CHAP. I.

IN the mean time, my application to the law was inceſſant; and conſequently my intercourſe with lawyers daily in⯑creaſed. I endeavoured to load my brain with technical terms and phraſes, to un⯑derſtand technical diſtinctions, and to acquaint myſelf with the hiſtory of law fictions, and the reaſons on which they had been founded.

[2]To theſe ſubjects my attention had been turned by Mr. Hilary; who, being a Solicitor, was well acquainted with the value of them, to the man who meant to make himſelf a thorough lawyer.

The conſideration of this branch of law ſtaggered my judgment. Trottman and Hilary were intimate. The latter had invited us and other friends to din⯑ner; and, as I found the acuteneſs of Trottman uſeful to me in my purſuits, I took this and every occaſion to put queſtions: which he was very ready to anſwer. As it happened, my enquiry on the ſubject of law fictions brought on the following dialogue: which was ſup⯑ported by Trottman entirely in his own ſtyle.

"According to your account then," ſaid I, in anſwer to a previous remark, "in Banco Regis the King is always ſup⯑poſed to be preſent."

"No doubt, what queſtion can there be [3] of that? One inviſible kind of being can as eaſily be ſuppoſed as another. And I hope you will not diſpute the actual pre⯑ſence of that pleaſant gentleman called the devil, in any one of our courts?"

"By no means!"

"As for his majeſty, he, God bleſs him! by the nature of his office is hic et ubique: here, there, and every where. He is borne in ſtate before each Corporation Mayor, whether Mr. or My Lord; and repoſes peacefully in front of Mr. Speak⯑er, or the Lord High Chancellor: in⯑veſting them by his ſacred preſence with all their power."

"How ſo?"

"How ſo! Do you forget the mace upon the table?"

"Authority then has that virtue that, like grace divine into a wafer, it can be transfuſed into wood."

"Yes. A lord's white wand, a gene⯑ral's [4] baton; a conſtable's ſtaff. It is thought neceſſary, I grant, in ſome of theſe caſes that the block ſhould be carved and gilded."

"Well, the poſition is that, in Banco Regis, the King is always preſent."

"So ſays the law."

"But the law, it appears, tells a lie; and, from all that I have heard, I wiſh it were the only one that it told."

"Could the law hear, ſir, it would take very grave offence at your language. It only aſſumes a fiction."

"John Doe and Richard Roe, who are the pledges of proſecution, are two more of its ſuppoſes, or lies. I beg pardon. I ſhould have ſaid fictions."

"Why, yes: conſidering that John Doe and Richard Roe never made their perſonal appearance in any court in the kingdom, were never once met, in houſe, ſtreet, or field, in public, or in private, [5] nay had never yet the good luck to be born, they have really done a deal of buſineſs."

"They reſemble Legion, entering the ſwine: they plunge whole herds into the depths of deſtruction."

"Or, if you will, they are a kind of real yet inviſible hob-goblins: by whom every human being is liable to be haunt⯑ed. It muſt however be allowed of them that they are a pair of very active and convenient perſons."

"To lawyers. But God help the reſt of mankind! Are there many of theſe fictions?"

"More than I or any man, I believe, can at one time remember."

"From the little I have read, this ap⯑pears to be a very puzzling part of the profeſſion."

"Not at all; if we will take things as we find them, and neither be more curious nor ſqueamiſh than wiſe. I [6] will ſtate the proceſs of a ſuit to you; and you will then perceive how plain and ſtraight-forward it is. We will ſup⯑poſe A the plaintiff: B the defendant. A brings his action by bill. Action you know means this: Actio nihil aliud eſt quam jus proſequendi in judicium quod ſibi debetur:" or, "a right of proſecuting to judgment, for what is due to one's ſelf." B is and was ſuppoſed to be in the cuſtody of the Marſhal. Obſerve, ſuppoſed to be: for very likely B is walking unmoleſted in his garden; or what not. B we will ſay happens to live in Surry, Kent, or any other county, except Middleſex; and is ſuppoſed to have made his eſcape, though perhaps he may have broken his leg, and never have been out of his own door. And then the latitat ſuppoſes that a bill had iſſued, and further ſuppoſes that it has been returned non eſt inventus, and moreover ſuppoſes it to have been filed. B lives in Kent, you know; and this [7] latitat is addreſſed, in ſuppoſition, to the Sheriff of the county, greeting; though as to the Sheriff he neither ſees, hears, nor knows any thing concerning it; and informs him that B (notwithſtanding he is confined to his bed by a broken leg) runs up and down, in ſuppoſition, and ſecretes himſelf in the Sheriff's county of Kent: on which —"

"I beg your pardon: I cannot follow you through all this labyrinth of ſup⯑poſes."

"No! Then you will never do for a lawyer: for I have but juſt begun. I ſhould carry you along an endleſs chain of them; every link of which is con⯑nected."

"And which chain is frequently ſtrong enough to bind and impriſon both plain⯑tiff and defendant."

"Certainly: or the law would be as dead in its ſpirit as it is in its letter."

[8]"I fear I ſhall never get all the phraſes and forms of law by rote."

"Why, no. If you did, heaven help you! it would breed a fine confuſion in your brain. You would become as litigious and as unintelligible as our friend Stradling.

"Mr. Stradling," ſaid Hilary, "is one of my clients: an unfortunate man who, being a law-printer, has in the way of trade read ſo many law-books, and accuſtomed him⯑ſelf to ſuch a peculiar jargon, as to ima⯑gine that he is a better lawyer than any of us; ſo that he has half-ruined him⯑ſelf by litigation. He is to dine with us, and will ſoon be here."

"I will provoke him," continued Trott⯑man, "to afford you a ſample of his gib⯑beriſh; you may then examine what de⯑gree of inſtruction you ſuppoſe may be obtained from a heterogeneous topſy-tur⯑vy maſs of law phraſes."

"But why irritate your friend?"

[9]"You miſtake. He has it ſo eternally on his tongue that, inſtead of giving him pain to ſhew the various methods in which he ſuppoſes he could torment an anta⯑goniſt at law, it affords him the higheſt gratification."

"Our friend Hilary here is better qua⯑lified for the taſk of inſtruction; but he feels ſome of your qualms; and is now and then inclined to doubt that there is vice, in the glorious ſyſtem which regu⯑lates all our actions."

"I deny that it regulates them," ſaid Hilary. "If people in general had no more knowledge of right and wrong than they have of law, their actions would in⯑deed be wretchedly regulated!"

This was a ſagacious remark. It made an impreſſion upon me that was not for⯑gotten. It ſuggeſted the important truth that the pretenſions of law to govern are ridiculous; and that men act, as Hilary [10] juſtly affirmed, well or ill according to their ſenſe of right and wrong.

Mr. Stradling ſoon after came; and Trottman very artfully led him into a diſpute on a ſuppoſed caſe, which Trott⯑man pretended to defend, and aggra⯑vated him, by contradiction, till Strad⯑ling roundly affirmed his opponent knew nothing of conducting a ſuit at law.

The volubility of this gentleman was extraordinary; and the trouble I thought myſelf obliged to beſtow, at that time, on the ſubject could alone have enabled me to remember any part off the jargon he uttered, in oppoſition to Trottman: which in ſubſtance was as follows.

"Give me leave to tell you, friend Trottman, you know nothing of the mat⯑ter; and I ſhould be very glad I could provoke you to meet me in Weſtminſter-hall. If I had you but in the Courts, damn me if you ſhould eaſily get out!"

[11]"I tell you once more I would not leave you a coat to your back."

"You! Lord help you! I would tra⯑verſe your indictment, demur to your plea, bring my writ of error, nonſuit you. Sir, I would ca ſa fi fa you. I would bar you. I would latitat you, replevin you, refalo you. I would have my non eſt inventus, my alias, and pluries, and pluries, and pluries, ad infinitum. I would have you in trover; in detinue; I would ſend your loving friend Richard Roe to you. I would eject you. I would make you confeſs leaſe entry and ouſter. I would file my bill of Middleſex; or my latitat with an ac etiam. Nay, I would be a worſe plague to you ſtill: I would have my bill filed in B. R. I would furniſh you with a ſpecial original for C. P. You talk! I would ſue out my capias, alias, and plu⯑ries, at once; and outlaw you before you ſhould hear one word of the proceed⯑ing."

[12]Bleſs me, thought I, what innumerable ways there are of reducing a man to beg⯑gary and deſtruction according to law!

Trottman thus provokingly continued.

"My dear Mr. Stradling, your brain is bewildered. You go backward and for⯑ward, from one ſuppoſition to another, and from proceſs to proceſs, till you really don't know what you ſay. If I were your opponent, in any Court in the kingdom, I ſhould certainly make the law provide you a lodging for the reſt of your life."

"Bring your action! That's all! Bring your action, and obſerve how finely I will nonpros you: or reduce you to a nolle proſequi. You think yourſelf knowing? Pſhaw. I have nonſuited fifty more cun⯑ning fellows, in my time; and ſhall do fifty more."

God help them! thought I.

"I have laid many a pert put by the heels. You pretend to carry an action through the Courts with me! Why, ſir, [13] I have helped to ruin three men of a thouſand a year; and am in a fair way, at this very hour, of doing as much for a Baronet of five times the property."

I liſtened in aſtoniſhment.

"And do you take a pleaſure in re⯑membering this?" ſaid Hilary.

"Pleaſure!" anſwered Stradling; ſtar⯑ing. "Why, do you think, Mr. Hilary, I ſhould have taken a pleaſure in ruining myſelf? What did I do but act accord⯑ing to the laws of my country? And, if men will oppoſe me, and pretend to un⯑derſtand thoſe laws better than I do, let them pay for their ignorance and their preſumption. Let them reſpect the law, or let their brats go beg."

"The law I find, ſir," ſaid I, "has no compaſſion."

"Compaſſion, indeed! No, ſir. Com⯑paſſion is a fool; and the law is wiſe."

"In itſelf I hope it is: but I own I doubt the wiſdom of its practice."

[14]"But this practice, you muſt know," ſaid Trottman, with a wink to Stradling, "Mr. Trevor means to reform."

"Oh," replied Stradling, "then I ſup⯑poſe, when the gentleman is at the bar, he will never accept a brief, till he has firſt examined the equity of the caſe."

"That, ſir," I replied, "is my firm intention."

"Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Trevor, you are a young man! You will know better in time."

"And do you imagine, ſir, that I will ever hire myſelf to chicanery, and be the willing promoter of fraud? If I do, may I live hated, and die deſpiſed!"

"Ay, ay! Very true! I don't remem⯑ber that I ever met with a youth, who had juſt begun to keep his terms, who did not profeſs much the ſame. And, which is well worthy of remark, thoſe that have been moſt vehement in theſe profeſſions have been moſt famous, when [15] they came to the bar, for undertaking and gaining the rotteneſt cauſes."

"You ſhall find however, ſir, that I ſhall be an exception to this rule."

"Excuſe me, Mr. Trevor, for not too haſtily crediting haſty aſſertions. I know mankind as well as I know the law. However, I can only tell you that if your practice keep pace with your profeſſions, you will never be Lord Chief Juſtice."

"Do the judges then encourage bar⯑riſters, who undertake the defence of bad and baſe actions?"

"To be ſure they do. They ſome⯑times ſhake their heads and look grave: but we know very well they defended ſuch themſelves: or, as I tell you, they would never have been judges. If two men have a diſpute, one of them muſt be in the wrong. And who is able to pro⯑nounce which, except the law?"

"My dear Mr. Stradling," ſaid Trott⯑man, "you are again out of your depth. [16] When two men diſpute, it almoſt always happens that they are both in the wrong. And this is the glorious reſource of law; and the refuge of its counſellors, and its judges."

Trottman and Stradling were accuſ⯑tomed to each other's manner; and, notwithſtanding the language they uſed, nothing more was meant than a kind of jocular ſparring: which would now and then forget itſelf for a moment, and be⯑come waſpiſh; but would recollect and recover its temper the next ſentence.

I replied to Trottman — "It is true that, when two men diſpute, it generally happens they are both in the wrong. But one is always more in the wrong than the other; and it ſhould be the buſineſs of lawyers to examine, and of the law to decide upon, their different degrees of error."

"What, ſir!" exclaimed Stradling. "If you were counſel in a cauſe for plain⯑tiff [17] A, inſtead of expoſing the blunders and wrongs of defendant B, would you enquire into thoſe of your own client?"

"I would enquire impartially into both."

"And if you knew any circumſtance which would infallibly inſure plaintiff a nonſuit, you would declare it to the Court?"

"I would declare the truth, and the whole truth."

"Here's doctrine! Here's law!"

"No," ſaid Trottman; "it is not law. It is reform."

"It ought to be law. As an advocate, I am a man who hire out my knowledge and talents for the avowed purpoſe of doing juſtice; and am to conſider nei⯑ther plaintiff nor defendant, but juſtice only. Otherwiſe, I ſhould certainly be the vileſt of raſcals!"

"Heyday!" thundered Stradling: and, after a pauſe, added—"It is my [18] opinion, thoſe words are liable to a pro⯑ſecution, Mr. Trevor; and, by G—, if you were to be caſt in any one of our Courts for them, it would be no fault either of the bench or the bar if the ſen⯑tence of the law, which you are defam⯑ing, did not ſhut you up for life!"

"My friend Trevor miſtakes the na⯑ture of the profeſſion he is ſtudying," added Trottman. "He forgets that the queſtion before a Court is not, what is this, that, or the other; which he may think proper to call juſtice; but, what is the law?"

"To be ſure, ſir;" continued Strad⯑ling. "It is that which, as a lawyer, you muſt attend to; and that only."

"I will cite you an example," ſaid Trottman.

"A was a gentleman of great landed property. B was an impertinent beg⯑garly kind of ſturdy fellow, his neigh⯑bour. A had an eſtate in the county of [19] — that lay in a ring-fence: a mea⯑dow of nine acres excepted, which be⯑longed to B. This meadow it was conve⯑nient for A to purchaſe; and he ſent his ſteward, who was an attorney, to make propoſals. B rejected them. The ſtew⯑ard adviſed A to buy the eſtate that be⯑longed to C, but that was farmed by B. The advice was followed. The leaſe of B expired the following year; and a new one was denied by A, unleſs B would ſell his meadow. B conſented. A bought the meadow, but determined to have his revenge. For this purpoſe A refuſed payment, and provoked B to commence an action. The law he knew very well was on the ſide of B: but that was of little conſequence. Plaintiff B brought his action in Trinity Term. Defend⯑ant A pleaded a ſham plea: aſſerted plaintiff had been paid for his meadow, by a firkin of butter: [All a lie, you [20] know.] long vacation was thus got over, and next term defendant files a bill in Chancery, to ſtay proceedings at law. Plaintiff B files his anſwer, and gets the injunction diſſolved: but A had his writ ready and became plaintiff in error, car⯑ried it through all the Courts: from K. B. to the Exchequer-chamber; and from the Exchequer-chamber, as A very well knew that B had no more money, A brought error into Parliament: by which B was obliged to drop proceedings. His attorney, of courſe, would not ſtir a ſtep further; and the fool was ruined. He was afterward arreſted by his attorney for payment of bill in arrear; and he now lies in priſon, on the debtors'-ſide of Newgate."

"How you ſtare, Mr. Trevor!" added Stradling. "Every word true. We all know a great lord who has carried I can⯑not tell how many ſuch cauſes."

[21]"And were the judges," ſaid I, "ac⯑quainted with the whole of theſe proceed⯑ings?"

"How could they be ignorant of them? Judgment had paſſed againſt de⯑fendant A in all the Courts."

"And did they afford the plaintiff no protection?"

"They protect! Why, Mr. Trevor, you imagine yourſelf in Turkey, telling your tale to a Cady, who decides accord⯑ing to his notions of right and wrong; and not pleading in the preſence of a bench of Engliſh judges, who have twice ten thouſand volumes to conſult as their guides which leave them no opinion of their own. It is their duty to pronounce ſentence as the ſtatute-books direct: or, as in the caſe I have cited, according to precedent, time immemorial."

"And this is what you call law?"

"Ay! and ſound law too."

"Why then, damn the —"

[22]"You do right to ſtop ſhort, ſir."

"It appears to me that I am travelling in a curſed dirty as well as thorny road," ſaid I, with a ſigh.

"Why, to own the truth," added Trottman, "you muſt meet with a little ſplaſhing: and, unleſs you can turn back and look at it with unconcern, I ſhould ſcarcely adviſe you to proceed."

"I ſhall certainly reconſider the ſub⯑ject!"

"A pair of lawyers, like a pair of legs, are apt to beſpatter each other: but they nevertheleſs remain good friends and brothers. If you ſend your ſpaniel into a muddy pool, you ought to take care, when he comes out, that he does not ſhake the filth he has collected over his maſter."

"I wonder, ſir, that you ſhould con⯑tinue one of a profeſſion which you treat with ſuch unſparing ſeverity."

"And I, ſir, do not wonder at your [23] wonderings. Life is a long road; and he muſt have travelled a very little way indeed who expects that it ſhould be all a bowling-green. Purſue your route in which direction you will, law, trade, phy⯑ſic, or divinity, and prove to me that you will never have occaſion to ſhake off the duſt from your feet in teſtimony againſt it, and I will then pauſe and conſider. You are of the ſect of the Perfectibles."

"And you of the caſt of the Stand-ſtills."

"Oh no. I conceive myſelf to be among children at a fair, riding in a round-about. Like the globe they in⯑habit, men are continually in motion: but they can never paſs their circle."

"And do you ſuppoſe you know the limits of your circle?"

"Within a trifle. The experience of ſtate, empires, and ages has decided that queſtion with tolerable accuracy."

"But, what if a power ſhould have ariſen, of which you have not had the [24] experience of ſtates, empires and ages; except of a very ſmall number? And what if this partial experience, as far as it goes, ſhould entirely overthrow your hypotheſis?"

"I know that, in argument, your if is a very renowned potentate. If the moon ſhould happen to be a cheeſe, it may ſome time or another chance to fall about our ears in a ſhower of maggots. But what is this mighty power, that has done ſo much in ſo ſhort a time; and from which you expect ſo many more miracles?"

"It is the art of printing. When knowledge was locked up in Egyptian temples, or ſecreted by Indian Bramins for their own ſelfiſh traffic, it was indeed difficult to increaſe this imaginary circle of yours: but no ſooner was it diffuſed among mankind, by the diſcovery of the alphabet, than, in a ſhort period, it was ſucceeded by the wonders of Greece and [25] Rome. And now, that its circulation is facilitated in ſo incalculable a degree, who ſhall be daring enough to aſſert his puny ſtandard is the meaſure of all poſſi⯑ble futurity? I am amazed, ſir, that a man of your acuteneſs, your readineſs of wit, and your ſtrength of imagination, can perſiſt in ſuch an affirmative!"

"The argumentum ad hominem. Very ſweet and delectable. Thank you, ſir."

"Every thing is ſubject to change: why not therefore to improvement? That change is inevitable there are proofs look where you will: that which is called innovation muſt conſequently be indiſ⯑penſible. Examine the hiſtory of your own ſcience. When England was in⯑feſted with wolves, we are told that King Edgar impoſed an annual tribute of thir⯑ty wolves' heads on the Welſh Princes; that the breed might be extirpated. Had this tribute been levied, after the race was partly deſtroyed, the law would have [26] counteracted its own intention: for, in order to pay the tax, the tributary Princes muſt have encouraged the breed; and once more have ſtocked the country with wolves."

Stradling was little better than in⯑fected with what have been lately ſtigma⯑tiſed by the appellation of Jacobinical principles, and exclaimed, with great ex⯑ultation—"Your remark is very true, ſir; and it is an example that will ſerve admirably well to illuſtrate another point. Placemen and penſioners, a race more ravenous and infinitely more deſtructive than wolves, have been propagated for the ſupport of the Executive Govern⯑ment; and the breed increaſes ſo rapid⯑ly that it will very ſoon devour its feed⯑ers."

"And next itſelf."

"With all my heart! Let me but ſee that vermin extirpated, and I ſhall die in peace!"

[27]"Very right, Mr. Stradling;" ſaid Trottman, with great gravity. "Place⯑men, and penſioners are vile vermin! And ſo will remain, till your party comes into office."

"If ever I could be brought to accept of place, or penſion, may I —!"

"I believe you: for I am well per⯑ſuaded your virtue will never be put to the trial. Otherwiſe, I ſhould ima⯑gine, it would find as many good argu⯑ments, I mean precedents, in favour of the regular practice in politics as in law."

Here our dialogue pauſed. Dinner was announced, and law, politics, and pa⯑triotiſm were for a while forgotten, by all except myſelf, in the enjoyments of ve⯑niſon and old port.

CHAP. II.

DESULTORY as the converſation I have recited had been, it left a very deep impreſſion upon my mind. It was round⯑ly aſſerted, by every lawyer to whom I put the queſtion, that the whole and ſole buſineſs of a counſellor was the defence of his client. Right or wrong, it was his duty to gain his cauſe; and, with reſpect to the juſtice of it, into that, generally ſpeaking, it was impoſſible that he ſhould enquire. Briefs were frequently put into his hand as he entered the Court; which he was to follow as inſtructed.

It did now and then happen that a cauſe was ſo infamous as to put even the [29] hacknied brow of a barriſter to the bluſh: but it muſt be a vile one indeed! And even then, when he threw up his brief, though paid before he began to plead, it was matter of admiration to meet ſo diſin⯑tereſted an example of virtue, in an ad⯑vocate.

It was in the practice of the law that I hoped to have taken refuge, againſt the arguments of Turl: which, averſe as I had been to liſten, proved even to me that, in principle, it was not to be de⯑fended.

The train of thinking that followed theſe deductions was ſo very painful that I was obliged to fly from them; and ſeek advice and confirmation in the friendſhip of Wilmot, before I ſhould write on the ſubject to Mr. Evelyn. For the latter taſk indeed my mind was not yet ſuffi⯑ciently calm, collected, and determined.

My chie [...] conſolation was that the ſub⯑ject had thus been ſtrongly brought to [30] the teſt of enquiry, before the expiration of the month which, according to agree⯑ment, I was to be with Counſellor Ven⯑tilate, previous to the payment of my ad⯑miſſion-fee; of which, as it was a heavy one, thus to have robbed the charities of Mr. Evelyn would have given me exceſ⯑ſive anguiſh.

I know not whether I was ſorry or glad when I came to Wilmot's lodging, to find Turl there. He had returned from his bathing excurſion; having been call⯑ed back ſooner than he expected by his affairs.

He was cheerful, and in excellent ſpi⯑rits. His complexion was clear, his health improved, and his joy at our meeting was evident and unaffected. He even owned that, hearing I had devoted my⯑ſelf to the law, he had returned thus ſoon the more willingly once again to argue the queſtion with me: for that he felt himſelf very highly intereſted in the fu⯑ture [31] employment of talents of which he had conceived extraordinary hopes; and that he thought it impoſſible they ſhould be devoted to ſuch a confuſing ſtudy, were there no other objection to it, as that of the law, without being, not only perverted and abuſed, but, in a great de⯑gree, ſtifled.

After an avowal like this, it required an effort in me to ſummon up my reſo⯑lution, and honeſtly ſtate the doubts and difficulties that had ariſen in my own mind. It was happy for me that my friends were men whoſe habitual ſincerity prompted me to a ſimilar conduct. I therefore took courage, opened my heart, and, while deſcribing my own ſenſations, was impelled to confeſs that the practice of the law could with great difficulty in⯑deed be reconciled to the principles of undeviating honeſty.

"I moſt ſincerely rejoice," ſaid Turl, "that theſe doubts have been ſuggeſted [32] to you by other people, rather than by me: for I am very deſirous you ſhould not continue to think me too prone to cenſure. And, in addition to them, I would have you take a retroſpect of your plan. To induce you to deſpond is a thing which I would moſt ſedulouſly avoid: but to ſuffer you to delude your⯑ſelf with the hopes of ſudden wealth (and when I ſay ſudden, I would give you a term of ten years) from the practice of the law, unleſs you ſhould plunge into that practice with the moſt unqualified diſregard to all that rectitude demands, would be to act the cowardly diſinge⯑nuous hypocrite; and entirely to forget the firſt and beſt duties of friendſhip.

"Should you aſk—'What path then am I to purſue?' I own I am totally at a loſs for an anſwer. The choice muſt be left to yourſelf. You are not ignorant that it is infinitely more eaſy to point out miſtakes, which have been and ſtill con⯑tinue [33] to be committed daily, than to teach how they may be entirely avoided. Of this I am well aſſured, if you will con⯑fide in and exert thoſe powers of mind that you poſſeſs; they muſt lead you to a degree of happineſs of the enjoyment of which, I am ſorry to ſay, but few are ca⯑pable.

"From my own experience and from that of all the young men I meet, who are thrown upon the world, I find that the period which is moſt critical and full of danger, is the one during which they are obliged unſupported to ſeek a grate⯑ful and worthy way of employing their talents.

"My own reſource has been that of cheerfully ſubmitting to what are called the hardſhips of obſcure poverty; and of conſoling myſelf, not only with a firm perſuaſion that by this courſe in time I ſhall infallibly change the ſcene, but that, till this time ſhall come, I am employing [34] myſelf on the ſubjects which can beſt afford me preſent ſatisfaction. That is, in endeavours, however narrow and feeble, to enlarge the boundaries of human hap⯑pineſs; and by means like theſe to find a ſufficiency for my own ſupport.

"I know not that I ought to adviſe you to purſue a ſimilar plan: though I can truly ſay I am unacquainted with any other, which is equally promiſing.

"How to anſwer or appeaſe the imperi⯑ous demands of your preſent ruling paſſion I cannot deviſe. Neither can I ſay that I am convinced it is blameable except in its exceſs. That you ſhould deſire to obtain ſo ſo rare and ineſtimable a treaſure as that of a woman who, not to inſiſt upon her peculiar beauty, is poſſeſſed of the high faculties with which ſhe whom you love is affirmed to be endowed, is an ambition which my heart knows not how to con⯑demn as unworthy. There is ſomething in it ſo congenial to all my own feelings [35] that to ſee you united to her would give me inexpreſſible pleaſure.

"You will perhaps be ſurpriſed to hear me own that, notwithſtanding the obſtacles are ſo numerous that I have no perception of the manner in which they are to be overcome, I yet rejoice with you that you have diſcovered ſuch a wo⯑man; that ſhe has aſſuredly a rooted affection for you; and that you have thus obtained one advantage over all your friends, a ſtrong and unconquerable mo⯑tive to outſtrip them in your efforts.

"Shall I add that, deſperate as your caſe ſeems to be, I participate in your ſanguine hopes? I do not deem them entirely romantic, but ſhare in that which the phlegmatic would call the frenzy of your mind; and half-perſuade myſelf that you will finally be victorious.

"Then ſummon up your fortitude. Do not ſuffer the failure of ill-concerted plans either to leſſen your ardour or give [36] it a raſh and dangerous direction. Be cool in deciſion, warm in purſuit, and unwearied in perſeverance. Time is a never failing friend, to thoſe who have the diſcernment to profit by the oppor⯑tunities he offers. Let your eye be on the alert, and your hand active and firm, as circumſtances ſhall occur, and I ſhall then ſay I ſcarcely know what it is that you may not hope to achieve!"

Wilmot ſtood with his head reſting on his arm, leaning againſt the mantle-piece. When Turl began, his eye was caſt down, a compaſſionate melancholy overſpread his countenance, and a deep ſigh broke from him unperceived by himſelf. As our mutual friend proceeded, his attitude altered, his head was raiſed, his eye brightened, his features glowed, his ſoul was wrapt in the viſions which were raiſed by Turl, and, unconſcious of his own exiſtence or that he ſpoke, his interrupting ejaculations now and then involuntarily [37] burſt forth—"That is true!"—Well argued!—Do you think ſo?—Indeed!— I am glad of that!—Don't deſpond, Trevor!—Don't deſpond!—'Tis folly to deſpond!"

Juſt as he repeated the laſt ſentence, "'Tis folly to deſpond," ſo full a remem⯑berance of his former trains of thought came over him, and there was ſo divine a mixture of hope and melancholy in his face, which ſeemed ſo to reproach him⯑ſelf and to encourage me, that, divided as my feelings were between the generous emanations of Turl and theſe torrents of affection from a man who had ſuffered ſo deeply, I ſeized the hand of each, preſſed them both to my heart, inſtantly dropped them again, covered my face, fell againſt the wall, and ſobbed with ſomething like hyſteric paſſion.

Of all the pleaſures of which the ſoul is capable, thoſe of friendſhip for man and love for woman are the moſt exqui⯑ſite. [38] They may be deſcribed as—"the comprehenſive principle of benevolence, which binds the whole human race to aid and love each other, individualized; and put into its utmoſt ſtate of activity." Selfiſhneſs may deride them; and there may be ſome ſo haunted by ſuſpicion, or ſo hardened in vice as to doubt or deny their exiſtence. But he that has felt them in their fulleſt force has the beſt as well as the grandeſt ſtandard of human nature; and the pureſt foretaſte of the joys that are in ſtore, for the generations that are to come.

This is the ſpirit that is to harmonize the world; and give reality to thoſe ideal gardens of paradiſe, and ages of gold, the poſſibility of which, as the records of fable ſhew, could ſcarcely eſcape even ſavage ignorance.

What clue ſhall I give the reader to my heart, that ſhall lead him into its re⯑ceſſes; and enable him to conceive its [39] entire ſenſations? That Turl, from whom I imagined I had met ſo much diſcourage⯑ment, whoſe ſcrutinizing eye led him to examine with ſuch ſeverity, and whoſe firm underſtanding poſſeſſed ſuch powers of right deciſion, that he ſhould not only ſympathize with me but partake in my beſt hopes, and countenance me in my ſoul's deareſt purſuit, that Turl ſhould feel and act thus, was a joy inconceivably great, and unexpected!

He now no longer appeared to me as one to whom, though I could not but revere him, I durſt not confeſs myſelf; but as a generous, anxious, and tender friend. My former flaſhes of hope had uſually been ſucceeded by a gloomy deſpair, that made me half ſuſpect myſelf to be frantic: but, after this conceſſion and encouragement from Turl, they ſeemed inſtantly to ſpring into conſiſt⯑ency, probability, and ſyſtem.

Turl highly approved my forbearance, [40] and caution, reſpecting the letter I had written and was ſo anxious to convey to Olivia.

This farther coincidence of opinion not only induced me to perſevere in my plan, but afforded me a degree of grate⯑ful ſatisfaction, and ſelf-reſpect, that was exceedingly conſolatory.

CHAP. III.

IT may well be ſuppoſed that Turl was induced to enquire, and I to explain, the means by which I ſhould have been en⯑abled to purſue the ſtudy of the law: for he had heard of my misfortunes, and the diſſipation of my finances.

This brought the behaviour and cha⯑racter [41] of Mr. Evelyn in review: and the admiration of Turl, with the terms of affection and reſpect in which he ſpoke of that gentleman, was additional delight. He had never entertained any ſerious doubt, he ſaid, but that ſuch men ex⯑iſted: perhaps many of them: yet to diſcover a ſingle one was an unexpected and, to ſay the truth, a very uncommon pleaſure.

But Mr. Evelyn was to be made ac⯑quainted with my change of ſentiment; and of my being once more deſtitute of any plan for my future guidance. It was neceſſary that he ſhould not deem me a man of unſettled principles; frivo⯑lous in propenſity, and fantaſtic in con⯑duct. For, though perhaps my pride would have felt gratification at no longer conſidering myſelf a dependent on the favourable opinion or calculations which another might form concerning me, and [42] my good or ill qualities, yet I could not endure to ſink in his eſteem.

I therefore applied myſelf, immediate⯑ly, in the moſt aſſiduous manner, to col⯑lect and ſtate ſuch facts as I had gathered, relative to the practice of the law: and, that the argument might be placed in the cleareſt light poſſible, I begged of Turl to take that part of the ſubject which related to its principles upon him⯑ſelf.

Thus provided, I wrote to Mr. Eve⯑lyn; and my letter was fortunate enough to produce its deſired effect.

Nor was he ſatisfied with mere appro⯑bation. His anxious and generous friend⯑ſhip would not ſuffer him to reſt; and he immediately made a journey to town, to conſult with me, ſince this project was rejected, what ſhould be my new purſuit.

His behaviour verified all the aſſertions of his former diſcourſe, concerning the [43] hopes that he had conceived of my ta⯑lents. He conſidered nothing within the ſcope of his fortune as too great a ſacrifice, if it could but promote the end he deſired. For this purpoſe he not only conſulted with Wilmot, and Turl, but led me into ſuch converſations as might beſt diſplay the bent of my genius; and afford him hints, on which to act.

And now he was induced to form a deſign ſuch as I little expected; and which required of me the acceptance of obligations ſo great as well might ſtagger me, and render it difficult for me to con⯑ſent.

He had remarked that my enunciation was clear and articulate, my language flowing, my voice powerful, and my manner prepoſſeſſing. Such were the terms which he uſed; in deſcribing theſe qualities in me. The youthful manlineſs of my figure, he ſaid, added to the pro⯑perties I have mentioned, was admirably [44] adapted for parliamentary oratory. My elocution and deportment were com⯑manding; and principles ſuch as mine might awe corruption itſelf into reſpect, and aid to rouſe a nation, and enlighten a world. Mr. Evelyn, like myſelf, was very much of an enthuſiaſt.

He did not immediately communicate the project to me: which was indeed firſt ſuggeſted to him by accidental cir⯑cumſtances: but previouſly examined whether it was, as he ſuppoſed it to be, poſſible to be carried into effect.

Sir Barnard Bray had the nomina⯑tion of two borough members: one of which he perſonated himſelf, and diſpoſed of the other ſeat, as is the cuſtom, to a candidate who ſhould be of his party; and conſequently vote according to his opinion.

He had long been the loud and faſt friend of Oppoſition. No man was more determined in detecting error, more hot [45] in his zeal, or more vociferous in accu⯑ſation, than Sir Barnard: his dear and intimate friend, the right honourable Mr. Abſtract, excepted; who was indeed pepper, or rather gunpowder itſelf.

Mr. Evelyn was the couſin of this patriotic baronet.

It happened juſt then to be the eve of a general election; and, as the laſt mem⯑ber of Sir Barnard had been ſo profligate, or ſo patriotic, as the worthy member himſelf repeatedly and ſolemnly declared he was, as to vote with the Miniſter, who had previouſly given him a place and promiſed to ſecure his return for a Trea⯑ſury borough, Mr. Evelyn, knowing theſe circumſtances, was perſuaded that the Baronet would be happy to find a repreſentative for his conſtituents, whoſe eloquence added to his own ſhould avenge him on the Miniſter; if not tumble him from the throne he had uſurped.

Mr. Evelyn and the Baronet were on [46] intimate terms: for Sir Barnard took a particular pleaſure in every man who per⯑fectly agreed with him in opinion; and, though this definition would not ac⯑curately apply to Mr. Evelyn, yet, on the great leading points in politics they ſeldom differed.

As to morals, as a ſcience, Sir Barnard on many occaſions would affect to treat it with that common-place contempt which always accompanies the ſuppoſition of the original and unconquerable de⯑pravity of man; of the verity of which the Baronet had a rooted conviction. In this hypotheſis he was but confirmed by his burgage-tenure voters, by the conduct of the members he had himſelf returned, and by certain propenſities which he felt in his own breaſt, and which he ſeriouſly believed to be inſtinctive in man.

Beſide, if Mr. Evelyn differed at any time in opinion with a diſputant, the ſua⯑vity of his manners was ſo conciliatory [47] that oppoſition, from him, was ſometimes better received than agreement, and co⯑incidence, from other people. This ſua⯑vity, by the by, is a delightful art. Would it were better underſtood, and more practiſed!

CHAP. IV.

FULL of the project he had conceived, Mr. Evelyn viſited the Baronet, who happened to be in town, and propoſed it to him in the manner which he thought might moſt prepoſſeſs him in my favour.

Sir Barnard liſtened attentively, and pauſed.

It happened that he had lately been [48] meditating on the danger of introducing young orators into parliament: for he had found, by experience, that they are ſo marketable a commodity as to be al⯑moſt certain of being bought up. The trick he had himſelf been played was bitterly remembered; and he had known and heard of ſeveral inſtances, during his parliamentary career, of a ſimilar kind.

Yet he could not but recollect that, when he and his former ſpokeſman had entered the houſe, arm in arm, there was a ſort of buzz, and a degree of reſpect paid to him, which had inſtantly dimi⯑niſhed as ſoon as this ſupport was gone.

There is ſomething of dignity in the uſe of crutches; and he that cannot walk alone commands attention, from his im⯑becility.

"I do not know what to think of this plan," ſaid the Baronet. "I find your flowery ſpeakers are no more to be de⯑pended [49] upon, in the preſent day, than the oldeſt drudges in corruption!

"You know, couſin, how I hate cor⯑ruption. It is undoing us all. It will undo the nation! The influence of the crown is monſtrous. The ariſtocracy is degraded by annual batches of mundun⯑gus and parchment lords; and the con⯑ſtitution is tumbling about our ears. The old Engliſh ſpirit is dead. The nation has loſt all ſenſe and feeling. The people are ſo vile and ſelfiſh that they are bought and ſold like ſwine; to which, for my part, I think they have been very properly compared. There is no ſuch thing now as public virtue. No, no! That happy time is gone by! Every man is for all he can get; and as for the means, he cares nothing about them. There is abſolutely no ſuch thing as patriotiſm exiſting; and, to own the truth, damn me if I believe there is a man in the kingdom that cares one far⯑thing [50] for thoſe rights and liberties, about which ſo many people that you and I know pretend to bawl!"

"This is a ſevere ſuppoſition indeed. It implicates your deareſt and moſt in⯑timate friends. Only recollect, Sir Bar⯑nard, what would your feelings be, if the ſame thing ſhould be aſſerted of you?"

"Of me, truly! No, no, couſin Eve⯑lyn; I think I have been pretty tolerably tried! The Miniſter knows very well he could move the Monument ſooner than me. I love the people; and am half mad to ſee that they have no love for them⯑ſelves. Why do not they meet? Why do not they petition? Why do not they beſiege the throne with their clamors? They are no better than beaſts of bur⯑then! If they were any thing elſe, the whole kingdom would riſe, as one man, and drive this arrogant upſtart from the helm. I ſay, Mr. Evelyn, I love the people; I love my country; I love the [51] conſtitution; and I hate the ſwarms of muſhroom peers, and petty traders, that are daily pouring in upon us, to overturn it."

Was it weakneſs of memory? Was it the blindneſs of egotiſm? Or was it in⯑ordinate ſtupidity, that Sir Barnard ſhould forget, as he conſtantly did, that his fa⯑ther had been a common porter in a warehouſe, had raiſed an immenſe for⯑tune by trade, had purchaſed the boroughs which deſcended to his ſon, and had himſelf been bought with the title of Baronet by a former miniſter? Was it ſo very long ago, that Sir Barnard, with ſuch a ſwell of conſcious ſuperiority, ſhould begin to talk of the antiquity of his family? But, above all, how did he happen not to recollect that the diſap⯑pointment which now preyed upon and cankered his heart was the refuſal of a peerage?

I really can give no ſatisfactory an⯑ſwer [52] to theſe queſtions. I can only ſtate a fact: which daily occurs in a thouſand other inſtances.

Mr. Evelyn brought the Baronet back to the point; and remarked to him that, at the preſent period, when the Miniſter was ſo powerful in numbers, to bring in a mere yes and no member with himſelf would be a certain mode of not ſerving the country, the conſtitution, and the people, whom he ſo dearly loved; that the ſafety which is derived from a man's inſignificance is but a bad pledge; and that he thought himſelf very certain I was as dear, nay and as incorruptible, a lover of old England, or at leaſt of the wel⯑fare of mankind, as Sir Barnard himſelf.

"Shew me ſuch a man, couſin," ex⯑claimed the Baronet, "and I will worſhip him! I will worſhip him, Mr. Evelyn! I will worſhip him! But I am perſuaded he is not to be found. I have learned, from too fatal experience, that I am certain of no⯑body [53] but myſelf! Small as the number in Oppoſition is, if they were but all as ſound-hearted as I am, and would ſet their ſhoulders to the wheel and lay themſelves out for the good of their coun⯑try as I do, I ſay it, Mr. Evelyn, and take my word for it I ſay true, we ſhould overturn the Miniſter and his corrupt gang in ſix months! Nay, in half the time! However, as you are ſo ſtrongly perſuaded of the ſoundneſs of the gentle⯑man's principles whom you recommend, let me ſee him, and talk to him; and then I will tell you more of my opinion."

"There is one point, Sir Barnard, on which I ſuppoſe I need not inſiſt; it is ſo obvious."

"What is that, couſin?"

"You being as you ſtate a man of principle, and incapable of being biaſſed to act againſt what you conceive to be the good of the nation, you muſt expect that every man, who reſembles you in [54] patriotiſm and fortitude, will act from himſelf, and will reſiſt any attempt to control him."

"Oh, as to that, we need ſay nothing about it. Thoſe things are never men⯑tioned, now-a-days: they are perfectly underſtood. But who is your young friend? Is he a man of property?"

"No."

He will be the more manageable, thought Sir Barnard.

"Where will he get a qualification?"

"I will provide him with one."

"You ſay he is a gentleman."

"As I underſtand the term, he cer⯑tainly is: for, in addition to thoſe man⯑ners and accompliſhments which are moſt pleaſing to the world, he not only poſ⯑ſeſſes a good education but a ſenſe of juſtice which makes him regard every man as his brother; and which will nei⯑ther ſuffer him to crouch to the haughty nor trample on the poor."

[55]"Why, that is very good. Very right. I myſelf will crouch to no man. And, as for modeſty and humility, in the youth of the preſent day, why they are very rarely found: and ſo I ſhall be happy to meet with them."

"Nay, but Mr. Trevor delivers his ſentiments with rather an unguarded freedom, and with peculiar energy or indeed he would be ill qualified to riſe in the aſſembly of which I wiſh to ſee him a member, and undauntedly oppoſe the arrogant aſſertions that are there daily made."

"Arrogant! G— confound me, Mr. Evelyn, if I am not ſometimes ſtruck dumb, with what I hear in that houſe! There is that Scotchman in particular, who will get up, after our allies have been defeated, our troops driven like ſheep from ſwamp to ſwamp, where they die of the rot, and our ſhips carried by hundreds into the enemy's ports, and [56] will roundly aſſert, notwithſtanding theſe facts are as notorious as his own political profligacy, that our victories are ſplendid, our armies undiminiſhed; and our trade protected and flouriſhing beyond all for⯑mer example! He makes my hair ſtand on end to hear him! And when I look in his face, and ſee the broad familiar eaſy impudence with which he laughs at me and all of us, for our aſtoniſhment, why, as I tell you, damn me if I am not dumb-founded! I am ſtruck all of a heap! I have not a word! I am choaked with rage, and amazement! Compared to him your brothel-keeper is a modeſt perſon! Were but our fortreſſes as impenetrable as his forehead, curſe me if they would ever be taken. He is bomb-proof. The returns that lie on the table can make no impreſſion upon him; and you may ſee him ſnèer and laugh if they are pointed to in the courſe of an argument.

"In ſhort, couſin Evelyn, the nation [57] is ruined. I ſee that clear enough. Our conſtitution will ſoon be changed to a pure deſpotiſm. Barracks are building; ſoldiers line our ſtreets; our commiſſion of the peace is filled with the creatures of a corrupt adminiſtration; conſtables are only called out to keep up the farce; and we are at preſent under little better than a military government."

Though Mr. Evelyn would have been better ſatisfied, had Sir Barnard's ſenſe of national grievances been equally ſtrong but leſs acrimonious, yet he was pleaſed to find that theſe grievances were now more than ever become a kind of com⯑mon-place bead roll of repetitions: of which their being ſo familiarly run over by the Baronet was ſufficient proof: for a people that are continually talking of the evils that afflict them are not, as Sir Barnard and others have ſuppoſed, dead to theſe evils. The nation, that remarks, [58] diſcuſſes, and complains of its wrongs, will finally have them redreſſed.

CHAP. V.

WHAT farther paſſed in the conver⯑ſation I have recited was of little mo⯑ment: except that an appointment was made, on the following day, for me to be introduced to the Baronet.

Thus far ſucceſsful, Mr. Evelyn re⯑turned; and, as he was a man of a firm and ingenuous mind, he thought it ad⯑viſeable to hold a conſultation with me and my friends, on the proſecution of his plan.

[59]That perſonal conſiderations might in no degree influence the enquiry, he firſt propoſed the queſtion, without intimating to what it might lead, of—"how far it became a virtuous man to accept a ſeat, on thoſe conditions under which a ſeat only can be obtained, among the repre⯑ſentatives of the people?"

Without wearying the reader with the arguments that were adduced, let it ſuffice to inform him that we all agreed it was a very doubtful caſe; that, in this as in numerous other inſtances, manners, cuſtoms, and laws, obliged us to conform to many things which were odiouſly vicious; and that to live in ſociety and rigidly obſerve thoſe rules of juſtice which would beſt promote the general happi⯑neſs was, ſpeaking abſolutely, a thing impoſſible.

Whether the greateſt political cha⯑racters would beſt fulfil their duties by refuſing to ſubmit to the corrupt influ⯑ence [60] of elections, to teſt-oaths, and to the miſchiefs of miniſterial management within the walls, or whether they ought to comply with them, and exert their utmoſt faculties in pointing out theſe evils and endeavouring to have them redreſſed, was a point on which we all ſeemed to think the wiſeſt men might ſuſpend their judgment.

In one thing we appeared to be en⯑tirely agreed: which was that ſuch per⯑nicious practices were in all probability more frequently expoſed, and brought into public diſcuſſion, through the me⯑dium of an aſſembly like this, than they would be did no ſuch aſſembly exiſt.

Neither muſt I detail what afterward paſſed, before I was brought to accept the propoſal of Mr. Evelyn. It would be tedious.

This propoſal did not confine itſelf to the ſingle act of giving me a ſeat in parliament; and of furniſhing me with a [61] qualification. It inſiſted that the quali⯑fication ſhould be a real and not a fic⯑titious deed.

To accept the actual poſſeſſion of three hundred a-year as a bounty, for which I could make no return, was I own hu⯑miliating to my pride. It made the queſtion continually recur—"Whether it did not give me the air of an impoſtor? A kind of ſwindler of ſentiment? A pre⯑tender to ſuperior virtue, for the purpoſe of gratifying vice?"

It ſeemed at a blow to rob me of all independence; and leave me a manacled ſlave to the opinions, not only of Mr. Evelyn, but, by a kind of conſignment, of his relation the Baronet; and even to both their humours.

In fine, it was a moſt painful ſacrifice; and required all the amenity and active friendſhip of Mr. Evelyn to bring to my mind, not only my duties, but, the power that I ſhould have at any time of [62] reſigning my ſeat, returning the deeds, and ſheltering myſelf in my primitive poverty.

To this I added a condition, without which my refuſal would have been ab⯑ſolute. It was that I ſhould give a deed of mortgage, bearing intereſt, to the full value of the lands aſſigned.

I ſhall forbear to dwell on ſenſations that were very active at the moment; which, on one hand, related to all that concerned Mr. Evelyn, my obligations, and ſomething like dependence; and, on the other, to my ſudden promiſed elevation toward the ſphere, in which my ambition was ſo eagerly deſirous to move. Neither will I inſiſt on that which cauſed my heart to beat yet more high, the ap⯑proach that I thus made to the lovely object of all my wiſhes.

Leaving this endleſs train of medi⯑tation, I proceed to relate events as they occurred.

[63]I attended Mr. Evelyn, according to appointment; and paid my reſpects to his couſin, Sir Barnard. Having engaged myſelf thus far, I own I was ſufficiently piqued to deſire to make a favourable impreſſion: in which I was almoſt as ſucceſsful as I myſelf had hoped.

At the firſt ſight of me the Baronet was prepoſſeſſed; and when we entered into converſation and he gave me an opportunity of uttering my ſentiments concerning men and meaſures, I painted ſo forcibly that he was almoſt in raptures.

The only circumſtance in which I failed was my frequent interruption, and impatience, when he in turn began to declaim. I had the vice of orators: I heard no man's arguments, or language, that pleaſed me ſo well as my own. I could not liſten without an irritating anxiety, that was for ever prompting me to ſupply a word, ſuggeſt a thought, or detect a blunder. And, to a man who [64] loves to make a ſpeech, it is intolerably mortifying to hear himſelf corrected, and cut ſhort, in the middle of a ſentence.

However I was ſufficiently guarded not to give any offence that was ſtrong enough to be remembered; and Sir Bar⯑nard was ſo thoroughly engroſſed, by the idea of the conſpicuous figure which he and his new member ſhould make in the houſe, that he was abſolutely impatient to ſecure me: being fully perſuaded that he had diſcovered a treaſure; of which now, at a general election, he was in conſiderable danger of being robbed.

The only precaution he took was to draw from me repeated aſſeverations that I would not deſert the cauſe of the peo⯑ple: by which, as I afterward found, he underſtood his own private opinions; and I that which he had literally expreſſed. On this head he ſeemed never ſatisfied; and the terms in which he ſpoke, both of the member who had deſerted him and [65] of all political tergiverſation whatever, were the bittereſt that his memory could ſupply.

CHAP. VI.

THESE points ſettled, the Baronet pro⯑poſed to introduce me to his friends and connections, particularly of the political kind. For this purpoſe he began with inviting me and Mr. Evelyn to dine with him on the Friday following, when he was to have a mixed party of ladies and gentlemen, but chiefly of ſuch as agreed with him on public affairs.

When the day came, I was preſented to [66] the company by the Baronet with encomi⯑ums, and ſeated on the left of Lady Bray.

A Scotch lord was on her right: it being her ladyſhip's cuſtom to divide the ladies and gentlemen.

A young fellow properly introduced, if he be new in the circles of faſhion and poſſeſſed of a tolerable figure, is in no danger of being ill received. I had not indeed learned to be an adept at ſmall talk: a qualification which, contemptible as it is, will ſupply the want of every ſuperior requiſite, whether of mind or perſon: but I had an aptitude to oblige, be attentive, and ſpeak the moment I found I had any thing to ſay.

I had laid no plan on this occaſion: not having then read, or not remember⯑ing, I know not which, Lord Cheſter⯑field's ſage reflections, on the neceſſity of a ſtateſman's being well with the ladies. It happened however that, on this oc⯑caſion, I was received with diſtinguiſhed [67] marks of approbation by the dear angels: from ſeveral of whom I received viſiting-invitations.

Muſic and the opera were among the topics on which they converſed. I was found to be an amateur; and Lady Bray was one of the dilettanti, had concerts at her own houſe, and a box at the opera: to both of which ſhe ſaid I ſhould at all times have free admiſſion.

This was too pleaſing an offer to be refuſed; and I willingly agreed to attend her ladyſhip the following evening, and hear the charming muſic of I Zingari in Fiera by Paiſiello.

The opera ſeaſon began rather early that year, many families were not yet come to town, we had little delay from the ſtring of coaches, and, had her lady⯑ſhip not provided againſt the misfortune by taking care to go more late than uſual, we ſhould have been ſo unfaſhionable as [68] to have heard the firſt act. As it was, we arrived before it was over.

The thing on which her ladyſhip be⯑ſtowed her immediate attention was to examine, by the aid of her opera-glaſs, which of the ſubſcribers were in their boxes; and how many of her particular friends were among them. Politeneſs in⯑duced me to accompany her in this excur⯑ſion of the eye: for not to have liſtened to the names, titles, and ages, of her friends, with the births, deaths, marriages, creations, and preſentations at court of them and their families, of which materials ſmall talk is chiefly if not wholly com⯑poſed, would have been the very higheſt defect in good breeding.

Why yes. Liſten I did, as long as I was able: till my eyes, tongue, and fa⯑culties were all riveted to one ſpot!

Her ladyſhip's box was near the cen⯑tre. She had carried my eye from box [69] to box completely along one ſide, and had proceeded to about three of the op⯑poſite, when ſhe directed her glaſs to one, with the owners of which ſhe had no acquaintance: but ſhe knew the names of all; for ſhe had them engraved on her fan.

That name was Mowbray! And the perſons in it were Hector, his aunt, and Olivia!

I was ſilent, gazing, entranced! Her ladyſhip had talked I know not how long; and I had neither anſwered nor heard one word.

"Bleſs me," ſaid ſhe, "Mr. Trevor! why you are abſolutely in a revery all of a ſudden! That Miſs Mowbray I find is a very dangerous young lady: for I am told that all the men are poſitively mad after her; and here are you abſolutely ſtruck ſpeechleſs! What! Not a word yet?"

"I beg ten thouſand pardons."

[70]"Why this ſeems like love at firſt ſight! You are not acquainted, I ſup⯑poſe, with the Mowbrays."

"Yes, my lady: from my infancy."

"Oh, oh! Why, then to be ſure you are intimate with this beauty; who abſo⯑lutely eclipſes us all. I aſſure you ſhe is poſitively the belle of the day. I hear ſhe has the very firſt offers. But you are not ſilly enough to act the dying ſwain? What, no anſwer? Well, well: I ſee how it is! But, as we never read in any of the morning papers of gentle youths who break their hearts for love, in the preſent ungallant age, you are in no great danger. Though I think I never ſaw any creature look more like what I ſhould ſuppoſe one of your true lovers to be than you did juſt now: for, beſide your ſpeechleſs attitude, which was abſo⯑lutely pictureſque and ſignificant, you were poſitively pale and red, and red and pale, almoſt as faſt as the ticking of my [71] watch. And even yet you are abſolutely provoking. I cannot get a word from you!"

"Your ladyſhip's raillery quite over⯑powers me."

"I declare I am poſitively ſurpriſed at what I have ſeen. Had a ſtranger been all of a ſudden ſtruck, the wonder would not have been abſolutely ſo great: but it is poſitively unaccountable in you who are a familiar acquaintance of the fa⯑mily."

"I cannot boaſt of that honor."

"No, indeed! Why, do not you viſit the Mowbrays?"

"I do not."

"What, you are a dangerous man; and are forbidden the houſe? Well, I de⯑clare, I ſhall abſolutely know your whole hiſtory in five minutes without your hav⯑ing poſitively told me a word."

"Your ladyſhip has a lively imagina⯑tion."

[72]I have heard that the aunt is a very cautious chaperon. But, I tell you what: I will be your friend. The Mowbrays are lately become intimate with two fa⯑milies where I viſit. And I will abſo⯑lutely take you with me, on one of their public nights. I will poſitively."

This propoſition was ſo grateful, and my thanks were ſo much more prompt than my recollection, that her ladyſhip was quite confirmed in her ſurmiſes; and not a little pleaſed with her own ta⯑lent at diſcovery.

Her accuſation however was very true. All ſhe could poſitively ſay could not ab⯑ſolutely draw my attention from the box of Olivia, whoſe turns and motions I was anxiouſly watching; hoping that ſome lucky accident would guide her eye to⯑ward me.

Nay I partly hoped and partly feared the ſame of the aunt: my emotions being now influenced by the reſpectable ſta⯑tion [73] which I at preſent ſeemed to occupy; and now by the rememberance that even this might turn to my diſadvantage, in the jealous apprehenſions of the old lady.

Buſied as my thoughts were and ab⯑ſorbed in anxious attention, this anxiety was ſoon overcome by a much more pow⯑erful feeling.

A gentleman entered Olivia's box! My eyes were inſtantly turned on him. Recollection was rouſed. My heart beat. It ſurely was he! I could not be miſ⯑taken! My opera-glaſs was applied, and my fears confirmed. It was, indeed, the Earl of Idford!

Here then, in a moment, the enigma was ſolved. The peer who had aſpired to the hand of Olivia, and who tempted her with all his opulence and all his dig⯑nity, could be no other than Lord Idford. He had long been intimate with Hector, and now comes without ceremony and [74] joins the family. See how the aunt ſmiles on him! Nay, mark! Olivia is attentive to him! Her lips move! Her eyes are directed to his! She is converſing with him, and at her eaſe, while I am racked by all the terrors that jealouſy can raiſe! What, can ſhe not caſt one look this way? Is ſhe faſcinated by a reptile? Is there no inſtinctive ſympathy, that ſhould make her tremble to betray the deareſt intereſts of love in the very preſence of the lover! Does ſhe act complacency, and ſit calm and unruffled! Has ſhe no foreboding that I will dart upon that inſect; that thing; which, being leſs than man, pre⯑ſumes becauſe it is called Lord! Thinks ſhe that I will not cruſh, tear, tread, him to duſt? He, the defrauder of my fair fame, who plundered me of the firſt fruits of genius by infamous falſehood, who joined in plotting my deſtruction by arts which the baſeſt cowards bluſh at! [75] Is he the fiend that comes to ſnatch me from bliſs; and plunge me into pangs and horrors unutterable?

From theſe ravings of the mind I was a little recovered, by the very ſerious alarm which the wild changes of my countenance produced in Lady Bray. I apologiſed, pleaded indiſpoſition, but preſently was loſt again in revery. For⯑tunately, a gentleman of her ladyſhip's acquaintance came into the box, and left me to continue my embittered medita⯑tions.

Olivia was now attentive to the muſic; and the lord had only her aunt and Hec⯑tor, apparently, to beſtow his conver⯑ſation upon.

This was ſome relief; and ſo far al⯑layed the fever of my mind as to call me back to ſelf examination, and to queſtion my own conduct.

For the earl I could not but have the moſt rooted contempt. I could not com⯑pare [74] [...] [75] [...] [76] myſelf with him, and entertain a doubt, concerning who ought to be pre⯑ferred.

But what reaſon had I to accuſe Oli⯑via? What did theſe angry emotions of my ſoul forebode? Perhaps that my ha⯑bitual irritability, were ſhe mine, would make her miſerable!

What was the end of exiſtence? Hap⯑pineſs. Had I not a right then to be happy? Yes. But ſo had ſhe. So had her aunt. Nay ſo had that rival, odious and deſpicable as he was, whoſe appear⯑ance had raiſed this tempeſt in my ſoul.

But was conſtraint, was force, juſtifiable in this aunt; or in this inſignificant this ſelfiſh lord?

Force it is ſaid is the law of nature; and it is that law which impels the rave⯑nous tiger to ſpring upon the lamb, and ſuck its blood, to appeaſe his craving ap⯑petite. But, if ſo, if ſelf-gratification were a defenſible motive, the deteſtable [77] Norman robber, the monſter who inha⯑bited a cave and ſeized on every ſtray virgin, to deflower, murder her and prey on her remains, was juſtifiable.

In the agitated mind, dreams like theſe are endleſs. While they were paſſing, I ſtared with fixed attention toward Oli⯑via; and, had ſhe not been almoſt mo⯑tionleſs, my paſſive trances could not have continued.

The firſt dance was over, the ſecond act had begun, more viſitors came to pay their reſpects to Lady Bray, and I en⯑deavoured to recollect myſelf and ſhake off a behaviour that might well be con⯑ſtrued inattention, if not ill manners; and might injure me even in that point on which I was then ſo deeply intent. I ut⯑tered two or three ſentences; and her ladyſhip complimented me on being once more awake.

The perſevering attention of Olivia to the ſcene, for it was impoſſible to forbear [78] glancing at her every moment, contri⯑buted to calm my fears.

It did more: it was a moſt beneficial leſſon to me. It called me again to the conſideration of that impetuoſity of tem⯑per which was ſo dangerous in me. Into what acts of frenzy and deſperation might not theſe fevers of the ſoul hurry me? What in the preſent inſtance could I urge to juſtify ſuch exceſs? Had I not heard the reproaches of her aunt for her having refuſed the hand of this Lord: if this Lord it ſhould happen to be? When he entered the box, what had ſhe done, that ſhould excite ſuch frantic ecſtacies in me? What, except return thoſe civilities with⯑out which it is impoſſible for man or wo⯑man to be amiable? Did ſhe now coquet, prattle, and diſplay her power; tempted as ſhe was by ſuch a public ſcene of triumph? Was not her demeanour as chaſtely cautious as my own exigent heart could deſire?

[79]Every queſtion that the facts before me ſuggeſted was an aggravating reproof of my headlong paſſions; and, luckily for me, my thoughts took that train which was moſt corrective and healthful. They led me too to dwell, with a melting and mild rapture, on the endearing virtues of Olivia: dignified, yet not auſtere; firm, yet not repulſive; circumſpect, yet ca⯑pable of all thoſe flowing affections with⯑out which circumſpection is but mean⯑neſs.

Nor were theſe viſionary attributes: ſuch as the diſordered imagination of a lover falſely beſtows. They were as real as thoſe perſonal beauties by which they were embelliſhed.

To aſpire to the poſſeſſion of a woman ſo gifted, and to be the lunatic which my own reproaches at this moment pictured me, was to demand that which I did not deſerve. To be worthy of her, it was fit I ſhould reſemble her.

[80]I endeavoured to obey theſe admoni⯑tions. I ſchooled myſelf, concerning my remiſſneſs to Lady Bray. I recovered my temper, became attentive, talked ra⯑ther pleaſantly, and re-eſtabliſhed myſelf in her good graces: in which I could perceive I had ſomewhat declined, by the folly of my behaviour. To remind the reader on every occaſion of the progreſs of intellect, and the benefits derived from experience, would be to weary his pa⯑tience, inſult his underſtanding, and counteract my own intentions. It would ſuppoſe in him a total abſence of obſerva⯑tion, and reaſoning. Yet to be entirely ſilent might lead the young, and the in⯑attentive, to imagine I had in the be⯑ginning propoſed a mode of inſtruction which, as I proceeded, I had either for⯑gotten, abandoned, or had not the power to execute. If ſuch will attend to the al⯑teration in my conduct, they will perceive that I, like every other human being, could [81] not but reflect more or leſs on the mo⯑tives that actuated me; and profit by the leſſons I received: though rooted habits and violent paſſions were the moſt diffi⯑cult to cure.

After the curtain dropped, I accompa⯑nied Lady Bray into the great room; and perceived among the throng, at ſome little diſtance, Olivia, and her aunt, at⯑tended by the peer.

I had foreſeen the poſſibility of this; and had reaſoned that there might be more danger in an abrupt rencontre, of this kind, than in meeting Olivia and her terrible aunt at the houſe of Lady Bray's friend, as her ladyſhip had promiſed me; where I ſhould receive her counte⯑nance, and that of the family to which I ſhould be introduced. I therefore endea⯑voured to direct her ladyſhip's attention from the place where the Mowbray party was, and ſucceeded in my endeavours.

Soon afterward, I ſaw Hector, with [82] a knot of faſhionable youths; among whom I was rather ſurpriſed to diſcover my at that time unknown father-in-law, Belmont.

I had no inclination to be noticed by this groupe; and, as Lady Bray's car⯑riage was preſently afterward ſtopping the way, I had the good fortune to eſcape unperceived, or at leaſt unaccoſted, by both parties.

CHAP. VII.

TO the friendſhip of Mr. Evelyn I had ſo far ſubjected myſelf and the ſpirit of independence which I was very properly ambitious to cheriſh as, for the preſent, to accept the aid he was ſo deſirous to beſtow. I was ſomething like compelled to be his debtor, but was unwilling, to be the debtor of any other man on earth; and, as he had enabled me to appear in the ſtyle I have deſcribed, and furniſhed me with money, I was determined to ſeek [84] out Belmont, and diſcharge the debt which his bounty had conferred; after he had previouſly plundered me, at Bath. He had ſunk in my eſteem: I now conſidered him as a profeſſed gambler: but I remembered this action as that which it really was; an effort of bene⯑volence, to aid a human being in diſtreſs.

Thus actuated, I went the next day to the billiard-table which he had been ac⯑cuſtomed to frequent; where I once more found him at play. He met me not only unabaſhed, but with ſomething like cor⯑diality. He had ſo accuſtomed himſelf to his own hypotheſis, that "ſelf-grati⯑fication is the law of nature," and had ſo confuſed a ſenſe of what true ſelf-grati⯑fication is, with ſuch an active faculty of perverting facts and exhibiting pictures of general turpitude, that he had very lit⯑tle ſenſe of the vice of his own conduct; and was therefore very little ſubject to ſelf-reproof. He behaved to me with the [85] utmoſt eaſe and good humour; and, when his match was over, propoſed that we ſhould dine together at the Thatched-houſe.

For a moment, I queſtioned the pro⯑priety of aſſenting: but, ſeeing him now as before familiar with the officers of the guards, and people of whoſe company no one was aſhamed, and recollecting where and how I had ſeen him the evening be⯑fore, I did not long heſitate. Beſide which, I was prompted, not only by the pleaſure which his converſation gave, but by an increaſe of curioſity to be better acquainted with who and what he really was.

As ſoon as we were alone, I diſcharged my conſcience by repaying him the twen⯑ty pounds. This gave occaſion to the following dialogue.

"I perceive, Trevor, you are ſtill the fame. You pique yourſelf on paying your borrowings. Had it been a debt of ho⯑nour [86] indeed, I ſhould not have been ſur⯑priſed: for thoſe are debts that muſt be diſcharged. Otherwiſe, it would intro⯑duce a very inconvenient practice in⯑deed."

"I believe, as you ſay, it would be in⯑convenient beyond deſcription to you— What do you call yourſelves?—Oh! I recollect: 'ſporting gentlemen' is the phraſe. It would be inconvenient I ſay, to you ſporting gentlemen."

"Whom, when we ſporting gentle⯑men are abſent, you call blacklegs, rooks, Grecians, and other pleaſant epithets. Some ſuch word, I could perceive, was quivering on your tongue. You remem⯑ber the plucking you had at Bath; and, though you are too much aſhamed of having been duped to mention it, yet it remains on your mind with a feeling of reſentment. That is natural: but it is fooliſh."

[87]"Is it fooliſh to have a ſenſe of right and wrong?"

"Where is that ſenſe to be found? Who has it? I have continually a ſenſe, if ſo you pleaſe to call it, that there is ſomething which I want; and by that I am impelled to act."

"True. But Locke, I think, tells us that crime conſiſts in not taking ſuf⯑ficient time to conſider, before we act."

"And, begging his pardon, wiſe as in a certain ſenſe I allow you this Locke was, in the inſtance you have cited, he was an aſs. If I do not miſtake, he has before proved to me that I cannot act without a motive; and then he bids me ſtop when I am in ſuch a hurry that no motive occurs to my memory."

"According to this, an actual murder⯑er is not a more guilty man than he who only dreams that he commits murder?"

"Make what you will of the inference, [88] but it is accurate. They are both dead aſleep, to any ideas except thoſe that hurry them forward."

"That is, in plain Engliſh, there is no ſuch thing as vice."

"Might you not as well have ſaid as virtue?"

"Speaking abſolutely, I do not pre⯑tend to deny what you aſſert. But you will not tell me that the man who robs me, and leaves me bound to a tree in danger of ſtarving, has not done me an injury?"

"Will you be kind enough to ſhew me who it is, among thoſe who have any thing to loſe, that does not rob? Men who enjoy the pleaſures of life rob thoſe who are deprived of them of their due; and, according to my apprehenſion, the latter have a right to make repriſals."

"Upon my ſoul, Belmont, you have a moſt inveterate habit of confounding every thing that ſhould guide and regu⯑late [89] mankind. You ſhift the queſtion, confound terms, and are the moſt deſpe⯑rate gladiator of vice I ever encountered, Your dangerous genius is a mine; where the ore is rich indeed, but the poiſon⯑ous vapour that envelopes it deadly."

"Each to his ſyſtem. We have both the voyage of life to make. You place that very ſober and diſcreet perſon called Honeſty at the helm; by the ſingle di⯑rection of whom you expect to attain happineſs: which is juſt as rational as to hope to circumnavigate the globe with one wind. I take a different courſe: it is my maxim to ſhift my ſails, and ſteer as pleaſure and intereſt bid."

"Acting as you do, I cannot wonder that you ſhould make a jeſt of honeſty."

"Upon my honour I treated Sir Ho⯑neſty with every poſſible decorum, till I found that the inſidious raſcal was making a jeſt of me. Not that I am quite cer⯑tain I am not more truly the friend of [90] this very reſpectable perſon than thoſe who pretend they are always in his com⯑pany; for I neither cant with Madam Morality nor pray with Dame Metho⯑diſm: though I cannot but think I am almoſt as religious, as moral, ay and as charitable too, as your devotees and ſab⯑bath-keepers; who go to church to pray and be ſaved, and leave their ſervants to ſtay at home, roaſt the meat and be damned."

"I muſt again repeat, you have the moſt active fertility at embroiling all order and ſyſtem I have any where met with."

"Ha, ha, ha! Order and ſyſtem are very pretty words. But you make a ſmall miſtake. It is not I that embroil. I find confuſion already eſtabliſhed; and, ſince I cannot correct it, give me a rea⯑ſon why I ought not to profit by the chao⯑tic hubbub?"

"But I ſay you can correct it. You [91] are one of the men who might have been beſt fitted for the taſk."

"I know not what I might have been: but I feel that I am not. The firſt right of man, ay and, to talk in your own idiom, the firſt moral duty too, is to be happy; and he is an idiot that, having a banquet ſpread before him, forbears to taſte be⯑cauſe he himſelf is not the purveyor. What matters it to me how it came there? Why am I to be excluded? Have I not as exquiſite a reliſh as he that provided for the bill of fare?

"Let dull fools puzzle their brain concerning moral fitneſs, which they have not elevation enough of mind to underſtand; give me enjoyment.

"Let me eat the pine apple while they are diſcuſſing the moral fitneſs of feaſting on ſuch luxuries."

"This doctrine would ſubject the world to your appetites and pleaſures."

"And is not that a noble doctrine? [92] It is the wiſh and paſſion of the world to be gulled; and gulled let it be. Let it have its enjoyments; give me mine.

"One man is my banker, and is aſſidu⯑ouſly careful to keep caſh at my com⯑mand; which he transfers to me in the moſt gentleman-like and honourable man⯑ner imaginable: namely, by a box and dice.

"Another is my ſteward; and he lays out my grounds, ſtocks my park with deer, builds me palaces, erects me hot-houſes, and torments heaven and earth to furniſh my table with delicacies; for all of which I pay him in the current coin of flattery. It is true I permit him to call theſe things his own: but the real enjoyment of them is notoriouſly mine. He, poor egotiſt, talks bombaſt and non⯑ſenſe by wholeſale. I applaud and ſmile at his folly; while he imagines it is at his wit. The poor man is amuſed with fine ſpeeches, unſubſtantial flatteries, cringes, [93] bows, and hypocritical tokens of ſervility; which are ſo many jeſts upon him.

"Thus is he mocked with the ſhadow, while I banquet upon the ſubſtance. I baſk in arbours and groves, without once having given myſelf a thought concern⯑ing planting or pruning. I feaſt on the fiſh, without ſo much as the trouble of catching them; and ſtill leſs of conſtruct⯑ing the pond. By the proviſion he makes, that is, by avarice and extortion, he nurtures a brood of ſycophants and ſlaves. Wife, children, friends, ſervants, all have the ſame character; only differ⯑ently ſhaded: except that, if any of them can become his tyrants and tormentors, they all are ready for the taſk. I have ſtudied the noble arts both of tickling and tormenting: by which I have ſub⯑jected this very ſelf-important race to my will and pleaſure."

"For a man whoſe acuteneſs has carried him ſo very far, I am amazed that it did [94] not impel him to advance one ſtep far⯑ther. Happineſs is what I and all men deſire, as certainly as you do: but that happineſs is of a ſtrange kind, and held by a frail and feeble tenure, that is agitated by innumerable fears: that, if the means on which it depends be detected, is whol⯑ly deſtroyed; and that, when loſt, finds infamy and miſery its certain ſubſtitutes.

"Mark what I ſay; and mark it deeply. There can be no happineſs without ſe⯑curity; and there can be no ſecurity with⯑out ſincerity. Therefore, hypocrites, of every claſs, are acting contrary to their own intentions. They are providing miſery for themſelves, as well as for others: inſtead of the ſubſtantial pleaſures of which they are in ſearch."

"Indeed? The Lord have mercy then upon all eſtabliſhments: legal, political, and eccleſiaſtic!"

"Let me farther obſerve to you that the ſyſtem of general enjoyment, which [95] you propoſe, is ſomething, if I may ſo call it, more than rational: it is digni⯑fied; it is ſublime. I feel with you that he is a poor circumſcribed egotiſt, who can enjoy nothing but that which he calls his own. Let me taſte every bleſſing which the hand of nature preſents: let me banquet with you on her bounties: but let me not embitter the delicious re⯑paſt by fraud, that enſlaves me to an eternal watchfulneſs; depredation, that puts even my life in jeopardy; and a ſyſtem founded in lies, and everlaſtingly haunted by the ſpectres of ſelf-contempt."

Our dialogue was interrupted, by the entrance of the waiters.

When we had dined, Belmont began to enquire concerning my proſpects and affairs.

"I expect," ſaid he, "you will be leſs communicative and open hearted, now, than you formerly were. You have diſ⯑covered, what I never attempted to con⯑ceal, that my preſent dependence is on [94] [...] [95] [...] [96] the exerciſe of talents which your gravity deſpiſes: eſpecially ſince they have laid you under contribution. This misfor⯑tune however, had you poſſeſſed them, deſpicable as they are, you would have eſcaped."

"Yes: juſt as the man, who hanged himſelf laſt night, eſcaped a head-ach this morning. I will own to you I can⯑not take the pleaſure in your company, or think of you with that friendſhip, which I formerly felt: for, though I find your converſation no leſs animating, like ſtrong liquors, it leaves an unwholeſome heat behind.

"However, I have no objection to in⯑form you that fortune has given me a momentary reſpite from perſecution. How ſoon ſhe may think proper to ſtretch me on the rack again is more than I can foreſee: though I greatly ſuſ⯑pect her of cruelty and caprice. She ſeems at preſent to be in one of her beſt humours; and has given me a kind of [97] promiſe to make me one of the ſage legiſ⯑lators of this happy land."

"What do you mean?"

"That I ſhall be a member of the new parliament."

Belmont burſt into a violent fit of laughter. At firſt, I was at a loſs to con⯑jecture why; and eſpecially why it ſhould be ſo long, and ſo unaffected: but I ſoon learned it was a burſt of triumph, which he could not reſtrain.

"I congratulate you, Mr. Trevor," ſaid he, with a momentary gravity, "on your noble and moral purſuits!—The lecture you have been reading, as well as thoſe I have formerly heard you read, now come upon me with invincible force! —There is no reſiſting precept thus ex⯑emplified by practice!—How loud, how lofty, how ſovereign, is the contempt in which you hold hypocriſy!—How ſevere will the laws be that you will enact, againſt petty depredators!—I foreſee you [98] will hang, not only thoſe that handle a card, or a dice-box, but, thoſe that make them.—Then what honors, what rewards, what triumphs, will you decree to your own wholeſale marauders! your great captains; choſen, empowered and paid by yourſelf and ſages no leſs moral and diſintereſted!—With what guſto will you ſend him to ſwing who commits a ſingle robbery: and with what ſublime oratory will you exalt the proweſs of the man who has plundered ſtarved and extermi⯑nated nations—"A Daniel come to judgment! Oh wiſe young judge, how do I honor thee!"

I remained ſpeechleſs, a few moments; and entirely diſconcerted. I was irritated; though I knew not preciſely at what. I attempted to anſwer; but was ſo confuſed that I talked abſolute nonſenſe.

After ſome time, however, I recol⯑lected that my purpoſe in going into parliament was to counteract all theſe [99] abuſes. I then recovered my faculties, and urged this plea very emphatically.

Still the moral dignity, and virtue, of the honourable houſe I was about to enter, dwelt with ſuch force on the ima⯑gination of Belmont that I could get no reply from him; except ſarcaſms, ſuch as thoſe I have repeated, with the ſame in⯑tervening fits of laughter as the images ſuggeſted themſelves to his mind.

And here, leſt the reader himſelf ſhould be miſled like Belmont, I muſt remark that no miſtake is more common, and I believe none more pernicious, than that of imagining that, becauſe man has not attained abſolute and perfect virtue, the very exiſtence of virtue is doubtful.

Hence it happens that he, who in any manner participates in the vices of a na⯑tion, or a body of men, is reproached as if loaded with the whole guilt.

Hence likewiſe, becauſe men without exception are more or leſs tainted with [100] error, all pretenſions to ſuperior moral principles are laughed at, as falſe and ridiculous.

This is the doctrine at leaſt which the people who moſt offend theſe principles are the moſt zealous in propagating. Belmont had no refuge againſt ſelf-reproach, but in cheriſhing ſuch trains of thought.

That the vices which are the moſt deſpiſed in ſociety inſtead of being the moſt deſpicable are virtues, if compared to actions that find honor and reward, is a truth too glaring to be denied. That the cant with which theſe maſter crimes are gloſſed over, and painted as juſt, expedient, ay and heroic actions, that this diabolical cant ſhould be and is adopted by men even of the higheſt powers, is a fact that aſtoniſhes and con⯑founds. It impels us continually to aſk —Are they cowards? Are they hypo⯑crites? Or is the world inhabited by [101] none but lunatics? And that men even of ſuch uncommon genius as Belmont ſhould be entangled, and bewildered, by the deſtructive incongruity of thoſe who aſſume to themſelves the higheſt wiſdom, becauſe they poſſeſs the higheſt ſtations in ſociety, is a proof how incumbent it is on ſuch as are convinced of theſe melancholy truths to declare them open⯑ly, undauntedly, and with a perſeverance that no threats or terrors can ſhake.

When we had taken as much wine as Belmont could prevail on me to drink, and he was very urgent, he aſked if I played Piquet?

I anſwered in the affirmative.

"You no doubt then play it well."

"I do not think it a game of much difficulty."

"It is my opinion I am your maſter at it."

"That may be."

[102]"Though you do not think it is. Will you try?"

"What, with a man who avows he does not ſcruple to take every advan⯑tage?"

"Have you not eyes? Are you, a metaphyſician, a wit, and a ſenator, ſo eaſily deceived?"

"A man may loſe his temper; and with it his caution."

"So you think yourſelf able to inſtruct the world, but not to keep your mind calm and circumſpect for half an hour?"

"Had I a ſufficient motive, I ſhould ſuppoſe I have ſtrength enough for ſuch an exertion."

"Then try. The exerciſe will be wholeſome. Shew your ſkill and acute⯑neſs. Here is your twenty-pound bill: win and take it; or own that you have no confidence in yourſelf."

"I have that confidence which aſſures [103] me I ſhall, one day or other, convince you that I underſtand the road to hap⯑pineſs better than yourſelf."

"Yet you are curſedly afraid of me. You ſcarcely can ſit ſtill. You blame your own raſhneſs, in venturing to ſpend the afternoon with me: and now you would as ſoon handle burning coals as a pack of cards in my company."

"And what is it you find ſo omnipo⯑tent in yourſelf, that it ſhould induce you to all this vapouring?"

"I tell you again, you dare not oppoſe your penetration to mine. You pretend to deſpiſe me, yet own I am your maſter. A child is not in more fear of the rod than you are of me."

He ſaw he had ſufficiently piqued me, and rang the bell for cards. They were brought: he ſhuffled, cut them, and con⯑tinued to banter me.

"What card do you chuſe?—The knave of hearts?—There it is!" [He [104] ſhewed it, with a flirt of the cards, at the bottom of the pack.] His brother of dia⯑monds?—Look! You have it!—Of ſpades?—Preſto! It is here! You have three knaves on your ſide, you ſee. I will keep the fourth, and drive you out of the field—Come, for twenty?"

"I ſee your aim, and am deviliſhly tempted to ſhew you that you are not half ſo cunning as you think yourſelf."

"I know you are: but you dare not. You cannot ſhake off your fears. The wit, the metaphyſician, the young ſena⯑tor ſuſpects he is only a half-fledged bird."

"Cut for deal, ſir."

"Why, will you venture?—The nine."

The ſudden recollection of Mr. Eve⯑lyn, the money I had received from him, the generous confidence he had repoſed in me, and the guilt of daring to abuſe that confidence, fortunately ſeized me [105] with a kind of horror. I ſnatched up the cards, daſhed them in the fire, and in a moment recovering myſelf ſaid—"You ſhall find, ſir, that, whether I can or can⯑not maſter you, I can maſter myſelf."

"Come, you do not go out of this room without the chance of loſing twenty guineas for twenty."

"Done!" anſwered I, impetuouſly: which he in an inſtant echoed with Done! Done! and, again burſting into laughter, held out his hand and bade me pay my loſings.

I immediately diſcovered, without his explanation, that he had entrapped me, by the equivocal ſenſe of the word chance; and I drew out my purſe to pay him, with a ſtrong feeling of indignation that I ſhould be ſo caught.

However, as it was not his intention to profit by ſo bald and barefaced a quirk, he only laughed; and exclaimed—"How much the young gentleman is his own [106] maſter! But I will not pick your pocket. If at any time I ſhould want twenty pounds, I ſhall have a fair claim to aſk it as a loan."

"Would you but really act like a man of honour, there would be no need of ſuch an artifice."

"Perhaps not, for the firſt time. But if my poor honor were ſtarving, and could not repay its borrowings, I am afraid my honor would irrevocably be loſt. I there⯑fore prefer, ſince in either caſe loſe it I muſt, to loſe it and eat. But the birds are now beginning to flock together; and I muſt begone, to the pigeon-houſe: the rookery."

"I do not underſtand the terms."

"The plucking office: the crab and nick neſt: the pip and bone quarry: the rafflearium: the trumpery: the blaſ⯑pheming box: the elbow ſhaking ſhop: the wholeſale ague and fever ware⯑houſe."

[107]"In plain Engliſh, to an aſſembly of gamblers."

"Where I ſhall meet with much the ſame degree of honeſty, virtue, wiſdom, and all that, as is to be found in certain other aſſemblies."

CHAP. VIII.

I LEFT the tavern in no very pleaſant temper of mind: impatient that I ſhould be unable to convince, and reform, a man of ſuch extraordinary acuteneſs as Bel⯑mont: vexed that he, on the contrary, ſhould perſuade himſelf that he was my [108] maſter; and ſhould actually irritate me to a dangerous exceſs of vanity: and diſguſted that vice and virtue ſhould be ſo confuſed, in the minds of men, as to render their boundaries almoſt undiſco⯑verable.

Such I mean was the impreſſion that Belmont had left upon my mind, by re⯑peating the ſtale but dangerous maxim that—men are vicious by nature; and, therefore, that to profit by their vices is no more than juſt.

When I arrived at my lodgings, which were now in Albemarle-ſtreet, for I had changed them, I found the following note from Miſs Wilmot.

"Come to me immediately. I have ſomething to tell you which you little expect."

Belmont and my chagrin were for⯑gotten in an inſtant; and away I hurried, brim full of agitation, conjecture, and impatience.

[109]I found Miſs Wilmot alone; and her firſt words were—"Oh, Mr. Trevor! you are a happy man!"

I ſtood panting, or rather gaſping, with hope; and made no reply. She thus continued.

"Miſs Mowbray has been here."

"Good heavens!"

"She has acted like herſelf. I know not how I ſhall tell you the ſtory, ſo as to do her juſtice."

"For the love of God, proceed!"

"As nearly as I can recollect her words, ſhe began in this manner."

'I cannot tell, my dear friend,' ad⯑dreſſing herſelf to me, 'what you will think of my conduct. At one moment I ſuſpect it to be wrong; and at the next blame myſelf for not having taken my preſent ſtep ſooner. I have ſurely been groſsly miſled. This indeed I have long ſuſpected; and it cannot but be my duty to enquire. Have you lately ſeen Mr. Trevor?'

[110]'I never fail to ſee him every day. I have a letter from him, for you; which he has diſdained to take any clandeſ⯑tine means of conveying to you. Here it is.'

'Before I dare think about his letter, anſwer me one queſtion. Is he a mur⯑derer?'

'A murderer! In the name of God! what can induce you to make ſuch an enquiry?'

'I have been aſſured that he has cauſed the death of two men: one of whom he killed himſelf.'

'Where? When? How?'

'At Bath. By delivering one over to the fury of the mob; and by afterward provoking, inſulting, and fighting with the other.'

'Heavens and earth! It is falſe! wickedly falſe!'

'Nay but do you know his ſtory?'

'Perfectly. I have heard it, not only [111] from himſelf, but, from the man whom I ſuppoſe you have been told he has murdered.'

'What man?'

'Nay you ſhall hear and ſee. You ſhall have the whole hiſtory from the perſon's own mouth.'

'Is he alive? Is he in London?'

'I will ſend for him. He will be here in a few minutes. You will then hear what this man has to ſay. He al⯑moſt adores Mr. Trevor.'

"I immediately diſpatched Mary for Mr. Clarke, who works not far off, as I ſuppoſe you know, and who came run⯑ning the moment he heard that the lady you are in love with enquired for him.

"Mary informs me that his heart leaped to his eyes (it was her own phraſe) when he was told ſhe wanted to queſtion him concerning you; that he ſprang up, clapped his hands, and exclaimed—'I [112] am glad of it! I am glad of it! The time is come! All ſhall be known! He ſhall be righted! I will take care of that! He ſhall be righted!'

"He entered the room breathleſs; and, the moment he ſaw Miſs Mowbray, he could not forbear to gaze at her: though baſhfulneſs made him continually turn his eyes away.

"She addreſſed him, with that mild⯑neſs of manner which is ſo winning in her, and ſaid—'I have taken the liberty, ſir, to ſend for you; to aſk a few queſtions.'

"He replied, with a burſt of zeal— 'I am glad of it, madam! I am glad of it, from my heart and ſoul! I wiſh you knew all I could tell you about Mr. Trevor: but it is quite unpoſſible that I ſhould remember it one half. Only this I will ſay, and dare the beſt man in Eng⯑land to deny it, there is not ſuch another brave and kind-hearted gentleman walks the earth. I have had proof enough of [113] it. He knows, for all he is a gentleman, ay and a true gentleman too, for he has parts, and learning, and a chriſtian ſoul, which does not teach him to ſcorn and make a ſcoff of the poor: he knows that a man is a man; even though he ſhould only happen to be a poor carpenter, like myſelf. God in heaven bleſs him! ſay I.'

"The enthuſiaſm of your generous humble friend overpowered Miſs Mow⯑bray; ſhe burſt into tears, and hid her face. Her paſſion was catching, and I followed her example. Clarke continued.

'On that night that he had the good hap to ſave your life, and the life of that old cankered lady, which as I find from all that paſſed ſhe muſt be, though he talks of her too kindly by half, why the ſtopping of the frightened horſes, juſt do you ſee in the jaws of deſtruction, and propping the coach was all his doing. He knew better what he was about than the coachman himſelf. And then, if [114] you had ſeen him, as I did, after all was over! I thought I had loved my Sally dearly. And ſo I do! But what am I? I thought too I durſt have ſtood up to the boldeſt man that ever ſtood on ſhoe leather! And perhaps I durſt: but I find I am nothing in any caſe to be. For which he never deſpiſes me: but inſiſts upon it that I am as good a man as he, in any way. And as for you, madam, he would jump into burning lakes rather than a hair of your head ſhould be ſinged. I know it: for I have ſeen it.'

'I know it too,' ſaid Miſs Mowbray; ſobbing. Then, with an effort to quell her paſſion, ſhe aſked in a firmer tone: 'Pray, ſir, tell me: did not you work at Bath?'

'Yes, madam: the greateſt part of my life.'

'You appear to know of a battle, that Mr. Trevor fought?'

'Yes, yes, madam. I know it pretty [115] well. I ſhall remember it as long as I live, for more reaſons than one.'

'Was there a man killed?'

'No, madam: God be praiſed! I ſhould have died in my ſins, unprepared and wicked as I was: being poſſeſſed with paſſion. He, God bleſs him! for all he is a gentleman, begged my pardon like a man; and held out his hand, and prayed over and over that I would forget and forgive. But, as I tell you, I was poſſeſſed. I could be nothing elſe: be⯑cauſe, in the way of hard fighting, I deſpiſed a gentleman. But he gave me to know better, as obſtinate as I was: for, even after he had beaten me once, why, he begged and prayed, as he had done at firſt, to make it all up. But, as I ſaid before, the Evil One had taken hold of me; and I refuſed to give in, till I was carried as dead as a ſtock off of the place.'

[116]'Then it was you that was reported to have been killed?'

'Why, yes, madam: becauſe it could be nobody elſe.'

'Nay, but was not there a poor man ducked to death?'

'No: God be thanked, once again! It was not quite ſo bad as that. Though the hot-headed fools and rabble, that got hold of me, did uſe me ill enough, I muſt ſay: for which I was ſo angry with Mr. Trevor; and it was therefore that Old Nick put it into my head that I would beat him. For I cannot deny but the ducking did dwell upon my memory.'

'Were you then the ſame perſon that was ſo ill treated at Lanſdown races?'

'Yes, madam: for which, though I uſed to be angry enough before time at pick-pockets, I will take ſpecial care never to have a hand in ducking any body, as long as I live.'

'And is there no truth whatever in [117] the ſtory that two men were killed, by the ungovernable paſſion and malice of Mr. Trevor?'

'Killed by Mr. Trevor, madam! No, no! He is not that ſort of man. He would rather be killed himſelf than be the death of any chriſtian ſoul: 'ſpecially if he was a poor body. I can ſay that for him. Why he fought like a mad man, to ſave me from the mob; when they were huſtling me, and dragging me along. But, while one part of them gathered round him, the other had got far enough off with me. It being all a miſtake about a handkerchief: which he told them. And, though I heard him and ſaw him beat about juſt as if he had been a lion to ſave me, I could not forget how I had been uſed, when I met him the next day. But I hope God will forgive me! which I do believe he will, for Mr. Trevor has ſhewn him the ex⯑ample. I beg pardon! God forgive me! [118] I only mean that, though Mr. Trevor is a good gentleman, the Lord of heaven muſt be a better; and even more chari⯑table and melting in his heart. Which, to be ſure, is very ſtrange: becauſe I do not altogether underſtand how it can be.'

'Then it ſeems your brother is ſtill living?'

'Brother, madam? I never had any brother! nor any thing of that kind: except my wife's ſiſters, which I love becauſe I love ſhe.'

'What ſtrange tales I have been told!'

'That I dare be ſworn you have, ma⯑dam, from what I have heard. Becauſe there was the ſham-Abraham friends of Mr. Trevor: one of which kicked him, when he was down!'

'Is it poſſible?'

'It is as true as God is in heaven, madam!'

'Do you know his name?'

[119]'He was as tall as a Maypole. And then after he had done this cowardly trick, why he durſt not ſtand up to Mr. Trevor, like a man. And ſo, madam, finding as you have been told a parcel of trumpery tales, I hope in God you will be kind enough not to believe one of them; now that you ſee they are all falſe. For if there be a gentleman on the face of the earth that loves a lady to deſperation, why, Mr. Trevor is he; as you would have been ſatisfied, if you had ſet by his bed⯑ſide when as he was down in the fever; like as I and my Sally did; and had heard him rave of nobody but you. And then if you had ſeen him too the night after he took you out of the coach! and then went on to Hounſlow. Which, as he ſaid, ſeeing it was parting with you, was worſe than tearing his heart out of his body! But he was ſo afraid of doing you harm! and of ſetting that croſs old lady to ſcold you! For he would ſuffer death rather [120] than anger you. So that, while I have breath to draw, I ſhall never forget, when we came to the inn, how he look⯑ed! and ſtood quite loſt and changing colour! and while his face was as ſet as ſtone, the tears kept trickling down his cheeks! At which I was put into a panic: for I did not at that time know what it was about, nor who we had been in com⯑pany with. Which was the more ſur⯑priſing, when I came to hear! For which, as he knows you to be ſo good a lady, I am ſure you muſt ſee all theſe particulars juſt in the ſame light.'

"Miſs Mowbray had heard ſufficient. Her heart was burſting. It was with difficulty ſhe could check her feelings, and ſhe made no reply. Your unaſſum⯑ing but intelligent friend underſtood her ſilence as an intimation to him to with⯑draw. Zealous as you hear he was in your behalf, this thought put an end to his loquacity. But, as he was retiring, [121] Miſs Mowbray drew out her purſe, and ſaid to him—'Let me beg you, ſir, to accept this; as a recompenſe, for—for having aided in ſaving the lives of me and my aunt.'

"As ſhe ſtretched out her hand, he looked up at her, as long as he durſt; and then, turning his eyes away, ſaid— 'Why, as for money, madam, I thank you as much as if I had it: but, if I was to take it, what would that ſeem? but as if I had been telling a tale only to pleaſe you: when I declare, in the face of my Maker, it is every word truth! And a great deal more! And as for ſaving your lives, I was as willing I own as another: but I was not half ſo quick in thought as Mr. Trevor. Becauſe, as the coachman ſaid, if he had not catched hold of the horſes in that very inſtant nick of the moment, it would have been all over! So I hope, madam, you will not take it [122] amiſs that I am not one of the ſort which tell tales to gain their own ends.'

"Here he inſtantly left the room: by which he intended to ſhew that he was determined.

"Clarke was no ſooner gone than Miſs Mowbray burſt into the moſt paſ⯑ſionate, and I really believe the moſt rapturous, flood of tears that the heart of woman ever ſhed! And how melting, how overflowing with affection, the heart of woman is, Mr. Trevor, I think you know.

"Good God! How pure, how ex⯑preſſive, how beaming, was the pleaſure in her eyes! though ſhe ſobbed ſo vio⯑lently that ſhe had loſt all utterance. How did ſhe preſs my hand, gaze at me, then bury her face in my boſom, and ſtruggle with the pleaſure that was be⯑coming dangerous in its exceſs!

"After ſome time, her thoughts took [123] another turn. She inſtantly recovered the uſe of ſpeech and exclaimed—'Oh, my friend! I almoſt hate myſelf, for the injuſtice which I, as well as others, have done Mr. Trevor—I, who had heard from his lips a thouſand ſentiments that ought to have aſſured me of the generous and elevated virtues by which his actions were directed! He has twice ſaved my life; and yet, becauſe on ſome occaſions he has happened to act differently from what I have ſuppoſed he ought to have acted, I have taken upon me to treat him with coldneſs that was affected, with re⯑proof when I owed him thanks, and with rudeneſs ſuch as I ſuppoſed became my ſex.

'For me he has riſked his life again and again, without heſitation: while I have ſat in timid ſilence, and counte⯑nanced calumnies which it was impoſſible I could believe; though I ſeem as if I had endeavoured to believe them, from [124] the diſgrace which I knew would juſtly light on me, ſhould theſe calumnies prove falſe. Falſe I could not but think them, falſe they have proved, and I am unworthy of him. I have preſumed upon the pre⯑judices which I knew would protect me, in the opinions of the fooliſh, and gain me their applauſe, and have treated him with a haughtineſs which he ought to deſpiſe. Has he deſerved it? Has he been guilty of one mean or ſeductive art, that might induce me to betray a duty, and gratify him at the expence of myſelf and others? Has he entered into that baſe warfare of the ſexes by which each in turn endeavours to deceive?'

"The thought ſuddenly ſtruck her, and interrupting herſelf ſhe haſtily aſked —'Where is the letter you mentioned? I will read it. I know I ſhall read my own condemnation: but I will read it.'

"I preſented the letter, and replied, 'Mr. Trevor inſtructed me to tell you, [125] when I delivered it, that it contains no⯑thing which he wiſhes you to conceal, ſhould you think fit to ſhew it; that it does not invite you to any improper cor⯑reſpondence; and that it is the only one which, under his preſent circumſtances, he means to obtrude upon you.'

"Evidently overcome by the generous rectitude of your conduct, and more diſ⯑ſatiſfied with her own, ſhe broke the ſeal and began to read.

"She hurried it once over with great eagerneſs, and trepidation. She then pauſed; debating whether ſhe ſhould unburthen her mind immediately of a crowd of thoughts: but, finding they croſſed and diſturbed each other, ſhe be⯑gan again and read aloud; interrupting herſelf by remarks, as ſhe proceeded.

'My reproof and anger''—Yes, yes, I have taught him to treat me like a Sul⯑tana. He puniſhes me juſtly without intending it.

[126] 'You have ſuppoſed me dead'—"Here, addreſſing herſelf to me, ſhe added— 'It was his ſervant, Philip, who being hired by a gentleman that came to Scarborough brought us this falſe intel⯑ligence. His ſtory was that he ſaw Mr. Trevor's diſtraction, on the morning after he had loſt his money at a gaming-table; to which raſhneſs as it ſhould ſeem he was driven by deſpair; that Mr. Trevor ran into the fields, in a fit of frenzy, and threw himſelf into the Avon: that he, Philip, who had followed as faſt as he could, haſtened to the place but never ſaw him more; and that conſequently and beyond all doubt he was there drowned.

'Philip, according to his own account, hurried into the water, and uſed every means in his power to find the body: but, not being ſucceſsful, he returned to his maſter's lodgings, took ſome trifles that had been given him, and left Bath [127] by the morning coach for London; hav⯑ing nobody in Bath to give him a cha⯑racter, and being leſs likely there to meet with another place.'

"I informed Miſs Mowbray that this was part of it true, and part falſe: for that Philip had taken a ten-pound note, which more than paid him his wages; and that the other things, which he car⯑ried away, had not been given him."

'Indeed!' exclaimed Miſs Mowbray, 'I am exceedingly ſorry to hear it: for, after his ſecond maſter left Scarborough and he was hired by my aunt to wait on me, he behaved with great diligence and honeſty.

'Yet this accounts in part for his run⯑ning away: which he did that very night after I ſuppoſe he had diſcovered it was Mr. Trevor, at Cranford-bridge; and I have never ſeen or heard of him ſince.

'I am perſuaded he thought Mr. Trevor dead: for, after I had heard [128] my brother's account of the battle, I thought the time and the circumſtances contradictory, and repeatedly queſtioned Philip; who perſiſted in declaring he ſaw Mr. Trevor jump into the river and drown himſelf.

'Philip's account was that he had him⯑ſelf been out on errands early in the morning, at which time he ſuppoſed the battle muſt have been fought; and, though there were many contradictory circum⯑ſtances, the poſitiveneſs with which the two tales were told led me to believe that the chief incidents of both were true. And, as I ſay, the flight of Philip from Cranford-bridge perſuades me that he actually had believed Mr. Trevor dead.

'I am ſorry the poor fellow has done this wrong thing, and been frightened away: for I never before heard a ſervant ſpeak with ſo much warmth and affection of a maſter, as he did of Mr. Trevor.'

"She then continued to read; and [129] made many obſervations, which expreſſed diſſatisfaction with herſelf and were fa⯑vourable to you, till ſhe came to where you inform her that you had begun to ſtudy the law."

'By this I find,' ſaid ſhe, 'the ſtory I have juſt heard is falſe.'

"I aſked, What ſtory is that, pray?"

"She replied, 'I was laſt night at the opera; where I ſaw Mr. Trevor, with Lady Bray. Having ſo lately met with him under circumſtances ſo diffe⯑rent, and apparently diſadvantageous, you may imagine that the joy I felt and the hope I conceived were not trifling.

'My aunt ſaw him, likewiſe: but, as ſhe was not ſo familiar with his perſon as to have no doubt, ſhe firſt watched and then queſtioned me: though, as ſhe up⯑braidingly told me, ſhe needed only to have enquired of my looks.

'I ought perhaps firſt to have informed you that I had thought it my duty to uſe [130] the utmoſt ſincerity, undeceive her, and declare all that I knew of what had paſſed at Cranford-bridge.

'I performed this taſk on that very night, while her heart was alive to the danger ſhe had eſcaped, and when ſhe expreſſed a lively regret that the per⯑ſon from whom ſhe had received ſuch ſignal aid had diſappeared. Except his ſilence in the coach, ſhe ſaid every thing beſpoke him to be a gentleman: well bred, well educated, courageous, and as active as he was bold.

'When ſhe was told that the gentle⯑man, of whom ſhe had been ſpeaking with ſo much warmth, had a peculiar motive for being ſilent, and that this gentleman was no other than Mr. Tre⯑vor, ſhe was very much moved. The recollection of the manner in which ſhe had been treating his character, and of the alacrity with which he had afterward ſaved her life, was exceedingly ſtrong; [131] and far from unmixed with pain. Before ſhe was aware of herſelf, ſhe exclaimed, This Mr. Trevor is a very extraordinary young man!

'Unfortunately for Mr. Trevor, our ſer⯑vant, Philip, had abſconded; and a train of ſuſpicions immediately aroſe in her mind. It might be a conſpiracy among them; a deſperate and unprincipled contrivance, to effect a deſperate and unprincipled purpoſe.

'In this ſuppoſition ſhe confirmed her⯑ſelf by every poſſible ſurmiſe: each and all reſting upon the aſſumed league be⯑tween Philip and Mr. Trevor.

'I vainly urged that the ſudden diſ⯑appearing of both entirely contradicted ſuch a conjecture; that Mr. Trevor, if he were capable of an action like this, muſt be as wicked as he was mad; and that I had every reaſon to believe him a man of the moſt generous and elevated principles. As you may ſuppoſe, theſe [132] arguments from me only ſubjected me to reproof, ſarcaſm, and even ſuſpicion.

'My aunt fortified herſelf in her opi⯑nion; and behaved with a more jealous watchfulneſs than ever. She even ter⯑rified me with the dread of that which I could not credit: the poſſibility that what ſhe affirmed might be true.

'But, that I might do every thing in my power to prove that one part of her ſurmiſes was falſe, I determined cautiouſly to avoid, for the preſent, ſeeing or even hearing any thing concerning Mr. Trevor. And this was my inducement for writing the note, which you re⯑ceived.

'My mind however ſuffered a con⯑tinual conflict. I debated on the pro⯑priety of liſtening to the daily defamation of Mr. Trevor, when there were ſo many preſumptive facts in his favour, and not endeavouring to prove that it was falſe; and I accuſed my conduct of apparent [133] hypocriſy: of aſſuming a calm unconcern which my heart belied.

'The ſight of him at the Opera renew⯑ed my ſelf-reproaches, in full force; and, likewiſe, fortunately awakened my aunt's curioſity.

'Accordingly, one of our morning viſits, to-day, has been to a friend of Lady Bray's; and there we learned that Mr. Trevor had been introduced, by Sir Bar⯑nard, to his lady and their common friends; as a young gentleman coming into parliament, and ſuppoſed to be poſ⯑ſeſſed of extraordinary talents.

'This I find by his letter is untrue; and there ſtill appears to be ſome myſtery which perhaps, as you ſee him ſo often, you may be able to unravel.'

"I immediately requeſted her to look at the date of the letter; by which ſhe ſaw it had been written ſeveral weeks: and afterward made her acquainted with all the particulars I knew, concerning [134] your beginning and renouncing the ſtudy of the law, and your new political plans: moſt carefully remembering to give your noble minded friend, Mr. Evelyn, his due ſhare of what I had to relate.

"Oh! how did her eyes ſwim, and her features glow, while I ſtated what I had heard of his ſentiments and proceedings! Yes! She has a heart! a heart to match your own, Mr. Trevor.

"She then read the remainder of the letter; but with numerous interruptions, all of them expreſſing her admiration of your conduct by criminating her own.

"When ſhe had ended, ſhe ſpoke to me nearly as follows.

'I am now, my dear friend, determined on the conduct I mean to purſue. Oh! How it delights my heart that Mr. Tre⯑vor accords with me in opinion, and ad⯑viſes me to that open ſincerity after which I have long been ſtruggling, and which I am at length reſolved to adopt! I [135] mean to inform my aunt of all that I know, as well as of all that I intend. I will tell her where I have been, ſhew her this letter, repeat every thing I have heard, and add my fixed purpoſe not to admit the addreſſes of any man on earth; till my family ſhall authoriſe thoſe of Mr. Trevor. For that, or for the time when I ſhall be unconditionally my own miſ⯑treſs, however diſtant it may be, I will wait.

'Tell Mr. Trevor that my heart is overwhelmed by the ſenſe it feels of his generous and noble conduct; that it ex⯑ults in his manly forbearance, which ſo cautiouſly guards my rectitude rather than his own gratification; that I will obey his injunction, and that we will have no clandeſtine correſpondence; but that our ſouls ſhall commune: they ſhall daily ſympathiſe, and mutually excite us to that perſeverance in fidelity and virtue [136] which will be their own reward, and the conſolation and joy of our lives.

'If my aunt, my brother, or any of their acquaintance, ſhould again calum⯑niate Mr. Trevor, I will forewarn them of my further determination to inform him, and enquire into the facts. But I hope they will neither be ſo unjuſt nor ſo ungenerous. At leaſt, I think my aunt will not; when ſhe hears the truth, knows my reſolution, and remembers Cranford-bridge.

'Of miſinterpretation from Mr. Tre⯑vor I am in no fear. Had he one ſiniſter deſign, he never could have imagined the conduct he has ſo nobly purſued. But to ſuppoſe the poſſibility of ſuch a thing in him would be a moſt unpardonable injuſtice. The man who ſhould teach me to diſtruſt him, as a lover, could never inſpire me with admiration and con⯑fidence, as a huſband. But different [137] indeed has been the leſſon I have learned from Mr. Trevor.

'Oh that Mr. Evelyn! What a god⯑like morality has he adopted! How rational! How full of benefit to others, and of happineſs to himſelf!

'But Mr. Trevor's friends are all of this uncommon ſtamp; and I own that to look into futurity, and to ſuppoſe myſelf excluded by prejudice and pride from the enjoyment of ſuch ſociety, is perhaps the moſt painful idea that can afflict the mind. I am almoſt afraid of owning even to you, my kind and ſympathiſing friend, the torrent of emotions I feel at the thought of the pure pleaſures I hope for hereafter; from a life ſpent with a partner like Mr. Trevor, heightened by the intercourſe of the generous, benevo⯑lent, and ſtrong-minded men who ſhare his heart.'

To detail all that farther paſſed, be⯑tween Olivia and Miſs Wilmot, with the [138] particulars which the latter related to me, would but be to repeat ſenſations and in⯑cidents that are already familiar to the reader. And, with reſpect to my own feelings, thoſe he will doubtleſs have an⯑ticipated. What could they be but rap⯑ture? What could they inſpire but re⯑ſolution: the power to endure, and the will to perſevere?

CHAP. IX.

PREVIOUS to this event, I ſhould have imagined it impoſſible to have increaſed [139] my affection: yet, if admiration be the baſis of love, as I am perſuaded it is, my love was certainly increaſed. I now ſeemed to be ſetting forward on a jour⯑ney, of the length of which I was indeed wholly ignorant; but the road was made plain, and the end was inexpreſſible hap⯑pineſs. I ſhould therefore travel with unwearied alacrity.

But, that I might ſhorten this un⯑meaſured length of way, it was neceſſary I ſhould be as active in purſuit as I was ardent in my paſſion: and the ſtimulus was a ſtrong one. Oratory accordingly, Olivia excepted, became the object that ſeemed the deareſt to my heart. De⯑moſthenes and Cicero were my great maſters. They and their modern com⯑petitors were my ſtudy, day and night. No means were neglected that precept or example, as far as they came within my knowledge, could afford: and the additional intercourſe which I thus ac⯑quired [140] with man, his motives, actions, and heart, was a ſchool of the higheſt order.

I did not however entirely confine myſelf to the ſociety of the dead: the living likewiſe conſtituted a ſeminary, in which I found frequent opportunities of gaining inſtruction. Impelled by curi⯑oſity and ambition, I was not remiſs in cultivating an acquaintance among thoſe people of faſhion to whom I gained acceſs.

But, as the tribe that beſtow on them⯑ſelves this titillating epithet have a light and verſatile character, as they abound in praiſes that are void of diſcrimination, and promiſes that are unmeaning, and affect at one moment the moſt winning urbanity, and at the next the moſt ſuper⯑cilious arrogance, though they gave me much pleaſure, they likewiſe gave me ex⯑quiſite pain.

The more I became acquainted with [141] them, the more I was amazed, that the man who had been talking to me in the evening on terms of the utmoſt apparent equality, if I met him the next morn⯑ing, did not know me.

Some of them would even gaze full in my face, as if to enquire—"Who are you, ſir?" but in reality to inſult me. The looks of theſe moſt courteous and poliſhed people ſeem to ſay "In the name of all that is high-bred, how does it happen that perſons of faſhion do not unite to ſtare every ſuch impertinent upſtart out of their company?"

Of all the inſolence that diſturbs ſo⯑ciety, and puts it in a ſtate of internal warfare, the inſolence of faſhion wounds and imbitters the moſt. It inſtantly pro⯑vokes the offended perſon to enquire— 'What kind of being is it, that takes upon him to brave, inſult, and deſpiſe me? Has he more ſtrength, more activity, more underſtanding than myſelf?' In [142] numerous inſtances, he is imbecile in body, more imbecile ſtill in mind, and contemptible in perſon. Nay he is often little better than a driveller.

He, whom the hauteur of faſhion has compelled to reaſon thus, will ſoon be led to further and more ſerious inferences.

Nothing can reconcile men, ſo as to induce them to remain peaceable ſpec⯑tators of enjoyments beyond their attain⯑ment, except that unaffected benevolence which ſhall continually actuate the heart to communicate all the happineſs it has the power to beſtow. This only can ſo temper oppreſſion as to render gradual and orderly reform practicable.

But I am talking to the winds.

This wavering between extreme civility and rudeneſs was conſpicuous in the beha⯑viour of the Bray family toward me. Her Ladyſhip, at one moment, would overlook me, I being preſent, as if no ſuch perſon had been in exiſtence: or as if he were [143] not half ſo worthy of attention as her lap-dog; for, as a proof, on the lap-dog it was laviſhed: yet, at another, I was ab⯑ſolutely the moſt charming man on earth. I had poſitively the moſt refined taſte, good breeding, and all that that ſhe had ever known.

With Sir Barnard I was ſometimes an oracle. To me his diſcourſe was direct⯑ed, to my judgment his appeals were made, and my opinions were deciſive. In other fits he would not condeſcend to notice me. If I interfered with a ſen⯑tence, he would purſue the converſation as if an objection made by me were un⯑worthy of an anſwer; and perhaps, if I aſked him a queſtion, he would affect to be deaf, and make no reply.

Theſe are arts which render the con⯑dition of a ſuppoſed inferior truly hateful: and, as they were ſeverely felt, they were ſeverely remembered, and now and then [144] retaliated in a ſpirit which I cannot ap⯑plaud.

If the hiſtory of ſuch emotions were traced through all their conſequences, and if men were aware how much the prin⯑cipal events of their lives are the reſult of the petty ebullitions of paſſion, that branch of morals which ſhould regulate the temper of mind, tone of voice, and expreſſion of the countenance, would be⯑come a very ſerious ſtudy.

This remark is as old as Adam: and yet it relates to a ſcience that is only in its infancy.

How fatal the want of ſuch a neceſſary command of temper had been to me the reader already knows: and, though at moments I was painfully conſcious of the defect, and it was become leſs ob⯑truſive, it was far from cured. It ſtill hovered over and influenced my fate: as will be ſeen.

[145]The old parliament was not yet diſ⯑ſolved: it had met, and was ſitting. But the defection of Sir Barnard's member was of late date; and, as the Baronet had his motives for not wiſhing to provoke the honorable member whom he had made too violently, there was a kind of compromiſe; and the apoſtate was ſuffer⯑ed to keep his ſeat, during the ſhort re⯑mainder of the term.

Sir Barnard however, as I have ſaid, delighted in his prop. It was as neceſſary to him as his cane; and I generally ac⯑companied him, when he viſited any kind of political aſſemblies.

It happened that there was an annual dinner of the gentlemen who had been educated at *** ****; of which din⯑ner Sir Barnard was appointed one of the ſtewards. That he might acquit himſelf of this arduous taſk with eclat, I was of courſe preſented with a ticket; and at⯑tended as his aid de camp.

[146]The company was numerous, and the ſtewards and the chairman met ſomething more early than the reſt, to regulate the important buſineſs of the day.

When I entered the committee room, with the Baronet, the firſt perſon that caught my eye was the Earl of Idford.

I ſhrunk back. I had a momentary heſitation whether I ſhould inſult him or inſtantly quit the company; and diſdain to enter an apartment polluted by his preſence.

I had however juſt good ſenſe enough to recollect that a quarrel, in ſuch a place, nobody knew why, would be equally ri⯑diculous and raſh: and that to avoid any man was cowardly.

The thought awakened me; and, collecting myſelf, I advanced with a firm and cool air.

Habit and perverſity of ſyſtem had done that for his lordſhip to which his fortitude was inadequate. He was at [147] leaſt as cool, and as intrepid, as myſelf; and bowed to me with the utmoſt eaſe and civility. To return his bow was infinitely more repulſive than taking a toad in my hand: yet to forbear would have been a violation of the firſt prin⯑ciples of the behaviour of a gentleman. I therefore reluctantly and formally com⯑plied. I hope the reader remembers how earneſtly I condemn this want of temper in myſelf.

His lordſhip took not the leaſt notice of the coldneſs of my manner; but, with ſimpering complacency, "hoped I had been well, ſince he had had the pleaſure of ſeeing me."

My reply was another ſlight inclina⯑tion of the head, tinctured with diſdain: on which his lordſhip turned his back, with a kind of open-mouthed noncha⯑lance that was truly epigrammatic; and fell into converſation with Sir Barnard, who had advanced toward the fire, with [148] all the apparent eaſe of the moſt intimate friendſhip: though, ſince his lordſhip had changed ſides, they had become, in politics at leaſt, the moſt outrageous enemies.

This brought a train of reflections into my mind, on the behaviour of political partiſans toward each other; and on the efforts they make, after they have been venting the moſt cutting ſarcaſms in their mutual parliamentary attacks, to behave out of doors as if they had totally forgotten what had paſſed within: or were incapable, if not of feeling, of re⯑membering inſult.

What is moſt remarkable, the men of greateſt talent exert this amenity with the greateſt effect: for they utter and receive the moſt biting reproaches, yet meet each other as if no ſuch bickerings had ever paſſed.

It is not then, in characters like theſe, hypocriſy?

[149]No. It is an effort to live in harmony with mankind: yet to ſpeak the truth and tell them of their miſtakes unſpar⯑ingly, and regardleſs of perſonal danger. In other words, it is an attempt to per⯑form the moſt ſacred of duties: but the manner of performing it effectually has hitherto been ill underſtood.

Sir Barnard had witneſſed the ſhort ſcene between me and his lordſhip; and preſently took occaſion to aſk me in a whiſper, "how and where we had become acquainted?"

I replied "I had reſided in the houſe of his lordſhip."

"Ay, indeed!" ſaid the Baronet. In what capacity?"

My pride was piqued, and I anſwered, "As his companion; and, as I was taught to ſuppoſe myſelf, his friend. But I was ſoon cured of my miſtake."

"By what means?"

[150]By his lordſhip's patriotiſm. By the purity of his politics."

I ſpoke with a ſneer, and the Baronet burſt into a malicious laugh of triumph: but, unwilling that the cauſe of it ſhould be ſuſpected, it was inſtantly reſtrained.

"What concern had you," continued he, "in his lordſhip's politics?"

"I have reaſon to believe I helped to reconcile him to the Miniſter."

"You, Mr. Trevor! How came you to do ſo unprincipled, ſo profligate, a thing?"

"It was wholly unintentional."

"I do not underſtand you."

"I wrote certain letters that were printed in the—"

"What, Mr. Trevor! were you the author of the three laſt letters of The⯑miſtocles?"

"I was."

The Baronet's face glowed with ex⯑ultation. [151] "I knew," ſaid he with a vehe⯑ment but under voice, "he never wrote them himſelf! I have ſaid it a thouſand times; and I am not eaſily deceived. Every body ſaid the ſame."

There is no calculating how much the knowlege of this circumſtance raiſed me in Sir Barnard's opinion; and conſe⯑quently elevated himſelf, in the idea he conceived of his own power. "Had he indeed got hold of the author of The-miſtocles? Why then he was a great man! A prodigious ſenator! The wiſh of his heart was accompliſhed! He could now wreak vengeance where he moſt wiſhed it to fall; and fall it ſhould, with⯑out mercy or, remiſſion." His little ſoul was on tip-toe, and he overlooked the world.

Though we had retired to the fartheſt corner of the room, and his lordſhip pretended to be engaged in chit chat with perſons who were proud of his [152] condeſcenſion, I could perceive his ſuſ⯑picions were awakened. His eye re⯑peatedly gave enquiring glances; and, while it endeavoured to counterfeit in⯑difference by a ſtare, it was diſturbed and contracted by apprehenſion.

Malignity, hatred, and revenge, are cloſely related; and of theſe paſſions men of but little mental powers are very ſuſceptible. It is happy for ſociety that their impotence impedes the execution of their deſires. I was odious in the ſight of Lord Idford in every point of view: for he had firſt injured me; which, as has been often remarked, too frequently renders him who commits the injury implacable; and he had ſince en⯑countered a rival in me; which was an inſult that his vanity and pride could ill indeed digeſt.

Still however he was a courtier; a man of faſhion; a perſon of the beſt breeding; and therefore could ſmile.

[153]A ſmile is a delightful thing, when it is the genuine offspring of the heart: but heaven defend me from the jaundiced eye, the ſimpering lip, and the wrinkled cheek; that turn ſmiles to grimace, and give the lie to open and undiſguiſed pleaſure.

It was a ſmile ſuch as this that his lordſhip beſtowed upon me, when I and the Baronet joined his group. Addreſſing himſelf to me, with a ſimper that antici⯑pated the pain he intended to give, he ſaid—"Do you know, Mr. Trevor, that your friend the biſhop of — is to dine with us? You will be glad to meet each other."

I inſtantly replied, with fire in my eyes, "I ſhall be as glad to meet that moſt pious and right reverend paſtor as I was to meet your lordſhip."

Agreeably to rule, he bowed; and gave the company to underſtand he took this as a polite acknowledgment of reſpect. But his geſture was accompanied with a [154] diſconcerted leer of ſmothered malice, which I could not miſinterpret. It was ſardonic; and, to me, who knew what was paſſing in his heart, diſguſting, and painful.

I had ſcarcely ſpoken before my lord the biſhop entered; and with him, as two ſupporters—Heavens! Who?—The pre⯑ſident of the college where I had been educated; and the tutor, whoſe veto had prevented me from taking my degrees!

In the life of every man of enterpriſe there are moments of extreme peril. In an inſtant, and as it were by enchant⯑ment, I ſaw myſelf ſurrounded by the cowardly, ſervile, dwarf-demons, for ſo my imagination painted them, who had been my chief tormentors. Or rather by reptiles the moſt envenomed; with which I was ſhut up, as if I had been thrown into their den; and by which, if I did not exterminate them, I muſt expect to be devoured.

[155]But theſe feelings were of ſhort du⯑ration. My heart found an immediate repellent, both to fear and revenge, in my eyes. Good God! What were the figures now before me? Such as to ex⯑cite pity, in every boſom that was not ſhut to commiſeration for the vices into which mankind are miſtakenly hurried; and for their deplorable conſequences. What a fearful alteration had a few months produced! In the biſhop eſpe⯑cially!

He had been ſtruck by the palſy, and dragged one ſide along with extreme dif⯑ficulty. His bloated cheeks and body had fallen into deep pits; and the ſwelling maſſy parts were of a black-red hue, ſo that the ſkin appeared a bag of morbid contents. His mouth was drawn awry, his ſpeech entirely inarticulate, his eye obſcured by thick rheum, and his clothes were ſtained by the ſaliva that occaſion⯑ally driveled from his lips. His legs were [156] waſted, his breaſt was ſunk, and his pro⯑tuberant paunch looked like the recep⯑tacle of dropſy, atrophy, catarrh, and every imaginable malady.

My heart ſunk within me. Poor crea⯑ture! What would I have given to have poſſeſſed the power of reſtoring thee to ſomething human! Reſentment to thee? Alas! Had I not felt compaſſion, ſuch as never can be forgotten, I ſurely ſhould have deſpiſed, ſhould have almoſt hated, myſelf.

The preſident was evidently travelling the ſame road. His legs, which had been extremely muſcular, inſtead of being as round and ſmooth in their ſurface as they formerly were, each appeared to be co⯑vered with innumerable nodes; that formed irregular figures, and angles. What they were ſwathed with I cannot imagine: but I conjecture there muſt have been ſtiff brown paper next to the ſmooth ſilk ſtocking, which produced the [157] irregularities of the ſurface. The dull⯑neſs of his eyes, the ſlowneſs of their motions, his drooping eyelids, his flaccid cheeks, his hanging chin, and the bag⯑ging of his cloaths, all denoted waſte, want of animation, lethargy, debility and decline.

The condition of the tutor was no leſs pitiable. He was gaſping with an aſthma; and was obliged inceſſantly to ſtruggle with ſuffocation. It was what phyſicians call a confirmed caſe: while he lived, he was doomed to live in pain. Where is the tyrant that can invent tortures, equal to thoſe which men invent for them⯑ſelves?

Theſe were the gueſts who were come to feaſt: to indulge appetites they had never been able to ſubdue, though their appetites were vipers that were eating away their vitals.

How ſtrongly did this ſcene bring to my recollection Pope on the ruling paſ⯑ſion! [158] I could almoſt fancy I heard the poor biſhop quoting

The preſent man is but the ſlave of the paſt. What induced the preſident and the tutor, when the biſhop's more able-bodied footmen had rather carried than conducted him up ſtairs, officially to be⯑come his ſupporters as he entered the room? Was it unmixed humanity? Or was it thoſe ſervile habits to which their cunning had ſubjected them? and by which they ſuppoſed not only that pre⯑ferment but that happineſs was attain⯑able.

Humanity doubtleſs had its ſhare; for it is a ſenſation that never utterly aban⯑dons the breaſt of man: and, as it is often ſtrengthened by a conſciouſneſs that we ourſelves are in need of aid, let [159] us ſuppoſe that the preſident and the tutor were become humane.

Though feelings of acrimony towards theſe perſons were entirely deadened in me by the ſpectacle I beheld, yet I knew not well how to behave. I was prompted to ſhew them how placable I was be⯑come, by accoſting them firſt: but this might be miſconſtrued into that ſervility for which I had thought of them with ſo much contempt. Beſide, the biſhop and the preſident, if not the tutor, were in the phraſeology of the world my ſupe⯑riors; and etiquette had eſtabliſhed the rule that, if they thought proper to no⯑tice me, they would be the firſt to ſalute.

His lordſhip however eaſed me of far⯑ther trouble on this head, by aſking the biſhop—"Have you forgotten your old acquaintance Mr. Trevor, my lord?."

What anſwer this conſecrated right reverend father returned I could not hear. He muttered ſomething: but the ſounds [160] were as unintelligible as the features of his face; or the drooping deadneſs of his eyes. The preſident, however, hearing this, thought proper to bow: though very ſlightly, till the earl added, with a ſig⯑nificant emphaſis on the two laſt words —"Sir Barnard is become Mr. Trevor's particular friend;" which was no ſooner pronounced than the countenances of both the biſhop's ſupporters changed, to ſomething which might be called exceed⯑ingly civil, in the tutor, and prodigi⯑ouſly condeſcending, in the preſident.

This was a memorable day: and, if the event which I have now to relate ſhould be offenſive to the feelings of any man, or any claſs of men, I can only ſay that I ſhare the common fate of hiſ⯑torians: who, though they ſhould relate nothing but facts, never fail to excite diſpleaſure, if not reſentment and perſe⯑cution, in the partiſans of this or that par⯑ticular opinion, faction, or eſtabliſhment.

[161]The dinner was ſerved. It was ſump⯑tuous: or rather ſuch as gluttony de⯑lights in. The perſons aſſembled, I am ſorry to ſay it, were ſeveral of them glut⯑tons; and encouraged and countenanced each other in the vice to which they were addicted.

Diſh ſucceeded to diſh: and one plate⯑ful was but devoured that another and another might be gorged.

Fatal inſenſibility to the warning voice of experience! Incomprehenſible blind⯑neſs!

The poor biſhop was unable to reſiſt his deſtiny.

I had a foreboding of the miſchief that might reſult from a ſtomach at once ſo debilitated and ſo overloaded. I wiſhed to have ſpoken: I was tempted to ex⯑claim—"Raſh man, beware!" I could not keep my eyes away from him: till at length I ſuddenly remarked a ſtrange ap⯑pearance, that came over his face; and, [162] almoſt at the ſame inſtant, he dropped from his chair in an apoplectic fit.

The deſcription of his foaming mouth, diſtorted features, dead eyes, the whites of which only were to be ſeen, his writh⯑ings, his—

No! I muſt forbear. The picture I witneſſed could give nothing but pain; mingled with diſguſt, and horror. If I ſuggeſt that poor oppreſſed nature made the moſt violent ſtruggles, to emp⯑ty and relieve herſelf, there will perhaps be more than ſufficient of the ſcene of which I was a ſpectator conjured up in the imagination.

The biſhop had been a muſcular man, with a frame of uncommon ſtrength; and the paroxyſm, though extreme, did not end in death. Medical aſſiſtance was obtained, and he was borne away as ſoon as the criſis was over: but the feſti⯑vity for which the company had met was diſturbed. Many of them were ſtruck [163] with terror; dreading left they had only been preſent at horrors that, ſoon or late, were to light upon themſelves. They departed appalled by the ſcene they had witneſſed, and haunted by images of a foreboding, black, and diſtracted kind.

From theſe Sir Barnard himſelf was not wholly free: though he had been leſs guilty of gormandizing than many of his aſſociates: and, for my own part, this incident left an impreſſion upon me which I am perſuaded will be ſalutary through life.

CHAP. X.

HOW different is the ſame man, at dif⯑ferent periods of his exiſtence! How [164] very unlike were the bowing well bred Earl of Idford, and the aſthmatic tutor, of this day, to the Lord Sad-dog and his Jack; whom, but a few years before, I firſt met at college!

The preſident too at that time was, quite as much in form as in office, one of the pillars of the univerſity. And the biſhop! What a lamentable change had a ſhort period produced!

Happy would it be for men did they recollect that change they muſt; and that, if they will but be ſufficiently atten⯑tive to circumſtances, they may change for the better.

Time kept rolling on; and I had va⯑riety of occupation. Neither my ſtudies, my faſhionable acquaintances, nor thoſe whom I juſtly loved as my friends, were neglected. Mr. Evelyn continued for ſome time in town; attending to his ana⯑tomical and chymical ſtudies. Wilmot had completed his comedy. It had been [165] favourably received by the manager; and was to be the ſecond new piece brought forward. Turl, with equal perſeverance, was purſuing his own plans: and, though I heard nothing more from Olivia, my heart was at eaſe. I knew the motives on which ſhe acted; and had her aſſur⯑ance that, if I ſhould be again defamed, I ſhould now be heard in my own de⯑fence.

I was careful not to forget honeſt Clarke; nor was the kind-hearted Mary neglected. The good carpenter had ſent for his wife and family up to town; and Mary was happy in the friendly attentions of Miſs Wilmot, and in the orderly con⯑duct and quick improvement of her ſon.

One of my pleaſures, and duties as I conceived it to be, was to introduce Turl and Wilmot to ſuch of my higher order of acquaintance as might afford both parties gratification. There is much fri⯑volity among people of rank and faſhion: [166] but there is likewiſe ſome enquiry and ſound underſtanding; and, where theſe qualities exiſt in any eminent degree, the friends I have named could not but be welcome.

It is the intereſt of men of [...] orders to converſe with each other, to liſten to their mutual pretenſions with patience, to be ſlow to condemn, and to be liberal in the conſtruction of what they at firſt ſuppoſe to be dangerous novelty.

Turl was peculiarly fitted to promote theſe principles: and Wilmot, in addi⯑tion to the charms of an imagination finely ſtored, was poſſeſſed, as the reader may remember, of muſical talents; and thoſe of no inferior order. Days and weeks paſſed not unpleaſantly away: for hope and Olivia were ever preſent to my imagination, and of the ills which for⯑tune had in reſerve I was little aware.

While buſineſs and pleaſure thus ap⯑peared to promote each other, it came to [167] my knowledge that an advertiſement had appeared in the papers: ſtating that, if Hugh Trevor, the grandſon of the reve⯑rend **** rector of ***, were alive, by application at a place there named, he might hear of ſomething very much to his advantage.

I cannot enumerate the conjectures that this intelligence immediately ex⯑cited; for they were endleſs. I ſearched the papers, found the advertiſement, and haſtened to the place to which it directed me.

The information I there received was not preciſely what my elevated hopes had taught me to expect: but it was of con⯑ſiderable moment. I learned that my grandfather's executor, Mr. Thornby, was dead; that his nephew, Wakefield, had taken poſſeſſion of the property he had left; but that he had done this ille⯑gally: for the perſon who cauſed the ad⯑vertiſement to be put into the paper was [168] an attorney, who had drawn and witneſſed the will of Thornby, which will was in my favour; and which moreover ſtated that the property bequeathed to me was mine in right of a will of my grandfa⯑ther's; which will Thornby had till that time kept concealed. Whether the teſ⯑tament he had produced, immediately after the death of the rector, were one that Thornby had forged, or one that my grandfather had actually made but had ordered his executor to deſtroy, did not at preſent appear. The account I gave of it in a preceding volume, and of the manner in which it was procured, was the ſubſtance of what I learned from the converſation of my mother and Thornby at the time.

A death-bed compunction had wreſted from the deceaſed an avowal of his guilt; and the facts were explicitly ſtated, in the preamble of his will, in order to prevent the conteſt which he foreſaw might pro⯑bably [169] take place, between me and his nephew. He ſeemed to have been pain⯑fully anxious to do juſtice at laſt; and ſave his ſoul, when he found it muſt take flight.

The buſineſs was urgent; and, if I meant to profit by that which was legally mine, it was neceſſary, as I was adviſed, immediately to go down and examine in⯑to all the circumſtances on the ſpot.

I was the more ſurpriſed at what I had heard becauſe it was but very lately that I had ſent a remittance to my mother; which ſhe had acknowledged, and which muſt have been received after her huſ⯑band had taken poſſeſſion of his uncle's effects. But, when I recollected the cha⯑racter that had been given me of Wake⯑field, as far as the tranſaction related to him, my ſurpriſe was of ſhort duration.

With reſpect to my mother, I heard with no ſmall degree of aſtoniſhment that ſhe had been applied to, in order to diſ⯑cover [170] where I might be found; and that ſhe had returned evaſive anſwers: which as it was ſuppoſed had been dictated by her huſband; under whoſe control, part⯑ly from fear and partly from an old wo⯑man's doating, ſhe was completely held.

To ſay that I grieved at ſuch weak⯑neſs, in one whom I had ſo earneſtly de⯑ſired to love and honor with more than filial affection, would be ſuperfluous: but my ſurpriſe would have inſtantly ceaſed, had I known who this Wakefield was; with whom my mother had to contend.

Reproach from me however, in word or look, had I been ſo inclined, ſhe was deſtined never to receive. The career of pain and pleaſure with her was nearly over. On the ſame day that I made the enquiries I have been repeating, a letter arrived; written not by her, but at her requeſt; which informed me that, if I meant to ſee her alive, I muſt uſe all poſ⯑ſible ſpeed: for that ſhe had been ſud⯑denly [171] ſeized with dangerous and intole⯑rable pains; which according to the de⯑ſcription given in the letter, were ſuch as I found from enquiry belong to the iliac paſſion; and that ſhe was then lying at the laſt extremity.

Two ſuch imperious mandates, requir⯑ing, my preſence in my native county, were not to be diſobeyed; and I depart⯑ed with the utmoſt diligence. At the laſt ſtage, after a journey of unremitted ex⯑pedition, I ordered the chaiſe to drive to the houſe of the late Thornby; where on enquiry I was informed that my mother lay.

I found her in a truly pitiable condi⯑tion. Quickſilver had been adminiſtered, but in vain; and ſhe was ſo thoroughly exhauſted that the ſight of me produced but very little emotion. Her medical at⯑tendant pronounced ſhe could not ſur⯑vive four-and-twenty hours; and adviſed that, if there were any buſineſs to be ſet⯑tled [172] between us, it ſhould be proceeded upon immediately.

Had this advice been given to perſons of certain habits, aſſuredly, it would not have been neglected; and, perhaps it ought not to have been by me: but, whether I was right or wrong, I could not endure to perplex and diſturb the mind of a mo⯑ther in her laſt agonies. The conſe⯑quence was, ſhe expired without hearing a word from me, concerning her huſ⯑band, Thornby, or the property to which I was heir; and without making any mention whatever herſelf of the diſpoſal of this property.

I was indeed ignorant of what degree of information ſhe could afford me. Her conduct had been ſo weak that to re⯑mind her of it, at ſuch a moment, would, as I ſuppoſed, have been to inflict a ſe⯑vere degree of torment.

This, as the reader will learn in time, was not the only ſhaft by which my tran⯑quillity [173] was to be aſſaulted. My mother though ſhe was, there was yet another death infinitely more heart-rending hang⯑ing over my head. The recollection is anguiſh that cannot end! Cannot did I ſay? Abſurd mortal. Live for the living; and grieve not for the dead: unleſs grief could bid them riſe from their graves.

I muſt proceed; and not ſuffer my feelings thus to anticipate my tale.

Knowing that Wakefield was no other than Belmont, the reader will not be ſurpriſed that he ſhould think proper to elude, under theſe circumſtances, the diſcovery which a meeting muſt have produced. My mother, actuated by a conviction that death was inevitable, had ſent for me without his privity: ſo that I afterward learned he was in the houſe, when I drove up to the door: and, ſeeing me put my head out of the chaiſe, im⯑mediately made his eſcape through the garden.

[174]A man leſs fertile in expedients would have found it difficult to forge a plauſible pretext, to evade being preſent and meet⯑ing me at the funeral: but he, by pur⯑ſuing what wore the face of being, and what I believe actually was, very rational conduct, dexterouſly ſhunned the ren⯑contre. The following letter, which he wrote to me, will explain by what means.

[176]Had ſuch a letter been written by a man who had pretended fondneſs for his wife, it might perhaps have been con⯑ſtrued unfeeling: if not inſulting to her memory. But, as the caſe was notori⯑ouſly the reverſe, the honeſt contempt of all affectation, which it diſplayed, I could not but conſider as an unexpected trait in the character of ſuch a man as I ſup⯑poſed Wakefield to be.

There is a ſtrange propenſity in the imagination to make up ideal beings; and annex them to names that, when mentioned, have been uſually followed with certain degrees of praiſe, or blame. Theſe fanciful portraits are generally in the extreme: they are all virtue, or all vice: all perfection, or all deformity: though it is well known that no ſuch un⯑mixed mortals exiſt.

My mind having acquired the habit rather to doubt than to conclude that every thing which is cuſtomary muſt be [177] right, funeral follies had not eſcaped my cenſure: but the thing which excited my ſurpriſe was that a man like Wakefield, who I concluded muſt have thought very little indeed, ſince he both thought and acted on other occaſions ſo differently from me, ſhould in any inſtance reaſon like myſelf; and ſome few others, whom I moſt admired.

Convinced however as I was that he now reaſoned rightly, I wanted in this caſe the courage to act after his example. It would be a ſcandal to the country for a ſon, pretending to filial duty, to be ab⯑ſent from his mother's funeral. The reader will doubtleſs remember that town and country are two exceedingly diſ⯑tinct regions.

CHAP. XI.

THIS ſcandal I was, notwithſtanding my diſcretion, deſtined to afford. In addition to the arguments of Wakefield, accident ſupplied a motive too powerful to be reſiſted.

I have mentioned my intention to ſup⯑preſs the pamphlet which I had written, in the fever of my reſentment, againſt the Earl, the Biſhop, and their aſſociates. [179] The edition which had been printed for publiſhing had lain in the printer's ware⯑houſe, till the time that I had determined againſt its appearance.

The child of the fancy is often as dear to us as any of our children whatever; and I was unwilling that this offspring of mine ſhould periſh, beyond all power of revival. I therefore had the edition re⯑moved to my lodgings, and ſtowed in a garret.

A copy however had been purloined; and probably before the removal. This copy came into the poſſeſſion of an un⯑principled bookſeller; who, regardleſs of every conſideration except profit, and per⯑ceiving it to be written with vehemence on a ſubject which never fails to attract the attention of the public, namely per⯑ſonal defamation, had once more com⯑mitted it to the preſs.

As it happened, it was ſent to be re⯑printed by the perſon with whom the ſon [180] of Mary was bound apprentice; and the whole was worked off except the title-page, which fell into the hands of the youth.

Deſirous of ſhewing kindneſs to Mary, it may well be ſuppoſed I had not over⯑looked her ſon. His mother had taught him to conſider me as the ſaviour of both their lives; and as ſuch he held me in great veneration. Theſe favourable feel⯑ings were increaſed by the praiſe I be⯑ſtowed on him, for his good conduct; and the encouragement I gave him to perſevere.

Richard, for that was his name, ſuſ⯑pected it could be no intention of mine to publiſh the pamphlet: becauſe he had been employed to ſtow it in the garret: and, as he was an intelligent lad, and ac⯑quainted with the tricks of the publiſher for whom he knew his maſter was at work, he haſtened in great alarm to com⯑municate his fears; firſt to his mother, [181] and then by her advice to Miſs Wil⯑mot.

The latter immediately informed her brother. He ſaw the danger, wrote to me to return without delay, doubting whether even I ſhould have the power to prevent the publication, and proceeded himſelf immediately to the printer to warn him of the nature of the tranſaction.

The man was no ſooner informed of Mr. Wilmot's buſineſs than he became violently enraged with his apprentice, Richard; accuſed him of betraying his maſter's intereſt, and the ſecrets of the printing-houſe, which ought to be held ſacred, and affirmed that he had endan⯑gered the loſs of his buſineſs.

Richard was preſent, was aware of the charge which would be brought againſt him, and was prepared to endure it with conſiderable firmneſs: though he had been taught to believe that ſuch com⯑plaints were founded in juſtice.

[182]Wilmot could obtain no unequivocal anſwer from the maſter: either that he would or would not proceed. He con⯑ſequently ſuppoſed the affirmative was the moſt probable; and therefore, that he might neglect nothing in an affair which he conſidered as ſo ſerious, he haſ⯑tened from the printer to the publiſher.

Here, in addition to the rage of what he likewiſe called having been betrayed, he met with open defiance, vulgar in⯑ſolence, and vociferous aſſertions, from this worthy bookſeller, that the laws of his country would be his ſhield.

The fellow had been frequently con⯑cerned in ſuch raſcalities, and knew his ground. He was one of the ſagacious perſons who had found a cover for them. Where law pretends to regulate and de⯑fine every right, the wrong which it can⯑not reach it protects.

This is a branch of knowledge on which a vaſt body of men in the king⯑dom, [183] and eſpecially in the metropolis, depend for their ſubſiſtence. And a very tempting trade it is: for our ſtreets, our public places, and our courts of juſtice, as well as other courts, ſwarm with its followers; at which places they appear in as high a ſtyle of faſhion, that is of effrontery, as even the fools by whom they are aped, or the lawyers and ſtateſ⯑men themſelves by whom they are de⯑fended. This I own is a bold aſſertion; and is perhaps a hyperbole! Yes, yes: it is comparing mole hills to mountains. But let it paſs.

Wilmot, in his letter to me, did not confine himſelf to a bare recital of facts. Fearful left they ſhould eſcape my re⯑collection, he urged thoſe ſtrong argu⯑ments which were beſt calculated to ſhew, not only what my enemies might allege, but what juſt men might im⯑pute to me, ſhould this intemperate pamphlet appear: which, in addition to [184] its original miſtakes, would attack the character of the Biſhop, a man whoſe office, in the eye of the world, implied every virtue. And how immoderately would its intemperance and imputed malignity be exaggerated, ſhould it ap⯑pear preciſely at the moment when I knew diſeaſe had deprived him of his faculties! had rendered him unable to defend himſelf, and to produce facts which I might have concealed; or give another face to truth, which I might have diſcoloured!

Theſe arguments alarmed me in a very painful degree. I was averſe to quit the place before my mother was interred: eſpecially as my reaſons for ſuch an ab⯑rupt departure could not be made public: but I was ſtill more averſe to an action which, in appearance, would involve me in ſuch a cowardly ſpecies of infamy.

Accordingly, I made the beſt arrange⯑ments in my power: leaving orders that [185] the funeral ſhould be conducted with every decency; and, after a very ſhort converſation with the attorney, who had witneſſed the will of Thornby and given me the information I have already men⯑tioned, I travelled back to London with no leſs ſpeed than I had hurried into the country.

I arrived in town on Thurſday night; and the pamphlet was advertiſed for publication on the following Monday. The advertiſement, being purpoſely writ⯑ten to excite curioſity, repeated the ſub⯑ject of the pamphlet: which aſſerted my claims to the letters of Themiſtocles, and to the defence of the thirty-nine articles; the acrimony of which charge was in⯑creaſed by a perſonal attack on the Earl of Idford, the Biſhop, and their aſſo⯑ciates.

When I came to my lodgings, I found two notes: one from a perſon ſtiling himſelf a gentleman employed by the [186] Earl; and another from Mr. Ellis, on the part of the Biſhop: each requeſting an interview. Anſwers not having been returned, theſe agents had come them⯑ſelves; and, being informed that I was in the country, but was expected in town before the end of the week, they left a preſſing meſſage; deſiring an anſwer the moment of my arrival.

Eager as I was to ward off the danger that threatened me, I conſidered the ap⯑plication that was made, eſpecially on the part of the Earl, as fortunate. I un⯑derſtood that the only means of ſup⯑preſſing the pamphlet would be by an injunction from the Lord Chancellor; and this I imagined the influence of the Earl might eſſentially promote: for which reaſon I immediately wrote, in reply to theſe agents, and appointed an interview early the next morning.

The place of meeting was a private room in a coffee-houſe; and, though [187] my eagerneſs in the buſineſs brought me there a few minutes before the time named, Ellis and his coadjutor had ar⯑rived before me. They acted in concert, and had met to compare notes.

I found the purveyor of pews and paradiſe ſtill the ſame: always inclined to make himſelf agreeable.

The other agent was ſeated in a dark corner of the room, with his back to the light, ſo that I did not recogniſe him as I entered. How much was I ſurpriſed when, as he turned to the window, I dis⯑covered him to be the loquacious Mr. Glibly; the man whoſe principles were ſo accommodating, whoſe tongue was gloſſy, but whoſe praiſe was much more ſickening and dangerous than his ſatire.

The civilities that were poured upon me, by theſe well-paired gentlemen, were overwhelming. It was like taking leave of a Frenchman, under the ancient régime: there was no niche or chink for me to [188] throw in a word; ſo copious was the vo⯑lubility of Glibly, and ſo eager was the zeal of Ellis.

From the picture I before gave of the firſt, the reader will have perceived that he was a man of conſiderable intellect: though not of ſufficient to make him honeſt. His uſual mode, in converſa⯑tion, was to render the perſon to whom he addreſſed himſelf ridiculous by ex⯑ceſſive praiſe; and to mingle up ſarcaſm and panegyric in ſuch a manner as to produce confuſion in the mind of the object of it, who never knew when to be angry or when to be pleaſed, and laugh⯑ter in every body elſe.

At firſt the moſt witty and acute would find amuſement in his florid irony: but they could not but ſoon be wearied, by its methodical and undeviating mechan⯑iſm; which denoted great barrenneſs of invention.

In the preſent inſtance, he had a caſe [189] that required management: a patron to oblige, and an opponent to circumvent. He had therefore the art to aſſume a tone as much diveſted of ſneering as habit would permit; and began by inſinuations that were too flattering to fail of their effect, yet not quite groſs enough to offend. My perſon, my appearance, my parliamentary proſpects, my underſtand⯑ing, my friends and connections, all paſſed in review: while his praiſe was carefully tempered; and as I imagined very paſſably appropriate.

Hence, it certainly promoted the end for which it was given: it opened my heart, and prepared me for that generous effuſion which rather inclines to criminate itſelf than to inſiſt on every trifle that may be urged in its favour.

Apt however as he was at detecting vanity in others, he was as open to it himſelf, I might almoſt ſay, as any man on earth. He began with a profeſſion [190] of his friendſhip for the Earl of Idford: in which he aſſumed the tone of having conferred a favour on that noble lord; and I will not deny that he was right. All his acquaintance were friends; and perhaps he had the longeſt liſt of any man in London: for the effrontery of his familiar claims upon every man he met, from whom he had any thing to hope or fear, was ſo extraordinary as to render an eſcape from him impoſſible. He had parroted the phraſeology of the haut ton, and its arrogant apathy, till the manner was ſo habitual to him that he was unconſcious of his own impudence.

Thus, in converſing on this occaſion of the Earl who had deputed him, the only appellation he had for his patron was Idford. "I told Idford what I thought on the ſubject. For I always ſpeak the truth, and never deceive peo⯑ple: unleſs it be to give them pleaſure; and then you know they are the more [191] obliged to me. Glibly, ſaid Idford to me, I know you will act in this buſineſs without partiality. For I muſt do him juſtice, Trevor, and aſſure you that Idford is a good fellow. I do not pretend that he is not ſenſible of the privileges which rank and faſhion give him. He is vain, thinks himſelf a great orator, a fine writer, a wiſe ſenator, and all that. I grant it. How ſhould it be otherwiſe? It is very natural. He would have been a deviliſh ſenſible fellow, if he had not been a lord. But that is not to be helped. You and I, in his place, ſhould think and act the ſame. We ſhould be as much deceived, as ſilly, and as ridicu⯑lous. It is all right. Things muſt be ſo. But Idford is a very good fellow. He is, upon my honor."

The ſurgeon that has a difficult caſe will not only make preparations and ad⯑juſtments before he begins to probe, la⯑cerate, or cauterize, but will ſometimes [192] adminiſter an opiate; to ſtupefy that ſenſibility which he apprehends is too keen. Glibly purſued much the ſame method; and, having exhauſted nearly all his art, till he found he had pro⯑duced as great a propenſity to compli⯑ance and conciliation as be could reaſon⯑ably hope, he proceeded to the buſineſs in queſtion.

"You no doubt gueſs, my dear Tre⯑vor, why my friend Ellis here and I de⯑ſired to meet you?"

"I do."

"To ſay the truth, knowing as I do the ſoundneſs of your underſtanding, the quickneſs of your conception, and the conſequences that muſt follow, which, acute as you are, you could not but fore⯑ſee, I was amazed when I read your ad⯑vertiſement!"

"It is prodigiouſly ſurpriſing, indeed!" added Ellis: eager at every opportunity to throw in ſuch touches as he thought [193] would give effect to the colouring of his friend, and leader.

"Why," ſaid I, "do you call it my advertiſement?"

"I mean of a pamphlet which it ſeems has been written by you."

"But is going to be publiſhed with⯑out my conſent"

"Are you ſerious?" ſaid Glibly: ſtaring!

"It is not my cuſtom to deceive peo⯑ple, Mr. Glibly; not even to give them pleaſure."

"I am prodigious glad of that!" ex⯑claimed the holy Enoch. "Prodigious glad, indeed!"

"But you have owned it was written by you?" continued Glibly.

"I know no good that can reſult from diſowning the truth; and eſpecially in the preſent inſtance."

"My dear fellow, truth is a very pretty thing on ſome occaſions: but to be con⯑tinually [194] telling truth, as you call it, oh Lord! oh Lord! we ſhould ſet the whole world to cutting of throats!"

"To be ſure we ſhould!" cried Ellis.

"To be ſure we ſhould! That is my morality exactly."

"Men are men, my dear fellow. A lord is a lord: a biſhop is a biſhop. Each in his ſtation. Things could not go on if we did not make allowances. To tell truth would be to overturn all order."

"I am willing to make allowances: for all men are liable to be miſtaken."

"I approve that ſentiment very much, Mr. Trevor," interrupted Enoch. "It is prodigious fine. It is my own. All men are liable to be miſtaken. I have ſaid it a thouſand times. It is prodigious fine!"

"But I cannot conceive," added I, "that to overturn ſyſtems which are founded in vice and folly would be to overturn all order. You may call ſyſte⯑matic ſelfiſhneſs, ſyſtematic hypocriſy, [195] and ſyſtematic oppreſſion order: but I aſſert they are diſorder."

"My dear fellow, nothing is ſo eaſy as to aſſert. But we will leave this to another time. I dare ſay that in the main there is no great difference between us. You wiſh for all the good things you can get; and ſo do I. One of us may take a more round about way to ob⯑tain them than the other: but we both in⯑tend to travel to the ſame goal. I own, when I heard of your brouillerie with my friend Idford, I thought you had miſſed the road. But I find you have more wit than I ſuppoſed: you are now guided by another finger-poſt. Perhaps it might have been as well not to have changed. The treaſury bench is a ſtrong hold, and never was ſo well fortified. It is become impregnable. It includes the whole power of England, Scotland, and Ire⯑land; both the Indies; countleſs iſlands, and boundleſs continents: with all the [196] grand out-works of lords, ſpiritual and temporal; governors; generals; admi⯑rals; cuſtos rotulorum, and magiſtracy; bodies corporate, and chartered compa⯑nies; exciſe, and taxation; board and bankruptcy commiſſioners; contractors; agents; jobbers; money-lenders, and ſpies; with all the gradations of theſe and many more diſtinct claſſes: under⯑ſtrappers innumerable; an endleſs ſwarm; a monſtrous maſs. Can it be conjured away by angry breath? No, no. It is no houſe of cards: for an individual to attempt to puff it down would be ridicu⯑lous inſanity."

A maſs indeed! "Making Oſſa like a wart." Yet the rubbiſh muſt be re⯑moved; and it is mine and every man's duty to handle the ſpade and beſom. But men want to work miracles; and, becauſe the mountain does not vaniſh at a word, they raſhly conclude it cannot be di⯑miniſhed. They are miſtaken. Political [197] error is a peſtilential cloud; denſe with mephitic and deadly vapours: but a wind has ariſen in the ſouth, that will drive it over ſtates, kingdoms, and em⯑pires; till at laſt it ſhall be ſwept from the face of the earth."

"My dear fellow, you have an admi⯑rable genius: but you have miſtaken its bent. Depend upon it, you are no po⯑litician: though you are a very great poet. Fine phraſes, grand metaphors, beautiful images, all very admirable! and you have them at command. You are born to be an ornament to your country. You have a very pretty turn. Very pretty indeed! And ſo, which is the point that I was coming to, concerning this pam⯑phlet. It relates I think to certain let⯑ters that appeared, ſigned Themiſto⯑cles."

"And to a defence, by my lord the biſhop, of the thirty nine articles," added [198] Ellis: "eager that he and his patron ſhould not be omitted."

"You, my dear fellow, had ſome part in both of theſe publications."

"I do not know what you mean by ſome part. The ſubſtance of them both was my own."

"Ay, ay; you had a ſhare: a conſi⯑derable ſhare. You and Idford were friends. You converſed together, and communicated your thoughts to each other. Did not you?"

"I grant we did."

"I knew you would grant whatever was true. You are the advocate of truth; and I commend you. Idford mixed with political men, knew the temper of the times, was acquainted with various anecdotes, and gave you every informa⯑tion in his power. I know you are too candid to conceal or diſguiſe the leaſt fact. You would be as ready to con⯑demn [199] yourſelf as another. You have real dignity of mind. It gives you a cer⯑tain ſuperiority; a kind of grandeur; of real grandeur. It is your principle."

"It ought to be."

"No doubt. And I am ſure you will own that I have ſtated the caſe fairly. I told you, Mr. Ellis, that I knew my friend Trevor. He has too much inte⯑grity to diſown any thing I have ſaid. I dare believe, were he to read the letters of Themiſtocles over at this inſtant, he would find it difficult to affirm, of any one ſentence, that the thought might not poſſibly have been ſuggeſted in con⯑verſation by my friend Idford. I ſay might not poſſibly: for you both perceive I am very deſirous on this occaſion to be guarded."

"It certainly is a difficult thing," an⯑ſwered I, "for any man poſitively to af⯑firm he can trace the origin of any one [200] thought; and recollect the moment when it firſt entered his mind."

My lips were opening to proceed: but Glibly with great eagerneſs prevented me.

"I knew, my dear fellow, that your candor was equal to your underſtand⯑ing. Mr. Ellis, who hears all that paſſes, will do me the juſtice to ſay that I de⯑clared before you came what turn the affair would take."

I was again going to ſpeak, but he was determined I ſhould not, and pro⯑ceeded with his unconquerable volubi⯑lity; purpoſely leading my mind to ano⯑ther train of thought.

"I am very glad indeed that the ad⯑vertiſement which appeared was not with your approbation. On recollection, I cannot conceive how I could for a mo⯑ment ſuppoſe it was your own act. A man of the ſoundeſt underſtanding may [201] be ſurpriſed into paſſion, and may write in a paſſion: but he will think again and again, and will be careful not to publiſh in a paſſion. And the delay which has taken place might have proved to me that you had thought; and had deter⯑mined not to publiſh. Your counte⯑nance, when you diſowned the adver⯑tiſement juſt now, convinces me that I do you no more than juſtice, by ſuppoſing this of you."

Here the artful orator thought proper to pauſe for a reply; and I anſwered, "I own that I wrote in a ſpirit which I do not at preſent quite approve."

"I know it. What you have ſaid and what you have allowed have ſo much of liberality, cool recollection, and diſpaſ⯑ſionate honeſty, that they are, as I knew they would be, very honorable to you."

"Prodigiouſly, indeed!" ſaid Enoch.

Glibly continued: "Your behaviour, in this buſineſs, entirely confirms my [202] good opinion of you; and I give myſelf ſome credit for underſtanding a man's true character: eſpecially the character of a man like you. My good friend Ellis and I are entirely ſatisfied. What has paſſed has removed all doubts, and diffi⯑culties. We are with you; and ſhall re⯑port every thing to your advantage."

"I wiſh you to report nothing but the truth."

"I know it, my dear fellow. That is what we intend. So, without ſaying a word more on that ſubject, we will now conſider what is beſt to be done. I un⯑derſtand that the edition about to be pub⯑liſhed is pirated; and I ſuppoſe you will join us in an application to the Lord Chancellor for an injunction."

"Moſt eagerly. That was my reaſon for wiſhing to ſee you, ſo immediately after my arrival in town; imagining that an application from Lord Idford, and the biſhop, would be more readily attended [203]to than if it came from a private and un⯑known individual."

"To be ſure it would, Mr. Trevor!" ſaid Enoch. "An application from an earl and a biſhop, is not likely to be overlooked. They are privileged per⯑ſons. They are the higher powers. Every thing that concerns them muſt be treat⯑ed with tenderneſs, and reverence, and humbleneſs, and every thing of that kind."

The ſpirit moved me to begin an en⯑quiry into privileges; and the tenderneſs and humility due to earls and biſhops: particularly to ſuch as the noble and re⯑verend lords in queſtion: but Glibly gueſſed my thoughts, and took care to prevent me!

"As to thoſe ſubjects, my dear Ellis," ſaid he, "Trevor thinks and acts on a different ſyſtem from you and me and the reſt of the world. We muſt not diſ⯑pute theſe points, now; but away, as faſt [204] as we can, and put the buſineſs for which we met in a train. The publication muſt be ſtopped. It would injure all parties; and, as you, my dear friend [Turning to me] juſtly think at preſent, would be diſgraceful to its author."

After what had been urged by Turl and Wilmot, and the reaſoning that had followed in my own mind, I knew not how to deny this aſſertion: though it was painfully grating. But the reader will eaſily perceive that this and other ſtrong affirmations, ſuch as I have related, were deſignedly made by Glibly. He art⯑fully gabbled on, that he might lead my mind from attending to them too ſtrictly; and that he might afterward, if occaſion ſhould require, ſtate them, with the co⯑louring that he ſhould give, as things ut⯑tered or allowed by me."

It ought not to be thought ſtrange that I was deceived by Glibly, barefaced as his cunning would have appeared to a man [205] more verſed in the arts which over⯑reaching ſelfiſhneſs daily puts in practice. He confeſſedly came in behalf of a party concerned; and, as ſuch, a liberal mind would be prepared to expect a bias from him rather in favour of his client. His face was ſmiling; his tones were ſoft and ſmooth; the words candor, honeſty, and integrity, were continually on his tongue. He affected to be a diſintereſted arbi⯑trator; and allowed that his friend Idford, as he called him, might or rather muſt be tainted with the vices of his ſtation, and claſs. Could a youth, unhacknied in the world, feeling that treachery was not native to the heart of man, not ſuſpect⯑ing on ordinary occaſions that it could exiſt, could ſuch a tyro in hypocriſy be a fit antagoniſt for ſuch an adept?

Deceit will frequently eſcape imme⯑diate detection: but it ſeldom leaves the perſon, upon whom it is practiſed, with that clearneſs of thought which commu⯑nicates calm to the mind; producing [206] unruffled ſatisfaction, and cheerful good temper.

CHAP. XII.

WE quitted the coffee-houſe; Glibly in high ſpirits, and Enoch concluding things had been done as they ſhould be: but, for my own part, I experienced a confuſion of intellect that did not ſuffer me to be ſo much at my eaſe. I had an indiſtinct ſenſe of being as paſſive as a blind man with his dog. Inſtead of tak⯑ing the lead, as I was entitled to have done, I was led: hurried away, like a man down a mountain with a high wind at his back: or traverſing dark alleys, holding by the coat-flap of a guide of [207]whoſe good intentions I was very far from having any certainty.

We proceeded however to the houſe of a ſolicitor in chancery; who tranſacted buſineſs for the Earl.

Here Glibly, attentive to the plan he had purſued, began by informing Mr. Quiſque, the lawyer, that he had come at the requeſt of his dear friend, Trevor, to entreat his aid in an affair of ſome moment. "Mr. Trevor is a young gen⯑tleman, my dear Quiſque, that you will be proud to be acquainted with; a man of talents; a poet; an orator; an author; a great genius; an excellent ſcholar; a fine writer; turns a ſentence or a rhyme with exquiſite neatneſs; very prettily I aſſure you. I mention theſe circum⯑ſtances, my dear Quiſque, becauſe I know you have a taſte for ſuch things: and ſo has Mrs. Quiſque, and the two Miſs Quiſques, and all the family. I now and then ſee very pretty things of their writing in the Lady's Magazine. An [208] elegy on a robin red-breaſt. The droop⯑ing violet, a ſonnet. And others equally ecſtatic. Quite charming! rapturous! elegant! flowery! ſentimental! Some of them very ſmart, and epigrammatic. It is a family, my dear Trevor, that you muſt become intimate with. Your merit entitles you to the diſtinction. You will communicate your mutual productions. You will poliſh and ſuggeſt charming little delicate emendations, to each other, before you favour the world with a ſight of them."

The broadeſt and coarſeſt ſatire was never half ſo inſulting, to the feelings, as the common-place praiſe of Glibly.

The barren-pated Ellis caught one of the favourite diminutives of Glibly; and finiſhed my panegyric by adding that, "he muſt ſay, his friend, Mr. Trevor, was a prodigious pretty genius."

Who but muſt have been proud of ſuch an introduction to the family of the Quiſques; by ſuch orators, ſuch eulogiſts, and ſuch friends?

[209]Acquainted with Glibly, and accuſ⯑tomed to hear him prate, Mr. Quiſque ſeemed to liſten to him without ſurpriſe, pleaſure, or pain. It was what he ex⯑pected. It was the man. A machine that had no more meaning than a Dutch clock; repeating cuckoo, as it ſtrikes.

Among Glibly's acquaintance, or, as he called them, his dear friends, this was a common but a very falſe concluſion. He had not adopted his cuſtomary cant with⯑out a motive. The man, who can per⯑ſuade others that he gabbles in a pleaſant but ridiculous and undeſigning manner, will lead them to ſuppoſe that his actions are equally incongruous, and void of in⯑tention. He will paſs upon the world for an agreeable harmleſs fellow, till his malignities are too numerous to eſcape notice; and then, where he was before welcomed with the hope of a laugh, he will continue to be admitted from the dread of a bite.

[210]A lawyer however feels leſs of this panic than the reſt of mankind: becauſe he can bite again. The cat o' mountain will not attack the tiger.

Glibly returned to the buſineſs in hand; and again repeated that he was come at the requeſt of his dear friend, Trevor, to procure an injunction: that ſhould prevent the publication of a pam⯑phlet, which had been written againſt his friend, Idford."

"And my lord the Biſhop * * * *," added Enoch.

"Who is the author of it?" de⯑manded Quiſque.

"I am, ſir;" anſwered I.

"For which my friend Trevor is very ſorry;" added Glibly.

I inſtantly retorted a denial. "I never ſaid any thing of the kind, Mr. Glibly. But I ſhould be very ſorry in⯑deed if it were publiſhed."

"Nay, my dear fellow, according to your own principles, if I do not miſtake [211] them, that which ought not to be pub⯑liſhed ought not to be written."

The remark was acute: it puzzled me, and I was ſilent. He proceeded.

"It is a buſineſs that admits of no delay. I ſhould be extremely chagrined, extremely, upon my honor, that my dear friend Trevor ſhould commit himſelf to the public, in this affair. He that wan⯑tonly attacks the characters of others does but ſtrike at his own."

I again eagerly replied "The attack from me, ſir, was not wanton. It was provoked acts of the moſt flagrant injuſtice."

Glibly as eagerly interrupted me.

"My dear fellow, why, are you ſo warm? I was only delivering a general maxim. I made no application of it; and I am ſurpriſed that you ſhould."

The traps of Glibly were numberleſs; and not to be eſcaped. Words are too equivocal, and phraſes too indefinite, for men like him not to profit by their am⯑biguity. To them a quirk in the ſenſe is [212] as profitable as a pun or a quibble in the ſound. They ſnap at them, as dogs do at flies. It is no leſs worthy of obſervation that, though ſome of his actions ſeemed to laugh ſeverity of moral principle out of countenance, he continually repeated others which, had his conduct been regu⯑lated by them, would have ranked him among the moſt worthy of mankind.

After farther explanation from Quiſque, it was admitted that the intereſt of all parties made it neceſſary for him to act with great diligence, ſpeed, and caution.

Through the whole of this ſcene, Glibly was conſiſtent with himſelf; in giving it ſuch a turn and complexion as to make it requiſite, for the preſervation of my cha⯑racter above the reſt, to prevent the pam⯑phlet from being publiſhed. If, when⯑ever I detected his drift, I urged the true motives by which I was actuated, he al⯑ways immediately admitted them, praiſed them, and allowed them to be ſuperla⯑tively excellent: but never failed to give [213] them ſuch an air as ſhould ſuit the project he had conceived; and allow of ſuch an interpretation, in future, as would excul⯑pate my opponents and criminate myſelf. But he effected this with ſuch fluency, and ſo gloſſed over and coloured his in⯑tention that, like profound darkneſs, it was every where preſent, but neither could be felt nor ſeen.

My own activity in this affair, which if I meant to render my interference effec⯑tual was inevitable, contributed to the ſame end. I accompanied the whole party, Quiſque being one, to the ſhop of the publiſher.

Here I detailed the conſequences, as well to myſelf as to the Earl and the Biſhop; and vehemently denounced threats, if the villany that was begun ſhould be carried into execution. Not all the quieting hints of my aſſiſtants could keep my anger under. I loſt all patience, at every word. My utmoſt indignation was excited by ſo black a buſineſs.

[214]The ſituation was not a new one to the dealer in the alphabet. He was an old depredator; and had before encountered angry authors, and artful lawyers. He was cool, collected, and unabaſhed. Not indeed entirely: but ſufficiently ſo to ex⯑cite aſtoniſhment.

He affirmed the copy-right to be his own: would prove he had obtained it legally; and would face any proſecution that we could bring. He knew what he was about; and was not be frightened. He had printed one edition; and had no doubt that ſeveral would be ſold. He was an honeſt tradeſman; and muſt not be robbed of his profits. What would the country be if it were not for trade? It ought to be protected: ay and would be too. The law was as open to an induſtri⯑ous fair trader as to any lord in the land. Let him too be no loſer and then it would be a different thing: but, as for big words, they broke no bones; and he knew his ground.

[215]The hints of the honeſt trader were too broad to be miſunderſtood; and Quiſque replied—"I think you mean, ſir, that you wiſh to be repaid the expence you have ſuſtained?"

The fellow anſwered, with the utmoſt effrontery, "I have a right, ſir, to be in⯑demnified for the loſs of my profits on the ſale of the work."

Anger and argument were equally vain. There were two ways of proceeding. Si⯑lence and ſafety might be purchaſed: or the law might be let looſe on a knave, who ſet it at defiance. The one was ſe⯑cure: the other problematical; and replete with the danger which we wiſhed to avert.

Quiſque aſked him what was the ſum that he demanded? His reply was more moderate than from appearances we had reaſon to expect: it was one hundred pounds.

Glibly deſired he would permit us to conſult five minutes among ourſelves. He withdrew; and the fluent agent re⯑marked [214] [...] [215] [...] [216] the ſum was a trifle: but, trifling as it was, he had no doubt but feelings of delicacy and honor would dictate that it ought to be jointly paid, by the three parties principally concerned.

He had urged a motive which I knew not how to reſiſt, and I gave my aſſent. By this manoeuvre he gained the point which he intended. He implicated me, as paying to ſuppreſs a pamphlet which, according to his interpretation, I at pre⯑ſent allowed to be defamatory, and unjuſt.

The money however was paid, and the copies of the pamphlet were delivered: and, being determined if poſſible to avoid ſuch another accident, thoſe that I had cauſed to be printed were diſlodged from their garret; both editions, a ſingle copy of each excepted, were taken into the fields by night, and burned; and thus expired a production which had aided to drain my pocket, waſte my time, and inflame my paſſions.