CHAP. VIII.

DURING his Fit, the Surgeon, came with his Inſtruments and Dreſſings; and, having in vain attempted to reſtore him, by ſprinkling Water in his Face, and by the Application of Hartſhorn to his Noſe and Temples; he took ſome Blood from him, whereon, he opened his Eyes, and began to breathe with Freedom. He then examined his Wound, which was a little above his Forehead, and declared it ſo ſlight, as ſcarce to be an Excuſe for keeping his Chamber. The Surgeon, having dreſſed it, received his Fee and re⯑tired. And my Father, ringing for the Drawer, ordered up a Flaſk of Burgun⯑dy, with a cold Fowl, Oyl and Vinegar.

When the Table was laid, and the Waiter deſired to withdraw. My Father, again, looking earneſtly and compaſſively upon me, I believe, ſays he, my Child may be hungry; and, ſtrait, his Counte⯑nance falling, and the Muſcles of his Lips beginning to work, he broke into Tears. Barbarous Wretch! he exclaimed, unnatu⯑ral Oſtrich! who could, thus, leave the Firſt-begotten of thy Bowels to the Na⯑kedneſs of the Sands, and to the Blaſting of the Elements.

[7] No, no, my Father, I cried; again throwing myſelf on my Knees before him; kill me not with your Tears, cruſh me not with this, your unmerited Concern! all is well, all is happy, and bleſs'd, as I can bear it to be. This Moment overpays my Years of Anguiſh, it is like Heaven after paſſing the Vale of Death and mortal Sufferings.

After Supper, of which my Father ſcarce taſted, he got up, and, as I roſe at the ſame Time, he ſtepped to me, and, catching me paſſionately in his Arms; and putting his Neck acroſs mine, my Child, he cried, my beloved Child, my Life's bleſſed Preſerver! come, once more, to my Boſom, enter thy forſaken Manſi⯑on! too long has it been deſart and deſo⯑late, without thee! But, here, I vow to the Almighty, that no Step-Dames, nor viperous Inſtruments, ſhall ever hereaf⯑ter inſinuate between us; accurſed be they, who ſhall attempt to divide us; and, may they come to an evil End, who ſhall deſire to deprive me of thee, the Light of mine Eyes, till I am cold, and inſenſible to ev'ry other Joy.

While we ſat over our Bottle, my Fa⯑ther called for Ink and Paper, and, firſt preſenting me with a Purſe of fifty Guineas, [8]he again gave me a Bill, at Sight, on his Banker, for five hundred Pounds. I ſtarted up, but, ſtopping me, he cried, hold, hold, my Hammy, I ſee myſelf over⯑pay'd in the Acknowledgments of that dear, though meagre Countenance; and, then, as I kneel'd before him, with both Hands held over me and Eyes raiſed to Heaven, he bleſſed me in an Ejaculation of the tendereſt Ardour.

The Reckoning being diſcharged, and two Chairs ordered to the Door, my Fa⯑ther deſired me to meet him at the ſame Tavern, the following Evening; and ſaid that, in the mean Time, he would think of ſettling ſome certain Income upon me; and thus we parted, as though our Souls had accompanied each other.

It was now near Two o'Clock, and the Morning bitter cold. My Arabella had, long ſince, put her Child to Reſt; and I found her in Tears by a Fire, ſcarce alive. She ſtarted up, on my entering; her Face gleamed with a ſickly Joy; and ſhe uttered ſome ſoft Reproaches, of Love and Apprehenſion, for my Abſence at thoſe Hours.

Before I ventured to let in the full Tide of our returning Happineſs on her weak and alarmed Spirits; I took out ſome [9]Confections and a Pint of Sack, which I had purpoſely brought in my Pocket. I broke ſome Naple Biſcuit into a Cup, and, pouring ſome of the Wine upon it, I ſet her the Example, and prevail'd on her to eat.

Mean while, ſhe gazed, earneſtly, and inquiſitively, in my Face. My Hammy, ſhe tenderly cried, what is the meaning of this? What Eyes are theſe, Hammy, what new kind of a Countenance is this you have brought home to me? Ah, forbid it, my God! that the Darling of my Soul ſhould have done any Thing criminal. Firſt, periſh your Arabella, periſh alſo her Infant, rather than, on our Account, or on any Account, the leaſt of the Virtues of my Hammy ſhould be loſt.

No, no, my Angel, I cried, Daughter of higheſt Heaven! God has been wonder⯑fully gracious to me, he bleſſes me, for your Sake, my Arabella. I have ſeen my Father, we are happily reconciled, and Famine and Affliction ſhall come near us, no more.

I then took the Bellows, and lighted up a good Fire, and, while we were emp⯑tying our Pint, of which I compelled my Wife to take the larger Share, I gave her a tranſporting Detail of what had paſſed; [10]and poured my Purſe of Guineas into her Lap. So, we went to Bed in Peace, re⯑gardleſs of Futurity, the Happieſt of all the Pairs on whom the ſucceeding Sun aroſe.

We lay in Bed, till the Day was far ad⯑vanced. I then ordered ſome comfort⯑ing white Wine Caudle for Breakfaſt, and, calling up the Landlady, I diſcharged our Quarter's Rent.

When ſhe was diſmiſſed; I conſulted with my Wife whether ſhe would chuſe to retire to France or Holland, or rather to York, or ſome other remote Place, within the Kingdom. But, reflecting a⯑gain, on the preſent Exceſs of my Father's Tenderneſs for me, ſhe joined, in think⯑ing it adviſeable to act with his Concur⯑rence; and I determined, that very Even⯑ing, to reveal to him, in Confidence, the whole pathetic Hiſtory of our Marriage and Adventures.

Mean while, I thought it beſt, in all Events, to ſecure the Means of moderate⯑ly compaſſing our Purpoſe, by taking up the £500 from my Father's Banker. I found, by Experience, that I had now little to fear from being known to any one. My ſhabby Apparel, and emaciated Face and Limbs, that had prevented the Know⯑ledge [11]and Remembrance of a Father, ap⯑peared a double Security againſt all other Eyes. I therefore adventured, though not without Circumſpection, to Mr. Giles's in Lombard Street, and, preſenting my Bill, demanded Payment.

My Friend, ſaid Mr. Giles, it is not two Hours, ſince a Stop was put to the Pay⯑ment of that Draught; and I was deſired, at the ſame Time, to put this Paper into the Hands of the Party who ſhould call. So ſaying, he gave me a Note which I opened, with a Trepidation that was turn⯑ed into Agony on reading the following Words.

[12] On reading this dreadful Paper, I retir⯑ed from the Counter without ſpeaking a Word. I got home, I know not how, for I neither knew what I did, nor conſi⯑dered what I was about. I walked up Stairs, without perceiving that I was fol⯑lowed. But, I had ſcarce got into my Room, when five or ſix Men entered, almoſt along with me; and one of them, ſtepping directly up to my Wife, cried, Miſtreſs, I arreſt you in his Majeſty's Name.

Hereat, I turned, and was ſtunned, and rouzed again in an Inſtant. I caught up the Poker, and, aiming at a well dreſſed Man, whoſe Face was not wholly unknown, and who appeared the moſt active and joyous of the Crew, I miſſed the Crown of his Head, but tore off one Ear, and cut him, through his Cloaths and Shoulder, to the Bone. I then flew upon the reſt. I dealt my Blows, with inconceivable Fury and Quickneſs. I cleared my Room in a few Seconds and, tho' ſeveral Shots were fir⯑ed at me from the Stairs, I chaſed them all to the Entry, and, returning to my Arabella, I barrocaded the Door.

It was then that ſhe interpoſed, and, dropping on her Knees before me, what is my Hammy about, ſhe cried, what Mad⯑neſs [13]has poſſeſſed my Love? Would you be guilty of actual and inſtant Murders, through a raſh and vain Attempt, of reſcu⯑ing from our Laws a Perſon whom nei⯑ther God, nor Man hath yet condemn⯑ed? This, indeed, were to enſure the Ruin you apprehend. Ah, no, my Heart's Maſter, let us neither commit nor fear Iniquity. Join with me, my Hammy, let us truſt in our GOD, and nothing, but Good, can happen unto us.

While ſhe ſpoke, the late Terrors of her Countenance diſappeared; and her Aſpect was gradually overſpread with a Serenity, to be imagined, in ſome Mea⯑ſure, from the Face of an Evening Hea⯑ven in Autumn; when the Songs of Har⯑veſt are heard through the Villages, all about.

I gazed on her, with a ſpeechleſs and complacent Reverence. She gently took the Weapon from my unreſiſting Hand; and, leading me back, ſhe ſeated me in the furtheſt Chair. She, then, removed every Bar and Obſtacle to their Entrance. The Stairs were, now, filled with People who had been called to the Aſſiſtance of the King's Officers, but they ſtill appeared apprehenſive and fearful of advancing.

[14] Gentlemen, ſaid Arabella, be pleaſed to walk in; I deliver myſelf peaceably into your Hands; ye ſhall find no further Op⯑poſition to his Majeſty or the Laws. The Officers, accordingly entered, but bowing, and with a timid kind of Re⯑ſpect; neither did any of them offer to lay a Hand upon her. Good God! Ma⯑dam, exclaimed the Foremoſt, is it poſſi⯑ble you ſhould be guilty of the Crimes laid to your Charge, by that Raſcal whom your Huſband has Half killed. He is carried off to the Doctors; but I think, in my Conſcience, that he has got his De⯑ſerts; and, as for the few Hurts that we have received, we excuſe your Huſband, Madam, for your Sake; and we think him the braver and the better Man, for what he did. By my Soul, ſweet Madam, you are well worth defending.

I thank ye, Gentlemen, ſaid my Wife, gracefully ſmiling and curtſeying; pray, be pleaſed to ſit, while I prepare to attend you. I am guilty, indeed, of the Death of a Man, and, yet, guilty of nothing that I would not repeat in the Defence of Virtue. But, Gentlement, ſays ſhe, again ſmiling, you are likely to be troubled with more Priſoners than you look for. One of them, indeed, is young, and, as little meaning of Harm to any One, as his [15]Mother. I muſt, therefore, beg your In⯑dulgence in ſending for a Coach; and, pray, do me the Favour to accept this Trifle, as the Means of waſhing away Animoſity between you and my Huſband. So ſaying, ſhe preſented their Chief with a Guinea, who, riſing and awfully bow⯑ing, ordered one of the others to ſtep for a Coach.

Had the Harp of Orpheus been tuned, like the Voice of my Arabella at this Sea⯑ſon; it is not to be wondered that Tygers ſhould grow tame, and Bears crouch down before him, and lick his Feet. Since Wretches like theſe, hardened in hourly Acts of Inſolence and Inhumanity, were now awed to downcaſt Reverence; and, on her Return from the Cloſet with her Infant in her Arms, dropped a Tear of ſtill Compaſſion, as though they had not, wholly, forgotten, that they were born of Women.

In the mean Time, my Fury having ſubſided at the Inſtance of my Wife, I ſhould certainly have fainted, if I had not been relieved by a Guſh of Tears; which I endeavoured to conceal, by turn⯑ing aſide and putting my Hankerchief to my Face. A Cloud, of thick Darkneſs again overſpread my Soul; and every in⯑ternal [16]Idea grew pregnant, and laboured with Apprehenſion and Horror. I curſed my Meeting with my Father, and his treacherous Appearance of Bounty, which had ſerved to bring this deciſive Ruin up⯑on us; and I looked upon Fortune as ſoli⯑citous and induſtrious, to bring Evil and Deſtruction, out of every Preſentment and Promiſe of Advantage.

Being conducted to Newgate, I agreed with the Keeper for a tolerable Apartment, at two Guineas per Week; and, putting on the beſt Chear I could affect before my Wife, I ſent out for a nouriſhing Din⯑ner. For I judged it late to be frugal, when Death was at our Door, and I had determined not to ſurvive my Arabella, a Moment.

The Day following, I procured Copies of the Depoſitions of the three Witneſſes, the Firſt of whom was our own Servant Maid. Theſe I laid before two of the moſt learned in the Law, but, received no Conſolation from their Report. They told me that, had my Wife been actually guilty of the Robbery, as alledged, ſhe might have had ſome Proſpect of being acquitted of the Murder, by being enabled to bribe off the Evidence. But, that, if ſhe was really innocent of the Robbery as I affirmed, it, then, became the very [17]Cauſe, as well as Intereſt of the guilty Evidence, to have her condemned on both Articles of Accuſation.

As the fearful Day approached, I bought, at ſecond hand, two decent Suits of Mourning, with the requiſite Appenda⯑ges for my Wife and myſelf. Whenever I could get apart, I was drowned in my Tears, and Half ſuffocated by my Sobs; and I did every Thing, but pray, for my Arabella; for I could not think of lifting my Heart to a Heaven, where I had loſt all Dependance.

In the mean Time, my Beloved daily recovered Felſh and Health. Her Eyes grew more brilliant, her Complexion more clear, her Countenance was, as the Sur⯑face of a Depth of Peace; and I gathered, I knew not why, a kind of reflected Con⯑fidence, by beholding her Aſpect.

Early, on the fatal Morning, when I had left her within at her Prayers, and had pulled my Hat over my Eyes, and ſat down in a Corner, to vent the Throbbings of my Heart; I caſt my Eye on a Paper that appeared from under the Door. I took it up with Precipitation, and, in it, found the following Lines.

I had no ſooner read this Paper, than I dropped down, involuntarily, on my Knees. My Hands clenched together; and I breathed up a moſt ardent Petition, that ſome over-ruling Power would take my Arabella under his Protection.

Soon after, ſhe came forth, adorned like the Moon when girt about with Clouds, through whoſe Blackneſs her Beauty breaks forth with improved Luſtre.

While we fat at Breakfaſt, I preſented her with the Verſes. She read them, over and over, with deep Attention; and then, returning them with a Smile; this, ſays ſhe, has been the Stratagem of ſome ve⯑ry charitable Perſon, who judged that [19]Hope was wanting to ſupport me at ſuch a Trial.

As the dreadful Hour was at Hand; and as I had conſidered, before now, that at laſt it muſt come. I had prepared a ſmall Bottle of Salts and a Cordial, to ſupport myſelf, as well as my Wife, from an unſeemly Dejection of Spirits in Court.

Ah, Sir! can you tell me how one Thing ſhould come to paſs? can you ac⯑count for this moſt extraordinary of all the Workings in human Nature? That a Man, at ſome times, ſhould more feeling⯑ly live, or die in Others, than in himſelf. Had I been called to my laſt Audit, had the Deciſion of my own Exiſtence been at Stake, my Apprehenſions, as I think, could not have equalled what I felt, at that Period.

At length, the Keeper appeared, and warned my Arabella that ſhe muſt ſpee⯑dily ſet out. I turned, inſtantly, cold and pale; and, it was long before I recovered Strength to riſe from my Chair. In the mean Time my Wife returned to our Bedchamber, and, bringing out her In⯑fant, gave him in Charge to a Nurſe⯑keeper; ſhe, then, held her Hands over him, and raiſed her Eyes to Heaven, in Bleſſing, for ſome Time. Again ſhe fixed [20]them on his Face, and, gazing upon him, as it were, for a laſt farewel Look; Tear dropped after Tear, in a pathetic and af⯑fectionate Silence.

Being conducted to the Old-Baily, my Wife, on entering the Court, turned ſud⯑denly pale; and her Countenance was downcaſt with a Diffidence that ſhe could not for ſome Time overcome. The Con⯑courſe was exceſſively great, and, chiefly, conſiſting of the Nobility and Gentry of both Sexes. The great Man himſelf was there, with a Croud of his Dependents, and all the male and female Relations and Friends of the Deceaſed.

I gave my Arabella the Salts to ſmell to, and, as ſhe weakly, and baſhfully ad⯑vanced to the Bar, a confuſed and jarring Murmur was heared on all Sides; and the Words Impudence, and Innocence, re⯑ſounded throughout.

When, according to Order, ſhe had held up her Hand, and heared her Indict⯑ment; the Judge, with a Countenance and Voice equally ſtern, demanded Guilty or not Guilty? She anſwered, Guilty, my Lord, I confeſs, of the Death of Lord Stivers, but, never guilty of any Kind of Robbery or Malice. Woman, ſaid the Judge, you confeſs yourſelf guilty, and I [21]ſhould proceed to your Sentence. But, I aſk you, for the laſt Time, Guilty or not Guilty? Not guilty, my Lord, ſhe then rejoined; if to do what I approve, and ſhall never repent of, is not to be guilty.

Again, the Murmur was repeated, but continued much longer, and, with more Virulence on the one Part, and more Concern on the other.

I ſhall not detain you, Sir, with an Ac⯑count of the Examination of the two firſt Witneſſes, one of whom had been our own Servant Girl, and the other the prin⯑cipal Footman of Lord Stivers. They had all Manner of Encouragement, and Coun⯑tenance from the Court, and concurred in ev'ry Circumſtance that cou'd ſerve for Condemnation. The Sound of Triumph was heared, through all the Gentry, and the Populace, ſighingly, gave my Arabella for loſt.

The third Witneſs was then called. He was a very genteel and modeſt-looking young Man, and was now out of Livery.

My Lord, ſays he, with a reſpectful but reſolute Voice, before I give my Teſtimo⯑ny in this Caſe, I requeſt that the two firſt Witneſſes ſhould be taken into Cuſto⯑dy. Into Cuſtody? cried the Judge, do [22]you know what you ſay? I do know what I ſay, my Lord, and I repeat my Requeſt that they ſhould be taken into Cuſtody. Why, Friend, ſaid the Judge, they are, as you are, they are Witneſſes for the Crown againſt a Criminal, and no Man has a Right to order them into Cuſtody. I ſay, rejoined the Youth, with an Air ſtill more determined, that they are Witneſſes againſt Innocence, againſt his Majeſty, and againſt the Laws. That they alone are crimi⯑nal; that I am Evidence againſt them; and, I, again, require it of your Lordſhip, of the Jury, and of all preſent, that they ſhould not be permitted to make their Eſcape.

I ſee, exclaimed the Judge, you are a prevaricating Villain; but, I ſhall trounce you before we part. Where is this Fel⯑low's Examination?

My Lord, my Lord, ſaid the young Man, with ſomewhat of a ſevere and ſar⯑caſtical Tone. You were not placed there to prejudicate, in any Matter; no more than I was called here to be Brow-beat and ſentenced without Trial. If you find that I prevaricate, if you deſire to fift me as Wheat, and find any Chaff in me; I re⯑fuſe not the bittereſt Puniſhment that our Laws can inflict. But, as your Lordſhip [23]obſerves, I am an Evidence for the Crown, and his Majeſty, God be praiſed, will not fix his Tribunal in any Unrighteouſneſs. I therefore demand to be heared, in the Cauſe to which I am cited; and all pre⯑ſent ſhall be aſſured that I ſpeak nothing but the Truth. And you, Gentlemen of the Jury! I petition you to intercede, in favour of Equity with his Lordſhip, and to prevail that theſe Criminals, for ſuch I affirm them to be, ſhould not be ſuffered to get away. And further, that they ſhould be inſtantly ſearched; and all, that is found about them, reſerved for the In⯑ſpection of yourſelves and his Lordſhip.

My Lord, ſaid the Foreman, I humbly conceive that no ill Conſequence can en⯑ſue; from ſearching and ſetting a Watch over thoſe People; their Teſtimony is al⯑ready given, and can't be invalidated thereby.

I cannot agree to it, anſwered the Judge. They are free Subjects. There is no Indictment nor Depoſition againſt them. They are, alſo, Evidence for his Majeſty, and are therefore under his peculiar Pro⯑tection. But, I would willingly hear what this Fellow, this Turncoat has to ſay for himſelf.

[24] My Lord, replied the Youth, I now ſtand before a Tribunal that is, infinitely, more aweful than that of your Lordſhip. And, provided I approve my Truth be⯑fore God, I ſhall be the leſs afflicted for having fallen under your Lordſhip's Diſ⯑pleaſure. My Name is Edward Longfield. I was born to happier Proſpects. My Father was a Gentleman. And, about eighteen Months ago, I took the Degree of Batchelor at Queen's College in Oxford. But, Misfortunes and Miſunderſtandings happening in our Family, I was left to be the Former of my own Fortunes, and, ar⯑riving at London, I was taken into Service by my late Lord Stivers. He grew fond of me, beyond my Merits, and I began to partake of his Friendſhip and Confidence, at the Time that I was deprived, of the moſt generous of Maſters, by the moſt un⯑happy of all Events.

My Lord had one Foil to his many Virtues. It was an invincible Paſſion for Female-Beauty. The laſt Night of his Life, having called me aſide, Ned, ſays he, I muſt take you on an Adventure To-morrow. I have poſitively the fineſt Girl in the Univerſe in Chaſe; and I muſt enjoy her in all Events. But the Devil on't is that ſhe is virtuous, though I hope not incorruptible. I have put her [25]Huſband out of the Way upon a feigned Action for Debt; and I have bribed her Maid over to my Party. So, that I have nothing to contend with but her own lovely Perſon, and that will be the ſweet⯑eſt Diſpute in the World. Sure, my Lord, I cried, you wouldn't force her. Pſhaw, ſaid he, damn your impertinent Scruples. Another ſuch Word, Ned, and you are blown with me, I can tell you. A fine Woman, my Lad, muſt be won at any Rate; if ſhe is garriſoned with Virtue, and cannot be got by Stratagem; ſhe muſt be taken by Storm.

The Day following, my Lord took me, and his Footman Robert there, who is one of the Witneſſes, to a Tavern directly op⯑poſite to the Houſe of the Priſoner. He dined there, alone, and kept us in wait⯑ing moſt Part of the Afternoon, in expec⯑tation of Intelligence from that other Wit⯑neſs there, who has borne falſe Teſtimony againſt her Miſtreſs. As he looked out, from Time to Time, at one of the Street Windows, he at laſt, as I ſuppoſe, re⯑ceived the appointed Signal; for, hurry⯑ing down Stairs, he ordered us to follow. The Door was, purpoſely, held open for us by that Woman. Is all ſafe, Deb? ſays my Lord, Yes, ſays Deb; but may I de⯑pend on theſe who come with you? You may Child, cries my Lord, they are my [26]own People. It's very well, cries Deb, I have juſt got Miſs Hodgins out of your Way. My Miſtreſs is above and alone for want of better Company. To her then, my Lord, ſhe is a Diſh for an Em⯑peror. But, if ſhe ſhould prove too many for you, I know where the Shame will lie for ever. Well, well, cries my Lord, ſhut the Door ſoftly Deb; and take theſe Lads, down with you, to the Kitchen. But, whatever ye hear, on your Lives! let me have no Stir, I charge ye. So ſay⯑ing, my Lord went, tripping, up Stairs; and we followed that bad Woman to her darker Region.

I ſoon obſerved that my Campanion, Mr. Robert there, was intent on making up his Acquaintance with Mrs. Deborah; and, as I found myſelf extremely uneaſy, I gave them the ſlip, without being ob⯑ſerved; and, ſtealing up Stairs, I put my Ear to the Door where I heared the Voice of my Maſter. Bleſſed Heaven! to what ſurpaſſing Sentiments was I, then, an a⯑mazed Witneſs! to what Proofs of a Vir⯑tue, that cannot be rated, at leſs than Di⯑vine! If I ſhould not be tedious, I would deliver to the Court; to you, my Lord, in particular; and to you Gentlemen of the Jury; the beſt Account, I can, of thoſe wonderful Paſſages.

[27] Hear him, hear him, hear him! was then almoſt the univerſal Cry! till he was permitted, by the Bench; and deſired, by the Jury to ſpeak with Freedom.

He, then, repeated, in a more ample and pathetic Manner, all that paſſed, as I have told you, between Lord Stivers and my Wife. But, ſtopping, as he drew near to the fatal Cataſtrophe. I could no longer bear, he ſaid, the piercing Cries, and agonizing Shrieks of ſuch Virtue, in ſuch Extremity. Had I any kind of Weapon, I thought I ſhould have done my Lord good Service, by protecting the Purity, he was about to violate. But I trembled and grew exceeding ſick, and, haſt'ning down to the Kitchen, I threw myſelf into a Chair and ſwooned away.

While I was in my Fit, and that Robert and Deborah were buſy about me. The fatal Stroke, as I imagine, was given, and the Priſoner made her Eſcape, with her Infant in her Arms. When I was ſomewhat recovered, and had taken a Dram of Mrs. Deborah's Bottle; ſhe put down the Kettle and invited us to a Diſh of Tea. I requeſted my Companions, from Time to Time, to ſtep out and liſ⯑ten; but they reported that all was quiet above Stairs; and, when I wondered at [28]this; tut, ſays Deborah, the Lovers have made it up before now, I warrant; and my Miſtreſs is ſo well pleaſed with what ſhe was forced to, that it's well for your Maſter if he gets off before Midnight.

At length it grew darkiſh, and, being all of us ſurpriz'd that no Candles were called for, we went, in a Body, up Stairs, and Deborah ventured, gently, to tap at the Door; but, hearing no Voice nor Stirring in the Chamber, ſhe turned the Bolt, ſoftly; and, peeping in, ſhe gave a loud Shriek, and drew ſuddenly back a⯑gain. We then entered together, and as I was prepared, by my Knowledge of the Lady's Virtue, for ſome dreadful Cataſ⯑trophe, I was the leſs ſhocked and con⯑cerned at what I beheld.

The Floor was Half covered with clot⯑ted Blood. My Maſter lay in the Midſt, already ſtiff and cold; and Part of the fa⯑tal Sciſſars was, ſtill, within the Wound. We all ſtood, for ſome Time, in ſilent Aſtoniſhment and then, with joint Tears, lamented his Fate. At length, ſays Debo⯑rah, I would gladly ſee if my bloody Miſ⯑treſs has taken Care to provide for her Journey: So ſaying, ſhe ſtooped, and, taking his Lordſhip's Purſe from his Pocket, ſhe counted down two hundred and ninety ſeven Guineas. She, then, [29]took out his fine Gold-Repeater; and, next, his Gold Snuff-Box; and laſt took his large Diamond Ring from his Finger.

Come my Lads, ſays Deborah, my Lord's Silence gives Conſent, and we can no more be ſaid to rob this Piece of Earth, than the People in the Mines, who gather Gold from Clay. If my Miſtreſs is ever taken, ſhe muſt ſuffer Death for the Mur⯑der; and they can do no more to her, for the Robbery, and twenty ſuch Matters together. If you will, therefore, be of my Counſel, we will comfort ourſelves, as we ought, for this melancholy Buſineſs; and ſhare a Prize between us, that no one elſe has a Right to, and that no Body will want.

Robert did not heſitate long. In a little Time, he appeared more ſanguine than Deborah herſelf; and they urged me to join them, by a Number of intereſting and cajoling Inſtances. I was diſpirited. I was affrighted. I ſaw a Scene of Blood and Slaughter before me; and I doubted not that, if I refuſed them, I ſhould be made the ſecond Victim to their Reſent⯑ment and Avarice. I pretended to value the Watch at an unmeaſurable Rate, and that I ſhould be greatly the Gainer, if I got it for my Dividend. Mrs. Deborah then went to her Miſtreſſes Drawers; and, [30]taking out Half a Dozen of Silver Spoons, a Tea Equipage, and ſeveral Articles in Laces and Cambricks; ſhe fairly laid them before us; and obſerved, at the ſame Time, that her Miſtreſs would not call in a Hurry to demand them; and that the Landlord would take all if we did not come in for Snacks. She then made a new Diviſion, ſhe compelled me further to accept of the Snuff-Box. She gave the Purſe of Gold intire to Robert; and con⯑tented, herſelf with the Diamond Ring, ſome Gold Medals, my Lord's Handker⯑chief, and the Plunder of her Miſtreſs.

While Mr. Longfield was in this Part of his Teſtimony; the Foreman of the Jury cried out, Stay, Sir! Good People, pray ſtop thoſe Witneſſes, there! I ſee, they are making off. And, now, do us the Fa⯑vour to ſearch their Pockets; and to put what ye find into two Hats ſeverally; and to hand them up to us.

This being accordingly done; Mr. Long⯑field, ſays the Foreman, be pleaſed now to proceed.

I have little further to ſay, replied Mr. Longfield. Here is my noble Maſter's Watch; and here is his Snuff-Box. They are undoubtedly known to many honoura⯑ble Perſons, at preſent, in Court. And, [31]I bleſs my God that I have been enabled to preſerve them, for the Vindication of Innocence, and the Illuſtration of Virtue, at this Day.

Here, Mr. Longfield pauſed; and the Judge cried out, Clerk, hand me up the Examination of this Prevaricator. This his Lordſhip peruſed with a Countenance, and Scrutiny, apparently inveterate. But, finding that the Deponent had not touched upon the Robbery; and, that neither the Words, feloniouſly, nor, of malice, were in⯑ſerted in that Part, that referred to the Death of Lord Stivers, he tore the Exami⯑nation into twenty Pieces. Come, come, he cried, again, I have not yet done with this ſame Longfield. I perceive, perfectly well, how he came by the Watch and Suff-Box. The Transference was not diffi⯑cult, from the Priſoner, who ſtole them, to this her Confederate. But, tell us, my wonderfully honeſt Friend! How came you to keep theſe Things from their lawful Owners, for the very long Space of twelve Months and upward? Why did you not, immediately, or long before now, give Examinations againſt thoſe, whom you ſo ſuddenly take it into your Head to accuſe? And, why would you ſuffer that, ſo ex⯑ceeding chaſte, and innocent Lady, to la⯑bour, all this Time, under the Infamy [32]with which her Character, in my Judg⯑ment, is ſtill juſtly loaded?

To all theſe Queſtions, Mr. Longfield barely ſmiled; but, bowing with his Head, and making a Motion with his Hand to two Gentlemen, who ſat on one Side in the Gallery. Mr. Archibald, an eminent Merchant, and an Alderman of the City, got up and ſpoke to the following Effect.

I wiſh, my Lord, that I could as well content your Lordſhip, as I can ſatisfy the Jury, and all others preſent, on the Arti⯑cles you require. The Day, immediately ſucceeding this fatal Accident, Mr. Long⯑field came to me, and, in preſence of Mr. Truelove here, my worthy and ſubſtantial Neighbour, gave a Detail, almoſt Word for Word, of all that he has this Hour depoſed in Court. He then depoſited the Watch and Snuff-Box with us; and did not reclaim them till early this Morning. As I am of his Majeſty's Peace, he, alſo, gave in this Examination, before me, which however I muſt not venture to hand over to your Lordſhip, till I have your previous Engagement that you will not tear it. I thereupon offered to iſſue Warrants for apprehending the Delin⯑quents; but Mr. Longfield, moſt ſenſibly and judiciouſly, obſerved, that ſuch a Step muſt, unqueſtionably, ſhut the Door a⯑gainſt [33]Juſtice and all Knowledge of the Truth. That the Criminals were Two to One, againſt their Accuſer. That on the ſlighteſt Alarm, they would infallibly ab⯑ſcond. Or make away with the Effects, of which they now held themſelves the peaceable and unqueſtioned Poſſeſſors. Or contrive ſome further Plot, to invalidate his Evidence. Or, probably, make him away by Piſtol, or Poiſon, and ſo deprive that unhappy Gentlewoman of the only Witneſs of her Innocence. But, ſays he, if they are permitted to enter the Court, under the Confidence of my Confederacy; they will have no Reſerve upon them; no foreformed Evaſions, or Contrivances for Eſcape. My unexpected Teſtimony will ſuddenly confound their Guilt; and, they may happen to carry ſome Articles about them, which might ſerve for their Convic⯑tion, beyond ten Witneſſes.

In the mean Time, Mr. Longfield, Mr. Truelove, and I, were ſolicitous and un⯑wearied in our Inquiries after the unfor⯑tunate Priſoner, that we might perſuade her to ſtand her Trial, and to deliver herſelf up to Juſtice. But all our Search proved fruitleſs, till the Day in which ſhe was diſcovered and taken.

Here, Mr. Archibald ended, and the Judge exclaimed; Crier! call the two firſt [34]Witneſſes into Court; that we may hear what they ſay to this fair Weather Speech. The Crier, accordingly vociferated ſeveral O Yeſes, for Deborah Skinner, and Robert Callan, to come into Court. But, had they been within call, they did not chuſe to hear. During the Attention of the Court and Jury to Alderman Archibald, they had imperceptibly ſlipped behind their next Neighbours, and proceeding, in like Manner, from one to another, they at length confounded themſelves with the Croud, and got clear off.

My Lord, then, began to ſum his Charge to the Jury; and dwell't, with much Emphaſis, on ſome Articles. Here, ſays he, we have loſt a Nobleman; a Mi⯑niſter; one of the firſt Ornaments of our Country, and Stays of our Land. And what, I pray ye, have we got, in recom⯑pence of this great Damage? Why, my Friends, we have got a new Thing upon the Earth; we have got a Saving of the Honour of a Milliner But, if this Prin⯑ceſs is inviolate, as ſtill is pretended; how come ſhe to be guilty of this moſt horrid of all Murders, before ſhe knew to what Extremity his Lordſhip would have pro⯑ceeded? How did ſhe dare, capitally, to execute a Peer of the Realm, on a ſimple Attempt, for which our Laws would not have confined a common Porter? This [35]Woman muſt, certainly, have been a Tra⯑der in Blood; and her felonious Intents, and Malice, are fully expreſſed, in the ve⯑ry peculiar Uſe and Inhumanity of the Weapon, with which ſhe perpetrated this moſt deſperate Deed. You need not therefore, Gentlemen go out of you Box to bring her in guilty of the Murder. I will not affirm, with equal Certainty, touching the Robbery. And yet, to me it is apparent, that ſhe could not have enter⯑prized ſo barbarous a Fact, if ſhe had not done it in Proſpect of plundering the De⯑ceaſed. But, as ſhe is capitally puniſhable in the firſt Inſtance; I leave ye, Gentle⯑men, to determine of the Second, at Plea⯑ſure.

Firſt, permit us, my Lord, replied the Foreman, to examine what we have got in theſe Hats. He then drew a long Purſe, from among the Relicks of Robert, and having counted out ſeventy Guineas, Mr. Longfield, ſays he, would you know my Lord's Purſe? If it is my Maſter's Purſe, ſaid Longfield, it is of green Silk, and has toward the Top, a Coronet and the Letter S. wrought under it, in Silver Twiſt. The very ſame Sir indeed, rejoin⯑ed the Foreman. And, now, let us ſee what Mrs. Deborah might have got in her honeſt Keeping? So ſaying he took, from the ſecond Hat, a ſmall Wooden Box. It [36]was nearly ſtuffed with Cotton, in which he found my Lord's Diamond Ring, three Gold Medals, and the Ends of the Han⯑dles of ſeveral ſilver Spoons. Mrs. Clement, ſays he, I imagine we may have got ſome of your Property, among us. Pray, had you any Mark to your Silver Spoons? Yes Sir, ſaid ſhe, ſcarce audible; a G. at Top for Graves, and a D. and A. below, for Dorothy and Arabella. I wiſh, Madam, replied this Gentleman, that we were e⯑qually enabled to find an Equivalent for your Merits, as to reſtore to you this trifling Remnant of your Rights.

Come, Gentlemen, cried the Judge, the Day wears apace. It is Time for ye to retire, and conſult on the Verdict ye are to bring in.

My Lord, anſwered the Foreman, you, truely obſerved that we need not leave our Box, for the Purpoſe you require. We are already agreed, and unanimous in our Verdict. And, I would to Heaven! that we were not confined, on this Occa⯑ſion, to literal Precedents and Forms of Law; that we might give a Verdict, ſome way adequate to the Merits of the Priſo⯑ner, who, however depreſſed by Fortune, is ſuperior in all Excellencies; whom we judge to be an Honour to Human-Na⯑ture, [37]and the firſt Grace and Ornament of her own Sex. But, ſince we are limit⯑ed, by Cuſtom, in theſe Matters. We do ſay, with one Voice, and a Conſcience that compells us to Utterance. Not Guil⯑ty, my Lord, not guilty!

The Words were ſcarce pronounced, when the Court-Houſe was almoſt ſplit by a ſudden Peal. Hats, Caps, and Wigs, univerſally filled the Air, and joſtled a⯑gainſt each-other. The Triumph was caught and echoed by the Crouds with⯑out; and the Sound was repeated, and floated, from Street to Street, till it ſeem⯑ed to die away, in diſtant Parts of the City.

My Wife, then turned gracefully Curt⯑ſying to the Foreman, I thank you, Sir, ſays ſhe; I thank ye, Gentlemen, ſays ſhe again, Curtſying to the Reſt of the Jury. And then, glancing modeſtly round, ſhe ſaluted the Aſſembly, and ſat down. But I could not contain my Gratitude, my Tranſport overpowered me; and, falling on my Knees, and lifting my Hands to⯑ward the Jury. GOD, alone, can reward ye, Gentlemen, I cried; may he for ever preſerve the Proſperities, Honours, and Families, of the worthy Citizens of London, from Violation and Inſult.

[38] I then roſe, haſtily. I ſlipped out of the Bar; and, ruſhing up to Mr. Longfield, I catched him, eagerly, about the Neck. I could not ſpeak. I hid my Face in his Boſom, and broke into Tears. He at⯑tempted to diſengage himſelf; but I held him faſt. I believe, ſaid he, you muſt be Mr. Clement. I congratulate you, Sir, with all my Soul. But, you owe me no⯑thing; I barely did my Duty.

O, my Friend, my Brother, my Preſer⯑ver! I cried; I owe you more than Life. Exiſtence had been my greateſt of Curſes, without you. That I am not, at this Mo⯑ment, the deepeſt damned of the Creati⯑on. That I find myſelf the moſt bleſſed of all Beings. To you, alone, it is owing, my Longfield, my Deliverer! Nay, hope not to eſcape me; we, never more muſt part. You are my Captive for Life. And I, and all that I am, or have, is your's to Eternity.

As the People, within and without, were ſtill in great Commotion, the Court appeared much alarmed; and the Judge, and moſt of the Gentry, made homeward, through a private Door that opened into a back Alley. But, their Fears were ground⯑leſs. For the Croud was wholly intent on [39]another Object, and impatiently waited for a Sight of my Arabella.

As ſhe walked forward, attended by Mr. Longfield and myſelf, they made way, for her, on either Hand; and the Atmoſ⯑phere again rung with Shouts and Accla⯑mations. So ſincere is the Reſpect that the Populace pay to Virtue; and ſuch is their Exultation when Innocence riſes ſu⯑perior to Oppreſſion. But, when Inno⯑cence and Virtue are accompanied by Beauty, their Reverence grows almoſt cri⯑minal, and approaches to Adoration.

Thus we returned to Newgate, amidſt the Bleſſings, Prayers, and Praiſes, of a yielding Multitude who, ſtill, reſpectfully opened as Arabella advanced. The Win⯑dows, on all Sides, poured forth Congra⯑tulations, and thoſe through whom we had paſſed, preſſed forward for another Sight, as though their Eyes could not be ſatisfied with beholding.

Before we entered her late Priſon, my Wife turned about, and curtſied, three or four Times, to her numerous Attendants, with an acknowledging Grace and Humi⯑lity that ſeemed oppreſſed by their Favours. She then entered haſtily and, running up Stairs, ſhe caught her Child from the Nurſekeeper. She held him ſome Time [40]in her Arms; her Boſom gently heaved; and the Tears rolled, in Silence, down her placid Countenance. But, on our Ap⯑proach, ſhe turned ſuddenly into the Bed⯑chamber; ſhut to the Door; and continu⯑ed there in private for near an Hour.

In the mean Time, I ſent out for a warm Dinner and a Bottle of Wine. Mr. Longfield now told me that he had, often, been tempted to introduce himſelf to us, during my Wife's Confinement; but, he feared that the Diſcovery of any Acquain⯑tance or Correſpondence, between us, might prejudice Arabella upon her Trial. And that, therefore, he had made uſe of the little Stratagem of the Verſes, which he had thruſt under our Door, in order to preſerve us from a total Depreſſion of Spirits.

When the Cloth was laid; I whiſpered gently, through the Keyhole, to my Ara⯑bella; and ſoon after ſhe came forth, with a Harmony and Beatitude of Motion and Aſpect, as though ſhe had inſtantly drop⯑ped from that Heaven, which had wholly poſſeſſed her during her Abſence.

At Table, Mr. Longfield gave us ſome Heads of his Hiſtory. He further told us that, ſince the Death of his late Lord, he had entered into another Service; but that [41]he had been out of Place for about a Month paſt. I have ſaved, ſays he, about thirty Guineas of my Wages; but that is not the whole of my Treaſure. This Morning, as I was juſt upon entering the Court, a very comely Gentlewoman twitch⯑ed me by the Sleeve. She aſked me if my Name was not Longfield, and if I was not one of the Witneſſes on the impending Trial? When I anſwered in the Affirma⯑tive, ſhe took me a little aſide, and, put⯑ting ten Guineas into my Hand, keep up, ſaid ſhe, to your Evidence, be zealous in avenging the Blood of your Lord, and this is not the laſt Gratification which you ſhall receive.

After ſome further Diſcourſe, I called up the Keeper, diſcharged the Reckoning and Fees, and returned Thanks for his Civility and particular Reſpects to my Arabella. I then ſent for a Coach, and we drove Home together.

On the Way, I prevailed upon Mr. Longfield to take up his Lodgings, at Mrs. Jennett's; provided he could be accommo⯑dated, at a reaſonable Rate.

Mrs. Jennett received us, with warm Congratulations, we immediately ordered the Kettle down, and invited her to a Diſh of Tea; over which ſhe agreed with our [42]Friend, for the Street Room on the ſame Floor; at three Shillings per Week.

The Day following, I left Mr. Longfield to entertain my Arabella. I went to our late Landlord, and called him to an Ac⯑cout for the Furniture we had left in his Houſe. Hereupon, he produced an In⯑ventory of Particulars, taken upon Oath, with the Bill of Appraiſment and Sale, and returned me the Surplus, that remain⯑ed over the Rent, amounting to ſomewhat upward of nine Pounds. Deborah, as I ſuppoſe, had carried off whatever was moſt valuable and portable.

I then haſtened to the Miſs Hodginſes, they received me with ſuch Tranſports as my Heart found to be unfeigned. They, already knew the happy Tidings. They huddled on ſome looſe Matters; and away we tripped, together, with all poſſible Diſpatch.

The Meeting was accompanied by ma⯑ny tender and mutual Tears. Ah, my Love! cried the Eldeſt of the Miſs Hod⯑ginſes. Pride and Beauty of your Sex, how jealous we are of you! We went Yeſterday to your Trial, with the moſt ſubſtantial of our Friends, in order to give you a Character, if required; but, you [43]neither called upon us, nor would look on the Side where we ſtood. Ah, my dear Girls, my ſweet Friends! cried Ara⯑bella, how could I hope or imagine, that you would acknowledge or even think of ſo low and loſt a Wretch as I was.

Arabella was now at Liberty to reviſit her old Acquaintance. She was careſſed more than ever; and took in ſo much Work that ſhe was obliged to hire a Girl to attend the Child.

I was now at the very Pinnacle of hu⯑man Happineſs. I had twenty Guineas left of the fifty I got from my Father. My Wife earned from two to her three Shillings per Day. And Mr. Longfield, who generally dieted with us, frequently brought Tea and Sugar, or a Bottle of Cordial, or ſome ſuch Matter in his Pocket, which he pretended to have gotten exceſ⯑ſively cheap, or as a Preſent.

Thus we lived, in a Kind of frugal Af⯑fluence. Affliction was no more. The Remembrance of Diſtreſs and Poverty had vaniſhed, as a Dream. Our Days moved upon Down; and Joy and Peace, nightly prepared our Pillows.

Happy Days, happy Hours, above the Lot of Mortality! Heaven preſerve me [44]from ever taſting the like again; leſt they alſo ſhould be attended by ſo terrible a Reverſe.

Mr. Longfield was very lovely in his Perſon and Manners. He had made the Belles Letters his peculiar Study; and he uſed to procure a Variety, of entertaining Novels and Memoirs, in French, which he read fluently into Engliſh, while my Wife was at Work. We had contracted a Friendſhip which I imagined too ſtrict for Time or Chance to untie; and I loved him the better for his Attention to my Arabella, whoſe Entertaiment ſeemed to form the chief Delight of his Life.

I gave him my Story, in Parts, from Time to Time; and he had plentifully watered the ſeveral Paſſages with his Tears. His own Experience had taught him to join, with Mr. Goodville, in think⯑ing that the Education, of a mere Scholar, was no way ſuited to the common Occaſi⯑ons of Life. He, therefore, introduced me to Mr. Marfelt, his late Maſter, to whom he had recommended me as pri⯑vate Tutor to his Son; and we agreed at £50 per Ann. to commence as ſoon as the young Gentleman ſhould deſcend from the Nurſery.

[45] Mr. Longfield, as I told you, was very lovely in his Perſon; and he daily became more amiable and engaging in my Eyes. I was pleaſed that he appeared, in the ſame Light, to my Wife. She was in⯑debted to him for her Life, and, in her, I held myſelf indebted to him, for all Things. I thought that we could never love him enough; and I, daily and night⯑ly, importuned my Arabella, to affect him with a Tenderneſs equal to my own.

At length I became uneaſy, I knew not why, nor wherefore. I grew diffident at the Compariſon which I made in my Mind between Longfield and myſelf, and I was diſguſted, as it were, with my own De⯑merits, wherefore, I grew dejected and diſpirited, and yet affected to appear the reverſe of what I was. I however ſighed in ſecret. When I could form a Pretence for retiring or going abroad, I took a ſoli⯑tary Walk or withdrew to ſome Receſs, where I lightened my Oppreſſion by a looſe to my Tears; and I was thereby the better enabled to ſeem chearful, on my Return, and to aſſume a Face of Gaiety that was foreign to my Heart. Ah! are not the real Evils of Life ſufficient? Yet Man adds to the Heap by his tendency to realize what is merely imaginary.

[46] The Source of my Malady was now no longer a Secret to me. My Longfield, I cried to myſelf, my Arabella, my Angel, you are ſtill faithful my Longfield, you are ſtill chaſte my Arabella; and there is no⯑thing, wherewith I can reproach the one, or the other. But you are, both of ye, too amiable; you are fitted for each-other. Your Clement loves ye too well to be a Bar to your Happineſs. You Two are the whole Treaſure and Delight of his Exiſt⯑ence. He will have no Bliſs but your's; your Happineſs ſhall be his; and he will die to accompliſh it; ſince his Life is an Interruption.

I was pleaſed that I daily declined; but the Affectation of Chearfulneſs became irkſome and painful to me. One Night, as we ſat together, my Wife looked at me, with an affectionate Diſturbance; what is the Matter, Hammy, ſhe cried. What is come over my Love? You look not, you ſpeak not, like the once fond, the delighting and delighted Conſort of your Arabella.

Ah, I cried, it is enough. I die, and I die contented, ſince I leave the only two happy, for whom I could wiſh to live. What is this I hear, Hammy? replied my Arabella; you die, you ſay, and you ſay, [47]alſo, that you die contented. Ah!—You love me no longer; what Buſineſs have I, then, any longer to — live, ſhe would have ſaid, but ſhe, inſtantly, ſwooned.

My Eyes were ſuddenly opened. I curſed my infatuating Jealouſy. I wiſhed for inſtant Death to rid me of my Confu⯑ſion. Neither did I dare to look up into the Face of my injured Friend, who by this as I feared, had diſcovered my Folly; and who, all trembling and pale as Death, was aſſiduous in helping to the Recovery of my Wife.

At length ſhe opened her Eyes, and, looking about with a languid kind of Diſ⯑pleaſure, Mr. Longfield, ſays ſhe, your Services have been great; but, at preſent, I am not under any Neceſſity for your Aſſiſtance; whereupon, he, ſilently, bowed and withdrew to his Apartment.

I then dropped on my Knees before her. My Arabella, my Angel, I cried. Lovelieſt of Womankind, moſt conſummate of human Creatures! — But, here, with a forbidding Hand, and a Countenance a⯑verted, no Hammy, no, ſays ſhe, (in a Voice interrupted by Tears,) after what has paſſed your Lips, I cannot be deceiv⯑ed, and I will not be comforted. You would leave me you ſay, Hammy, and you [48]would leave me forlorn. But, I will not be forſaken, I will prevent your Unkind⯑neſs. I will go where I ſhall not be alto⯑gether friendleſs. Ah, my Aunt! my all Relations in One, why did you abandon me? You thought you left me the World, in this Huſband, this Friend and Protec⯑tor, as you called him. But he ſays he is contented to part, and he bids me be happy without him. I come then, my dear Aunt; I will rejoin you, my beloved Pa⯑rent; you will take your forſaken Arabella to your Boſom. You will comfort her, the beſt you can; and we will part no more.

Here, her Words were ſuffocated by Sobs and a Burſt of Affliction. But, ſtill continuing my Poſture, I am guilty, my Love, I cried, I am guilty paſt Pardon. Alas, you have been wedded to Weakneſs and Frailty, ill deſerving of Purity and Perfection like yours. But, I will live, if you deſire it, my Arabella; I will live, to repent my Follies, and to repair my De⯑faults. But I cannot, a Minute longer, ſurvive your Diſpleaſure.

She, then beckoned me to riſe, and ſit beſide her, which I did; when, reaching one Arm about my Neck, and gently leaning over, ſhe joined her Face to mine, [49]and ſilently ſhed her Sorrows into my Boſom.

Soon after, I perceived that ſhe was ſeized with a kind of ſhivering; and, call⯑ing to the Girl, I ordered her, in all Haſte, to warm the Bed, and I aſſiſted my Wife directly to undreſs.

As ſoon as ſhe lay down, and was ſome⯑what compoſed, I ſtepped to my Friend's Apartment. I found him leaning on a Table, with his Eyes downcaſt, like the Image of Diſcomfort ſtooping over a Mo⯑nument. What is the Matter, I ſaid, what ails my dear Longfield? I hope I have not offended him paſt Forgiveneſs. Indeed, I am not well, ſays he. Heav'ns, what an Overcaſting! of ſuch a Sunſhine, too! Do not look at me, Hammy, I can't bear to be looked at. I beſeech you to leave me to my own Thoughts, till Morn⯑ing. I underſtand you, Mr. Longfield, I cried, I confeſs myſelf no longer worthy of your Friendſhip, and I ſhall no more demand it of you, till you condeſcend to make the Tender; and, ſo ſaying, I ſud⯑denly quitted his Chamber.

All Night, my Arabella was cold and hot, by Turns; and her Sleep was diſ⯑compoſed by Starts and Moanings. In the Morning, I obſerved that her Breath [50]was ſhort and feveriſh, and I got up, in haſte, and went for a Phyſician. The Doctor refuſed to pronounce, with Cer⯑tainty, on her Diſorder; but ſaid that he greatly feared ſhe was taking an Ague.

As ſoon as he had written his Preſcrip⯑tion, I went, eagerly, to wiſh Mr. Long⯑field a good Morning, and to apologize for the Abruptneſs of laſt Night's Behaviour. But, my Longfield had taken a long Adieu, and this Letter, which I ſhall ever pre⯑ſerve about me, was all I had left to con⯑ſole me for his Loſs; or, rather, to give me Cauſe to lament his Departure, for ever.

I wept, as I read this pathetic Epiſtle. I felt all the Paſſion and Anguiſh of my Friend. My Breaſt heaved and was agi⯑tated with Emotions of Self-Reproach, and with a Tide of returning Tenderneſs to my Longfield.

Ah, unjuſt, tho' moſt generous of Men, I exclaimed, I alone am guilty, and thou aſſumeſt to thyſelf a Burden that thy Virtue diſclaims. Would to Heaven that [54]Men, and Angels, might love my Arabella with a Purity like thine; ſhe would not then, as now, be wholly dependent, on my ſole and poor Guardianſhip, for the Defence of her Innocence.

I found ſeventeen Guineas, in the fore⯑mentioned Paper; a moſt ſeaſonable, and yet a moſt unacceptable Supply, as I fear⯑ed, from the Generoſity of my Longfield's Temper, that it contained very nearly the whole of his Poſſeſſions.

As the Doctor had conjectured; my Wife's Diſtemper turned out a tertian Ague; and, after exhauſting the Circle of the Materia Medica toward a Cure; the Dregs of the Diſeaſe ſettled into a Rheu⯑matiſm, that principally affected her Arms and Hands, and thereby prevented her from earning any Subſiſtance for herſelf or her Infant.

It was now upward of four Months, ſince Mr. Longfield had left us; during all which Time, I hardly ever departed from the Side of my Arabella. Our Finances were again reduced to about two Guineas, and this was not ſufficient to diſcharge our ſixth Quarter, that had been due ſome Time. I was, however, confident of a Supply in the Tutorſhip, promiſed me by [55]Mr. Marfelt; and I dreſſed, in the beſt I could, and waited upon him.

I was concerned to find the Family in Black. But, when Mr. Marfelt himſelf appeared, and told me, with a Voice in⯑terrupted by Sighs, that his only Son, my Pupil in Expectance, had been lately carried off by a malignant Small-Pox, my Mourning paſſed all Shews and Suits of Sorrow.

I took my Leave, with a Dejection and Abſence of Mind, that forgot there was any Road left for me upon Earth. I went, I knew not where, a Way that led from Home. I ſaw nothing but the Labyrinth within my own Soul; and, from thence I could perceive neither Outlet nor Eſcape.

Rapines and Robberies, again offered themſelves to my View, as the only Expe⯑dients, by which Heaven had ordained, that my Wife and my Infant, that Virtue and Innocence ſhould be permitted to live. Nature has caſt my Lot, ſaid I to myſelf, among Tygers and Vultures, who have no Choice, ſave to periſh, or ſubſiſt by Prey. I dwelt, long, on this Thought; and then puſhed it to Extremity, and the Perpetra⯑tion of deſperate Deeds. Again, the Stretch of my Reſolution began to relax; and the Tide of my Thoughts flowed [56]backward to the Senſations and Meltings of Humanity. Ah, I cried, my fellow-Creatures; you, in whom I ſee myſelf; my Brothers, in whoſe Service I would gladly ſpend my Life; pardon me, that I take from you what I would give you, twenty fold. Or, rather, powerful Author of Nature! I cried, take from us our Ex⯑iſtence, ſince thou refuſeſt the Means whereby we may exiſt!

My Eyes at laſt were opened, and I perceived that I was now much further from my Lodgings than when I ſet out from Mr. Marfelt's. I turned homeward, as well as I could, fatigued in Body, and with more than a Mountain's Weight up⯑on my Mind. On the Way, I lifted my Eyes, and wrung my Hands together, in a Kind of Agony; Bread, Bread! I cried inwardly, merciful Heaven, a little, but a very little Bread! my helpleſs Wife, my helpleſs Infant! a little Pittance for them, I crave it, in Mercy! and, O, ſave me from more than the Torments of the damned, from beholding them famiſhed, and gaſping for a Morſel of Suſtenance before my Face.

I looked round, and beheld nothing but Scenes of Luxury or Plenty; with Joy, Buſineſs, or Content, viſible in the Coun⯑tenance of the Meaneſt. Ah, what is [57]here? ſaid I to myſelf, Powerful Being, how partial are thy Diſpenſations! How highly are thoſe exalted; to what a Depth doſt thou cruſh the Wretch whom thy Wrath has diſtinguiſhed! I am ſelected from among thy Works. I am, equally, the Outcaſt of Heaven and of Earth. Might I become, but as one of yonder Beggars, I ſhould derive a chance Morſel from that Charity, which now hardens it⯑ſelf againſt me, againſt my Babe, and my Arabella, the moſt pitiable Objects of the Creation.

As ſoon as I had crawled Home, ano⯑ther Weight was added to the Burden I already bore. A Bailiff was in Waiting; and my Landlady, with an Aſpect as in⯑exorable as Iron, ordered me directly into Cuſtody for the laſt Quarter's Rent.

I was, on this Occaſion, obliged to diſ⯑burſe my laſt two Guineas, and further to depoſit my Wife's Gown, as a Security for the ſmall Remainder of Rent and Cap⯑tion Fees. I had not, now, wherewithal to purchaſe a Pennyworth of Bread, that, like the Widow of Sarepta, my Wife, my Child, and I, for this laſt Time, might ſit down together and eat, before we died.

Thus abandoned of every Hope, divine or human, I did not dare to turn my Eye, [58]to borrow Patience, or Conſolation, from the Countenance of the Saint to whom I was united. I pretended to have forgot⯑ten ſomewhat, and again, haſtened out of Doors. The Night had juſt fallen, and was ſtill and gloomy. Rage, Anguiſh, and Deſpair gave me new Strength and Spirits; and I turned, fiercely, down an unfrequented Street, without any Arms, ſave my Fury and natural Phangs, with which I determined, like the maternal Li⯑oneſs, to rend Subſiſtance, for my Young, from the firſt I ſhould encounter.

I perceived a Man advancing, at ſome Diſtance. I haſtened to meet him, and, coming within a few Paces, ſtand! I cried, paſs no further! Why, ſaid he, with a fearleſs and benevolent Voice, is there any Thing wherein you deſire I ſhould ſerve you? Oh, ſave me! I replied, you muſt, you ſhall ſave me from the terrible Dam⯑nation of ſeeing my Wife and Infant fa⯑miſh before me. GOD, ſaid he, ſends you this, by my Hands. He ſees your Diſtreſs, but diſapproves your Conduct. You have now twice ſinned in this Way. But, Clement, beware the third Time; another Offence like this would prove fatal to you.

He ſpoke, and, putting five Guineas into my Hand, he inſtantly ſlipped away [59]or vaniſhed, I know not which; for, ſuch was my ſudden Aſtoniſhment and Confu⯑ſion, that I neither remarked nor ſaw what became of him.

At length, I awaked, as from a Trance. I ſtepped up to a ſingle Lamp that glim⯑mer'd before me; and, opening my Hand, I perceived that the Money which I held was Gold. I hurried it into my Pocket; and turning back, I began, ſlow and pen⯑ſative, to move toward Home. The Fu⯑ry with which I was, ſo lately, exaſpera⯑ted againſt Heaven and Earth, again ſub⯑ſided; and my Heart began to change from that of a Tyger, and to feel a new Infuſion of Compunction and Humanity.

Ah, I cried, I am then known. The Darkneſs of the Night hath not been able to conceal me. My Guilt is laid open be⯑fore God and his Angels; and my preſent and paſt Tranſgreſſions are entered in his Book. He yet pities, he yet relieves me. He ſnatches me from the Gulph, wherein I had already plunged and ſaw no Bottom; to ſhew me that no Extremity can paſs his Power; and that, on this Side of Exiſt⯑ence, it is always too early to deſpair of his Bounty. I will, then, be patient, O my GOD! I will no more repine nor kick againſt thy Diſpenſations. It is ſufficient that I ſtand within thy continued Notice. [60]This laſt Inſtance of thy Goodneſs! it is enough, it is enough! I deſire no further Proof of thy Providence or Regard; and, tho' thou kill me, I will truſt in thee, to the lateſt Gaſp. But, for me it matters not how thou pleaſeſt to diſpoſe of me. I will ſurrender to thee that which is infi⯑nitely more dear. I confide to thee my Wife and Child. O, that thou didſt love them with a Love like mine! But, they are thine, as I am thine; and if they pe⯑riſh before my Eyes, why, let them pe⯑riſh. We were, all, born to periſh before the Eyes of our Heavenly Father; and he may ſlay, without Compunction; who can revive, at his Pleaſure; who would not, perhaps, ſlay us, if it were not to revive us to a better Life; to a Life that ſhall, no more, be acquainted with Calamity.

Before I reached Home, a ſudden Faint⯑iſhneſs came over me, and, turning into a Dram-Shop, I called for a Quartern, and changed a Guinea. If the other four Gui⯑neas, ſaid I to myſelf, are made of aethe⯑rial Money, I have, however, got ſome⯑thing ſubſtantial, to ſupply my little Tommy and my dearer Arabella with a Morſel of Bread.

As ſoon as I got to my Lodgings, I re⯑deemed my Wife's Gown, and ſent out [61]for a frugal Supper. I, then, ſtepped up Stairs, and, taking a Chair, juſt oppoſite to my Wife, I ſat down and continued ſi⯑lent, but dared not to look up. She eyed me, through and through. My Hammy, ſays ſhe, you are apt to meet with ſtrange Adventures, in very ſhort Spaces of Time. I know you not for the ſame Perſon; you are not what you were a few Minutes ago.

I, then, found myſelf under the Neceſſi⯑ty of openly avowing to her all that had happened. But, gracious Heaven! to my Death, through Time, and through Eter⯑nity, never ſhall I forget the Reply ſhe made.

Hammy, ſaid ſhe, with the Face, Air and Accent of Heaven's mildeſt Miniſter, it ill becomes me to reprove a reſpected Huſ⯑band for the Exceſs of his Goodneſs to me and my Child; and yet, I have ſuffered more from the Conſideration of this Ex⯑ceſs, than from all our other Trials and Calamities put together. I love you in⯑tirely my Hammy, but I love that Part of you moſt, which you appear to regard the leaſt; it is a Part that muſt ſurvive the Diſſolution of all the Reſt, their ſhort Joys, their idle Anxieties, their fierce Deſires, and empty Poſſeſſions, and it muſt there⯑after, be yourſelf, to all Eternity.

[62] When a Man is bound on a Voyage to ſome diſtant Region, he fails not to en⯑quire into the Length and Dangers of the Way; the Nature of the Climate; the Diſpoſition of the Inhabitants; what Food they ſubſiſt upon; and what Sort of Goods chiefly, bear a Price or Value in ſo remote a Country. With ſuch Goods, alone, a wiſe Voyager will load his Veſſel; nay, he will be careful to make and tranſmit Lodgments, before he ſets out; as alſo, to form and eſtabliſh previous Friendſhips in that Country, that he may not be reject⯑ed, as one unknown and unregarded, when he happens to arrive. Ah, my Huſband, I will not adventure to aſk what Enquiries, and Proviſions, you have made for the great Purpoſe.

I once thought, my Love, that Learn⯑ing was the principal Promoter of Piety; as it beſt taught the Nature of God and Man; their Relations to Each-other, and the conſequent Duties of the Creature to his Creator. But I have, long ſince, diſ⯑covered that, to know, is not to feel; and that Argument and Inclination are, often, as oppoſite, as Adverſaries that refuſe all Means of Reconcilement.

I will ſuppoſe you, for Inſtance, in the Depth of your Knowledge and Extent of [63]your Genius, the moſt comprehenſive of all Creatures, and the wideſt Diſcoverer of the Attributes of Infinity. But what will this do for you, my Hammy? You may contemplate theſe great Objects, as Mat⯑ters with which you are no way connected. You may yet repine, and curſe, in ſecret, the particular Diſpenſations of that Provi⯑dence; whoſe general Wiſdom and Pro⯑priety your Philoſophy admits.

GOD, with all his Omnipotence, can, no otherwiſe, make his Image in our Hu⯑manity happy, than by connecting us with himſelf; ſince from Him we derive our Exiſtence, and in Him that Exiſtence can alone be continued. And this Connection can no Way be formed, but by our De⯑pendence upon Him. And this Depen⯑dence can, no way be made, but, by our Confidence in Him; by feeling that, in ourſelves or the World around us, there is neither Footing nor Hold to ſave from finking for ever; and by catching at God alone for the Support of that Exiſtence which his Bounty beſtowed.

It is this Confidence, my dear Huſband, which is called by the Name of FAITH, throughout the Goſpel; which ſtrengthens all Weakneſſes; which heals all Diſeaſes; which enlightens all Blindneſs; which may be capable of Omnipotence, by its Con⯑nection [64]with God; and, in his Power, can perform all Manner of Wonders. At leaſt, Hammy, we ought to have ſuch a Portion, of this Faith, as might enable us to ſay, to the Worſt that can befal, what the three Jewiſh Captives ſaid to the King of Aſſyria; Our God is able to deliver us, and he will, in Time, deliver us from all theſe Afflictions. But, though he ſhould not deliver us; we will not forſake our Hold and our Confidence in him; neither bow to any Temp⯑tation that Guilt can ſet up.

From the Beginning to this Day, the World has ever proved a Traitor to thoſe who truſted in it. And O, my Hammy, that you would join with me, in looking only to the Principle, from whence Salva⯑tion can come to a poor and impotent Creature. For all Creatures, are poor and impotent in themſelves. Even the Cheru⯑bim and Seraphim, the mightieſt and moſt exlated of the Works of Omnipo⯑tence, would be reduced to a State of No⯑thingneſs by an Independence on their Creator.

Since God, therefore, cannot communi⯑cate Happineſs to a Being, who refuſes to truſt in his Goodneſs, or to repoſe upon his Power; where he is peculiarly favour⯑able, and determines to take a faithleſs tho' beloved Creature to himſelf; he bleſſes [65]him with all Sorts of Croſſes and Diſap⯑pointments. He breaks, under him, all the Props of Worldly Confidence. He ſnatches from him the Helps, on which his Hope had laid hold. That, in the In⯑ſtant of ſinking, he may finally compel him to catch at his Creator; and to throw himſelf on the Boſom, of that infinite Be⯑nevolence, which is deſirous of receiving him to everlaſting Reſt.

Be pleaſed to reflect, my Love, how af⯑fectionately ſolicitous (if I may venture to ſay ſo) your Saviour has been to win you to himſelf. He has left you, by Turns, to the Confidence, of a Variety of the moſt promiſing Eſtabliſhments. As firſt, in the Succeſs of your own Talents, when they acquired you as much, weekly, as might ſubſiſt you, for a Year. Again, when you had all the Right, that Man could have, to rely on the Honour, and even the Intereſts of the Government, for whom you were ſo proſperouſly and profit⯑ably engaged. And again, in the Ren⯑counter and Preſervation of your Father, on whom Nature, and your own Merits had, further, given you an indefeiſible Title, and Foundation for Dependence. But, you may remember, my Hammy, that your God caught all theſe, and all other the like Pillars, as ſuddenly from under you, as though they had been in⯑ſtantly [66]changed to a Void. And yet, you did not appear, at thoſe Times, to diſcern, that it was no other than your heavenly Father, and your heavenly Friend, who contrived, by ſuch Croſſes, to wean you from Impotence; and to woo and to win you, from your Courtſhip of a Cloud, to an Affiance with eſſential and infinite Beauty.

I am your loving, and humble Wife, my Huſband. And this is your dear and promiſing Infant. But, what are we fur⯑ther to you? You neither made us, nor can you preſerve us; nor are you obliged to provide for us, beyond your weak and finite Endeavours. Commit us then to him, in whom we have our Exiſtence; and know that, ſhould he permit this In⯑nocent to ſuffer, and my Confidence in his Mercy to fail of Support; the Retribution is inſtantly, and infinitely in his Hands, and his Exceſs will even conſiſt in the Overflowings of his Goodneſs.

I love you, my Hammy, too much; too intenſely, for my own Peace here; I will ſay nothing of my Intereſts in an eternal hereafter. And yet, my Darling, were it put to my Choice, I would rather famiſh, with you from Hour to Hour, and Day to Day; provided you periſhed content and reſigned, and in a bleſſed Conformity [67]to the Will of your Creator; than to en⯑joy, in Conjunction with you, for a Mil⯑lion of Ages, all that this World can be⯑ſtow, till its Diſſolution.

Here ended my Arabella, but the Sweetneſs of her Voice continued to vi⯑brate in my Ear; like the Tone of a fine tuned Harp, when the Finger has ceaſed to touch the ſounding Strings.

She had, opportunely, laid hold of the Seaſon for making the Impreſſion ſhe de⯑ſired; as my Mind was ſtill affected and ſoftened by the late Adventure. I did not indeed, yet, behold the World or its Au⯑thor in the Light, by which they are re⯑preſented, in the Chriſtian Syſtem, but, even in the Eye of Philoſophy, all that my Wife had ſaid appeared reaſonable, and right, and conformable to the Nature of a Being infinitely powerful, benevolent, and wiſe. Here was a PRINCIPLE, without whoſe continued Will and Opera⯑tion, no one Thing, in the Univerſe, could either begin, or continue to exiſt; and as all Things in that Univerſe, muſt of neceſſity depend upon him, he had of neceſſity an equal Claim to their Confidence in him. I reflected, indeed, that he had hitherto permitted much, of Evil, to in⯑termingle with the Beauties, both of ma⯑terial and moral Nature; but this I held [68]to be well accounted for, if we conſidered him as a Being who choſe to Work by Progreſſion; as firſt, by producing a Chaos out of Nothing; and again, by pro⯑ducing the preſent Syſtem out of Chaos; and laſtly, by preparing the preſent Syſ⯑tem for a final State of unchangeable and conſummate Perfection. I, therefore held it incumbent to bear the Bruiſings of Mortality, with Content and Thankful⯑neſs; as a Matter previouſly neceſſary to our future Sublimation. Even, as the coarſe Earth of China, muſt be cruſhed, and pounded to Powder, before it can ob⯑tain that Purity and Conſiſtence, which renders it capable of the final Poliſh and Beauty.

I am apt, Sir, to think, that there are very few Men, who do not, at different Times, behold the World, and its Crea⯑tor, in very different Lights; according to the different Events, with which they are affected; or according to the different Tempers, which a Change of Conſtitution will, frequently, produce. If a Man is in Health, and finds Succeſſes coming upon him from ſeveral Quarters; all is Summer, all is Sunſhine, he ſees nothing but a de⯑lightful World, and a wiſe and benevolent Diſpoſer thereof. He feels no Want, he perceives nothing amiſs; and therefore [69]thinks that all is full, and that all is right. In the very next Hour, let the very ſame Man be but croſſed in his Fortunes, or diſtempered in his Blood; and his Uni⯑verſe ſhall be covered with a ſudden Gloom; the World, which he now be⯑holds, ſhall be crouded with Objects of Wretchedneſs; divine Providence ſhall ap⯑pear to him, as a daemoniac Diſpenſation of all kinds of Evil. And, though he may not dare to ſay, he will ſecretly think, that, if he had the Formation and order⯑ing of Nature, he would, never have had the Malevolence to fill it with Tempeſts, Earth-quakes, Inclemencies; Plagues, Peſ⯑tilences, Famines; Tumults, Wars, De⯑vaſtations; Strifes, Violences, Murders; Griefs, Loſſes, Calamities; Rage, Vexati⯑ons, Diſappointments; Pains, Diſeaſes, and Deaths.

Again Sir, I am apt to think, that there are very few Men, who do not depend upon this World for Happineſs; as our firſt Parents depended on a Tree, a mere Piece of vegetable Wood, for the Con⯑ferring of Wiſdom and Divinity upon them. They will tell you, indeed, that human Life is ſhort; that even that ſhort Term is hourly determinable, by a thou⯑ſand trifling Accidents; that it is ſubject to a Number of unavoidable Calamities; that all its Joys are tranſient, and ever [70]followed by a weighty reverſe of Pain; and that, even, its beſt Poſſeſſions are at⯑tended by Cares that overbalance their Va⯑lue. They ſay true, but, to what Pur⯑poſe? They regret that Things are ſo, without learning to prize them the leſs; and they repine at the Miſeries that are in⯑cident to Mortality, as it were, at a Diſ⯑temper for which, however, they never think of providing a Remedy. They tell you, that the World is a broken Staff, yet they ſtill lean upon it; they curſe it, and, yet, cling to it as to their only Bleſ⯑ſing. And thus, Sir, it is moſt likely, that, from the Beginning of Things, to their final Diſſolution, each Man will be ſeeking, on Earth, for a Happineſs, to which no other Perſon could ever attain. It is a Happineſs for which the immortal Soul is athirſt, and, though ſhe finds the whole World no better than an empty Veſſel, ſhe is never tired of her Trials and endeavours to drink.

This however was not, altogether, the Caſe between the World and me, at this Period. I had been ſo bruiſed and buffeted and treated with ſuch Severity, and Bitter⯑neſs, by it; that I neither looked nor wiſhed for any Advantage from it. I, therefore, caſt about for ſome kinder Sup⯑port; and I ſaid, to myſelf, as the beſt Lover of earthly Happineſs may ſay with [71]great Truth; if there is not another State, to which this Syſtem of Things is merely preparatory; if there is not ſome infinite Good to be derived from this World of multiplied Evils; the Author thereof muſt have been ſome very malevolent or very petulent Being, who delights in the Miſery and Anguiſh of others; or makes Sport of the Wretchedneſs of the Creatures of his Power. Neither can Angels or Men, In⯑vention or Reaſon, any otherwiſe account for the preſent calamitous State of mortal Nature.

In theſe Sentiments, I eagerly applyed, for further Inſtruction, to thoſe Writings that had brought Life and Immortality to Light. I began at the Creation, and pro⯑ceeded with the deepeſt Attention and Delight. Again, another Syſtem of Mat⯑ter and Morals, another World and ano⯑ther God preſented themſelves before me. But I ſhall not, here, detain you with an Account of my new Faith, as I may juſtly call it. For, though I always had held myſelf, vulgarly ſpeaking, a Chriſtian; I found, on Examination, that I had been wholly a Stranger to the Neceſſity; as well as Beauty, of the Chriſtian Diſpenſation; neither had I felt a ſingle Ray of its com⯑forting Influence.

[72] My Wife began now to recover of her Rhumatiſm, and hoped ſoon, again, to be able to take in Work. I determined however to be beforehand with her, if poſſible; for, at this Time, I regarded not how mean or humiliating my Occupa⯑tion would be, provided I might earn any kind of lawful and honeſt Bread.

Accordingly, as I rambled in Search of ſuch Employment, I obſerved a Porter, attending before the Door of a Tavern, clad in an ordinary Frock, with a Belt about his Waſte, and an Apron before him. I thereupon went to Monmouth Street, and purchaſed a Uniform for the like Purpoſe. I then paſſed through ſeve⯑ral Streets, till I came to a ſplendid Ta⯑vern, where no Porter was in Waiting. I ſtepped over the Way, where I depo⯑ſited my former Coat with a poor Huck⯑ſter-Woman, to whom I promiſed ſome ſmall Matter for the Trouble I gave her. I then dreſſed in my porterly Robes, and, applying to the chief Drawer, I promiſed him Part of my Earnings, provided he put me into ſpeedy Employment.

I had not ſtayed long, till I was diſ⯑patched to a conſiderable Diſtance with a Letter. I was afterwards ſent on a Varie⯑ty of Errands and Meſſages; and, by the [73]Cloſe of the Day, I had accumulated three Shillings; ſix Pence whereof I gave to the Drawer. I then ſtep'd, in high Triumph to my Friend, the Huckſter Woman. I gave her two Pence; reaſſumed my for⯑mer Garb; and left my Weeds in her Cuſtody. I returned Home, with a Satiſ⯑faction, to which I had been a Stranger of a long Time; and I, that Night, eat heartily, talked chearfully, and ſlept in Peace.

I continued this Occupation, during five ſucceſſive Days, in one of which I earned to the Amount of five Shillings.

It is ſure that, laying perſonal Pain and the ſocial Feelings apart, human Happi⯑neſs does not, in any Way, depend on the Degrees of Station or Fortune, or on any ex⯑ternal Circumſtance whatever. It is mere⯑ly domeſtic; it is wholly imboſomed, and cannot live from Home. I was, now, en⯑gaged in one of the loweſt and leaſt lucra⯑tive Employments of Life; but a DIVINE FRIEND was at Hand, of whoſe Favour I was confident, I was content, I was chearful; and I felt a Peace within that paſſed all the underſtanding I ſhould, other⯑wiſe, have had of Happineſs, though I had been in Poſſeſſion of the Crown-Revenues.

[74] Late on the fifth Night of my new Oc⯑cupation, as I was on my Return, and within a few Doors of my Lodging, I was ſeized and aſſaulted by four Men, who were Porters, as I found by the Sequel. I ſtruggled the beſt I could, and got one of them under me; but the Reſt fell upon me, and cuffed, kicked, and bruiſed me, in a miſerable manner. Oy, they cried, you are a Gentleman, and be damned, and yet, Thief as you are, you muſt ſteal into our Buſineſs, and glean away the few Pence, by which we get our daily Bread; but we'll cure you for carrying of Bur⯑thens, we warrant you!

They would undoubtedly have murder⯑ed me, had I not feigned myſelf already dead; but, obſerving that I lay without any Signs of Life, they made off in Haſte.

I roſe as well as I was able, and, hold⯑ing by the Rails and Wall, got with Diffi⯑culty Home, where, crawling up Stairs, my Wife helped to undreſs me, and I went to Bed.

She then ſent for our old Phyſician, who ordered me ſome Potions, with out⯑ward Fomentations to aſſuage the Contuſi⯑ons. I was however ſeized, that Night, with a violent Fever, which continued up⯑ward [75]of three Weeks, but without any Delirium; and, within another Week, I was able to ſit up, though ſtill very weak and greatly ematiated.

Our laſt five Guineas, with the Fruits of my late Employment, were now nearly expended on Doctor, Drugs, and ſo forth. Wherefore, I found it neceſſary to abridge our domeſtic Charge as cloſe as poſſible; and, having ſent our Girl with a Token for my Porter's Habiliments, I gave them to her in Lieu of what remained of her Wages, and, with the Help of an additio⯑nal Shilling, diſcharged her.

I was now able to bear the Light, and the Windows were Half opened; but, how was I ſhocked, on obſerving that my Ara⯑bella, and my little Tommy, were as pale and as much fallen away as myſelf. For, Arabella had Half ſtarved her Infant, and almoſt wholly ſtarved herſelf, in order to ſave ſufficient for my Suſtenance during my Illneſs; Yet, ſhe bore up with a ſweet and ſmiling Semblance; and, in her alone, was realized all, that ever I have ſeen, of the boaſted Patience of Stoiciſm, or, of the Power of Chriſtianity in effecting a new Nature.

Within a little Time, I was once more able to walk about the Room; when, on [76]the Day preceding that wherein our Quar⯑ter's Rent was to become due; Mrs. Jennett enter'd with a Face wherein was prefaced, whatever Inſolence, Hardneſs of Heart, or Contempt of our wretched Situ⯑ation could dictate. Mr. Clement, ſays ſhe, if ſo be your Name be Clement, I ſup⯑poſe I am not to tell you that To-morrow is Quarter Day. And yet, if ſome People, Mr. Clement, can't afford to eat, I can't ſee how they can afford to pay Rent, Mr. Clement; and ſo, you know, 'tis ev'ry bit as comfortable to ſtarve in Jail, as in Lodgings. But this is nothing to the Purpoſe. I am, myſelf, but a poor Wo⯑man, and no better than richer Folks. Yet poor as I am, Compariſons may be odious between ſome People and ſome People, and, then, I don't come for Cha⯑rity; I come for nothing but my own, and that, you know, is the leaſt that will ſatisfy any Body. If you had any one elſe to befriend you, but myſelf, you might a' been put upon the Pariſh before this. But, as I was ſaying, I can't be an only Friend and all Friends at once. And I muſt tell you that I hate Objects; for, I have ſo much Pity in my Nature, that it pains me to look at 'em; and, above all, I can't abide 'em in my own Houſe. And ſo, as I told you, Mr. Conſtable will be here in the Morning; and he will ſhew you to Lodgings that will fit you much [77]better, and ſo Mr. Clement and Mrs. Cle⯑ment, if ſo be that your Names be Clement, I wiſh ye both a mighty good Morning. And ſo away ſhe went, without waiting an Anſwer.

As ſoon as ſhe was gone; Hammy ſays Arabella, our kind Landlady puts me in Mind of the Wife of honeſt Socrates, whom he took for the Trial and Exerciſe of his Patience. Ah, how cringing was this Woman! how inſolent is Servility when it attains any Power! But what, I wonder, is become of our Friends the Miſs Hodginſes? I would have ſent to in⯑quire after them; but I was petted at their Neglect of us, during our long Illneſs. I will ſtep there this Minute, and borrow as much, at leaſt, as will ſnatch my Hammy from the Fangs of this Fury.

So ſaying, weak as ſhe was, ſhe dreſſed herſelf with a chearful Air, and going, pleaſantly repeated, your Servant, Mr. Clement, if ſo be that your Name be Cle⯑ment, I wiſh you a mighty good Morning.

She was not long abroad, and, on her Return, I obſerved a kind of heavenly Radiance that ſeemed to beam through her Countenance, from whence I prophe⯑cied all Manner of happy Succeſs. But, continuing ſilent for ſome Time, and look⯑ing [78]eagerly at me, ſhe ſuddenly threw her⯑ſelf into my Boſom, and burſt into Tears.

Ah Hammy, ſhe cried; I had Hopes I was very ſtout; but frail Nature, in ſpight of Grace, confeſſes me a Coward. I thought I could have ſeen you periſh, with Pati⯑ence, with Delight, provided I ſaw a hap⯑py Immortality before you. But, now that your Sufferings are at Hand, I find them inſupportable. I tremble alſo for your Faith, leſt it ſhould not ſupport you under the impending Trial. Yes, Hammy, all is over. All is finiſhed, my Love, and the Hand of our God is in it. Our dear Miſs Hodginſes, were not to blame; the Eldeſt died ſuddenly, ſince we ſaw them; and the Youngeſt is with a diſtant Relati⯑on in the Country▪ We have Nothing, further to hope, neither to fear from this World. Our God has ſhut us out by every Door; and will neither permit the Friendſhip, the Humanity, or Charity of others, neither our own Induſtry or Inge⯑nuity to yield us a Morſel of Bread; to convince us that we are his; and that all Things are his; that when he openeth his Hand, there is Plenty on every Side, but, when he pleaſeth to ſhut, there is no Re⯑ſource. What ſay you then, my Huſ⯑band? Are you willing to run this laſt ſhort Courſe? The Prize is glorious, un⯑ſpeakable, [79]and lies within a very few Paces of your Graſp. You muſt run it, my Huſband, and your Repugnance would but ſerve to make it inſufferable. But Pati⯑ence and Courage would give you Strength to endure; and, a little further Conformi⯑ty to the Will of our Diſpoſer, would turn all the Bitterneſs into Delight. Our Time is done, our Taſk is finiſh'd; we are al⯑ready brought to Nothing, that our all may be in God.

Yes, I anſwered, it is evident from a Chain of ſucceſſive Proofs. I ſee the Hand of God in all that concerns us; and I am pleaſed with any Inſtances of his Notice and Attention, whatever his final Purpoſe may be. I will no longer ſtruggle with his Omnipotence; nor make my Ignorance a ſounding-Line for his unbottomed Wiſ⯑dom. If, to ſee you and our little Inno⯑cent thus famiſhing by the Hour; if, in contemplating your Wants and imagining your Pains, I feel an Anguiſh, above what Death can give. Why, let it be; rend Heart into a thouſand Pieces! A Period muſt at length be put to our Sufferings; and all, beyond, ſhall be Peace, or what God pleaſes. But, do you Arabella, do you lead the Way, my Patroneſs, my Di⯑rector! I will endeavour to keep the Brightneſs of your Example in View; that, neither here, nor hereafter, I may loſe [80]Sight of her, without whom, here or hereafter, I think I cannot be happy.

About Nine, the next Morning, our Landlady entered, followed by two Con⯑ſtables and two Appraiſers. Thus autho⯑rized, as ſhe imagined, the firſt Thing ſhe did was to ſearch our Pockets for Mo⯑ney, but, without Effect; as we had ex⯑pended our laſt Penny, the Day before, for Bread. She, however, found my Wife's Caſe of Sciſſars and other Imple⯑ments for her Buſineſs; and, gathering up our Boxes, Linen, Handkerchiefs, and a Variety of Articles, which we never had a Notion of converting into Money, ſhe laid them all before the Appraiſers, who, on frequent Conſultation, valued the ſame to four Pounds nine Shillings, my Wife's Gown included, being nine and thirty Shillings more than we owed. But this our honeſt Landlady, very prudently ob⯑ſerved was ſcarce ſufficient for Coſts, and other Damages, which ſhe had ſuffered or might have ſuffered, or might yet ſuffer on our Accounts.

Thus, we were turned out, almoſt na⯑ked, to the Mercy of the Elements; O, how deeply degraded below the Birds of the Air, the Beaſts of the Foreſt, or even the Worms of the Sod, who rightfully claim Suſtenance from the Earth whereof [81]they were bred; and have ſome Hole apart, whereto they may creep for Shelter.

The World indeed lay before us. It was wide and all ſufficient; and yet, no⯑thing to our Purpoſe. We had neither Act or Part, Conern or Intereſt therein. It was to us, as a Harbour to Tempeſt-beaten Mariners, who are ſhut out and driven thence, on Suſpicion of the Plague.

All hopeleſs, weak, and faint, we took our Way, we knew not whither; without Home wherto we might travel, or Point whereto we might ſteer. We could think of no one living, who would receive or acknowledge us; and we ſeemed to have no Way, ſave that of haſtening, as faſt as we could, from the Preſence of Mankind.

Slow and tottering, as we went, my Wife and I carried our little Tommy, by Turns, and, in the ſmoother Places, he walked with the Help of our Hands. Thus, with much Toil and Fatigue, we got out of London, and repoſed ourſelves on a Bank that lay a little off the Cauſe⯑way. Here, we found ourſelves greatly diſtreſſed with Thirſt, and, getting up a⯑gain, we made toward a ſmall Hut that ſtood beſide the Road, where they had the Charity to treat us with a Draught of cold Water. With this we were wonderfully [82]refreſhed and recruited; and, putting on again, Hammy, ſays my Arabella, no Con⯑queror, on his triumphal Entry into Rome, ever exulted as I do in your Fortitude, this Day. And, what ſignifies it, now, that it comes to the Teſt? It is but to travel, my Love, till we can travel no further; and then, we drop, fit and ready, and ripe for Eternity. O, how ſweet it is to periſh with a Patience that is pleaſed; how fearful, how horrible, to die ſtruggling and kicking againſt the Almighty.

As we went gently along, ſtill mutually ſupporting and exhorting Each-other; I applyed for Alms, from Time to Time, to a Number of Paſſengers; but, my Voice and Addreſs were ſo feebly impor⯑tunate, or their Attention was ſo engaged on diſtant and different Matters, that my Oratory returned as empty as it ſet out.

At length I met a poor Beggarman, with a Wife and ſeven Children following in a Train. I looked at him wiſtfully, and having civily ſaluted him, I entreated ſome little Matter, from his Bag or his Can, to keep my Infant from periſhing on the Highway. God's Mercy, Maſter! ſays the charitable Mendicant, I am very ſorry to ſee any Body poorer than myſelf; but, the Truth is that I have travelled a [83]great Way, and have eat and drunk all, with a Pox, except this laſt two Pence Half-penny; here it is, Maſter, God's Bleſſing go along with it, I grieve, and ſhall grieve, that it is not two Pounds for your Sake.

In Expectation of the Refreſhment we ſhould derive from this Supply, we kept on at a creeping Pace, till we came to a little Ale Houſe, that ſtands about Half a Mile from this Town. There we enter⯑ed, and called for a Penny worth of Bread and a Pint of Drink, with ſome Milk for the Child. While we ſat to repoſe our⯑ſelves, the poor Man of the Houſe, hav⯑ing eyed me with a kind of earneſt Com⯑paſſion, you look, ſaid he, to be in much Trouble; but, if your Trouble is of a kind that may be cured, there is one Mr. Fenton at Hand, whom God has placed in this Country, as the Sun in Heaven, to give Comfort to all within his Reach.

My Heart revived within me, at theſe Tidings, and was further prophetic of ſome happy Revolution. Having finiſhed our Pint, and laid up the Remainder of our Bread in Store, we diſcharged our Reckoning, and ſet out on our laſt Stage.

The Proſpect of ſpeedy Relief, and the Poſſibility that it might not arrive too late, [84]gave us Spirits beyond our Powers, and we puſhed on till we came nearly oppoſite to this Houſe, though we did not then know to whom it belonged. Here, ſlack⯑ening our Pace, we found ourſelves grow⯑ing extremely ſick; whether it was, that we were overpowered, by the late Nou⯑riſhment we had taken, or by a Toil and Fatigue that ſurpaſſed our Abilities.

Hammy, ſaid my Arabella, God be praiſ⯑ed! it is done, it is finiſhed. I die, my Hammy, but I would not die within the Gaze of public Paſſengers. Help me into the Field, if you are able, my Love. I have no further Uſe for Charity, now, ſave that of laying my Limbs, with De⯑cency, in the Ground.

She ſpoke, nor had I the Power to an⯑ſwer. But, overcome as I was by Sick⯑neſs and Anguiſh, I exerted myſelf to help her through the Turnſtile; and ſitting down on the Sod, I laid her Head in my Lap, where ſhe fainted away. And there we remained in the Situation, in which your Charity found us.

Your Story of Clement, my Friend, is truely intereſting, and in ſome Paſſages may be edifying alſo. I have on⯑ly to obſerve that it is too long for an [85]Epiſode, and that the Character of your Heroine Milliner is conſtrain'd and unna⯑tural; it is elevated above the Fortitude and Virtues of Man himſelf, but quite out of the Sight and Soaring of any of her weak and ſilly Sex. Had ſhe been a Prin⯑ceſs, and Empreſs, ſhe could not have fi⯑gured, in your Hiſtory, with greater Dig⯑nity.

There lay my Error, Sir, un⯑happily, I did not reflect that Royalty or Station were neceſſary to Chriſtian Reſig⯑nation and Lowlineſs of Temper.

Your Drollery is more provoking than argumentative, I muſt tell you, Sir. I was not ſpeaking of the Lowlineſs, but of the Fortitude of your Arabella; indeed it exceeds every Thing that I have met in Romance. Such an Exaltation of female Character is of evil Influence among the Sex; each Woman will be apt to arrogate ſome of the Merit to herſelf; their Vanity will be inflated, and they will riſe, on the Stilts of Arabella, to a preſumptuous Level with their natural Lords and Maſters. Women, unqueſtionably, have their be⯑coming Qualities; in the Bedchamber, Kitchen, and Nurſery, they are uſeful to Man; but, beyond theſe, my Friend, they are quite out of the Element of Nature and Common-Senſe.

I have ſadly miſtaken this whole Affair, it ſeems, I actually apprehended that Woman might be admitted as a Companion to Man, and was intended, occaſionally, to ſoften his Temper and poliſh his Manners. They have, at Times, formed Governors, Legiſlators, and Heroes. The great Pericles derived all the Powers of his Oratory, and the Elegance of his Taſte from the Example and In⯑ſtructions of the lovely Aſpaſia; and the Grachi alſo caught the Spirit of their Elo⯑quence, and the Fire of their Patriotiſm, from their Mother Cornelia.

Pſhaw, the Women you have men⯑tioned were but as ſingle Luminaries, per⯑haps One in many Centuries, who ſhot away and ſhone out of their appointed Spheres.

Mayhap, I can produce ſtill better Authority to prove to you, my Friend, that Woman was not merely intended to form and inſtruct us, to ſoften and poliſh the Rudeneſs of our Maſs; ſhe was alſo appointed to native Empire and Dominion over Man.

By all Means, my dear Sir, I am quite impatient to be inſtructed in the [87]Policies and Conſtitution of this your pet⯑ticoat Government.

Whenever you ſhall be pleaſed to turn over to the third Chapter of the firſt Book of the Prophet Eſdras, you will, there find it written to the following Pur⯑poſe.

In the Reign of Darius Hyſtaſpes, Suc⯑ceſſor to the Grand Cyrus, (whom you may have read of in Romance) Darius made a great Feaſt to all his Princes and Nobles, chief Captains, and Governors of his hun⯑dred and twenty ſeven Provinces.

And, at the Feaſt, three young and princely Geniuſes aroſe, and offered to diſ⯑pute for Pre-eminence before the great Aſſembly. And the Queſtion turned on, what was STRONGEST? and the firſt ſaid WINE is ſtrongeſt, and the ſecond ſaid the KING is ſtrongeſt, and the third ſaid WOMAN is ſtrongeſt. And then, the Advocate for the Bottle thus began.

O ye Princes! bear me Teſtimony, that Wine gives and takes away according to its Mightineſs. It takes away the Strength and Capacities of Nature, and gives Powers, Virtues and Talents of its own Acquiring.

[88] It trips up the Wreſtler, and lays a Gi⯑ant low; and bears the Feeble and the Fearful into the Midſt of the Battle.

Wine is an Opener of Hearts and a Re⯑vealer of Secrets. It raiſes Hope into Cer⯑tainty, and gives Jollity and Enjoyment in exchange for Care.

It unfolds the Purſe of the Uſurer, and enriches the needy; and frees the Priſoner from his Chain, and the Debtor from his Obligation.

It levels the Rich and the Poor, the High and the Low, the King and the Clown to one Temper and Condition. It can ſet Companions, Friends, and Bro⯑thers at Variance; and cauſe Rivals, Com⯑petitors, and Enemies to embrace.

Wine enlarges the narrow Heart, and thaws the frozen Underſtanding; it inſtructs the Ignorant in Arts, and to the Silent and Illiterate gives Phraſe and Elocution.

It can elevate the Peaſant from a Cot⯑tage to a Throne; for he who is drunk is as great as an Emperor.

[89] O ye Princes! what in Nature can be ſtronger than that, by which all the Pow⯑ers of Nature are inverted or ſurpaſſed?

And having ſo ſpoken, he held his Peace.

Then aroſe the Advocate for Kingly Dominion, and, waving his Hand, thus addreſſed the Aſſembly.

O Princes! how ſhort and ſickly is the Influence of Wine, it paſſes away as a Va⯑pour at the Dawning; we recollect it with Diſguſt, or remember nothing thereof. But all Power, that is ſtable or durable, ſubſiſts in Majeſty.

The King is but one Man among a hundred and twenty ſeven Nations of Men; yet he overſeeth, connects, and governs the Whole. His are the Ho⯑nours, Counſels, and Strength of all his People.

The Sun, who from on high looketh down on the wide World, beholdeth not at once the Extent of our King's Do⯑minion. He muſt travel for the Proſpect through the blue Expanſe of Heaven, and leave the weſtern Nations involved in [90]Night, when his Beam begins to riſe on their Fellow-Subjects in the Orient.

For the King they plow and they ſow, they reap and plant Vineyards. For him the Stars ſhine and ſhed Influences upon Earth, and the Seaſons change to yield our Monarch Variety of Productions. For him the Fruits ripen, the Shrubs drop their Balm, and the Bloſſoms breathe their Odours; all Winds blow Incenſe to him, and the four Quarters of the World pay him Tribute Day by Day.

If he bids to build they build; and if he bids to lay waſte the Nations are made deſolate. Bliſs and Bane, Life and Death, Ruin and Reſtoration are in the Breath of his Lips.

If he cries, War! it is War; the Ban⯑ners of Blood are let looſe to the Wind, and the Sound of the Clarion kindles all Men to Battle. His Hoſts cloath them⯑ſelves in Harneſs, and range in terrible Array; and his Horſes begin to neigh and tear up the Ground, and his Chariots to roll as diſtant Thunders. They move and cover the Earth wide as the Eye can reach. The Foreſts are laid flat, the Mountains ſhake beneath them, and neither the Rocks nor Rivers impede the March of his Ar⯑mies. They trample into Duſt the Fruits [91]of the Field, and the Labours of the In⯑duſtrious; Houſes, Vineyards, and ſtand⯑ing-Corn, the Villages, and Towns ſmoke and flame on every Side.

Yet none aſk the King, wherefore is Peace, or wherefore is War? For he ſtands exalted on Ruin, and is glorified in Deſtruction; his Word is the Bolt of irre⯑ſiſtable Power, and his Will makes the Appointment and Sanctitude of Law.

And having ſo ſaid, he ſat down amid the Applauſes of the whole Aſſembly.

Laſtly, ſlow and baſhful, aroſe the young Advocate for the FAIR, and bow⯑ing thrice around, let his Words go forth as the breathing of ſoft Muſic.

Great, O Princes! great is the Strength of WINE, and much greater the Strength and Glory of MAJESTY. But yet there is a POWER, that tempers and moderates, to which Rulers themſelves pay delightful Obedience.

Man is as the rough and crude Element of Earth, unmollified by the Fluidity of Water and Light. Heaven therefore ſent WOMAN, gentle, bright and beauteous Woman, to ſooth, form and illumine the Rudeneſs of his Maſs.

[92] She comes upon Man, in the Meekneſs of Water, and in the Brightneſs of the Morning-Beam; ſhe imperceptibly infuſes Love and Delight into him, and bids his Affections go forth upon Kindred and Country.

The Planter who planted the Vine⯑yard, and the Vintner who preſſed the Grape were born of Woman; and by Woman alone, the Subject and the Sove⯑reign receive Exiſtence, with all that can make Exiſtence advantageous or deſirable.

She brings Man forth in his Weakneſs, and ſhe brings him up to his Strength; he is foſtered in her Boſom, he is nou⯑riſhed with her Subſtance, and he imbibes into his Being the Sweetneſs of Humanity with the Milk of his Mother.

Without Woman, where would be Fa⯑ther or where would be Child? where the Relations, Endearments and Connections of Kindred, the Charities that bind the wide World together into one incluſive Family, the great BROTHERHOOD OF MAN?

She comes not againſt you, in the Hoſ⯑tility of Weapons, or Fearfulneſs of Power. She comes in the Comfort and mild Light of Beauty; ſhe looks abaſhed and takes [93]you Captive; ſhe trembles and you obey. Yet her's is the ſureſt of all Signories on Earth; for her Dominion is ſweet, and our Subjection is voluntary, and a Free⯑dom from her Yoke is what no Man could bear.

There are no Forms of human Govern⯑ment that can exempt us from her Sway, no Syſtem of Laws that can exclude her Authority. Do we not ſtudy, toil, and ſweat, and go forth in the Darkneſs, and put our Face to every Danger, to win and bring home Treaſure and Ornaments to our Love? even the Robbers and ſavage Spoilers of Mankind grow tame to the civilizing Prerogative of Beauty.

If Men ſeek Peace, it is to live in kind⯑ly Society with Woman; and if they ſeek War, it is to pleaſe her with the Report and Renown of their Valour.

Even the Higheſt, the Mightieſt, the Lord of Lords and King of Kings is caught in the faſcinating Net of his Apame. I ſaw her ſeated by his Side; ſhe took the Crown from his Head, and gave it new Luſtre by the Beauty of her Brow and the Brightneſs of her Treſſes. I ſaw her chide him in her Playfulneſs, and ſtrike him in her Petulance; yet he preſſed the Hand of her pleaſing Preſumption to his [94]Lips; he gazed fondly and fixedly on her; if ſhe laughed he laughed alſo, but if ſhe affected Diſpleaſure, he ſpoke and looked Submiſſion; and was fain to plead and ſue for Reconcilement.

Here ended the blooming Orator. The Monarch roſe from his Throne and gave loud Applauſe, and the Roofs reſounded with the Shouts and Acclamations of the Aſſembly.

Wherefore it was decreed, by the Laws of the Medes and Perſians, that female Beauty ought to govern the World in Meekneſs, and that Men owed thereunto a voluntary Obedience.

Pray, my good Sir, this ſame Eſdras, is it among the Canonical Books?

I can't affirm that it is. But, it is held as authentic, and very ſacred, I aſ⯑ſure you.

It is a pity that your Syſtem of fe⯑male Government ſhould be apocryphal. But, ſince you have not proved their Do⯑minion to be jure divino; permit me to re⯑tain my Faith, and to go on with my Story.

CHAP. IX.

MR. CLEMENT, ſaid Mr. Fenton, I am ſingularly obliged and inſtruct⯑ed by your Story. The Incidents of your Life have been very extraordinary, and have been evidently accompanied by the Controul and Attention of a peculiar Pro⯑vidence. The ſame Providence is, un⯑doubtedly, with, and over all his Works; though we are not willing to admit him in, what we call, common Occurrences, and which, we think, we can account for, without his Interpoſition. But, in the Paſſages of your Story, we ſee Omnipo⯑tence walking along with you, Step for Step; by ſudden Succeſſes, by Calamities as ſudden, compelling you to attend to Him; wrenching every other Prop and Support from your Dependence, ſhutting every other Proſpect and Reſource from your Sight; and, never forſaking you, in Weal or in Woe, till he had fully convin⯑ced you of his Fellowſhip and Regard, and had reconciled you to the bittereſt of the Diſpenſations of your Creator.

Your Story, my dear Friend, has been, generally, converſant in middle, or low Life; and I obſerve that there is ſcarce a Circumſtance, in it, which might not [96]have happened to any Body, on any Day of the Year. And yet, in the Whole, I find a Chain of more ſurprizing and af⯑fecting Events, than I have met with, in Hiſtory, or even in Romance.

God, I ſee, has made uſe of very ſevere Methods, to call you, and as I may ſay, to compel you to come in. But, do you think, Mr. Clement, that any Methods, leſs ſevere, would have been equally ef⯑fectual? You muſt admit they would not. And, this demonſtrates to me the Difficul⯑ty, and almoſt the Impoſſibility, of divert⯑ing any Man from that Habit of thinking and acting, which he contracts from the People with whom he is daily converſant. In a World of Saints, a Sinner muſt be a Devil; but, in a World of Sinners, the Man, who has Grace to deviate, muſt be a Saint indeed.

Had I been in your Situation, on the Day in which you ſay my Charity relieved you; I ſhould have thought myſelf very little beholden to that Perſon, who would have plucked me back from my opening Paradiſe, into a World of whoſe Woes I had been ſo juſtly weary. No, no, my Friend, I did you and your Arabella the worſt Office, as I think, that ye will ever receive. It was not to you that God in⯑tended [97]any Benefit, by reſtoring you to Life; it was to thoſe, and I hope they are many in Number; who are to have the Advantage of your Example and Inſtructi⯑ons. It is an Advantage of which I, alſo, propoſe to avail myſelf; and I requeſt you, in Behalf of my little Harry in particular, to accept your firſt Retainer from our Hands.

So ſaying, Mr. Fenton careleſsly ſlid a Purſe of a hundred Guineas into Clements's Coat Pocket, and, haſtily calling to know if Supper was ready, left the Room with⯑out Ceremony.

In about an Hour the Cloth was laid, and Mr. Fenton ordered his Family to be called together. He had ſeldom ſeen Ara⯑bella, and never had noticed her, for fear of adding to that Confuſion with which he ſaw her oppreſſed at their firſt Meeting. But now his Senſes were all open and alive for Obſervation, and, on her Entrance, he ſaluted her, as he would have received and ſaluted a deſcending Seraph.

She had not yet recovered her Fleſh or her Complexion; and Mr. Fenton, for ſome Time looked at her, in vain, to diſcover thoſe ſtriking and irreſiſtable Beauties, to which Luſt had fallen a Victim, by which Friendſhip had been ſeduced, and to [98]which a whole People had borne joint Teſ⯑timony, by a Voucher of public Proſtrati⯑on and Applauſe. But, of all that Mr. Fenton had previouſly thought neceſſary for producing ſuch extraordinary and aſto⯑niſhing Effects; he ſaw nothing but a Sentiment of Lowlineſs, throughout; a ſomething, in Face, in Voice, and in Mo⯑tion, that was lovely, for no other Reaſon, that He could find, but for its being quite impoſſible that it ſhould not be beloved.

When they had ſat down to Table, and eat, and chatted awhile on indifferent Matters; Dada, ſays Harry, ſure Mrs. Cle⯑ment is a greater Scholar than Mr. Vindex; and ſhe taught me a latin Leſſon to Day; and I would rather learn five Leſſons from her than one from him; for ſhe can't look ſo croſs at me as Mr. Vindex, do you think ſhe can, Dada? No, Harry, I think not, ſays Mr. Fenton; if ſhe can find in her Heart to be croſs, ſhe can't find it in her Face, and ſo we ſhall know nothing of the Matter. Well, well, Dada, ſays Harry, for all that, I'm ſure ſhe can't find in her Heart to whip Half ſo hard, and ſo I don't repent of my Bargain. What Bargain, Harry? Why, ſays Harry, you muſt know that ſhe is to be my Tutor, and I am to pay her at the rate of twenty Kiſſes a Day. But, indeed, it is not an honeſt Bargain, as you ſhall hear, poor Mrs. Clement has [99]cheated herſelf moſt ſadly; for every Kiſs I give her, I take Two away; and they are the ſweeteſt Kiſſes you ever got in your Life.

Here poor Arabella was put, ſadly, to the Bluſh, though ſhe could not help join⯑ing in the Laugh of the Company.

Harry, ſays Mr. Fenton, you talk, as feelingly of Kiſſes, as if you had been the Son and Heir of one Secundus, who wrote a very ingenious Treatiſe on the Subject. But, pray Mrs. Clement, do you under⯑ſtand the Languages? Ah, Sir, ſaid Ara⯑bella, again bluſhing, I fear that my young Lover has brought me into a ſad Scrape. I know nothing indeed, Sir, that does not ſerve to put me in mind of my own Igno⯑rance. Ah, what a Boaſt is there, replied Mr. Fenton, the Wiſdom of Solomon, and all ſubſequent Philoſophers fall infinitely ſhort of ſuch an Extent of Knowledge. But, tell me, Hammel, continued Mr. Fenton, does your Arabella underſtand the Latin and Greek Languages? Not that ever I knew of, I do aſſure you, Sir, ſaid Cle⯑ment; and, yet, I thought I had diſcover⯑ed the Limits of her Talents; tho' I de⯑ſpaired of ever reaching the Extent of her Virtues.

[100] Hammy, Hammy, ſaid Arabella, would you baniſh me from a Table, where Con⯑verſation makes the Feaſt, and Mr. Fenton is a Speaker? But, Sir, ſince my Deſire of inſtructing this your little Harry, the deareſt and lovelieſt of all human Crea⯑tures, has brought me to the Shame of betraying a fooliſh Smattering in ſuch Mat⯑ters, I will tell you how it happened.

My dear good Father was a Clergyman, and, as his Living was very ſmall, he de⯑rived his principal Income from Boarding, and Inſtructing the Children of the neigh⯑bouring Gentlemen. As I was his only Child, he loved me to a faulty Exceſs, and hardly ever ſuffered me to be out of his Sight. I uſed therefore to Work at my Sampler, in his School-Room; and, the frequent Repetitions, which the Boys made of their Leſſons, inſenſibly and in⯑voluntarily forced themſelves upon my Memory. I was, by Degrees, infected with the Deſire of knowing ſomething of what engaged the whole Attention of all about me. The Floor and the Windows were, often, ſpread with Books, which I took up and peruſed in private at my Pleaſure. And, at length, I was applied to, by moſt of the Scholars, as well for my Aſſiſtance in framing their Exerciſes, [101]as for my powerful Mediation in ſaving them from the Laſh.

My Error, in thus wandering from the Sphere of my Sex, will appear, as I hope, the more excuſable; when I aſſure you, Sir, that, from the Moment I entered the World with my dear deceaſed Aunt, I ne⯑ver looked into one of thoſe my favourite Authors; though I ſtill retain many of the Paſſages in them. But, above all, I ſhall never forget the Indiſcretion of Homer, in his Character of Hector, the great Enemy of Greece. The Poet appears to make a mighty Parade of the Power, the Valour, and Virtue of his Countrymen. He fur⯑ther gives them the whole Merit and Juſ⯑tice of the Cauſe; and he calls upon Gods and Men, in their Favour, for the Righting and Reformation of Iniquity and Offence. But, does he give you the ſenſible and odious Inſtances of this Iniquity on the Part of the Adverſary? By no Means, as I take it. He ſums up all Troy, and even all Aſia, in the Character and Proweſs of a ſingle Man. On the Part of the Tro⯑jans, on the Side of the Delinquents, you ſee nothing but Hector, you hear of no⯑thing but Hector. And again, what do you hear of him, or what do you ſee of him? Even all that is admirable; all that is amiable; whatever can be, ſeverally, culled and collected, from the Worth and [102]the Sweetneſſes of human-Nature; in his Submiſſions to his King, in his Attach⯑ments to his Country, in his filial Affecti⯑ons, in his conjugal Delicacies, in his pa⯑ternal Fears and Feelings, in his Ardour for his Friends, in his Humanity to his Enemies, and, even in his Piety to the Gods that he worſhipped (no Deduction from his Courage according to ancient Arithmetic) I ſhould be glad, I ſay, to know in what Hiſtory, true or feigned, I might find his Fellow.

How injudiciouſly, then, did this Au⯑thor connect an iniquitous Cauſe with ſo righteous a Perſon; to whom no one liv⯑ing could take Exception; and, with whom no one living could cordially be at Vari⯑ance. In favour therefore of Hector, you wiſh well to the Abettors of the Raviſhers of Helen. And, in Favour of Hector, you are, almoſt, tempted to wiſh ill to thoſe generous Patriots, who, at the Riſque of their Honours, their Fortunes, and their Lives, came to vindicate the undoubted Rights of their Country; and conſequently the Rights of all Mankind. — But — but — Is there no one ſo friendly, here, as to in⯑terrupt me, before all my Folly is let out?

You have no ſuch Friend here, I aſſure you, Madam, ſaid Mr. Fenton.

[103] Well, well, Gentlemen, ſaid Arabella, bluſhing deeper than before, I leave ye to laugh away; and I would ſtay, and laugh with ye with all my Heart, at any Ex⯑pence but that of female Learning, ye know. And ſo ſaying, up ſhe ſtarted, and away ſhe would have flown; but Mr. Fenton got between her and the Door.

Mrs. Clement, Mrs. Clement, ſaid he, would you ſerve us ſo? Do but think, what Sort of a World this would be with⯑out a Woman; and then think what a Figure this Hum-drum Hammy, of yours, and I ſhould make without you. So ſay⯑ing, he took her Hand and replaced her in her Chair. But why, continued he, why all this Bluſhing, my dear Mrs. Cle⯑ment? indeed my Child it is a Compliment that we cannot deſerve.

Ah, Sir, cried Mrs. Clement, it is a Compliment which I would very gladly ſpare, if I could help it. But, I muſt be a very guilty Body to be ſure; and my Faults I find muſt be very much my Ene⯑mies, when they are ready to fly in my Face, every Moment.

Why, Mrs. Clement, ſaid Mr. Fenton, do you hold Bluſhing to be any Evidence of Guilt? Certainly, Sir, ſaid Arabella, it [104]can be nothing but a Conſciouſneſs of ſomewhat amiſs, that ought to give Shame to any ſenſible Perſon. Mr. Serjeant Cle⯑ment, cried Mr. Fenton, pray, what is your Judgment on the Caſe in Hand?

In truth, Sir, ſaid Clement, it is a Caſe to which I am not prepared to plead. I have, indeed, heard many and various Opinions on the Subject, though generally coinciding with that of my Arabella. And, more particularly, in Converſations of ri⯑bald Entendre, I have heard it affirmed, that the Bluſhing of a Woman is a ſure Proof of her underſtanding much more than became her.

Hold there, cried Mr. Fenton, the mere underſtanding of Good or Evil, can no more be a Fault in the Creature than in the Creator, the Eſſence of Guilt bears no Reference to Knowledge, but conſiſts in the Approbation of Evil alone. A Woman therefore, who bluſhes at what ſhe diſap⯑proves, bluſhes not for herſelf, but for the Faults of her rude and ill-mannered Com⯑pany, who have not the Grace to bluſh for themſelves.

When I ſpeak here of Bluſhing; I would not be underſtood, by any Means, to in⯑clude the Fluſhings of Deſire, or the Red⯑denings of Anger, or any ſuch like turbu⯑lent [105]and irregular Emotions. I mean no other than that ready Expreſſion of Shame, which, as our Arabella ſweetly hinted juſt now, ariſes from an Apprehenſion of ſome⯑thing being amiſs in ourſelves, or others. But who or what is it that apprehends, in this Caſe? Is it Guilt that is afraid or aſhamed of Guilt? No ſurely. It is Vir⯑tue, alone, that can fear or be aſhamed of the Neighbourhood of its Adverſary.

I will take an Inſtance from a Perſon, who is actually guilty of ſomething very enormous, and who bluſhes, on his being queſtioned or ſuſpected of the Tranſgreſ⯑ſion. His bluſhing here demonſtrates his Senſibility; and his Senſibility demonſtrates ſome Principle within him, that diſapproved and reproached him for what he had com⯑mitted. And ſo long as this Spark or Principle remains unquenched in the Bo⯑ſom; ſo long as the wicked themſelves can feel Compunction and be aſhamed of wick⯑edneſs; ſo long their Recovery is not to be deſpaired of.

It is therefore from the Fountain of Vir⯑tue, alone, that this Fluſh of Shamefaced⯑neſs can poſſibly flow. And a Delicacy of Compunction, on ſuch Occaſions, is as a ſenſitive Plant of Divinity in the Soul, that feels, ſhrinks, and is alarmed on the ſlight⯑eſt Apprehenſion of approaching Evil.

[106] Well, Sir, ſaid Arabella, allowing all that you have advanced in Behalf of Bluſh⯑ers, (and that is doing them more Favour than I fear they deſerve) can it amount to more than this, that, however faulty they may be, they ſtill have Goodneſs enough to acknowledge their Guilt, or in other Words, that they have the Juſtice to be aſhamed of themſelves?

Yes, Madam, ſaid Mr. Fenton, it a⯑mounts to much more, and you know that it does. But you are a wicked little Sophiſter, and deſerve to be puniſhed, by our yielding to you the Cauſe that you have undertaken againſt yourſelf.

When I obſerved that nothing, but Vir⯑tue, could undeſignedly expreſs a Diſap⯑probation of Vice; I ought further to have obſerved that, the greater and the purer, the more excellent and more vivid that this Virtue is, the more apt it will be to take Alarm, at the bare Apprehenſion of hav⯑ing ſaid or done, or of being ſuſpected to have ſaid, or done, or thought of any thing amiſs, or contrary to its own Na⯑ture.

As far as a guilty Perſon loves and is reconciled to Guilt, it becomes a Part of himſelf, and he cannot bluſh at it. But [107]Goodneſs will bluſh in a Cloſet, in a De⯑ſart, in Darkneſs, on fearing it was in Danger to have ſaid or done any Thing unbecoming or diſguſtful to its own Sen⯑ſibilities. For a delicate Virtue is, like a delicate Chaſtity, that will bluſh to have been ſeen, or, even ſuſpected to have been ſeen within the Suburbs of Drury.

But again, where ſuch a delicate Virtue is accompanied by Lowlineſs, there needs not any Thing amiſs, nor the ſlighteſt Apprehenſion of any Thing amiſs, to ex⯑cite this ſweet Confuſion in the Soul and in the Countenance. Humility will bluſh to be found in the Preſence of thoſe whom it reveres; it will bluſh to be thought of, either too meanly or too highly, by thoſe whoſe favourable Opinion it wiſhes to merit; and I once knew a Lady bluſh, for being detected of Accompliſhments that would have been Matter of Pride and Boaſting to any other Woman.

This graceful Effuſion of a virtuous and humble Heart is, as I once hinted, the higheſt and, generally, the moſt grateful Compliment that a Perſon can pay to the Company; as it is an Expreſſion of De⯑ference, and a comparative Acknowledg⯑ment of ſuperior Merit. But, it is more peculiarly amiable in your Sex, Mrs. Cle⯑ment; it is that Shamefacedneſs, ſo grateful [108]to God and Man, and which, in Scripture, is called the moſt becoming Cloathing, and beſt Ornament of a Woman.

However, my dear Child, as this Emo⯑tion is generally attended with ſome little Matter of Pain; the preſent Company are too much your Friends, to receive any kind of Pleaſure from a Compliment as unmerited, as it is wholly unneceſſary. And, in Truth, there is but one Thing, that I can think of, for which Mrs. Clement ought to bluſh.

Pray, Sir, don't hold me in Pain, what is it, I beſeech you? It is for being a Re⯑proach almoſt to her whole Sex.

Ah, Sir, cried Arabella, riſing, ſmiling, and bluſhing, and curtſying down to the Ground; excuſe me if I don't ſtay to hear myſelf ſo abuſed; and, turning, away ſhe ſwam and diſappeared in an Inſtant.

As ſoon as ſhe was gone, Clement took out his Purſe of a hundred Guineas, and, pray Sir, ſaid he, what ſhall I do with all this Money? O, as for that Matter, ſaid Mr. Fenton, I know People, not half ſo ingenious as you are, who could quickly contrive to get rid of a much larger Sum. Lay it out in decent Cloathing for yourſelf [109]and your Arabella, and I will find ſome way to have you reimburſed. In ſhort, Hammel, I can't think of parting with you, if my Fortune may ſerve for a ſufficient Cement. I will pay you two hundred Guineas yearly, while you ſtay with me; and I will ſettle on you, one thouſand Pounds, in caſe of my Mortality, to put you into ſome little Station of Indepen⯑dence.

Sir, Sir, cried Clement, heſitatingly, you oppreſs me, you — Huſh, huſh, ſaid Mr. Fenton, putting his Hand to his Mouth, no Compliments, my dear Friend. It is not your Thanks but your Services that I want; and you may readily make them more than an Equivalent to ſuch Matters. I value the Inſtilling of a ſingle Principle of Goodneſs or Honour, into the Mind of my dear Harry, beyond all the Wealth that the Indies can remit. Ah, Hammel, why waſn't that Brat of yours a Girl, in⯑ſtead of a Boy? She might one Day have been the Wife of my precious Harry; and I ſhould then have had ſome of the Breed of this wonderful Arabella.

But, Hammy, continued Mr. Fenton, I would not have you, through any Zeal, or Attachment to me, think of puſhing my Boy into Learning or the Languages, beyond his own Pleaſure. Neither would [110]I have you oppreſs or perplex his infant Mind, with the deep or myſterious Parts of our holy Religion. Firſt, be it your Care to inſtruct him in Morality; and let the Law precede the Goſpel, for ſuch was the Education which God appointed for the World. Give him, by familiar and hiſ⯑torical Inſtances, an early Impreſſion of the ſhortneſs of human Life, and of the Nature of the World in which he is placed. Let him learn, from this Day forward, to diſtinguiſh between natural and imaginary Wants; and, that nothing is eſtimable or ought to be deſirable, but ſo far as it is neceſſary, or uſeful to Man. Inſtruct my Darling, daily and hourly, if poſſible, in a Preference of Manners and Things that bear an intrinſic Value, to thoſe that re⯑ceive their Value and Currency from the arbitrary and fickle Stamp of Faſhion. Shew him alſo, my Hammel, that the ſame Toils and Sufferings; the ſame Poverty and Pain, from which People now fly as they would from a Plague, were once the Deſire of Heroes and the Faſhion of Na⯑tions. And, that Thouſands of Patriots, of Captains, and Philoſophers, through a Love of their Country, or of Glory, of Applauſe during Life or Diſtinction after Death, have rejected Wealth and Pleaſure, embraced Want and Hardſhip; and ſuffer⯑ed more, from a voluntary Mortification and Self-denial, than our Church ſeems to [111]require in theſe Days, for the Conqueſt of a ſenſual World into which we are fallen, and for entitling us to a Crown in the Kingdom of Eternity.

So ſaying, Mr. Fenton got up from Ta⯑ble, and obſerving that it was late, wiſhed Clement a good Night.

Our Hero was now eight Years of Age; and weekly, and daily, continued to be exerciſed, in Feats of bodily Proweſs and Agility; and in Acts of mental Benevo⯑lence, and Service to Mankind.

Mr. Fenton had, already, provided his Favourite with a Dancing-Maſter, the moſt approved for Skill in his Profeſſion; as alſo, with a noted Fencing-Maſter, who further taught him the noble Sciences of the Cudgel and Quarter-Staff. He was now on the Search for the moſt diſtin⯑guiſhed Champion of the Bear-Garden, in order to accompliſh our Hero in the Myſ⯑teries of Bruiſing, of Wreſtling, and of Tripping; and having, in a ſhort Time, procured the Perſon deſired; he purchaſed for his Harry a ſmall but beautiful Spaniſh Jennett that was perfectly dreſſed, as they call it, or rid to the Manage; and, once in every Week or Fortnight, he accom⯑panied his Darling to the Riding-Houſe in Iſlington, where he ſaw him inſtructed in [112]all the Arts and Elegancies of Horſeman⯑ſhip.

Thus, Harry had his little Hands as full of Buſineſs as they could hold. But he was, naturally, of an active and vivid Diſ⯑poſition; and Time, unemployed, lay up⯑on him as the heavieſt and moſt irkſome of all Burdens. He, therefore, proceeded from his Book to his Exerciſes, and from one Exerciſe to another, as an Epicure does among a number of Diſhes; where the Variety of the Seaſoning excites in him a new Appetite to Each.

Within a few Weeks after the late Diſ⯑ſertation upon Bluſhing, the ſame Com⯑pany being preſent and Dinner removed; Harry, ſays Mr. Fenton, tell me which of the Two is the Richeſt, the Man who wants leaſt, or the Man who has moſt? Let me think, Dada, ſays Harry — Why, ſure, they are the ſame Thing; aren't they, Dada? By no Means, my Darling, cried Mr. Fenton.

There lived two famous Men, at the ſame Time, the one was called Diogenes, and the other Alexander. Diogenes refuſed to accept of any worldly Goods, ſave one wooden Cup to carry Water to his Mouth; but, when he found that he could drink, by lying down and putting his Mouth to [113]the Stream, he threw his Cup away as a Thing that he did not want.

Alexander, on the other Side, was a great Conqueror. And, when he had conquered and got Poſſeſſion of all the World, he fell a crying becauſe there was not a hundred more ſuch Worlds for him to conquer. Now, which of theſe two was the richeſt, do you think?

O Dada, exclaimed Harry, Diogenes to be ſure, Diogenes to be ſure. He who wants nothing is the richeſt Man in the World. Diogenes, Dada, was richer than Alexander by a hundred Worlds.

Very true, my Love, rejoin'd Mr. Fen⯑ton. Alexander had a whole World more than Diogenes wanted, and yet deſired a hundred Worlds more than he had. Now, as no Man will allow that he wants what he does not deſire, and all affirm that they want whatſoever they do deſire, Deſires and Wants are generally accounted as one and the ſame Thing. And yet, my Harry, there is a Thing, of which it may be ſaid, that the more we deſire it the leſs we want it, and that the leſs we deſire of it the greater is our Want.

What in the World can that be, Dada? — It is Goodneſs, my Love. Well, ſays [114] Harry, I will not puzzle my Brains about nice Matters. All I know is, that no Man has more Goodneſs than he wants, except it be yourſelf. I don't talk of Women, for I believe Mrs. Clement, here, is very good; pray look in her Face, Dada, don't you think ſhe is very good?

I ſee, Harry, ſaid Mr. Fenton, that young as you are, you are a perfect Phyſiogno⯑miſt. Why, pray Sir, ſaid Arabella, is it, in earneſt, your Opinion, that the Cha⯑racter of Mind or Manners, may, in any Meaſure, be gathered from the Form of the Countenance? Is not the World filled with Stories of the Deceit and Treachery of ſuch falſe Appearances? You remember how Horace ſays that a prudent Mariner puts no Truſt in the Gildings or Paintings of a Ship; ſuch ſuperficial Gloſſings, as one might think, ought, rather, to be ſuſpect⯑ed of an Intention to conceal the Rottenneſs of the Timber. And then, the Paſſage of the famous Phyſiognomiſts, at Athens, ſo often quoted as a Proof of Capacity and Knowledge in this Way, proves wholly the Reverſe, as I take it; their Judgment of Socrates is oppoſite to Truth in every In⯑ſtance; they pronounce him the moſt de⯑bauched, iraſcible, and malicious of Men; and it is a very poor Apology that Socrates makes for their Ignorance, when he affirms that he was, by Birth, the very Perſon they [115]deemed him, but that Philoſophy had given him a new Nature; for if Education can change the Heart, without changing the Countenance, how can we form any Con⯑jecture of the one by the other?

Though I inſiſt, Mrs. Clement, that you are wrong in your Theſis, replied Mr. Fenton, I admit that you are perfectly juſt in your Inference. For, if a Change of Mind or Manners can make no Change in the Aſpect, the whole Science of Phyſiog⯑nomy muſt fall to the Ground. I there⯑fore take this Paſſage, relating to Socrates, to be a mere Fiction; and I affirm that neither Philoſophy, nor Chriſtianity, can make a new Heart or a new Nature in Man, without making a ſuitable Alteration in his Viſage.

As the Heavens are made expreſſive of the Glory of God, though frequently over⯑caſt with Clouds and Tempeſt, and ſome⯑times breaking forth in Thunders that terrify, and Lightenings that blaſt; ſo, the general Tenour of a human Countenance is made expreſſive of the Nature of the Soul that lives within; and, to which it is ordained an involuntary Interpreter.

Many Perſons have made it the Study of great Part of their Lives, to counteract Providence in this honeſt Appointment; [116]to ſhut this Window, by which, an im⯑pertinent World is ſo apt to peep in, and ſpy what they are about; and, as far as poſſible, to make the Expreſſions of their Countenance, to belie every Sentiment and Emotion of their Heart.

I have known Hypocriſy, Treachery, Pride, Malice, and Luſt, aſſume the oppoſite Sem⯑blance of Saintſhip, Fidelity, Lowlineſs, Be⯑nevolence, and Chaſtity: But, it is painful to keep the Bow of Nature long bent; its Elaſticity will ſtill ſtruggle to have it re⯑ſtored; and a ſkillful Diſcerner, at the Time of ſuch Deluſion, will often detect the Difference between a real Character and the acting of a Part. For, when Na⯑ture dictates, the whole Man ſpeaks; all is uniform and conſenting in Voice, Mien, Motion, the turn of each Feature, and the Caſt of the Eyes. But, when Art is the Spokeſman, and that Nature is not alto⯑gether ſuppreſſed; the Turn of the Eye may contradict the Tongue; and the Muſcles of the Face may counteract each other in their ſeveral Workings. And, thus, I have known an Expreſſion of Re⯑ſentment remain on the Brow, while the Face laboured to inveſt itſelf with a Smile of Complacence; and, I have known the Eye to burn with ill-governed Concupi⯑ſcence, while Voice, Action, and Addreſs, [117]united in the Avowal of chaſte and ho⯑nourable Regards.

I perceive, Sir, ſaid Mr. Clement, by your own Account, that he muſt be a ve⯑ry learned Proficient, in the Study of Phy⯑ſiognomy, who can decide, with any kind of Certainty, on an Art that requires ſuch Attention and Penetration.

I beg leave to differ, anſwered Mr. Fen⯑ton. The Science is much more obvious than you may imagine; and I fancy there are very few Perſons, who do not truſt, without reflecting, to their own Skill in this Way; and who do not, inadvertently, form a Character to themſelves of almoſt all the People with whom they are con⯑verſant.

I am perſuaded that there is not a ſingle Sentiment, whether tending to Good or Evil, in the human Soul, that has not its diſtinct and reſpective Interpreter in the Glance of the Eye, and in the Muſcling of the Countenance. When Nature is permitted to expreſs Herſelf with Free⯑dom by this Language of the Face, ſhe is underſtood by all People; and thoſe who never were taught a Letter can in⯑ſtantly read her Signatures and Impreſſi⯑ons; whether they be of Wrath, Hatred, Envy, Pride, Jealouſy, Vexation, Con⯑tempt; [118]Pain, Fear, Horror and Diſmay; or of Attention, Reſpect, Wonder, Sur⯑prize, Pleaſure, Tranſport, Complacence, Affection, Deſire, Peace, Lowlineſs, and Love.

Now, all Perſons are born with Propen⯑ſities (whether they be mental or conſtitu⯑tional) to ſome Paſſions and Affections, ra⯑ther than to Others. I will take two In⯑ſtances; the one, of a Male Infant who is born with a Propenſity to Pride and Arro⯑gance: The other of a Female Infant, who is born with a Propenſity to Baſhful⯑neſs and Lowlineſs. In either Caſe, it is evident, that, from the firſt Occaſion that may ſerve to excite theſe ſeveral Affecti⯑ons, in theſe ſeveral Infants, the Senti⯑ments of their Souls will be ſuitably and intelligibly expreſſed in their Aſpects; and every further Occaſion of renewing the ſame Impreſſions will render them more obvious and legible to every Eye. Inſo⯑much that, if no future Influence, ariſing from Accident or Education, ſhall check the Pride of the one or divert the Lowli⯑neſs of the other; the Male will be ſeen to look on thoſe about him with an habi⯑tual Self-ſufficiency and Contempt of his Species; and the Female will be ſeen to regard Humankind, with an amiable Dif⯑fidence and a complacent Reſpect.

[119] Let us ſee however, how far Education may be able to change theſe Sentiments; and, how far a Change of Sentiments may produce a Change of Face.

If the Scorner ſhould be ſo happy as to meet with worthy Tutors, wiſe, and dili⯑gent to inculcate the Inſufficiency of all Creatures, and more particularly the Wants, Weakneſſes, and Vileneſs, of our lapſed Natures; and that no Honour can belong to Man in this his State of Depravity. But above all, ſhould this Scorner prove ſo happy as to be educated in the never failing School of Chriſtian Meekneſs; even the School of Adverſity, of Pain, Sickneſs, depreſſing Poverty, and Mortification; his lofty Creſt by Degrees will be effectually unplumed; his Sufficiency and high Mind⯑edneſs will ſink to an humble Prayer and look out for Relief; and he will reſpect even the Wretched, becauſe he will ac⯑quire a ſocial Senſe and Fellow-feeling of their Wretchedneſs.

Here, then, is another Man, as new made and as different from his former Self as he can poſſibly be ſuppoſed from any other of the human Species. But, will this total Change of Sentiment produce no Change of Aſpect, think you? Will this benevo⯑lent and lowly Man retain the ſame Front [120]of Haughtineſs, the ſame Brow of Over⯑bearance, the ſame Eye of Elevation, the ſame Lip of Ridicule, and the ſame Glance of Contempt? It cannot be ſaid, it cannot be imagined.

When God, by his inſpired Penmen, expreſſes his Deteſtation of a lofty Look, was he quarrelling, do ye think, with the natural and unavoidable Caſt of an unhap⯑py Countenance? No, no, my dear Friends. In condemning a proud Aſpect, he con⯑demned a proud Heart; foraſmuch as he knew that a Loftineſs of Look and a Saucineſs of Soul could not be divided.

But, to clear up this Queſtion from any remaining Doubt, let us ſuppoſe that the female Infant, with baſhful and lowly Propenſities, is juſt brought down, bluſh⯑ing and trembling, from the Nurſery. Let us ſuppoſe her Education to be taken in Hand, by a Mama of Figure and Faſhi⯑on, and by other Dames of Quality, whoſe Eſtimate of Happineſs is meaſured merely by the Mode. She now becomes inſtructed in more Inſtances of Self-Denial, than ſuch as dictated and tuned by Chriſ⯑tianity, would have ſainted her for Eterni⯑ty. She is taught to ſuppreſs her natural Feelings and Inclinations, and to bridle the Impulſes of an affectionate and humble Heart. She is taught to prize what ſhe [121]diſlikes, and to praiſe what ſhe diſap⯑proves; to affect Coldneſs and Diſtance to Inferiors whom ſhe regarded, and to pro⯑portion her Appearance of Inclination, and Reſpect, to the Station of the Party.

As I have been Ear-witneſs to ſeveral of theſe Quality Lectures, I might give you many familiar Inſtances of their Nature and Tendency. Fye Harriet, ſays my La⯑dy, what does the Girl bluſh at? You are handſome and well-ſhaped, my Dear, and have nothing to be aſhamed of, that I know. No one bluſhes now a Days, ex⯑cept ſilly Country Wenches who are igno⯑rant of the World. But, if you have any naughty Thoughts that make you bluſh, why, keep 'em to yourſelf Child, and we ſhall never be the wiſer. But, don't let your Face be a Town-Crier, Harriet, to let every Body know what you have in your Mind. To be aſhamed, my Girl, is the greateſt of all Shames.

Again, my Dear, I warn you, that you muſt not be ſo fond of the Miſs Colleſſes, who uſed to viſit you in the Nurſery. For, though they are good ſort of Girls, their Parents are People in but middling Life, and we never admit 'em when there's Company in the Houſe. And then, there's the Miſs Sanclairs, how low you curtſied [122]to 'em Yeſterday: and what a Rout you made about welcoming and entertaining them; but, let me have no more of that, for though they are rich, they are Cits, and People of Buſineſs; and a Nod of your Head, or Inclination toward a Curtſy, with ſome Yeſes and Noes when they aſk you a Queſtion, will be Matter enough of Salute and Diſcourſe from you to them.

You ſay that your Stays are too low be⯑fore, and that they pain you about the Waſte; but I know it is impoſſible; for a young Lady muſt never diſlike or be pained, by any Thing that ſhews the Fineneſs of her Skin or Shape to Advan⯑tage.

I muſt further adviſe you, Harriet, not to heap ſuch Mountains of Sugar, nor to pour ſuch a Deluge of Cream into your Tea; People will certainly take you for the Daughter of a Dairy-Maid. There is young Jenny Quirp, who is a Lady, by Birth, and ſhe has brought herſelf to the Perfection of never ſuffering the Tincture of her Tea to be ſpoiled by Whitening, nor the Flavour to be adulterated by a Grain of Sweet. And then you ſay you can't like Coffee; and I could not but laugh, though I was quite aſham'd at the wry Faces you made the other Day, when you miſtook the Olives for Sweetmeats. [123]But theſe Things, my Child, are reliſhed by Perſons of Taſte, and you muſt force yourſelf to ſwallow and reliſh them, alſo.

I was talking awhile ago of young Lady Jane Quirp. There's a Pattern for you, Harriet; one who never likes or diſlikes, or ſays or does any Thing a Hair's Breadth beyond the Pink of the Mode. She is ugly, it is true, and very ill-natured; but then ſhe is finely bred, and has all the be⯑coming Airs of a Miſs of Diſtinction. Her you muſt love, my Child, and to her you muſt pay your Court; for you muſt learn to love and prefer ſuch Matters and Perſons, alone, as will ſerve, in the Beau-Monde, to render you noted and reſpected for the Accompliſhments in vogue.

Theſe Leſſons and Efforts, in Time, have their Influence. Miſs comes to accommo⯑date her Taſte, and Reliſh of Things, to the Taſte and Reliſh of thoſe whom ſhe is proud to reſemble. She now is aſhamed of Nothing, but in Proportion as it is be⯑low the Top of the Mode; and ſhe bluſh⯑es at no Indecency that Faſhion is pleaſed to adopt. Her whole Soul and Eſſence is futilized and extracted into Shew and Su⯑perficials. She learns that Friendſhip, in high Life, is nothing but Compliment; and Viſits, Intimacies, and Connections, [124]the polite Grimace of People of Diſtincti⯑on. That, to talk elegantly upon No⯑thing, is the Sum of Converſation. That Beauty and Dreſs are the Conſtituents of female Perfection. And that the more we depreciate and detract from others, the more eminently we ourſelves ſhall ſhine forth and be exalted. She is follow⯑ed by Fops, ſhe is worſhipped by Fortune⯑hunters. She is mounted aloft upon the Wings of Flattery, and is hardened againſt public Opinion by Self conceit. While ſhe beholds a circling Group, of the Tay⯑lor's Creation, admiring the Harmony of her Motions, the Fineneſs of her Com⯑plexion, and the Luſtre of her Ornaments, the ſame Vanity, that bids her to be de⯑ſirous of Conqueſts, bids her alſo to de⯑ſpiſe them: But, for the vulgar World, ſhe regards it as the Duſt beneath her Steps, created to no End, ſave to be look⯑ed down upon, and trodden under Foot.

Will ye now affirm, or can ye conceive, that any Trace of native Baſhfulneſs and Lowlineſs ſhould remain in the Frontlet of this Piece of Court-Petrefaction? No ſuch Trace can remain.

As I obſerved to ye before, that every Affection of the human Soul has its diſ⯑tinct and reſpective Interpreter in the [125]Countenance; I am further to take No⯑tice that each, of thoſe many Interpreters, hath its reſpective Set of Tubes and Fibres leading thereto, through which the Blood and Spirits flow on their reſpective Emoti⯑on. Thus, whatever the general Tenour of a Perſon's Temper may be, ſuch as joyous, or melancholy, iraſcible, or placid, and ſo forth; the Veſſels, relative to theſe Affections, are kept open and full, by an almoſt conſtant Flow of the Blood and animal Spirits, and impreſs ſuch evident Characters of that Perſon's Diſpoſition, as are not to be ſuppreſſed, except for a Time, and that too by ſome powerful and oppoſite Paſſion. For the Muſcles, ſo em⯑ploy'd, grow ſtronger and more conſpicu⯑ous by Exerciſe; as we ſee the Legs of a Chairman, and the Shoulders of a Porter, derive Bulk and Diſtinction from the Pe⯑culiarity of their Occupation.

Now, I will take the Argument in the ſtrongeſt Light againſt myſelf. I will ſup⯑poſe a Man to be naturally of a melan⯑choly Caſt of Countenance; that he has the additional unhappineſs of a bileous Conſtitution; and, that he is confirmed in this Look and Habit of Deſpondence, by a Train of diſtreſsful Circumſtances, till he arrives at his twentieth or thirtieth Year. I will then ſuppoſe that his Habit of Body, and Temper of Mind are totally [126]changed, by Medicine, a Flow of Succeſs, a happy Turn of Reaſon and Reſignation, or perhaps of Complacence in the divine Diſpenſations. He now grows ſociable, benevolent, chearful, always joyous when in Company and placid when alone. I aſk, on this Occaſion, will ye continue to ſee the ſame Caſt and Habit of Melancho⯑ly in this Man's Countenance? No more than ye can ſee the Gloom of laſt Winter, in the ſmiling Serene of a Summer's-Even⯑ing. For ſome Time, I admit, it will be difficult for the Set of joyous Muſcles, and Glances, to overpower their Adverſaries who have ſo long kept the Field; but, in the End, they muſt prevail; they will re⯑ceive conſtant Supplies, from within; and the Paſſages, for their Reinforcement, will be opened more and more; while their Opponents daily ſubſide, give Place, and diſappear.

What I have obſerved, with reſpect to Melancholy, may be equally affirmed of any other Affection, whoſe oppoſite gets an habitual Empire in the Mind. I ſay habitual, becauſe there are ſome Perſons of ſuch variable and fluctuating Tempers, now furious, now complacent; now chur⯑liſh, now generous; now mopingly me⯑lancholy, now merry to Madneſs; now pious, now profane; now cruelly hard⯑hearted, now meltingly humane; that a [127]Man can no more judge of what Nature or Diſpoſition ſuch People are, than he can determine what Wind ſhall predomi⯑nate next April; and yet, when the Wind blows, he can tell by every Cloud and Weather Cock, from what Point it comes; and may as eaſily decypher the preſent Temper, by the Aſpect.

But, Sir, ſaid Arabella, might not Na⯑ture impreſs, as in the Caſe of Socrates, ſuch conſpicuous Characters of Vice (in his peculiar Caſt of Countenance and ſtrong Turn of muſcling) as no internal Virtues ſhould be able to retract?

By no means Madam, anſwered Mr. Fenton. For, if ſuch Characters are im⯑preſſed by Nature on the Countenance, in⯑dependent of any ſuch Characters in the Mind, this would, firſt, overthrow the whole Syſtem of the Phyſiognomiſts, who judged of the Mind by the Countenance alone. And, ſecondly, it would ower⯑throw the Opinion of Socrates himſelf, who allowed that his Countenance had re⯑ceived ſuch Impreſſions from the natural Bent and Diſpoſition of his Mind. But, again, if the Mind has really a Power to impreſs her own Character or Likeneſs on the Countenance; what ſhould take away this Power, why does ſhe not retain it? Why ſhould not a total Change of Cha⯑racter [128]in the Soul, make ſome ſuitable Change of Character in the Aſpect? It does, Madam, it does make a total Change. And there are thouſands of Faces, in yon⯑der ſanctified City, that, once, expreſſed all the Sweetneſs of baſhful Modeſty; and yet are, now, as much hardened and bronzed over with Impudence; as the Face of the Statue at Charing-Croſs.

In the ſoft and pliable Features of In⯑fancy and Youth, the Mind can expreſs it⯑ſelf with much more Force and Perſpicui⯑ty, than in the Features of People more advanced in Years. The Nerves and Fi⯑bres, in our early Age, are all open, ac⯑tive, and animated; They reach to the outward Surface of the Skin; and the Soul looks forth, and is ſeen through them, as a Spaniſh Beauty is ſeen through a Veil of Gauze. But Time deſtroys many of theſe intelligible Fibres; it alſo obſtructs others; and it renders the Remainder leſs ſuſcepti⯑ble of thoſe Offices and mental Impreſſions, for which they were ordained; till the Sur⯑face of the Countenance grows ſo callous and rigid, that the Beauties of the Soul can no more be diſcovered through it, than the Luminaries of Heaven through an Atmoſphere of Clouds. Scarce any Thing, ſave ſudden Paſſion, can then be diſcernible, like Flaſhes of Lightening that break through the Gloom.

[129] For this very Reaſon, my dear Mrs. Clement, were it poſſible for you to advance in Virtues, as you advance in Years; you will however grow leſs amiable in the Eyes of Mortals, as your Beauties will be, more and more, ſhut in from their Obſervation.

This brings me to my laſt and moſt im⯑portant Remark, on the Nature and Power of Beauty, itſelf. And here we muſt note that, though Nothing can be affectingly lovely or deteſtable, that does not ariſe from ſome Sentiment of the Soul, there is yet, in many Faces, ſuch a natural Sym⯑metry or Diſproportion, as is generally called by the Name of Beauty, and Ugli⯑neſs. Thus, in ſome Countenances, you perceive a due Relation and Agreement between the Parts. While in others, the Forehead may overwhelm the nether Face; or the Mouth threaten to devour the other Features; or the Noſe may ap⯑pear as a huge Steeple that hides a ſmall Church; or, as a Mountain that is the whole of a Man's Eſtate; inſomuch that, as ſome may be ſaid to want a Noſe to their Face, in the preſent Caſe they may be ſaid to want a Face to their Noſe. But this Species of Beauty and Uglineſs excites no other kind of Pleaſure or Diſ⯑guſt ſave ſuch as we receive from two [130]Pieces of Architecture, where one is exe⯑cuted with Propriety, and the other is ob⯑viouſly out of all Rule. And, to continue the Simile, if People ſhould be ſeen look⯑ing out at the Windows of thoſe two Buildings; we may come to deteſt and avoid the Firſt, and to love and frequent the Latter, for the Sake of thoſe who live therein. And juſt ſo it is, with regular Faces that expreſs a Deformity of Soul; and, with diſproportioned Features that may, however, be pregnant with the Beauty of Sentiment.

By Beauty, therefore, I do not mean the Beauty of Lines, or Angles; of Moti⯑on, or Muſic; of Form, or Colour; of numerical Agreements, or Geometrical Proportions; nor that which excites the Paſſion, of ſome pragmatical Inamoratos, for a Shell, a Tulip, or a Butter-fly. All theſe have, undoubtedly, their peculiar Beauty; but, then, that Beauty has no Relation to the Power or Perception of that which contains it; it is derived from ſomething that is, altogether, foreign; and owes the whole of its Merit to the ſupe⯑rior Art and Influence of God or Man.

In the Deſignings of Sculptors, of Pain⯑ters and Statuaries, we, however, ſee very great and truly affecting Beauty. I have, at times, been melted into Tears thereby; [131]and have felt within my Boſom the actual Emotions of Diſtreſs, and Compaſſion, of Friendſhip and of Love. I aſk then what it was that excited theſe Senſations? Could any Lines, Colourings, or mere Symmetry of inanimate Parts, inſpire Affections, of which in themſelves they were incapable? No. They could only ſerve, as the Ve⯑hicles of ſomething intended to inſpire ſuch Senſibilities, nothing further. We muſt, therefore, look higher for a Cauſe more adequate to ſuch extraordinary Effects; and the firſt that preſents itſelf is the De⯑ſigner, who muſt have conceived amiable Sentiments within himſelf, before he could impreſs their Beauty on theſe his Interpre⯑ters, in order to excite ſuitable Affections in others.

Here then it is evident that, whatever we affect or love, in the Deſign, is no o⯑ther than the Sentiment or Soul of the Deſigner; though we neither ſee nor know any Thing further concerning him. And thus, a Sculptor, a Painter, a Statu⯑ary, or amiable Author, by conveying their Sentiments, in laſting and intelligible Characters to Mankind, may make the World Admirers and Lovers of their Beau⯑ty, when their Features ſhall be rigid and incapable of Expreſſion, and, when they themſelves ſhall no longer exiſt among Men.

[132] From hence it ſhould ſeem, as indeed I am fully perſuaded, that Mind can affect⯑ingly love nothing but Mind; and, that univerſal Nature can exhibit no ſingle Grace or Beauty, that does not ariſe from Sentiment alone.

The Power of this ſentimental Beauty, as I may ſay, is, in many Caſes, great, amazing! and has not yet been accounted for, that I know of, by any Philoſopher, Poet, or Author; tho' ſeveral have made it their peculiar Study and Subject. We have ſeen, and read of many Inſtances, where it carries People, as it were, quite out of themſelves; and gives them to live, and to be intereſted, in the Object of their Affections alone. They will run to fight, bleed, ſuffer, and even to die in its De⯑fence. And in its Abſence, they will pine, and deſpair, and attempt to deſtroy them⯑ſelves, rather than bear to be divided from what they love, in a Manner, above their own Exiſtence.

This is wonderful, perhaps myſterious! and may poſſibly be involved in impenetra⯑ble Darkneſs. Let us try however if we can throw any probable Lights upon it.

We have already ſeen that human Ar⯑tificers can impreſs the Beauty of their [133]own Sentiments on their inanimate Works. Suppoſe, then, that God ſhould be barely the ſame to univerſal Nature, that a finite Deſigner is to the Piece he has in Hand. He finds that the Stuff or Material, which he is to form and to inform, is, in itſelf, utterly incapable of any Thing that is beautiful, and conſequently incapable of any Thing that is deſirable. He, there⯑fore, finds himſelf under the Neceſſity of imparting to his Works, ſome faint Ma⯑nifeſtation or Similitude of Himſelf; for otherwiſe they cannot be amiable; neither can he ſee his Shadow in them with any Delight. On Matter therefore, he, firſt, impreſſes ſuch diſtant Characters of his own Beauty, as the Subject will bear; in the Glory of the Heavens, in the Move⯑ment of the Planets, in the Symmetry of Form, in the Harmony of Sounds, in the Elegance of Colours, in the elaborate Tex⯑ture of the ſmalleſt Leaf; and, in the in⯑finitely fine Mechaniſm of ſuch Inſects, and Minims of Nature, as are ſcarce viſi⯑ble to Eyes of the cleareſt Diſcernment.

But, when God comes toward Home, if the Phraſe may be allowed; when he impreſſes on intelligent Spirits a nearer Reſemblance of himſelf, and imparts to them, alſo, a Perception and Reliſh of the Beauty, with which he has inform'd them, [134]he then delights to behold, and will eter⯑nally delight to behold his Image, ſo fair⯑ly reflected by ſuch a living Mirror. Yet, ſtill, they are no other than his own Beauties that he beholds in his Works; for, his Omnipotence can impreſs, but cannot poſſibly detach a ſingle Grace from himſelf.

I am not quite ſingular in this Opinion. I have ſomewhere read the following Stanza.

Here is alſo a little Poem, lately pub⯑liſhed on a Lady, who was beholden to the Graces of her Mind alone for all the Attractions of her Perſon and Countenance.

Here we reach at the Nature of that Enchantment, or Magnetiſm, with which ſome Perſons are ſo powerfully indued, as to engage the Liking of all who barely be⯑hold them; an Enchantment often attrac⯑tive of Friendſhip, Affection, Paſſion, to Tenderneſs, Languiſhment, Pain, Sick⯑neſs, and Death.

Here alſo we diſcover why the Bliſs, which we reach after, eludes our Graſp; why it vaniſhes, as it were, in the Mo⯑ment of Enjoyment, yet ſtill continues to faſcinate and attract as before; foraſmuch as the BEAUTY, after which we ſigh, is not eſſentially in the Mirror where we be⯑hold its Similitude. Thus, Ixion is ſaid to have claſped a Cloud, without reflecting that it was but a bare Reſemblance of the real Divinity who had excited his Paſſion.

This will at once account for all the won⯑derful Effects of Beauty. For, if nothing but GOD is lovely, if nothing elſe can be beloved; he is himſelf the univerſal and irreſiſtable Magnet, that draws all intelli⯑gent and affectionate Beings, through the Medium of Creatures, to the Graces of [136]their Creator; till the Veil ſhall finally be taken away, and that he himſelf ſhall ap⯑pear, in his eternal, unclouded and un⯑ſpeakable Beauty, infinitely lovely and in⯑finitely beloved.

But, I have out talked my Time, ſays Mr. Fenton, riſing, and looking at his Watch. I am engaged for an Hour or two above Street, and wiſh ye a good Evening.

While Mr. Fenton was abroad. Ned, who would not willingly have exchanged his Unluckineſs for the Heirſhip of an Eſ⯑tate, happened to take a little Ramble through the Town. He held a Stick, to the End of which he had a long Ferule of hollow Tin, which he could take off at Pleaſure; and, from the Extremity of the Ferule, there aroſe a ſmall collateral Pipe, in an Angle of about forty five Degrees. He had filled this Ferule with Puddle⯑water; which, by a ſudden Preſſure of the Stick, he could ſquirt out, to double the Height of his own Stature.

On his Return, he ſaw an an elderly Gentleman advancing, whoſe Shadow, be⯑ing lengthened by the declining Sun, at⯑tended, with a ſlow and ſtately Motion. As Ned approached, he exclaimed, with a [137]well counterfeited Fear, look, look! what's that behind you? take Care of yourſelf, Sir, for Heaven's ſake, take Care!

The Gentleman, alarmed hereat, in⯑ſtantly ſtarted, turned pale, and looked terrified behind him, and on either Side; when Ned, recovering his Countenance, ſaid, O Sir, I beg Pardon, I believe it's nothing but your Shadow. What Sirrah, cried the Gentleman, in a Tone highly exaſperated, have you learned no better Manners than to banter your Superiors? and then, lifting a Kane Switch, he gave our merry Companion a few ſmart Strokes acroſs the Shoulders.

This, I preſume, muſt be ſome very reſpectable Perſonage, ſome extraor⯑dinary Favourite of yours; ſince, within a few Lines you ſtile him, three or four Times, by your moſt venerable of all Titles, the Title of a Gentleman.

Sir, I would not hold three Words of Converſation with any Man who did not deſerve the Appellation of Gentle⯑man, by many Degrees, better than this Man does.

Why then do you write or ſpeak with ſuch acknowledged Impropriety?

I think for myſelf, but I ſpeak for the People. I may think as I pleaſe, for I underſtand my own Thoughts; but, would I be underſtood when I ſpeak to o⯑thers alſo, I muſt ſpeak with the People, I muſt ſpeak in common Terms according to their common or general Acceptation.

There is no Term, in our Language, more common than that of Gentleman; and, whenever it is heard, all agree in the general Idea of a Man ſome way elevated above the Vulgar. Yet, perhaps no two, living, are preciſely agreed, reſpecting the Qualities they think requiſite for conſti⯑tuting this Character. When we hear the Epithets of a fine Gentleman, a pretty Gen⯑tleman, much of a Gentleman, Gentlemanlike, ſomething of a Gentleman, nothing of a Gen⯑tleman, and ſo forth; all theſe different Appellations muſt intend a Peculiarity an⯑nexed to the Ideas of thoſe who expreſs them; though no two of them, as I ſaid, may agree in the conſtituent Qualities of the Character they have formed in their own Mind.

There have been Ladies who deemed a Bag-Wig, taſſeld Waiſtcoat, new faſhioned [139]Snuff-Box, and Sword-Knot, very capital Ingredients in the Compoſition of — a Gen⯑tleman.

A certain eaſy Impudence acquired by low People, by caſually being converſant in high Life, has paſs'd a Man current thro' many Companies for — a Gentleman.

In the Country a laced Hat and long Whip makes — a Gentleman.

In Taverns and in Brothels, he who is the moſt of a Bully is the moſt of — a Gentleman.

With Heralds, every Eſquire is, indiſ⯑putably, — a Gentleman.

And the Highway Man, in his Manner of taking your Purſe; and your Friend, in his Manner of debauching your Wife, may however be allowed to have — much of the Gentleman.

As you ſay, my Friend, our Ideas of this Matter are very various and ad⯑verſe. In our own Minds, perhaps, they are alſo indetermined; and I queſtion if any Man has formed, to himſelf, a Con⯑ception of this Character with ſufficient [140]Preciſion. Pray — was there any ſuch Character among the Philoſophers?

Plato, among the Philoſophers, was the moſt of a Man of Faſhion; and therefore allowed, at the Court of Syracuſe, to be — the moſt of a Gentleman.

But ſeriouſly, I apprehend that this Cha⯑racter is pretty much upon the Modern. In all ancient or dead Languages we have no Term, any way adequate, whereby we may expreſs it. In the Habits, Manners, and Characters, of old Sparta and old Rome, we find an Antipathy to all the Ele⯑ments of modern Gentility. Among thoſe rude and unpoliſhed People, you read of Philoſophers, of Orators, Patriots, He⯑roes, and Demigods; but you never hear of any Character ſo elegant as that of — a pretty Gentleman.

When thoſe Nations, however, became refined into what their Anceſtors would have called Corruption. When Luxury introduced, and Faſhion gave a Sanction to certain Sciences, which Cynics would have branded with the illmannered Ap⯑pellations of Debauchery, Drunkenneſs, Whoredom, Gambling, Cheating, Lying, &c. the Practitioners aſſumed the new Ti⯑tle of Gentlemen, till ſuch Gentlemen became as plenteous as Stars in the Milky-Way, [141]and loſt Diſtinction merely by the Con⯑fluence of their Luſtre.

Wherefore, as the ſaid Qualities were found to be of ready Acquiſition, and of eaſy Deſcent to the Populace from their Betters, Ambition judg'd it neceſſary to add further Marks and Criterions, for ſe⯑vering the general Herd from the nobler Species — of Gentlemen.

Accordingly, if the Commonalty were obſerved to have a Propenſity to Religion; their Superiors affected a Diſdain of ſuch vulgar Prejudices; and a Freedom that caſt off the Reſtraints of Morality, and a Cou⯑rage that ſpurned at the Fear of a God, were accounted the diſtinguiſhing Charac⯑teriſtics of — a Gentleman.

If the Populace, as in China, were in⯑duſtrious and ingenious, the Grandees, by the Length of their Nails and the cramping of their Limbs, gave Evidence that true Dignity was above Labour or Utility, and that to be born to no End was the Prero⯑gative — of a Gentleman.

If the common Sort, by their Conduct, declare a Reſpect for the Inſtitutions of civil Society and good Government; their Betters deſpiſe ſuch puſillanimous Confor⯑mity, and the Magiſtrates pay becoming [142]Regard to the Diſtinction, and allow of the ſuperior Liberties and Privileges — of a Gentleman.

If the lower Set ſhew a Senſe of Com⯑mon-Honeſty and Common-Order; thoſe, who would figure in the World, think it incumbent to demonſtrate that Compla⯑cence to Inferiors, common Manners, com⯑mon Equity, or any Thing common is quite beneath the Attention or Sphere — of a Gentleman.

Now, as Underlings are ever ambiti⯑ous of imitating and uſurping the Man⯑ners of their Superiors; and as this State of Mortality is incident to perpetual Change and Revolution; it may happen that when the Populace, by encroaching on the Pro⯑vince of Gentility, have arrived to their ne plus ultra of Inſolence, Debaucherry, Ir⯑religion, &c. the Gentry, in order to be again diſtinguiſhed, may aſſume the Station that their Inferiors had forſaken, and, however ridiculous the Suppoſition may appear at preſent, Humanity, Equity, Utility, Compla⯑cence, and Piety may, in Time, come to be the diſtinguiſhing Characteriſtics — of a Gentleman.

From what you have ſaid, it ap⯑pears that the moſt general Idea, which People have formed of a Gentleman, is [143]that of a Perſon of Fortune, above the Vulgar, and embelliſhed by Manners that are faſhionable in high Life. In this Caſe, Fortune and Faſhion are the two conſtituent Ingredients in the Compoſition of modern Gentlemen; for, whatever the Faſhion may be, whether moral or immoral, for or a⯑gainſt Reaſon, right or wrong, it is e⯑qually the Duty of a Gentleman to con⯑form.

And yet, I apprehend that true Gentility is altogether independent of For⯑tune or Faſhion, of Time, Cuſtoms, or Opinions of any Kind. The very ſame Qualities that conſtituted a Gentleman, in the firſt Age of the World, are perma⯑nently, invariably, and indiſpenſably ne⯑ceſſary to the Conſtitution of the ſame Character, to the End of Time.

By what you ſay, I perceive that we have not yet touch'd on your moſt reverable of all Characters. I am quite impatient to hear your Definition, or rather Deſcription of your favourite Gentleman.

The very firſt Time you tire, I will indulge you, if you deſire it.

CHAP. X.

NED was not of a Temper to en⯑dure much, without attempting at Retaliation; and directing the Pipe of his Ferule to the Front of his Adverſary, he ſuddenly diſcharged the full Contents in his Eyes and Face, and upon his Cloath⯑ing; and, ſtrait taking to his Heels, he hoped to get in at Door, before the Stran⯑ger could clear his Sight to take Notice where he ſheltered.

Ned however happened, at this Time, to be ſomewhat over ſanguine in his Ex⯑pectations. Mr. Snarle, for that was the Name of the Party beſpattered, had juſt cleared one Eye, in Seaſon, to remark where his Enemy entered; and haſtening Home, he waſhed, undreſſed, and ſhifted his Linen and Cloaths, with leſs Paſſion and fewer Curſes by the Half, than he conceived to be due to ſo outrageous an Inſult.

Mr. Snarle had himſelf been a Humou⯑riſt, in his Time, and had acquired a pretty Competence by very faſhionable Means; ſuch as Gambling, bearing Teſ⯑timony for a Friend in Diſtreſs, procuring Intelligence for the Miniſtry, and Wenches [145]for the Peerage. He had, ſome Years ago, been bullied into Marriage by the Relations of a young Termagant, while he attempted to take ſuch a Sample of her Charms as might enable him to recom⯑mend her to an Acquaintance of Quality. She was neither gentle by Nature, nor po⯑liſhed by Education; ſhe liked nothing of her Huſband except his Fortune; and they lived together in a State of perpetual Al⯑tercation, and mutual Diſguſt.

Old Age, and a quarrelſome Companion for Life, ſeldom happen to be Sweeteners of the human Temper; and Mr. Snarle had now acquired ſuch a Quantum of the Infirmities both of Body and Mind, as might juſtly apologize for a peeviſh Diſpo⯑ſition. He had lately taken a handſome Houſe on the Hill, for the Benefit of Air. As ſoon as he had reclaimed himſelf from the Pickle into which Ned had put him, he ſent to enquire the Name and Charac⯑ter of the Owner of that Houſe where he had taken Refuge; and, being ſufficiently apprized of what he wanted to know, he walked toward Mr. Fenton's, haſtening his Pace with the Spirit and Expectation of Revenge.

Mr. Fenton had arrived but a little be⯑fore, and deſiring to know Mr. Snarle's Commands, he was informed, in Terms [146]the moſt aggravating and inveterate, of the whole Courſe and Hiſtory of Ned's Miſ⯑behaviour. The Delinquent thereupon was called up to inſtant Trial. He ho⯑neſtly confeſſed the Facts, but pleaded, in Mitigation, the Beating that Mr. Snarle had, already, given him. But as Mr. Fenton did not judge this ſufficient to re⯑form the natural Petulance of a Diſpoſition that, otherwiſe, was not void of Merit; a Rod was immediately brought; and An⯑drew was ordered to horſe, and Frank to flog the Criminal in Preſence of the Party aggrieved.

During this Operation, Mr. Snarle ob⯑ſerved that Frank's Hand did not, altoge⯑ther, anſwer to the Benevolence of his own Heart; whereupon, he furiouſly ſnatched the Rod from him, and began to lay at Ned with might and main. Hereat Mr. Fenton ordered Andrew to let the Boy down, and obſerving, that he would no further interfere in a Cauſe, where the Appellant aſſumed Judgment and Execution to himſelf, he careleſly turned his Back upon Mr. Snarle, and left him to cool his Paſſions by his Evening's Walk homeward.

Poor Ned was more afraid of Mr. Fen⯑ton's Diſpleaſure, than he would have been [147]of a full Brother to the Whipping he had got. But Mr. Fenton was too generous, to add the Severity of his own Counte⯑nance to the Weight of Frank's Hand; and Ned was quickly reinſtated in the good Graces of the Family.

His Genius however returned, with an involuntary Bent, toward obtaining Satis⯑faction for the Injuries he had received from Mr. Snarle, provided he might re⯑taliate without fear of Detection; and he was not ſlow in contriving very adequate Means.

There was a Villager in Hamſtead, a⯑bout ten Years of Age, who had conceiv⯑ed an uncommon Kindneſs for Ned, on account of his Sprightlineſs, his Wit, and good Humour. To this condoling Friend he had imparted his Grievances; and, on him alone he depended, for Execution of the Project propoſed for Redreſs.

On a certain moonleſs Night, they muſ⯑tered four tame Cats, and having bound ſome Feuze round three or four Inches of the Extremity of each of their Tails, they lodged them together in a Bag; and ſome⯑what after Suppertime, when all the Town was ſilent, they marched ſoftly and cau⯑tiouſly to the Houſe of Mr. Snarle. There Ned's Friend, with his Knife, dext'rouſly [146] [...] [147] [...] [148]picked away the Putty from a Pane of the Window of a Side-chamber, where no Light appeared; and having put Fire to the Feuze of each Tail ſucceſſively, they ſlipped their Cats, one by one, in at the Window; and again, having pegged the Pane into its Place, they withdrew to a little Diſtance, to watch the Iſſue.

The poor Cats remained ſilent, and univerſally inoffenſive, while they felt no Damage. But, as ſoon as the Fire had ſeized on their Tails, they began to ſpeak to you in a Language wholly peculiar, as one would think, to Sentiments and Sounds of diabolical Intention.

Mr. and Mrs. Snarle had been jangling over the Fire in an oppoſite Parlour; when their Diſpute was ſuddenly ſettled by this Outcry, as they imagined, of a Legion of Infernals. They inſtantly ſtarted up, and caſt a Countenance of pale and contagious Pannic at each other. But George the Footman, a ſtrong and bold Fellow, hav⯑ing juſt before entered on ſome Buſineſs to his Maſter, turned and ran to the Cham⯑ber from whence the Peal came. He threw open the Door with his wonted In⯑trepidity; but this was as far as mortal Courage could go; for the Cats, ſpying a Paſſage whereby, as they conceived, they might fly from their Pain, ruſhed ſudden⯑ly [149]and jointly on the Face and Breaſt of George, and back he fell with a Cry of Terror and Deſperation. On however went the Cats, and flying into the Par⯑lour, one faſtened a Claw in each Cheek of Mr. Snarle, and, as his Lady ſcreamed out and clapt her Hands before her Face, another faſtened, with four Fangs, on her beſt Bruſſels Head, and rent and tore away after a lamentable Manner.

The Chamber-Maid and Cook, hearing the Uproar from the Kitchen, were afraid to aſcend and ſtill more afraid to ſtay be⯑low alone. They therefore crept ſoftly and trembling up Stairs The Torture the Cats were in, did not permit them to be attached to any ſingle Object. They had quitted Mr. and Mrs. Snarle, and now flew about the Parlour, ſmaſhing, daſhing, and overturning Piers, Glaſſes, and China, and whatever came in their Way, as though it had been the very Palace of Pandaemo⯑nium itſelf.

George was again on his Legs; his Maſ⯑ter and Miſtreſs had eloped from the Par⯑lour, and met the two Maids in the Mid⯑dle of the Entry. They concluded nemine con. to get as ſpeedily, as they might, from the Miniſters of Darkneſs, and would wil⯑lingly have eſcaped by the Street-Door; but alas this was not poſſible; one of the [150]Devils guarded the Paſs, and clinging to the great Lock with all his Talons, growl⯑ed and yelled in the Dialect of twenty of the Damned. The Stairs however re⯑mained open, and up they would have ruſhed, but were ſo enfeebled by their Fright, that this could not be done in the Way of a Race.

As they mounted, by the Help of the Walls and the Baniſters; ſays Mrs. Snarle to her Mate, in a languid and ſoft Voice, my Dear, and my Jewel, 'tis all along of you that I am thus haunted, your old Friend, I find, makes no Diſtinction of Perſons; and, when he comes to take you Home, as come he will, 'tis twenty to one but he takes me for Company. Indeed, my Angel, cries Mr. Snarle, in a Tone of like Complacence, I ſhould much rather he would be pleaſed to take me ſingle, wherever it may be his good Pleaſure to carry me; for, I know of nothing that I have done ſo heinous neither, to have one Damnation heaped on the Top of the other.

Having ſcaled as far as the Dining-Room, they all entered and bolted the Door, and Mr. Snarle opening a Window, ſaw a large Poſſe of Neighbours who had gathered below. What is the Matter, Sir, cried one of them, what is the mean⯑ing [151]of this horrible Uproar and Din? one would think that Hell was empty, and that all its Inhabitants were come to keep Car⯑nival in your Houſe.

O, a Ladder, a Ladder, cries Mr. Snarle; deliver us, good People, good Chriſtian People; a Ladder, we beſeech ye, a Lad⯑der, a Ladder! that indeed, cries a Wag, is the laſt good Turn an honeſt Fellow has Occaſion for.

The Ladder was ſoon brought, and this Panic-ſtricken Family were helped down and, charitably, conducted to the great Inn of St. George and the Dragon, where, with the help of Sack Whey, warm Beds, and their remaining Terrors, they got a hearty Sweat, and were ſomewhat com⯑poſed by Ten o'Clock next Morning. They then got up, and having breakfaſted on a Pot of milled Chocolate, they hurried to London, without adventuring to ſend to the haunted Manſion, for any Change of Cloaths or Linen; for, they would rather have put on Garments that had been dipt in the Blood of Neſſus, than have touched any Thing in a Houſe of which, with the Furniture, Plate, Bedding, and other Ap⯑purtenances, the Devil, as they conceived, had taken legal and full Poſſeſſion.

[152] In truth, there was ſcarce an Inhabitant of the whole Town of Hamſtead, who differed in Opinion on this Head, inſo⯑much that, as Day after Day began gra⯑dually to ſhut in, all People, who had Oc⯑caſion to paſs by the Dwelling of the late ejected Mr. Snarle, kept more and more aloof to the oppoſite Side of the Way, in Proportion as their Apprehenſions encreaſed with the Darkneſs. And all Things in the Houſe remained as ſafe from Depreda⯑tion, as though they had been guarded by a Regiment of Dragoons.

Imaginary Howlings were heard by the whole Neighbourhood, and ſtill continued to iſſue from thence Night by Night. And it was as firmly believed, as it was currently reported, that while Mr. Snarle made his Eſcape through the Window, Satan clawed off a Collop from his Poſteriors, in earneſt of his Carcaſs in Remainder, on a further Day.

The Cats, in the mean Time, lived plentifully and at free Coſt on the cold Meats which they found in the Kitchen and Larder; and, as the Anguiſh of their Tails was now no more remembered, they kept undiſturbed Poſſeſſion of their new Acquiſition, ſo that, during their Reſi⯑dence, not even a Mouſe was ſtirring.

[153] In about a Week after Mr. Snarle's De⯑parture for London, he ſent an Undertaker, and a Friend on whom he depended, with Authority to enter the haunted Houſe, to take an Inventory of all the Effects, and to ſell them to the Inhabitants by public Auction. They accordingly borrowed a Ladder, and got in at the ſame Window by which the Family got out. They found all quiet; and, ſtepping ſomewhat timo⯑rouſly down Stairs, they opened the Street and back Doors, and Parlour Windows, and then prevailed upon two or three re⯑putable Neighbours to enter, and witneſs the Inventory they were going to take.

The Cats, in the mean Time, finding all late Impediments and Embargoes re⯑moved, ſlunk ſilently and unperceived a⯑way; and retreated in excellent Plight to their reſpective Habitations. Though Gammar Gruff and Goody Gurton, gave many a Curſe to the Rats, who had ſo flead and mauled the Tails of their Tab⯑bies.

The Inventory being ended, public No⯑tice was given throughout the Town, of the Sale to begin preciſely at Ten the fol⯑lowing Morning. At the Hour appointed, there was ſcarce a living Animal left to continue the Poſſeſſion of any Houſe in [154] Hamſtead. All crouded to ſee the Goods and Chattels of the Devil ſold according to Law. The Auctioneer mounted his oratorial Eminence, and pranced and pa⯑raded for Half an Hour, like the Sign of the Flying-Horſe in Holbourn, without pro⯑ceeding a Foot in the Buſineſs on which he came. Sir, Madam, good intelligent People, obſerve! obſerve, I ſay, you Ta⯑ble; what a Beauty, what an admirable Curioſity is there! that Table, Gentlemen and Ladies, is all of virgin Yew, taken pure and undefiled from its native Foreſt. There's a Complexion, there's a Poliſh! it is a Looking Glaſs, in which, the fa⯑vourite Sultana, or Daughter of the Grand Seignior, might behold every Charm re⯑flected with Advantage. Note the Variety of its Tints, the Luxuriance of its Vein⯑ings. How prodigal Nature has been, in expending on this favourite Piece of Ve⯑getation, ſuch a Number of Excellencies, ſuch a Profuſion of Beauties! Neither has Art fallen ſhort of the Graces and Perfec⯑tions of Nature herein. Mark the Taſte, the Manner, the Mouldings; how jointed and framed together, as one organized Body. The Operator no Doubt took a Pleaſure, by his Workmanſhip, to rival the Beauties of the Subject on which he wrought. — I ſet it up at five Guineas — What is five Guineas, my Friends? — Not the Half of what ye will bid at [155]the ſecond Word — and, what is five times five Guineas, to the intrinſic Value? — The Curious, indeed, have nothing ſo rare in their Cabinets — Neither ever had Prince Arthur, or any of the Knights of the famous Round-Table, the Honour of ſitting round ſuch a Table as this. Gentlemen — Ladies — Who bids? — You think the Merits above Price, and that may diſcourage you — bid ſome⯑thing — bid any Thing — It is the firſt Article of Sale — I will make a kind of Preſent of it — I ſet it up at five Shillings — I ſet it up at five Pence — What the Devil is come over ye Neighbours; has Money and common Senſe quitted the World together?

Ay, ay, thought all preſent, the Devil, the Devil! that is the Caſe indeed. And thus, our Orator might have been preach⯑ing, like Saint Anthony to the Fiſhes, till the Day of Doom; before any of his dumb Auditors would have returned a Word of Anſwer.

The Fact is that, as the Devil was a Perſonage, however reſpectable, with whom the well-meaning Inhabitants of this an⯑cient Village did not chuſe to have any Manner of Dealings; neither deſired to go Snacks, in Matters of Property, with Be⯑ings whom they held much wiſer than them⯑ſelves, [156]and of whoſe Honeſty they had but a very ſlender Opinion; theſe Agents of Mr. Snarle were obliged to return, juſt as rich as they came, their Reckoning de⯑ducted; and Mr. Snarle ſoon found himſelf under the Neceſſity of diſpoſing of thoſe, his queſtionable Commodities, at leſs than half Value to ſome London Undertakers. But, what he loſt, in Point of Property, he gained in Matter of Morals; for he grew extremely cautious of adding to the Meaſure of his former Iniquities, for fear of another Viſit from his recent Gueſts.

As Mr. Fenton could not but be fre⯑quently apprized of theſe Prodigies and Alarms, that kept all Hamſtead waking, and nightly grouped every Family into a ſingle Room. He compared, in his own Mind, the Diſcomfiture and Baniſhment of the unfortunate Snarle, with the Circum⯑ſtances of the Provocation which Ned had received. He found that all anſwered, as well in Point of Time, as to Ned's natural Unluckineſs and Talents at Invention. Yet he could ſcarce conceive how a Child, little more than eight Years of Age, ſhould be capable of contriving Miſchiefs, ſo for⯑midable in the Execution, and ſo extenſive in their Conſequences. Now Ned was ſo happy, on this ſingular Occaſion, that no⯑thing tranſpired. Wherefore, as Mr. Fen⯑ton could produce no Manner of Proof, [157]was too delicate to aſk any Queſtions on the Caſe, leſt, on one Hand, he ſhould tempt the Boy into a Lye; or, on the other, be obliged to chaſtiſe, or check him for Faults that his Generoſity might induce him to confeſs.

Matters, therefore, with Reſpect to Ned, preſerved their State of Tranquillity; though Mr. Fenton would often view him with an Eye of Wonder and Suſpicion; and could hardly bring himſelf to believe that a Boy of his extraordinary Genius, ſhould be no other by Birth than a Beg⯑gar's Brat. But here, pardon me, Mr. Fenton, if I diſſent from your Opinion. With humble Deference to your Judg⯑ment in other Matters, I conceive that an Infant, begot on a Dunghill, brought forth in a Pigſtye, and ſwathed with a rot⯑ten Remnant of the Covering of an Aſs, may have Talents and Capacity above the Son of an Emperor.

The Singularity of your Senti⯑ments often ſtrikes me with Aſtoniſhment. Do you really think in a way apart from all other People? or is it a Diſtinction that you affect? Here you ſet yourſelf at Fiſty⯑cuffs with univerſal Perſuaſion, with hiſto⯑rical Facts, and with the Experience as well as Opinion of all Ages. You ſeem wholly to [158]have forgot the Circumſtances that at⯑tended the Birth and Diſcovery of Cyrus, of O Edipus, of Romulus and Remus, with a thouſand other Inſtances, whereby it is evi⯑dent, that the Beauty, Proweſs, and Vir⯑tues, of great and glorious Anceſtors, na⯑turally devolve upon their Offspring.

The great Teutonic Theoſo⯑pher, Jacob Behmen, affirms that a Father begets the Soul as well as Body of his Child; and this ſtrongly coincides with your Judgment of the Matter. All ani⯑mal Nature alſo concurs in the ſame Poſi⯑tion; and the Offspring of a Lion, an Eagle, and an Aſs, invariably partake of the Qualities of their Progenitors.

In the very early Ages of Mankind; when Honour, and Empire, Precedence, and Station were aſſign'd to ſuperior Merit alone, to Proweſs in the Field, or Wiſ⯑dom in the Council; it is but natural to ſuppoſe that the more immediate Deſcen⯑dents, of ſuch Heroes or Patriots, inhe⯑rited, in a great Meaſure, the Beauty, Strength, Genius, and Diſpoſition of thoſe from whom they ſprung. But ſome thou⯑ſands of Years are now paſſed, my good Sir, ſince all this Matter has been totally reverſed; and the World affords but very rare Inſtances, where Waſherwomen, or Shepherds, where a Catherine of Ruſſia, or [159] Kouli-Kan of Perſia, or Theodore of Corſica, by the mere Force of Genius, have raiſed themſelves from Obſcurity to Dominion. Theſe Inſtances, alſo are very far from making any Thing in Favour of your Ar⯑gument; though, unqueſtionably, were you to write their Romance, you would, agreeable to your Theſis, derive their re⯑ſpective Pedigree from the Queen's of Utopia, or ſome Emperors in Terra auſ⯑tralis incognita.

When Time was young, when Men were reſpected and advanced (as I ſaid) according to their perſonal Diſtinctions and Accompliſhments, uncommon Beauty, Strength, and Agility of Body, informed by ſuperior Genius and Talents, were ac⯑counted genuine Proofs of a royal or noble Deſcent. But, in Proceſs of Years, when Art had introduced Luxury, and Luxury had introduced Corruption among the Great, a feeble diſtemper'd Frame, in⯑formed by a perſerſe puſillanimous and impatient Temper, became an Indication, by no Means improbable of the genuine Deſcent of a Child of Quality.

My dear Friend, be cautious! to ſpeak lightly or degradingly of Dignity and Station, does not become People of a certain Sphere.

With all Deference and due Sub⯑miſſion, to thoſe who ſit in the Seat of Moſes, or in the Throne of Caeſar, when we ſpeak as Philoſophers, we ſhould ſpeak independent of vulgar Prejudice.

I am not inſenſible of that internal Re⯑ſpect which the World is pleas'd to pay to external Luftre. If one Man acquires a Crown, another a red Hat, and another a Coronet, by Means that deſerved the Gibbet of Haman; they inſtantly become the preſumptive Proprietors of I know not what Catalogue of fine Qualities and Ac⯑compliſhments. Wherefore, as I am ſo ſingular, ſo perverſe, or ſo unhappy, as to differ from the Judgment of ſo wiſe a World in this Matter, it is the more in⯑cumbent upon me to bring Proofs that are ſelf-evident, at the ſame Time that I treat ſo reverable a Subject with all poſſible De⯑licacy.

In the firſt Ages of ACORNS, when all that ſuſtained the ſimple Nature of Man lay open and in common, like Light and Air; as People knew of nothing fur⯑ther that was to be had, they thought there was nothing further to be deſired. As they had no Wiſhes they felt no Wants; and neither Pride, Envy, Cove⯑touſneſs, or Debauchery could commence, [161]before they contrived the Diſtinctions of Property and Materials of Intemperance, and thereby contrived the Cauſes of Quar⯑rel and Corruption.

But, as Horace ſays, ‘quum oppida caeperunt munire,’ when they began to build, and ſet out Land-Marks, to plow and to ſow, to ſpin and to weave, to han⯑dle the File and Hammer; in Proportion to the Advancement of Invention and Arts, on Neceſſity Convenience aroſe, upon Con⯑venience Elegance, upon Elegance Luxu⯑ry; new Deſires encreaſed and multiplied with the Means of Gratification; real Wiſhes became the Offspring of imagina⯑ry Wants; as thoſe Wiſhes waxed warm the Paſſions were enkindled; and the Vices, laſtly, grew in mathematical Proportion to the Growth of the Paſſions.

All Hiſtories, as well profane as ſacred, in every Age, in every Nation, and in every Inſtance, bear unqueſtionable Teſti⯑mony to the above State of Facts. And hence enſues the Neceſſity of our growing worſe and worſe, till the Pinnacle of Art ſhall put a Limit to Deſire, till Invention ſhall be exhauſted, and no longer prolific of new Wants and additional Wiſhes in Man.

[162] But, ſo long as untried Allurements, ſo long as untaſted Pleaſures, ſo long as new Objects can be ſet up to our Imagination in our eager Purſuit after Happineſs on Earth, our Wiſhes will enflame our Impa⯑tience to reach the Prize; in Proportion to that Impatience our Endeavours will be exerted; in Proportion to ſuch Exertion the Fences of Law and Morals will be broke through or trampled down; and, in Proportion to the Inſufficiency of moral Reſtraints, all Sorts of Fraud and Violence, of Licentiouſneſs and Corruption, of De⯑bauchery and Profligacy muſt prevail throughout the World.

From what you ſay, I ſhould con⯑clude that People of Wealth, of Station and Power, are the leaſt impaſſion'd and the moſt virtuous of all living; foraſmuch as they are already in Poſſeſſion of what their Inferiors ſo earneſtly continue to thirſt, and to chafe, and to labour after. The Great are above Temptation; the World has nothing further to exhibit for their Seduction; and, in this Light alſo, they are become the moſt reſpectable of all People.

Whenever you can make it evident, that to humble the Spirit of Man, you ought to place him in Authority; that, to [163]convince him of perſonal Defaults and In⯑firmities, you ought to encloſe him with Sycophants and ſervile Dependents; that, to make him temperate, you ſhould ſeat him at the Table of a Lucullus; and that, to humanize his Diſpoſition, you ſhould remove him as far as poſſible from a Senſe of the Miſeries of his fellow Creatures; when, to cure a Man of Diſtempers inci⯑dent to his Nature, you would place him in the Midſt of adventitious Contagion; then, and not till then, will Wealth, Stati⯑on, and Power be productive of Reforma⯑tion and Virtue in Man.

Your Error lay in ſuppoſing that ſenſual Appetite and ſpiritual Ambition would ceaſe or abate on Gratification or Indul⯑gence. But this is not poſſible. The Spirit of Man is a deathleſs Deſire; its Cravings cannot be ſatiated till it is poſſeſſ⯑ed of ſome Object that is adequate to its Nature: and, as this World has no ſuch Object to exhibit, Gratifications only ſerve to provoke to further Deſire, or finally to ſink us into utter Deſpondence. And this makes the Moral that was intended by the Philoſophers, when they fabled that the Son of Philip broke into a Paſſion of Tears, on finding that no more Worlds remained for him to conquer.

[164] Your Pardon yet, I pray—With reſpect to your Opinion that the Deſcen⯑dents, of the Mighty and the Exalted, in⯑herit the Qualities and Excellencies of their Progenitors, you ſpeak as though this Earth and all that was thereon were in⯑variably permanent; whereas the knowing-Ones will tell you that the one and the other are ſubject to annual, and even di⯑urnal Revolutions.

Perhaps there is not a Beggar or Slave, upon Earth, whoſe ſometime Progenitor was not a Prince or an Emperor. Per⯑haps there is not a Prince or Emperor, upon Earth, whoſe ſometime Progenitor was not a Slave or a Beggar. Have you then the Diſcernment to perceive in the Beggar the Lineaments of the Prince, or in the Prince to retrace the Lineaments of the Beggar? You have not, ſage Sir. I will tell you a Story.

The Cardinal Campejius, or ſome ſuch great Cardinal, happen'd to have a Diſpute with the Duke of Modena. Altercation roſe high. Do you know, ſays the Prince in Paſſion, that your Father was no better than my Father's Hog-Herd? I know it full well, coolly anſwered the Cardinal; and I am perſuaded that, had your High⯑neſs been the Son of my Father, you would [165]have continued of the ſame Profeſſion to this Day.

In ſuch a World as this, all Things are in perpetual Change, Rotation and Revo⯑lution. It is Nature's Proceſs. As the Summer and Winter gradually ſucceed and encroach upon Each-other; or, as the Sun dawns and ariſes from Darkneſs till he reaches the mid-day Fervour of his culmi⯑nating Beam, and thence declines till he ſets in utter Darkneſs; even ſo mighty Na⯑tions, as well as Families, have their Com⯑mencement, Aſcent and Summit, Declenſi⯑on, Decay and Period. The Vertue of all Nations and Families begins in Poverty, thence ariſes to Induſtry, Genius, Honour, perhaps to Conqueſt and Empire, there's their Zenith. But then comes on the Load of ponderous Wealth that gradually weighs them down, from this Meridian, to Indulgence, Senſuality, Guilt, Corrup⯑tion, Proſtitution, Slavery, Perdition.

Let us now, with the Eye of Philoſo⯑phy, conſider two Men in the moſt con⯑traſted State that this World can admit, ſuppoſe a King and a Beggar. Here, the King is more highly fed and more gayly cloathed than the Beggar; but, if theſe are Advantages deſerving Eſtimation, we behold both this Luxury and Luſtre ſur⯑paſs'd by the Bee in the Garden, and the [166]Lily in the Valley. Further, whatever the native Qualities of the King or Beggar may be, independent of the ſaid external or perſonal Diſtinctions; we may, howe⯑ver, be aſſured that an Education in the Midſt of Senſuality and Deception, of the Exhibition of Temptations and Gratificati⯑on of Luſts, of Paraſites and Pandars, Obeiſance and Proſtration, of corporal In⯑dulgence and mental Impoſition, can be no very good Friend to the Virtues.

If we carry the Compariſon further than this, we find the Body of the King to be as frail, as obnoxious to Pains, Diſeaſe and Inclemencies, even as naked, poor and pe⯑riſhable as that of the Beggar.

But, if we take the Eye of Faith, to ſee further than with that of Philoſophy, we behold their Souls alike immortal, of equal Dignity and Extent. We ſee Crea⯑tures reſembling the Creator himſelf, breathed from his own Spirit, form'd in his own Image, and ordained to his own Beatitude and Eternity. Here, all other Diſtinctions fall away and loſe their Re⯑ſpect, as an Inſtant would do in Compari⯑ſon of Ages, or a Molehill in Compariſon of yon boundleſs Expanſe. And here, we find a Beggar whom the King, himſelf, is bound to reverence, as being the unqueſ⯑tioned Heir of a KING, in Compariſion of [167]whom all other Kings are but as Beggars. How utterly vile and contemptible is all Dignity and Dominion to ſuch and Heir⯑ſhip as this! an Heirſhip hourly approach⯑ing, perhaps juſt at Hand; when the mag⯑nificent Ruin of Man ſhall be rebuilt, when his Weakneſs ſhall put on Power, his Corruption put on Glory, and his Mor⯑tal be wholly ſwallowed up of Immortality!

I confeſs that, for once, you have convinced me. Give me Leave to proceed.

CHAP. XI.

SOME Time after this, Mr. Fenton privately took Ned into his Cloſet, and calling him a good Boy, and giving him a few Shillings to buy Play-Things, deſired him to give the beſt Hiſtory he could re⯑member, of himſelf and his Adventures, before he met with Harry.

Sir, ſays Ned, the firſt Thing that I re⯑member of myſelf, is my going from Houſe to Houſe a begging with my Mam⯑my. I dreamed indeed that I was once in a fine Houſe, and among fine People, but I don't know where nor when, and ſo I believe, as I ſay, it was only a Dream.

Do you remember your Daddy, Ned? no, Sir, I never had a Daddy, that I know of. My Mammy was very croſs to me, and uſed to take from me all the Money and Victuals that I begged; and that was a great deal, for I never let People reſt till they gave me ſomething. And ſo Sir, as I was ſaying, my Mammy was very croſs to me, and uſed to half ſtarve me, and gave me a Beating for every Hour in the Day.

[169] Did ſhe teach you your Prayers, Ned? no Sir, I believe ſhe had no Prayers to teach me; for ſhe uſed to ſwear and ſcold ſadly. And ſo, Sir, as I was telling you, we begged from Houſe to Houſe, ſome⯑times in a Town, and ſometimes in the Country; till the Day ſhe run away from me.

How came your Mammy to run away from you, Ned? why Sir, we were beg⯑ging in your Town, and had got ſome Halfpence and filled our Bag, when my Mammy took up a Child at the Town's End, and run with it till ſhe got into the next Fields. The Child, Sir, cried ſadly, and my Mammy went ſo faſt that I could not keep up with her, do my beſt. And ſo, we heard a Man ſhouting behind us, and my Mammy turned and ſaw him run⯑ning after her very faſt; and ſo ſhe threw down the Child and her great Bag on the Ground, and made the beſt of her way to the next Hedge, and got through it, Sir, and ſo I never ſaw any more of her.

What became of the Child, Neddy? when the Man, Sir, came up, he lifted it off the Ground, and he kiſſed it a great many times, and made it quiet; and I'm thinking he was ſo glad to ſee it, he took no Notice of me; howſomever, he took up [170]my Mammy's great Bag, and turned back and went the way he came. Then, Sir, I fell a crying and roaring terribly, to be left all alone, and to have Nobody in the World who would have any Thing to ſay to me; and I wiſhed for my Mammy a⯑gain, bad as ſhe was to me. And I ſtrove to follow her thro' the Hedge but wasn't able. And ſo, I ſaw a great Houſe on one Side; and I was very ſad when I went to it; and there it was that I met my own young Maſter; and he put Cloaths upon me with his own dear Hands; and he took me to himſelf; and he is ever ſince ſo kind to me, that it troubles me very much; for I can do nothing at all for him, you know, Sir, and that grieves me more than all the World.

Well Neddy, ſays Mr. Fenton, don't cry my Child. Be a good Boy, and mind your Book, and be ſure you tell no Lies, nor do Miſchief to any Body; and I will take Care of you, and be a Father to you my⯑ſelf. But tell me, Ned, would you know the Woman you call your Mammy, if you ſhould ſee her again? yes, yes, Sir, cried Ned. There wasn't a Day of my Life but ſhe gave me Reaſon to remember her; I ſhould know her from all the World, if I wasn't to ſee the Face of her for a hundred Years to come.

[171] I find, Ned, you are not over fond of your Mammy. No indeed, Sir, anſwered Ned, I love Maſter Harry's little Finger, and I would love yourſelf if I dare, Sir, better than a thouſand ſuch Mammies as mine was; and that I ſuppoſe is very naughty; for all good Children, they ſay, love their Fathers and Mothers. Well Ned, ſays Mr. Fenton, if you happen at any Time to ſee her, among the great Number of Beggars that come to our Door; don't you ſpeak to her, or ſhew that you take the leaſt Notice of her; but come and tell me, or honeſt James in my Abſence, that we may take Care of her, and force her to confeſs whether ſhe is, in reality, your Mother or not.

While Mr. Fenton was ſpeaking, An⯑drew entered with Tidings that a Chariot was overturned, not twenty Yards from the Door, and that he feared the People in it were much hurt. Mr. Fenton's Humanity was much alarmed at the News; he or⯑dered the Servants to follow him, and in⯑ſtantly hurried out to give all the Aſſiſtance he could to the Strangers.

The Chariot happened to be overturn⯑ed, by the ſlipping out of one of the Linchpins that kept the Wheel on the Axletree. The Company had already got [172]out. They were an agreeable young Cou⯑ple, Mr. Fielding and his Wife, who had come from London on purpoſe to take an Airing on the Hill. Mrs. Fielding had ſuf⯑fered nothing, except from her Fears; but Mr. Fielding's Right Arm was ſomething bruiſed, by his endeavouring to preſerve his Lady in the Fall.

Mr. Fenton appeared the greateſt Suffer⯑er of the three, and addreſſed the Strangers with a Countenance that convinced them how feelingly he was intereſted in their Safety. He left Andrew to have the Cha⯑riot ſet to Rights; and, having conducted his new Gueſts to his own Houſe, he or⯑dered up a Bottle of Sack and ſome Naple Cakes to the Parlour.

When they were all ſeated, and the Glaſs had gone round; I find, Sir, ſaid Mr. Fielding, that People are apt to be diſ⯑guſted with what they call Accidents, and which may afterward turn out to their greateſt Advantage. Perhaps I ſhould never have known what true Humanity was, if our Carriage had not been over⯑turned this Day. If you knew all, ſaid Mr. Fenton, with a tender Bluntneſs, you would be far from laying any Humanity at my Door, ſince I rejoice at an Accident, where the Damage is all yours, and the [173]Advantage that ariſes from it is all my own.

I'd hold Fifty to one, cried Mrs. Field⯑ing, that this is the very Mr. Fenton we have heard ſo much about. Indeed Ma⯑dam, ſaid Mr. Fenton, you ſurprize me much; if I had the Pleaſure of ever know⯑ing you, there is ſomething in that Face I ſhould not have readily forgot.

No, Sir, ſaid Mrs. Fielding, I ſpeak from Information. I never had the Hap⯑pineſs of being known to you, till now. We have a Foſterer in this Village, Roſe Jenkins, a poor Widow, one of thoſe many Perſons you have down on your Liſt. She was Nurſe to our only Child, while he lived and was with us, ſhe was a conſtant Viſitant; but, as ſoon, as ſoon as—Here Mrs. Fielding heſitated, her Lip trem⯑bled, and her Eye gliſtened with a filling Tear—I ſay, Sir, as ſoon as a very ſad Affair happened; the poor Woman came near us no more. One Day, as we were taking the Air through this Town, I thought I ſaw a Face that was familiar to me. I called to the Coachman to ſtop. It was my old Nurſe. She had a Family of ſmall Children, and had fallen ſadly to Decay before you came, Mr. Fenton, to ſettle in the Town. I chid her for becom⯑ing a Stranger to us. Ah, Madam, ſaid [174]the kind Creature, the Tears burſting from her Eyes, how could I go near a Place where every Thing would put me in mind of my dear loſt Child—ſhe ſtill continued to weep—and I—wept for Company—I put a Guinea in her Hand, and inſiſted on her coming to ſee us. She did ſo. It was then, Mr. Fenton, that we learned your Name and Character. And you muſt ex⯑pect the Mortification, now and then, of hearing a little of thoſe many Things that are ſpoken to your Advantage. I am ſor⯑ry, Madam, ſaid Mr. Fenton, that my No⯑things ſhould be talked of; leſt it ſhould intimate that other People are leſs oſtenta⯑tious.

Mrs. Fielding was ſtill affected by what ſhe had been ſaying. And, though Mr. Fenton wiſhed to know what the ſad Affair was at which ſhe had hinted, he declined aſking any Queſtions, for fear of renewing her Affliction.

Mr. and Mrs. Clement had walked a⯑broad, upon a Viſit, with their Pupil Har⯑ry. So that Mr. Fenton and his Friend Ned, with Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, made the whole of the preſent Company.

You are happily ſituated, Sir, ſays Mr. Fielding. I blame myſelf and all others, who have any Independence, and yet live [175]in a City. Health, Pleaſure, and Spirits are all for the Country. Did any Poets or Philoſophers ever place their golden Aeras, or golden Scenes, amidſt ſuch a Town as London? a Man can ſcarce be himſelf, he is confuſed and diſſipated by the Variety of Objects and Buſtle that ſur⯑rounds him. In ſhort, Sir, I am like many others, the reverſe in Perſuaſion of what I am in Practice, I live in a City, although I deteſt it. It is true that I am fond of Society and Neighbourhood, but Experience has ſhewn me that London is not the Place in which I can enjoy it.

No Sir, ſaid Mr. Fenton, if I was a Lover of Solitude, if I wiſhed to be the moſt recluſe of all Anchorites that bid adieu to the Commerce of Mankind, I would chuſe London for my Cell. It is in ſuch a City alone, that a Man may keep wholly un⯑known and unnoticed. He is there, as a Hailſtone amidſt a great Shower, he jumps and buſtles about awhile, then lies ſnug among his Fellows, without being any more obſerved than if he were not upon Earth, till he melts away and vaniſhes with the reſt of his Fraternity.

I am not for a Cell, Sir, replied Mr. Fielding. I love Society, but yet a Society that is founded in Friendſhip; and People, in great Cities, are ſo divided and diſſipat⯑ed [176]by the Multitude of ſolliciting Objects and Acquaintance, that they are rendered incapable of a particular Attachment. I imagine, however, that in a well peopled and civilized Part of the Country, a Man might make an Election of Perſons de⯑ſerving his Eſteem, ſuch as he would wiſh to live with in a happy Interchange of kind Offices and Affections. This indeed is my Plan for my Remainder of Life; but the Lawſuits, in which I am at preſent involved, will not permit me to go in ſearch of my Utopia.

At Law! exclaimed Mr. Fenton; then Sir, you are much to be blamed, or much to be pitied.

I hope, rather to be pitied than blamed, rejoined Mr. Fielding. Four Suits deſcend⯑ed to me on the Part of my own Father, and three on the Part of the Father of my Wife; and my Adverſaries, on all Sides, are ſuch Cocks of the Game, that no O⯑vertures can induce them to liſten to any Terms of Compromiſe or Accommoda⯑tion.

If Matters of Wealth or Property, ſaid Mr. Fenton, are really Matters of valuable Eſtimation in Life, it is much to be la⯑mented that there is no Place, on Earth, [177]wherein Property can be ſaid to be fixed or aſcertained. Throughout the Regions of Mahomet, and Aſiatic Deſpotiſm, Life and Property are, alike, Tenures at the Will of the Ruler. Again, throughout the European Continent, no Man, indeed, no Nation can be aſſured of their Poſſeſ⯑ſions, expoſed as they are to the Ambition and Avarice of their almoſt perpetually in⯑vading Neighbours. Laſtly in theſe Nor⯑thern Iſlands, whoſe Defence Nature her⯑ſelf appears to have undertaken, by a Guardianſhip of circling Rocks and Seas; this does not however defend us from in⯑teſtine Convulſions and Changes. Think, what a general Change of Property has been made, in Great Britain, during the two very late Revolutions; I am told that, in a neighbouring Country, the Alienation has been nearly univerſal; perhaps a third Revolution is alſo at Hand.

It is affirmed that the civil Conſtitution of England is the beſt calculated for the Security of Liberty and Property, of any that was ever framed by the Policy of Man; and originally, perhaps, it might have been ſo; when twelve ſimple and im⯑partial Men were appointed for the ſpeedy Trial and Determination of Life and Pro⯑perty.

[178] Our Anceſtors, unqueſtionably, were at that Time unbleſs'd by the liberal and learned Profeſſion of the Long-Robe; they would not otherwiſe have committed the Diſpoſition of Property (a Matter held ſo much more valuable than that of Life) to a few Men, who could have no Virtue under Heaven to recommend them, ſave the two illiterate Qualities of Common Senſe and Common Honeſty.

Thoſe were Ages of mental Darkneſs and no Way illumin'd, as we are, by thoſe immenſe and immaculate Volumes of refined and legal Metaphyſics, that now preſs the Shelves of the Learned, and are read with ſuch Delight. A Man, in thoſe Times, had no Play for his Money; he was either ſtript or enrich'd of a ſudden; whereas now, in the worſt Cauſe, Hope is left during Life; and Hope is ſaid to be the greateſt Cordial in this Vale of human Controverſy.

It is greatly to be lamented that the learned, in our Laws, are not as immortal as the Suits for which they are retained. It were therefore to be wiſhed that an Act of Parliament might be eſpecially paſſed for that Purpoſe; a Matter no way im⯑practicable, conſidering the great Intereſt thoſe Gentlemen have in the Houſe. In [179]Truth it ſeems highly expedient, that an Infinity of Years ſhould be aſſigned to each Student of the Belles Lettres of our Laws, to enable them to read over that Infinity of Volumes which have already been pub⯑liſhed; to ſay nothing of the Infinity that are yet to come, which will be held equally Neceſſary for underſtanding the Profeſſion, of critically diſtinguiſhing, and oratorically expatiating on Law againſt Law, Caſe againſt Caſe, Authority againſt Au⯑thority, Precedent againſt Precedent, Sta⯑tute againſt Statute, and Argument againſt Reaſon.

In Matters of no greater Moment than Life and Death, Juries, as at the Begin⯑ning, are ſtill permitted to enter directly on the Hearing and Deciſion. But, in Matters ſo ſacred as that of Property, our Courts are extremely cautious of too early an Error in Judgment. In order therefore to ſift and boult them to the very Bran, they are delivered over to the Lawyers, who are, equally, the Affirmers and Diſ⯑puters, the Pleaders and Impleaders, Re⯑preſenters and Miſrepreſenters, Explainers and Confounders of our Laws. Our Law⯑yers, therefore, maintain their Right of being paid for their Ingenuity in putting and holding all Properties in Debate. De⯑bated Properties, conſequently, become the Properties of the Lawyers, as long as An⯑ſwers [180]can be given to Bills, or Replies to Anſwers, or Rejoinders to Replies, or Re⯑butters to Rejoinders; as long as the Bat⯑tledors can ſtrike and bandy, and till the Shuttle-cock falls of itſelf to the Ground.

Soberly and ſeriouſly ſpeaking, Engliſh Property, when once debated, is merely a Carcaſs of Contention upon which interpo⯑ſing Lawyers fall, as cuſtomary Prize and Prey during the Combat of the Claimants. While any Fleſh remains on a Bone, it continues a Bone of Contention. But, ſo ſoon as the learned Practitioners have pick'd it quite clean; the Battle is over, and all again is Peace and ſettled Neighbourhood.

It is worthy of much Pleaſantry and ſhaking of Sides to obſerve that, in intri⯑cate, knotty, and extremely perplexing Caſes, where the Sages of the Gown and Coif are ſo puzzled as not to know what to make of the Matter; they then be⯑queath it to the Arbitration and Award of two or three plain Men; or by Record, to the Judgment of twelve ſimply honeſt Fel⯑lows who, caſting aſide all Regard to the Form of Writs and Declarations, to the Lapſe of Monoſyllables, verbal Miſtakes and Miſnomers, enter at once upon the Pith and Marrow of the Buſineſs, and in three Hours determine, according to Equity and Truth, what had been ſuſpending in the [181]dubious Scales of Ratiocination, Quotation, Altercation, and pecuniary Conſideration, for three and twenty Years.

Neither do I ſee any Period to the Pro⯑greſs of this Evil; the Avenue ſtill opens and leads on to further Miſchiefs. For the Diſtinctions in Law are, like the New⯑tonian Particles of Matter, diviſible ad in⯑finitum. They have been dividing and ſub⯑dividing for ſome Centuries paſt, and the Subdiviſions are as likely to be ſubdividing for ever; inſomuch that Law, thus diviſi⯑ble, debateable, and delayable, is become a greater Grievance than all that it was in⯑tended to redreſs.

I lately aſked a pleaſant Gentleman of the Coif, if he thought it poſſible for a poor Man to obtain a Decree, in Matter of Property, againſt a rich Man? he ſmiled and anſwered, according to Scripture, that with Man it was impoſſible, but that all Things were poſſible to God. I ſuppoſe he meant, that the Decrees of the Courts of Weſtminſter were hereafter to be reverſed.

Perhaps Sir, ſaid Mr. Fielding, neither our Laws nor our Lawyers are ſo much to blame as the People who apply to them for Protection, for Juſtice, Satisfaction, or Revenge. Might not the Parties, who ad⯑venture on the Courſe of Litigation, begin [182]where they are moſt likely to end their Career, in the Award of a few Perſons, or a Verdict of twelve Neighbours?

But the Nature of Man is prone to Con⯑tention and Quarrel. There is a certain Portion of Yeſt or Fermentation in his Maſs that will have Vent in ſome Way, and our Courts of Law are the moſt ob⯑vious Receptacles for the Ebullitions of Pride, Avarice, Envy, Reſentment, and Wrathfulneſs, the Inſolences of Temper, and Overflowings of Fortune.

Mr. Scruple, an Attorney, a very ſingu⯑lar Man in his Way, was lately recom⯑mended to me, as a Perſon equally quali⯑fied for alluring or compelling my litigating Opponents to an Accommodation. And he told me an exceeding pleaſant Story, as well reſpecting the Proceſs and Forms of our Courts of Law, as reſpecting the contentious Diſpoſition of our Neighbours.

Some Time ſince, Walter Warmhouſe, a ſubſtantial Farmer in Eſſex, was adviſed, by Serjeant Craw, that he had an unqueſ⯑tionable right to a certain Tenement in the Poſſeſſion of Barnaby Bonniface, his next Neighbour and Goſſip, who fattened by the dint of good Ale and good Hu⯑mour.

[183] Barnaby, who equally hated Debate and dry Bowels, offered to leave the Matter, in queſtion, to any honeſt Neighbours of Walter's own chuſing; but Walter, proud of a weighty Opinion and as weighty a Purſe, rejected the proffered Compromiſe with Scorn, and took a mortal Averſion to honeſt Barnaby becauſe he refuſed to ſurrender his Poſſeſſions on demand.

Walter Warmhouſe accordingly began the Attack, in Form. But Mr. Scruple, who had the uncommon Conſcience to re⯑member that Barnaby had once recovered his Purſe from a Highway-Man, deter⯑mined as far as poſſible to preſerve the Property of his old Friend. For this Pur⯑poſe he kept warily and cheaply on the defenſive; and, while he held a watchful Eye over the Motions of the Adverſary, he followed him cloſe through a thirteen Years Labyrinth of Law-Forms; and, what with Exceptions to Bills and Replies, expenſive Commiſſions for Examination of Witneſſes, Demurrer, Imparlance and Eſ⯑ſoign; with Hearings, and Rehearings, Defer of Iſſue thereon, Coſts of Suit and Coſts of Office; he pretty nearly ex⯑hauſted both the Purſe and the Patience of the valorous Plaintiff Walter Warmhouſe. Whereupon his prudent Patron, the good Serjeant Craw, deemed it high time to [184]conſent to a Motion for referring the Caſe to the Arbitration and Award of certain Umpires, though not of his Client's chooſ⯑ing, as at firſt propoſed.

Soon after this Order, Serjeant Craw had occaſion to travel to the farther Parts of Eſſex, and his Road led to the Concerns of his old Client Walter Warmhouſe. Here, Walter happened to meet him, and warn⯑ed him of the manifold Dangers of the Way, and of the Numbers of Thieves and Highway⯑men that infeſted the Paſſages that lay juſt be⯑fore him. And pray then, very ſmoothly ſays the Serjeant, is there no way through your Fields Mr. Warmhouſe? there is, Sir, ſaid Warmhouſe, as good as any in England. And may I not be permitted to paſs? Moſt ſafely, and a thouſand welcomes.

Hereupon, Client Warmhouſe opened the Gate that led from the Road into the Fields, and in iſſued the Equipage of his learned Advocate and kind Patron.

Goodman Warmhouſe was mounted on a round ambling Nag, and rode much at his Eaſe by the Chariot of his Malefactor. They chatted, as they went, about the Prices of Cattle and Improvement of Lands, the Fall and Riſe of Grain, the Neceſſity of Induſtry; and above all, of the Advantage of good Encloſures, which, [185]as the Serjeant obſerved, were Emblems of the Engliſh Laws, and ſecured every Man's Property from Queſtion or Encroach⯑ment.

While thus they beguiled the Way, Walter led his reſpectable Patron through this Field and that Field, and through you Gate and t'other Gate; and now went a' Head like a Fox, and now doubled like a Hare; till, having mazed it and circled it for the Space of three Hours, he finally conducted the Serjeant to the very Gate at which he had firſt entered.

How, how! exclaims the Serjeant, me⯑thinks we are juſt where we ſet out; we have not gained an Inch of Ground by the many Miles we have travelled!

Quite as much, replied Walter, in a Journey of three Hours, as your Honour gained for me in a Journey of thirteen Years; and I leave you, as you left me — juſt where you found me.

Your Story, cried Mr. Fenton, is as pleaſant as it is apt, and reminds me of an Obſervation, made by Harry the 4th of France, that is equally pertinent to the Subject.

[186] A certain Judge of a Court of Law, in that Kingdom, had grown aged on the Bench, and honoured by the innumerable Sentences which he had paſſed, and which were all deemed conformable to the moſt perfect Meaſure and Diſpenſation of Equi⯑ty. The Gainers of the ſeveral Suits ap⯑plauded his Diſcernment and Juſtice to the Skies; and even the Loſers allowed that they had no right to complain. The Fame of his Wiſdom and Integrity reach⯑ed the Throne; the Monarch was curious to ſee a Judge of ſo peculiar a Caſt and Character; and he ſent for him under Co⯑lour of thanking him for the great Ho⯑nours which he had done to his Regency.

After a moſt gracious Reception, and ſome Compliments at the Levee, the Prince took him apart and in Confidence ſaid.

"My Lord Judge, the infinite Com⯑plaints that come before me from all Parts of the Kingdom, reſpecting the erroneous or iniquitous Sentences daily paſſed by your Fraternity, caſt the higheſt Luſtre on the Singularity of your Conduct, and give me an eager Curioſity to know by what Mea⯑ſures you have been enabled to content all Parties. I adjure you then, by all that you reverence, to diſguiſe nothing from [187]me on this Head. You have not any thing to fear from my Cenſure of Means that have proved ſo very ſucceſsful, and you have all things to hope from my Appro⯑bation."

The Judge, thereupon, caſt himſelf at the Feet of his Prince and, riſing, addreſſed him thus.

To you, my Sovereign, as to Heaven, I will open my whole Soul.—In the firſt Place, in order to enable myſelf to give a Gueſs whether the Judgments, to be pro⯑nounced, might be right or wrong, I gave all poſſible Attention to the Merits of each Caſe during the Proceſs; I daily took Mi⯑nutes of the Pleadings on either Side; I enlarged and commented on thoſe Minutes while Matters were freſh in my Memory; and I never interrupted any Cauſe, till it had run itſelf out of Breath through the Circuit of Forms and due Courſe of Law.

In the next Place, may it pleaſe your Majeſty, I never took Bribe or Preſent of any Kind, or from any Hand; leſt Favour or Inclination ſhould inſenſibly tempt me to cogg, or give a partial Turn to the final Caſt.

Thus prepared, as ſoon as Matters were ripe for a Decree; that is to ſay, as ſoon [188]as the reſpective Lawyers had agreed a⯑mong themſelves, that nothing more was to be ſaid, nor any Thing more to be got, on either Side of the Queſtion; I ſummed up the repugnant Merits ſo equally and im⯑partially, with reſpect to Circumſtance, Evidence, and Ordinance of Law, as in⯑duced both Parties, now wearied and wiſh⯑ing for Reſt, to think that the Decree muſt inevitably be given againſt them⯑ſelves; and having appointed a certain Hour for uttering the fatal Sentence, I got up under viſible Concern, and retired.

From the Bench, ſo pleaſe your Graci⯑ouſneſs, I withdrew to my Cloſet, and having locked myſelf up, I called upon my tutelary and never erring Directors in the ſolution of all Knots and unwinding of all Intricacies; in ſhort I went to a little Drawer and took out — my Box and Dice.

Box and Dice! exclaimed the Monarch, Half ſtarting from his Seat. Yes, Sire, re⯑plied the Judge, I repeat it, Box and Dice. And if your Majeſty will be pleaſed to at⯑tend, for a few Moments, I truſt to con⯑vince you of the Propriety of this Pro⯑ceeding.

Humanum eſt errare. This, my Liege, is a Maxim that has never yet been con⯑troverted [189]by Precept or by Practiſe; and it is as much as to ſay, that Life is a mere Labyrinth of Errors, in which all Men are appointed to travel, and to ſtray.

Nothing, ſave Number and Meaſure, is yet determined upon Earth. Nothing is certain, ſave that two and two make four, and that Lines are equal or differ accord⯑ing to their Dimenſions.

All Men, further than this, depend up⯑on Reaſon, as their Enlightner and Direc⯑tor in the Search of Truth. And yet Rea⯑ſon, itſelf, has nothing whereon it may reſt or depend. It firſt doubts, and then proceeds to examine. It calls in Evidence and Arguments, on this Side and on that Side, pro and con. It compares, canvaſſes, and diſcuſſes; ſifts and boults Matters, ſuppoſe to the very Bran. It endeavours to poiſe the Scales of its own Uncertainty, and now recovers ſome lapſed Circum⯑ſtance, and caſts it into this Scale; and again throws ſome new Proof or Diſcovery into that Scale; and ſo changes its Opini⯑on from Day to Day. While Prejudice and Partiality ſtand inviſibly at its Elbow, and at length determine the long ſuſpend⯑ed Balance, by caſting their own Weights into one Scale or the other, according as Intereſt or Pleaſure would wiſh to prepon⯑derate.

[190] Truth, ſo pleaſe your Supremacy, has been ſunk in ſo very deep a Well, as to mock the five-inched Fathom of mere hu⯑man Ratiocination; whether it be a Dealer or Retailer of Phyſic or Metaphyſics; of the Diſtinctions in Law, or the Diſtincti⯑ons in Philoſophy. And I flatter myſelf that I alone, the leaſt and moſt unlikely of all your Majeſty's Subjects, have hit upon a Method for fiſhing up Truth, by a Line which I acknowledge is not of my own twiſting.

Within my Memory and, nearly, with⯑in that of your Majeſty, particular Laws have been in Force for Trial by Combat, and Trial by Ordeal; and though, at pre⯑ſent, thoſe Laws are held to have been iniquitous and wholly abſurd, they could not have been inſtituted without juſt and ponderous Reaſons. They related, my Liege, as my Sentences do, to the Inter⯑poſition of Providence in the Jewiſh Lots; whereby all Doubts, however general, could be ſpeedily aſcertained; where the Nation drew Lots according to Tribes, the Tribes according Families, and the Families by Individuals, till the Criminal was detected.

Thus, in Trial by Combat, I have known and read of manifold Inſtances, wherein [191]guilty Courage and Proweſs have been foiled by the Weak and Fearful. And, in Trial by Ordeal, Heaven never failed to guide the Steps of the hoodwinked In⯑nocent between the narrow Intervals of the burning Plowſhares. And thus, conſcious of my own Infirmity and Blindneſs, I have referred all my Decrees to a Power of bet⯑ter Diſcernment, and he never failed to determine according to Truth.

Indeed, ſaid the Monarch, I cannot wholly diſapprove your Method, when I reflect on your Motive. And, according to your Account, when I think on the Plague and Anxiety, Loſs of Time and Loſs of Fortune, to which my Subjects are put by theſe Profeſſors of the Law; you have clearly convinced me, my good Lord Judge, that it would be INFINITELY BETTER TO CAST DICE AT THE BEGINNING, THAN TO GIVE THE MOST RIGHTE⯑OUS JUDGMENT AT THE END OF ANY LAW-SUIT.

WHILE the Gentlemen were thus plung⯑ed in the bottomleſs Gulph of the Law, Mrs. Fielding beckoned Ned to a remote Part of the Room, and was greatly taken with his lively and innocent Chat.

Pray, Mr. Fenton, ſaid ſhe, is this your Son? No Madam, ſaid Mr. Fenton, we [192]know not to whom he belongs, poor Fel⯑low; and I am perſuaded, from many Circumſtances, that he was ſtolen, in his Infancy, from his true Parents.

Mrs. Fielding inſtantly coloured like Scarlet; and, caſting at her Huſband an eager and animated Look, gracious Hea⯑ven! ſhe exclaimed, who knows, my Dear, but this may be our precious, our loſt and long lamented Boy, to whom Providence this Day has ſo wonderfully conducted us?

Madam, ſaid Mr. Fenton, it is thought that Hundreds of Children are yearly ſpi⯑rited away from their Parents, by Gipſies, by Beggars to excite Charity, and by Kid⯑nappers to carry to the Plantations; but I hear of very few that ever have been re⯑ſtored, except in Romance. Pray, had you any particular Memorandum or Mark whereby you would know him to be your Child, on the Preſumption of his being found?

Alas, no Sir, ſaid Mrs. Fielding; he was ſcarce two Year old when his Nurſe got Leave to go and ſee, a Relation, the only Viſit, poor Woman that ſhe made from the Time ſhe took my Child to the Breaſt. She left him in the Care of the Houſe Maid, who uſed to careſs him with parti⯑cular [193]Tenderneſs. He ſtood with her at the Door; ſome one called her in ſuddenly; but, quickly returning, my Child was gone!

Ah! could the Wretches who took him have gueſſed at the Heart-rending Anguiſh which that Loſs coſt me, it were not in the Nature of Barbarians, of Brutes, of Fiends themſelves to have imagined a Deed of ſuch Deadlineſs. For three Days and Nights, Life hover'd like a Flame that was juſt departing, and was only retained by my frequent▪ and long Swoonings that, for a Time, ſhut up all Senſe and Recollec⯑tion. Neither do I think that my dear Huſband ſuffered much leſs than myſelf, however he might conſtrain and exert his Spirits to keep up, as it were, ſome Ap⯑pearance of Manlineſs.

We diſpatched Cryers throughout the City, and through all the neighbouring Towns, with Offers of vaſt Recompence to any who ſhould diſcover and reſtore our Child to us; and we continued, for Years, to advertiſe him in all the public Papers. But alas, he muſt have been taken by ſome very illiterate Wretches who could not read, and who never heard of the Re⯑wards that were offered, their own Intereſt muſt otherwiſe have engaged them to re⯑turn [194]him. Pray, Mr. Fenton, how did you come by this pretty Boy?

Here, Ned aſſiſted Mr. Fenton to give a Detail, reſpecting himſelf, of the Circum⯑ſtances already recited; and Mr. Fenton mentioned the Precaution he had taken for ſeizing his former Mammy, if ever ſhe ſhould make her Appearance.

If Heaven ſhould ever bleſs me with more Children, ſaid Mr. Fielding, I have determined to fix ſome indelible Mark upon them, ſuch as that of the Jeruſalem-Let⯑ters, that, in caſe of Accident, I may be able to diſcover and aſcertain my own Offspring from all others. Such a Pre⯑caution, ſaid Mr. Fenton, is more eſpecially incumbent on thoſe who ſend their Chil⯑dren abroad to be nurſed; where it is ſo practicable for Foſterers to impoſe a living Infant in the Place of one who has died; or, by an Exchange, to prefer a Child of their own to an Inheritance; for the Fea⯑tures of Infancy generally change to a Degree that ſhortly leaves no Trace of the original Caſt of Countenance; and it is common with Parents to leave their Chil⯑dren at Nurſe, for Years, without ſeeing or renewing the Memory of their Aſ⯑pects.

[195] Mr. Fenton, ſays Mrs. Fielding, will you give me your Intereſt in this ſweet Found⯑ling? I will regard him as my own Child, I will be good to him for the Sake of the one I have loſt. Tell me, my Dear, will you come and live with me? — What ſay you Ned, ſays Mr. Fenton, would you like to go and live with that Lady? O Sir, cried Ned, could I find in my Heart to leave Maſter Harry and you, to be ſure I would give the World to be with this dear Lady. So ſaying, he catch'd at her Hand and preſſed it eagerly to his Lips. Mrs. Fielding found herſelf ſurpriſed and agitated by this Action, and, taking him in her Arms, and repeatedly kiſſing him, the Guſh of Paſſion which ſhe had ſometime ſuppreſſed broke forth, and ſhe ſhed a plenteous Shower of Tears upon him.

Word being now brought that the Cha⯑riot was put to Rights, and at the Door; Mr. and Mrs. Fielding took a tender Fare⯑wel of Mr. Fenton and Ned, and ſet off for London.

As we propoſe, after the Manner of the celebrated Vertot, to drop all the heavy and inanimate Parts of our Hiſtory, and to retain nothing but the Life and Spirit thereof; we take the Liberty to paſs over a few Months, during which nothing ma⯑terial [196]happened, ſave that our Harry en⯑creaſed in Stature, and in all perſonal and mental Accompliſhments.

It was the latter End of Auguſt, the Weather fair and pleaſant, when Harry iſſued forth to his little Campus martius, accompanied by Neddy and the faithful James.

He was there met by his cuſtomary Companions in Arms, and they had nearly ſettled their Courſes and Exerciſes for the Evening, when a young Phoenomenon of Nobility made his Appearance, like a Phoenix among the vulgar Birds, attended by two Servants in flaming Liveries.

All the Boys, except Harry, and Ned who kept cloſe to him, immediately ap⯑proached the glittering Stranger and paid their Reſpects with Admiration and a kind of awkard Obeiſance; while Harry eyed him aſkance, with a half ſullen and half diſdainful Regard, and, notwithſtand⯑ing the native Benevolence of his Temper, felt no kind of Complacence in his Boſom toward him.

The young Nobleman, to make a pa⯑rade of his Wealth, and at the ſame Time to indulge his Petulance of Diſpoſition, took a Handful of Sixpences and Shillings [197]from his Pocket and, throwing them a⯑mong the Crew, cried, a Scramble Boys, a Scramble!

Hereupon a Scuffle royal inſtantly en⯑ſued. All of them, ſave three, eagerly grappled at the Pieces that had fixed their Eye; while each at the ſame Time ſeized and ſtruggled with his Fellow. Our He⯑ro, mean while, obſerved all that paſſed with a diſtinguſhing Attention. But, as the Cauſe of Quarrel was quickly conveyed from Sight, nothing worſe happened than a few Trips and Boxes, to which the Par⯑ties had been accuſtomed, and therefore did not reſent; inſomuch that my Lord was wholly defeated of the benevolent In⯑tention of his Generoſity, and looked upon himſelf as defrauded of his Coin.

To compenſate this Diſappointment, and to make ſurer, for the future, of his dear⯑ly beloved Miſchief; he took a Crown-Piece from his Pocket, and holding it up to the full View of the Aſſembly, he pro⯑claimed it as the Prize of Victory between any two, who ſhould ſtep forth on the Spot, and engage in a Boxing Match. At the Word an unknown Champion ſprung forward, inſtantly ſtripped, and challenged the Field.

[198] This unknown had arrived but that very Morning, with his Parents who came to ſettle at the Village. He was by Nature a very valiant but very quarrelſome Boy; he had conſequently been engaged in a Number of occaſional Combats, wherein he had generally come off victorious; and this gave him as full an Aſſurance of Con⯑queſt as though his Brow had already re⯑ceived the Wreath.

The Stranger in Bulk and Stature ex⯑ceeded the Field, and no one had yet of⯑fered himſelf an Antagoniſt; when Harry ſtepping up, thus addreſſed him in a gentle but admoniſhing Accent.

I find, Sir, you are a Stranger; you are therefore to be excuſed for behaving a⯑miſs, as you are yet unacquainted with the Laws of this Place. But I muſt now be ſo free to inform you that, whoever quarrels here or boxes for Money, muſt afterwards take a Turn with me for no⯑thing. As well before as after, briſkly re⯑plied the Adverſary; but I ſcorn to take you at an Advantage, prepare yourſelf and ſtrip! you muſt firſt ſhew me, re⯑joined Harry, that you are worth ſtripping for.

[199] The unknown inſtantly fired at what he held to be a boaſtful Inſult, and, leaping forward, aimed a Punch at Harry's Stomach, with all his Force. When Harry, nimbly catching the right Wriſt of his Adverſary in his left Hand, and giving him, at the ſame Inſtant, a ſudden Trip with his right Foot, and a Stroke acroſs the Neck with his right Arm; the ſtrange Hero's Heels flew up, and his Shoulders and Head came with a Squelch to the Earth.

As this unfortunate Champion lay, aſ⯑toniſhed, diſmayed, and wholly diſqualified by his Fall from further Contention; Harry generouſly ſtepped forward and offered to raiſe him. But, turning from him, he painfully and ſlowly aroſe, and muttering ſomething not intelligible, he walked away with a ſullen but much abaſed Motion.

Harry's Companions, hereat, began to ſet up a Cry of Triumph and Deriſion after the vanquiſh'd. But Harry ſuddenly ſtopped them and cried, for Shame, my Friends! he is a brave Boy and deſerves to be honoured, though a Stranger to our Ways; and I hope, in my Heart, that he mayn't be hurt, nor diſcouraged from com⯑ing among us any more.

[200] Our young Nobleman, mean while, had obſerved all that paſſed, and conſidered our Hero with an envious and indignant At⯑tention; when Harry, calling to him the three Boys who had declined to partake of the Scramble for my Lord's Money; my good Boys, cries he aloud, you had the Honour to refuſe to Quarrel and Tear your Companions and Friends to Pieces, for the dirty Matter of a few Sixpences, and the firſt Part of your Reward ſhall be many Sixpences.

So ſaying, he put his Hand in his Pocket and, taking out three Crowns, made a Preſent of one to each. Then, feeling a ſecret Touch of ſelf Approbation, he turned to my Lord's Servants and ad⯑dreſſed them, in an Accent, and with an Action rather too highly elevated. Go, he cried, my Friends, take your young Maſter home to his Father and Mother; and tell them, from me, that, ſince they have already made him a LORD, I wiſh the next thing they do, would be to make him a GENTLEMAN!

What, you Scoundrel, cried my Lord, do you tell me, to my Face, that I am not a Gentleman? and, flying inſtantly at Harry, he gave him a ſmart Stroke on the left Cheek. Harry had juſt begun to re⯑collect [201]his Error. But, being again kindled to quick Reſentment, he half repreſſed and half enforced a ſudden Paunch which he reached at the Noſe of his Lordſhip, who, giving a Scream, fell backward, and mea⯑ſured his Length on the Field.

The two Servants immediately ſtooped to raiſe their bleeding Maſter; and one of them, highly exaſperated to ſee his Lord in that Condition, turned furiouſly upon Harry in order to chaſtiſe him. But Jack Freeman, his fellow Servant, ſtrait caught him by the Arm, crying, hold Patrick, hold! remember fair Play and Old Eng⯑land!

So ſaying, he ſuddenly ſtopped, catched at our Hero's Hand, preſſed it warmly to his Lips, and cried, O, my nobleſt Child, how I envy the Happineſs of thoſe who ſerve you! then turning, he took his Lord by the Hand, and ſtraight led him away from the Field of Battle.

Appropo', to your turning a Lord into a Gentleman. When your Hero gave that juſt though over haughty Re⯑proof to the Inſolence and Petulance of the gay Stranger, had he not a clear Con⯑ception of the Character of your true Gen⯑tleman?

If he had not a poſitive, yet you ſee he had a negative Apprehenſion of the Matter. If he could not ſay what it was to be—yet he could tell you what it was, not to be a Gentleman. And he clearly perceived that neither Finery, Grandeur of Equipage, Title, Wealth, ſuperior Airs, Affectation of Generoſity, neither a Miſchief-making Temper, nor a taking of Delight in the Broils, Conflicts, Paſſions, and Pains of others, were any con⯑ſtituent Qualities in this reverable Charac⯑ter.

I beſeech you then, at this Inter⯑val, to ſatisfy my Impatience, and to make good your Promiſe that you would give me a Detail of the Qualities that entitle a Man to this Supreme of Denominations.

That perhaps may be done, with better Effect to the Underſtanding as well as the Heart, by inſtancing and exemplify⯑ing, rather than defining.

It has already been intimated that Hector was the fineſt Gentleman of whom we read in Hiſtory, and Don Quixote the fineſt Gentleman we read of in Romance; as was inſtanced from the Tenour of their Principles and Actions.

[203] Some Time after the Battle of Creſſy, Edward the Third of England, and Ed⯑ward the Black Prince, the more than Heir of his Father's Renown, preſſed John King of France to indulge them with the Plea⯑ſure of his Company at London. John was deſirous of embracing the Invitation, and accordingly laid the Propoſal before his Parliament at Paris. The Parliament ob⯑jected that the Invitation had been made with an inſidious Deſign of ſeizing his Per⯑ſon, thereby to make the cheaper and eaſier Acquiſition of the Crown, to which Edward at that Time pretended. But John replied, with ſome Warmth, that he was confident his Brother Edward, and more eſpecially his young Couſin, were too much of the GENTLEMAN to treat him in that Manner. He did not ſay too much of the King, of the Hero, or of the Saint, but too much of the GEN⯑TLEMAN to be guilty of any Baſeneſs.

The Sequel verified this Opinion. At the Battle of Poictiers King John was made Priſoner, and ſoon after conducted by the Black Prince to England. The Prince en⯑tered London in Triumph, amid the Throng and Acclamations of Millions of the Peo⯑ple. But then this rather appeared to be the Triumph of the French King than that of his Conqueror. John was ſeated [204]on a proud Steed, royally robed and at⯑tended by a numerous and gorgeous Train of the Britiſh Nobility; while his Con⯑queror endeavoured, as much as poſſible, to diſappear, and rode by his Side, in plain Attire, and degradingly ſeated on a little Iriſh Hobby.

As Ariſtotle and the Critics derived their Rules, for Epic Poetry and the Sublime, from a Poem which Homer had written long before any Rules were formed, or Laws eſtabliſhed for the Purpoſe. Thus, from the Demeanour and innate Principles of particular Gentlemen, Art has borrow⯑ed and inſtituted the many Modes of Be⯑haviour, which the World has adopted under the Title of Good-Manners.

One Quality of a Gentleman is that of Charity to the Poor; and this is delicately inſtanced in the Account which Don Quixote gives, to his faſt Friend Sancho Panſa, of the valorous but yet more pious Knight Errant Saint Martin.

On a Day, ſaid the Don, Saint Martin met a poor Man half naked, and taking his Cloak from his Shoulders, he divided and gave him the one Half. Now, tell me at what Time of the Year this hap⯑pened. Was I a Witneſs? quoth Sancho, how the Vengeance ſhould I know in what [205]Year, or what Time of the Year it hap⯑pened? Hadſt thou, Sancho, rejoined the Knight, any thing within thee of the Sen⯑timent of Saint Martin, thou muſt aſſured⯑ly have known that this happened in Win⯑ter; for had it been Summer, Saint Mar⯑tin would have given the whole Cloak.

Another Characteriſtic of the true Gen⯑tleman, is a Delicacy of Behaviour toward that Sex, whom Nature has entitled to the Protection, and conſequently entitled to the Tenderneſs of Man.

The ſame Gentleman-Errant, entering into a Wood on a Summer's Evening, found himſelf entangled among Nets of green Thread that, here and there, hung from Tree to Tree; and, conceiving it ſome Matter of purpoſed Conjuration, puſh⯑ed valorouſly forward to break through the Enchantment. Hereupon ſome beau⯑tiful Shepherdeſſes interpoſed with a Cry, and beſought him to ſpare the Implements of their innocent Recreation. The Knight, ſurpriſed and charmed by the Viſion, re⯑plied.—Fair Creatures! my Province is to protect, not to injure; to ſeek all Means of Service but never of Offence, more eſpecially to any of your Sex and apparent Excellencies. Your pretty Nets take up but a ſmall Piece of favoured Ground; but, did they encloſe the World, [206]I would ſeek out new Worlds, whereby I might win a Paſſage, rather than break them.

Two very lovely but ſhamefaced Girls had a Cauſe, of ſome Conſequence, de⯑pending at Weſtminſter, that indiſpenſably required their perſonal Appearance. They were Relations of Sir Joſeph Jeckel, and, on this tremendous Occaſion, requeſted his Company and Countenance at the Court. Sir Joſeph attended accordingly, and the Cauſe being opened, the Judge demanded whether he was to entitle thoſe Ladies by the Denomination of Spinſters? No, my Lord, ſaid Sir Joſeph; they are Lilies of the Valley, they toil not, neither do they ſpin, yet you ſee that no Monarch, in all his Glory, was ever arrayed like one of theſe.

Another very peculiar Characteriſtic of a Gentleman, is, the giving Place, and yielding to all with whom he has to do.

Of this we have a ſhining and affecting Inſtance in Abraham, perhaps the moſt ac⯑compliſhed Character that may be found in Hiſtory, whether ſacred or profane.

A Contention had ariſen between the Herdſmen of Abraham and the Herdſmen of his Nephew Lot, reſpecting the Pro⯑priety [207]of the Paſture of the Lands wherein they dwelled, that could now ſcarce con⯑tain the Abundance of their Cattle. And thoſe Servants, as is univerſally the Caſe, had, reſpectively, endeavoured to kindle and enflame their Maſters with their own Paſſions.

When Abraham, in Conſequence of this, perceived that the Countenance of Lot be⯑gan to change toward him, he called, and generouſly expoſtulated with him as fol⯑loweth.

Let there be no Strife, I pray thee, be⯑tween me and thee, or between my Herdſmen and thy Herdſmen; for we be Brethren. If it be thy Deſire to ſeparate thyſelf from me, is not the whole Land before thee? if thou wilt take the Left Hand, then will I go to the Right; or if thou depart to the Right Hand, then I will go to the Left.

Another capital Quality of the true Gen⯑tleman is, that of feeling himſelf concern⯑ed and intereſted in others. Never was there ſo benevolent, ſo affecting, ſo pa⯑thetic a Piece of Oratory exhibited upon Earth, as that of Abraham's pleading with God for averting the Judgments that then impended over Sodom. But, the Matter is already ſo generally celebrated, that I am [208]conſtrained to refer my Reader to the Paſ⯑ſage at full; ſince the ſmalleſt Abridge⯑ment muſt deduct from its Beauties, and that nothing can be added to the Excellen⯑cies thereof.

Honour, again, is ſaid, in Scripture, pe⯑culiarly to diſtinguiſh the Character of a Gentleman; where it is written of Sechem, the Son of Hamor, that he was more ho⯑nourable than all the Houſe of his Father.

This young Prince, giving way to the Violence of his Paſſion, had diſhonourably defloured Dinah the Daughter of Jacob. But his Affections and Soul claved to the Party whom he had injured. He ſet no Limit to his Offers for repairing the Wrong. Aſk me, he ſaid to her Kindred, aſk me never ſo much Dowry and Gift, and I will give according as ye ſhall ſay unto me; but give me the Damſel to Wife.

From hence it may be inferred, that human Excellence, or human Amiableneſs, doth not ſo much conſiſt in a Freedom from Frailty, as in our Recovery from Lapſes, our Deteſtation of our own Tranſ⯑greſſions, and our Deſire of atoning, by all poſſible Means, the Injuries we have done and the Offences we have given. Herein therefore may conſiſt the very ſingular Diſtinction which the great Apoſ⯑tle [209]makes, between his Eſtimation of a Juſt and of a Good Man. For a juſt or righteous Man, ſays he, one would grudge to die; but for a good Man one would even dare to die. Here, the juſt Man is ſuppoſed to adhere ſtrictly to the Rule of Right or Equity, and to exact from others the ſame Meaſure that he is ſatisfied to mete; but the good Man, though occaſionally he may fall ſhort of Juſtice, has, properly ſpeak⯑ing, no Meaſure to his Benevolence, his general Propenſity is to give more than the due. The juſt Man condemns and is deſirous of puniſhing the Tranſgreſſors of the Line preſcribed to himſelf; but the good Man, in the Senſe of his own Falls and Failings, gives Latitude, Indulgence and Pardon to others; he judges, he con⯑demns no one, ſave himſelf. The juſt Man is as a Stream that deviates not, to the Right or Left, from its appointed Channel, neither is ſwelled by the Flood of Paſſion above its Banks; but the Heart of the good Man, the Man of Honour, the Gentleman, is as a Lamp lighted by the Breath of GOD, and none, ſave GOD himſelf, can ſet Limits to the Efflux or Irradiations thereof.

Again, the Gentleman never envies any ſuperior Excellence, but grows, himſelf, more excellent, by being the Admirer, Promoter, and Lover thereof.

[210] Saul ſaid to his Son Jonathan, ‘Thou Son of the perverſe rebellious Woman, do not I know that thou haſt choſen the Son of Jeſſe to thine own Confuſion? For as long as the Son of Jeſſe liveth upon the Ground, thou ſhalt not be eſtabliſhed, nor thy Kingdoms; where⯑fore ſend and fetch him unto me, for he ſhall ſurely die.’—Here every in⯑tereſting Motive, that can poſſibly be con⯑ceived to have an Influence on Man, united to urge Jonathan to the Deſtruction of David; he would thereby have obeyed his King, and pacified a Father who was en⯑raged againſt him. He would thereby have removed the only Luminary that, then, eclipſed the Brightneſs of his own Achievements. And he ſaw, as his Fa⯑ther ſaid, that the Death of David, alone, could eſtabliſh the Kingdom in himſelf and his Poſterity. But all thoſe Conſiderations were of no avail to make Jonathan ſwerve from Honour, to ſlacken the Bands of his Faith, or cool the Warmth of his Friend⯑ſhip. O Jonathan! the Sacrifice which thou then madeſt to Virtue was, incom⯑parably, more illuſtrious in the Sight of God and his Angels, than all the ſubſe⯑quent Glories to which David attained. What a Crown was thine, Jonathan, when thou waſt ſlain in thine high Places!

[211] Saul of Tharſus had been a Man of Bi⯑gotry, Blood and Violence; making Ha⯑vock, and breathing out Threatenings and Slaughter, againſt all who were not of his own Sect and Perſuaſion. But, when the Spirit of that INFANT, who laid himſelf in the Manger of human Fleſh, came up⯑on him; he acquired a new Heart and a new Nature; and he offered himſelf a willing Subject to all the Sufferings and Perſecutions which he had brought upon others.

Saul, from that Time, exemplified, in his own Perſon, all thoſe Qualities of the Gentleman, which he afterwards ſpecifies in his celebrated Deſcription of that Charity which, as he ſays, alone endureth for ever.

When Feſtus cried, with a loud Voice, Saul, thou art beſide thyſelf, much Learn⯑ing doth make thee mad. Saul ſtretched the Hand, and anſwered, I am not mad, moſt noble Feſtus, but ſpeak forth the Words of Truth and Soberneſs. For the King knoweth of theſe Things, before whom alſo I ſpeak freely; for I am per⯑ſuaded that none of theſe Things are hid⯑den from him; King Agrippa, believeſt thou the Prophets? I know that thou be⯑lieveſt. Then Agrippa ſaid unto Saul, al⯑moſt thou perſuadeſt me to be a Chriſtian. [212]And Saul ſaid, I would to God, that not only thou, but alſo all that hear me this Day, were not only almoſt, but altogether ſuch as I am — except theſe Bonds.

Here, with what an inimitable Elegance did this Man, in his own Perſon, at once ſum up the Orator, the Saint, and the Gentleman!

From theſe Inſtances, my Friend, you muſt have ſeen that the Character or ra⯑ther Quality of a GENTLEMAN does not, in any Degree, depend on Faſhion or Mode, on Station or Opinion; neither changes with Cuſtoms, Climates or Ages. But, as the Spirit of God can, alone, in⯑ſpire it into Man; ſo it is, as God is, the ſame, Yeſterday, To-day, and for Ever.

It is a Standard whereby I pro⯑poſe, for the future, to Meaſure and judge of all my Acquaintance.—But, let us return to our little Gentleman Monitor.

CHAP. XII.

NEVER did Harry feel himſelf ſo deeply mortified, ſo debaſed in his own Eyes, as when my Lord's Footman, in Terms and with an Action ſo uncom⯑monly reſpectful, had ſtooped and kiſſed his Hand. His Heart, but juſt before, had whiſpered to him, that the Manner, in which he had admoniſhed the young Nobleman, expreſſed more of the Pride and Inſolence of his own Temper, than any friendly Intention to reform the Faults of another; and he already began to ſuſ⯑pect that the Manner, in which he had diſpenſed his own Bounty, ſhewed the ſame Oſtentation which he meant to reprove, and, with which he had been ſo highly offended in his Lordſhip.

Thus diſguſted with himſelf, and con⯑ſequently with all about him, he turned away from his Companions, walked ſad and ſilent homeward; and, paſſing ſoftly through the Hall, withdrew to his own Chamber.

James had followed Harry at ſuch a Diſ⯑tance as juſt to keep him in Sight, and entering where his Maſter ſat reading in the Parlour, Mr. Fenton enquired eagerly [214]after his Boy. James caſt at his Maſter, a Look of much Solemnity, and, ſhaking his Head in Token of Concern, ah Sir, ſaid he, I'm ſorry to tell you that Maſter Harry, To-day, was not altogether as good a Boy as I could have wiſhed. Indeed I obſerve of late that, at Times, he is apt to be very ſudden and paſſionate. I doubt, Sir, we ſhall have woful Doings by and by; he has terribly abuſed and battered the Son and Heir of the Earl of Mansfield, one of the worthieſt Noblemen in all England. To be ſure we ſhall have ſad Complaints a⯑gainſt him. I was preſent at all that paſſed; and truly Maſter Harry was very much in Fault.

You delight me, you tranſport me, cried Mr. Fenton, my only Affliction was that he had no Faults. I want him to have Faults, James, I want him to have Faults, ſuch Faults as may make him feel them. But tell me minutely, as particularly as you can, how this Affair happened. James then gave a ſpecial Detail of what we have recited. Whereupon Mr. Fenton exclaim⯑ed, O, my noble, my generous, my in⯑comparable Boy! where is he? let me ſee him, what is become of him?

Upon enquiry, Mrs. Suſan reported that ſhe had ſeen him ſtealing ſoftly up Stairs. Mr. Fenton, then taking his Book in his [215]Hand, ſtole up after his Harry, and, open⯑ing his Chamber Door with the leaſt Noiſe poſſible, ſaw him ſeated, in a dejected At⯑titude, in a far Corner of the Room; and, looking attentively at him, perceived that he had been in Tears.

He thereupon took a Chair, and gently ſeating himſelf beſide him, what is the Matter my Harry, he ſaid, what ails my Love? Don't aſk me, don't aſk me, Sir, cried Harry; I daren't tell you, indeed I dare not. You would love me no longer, you would hate me if I ſhould tell you. Hate you, my Darling, cried Mr. Fenton, that is quite impoſſible, I can never hate you, my Harry. But come, be free with your Friend, tell me openly and honeſtly, for what do you think I ſhould hate you? for my Faults, Sir, for my Faults. To be ſure there isn't in the World ſo bad a Boy as myſelf; and, what is worſe than all that, when I think and mean to do better than ever, ſomething comes in the way, and ſpoils the Whole, and ſo turns all the Good that is in me into nothing but Naughtineſs.

Here, Harry could contain no longer, but burſt into a paſſionate Guſh of Tears and Sobs; and, Mr. Fenton, tenderly em⯑bracing him, and taking him on his Knee, and claſping him to his Boſom, gave way [216]to the kindred Emotion that ſwelled in his own Breaſt, and mingled his joyful Tears with thoſe of his Harry.

As ſoon as the Paſſion of theſe two Friends had ſubſided, Harry began to take new Courage from the Careſſes of his dear Dada, who, as he ſenſibly felt, would never hate or forſake him, however he might condemn and deteſt himſelf.

Well then, Dada, ſays he, ſince you are ſo very good, I will truſt you with my Story, ſo far as it has to ſay to the little that I can remember of my Faults in it.

You muſt know that I had no ſooner got into your Field that you gave me for our Plays, than a young Maſter came up to us, ſo grandly dreſſed and attended, and with ſuch a ſaucy Air that he ſeemed to ſay, in his own Mind, all theſe are but Dirt in Compariſon of myſelf.

As I looked at him, he brought to my Mind the Story you once told me of Her⯑cules, who was poiſoned by his fine Coat. So I began to pity him, and, I believe, to deſpiſe him too; and that you know wasn't right; for you told me that, who⯑ever deſpiſes another grows worſe than the one he deſpiſes, and falls below him while [217]he thinks to ſet himſelf above him; but that didn't come into my Head at the Time.

And ſo, Sir, to ſhew us all that he didn't matter Money, or that he loved Miſchief the better of the two, he took out a Handful of Silver and threw it among my Companions, to ſet them by the Ears; and this provoked and began to make me very angry with him; and thus one Fault brought me into another after it, like Water my Chickens come clock.

But this didn't ſatisfy my young Lord, for they call'd him Lord, but he muſt take out a Crown, and offer it to any two of my Companions that would box for it. So a Stranger that was juſt come offered to box any one in the Company for it, but I don't repent of my beating him, becauſe he was the Challenger.

But, the worſt is yet to come, Dada. There was ſome of my Companions who refuſed to join in the Scramble for the Money, and that pleaſed me very much; and ſo to reward them I took out a Hand⯑ful of Money, and gave them a Crown a piece. But you know, I needn't have taken out more Money than I meant to give them, if it wasn't partly to ſhew my Lord that I had as much Money as him⯑ſelf; [218]and ſo I got myſelf up to the Head and Ears in the very ſame Fault that I found with him.

Now comes the worſt of all. For, growing proud and conceited, as if I had no one Fault in the World; and as if the like of me was only fit to reprove others and teach them their Duty; I deſired the fine Maſter to get himſelf Home, and ſince he was a Lord to learn alſo to be a Gentleman. Upon that he gave me a Blow, which I deſerved very well; but I didn't matter his Blow a Phillip, if I hadn't thought it an Affront before my Companions. So my Paſſion begun to riſe, and I gave him a half Stroke; but unluckily it hit him full in the Noſe, and I'm afraid he's hurted very ſadly.

Beſides all, Dada, I know well enough there will come ſad Complaints againſt me, and ſo I ſhall bring Trouble and Diſturbance upon you; and that's Grief upon Grief.

Don't fear for me, Harry, I ſhall do well enough, ſays Mr. Fenton. But, Harry, you have not told me near as great News as you thought to do. I knew all along that you had a very naughty Boy within you; but I forbore to tell you ſo, becauſe I rather wiſh'd you ſhould make the Diſ⯑covery [219]yourſelf, and now, God be praiſed, you have found out the Secret.

And what Good will it do me, Dada, to know that I am bad, when I don't know how to make myſelf better? for, To-day I thought and meant to be very good, and yet found myſelf in the End to be worſe than ever. But, as you ſay, to be ſure I have been very bad, though I hardly knew any Thing of the Matter till now. I now remember how I had like to murder poor Mr. Vindex with the Sword; and a hundred other Things, if I could bring them to Mind. What ſhall I do then, Dada, what ſhall I do to grow good?

I will tell you, my Harry, ſays Mr. Fenton. And, as you have generouſly en⯑truſted me with one Secret, that of having a very bad Boy within you; it is but fair that I ſhould entruſt you with another Se⯑cret, which is that of having an exceeding good Boy within you.

What, two Boys in one, Dada, how can that be? it is even ſo, my Darling, you yourſelf told me as much. Did you not ſay that, this very Day, the one was ſtruggling and fighting within you againſt the other? that the one was proud, ſcorn⯑ful, oſtentatious, and revengeful; the o⯑ther [220]humble, gentle, generous, loving, and forgiving; and that when the bad Boy got the better, the good Boy took him to Taſk, and reprimanded and ſeverely re⯑buked him, and made him cry bitterly?

What you ſay indeed, Dada, is ſome⯑thing very like it, only I can't think how one Boy can be two Boys. Do you re⯑member, Harry, what you read laſt Night in the old Teſtament, about Rebecka the Wife of Iſaac, when ſhe was with Child? yes, very well, Sir. As how ſhe was with Child of Twins, and the Children ſtruggled together within her; and ſhe ſaid, if it be ſo, why am I thus? And ſhe went to enquire of the Lord. Very right, my Love; and I now ſay to you what God then ſaid to Rebecka. I do not mean that you have two Boys within you, of the bodily Bulk, Features, and Shape of yourſelf; but that you have two different Spirits or Principles within you which, like Eſau and Jacob, have quite different and adverſe Natures, Inclinations, and Deſires; the one prompt⯑ing and hurrying you into all that is Evil, the other inviting and leading you into all that is Good. So you ſee, Harry, and you have felt that, like Rebecka, you have your own Eſau and your own Jacob ſtrug⯑gling within your Boſom. And the War between them ſhall never ceaſe, till the [221]one ſhall have wholly conquered and ſub⯑jected the other.

To make this Matter plainer and clear⯑er to you, my Darling, I will tell you a pretty Story out of the Book that is in my Hand.

Cyrus was a King and a great Conquer⯑or, but, in his private Capacity, a very virtuous Man. On a Day, ſome of his Captains, juſt returned from an Expedition, informed him that they had brought him the greateſt Wonder in the World, a young Princeſs called Panthea, whom they had taken captive, and whoſe Charms ex⯑ceeded all that could be imagined of Wo⯑man.

Cyrus, as I told you, was virtuous. He was already married, and he dreaded running the Riſque of being ſeduced from his Honeſty by the dangerous Allurements of this enchanting Beauty. He therefore obſtinately, though reluctantly, forbid her Approach; and denied himſelf the Plea⯑ſure he might have taken in beholding her.

His own Honour however, and the Re⯑ſpect due to the Quality and Accompliſh⯑ments of the Lady, demanded all poſſible Attention and Precaution in her Behalf. [222]For this Purpoſe he ſummoned his chief Captains and Favourites. He aſked, which of them would adventure to take the Charge of this young Beauty; and he pro⯑miſed the higheſt Rewards to thoſe who ſhould honourably diſcharge their Truſt, but threatened his deepeſt Diſpleaſure to any who ſhould betray it.

All of them ſhrunk at the Apprehenſion of taking upon them the perſonal Cuſtody and Care of a Beauty, whom their great and virtuous Monarch had not even dared to look upon; and no one had offered to undertake this perilous Commiſſion, till a valiant and noble Youth, named Araſpes, ſtood forth.

From my Infancy, O Cyrus, ſaid the graceful Adventurer, I have been educated in the School and brought up at the Feet of the divine Zoroaſter. I am accuſtomed from my Childhood to combat, conquer, and ſcorn all ſenſual Seducers. I hold Vir⯑tue in mine Eye, as its only Object; my Heart eſteems and affects it as my only Good; the Nature thereof is become one with my Nature; and I do not remember the Time wherein I have been tempted to deviate from Rectitude, or ſink beneath the Calls of Honour. I cannot therefore but ſmile at the Fear of my Companions. Their Courage at a Breach or in the Field [223]is unqueſtionable. I have ſeen them face a thouſand Deaths; I have ſeen them ruſh into Dangers; and yet they dread the Sight of a ſingle and weakly Female. For me ſhe can have no Terrors, ſince I am out of the Power and Reach of her Allure⯑ments. I will undertake the Charge of this formidable Creature, at the Riſque of my Honour, at the Riſque of my Life, and more than all at the Riſque of the Favour of Cyrus.

Cyrus had long loved the Perſon, and contemplated and admired the Virtues of this Youth. He, therefore, with Joy and Confidence, committed this precious De⯑poſite to his Truſt; in full Aſſurance that the Perſon and Honour of Panthea could no where be ſo ſafe as in the Protection of Araſpes.

The young Hero had in Reality all the Virtues that he boaſted. His Education under ſo beloved and reſpectable a Maſter; his early and long Habit of oppoſing and rejecting the ſmalleſt Incitement to Vice; and the Delights which he was accuſtom⯑ed to feel in the Sentiments and Practice of what his Judgment approved, had in a Manner ſo wholly lulled his naughty Self to ſleep, that he did not ſo much as dream that he had an Enemy within him.

[224] This, my Harry, was his heavy Miſ⯑fortune, and the ſad Occaſion of his Fall. For, not knowing that his evil Eſau was ſtill alive in his Boſom; not knowing that he had any one to oppoſe or to ſtruggle with; he kept neither Watch nor Guard, and ſo lay naked and open to the Miſchief that came upon him, as I am going to tell you.

On his ſeeing the Lady who was com⯑mitted to his Truſt, he felt no Emotion nor Sentiment ſave that of Wonder, as in beholding the moſt perfect of the Works of his Creator; and he took a Pleaſure in providing that ſhe ſhould be treated and accommodated with all poſſible Attention and Reſpect, as due to ſo accompliſhed and pre-eminent a Being.

As the Nature of his Commiſſion gave him frequent Occaſions of being near and about the Perſon of his amiable Ward, new Beauties grew daily viſible and opened to his Eyes. But, abve all, in converſing with her, the Muſic of her Accents, and the Elegance of her Sentiments fell inſenſi⯑bly on his Soul that drank them up, as a dry Ground drinks up the inviſible Dew of the Evening.

[225] His Occaſions for attending her, and doing little Offices and Services about her, now daily encreaſed without ſeeming to do ſo. When he was called and intended to go elſewhere, his Feet imperceptibly car⯑ried him to the Preſence of Panthea. His Slumbers were ſhort, uneaſy, and broken; and, at Meals he knew not whether or on what he fed.

At length his Eyes opened to the Ca⯑lamity of his Condition. But, at the Mo⯑ment wherein he perceived his Love, he found himſelf too far gone for the poſſibi⯑lity of a Return. He was as a Mariner who had haled his Boat up on Land and, thinking himſelf ſecure, had fallen aſleep therein; but, while he ſlept, a ſpring Tide came ſilently on, and covered the Shore, and gained upon the Beach, and ſwelled under the Boat and heaved it from Land, and turning bore it farther and farther to Sea. Then awaken'd the helpleſs Mariner unprovided of Sail or Oar, or of any Means to effect or attempt a Return. He ſaw his loſt Eſtate, he ſtretched his Arms to⯑ward the Land, but while he reached it with his Eyes, he found himſelf carried, by an irreſiſtable Power, ſtill more and more diſtant from the Sight.

[226] Thus fared it with the wretched, loſt, fallen away Araſpes. He awakened to his Condition, he looked around, but found himſelf helpleſs. He would have ſtruggled, he wiſhed his Return to Virtue; but his Wiſhes were ſickly, as feeble as a Dream; and he felt himſelf borne away, by a ſecret and ſubtle Force, from that Honour of which he now barely retained a diſtant Proſpect.

The imboſomed Fire that prey'd upon him, at length became inſufferable, and he deſperately determined to ſeek Relief. He threw himſelf at the Feet of the Object of his Deſires, avowed the Ardour of his Paſſion, and beſought her Pity.

The Princeſs replied, in a mild but re⯑ſolute Accent, I do pity you, Araſpes, I pity you the more, as it is all that my Power can ever do for you. Two inſur⯑mountable Barriers oppoſe your Deſires, the one is my Honour, the other my In⯑clination. I am already married to a young Hero, the Prince and Patron of his People, the moſt accompliſhed of his Sex, and an Honour to human Nature. He is my firſt and laſt Love, he poſſeſſes my Heart wholly; but, were it emptied of him, it would not be emptied of its Virtue; and the Thoughts of any other would be an [227]Offence to my Soul. Be adviſed then, Araſpes, depart from Temptation, and ſeek, in Abſence, a Cure for the Indiſcretion of your Love.

Confuſed, aſtoniſhed, ſpeechleſs, Araſpes loſt, at once, the little that remained to him of Virtue and Reaſon. He knew not what he did, he would have proceeded to Violence; when the Princeſs, ſuddenly, drew a Ponyard and pointed it at her Bo⯑ſom. Whereat Araſpes ſtrait withdrew, overwhelmed with Shame, Diſappointment, and Deſpair.

As ſoon as he had retired, the Princeſs took a little Tablet, whereon ſhe inſcribed the few following Words.

This ſhe diſpatched to the Monarch by one of her faithful Mutes — As ſoon as Cyrus had peruſed it, he ſighed, and dropt [228]a Tear, as over the departed Virtue of his beſt beloved Friend — He inſtantly ſent for Araſpes. Araſpes durſt not diſ⯑obey. He came indeed, but then he did not dare to look upward.

After a Silence, on both Sides—Cyrus cried out! Whoever thou art, account to me for my Friend, account to me for his Virtue! a Virtue that I deemed to be im⯑paſſable, unaſſailable. Whereupon, Araſ⯑pes made the following moſt memorable of Anſwers.

As you are but lately entered on your Greek, my Harry, I will firſt read the Paſ⯑ſage to you, and then give you the Senſe of it, Word for Word.

[...]

‘O Cyrus, it is manifeſt that I have two Souls. For, if I had but one Soul, it could not be, at once, both good and evil; not a Lover, at the ſame Time, [229]of what is honeſt and diſhoneſt; it could not at once deſire and be averſe to the ſame Thing. It is, therefore, moſt evident that we have two Souls; and, when the good Soul hath the Dominion, good Works are performed; but evil Works, when the evil Soul predomi⯑nates.’

Here, Harry, you ſee there was two Men in one Man, which is the ſame Thing as there being two Boys in you. For the Soul is the Man, Harry, and the Body is but as a Sign to give Notice to others that ſuch a Man dwells within.

But, Sir, ſays Harry, ſince, as you ſay and as I find, I have two different Boys or Souls within me; pray, how came they to be different? did the ſame God that deſired to make the one Soul good, deſire alſo to make the other Soul evil?

Your Queſtion, my Darling, is very proper, though very deep. I will however endeavour, to the beſt of my Power, to accommodate my Anſwer to the Weakneſs of your Capacity.

God, who is nothing but Goodneſs, can⯑not poſſibly deſire any kind of Evil; and therefore cannot be, immediately, the Au⯑thor thereof. But he can make or create [230]ſuch poor little inſignificant Beings as you and I are, Harry; though all that God, himſelf, can do in our Behalf, cannot poſ⯑ſibly make us good, or excellent, or per⯑fect, any otherwiſe than by informing us with his own Goodneſs and Perfections.

This would lead me, my Love, to the unfolding that capital Secret, of which you are not yet ſuſceptible; a Secret, upon which this World, Sun, Moon, and Stars, with all the Worlds upon Worlds that lie beyond them, depend and hang as your Hat would hang upon yonder Nail.

The Angels that are now in Heaven are great, good, perfect, and glorious Beings; becauſe they are filled with the Greatneſs, Goodneſs, Glory, and Perfection of God. For they know that, of themſelves, they are nothing; and that, in themſelves they are no other than empty and dark Crea⯑tures, mere ſenſible Capacities prepared for the Reception, the Feeling, and Enjoyment of the Light, Virtue, and Bleſſedneſs of their bountiful Creator.

How the Spirit of Man came to be, in itſelf, ſo much worſe than an empty and dark Creature. How it came to be filled and polluted with all Manner of Evil, with Selfiſhneſs, Pride, Covetouſneſs, abomina⯑ble Luſts, Envy, Hatred, Malice, Re⯑vengefulneſs, [231]and Wrathfulneſs. How it further came to have a different Spirit be⯑gotten within it, informing its Heart and tuneing the Chords thereof to Sentiments of Humility, Charity, Purity, Love, Pa⯑tience, and Peace; this, Harry, is the great Secret, of which you are not yet ca⯑pable; the Secret, as I told you, whereon the World now hangs, whereby it has been changed, and whereby it will be re⯑newed.

In the mean Time let it ſuffice, for you, to feel and to know that your dark Spirit ſo filled, as I ſaid, with Evil, is yourſelf, my Harry, is all that you have of the Creature within you: And that the good Spirit, which is begotten within your evil Spirit, is breathed into you by the Power and Spirit of God himſelf, in order to op⯑poſe and conquer the Evil, and enlighten the Darkneſs, and purify the Foulneſs of your ſelfiſh or creaturely Spirit; that you may finally become as the Angels that are in Heaven, filled with the Purity, Glory, and Bleſſedneſs of your God.

Know therefore from henceforward, and let the Senſe of it ſink into your Soul, my Darling, that all the Evil which is in you belongs to yourſelf, and that all the Good which is in you belongs to your God. That you cannot, in or of yourſelf, ſo much as [232]think a good Thought, or form a good Wiſh, or oppoſe a ſingle Temptation or evil Motion within you. From hence learn to be humble, and to think meanly of your⯑ſelf, and not to aſcribe to yourſelf any kind of Goodneſs or Virtue; for that would be Sacrilege, it would be to rob God of his peculiar Property of Goodneſs. From hence further learn never to prefer yourſelf to o⯑thers, or to think better of yourſelf than of any one living; for, ſo far as you are a Creature, no one can be viler or faultier than you are; however God may be pleaſ⯑ed, through his Mercy and Bounty to you, to be better in you than in others.

Never exalt yourſelf, my Harry, nei⯑ther in Company or Converſation, of any kind, ſay I did this or I did that, or I ſaid this or I ſaid that; for, in exalting your⯑ſelf, you exalt your own proud and evil Spirit above the good and meek Spirit of God that is in you. Let all Praiſe mor⯑tify and be a Reproach to your Conſcience; but take Blame with Patience and Pleaſure; in ſo doing you will approve yourſelf a Lover of Juſtice, as well as a Lover of your own Reformation.

Laſtly, my Love, turn your whole Will and Affections, from your own evil Spirit, to the Spirit of God that is in you, for that is the utmoſt that any Man can do to⯑ward [233]his own Salvation. Reject, ſpurn, and deteſt every Motion to Evil; embrace, cheriſh, and take to your Heart every Motion to Good; you will thereby ac⯑quire the never ending Glory of having joined with God, in the Combat and Con⯑queſt that he is deſirous of obtaining over all the Guilt, Uncleanneſs, and Depravity into which your Nature is fallen.

Here, Andrew came up with Notice to his Maſter that the Earl of Mansfield was below and requeſted to ſpeak with him. At this Harry coloured up and cried, didn't I tell you, Sir, what Trouble I ſhould bring upon you? Don't be alarmed, my Dear, ſays Mr. Fenton; do you ſtay here. If there is a neceſſity for your Appearance, I will ſend you Word.

The Father of young Lord Bottom was, in every Reſpect, the reverſe of his Son. He had come on Foot, without Atten⯑dants, was dreſſed in a plain napped Coat, and had the Mein and Appearance of an honeſt Country Grazier.

My Lord, ſays Mr. Fenton, I ſhould think myſelf greatly honoured by this Viſit, if I was not ſo much concerned at the Oc⯑caſion of it. I am truly grieved that my Son ſhould have done ſuch great Offence to young Lord Bottom. Sir, ſays the Earl, [234]I find you have quite miſtaken the Intent of my Viſit; I am come to thank your Son for the juſt and noble Leſſon which he gave to mine; and which he has ſo forcibly impreſſed upon his Memory, as will not, I truſt, permit him ſo forget it in a hurry. My Lord, replied Mr. Fenton, my little Fellow is very ſenſible of his Miſ⯑behaviour in this Buſineſs. He was the firſt to chide himſelf, and he told me the Story, very much, I aſſure your Lordſhip, to his own Diſadvantage.

Mr. Fenton, rejoined the Earl, after what I have heard of your Boy, from one Jack Freeman, a very faithful and intelligent Ser⯑vant of mine, I am quite impatient to ſee him, and there is nothing generous which I am not willing to believe concerning him. My Wife indeed is not, at all Times, in my way of thinking. She has taken her young Lord with her, to Town, to the Doctors; and I am concerned at the Vio⯑lence of the Reſentment which ſhe ex⯑preſſed on this Occaſion, as it may be a Means of deferring that Acquaintance and Intimacy, which I heartily wiſh to culti⯑vate with the Family of Mr. Fenton. But where is this wonderful Boy? I requeſt to ſee him.

Harry, hereupon, was immediately call⯑ed down. As he apprehended that he [235]was ſent for to be ſeverely chidden, a lit⯑tle reſentful Haughtineſs aroſe in his Mind, and ſtrengthened it againſt the Violence of the Reproofs that he expected. He there⯑fore entered with an Air that no way ſa⯑voured of Mortification, and made but a cold though ſolemn Bow to the Earl.

Bleſs me, exclaimed my Lord, what a ſtriking Reſemblance! I never ſaw two Faces or Perſons ſo much alike. There is no Difference, Mr. Fenton, between you and your Son, except what Age has made. Mr. Fenton ſmiled, and my Lord continued. I always had a Notion that your Heroes were huge Fellows, but here I think we have got Heroiſm quite in Miniature. Can this be the one, who as I am told, with a Trip or a Blow, overthrows and demoliſh⯑es all before him? Come to me, my Dear, and give me Leave to ſalute you.

Harry reſpectfully approached; and my Lord, taking him in his Arms and warm⯑ly kiſſing him, ſaid, I thank you, my lit⯑tle Man, for the generous Leſſon which you gave to my very naughty Boy; and for the Difference with you taught him to make, for the future, between the Sauci⯑neſs of a Lord and the Sentiments of a Gentleman.

[236] Harry felt himſelf, at once, diſconcert⯑ed, abaſed, and wholly cut down by this Compliment from his Lordſhip. At length, recovering himſelf, he anſwered. You mean to be ſure, Sir, to reprove me the more by what you have ſaid; but if you are in earneſt, I'm ſure it's a very bad Leſſon which you teach me, Sir, when you praiſe me for my Faults and ſo en⯑courage me in them. Faults, my Dear, cried the Earl, I heard of none ſuch; what do you mean by your Faults? I mean, Sir, that when I told your Son as much as that he was not a Gentleman, it ſhew'd that I was ſtill leſs of the Gentleman my⯑ſelf; and I very well deſerved the Blow which he gave me for ſuch an Affront; and I am ready to aſk his Pardon when⯑ever you pleaſe, my Lord. No, no, my Man, cried Lord Mansfield, you ſhall never Diſgrace yourſelf ſo much as to make any Submiſſions to my naughty Boy. I ſhall think it no Diſgrace, quick and affectingly replied Harry, to make Submiſſions to any one, who is Son to ſuch a Gentleman as my Lord Mansfield.

My Lord, for ſome Time, looked with Aſtoniſhment at the Child; when, eagerly catching and preſſing him to his Boſom, he cried out, On my Soul, you are the ſweeteſt as well as the nobleſt Fellow I [237]was ever acquainted with; and, Sir, I ſhall think it an Honour to be admitted among your Friends; and that's what I would not ſay to many in Old England. Mr. Fenton, continued the Earl, if you will give yourſelf the Trouble to enquire out my little Lodge on the Hill, you will o⯑blige me; though I envy your Character I ſhall be glad of your Acquaintance. So ſaying, Lord Mansfield got up, after his blunt Manner, and precipitately with⯑drew.

On the following Evening, Mr. Fenton took Harry and Mr. Clement into his Study, and taking from his Pocket-Book a Num⯑ber of Bank Bills, Mr. Clement, ſays he, I here make my Harry a Preſent of fifteen hundred Pounds, reſerving only to myſelf the Privilege of adviſing how it may be laid out and ſecured for him to the beſt Advantage.

To-morrow Morning you and he are to ſet out on Foot for London, and there to take Lodgings as near to the Fleet Priſon as you can conveniently be accommodated. You are then to apply to the Keeper, and to give him a Gratuity for making out a written Liſt of all the Priſoners under his Cuſtody, with their Quality and Condition annexed, as alſo the Sums reſpectively due, [238]and the Terms during which they have been in Confinement.

You are then to enquire from him the ſeveral Characters, Diſtreſſes, and Merits of all the Priſoners of Note, and to make an Entry thereof in a ſeparate Paper; but then you are not to depend altogether on his Report. You are to go from Room to Room, to converſe with the Priſoners a⯑part, and to enquire from each the Cha⯑racters, Fortunes and Diſaſters of the o⯑thers.

This Inquiſition, in all likelihood, will take you up above a Fortnight. But, above all, remember that thoſe, among them, who are moſt affected by the Diſ⯑treſſes of their Fellows, ought to be the principal Objects of your own Charity and Relief.

Let five hundred Pounds of this Money be appropriated to the Enlargement of ſuch Priſoners as are under Dureſs for Sums not amounting to ten Pounds. You will thereby free the Captive; give means of Bread to the Hungry; and reſtore to your Country many Members that are worſe than uſeleſs, that are alſo a dead Weight and Incumbrance upon her.

[239] Let the remaining thouſand Pounds be applied to the Enfranchiſment or Relief of thoſe Priſoners of Note, whoſe Caſes and Calamities call for ſingular Compaſſion. And be ſure to keep an Account, where your Money may fall ſhort of ſuch va⯑luable Purpoſes; and, as far as five hun⯑dred Pounds more will reach, we will ſup⯑ply the Defect.

Hereupon, Harry caught his Patron a⯑bout the Neck, and repeatedly kiſſing him, cried, O Dada how happy, how very happy you make me! O, that we had Money enough to employ every Fort⯑night, the Year round, like this ſweet Fort⯑night!

The very next Morning our Travellers ſet out on their generous Expedition. But, we forbear to ſay any Thing, relative thereto, till their Return; as they them⯑ſelves are the beſt qualified and, in Truth, have the beſt right to give the Particulars of their own extraordinary Adventures.

Our Harry and his Friend Clement had not been gone above an Hour, when Mr. Fenton received a Card from the Counteſs of Maitland requeſting his Company to Coffee in the Evening. She was Widow [240]to the late Earl, a very lovely Woman, had taken the moſt ſumptuous Houſe on the Hill, and was reſorted to by Numbers of the firſt Figure, from among whom ſhe was perfectly qualified to make an Elec⯑tion, exceedingly entertaining to herſelf, of the ſenſible, the elegant, and the ludi⯑crous.

Mr. Fenton attended my Lady preciſely at the Time appointed. When he enter⯑ed, ſhe was writing a Note at her Deſk. On turning her Eye to the Door, ſhe was ſuddenly ſtruck with the Grace of his Fi⯑gure, the Sweetneſs of his Aſpect, and Eaſe of his Deportment. She was further ſtruck with a Recollection as of ſomething very intereſting, but which had happened at a vaſt Diſtance, or of which ſhe had dreamed. Her Heart was affected, ſhe coloured up and again turned pale, with⯑out being yet able to move from her Chair. At length, recovering, and riſing, and advancing toward him, Mr. Fenton, ſays ſhe, this is a very ſingular Favour, a Favour for which I have long wiſhed. This Sir, you know, is my third Time of aſking, but my two former Cards were not ſo happy as to bring you. Madam, ſaid he careleſsly, I am but a very poor Vi⯑ſiter; however I could not refuſe myſelf the Honour of attending your Ladyſhip's [241]Summons, at leaſt for once. I have been now, ſaid the Counteſs, three Months on the Hill. Within that Time I have ap⯑plied to all my Acquaintance, in order to get ſome of them to introduce me to you, but none of them were ſo fortunate as to know any of your Name. To be known, Madam, replied Mr. Fenton, a Perſon muſt have been, in ſome way, conſiderable; in⯑deed it is no way diſagreeable to my own Inclinations to paſs the ſhort Remnant of an inſignificant Life, as little noticed as poſſible. I have been juſt writing a Note, Sir, ſays my Lady, be ſo good to amuſe yourſelf for a Moment with the Books and Paintings in my Cloſet there, and I will attend you.

Within a few Minutes after Mr. Fenton had withdrawn, Mr. Sneer enter'd. What, cried he, bowing, all alone, Lady Mait⯑land? that's ſurprizing. Your Sex, it ſeems, are grown very careleſs of Im⯑provement, when they neglect the Model by which they ſhould poliſh their Manners. O you Wretch, exclaimed the Counteſs, what brought you here of all Things? I have a World of Company to be with me this Evening, and if they get but a Hint of your coming, I ſhall be left as much alone as the Statue in Buſhy-Park. Law Madam, cries Mr. Sneer, is it poſſible that with all your Diſcernment you ſhould be [242]ſo much miſtaken? permit me to aſſure your Ladyſhip, that I am plagued out of my Life, by the Solicitations of Numbers of the firſt Quality for my Company. You, you Brute, cried my Lady, your Company courted! it muſt be by Indians then, who have a Reaſon of their own for worſhipping the Devil; why you make no more of Characters, than a Reaper does of Graſs, when he is cutting down Weeds. O Madam, exclaims Mr. Sneer, they like me never the worſe for that; every one gladly compounds for the maim⯑ing of their own Character, to have the Pleaſure of ſeeing thoſe of their Neighbours hewn down. But, pray Madam, what Com⯑pany do you expect this Evening? Why there is Colonel Sweetpouder. Colonel Sweet⯑pouder of all Things? Yes, Sir, and a very fine Gentleman too, in my Opinion. Why Madam, the Man would not want Senſe, it is true, if he had not wholly miſtaken the Manners of his Profeſſion. He has been, as I am told, in ſome trifling En⯑gagements, but never had the Rudeneſs to attack his Enemy, without white Gloves. He had like to have loſt his Life, upon a Retreat, by the Delay which he made in ſearch of his Sword Knot.

Here a Footman enter'd ſaying, Colonel Sweetpouder, my Lady. — Lady Maitland, [243]ſays the Colonel, your truly moſt devoted. More your's than you are any one's, Mr. Sneer; you are extremely happy, Sir, in your tete a tete with her Ladyſhip, but People have not always the choice of their Company. Severe, Colonel, very ſevere upon my Honour, ſays Mr. Sneer. He who wars on the World, replies the Co⯑lonel, ſhould not hope to eſcape without a Scratch, Mr. Sneer; and I have Faults enough to make me angry with all who are cenſorious. Colonel, ſaid the Coun⯑teſs, Mr. Sneer has been railing at me through fifty Families, and is but juſt come to aſſiſt me to rail at my Neigh⯑bours. On my Soul, Madam, ſays Mr. Sneer, I am reſolved not to ſpare the leaſt of your Failings, when I am once ſo in⯑genious as to diſcover where they lie. Your Juſtice, Mr. Sneer, to the Merits of this Lady, exclaims the Colonel, entitles you to ſay what you will againſt the reſt of Womankind.

Mr. Fenton juſt then re-entering, the Counteſs introduced him to her Acquain⯑tance. I hope in Heaven, Madam, cried Mr. Sneer, that the Company whom you expect may be wholly the reverſe of this Gentleman's Appearance! the Mouth of Raillery muſt elſe learn the Language of Admiration, and that would be an Ex⯑change [244]by no Means ſuitable to my Taſte. Mr. Fenton bowed, but was ſilent.

Here was rap, rap, rap, rap; and im⯑mediately Lady Cribbage's Chariot was an⯑nounced. There now, cries Mr. Sneer, there is the happieſt Woman in the Uni⯑verſe, that's certain. She divides her whole Time between the two Delights of her Life, CARDS and SCANDAL. She is never tired of either, and yet runs from one to the other, that Variety may give the higher Reliſh to both.

Lady Cribbage here entered, in all the Hurry imaginable. She flew and embraced the Counteſs with Tranſport. My dear deareſt Lady Maitland, ſays ſhe, how hap⯑py am I to have got to you at laſt! Hea⯑vens, what have I endured before I could get free of that odious London? what a Gauntelope have I run! a hundred and fifty Viſits, no leſs upon rep: and through ſuch a Sortment too, as your Mercers ſay. But there is no diſpenſing with theſe Fop⯑peries; they had all dropt Cards at my Gate; and I coudn't but return the Viſit, in good Manners to myſelf you know. There was Lady Gadabout, and Mrs. Chat⯑away, and Mrs. Tenderſides, and Lady Frump, and Lady Dowager Goſſipper, and Miſs Giglett the merry Miſs of threeſcore, that you know. La Madam, exclaimed [245]the Counteſs, why, theſe are all Perſons of diſtinguiſhed Faſhion. Ay ay, my dear Friend, replied Lady Cribbage, they are the Noughts of the great World; when ſuch as Lady Maitland are pleaſed to figure be⯑fore them, they acquire a Kind of value; they would not otherwiſe be pick'd up ſhould they drop on the High-Way. — Colonel Sweetpouder, ten thouſand Pardons! I really did not obſerve you. — Your Ser⯑vant Sir — a fine Perſon! (half whiſpering to Lady Maitland) — And you here, Mr. Sneer? you are the Man of the World to whom we ſhould pay our firſt Reſpects, if we deſire that our Caps ſhould ſit ſtraight, you know.

Why my Lady, ſays Mr. Sneer, would you be like the Turk, and allow no Bro⯑ther Slanderer near your Throne? But the Field of Folly and Ridicule is wide enough for us both. Beſides Madam, we aſſail in very different Manners; I am like the Parthian, no more than a back Stroke and away; but your Ladyſhip moves on like Time or Death, and mow down your Sex without diſtinction before you. O fye Mr. Sneer, ſaid Lady Cribbage, what ſay you, Sir, can you think ſo hardly of me? no truly, Madam, anſwered Mr. Fenton; I am rather inclined to believe that you only prune. For I have often obſerved that, after very keen Hands, Reputation [246]ſprouts anew, and flouriſhes the better. O, Lady Cribbage, Lady Cribbage! exclaim⯑ed Mr. Sneer, that's the ſevereſt Thing, upon my Honour, that was ſaid this Day. What, allow a Lady the Will to do Miſ⯑chief, and not allow her the Power! can any Thing be ſo provoking? Well, ſup⯑poſing it to be ſo, rejoined Lady Cribbage, I would rather be cut by that Gentleman's Razor than Mr. Sneer's Hatchet. But, apropo', I wonder what keeps Lady Philligree, I met her on my laſt Viſit, and ſhe told me ſhe had but half a Dozen more to pay and be with us; ſhe brings with her a new Language for the Day, I'll en⯑gage. That Woman, ſays Mr. Sneer, ought to be ſtrung up for minting our Engliſh Dialect. True, added the Colonel, if her Coin would paſs. Ah Colonel, ſaid Mr. Fenton, what Species of Folly or Faul⯑tineſs will not acquire Currency, when im⯑preſſed and uttered by Perſons of Fortune and Figure?

Come, deareſt Lady Maitland cried Lady Cribbage, while we choice Spirits are got together, let us know what Company you have ſummoned for the Evening. I hope in Goodneſs you have laid in a ſufficient Fund for Merriment. I ſhould droop to Death, if the Propriety of their Manners left no Room for Laughter. Fear not, ſaid [247]the Counteſs, but mark the Characters as they paſs.

Firſt, there is Sir Bumkin Toilette. Moſt excellent, exclaimed Lady Cribbage, the amphibious Wretch! he that is ſo like an Otter, between his Country Breeding that he can't get rid of, and his Court Breeding that he can't aſſume.

Again, there is Lord Bottom Earl of Mansfield, lately come to the Hill. Ay, added the Colonel, there is the Sample that Nature gave us when ſhe intended to ſhew what Man ought to be. He, the Bear, cries Sneer; for Heaven's ſake, Co⯑lonel, how can you praiſe a Man whoſe Manners are ſo wholly the reverſe of your own? I allow that he has Talents and Learning, though he ſeems to know no⯑thing about the Matter; and he piques himſelf, ſolely, on the moſt plebeian of all Virtues, that of being an HONEST MAN. Do you know him, Mr. Fenton? juſt e⯑nough, Sir, ſaid Mr. Fenton, to make me fear that I ſhould rather afford Matter of Ridicule to his Lordſhip, than hope to be merry at his Expence. I have been told, ſaid Sneer, that, on his Return from his Travels, he was an accompliſhed Cavalier, but he ſuddenly took a diſguſt to all Man⯑ner of Politeneſs; and I queſtion, at this Moment, if there are five Men in England [248]to whom he would ſay, your Servant! and I am confident, added the Colonel, that there are not five Men in England, whom he would not ſerve.

Talk not of him, dear Colonel, exclaim⯑ed Lady Cribbage; he ſays more ſhocking Things, in fewer and ſimpler Words, than any Cynic that ever breathed. Be⯑cauſe Madam, rejoined the Colonel, he is too much our Friend to hurt us by Flat⯑tery, and he never reproves but with an Intention to reform. Well, well, cried Sneer, I own there is not much Matter for Laughter in his Character. Let us call another Cauſe. Who comes next, Lady Maitland?

The Widow Mawkin, ſays the Coun⯑teſs, the huge Kentiſh Fortune. She who keeps three marriageable Daughters in the Nurſery, for fear People ſhould be ſo im⯑pertinent as to enquire who brought them into the World. She is not yet in deſpair of a third Jointure. And ſhe would bribe others, by her Smiles, to be as forgetful of her Age as ſhe is herſelf. I never ſee her, cries Lady Cribbage, but ſhe puts me in mind of a May-Morning, when the long Pole is awkardly hung with Flowers and Garlands. She has been equally hap⯑py, adds Mr. Sneer, in adorning her Mind [249]with the Flowers of Science, and is as ri⯑diculouſly affected in the Parade of her Learning as ſhe is of her Dreſs. I could pity or pardon all this, ſays the Colonel, if ſhe were not ſo mercileſs in her Cen⯑ſures, on an Article of Female Virtue, to a ſingle Breach of which no Man living will ever lead Mrs. Mawkin into Tempta⯑tion. But, have you any more Blocks, Madam, for the hewing out of our Mer⯑curies?

Yes yes, ſaid the Counteſs, there's e⯑nough to laugh with, and enough to laugh at, I warrant you. There's our Friend Billy Buſtle. O Lud! ſcream'd La⯑dy Cribbage, I wiſh I had brought another Gown; this is he who is always ſo buſy where there's nothing to do; he is ſo full of his Friendſhips that you never can eſ⯑cape without ſome Damage; and he ſpoils you a Suit of Brocade in his hurry to reach you your Coffee.

Then, ſays the Counteſs, there's Miſs Trinket. O the pretty Bauble, cries Mr. Sneer, whoever marries her will have ſome⯑thing to hang to his Watch. Again, there is Franc Faddle, whoſe Company is ſo uni⯑verſally courted. That's what amazes me of all Things, cried the Colonel, the in⯑ſenſible Wretch! he is quite callous to the [250]keeneſt Sting of Satire; the Fool is good humoured, it muſt be confeſſed; he is ſo deſirous of promoting Merriment, that he actually enjoys the Laugh that is raiſed at his own Expence. It is then no longer, ſaid Mr. Fenton, any Matter of Wonder that his Company ſhould be ſought after, ſince all love to laugh, but very few to be laughed at.

There was a Myſtery in the Behaviour of Mr. Faddle, ſaid Sneer, that no one dreamed of. I happened, ſome Time ſince, to be in Company where he had ſet himſelf up as a Butt to be ſhot at. The Novelty of the Thing ſurprized me. I examined him with Attention. I remark⯑ed the Cleverneſs of the Addreſs with which he uſed to turn the Joke upon him⯑ſelf; and I diſcerned, under his Submiſſion to the Triumph of others, an Underſtand⯑ing quite ſuperior to that of his Ralliers. In a few Months after, I happened to join him in a private Walk. Mr. Faddle, ſaid I, I can't conceive why you ſhould offer yourſelf, as an Object of Jeſt and Ridicule, to People infinitely your Inferiors in every Thing except Fortune.

I am no longer under that Neceſſity, anſwered Faddle. You ſee I am in Mourn⯑ing. A Relation has lately left me ſeven hundred a Year. You are the firſt, Mr. [251] Sneer, who had the Diſcernment to detect me, and are entitled that I ſhould Account to you for my Behaviour.

I am a younger Brother. Early in Life, I was left wholly dependent on my Mo⯑ther's ſmall Jointure; and Experience quickly ſhewed me that the Countenances of all about me caught a Coldneſs and Diſ⯑regard from the Knowledge of my narrow Circumſtances.

How to remedy this Evil; how to pro⯑cure an Intereſt in the Golden Idol before whom all Nations and Languages fall pro⯑ſtrate, was the Queſtion.

I found myſelf in a World where a Ge⯑nius for Pimping; or a Genius for Knavery was indiſpenſably neceſſary to the Acquiſi⯑tion of Favour. I was ſo unfortunate as to want Talents for thoſe valuable Pur⯑poſes. I could not even betray an Enemy, to ſerve a Friend. I therefore found my⯑ſelf excluded from the Patrons of the pre⯑ſent Age, as I could neither contribute to the Modes of their Intereſt or the Modes of their Pleaſure.

At length, I thought upon the Stratagem that ſurprized you. It requires no greater Art, ſaid I to myſelf, than to be wiſe and humble, wiſe enough to acquieſce in be⯑ing [252]deemed a Fool, and humble enough to ſubmit as a Footſtool, for others to raiſe themſelves, in their own Opinion, and in the Eyes of the Company.

My Project ſucceeded beyond Expecta⯑tion. I was admitted to an Intimacy with the Chiefs of the Land. My Company was coveted and ſought by all the Great; and happy was the Peer who could boaſt, to his Viſitants, he ſhould have Faddle to Supper.

Mean Time, I was by no Means a Jeſt for all. I knew how to turn the Ridicule upon ſuch of your middling Gentry as pre⯑ſumed to laugh like their Betters; and I never failed to pull down thoſe from whoſe Intereſt or Favour I had nothing to ex⯑pect.

I had a Number of theſe Right Ho⯑nourable Patrons, each of whom would gladly have engroſſed me to himſelf. They all contributed to make me reliſh the Jeſt. Independent of very conſidera⯑ble Preſents, they have procured me ſome pretty Sinecures to the amount of about ſix hundred Pounds a Year. So that you ſee Mr. Sneer, I am now in a fair Way of being enabled to fee others to permit me, in my Turn, to laugh at them.

[253] I do not feel in myſelf, ſaid Mr. Fenton, a thorough Approbation of this Gentle⯑man's Character. There is ſomething un⯑amiable in every Species of Impoſition; and even the Merit of Mr. Faddle's Hu⯑mility receives great Alloy from its Diſ⯑ingenuity. His good Senſe however is laudable, ſince his Intention was innocent, with Reſpect to the Perſons upon whom he practiſed his Stratagem. Does he bring up the Rear of your Viſitants, Lady Mait⯑land?

No, ſaid the Counteſs, we have Lady Homeſpun, with an et cetera of no Charac⯑ters, yet to come.—Homeſpun! exclaim⯑ed Lady Cribbage, upon my Word, the beſt Sort of a Gammer of Quality that I know. The good Woman would really be ſenſible Company, if ſhe was not ſo utter⯑ly void of Education. Could you think how the poor Creature expoſed her Ig⯑norance t'other Day? ſhe popped in where I was engaged at four handed Cribbige. Having peer'd over the Game with vaſt Sagacity; what, ſays ſhe, I think your Ladyſhip has got to your old Game of Quadrille. Ha, ha, ha! Lady Homeſpun, I fancy, is one of thoſe who think of gett⯑ing into a Faſhion, exactly at the Period that others have got out.

[254] Madam, ſaid the Counteſs, if Lady Homeſpun had Time to ſpare, from the Duties of Religion and a Life of Benevo⯑lence, ſhe would undoubtedly employ it in ſtudying Matters more ſuitable to your Ladyſhip's Taſte. Her Peccadillos, how⯑ever, are pardonable on Account of her Pleaſantry; for while ſhe laughs, with great Juſtice, at the Follies of high Life; ſhe laughs at herſelf alſo, with great good Humour, for being ſo ſenſibly out of the Faſhion.

Here again was a loud rapping; and the Peals were repeated, with little intermiſ⯑ſion, till all the Company arrived. They ſucceeded ſo quickly, that Lady Maitland had ſcarce Time to receive each of them with a Diſtinction, and Manner of Addreſs, that ſhe judged moſt agreeable to their Humours and Characters.

In the firſt Place, Mrs. Philligree ruſhed in and cried, Lady Maitland I am moſt ſu⯑perlatively your's. I am your's, Madam, ſaid the Counteſs, poſitively, beyond all Compariſon.—Such a Stranger as Miſs Trinket! you have enquired the Way at laſt, then. I felicitate you, Miſs, on your new Acquiſition. I am told that your Green Monkey is abſolutely the greateſt Beau, and the greateſt Wit, within the [255]Purlieus of Saint James?—Sir Bumkin Toilette, how happy you make us! I hear you have got rid of all your vile Country-Incumbrances of huge Houſes and dirty Acres, and that the Court may now hope to have you all to itſelf.—Mr. Faddle, this was a Favour I ought not to have ex⯑pected. Her Grace has Company this Evening and looks for you, without Queſ⯑tion. But, hark'ee Sir! there are ſome here who have too much Diſcernment to be induced, by your Arts, to make a Jeſt of a certain Perſon who claims their beſt Reſpects.—Mrs. Mawkin! you put us under a thouſand Alarms; we were afraid we ſhou'dn't have you. Dear Madam, how extremely rich and elegant is all this! and how condeſcending, in a Lady of your Taſte, to appear to owe any Thing to Dreſs and outward Ornament. O, Mr. Buſtle, thrice welcome! our Sex may now boaſt of having a Servant. For, theſe other Man-Creatures are ſo liſtleſs, or ſo aukward, as not to merit a Curtſey in the way of Wages—My Lord Mansfield, this is more than an Honour, it is a Bene⯑fit. If ſome of us are not improved before you leave us; I ſhall, for my own Part, take great Blame to myſelf—My dear Lady Homeſpun! how are the ſweet Babies? how are your obliging Domeſtics, how are all your Cats and Dogs? believe me, I [256]take an Intereſt in the Harmony and good Humour of every Thing about you. I think, ſaid Lady Homeſpun, they all begin to droop, ſince your Ladyſhip has ceaſed to make them happy by your Preſence.

The Earl of Mansfield, looking about, perceived Mr. Fenton, turn'd precipitately to him and, catching him in his Arms, Mr. Fenton, he cried, how glad I am to meet you, what an Advantage I ſhall eſteem it at all Times and in all Places! how is my Harry, my little Hero? Mr. Fenton bowed twice.

Here, William, ſaid the Counteſs, Tea and Coffee! and order the Tables and Cards to be laid in the next Room. Lord Mansfield, what News? you are an Inti⯑mate of all the Foreign Cabinets.

Our domeſtic News, anſwered the Earl, is by far the moſt extraordinary. It is affirmed that our Freeholders, throughout the Shires and Burroughs of England, have entered into a Reſolution againſt Bribery and Corruption.

Our Parliament alſo have this Moment, in agitation, an Act for eſtabliſhing the two Virtues of PROBITY and CHASTI⯑TY, reſpectively, among the Sexes. To this Act they further propoſe to add ſeve⯑ral [257]Clauſes, in the Nature of a Codicil annexed to a Will. Among others, it is intended to make a general Exchange of the Forms of good Manners, for the Of⯑fices of good Nature; and all Acts of Be⯑nevolence are hereafter to paſs, by an im⯑mutable Law, for Proofs of high Breed⯑ing.

It is further to be enacted, that every Courtier or great Man may be ſued upon his Promiſe; or even on ſuch Intimations of Nods, Smiles, or Whiſpers, or Squeezes by the Hand, as may credibly be ſuppoſed to keep People in Expectation. No Ad⯑vantage is to be taken of Ignorance by any Trader, nor of Innocence in the Com⯑merce between the Sexes. The Glow of Modeſty is the only Rouge that will be al⯑lowed to any fair Face of Quality, in theſe his Majeſty's Dominions.

No Perſon of any Station, will hereafter be permitted to go abroad in ſearch of Faults, till they can find none at Home by the help of a Candle. And laſtly, all Slander is to be accounted petty Treaſon; foraſmuch as it has been intimated, ſome how or other, that the Loſs of a good Name is more deplorable, in its Conſe⯑quences, than the Loſs of any other Pro⯑perty, or even of Life.

[258] Hey Day! exclaims the Counteſs, at this Rate we ſhall have Lady Homeſpun at the very tip Top of the Mode.—Ay, ſays Miſs Trinket, but what will become of your Ladyſhip, who are now accounted the Pattern of all Elegance and Politeneſs? O Miſs, cried Mr. Faddle, Lady Maitland will do well enough I warrant you. She has only to drop a few Articles that are ſuperfluous to her good Senſe and her good Nature. She will thereby, as I take it, be only undreſſed, and happily reſtored to all her native Lovelineſs.

Dem'me, exclaims Sir Bumkin, if Mat⯑ters come to this paſs, I ſhall have made a fine Kettle of Fiſh on't, ſhan't I? to throw away ſo many thouſands of Pounds, with an Immenſity of Time and Pains on Delicacy, and Taſte, and Virtu, and the Beau-Monde, and all that—What, cries Mrs. Mawkin, are our Parliament beſide themſelves? here has the World been growing up, theſe ſix thouſand Years, to its grand Climacteric of courtly Accompliſhments, and now they would overthrow the whole Building, and mix us of the Pinnacle with the Duſt of the Vulgar. If we of high Life are to be laid under Reſtraints, with Cits and Villagers, what Advantage will Fortune give us? it will no longer be of any Uſe to its Owners. [259]—This is prepoſterouſly, cried Mrs. Philligree, the moſt laughable Scheme that ever was conceivable on this Side the Tro⯑pic. Our Parliament would affect to be an heteroclite to all other Parliaments. But the beſt on't is that their Power is immenſely too little for the Greatneſs of the Immenſity of their Undertaking—Pardon me, Madam, replied the Colonel, I know of nothing beyond the Ability of our Parliament. In Spirituals, alike as Temporals, their Power is the ſame in Eng⯑land as that of the Pope is at Rome; they can bind or looſe, at Pleaſure, in Heaven as on Earth—Beſide, Madam, adds Sneer, with Reſpect to our Parliament, this is very far from being a laughable Scheme; I rather hold it to be both loveable and laudable. They muſt thereby forego no in⯑conſiderable Advantages on their own Part. They will no longer be intereſted in the Proſtitution of their Conſtituents, or the Sale of their Country. They have it even in Contemplation to decline their capital. Privilege of maintaining their Families at the Expence of their Neighbours; and propoſe, for the future, to pay their Debts. —I hope, my Lord, ſays Mr. Buſtle, your new Laws are not to be put in Force againſt the Offices of Friendſhip and civil Manners. No, Sir, ſays Lord Mansfield, only againſt the Parade of them.

[260] Here, Mr. Buſtle obſerved that the Cof⯑fee was filled out, and roſe with Precipi⯑tation to help the Ladies. — Away you Wretch, keep from me a Mile! ſcreamed out Lady Cribbage. No nearer, dear Sir, no nearer I beſeech you, exclaimed Mrs. Philligree and Miſs Trinket. — Mr. Buſtle, ſays Lord Mansfield, I would adviſe you to tender your Services to Lady Maitland and Lady Homeſpun; if you happen to ſpill your Coffee on their Clothes, you will ob⯑lige them with an Apology for giving them away to the firſt poor Body. — I wiſh my Lord, ſays Lady Cribbage, that you knew how to Compliment ſome, with leſs Expence to others. But apropos, my Lord, theſe ſame compaſſive Acts againſt Slander, and going from Home in ſearch of Faults, as you phraſe it; have they yet paſſed into a Law? — they have not, Madam. — O, then we may take Good⯑man Time by the Fetlock. Pray, La⯑dies, have ye heard any Thing lately of the two Miſs Worthy's? — nothing new, anſwered the Counteſs, nothing more than that they are both very good and very amiable. — Poor Orphans, ſays Lady Cribbage, they are greatly to be pitied. The eldeſt has preferred an Intrigue with her Guardian's Footman to the honourable Addreſſes of Mr. Melvin, and is retired for a Month or ſo to her Aunt in the Country. [261]While her Siſter, on the other Hand, pre⯑ferred lawful Marriage with the Butler to a Settlement of a thouſand a Year from his Grace of A—. Miſs Worthy, ſaid Mr. Faddle, is certainly gone to her Aunt's, as your Ladyſhip intimated, for Mr. Mel⯑vin and I are to be with her in a few Days, by her own Appointment.—And I can vouch, added the Colonel, that her Siſter has married the Butler your La⯑dyſhip mentions, for he is a very particu⯑lar Friend of mine; a young Gentleman of great Merit, Family and Fortune, who aſſumed that Diſguiſe, like a Hero in Ro⯑mance, in order to gain the nearer Acceſs to his Princeſs.

For Shame, Gentlemen, ſays Lord Mans⯑field, no more of your Vindications I be⯑ſeech ye. Perhaps there is not a ſingle Perſon, preſent, who is not at this Mo⯑ment a Subject of Raillery, mayhap of Calumny to ſome other Tea Table. Let us alſo take up the Racket and return the Ball of Scandal. Indeed, I know few Peo⯑ple of whom any good can be ſaid, and none who may not be cenſured, without Offence to Truth. Beſide, as Evil is now ſpoken ſo univerſally of every Body, no one is hurt thereby. If any, in particular, ſhould eſcape Detraction, it might juſtly be ſuſpected that they had no one Quality that deſerved to be envied.

[262] O fye, my Lord, cried Lady Cribbage, how can you think ſo uncharitably of Peo⯑ple? there are many of my Acquaintance who have really valuable Qualities. 'Tis true, there is Lady Gamelove, and Mrs. Situp, and Miſs Freak, and a Hundred others whoſe Heads will fit the Cap of Scandal turn it which way you will. But then there is Mrs. Orderly, and Miſs Neigh⯑bourly, and a few more whoſe Reputations remain almoſt quite unſullied. If Mrs. Orderly has Faults, ſhe however has the Diſcretion to keep them from View. Miſs Neighbourly, indeed, does not ſet up for a Beauty; ſhe knows ſhe will have nothing to repent of for any Murders committed by her pinking Eyes; but then ſhe is the beſt tempered and pleaſanteſt Body breath⯑ing; ſhe never fails to excite Merriment wherever ſhe comes; 'tis a pity it ſhould ever happen at her own Expence.

Have ye heard, Ladies, ſaid Mr. Sneer, of the late very facetious Affair that hap⯑pened, between Mr. Corniſh and his Friend Lord Freelove? Mrs. Corniſh had expreſſed to her Huſband, an eager Deſire of ſeeing foreign Countries; and, piqued at his want of Indulgence, ſhe took the Oppor⯑tunity of Lord Freelove's going abroad to accompany him as far as Aix la Chapelle. [263]From thence Lord Freelove wrote to his Friend, a long Letter filled with peniten⯑tial Apologies, wherein he offered him the Diſpoſal of his Fortune and Intereſt, as a ſmall Compenſation for having robbed him of ſo very valuable a Treaſure. To this Mr. Corniſh had the Candour to reply that he ſcorned to take an ungenerous Advan⯑tage of his Lordſhip's Liberality. That he was not ſenſible of any Injury his Lordſhip had done him. That, on the contrary, he looked upon his Lordſhip, as the one, under Heaven, to whom he was moſt ob⯑liged; to whom he conſidered himſelf as ſingularly indebted; and whom he ſhould ever remember in his Prayers, for having eaſed him of the capital Incumbrance of his Life.

What ſurpriſes me moſt in this Adven⯑ture, ſaid Mr. Faddle, is the Conſcientiouſ⯑neſs of Lord Freelove in a Matter of which nobody elſe makes a Scruple There is Sir Frederic Feeble, a Man of threeſcore, and of ſo crazy a Conſtitution that the very firſt Diſorder, with a little Help from the Doc⯑tor, muſt carry him off. And yet, within theſe ſeven Months, he has added to his Seraglio five Lancaſhire Virgins, beſide three married Ladies whom he has taken into keeping, and who eloped to him from young and good looking Huſbands.

[264] Mr. Faddle's Remark on the Conſcienti⯑ouſneſs of Libertines, ſaid Mr. Fenton, re⯑minds me of Jack Wilding, a quondam Acquaintance of mine. I had the Story from himſelf; it is an Adventure of which he boaſted; and the Recital, in his Opinion, did by no Means detract from his Charac⯑ter, as a Gentleman.

Mr. Wilding was of a neighbouring Country, and was educated by pious Pa⯑rents, in a ſcrupulous Obſervance of his Duties to God and Man. When they thought him confirmed in his civil and re⯑ligious Principles, they ſent him here to ſtudy our Laws in the Middle Temple; where he ſpeedily learned that Pleaſure was the only Good, and that the Laws of Nature were irreverſible by any ſubſequent Appointments. However, he piqued him⯑ſelf extremely on what is called the Punc⯑tilio of Honour, and would run any Man through the Body who ſhould intimate that he had been guilty of an unjuſt or unge⯑nerous Action.

Wilding was a young Fellow of Parts and Pleaſantry, and ſtill preſerved a very ſpecious Appearance of Virtue. A conſi⯑derable London Merchant conceived a Friendſhip for him; and, when he was [265]taken under Arreſt, on Account of ſome Debts and a Failure of Remittances, his new Friend advanced two hundred Pounds in his Favour, and made him a general In⯑vitation to his Table.

The Merchant had lately married a lovely young Woman, who loſt nothing of her Luſtre in the Eyes of Mr. Wilding. For the ſake of the Wife, he ingratiated himſelf as much as poſſible with the Huſ⯑band. He ſpent a large Portion of his Time at their Houſe; and while his Friend was abroad, or engaged in the Counting Room, he endeavoured, by a winning Addreſs, and a thouſand Aſſiduities, to thieve from him the conjugal Affections of a Woman, on whoſe Virtue he depoſited his Hopes and Delights, all the Honours of his Family, and all his Peace and Proſ⯑pect in Life.

Wilding, in order to eſtabliſh his Credit with the Merchant, had punctually reim⯑burſed him his two hundred Pounds. A Nobleman, to whom the Dice had been lately unfavourable, made him an Offer of a Place at Court on a preliminary Com⯑pliment of a thouſand Pounds. Wilding conſulted his Friend on this advantageous Propoſal. The Merchant had not the Money but promiſed to procure it, and, in his Eagerneſs to promote the Fortune [266]of this Traitor, he went directly and ſoli⯑citouſly abroad for the Purpoſe. This was an Opportunity which a Man of his Gal⯑lantry could not neglect. The grateful Mr. Wilding accordingly ſeized upon it to accompliſh the Fate of his Benefactor; and the happieſt Lot he left him was, ignorantly, to contribute toward the be⯑getting of Sons and Daughters who, like Maggots, were to be propagated from the Bed of Pollution.

If I didn't fear to be tedious, ſaid Lady Homeſpun, I could give you a recent In⯑ſtance of Ingratitude even greater than that which Mr. Fenton has mentioned, and attended with Circumſtances that affected me extremely. The Company inſtantly urged her to gratify their Curioſity, and ſhe began as follows.

Some Weeks ago, I ſent to the Ser⯑vants Office to enquire for a Female of ſome Education, who might aſſiſt me in the Inſtruction of my little Girls. The Day following a young Woman came to be hired. Her Appearance was moſt beſpeaking; and, with a Countenance expreſſive of every Virtue, ſhe look'd a Renunciation of the ſmalleſt Title there⯑to.

[267] I aſked for her Character, but ſhe an⯑ſwered, with an Air of the deepeſt Humi⯑liation, that ſhe never had been at Service; that ſhe was an unfortunate Stranger who deſerved no one's good Word, and that ſhe had nothing to aſk but my Acceptance of her Labour, and the Shelter of my Roof.

I had not the Heart to reject her; and on Trial I found that ſhe was Miſtreſs of the polite Languages, and of every female Accompliſhment, though ſhe did not ſeem to have reached her two and twentieth Year.

She grew extremely fond of my Chil⯑dren. She uſed to look with a melancho⯑ly Kind of Pleaſure upon them; and fre⯑quently during the Times of her dreſſing or inſtructing them, I obſerved her Tears ſtriving to ſteal away unnoticed.

This, with the thouſand Elegancies that accompanied her Words and Actions, made me impatient to know whence and who ſhe was. She perceived my Curioſity and with a befeeching and mortified Air, ah Madam! ſaid ſhe, ſeek not to hate me; ſeek not to know the Story of my Shame, ſince it cannot be told without reflecting [268]Diſcredit on Perſons of Worth and Ho⯑nour.

The Day after, Sir Hanmer Homeſpun came in, where Peggy, for ſo ſhe called herſelf, was chatting with my little Girls at the further End of the Room. I am come, my Dear, ſaid he, from a Viſit to Mr. Grace, the new Acquaintance in whoſe Praiſe you heard me ſpeak ſo largely. I enquired out his Houſe and went up with⯑out Ceremony. As I entered his Cham⯑ber, I was ſtruck with a new and very affecting Object. He ſat oppoſite to a Pier Glaſs wherein I obſerved him, un⯑noticed; and on each Knee he held an Infant, over whom he wept plentifully, while he careſſed them, in Turns, and ten⯑perly preſs'd them to his Boſom.

At length he perceived me and roſe in Confuſion. You have caught me, Sir Hanmer, ſaid he, lamenting the Loſs of a falſe Woman, whom yet I cannot ceaſe to love, and whoſe Fault has not been able to abate my Fondneſs for theſe her inno⯑cent Offspring. The miſguided Wretch, while I was lately in the Country, eloped with Lord Riot from her own Honour and Happineſs. Lord Riot has ſince paid his Treſpaſs with his Life, but what is become of my Peggy I know not. Can I depend on your Goodneſs to enquire her out? 'tis [269]a Pity that One ſo lovely ſhould be utter⯑ly loſt. Here is a Bill for £500, diſpoſe of it, my Friend, as you think beſt for her Advantage, and let not her Neceſſities plunge her deeper in Guilt.

Here the Children ſhriek'd out, and cried that Peggy was dead, their Peggy was dead! We inſtantly ran to 'em, and found her in a Fit, in which ſhe continued ſeve⯑ral Hours without Sign of Life. As ſoon as ſhe opened her Eyes, ſhe turned them languidly upon me. Ah Madam! ſaid ſhe, you know me now. I am faulty in⯑deed, but much more unfortunate. And, as you were lately deſirous to hear my Sto⯑ry, you ſhall have it without Extenuation or Diſguiſe.

I am Daughter to a poor Farmer who was Tenant to the Father of Mr. Grace. When I was about nine Years old, the young Gentleman, who was lately return⯑ed from the College, happened to be out a Sporting, and called in at my Father's. I conſidered him as a Species quite different from all I had ſeen of Man. His Preſence gave me a Pleaſure till then unfelt, and his Parting was as the Loſs of ſomething extremely dear.

From that Time he choſe our Part of the Country for the Scene of his Diverſi⯑ons, [270]and his Viſits became longer and more frequent. He never failed to bring me ſome little Preſent, and I betrayed my Affection by many artleſs Teſtimonies.

In about three Years, old Mr. Grace died. My Father got, no one knew how, into plentiful Circumſtances, and ſent me to a boarding School where I was carefully educated in all the becomming Matters of which I was capable.

I now began to apprehend from whom my Advantages flowed, and my young Heart was penetrated with the moſt lively and affecting Gratitude. I grew more re⯑ſerved however, as my Sentiments grew more ardent; and, whenever my Benefac⯑tor came to viſit me, we appeared under a mutual Reſtraint from the Suppreſſion of Paſſions, which I thought it indecent, and he unſeaſonable to expreſs.

When I arrived to the Age of ſixteen Years, Mr. Grace publickly addreſſed me for Marriage. Can you think it, Madam, that while my Heart embraced the Over⯑ture with the warmeſt Tranſport; it was yet with the ſtrongeſt Reluctance, that I yielded to a Happineſs which I deemed ſo injurious to the Honour and Intereſt of him whom I loved, as I loved my own Soul.

[271] Five Years, the happieſt ſure that ever were paſſed upon Earth, I lived bleſſing and bleſſed by my Heart's choſen Maſter, and bore him three lovely Reſemblances of the Image that was always preſent to my Soul.

One Night Mr. Grace, returning later than uſual, brought home a wounded Gen⯑tleman, but entered as privately as poſſible for fear of alarming me. This Gentleman was Lord Riot, whoſe Life Mr. Grace had ſaved, at the Peril of his own, from the Reſentment of an injured Huſband who had ſet upon him with Advantage.

As it was feared that his Wounds were mortal, the Surgeons adviſed that he ſhould not be removed, and he lay ſix Weeks at our Houſe, where, induced by Hoſpitality and the Deſire of my Huſband, I attended him with a Care and Tenderneſs that he rewarded with Perdition.

When he took his Leave of us, he ſeemed to labour under a Senſe of inſuf⯑ferable Obligations. As ſoon as his Health was eſtabliſhed, he ſent me a Diamond Necklace of great Value; but Mr. Grace was then in the Country, and I directly returned the Traitor's Preſent. The next Day he ſent up his Name and requeſted to [272]be admitted; but I excuſed myſelf from receiving the Viſits of Gentlemen in the Abſence of my Huſband. The Day fol⯑lowing however, having bribed my Ser⯑vants, he was permitted to enter my Chamber; when, without addreſſing a Word to his Lordſhip, I ſeverely rebuked my Maid for ſuch an inſolent Intruſion, and withdrawing haſtily to my Cloſet, I clapt to the Door.

After this I heard no more of Lord Riot for ſome Time, but, alas! he and his diabolical Inſtruments were not idle. One Evening, being ſeized with an unaccount⯑able Drowzineſs, I lay down and was in⯑ſenſible to every Thing that paſſed, till I awakened the Day following in a ſtrange Bed, and in the Arms of my cruel and ac⯑curſed Undoer.

I inſtantly ſcreamed out and, puſhing him violently from me, ſprung into the Floor. While I huddled on my Cloaths, all the Horrors of my Condition roſe full upon my View. I flew to the Door, but finding it locked, I was ſeized with ſudden Madneſs. I daſhed the Piers and Jars to Shivers. I caught whatever came in my way and threw it at the Villain who, ter⯑rified by my Fury, made his Eſcape through a back Door and bolted it after him.

[273] Some Women whom he ſent to me re⯑covered me from a Fit. The dear and tender Images of Huſband and Children then came to my Mind. My Rage was drowned in my Grief, I wept and ſobbed without ceaſing.

For three Weeks I continued thus im⯑mured and inconſolable, my Fits of Frenzy ſtill returning whenever Lord Riot preſent⯑ed himſelf to my View. At length I aſ⯑ſumed the Patience to expoſtulate with him on the irretrievable Ruin he had brought upon me, my Wreck of Fame and Honour, and what was infinitely worſe, my Loſs of Huſband and Children, to whoſe Faces I never more ſhould dare to lift an Eye.

While I continued to reproach my Be⯑trayer, we heard a Buſtle below Stairs. He flew to ſome Piſtols that hung in the Apartment. The Door burſt open. My Huſband ſuddenly entered. Lord Riot fired at him, and ſomebody fell. But I waited not to enquire into the Iſſue of the Scuffle. The Face of my injured Huſ⯑band was now more dreadful to me than that of my Raviſher. The Doors lay open. I hurried to the Street. I flew along I knew not where, and running into [274]a little Shop, I ſat down by the Counter, and fainted away.

The poor Woman of that little Houſe behaved herſelf toward me with much Hu⯑manity. I told her Part of my unhappy Story. And, as I determied for ever to hide myſelf from Family and Acquaintance, and as far as poſſible from the World; ſhe put me in the way of getting into Ser⯑vice, whereby I have received the only Conſolation of which I am capable, on this Side the Grave, that of your Ladyſhip's Favour and Protection.

Here Mrs. Grace cloſed her diſtreſsful Hiſtory. As Sir Hanmer and I greatly pi⯑tied and eſteemed her, we endeavoured to give her Comfort, by obſerving that there was nothing in this Adventure, wherewith the moſt cenſorious, or even a Huſband of the moſt delicate Sentiments could re⯑proach her. Ah Madam, ſaid ſhe, when my Body was as pure as my Spirit, I was every way unworthy of Mr. Grace, and ſhall I now bring Pollution to his honoura⯑ble Boſom? How will the World interpret my reſiding three Weeks in the Houſe and Cuſtody of a Libertine? Alas, I have no Portion ſave Diſgrace to bequeath to my dear Infants, nor any Legacy to my Kin⯑dred but Confuſion of Face. But—I [275]feel that I haſten to the End of my Sor⯑rows.

As ſhe ſpoke her Countenance altered, and we perſuaded her to lye down and try to take ſome Repoſe.

Within an Hour or two after, a Gentle⯑man came and haſtily enquired for my Huſband. It was Mr. Grace. My dear Sir Hanmer, ſaid he eagerly, rejoice with me! my Peggy is innocent, ſhe is virtuous as ever. That Ruffian Lord Riot, by the Promiſe of a thouſand Guineas, prevailed on her Woman to give her a ſleeping Po⯑tion, and had her conveyed to his Houſe during her State of Inſenſibility. O my Peggy, might I but behold you once again! Riot, finding it impoſſible to ſubdue her to his Pleaſure, refuſed to pay the Woman the Price of her Perfidy, and ſhe in Re⯑venge told me where he held my Wife ſecreted. O my diſtreſſed, my ſhamefaced Angel, what is become of you? I took out a Replevin and forced my way into the Villain's Houſe. He aimed a Piſtol at me, but happened to ſhoot his Accomplice. He then drew his Sword, but at the ſe⯑cond Paſs I pierced him to the Heart. The Traitreſs did not immediately die of her Wound; ſhe ſurvived till within this Hour, and in her mortal Agonies ſhe re⯑vealed [276]to me all the Circumſtances of this diabolical Plot.

Here we conſoled Mr. Grace, by in⯑forming him that his Lady was ſafe and in the Houſe, but that ſhe was ſomething in⯑diſpoſed and had lain down to reſt. His Impatience was too great to be reſtrained from ſeeing her. I entered her Chamber firſt, and appriſed her of his coming. As he tenderly approached, ſhe ſtarted up in her Bed, and her Boſom was agitated with agonizing Emotions. She gazed wildly at him. She attempted to ſpeak but could not find Utterance; when ſeizing his Hand, and catching it to her Lips, ſhe ſunk down gently, and expired upon the Preſſure.

As ſome of the Company ſtill continued to honour Lady Homeſpun's pathetic Nar⯑ration with their Tears. Lady Cribbage cried out, Cards, Cards here immediately, to drive away Melancholy!

After Cards, an elegant Supper was ſerved up; and after Supper the Conver⯑ſation happened to turn upon Dreſs.

Is it not amazing, cried Sneer, (with a ſarcaſtical Glance at the Ladies) is it not amazing to think that the Nature and Reaſon of Things ſhould be ſo wholly in⯑verted [277]as, in ſome Caſes, to mean and effect the very Reverſe of their original In⯑tention and Inſtitution? the firſt uſe that was made of the Fig-Leaf demonſtrates that Dreſs was ſolely appointed for the co⯑vering of Shame and Nakedneſs. And yet Woman has been ſo ingenious, in Proceſs of Time, as to turn the Loſs of her Robe of original Innocence, into Matter of Pride and Oſtentation.

The covering from Cold as well as from Shame, ſaid Faddle, may be allowed of ſome ſenſible Uſe, with reſpect to Dreſs; at leaſt among us who are placed ſo far North of the Tropic.

Our Neighbour Lewis, laſt Winter, had Occaſion to paſs through the Streets of Paris. His travelling Palace was drawn by eight white Steeds. The Froſt was intenſely ſharp; the Glaſſes were all drawn up; and this warm Enterprizer for univer⯑ſal Monarchy ſat ſhivering amidſt the wrappings of his Furrs and Robeings.

As he paſſed, he eſpied a young Man of a portly Perſonage, ſtanding at an An⯑gle, clad in a ſingle Silk Coat, with his Hair powdered out, and his Hat under his Arm.

[278] Lewis inſtantly pulled the Bell; his Coach ſtopped; he let down a ſide Win⯑dow; he ordered the Stranger to be call⯑ed; and, as nothing makes a Man ſo mannerly as the ſenſible want of ſomething from the Party to whom he applies, the Monarque addreſſed him with the moſt gracious and affable Air, and requeſted to know by what Means he could keep him⯑ſelf ſo warm, in ſuch Extremity of Wea⯑ther.

That, Sire, anſwered the Stranger, is a Secret which my Honour forbids me to reveal, and which nothing ſhall extort from me, ſave the Commands of your Ma⯑jeſty. I promiſe you, Sir, ſaid the King, that I ſhall not be ungrateful, and that you ſhall have no Cauſe to repent your having entruſted me with your Recipe. I engage then, Sire, that provided you fol⯑low my Preſcription, there ſhall not be ſo warm a Monarch in the Univerſe. I am impatient, pray inform me, what am I to do? As I do, ſo pleaſe your Majeſty, put your whole Wardrobe upon your Back! the King laughed himſelf into a Heat, and that very Hour ordered a Commiſſion in his own Guards to be made out for his Preſcriber.

[279] Your Story, Mr. Faddle, is elegantly fa⯑cetious, ſaid Lady Maitland. I apprehend however that other valuable Purpoſes are anſwered by Dreſs, over and above the mere Decency and Comfort of Cloathing. Were it not for the various Diſtinctions of Dreſs, it would be impoſſible to point out the ſeveral Orders of Men throughout the reſpective Subordinations that are ne⯑neſſary to Society. Without this uſeful Expedient, we ſhould be in utter Confu⯑ſion, we ſhould not know who was who; we ſhould not know to whom Reſpect or Obedience was due, nor be able to aſcer⯑tain the Prince from the Peaſant.

O lud, cried Mrs. Mawkin, as your La⯑dyſhip ſays, how frightfully humbling and mortifying it would be! without the Rich⯑neſs of Dreſs, how ſhould we of the Grand Monde ſhew any Difference between our⯑ſelves and vile Plebeians?

O Madam, anſwered Lady Cribbage, Plebeians are not confined to low Life a⯑lone; the great World has its Vulgar too, I aſſure you. The Difference does not lie in the Richneſs; I have ſeen an Aſs cloath⯑ed in a very gorgeous Sumpter-Cloth. The true Diſtinction lies in wearing the Qualities of the Mind on the outward [280]Habit, in the Peculiarity of Fancy and E⯑legance of Taſte.

Your Ladyſhip might ſurely have added, ſaid Miſs Trinket, that Dreſs is a Hand⯑maid to Beauty too; it ſerves to adorn and embelliſh Nature with Art, and to make what was lovely ſtill more attracting. However brilliant a Diamond may be in itſelf, it wants of its Value and Luſtre, till ſuitably ſet; there may be an Elegance to be ſure in the Manner of ſetting, but ſtill it ought to be caſed in nothing but Gold.

I greatly Iament the Departure of Mrs. Philligree, ſaid Lord Mansfield, it is ſhe who would have adorned your Ornaments, Ladies; and have dreſſed out Dreſs itſelf, in a ſumptuous Outrè of Terms, and new Cut of Phraſe. I agree indeed with the Counteſs, that ſome Tokens or Markings, ſuch as thoſe that Dreſs ſupplies, are re⯑quiſite for diſtinguiſhing the ſeveral Or⯑ders and Subordinations of People in a Community; but I am ſorry to find that theſe ſame Markings or Tokens ſhould, very nearly, engroſs the whole of the Things intended to be ſignified. If you take the full-bottomed Wig from a Judge, what will become of his Wiſdom? or Lawn and Sattin from Biſhops, what would become of their Sanctity? or, ſhould Mo⯑narchs be deprived of their Crowns and [281]Regalia, I doubt it would be a fearful A⯑bridgment of Majeſty.

I alſo agree with Lady Cribbage that the Qualities of the Mind are worn on the out⯑ward Habit. But, pray ye, what Sort of internal Qualities do thoſe external Ha⯑bits exhibit? even every Species of Af⯑fectation, Folly and Vanity that is con⯑ceivable. The whole futile Soul of a Fe⯑male ſeems to have forſaken its frail Man⯑ſion and to float upon the Surface of her Attire. In the long Labours of the Toi⯑lette, where ſo much Pains, Time, and Treaſure is expended on an elaborate Ex⯑ternity, does not a Woman as good as confeſs that the whole of her Value lies where the whole of her Care is beſtowed?

Now, in all theſe Operations, Female Vanity propoſes to excite the ſame Senſa⯑tions in others, that it feels in and for it⯑ſelf, on the pleaſing Contemplation of its own Image. Ah miſdeeming and pitiable Objects! while ye paſs along, or ſit exalt⯑ed in your imaginary Pre-eminence, ſome of your Sex behold you with an Eye of Contempt, others with an Eye of Envy, and all with an Eye of Malevolence, in⯑quiſitive after your Miſcarriages, and de⯑ſirous of publiſhing and magnifying the ſmalleſt of your Failings.

[282] Men, indeed, behold you with an Eye of Pleaſure, becauſe they draw an Inference from your Vanity that flatters their own. They contemplate you as dreſſing at them. They conſider the Labours of your Toi⯑lette as a Confeſſion of deſiring to be deſired; as an Advance on your Part, and a Kind of Challenge for them to approach and capi⯑tulate.

I own that Beauty, as Miſs Trinket has obſerved, may occaſionally derive a Sort of Acceſſion from Dreſs, like a Diamond en⯑caſed in precious Metal. But how much more generally do we obſerve conceited Uglineſs and Deformity deriving addition⯑al Darkneſs from the Luſtre that ſurrounds it, like a Turnip or Toadſtool encircled by Gems.

Whether Finery gives additional Force to the Magnet of Beauty, for exciting and drawing our Affections to it, is an Article of which I am much in doubt. What ſay you to this Queſtion, Mr. Fenton?

I hold, my Lord, ſaid Mr. Fenton, that Finery is merely a Narciſſus, that neither loves nor is beloved by any except itſelf. It is much to be queſtioned whether Belle or Beau ever engaged the Affections of any ſenſible Perſon of the oppoſite Sex; and, [283]where they themſelves have been ſuſcepti⯑ble of the delicate Paſſion, they from that Moment ceaſed to be Belles or Beaus. Paris is the only Beau, as I remember, that ever was capable of loving a Wo⯑man; and yet, as you all know, ſhe was not a dreſſed Lady to whom he gave the Prize.

Dame Iris was the greateſt Belle in all the Heaven of Pagan Theology. She was, as we may ſay, the female Joſeph, dreſſed out in her gay Coat of many Colours; and yet we do not find that ſhe ever at⯑tracted the love of a ſingle Immortal, or even Mortal, though ſhe duly and daily Viſits them in all her Finery, and fails not to ſhed Showers of Tears at their Diſdain.

Finery may dazzle, it may awe, but cannot poſſibly excite the ſmalleſt Pittance of Affection. This can alone be done by ſomething more perſonal, by ſomething leſs ſuperficial. Even the ſimplex Mundi⯑ties, that Ornament of a clean Simplicity, recommended by Horace, can operate only by Intimation of deeper Purity. The Vir⯑tues alone can weave the truly enchanting Robe of Female Influence, and the Graces alone gird on the Caeſtus or Girdle of ir⯑reſiſtable Beauty.

[284] Among the infinite Variety of Female Faſhions, which in Turns have been fan⯑taſtically predominant upon Earth, I re⯑member but of one ſo very obſolete as not to have revived in ſome diſtant Age or Climate. That the Memory of this ſame Faſhion ſhould not be wholly loſt, it is re⯑corded by Saint Paul in his firſt Epiſtle to Timothy. Here he recommends it to the Ladies to adorn themſelves with Sobriety and Shamefacedneſs, not with broidered Hair, or Gold, or Pearls, or coſtly Array.

Saint Paul however, in this Piece of Advice, appears to have ſpread a Net for the Hearts of his own Sex. The haughty, reluctant, and ſtubborn Spirit of Man, can reject Wealth and Titles, can look with Indifference on the Symmetry of Shape and Features, and guard itſelf againſt the At⯑tacks of Female Artifice; but Female Baſhfulneſs is an unconſcious Thief to whom the Doors of all Hearts are inſtant⯑ly thrown open.

In ſhort, the Maid who would atchieve the whole Laurel of Conqueſt, muſt not be obvious or obtruſive; like Daphne, ſhe muſt fly though purſued by an Apollo.

Here the Company, breaking up, gave diſtinct and preſſing Invitations to Mr. [285] Fenton; but he politely excuſed his Atten⯑dance for the preſent, on Account of a Multiplicity of indiſpenſable Buſineſs.

On the following Morning, as he ſat in his Study, ſome one tapped at the Door, and, on his deſiring them to walk in, who ſhould enter but Lady Maitland in an a⯑greeable Diſhabille.

Mr. Fenton, ſaid ſhe (deeply bluſhing and heſitating) I, I, — you muſt think it very odd — I ſay, Sir, I ſhould not have intruded upon you, thus out of all Form; perhaps indecently unſeaſonable. — Pleaſe to be ſeated, Madam. — The Buſineſs I come upon, Sir, is ſo very intereſting, ſo concerning to my Peace, that I could not refuſe myſelf this Oppor⯑tunity of breaking in upon you. — Be aſſured, my dear Madam, that the great⯑eſt Pleaſure you can do me is to let me know, as ſoon as poſſible, wherein I can ſerve you.

Here the Counteſs, looking eagerly and inquiſitively on him, put her Hand in her Boſom, took out a Picture, and alternately ſurveying the one and the other, yes, ſhe cried, it is, it muſt certainly be ſo. Then, reaching out the Picture, can you tell me Sir, ſaid ſhe, for whom this was drawn, [286]or rather do you remember to whom you gave it?

Mr. Fenton took the Picture, looked at it, and ſtarted; when, recollecting Ideas and Paſſages, as from afar off; good God! he exclaimed, is it poſſible, can you be my little Fanny Goodall? yes, my deareſt Couſin, anſwered the Counteſs, as ſurely as you are the ſtill too amiable Harry Clinton.

Hereupon they both roſe ſuddenly, and Mr. Fenton, catching his quondam Fanny in his Arms, preſſed her to his Boſom with warm and kindred Affection. But the Agitation of the Counteſs was too big for Utterance, till, reſuming her Chair, ſhe gave Scope to her Paſſion, and burſt into a violent Flood of Tears.

After a mutual and affecting Silence; ah! cries Mr. Fenton, in a Voice expreſſive of much Emotion, how am I, my lovely Couſin, to interpret theſe Tears? am I to conſider them as further Proofs of your ancient Averſion to me, or as kindly and dear Inſtances of your returning Affection? — The Counteſs anſwered not; and Mr. Fenton continued.

You may remember, my Couſin, that I had very few Relations. My only Brother [287]ever continued to behave himſelf toward me as an Alien and an Enemy; and my only Uncle and Guardian who, in his later Years, became your Father, was no way agreeable to my Taſte or Diſpoſition. In you therefore, from your Infancy, in you alone, my amiable Couſin, I had centred all my Senſations of Fatherhood, Brother⯑hood, all the Affections and tender Feel⯑ings that naturally ariſe from Kindred and Conſanguinity. How have I been delight⯑ed with your infantine Prattle, how have I exulted in your opening Charms! on the Death of my firſt Wife you were my only Conſolation; and, in your innocent Careſſes and attractive Endearments, I felt a ſweet⯑neſs of Emotion that I never felt before.

On my Return from France, with what Tranſports did you receive me! we grew as it were, in our Embracements, to each other. You were then, as I apprehend, about ten Years of Age. But, on my next Viſit, you refuſed to be ſeen by me. Soon after, you were taken ill. I daily went with an aching Heart to enquire after your Health, but your Mamma perempto⯑rily refuſed me Admiſſion to your Pre⯑ſence, till, on your Recovery, you were conveyed from me, and ſecreted into the Country.

[288] Though this Unkindneſs went near my Heart, it did not alter my Affections, I ſtill continued to enquire after you, I ſtill continued to be intereſted in you, and I preferred my ardent Wiſhes and Prayers to Heaven for your Proſperity.

Mr. Fenton, ſaid Lady Maitland, (you have unqueſtionably your Reaſons for chuſing to be ſo called) I am very ſenſible Sir, I ſay, of your extraordinary Partiality to me from my earlieſt Years. Your Ten⯑derneſs, as you mentioned, was that of the fondeſt of Fathers or Brothers. You knew the Degree and Kind of Affection that was ſuitable between ſuch Relations, and you kept yourſelf preciſely within the Limits. But alas! for my Part, I knew no ſuch Diſtinctions. I was as a Piece of Virgin Wax, warmed and willingly yielding to the firſt kindly Impreſſion. You made that Impreſſion, my Couſin, you made it deep and entire. As I had but the one Heart, ſo I had but the one Love, and that Love was all your own without Diſtinction or Degree.

Gracious Heaven, exclaimed Mr. Fenton, what is this you tell me, Madam? is it poſſible that, at your Years, you ſhould actually conceive a Paſſion for one who [289]might almoſt have been your Grandfather? ah, if that be the Caſe, what have I not to anſwer, for indulging you and myſelf in thoſe innocent Careſſes which, at that Time, fondly conſtituted the moſt pleaſing Senſations of my Life.

Alas, replied the Counteſs, if you have any Thing to anſwer for, on that Account, the Charge indeed is very weighty which I have to bring againſt you.

I was not eight Years old when I begg⯑ed this Picture from you, which you ge⯑nerouſly enriched with this Circlet of Dia⯑monds. Soon after, you went to France and, during your Abſence, this Picture was my conſtant Companion, whom I ca⯑reſſed, whom I talked to, and to whom alone I made my Complaints in all my lit⯑tle Matters of Grievance.

I know not by what Inſtinct or Kind of Cunning it was, that I endeavoured to conceal my Affection for this your Reſem⯑blance, and never made my Court to it but when I was alone.

The Morning after your Viſit, on your Return from Paris, as I was careleſsly per⯑forming the Buſineſs of my little Toilette before the Glaſs; I took out your Picture, and ſurveyed it with new and encreaſing [290]Delight. In the mean Time I did not know that my Mama ſtood behind me, attentive to all my Motions that were re⯑flected to her by the Mirror. She heard me talk to your Picture, ſhe ſaw me kiſs it and eagerly preſs it to my Boſom. At laſt I turned my Eye to the Glaſs, and perceived a Piece of her Image, whereon I ſtarted, coloured, and trembled, and was thrown, I know not why, into the utmoſt Confuſion.

Ah Fanny, cried my Mother, what is this that I ſee? your young Heart, my Child, is certainly affected. Unqueſtion⯑ably you love your Couſin Clinton.

Ought I not to love him, Madam, does he not love me as well as I love him? No no, my Darling, ſaid my Mother, I would to Heaven that he did. Your Couſin Clin⯑ton indeed is worthy of all Love, but then he has lately given away his Heart to ano⯑ther. He is married, my Fanny.—And can't he love me ſtill, for all that, Madam?—By no Means, my ſweet Innocent. When once a Man marries, he vows and ſwears, and obliges himſelf to love nobody living but his Wife; and what is more, my Fanny, it is accounted very naughty in any Girl to think of lov⯑ing ſuch a one afterward.

[291] What Emotions did I then feel, what a Conflict of oppoſing Paſſions! but Re⯑ſentment, for the Time, got the upper Hand. I had yet formed no Idea of the Relations of Sex, or Matrimony, or any conjugal Obligation, ſave that of Love a⯑lone. But then it was ſufficient to me that I had given you my whole Heart, that nothing leſs than your whole Heart could ſatisfy me in return; and I felt myſelf offended and outraged to the laſt Degree, by your having imparted a Share thereof to another.

The Day following, as I ſat, languid and much diſcompoſed, as well by my Paſſion as want of Reſt the Night before; my Mama came up to tell me that you were below and enquired for me. No, no, my deareſt Mama, ſaid I, it doesn't ſig⯑nify, I will not ſee him. Let him go to whomever he loves beſt.—But, what ſhall I ſay to him, my Fanny, what Ex⯑cuſe ſhall I make—No Matter for Excuſes, Madam, tell him that I never deſire to ſee his Face any more.

As ſomething informed me that you could not help ſtill loving me a little, I laid hold of that little Love to pique, and diſoblige, and be revenged of you for your [292]Perfidy; and as long as you ſtaid, the Thoughts of the Pain and Uneaſineſs I preſumed you were under gave me vaſt Delight. But, as ſoon as I was told you were gone, my Heart ſunk down, as from a Mount of Triumph into a Depth of De⯑ſolation.

My Mama came up to conſole me. She highly applauded my Spirit and the Re⯑ſentment I had ſhewed; and ſhe blamed you for marrying another, at a Time that you pretended ſo much Fondneſs to me. She further endeavoured to ſet me againſt your Age. She told me that you muſt ſoon be old and ugly and wrinkled, and that you was much fitter to be my Father than my Lover. She alſo ſpoke to me of my vaſt Fortune, of my Beauty and ſo⯑forth; and that I might have my pick and choice of all the young and handſome Earls and Dukes in the Nation. She open⯑ed to me, in a Variety of glittering Pro⯑ſpects, all the Pleaſures and Advantages of Wealth, Title, State, Equipage, with the Reſpect and Admiration of Crowds bend⯑ing around me. As ſhe repreſented them to my Imagination, I catched at each of them for Comfort; but alas, I did not find you among them, and all to me became empty.

[293] That Night, my tender Mama forſook her own Bed and came to lie in mine. I ſaw that ſhe had been afflicted; ſo, for fear of adding to her Trouble, I ſuppreſſed my own Emotions, and pretending to be aſleep, I lay quiet by her Side, till toward Morning, when I was ſeized with a violent Fever. During my Illneſs I was told that you came daily to enquire about me; and that, I believe, above all Things contri⯑buted to my Recovery. One Day, my Mama came and informed me that you ſat below in Tears, and earneſtly requeſt⯑ed to be permitted to ſee me. O, how ſweet and comforting did thoſe Tears ſeem to drop upon my Heart; but, muſtering all my little Pride and remaining Dignity, no, no, my Mama, I cried, I will die firſt! if he doesn't firſt unmarry himſelf I will never ſee him any more.

When I had gotten Strength enough to walk about the Chamber, my Mama and I being alone, I went to my Drawer; and taking out your Picture, and turning my Head aſide, I reached it to her, ſaying, here Madam, take this and lock it up from me; for while I love it and hate it ſo much, it Troubles me to look at it. My Mama thereupon took it from me, and catched me to her Boſom, but, without [294]ſaying a Word, ſhe burſt into Tears and ſtraight quitted the Room.

As ſoon as it was judged that I was able to travel, my Parents, by the Ad⯑vice of their Doctors, took me far into the Country. My Mother, in the mean Time, had unqueſtionably confided my Secret to my Father; for, though he was naturally of a ſevere and backward Temper, he be⯑came extremely tender and indulgent to⯑ward me.

As I was the only Child they ever had, their whole Care and Solicitude was af⯑fectionately employed in procuring me a Variety of Gratifications and Amuſements. When I was in Spirits, they were in a Kind of Triumph; but my Dejection was to them the moſt grievous of all Oppreſ⯑ſions. They took down my French Miſ⯑treſs and Muſic Maſter with them; and they collected from all Parts the moſt a⯑greeable ſet of Miſſes and Maſters that they could muſter; ſo that my Time was portioned out the moſt happily that could be between Buſineſs and Recreations that were equally pleaſing. They had taken Care that your Name ſhould never be men⯑tioned before me; and though, at Times, my Soul was athirſt and my Ear opened and turned to hear Tidings concerning you, yet a certain native Baſhfulneſs and [295]fear of offending againſt Decency, did not permit me to enquire after you.

Thus a Length of Abſence, and a Va⯑riety of Diſſipations by Degrees greatly abated the Ardour of my Paſſion, inſo⯑much that I did not ſeem to feel any more for you. When any Occaſion, however, renewed in me the Impreſſion of former Scenes, a thrilling Sort of Chilneſs would run through my Blood. And, at other Times, when alone and thinking of you, a ſwimming kind of Stupor would fall ſadly upon my Soul.

On our Return to London after five Years Abſence, the great Number of Peo⯑ple, with the Novelty and Variety of Ob⯑jects that crowded upon my View, amuſed and engaged my whole Attention. But, when we enter'd the old Manſion; when I turned my Eyes on the Places where you ſat, where you walked, where you talked and uſed to careſs me, you became as it were actually viſible to my Eyes; ſomething ſeemed to wring my Heart, and I was ſeized with a Sickneſs near to Faint⯑ing. I took hold of my Maid by the Arm, and with her Help walked into the Garden for freſh Air; but there too you had got before me, on the Terrace, in the Walks and Alleys, where you uſed to run feigned Races with me, and to gather [296]Fruit for me, and to play with me at bob Cherry, and afterward to preſs the Lips that had gained the Prize. I then turned away from a Place that afforded me no Aſylum from you. My Mother met and eagerly aſked what ailed me; let us go, Mama, I cried, let us go ſome where elſe, I am not able to ſtay in this Place any longer. Accordingly, that very Evening we removed to Lodgings; and, in a few Days, my Dada took and furniſhed a new Houſe.

I ſhall not dwell, my dear Sir, on a trivial Detail of the many Circumſtances and little Incidents that happened during the Space of four ſucceeding Years. An Infinity of Suitors paid their Addreſſes to me or my Fortune, I neither knew nor cared to which, for I continued alike in⯑ſenſible to all. It is true that during ſuch a Number of Years, having neither ſeen nor heard from you, I dropt all Thoughts of you, and ſcarce retained the Traces or Lineaments of your Perſon or Aſpect. From the Impreſſion however which you left in my Mind, I had formed to myſelf a dear though confuſed Image of the Love⯑ly, of the Deſirable, and this I looked for every where, but could no where find any Reſemblance thereof.

[297] In the mean Time my Parents urged me ſtrongly to Matrimony. They affect⯑ingly repreſented that they ſhould not die in Peace, if I did not afford them the Proſpect of perpetuating themſelves in my Offspring: ſuch is the fond Succeda⯑neum which ſhort lived Creatures propoſe for eking out their Exiſtence, and ſupply⯑ing the Lot of an inevitable Mortality by the flattering though poor Subſtitute of a Name, or bare Remembrance.

At length I told my Parents that, as I could not form any Choice of my own, I would truſt wholly to their Judgment, and take up with whomſoever they ſhould be pleaſed to appoint. Hereupon they re⯑commended the Earl of Maitland to me. I kept to my Promiſe, and we were con⯑ſequently married.

My Huſband was comely in his Perſon, eaſy and affable in his Temper, and a Man of ſingular Senſe and Letters for a Lord. He loved me with Paſſion, and, as I could not pay him in Specie, I endea⯑voured to ſupply my want of Affection to him by my Attention and Aſſiduities.

On the fifth Year of my Marriage my Father died of a good old Age; and in four Years more my deareſt Mother left [298]me deſolate. In her I loſt the only Object of fond Affections that I had upon Earth, and my Looks tacitly reproached my Huſ⯑band for his want of Power to conſole me.

I believe it was equally unhappy for my Lord, as myſelf, that we were not bleſſed with Children. The dear and tender At⯑tachments, that bind Parents to their Off⯑ſpring, ſerve alſo as a ſubſequent and more affecting nuptial Band for uniting thoſe Parents more intimately to each other. It draws about them a new Circle of In⯑tereſts and Amities; and, by creating a mutual Confidence, forbids the Intruſion of thoſe Jealouſies that muſt at all Times preſuppoſe an Alienation of Regard. This however was not the Caſe between Lord Maitland and me. We never had a Child. Perhaps, in ſome Conſtitutions, a Union of Souls as well as Perſons may be requiſite for ſuch an Effect.

During the two Years ſucceeding the Death of my dear Mother, I conceived a Diſguſt againſt Company and Entertain⯑ments. I took a religious Turn. I look⯑ed upon this World and all that it con⯑tained as quite unworthy the Regard of an immortal Being. The principal Part of my Time was taken up in Books and Offices of Devotion; in which Employ⯑ment I alternately ſunk under the moſt [299]gloomy Depreſſion of Spirits, and again was elevated above myſelf into a new World of Joys and inexpreſſible Openings.

At length I was taken exceeding ill of what the Phyſicians called a Fever upon the Nerves, which confined me to my Bed above ſix Weeks. During my Illneſs, my Huſband was the moſt conſtant and aſſiduous of all my Attendants. The af⯑fectionate Sadneſs, the painful Diſtreſs, the tender Solicitude, that was viſible in all his Looks and Actions, made way into my Soul with an obliging Impreſſion; and, while I reproached myſelf for my ungrateful De⯑fect of Senſibility toward him, Love, or ſomething tender and very like to Love took Place in my Boſom.

As ſoon as I was on the Recovery, my Huſband diſappeared without taking Leave or giving me any Notice; and for three Weeks I knew not what was become of him. At length he returned, pale and greatly emaciated. I had yet loſt none of the Tenderneſs which I conceived for him during my Illneſs. I took him affection⯑ately by the Hand, which glowed like a Coal of Fire. Ah, I cried, where have you been, what Looks are theſe, my Lord, what is the meaning of all this? he an⯑ſwered not, but withdrawing his Hand, and ſcarce deigning to look toward me; I [300]am not well, he faintly ſaid, I muſt go to my Bed.

While his Servants undreſſed him, I ſtood in ſilent Aſtoniſhment, vainly gueſſ⯑ing at the Cauſe of this extraordinary Be⯑haviour; but, as ſoon as he had lain down, I took a Seat by his Side, and, ſeizing and preſſing one of his Hands between mine, I broke into Tears.

After a ſad and mutual Silence, ah Ma⯑dam, cried my Huſband, what am I to underſtand by theſe Tears? I am willing to conſider them as Proofs of your Huma⯑nity, but I cannot conſider them as In⯑ſtances of your Affection. You love me not, Madam; you never did love me. All the Conſtancy and Complacence of the moſt ardent Paſſion, all my Endeavours and Aſſiduities have not been able to pro⯑cure me the ſmalleſt Intereſt in your Heart. I blame you not, Madam; alas! we are not the Maſters of own Affections. I am ſenſible that I never deſerved your Love. That was a Bleſſing reſerved for a more amiable Object. But then the Tender⯑neſs and Truth of my Attachment to you might ſurely have laid Claim to a Share of your Confidence. Ah, how precious had ſuch a Confidence been to my Heart! it had ſtood to me in the Place of your [301]Love, and I ſhould not have reproached you for irreſiſtable Propenſities. Yes, Ma⯑dam, I ſay irreſiſtable, for I know you are virtuous. Perhaps it was not in your Power to refuſe another your Love, but then you might have admitted your Huſ⯑band to a Share of your Friendſhip.

You have my Friendſhip, I cried, my tendereſt Friendſhip, my moſt affectionate Regards. If my Love is not ſo ardent as you could wiſh, you however have all the Love of which I am capable, and you poſ⯑ſeſs it entire and undivided.

What is this you tell me, Madam? I would to Heaven you could ſtill deceive me, that I had ſtill continued in Igno⯑rance! but that is paſt, it is over, Ma⯑dam, my Eyes are opened to my Wretch⯑edneſs; and I die in the double Want of your Faith and your Affection. I have ſeen your Lover, Lady; I ſaw him four Days ago from an oppoſite Window. He ſtood before this Houſe, in Converſe with another. I expected every Moment, that taking Advantage of my Abſence, he would have gained Admiſſion to you. I held my Sword ready to follow, to pierce his Heart, and ſacrifice him to the Claims of my Ho⯑nour and my Love. But, he ſuddenly diſappeared and diſappointed my Ven⯑geance.

[302] Gracious Heaven, I exclaimed, what Madneſs is this? do you dream, or who is it that has thus cruelly impoſed upon you? you ſhall ſee the Impoſtor, Madam, replied my Lord. So ſaying, he ſuddenly put his Hand back, and taking your Pic⯑ture from under the Pillow, he indignantly demanded, do you know the Original of this Portrait, Lady? ah, I ſcreamed, I confeſs it, I do know him, I did know him indeed; he was the Idol of my Heart, I delighted in him, I doated upon him! you then acknowledge, you avow it, re⯑joined my Huſband, and at length you deign to make me the Confident of a Paſ⯑ſion which I ſuppoſe, in your Favour, to have been involuntary. Ah, had I been earlier appriſed of my Unhappineſs, I might not have ſunk under the unexpected and ſudden Preſſure as I do at this Day. But ſay, who and what is this formidable Rival, who robs me of my Peace, who tears my Life from me?

Firſt tell me, my Lord, ſaid I, how you came by this Picture? I found it in your Cabinet during your Illneſs, ſaid he, when I ſearched for your Eſſences to relieve you from a fainting Fit. I flatter myſelf that I am not of a jealous Diſpoſition. Curioſity firſt incited me to hurry it into [303]my Pocket. I afterwards ſurveyed it more at Leiſure, and ſome ſtarting Doubts aroſe. I endeavoured to ſuppreſs them; I argued with myſelf that it might be a Family-Picture, the Repreſentative of a Brother or dear Relation deceaſed. But then ſome Enemy of my Peace again whiſpered to my Spirit that, if this had been the Caſe, you would not be ſo ſolicitous to conceal it from me; you would rather have boaſt⯑ed of ſuch an Ornament of your Lineage; you would have been proud to exhibit it before all People. This ſtaggered me I confeſs; and additional Doubts and Sug⯑geſtions were impelled upon my Soul. She reſerves this, ſaid I to myſelf, for her own Eye and Inſpection; to reviſe it, to gaze and dwell upon it in Secret; and to pleaſe her Sight with the favourite Image that is impreſſed upon her Heart. At each of theſe Reflections I felt a Sting in my Boſom; and the more I revolved and debated on theſe Uncertainties, the great⯑er Strength they gained and drew nearer to Demonſtration. Ah, I cried, her real Coldneſs and feigned Regards are now equally accounted for. She deceives me, ſhe impoſes upon me; and I will counter⯑feit in my Turn till this Myſtery is detect⯑ed. I then attempted and would have conſtrained myſelf to look at you with my accuſtomed Tenderneſs; but I found it im⯑poſſible. I therefore withdrew ſuddenly [304]and without any Notice. If ſhe ever had a Tincture of Friendſhip for me, thought I, the Apprehenſion of my Loſs will a⯑wake in her a Senſe thereof. I diſguiſed myſelf, and, as a Stranger, took Lodgings over againſt you. I took my Station at the Window. I was on the watch from Morn till Noon, to make a thorough In⯑quiſition into your Conduct during my Abſence. I ſhall diſcover her Diſpoſition, ſaid I, by the Viſitants whom ſhe receives; but, during a Fortnight of Obſervation, I could not perceive that, of the Numbers who called, any one was admitted. My jealous Paſſions abated; and I began to re⯑proach myſelf for having ever conceived them; when, to my utter Confuſion, there ſtood full to my View, in Dreſs, Aſpect, Mien, Attitude, the diſtinguiſhed Origi⯑nal of the Portrait which I had in my Pocket.

Here, I paſſionately broke in upon my Huſband's Narration. God be praiſed, I exclaimed; he then lives, he ſtill lives, my moſt dear and amiable Couſin, though I never wiſh to behold his Face any more! my only Relation, perhaps now my only Friend, you are ſtill living, and I truſt you are happy; and that is e⯑nough!

[305] Your Relation, your only Relation, Ma⯑dam, cried my Lord! is he ſo near? is he no nearer, no dearer to you than Con⯑ſanguinity will warrant? proceed my Lord, I ſaid, I will then tell you all, without Diſguiſe or Palliation.

I confeſs to you, anſwered my Huſband, that the Sight of him ſtruck my Soul with the fulleſt Conviction of my being betrayed. My jealous Pangs returned with double Poignancy. I was enkindled, I was ſet on Fire, my Heart was rent ſeve⯑ral Ways. A violent Fever ſeized upon me, but my Fury and thirſt of Ven⯑geance ſupported me under it. For four Days longer I held up in the impatient Expectation of once more beholding your Lover, that I might pierce him in a thou⯑ſand Places, in every ſeducing Part about him. But Nature at length gave way, I ſunk under the Oppreſſion; and I return⯑ed, once for all, to behold, to reproach, and to expire before you.

O, my Huſband, my Friend, my true Lover, I cried, how I pity, how I feel for you! I excuſe your Suſpicions however in⯑jurious to my Honour, ſince your Jea⯑louſy perhaps is not wholly without Foun⯑dation. I did indeed love the Perſon, for whom that Portrait was drawn, with Ten⯑derneſs, [306]with Paſſion. But believe me, when I aſſure you that I have not ſet my Eyes, either on the Original or Picture, theſe twenty Years.

What is this you tell me? exclaimed my Lord. You are not yet, as I take it, thirty Years of Age. Could you love, even to Paſſion, at ſo very early a Pe⯑riod?

Here I found myſelf under the Neceſſity of diſcovering to my Huſband the little Adventures, Impreſſions, and Sentiments of my Infancy, wherewith you are al⯑ready acquainted. When I had finiſhed my ſhort Narrative, he ſeized my Hand, and preſſing it paſſionatly to his Lips, and then to his burning Boſom, he melted into Tears. O, my Fanny, he cried, my moſt noble, my adorable Creature! what a Combat have you fought, what a Con⯑queſt have you gained, of Grace over Na⯑ture, of Virtue againſt Paſſion! can you excuſe me, will you forgive me? may I hope that you will reſtore me to the bleſſ⯑ings of your Friendſhip? May I flatter myſelf that you gave me as much as you could of your Affections? that, if you had been able, you would have loved me with a Love like mine?

[307] I will not diſtreſs you, my Couſin, by a Deſcription of the affecting Scenes that enſued. My Huſband left me vaſtly rich, but ſtill more forlorn. During the firſt Years of my Widowhood, I looked upon myſelf as a friendleſs and unneceſſary Bur⯑den upon Earth. Though I thought of you at Times, it was not without a Re⯑ſentment and a Tincture of Averſion, for your never having deigned to enquire or find out, whether any ſuch Perſon, as your too affectionate Fanny Goodall, was in the Land of the Living. At length my Phy⯑ſicians and my Friends, (as they ſtiled themſelves) prevailed upon me once more, to enter into the Light and Air and A⯑muſements of their World. I conſented. I found my Advantage in it. I gradually got rid of the grievous Oppreſſion that lay upon my Spirits. Since all is Vanity, thought I, let us partake of the Diſſipation, and make it as pleaſing as we can; and accordingly you found me in the Engage⯑ments which you honoured with your In⯑ſpection Yeſterday.

When you entered, I did not know you. The ſtrange Name of Fenton, as well as the Alteration which Years had made in you, ſhut you out almoſt wholly from my Recollection. I felt myſelf however agi⯑tated I knew not why. Something in your [308]Perſon and Manner renewed, in my Heart, Impreſſions kindred to thoſe which were once its ſole Concern. I could not look at you, I could not ſpeak to you without E⯑motion. All Night I lay diſturbed, in vain endeavouring to remember when or where I had ſeen you. At Morning a ſudden Light darted in upon my Mind. I got up, and flew to your Picture which, at once, laid all open and detected your Diſguiſe.

You are much altered Couſin. Had I firſt ſeen you as you now appear, I think my young Heart would not have been ſo deeply affected. The Ruin however is ſtill very noble, and endearingly renews in me the Idea of what the Building once was.

Your abſtracted Air, and the change of your Name ſeem to intimate ſome diſtreſſ⯑ing Situation. But, if fifty thouſand Pounds, or that Sum doubled will be of Uſe to you, I ſhall for once think that Fortune has been of Advantage to me.

My moſt dear and generous Couſin, re⯑plied Mr. Fenton, I ſhall never pardon my⯑ſelf thoſe Griefs which the Exceſs of my Affection inadvertently occaſioned you. No Brother ever loved a Siſter, no Parent a Child, with fonder Paſſion. The Aver⯑ſion, which I thought you had ſuddenly taken to me, was one of the moſt ſenſible [309]Afflictions of my Life; and my Ignorance of what laterally became of you, can only be accounted for by an Abſtract of my own Story.

Here Mr. Fenton called for Chocolate. And, after Breakfaſt, he gave Lady Mait⯑land the following affecting Hiſtory of his own Life and Adventures.