CHAPTER XVII.

ON the day following our ſtrength being augmented, we gave out Romeo and Juliet. I was to play Romeo and Miſs Slaſh'em Juliet, and we had a full houſe; but, it ſo happened, that when I came to the tomb ſcene, though I had re⯑hearſed it ſeveral times before, hav⯑ing nothing but the handle of an old ſpade to force the door, I was [6]ſo out of humour, that I drove at it with more violence than was re⯑quiſite, and the whole fabric came down upon poor Juliet who lay within, and I upon the top of it; ſhe received a contuſion on her fore⯑head, and ſcreamed as for life. The audience thinking ſhe was more hurt, than in reality ſhe was, took part in her diſtreſs, and many of them jumped upon the ſtage to ex⯑tricate her from her difficulty; and when they found ſhe had a bump on her face, they very humanely ex⯑cuſed our going on with the piece, and deſired they might have the farce. It was the Mock Doctor again, and I acquitted myſelf with ſuch eclat, that the accident in the play was forgotten.

[7]THE next day the Mayor's lady, Mrs. Girkin, ſent to us to beg we would play Alexander the Great, and though it required for the proceſſion a greater ſtock of cloaths than our wardrobe could furniſh, and we made this as an excuſe, yet the difficulty was got over, as through her intereſt we were to have the uſe of half a dozen ſurplices from the college, and as many ver⯑gers coats from the abbey, and if we wanted it, ſhe ſaid, we ſhould have the Mayor's mace, and the reſt of the inſignia of his office: but the gentleman who was to play Alexander (for all players, be they ever ſo low, are gentlemen and gentlewomen;) I ſay, the gentle⯑man who was to play Alexander, obſerved that the crown was not come [8]from the tinmans, and a man might as well attempt the character of a general, without a truncheon; as a king in proceſſion without a crown. This want was too great to admit of any ſubſtitute and the death of Alexander was obliged to be poſtpon⯑ed till a farther day.

WITH the aſſiſtance of brown pa⯑per and vinegar, Miſs Slaſh'em ſoon got rid of the protuberance on her forehead, and in a day or two, we were to appear in the characters of Othello and Deſdemona; the evening came, and the houſe was again as full as it could hold. Seldom a night we played, but ſome awkward accident occurred, that made the audi⯑ence laugh as much at a tragedy, as at the drolleſt farce we could perform, [9]and I verily believe, the hopes of ſuch accidents, drew more to the theatre than any real inclination to ſee the piece; and fortune, ſome how or other, concurred to be of uſe to us in this particular. I had blacked my face for the character of the Moor, and, finding the houſe full, was in the beſt of ſpirits, and my Deſdemona looking more lovely than I had ever ſeen her; having never rehearſed the part with my face blacked, I forgot myſelf, and when I was to embrace her, I could not reſiſt kiſſing her with fervency; the misfortune was, the black came off from my face upon her's, the houſe laughed immoderately, and ſhe was ſo mortified, that ſhe gave me ſuch a back-handed ſlap on the face, as ſet my mouth a bleeding: the [10]houſe was in roar of applauſe, and nothing was heard from all parts of it, but encore, encore,

I MENTION theſe occurrences as the only matters worthy obſervation in ſuch a vagabond company as I had the honour to belong to. If it hurt our reputation, it however filled our pockets, for the nights I played, I ſeldom divided leſs than between four and five pounds.

IN a very few days, the crown was completed and the play of Alexander given out; but Mrs. Mayoreſs, having ſprained her an⯑cle, could not poſſibly be preſent; it was lucky, indeed, that ſhe had ſprained her ancle, as ſhe would have been diſappointed in the performance. [11]Alexander the Great had; the night before, drank too many libations to the god Bacchus, at the ale-houſe where he ſpent the evening; had quarreled with ſome of the company, and had beat one man very much. The conſequence was, that he got a warrant from the Mayor, and juſt as the piece was going to begin, a conſtable found his way behind the ſcenes, ſeized Alexander by the collar, and took him away in his royal robes to Mr. Girkin's juſtice-room, with a whole mob behind him, and on Mrs. Girkin's enquiring who all that rabble was below; his worſhip told her, with a degree of pleaſantry, ‘That, as ſhe was too lame to go to the play-ſhop; Alexander the Great with his body guards was come [12]to play the part at her houſe.’ In ſhort, this unlucky circumſtance obliged us to apologize to the audi⯑ence for changing the piece, and an⯑other was exhibited in its room.

THE mayor, in his time, had been a gallant ſpark, and a great ad⯑mirer of the ladies, and though he was now on the verge of ſixty, he had ſomehow or other been ſmitten by the cupids in Miſs Slaſh'em's eyes, and longed for nothing ſo much as a tete-a-tete with her; but the dif⯑ficulty was how to ſee her, and not fall under the obſervation of his wife, who, when her reſentment was rouſed, was one of the greateſt vi⯑ragos in the city of Wincheſter. He had once expreſſed an inclination that Mrs. Girkin would aſk Miſs [13]Slaſh'em ſome afternoon to tea. ‘Miſs Slaſh'em to tea! Invite a vagabond player to our houſe to tea!’ exclaimed Mrs. Girkin. ‘Sure man, you muſt be out of your ſenſes!—What's become of all your dignity, Mr. Girkin? What, do you think, the ladies of our corporation would ſay, were they to hear of ſuch a thing?—We ſhould be the jeſt of the whole city.’ This Mr. May⯑or told Miſs Slaſh'em, one after⯑noon at her lodgings, and ſhe told it to me again; for, finding his wife would not receive her, he found a way to invite himſelf to the ob⯑ject of his wiſhes, by waiting on Biddy Slaſh'em with a preſent of a ſmall jar of pickles, as an acknow⯑ledgement, as he was pleaſed to ſay, [14]for the entertainment ſhe had afford⯑ed him at the play-ſhop. Biddy, who I found was always open-hand⯑ed, more ready to receive, than people to give, and nothing ſeeming to come amiſs to her, encouraged the mayor's viſits, as ſhe had done thoſe of the linen-draper's apprentice at St. Albans, and indeed, he was there oftener than it was convenient or agreeable to me. He uſed to vi⯑ſit her in the evenings we did not perform, under a pretence of going to a new eſtabliſhed club. But his wife ſuſpected him, had him traced and found out his haunts.

ONE morning at breakfaſt with Miſs Slaſh'em, ſhe gave me the fol⯑lowing account of the laſt of the mayor's viſits. ‘The evening be⯑fore [15]laſt,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘he tapped at my door, calling in an under voice,’ ‘my dear Biddy, are you alone?’ ‘I told him I was, and he waddled in with a bottle of Lucca olives in his hand, which he ſaid, he brought for my own eat⯑ing; they were juſt imported and ſome of the beſt of the kind— he begged for a plate that he might ſhow me how good they were. I handed a plate and he turned half of them out, for the bottle held but a pint. Few as there were, he fell voraciouſly to work, and would ſcarce give me an opportunity of taſting them. I put one into my mouth out of complaiſance, and indeed but one, as 'tis a fruit I am not very fond of. He aſked me to take [16]another, but I told him, I never eat ſuch things in an afternoon; he aſked me no more, but devoured the whole of them himſelf, whilſt he was with me, praiſing them all the time.’

SHE paid me the compliment to ſay, that ſhe often wiſhed him away, as ſhe expected me; but ſhe could not get rid of him, and he kept teaſing her the whole evening. ‘Often would he break out into fits of extaſy, ſqueezing my hand,’ ſays ſhe, ‘or preſſing my knees, with,’ ‘Thou, dear little charming crea⯑ture!’—‘and then to the olives again, with’ ‘They are very fine fruit—I brought them purely for your own eating.’ ‘He ſhould have ſaid his own; for, as [17]I obſerved before, he devoured the whole of them.’ ‘At laſt,’ ſays Miſs Slaſh'em, ‘I heard ſome one coming up ſtairs,’ for her apartment communicated with the paſſage, and that with the ſtreet; and the mayor was exceedingly alarmed leſt he ſhould be diſcover⯑ed: ‘for he told me,’ continued ſhe, ‘that if his coming to me was known to his wife, he ſhould never hear the laſt of it. He tri⯑ed to get under the bed.’ Miſs Slaſh'em had but one room, and the bed ſtood at the farther end of it. ‘He tried,’ ſays ſhe, ‘to get under the bed, but his belly was too big, and it was impracticable. I then pointed to a ſmall cloſet and hurried him into it; but it was ſo ſhallow, that the door [18]would not ſhut cloſe, and he was under the neceſſity of ſtanding tip⯑toe, and holding it to. Having thus concealed him, I opened the chamber door to a perſon that knocked, conceiving it to be you, but I was diſappointed; it was a woman tolerably well dreſſed, about the age of forty, and in corpulency pretty nearly as big as the mayor; her face was as red as the gills of a turkey cock, and ſhe ſeemed to be out of breath with aſcending the ſtairs. She aſked, if my name was Slaſh'em, and on my telling her, it was, apologiſed for the abrupt viſit ſhe had made me, but that her peace of mind was at ſtake, and ſhe hoped I would excuſe it. She ſaid, her name was Girkin.— [19]I was a good deal alarmed at this, as I feared a diſcovery and dread⯑ed the conſequences, for ſhe ſeem⯑ed to be a violent one.’ ‘Miſs Shaſh'em,’ ſays Mrs. Girkin, throwing herſelf into a great armed chair, ‘have you ſeen my huſband lately?’ ‘Madam,’ replied I, ‘I am a ſtranger to your huſband, and ſhould not know him, was I to ſee him.’ ‘Then, you are great⯑ly belied,’ ſays ſhe, ‘for I under⯑ſtand he viſits this houſe often.’ ‘If that be the caſe,’ returned I, ‘his viſits muſt be to ſome perſon below or above, for the houſe is full of lodgers—it cannot be to me.’ ‘I beg your pardon,’ ſays ſhe, ‘if I do you wrong; but you muſt know, Miſs Slaſh'em, my huſband, Mr. Girkin—that is [20]Mr. Mayor, though an old man, is a very wicked old man; nothing that wears a cap can eſcape him; I can't keep a maid ſervant for him; he is always pulling and hawling them about; and all to no purpoſe; if you knew as much as I know, you'd be of my way of thinking; there is not a trull that comes into the ſhop for a half penny worth of vinegar, or a farthing's worth of matches, that he is not leering at, and to his ternal diſgrace. He is a gentleman, Miſs Slaſh'em, a juſtice of the king's peace, and a man of dignity; and he owes it all to me; for, if I had not inſiſted upon his taking up his freedom, he would never have been Mayor of Wincheſter now; nor ſhould we ever have [21]been reſpected, as we are: but I'll expoſe the wretch, I'll let the cor⯑poration know—they take him to be a man of ſenſe, but, between you and me, there is not a great⯑er fool under heaven.—When there is any thing in the juſticing way going on, I am always ob⯑liged to help out; but, I would not have him know I ſaid ſo, on any account, for we may as well keep peace at home if one can; that makes me keep it a ſecret; and I look upon you, Miſs Slaſh'em, to be a lady of too much honour to tell it again.’ ‘I told her, ſhe might rely upon me, that nothing ſhe had ſaid ſhould tranſpire. At this moment the olive bottle ſtruck her eye, as it ſtood upon the mantle-piece. She took hold [22]of it, ſaid ſhe knew that bottle, and he muſt have been with me this afternoon, for that the bottle came from her ſhop, and that within theſe two hours, as the hamper that contained them, was juſt brought to their houſe, and had ſcarce been opened: ſo that I am ſure I am right, and doubt whether he is not concealed ſome where in the room now; caſt⯑ing here eyes round the chamber. —I aſſured her it was all con⯑jecture.’ ‘Don't diſſemble Miſs 'Slaſh'em,’ ſays ſhe, reddening with anger, ‘don't tell me a lie; it's a ſhame for any woman to encourage another woman's huſband, as you have done mine. Mr. Girkin is a poor mean-ſpirited wretch, or he'd be above condeſcending to [23]come into the lodgings of a va⯑gabond actreſs and ſtrolling ſtrum⯑pet.’ ‘I deſired her, if ſhe did not know how to behave herſelf, to leave my room; for I could not ſuffer myſelf to be inſulted to my face. At this ſhe grew more angry ſtill, abuſed her huſband in the groſſeſt terms, called me a prevaricating huſſey—ſaid, that ſtrolling players were a nuiſance to every place they came into— and that ſhe would take care to have us all ſent to priſon: in ſhort, ſhe ſtormed ſo loud and made ſuch a riot as brought up the fa⯑mily from belowl. They endea⯑voured to pacify her, but all to no purpoſe: ſhe was told, ſhe ſaid, he came into the houſe but a little before her, and, from the [24]olive bottle, ſhe was ſure he was not far off at that moment. Mr. Gir⯑kin hearing this, and endeavouring, by riſing higher on his toes, to pull the cloſet door cloſer, loſt his equi⯑librium, and tumbled forward right into the room, throwing down a chair on which a chamber-pot ſtood, which the ladies had, during this converſation, made uſe of, and broke it into a thouſand pieces. At this accident, ſhe got up in the utmoſt fury;’ cried, ‘now the murder's out:’ ‘ſhe kicked him ſeveral times, and gave her tongue full play.’ ‘A pretty figure truly,’ ſays ſhe, ‘for the mayor of a town! Ar'n't you aſhamed, you ſneaking fool—to ſee yourſelf ſo expoſed? Is this your dignity? —What will the corporation ſay; [25]for I'll take care to have it known throughout the city?—Is this the return I'm to have, for all my pains to make a gentleman of you?’— ‘Not a word could ſhe get from him; at which ſhe picked up his hat with one hand, and his cane with the other, and laid on upon him with both, ſo unmercifully, that the poor henpecked devil could eſcape only by flight. He made the beſt of his way down the ſtairs, and ſhe after him, and I thus got rid of my company altogether.’

MISS Slaſh'em aſked me, if I had heard of it from any one but her. Not ſo particularly, replied I, as you have related it; but the greater part of the ſtory is in every one's [26]mouth, and his worſhip is ſo much laughed at, that he dare not ſhew his face abroad. There is a variety of tales reſpecting it. One is, that he was found in bed with you; an⯑other, that you concealed him in the bed; another, that Mrs. Gir⯑kin threw the chamber-pot at his head; another, that he was not diſ⯑covered at all, but made his eſcape out of a back window upon a ſhed beneath it; and as ſtories never loſe by carrying, it is ſaid, that his weight carried him through that ſhed, and that he fell right into a water tub below. In ſhort, there are always as many ſtories as there are perſons to tell it; for ſo happy are moſt people at invention, that they generally add ſome little of their own; ſo that if you hear a [27]ſtory at a tenth or twelfth hand, the ſpurious tale bears no reſem⯑blance to its original.—But the worſt ſtory, my dear Biddy, ſays I, is, that an order is come down this morning from the mayor, not to perform any more under the peril of commitment. I have no doubt but its Mrs. Girkin's doings, but that's of little conſequence to us. The manager is gone to the mayor to ſee what can be done, and if his application proves ineffectual, we muſt pack up and begone.

CHAP XVIII.

NOTHING would do; the may⯑or told our manager, that is to ſay, Mrs. Girkin told him for her huſband, that he had tried us, and found we were a parcel of idle, noiſy vagrants, and would not ſuf⯑fer us to perform any more, and that we muſt troop off. As there was no alternative, it was propoſed to move to the Devizes; with re⯑ſpect [29]to myſelf, as I had played the fool too long, I reſolved to quit them. I was maſter of more than twenty pounds, and determined to go for London, where I might have a chance of once more ſeeing Miſs Wildman. I accordingly commu⯑nicated my intentions to the mana⯑ger, took my leave of Miſs Slaſh|'em, wiſhed them better ſucceſs at the next place, and in a day or two after arrived in the metropolis.

I TOOK a lodging in a cheap part of the town, and before I ſettled up⯑on any plan, I went into the neigh⯑bourhood of Berkeley Square, en⯑quired for the family of the Wild⯑mans, and was informed, that Mr. Wildman had left his houſe three [30]years ago, and retired to his ſeat in the north, and that his daughter, it was reported, was ſince married to a foreign gentleman. I don't know that any thing hurt me more for the preſent moment; I was for tearing off her ring, which had been conſtantly on my finger, ever ſince I had received it; but, on reflection, was led to hope, that this report, as thouſands of others are, was groundleſs, and it would be folly to act raſhly, and wiſer to reſt content⯑ed, till I had an opportunity of be⯑ing better informed.

TIRED with a life of ſervitude, and being under the controul of any one, I reſolved to continue my own maſter as long as I could; I there⯑fore determined to turn author; but as [31]my purſe was not very deep, and it was expenſive living in London, I could not wait for the completion of any elaborate or voluminous work, but found it neceſſary to write for the preſent moment, and turn my thoughts to the temporary matter of the day. Beſides, however enabled I might have been to have waited till I could have completed ſome work of credit, I found myſelf diſ⯑inclined, from the poor encourage⯑ment authors meet with. Elabo⯑rate performances are encouraged, only as the ſciences, which is in an in⯑verſe ratio to their utility. An opera dancer will gain more money annually, than all the profeſſors of a univerſity together, and the wages of an expert hair-dreſſer, or a good cook, will double thoſe of a pre⯑ceptor [32]ceptor, let that preceptor be who he will. Politics, then, was my theme, and as I found it was the temper of the times to rail at adminiſtration, right or wrong, I ſet out upon the ſame principle; I accordingly wrote a paper in oppoſition to government, arraigned the conduct of the firſt Lord of the Treaſury, ſhewed in a variety of arguments that he was haſtening the downfall of this na⯑tion, when, in fact, I thought the contrary; and when I had complet⯑ed it, I entitled it the Flogger. Having copied it fair, and in a very legible hand, I read it over to my⯑ſelf twenty times, and was ſo well ſatified with my production, that I concluded I ſhould not only get a great deal of money by it, but [33]ſhould raiſe my reputation as an au⯑thor.

I CARRIED it to the little libeller in Piccadilly, and wiſhed him to be⯑come the purchaſer, telling him, I could furniſh hi with ſuch a pa⯑per two or three times a week. ‘And what am I to do with it?’ ſays he, running his eyes haſtily over the firſt half ſheet; ‘publiſh it,’ ſays I, ‘if you think pro⯑per,’ ‘No, no, —’ſays he, ‘it will not do to publiſh, it is not ſcurrilous enough for me to have any thing to do with it.’— ‘Po⯑litics,’ continues he, ‘is a dry dull ſubject, and never will go down without a great deal of vi⯑rulence.’ I told him, if he would have patience to go through [34]with it, he would find that I had hand⯑led the miniſter rather ſeverely.—‘Rather ſeverely,’ retorts he?—‘I muſt have libel in every line.’—‘Strange as you may think the declaration, argument will not do now-a-days—reaſon is out of the queſtion.—Was a party pam⯑phlet wrote now by the pen of a Sydney or a Temple, if it con⯑tained nothing but argument and reaſon, it would not ſell enough to pay paper and print; but, put reaſon, argument, ſenſe, out of the queſtion, fill it with invective, libel and treaſon, and every one will buy it.’ ‘But ſuch a publica⯑tion,’ replied I, ‘would be dan⯑gerous, and ſubject the publiſher to the ſevereſt penalties.’ ‘Dan⯑gerous?’ returns he, ‘I know [35]that very well, but there's no⯑thing to be done in our way without danger. The literary age is paſt and gone; and, if it was not for Newgate, pillory and the like, a bookſeller now would hardly get bread to eat: no, no, friend, you muſt never ſet up for an author, if you're afraid of your ears;—I have made, thank God, a pretty ſnug fortune, but it was not without a great deal of dan⯑ger.’ In ſhort, I found nothing was to be done with him; of courſe, left him and applied to another; a man not quite ſo violent as the laſt; he deſired me to leave it, till the next morning, and he would then give me an anſwer.—I called as he directed me, and was told it would not ſuit him, for there was [36]nothing more in it than a man might read every day in the newſpapers at little or no expence. In ſhort, that I had taken the wrong ſide of the queſtion, and ſhould only get into the pillory for my pains.

As I was convinced that ſtanding in a pillory was the readieſt way to get penſioned^*, it did not diſcou⯑rage me; I returned to my lodging, wrote it afreſh, and threw as much libel into it, as the little libeller had recommended; I carried it to him again, but I could not perſuade him to look at it. Thus diſtreſſed, I took it to a third, and on reading ſome few lines, he diſcovered enough [37]to tell me, that he valued his quiet at too great a rate, to embark in faction and treaſon, and that if I was wiſe, I would put in into the fire.

WHAT to do now I could not tell. I took it to an obſcure printer, who I knew would print any thing for money: he read it, and told me, if I could find any one to publiſh it, he was ſure it would have a rapid ſale; for that he had not ſeen more libel and treaſon in ſo ſmall a compaſs for a long time. I was convinced I had ſteered clear of the laſt; and as to the firſt, I thought little about it. I aſked him if he would print it for me, and what it would coſt: he told me it would make a ſheet and a half in ſmall folio, which would ſell for three-pence, and that [38]five hundred of them would coſt about two guineas, which, if ſold, would produce four pounds ten ſhil⯑lings. I reſolved to run the riſk of this ſum; and as parliament was ſitting, determined to be the ſeller of them myſelf. He told me he could keep the preſs ſtanding, and if I found a demand for them, a ſecond five hundred would not coſt me above twenty-ſeven ſhillings. He ſaid he had a ſtall in a very great thoroughfare, where I might ſay they were to be had; and he would recommend me poor decrepid old woman to ſell them, whom no one would think it worth while to trou⯑ble upon the occaſion; that I might give her her ſtory; and ſhe might ac⯑knowledge herſelf to be both author and printer; that I need nor be ſeen in [39]the buſineſs, but that I might call as another cuſtomer, two or three times a day, and take her money as ſhe ſold them; and that the cuſtom⯑ary allowance I muſt make to the trade, was any bookſeller to be the publiſher, would be ſufficient to pay every expence; and at the ſame time I ſhould be certain of receiving my money, which might not be the caſe if I put them out of my own hands. ‘Beſides,’ continues he, ‘you are not aware of the frauds of theſe men. If you give a book⯑ſeller a work to get printed, and conclude upon an edition of five hundred; they will order ſeven hundred and fifty, or perhaps more, to be printed, call all above five hundred their own, ſell all theſe their own firſt, and account [40]with you for the remainder. I knew a dignitary of the church, whoſe ſermon, preached before the Houſe of Commons, was ordered to be printed; a certain bookſeller in Fleet-Street was the publiſher; and from the compliments the author received at court, and other places, he had every reaſon to think a great number had been ſold. One ſays,’ ‘I have been richly enter⯑tained, Doctor, with your ſermon this morning.’ Another, ‘I have been in cloſe converſe with you all the fore part of this day.’ Ano⯑ther, ‘I have but juſt quitted you, and here you are again.’ ‘In ſhort, ten or a dozen friends had given him to underſtand, they had purchaſed his diſcourſe; and when he came to ſettle the account with [41]his bookſeller, to his great mor⯑tification and ſurprize, only three copies had been ſold.’ Rogues, they ſay, are honeſt to each other, but not, we find, among this tribe of men. A printer once told me, that two bookſellers jointly bought a manuſcript, and agreed that one thouſand copies ſhould be printed, and be divided between them. He who furniſhed the paper, ſent in ſufficient for one thouſand two hun⯑dred and fifty, and requeſted an extra two hundred and fifty might be printed off, and laid by for him, unknown to the other. The printer, an honeſt man, made no reply, but determined not to do it. However, a day or two after, the other book⯑ſeller ſent in paper for two hundred and fifty copies, and begged a ſimi⯑lar [42]favour. He now reſolved to profit by theſe raſcals, worked off the two hundred and fifty extra for each, put them both on a footing, and afforded them the ſecret ſatis⯑faction of thinking they had cheated each other.

ALL this ſeemed ſo feaſible, that I was bent upon trying the experi⯑ment, and being my own publiſher. Five hundred were printed, the ſtall ſupplied, and the old woman ap⯑pointed to ſell them at three-pence each: and that they might fall into the hands of the great, I dreſſed my⯑ſelf in ſome old cloaths I borrowed of the printer's devil, put a patch upon one of my eyes, ſuch a wig upon my head, as ſhoe-blacks in London ſtreets wipe ſhoes with, and [43]with an apron tucked up before me, I took two hundred of them to the parliament houſe, and as the mem⯑bers went in or came out, I bawl⯑ed out, ‘The Flogger, an pleaſe your honours; the moſt ſpirited paper that ever was publiſhed, your honours!’ This anſwer⯑ed my purpoſe; they laughed at the conceit; ſome would give me a blow, in good humour, with their canes; but they moſt of them purchaſed; and inſtead of three-pence, none gave me leſs than ſixpence, moſt of them a ſhil⯑ling, and ſome few half a crown, for my oddity. In ſhort, I ſold them to the laſt paper, and got upwards of ſeven pounds for the two hundred. On my return to my ſhop, I found very few were ſold. But the next [44]day the Houſe of Commons did me the honour to eſtabliſh its ſale; for it was reſolved to be the moſt atro⯑cious libel that ever was publiſhed; and it was moved and carried, that the publiſher of the ſaid Flogger ſhould be taken into cuſtody, and that the attorney general ſhould pro⯑ſecute. This being made public the next day, I took care to have it in all the newſpapers where the ſaid libel was ſold; and ſuch was the demand for it, that we could not print faſt enough. Sixteen thouſand of them were ſold in the firſt week, by which I cleared upwards of fifty pounds. So much encouragement urged me to proceed; and the week following, I wrote a ſecond paper, if poſſible, more virulent than the firſt, and it ſold equally well. The King's [45]meſſengers were after the author and publiſher. They called at the ſtall where theſe papers were ſold; and the following was the dialogue be⯑tween the old woman and them; the old lady drawling out her an⯑ſwers, as if ſhew as faint, and almoſt dying.

Who is the pub⯑liſher of this paper?

I am the publiſher.

If you are the publiſher, who is the author?

I am the author too.

If you are both author and publiſher, you can certianly tell us who is the printer?

Why, gentlemen, I am all three, author, printer, and publiſher.

[46]As they could get nothing more from her, they turned upon their heel, the firſt meſſenger crying out, ‘D-mn you, you old bitch:—We'll take care of you.’

Heaven bleſs your charity, gentlemen; I pray God you would; for I am not able to take care of myſelf.

In fact, this woman did not know the author; for I paſſed only as a runner between the printer and her. My whole care was to ſecrete my⯑ſelf, and to take the money from her as faſt as ſhe ſold them, which I contrived, and was enabled to do, through a variety of diſguiſes; hav⯑ing changed my lodging to a more obſcure part of the town, and to a houſe more ſuitable to the appear⯑ance I made.

[47]So much truth did the little li⯑beller in Piccadilly tell me, and ſo rich I became by the ſale of this paper only, which I publiſhed once a week, that in the ſpace of ſix months, I found myſelf poſſeſſed of five hundred and ſeventy pounds, and all expences paid: but, during all this time, I was at hide and ſeek. A proclamation had been iſ⯑ſued, offering a reward to apprehend me; but, as the Treaſury have made a practice lately of not paying ſuch rewards, when called, on,^* no one paid any regard to it: however, as I found my ſpirit for writing li⯑bels nearly exhauſted, and the avi⯑dity of the people almoſt ſatiated, I dropped the publication; and that [48]the matter, if poſſible, might blow over; I thought it beſt to get out of the way, and therefore took a trip to the Continent.

CHAP XIX.

I NO ſooner landed at Calais, but I found my heart at eaſe, and that weight upon my ſpirits, which had for ſome time oppreſſed me, in⯑ſtantly taken off. So neceſſary an in⯑gredient is conſcious rectitute to a man's happineſs! I ſpoke little or no French, though I underſtood it tolerably well, of courſe was oblig⯑ed to put up at Engliſh houſes, where they were exceedingly extorti⯑onate. You no ſooner arrive in Ca⯑lais [50]harbour, than the waiters from the different hotels or inns are ready to tear the cloaths of your back, in order to prevail on you to go to the houſe to which they belong, and no ſooner are you ſafely lodged with⯑in their houſe; but, they ſeem in⯑different whether they ſee you after that time or not. I remember I put up at the Table Royal, and among other unreaſonable charges, was thirty-ſix ſols, or near nineteen pence of our money for reading an Engliſh newſpaper, and on my re⯑monſtrating againſt the charge, they gave me to underſtand, that though I wore the appearance of a gentle⯑man, I did not act like one. The comparative cheapneſs of wines and proviſions in this part of the world, to what it is with us, leads Eng⯑liſh [51]travellers to ſpend their money freely, and this ſeeming liberality, has ſpoiled the publicans upon all their roads; and where they will charge a native but one livre, that is, ten pence half penny, they will make an Engliſhman pay three. I was long enough abroad to find all this out, and therefore made a point of going to houſes unac⯑cuſtomed to receive the Engliſh; where if I did not dine according to our mode of eating, I had the ſa⯑tisfaction to have my dinner at one third of the price. Indeed, I found the diſpoſition of taking an advan⯑tage of foreigners ſo general, that travelling in company with ſome German officers in the ſervice of the French, they requeſted me to let them ſettle the bills as they paſſed, [52]otherwiſe, very unreaſonable charges would be made; this I chearfully acquieſced with; but diſcovered I derived no advantage from their cautious conduct, for, I was ſuffici⯑ently well acquainted with their money, to know, that in ſettling my quota of the ſum expended, they took care to make me pay double what they did themſelves, and of courſe they paid leſs than they would have done, had I not been of the party. It was a matter I found a difficulty of yielding to; but, as I did not care to enter into a diſpute, in which I might come off the worſt, I ſubmitted for the little time I was with them to the impoſition; and you will always find this the wiſer ſtep. In whatever part of the world you are, go as quiet⯑ly [53]through it as you can, and if you chance to ſtumble over a ſtone, dont quarrel with it, but purſue your way, and rejoice that it did not break your leg.

BEING abroad in a foreign country without recommendation, and with⯑out any intention of continuing long, I thought of little but looking about me and ſeeing what naturally preſented itſelf to my view. I wan⯑dered from Dunkirk to Bruges, and from Bruges to Ghent; and being one Sunday morning at the chapel of the convent of the Rich Dames in that city, during high maſs, I heard a ſhriek in the gallery among the nuns, which rather diſturbed the ceremony for the moment; but [54]as all was ſoon quiet again, I took no farther notice of it.

ABOUT nine o'clock in the even⯑ing, however, as I was ſitting down to ſupper, at the St. Sebaſtian, in this town, the maſter of the hotel came into the room, and aſked me if my name was not Outcaſt; if it was, a man below had a letter for me. The novelty of the circum⯑ſtance, and a conſciouſneſs that I had no acquaintance that could know me in my preſent garb, for I was very ſmartly dreſſed, at firſt alarmed me; but as I had done no wrong, I had not much to dread. Having, therefore, ordered the perſon to be ſent up ſtairs, I enquired from whom he came. ‘If you are an Engliſh [55]gentleman,’ replied he, ‘and your name, Gabriel Outcaſt, that letter is for you; and if you will trouble yourſelf to look into it, you will ſoon learn from whence it comes.’ The meſſenger was a Fleming, but ſpoke Engliſh tole⯑rably well. I broke open the ſeal, and the following were the contents in Engliſh.

ON reading this letter, I aſked the man, who the perſon was that deli⯑vered that letter to him. He told me the portereſs at the Rich Dames, and that his orders were, to go to every hotel in the city, till he found me; he had been at one or two, and he deemed himſelf fortunate in meeting with me as he did.

I CALLED for a pen and ink, and writ as follows.

HAVING found Flanders, by all accounts that I had received, to be a country of intrigue, I concluded this to be a buſineſs of the ſame kind. However, I impatiently waited for the hour of aſſignation at the Rich Dames, and was there by the time the clock ſtruck eleven. I enquired for ſiſter Agatha, and was ſhewn up into a parlour, where I had not been five minutes, before, I was, to my great aſtoniſhment, tranſported with the ſight of my dear Miſs Wildman, who ſeemed as much confuſed as myſelf, and was unable to utter a word. She put her hand through [58]the grate, on which I imprinted a thouſand kiſſes; and when I was able to ſpeak, I told her, the happi⯑neſs of meeting her where I ſo little expected to ſee her, totally overcame me. She ſaid ſhe was no leſs rejoiced on her part; that ſhe had encoun⯑tered a deal of trouble on my account; that ſhe was anxious to know where I had been, and how I was circum⯑ſtanced, and the reaſon ſhe had never heard from me: in ſhort, ſhe wiſhed to ſay a thouſand things to me, which her ſituation prevented, but which ſhe hoped I would give her ſome opportunity of doing. I ſhewed her the ring, which, in her gra⯑cious moments, ſhe had been pleaſed to give me, declared it had never been off my finger, and that for the many years I had loſt ſight of her, [59]ſhe had been ever in my thoughts. I fixed my eyes on her during theſe declarations, and ſaw the lovely tears trickle faſt down her cheeks, and was ſenſible of all her emotions. She appeared as amiable in my eyes as ever; and if her monaſtic dreſs made any alteration in her form, it was that of rendering her far more lovely. I gave her to under⯑ſtand, that I was ſtill a ſingle man, and as much attached to her as ever, and that I dreaded to hear her ſtory, leſt the chapter of accidents ſhould have placed her beyond my reach. When ſhe had recovered herſelf, ſhe told me ſhe was not yet profeſſed, of courſe not ſequeſtered for life; that her endeavouring to ſearch me out, was a teſt of the ſtate of her mind; and that on a preſumption [60]ſhe ſhould find me as honourable as ever, ſhe had written a few lines, which ſhe would ſubmit to my con⯑ſideration, on my return to my lodg⯑ings: that the watchful eyes of the ladies in that houſe made it neceſ⯑ſary ſhe ſhould not continue long at the grates; but that if I would excuſe her leaving me ſo abruptly, ſhe would be happy to give me a ſecond meeting the next morning, at the ſame hour, and at the ſame place. Unwilling as I was to part with her, I was forced to ſubmit. She, however, gave me her hand again to kiſs, and I retired with my heart in my mouth, unable to utter another word.

I WAS no ſooner without the walls of the convent, than I broke open the ſeal, and found the contents of her letter as follows:

[63] ENRAPTURED with the contents of this letter, I was impatient for a ſecond interview. The next morn⯑ing I ſaw her again, opened my whole heart to her, made her ac⯑quainted with my ſituation, and concerted means to get her off. I told her, if ſhe would direct me how to act, I would implicitly fol⯑low her directions; that I would take the matrimonial vow the firſt opportunity that offered, according to the ritual of the Roman church, and would ratify it at the altar of our own, as ſoon as I ſet foot in England. We then entered on the mode of her eſcape, and the plan ſhe pointed out was this. ‘Here is,’ ſays ſhe, ‘in wax, an im⯑preſſion of the garden key, which was accidentally left in the door [64]by ſome workmen, who are now within the convent, and which I found means to procure; get one made by it, and alſo ſuch neceſſary articles of dreſs as I have ſet down in this paper, and when all things are prepared, I will meet you at the garden gate, an hour before matins on any morning you ſhall appoint.’ I ap⯑proved her plan, and put it im⯑mediately into execution. A few days compleated the whole, and having ordered a carriage to wait at the corner of the ſtreet adjoining the convent, about two o'clock one morning, according to appoint⯑ment, when all was huſhed and quiet, I met her at the garden gate, threw a long cloak and hood over her, locked the gate again, to pre⯑vent [65]ſuſpicion, and conducted her to the chaiſe, in which we made the beſt of our way to Liſle, a town in French Flanders, and out of the reach of the police of Brabant. We were got ſome miles from Ghent, before I could prevail on her to ſpeak to me; at laſt, ſhe looked round upon me, gave me her hand, and with a ſigh exclaimed.—‘How raſhly, my dear Gabriel, do young women act! I fear you will your⯑ſelf deſpiſe me for my conduct!’ I ſoon quieted her on that head, aſſured her it was the beſt proof of her affection ſhe could give me, and that I truſted ſhe would have no cauſe to repent it.—We met with no interruption on the road, and by nine o'clock in the morning found ourſelves at Liſle. As ſoon [66]as we alighted at the Auberge, I ſent for the miſtreſs of the houſe, made her a confidante in the affair, and whilſt my Eliza was dreſſing, deſired a prieſt might be ſent for, in order to diſcharge my conſcience. An hour and a half did the buſineſs, her trunk was opened, and the mai⯑treſſe d'hotel aſſiſted at her toilette. The dreſs ſhe had directed was a white luteſtring with a pale yellow petticoat, and ſo faſhionably was it made, ſo well put on, and her head ſo elegantly decorated, that I was more in love with her than ever. The whole family was preſent at the ceremony of our eſpouſals, and I was bleſſed with the richeſt gift, in my opinion, which heaven had to give.

[67]AFTER dinner we purſued our way to St. Omer's, where I took a lodging and ſpent two months in an uninterrupted ſtate of happineſs. As we heard nothing from Ghent, and was not enquired after; I ap⯑prehend it was never known what route we took.

HAVING given my Eliza a faith⯑ful detail of my adventures, which ſhe acknowledged were the moſt extraordinary ſhe had heard of, in ſo ſmall a ſpace of time; at my requeſt one afternoon, ſhe gave the following account of herſelf.

CHAP. XX.

‘WE had not been two years in the country, before a young gentleman, a Roman Catholic, of a good family, and conſider⯑able eſtate, then on a viſit to a Baronet in our neighbourhood, thought proper to pay his ad⯑dreſſes to me, which I politely but peremptorily declined. Not diſcouraged, however, by this, he preferred his ſuit to my father, and brought him over to his cauſe.’ ‘Eliza,’ ſaid he, ‘one day to me, whilſt at breakfaſt, heaven has [72]thought proper to deprive me of your mother, and, according to the courſe of nature, it cannot be long before I follow her. I have no attachment to this world but you, and could I ſee you re⯑ſpectably and happily ſettled, I ſhould not care how ſoon I left it. The gentleman you have ſeen, is a young man of good family, and of conſiderable land⯑ed property; he is univerſally eſteemed by all who know him, and an alliance with him would give me great pleaſure. He has made me very honourable pro⯑poſals of marriage for you, and I think you cannot do better than receive him. With reſpect to ſettlements he has offered a carte [73]blanche, and you may make what terms you think proper.’

I HAD now been three months a⯑broad, and as the matter had blown over, for which I left England, and the miniſtry was changed, I con⯑ceived there could be no danger in returning, and accordingly quitted St. Omer's, and ſet off for London.

WHEN we reached London, till we could get a lodging, we put up at one of thoſe taverns called hotels, where, under a falſe idea of furniſh⯑ing better accommodations than is to be met with at inns, they con⯑trive [77]to pick the pockets of their gueſts. My plan of operations was to return to the profeſſion of an au⯑thor, which I conceived, not only to be the moſt lucrative I could purſue, but the moſt reſpectable, truſting to Providence for future expectancies; but ſeeing in one of the newſpapers an advertiſe⯑ment that ſtruck me, from a man who advertiſed places under government to be diſpoſed of; with the earlieſt intelligence of vacancies in all departments; and being in poſſeſſion of a little money, I was willing firſt to try what I could do here; I accordingly wait⯑ed on Provider the place-monger, (for that was the advertiſer's name) and the following was, as near as I [78]can recollect, the dialogue that paſſed between us.

IN ſhort, from this man's account, not finding I could ſuit myſelf with⯑out a conſiderable ſum of money, more than I had to ſpare, I gave up the idea, and determined to employ myſelf in the literary way. Accord⯑ingly I took a genteel firſt floor in a private ſtreet, for which I was to [89]pay one guinea and a half a week and reſumed my own name, Ed⯑ward Wilbraham. I gave my hand a ſecond time in marriage to my dear Eliza, according to the ceremonies of the Engliſh church; and when we were ſettled in our lodging, my next ſtep was to ſeek out for employ. My idea was to get into the pay of ſome opulent bookſeller. I applied to the man who printed the Flogger for me, made him my friend, and found him of uſe to me. He recommended me, to a patriot bookſeller, as a man whoſe talents were adapted to any thing in the ſcribbling line, and as one (which weighs moſt with the trade) who would write a great deal for a little money. To this man I was introduced, and he aſked me if I was [90]a good hand at a ſpeech. I told him I was no orator, at leaſt I had never tried my abilities that way. ‘I don't want you,’ ſays he, ‘to bellow forth yourſelf; but can you pen a good bellowing ſpeech for another? My friend tells me,’ continued he, ‘you are a pretty good politician, and as a variety of ignorant and illiterate people now creep into parliament, (ſome to ſhelter themſelves from a jail, others hoping to get ſome⯑thing by mouthing at and baiting the miniſter) theſe perſons are in continual want of ſomething to ſay, and I am daily applied to to get ſpeeches penned for them. If you are clever at this, I can employ you the whole ſeſſions: you have nothing to do, but to [91]collect the ſubjects from the newſ⯑papers, which generally announce the buſineſs that is to come on, that is the order of a future day, and have the ſpeech ready for de⯑livery the day before.’ And what, Sir, is to be my pay, ſays I, upon theſe occaſions? ‘That,’ returns he, ‘depends upon the length of the ſpeech, and the ſhortneſs of the time in which it is to be compoſed. Sometimes,’ ſays he, ‘we don't know the buſi⯑neſs twenty-four hours before⯑hand: in this caſe it is all night work, and if cleverly done, I may give you a guinea, at other times we ſeldom exceed half the money, and ſometimes a crown. But you need not fear proper encourage⯑ment, if you hit them off well, [92]and are keen at a laſh. Only take care to put the tittles to your i's, and the croſſes to your t's, and write pretty plain, or ſome of my gentlemen will not be able to read them.’ I undertook the taſk, and had ſufficient employ; for as I threw into my ſpeeches plenty of ſarcaſm, invective, and now and then a Latin quotation, interſperſed with an occaſional enecdote, to entertain and keep the hearers from yawning, taking care always to preſerve thoſe elegant parliamentary phraſes of ‘Habits of intimacy,’ ‘Verſant in order,’ ‘Honourable gentle⯑man in my eye,’ and the like; and as I had a happy knack of pen⯑ning them in different language and ſtile, ſo as to adapt them to the cha⯑racter of the ſpeakers, there ſeldom [93]paſſed a week during the whole ſeſ⯑ſions, that I did not pick up four or five guineas. For a modeſt man I wrote in the third perſon, for an egotiſt in the firſt, and never failed to give ſcope to the natural feelings and diſpoſition of the ſpeaker. When parliament broke up, I was employ⯑ed to write ſermons for the clergy. In this manufacture I was not paid ſo well. Seldom could I get more than a crown for the beſt written diſcourſe, except it was wanted by a biſhop, or it was required to be printed; in theſe caſes, I had half a guinea. Indeed the clergy cared not how ſhort and little decla⯑matory they were; for a declamatory diſcourſe requires too much exertion and trouble in the delivery.

[94]I SOON wrote myſelf into reputa⯑tion, and was applied to by a gentle⯑man concerned in the reviews, to take a part in one of thoſe periodical publications, the pay for which was two guineas per ſheet for the quan⯑tity I ſupplied. I doubted my abili⯑ties in this buſineſs, as it required a thorough knowledge of letters, to be able to criticize, with candour and preciſion, the works of others. ‘Can⯑dour,’ ſays he, ‘we have nothing to do with; for it has been long a cuſtom to admit the author of a new publication, to write his own criticiſms: in ſuch caſes we not only ſave a guinea by the quantity of matter, (for moſt authors are very verboſe in their own praiſe) but we get a guinea or two for its inſertion: and as to difficulty, [95]there is little or none; we only expect a few curſory remarks, with here and there an entertaining extract. The preſs ſo teems with publications, that were every work ſtudied, we ſhould never get through them. We had a gentle⯑man once, who would touch us off as much poetry, mathematics, and phyſic, in two hours, as would employ four compoſitors to ſet up for two days, and without much knowledge in either of the ſub⯑jects; but we have loſt him; he is gone to be an overſeer in a ſugar plantation in Jamaica, and we are in want of one to ſupply his place. You may as well try your hand, and ſee what you can do.’ I ſmiled in my ſleeve; but as I was not in a ſitu⯑ation to refuſe an employ I thought [96]I could undertake, I embraced the propoſal, eſpecially as, according to the plan of my employer, it would take up but little of my time.

THE next day a porter came with a bundle of new books on every ſci⯑ence. I looked them over, and meeting with a political tract, a ſubject in which I was beſt read, I put together a variety of animadver⯑ſions, and ſpun out my remarks to a conſiderable length, but treated the author with as much juſtice and candour as I could. On my tranſmit⯑ting the manuſcript to the printer, he thought proper to curtail it, by putting his pen through a variety of the beſt arguments, which he was pleaſed to ſay were tedious and dry, but which he in reality objected to, [97]becauſe the manuſcript was more than he choſe to pay for. This vexed me exceedingly; but as I was writing for bread, I was obliged to ſacrifice my fame and ſubmit.

It is no wonder that theſe monthly criticiſms are in ſuch low eſteem, with men of reading and good ſenſe, when the printers of them will dock and mutilate a manuſcript as they think proper, and fill their pockets at the expence of their credit. A very ingenious performance was one day brought me, with the following laconic note, from one of the pro⯑prietors.

AT another time I received the following, with five octavo volumes, about ſeven in the evening.

IN ſhort, I found this part of my profeſſion as barbarous and iniquitous, as my late practice of phyſic; for as that was murdering of men, this was murdering of reputations; and as reputations generally outlive the pe⯑riod of human life, and the laſt ſlaugh⯑ter is the greateſt of the two, I was determined to wipe my hands of it.

[99]THERE is not a greater ſlavery, nor a more dependent ſituation in the world, than to be in the pay of the bookſellers: they in general reward an author ſo ill, as to keep him al⯑ways poor, and this poverty is their beſt ſecurity againſt encroachment: for was a good writer to publiſh his own works, where he gets ten pounds, he would gain a hundred. Bookſellers are too timid adventurers to riſk much money on any one publication; and the misfortune is, a manuſcript never announces its ſucceſs: a bookſeller buys as if he never ſaw it; of courſe, if a book ſucceeds, 'tis the bookſel⯑ler, not the author, that profits by it. Were authors to be their own publiſhers, and to have juſtice done them by all parties concerned, they would be enabled to live well: for conſiderable incomes have [100]ariſen from the ſale of ſome works, for the copy-right of which very ſmall ſums were originally given. Burn's Juſtice, a book that has brought in thouſands, was originally ſold for leſs than five hundred pounds, Gay's Beg⯑gar's Opera for thirty punds, and Mil⯑ton's Paradiſe Loſt for fifteen pounds. And I have heard Sir J. F—ld—g ſay, that had his brother preſerved his copies in his own hands, the fa⯑mily would not have been reduced to the difficulties they were. Great ſums of money have occaſionally been given for copy-right, but his has been upon the reputaion of the au⯑thor; and nowithſtanding this, far from adequate to the intrinſic value of the work. Indeed, the bookſellers are ſo certain of this, that when any one of the trade fails, or retires from [101]buſineſs, and his copy-right is to be ſold, leſt authors ſhould come at the true value of ſuch copy-right, and know what it annually brings in; though ſuch property is ſold by auc⯑tion, the ſale is always a private one. The bookſellers alone are convened, and they will ſit a whole morning brooding over the buſineſs, like a number of conſpirators, darkly medi⯑tating the deſtruction of an individual. And ſuch is the jealouſy and rancour of the bookſelling tribe, that they will depreciate a work in which the trade is not concerned, and merely on that account. ‘How does ſuch a book ſell?’ ſays a cuſtomer, ‘can you ſhew me one?’ ‘Oh, not at all,’ replies the bookſeller: ‘I never keep any: I don't know that I have been aſked for more [102]than one ſince it has been out.’ And you are ſure to find it ill ſpoken of in the reviews. That this will be the fate of mine I have not a doubt, eſpecially after what I have ſaid, and having ſent this hiſtory into the world, under the patronage of the Literary Society.^* But let him, or [103]any other bookſeller with whom he is connected, be concerned in the copy, and he will put it into the hands of every one, with ‘Have you ſeen this, Sir? It is a book in great eſtimation, and ſells ra⯑pidly.’ Then again, by way of deception, though they print but five hundred copies, the title-page ſhall be altered five times in ſuch an edition, the ſecond hundred having the words ſecond edition in the title, of the third hundred the third edi⯑tion, and ſo on: ſo that the third edition of a book ſhall be advertiſed and ſelling, before a ſufficient number are ſold to pay even paper or print. I bleſſed myſelf that I diſcovered theſe artifices early enough to put many hundreds of pounds in my pocket; for having no man midwife [104]to bring my bantlings into the world, they were not ſtrangled in the birth. Indeed they have been obliged to live by their own little merit, a prohibition being laid by the proprietors of the reviews, on thoſe who write for them, not to ſay a ſingle word in the favour of any thing they know to be mine, but to handle it as ſeverely as they can. I have this ſatisfaction, however, to think, that whatever little reputa⯑tion I may have acquired, they can⯑not diminiſh it: or even, if they could, they cannot hinder me from being eaſy under their attacks.

CHAP XXI.

I WENT on ſucceſsfully as an author, and found that the pro⯑feſſion, under the circumſtances I have mentioned, enabled me to live, and cut a much better figure than I expected; but had I been poor, I ſhould not have repined, the pover⯑ty of a man of letters being a proof only, that he never proſtitut⯑ed either his perſon or his pen. I fell into the hands of a very reſpect⯑able bookſeller, a man who had [106]pride and ſpirit above the reſt of the trade, and who ſcorned to be guilty of a mean or narrow action. This man did juſtice to every work I put into his hands, ſettled his ac⯑count very regularly, and paid his ballances punctually. I did ſo well that I took a houſe before I had been twelve months married, and appeared in a ſtile that would not have diſgraced any of my father's family. My Eliza bleſſed me with a ſon, and we were as happy as matrimony, reciprocal affection, and good circumſtances could render us. We made ſeveral applications to Mr. Wildman, who was ſo exaſperat⯑ed at the conduct of his daughter, that he would attend to none of them, and I was under the neceſſity of proceeding againſt him in law, [107]to recover the three hundred a year that became the property of my wife on the death of her mother. Many terms elapſed before I could bring the matter to a final hearing. I at firſt fell into the hands of one of thoſe attornies who know how to handle a client to the beſt advan⯑tage. Notwithſtanding all my cau⯑tion, I was not aware of the injury they could do me; I little expect⯑ed, they ever carried matters to ſuch lengths, as to take money of the oppoſite party, and betray their employers; but I now found my⯑ſelf miſtaken, for I diſcovered when the cauſe was at iſſue, that my at⯑torney had given notice of trial, that he had been bought over on the other ſide, and had omitted to attend: the conſequence was a non⯑ſuit [108]and I was ſerved with an exe⯑cution for a non pros; that is, for not proſecuting the matter to a hearing. Attornies are liable to be ſtruck off the roll for this conduct, and I was very well diſpoſed to make an example of mine; but, a friend diſſuaded me from it with the following argument: ‘If you move the Court of King's Bench againſt him, it muſt be on affi⯑davit, and I ſhould not wonder if ſuch a raſcal was to ſuborn witneſſes to prove you perjured, and ſet you in the pillory.’ Moſt attornies will delay a ſuit, in order to put a few term and other fees into their pockets; and, when the ſolicitor has done, the bar⯑riſter takes it up. In this cauſe of mine as the lawyers found that money was [109]not wanting on either ſide, they took care to make the moſt of the buſineſs. Many frivolous pretences are often urged to delay the hear⯑ing; but I could never ſuppoſe, that when the cauſe is once called on, that any meaſures are purſued to put off the trial: but I was now convinced to the contrary, for, as I have obſerved, when the attornies have done, the counſel begin; they will move under various pretexts to defer its coming on from day to day, purpoſely that the barriſters retained may have freſh retaining fees; for every adjournment of a cauſe puts freſh ſums into the pockets of the pleaders; and this cuſtom meets with too much coun⯑tenance from above, ſo that when the witneſſes are all ready and every [110]thing prepared, the hearing ſhall be unexpectedly adjourned. Such is the glorious uncertainty of the law!—Why are the lawyers always dreſſed in black? ſays a countryman. Out of reſpect to their clients, whoſe heirs they are. However, my next at⯑torney was exceedingly induſtrious, and to do him juſtice, ſo ready to ſerve my cauſe, that he once aſked me at parting, who was to find the witneſſes, he or I?—A decree was at laſt obtained in my favour, and I was put into poſſeſſion of the eſtate.

WE were now as happy as hearts could wiſh, and being at the re⯑ceipt of about eight hundred pounds a year, we envied not others as many thouſands. But, in the career [111]of all this felicity, an accident hap⯑pened that for a while blaſted the whole. My poor Eliza, coming home one evening from the opera, caught cold: the conſequence was a putrid fever, that, in ſpite of every medical aſſiſtance, took her off in the every bloom of her youth; and it is but juſtice to her memory, that I ſhould ſay, ſhe died as ſhe lived, the pride of innocence and of virtue. Her laſt words to me were, ‘My dear Edward, after conſign⯑ing to you the care of my in⯑fant boy, I have but one requeſt to make. Imprudent as my father may think I have acted, I preſume, he will feel my loſs. Unkindly as he may have acted by me, he is ſtill my father, and, for my ſake, let no unguard⯑ed [112]action of your's add to his diſtreſs.’ A few months after⯑wards, the ſmall pox bereaved me of my ſon; and this ſecond ſtroke of affliction, following quick upon the heels of the firſt, quite unmanned me; it was a conſiderable time be⯑fore I recovered my former ſpirits, I thought of nothing, ‘but going down into the grave, mourning;’ but Providence has ſo wiſely tem⯑pered our frames, that the impreſ⯑ſion, which the deepeſt calamity leaves upon the mind, will, wear away like other ſublunary things. My Eliza had been the boaſt of my life and the admiration of all her acquaintance, and I mourned for her, not as the generality of the world mourns, but truly and ſincerely. Mourning for the dead [113]is now become a farce, and there is no appearance of ſorrow in the ſurviving relations, but in the coat they wear. Many an heir has put on his weepers with as much glee, as a birth-day embroidery; and many a widow takes more pride in her weeds, than in her bridal cloaths. On the death of a nobleman whom I knew, his lady, from an opinion that the melancholy event would affect her ſon, even more than it had herſelf, (he having been bred up under the ſame roof, and expe⯑rienced from his father the height of parental fondneſs) prevailed up⯑on a friend, a man of addreſs, to wait on him and break it to him, in the tendereſt manner he could. This gentleman having taken ſome pains to open the buſineſs, ſo as to arm [114]him for the doleful news, conclud⯑ed with obſerving, that as it was ab⯑ſurd to conceal the truth from him, ſince his good ſenſe would reconcile him to the event; he muſt tell him, that his father had paid the debt of nature and was dead. The young man, at the ſound of the laſt word, ſtarted back and ſtared him in the face; then repeating the world dead emphatically; he pauſed—and whilſt his friend was in pain, con⯑ceiving he had told his ſtory too abruptly, the young man put him at his eaſe, and, with a toſs of the chin, made up his own mind upon the occaſion, with the follow⯑ing declaration.—‘I'll have a black chariot:—my greys will look ſweetly in it.’

[115]As a literary man, I was invit⯑ed to the houſes of many very re⯑ſpectable perſonages; but, proud as I might be of the honour, I met with little there but mortifica⯑tion. I was placed at the lower end of the table; helped to an ordinary part; not attended to, per⯑haps, when I ſpoke; requeſted oc⯑caſionally to riſe and ring the bell; not ſuffered to cut in at the whiſt table, and ſuch other ſlights. As I conſidered myſelf, if not of equal rank in life with the reſt of the company, yet, as having more knowledge, and more abilities, and of courſe equally entitled to reſpect, I muſt own it hurt me; but why, if I diſliked it, did I go into the way of it? Becauſe, I thought to benefit by their acquaintance. In⯑deed, [116]I frequently reconciled this behaviour to me, by ſaying to my⯑ſelf, theſe men do not in reality deſpiſe me. It is my fortune they contemn; and they are not ſo much in the wrong, for it is certainly a ſmall one.—I determined, therefore, to put up with the indignity, but made uſe of them in my turn. I never refuſed any thing they were diſpoſed to preſent me, and took every advantage their ſituation threw in my way.

I THINK, for the honour of our nobility, it ſhould be known, that whilſt one is engaged at a cricket-match, ſacrificing the welfare of the ſtate to the bat and the wick⯑et, another ſhall be boxing with poſt-boys and poſtillions, and ano⯑ther running a race with a chim⯑ney-ſweeper [117]up a chimney, the devil within, the peer without; but, he who ran within, beat the other hollow; for he was hooping ſweep at the top, before his lord⯑ſhip was half way up. They talk of the dignity of the peerage; time was when an Engliſh Baron was the moſt reſpectable character in the world; but the dignity of the modern peerage conſiſts in being a diſgrace to manhood.

I WAS one day aſked to dine with the Marquis of G. who had a principal office in adminiſtration. He was a perſon whom I knew only by character; but that character did him honour, and made me an⯑xious to be known to him. He was a nobleman, who, though con⯑ſcious of his own dignity and care⯑ful [118]never to commit himſelf, put every one at their eaſe about him and never attempted to raiſe his own conſequence, by leſſening that of another: he never ſet his chap⯑lain at a ſide table, or trod upon his toes to ſilence him in a con⯑verſation; nor ever aſked a depen⯑dant to riſe from dinner to ring the bell, or let in his dog; but, as his ſituation in life required him occa⯑ſionally to mix with men of inferior rank, he was induſtriouſly atten⯑tive to ſuch men, leſt they might fell themſelves wounded, at any ſeeming neglect.—It is wonderful to reflect on the ignorance of thoſe brought up in high life! To know a great deal of the world, is a phraſe they affect, whereas to real worldly knowledge they are utter [119]ſtrangers. The moſt ſenſible among them are ignorant of every thing beyond their line of life, and they owe their ignorance to their pride. Were they open to information, they have frequent opportunities of being very well informed. If there be any thing to be envied in rank, it is, that their ſituation enables them to have men of learning and knowledge frequently at their tables, but, when they are ſo bleſſed, from a miſtaken notion of elevation, they ſhut their eyes and ears to that inform⯑ation they might otherwiſe acquire.

THE Marquis coveted my acquaint⯑ance, I believe, from an opinion, that I might be uſeful to him with my pen. As ſoon as decency per⯑mitted me to go abroad, I waited on him, and when my name was [120]announced, he very politely met me at the foot of his ſtairs; told me how greatly flattered he was with my viſit; the principal object of which was to requeſt my opi⯑nion of a paper he delivered to me ſealed up, and which he begged me to put in my pocket till my return home, as he had ſome com⯑pany above to whom he meant to introduce me. Theſe were ſeveral gentlemen of his acquaintance, whom he alſo invited to dinner. Among them, to my ſurpriſe and mortification, was Lord B. the per⯑ſon from whoſe hands I had eſcap⯑ed, when I left Mr. Wildman's. His father was dead, and he was now the Earl of S. I preſently knew him, but he remembered nothing of me: nor, having changed my [121]name, did any circumſtance lead to a diſcovery. But, as fate would have it, during the afternoon, in the hour of hilarity, talking of their amours; the Marquis of G. rallying Lord S. obſerved in good nature, that he had little reaſon to boaſt of predilections, for to him they had nearly been attended with bad con⯑ſequences. ‘Was that fellow,’ ſays the Marquis, ‘whom you way⯑laid in Berkley-Square, never heard of afterwards?’ ‘No,’ replied his lordſhip, ſmiling, ‘the raſcal, I dare ſay, has been hang⯑ed at ſome country aſſizes long before this. How the devil ſo fine a girl as Miſs Wildman could countenance the advances of ſo low and ignorant a ſcoundrel, to me is aſtoniſhing.’ [122]I obſerved, that the ladies in ge⯑neral, being made of finer materi⯑als than our ſex, were bleſſed with a peculiar diſcernment, and could diſcover beauties and perfect⯑ions in man, much readier than we could; at leaſt, we muſt leave them at liberty to know what they themſelves beſt like. ‘Yes, Sir,’ returns Lord S. ‘but, this fel⯑low was a ſervant of her father's, and one of the moſt low-bred ſcoundrels in the world.—You are unacquinted with the ſtory, Sir, and therefore cannot decide upon the merits of it.’ I told his lordſhip, that the affair was a very public one and within my recollection; that I knew ſome of the parties, and that he was more indebted to that low bred fellow's [123]forgiveneſs, for his impunity, than to any juſtification of the ſteps he took. ‘You ſeem to take this buſineſs up, Sir,’ replies Lord S. warmly, ‘in a very ungentle⯑man-like manner, and very un⯑becoming the ſituation in which you were introduced here.’ The Marquis would have interfered, but I requeſted to be heard upon the occaſion. ‘I am not inſenſi⯑ble,’ ſays I, addreſſing myſelf to Lord S. ‘of the honour Lord G. has done me, by inviting me to his houſe, and I beg his lord⯑ſhip's pardon, for any thing that may have eſcaped me to trouble the harmony of the afternoon; but, I flatter myſelf, he would not wiſh to conſider me in a ſituation below that of a gentle⯑man, [124]and as a proper acquaint⯑ance for himſelf. I cannot boaſt of titulary honours; but, in point of family, education, and abilities, I am ſecond but to few. All gentlemen are upon an e⯑quality; ſo far, my lord, I am your equal, and will ſubmit to no indignity.’ At this, he roſe and walked about the room in heat, muttering the words, ‘fellow—im⯑pertinence, impudence.’—One of the company requeſted me, apart, to retire a few minutes, till Lord S's heat had ſubſided. This I totally objected to, declaring, ‘I had more reaſon to be diſpleaſed than his lordſhip; that if he knew me, I was perſuaded he would not dare to look in my face; that I was the very man, that his [125]unguarded tongue had traduced; that I gloried in being that very raſcal and ſcoundrel his lordſhip had thought proper to calumni⯑ate; that I was nearly allied to the Wilbrahams of Notting⯑hamſhire; that I was in the en⯑tail of that eſtate; that I had married Miſs Wildman, though Providence has been pleaſed ſince to take her from me; and that at the preſent moment, I enjoyed part of the family eſtate: in a word, that though fate once had frowned on me and I had worn a livery, I was born and bred a gentleman, and was as indepen⯑dent as any man living; that the language his lordſhip held out to me, was ſuch as could not be put up with, and that he would [126]find I ſhould reſent it warmly.’ Thunderſtruck at this account, the company knew not how to act; but, I ſoon left them to themſelves, for, approaching the Marquis of G. I told him how unhappy the event of that day had made me, not on my own account, but his, having been the unwilling cauſe of troub⯑ling the quiet of his lordſhip's houſe: that for the preſent I would take my leave; thanked him for the good opinion he had been pleaſed to en⯑tertain of me, and truſted my con⯑duct in life was, and would be ſuch, as to leave him no room to af⯑ter it.

ON my return home, I broke open the cover, that contained the paper his lordſhip had given me, [127]and found it to be a grant from the crown, of a penſion of three hun⯑dred pounds a year, with a warrant to receive a quarter's pay in advance.

THE next morning, I called upon a particular friend of mine, with whom I had lately made an ac⯑quaintance, told him the event of yeſterday, and how determined I was to puniſh Lord S. for the in⯑ſult offered, not ſo much to myſelf, for that, as he did not know me, I could overlook, nor through re⯑venge at the mode he took to get rid of his hated rival, for as ſuch he underſtood me; but for the in⯑dignity, treachery and violence he had offered to my late wife, when Miſs Wildman, and whoſe memory I revered beyond every thing. I [128]importuned this friend to wait on Lord S. from me, and to requeſt he would meet me the next morning at ſix, at the ring in Hyde Park, in order to give me that ſatisfaction the injuries he had done me, enti⯑tled me to aſk.

MY friend ſaw him, and his lord⯑ſhip's anſwer was, he muſt firſt know me to be a gentleman, before he ſhould attend to any call of mine upon ſuch a ſubject. I ſent him word, that he need only adviſe with the Marquis of G. upon the occa⯑ſion, and I would abide by his de⯑termination. The reſult of which was, on my friend's ſeeing him a⯑gain, that he would certainly meet me at the time and place appointed.

[129]I ADJUSTED very thing I thought neceſſary to arrange, and was with my friend upon the ground, half an hour before the time. Lord S. kept his appointment punctually, and ſoon after me appeared with his friend; the etiquette on theſe oc⯑caſions being ſettled, we diſcharged a brace of piſtols at each other, but without effect. Our friends then interfered, and would have had the matter terminate; but as I did not come there to make a parade of any boaſted heroiſm, but to bring my enemy to a ſenſe of the injury he had done Miſs Wildman, I inſiſted upon his drawing his ſword; which was immediately complied with, and he attacked me with all the fury of revenge; but I being ſomething cooler, and maſter of the weapon, [130]parried his thruſts with temper; after a few paſſes, wounded him in the ſword arm, and, as I had done on a former occaſion, diſarmed him. Finding himſelf thus in my power, he acknowledged his error, apolo⯑gized for his warmth at the Mar⯑quis of G.'s, and ſaid, had he known ſo much of me then, as he did now, he ſhould not have acted as he had; that his temper frequently betray⯑ed him into ſteps, he afterwards repented of, and this was one of them; that fortune had now thrown him into my hands, and he was at my mercy, and if nothing but his life could atone for his raſhneſs, I might take it. My lord, replied I, I muſt again repeat, that I came not here with any blood-thirſty view; it is not your life I ſeek; had [131]I been ſo diſpoſed, I could have taken it at ſeveral moments within theſe ten minutes paſt. I aim only to redreſs the wrong done to the memory of an injured lady, one whom your ungovernable phrenzy would have ſacrificed to a lawleſs paſſion; but as ſhe had a ſoul above revenge, I undertaken to give you back your forfeited life, a life you now owe to the love I bore that beſt of women. He acknowledged the force of all I ſaid, and I believe we parted in better temper with each other, than when we met.

NOTHING can ſhew a greater want of ſenſe; nothing betrays a man into more embarraſſments, than being to free of ſpeech in public company. We know not whom we [132]talk before, nor how far the perſons we ſpeak to, are intereſted in what we ſay. An unguarded tongue has frequently coſt me an unhappy hour; it had nearly coſt Lord S. his life.

THOUGH I was hurried by the reſpect I bore the memory of my Eliza into this act, and it ended without any fatal conſequences, I cannot but condemn the too general practice of duelling upon the ſlight⯑eſt occaſions. There is ſuch an in⯑conſiſtent etiquette in theſe affairs of honour, that nothing but the abſurdeſt cuſtom can juſtify. A man will, by his conduct and de⯑clarations, pride himſelf in being a raſcal, and if any one ſhould pre⯑ſume to ſubſcribe to the character [133]he is pleaſed to give himſelf, he calls him out, determining, as his moſt humble ſervant, to cut this man's throat as ſoon as poſſible. And though ſuch perſons meet the great⯑eſt enemies, and endeavour to rob each other of life, a few minutes ſhall make them the beſt friends in the world. If there be any argument in its favour, it is that of keeping gentlemen within the bounds of civility to each other; but when we conſider how far it is often ſtrained, it is to be lamented, that ſome powerful means are not taken to aboliſh it. The gentlemen of Ireland are very capricious in this reſpect; I admire their feelings, but I condemn their raſhneſs. The fol⯑lowing ſtory will explain my ideas.

[134]A YOUNG gentleman of my ac⯑quaintance, heir to an eſtate in Ire⯑land, found it neceſſary to go over to take poſſeſſion of it; but, ſet⯑ting, perhaps, a greater value upon his life than it deſerved, and know⯑ing the haſty temper of the Iriſh, and his own feelings as a man, he dreaded the thoughts of venturing into a country, where he conceived it almoſt next to an impoſſibility of coming away again in a whole ſkin, till the following thought reconciled it to him. He reſolved, during the whole time he was a⯑broad, never to go into the com⯑pany of any one who wore a ſword. He was there upwards of ſix weeks, had engaged for his paſſage on his return home, and was bleſſing him⯑ſelf the day before he was to ſail, on [135]his prudence and diſcretion; but to leave Ireland, and ſee nothing of the world there, would be ridicu⯑lous. Now, his notions of the world were, to ſpend a few hours at a bagnio; he determined, there⯑fore, to paſs his laſt evening in one of thoſe houſes, where he met with a couple of ladies, the only two in the houſe, whom he propoſed to entertain with a ſupper. Whilſt this was preparing, the waiter en⯑tered with ‘there is a gentleman in the houſe, Sir, whoſe name is Patrick Shilalah; he ſends his compliments to your honour, and begs you'll permit him to be of your party.’ At this meſſage, my friend's prudence took the alarm, and he returned the following, ‘make my compliments to the [136]gentleman, and tell him, as I have not the honour to be known to him, and as my ſtay here will be very ſhort, I hope he will ex⯑cuſe me.’ The waiter ſoon re⯑turned, with Mr. Patrick Shilalah's compliments, and ‘if you won't admit of his company, he begs he may have one of the ladies.’ ‘Do, my dear Jenny,’ ſays my friend to one of the girls, ‘do— pray—go to the gentleman.’ She accordingly went, but the waiter was again diſpatched, with ‘the gentleman's compliments, and begs the other lady, for he did not like the one he had.’ Vex⯑ed and diſappointed, and not think⯑ing either of the girls worth fight⯑ing for, he prevailed on the other to go alſo, and in the height of this [137]mortification called for the ſupper, when the waiter told him, ‘it was carried in to Mr. Patrick Shila⯑lah and the ladies.’ Irritated beyond meaſure at this treatment, he at firſt meditated revenge; but on cooler conſideration, as he was not known, was going for England in the morning, and ſhould proba⯑bly never be in Ireland again, he deemed it beſt to pocket the affront, and make the beſt of his way home to his lodgings; where he had ſcarcely got into bed, but a loud knock was heard at the door, and ſoon after, his ſervant came into his room with, ‘there is a gentleman below, Sir, who calls himſelf Patrick Shilalah, and ſays, that being conſcious he has not treat⯑ed you as he ſhould have done, is [138]come to offer you gentleman's ſatisfactions.’ ‘Good God! Thomas,’ replied my friend, ‘make my compliments to the gentleman, tell him, I am in bed or I would wait on him, and that I am not the leaſt offended with any part of his conduct, being rather happy it was in my power to contribute to his amuſements.’ This ſent Mr. Patrick Shilalah off, and my friend, unwilling to truſt himſelf an hour longer on Iriſh ground, haſted on board the packet, and waited there till it ſailed.

CHAP. XXII.

BEING now in ſome repute as an author, I had a viſit from the clergyman whom I have ſpoken of before in the Sixth Chapter, as a Nealogiſt. ^* He introduced himſelf to me, by ſaying, that he ſhould have thought himſelf unpardonable, had he omitted to ſalutate ^† a gentleman to whom erudites ^‡ were ſo much in⯑debted. [140]He appeared to me to be an outrée character, and as ſuch I che⯑riſhed his acquaintance. He obſerved to me, that the literati were obliged to him for a variety of new-coined words, which he intended to preſent to the proprietors of dictionaries, and in this, he flattered himſelf, he ſhould be of more real ſervice to the age, than all the lexicographers and writers who had gone before him; that circumlocution was not only expenſive to the breath, but tireſome to the ear; that the beauty of diction conſiſted in its being full and nervous, and that the ſhorter a ſentence, the more perfect it was, and the leſs at⯑tention it required; that pleonaſm might be a figure in rhetoric, but it was the rhetoric of former ages, when a man was eſteemed for his [141] ſuper abundity ^* of words; ‘but now,’ ſays he, ‘the leſs a man ſays, the more he is ſuppoſed to think; and a cogitator ^† is always conſidered as an intelligent.’ ^‡ This was all ſaid with that volubility of tongue, and rapidity of utterance, as ſcarce to admit of his taking breath, much leſs of leaving me an opportunity to reply. He next pro⯑ceeded to tell me, that he had an uni⯑verſal acquaintance in the literary world; that he correſponded with every author of reputation, both abroad and at home, and had the firſt intelligence and copy of every publi⯑cation, either printed, or deſigned for the preſs. He told me he was [142]going to pay a viſit to his friend Dr. Pompoſo, a very extraordinary cha⯑racter, but a great erudite, and aſked me to accompany him. Wiſhing to be acquainted with men of learning, I accepted his invitation, and chear⯑fully went with him.

As we were walking to this man's houſe, he informed me that Dr. Pompoſo was a warm friend to wri⯑ters of this country, but would not admit that real learning had ever ex⯑tended beyond it. ‘Nay,’ ſays he, ‘his predilection for England ſo abducts ^* him, that he avers they are all blockheads on the other ſide the Tweed.’ He told me, that when Abernethy firſt publiſhed thoſe [143]ſermons which were not known to be his, by any upography ^† in the title page, ("except by me," ſays he, with a kind of triumphant nod, "and I was ſilent,") they fell in Pompoſo's way. Enraptured with the arguments, and raviſhed with the diction, he carried a volume always in his pocket, and introduced it every where as the ſtandard of correct lan⯑guage. But unfortunately the ſecond edition appeared with the author's name affixed. The volume was no longer circumgeſted ^‡; he forgot, or wiſhed to forget, both the ſermons and their author. It happened, how⯑ever, one day, that one of his neceſſarii, ^* who ſpoke always from [144]Pompoſo's mouth, had been depredi⯑cating ^* in company Abernethy's language, and requeſted from the Doctor a ſight of the volume, to ve⯑rify his aſſertions. He replied that he had never ſeen Abernethy's ſer⯑mons. ‘What!’ retorts his friend, ‘not that Abernethy whoſe lan⯑guage you extol as a model of per⯑fection?’ ‘Perfection!’ returns he angrily; ‘I never knew a Scotchman yet, that could write a line of grammar.’

WHEN we reached Pompoſo's houſe, I was introduced to him as one of the literati, whom he muſt ſuperbiate, ^† to receive. He never moved from his chair, but (which [145]was in him a great mark of condeſcen⯑ſion) diſired me to be ſeated. He had ſeveral perſons with him, who ſeem⯑ed to have been writing, for each had a pocket book and pencil in his hand. Pompoſo was very near ſighted, and being bent with age, his head hung down ſo much, that his chin reſted upon his boſom; of courſe he could ſee nothing right before him. This happened to be his levee day, and is apartment was crowded. On our being ſeated among the reſt, he grumbled forth ‘that the literati of the preſent times were but few; that the aera of learning had long gone by, and that latter pretenders to it, were but quacks in the republic of letters; that literature had been poiſoned by the modern diſpenſers of words; and that without ſpeedy correction and [146]illumination in ſcience, we ſhould fall back into the barbariſms of the darker ages.’ Scarce did he utter a word, but every one in the room, except ourſelves, had his pencil to his paper, and was copying from his mouth, as if he had been an oracle. The perſons preſent, I found, were a parcel of ſcribblers, who, by adu⯑lation and praiſe, were admitted to viſit him, and who, by ſtarting dif⯑ferent topics, generally brought away with them a much greater ſtore of ideas than they carried there. It was a ſcene that entertained me for the moment, but which I never cared to renew.

ON my obſerving to my new ac⯑quaintance, that, though education generally poliſhed the manners of the [147]world, it ſeemed, with reſpect to him, to have loſt its influence, for that he appeared to me to be quite a cynic, and a Hottentot, he admitted my obſervation to be juſt. ‘With all his learning and his knowledge,’ ſays he, ‘he is a bear in his manners, and looks down with an affected pity on men, who have little elſe than their rank or their fortune to diſ⯑tinguiſh them. The man of ſci⯑ence, will he often ſay, is a kind of intellectual being, whom the Creator has thought proper to il⯑lighten with ſome rays of his di⯑vinity, and in the ſcale of hu⯑manity is truly great; whereas he who is diſtinguiſhed only from the crowd by a title, is ſcarce more than a contemptible reptile, who envying the ſuper-eminence of his [148]fellow-creature, ſues to his prince for that little trifling honour, which ſelf-created dignity has to beſtow upon a paraſite; and when beſtowed, affords the perſon on whom it is conferred, as little rea⯑ſon to boaſt, as a favourite ſpaniel has, in the appellation of the high-ſounding names of Caeſar or Pom⯑pey. So far is he from being a reſpecter of perſons, that he will deſpiſe and deride even thoſe who ſerve him.’

‘DR. Pompoſo was formerly a political writer, violent againſt the miniſtry; and as he wrote with a keenneſs and ſeverity, that would have placed ſome men in the pillory; to ſtop his mouth, the miniſter, who was a Scotch⯑man, [149]thought proper to penſion him: but this did not abate his animoſity to the Scottiſh nation, to which he was an avowed enemy. A friend of his has ſince told me, that he accompanied him once to receive his penſion.’ ‘Our con⯑verſation,’ ſays he, ‘all the way, was on the iniquity of employing Scotchmen in affairs of ſtate; and Pompoſo was ſo warm upon the ſubject, that he kept it up all the way we went; nay, he continued it even whilſt he was counting his money.’ ‘One,—two,—five,—ten,—twenty.—The North Bri⯑ton,’ ^* ſays he, ‘has been, how⯑ever, of ſome uſe:—Twenty-five,—twenty-eight;—it has turned one [150]d—mn'd Scotchman out of place:’ (this was the man that penſioned him)—‘Thirty,—thirty-five,—for⯑ty,—forty-five.—Theſe raſcals, I fear, will be the ruin of this country at laſt.’ ‘And at this rate did he proceed, railing at, and abuſing the people, to whom he was moſt indebted. He had once been in the pay of the bookſellers, but being a ſingle man, whoſe wants were but few, he ſoon de⯑termined that a hireling writer is at beſt but a proſtitute, and when they would employ him no long⯑er, he dropped the profeſſion.’

THE Marquis of G. called on me a few mornings after, and ſaid the whole town rung with my commen⯑dation. He had a friend of his, he [151]ſaid, who wiſhed to be acquainted with me, and if agreeable to me, he would attend me there to dinner. I accepted the invitation, and accom⯑panied him. This new acquaintance is a man (Lord W.) who, from making a great noiſe in the houſe of commons, has been lately created and Iriſh baron. He has to boaſt of great moral virtue and good parts, but as much confin⯑ed in worldly knowledge, as is his walk in the broad way of life. He is maſter of etiquette, and the doctrine of courts no one knows better; but ſo dim-ſighted is he in other reſpects, that he can ſee nothing beyond the blaze of majeſty. Owing his eleva⯑tion in life, more to chance than fa⯑mily or connexions, and having but a circumſcribed fortune, he has lit⯑tle or no dignity, but what he owes [152]to the favour of his prince; of courſe, the little rank he has, is the only thing on which he hangs, or depends for reſpect: and leſt any one about him ſhould loſe ſight of that rank, he is always talking of it, bringing it forward, and blazoning it abroad, and will not fail to tell you how gra⯑cious the king was on the laſt levee day. He affects to be a great man, and believes himſelf to be ſo, but it is only as far as mimickry makes him. Thus, he puts me in mind of a poor gentleman, deſcended from one of the kings of Ireland, and who, wrapt up in his family pride, has retired into an obſcure part of that country, with a patrimony of four ſcore pounds a year, and who, amid wretchedneſs and beggary, is ſerved upon the knee, and never receives [153]any one, but he offers him his hand to kiſs. Indeed, the pride of the Iriſh is inſufferable. The ſons of a gentleman are all bred up in that ſtile, though the father's eſt⯑ate is ſo ſmall, as not to admit of his giving them a ſhilling: hence they come over to England, and com⯑mence fortune-hunters. I once knew a baronet's widow who had two ſons; the eldeſt took the family eſtate, about eight hundred pounds a year, but was obliged to pay his brother one thou⯑ſand pounds on his mother's death, who had, during her life, a jointure of two hundred pounds a year out of this eſtate. An Engliſh gentleman of her acquaintance, who had for⯑merly been in buſineſs, adviſed her ladyſhip to put this younger ſon into trade, and ſettle him in England; [154]but her family pride ſtood in her way, and ſhe could not bring herſelf to think of it. Some time, however, afterwards, ſhe altered her mind; and as the proviſion made for her younger ſon was ſo very ſmall, and ſhe had not intereſt to get him any proper appointment, ſhe brought him to England, and applied to her friend who before adviſed the mea⯑ſure. ‘I begin now to think, Mr. Wiſeman,’ ſays ſhe, ‘that the Engliſh are a better kind of peo⯑ple than repreſented, and that trade is not ſo deſpicable as I once con⯑ceived; of courſe, ſhall have no objections to my ſon's living among them, and entering into ſome com⯑mercial connexions. If you can meet with any reſpectable place, and fix him in ſome genteel buſi⯑neſs, [155]that he can follow without diſcredit, I ſhall think myſelf obliged to you.’ This gentle⯑man, as a friend to the family, intereſted himſelf in the matter, and took ſome pains to find out a houſe, where, when the young gentleman had ſerved his time, he might be re⯑ceived as a partner, and be likely, in a few years, to get a good fortune; and having found ſuch a place, he flew with alacrity to the lady, and told her, in the warmth of his heart, how fortunate he had been. ‘As I knew you was our friend,’ ſays her ladyſhip, ‘I conceived you the beſt perſon in the world to apply to in the buſineſs. Pray, Mr. Wiſeman, what is the profeſſion?’ ‘A biſcuit-baker, Ma'am,’ ſays he. Panic-ſtruck at the word, ‘Biſcuit-baker!’ [156]ſhe cried out: ‘Would you make Sir Harry Lofty's ſon a biſcuit-baker!’ ‘Why indeed, Madam,’ returns Mr. Wiſeman, piqued at her folly, ‘I have rather miſtaken the matter here; I did not properly conſider it.’ ‘I was very ſure you had not,’ replies the lady, ſoftening her voice, ‘or a biſcuit-baker could have never entered into your thoughts.’ ‘Your ladyſhip is perfectly right,’ ſays her friend: ‘Had I thought well upon the ſubject, I never ſhould have propoſed it; for on fur⯑ther conſideration, was the whole family eſtate to be realized, and con⯑verted into money, it would not be ſufficient to ſet him up in buſineſs.’—But to return to my narrave. If at any time Lord W. is fami⯑liar [157]with an inferior, it is when he 6 is not ſeen. The man he thinks proper to receive when in the coun⯑try, and pretends there to love and eſteem, he will be out of counten⯑ance at in public; he will ſhun him when in London, and ſcarce hon⯑our him with a nod, if in company with men of rank. He will viſit none in his neighbourhood that are not titled; and at times, is afaird to ſtoop his head to a tenant, for fear of committing himſelf. He will know no man that is not generally known, will follow nothing but inconſtancy, admire nothing but beauty, and honour nothing but fortune. Though he is affectedly attentive to thoſe be⯑low him, when they fall in his way, and the eye of the world is not upon him; yet he draws back when they [158]are addreſſing him, as if contamina⯑tion was in their breath, and is all gooſeſkin at a low bred man. He dares not ſalute a man in old cloaths, or unfaſhionably dreſſed; and will go ſo far as to confeſs vices he is a ſtran⯑ger to, provided thoſe vices are in faſhion. He is ſeen at every public place of genteel reſort; attends the theatre without an eye, and the opera-houſe without an ear.

To enter further into his character; he is ſervile to thoſe above him, and overbearing to thoſe below him. Before the learned he is dumb, and before the ignorant, loquacious and poſitive. He neither eats nor drinks like other men. All his hens are poulards; his cocks, capons; his farm-yard ducks, [159] Rouen; all his ſherry is Xeres; all his Champaigne, Sillery; and his park you may fire acroſs in almoſt every direction. If you will believe him, he gives a great price for every thing he purchaſes; his butler is his valet; his coachman, his ſteward; and his huntſman, his game-keeper; and yet he diſtinguiſhes them according to the offices they are employed in. He talks of his ſteward to his tenants, and his game-keeper to the neighbour⯑ing farmers. In ſhort, he is all va⯑nity and parade; and, inſtead of giving conſequence to his ſituation, by any dignity in himſelf, like all novi homines, or upſtart gentlemen, he is forced to derive all his conſe⯑quence from it.

[160]AT this nobleman's houſe, I think I met with, next to himſelf, the moſt ſingular character in life. A man in whom the two oppoſite extremes of peace and war were united. He was a clergyman and at the ſame time a ſoldier; miles at⯑que ſacerdos, and went by the name Brigadier Moſes. He was dreſſed in a ſhort black ſilk caſſock, with a regimental coat over it, ſcarlet turned up with black and laced with gold. Inſtead of the black ſaſh or circingle which the clergy wear round their waiſt, he had a red ſaſh, and above the gorget he wore upon his breaſt, was a clerical band. He had on his head, a brigadier wig with two tails; a ſmart cock⯑ed gold-laced hat, with a cockade; a couteau de chaſſe by his ſide, and [161]a pair of ſquare toed ſhoes upon his feet. He was a dignitary of the church in Ireland, but had accepted the com⯑mand of a regiment of volunteers; and was as univerſally reſpected as admired. He employed the whole week in teaching his men their ex⯑erciſe, and always preached to them on Sundays; and when he preach⯑ed, he drew his ſabre and laid it on his arm, as if reading a pro⯑clamation. One of his ſermons has been handed round.—Part of it is as follows: ‘Let us fight the good fight.’

‘Fellow chriſtians and ſoldiers; Behold here your paſtor and leader, armed in your defence, ſtanding forth in your cauſe, as did my predeceſſor Moſes between [162] his people and the wrath of the Avenger; and be not ſurpriſed at it. A virtuous ſoldier is the moſt reſpectable character in life. En⯑liſted under the banner of chriſ⯑tianity, though only a private, he ſhould take pride in wear⯑ing the uniform of the Lord of hoſts. The chriſtian life is a life of warfare, beſieged on all ſides, and beſet with perils; perils of water, perils of fire, and perils of the ſword; but let us fight the good fight, and ſtand firm againſt the aſſaults of the common enemy; as we can⯑not hope to be well received at the general muſter, but through the ſword of the ſpirit, the ſhield of faith, and the helmet of ſal⯑vation,’ &c.

[163]SO full was the Brigadier of his military profeſſion, that he march⯑ed acroſs the room, inſtead of walk⯑ing; and, whenever he turned, he wheeled upon his heel. I found him a chearful good-natured man, and took the liberty to aſk him, in the courſe of converſation, ‘whether he did not find the tenets of one profeſſion interfere with that of the other?’ He told me not; ‘that a prieſt was not only to be the father of his flock, but alſo their leader; that the author of our religion recommended a mi⯑litary life to his diſciples.’ ‘He that hath no ſword,’ ſaid he, ‘let him ſell his garment and buy one.’ ‘When a ſtrong man, armed, keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace’ That the church was [164] ‘a church militant; that a chriſti⯑an was taught to gird up his loins and bind on the ſword to battle.’ The Iriſh peer ſupport⯑ed him in what he had advanced, and ſaid, ‘that his Majeſty, to whom we ought to look up for propriety of conduct, had ſet him the example; for, that he was not only the head of the church, but the head of the army.’ ‘As I have ſince the age of manhood ſtood up in defence of religion,’ ſays the Brigadier, ‘I mean now to ſtand up in defence of my country. It has been ſaid that parſons are cowards; we will now ſhew them they have a ſpirit equal to other men, and dare riſe in a good cauſe. The Roman catho⯑lics, [165]who are bigots to their faith, held not the military pro⯑feſſion incompatible with the prieſthood. Cardinal Richlieu was a ſoldier, and during his ad⯑miniſtration, the French army againſt Spain was commanded by a Biſhop. I ſo warmly covet the independence of my country, that as prayers will not effect it, I will meet my people in the field, and try what the ſword can do.’ In ſhort, he was ſuch an enthuſiaſt in politics, that find⯑ing it was in vain to argue with him, I endeavoured to change the ſubject.

THE company preſent ſeemed very deſirous of being of uſe to me. Lord W. wiſhed to appoint me his [166] literator, which office was to cull out the pith of every new publica⯑tion, and retail it to him at break⯑faſt, for he was too indolent to read himſelf. The Brigadier was for my being his Aid de Camp; ‘but for this office,’ ſays he, ‘you muſt get into orders, for all the officers under me are clerical. My ſub-dean is my lieutenant-colonel; the chancel⯑lor of the dioceſe is my major; the prebendaries are my captains; the ſubalterns are the minor canons of the cathedral; the ad⯑jutant is our precentor, and all the non-commiſſioned officers are made up of vergers, beadles, &c. As to the common rank and file, there is nothing ſpiritual among them; if they deal at all in the [167] ſpirit, it is in what goes into the mouth, not what comes out of it.’

BUT the Marquis, who had al⯑ready preſented me with a penſion, gave me to underſtand, that he meant to be farther uſeful to me. He took me aſide, and told me he had a favourite meaſure to carry in par⯑liament, but as it was rather un⯑popular, he wiſhed me to take it up, and write in its favour; ‘for,’ ſays he, ‘it muſt be a bad cauſe indeed, that cannot be defend⯑ed.’ I found myſelf well diſpoſed to ſerve him, and promiſed him every aſſiſtance in my power.

DURING this viſit at Lord W.'s, which, indeed, I mentioned to have [168]an opportunity of laying before my readers two of the moſt extraordi⯑nary characters I had met with, that of Lord W. himſelf, and his worthy friend the Brigadier. A letter was brought me by a porter, ſaying, ‘a gentleman had called at my houſe with it that afternoon and deſired it might be for⯑warded to me immediatly.’ I begged leave to open it, and found it to be written by my old friend, Mr. Slaſh'em, the vicar; of the pariſh where I was bred in Notts, and informed me, that my father's uncle was dead, and that his eſtate fell to me, as being the next on the entail; all the children of my father's elder brother having drop⯑ped off before him. I could not refrain from communicating this [169]peice of news to the company I was with, and they congratulated me upon the event. It is aſtoniſh⯑ing to reflect on the immediate conſequence of a good fortune. I found inſtantly a difference in their behaviour. They were very polite and reſpectful before, but their at⯑tention to me rather carried a pa⯑tronizing air with it; they ſhould always be happy to know me, and receive me; but the inſtant my for⯑tune was announced, we were up⯑on an equality; I muſt come into parliament, a borough was open for me; and if I would ſupport government, if ſhould not coſt me but two thouſand pounds; every expence beyond that ſum ſhould be paid for me. I thanked them very kindly for their good wiſhes, but [170]begged ſome little time to conſider of it. It is wonderful what a great alteration in our favour a good for⯑tune makes; it is far beyond edu⯑cation, ingenuity, or brilliancy of parts. Let a man paſs by, ever ſo meanly clad; obſerve to your friend that he is ſuppoſed to be worth one hundred thouſand pounds, he ſtares at him again and again, and looks on him as a prodigy. As when wealth and proſperity forſake a man, we diſcover in him, that want of underſtanding, which was undiſcoverable before; ſo when they ſhine upon a perſon, we preſently ſee perfections in him, which no one was able to find out till then. So ſtrange a diſproportion does a little money or the want of it make between men! Mrs. Saintly, whilſt [171]the wife of a minor canon, ſtole into the cathedral unnoticed. She carried her haſſock in her hand, placed it in a corner, and could be as devout as ſhe pleaſed, uninterupt⯑ed; but when ſhe became a biſhop's lady, ſhe was conducted into the quoir by the vergers, placed in a ſtall of eminence, and ſervice did not begin till ſhe was ſeated, and the eyes of all the women were upon her. On the other hand, Squander, the once wealthy ſon of Gripus, and then idolized; hav⯑ing laviſhed away all his patrimony, is carried to the grave unattended, and unlamented.

Chap. XXIV.

IN conſequence of the informa⯑tion I received, I prepared to ſet off for Nottinghamſhire; but, as ill fortune too often chequers our good, an unexpected event happened, that overthrew all my meaſures. Having left London pretty early in the morning, with a view of getting to the end of my journey before night, I found myſelf on the edge of Finchley Common, about ſeven miles from town, at ſun riſe, when [173]two men well mounted and armed, ſtopped my poſtillion; I had a load⯑ed blunderbuſs in the chaiſe, and would certainly have diſcharged the contents at them, had they not ſcreened themſelves from my ven⯑geance, by getting ſo much before the lad, that had I fired I muſt inevit⯑ably have killed him. I looked out for my ſervant, who was likewiſe armed, but he was not within ſight, and at this moment, two other men were behind the chaiſe, and ſwore, if I did not immediately throw out my blunderbuſs and ſurrender, they would blow out my brains through my forehead, for they were not robbers, but King's officers. In this critical ſituation, I had no alterna⯑tive; I complied with their injunc⯑tions, and aſked them what they [174]wanted. They gave me to under⯑ſtand, that they had a warrant to apprehend me, and that I muſt ſub⯑mit to go with them: that, if I was governable, they would uſe me well; but if I made any oppoſition, they ſhould be obliged to bind me. I aſked them by what authority they acted, and what was the cauſe of my being ſo ſeized; they pro⯑duced a written paper, apparently a warrant, containing a charge of my having broken the peace, by chal⯑lenging the Earl of S. and attempt⯑ing to take away his life in Hyde Park. Scarce had they announced their buſineſs, but an empty poſt-chaiſe came up, into which they in⯑ſiſted upon my removing, having firſt ſearched me for fire-arms; I begged they would permit me to [175]take my portmantua with me, which contained my neceſſaries, and ſuffer me to wait for my ſervant, who was behind. They told me, they had ſecured my ſervant before they overtook me, and that he was taken back to town; that my luggage, which was not more than a few ſhirts and a ſecond coat, I might take with me, if I pleaſed, provided I would diſcharge the poſt-chaiſe in which I then was, ſend my blun⯑derbuſs home by the driver, and go quietly with them. In this I ac⯑quieſced, and a few minutes put me completely into their poſſeſſion. One of the men got into the chaiſe with me, two rode before, and the other brought up the rear, leading the horſe of him who was ſeated by me. I addreſſed myſelf to my new [176]companion ſeveral times, with ‘where are you going to carry me?’ ‘This is not the way to town’ and the like, (for I found they had quitted the north road, and had got into one I was unacquainted with) but I could get nothing from him; ſo that I was obliged to abandon myſelf to my reflections, which were not the moſt pleaſing I had experienced; for I conceived this (as I afterwards found it) a ſecond attempt of Lord S. to kidnap me, which fortunately for him, ſucceeded better than the firſt. I was hurried, as faſt as the horſes could go, acroſs the country, and in about three horus arrived at the Thames ſide, a little below Grays in Eſſex, where my fellow traveller, with great compoſure, conſigned me [177]to the care of the maſter of a veſſel lying off the ſhore, and then ready to ſail. He now gave me to under⯑ſtand, that I was obliged to the lenity of Lord S. for the diſpoſal he was a going to make of me; for that, if I had been carried before a magiſtrate, I ſhould have had a much more diſagreeable lodging, as New⯑gate in that caſe, would have been my place of reſidence for ſome time, and my exit would be at Tyburn; that, if I behaved well where I was going, his lordſhip would be always my friend; but that to live in the ſame land with me, he never could think of doing. I inquired the place the veſſel was bound to, but could get no anſwer: finding there⯑fore, that I was likely to be abſent from home for ſome time, I requeſt⯑ed [178]leave to write a letter to a friend or two, to arrange my affairs, which my conductor conſented to my do⯑ing, and promiſed they ſhould be faithfully delivered, provided he ſaw the contents, and that they gave no information where I might be found. This being promiſed, I was ſuffered to go down into the cabin in com⯑pany with this ſame man, and write my letters. The firſt I wrote was to Mr. Slaſh'em, the vicar, acknow⯑ledged the receipt of his, and to re⯑move any doubt of its being ſent, I told him, that as buſineſs of the higheſt importance obliged me to quit England for ſome time, and of courſe, would prevent my being with him as I intended, I requeſted and authorized him to take ſuch meaſures, as he ſhould think neceſ⯑ſary [179]to ſecure my property till my return, for which he ſhould have my beſt thanks. I alſo deſired him to take care of my houſe and pro⯑perty in town, having left it with⯑out giving my ſervants any direc⯑tions, but that he would find my people obedient to his commands, as I had wrote home and ordered them ſo to be.—The other letter I wrote, was to my houſe-keeper in town, enjoining her to follow Mr. Slaſh|'em's directions, till ſhe ſaw me. Theſe letters my conductor was pleaſed to approve, and aſſured me, they ſhould be carefully conveyed according to the addreſſes. I beg⯑ged they might both be ſent expreſs, and he promiſed they ſhould.—I was now a little more at my eaſe, and flattered myſelf I ſhould find [180]ſome means of regaining my liberty. My conductor and his attendants ſhortly after took their leave, and wiſhed me a good voyage, and we ſoon ſet ſail.—The veſſel I was in, was a ſmall one of about one hun⯑dred tons burden, and our ſhip's company conſiſted of a Jew, (not a cabin paſſenger) the maſter and five ſeamen. The veſſel did not ſeem heavy laden, nor could I learn to what place ſhe was bound. The captain appeared to be a plain man, and of few words, and thoſe few he was maſter of, he ſeemed to with⯑hold, for I could ſcarce get him to ſpeak.—I had reaſon, however, to believe, that he was appointed to carry me to ſome diſtant part, for I remarked, that in our paſſage down the river, he kept at ſome diſtance [181]from ſhore, where any town was near, and was careful not to go too cloſe to any veſſel upon the river, leſt I ſuppoſe, I might have been induced to call out for aſſiſtance.—The tide ſerved, and the wind blowing briſk, we were ſoon at the Nore, and wiſhing for ſome refreſh⯑ment, I was preſently accommo⯑dated with what, at ſea, is thought a good dinner, (ſalt beef and biſcuit) but which I found very little appe⯑tite for: however, I eat a few mouthfuls, drank a little rum and water, and laid me down upon the bed in the cabin, where, with the fatigue I fell faſt aſleep; my watch told me it was nine in the evening when I laid down, and when I a⯑woke, it was five in the morning. My ſleep was rather broken, from a [182]bed I was unuſed to, and the trou⯑bles of the day, but, broken as it was, it calmed my mind and gave me relief. I had now time to think, and nothing to interrupt me; the captain with his men were buſy up⯑on deck, and the veſſel ſeemed go⯑ing very faſt. On my aſcending from the cabin, I found we were on the open ſea, and out of ſight of land. Aſking the captain where we were, he ſaid in the Channel, (which I afterwards found was not true) and on my enquiring to what place he was bound, he replied to Nova Scotia. Having in my portmantua about fifty pounds in bank notes, and a diamond ring worth about as much, I determined to try the power of a bribe, and ſee whether I could not prevail on him to put me on [183]ſhore ſomewhere in England. Ac⯑cordingly, I requeſted the favour of a quarter of an hour's converſation with him, the firſt leiſure he had. He ſoon indulged me with it, and when together, I made him ac⯑quainted with my ſituation, and the whole hiſtory of Lord S.'s behavi⯑our to Miſs Wildman and to me, and endeavoured to work upon his feelings, by repreſenting the treach⯑ery of his employer, and the cruelty with which he treated me. Whe⯑ther he believed me or not, I cannot ſay, but he liſtened with great at⯑tention, pauſed when I had done, and when I expected him to have joined iſſue with me, he roſe from his ſeat and was going to leave me, with, ‘if he is as bad-conditioned, meſſmate, as you ſay, d-m me if [184]the ſame veſſel ſhould hold us; you may be happy you're ſhipped off for another country;’ I im⯑portuned him to ſtay, told him I was maſter of fifty pounds, and a ring worth as much more, that, if he would put me aſhore in ſome part of England, or on board ſome veſſel going there, both ſhould be at his ſervice; at which he grew warm—‘a bribe!’ exclaimed he, ‘did you ever know an Engliſh ſeaman run from his colours, or betray his cauſe for a bribe, d-m me, they ſhall never ſay that of Jack Hawſer.’ Not betray a good cauſe, replied I, but there's merit ſurely, in overturning a bad one. ‘Harkee, meſſmate—that's the commodore's look out; my orders are to make for Nova Sco⯑tia, [185]and there you go, my friend, unleſs we bulge in the paſſage.’ At this he left me, crying to the man at the helm, ‘luff up my lad,’ and to the man forward, ‘hoiſt the main top ſail; and we'll make all the way we can.’—‘D-m me, here's a fine breeze.’

I BEGAN now, to think of my poor Eliza and her little infant, and for the firſt time, found a ſatisfac⯑tion in reflecting they were out of the reach of being affected by my misfortunes. ‘Whatever is, is beſt;’ ſo ſays philoſophy: here ſhe is right. Had my Eliza been living, ſhe would not only have felt this accident ſeverely, but I ſhould have doubly felt it; have felt for her as well as for myſelf. She, how⯑ever, [186]thought I, is happy, and why ſhould I be otherwiſe? My property is ſafe in Mr. Slaſh'em's care, and as I am in health, and ſtand alone in life, what matters it, whether I am going to Nottingham, or Nova Sco⯑tia? I have encountered many a difficulty, and overcome them all.—Providence has hitherto protected me—why ſhould I diſtruſt her now?

I WAS led once or twice, when the captain was below, to endeavour to bring over the ſailors to my in⯑tereſt, but conſidering, that had I not ſucceeded, the captain might have rendered my ſituation far more diſagreeable than it was, I thought it beſt to deſiſt.

[187]THE next day, an accident hap⯑pened that extricated me from my difficulty. The veſſel, owing to the careleſſneſs of the ſteerſman, ſtruck upon a bank, and ſprung a leak. ‘All hands to the pump, or by G—d, we are at the bottom,’ was the cry—but, it was the cry of one of the foremaſt men: diſagree⯑able as my ſituation was before, it was much worſe now. We were ſuppoſed to be ſeven leagues from land, and the ſea run too high, to think ourſelves in any ſafety—the veſſel made water ſo faſt, that the maſter deſpaired of ſaving her; however, he conſoled himſelf in the idea of being inſured more than ſhe was worth, and determined to take to his boat. ‘We may pump her to land,’ ſays one of the ſailors, [188] ‘very well.’ ‘Hold your jaw,’ ſays the Captain, ‘or I'll unſhip ſome of your teeth; I ſhall get more by her ſinking than her ſwim⯑ming, ſo let her ſink and be d—mned.’ Hoiſt out the boat, was the next cry, the command of the Captain. The boat was hoiſted out, and being to ſmall to take any part of our baggage, we were obliged to leave it behind; in⯑deed, ſo frightened was I, having never been at ſea before, that I thought little of my baggage; my attention was confined to my perſon. The Jew's heart, on the contrary, was fixed on his treaſure, upon his tra⯑velling box, which he was careful to take into the boat with him; but the Captain, (after I and the five ſeamen were in) endeavouring to [189]prevent it, and the Jew labouring to ſecure it, ſuch was the ſtruggle be⯑tween them, that in coming down the ſhip's ſide, they both fell into the ſea, and had very nearly overſet the boat. The Captain was unfortun⯑ately ſucked under the veſſel and we ſaw him no more; but the Jew was preſently diſcovered on the ſur⯑face of the water. ‘D—mn my liver, Jack,’ ſays one of the ſeamen, ‘if there is n't Moſes in the bull-ruſhes;’ (for he had long looſe hair, and his face, part appearing above water, with the hair floating around it, favoured the idea; but my diſtreſs was too great to ſmile at it.) ‘He's within reach, catch hold of his poll.’ Jack caught him by the hair, and raiſing his chin above water; as [190]ſoon as the Iſraelite could recover breath to ſpeak, he cried out. ‘Vare is my baux? Vare is my baux?’ This ſo exaſperated the fellow who held him, that he quit⯑ted his hold, with a ‘Bl—ſt your eyes, you ſon of a bitch, look for your box and be d—mn'd,’ and the poor wretch ſunk, and we ſaw him no more. We were now leſs in number by two, than when we quitted the veſſel, and having the day before us, and the weather not ſo windy as it was, we flattered ourſelves, we ſhould get ſafe to land. In about four hours we ſaw land, and it gave us ſpirits; and another hour put us on ſhore at a little village on the coaſt of North⯑umberland, not a great way ſouth of Berwick. I now found, inſtead [191]of ſteering for Nova Scotia, the veſ⯑ſel I was in, and which ſunk be⯑fore we were a league from it, was a lobſter ſmack, bound for Shet⯑land, where his lordſhip meant to have tranſported me, and where I ſhould not have readily got away.

MY comrades glad to find them⯑ſelves on land, made the beſt of their way to Newcaſtle, in order to ſhip themſelves on board ſome of the colliers, whereas I took up my abode at a public houſe in the vil⯑lage, determining to wait till I could have remittances from London; for I had brought nothing aſhore with me, of any value but may watch, which I converted into money to anſwer the preſent exigence. I might, indeed, have told my tale [192]to ſome of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and by that means got ſome pecuniary relief; but as I wiſhed to ſit quiet for a few days, to recover from my fatigue and anxiety of mind, I thought it beſt to lay myſelf under as few obliga⯑tions as poſſible. Before the ſailors left me, I made ſome enquiry whether they knew any thing of their Captain or his connexions; they told me not, that they were ſhip⯑ped merely for the voyage and were ſtrangers to him, till a few days before I came on board. All the information I could get was, that they had lain at anchor, on the ſpot where I found them, two days waiting for may arrival.

CHAP XXV.

BY the time I had been at this place a week, I had ſuch re⯑mittances from my banker as I ſtood in need of, and had heard from home, that all things were well. I then equipped myſelf with thoſe neceſſaries I wanted, namely, a few ſhirts and a ſuit of cloaths, and prepared to ſet off once more, took a poſt chaiſe for Nottingham⯑ſhire. Though anxious to call the Earl of S. to account for the treat⯑ment [194]I had received, I thought it moſt prudent to pay a viſit to my friend the vicar; and the reader may believe me, when I ſay, that I found myſelf leſs eager to take this journey now, than I was, when I left London on the ſame occaſion; my expectations were balked by the event I have related, and my ſpirits were not ſo much upon the wing; howerer, I ſet out and reached York the firſt night.

THE theatre being there open, I went to the play, and who ſhould I meet with in the ſame box, but Biddy Slaſh'em, dreſſed out with a profuſion of diamonds, in company with an old gentleman, whom I ſuppoſed to be her keeper. She was overjoyed to ſee me, and intro⯑duced [195]me to Mr. Dupe, the gentle⯑man with her, as the ſon of her father's brother, whom ſhe had be⯑fore repreſented as a clergyman of the firſt character and fortune. He received me very cordially, and, when the play was over, begged to have the honour of my company to ſupper, having a houſe in the town. I accompanied them home in their carriage, and was requeſted whilſt I continued at York, to ſleep there. This gave me an opportu⯑nity of paſſing an hour or two alone with Miſs Slaſh'em, Mr. Dupe be⯑ing accuſtomed to ride out every morning before breakfaſt, upon a hard trotting horſe, for the cure of a gouty complaint he had in his ſto⯑mach. The Jew Doctor and Black⯑ſmith in London, having by his [196]machine to create muſcular exerciſe, made ſuch a regimen faſhionable. This machine, I am told, is merely a board (on which the patient ſtands, holding by an iron) with ſprings under it, worked by an hand⯑winch which raiſes and lowers it ſo quick, that in a ſmall ſpace of time, it throws the perſon on it into a violent perſpiration, and gives him all the advantages of great ex⯑erciſe, without muſcular exertion: a trotting horſe will anſwer the ſame purpoſe, if the rider can undergo the fatigue. During Mr. Dupe's morning ride, I had the happineſs of a tete-a-tete in Biddy's chamber, and found her as attached to me as ever. I gave her ſome little ac⯑count of my adventures ſince we [197]parted; and ſhe in return, related to me the ſequel of her's.

‘WHEN you left us, my dear Gabriel,’ ſays ſhe, ‘at Win⯑cheſter, we were preparing to remove to the Devizes; there I continued about three weeks, when Mr. Dupe, the gentleman I live with, ſeeing me in one of my principal characters in his way from Bath to London, took a liking to me, and made me pro⯑poſals to live with him. Theſe proving acceptable, I took leave of the company, quitted my employ, and came away with him. He has ſettled two hundred pounds a year on me, loads me with preſents, and ſays he'll marry me if I prove with child.’

[198] ‘And you, no doubt,’ ſays I ‘try every means you can for it. Well if ever you are, it will be within nine months of this time.’—‘Being fond of muſic and admir⯑ing my voice,’ continued ſhe, ‘he has procured me the beſt maſters; and ill as I ſung at Wincheſter, I am now reckon⯑ed the firſt private ſinger in England. It has been the means of introducing me into the beſt company; for, ſo affectedly fond are perſons of faſhion of muſic, that they will ſacrifice every thing to the rage of it. The gentry in this part of the country, readily overlook my ſituation, for the ſake of my voice, and I viſit and am viſited by every body round me. Nay, I aſſure you I give [199]myſelf great airs upon theſe occa⯑ſions, and find the more box I take upon me, the more I am thought of. I never pay a viſit, till I have firſt received one; nor does Mr. Dupe expect me. The Dutcheſs of D. and the Counteſs of R. her ſiſter, did us the hon⯑our to drink tea with us yeſter⯑day. They wiſhed me to ſing, and I ſung, but I obliged them during the time I ſung, to ſit down upon the ground?’ ‘And why ſo?’ ſays I, ‘oh!’—‘I always do that,’ continued ſhe, ‘in rooms not adapted for muſick; and when I ſing at any other houſes but my own, where they have not a muſick room, I inſiſt upon the window curtains being taken down, the capet removed, [200]and all the company's ſitting down upon the floor but myſelf; for no⯑thing flattens the ſound of a voice more than drapery furniture, and a number of perſons half fill⯑ing a room.’ ‘And do they ſubmit to this?’ replied I, ‘Cer⯑tainly they do,’ ſays ſhe, ‘and they muſt, or I would not ſing. They would half ſtrip themſelves if I required it, rather than the world ſhould fancy, they have not the greateſt penchant for mu⯑ſick. I know they viſit and re⯑ceive me, merely for my ſinging, and that though they bear with my oddities, they only laugh at me when gone; this determines me to laugh in my turn, and as Mr. Dupe will not ſuffer me to receive any perſents, I am deter⯑mined [201]they ſhall pay for their folly one way or other.’ Though I ſmiled at the conceit, I could not but agree with her, that of all follies the toniſh or faſhionable ones, are the moſt abſurd. ‘I'll tell you an anecdote, my dear Biddy,’ returned I, ‘that will confirm my aſſertion. Among the many people I have mixed with ſince I left you, is the lady of Sir Peter Puncheon, a Creole, from Jamai⯑ca. Sir Peter had been formerly in trade, had afterwards turned planter, and acquired a good for⯑tune. His lady being a woman of daſh and ſpirit, perſuaded him to leave Jamaica and ſettle in England. They accordingly ſold all off and came, and not having a ſoul to introduce them into [202]that company ſhe coveted, ſhe fell upon the following plan which ſucceeded beyond her expectati⯑ons. Having a large houſe in London well ſituated, ſhe called for the red book, ^* and from a liſt ſhe there picked out, and other information, ſent cards of invi⯑tation to a concert and a ball, to all the rout-going men and women of rank, to the number of ſome hundreds, and ſuch was the rage for going to this woman's houſe, that many who by acci⯑dent were not invited made inter⯑eſt for a card; ſo that on the evening appointed, there was ſuch a throng of coaches and chairs, that all the adjoining ſtreets were [203]full. She procured a very intel⯑ligent ſervant, acquainted with their names, to announce them as they arrived, ſhe ſtanding on the top of the ſtairs, with her huſband, to receive them. In the early part of the evening when they dropped in but thinly, ſhe had leiſure to receive them properly; and expreſſed how proud ſhe was of the honour they did her; but in a very little time, they poured in ſo thick upon her, that it requir⯑ed three men below to announce them, and would have required a regiſter to have remembered their names. It was a taſk beyond her reach, and ſhe could only introduce them to her huſband in the lump, with’ ‘a Baronet, my dear; two more Lords; a Red ribband, and ſo on.’ ‘[204]—From this ſcheme ſhe immedi⯑ately became a woman of the ton, and her houſe, from that time, was the faſhionable reſort of the firſt people in town. They ad⯑mired her invention, whilſt they laughed at her impudence; but they continued to viſit her not⯑withſtanding: for the time of perſons of faſhion hang ſo much upon their hands, and they enjoy ſo little of what the rational world calls ſocial and domeſtic ſociety, that they would run to h—, I believe, if the black gen⯑tleman would open his houſe with a concert, a ball, or a card party. By this means ſhe was readily known and received in the great world, and very ſoon procured her huſband to be created a Bar⯑onet. [205]This brought them to court, and as people devoid of ele⯑gance, idlely ſuppoſe that richneſs of dreſs depends upon profuſion, or an extra quantity of expenſive attire; inſtead of appearing in two laced lappets, lady Puncheon was determined to have four. It ſo fell out, however, that four lap⯑pets to a head dreſs being contrary to etiquette, ſhe was refuſed admittance, 'till Sir Peter ſet the matter right, by taking out a pair ſcizars and cutting off two of them. But as the two he cut off were on one ſide, ſhe became the laugh and ridicule of the whole drawing room.’

BIDDY was delighted with this ſtory and vowed ſhe would put it in prac⯑tice [206]as ſoon as ſhe got to London. ‘Do,’ ſays I, ‘Biddy, and I'll be bound you'll have company enough. Character and connexion is out of the queſtion. Open your houſe, and the buſineſs is done.’

MR. Dupe ſoon after returned from his morning's ride and found us in his bed chamber. It a little diſ⯑concerted us; but he quickly put us at our eaſe, with, ‘ſo, my dear Bid⯑dy, you would ſhew your couſin my knotted bed.’ Shaking his head at her, and chucking her under the chin. ‘Ah, you little rogue, you are determined I ſhall not loſe any credit that you can give me.’ Then addreſſing himſelf to me. ‘I knotted the greateſt part of that fringe myſelf, Mr. Whatd'ye-call 'em (I can't think of your name) [207]and I am not aſhamed to own it; it's better than gallop⯑ing a whole county over after a fox, injuring one's tenants and running the chance of breaking one's neck. Come, Sir, walk down and ſee my improvements.’ ‘I thanked him for his politeneſs to me; but told him, I muſt be going, for that, I had engage⯑ments of the firſt importance that called me into Nottinghamſhire.’ ‘Well, Sir,’ ſays he, ‘then I'll leave you together—you may have ſome little affair to enter in⯑to, that requires privacy. I beg, Biddy, you'll ſhew your cou⯑ſin all the civility you can.’

I now took my leave of Miſs Slaſh'em, promiſing to ſee her again as ſoon as ſhe came to London.

CHAP XXVI.

THE day after I parted with Miſs Slaſh'em, I got ſafe to her un⯑cle's houſe in Notts, and happy I was to ſee him; nor did he ſhew leſs happineſs in ſeeing me. It was now about three weeks ſince I left Lon⯑don, with a deſign of coming to this place; and I think, in ſo ſhort a ſpace of time, no one met with a greater variety of incidents. I rela⯑ted the ſtory to him; but not a word of his niece. ‘Ah,’ ſays he, [209] ‘you ſee how kind and protecting the Almighty is; not a ſparrow falls to the ground without his obſervance! Lord S. is a very bad man; and I hope you will be able to bring the matter home to him’ ‘That I certainly ſhall,’ ſays I; ‘for the redreſs I ſhall look for, ſhall be a perſonal one.’ As a clergyman, and a very worthy one, he made uſe of every argument to diſſuade me from ſuch a ſtep; but the injuries I had received were ſo great, that they had but little weight with me. I therefore turned the ſubject, and enquired whether he had received my letter. He told me he had, and by an expreſs the day after it was written. So far thoſe fellows who forced me on board the veſſel, acted well. He gave me to [210]underſtand, that my uncle had made a will, ſometime before he died, and had left great part of his property to my couſins; but as he out-lived them, the legacies were lapſed, and all the perſonals fell to me, with the entailed eſtate; that he having no relations to be found, and the execu⯑tor he had appointed in his will, being alſo deceaſed, letters of admi⯑niſtration were granted to him at his requeſt, and he was ready to put me into poſſeſſion immediately. ‘I have,’ ſaid he, ‘made many enquiries, for ſome years paſt, about you, but could het no ſa⯑tisfactory intelligence; however, ſince the death of your uncle, I have been more induſtrious in this buſineſs, and have found you out. What was neceſſary to [211]be done in your abſence, has been done; ſuch as taking an inven⯑tory of the effects, and properly ſecuring them; and I truſt you will find every thing in as good order as circumſtances admitted. With reſpect to your houſe in town, I wrote to your houſekeeper, as you deſired; directed her to put the ſervants upon board wages, and when ſhe wanted any money, to apply to a friend of mine in London, whom I commiſſioned to ſupply her.’

AFTER thanking the vicar for his care, and the trouble he had taken, we went together to the manſion, when he gave me poſſeſſion of all the keys. In my uncle's cabinet I found near five hundred pounds in bank [212]notes and caſh, and a memorandum, ſaying that he had twelve thouſand pounds in the funds, and in what funds they lay. Having adjuſted every thing for the preſent, viſited the tenants, and left proper perſons in the houſe, I preſented Mr. Slaſh'em with a bank note of two hundred pounds, for the trouble I had given him, which he modeſtly refuſed; but which I inſiſted on his receiving, and further promiſed, that if it was ever in my power to be of uſe to him, I ſhould neither forget it, nor omit it.

BEFORE I left his houſe, he was very anxious to know how I had diſpoſed of myſelf ſince I left his part of the world; and conſidering him as my friend, I gave him a mi⯑nute [213]detail of every thing, except ſuch parts as related to his niece, who, I found, had been entirely diſcarded by the family. His bro⯑ther, the doctor, was, I learned, ſtill at Hampſtead, and doing very well.

THE Vicar was wonderfully enter⯑tained with my hiſtory, but diſap⯑proved much of ſome part of my conduct. However, he preſumed I had ſeen my error, and as now I was poſſeſſed of a good fortune, he flat⯑tered himſelf, I ſhould live a more regular life. ‘This hiſtory of your⯑ſelf,’ ſays he, ‘convinces me, that nothing is like giving a lad a good education; this will ſtick by him when every thing elſe fails; enable him to ſurmount every diffi⯑culty, [214]and carry him through life in ſpite of all oppoſition.’

UPON examining the rental of my uncle's eſtate, I found it amount to a good four thouſand three hundred pounds a year; which, with the in⯑tereſt of twelve thouſand pounds in the ſtocks, the three hundred pounds a year I enjoyed from my wife, and my penſion, &c. I had an income equal to near five thouſand four hundred pounds a year.

I NOW ſet off for London, which I reached the next morning, and on my arrival at my own houſe, found every thing as I wiſhed it. My ſer⯑vants, poor ſouls, were as glad to ſee me, as I was to ſee them. I told them how I had been trepan⯑ned, [215]but not by whom; and that it was a chance of the higheſt im⯑probability, that ever they ſaw me again. They ſaid, the town was very ſilent then on the ſubject, for they had heard nothing of it before. As to the lad that accompanied me to Finchly, I ſuppoſe they ſent him aboard a man of war, for I never heard of him afterwards.

THE firſt viſit I paid was to the Marquis of G. who received me very friendly, and to whom I related my ſtory, and that I meant to call Lord S. to a very ſevere account for his behaviour. His anſwer was, ‘That buſineſs is already ſettled; Lord S. has done it himſelf.’ I requeſted an explanation. He told me, that I was no ſooner ſeized, but that [216]Lord S. called upon him, and boaſt⯑ed of what he had done; ‘ſaid he had you ſtopped under a fictitious warrant, and had tranſported you to Shetland; for that after diſ⯑arming him, as you had done, in the affair in Hyde Park, he could never brook the idea of owing his life to you, and of courſe, could never bear to ſee you again; and that news arriving of the veſſel being caſt away, and the crew ſaved, he dreaded your return to town, and had accordingly put an end to his exiſtence with a piſtol. The matter,’ continued he, ‘as he is not miſſed, is not much talked of: it were better, therefore, to let it ſleep, as reviv⯑ing it will be of no uſe to you, and may hurt the feelings of his [217]family; who, notwithſtanding the faults of Lord S. is a very reſpectable one. As to his a⯑gents in this buſineſs, they are wretches below your notice, could not poſſibly owe you any ill will, being villains that would be as ready, for a little money, to do as much for you as for him.’

HIS lordſhip's arguments had their due weight with me, and I determi⯑ned to follow his advice. Though I execrated the conduct of Lord S. I dropped a tear at his fatal exit, and there the matter ended. How tri⯑fling a character is that of a man of faſhion, and how convinced muſt a perſon be, that he is a uſeleſs being in life, when he conſiders that at his [218]death, he leaves a world that will not miſs him!

THE marquis, among other things, told me, his Majeſty had appointed him prime miniſter, and of all things, he ſhould be happy if I would accept the ſecretaryſhip to the Treaſury; that he was well acquainted with my abilities, and knew I ſhould fill the office well; that he would open a borough for me, and I ſhould be returned without trouble. I thank⯑ed his lordſhip for the honour he did me, and told him, that as I now ſtood ſingle in life, and had no domeſtic concerns to take off my at⯑tention, I would accept the office cheerfully. Accordingly, I was ſoon after appointed, and returned for a miniſterial borough: and the [219]firſt ſatisfaction I derived from this employ, was having it in my power to do a handſome thing by my friend the Vicar. The marquis told me, about ſix months after I had been in office, that a rectory in the gift of the crown, and in the neigh⯑bourhood of my eſtate in Notting⯑hamſhire, of the yearly valuel of ſix hundred pounds a year and upwards, with a good houſe upon it, had fal⯑len vacant, and that if I had any friend in that part of the world, whom I wiſhed to ſerve, it ſhould be at my diſpoſal. I readily embraced the offer, thanked him for his po⯑liteneſs, and gave it to Mr. Slaſh|'em, it being within diſtance, and tenable with the church he then held. This was the firſt good office of any magnitude, that I had ever [220]in my power to perform; and if it be not vanity to ſay it, I will own, that it gave me a ſecret pleaſure, and one ſo great, that I pined for an op⯑portunity of doing a ſecond. I am perſuaded, that thoſe who do good, will believe the truth of this aſſer⯑tion, and think there is more real gratification in giving than receiv⯑ing. With a heart warmed by love and gratitude, my friend Slaſh'em waited on me to expreſs his ac⯑knowledgements for the ſervice I had done him, and I felt at the moment all the ſelf-complacency, which a favour cheerfully and un⯑expectedly beſtowed, and thankfully received, communicates to the feel⯑ing heart of the donor.

CHAP. XXVI.

WAS I to deſcribe to my readers the arduous taſk of the office I filled, I am perſuaded none of them would envy my ſituation. Be⯑ſides my official buſineſs at the Treaſury, though I was ſaid to be the right hand of the miniſter, I was abſolutely his ſlave: I was expected to ſupport in the Houſe of Commons all he did, or wiſhed to do, without any concurrence of my own, and at times, when alone, was obliged, like [222]a mercenary barriſter, to ſtudy for arguments to throw out in the Houſe, in defence of meaſures I diſapproved, and which I inwardly condemned. My colleagues in office, the mar⯑quis would ſometimes ſmile and ſay, were not up to the taſk, and that adminiſtration could not do without me. To a good pair of lungs, Na⯑ture had beſtowed upon me a power⯑ful harmonious voice, and bleſſed me with a ſtrong memory beyond what men in general can boaſt of: as theſe are natural talents, I may mention them without vanity, and if I did not turn them to the beſt of purpoſes, it was that I had accepted an office, I could not, for certain reaſons, immediately relinquiſh; and it fell to the holder of that office to ſupport the conduct of his employer; [223]and, as there is always an oppoſition in Parliament, and I hope, for the good of this country there ever will, be the motives of that oppoſition what they may, it is neceſſary for men in office, if they wiſh to carry their point, to labour to overthrow thoſe arguments that are brought againſt them; ſometimes theſe ar⯑guments are ſtrong ones, and re⯑quire a great deal of fallacious rea⯑ſoning to combat; but whether a cauſe be right or wrong, the parti⯑ſans of oppoſition will cavil at it, and it is the buſineſs of adminiſtra⯑tion to ſhew the abſurdity of ſuch cavilling. So little regard is paid to the abilities of repreſentatives, that the major part of them are very weak men, and are led away by the laſt ſpeaker; it is neceſſary, therefore, [224]if poſſible, that men in office ſhould have the laſt word, and this is what I always contended for. I was the only one in adminiſtration, they ſaid, that had temper and conſtitution enough to bear badgering, and be⯑lieve me I had enough of it. The mar⯑quis was a man that meant well, and was not without his ſhare of under⯑ſtanding; but he could not always carry things his own way: he was brought into the office he held, by the party with whom he was con⯑nected, and on that account was obliged frequently to give up his opinion to their's; but as he was the oſtenſible perſon, it was my buſineſs, if poſſible, to eſtabliſh the rectitude of every meaſure he was obliged to eſpouſe, right or wrong. Under this idea, was a new office to [225]be appointed, for the puſpoſe of gratifying a particular family or connexion, I was to juſtify the ne⯑ceſſity of that office; if new works were to be erected or new contracts entered into, more with a deſign to enrich the erector or contractor, than any public utility; I was to argue the matter down the throats of the yea and nay members; if the civil liſt was in arrears, and money was wanting to diſcharge them, I was to ſhew the inadequateneſs of the eſtabliſhment to the expences annexed to it, that it was neceſſary the dignity of the crown ſhould be kept up, and that the arrears were unavoidable; if a negotiation abroad was to take place, in behalf of any family alliance or any favourite meaſure, I was to colour it in the [226]beſt method I could, and give it an appearance of expediency; in ſhort, a reſpectable majority was to be carried upon every motion, and it reſted upon me to do it. It re⯑quired ingenuity, it required labour; but I knew it was to be done, and never failed in the attempt: I made it a point to canvas the members, where I had any doubt of ſucceſs, and when I found they were not to be brought over by argument, I had recourſe to temptation; and, as Sir Robert Walpole uſed to ſay, I found every man had his price. I have often thought, that was a member of the Houſe, who wiſhed to ſpeak, obliged to come forward and ſtand under a large extinguiſher, drawn up by a pulley, the ſtring of which ſhould be within the reach of the [227]Speaker; he might, whenever he wandered from the ſubject, or was out of order, let it down upon the ora⯑tor, and put an end to his harangue: it would ſave a great deal of wrangling; a great deal of that time which is now taken up in falſe logic and perſonal invective. But I beg the reader's pardon for this digreſſion. I carried on this diſ⯑agreeable buſineſs too long, and was at laſt determined, if I could not have ſome direction in political matters, not to be the ſlave of thoſe in power, and make my tongue always a traitor to my heart. My reſolutions on this head I commu⯑nicated to the marquis; and my ſervices were ſo uſeful, that I was appointed a Secretary of State and admitted into the cabinet. This I [228]found to be a cabal indeed, and his Majeſty to be merely a cypher; I felt for his ſituation, and in every thing there debated, where I could with any degree of juſtneſs and pro⯑priety throw the weight into his ſcale, I did. Had the members of that cabinet been moderate and ra⯑tional men, we might all have been unanimous; for as I had no mea⯑ſures to carry, but what were in my opinion conſiſtent with the pub⯑lic good, I never obſtinately con⯑tended in a bad cauſe: but every one did not think as I thought, and as I was of the King's party, as far as I could be with any propriety, and when I thought a meaſure wrong did not eaſily give up my opinion, the cabinet was diſtracted, and I muſt either retire or they [229]would; in a word, I was too power⯑fully ſupported not to keep my ſeat: the cabinet was diſſolved, a new adminiſtration formed, my friend the marquis reſigned his office in my favour, and I had the honour to be appointed.

WHETHER things went on better or not, whilſt I was at the head of the Treaſury, I will not take upon me to ſay, but they went on much ſmoother. I became the oſtenſible man, and when I ſtood up in defence of any ſtep, my tongue and my heart went together. I found this office, like the other I held, a very invidious one; that every thing I did was cavil⯑led at and diſapproved; and that from the number of appointments in my diſpoſal, I was harraſſed to death, [230]and could ſcarce have the uſe of my own eyes or my own ears, but was always open to miſrepreſentation and deception. After I had held my office for two years, I handſomely reſigned it. The only advantage my office was to me (if it may be called an advantage) was the number of friends it procured me. For years before I ſtood in the world, without a relation, without a connexion: now I might have had as many as I pleaſed. Some introduced themſelves to me on a former acquaintance, (but which I could not recollect); ſome as being ſchoolfellows or neighbours; and ſome as fellow travellers; and others would ranſack their genealogy, to find out ſome degree of kindred to me. All were aſſiduous to pleaſe me, all induſtrious to ſerve me; but I [231]had then places and good things to give away. All this, however, was no gratification. I found the getting rid of the drudgery of franking, as great a relaxation as any thing. Many a hot day have I ſlipped off my coat, and franked away as for life; and it was no ſmall vexation to think that I could not oblige my conſtituents, without giving my paſſport to ſuch a world of nonſenſe as my covers contained. Butt he greateſt pleaſure I received was in acts of benevolence. I ſeldom liſtened to the recommen⯑dations of this great man, or the re⯑monſtrances of that, (on which ac⯑count I had many enemies) but gave what was in the diſpoſal of my de⯑partment, as I conceived would beſt anſwer the deſign of the appoint⯑ment, and do the moſt private good. [232]I never amuſed a petitioner, as cour⯑tiers do, with falſe hopes and ex⯑pectancies, or buoyed him up with fallacious promiſes, which cruelly tend to make his diſappointment the greater. If I could ſerve him, and meant to do it, I always did; if I did not mean it, I frankly told him ſo. I ſtood in no danger of being ſerved as the commander in chief was, by a lieutenant in the army, who had loſt his leg in the ſervice, and who had been warmly recom⯑mended to him for a company of invalids: he had amuſed this poor man for twelve months, and kept him in London at an expence he could not ſupport. Quite wearied out with attending, he took an op⯑portunity one day at his levee, as by accident, to tread upon this great [233]man's corns with his wooden ſtump, and put him to great pain. Much concern was expreſſed at the acci⯑dent, many ſubmiſſive apologies made, and the matter was forgiven but not forgotten; for whenever this gentleman entered his levee after⯑wards, he took care to diſtinguiſh himſelf by ſtumping loudly acroſs the room, which always created an alarm, and leſt he ſhould tread upon the commander's toes again, he was preſently provided for. I never ſuf⯑fered a perſonal application from any one, but gave it out that every peti⯑tion ſhould be in writing, and to theſe I beſtowed a very nice attention; him whom I thought beſt deſerving and moſt adequate to the office to be fil⯑led, I generally preferred; but I frequently ſet aſide every applicant [234]in favour of modeſt men of abilities; who, through want of connexions, had no friends to intercede for them, or whoſe merit had been too obſcured to be noticed by the public eye. The art of ſaying no, without hurt⯑ing the perſon you ſay it to, is one of the firſt accompliſhments in life; few men know how to do it; and I would perſuade myſelf it ariſes from a good natured diſpoſition, unwilling to refuſe what is aſked. It is related of the late D. of N. that he was ſo accuſtomed to pro⯑miſe, that no applicant whatever left his preſence, without an aſſurance of having what he ſolicited; when at the ſame time his Grace ſcarcely knew what he had been aſked for. A neighbour of his, a major in the [235]army, waited upon him on his re⯑turn from abroad, where he had the misfortune in an action to loſe his leg: ‘My dear major,’ ſays his Grace, running up to him and em⯑bracing him, ‘I'm heartily glad to ſee you, I hope all things go well with you.’—‘I can't ſay they do, my Lord Duke,’ returns he; ‘I've had the misfortune to loſe my .... ..,’—‘Say no more, my dear major,’ retorts he quickly; and ſtopping his mouth with his hand, and conceiving it to be ſome appointment which he had loſt, ‘ſay no more, I intreat you, I'll give you a better.’—‘Better, my Lord!’ returns the major, ‘that cannot be.’—‘How ſo? my dear friend, how ſo?’ replies the Duke—‘Becauſe,’ rejoins the ma⯑jor, ‘[236]I have loſt my leg.’—In the diſpoſal of what I had to give, I never beſtowed my favours where a large family and a ſmall in⯑come had not made ſome friendly aſſiſ⯑tance neceſſary, and where the duties of the office did not, according to the beſt of my judgment, point out the propriety of the beſtowal. Many a worthy heart did I gladden, many a diſtreſſed object did I relieve, and many an oppreſſed family did I raiſe from the duſt: ſo that I might really ſay, in the language of the Patriarch, ‘When the ear heard me, then it bleſſed me, and when the eye ſaw me, it gave witneſs to me, be⯑cauſe I delivered the poor, the widow and the fatherleſs, and him that had none to help him.’ And herein I will boaſt no merit; [237]I acted from a ſelfiſh principle; for when I relieved the diſtreſſed, and made the widow's heart to ſing for joy, I ſtudied my propenſities, and gratified myſelf.

Was every great man to act as I did, he would be great indeed; they have ſuch numberleſs opportunities of doing good, that were they to embrace but a few, they would not only render themſelves popular, but be the admiration and idol of the multitude.

Upon reſigning my office, I gave up my penſion, and being in the prime of life, have married a young lady of beauty of the firſt rank and family; with a fortune not inferior to my own, and mind that does [238]honour to her ſex. Retired from public buſineſs, I am ſet down quietly on my eſtate in the country, a favourite of fortune, and reſpected by my neighbourhood, where my friend the Vicar occaſionally makes up part of my family, and we en⯑joy all the bleſſings of domeſtic life.