoat, with the Hat of a Stage Coachman, is
Sir Nicholas Royster
of
Yorkshire,
who inherits good four thousand Pounds a Year. He's not yet of Age, but borrows Money enough, by insuring his Life. That
elderly Youth
just by him, with a red Face, is
Squire Morise,
formerly of
High Hall
in
Gloucestershire.
That fine Seat, and fifteen hundred a Year round it, has been long purchased by Mr.
Punctual,
a Banker in the
Strand,
on which the Squire has two hundred a Year Life-Rent. That genteel young Man on the other Side, is one Mr.
Fitz-Simons
of
Ireland,
where, I imagine, he has a good Fortune, for he is extremely generous. He has Chambers in the
Middle Temple,
and for these three Years has study'd very closely. A little beyond him you see a portly
fierce
Gentleman in Scarlet, with a Point
d' Espagne
Hat so cock'd, that it frights the Orange Wenches. He is called
Major Noisy,
and, I have been told, was formerly a
Lieutenant
in the Army, but was oblig'd to sell out and retire on Ensign's Half-pay; but the
Knight
is his Friend.' —'I think,
said Conyers,
you apply the Word
fierce
to the Major; now, as I apprehend, it is derived from, the
French
Word
fier,
which means
proud
and
saucy,
I beg you will give him some other Epithet, for I observe he is extremely familiar with the Orange Ladies, who seem to attack him with equal Freedom.'— Your Observation,
said Sangfroid,
I believe is right, but really the Major is far from being
proud;
but how
fier
may answer to
saucy,
I hope to convince you: However, they are all my Friends and Customers; and the Plague of my Profession is, I must not only keep them Company, but agree to every Thing they say, when in Company.'
THE Play was scarcely finished, when the Major gave a loud Hem, and having fix'd
Sangfroid
's Eyes, call'd out, —
The King's Arms,
and received a Nod of Consent.—
Sir Nicholas
and his Company got first to the Tavern, having pick'd up two special City Sparks. When Mr.
Sangfroid
and
Conyers
arriv'd, they found the
Major
and the rest very loud at the Larder. With great Difficulty Supper was order'd, and the Master, Mr.
Ryan,
conducted them into the
Rose.
— As an Historian, I am compell'd to attend, but,
courteous Reader,
if
thou'rt not charm'd with Discord of harsh Sounds,
—If a
Tavern Scene
delighteth not thy Heart, or, if thou findest thyself not disposed for a Conversation with such Company, go not thou in with me, but pass on to some other Part of this delectable History.
THE Instant the Major enter'd the
Rose,
he cry'd out,
Z—ns! what a Room has the Rascal put us into?—Here— You Son of a W—re, shew us into the
Rummer,
this smokes like Hell!
—
Ryan
was all Obedience, and, as he conducted them back, the
Knight
could not avoid saying,
Ay, ay, let the
old Soldier
alone; D— me he'll keep 'em all in Order.
— The usual Salutations began, and Mr.
Sangfroid
introduced
Conyers
to each, by their Titles.—
Sir,
said the Major,
give me your Hand. D—n all these Compliments; you seem, Sir, to be a Gentleman, and a Man of Honour, and D— me but we're all oblig'd to
Young Bolus
for your Company.
—
Conyers
just began to return the Compliment, but the Major interrupted him, saying,—'Sir, You are a very pretty sensible Gentleman, and
(ringing the Bell as loud as he could)
we'll take a hearty Bottle together, and know me for your Friend.—Here—You Ostler —D— me, where is the Wine.'— Please your Honour,
said the Waiter,
the Wine your Honour always chuses is on the Table.'—'D'ye prate, Puppy?
said he,
to Kennel, down this Instant,— Avaunt!'—The Waiter retir'd with a Smile, and then he began,
Come, Boys, —Come Lads, sit down and be D—d, and take your Wine in Peace and Quietness.
THE Company were moving to their Places, when Mr.
Morise
open'd with an hoarse Voice,—
D—n that
old Firelock,
what a Clatter he makes; curse him, he'll never be a
Conjurer,
for he wan't born dumb.
—This witty Stroke occasion'd a prodigious Laugh, which lasted with many Additions, till all had taken their Seats.
I HOPE it will not be expected I should set down minutely and in Order every single Word and Repartee during the first half Hour's Conversation. The Task would be too arduous even for the renown'd Author of
Pamela
and
Clarissa,
whose Patience nothing could equal, except that of his Readers.
Old Bunyan
would have been at a Loss, and the celebrated Mr.
Cleveland
would have found it impossible; how therefore can I, a
weak, ignorant Modern,
pretend to attempt what such
vast Geniuses
must have omitted. All I am able to do, is to beg the
learned Reader
to supply my Defects, by imagining, or,
if he can,
writing about thirty Pages of the most
fashionable Oaths,
and refin'd
Bawdy Jokes
his Wit can put together. Should his Thoughts not be sufficiently elevated for so
sublime
a Subject, let him take the Memoirs of a
Lady of Pleasure,
whose Author, as he undoubtedly merits, certainly ought to be preferr'd to the highest Post on
Hounslow,
or some other convenient
Heath.
WHILST the Supper was laying, Mr.
Sangfroid
whisper'd his Friend,
that
Sir Nicholas
had pawn'd his Honour they would have no Whores in Company that Night, for I hope,
added the Surgeon,
to amuse you in a better Manner.
—Supper over, they had just set down to fresh Bottles when Mr.
Ryan
enter'd.
Please your Honours,
said he,
here's the
Gazette,
and great News in it, will your Honour,
giving it to the Major,
be pleas'd to read it, for 'tis bespoke in the next Room.
—I read it!
cry'd the Major,
No, not I by G—, read it yourself and be d—d.
—
Ryan
began, and read of a
powerful Squadron fitted out at
Brest,
and that forty thousand
French
had Orders to march to
Germany,
and the like Number to the Frontiers of
Flanders.
That the Queen of
Hungary
was levying a large Army in
Bohemia,
which would be ready to take the Field early in the Spring.
—He was proceeding, when the
Major
jump'd up, drew his Sword, and slapping it on the Table, 'Now,
cry'd he,
we shall have a War, 'D—n my Blood but we shall. Now the Scoundrels will court me to shew them the Way to
Flanders,
and the
Prig Officers
who will hardly give me a Bow, shall come Cap in Hand, for they can't make me less than a
Lieutenant Colonel.
Z—ds! How I long to be at it, and then,
Sir Nicholas,
D—me,
Sir Nicholas,
but you shall go with me, and be my Ensign, and fight by my Side, D—me if you shan't.—Not so fast,
said the Knight,
for, D—me if I do. No, no, I know a Trick worth two of that, for, as the Gentleman said to Night in the Play,
I've four thousand a Year of as good fighting Land as any in
Europe; so I suppose if we have a War I shall pay my Club, and you and your Honour and Glory may go fight and be d—d for
Sir Nicholas.
' 'Then,
cry'd the Hero,
stay at home and be d—d, and mind your
Hounds
and your
Horses.
Z—ds, when I was of your Age,'—Why,
said Sangfroid,
when you were of
Sir Nicholas
's Age, what mighty Matters did your Honour do? Come, tell us, my dear Man of War.
I was,
said the Major,
the eighth Son of fourteen, for we were always a fine Bucking Family. My Father,
Justice Noisy,
'tis well known, had two thousand a Year in
Cornwall,
and gave his Children as much Learning as they would take. Your
Latin
and
Greek
was not my Turn, and the Fool my Master flogg'd me damnably before he found it out, which happen'd by an odd Accident, for when I was about Fifteen, the Son of a B—h was at his old Tricks with his
Birch,
but d—me if I didn't take him such a Knock over the Noddle with the Poker, that down dropt Old
Ars in presente,
and the best of the Joke was, that the Scoundrel was a
Parson.
The old Justice laugh'd heartily, and prais'd my Spirit, so I thought
I had him on.
I wanted d—ly to get to
London,
but my Chap was as close fisted as the Devil, and not a Stiver would he part with to buy me a Commission, which was all my Pride. The old Fool at last married a young B—h for Love, and used me like a Dog. D—me thought I but I'll be reveng'd, and you'll split your Sides with laughing when I tell you how I contriv'd it.—D—n my Blood if I didn't make Love to my Mother, and fairly Cuckol'd
Old Square-toes.
' Bravo, Bravo,
cry'd Sir Nicholas,
and Bravo, cry'd all the Rest.
Well,
said Sangfroid,
so when you had Cuckol'd your Father you—
Z—ns, Mr.
Purge, cry'd the Major,
sure I can tell my own Story. —Why, when I had done him that Jobb, D—me, thought I, but I'll do you another; so one Morning I made free with a Purse of
Fifty Guineas,
and, as the Devil would have it, the same Day he found
Madam
and I fairly planting his Horns. —Z—ns! how he stared, and swore and rag'd like any
Free-man in Bedlam.
I walk'd off, my Dears, and left him that Bone to pick the best Way he could.— Well, as I was saying, I walk'd off, and took the Road to
London.
As I had Money in my Purse, I thought I had all the World in a String. In a Week I got acquainted with some
fine Ladies,
and very fond of me they were, for D—me but I was as fine a Lad as ever trod the Ground, and five Foot Seven in my Stocking Feet. The dear B—hes soon made me known to some Gentlemen of Quality, so that in about a Month I knew
Drury-Lane
and
London
as well as if I had been bred and born in't; but D—me if I know to this Day how it was, but in six Weeks I'd but a single Guinea left.—Now some Lads would have
snivel'd
and
cry'd,
and begged
Pardon,
and so forth; not me by G—d. I kept up my Heart like a Man, and as I could not purchase a
Red Rag,
I bravely resolved to earn one with my Sword, so I went to the Parade, and
took on
in the First Regiment of Guards.
—The Company greatly applauded his Courage and Resolution, and he proceeded—
A Trifle, a Trifle, Gentlemen. Boys of Spirit will always,
sooner or later,
strike out their own Fortunes.—Well, this was in the Year 1711, which all the World knows was about the Middle of that
red hot War.
—To cut short my Story, we landed near
Lisle,
which my Glorious Master the Duke of
Marlborough
was Besieging, and the same Day I begged to mount the
Trenches.
—Hot Work, hot Work my Boys, for there
was
we exposed on the
Top of a Ditch
to the Fire of the Enemy for four Hours
Endways.
—Come, Gentlemen, drink about, Sorrow is dry, and d—me but I'm choaking with Thirst.
—They drank, but whilst the
Knight
and Mr.
Morise
were asking some Particulars of the Siege,
Conyers
found Time to say to his Friend,—
This Fellow was never an Officer, and I verily believe was never in any Army except as a Sutler's Servant.
—Just then the
Major
's Voice was distinct.—
Lord, Lord,
said he,
why there it is. People that stay at Home and see nothing, must have strange Notions. To be sure 'tis terrible enough at first, D—me if it isn't, but when a Man is us'd to it for four or five Campaigns as I was, 'tis a mere
Flea-bite.
— Well, as I was saying, having cut a Passage through the
covered Way,
and with fixed Bayonets mastered the
Half Moon
of the
first
and
second Parapets,
and a Breach being made in the
Glacis
by our Engineers, I boldly mounted, and the whole Army following, the poor Devils of
French
surrender'd the Town.—The
Gazette
did me Justice, and the Noble General made me an
Ensign.
At
Blenheim
the next Campaign, I did my Duty, got a few Wounds and a
Company,
and the same Year a
Majority.
—You know the rest. My old Dad
kick'd up,
and like an unnatural Son of a Whore as he was, left me a Shilling. A d—d
Peace
being made, and a Boy put over my Head, I quitted the Service, and have been on Half-Pay ever since, but now— D—n my Blood they shall beg and pray before they catch me in
Flanders.
— So drink about my Boys, I'm alive, D—me.
THE Bottle and Wit went briskly round, till
Sangfroid,
clapping
Sir Nicholas
on the Shoulder, 'There,
said he,
there's a Fellow of Mettle: I think I see him routing a whole
French
Army; I wish he'd write his Memoirs, they'd sell d—d well. What would you give,
Sir Knight,
to be able to say as much as the Major?'— Give,
reply'd Sir Nicholas,
D—me, I'd not give Six-pence. To be sure the Fellow may have seen more, for he's old enough to be my Grandfather, but d—n my Blood, I've done as much for my Time, as any
He
in Christendom.'— Impossible, Impossible,
said Sangfroid,
— Judgment, Judgment,
cry'd the Knight,
and in a Quarter of an Hour, Silence was proclaimed, and he began.
WHY, lookee, Gentlemen, I was but Nineteen, as I may say,
last Grass.
My good Father
Sir Joseph,
and my
Lady Mother
were very tender of my Youth, and gave me all the Education a Gentleman
of my Fortune
requir'd. At ten Years old I could
read,
—no body better, —and the same Year I rode one of my Father's Horses, poor
Merry Pintle,
and won the Sweep Stakes at
Wakefield Races.
D—me if I didn't.—Z—ns! I thought the old Gentleman would have leapt out of's Skin for Joy.—Next Day, my Bucks, I ran old
Sly Boots
against
Squire Mason
's Bay Mare
Miss Slammekin,
a Bye Match for Fifty Guineas, Weight for Inches. Honest
Sly-boots
had
well nigh
distanc'd the Mare, when he lost
all Four,
and canted me twenty Yards over his Head. There I lay, and was taken up for dead, tho' I only broke my left Arm and two of my Ribs.—No more by G—. When I recovered of my Wounds, all my Friends said that
Young Nick
was fairly entred.—Come Bucks, drink about.—Well, next Year, D—me if I didn't out-ride our Huntsman in a Fox Chace, and made him hellishly Jealous; but in leaping a double Ditch, I got a Tumble, and my Head fell foul of a d—d Stump of a Tree, and laid it open. See Gentlemen, see,
(pulling off a little black Wig)
here it is, you may put your Fingers in't, but, D—me, I soon hors'd for all that, and call'd out
Jowler, —Ringwood,—Ho.
—Then he display'd all the Eloquence of
Field Language,
and the Company joining in the Cry, the
Guardian of the Night
forgot the Hour, and imagined himself in
Epping Forrest.
—At Length
Sir Nicholas
found Time to proceed.—
All the Tenants
was cock sure
I'd be a clever Fellow; but when I began to kill their
Dogs,
and break their
Nets,
the Scoundrels complain'd to
Sir Joseph,
and my good
Lady Mother
gave me a swinging Lecture about
good Nature
and
Humanity,
and such Stuff; but when I was
Sixteen,
I shew'd them other Game, for D—me if I didn't get their Daughters with Child by Dozens, and at last I
tipt
the same Favour to her
Ladyship's Maid. Sir Joseph
curs'd and swore, and my
Lady
cry'd and pray'd like
Hell and the Devil;
but what did I care?—I knew they cou'dn't
swear
or
pray
me out of the
Estate,
do their worst; so because they wou'dn't let me take my Swing at Home, I
touched
the Steward for a Brace of Hundreds, and wished 'em all a good Night.—My dear
Father
at last relented his hard Usage of me, and about four Months ago he took a Leap in the Dark to
Kingdom come;
and so I'm in
Mourning
for him, as you see.
—A loud Laugh ensued, and the Bottle took its Course, and then he continued—
My Guardians, for I've enough of 'em, won't allow me to live like a Gentleman, but D—me they are bit; I won't starve in a Cook's Shop, not I, for, my Bucks, here I am
safe,
and by the Help of my Friend yonder, pretty
sound.
Now, Gentlemen, I think I've been in more Dangers than if I had fought twenty Battles in
Flanders,
and D—me I'll lay Fifty Guineas I've more Wounds than his Honour the Major.
EVERY Body agreed, and poor
Noisy
stood a whole Volly of Wit.—'Truce, Boys, Truce,
cry'd the Major,
Why what the Devil,
all upon Roger!—Fitzsimons,
do
dear Rogue,
tell us some of your foolish Exploits, and keep
Sir Nicholas
in Countenance.'—'I'd do as much for you,
said Fitzsimons,
with all my Heart, but it seems you have no Occasion, for the
Devil himself
can't put you out of Countenance.'—This encreased the Laugh, till
Sangfroid
cry'd out,
Well, Gentlemen, I must own the Major has said
a good Thing
once in his Life, and I second the Motion; to Order Gentlemen, to Order, Mr.
Fitzsimons
is up,—
hear him, hear him.
—All the Cry now was
hear him,
so
Fitzsimons
was obliged to comply, and he began.
'MY History, Gentlemen, is very short. —My Family is pretty considerable in
Ireland,
where my Father kept a good House, and lived in the true old hospitable Manner, but still gave his five Sons such Accomplishments as the Country afforded. We knew
Latin
and
Greek,
but
Dancing
and
Fencing
much better. At last the good Man died, and I, as his eldest Son, took Possession of the Estate, charged with my Mother's Jointure, and Portions for younger Children. To do the best I could for a large Family, I entered the
Temple,
and stinted myself to One Hundred Pounds a Year. I have many Relations in
London,
and some of Fashion, who introduced me into the politest Company of both Sexes, where I soon found I had a Genius for
Play,
and improved my Talent.—But, Gentlemen,
the Ladies,
the Ladies are kind, for I court them in such a Manner that few can withstand my Rhetorick.'—'Z—ns,
cry'd the Knight,
I'd give a Thousand Pounds for that Secret.'—'You may have it much cheaper,
reply'd Fitzsimons,
for when I am with a Lady I like, or whose Eyes speak a
certain Language,
I watch the first Opportunity, and
Usher the New Acquaintance,
&c.
D—me,
cry'd the Major,
If I know what you mean. I know well enough a Man may be ushered to the
King's Bench,
or the
Poultry,
or the
Round House,
and the like, where a Man may make
new Acquaintances
enough, but D—me if ever I heard of ushering a new Acquaintance to a Lady, but by a
Pimp.
'—'Why you old B—h,
cry'd Sir Nicholas,
don't you know that new Acquaintances are
New Guineas,
and that little
Fitz
slily tipt the Lady half a Score?—D—me after all, 'tis the
only best
Argument in the World.'—'Right, right,
Sir Nicholas,
said
the Surgeon,
'fore Gad you have hit it.'
THE
Knight
is so sharp,
said Fitzsimons,
there is no hiding Things from him.—If the Lady accepts my
little Rouleau
I am sure of her immediately. If she refuses, and afterwards permits my Visits, I try her again, and seldom have Occasion to repeat the Dose. From this I have the Advantage of being of her Family, as often as I please; and if it encreases not my Revenue, it at least prevents a Decrease by another Channel. —This, Gentlemen, is my Amusement, but my grand Resources are the
Chocolate Houses.
— When
Salkeild,
and
Cook,
and
Ventris,
and
Littleton,
begin to grow dry and stupid, I turn about and converse with my good Friend
Monsiéur de Moivre,
on the
Doctrines of Chances.
— Perhaps,
said Mr. Morise,
that same
Mr. De—what d'ye call him,
may be a pretty Fellow; I don't know him; but for
Salkeild
and the rest, I've seen 'em
drunk
and
sober
enough, and by the L—d they are stupid Mortals.' — That may be,
said the Major,
for D—me if I know any of 'em; but, dear
Morise,
not to interrupt you, I've often heard some of your
Tip-top
People say that your
Littleton
is a d—d clever Fellow;—but I beg Pardon, and, my dear
Fitz,
don't let us talk of
Religion;
D—n your
Doctrine,
and finish your Story.
WITH all my Heart,
said Fitzsimons,
for two Words will do it.—In short, Gentlemen, I am Master at
Piquet,
and could teach
Whist
to Mr.
Hoyle.
I care not how the World goes, for
one Lord
pays for my
Chariot,
another keeps my
Servants
and
Horses,
and many of different Titles contribute to my Family-Expences.—Thus, Gentlemen, I live, and live well, tho' the good old Gentlewoman keeps her Jointure.
Z—NS,
cry'd Sir Nicholas,
you're a happy Fellow, but I am the most unlucky Dog in the World.—There's
my Mother
now,—D—me, she has no more
Nature
in her than a Stone; for, if she lov'd her
only Child,
or my poor defunct
Father,
to be sure she'd have contrived some Way or other to have paid him a Visit by this Time.—But no Matter, for whether her Jointure falls in or not, by G—I'm determined next Bout to be
Knight of the Shire,
if it costs me Twenty Thousand Pounds.
THE highest Encomiums were ready to fall on Sir
Nicholas,
when Mr.
Morise
rose in an Extacy, crying out, 'D—me I must kiss the dear Boy.—Do, dear
Sir Nick,
stand for the County, and here I am that will support you with all my Interest, and be your Manager; for by the L—d, no Man in
Europe
understands that Matter better.'—'I thought,
said Mr. Sangfroid,
your Estate lay in another County.'—'You thought,
reply'd Morise,
Psha, D—it, why Man, all the World knows I've stood for Twenty Boroughs and Counties, and was a Member too in the
Queen's Time;
but that D—d new Ministry threw me out, and I've been fighting them ever since; but next P—t, I think I have a Borough pretty sure.'— Ay, ay, Master
Morise, said the Major,
let it alone till then, and then you may
think on't,
for that will be your Share.'— Why, you dirty Scoundrel,
cry'd Morise,
do you upbraid me in my Misfortunes, that
has
kept you from starving?'— Patience good Mr.
Morise, said the Major,
Starving! Ay, ay, D—me if you kept me like yourself, I should starve indeed.'—
Morise
lost all Temper, and whilst he discharged a thousand hard Names, and not a few Glasses on the Major, the
Warrior
practised his own Lesson of Patience, and received them with great Meekness, still crying out,—
Mr. Morise, Mr. Morise,—
don't rouse the
angry Lyon.
—
Morise
drew his Sword, but some held him, and some the Major, whose Sword, by this Time, was unsheath'd.— The Storm was violent. The
Major
's Voice was
Thunder,
and
Morise
's the Echo to it.—Mr.
Ryan
and the Waiters entered, which added not a little to the Harmony. —Now might be heard
Oaths, Imprecations, Prayers
and
Intreaties
rushing instantly out; but no Mortal could distinguish or assign a Reason.
AT last the Noise of
War
seemed to subside, and gentle
Peace
began to spread her Pinions. The mangled Limbs of
slaughtered Bottles
and
Glasses
were decently interred, and the purple Stream, that covered Half the Plain, was now swallowed up by the neighbouring Sands. All Preliminaries being adjusted, Tranquillity was proclaimed, and three Bottles called for, to sacrifice to Love and Friendship.—Bumpers went briskly round, and their Zeal was so fervent to establish a
right Understanding,
that some of the Company began to lose their own.
Z—NS,
cry'd the Knight,
what Fools were we to quarrel amongst ourselves, when the
common Enemy
is at Hand?— D—me, my Bucks, let's sally forth and
beat the Watch!
'—'Glorious Thought!
said the Major,
and let's beat up the
Bawdy-Houses.
'—'I'm with you,
cryed Morise,
by the L—d 'tis the
most finest
Fun in the Universe.—To pay—a Bill this, Instant, and let's to Business.
—All seemed to join, and whilst the Bill was preparing,
Sir Nicholas
settled the Operations.
THE Reckoning was
Three Pounds Eighteen Shillings,
and each Man put his Hand to his Pocket.—The
Major
laughed, and swearing he had changed his Breeches that Morning, and forgot to shift his Money, added,
'Tis no great Matter, for my Servant is an honest Fellow; however, Sir
Nick, tip
me a Guinea till I see you next.
—The Knight readily comply'd, and Mr.
Conyers
saying,
It is just our
Half Guineas a-piece,
threw one on the Table.—
Morise
whispered somewhat to
Sir Nicholas,
who immediately cryed out,
Z—ns, that's true, D—my B—d if the Gentleman pays a Farthing in my Company.
—
Conyers
begged to be excused; but the other insisting on paying the Whole, threw four Guineas to the Waiter. Mr.
Morise
took the Half Guinea, intreating Mr.
Conyers
to put it up; which he peremptorily refusing,
Well,
said Morise,
'tis only so much the more for the Waiter;
however, in a Mistake, he slipt it into his own Pocket.
'TWAS past three o'Clock, and the Quiet of the Neighbourhood was to be invaded, the Company in the Street, each encouraging the other in the Expedition.—But my Duty calls me another Way, for Mr.
Conyers
took the first Chair, and got safe to his Lodgings, without sharing in the
Honours
or
Danegrs
of this glorious Action, and his Friend very soon followed his Example.
CHAP. XXIII.
O that I had my Innocence again!
My untouch'd Honour! but I wish in vain:
The Fleece that has been by the Dyer stain'd,
Never again its native Whiteness gain'd.
WALLER.
SANGFROID
was rous'd about Six that Morning, by a thundering Rap at the Door. At Ten he return'd, and gave
Conyers
the Sequel to the Evening's Entertainment.—
There has been fine Work,
said he,
and our Heroes have furnish'd me Employment. It seems they began their Attack on the Watchmen a little too precipitately, so were instantly outnumber'd. The Battle lasted but a short Time, and in the Hurry, the Major and Mr.
Morise
got off to a Bagnio, but most miserably cut in the Head and Face.— The Valour of the young Knight not permitting him the proper Use of his Legs, he was taken Prisoner, and conducted to the Citadel of the Parish, vulgarly term'd the Round-House. He is tolerably bruised, and has another honourable Mark planted just over his Eye. Some of the Watch are slightly injur'd, but as they will make the most of it, this Affair, perhaps, may be made up at the trivial Expence of an Hundred Guineas.
'BUT, said
Conyers,
what became of the other Gentleman? For methinks Mr.
Fitzsimons
is a Man of more Understanding than to embarque in such an Exploit.' —'He
(answer'd the Surgeon)
slipp'd off with me, and whisper'd, "He had no Idea of Fighting, where nothing but the Reverse of Honour or Credit could possibly be obtain'd."—As for the City Blades, all I hear of them is, that they play'd their Parts very well for some Time, but had so much Prudence as not to be taken.'
'I AM heartily glad, said
Conyers,
that some have been properly punish'd; for their Conduct is so absurd, that nothing can extenuate it, but imagining them Lunatick.'—'In truth, said
Sangfroid,
the Watchmen treated them as such, and blooded them severely.—But what think you of their Humour?—'Humour! reply'd
Conyers,
Faith I find none, but for Ribaldry, Folly, and Nonsense, I thank my Stars, I never heard nor saw more in my whole Life. I was quite silent, and bore all their Extravagancies with some Patience, except their horrid Swearings, which really made me shudder.'—'And yet,
said his Friend,
such is the general Run of Tavern-Conversation.'—'I am sorry for it, answer'd
Conyers;
but wonder what Joy, what Pleasure Men can take, especially old ones, in Riot and Excess! Company, and too much Wine, may sometimes lead Men into a thousand odd Frolicks, but a cool, deliberate System of Ignorance, Debauchery and Impiety, is what I can by no Means account for. Dean
Swift,
indeed, was not so much astonish'd at seeing Men wicked, as at their not being asham'd of it.'—'That, said
Sangfroid,
is really the most surprizing Circumstance; but of our Companions, I can only say, as
Killigrew
did of Lord
Wharton,
"they would not swear at that abominable Rate, if they thought they were doing God Honour.' Many Observations pass'd, till the Surgeon told him, they would dine Tomorrow with a Lady on the
Surry
Side, where possibly he might be more happily and more agreeably entertain'd.
NEXT Day they took Boat.
The Lady,
said Sangfroid,
we are going to visit, was formerly call'd POLLY GUN, but lately POLLY CANNON, and has been what the World calls,
One of Us.
She has had her Share of Variety, but managed so cleverly, as to have an Income of about Two Hundred Pounds a Year. She is now about Forty-five Years of Age, preserves a Portion of Beauty, and has for these Four last Years retir'd from the Town, and lives a most regular and modest Life. She has been often in Keeping, but had always a Settlement by Way of Life-Annuity. I transact all her Affairs, and am on such a Footing, that I hope to persuade her to give you her History. You'll be pleas'd with her Conversation, for she is extremely well-bred, and of a lively and chearful Turn.
THEY row'd up the River about Six Miles,
Conyers
still enquiring into more Particulars, which furnish'd
Sangfroid
with an Opportunity of describing her Person, her Oeconomy, her Happiness, and other Articles, till they landed. A Quarter of an Hour brought them to her House: It was small, but most neatly furnish'd, with a Garden in nice Order. The first Salutations over, Mrs.
Cannon
fell into the easy and familiar Stile. She very agreeably rally'd the Magnificence of her Palace, the Elegance of the Apartments, and the Spaciousness of the Saloon. As she went through the few Rooms, she made very merry Remarks.—'Now, Gentlemen,
said she,
this is my Bed-Chamber, and contains somewhat scarcely to be found in any other.'—'I must own, Madam, said
Conyers,
I never saw so truly a clean, neat, and charming an Apartment in my Life, but the
Bed
strikes my Imagination the most.—What Joy, what Content must Repose and Slumber find in it!'—'Oh, very fine,
said she;
but tho' your Guess is very true, permit me to set you Right in the Main.—This Bed,
continued she,
I made myself, and have for these Four Years constantly slept in it as happily as I wish or desire; but few Beds can boast, like this, of being never employ'd but merely to sleep in.' —
Sangfroid
laugh'd, and
Conyers
smil'd. —'You may laugh, Gentlemen,
said she,
yet Faith it is Fact.—But now let us go to the Library.' She then conducted them into a pretty contriv'd Closet, and shew'd about Three Hundred Volumes of History, Poetry, and Books of Divinity.' —
I doubt not,
said she,
but some great Personages may have a larger Collection, but perhaps they cannot say with me, that they have read all their's more than once over.—Yonder are the Classicks in good
English.
—You may examine them, if you please; for, I assure you, they are not in Wood, and design'd for Ornament only.
—
Conyers
and the Surgeon found something to say on every Volume, nor did she fail in very pertinent Replies.
SHE then led them to her Garden:— 'Here,
said she,
is the
fair Flower in its Lustre!
What Pity to crop its growing Sweetness,
then cast it like a loathsome Weed away.
'—'Pity, indeed, Madam, said
Conyers;
but to transplant, to cherish it in
your fair Garden, where the Sun always shines,
has been your careful Employment; but however, to let it wither and perish on the Stem, without smelling its Fragrancy, is, perhaps, a Crime almost as bad. For my Part, I should enjoy its Perfume, and endeavour to keep it in constant Blow.'—'Yes, yes,
said she,
I never knew a young Fellow that did not imagine he'd make an excellent Gardener.—But here comes my Maid, and I prophecy Dinner is ready.'—As they walk'd to the House, the Surgeon gave her a Whisper.
THE Repast was plain, but so neat, and enliven'd by such Good Humour and Chearfulness, that
Conyers
declar'd he never had so high an Entertainment.—
Sangfroid
put her in Mind of the Promise she made him. —
Since, said she, your Friend Mr.
Conyers
is so curious, I shall give him a History, of which I make no great Secret.
The STORY of
POLLY GUN,
OTHERWISE
POLLY CANNON.
WHO, or what were my Parents, is of no Consequence, only I must say they were People of Substance and Reputation, and most tenderly bred and educated me. I grew up like other Wenches; and at Fourteen,
the flattering World had talk'd me into Beauty.
Perhaps I really was so, but am sure I thought it. About this Time, one Mr.
Tarrier,
and his Lady, took a furnish'd House in our Neighbourhood. The good Gentlewoman was mighty religious, and never fail'd at the Parish Church. She took a great Liking to my Father's Pew, and, by many little Civilities, was much regarded by our Family. She invited us to Supper, and was invited in Return. In a Word, her Conversation was so pious and godly, and she inveigh'd so much against the Wickedness and Vices of the present Age, that my poor Parents became so fond of, and intimate with her, that they intreated she would be so good to instruct their dear
Polly.
I own I was not much pleas'd with my Tutoress, for she constantly trail'd me to Church twice a-Day. My good Mother thank'd God she had found so good a Friend; but I soon discover'd that Madam
Tarrier
was not so outrageously rigid as I expected; for she sometimes persuaded them to permit me to a Play. The pious Lady always chose a Comedy, and in some Parts, where I was ignorant of the Joke, she very kindly explain'd, perhaps more than the Author meant.
IN this Manner we lived for about Half a Year, and the good Woman had got such an Ascendancy over my Mother, that I believe she would have trusted me with her even to
America.
She frequently took me to visit her Uncle near
Grosvenor-Square.
He was a very polite, rich old Gentleman, and so kind to me, that I was always sure of some pretty Present, or a Guinea or two to buy Ribbands. At one, and the last of these Visits, Madam
Tarrier
took the Opportunity of leaving me with her Uncle, that she might attend her Devotions at a neighbouring Church. I thought she staid a little too long, and began to be impatient. The old Gentleman endeavoured to pass away the Time with a Chat fitting my Years, but at last I could not refrain crying most bitterly.—What need I amuse you with unnecessary Particulars?—The
She Devil
had left me with an
He one,
and I was undone.
THE first Month of my Confinement, for I was constantly watch'd, was dreadful to my Imagination. I most affectionately lov'd my Father and Mother, and felt their Sufferings at the Loss of an only Child. I wept almost Day and Night, but must say the old Gentleman was extremely tender and fond, and did all in his Power to make my Life easy. He bought me Books, we read by Turns, and he gave me that Sort of Taste and Relish for them, which I now find of infinite Use. I play'd on the Harpsichord, and sung well; but he had a Master to perfect me and amuse my leisure Hours. I insensibly began to be better pleas'd with my Station, and in Twelve Months was quite reconciled to it.
WHAT an Animal is Man! — As I grew happy and fond of the Wretch, his Affections cool'd, and he entirely changed his Conduct. At last he upbraided me with Infidelity (which was impossible) and proved his Assertions by my injuring his Health. He storm'd and flew into a violent Passion; and calling his Man
Jenkins,
"Here,
said he,
take this fair Lady, get her a Lodging and a Surgeon, which I shall pay; but since she has found out a
Trade,
all she can expect of me, is to
set her up.
"— Without giving me Time to reply, he stepp'd into his Chariot and vanished. — I was struck dumb; and tho' my Heart was ready to burst, no friendly Tear assisted me. Poor
Jenkins
was in great Perplexity; but one of the Maids having pack'd up all my Linen and Cloaths, of which I had Abundance, and very fine, he was obliged to execute the Orders of his Master, and conducted me to the Door, where an Hackney Coach stood ready to receive me.
AS I was passing the Hall, I don't know what persuaded me to open the Parlour Door; but what was my Astonishment, when I saw Mrs.
Tarrier,
and a charming young Creature, in close Conversation!—I stood motionless, but in Agony, and with uplifted Eyes, I just utter'd—
Infamous Woman!
and fell in a Swoon.—The Servants too charitably brought me to myself, and
Jenkins
rather carried, than led me to the Coach.
WHEN we got to the Lodging he had provided for me, I flew to the Bed and abandon'd myself to Tears, Sighs, and the most melancholy Reflections.—Good God! said I, is there no
Law,
no
Justice
for the Injuries done me? Must I suffer in Silence, and must triumphant Villany go unpunished!—Is the Nature of
Woman
so harden'd, and the Conscience of Man so steel'd, as not to feel the utmost Remorse for this
worse than Rape?
—Bitter, very bitter were my Words, and
Jenkins
try'd all Means to assuage the Violence of my Passion. At length I became more calm, and he promised to wait on me in the Morning. The Woman of the House obliged me to eat a little, and was very civil and tender.
NEXT Day
Jenkins
came and brought a Surgeon. When alone he began to question and examine me in the delicate Manner, and then declared I was injured in a high Degree.—'Twould be tedious to mention all this Affair; let it suffice, that I was perfectly recover'd in two Months.—As I could not accuse myself of a real Crime, I resolv'd, if possible, to return to my Parents, not doubting but they would receive me, and revenge my Wrongs. With proper Caution I persuaded my Landlady to make some Enquiry after them; but, Good Heavens! What were my Sufferings whilst she gave me the following Account?—"I have done, Madam,
said she,
what you have desir'd, and find that the Family I enquir'd after, had a beautiful Daughter who was stolen from them about a Year ago by a Bawd, who, as a Neighbour, got into their Favour, but decamp'd the Moment she finished her horrid Work. The poor Mother was so griev'd at the Loss of her Child, that she fell into a Decay, and died in Half a Year. The Father, with Difficulty, got the better of his Afflictions, but sold all his Effects, and went Abroad, but where I could not learn. I assure you, Madam, that Family are greatly pity'd by all the Neighbours."—'My Situation is not to be described.— Now,
said I,
the worst has happen'd.—My dear Mother is dead, —My Father gone, — and I must be abandon'd to the Fate of a Prostitute!— But what signifies what becomes of me?
JENKINS just then enter'd, and, after some Chat, told me my Lodgings and Surgeon were paid; "and now,
Polly,
said he, your old Friend sends you these Fifty Guineas, and advises you to take Care of yourself."—I took the Money, but vented on the old Villain every Name, and every Imprecation my Rage could suggest.—"Come, come,
said Jenkins,
of what Use is all this? You must now think of providing a Maintenance; and if you'll be advis'd by me, perhaps Things may go better than you imagine. You are certainly a fine Girl, and some Gentlemen would think themselves happy in your Acquaintance. If you'll give me leave, I'll engage you shall not want two or three very liberal Friends.—You understand me."—I was really, in such a Temper of Mind, and thought my Situation so desperate, that I did not reflect on the Misery I was going to plunge my self into, but consented to be guided by him and fell into his Project with a Sort of Stupidity that I never could account for.
JENKINS got me noble Lodgings properly situated and gave me his Instructions; but, like other Dealers, I gave him a Sample of the
Goods.
He had the Benefit of a Subscriber for Six Copies, by having the Seventh
Gratis.
He was a notable Broker, and sent many good Customers to my
Ware-house.
—In Six Months POLLY GUN began to be famous, and my Lodgings were sometimes the Scene of Quarrels and Noise, especially at Night. In short,
Disgraces had knock'd too frequently at my Door,
and the Neighbourhood oblig'd me to shift my Quarters.
IN three Years I believe I had thirty different Apartments, good and bad, just as the Ballance of Trade was
For
or
Against
me. 'Tis an odd Sort of Fund, for when
Stock
was
low,
I mounted to a Second or Third Story; when
high,
I descended to the First Floor. I had not seen
Jenkins
for some Time, so presume he was instructing other Wenches whom his Master had made as wretched as myself.—By this Time some of my Cloaths were worn out, and many had visited the Pawn-Brokers.—I was frequented but by Lovers of the
trifling Order.
—I had not saved a Shilling, and wanted many Necessaries in my Profession, besides being indebted a Month's Lodging. In this Distress my Maid persuaded me to be acquainted with the Porters of two or three noted Taverns.—To these Places I was frequently sent for, and now took the Name of POLLY CANNON. The Novelty of my Face, my Conversation, which was always decent, my Voice, and my Youth and Compexion, furnish'd out a good or rather a bad Livelihood. The Porters were fond to promote my Interest, as I greatly promoted theirs.
THESE Gentlemen always charg'd a Shilling for my Chair hire to the Tavern, and another if I return'd alone to my Lodgings, tho' I was oblig'd to walk. If I got a Guinea, their Fee was a Crown, besides some other
Dues,
which I shall not mention. In short, these Fellows make a vast Income out of the Industry of poor young Ladies.
EVEN this Sort of Life at last fail'd me; for my Face grew too familiar, which is an unpardonable Crime amongst Gentlemen; and my biting the Porters out of their just Poundage, and refusing some certain Compliances which they regard as their Prerogative, they left me to pick my Teeth in my Chamber, and never invited poor
Polly Cannon
to a good Supper.
I COULD not starve.—With some Interest, I was inlisted under the Banners of a famous Lady near
Covent-Garden.
Not to be too minute in my Relation, I shall only say, I did tolerably well there for some Time; but a Quarrel between one of the Nymphs and I, obliged me to shift the Scene, and make a Piece of the Furniture of a
Coffee-house.
—As abandon'd as I was, I could never
swear
or
drink.
The Want of this last Qualification, made me soon discharg'd the Mansions of Drunkenness, and threw me, for Subsistance, into the Arms of the
Publick.
WHY should I pretend to describe what no Mortal can exactly do? What Joy can you receive in my speaking
Variety of Wretchedness?
Or in a Tale, whose
lightest Word would harrow up thy Soul!
— Cold, Famine and Pestilence were my constant Companions.—I breath'd, but
devoutly wish'd
every Moment might be my last. ROWE justly paints my Misery.
To know no Thought of Rest; to have the Mind
Still ministring fresh Plagues, as in a Circle,
Where one Dishonour treads upon another:
What know the Fiends beyond it!
HEAVEN help the unhappy Creatures groaning under this fatal Necessity, and forgive those who drove them to it!
ONE Night as I took my Rounds, I touch'd a young Gentleman, and in the usual Phrase, ask'd for a Pint of Wine. He turn'd, and by the Assistance of a Lamp, examined me a little, and consented.— "Perhaps, Child,
said he,
you are more Hungry than Dry."—On my telling him he guess'd right, he order'd a Supper.—Our Conversation became very diverting, and he was so good to say, I was much above the Common. He desired my Story, and I gave it him very naturally, but concluded, that as all poor Girls were fertile in Invention, I much doubted if he credited my Tale.— He look'd serious, but from pitying he became amorous, and pressed my going to a Bagnio.—Wretched as I am,
Sir, said I,
I cannot do a Wilful Injury. You are happy and in Health, but I am miserable every Way.—When he was convinced of the Truth of what I said, he took me in his Arms, and vowed he would never forget my Generosity.— Take,
said he,
these Five Guineas, and meet me To-morrow Morning in
Somerset-Gardens.
YOU may be sure I was punctual, and indeed he was exact. In fine, he carried me to the House of a Surgeon, where I remained until his Duty was over. My Friend, whose Name was
Loveit,
conducted me to a private Family, where, in a short Time, with good Living and tolerable Content of Mind, I recovered my former Spirits, my Complexion, and every Sign of Youth, for I was not yet quite One-and-Twenty.—If ever I lov'd a Man it was this dear Friend, and he merited all my Regard.
WITH this Gentleman I lived near three Years, and as happily as my Situation could admit of. I recover'd my Musick and my Taste in Books, and greatly improved in both.—One Morning at Breakfast he walked about the Room, and seem'd very pensive. On my enquiring the Cause, he sat down by me and began thus.—"I hope, my dear
Polly
believes I love her as I ought, but all Things must have an End.—Don't be too much alarm'd,
said he,
on seeing my my Tears,—I shall act with Honour, and to your Satisfaction. — In two Words,
Polly,
my Friends and my real Interest compel me to
marry.
"—Be happy, Sir,
said I,
in the Choice of a Wife, and may every Blessing attend you.' —'What remains for me but Dispair, Anxiety and Madness.—"Not so, my dear
Polly, cry'd he,
for I hope a better Fate attends you. Here are
One Hundred
Guineas, and this Paper intitles you to an Annuity of
Forty Pounds a Year.
Be careful of these and be happy.
HIS Generosity charmed me, and by Degrees he calmed my troubled Spirits, and brought me to talk of parting with more Coolness of Temper than I possibly could have imagined.—"Since we must separate,
said he,
take a little of my Advice. My Cousin, Captain
Mizen,
of the
Superb
Man of War, has seen and likes you. As he knows all my Affairs, he begs to be admitted to your good Graces. The Captain is an Old Bluff Tar, and tho' not very polite and tender, yet he's an hearty honest Fellow. If you consent, I will engage a Settlement of Thirty Pounds, besides your living as you have hitherto done."—Some Conversation ensued, and at last I accepted the Proposal.
THE Evening was ushered in by a Visit from Captain
Mizen,
who was introduced by Mr.
Loveit.
I received them with great Respect, and made many Compliments for the Praises bestowed on me by my Friend.—"S'blood, said the Captain, what's all this
Jawing
for? I've done as Coz desired, and o'has the Papers in's Pocket. Now d'ye see, an it be too little, there's twenty Pieces more to turn the Scale.—Now, Mistress, how say you? shall we make the Bargain and seal Lips."—
Loveit
smiled, but I was mute.—"Well, well,
said he,
Silence gives Consent, so Mistress, by your Leave."—He kiss'd most furiously, and then turning to
Loveit,
said, — S'blood Coz, she's a well built Sloop, and will carry a huge deal of Cavas; I'm afraid I shall never be able to run her fairly down.
WE had much of this Sort of Conversation, but Mr.
Loveit
came to the Point, and his giving me another Annuity of
Thirty Pounds,
I own it prejudiced me greatly in Favour of Captain
Mizen.
A few more Words finished this Affair, and I became the Property of this
Man of War,
and parted with my Friend with Love and Regret.
CAPTAIN
Mizen
visited constantly, but seldom before One or Two in the Morning, and frequently
Half Seas over,
as he called it. 'Twas difficult to manage him in this
Trim;
but when quite drunk, was very tame and obedient, so I took Care to ply him with Port or Punch, and then
he turned in
with Ease. In the Morning he always begged Pardon, not in Words, but in a
pecuniary
Manner, that carry'd irresistable Persuasion. I certainly hated him, and the
Resistance
I always made to his Caresses, served but to plague me the more with his Fondness. The Creature loved, and no
Caliban
could shew it more. I was his
Pinnace,
his
Frigate,
and a Thousand tender Names, but on struggling he has cry'd out'—"That's right!—
Yard-arm
and
Yard-arm.
—S'blood
Poll,
an you blow me up, by the World I'll clap the broad R on you.
AT last my
true Love went to Sea,
and gave me a Reprieve for six Months. The Experience I had, made me find out the real Use of Money, and resolve to save as much as I could. The Captain returned with a fresh Cargo of that Commodity which his Love made less valuable. He was so generous, that I suffered his Embraces with great Freedom, but discovered the lucky Secret, that this was the only Chance I had of losing his valiant Heart. It seems he loved a smart Engagement, and a Ship that would take
a good Deal of Drubbing
before she struck. An easy Conquest was to him of no Value. With this Knowledge I pretended extreme Fondness; I hung on his Neck; I kiss'd his Carbuncled Cheeks, and almost cryed when he left me. He seemed pleased enough with my Behaviour, but his Visits were less frequent, and in six Months he forfeited his Articles, gave me the Good-bye, and
left me like a Turtle all alone, to weep and mourn the Absence of her Mate.
MY Landlady, Mrs.
Wheedle,
was a Woman who understood the World. In her younger Days she had been of
personal Use
to a Nobleman, who married her to his Footman, and procured him a very pretty Employ in the
Revenue.
Latterly, I believe, she served his Lordship in another Capacity. With these People I lived, and, all Things considered, was perfectly happy in the Friendship of Mrs.
Wheedle.
We went to Church, to Play-Houses, and were inseparable. In one of our Walks, I took it in my Head to enquire for my
Old Friend
near
Grosvenor Square,
of whom I had not heard for above six Years. Mrs.
Wheedle
went to the House, but found it inhabited by another Family. With some Difficulty I was informed, that the Old Gentleman's whole Fortune was swallowed up in the
South Sea.
That his Distress was so great, that it turned his Head, and had been supported by
Charity
in a
Mad-house
near
Chelsea,
where he died about a Year ago.—I had no great Reason to love his Memory, yet could I not help a few Tears, but guarded against calling his
Fate
a
just Judgment.
LORD,
said
Mrs.
Wheedle,
what signifies it. If the Gentleman was
a Friend in a Corner,
thank God there
be
others in the World as good as he. Charity begins at Home, my Dear, but nothing is to be got by
Idleness.
I love to see a young Woman
Industrious
and
Careful.
'Tis the most
recommendablest
Thing in Life.'—'I am no Enemy,
said I,
to Industry, but sure you would not have me hawk about my
Goods,
or stand at the Door and cry,—
Walk in Gentlemen! and behold the wonderful Works of Nature! Alive—Alive—ho!
—"Certainly
Polly, said she,
you're distracted!—Did ever any Body hear such Nonsense?— If you will be industrious, I know a Friend will give you Employment." —Ay marry,
said I,
now you say something; but will he
come down
handsomely? for you know I hate a
Game
that can't afford paying the Cards.—"Lord, Lord,
Polly, said she,
you're strangely covetous! but I don't blame you neither. —There's 'Squire CARELESS now, the
most Charmingest
and
most Agreeablest
Man
in Life,
mayhap he may answer your Purpose.—What say to that,
Polly?
" —With all my Heart, said I, the Squire shall be welcome, but you know the Conditions.
IN a few Days Mr.
Careless
paid me a Visit, and, with great Ease and Familiarity, fell into a Chat of a Settlement,— I'm so unlucky my Dear,
said he,
to have my Estate so fix'd by Law, that I cannot touch it. My Income I spend like a Gentleman.
Pleasure
is my Religion, and the
Ladies
are the Idols I adore. The Incense I burn is
Money,
and my Sacrifice is
Love.
Accept one and the other, and the
Priestess below Stairs
shall have Reason to be content." —I laugh'd at the Oddity of his Expressions, but as his Incense had
a sweet-smelling Flavour,
I was persuaded of the Sincerity of his Devotions, and I became his
Titular Saint.
HIS Visits were very irregular, but, tho' always chearful, always good-humour'd and generous, they seemed rather paid to dispose of, and
kill Time,
than to see the Object of his Love.— Mrs.
Wheedle
took Notice of this, and insinuated,
that vacant Hours might be employed to Advantage.
—"There
is
Perquisites,
said she,
belonging to all Employments
in Life,
and since you keep an
Office,
I see no Reason why you shou'dn't have 'em as well as others."— If I keep an
Office, said I,
it is an Office of
Assurance,
or rather, that of an
Underwriter;
but where are the Perquisites you talk of? for I always admir'd your
Douceurs,
or, as some call them, your
Dowcers.
—"You're a Mad-cap,
said she,
but let me alone to work for you,
THE good Woman was very skilful, and, at different Times, brought me acquainted with two or three elderly Gentlemen, who made ample Amends for the Roughness of their
Beards,
and their
Stinking Breath.
This
Revenue
was partly appropriated to my Friend's private Recreation and mine, and the Remainder to the Sinking Fund.
CARELESS sometimes met one of these Gentlemen in my Chamber, but seem'd quite indifferent about it. The Indolence of his Temper was such, that no jealous Thoughts had Power to give him Uneasiness. I once made an Apology for having a Stranger in my Apartment, and told him a well-contriv'd Lye.— "Bless me, Child,
said he,
why so many Words about a Trifle!—I know you are a
Woman,
and cannot help acting as such.— I know you have been playing the
Truant,
but why should I be angry at the constant Practice of your Sex? No, no, my Dear, I am so happy, that no Woman can disappoint me.—You have all the same Turn, and a little
Cheating,
even at Cards, affords you infinite Delight. —The Pleasure of
Deceiving
has something exquisite in it, but I am so ill-natur'd as to disappoint you, and freely indulge a Passion so natural to the Ladies.
I OWN he flung me more by his Indifference, than had he storm'd and swore. I said what was necessary on the Occasion, but he took the Standish and wrote.— Here, my dear
Polly, said he,
are my Sentiments. Let's say no more on the Head, but
love
one another as
well as we can.
"—He then began a very merry Conversation, and embracing me very tenderly, took his Leave.—I long'd to read his Paper, and found these Words;
The Easy Lover.
Why should I pretend to have
Dear
POLLY
's Heart entire?
What in her Power to me she gave,
And fann'd the am'rous Fire.
Then tell me not, ill-natur'd Soul!
To
others
she's as kind;
Why should I her Bliss controul,
Since
others
hit my Mind?
No; let us ramble, not repine,
Let both contented be;
Her Soul's
her own,
her Charms are
mine,
And that's enough for me.
AT first I thought I had lost him for ever; but a Day or two convinc'd me to the contrary. We kept up a tender Correspondence for about a Twelve-month more; and my Perquisites regularly came in. At last his Extravagancies, and the Want of
common Attention
to his Affairs, drove him into such Difficulties, that he was compell'd to give up many Amusements, and
Me
amongst the rest.—Mrs.
Wheedle
's good Management prevented my too much regretting the Loss of
Careless.
She soon furnish'd me with
another and another, and the last Fool still welcome as the first.
I MUST reserve for another Opportunity, my Travels to
Ireland
with a Lord of that Country, and to
France
with a
Scotch
Nobleman.—My living with a
Jew,
a
Methodist Preacher,
and sundry others; and the many Tricks I played in a Progress of
fifteen Years,
would make a large Folio, and perhaps be as
useful
as MOLL FLANDERS.
IN a Word, I found myself possessed of about
Two Hundred Pounds
a Year well paid, besides some
ready Money
and
Jewels.—Time
began to gather my Roses, and ruffle my
smooth Brow.
The few Charms that remained, I resolved to use myself. I had seen the
World,
and found it a
vain empty Nothing.
—I began to call to my Memory the Days of
Innocency
and Happiness.—I reflected on the Charms of
Religion
and
Virtue,
for their
Beauties
had not quite forsaken me.— I try'd their Power, and they have conducted me to this Mansion of
Peace
and Tranquillity.
WHY are miserable Creatures call'd
Women of Pleasure?
—Poor Wretches! they know of none!—In their happiest Days, and in the highest
Keeping,
whom do they converse with?—In the Midst of
Gaiety,
they are in
Darkness
and Obscurity.—They walk with self-condemn'd and suspicious Looks, and just live like a Rat in the Wainscot.—When stript of their
Finery,
when discarded the
fertile Paddock,
and sent to graze on the
Common.
What Horrors!—What Vileness!
I DO not pretend to be a Judge of the Charms of Matrimony, neither can I have a just Idea of the Pleasure Parents take in their Children, as I never was in either Situation; but this I can positively affirm from my own Experience, that in the Midst of every Joy I was capable of receiving, as I certainly was of some, I had Reflections which I could not account for, but which gave me infinite Anxiety.—To be necessitated to be
fond
where I was
quite indifferent.
—To
caress
him whom I
despised.
—To seem to
love,
and be all
Tenderness,
where
I hated,
and even
loath'd.
—In short, to
live,
if I may so call it, a MARTYR to my
Reason
and
Understanding,
is a Situation the most deplorable
human Nature
can be reduced to.—As
Light
follow
Shade,
so
Trouble
and
Remorse
pursue the Vicious.—Who can fathom the Deep, or measure infinite Space! But Oh! who can describe the
Joy,
when the
Father of infinite Mercy
speaks
Peace
and
Comfort
to the
contrite Heart!
She ceased.—
Sangfroid
prais'd the Steadiness of her Resolution, but
Conyers
was lost in Thought.—If, Madam,
said he at last,
your whole Life was shewn to the World, with the proper Observation of a skilful Hand, how useful, how instructive would it be!—You would serve as a
fix'd Star
to direct the Unwary in the Voyage through Life; or, should Storms or Tempests drive them into Error, to guide and pilot them into an Harbour of Safety.—
Vice
has its Charms, but place
Virtue
in Contrast,
How is it possible our Sense should stray?
'—'Your Remark, Sir,
said she,
is just; but FRAILTY!
thy Name is Woman,
or rather, it is the
common Name
of all Mankind.—The whole World struggle and strive and fight for, what they call
Happiness;
but they neglect and despise the sure, the only Way of attaining it, which
Religion
and
Virtue,
free from
Enthusiastick Cant,
or
Hypocritical Demureness,
can alone point out.— The Remainder of the Conversation was very serious; but Night coming on, they were obliged, unwillingly, to separate.
As they returned,
Conyers
could speak of Nothing but Mrs.
Cannon.
He admir'd her good Sense, her easy Turn of Mind, and her
Moral
and
Religious
Sentiments; but thought she still led but a melancholy Life.—Quite otherwise,
said Sangfroid,
she has a sensible Servant for her constant Companion: She has her Books, her Musick, and her Garden; which give her a rational Delight and Amusement: Besides, tho' her former Life is well known in the Village, her
Sincerity
and Virtue are so well vouch'd by her Conduct, that some of the best Families have lately visited her, and she them. She told me the other Day, that to keep Company, and be rank'd with
modest Women,
was such a Pleasure, as almost made her distracted.
The End of the
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