CHAP. I. THE PROPRIETOR'S PREFACE.

I AM ſitting down to write a book for the uſe of all thoſe projectors who build towns upon poetical principles. No man is better quali⯑fied, as far as experience goes, to ſet this matter in a properer light than myſelf, becauſe I have waſted more brick, mortar, and money, than any other individual in Europe. Let him who hath ſeen, judge; and let him [2]point out proprieties to others who hath bitterly felt his own folly. It is on this principle that I ſhall circum⯑ſtantially relate certain pleaſantries which coſt me many years of my time, and many thouſand pounds of my money.

Not that this work will be gene⯑rally uſeful; for, luckily, more of my readers erect houſes for themſelves than for others; and there is no dan⯑ger of its ever becoming a faſhion to ruin oneſelf by a good intention. Be⯑nevolence is in theſe days a tolerable oeconomiſt—as prudent a lady as could be well deſired in a family—and we have nothing to fear from the in⯑fluence of exceſſive virtues. The na⯑tion will never be deſtroyed that way.

[3]Praiſe, therefore, to the diſcreet qualities of the age, my warning will be only for a few, and thoſe chiefly a ſet of ſimpletons who work up their hearts to a warmth that mounts into the brain, and brings on the convul⯑ſions of ſympathy. Such hath been my diſorder.

It is to you, ye gentle beings, whoſe boſoms are fraught with foreign woes; whoſe weeping eyes and milky tem⯑pers render you the ſlaves rather than the friends of virtue: to you I addreſs the ſentiments and the adventures of a man who was arrogant enough to ſuppoſe he could make human crea⯑tures live FOR rather than UPON one another.

Yes, I am the man who hath at⯑tempted this. The ſucceſs or miſcar⯑riage [4]of that attempt muſt be your leſſon. As to the reſt of the world, I deſire heartily it may have its laugh.

I ſhall have no objection to ſuch ri⯑dicule. The labourer is worthy of his hire.

CHAP. II. A GOOD-NATURED PAGE OR TWO, WHICH MAY PERHAPS MEND THE READER'S TEMPER.

ABOUT ſix years ago I had re⯑tired into one of the moſt ro⯑mantick parts of Cumberland, and was one day ſo tenderly inclined— men have their fits of benevolence— that every thing within contact was the better for me. It happened to be a day too, wherein many opportuni⯑ties of being gracious preſented them⯑ſelves. Deſtiny ſeemed to take ad⯑vantage of it by a care to ſupply me with objects. It is worth your while to mark how my feelings were exerciſed. The old cat brought into the world nine young; and I ſaw [6]eight of them baſketted for death. Savage, cried I, to the ſervant, carry back the poor things to their mother! and inſtead of ſtraw let them be wrapped up in cotton. Scarce was this reprieve given to the offspring of one party, before that of another roſe to view. I was one of his majeſty's juſtices, and, it ſeems, the peace, which it was my office to guard, had been broken by a wench who had been ſo improvident to follow the impulſes of nature before they were ſanctified by law. Wretch, (ſaid the conſtable who was dragging her before me) how dare you bring your burthens on this pariſh? Wretch, (ſaid I to the con⯑ſtable) what is that to thee? So I gently chid the mother, and kiſſed the child, for ſhe had concealed her⯑ſelf [7]till that time, and was taken in the wicked act of giving it ſuck. This fired the feelings of the conſtable and ſoftened mine. Let a chamber and a cradle be provided for this child, and give ſomething comfortable to the mo⯑ther, and pray carry ſome new milk to the cat with nine kittens: Shall I ſave a cat, and have no charity for a fellow-creature? Theſe ſtrokes ſo ſmoothed me, and prepared for future events, that I was almoſt afraid to breathe out my joy, leſt with that breath I ſhould deſtroy the animalcula which naturaliſts ſay are thereby murthered. I ſet my foot on the ground with cau⯑tion, leſt I ſhould cruſh ſome honeſt inſect that might be as well diſpoſed as myſelf. My very legs ached when I perceived I was within an hair's [8]breadth of extirminating an ant who was laden with food, which I could not but fancy was deſigned to a ſick friend in the neighbouring hillock. As I purſued my walk along my gar⯑den, wiſhing the univerſe a thouſand good lucks, I caſt my eye aſlant a quick-ſet, and ſaw a Linnet extending the maternal wing over her neſt. Look⯑ing behind me, I beheld the gardener whetting his ſheers. Hark ye friend, ſaid I, in that hedge there is a family which I take upon me to protect, and therefore ſo far from your clipping off a twig—But, ſir, it ſpoils the look of the whole garden, interrupted the gardener. I was ſo ſhocked at the fel⯑low's inhumanity, that my hand had, inſenſibly, got into my pocket to feel for the price of his diſcharge. Not [9]chooſing to be whimſical, I thought it beſt to go another way to work. I put half a crown into his hand, and told him I preferred the luxuriant branches of the natural hedge to the ſmuggeſt alteration he and his ſheers could poſſibly make. This did not quite ſatisfy him. The man had got a habit of ſpoiling Nature, and loved lopping away a beauty in his ſoul. My Linnet ſeemed to ſuſpect him. She had ſhifted about in her neſt ſo as to command his whole perſon. I trembled for her. How is thy wife to-day, John? ſaid I. As well as can be ex⯑pected, ſir, replied he, for a woman who looks to be brought to bed every hour; ſhe has the head-ach too, and I am obliged to take off my ſhoes to go into her chamber. John, ſaid I, you [10]are a very honeſt fellow—give me your hand—let us walk and ſpeak ſoftly: there is a worthy female in your wife's ſituation, now in that hedge.

Is there, ſir?—anſwered the gar⯑dener in a whiſper, and collecting into his face all the lines of caution—huſh —huſh—huſh—

He beckoned me exactly as he would have done had I raſhly opened the door of his wife's chamber. The ſenſation was brought home.

There is no call for ſheers at pre⯑ſent, ſir, ſaid he, and the leſs we walk that way the better—huſh—huſh— huſh.—

He now repeated his ſignal to keep ſilence, and went off on tip-toe till he gained the greenſward.

[11]Thus was my humour ſtill more ſweetened; I was ſo happy that I looked up to the ſun, which ſhone on me, with emulation; with rivalry.

A little rhapſody eſcaped me—and, were it poſſible, my beam ſhould be like thine. There is not a ſingle ob⯑ject which ſome ray or other of my benevolence ſhould not animate.

Taking my eyes from the heavens, and caſting them to earth, I ſaw a cluſter of Pinks drooping for want of a ſupport. Warmed as I then was, 'tis inconceivable with how much pleaſure I placed them about a ſtick and tied them gently round it. As they ſtood erect in their new attitude there came from them an odour that ſeemed to thank me. It may be the [12]fragrance of gratitude! Imagination choſe to think it ſuch. What amiable deception!

But I had juſt turned from the flowers when an inſect which ſettled upon my left cheek ſtung me ſo ſen⯑ſibly that I raiſed up my arm, and ſpread my hand to flap it into annihi⯑lation. Bodily pain is a trying point. I took out a pocket glaſs (which I happened to have about me) and viewed my enemy. The motion had alarmed him, and his tongue was taken out of my cheek. There are ſtrange traits in my character. I re⯑preſented him as having juſt riſen from banquetting to his heart's content. The orifice he had made was not big⯑ger than a ſmall pin's head. The ap⯑pearance [13]was at worſt that of a pim⯑ple—the pain was gone. It is but the harveſt bump of an happy inſect, ſaid I.—It was too fine a day methought to baniſh any thing animate from the light, and I was in too good a temper to be vindictive.—

Get thee gone, fool, ſaid I—ſhake⯑ing my head. Much good may it do thee. It buzzed thanks, and flew away.

At this criſis my daughter came running to tell me her Canary had re⯑covered, and ſhe had juſt ſaved her brood of Chicks from the Kite.

Better and better ſtill, Matilda, ſaid I, let us go into the houſe. The heart was ſtirred.

CHAP. III. OF THE LATE WM. SHENSTONE, ESQ.

TO exerciſe the ſoul in benevolent trifles is a good way to prepare it for matters of more conſequence. After theſe tranſactions, I and my daughter Matilda were ſittting at the door of an airy hall that commanded one of the fineſt lawns in my garden. What an evening! ſaid Matilda; is there any thing in nature, papa, ſo fine as a ſetting ſun! Yes, ſaid I in an extacy, ſtarting at the ſame time from my ſeat, a riſing one. Matilda agreed to the remark, but ſeemed ſur⯑priſed at the emotion. She did not know there was more "meant than met the ear." While ideas were ope⯑rating [15]into fit language there was a profound ſilence: and during this in⯑terval on our parts, the birds began to carol forth their evening ſongs, and all the notes of a ſummer ſun-ſet⯑ting-time poured upon the ear. In this voluptuous ſenſation we remained, till Matilda ran to the library and brought a book, telling me, that read⯑ing was the only thing wanting to per⯑fect our felicity. Then read, my dear, ſaid I: read.

I have brought one of thoſe books, papa, (continued Matilda) which was written by your friend Mr. Shenſtone. Look ye, it is the ſecond volume.

You could not have laid your fair hand on any thing ſo apropos. Shen⯑ſtone is, of all other moderns, the [16]author to finiſh a fine evening after having paſſed the former part of the day in gentle deeds.

Where then ſhall I read?

You cannot open him amiſs.

Ah! generous enthuſiaſm, how wert thou befriended in this moment! The firſt ſentiment which Matilda recited was the following. The ſoul of Shen⯑ſtone ſhone through every ſyllable.

What a thought! ſaid I; I could have found it in my heart to have [17]ſallied out in ſearch of new and va⯑luable acquaintance! The kind nerves began to thrill.

The next ſentiment which my daughter pitched upon carried the matter ſtill farther.

The idea of all the large property I poſſeſſed came acroſs me, and I could not help ſaying—what Miriads then could I bleſs! The warmth of the blood increaſed.

The third paſſage coſt me forty thouſand pounds.

At the cloſe of this ſentence which, by the bye, did not finiſh the paſſage, [19]Matilda kiſſed the printed page and ſaid a thouſand civil things of the au⯑thor. It was impoſſible to go any further. My whole ſoul was at work. Doſt thou not begin to ſmile reader?

Ah! Matilda, had I permitted thee to read the other period, thou mighteſt have been at leaſt forty thouſand pounds richer.

We ſhall cloſe Mr. Shenſtone's book and this chapter together. It ſhows a good deal.

CHAP. IV. WHICH PROVES THE AUTHOR'S DAUGH⯑TER TO BE A STRANGE GIRL.

THE gentle Matilda took me by the arm, and we had another turn in the garden. The laſt linger⯑ing efforts of light were glimmering. It was the ſtill hour, when benevolent ſchemes are beſt projected. Sitting down on a painted bench, we entered into converſation. Daughter, ſaid I, were it not for thee, I feel myſelf this moment full of a plan that I ſhould certainly put in practiſe. The plans, which my papa forms, muſt be all generous, and I am, therefore, con⯑cerned to hear that I ſtand in the way [21]betwixt him and a generous action. Matilda, you are naturally intitled to my fortune. It is a bachelor only who can be rich enough to be whim⯑ſical. There is a powerful check on a father. He is accountable to his child for every guinea; ſo that though I am full (as I ſaid before) of a ſcheme which might perhaps build up the happineſs of many families, I cannot perſuade myſelf to do it on the ruins of thy inheritance. No, I would rather ſeem juſt than ro⯑mantick.

Pray, ſir, how rich may you be?

I have ten thouſand a-year and ſome ready money, Matilda.

Had I that ſum, I ſhould lay out nine of them, annually, in the cauſe [22]of various humanity, and live like a queen upon my tenths.

Indeed!

And does my papa ſuppoſe I could be guilty of employing more than a thouſand pounds a-year upon myſelf? (I told thee, reader, ſhe was a ſtrange girl.)

Oh! there are many who employ that ſum on their individual ſelves in a month, my dear.

Perhaps ſo: but it is a ſcience too difficult for your Matilda; ſo pray purſue your project, ſir.

Will it not clip the wing of your future liberality ſhould mine be now exerted to the uſage of the greateſt part of my fortune? Conſider Ma⯑tilda.

[23]Can a great example—can learning me how to fly to the nobleſt heights clip the wings of liberality? No, ſir, it will rather expand them; the ſooner generous actions are done the better; and the ſooner you learn me the art of doing them in the moſt effectual manner, the more reaſon ſhall I have to thank you. Pray, papa, do your duty by me.

How much, Matilda, would you give to ſee a large groupe of your fellow-creatures perfectly indepen⯑dent? To have all their tears dried up, and to make them uninterruptedly happy? Suppoſe, I ſay, ſuch a point reſted with you, at what rate would you purchaſe it? Be ingenuous.

Let me ſee—you have, you ſay ten thouſand pounds a-year: why [24]then I would give preciſely nine thou⯑ſand five hundred; and if one very hard place yet remained which another hundred could ſmooth, I would not ſtand out for that too. The reſt I would keep in my own hands, be⯑cauſe I have a right to independence as much as another. (Didſt ever hear ſuch a Simpleton, reader!)

And this you would actually and chearfully do upon your honour?

Chearfully and actually upon my honour.

Then my dear let us go into the houſe, and ſee what ſteps are neceſ⯑ſary to realize the benevolent project of friend SHENSTONE.

What a delicious idea, ſaid Ma⯑tilda, with tears in her eyes: bleſſed [25]be the memory of the charming poet for ſuggeſting the thought, and bleſſed the ſpirit of my father which carries it into execution.

We talked over the matter for two hours, and then parted for the night. To which fool, reader, doſt thou give preference; the father, or the child?

CHAP. V. AN ACCOUNT OF THE PROPRIETOR'S STEWARD.

REPOSE was baniſhed from the pillow. She was chaſed away as an unwelcome gueſt. Fancy and all her fairy train were admitted in her ſtead. I could not help anticipating my joys; and upon meeting Matilda at breakfaſt, I found we had paſſed the night in the ſame way. It was preſently reſolved to ſeek out a con⯑venient ſpot upon which my village was to be built. This, Matilda ſaid, muſt be ſuch a retreat as naturally gave ſcope for all the flouriſhes of art and nature. I enjoyed the gravity [27]with which ſhe adviſed me, in my choice of ground, to take care it commanded verdant walks, and wind⯑ing vallies, hills regularly climbing one beyond another, with plenty of ſhade for love and for poetry, foreſts of the thickeſt gloom for philoſophers, and water for caſcades and for conve⯑nience. You cannot, papa, ſaid ſhe, be too cautious in this particular, for if your village is not well ſituated, and highly embelliſhed, it will be im⯑poſſible to make any thing of it.

But although one might allow this embroidery to the gaiety of a girl like Matilda, I did not think it decent ſo to taſſel and fringe my own ideas; being indeed more ſolicitous about finding a wholeſome ſpot, than one merely poetical and pictureſque.

[28]Yet notwithſtanding my ardour, I ſoon perceived there would be more heads than one neceſſary to be ſum⯑moned. The labour of my ſcheme mul⯑tiplied as I thought on it; and the more I weighed it, the more caution and con⯑ſultation became neceſſary. What would I not have given for the aſſiſtance of half a dozen heads as well turned to the airy mechanicks of building caſtles as myſelf. But I was too well read in the modern hiſtory of the heart to ſuppoſe my plan would meet general approbation. How did I wiſh that friend Shenſtone himſelf was yet alive, that I might repair to Hales-Owen, and turn his paradiſe of the Leaſowes into a village garden. How con⯑formable, ſaid I, would this be to the philanthropic turn of his mind! [29]What a pleaſing compliment to raiſe up a neighbourhood in the way he himſelf chalked out!

Meditating on theſe points, it was long before I could ſelect, from the circle of my friends, any perſons whom I conceived proper to ſpeak to on the ſubject. Matilda had all the favourable diſpoſitions in the world to expend money upon plauſible pro⯑jects; but her imagination was too florid, and her years too tender, to aſ⯑ſiſt me in the actual execution.

It was at the time that I was thus undetermined whom to chooſe for a confident, that a man who had been twenty eight years the family ſteward, and whoſe locks were grown ſilver in honeſt ſervitude, made his appearance [30]before me. He was an arch, expe⯑rienced fellow, poſſeſſed much of that which receives half its merit from a quaint manner and delivery, and had ſo competent a ſkill in general ſub⯑jects, that he obtained in my pariſh the nick-name of The Oracle.

Some of his qualities would, I own, have deterred me from diſcloſing the circumſtance to him, had not others encouraged me. Theſe encourage⯑ments were principally the goodneſs of his heart, and the queerneſs of his humour; the firſt of which induced him to a thouſand worthy actions, and the ſecond rendered him a moſt companionable creature. He was ſtarch, ſtay'd, generous, waggiſh, ori⯑ginal, and odd.

[31]But the buſineſs which he now came about was favourable to that greater one which rolled in my mind. He came to inform me, that as the warm weather was now ſet in, my ſheep might be SAFELY waſhed and ſheered. There is no danger now, ſir, ſaid he, of the poor fools catch⯑ing cold; for, in troth, it always gives me the ſtomach-ach whenever I ſee them ducked head over heels, and then ſent, without their warm coats, to ſhake and ſhiver in the ſhade. But now, ſir, now the cloſer you clip, the cooler. Whet the ſheers, ſir; whet the ſheers.

This looked to me like the exact moment of communication, and I bid Mr. Samuel Sarcaſm ſhut the door and come nearer. I took his wriſt.

[32]Honeſt Samuel, ſaid I, you have been very long an ornament to my family, and I hope you and your's will continue in it to the lateſt poſte⯑rity. You muſt know I have preſent occaſion for your aſſiſtance. I have thoughts of improving my eſtate, particularly that part which lieth in Wales.

If, indeed, you could bring that to bear, ſir, ſaid Samuel, you would do ſomething; for there is about ten acres of heath on the left ſide of your plantations and nurſeries that diſguſt me horridly: that part of the earth ſeems to be lazy, ſir, and anſwereth not the ends of its creation; and ten acres of waſte is atrocious; quite atrocious.

[33]Very true: what is to be done, Samuel?

Why, ſir, as it is gone too far for the plough, and, I believe, would not grow much grain, I do not know but it might anſwer well enough for ſome other purpoſe. Your tenant, Turnland, who occupies the Leas beyond it, tells me, there are ſuch a ſcarcity of houſes in that part of Wales, that a man of property might venture to build a little.

To build, Samuel?—Pray go on— your diſcourſe charms me.

I am moreover inſtructed, ſir, that many huts thereabouts are dropping into decay, and that the Welch land⯑lords are, in general, too poor to re-build. Suppoſe, therefore, that you [34]were to run up a few neat cottages and ſmall farm-houſes in this very ſpot that I ſpeak of; depend on it they would lett well, and thus we might make the ground grateful to the proprietor perforce.

Very true, upon my ſoul, Samuel, cried I in great rapture, and we will call it SHENSTONE-GREEN.

Call it what you will, ſir, replied Samuel, but were I you, I would inſiſt on making every foot of land that I had in the world do its duty. To let ground lie idle, becauſe it is naturally indolent, is, as I take it, criminal, ſir. No man ſhould preſume to ſay a thing is bar⯑ren till he ſees it is impoſſible to make it bring forth.

[35]A noble argument, Samuel, and I can improve it. Fetch Shenſtone, Matilda: Shenſtone, Volume the ſecond.

While Matilda was gone into the library, the good ſteward ſat himſelf coolly down, and began his calcula⯑tion. But ſcarce had he demonſtrated twice eight to be ſixteen, before Ma⯑tilda came ſkipping in with Shen⯑ſtone.

Read, man (ſaid I to Samuel, giving him the book, and pointing to the paſſage). No ſooner had he read it, than he laid down the book upon a table, and ſaid with a fignificant ſmile—it is fine talking.

Well, Samuel, what do you think of it?

I ſaid, ſir, it is fine talking.

[36]But ſuppoſe one was to act in that manner? Would it not be pleaſing? Would it not be carrying the hu⯑man almoſt into the divine nature?

It would indeed, ſir; it would be doing as one ſhould never be done by; and ſo far it would be exceeding the commands of holy writ, which only ordereth us to do unto others as we wiſh they would do unto us; and to wiſh any man to throw away his money and time in that manner would be atrocious; quite atrocious.

Samuel, Samuel, I am reſolved upon my ſcheme, and ſo do not at⯑tempt to ſneer me out of it. I will act according to that advice you have juſt read, and I will have a town of my own for purpoſes therein men⯑tioned, [37]without delay. A town I will build, and the name of it ſhall be SHENSTONE-GREEN.

Then, ſir, it would be atrocious in me to gainſay it; ſo if you will pleaſe to intruſt the book to me, I will calculate how much you can do with your income in conformity to the gentleman's fancy. But, under favour, ſir, who might be the pro⯑jector of this romance?

I now ſhowed Samuel the title⯑page, which ſtands thus: ‘The Works, in Proſe and Verſe, of WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Eſq. with Decorations.’

Decorations indeed, ſaid Samuel, putting the book into his pocket; [38]thy head was well decorated, Mr. Poet, I warrant it.—Then turning to me—I marvel, ſir, this paſſage ſhould be in proſe, for I will be ſo bold to ſay it has all the properties of poetry, and might very well figure in a fairy tale; but, ſir, it is your affair and not mine, and it would be therefore atrocious for me to ſay more.

To-morrow, ſir, added he, I will tell you within an hundred of bricks what may be done.

In ſo doing, Samuel, you will oblige me, and in the mean time aſſure yourſelf that, with the aſ⯑ſiſtance of a deputy, thou ſhalt be ſteward of Shenſtone-Green.

It ſufficeth, replied Samuel, and ſo went away.

CHAP. VI. THE PROJECT ADVANCES.
IN THIS SHORT CHAPTER THE PROPRI⯑ETOR CARRIES THE READER FROM ENGLAND TO WALES.

PERFECTLY ſoothed and ſatiſ⯑fied with myſelf and with my project, I coloured the new Arcadia, which I was about to raiſe around me, in the moſt attracting manner. The golden age, ſaid I, ſhall pre⯑ſently be realized. I could almoſt have ſhed tears of joy at finding myſelf able to carry on my ſcheme as it ſeemed to deſerve, namely, upon the broadeſt ſcale of general benevolence.

[40]In the triumph of theſe proſpects, the ſteward again advanced with the paper of calculation in his hand. The generous enthuſiaſm had, by this time, got ſo cloſe to my heart, that I could ſcarce bear his method of meaſuring every thing that was to be done in the matter by the rule of mathematical certainty. Friend, Samuel, (ſaid I to him, as he deli⯑berately advanced towards me) we muſt not be over exact in this affair. We muſt, as it were, indulge our tempers in a ſort of poetical li⯑cence—a few thouſand pounds, one way or other, ſhould make no dif⯑ference in the great cauſe of com⯑municating joy. What though I ſhall attempt what was never at⯑tempted before? This will rather [41]urge me to go on than to deſiſt. If therefore you ſtand too ſtrictly upon the minutiae, it will diſtreſs and not ſerve me; for I have a few odd thou⯑ſands at my banker's which may ſerve to make up deficiencies, in caſe of an exigence.

Ah! would to God, ſaid Matilda, the village were ſet fairly about! Shenſtone-Green! What a ſweet name!

The account ſtands thus, ſaid the ſteward with infinite phlegm, offer⯑ing a paper: ‘SAMUEL SARCASM'S Calculation for the building, peopling, and repairing a village on a New Conſtruction—in order TO GIVE AWAY.’

[42]The ſordid title to his account ran ſo little to my mind, that I threw down the paper, and reſolved to read no further. The very idea of ſuch oeconomy ſhocked.

What ſaid I, unfeeling Samuel, would you think of your maſter, if he was to laviſh his whole fortune in the vices of ages.

I ſhould think, ſir, that he was a very bad man.

But, ſince he reſolves to improve it in the mannet inſinuated, what opinion doſt thou form of him in that caſe?

That he is better, ſir, than it is neceſſary.

[43]Pſhaw, ſaid Matilda, I have no patience with ſuch old follows. Their feelings are abſorbed in the rules of multiplication. In the name of Shen⯑ſtone ſet all hands to work, papa, and follow the dictates of your own heart in ſpite of all the ſtewards in Chriſt⯑endom. I ſhould die if you were not to finiſh Shenſtone-Green.

Enough ſaid, replied the ſteward; I ſee you have made up your mind, ſir, and I ſhall only ſay further, that the job ſhall oe done as cheap as poſſible. I accept the ſtewardſhip becauſe I think I can ſave at leaſt enough out of the mere brick and mortar buſineſs, (for maſonry is atro⯑cious) to ſet up half a dozen of your traders. It is ſinful, ſir, to waſte the tenth part of a tile.

[44]Spoke like a ſaint, Samuel, ſaid I; then no more talking, but to work. We will ſet out for Wales to-morrow; and, when we are arrived there, the affair ſhall be finiſhed out of hand.

The ſooner, ſir, it is finiſhed, ſaid Samuel Sarcaſm, the better for you.

Then order the neceſſary prepara⯑tions without delay, anſwered I, ſpeaking quick.

They ſhall be ordered, ſaid Samuel, ſpeaking ſlow.

CHAP. VII. THE PROPRIETOR BUYS A BOOK.

THE ſoul and all its affections were in ſo glowing, and, if I may ſo ſay, ſo glorious a heat during theſe preparatory circumſtances, that there was no time to feel the force of buts, ifs, whys, wherefores, or any other ſtops, which, in a colder mo⯑ment might bar up a man's paſſage. Paſſion victoriouſly leaped over all, and diſdained to wait for the damp⯑ning effects of a prudential or poli⯑tical maxim. It was in vain, there⯑fore, that the ſteward obliquely threw in my way any hints to detain me any longer in Cumberland. I ſat up [46]all night to arrange my affairs there to my inclination. I took care that my abſence ſhould neither be lamented by the poor nor the rich. I put every thing in a fair train of going on ſmoothly, and actually ſet out, with my ſteward, for my eſtate in Wales at dawning of the day. Matilda re⯑mained in Cumberland with her couſin, who had been many years a part of my family, and who was one of thoſe men in whom curioſity of every kind, but that which related to dog, gun, and game, was abſo⯑lutely dead. Happy vagabond! How was he to be envied!

It would have been inſupportable to toil through ſo long a journey, had not imagination alleviated the length of the road; but, with her aſſiſtance, [47]the mile-ſtones were meaſured, and paſſed, without anxiety. Though there was, in reality, nothing on the ſide of me but the arch muſcles of the ſteward, (who grinned a ſilent ſarcaſm on my ſcheme in every linea⯑ment of his face) yet I pictured all that is beautiful and bewitching. I ſtopped at a large market-town to change horſes, and was ſtruck with the title of a work which hung at a bookſeller's window. Buy that book for me, ſaid I, Samuel. He did ſo; and we proceeded in our journey.

CHAP. VIII. THE BOOK IS EXAMINED.

THIS volume was the "Deſcrip⯑tion of Millenium-Hall, and the country adjacent, together with the characters of the inhabitants, &c."— If my fancy was before heated, it was, upon the reading this per⯑formance, fairly in flames: Not that I approved all the regulations of the Millenium Society, or thought the ſyſtem of benevolence by any means ſatisfactory, but becauſe I was, juſt at that time, in the humour to catch avidly at every thing that gave an opportunity to praiſe my own project, and oppoſe the ſignificant looks of Samuel, The Oracle.

[49]But that obſtinate mortal was proof againſt all artillery, and did not ſeem a whit perſuaded by the moſt florid "Deſcription of Mille⯑nium-Hall." Had the fellow's face been cut in marble, it could not have been more pertinaciouſly fixed; and when I came to that part of the per⯑formance where the enchanting ſoci⯑ety aſſembled together in a ſpa⯑cious hall, to purſue each a favourite and elegant amuſement, he twiſted up his ruſty fibres into a kind of ludicrous contraction, (mixing, as it were, ſmiles and frowns) and ſaid, if I would give him leave, he would offer his humble opinion upon as much of the book as had been yet read. But Mr. Sa⯑muel's [50]harangue being a precious relict, it deſerves to ſtand alone in a ſeparate chapter. It is a moſt atrocious morſel indeed.

CHAP. IX. A PANEGYRIC ON WOMEN AND BOOKS.

THE Oracle began with theſe words: I commence with obſerving, ſir, that books are atrocious. They are, in general, ſo much above or below life, that either way one can expect no truth. Common-ſenſe is thought too dull, and all other ſenſe is ſo uſeleſs, that, I ſhould be glad to know, what can keep the preſſes in employment? Why, ſir, nothing but fancy, and folly, and fine ſenſe, which, I aſſert once more, is no ſenſe at all. This being my notion of books in general, you will judge [52]what it is of romances in particular. Romances, ſir, I define to be of all atro⯑cious things the moſt atrocious, be⯑cauſe they deſcribe matters that never were, and, I hope to heaven, never will be. This being the caſe, it fol⯑lows that very few books ought to be either printed or read; and of all books I ſet down that ſame Millenium-Hall as containing the greateſt ſhare of things impoſſible.

Here I frowned.

Frown as you will, ſir, it behoves me to ſay (ſince my opinion is aſked) I can prove that romance to be im⯑practicable in its firſt ſetting out. Why, ſir, the firſt principle is atrocious. Do you think that Miſs Manſell, and Miſs Morgan, Lady M. Jones, Mrs. Selvyn, Mrs. Trentham, and all the [53]other Lady Bountifuls, could live together in the ſame houſe without lovers, huſbands, or quarrels? Sir, ſir, ſir, you muſt be exceedingly atrocious in the knowledge of women not to know that this is altogether out of nature.

I bit my lips.

That may be, ſir, (replied Samuel, ſticking to his point) but I am ſure miſtakes would every day, not to ſay, every hour, happen, to ſet this Attic School, as you call it, in an uproar. I remember very well the pretty poſ⯑tures in which they are deſcribed ſit⯑ting in the book; but bring them out of that book into real life, and I would engage for an alteration. If you, ſir, knew the ſex when ſhut up [54]together under the ſame roof, you would be ſurpriſed at the impudence of a fellow who would tell you of their living in harmony for ſuch a number of years. No, no; times and ſeaſons would come about, if you were with them, when Mrs. Maynard would throw her orrery at Mrs. Selvyn, who, like a true woman, would throw her book at Mrs. Maynard, Mrs. Manſell, notwithſtanding her being the fineſt form, and albeit, had beautiful brown hair, would toſs her Madona at Mrs. Trentham's carved figure, and away, I warrant you, would go that ſame carved work to knock off the beautiful brown-haired Mrs. Manſell's Madona.

Prithee, dear ſir, if you mean that your new town ſhould laſt till the [55]bricks are cemented, do not put half a dozen ladies of ſpirit in any part of it together. He pauſed, and then went on.

They may do very well, ſir, in a romance, (like your Millenium-Hall) but to introduce them upon Shenſtone-Green would put all Wales in confu⯑ſion. No, no, we will build better than that too. Our village ſhall be of another gueſs conſtruction.—No Maynards and Manſells.

This laſt remark re-inſtated the ſaga⯑cious Mr. Samuel in perfect favour. It looked like giving a little into my project, and through that acquieſcence were my affections now to be taken.

I arrived, in due ſeaſon, at my eſtate, and received the homage of [56]my Welch tenants. It was the buſi⯑neſs of the next morning to inſpect the waſte-ground alluded to, and we found it the very beſt ſpot in the world for Shenſtone-Green.

Of this you will the better judge when you read the letter I ſent my daughter.

It is almoſt incredible to conceive how ſoon Samuel collected hands. The ſons of the trowel poured in on [58]every ſide from every quarter; and, though Wales is not very favourable to materials for village-building, I ſoon ſaw that money would enable me to make a city inſtead of a country town.

CHAP. X. THE EFFUSIONS OF ENTHUSIASM.

I Remember nothing ever pleaſed me ſo thoroughly as the figure, phyſiognomy, and behaviour of the perſon who came down (in his own carriage) to me in the capacity of ſchemer. There was a great deal of architecture in all his features. He looked too, as if he could build up and pull down exactly in a manner the moſt pleaſing to his employers. Certainly never was proprietor better ſuited with a projector.

He no ſooner examined the ground than he proteſted it was capable of every thing. For the ſake of ſociety [60]he adviſed the form of the village to be circular, and ſo, making a ring, he gave directions to fix the line for twenty-five boxes equidiſtant, leaving ſpace for garden before and behind. The traders cottages were to lie at ſome little diſtance in a ſeparate quar⯑ter. In the centre was to be a pe⯑deſtal and ſtatue erected to the me⯑mory of Shenſtone; there was to be a pariſh church; and the houſes were to be accurately alike. In ſhort, there was to be every thing that could charm the ſight or the ſenſes on Shen⯑ſtone-Green.

Such was the ſchemer's diſpatch, that he was ready for the reſt of the artificers in a trice, and all hands went merrily to work. No language [61]can expreſs the trembling joy with which I laid myſelf the firſt ſtone and brick for the building of Shenſtone-Green. In the very inſtant it was doing, I conſidered myſelf as about to raiſe a Temple to Generoſity. The quantity of beef and beer given away on this occaſion might have deluged the honeſty of five hundred freehold⯑ers at an Engliſh election. The arti⯑ficers told me that unleſs the ground was well watered, or, to ſpeak more properly, well beered, no future crops of felicity were to be expected. To prevent, therefore, all misfortunes of this nature, carpenters, maſons, and even the ſchemer himſelf got ſo tho⯑roughly intoxicated for the future honour and proſperity of Shenſtone-Green, that until three days after the [62]debauch, not a finger could wag in the way of its profeſſion.

In due time, however, the hour of ſobriety returned, and I had the pleaſure to ſee every body in earneſt. Help me to deſcribe the bliſs, ye children of Hope and Imagination— ye who have built your caſtles in the clouds—help to ſay, how I rejoiced at the proſpect of ſo much generous labour! More than fifty times a-day did I walk round and round the ſpace allotted for the village, ſtopping a-while at every ten yards to indulge the effuſions of my enthuſiaſm. Here, perhaps, ſaid I, in this ſpot, may, by and by, reſide one of my beſt friends, now pining in poverty. On this bar⯑ren heath, which hath hitherto re⯑ſounded [63]only with the noiſe of goats, ſhall echo the happy conver⯑ſation of human beings. Flowers ſhall uſurp the place now occupied by brambles, and even religion ſhall move, with ſainted ſteps, over MY GREEN.

Though it was difficult to paſs over the bricks, the lime, and the mortar, I congratulated myſelf very heartily on ſuch little embarraſſments. This confuſion, ſaid I, touching my ſtew⯑ard on the ſhoulder—this confuſion, Samuel, ariſes not from the deſola⯑tion of conqueſt. The heaps of rub⯑biſh which impede our paſſage here, are not created by the ruins of ſome fair city, which hath fallen the victim of a military fury, who magnifies [64]murther into patriotiſm.—No, Mr. Steward; every brick that you now behold ſhall be preſently converted to the purpoſes of benevolence. Thoſe waggons are laden with the materials of future happineſs. Love and friendſhip ſhall flouriſh in the little temples that are raiſed from thence; and I look therefore with a kind of veneration on the very horſes that are thus engaged in the ſervice of Shenſtone-Green. Though a little frenzy, reader, might then touch me, was I not to be envied?

The horſes, ſir, ſaid Samuel, are very much obliged to you; ſo, if you pleaſe, we will withdraw to the manſion-houſe, where I have ſome⯑thing to ſhow your Honour.

[65]With all my heart, honeſt Sa⯑muel, ſaid I; with all my heart. A child might have led me at diſ⯑cretion.

CHAP. XI. A PROJECT DESTROYED BY A LAUGH.

THE manſion-houſe to which we were then retiring, ſtood about a mile to the right of the fu⯑ture Shenſtone-Green. It was there that I lodged my workmen, (the houſe being extremely commodious) till their labours ſhould be completed; and we had no ſooner got within ſight of the building, than Samuel ſtopped ſhort to lean on his ſtick, and beg I would look about me.

Sir, ſaid he, a thought ſtrikes me. Behold the venerable ſeat of your forefathers, none of whom ever had any notion of dipping themſelves up [67]to the very neck in mortar as you are about to do. Your anceſtors, ſir, lived in this houſe, which is almoſt a town of itſelf. Now, ſir, as you do not chooſe to live like your anceſtors, but are reſolved, atrociouſly reſolved, to introduce things that were never before heard of, I preſume to hope you will have no objection to go the cheapeſt way to work.

Certainly, Mr. Sarcaſm, ſaid I.

That being the caſe, ſir, replied Samuel, you have now an opportu⯑nity to ſave a world of money.

Here he held out his ſtick.

That building is ſurely large enough ſir, to fill with families that do not properly belong to you. There is [68]ſufficient room within that edifice to make a pretty expenſive tryal of your project.

Well, and what then, Mr. Samuel Sarcaſm? ſaid I. I could freely have taken his ſtick to thraſh him.

Why then, Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, replied he, I would humbly adviſe that you turn out all the men, horſes, bricks, and other materials of bene⯑volence from Shenſtone-Green, and ſuf⯑fer kine to browſe the thiſtle and to nip the graſs, till you ſee whether it anſwers to proceed. It will be time enough to enlarge, ſir, when this goodly manſion is filled to your mind.

I was on the edge of a reply to this propoſal, when the projector [69]came running to acquaint me of a new improvement.—I immediately told him of Samuel's plan, and did not fail to mix it up with a decent degree of ridicule.

The projector burſt into ſuch an immoderate degree of laughter, that I could not help joining him, and Samuel coughed again with color. There was more wiſdom and good⯑neſs in Samuel's cough than the pro⯑jector's laughter.

CHAP. XII. CONTAINING A CURIOUS ADVERTISE⯑MENT.

BUT this, ſir, ſaid the ſteward re⯑covering himſelf, this is not the buſineſs I was going to talk of. Pleaſe to come with me into the manſion-houſe, and I will ſhow you I have not been idle in puſhing on the pro⯑ject of Shenſtone-Green. So far con⯑trarywiſe, that I have been employ⯑ing myſelf as ſerviceably as Mr. Pro⯑jector himſelf; though it muſt be owned I am not ſo merry.

This put me again into good humour. A man of my temper, and engaged in my way, is always pleaſed, [71]if you do but flatter the parts which moſt deſerve to be cenſured. I walked into the houſe with the very perſon who had before offended me, arm in arm.

Pity the infirmity of a caſtle-builder, reader, and proceed.

My friend Samuel put a paper into my hand, and deſired my opi⯑nion. In the full aſſurance of re⯑ceiving pleaſure, I opened it; and read what follows:

This was ſuch a reflexion on the more noble views of my ſoul, that I conſidered the ſteward too abject at that time for my reſentment; and, therefore, collecting together all the coolneſs of philoſophy, even in the midſt of a poetical purſuit, I told him I thought his advertiſements were juſt what I expected from his elegant pen, and that the ſooner he com⯑mitted them to the preſs, the better. I believe Samuel was piqued at my taking his ſarcaſm ſo tranquilly, for he turned upon his heel with an abruptneſs that at once denoted anger [75]and diſappointment. My fortitude on this occaſion, however, had ſo good an effect, that Mr. Samuel dropped his importunities from that moment, for at leaſt two days.

CHAP. XIII. THE PROPRIETORS WEAKNESS AND SINGULARITY.

IN the mean time the builders went briſkly on, and in a few months, a very goodly ſhow of houſes began to promiſe the future completion of my hopes. No ſooner did the heath begin to aſſume the look of a town, than I ſurveyed it with ſelf-congra⯑tulation. As I never ſuffered my imagination to be cooled, either by the idea of expence or by the ſar⯑caſtic ſtrokes of my ſteward, it kindled every day into more ardour, and, I very well remember, my heart was ſo full when I ſaw the project nearly concluded, that I retired into [77]a ſhady walk, which ſome adjacent poplars afforded me, and burſt into tears.

Ah! what a voluptuous moment! Ah! what tears were theſe! repre⯑ſent to yourſelf, reader, a man whoſe fancy was embelliſhed with the moſt exalted and amiable views.

Well, ſaid I, it is now time to look about me. I have made a vil⯑lage. How pleaſing the axe, the chiſſel, and mallet, echo one another! there is ſomething generous in the ſound. Scarce had this idea paſſed, before I beheld one of the workmen dragging along a ſledge with free⯑ſtone and marble, ready poliſhed, for the inferior parts of ſome of my buildings. The big drops of labour [78]courſed down his forehead, and at every dozen yards he ſtopped a little to breathe and to gather ſtrength. As the next pauſe he made was with⯑in a few paces of me, I ſaw plainly his ſituation. The veins of his face and neck ſeemed to diſtend with the force of pulling—the muſcles of an athletic man looked to be burſting. It is amazing to think what I felt!— Poor fellow, ſaid I advancing, thou art a good ſoul I am ſure; at the ſame time my heart urged me to carry my handkerchief to his forehead, and to wipe away the ſweat.

As to that, maſter, ſaid the la⯑bourer, it don't ſignify; I always [79]ſweats; but if your Honour would give us a drop of the dear creature, I ſhould like it much better than a wipe of the face with a white hanker⯑chief. Odds bobs, ſir, we have a heavy batch of buſineſs at the Green yonder.

The dear creature ſhall be much at your ſervice as ſoon as I can fetch it from the manſion-houſe; but at preſent a little reſt will be not amiſs, ſo ſit down under theſe trees, and let us talk.

By chance I had, in a ſide-pocket, a half-pint flaſk of cordials, which I ſometimes carried in caſe of accidents like the preſent. Before the preced⯑ing ſpeech, therefore, was finiſhed, I recollected this circumſtance, and pro⯑duced it to view. The change in the [80]man's features at ſight of the flaſk was remarkable enough. Lord, ſir, ſaid he, licking his lips, what a good gentleman you are—don't you find it nation hot, ſir? Oh! what a plea⯑ſant ſight is one of your narrow-necked, gluck, glucking gentry, when a man is a-dry.

I gave him the bottle, which was in a moment glued to his lips; and after he had drank, he ſat upon the graſs, and the following converſation paſſed between us.

Sir, ſaid the man, (ſhaking the brick-duſt from his ſhirt) I have long wiſhed for the honour of talking with you, and I am glad, through your Honour's goodneſs, that I have got this opportunity. I am poor but honeſt.

[81]Speak freely honeſt friend, then.

Why then, ſir, about this ſame Shinſtun-Green.—Is it really a factotum that you are putting yourſelf to all this charge for other folks? The talk goes amongſt the maſons and brick⯑layers that you deſign to give away houſe, and land, and money, almoſt to any man that is poor and honeſt.

The report is true.

And won't you really think better on't, and give them the bite, ſir? Will your Honour go thorough ſtitch with this affair?

Why ſhould you doubt me?

Becaſe, ſir, I have my reaſons.

Name them.

[82]Why here have I been maſon's man and maſter maſon going on of twenty years, and worked in that time for gentle and ſimple, yet never heard of ſuch an honourable man as your Honour in my life. Look ye, ſir, our buſineſs goes on in a regular channel. A man comes to me and ſays, Maſter Hewit, or Henry, or Mr. Henry Hewit, I want a houſe built, or a wall run up, or ſome ſuch matter. Upon that I takes my bag of work-tools, and goes to the place, where I finiſhes my jobb for ſo much the piece or ſo much the day. But firſt I tries to get as much as I can for my work, and my employer tries, on his ſide, to get my work as cheap as poſſible. My bargain being once ſtruck, I muſt abide by it; and let [83]the ſun burn my guts out, not a nog⯑ging of drink extra would be given to ſave'em

Drink, friend; pray drink.

Diſcourſe, to be ſure, heats; ſo here's to your extraordinary Honour's health. Well, ſir, jobb being finiſhed, we ſeparate; my maſter pays me growlingly, and goes into the houſe I have built. Now here lies the difference: you give us all our own fair price, and pay chearfully for extra, and inſtead of going into the houſe yourſelf, you clap in a family who ſhall perhaps be found ſkulking under the hedges. Odds bobs, ſir, if a poor body ſhould but make water againſt the walls of other people that I have worked for—yes, and ſubſtan⯑tial [84]folks too—whew they would be ſent to priſon directly.

That is cruel.

Cruel, your Honour—why I tell you you are a nonſuch. I am a good judge. Look ye, ſir, I was build⯑ing up Sir James Ranter's chimney⯑piece, and a block of marble fell, and lent me ſuch a ſliver as broke my arm—there's a ſcar for you. Well— I got two ſhillings for this ſtroke from Sir James, and two and twenty damns from the maſter-bricklayer, who there⯑withal diſcharged me for being care⯑leſs. But when I think of this, ſir, my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth with revenge; it really makes me dry again. One little drop more, if you pleaſe, ſir.

With pleaſure—drink heartily.

[85]And ſo, ſir, you will act in con⯑tradiction to all the world? You will be a friend to the friendleſs?

I will.

Then am I a ſad ſcoundril to waſte my time here in talking, when I might be better employed, ſaving your Honour's remarkable preſence, and when the ſooner the work is done the better.

Saying this, the man roſe up abruptly, made his bows, and ran off with his ſledge of marble blocks as if they were ſo many feathers.

A mighty action I ſhall make of it after all, ſaid I; here is a poor fellow who labours in the cauſe, and wiſhes to finiſh the work, though his [86]own intereſt depends on its continu⯑ance.

As I reflected on this matter, I re⯑gretted that a long habit of doing no⯑thing, i. e. living like a gentleman, had made it impoſſible for me to work myſelf and pay others at the ſame time.

So then, ſaid I, all the merit I can claim upon this occaſion is making a decent uſe of a large fortune, which came to me by inheritance, without any effort on my part. From this moment I looked on the multitude of workmen, which were variouſly employed, as more ſolid benefactors than myſelf. Whether I ever had reaſon to change my opinion will be ſeen preſently. All things in their order.

CHAP. XIV. MORE WEAKNESS, AND AN EXTRA⯑ORDINARY PETITION.

THERE are ſingularities in my character, which, at different times, produced great pleaſure and pain. As I now paſſed by the files of labourers, each earneſt in his oc⯑cupation, I felt for them a genuine reſpect that led me incontinently to take off my hat, and even bow to ſeveral as I went along. This muſt have ſeemed ludicrous enough, for I perceived every man ſuſpending his work and looking at me with aſto⯑niſhment. How ſacred are the ſillieſt cuſtoms!

[88]It was not without ſome aſtoniſh⯑ment too, on my part, that I ſaw Mr. Samuel, the ſteward, appear before me the next morning with a very diſmal countenance, to tell me of a whiſper that was running amongſt the workmen not much to my advantage. 'Tis really ſuppoſed, ſir, ſaid he, that you are a little in⯑jured here—pointing to his forehead.

Mad, Samuel!

No, no, ſir, not abſolutely mad; for, in that caſe, it would not be pro⯑per you ſhould go about; only, as it were, ſhook or ſhattered a little at top.

Is it poſſible, Samuel?

Moſt veritable; and they go ſo far as to tell me you was ſeen yeſter⯑day [89]running up to a man, and to rub the duſt off his face with your handkerchief, whether he would or no; after which you made him ſit down by you, crack jokes, tell a ſtory, and ſuch fancies; then, hav⯑ing amuſed yourſelf ſufficiently, you fairly fuddled him with a quart bot⯑tle of Geneva, and ſent him reeling away. To finiſh the whole: the report goes, that you were ſeen to come in a moody manner upon the Green, and, caſting up your eyes in a ſtrange ſtaring way, took your hat off your head, and bowed about on both ſides of you, ſometimes to men, ſometimes to horſes, and ſome⯑times to mortar, as if you were crazy.

[90]Ridiculous, Samuel. Too ridicu⯑lous to be attended to.

I have, as ſteward, a duty to diſ⯑charge, ſir, which, perhaps, may convince you to the contrary. Pray read that paper, ſir.

My hand trembled all the time I read this petition, but reſolved to treat it as a jeſt, at leaſt in the pre⯑ſence of Samuel, I affected to ſmile, and demanded who might be the pen⯑man of this pleaſant thing. Little Phil. Flouriſh the carver, ſir, ſaid Samuel. He is a wit you know.

[97]That being the caſe, Samuel, ſaid I, pray take this half guinea to the wit, and tell him, from me, to put the petition into as handſome a frame as poſſible, and, do you hear, let the glazier give it the additional de⯑coration of a glaſs.

Samuel took the paper and the half guinea, and walked off in ſuch a manner as convinced me he was both chagrined and diſappointed.

CHAP. XV. INTRODUCES AN ODDITY.

IN about two hours after, an odd figure of a man, with a ruſty wig, and full-trimmed clothes, about three parts worn, and one part torn, came ſcraping his foot, and bending his body into my apartment, and ſaid he had the honour to be ad⯑mitted into the beſt families in Wales.

And will you favour me with your wriſt, good ſir, ſaid he?

Willingly—ſaid I.

Ti—i—i—hi—we are all in a hurry—hard at work, hard at work, [99]ſir. You have the pulſe of a run⯑ning-horſe after his courſe. Lack a-day! lack a-day!—how is your head?—Why the temples project, ſir—put out your tongue—white as lime—milk, milk, milk, milk.

Pray, ſir, who may I have the pleaſure to converſe with?

Edward Elixir, ſir; apothecary, ſurgeon, midwife, and phyſician, occaſional, at your ſervice, &c. &c. &c.

And what is your opinion of my caſe, Mr. Edward Elixir, apothecary, ſurgeon, &c.? And pray who told you, that your abilities were requiſite at my houſe, Mr. Edward Elixir, ſurgeon, apothecary, &c.?

[100]Mr. Philip Flouriſh, the carver, ſir, he came to me about an hour ago, as I was eradicating a tooth of Taff Toughjaw, my neighbour. Sir, ſaid he, I come to you in behalf of our patron at the manſion-houſe. We have ſome reaſons, which would be no ſecrets, were we to tell them to an apothecary.—You know Mr. Flouriſh, I ſuppoſe, ſir—We have ſome reaſons to think, he (our patron) is not quite in good health. He ſeems to us mazed. Upon this, he went away, and I gave my word and ho⯑nour to make you well without delay. But do I not ſee the toe of a naſty conſumption under your left eye. Take care conſumption; little Ed⯑ward is at hand.

[101]Here he cloſed the lids, and ex⯑amined.

Ah—ah—have I got thee? Sir, that conſumption will I lay as flat as my forceps before it gets an inch forwarder. Sir, there is not a diſ⯑order incident to man but is naturally and artificially afraid of Edward Elixir. It is a Welch proverb now-a-days, to ſay, in caſe of a dangerous diſtemper, ‘Elixir Ned Shall ſtrike thee dead.’

Pray, Mr. Elixir, ſaid I, does the poet here mean the diſtemper or the patient which is to be knocked dead?

Well now, if I could not die of laughing at the divine conceit of [102]that—if I could not, may peſtilence get the better of me. How I do love to laugh—curſe it and conſume it how I do love to laugh. I wiſh, ſir, you had time to hear my hiſtory. I tell my hiſtory to every patient. Ha! ha! ha! ha! he! he! he!

They are patients in good truth, Mr. Elixir.

I ſwear by my ſciſſars you will kill me, ſir, if you go on in that manner. Wit tickles me worſe than the point of a feather. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! he! he!—Bright, bright, bright, bright, bright.

"Immoderate laughing, ſays the proverb, is catching." I joined the apothecary very heartily, without being able to aſſign any other reaſon [103]than that of ſeeing a little comical man in happy convulſions.

When you recover, Mr. Elixir, ſaid I, you will return to my con⯑ſumption.

When I recover!—Jeſus, Jeſus, there's another blow at my poor lungs and ſides. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! When I recover! Why, ſir, your diſtemper ſeems to be a ſuper⯑abundant humour of wit. How I do love to laugh! But to return. Phyſically ſpeaking, then, how do you find yourſelf?

Phyſically anſwering, I am morally ſick of your foolery. Lookee, Mr. Elixir, my workmen, and that Flou⯑riſh you ſpeak of, have played me a prank I do not approve; and, if [104] you are made a party in it, I ſhall be very much diſpeaſed.

The Welchman's face changed in a moment, and he proteſted he was a man of no ſkill, if he knew any thing more of the matter than the carver had told him, and whoſe words he had already repeated.

Upon the credit of this, I let him into the whole ſtory, making him, at the ſame time, acquainted with all my deſigns, views, and paſ⯑ſions, in regard to Shenſtone-Green.

I had no ſooner finiſhed my diſ⯑courſe, than this unaccountable man jumped ſix or ſeven inches from his chair, ſkipped about the room, as ſkippeth a goat over the mountains; and then, ſhaking my hand, till we [105]were both red in the face, he caught up his hat, without ſaying a ſyllable, and ſet off from the houſe on the full ſtretch, running over the hills like a rabbit.

If thou goeſt by the way of Shenſtone-Green, ſaid I to myſelf, and if, peradventure, any of the work⯑men ſee thee, then will they ſwear the doctor is ten times madder than the patient.

This prophecy was really fulfil⯑led; for, in leſs than three quarters of an hour, a party of the builders, armed with the inſtruments of their trade, had caught up the miſerable apothecary, and were eſcorting him to the manſion-houſe, that, there, meaſures might be taken to ſend him home to his family in peace.

[106]I no ſooner appeared at the door, in order to enquire the cauſe of this ſingular confuſion, than the diſaſtrous ſurgeon began to ſkip, and bound and ſnap his fingers over his head, and ſing forth his Welch ditties, with more vigour than ever; but what was, at that time, more ridi⯑culous ſtill, the workmen ſeemed to ſtand aloof, as if afraid to advance.

At length, Mr. Philip Flouriſh, the carver and the wit, marched for⯑wards to the head of the troop, and in a violent voice, for he was occa⯑ſional a comedian, harangued as fol⯑lows:

Hereupon they releaſed the apo⯑thecary, of whom they demanded many pardons; and then after giving me three cheers, they went haſtily away, convinced I was in full poſ⯑ſeſſion of my ſenſes, and that they would now go to work for me like ſo many devils.

CHAP. XVI. THE PROJECT BECOMES POPULAR.

THUS was every thing accommo⯑dated, and Shenſtone-Green went on more briſkly than ever. In truth, every man appeared to do his utmoſt, and the progreſs of this united effort, became in a ſhort time ſo apparent, that my village aſſumed a regularity and ſplendour which attracted the curioſity of the adjacent counties. Sir Benjamin's new town was a po⯑pular ſubject, and the echo of his good intentions reverberated from ſhire to ſhire.

Amongſt others who had particu⯑larly contributed to this popularity, [115]was the little Welch doctor, men⯑tioned in the laſt chapter. This man was ſo ſtruck with the novelty of the project, that he took care to blazon it forth through all the families into which his loquacity or his ſkill could gain him acceſs; and a talkative creature of his character and profeſ⯑ſion, in a dull part of the world too, where a little run-about thing ſkips from mountain to mountain to pick up news, is always welcome in one ſenſe or another. By ſuch means, therefore, I was at once celebrated and delighted, for I will not attempt to conceal the ſatisfaction I received from this innocent flattery, and it ſo endeared to me, Mr. Elixir, (whom I looked upon as in a great meaſure the ſource of it) that I cultivated his [116]acquaintance, and had him with me at the manſion-houſe almoſt every evening.

Now then it was that I began to think my ſcheme in ſufficient for⯑wardneſs to give the finer and more affectionate finiſhes. The houſes be⯑ing nearly completed, I imagined it time to think about getting them oc⯑cupied; and in the mean time I gave directions for ſuch embelliſhments in point of gardening as might leave nothing undone that could add ele⯑gance to convenience. At an incre⯑dible charge I enriched a land, natu⯑rally unfruitful, till it was flowing with fragrance and breathing per⯑fume. Roſes, jeſſamines, pinks, honey⯑ſuckles, and lillies, embroidered every [117]part, and, in the ſpace of ſix months after the rubbiſh was removed, it would have been difficult to find in any part of Europe a ſpot more agreeably cultivated, or more adorned with beauties artificial and natural than Shenſtone-Green.

This then was the period to bring down firſt my daughter, and then ſuch of my friends as I thought would be moſt happy in ſuch an aſylum. Paradiſe is here regained, ſaid I.

Matilda, in conſequence of theſe reſolutions, was with me in a few days, and the emotions of her ſur⯑prize, on her firſt ſight of Shenſtone-Green, does ſo much honour to hu⯑man nature, of which ſhe is an or⯑nament, [118]and of her father, who doats upon her, that it would rob the reader of entertainment, not to give them in her own language, juſt as they were conveyed in a letter to a lady, who afterwards became, and indeed is to this hour, a penſioner.

CHAP. XVII. PETITION THE SECOND.

ON the evening in which this letter was written, and ſent by a ſervant to the poſt-town, the ſteward came once more into my room, with his ſarcaſtical face, (juſt as Matilda and I were in high chit-chat upon the charms of our project) and begged an audience.

Speak, Samuel, ſaid I, gayly. What! another petition, I ſuppoſe.

Sir, replied Samuel, my office ob⯑liges me to lay before you ſuch things as come to hand upon the ſubject of Shenſtone-Green. At preſent I bear [124]a petition, it muſt be confeſſed; but it moves upon ſo different a prin⯑ciple, and is, indeed, in ſo different a ſtyle (being altogether a panegyric on your Honour's project), that I conceive it will have a different re⯑ception from the laſt.

Mr. Samuel, ſaid I, if it is in praiſe of a project, which, I think, cannot well be blamed, I deſire to hear it; and, as I know you are not more of an oracle than an orator, pray ſit down and beſtow on it all the graces of your delivery.

Grey locks are no ſecurities againſt the force of flattery, which we ſwal⯑low upon almoſt any terms; even when the preparation is but bung⯑lingly made up. Thus, though this [125]compliment was equivocal, and equal⯑ly admitted an interpretation of praiſe and cenſure, Mr. Samuel Sarcaſm, old and arch, and white headed as he was, took it in the moſt ſoothing ſenſe, and was put into perfect good humour.

Now for it, cried Matilda.

Samuel unfolded a paper, which, as uſual, he had plaited very metho⯑dically, and, ſitting down in front, exerted himſelf in giving all poſſible emphaſis to what follows:

A very large and reſpectable body, Mr. Samuel, ſaid I (a little inter⯑rupting him.)

What can they poſſibly have to ſay, cried Matilda.

This, indeed, (ſaid I pretending to be pleaſed) is in a ſtrain of lofty eulogium that merits hearing, and a bottle of good port to whet the [127]whiſtle of the orator into the bar⯑gain.

And I will fetch it, ſaid Matilda, getting up at the ſame time, and taking a bottle and glaſſes from a corner ſideboard.

Samuel proceeded:

It was not without a mixture of anger, pleaſure, and indignation, that I could ſuffer Samuel to go through this curious catalogue. Matilda fairly gave way to her youth, and [133]laughed ſo heartily, that even the rigid muſcles of the ſteward were more than once put to trial.

But as the petition was in itſelf ſerious, I was about to ſignify my anſwer to Mr. Sarcaſm, who drank his glaſs of wine, and waited for it with inexpreſſible gravity; when, in came the apothecary with a letter, which he told me had juſt come to his hand.

It was addreſſed To Mr. Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, who built Shenſtone-Green; and it contained theſe words:

Upon my reading this epiſtle, the effects of its ſentiment operated vari⯑ouſly upon the various auditors.

Matilda, begged leave to with⯑draw. She had, it ſeems, a ſudden pain of the head.

Samuel coughed, and ſaid, he wiſhed he had not changed his new [137]half a crown; becauſe when a man choſe to make a preſent, it was his opinion, that half a crown was infi⯑nitely ſuperior, in point of grace, which I can aſſure you he much ſtudied—two ſhillings and ſixpence! it looked, he ſaid, like ſlitting the favour into three parts. The half crown had, he thought, more dig⯑nity.

I felt a ſomething, for my part, flutter about my heart, as much as to ſay, mark down that man for Shenſtone-Green.

But, Mr. Edward Elixir—how ſhall I deſcribe properly the feelings of thee, Mr. Edward Elixir? If, reader, you recollect how heartily this man laughed in the fifteenth chapter, you will have ſome notion of the hearty [138]manner in which he wept on the pre⯑ſent occaſion. His ſorrow was as violent as his joy; and as he ſkipped about in many antick poſtures, (for no chair could keep him ſitting while he was under the influence of his feel⯑ings) he called goats and gods to witneſs that, if that man's cottage ſhould be viſited by all the plagues of Egypt, he would drive them all out gratis. Yes, ſaid he, I am a glaſs bottle if I would not bleed, bolus, and bliſter a dog which be⯑longed to that fellow for nothing; yea, though I loſt half my paying-cuſtomers in the mean time. Jeſus, how I do love to cry! how I do love to cry!

If reader, this apothecary is not now as dear to thee as he then was, [139]and ſtill is, to me, then would I ad⯑viſe thee to lay down this volume, and take up any other that goeth leſs into the tender parts of the human character.

Pleaſe to intruſt me with that ſame Henry Hewit's letter, ſir, (ſaid Sa⯑muel, the ſteward) and it ſhall be read to the workmen as your reply for diſmiſſing them and their petition.

Do ſo, Samuel, I replied, and bring Henry Hewit before me. The ſteward ſet off faſter than I ever ſaw him move before.

CHAP. XVIII. MR. ELIXIR, THE APOTHECARY, RE⯑LATES THE HEADS OF HIS STORY.

FEW evenings of any life were paſſed more agreeably than that which ſucceeded the receipt of Henry Hewit's well intended letter. The apothecary ſtaid the whole night, and enlivened the converſation by ſuch ſallies as thoſe who do not well know the immenſe variety there is in human character, can form no idea. Sir, ſaid he, I will not ſay you ſhall make a Shenſtonian of me; becauſe, though I do very well to hop over the hills, I am afraid I ſhould make a ſilly figure with a good houſe and two hundred a-year; unleſs, indeed, you [141]would give me the buſineſs of the Green in the way of my profeſſion; in which caſe, Death ſhould not often ſhow his ugly face, I warrant him; but, however, as we have half an hour to ſpare, I will let you a little into the light of my preſent ſituation.

This was extremely acceptable to us, and Mr. Elixir began: I had never a regular education, ſir, and my parents went to heaven before I commenced the practice of phyſic; otherwiſe, they might, per⯑haps, have been living upon earth ſtill—but they loſt that bleſſing for want of my not being born ſooner. I was at firſt a corn-cutter, and from thence I got the ſecret for cur⯑ing ſwelled ancles. White-ſwellings in the knee were the things which [142]next celebrated me—for away flew the tumours at the touch of my emo⯑lient. My next advance was to re⯑lieve ladies in certain circumſtances, and ſome of the fineſt perſons in Wales are of my bringing forth. After this, I formed and invented a medicine which removed all pains of the ſtomach, back, and loins; which noſtrum was, I ſoon perceived, equally good for ſoreneſs in the breaſt. In the next ſtep, I invented a lenient to take wax and cornels from the neck. Then I ſent away coughs. Then I conquered the tooth-ach; and, laſtly, I found out the invaluable art of making the hair grow. Thus, ſir, in regular proceſs and progreſs, I mounted, by the mere force of ap⯑plication and ſtrong natural abilities, from the heel to the head; and now, [143]thank God, I am at the head of my profeſſion—for I as often preſcribe as make up; not, between ourſelves, that I think my genius for phyſic hath half ſo good an effect upon my patients as my humour and my good nature; for I am one of thoſe, but I muſt not tell to the world, you know—I am one of thoſe, who think half the maladies of mankind ariſe from melancholy, and that nature is, in generous tempers, generally to be laughed out of her megrims. Thus I make it a rule to give innocent things—that is to ſay, I deal altoge⯑ther in ſimples, and made the patient forget his pain as much as poſſible. But there is one part of my character which has always ſtood in my way— Whenever I ſee people in real miſery, [144]I have not been able to keep my countenance, but fall incontinently to weeping, juſt as I did at Hewit's letter; in which diſtreſs I have ſo much ſatisfaction, that, though it makes me as lean and meagre as one of my ſkeletons, I am more con⯑tented than a prince. On the other hand, I have very often an oppor⯑tunity to bring up my fleſh again by contrary emotions; for if, either by ſtratagem or by nature, I can once ſet my patients to laughing, their cure is certain, and they have no more to fear. At any rate, I am a very in⯑offenſive little fellow, and pick up a goodiſh income for me and my wife, whom, as I hope to be ſaved, ſir, I married becauſe ſhe has my faculty of laughing, and will ſit oppoſite to [145]me in her arm chair (which, God bleſs her, ſhe fills burſting full) and titters at nothing by the hour toge⯑ther. Oh! ſhe's a ſenſible woman, ſir; and though ſhe is ſo luſty, I am fain to trundle her about the parlour for exerciſe; ſhe does make ſuch fine remarks on medicine and on human nature, and on the growth of the hu⯑man hair, that, if I were a penman, I would put her down for publica⯑tion. What a capital volume in folio would my wife be! Even in ſheets ſhe cuts a very reſpectable figure, I preſume Mr. Elixir, ſaid I.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! replyed the apothecary.

Mr. Elixir was now again ſet in for the above ha! ha! ha! diverſion, [146]and toſſed himſelf from chair to chair, panting and fuming with his convul⯑ſion, for near twenty minutes. Oh! various Nature; how doſt thou ſport with us thy little creatures!

After this, Elixir ſpoke.

We live, I ſay ſir, comfortably; but I am not abſolutely in the richeſt part, you know, of the habitable globe, and my cuſtomers who pay, are in no proportion to thoſe who do not pay. The truth is, I will cure a man at any time if he will but either laugh or cry with me; and, as I have taken notice thoſe are the two matters moſt in practice in this world, I think I ſtand a good chance to be ſupplied. Yet I muſt tell you, that though I chooſe always [147]to laugh in company, I had always a thouſand times rather cry alone.

Odds ſo, odds ſo, that's true (ſaid he, recollecting himſelf) I have a poor thing that I muſt ſee to-night, and ſhe lives full a mile from hence. She muſt not be weeping in her bed, while I am telling you a hiſtory that is not worth ſix-pence. Beſides, ſhe is poor.

Upon this our maſter of phyſic ſprung up, and hurried out, in the middle of as dark and rainy night, as, in Summer, could poſſibly be.

God be with thee poor fellow, ſaid I, go where thou wilt! May Provi⯑dence keep every ſtorm from thy heart!

[148]That he will, papa, replied Ma⯑tilda, you may depend upon it. Here my daughter took out her pocket-book and pencil. What are you writing Matilda, ſaid I? Only the names of perſons whom I re⯑commend to you as proper, ſir, for The Green.

Let me ſee, my dear?

Mr. Edward Elixir and wife—Two hundred pounds per annum.

Mr. Henry Hewit and family— Two hundred pounds per annum.

John Sawe to be protected.

Agreed Matilda, ſaid I.

Thus ended our evening.

CHAP. XIX. MR. SAMUEL SARCASM, THE STEWARD, SETS OUT ON A REMARKABLE JOURNEY.

I WAITED now only for the ap⯑proach of the next Spring (which was advancing) to people my new village. The workmen were all paid off and diſcharged, except John Sawe, the worthy exception made by Henry Hewit, and ſome few others, who were retained as traders in the ſervice of The Green. But the moſt delicate and embarraſſing part of the buſineſs yet remained; this was, to announce my intentions to the neceſ⯑ſitous and unhappy, in ſuch a man⯑ner, as might offer protection unac⯑companied by inſult. Here was a [150]nice point. I was effectually puzzled. The ſteward adviſed, that I ſhould diſtribute a printed hand-bill, in the way of, ‘Walk in, gentlemen, walk in, to give way—The Green.’ At another time, he recommended me to place over the doors ſome large ſigns, either of wood or metal, with the following inſcription for the uſe of travellers: ‘Entertainment and an annuity, for man and horſe, here, GRATIS.’ But theſe ſarcaſms, you may be ſure, I avoided. They were amongſt the waggeries woven into that honeſt man's conſtitution; and ſo, in conſideration of his other good qualities, I forgave him. Matilda was of opinion, that being for pub⯑lic utility, the advertiſement could not be too general; and, therefore, [151]adviſed the mode of the News-papers. But this did not ſeem to me ſuffici⯑ently delicate. After much delibera⯑tion, I reſolved upon the following method, out of many others which ſeemed to be leſs plauſible, viz. That Samuel ſhould be ſent with circular letters from me to all my friends, in capital ſituations, to recommend ſuch of their humble or unhappy ac⯑quaintance, as might, upon their ex⯑perience, deſerve a protection in Shenſtone-Green; and alſo, that the like project ſhould be ſeconded by Matilda in the letters which ſhe ſhould ſend over town and country at the ſame time.

One fair morning therefore, pre⯑parations having been made, Mr. [152]Samuel Sarcaſm clapped the ſaddle⯑bags acroſs his favourite pad, and was as well laden with letters as any mail whatſoever. But, he had not been abſent three days before we received from him the following epiſtle:

In anſwer to this characteriſtic epiſtle, I only deſired Mr. Samuel to do as he was directed, and ſend me, for the future, more buſineſs than wit. After this, he proceeded in his journey. Two months paſſed before I heard any further tidings; but at the end of that period, I received Mr. Samuel's ſecond epiſtle, which you will find in the next chapter.

CHAP. XX. THE STEWARD STOPS ON THE ROAD TO WRITE A LETTER TO THE PROPRIETOR.

I could not help feeling great ſur⯑prize and indignation as I read this liſt; for, ſuch is the face that every one of thoſe perſons put upon their circumſtances and their conduct, that they had for many years paſſed upon [168]me (who was their old country cor⯑reſpondent) as men of the firſt for⯑tune and faſhion. On comparing the preſent catalogue with that given in by the workmen, I could not but imagine, that the bricklayer, who fell from a ladder in the year 1717, the man who was much ſubject to corns, and the boy who overſet his barrow in the ditch (becauſe he was thick⯑ſighted) had infinitely more fair pre⯑tention to the penſions of Shenſtone-Green, than any of theſe honourable gentlemen, of whoſe ways and means of exiſting and waſting, I had been ſo very long ignorant. I congratu⯑lated myſelf, however, that, by this enquiry, I had obtained a knowledge of real character, and immediately gave orders that the ſteward ſhould return into Wales.

CHAP. XXI. SHENSTONE-GREEN IS NOT PEOPLED WITHOUT A GOOD DEAL OF TROUBLE.

BY this time it appeared perfectly plain, that I muſt depend only on the care and diligence of a few other friends, who, on trial, were not liv⯑ing in a ſtate of gay deception; and that, where ſuch care and diligence failed, I muſt truſt to the effects of a public advertiſement. I do aſſure you, reader, it is more troubleſome to get a town reputably populated, than to build it. This was ſo ſacred a truth, in my caſe, that the middle of the Summer ſhone off before I [170]could ſay Shenſtone-Green was pro⯑perly inhabited. Whether, indeed, it was ever properly inhabited, may admit of a doubt. However, I ſhall not trouble the reader with any fur⯑ther delays on this point; but, cut⯑ting the diſagreeable interval of bar⯑ren application ſhort (which is an honeſt author's duty), will carry him at once to the time, when, after many difficulties, my houſes were moſtly occupied, and my proſpect of plea⯑ſure brought, apparently, to a criſis.

You are now, therefore, to ſup⯑poſe, that a ſufficient number of per⯑ſons, well choſen and cautiouſly re⯑commended, are aſſembled upon the Green; part of whom enjoy the ir⯑revocable life-penſion, and part are [171]ſet up in trade for the general good. All my views are nearly completed, as far as regards external preparation. The ſummer is before me. Many families, who were pining in want, are in the boſom of indulgence. THE GREEN is in full flower. There are walks for pleaſure, bowers of eaſe, and a church for devotion.

Though this chapter is very ſhort, I ſhall end it directly; on purpoſe to give you leiſure to wiſh me joy of a great piece of work well ter⯑minated.

CHAP. XXII. THE STEWARD SHEWS HIMSELF TO BE A MAN OF SENSE.

IF you have not ſufficiently revelled in the airy luxury which you, doubtleſs, ſuppoſe me to partake, it would be almoſt a pity to diſturb you with the truth. Yet, as it is the deſign of this narrative, not only to divert, but to warn, I muſt de⯑ſcend from viſionary pleaſure to mere matter of fact.

At this place, therefore, properly begins The Narrative of the good People of Shenſtone-Green—A Hiſtory of Human Nature; or, The New Paradiſe Loſt.

[173]The ſatisfaction with which I ſaw ſo many happy human faces about me (for happineſs really reſided with us almoſt a whole month), is inde⯑ſcribable. Many of the penſioners I had long known, others were ſuch as came ſanctified by the warmeſt encomiums from ſuch as I could thoroughly credit; for, luckily, ALL my friends did not correſpond with the characters in Mr. Samuel's catalogue. The trading part of our ſociety ſettled apart from the circus in a comfortable way, but with due regard to ſubordination. The regulations of The Green were few; and thoſe extremely delicate. All the parade of ringing the com⯑munity to dinner, or to prayers, was inconſiſtent with my idea of indepen⯑dence. [174]I had eſtabliſhed a common⯑wealth, in which every man was to pleaſe and enjoy himſelf in his own way; nor was there any other re⯑ſtriction, except that the tradeſmen were not to mix in the walks or amuſements of the penſioners within the circus, unleſs particularly invited. For my own part, I conſidered myſelf very impartially as the frank friend and familiar companion of every indi⯑vidual, and, leſt any ſort of jealouſy ſhould ariſe, I endeavoured, as much as might be, to diſtribute my atten⯑tion in equal proportions. The greateſt anxiety which I experienced, aroſe from a certain fear of ſeeming, in the eyes of ſome, to be a man who enjoyed his pre-eminence. To avoid which, I caſt off the dignity of the [175]perſon of fortune even more than uſual, and brought myſelf upon a level with the loweſt.

To ſuch a community, who would not give at leaſt a twelvemonth's una⯑nimity? Had you ſeen, reader, the joy with which every penſioner ſpoke of his ſituation, while the charm of novelty gilded it; with how ani⯑mated an eye every man ſurveyed his little portion of property, and with how enraptured a ſtep he walked along his own garden, you would have imagined there was little reaſon to expect an alteration.

I was myſelf ſo entrapped by ap⯑pearances, and ſo much in the heaven I had expected, that, meeting the ſteward one evening after I had been [176]walking, like a common parent, from door to door, as was my cuſtom, well Samuel, ſaid I, what do you think of my project now? Confeſs man, that your apprehenſions were ill⯑founded; confeſs, that Shenſtone-Green is the happieſt ſpot in the whole world.

Many men have many minds, ſir, ſaid Samuel; it would be atrocious in me to break in upon a gentle⯑man's pleaſure, though he is, as it were, truſting his hopes to ſea in an eggſhell. Far be it from me to brew the tempeſt; but, as your Honour hath impoſed on me this ſtewardſhip, in which if I increaſe my profits, I increaſe alſo my pains, I think it my duty to ſpeak my [177]mind; and this I can do with the more aſſurance, as I have obſtinately refuſed any kind of family-advan⯑tage, from a ſcheme which I never did, nor ever ſhall, reliſh. Not that I am without perſons, ſir, in my fa⯑mily to whom two hundred pounds a-year would not be a comfortable ſinecure; but I am an induſtrious man myſelf, and do not like to cheriſh idleneſs in any of my race. Add to which, your Honour ſhall never have it to ſay that Samuel Sarcaſm put it out of his power to ſpeak his honeſt ſentiment (on this atrocious occaſion) by taking a ſort of bribe. Every one knows the effect of huſh money. I ſcorn it. That being the caſe, I wiſh your Honour would hear me.

[178]And what wouldſt thou ſay, Mr. Samuel Cicero, the conceited, ſaid I?

I would ſay, ſir, replied Samuel, that your ſcheme is not better put together than was that of your re⯑nowned rival Don Quixote de la Mancha. Why, ſir, do you imagine any human ſociety can long preſerve its harmony without regulations? Here have you brought together into one little ſpot of ground more than half an hundred people, all, or moſtly all, ſtrangers to each other. Do you forget that with that half an hundred of people you have crowded alſo into the ſame ſpace at leaſt half a thou⯑ſand contrary paſſions? You will ſay, in reply, that moſt of theſe penſioners are exalted from adverſity to proſpe⯑rity; [179]I anſwer, ſo much the worſe: the tranſition is too rapid. That misfortune which is taken away all at once creates a levity that is omi⯑nous; but, if it is removed by degrees, the head and heart may poſſibly bear it decently. It is confeſſed, ſome of theſe perſons have been ruined by their ill ſtars, others by their ill, or at leaſt their imprudent conduct. I might even admit that not one of them is vicious; but I muſt inſiſt alſo, that every one is an human being, and, conſequently, addicted to old habits, and not brought without dif⯑ficulty to the adoption of new; nay, I myſelf ſir, do not, nor cannot, feel myſelf at home in this ſame ſteward's lodge that you have built up for me. It is, to be ſure, larger, finer, gayer, [180]grander; but it has not, as I may ſay, the eaſe of the old ſlipper about it. It wants a thouſand little things that, in fact, may be of no figure, but in the eſtimation of fancy, who is the goddeſs of us all, more or leſs, they are of immeaſurable magnitude. Perhaps, ſir, you will laugh, when I tell you that, in my new lodge I miſs the three wooden pegs—on which I was, for ſo many years, accuſtomed to hang my hat, my great coat, and my cane-ſtring. It is true there are a dozen fine ſhowy braſs hooks, of which one might make the ſame uſe; but, if I tell you that, in my notion, they do not fit my purpoſe ſo well, or rather that they do not fit my fancy, you muſt blame human nature and not me, who am only a poor imper⯑fect [181]atom from the duſt of the earth. Be aſſured, ſir, nothing in the world, but my loving your Honour's quiet better than my own, could make me ſpend the twilight of my day, when all ſhould go on ſtill and ſoftly, amongſt a ſet of idle creatures col⯑lected into one little circle, where it is as impoſſible they ſhould ſubſiſt in tranquillity as it is for yon ſteeple to ſtand without a foundation. I beg your pardon, dear and honoured ſir, I beg your pardon, but you will find it as I ſay. I know the ſpecies— I know the ſpecies.

Oh! no, my good fellow, replyed I, much ſoftened by his converſation, that may be the caſe with ſocieties in general, but Shenſtone-Green is ſo picked, ſo guarded on the one hand with [182]by gratitude, and on the other by convenience, that, depend on it, you will find yourſelf agreeably miſtaken.

I wiſh it heartily, anſwered the ſteward, for to keep your generous temper in the ſame golden dream, I could almoſt wiſh, for once, the or⯑der of nature inverted. But, I ſir, am an old fellow that have looked quietly into the heart of man for many years; and I fear you have built up a village full of arguments againſt the poſſibi⯑lity of your happineſs. Men carry their natures and wonted diſpoſitions whereſoever they go. But my duty calls me away, as I ſee by yonder clock at the ſide of the church, and therefore I humbly take my leave of your Honour.

CHAP. XXIII. CONTAINING THREE GREAT SURPRIZES; ONE FOR THE READER, AND TWO FOR CERTAIN CHARACTERS.

THERE is a particular kind of converſation which ſeizes upon all the faculties of the hearer, and leaves him in an anxious ſtate betwixt doubt and conviction. Such was the emotion at this time wrought in my mind by the ſentiments of the ſteward whom I never conſidered before as any thing beyond a ſhrewd ſarcaſtic being; but in this laſt diſcourſe, which, by the bye, he delivered in a tone unuſually perſuaſive, there ap⯑peared to be a ſagacity and know⯑ledge of men, manners, and na⯑ture, [184]that ſtruck me. I confeſs I was even ſtartled. The poſſibility of having ſo long laboured in vain— the bare poſſibility of a diſappoint⯑ment in a hope ſo tender and ſo in⯑dulged, threw me into a very deep pain of thought. It was the hour of night too, in which meditation is heightened, The moon ſhone, and I indulged my reſveree.

Under ſuch influence I rambled into the wood that lay at the back of the buildings, and there I ſat down upon a bench which was ſhaded by the thickeſt foliage of ſeveral beeches, while it at the ſame time commanded two or three of the different paths.

Preſently along the moſt ſequeſ⯑tered of theſe appeared the figure of a [185]female, who ſighed ſorely and re⯑peatedly, as ſhe paſſed. She paced backwards and forwards for ſome time, and at laſt ſtood fixed with her eyes up-lifted to the moon, whom ſhe addreſſed in the following manner: Oh! divine and ſilver Queen of the Night! If he ſtill lives whom I adore, may his boſom be calm and unruffled as thy ray at this moment. May his heart never ſhare the ago⯑nies which he has heaped upon Eliza. If, Cynthia, thou art indeed the guardian of the Chaſte, exert thy utmoſt influence, that he may not ultimately be loſt to Eliza!

I was juſt going to riſe and ad⯑vance, when the ruſtle of the leaves [186]behind me, and after that, the ſur⯑prize of a plaintive voice repeating theſe verſes, deterred me:

When the voice ceaſed, I perceived a man with his arms folded, ſliding, as it were, round a groupe of ſemi⯑circular buſhes which led him into the front path where I had, a little before, ſeen the lady. Here, in leſs than a minute, the two met, exactly in the inſtant that each was pro⯑nouncing the name of the other.

My great God!—exclaimed the lady.

[187]Oh! righteous heaven!—cried the gentleman.

No, ſir; (ſaid the lady, diſengage⯑ing herſelf on a ſudden from the embraces of the ſtranger) I am ſtill Eliza. I aſk not by what means you found me in this aſylum—I am wronged.

I ſought it to ſoothe my ſorrows in a new and unknown part of the world. It is on this principle that I am Sir Benjamin's penſioner. I arrived two days ago.

And you will depart to-morrow. It is impoſſible for both of us to taſte the benevolence of the patron of this place. My injuries are ſtill in my heart.

[188]And is no part of Sidney there, Eliza?

Ought any part of Sidney to be there?—anſwered Eliza, in the moſt penetrating tone.

Ah! madam, it was my accurſed delicacy, and the pride of my youth —it was not my heart that ever in⯑jured my Eliza. I have been by the world, and its follies, reduced to the want even of bread ſince we laſt parted; and had it not been for the benevolence of Sir Benjamin Beau⯑champ, who takes me merely on the credit of ſome unknown friend, I had been utterly loſt.

Too proud to own Eliza, ſir, I ſind, even when you wanted bread. [189]But I have ſerved you, Mr. Sidney, in deſpite of yourſelf.

You?—you—Eliza?

I was the unknown friend, who took care that, if you were living, you ſhould be an inhabitant of Shen⯑ſtone-Green.

Obligations, madam, heaped on the head without hope of repay⯑ment—I ſay, Eliza, there are minds —minds of a certain frame, which—.

Freſh injuries, Mr. Sidney!

No, madam; the balance is even —nay, I know not but the ſcale may turn in my favour. You was at a maſquerade in ſome danger— Recollect.

[190]My very life and honour was pre⯑ſerved by a generous domino.

It was ſo, Eliza; and I triumphed in diſguiſe.

Save me from ruin; yet refuſe to ſpeak, or to diſcover yourſelf, ſir.

For that very reaſon, I cannot bear to be out done by Eliza.

Nor I by Mr. Sidney. I will be revenged yet—nay, I have been ſo. You are in my debt after all.

Impoſſible, madam.

Remember your ſituation at Mr. Joſhua's.

Ha!—Go on.

The ſcratch of the ſword is ſtill in my arm, ſir.

[191]Confuſion, madam; you reſcue my body to ſtab my ſould—my ſen⯑ſibility is bleeding at every pore. I had rather die than not be on an equality with Eliza. Her ſuperiority kills me—but one way is yet left.

Name it.

My joy at finding you here is ſo big and ſo unexpected, that I ſhall certainly ſoar above even the ambi⯑tious flights of Eliza; for I will bear to be her inferior, and, for the firſt time in my life, yield up the delicacy of being on a level with the woman I adore.

Then you have conquered.—Ah! Sidney, why ſo long in yielding?— What miſeries might have been prevented!

[192]Bleſſed be Sir Benjamin Beau⯑champ, Eliza!—We are ſafe in his paradiſe—he is the guardian of our ſanctuary. (My heart fluttered, reader.)

He is more a God within the laſt hour than ever, for I now know he is in poſſeſſion of Mr. Sidney.

Take care, Eliza, your very ten⯑derneſſes muſt not ſurpaſs mine. Your love, madam, is not ſuperior.

Is not a kiſs uſually the ſeal of a lover's forgiveneſs, Sidney?—I ſup⯑poſe you know that our delicacy de⯑mands, as uſual, inviolable ſecrecy. No body is ſo much as to ſuſpect our paſſion. Love is hurt by being known to a third perſon.

[193]Have I ever, madam, been void of that ſacred and eſſential delicacy?

But a hint, you know—

Is an inſult, madam.—I am as nice as yourſelf.

Not more ſo, ſir.

No—perhaps, not more ſo.

Perhaps—!

I tell you again, Eliza, I will bear, to-night that you ſhall hold the firſt place in the dignity of paſſion. Tri⯑umph, triumph, Eliza.

On that ſcore, then, we are— friends.

Friends, madam?—no, we are not friends.

[194]Lovers—lovers—if you will— Lord, why don't you take my hand then and kiſs it as you uſed to do?

Here theſe over-delicate lovers, who had thus met by accident, went out of the wood in the greateſt harmony, after all thoſe little ſpars which diſcover affection. I left my bench, and followed them ſo as not to be ſeen, had they even looked back. Curious to know the full extent of this uncommon deli⯑cacy of ſentiment, I purſued them even to the door of the lady's houſe, at which they exchanged kind ex⯑preſſions, and very modeſtly ſeparated. The gentleman tripped acroſs the Green to his own apartments.

[195]The exultation I felt at the finiſh⯑ing of this tranſaction was by no means inconſiderable. All the ſombre ideas which the ſteward had ſpread about me were vaniſhed. No, no, Samuel, ſaid I, there is no truth, after all, in thy ſeemingly ſolid ſen⯑timents. If my adventures continue to go on as they have begun, Shen⯑ſtone-Green ſhall boaſt its empire over the heart as well as the imagination. A lover is already reſtored to his miſ⯑treſs, and though both may be a little too punctilious, ſaid I, both are ami⯑able.

I now walked home to bed, kiſſed my darling Matilda, (as it was always my rule before I went to reſt) and then dreamed of Sidney and Eliza. Happy reſt to Thee, reader.

CHAP. XXIV. BEGINS WITH THE PROPRIETOR'S BE⯑NEVOLENCE, AND ENDS WITH THE INTRODUCTION OF A WHISTLER.

THE next morning's ſun roſe golden upon Shenſtone-Green, and I went early forth into the ad⯑jacent fields to taſte the lovelieſt hours of the four and twenty. As I paſſed the circus, (than which no⯑thing in Eden could well have been more beautiful) I felt a kind of ſen⯑ſation which ſeemed to ſay, theſe fair environs are, Benjamin, of thy own creation; it was thou who cauſed the roſe-tree to be thus ſaluted by the daſhing dew-drop. Yon lillies, pinks, and eglantine, which send [197]their odours on the zephyr, were of thy planting. And, ah! more vo⯑luptuous and more dear to thought, thou it was who adorned theſe little repoſitories with the happy ſouls which now inhabit them, and cauſed every dwelling to be ſurrounded with ſweets. The very ſun ſeems to dart on thee, as thou thus ſtandeth in the centre of thy works, his riſing ray of approbation. Every penſioner is now in the balmy arms of ſleep. Lovers, who were before divided, are dream⯑ing of to-morrow's interview. The lately-ſeparated huſband and wife are brought again, by thy means, into the bed of reconciliation. The inva⯑lids of the place are repoſing them⯑ſelves. Thoſe who had fallen from the heights of fortune into the vales [198]of diſtreſs, have here a cradle in which they are lulled into peace. In a word, thy whole family is at this moment in elyſium.

Ah! SHENSTONE, wert thou but here to complete the felicity which was by thee ſuggeſted, how perfect would it be! This fond idea led to a conſideration of that amiable man's moral character, and I could not help exclaiming, in the words of a poet who at once imitated and lamented him:

I had by this time got into the fields, where I perceived walking with large full ſtrides over the ridges of the land, a man who ſeemed to be croſſing the country on ſome buſineſs of the utmoſt diſpatch. He was tall and well made, but in that ſort of dreſs in which appeared the marks of a gentleman reduced. He had an handkerchief in his hand, with which, from time to time, he wiped his fore⯑head. His ſhoes had all the look of having laboured through a long jour⯑ney, and the duſt of the road had deeply embrowned his once-white ſtockings. Yet, notwithſtanding all [200]theſe marks of a vagabond, there ſhone through his ſhabbineſs a certain air of faſhion and dignity, which de⯑noted him to have known better days. Upon ſeeing me walking along the green ſide of the hedge, he ſtill quickened his pace till he came up to me, whiſtling all the way extremely loud.

We exchanged bows.

Sir, ſaid the ſtranger, in a noble and full pronunciation, can you direct me the neareſt way to the manſion of Sir Benjamin Beauchamp?

Have you any particular com⯑mands with that gentleman?

No commands, ſir; but many entreaties. I come with recommen⯑dations to him from particular friends.

[201]Who may thoſe friends be, ſir?

They are, as I underſtand, the only ones who could procure a man the honour of Sir Benjamin's pro⯑tection.

Have the goodneſs to name them.

Poverty and a feeling heart.

Powerful advocates it muſt be con⯑feſſed, ſir.

Yes, they are ſo; and it is under ſuch ſplendid patronage, that I have the confidence to offer myſelf as a candidate for Shenſtone-Green. There, ſir, is a voucher for my truth.

Here he took from his pocket a letter, and again requeſted I would direct him on his way.

[202]I believe, ſir, ſaid I, looking at the ſuperſcription, you may ſuffer me to break the ſeal of that letter.

Whew, cried the ſtranger, how could I be ſo long miſtaken? Where is fled, all at once, my knowledge in the hiſtory of human faces? How has it been poſſible for me to over⯑look lineaments ſo palpable? That open brow, and that expanded eye —to whom could they belong, but to Sir Benjamin Beauchamp! There, ſir, read your letter.

Mr. Seabrooke, ſaid I, as ſoon as I had finiſhed this letter, the only matters which diſtreſs me on this occaſion, are, firſt, the inconſiderable ſize of the Shenſtone premium, when it is compared to the property which you have been accuſtomed to com⯑mand; and ſecondly, that you ſhould have been under the neceſſity of com⯑ing [205]to your little pittance on foot. Had I known, ſir—.

Whew—Sir Benjamin, ſaid Mr. Seabrooke interpoſing, do not you be afflicted at the very things which form a material part of my happi⯑neſs. There is great variety, in a man of my temper, in thus ſtepping from an unweildy fortune, to ſuch a one as I can very well manage. It cuts off ſuperfluous anxiety. It is like entering a neat cottage (where one detects an impropriety in a mo⯑ment), after coming ſuddenly out of great apartments, whoſe length and vaſtitude prevent the poſſibility of being accurate. With reſpect to walking, it is the favourite exerciſe of my life; I ſometimes divert my⯑ſelf [206]with objects on the road, which, my being on a level with them, offers to obſervation; and yet, which, had I been perked up beyond my natural height on the back of a horſe, would have been all overlooked. In a gay may-lady, or in gilded bug; in the twiſt of a branch, or in the colours of a flower; I ſee a ſatisfaction, which, though I very ſenſibly feel when I am in the proper humour, I ſhall not attempt to deſcribe. If, therefore, you have the goodneſs to give me my own way, you will beſtow one of the ſmalleſt houſes of your new town, and ſlit the yearly penſion between two.

In the courſe of this converſation, I had turned about towards The [207]Green, and we were on the way home to the manſion-houſe.

And this, I preſume, is your New Paradiſe (ſaid the gentleman, as we came within view of Shenſtone-Green). Here, you amuſe yourſelf in a way wherein you will find few to applaud, and none to imitate you. For my part, the chief ſatisfaction I ſhall find under your protection, is to live in this fair world, and join the chorus of happy creatures in their oraiſons and veſpers of, gratitude. Whew— what a divine Sir Benjamin you are!

I led Mr. Seabrooke from hence to the manſion-houſe, where he, I, and Matilda, ſat comfortably down to breakfaſt.

[208]Young lady, ſaid he to my daughter, you ſee a very proud beggar before you. I am come to ſeduce your worthy father, by a whining tale, out of two hundred a-year and a good houſe. As you are his only daughter, and conſe⯑quently his heir, pray how do you reliſh this ſcheme?

My father, replied Matilda, is in full poſſeſſion of my ſentiments on that head; and will, therefore, more gracefully inform you of them, than it is in my power. Yet, I cannot but add, that as I am convinced Sir Benjamin is ever delicate in ſelecting his objects, I feel additional ſatisfaction at ſeeing two hundred pounds a-year more, likely to be laid out to the beſt advantage.—She curteſyed.

[209]Oh brave! damſel, rejoined Mr. Seabrooke, but do you rightly con⯑ſider how many much finer things might be done with that ſum of money, Miſs Matilda?—but your very name is an encouragement to poetical projects.

No, really, ſir; pray inſtruct me how that is poſſible, ſaid Matilda (putting the ſugar into Mr. Sea⯑brooke's cup.)

Why, two hundred pounds per an⯑num, anſwered Mr. Seabrooke, would enable you (ſuppoſing it to be re⯑ſerved wholly for faſhionable luxu⯑ries) to do a great many genteel and imprudent things, of which you have now, perhaps, no conception. If it were laid out to advantage, you [210]might, therewith, do a great deal of miſchief. It would even go a conſi⯑derable way at the, card-table, and give you the head-ach, or the heart-ach, for a week together. For ought I know, you might contrive to ruin your complexion (clear as it is) for ever, with the ſum which you are here going to expend upon a poor fellow with a pair of ruſty ſhoes, and a coat of camblet. Really, young lady, it is a ſerious affair, and I would have you think well of it before-hand—I would, indeed.

And now you talk of that, Sir Benjamin (continued Mr. Seabrooke, after a ſhort pauſe) I cannot but think you are engaged here in a very ſingular piece of buſineſs. Why, [211]my good ſir, do you maturely reflect into what innumerable channels this ocean of money you have exhauſted on brick, mortar, and men, who are no way allied to you—do you, I ſay, conſider, how ſuch riches might have, as it were, deluged every diſhoneſt ſenſe about you, in that pleaſure which is ſo much the general pur⯑ſuit? Inſtead of you ample range of houſes, which rob Sorrow of her deſtined prey, and the real ſcoundrels of the earth of their ridicule, might you not have built up ſtabling for the fineſt ſteeds that ever were ſeen; and might you not have had the ſa⯑tisfaction of inviting the world to ſee your fine horſes, inſtead of your poor men and women? Inſtead of erecting a Church, could you not, at [212]leſs expence, have built a Seraglio, and peopled it with deſtitute beauty, and defrauded innocence, in the man⯑ner of many perſons of fortune? Inſtead of giving away ſuch loads of wealth, might you not have put in for the chance of doubling it at the hazard table; and even if you ſhould perceive the die go againſt you, is it not a ſort of exit made popular by the practice of modern men of ſpirit, to retire from the gaming-table in elegant diſorder, and very philoſophically ſhoot yourſelf through the head? Inſtead of pro⯑viding for the ſubſiſtence of ſuch a pack of poor wretches, as, in the wiſe opinion of the world, have no right to the appetites or paſſions of nature, could you not with the ſolid [213]caſh, or as the miſer calls it more emphatically, with ‘the good hard money’ ſo expended, have made a river of claret, and ſwam in all the voluptuouſneſs of the moſt expen⯑ſive drunkenneſs? In fine, might you not have been the moſt gainful uſurer, or any other celebrated cha⯑racter much coveted amongſt men, had you acted in a prudential way? Inſtead of which, you have nothing to ſhow for forty or fifty thouſand pounds, but a large handſome vil⯑lage, which does not bring you in one ſhilling of "good hard money," a few tears and ſmiles from poor ſouls who have nothing elſe to give you; a private pleaſure which pleaſes your conſcience, without filling your purſe; and the expectation of a ſome⯑thing [214]yonder (here he pointed to heaven) which is of ſo little weight in the eſtimation of other people, that they would not lend a ſingle guinea upon ſuch ſecurity. No, Sir Ben⯑jamin, you may go on as you pleaſe, but if you cannot anſwer this con⯑duct to yourſelf, I do not know who you will find amongſt your friends that will ſtep forth in your behalf. They will be afraid, ſir, to ſay any thing in excuſe, leſt the ſame ſingu⯑larity ſhould be expected on their part.

The fine ironical tone which at⯑tended this ſpeech, led us immedi⯑ately into the oblique compliment it conveyed; and Mr. Seabrooke had, herein, ſo developed his own cha⯑racter, [215]that all further deſcription of him is unneceſſary. I take it for granted, the reader hath a very fa⯑vourable idea of him, and would wiſh a more intimate acquaintance. It is moſt likely he will not be diſ⯑appointed.

Suffice it to ſay, at preſent, that, after a great deal of perſuaſion, both from Matilda and me, he agreed to live in the manſion-houſe in a family⯑way, but ſtill inſiſted that I ſhould ſave nothing; for, though I might ſtop ſomething for board, he ſaid, he was reſolved to have the reſt of his penſion like another penſioner.

As look and manner is not very accurately put into written language, I cannot well tell you how this laſt [216]obſervation occaſioned a ſincere ſmile. I juſt remark, that Mr. Seabrooke is a man with whom it is impoſſible to be offended.