CHAP. XLIX.

NOtwithſtanding the tumultuous buſtle, which on all ſides at⯑tracted my attention, as I advanced into the city, it was late enough in the evening for a country gentleman to expect more appearance of tranqui⯑lity; [2]and indeed, certain I am, more than half the inhabitants of my vil⯑lage were aſleep.

As I paſſed therefore, along ſtreets, which were illuminated, and ſhops, which exhibited, with an air of oſten⯑tation, every thing to view, I gave way to the perfect ſimplicity of my ſoul, and aſked the coachman (for Mr. Greaves had now left me) upon what public occaſion, theſe rejoicings were made? — Rejoicings, your honour, anſwered the fellow, I ſee no rejoic⯑ings for my part: the lamps indeed, burn a little merrily, but ſo they do every night o' the year, for the mat⯑ter of that—Very well, ſaid I—drive on briſkly, ſir.

So ſaid, ſo done; and briſkly he did drive with a vengeance; mount⯑ing [3]ſuch precipices, thundering down ſuch vales, turning ſuch corners, clat⯑tering over ſuch ſtones, and making ſuch angles, that (unuſed to ſo pleaſ⯑ant an exerciſe) I was utterly unable to keep my ſeat, and was toſſed about the coach from one ſide to the other, fill a ſudden jolt drove my head in⯑continently againſt the glaſs on the leſt hand, which gave me an oppor⯑tunity to cut my cheek, and hol⯑low forth my diſaſter, to the author of it. I ordered him to go leſs fu⯑riouſly, aſſuring him, at the ſame time, while I applied a handkerchief to my cheek, that I was not an expreſs, nor upon any errand that required ſuch hazardous expedition—Oh, very well, replied this obedient driver, I ax your honour's pardon, but I [4]thought as how you might like to go the long trot. He now ſet forward, and crept ſo provokingly ſlow, that I had full leiſure to contemplate every thing I beheld around me.

At the end of a ſtreet, I ſaw a claſ⯑ter of ſhewy young women, who ſeemed to have met by accident, and were re⯑joicing at the interview; while the coachman, therefore, was indulging his preſent fit of deliberation, moving as if he had a mind to ſtand ſtill— one of the ladies very politely walk⯑ed by the ſide of the coach for ſome time, enquired after my health with great aſſability, and at laſt moſt hoſpitably invited me, to drink a glaſs of wine with her. Struck with the agreeableneſs of her figure, and genteel addreſs, and not doubting but [5]that ſhe was ſome young lady who had ſeen me either at ſchool, or at my village (but whoſe features were worn out of my memory) I made her a pro⯑found bow of acknowledgement, ex⯑preſſed my concern at not being able to accept her flattering offer, but would take the firſt opportunity to pay her my reſpects. In delivering this ſentence (while the good-natured creature expreſſed her ſatisfaction at ſeeing me, even by a gentle preſſure of the hand) I had the confidence to look in her face, in the hope of recol⯑lecting an old friend; but, ſuch was the treachery of memory, that, although ſhe actually called me twice or thrice, her dear, (which methought denoted particular intimacy) I could no way recognize her. However, I was in [6]ſome meaſure rewarded for my pains, by ſurveying a countenance, where the roſes and lilies were ſo nicely blend⯑ed, the brow ſo delicately arched, and the boſom ſo exquiſitely white, that I congratulated myſelf highly at having found ſo amiable an acquaintance, and ſignified my intention to wait upon her, at all events, the next day.

All this time, during which, I was leaning half out of the window, the coachman was ſtifling a laugh, which, when it was no longer to be repreſſ⯑ed, would very well have become the lungs of the animals he was driving. At length, (he cries, turning himſelf round upon his box,) why ſhe's a tight going thing, your honour, I'll get down and open the door.—Will you ride with the gentleman, Beſs? what [7]ſay you, hey? Imagining he meant to inſult my friend, whom I was bound in honour and indeed in conſcience to protect, I exerted myſelf warmly in her behalf, inſiſted that the fellow ſhould not affront my acquaintance, but go directly where he was ordered; then, addreſſing the lady, I was pre⯑paring a very proper apology for this unparalleled rudeneſs, when the coach⯑man with a ſaucy ſmack of his whip, ſo increaſed the ſpeed of the horſes, that I ſound myſelf at a conſiderable diſtance, before I thought of aſking her direction.

This, however, I now determined on, and ſtopping the coach, by dint of abſolute vociferation, I command⯑ed the fellow to drive me back again to the lady, as I had forgot to enquire [8]in what ſtreet ſhe reſided, and where I might find her houſe. Her houſe, re⯑plied the coachman—ſomewhat ſur⯑lily, it will be a difficult jobb of work to find that, I fancy. She's a here-and-thereian, as a man may ſay—ſhe has no houſe—No houſe, ſaid I! And yet (re⯑ſumed the heroe of the long laſh) ſhe is pretty well known at moſt houſes in town, for all that. What, cried I, is ſhe then a woman of ſuch diſtinction. Very great dictinction, he replied▪ Beſs Bronſby beats round all the baw⯑dy houſes in a night, ſometimes— Bawdy Houſes, ſaid I, what is ſhe then —is that lady—can it be poſſible that— that I ſtammered at a little—and ſelt the colour in my face—I know what your honour would ſay, interrupted the coachman; and ſhe is all that, I [9]can aſſure you, and more too. Aſto⯑niſhment ſilenced me, and it was ſome time before I was able to ſay, go along, coachman, pray go along, ſir—

Reflections now thickened upon me, and thus, at laſt, in the language of ſimplicity and inexperience, I argued.

Fair unfortunate! how I pity thee. Thou haply art another Almeria, de⯑teſting thy ſad ſituation, and ſhedding many a tear, to the fraud which oc⯑caſioned, and to the diſaſter which continues it to thee. Haply ſome fa⯑ther, with the ſeelings of Mr. Greaves, may at this very moment, mourn thy loſs, and thy wanderings — —Oh that ſome gentle ſpirit, inſpired with benignity, would intereſt itſelf in thy fate—would exert its friendly en⯑deavours to ſweeten it—Thy heart [10]may not acquieſce in the conceſſions of thy perſon; and if it be ſo, (as ſure⯑ly the luſtre of thine eye is the luſtre of innocence) doſt thou not ſigh for the compaſſion of a friend? doſt thou not weep for the boſom of a father? Oh that Providence may beſtow theſe bleſſings upon thee, and mayſt thou, in a parent's protection, once more find ſhelter from mankind!

I had finiſhed this ſoliloquy juſt as the coach ſtopt in a ſpacious ſquare at the houſe of my relation; and after the man had opened the coach-door, I ſaw a woman moving along, in no ſituation to be envied; for ſhe could by no means walk, either direct or an⯑gular; and tho' well dreſſed, ſhe was ſeriouſly curſing herſelf all the way, and proteſted vengeance againſt the [11]very next ſcoundrel ſhe ſhould meet— what's the matter with you, poor wo⯑man, ſaid I, ſtepping out of the coach: are you ſubject to fits? Fits be d—d, replied the lady—O, yes cries the coachman, look your honour how woundily ſtrong they are upon her now. Alack-a-day, poor ſoul, ſhe's got the ſtaggers. You lie, you ſcoundrel, ſaid the lady. The coachman knocked at the door, and I was conducted, by a footman, to the family of my couſin. Drunk! ſaid I to myſelf, as I paſſed through the hall, and aſcended the ſtair-caſe—drunk! a well-dreſſed wo⯑man, drunk in the public ſtreet, at this time of the night, and uſing ſuch language too, becauſe a man civilly in⯑quires what's the matter with her? Me⯑thinks the London ladies are a little [12]queeriſh: Lord help me, I ſee, I know no more of the ways of this world yet, than a ſucking pig. Courage, Be⯑nignus—that world, is "all before you."

CHAP. L.

I was ſo extremely fatigued with my journey, from never having tra⯑velled ſo far, or ſo long together be⯑fore, that I was under the neceſſity of aſking permiſſion to withdraw to my apartments ſoon after I had paid, and received, the cuſtomary compli⯑ments. Aukward matters to be ſure, firſt ſalutations are at beſt, but to a fellow who has not yet rubbed off the baſh⯑fulneſs of a boy, by mixing with men, they are horribly diſtreſſing. I do not know that ever I felt a more diſpleaſ⯑ing ſenſation than at my entrance in⯑to [13]the room, in which Mrs. Darling⯑ton, and her niece, were ſitting, in all the primneſs of expectation. Starch, ſtiff, laborious formality, was viſible in every thing around me, and I really thought there was ſomething puncti⯑lious in the very look of the furniture. But alas! I ſoon found the ſormality was in myſelf—I was embarraſſed, and therefore imagined every thing near me partook the confuſion. How much was! miſtaken! As ſoon as I expreſſ⯑ed a wiſh to retire, the wiſh was grant⯑ed, without any pageantry of cere⯑mony: Mrs. Darlington deſired I would do exactly at her houſe as I would do at my own.

Polite woman, ſaid I, as I was fol⯑lowing the ſervant to my chamber— this Mrs. Darlington is certainly the [14] beſt bred woman in the world! There is a criſis at which fatigue is favour⯑able to repoſe, but a ſingle moment, beyond the criſis throws wearineſs upon the pillow. I was however, lucky in this reſpect, and ſlept thro' the night, without once waking, to toſs, to turn, or to contemplate. The ſun and I got up chearfully together, though he did not ſeem to riſe with to ſplendid a countenance in this place, as I had been uſed to obſerve him, from the windows of my village. To ſay the truth, the morning after my arrival was the moſt lazy-loolang morning I had ever beheld, and yet it was ſcarce leſs than ſix o'clock when I was dreſſed. Time however ſeldom hangs heavy on a man reſolved to im⯑prove it, and inclined to be ſatisfied. [15]The proſpect from my apartment was a handſome ſquare, with a garden in the center. Through this ſquare I preſently ſaw a woman dreſſed in a [...]n's blue ſurtout, and ſauntering a⯑long with a pair of pails, mewing as ſhe walked, like a cat in diſtreſs; then followed a ſoot-boy ſhuffling, over the pavement, and highly delighted at the conceit of ſhaking the ends of a [...]ick, which hung over his ſhoulders, into the good woman's pail, without her perceiving him. And ſome little time after this, came a ſolitary aſs, dreaming beneath panniers, which appeared to contain vegetables for the market: after him, at due, and drowzy diſtance, crept the driver, who looked, if poſſible, more ſleepy than his beaſt: but they both knew [16]their buſineſs, and habit will carry a pack-horſe, we know, to the end of his cuſtomary ſtage without any eyes at all. It is to be preſumed, therefore, in theſe caſes, they ſmell their way. Certain it is, the aſs with two legs, and the aſs with double that number, croſſed the ſquare blindfold, without any deviation from the track, that led to the beginning of the next [...]. How many, alas! of their brethren wander from the right road, as the phraſe is, when broad awake. This deſ⯑cendant of the ſagacious Baalam, de⯑ſerves therefore to be complimented.

I amuſed myſelf in this idling way for half an hour, and then went down ſtairs, which by the bye, were car⯑petted (I preſume to clean the ſh [...]) —from top to bottom. But ſad was [17]the ſurvey of all below—all was ſtill as midnight, and pretty nearly as dark. The door of the ſtreet was chained— the ſhutters were cloſed with bars of painted iron—the cricket was com⯑plaining that the ſires were out, and the pendulum clickt in its corner, a neglected, melancholy monitor. It pointed to me, however, the intelligence of want⯑ing only four minutes to ſeven. It gave warning to ſtrike—That may be, ſaid I, but I ſuppoſe you may ſtrike again before any one in this Caſtle of indo⯑lence will make thee an anſwer. The ſeven o'clock of the country, is in⯑deed, ſo very different from the ſeven o'clock of London—at leaſt the po⯑lite part of it—that I inſtantly ran in⯑to the contraſt; for the readers will find (if readers I have) that I was a [18]deſperate fellow to think, before I be⯑gan to act; or in other words, that while I was all ſentiment, and no fact —(I hope the deſiners of ſentiment will forgive me) all theory, and no practice, it was very unuſual for me to let the minuteſt objects paſs, with⯑out producing a reflection—a ſhort converſation with myſelf—an ejacu⯑lation—a note of interrogation, or an exclamation: and for the firſt ten years of my life, this laſt matter was ſo very remarkable in me, that it be⯑came at laſt characteriſtic, and I was diſtinguiſhed in ſeveral circles, un⯑der the nick-name of honeſt Ehu!

As I looked at the clock, which methought ſpoke very ſenſibly, I ſay. I could not avoid rambling into a con⯑traſt. All I have ſeen hitherto, I cried, [19]is a mighty indolent collection of crea⯑tures truly. Dull, dreary, dreadful, and ſolemn: now, in the country, what a different face has the time of the day—a face, not of buſineſs only, but of joy. The milk-maid is ſinging at her pail, the ploughman is whiſtling over the furrow, the birds are offering up their hymns from the hedges, the very waves of the water ſeem to purſue each other in ſport, the leaves frolick to the gale, and the lambs are tripping over the lawns.

At the cloſe of this ſoliloquy, I conceived myſelf ſo prettily poetical, that I heartily forgave the gloom which as firſt occaſioned it, and in high good-humour with myſelf, re⯑aſcended the ſtair-caſe.

CHAP. LI.

I now laid down with perfect re⯑ſignation, on the bed, till I might really hear ſomebody ſtirring: but as I had no inclination to ſleep, becauſe I had nothing to do (which is however no uncommon excuſe for indolence, I reſolved to employ the period, in which I was thus ſhut up from ſociety, in ſketching a ſcheme of life; and laying a plan for my conduct, in the ca⯑pital.

Oh imagination, imagination, what a ſorcereſs—what a witch art thou! How doſt thou take reaſon by the hand, and idea by the heart, leading them through all thy lovely wilderneſs [21]of mazes; now into the receſſes of the ſhade, now into the avenues of ſunſhine—ſtill intricate—ſtill enter⯑taining—till the youthful adventurer puzzled, as pleaſed, in the purſuit, preſſes onward with too enterprizing a ſtep, till thou leaveſt him, on a ſud⯑den—a miſguided ſtranger, in a Fairy Land. Surely fancy never promiſed, or painted pleaſanter ſcenes, or more delightful figures than at this mo⯑ment, danced before me, in all the luxury, and decoration of romance!

Thou art now, ſaid I, Benignus, in the capital of the Britiſh world; thou haſt fortune to accommodate, a heart to beſtow—ſome little diſcern⯑ment to ſee, and much health to en⯑joy. But pr'ythee now, my good lad, treaſure up the hints which have been [22]given thee, learn wiſdom from the wiſe; and get underſtanding from experience. Already haſt thou ſeen ſomething worth memorandum: let me adviſe thee therefore to extract uſeful morals from the whole. Thus then runs the catalogue: thou haſt ſeen, in the coarſe conduct of the grocer, that ſelfiſhneſs is, at beſt, but a dirty, ſordid road to happineſs; and in the benevolence, of Blewitt, that benevolence ſhould con⯑deſcend to be guided by diſcretion In the behaviour of Mr. Greaves, is ſtrongly maked to thee the golden characters of ſenſibility and oeconomy—of tenderneſs, diſciplined by prudence, of bounty regulated by reaſon. The manners of thy villagers may ſerve, well enough, to ſhew thee, that thou wilt need: meet with much diſcontent—much [23]miſtake, much rudeneſs in thy migrations. The man who travels, muſt pay for his curioſity. In thy cu⯑rate thou mayſt ſee that the ſyſtem of philoſophic patience is not proof againſt a fooliſh ſpark from a fooliſh tobacco⯑pipe; and from the ways of thy ear⯑lier play-mates, thou mayſt obſerve, that he who endeavours to do a great deal of good, muſt have fortitude enough to bear calmly, and even well temper'dly, a great deal of mortification. Fore-warned, therefore, fore-armed; be that the maxim. Act with delibe⯑ration: thou haſt already met, even ſince thy arrival in London, ſtrange matters — an obſtinate coachman; a lady of diſtinction without any ſettled habitation; and a woman ſtrolling in⯑toxicated through the ſtreet at ten [24]o'clock. Prepare thyſelf, therefore, for oddities of all ſorts. Keep honeſt prudence ever before you, and as thou journeyeſt along, eſteem her as the ſafeſt monitor, of thy youth. Be very cautious, and be very happy.

This well-connected and ſolid chain of argument, put me in ſuch high ſpirits, and made me (in my own conceit) ſo very clever a fellow, that I could lie no longer; but, ſpringing from the bed with the agility of a man, delighted with a ſlattering idea, I danced about the room as light as a feather; and ſeriouſly believing, I was now a match for all the artifices of the world, I cared not how ſoon I rallied forth to encounter them.

By this time, my watch poſitively declared it was eight o'clock, and I be⯑gan [25]again to liſten, whether the morn⯑ing had yet commenced in London. By the greateſt good fortune, I heard a foot moving ſoſtly upon the ſtairs: there was ſomething ſocial in the ſound, and in going towards it, I ſaw the maids, cautiouſly deſcending with their ſhoes in one hand, and a candleſtick in the other. As I paſſed by them, they ſtared at me, as if to [...]atisfy themſelves, whether it was really the ſtrange gentleman, or the ſtrange gentleman's apparition. A ſtrange gentleman aſſuredly they thought me, for upon my aſking how long it would be before breakfaſt, and that, with the beſt natured accent in the world, they replied with great aſtoniſhment—breakfaſt, ſir! why it is but a little paſt eight o'clock—O [...]an't it, [26]ſaid I—(willing to ſeem no greater a fool than neceſſary)—an't it, my dear; I declare, I ſuppoſed it might be almoſt nine!—Nine, ſir, anſwered the other maid—would you pleaſe to breakfaſt ſo ſoon as nine them?—No—no child, I replied, I will wait till your ladies get up. That will be 'twixt twelve and one, cried the girl. She now quite did for me, and I went ſneaking up the ſtairs a third time, feeling the ridi⯑cule of my own figure, and repeating the words twelve and one, with aſton⯑iſhing emphaſis at every ſtep, inſo⯑much that, as I mounted in the climax, I abſolutely ſtamped again: and thus diſturbed the family, by ringing the changes upon twelve and one.

Well, ſaid I, ſhutting the door, this is a pleaſant exiſtence truly—why [27]for ought I ſee, a man's life, in this town, ſhould be eſtimated, rather by the number of nights than days: at this rate of calculation, fifty years out of the threeſcore and ten, are paſſed be⯑tween the blankets—ſo that, allowing, upon an average, ten more to dreſſing, undreſſing, eating and drinking—two to mere ſauntering, five to ſickneſs, and two, to paying, and receiving vi⯑ [...]s, there remains but the ſolitary unite (even ſuppoſing exiſtence to be protracted to the utmoſt) either to be [...]d, or to be happy. Heaven help me! I am afraid I have got in a ſtrange family; for it can never be, that this great feat of trade and pleaſure, ſhould be ſuch a dreadful dormitory as that comes to—No—no—I have hit upon the fact, Mrs. Darlington's is a [28]particular family, and contains a very heavy-headed tribe. Be this as [...] may, I will have at leaſt the prudence to hold my tongue, whatever uſe I make of my eyes. Indeed I will be caution in every thing: ſaying this, I applied once more to the window for enter⯑tainment; and ſeeing a poor fellow at that time ſitting down in the ſquare to breakfaſt on a dirty piece of bread, I involuntary opened the ſaſh to aſk what objection he had to butter▪ None—ſaid the poor creature—no objection in the world, ſir—but I am a child of ſorrow—and had not lady Pamper's dog, (that lives at yon great houſe) had an objection to this piece of bread, (which he carried laſt night in his mouth in order to bury it but on turning it over, thought it I [29]ſuppoſe too ſtale) I ſhould not have had any breakfaſt; ſo, that being the caſe, bad is better than none, you know, ſir. I have reſolved to be cautious, friend, ſaid I, but I ſee you are hard pinched, and ſo—there's a ſhilling for you. I cloſed the window, and prided myſelf upon having diſplayed that true medium betwixt bounty and pro⯑fuſion, in giving only one ſhilling at a time, inſtead of two. Yes, yes, ſaid I, I ſer there is nothing like it—a cautious man, is an excellent character.

CHAP. LII.

In theſe reflections I indulged my⯑ſelf till about ten minutes paſt twelve, when a footman, with a bunch of [30]twiſted papers at his ears, came to acquaint me, that the ladies were waiting tea for me in the library. I obeyed this ſummons with pretty much that ſort of joy which a priſoner might be ſuppoſed to feel at the receipt of an unexpected re⯑prieve.

Mrs. Darlington, and her neice were ſeated at an elegant tea-table, at which, a ſuperb ſervice of plate and china were exhibited. The tea was meaſured from a ſilver canniſter, and poured from a golden urn—but unluckily, the noon tide ſun came rather too rudely into the room— that odious light puts cut one's eyes, exclaimed the matron — lower the blinds, Alicia. Good day to you, ladies, ſaid I, if it is not too ſoon: I [31]unluckily aimed at humour, in this ſalutation. Why it is rather too ſoon, exclaimed the young lady, to call it day already; but you country 'ſquires always riſe, I think, with the lark, and go to bed with the crow—is not that the maxim? Pray draw a chair, couſin, ſaid Mrs. Darlington—never mind that noiſy thing, but ſit down and get your breakfaſt. Lord, couſin, replied Alicia, what do you call this! Gemini! crimini! what have you got —here ſhe liſted up the ſkirt of my coat, which had been the work of a rural taylor, and was not, (it ſeems) quite ridiculous enough for the London taſte. This really won't do, Benignus, continued miſs Darlington: I hope you reſted agreeably, couſin, ſaid Mrs. Darlington.—But I ſee, my good [32]reader, there will be no end of your ſays I's, and ſays ſhe's in this caſe— ſo I'll e'en throw the breakfaſt-con⯑verſation into dialogue.

It's a lovely fine morning, Benignus!

What will you do with yourſelf after breakfaſt, couſin?

Do you drink ſugar?

I ſuppoſe you will ſmile at our cream?

Shall I make your tea pretty ſweet?

I hope you will make a long ſtay with us?

I dare ſay, you admire the country?

You don't eat, couſin?

Do you find your tea agree able, couſin?

I am afraid you breakfaſt too late?

Theſe intereſting queſtions all paſt, and repaſt, like the rebounds of battle⯑door and ſhuttle-cock, in about the ſpace of one minute; ſo that, in at⯑tempting to reply to each, I was kept in a continual ſtutter, now directing myſelf to the aunt, and now to the neice. At laſt came on an interval, which I did not fail to ſill up, by in⯑forming the ladies, in a confuſed man⯑ner, by way of general anſwer: that I reſted well, — it was indeed a fine morning—I drank ſugar—did not pro⯑poſe ſtaying long—liked the country— perhaps, upon trial, might like London better—would take the cream juſt as I found it, but did not chooſe to eat any thing at preſent.

[34]While I was thus ſpeaking with a tremulous voice, the old lady ſlanted her head till her right ear was ex⯑actly brought parallel to my mouth and Alicia was biting her lips, and catching her breath, as if labouring to ſubdue the hickup. What does my couſin ſay, Alicia? cried Mrs. Dar⯑lington,—ſtill remaining on the ſ [...]p [...]—what is he talking about? Alicia then, with a very grave face, and [...] audible voice, recited the ſubſta [...] of my ſpeech. I now found that Mrs. Darlington was defective in the facul⯑ty of hearing; ſhe was indeed ſo ex⯑tremely deaf, as ſcarce to underſtand the notes of her niece, which I had afterwards reaſon to believe, were in no degree wanting in ſhrillneſs.

[35]When Mrs. Darlington, therefore, dealt forth her interrogotaries, they were intended only as a proper quan⯑tum of that inoffenſive chit-chat, well adapted to the tea-table, and juſt as agreeably inſipid as the tea itſelf. And as ſhe never heard one ſyllable, of the pertinent queſtions with which miſs Alicia plied me, ſhe imagined her inquiries to run thus: What will you do with yourſelf after break⯑faſt, my dear couſin? As you are ſo great an admirer of the country, I fear at firſt, the time will hang heavy on your hands, in town. You will ſmile at our dignifying water and milk, with the name of cream; and as you don't eat, I am afraid we breakfaſt too late for your uſual time.—Now theſe ſentences (with little momentary [36]pauſes between) would have been pleaſ⯑ing enough: and to do Mrs. Darling⯑ton juſtice, it muſt be confeſſed ſhe [...] make at leaſt a comma at each; but Alicia, who was both a wit, and a wag, ran her notes of interrogation, ſo rapidly between, that ſhe not only deſtroyed her aunt's ſtops, and my endeavours to anſwer, but played upon the imperfection of Mrs. Dar⯑lington, made me ſit as if I was labour⯑ing under a violent impediment, and confounded the whole converſation. Nor was this all: Alicia ſpeakin [...] [...] provokingly in a low voice, could not be heard in any degree by the poor lady, nor in her preſent oblique poſture could this fun-loving Alicia, be even ſeen; for Mrs. Darlington was ſitting on a contrary ſide of the cha [...] [37]very attentively waiting my replies. It is more than poſſible, that Mrs. Darlington ſuppoſed I was actually making my reſponſes very regularly, and that, upon principles of politeneſs, ſhe rather bore the mortification of loſing every ſyllable, than give a ſtranger to her infirmity the trouble of repeating his ſentiments. She was a woman of real faſhion, and the in⯑ſtant ſhe underſtood from her rogueiſh interpreter, that I deſigned to employ my morning in taking a tranſient ſurvey of the town, ſhe ſaid her coach was now, and would always be at my ſervice; but when ſhe found I choſe walking, ſhe directed her footman to order Benjamin to attend me, adding, that, againſt my next excurſion ſhe would ſee out amongſt her young [38]friends for a more ſuitable companion. This advance of friendſhip reinſtated her in my eſteem. I pitied her mis⯑fortune, and began again to think ſhe was the beſt natured woman breathing. Of the young lady, how⯑ever, I made a memorandum, and ſet her down in the volume of extraordinaries.

In ſomething leſs than a quarter of an hour after the tea-things were removed, a young fellow of a florid complexion, with his hair curling in his neck, came to inform me Mr. Abrahams would wait upon me in five ſeconds. Mr. Abrahams, was, it ſeems, the ſteward of Mrs. Darling⯑ton's eſtates, and had great ſhare alſo in the management of her domeſtic affairs; and my couſin, willing to re⯑commodate [39]me in the beſt manner, went out herſelf to order the ſaid ſteward, rather than a common menial adherent, to attend me. At the time this meſſage was brought me, Alicia and I were looking over the books, with the titles of every one of which (numerous as they were) ſhe appeared to be acquainted; ſhe peruſed the bearer of this meſſage, as accurately as poſſible, the moment he entered; and indeed he was a very proper ſubject for female criticiſm.

Mr. Benjamin — for Benjamin it was,—was the nephew of this Mr. Abrahams—the footman out of livery to Mrs. Darlington—and the favourite of Mrs. Darlington's niece. He was now habited in a light green coat and waiſtcoat, neat buck-ſkin breeches, [40]brown thread ſtockings, a ruffled ſhirt, ſhining ſhoes, and ſilver-buckles. Nor were other neceſſary appendages wanting; ſuch as an hazle ſwitch, headed with a piece of ivory, in his hand; a cravat, which, with a narrow edging, and tied careleſsly, adorned his neck—a garnet breaſt-buckle in the form of a heart, and a bunch of baubles depending from his watch; in a word, he might very well have paſſed for a young nobleman, whoſe paſſions, gravitating towards the ken⯑nel and the ſtable, had juſt come to London for the day, on purpoſe to have the pleaſure of riding home to⯑morrow; chiefly indeed for the ſu⯑preme exploit of telling his acquain⯑tances how many ſcore of miles he can ride betwixt ſun-riſe and ſun-ſet.

[41]As Alicia ſeemed to pay ſome ſort of reſpect to him, I inclined my head, at his entrance, rather nearer the earth than was neceſſary; or indeed, to ſpeak more properly, I was rather more polite than the eſtabliſhed laws of ſu⯑bordination preſcribe: for, having nothing about his dreſs that marked his real ſtation (except a broad fringe of ſilver that ſurrounded the button of his hat, which I did not directly take notice of, the hat being then under his arm), he might as eaſily be miſtaken for my lord himſelf, as my lord's favourite jockey. Mr. Benjamin was, however, I find my lady's gentle⯑man; and a ſmart, tight, taking lad he was, as ever came a volunteer into the honourable ſervice. Which way do you intend to ramble, ſaid Alica, [42]ſpeaking to me, and looking at Benja⯑min? Through the Park, miſs, I an⯑ſwered—for no other reaſon, but be⯑cauſe it was the only place I could venture to talk about, without danger of feeling her wit. Tell your uncle then, Ben—I believe indeed ſhe might ſay Mr. Ben—tell your uncle he muſt go with my coz. through St. James's, ſo then up by Weſtminſter-Abbey, and ſo then by the Houſe of Lords, and ſo then home by Pall Mall; you'll re⯑turn by dinner, Benignus? If poſſible ſaid I—looking ſeriouſly at my watch —if poſſible, but pray don't let me wait; you ſee it is now, one o'clock— ſo that I am afraid I can't promiſe— Why not, cried Alicia, why not, you have four hours good, and the deuce is in it, if you will not have had enough [43]for one day, long enough before then? I had totally forgot again the new regulation of times and ſeaſons; albeit I made the beſt of my miſtake: then you dine at five, couſin? Soon after it, ſaid ſhe. Very well, I rejoined, then you may depend on me, and if Mr. Benjamin will go ſee for his uncle, I will ſet off di—

CHAP. LVIII.

Di—rectly, would have been pro⯑nounced, had not the two laſt ſylla⯑bles of that word, been cut off, by the appearance of Mr. Abrahams him⯑ſelf. This ſerious perſonage was al⯑together different, both in look [44]and dreſs, from his nephew Mr. Ben⯑jamin; being rather ſwarthy, than fair, and formal than ſpruce.—Now then, young ſir, if you pleaſe, ſaid he, not much in the tone of a domeſ⯑tic—now, let us make hay, while ſhe ſun ſhines,—with all my heart Mr. Abrahams, I replied, for we are ſome⯑thing late. Better late than never, ſaid the ſteward—miſs Alicia your humble ſervant; Benjamin, I under⯑ſtand from my lady, thee art to follow us. Ben bowed, Alicia curtified. Abrahams bent his neck, as if he hated compliment, (that is to pay it) and I, went ſcraping like a ſchool-boy, out of the room.

And now it was that the expreſſion of Mr. Greaves became forcibly ex⯑empliſied; for, "curioſity indeed, [45]paid the debt to ſurrounding ſplen⯑dour;" my eyes and heart were im⯑mediately taken captive, and led, not unwillingly, in the pleaſing chains of inexhauſted novelty. I walked amid the ambition of buildings, and the clatter of carriages, as if under en⯑chantment; and at the entrance of the Mall (which was on that day, crouded with company), I did not think that the paradiſe of Mahomet could be more elegantly diſplayed: for here, beauty, wealth, and elegance, were on all ſides exhibited, and what chiefly pleaſed me, was the appearance of ſatisfaction that crowned the whole. The dreſs and diſcourſe of every party might be various, but happineſs, ſeemed to be uniform: an ill tempered man would here have loſt his errand, and [46]gone home diſappointed: the ladies were ſpringhtly, and ſmiling; the gen⯑tlemen were aſſable, and gaſtant: youth and age appeared equally to be delighted, and my heart ſo tym⯑pathized and expanded, at the view of ſo many hundreds of my fellow⯑creatures ſocial and agreeable, that I could not help catching Mr. Abrahams by the hand, and in the genuine [...] ⯑fuſions of tranſport, exclaiming▪ Heaven and earth! my dear ſir, wh [...] a joyful proſpect, is this! A joyful proſ⯑pect, quoth the ſteward—Alack.— alack, ſir!—much cry, and little [...], —all is not gold that glitters— [...] nulla [...]ides.—Benjamin, an't that [...] fellow, who laughs ſo loud, along with the woman there, in a blue [...]ck, the poor devil who came with a [47]diamond ring for me to buy the other day—verily, I think it's he.—Yes ſir, ſaid Benjamin, 'tis he, ſure enough— Why he looks the merrieſt of the whole groupe, ſaid I. — That very ſcoundrel, replied Abrahams, is the moſt notorious black-leggs in town; he has ruined his whole family, and is twenty thouſand pounds in debt. Mercy upon us! ſaid Benjamin, lifting up his hands! — mercy upon us! Heigho! ſighed I—who would think it? Ah! ha! cried Benjamin ſoftly, yet with ſome emotion, there ſhe is, by gingo! — Here he plucked me gently by the ſleeve, aſking me, in a whiſper, if I took notice of a young woman on one of the benches, and if I did not think ſhe was the moſt landſomeſt creature I had ever ſeen, [48]ſince I had eyes in my head: [...] latter part of this queſtion, was ut⯑tered rather warmly, ſo that before I had time to anſwer it, Abraham [...] turned about, and Benjamin (who all along kept aweful diſtance) [...] behind. We now paſt by a perſon, whom Mr. Abrahams faluted very obſequiouſly, calling him his [...], inquiring after his family, and pro⯑feſſing himſelf at parting, his [...] obedient, and eternally devoted [...]. That muſt be a moſt reſpectable cha⯑racter thought I to myſelf; and I long to know him: Pray Mr. Abraham, what worthy gentleman was that, you ſhook by the hand—A worthy gentle⯑man, ſir! replied Abrahams; as errant a raſcal as any in the three kingdoms —burning the candle at both ends— [49]has got ſix ſons—muſt come all to the pariſh—and is, at this very time, in treaty with an honeſt man, who has ſaved up a triſle by induſtry, to ſup⯑ply him with a cool thouſand upon the laſt mortgage. And ſo then, (thought I) well-bred perſons it ſeems, are the moſt obedient and eternally devoted ſervants of the erranteſt raſcal in the three kingdoms; and to ſhew their politeneſs the more eminently, will even ſhake this identical raſcal by the hand, with the ſame cordiality, that they would embrace a very honeſt fellow.

By this time we had got to the top of the Park, and having now had a view of the gayer parts of the town, I expreſſed a deſire to walk rather into ſome of the ſtreets of buſineſs, than into the gloom of Weſtminſter-Abbey: [50]A wiſh which the ſteward gladly obeyed, obſerving that, trade was the thing, and that every other point upon earth was traſh and flaſh, and flum⯑mery, and nonſenſe, and nothing at all. Benjamin ſeemed much to wiſh we would take another turn down the Mall, but perceiving his uncle againſt it, dared not heſitate; though I could plainly perceive the poor lad's heart was upon one of the benches.

Accordingly we plunged into the great ſcenes of buſineſs, and had no ſooner got within Temple-bar, than the contraſt became ſo viſible, that the building appeared to be the boun⯑dary of a different world, inhabited by a different race of mortals. A ſtep of diſpatch, an eye of attention, and [51]a face of care, diſtinguiſhed almoſt all we met, from almoſt all we had left. If one neighbour met another, he took him haſtily by the hand, nodded his head, and preſſed eagerly forward: whereas, on the contrary, I obſerved parties in the Park, ſaunter indolently along, or form themſelves into little ſocieties, and ſometimes hold a long converſation. Here alſo, the beaſt, ſeemed to ſhare the impatience of the man; the very horſes, as if animated by the general hurry, were either vigorouſly toiling in the car, or bound⯑ing along with the coach: even death was diſregarded; and the hearſes rolled beſide us with all the ſpright⯑lineſs of bridal chariots; nay, I beheld a fellow running a-croſs the way, with a coſſin over his ſhoulder; and heard [52]him at the ſame time curſe a ſcavenger, who obſtructed his way.

Abrahams jogged on with the ut⯑moſt indifference, except that now and then, he ſaid, he wiſhed Mrs. Dar⯑lington lived in the city, and that he thought Thames-ſtreet infinitely preferable to all the jumble of St. James's. At laſt he diſpatched Ben⯑jamin with an errand, firſt aſking my permiſſion. The errand luckily hap⯑pened to lie at Charing-croſs; and Benjamin, either out of affection he bore his uncle, or ſome other perſon, ran forward as faſt as his legs could carry him. I now took a peep into the ſhops, in every window of which was diſplayed a moderate fortune. Every thing that could give taſte to attracting trifles, or decorations to [53]that which was actually neceſſary; all that could accommodate the perſon with convenience, with luſtre, and with magnificence, lay open to the eye. The agreeable and glittering temptations were indeed ſo artfully diſpoſed, and ſo ſkilfully had Invention varied her trinkets, that the paſſenger was irreſiſtibly invited to lay out his money; and yet Abrahams, ſeldom turned his head, even to look at them. I was much captivated by the glaſs-caſe of a jeweller, when, ſtopping to look over the ſplendid toys which it contained, I aſked the ſteward if he was not amazed to ſee ſo many pretty, ſhewy contrivances? Not at all amazed, anſwered he, ſir, to ſee them, but very much amazed to think there are any people weak and ig⯑noramus [54]enough to buy them; but, as I always ſaid, a fool and his money is ſoon parted. There was a little box however, which particularly pleaſed me, and which I was reſolved to purchaſe, in defiance of all the pro⯑verbs of Solomon or Abrahams; I went into the ſhop, while Abrahams, ſtood grinning at the door, as much as to ſay, he did not like the bu⯑ſineſs.

The trader was one of the neateſt, beſt ſpoken, obliging beings that ever hopped round a counter; his face was exceed⯑ing pale, and made ſtill paler by the powder on his pate, which was rather flat than oval, but there was a gaiety in his eyes (even though they were grey), which compenſated for ſome⯑thing of deadneſs, in the reſt of his [55]countenance. He drew out the glaſs adroitly, and gave me, with flippant aſſability, the hiſtory and intent of every bauble. I was really quite taken with the man's politeſſe; and though I had no ſort of intention to buy more than the little box, yet he ſo clearly proved to me the indiſpen⯑ſible neceſſity and uſe of ſeveral ar⯑ticles, of which I never before had an idea, or indeed knew that the world contained in it any ſuch arti⯑ticles, that, in leſs than twenty mi⯑nutes, this courteous jeweller abſo⯑lutely talked me out of ſeven guineas and a half. I made purchaſe of a ſhining chain for my watch, which the trader proteſted was the moſt delicate workmanſhip in the three kingdoms —I bought two cryſtal ſeals, becauſe [56]he very properly obſerved, that a good chain ought to have handſome ap⯑pendages, in the ſame manner as a good houſe ought to have handſome furni⯑ture. I bought a ſilver tooth-pick caſe, becauſe he ſaid no gentleman was without one, and, beſides, they looked mighty pretty in the hand after dinner: theſe, with my box, completed my marketings, with which I departed, and as I went out of the door, in⯑formed Mr. Abrahams (with ſome⯑what of triumph in the tone of my voice) of my bargain, aſking him at the ſame time, if he did not think I had them a pennyworth?

A pennyworth, ſir!—cried the ſte⯑ward, (ſneering up his upper-lip, till it touched the tip of his noſe, and twitching up the waiſtband of his [57]breeches with infinite diſdain, though not ſo as to tear them) a pennyworth! —Every man knows his own buſineſs beſt—Some ſave, and ſome do not ſave—many reſervoirs—many foun⯑tains—Don't you think them cheap then, ſaid I?—The Lord knows, ſir, anſwered Abrahams—What's cheap to one, may be dear to another, you know—Many men, many minds—But what do you think—rejoined I?—Think —replied the ſteward, raiſing his voice about four notes,—think—Why I think—but I don't nevertheleſs pre⯑ſume to judge for you—yet I ſay, I think I would look at the trumpery once, and my ſeven golden guineas ſeven and twenty thouſand thouſand times, before I would part with a braſs happeny for all the things in the [58]ſhop; for not a thing there can I ſee that a reaſonable man has any fort of occaſion for. Why, I have lived in this ſame London, now ſir, eight and forty years, and better than forty-eight,— have ſeen all the catch-penny conun⯑drums that ever were invented to take people in, and yet I never laid out a crooked ſix-pence upon any of them; and, what's better ſtill, I hope (with God's grace) I never ſhall; for, between you and I, ſir, thoſe ſhew⯑away fellows are mere pick-pockets, mere pick-pockets—raſcals that live by ſnatch and catch: and will have one hand in your fob, as I may ſay, while t'other is ſqueezing you out a welcome—No ſir—ſolid buſineſs— merchandize, brokerage, and ſuch fair and ſquare dealings, are the things for me.

[59]The ſtructure of St. Paul's now com⯑manded my notice, and I looked at it as worthy the Deity to whom it was devoted; and the Apoſtle (ſaid I to Abrahams) whoſe name it bears, might not bluſh to preach in it. It is a vaſt piece of work, to be ſure, anſwer⯑ed the ſteward, cautiouſly pulling out his watch, and regulating it by the dial, but I never was nearer it than I am now: I am pretty right I believe —If you chooſe to ſee the inſide, I will attend you to the warder, and wait at the door till you return. And is it poſſible, ſaid I, that you could be ſo many years in town, and let ſuch an edifice as this eſcape you? Very poſ⯑ſible, he replied, that I ſhould eſcape, as you call it, this edifice, and every other of the like kind; for I never ſet my [60]foot within a church ſince I was born. No!—cried I, in aſtoniſhment. No, re⯑plied the ſteward, never, indeed. Doc⯑tors and doctrines differ you know, ſir —In this town there are many reli⯑gions — Many religions, Mr. Abra⯑hams! — I mean, ſaid Abrahams, many ways of being religious — But ſurely, the eſtabliſhed proteſtant, ſaid I!—Eſtabliſhed fiddleſtick, quoth A⯑brahams (prudently depoſiting his watch into his fob, as he heated in his argument)—what matters it whe⯑ther I chooſe to perform my journey on horſe back, or on foot, by this road, or by that? So as I get to the inn at laſt, that's enough. What's that to you? under favour ſir—What's that to you?—I'll tell you what, young gentle⯑man, churches and chapels are all a [61]joke; a man may be as much in the way of working out his ſalvation as he walks along the ſtreets, as if he was to wear out the knees of his breeches by prayer. Faith and good works—hope and charity. Good works, above all things, that's the point— that's the creed—that's little He— that's ſalvation, ſir!—The drops of diſ⯑putation began to ſtart in his fore⯑head, and he collected as much wind into his mouth as he poſſibly could, that he might cool his ferment with a whew —I looked at him without ſpeaking, —becauſe I really did not know what to ſay. He had not, indeed, yet done, for though the preſs of people began ſuddenly to be ſevere, this good man, in ſpite of ſweat or ſqueezing, mut⯑tered forth ſeveral heavy ſarcaſms [62]againſt pulpits, parſons, churches, and chapels; ſtill inſiſting that good works alone, would ſave the ſoul. Though I did not extremely reliſh Mr. Abra⯑hams' ſyſtem yet I honoured him for his principle, as to good works, and began to believe, that, however he might be miſtaken, in ſome of his maxims, his grand tenet was right, and might poſſibly make him a bene⯑volent member of ſociety.

CHAP. LIV.

We had juſt diſentangled ourſelves from the croud, when the ſteward perceived he had loſt one of his ſhoe⯑buckles: a diſcovery which produced much agitation, and a reſolution (with my leave) to hunt after it, when [63]the people were diſperſed; by which means, ſays he, at leaſt, I ſhall per⯑haps obtain ſome part of it. I repre⯑ſented to him the little likelihood of this. Sir, replied he, with a rueful tone and geſture, pointing to his foot —ſir, don't you ſee that it is ſilver— Silver, ſir, ſolid ſilver, as I hope to be ſaved! and thirteen years ago, the pair coſt me nine ſhillings and ſix pence. I ſhan't be able to anſwer it to my conſcience if I don't ſee after it; beſides, I had rather ſpend a pound than loſe a penny. Scripture for that: Whoever loſeth one thing, having nine⯑ty-nine other things, doth he not ſeek diligently till he find it, yea, even at the charge of a candle? Very true, ſaid I, Mr. Abrahams, I ſee you have ſo many ſtrong arguments in your favour, that [64]we will wait till the coaſt is a little clear, and then, for conſcience ſake, I will aſſiſt you in the ſearch. Mean time, ſir, (ſaid Abrahams, highly pleaſed with my condeſcenſion) ſup⯑poſe you were to amuſe yourſelf in that bookſeller's ſhop (where you may look over all the books, ſuch is the conve⯑nience of a lounging place, without laying out any thing) while I will keep my ground, and ſee that nobody ſtoops to take up my buckle, and ſo march off with my property—There are ſharpers, ſir, at every corner of this town; and unluckily, there is more gape about this curſed ſpot, with pic⯑tures on the one ſide, and a damned great lumbering building, (God for⯑give me!) on the other, than at any quarter of the whole city. He now [65]ſtood, fixed as a rock, and vigilant as a lynx; while I, purſuing his advice, ſauntered into the ſhop of a book⯑ſeller.

There are ſeveral places in this me⯑tropolis, (and indeed all over this king⯑dom,) particularly adapted to cheriſh idleneſs. A bookſeller's, a barber's, a chandler's, and a milliner's; and theſe, both in London and in the country, are immemorially famous for ſhelter⯑ing thoſe people who have little to do, and an infinite deal to ſay. Hence we conſtantly find them ſilled and fre⯑quented by indolents of all denomina⯑tions. Included in the catalogue, are half-pay officers, gentlemen who live, as they term it, on their means, gen⯑tlemen who live upon ways, without any means at all; ladies who ſet the [66]faſhions, ladies who follow the faſhions, and ladies who only love to ſee and talk about faſhions, without any power to do more than hobble in the train, at an humble, imitative diſtance: theſe are peculiar to the connections of the milliner. The barber and the chandler, for the vulgar; and the bookſeller, for the lazy, the learned, and the laborious.

There were ſeveral of this kind of cuſtomers in the ſhop when I went in and two or three people really mak⯑ing purchaſes. Seeing buſineſs on foot, and a chair empty, I ſat down, and ran my eye over a pamphlet that laid upon the counter. Pray Mr. Luton, ſaid one of the cuſtomers, holding a book in his hand, does this do any thing? Why not much, ſir, it [67] moves but ſlowly. Aye, aye, feſtina lente, ſaid the other—the fellow has a pretty knack at novels, I think. I don't much admire his poetry. Oh, execrable, replied Luton; he is a mere block⯑head at verſe, though I ventured to give ſomething for his Miſcellanies. Did they do?—Very well for the paſ⯑try-cook, I believe, rejoined Luton—I ſold them by the lump to the man yonder: he had the whole impreſſion for ſeven and ſix pence,—yet, as they were upon the luſcious order, and there⯑fore likely to run through the libraries, I ſtruck off a thouſand: horridly taken in, to be ſure; but it's all a lottery, all a lottery, ſir.—Well, replied the cuſ⯑tomer, I'll take theſe Pope's, and when you get any thing tolerable, do let me know—Oh—pray, Mr. Luton, [68]how did your four volumes of Moral Philoſophy, by Dabbleall, go off? He is a doer of all works, methinks, and the fellow has certainly a turn. Aye, cried Luton, that may be, but I have turned him off, for all that. He is dull, ſir, deviliſh dull, dull as orthodoxy. I declare to you, his Philoſophy has not yet paid advertiſements:—I told him it was too much in the old ſtyle— God, God, God; nothing but God and goodneſs, and go to church, and go [...] bed early, through the whole—Says I to him, now pray, my dear Mr. Dab⯑bleall, be a little heterodox, a little out of the way, now do; don't go off, in the old report, with a moral at your head, and a proverb at your a—e, I beſeech you don't. You know, peo⯑ple ſleep over theſe migh y good ſort of [69]writings. A touch of the Tabernacle, for Heaven's ſake, my dear Dab.

Well, and what ſaid he, cried the buyer, preparing to go out? Said he, rejoined Mr. Luton, ſternly, why he ſaid nothing. I might as well have endeavoured to drive an hackney be⯑yond his houſe of call, as that mule of a fellow out of his track. No, ſir, no: he wrote obſtinately on, ſtring⯑ing together his damned collection of morals, into four volumes 8vo. and preachifying, till he piouſly picked my pocket of above a hundred and fifty guineas; beſides the twenty, (here he caught the gentleman by the wriſt,) I generally gave him for the copy be⯑fore the firſt volume was worked off. But, heaven be praiſed, I have waſhed my hands of him, and ſo he and his [70]devotion may go to the devil toge⯑ther.—This is a ſtrange town, cried the gentleman, that can neither be pleaſed with religion, or bawdry—Not at all, replied Luton, not at all, ſir; it is the happy mixture of both toge⯑ther—a little of both, delicately daſh⯑ed, that does the buſineſs. Here, here's a little fellow now (taking a book from a ſhelf behind him) here's a lad knows how to tickle up the town to a tittle: knows how to ſed the pulſe of the public to a nicety. Lookec, ſir, pointing to the title page, fifth edition, with addition, and came out only the beginning [...] the winter — every thing he writes runs like wildfire. He has ſuch a way of wrapping the thing up—ſuch a a—a—a, ſir, method of mixing the [71]honey with the ſting—ſuch a—a knack at playing off the paſſions—Oh Lord, ſir, he is a ſpecial journeyman, indeed; aye, and works reaſonably— but I beg pardon, my cuſtomers I ſee are waiting;—Mr. Queriſt, your very humble ſervant, ſir. Good morrow to you, ſaid the gentleman, and went out. He now ſerved other people, and they going away likewiſe, I was juſt riſing from my chair to converſe with Mr. Luton, when a tall, ſpare, figure came ſtalking into the ſhop, taking out of his boſom a large packet, and preſenting it to the book⯑feller. There is volume the firſt, cried the ſpectre. In God's name, Mr. Le⯑muel, ſaid Luton, (caſting his eye at a chaſm in his breeches, which I believe might originally have been whiteiſh,) [72]why do you come out in the day-time? You know the credit of me and my ſhop, and every body knows your trade in a twinkle. This was delivered in a ſort of half-whiſper, articulating as it were grinningly, through the teeth. Sir, ſaid the author (for ſuch he was) I was driven into this ſtep, by a pre⯑cipitate and particular neceſſity; for my landlord begins to mention the ſubject of arrears and rent to me, and therefore you will advance me the price of this—laying his fable palm upon the parcel—di⯑rectly, becauſe the remarks of mine hoſt are not only pathetic, but have therewith a tincture of the terrible. What before the proofs are corrected, cried Luton? That's out of the re⯑gular channel, you know, Mr. Le⯑muel; [73]but, as a matter of indulgence, and in conſideration of that aperture in your breeches, I will come down half a guinea, and truſt to your honour to go on with the ſame care, as if you had not received a farthing. Men of letters ought to be ſometimes encouraged; and as I really believe you have a little out-run the conſtable in the purchaſe of that laſt pair of ſhoes, I can't refuſe you: there, ſir. He told out ten ſhillings and ſix pence, from a purſe which appeared to contain about ſixty pounds, and the petitioner (after having given a writ⯑ten acknowledgment for the ſum) took it up, made his bow, and walked away, without any diſagreeable ſenti⯑ment whatever. He was ſcarce gone, then another perſon, in a full trimmed [74]ſuit of black velvet, came ſtintting into the ſhop, with a look, tread, and tone of great authority. Luton, ſaid he, you muſt let me have three hun⯑dred to-morrow: the Hiſtory will make eight quarto volumes, and I will not take ſix pence leſs than 150i. each. Really, ſir, ſaid Luton, you put me to a nonpluſh, I am quite out of caſh—have a large ſum to make up for my printer againſt the beginning of the weck—I wiſh therefore—A fig for your wiſhes, ſir, replied the de⯑mandant, (elevating his head, and ex⯑panding his cheſt,) ſhall I have the money?—What time will you call in the city, ſir, anſwered Luton, ſneak⯑ingly—I call in the city, Mr. Lucon —What do you mean by that? A conſlagration conſume the city—Who's [75]to run after you, hey? I have a houſe I ſuppoſe, yes, and in a Square, and I preſume you know too, that there is a certain brazen intelligencer upon the door, and I expect you by eleven o'clock. I ſay no more,—but I expect, d—m—e I expect you! So ſaying, he turned upon his heel, threw his body of literature into a carriage, which was waiting for him at the door, and left Luton to meditate up⯑on the three hundred pounds.

I now roſe a ſecond time, and de⯑fired to ſee the Magazines for the month: while I was turning over theſe, Abrahams came in, begging me ten thouſand pardons, and moſt bit⯑terly complaining that he had been groping almoſt upon his hands and knees this hour, to no manner of pur⯑poſe, [76]for he could ſee no ſigns of his property; and that, hard as it was, he muſt e'en put up with the loſs; and was ready to attend me to din⯑ner. I propoſed going back in a coach, to which Mr. Abrahams, con⯑feſſing himſelf heartily tired (and knowing poſſibly that there would be no great matter for him to pay) rea⯑dily conſented. I purchaſed a pam⯑phlet, a coach was called, and we ſet off for Mrs. Darlington's.

CHAP. LV.

About the middle of Fleet-ſtreet, Abrahams happened to caſt his eye upon the ſhop of a ſilverſmith; and [77]this bringing ſtrongly to mind the misfortune of his buckle, he cried out with ſome emotion, what a pretty morning's work have I made of it, in⯑deed; yes, yes, fine misfortunes, in⯑deed—a buckle too, that I have had ſo long, and a buckle of ſilver into the bargain, and a buckle that might have been in the ſhoe of my Benjamin, when I am laid low in my grave!—Stop coachman, ſtop, ſaid I, ſet us down here a minute. I took the unhappy ſteward by the hand, and walked with him into the ſhop. If I thought I could match it now, ſaid Abrahams, as he paſſed towards the door, I would certainly be extravagant for once; though I believe I have a pair of re⯑ſpectable metal buckles in the houſe too: he could, however: find no fel⯑low [78]to that which was on his foot; and truly, its fellow would not very eaſily have been found in any ſhop within the liberties of London: for beſides that it was in faſhion thirteen years ago, it was ſo exceſſively ſmall and thin, with the wear and tear of ſo many hard winters, that I appre⯑hend a ſilver groat would have turned the ſcale, and fairly out-valued it

Not being able, therefore, to pro⯑vide a companion for the old one, he thought of bartering with it for a ſe⯑cond hand pair; and to this purpoſe he unbuckled, laid the ſolitary ſer⯑vant upon the counter, and deſired to know what it was worth, or rather, what he could allow him in the ex⯑change, ſhould he chooſe to become a purchaſer. As much as any body [79]in the buſineſs, ſir, ſaid the ſilver⯑ſmith, and while I determine its va⯑lue, perhaps, if you look over the drawer on the other ſide, you may fuit yourſelf; and depend upon it, you are come to the cheapeſt ſhop in own. We examined a variety of ſhewy goods, to all of which Mr. Abrahams, the ſteward, had but one objection, viz. that he was morally sure the fellow would aſk three times more than, as an honeſt man, he ought; for, ſir, ſays he, drawing up his jaws ſignificantly, there is no gueſſing at the value of a buckle, while theſe heavy tongs and an⯑chors are in them. Meantime the ſil⯑verſmith was employed, at the oppo⯑ſite counter, in weighing the old buckle, which he preſently informed [80]us came to ſeventeen pence half⯑penny. Seventeen pence halfpenny! cried the ſteward, (turning ſhort a⯑bout, and twitching the fore-top of his wig;) why man, the pair coſt me nine ſhillings and ſix pence, and they are as good as new. There is a great difference betwixt buying and ſelling, you know ſir, obſerved the trader, and there is nobody now will put ſuch a thing as this (turning the anchor backwards and forwards) upon the foot. Won't they? Why not pray, ſaid Abrahams, while the colour came fluſhing over his cheek-bone—Why not, hey? It don't ſignify diſpu [...] ſir, about ſuch a triſle, of which I have offered you the full value, [...] joined the trader; and if you have a mind to take the money, there it is▪ [81]if not you are welcome to the trouble you have given me, and your buckle into the bargain. I am, am I! What, after you have bruis'd the anchors all to pieces, hey? replied Abrahams. I thank you for your love, but I am a man that knows the world; an odd old bird, that knows wheat from chaff. I'll have my buckle, exactly as I gave it you, ſir. What a devil buſineſs had you to mangle my property in this manner—in this way? He ran on for ſeveral minutes, and at laſt aſk'd, in a growling voice, what would be the loweſt price of the pair hanging over the window? Why, ſaid the ſilver⯑ſmith, they are only plated, were made many ages ago, and being old ſtyle, will come cheap. Plated, ſneer'd Abrahams with ineffable contempt; [82]then, I ſuppoſe, inſtead of ſeventeen, you would not give me ſeven pence, if I ſhould chooſe to diſpoſe of them a twelvemonth hence? No, nor ſeven farthings neither, ſaid the tradeſman, returning his ſneer. Thou art a very ſaucy fellow, rejoin'd the ſteward, and I would go with my ſhoe-ſtraps about my heels to eternity, before I would buy a pair of thee. As you pleaſe, ſir, ſaid the ſmith; and, to tell you the truth, I don't care how few of ſuch cuſtomers I have to my back. Abra⯑hams was huddling up his broken ſilver (not forgetting the iron thereun⯑to belonging), and was buſtling away in high dudgeon, when I begg'd him to ſtop a moment. No, ſir, anſwer'd he; no, ſir, I will wait for you in the coach, but I will not ſtay another [83]ſecond in this ſhop, for all the ſur⯑liſh'd up ſtuff it contains: ſo ſaying, he went out grumbling and grinning in a moſt violent manner.

I now rewarded the pains of the ſilverſmith, by purchaſing a pair of near and new ſilver buckles, received his thanks, with my goods, nicely wrapped up in a piece of paper, and went forthwith to the coach. I had not got my foot upon the ſtep, before I heard Abrahams ſeverely chiding a woman who had been ſweeping the croſtway with a beſom, for having the impudence to deſire alms, when the had ſo good a trade in her hands; and when I do not doubt, ſaid he, but you have extorted more money from paſſengers this very morning, [84]than would make good the loſs of the ſilver buckle which I loſt in St. Paul's Church-Yard. Indeed, ſir, cried the woman, I have not taken but one halfpenny to day, though half a thou⯑ſand folks have gone over my creſſing without duſting their ſhoes, and that one was flirted at me by a young man who wanted to ſee if he could not hit the old woman on the head, by ſend⯑ing a halfpenny as he would play at taw, and ſo, wantonly—God bleſs him —jerkt it at me from his finger and thumb, in this manner; and after all, ſir, lookee, it is but a Brum. Do, therefore, dear, good ſir, for charity's ſake.—Charity, my b—k—de, ſaid Abrahams, pr'ythee woman don't be troubleſome, go civilly away, for I won't give thee a ſous, Coachman, [85]drive on; ſaying this, he drew up diſdainfully one of the glaſſes. The poor woman really looks faint, and, I think, Mr. Abrahams, ſaid I, we ſhould ſo far oblige her, as to throw her a little copper; and then, letting down the glaſs, I gave her two-pence. —As you like, exclaimed old Good Works, as you like: I have loſt enough, ſir, for one morning already. The coach now proceeded, and Abrahams ſat ſullenly ſwelling in one corner, leaning his arm againſt the left pannel, chagrin'd much at the buckle, but more, at what he call'd the ſaucineſs of the ſeller of buckles. When I had ſeen Mr. Abrahams exhibit his temper thus far, I was reſolv'd, if poſſible, to bring him about a little, before I re⯑ſign'd him over to melancholy reflec⯑tions [86]in his counting-houſe: and, in this manner, I began to adminiſter a ſalve for all his ſores. Mr. Abrahams, I think myſelf much obliged to you for your company in my rambles of the morning; but I cannot without concern reflect, that in procuring me this pleaſure, it has been productive of your inconvenience; and, as it has ſo fallen out, I muſt in ſome degree inſiſt upon repairing it. The werd repairing, like ſudden ſunſhine in ſtormy weather, work'd wonders up⯑on the features of Abrahams, which, from the gloom of wrathful wrinkles, became ſoften'd into the moſt ſmiling ſymptoms of complacence; and when I put the paper which contain'd the buckles into his hand (re-inſiſting up⯑on his acceptance as a debt due to him [87]for his civility), he only affected to re⯑fuſe, that I might preſs them the more eagerly upon him, and ſo give him a better opportunity to receive them, without exciting in my breaſt any ſentiment to his diſadvantage; for Mr. Abrahams was a great obſerver of forms; and, although he was at the bottom as ſelfiſh a mortal as could poſſibly exiſt, yet he took great care, in general, to ſave appearances, and without, in reality, ever doing a ſingle praiſe-worthy action, was ge⯑nerally talk'd of as a very religious, knowing, well-meaning, good kind of a man. He took the buckles, and ſo well contriv'd it, as to ſix the obligation on my ſide; for, as he put them into his pocket, he very gravely aſſured me, that rather than affront me by a [88]denial, ſuch was his regard, he would wear the buckles, even though they came from the ſhop of the moſt ſcoun⯑dreally ſilverſmith in the city of Lon⯑don.

Thus was good-humour reſtor'd to the ſteward, who chuckled and chat⯑ted all the reſt of the way; and when we arrived at Mrs. Darlington's, he jumpt out of the coach with the briſk⯑neſs of a boy, and handed me obſe⯑quiouſly into the hall.—We had for⯑got to pay the coachman, and I ſaw the ſteward in a dilemma—he fumbled in his pockets ſome time, then pro⯑ducing a guinea, aſk'd, with a trem⯑bling voice, for change, though I could plainly ſee how much his ava⯑rice was alarmed leſt the driver ſhould happen to have ſo much ſilver about [89]him. I relieved his diſtreſs, by ſatiſ⯑fying the fare, while the good man was making many excuſes for giving me ſo much trouble, and lamenting his want of looſe ſilver, which, he pro⯑toſted, for the future, he would al⯑ways carry in his pocket.

CHAP. LVI.

The dinner was ſerving up as I en⯑ter'd the dining-parlour, where I was no ſooner ſeated, than I related the adventures of the morning, conceal⯑ing only the preſent of the buckles. The ladies were highly entertained by the narrative, and Miſs Alicia was particularly ſmart in her remarks, [90]till I came to animadvert on the be⯑haviour of Benjamin. This intelli⯑gence, I confeſs, was reſerv'd as a coup de grace, becauſe (ſhrewdly ſuſ⯑pecting the ſtate of the young lady's mind, and willing to gratify a piece of pleaſant revenge), I was reſolv'd to ſee what effect the relation of this in⯑cident would have upon the conſtitu⯑tion of this lively laſs, who had taken much delight in playing upon my in⯑experience ever ſince I came into the houſe. I had no ſooner, therefore, mentioned Benjamin's warm chco⯑mium of the young woman on the bench; adding, likewiſe, in a jocu⯑lar manner, that I preſum'd Mr. Ben⯑jamin had his favourites; than the face and neck of Alicia were cover'd with an unuſual ſuffuſion of crimſon, which, [91]in the next moment diſappearing, left her as pale and languid as a lily. She cut the ſlices upon her plate over and over again, till in the end they were ſmall enough for the mouth of a ſparrow; and yet, after all, ſhe had neither inclination or intention to eat. Mrs. Darlington, who, though a well⯑bred woman, was not a very accurate obſerver, took no notice of theſe changes in her niece, whoſe diſtreſs ſoon became ſo evident, that ſhe was obliged to riſe from table, and coun⯑terfeit a terrible head-ach, for a diſ⯑quietude, which, in fact, ſat much nearer to the heart.

I now pitied her moſt ſincerely, and execrated myſelf for the unneceſ⯑ſary miſchief I had occaſioned. Viſe propenſity, ſaid I,—pitiful paſſion this, [92]that leads us to repay every petty of⯑fence in kind! How could I ever per⯑ſuade myſelf to ſtoop ſo low as to re⯑criminate? and, becauſe I ſmarted beneath a momentary ſally of wit, I muſt needs take advantage of a bare conjecture, and purſue my purpoſe, till I wrung the tender confeſſion from the heart; and that, the heart of a woman, and that woman a relation. Oh fie upon it, fie upon it! I feel my⯑ſelf bluſh!

When poor Alicia aroſe, Mrs. Dar⯑lington aroſe with her, appearing ſen⯑ſibly to feel her anxiety, and ſo they went ſighing up ſtairs together. I was now, therefore, left alone to the en⯑joyment of my reflections; and theſe ſoon brought on, ſoliloquy the ſecond. Why, friend Benignus, this is a brave [93] ſetting out! A noble exploit truly!— Thou haſt ſpoilt a very excellent din⯑ner, and ſent the founders of the feaſt weeping away. The banquet is thy own: pr'ythee then fall too, enjoy it, and complete thy triumphs, by riot⯑ing in the hoſpitality which thou haſt thus gratefully rewarded! The whole matter too, may poſſibly, be a weak ſurmiſe. How then have I had the aſſurance to make the ſtory out my own way?

Mrs. Darlington now returned, ob⯑ſerving that her niece had deſired to be left alone a little, and politely made her apologies for leaving me ſo abruptly. All this was poiſon to my wound. I was fully conſcious of the little trick I had played. The pang of reproach ſtruck my heart, and the [94]tear of contrition was ſwimming round my eye. I declined cating, on pretence of fatigue, and Mrs. Dar⯑lington ſwallow'd a ſpoonful of ſoup, and withdrew again to her Alicia. I ſpent the interval betwixt this meal and tea, in a ſenſe of real agony, ariſ⯑ing from the conviction of real mean⯑neſs and error. My feelings were, as yet, unblunted by habitual treſpaſſes; and, as my greateſt joy aroſe from the contemplation of having contri⯑buted ſomething to the happineſs of others; ſo my greateſt anxiety aroſe from an idea of having promoted their miſery. Yet, in the preſent caſe, no way was left open for me to rectify my miſtake, or to ſoften the uncaſi⯑neſs which my blunder had brought about; for all explanations would [95]have betrayed that I gueſſed at Alicia's diſorder; and I could not ſo much as hope admittance to her apartment, had explanation been adviſeable. At tea, however, the young lady made her appearance, led tenderly into the room by her aunt, and I was glad to ſee her attempting to reſume her for⯑mer ſpirits; of which, in the general, ſhe had, as the reader may poſſibly re⯑collect, an abundant ſhare. But, right⯑well ſung the Bard, who firſt obſerv⯑ed, that misfortunes ‘love to cluſ⯑ter,’ and ſeldom or never come ſingly. Indeed, one is commonly the ill-favour'd meſſenger of another, and that of a third, and ſo on to the end of the laſt dreadful chapter of human ac⯑cidents. This was a day of diſaſters to poor Alicia. Mrs. Darlington had [96]juſt pour'd out the firſt cup of tea▪ and was affectionately preſſing her niece to drink it, when a violent noiſe was heard in the hall, and a conſus'd cry of ſeveral voices, as if deploring a misfortune. Preſently afterwards a ſervant came into the parlour, and with him Mr. Abrahams, acquainting the ladies, that Benjamin, who had been miſſing at dinner, was now co [...] in all over blood and bruiſes, and that the ſervants were carrying him up to bed ſpeechleſs.

Blood was no ſooner pronounced than the tea-cup fell from the hand of Alicia to the ground; on which, in the ſame moment, ſhe ſunk down her⯑ſelf. This Mrs. Darlington imputed to the effects of a ſudden ſurprize ſeiz⯑ing her ſo ſoon after her late agitation: [97]while I was, perhaps, the only one preſent who attributed it to the true cauſe: every method was uſed to re⯑cover her, but the violence of the ſits into which ſhe now fell, reſiſted our utmoſt endeavours, and ſhe was a ſe⯑cond time conveyed to her chamber, in a much more alarming connition than before. Mr. Abrahams and I now went up to Benjamin, to ſee if he was yet able to unfold the occaſion of this myſtery; when Abrahams, ere he had well opened the door, and con⯑ſequently before he knew whether his nephew was dead or alive, began to harangue as follows.

What is bred in the bone, will never come out of the fleſh! You cannot make a ſilk purſe of a ſow's ear! Pray, ſir, in God's holy name, [98]what a devil have you been about▪ Where is the money I ſent you for▪ What made you ſtay ſo long? What right had you to ſtay at all? How the p—x came all that blood upon your cloaths? How came you to di⯑zen yourſelf out in your green, to⯑day? What's the reaſon, you [...] ▪ I'm to be thus plagued upon your ac⯑count? And why don't you get [...] home to your father and mother, who are ſtarving, you know, upon five and ſix pence a week?

Theſe queſtions were all thundered upon the poor lad at once, and, in the uttering them, ſuch was the rage of the ſteward, that he not only com⯑mitted the extravagance of ſtriking a pen, which he had then in his hand, againſt the table, but ſmote that [99]table likewiſe, with ſo furious a fiſt (in contradiction of his uſual pru⯑dence.) that the lid ſplit in twain, and a ſmall ſplinter, from the ruins of the mahogany, lodged itſelf deep with⯑in the palm of his hand, till he roared again with miſery. This ſo increaſed his reſentment, both againſt the table and Benjamin, that the former he belaboured ſtoutly with his legs; and, though he could not make it [...]el, he at leaſt made it ſorely com⯑plain, which was no doubt a ſatis⯑faction; and the latter, he violently threatened to horſewhip, if ever he ſhould have the misſortune to riſe again from his bed: ſo ſaying, he ran ent, proteſting all the way down ſtairs, that he would not leave him a great, die when he would.

CHAP. LVII.

All this time lay the agonized Ben⯑jamin, reſigned as a lamb, under the knife of the butcher; and when the fervants had waſhed him, and, at my deſire departed, I ſat by his bed-ſide, and gently ſollicited to learn the cauſe of this ſtrange diſaſter.

Sir, ſaid the poor lad—almoſt break⯑ing his heart as he ſpoke—my friend has been inſulted, and ſo I have been fighting, that's all. I begged him to take time, and tell me the whole; promiſing to be his friend with his uncle and miſtreſs, when I know how to make his apology. His tears thanked me, and he proceeded thus.

[101]You remember, ſir, how I bid you take notice of a young girl, ſitting alone on one of the Park benches (ſhe is not a bad girl, I can aſſure you, though ſhe was ſitting by herſelf.) As ſoon as my uncle ſent me to Char⯑ing Croſs to receive fifteen ſhillings, I went and received it as faſt as I could, and ran away to the Park, where I left Nancy. I found her with a handkerchief up to her eyes—(the ſweeteſt eyes in the world, ſir,—) ſo I pulled away the handkerchief gently, and taking her under my arm, walked away with her into the Bird-cage Walk; that I might talk to her without being diſturbed. Nancy, ſaid I, I charge you ſpeak your mind to me: what brought you into the Park alone? Nothing, ſaid ſhe, Mr. [102]Benjamin, pray leave me. Where i [...] your father, Nancy, ſaid I, and why don't you go home?—Home! replied Nancy, (ſobbing as if her dear heart was beating itſelf through her ſtays)— Home, Benjamin, I have no home, nor no father — nor any thing elſe! I thought, ſir, I ſhould have dropped down dead on the ſpot, but I fell on poor Nancy's neck, and there I lay, ſhe almoſt ready to kiſs me (without knowing it though, I'm ſure!) As ſoon as I got a little better, ſir, I—

Here Mrs. Darlington herſelf came to the door, requeſting to know whether Benjamin was better; ſaid that his young miſtreſs alſo wiſhed to hear a favourable account, and de⯑ſired him not to fret ſo as to increaſe his diſorder, but, as he was a very [103]quiet, peaceable lad in general, to expect no reproaches from her—(Mrs. Darlington)—but total forgiveneſs. Mrs. Darlington underſtood from me that he was better, and withdrew. The poor fellow's heart was ſo ſoft⯑ened by this indulgence, and ſo af⯑fected by the other circumſtances which were lying heavily upon it, that he could not return his acknow⯑ledgments. Soon after Mrs. Darling⯑ton was gone, however, he thus re⯑ſamed the ſtory of his adventure with Nancy, whoſe misfortunes ſeem⯑ed to engroſs infinitely more of his attention than even the threats of his [...], the kindneſs of his miſtreſſes, or, indeed, any thing elſe.

In truth, this Benjamin was a moſt excellent diſpoſed young man, his [104] underſtanding was not much above his rank, but his heart would have been diſtinguiſhed, had Providence thought proper to have placed it in the breaſt of a prince; for it led him to do a thouſand noble actions, with ſmall opportunities; and, with an income of about a ſhilling per week, to render more real ſervice to ſociety, than Mr. Abrahams, his uncle, with an income of about eight hundred a year; for ſuch was the annual fortune attri⯑buted to the ſteward, who had amaſſed together all that poſſeſſion, merely by a ſtrict adherence to one ſingle maxim, which, I have been told, he never once violated, or infringed, in the courſe of forty years, namely, to conſider a farthing, as ſome part of a guinea, and a guinea, as the nine hun⯑dred [105]and ninety-ninth diviſion of a thouſand, and ſo on, ad infinitum. Benjamin, on the contrary, thought a farthing too trifling to ſave, and too inſignificant to beſtow; but, if, by adding thereto the odd ele⯑ven pence three farthings, he could diveſt himſelf of his ſeven days al⯑lowance, and, in ſo doing, dry up one tear, or remove one ſigh, procure one cordial to the ſick, or one meal to the hungry, away it went, as faſt as he could get it from his pocket, with⯑out even turning it over a ſecond time; without conſidering, indeed, that it would produce twenty-four pieces of copper, and, that twenty four pieces of copper would gratify ſeveral mo⯑derate paſſions. But it ſeems, the [...] had a pleaſure in this ſort of diſ⯑tribution, [106]and, perhaps, had, in this reſpect, the advantage of his uncte.

CHAP. LVIII.

As ſoon as I got a little better, I ſay, ſir,—reſumed Benjamin, I looked Nancy in the face, and intreated her to explain what ſhe meant by having neither houſe nor father; and then the poor thing ſpoke to me thus:

Oh, Benjamin, I am turned out of doors, and lay in the ſtreet all laſt night, and have not broke my f [...]t ſince yeſterday morning, and all for I misfortune, which, as I hope to be ſaved, I could not help—What han't you eat Nancy? and did you want a bed? I charge you don't talk new, but come along with me, and lean [107]all your weight upon my arm. So I led her, ſir, in this manner, to a pub⯑lic-houſe, and got her ſome refreſh⯑ment, and would not hear a word ſhe had to ſay, till ſhe had forced down a morſel of bread and a glaſs of wine—though I could not get her to take it, without water, for ſhe is to drinker, I'll aſſure you. This over, ſhe informed me that her diſtreſs was as thus.

She was ſent out yeſterday morning to the baker's, over the way, to get change for half a guinea, but not being able to get it there, ſeeing as how they had not ſo much ſilver in the houſe, ſhe went to ſeveral other neighbours ſhops, and at laſt to the chandler's; and there ſhe met with a man, who offered to go to his brother's, as he called him, [108]at the Black-Lion, and change it.

As ſhe ſuppoſed the man was as honeſt as herſelf, (and I'm ſure ſhe is as honeſt as Heaven—) ſhe gave him the half guinea, and ſat down in the ſhop to wait his return. After he was gone, the chandler ſaid, Nancy, do you know that man, child? No, replied the poor thing, trembling, but you do I hope? Not I, truly, ſaid the chandler, he only came into the ſhop for a farthing's worth of cotton, to put in an inkhorn, and I never ſaw him in my life before: here poor Nancy's mind miſgave her, and not without reaſon, for ſhe waited, and waited, for above two hours, and no man came: ſo that ſhe was afraid to go back to her father's, becauſe ſhe [109]had ſtayed ſo long, and met ſuch a ſad misfortune; and accordingly ſhe continued in the chandler's ſhop, ex⯑pecting, and expecting, till quite dark night!—But why did not the chandler aſſiſt her in this emergence, ſaid I,— he very well knew her honeſty, and ſurely where the poor creature had ſo much at ſtake, and the ſum ſo mere a trifle!—He lend her, he aſſiſt her, ſir, replied Benjamin; not he, truly; though as to her honeſty he had of⯑ten ſeen inſtances of that, and more⯑over her father had been a cuſtomer, and bought all his chandlery there, for many, many years. No, ſir, about eleven o'clock he ſaid to Nancy, Well, child, there is no chance of the man's coming now. It's getting late, and I have a dipping in the morn⯑ing, [110]ſo I would adviſe you to go home to your father's. Nay, don't cry, mayhap things mayn't be ſo bad as you think for: Mr. Dennis is a good tempered man, and I dare for he won't hurt you: but let me as a friend adviſe you never to truſt peo⯑ple you don't know with money, for the future. To tell you the truth, I did not much like the look of that chap, when he came into the ſhop Why did not you tell me ſo, fall Nancy, Mr. Suet? Why, it's hard judging, you know, ſaid the chand⯑ler, but I thought I ſaw Tyburn in his face, and now I am convinced, are long, I ſhall ſee his face at Tyburn.

Here, Nancy ſays, Mr. Suet ſet up a laugh, which ſo provoked her, that ſhe left his ſhop without ſaying a [111]word: but I ſhould tell you, before ſhe got far, Suet hallowed at the door after [...]r, and ſaid that if her father ill treated her to-night, ſhe might depend on his coming to make her peace to morrow; and that if the man brought the money, he would take care of it. Poor Nancy, now, ſir— but I am afraid I am tiring you—I beg pardon for troubling you with my concerns, and—I deſire, anſwered I, I deſire, Benjamin, you will not ſtop a moment, to make apologies; for I long to know the fate of Nancy Dennis. Well then, ſir, rejoined the ſteward's nephew, wiping his eyes, which had been all the time ſtream⯑ing—ſince you are ſo good, I will go on. He proceeded, raiſing himſelf on him arm.

CHAP. LIX.

Poor Nanny, ſir, now wandered weeping about the ſtreets, till ſhe came to her father's. But though ſhe ſaw a light in the window, and yet (as you know it rain'd pretty ſmartly all night) ſhe had not heart to go in. She put her hand on the knocker, and then took it away,—firſt walked forwards, then backwards, till at laſt ſhe heard ſomebody behind her, and ſoon found it was Mr. Dennis him⯑ſelf, who had been it ſeems out to look for her, and having the key of the door in his hand, he ſtruck her in his paſſion, ſwore ſhe ſhould never [113]come into the houſe again, and was going into it himſelf. Juſt as he had unlocked the ſtreet-door, he aſked her for the money, ſaying he ſuppoſed ſhe had ſpent it,—with a great oath; and when ſhe told him the truth, he damned her in a terrible manner, banged to the door, and left her to go where ſhe might. She ſat all night crying upon the threſhold, till at laſt a watchman, who knew her, took pity on her, put her to bed to his wife, and then went again to his bu⯑ſineſs. In the morning ſhe went home a ſecond time; but when her father opened the ſhutters, and the poor thing aſked him, if ſhe ſhould have the pleaſure of making the fire, and getting his breakfaſt, as uſual, he or⯑dered her to get away from the door, [114]or elſe he would ſend a conſtable to her.

The next thing ſhe did, was to find me out, for you muſt know, ſir, we have—a—a—a friendſhip for one an⯑other:—but as ſhe knew what a jea⯑lous creature my uncle is, ſhe was too good to come near my miſtrets's houſe; becauſe, I once invited her there, to drink tea with Mrs. Goodly the houſe-keeper, and I thought I never ſhould hear the laſt of it. But lord, ſir, what a heap of contrivance diſtreſs puts into our heads! eſpecially when a young man and a young woman has a—a—a—friendſhip for one another, ſaid I, Mr. Benjamin, looking at him ſlyly? Very true, ſir, anſwered Ben, very true—friendſhip, if it is of the right, honeſt ſort — friendſhip — [115]heigho! Friendſhip, I ſay, ſir, will do any thing!

Nancy now recollected that the likelieſt way to ſee me, would be to go to the Park, where ſhe knew I ge⯑nerally walked every morning, with one of my miſtreſſes—(I mean, behind them, ſir) Well, ſir, to the Park ſhe went, and there ſat herſelf down, (after having wearied herſelf with walking) upon the little white ſeat where we ſaw her. Perhaps you might think it odd ſhe did not ſpeak to me, as ſoon as I came near her: but ſeeing who was with me, ſhe would have died firſt, for ſhe's a pru⯑dent girl, and has had the beſt of educations. Beſides, ſhe knew I was flurried enough at meeting her there, and would contrive to ſee her as ſoon [116]as poſſible. Indeed, nothing run in my head, after I had paſſed her, but how I ſhould get away from my uncle, who is as cunning, as cunning; and though I had great pleaſure in at⯑tending you, ſir, yet as—as—my— friend looked to be in ſome diſtreſs—I thought it—my—my duty to ſee if any thing could be done for her. I almoſt made my head ach in hunting about for excuſes, for indeed ſo many came to mind at once, that they quite flabergaſtined me; but at length my uncle you know, ſir, ſent me away himſelf to receive ſome money, which was only a month's intereſt of a few pounds, and was fifteen ſhillings, as I told you. As ſoon as Nancy had fi⯑niſhed her ſtory, and I made her drink half a glaſs more of the wine [117]and water, ſhe threw her hand upon my ſhoulder, and aſked me what ſhe was to do! And there was ſuch a —a ſomething, in her manner of look, and in her manner of ſpeaking, that I was all over in a tremble, from head to foot. Aye—aye, ſaid I, Ben⯑jamin—friendſhip—friendſhip—She ſaid, that ſhe never dare to go home again without the money, and ſhe had only two new ſix pences, and a ſilver penny, and a little copper keep⯑ſake, in the world, and even they were locked up in her trunk, at the bottom of all her things: with this, ſir, I put my hand in my pocket, and took out the fifteen ſhillings, and told out ten and ſix pence on the table, and was juſt going to put it into Nancy's hand, when ſomething ſtruck [118]me to the heart, as much as to tell me I was going to do a bad thing: upon which I drew away my hand, and took up the ſilver again: then feeling, ſir, in my other pocket, I took out a ſpank ſpan new half-crown piece, which young miſtreſs gave me, and was only ſorry that I had no more: at laſt I took out my uncle's money, and told it over again, that is, eight and ſix pence: but ſure ſome⯑thing bewitched me, for I quite trembled as I laid it down, and ſo as laſt told Nancy the whole affair.

You muſt know, ſir, ſhe did not much like the money at all,—the, between friends, what is it?—But when ſhe underſtood it belonged to my uncle Abrahams, ſhe turned as pale as her apron, and cried out, Lord [119]of Heaven, Mr. Benjamin, what are you about! I would not touch it for all the world! Put it up—put it up, if you han't a mind to frighten me out of my wits, and make me hate you for ever! I was glad, ſir, in the main, to find my dear love—I mean, ſir—a—a—my—my—to find,—my dear friend ſo honourable and juſt; and, as if Providence deſigned ſhe ſhould be rewarded for it, a thought came into my head, which was a thou⯑ſand times better, becauſe it was not to make us aſhamed of ourſelves; and it's a ſhocking thing, you know, ſir, to be aſhamed of oneſelf. Well, ſir— I be thought me of raiſing the money, by going to the pawn-broker man, where Slaſh, our coachman, who is a terrible ſot, many a time uſed to go, [120]with firſt one thing, and then an⯑other: ſo I ſaid nothing to Nancy, but deſired her to ſit ſtill, till I came back, which ſhould be in a few mi⯑nutes. She ſeemed uneaſy to let me go, but at laſt conſented; and as I was going into a little bye alley, to take off my waiſtcoat, and ſomething elſe, who ſhould come that way, but Mr. Mendman, my uncle's taylor, who always loved me, from a boy, and always ſaid, I one day ſhould be rich.—As ſure as you live, this gene⯑rous ſoul lent me a whole guinea, without my telling him a word a⯑bout Nancy; and away I ran, ſcarce touching the ground, and not giving myſelf time to put on the things I had taken off, and hardly buttoning my coat. At firſt, Nancy was quite [121]frighted—then bluſhed—for to tell you the truth, (here he whiſpered,) my ſhirt was one of the things—as I dare not pledge any thing in ſight, for fear my uncle ſhould ſee me before I could get up ſtairs into my room.—But I went out again, and put my things on, and ſoon cleared up the whole matter.

We then went home together, and there I found old Mr. Dennis crying, and taking on, like a child: as ſoon as he ſaw us, inſtead of riſing to ſcold Nancy, he ran to her, faſtened on her neck, kiſſed her, and ſhed tears: for his paſſion was now all over, and his love for his poor dear Nancy returned at once.

But not to trouble you with any more of this part of the ſtory, I ſhall [122]only ſay, that I left the old man hugging his daughter, and, I don't know why, but me thought I could have hugged them both! However. Nancy ſighing—becauſe ſhe was quite weary, and her ſpirits gone, thanked me, with a tear in her eye, and I went out of the houſe, hardly knowing what I had done, or where I was going.

CHAP. XL.

I had got almoſt home, ſometime whiſtling, ſometimes ſinging, and ſometimes jumping for joy, before I recollected that I had ſtill the money in my pocket; and that perhaps old Dennis (though he might paſs over [123]the loſs while he was warm, might talk about it when he was cool). would be cruel again, as he loved money. So, I e'en ran back to the houſe, and found the old man quite buſied in laying the cloth, warming a little can of beer, and preſſing Nancy to eat, with a great deal of kindneſs, I ſoon found he had never once men⯑tioned the half guinea, and ſo laid down the ten ſhillings and ſix pence, telling Nancy that it was a great chance we met the fellow, and that it was well ſhe knew him again. God for give me, ſir, for I made a fine ſtory of it!

Mr. Dennis's heart, however, was open, and he inſiſted on my ſitting down, and drink a draught of his own brewing; for, indeed, he belonged [124]to a brew-houſe. So, as I was to drink my Nancy's health, I ſat down; and, ſome how or other, got into ſinging ſongs, till at laſt Mr. Dennis's ale got into my head, and made me forget—(as you know one's time ſlips away in agreeable company)—that I had ſtayed already ſo long from my uncle I therefore caught up my has and ſtick, when I heard the cluck ſtrike ſix; and, in a great hurry, ſet forward for Mrs. Darlington's.

Unluckily, however, ſir, I happened to paſs by the door of Mr. Suet, the chandler, and as I was angry with him for his ſlight to Nancy, I called upon him, to tell him a little piece of my mind. Mr. Suet, ſaid I, you are a good natured man, and I come to thank you for your kindneſs to poor [125]Nancy Dennis laſt night. Nancy Dennis be d—d, ſaid Suet, who was a paſſionate fellow, and one of your great ſighters into the bargain —What's Nancy Dennis to me?— She kept me and my family up all night; but you are her favourite, I forgot that—It's a pity you did not ſee her, when ſhe was turned out by her father, who has been making a ſine piece of work here, truly, be⯑cauſe, forſooth, I let her give the fellow that came into the ſhop a half guinea to change. What had I to do with her half guinea? A little ſilly puſs, I wiſh I had never ſeen her face; for I ſhall lofe a good cuſtomer by her—a fooliſh minx; I can't think how Dennis could truſt her with any money. My blood boiled at him, ſir, [126]all the time he ſpoke, and when he called the poor girl thoſe names, I loſt all patience, and ſo, without more ado, I laid my ſwitch over his ſhoul⯑ders; upon which we both of us went to it, and fought, till ſome neighbours took Suet away, and lock⯑ed him up, and ſo parted us: but I would fight for a friend, to the laſt drop of my blood, ſir,—nay, for that matter, I have loſt a good deal o [...] that already; but I have had my re⯑venge on that hard-hearted raſcal, Suet, and ſo I don't mind my black eyes, or bloody cloaths, of a farthing. And now, ſir, you know the whole ſtory, and I hope you can't blame me, ſeeing as how I did it to ſerve a wo⯑man.

[127]Blame you, ſaid I, Benjamin—no, ſay good lad, I admire thy ſpirit, and honour thee for thy ſentiments; and, indeed, I approve your conduct ſo much, through every part of your adventure, that I will go this inſtant and make peace betwixt you and Mr. Abrahams. You are very kind, in, ſays Benjamin, but if you pleaſe you may as well not ſay any thing about Nancy, for you know old peo⯑ple think ſuch ſtrange things, and have ſuch odd notions about friend⯑ſhip, that perhaps he might take it into his head to—I underſtand you, Ben, ſaid I, and I will bring you off without once mentioning your friend, Nancy, depend on it.—I now went down ſtairs to ſee after my ſick cou⯑ſin, whom, indeed, I had too long [128]left, without making a ſmall breach in good manners. But as it happened, ſhe continued in her room, and her aunt with her, till ſupper was almoſt ready, and the ladies were but juſt got into the parlour before me.

I had ſcarce opened the door, when both ladies began their inqui⯑ries after Benjamin, and I believe miſs Alicia obliged me with ten queſ⯑tions—ſo little art, and ſo much na⯑ture had ſhe—before it was poſſible I ſhould return her one anſwer. Re⯑ſolved, however, to make no more diſturbances, I now took a contrary method, and ſaid every thing that I thought might pleaſe the young one, without betraying what I thought was apparent enough to the old one; and if I miſtake not, this was the firſt [129]time I convinced myſelf how neceſſary it is for a perſon, who would live up⯑on any peaceable terms with ſociety, to give into many petty deceptions, where the plain truth would infalli⯑bly create confuſion and diſquietude: and this ſort of duplicity, is, I pre⯑ſume, what the Latins call, a pious fraud. Yet ſomething there was in my nature utterly repugnant to this, nor could the beſt of motives ever re⯑concile it to my heart.

Nevertheleſs, this embelliſhment of the truth had a great effect in ſoothing the ſomething that ſat heavy on the boſom of Alicia; for, after I had told her that Mr. Benjamin had accidentally met an old friend, with whom he was tempted to drink a little freely, and afterwards got into a boyiſh diſpute, of which [130]the worſt conſequence was likely to be only a bloody ſuit of cloaths, ſhe gave his misfortunes a mixture of ſmiles and tears, the latter of which, however, ſhe kept from falling, and at laſt ſhe grew ſo pleaſant, without ſeeming to lodge too much on the ſubject, that ſhe actually told Mrs. Darlington ſhe found herſelf ſo much recovered, that ſhe ſhould be able [...] eat a whole wing of a chicken. This declaration, on the other hand, ſet Mrs. Darlington's heart at reſt, who moſt affectionately loved her niece, and ſupper was now ordered without delay. Willing to do, notwithſtand⯑ing, as much as I could in this affair, I ſlipt out of the parlour to ſeek Mr. Abrahams, whom I found in the ſteward's office, with his ſpectacles on [131]his noſe, very induſtriouſly employed in examining a large book, like a tradeſman's ledger, in which he was perhaps — (this being Saturday) — caſting up and adjuſting the accounts of the week. Something—probably a reſlection upon the buckles,—had put him in high good humour, and he conſidered the intereſt I took in his nephew's conciliation in ſuch good part, that he left his buſineſs on pur⯑poſe to mount the ſtairs, and aſſure me that he forgave Ben, and then ſhook him heartily by the hand in my pre⯑ſence. I ſhould not, however, forget that Mr. Abrahams juſt hinted at the proſpect of ſending the bloody cloaths with ſucceſs to the ſcowrers. Thus happineſs being reſtored to the whole family, the reſt of the evening was [132]paſſed in general ſatisfaction, and I withdrew to my chamber, not a little inſtructed, nor a little pleaſed, at having been in ſome degree an inſtru⯑ment in bringing about the agreeable cataſtrophe of the evening.

CHAP. XLI.

The next morning dawned upon the unanimity of Mrs. Darlington's family. Alicia retained her uſual flow of ſpirits, Benjamin was getting the better of his bruiſes: the old lady re⯑joiced in the recovery of her niece, and the ſteward chuckled over the gift of the ſilver buckles, and the ſuc⯑ceſs he expected from ſending the coat and waiſtcoat to the ſcowerers.

[133]A whole week paſſed, in which this general felicity rather improved than diminiſhed: but Felicity is at beſt but a coy viſitant, fickle in her friendſhip, and unſteady in her attachments: and, perhaps, if ſhe condeſcends to ſtay ſeven days in a family, it is as much as can well be expected. Change of air, immoderate walking (for my cu⯑rioſity laid a heavy tax upon my legs) or ſome other cauſe, brought on a cold, ſo that on the Sunday even⯑ing ſucceeding theſe matters, I was quite hoarſe, and did little more than cough, and ſuck ſugar candy; a ſpe⯑cific for this diſorder, which I adopt⯑ed in the nurſery, and which, if not infallible, is at leaſt as eſſicacious, as many a noſtrum of prouder name, and dearer purchaſe. There was always, [134]however, a ſort of ſtimulus in my tem⯑per, which would never ſuffer me to be ſupine, whether I was in ſickneſs or in health, in ſolitude or in ſocie⯑ty. To this natural activity, per⯑chance, I owe many ſtrokes of for⯑tune, which men of dormant and indolent propenſities never experi⯑ence: but I was inclined to briſk vo⯑lition from my cradle, and as we all naturally diſlike whatever is naturally unlike ourſelves,—I mean in points of ſentiment—I will now give the rea⯑der an early inſtance of my anti⯑pathy to every thing that wanted vi⯑vacity.

In my childhood, I was one day walking in a meadow, when I hap⯑pened to ſtrike my foot againſt a ſtone—Wretch, ſaid I—a little vexed [135]by the pain — Wretch, how I pity thee? Fixed down by fate to one circumſcribed ſpot—even to the nar⯑row cavity of an inch diameter: there ingloriouſly repoſing, — inſenſible to the joys of motion, an increaſing in⯑cumbrance to the earth your cover, and ſupinely ſlumbering, even as you grow.—When I had thus triumphed over the innocent ſtone, which bore all upbraidings peaceably, I indulged the pride of ſuperiority, by run⯑ning haſtily away; when my precipi⯑tance occaſioned my foot to ſlip, and threw me (to uſe an old, but em⯑phatic phraſe) head over heels. The proverb was verified; pride had a fall: I felt it; and as I roſe from the ground, ſaid thus to myſelf: How unworthy is arrogance—What right [136]had I to taunt and break my pitiful jeſts upon an innocent pebble, ſleep⯑ing quietly in it's bed, performing it's allotted taſk in dutiful ſilence, and gradually ſpreading into bulk, peradventure, to mend the very cart⯑rut, over which the foot of my horſe, or the wheel of my carriage is to paſs more ſafely: if I were not afraid of being called ſuperſtitious, I ſhould think this ſprain of my ancle a judg⯑ment. Be it what it will; if it teaches me humility, I ſhall conſider it as a very ſeaſonable tumble, and ſo (here I was obliged to bind a hand⯑kerchief hard round the part aſſect⯑ed) as for the matter of a little ſmart, I believe it may be wholeſome enough. —Saying this, I found the tears in my eyes, (for my ancle was ſwelling a⯑pace) and went limping away.

[137]I mention this as a trait of my cha⯑racter, and a judicious reader will in⯑deed find ſomething more truly and eſſen⯑tially characteriſtic in theſe minute deve⯑lopements, than in the moſt elaborate detail of what hiſtorians very falſely call, marking circumſtances. I have often wiſhed, ſince this trifling accident, that I could have changed ſituations with the poor ſtone: if motion can⯑not produce reſt, methinks there was nothing ſo extravagant in the idea: yet was there much ill-nature in it; for I have ſeen and felt enough to deſtroy the conſtitution, even of the ſtone itſelf, and by a change of condi⯑tions, it would, I am pretty certain, have had the worſt of the bargain. But I ſhall digreſs into gloomineſs, which, even for the chance of being [138]read (ſhould my adventures ever be printed) I am reſolved not to do, ſince I am confident, no man either looks into a book, or hears a ſtory, without ſome notion of being enter⯑tained; and thoſe people who think to raiſe pity, or attention, by expatiat⯑ing on the ſubject of ſorrow, and formally entering into prolix accounts of calamity, will certainly miſs their aim. The whining beggar, who runs after us with a diſmal ditty, we avoid and deſpiſe; the writer who dreſſes up the tale of woe, in all the ſable pomps of deſcription, and ceremonies of ſepulchral ſentiment, is no leſs troubleſome and vapouriſh. And per⯑haps this is the reaſon why ſo many ſizeable volumes, nay I might add, ſo many books of ſacred inſtruction, are [139]neglected: the utile dulce, being con⯑ſtantly eſſential in every compoſition; not excepting thoſe which are deſign⯑ed to perſuade us to virtue, exhort us to repentance, and prepare us for im⯑mortality. And for the truth of this, I appeal to all the libraries in the kingdom: nay, I appeal to every man who may hereafter take up theſe me⯑moirs. A few queſtions, fairly an⯑anſwered, decides the point.

Notwithſtanding the real unhappy circumſtances under which this Hiſ⯑tory is written—notwithſtanding the ſad, ſolitary, deſerted, and even dying ſtate of the author, would any of theſe matters be attended to,—would not the moſt patient turn from his book, diſguſted with the calamitous narrative, were it only to conſiſt of melancholy [140]ſcenes, ruefully related, and morals deduced from thence, in the ſoporific ſolemnity of lethargic language? I declare to you, my worthy friend, the very recital of the queſtions already operate on my nerves, and the an⯑ſwer is diſplayed in painting my re⯑treat in more dreadful colours. "A browner horror breathes along the wood." For my ſake, therefore, and for thine, O reader, I will lull thee to ſleep as ſeldom as poſſible; and yet take eſpecial care, that I may neither hurt thy principles, or fatigue thy ſpirits, by keeping thee awake to the end of—at leaſt of—a chapter—where, as at an inn,—if thou art diſpoſed to take a little refreſhing nap, fold down the page good temperedly; and, (in the hope that thou wilt wake in the [141]ſame humour, ſo that we may meet, after the enjoyment of thy panacea, upon terms of mutual obligation) much good may it do thee!— —

CHAP. XLII.

Though my cold confined me to the houſe, it did not confine me to the chamber: I had therefore ſufficient ſcope for obſervation; and that too, on a part of life with which I was hitherto unacquainted. The incidents which are conſtantly happening in every family, are ample enough to excite infinite reflection in the minds of the ſpeculative; no wonder, there⯑fore, that I found ample ſubjects for [142]two or three days. Perhaps I was rather fortunate in this reſpect, or the ſaid two or three days might teem with domeſtic adventures: for two very great events happened at Mrs. Darlington's while I continued an in⯑valid, and I ſhall relate them, as I am reſolved to do every thing elſe, exact⯑ly as they fell out at the time.

Mr. Jonathan Abrahams began to take a great fancy to me, which the ladies told me I might conſider as no trifling favour; aſſuring me, that he was by no means apt to take likings, and particularly to young people, whom he in general treated as a pack of ſtriplings, who know nothing of bu⯑ſineſs, and whom he always ſpoke of with the moſt ſupercilious con⯑tempt: but it ſeems, I was down [...] [143]the credit ſide of his books, where, no doubt, the ſilver buckles figured reſpectably. Be that as it may, I was not diſpleaſed with his attention—for beſides that it gratified my vanity, it gratified an higher paſſion, in giving me an opportunity now and then to throw in a word or two, by the bye, for my friend Benjamin.

It happened, that during my re⯑ceſs at home, Mrs. Darlington and her niece were under an indiſpenſible neceſſity to pay a debt of viſitings.— This debt had been long due, and the diſcharging it poſtponed from day to day, in mere compliment to me, as I declined attending them through the ceremonies of introduction: but as the debt was due to perſons with whom the ladies ſtood on ſome little [144]punctilio, the payment could now no longer be evaded, without a ſlur on that politeneſs of principle, which genteel people conſider as a ſancti⯑monious appendage of public cha⯑racter.

Mrs. Darlington, indeed, was [...] ⯑turally a little punctilious, and miſs had no objection to keep upon the ſquare with the acquaintances ſhe did not care a farthing for; ſo that to have delayed the thing any longer would have been downright ill-breed⯑ing: a reproach no woman of faſhion can poſſibly put up with, as it implies ſomething vaſtly more ſhocking than the imputation of intrigue, or even of the miſtake itſelf. To prevent, therefore, ſo iniquitous a violation of the laws of high life, I exerted my [145]atmoſt rhetoric to requeſt they would take the opportunity of my wiſhing to write letters, and tumble over books, and rub off the long ſcore which their acquaintances had marked againſt them, as could be teſtified by a variety of bills drawn upon the cards, which were laid in the windows, tucked in the carvings of the glaſſes, and diſplayed round every mantle⯑piece. My argument at length pre⯑vailed, and pretending on my part a wonderful deal of private buſineſs, that muſt at all events be done, the ladies paid a viſit, firſt to themſelves in their looking-glaſſes, in their dreſs⯑ing-rooms—then to the reſlection of the ſame perſons, when they got down ſtairs into the parlour—becauſe it may poſſibly happen that glaſſes [146]differ as well as watches; and laſtly to the ladies, the living ladies, who, retired within their drawing-rooms, were actually waiting for them.

And here I cannot omit a word or two on the curious commerce be⯑twixt thoſe who are diſtinguiſhed under the general title of the polite: at leaſt ſuch among them as are reſi⯑dent in and about the courtly circle of the capital. The point of ceremony is critically adjuſted, and the grada⯑tions, from the cold ſalute of the per⯑fect well-bred ſtranger, to the moſt familiar ardours of the animated friend, are diſcriminated with a mi⯑nuteneſs, which, employed on ſubjects of equal, or even more importance might produce to ſociety ſomething highly edifying. Poſſibly it may not [147]be unamuſing to throw together a few inſtances, from the multitude I collected, in the courſe of my obſerv⯑ations on the cuſtoms of the polite.

Mr. Jonathan Abrahams himſelf never ſtruck the ballance of debtor and creditor, or underſtood the ſe⯑crets of the per conpra, more preciſely than many well-bred people, who ne⯑vertheleſs hate mathematics, and could as eaſily ſolve the knottieſt problem in Euclid, as repeat their table of multiplication. The truth is, Mr. Abrahams' book of accounts re⯑ſembles the account-books of the mo⯑diſh, only in two great particulars, viz. in paying and receiving; and in theſe reſpects, many of them are as exact as the good ſteward, though he ſhould bring down the fraction to the twen⯑ty-nine-thouſandth [148]part of a farthing. Theſe are what may properly be call⯑ed, your annual viſitors, or people who ſettle accounts once in the year; and therein the buſineſs differs wide⯑ly from the buſineſs of Mr. Abra⯑hams: for, ſhould that faithful gen⯑tleman happen to call on any tenant at quarter-day, and inſtead of re⯑ceiving his money, receive an apo⯑logy or a denial, the matter would moſt likely have a ſerious face, and produce ſerious conſequences: but in the adjuſtment of theſe politer tranſ⯑actions, where the parties know what they are about, the point is ſoon re⯑conciled: the coachman drives lady A to lady B's houſe; the footman thunders out a polite alarm at the door. Lady B happens unfortunate⯑ly to be from home; lady A putting [149]her head out of the ſaſh of the car⯑riage to receive the meſſages, ſees, perhaps, the identical lady B at one of the windows; but as ſhe is not at home, there is no ſuch thing as nods or curteſies, but the viſit is paid, and lady A orders the ſervant to go as faſt as the horſes can gallop to Mrs. C's, while lady B is either ſitting cool in her own parlour, or elſe preparing to pay her compliments to ſome other ladies of the alphabet, in the ſame manner: or, as we are told in the play, if ſhe chooſes to be politer ſtill, ſhe will entertain her acquaintances at home, and ſend round her empty chair, to entertain her acquaintances abroad.

Upon viſitings of a nature ſome⯑what leſs ceremonious, were Mrs. [150]Darlington and her niece now gone. They ſet out at half an hour paſt ſeven, and as Alicia was ſtepping into the carriage (while her eyes were im⯑mediately after directed to the win⯑dow of a certain chamber, which con⯑tained, at that time, a certain per⯑ſon) ſhe gave this account of her in⯑tended excurſions: We ſhall pay half a dozen how do you's in Pall-Mall; half a ſcore is your lady's at home, in Caven⯑diſh Square; two or three five minute ſtops, at James, paſs half an hour with lady Buſtle, half an hour with Mrs. Slimliſp, drink a friendly cup of tea and coffee with my dear Marin, and ſo be home again by ſupper. I thought at leaſt ſhe would have had the conſcience to ſay, dinner to-morrow; however, away they went; and Mrs. [151]Darlington herſelf—good woman as ſhe was,—ſeemed to be no way diſpleaſed at the rattle and rotation of abſurdity ſhe was, at ſixty years of age, about to perform: while Alicia, either out of complaiſance to me, or for ſome other reaſon, kept ſtill leaning out of the window, and kiſſing her hand, (a ceremony which I, aukwardly enough returned) till ſhe was fairly out of ſight.

CHAP. XLIII.

It was a pre-concerted thing be⯑twixt Abrahams and me, to enjoy a ſocial hour together, the very firſt time I could ſteal, as he expreſſed it, from the gaiety of magnificent mad⯑neſs, [152]to plain ſober meaning common⯑ſenſe; by which was literally meant no more than preferring his company to that of his miſtreſs.

Soon after the ladies were gone then, Jonathan conducted me into a commodious little apartment, which led into his office, where, placing me in his own arm-chair, he ſhook me reſpectfully by the hand, and wel⯑comed me to his hut; and preſently, ſir, cries Jonathan, we'll crack an in⯑nocent bottle. On this he rang the bell, and two or three ſervants im⯑mediately obeyed the ſummons. Tell Mrs. Goodby, ſaid the ſteward, to ſend me the ſugar baſon, and lemon ſqueezers; perhaps, ſir, you may pre⯑fer a tiff of punch; ſome love one thing, ſome another. Every man in [153]his humour. If we were all to like the ſame thing, what would become of us; what's one man's meat is an⯑other man's poiſon. In ſhort, Mr. Abrahams exemplified and corrobo⯑rated almoſt every ſentiment, by pro⯑verbial evidence; and he went on to prove, how natural it was for ſome men to love punch, and ſome wine, till a bottle of the one, and a bowl of the other, might very fairly have been conſumed.

Whether Abrahams had really any ſaving policy in this method of inter⯑luding his converſation with old ſaws, I cannot tell. The ſugar at laſt became uſeful, and unlocking a cloſet that ſtood in the corner of the room, and a bin that was made in the win⯑dow ſeat, he produced from the one [154]a caſe of bottles, ſuch as are frequent amongſt mariners, and from the other another bottle, which he ſaid was al⯑moſt as old as himſelf. He now begged permiſſion to ſill his pipe, which be⯑ing readily granted, a candle, which he took from his beaufet, being lighted, (and afterwards extinguiſhed) and every other act of deliberation over, he ſhook me once more by the hand, as he was ſeating himſelf, and repeated his gladneſs to ſee me.

You would hardly think it, ſir, cries Johnathan, (fixing the pipe in his mouth)—you would hardly ſup⯑poſe that I prefer this piece of a mouſe-hole, as I may call it, to any room in Mrs. Darlington's houſe! 'Tan't the bigneſs of a thing conſti⯑tutes the goodneſs. You, perhaps, [155]call it a nut ſhell. It may be ſo, yet what is ſweeter than the kernel? Very true, Mr. Abrahams, anſwered I— Pardon me, ſir, quoth the ſteward, there is ſomething about you that I like; you may ſee my reſpect, in⯑deed, by wearing your favour—here he pointed to his ſhoes, on which were the ſilver buckles.—A keep⯑ſake, Mr. Benignus, is a keep-ſake, and ſhould be held ſacred. Memoria ami [...]e. If a man was to part from any thing I gave him for this purpoſe, though it were but a cheeſe-paring— though it were but the bowl of this tobacco-pipe.—I ſhould never have any opinion of him again. Sir, I will wear theſe buckles till they are ten times thinner than a ſix-pence; and ſo, ſir, here's my hearty ſervice to [156]you. I was ſo charmed with Jona⯑than's gratitude, and expreſſions of kindneſs, that my heart opened, and I was ſorry that I had ſo ſhabbily purchaſed his eſteem. A pair of ſilver buckles, ſaid I to myſelf, as he was taking off the punch, pitiful!

I have often thought, reſumed he, (ſetting his glaſs down,) of buying me a couple of label's to hang round the necks of my bottles, but I don't know how it is, one thing or another takes away one's money, and leaves nothing for trifles: yet ſome day I will cer⯑tainly do it, for you muſt know I am a ſtrange fellow; every thing in this room, and in that office, is my [...], and I am ſuch a ſort of a chap, that I can't even ſit down on another perſon's property, unleſs I pay for it. That's [157]being very conſcientious, indeed, ſaid I. It is ſo, anſwered Abrahams; but you ſhall hear. I have been an old ſtandard in this family, and am be⯑ſides a piece of a relation to Mrs. Dar⯑lington; but I made a rule many years ago, upon having a legacy of fifty pounds left me per annum, that however poor my apparel, food, or furniture, it ſhould be my own pro⯑perty. Having a method of making fifty pounds go a good way, I came to a reſolution, and put it into prac⯑tiſe. Madam, ſays I to Mrs. Dar⯑lington, I am an odd fellow, a very odd fellow, and having now a little windfall come to me, I am reſolved to employ it in providing myſelf with all neceſſaries. Content is as good as a feaſt. What do you mean Mr. Abra⯑hams, [158]ſays ſhe, why ſure you won't leave me in this manner: you know every thing is under your eye, and I ſhall be ruined without you. Madam, ſays I, you miſunderſtand me. I do not intend to kick the ſtool from un⯑der me. Some honeſt gleanings of my induſtry, I have certainly picked up under Sir Robert Darlington, and fifty pounds a year more comes to me by gift. Put that and that together, and I have a morſel of bread and a morſel of butter, of my own, the year round. I have nevertheleſs a kind love for the Darlington's—uſe is ſe⯑cond nature. What is your drift, Johnathan, ſaid ſhe? Why, madam, anſwered I, to tell you in few, the needful at once, I will continue your ſteward as uſual, but I muſt purchaſe [159]the furniture of my office and my parlour, and pay you ſo much per annum for the houſe-rent, and after that you ſhall give me ſuch a yearly ſalary, as in your own judgment ap⯑pears ſufficient, and I muſt alſo allow ſo much for my board, otherwiſe be per⯑mitted to find my own diet. Only conſent to ſtay, Abrahams, cries Mrs. Darlington, and you ſhall do as you pleaſe. Well, ſir, the point was at laſt ſettled in this manner. I bought the things you ſee at ſecond hand. Mrs. Darlington would take no re⯑fuſal as to the compliment of my board, and ſhe was pleaſed to increaſe my my ſtipend, ſo as to make my income comfortable. One good turn deſerves another: I have now made myſelf as neceſſary to her, as her eſtate; in⯑deed, [160]I have raiſed the value of her eſtate ſome hundreds a year ſince Sir Robert Darlington's death; Sir Ro⯑bert, you muſt know, was an eaſy man, and let his lands always at the ſame rent, ſo that his tenants got a great deal too fat: nay, one of them had the impudence to keep a couple of better hunters than any in his land⯑lord's ſtable, and the daughters toſſed up their noſes in ſuch a ſaucy manner, that they fainted at the ſight of a dairy, and ſet their caps, forſooth, at a for⯑tune. But I ſoon brought their fine hunters to a plain honeſt cart-horſe, made them earn their bread like fa⯑ther Adam, and turned the furbelows and flounces of the forward young miſſes, into their decent houſewiſely apparel—aye, and put a round ſum [161]into Mrs. Darlington's pocket into the bargain.

This was acting the man of ſpirit, ſaid I, Mr. Abrahams. It was, an⯑ſwered Abrahams, I believe, acting, at one and the ſame time, the politi⯑cian, the landlord, and the ſteward; and, between you and I, if Sir Robert had held it out much longer, there's ne'er a mother's ſon, nor daughter, upon the grounds belonging to Dar⯑lington Lodge, would have been worth this—(meaning the aſhes of his pipe, which he was then gently knock'd againſt the bars of the grate.) But pray, ſir, drink, I believe you will find that, (pointing to the bowl,) pretty tolerable ſtuff. I now drank, for the firſt time; for this worthy ſteward had ſo puzzled me by his enig⯑matic [162]converſation, and ſpoke in ſo ex⯑traordinary a manner, that he ſaved his liquor by his ſingularity. He had now talked almoſt half an hour (for he was very deliberate in his articu⯑lation) and I could not well make either one thing or another of him.

He was, altogether, the oddeſt cha⯑racter which had ever yet come with⯑in my knowledge. I was ſometimes apt to ſuppoſe, by his air of auſterity, that he was a much greater man in point of diſtinction, than he pretend⯑ed to be: but there was ſomething of ſuperciliouſneſs in his manners, which was ſtrangely diſguſting. I put toge⯑ther ſuch parts of his conduct as a⯑mazed me. The confeſſion he made, of having lent a man money upon a diamond ring; his ſaluting a man [163]with the greateſt cordiality, whom in the very next moment he called as arrant a raſcal as any in the three king⯑doms; his never having ſet his foot within a church—his ſiddleſtick of faith; his anxiouſneſs about the loſt buckle—his ſquabble with the ſilver⯑ſmith—his treatment of the poor fe⯑male ſeavenger—his anger at the miſ⯑fortune of his nephew—his mean⯑neſs about the fare of the coachman; with ſeveral other circumſtances, caught up in the courſe of his laſt converſation, rendered his conduct ſo truly myſtical, that I could much ſoon⯑er have ſolved any mathematical diffi⯑culty, than have unfolded the riddle that diſguiſed the character of Mr. Jo⯑nathan Abrahams.

The conundrum was made ſtill more intricate, when, to the ſtrange [164]matters above, were added his more favourable parts of behaviour: ſuch, for inſtance, as his gratitude for the triſting preſent of the buckles—his modeſt ſimile of the nut-ſhell—his love of independence—his veneration for keep-ſakes—his integrity to the widow Darlington, whoſe eſtate he had improved; his changing running⯑horſes to cart-horſes; and his redu⯑cing the fly-away farmer's daughters to a proper ſenſe of their condition. The only probable way for a perſon who is in doubt whether to pro⯑nounce a thing good, or bad, an equal mixture of both, or neither abſolute⯑ly one or the other, is to follow the example of every honeſt trader, and, holding the ſcales with an even hand, fairly weigh one property againſt an⯑other. [165]And this cuſtom, however ſimple, would, if practiſed in the world, ſave, I conceive, much ſcurri⯑lity and miſtake; for many charac⯑ters, at firſt ſight, ſeeming to want weight, are, upon trial, found no way deficient, and it may poſſibly happen that the ſcale of indiſcretions, heavy as they may look, will kick the beam, while the ſcale of virtues, ſuppoſed wanting, ſhall very honour⯑ably preponderate.

As Mr. Abrahams was ſummoned out upon ſome occaſion or another, juſt as he had brought his diſcourſe and pipe to a concluſion, I had lei⯑ſure to weigh him as I thought pro⯑per; and, therefore, fairly placing what made for him on the one hand, with what made againſt him on the [166]other, the equipoiſe was very de⯑cently maintained: the wrong ſcale trembled, indeed, ſomewhat at firſt towards the center, but, in the end, by making all poſſible grains of allow⯑ance, he appeared at leaſt to be a mighty good meaning ſort of a pru⯑dent, pains-taking man: his errors, chiefly thoſe of affectation and ha⯑bit, and his virtues highly ſuitable to the ſteward of a rich widow, who was too much a woman of faſhion to look into her own affairs. As ſoon, therefore, as I took Mr. Jonathan out of the ſcales, I made a memoran⯑dum of the labels to hang round the necks of his bottles.

CHAP. LXIV.

Jonathan now re-entered in more buſtle than uſual, followed by a per⯑ſon, to whom he quickly turned about, and ſpoke as follows: Aye, aye, Nabal, too many eggs in one baſket; the more haſte, the worſe ſpeed—too much of one thing is good for nothing: lente feſtina: he ſtumbles that goes faſt; and ſo there's two hundred and fifty gone at a ſlap, a⯑gain: Well, well, Nabal, never mind that, we can but be ruined, we can but be ruined. Here he ſhook his perriwig by the foretop, while the powder flew about the room, and beſpread the face of Nabal, who ſtill [168]maintained his ſtation behind, not⯑withſtanding Jonathan's attempt to face him.—A damned ſpraſh, indeed, cries Nabal, wiping his face, but the man is gone the world over. Run away too, the raſcal, hey? anſwered Jonathan. To the devil, ſaid Nabal. What's the matter, gentlemen, ſaid I, I hope no misfortune? Sir, replied Abrahams, I have loſt two hundred and fifty pounds for doing a generous action. That's hard, indeed, ſaid I; And what's worſe, cries the ſteward, it was done with another man's pro⯑ney. Poor Benjamin's whole fortune, I can aſſure you: well, Nabal, we muſt make the beſt of it. Run your eye over the Daily, and the Gazet⯑teer, and call again in the morning. Nabal nodded his head, and diſap⯑peared, [169]while Abrahams ſat down in his chair, begged my pardon for the diſorder into which this unlucky ſtroke had thrown him, and muttered, between his teeth, the words, villain, caitiff, and ſcoundrel, with great fer⯑vour.

I preſſed to know the cauſe of this calamity.

Sir, ſaid the ſteward, ſhaking me by the hand, I wiſh, with all my ſoul, that my heart was made of adamant. I wiſh I had no more commiſeration than this poker. A raſcal came to me, ſometime ago, with a pitiful face, whom I knew from a baby, and thought, God help me, as honeſt as myſelf; he would have ſhut up ſhop—a ſugar⯑baker, ſir,—in four hours, if I had not kept him going,—Well, ſir, he [170]wanted two hundred and fifty pieces —I had no money at home, having juſt then made a purchaſe. Mrs. Dar⯑lington was pretty deep in the repair⯑way, and I could not command a ſhilling, without breach of truſt. What was to be done.—Oliver, ſaid I to the man, you muſt e'en make a break of it: but he threw his tears upon me, knowing what a fool of a heart I had, and indeed melted me down to ſuch an ignoramus, that I touched upon poor Ben's property, which was left him laſt year by his godfather, and put the boy's whole fortune into the hands of this Oliver, who gave me, as I hoped to be ſaved, nothing but a couple of crazy buildings, in the worſt part of the city, and his bond for ſe⯑curity. The cottages may tumble [171]down, or be burnt up to-night, and he may die to-morrow; then what's his bond good for? But now behold you, the villain has ſhipped himſelf off for the Devil's Arſe a Peak, the Lord of Heaven knows where, and I may go whiſtle for my money. But the longer a man lives, the more he knows: if I was to live to the age of Methuſalem, I'd never do another friendly thing to man, woman, or child▪ He has cured me of that. You may deceive a man once, and it's not his fault. Deceive him again, and he ought to be crucified. A burnt child dreads the fire. For Oliver's ſake I'll forſwear friendſhip: I will, I will, I will!

In uttering this harangue, Jonathan heated as he went; and, like a wheel [172]in violent motion, became at laſt ſo in⯑tenſely hot, that at the cloſe of the ſpeech he actually fired; and while he emphatically repeated the words, I will! there was as much horror in his look, fury in his eyes, blood in his face, and froth at his mouth, as ever exhibited themſelves in the counte⯑nance of a dog, in the arid month of July, expiring under the agonies of canine diſtraction. I exhorted him to be pacified, and bade him exert his fortitude. A fig for fortitude, ſir, I'll burn his buildings, and throw his bond into the middle of the blaze, and if the hand which ſigned it was there into the bargain, I would not pull it out with a pair of tongs. I can bear any thing but ingratitude. 'Tis not the money, but the man. [173]Sir, I would have pawned my ſalva⯑tion on this fellow's honeſty. I don't think he ever behaved like a ſcoundrel before.—Then ſurely, Mr. Abrahams, ſaid I, he deſerves a—a—He deſerves a halter, replied the ſteward. Tut, tut, never tell me: once a ſcoundrel, and always a ſcoundrel. By the ſame rule then, Mr. Abrahams, ſaid I, once an honeſt man and always an honeſt man. No ſuch thing, exclaimed Jo⯑nathan, almoſt delirious, and quite hoarſe—no ſuch thing. I have known a fellow pay away money one day, and ſteal it another. Sir, you're a young gentleman, and I'm only an old fool of ſixty-eight, who has given away my poor dear Ben's property to a raſcal—my poor Ben, whom I love better than my eyes! Upon this [174]the tears came actually into the old man's eyes, while ſympathy brought drops of the ſame ſort into mine, by way, I ſuppoſe, of keeping him company, and I was at loſs whether moſt to pity or deſpiſe him.

I was juſt going to ſay ſomething, inſpired by my too tender heart, when a gentle tap at the door prevented me. Jonathan ſternly bid the perſon come in; and Benjamin himſelf, as pale as his ſhirt, made his appearance. The poor lad, knowing the infirmity of his uncle, and hearing his voice violently exerted, (as his chamber was immediately over the office,) came limping down ſtairs, (as the kick he re⯑ceived in the knee, from the chand⯑ler, was ſtill retarding his recovery,) and was in hopes of adminiſtering [175]ſome aſſiſtance to the ſteward. As ſoon, therefore, as he entered, he for⯑got his lameneſ's, and ran to beg his uncle, for God's ſake, not to bring the gout into his ſtomach, which he knew muſt be the caſe, if he conti⯑nued to give way to paſſion, bidding him remember how bad he was laſt winter was twelvemonth, and ſaid he had rather die himſelf, than bury his dear, dear uncle, that brought him up, gave him ſchooling, paid for the very ſhirt he had upon his back, and had moreover put out his little for⯑tune, which was to ſet him up by and by, to the beſt advantage.

The former part of this affectionate ſpeech, ſoftened the rugged nature, and ſettled the rigid muſcles of this ſtrange compound, and operated like a charm; [176]ſuch and ſo rapid are the tranſitions, and ſo inſtantly do different paſſions take poſſeſſion of us: but at the con⯑cluſion, when Benjamin mentioned the circumſtance of his uncle's great goodneſs, in placing out his legacy to the beſt advantage, he was ſo ſmote by the ſecret and bitter ſatire of ſuch undeſerved praiſe, that he poſitively ſeized his own throat, in mere deteſ⯑tation of himſelf, and gave his forehead two or three hearty ſlaps, as much as to ſignify that he was ſtriking a num⯑ſkull: then ſoftening again, he threw his arms over Benjamin's neck, and thus they remained for ſeveral mi⯑nutes, clinging together. A ſtroke of nature, and the pathetic, has more charms far me, than the gold of Ophir.

[177]The ſcene before me could be paint⯑ed only by the power that can ſi⯑lence the roaring of the ſea, and ſubdue the ferocity of the panther.—I beheld the lover of money, and the ſlave of paſſion, melting into the tender cha⯑rities of the relation. I yielded to the occaſion, and (however indiſcreet) indulged my temper. The inſtru⯑ments of writing were in the room, and, while the uncle and nephew were locked in embraces, I wrote a few words upon a ſlip of paper, laid it upon the table, and hurried out of the apartment.—I had juſt got into the ſitting room, when a knocking at the ſtreet-door announced the re⯑turn of my couſins.

CHAP. LXV.

Readers there are, I know, of ſo critical and inquiſitive a temper, that every point muſt be cleared up as they go on, or elſe the poor author is directly accuſed of inconſiſtency. As it is my hearty wiſh, ſhould I come into print, to ſatisfy all peruſers and purchaſers, of whatſoever denomina⯑tion, I ſhall now ſettle ſome matter, which might otherwiſe ſit a little hard upon a critical ſtomach. And firſt, as to circumſtances of time and place.

It may ſeem a little odd, that Mr. Benjamin ſhould have ſo ruſtic an air about him, ſeeing that he was reſi⯑dent [179]in a very faſhionable family, at⯑tended his ladies in St. James's Park, and had the pattern of ſo London⯑looking a character as Mr. Abrahams before him. Be it known, therefore, that, till within theſe few months, Benjamin lived as a ſort of upper ſervant at the country ſeat, which bore the name of Darlington Lodge, where this young lad was inſtructed in the office of ſurveying, by a coun⯑try ſchool-maſter; who, with the ex⯑ciſeman, two or three farmers, the landlord of the Three Blue Bells, and the reſt of Mrs. Darlington's domeſ⯑tics, with a few cottagers, made the inhabitants of the whole village; and he was now in town, at the earneſt de⯑ſire of Mrs. Darlington herſelf.

[180]Whether this deſire proceeded ori⯑ginally and entirely from her, is a point no way incumbent upon me to meddle with at preſent. Certain, however, it is, that the youth Lim⯑ſelf had no ſort of objection to it; for Mr. Chriſtopher Dennis, (the father of his friend Nancy,) formerly lived and manufactured the mild ale at the Three Blue Balls aforeſaid; but, on a recommendation from the 'ſquire of the next village, he was now promot⯑ed to manufacture malt and hops, at a capital brewery in the Borough of London, and there, (as the reader has ſeen,) reſided with him Nancy Den⯑nis, the friend of Mr. Benjamin.

Now, ſome may think, that the pride of the ſteward would have pre⯑vented him from ſuffering his nephew [181]to remain as a ſervant, though a fa⯑vourite ſervant: ſome may be ſur⯑priſed, that Mrs. Darlington did not diſcover the affection of her niece for this young fellow, through all the affectation of diſguiſes; while others may expreſs their wonder, that, after having made ſo many wiſe reſolu⯑tions, I ſhould do ſo raſh an action as that mentioned in the cloſe of the laſt chapter; for I will not attribute to any of my readers ſo little ſagacity, as not to ſuppoſe they all underſtand, that, upon the ſlip of paper left up⯑on the ſteward's table was written a draught upon my agent (with whom the reader will be preſently acquaint⯑ed) for the ſum of two hundred and fifty pounds.

[182]Now to defend either this point, or any others, ſo as to labour at ex⯑ plaining away their blame or errour, I never ſhall pretend. This Hiſtory is not deſigned to be the ſtage for thoſe imaginary gods and goddeſſes to act on, who never ſaid or did an ill thing; but the matters herein related, are neither more, or leſs, than ſome ſcenes, repreſenting and delineating mere human liſe, where characters and actions are diſplayed with all their beauties and blemiſhes, as blended in the conſtitution by nature; and brought out by occaſion. As far, therefore, as it is neceſſary for me to clear up circumſtances, which have reference to the rules of compoſition, ſo far will I ſtudy to eaſe the mind of the reader, but no farther. Should [183]he, therefore, ſay to himſelf, this is ſtrange, that is odd, this is fooliſh, and that is abſurd; I can only anſwer, once for all, that I am nevertheleſs an impartial biographer; and it would be very hard if it were expected I ſhould not only deſcribe ſtrangeneſs and oddity, folly and abſurdity, but anſwer for it too. No, my dear reader, this burden I totally ſhift from my ſhoulders. I tell you faithfully what has happened, and diſcover to you not only incidents but the perſons of the drama: be it thy buſineſs to ac⯑count for, and to analize, to cenſure, and to condemn.

Indeed, I ſhall not, I fear, be able to clear up my own conduct to all rea⯑ders; and, notwithſtanding all which has been done, many will call me a [184] fool, many a madman, and more will wonder I am not now dying, rather in a ditch, than in a foreſt. Poſſibly, however, ſome may pity, and ſome may weep: there are, it is preſumed, certain paſſages in theſe adventures, levelled particularly at people of feel⯑ing. Such characters will haply beſtow ſome tears to my misfortunes, and if they do,—let them not haſtily wipe them from the cheek, becauſe they can never look ungraceful.

Thus much then has been ſaid, that the reader may not expect more than is intended; and now, hav⯑ing entered a caveat againſt all miſap⯑prehenſions, and written a chapter, for this explanatory purpoſe, I cordially invite the readers company and at⯑tention again, to what I ſhall, with⯑out [185]any farther ceremony, ſet before him.—

CHAP. LXVI.

Alicia took hold of my hand, like a good-natured, lively cozen, at her return, and, after ſhe had aſked how the poor fellow's knee above ſtairs did, told me, that ſhe had found out a companion for me, and that he would breakfaſt with me in the morn⯑ing. She then was about to withdraw to her dreſſing-room, to pull off her finery, and enjoy the comforts of an undreſs; comforts which are none of the leaſt, for ſurely nothing can be more diſagreeable than to ſit in one's own houſe, (after the fa⯑tigues [186]of viſiting,) under a load of nonſenſical ornaments, and ſuperfluous decoration; with hoops ſpreading out their formidable immenſity, ſilks endangering of a ſoil, pendents dang⯑ling at the ear, and ruffles bandaging up the elbow. To lay aſide theſe, therefore, till fancy ſummoned them again from ehe drawer, Alicia had now opened the parlour-door; from which ſhe beheld ſomething that changed her whole behaviour in a moment; and (though ſhe was hum⯑ming an Italian air the moment be⯑fore,) uttely altered her tune. This ſomething, was Mr. Benjamin, who was then hopping acroſs the room into which the parlour-door opened, under his crutch, in his way from his uncle's office to his chamber: for the [187]poor lad's knee was ſtill very painful, and the apothecary ſtrongly enjoined reſt, to prevent, as he ſaid, an impoſt⯑humation, and all vicious propenſity to humours.

The handle of the door was ſtill in Alicia's hand, and being rather looſe, it rattled as ſhe trembled. I was cloſe to her on the other ſide; but yet no artifice could poſſibly conceal her agi⯑tation: Benjamin bowed, as well as his lameneſs permitted him, and paſſ⯑ed on. Luckily, however, for the lady, Mrs. Darlington went imme⯑diately from her carriage to her dreſſ⯑ing-room, where ſhe ſtill remained. When ſhe had ſomewhat collected herſelf, ſhe looked me full in the face, without ſpeaking a word, then lift⯑ing [188]up her hands and eyes, ſhe cried out, Oh God! Oh God! What a fool I am, and how ridiculous do I make myſelf: then hurrying away, ſhe hid her face, and tottered up into her chamber.

The paſſion of Alicia had now fair⯑ly conſpired with opportunity to be⯑tray her, and the exact ſituation of her mind became too palpable to be miſtaken: nor was it poſſible to know the temper, without pitying the paſ⯑ſion; for ſhe was a girl of a very am⯑bitious diſpoſition, had the loftieſt notions of rank, and heartily hated herſelf for entertaining any tender ſentiments towards an object ſo much beneath her.

Such, indeed, was her pride or prudence, that though (vulgarly [189]ſpeaking,) ſhe doated on Benjamin to diſtraction, that very Benjamin never once ſuſpected it. And, contrary to the general cuſtom of young ladies in love, ſhe had no confidante, or ſe⯑cret-keeper, of her own ſex—in the houſe I mean—to whom ſhe impart⯑ed her ſlame.

To this guarded conduct, perhaps, it was, that Mrs. Darlington herſelf did not ſuſpect the attachment; or if ſhe did ſuſpect it, ſhe poſſibly truſted to her niece's ſuperior ideas, and love of ſplendour, which ſhe imagined would ſave her from any indiſcretion. [190]There is, however, no oppoſing this ſtrange paſſion, againſt another. The war is unequal, and if intrieacy and entanglement takes place among the troops of love, the enemy is generally worſted; ambition itſelf is put to flight, and the tender tyrant takes the field. It plainly appeared from this, and many other inſtances, that Mi⯑cia was reſolved either to die or con⯑quer: but alas! with all her vivacity, pride, diſdain, and haughty deter⯑minations, ſome deciſive cir [...]ſ [...]ances took place, ſoon after this, which humbled her ſpirit, and reduc [...] the ſultaneſs to the ſlave. But for a re⯑capitulation of theſe matters, intereſe⯑ing as they are, the reader muſt have philoſophy enough to wait, or the ſkip over ſome pages, which, it is [191]hoped, are not unworthy his peruſal.

I muſt not omit here, to mention a piece of literary policy, in not prefix⯑ing to each of my chapters an abridg⯑ment of the matter therein contained, in imitation of ſeveral great writers: for, beſides that I take this ſort of anticipation to be the way to foreſtal the market, it leaves little for the rea⯑der on which to exerciſe his imagi⯑nation: the charm of ſurprize is to⯑tally taken off: he knows, in five lines, what is to be talked over again in as many leaves, and it would be his cheapeſt way to buy only the table of contents, which is at leaſt the cream of the jeſt, and the mere milk may go to the cat, if it will.

Alicia was one day reading a new romance, to a circle of ladies, who [192]were working round the fire at their needle: the author informed them only that he begun with chapter the firſt, and courteouſly deſired they would courteouſly read on to chapter the laſt. Lord, ſaid one of the la⯑dies, what a provoking man this is, we muſt go quite through the book, without kuowing what it is upon. In the middle of the firſt volume, the heroine (as is uſual) was deſperately, and (as is uſual) unhappily, in love. Read away, my dear Alicia, cries a ſprightly laſs, I wonder to my ſoul what's next. A few chapters more threw the heroine into ſuch a criti⯑cal ſituation, that the fair reader and her audience quite raved with impa⯑tience. One of them caught the book, and began to read at the laſt [209]chapter of the firſt volume; another wanted much to ſee how it ended. This, however, would not do, they found the author talking of quite a different ſubject, and were vexed with themſelves to think, that while they were waſting time in turning over the pages to no purpoſe, they might have come to the criſis of the ſtory they were upon, and got half way into another. This reflection gave them freſh ſpirits, Alicia began where ſhe left off: the hiſtory improved in its progreſs, ſometimes they left work⯑ing to laugh, and ſometimes to cry; and when they arrived at the laſt chapter, like a man who had taken a delightful but too ſhort a ride, thro' a pleaſant and various country, they lamented that it was done, and could wiſh to go over the ground again.

[210]For theſe reaſons have I avoided the bill of fare, which ſpecifies not only every diſh, but what every diſh con⯑tains. I will make the banquet as pleaſant as poſſible, but the reader muſt not ſpoil his dinner by a taſte before it is ready, but eat a hearty meal, and take a ſlice of every thing at table; which I hope he may be able to do without palling his appetite. Let Ali⯑cia and her paſſion, therefore, amuſe themſelves together, till it is proper to bring them again upon the ſcene: at preſent they make their exit, to intro⯑duce, what is generally welcome, a new acquaintance.

CHAP. XLVII.

We were ſcarce ſeated at breakfaſt, when the footman brought in the name of Mr. Draper, and in five ſe⯑conds afterwards Mr. Draper made his appearance: and as mirth-inſpiring a perſon he had as ever was exhibited. He looked about thirty, his features were conſtantly on the ſmile; he was inclined to no more than an agreeable corpulency; his eyes were briſk and blue; his complexion fair, almoſt to freckles and effeminacy, and his fore⯑head without a wrinkle: indeed there was no ſymptom either of care or cau⯑tion, [212]ſorrow or ſuffering, about his character. The eaſineſs of his man⯑ner, however, the vivacity of his re⯑mark, and the complacence of his whole carriage, were ſo extremely adapted to the moments which are devoted to china and chatter, that he was ſurely born to be a neceſſary appendage to the tea-table—a cup of him once a day, might be pleaſing enough, but, I ſuppoſed, that if he was to be taken for a conſtancy, he would have a tendency (like the tea itſelf) to create the ſpleen, demoliſh the nerves, and promote the va⯑pours. He was, in ſhort, all laugh, loll, and liberty, and I ſet him down, before he laid his ſpoon acroſs the cup, as a mere petit-maitre; in [213]which concluſion, I was full as near the truth, as people generally are, who, led away by the glance, are too giddy, or too proud, to imagine they may be miſtaken.

Perhaps, there are a great many caſes where it is quite wrong to be⯑lieves ones own eyes; at leaſt, he who⯑ſuppoſes he can develope the human character, at a ſingle view, will have many a mortifying inſtance to queſ⯑tion his ſagacity, and often commit blunders, beneath the penetration of a puppy. Mr. Draper was more agreeable than the ſugar, and there was really ſo much cream in his con⯑verſation, that our morning's repaſt, was unuſually ſocial: even Alicia, ſeemed for a while to forget her Ben⯑jamin; [214]Mrs. Darlington ſmiled at as much as ſhe could hear; and I, per⯑fectly charmed into ſilence, conſi⯑dered Mr. Draper, as the moſt enter⯑taining young man in the whole world. Yes, ſaid I to myſelf, ſoftly, this is the very acquaintance I want⯑ed; what a fortunate introduction!— How eaſy he ſits in his chair! what breeding in his ſtep, what polite pli⯑ability in his bow!—what a flow of words! and what pleaſantry in his ideas! I ſuppoſe now he is the moſt poliſhed character of his age; but I am afraid I make but a ſo ſo ſort of figure beſide him: ſome how, or an⯑other, my hands, are in my way, I ſcarce know what to do with my legs; I can't conceive how I got this [215]naſty trick of playing with my but⯑tons; and what the deuce can make me feel eaſier alone, or with Benja⯑min, than with ſuch a genteel circle as this before me!—yet why do I in⯑dulge theſe thoughts? Rome was not built in a day; and I dare ſay, it takes ſome time to make a man a gentleman! the hour may yet come, when I may be as eaſy and affable as Mr. Draper.

Mr. Draper was entering into a ſpirited burleſque on the inſipidity of viſiting parties, and playing with his watch-chain with as much care⯑leſſneſs as if he had got the whole converſation by rote, while I entered into this ſoliloquy, during which I fixed my eyes directly on the tea⯑board [216]in the room; this fit of cogi⯑tation was ſoon invaded, by a ſmart tap on the ſhoulder from Mr. Dra⯑per, who putting up my reflections to auction, became himſelf the firſt bidder, and offered a penny for my thoughts. Then came on the ſubject of my dreſs, (which, by the bye I had not altered), but Draper ſaid, he would walk with me to his taylor, in the courſe of the excurſion he had in ſtore for me; not, cries he, that I would have you ſuppoſe I am bigot⯑ted to frippery, even though you now ſee me ſo APEFIED; but the ridicule of fools, is ten times keener than the cut of a razor; if cuſtom bids a man be a monkey, he muſt e'en adopt the character, ſir; and I would [217]either dreſs or ſtrip, rather than be the topic of a moment's titter, to any man breathing. To laugh is exqui⯑ſite, but to be the ſubject of laughter, is to me the agony of the damned. For theſe reaſons, therefore, my dear lad, adopt the abſurdity of the times, though it ſhould command you to wear a doublet of gauze in the winter, and a jerkin of flannel in the dog-days. What ſay you, Benignus, ſhall we move? 'tis too early for the ladies, and we may en⯑joy many a delicious joke as we go on.

As my cold was much mended, and I admired Mr. Draper, even more than ſugar-candy; and as I had beſides an eager curioſity to ſee and [218]know more of his character, I rea⯑dily embraced his offer, and making our adieu's to the ladies, we walked out of the room like old acquaint⯑ances, arm in arm together.