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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie,
+Edited by Henry Morley
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Man of Feeling
+
+
+Author: Henry Mackenzie
+
+Editor: Henry Morley
+
+Release Date: July 5, 2014  [eBook #5083]
+[This file was first posted on April 18, 2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN OF FEELING***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+                        CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+
+                                   THE
+                              MAN OF FEELING
+
+
+                                    BY
+
+                             HENRY MACKENZIE.
+
+                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]
+
+                       CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
+
+                _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
+
+                                  1886.
+
+
+
+
+EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION
+
+
+HENRY MACKENZIE, the son of an Edinburgh physician, was born in August,
+1745.  After education in the University of Edinburgh he went to London
+in 1765, at the age of twenty, for law studies, returned to Edinburgh,
+and became Crown Attorney in the Scottish Court of Exchequer.  When
+Mackenzie was in London, Sterne’s “Tristram Shandy” was in course of
+publication.  The first two volumes had appeared in 1759, and the ninth
+appeared in 1767, followed in 1768, the year of Sterne’s death, by “The
+Sentimental Journey.”  Young Mackenzie had a strong bent towards
+literature, and while studying law in London, he read Sterne, and falling
+in with the tone of sentiment which Sterne himself caught from the spirit
+of the time and the example of Rousseau, he wrote “The Man of Feeling.”
+This book was published, without author’s name, in 1771.  It was so
+popular that a young clergyman made a copy of it popular with imagined
+passages of erasure and correction, on the strength of which he claimed
+to be its author, and obliged Henry Mackenzie to declare himself.  In
+1773 Mackenzie published a second novel, “The Man of the World,” and in
+1777 a third, “Julia de Roubigné.”  An essay-reading society in
+Edinburgh, of which he was a leader, started in January, 1779, a weekly
+paper called _The Mirror_, which he edited until May, 1780.  Its writers
+afterwards joined in producing _The Lounger_, which lasted from February,
+1785, to January, 1787.  Henry Mackenzie contributed forty-two papers to
+_The Mirror_ and fifty-seven to _The Lounger_.  When the Royal Society of
+Edinburgh was founded Henry Mackenzie was active as one of its first
+members.  He was also one of the founders of the Highland Society.
+
+Although his “Man of Feeling” was a serious reflection of the false
+sentiment of the Revolution, Mackenzie joined afterwards in writing
+tracts to dissuade the people from faith in the doctrines of the
+Revolutionists.  Mackenzie wrote also a tragedy, “The Prince of Tunis,”
+which was acted with success at Edinburgh, and a comedy, “The White
+Hypocrite,” which was acted once only at Covent garden.  He died at the
+age of eighty-six, on the 13th June, 1831, having for many years been
+regarded as an elder friend of their own craft by the men of letters who
+in his days gave dignity to Edinburgh society, and caused the town to be
+called the Modern Athens.
+
+A man of refined taste, who caught the tone of the French sentiment of
+his time, has, of course, pleased French critics, and has been translated
+into French.  “The Man of Feeling” begins with imitation of Sterne, and
+proceeds in due course through so many tears that it is hardly to be
+called a dry book.  As guide to persons of a calculating disposition who
+may read these pages I append an index to the Tears shed in “The Man of
+Feeling.”
+
+
+
+
+INDEX TO TEARS.
+
+
+                   (_Chokings_, _&c._, _not counted_.)
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+“Odds but should have wept”                                       xiii
+Tear, given, “cordial drop” repeated                                17
+,, like Cestus of Cytherea                                          26
+,, one on a cheek                                                   30
+“I will not weep”                                                   31
+Tears add energy to benediction                                     31
+,, tribute of some                                                  52
+„ blessings on                                                      52
+I would weep too                                                    52
+Not an unmoistened eye                                              53
+Do you weep again?                                                  53
+Hand bathed with tears                                              53
+Tears, burst into                                                   54
+„ sobbing and shedding                                              74
+,, burst into                                                       75
+,, virtue in these                                                  75
+„ he wept at the recollection of her                                80
+,, glister of new-washed                                            81
+Sweet girl (here she wept)                                          94
+I could only weep                                                   95
+Tears, saw his                                                      97
+,, burst into                                                       99
+„ wrung from the heart                                              99
+,, feet bathed with                                                100
+,, mingled, _i.e._, his with hers                                  100
+„ voice lost in                                                    108
+Eye met with a tear                                                108
+Tear stood in eye                                                  127
+Tears, face bathed with                                            130
+Dropped one tear, no more                                          131
+Tears, press-gang could scarce keep from                           136
+Big drops wetted gray beard                                        137
+Tears, shower of                                                   138
+,, scarce forced—blubbered like a boy                              139
+Moistened eye                                                      141
+Tears choked utterance                                             144
+I have wept many a time                                            144
+Girl wept, brother sobbed                                          145
+Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, and wept between       145
+every kiss
+Tears flowing down cheeks                                          148
+,, gushed afresh                                                   148
+Beamy moisture                                                     154
+A tear dropped                                                     165
+Tear in her eye, the sick man kissed it off in its bud,            176
+smiling through the dimness of his own
+Hand wet by tear just fallen                                       185
+Tears flowing without control                                      187
+Cheek wiped (at the end of the last chapter)                       189
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
+
+
+MY dog had made a point on a piece of fallow-ground, and led the curate
+and me two or three hundred yards over that and some stubble adjoining,
+in a breathless state of expectation, on a burning first of September.
+
+It was a false point, and our labour was vain: yet, to do Rover justice
+(for he’s an excellent dog, though I have lost his pedigree), the fault
+was none of his, the birds were gone: the curate showed me the spot where
+they had lain basking, at the root of an old hedge.
+
+I stopped and cried Hem!  The curate is fatter than I; he wiped the sweat
+from his brow.
+
+There is no state where one is apter to pause and look round one, than
+after such a disappointment.  It is even so in life.  When we have been
+hurrying on, impelled by some warm wish or other, looking neither to the
+right hand nor to the left—we find of a sudden that all our gay hopes are
+flown; and the only slender consolation that some friend can give us, is
+to point where they were once to be found.  And lo! if we are not of that
+combustible race, who will rather beat their heads in spite, than wipe
+their brows with the curate, we look round and say, with the nauseated
+listlessness of the king of Israel, “All is vanity and vexation of
+spirit.”
+
+I looked round with some such grave apophthegm in my mind when I
+discovered, for the first time, a venerable pile, to which the enclosure
+belonged.  An air of melancholy hung about it.  There was a languid
+stillness in the day, and a single crow, that perched on an old tree by
+the side of the gate, seemed to delight in the echo of its own croaking.
+
+I leaned on my gun and looked; but I had not breath enough to ask the
+curate a question.  I observed carving on the bark of some of the trees:
+’twas indeed the only mark of human art about the place, except that some
+branches appeared to have been lopped, to give a view of the cascade,
+which was formed by a little rill at some distance.
+
+Just at that instant I saw pass between the trees a young lady with a
+book in her hand.  I stood upon a stone to observe her; but the curate
+sat him down on the grass, and leaning his back where I stood, told me,
+“That was the daughter of a neighbouring gentleman of the name of WALTON,
+whom he had seen walking there more than once.
+
+“Some time ago,” he said, “one HARLEY lived there, a whimsical sort of
+man I am told, but I was not then in the cure; though, if I had a turn
+for those things, I might know a good deal of his history, for the
+greatest part of it is still in my possession.”
+
+“His history!” said I.  “Nay, you may call it what you please,” said the
+curate; for indeed it is no more a history than it is a sermon.  The way
+I came by it was this: some time ago, a grave, oddish kind of a man
+boarded at a farmer’s in this parish: the country people called him The
+Ghost; and he was known by the slouch in his gait, and the length of his
+stride.  I was but little acquainted with him, for he never frequented
+any of the clubs hereabouts.  Yet for all he used to walk a-nights, he
+was as gentle as a lamb at times; for I have seen him playing at teetotum
+with the children, on the great stone at the door of our churchyard.
+
+“Soon after I was made curate, he left the parish, and went nobody knows
+whither; and in his room was found a bundle of papers, which was brought
+to me by his landlord.  I began to read them, but I soon grew weary of
+the task; for, besides that the hand is intolerably bad, I could never
+find the author in one strain for two chapters together; and I don’t
+believe there’s a single syllogism from beginning to end.”
+
+“I should be glad to see this medley,” said I.  “You shall see it now,”
+answered the curate, “for I always take it along with me a-shooting.”
+“How came it so torn?”  “’Tis excellent wadding,” said the curate.—This
+was a plea of expediency I was not in a condition to answer; for I had
+actually in my pocket great part of an edition of one of the German
+Illustrissimi, for the very same purpose.  We exchanged books; and by
+that means (for the curate was a strenuous logician) we probably saved
+both.
+
+When I returned to town, I had leisure to peruse the acquisition I had
+made: I found it a bundle of little episodes, put together without art,
+and of no importance on the whole, with something of nature, and little
+else in them.  I was a good deal affected with some very trifling
+passages in it; and had the name of Marmontel, or a Richardson, been on
+the title-page—’tis odds that I should have wept: But
+
+One is ashamed to be pleased with the works of one knows not whom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. {15}
+ON BASHFULNESS.—A CHARACTER.—HIS OPINION ON THAT SUBJECT.
+
+
+THERE is some rust about every man at the beginning; though in some
+nations (among the French for instance) the ideas of the inhabitants,
+from climate, or what other cause you will, are so vivacious, so
+eternally on the wing, that they must, even in small societies, have a
+frequent collision; the rust therefore will wear off sooner: but in
+Britain it often goes with a man to his grave; nay, he dares not even pen
+a _hic jacet_ to speak out for him after his death.
+
+“Let them rub it off by travel,” said the baronet’s brother, who was a
+striking instance of excellent metal, shamefully rusted.  I had drawn my
+chair near his.  Let me paint the honest old man: ’tis but one passing
+sentence to preserve his image in my mind.
+
+He sat in his usual attitude, with his elbow rested on his knee, and his
+fingers pressed on his cheek.  His face was shaded by his hand; yet it
+was a face that might once have been well accounted handsome; its
+features were manly and striking, a dignity resided on his eyebrows,
+which were the largest I remember to have seen.  His person was tall and
+well-made; but the indolence of his nature had now inclined it to
+corpulency.
+
+His remarks were few, and made only to his familiar friends; but they
+were such as the world might have heard with veneration: and his heart,
+uncorrupted by its ways, was ever warm in the cause of virtue and his
+friends.
+
+He is now forgotten and gone!  The last time I was at Silton Hall, I saw
+his chair stand in its corner by the fire-side; there was an additional
+cushion on it, and it was occupied by my young lady’s favourite lap dog.
+I drew near unperceived, and pinched its ears in the bitterness of my
+soul; the creature howled, and ran to its mistress.  She did not suspect
+the author of its misfortune, but she bewailed it in the most pathetic
+terms; and kissing its lips, laid it gently on her lap, and covered it
+with a cambric handkerchief.  I sat in my old friend’s seat; I heard the
+roar of mirth and gaiety around me: poor Ben Silton!  I gave thee a tear
+then: accept of one cordial drop that falls to thy memory now.
+
+“They should wear it off by travel.”—Why, it is true, said I, that will
+go far; but then it will often happen, that in the velocity of a modern
+tour, and amidst the materials through which it is commonly made, the
+friction is so violent, that not only the rust, but the metal too, is
+lost in the progress.
+
+“Give me leave to correct the expression of your metaphor,” said Mr.
+Silton: “that is not always rust which is acquired by the inactivity of
+the body on which it preys; such, perhaps, is the case with me, though
+indeed I was never cleared from my youth; but (taking it in its first
+stage) it is rather an encrustation, which nature has given for purposes
+of the greatest wisdom.”
+
+“You are right,” I returned; “and sometimes, like certain precious
+fossils, there may be hid under it gems of the purest brilliancy.”
+
+“Nay, farther,” continued Mr. Silton, “there are two distinct sorts of
+what we call bashfulness; this, the awkwardness of a booby, which a few
+steps into the world will convert into the pertness of a coxcomb; that, a
+consciousness, which the most delicate feelings produce, and the most
+extensive knowledge cannot always remove.”
+
+From the incidents I have already related, I imagine it will be concluded
+that Harley was of the latter species of bashful animals; at least, if
+Mr. Silton’s principle is just, it may be argued on this side; for the
+gradation of the first mentioned sort, it is certain, he never attained.
+Some part of his external appearance was modelled from the company of
+those gentlemen, whom the antiquity of a family, now possessed of bare
+£250 a year, entitled its representative to approach: these indeed were
+not many; great part of the property in his neighbourhood being in the
+hands of merchants, who had got rich by their lawful calling abroad, and
+the sons of stewards, who had got rich by their lawful calling at home:
+persons so perfectly versed in the ceremonial of thousands, tens of
+thousands, and hundreds of thousands (whose degrees of precedency are
+plainly demonstrable from the first page of the Complete Accomptant, or
+Young Man’s Best Pocket Companion) that a bow at church from them to such
+a man as Harley would have made the parson look back into his sermon for
+some precept of Christian humility.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+OF WORLDLY INTERESTS.
+
+
+THERE are certain interests which the world supposes every man to have,
+and which therefore are properly enough termed worldly; but the world is
+apt to make an erroneous estimate: ignorant of the dispositions which
+constitute our happiness or misery, they bring to an undistinguished
+scale the means of the one, as connected with power, wealth, or grandeur,
+and of the other with their contraries.  Philosophers and poets have
+often protested against this decision; but their arguments have been
+despised as declamatory, or ridiculed as romantic.
+
+There are never wanting to a young man some grave and prudent friends to
+set him right in this particular, if he need it; to watch his ideas as
+they arise, and point them to those objects which a wise man should never
+forget.
+
+Harley did not want for some monitors of this sort.  He was frequently
+told of men whose fortunes enabled them to command all the luxuries of
+life, whose fortunes were of their own acquirement: his envy was invited
+by a description of their happiness, and his emulation by a recital of
+the means which had procured it.
+
+Harley was apt to hear those lectures with indifference; nay, sometimes
+they got the better of his temper; and as the instances were not always
+amiable, provoked, on his part, some reflections, which I am persuaded
+his good-nature would else have avoided.
+
+Indeed, I have observed one ingredient, somewhat necessary in a man’s
+composition towards happiness, which people of feeling would do well to
+acquire; a certain respect for the follies of mankind: for there are so
+many fools whom the opinion of the world entitles to regard, whom
+accident has placed in heights of which they are unworthy, that he who
+cannot restrain his contempt or indignation at the sight will be too
+often quarrelling with the disposal of things to relish that share which
+is allotted to himself.  I do not mean, however, to insinuate this to
+have been the case with Harley; on the contrary, if we might rely on his
+own testimony, the conceptions he had of pomp and grandeur served to
+endear the state which Providence had assigned him.
+
+He lost his father, the last surviving of his parents, as I have already
+related, when he was a boy.  The good man, from a fear of offending, as
+well as a regard to his son, had named him a variety of guardians; one
+consequence of which was, that they seldom met at all to consider the
+affairs of their ward; and when they did meet, their opinions were so
+opposite, that the only possible method of conciliation was the mediatory
+power of a dinner and a bottle, which commonly interrupted, not ended,
+the dispute; and after that interruption ceased, left the consulting
+parties in a condition not very proper for adjusting it.  His education
+therefore had been but indifferently attended to; and after being taken
+from a country school, at which he had been boarded, the young gentleman
+was suffered to be his own master in the subsequent branches of
+literature, with some assistance from the parson of the parish in
+languages and philosophy, and from the exciseman in arithmetic and
+book-keeping.  One of his guardians, indeed, who, in his youth, had been
+an inhabitant of the Temple, set him to read Coke upon Lyttelton: a book
+which is very properly put into the hands of beginners in that science,
+as its simplicity is accommodated to their understandings, and its size
+to their inclination.  He profited but little by the perusal; but it was
+not without its use in the family: for his maiden aunt applied it
+commonly to the laudable purpose of pressing her rebellious linens to the
+folds she had allotted them.
+
+There were particularly two ways of increasing his fortune, which might
+have occurred to people of less foresight than the counsellors we have
+mentioned.  One of these was, the prospect of his succeeding to an old
+lady, a distant relation, who was known to be possessed of a very large
+sum in the stocks: but in this their hopes were disappointed; for the
+young man was so untoward in his disposition, that, notwithstanding the
+instructions he daily received, his visits rather tended to alienate than
+gain the good-will of his kinswoman.  He sometimes looked grave when the
+old lady told the jokes of her youth; he often refused to eat when she
+pressed him, and was seldom or never provided with sugar-candy or
+liquorice when she was seized with a fit of coughing: nay, he had once
+the rudeness to fall asleep while she was describing the composition and
+virtues of her favourite cholic-water.  In short, be accommodated himself
+so ill to her humour, that she died, and did not leave him a farthing.
+
+The other method pointed out to him was an endeavour to get a lease of
+some crown-lands, which lay contiguous to his little paternal estate.
+This, it was imagined, might be easily procured, as the crown did not
+draw so much rent as Harley could afford to give, with very considerable
+profit to himself; and the then lessee had rendered himself so obnoxious
+to the ministry, by the disposal of his vote at an election, that he
+could not expect a renewal.  This, however, needed some interest with the
+great, which Harley or his father never possessed.
+
+His neighbour, Mr. Walton, having heard of this affair, generously
+offered his assistance to accomplish it.  He told him, that though he had
+long been a stranger to courtiers, yet he believed there were some of
+them who might pay regard to his recommendation; and that, if he thought
+it worth the while to take a London journey upon the business, he would
+furnish him with a letter of introduction to a baronet of his
+acquaintance, who had a great deal to say with the first lord of the
+treasury.
+
+When his friends heard of this offer, they pressed him with the utmost
+earnestness to accept of it.
+
+They did not fail to enumerate the many advantages which a certain degree
+of spirit and assurance gives a man who would make a figure in the world:
+they repeated their instances of good fortune in others, ascribed them
+all to a happy forwardness of disposition; and made so copious a recital
+of the disadvantages which attend the opposite weakness, that a stranger,
+who had heard them, would have been led to imagine, that in the British
+code there was some disqualifying statute against any citizen who should
+be convicted of—modesty.
+
+Harley, though he had no great relish for the attempt, yet could not
+resist the torrent of motives that assaulted him; and as he needed but
+little preparation for his journey, a day, not very distant, was fixed
+for his departure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+THE MAN OF FEELING IN LOVE.
+
+
+THE day before that on which he set out, he went to take leave of Mr.
+Walton.—We would conceal nothing;—there was another person of the family
+to whom also the visit was intended, on whose account, perhaps, there
+were some tenderer feelings in the bosom of Harley than his gratitude for
+the friendly notice of that gentleman (though he was seldom deficient in
+that virtue) could inspire.  Mr. Walton had a daughter; and such a
+daughter! we will attempt some description of her by and by.
+
+Harley’s notions of the καλον, or beautiful, were not always to be
+defined, nor indeed such as the world would always assent to, though we
+could define them.  A blush, a phrase of affability to an inferior, a
+tear at a moving tale, were to him, like the Cestus of Cytherea,
+unequalled in conferring beauty.  For all these Miss Walton was
+remarkable; but as these, like the above-mentioned Cestus, are perhaps
+still more powerful when the wearer is possessed of some degree of
+beauty, commonly so called, it happened, that, from this cause, they had
+more than usual power in the person of that young lady.
+
+She was now arrived at that period of life which takes, or is supposed to
+take, from the flippancy of girlhood those sprightlinesses with which
+some good-natured old maids oblige the world at three-score.  She had
+been ushered into life (as that word is used in the dialect of St.
+James’s) at seventeen, her father being then in parliament, and living in
+London: at seventeen, therefore, she had been a universal toast; her
+health, now she was four-and-twenty, was only drank by those who knew her
+face at least.  Her complexion was mellowed into a paleness, which
+certainly took from her beauty; but agreed, at least Harley used to say
+so, with the pensive softness of her mind.  Her eyes were of that gentle
+hazel colour which is rather mild than piercing; and, except when they
+were lighted up by good-humour, which was frequently the case, were
+supposed by the fine gentlemen to want fire.  Her air and manner were
+elegant in the highest degree, and were as sure of commanding respect as
+their mistress was far from demanding it.  Her voice was inexpressibly
+soft; it was, according to that incomparable simile of Otway’s,
+
+    —“like the shepherd’s pipe upon the mountains,
+    When all his little flock’s at feed before him.”
+
+The effect it had upon Harley, himself used to paint ridiculously enough;
+and ascribed it to powers, which few believed, and nobody cared for.
+
+Her conversation was always cheerful, but rarely witty; and without the
+smallest affectation of learning, had as much sentiment in it as would
+have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles of female materialism, to
+account for.  Her beneficence was unbounded; indeed the natural
+tenderness of her heart might have been argued, by the frigidity of a
+casuist, as detracting from her virtue in this respect, for her humanity
+was a feeling, not a principle: but minds like Harley’s are not very apt
+to make this distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all
+that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature.
+
+As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had frequent
+opportunities of seeing her.  He looked on her for some time merely with
+that respect and admiration which her appearance seemed to demand, and
+the opinion of others conferred upon her from this cause, perhaps, and
+from that extreme sensibility of which we have taken frequent notice,
+Harley was remarkably silent in her presence.  He heard her sentiments
+with peculiar attention, sometimes with looks very expressive of
+approbation; but seldom declared his opinion on the subject, much less
+made compliments to the lady on the justness of her remarks.
+
+From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took more
+particular notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the laws of
+precedency, were better entitled to it: it was a mode of politeness she
+had peculiarly studied, to bring to the line of that equality, which is
+ever necessary for the ease of our guests, those whose sensibility had
+placed them below it.
+
+Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the world, yet
+was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on his part; on the
+contrary, the most delicate consciousness of propriety often kindled that
+blush which marred the performance of it: this raised his esteem
+something above what the most sanguine descriptions of her goodness had
+been able to do; for certain it is, that notwithstanding the laboured
+definitions which very wise men have given us of the inherent beauty of
+virtue, we are always inclined to think her handsomest when she
+condescends to smile upon ourselves.
+
+It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love: in
+the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition; for there were
+certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a degree much above their
+common complexion.  In times not credulous of inspiration, we should
+account for this from some natural cause; but we do not mean to account
+for it at all; it were sufficient to describe its effects; but they were
+sometimes so ludicrous, as might derogate from the dignity of the
+sensations which produced them to describe.  They were treated indeed as
+such by most of Harley’s sober friends, who often laughed very heartily
+at the awkward blunders of the real Harley, when the different faculties,
+which should have prevented them, were entirely occupied by the ideal.
+In some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton did not fail to be
+introduced; and the picture which had been drawn amidst the surrounding
+objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out to be viewed through the
+medium of romantic imagination: it was improved of course, and esteem was
+a word inexpressive of the feelings which it excited.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY—THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG.
+
+
+HE had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of his intended departure; but
+the good lady’s affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep, and early
+as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set out, he found
+her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup in her
+hand.  She knew enough of physic to prescribe against going abroad of a
+morning with an empty stomach.  She gave her blessing with the draught;
+her instructions she had delivered the night before.  They consisted
+mostly of negatives, for London, in her idea, was so replete with
+temptations that it needed the whole armour of her friendly cautions to
+repel their attacks.
+
+Peter stood at the door.  We have mentioned this faithful fellow
+formerly: Harley’s father had taken him up an orphan, and saved him from
+being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in the service
+of him and of his son.  Harley shook him by the hand as he passed,
+smiling, as if he had said, “I will not weep.”  He sprung hastily into
+the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the step.  “My dear
+master,” said he, shaking the solitary lock that hung on either side of
+his head, “I have been told as how London is a sad place.”  He was choked
+with the thought, and his benediction could not be heard:—but it shall be
+heard, honest Peter! where these tears will add to its energy.
+
+In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed breakfasting, but
+the fulness of his heart would not suffer him to eat a morsel.  He walked
+out on the road, and gaining a little height, stood gazing on that
+quarter he had left.  He looked for his wonted prospect, his fields, his
+woods, and his hills: they were lost in the distant clouds!  He pencilled
+them on the clouds, and bade them farewell with a sigh!
+
+He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from his shoe,
+when he saw, at some distance, a beggar approaching him.  He had on a
+loose sort of coat, mended with different-coloured rags, amongst which
+the blue and the russet were the predominant.  He had a short knotty
+stick in his hand, and on the top of it was stuck a ram’s horn; his knees
+(though he was no pilgrim) had worn the stuff of his breeches; he wore no
+shoes, and his stockings had entirely lost that part of them which should
+have covered his feet and ankles; in his face, however, was the plump
+appearance of good humour; he walked a good round pace, and a
+crook-legged dog trotted at his heels.
+
+“Our delicacies,” said Harley to himself, “are fantastic; they are not in
+nature! that beggar walks over the sharpest of these stones barefooted,
+whilst I have lost the most delightful dream in the world, from the
+smallest of them happening to get into my shoe.”  The beggar had by this
+time come up, and, pulling off a piece of hat, asked charity of Harley;
+the dog began to beg too:—it was impossible to resist both; and, in
+truth, the want of shoes and stockings had made both unnecessary, for
+Harley had destined sixpence for him before.  The beggar, on receiving
+it, poured forth blessings without number; and, with a sort of smile on
+his countenance, said to Harley “that if he wanted to have his fortune
+told”—Harley turned his eye briskly on the beggar: it was an unpromising
+look for the subject of a prediction, and silenced the prophet
+immediately.  “I would much rather learn,” said Harley, “what it is in
+your power to tell me: your trade must be an entertaining one; sit down
+on this stone, and let me know something of your profession; I have often
+thought of turning fortune-teller for a week or two myself.”
+
+“Master,” replied the beggar, “I like your frankness much; God knows I
+had the humour of plain-dealing in me from a child, but there is no doing
+with it in this world; we must live as we can, and lying is, as you call
+it, my profession, but I was in some sort forced to the trade, for I
+dealt once in telling truth.
+
+“I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me live: I never
+laid by indeed: for I was reckoned a piece of a wag, and your wags, I
+take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley.”
+
+“So,” said Harley, “you seem to know me.”
+
+“Ay, there are few folks in the country that I don’t know something of:
+how should I tell fortunes else?”
+
+“True; but to go on with your story: you were a labourer, you say, and a
+wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade, but your
+humour you preserve to be of use to you in your new.”
+
+“What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean on’t: but I was brought to
+my idleness by degrees; first I could not work, and it went against my
+stomach to work ever after.  I was seized with a jail fever at the time
+of the assizes being in the county where I lived; for I was always
+curious to get acquainted with the felons, because they are commonly
+fellows of much mirth and little thought, qualities I had ever an esteem
+for.  In the height of this fever, Mr. Harley, the house where I lay took
+fire, and burnt to the ground; I was carried out in that condition, and
+lay all the rest of my illness in a barn.  I got the better of my
+disease, however, but I was so weak that I spit blood whenever I
+attempted to work.  I had no relation living that I knew of, and I never
+kept a friend above a week, when I was able to joke; I seldom remained
+above six months in a parish, so that I might have died before I had
+found a settlement in any: thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a sorry
+trade I found it, Mr. Harley.  I told all my misfortunes truly, but they
+were seldom believed; and the few who gave me a halfpenny as they passed
+did it with a shake of the head, and an injunction not to trouble them
+with a long story.  In short, I found that people don’t care to give alms
+without some security for their money; a wooden leg or a withered arm is
+a sort of draught upon heaven for those who choose to have their money
+placed to account there; so I changed my plan, and, instead of telling my
+own misfortunes, began to prophesy happiness to others.  This I found by
+much the better way: folks will always listen when the tale is their own,
+and of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling, I have known
+few on whom it had not a very sensible effect.  I pick up the names of
+their acquaintance; amours and little squabbles are easily gleaned among
+servants and neighbours; and indeed people themselves are the best
+intelligencers in the world for our purpose: they dare not puzzle us for
+their own sakes, for every one is anxious to hear what they wish to
+believe, and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they have done, are
+generally more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine.  With a
+tolerable good memory, and some share of cunning, with the help of
+walking a-nights over heaths and church-yards, with this, and showing the
+tricks of that there dog, whom I stole from the serjeant of a marching
+regiment (and by the way, he can steal too upon occasion), I make shift
+to pick up a livelihood.  My trade, indeed, is none of the honestest; yet
+people are not much cheated neither who give a few half-pence for a
+prospect of happiness, which I have heard some persons say is all a man
+can arrive at in this world.  But I must bid you good day, sir, for I
+have three miles to walk before noon, to inform some boarding-school
+young ladies whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm or
+captains in the army: a question which I promised to answer them by that
+time.”
+
+Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade him consider
+on whom he was going to bestow it.  Virtue held back his arm; but a
+milder form, a younger sister of Virtue’s, not so severe as Virtue, nor
+so serious as Pity, smiled upon him; his fingers lost their compression,
+nor did Virtue offer to catch the money as it fell.  It had no sooner
+reached the ground than the watchful cur (a trick he had been taught)
+snapped it up, and, contrary to the most approved method of stewardship,
+delivered it immediately into the hands of his master.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+HE MAKES A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE BARONET’S.  THE LAUDABLE AMBITION OF
+A YOUNG MAN TO BE THOUGHT SOMETHING BY THE WORLD.
+
+
+WE have related, in a former chapter, the little success of his first
+visit to the great man, for whom he had the introductory letter from Mr.
+Walton.  To people of equal sensibility, the influence of those trifles
+we mentioned on his deportment will not appear surprising, but to his
+friends in the country they could not be stated, nor would they have
+allowed them any place in the account.  In some of their letters,
+therefore, which he received soon after, they expressed their surprise at
+his not having been more urgent in his application, and again recommended
+the blushless assiduity of successful merit.
+
+He resolved to make another attempt at the baronet’s; fortified with
+higher notions of his own dignity, and with less apprehension of repulse.
+In his way to Grosvenor Square he began to ruminate on the folly of
+mankind, who affixed those ideas of superiority to riches, which reduced
+the minds of men, by nature equal with the more fortunate, to that sort
+of servility which he felt in his own.  By the time he had reached the
+Square, and was walking along the pavement which led to the baronet’s, he
+had brought his reasoning on the subject to such a point, that the
+conclusion, by every rule of logic, should have led him to a thorough
+indifference in his approaches to a fellow-mortal, whether that
+fellow-mortal was possessed of six or six thousand pounds a year.  It is
+probable, however, that the premises had been improperly formed: for it
+is certain, that when he approached the great man’s door he felt his
+heart agitated by an unusual pulsation.
+
+He had almost reached it, when he observed among gentleman coming out,
+dressed in a white frock and a red laced waistcoat, with a small switch
+in his hand, which he seemed to manage with a particular good grace.  As
+he passed him on the steps, the stranger very politely made him a bow,
+which Harley returned, though he could not remember ever having seen him
+before.  He asked Harley, in the same civil manner, if he was going to
+wait on his friend the baronet.  “For I was just calling,” said he, “and
+am sorry to find that he is gone for some days into the country.”
+
+Harley thanked him for his information, and was turning from the door,
+when the other observed that it would be proper to leave his name, and
+very obligingly knocked for that purpose.
+
+“Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant to have waited on your master.”
+
+“Your name, if you please, sir?”
+
+“Harley.”
+
+“You’ll remember, Tom, Harley.”
+
+The door was shut.  “Since we are here,” said he, “we shall not lose our
+walk if we add a little to it by a turn or two in Hyde Park.”
+
+He accompanied this proposal with a second bow, and Harley accepted of it
+by another in return.
+
+The conversation, as they walked, was brilliant on the side of his
+companion.  The playhouse, the opera, with every occurrence in high life,
+he seemed perfectly master of; and talked of some reigning beauties of
+quality in a manner the most feeling in the world.  Harley admired the
+happiness of his vivacity, and, opposite as it was to the reserve of his
+own nature, began to be much pleased with its effects.
+
+Though I am not of opinion with some wise men, that the existence of
+objects depends on idea, yet I am convinced that their appearance is not
+a little influenced by it.  The optics of some minds are in so unlucky a
+perspective as to throw a certain shade on every picture that is
+presented to them, while those of others (of which number was Harley),
+like the mirrors of the ladies, have a wonderful effect in bettering
+their complexions.  Through such a medium perhaps he was looking on his
+present companion.
+
+When they had finished their walk, and were returning by the corner of
+the Park, they observed a board hung out of a window signifying, “An
+excellent ORDINARY on Saturdays and Sundays.”  It happened to be
+Saturday, and the table was covered for the purpose.
+
+“What if we should go in and dine here, if you happen not to be engaged,
+sir?” said the young gentleman.  “It is not impossible but we shall meet
+with some original or other; it is a sort of humour I like hugely.”
+
+Harley made no objection, and the stranger showed him the way into the
+parlour.
+
+He was placed, by the courtesy of his introductor, in an arm-chair that
+stood at one side of the fire.  Over against him was seated a man of a
+grave considering aspect, with that look of sober prudence which
+indicates what is commonly called a warm man.  He wore a pretty large
+wig, which had once been white, but was now of a brownish yellow; his
+coat was one of those modest-coloured drabs which mock the injuries of
+dust and dirt; two jack-boots concealed, in part, the well-mended knees
+of an old pair of buckskin breeches; while the spotted handkerchief round
+his neck preserved at once its owner from catching cold and his
+neck-cloth from being dirtied.  Next him sat another man, with a tankard
+in his hand and a quid of tobacco in his cheek, whose eye was rather more
+vivacious, and whose dress was something smarter.
+
+The first-mentioned gentleman took notice that the room had been so
+lately washed, as not to have had time to dry, and remarked that wet
+lodging was unwholesome for man or beast.  He looked round at the same
+time for a poker to stir the fire with, which, he at last observed to the
+company, the people of the house had removed in order to save their
+coals.  This difficulty, however, he overcame by the help of Harley’s
+stick, saying, “that as they should, no doubt, pay for their fire in some
+shape or other, he saw no reason why they should not have the use of it
+while they sat.”
+
+The door was now opened for the admission of dinner.  “I don’t know how
+it is with you, gentlemen,” said Harley’s new acquaintance, “but I am
+afraid I shall not be able to get down a morsel at this horrid mechanical
+hour of dining.”  He sat down, however, and did not show any want of
+appetite by his eating.  He took upon him the carving of the meat, and
+criticised on the goodness of the pudding.
+
+When the table-cloth was removed, he proposed calling for some punch,
+which was readily agreed to; he seemed at first inclined to make it
+himself, but afterwards changed his mind, and left that province to the
+waiter, telling him to have it pure West Indian, or he could not taste a
+drop of it.
+
+When the punch was brought he undertook to fill the glasses and call the
+toasts.  “The King.”—The toast naturally produced politics.  It is the
+privilege of Englishmen to drink the king’s health, and to talk of his
+conduct.  The man who sat opposite to Harley (and who by this time,
+partly from himself, and partly from his acquaintance on his left hand,
+was discovered to be a grazier) observed, “That it was a shame for so
+many pensioners to be allowed to take the bread out of the mouth of the
+poor.”
+
+“Ay, and provisions,” said his friend, “were never so dear in the memory
+of man; I wish the king and his counsellors would look to that.”
+
+“As for the matter of provisions, neighbour Wrightson,” he replied, “I am
+sure the prices of cattle—”
+
+A dispute would have probably ensued, but it was prevented by the spruce
+toastmaster, who gave a sentiment, and turning to the two politicians,
+“Pray, gentlemen,” said he, “let us have done with these musty politics:
+I would always leave them to the beer-suckers in Butcher Row.  Come, let
+us have something of the fine arts.  That was a damn’d hard match between
+Joe the Nailor and Tim Bucket.  The knowing ones were cursedly taken in
+there!  I lost a cool hundred myself, faith.”
+
+At mention of the cool hundred, the grazier threw his eyes aslant, with a
+mingled look of doubt and surprise; while the man at his elbow looked
+arch, and gave a short emphatical sort of cough.
+
+Both seemed to be silenced, however, by this intelligence; and while the
+remainder of the punch lasted the conversation was wholly engrossed by
+the gentleman with the fine waistcoat, who told a great many “immense
+comical stories” and “confounded smart things,” as he termed them, acted
+and spoken by lords, ladies, and young bucks of quality, of his
+acquaintance.  At last, the grazier, pulling out a watch, of a very
+unusual size, and telling the hour, said that he had an appointment.  “Is
+it so late?” said the young gentleman; “then I am afraid I have missed an
+appointment already; but the truth is, I am cursedly given to missing of
+appointments.”
+
+When the grazier and he were gone, Harley turned to the remaining
+personage, and asked him if he knew that young gentleman.  “A gentleman!”
+said he; “ay, he is one of your gentlemen at the top of an affidavit.  I
+knew him, some years ago, in the quality of a footman; and I believe he
+had some times the honour to be a pimp.  At last, some of the great
+folks, to whom he had been serviceable in both capacities, had him made a
+gauger; in which station he remains, and has the assurance to pretend an
+acquaintance with men of quality.  The impudent dog! with a few shillings
+in his pocket, he will talk you three times as much as my friend Mundy
+there, who is worth nine thousand if he’s worth a farthing.  But I know
+the rascal, and despise him, as he deserves.”
+
+Harley began to despise him too, and to conceive some indignation at
+having sat with patience to hear such a fellow speak nonsense.  But he
+corrected himself by reflecting that he was perhaps as well entertained,
+and instructed too, by this same modest gauger, as he should have been by
+such a man as he had thought proper to personate.  And surely the fault
+may more properly be imputed to that rank where the futility is real than
+where it is feigned: to that rank whose opportunities for nobler
+accomplishments have only served to rear a fabric of folly which the
+untutored hand of affectation, even among the meanest of mankind, can
+imitate with success.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+HE VISITS BEDLAM.—THE DISTRESSES OF A DAUGHTER.
+
+
+Of those things called Sights in London, which every stranger is supposed
+desirous to see, Bedlam is one.  To that place, therefore, an
+acquaintance of Harley’s, after having accompanied him to several other
+shows, proposed a visit.  Harley objected to it, “because,” said he, “I
+think it an inhuman practice to expose the greatest misery with which our
+nature is afflicted to every idle visitant who can afford a trifling
+perquisite to the keeper; especially as it is a distress which the humane
+must see, with the painful reflection, that it is not in their power to
+alleviate it.”  He was overpowered, however, by the solicitations of his
+friend and the other persons of the party (amongst whom were several
+ladies); and they went in a body to Moorfields.
+
+Their conductor led them first to the dismal mansions of those who are in
+the most horrid state of incurable madness.  The clanking of chains, the
+wildness of their cries, and the imprecations which some of them uttered,
+formed a scene inexpressibly shocking.  Harley and his companions,
+especially the female part of them, begged their guide to return; he
+seemed surprised at their uneasiness, and was with difficulty prevailed
+on to leave that part of the house without showing them some others: who,
+as he expressed it in the phrase of those that keep wild beasts for show,
+were much better worth seeing than any they had passed, being ten times
+more fierce and unmanageable.
+
+He led them next to that quarter where those reside who, as they are not
+dangerous to themselves or others, enjoy a certain degree of freedom,
+according to the state of their distemper.
+
+Harley had fallen behind his companions, looking at a man who was making
+pendulums with bits of thread and little balls of clay.  He had
+delineated a segment of a circle on the wall with chalk, and marked their
+different vibrations by intersecting it with cross lines.  A
+decent-looking man came up, and smiling at the maniac, turned to Harley,
+and told him that gentleman had once been a very celebrated
+mathematician.  “He fell a sacrifice,” said he, “to the theory of comets;
+for having, with infinite labour, formed a table on the conjectures of
+Sir Isaac Newton, he was disappointed in the return of one of those
+luminaries, and was very soon after obliged to be placed here by his
+friends.  If you please to follow me, sir,” continued the stranger, “I
+believe I shall be able to give you a more satisfactory account of the
+unfortunate people you see here than the man who attends your
+companions.”
+
+Harley bowed, and accepted his offer.
+
+The next person they came up to had scrawled a variety of figures on a
+piece of slate.  Harley had the curiosity to take a nearer view of them.
+They consisted of different columns, on the top of which were marked
+South-sea annuities, India-stock, and Three per cent. annuities consol.
+“This,” said Harley’s instructor, “was a gentleman well known in Change
+Alley.  He was once worth fifty thousand pounds, and had actually agreed
+for the purchase of an estate in the West, in order to realise his money;
+but he quarrelled with the proprietor about the repairs of the garden
+wall, and so returned to town, to follow his old trade of stock-jobbing a
+little longer; when an unlucky fluctuation of stock, in which he was
+engaged to an immense extent, reduced him at once to poverty and to
+madness.  Poor wretch! he told me t’other day that against the next
+payment of differences he should be some hundreds above a plum.”
+
+“It is a spondee, and I will maintain it,” interrupted a voice on his
+left hand.  This assertion was followed by a very rapid recital of some
+verses from Homer.  “That figure,” said the gentleman, “whose clothes are
+so bedaubed with snuff, was a schoolmaster of some reputation: he came
+hither to be resolved of some doubts he entertained concerning the
+genuine pronunciation of the Greek vowels.  In his highest fits, he makes
+frequent mention of one Mr. Bentley.
+
+“But delusive ideas, sir, are the motives of the greatest part of
+mankind, and a heated imagination the power by which their actions are
+incited: the world, in the eye of a philosopher, may be said to be a
+large madhouse.”  “It is true,” answered Harley, “the passions of men are
+temporary madnesses; and sometimes very fatal in their effects.
+
+    From Macedonia’s madman to the Swede.”
+
+“It was, indeed,” said the stranger, “a very mad thing in Charles to
+think of adding so vast a country as Russia to his dominions: that would
+have been fatal indeed; the balance of the North would then have been
+lost; but the Sultan and I would never have allowed it.”—“Sir!” said
+Harley, with no small surprise on his countenance.—“Why, yes,” answered
+the other, “the Sultan and I; do you know me?  I am the Chan of Tartary.”
+
+Harley was a good deal struck by this discovery; he had prudence enough,
+however, to conceal his amazement, and bowing as low to the monarch as
+his dignity required, left him immediately, and joined his companions.
+
+He found them in a quarter of the house set apart for the insane of the
+other sex, several of whom had gathered about the female visitors, and
+were examining, with rather more accuracy than might have been expected,
+the particulars of their dress.
+
+Separate from the rest stood one whose appearance had something of
+superior dignity.  Her face, though pale and wasted, was less squalid
+than those of the others, and showed a dejection of that decent kind,
+which moves our pity unmixed with horror: upon her, therefore, the eyes
+of all were immediately turned.  The keeper who accompanied them observed
+it: “This,” said he, “is a young lady who was born to ride in her coach
+and six.  She was beloved, if the story I have heard is true, by a young
+gentleman, her equal in birth, though by no means her match in fortune:
+but love, they say, is blind, and so she fancied him as much as he did
+her.  Her father, it seems, would not hear of their marriage, and
+threatened to turn her out of doors if ever she saw him again.  Upon this
+the young gentleman took a voyage to the West Indies, in hopes of
+bettering his fortune, and obtaining his mistress; but he was scarce
+landed, when he was seized with one of the fevers which are common in
+those islands, and died in a few days, lamented by every one that knew
+him.  This news soon reached his mistress, who was at the same time
+pressed by her father to marry a rich miserly fellow, who was old enough
+to be her grandfather.  The death of her lover had no effect on her
+inhuman parent: he was only the more earnest for her marriage with the
+man he had provided for her; and what between her despair at the death of
+the one, and her aversion to the other, the poor young lady was reduced
+to the condition you see her in.  But God would not prosper such cruelty;
+her father’s affairs soon after went to wreck, and he died almost a
+beggar.”
+
+Though this story was told in very plain language, it had particularly
+attracted Harley’s notice; he had given it the tribute of some tears.
+The unfortunate young lady had till now seemed entranced in thought, with
+her eyes fixed on a little garnet ring she wore on her finger; she turned
+them now upon Harley.  “My Billy is no more!” said she; “do you weep for
+my Billy?  Blessings on your tears!  I would weep too, but my brain is
+dry; and it burns, it burns, it burns!”—She drew nearer to Harley.—“Be
+comforted, young lady,” said he, “your Billy is in heaven.”—“Is he,
+indeed? and shall we meet again? and shall that frightful man (pointing
+to the keeper) not be there!—Alas!  I am grown naughty of late; I have
+almost forgotten to think of heaven: yet I pray sometimes; when I can, I
+pray; and sometimes I sing; when I am saddest, I sing:—You shall hear
+me—hush!
+
+    “Light be the earth on Billy’s breast,
+    And green the sod that wraps his grave.”
+
+There was a plaintive wildness in the air not to be withstood; and,
+except the keeper’s, there was not an unmoistened eye around her.
+
+“Do you weep again?” said she.  “I would not have you weep: you are like
+my Billy; you are, believe me; just so he looked when he gave me this
+ring; poor Billy! ’twas the last time ever we met!—
+
+“’Twas when the seas were roaring—I love you for resembling my Billy; but
+I shall never love any man like him.”—She stretched out her hand to
+Harley; he pressed it between both of his, and bathed it with his
+tears.—“Nay, that is Billy’s ring,” said she, “you cannot have it,
+indeed; but here is another, look here, which I plated to-day of some
+gold-thread from this bit of stuff; will you keep it for my sake?  I am a
+strange girl; but my heart is harmless: my poor heart; it will burst some
+day; feel how it beats!”  She pressed his hand to her bosom, then holding
+her head in the attitude of listening—“Hark! one, two, three! be quiet,
+thou little trembler; my Billy is cold!—but I had forgotten the
+ring.”—She put it on his finger.  “Farewell!  I must leave you now.”—She
+would have withdrawn her hand; Harley held it to his lips.—“I dare not
+stay longer; my head throbs sadly: farewell!”—She walked with a hurried
+step to a little apartment at some distance.  Harley stood fixed in
+astonishment and pity; his friend gave money to the keeper.—Harley looked
+on his ring.—He put a couple of guineas into the man’s hand: “Be kind to
+that unfortunate.”—He burst into tears, and left them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE MISANTHROPE.
+
+
+THE friend who had conducted him to Moorfields called upon him again the
+next evening.  After some talk on the adventures of the preceding day: “I
+carried you yesterday,” said he to Harley, “to visit the mad; let me
+introduce you to-night, at supper, to one of the wise: but you must not
+look for anything of the Socratic pleasantry about him; on the contrary,
+I warn you to expect the spirit of a Diogenes.  That you may be a little
+prepared for his extraordinary manner, I will let you into some
+particulars of his history.
+
+“He is the elder of the two sons of a gentleman of considerable estate in
+the country.  Their father died when they were young: both were
+remarkable at school for quickness of parts and extent of genius; this
+had been bred to no profession, because his father’s fortune, which
+descended to him, was thought sufficient to set him above it; the other
+was put apprentice to an eminent attorney.  In this the expectations of
+his friends were more consulted than his own inclination; for both his
+brother and he had feelings of that warm kind that could ill brook a
+study so dry as the law, especially in that department of it which was
+allotted to him.  But the difference of their tempers made the
+characteristical distinction between them.  The younger, from the
+gentleness of his nature, bore with patience a situation entirely
+discordant to his genius and disposition.  At times, indeed, his pride
+would suggest of how little importance those talents were which the
+partiality of his friends had often extolled: they were now incumbrances
+in a walk of life where the dull and the ignorant passed him at every
+turn; his fancy and his feeling were invincible obstacles to eminence in
+a situation where his fancy had no room for exertion, and his feeling
+experienced perpetual disgust.  But these murmurings he never suffered to
+be heard; and that he might not offend the prudence of those who had been
+concerned in the choice of his profession, he continued to labour in it
+several years, till, by the death of a relation, he succeeded to an
+estate of a little better than £100 a year, with which, and the small
+patrimony left him, he retired into the country, and made a love-match
+with a young lady of a similar temper to his own, with whom the sagacious
+world pitied him for finding happiness.
+
+“But his elder brother, whom you are to see at supper, if you will do us
+the favour of your company, was naturally impetuous, decisive, and
+overbearing.  He entered into life with those ardent expectations by
+which young men are commonly deluded: in his friendships, warm to excess;
+and equally violent in his dislikes.  He was on the brink of marriage
+with a young lady, when one of those friends, for whose honour he would
+have pawned his life, made an elopement with that very goddess, and left
+him besides deeply engaged for sums which that good friend’s extravagance
+had squandered.
+
+“The dreams he had formerly enjoyed were now changed for ideas of a very
+different nature.  He abjured all confidence in anything of human form;
+sold his lands, which still produced him a very large reversion, came to
+town, and immured himself, with a woman who had been his nurse, in little
+better than a garret; and has ever since applied his talents to the
+vilifying of his species.  In one thing I must take the liberty to
+instruct you; however different your sentiments may be (and different
+they must be), you will suffer him to go on without contradiction;
+otherwise, he will be silent immediately, and we shall not get a word
+from him all the night after.”  Harley promised to remember this
+injunction, and accepted the invitation of his friend.
+
+When they arrived at the house, they were informed that the gentleman was
+come, and had been shown into the parlour.  They found him sitting with a
+daughter of his friend’s, about three years old, on his knee, whom he was
+teaching the alphabet from a horn book: at a little distance stood a
+sister of hers, some years older.  “Get you away, miss,” said he to this
+last; “you are a pert gossip, and I will have nothing to do with
+you.”—“Nay,” answered she, “Nancy is your favourite; you are quite in
+love with Nancy.”—“Take away that girl,” said he to her father, whom he
+now observed to have entered the room; “she has woman about her already.”
+The children were accordingly dismissed.
+
+Betwixt that and supper-time he did not utter a syllable.  When supper
+came, he quarrelled with every dish at table, but eat of them all; only
+exempting from his censures a salad, “which you have not spoiled,” said
+he, “because you have not attempted to cook it.”
+
+When the wine was set upon the table, he took from his pocket a
+particular smoking apparatus, and filled his pipe, without taking any
+more notice of Harley, or his friend, than if no such persons had been in
+the room.
+
+Harley could not help stealing a look of surprise at him; but his friend,
+who knew his humour, returned it by annihilating his presence in the like
+manner, and, leaving him to his own meditations, addressed himself
+entirely to Harley.
+
+In their discourse some mention happened to be made of an amiable
+character, and the words _honour_ and _politeness_ were applied to it.
+Upon this, the gentleman, laying down his pipe, and changing the tone of
+his countenance, from an ironical grin to something more intently
+contemptuous: “Honour,” said he: “Honour and Politeness! this is the coin
+of the world, and passes current with the fools of it.  You have
+substituted the shadow Honour, instead of the substance Virtue; and have
+banished the reality of friendship for the fictitious semblance which you
+have termed Politeness: politeness, which consists in a certain
+ceremonious jargon, more ridiculous to the ear of reason than the voice
+of a puppet.  You have invented sounds, which you worship, though they
+tyrannize over your peace; and are surrounded with empty forms, which
+take from the honest emotions of joy, and add to the poignancy of
+misfortune.”  “Sir!” said Harley—his friend winked to him, to remind him
+of the caution he had received.  He was silenced by the thought.  The
+philosopher turned his eye upon him: he examined him from top to toe,
+with a sort of triumphant contempt; Harley’s coat happened to be a new
+one; the other’s was as shabby as could possibly be supposed to be on the
+back of a gentleman: there was much significance in his look with regard
+to this coat; it spoke of the sleekness of folly and the threadbareness
+of wisdom.
+
+“Truth,” continued he, “the most amiable, as well as the most natural of
+virtues, you are at pains to eradicate.  Your very nurseries are
+seminaries of falsehood; and what is called Fashion in manhood completes
+the system of avowed insincerity.  Mankind, in the gross, is a gaping
+monster, that loves to be deceived, and has seldom been disappointed: nor
+is their vanity less fallacious to your philosophers, who adopt modes of
+truth to follow them through the paths of error, and defend paradoxes
+merely to be singular in defending them.  These are they whom ye term
+Ingenious; ’tis a phrase of commendation I detest: it implies an attempt
+to impose on my judgment, by flattering my imagination; yet these are
+they whose works are read by the old with delight, which the young are
+taught to look upon as the codes of knowledge and philosophy.
+
+“Indeed, the education of your youth is every way preposterous; you waste
+at school years in improving talents, without having ever spent an hour
+in discovering them; one promiscuous line of instruction is followed,
+without regard to genius, capacity, or probable situation in the
+commonwealth.  From this bear-garden of the pedagogue, a raw,
+unprincipled boy is turned loose upon the world to travel; without any
+ideas but those of improving his dress at Paris, or starting into taste
+by gazing on some paintings at Rome.  Ask him of the manners of the
+people, and he will tell you that the skirt is worn much shorter in
+France, and that everybody eats macaroni in Italy.  When he returns home,
+he buys a seat in parliament, and studies the constitution at Arthur’s.
+
+“Nor are your females trained to any more useful purpose: they are
+taught, by the very rewards which their nurses propose for good
+behaviour, by the first thing like a jest which they hear from every male
+visitor of the family, that a young woman is a creature to be married;
+and when they are grown somewhat older, are instructed that it is the
+purpose of marriage to have the enjoyment of pin-money, and the
+expectation of a jointure.”
+
+“These, {61} indeed, are the effects of luxury, which is, perhaps,
+inseparable from a certain degree of power and grandeur in a nation.  But
+it is not simply of the progress of luxury that we have to complain: did
+its votaries keep in their own sphere of thoughtless dissipation, we
+might despise them without emotion; but the frivolous pursuits of
+pleasure are mingled with the most important concerns of the state; and
+public enterprise shall sleep till he who should guide its operation has
+decided his bets at Newmarket, or fulfilled his engagement with a
+favourite mistress in the country.  We want some man of acknowledged
+eminence to point our counsels with that firmness which the counsels of a
+great people require.  We have hundreds of ministers, who press forward
+into office without having ever learned that art which is necessary for
+every business: the art of thinking; and mistake the petulance, which
+could give inspiration to smart sarcasms on an obnoxious measure in a
+popular assembly, for the ability which is to balance the interest of
+kingdoms, and investigate the latent sources of national superiority.
+With the administration of such men the people can never be satisfied;
+for besides that their confidence is gained only by the view of superior
+talents, there needs that depth of knowledge, which is not only
+acquainted with the just extent of power, but can also trace its
+connection with the expedient, to preserve its possessors from the
+contempt which attends irresolution, or the resentment which follows
+temerity.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+[Here a considerable part is wanting.]
+
+* * “In short, man is an animal equally selfish and vain.  Vanity,
+indeed, is but a modification of selfishness.  From the latter, there are
+some who pretend to be free: they are generally such as declaim against
+the lust of wealth and power, because they have never been able to attain
+any high degree in either: they boast of generosity and feeling.  They
+tell us (perhaps they tell us in rhyme) that the sensations of an honest
+heart, of a mind universally benevolent, make up the quiet bliss which
+they enjoy; but they will not, by this, be exempted from the charge of
+selfishness.  Whence the luxurious happiness they describe in their
+little family-circles?  Whence the pleasure which they feel, when they
+trim their evening fires, and listen to the howl of winter’s wind?
+Whence, but from the secret reflection of what houseless wretches feel
+from it?  Or do you administer comfort in affliction—the motive is at
+hand; I have had it preached to me in nineteen out of twenty of your
+consolatory discourses—the comparative littleness of our own misfortunes.
+
+“With vanity your best virtues are grossly tainted: your benevolence,
+which ye deduce immediately from the natural impulse of the heart,
+squints to it for its reward.  There are some, indeed, who tell us of the
+satisfaction which flows from a secret consciousness of good actions:
+this secret satisfaction is truly excellent—when we have some friend to
+whom we may discover its excellence.”
+
+He now paused a moment to re-light his pipe, when a clock, that stood at
+his back, struck eleven; he started up at the sound, took his hat and his
+cane, and nodding good night with his head, walked out of the room.  The
+gentleman of the house called a servant to bring the stranger’s surtout.
+“What sort of a night is it, fellow?” said he.—“It rains, sir,” answered
+the servant, “with an easterly wind.”—“Easterly for ever!”  He made no
+other reply; but shrugging up his shoulders till they almost touched his
+ears, wrapped himself tight in his great coat, and disappeared.
+
+“This is a strange creature,” said his friend to Harley.  “I cannot say,”
+answered he, “that his remarks are of the pleasant kind: it is curious to
+observe how the nature of truth may be changed by the garb it wears;
+softened to the admonition of friendship, or soured into the severity of
+reproof: yet this severity may be useful to some tempers; it somewhat
+resembles a file: disagreeable in its operation, but hard metals may be
+the brighter for it.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY.
+
+
+THE company at the baronet’s removed to the playhouse accordingly, and
+Harley took his usual route into the Park.  He observed, as he entered, a
+fresh-looking elderly gentleman in conversation with a beggar, who,
+leaning on his crutch, was recounting the hardships he had undergone, and
+explaining the wretchedness of his present condition.  This was a very
+interesting dialogue to Harley; he was rude enough, therefore, to slacken
+his pace as he approached, and at last to make a full stop at the
+gentleman’s back, who was just then expressing his compassion for the
+beggar, and regretting that he had not a farthing of change about him.
+At saying this, he looked piteously on the fellow: there was something in
+his physiognomy which caught Harley’s notice: indeed, physiognomy was one
+of Harley’s foibles, for which he had been often rebuked by his aunt in
+the country, who used to tell him that when he was come to her years and
+experience he would know that all’s not gold that glitters: and it must
+be owned that his aunt was a very sensible, harsh-looking maiden lady of
+threescore and upwards.  But he was too apt to forget this caution and
+now, it seems, it had not occurred to him.  Stepping up, therefore, to
+the gentleman, who was lamenting the want of silver, “Your intentions,
+sir,” said he, “are so good, that I cannot help lending you my assistance
+to carry them into execution,” and gave the beggar a shilling.  The other
+returned a suitable compliment, and extolled the benevolence of Harley.
+They kept walking together, and benevolence grew the topic of discourse.
+
+The stranger was fluent on the subject.  “There is no use of money,” said
+he, “equal to that of beneficence.  With the profuse, it is lost; and
+even with those who lay it out according to the prudence of the world,
+the objects acquired by it pall on the sense, and have scarce become our
+own till they lose their value with the power of pleasing; but here the
+enjoyment grows on reflection, and our money is most truly ours when it
+ceases being in our possession.
+
+“Yet I agree in some measure,” answered Harley, “with those who think
+that charity to our common beggars is often misplaced; there are objects
+less obtrusive whose title is a better one.”
+
+“We cannot easily distinguish,” said the stranger; “and even of the
+worthless, are there not many whose imprudence, or whose vice, may have
+been one dreadful consequence of misfortune?”
+
+Harley looked again in his face, and blessed himself for his skill in
+physiognomy.
+
+By this time they had reached the end of the walk, the old gentleman
+leaning on the rails to take breath, and in the meantime they were joined
+by a younger man, whose figure was much above the appearance of his
+dress, which was poor and shabby.  Harley’s former companion addressed
+him as an acquaintance, and they turned on the walk together.
+
+The elder of the strangers complained of the closeness of the evening,
+and asked the other if he would go with him into a house hard by, and
+take one draught of excellent cyder.  “The man who keeps this house,”
+said he to Harley, “was once a servant of mine.  I could not think of
+turning loose upon the world a faithful old fellow, for no other reason
+but that his age had incapacitated him; so I gave him an annuity of ten
+pounds, with the help of which he has set up this little place here, and
+his daughter goes and sells milk in the city, while her father manages
+his tap-room, as he calls it, at home.  I can’t well ask a gentleman of
+your appearance to accompany me to so paltry a place.”  “Sir,” replied
+Harley, interrupting him, “I would much rather enter it than the most
+celebrated tavern in town.  To give to the necessitous may sometimes be a
+weakness in the man; to encourage industry is a duty in the citizen.”
+They entered the house accordingly.
+
+On a table at the corner of the room lay a pack of cards, loosely thrown
+together.  The old gentleman reproved the man of the house for
+encouraging so idle an amusement.  Harley attempted to defend him from
+the necessity of accommodating himself to the humour of his guests, and
+taking up the cards, began to shuffle them backwards and forwards in his
+hand.  “Nay, I don’t think cards so unpardonable an amusement as some
+do,” replied the other; “and now and then, about this time of the
+evening, when my eyes begin to fail me for my book, I divert myself with
+a game at piquet, without finding my morals a bit relaxed by it.  Do you
+play piquet, sir?” (to Harley.)  Harley answered in the affirmative; upon
+which the other proposed playing a pool at a shilling the game, doubling
+the stakes; adding, that he never played higher with anybody.
+
+Harley’s good nature could not refuse the benevolent old man; and the
+younger stranger, though he at first pleaded prior engagements, yet being
+earnestly solicited by his friend, at last yielded to solicitation.
+
+When they began to play, the old gentleman, somewhat to the surprise of
+Harley, produced ten shillings to serve for markers of his score.  “He
+had no change for the beggar,” said Harley to himself; “but I can easily
+account for it; it is curious to observe the affection that inanimate
+things will create in us by a long acquaintance.  If I may judge from my
+own feelings, the old man would not part with one of these counters for
+ten times its intrinsic value; it even got the better of his benevolence!
+I, myself, have a pair of old brass sleeve buttons.”  Here he was
+interrupted by being told that the old gentleman had beat the younger,
+and that it was his turn to take up the conqueror.  “Your game has been
+short,” said Harley.  “I re-piqued him,” answered the old man, with joy
+sparkling in his countenance.  Harley wished to be re-piqued too, but he
+was disappointed; for he had the same good fortune against his opponent.
+Indeed, never did fortune, mutable as she is, delight in mutability so
+much as at that moment.  The victory was so quick, and so constantly
+alternate, that the stake, in a short time, amounted to no less a sum
+than £12, Harley’s proportion of which was within half-a-guinea of the
+money he had in his pocket.  He had before proposed a division, but the
+old gentleman opposed it with such a pleasant warmth in his manner, that
+it was always over-ruled.  Now, however, he told them that he had an
+appointment with some gentlemen, and it was within a few minutes of his
+hour.  The young stranger had gained one game, and was engaged in the
+second with the other; they agreed, therefore, that the stake should be
+divided, if the old gentleman won that: which was more than probable, as
+his score was 90 to 35, and he was elder hand; but a momentous re-pique
+decided it in favour of his adversary, who seemed to enjoy his victory
+mingled with regret, for having won too much, while his friend, with
+great ebullience of passion, many praises of his own good play, and many
+malediction’s on the power of chance, took up the cards, and threw them
+into the fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+FRUITS OF THE DEAD SEA.
+
+
+THE company he was engaged to meet were assembled in Fleet Street.  He
+had walked some time along the Strand, amidst a crowd of those wretches
+who wait the uncertain wages of prostitution, with ideas of pity suitable
+to the scene around him and the feelings he possessed, and had got as far
+as Somerset House, when one of them laid hold of his arm, and, with a
+voice tremulous and faint, asked him for a pint of wine, in a manner more
+supplicatory than is usual with those whom the infamy of their profession
+has deprived of shame.  He turned round at the demand, and looked
+steadfastly on the person who made it.
+
+She was above the common size, and elegantly formed; her face was thin
+and hollow, and showed the remains of tarnished beauty.  Her eyes were
+black, but had little of their lustre left; her cheeks had some paint
+laid on without art, and productive of no advantage to her complexion,
+which exhibited a deadly paleness on the other parts of her face.
+
+Harley stood in the attitude of hesitation; which she, interpreting to
+her advantage, repeated her request, and endeavoured to force a leer of
+invitation into her countenance.  He took her arm, and they walked on to
+one of those obsequious taverns in the neighbourhood, where the dearness
+of the wine is a discharge in full for the character of the house.  From
+what impulse he did this we do not mean to enquire; as it has ever been
+against our nature to search for motives where bad ones are to be found.
+They entered, and a waiter showed them a room, and placed a bottle of
+claret on the table.
+
+Harley filled the lady’s glass: which she had no sooner tasted, than
+dropping it on the floor, and eagerly catching his arm, her eye grew
+fixed, her lip assumed a clayey whiteness, and she fell back lifeless in
+her chair.
+
+Harley started from his seat, and, catching her in his arms, supported
+her from falling to the ground, looking wildly at the door, as if he
+wanted to run for assistance, but durst not leave the miserable creature.
+It was not till some minutes after that it occurred to him to ring the
+bell, which at last, however, he thought of, and rung with repeated
+violence even after the waiter appeared.  Luckily the waiter had his
+senses somewhat more about him; and snatching up a bottle of water, which
+stood on a buffet at the end of the room, he sprinkled it over the hands
+and face of the dying figure before him.  She began to revive, and, with
+the assistance of some hartshorn drops, which Harley now for the first
+time drew from his pocket, was able to desire the waiter to bring her a
+crust of bread, of which she swallowed some mouthfuls with the appearance
+of the keenest hunger.  The waiter withdrew: when turning to Harley,
+sobbing at the same time, and shedding tears, “I am sorry, sir,” said
+she, “that I should have given you so much trouble; but you will pity me
+when I tell you that till now I have not tasted a morsel these two days
+past.”—He fixed his eyes on hers—every circumstance but the last was
+forgotten; and he took her hand with as much respect as if she had been a
+duchess.  It was ever the privilege of misfortune to be revered by
+him.—“Two days!” said he; “and I have fared sumptuously every day!”—He
+was reaching to the bell; she understood his meaning, and prevented him.
+“I beg, sir,” said she, “that you would give yourself no more trouble
+about a wretch who does not wish to live; but, at present, I could not
+eat a bit; my stomach even rose at the last mouthful of that crust.”—He
+offered to call a chair, saying that he hoped a little rest would relieve
+her.—He had one half-guinea left.  “I am sorry,” he said, “that at
+present I should be able to make you an offer of no more than this paltry
+sum.”—She burst into tears: “Your generosity, sir, is abused; to bestow
+it on me is to take it from the virtuous.  I have no title but misery to
+plead: misery of my own procuring.”  “No more of that,” answered Harley;
+“there is virtue in these tears; let the fruit of them be virtue.”—He
+rung, and ordered a chair.—“Though I am the vilest of beings,” said she,
+“I have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have
+left, did I but know who is my benefactor.”—“My name is Harley.”—“Could I
+ever have an opportunity?”—“You shall, and a glorious one too! your
+future conduct—but I do not mean to reproach you—if, I say—it will be the
+noblest reward—I will do myself the pleasure of seeing you again.”—Here
+the waiter entered, and told them the chair was at the door; the lady
+informed Harley of her lodgings, and he promised to wait on her at ten
+next morning.
+
+He led her to the chair, and returned to clear with the waiter, without
+ever once reflecting that he had no money in his pocket.  He was ashamed
+to make an excuse; yet an excuse must be made: he was beginning to frame
+one, when the waiter cut him short by telling him that he could not run
+scores; but that, if he would leave his watch, or any other pledge, it
+would be as safe as if it lay in his pocket.  Harley jumped at the
+proposal, and pulling out his watch, delivered it into his hands
+immediately, and having, for once, had the precaution to take a note of
+the lodging he intended to visit next morning, sallied forth with a blush
+of triumph on his face, without taking notice of the sneer of the waiter,
+who, twirling the watch in his hand, made him a profound bow at the door,
+and whispered to a girl, who stood in the passage, something, in which
+the word CULLY was honoured with a particular emphasis.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY IS DOUBTED.
+
+
+AFTER he had been some time with the company he had appointed to meet,
+and the last bottle was called for, he first recollected that he would be
+again at a loss how to discharge his share of the reckoning.  He applied,
+therefore, to one of them, with whom he was most intimate, acknowledging
+that he had not a farthing of money about him; and, upon being jocularly
+asked the reason, acquainted them with the two adventures we have just
+now related.  One of the company asked him if the old man in Hyde Park
+did not wear a brownish coat, with a narrow gold edging, and his
+companion an old green frock, with a buff-coloured waistcoat.  Upon
+Harley’s recollecting that they did, “Then,” said he, “you may be
+thankful you have come off so well; they are two as noted sharpers, in
+their way, as any in town, and but t’other night took me in for a much
+larger sum.  I had some thoughts of applying to a justice, but one does
+not like to be seen in those matters.”
+
+Harley answered, “That he could not but fancy the gentleman was mistaken,
+as he never saw a face promise more honesty than that of the old man he
+had met with.”—“His face!” said a grave-looking man, when sat opposite to
+him, squirting the juice of his tobacco obliquely into the grate.  There
+was something very emphatical in the action, for it was followed by a
+burst of laughter round the table.  “Gentlemen,” said Harley, “you are
+disposed to be merry; it may be as you imagine, for I confess myself
+ignorant of the town; but there is one thing which makes me hear the loss
+of my money with temper: the young fellow who won it must have been
+miserably poor; I observed him borrow money for the stake from his
+friend: he had distress and hunger in his countenance: be his character
+what it may, his necessities at least plead for him.”  At this there was
+a louder laugh than before.  “Gentlemen,” said the lawyer, one of whose
+conversations with Harley we have already recorded, “here’s a pretty
+fellow for you! to have heard him talk some nights ago, as I did, you
+might have sworn he was a saint; yet now he games with sharpers, and
+loses his money, and is bubbled by a fine tale of the Dead Sea, and pawns
+his watch; here are sanctified doings with a witness!”
+
+“Young gentleman,” said his friend on the other side of the table, “let
+me advise you to be a little more cautious for the future; and as for
+faces—you may look into them to know whether a man’s nose be a long or a
+short one.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+HE KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT.
+
+
+THE last night’s raillery of his companions was recalled to his
+remembrance when he awoke, and the colder homilies of prudence began to
+suggest some things which were nowise favourable for a performance of his
+promise to the unfortunate female he had met with before.  He rose,
+uncertain of his purpose; but the torpor of such considerations was
+seldom prevalent over the warmth of his nature.  He walked some turns
+backwards and forwards in his room; he recalled the languid form of the
+fainting wretch to his mind; he wept at the recollection of her tears.
+“Though I am the vilest of beings, I have not forgotten every virtue;
+gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left.”—He took a larger
+stride—“Powers of mercy that surround me!” cried he, “do ye not smile
+upon deeds like these? to calculate the chances of deception is too
+tedious a business for the life of man!”—The clock struck ten.—When he
+was got down-stairs, he found that he had forgot the note of her
+lodgings; he gnawed his lips at the delay: he was fairly on the pavement,
+when he recollected having left his purse; he did but just prevent
+himself from articulating an imprecation.  He rushed a second time up
+into his chamber.  “What a wretch I am!” said he; “ere this time,
+perhaps—”  ’Twas a perhaps not to be borne;—two vibrations of a pendulum
+would have served him to lock his bureau; but they could not be spared.
+
+When he reached the house, and inquired for Miss Atkins (for that was the
+lady’s name), he was shown up three pair of stairs, into a small room
+lighted by one narrow lattice, and patched round with shreds of
+different-coloured paper.  In the darkest corner stood something like a
+bed, before which a tattered coverlet hung by way of curtain.  He had not
+waited long when she appeared.  Her face had the glister of new-washed
+tears on it.  “I am ashamed, sir,” said she, “that you should have taken
+this fresh piece of trouble about one so little worthy of it; but, to the
+humane, I know there is a pleasure in goodness for its own sake: if you
+have patience for the recital of my story, it may palliate, though it
+cannot excuse, my faults.”  Harley bowed, as a sign of assent; and she
+began as follows:—
+
+“I am the daughter of an officer, whom a service of forty years had
+advanced no higher than the rank of captain.  I have had hints from
+himself, and been informed by others, that it was in some measure owing
+to those principles of rigid honour, which it was his boast to possess,
+and which he early inculcated on me, that he had been able to arrive at
+no better station.  My mother died when I was a child: old enough to
+grieve for her death, but incapable of remembering her precepts.  Though
+my father was doatingly fond of her, yet there were some sentiments in
+which they materially differed: she had been bred from her infancy in the
+strictest principles of religion, and took the morality of her conduct
+from the motives which an adherence to those principles suggested.  My
+father, who had been in the army from his youth, affixed an idea of
+pusillanimity to that virtue, which was formed by the doctrines, excited
+by the rewards, or guarded by the terrors of revelation; his dashing idol
+was the honour of a soldier: a term which he held in such reverence, that
+he used it for his most sacred asseveration.  When my mother died, I was
+some time suffered to continue in those sentiments which her instructions
+had produced; but soon after, though, from respect to her memory, my
+father did not absolutely ridicule them, yet he showed, in his discourse
+to others, so little regard to them, and at times suggested to me motives
+of action so different, that I was soon weaned from opinions which I
+began to consider as the dreams of superstition, or the artful inventions
+of designing hypocrisy.  My mother’s books were left behind at the
+different quarters we removed to, and my reading was principally confined
+to plays, novels, and those poetical descriptions of the beauty of virtue
+and honour, which the circulating libraries easily afforded.
+
+“As I was generally reckoned handsome, and the quickness of my parts
+extolled by all our visitors, my father had a pride in allowing me to the
+world.  I was young, giddy, open to adulation, and vain of those talents
+which acquired it.
+
+“After the last war, my father was reduced to half-pay; with which we
+retired to a village in the country, which the acquaintance of some
+genteel families who resided in it, and the cheapness of living,
+particularly recommended.  My father rented a small house, with a piece
+of ground sufficient to keep a horse for him, and a cow for the benefit
+of his family.  An old man servant managed his ground; while a maid, who
+had formerly been my mother’s, and had since been mine, undertook the
+care of our little dairy: they were assisted in each of their provinces
+by my father and me: and we passed our time in a state of tranquillity,
+which he had always talked of with delight, and my train of reading had
+taught me to admire.
+
+“Though I had never seen the polite circles of the metropolis, the
+company my father had introduced me into had given me a degree of good
+breeding, which soon discovered a superiority over the young ladies of
+our village.  I was quoted as an example of politeness, and my company
+courted by most of the considerable families in the neighbourhood.
+
+“Amongst the houses where I was frequently invited was Sir George
+Winbrooke’s.  He had two daughters nearly of my age, with whom, though
+they had been bred up in those maxims of vulgar doctrine which my
+superior understanding could not but despise, yet as their good nature
+led them to an imitation of my manners in everything else, I cultivated a
+particular friendship.
+
+“Some months after our first acquaintance, Sir George’s eldest son came
+home from his travels.  His figure, his address, and conversation, were
+not unlike those warm ideas of an accomplished man which my favourite
+novels had taught me to form; and his sentiments on the article of
+religion were as liberal as my own: when any of these happened to be the
+topic of our discourse, I, who before had been silent, from a fear of
+being single in opposition, now kindled at the fire he raised, and
+defended our mutual opinions with all the eloquence I was mistress of.
+He would be respectfully attentive all the while; and when I had ended,
+would raise his eyes from the ground, look at me with a gaze of
+admiration, and express his applause in the highest strain of encomium.
+This was an incense the more pleasing, as I seldom or never had met with
+it before; for the young gentlemen who visited Sir George were for the
+most part of that athletic order, the pleasure of whose lives is derived
+from fox-hunting: these are seldom solicitous to please the women at all;
+or if they were, would never think of applying their flattery to the
+mind.
+
+“Mr. Winbrooke observed the weakness of my soul, and took every occasion
+of improving the esteem he had gained.  He asked my opinion of every
+author, of every sentiment, with that submissive diffidence, which showed
+an unlimited confidence in my understanding.  I saw myself revered, as a
+superior being, by one whose judgment my vanity told me was not likely to
+err: preferred by him to all the other visitors of my sex, whose fortunes
+and rank should have entitled them to a much higher degree of notice: I
+saw their little jealousies at the distinguished attention he paid me; it
+was gratitude, it was pride, it was love!  Love which had made too fatal
+a progress in my heart, before any declaration on his part should have
+warranted a return: but I interpreted every look of attention, every
+expression of compliment, to the passion I imagined him inspired with,
+and imputed to his sensibility that silence which was the effect of art
+and design.  At length, however, he took an opportunity of declaring his
+love: he now expressed himself in such ardent terms, that prudence might
+have suspected their sincerity: but prudence is rarely found in the
+situation I had been unguardedly led into; besides, that the course of
+reading to which I had been accustomed, did not lead me to conclude, that
+his expressions could be too warm to be sincere: nor was I even alarmed
+at the manner in which he talked of marriage, a subjection, he often
+hinted, to which genuine love should scorn to be confined.  The woman, he
+would often say, who had merit like mine to fix his affection, could
+easily command it for ever.  That honour too which I revered, was often
+called in to enforce his sentiments.  I did not, however, absolutely
+assent to them; but I found my regard for their opposites diminish by
+degrees.  If it is dangerous to be convinced, it is dangerous to listen;
+for our reason is so much of a machine, that it will not always be able
+to resist, when the ear is perpetually assailed.
+
+“In short, Mr. Harley (for I tire you with a relation, the catastrophe of
+which you will already have imagined), I fell a prey to his artifices.
+He had not been able so thoroughly to convert me, that my conscience was
+silent on the subject; but he was so assiduous to give repeated proofs of
+unabated affection, that I hushed its suggestions as they rose.  The
+world, however, I knew, was not to be silenced; and therefore I took
+occasion to express my uneasiness to my seducer, and entreat him, as he
+valued the peace of one to whom he professed such attachment, to remove
+it by a marriage.  He made excuse from his dependence on the will of his
+father, but quieted my fears by the promise of endeavouring to win his
+assent.
+
+“My father had been some days absent on a visit to a dying relation, from
+whom he had considerable expectations.  I was left at home, with no other
+company than my books: my books I found were not now such companions as
+they used to be; I was restless, melancholy, unsatisfied with myself.
+But judge my situation when I received a billet from Mr. Winbrooke
+informing me, that he had sounded Sir George on the subject we had talked
+of, and found him so averse to any match so unequal to his own rank and
+fortune, that he was obliged, with whatever reluctance, to bid adieu to a
+place, the remembrance of which should ever be dear to him.
+
+“I read this letter a hundred times over.  Alone, helpless, conscious of
+guilt, and abandoned by every better thought, my mind was one motley
+scene of terror, confusion, and remorse.  A thousand expedients suggested
+themselves, and a thousand fears told me they would be vain: at last, in
+an agony of despair, I packed up a few clothes, took what money and
+trinkets were in the house, and set out for London, whither I understood
+he was gone; pretending to my maid, that I had received letters from my
+father requiring my immediate attendance.  I had no other companion than
+a boy, a servant to the man from whom I hired my horses.  I arrived in
+London within an hour of Mr. Winbrooke, and accidentally alighted at the
+very inn where he was.
+
+“He started and turned pale when he saw me; but recovered himself in time
+enough to make many new protestations of regard, and beg me to make
+myself easy under a disappointment which was equally afflicting to him.
+He procured me lodgings, where I slept, or rather endeavoured to sleep,
+for that night.  Next morning I saw him again, he then mildly observed on
+the imprudence of my precipitate flight from the country, and proposed my
+removing to lodgings at another end of the town, to elude the search of
+my father, till he should fall upon some method of excusing my conduct to
+him, and reconciling him to my return.  We took a hackney-coach, and
+drove to the house he mentioned.
+
+“It was situated in a dirty lane, furnished with a tawdry affectation of
+finery, with some old family pictures hanging on walls which their own
+cobwebs would better have suited.  I was struck with a secret dread at
+entering, nor was it lessened by the appearance of the landlady, who had
+that look of selfish shrewdness, which, of all others, is the most
+hateful to those whose feelings are untinctured with the world.  A girl,
+who she told us was her niece, sat by her, playing on a guitar, while
+herself was at work, with the assistance of spectacles, and had a
+prayer-book with the leaves folded down in several places, lying on the
+table before her.  Perhaps, sir, I tire you with my minuteness, but the
+place, and every circumstance about it, is so impressed on my mind, that
+I shall never forget it.
+
+“I dined that day with Mr. Winbrooke alone.  He lost by degrees that
+restraint which I perceived too well to hang about him before, and, with
+his former gaiety and good humour, repeated the flattering things which,
+though they had once been fatal, I durst not now distrust.  At last,
+taking my hand and kissing it, ‘It is thus,’ said he, ‘that love will
+last, while freedom is preserved; thus let us ever be blessed, without
+the galling thought that we are tied to a condition where we may cease to
+be so.’
+
+“I answered, ‘That the world thought otherwise: that it had certain ideas
+of good fame, which it was impossible not to wish to maintain.’
+
+“‘The world,’ said he, ‘is a tyrant, they are slaves who obey it; let us
+be happy without the pale of the world.  To-morrow I shall leave this
+quarter of it, for one where the talkers of the world shall be foiled,
+and lose us.  Could not my Emily accompany me? my friend, my companion,
+the mistress of my soul!  Nay, do not look so, Emily!  Your father may
+grieve for a while, but your father shall be taken care of; this
+bank-bill I intend as the comfort for his daughter.’
+
+“I could contain myself no longer: ‘Wretch,’ I exclaimed, ‘dost thou
+imagine that my father’s heart could brook dependence on the destroyer of
+his child, and tamely accept of a base equivalent for her honour and his
+own?’
+
+“‘Honour, my Emily,’ said he, ‘is the word of fools, or of those wiser
+men who cheat them.  ’Tis a fantastic bauble that does not suit the
+gravity of your father’s age; but, whatever it is, I am afraid it can
+never be perfectly restored to you: exchange the word then, and let
+pleasure be your object now.’
+
+“At these words he clasped me in his arms, and pressed his lips rudely to
+my bosom.  I started from my seat.  ‘Perfidious villain!’ said I, ‘who
+dar’st insult the weakness thou hast undone; were that father here, thy
+coward soul would shrink from the vengeance of his honour!  Cursed be
+that wretch who has deprived him of it! oh doubly cursed, who has dragged
+on his hoary head the infamy which should have crushed her own!’  I
+snatched a knife which lay beside me, and would have plunged it in my
+breast, but the monster prevented my purpose, and smiling with a grin of
+barbarous insult—
+
+“‘Madam,’ said he, ‘I confess you are rather too much in heroics for me;
+I am sorry we should differ about trifles; but as I seem somehow to have
+offended you, I would willingly remedy it by taking my leave.  You have
+been put to some foolish expense in this journey on my account; allow me
+to reimburse you.’
+
+“So saying he laid a bank-bill, of what amount I had no patience to see,
+upon the table.  Shame, grief, and indignation choked my utterance;
+unable to speak my wrongs, and unable to bear them in silence, I fell in
+a swoon at his feet.
+
+“What happened in the interval I cannot tell, but when I came to myself I
+was in the arms of the landlady, with her niece chafing my temples, and
+doing all in her power for my recovery.  She had much compassion in her
+countenance; the old woman assumed the softest look she was capable of,
+and both endeavoured to bring me comfort.  They continued to show me many
+civilities, and even the aunt began to be less disagreeable in my sight.
+To the wretched, to the forlorn, as I was, small offices of kindness are
+endearing.
+
+“Meantime my money was far spent, nor did I attempt to conceal my wants
+from their knowledge.  I had frequent thoughts of returning to my father;
+but the dread of a life of scorn is insurmountable.  I avoided,
+therefore, going abroad when I had a chance of being seen by any former
+acquaintance, nor indeed did my health for a great while permit it; and
+suffered the old woman, at her own suggestion, to call me niece at home,
+where we now and then saw (when they could prevail on me to leave my
+room) one or two other elderly women, and sometimes a grave business-like
+man, who showed great compassion for my indisposition, and made me very
+obligingly an offer of a room at his country-house for the recovery of my
+health.  This offer I did not chose to accept, but told my landlady,
+‘that I should be glad to be employed in any way of business which my
+skill in needlework could recommend me to, confessing, at the same time,
+that I was afraid I should scarce be able to pay her what I already owed
+for board and lodging, and that for her other good offices, I had nothing
+but thanks to give her.’
+
+“‘My dear child,’ said she, ‘do not talk of paying; since I lost my own
+sweet girl’ (here she wept), ‘your very picture she was, Miss Emily, I
+have nobody, except my niece, to whom I should leave any little thing I
+have been able to save; you shall live with me, my dear; and I have
+sometimes a little millinery work, in which, when you are inclined to it,
+you may assist us.  By the way, here are a pair of ruffles we have just
+finished for that gentleman you saw here at tea; a distant relation of
+mine, and a worthy man he is.  ’Twas pity you refused the offer of an
+apartment at his country house; my niece, you know, was to have
+accompanied you, and you might have fancied yourself at home; a most
+sweet place it is, and but a short mile beyond Hampstead.  Who knows,
+Miss Emily, what effect such a visit might have had!  If I had half your
+beauty I should not waste it pining after e’er a worthless fellow of them
+all.’
+
+“I felt my heart swell at her words; I would have been angry if I could,
+but I was in that stupid state which is not easily awakened to anger:
+when I would have chid her the reproof stuck in my throat; I could only
+weep!
+
+“Her want of respect increased, as I had not spirit to assert it.  My
+work was now rather imposed than offered, and I became a drudge for the
+bread I eat: but my dependence and servility grew in proportion, and I
+was now in a situation which could not make any extraordinary exertions
+to disengage itself from either—I found myself with child.
+
+“At last the wretch, who had thus trained me to destruction, hinted the
+purpose for which those means had been used.  I discovered her to be an
+artful procuress for the pleasures of those who are men of decency to the
+world in the midst of debauchery.
+
+“I roused every spark of courage within me at the horrid proposal.  She
+treated my passion at first somewhat mildly, but when I continued to
+exert it she resented it with insult, and told me plainly that if I did
+not soon comply with her desires I should pay her every farthing I owed,
+or rot in a jail for life.  I trembled at the thought; still, however, I
+resisted her importunities, and she put her threats in execution.  I was
+conveyed to prison, weak from my condition, weaker from that struggle of
+grief and misery which for some time I had suffered.  A miscarriage was
+the consequence.
+
+“Amidst all the horrors of such a state, surrounded with wretches totally
+callous, lost alike to humanity and to shame, think, Mr. Harley, think
+what I endured; nor wonder that I at last yielded to the solicitations of
+that miscreant I had seen at her house, and sunk to the prostitution
+which he tempted.  But that was happiness compared to what I have
+suffered since.  He soon abandoned me to the common use of the town, and
+I was cast among those miserable beings in whose society I have since
+remained.
+
+“Oh! did the daughters of virtue know our sufferings; did they see our
+hearts torn with anguish amidst the affectation of gaiety which our faces
+are obliged to assume! our bodies tortured by disease, our minds with
+that consciousness which they cannot lose!  Did they know, did they think
+of this, Mr. Harley!  Their censures are just, but their pity perhaps
+might spare the wretches whom their justice should condemn.
+
+“Last night, but for an exertion of benevolence which the infection of
+our infamy prevents even in the humane, had I been thrust out from this
+miserable place which misfortune has yet left me; exposed to the brutal
+insults of drunkenness, or dragged by that justice which I could not
+bribe, to the punishment which may correct, but, alas! can never amend
+the abandoned objects of its terrors.  From that, Mr. Harley, your
+goodness has relieved me.”
+
+He beckoned with his hand: he would have stopped the mention of his
+favours; but he could not speak, had it been to beg a diadem.
+
+She saw his tears; her fortitude began to fail at the sight, when the
+voice of some stranger on the stairs awakened her attention.  She
+listened for a moment, then starting up, exclaimed, “Merciful God! my
+father’s voice!”
+
+She had scarce uttered the word, when the door burst open, and a man
+entered in the garb of an officer.  When he discovered his daughter and
+Harley, he started back a few paces; his look assumed a furious wildness!
+he laid his hand on his sword.  The two objects of his wrath did not
+utter a syllable.
+
+“Villain,” he cried, “thou seest a father who had once a daughter’s
+honour to preserve; blasted as it now is, behold him ready to avenge its
+loss!”
+
+Harley had by this time some power of utterance.  “Sir,” said he, “if you
+will be a moment calm—”
+
+“Infamous coward!” interrupted the other, “dost thou preach calmness to
+wrongs like mine!”
+
+He drew his sword.
+
+“Sir,” said Harley, “let me tell you”—the blood ran quicker to his cheek,
+his pulse beat one, no more, and regained the temperament of
+humanity—“you are deceived, sir,” said he, “you are much deceived; but I
+forgive suspicions which your misfortunes have justified: I would not
+wrong you, upon my soul I would not, for the dearest gratification of a
+thousand worlds; my heart bleeds for you!”
+
+His daughter was now prostrate at his feet.
+
+“Strike,” said she, “strike here a wretch, whose misery cannot end but
+with that death she deserves.”
+
+Her hair had fallen on her shoulders! her look had the horrid calmness of
+out-breathed despair!  Her father would have spoken; his lip quivered,
+his cheek grew pale, his eyes lost the lightning of their fury! there was
+a reproach in them, but with a mingling of pity.  He turned them up to
+heaven, then on his daughter.  He laid his left hand on his heart, the
+sword dropped from his right, he burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+THE DISTRESSES OF A FATHER.
+
+
+HARLEY kneeled also at the side of the unfortunate daughter.
+
+“Allow me, sir,” said he, “to entreat your pardon for one whose offences
+have been already so signally punished.  I know, I feel, that those
+tears, wrung from the heart of a father, are more dreadful to her than
+all the punishments your sword could have inflicted: accept the
+contrition of a child whom heaven has restored to you.”
+
+“Is she not lost,” answered he, “irrecoverably lost?  Damnation! a common
+prostitute to the meanest ruffian!”
+
+“Calmly, my dear sir,” said Harley, “did you know by what complicated
+misfortunes she had fallen to that miserable state in which you now
+behold her, I should have no need of words to excite your compassion.
+Think, sir, of what once she was.  Would you abandon her to the insults
+of an unfeeling world, deny her opportunity of penitence, and cut off the
+little comfort that still remains for your afflictions and her own!”
+
+“Speak,” said he, addressing himself to his daughter; “speak; I will hear
+thee.”
+
+The desperation that supported her was lost; she fell to the ground, and
+bathed his feet with her tears.
+
+Harley undertook her cause: he related the treacheries to which she had
+fallen a sacrifice, and again solicited the forgiveness of her father.
+He looked on her for some time in silence; the pride of a soldier’s
+honour checked for a while the yearnings of his heart; but nature at last
+prevailed, he fell on her neck and mingled his tears with hers.
+
+Harley, who discovered from the dress of the stranger that he was just
+arrived from a journey, begged that they would both remove to his
+lodgings, till he could procure others for them.  Atkins looked at him
+with some marks of surprise.  His daughter now first recovered the power
+of speech.
+
+“Wretch as I am,” said she, “yet there is some gratitude due to the
+preserver of your child.  See him now before you.  To him I owe my life,
+or at least the comfort of imploring your forgiveness before I die.”
+
+“Pardon me, young gentleman,” said Atkins, “I fear my passion wronged
+you.”
+
+“Never, never, sir,” said Harley “if it had, your reconciliation to your
+daughter were an atonement a thousand fold.”  He then repeated his
+request that he might be allowed to conduct them to his lodgings, to
+which Mr. Atkins at last consented.  He took his daughter’s arm.
+
+“Come, my Emily,” said he, “we can never, never recover that happiness we
+have lost! but time may teach us to remember our misfortunes with
+patience.”
+
+When they arrived at the house where Harley lodged, he was informed that
+the first floor was then vacant, and that the gentleman and his daughter
+might be accommodated there.  While he was upon his enquiry, Miss Atkins
+informed her father more particularly what she owed to his benevolence.
+When he turned into the room where they were Atkins ran and embraced
+him;—begged him again to forgive the offence he had given him, and made
+the warmest protestations of gratitude for his favours.  We would attempt
+to describe the joy which Harley felt on this occasion, did it not occur
+to us that one half of the world could not understand it though we did,
+and the other half will, by this time, have understood it without any
+description at all.
+
+Miss Atkins now retired to her chamber, to take some rest from the
+violence of the emotions she had suffered.  When she was gone, her
+father, addressing himself to Harley, said, “You have a right, sir, to be
+informed of the present situation of one who owes so much to your
+compassion for his misfortunes.  My daughter I find has informed you what
+that was at the fatal juncture when they began.  Her distresses you have
+heard, you have pitied as they deserved; with mine, perhaps, I cannot so
+easily make you acquainted.  You have a feeling heart, Mr. Harley; I
+bless it that it has saved my child; but you never were a father, a
+father torn by that most dreadful of calamities, the dishonour of a child
+he doated on!  You have been already informed of some of the
+circumstances of her elopement: I was then from home, called by the death
+of a relation, who, though he would never advance me a shilling on the
+utmost exigency in his life-time, left me all the gleanings of his
+frugality at his death.  I would not write this intelligence to my
+daughter, because I intended to be the bearer myself; and as soon as my
+business would allow me, I set out on my return, winged with all the
+haste of paternal affection.  I fondly built those schemes of future
+happiness, which present prosperity is ever busy to suggest: my Emily was
+concerned in them all.  As I approached our little dwelling my heart
+throbbed with the anticipation of joy and welcome.  I imagined the
+cheering fire, the blissful contentment of a frugal meal, made luxurious
+by a daughter’s smile, I painted to myself her surprise at the tidings of
+our new-acquired riches, our fond disputes about the disposal of them.
+
+“The road was shortened by the dreams of happiness I enjoyed, and it
+began to be dark as I reached the house: I alighted from my horse, and
+walked softly upstairs to the room we commonly sat in.  I was somewhat
+disappointed at not finding my daughter there.  I rung the bell; her maid
+appeared, and shewed no small signs of wonder at the summons.  She
+blessed herself as she entered the room: I smiled at her surprise.
+‘Where is Miss Emily, sir?’ said she.
+
+“‘Emily!’
+
+“‘Yes, sir; she has been gone hence some days, upon receipt of those
+letters you sent her.’
+
+“‘Letters!’ said I.
+
+“‘Yes, sir, so she told me, and went off in all haste that very night.’
+
+“I stood aghast as she spoke, but was able so far to recollect myself, as
+to put on the affectation of calmness, and telling her there was
+certainly some mistake in the affair, desired her to leave me.
+
+“When she was gone, I threw myself into a chair, in that state of
+uncertainty which is, of all others, the most dreadful.  The gay visions
+with which I had delighted myself, vanished in an instant.  I was
+tortured with tracing back the same circle of doubt and disappointment.
+My head grew dizzy as I thought.  I called the servant again, and asked
+her a hundred questions, to no purpose; there was not room even for
+conjecture.
+
+“Something at last arose in my mind, which we call Hope, without knowing
+what it is.  I wished myself deluded by it; but it could not prevail over
+my returning fears.  I rose and walked through the room.  My Emily’s
+spinnet stood at the end of it, open, with a book of music folded down at
+some of my favourite lessons.  I touched the keys; there was a vibration
+in the sound that froze my blood; I looked around, and methought the
+family pictures on the walls gazed on me with compassion in their faces.
+I sat down again with an attempt at more composure; I started at every
+creaking of the door, and my ears rung with imaginary noises!
+
+“I had not remained long in this situation, when the arrival of a friend,
+who had accidentally heard of my return, put an end to my doubts, by the
+recital of my daughter’s dishonour.  He told me he had his information
+from a young gentleman, to whom Winbrooke had boasted of having seduced
+her.
+
+“I started from my seat, with broken curses on my lips, and without
+knowing whither I should pursue them, ordered my servant to load my
+pistols and saddle my horses.  My friend, however, with great difficulty,
+persuaded me to compose myself for that night, promising to accompany me
+on the morrow, to Sir George Winbrooke’s in quest of his son.
+
+“The morrow came, after a night spent in a state little distant from
+madness.  We went as early as decency would allow to Sir George’s.  He
+received me with politeness, and indeed compassion, protested his
+abhorrence of his son’s conduct, and told me that he had set out some
+days before for London, on which place he had procured a draft for a
+large sum, on pretence of finishing his travels, but that he had not
+heard from him since his departure.
+
+“I did not wait for any more, either of information or comfort, but,
+against the united remonstrances of Sir George and my friend, set out
+instantly for London, with a frantic uncertainty of purpose; but there,
+all manner of search was in vain.  I could trace neither of them any
+farther than the inn where they first put up on their arrival; and after
+some days fruitless inquiry, returned home destitute of every little hope
+that had hitherto supported me.  The journeys I had made, the restless
+nights I had spent, above all, the perturbation of my mind, had the
+effect which naturally might be expected—a very dangerous fever was the
+consequence.  From this, however, contrary to the expectation of my
+physicians, I recovered.  It was now that I first felt something like
+calmness of mind: probably from being reduced to a state which could not
+produce the exertions of anguish or despair.  A stupid melancholy settled
+on my soul; I could endure to live with an apathy of life; at times I
+forgot my resentment, and wept at the remembrance of my child.
+
+“Such has been the tenor of my days since that fatal moment when these
+misfortunes began, till yesterday, that I received a letter from a friend
+in town, acquainting me of her present situation.  Could such tales as
+mine, Mr. Harley, be sometimes suggested to the daughters of levity, did
+they but know with what anxiety the heart of a parent flutters round the
+child he loves, they would be less apt to construe into harshness that
+delicate concern for their conduct, which they often complain of as
+laying restraint upon things, to the young, the gay, and the thoughtless,
+seemingly harmless and indifferent.  Alas!  I fondly imagined that I
+needed not even these common cautions! my Emily was the joy of my age,
+and the pride of my soul!  Those things are now no more, they are lost
+for ever!  Her death I could have born, but the death of her honour has
+added obloquy and shame to that sorrow which bends my grey hairs to the
+dust!”
+
+As he spoke these last words, his voice trembled in his throat; it was
+now lost in his tears.  He sat with his face half turned from Harley, as
+if he would have hid the sorrow which he felt.  Harley was in the same
+attitude himself; he durst not meet his eye with a tear, but gathering
+his stifled breath, “Let me entreat you, sir,” said he, “to hope better
+things.  The world is ever tyrannical; it warps our sorrows to edge them
+with keener affliction.  Let us not be slaves to the names it affixes to
+motive or to action.  I know an ingenuous mind cannot help feeling when
+they sting.  But there are considerations by which it may be overcome.
+Its fantastic ideas vanish as they rise; they teach us to look beyond
+it.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT.
+SHOWING HIS SUCCESS WITH THE BARONET.
+
+
+* * THE card he received was in the politest style in which
+disappointment could be communicated.  The baronet “was under a necessity
+of giving up his application for Mr. Harley, as he was informed that the
+lease was engaged for a gentleman who had long served His Majesty in
+another capacity, and whose merit had entitled him to the first lucrative
+thing that should be vacant.”  Even Harley could not murmur at such a
+disposal.  “Perhaps,” said he to himself, “some war-worn officer, who,
+like poor Atkins, had been neglected from reasons which merited the
+highest advancement; whose honour could not stoop to solicit the
+preferment he deserved; perhaps, with a family, taught the principles of
+delicacy, without the means of supporting it; a wife and
+children—gracious heaven! whom my wishes would have deprived of bread—”
+
+He was interrupted in his reverie by some one tapping him on the
+shoulder, and, on turning round, he discovered it to be the very man who
+had explained to him the condition of his gay companion at Hyde Park
+Corner.  “I am glad to see you, sir,” said he; “I believe we are fellows
+in disappointment.”  Harley started, and said that he was at a loss to
+understand him.  “Pooh! you need not be so shy,” answered the other;
+“every one for himself is but fair, and I had much rather you had got it
+than the rascally gauger.”  Harley still protested his ignorance of what
+he meant.  “Why, the lease of Bancroft Manor; had not you been applying
+for it?”  “I confess I was,” replied Harley; “but I cannot conceive how
+you should be interested in the matter.”  “Why, I was making interest for
+it myself,” said he, “and I think I had some title.  I voted for this
+same baronet at the last election, and made some of my friends do so too;
+though I would not have you imagine that I sold my vote.  No, I scorn it,
+let me tell you I scorn it; but I thought as how this man was staunch and
+true, and I find he’s but a double-faced fellow after all, and
+speechifies in the House for any side he hopes to make most by.  Oh, how
+many fine speeches and squeezings by the hand we had of him on the
+canvas!  ‘And if ever I shall be so happy as to have an opportunity of
+serving you.’  A murrain on the smooth-tongued knave, and after all to
+get it for this pimp of a gauger.”  “The gauger! there must be some
+mistake,” said Harley.  “He writes me, that it was engaged for one whose
+long services—”  “Services!” interrupted the other; “you shall hear.
+Services!  Yes, his sister arrived in town a few days ago, and is now
+sempstress to the baronet.  A plague on all rogues, says honest Sam
+Wrightson.  I shall but just drink damnation to them to-night, in a
+crown’s worth of Ashley’s, and leave London to-morrow by sun-rise.”  “I
+shall leave it too,” said Harley; and so he accordingly did.
+
+In passing through Piccadilly, he had observed, on the window of an inn,
+a notification of the departure of a stage-coach for a place in his road
+homewards; in the way back to his lodgings, he took a seat in it for his
+return.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+HE LEAVES LONDON—CHARACTERS IN A STAGE-COACH.
+
+
+THE company in the stage-coach consisted of a grocer and his wife, who
+were going to pay a visit to some of their country friends; a young
+officer, who took this way of marching to quarters; a middle-aged
+gentlewoman, who had been hired as housekeeper to some family in the
+country; and an elderly, well-looking man, with a remarkable
+old-fashioned periwig.
+
+Harley, upon entering, discovered but one vacant seat, next the grocer’s
+wife, which, from his natural shyness of temper, he made no scruple to
+occupy, however aware that riding backwards always disagreed with him.
+
+Though his inclination to physiognomy had met with some rubs in the
+metropolis, he had not yet lost his attachment to that science.  He set
+himself, therefore, to examine, as usual, the countenances of his
+companions.  Here, indeed, he was not long in doubt as to the preference;
+for besides that the elderly gentleman, who sat opposite to him, had
+features by nature more expressive of good dispositions, there was
+something in that periwig we mentioned, peculiarly attractive of Harley’s
+regard.
+
+He had not been long employed in these speculations, when he found
+himself attacked with that faintish sickness, which was the natural
+consequence of his situation in the coach.  The paleness of his
+countenance was first observed by the housekeeper, who immediately made
+offer of her smelling bottle, which Harley, however, declined, telling at
+the same time the cause of his uneasiness.  The gentleman, on the
+opposite side of the coach, now first turned his eye from the side
+direction in which it had been fixed, and begged Harley to exchange
+places with him, expressing his regret that he had not made the proposal
+before.  Harley thanked him, and, upon being assured that both seats were
+alike to him, was about to accept of his offer, when the young gentleman
+of the sword, putting on an arch look, laid hold of the other’s arm.
+“So, my old boy,” said he, “I find you have still some youthful blood
+about you, but, with your leave, I will do myself the honour of sitting
+by this lady;” and took his place accordingly.  The grocer stared him as
+full in the face as his own short neck would allow, and his wife, who was
+a little, round-faced woman, with a great deal of colour in her cheeks,
+drew up at the compliment that was paid her, looking first at the
+officer, and then at the housekeeper.
+
+This incident was productive of some discourse; for before, though there
+was sometimes a cough or a hem from the grocer, and the officer now and
+then humm’d a few notes of a song, there had not a single word passed the
+lips of any of the company.
+
+Mrs. Grocer observed, how ill-convenient it was for people, who could not
+be drove backwards, to travel in a stage.  This brought on a dissertation
+on stage-coaches in general, and the pleasure of keeping a chay of one’s
+own; which led to another, on the great riches of Mr. Deputy Bearskin,
+who, according to her, had once been of that industrious order of youths
+who sweep the crossings of the streets for the conveniency of passengers,
+but, by various fortunate accidents, had now acquired an immense fortune,
+and kept his coach and a dozen livery servants.  All this afforded ample
+fund for conversation, if conversation it might be called, that was
+carried on solely by the before-mentioned lady, nobody offering to
+interrupt her, except that the officer sometimes signified his
+approbation by a variety of oaths, a sort of phraseology in which he
+seemed extremely versant.  She appealed indeed, frequently, to her
+husband for the authenticity of certain facts, of which the good man as
+often protested his total ignorance; but as he was always called fool, or
+something very like it, for his pains, he at last contrived to support
+the credit of his wife without prejudice to his conscience, and signified
+his assent by a noise not unlike the grunting of that animal which in
+shape and fatness he somewhat resembled.
+
+The housekeeper, and the old gentleman who sat next to Harley, were now
+observed to be fast asleep, at which the lady, who had been at such pains
+to entertain them, muttered some words of displeasure, and, upon the
+officer’s whispering to smoke the old put, both she and her husband
+purs’d up their mouths into a contemptuous smile.  Harley looked sternly
+on the grocer.  “You are come, sir,” said he, “to those years when you
+might have learned some reverence for age.  As for this young man, who
+has so lately escaped from the nursery, he may be allowed to divert
+himself.”  “Dam’me, sir!” said the officer, “do you call me young?”
+striking up the front of his hat, and stretching forward on his seat,
+till his face almost touched Harley’s.  It is probable, however, that he
+discovered something there which tended to pacify him, for, on the ladies
+entreating them not to quarrel, he very soon resumed his posture and
+calmness together, and was rather less profuse of his oaths during the
+rest of the journey.
+
+It is possible the old gentleman had waked time enough to hear the last
+part of this discourse; at least (whether from that cause, or that he too
+was a physiognomist) he wore a look remarkably complacent to Harley, who,
+on his part, shewed a particular observance of him.  Indeed, they had
+soon a better opportunity of making their acquaintance, as the coach
+arrived that night at the town where the officer’s regiment lay, and the
+places of destination of their other fellow-travellers, it seems, were at
+no great distance, for, next morning, the old gentleman and Harley were
+the only passengers remaining.
+
+When they left the inn in the morning, Harley, pulling out a little
+pocket-book, began to examine the contents, and make some corrections
+with a pencil.  “This,” said he, turning to his companion, “is an
+amusement with which I sometimes pass idle hours at an inn.  These are
+quotations from those humble poets, who trust their fame to the brittle
+tenure of windows and drinking-glasses.”  “From our inn,” returned the
+gentleman, “a stranger might imagine that we were a nation of poets;
+machines, at least, containing poetry, which the motion of a journey
+emptied of their contents.  Is it from the vanity of being thought
+geniuses, or a mere mechanical imitation of the custom of others, that we
+are tempted to scrawl rhyme upon such places?”
+
+“Whether vanity is the cause of our becoming rhymesters or not,” answered
+Harley, “it is a pretty certain effect of it.  An old man of my
+acquaintance, who deals in apothegms, used to say that he had known few
+men without envy, few wits without ill-nature, and no poet without
+vanity; and I believe his remark is a pretty just one.  Vanity has been
+immemorially the charter of poets.  In this, the ancients were more
+honest than we are.  The old poets frequently make boastful predictions
+of the immortality their works shall acquire them; ours, in their
+dedications and prefatory discourses, employ much eloquence to praise
+their patrons, and much seeming modesty to condemn themselves, or at
+least to apologise for their productions to the world.  But this, in my
+opinion, is the more assuming manner of the two; for of all the garbs I
+ever saw Pride put on, that of her humility is to me the most
+disgusting.”
+
+“It is natural enough for a poet to be vain,” said the stranger.  “The
+little worlds which he raises, the inspiration which he claims, may
+easily be productive of self-importance; though that inspiration is
+fabulous, it brings on egotism, which is always the parent of vanity.”
+
+“It may be supposed,” answered Harley, “that inspiration of old was an
+article of religious faith; in modern times it may be translated a
+propensity to compose; and I believe it is not always most readily found
+where the poets have fixed its residence, amidst groves and plains, and
+the scenes of pastoral retirement.  The mind may be there unbent from the
+cares of the world, but it will frequently, at the same time, be unnerved
+from any great exertion.  It will feel imperfect, and wander without
+effort over the regions of reflection.”
+
+“There is at least,” said the stranger, “one advantage in the poetical
+inclination, that it is an incentive to philanthropy.  There is a certain
+poetic ground, on which a man cannot tread without feelings that enlarge
+the heart: the causes of human depravity vanish before the romantic
+enthusiasm he professes, and many who are not able to reach the
+Parnassian heights, may yet approach so near as to be bettered by the air
+of the climate.”
+
+“I have always thought so,” replied Harley; “but this is an argument with
+the prudent against it: they urge the danger of unfitness for the world.”
+
+“I allow it,” returned the other; “but I believe it is not always
+rightfully imputed to the bent for poetry: that is only one effect of the
+common cause.—Jack, says his father, is indeed no scholar; nor could all
+the drubbings from his master ever bring him one step forward in his
+accidence or syntax: but I intend him for a merchant.—Allow the same
+indulgence to Tom.—Tom reads Virgil and Horace when he should be casting
+accounts; and but t’other day he pawned his great-coat for an edition of
+Shakespeare.—But Tom would have been as he is, though Virgil and Horace
+had never been born, though Shakespeare had died a link-boy; for his
+nurse will tell you, that when he was a child, he broke his rattle, to
+discover what it was that sounded within it; and burnt the sticks of his
+go-cart, because he liked to see the sparkling of timber in the
+fire.—’Tis a sad case; but what is to be done?—Why, Jack shall make a
+fortune, dine on venison, and drink claret.—Ay, but Tom—Tom shall dine
+with his brother, when his pride will let him; at other times, he shall
+bless God over a half-pint of ale and a Welsh-rabbit; and both shall go
+to heaven as they may.—That’s a poor prospect for Tom, says the
+father.—To go to heaven!  I cannot agree with him.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Harley, “we now-a-days discourage the romantic turn a
+little too much.  Our boys are prudent too soon.  Mistake me not, I do
+not mean to blame them for want of levity or dissipation; but their
+pleasures are those of hackneyed vice, blunted to every finer emotion by
+the repetition of debauch; and their desire of pleasure is warped to the
+desire of wealth, as the means of procuring it.  The immense riches
+acquired by individuals have erected a standard of ambition, destructive
+of private morals, and of public virtue.  The weaknesses of vice are left
+us; but the most allowable of our failings we are taught to despise.
+Love, the passion most natural to the sensibility of youth, has lost the
+plaintive dignity he once possessed, for the unmeaning simper of a
+dangling coxcomb; and the only serious concern, that of a dowry, is
+settled, even amongst the beardless leaders of the dancing-school.  The
+Frivolous and the Interested (might a satirist say) are the
+characteristical features of the age; they are visible even in the essays
+of our philosophers.  They laugh at the pedantry of our fathers, who
+complained of the times in which they lived; they are at pains to
+persuade us how much those were deceived; they pride themselves in
+defending things as they find them, and in exploding the barren sounds
+which had been reared into motives for action.  To this their style is
+suited; and the manly tone of reason is exchanged for perpetual efforts
+at sneer and ridicule.  This I hold to be an alarming crisis in the
+corruption of a state; when not only is virtue declined, and vice
+prevailing, but when the praises of virtue are forgotten, and the infamy
+of vice unfelt.”
+
+They soon after arrived at the next inn upon the route of the
+stage-coach, when the stranger told Harley, that his brother’s house, to
+which he was returning, lay at no great distance, and he must therefore
+unwillingly bid him adieu.
+
+“I should like,” said Harley, taking his hand, “to have some word to
+remember so much seeming worth by: my name is Harley.”
+
+“I shall remember it,” answered the old gentleman, “in my prayers; mine
+is Silton.”
+
+And Silton indeed it was!  Ben Silton himself!  Once more, my honoured
+friend, farewell!—Born to be happy without the world, to that peaceful
+happiness which the world has not to bestow!  Envy never scowled on thy
+life, nor hatred smiled on thy grave.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+HE MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
+
+
+WHEN the stage-coach arrived at the place of its destination, Harley
+began to consider how he should proceed the remaining part of his
+journey.  He was very civilly accosted by the master of the inn, who
+offered to accommodate him either with a post-chaise or horses, to any
+distance he had a mind: but as he did things frequently in a way
+different from what other people call natural, he refused these offers,
+and set out immediately a-foot, having first put a spare shirt in his
+pocket, and given directions for the forwarding of his portmanteau.  This
+was a method of travelling which he was accustomed to take: it saved the
+trouble of provision for any animal but himself, and left him at liberty
+to chose his quarters, either at an inn, or at the first cottage in which
+he saw a face he liked: nay, when he was not peculiarly attracted by the
+reasonable creation, he would sometimes consort with a species of
+inferior rank, and lay himself down to sleep by the side of a rock, or on
+the banks of a rivulet.  He did few things without a motive, but his
+motives were rather eccentric: and the useful and expedient were terms
+which he held to be very indefinite, and which therefore he did not
+always apply to the sense in which they are commonly understood.
+
+The sun was now in his decline, and the evening remarkably serene, when
+he entered a hollow part of the road, which winded between the
+surrounding banks, and seamed the sward in different lines, as the choice
+of travellers had directed them to tread it.  It seemed to be little
+frequented now, for some of those had partly recovered their former
+verdure.  The scene was such as induced Harley to stand and enjoy it;
+when, turning round, his notice was attracted by an object, which the
+fixture of his eye on the spot he walked had before prevented him from
+observing.
+
+An old man, who from his dress seemed to have been a soldier, lay fast
+asleep on the ground; a knapsack rested on a stone at his right hand,
+while his staff and brass-hilted sword were crossed at his left.
+
+Harley looked on him with the most earnest attention.  He was one of
+those figures which Salvator would have drawn; nor was the surrounding
+scenery unlike the wildness of that painter’s back-grounds.  The banks on
+each side were covered with fantastic shrub-wood, and at a little
+distance, on the top of one of them, stood a finger-post, to mark the
+directions of two roads which diverged from the point where it was
+placed.  A rock, with some dangling wild flowers, jutted out above where
+the soldier lay; on which grew the stump of a large tree, white with age,
+and a single twisted branch shaded his face as he slept.  His face had
+the marks of manly comeliness impaired by time; his forehead was not
+altogether bald, but its hairs might have been numbered; while a few
+white locks behind crossed the brown of his neck with a contrast the most
+venerable to a mind like Harley’s.  “Thou art old,” said he to himself;
+“but age has not brought thee rest for its infirmities; I fear those
+silver hairs have not found shelter from thy country, though that neck
+has been bronzed in its service.”  The stranger waked.  He looked at
+Harley with the appearance of some confusion: it was a pain the latter
+knew too well to think of causing in another; he turned and went on.  The
+old man re-adjusted his knapsack, and followed in one of the tracks on
+the opposite side of the road.
+
+When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could not help
+stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveller.  He seemed to bend under
+the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his walk, and one of his arms
+was supported by a sling, and lay motionless across his breast.  He had
+that steady look of sorrow, which indicates that its owner has gazed upon
+his griefs till he has forgotten to lament them; yet not without those
+streaks of complacency which a good mind will sometimes throw into the
+countenance, through all the incumbent load of its depression.
+
+He had now advanced nearer to Harley, and, with an uncertain sort of
+voice, begged to know what it was o’clock; “I fear,” said he, “sleep has
+beguiled me of my time, and I shall hardly have light enough left to
+carry me to the end of my journey.”
+
+“Father!” said Harley (who by this time found the romantic enthusiasm
+rising within him) “how far do you mean to go?”
+
+“But a little way, sir,” returned the other; “and indeed it is but a
+little way I can manage now: ’tis just four miles from the height to the
+village, thither I am going.”
+
+“I am going there too,” said Harley; “we may make the road shorter to
+each other.  You seem to have served your country, sir, to have served it
+hardly too; ’tis a character I have the highest esteem for.—I would not
+be impertinently inquisitive; but there is that in your appearance which
+excites my curiosity to know something more of you; in the meantime,
+suffer me to carry that knapsack.”
+
+The old man gazed on him; a tear stood in his eye!  “Young gentleman,”
+said he, “you are too good; may Heaven bless you for an old man’s sake,
+who has nothing but his blessing to give! but my knapsack is so familiar
+to my shoulders, that I should walk the worse for wanting it; and it
+would be troublesome to you, who have not been used to its weight.”
+
+“Far from it,” answered Harley, “I should tread the lighter; it would be
+the most honourable badge I ever wore.”
+
+“Sir,” said the stranger, who had looked earnestly in Harley’s face
+during the last part of his discourse, “is act your name Harley?”
+
+“It is,” replied he; “I am ashamed to say I have forgotten yours.”
+
+“You may well have forgotten my face,” said the stranger;—“’tis a long
+time since you saw it; but possibly you may remember something of old
+Edwards.”
+
+“Edwards!” cried Harley, “oh! heavens!” and sprung to embrace him; “let
+me clasp those knees on which I have sat so often: Edwards!—I shall never
+forget that fire-side, round which I have been so happy!  But where,
+where have you been? where is Jack? where is your daughter?  How has it
+fared with them, when fortune, I fear, has been so unkind to you?”
+
+“’Tis a long tale,” replied Edwards; “but I will try to tell it you as we
+walk.
+
+“When you were at school in the neighbourhood, you remember me at
+South-hill: that farm had been possessed by my father, grandfather, and
+great-grandfather, which last was a younger brother of that very man’s
+ancestor, who is now lord of the manor.  I thought I managed it, as they
+had done, with prudence; I paid my rent regularly as it became due, and
+had always as much behind as gave bread to me and my children.  But my
+last lease was out soon after you left that part of the country; and the
+squire, who had lately got a London-attorney for his steward, would not
+renew it, because, he said, he did not chuse to have any farm under £300
+a year value on his estate; but offered to give me the preference on the
+same terms with another, if I chose to take the one he had marked out, of
+which mine was a part.
+
+“What could I do, Mr. Harley?  I feared the undertaking was too great for
+me; yet to leave, at my age, the house I had lived in from my cradle!  I
+could not, Mr. Harley, I could not; there was not a tree about it that I
+did not look on as my father, my brother, or my child: so I even ran the
+risk, and took the squire’s offer of the whole.  But had soon reason to
+repent of my bargain; the steward had taken care that my former farm
+should be the best land of the division: I was obliged to hire more
+servants, and I could not have my eye over them all; some unfavourable
+seasons followed one another, and I found my affairs entangling on my
+hands.  To add to my distress, a considerable corn-factor turned bankrupt
+with a sum of mine in his possession: I failed paying my rent so
+punctually as I was wont to do, and the same steward had my stock taken
+in execution in a few days after.  So, Mr. Harley, there was an end of my
+prosperity.  However, there was as much produced from the sale of my
+effects as paid my debts and saved me from a jail: I thank God I wronged
+no man, and the world could never charge me with dishonesty.
+
+“Had you seen us, Mr. Harley, when we were turned out of South-hill, I am
+sure you would have wept at the sight.  You remember old Trusty, my shag
+house-dog; I shall never forget it while I live; the poor creature was
+blind with age, and could scarce crawl after us to the door; he went
+however as far as the gooseberry-bush that you may remember stood on the
+left side of the yard; he was wont to bask in the sun there; when he had
+reached that spot, he stopped; we went on: I called to him; he wagged his
+tail, but did not stir: I called again; he lay down: I whistled, and
+cried Trusty; he gave a short howl, and died!  I could have lain down and
+died too; but God gave me strength to live for my children.”
+
+The old man now paused a moment to take breath.  He eyed Harley’s face;
+it was bathed with tears: the story was grown familiar to himself; he
+dropped one tear, and no more.
+
+“Though I was poor,” continued he, “I was not altogether without credit.
+A gentleman in the neighbourhood, who had a small farm unoccupied at the
+time, offered to let me have it, on giving security for the rent; which I
+made shift to procure.  It was a piece of ground which required
+management to make anything of; but it was nearly within the compass of
+my son’s labour and my own.  We exerted all our industry to bring it into
+some heart.  We began to succeed tolerably and lived contented on its
+produce, when an unlucky accident brought us under the displeasure of a
+neighbouring justice of the peace, and broke all our family-happiness
+again.
+
+“My son was a remarkable good shooter; he-had always kept a pointer on
+our former farm, and thought no harm in doing so now; when one day,
+having sprung a covey in our own ground, the dog, of his own accord,
+followed them into the justice’s.  My son laid down his gun, and went
+after his dog to bring him back: the game-keeper, who had marked the
+birds, came up, and seeing the pointer, shot him just as my son
+approached.  The creature fell; my son ran up to him: he died with a
+complaining sort of cry at his master’s feet.  Jack could bear it no
+longer; but, flying at the game-keeper, wrenched his gun out of his hand,
+and with the butt end of it, felled him to the ground.
+
+“He had scarce got home, when a constable came with a warrant, and
+dragged him to prison; there he lay, for the justices would not take
+bail, till he was tried at the quarter-sessions for the assault and
+battery.  His fine was hard upon us to pay: we contrived however to live
+the worse for it, and make up the loss by our frugality: but the justice
+was not content with that punishment, and soon after had an opportunity
+of punishing us indeed.
+
+“An officer with press-orders came down to our county, and having met
+with the justices, agreed that they should pitch on a certain number, who
+could most easily be spared from the county, of whom he would take care
+to clear it: my son’s name was in the justices’ list.
+
+“’Twas on a Christmas eve, and the birth-day too of my son’s little boy.
+The night was piercing cold, and it blew a storm, with showers of hail
+and snow.  We had made up a cheering fire in an inner room; I sat before
+it in my wicker-chair; blessing providence, that had still left a shelter
+for me and my children.  My son’s two little ones were holding their
+gambols around us; my heart warmed at the sight: I brought a bottle of my
+best ale, and all our misfortunes were forgotten.
+
+“It had long been our custom to play a game at blind man’s buff on that
+night, and it was not omitted now; so to it we fell, I, and my son, and
+his wife, the daughter of a neighbouring farmer, who happened to be with
+us at the time, the two children, and an old maid servant, who had lived
+with me from a child.  The lot fell on my son to be blindfolded: we had
+continued some time in our game, when he groped his way into an outer
+room in pursuit of some of us, who, he imagined, had taken shelter there;
+we kept snug in our places, and enjoyed his mistake.  He had not been
+long there, when he was suddenly seized from behind; ‘I shall have you
+now,’ said he, and turned about.  ‘Shall you so, master?’ answered the
+ruffian, who had laid hold of him; ‘we shall make you play at another
+sort of game by and by.’”—At these words Harley started with a convulsive
+sort of motion, and grasping Edwards’s sword, drew it half out of the
+scabbard, with a look of the most frantic wildness.  Edwards gently
+replaced it in its sheath, and went on with his relation.
+
+“On hearing these words in a strange voice, we all rushed out to discover
+the cause; the room by this time was almost full of the gang.  My
+daughter-in-law fainted at the sight; the maid and I ran to assist her,
+while my poor son remained motionless, gazing by turns on his children
+and their mother.  We soon recovered her to life, and begged her to
+retire and wait the issue of the affair; but she flew to her husband, and
+clung round him in an agony of terror and grief.
+
+“In the gang was one of a smoother aspect, whom, by his dress, we
+discovered to be a serjeant of foot: he came up to me, and told me, that
+my son had his choice of the sea or land service, whispering at the same
+time that, if he chose the land, he might get off, on procuring him
+another man, and paying a certain sum for his freedom.  The money we
+could just muster up in the house, by the assistance of the maid, who
+produced, in a green bag, all the little savings of her service; but the
+man we could not expect to find.  My daughter-in-law gazed upon her
+children with a look of the wildest despair: ‘My poor infants!’ said she,
+‘your father is forced from you; who shall now labour for your bread? or
+must your mother beg for herself and you?’  I prayed her to be patient;
+but comfort I had none to give her.  At last, calling the serjeant aside,
+I asked him, ‘If I was too old to be accepted in place of my son?’
+
+“‘Why, I don’t know,’ said he; ‘you are rather old to be sure, but yet
+the money may do much.’
+
+“I put the money in his hand, and coming back to my children, ‘Jack,’
+said I, ‘you are free; live to give your wife and these little ones
+bread; I will go, my child, in your stead; I have but little life to
+lose, and if I staid, I should add one to the wretches you left behind.’
+
+“‘No,’ replied my son, ‘I am not that coward you imagine me; heaven
+forbid that my father’s grey hairs should be so exposed, while I sat idle
+at home; I am young and able to endure much, and God will take care of
+you and my family.’
+
+“‘Jack,’ said I, ‘I will put an end to this matter, you have never
+hitherto disobeyed me; I will not be contradicted in this; stay at home,
+I charge you, and, for my sake, be kind to my children.’
+
+“Our parting, Mr. Harley, I cannot describe to you; it was the first time
+we ever had parted: the very press-gang could scarce keep from tears; but
+the serjeant, who had seemed the softest before, was now the least moved
+of them all.  He conducted me to a party of new-raised recruits, who lay
+at a village in the neighbourhood; and we soon after joined the regiment.
+I had not been long with it when we were ordered to the East Indies,
+where I was soon made a serjeant, and might have picked up some money, if
+my heart had been as hard as some others were; but my nature was never of
+that kind, that could think of getting rich at the expense of my
+conscience.
+
+“Amongst our prisoners was an old Indian, whom some of our officers
+supposed to have a treasure hidden somewhere; which is no uncommon
+practice in that country.  They pressed him to discover it.  He declared
+he had none, but that would not satisfy them, so they ordered him to be
+tied to a stake, and suffer fifty lashes every morning till he should
+learn to speak out, as they said.  Oh! Mr. Harley, had you seen him, as I
+did, with his hands bound behind him, suffering in silence, while the big
+drops trickled down his shrivelled cheeks and wet his grey beard, which
+some of the inhuman soldiers plucked in scorn!  I could not bear it, I
+could not for my soul, and one morning, when the rest of the guard were
+out of the way, I found means to let him escape.  I was tried by a
+court-martial for negligence of my post, and ordered, in compassion of my
+age, and having got this wound in my arm and that in my leg in the
+service, only to suffer three hundred lashes and be turned out of the
+regiment; but my sentence was mitigated as to the lashes, and I had only
+two hundred.  When I had suffered these I was turned out of the camp, and
+had betwixt three and four hundred miles to travel before I could reach a
+sea-port, without guide to conduct me, or money to buy me provisions by
+the way.  I set out, however, resolved to walk as far as I could, and
+then to lay myself down and die.  But I had scarce gone a mile when I was
+met by the Indian whom I had delivered.  He pressed me in his arms, and
+kissed the marks of the lashes on my back a thousand times; he led me to
+a little hut, where some friend of his dwelt, and after I was recovered
+of my wounds conducted me so far on my journey himself, and sent another
+Indian to guide me through the rest.  When we parted he pulled out a
+purse with two hundred pieces of gold in it.  ‘Take this,’ said he, ‘my
+dear preserver, it is all I have been able to procure.’
+
+“I begged him not to bring himself to poverty for my sake, who should
+probably have no need of it long, but he insisted on my accepting it.  He
+embraced me.  ‘You are an Englishman,’ said he, ‘but the Great Spirit has
+given you an Indian heart, may He bear up the weight of your old age, and
+blunt the arrow that brings it rest!’
+
+“We parted, and not long after I made shift to get my passage to England.
+’Tis but about a week since I landed, and I am going to end my days in
+the arms of my son.  This sum may be of use to him and his children, ’tis
+all the value I put upon it.  I thank Heaven I never was covetous of
+wealth; I never had much, but was always so happy as to be content with
+my little.”
+
+When Edwards had ended his relation, Harley stood a while looking at him
+in silence; at last he pressed him in his arms, and when he had given
+vent to the fulness of his heart by a shower of tears, “Edwards,” said
+he, “let me hold thee to my bosom, let me imprint the virtue of thy
+sufferings on my soul.  Come, my honoured veteran! let me endeavour to
+soften the last days of a life, worn out in the service of humanity; call
+me also thy son, and let me cherish thee as a father.”’
+
+Edwards, from whom the recollection of his own suffering had scarced
+forced a tear, now blubbered like a boy; he could not speak his
+gratitude, but by some short exclamations of blessings upon Harley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+HE MISSES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.—AN ADVENTURE CONSEQUENT UPON IT.
+
+
+WHEN they had arrived within a little way of the village they journeyed
+to, Harley stopped short, and looked steadfastly on the mouldering walls
+of a ruined house that stood on the road side.  “Oh, heavens!” he cried,
+“what do I see: silent, unroofed, and desolate!  Are all thy gay tenants
+gone? do I hear their hum no more Edwards, look there, look there? the
+scene of my infant joys, my earliest friendships, laid waste and ruinous!
+That was the very school where I was boarded when you were at South-hill;
+’tis but a twelve-month since I saw it standing, and its benches filled
+with cherubs: that opposite side of the road was the green on which they
+sported; see it now ploughed up!  I would have given fifty times its
+value to have saved it from the sacrilege of that plough.”
+
+“Dear sir,” replied Edwards, “perhaps they have left it from choice, and
+may have got another spot as good.”
+
+“They cannot,” said Harley, “they cannot; I shall never see the sward
+covered with its daisies, nor pressed by the dance of the dear innocents:
+I shall never see that stump decked with the garlands which their little
+hands had gathered.  These two long stones, which now lie at the foot of
+it, were once the supports of a hut I myself assisted to rear: I have sat
+on the sods within it, when we had spread our banquet of apples before
+us, and been more blessed—Oh!  Edwards, infinitely more blessed, than
+ever I shall be again.”
+
+Just then a woman passed them on the road, and discovered some signs of
+wonder at the attitude of Harley, who stood, with his hands folded
+together, looking with a moistened eye on the fallen pillars of the hut.
+He was too much entranced in thought to observe her at all, but Edwards,
+civilly accosting her, desired to know if that had not been the
+school-house, and how it came into the condition in which they now saw
+it.
+
+“Alack a day!” said she, “it was the school-house indeed; but to be sure,
+sir, the squire has pulled it down because it stood in the way of his
+prospects.”
+
+“What! how! prospects! pulled down!” cried Harley.
+
+“Yes, to be sure, sir; and the green, where the children used to play, he
+has ploughed up, because, he said, they hurt his fence on the other side
+of it.”
+
+“Curses on his narrow heart,” cried Harley, “that could violate a right
+so sacred!  Heaven blast the wretch!
+
+    “And from his derogate body never spring
+    A babe to honour him!”—
+
+But I need not, Edwards, I need not” (recovering himself a little), “he
+is cursed enough already: to him the noblest source of happiness is
+denied, and the cares of his sordid soul shall gnaw it, while thou
+sittest over a brown crust, smiling on those mangled limbs that have
+saved thy son and his children!”
+
+“If you want anything with the school-mistress, sir,” said the woman, “I
+can show you the way to her house.”
+
+He followed her without knowing whither he went.
+
+They stopped at the door of a snug habitation, where sat an elderly woman
+with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held a supper of bread and
+milk in their hands.
+
+“There, sir, is the school-mistress.”
+
+“Madam,” said Harley, “was not an old venerable man school-master here
+some time ago?”
+
+“Yes, sir, he was, poor man; the loss of his former school-house, I
+believe, broke his heart, for he died soon after it was taken down, and
+as another has not yet been found, I have that charge in the meantime.”
+
+“And this boy and girl, I presume, are your pupils?”
+
+“Ay, sir; they are poor orphans, put under my care by the parish, and
+more promising children I never saw.”
+
+“Orphans?” said Harley.
+
+“Yes, sir, of honest creditable parents as any in the parish, and it is a
+shame for some folks to forget their relations at a time when they have
+most need to remember them.”
+
+“Madam,” said Harley, “let us never forget that we are all relations.”
+
+He kissed the children.
+
+“Their father, sir,” continued she, “was a farmer here in the
+neighbourhood, and a sober industrious man he was; but nobody can help
+misfortunes: what with bad crops, and bad debts, which are worse, his
+affairs went to wreck, and both he and his wife died of broken hearts.
+And a sweet couple they were, sir; there was not a properer man to look
+on in the county than John Edwards, and so indeed were all the
+Edwardses.”
+
+“What Edwardses?” cried the old soldier hastily.
+
+“The Edwardses of South-hill, and a worthy family they were.”
+
+“South-hill!” said he, in a languid voice, and fell back into the arms of
+the astonished Harley.  The school-mistress ran for some water—and a
+smelling-bottle, with the assistance of which they soon recovered the
+unfortunate Edwards.  He stared wildly for some time, then folding his
+orphan grandchildren in his arms,
+
+“Oh! my children, my children,” he cried, “have I found you thus?  My
+poor Jack, art thou gone?  I thought thou shouldst have carried thy
+father’s grey hairs to the grave! and these little ones”—his tears choked
+his utterance, and he fell again on the necks of the children.
+
+“My dear old man,” said Harley, “Providence has sent you to relieve them;
+it will bless me if I can be the means of assisting you.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, sir,” answered the boy; “father, when he was a-dying, bade
+God bless us, and prayed that if grandfather lived he might send him to
+support us.”
+
+“Where did they lay my boy?” said Edwards.
+
+“In the Old Churchyard,” replied the woman, “hard by his mother.”
+
+“I will show it you,” answered the boy, “for I have wept over it many a
+time when first I came amongst strange folks.”
+
+He took the old man’s hand, Harley laid hold of his sister’s, and they
+walked in silence to the churchyard.
+
+There was an old stone, with the corner broken off, and some letters,
+half-covered with moss, to denote the names of the dead: there was a
+cyphered R. E. plainer than the rest; it was the tomb they sought.
+
+“Here it is, grandfather,” said the boy.
+
+Edwards gazed upon it without uttering a word: the girl, who had only
+sighed before, now wept outright; her brother sobbed, but he stifled his
+sobbing.
+
+“I have told sister,” said he, “that she should not take it so to heart;
+she can knit already, and I shall soon be able to dig, we shall not
+starve, sister, indeed we shall not, nor shall grandfather neither.”
+
+The girl cried afresh; Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, and
+wept between every kiss.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+HE RETURNS HOME.—A DESCRIPTION OF HIS RETINUE.
+
+
+IT was with some difficulty that Harley prevailed on the old man to leave
+the spot where the remains of his son were laid.  At last, with the
+assistance of the school-mistress, he prevailed; and she accommodated
+Edwards and him with beds in her house, there being nothing like an inn
+nearer than the distance of some miles.
+
+In the morning Harley persuaded Edwards to come with the children to his
+house, which was distant but a short day’s journey.  The boy walked in
+his grandfather’s hand; and the name of Edwards procured him a
+neighbouring farmer’s horse, on which a servant mounted, with the girl on
+a pillow before him.
+
+With this train Harley returned to the abode of his fathers: and we
+cannot but think, that his enjoyment was as great as if he had arrived
+from the tour of Europe with a Swiss valet for his companion, and half a
+dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible hinges, in his pocket.  But we take our
+ideas from sounds which folly has invented; Fashion, Bon ton, and Vertù,
+are the names of certain idols, to which we sacrifice the genuine
+pleasures of the soul: in this world of semblance, we are contented with
+personating happiness; to feel it is an art beyond us.
+
+It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt with the
+history of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips.  His aunt was an
+economist; but she knew the pleasure of doing charitable things, and
+withal was fond of her nephew, and solicitous to oblige him.  She
+received old Edwards therefore with a look of more complacency than is
+perhaps natural to maiden ladies of three-score, and was remarkably
+attentive to his grandchildren: she roasted apples with her own hands for
+their supper, and made up a little bed beside her own for the girl.
+Edwards made some attempts towards an acknowledgment for these favours;
+but his young friend stopped them in their beginnings.
+
+“Whosoever receiveth any of these children,” said his aunt; for her
+acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.
+
+Early next morning Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay: he
+expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken: the old
+man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, with the tears
+flowing down his cheeks.  At first he did not perceive Harley; when he
+did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, and crossing his eyes with his
+hand expressed his surprise at seeing him so early astir.
+
+“I was thinking of you,” said Harley, “and your children: I learned last
+night that a small farm of mine in the neighbourhood is now vacant: if
+you will occupy it I shall gain a good neighbour and be able in some
+measure to repay the notice you took of me when a boy, and as the
+furniture of the house is mine, it will be so much trouble saved.”
+
+Edwards’s tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see the place he
+intended for him.
+
+The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut; its
+situation, however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by the
+beneficence of Harley, set about improving its neatness and convenience.
+He staked out a piece of the green before for a garden, and Peter, who
+acted in Harley’s family as valet, butler, and gardener, had orders to
+furnish him with parcels of the different seeds he chose to sow in it.  I
+have seen his master at work in this little spot with his coat off, and
+his dibble in his hand: it was a scene of tranquil virtue to have stopped
+an angel on his errands of mercy!  Harley had contrived to lead a little
+bubbling brook through a green walk in the middle of the ground, upon
+which he had erected a mill in miniature for the diversion of Edwards’s
+infant grandson, and made shift in its construction to introduce a pliant
+bit of wood that answered with its fairy clack to the murmuring of the
+rill that turned it.  I have seen him stand, listening to these mingled
+sounds, with his eye fixed on the boy, and the smile of conscious
+satisfaction on his cheek, while the old man, with a look half turned to
+Harley and half to heaven, breathed an ejaculation of gratitude and
+piety.
+
+Father of mercies!  I also would thank thee that not only hast thou
+assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in this bad world, the
+lines of our duty and our happiness are so frequently woven together.
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT.
+THE MAN OF FEELING TALKS OF WHAT HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND.—AN INCIDENT.
+
+
+* * * * “EDWARDS,” said he, “I have a proper regard for the prosperity of
+my country: every native of it appropriates to himself some share of the
+power, or the fame, which, as a nation, it acquires, but I cannot throw
+off the man so much as to rejoice at our conquests in India.  You tell me
+of immense territories subject to the English: I cannot think of their
+possessions without being led to inquire by what right they possess them.
+They came there as traders, bartering the commodities they brought for
+others which their purchasers could spare; and however great their
+profits were, they were then equitable.  But what title have the subjects
+of another kingdom to establish an empire in India? to give laws to a
+country where the inhabitants received them on the terms of friendly
+commerce?  You say they are happier under our regulations than the
+tyranny of their own petty princes.  I must doubt it, from the conduct of
+those by whom these regulations have been made.  They have drained the
+treasuries of Nabobs, who must fill them by oppressing the industry of
+their subjects.  Nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider the
+motive upon which those gentlemen do not deny their going to India.  The
+fame of conquest, barbarous as that motive is, is but a secondary
+consideration: there are certain stations in wealth to which the warriors
+of the East aspire.  It is there, indeed, where the wishes of their
+friends assign them eminence, where the question of their country is
+pointed at their return.  When shall I see a commander return from India
+in the pride of honourable poverty?  You describe the victories they have
+gained; they are sullied by the cause in which they fought: you enumerate
+the spoils of those victories; they are covered with the blood of the
+vanquished.
+
+“Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and happiness to the
+conquered? did he accept the gifts of their princes to use them for the
+comfort of those whose fathers, sons, or husbands, fell in battle? did he
+use his power to gain security and freedom to the regions of oppression
+and slavery? did he endear the British name by examples of generosity,
+which the most barbarous or most depraved are rarely able to resist? did
+he return with the consciousness of duty discharged to his country, and
+humanity to his fellow-creatures? did he return with no lace on his coat,
+no slaves in his retinue, no chariot at his door, and no burgundy at his
+table?—these were laurels which princes might envy—which an honest man
+would not condemn!”
+
+“Your maxims, Mr. Harley, are certainly right,” said Edwards.  “I am not
+capable of arguing with you; but I imagine there are great temptations in
+a great degree of riches, which it is no easy matter to resist: those a
+poor man like me cannot describe, because he never knew them; and perhaps
+I have reason to bless God that I never did; for then, it is likely, I
+should have withstood them no better than my neighbours.  For you know,
+sir, that it is not the fashion now, as it was in former times, that I
+have read of in books, when your great generals died so poor, that they
+did not leave wherewithal to buy them a coffin; and people thought the
+better of their memories for it: if they did so now-a-days, I question if
+any body, except yourself, and some few like you, would thank them.”
+
+“I am sorry,” replied Harley, “that there is so much truth in what you
+say; but however the general current of opinion may point, the feelings
+are not yet lost that applaud benevolence, and censure inhumanity.  Let
+us endeavour to strengthen them in ourselves; and we, who live
+sequestered from the noise of the multitude, have better opportunities of
+listening undisturbed to their voice.”
+
+They now approached the little dwelling of Edwards.  A maid-servant, whom
+he had hired to assist him in the care of his grandchildren met them a
+little way from the house: “There is a young lady within with the
+children,” said she.  Edwards expressed his surprise at the visit: it was
+however not the less true; and we mean to account for it.
+
+This young lady then was no other than Miss Walton.  She had heard the
+old man’s history from Harley, as we have already related it.  Curiosity,
+or some other motive, made her desirous to see his grandchildren; this
+she had an opportunity of gratifying soon, the children, in some of their
+walks, having strolled as far as her father’s avenue.  She put several
+questions to both; she was delighted with the simplicity of their
+answers, and promised, that if they continued to be good children, and do
+as their grandfather bid them, she would soon see them again, and bring
+some present or other for their reward.  This promise she had performed
+now: she came attended only by her maid, and brought with her a complete
+suit of green for the boy, and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit of
+ribbons, for his sister.  She had time enough, with her maid’s
+assistance, to equip them in their new habiliments before Harley and
+Edwards returned.  The boy heard his grandfather’s voice, and, with that
+silent joy which his present finery inspired, ran to the door to meet
+him: putting one hand in his, with the other pointed to his sister,
+“See,” said he, “what Miss Walton has brought us!”—Edwards gazed on them.
+Harley fixed his eyes on Miss Walton; her’s were turned to the ground;—in
+Edwards’s was a beamy moisture.—He folded his hands together—“I cannot
+speak, young lady,” said he, “to thank you.”  Neither could Harley.
+There were a thousand sentiments; but they gushed so impetuously on his
+heart, that he could not utter a syllable. * * * *
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+THE MAN OF FEELING JEALOUS.
+
+
+THE desire of communicating knowledge or intelligence, is an argument
+with those who hold that man is naturally a social animal.  It is indeed
+one of the earliest propensities we discover; but it may be doubted
+whether the pleasure (for pleasure there certainly is) arising from it be
+not often more selfish than social: for we frequently observe the tidings
+of Ill communicated as eagerly as the annunciation of Good.  Is it that
+we delight in observing the effects of the stronger passions? for we are
+all philosophers in this respect; and it is perhaps amongst the
+spectators at Tyburn that the most genuine are to be found.
+
+Was it from this motive that Peter came one morning into his master’s
+room with a meaning face of recital?  His master indeed did not at first
+observe it; for he was sitting with one shoe buckled, delineating
+portraits in the fire.  “I have brushed those clothes, sir, as you
+ordered me.”—Harley nodded his head but Peter observed that his hat
+wanted brushing too: his master nodded again.  At last Peter bethought
+him that the fire needed stirring; and taking up the poker, demolished
+the turban’d head of a Saracen, while his master was seeking out a body
+for it.  “The morning is main cold, sir,” said Peter.  “Is it?” said
+Harley.  “Yes, sir; I have been as far as Tom Dowson’s to fetch some
+barberries he had picked for Mrs. Margery.  There was a rare junketting
+last night at Thomas’s among Sir Harry Benson’s servants; he lay at
+Squire Walton’s, but he would not suffer his servants to trouble the
+family: so, to be sure, they were all at Tom’s, and had a fiddle, and a
+hot supper in the big room where the justices meet about the destroying
+of hares and partridges, and them things; and Tom’s eyes looked so red
+and so bleared when I called him to get the barberries:—And I hear as how
+Sir Harry is going to be married to Miss Walton.”—“How!  Miss Walton
+married!” said Harley.  “Why, it mayn’t be true, sir, for all that; but
+Tom’s wife told it me, and to be sure the servants told her, and their
+master told them, as I guess, sir; but it mayn’t be true for all that, as
+I said before.”—“Have done with your idle information,” said Harley:—“Is
+my aunt come down into the parlour to breakfast?”—“Yes, sir.”—“Tell her
+I’ll be with her immediately.”
+
+When Peter was gone, he stood with his eyes fixed on the ground, and the
+last words of his intelligence vibrating in his ears.  “Miss Walton
+married!” he sighed—and walked down stairs, with his shoe as it was, and
+the buckle in his hand.  His aunt, however, was pretty well accustomed to
+those appearances of absence; besides, that the natural gravity of her
+temper, which was commonly called into exertion by the care of her
+household concerns, was such as not easily to be discomposed by any
+circumstance of accidental impropriety.  She too had been informed of the
+intended match between Sir Harry Benson and Miss Walton.  “I have been
+thinking,” said she, “that they are distant relations: for the
+great-grandfather of this Sir Harry Benson, who was knight of the shire
+in the reign of Charles the First, and one of the cavaliers of those
+times, was married to a daughter of the Walton family.”  Harley answered
+drily, that it might be so; but that he never troubled himself about
+those matters.  “Indeed,” said she, “you are to blame, nephew, for not
+knowing a little more of them: before I was near your age I had sewed the
+pedigree of our family in a set of chair-bottoms, that were made a
+present of to my grandmother, who was a very notable woman, and had a
+proper regard for gentility, I’ll assure you; but now-a-days it is money,
+not birth, that makes people respected; the more shame for the times.”
+
+Harley was in no very good humour for entering into a discussion of this
+question; but he always entertained so much filial respect for his aunt,
+as to attend to her discourse.
+
+“We blame the pride of the rich,” said he, “but are not we ashamed of our
+poverty?”
+
+“Why, one would not choose,” replied his aunt, “to make a much worse
+figure than one’s neighbours; but, as I was saying before, the times (as
+my friend, Mrs. Dorothy Walton, observes) are shamefully degenerated in
+this respect.  There was but t’other day at Mr. Walton’s, that fat
+fellow’s daughter, the London merchant, as he calls himself, though I
+have heard that he was little better than the keeper of a chandler’s
+shop.  We were leaving the gentlemen to go to tea.  She had a hoop,
+forsooth, as large and as stiff—and it showed a pair of bandy legs, as
+thick as two—I was nearer the door by an apron’s length, and the pert
+hussy brushed by me, as who should say, Make way for your betters, and
+with one of her London bobs—but Mrs. Dorothy did not let her pass with
+it; for all the time of drinking tea, she spoke of the precedency of
+family, and the disparity there is between people who are come of
+something and your mushroom gentry who wear their coats of arms in their
+purses.”
+
+Her indignation was interrupted by the arrival of her maid with a damask
+table-cloth, and a set of napkins, from the loom, which had been spun by
+her mistress’s own hand.  There was the family crest in each corner, and
+in the middle a view of the battle of Worcester, where one of her
+ancestors had been a captain in the king’s forces; and with a sort of
+poetical licence in perspective, there was seen the Royal Oak, with more
+wig than leaves upon it.
+
+On all this the good lady was very copious, and took up the remaining
+intervals of filling tea, to describe its excellencies to Harley; adding,
+that she intended this as a present for his wife, when he should get one.
+He sighed and looked foolish, and commending the serenity of the day,
+walked out into the garden.
+
+He sat down on a little seat which commanded an extensive prospect round
+the house.  He leaned on his hand, and scored the ground with his stick:
+“Miss Walton married!” said he; “but what is that to me?  May she be
+happy! her virtues deserve it; to me her marriage is otherwise
+indifferent: I had romantic dreams? they are fled?—it is perfectly
+indifferent.”
+
+Just at that moment he saw a servant with a knot of ribbons in his hat go
+into the house.  His cheeks grew flushed at the sight!  He kept his eye
+fixed for some time on the door by which he had entered, then starting to
+his feet, hastily followed him.
+
+When he approached the door of the kitchen where he supposed the man had
+entered, his heart throbbed so violently, that when he would have called
+Peter, his voice failed in the attempt.  He stood a moment listening in
+this breathless state of palpitation: Peter came out by chance.  “Did
+your honour want any thing?”—“Where is the servant that came just now
+from Mr. Walton’s?”—“From Mr. Walton’s, sir! there is none of his
+servants here that I know of.”—“Nor of Sir Harry Benson’s?”—He did not
+wait for an answer; but having by this time observed the hat with its
+parti-coloured ornament hanging on a peg near the door, he pressed
+forwards into the kitchen, and addressing himself to a stranger whom he
+saw there, asked him, with no small tremor in his voice, “If he had any
+commands for him?”  The man looked silly, and said, “That he had nothing
+to trouble his honour with.”—“Are not you a servant of Sir Harry
+Benson’s?”—“No, sir.”—“You’ll pardon me, young man; I judged by the
+favour in your hat.”—“Sir, I’m his majesty’s servant, God bless him! and
+these favours we always wear when we are recruiting.”—“Recruiting!” his
+eyes glistened at the word: he seized the soldier’s hand, and shaking it
+violently, ordered Peter to fetch a bottle of his aunt’s best dram.  The
+bottle was brought: “You shall drink the king’s health,” said Harley, “in
+a bumper.”—“The king and your honour.”—“Nay, you shall drink the king’s
+health by itself; you may drink mine in another.”  Peter looked in his
+master’s face, and filled with some little reluctance.  “Now to your
+mistress,” said Harley; “every soldier has a mistress.”  The man excused
+himself—“To your mistress! you cannot refuse it.”  ’Twas Mrs. Margery’s
+best dram!  Peter stood with the bottle a little inclined, but not so as
+to discharge a drop of its contents: “Fill it, Peter,” said his master,
+“fill it to the brim.”  Peter filled it; and the soldier having named
+Suky Simpson, dispatched it in a twinkling.  “Thou art an honest fellow,”
+said Harley, “and I love thee;” and shaking his hand again, desired Peter
+to make him his guest at dinner, and walked up into his room with a pace
+much quicker and more springy than usual.
+
+This agreeable disappointment, however, he was not long suffered to
+enjoy.  The curate happened that day to dine with him: his visits,
+indeed, were more properly to the aunt than the nephew; and many of the
+intelligent ladies in the parish, who, like some very great philosophers,
+have the happy knack at accounting for everything, gave out that there
+was a particular attachment between them, which wanted only to be matured
+by some more years of courtship to end in the tenderest connection.  In
+this conclusion, indeed, supposing the premises to have been true, they
+were somewhat justified by the known opinion of the lady, who frequently
+declared herself a friend to the ceremonial of former times, when a lover
+might have sighed seven years at his mistress’s feet before he was
+allowed the liberty of kissing her hand.  ’Tis true Mrs. Margery was now
+about her grand climacteric; no matter: that is just the age when we
+expect to grow younger.  But I verily believe there was nothing in the
+report; the curate’s connection was only that of a genealogist; for in
+that character he was no way inferior to Mrs. Margery herself.  He dealt
+also in the present times; for he was a politician and a news-monger.
+
+He had hardly said grace after dinner, when he told Mrs. Margery that she
+might soon expect a pair of white gloves, as Sir Harry Benson, he was
+very well informed, was just going to be married to Miss Walton.  Harley
+spilt the wine he was carrying to his mouth: he had time, however, to
+recollect himself before the curate had finished the different
+particulars of his intelligence, and summing up all the heroism he was
+master of, filled a bumper, and drank to Miss Walton.  “With all my
+heart,” said the curate, “the bride that is to be.”  Harley would have
+said bride too; but the word bride stuck in his throat.  His confusion,
+indeed, was manifest; but the curate began to enter on some point of
+descent with Mrs. Margery, and Harley had very soon after an opportunity
+of leaving them, while they were deeply engaged in a question, whether
+the name of some great man in the time of Henry the Seventh was Richard
+or Humphrey.
+
+He did not see his aunt again till supper; the time between he spent in
+walking, like some troubled ghost, round the place where his treasure
+lay.  He went as far as a little gate, that led into a copse near Mr.
+Walton’s house, to which that gentleman had been so obliging as to let
+him have a key.  He had just begun to open it when he saw, on a terrace
+below, Miss Walton walking with a gentleman in a riding-dress, whom he
+immediately guessed to be Sir Harry Benson.  He stopped of a sudden; his
+hand shook so much that he could hardly turn the key; he opened the gate,
+however, and advanced a few paces.  The lady’s lap-dog pricked up its
+ears, and barked; he stopped again—
+
+    —“The little dogs and all,
+    Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me!”
+
+His resolution failed; he slunk back, and, locking the gate as softly as
+he could, stood on tiptoe looking over the wall till they were gone.  At
+that instant a shepherd blew his horn: the romantic melancholy of the
+sound quite overcame him!—it was the very note that wanted to be
+touched—he sighed! he dropped a tear!—and returned.
+
+At supper his aunt observed that he was graver than usual; but she did
+not suspect the cause: indeed, it may seem odd that she was the only
+person in the family who had no suspicion of his attachment to Miss
+Walton.  It was frequently matter of discourse amongst the servants:
+perhaps her maiden coldness—but for those things we need not account.
+
+In a day or two he was so much master of himself as to be able to rhyme
+upon the subject.  The following pastoral he left, some time after, on
+the handle of a tea-kettle, at a neighbouring house where we were
+visiting; and as I filled the tea-pot after him, I happened to put it in
+my pocket by a similar act of forgetfulness.  It is such as might be
+expected from a man who makes verses for amusement.  I am pleased with
+somewhat of good nature that runs through it, because I have commonly
+observed the writers of those complaints to bestow epithets on their lost
+mistresses rather too harsh for the mere liberty of choice, which led
+them to prefer another to the poet himself: I do not doubt the vehemence
+of their passion; but, alas! the sensations of love are something more
+than the returns of gratitude.
+
+                                   LAVINIA.
+
+                                 A PASTORAL.
+
+    Why steals from my bosom the sigh?
+       Why fixed is my gaze on the ground?
+    Come, give me my pipe, and I’ll try
+       To banish my cares with the sound.
+
+    Erewhile were its notes of accord
+       With the smile of the flow’r-footed Muse;
+    Ah! why by its master implored
+       Shou’d it now the gay carrol refuse?
+
+    ’Twas taught by LAVINIA’S sweet smile,
+       In the mirth-loving chorus to join:
+    Ah, me! how unweeting the while!
+       LAVINIA—can never be mine!
+
+    Another, more happy, the maid
+       By fortune is destin’d to bless—
+    ’Tho’ the hope has forsook that betray’d,
+       Yet why should I love her the less?
+
+    Her beauties are bright as the morn,
+       With rapture I counted them o’er;
+    Such virtues these beauties adorn,
+       I knew her, and prais’d them no more.
+
+    I term’d her no goddess of love,
+       I call’d not her beauty divine:
+    These far other passions may prove,
+       But they could not be figures of mine.
+
+    It ne’er was apparel’d with art,
+       On words it could never rely;
+    It reign’d in the throb of my heart,
+       It gleam’d in the glance of my eye.
+
+    Oh fool! in the circle to shine
+       That Fashion’s gay daughters approve,
+    You must speak as the fashions incline;
+       Alas! are there fashions in love?
+
+    Yet sure they are simple who prize
+       The tongue that is smooth to deceive;
+    Yet sure she had sense to despise,
+       The tinsel that folly may weave.
+
+    When I talk’d, I have seen her recline,
+       With an aspect so pensively sweet,—
+    Tho’ I spoke what the shepherds opine,
+       A fop were ashamed to repeat.
+
+    She is soft as the dew-drops that fall
+       From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;
+    Perhaps when she smil’d upon all,
+       I have thought that she smil’d upon me.
+
+    But why of her charms should I tell?
+       Ah me! whom her charms have undone
+    Yet I love the reflection too well,
+       The painful reflection to shun.
+
+    Ye souls of more delicate kind,
+       Who feast not on pleasure alone,
+    Who wear the soft sense of the mind,
+       To the sons of the world still unknown.
+
+    Ye know, tho’ I cannot express,
+       Why I foolishly doat on my pain;
+    Nor will ye believe it the less,
+       That I have not the skill to complain.
+
+    I lean on my hand with a sigh,
+       My friends the soft sadness condemn;
+    Yet, methinks, tho’ I cannot tell why,
+       I should hate to be merry like them.
+
+    When I walk’d in the pride of the dawn,
+       Methought all the region look’d bright:
+    Has sweetness forsaken the lawn?
+       For, methinks, I grow sad at the sight.
+
+    When I stood by the stream, I have thought
+       There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound;
+    But now ’tis a sorrowful note,
+       And the banks are all gloomy around!
+
+    I have laugh’d at the jest of a friend;
+       Now they laugh, and I know not the cause,
+    Tho’ I seem with my looks to attend,
+       How silly!  I ask what it was.
+
+    They sing the sweet song of the May,
+       They sing it with mirth and with glee;
+    Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,
+       But now ’tis all sadness to me.
+
+    Oh! give me the dubious light
+       That gleams thro’ the quivering shade;
+    Oh! give me the horrors of night,
+       By gloom and by silence array’d!
+
+    Let me walk where the soft-rising wave,
+       Has pictur’d the moon on its breast;
+    Let me walk where the new cover’d grave
+       Allows the pale lover to rest!
+
+    When shall I in its peaceable womb,
+       Be laid with my sorrows asleep?
+    Should LAVINIA but chance on my tomb—
+       I could die if I thought she would weep.
+
+    Perhaps, if the souls of the just
+       Revisit these mansions of care,
+    It may be my favourite trust
+       To watch o’er the fate of the fair.
+
+    Perhaps the soft thought of her breast,
+       With rapture more favour’d to warm;
+    Perhaps, if with sorrow oppress’d,
+       Her sorrow with patience to arm.
+
+    Then, then, in the tenderest part
+       May I whisper, “Poor COLIN was true,”
+    And mark if a heave of her heart
+       The thought of her COLIN pursue.
+
+
+
+THE PUPIL.
+A FRAGMENT.
+
+
+* * * “BUT as to the higher part of education, Mr. Harley, the culture of
+the mind—let the feelings be awakened, let the heart be brought forth to
+its object, placed in the light in which nature would have it stand, and
+its decisions will ever be just.  The world
+
+    Will smile, and smile, and be a villain;
+
+and the youth, who does not suspect its deceit, will be content to smile
+with it.  Men will put on the most forbidding aspect in nature, and tell
+him of the beauty of virtue.
+
+“I have not, under these grey hairs, forgotten that I was once a young
+man, warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but meaning to be honest as well as
+happy.  I had ideas of virtue, of honour, of benevolence, which I had
+never been at the pains to define; but I felt my bosom heave at the
+thoughts of them, and I made the most delightful soliloquies.  It is
+impossible, said I, that there can be half so many rogues as are
+imagined.
+
+“I travelled, because it is the fashion for young men of my fortune to
+travel.  I had a travelling tutor, which is the fashion too; but my tutor
+was a gentleman, which it is not always the fashion for tutors to be.
+His gentility, indeed, was all he had from his father, whose prodigality
+had not left him a shilling to support it.
+
+“‘I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Mountford,’ said my father,
+‘which I will not be refused.  You have travelled as became a man;
+neither France nor Italy have made anything of Mountford, which
+Mountford, before he left England, would have been ashamed of.  My son
+Edward goes abroad, would you take him under your protection?’
+
+“He blushed; my father’s face was scarlet.  He pressed his hand to his
+bosom, as if he had said, my heart does not mean to offend you.
+Mountford sighed twice.
+
+“‘I am a proud fool,’ said he, ‘and you will pardon it.  There! (he
+sighed again) I can hear of dependance, since it is dependance on my
+Sedley.’
+
+“‘Dependance!’ answered my father; ‘there can be no such word between us.
+What is there in £9,000 a year that should make me unworthy of
+Mountford’s friendship?’
+
+“They embraced; and soon after I set out on my travels, with Mountford
+for my guardian.
+
+“We were at Milan, where my father happened to have an Italian friend, to
+whom he had been of some service in England.  The count, for he was of
+quality, was solicitous to return the obligation by a particular
+attention to his son.  We lived in his palace, visited with his family,
+were caressed by his friends, and I began to be so well pleased with my
+entertainment, that I thought of England as of some foreign country.
+
+“The count had a son not much older than myself.  At that age a friend is
+an easy acquisition; we were friends the first night of our acquaintance.
+
+“He introduced me into the company of a set of young gentlemen, whose
+fortunes gave them the command of pleasure, and whose inclinations
+incited them to the purchase.  After having spent some joyous evenings in
+their society, it became a sort of habit which I could not miss without
+uneasiness, and our meetings, which before were frequent, were now stated
+and regular.
+
+“Sometimes, in the pauses of our mirth, gaming was introduced as an
+amusement.  It was an art in which I was a novice.  I received
+instruction, as other novices do, by losing pretty largely to my
+teachers.  Nor was this the only evil which Mountford foresaw would arise
+from the connection I had formed; but a lecture of sour injunctions was
+not his method of reclaiming.  He sometimes asked me questions about the
+company, but they were such as the curiosity of any indifferent man might
+have prompted.  I told him of their wit, their eloquence, their warmth of
+friendship, and their sensibility of heart.  ‘And their honour,’ said I,
+laying my hand on my breast, ‘is unquestionable.’  Mountford seemed to
+rejoice at my good fortune, and begged that I would introduce him to
+their acquaintance.  At the next meeting I introduced him accordingly.
+
+“The conversation was as animated as usual.  They displayed all that
+sprightliness and good-humour which my praises had led Mountford to
+expect; subjects, too, of sentiment occurred, and their speeches,
+particularly those of our friend the son of Count Respino, glowed with
+the warmth of honour, and softened into the tenderness of feeling.
+Mountford was charmed with his companions.  When we parted, he made the
+highest eulogiums upon them.  ‘When shall we see them again?’ said he.  I
+was delighted with the demand, and promised to reconduct him on the
+morrow.
+
+“In going to their place of rendezvous, he took me a little out of the
+road, to see, as he told me, the performances of a young statuary.  When
+we were near the house in which Mountford said he lived, a boy of about
+seven years old crossed us in the street.  At sight of Mountford he
+stopped, and grasping his hand,
+
+“‘My dearest sir,’ said he, ‘my father is likely to do well.  He will
+live to pray for you, and to bless you.  Yes, he will bless you, though
+you are an Englishman, and some other hard word that the monk talked of
+this morning, which I have forgot, but it meant that you should not go to
+heaven; but he shall go to heaven, said I, for he has saved my father.
+Come and see him, sir, that we may be happy.’
+
+“‘My dear, I am engaged at present with this gentleman.’
+
+“‘But he shall come along with you; he is an Englishman, too, I fancy.
+He shall come and learn how an Englishman may go to heaven.’
+
+“Mountford smiled, and we followed the boy together.
+
+“After crossing the next street, we arrived at the gate of a prison.  I
+seemed surprised at the sight; our little conductor observed it.
+
+“‘Are you afraid, sir?’ said he.  ‘I was afraid once too, but my father
+and mother are here, and I am never afraid when I am with them.’
+
+“He took my hand, and led me through a dark passage that fronted the
+gate.  When we came to a little door at the end, he tapped.  A boy, still
+younger than himself, opened it to receive us.  Mountford entered with a
+look in which was pictured the benign assurance of a superior being.  I
+followed in silence and amazement.
+
+“On something like a bed, lay a man, with a face seemingly emaciated with
+sickness, and a look of patient dejection.  A bundle of dirty shreds
+served him for a pillow, but he had a better support—the arm of a female
+who kneeled beside him, beautiful as an angel, but with a fading languor
+in her countenance, the still life of melancholy, that seemed to borrow
+its shade from the object on which she gazed.  There was a tear in her
+eye—the sick man kissed it off in its bud, smiling through the dimness of
+his own—when she saw Mountford, she crawled forward on the ground, and
+clasped his knees.  He raised her from the floor; she threw her arms
+round his neck, and sobbed out a speech of thankfulness, eloquent beyond
+the power of language.
+
+“‘Compose yourself, my love,’ said the man on the bed; ‘but he, whose
+goodness has caused that emotion, will pardon its effects.’
+
+“‘How is this, Mountford?’ said I; ‘what do I see?  What must I do?’
+
+“‘You see,’ replied the stranger, ‘a wretch, sunk in poverty, starving in
+prison, stretched on a sick bed.  But that is little.  There are his wife
+and children wanting the bread which he has not to give them!  Yet you
+cannot easily imagine the conscious serenity of his mind.  In the gripe
+of affliction, his heart swells with the pride of virtue; it can even
+look down with pity on the man whose cruelty has wrung it almost to
+bursting.  You are, I fancy, a friend of Mr. Mountford’s.  Come nearer,
+and I’ll tell you, for, short as my story is, I can hardly command breath
+enough for a recital.  The son of Count Respino (I started, as if I had
+trod on a viper) has long had a criminal passion for my wife.  This her
+prudence had concealed from me; but he had lately the boldness to declare
+it to myself.  He promised me affluence in exchange for honour, and
+threatened misery as its attendant if I kept it.  I treated him with the
+contempt he deserved; the consequence was, that he hired a couple of
+bravoes (for I am persuaded they acted under his direction), who
+attempted to assassinate me in the street; but I made such a defence as
+obliged them to fly, after having given me two or three stabs, none of
+which, however, were mortal.  But his revenge was not thus to be
+disappointed.  In the little dealings of my trade I had contracted some
+debts, of which he had made himself master for my ruin.  I was confined
+here at his suit, when not yet recovered from the wounds I had received;
+the dear woman, and these two boys, followed me, that we might starve
+together; but Providence interposed, and sent Mr. Mountford to our
+support.  He has relieved my family from the gnawings of hunger, and
+rescued me from death, to which a fever, consequent on my wounds and
+increased by the want of every necessary, had almost reduced me.’
+
+“‘Inhuman villain!’ I exclaimed, lifting up my eyes to heaven.
+
+“‘Inhuman indeed!’ said the lovely woman who stood at my side.  ‘Alas!
+sir, what had we done to offend him? what had these little ones done,
+that they should perish in the toils of his vengeance?’
+
+“I reached a pen which stood in the inkstand dish at the bed-side.
+
+“‘May I ask what is the amount of the sum for which you are imprisoned?’
+
+“‘I was able,’ he replied, ‘to pay all but five hundred crowns.’
+
+“I wrote a draft on the banker with whom I had a credit from my father
+for 2,500, and presenting it to the stranger’s wife,
+
+“‘You will receive, madam, on presenting this note, a sum more than
+sufficient for your husband’s discharge; the remainder I leave for his
+industry to improve.’
+
+“I would have left the room.  Each of them laid hold of one of my hands,
+the children clung to my coat.  Oh! Mr. Harley, methinks I feel their
+gentle violence at this moment; it beats here with delight inexpressible.
+
+“‘Stay, sir,’ said he, ‘I do not mean attempting to thank you’ (he took a
+pocket-book from under his pillow), ‘let me but know what name I shall
+place here next to Mr. Mountford!’
+
+“‘Sedley.’
+
+“He writ it down.
+
+“‘An Englishman too, I presume.’
+
+“‘He shall go to heaven, notwithstanding;’ said the boy who had been our
+guide.
+
+“It began to be too much for me.  I squeezed his hand that was clasped in
+mine, his wife’s I pressed to my lips, and burst from the place, to give
+vent to the feelings that laboured within me.
+
+“‘Oh, Mountford!’ said I, when he had overtaken me at the door.
+
+“‘It is time,’ replied he, ‘that we should think of our appointment;
+young Respino and his friends are waiting us.’
+
+“‘Damn him, damn him!’ said I.  ‘Let us leave Milan instantly; but soft—I
+will be calm; Mountford, your pencil.’  I wrote on a slip of paper,
+
+                             “‘To Signor RESPINO.
+
+    “‘When you receive this, I am at a distance from Milan.  Accept of my
+    thanks for the civilities I have received from you and your family.
+    As to the friendship with which you were pleased to honour me, the
+    prison, which I have just left, has exhibited a scene to cancel it
+    for ever.  You may possibly be merry with your companions at my
+    weakness, as I suppose you will term it.  I give you leave for
+    derision.  You may affect a triumph, I shall feel it.
+
+                                                          “EDWARD SEDLEY.”
+
+“‘You may send this if you will,’ said Mountford, coolly, ‘but still
+Respino is a _man of honour_; the world will continue to call him so.’
+
+“‘It is probable,’ I answered, ‘they may; I envy not the appellation.  If
+this is the world’s honour, if these men are the guides of its manners—’
+
+“‘Tut!’ said Mountford, ‘do you eat macaroni—’”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+[At this place had the greatest depredations of the curate begun.  There
+were so very few connected passages of the subsequent chapters remaining,
+that even the partiality of an editor could not offer them to the public.
+I discovered, from some scattered sentences, that they were of much the
+same tenor with the preceding; recitals of little adventures, in which
+the dispositions of a man, sensible to judge, and still more warm to
+feel, had room to unfold themselves.  Some instruction, and some example,
+I make no doubt they contained; but it is likely that many of those, whom
+chance has led to a perusal of what I have already presented, may have
+read it with little pleasure, and will feel no disappointment from the
+want of those parts which I have been unable to procure.  To such as may
+have expected the intricacies of a novel, a few incidents in a life
+undistinguished, except by some features of the heart, cannot have
+afforded much entertainment.
+
+Harley’s own story, from the mutilated passages I have mentioned, as well
+as from some inquiries I was at the trouble of making in the country, I
+found to have been simple to excess.  His mistress, I could perceive, was
+not married to Sir Harry Benson; but it would seem, by one of the
+following chapters, which is still entire, that Harley had not profited
+on the occasion by making any declaration of his own passion, after those
+of the other had been unsuccessful.  The state of his health, for some
+part of this period, appears to have been such as to forbid any thoughts
+of that kind: he had been seized with a very dangerous fever, caught by
+attending old Edwards in one of an infectious kind.  From this he had
+recovered but imperfectly, and though he had no formed complaint, his
+health was manifestly on the decline.
+
+It appears that the sagacity of some friend had at length pointed out to
+his aunt a cause from which this might be supposed to proceed, to wit,
+his hopeless love for Miss Walton; for, according to the conceptions of
+the world, the love of a man of Harley’s fortune for the heiress of
+£4,000 a year is indeed desperate.  Whether it was so in this case may be
+gathered from the next chapter, which, with the two subsequent,
+concluding the performance, have escaped those accidents that proved
+fatal to the rest.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV.
+HE SEES MISS WALTON, AND IS HAPPY.
+
+
+HARLEY was one of those few friends whom the malevolence of fortune had
+yet left me; I could not therefore but be sensibly concerned for his
+present indisposition; there seldom passed a day on which I did not make
+inquiry about him.
+
+The physician who attended him had informed me the evening before, that
+he thought him considerably better than he had been for some time past.
+I called next morning to be confirmed in a piece of intelligence so
+welcome to me.
+
+When I entered his apartment, I found him sitting on a couch, leaning on
+his hand, with his eye turned upwards in the attitude of thoughtful
+inspiration.  His look had always an open benignity, which commanded
+esteem; there was now something more—a gentle triumph in it.
+
+He rose, and met me with his usual kindness.  When I gave him the good
+accounts I had had from his physician, “I am foolish enough,” said he,
+“to rely but little, in this instance, upon physic: my presentiment may
+be false; but I think I feel myself approaching to my end, by steps so
+easy, that they woo me to approach it.
+
+“There is a certain dignity in retiring from life at a time, when the
+infirmities of age have not sapped our faculties.  This world, my dear
+Charles, was a scene in which I never much delighted.  I was not formed
+for the bustle of the busy, nor the dissipation of the gay; a thousand
+things occurred, where I blushed for the impropriety of my conduct when I
+thought on the world, though my reason told me I should have blushed to
+have done otherwise.—It was a scene of dissimulation, of restraint, of
+disappointment.  I leave it to enter on that state which I have learned
+to believe is replete with the genuine happiness attendant upon virtue.
+I look back on the tenor of my life, with the consciousness of few great
+offences to account for.  There are blemishes, I confess, which deform in
+some degree the picture.  But I know the benignity of the Supreme Being,
+and rejoice at the thoughts of its exertion in my favour.  My mind
+expands at the thought I shall enter into the society of the blessed,
+wise as angels, with the simplicity of children.”  He had by this time
+clasped my hand, and found it wet by a tear which had just fallen upon
+it.—His eye began to moisten too—we sat for some time silent.—At last,
+with an attempt to a look of more composure, “There are some
+remembrances,” said Harley, “which rise involuntary on my heart, and make
+me almost wish to live.  I have been blessed with a few friends, who
+redeem my opinion of mankind.  I recollect, with the tenderest emotion,
+the scenes of pleasure I have passed among them; but we shall meet again,
+my friend, never to be separated.  There are some feelings which perhaps
+are too tender to be suffered by the world.—The world is in general
+selfish, interested, and unthinking, and throws the imputation of romance
+or melancholy on every temper more susceptible than its own.  I cannot
+think but in those regions which I contemplate, if there is any thing of
+mortality left about us, that these feelings will subsist;—they are
+called,—perhaps they are—weaknesses here;—but there may be some better
+modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve the name of virtues.”
+He sighed as he spoke these last words.  He had scarcely finished them,
+when the door opened, and his aunt appeared, leading in Miss Walton.  “My
+dear,” said she, “here is Miss Walton, who has been so kind as to come
+and inquire for you herself.”  I could observe a transient glow upon his
+face.  He rose from his seat—“If to know Miss Walton’s goodness,” said
+he, “be a title to deserve it, I have some claim.”  She begged him to
+resume his seat, and placed herself on the sofa beside him.  I took my
+leave.  Mrs. Margery accompanied me to the door.  He was left with Miss
+Walton alone.  She inquired anxiously about his health.  “I believe,”
+said he, “from the accounts which my physicians unwillingly give me, that
+they have no great hopes of my recovery.”—She started as he spoke; but
+recollecting herself immediately, endeavoured to flatter him into a
+belief that his apprehensions were groundless.  “I know,” said he, “that
+it is usual with persons at my time of life to have these hopes, which
+your kindness suggests; but I would not wish to be deceived.  To meet
+death as becomes a man, is a privilege bestowed on few.—I would endeavour
+to make it mine;—nor do I think that I can ever be better prepared for it
+than now:—It is that chiefly which determines the fitness of its
+approach.”  “Those sentiments,” answered Miss Walton, “are just; but your
+good sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper value.—As the
+province of virtue, life is ennobled; as such, it is to be desired.—To
+virtue has the Supreme Director of all things assigned rewards enough
+even here to fix its attachment.”
+
+The subject began to overpower her.—Harley lifted his eyes from the
+ground—“There are,” said he, in a very low voice, “there are attachments,
+Miss Walton”—His glance met hers.—They both betrayed a confusion, and
+were both instantly withdrawn.—He paused some moments—“I am such a state
+as calls for sincerity, let that also excuse it—It is perhaps the last
+time we shall ever meet.  I feel something particularly solemn in the
+acknowledgment, yet my heart swells to make it, awed as it is by a sense
+of my presumption, by a sense of your perfections”—He paused again—“Let
+it not offend you, to know their power over one so unworthy—It will, I
+believe, soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall lose
+the latest.—To love Miss Walton could not be a crime;—if to declare it is
+one—the expiation will be made.”—Her tears were now flowing without
+control.—“Let me intreat you,” said she, “to have better hopes—Let not
+life be so indifferent to you; if my wishes can put any value on it—I
+will not pretend to misunderstand you—I know your worth—I have known it
+long—I have esteemed it—What would you have me say?—I have loved it as it
+deserved.”—He seized her hand—a languid colour reddened his cheek—a smile
+brightened faintly in his eye.  As he gazed on her, it grew dim, it
+fixed, it closed—He sighed and fell back on his seat—Miss Walton screamed
+at the sight—His aunt and the servants rushed into the room—They found
+them lying motionless together.—His physician happened to call at that
+instant.  Every art was tried to recover them—With Miss Walton they
+succeeded—But Harley was gone for ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI.
+THE EMOTIONS OF THE HEART.
+
+
+I entered the room where his body lay; I approached it with reverence,
+not fear: I looked; the recollection of the past crowded upon me.  I saw
+that form which, but a little before, was animated with a soul which did
+honour to humanity, stretched without sense or feeling before me.  ’Tis a
+connection we cannot easily forget:—I took his hand in mine; I repeated
+his name involuntary;—I felt a pulse in every vein at the sound.  I
+looked earnestly in his face; his eye was closed, his lip pale and
+motionless.  There is an enthusiasm in sorrow that forgets impossibility;
+I wondered that it was so.  The sight drew a prayer from my heart: it was
+the voice of frailty and of man! the confusion of my mind began to
+subside into thought; I had time to meet!
+
+I turned with the last farewell upon my lips, when I observed old Edwards
+standing behind me.  I looked him full in the face; but his eye was fixed
+on another object: he pressed between me and the bed, and stood gazing on
+the breathless remains of his benefactor.  I spoke to him I know not
+what; but he took no notice of what I said, and remained in the same
+attitude as before.  He stood some minutes in that posture, then turned
+and walked towards the door.  He paused as he went;—he returned a second
+time: I could observe his lips move as he looked: but the voice they
+would have uttered was lost.  He attempted going again; and a third time
+he returned as before.—I saw him wipe his cheek: then covering his face
+with his hands, his breast heaving with the most convulsive throbs, he
+flung out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONCLUSION.
+
+
+HE had hinted that he should like to be buried in a certain spot near the
+grave of his mother.  This is a weakness; but it is universally incident
+to humanity: ’tis at least a memorial for those who survive: for some
+indeed a slender memorial will serve;—and the soft affections, when they
+are busy that way, will build their structures, were it but on the paring
+of a nail.
+
+He was buried in the place he had desired.  It was shaded by an old tree,
+the only one in the church-yard, in which was a cavity worn by time.  I
+have sat with him in it, and counted the tombs.  The last time we passed
+there, methought he looked wistfully on the tree: there was a branch of
+it that bent towards us waving in the wind; he waved his hand as if he
+mimicked its motion.  There was something predictive in his look! perhaps
+it is foolish to remark it; but there are times and places when I am a
+child at those things.
+
+I sometimes visit his grave; I sit in the hollow of the tree.  It is
+worth a thousand homilies; every noble feeling rises within me! every
+beat of my heart awakens a virtue!—but it will make you hate the
+world—No: there is such an air of gentleness around, that I can hate
+nothing; but, as to the world—I pity the men of it.
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES
+
+
+{15}  The reader will remember that the Editor is accountable only for
+scattered chapters and fragments of chapters; the curate must answer for
+the rest.  The number at the top, when the chapter was entire, he has
+given as it originally stood, with the title which its author had affixed
+to it.
+
+{61}  Though the Curate could not remember having shown this chapter to
+anybody, I strongly suspect that these political observations are the
+work of a later pen than the rest of this performance.  There seems to
+have been, by some accident, a gap in the manuscript, from the words,
+“Expectation at a jointure,” to these, “In short, man is an animal,”
+where the present blank ends; and some other person (for the hand is
+different, and the ink whiter) has filled part of it with sentiments of
+his own.  Whoever he was, he seems to have caught some portion of the
+spirit of the man he personates.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN OF FEELING***
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie</title>
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+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie,
+Edited by Henry Morley
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Man of Feeling
+
+
+Author: Henry Mackenzie
+
+Editor: Henry Morley
+
+Release Date: July 5, 2014  [eBook #5083]
+[This file was first posted on April 18, 2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN OF FEELING***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell &amp; Company edition by
+David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/coverb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Book cover"
+title=
+"Book cover"
+src="images/covers.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL&rsquo;S NATIONAL
+LIBRARY</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<h1><span class="GutSmall">THE</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Man Of Feeling</span></h1>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span
+class="GutSmall">BY</span></p>
+<p style="text-align: center">HENRY MACKENZIE.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/tpb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Decorative graphic"
+title=
+"Decorative graphic"
+src="images/tps.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL &amp; COMPANY, <span
+class="smcap">Limited</span>:</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span
+class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON</i></span><span class="GutSmall">,
+</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>PARIS</i></span><span
+class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>NEW YORK
+&amp; MELBOURNE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span></p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span
+class="GutSmall">1886.</span></p>
+<h2><a name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+iii</span>EDITOR&rsquo;S INTRODUCTION</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Henry Mackenzie</span>, the son of an
+Edinburgh physician, was born in August, 1745.&nbsp; After
+education in the University of Edinburgh he went to London in
+1765, at the age of twenty, for law studies, returned to
+Edinburgh, and became Crown Attorney in the Scottish Court of
+Exchequer.&nbsp; When Mackenzie was in London, Sterne&rsquo;s
+&ldquo;Tristram Shandy&rdquo; was in course of publication.&nbsp;
+The first two volumes had appeared in 1759, and the ninth
+appeared in 1767, followed in 1768, the year of Sterne&rsquo;s
+death, by &ldquo;The Sentimental Journey.&rdquo;&nbsp; Young
+Mackenzie had a strong bent towards literature, and while
+studying law in London, he read Sterne, and falling in with the
+tone of sentiment which Sterne himself caught from the spirit of
+the time and the example of Rousseau, he wrote &ldquo;The Man of
+Feeling.&rdquo;&nbsp; This book was published, without
+author&rsquo;s name, in 1771.&nbsp; It was so <a
+name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iv</span>popular that
+a young clergyman made a copy of it popular with imagined
+passages of erasure and correction, on the strength of which he
+claimed to be its author, and obliged Henry Mackenzie to declare
+himself.&nbsp; In 1773 Mackenzie published a second novel,
+&ldquo;The Man of the World,&rdquo; and in 1777 a third,
+&ldquo;Julia de Roubign&eacute;.&rdquo;&nbsp; An essay-reading
+society in Edinburgh, of which he was a leader, started in
+January, 1779, a weekly paper called <i>The Mirror</i>, which he
+edited until May, 1780.&nbsp; Its writers afterwards joined in
+producing <i>The Lounger</i>, which lasted from February, 1785,
+to January, 1787.&nbsp; Henry Mackenzie contributed forty-two
+papers to <i>The Mirror</i> and fifty-seven to <i>The
+Lounger</i>.&nbsp; When the Royal Society of Edinburgh was
+founded Henry Mackenzie was active as one of its first
+members.&nbsp; He was also one of the founders of the Highland
+Society.</p>
+<p>Although his &ldquo;Man of Feeling&rdquo; was a serious
+reflection of the false sentiment of the Revolution, Mackenzie
+joined afterwards in writing tracts to dissuade the people from
+faith in the doctrines of the Revolutionists.&nbsp; Mackenzie
+wrote also a tragedy, &ldquo;The Prince of Tunis,&rdquo; which
+was acted with success at Edinburgh, and a comedy, &ldquo;The <a
+name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span>White
+Hypocrite,&rdquo; which was acted once only at Covent
+garden.&nbsp; He died at the age of eighty-six, on the 13th June,
+1831, having for many years been regarded as an elder friend of
+their own craft by the men of letters who in his days gave
+dignity to Edinburgh society, and caused the town to be called
+the Modern Athens.</p>
+<p>A man of refined taste, who caught the tone of the French
+sentiment of his time, has, of course, pleased French critics,
+and has been translated into French.&nbsp; &ldquo;The Man of
+Feeling&rdquo; begins with imitation of Sterne, and proceeds in
+due course through so many tears that it is hardly to be called a
+dry book.&nbsp; As guide to persons of a calculating disposition
+who may read these pages I append an index to the Tears shed in
+&ldquo;The Man of Feeling.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>INDEX
+TO TEARS.</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Chokings</i>, <i>&amp;c.</i>,
+<i>not counted</i>.)</p>
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&ldquo;Odds but should have wept&rdquo;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#pagexiii">xiii</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tear, given, &ldquo;cordial drop&rdquo; repeated</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page17">17</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, like Cestus of Cytherea</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page26">26</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, one on a cheek</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page30">30</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&ldquo;I will not weep&rdquo;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page31">31</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears add energy to benediction</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page31">31</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, tribute of some</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page52">52</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&bdquo; blessings on</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page52">52</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>I would weep too</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page52">52</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Not an unmoistened eye</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page53">53</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Do you weep again?</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page53">53</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Hand bathed with tears</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page53">53</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears, burst into</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page54">54</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&bdquo; sobbing and shedding</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page74">74</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, burst into</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page75">75</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, virtue in these</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page75">75</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&bdquo; he wept at the recollection of her</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page80">80</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, glister of new-washed</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page81">81</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Sweet girl (here she wept)</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page94">94</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>I could only weep</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page95">95</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears, saw his</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page97">97</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, burst into</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page99">99</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&bdquo; wrung from the heart</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page99">99</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, feet bathed with</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page100">100</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+vii</span>,, mingled, <i>i.e.</i>, his with hers</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page100">100</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&bdquo; voice lost in</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page108">108</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Eye met with a tear</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page108">108</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tear stood in eye</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page127">127</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears, face bathed with</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page130">130</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Dropped one tear, no more</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page131">131</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears, press-gang could scarce keep from</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page136">136</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Big drops wetted gray beard</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page137">137</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears, shower of</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page138">138</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, scarce forced&mdash;blubbered like a boy</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page139">139</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Moistened eye</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page141">141</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears choked utterance</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page144">144</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>I have wept many a time</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page144">144</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Girl wept, brother sobbed</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page145">145</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, and wept
+between every kiss</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page145">145</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears flowing down cheeks</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page148">148</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>,, gushed afresh</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page148">148</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Beamy moisture</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page154">154</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>A tear dropped</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page165">165</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tear in her eye, the sick man kissed it off in its bud,
+smiling through the dimness of his own</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page176">176</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Hand wet by tear just fallen</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page185">185</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Tears flowing without control</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page187">187</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p>Cheek wiped (at the end of the last chapter)</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page189">189</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+ix</span>AUTHOR&rsquo;S INTRODUCTION</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">My</span> dog had made a point on a piece
+of fallow-ground, and led the curate and me two or three hundred
+yards over that and some stubble adjoining, in a breathless state
+of expectation, on a burning first of September.</p>
+<p>It was a false point, and our labour was vain: yet, to do
+Rover justice (for he&rsquo;s an excellent dog, though I have
+lost his pedigree), the fault was none of his, the birds were
+gone: the curate showed me the spot where they had lain basking,
+at the root of an old hedge.</p>
+<p>I stopped and cried Hem!&nbsp; The curate is fatter than I; he
+wiped the sweat from his brow.</p>
+<p>There is no state where one is apter to pause and look round
+one, than after such a disappointment.&nbsp; It is even so in
+life.&nbsp; When we have been hurrying on, impelled by some warm
+wish or other, looking neither to the right hand nor to the <a
+name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. x</span>left&mdash;we
+find of a sudden that all our gay hopes are flown; and the only
+slender consolation that some friend can give us, is to point
+where they were once to be found.&nbsp; And lo! if we are not of
+that combustible race, who will rather beat their heads in spite,
+than wipe their brows with the curate, we look round and say,
+with the nauseated listlessness of the king of Israel, &ldquo;All
+is vanity and vexation of spirit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I looked round with some such grave apophthegm in my mind when
+I discovered, for the first time, a venerable pile, to which the
+enclosure belonged.&nbsp; An air of melancholy hung about
+it.&nbsp; There was a languid stillness in the day, and a single
+crow, that perched on an old tree by the side of the gate, seemed
+to delight in the echo of its own croaking.</p>
+<p>I leaned on my gun and looked; but I had not breath enough to
+ask the curate a question.&nbsp; I observed carving on the bark
+of some of the trees: &rsquo;twas indeed the only mark of human
+art about the place, except that some branches appeared to have
+been lopped, to give a view of the cascade, which was formed by a
+little rill at some distance.</p>
+<p>Just at that instant I saw pass between the <a
+name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xi</span>trees a young
+lady with a book in her hand.&nbsp; I stood upon a stone to
+observe her; but the curate sat him down on the grass, and
+leaning his back where I stood, told me, &ldquo;That was the
+daughter of a neighbouring gentleman of the name of <span
+class="smcap">Walton</span>, whom he had seen walking there more
+than once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some time ago,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;one <span
+class="smcap">Harley</span> lived there, a whimsical sort of man
+I am told, but I was not then in the cure; though, if I had a
+turn for those things, I might know a good deal of his history,
+for the greatest part of it is still in my possession.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His history!&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Nay, you may
+call it what you please,&rdquo; said the curate; for indeed it is
+no more a history than it is a sermon.&nbsp; The way I came by it
+was this: some time ago, a grave, oddish kind of a man boarded at
+a farmer&rsquo;s in this parish: the country people called him
+The Ghost; and he was known by the slouch in his gait, and the
+length of his stride.&nbsp; I was but little acquainted with him,
+for he never frequented any of the clubs hereabouts.&nbsp; Yet
+for all he used to walk a-nights, he was as gentle as a lamb at
+times; for I have seen him playing at teetotum with the <a
+name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>children,
+on the great stone at the door of our churchyard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Soon after I was made curate, he left the parish, and
+went nobody knows whither; and in his room was found a bundle of
+papers, which was brought to me by his landlord.&nbsp; I began to
+read them, but I soon grew weary of the task; for, besides that
+the hand is intolerably bad, I could never find the author in one
+strain for two chapters together; and I don&rsquo;t believe
+there&rsquo;s a single syllogism from beginning to
+end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should be glad to see this medley,&rdquo; said
+I.&nbsp; &ldquo;You shall see it now,&rdquo; answered the curate,
+&ldquo;for I always take it along with me
+a-shooting.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;How came it so torn?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis excellent wadding,&rdquo; said the
+curate.&mdash;This was a plea of expediency I was not in a
+condition to answer; for I had actually in my pocket great part
+of an edition of one of the German Illustrissimi, for the very
+same purpose.&nbsp; We exchanged books; and by that means (for
+the curate was a strenuous logician) we probably saved both.</p>
+<p>When I returned to town, I had leisure to peruse the
+acquisition I had made: I found it a bundle of little episodes,
+put together without art, <a name="pagexiii"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>and of no importance on the whole,
+with something of nature, and little else in them.&nbsp; I was a
+good deal affected with some very trifling passages in it; and
+had the name of Marmontel, or a Richardson, been on the
+title-page&mdash;&rsquo;tis odds that I should have wept: But</p>
+<p>One is ashamed to be pleased with the works of one knows not
+whom.</p>
+<h2><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+15</span>CHAPTER XI. <a name="citation15"></a><a
+href="#footnote15" class="citation">[15]</a><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ON BASHFULNESS.&mdash;A
+CHARACTER.&mdash;HIS OPINION ON THAT SUBJECT.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is some rust about every man
+at the beginning; though in some nations (among the French for
+instance) the ideas of the inhabitants, from climate, or what
+other cause you will, are so vivacious, so eternally on the wing,
+that they must, even in small societies, have a frequent
+collision; the rust therefore will wear off sooner: but in
+Britain it often goes with a man to his grave; nay, he dares not
+even pen a <i>hic jacet</i> to speak out for him after his
+death.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let them rub it off by travel,&rdquo; said the
+baronet&rsquo;s <a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+16</span>brother, who was a striking instance of excellent metal,
+shamefully rusted.&nbsp; I had drawn my chair near his.&nbsp; Let
+me paint the honest old man: &rsquo;tis but one passing sentence
+to preserve his image in my mind.</p>
+<p>He sat in his usual attitude, with his elbow rested on his
+knee, and his fingers pressed on his cheek.&nbsp; His face was
+shaded by his hand; yet it was a face that might once have been
+well accounted handsome; its features were manly and striking, a
+dignity resided on his eyebrows, which were the largest I
+remember to have seen.&nbsp; His person was tall and well-made;
+but the indolence of his nature had now inclined it to
+corpulency.</p>
+<p>His remarks were few, and made only to his familiar friends;
+but they were such as the world might have heard with veneration:
+and his heart, uncorrupted by its ways, was ever warm in the
+cause of virtue and his friends.</p>
+<p>He is now forgotten and gone!&nbsp; The last time I was at
+Silton Hall, I saw his chair stand in its corner by the
+fire-side; there was an additional cushion on it, and it was
+occupied by my young lady&rsquo;s favourite lap dog.&nbsp; I drew
+near unperceived, <a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+17</span>and pinched its ears in the bitterness of my soul; the
+creature howled, and ran to its mistress.&nbsp; She did not
+suspect the author of its misfortune, but she bewailed it in the
+most pathetic terms; and kissing its lips, laid it gently on her
+lap, and covered it with a cambric handkerchief.&nbsp; I sat in
+my old friend&rsquo;s seat; I heard the roar of mirth and gaiety
+around me: poor Ben Silton!&nbsp; I gave thee a tear then: accept
+of one cordial drop that falls to thy memory now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They should wear it off by travel.&rdquo;&mdash;Why, it
+is true, said I, that will go far; but then it will often happen,
+that in the velocity of a modern tour, and amidst the materials
+through which it is commonly made, the friction is so violent,
+that not only the rust, but the metal too, is lost in the
+progress.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Give me leave to correct the expression of your
+metaphor,&rdquo; said Mr. Silton: &ldquo;that is not always rust
+which is acquired by the inactivity of the body on which it
+preys; such, perhaps, is the case with me, though indeed I was
+never cleared from my youth; but (taking it in its first stage)
+it is rather an encrustation, which nature has given for purposes
+of the greatest wisdom.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+18</span>&ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; I returned; &ldquo;and
+sometimes, like certain precious fossils, there may be hid under
+it gems of the purest brilliancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, farther,&rdquo; continued Mr. Silton, &ldquo;there
+are two distinct sorts of what we call bashfulness; this, the
+awkwardness of a booby, which a few steps into the world will
+convert into the pertness of a coxcomb; that, a consciousness,
+which the most delicate feelings produce, and the most extensive
+knowledge cannot always remove.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>From the incidents I have already related, I imagine it will
+be concluded that Harley was of the latter species of bashful
+animals; at least, if Mr. Silton&rsquo;s principle is just, it
+may be argued on this side; for the gradation of the first
+mentioned sort, it is certain, he never attained.&nbsp; Some part
+of his external appearance was modelled from the company of those
+gentlemen, whom the antiquity of a family, now possessed of bare
+&pound;250 a year, entitled its representative to approach: these
+indeed were not many; great part of the property in his
+neighbourhood being in the hands of merchants, who had got rich
+by their lawful calling abroad, and the sons of stewards, who had
+got rich by their lawful calling at home: persons so perfectly
+versed <a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>in
+the ceremonial of thousands, tens of thousands, and hundreds of
+thousands (whose degrees of precedency are plainly demonstrable
+from the first page of the Complete Accomptant, or Young
+Man&rsquo;s Best Pocket Companion) that a bow at church from them
+to such a man as Harley would have made the parson look back into
+his sermon for some precept of Christian humility.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">OF WORLDLY INTERESTS.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are certain interests which
+the world supposes every man to have, and which therefore are
+properly enough termed worldly; but the world is apt to make an
+erroneous estimate: ignorant of the dispositions which constitute
+our happiness or misery, they bring to an undistinguished scale
+the means of the one, as connected with power, wealth, or
+grandeur, and of the other with their contraries.&nbsp;
+Philosophers and poets have often protested against this
+decision; but their arguments have <a name="page20"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 20</span>been despised as declamatory, or
+ridiculed as romantic.</p>
+<p>There are never wanting to a young man some grave and prudent
+friends to set him right in this particular, if he need it; to
+watch his ideas as they arise, and point them to those objects
+which a wise man should never forget.</p>
+<p>Harley did not want for some monitors of this sort.&nbsp; He
+was frequently told of men whose fortunes enabled them to command
+all the luxuries of life, whose fortunes were of their own
+acquirement: his envy was invited by a description of their
+happiness, and his emulation by a recital of the means which had
+procured it.</p>
+<p>Harley was apt to hear those lectures with indifference; nay,
+sometimes they got the better of his temper; and as the instances
+were not always amiable, provoked, on his part, some reflections,
+which I am persuaded his good-nature would else have avoided.</p>
+<p>Indeed, I have observed one ingredient, somewhat necessary in
+a man&rsquo;s composition towards happiness, which people of
+feeling would do well to acquire; a certain respect for the
+follies of mankind: for there are so many fools whom the <a
+name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>opinion of
+the world entitles to regard, whom accident has placed in heights
+of which they are unworthy, that he who cannot restrain his
+contempt or indignation at the sight will be too often
+quarrelling with the disposal of things to relish that share
+which is allotted to himself.&nbsp; I do not mean, however, to
+insinuate this to have been the case with Harley; on the
+contrary, if we might rely on his own testimony, the conceptions
+he had of pomp and grandeur served to endear the state which
+Providence had assigned him.</p>
+<p>He lost his father, the last surviving of his parents, as I
+have already related, when he was a boy.&nbsp; The good man, from
+a fear of offending, as well as a regard to his son, had named
+him a variety of guardians; one consequence of which was, that
+they seldom met at all to consider the affairs of their ward; and
+when they did meet, their opinions were so opposite, that the
+only possible method of conciliation was the mediatory power of a
+dinner and a bottle, which commonly interrupted, not ended, the
+dispute; and after that interruption ceased, left the consulting
+parties in a condition not very proper for adjusting it.&nbsp;
+His education therefore had been but indifferently attended to;
+and <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>after
+being taken from a country school, at which he had been boarded,
+the young gentleman was suffered to be his own master in the
+subsequent branches of literature, with some assistance from the
+parson of the parish in languages and philosophy, and from the
+exciseman in arithmetic and book-keeping.&nbsp; One of his
+guardians, indeed, who, in his youth, had been an inhabitant of
+the Temple, set him to read Coke upon Lyttelton: a book which is
+very properly put into the hands of beginners in that science, as
+its simplicity is accommodated to their understandings, and its
+size to their inclination.&nbsp; He profited but little by the
+perusal; but it was not without its use in the family: for his
+maiden aunt applied it commonly to the laudable purpose of
+pressing her rebellious linens to the folds she had allotted
+them.</p>
+<p>There were particularly two ways of increasing his fortune,
+which might have occurred to people of less foresight than the
+counsellors we have mentioned.&nbsp; One of these was, the
+prospect of his succeeding to an old lady, a distant relation,
+who was known to be possessed of a very large sum in the stocks:
+but in this their hopes were disappointed; for the young man was
+so untoward in <a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+23</span>his disposition, that, notwithstanding the instructions
+he daily received, his visits rather tended to alienate than gain
+the good-will of his kinswoman.&nbsp; He sometimes looked grave
+when the old lady told the jokes of her youth; he often refused
+to eat when she pressed him, and was seldom or never provided
+with sugar-candy or liquorice when she was seized with a fit of
+coughing: nay, he had once the rudeness to fall asleep while she
+was describing the composition and virtues of her favourite
+cholic-water.&nbsp; In short, be accommodated himself so ill to
+her humour, that she died, and did not leave him a farthing.</p>
+<p>The other method pointed out to him was an endeavour to get a
+lease of some crown-lands, which lay contiguous to his little
+paternal estate.&nbsp; This, it was imagined, might be easily
+procured, as the crown did not draw so much rent as Harley could
+afford to give, with very considerable profit to himself; and the
+then lessee had rendered himself so obnoxious to the ministry, by
+the disposal of his vote at an election, that he could not expect
+a renewal.&nbsp; This, however, needed some interest with the
+great, which Harley or his father never possessed.</p>
+<p><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>His
+neighbour, Mr. Walton, having heard of this affair, generously
+offered his assistance to accomplish it.&nbsp; He told him, that
+though he had long been a stranger to courtiers, yet he believed
+there were some of them who might pay regard to his
+recommendation; and that, if he thought it worth the while to
+take a London journey upon the business, he would furnish him
+with a letter of introduction to a baronet of his acquaintance,
+who had a great deal to say with the first lord of the
+treasury.</p>
+<p>When his friends heard of this offer, they pressed him with
+the utmost earnestness to accept of it.</p>
+<p>They did not fail to enumerate the many advantages which a
+certain degree of spirit and assurance gives a man who would make
+a figure in the world: they repeated their instances of good
+fortune in others, ascribed them all to a happy forwardness of
+disposition; and made so copious a recital of the disadvantages
+which attend the opposite weakness, that a stranger, who had
+heard them, would have been led to imagine, that in the British
+code there was some disqualifying statute against any citizen who
+should be convicted of&mdash;modesty.</p>
+<p>Harley, though he had no great relish for the attempt, yet
+could not resist the torrent of motives <a
+name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>that
+assaulted him; and as he needed but little preparation for his
+journey, a day, not very distant, was fixed for his
+departure.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE MAN OF FEELING IN LOVE.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day before that on which he set
+out, he went to take leave of Mr. Walton.&mdash;We would conceal
+nothing;&mdash;there was another person of the family to whom
+also the visit was intended, on whose account, perhaps, there
+were some tenderer feelings in the bosom of Harley than his
+gratitude for the friendly notice of that gentleman (though he
+was seldom deficient in that virtue) could inspire.&nbsp; Mr.
+Walton had a daughter; and such a daughter! we will attempt some
+description of her by and by.</p>
+<p>Harley&rsquo;s notions of the
+&kappa;&alpha;&lambda;&omicron;&nu;, or beautiful, were not
+always to be defined, nor indeed such as the world would always
+assent to, though we could define them.&nbsp; A blush, a phrase
+of affability to an inferior, a tear at a moving tale, were to
+him, like <a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+26</span>the Cestus of Cytherea, unequalled in conferring
+beauty.&nbsp; For all these Miss Walton was remarkable; but as
+these, like the above-mentioned Cestus, are perhaps still more
+powerful when the wearer is possessed of some degree of beauty,
+commonly so called, it happened, that, from this cause, they had
+more than usual power in the person of that young lady.</p>
+<p>She was now arrived at that period of life which takes, or is
+supposed to take, from the flippancy of girlhood those
+sprightlinesses with which some good-natured old maids oblige the
+world at three-score.&nbsp; She had been ushered into life (as
+that word is used in the dialect of St. James&rsquo;s) at
+seventeen, her father being then in parliament, and living in
+London: at seventeen, therefore, she had been a universal toast;
+her health, now she was four-and-twenty, was only drank by those
+who knew her face at least.&nbsp; Her complexion was mellowed
+into a paleness, which certainly took from her beauty; but
+agreed, at least Harley used to say so, with the pensive softness
+of her mind.&nbsp; Her eyes were of that gentle hazel colour
+which is rather mild than piercing; and, except when they were
+lighted up by good-humour, which was frequently the case, <a
+name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>were supposed
+by the fine gentlemen to want fire.&nbsp; Her air and manner were
+elegant in the highest degree, and were as sure of commanding
+respect as their mistress was far from demanding it.&nbsp; Her
+voice was inexpressibly soft; it was, according to that
+incomparable simile of Otway&rsquo;s,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&mdash;&ldquo;like the shepherd&rsquo;s pipe upon
+the mountains,<br />
+When all his little flock&rsquo;s at feed before him.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>The effect it had upon Harley, himself used to paint
+ridiculously enough; and ascribed it to powers, which few
+believed, and nobody cared for.</p>
+<p>Her conversation was always cheerful, but rarely witty; and
+without the smallest affectation of learning, had as much
+sentiment in it as would have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles
+of female materialism, to account for.&nbsp; Her beneficence was
+unbounded; indeed the natural tenderness of her heart might have
+been argued, by the frigidity of a casuist, as detracting from
+her virtue in this respect, for her humanity was a feeling, not a
+principle: but minds like Harley&rsquo;s are not very apt to make
+this distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all
+that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature.</p>
+<p>As her father had some years retired to the <a
+name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>country,
+Harley had frequent opportunities of seeing her.&nbsp; He looked
+on her for some time merely with that respect and admiration
+which her appearance seemed to demand, and the opinion of others
+conferred upon her from this cause, perhaps, and from that
+extreme sensibility of which we have taken frequent notice,
+Harley was remarkably silent in her presence.&nbsp; He heard her
+sentiments with peculiar attention, sometimes with looks very
+expressive of approbation; but seldom declared his opinion on the
+subject, much less made compliments to the lady on the justness
+of her remarks.</p>
+<p>From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took
+more particular notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the
+laws of precedency, were better entitled to it: it was a mode of
+politeness she had peculiarly studied, to bring to the line of
+that equality, which is ever necessary for the ease of our
+guests, those whose sensibility had placed them below it.</p>
+<p>Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the
+world, yet was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on
+his part; on the contrary, the most delicate consciousness of
+propriety often kindled that blush which marred the <a
+name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>performance
+of it: this raised his esteem something above what the most
+sanguine descriptions of her goodness had been able to do; for
+certain it is, that notwithstanding the laboured definitions
+which very wise men have given us of the inherent beauty of
+virtue, we are always inclined to think her handsomest when she
+condescends to smile upon ourselves.</p>
+<p>It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to
+love: in the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition;
+for there were certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a
+degree much above their common complexion.&nbsp; In times not
+credulous of inspiration, we should account for this from some
+natural cause; but we do not mean to account for it at all; it
+were sufficient to describe its effects; but they were sometimes
+so ludicrous, as might derogate from the dignity of the
+sensations which produced them to describe.&nbsp; They were
+treated indeed as such by most of Harley&rsquo;s sober friends,
+who often laughed very heartily at the awkward blunders of the
+real Harley, when the different faculties, which should have
+prevented them, were entirely occupied by the ideal.&nbsp; In
+some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton did not <a
+name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>fail to be
+introduced; and the picture which had been drawn amidst the
+surrounding objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out to be
+viewed through the medium of romantic imagination: it was
+improved of course, and esteem was a word inexpressive of the
+feelings which it excited.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY&mdash;THE
+BEGGAR AND HIS DOG.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">He</span> had taken leave of his aunt on
+the eve of his intended departure; but the good lady&rsquo;s
+affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep, and early as it
+was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set out, he found
+her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup
+in her hand.&nbsp; She knew enough of physic to prescribe against
+going abroad of a morning with an empty stomach.&nbsp; She gave
+her blessing with the draught; her instructions she had delivered
+the night before.&nbsp; They consisted mostly of negatives, for
+London, in <a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+31</span>her idea, was so replete with temptations that it needed
+the whole armour of her friendly cautions to repel their
+attacks.</p>
+<p>Peter stood at the door.&nbsp; We have mentioned this faithful
+fellow formerly: Harley&rsquo;s father had taken him up an
+orphan, and saved him from being cast on the parish; and he had
+ever since remained in the service of him and of his son.&nbsp;
+Harley shook him by the hand as he passed, smiling, as if he had
+said, &ldquo;I will not weep.&rdquo;&nbsp; He sprung hastily into
+the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the step.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;My dear master,&rdquo; said he, shaking the solitary lock
+that hung on either side of his head, &ldquo;I have been told as
+how London is a sad place.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was choked with the
+thought, and his benediction could not be heard:&mdash;but it
+shall be heard, honest Peter! where these tears will add to its
+energy.</p>
+<p>In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed
+breakfasting, but the fulness of his heart would not suffer him
+to eat a morsel.&nbsp; He walked out on the road, and gaining a
+little height, stood gazing on that quarter he had left.&nbsp; He
+looked for his wonted prospect, his fields, his woods, and his
+hills: they were lost in the distant clouds!&nbsp; He <a
+name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>pencilled
+them on the clouds, and bade them farewell with a sigh!</p>
+<p>He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from
+his shoe, when he saw, at some distance, a beggar approaching
+him.&nbsp; He had on a loose sort of coat, mended with
+different-coloured rags, amongst which the blue and the russet
+were the predominant.&nbsp; He had a short knotty stick in his
+hand, and on the top of it was stuck a ram&rsquo;s horn; his
+knees (though he was no pilgrim) had worn the stuff of his
+breeches; he wore no shoes, and his stockings had entirely lost
+that part of them which should have covered his feet and ankles;
+in his face, however, was the plump appearance of good humour; he
+walked a good round pace, and a crook-legged dog trotted at his
+heels.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our delicacies,&rdquo; said Harley to himself,
+&ldquo;are fantastic; they are not in nature! that beggar walks
+over the sharpest of these stones barefooted, whilst I have lost
+the most delightful dream in the world, from the smallest of them
+happening to get into my shoe.&rdquo;&nbsp; The beggar had by
+this time come up, and, pulling off a piece of hat, asked charity
+of Harley; the dog began to beg too:&mdash;it was impossible <a
+name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>to resist
+both; and, in truth, the want of shoes and stockings had made
+both unnecessary, for Harley had destined sixpence for him
+before.&nbsp; The beggar, on receiving it, poured forth blessings
+without number; and, with a sort of smile on his countenance,
+said to Harley &ldquo;that if he wanted to have his fortune
+told&rdquo;&mdash;Harley turned his eye briskly on the beggar: it
+was an unpromising look for the subject of a prediction, and
+silenced the prophet immediately.&nbsp; &ldquo;I would much
+rather learn,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;what it is in your power
+to tell me: your trade must be an entertaining one; sit down on
+this stone, and let me know something of your profession; I have
+often thought of turning fortune-teller for a week or two
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Master,&rdquo; replied the beggar, &ldquo;I like your
+frankness much; God knows I had the humour of plain-dealing in me
+from a child, but there is no doing with it in this world; we
+must live as we can, and lying is, as you call it, my profession,
+but I was in some sort forced to the trade, for I dealt once in
+telling truth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me
+live: I never laid by indeed: for I was <a
+name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>reckoned a
+piece of a wag, and your wags, I take it, are seldom rich, Mr.
+Harley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;you seem to know
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, there are few folks in the country that I
+don&rsquo;t know something of: how should I tell fortunes
+else?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;True; but to go on with your story: you were a
+labourer, you say, and a wag; your industry, I suppose, you left
+with your old trade, but your humour you preserve to be of use to
+you in your new.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean
+on&rsquo;t: but I was brought to my idleness by degrees; first I
+could not work, and it went against my stomach to work ever
+after.&nbsp; I was seized with a jail fever at the time of the
+assizes being in the county where I lived; for I was always
+curious to get acquainted with the felons, because they are
+commonly fellows of much mirth and little thought, qualities I
+had ever an esteem for.&nbsp; In the height of this fever, Mr.
+Harley, the house where I lay took fire, and burnt to the ground;
+I was carried out in that condition, and lay all the rest of my
+illness in a barn.&nbsp; I got the better of my disease, however,
+but I was so weak that I spit <a name="page35"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 35</span>blood whenever I attempted to
+work.&nbsp; I had no relation living that I knew of, and I never
+kept a friend above a week, when I was able to joke; I seldom
+remained above six months in a parish, so that I might have died
+before I had found a settlement in any: thus I was forced to beg
+my bread, and a sorry trade I found it, Mr. Harley.&nbsp; I told
+all my misfortunes truly, but they were seldom believed; and the
+few who gave me a halfpenny as they passed did it with a shake of
+the head, and an injunction not to trouble them with a long
+story.&nbsp; In short, I found that people don&rsquo;t care to
+give alms without some security for their money; a wooden leg or
+a withered arm is a sort of draught upon heaven for those who
+choose to have their money placed to account there; so I changed
+my plan, and, instead of telling my own misfortunes, began to
+prophesy happiness to others.&nbsp; This I found by much the
+better way: folks will always listen when the tale is their own,
+and of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling, I
+have known few on whom it had not a very sensible effect.&nbsp; I
+pick up the names of their acquaintance; amours and little
+squabbles are easily gleaned among servants and neighbours; and
+<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>indeed
+people themselves are the best intelligencers in the world for
+our purpose: they dare not puzzle us for their own sakes, for
+every one is anxious to hear what they wish to believe, and they
+who repeat it, to laugh at it when they have done, are generally
+more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine.&nbsp; With a
+tolerable good memory, and some share of cunning, with the help
+of walking a-nights over heaths and church-yards, with this, and
+showing the tricks of that there dog, whom I stole from the
+serjeant of a marching regiment (and by the way, he can steal too
+upon occasion), I make shift to pick up a livelihood.&nbsp; My
+trade, indeed, is none of the honestest; yet people are not much
+cheated neither who give a few half-pence for a prospect of
+happiness, which I have heard some persons say is all a man can
+arrive at in this world.&nbsp; But I must bid you good day, sir,
+for I have three miles to walk before noon, to inform some
+boarding-school young ladies whether their husbands are to be
+peers of the realm or captains in the army: a question which I
+promised to answer them by that time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade
+him consider on whom he was <a name="page37"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 37</span>going to bestow it.&nbsp; Virtue held
+back his arm; but a milder form, a younger sister of
+Virtue&rsquo;s, not so severe as Virtue, nor so serious as Pity,
+smiled upon him; his fingers lost their compression, nor did
+Virtue offer to catch the money as it fell.&nbsp; It had no
+sooner reached the ground than the watchful cur (a trick he had
+been taught) snapped it up, and, contrary to the most approved
+method of stewardship, delivered it immediately into the hands of
+his master.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE MAKES A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE
+BARONET&rsquo;S.&nbsp; THE LAUDABLE AMBITION OF A YOUNG MAN TO BE
+THOUGHT SOMETHING BY THE WORLD.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have related, in a former
+chapter, the little success of his first visit to the great man,
+for whom he had the introductory letter from Mr. Walton.&nbsp; To
+people of equal sensibility, the influence of those trifles we
+mentioned on his deportment will not appear surprising, but to
+his friends in the <a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+38</span>country they could not be stated, nor would they have
+allowed them any place in the account.&nbsp; In some of their
+letters, therefore, which he received soon after, they expressed
+their surprise at his not having been more urgent in his
+application, and again recommended the blushless assiduity of
+successful merit.</p>
+<p>He resolved to make another attempt at the baronet&rsquo;s;
+fortified with higher notions of his own dignity, and with less
+apprehension of repulse.&nbsp; In his way to Grosvenor Square he
+began to ruminate on the folly of mankind, who affixed those
+ideas of superiority to riches, which reduced the minds of men,
+by nature equal with the more fortunate, to that sort of
+servility which he felt in his own.&nbsp; By the time he had
+reached the Square, and was walking along the pavement which led
+to the baronet&rsquo;s, he had brought his reasoning on the
+subject to such a point, that the conclusion, by every rule of
+logic, should have led him to a thorough indifference in his
+approaches to a fellow-mortal, whether that fellow-mortal was
+possessed of six or six thousand pounds a year.&nbsp; It is
+probable, however, that the premises had been improperly formed:
+for it is certain, that when he <a name="page39"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 39</span>approached the great man&rsquo;s door
+he felt his heart agitated by an unusual pulsation.</p>
+<p>He had almost reached it, when he observed among gentleman
+coming out, dressed in a white frock and a red laced waistcoat,
+with a small switch in his hand, which he seemed to manage with a
+particular good grace.&nbsp; As he passed him on the steps, the
+stranger very politely made him a bow, which Harley returned,
+though he could not remember ever having seen him before.&nbsp;
+He asked Harley, in the same civil manner, if he was going to
+wait on his friend the baronet.&nbsp; &ldquo;For I was just
+calling,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and am sorry to find that he is
+gone for some days into the country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley thanked him for his information, and was turning from
+the door, when the other observed that it would be proper to
+leave his name, and very obligingly knocked for that purpose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant to have waited on
+your master.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your name, if you please, sir?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Harley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll remember, Tom, Harley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The door was shut.&nbsp; &ldquo;Since we are here,&rdquo; said
+<a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>he,
+&ldquo;we shall not lose our walk if we add a little to it by a
+turn or two in Hyde Park.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He accompanied this proposal with a second bow, and Harley
+accepted of it by another in return.</p>
+<p>The conversation, as they walked, was brilliant on the side of
+his companion.&nbsp; The playhouse, the opera, with every
+occurrence in high life, he seemed perfectly master of; and
+talked of some reigning beauties of quality in a manner the most
+feeling in the world.&nbsp; Harley admired the happiness of his
+vivacity, and, opposite as it was to the reserve of his own
+nature, began to be much pleased with its effects.</p>
+<p>Though I am not of opinion with some wise men, that the
+existence of objects depends on idea, yet I am convinced that
+their appearance is not a little influenced by it.&nbsp; The
+optics of some minds are in so unlucky a perspective as to throw
+a certain shade on every picture that is presented to them, while
+those of others (of which number was Harley), like the mirrors of
+the ladies, have a wonderful effect in bettering their
+complexions.&nbsp; Through such a medium perhaps he was looking
+on his present companion.</p>
+<p><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>When
+they had finished their walk, and were returning by the corner of
+the Park, they observed a board hung out of a window signifying,
+&ldquo;An excellent <span class="GutSmall">ORDINARY</span> on
+Saturdays and Sundays.&rdquo;&nbsp; It happened to be Saturday,
+and the table was covered for the purpose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What if we should go in and dine here, if you happen
+not to be engaged, sir?&rdquo; said the young gentleman.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It is not impossible but we shall meet with some original
+or other; it is a sort of humour I like hugely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley made no objection, and the stranger showed him the way
+into the parlour.</p>
+<p>He was placed, by the courtesy of his introductor, in an
+arm-chair that stood at one side of the fire.&nbsp; Over against
+him was seated a man of a grave considering aspect, with that
+look of sober prudence which indicates what is commonly called a
+warm man.&nbsp; He wore a pretty large wig, which had once been
+white, but was now of a brownish yellow; his coat was one of
+those modest-coloured drabs which mock the injuries of dust and
+dirt; two jack-boots concealed, in part, the well-mended knees of
+an old pair of buckskin breeches; while the spotted handkerchief
+round his neck preserved <a name="page42"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 42</span>at once its owner from catching cold
+and his neck-cloth from being dirtied.&nbsp; Next him sat another
+man, with a tankard in his hand and a quid of tobacco in his
+cheek, whose eye was rather more vivacious, and whose dress was
+something smarter.</p>
+<p>The first-mentioned gentleman took notice that the room had
+been so lately washed, as not to have had time to dry, and
+remarked that wet lodging was unwholesome for man or beast.&nbsp;
+He looked round at the same time for a poker to stir the fire
+with, which, he at last observed to the company, the people of
+the house had removed in order to save their coals.&nbsp; This
+difficulty, however, he overcame by the help of Harley&rsquo;s
+stick, saying, &ldquo;that as they should, no doubt, pay for
+their fire in some shape or other, he saw no reason why they
+should not have the use of it while they sat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The door was now opened for the admission of dinner.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know how it is with you, gentlemen,&rdquo;
+said Harley&rsquo;s new acquaintance, &ldquo;but I am afraid I
+shall not be able to get down a morsel at this horrid mechanical
+hour of dining.&rdquo;&nbsp; He sat down, however, and did not
+show any want of appetite by his eating.&nbsp; He took upon him
+the <a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+43</span>carving of the meat, and criticised on the goodness of
+the pudding.</p>
+<p>When the table-cloth was removed, he proposed calling for some
+punch, which was readily agreed to; he seemed at first inclined
+to make it himself, but afterwards changed his mind, and left
+that province to the waiter, telling him to have it pure West
+Indian, or he could not taste a drop of it.</p>
+<p>When the punch was brought he undertook to fill the glasses
+and call the toasts.&nbsp; &ldquo;The King.&rdquo;&mdash;The
+toast naturally produced politics.&nbsp; It is the privilege of
+Englishmen to drink the king&rsquo;s health, and to talk of his
+conduct.&nbsp; The man who sat opposite to Harley (and who by
+this time, partly from himself, and partly from his acquaintance
+on his left hand, was discovered to be a grazier) observed,
+&ldquo;That it was a shame for so many pensioners to be allowed
+to take the bread out of the mouth of the poor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, and provisions,&rdquo; said his friend, &ldquo;were
+never so dear in the memory of man; I wish the king and his
+counsellors would look to that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As for the matter of provisions, neighbour
+Wrightson,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;I am sure the prices of
+cattle&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>A
+dispute would have probably ensued, but it was prevented by the
+spruce toastmaster, who gave a sentiment, and turning to the two
+politicians, &ldquo;Pray, gentlemen,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;let
+us have done with these musty politics: I would always leave them
+to the beer-suckers in Butcher Row.&nbsp; Come, let us have
+something of the fine arts.&nbsp; That was a damn&rsquo;d hard
+match between Joe the Nailor and Tim Bucket.&nbsp; The knowing
+ones were cursedly taken in there!&nbsp; I lost a cool hundred
+myself, faith.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At mention of the cool hundred, the grazier threw his eyes
+aslant, with a mingled look of doubt and surprise; while the man
+at his elbow looked arch, and gave a short emphatical sort of
+cough.</p>
+<p>Both seemed to be silenced, however, by this intelligence; and
+while the remainder of the punch lasted the conversation was
+wholly engrossed by the gentleman with the fine waistcoat, who
+told a great many &ldquo;immense comical stories&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;confounded smart things,&rdquo; as he termed them, acted
+and spoken by lords, ladies, and young bucks of quality, of his
+acquaintance.&nbsp; At last, the grazier, pulling out a watch, of
+a very unusual size, and telling the hour, said that he had an
+appointment.&nbsp; <a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+45</span>&ldquo;Is it so late?&rdquo; said the young gentleman;
+&ldquo;then I am afraid I have missed an appointment already; but
+the truth is, I am cursedly given to missing of
+appointments.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When the grazier and he were gone, Harley turned to the
+remaining personage, and asked him if he knew that young
+gentleman.&nbsp; &ldquo;A gentleman!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;ay,
+he is one of your gentlemen at the top of an affidavit.&nbsp; I
+knew him, some years ago, in the quality of a footman; and I
+believe he had some times the honour to be a pimp.&nbsp; At last,
+some of the great folks, to whom he had been serviceable in both
+capacities, had him made a gauger; in which station he remains,
+and has the assurance to pretend an acquaintance with men of
+quality.&nbsp; The impudent dog! with a few shillings in his
+pocket, he will talk you three times as much as my friend Mundy
+there, who is worth nine thousand if he&rsquo;s worth a
+farthing.&nbsp; But I know the rascal, and despise him, as he
+deserves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley began to despise him too, and to conceive some
+indignation at having sat with patience to hear such a fellow
+speak nonsense.&nbsp; But he corrected himself by reflecting that
+he was perhaps as well entertained, and instructed too, by this
+same modest <a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+46</span>gauger, as he should have been by such a man as he had
+thought proper to personate.&nbsp; And surely the fault may more
+properly be imputed to that rank where the futility is real than
+where it is feigned: to that rank whose opportunities for nobler
+accomplishments have only served to rear a fabric of folly which
+the untutored hand of affectation, even among the meanest of
+mankind, can imitate with success.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE VISITS BEDLAM.&mdash;THE DISTRESSES OF
+A DAUGHTER.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Of</span> those things called Sights in
+London, which every stranger is supposed desirous to see, Bedlam
+is one.&nbsp; To that place, therefore, an acquaintance of
+Harley&rsquo;s, after having accompanied him to several other
+shows, proposed a visit.&nbsp; Harley objected to it,
+&ldquo;because,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I think it an inhuman
+practice to expose the greatest misery with which our nature is
+afflicted to every idle visitant who can afford a trifling
+perquisite to the <a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+47</span>keeper; especially as it is a distress which the humane
+must see, with the painful reflection, that it is not in their
+power to alleviate it.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was overpowered, however,
+by the solicitations of his friend and the other persons of the
+party (amongst whom were several ladies); and they went in a body
+to Moorfields.</p>
+<p>Their conductor led them first to the dismal mansions of those
+who are in the most horrid state of incurable madness.&nbsp; The
+clanking of chains, the wildness of their cries, and the
+imprecations which some of them uttered, formed a scene
+inexpressibly shocking.&nbsp; Harley and his companions,
+especially the female part of them, begged their guide to return;
+he seemed surprised at their uneasiness, and was with difficulty
+prevailed on to leave that part of the house without showing them
+some others: who, as he expressed it in the phrase of those that
+keep wild beasts for show, were much better worth seeing than any
+they had passed, being ten times more fierce and
+unmanageable.</p>
+<p>He led them next to that quarter where those reside who, as
+they are not dangerous to themselves or others, enjoy a certain
+degree of freedom, according to the state of their distemper.</p>
+<p><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>Harley
+had fallen behind his companions, looking at a man who was making
+pendulums with bits of thread and little balls of clay.&nbsp; He
+had delineated a segment of a circle on the wall with chalk, and
+marked their different vibrations by intersecting it with cross
+lines.&nbsp; A decent-looking man came up, and smiling at the
+maniac, turned to Harley, and told him that gentleman had once
+been a very celebrated mathematician.&nbsp; &ldquo;He fell a
+sacrifice,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to the theory of comets; for
+having, with infinite labour, formed a table on the conjectures
+of Sir Isaac Newton, he was disappointed in the return of one of
+those luminaries, and was very soon after obliged to be placed
+here by his friends.&nbsp; If you please to follow me,
+sir,&rdquo; continued the stranger, &ldquo;I believe I shall be
+able to give you a more satisfactory account of the unfortunate
+people you see here than the man who attends your
+companions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley bowed, and accepted his offer.</p>
+<p>The next person they came up to had scrawled a variety of
+figures on a piece of slate.&nbsp; Harley had the curiosity to
+take a nearer view of them.&nbsp; They consisted of different
+columns, on the top of which were marked South-sea annuities,
+India-stock, and Three per cent. annuities consol.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;This,&rdquo; said <a name="page49"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 49</span>Harley&rsquo;s instructor, &ldquo;was
+a gentleman well known in Change Alley.&nbsp; He was once worth
+fifty thousand pounds, and had actually agreed for the purchase
+of an estate in the West, in order to realise his money; but he
+quarrelled with the proprietor about the repairs of the garden
+wall, and so returned to town, to follow his old trade of
+stock-jobbing a little longer; when an unlucky fluctuation of
+stock, in which he was engaged to an immense extent, reduced him
+at once to poverty and to madness.&nbsp; Poor wretch! he told me
+t&rsquo;other day that against the next payment of differences he
+should be some hundreds above a plum.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is a spondee, and I will maintain it,&rdquo;
+interrupted a voice on his left hand.&nbsp; This assertion was
+followed by a very rapid recital of some verses from Homer.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;That figure,&rdquo; said the gentleman, &ldquo;whose
+clothes are so bedaubed with snuff, was a schoolmaster of some
+reputation: he came hither to be resolved of some doubts he
+entertained concerning the genuine pronunciation of the Greek
+vowels.&nbsp; In his highest fits, he makes frequent mention of
+one Mr. Bentley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But delusive ideas, sir, are the motives of the
+greatest part of mankind, and a heated imagination <a
+name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>the power by
+which their actions are incited: the world, in the eye of a
+philosopher, may be said to be a large madhouse.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;the passions of
+men are temporary madnesses; and sometimes very fatal in their
+effects.</p>
+<blockquote><p>From Macedonia&rsquo;s madman to the
+Swede.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;It was, indeed,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;a very
+mad thing in Charles to think of adding so vast a country as
+Russia to his dominions: that would have been fatal indeed; the
+balance of the North would then have been lost; but the Sultan
+and I would never have allowed
+it.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Harley, with no small
+surprise on his countenance.&mdash;&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo;
+answered the other, &ldquo;the Sultan and I; do you know
+me?&nbsp; I am the Chan of Tartary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley was a good deal struck by this discovery; he had
+prudence enough, however, to conceal his amazement, and bowing as
+low to the monarch as his dignity required, left him immediately,
+and joined his companions.</p>
+<p>He found them in a quarter of the house set apart for the
+insane of the other sex, several of whom had gathered about the
+female visitors, and were examining, with rather more accuracy
+than might have been expected, the particulars of their
+dress.</p>
+<p><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+51</span>Separate from the rest stood one whose appearance had
+something of superior dignity.&nbsp; Her face, though pale and
+wasted, was less squalid than those of the others, and showed a
+dejection of that decent kind, which moves our pity unmixed with
+horror: upon her, therefore, the eyes of all were immediately
+turned.&nbsp; The keeper who accompanied them observed it:
+&ldquo;This,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is a young lady who was born
+to ride in her coach and six.&nbsp; She was beloved, if the story
+I have heard is true, by a young gentleman, her equal in birth,
+though by no means her match in fortune: but love, they say, is
+blind, and so she fancied him as much as he did her.&nbsp; Her
+father, it seems, would not hear of their marriage, and
+threatened to turn her out of doors if ever she saw him
+again.&nbsp; Upon this the young gentleman took a voyage to the
+West Indies, in hopes of bettering his fortune, and obtaining his
+mistress; but he was scarce landed, when he was seized with one
+of the fevers which are common in those islands, and died in a
+few days, lamented by every one that knew him.&nbsp; This news
+soon reached his mistress, who was at the same time pressed by
+her father to marry a rich miserly fellow, who was old enough to
+be her grandfather.&nbsp; <a name="page52"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 52</span>The death of her lover had no effect
+on her inhuman parent: he was only the more earnest for her
+marriage with the man he had provided for her; and what between
+her despair at the death of the one, and her aversion to the
+other, the poor young lady was reduced to the condition you see
+her in.&nbsp; But God would not prosper such cruelty; her
+father&rsquo;s affairs soon after went to wreck, and he died
+almost a beggar.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Though this story was told in very plain language, it had
+particularly attracted Harley&rsquo;s notice; he had given it the
+tribute of some tears.&nbsp; The unfortunate young lady had till
+now seemed entranced in thought, with her eyes fixed on a little
+garnet ring she wore on her finger; she turned them now upon
+Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;My Billy is no more!&rdquo; said she;
+&ldquo;do you weep for my Billy?&nbsp; Blessings on your
+tears!&nbsp; I would weep too, but my brain is dry; and it burns,
+it burns, it burns!&rdquo;&mdash;She drew nearer to
+Harley.&mdash;&ldquo;Be comforted, young lady,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;your Billy is in heaven.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Is he,
+indeed? and shall we meet again? and shall that frightful man
+(pointing to the keeper) not be there!&mdash;Alas!&nbsp; I am
+grown naughty of late; I have almost forgotten to think of
+heaven: yet I pray sometimes; when I <a name="page53"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 53</span>can, I pray; and sometimes I sing;
+when I am saddest, I sing:&mdash;You shall hear
+me&mdash;hush!</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Light be the earth on Billy&rsquo;s
+breast,<br />
+And green the sod that wraps his grave.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>There was a plaintive wildness in the air not to be withstood;
+and, except the keeper&rsquo;s, there was not an unmoistened eye
+around her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you weep again?&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+would not have you weep: you are like my Billy; you are, believe
+me; just so he looked when he gave me this ring; poor Billy!
+&rsquo;twas the last time ever we met!&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas when the seas were roaring&mdash;I love you
+for resembling my Billy; but I shall never love any man like
+him.&rdquo;&mdash;She stretched out her hand to Harley; he
+pressed it between both of his, and bathed it with his
+tears.&mdash;&ldquo;Nay, that is Billy&rsquo;s ring,&rdquo; said
+she, &ldquo;you cannot have it, indeed; but here is another, look
+here, which I plated to-day of some gold-thread from this bit of
+stuff; will you keep it for my sake?&nbsp; I am a strange girl;
+but my heart is harmless: my poor heart; it will burst some day;
+feel how it beats!&rdquo;&nbsp; She pressed his hand to her
+bosom, then holding her head in the attitude of
+listening&mdash;&ldquo;Hark! one, two, three! be <a
+name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>quiet, thou
+little trembler; my Billy is cold!&mdash;but I had forgotten the
+ring.&rdquo;&mdash;She put it on his finger.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Farewell!&nbsp; I must leave you now.&rdquo;&mdash;She
+would have withdrawn her hand; Harley held it to his
+lips.&mdash;&ldquo;I dare not stay longer; my head throbs sadly:
+farewell!&rdquo;&mdash;She walked with a hurried step to a little
+apartment at some distance.&nbsp; Harley stood fixed in
+astonishment and pity; his friend gave money to the
+keeper.&mdash;Harley looked on his ring.&mdash;He put a couple of
+guineas into the man&rsquo;s hand: &ldquo;Be kind to that
+unfortunate.&rdquo;&mdash;He burst into tears, and left them.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE MISANTHROPE.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> friend who had conducted him to
+Moorfields called upon him again the next evening.&nbsp; After
+some talk on the adventures of the preceding day: &ldquo;I
+carried you yesterday,&rdquo; said he to Harley, &ldquo;to visit
+the mad; let me introduce you to-night, at supper, to one of the
+wise: but you must not look <a name="page55"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 55</span>for anything of the Socratic
+pleasantry about him; on the contrary, I warn you to expect the
+spirit of a Diogenes.&nbsp; That you may be a little prepared for
+his extraordinary manner, I will let you into some particulars of
+his history.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is the elder of the two sons of a gentleman of
+considerable estate in the country.&nbsp; Their father died when
+they were young: both were remarkable at school for quickness of
+parts and extent of genius; this had been bred to no profession,
+because his father&rsquo;s fortune, which descended to him, was
+thought sufficient to set him above it; the other was put
+apprentice to an eminent attorney.&nbsp; In this the expectations
+of his friends were more consulted than his own inclination; for
+both his brother and he had feelings of that warm kind that could
+ill brook a study so dry as the law, especially in that
+department of it which was allotted to him.&nbsp; But the
+difference of their tempers made the characteristical distinction
+between them.&nbsp; The younger, from the gentleness of his
+nature, bore with patience a situation entirely discordant to his
+genius and disposition.&nbsp; At times, indeed, his pride would
+suggest of how little importance those talents were which the
+partiality of his friends had often extolled: they <a
+name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>were now
+incumbrances in a walk of life where the dull and the ignorant
+passed him at every turn; his fancy and his feeling were
+invincible obstacles to eminence in a situation where his fancy
+had no room for exertion, and his feeling experienced perpetual
+disgust.&nbsp; But these murmurings he never suffered to be
+heard; and that he might not offend the prudence of those who had
+been concerned in the choice of his profession, he continued to
+labour in it several years, till, by the death of a relation, he
+succeeded to an estate of a little better than &pound;100 a year,
+with which, and the small patrimony left him, he retired into the
+country, and made a love-match with a young lady of a similar
+temper to his own, with whom the sagacious world pitied him for
+finding happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But his elder brother, whom you are to see at supper,
+if you will do us the favour of your company, was naturally
+impetuous, decisive, and overbearing.&nbsp; He entered into life
+with those ardent expectations by which young men are commonly
+deluded: in his friendships, warm to excess; and equally violent
+in his dislikes.&nbsp; He was on the brink of marriage with a
+young lady, when one of those friends, for whose honour he would
+have pawned his life, made <a name="page57"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 57</span>an elopement with that very goddess,
+and left him besides deeply engaged for sums which that good
+friend&rsquo;s extravagance had squandered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The dreams he had formerly enjoyed were now changed for
+ideas of a very different nature.&nbsp; He abjured all confidence
+in anything of human form; sold his lands, which still produced
+him a very large reversion, came to town, and immured himself,
+with a woman who had been his nurse, in little better than a
+garret; and has ever since applied his talents to the vilifying
+of his species.&nbsp; In one thing I must take the liberty to
+instruct you; however different your sentiments may be (and
+different they must be), you will suffer him to go on without
+contradiction; otherwise, he will be silent immediately, and we
+shall not get a word from him all the night after.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Harley promised to remember this injunction, and accepted the
+invitation of his friend.</p>
+<p>When they arrived at the house, they were informed that the
+gentleman was come, and had been shown into the parlour.&nbsp;
+They found him sitting with a daughter of his friend&rsquo;s,
+about three years old, on his knee, whom he was teaching the
+alphabet from a horn book: at a little distance stood a <a
+name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>sister of
+hers, some years older.&nbsp; &ldquo;Get you away, miss,&rdquo;
+said he to this last; &ldquo;you are a pert gossip, and I will
+have nothing to do with you.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Nay,&rdquo;
+answered she, &ldquo;Nancy is your favourite; you are quite in
+love with Nancy.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Take away that girl,&rdquo;
+said he to her father, whom he now observed to have entered the
+room; &ldquo;she has woman about her already.&rdquo;&nbsp; The
+children were accordingly dismissed.</p>
+<p>Betwixt that and supper-time he did not utter a
+syllable.&nbsp; When supper came, he quarrelled with every dish
+at table, but eat of them all; only exempting from his censures a
+salad, &ldquo;which you have not spoiled,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;because you have not attempted to cook it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When the wine was set upon the table, he took from his pocket
+a particular smoking apparatus, and filled his pipe, without
+taking any more notice of Harley, or his friend, than if no such
+persons had been in the room.</p>
+<p>Harley could not help stealing a look of surprise at him; but
+his friend, who knew his humour, returned it by annihilating his
+presence in the like manner, and, leaving him to his own
+meditations, addressed himself entirely to Harley.</p>
+<p>In their discourse some mention happened to be <a
+name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>made of an
+amiable character, and the words <i>honour</i> and
+<i>politeness</i> were applied to it.&nbsp; Upon this, the
+gentleman, laying down his pipe, and changing the tone of his
+countenance, from an ironical grin to something more intently
+contemptuous: &ldquo;Honour,&rdquo; said he: &ldquo;Honour and
+Politeness! this is the coin of the world, and passes current
+with the fools of it.&nbsp; You have substituted the shadow
+Honour, instead of the substance Virtue; and have banished the
+reality of friendship for the fictitious semblance which you have
+termed Politeness: politeness, which consists in a certain
+ceremonious jargon, more ridiculous to the ear of reason than the
+voice of a puppet.&nbsp; You have invented sounds, which you
+worship, though they tyrannize over your peace; and are
+surrounded with empty forms, which take from the honest emotions
+of joy, and add to the poignancy of misfortune.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Harley&mdash;his friend winked to him, to
+remind him of the caution he had received.&nbsp; He was silenced
+by the thought.&nbsp; The philosopher turned his eye upon him: he
+examined him from top to toe, with a sort of triumphant contempt;
+Harley&rsquo;s coat happened to be a new one; the other&rsquo;s
+was as shabby as could <a name="page60"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 60</span>possibly be supposed to be on the
+back of a gentleman: there was much significance in his look with
+regard to this coat; it spoke of the sleekness of folly and the
+threadbareness of wisdom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Truth,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;the most amiable, as
+well as the most natural of virtues, you are at pains to
+eradicate.&nbsp; Your very nurseries are seminaries of falsehood;
+and what is called Fashion in manhood completes the system of
+avowed insincerity.&nbsp; Mankind, in the gross, is a gaping
+monster, that loves to be deceived, and has seldom been
+disappointed: nor is their vanity less fallacious to your
+philosophers, who adopt modes of truth to follow them through the
+paths of error, and defend paradoxes merely to be singular in
+defending them.&nbsp; These are they whom ye term Ingenious;
+&rsquo;tis a phrase of commendation I detest: it implies an
+attempt to impose on my judgment, by flattering my imagination;
+yet these are they whose works are read by the old with delight,
+which the young are taught to look upon as the codes of knowledge
+and philosophy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed, the education of your youth is every way
+preposterous; you waste at school years in improving talents,
+without having ever spent an hour <a name="page61"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 61</span>in discovering them; one promiscuous
+line of instruction is followed, without regard to genius,
+capacity, or probable situation in the commonwealth.&nbsp; From
+this bear-garden of the pedagogue, a raw, unprincipled boy is
+turned loose upon the world to travel; without any ideas but
+those of improving his dress at Paris, or starting into taste by
+gazing on some paintings at Rome.&nbsp; Ask him of the manners of
+the people, and he will tell you that the skirt is worn much
+shorter in France, and that everybody eats macaroni in
+Italy.&nbsp; When he returns home, he buys a seat in parliament,
+and studies the constitution at Arthur&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor are your females trained to any more useful
+purpose: they are taught, by the very rewards which their nurses
+propose for good behaviour, by the first thing like a jest which
+they hear from every male visitor of the family, that a young
+woman is a creature to be married; and when they are grown
+somewhat older, are instructed that it is the purpose of marriage
+to have the enjoyment of pin-money, and the expectation of a
+jointure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These, <a name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61"
+class="citation">[61]</a> indeed, are the effects of luxury, <a
+name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>which is,
+perhaps, inseparable from a certain degree of power and grandeur
+in a nation.&nbsp; But it is not simply of the progress of luxury
+that we have to complain: did its votaries keep in their own
+sphere of thoughtless dissipation, we might despise them without
+emotion; but the frivolous pursuits of pleasure are mingled with
+the most important concerns of the state; and public enterprise
+shall sleep till he who should guide its operation has decided
+his bets at Newmarket, or fulfilled his engagement with a
+favourite mistress in the country.&nbsp; We want some man of
+acknowledged eminence to point our counsels with that firmness
+which the counsels of a great people require.&nbsp; We have
+hundreds of ministers, who press forward into office without
+having ever learned that art which is necessary for every
+business: the art of thinking; and mistake the petulance, which
+could give <a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+63</span>inspiration to smart sarcasms on an obnoxious measure in
+a popular assembly, for the ability which is to balance the
+interest of kingdoms, and investigate the latent sources of
+national superiority.&nbsp; With the administration of such men
+the people can never be satisfied; for besides that their
+confidence is gained only by the view of superior talents, there
+needs that depth of knowledge, which is not only acquainted with
+the just extent of power, but can also trace its connection with
+the expedient, to preserve its possessors from the contempt which
+attends irresolution, or the resentment which follows
+temerity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
+<p>[Here a considerable part is wanting.]</p>
+<p>* * &ldquo;In short, man is an animal equally selfish and
+vain.&nbsp; Vanity, indeed, is but a modification of
+selfishness.&nbsp; From the latter, there are some who pretend to
+be free: they are generally such as declaim against the lust of
+wealth and power, because they have never been able to attain any
+high degree in either: they boast of generosity and
+feeling.&nbsp; They tell us (perhaps they tell us in rhyme) that
+the sensations of an honest heart, of a mind universally
+benevolent, make up the quiet <a name="page64"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 64</span>bliss which they enjoy; but they will
+not, by this, be exempted from the charge of selfishness.&nbsp;
+Whence the luxurious happiness they describe in their little
+family-circles?&nbsp; Whence the pleasure which they feel, when
+they trim their evening fires, and listen to the howl of
+winter&rsquo;s wind?&nbsp; Whence, but from the secret reflection
+of what houseless wretches feel from it?&nbsp; Or do you
+administer comfort in affliction&mdash;the motive is at hand; I
+have had it preached to me in nineteen out of twenty of your
+consolatory discourses&mdash;the comparative littleness of our
+own misfortunes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With vanity your best virtues are grossly tainted: your
+benevolence, which ye deduce immediately from the natural impulse
+of the heart, squints to it for its reward.&nbsp; There are some,
+indeed, who tell us of the satisfaction which flows from a secret
+consciousness of good actions: this secret satisfaction is truly
+excellent&mdash;when we have some friend to whom we may discover
+its excellence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He now paused a moment to re-light his pipe, when a clock,
+that stood at his back, struck eleven; he started up at the
+sound, took his hat and his cane, and nodding good night with his
+<a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>head,
+walked out of the room.&nbsp; The gentleman of the house called a
+servant to bring the stranger&rsquo;s surtout.&nbsp; &ldquo;What
+sort of a night is it, fellow?&rdquo; said he.&mdash;&ldquo;It
+rains, sir,&rdquo; answered the servant, &ldquo;with an easterly
+wind.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Easterly for ever!&rdquo;&nbsp; He made
+no other reply; but shrugging up his shoulders till they almost
+touched his ears, wrapped himself tight in his great coat, and
+disappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a strange creature,&rdquo; said his friend to
+Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;I cannot say,&rdquo; answered he,
+&ldquo;that his remarks are of the pleasant kind: it is curious
+to observe how the nature of truth may be changed by the garb it
+wears; softened to the admonition of friendship, or soured into
+the severity of reproof: yet this severity may be useful to some
+tempers; it somewhat resembles a file: disagreeable in its
+operation, but hard metals may be the brighter for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
+<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+66</span>CHAPTER XXV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> company at the baronet&rsquo;s
+removed to the playhouse accordingly, and Harley took his usual
+route into the Park.&nbsp; He observed, as he entered, a
+fresh-looking elderly gentleman in conversation with a beggar,
+who, leaning on his crutch, was recounting the hardships he had
+undergone, and explaining the wretchedness of his present
+condition.&nbsp; This was a very interesting dialogue to Harley;
+he was rude enough, therefore, to slacken his pace as he
+approached, and at last to make a full stop at the
+gentleman&rsquo;s back, who was just then expressing his
+compassion for the beggar, and regretting that he had not a
+farthing of change about him.&nbsp; At saying this, he looked
+piteously on the fellow: there was something in his physiognomy
+which caught Harley&rsquo;s notice: indeed, physiognomy was one
+of Harley&rsquo;s foibles, for which he had been often rebuked by
+his aunt in the country, who used to tell him that when he was
+come to her years and experience he would know that all&rsquo;s
+not gold that <a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+67</span>glitters: and it must be owned that his aunt was a very
+sensible, harsh-looking maiden lady of threescore and
+upwards.&nbsp; But he was too apt to forget this caution and now,
+it seems, it had not occurred to him.&nbsp; Stepping up,
+therefore, to the gentleman, who was lamenting the want of
+silver, &ldquo;Your intentions, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;are
+so good, that I cannot help lending you my assistance to carry
+them into execution,&rdquo; and gave the beggar a shilling.&nbsp;
+The other returned a suitable compliment, and extolled the
+benevolence of Harley.&nbsp; They kept walking together, and
+benevolence grew the topic of discourse.</p>
+<p>The stranger was fluent on the subject.&nbsp; &ldquo;There is
+no use of money,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;equal to that of
+beneficence.&nbsp; With the profuse, it is lost; and even with
+those who lay it out according to the prudence of the world, the
+objects acquired by it pall on the sense, and have scarce become
+our own till they lose their value with the power of pleasing;
+but here the enjoyment grows on reflection, and our money is most
+truly ours when it ceases being in our possession.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet I agree in some measure,&rdquo; answered Harley,
+&ldquo;with those who think that charity to our <a
+name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>common
+beggars is often misplaced; there are objects less obtrusive
+whose title is a better one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We cannot easily distinguish,&rdquo; said the stranger;
+&ldquo;and even of the worthless, are there not many whose
+imprudence, or whose vice, may have been one dreadful consequence
+of misfortune?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley looked again in his face, and blessed himself for his
+skill in physiognomy.</p>
+<p>By this time they had reached the end of the walk, the old
+gentleman leaning on the rails to take breath, and in the
+meantime they were joined by a younger man, whose figure was much
+above the appearance of his dress, which was poor and
+shabby.&nbsp; Harley&rsquo;s former companion addressed him as an
+acquaintance, and they turned on the walk together.</p>
+<p>The elder of the strangers complained of the closeness of the
+evening, and asked the other if he would go with him into a house
+hard by, and take one draught of excellent cyder.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;The man who keeps this house,&rdquo; said he to Harley,
+&ldquo;was once a servant of mine.&nbsp; I could not think of
+turning loose upon the world a faithful old fellow, for no other
+reason but that his age had incapacitated <a
+name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>him; so I
+gave him an annuity of ten pounds, with the help of which he has
+set up this little place here, and his daughter goes and sells
+milk in the city, while her father manages his tap-room, as he
+calls it, at home.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t well ask a gentleman of
+your appearance to accompany me to so paltry a
+place.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; replied Harley,
+interrupting him, &ldquo;I would much rather enter it than the
+most celebrated tavern in town.&nbsp; To give to the necessitous
+may sometimes be a weakness in the man; to encourage industry is
+a duty in the citizen.&rdquo;&nbsp; They entered the house
+accordingly.</p>
+<p>On a table at the corner of the room lay a pack of cards,
+loosely thrown together.&nbsp; The old gentleman reproved the man
+of the house for encouraging so idle an amusement.&nbsp; Harley
+attempted to defend him from the necessity of accommodating
+himself to the humour of his guests, and taking up the cards,
+began to shuffle them backwards and forwards in his hand.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Nay, I don&rsquo;t think cards so unpardonable an
+amusement as some do,&rdquo; replied the other; &ldquo;and now
+and then, about this time of the evening, when my eyes begin to
+fail me for my book, I divert myself with a game at piquet,
+without finding my morals a bit relaxed by it.&nbsp; <a
+name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>Do you play
+piquet, sir?&rdquo; (to Harley.)&nbsp; Harley answered in the
+affirmative; upon which the other proposed playing a pool at a
+shilling the game, doubling the stakes; adding, that he never
+played higher with anybody.</p>
+<p>Harley&rsquo;s good nature could not refuse the benevolent old
+man; and the younger stranger, though he at first pleaded prior
+engagements, yet being earnestly solicited by his friend, at last
+yielded to solicitation.</p>
+<p>When they began to play, the old gentleman, somewhat to the
+surprise of Harley, produced ten shillings to serve for markers
+of his score.&nbsp; &ldquo;He had no change for the
+beggar,&rdquo; said Harley to himself; &ldquo;but I can easily
+account for it; it is curious to observe the affection that
+inanimate things will create in us by a long acquaintance.&nbsp;
+If I may judge from my own feelings, the old man would not part
+with one of these counters for ten times its intrinsic value; it
+even got the better of his benevolence!&nbsp; I, myself, have a
+pair of old brass sleeve buttons.&rdquo;&nbsp; Here he was
+interrupted by being told that the old gentleman had beat the
+younger, and that it was his turn to take up the conqueror.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Your game has been short,&rdquo; said Harley.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I re-piqued <a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+71</span>him,&rdquo; answered the old man, with joy sparkling in
+his countenance.&nbsp; Harley wished to be re-piqued too, but he
+was disappointed; for he had the same good fortune against his
+opponent.&nbsp; Indeed, never did fortune, mutable as she is,
+delight in mutability so much as at that moment.&nbsp; The
+victory was so quick, and so constantly alternate, that the
+stake, in a short time, amounted to no less a sum than &pound;12,
+Harley&rsquo;s proportion of which was within half-a-guinea of
+the money he had in his pocket.&nbsp; He had before proposed a
+division, but the old gentleman opposed it with such a pleasant
+warmth in his manner, that it was always over-ruled.&nbsp; Now,
+however, he told them that he had an appointment with some
+gentlemen, and it was within a few minutes of his hour.&nbsp; The
+young stranger had gained one game, and was engaged in the second
+with the other; they agreed, therefore, that the stake should be
+divided, if the old gentleman won that: which was more than
+probable, as his score was 90 to 35, and he was elder hand; but a
+momentous re-pique decided it in favour of his adversary, who
+seemed to enjoy his victory mingled with regret, for having won
+too much, while his friend, with great ebullience of <a
+name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>passion, many
+praises of his own good play, and many malediction&rsquo;s on the
+power of chance, took up the cards, and threw them into the
+fire.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">FRUITS OF THE DEAD SEA.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> company he was engaged to meet
+were assembled in Fleet Street.&nbsp; He had walked some time
+along the Strand, amidst a crowd of those wretches who wait the
+uncertain wages of prostitution, with ideas of pity suitable to
+the scene around him and the feelings he possessed, and had got
+as far as Somerset House, when one of them laid hold of his arm,
+and, with a voice tremulous and faint, asked him for a pint of
+wine, in a manner more supplicatory than is usual with those whom
+the infamy of their profession has deprived of shame.&nbsp; He
+turned round at the demand, and looked steadfastly on the person
+who made it.</p>
+<p>She was above the common size, and elegantly formed; her face
+was thin and hollow, and showed <a name="page73"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 73</span>the remains of tarnished
+beauty.&nbsp; Her eyes were black, but had little of their lustre
+left; her cheeks had some paint laid on without art, and
+productive of no advantage to her complexion, which exhibited a
+deadly paleness on the other parts of her face.</p>
+<p>Harley stood in the attitude of hesitation; which she,
+interpreting to her advantage, repeated her request, and
+endeavoured to force a leer of invitation into her
+countenance.&nbsp; He took her arm, and they walked on to one of
+those obsequious taverns in the neighbourhood, where the dearness
+of the wine is a discharge in full for the character of the
+house.&nbsp; From what impulse he did this we do not mean to
+enquire; as it has ever been against our nature to search for
+motives where bad ones are to be found.&nbsp; They entered, and a
+waiter showed them a room, and placed a bottle of claret on the
+table.</p>
+<p>Harley filled the lady&rsquo;s glass: which she had no sooner
+tasted, than dropping it on the floor, and eagerly catching his
+arm, her eye grew fixed, her lip assumed a clayey whiteness, and
+she fell back lifeless in her chair.</p>
+<p>Harley started from his seat, and, catching her <a
+name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>in his arms,
+supported her from falling to the ground, looking wildly at the
+door, as if he wanted to run for assistance, but durst not leave
+the miserable creature.&nbsp; It was not till some minutes after
+that it occurred to him to ring the bell, which at last, however,
+he thought of, and rung with repeated violence even after the
+waiter appeared.&nbsp; Luckily the waiter had his senses somewhat
+more about him; and snatching up a bottle of water, which stood
+on a buffet at the end of the room, he sprinkled it over the
+hands and face of the dying figure before him.&nbsp; She began to
+revive, and, with the assistance of some hartshorn drops, which
+Harley now for the first time drew from his pocket, was able to
+desire the waiter to bring her a crust of bread, of which she
+swallowed some mouthfuls with the appearance of the keenest
+hunger.&nbsp; The waiter withdrew: when turning to Harley,
+sobbing at the same time, and shedding tears, &ldquo;I am sorry,
+sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that I should have given you so much
+trouble; but you will pity me when I tell you that till now I
+have not tasted a morsel these two days past.&rdquo;&mdash;He
+fixed his eyes on hers&mdash;every circumstance but the last was
+forgotten; and he took her <a name="page75"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 75</span>hand with as much respect as if she
+had been a duchess.&nbsp; It was ever the privilege of misfortune
+to be revered by him.&mdash;&ldquo;Two days!&rdquo; said he;
+&ldquo;and I have fared sumptuously every day!&rdquo;&mdash;He
+was reaching to the bell; she understood his meaning, and
+prevented him.&nbsp; &ldquo;I beg, sir,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;that you would give yourself no more trouble about a
+wretch who does not wish to live; but, at present, I could not
+eat a bit; my stomach even rose at the last mouthful of that
+crust.&rdquo;&mdash;He offered to call a chair, saying that he
+hoped a little rest would relieve her.&mdash;He had one
+half-guinea left.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;that at present I should be able to make you an offer of
+no more than this paltry sum.&rdquo;&mdash;She burst into tears:
+&ldquo;Your generosity, sir, is abused; to bestow it on me is to
+take it from the virtuous.&nbsp; I have no title but misery to
+plead: misery of my own procuring.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;No more of
+that,&rdquo; answered Harley; &ldquo;there is virtue in these
+tears; let the fruit of them be virtue.&rdquo;&mdash;He rung, and
+ordered a chair.&mdash;&ldquo;Though I am the vilest of
+beings,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I have not forgotten every
+virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left, did I but
+know who is my benefactor.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;My name is
+Harley.&rdquo;&mdash;<a name="page76"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 76</span>&ldquo;Could I ever have an
+opportunity?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;You shall, and a glorious one
+too! your future conduct&mdash;but I do not mean to reproach
+you&mdash;if, I say&mdash;it will be the noblest reward&mdash;I
+will do myself the pleasure of seeing you
+again.&rdquo;&mdash;Here the waiter entered, and told them the
+chair was at the door; the lady informed Harley of her lodgings,
+and he promised to wait on her at ten next morning.</p>
+<p>He led her to the chair, and returned to clear with the
+waiter, without ever once reflecting that he had no money in his
+pocket.&nbsp; He was ashamed to make an excuse; yet an excuse
+must be made: he was beginning to frame one, when the waiter cut
+him short by telling him that he could not run scores; but that,
+if he would leave his watch, or any other pledge, it would be as
+safe as if it lay in his pocket.&nbsp; Harley jumped at the
+proposal, and pulling out his watch, delivered it into his hands
+immediately, and having, for once, had the precaution to take a
+note of the lodging he intended to visit next morning, sallied
+forth with a blush of triumph on his face, without taking notice
+of the sneer of the waiter, who, twirling the watch in his hand,
+made him a profound bow at <a name="page77"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 77</span>the door, and whispered to a girl,
+who stood in the passage, something, in which the word <span
+class="GutSmall">CULLY</span> was honoured with a particular
+emphasis.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY IS
+DOUBTED.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">After</span> he had been some time with
+the company he had appointed to meet, and the last bottle was
+called for, he first recollected that he would be again at a loss
+how to discharge his share of the reckoning.&nbsp; He applied,
+therefore, to one of them, with whom he was most intimate,
+acknowledging that he had not a farthing of money about him; and,
+upon being jocularly asked the reason, acquainted them with the
+two adventures we have just now related.&nbsp; One of the company
+asked him if the old man in Hyde Park did not wear a brownish
+coat, with a narrow gold edging, and his companion an old green
+frock, with a buff-coloured waistcoat.&nbsp; Upon Harley&rsquo;s
+recollecting that they did, &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;you may be <a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+78</span>thankful you have come off so well; they are two as
+noted sharpers, in their way, as any in town, and but
+t&rsquo;other night took me in for a much larger sum.&nbsp; I had
+some thoughts of applying to a justice, but one does not like to
+be seen in those matters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley answered, &ldquo;That he could not but fancy the
+gentleman was mistaken, as he never saw a face promise more
+honesty than that of the old man he had met
+with.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;His face!&rdquo; said a grave-looking
+man, when sat opposite to him, squirting the juice of his tobacco
+obliquely into the grate.&nbsp; There was something very
+emphatical in the action, for it was followed by a burst of
+laughter round the table.&nbsp; &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said
+Harley, &ldquo;you are disposed to be merry; it may be as you
+imagine, for I confess myself ignorant of the town; but there is
+one thing which makes me hear the loss of my money with temper:
+the young fellow who won it must have been miserably poor; I
+observed him borrow money for the stake from his friend: he had
+distress and hunger in his countenance: be his character what it
+may, his necessities at least plead for him.&rdquo;&nbsp; At this
+there was a louder laugh than before.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; <a name="page79"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 79</span>said the lawyer, one of whose
+conversations with Harley we have already recorded,
+&ldquo;here&rsquo;s a pretty fellow for you! to have heard him
+talk some nights ago, as I did, you might have sworn he was a
+saint; yet now he games with sharpers, and loses his money, and
+is bubbled by a fine tale of the Dead Sea, and pawns his watch;
+here are sanctified doings with a witness!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young gentleman,&rdquo; said his friend on the other
+side of the table, &ldquo;let me advise you to be a little more
+cautious for the future; and as for faces&mdash;you may look into
+them to know whether a man&rsquo;s nose be a long or a short
+one.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> last night&rsquo;s raillery of
+his companions was recalled to his remembrance when he awoke, and
+the colder homilies of prudence began to suggest some things
+which were nowise favourable for a performance of his promise to
+the unfortunate <a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+80</span>female he had met with before.&nbsp; He rose, uncertain
+of his purpose; but the torpor of such considerations was seldom
+prevalent over the warmth of his nature.&nbsp; He walked some
+turns backwards and forwards in his room; he recalled the languid
+form of the fainting wretch to his mind; he wept at the
+recollection of her tears.&nbsp; &ldquo;Though I am the vilest of
+beings, I have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I
+shall still have left.&rdquo;&mdash;He took a larger
+stride&mdash;&ldquo;Powers of mercy that surround me!&rdquo;
+cried he, &ldquo;do ye not smile upon deeds like these? to
+calculate the chances of deception is too tedious a business for
+the life of man!&rdquo;&mdash;The clock struck ten.&mdash;When he
+was got down-stairs, he found that he had forgot the note of her
+lodgings; he gnawed his lips at the delay: he was fairly on the
+pavement, when he recollected having left his purse; he did but
+just prevent himself from articulating an imprecation.&nbsp; He
+rushed a second time up into his chamber.&nbsp; &ldquo;What a
+wretch I am!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;ere this time,
+perhaps&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas a perhaps not to be
+borne;&mdash;two vibrations of a pendulum would have served him
+to lock his bureau; but they could not be spared.</p>
+<p><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>When he
+reached the house, and inquired for Miss Atkins (for that was the
+lady&rsquo;s name), he was shown up three pair of stairs, into a
+small room lighted by one narrow lattice, and patched round with
+shreds of different-coloured paper.&nbsp; In the darkest corner
+stood something like a bed, before which a tattered coverlet hung
+by way of curtain.&nbsp; He had not waited long when she
+appeared.&nbsp; Her face had the glister of new-washed tears on
+it.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am ashamed, sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that
+you should have taken this fresh piece of trouble about one so
+little worthy of it; but, to the humane, I know there is a
+pleasure in goodness for its own sake: if you have patience for
+the recital of my story, it may palliate, though it cannot
+excuse, my faults.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley bowed, as a sign of
+assent; and she began as follows:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am the daughter of an officer, whom a service of
+forty years had advanced no higher than the rank of
+captain.&nbsp; I have had hints from himself, and been informed
+by others, that it was in some measure owing to those principles
+of rigid honour, which it was his boast to possess, and which he
+early inculcated on me, that he had been able to arrive at no
+better station.&nbsp; My <a name="page82"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 82</span>mother died when I was a child: old
+enough to grieve for her death, but incapable of remembering her
+precepts.&nbsp; Though my father was doatingly fond of her, yet
+there were some sentiments in which they materially differed: she
+had been bred from her infancy in the strictest principles of
+religion, and took the morality of her conduct from the motives
+which an adherence to those principles suggested.&nbsp; My
+father, who had been in the army from his youth, affixed an idea
+of pusillanimity to that virtue, which was formed by the
+doctrines, excited by the rewards, or guarded by the terrors of
+revelation; his dashing idol was the honour of a soldier: a term
+which he held in such reverence, that he used it for his most
+sacred asseveration.&nbsp; When my mother died, I was some time
+suffered to continue in those sentiments which her instructions
+had produced; but soon after, though, from respect to her memory,
+my father did not absolutely ridicule them, yet he showed, in his
+discourse to others, so little regard to them, and at times
+suggested to me motives of action so different, that I was soon
+weaned from opinions which I began to consider as the dreams of
+superstition, or the artful inventions of designing <a
+name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+83</span>hypocrisy.&nbsp; My mother&rsquo;s books were left
+behind at the different quarters we removed to, and my reading
+was principally confined to plays, novels, and those poetical
+descriptions of the beauty of virtue and honour, which the
+circulating libraries easily afforded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As I was generally reckoned handsome, and the quickness
+of my parts extolled by all our visitors, my father had a pride
+in allowing me to the world.&nbsp; I was young, giddy, open to
+adulation, and vain of those talents which acquired it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After the last war, my father was reduced to half-pay;
+with which we retired to a village in the country, which the
+acquaintance of some genteel families who resided in it, and the
+cheapness of living, particularly recommended.&nbsp; My father
+rented a small house, with a piece of ground sufficient to keep a
+horse for him, and a cow for the benefit of his family.&nbsp; An
+old man servant managed his ground; while a maid, who had
+formerly been my mother&rsquo;s, and had since been mine,
+undertook the care of our little dairy: they were assisted in
+each of their provinces by my father and me: and we passed our
+time in a state of tranquillity, which he had always talked of
+with <a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+84</span>delight, and my train of reading had taught me to
+admire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Though I had never seen the polite circles of the
+metropolis, the company my father had introduced me into had
+given me a degree of good breeding, which soon discovered a
+superiority over the young ladies of our village.&nbsp; I was
+quoted as an example of politeness, and my company courted by
+most of the considerable families in the neighbourhood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amongst the houses where I was frequently invited was
+Sir George Winbrooke&rsquo;s.&nbsp; He had two daughters nearly
+of my age, with whom, though they had been bred up in those
+maxims of vulgar doctrine which my superior understanding could
+not but despise, yet as their good nature led them to an
+imitation of my manners in everything else, I cultivated a
+particular friendship.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some months after our first acquaintance, Sir
+George&rsquo;s eldest son came home from his travels.&nbsp; His
+figure, his address, and conversation, were not unlike those warm
+ideas of an accomplished man which my favourite novels had taught
+me to form; and his sentiments on the article of religion were as
+liberal as my own: when any of these happened <a
+name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>to be the
+topic of our discourse, I, who before had been silent, from a
+fear of being single in opposition, now kindled at the fire he
+raised, and defended our mutual opinions with all the eloquence I
+was mistress of.&nbsp; He would be respectfully attentive all the
+while; and when I had ended, would raise his eyes from the
+ground, look at me with a gaze of admiration, and express his
+applause in the highest strain of encomium.&nbsp; This was an
+incense the more pleasing, as I seldom or never had met with it
+before; for the young gentlemen who visited Sir George were for
+the most part of that athletic order, the pleasure of whose lives
+is derived from fox-hunting: these are seldom solicitous to
+please the women at all; or if they were, would never think of
+applying their flattery to the mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Winbrooke observed the weakness of my soul, and
+took every occasion of improving the esteem he had gained.&nbsp;
+He asked my opinion of every author, of every sentiment, with
+that submissive diffidence, which showed an unlimited confidence
+in my understanding.&nbsp; I saw myself revered, as a superior
+being, by one whose judgment my vanity told me was not likely to
+err: <a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+86</span>preferred by him to all the other visitors of my sex,
+whose fortunes and rank should have entitled them to a much
+higher degree of notice: I saw their little jealousies at the
+distinguished attention he paid me; it was gratitude, it was
+pride, it was love!&nbsp; Love which had made too fatal a
+progress in my heart, before any declaration on his part should
+have warranted a return: but I interpreted every look of
+attention, every expression of compliment, to the passion I
+imagined him inspired with, and imputed to his sensibility that
+silence which was the effect of art and design.&nbsp; At length,
+however, he took an opportunity of declaring his love: he now
+expressed himself in such ardent terms, that prudence might have
+suspected their sincerity: but prudence is rarely found in the
+situation I had been unguardedly led into; besides, that the
+course of reading to which I had been accustomed, did not lead me
+to conclude, that his expressions could be too warm to be
+sincere: nor was I even alarmed at the manner in which he talked
+of marriage, a subjection, he often hinted, to which genuine love
+should scorn to be confined.&nbsp; The woman, he would often say,
+who had merit like mine to fix his affection, could easily
+command <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>it
+for ever.&nbsp; That honour too which I revered, was often called
+in to enforce his sentiments.&nbsp; I did not, however,
+absolutely assent to them; but I found my regard for their
+opposites diminish by degrees.&nbsp; If it is dangerous to be
+convinced, it is dangerous to listen; for our reason is so much
+of a machine, that it will not always be able to resist, when the
+ear is perpetually assailed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In short, Mr. Harley (for I tire you with a relation,
+the catastrophe of which you will already have imagined), I fell
+a prey to his artifices.&nbsp; He had not been able so thoroughly
+to convert me, that my conscience was silent on the subject; but
+he was so assiduous to give repeated proofs of unabated
+affection, that I hushed its suggestions as they rose.&nbsp; The
+world, however, I knew, was not to be silenced; and therefore I
+took occasion to express my uneasiness to my seducer, and entreat
+him, as he valued the peace of one to whom he professed such
+attachment, to remove it by a marriage.&nbsp; He made excuse from
+his dependence on the will of his father, but quieted my fears by
+the promise of endeavouring to win his assent.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My father had been some days absent on a visit to a
+dying relation, from whom he had considerable <a
+name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+88</span>expectations.&nbsp; I was left at home, with no other
+company than my books: my books I found were not now such
+companions as they used to be; I was restless, melancholy,
+unsatisfied with myself.&nbsp; But judge my situation when I
+received a billet from Mr. Winbrooke informing me, that he had
+sounded Sir George on the subject we had talked of, and found him
+so averse to any match so unequal to his own rank and fortune,
+that he was obliged, with whatever reluctance, to bid adieu to a
+place, the remembrance of which should ever be dear to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I read this letter a hundred times over.&nbsp; Alone,
+helpless, conscious of guilt, and abandoned by every better
+thought, my mind was one motley scene of terror, confusion, and
+remorse.&nbsp; A thousand expedients suggested themselves, and a
+thousand fears told me they would be vain: at last, in an agony
+of despair, I packed up a few clothes, took what money and
+trinkets were in the house, and set out for London, whither I
+understood he was gone; pretending to my maid, that I had
+received letters from my father requiring my immediate
+attendance.&nbsp; I had no other companion than a boy, a servant
+to the man from whom I <a name="page89"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 89</span>hired my horses.&nbsp; I arrived in
+London within an hour of Mr. Winbrooke, and accidentally alighted
+at the very inn where he was.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He started and turned pale when he saw me; but
+recovered himself in time enough to make many new protestations
+of regard, and beg me to make myself easy under a disappointment
+which was equally afflicting to him.&nbsp; He procured me
+lodgings, where I slept, or rather endeavoured to sleep, for that
+night.&nbsp; Next morning I saw him again, he then mildly
+observed on the imprudence of my precipitate flight from the
+country, and proposed my removing to lodgings at another end of
+the town, to elude the search of my father, till he should fall
+upon some method of excusing my conduct to him, and reconciling
+him to my return.&nbsp; We took a hackney-coach, and drove to the
+house he mentioned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was situated in a dirty lane, furnished with a
+tawdry affectation of finery, with some old family pictures
+hanging on walls which their own cobwebs would better have
+suited.&nbsp; I was struck with a secret dread at entering, nor
+was it lessened by the appearance of the landlady, who had that
+look of selfish shrewdness, which, of all others, is the <a
+name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>most hateful
+to those whose feelings are untinctured with the world.&nbsp; A
+girl, who she told us was her niece, sat by her, playing on a
+guitar, while herself was at work, with the assistance of
+spectacles, and had a prayer-book with the leaves folded down in
+several places, lying on the table before her.&nbsp; Perhaps,
+sir, I tire you with my minuteness, but the place, and every
+circumstance about it, is so impressed on my mind, that I shall
+never forget it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dined that day with Mr. Winbrooke alone.&nbsp; He
+lost by degrees that restraint which I perceived too well to hang
+about him before, and, with his former gaiety and good humour,
+repeated the flattering things which, though they had once been
+fatal, I durst not now distrust.&nbsp; At last, taking my hand
+and kissing it, &lsquo;It is thus,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;that
+love will last, while freedom is preserved; thus let us ever be
+blessed, without the galling thought that we are tied to a
+condition where we may cease to be so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I answered, &lsquo;That the world thought otherwise:
+that it had certain ideas of good fame, which it was impossible
+not to wish to maintain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The world,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;is a tyrant,
+they are slaves who obey it; let us be happy without the <a
+name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>pale of the
+world.&nbsp; To-morrow I shall leave this quarter of it, for one
+where the talkers of the world shall be foiled, and lose
+us.&nbsp; Could not my Emily accompany me? my friend, my
+companion, the mistress of my soul!&nbsp; Nay, do not look so,
+Emily!&nbsp; Your father may grieve for a while, but your father
+shall be taken care of; this bank-bill I intend as the comfort
+for his daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could contain myself no longer: &lsquo;Wretch,&rsquo;
+I exclaimed, &lsquo;dost thou imagine that my father&rsquo;s
+heart could brook dependence on the destroyer of his child, and
+tamely accept of a base equivalent for her honour and his
+own?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Honour, my Emily,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;is the
+word of fools, or of those wiser men who cheat them.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a fantastic bauble that does not suit the gravity of
+your father&rsquo;s age; but, whatever it is, I am afraid it can
+never be perfectly restored to you: exchange the word then, and
+let pleasure be your object now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At these words he clasped me in his arms, and pressed
+his lips rudely to my bosom.&nbsp; I started from my seat.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Perfidious villain!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;who dar&rsquo;st
+insult the weakness thou hast undone; were that father here, thy
+coward soul would shrink <a name="page92"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 92</span>from the vengeance of his
+honour!&nbsp; Cursed be that wretch who has deprived him of it!
+oh doubly cursed, who has dragged on his hoary head the infamy
+which should have crushed her own!&rsquo;&nbsp; I snatched a
+knife which lay beside me, and would have plunged it in my
+breast, but the monster prevented my purpose, and smiling with a
+grin of barbarous insult&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Madam,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I confess you are
+rather too much in heroics for me; I am sorry we should differ
+about trifles; but as I seem somehow to have offended you, I
+would willingly remedy it by taking my leave.&nbsp; You have been
+put to some foolish expense in this journey on my account; allow
+me to reimburse you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So saying he laid a bank-bill, of what amount I had no
+patience to see, upon the table.&nbsp; Shame, grief, and
+indignation choked my utterance; unable to speak my wrongs, and
+unable to bear them in silence, I fell in a swoon at his
+feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What happened in the interval I cannot tell, but when I
+came to myself I was in the arms of the landlady, with her niece
+chafing my temples, and doing all in her power for my
+recovery.&nbsp; She had much compassion in her countenance; the
+old <a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>woman
+assumed the softest look she was capable of, and both endeavoured
+to bring me comfort.&nbsp; They continued to show me many
+civilities, and even the aunt began to be less disagreeable in my
+sight.&nbsp; To the wretched, to the forlorn, as I was, small
+offices of kindness are endearing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meantime my money was far spent, nor did I attempt to
+conceal my wants from their knowledge.&nbsp; I had frequent
+thoughts of returning to my father; but the dread of a life of
+scorn is insurmountable.&nbsp; I avoided, therefore, going abroad
+when I had a chance of being seen by any former acquaintance, nor
+indeed did my health for a great while permit it; and suffered
+the old woman, at her own suggestion, to call me niece at home,
+where we now and then saw (when they could prevail on me to leave
+my room) one or two other elderly women, and sometimes a grave
+business-like man, who showed great compassion for my
+indisposition, and made me very obligingly an offer of a room at
+his country-house for the recovery of my health.&nbsp; This offer
+I did not chose to accept, but told my landlady, &lsquo;that I
+should be glad to be employed in any way of business which my
+skill in needlework could recommend me to, confessing, at the <a
+name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>same time,
+that I was afraid I should scarce be able to pay her what I
+already owed for board and lodging, and that for her other good
+offices, I had nothing but thanks to give her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;My dear child,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;do not
+talk of paying; since I lost my own sweet girl&rsquo; (here she
+wept), &lsquo;your very picture she was, Miss Emily, I have
+nobody, except my niece, to whom I should leave any little thing
+I have been able to save; you shall live with me, my dear; and I
+have sometimes a little millinery work, in which, when you are
+inclined to it, you may assist us.&nbsp; By the way, here are a
+pair of ruffles we have just finished for that gentleman you saw
+here at tea; a distant relation of mine, and a worthy man he
+is.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas pity you refused the offer of an apartment
+at his country house; my niece, you know, was to have accompanied
+you, and you might have fancied yourself at home; a most sweet
+place it is, and but a short mile beyond Hampstead.&nbsp; Who
+knows, Miss Emily, what effect such a visit might have had!&nbsp;
+If I had half your beauty I should not waste it pining after
+e&rsquo;er a worthless fellow of them all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I felt my heart swell at her words; I would <a
+name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>have been
+angry if I could, but I was in that stupid state which is not
+easily awakened to anger: when I would have chid her the reproof
+stuck in my throat; I could only weep!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her want of respect increased, as I had not spirit to
+assert it.&nbsp; My work was now rather imposed than offered, and
+I became a drudge for the bread I eat: but my dependence and
+servility grew in proportion, and I was now in a situation which
+could not make any extraordinary exertions to disengage itself
+from either&mdash;I found myself with child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At last the wretch, who had thus trained me to
+destruction, hinted the purpose for which those means had been
+used.&nbsp; I discovered her to be an artful procuress for the
+pleasures of those who are men of decency to the world in the
+midst of debauchery.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I roused every spark of courage within me at the horrid
+proposal.&nbsp; She treated my passion at first somewhat mildly,
+but when I continued to exert it she resented it with insult, and
+told me plainly that if I did not soon comply with her desires I
+should pay her every farthing I owed, or rot in a jail for
+life.&nbsp; I trembled at the thought; <a name="page96"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 96</span>still, however, I resisted her
+importunities, and she put her threats in execution.&nbsp; I was
+conveyed to prison, weak from my condition, weaker from that
+struggle of grief and misery which for some time I had
+suffered.&nbsp; A miscarriage was the consequence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amidst all the horrors of such a state, surrounded with
+wretches totally callous, lost alike to humanity and to shame,
+think, Mr. Harley, think what I endured; nor wonder that I at
+last yielded to the solicitations of that miscreant I had seen at
+her house, and sunk to the prostitution which he tempted.&nbsp;
+But that was happiness compared to what I have suffered
+since.&nbsp; He soon abandoned me to the common use of the town,
+and I was cast among those miserable beings in whose society I
+have since remained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! did the daughters of virtue know our sufferings;
+did they see our hearts torn with anguish amidst the affectation
+of gaiety which our faces are obliged to assume! our bodies
+tortured by disease, our minds with that consciousness which they
+cannot lose!&nbsp; Did they know, did they think of this, Mr.
+Harley!&nbsp; Their censures are just, but their pity perhaps
+might <a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+97</span>spare the wretches whom their justice should
+condemn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Last night, but for an exertion of benevolence which
+the infection of our infamy prevents even in the humane, had I
+been thrust out from this miserable place which misfortune has
+yet left me; exposed to the brutal insults of drunkenness, or
+dragged by that justice which I could not bribe, to the
+punishment which may correct, but, alas! can never amend the
+abandoned objects of its terrors.&nbsp; From that, Mr. Harley,
+your goodness has relieved me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He beckoned with his hand: he would have stopped the mention
+of his favours; but he could not speak, had it been to beg a
+diadem.</p>
+<p>She saw his tears; her fortitude began to fail at the sight,
+when the voice of some stranger on the stairs awakened her
+attention.&nbsp; She listened for a moment, then starting up,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Merciful God! my father&rsquo;s
+voice!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She had scarce uttered the word, when the door burst open, and
+a man entered in the garb of an officer.&nbsp; When he discovered
+his daughter and Harley, he started back a few paces; his look
+assumed a furious wildness! he laid his hand on <a
+name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>his
+sword.&nbsp; The two objects of his wrath did not utter a
+syllable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Villain,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;thou seest a father
+who had once a daughter&rsquo;s honour to preserve; blasted as it
+now is, behold him ready to avenge its loss!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley had by this time some power of utterance.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;if you will be a moment
+calm&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Infamous coward!&rdquo; interrupted the other,
+&ldquo;dost thou preach calmness to wrongs like mine!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He drew his sword.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;let me tell
+you&rdquo;&mdash;the blood ran quicker to his cheek, his pulse
+beat one, no more, and regained the temperament of
+humanity&mdash;&ldquo;you are deceived, sir,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;you are much deceived; but I forgive suspicions which your
+misfortunes have justified: I would not wrong you, upon my soul I
+would not, for the dearest gratification of a thousand worlds; my
+heart bleeds for you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His daughter was now prostrate at his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strike,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;strike here a wretch,
+whose misery cannot end but with that death she
+deserves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her hair had fallen on her shoulders! her look <a
+name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>had the
+horrid calmness of out-breathed despair!&nbsp; Her father would
+have spoken; his lip quivered, his cheek grew pale, his eyes lost
+the lightning of their fury! there was a reproach in them, but
+with a mingling of pity.&nbsp; He turned them up to heaven, then
+on his daughter.&nbsp; He laid his left hand on his heart, the
+sword dropped from his right, he burst into tears.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE DISTRESSES OF A FATHER.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Harley</span> kneeled also at the side of
+the unfortunate daughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Allow me, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to entreat your
+pardon for one whose offences have been already so signally
+punished.&nbsp; I know, I feel, that those tears, wrung from the
+heart of a father, are more dreadful to her than all the
+punishments your sword could have inflicted: accept the
+contrition of a child whom heaven has restored to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is she not lost,&rdquo; answered he,
+&ldquo;irrecoverably <a name="page100"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 100</span>lost?&nbsp; Damnation! a common
+prostitute to the meanest ruffian!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Calmly, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;did you
+know by what complicated misfortunes she had fallen to that
+miserable state in which you now behold her, I should have no
+need of words to excite your compassion.&nbsp; Think, sir, of
+what once she was.&nbsp; Would you abandon her to the insults of
+an unfeeling world, deny her opportunity of penitence, and cut
+off the little comfort that still remains for your afflictions
+and her own!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; said he, addressing himself to his
+daughter; &ldquo;speak; I will hear thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The desperation that supported her was lost; she fell to the
+ground, and bathed his feet with her tears.</p>
+<p>Harley undertook her cause: he related the treacheries to
+which she had fallen a sacrifice, and again solicited the
+forgiveness of her father.&nbsp; He looked on her for some time
+in silence; the pride of a soldier&rsquo;s honour checked for a
+while the yearnings of his heart; but nature at last prevailed,
+he fell on her neck and mingled his tears with hers.</p>
+<p>Harley, who discovered from the dress of the <a
+name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>stranger
+that he was just arrived from a journey, begged that they would
+both remove to his lodgings, till he could procure others for
+them.&nbsp; Atkins looked at him with some marks of
+surprise.&nbsp; His daughter now first recovered the power of
+speech.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wretch as I am,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;yet there is
+some gratitude due to the preserver of your child.&nbsp; See him
+now before you.&nbsp; To him I owe my life, or at least the
+comfort of imploring your forgiveness before I die.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pardon me, young gentleman,&rdquo; said Atkins,
+&ldquo;I fear my passion wronged you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never, never, sir,&rdquo; said Harley &ldquo;if it had,
+your reconciliation to your daughter were an atonement a thousand
+fold.&rdquo;&nbsp; He then repeated his request that he might be
+allowed to conduct them to his lodgings, to which Mr. Atkins at
+last consented.&nbsp; He took his daughter&rsquo;s arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, my Emily,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we can never,
+never recover that happiness we have lost! but time may teach us
+to remember our misfortunes with patience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When they arrived at the house where Harley lodged, he was
+informed that the first floor was then vacant, and that the
+gentleman and his <a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+102</span>daughter might be accommodated there.&nbsp; While he
+was upon his enquiry, Miss Atkins informed her father more
+particularly what she owed to his benevolence.&nbsp; When he
+turned into the room where they were Atkins ran and embraced
+him;&mdash;begged him again to forgive the offence he had given
+him, and made the warmest protestations of gratitude for his
+favours.&nbsp; We would attempt to describe the joy which Harley
+felt on this occasion, did it not occur to us that one half of
+the world could not understand it though we did, and the other
+half will, by this time, have understood it without any
+description at all.</p>
+<p>Miss Atkins now retired to her chamber, to take some rest from
+the violence of the emotions she had suffered.&nbsp; When she was
+gone, her father, addressing himself to Harley, said, &ldquo;You
+have a right, sir, to be informed of the present situation of one
+who owes so much to your compassion for his misfortunes.&nbsp; My
+daughter I find has informed you what that was at the fatal
+juncture when they began.&nbsp; Her distresses you have heard,
+you have pitied as they deserved; with mine, perhaps, I cannot so
+easily make you acquainted.&nbsp; You have a feeling heart, Mr.
+Harley; I bless it <a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+103</span>that it has saved my child; but you never were a
+father, a father torn by that most dreadful of calamities, the
+dishonour of a child he doated on!&nbsp; You have been already
+informed of some of the circumstances of her elopement: I was
+then from home, called by the death of a relation, who, though he
+would never advance me a shilling on the utmost exigency in his
+life-time, left me all the gleanings of his frugality at his
+death.&nbsp; I would not write this intelligence to my daughter,
+because I intended to be the bearer myself; and as soon as my
+business would allow me, I set out on my return, winged with all
+the haste of paternal affection.&nbsp; I fondly built those
+schemes of future happiness, which present prosperity is ever
+busy to suggest: my Emily was concerned in them all.&nbsp; As I
+approached our little dwelling my heart throbbed with the
+anticipation of joy and welcome.&nbsp; I imagined the cheering
+fire, the blissful contentment of a frugal meal, made luxurious
+by a daughter&rsquo;s smile, I painted to myself her surprise at
+the tidings of our new-acquired riches, our fond disputes about
+the disposal of them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The road was shortened by the dreams of happiness I
+enjoyed, and it began to be dark as I <a name="page104"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 104</span>reached the house: I alighted from
+my horse, and walked softly upstairs to the room we commonly sat
+in.&nbsp; I was somewhat disappointed at not finding my daughter
+there.&nbsp; I rung the bell; her maid appeared, and shewed no
+small signs of wonder at the summons.&nbsp; She blessed herself
+as she entered the room: I smiled at her surprise.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Where is Miss Emily, sir?&rsquo; said she.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Emily!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, sir; she has been gone hence some days,
+upon receipt of those letters you sent her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Letters!&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, sir, so she told me, and went off in all
+haste that very night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I stood aghast as she spoke, but was able so far to
+recollect myself, as to put on the affectation of calmness, and
+telling her there was certainly some mistake in the affair,
+desired her to leave me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When she was gone, I threw myself into a chair, in that
+state of uncertainty which is, of all others, the most
+dreadful.&nbsp; The gay visions with which I had delighted
+myself, vanished in an instant.&nbsp; I was tortured with tracing
+back the same circle of doubt and disappointment.&nbsp; My <a
+name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>head grew
+dizzy as I thought.&nbsp; I called the servant again, and asked
+her a hundred questions, to no purpose; there was not room even
+for conjecture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something at last arose in my mind, which we call Hope,
+without knowing what it is.&nbsp; I wished myself deluded by it;
+but it could not prevail over my returning fears.&nbsp; I rose
+and walked through the room.&nbsp; My Emily&rsquo;s spinnet stood
+at the end of it, open, with a book of music folded down at some
+of my favourite lessons.&nbsp; I touched the keys; there was a
+vibration in the sound that froze my blood; I looked around, and
+methought the family pictures on the walls gazed on me with
+compassion in their faces.&nbsp; I sat down again with an attempt
+at more composure; I started at every creaking of the door, and
+my ears rung with imaginary noises!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had not remained long in this situation, when the
+arrival of a friend, who had accidentally heard of my return, put
+an end to my doubts, by the recital of my daughter&rsquo;s
+dishonour.&nbsp; He told me he had his information from a young
+gentleman, to whom Winbrooke had boasted of having seduced
+her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I started from my seat, with broken curses on <a
+name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>my lips,
+and without knowing whither I should pursue them, ordered my
+servant to load my pistols and saddle my horses.&nbsp; My friend,
+however, with great difficulty, persuaded me to compose myself
+for that night, promising to accompany me on the morrow, to Sir
+George Winbrooke&rsquo;s in quest of his son.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The morrow came, after a night spent in a state little
+distant from madness.&nbsp; We went as early as decency would
+allow to Sir George&rsquo;s.&nbsp; He received me with
+politeness, and indeed compassion, protested his abhorrence of
+his son&rsquo;s conduct, and told me that he had set out some
+days before for London, on which place he had procured a draft
+for a large sum, on pretence of finishing his travels, but that
+he had not heard from him since his departure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did not wait for any more, either of information or
+comfort, but, against the united remonstrances of Sir George and
+my friend, set out instantly for London, with a frantic
+uncertainty of purpose; but there, all manner of search was in
+vain.&nbsp; I could trace neither of them any farther than the
+inn where they first put up on their arrival; and after some days
+fruitless inquiry, returned <a name="page107"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 107</span>home destitute of every little hope
+that had hitherto supported me.&nbsp; The journeys I had made,
+the restless nights I had spent, above all, the perturbation of
+my mind, had the effect which naturally might be expected&mdash;a
+very dangerous fever was the consequence.&nbsp; From this,
+however, contrary to the expectation of my physicians, I
+recovered.&nbsp; It was now that I first felt something like
+calmness of mind: probably from being reduced to a state which
+could not produce the exertions of anguish or despair.&nbsp; A
+stupid melancholy settled on my soul; I could endure to live with
+an apathy of life; at times I forgot my resentment, and wept at
+the remembrance of my child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such has been the tenor of my days since that fatal
+moment when these misfortunes began, till yesterday, that I
+received a letter from a friend in town, acquainting me of her
+present situation.&nbsp; Could such tales as mine, Mr. Harley, be
+sometimes suggested to the daughters of levity, did they but know
+with what anxiety the heart of a parent flutters round the child
+he loves, they would be less apt to construe into harshness that
+delicate concern for their conduct, which they often complain of
+as laying restraint upon things, to the <a
+name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>young, the
+gay, and the thoughtless, seemingly harmless and
+indifferent.&nbsp; Alas!&nbsp; I fondly imagined that I needed
+not even these common cautions! my Emily was the joy of my age,
+and the pride of my soul!&nbsp; Those things are now no more,
+they are lost for ever!&nbsp; Her death I could have born, but
+the death of her honour has added obloquy and shame to that
+sorrow which bends my grey hairs to the dust!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke these last words, his voice trembled in his
+throat; it was now lost in his tears.&nbsp; He sat with his face
+half turned from Harley, as if he would have hid the sorrow which
+he felt.&nbsp; Harley was in the same attitude himself; he durst
+not meet his eye with a tear, but gathering his stifled breath,
+&ldquo;Let me entreat you, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to hope
+better things.&nbsp; The world is ever tyrannical; it warps our
+sorrows to edge them with keener affliction.&nbsp; Let us not be
+slaves to the names it affixes to motive or to action.&nbsp; I
+know an ingenuous mind cannot help feeling when they sting.&nbsp;
+But there are considerations by which it may be overcome.&nbsp;
+Its fantastic ideas vanish as they rise; they teach us to look
+beyond it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
+<h3><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>A
+FRAGMENT.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">SHOWING HIS SUCCESS WITH THE
+BARONET.</span></h3>
+<p>* * <span class="smcap">The</span> card he received was in the
+politest style in which disappointment could be
+communicated.&nbsp; The baronet &ldquo;was under a necessity of
+giving up his application for Mr. Harley, as he was informed that
+the lease was engaged for a gentleman who had long served His
+Majesty in another capacity, and whose merit had entitled him to
+the first lucrative thing that should be vacant.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Even Harley could not murmur at such a disposal.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said he to himself, &ldquo;some war-worn
+officer, who, like poor Atkins, had been neglected from reasons
+which merited the highest advancement; whose honour could not
+stoop to solicit the preferment he deserved; perhaps, with a
+family, taught the principles of delicacy, without the means of
+supporting it; a wife and children&mdash;gracious heaven! whom my
+wishes would have deprived of bread&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was interrupted in his reverie by some one tapping him on
+the shoulder, and, on turning round, <a name="page110"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 110</span>he discovered it to be the very man
+who had explained to him the condition of his gay companion at
+Hyde Park Corner.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am glad to see you, sir,&rdquo;
+said he; &ldquo;I believe we are fellows in
+disappointment.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley started, and said that he was
+at a loss to understand him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Pooh! you need not be
+so shy,&rdquo; answered the other; &ldquo;every one for himself
+is but fair, and I had much rather you had got it than the
+rascally gauger.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley still protested his
+ignorance of what he meant.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, the lease of
+Bancroft Manor; had not you been applying for it?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I confess I was,&rdquo; replied Harley; &ldquo;but I
+cannot conceive how you should be interested in the
+matter.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, I was making interest for it
+myself,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and I think I had some
+title.&nbsp; I voted for this same baronet at the last election,
+and made some of my friends do so too; though I would not have
+you imagine that I sold my vote.&nbsp; No, I scorn it, let me
+tell you I scorn it; but I thought as how this man was staunch
+and true, and I find he&rsquo;s but a double-faced fellow after
+all, and speechifies in the House for any side he hopes to make
+most by.&nbsp; Oh, how many fine speeches and squeezings by the
+hand we had of him on the canvas!&nbsp; &lsquo;And if ever <a
+name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>I shall be
+so happy as to have an opportunity of serving you.&rsquo;&nbsp; A
+murrain on the smooth-tongued knave, and after all to get it for
+this pimp of a gauger.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;The gauger! there must
+be some mistake,&rdquo; said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;He writes me,
+that it was engaged for one whose long
+services&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Services!&rdquo; interrupted
+the other; &ldquo;you shall hear.&nbsp; Services!&nbsp; Yes, his
+sister arrived in town a few days ago, and is now sempstress to
+the baronet.&nbsp; A plague on all rogues, says honest Sam
+Wrightson.&nbsp; I shall but just drink damnation to them
+to-night, in a crown&rsquo;s worth of Ashley&rsquo;s, and leave
+London to-morrow by sun-rise.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I shall leave
+it too,&rdquo; said Harley; and so he accordingly did.</p>
+<p>In passing through Piccadilly, he had observed, on the window
+of an inn, a notification of the departure of a stage-coach for a
+place in his road homewards; in the way back to his lodgings, he
+took a seat in it for his return.</p>
+<h2><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+112</span>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE LEAVES LONDON&mdash;CHARACTERS IN A
+STAGE-COACH.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> company in the stage-coach
+consisted of a grocer and his wife, who were going to pay a visit
+to some of their country friends; a young officer, who took this
+way of marching to quarters; a middle-aged gentlewoman, who had
+been hired as housekeeper to some family in the country; and an
+elderly, well-looking man, with a remarkable old-fashioned
+periwig.</p>
+<p>Harley, upon entering, discovered but one vacant seat, next
+the grocer&rsquo;s wife, which, from his natural shyness of
+temper, he made no scruple to occupy, however aware that riding
+backwards always disagreed with him.</p>
+<p>Though his inclination to physiognomy had met with some rubs
+in the metropolis, he had not yet lost his attachment to that
+science.&nbsp; He set himself, therefore, to examine, as usual,
+the countenances of his companions.&nbsp; Here, indeed, he was
+not long in doubt as to the preference; for besides <a
+name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>that the
+elderly gentleman, who sat opposite to him, had features by
+nature more expressive of good dispositions, there was something
+in that periwig we mentioned, peculiarly attractive of
+Harley&rsquo;s regard.</p>
+<p>He had not been long employed in these speculations, when he
+found himself attacked with that faintish sickness, which was the
+natural consequence of his situation in the coach.&nbsp; The
+paleness of his countenance was first observed by the
+housekeeper, who immediately made offer of her smelling bottle,
+which Harley, however, declined, telling at the same time the
+cause of his uneasiness.&nbsp; The gentleman, on the opposite
+side of the coach, now first turned his eye from the side
+direction in which it had been fixed, and begged Harley to
+exchange places with him, expressing his regret that he had not
+made the proposal before.&nbsp; Harley thanked him, and, upon
+being assured that both seats were alike to him, was about to
+accept of his offer, when the young gentleman of the sword,
+putting on an arch look, laid hold of the other&rsquo;s
+arm.&nbsp; &ldquo;So, my old boy,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I find
+you have still some youthful blood about you, but, with your
+leave, I will do myself the honour of sitting <a
+name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>by this
+lady;&rdquo; and took his place accordingly.&nbsp; The grocer
+stared him as full in the face as his own short neck would allow,
+and his wife, who was a little, round-faced woman, with a great
+deal of colour in her cheeks, drew up at the compliment that was
+paid her, looking first at the officer, and then at the
+housekeeper.</p>
+<p>This incident was productive of some discourse; for before,
+though there was sometimes a cough or a hem from the grocer, and
+the officer now and then humm&rsquo;d a few notes of a song,
+there had not a single word passed the lips of any of the
+company.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Grocer observed, how ill-convenient it was for people,
+who could not be drove backwards, to travel in a stage.&nbsp;
+This brought on a dissertation on stage-coaches in general, and
+the pleasure of keeping a chay of one&rsquo;s own; which led to
+another, on the great riches of Mr. Deputy Bearskin, who,
+according to her, had once been of that industrious order of
+youths who sweep the crossings of the streets for the conveniency
+of passengers, but, by various fortunate accidents, had now
+acquired an immense fortune, and kept his coach and a dozen
+livery servants.&nbsp; All this afforded ample fund for <a
+name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+115</span>conversation, if conversation it might be called, that
+was carried on solely by the before-mentioned lady, nobody
+offering to interrupt her, except that the officer sometimes
+signified his approbation by a variety of oaths, a sort of
+phraseology in which he seemed extremely versant.&nbsp; She
+appealed indeed, frequently, to her husband for the authenticity
+of certain facts, of which the good man as often protested his
+total ignorance; but as he was always called fool, or something
+very like it, for his pains, he at last contrived to support the
+credit of his wife without prejudice to his conscience, and
+signified his assent by a noise not unlike the grunting of that
+animal which in shape and fatness he somewhat resembled.</p>
+<p>The housekeeper, and the old gentleman who sat next to Harley,
+were now observed to be fast asleep, at which the lady, who had
+been at such pains to entertain them, muttered some words of
+displeasure, and, upon the officer&rsquo;s whispering to smoke
+the old put, both she and her husband purs&rsquo;d up their
+mouths into a contemptuous smile.&nbsp; Harley looked sternly on
+the grocer.&nbsp; &ldquo;You are come, sir,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;to those years when you might have learned some reverence
+for age.&nbsp; As <a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+116</span>for this young man, who has so lately escaped from the
+nursery, he may be allowed to divert himself.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Dam&rsquo;me, sir!&rdquo; said the officer, &ldquo;do you
+call me young?&rdquo; striking up the front of his hat, and
+stretching forward on his seat, till his face almost touched
+Harley&rsquo;s.&nbsp; It is probable, however, that he discovered
+something there which tended to pacify him, for, on the ladies
+entreating them not to quarrel, he very soon resumed his posture
+and calmness together, and was rather less profuse of his oaths
+during the rest of the journey.</p>
+<p>It is possible the old gentleman had waked time enough to hear
+the last part of this discourse; at least (whether from that
+cause, or that he too was a physiognomist) he wore a look
+remarkably complacent to Harley, who, on his part, shewed a
+particular observance of him.&nbsp; Indeed, they had soon a
+better opportunity of making their acquaintance, as the coach
+arrived that night at the town where the officer&rsquo;s regiment
+lay, and the places of destination of their other
+fellow-travellers, it seems, were at no great distance, for, next
+morning, the old gentleman and Harley were the only passengers
+remaining.</p>
+<p>When they left the inn in the morning, Harley, <a
+name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>pulling out
+a little pocket-book, began to examine the contents, and make
+some corrections with a pencil.&nbsp; &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said
+he, turning to his companion, &ldquo;is an amusement with which I
+sometimes pass idle hours at an inn.&nbsp; These are quotations
+from those humble poets, who trust their fame to the brittle
+tenure of windows and drinking-glasses.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;From
+our inn,&rdquo; returned the gentleman, &ldquo;a stranger might
+imagine that we were a nation of poets; machines, at least,
+containing poetry, which the motion of a journey emptied of their
+contents.&nbsp; Is it from the vanity of being thought geniuses,
+or a mere mechanical imitation of the custom of others, that we
+are tempted to scrawl rhyme upon such places?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether vanity is the cause of our becoming rhymesters
+or not,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;it is a pretty certain
+effect of it.&nbsp; An old man of my acquaintance, who deals in
+apothegms, used to say that he had known few men without envy,
+few wits without ill-nature, and no poet without vanity; and I
+believe his remark is a pretty just one.&nbsp; Vanity has been
+immemorially the charter of poets.&nbsp; In this, the ancients
+were more honest than we are.&nbsp; The old poets frequently make
+<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>boastful
+predictions of the immortality their works shall acquire them;
+ours, in their dedications and prefatory discourses, employ much
+eloquence to praise their patrons, and much seeming modesty to
+condemn themselves, or at least to apologise for their
+productions to the world.&nbsp; But this, in my opinion, is the
+more assuming manner of the two; for of all the garbs I ever saw
+Pride put on, that of her humility is to me the most
+disgusting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is natural enough for a poet to be vain,&rdquo; said
+the stranger.&nbsp; &ldquo;The little worlds which he raises, the
+inspiration which he claims, may easily be productive of
+self-importance; though that inspiration is fabulous, it brings
+on egotism, which is always the parent of vanity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It may be supposed,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;that
+inspiration of old was an article of religious faith; in modern
+times it may be translated a propensity to compose; and I believe
+it is not always most readily found where the poets have fixed
+its residence, amidst groves and plains, and the scenes of
+pastoral retirement.&nbsp; The mind may be there unbent from the
+cares of the world, but it will frequently, at the same time, be
+unnerved from any <a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+119</span>great exertion.&nbsp; It will feel imperfect, and
+wander without effort over the regions of reflection.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is at least,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;one
+advantage in the poetical inclination, that it is an incentive to
+philanthropy.&nbsp; There is a certain poetic ground, on which a
+man cannot tread without feelings that enlarge the heart: the
+causes of human depravity vanish before the romantic enthusiasm
+he professes, and many who are not able to reach the Parnassian
+heights, may yet approach so near as to be bettered by the air of
+the climate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have always thought so,&rdquo; replied Harley;
+&ldquo;but this is an argument with the prudent against it: they
+urge the danger of unfitness for the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I allow it,&rdquo; returned the other; &ldquo;but I
+believe it is not always rightfully imputed to the bent for
+poetry: that is only one effect of the common cause.&mdash;Jack,
+says his father, is indeed no scholar; nor could all the
+drubbings from his master ever bring him one step forward in his
+accidence or syntax: but I intend him for a merchant.&mdash;Allow
+the same indulgence to Tom.&mdash;Tom reads Virgil and Horace
+when he should be casting accounts; <a name="page120"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 120</span>and but t&rsquo;other day he pawned
+his great-coat for an edition of Shakespeare.&mdash;But Tom would
+have been as he is, though Virgil and Horace had never been born,
+though Shakespeare had died a link-boy; for his nurse will tell
+you, that when he was a child, he broke his rattle, to discover
+what it was that sounded within it; and burnt the sticks of his
+go-cart, because he liked to see the sparkling of timber in the
+fire.&mdash;&rsquo;Tis a sad case; but what is to be
+done?&mdash;Why, Jack shall make a fortune, dine on venison, and
+drink claret.&mdash;Ay, but Tom&mdash;Tom shall dine with his
+brother, when his pride will let him; at other times, he shall
+bless God over a half-pint of ale and a Welsh-rabbit; and both
+shall go to heaven as they may.&mdash;That&rsquo;s a poor
+prospect for Tom, says the father.&mdash;To go to heaven!&nbsp; I
+cannot agree with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;we now-a-days
+discourage the romantic turn a little too much.&nbsp; Our boys
+are prudent too soon.&nbsp; Mistake me not, I do not mean to
+blame them for want of levity or dissipation; but their pleasures
+are those of hackneyed vice, blunted to every finer emotion by
+the repetition of debauch; and their desire of pleasure is warped
+to the desire of wealth, as the means of procuring <a
+name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>it.&nbsp;
+The immense riches acquired by individuals have erected a
+standard of ambition, destructive of private morals, and of
+public virtue.&nbsp; The weaknesses of vice are left us; but the
+most allowable of our failings we are taught to despise.&nbsp;
+Love, the passion most natural to the sensibility of youth, has
+lost the plaintive dignity he once possessed, for the unmeaning
+simper of a dangling coxcomb; and the only serious concern, that
+of a dowry, is settled, even amongst the beardless leaders of the
+dancing-school.&nbsp; The Frivolous and the Interested (might a
+satirist say) are the characteristical features of the age; they
+are visible even in the essays of our philosophers.&nbsp; They
+laugh at the pedantry of our fathers, who complained of the times
+in which they lived; they are at pains to persuade us how much
+those were deceived; they pride themselves in defending things as
+they find them, and in exploding the barren sounds which had been
+reared into motives for action.&nbsp; To this their style is
+suited; and the manly tone of reason is exchanged for perpetual
+efforts at sneer and ridicule.&nbsp; This I hold to be an
+alarming crisis in the corruption of a state; when not only is
+virtue declined, and vice prevailing, but when the praises <a
+name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>of virtue
+are forgotten, and the infamy of vice unfelt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They soon after arrived at the next inn upon the route of the
+stage-coach, when the stranger told Harley, that his
+brother&rsquo;s house, to which he was returning, lay at no great
+distance, and he must therefore unwillingly bid him adieu.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should like,&rdquo; said Harley, taking his hand,
+&ldquo;to have some word to remember so much seeming worth by: my
+name is Harley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall remember it,&rdquo; answered the old gentleman,
+&ldquo;in my prayers; mine is Silton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Silton indeed it was!&nbsp; Ben Silton himself!&nbsp; Once
+more, my honoured friend, farewell!&mdash;Born to be happy
+without the world, to that peaceful happiness which the world has
+not to bestow!&nbsp; Envy never scowled on thy life, nor hatred
+smiled on thy grave.</p>
+<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+123</span>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the stage-coach arrived at the
+place of its destination, Harley began to consider how he should
+proceed the remaining part of his journey.&nbsp; He was very
+civilly accosted by the master of the inn, who offered to
+accommodate him either with a post-chaise or horses, to any
+distance he had a mind: but as he did things frequently in a way
+different from what other people call natural, he refused these
+offers, and set out immediately a-foot, having first put a spare
+shirt in his pocket, and given directions for the forwarding of
+his portmanteau.&nbsp; This was a method of travelling which he
+was accustomed to take: it saved the trouble of provision for any
+animal but himself, and left him at liberty to chose his
+quarters, either at an inn, or at the first cottage in which he
+saw a face he liked: nay, when he was not peculiarly attracted by
+the reasonable creation, he would sometimes consort with a
+species of inferior rank, and lay himself down to sleep by the
+side of a rock, or on <a name="page124"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 124</span>the banks of a rivulet.&nbsp; He did
+few things without a motive, but his motives were rather
+eccentric: and the useful and expedient were terms which he held
+to be very indefinite, and which therefore he did not always
+apply to the sense in which they are commonly understood.</p>
+<p>The sun was now in his decline, and the evening remarkably
+serene, when he entered a hollow part of the road, which winded
+between the surrounding banks, and seamed the sward in different
+lines, as the choice of travellers had directed them to tread
+it.&nbsp; It seemed to be little frequented now, for some of
+those had partly recovered their former verdure.&nbsp; The scene
+was such as induced Harley to stand and enjoy it; when, turning
+round, his notice was attracted by an object, which the fixture
+of his eye on the spot he walked had before prevented him from
+observing.</p>
+<p>An old man, who from his dress seemed to have been a soldier,
+lay fast asleep on the ground; a knapsack rested on a stone at
+his right hand, while his staff and brass-hilted sword were
+crossed at his left.</p>
+<p>Harley looked on him with the most earnest attention.&nbsp; He
+was one of those figures which <a name="page125"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 125</span>Salvator would have drawn; nor was
+the surrounding scenery unlike the wildness of that
+painter&rsquo;s back-grounds.&nbsp; The banks on each side were
+covered with fantastic shrub-wood, and at a little distance, on
+the top of one of them, stood a finger-post, to mark the
+directions of two roads which diverged from the point where it
+was placed.&nbsp; A rock, with some dangling wild flowers, jutted
+out above where the soldier lay; on which grew the stump of a
+large tree, white with age, and a single twisted branch shaded
+his face as he slept.&nbsp; His face had the marks of manly
+comeliness impaired by time; his forehead was not altogether
+bald, but its hairs might have been numbered; while a few white
+locks behind crossed the brown of his neck with a contrast the
+most venerable to a mind like Harley&rsquo;s.&nbsp; &ldquo;Thou
+art old,&rdquo; said he to himself; &ldquo;but age has not
+brought thee rest for its infirmities; I fear those silver hairs
+have not found shelter from thy country, though that neck has
+been bronzed in its service.&rdquo;&nbsp; The stranger
+waked.&nbsp; He looked at Harley with the appearance of some
+confusion: it was a pain the latter knew too well to think of
+causing in another; he turned and went on.&nbsp; The old man
+re-adjusted his knapsack, and followed <a
+name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>in one of
+the tracks on the opposite side of the road.</p>
+<p>When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could
+not help stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveller.&nbsp; He
+seemed to bend under the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his
+walk, and one of his arms was supported by a sling, and lay
+motionless across his breast.&nbsp; He had that steady look of
+sorrow, which indicates that its owner has gazed upon his griefs
+till he has forgotten to lament them; yet not without those
+streaks of complacency which a good mind will sometimes throw
+into the countenance, through all the incumbent load of its
+depression.</p>
+<p>He had now advanced nearer to Harley, and, with an uncertain
+sort of voice, begged to know what it was o&rsquo;clock; &ldquo;I
+fear,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;sleep has beguiled me of my time,
+and I shall hardly have light enough left to carry me to the end
+of my journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Father!&rdquo; said Harley (who by this time found the
+romantic enthusiasm rising within him) &ldquo;how far do you mean
+to go?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But a little way, sir,&rdquo; returned the other;
+&ldquo;and indeed it is but a little way I can manage <a
+name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>now:
+&rsquo;tis just four miles from the height to the village,
+thither I am going.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am going there too,&rdquo; said Harley; &ldquo;we may
+make the road shorter to each other.&nbsp; You seem to have
+served your country, sir, to have served it hardly too;
+&rsquo;tis a character I have the highest esteem for.&mdash;I
+would not be impertinently inquisitive; but there is that in your
+appearance which excites my curiosity to know something more of
+you; in the meantime, suffer me to carry that
+knapsack.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man gazed on him; a tear stood in his eye!&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Young gentleman,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you are too good;
+may Heaven bless you for an old man&rsquo;s sake, who has nothing
+but his blessing to give! but my knapsack is so familiar to my
+shoulders, that I should walk the worse for wanting it; and it
+would be troublesome to you, who have not been used to its
+weight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Far from it,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;I should
+tread the lighter; it would be the most honourable badge I ever
+wore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, who had looked earnestly
+in Harley&rsquo;s face during the last part of his discourse,
+&ldquo;is act your name Harley?&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+128</span>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; replied he; &ldquo;I am ashamed to
+say I have forgotten yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may well have forgotten my face,&rdquo; said the
+stranger;&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;tis a long time since you saw it;
+but possibly you may remember something of old
+Edwards.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Edwards!&rdquo; cried Harley, &ldquo;oh!
+heavens!&rdquo; and sprung to embrace him; &ldquo;let me clasp
+those knees on which I have sat so often: Edwards!&mdash;I shall
+never forget that fire-side, round which I have been so
+happy!&nbsp; But where, where have you been? where is Jack? where
+is your daughter?&nbsp; How has it fared with them, when fortune,
+I fear, has been so unkind to you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a long tale,&rdquo; replied Edwards;
+&ldquo;but I will try to tell it you as we walk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When you were at school in the neighbourhood, you
+remember me at South-hill: that farm had been possessed by my
+father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, which last was a
+younger brother of that very man&rsquo;s ancestor, who is now
+lord of the manor.&nbsp; I thought I managed it, as they had
+done, with prudence; I paid my rent regularly as it became due,
+and had always as much behind as gave bread to me and my
+children.&nbsp; But my <a name="page129"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 129</span>last lease was out soon after you
+left that part of the country; and the squire, who had lately got
+a London-attorney for his steward, would not renew it, because,
+he said, he did not chuse to have any farm under &pound;300 a
+year value on his estate; but offered to give me the preference
+on the same terms with another, if I chose to take the one he had
+marked out, of which mine was a part.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What could I do, Mr. Harley?&nbsp; I feared the
+undertaking was too great for me; yet to leave, at my age, the
+house I had lived in from my cradle!&nbsp; I could not, Mr.
+Harley, I could not; there was not a tree about it that I did not
+look on as my father, my brother, or my child: so I even ran the
+risk, and took the squire&rsquo;s offer of the whole.&nbsp; But
+had soon reason to repent of my bargain; the steward had taken
+care that my former farm should be the best land of the division:
+I was obliged to hire more servants, and I could not have my eye
+over them all; some unfavourable seasons followed one another,
+and I found my affairs entangling on my hands.&nbsp; To add to my
+distress, a considerable corn-factor turned bankrupt with a sum
+of mine in his possession: I failed paying my rent so punctually
+<a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>as I was
+wont to do, and the same steward had my stock taken in execution
+in a few days after.&nbsp; So, Mr. Harley, there was an end of my
+prosperity.&nbsp; However, there was as much produced from the
+sale of my effects as paid my debts and saved me from a jail: I
+thank God I wronged no man, and the world could never charge me
+with dishonesty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had you seen us, Mr. Harley, when we were turned out of
+South-hill, I am sure you would have wept at the sight.&nbsp; You
+remember old Trusty, my shag house-dog; I shall never forget it
+while I live; the poor creature was blind with age, and could
+scarce crawl after us to the door; he went however as far as the
+gooseberry-bush that you may remember stood on the left side of
+the yard; he was wont to bask in the sun there; when he had
+reached that spot, he stopped; we went on: I called to him; he
+wagged his tail, but did not stir: I called again; he lay down: I
+whistled, and cried Trusty; he gave a short howl, and died!&nbsp;
+I could have lain down and died too; but God gave me strength to
+live for my children.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man now paused a moment to take breath.&nbsp; He eyed
+Harley&rsquo;s face; it was bathed <a name="page131"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 131</span>with tears: the story was grown
+familiar to himself; he dropped one tear, and no more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Though I was poor,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;I was
+not altogether without credit.&nbsp; A gentleman in the
+neighbourhood, who had a small farm unoccupied at the time,
+offered to let me have it, on giving security for the rent; which
+I made shift to procure.&nbsp; It was a piece of ground which
+required management to make anything of; but it was nearly within
+the compass of my son&rsquo;s labour and my own.&nbsp; We exerted
+all our industry to bring it into some heart.&nbsp; We began to
+succeed tolerably and lived contented on its produce, when an
+unlucky accident brought us under the displeasure of a
+neighbouring justice of the peace, and broke all our
+family-happiness again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My son was a remarkable good shooter; he-had always
+kept a pointer on our former farm, and thought no harm in doing
+so now; when one day, having sprung a covey in our own ground,
+the dog, of his own accord, followed them into the
+justice&rsquo;s.&nbsp; My son laid down his gun, and went after
+his dog to bring him back: the game-keeper, who had marked the
+birds, came up, and seeing the pointer, shot him just as my son
+approached.&nbsp; The creature <a name="page132"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 132</span>fell; my son ran up to him: he died
+with a complaining sort of cry at his master&rsquo;s feet.&nbsp;
+Jack could bear it no longer; but, flying at the game-keeper,
+wrenched his gun out of his hand, and with the butt end of it,
+felled him to the ground.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had scarce got home, when a constable came with a
+warrant, and dragged him to prison; there he lay, for the
+justices would not take bail, till he was tried at the
+quarter-sessions for the assault and battery.&nbsp; His fine was
+hard upon us to pay: we contrived however to live the worse for
+it, and make up the loss by our frugality: but the justice was
+not content with that punishment, and soon after had an
+opportunity of punishing us indeed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An officer with press-orders came down to our county,
+and having met with the justices, agreed that they should pitch
+on a certain number, who could most easily be spared from the
+county, of whom he would take care to clear it: my son&rsquo;s
+name was in the justices&rsquo; list.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas on a Christmas eve, and the birth-day too
+of my son&rsquo;s little boy.&nbsp; The night was piercing cold,
+and it blew a storm, with showers of hail and snow.&nbsp; We had
+made up a cheering fire in an inner <a name="page133"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 133</span>room; I sat before it in my
+wicker-chair; blessing providence, that had still left a shelter
+for me and my children.&nbsp; My son&rsquo;s two little ones were
+holding their gambols around us; my heart warmed at the sight: I
+brought a bottle of my best ale, and all our misfortunes were
+forgotten.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It had long been our custom to play a game at blind
+man&rsquo;s buff on that night, and it was not omitted now; so to
+it we fell, I, and my son, and his wife, the daughter of a
+neighbouring farmer, who happened to be with us at the time, the
+two children, and an old maid servant, who had lived with me from
+a child.&nbsp; The lot fell on my son to be blindfolded: we had
+continued some time in our game, when he groped his way into an
+outer room in pursuit of some of us, who, he imagined, had taken
+shelter there; we kept snug in our places, and enjoyed his
+mistake.&nbsp; He had not been long there, when he was suddenly
+seized from behind; &lsquo;I shall have you now,&rsquo; said he,
+and turned about.&nbsp; &lsquo;Shall you so, master?&rsquo;
+answered the ruffian, who had laid hold of him; &lsquo;we shall
+make you play at another sort of game by and
+by.&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;At these words Harley started with a
+convulsive sort of motion, and grasping Edwards&rsquo;s sword,
+drew it half out of <a name="page134"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 134</span>the scabbard, with a look of the
+most frantic wildness.&nbsp; Edwards gently replaced it in its
+sheath, and went on with his relation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On hearing these words in a strange voice, we all
+rushed out to discover the cause; the room by this time was
+almost full of the gang.&nbsp; My daughter-in-law fainted at the
+sight; the maid and I ran to assist her, while my poor son
+remained motionless, gazing by turns on his children and their
+mother.&nbsp; We soon recovered her to life, and begged her to
+retire and wait the issue of the affair; but she flew to her
+husband, and clung round him in an agony of terror and grief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the gang was one of a smoother aspect, whom, by his
+dress, we discovered to be a serjeant of foot: he came up to me,
+and told me, that my son had his choice of the sea or land
+service, whispering at the same time that, if he chose the land,
+he might get off, on procuring him another man, and paying a
+certain sum for his freedom.&nbsp; The money we could just muster
+up in the house, by the assistance of the maid, who produced, in
+a green bag, all the little savings of her service; but the man
+we could not expect to find.&nbsp; My daughter-in-law gazed upon
+her children with a look of the <a name="page135"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 135</span>wildest despair: &lsquo;My poor
+infants!&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;your father is forced from you;
+who shall now labour for your bread? or must your mother beg for
+herself and you?&rsquo;&nbsp; I prayed her to be patient; but
+comfort I had none to give her.&nbsp; At last, calling the
+serjeant aside, I asked him, &lsquo;If I was too old to be
+accepted in place of my son?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Why, I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said he;
+&lsquo;you are rather old to be sure, but yet the money may do
+much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I put the money in his hand, and coming back to my
+children, &lsquo;Jack,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you are free; live
+to give your wife and these little ones bread; I will go, my
+child, in your stead; I have but little life to lose, and if I
+staid, I should add one to the wretches you left
+behind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;No,&rsquo; replied my son, &lsquo;I am not that
+coward you imagine me; heaven forbid that my father&rsquo;s grey
+hairs should be so exposed, while I sat idle at home; I am young
+and able to endure much, and God will take care of you and my
+family.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Jack,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I will put an end to
+this matter, you have never hitherto disobeyed me; I will not be
+contradicted in this; stay at home, I charge you, and, for my
+sake, be kind to my children.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+136</span>&ldquo;Our parting, Mr. Harley, I cannot describe to
+you; it was the first time we ever had parted: the very
+press-gang could scarce keep from tears; but the serjeant, who
+had seemed the softest before, was now the least moved of them
+all.&nbsp; He conducted me to a party of new-raised recruits, who
+lay at a village in the neighbourhood; and we soon after joined
+the regiment.&nbsp; I had not been long with it when we were
+ordered to the East Indies, where I was soon made a serjeant, and
+might have picked up some money, if my heart had been as hard as
+some others were; but my nature was never of that kind, that
+could think of getting rich at the expense of my conscience.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amongst our prisoners was an old Indian, whom some of
+our officers supposed to have a treasure hidden somewhere; which
+is no uncommon practice in that country.&nbsp; They pressed him
+to discover it.&nbsp; He declared he had none, but that would not
+satisfy them, so they ordered him to be tied to a stake, and
+suffer fifty lashes every morning till he should learn to speak
+out, as they said.&nbsp; Oh! Mr. Harley, had you seen him, as I
+did, with his hands bound behind him, suffering in silence, while
+the big drops trickled down his <a name="page137"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 137</span>shrivelled cheeks and wet his grey
+beard, which some of the inhuman soldiers plucked in scorn!&nbsp;
+I could not bear it, I could not for my soul, and one morning,
+when the rest of the guard were out of the way, I found means to
+let him escape.&nbsp; I was tried by a court-martial for
+negligence of my post, and ordered, in compassion of my age, and
+having got this wound in my arm and that in my leg in the
+service, only to suffer three hundred lashes and be turned out of
+the regiment; but my sentence was mitigated as to the lashes, and
+I had only two hundred.&nbsp; When I had suffered these I was
+turned out of the camp, and had betwixt three and four hundred
+miles to travel before I could reach a sea-port, without guide to
+conduct me, or money to buy me provisions by the way.&nbsp; I set
+out, however, resolved to walk as far as I could, and then to lay
+myself down and die.&nbsp; But I had scarce gone a mile when I
+was met by the Indian whom I had delivered.&nbsp; He pressed me
+in his arms, and kissed the marks of the lashes on my back a
+thousand times; he led me to a little hut, where some friend of
+his dwelt, and after I was recovered of my wounds conducted me so
+far on my journey himself, and sent another Indian to <a
+name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>guide me
+through the rest.&nbsp; When we parted he pulled out a purse with
+two hundred pieces of gold in it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Take this,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;my dear preserver, it is all I have been able to
+procure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I begged him not to bring himself to poverty for my
+sake, who should probably have no need of it long, but he
+insisted on my accepting it.&nbsp; He embraced me.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You are an Englishman,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;but the
+Great Spirit has given you an Indian heart, may He bear up the
+weight of your old age, and blunt the arrow that brings it
+rest!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We parted, and not long after I made shift to get my
+passage to England.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis but about a week since I
+landed, and I am going to end my days in the arms of my
+son.&nbsp; This sum may be of use to him and his children,
+&rsquo;tis all the value I put upon it.&nbsp; I thank Heaven I
+never was covetous of wealth; I never had much, but was always so
+happy as to be content with my little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When Edwards had ended his relation, Harley stood a while
+looking at him in silence; at last he pressed him in his arms,
+and when he had given vent to the fulness of his heart by a
+shower of tears, &ldquo;Edwards,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;let me
+hold thee to my bosom, let me imprint the virtue of thy
+sufferings <a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+139</span>on my soul.&nbsp; Come, my honoured veteran! let me
+endeavour to soften the last days of a life, worn out in the
+service of humanity; call me also thy son, and let me cherish
+thee as a father.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Edwards, from whom the recollection of his own suffering had
+scarced forced a tear, now blubbered like a boy; he could not
+speak his gratitude, but by some short exclamations of blessings
+upon Harley.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE MISSES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.&mdash;AN
+ADVENTURE CONSEQUENT UPON IT.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> they had arrived within a
+little way of the village they journeyed to, Harley stopped
+short, and looked steadfastly on the mouldering walls of a ruined
+house that stood on the road side.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh,
+heavens!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;what do I see: silent, unroofed,
+and desolate!&nbsp; Are all thy gay tenants gone? do I hear their
+hum no more Edwards, look there, look there? the scene of my
+infant joys, my earliest friendships, laid waste and
+ruinous!&nbsp; <a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+140</span>That was the very school where I was boarded when you
+were at South-hill; &rsquo;tis but a twelve-month since I saw it
+standing, and its benches filled with cherubs: that opposite side
+of the road was the green on which they sported; see it now
+ploughed up!&nbsp; I would have given fifty times its value to
+have saved it from the sacrilege of that plough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear sir,&rdquo; replied Edwards, &ldquo;perhaps they
+have left it from choice, and may have got another spot as
+good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They cannot,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;they cannot; I
+shall never see the sward covered with its daisies, nor pressed
+by the dance of the dear innocents: I shall never see that stump
+decked with the garlands which their little hands had
+gathered.&nbsp; These two long stones, which now lie at the foot
+of it, were once the supports of a hut I myself assisted to rear:
+I have sat on the sods within it, when we had spread our banquet
+of apples before us, and been more blessed&mdash;Oh!&nbsp;
+Edwards, infinitely more blessed, than ever I shall be
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Just then a woman passed them on the road, and discovered some
+signs of wonder at the attitude of Harley, who stood, with his
+hands <a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+141</span>folded together, looking with a moistened eye on the
+fallen pillars of the hut.&nbsp; He was too much entranced in
+thought to observe her at all, but Edwards, civilly accosting
+her, desired to know if that had not been the school-house, and
+how it came into the condition in which they now saw it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alack a day!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;it was the
+school-house indeed; but to be sure, sir, the squire has pulled
+it down because it stood in the way of his prospects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What! how! prospects! pulled down!&rdquo; cried
+Harley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, to be sure, sir; and the green, where the children
+used to play, he has ploughed up, because, he said, they hurt his
+fence on the other side of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Curses on his narrow heart,&rdquo; cried Harley,
+&ldquo;that could violate a right so sacred!&nbsp; Heaven blast
+the wretch!</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;And from his derogate body never spring<br
+/>
+A babe to honour him!&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>But I need not, Edwards, I need not&rdquo; (recovering himself
+a little), &ldquo;he is cursed enough already: to him the noblest
+source of happiness is denied, and the cares of his sordid soul
+shall gnaw it, while <a name="page142"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 142</span>thou sittest over a brown crust,
+smiling on those mangled limbs that have saved thy son and his
+children!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you want anything with the school-mistress,
+sir,&rdquo; said the woman, &ldquo;I can show you the way to her
+house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He followed her without knowing whither he went.</p>
+<p>They stopped at the door of a snug habitation, where sat an
+elderly woman with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held
+a supper of bread and milk in their hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There, sir, is the school-mistress.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;was not an old
+venerable man school-master here some time ago?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, he was, poor man; the loss of his former
+school-house, I believe, broke his heart, for he died soon after
+it was taken down, and as another has not yet been found, I have
+that charge in the meantime.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And this boy and girl, I presume, are your
+pupils?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, sir; they are poor orphans, put under my care by
+the parish, and more promising children I never saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+143</span>&ldquo;Orphans?&rdquo; said Harley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, of honest creditable parents as any in the
+parish, and it is a shame for some folks to forget their
+relations at a time when they have most need to remember
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;let us never forget
+that we are all relations.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He kissed the children.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Their father, sir,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;was a
+farmer here in the neighbourhood, and a sober industrious man he
+was; but nobody can help misfortunes: what with bad crops, and
+bad debts, which are worse, his affairs went to wreck, and both
+he and his wife died of broken hearts.&nbsp; And a sweet couple
+they were, sir; there was not a properer man to look on in the
+county than John Edwards, and so indeed were all the
+Edwardses.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What Edwardses?&rdquo; cried the old soldier
+hastily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Edwardses of South-hill, and a worthy family they
+were.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;South-hill!&rdquo; said he, in a languid voice, and
+fell back into the arms of the astonished Harley.&nbsp; The
+school-mistress ran for some water&mdash;and a smelling-bottle,
+with the assistance of which they <a name="page144"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 144</span>soon recovered the unfortunate
+Edwards.&nbsp; He stared wildly for some time, then folding his
+orphan grandchildren in his arms,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! my children, my children,&rdquo; he cried,
+&ldquo;have I found you thus?&nbsp; My poor Jack, art thou
+gone?&nbsp; I thought thou shouldst have carried thy
+father&rsquo;s grey hairs to the grave! and these little
+ones&rdquo;&mdash;his tears choked his utterance, and he fell
+again on the necks of the children.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear old man,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;Providence
+has sent you to relieve them; it will bless me if I can be the
+means of assisting you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, indeed, sir,&rdquo; answered the boy;
+&ldquo;father, when he was a-dying, bade God bless us, and prayed
+that if grandfather lived he might send him to support
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where did they lay my boy?&rdquo; said Edwards.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the Old Churchyard,&rdquo; replied the woman,
+&ldquo;hard by his mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will show it you,&rdquo; answered the boy, &ldquo;for
+I have wept over it many a time when first I came amongst strange
+folks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took the old man&rsquo;s hand, Harley laid hold of his
+sister&rsquo;s, and they walked in silence to the churchyard.</p>
+<p><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>There
+was an old stone, with the corner broken off, and some letters,
+half-covered with moss, to denote the names of the dead: there
+was a cyphered R. E. plainer than the rest; it was the tomb they
+sought.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here it is, grandfather,&rdquo; said the boy.</p>
+<p>Edwards gazed upon it without uttering a word: the girl, who
+had only sighed before, now wept outright; her brother sobbed,
+but he stifled his sobbing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have told sister,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that she
+should not take it so to heart; she can knit already, and I shall
+soon be able to dig, we shall not starve, sister, indeed we shall
+not, nor shall grandfather neither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl cried afresh; Harley kissed off her tears as they
+flowed, and wept between every kiss.</p>
+<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+146</span>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE RETURNS HOME.&mdash;A DESCRIPTION OF
+HIS RETINUE.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was with some difficulty that
+Harley prevailed on the old man to leave the spot where the
+remains of his son were laid.&nbsp; At last, with the assistance
+of the school-mistress, he prevailed; and she accommodated
+Edwards and him with beds in her house, there being nothing like
+an inn nearer than the distance of some miles.</p>
+<p>In the morning Harley persuaded Edwards to come with the
+children to his house, which was distant but a short day&rsquo;s
+journey.&nbsp; The boy walked in his grandfather&rsquo;s hand;
+and the name of Edwards procured him a neighbouring
+farmer&rsquo;s horse, on which a servant mounted, with the girl
+on a pillow before him.</p>
+<p>With this train Harley returned to the abode of his fathers:
+and we cannot but think, that his enjoyment was as great as if he
+had arrived from the tour of Europe with a Swiss valet for his
+companion, and half a dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible <a
+name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>hinges, in
+his pocket.&nbsp; But we take our ideas from sounds which folly
+has invented; Fashion, Bon ton, and Vert&ugrave;, are the names
+of certain idols, to which we sacrifice the genuine pleasures of
+the soul: in this world of semblance, we are contented with
+personating happiness; to feel it is an art beyond us.</p>
+<p>It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt with
+the history of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips.&nbsp;
+His aunt was an economist; but she knew the pleasure of doing
+charitable things, and withal was fond of her nephew, and
+solicitous to oblige him.&nbsp; She received old Edwards
+therefore with a look of more complacency than is perhaps natural
+to maiden ladies of three-score, and was remarkably attentive to
+his grandchildren: she roasted apples with her own hands for
+their supper, and made up a little bed beside her own for the
+girl.&nbsp; Edwards made some attempts towards an acknowledgment
+for these favours; but his young friend stopped them in their
+beginnings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whosoever receiveth any of these children,&rdquo; said
+his aunt; for her acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.</p>
+<p><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>Early
+next morning Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay: he
+expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken:
+the old man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping
+grandson, with the tears flowing down his cheeks.&nbsp; At first
+he did not perceive Harley; when he did, he endeavoured to hide
+his grief, and crossing his eyes with his hand expressed his
+surprise at seeing him so early astir.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinking of you,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;and
+your children: I learned last night that a small farm of mine in
+the neighbourhood is now vacant: if you will occupy it I shall
+gain a good neighbour and be able in some measure to repay the
+notice you took of me when a boy, and as the furniture of the
+house is mine, it will be so much trouble saved.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Edwards&rsquo;s tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see
+the place he intended for him.</p>
+<p>The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut;
+its situation, however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by
+the beneficence of Harley, set about improving its neatness and
+convenience.&nbsp; He staked out a piece of the green before for
+a garden, and Peter, who acted in Harley&rsquo;s <a
+name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>family as
+valet, butler, and gardener, had orders to furnish him with
+parcels of the different seeds he chose to sow in it.&nbsp; I
+have seen his master at work in this little spot with his coat
+off, and his dibble in his hand: it was a scene of tranquil
+virtue to have stopped an angel on his errands of mercy!&nbsp;
+Harley had contrived to lead a little bubbling brook through a
+green walk in the middle of the ground, upon which he had erected
+a mill in miniature for the diversion of Edwards&rsquo;s infant
+grandson, and made shift in its construction to introduce a
+pliant bit of wood that answered with its fairy clack to the
+murmuring of the rill that turned it.&nbsp; I have seen him
+stand, listening to these mingled sounds, with his eye fixed on
+the boy, and the smile of conscious satisfaction on his cheek,
+while the old man, with a look half turned to Harley and half to
+heaven, breathed an ejaculation of gratitude and piety.</p>
+<p>Father of mercies!&nbsp; I also would thank thee that not only
+hast thou assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in
+this bad world, the lines of our duty and our happiness are so
+frequently woven together.</p>
+<h3><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>A
+FRAGMENT.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE MAN OF FEELING TALKS OF WHAT HE DOES
+NOT UNDERSTAND.&mdash;AN INCIDENT.</span></h3>
+<p>* * * * &ldquo;<span class="smcap">Edwards</span>,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;I have a proper regard for the prosperity of my
+country: every native of it appropriates to himself some share of
+the power, or the fame, which, as a nation, it acquires, but I
+cannot throw off the man so much as to rejoice at our conquests
+in India.&nbsp; You tell me of immense territories subject to the
+English: I cannot think of their possessions without being led to
+inquire by what right they possess them.&nbsp; They came there as
+traders, bartering the commodities they brought for others which
+their purchasers could spare; and however great their profits
+were, they were then equitable.&nbsp; But what title have the
+subjects of another kingdom to establish an empire in India? to
+give laws to a country where the inhabitants received them on the
+terms of friendly commerce?&nbsp; You say they are happier under
+our regulations than the tyranny <a name="page151"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 151</span>of their own petty princes.&nbsp; I
+must doubt it, from the conduct of those by whom these
+regulations have been made.&nbsp; They have drained the
+treasuries of Nabobs, who must fill them by oppressing the
+industry of their subjects.&nbsp; Nor is this to be wondered at,
+when we consider the motive upon which those gentlemen do not
+deny their going to India.&nbsp; The fame of conquest, barbarous
+as that motive is, is but a secondary consideration: there are
+certain stations in wealth to which the warriors of the East
+aspire.&nbsp; It is there, indeed, where the wishes of their
+friends assign them eminence, where the question of their country
+is pointed at their return.&nbsp; When shall I see a commander
+return from India in the pride of honourable poverty?&nbsp; You
+describe the victories they have gained; they are sullied by the
+cause in which they fought: you enumerate the spoils of those
+victories; they are covered with the blood of the vanquished.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and
+happiness to the conquered? did he accept the gifts of their
+princes to use them for the comfort of those whose fathers, sons,
+or husbands, fell in battle? did he use his power to gain <a
+name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>security
+and freedom to the regions of oppression and slavery? did he
+endear the British name by examples of generosity, which the most
+barbarous or most depraved are rarely able to resist? did he
+return with the consciousness of duty discharged to his country,
+and humanity to his fellow-creatures? did he return with no lace
+on his coat, no slaves in his retinue, no chariot at his door,
+and no burgundy at his table?&mdash;these were laurels which
+princes might envy&mdash;which an honest man would not
+condemn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your maxims, Mr. Harley, are certainly right,&rdquo;
+said Edwards.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am not capable of arguing with you;
+but I imagine there are great temptations in a great degree of
+riches, which it is no easy matter to resist: those a poor man
+like me cannot describe, because he never knew them; and perhaps
+I have reason to bless God that I never did; for then, it is
+likely, I should have withstood them no better than my
+neighbours.&nbsp; For you know, sir, that it is not the fashion
+now, as it was in former times, that I have read of in books,
+when your great generals died so poor, that they did not leave
+wherewithal to buy them a coffin; and people thought the better
+of their <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+153</span>memories for it: if they did so now-a-days, I question
+if any body, except yourself, and some few like you, would thank
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; replied Harley, &ldquo;that there is
+so much truth in what you say; but however the general current of
+opinion may point, the feelings are not yet lost that applaud
+benevolence, and censure inhumanity.&nbsp; Let us endeavour to
+strengthen them in ourselves; and we, who live sequestered from
+the noise of the multitude, have better opportunities of
+listening undisturbed to their voice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They now approached the little dwelling of Edwards.&nbsp; A
+maid-servant, whom he had hired to assist him in the care of his
+grandchildren met them a little way from the house: &ldquo;There
+is a young lady within with the children,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp;
+Edwards expressed his surprise at the visit: it was however not
+the less true; and we mean to account for it.</p>
+<p>This young lady then was no other than Miss Walton.&nbsp; She
+had heard the old man&rsquo;s history from Harley, as we have
+already related it.&nbsp; Curiosity, or some other motive, made
+her desirous to see his grandchildren; this she had an
+opportunity <a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+154</span>of gratifying soon, the children, in some of their
+walks, having strolled as far as her father&rsquo;s avenue.&nbsp;
+She put several questions to both; she was delighted with the
+simplicity of their answers, and promised, that if they continued
+to be good children, and do as their grandfather bid them, she
+would soon see them again, and bring some present or other for
+their reward.&nbsp; This promise she had performed now: she came
+attended only by her maid, and brought with her a complete suit
+of green for the boy, and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit of
+ribbons, for his sister.&nbsp; She had time enough, with her
+maid&rsquo;s assistance, to equip them in their new habiliments
+before Harley and Edwards returned.&nbsp; The boy heard his
+grandfather&rsquo;s voice, and, with that silent joy which his
+present finery inspired, ran to the door to meet him: putting one
+hand in his, with the other pointed to his sister,
+&ldquo;See,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what Miss Walton has brought
+us!&rdquo;&mdash;Edwards gazed on them.&nbsp; Harley fixed his
+eyes on Miss Walton; her&rsquo;s were turned to the
+ground;&mdash;in Edwards&rsquo;s was a beamy moisture.&mdash;He
+folded his hands together&mdash;&ldquo;I cannot speak, young
+lady,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to thank you.&rdquo;&nbsp; Neither
+could Harley.&nbsp; <a name="page155"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 155</span>There were a thousand sentiments;
+but they gushed so impetuously on his heart, that he could not
+utter a syllable. * * * *</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XL.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE MAN OF FEELING JEALOUS.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> desire of communicating
+knowledge or intelligence, is an argument with those who hold
+that man is naturally a social animal.&nbsp; It is indeed one of
+the earliest propensities we discover; but it may be doubted
+whether the pleasure (for pleasure there certainly is) arising
+from it be not often more selfish than social: for we frequently
+observe the tidings of Ill communicated as eagerly as the
+annunciation of Good.&nbsp; Is it that we delight in observing
+the effects of the stronger passions? for we are all philosophers
+in this respect; and it is perhaps amongst the spectators at
+Tyburn that the most genuine are to be found.</p>
+<p>Was it from this motive that Peter came one morning into his
+master&rsquo;s room with a meaning face <a
+name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>of
+recital?&nbsp; His master indeed did not at first observe it; for
+he was sitting with one shoe buckled, delineating portraits in
+the fire.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have brushed those clothes, sir, as you
+ordered me.&rdquo;&mdash;Harley nodded his head but Peter
+observed that his hat wanted brushing too: his master nodded
+again.&nbsp; At last Peter bethought him that the fire needed
+stirring; and taking up the poker, demolished the turban&rsquo;d
+head of a Saracen, while his master was seeking out a body for
+it.&nbsp; &ldquo;The morning is main cold, sir,&rdquo; said
+Peter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Is it?&rdquo; said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes,
+sir; I have been as far as Tom Dowson&rsquo;s to fetch some
+barberries he had picked for Mrs. Margery.&nbsp; There was a rare
+junketting last night at Thomas&rsquo;s among Sir Harry
+Benson&rsquo;s servants; he lay at Squire Walton&rsquo;s, but he
+would not suffer his servants to trouble the family: so, to be
+sure, they were all at Tom&rsquo;s, and had a fiddle, and a hot
+supper in the big room where the justices meet about the
+destroying of hares and partridges, and them things; and
+Tom&rsquo;s eyes looked so red and so bleared when I called him
+to get the barberries:&mdash;And I hear as how Sir Harry is going
+to be married to Miss Walton.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;How!&nbsp; Miss
+Walton married!&rdquo; said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, it <a
+name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+157</span>mayn&rsquo;t be true, sir, for all that; but
+Tom&rsquo;s wife told it me, and to be sure the servants told
+her, and their master told them, as I guess, sir; but it
+mayn&rsquo;t be true for all that, as I said
+before.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Have done with your idle
+information,&rdquo; said Harley:&mdash;&ldquo;Is my aunt come
+down into the parlour to breakfast?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Yes,
+sir.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Tell her I&rsquo;ll be with her
+immediately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When Peter was gone, he stood with his eyes fixed on the
+ground, and the last words of his intelligence vibrating in his
+ears.&nbsp; &ldquo;Miss Walton married!&rdquo; he
+sighed&mdash;and walked down stairs, with his shoe as it was, and
+the buckle in his hand.&nbsp; His aunt, however, was pretty well
+accustomed to those appearances of absence; besides, that the
+natural gravity of her temper, which was commonly called into
+exertion by the care of her household concerns, was such as not
+easily to be discomposed by any circumstance of accidental
+impropriety.&nbsp; She too had been informed of the intended
+match between Sir Harry Benson and Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+have been thinking,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that they are distant
+relations: for the great-grandfather of this Sir Harry Benson,
+who was knight of the shire in the reign of Charles the <a
+name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>First, and
+one of the cavaliers of those times, was married to a daughter of
+the Walton family.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley answered drily, that it
+might be so; but that he never troubled himself about those
+matters.&nbsp; &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you are to
+blame, nephew, for not knowing a little more of them: before I
+was near your age I had sewed the pedigree of our family in a set
+of chair-bottoms, that were made a present of to my grandmother,
+who was a very notable woman, and had a proper regard for
+gentility, I&rsquo;ll assure you; but now-a-days it is money, not
+birth, that makes people respected; the more shame for the
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Harley was in no very good humour for entering into a
+discussion of this question; but he always entertained so much
+filial respect for his aunt, as to attend to her discourse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We blame the pride of the rich,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;but are not we ashamed of our poverty?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, one would not choose,&rdquo; replied his aunt,
+&ldquo;to make a much worse figure than one&rsquo;s neighbours;
+but, as I was saying before, the times (as my friend, Mrs.
+Dorothy Walton, observes) are shamefully degenerated in this
+respect.&nbsp; There was but t&rsquo;other day at Mr.
+Walton&rsquo;s, that fat fellow&rsquo;s <a
+name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>daughter,
+the London merchant, as he calls himself, though I have heard
+that he was little better than the keeper of a chandler&rsquo;s
+shop.&nbsp; We were leaving the gentlemen to go to tea.&nbsp; She
+had a hoop, forsooth, as large and as stiff&mdash;and it showed a
+pair of bandy legs, as thick as two&mdash;I was nearer the door
+by an apron&rsquo;s length, and the pert hussy brushed by me, as
+who should say, Make way for your betters, and with one of her
+London bobs&mdash;but Mrs. Dorothy did not let her pass with it;
+for all the time of drinking tea, she spoke of the precedency of
+family, and the disparity there is between people who are come of
+something and your mushroom gentry who wear their coats of arms
+in their purses.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her indignation was interrupted by the arrival of her maid
+with a damask table-cloth, and a set of napkins, from the loom,
+which had been spun by her mistress&rsquo;s own hand.&nbsp; There
+was the family crest in each corner, and in the middle a view of
+the battle of Worcester, where one of her ancestors had been a
+captain in the king&rsquo;s forces; and with a sort of poetical
+licence in perspective, there was seen the Royal Oak, with more
+wig than leaves upon it.</p>
+<p><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>On
+all this the good lady was very copious, and took up the
+remaining intervals of filling tea, to describe its excellencies
+to Harley; adding, that she intended this as a present for his
+wife, when he should get one.&nbsp; He sighed and looked foolish,
+and commending the serenity of the day, walked out into the
+garden.</p>
+<p>He sat down on a little seat which commanded an extensive
+prospect round the house.&nbsp; He leaned on his hand, and scored
+the ground with his stick: &ldquo;Miss Walton married!&rdquo;
+said he; &ldquo;but what is that to me?&nbsp; May she be happy!
+her virtues deserve it; to me her marriage is otherwise
+indifferent: I had romantic dreams? they are fled?&mdash;it is
+perfectly indifferent.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Just at that moment he saw a servant with a knot of ribbons in
+his hat go into the house.&nbsp; His cheeks grew flushed at the
+sight!&nbsp; He kept his eye fixed for some time on the door by
+which he had entered, then starting to his feet, hastily followed
+him.</p>
+<p>When he approached the door of the kitchen where he supposed
+the man had entered, his heart throbbed so violently, that when
+he would have called Peter, his voice failed in the
+attempt.&nbsp; He <a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+161</span>stood a moment listening in this breathless state of
+palpitation: Peter came out by chance.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did your
+honour want any thing?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Where is the servant
+that came just now from Mr.
+Walton&rsquo;s?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;From Mr. Walton&rsquo;s, sir!
+there is none of his servants here that I know
+of.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Nor of Sir Harry
+Benson&rsquo;s?&rdquo;&mdash;He did not wait for an answer; but
+having by this time observed the hat with its parti-coloured
+ornament hanging on a peg near the door, he pressed forwards into
+the kitchen, and addressing himself to a stranger whom he saw
+there, asked him, with no small tremor in his voice, &ldquo;If he
+had any commands for him?&rdquo;&nbsp; The man looked silly, and
+said, &ldquo;That he had nothing to trouble his honour
+with.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Are not you a servant of Sir Harry
+Benson&rsquo;s?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;No,
+sir.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll pardon me, young man; I
+judged by the favour in your hat.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Sir,
+I&rsquo;m his majesty&rsquo;s servant, God bless him! and these
+favours we always wear when we are
+recruiting.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Recruiting!&rdquo; his eyes
+glistened at the word: he seized the soldier&rsquo;s hand, and
+shaking it violently, ordered Peter to fetch a bottle of his
+aunt&rsquo;s best dram.&nbsp; The bottle was brought: &ldquo;You
+shall drink the king&rsquo;s health,&rdquo; said Harley,
+&ldquo;in a bumper.&rdquo;&mdash;<a name="page162"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 162</span>&ldquo;The king and your
+honour.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Nay, you shall drink the king&rsquo;s
+health by itself; you may drink mine in another.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Peter looked in his master&rsquo;s face, and filled with some
+little reluctance.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now to your mistress,&rdquo; said
+Harley; &ldquo;every soldier has a mistress.&rdquo;&nbsp; The man
+excused himself&mdash;&ldquo;To your mistress! you cannot refuse
+it.&rdquo;&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas Mrs. Margery&rsquo;s best
+dram!&nbsp; Peter stood with the bottle a little inclined, but
+not so as to discharge a drop of its contents: &ldquo;Fill it,
+Peter,&rdquo; said his master, &ldquo;fill it to the
+brim.&rdquo;&nbsp; Peter filled it; and the soldier having named
+Suky Simpson, dispatched it in a twinkling.&nbsp; &ldquo;Thou art
+an honest fellow,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;and I love
+thee;&rdquo; and shaking his hand again, desired Peter to make
+him his guest at dinner, and walked up into his room with a pace
+much quicker and more springy than usual.</p>
+<p>This agreeable disappointment, however, he was not long
+suffered to enjoy.&nbsp; The curate happened that day to dine
+with him: his visits, indeed, were more properly to the aunt than
+the nephew; and many of the intelligent ladies in the parish,
+who, like some very great philosophers, have the happy knack at
+accounting for everything, gave out that there was a particular
+attachment between them, <a name="page163"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 163</span>which wanted only to be matured by
+some more years of courtship to end in the tenderest
+connection.&nbsp; In this conclusion, indeed, supposing the
+premises to have been true, they were somewhat justified by the
+known opinion of the lady, who frequently declared herself a
+friend to the ceremonial of former times, when a lover might have
+sighed seven years at his mistress&rsquo;s feet before he was
+allowed the liberty of kissing her hand.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis true
+Mrs. Margery was now about her grand climacteric; no matter: that
+is just the age when we expect to grow younger.&nbsp; But I
+verily believe there was nothing in the report; the
+curate&rsquo;s connection was only that of a genealogist; for in
+that character he was no way inferior to Mrs. Margery
+herself.&nbsp; He dealt also in the present times; for he was a
+politician and a news-monger.</p>
+<p>He had hardly said grace after dinner, when he told Mrs.
+Margery that she might soon expect a pair of white gloves, as Sir
+Harry Benson, he was very well informed, was just going to be
+married to Miss Walton.&nbsp; Harley spilt the wine he was
+carrying to his mouth: he had time, however, to recollect himself
+before the curate had finished the <a name="page164"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 164</span>different particulars of his
+intelligence, and summing up all the heroism he was master of,
+filled a bumper, and drank to Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;With all
+my heart,&rdquo; said the curate, &ldquo;the bride that is to
+be.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley would have said bride too; but the word
+bride stuck in his throat.&nbsp; His confusion, indeed, was
+manifest; but the curate began to enter on some point of descent
+with Mrs. Margery, and Harley had very soon after an opportunity
+of leaving them, while they were deeply engaged in a question,
+whether the name of some great man in the time of Henry the
+Seventh was Richard or Humphrey.</p>
+<p>He did not see his aunt again till supper; the time between he
+spent in walking, like some troubled ghost, round the place where
+his treasure lay.&nbsp; He went as far as a little gate, that led
+into a copse near Mr. Walton&rsquo;s house, to which that
+gentleman had been so obliging as to let him have a key.&nbsp; He
+had just begun to open it when he saw, on a terrace below, Miss
+Walton walking with a gentleman in a riding-dress, whom he
+immediately guessed to be Sir Harry Benson.&nbsp; He stopped of a
+sudden; his hand shook so much that he could hardly turn the key;
+he opened the <a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+165</span>gate, however, and advanced a few paces.&nbsp; The
+lady&rsquo;s lap-dog pricked up its ears, and barked; he stopped
+again&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&mdash;&ldquo;The little dogs and all,<br />
+Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me!&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>His resolution failed; he slunk back, and, locking the gate as
+softly as he could, stood on tiptoe looking over the wall till
+they were gone.&nbsp; At that instant a shepherd blew his horn:
+the romantic melancholy of the sound quite overcame him!&mdash;it
+was the very note that wanted to be touched&mdash;he sighed! he
+dropped a tear!&mdash;and returned.</p>
+<p>At supper his aunt observed that he was graver than usual; but
+she did not suspect the cause: indeed, it may seem odd that she
+was the only person in the family who had no suspicion of his
+attachment to Miss Walton.&nbsp; It was frequently matter of
+discourse amongst the servants: perhaps her maiden
+coldness&mdash;but for those things we need not account.</p>
+<p>In a day or two he was so much master of himself as to be able
+to rhyme upon the subject.&nbsp; The following pastoral he left,
+some time after, on <a name="page166"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 166</span>the handle of a tea-kettle, at a
+neighbouring house where we were visiting; and as I filled the
+tea-pot after him, I happened to put it in my pocket by a similar
+act of forgetfulness.&nbsp; It is such as might be expected from
+a man who makes verses for amusement.&nbsp; I am pleased with
+somewhat of good nature that runs through it, because I have
+commonly observed the writers of those complaints to bestow
+epithets on their lost mistresses rather too harsh for the mere
+liberty of choice, which led them to prefer another to the poet
+himself: I do not doubt the vehemence of their passion; but,
+alas! the sensations of love are something more than the returns
+of gratitude.</p>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">LAVINIA.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">A <span
+class="smcap">Pastoral</span>.</p>
+<p>Why steals from my bosom the sigh?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Why fixed is my gaze on the ground?<br />
+Come, give me my pipe, and I&rsquo;ll try<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To banish my cares with the sound.</p>
+<p>Erewhile were its notes of accord<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With the smile of the flow&rsquo;r-footed Muse;<br
+/>
+Ah! why by its master implored<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Shou&rsquo;d it now the gay carrol refuse?</p>
+<p>&rsquo;Twas taught by <span
+class="smcap">Lavinia&rsquo;s</span> sweet smile,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In the mirth-loving chorus to join:<br />
+<a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>Ah, me!
+how unweeting the while!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Lavinia</span>&mdash;can never
+be mine!</p>
+<p>Another, more happy, the maid<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By fortune is destin&rsquo;d to bless&mdash;<br />
+&rsquo;Tho&rsquo; the hope has forsook that betray&rsquo;d,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet why should I love her the less?</p>
+<p>Her beauties are bright as the morn,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With rapture I counted them o&rsquo;er;<br />
+Such virtues these beauties adorn,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I knew her, and prais&rsquo;d them no more.</p>
+<p>I term&rsquo;d her no goddess of love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I call&rsquo;d not her beauty divine:<br />
+These far other passions may prove,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But they could not be figures of mine.</p>
+<p>It ne&rsquo;er was apparel&rsquo;d with art,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; On words it could never rely;<br />
+It reign&rsquo;d in the throb of my heart,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It gleam&rsquo;d in the glance of my eye.</p>
+<p>Oh fool! in the circle to shine<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That Fashion&rsquo;s gay daughters approve,<br />
+You must speak as the fashions incline;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Alas! are there fashions in love?</p>
+<p>Yet sure they are simple who prize<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The tongue that is smooth to deceive;<br />
+Yet sure she had sense to despise,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The tinsel that folly may weave.</p>
+<p>When I talk&rsquo;d, I have seen her recline,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With an aspect so pensively sweet,&mdash;<br />
+Tho&rsquo; I spoke what the shepherds opine,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A fop were ashamed to repeat.</p>
+<p><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>She
+is soft as the dew-drops that fall<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;<br />
+Perhaps when she smil&rsquo;d upon all,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I have thought that she smil&rsquo;d upon me.</p>
+<p>But why of her charms should I tell?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah me! whom her charms have undone<br />
+Yet I love the reflection too well,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The painful reflection to shun.</p>
+<p>Ye souls of more delicate kind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who feast not on pleasure alone,<br />
+Who wear the soft sense of the mind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To the sons of the world still unknown.</p>
+<p>Ye know, tho&rsquo; I cannot express,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Why I foolishly doat on my pain;<br />
+Nor will ye believe it the less,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That I have not the skill to complain.</p>
+<p>I lean on my hand with a sigh,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; My friends the soft sadness condemn;<br />
+Yet, methinks, tho&rsquo; I cannot tell why,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I should hate to be merry like them.</p>
+<p>When I walk&rsquo;d in the pride of the dawn,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Methought all the region look&rsquo;d bright:<br />
+Has sweetness forsaken the lawn?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For, methinks, I grow sad at the sight.</p>
+<p>When I stood by the stream, I have thought<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound;<br />
+But now &rsquo;tis a sorrowful note,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And the banks are all gloomy around!</p>
+<p>I have laugh&rsquo;d at the jest of a friend;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Now they laugh, and I know not the cause,<br />
+<a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+169</span>Tho&rsquo; I seem with my looks to attend,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How silly!&nbsp; I ask what it was.</p>
+<p>They sing the sweet song of the May,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They sing it with mirth and with glee;<br />
+Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But now &rsquo;tis all sadness to me.</p>
+<p>Oh! give me the dubious light<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That gleams thro&rsquo; the quivering shade;<br />
+Oh! give me the horrors of night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By gloom and by silence array&rsquo;d!</p>
+<p>Let me walk where the soft-rising wave,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Has pictur&rsquo;d the moon on its breast;<br />
+Let me walk where the new cover&rsquo;d grave<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Allows the pale lover to rest!</p>
+<p>When shall I in its peaceable womb,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Be laid with my sorrows asleep?<br />
+Should <span class="smcap">Lavinia</span> but chance on my
+tomb&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I could die if I thought she would weep.</p>
+<p>Perhaps, if the souls of the just<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Revisit these mansions of care,<br />
+It may be my favourite trust<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To watch o&rsquo;er the fate of the fair.</p>
+<p>Perhaps the soft thought of her breast,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With rapture more favour&rsquo;d to warm;<br />
+Perhaps, if with sorrow oppress&rsquo;d,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her sorrow with patience to arm.</p>
+<p>Then, then, in the tenderest part<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; May I whisper, &ldquo;Poor <span
+class="smcap">Colin</span> was true,&rdquo;<br />
+And mark if a heave of her heart<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The thought of her <span class="smcap">Colin</span>
+pursue.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<h3><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>THE
+PUPIL.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A FRAGMENT.</span></h3>
+<p>* * * &ldquo;<span class="smcap">But</span> as to the higher
+part of education, Mr. Harley, the culture of the mind&mdash;let
+the feelings be awakened, let the heart be brought forth to its
+object, placed in the light in which nature would have it stand,
+and its decisions will ever be just.&nbsp; The world</p>
+<blockquote><p>Will smile, and smile, and be a villain;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>and the youth, who does not suspect its deceit, will be
+content to smile with it.&nbsp; Men will put on the most
+forbidding aspect in nature, and tell him of the beauty of
+virtue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have not, under these grey hairs, forgotten that I
+was once a young man, warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but
+meaning to be honest as well as happy.&nbsp; I had ideas of
+virtue, of honour, of benevolence, which I had never been at the
+pains to define; but I felt my bosom heave at the thoughts of
+them, and I made the most delightful soliloquies.&nbsp; It is
+impossible, said I, that there can be half so many rogues as are
+imagined.</p>
+<p><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+171</span>&ldquo;I travelled, because it is the fashion for young
+men of my fortune to travel.&nbsp; I had a travelling tutor,
+which is the fashion too; but my tutor was a gentleman, which it
+is not always the fashion for tutors to be.&nbsp; His gentility,
+indeed, was all he had from his father, whose prodigality had not
+left him a shilling to support it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I have a favour to ask of you, my dear
+Mountford,&rsquo; said my father, &lsquo;which I will not be
+refused.&nbsp; You have travelled as became a man; neither France
+nor Italy have made anything of Mountford, which Mountford,
+before he left England, would have been ashamed of.&nbsp; My son
+Edward goes abroad, would you take him under your
+protection?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He blushed; my father&rsquo;s face was scarlet.&nbsp;
+He pressed his hand to his bosom, as if he had said, my heart
+does not mean to offend you.&nbsp; Mountford sighed twice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I am a proud fool,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and
+you will pardon it.&nbsp; There! (he sighed again) I can hear of
+dependance, since it is dependance on my Sedley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Dependance!&rsquo; answered my father;
+&lsquo;there can be no such word between us.&nbsp; What is there
+<a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>in
+&pound;9,000 a year that should make me unworthy of
+Mountford&rsquo;s friendship?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They embraced; and soon after I set out on my travels,
+with Mountford for my guardian.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were at Milan, where my father happened to have an
+Italian friend, to whom he had been of some service in
+England.&nbsp; The count, for he was of quality, was solicitous
+to return the obligation by a particular attention to his
+son.&nbsp; We lived in his palace, visited with his family, were
+caressed by his friends, and I began to be so well pleased with
+my entertainment, that I thought of England as of some foreign
+country.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The count had a son not much older than myself.&nbsp;
+At that age a friend is an easy acquisition; we were friends the
+first night of our acquaintance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He introduced me into the company of a set of young
+gentlemen, whose fortunes gave them the command of pleasure, and
+whose inclinations incited them to the purchase.&nbsp; After
+having spent some joyous evenings in their society, it became a
+sort of habit which I could not miss without uneasiness, and our
+meetings, which before were frequent, were now stated and
+regular.</p>
+<p><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+173</span>&ldquo;Sometimes, in the pauses of our mirth, gaming
+was introduced as an amusement.&nbsp; It was an art in which I
+was a novice.&nbsp; I received instruction, as other novices do,
+by losing pretty largely to my teachers.&nbsp; Nor was this the
+only evil which Mountford foresaw would arise from the connection
+I had formed; but a lecture of sour injunctions was not his
+method of reclaiming.&nbsp; He sometimes asked me questions about
+the company, but they were such as the curiosity of any
+indifferent man might have prompted.&nbsp; I told him of their
+wit, their eloquence, their warmth of friendship, and their
+sensibility of heart.&nbsp; &lsquo;And their honour,&rsquo; said
+I, laying my hand on my breast, &lsquo;is
+unquestionable.&rsquo;&nbsp; Mountford seemed to rejoice at my
+good fortune, and begged that I would introduce him to their
+acquaintance.&nbsp; At the next meeting I introduced him
+accordingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The conversation was as animated as usual.&nbsp; They
+displayed all that sprightliness and good-humour which my praises
+had led Mountford to expect; subjects, too, of sentiment
+occurred, and their speeches, particularly those of our friend
+the son of Count Respino, glowed with the warmth of honour, and
+softened into the tenderness <a name="page174"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 174</span>of feeling.&nbsp; Mountford was
+charmed with his companions.&nbsp; When we parted, he made the
+highest eulogiums upon them.&nbsp; &lsquo;When shall we see them
+again?&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; I was delighted with the demand, and
+promised to reconduct him on the morrow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In going to their place of rendezvous, he took me a
+little out of the road, to see, as he told me, the performances
+of a young statuary.&nbsp; When we were near the house in which
+Mountford said he lived, a boy of about seven years old crossed
+us in the street.&nbsp; At sight of Mountford he stopped, and
+grasping his hand,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;My dearest sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;my father
+is likely to do well.&nbsp; He will live to pray for you, and to
+bless you.&nbsp; Yes, he will bless you, though you are an
+Englishman, and some other hard word that the monk talked of this
+morning, which I have forgot, but it meant that you should not go
+to heaven; but he shall go to heaven, said I, for he has saved my
+father.&nbsp; Come and see him, sir, that we may be
+happy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;My dear, I am engaged at present with this
+gentleman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;But he shall come along with you; he is an <a
+name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>Englishman,
+too, I fancy.&nbsp; He shall come and learn how an Englishman may
+go to heaven.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mountford smiled, and we followed the boy together.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After crossing the next street, we arrived at the gate
+of a prison.&nbsp; I <a name="page176"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 176</span>seemed surprised at the sight; our
+little conductor observed it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Are you afraid, sir?&rsquo; said he.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I was afraid once too, but my father and mother are here,
+and I am never afraid when I am with them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He took my hand, and led me through a dark passage that
+fronted the gate.&nbsp; When we came to a little door at the end,
+he tapped.&nbsp; A boy, still younger than himself, opened it to
+receive us.&nbsp; Mountford entered with a look in which was
+pictured the benign assurance of a superior being.&nbsp; I
+followed in silence and amazement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On something like a bed, lay a man, with a face
+seemingly emaciated with sickness, and a look of patient
+dejection.&nbsp; A bundle of dirty shreds served him for a
+pillow, but he had a better support&mdash;the arm of a female who
+kneeled beside him, beautiful as an angel, but with a fading
+languor in her countenance, the still life of melancholy, that
+seemed to borrow its shade from the object on which she
+gazed.&nbsp; There was a tear in her eye&mdash;the sick man
+kissed it off in its bud, smiling through the dimness of his
+own&mdash;when she saw Mountford, she crawled forward on the
+ground, and clasped his knees.&nbsp; He raised her from the
+floor; she threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed out a speech
+of thankfulness, eloquent beyond the power of language.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Compose yourself, my love,&rsquo; said the man
+on the bed; &lsquo;but he, whose goodness has caused that
+emotion, will pardon its effects.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;How is this, Mountford?&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;what do I see?&nbsp; What must I do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;You see,&rsquo; replied the stranger, &lsquo;a
+wretch, sunk in poverty, starving in prison, stretched on a sick
+bed.&nbsp; But that is little.&nbsp; There are his wife and
+children wanting the bread which he has not to give them!&nbsp;
+Yet you cannot easily imagine the conscious serenity of his
+mind.&nbsp; In the gripe of affliction, his heart swells with the
+pride of virtue; it can even look down with pity on the man whose
+cruelty has wrung it almost to bursting.&nbsp; You are, I fancy,
+a friend of Mr. Mountford&rsquo;s.&nbsp; Come nearer, and
+I&rsquo;ll tell you, for, short as my story is, <a
+name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>I can
+hardly command breath enough for a recital.&nbsp; The son of
+Count Respino (I started, as if I had trod on a viper) has long
+had a criminal passion for my wife.&nbsp; This her prudence had
+concealed from me; but he had lately the boldness to declare it
+to myself.&nbsp; He promised me affluence in exchange for honour,
+and threatened misery as its attendant if I kept it.&nbsp; I
+treated him with the contempt he deserved; the consequence was,
+that he hired a couple of bravoes (for I am persuaded they acted
+under his direction), who attempted to assassinate me in the
+street; but I made such a defence as obliged them to fly, after
+having given me two or three stabs, none of which, however, were
+mortal.&nbsp; But his revenge was not thus to be
+disappointed.&nbsp; In the little dealings of my trade I had
+contracted some debts, of which he had made himself master for my
+ruin.&nbsp; I was confined here at his suit, when not yet
+recovered from the wounds I had received; the dear woman, and
+these two boys, followed me, that we might starve together; but
+Providence interposed, and sent Mr. Mountford to our
+support.&nbsp; He has relieved my family from the gnawings of
+hunger, and rescued me from death, to which a fever, consequent
+on my wounds and <a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+178</span>increased by the want of every necessary, had almost
+reduced me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Inhuman villain!&rsquo; I exclaimed, lifting up
+my eyes to heaven.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Inhuman indeed!&rsquo; said the lovely woman who
+stood at my side.&nbsp; &lsquo;Alas! sir, what had we done to
+offend him? what had these little ones done, that they should
+perish in the toils of his vengeance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I reached a pen which stood in the inkstand dish at the
+bed-side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;May I ask what is the amount of the sum for
+which you are imprisoned?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I was able,&rsquo; he replied, &lsquo;to pay all
+but five hundred crowns.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wrote a draft on the banker with whom I had a credit
+from my father for 2,500, and presenting it to the
+stranger&rsquo;s wife,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;You will receive, madam, on presenting this
+note, a sum more than sufficient for your husband&rsquo;s
+discharge; the remainder I leave for his industry to
+improve.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I would have left the room.&nbsp; Each of them laid
+hold of one of my hands, the children clung to my coat.&nbsp; Oh!
+Mr. Harley, methinks I feel their <a name="page179"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 179</span>gentle violence at this moment; it
+beats here with delight inexpressible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Stay, sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I do not mean
+attempting to thank you&rsquo; (he took a pocket-book from under
+his pillow), &lsquo;let me but know what name I shall place here
+next to Mr. Mountford!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Sedley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He writ it down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;An Englishman too, I presume.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;He shall go to heaven, notwithstanding;&rsquo;
+said the boy who had been our guide.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It began to be too much for me.&nbsp; I squeezed his
+hand that was clasped in mine, his wife&rsquo;s I pressed to my
+lips, and burst from the place, to give vent to the feelings that
+laboured within me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Oh, Mountford!&rsquo; said I, when he had
+overtaken me at the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It is time,&rsquo; replied he, &lsquo;that we
+should think of our appointment; young Respino and his friends
+are waiting us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Damn him, damn him!&rsquo; said I.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Let us leave Milan instantly; but soft&mdash;I will be
+calm; Mountford, your pencil.&rsquo;&nbsp; I wrote on a slip of
+paper,</p>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><a
+name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+180</span>&ldquo;&lsquo;To Signor <span
+class="smcap">Respino</span>.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;When you receive this, I am at a distance from
+Milan.&nbsp; Accept of my thanks for the civilities I have
+received from you and your family.&nbsp; As to the friendship
+with which you were pleased to honour me, the prison, which I
+have just left, has exhibited a scene to cancel it for
+ever.&nbsp; You may possibly be merry with your companions at my
+weakness, as I suppose you will term it.&nbsp; I give you leave
+for derision.&nbsp; You may affect a triumph, I shall feel
+it.</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Edward
+Sedley</span>.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;You may send this if you will,&rsquo; said
+Mountford, coolly, &lsquo;but still Respino is a <i>man of
+honour</i>; the world will continue to call him so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It is probable,&rsquo; I answered, &lsquo;they
+may; I envy not the appellation.&nbsp; If this is the
+world&rsquo;s honour, if these men are the guides of its
+manners&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Tut!&rsquo; said Mountford, &lsquo;do you eat
+macaroni&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
+<p>[At this place had the greatest depredations of the curate
+begun.&nbsp; There were so very few connected <a
+name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>passages of
+the subsequent chapters remaining, that even the partiality of an
+editor could not offer them to the public.&nbsp; I discovered,
+from some scattered sentences, that they were of much the same
+tenor with the preceding; recitals of little adventures, in which
+the dispositions of a man, sensible to judge, and still more warm
+to feel, had room to unfold themselves.&nbsp; Some instruction,
+and some example, I make no doubt they contained; but it is
+likely that many of those, whom chance has led to a perusal of
+what I have already presented, may have read it with little
+pleasure, and will feel no disappointment from the want of those
+parts which I have been unable to procure.&nbsp; To such as may
+have expected the intricacies of a novel, a few incidents in a
+life undistinguished, except by some features of the heart,
+cannot have afforded much entertainment.</p>
+<p>Harley&rsquo;s own story, from the mutilated passages I have
+mentioned, as well as from some inquiries I was at the trouble of
+making in the country, I found to have been simple to
+excess.&nbsp; His mistress, I could perceive, was not married to
+Sir Harry Benson; but it would seem, by one of the following
+chapters, which is still entire, that Harley had not <a
+name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>profited on
+the occasion by making any declaration of his own passion, after
+those of the other had been unsuccessful.&nbsp; The state of his
+health, for some part of this period, appears to have been such
+as to forbid any thoughts of that kind: he had been seized with a
+very dangerous fever, caught by attending old Edwards in one of
+an infectious kind.&nbsp; From this he had recovered but
+imperfectly, and though he had no formed complaint, his health
+was manifestly on the decline.</p>
+<p>It appears that the sagacity of some friend had at length
+pointed out to his aunt a cause from which this might be supposed
+to proceed, to wit, his hopeless love for Miss Walton; for,
+according to the conceptions of the world, the love of a man of
+Harley&rsquo;s fortune for the heiress of &pound;4,000 a year is
+indeed desperate.&nbsp; Whether it was so in this case may be
+gathered from the next chapter, which, with the two subsequent,
+concluding the performance, have escaped those accidents that
+proved fatal to the rest.]</p>
+<h2><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+183</span>CHAPTER LV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">HE SEES MISS WALTON, AND IS
+HAPPY.</span></h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Harley</span> was one of those few friends
+whom the malevolence of fortune had yet left me; I could not
+therefore but be sensibly concerned for his present
+indisposition; there seldom passed a day on which I did not make
+inquiry about him.</p>
+<p>The physician who attended him had informed me the evening
+before, that he thought him considerably better than he had been
+for some time past.&nbsp; I called next morning to be confirmed
+in a piece of intelligence so welcome to me.</p>
+<p>When I entered his apartment, I found him sitting on a couch,
+leaning on his hand, with his eye turned upwards in the attitude
+of thoughtful inspiration.&nbsp; His look had always an open
+benignity, which commanded esteem; there was now something
+more&mdash;a gentle triumph in it.</p>
+<p>He rose, and met me with his usual kindness.&nbsp; When I gave
+him the good accounts I had had from his physician, &ldquo;I am
+foolish enough,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to rely but little, in
+this instance, upon physic: my <a name="page184"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 184</span>presentiment may be false; but I
+think I feel myself approaching to my end, by steps so easy, that
+they woo me to approach it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is a certain dignity in retiring from life at a
+time, when the infirmities of age have not sapped our
+faculties.&nbsp; This world, my dear Charles, was a scene in
+which I never much delighted.&nbsp; I was not formed for the
+bustle of the busy, nor the dissipation of the gay; a thousand
+things occurred, where I blushed for the impropriety of my
+conduct when I thought on the world, though my reason told me I
+should have blushed to have done otherwise.&mdash;It was a scene
+of dissimulation, of restraint, of disappointment.&nbsp; I leave
+it to enter on that state which I have learned to believe is
+replete with the genuine happiness attendant upon virtue.&nbsp; I
+look back on the tenor of my life, with the consciousness of few
+great offences to account for.&nbsp; There are blemishes, I
+confess, which deform in some degree the picture.&nbsp; But I
+know the benignity of the Supreme Being, and rejoice at the
+thoughts of its exertion in my favour.&nbsp; My mind expands at
+the thought I shall enter into the society of the blessed, wise
+as angels, with the simplicity of children.&rdquo;&nbsp; He had
+by this time clasped my hand, and found <a
+name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>it wet by a
+tear which had just fallen upon it.&mdash;His eye began to
+moisten too&mdash;we sat for some time silent.&mdash;At last,
+with an attempt to a look of more composure, &ldquo;There are
+some remembrances,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;which rise
+involuntary on my heart, and make me almost wish to live.&nbsp; I
+have been blessed with a few friends, who redeem my opinion of
+mankind.&nbsp; I recollect, with the tenderest emotion, the
+scenes of pleasure I have passed among them; but we shall meet
+again, my friend, never to be separated.&nbsp; There are some
+feelings which perhaps are too tender to be suffered by the
+world.&mdash;The world is in general selfish, interested, and
+unthinking, and throws the imputation of romance or melancholy on
+every temper more susceptible than its own.&nbsp; I cannot think
+but in those regions which I contemplate, if there is any thing
+of mortality left about us, that these feelings will
+subsist;&mdash;they are called,&mdash;perhaps they
+are&mdash;weaknesses here;&mdash;but there may be some better
+modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve the name of
+virtues.&rdquo;&nbsp; He sighed as he spoke these last
+words.&nbsp; He had scarcely finished them, when the door opened,
+and his aunt appeared, leading in Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;My
+dear,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;here is Miss Walton, <a
+name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>who has
+been so kind as to come and inquire for you herself.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+I could observe a transient glow upon his face.&nbsp; He rose
+from his seat&mdash;&ldquo;If to know Miss Walton&rsquo;s
+goodness,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;be a title to deserve it, I have
+some claim.&rdquo;&nbsp; She begged him to resume his seat, and
+placed herself on the sofa beside him.&nbsp; I took my
+leave.&nbsp; Mrs. Margery accompanied me to the door.&nbsp; He
+was left with Miss Walton alone.&nbsp; She inquired anxiously
+about his health.&nbsp; &ldquo;I believe,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;from the accounts which my physicians unwillingly give me,
+that they have no great hopes of my recovery.&rdquo;&mdash;She
+started as he spoke; but recollecting herself immediately,
+endeavoured to flatter him into a belief that his apprehensions
+were groundless.&nbsp; &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that
+it is usual with persons at my time of life to have these hopes,
+which your kindness suggests; but I would not wish to be
+deceived.&nbsp; To meet death as becomes a man, is a privilege
+bestowed on few.&mdash;I would endeavour to make it
+mine;&mdash;nor do I think that I can ever be better prepared for
+it than now:&mdash;It is that chiefly which determines the
+fitness of its approach.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Those
+sentiments,&rdquo; answered Miss Walton, &ldquo;are just; but
+your good sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper
+<a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+187</span>value.&mdash;As the province of virtue, life is
+ennobled; as such, it is to be desired.&mdash;To virtue has the
+Supreme Director of all things assigned rewards enough even here
+to fix its attachment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The subject began to overpower her.&mdash;Harley lifted his
+eyes from the ground&mdash;&ldquo;There are,&rdquo; said he, in a
+very low voice, &ldquo;there are attachments, Miss
+Walton&rdquo;&mdash;His glance met hers.&mdash;They both betrayed
+a confusion, and were both instantly withdrawn.&mdash;He paused
+some moments&mdash;&ldquo;I am such a state as calls for
+sincerity, let that also excuse it&mdash;It is perhaps the last
+time we shall ever meet.&nbsp; I feel something particularly
+solemn in the acknowledgment, yet my heart swells to make it,
+awed as it is by a sense of my presumption, by a sense of your
+perfections&rdquo;&mdash;He paused again&mdash;&ldquo;Let it not
+offend you, to know their power over one so unworthy&mdash;It
+will, I believe, soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which
+it shall lose the latest.&mdash;To love Miss Walton could not be
+a crime;&mdash;if to declare it is one&mdash;the expiation will
+be made.&rdquo;&mdash;Her tears were now flowing without
+control.&mdash;&ldquo;Let me intreat you,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;to have better hopes&mdash;Let not life be so indifferent
+to you; if my wishes can put any value on it&mdash;I will not <a
+name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>pretend to
+misunderstand you&mdash;I know your worth&mdash;I have known it
+long&mdash;I have esteemed it&mdash;What would you have me
+say?&mdash;I have loved it as it deserved.&rdquo;&mdash;He seized
+her hand&mdash;a languid colour reddened his cheek&mdash;a smile
+brightened faintly in his eye.&nbsp; As he gazed on her, it grew
+dim, it fixed, it closed&mdash;He sighed and fell back on his
+seat&mdash;Miss Walton screamed at the sight&mdash;His aunt and
+the servants rushed into the room&mdash;They found them lying
+motionless together.&mdash;His physician happened to call at that
+instant.&nbsp; Every art was tried to recover them&mdash;With
+Miss Walton they succeeded&mdash;But Harley was gone for
+ever.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LVI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE EMOTIONS OF THE HEART.</span></h2>
+<p>I entered the room where his body lay; I approached it with
+reverence, not fear: I looked; the recollection of the past
+crowded upon me.&nbsp; I saw that form which, but a little
+before, was animated with a soul which did honour to humanity,
+stretched without <a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+189</span>sense or feeling before me.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a
+connection we cannot easily forget:&mdash;I took his hand in
+mine; I repeated his name involuntary;&mdash;I felt a pulse in
+every vein at the sound.&nbsp; I looked earnestly in his face;
+his eye was closed, his lip pale and motionless.&nbsp; There is
+an enthusiasm in sorrow that forgets impossibility; I wondered
+that it was so.&nbsp; The sight drew a prayer from my heart: it
+was the voice of frailty and of man! the confusion of my mind
+began to subside into thought; I had time to meet!</p>
+<p>I turned with the last farewell upon my lips, when I observed
+old Edwards standing behind me.&nbsp; I looked him full in the
+face; but his eye was fixed on another object: he pressed between
+me and the bed, and stood gazing on the breathless remains of his
+benefactor.&nbsp; I spoke to him I know not what; but he took no
+notice of what I said, and remained in the same attitude as
+before.&nbsp; He stood some minutes in that posture, then turned
+and walked towards the door.&nbsp; He paused as he went;&mdash;he
+returned a second time: I could observe his lips move as he
+looked: but the voice they would have uttered was lost.&nbsp; He
+attempted going again; and a third time he returned as
+before.&mdash;I saw him wipe his <a name="page190"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 190</span>cheek: then covering his face with
+his hands, his breast heaving with the most convulsive throbs, he
+flung out of the room.</p>
+<h2>THE CONCLUSION.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">He</span> had hinted that he should like
+to be buried in a certain spot near the grave of his
+mother.&nbsp; This is a weakness; but it is universally incident
+to humanity: &rsquo;tis at least a memorial for those who
+survive: for some indeed a slender memorial will serve;&mdash;and
+the soft affections, when they are busy that way, will build
+their structures, were it but on the paring of a nail.</p>
+<p>He was buried in the place he had desired.&nbsp; It was shaded
+by an old tree, the only one in the church-yard, in which was a
+cavity worn by time.&nbsp; I have sat with him in it, and counted
+the tombs.&nbsp; The last time we passed there, methought he
+looked wistfully on the tree: there was a branch of it that bent
+towards us waving in the wind; he waved his hand as if he
+mimicked its motion.&nbsp; There was something predictive in his
+look! perhaps it is <a name="page191"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 191</span>foolish to remark it; but there are
+times and places when I am a child at those things.</p>
+<p>I sometimes visit his grave; I sit in the hollow of the
+tree.&nbsp; It is worth a thousand homilies; every noble feeling
+rises within me! every beat of my heart awakens a
+virtue!&mdash;but it will make you hate the world&mdash;No: there
+is such an air of gentleness around, that I can hate nothing;
+but, as to the world&mdash;I pity the men of it.</p>
+<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2>
+<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15"
+class="footnote">[15]</a>&nbsp; The reader will remember that the
+Editor is accountable only for scattered chapters and fragments
+of chapters; the curate must answer for the rest.&nbsp; The
+number at the top, when the chapter was entire, he has given as
+it originally stood, with the title which its author had affixed
+to it.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61"
+class="footnote">[61]</a>&nbsp; Though the Curate could not
+remember having shown this chapter to anybody, I strongly suspect
+that these political observations are the work of a later pen
+than the rest of this performance.&nbsp; There seems to have
+been, by some accident, a gap in the manuscript, from the words,
+&ldquo;Expectation at a jointure,&rdquo; to these, &ldquo;In
+short, man is an animal,&rdquo; where the present blank ends; and
+some other person (for the hand is different, and the ink whiter)
+has filled part of it with sentiments of his own.&nbsp; Whoever
+he was, he seems to have caught some portion of the spirit of the
+man he personates.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN OF FEELING***</p>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie
+(#1 in our series by Henry Mackenzie)
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
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+
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+Title: The Man of Feeling
+
+Author: Henry Mackenzie
+
+Release Date: February, 2004  [EBook #5083]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on April 18, 2002]
+[Most recently updated: April 18, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MAN OF FEELING ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, from the
+1886 Cassell & Company edition.
+
+
+
+THE MAN OF FEELING
+
+
+
+
+EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
+
+
+
+Henry Mackenzie, the son of an Edinburgh physician, was born in
+August, 1745.  After education in the University of Edinburgh he
+went to London in 1765, at the age of twenty, for law studies,
+returned to Edinburgh, and became Crown Attorney in the Scottish
+Court of Exchequer.  When Mackenzie was in London, Sterne's
+"Tristram Shandy" was in course of publication.  The first two
+volumes had appeared in 1759, and the ninth appeared in 1767,
+followed in 1768, the year of Sterne's death, by "The Sentimental
+Journey."  Young Mackenzie had a strong bent towards literature, and
+while studying law in London, he read Sterne, and falling in with
+the tone of sentiment which Sterne himself caught from the spirit of
+the time and the example of Rousseau, he wrote "The Man of Feeling."
+This book was published, without author's name, in 1771.  It was so
+popular that a young clergyman made a copy of it popular with
+imagined passages of erasure and correction, on the strength of
+which he claimed to be its author, and obliged Henry Mackenzie to
+declare himself.  In 1773 Mackenzie published a second novel, "The
+Man of the World," and in 1777 a third, "Julia de Roubigne."  An
+essay-reading society in Edinburgh, of which he was a leader,
+started in January, 1779, a weekly paper called The Mirror, which he
+edited until May, 1780.  Its writers afterwards joined in producing
+The Lounger, which lasted from February, 1785, to January, 1787.
+Henry Mackenzie contributed forty-two papers to The Mirror and
+fifty-seven to The Lounger.  When the Royal Society of Edinburgh was
+founded Henry Mackenzie was active as one of its first members.  He
+was also one of the founders of the Highland Society.
+
+Although his "Man of Feeling" was a serious reflection of the false
+sentiment of the Revolution, Mackenzie joined afterwards in writing
+tracts to dissuade the people from faith in the doctrines of the
+Revolutionists.  Mackenzie wrote also a tragedy, "The Prince of
+Tunis," which was acted with success at Edinburgh, and a comedy,
+"The White Hypocrite," which was acted once only at Covent garden.
+He died at the age of eighty-six, on the 13th June, 1831, having for
+many years been regarded as an elder friend of their own craft by
+the men of letters who in his days gave dignity to Edinburgh
+society, and caused the town to be called the Modern Athens.
+
+A man of refined taste, who caught the tone of the French sentiment
+of his time, has, of course, pleased French critics, and has been
+translated into French.  "The Man of Feeling" begins with imitation
+of Sterne, and proceeds in due course through so many tears that it
+is hardly to be called a dry book.  As guide to persons of a
+calculating disposition who may read these pages I append an index
+to the Tears shed in "The Man of Feeling."
+
+
+
+AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION
+
+
+
+My dog had made a point on a piece of fallow-ground, and led the
+curate and me two or three hundred yards over that and some stubble
+adjoining, in a breathless state of expectation, on a burning first
+of September.
+
+It was a false point, and our labour was vain:  yet, to do Rover
+justice (for he's an excellent dog, though I have lost his
+pedigree), the fault was none of his, the birds were gone:  the
+curate showed me the spot where they had lain basking, at the root
+of an old hedge.
+
+I stopped and cried Hem!  The curate is fatter than I; he wiped the
+sweat from his brow.
+
+There is no state where one is apter to pause and look round one,
+than after such a disappointment.  It is even so in life.  When we
+have been hurrying on, impelled by some warm wish or other, looking
+neither to the right hand nor to the left--we find of a sudden that
+all our gay hopes are flown; and the only slender consolation that
+some friend can give us, is to point where they were once to be
+found.  And lo! if we are not of that combustible race, who will
+rather beat their heads in spite, than wipe their brows with the
+curate, we look round and say, with the nauseated listlessness of
+the king of Israel, "All is vanity and vexation of spirit."
+
+I looked round with some such grave apophthegm in my mind when I
+discovered, for the first time, a venerable pile, to which the
+enclosure belonged.  An air of melancholy hung about it.  There was
+a languid stillness in the day, and a single crow, that perched on
+an old tree by the side of the gate, seemed to delight in the echo
+of its own croaking.
+
+I leaned on my gun and looked; but I had not breath enough to ask
+the curate a question.  I observed carving on the bark of some of
+the trees:  'twas indeed the only mark of human art about the place,
+except that some branches appeared to have been lopped, to give a
+view of the cascade, which was formed by a little rill at some
+distance.
+
+Just at that instant I saw pass between the trees a young lady with
+a book in her hand.  I stood upon a stone to observe her; but the
+curate sat him down on the grass, and leaning his back where I
+stood, told me, "That was the daughter of a neighbouring gentleman
+of the name of WALTON, whom he had seen walking there more than
+once.
+
+"Some time ago," he said, "one HARLEY lived there, a whimsical sort
+of man I am told, but I was not then in the cure; though, if I had a
+turn for those things, I might know a good deal of his history, for
+the greatest part of it is still in my possession."
+
+"His history!" said I.  "Nay, you may call it what you please," said
+the curate; for indeed it is no more a history than it is a sermon.
+The way I came by it was this:  some time ago, a grave, oddish kind
+of a man boarded at a farmer's in this parish:  the country people
+called him The Ghost; and he was known by the slouch in his gait,
+and the length of his stride.  I was but little acquainted with him,
+for he never frequented any of the clubs hereabouts.  Yet for all he
+used to walk a-nights, he was as gentle as a lamb at times; for I
+have seen him playing at teetotum with the children, on the great
+stone at the door of our churchyard.
+
+"Soon after I was made curate, he left the parish, and went nobody
+knows whither; and in his room was found a bundle of papers, which
+was brought to me by his landlord.  I began to read them, but I soon
+grew weary of the task; for, besides that the hand is intolerably
+bad, I could never find the author in one strain for two chapters
+together; and I don't believe there's a single syllogism from
+beginning to end."
+
+"I should be glad to see this medley," said I.  "You shall see it
+now," answered the curate, "for I always take it along with me a-
+shooting."  "How came it so torn?"  "'Tis excellent wadding," said
+the curate.--This was a plea of expediency I was not in a condition
+to answer; for I had actually in my pocket great part of an edition
+of one of the German Illustrissimi, for the very same purpose.  We
+exchanged books; and by that means (for the curate was a strenuous
+logician) we probably saved both.
+
+When I returned to town, I had leisure to peruse the acquisition I
+had made:  I found it a bundle of little episodes, put together
+without art, and of no importance on the whole, with something of
+nature, and little else in them.  I was a good deal affected with
+some very trifling passages in it; and had the name of Marmontel, or
+a Richardson, been on the title-page--'tis odds that I should have
+wept:  But
+
+One is ashamed to be pleased with the works of one knows not whom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI {16}--ON BASHFULNESS.--A CHARACTER.--HIS OPINION ON THAT
+SUBJECT
+
+
+
+There is some rust about every man at the beginning; though in some
+nations (among the French for instance) the ideas of the
+inhabitants, from climate, or what other cause you will, are so
+vivacious, so eternally on the wing, that they must, even in small
+societies, have a frequent collision; the rust therefore will wear
+off sooner:  but in Britain it often goes with a man to his grave;
+nay, he dares not even pen a hic jacet to speak out for him after
+his death.
+
+"Let them rub it off by travel," said the baronet's brother, who was
+a striking instance of excellent metal, shamefully rusted.  I had
+drawn my chair near his.  Let me paint the honest old man:  'tis but
+one passing sentence to preserve his image in my mind.
+
+He sat in his usual attitude, with his elbow rested on his knee, and
+his fingers pressed on his cheek.  His face was shaded by his hand;
+yet it was a face that might once have been well accounted handsome;
+its features were manly and striking, a dignity resided on his
+eyebrows, which were the largest I remember to have seen.  His
+person was tall and well-made; but the indolence of his nature had
+now inclined it to corpulency.
+
+His remarks were few, and made only to his familiar friends; but
+they were such as the world might have heard with veneration:  and
+his heart, uncorrupted by its ways, was ever warm in the cause of
+virtue and his friends.
+
+He is now forgotten and gone!  The last time I was at Silton Hall, I
+saw his chair stand in its corner by the fire-side; there was an
+additional cushion on it, and it was occupied by my young lady's
+favourite lap dog.  I drew near unperceived, and pinched its ears in
+the bitterness of my soul; the creature howled, and ran to its
+mistress.  She did not suspect the author of its misfortune, but she
+bewailed it in the most pathetic terms; and kissing its lips, laid
+it gently on her lap, and covered it with a cambric handkerchief.  I
+sat in my old friend's seat; I heard the roar of mirth and gaiety
+around me:  poor Ben Silton!  I gave thee a tear then:  accept of
+one cordial drop that falls to thy memory now.
+
+"They should wear it off by travel."--Why, it is true, said I, that
+will go far; but then it will often happen, that in the velocity of
+a modern tour, and amidst the materials through which it is commonly
+made, the friction is so violent, that not only the rust, but the
+metal too, is lost in the progress.
+
+"Give me leave to correct the expression of your metaphor," said Mr.
+Silton:  "that is not always rust which is acquired by the
+inactivity of the body on which it preys; such, perhaps, is the case
+with me, though indeed I was never cleared from my youth; but
+(taking it in its first stage) it is rather an encrustation, which
+nature has given for purposes of the greatest wisdom."
+
+"You are right," I returned; "and sometimes, like certain precious
+fossils, there may be hid under it gems of the purest brilliancy."
+
+"Nay, farther," continued Mr. Silton, "there are two distinct sorts
+of what we call bashfulness; this, the awkwardness of a booby, which
+a few steps into the world will convert into the pertness of a
+coxcomb; that, a consciousness, which the most delicate feelings
+produce, and the most extensive knowledge cannot always remove."
+
+From the incidents I have already related, I imagine it will be
+concluded that Harley was of the latter species of bashful animals;
+at least, if Mr. Silton's principle is just, it may be argued on
+this side; for the gradation of the first mentioned sort, it is
+certain, he never attained.  Some part of his external appearance
+was modelled from the company of those gentlemen, whom the antiquity
+of a family, now possessed of bare 250 pounds a year, entitled its
+representative to approach:  these indeed were not many; great part
+of the property in his neighbourhood being in the hands of
+merchants, who had got rich by their lawful calling abroad, and the
+sons of stewards, who had got rich by their lawful calling at home:
+persons so perfectly versed in the ceremonial of thousands, tens of
+thousands, and hundreds of thousands (whose degrees of precedency
+are plainly demonstrable from the first page of the Complete
+Accomptant, or Young Man's Best Pocket Companion) that a bow at
+church from them to such a man as Harley would have made the parson
+look back into his sermon for some precept of Christian humility.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII--OF WORLDLY INTERESTS
+
+
+
+There are certain interests which the world supposes every man to
+have, and which therefore are properly enough termed worldly; but
+the world is apt to make an erroneous estimate:  ignorant of the
+dispositions which constitute our happiness or misery, they bring to
+an undistinguished scale the means of the one, as connected with
+power, wealth, or grandeur, and of the other with their contraries.
+Philosophers and poets have often protested against this decision;
+but their arguments have been despised as declamatory, or ridiculed
+as romantic.
+
+There are never wanting to a young man some grave and prudent
+friends to set him right in this particular, if he need it; to watch
+his ideas as they arise, and point them to those objects which a
+wise man should never forget.
+
+Harley did not want for some monitors of this sort.  He was
+frequently told of men whose fortunes enabled them to command all
+the luxuries of life, whose fortunes were of their own acquirement:
+his envy was invited by a description of their happiness, and his
+emulation by a recital of the means which had procured it.
+
+Harley was apt to hear those lectures with indifference; nay,
+sometimes they got the better of his temper; and as the instances
+were not always amiable, provoked, on his part, some reflections,
+which I am persuaded his good-nature would else have avoided.
+
+Indeed, I have observed one ingredient, somewhat necessary in a
+man's composition towards happiness, which people of feeling would
+do well to acquire; a certain respect for the follies of mankind:
+for there are so many fools whom the opinion of the world entitles
+to regard, whom accident has placed in heights of which they are
+unworthy, that he who cannot restrain his contempt or indignation at
+the sight will be too often quarrelling with the disposal of things
+to relish that share which is allotted to himself.  I do not mean,
+however, to insinuate this to have been the case with Harley; on the
+contrary, if we might rely on his own testimony, the conceptions he
+had of pomp and grandeur served to endear the state which Providence
+had assigned him.
+
+He lost his father, the last surviving of his parents, as I have
+already related, when he was a boy.  The good man, from a fear of
+offending, as well as a regard to his son, had named him a variety
+of guardians; one consequence of which was, that they seldom met at
+all to consider the affairs of their ward; and when they did meet,
+their opinions were so opposite, that the only possible method of
+conciliation was the mediatory power of a dinner and a bottle, which
+commonly interrupted, not ended, the dispute; and after that
+interruption ceased, left the consulting parties in a condition not
+very proper for adjusting it.  His education therefore had been but
+indifferently attended to; and after being taken from a country
+school, at which he had been boarded, the young gentleman was
+suffered to be his own master in the subsequent branches of
+literature, with some assistance from the parson of the parish in
+languages and philosophy, and from the exciseman in arithmetic and
+book-keeping.  One of his guardians, indeed, who, in his youth, had
+been an inhabitant of the Temple, set him to read Coke upon
+Lyttelton:  a book which is very properly put into the hands of
+beginners in that science, as its simplicity is accommodated to
+their understandings, and its size to their inclination.  He
+profited but little by the perusal; but it was not without its use
+in the family:  for his maiden aunt applied it commonly to the
+laudable purpose of pressing her rebellious linens to the folds she
+had allotted them.
+
+There were particularly two ways of increasing his fortune, which
+might have occurred to people of less foresight than the counsellors
+we have mentioned.  One of these was, the prospect of his succeeding
+to an old lady, a distant relation, who was known to be possessed of
+a very large sum in the stocks:  but in this their hopes were
+disappointed; for the young man was so untoward in his disposition,
+that, notwithstanding the instructions he daily received, his visits
+rather tended to alienate than gain the good-will of his kinswoman.
+He sometimes looked grave when the old lady told the jokes of her
+youth; he often refused to eat when she pressed him, and was seldom
+or never provided with sugar-candy or liquorice when she was seized
+with a fit of coughing:  nay, he had once the rudeness to fall
+asleep while she was describing the composition and virtues of her
+favourite cholic-water.  In short, be accommodated himself so ill to
+her humour, that she died, and did not leave him a farthing.
+
+The other method pointed out to him was an endeavour to get a lease
+of some crown-lands, which lay contiguous to his little paternal
+estate.  This, it was imagined, might be easily procured, as the
+crown did not draw so much rent as Harley could afford to give, with
+very considerable profit to himself; and the then lessee had
+rendered himself so obnoxious to the ministry, by the disposal of
+his vote at an election, that he could not expect a renewal.  This,
+however, needed some interest with the great, which Harley or his
+father never possessed.
+
+His neighbour, Mr. Walton, having heard of this affair, generously
+offered his assistance to accomplish it.  He told him, that though
+he had long been a stranger to courtiers, yet he believed there were
+some of them who might pay regard to his recommendation; and that,
+if he thought it worth the while to take a London journey upon the
+business, he would furnish him with a letter of introduction to a
+baronet of his acquaintance, who had a great deal to say with the
+first lord of the treasury.
+
+When his friends heard of this offer, they pressed him with the
+utmost earnestness to accept of it.
+
+They did not fail to enumerate the many advantages which a certain
+degree of spirit and assurance gives a man who would make a figure
+in the world:  they repeated their instances of good fortune in
+others, ascribed them all to a happy forwardness of disposition; and
+made so copious a recital of the disadvantages which attend the
+opposite weakness, that a stranger, who had heard them, would have
+been led to imagine, that in the British code there was some
+disqualifying statute against any citizen who should be convicted
+of--modesty.
+
+Harley, though he had no great relish for the attempt, yet could not
+resist the torrent of motives that assaulted him; and as he needed
+but little preparation for his journey, a day, not very distant, was
+fixed for his departure.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII--THE MAN OF FEELING IN LOVE
+
+
+
+The day before that on which he set out, he went to take leave of
+Mr. Walton.--We would conceal nothing;--there was another person of
+the family to whom also the visit was intended, on whose account,
+perhaps, there were some tenderer feelings in the bosom of Harley
+than his gratitude for the friendly notice of that gentleman (though
+he was seldom deficient in that virtue) could inspire.  Mr. Walton
+had a daughter; and such a daughter! we will attempt some
+description of her by and by.
+
+Harley's notions of the ?a???, or beautiful, were not always to be
+defined, nor indeed such as the world would always assent to, though
+we could define them.  A blush, a phrase of affability to an
+inferior, a tear at a moving tale, were to him, like the Cestus of
+Cytherea, unequalled in conferring beauty.  For all these Miss
+Walton was remarkable; but as these, like the above-mentioned
+Cestus, are perhaps still more powerful when the wearer is possessed
+of souse degree of beauty, commonly so called, it happened, that,
+from this cause, they had more than usual power in the person of
+that young lady.
+
+She was now arrived at that period of life which takes, or is
+supposed to take, from the flippancy of girlhood those
+sprightlinesses with which some good-natured old maids oblige the
+world at three-score.  She had been ushered into life (as that word
+is used in the dialect of St. James's) at seventeen, her father
+being then in parliament, and living in London:  at seventeen,
+therefore, she had been a universal toast; her health, now she was
+four-and-twenty, was only drank by those who knew her face at least.
+Her complexion was mellowed into a paleness, which certainly took
+from her beauty; but agreed, at least Harley used to say so, with
+the pensive softness of her mind.  Her eyes were of that gentle
+hazel colour which is rather mild than piercing; and, except when
+they were lighted up by good-humour, which was frequently the case,
+were supposed by the fine gentlemen to want fire.  Her air and
+manner were elegant in the highest degree, and were as sure of
+commanding respect as their mistress was far from demanding it.  Her
+voice was inexpressibly soft; it was, according to that incomparable
+simile of Otway's,
+
+
+- "like the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains,
+When all his little flock's at feed before him."
+
+
+The effect it had upon Harley, himself used to paint ridiculously
+enough; and ascribed it to powers, which few believed, and nobody
+cared for.
+
+Her conversation was always cheerful, but rarely witty; and without
+the smallest affectation of learning, had as much sentiment in it as
+would have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles of female
+materialism, to account for.  Her beneficence was unbounded; indeed
+the natural tenderness of her heart might have been argued, by the
+frigidity of a casuist, as detracting from her virtue in this
+respect, for her humanity was a feeling, not a principle:  but minds
+like Harley's are not very apt to make this distinction, and
+generally give our virtue credit for all that benevolence which is
+instinctive in our nature.
+
+As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had
+frequent opportunities of seeing her.  He looked on her for some
+time merely with that respect and admiration which her appearance
+seemed to demand, and the opinion of others conferred upon her from
+this cause, perhaps, and from that extreme sensibility of which we
+have taken frequent notice, Harley was remarkably silent in her
+presence.  He heard her sentiments with peculiar attention,
+sometimes with looks very expressive of approbation; but seldom
+declared his opinion on the subject, much less made compliments to
+the lady on the justness of her remarks.
+
+From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took more
+particular notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the laws of
+precedency, were better entitled to it:  it was a mode of politeness
+she had peculiarly studied, to bring to the line of that equality,
+which is ever necessary for the ease of our guests, those whose
+sensibility had placed them below it.
+
+Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the
+world, yet was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on his
+part; on the contrary, the most delicate consciousness of propriety
+often kindled that blush which marred the performance of it:  this
+raised his esteem something above what the most sanguine
+descriptions of her goodness had been able to do; for certain it is,
+that notwithstanding the laboured definitions which very wise men
+have given us of the inherent beauty of virtue, we are always
+inclined to think her handsomest when she condescends to smile upon
+ourselves.
+
+It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love:
+in the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition; for there
+were certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a degree much
+above their common complexion.  In times not credulous of
+inspiration, we should account for this from some natural cause; but
+we do not mean to account for it at all; it were sufficient to
+describe its effects; but they were sometimes so ludicrous, as might
+derogate from the dignity of the sensations which produced them to
+describe.  They were treated indeed as such by most of Harley's
+sober friends, who often laughed very heartily at the awkward
+blunders of the real Harley, when the different faculties, which
+should have prevented them, were entirely occupied by the ideal.  In
+some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton did not fail to be
+introduced; and the picture which had been drawn amidst the
+surrounding objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out to be
+viewed through the medium of romantic imagination:  it was improved
+of course, and esteem was a word inexpressive of the feelings which
+it excited.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV--HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY--THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG
+
+
+
+He had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of his intended departure;
+but the good lady's affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep,
+and early as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set
+out, he found her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her
+caudle-cup in her hand.  She knew enough of physic to prescribe
+against going abroad of a morning with an empty stomach.  She gave
+her blessing with the draught; her instructions she had delivered
+the night before.  They consisted mostly of negatives, for London,
+in her idea, was so replete with temptations that it needed the
+whole armour of her friendly cautions to repel their attacks.
+
+Peter stood at the door.  We have mentioned this faithful fellow
+formerly:  Harley's father had taken him up an orphan, and saved him
+from being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in the
+service of him and of his son.  Harley shook him by the hand as he
+passed, smiling, as if he had said, "I will not weep."  He sprung
+hastily into the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the
+step.  "My dear master," said he, shaking the solitary lock that
+hung on either side of his head, "I have been told as how London is
+a sad place."  He was choked with the thought, and his benediction
+could not be heard: --but it shall be heard, honest Peter! where
+these tears will add to its energy.
+
+In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed
+breakfasting, but the fulness of his heart would not suffer him to
+eat a morsel.  He walked out on the road, and gaining a little
+height, stood gazing on that quarter he had left.  He looked for his
+wonted prospect, his fields, his woods, and his hills:  they were
+lost in the distant clouds!  He pencilled them on the clouds, and
+bade them farewell with a sigh!
+
+He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from his
+shoe, when he saw, at some distance, a beggar approaching him.  He
+had on a loose sort of coat, mended with different-coloured rags,
+amongst which the blue and the russet were the predominant.  He had
+a short knotty stick in his hand, and on the top of it was stuck a
+ram's horn; his knees (though he was no pilgrim) had worn the stuff
+of his breeches; he wore no shoes, and his stockings had entirely
+lost that part of them which should have covered his feet and
+ankles; in his face, however, was the plump appearance of good
+humour; he walked a good round pace, and a crook-legged dog trotted
+at his heels.
+
+"Our delicacies," said Harley to himself, "are fantastic; they are
+not in nature! that beggar walks over the sharpest of these stones
+barefooted, whilst I have lost the most delightful dream in the
+world, from the smallest of them happening to get into my shoe."
+The beggar had by this time come up, and, pulling off a piece of
+hat, asked charity of Harley; the dog began to beg too: --it was
+impossible to resist both; and, in truth, the want of shoes and
+stockings had made both unnecessary, for Harley had destined
+sixpence for him before.  The beggar, on receiving it, poured forth
+blessings without number; and, with a sort of smile on his
+countenance, said to Harley "that if he wanted to have his fortune
+told"--Harley turned his eye briskly on the beggar:  it was an
+unpromising look for the subject of a prediction, and silenced the
+prophet immediately.  "I would much rather learn," said Harley,
+"what it is in your power to tell me:  your trade must be an
+entertaining one; sit down on this stone, and let me know something
+of your profession; I have often thought of turning fortune-teller
+for a week or two myself."
+
+"Master," replied the beggar, "I like your frankness much; God knows
+I had the humour of plain-dealing in me from a child, but there is
+no doing with it in this world; we must live as we can, and lying
+is, as you call it, my profession, but I was in some sort forced to
+the trade, for I dealt once in telling truth.
+
+"I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me live:  I
+never laid by indeed:  for I was reckoned a piece of a wag, and your
+wags, I take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley."
+
+"So," said Harley, "you seem to know me."
+
+"Ay, there are few folks in the country that I don't know something
+of:  how should I tell fortunes else?"
+
+"True; but to go on with your story:  you were a labourer, you say,
+and a wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade,
+but your humour you preserve to be of use to you in your new."
+
+"What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean on't:  but I was
+brought to my idleness by degrees; first I could not work, and it
+went against my stomach to work ever after.  I was seized with a
+jail fever at the time of the assizes being in the county where I
+lived; for I was always curious to get acquainted with the felons,
+because they are commonly fellows of much mirth and little thought,
+qualities I had ever an esteem for.  In the height of this fever,
+Mr. Harley, the house where I lay took fire, and burnt to the
+ground; I was carried out in that condition, and lay all the rest of
+my illness in a barn.  I got the better of my disease, however, but
+I was so weak that I spit blood whenever I attempted to work.  I had
+no relation living that I knew of, and I never kept a friend above a
+week, when I was able to joke; I seldom remained above six months in
+a parish, so that I might have died before I had found a settlement
+in any:  thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a sorry trade I
+found it, Mr. Harley.  I told all my misfortunes truly, but they
+were seldom believed; and the few who gave me a halfpenny as they
+passed did it with a shake of the head, and an injunction not to
+trouble them with a long story.  In short, I found that people don't
+care to give alms without some security for their money; a wooden
+leg or a withered arm is a sort of draught upon heaven for those who
+choose to have their money placed to account there; so I changed my
+plan, and, instead of telling my own misfortunes, began to prophesy
+happiness to others.  This I found by much the better way:  folks
+will always listen when the tale is their own, and of many who say
+they do not believe in fortune-telling, I have known few on whom it
+had not a very sensible effect.  I pick up the names of their
+acquaintance; amours and little squabbles are easily gleaned among
+servants and neighbours; and indeed people themselves are the best
+intelligencers in the world for our purpose:  they dare not puzzle
+us for their own sakes, for every one is anxious to hear what they
+wish to believe, and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they
+have done, are generally more serious than their hearers are apt to
+imagine.  With a tolerable good memory, and some share of cunning,
+with the help of walking a-nights over heaths and church-yards, with
+this, and showing the tricks of that there dog, whom I stole from
+the serjeant of a marching regiment (and by the way, he can steal
+too upon occasion), I make shift to pick up a livelihood.  My trade,
+indeed, is none of the honestest; yet people are not much cheated
+neither who give a few half-pence for a prospect of happiness, which
+I have heard some persons say is all a man can arrive at in this
+world.  But I must bid you good day, sir, for I have three miles to
+walk before noon, to inform some boarding-school young ladies
+whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm or captains in
+the army:  a question which I promised to answer them by that time."
+
+Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade him
+consider on whom he was going to bestow it.  Virtue held back his
+arm; but a milder form, a younger sister of Virtue's, not so severe
+as Virtue, nor so serious as Pity, smiled upon him; his fingers lost
+their compression, nor did Virtue offer to catch the money as it
+fell.  It had no sooner reached the ground than the watchful cur (a
+trick he had been taught) snapped it up, and, contrary to the most
+approved method of stewardship, delivered it immediately into the
+hands of his master.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX--HE MAKES A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE BARONET'S.  THE
+LAUDABLE AMBITION OF A YOUNG MAN TO BE THOUGHT SOMETHING BY THE
+WORLD
+
+
+
+We have related, in a former chapter, the little success of his
+first visit to the great man, for whom he had the introductory
+letter from Mr. Walton.  To people of equal sensibility, the
+influence of those trifles we mentioned on his deportment will not
+appear surprising, but to his friends in the country they could not
+be stated, nor would they have allowed them any place in the
+account.  In some of their letters, therefore, which he received
+soon after, they expressed their surprise at his not having been
+more urgent in his application, and again recommended the blushless
+assiduity of successful merit.
+
+He resolved to make another attempt at the baronet's; fortified with
+higher notions of his own dignity, and with less apprehension of
+repulse.  In his way to Grosvenor Square he began to ruminate on the
+folly of mankind, who affixed those ideas of superiority to riches,
+which reduced the minds of men, by nature equal with the more
+fortunate, to that sort of servility which he felt in his own.  By
+the time he had reached the Square, and was walking along the
+pavement which led to the baronet's, he had brought his reasoning on
+the subject to such a point, that the conclusion, by every rule of
+logic, should have led him to a thorough indifference in his
+approaches to a fellow-mortal, whether that fellow-mortal was
+possessed of six or six thousand pounds a year.  It is probable,
+however, that the premises had been improperly formed:  for it is
+certain, that when he approached the great man's door he felt his
+heart agitated by an unusual pulsation.
+
+He had almost reached it, when he observed among gentleman coming
+out, dressed in a white frock and a red laced waistcoat, with a
+small switch in his hand, which he seemed to manage with a
+particular good grace.  As he passed him on the steps, the stranger
+very politely made him a bow, which Harley returned, though he could
+not remember ever having seen him before.  He asked Harley, in the
+same civil manner, if he was going to wait on his friend the
+baronet.  "For I was just calling," said he, "and am sorry to find
+that he is gone for some days into the country."
+
+Harley thanked him for his information, and was turning from the
+door, when the other observed that it would be proper to leave his
+name, and very obligingly knocked for that purpose.
+
+"Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant to have waited on your master."
+
+"Your name, if you please, sir?"
+
+"Harley."
+
+"You'll remember, Tom, Harley."
+
+The door was shut.  "Since we are here," said he, "we shall not lose
+our walk if we add a little to it by a turn or two in Hyde Park."
+
+He accompanied this proposal with a second bow, and Harley accepted
+of it by another in return.
+
+The conversation, as they walked, was brilliant on the side of his
+companion.  The playhouse, the opera, with every occurrence in high
+life, he seemed perfectly master of; and talked of some reigning
+beauties of quality in a manner the most feeling in the world.
+Harley admired the happiness of his vivacity, and, opposite as it
+was to the reserve of his own nature, began to be much pleased with
+its effects.
+
+Though I am not of opinion with some wise men, that the existence of
+objects depends on idea, yet I am convinced that their appearance is
+not a little influenced by it.  The optics of some minds are in so
+unlucky a perspective as to throw a certain shade on every picture
+that is presented to them, while those of others (of which number
+was Harley), like the mirrors of the ladies, have a wonderful effect
+in bettering their complexions.  Through such a medium perhaps he
+was looking on his present companion.
+
+When they had finished their walk, and were returning by the corner
+of the Park, they observed a board hung out of a window signifying,
+"An excellent ORDINARY on Saturdays and Sundays."  It happened to be
+Saturday, and the table was covered for the purpose.
+
+"What if we should go in and dine here, if you happen not to be
+engaged, sir?" said the young gentleman.  "It is not impossible but
+we shall meet with some original or other; it is a sort of humour I
+like hugely."
+
+Harley made no objection, and the stranger showed him the way into
+the parlour.
+
+He was placed, by the courtesy of his introductor, in an arm-chair
+that stood at one side of the fire.  Over against him was seated a
+man of a grave considering aspect, with that look of sober prudence
+which indicates what is commonly called a warm man.  He wore a
+pretty large wig, which had once been white, but was now of a
+brownish yellow; his coat was one of those modest-coloured drabs
+which mock the injuries of dust and dirt; two jack-boots concealed,
+in part, the well-mended knees of an old pair of buckskin breeches;
+while the spotted handkerchief round his neck preserved at once its
+owner from catching cold and his neck-cloth from being dirtied.
+Next him sat another man, with a tankard in his hand and a quid of
+tobacco in his cheek, whose eye was rather more vivacious, and whose
+dress was something smarter.
+
+The first-mentioned gentleman took notice that the room had been so
+lately washed, as not to have had time to dry, and remarked that wet
+lodging was unwholesome for man or beast.  He looked round at the
+same time for a poker to stir the fire with, which, he at last
+observed to the company, the people of the house had removed in
+order to save their coals.  This difficulty, however, he overcame by
+the help of Harley's stick, saying, "that as they should, no doubt,
+pay for their fire in some shape or other, he saw no reason why they
+should not have the use of it while they sat."
+
+The door was now opened for the admission of dinner.  "I don't know
+how it is with you, gentlemen," said Harley's new acquaintance, "but
+I am afraid I shall not be able to get down a morsel at this horrid
+mechanical hour of dining."  He sat down, however, and did not show
+any want of appetite by his eating.  He took upon him the carving of
+the meat, and criticised on the goodness of the pudding.
+
+When the table-cloth was removed, he proposed calling for some
+punch, which was readily agreed to; he seemed at first inclined to
+make it himself, but afterwards changed his mind, and left that
+province to the waiter, telling him to have it pure West Indian, or
+he could not taste a drop of it.
+
+When the punch was brought he undertook to fill the glasses and call
+the toasts.  "The King."--The toast naturally produced politics.  It
+is the privilege of Englishmen to drink the king's health, and to
+talk of his conduct.  The man who sat opposite to Harley (and who by
+this time, partly from himself, and partly from his acquaintance on
+his left hand, was discovered to be a grazier) observed, "That it
+was a shame for so many pensioners to be allowed to take the bread
+out of the mouth of the poor."
+
+"Ay, and provisions," said his friend, "were never so dear in the
+memory of man; I wish the king and his counsellors would look to
+that."
+
+"As for the matter of provisions, neighbour Wrightson," he replied,
+"I am sure the prices of cattle--"
+
+A dispute would have probably ensued, but it was prevented by the
+spruce toastmaster, who gave a sentiment, and turning to the two
+politicians, "Pray, gentlemen," said he, "let us have done with
+these musty politics:  I would always leave them to the beer-suckers
+in Butcher Row.  Come, let us have something of the fine arts.  That
+was a damn'd hard match between Joe the Nailor and Tim Bucket.  The
+knowing ones were cursedly taken in there!  I lost a cool hundred
+myself, faith."
+
+At mention of the cool hundred, the grazier threw his eyes aslant,
+with a mingled look of doubt and surprise; while the man at his
+elbow looked arch, and gave a short emphatical sort of cough.
+
+Both seemed to be silenced, however, by this intelligence; and while
+the remainder of the punch lasted the conversation was wholly
+engrossed by the gentleman with the fine waistcoat, who told a great
+many "immense comical stories" and "confounded smart things," as he
+termed them, acted and spoken by lords, ladies, and young bucks of
+quality, of his acquaintance.  At last, the grazier, pulling out a
+watch, of a very unusual size, and telling the hour, said that he
+had an appointment.
+
+"Is it so late?" said the young gentleman; "then I am afraid I have
+missed an appointment already; but the truth is, I am cursedly given
+to missing of appointments."
+
+When the grazier and he were gone, Harley turned to the remaining
+personage, and asked him if he knew that young gentleman.  "A
+gentleman!" said he; "ay, he is one of your gentlemen at the top of
+an affidavit.  I knew him, some years ago, in the quality of a
+footman; and I believe he had some times the honour to be a pimp.
+At last, some of the great folks, to whom he had been serviceable in
+both capacities, had him made a gauger; in which station he remains,
+and has the assurance to pretend an acquaintance with men of
+quality.  The impudent dog! with a few shillings in his pocket, he
+will talk you three times as much as my friend Mundy there, who is
+worth nine thousand if he's worth a farthing.  But I know the
+rascal, and despise him, as he deserves."
+
+Harley began to despise him too, and to conceive some indignation at
+having sat with patience to hear such a fellow speak nonsense.  But
+he corrected himself by reflecting that he was perhaps as well
+entertained, and instructed too, by this same modest gauger, as he
+should have been by such a man as he had thought proper to
+personate.  And surely the fault may more properly be imputed to
+that rank where the futility is real than where it is feigned:  to
+that rank whose opportunities for nobler accomplishments have only
+served to rear a fabric of folly which the untutored hand of
+affectation, even among the meanest of mankind, can imitate with
+success.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX--HE VISITS BEDLAM.--THE DISTRESSES OF A DAUGHTER
+
+
+
+Or those things called Sights in London, which every stranger is
+supposed desirous to see, Bedlam is one.  To that place, therefore,
+an acquaintance of Harley's, after having accompanied him to several
+other shows, proposed a visit.  Harley objected to it, "because,"
+said he, "I think it an inhuman practice to expose the greatest
+misery with which our nature is afflicted to every idle visitant who
+can afford a trifling perquisite to the keeper; especially as it is
+a distress which the humane must see, with the painful reflection,
+that it is not in their power to alleviate it."  He was overpowered,
+however, by the solicitations of his friend and the other persons of
+the party (amongst whom were several ladies); and they went in a
+body to Moorfields.
+
+Their conductor led them first to the dismal mansions of those who
+are in the most horrid state of incurable madness.  The clanking of
+chains, the wildness of their cries, and the imprecations which some
+of them uttered, formed a scene inexpressibly shocking.  Harley and
+his companions, especially the female part of them, begged their
+guide to return; he seemed surprised at their uneasiness, and was
+with difficulty prevailed on to leave that part of the house without
+showing them some others:  who, as he expressed it in the phrase of
+those that keep wild beasts for show, were much better worth seeing
+than any they had passed, being ten times more fierce and
+unmanageable.
+
+He led them next to that quarter where those reside who, as they are
+not dangerous to themselves or others, enjoy a certain degree of
+freedom, according to the state of their distemper.
+
+Harley had fallen behind his companions, looking at a man who was
+making pendulums with bits of thread and little balls of clay.  He
+had delineated a segment of a circle on the wall with chalk, and
+marked their different vibrations by intersecting it with cross
+lines.  A decent-looking man came up, and smiling at the maniac,
+turned to Harley, and told him that gentleman had once been a very
+celebrated mathematician.  "He fell a sacrifice," said he, "to the
+theory of comets; for having, with infinite labour, formed a table
+on the conjectures of Sir Isaac Newton, he was disappointed in the
+return of one of those luminaries, and was very soon after obliged
+to be placed here by his friends.  If you please to follow me, sir,"
+continued the stranger, "I believe I shall be able to give you a
+more satisfactory account of the unfortunate people you see here
+than the man who attends your companions."
+
+Harley bowed, and accepted his offer.
+
+The next person they came up to had scrawled a variety of figures on
+a piece of slate.  Harley had the curiosity to take a nearer view of
+them.  They consisted of different columns, on the top of which were
+marked South-sea annuities, India-stock, and Three per cent.
+annuities consol.  "This," said Harley's instructor, "was a
+gentleman well known in Change Alley.  He was once worth fifty
+thousand pounds, and had actually agreed for the purchase of an
+estate in the West, in order to realise his money; but he quarrelled
+with the proprietor about the repairs of the garden wall, and so
+returned to town, to follow his old trade of stock-jobbing a little
+longer; when an unlucky fluctuation of stock, in which he was
+engaged to an immense extent, reduced him at once to poverty and to
+madness.  Poor wretch! he told me t'other day that against the next
+payment of differences he should be some hundreds above a plum."
+
+"It is a spondee, and I will maintain it," interrupted a voice on
+his left hand.  This assertion was followed by a very rapid recital
+of some verses from Homer.  "That figure," said the gentleman,
+"whose clothes are so bedaubed with snuff, was a schoolmaster of
+some reputation:  he came hither to be resolved of some doubts he
+entertained concerning the genuine pronunciation of the Greek
+vowels.  In his highest fits, he makes frequent mention of one Mr.
+Bentley.
+
+"But delusive ideas, sir, are the motives of the greatest part of
+mankind, and a heated imagination the power by which their actions
+are incited:  the world, in the eye of a philosopher, may be said to
+be a large madhouse."  "It is true," answered Harley, "the passions
+of men are temporary madnesses; and sometimes very fatal in their
+effects.
+
+
+From Macedonia's madman to the Swede."
+
+
+"It was, indeed," said the stranger, "a very mad thing in Charles to
+think of adding so vast a country as Russia to his dominions:  that
+would have been fatal indeed; the balance of the North would then
+have been lost; but the Sultan and I would never have allowed it."--
+"Sir!" said Harley, with no small surprise on his countenance.--
+"Why, yes," answered the other, "the Sultan and I; do you know me?
+I am the Chan of Tartary."
+
+Harley was a good deal struck by this discovery; he had prudence
+enough, however, to conceal his amazement, and bowing as low to the
+monarch as his dignity required, left him immediately, and joined
+his companions.
+
+He found them in a quarter of the house set apart for the insane of
+the other sex, several of whom had gathered about the female
+visitors, and were examining, with rather more accuracy than might
+have been expected, the particulars of their dress.
+
+Separate from the rest stood one whose appearance had something of
+superior dignity.  Her face, though pale and wasted, was less
+squalid than those of the others, and showed a dejection of that
+decent kind, which moves our pity unmixed with horror:  upon her,
+therefore, the eyes of all were immediately turned.  The keeper who
+accompanied them observed it:  "This," said he, "is a young lady who
+was born to ride in her coach and six.  She was beloved, if the
+story I have heard is true, by a young gentleman, her equal in
+birth, though by no means her match in fortune:  but love, they say,
+is blind, and so she fancied him as much as he did her.  Her father,
+it seems, would not hear of their marriage, and threatened to turn
+her out of doors if ever she saw him again.  Upon this the young
+gentleman took a voyage to the West Indies, in hopes of bettering
+his fortune, and obtaining his mistress; but he was scarce landed,
+when he was seized with one of the fevers which are common in those
+islands, and died in a few days, lamented by every one that knew
+him.  This news soon reached his mistress, who was at the same time
+pressed by her father to marry a rich miserly fellow, who was old
+enough to be her grandfather.  The death of her lover had no effect
+on her inhuman parent:  he was only the more earnest for her
+marriage with the man he had provided for her; and what between her
+despair at the death of the one, and her aversion to the other, the
+poor young lady was reduced to the condition you see her in.  But
+God would not prosper such cruelty; her father's affairs soon after
+went to wreck, and he died almost a beggar."
+
+Though this story was told in very plain language, it had
+particularly attracted Harley's notice; he had given it the tribute
+of some tears.  The unfortunate young lady had till now seemed
+entranced in thought, with her eyes fixed on a little garnet ring
+she wore on her finger; she turned them now upon Harley.  "My Billy
+is no more!" said she; "do you weep for my Billy?  Blessings on your
+tears!  I would weep too, but my brain is dry; and it burns, it
+burns, it burns!"--She drew nearer to Harley.--"Be comforted, young
+lady," said he, "your Billy is in heaven."--"Is he, indeed? and
+shall we meet again? and shall that frightful man (pointing to the
+keeper) not be there!--Alas!  I am grown naughty of late; I have
+almost forgotten to think of heaven:  yet I pray sometimes; when I
+can, I pray; and sometimes I sing; when I am saddest, I sing: --You
+shall hear me--hush!
+
+
+"Light be the earth on Billy's breast,
+And green the sod that wraps his grave."
+
+
+There was a plaintive wildness in the air not to be withstood; and,
+except the keeper's, there was not an unmoistened eye around her.
+
+"Do you weep again?" said she.  "I would not have you weep:  you are
+like my Billy; you are, believe me; just so he looked when he gave
+me this ring; poor Billy! 'twas the last time ever we met! -
+
+"'Twas when the seas were roaring--I love you for resembling my
+Billy; but I shall never love any man like him."--She stretched out
+her hand to Harley; he pressed it between both of his, and bathed it
+with his tears.--"Nay, that is Billy's ring," said she, "you cannot
+have it, indeed; but here is another, look here, which I plated to-
+day of some gold-thread from this bit of stuff; will you keep it for
+my sake?  I am a strange girl; but my heart is harmless:  my poor
+heart; it will burst some day; feel how it beats!"  She pressed his
+hand to her bosom, then holding her head in the attitude of
+listening--"Hark! one, two, three! be quiet, thou little trembler;
+my Billy is cold!--but I had forgotten the ring."--She put it on his
+finger.  "Farewell!  I must leave you now."--She would have
+withdrawn her hand; Harley held it to his lips.--"I dare not stay
+longer; my head throbs sadly:  farewell!"--She walked with a hurried
+step to a little apartment at some distance.  Harley stood fixed in
+astonishment and pity; his friend gave money to the keeper.--Harley
+looked on his ring.--He put a couple of guineas into the man's hand:
+"Be kind to that unfortunate."--He burst into tears, and left them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI--THE MISANTHROPE
+
+
+
+The friend who had conducted him to Moorfields called upon him again
+the next evening.  After some talk on the adventures of the
+preceding day:  "I carried you yesterday," said he to Harley, "to
+visit the mad; let me introduce you to-night, at supper, to one of
+the wise:  but you must not look for anything of the Socratic
+pleasantry about him; on the contrary, I warn you to expect the
+spirit of a Diogenes.  That you may be a little prepared for his
+extraordinary manner, I will let you into some particulars of his
+history.
+
+"He is the elder of the two sons of a gentleman of considerable
+estate in the country.  Their father died when they were young:
+both were remarkable at school for quickness of parts and extent of
+genius; this had been bred to no profession, because his father's
+fortune, which descended to him, was thought sufficient to set him
+above it; the other was put apprentice to an eminent attorney.  In
+this the expectations of his friends were more consulted than his
+own inclination; for both his brother and he had feelings of that
+warm kind that could ill brook a study so dry as the law, especially
+in that department of it which was allotted to him.  But the
+difference of their tempers made the characteristical distinction
+between them.  The younger, from the gentleness of his nature, bore
+with patience a situation entirely discordant to his genius and
+disposition.  At times, indeed, his pride would suggest of how
+little importance those talents were which the partiality of his
+friends had often extolled:  they were now incumbrances in a walk of
+life where the dull and the ignorant passed him at every turn; his
+fancy and his feeling were invincible obstacles to eminence in a
+situation where his fancy had no room for exertion, and his feeling
+experienced perpetual disgust.  But these murmurings he never
+suffered to be heard; and that he might not offend the prudence of
+those who had been concerned in the choice of his profession, he
+continued to labour in it several years, till, by the death of a
+relation, he succeeded to an estate of a little better than 100
+pounds a year, with which, and the small patrimony left him, he
+retired into the country, and made a love-match with a young lady of
+a similar temper to his own, with whom the sagacious world pitied
+him for finding happiness.
+
+"But his elder brother, whom you are to see at supper, if you will
+do us the favour of your company, was naturally impetuous, decisive,
+and overbearing.  He entered into life with those ardent
+expectations by which young men are commonly deluded:  in his
+friendships, warm to excess; and equally violent in his dislikes.
+He was on the brink of marriage with a young lady, when one of those
+friends, for whose honour he would have pawned his life, made an
+elopement with that very goddess, and left him besides deeply
+engaged for sums which that good friend's extravagance had
+squandered.
+
+"The dreams he had formerly enjoyed were now changed for ideas of a
+very different nature.  He abjured all confidence in anything of
+human form; sold his lands, which still produced him a very large
+reversion, came to town, and immured himself, with a woman who had
+been his nurse, in little better than a garret; and has ever since
+applied his talents to the vilifying of his species.  In one thing I
+must take the liberty to instruct you; however different your
+sentiments may be (and different they must be), you will suffer him
+to go on without contradiction; otherwise, he will be silent
+immediately, and we shall not get a word from him all the night
+after."  Harley promised to remember this injunction, and accepted
+the invitation of his friend.
+
+When they arrived at the house, they were informed that the
+gentleman was come, and had been shown into the parlour.  They found
+him sitting with a daughter of his friend's, about three years old,
+on his knee, whom he was teaching the alphabet from a horn book:  at
+a little distance stood a sister of hers, some years older.  "Get
+you away, miss," said he to this last; "you are a pert gossip, and I
+will have nothing to do with you."--"Nay," answered she, "Nancy is
+your favourite; you are quite in love with Nancy."--"Take away that
+girl," said he to her father, whom he now observed to have entered
+the room; "she has woman about her already."  The children were
+accordingly dismissed.
+
+Betwixt that and supper-time he did not utter a syllable.  When
+supper came, he quarrelled with every dish at table, but eat of them
+all; only exempting from his censures a salad, "which you have not
+spoiled," said he, "because you have not attempted to cook it."
+
+When the wine was set upon the table, he took from his pocket a
+particular smoking apparatus, and filled his pipe, without taking
+any more notice of Harley, or his friend, than if no such persons
+had been in the room.
+
+Harley could not help stealing a look of surprise at him; but his
+friend, who knew his humour, returned it by annihilating his
+presence in the like manner, and, leaving him to his own
+meditations, addressed himself entirely to Harley.
+
+In their discourse some mention happened to be made of an amiable
+character, and the words HONOUR and POLITENESS were applied to it.
+Upon this, the gentleman, laying down his pipe, and changing the
+tone of his countenance, from an ironical grin to something more
+intently contemptuous:  "Honour," said he:  "Honour and Politeness!
+this is the coin of the world, and passes current with the fools of
+it.  You have substituted the shadow Honour, instead of the
+substance Virtue; and have banished the reality of friendship for
+the fictitious semblance which you have termed Politeness:
+politeness, which consists in a certain ceremonious jargon, more
+ridiculous to the ear of reason than the voice of a puppet.  You
+have invented sounds, which you worship, though they tyrannize over
+your peace; and are surrounded with empty forms, which take from the
+honest emotions of joy, and add to the poignancy of misfortune."
+"Sir!" said Harley--his friend winked to him, to remind him of the
+caution he had received.  He was silenced by the thought.  The
+philosopher turned his eye upon him:  he examined him from top to
+toe, with a sort of triumphant contempt; Harley's coat happened to
+be a new one; the other's was as shabby as could possibly be
+supposed to be on the back of a gentleman:  there was much
+significance in his look with regard to this coat; it spoke of the
+sleekness of folly and the threadbareness of wisdom.
+
+"Truth," continued he, "the most amiable, as well as the most
+natural of virtues, you are at pains to eradicate.  Your very
+nurseries are seminaries of falsehood; and what is called Fashion in
+manhood completes the system of avowed insincerity.  Mankind, in the
+gross, is a gaping monster, that loves to be deceived, and has
+seldom been disappointed:  nor is their vanity less fallacious to
+your philosophers, who adopt modes of truth to follow them through
+the paths of error, and defend paradoxes merely to be singular in
+defending them.  These are they whom ye term Ingenious; 'tis a
+phrase of commendation I detest:  it implies an attempt to impose on
+my judgment, by flattering my imagination; yet these are they whose
+works are read by the old with delight, which the young are taught
+to look upon as the codes of knowledge and philosophy.
+
+"Indeed, the education of your youth is every way preposterous; you
+waste at school years in improving talents, without having ever
+spent an hour in discovering them; one promiscuous line of
+instruction is followed, without regard to genius, capacity, or
+probable situation in the commonwealth.  From this bear-garden of
+the pedagogue, a raw, unprincipled boy is turned loose upon the
+world to travel; without any ideas but those of improving his dress
+at Paris, or starting into taste by gazing on some paintings at
+Rome.  Ask him of the manners of the people, and he will tell you
+that the skirt is worn much shorter in France, and that everybody
+eats macaroni in Italy.  When he returns home, he buys a seat in
+parliament, and studies the constitution at Arthur's.
+
+"Nor are your females trained to any more useful purpose:  they are
+taught, by the very rewards which their nurses propose for good
+behaviour, by the first thing like a jest which they hear from every
+male visitor of the family, that a young woman is a creature to be
+married; and when they are grown somewhat older, are instructed that
+it is the purpose of marriage to have the enjoyment of pin-money,
+and the expectation of a jointure."
+
+"These, {61} indeed, are the effects of luxury, which is, perhaps,
+inseparable from a certain degree of power and grandeur in a nation.
+But it is not simply of the progress of luxury that we have to
+complain:  did its votaries keep in their own sphere of thoughtless
+dissipation, we might despise them without emotion; but the
+frivolous pursuits of pleasure are mingled with the most important
+concerns of the state; and public enterprise shall sleep till he who
+should guide its operation has decided his bets at Newmarket, or
+fulfilled his engagement with a favourite mistress in the country.
+We want some man of acknowledged eminence to point our counsels with
+that firmness which the counsels of a great people require.  We have
+hundreds of ministers, who press forward into office without having
+ever learned that art which is necessary for every business:  the
+art of thinking; and mistake the petulance, which could give
+inspiration to smart sarcasms on an obnoxious measure in a popular
+assembly, for the ability which is to balance the interest of
+kingdoms, and investigate the latent sources of national
+superiority.  With the administration of such men the people can
+never be satisfied; for besides that their confidence is gained only
+by the view of superior talents, there needs that depth of
+knowledge, which is not only acquainted with the just extent of
+power, but can also trace its connection with the expedient, to
+preserve its possessors from the contempt which attends
+irresolution, or the resentment which follows temerity."
+
+* * * * *
+
+[Here a considerable part is wanting.]
+
+* * "In short, man is an animal equally selfish and vain.  Vanity,
+indeed, is but a modification of selfishness.  From the latter,
+there are some who pretend to be free:  they are generally such as
+declaim against the lust of wealth and power, because they have
+never been able to attain any high degree in either:  they boast of
+generosity and feeling.  They tell us (perhaps they tell us in
+rhyme) that the sensations of an honest heart, of a mind universally
+benevolent, make up the quiet bliss which they enjoy; but they will
+not, by this, be exempted from the charge of selfishness.  Whence
+the luxurious happiness they describe in their little family-
+circles?  Whence the pleasure which they feel, when they trim their
+evening fires, and listen to the howl of winter's wind?  Whence, but
+from the secret reflection of what houseless wretches feel from it?
+Or do you administer comfort in affliction--the motive is at hand; I
+have had it preached to me in nineteen out of twenty of your
+consolatory discourses--the comparative littleness of our own
+misfortunes.
+
+"With vanity your best virtues are grossly tainted:  your
+benevolence, which ye deduce immediately from the natural impulse of
+the heart, squints to it for its reward.  There are some, indeed,
+who tell us of the satisfaction which flows from a secret
+consciousness of good actions:  this secret satisfaction is truly
+excellent--when we have some friend to whom we may discover its
+excellence."
+
+He now paused a moment to re-light his pipe, when a clock, that
+stood at his back, struck eleven; he started up at the sound, took
+his hat and his cane, and nodding good night with his head, walked
+out of the room.  The gentleman of the house called a servant to
+bring the stranger's surtout.  "What sort of a night is it, fellow?"
+said he.--"It rains, sir," answered the servant, "with an easterly
+wind."--"Easterly for ever!"  He made no other reply; but shrugging
+up his shoulders till they almost touched his ears, wrapped himself
+tight in his great coat, and disappeared.
+
+"This is a strange creature," said his friend to Harley.  "I cannot
+say," answered he, "that his remarks are of the pleasant kind:  it
+is curious to observe how the nature of truth may be changed by the
+garb it wears; softened to the admonition of friendship, or soured
+into the severity of reproof:  yet this severity may be useful to
+some tempers; it somewhat resembles a file:  disagreeable in its
+operation, but hard metals may be the brighter for it."
+
+* * *
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV--HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY
+
+
+
+The company at the baronet's removed to the playhouse accordingly,
+and Harley took his usual route into the Park.  He observed, as he
+entered, a fresh-looking elderly gentleman in conversation with a
+beggar, who, leaning on his crutch, was recounting the hardships he
+had undergone, and explaining the wretchedness of his present
+condition.  This was a very interesting dialogue to Harley; he was
+rude enough, therefore, to slacken his pace as he approached, and at
+last to make a full stop at the gentleman's back, who was just then
+expressing his compassion for the beggar, and regretting that he had
+not a farthing of change about him.  At saying this, he looked
+piteously on the fellow:  there was something in his physiognomy
+which caught Harley's notice:  indeed, physiognomy was one of
+Harley's foibles, for which he had been often rebuked by his aunt in
+the country, who used to tell him that when he was come to her years
+and experience he would know that all's not gold that glitters:  and
+it must be owned that his aunt was a very sensible, harsh-looking
+maiden lady of threescore and upwards.  But he was too apt to forget
+this caution and now, it seems, it had not occurred to him.
+Stepping up, therefore, to the gentleman, who was lamenting the want
+of silver, "Your intentions, sir," said he, "are so good, that I
+cannot help lending you my assistance to carry them into execution,"
+and gave the beggar a shilling.  The other returned a suitable
+compliment, and extolled the benevolence of Harley.  They kept
+walking together, and benevolence grew the topic of discourse.
+
+The stranger was fluent on the subject.  "There is no use of money,"
+said he, "equal to that of beneficence.  With the profuse, it is
+lost; and even with those who lay it out according to the prudence
+of the world, the objects acquired by it pall on the sense, and have
+scarce become our own till they lose their value with the power of
+pleasing; but here the enjoyment grows on reflection, and our money
+is most truly ours when it ceases being in our possession.
+
+"Yet I agree in some measure," answered Harley, "with those who
+think that charity to our common beggars is often misplaced; there
+are objects less obtrusive whose title is a better one."
+
+"We cannot easily distinguish," said the stranger; "and even of the
+worthless, are there not many whose imprudence, or whose vice, may
+have been one dreadful consequence of misfortune?"
+
+Harley looked again in his face, and blessed himself for his skill
+in physiognomy.
+
+By this time they had reached the end of the walk, the old gentleman
+leaning on the rails to take breath, and in the meantime they were
+joined by a younger man, whose figure was much above the appearance
+of his dress, which was poor and shabby.  Harley's former companion
+addressed him as an acquaintance, and they turned on the walk
+together.
+
+The elder of the strangers complained of the closeness of the
+evening, and asked the other if he would go with him into a house
+hard by, and take one draught of excellent cyder.  "The man who
+keeps this house," said he to Harley, "was once a servant of mine.
+I could not think of turning loose upon the world a faithful old
+fellow, for no other reason but that his age had incapacitated him;
+so I gave him an annuity of ten pounds, with the help of which he
+has set up this little place here, and his daughter goes and sells
+milk in the city, while her father manages his tap-room, as he calls
+it, at home.  I can't well ask a gentleman of your appearance to
+accompany me to so paltry a place."  "Sir," replied Harley,
+interrupting him, "I would much rather enter it than the most
+celebrated tavern in town.  To give to the necessitous may sometimes
+be a weakness in the man; to encourage industry is a duty in the
+citizen."  They entered the house accordingly.
+
+On a table at the corner of the room lay a pack of cards, loosely
+thrown together.  The old gentleman reproved the man of the house
+for encouraging so idle an amusement.  Harley attempted to defend
+him from the necessity of accommodating himself to the humour of his
+guests, and taking up the cards, began to shuffle them backwards and
+forwards in his hand.  "Nay, I don't think cards so unpardonable an
+amusement as some do," replied the other; "and now and then, about
+this time of the evening, when my eyes begin to fail me for my book,
+I divert myself with a game at piquet, without finding my morals a
+bit relaxed by it.  Do you play piquet, sir?" (to Harley.)  Harley
+answered in the affirmative; upon which the other proposed playing a
+pool at a shilling the game, doubling the stakes; adding, that he
+never played higher with anybody.
+
+Harley's good nature could not refuse the benevolent old man; and
+the younger stranger, though he at first pleaded prior engagements,
+yet being earnestly solicited by his friend, at last yielded to
+solicitation.
+
+When they began to play, the old gentleman, somewhat to the surprise
+of Harley, produced ten shillings to serve for markers of his score.
+"He had no change for the beggar," said Harley to himself; "but I
+can easily account for it; it is curious to observe the affection
+that inanimate things will create in us by a long acquaintance.  If
+I may judge from my own feelings, the old man would not part with
+one of these counters for ten times its intrinsic value; it even got
+the better of his benevolence!  I, myself, have a pair of old brass
+sleeve buttons."  Here he was interrupted by being told that the old
+gentleman had beat the younger, and that it was his turn to take up
+the conqueror.  "Your game has been short," said Harley.  "I re-
+piqued him," answered the old man, with joy sparkling in his
+countenance.  Harley wished to be re-piqued too, but he was
+disappointed; for he had the same good fortune against his opponent.
+Indeed, never did fortune, mutable as she is, delight in mutability
+so much as at that moment.  The victory was so quick, and so
+constantly alternate, that the stake, in a short time, amounted to
+no less a sum than 12 pounds, Harley's proportion of which was
+within half-a-guinea of the money he had in his pocket.  He had
+before proposed a division, but the old gentleman opposed it with
+such a pleasant warmth in his manner, that it was always over-ruled.
+Now, however, he told them that he had an appointment with some
+gentlemen, and it was within a few minutes of his hour.  The young
+stranger had gained one game, and was engaged in the second with the
+other; they agreed, therefore, that the stake should be divided, if
+the old gentleman won that:  which was more than probable, as his
+score was 90 to 35, and he was elder hand; but a momentous re-pique
+decided it in favour of his adversary, who seemed to enjoy his
+victory mingled with regret, for having won too much, while his
+friend, with great ebullience of passion, many praises of his own
+good play, and many malediction's on the power of chance, took up
+the cards, and threw them into the fire.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI--FRUITS OF THE DEAD SEA
+
+
+
+The company he was engaged to meet were assembled in Fleet Street.
+He had walked some time along the Strand, amidst a crowd of those
+wretches who wait the uncertain wages of prostitution, with ideas of
+pity suitable to the scene around him and the feelings he possessed,
+and had got as far as Somerset House, when one of them laid hold of
+his arm, and, with a voice tremulous and faint, asked him for a pint
+of wine, in a manner more supplicatory than is usual with those whom
+the infamy of their profession has deprived of shame.  He turned
+round at the demand, and looked steadfastly on the person who made
+it.
+
+She was above the common size, and elegantly formed; her face was
+thin and hollow, and showed the remains of tarnished beauty.  Her
+eyes were black, but had little of their lustre left; her cheeks had
+some paint laid on without art, and productive of no advantage to
+her complexion, which exhibited a deadly paleness on the other parts
+of her face.
+
+Harley stood in the attitude of hesitation; which she, interpreting
+to her advantage, repeated her request, and endeavoured to force a
+leer of invitation into her countenance.  He took her arm, and they
+walked on to one of those obsequious taverns in the neighbourhood,
+where the dearness of the wine is a discharge in full for the
+character of the house.  From what impulse he did this we do not
+mean to enquire; as it has ever been against our nature to search
+for motives where bad ones are to be found.  They entered, and a
+waiter showed them a room, and placed a bottle of claret on the
+table.
+
+Harley filled the lady's glass:  which she had no sooner tasted,
+than dropping it on the floor, and eagerly catching his arm, her eye
+grew fixed, her lip assumed a clayey whiteness, and she fell back
+lifeless in her chair.
+
+Harley started from his seat, and, catching her in his arms,
+supported her from falling to the ground, looking wildly at the
+door, as if he wanted to run for assistance, but durst not leave the
+miserable creature.  It was not till some minutes after that it
+occurred to him to ring the bell, which at last, however, he thought
+of, and rung with repeated violence even after the waiter appeared.
+Luckily the waiter had his senses somewhat more about him; and
+snatching up a bottle of water, which stood on a buffet at the end
+of the room, he sprinkled it over the hands and face of the dying
+figure before him.  She began to revive, and, with the assistance of
+some hartshorn drops, which Harley now for the first time drew from
+his pocket, was able to desire the waiter to bring her a crust of
+bread, of which she swallowed some mouthfuls with the appearance of
+the keenest hunger.  The waiter withdrew:  when turning to Harley,
+sobbing at the same time, and shedding tears, "I am sorry, sir,"
+said she, "that I should have given you so much trouble; but you
+will pity me when I tell you that till now I have not tasted a
+morsel these two days past."--He fixed his eyes on hers--every
+circumstance but the last was forgotten; and he took her hand with
+as much respect as if she had been a duchess.  It was ever the
+privilege of misfortune to be revered by him.--"Two days!" said he;
+"and I have fared sumptuously every day!"--He was reaching to the
+bell; she understood his meaning, and prevented him.  "I beg, sir,"
+said she, "that you would give yourself no more trouble about a
+wretch who does not wish to live; but, at present, I could not eat a
+bit; my stomach even rose at the last mouthful of that crust."--He
+offered to call a chair, saying that he hoped a little rest would
+relieve her.--He had one half-guinea left.  "I am sorry," he said,
+"that at present I should be able to make you an offer of no more
+than this paltry sum."--She burst into tears:  "Your generosity,
+sir, is abused; to bestow it on me is to take it from the virtuous.
+I have no title but misery to plead:  misery of my own procuring."
+"No more of that," answered Harley; "there is virtue in these tears;
+let the fruit of them be virtue."--He rung, and ordered a chair.--
+"Though I am the vilest of beings," said she, "I have not forgotten
+every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left, did I but
+know who is my benefactor."--"My name is Harley."--"Could I ever
+have an opportunity?"--"You shall, and a glorious one too! your
+future conduct--but I do not mean to reproach you--if, I say--it
+will be the noblest reward--I will do myself the pleasure of seeing
+you again."--Here the waiter entered, and told them the chair was at
+the door; the lady informed Harley of her lodgings, and he promised
+to wait on her at ten next morning.
+
+He led her to the chair, and returned to clear with the waiter,
+without ever once reflecting that he had no money in his pocket.  He
+was ashamed to make an excuse; yet an excuse must be made:  he was
+beginning to frame one, when the waiter cut him short by telling him
+that he could not run scores; but that, if he would leave his watch,
+or any other pledge, it would be as safe as if it lay in his pocket.
+Harley jumped at the proposal, and pulling out his watch, delivered
+it into his hands immediately, and having, for once, had the
+precaution to take a note of the lodging he intended to visit next
+morning, sallied forth with a blush of triumph on his face, without
+taking notice of the sneer of the waiter, who, twirling the watch in
+his hand, made him a profound bow at the door, and whispered to a
+girl, who stood in the passage, something, in which the word CULLY
+was honoured with a particular emphasis.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII--HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY IS DOUBTED
+
+
+
+After he had been some time with the company he had appointed to
+meet, and the last bottle was called for, he first recollected that
+he would be again at a loss how to discharge his share of the
+reckoning.  He applied, therefore, to one of them, with whom he was
+most intimate, acknowledging that he had not a farthing of money
+about him; and, upon being jocularly asked the reason, acquainted
+them with the two adventures we have just now related.  One of the
+company asked him if the old man in Hyde Park did not wear a
+brownish coat, with a narrow gold edging, and his companion an old
+green frock, with a buff-coloured waistcoat.  Upon Harley's
+recollecting that they did, "Then," said he, "you may be thankful
+you have come off so well; they are two as noted sharpers, in their
+way, as any in town, and but t'other night took me in for a much
+larger sum.  I had some thoughts of applying to a justice, but one
+does not like to be seen in those matters."
+
+Harley answered, "That he could not but fancy the gentleman was
+mistaken, as he never saw a face promise more honesty than that of
+the old man he had met with."--"His face!" said a grave-looking man,
+when sat opposite to him, squirting the juice of his tobacco
+obliquely into the grate.  There was something very emphatical in
+the action, for it was followed by a burst of laughter round the
+table.  "Gentlemen," said Harley, "you are disposed to be merry; it
+may be as you imagine, for I confess myself ignorant of the town;
+but there is one thing which makes me hear the loss of my money with
+temper:  the young fellow who won it must have been miserably poor;
+I observed him borrow money for the stake from his friend:  he had
+distress and hunger in his countenance:  be his character what it
+may, his necessities at least plead for him."  At this there was a
+louder laugh than before.  "Gentlemen," said the lawyer, one of
+whose conversations with Harley we have already recorded, "here's a
+pretty fellow for you! to have heard him talk some nights ago, as I
+did, you might have sworn he was a saint; yet now he games with
+sharpers, and loses his money, and is bubbled by a fine tale of the
+Dead Sea, and pawns his watch; here are sanctified doings with a
+witness!"
+
+"Young gentleman," said his friend on the other side of the table,
+"let me advise you to be a little more cautious for the future; and
+as for faces--you may look into them to know whether a man's nose be
+a long or a short one."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII--HE KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT
+
+
+
+The last night's raillery of his companions was recalled to his
+remembrance when he awoke, and the colder homilies of prudence began
+to suggest some things which were nowise favourable for a
+performance of his promise to the unfortunate female he had met with
+before.  He rose, uncertain of his purpose; but the torpor of such
+considerations was seldom prevalent over the warmth of his nature.
+He walked some turns backwards and forwards in his room; he recalled
+the languid form of the fainting wretch to his mind; he wept at the
+recollection of her tears.  "Though I am the vilest of beings, I
+have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still
+have left."--He took a larger stride--"Powers of mercy that surround
+me!" cried he, "do ye not smile upon deeds like these? to calculate
+the chances of deception is too tedious a business for the life of
+man!"--The clock struck ten.--When he was got down-stairs, he found
+that he had forgot the note of her lodgings; he gnawed his lips at
+the delay:  he was fairly on the pavement, when he recollected
+having left his purse; he did but just prevent himself from
+articulating an imprecation.  He rushed a second time up into his
+chamber.  "What a wretch I am!" said he; "ere this time, perhaps--"
+'Twas a perhaps not to be borne;--two vibrations of a pendulum would
+have served him to lock his bureau; but they could not be spared.
+
+When he reached the house, and inquired for Miss Atkins (for that
+was the lady's name), he was shown up three pair of stairs, into a
+small room lighted by one narrow lattice, and patched round with
+shreds of different-coloured paper.  In the darkest corner stood
+something like a bed, before which a tattered coverlet hung by way
+of curtain.  He had not waited long when she appeared.  Her face had
+the glister of new-washed tears on it.  "I am ashamed, sir," said
+she, "that you should have taken this fresh piece of trouble about
+one so little worthy of it; but, to the humane, I know there is a
+pleasure in goodness for its own sake:  if you have patience for the
+recital of my story, it may palliate, though it cannot excuse, my
+faults."  Harley bowed, as a sign of assent; and she began as
+follows:-
+
+"I am the daughter of an officer, whom a service of forty years had
+advanced no higher than the rank of captain.  I have had hints from
+himself, and been informed by others, that it was in some measure
+owing to those principles of rigid honour, which it was his boast to
+possess, and which he early inculcated on me, that he had been able
+to arrive at no better station.  My mother died when I was a child:
+old enough to grieve for her death, but incapable of remembering her
+precepts.  Though my father was doatingly fond of her, yet there
+were some sentiments in which they materially differed:  she had
+been bred from her infancy in the strictest principles of religion,
+and took the morality of her conduct from the motives which an
+adherence to those principles suggested.  My father, who had been in
+the army from his youth, affixed an idea of pusillanimity to that
+virtue, which was formed by the doctrines, excited by the rewards,
+or guarded by the terrors of revelation; his dashing idol was the
+honour of a soldier:  a term which he held in such reverence, that
+he used it for his most sacred asseveration.  When my mother died, I
+was some time suffered to continue in those sentiments which her
+instructions had produced; but soon after, though, from respect to
+her memory, my father did not absolutely ridicule them, yet he
+showed, in his discourse to others, so little regard to them, and at
+times suggested to me motives of action so different, that I was
+soon weaned from opinions which I began to consider as the dreams of
+superstition, or the artful inventions of designing hypocrisy.  My
+mother's books were left behind at the different quarters we removed
+to, and my reading was principally confined to plays, novels, and
+those poetical descriptions of the beauty of virtue and honour,
+which the circulating libraries easily afforded.
+
+"As I was generally reckoned handsome, and the quickness of my parts
+extolled by all our visitors, my father had a pride in allowing me
+to the world.  I was young, giddy, open to adulation, and vain of
+those talents which acquired it.
+
+"After the last war, my father was reduced to half-pay; with which
+we retired to a village in the country, which the acquaintance of
+some genteel families who resided in it, and the cheapness of
+living, particularly recommended.  My father rented a small house,
+with a piece of ground sufficient to keep a horse for him, and a cow
+for the benefit of his family.  An old man servant managed his
+ground; while a maid, who had formerly been my mother's, and had
+since been mine, undertook the care of our little dairy:  they were
+assisted in each of their provinces by my father and me:  and we
+passed our time in a state of tranquillity, which he had always
+talked of with delight, and my train of reading had taught me to
+admire.
+
+"Though I had never seen the polite circles of the metropolis, the
+company my father had introduced me into had given me a degree of
+good breeding, which soon discovered a superiority over the young
+ladies of our village.  I was quoted as an example of politeness,
+and my company courted by most of the considerable families in the
+neighbourhood.
+
+"Amongst the houses where I was frequently invited was Sir George
+Winbrooke's.  He had two daughters nearly of my age, with whom,
+though they had been bred up in those maxims of vulgar doctrine
+which my superior understanding could not but despise, yet as their
+good nature led them to an imitation of my manners in everything
+else, I cultivated a particular friendship.
+
+"Some months after our first acquaintance, Sir George's eldest son
+came home from his travels.  His figure, his address, and
+conversation, were not unlike those warm ideas of an accomplished
+man which my favourite novels had taught me to form; and his
+sentiments on the article of religion were as liberal as my own:
+when any of these happened to be the topic of our discourse, I, who
+before had been silent, from a fear of being single in opposition,
+now kindled at the fire he raised, and defended our mutual opinions
+with all the eloquence I was mistress of.  He would be respectfully
+attentive all the while; and when I had ended, would raise his eyes
+from the ground, look at me with a gaze of admiration, and express
+his applause in the highest strain of encomium.  This was an incense
+the more pleasing, as I seldom or never had met with it before; for
+the young gentlemen who visited Sir George were for the most part of
+that athletic order, the pleasure of whose lives is derived from
+fox-hunting:  these are seldom solicitous to please the women at
+all; or if they were, would never think of applying their flattery
+to the mind.
+
+"Mr. Winbrooke observed the weakness of my soul, and took every
+occasion of improving the esteem he had gained.  He asked my opinion
+of every author, of every sentiment, with that submissive
+diffidence, which showed an unlimited confidence in my
+understanding.  I saw myself revered, as a superior being, by one
+whose judgment my vanity told me was not likely to err:  preferred
+by him to all the other visitors of my sex, whose fortunes and rank
+should have entitled them to a much higher degree of notice:  I saw
+their little jealousies at the distinguished attention he paid me;
+it was gratitude, it was pride, it was love!  Love which had made
+too fatal a progress in my heart, before any declaration on his part
+should have warranted a return:  but I interpreted every look of
+attention, every expression of compliment, to the passion I imagined
+him inspired with, and imputed to his sensibility that silence which
+was the effect of art and design.  At length, however, he took an
+opportunity of declaring his love:  he now expressed himself in such
+ardent terms, that prudence might have suspected their sincerity:
+but prudence is rarely found in the situation I had been unguardedly
+led into; besides, that the course of reading to which I had been
+accustomed, did not lead me to conclude, that his expressions could
+be too warm to be sincere:  nor was I even alarmed at the manner in
+which he talked of marriage, a subjection, he often hinted, to which
+genuine love should scorn to be confined.  The woman, he would often
+say, who had merit like mine to fix his affection, could easily
+command it for ever.  That honour too which I revered, was often
+called in to enforce his sentiments.  I did not, however, absolutely
+assent to them; but I found my regard for their opposites diminish
+by degrees.  If it is dangerous to be convinced, it is dangerous to
+listen; for our reason is so much of a machine, that it will not
+always be able to resist, when the ear is perpetually assailed.
+
+"In short, Mr. Harley (for I tire you with a relation, the
+catastrophe of which you will already have imagined), I fell a prey
+to his artifices.  He had not been able so thoroughly to convert me,
+that my conscience was silent on the subject; but he was so
+assiduous to give repeated proofs of unabated affection, that I
+hushed its suggestions as they rose.  The world, however, I knew,
+was not to be silenced; and therefore I took occasion to express my
+uneasiness to my seducer, and entreat him, as he valued the peace of
+one to whom he professed such attachment, to remove it by a
+marriage.  He made excuse from his dependence on the will of his
+father, but quieted my fears by the promise of endeavouring to win
+his assent.
+
+"My father had been some days absent on a visit to a dying relation,
+from whom he had considerable expectations.  I was left at home,
+with no other company than my books:  my books I found were not now
+such companions as they used to be; I was restless, melancholy,
+unsatisfied with myself.  But judge my situation when I received a
+billet from Mr. Winbrooke informing me, that he had sounded Sir
+George on the subject we had talked of, and found him so averse to
+any match so unequal to his own rank and fortune, that he was
+obliged, with whatever reluctance, to bid adieu to a place, the
+remembrance of which should ever be dear to him.
+
+"I read this letter a hundred times over.  Alone, helpless,
+conscious of guilt, and abandoned by every better thought, my mind
+was one motley scene of terror, confusion, and remorse.  A thousand
+expedients suggested themselves, and a thousand fears told me they
+would be vain:  at last, in an agony of despair, I packed up a few
+clothes, took what money and trinkets were in the house, and set out
+for London, whither I understood he was gone; pretending to my maid,
+that I had received letters from my father requiring my immediate
+attendance.  I had no other companion than a boy, a servant to the
+man from whom I hired my horses.  I arrived in London within an hour
+of Mr. Winbrooke, and accidentally alighted at the very inn where he
+was.
+
+"He started and turned pale when he saw me; but recovered himself in
+time enough to make many new protestations of regard, and beg me to
+make myself easy under a disappointment which was equally afflicting
+to him.  He procured me lodgings, where I slept, or rather
+endeavoured to sleep, for that night.  Next morning I saw him again,
+he then mildly observed on the imprudence of my precipitate flight
+from the country, and proposed my removing to lodgings at another
+end of the town, to elude the search of my father, till he should
+fall upon some method of excusing my conduct to him, and reconciling
+him to my return.  We took a hackney-coach, and drove to the house
+he mentioned.
+
+"It was situated in a dirty lane, furnished with a tawdry
+affectation of finery, with some old family pictures hanging on
+walls which their own cobwebs would better have suited.  I was
+struck with a secret dread at entering, nor was it lessened by the
+appearance of the landlady, who had that look of selfish shrewdness,
+which, of all others, is the most hateful to those whose feelings
+are untinctured with the world.  A girl, who she told us was her
+niece, sat by her, playing on a guitar, while herself was at work,
+with the assistance of spectacles, and had a prayer-book with the
+leaves folded down in several places, lying on the table before her.
+Perhaps, sir, I tire you with my minuteness, but the place, and
+every circumstance about it, is so impressed on my mind, that I
+shall never forget it.
+
+"I dined that day with Mr. Winbrooke alone.  He lost by degrees that
+restraint which I perceived too well to hang about him before, and,
+with his former gaiety and good humour, repeated the flattering
+things which, though they had once been fatal, I durst not now
+distrust.  At last, taking my hand and kissing it, 'It is thus,'
+said he, 'that love will last, while freedom is preserved; thus let
+us ever be blessed, without the galling thought that we are tied to
+a condition where we may cease to be so.'
+
+"I answered, 'That the world thought otherwise:  that it had certain
+ideas of good fame, which it was impossible not to wish to
+maintain.'
+
+"'The world,' said he, 'is a tyrant, they are slaves who obey it;
+let us be happy without the pale of the world.  To-morrow I shall
+leave this quarter of it, for one where the talkers of the world
+shall be foiled, and lose us.  Could not my Emily accompany me? my
+friend, my companion, the mistress of my soul!  Nay, do not look so,
+Emily!  Your father may grieve for a while, but your father shall be
+taken care of; this bank-bill I intend as the comfort for his
+daughter.'
+
+"I could contain myself no longer:  'Wretch,' I exclaimed, 'dost
+thou imagine that my father's heart could brook dependence on the
+destroyer of his child, and tamely accept of a base equivalent for
+her honour and his own?'
+
+"'Honour, my Emily,' said he, 'is the word of fools, or of those
+wiser men who cheat them.  'Tis a fantastic bauble that does not
+suit the gravity of your father's age; but, whatever it is, I am
+afraid it can never be perfectly restored to you:  exchange the word
+then, and let pleasure be your object now.'
+
+"At these words he clasped me in his arms, and pressed his lips
+rudely to my bosom.  I started from my seat.  'Perfidious villain!'
+said I, 'who dar'st insult the weakness thou hast undone; were that
+father here, thy coward soul would shrink from the vengeance of his
+honour!  Cursed be that wretch who has deprived him of it! oh doubly
+cursed, who has dragged on his hoary head the infamy which should
+have crushed her own!'  I snatched a knife which lay beside me, and
+would have plunged it in my breast, but the monster prevented my
+purpose, and smiling with a grin of barbarous insult -
+
+"'Madam,' said he, 'I confess you are rather too much in heroics for
+me; I am sorry we should differ about trifles; but as I seem somehow
+to have offended you, I would willingly remedy it by taking my
+leave.  You have been put to some foolish expense in this journey on
+my account; allow me to reimburse you.'
+
+"So saying he laid a bank-bill, of what amount I had no patience to
+see, upon the table.  Shame, grief, and indignation choked my
+utterance; unable to speak my wrongs, and unable to bear them in
+silence, I fell in a swoon at his feet.
+
+"What happened in the interval I cannot tell, but when I came to
+myself I was in the arms of the landlady, with her niece chafing my
+temples, and doing all in her power for my recovery.  She had much
+compassion in her countenance; the old woman assumed the softest
+look she was capable of, and both endeavoured to bring me comfort.
+They continued to show me many civilities, and even the aunt began
+to be less disagreeable in my sight.  To the wretched, to the
+forlorn, as I was, small offices of kindness are endearing.
+
+"Meantime my money was far spent, nor did I attempt to conceal my
+wants from their knowledge.  I had frequent thoughts of returning to
+my father; but the dread of a life of scorn is insurmountable.  I
+avoided, therefore, going abroad when I had a chance of being seen
+by any former acquaintance, nor indeed did my health for a great
+while permit it; and suffered the old woman, at her own suggestion,
+to call me niece at home, where we now and then saw (when they could
+prevail on me to leave my room) one or two other elderly women, and
+sometimes a grave business-like man, who showed great compassion for
+my indisposition, and made me very obligingly an offer of a room at
+his country-house for the recovery of my health.  This offer I did
+not chose to accept, but told my landlady, 'that I should be glad to
+be employed in any way of business which my skill in needlework
+could recommend me to, confessing, at the same time, that I was
+afraid I should scarce be able to pay her what I already owed for
+board and lodging, and that for her other good offices, I had
+nothing but thanks to give her.'
+
+"'My dear child,' said she, 'do not talk of paying; since I lost my
+own sweet girl' (here she wept), 'your very picture she was, Miss
+Emily, I have nobody, except my niece, to whom I should leave any
+little thing I have been able to save; you shall live with me, my
+dear; and I have sometimes a little millinery work, in which, when
+you are inclined to it, you may assist us.  By the way, here are a
+pair of ruffles we have just finished for that gentleman you saw
+here at tea; a distant relation of mine, and a worthy man he is.
+'Twas pity you refused the offer of an apartment at his country
+house; my niece, you know, was to have accompanied you, and you
+might have fancied yourself at home; a most sweet place it is, and
+but a short mile beyond Hampstead.  Who knows, Miss Emily, what
+effect such a visit might have had!  If I had half your beauty I
+should not waste it pining after e'er a worthless fellow of them
+all.'
+
+"I felt my heart swell at her words; I would have been angry if I
+could, but I was in that stupid state which is not easily awakened
+to anger:  when I would have chid her the reproof stuck in my
+throat; I could only weep!
+
+"Her want of respect increased, as I had not spirit to assert it.
+My work was now rather imposed than offered, and I became a drudge
+for the bread I eat:  but my dependence and servility grew in
+proportion, and I was now in a situation which could not make any
+extraordinary exertions to disengage itself from either--I found
+myself with child.
+
+"At last the wretch, who had thus trained me to destruction, hinted
+the purpose for which those means had been used.  I discovered her
+to be an artful procuress for the pleasures of those who are men of
+decency to the world in the midst of debauchery.
+
+"I roused every spark of courage within me at the horrid proposal.
+She treated my passion at first somewhat mildly, but when I
+continued to exert it she resented it with insult, and told me
+plainly that if I did not soon comply with her desires I should pay
+her every farthing I owed, or rot in a jail for life.  I trembled at
+the thought; still, however, I resisted her importunities, and she
+put her threats in execution.  I was conveyed to prison, weak from
+my condition, weaker from that struggle of grief and misery which
+for some time I had suffered.  A miscarriage was the consequence.
+
+"Amidst all the horrors of such a state, surrounded with wretches
+totally callous, lost alike to humanity and to shame, think, Mr.
+Harley, think what I endured; nor wonder that I at last yielded to
+the solicitations of that miscreant I had seen at her house, and
+sunk to the prostitution which he tempted.  But that was happiness
+compared to what I have suffered since.  He soon abandoned me to the
+common use of the town, and I was cast among those miserable beings
+in whose society I have since remained.
+
+"Oh! did the daughters of virtue know our sufferings; did they see
+our hearts torn with anguish amidst the affectation of gaiety which
+our faces are obliged to assume! our bodies tortured by disease, our
+minds with that consciousness which they cannot lose!  Did they
+know, did they think of this, Mr. Harley!  Their censures are just,
+but their pity perhaps might spare the wretches whom their justice
+should condemn.
+
+"Last night, but for an exertion of benevolence which the infection
+of our infamy prevents even in the humane, had I been thrust out
+from this miserable place which misfortune has yet left me; exposed
+to the brutal insults of drunkenness, or dragged by that justice
+which I could not bribe, to the punishment which may correct, but,
+alas! can never amend the abandoned objects of its terrors.  From
+that, Mr. Harley, your goodness has relieved me."
+
+He beckoned with his hand:  he would have stopped the mention of his
+favours; but he could not speak, had it been to beg a diadem.
+
+She saw his tears; her fortitude began to fail at the sight, when
+the voice of some stranger on the stairs awakened her attention.
+She listened for a moment, then starting up, exclaimed, "Merciful
+God! my father's voice!"
+
+She had scarce uttered the word, when the door burst open, and a man
+entered in the garb of an officer.  When he discovered his daughter
+and Harley, he started back a few paces; his look assumed a furious
+wildness! he laid his hand on his sword.  The two objects of his
+wrath did not utter a syllable.
+
+"Villain," he cried, "thou seest a father who had once a daughter's
+honour to preserve; blasted as it now is, behold him ready to avenge
+its loss!"
+
+Harley had by this time some power of utterance.  "Sir," said he,
+"if you will be a moment calm--"
+
+"Infamous coward!" interrupted the other, "dost thou preach calmness
+to wrongs like mine!"
+
+He drew his sword.
+
+"Sir," said Harley, "let me tell you"--the blood ran quicker to his
+cheek, his pulse beat one, no more, and regained the temperament of
+humanity--"you are deceived, sir," said he, "you are much deceived;
+but I forgive suspicions which your misfortunes have justified:  I
+would not wrong you, upon my soul I would not, for the dearest
+gratification of a thousand worlds; my heart bleeds for you!"
+
+His daughter was now prostrate at his feet.
+
+"Strike," said she, "strike here a wretch, whose misery cannot end
+but with that death she deserves."
+
+Her hair had fallen on her shoulders! her look had the horrid
+calmness of out-breathed despair!  Her father would have spoken; his
+lip quivered, his cheek grew pale, his eyes lost the lightning of
+their fury! there was a reproach in them, but with a mingling of
+pity.  He turned them up to heaven, then on his daughter.  He laid
+his left hand on his heart, the sword dropped from his right, he
+burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX--THE DISTRESSES OF A FATHER
+
+
+
+Harley kneeled also at the side of the unfortunate daughter.
+
+"Allow me, sir," said he, "to entreat your pardon for one whose
+offences have been already so signally punished.  I know, I feel,
+that those tears, wrung from the heart of a father, are more
+dreadful to her than all the punishments your sword could have
+inflicted:  accept the contrition of a child whom heaven has
+restored to you."
+
+"Is she not lost," answered he, "irrecoverably lost?  Damnation! a
+common prostitute to the meanest ruffian!"
+
+"Calmly, my dear sir," said Harley, "did you know by what
+complicated misfortunes she had fallen to that miserable state in
+which you now behold her, I should have no need of words to excite
+your compassion.  Think, sir, of what once she was.  Would you
+abandon her to the insults of an unfeeling world, deny her
+opportunity of penitence, and cut off the little comfort that still
+remains for your afflictions and her own!"
+
+"Speak," said he, addressing himself to his daughter; "speak; I will
+hear thee."
+
+The desperation that supported her was lost; she fell to the ground,
+and bathed his feet with her tears.
+
+Harley undertook her cause:  he related the treacheries to which she
+had fallen a sacrifice, and again solicited the forgiveness of her
+father.  He looked on her for some time in silence; the pride of a
+soldier's honour checked for a while the yearnings of his heart; but
+nature at last prevailed, he fell on her neck and mingled his tears
+with hers.
+
+Harley, who discovered from the dress of the stranger that he was
+just arrived from a journey, begged that they would both remove to
+his lodgings, till he could procure others for them.  Atkins looked
+at him with some marks of surprise.  His daughter now first
+recovered the power of speech.
+
+"Wretch as I am," said she, "yet there is some gratitude due to the
+preserver of your child.  See him now before you.  To him I owe my
+life, or at least the comfort of imploring your forgiveness before I
+die."
+
+"Pardon me, young gentleman," said Atkins, "I fear my passion
+wronged you."
+
+"Never, never, sir," said Harley "if it had, your reconciliation to
+your daughter were an atonement a thousand fold."  He then repeated
+his request that he might be allowed to conduct them to his
+lodgings, to which Mr. Atkins at last consented.  He took his
+daughter's arm.
+
+"Come, my Emily," said he, "we can never, never recover that
+happiness we have lost! but time may teach us to remember our
+misfortunes with patience."
+
+When they arrived at the house where Harley lodged, he was informed
+that the first floor was then vacant, and that the gentleman and his
+daughter might be accommodated there.  While he was upon his
+enquiry, Miss Atkins informed her father more particularly what she
+owed to his benevolence.  When he turned into the room where they
+were Atkins ran and embraced him;--begged him again to forgive the
+offence he had given him, and made the warmest protestations of
+gratitude for his favours.  We would attempt to describe the joy
+which Harley felt on this occasion, did it not occur to us that one
+half of the world could not understand it though we did, and the
+other half will, by this time, have understood it without any
+description at all.
+
+Miss Atkins now retired to her chamber, to take some rest from the
+violence of the emotions she had suffered.  When she was gone, her
+father, addressing himself to Harley, said, "You have a right, sir,
+to be informed of the present situation of one who owes so much to
+your compassion for his misfortunes.  My daughter I find has
+informed you what that was at the fatal juncture when they began.
+Her distresses you have heard, you have pitied as they deserved;
+with mine, perhaps, I cannot so easily make you acquainted.  You
+have a feeling heart, Mr. Harley; I bless it that it has saved my
+child; but you never were a father, a father torn by that most
+dreadful of calamities, the dishonour of a child he doated on!  You
+have been already informed of some of the circumstances of her
+elopement:  I was then from home, called by the death of a relation,
+who, though he would never advance me a shilling on the utmost
+exigency in his life-time, left me all the gleanings of his
+frugality at his death.  I would not write this intelligence to my
+daughter, because I intended to be the bearer myself; and as soon as
+my business would allow me, I set out on my return, winged with all
+the haste of paternal affection.  I fondly built those schemes of
+future happiness, which present prosperity is ever busy to suggest:
+my Emily was concerned in them all.  As I approached our little
+dwelling my heart throbbed with the anticipation of joy and welcome.
+I imagined the cheering fire, the blissful contentment of a frugal
+meal, made luxurious by a daughter's smile, I painted to myself her
+surprise at the tidings of our new-acquired riches, our fond
+disputes about the disposal of them.
+
+"The road was shortened by the dreams of happiness I enjoyed, and it
+began to be dark as I reached the house:  I alighted from my horse,
+and walked softly upstairs to the room we commonly sat in.  I was
+somewhat disappointed at not finding my daughter there.  I rung the
+bell; her maid appeared, and shewed no small signs of wonder at the
+summons.  She blessed herself as she entered the room:  I smiled at
+her surprise.  'Where is Miss Emily, sir?' said she.
+
+"'Emily!'
+
+"'Yes, sir; she has been gone hence some days, upon receipt of those
+letters you sent her.'
+
+"'Letters!' said I.
+
+"'Yes, sir, so she told me, and went off in all haste that very
+night.'
+
+"I stood aghast as she spoke, but was able so far to recollect
+myself, as to put on the affectation of calmness, and telling her
+there was certainly some mistake in the affair, desired her to leave
+me.
+
+"When she was gone, I threw myself into a chair, in that state of
+uncertainty which is, of all others, the most dreadful.  The gay
+visions with which I had delighted myself, vanished in an instant.
+I was tortured with tracing back the same circle of doubt and
+disappointment.  My head grew dizzy as I thought.  I called the
+servant again, and asked her a hundred questions, to no purpose;
+there was not room even for conjecture.
+
+"Something at last arose in my mind, which we call Hope, without
+knowing what it is.  I wished myself deluded by it; but it could not
+prevail over my returning fears.  I rose and walked through the
+room.  My Emily's spinnet stood at the end of it, open, with a book
+of music folded down at some of my favourite lessons.  I touched the
+keys; there was a vibration in the sound that froze my blood; I
+looked around, and methought the family pictures on the walls gazed
+on me with compassion in their faces.  I sat down again with an
+attempt at more composure; I started at every creaking of the door,
+and my ears rung with imaginary noises!
+
+"I had not remained long in this situation, when the arrival of a
+friend, who had accidentally heard of my return, put an end to my
+doubts, by the recital of my daughter's dishonour.  He told me he
+had his information from a young gentleman, to whom Winbrooke had
+boasted of having seduced her.
+
+"I started from my seat, with broken curses on my lips, and without
+knowing whither I should pursue them, ordered my servant to load my
+pistols and saddle my horses.  My friend, however, with great
+difficulty, persuaded me to compose myself for that night, promising
+to accompany me on the morrow, to Sir George Winbrooke's in quest of
+his son.
+
+"The morrow came, after a night spent in a state little distant from
+madness.  We went as early as decency would allow to Sir George's.
+He received me with politeness, and indeed compassion, protested his
+abhorrence of his son's conduct, and told me that he had set out
+some days before for London, on which place he had procured a draft
+for a large sum, on pretence of finishing his travels, but that he
+had not heard from him since his departure.
+
+"I did not wait for any more, either of information or comfort, but,
+against the united remonstrances of Sir George and my friend, set
+out instantly for London, with a frantic uncertainty of purpose; but
+there, all manner of search was in vain.  I could trace neither of
+them any farther than the inn where they first put up on their
+arrival; and after some days fruitless inquiry, returned home
+destitute of every little hope that had hitherto supported me.  The
+journeys I had made, the restless nights I had spent, above all, the
+perturbation of my mind, had the effect which naturally might be
+expected--a very dangerous fever was the consequence.  From this,
+however, contrary to the expectation of my physicians, I recovered.
+It was now that I first felt something like calmness of mind:
+probably from being reduced to a state which could not produce the
+exertions of anguish or despair.  A stupid melancholy settled on my
+soul; I could endure to live with an apathy of life; at times I
+forgot my resentment, and wept at the remembrance of my child.
+
+"Such has been the tenor of my days since that fatal moment when
+these misfortunes began, till yesterday, that I received a letter
+from a friend in town, acquainting me of her present situation.
+Could such tales as mine, Mr. Harley, be sometimes suggested to the
+daughters of levity, did they but know with what anxiety the heart
+of a parent flutters round the child he loves, they would be less
+apt to construe into harshness that delicate concern for their
+conduct, which they often complain of as laying restraint upon
+things, to the young, the gay, and the thoughtless, seemingly
+harmless and indifferent.  Alas!  I fondly imagined that I needed
+not even these common cautions! my Emily was the joy of my age, and
+the pride of my soul!  Those things are now no more, they are lost
+for ever!  Her death I could have born, but the death of her honour
+has added obloquy and shame to that sorrow which bends my grey hairs
+to the dust!"
+
+As he spoke these last words, his voice trembled in his throat; it
+was now lost in his tears.  He sat with his face half turned from
+Harley, as if he would have hid the sorrow which he felt.  Harley
+was in the same attitude himself; he durst not meet his eye with a
+tear, but gathering his stifled breath, "Let me entreat you, sir,"
+said he, "to hope better things.  The world is ever tyrannical; it
+warps our sorrows to edge them with keener affliction.  Let us not
+be slaves to the names it affixes to motive or to action.  I know an
+ingenuous mind cannot help feeling when they sting.  But there are
+considerations by which it may be overcome.  Its fantastic ideas
+vanish as they rise; they teach us to look beyond it."
+
+* * * * *
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT.  SHOWING HIS SUCCESS WITH THE BARONET
+
+
+
+* * The card he received was in the politest style in which
+disappointment could be communicated.  The baronet "was under a
+necessity of giving up his application for Mr. Harley, as he was
+informed that the lease was engaged for a gentleman who had long
+served His Majesty in another capacity, and whose merit had entitled
+him to the first lucrative thing that should be vacant."  Even
+Harley could not murmur at such a disposal.  "Perhaps," said he to
+himself, "some war-worn officer, who, like poor Atkins, had been
+neglected from reasons which merited the highest advancement; whose
+honour could not stoop to solicit the preferment he deserved;
+perhaps, with a family, taught the principles of delicacy, without
+the means of supporting it; a wife and children--gracious heaven!
+whom my wishes would have deprived of bread--"
+
+He was interrupted in his reverie by some one tapping him on the
+shoulder, and, on turning round, he discovered it to be the very man
+who had explained to him the condition of his gay companion at Hyde
+Park Corner.  "I am glad to see you, sir," said he; "I believe we
+are fellows in disappointment."  Harley started, and said that he
+was at a loss to understand him.  "Pooh! you need not be so shy,"
+answered the other; "every one for himself is but fair, and I had
+much rather you had got it than the rascally gauger."  Harley still
+protested his ignorance of what he meant.  "Why, the lease of
+Bancroft Manor; had not you been applying for it?"  "I confess I
+was," replied Harley; "but I cannot conceive how you should be
+interested in the matter."  "Why, I was making interest for it
+myself," said he, "and I think I had some title.  I voted for this
+same baronet at the last election, and made some of my friends do so
+too; though I would not have you imagine that I sold my vote.  No, I
+scorn it, let me tell you I scorn it; but I thought as how this man
+was staunch and true, and I find he's but a double-faced fellow
+after all, and speechifies in the House for any side he hopes to
+make most by.  Oh, how many fine speeches and squeezings by the hand
+we had of him on the canvas!  'And if ever I shall be so happy as to
+have an opportunity of serving you.'  A murrain on the smooth-
+tongued knave, and after all to get it for this pimp of a gauger."
+"The gauger! there must be some mistake," said Harley.  "He writes
+me, that it was engaged for one whose long services--"  "Services!"
+interrupted the other; "you shall hear.  Services!  Yes, his sister
+arrived in town a few days ago, and is now sempstress to the
+baronet.  A plague on all rogues, says honest Sam Wrightson.  I
+shall but just drink damnation to them to-night, in a crown's worth
+of Ashley's, and leave London to-morrow by sun-rise."  "I shall
+leave it too," said Harley; and so he accordingly did.
+
+In passing through Piccadilly, he had observed, on the window of an
+inn, a notification of the departure of a stage-coach for a place in
+his road homewards; in the way back to his lodgings, he took a seat
+in it for his return.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII--HE LEAVES LONDON--CHARACTERS IN A STAGE-COACH
+
+
+
+The company in the stage-coach consisted of a grocer and his wife,
+who were going to pay a visit to some of their country friends; a
+young officer, who took this way of marching to quarters; a middle-
+aged gentlewoman, who had been hired as housekeeper to some family
+in the country; and an elderly, well-looking man, with a remarkable
+old-fashioned periwig.
+
+Harley, upon entering, discovered but one vacant seat, next the
+grocer's wife, which, from his natural shyness of temper, he made no
+scruple to occupy, however aware that riding backwards always
+disagreed with him.
+
+Though his inclination to physiognomy had met with some rubs in the
+metropolis, he had not yet lost his attachment to that science.  He
+set himself, therefore, to examine, as usual, the countenances of
+his companions.  Here, indeed, he was not long in doubt as to the
+preference; for besides that the elderly gentleman, who sat opposite
+to him, had features by nature more expressive of good dispositions,
+there was something in that periwig we mentioned, peculiarly
+attractive of Harley's regard.
+
+He had not been long employed in these speculations, when he found
+himself attacked with that faintish sickness, which was the natural
+consequence of his situation in the coach.  The paleness of his
+countenance was first observed by the housekeeper, who immediately
+made offer of her smelling bottle, which Harley, however, declined,
+telling at the same time the cause of his uneasiness.  The
+gentleman, on the opposite side of the coach, now first turned his
+eye from the side direction in which it had been fixed, and begged
+Harley to exchange places with him, expressing his regret that he
+had not made the proposal before.  Harley thanked him, and, upon
+being assured that both seats were alike to him, was about to accept
+of his offer, when the young gentleman of the sword, putting on an
+arch look, laid hold of the other's arm.  "So, my old boy," said he,
+"I find you have still some youthful blood about you, but, with your
+leave, I will do myself the honour of sitting by this lady;" and
+took his place accordingly.  The grocer stared him as full in the
+face as his own short neck would allow, and his wife, who was a
+little, round-faced woman, with a great deal of colour in her
+cheeks, drew up at the compliment that was paid her, looking first
+at the officer, and then at the housekeeper.
+
+This incident was productive of some discourse; for before, though
+there was sometimes a cough or a hem from the grocer, and the
+officer now and then humm'd a few notes of a song, there had not a
+single word passed the lips of any of the company.
+
+Mrs. Grocer observed, how ill-convenient it was for people, who
+could not be drove backwards, to travel in a stage.  This brought on
+a dissertation on stage-coaches in general, and the pleasure of
+keeping a chay of one's own; which led to another, on the great
+riches of Mr. Deputy Bearskin, who, according to her, had once been
+of that industrious order of youths who sweep the crossings of the
+streets for the conveniency of passengers, but, by various fortunate
+accidents, had now acquired an immense fortune, and kept his coach
+and a dozen livery servants.  All this afforded ample fund for
+conversation, if conversation it might be called, that was carried
+on solely by the before-mentioned lady, nobody offering to interrupt
+her, except that the officer sometimes signified his approbation by
+a variety of oaths, a sort of phraseology in which he seemed
+extremely versant.  She appealed indeed, frequently, to her husband
+for the authenticity of certain facts, of which the good man as
+often protested his total ignorance; but as he was always called
+fool, or something very like it, for his pains, he at last contrived
+to support the credit of his wife without prejudice to his
+conscience, and signified his assent by a noise not unlike the
+grunting of that animal which in shape and fatness he somewhat
+resembled.
+
+The housekeeper, and the old gentleman who sat next to Harley, were
+now observed to be fast asleep, at which the lady, who had been at
+such pains to entertain them, muttered some words of displeasure,
+and, upon the officer's whispering to smoke the old put, both she
+and her husband purs'd up their mouths into a contemptuous smile.
+Harley looked sternly on the grocer.  "You are come, sir," said he,
+"to those years when you might have learned some reverence for age.
+As for this young man, who has so lately escaped from the nursery,
+he may be allowed to divert himself."  "Dam'me, sir!" said the
+officer, "do you call me young?" striking up the front of his hat,
+and stretching forward on his seat, till his face almost touched
+Harley's.  It is probable, however, that he discovered something
+there which tended to pacify him, for, on the ladies entreating them
+not to quarrel, he very soon resumed his posture and calmness
+together, and was rather less profuse of his oaths during the rest
+of the journey.
+
+It is possible the old gentleman had waked time enough to hear the
+last part of this discourse; at least (whether from that cause, or
+that he too was a physiognomist) he wore a look remarkably
+complacent to Harley, who, on his part, shewed a particular
+observance of him.  Indeed, they had soon a better opportunity of
+making their acquaintance, as the coach arrived that night at the
+town where the officer's regiment lay, and the places of destination
+of their other fellow-travellers, it seems, were at no great
+distance, for, next morning, the old gentleman and Harley were the
+only passengers remaining.
+
+When they left the inn in the morning, Harley, pulling out a little
+pocket-book, began to examine the contents, and make some
+corrections with a pencil.  "This," said he, turning to his
+companion, "is an amusement with which I sometimes pass idle hours
+at an inn.  These are quotations from those humble poets, who trust
+their fame to the brittle tenure of windows and drinking-glasses."
+"From our inn," returned the gentleman, "a stranger might imagine
+that we were a nation of poets; machines, at least, containing
+poetry, which the motion of a journey emptied of their contents.  Is
+it from the vanity of being thought geniuses, or a mere mechanical
+imitation of the custom of others, that we are tempted to scrawl
+rhyme upon such places?"
+
+"Whether vanity is the cause of our becoming rhymesters or not,"
+answered Harley, "it is a pretty certain effect of it.  An old man
+of my acquaintance, who deals in apothegms, used to say that he had
+known few men without envy, few wits without ill-nature, and no poet
+without vanity; and I believe his remark is a pretty just one.
+Vanity has been immemorially the charter of poets.  In this, the
+ancients were more honest than we are.  The old poets frequently
+make boastful predictions of the immortality their works shall
+acquire them; ours, in their dedications and prefatory discourses,
+employ much eloquence to praise their patrons, and much seeming
+modesty to condemn themselves, or at least to apologise for their
+productions to the world.  But this, in my opinion, is the more
+assuming manner of the two; for of all the garbs I ever saw Pride
+put on, that of her humility is to me the most disgusting."
+
+"It is natural enough for a poet to be vain," said the stranger.
+"The little worlds which he raises, the inspiration which he claims,
+may easily be productive of self-importance; though that inspiration
+is fabulous, it brings on egotism, which is always the parent of
+vanity."
+
+"It may be supposed," answered Harley, "that inspiration of old was
+an article of religious faith; in modern times it may be translated
+a propensity to compose; and I believe it is not always most readily
+found where the poets have fixed its residence, amidst groves and
+plains, and the scenes of pastoral retirement.  The mind may be
+there unbent from the cares of the world, but it will frequently, at
+the same time, be unnerved from any great exertion.  It will feel
+imperfect, and wander without effort over the regions of
+reflection."
+
+"There is at least," said the stranger, "one advantage in the
+poetical inclination, that it is an incentive to philanthropy.
+There is a certain poetic ground, on which a man cannot tread
+without feelings that enlarge the heart:  the causes of human
+depravity vanish before the romantic enthusiasm he professes, and
+many who are not able to reach the Parnassian heights, may yet
+approach so near as to be bettered by the air of the climate."
+
+"I have always thought so," replied Harley; "but this is an argument
+with the prudent against it:  they urge the danger of unfitness for
+the world."
+
+"I allow it," returned the other; "but I believe it is not always
+rightfully imputed to the bent for poetry:  that is only one effect
+of the common cause.--Jack, says his father, is indeed no scholar;
+nor could all the drubbings from his master ever bring him one step
+forward in his accidence or syntax:  but I intend him for a
+merchant.--Allow the same indulgence to Tom.--Tom reads Virgil and
+Horace when he should be casting accounts; and but t'other day he
+pawned his great-coat for an edition of Shakespeare.--But Tom would
+have been as he is, though Virgil and Horace had never been born,
+though Shakespeare had died a link-boy; for his nurse will tell you,
+that when he was a child, he broke his rattle, to discover what it
+was that sounded within it; and burnt the sticks of his go-cart,
+because he liked to see the sparkling of timber in the fire.--'Tis a
+sad case; but what is to be done?--Why, Jack shall make a fortune,
+dine on venison, and drink claret.--Ay, but Tom--Tom shall dine with
+his brother, when his pride will let him; at other times, he shall
+bless God over a half-pint of ale and a Welsh-rabbit; and both shall
+go to heaven as they may.--That's a poor prospect for Tom, says the
+father.--To go to heaven!  I cannot agree with him."
+
+"Perhaps," said Harley, "we now-a-days discourage the romantic turn
+a little too much.  Our boys are prudent too soon.  Mistake me not,
+I do not mean to blame them for want of levity or dissipation; but
+their pleasures are those of hackneyed vice, blunted to every finer
+emotion by the repetition of debauch; and their desire of pleasure
+is warped to the desire of wealth, as the means of procuring it.
+The immense riches acquired by individuals have erected a standard
+of ambition, destructive of private morals, and of public virtue.
+The weaknesses of vice are left us; but the most allowable of our
+failings we are taught to despise.  Love, the passion most natural
+to the sensibility of youth, has lost the plaintive dignity he once
+possessed, for the unmeaning simper of a dangling coxcomb; and the
+only serious concern, that of a dowry, is settled, even amongst the
+beardless leaders of the dancing-school.  The Frivolous and the
+Interested (might a satirist say) are the characteristical features
+of the age; they are visible even in the essays of our philosophers.
+They laugh at the pedantry of our fathers, who complained of the
+times in which they lived; they are at pains to persuade us how much
+those were deceived; they pride themselves in defending things as
+they find them, and in exploding the barren sounds which had been
+reared into motives for action.  To this their style is suited; and
+the manly tone of reason is exchanged for perpetual efforts at sneer
+and ridicule.  This I hold to be an alarming crisis in the
+corruption of a state; when not only is virtue declined, and vice
+prevailing, but when the praises of virtue are forgotten, and the
+infamy of vice unfelt."
+
+They soon after arrived at the next inn upon the route of the stage-
+coach, when the stranger told Harley, that his brother's house, to
+which he was returning, lay at no great distance, and he must
+therefore unwillingly bid him adieu.
+
+"I should like," said Harley, taking his hand, "to have some word to
+remember so much seeming worth by:  my name is Harley."
+
+"I shall remember it," answered the old gentleman, "in my prayers;
+mine is Silton."
+
+And Silton indeed it was!  Ben Silton himself!  Once more, my
+honoured friend, farewell!--Born to be happy without the world, to
+that peaceful happiness which the world has not to bestow!  Envy
+never scowled on thy life, nor hatred smiled on thy grave.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV--HE MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
+
+
+
+When the stage-coach arrived at the place of its destination, Harley
+began to consider how he should proceed the remaining part of his
+journey.  He was very civilly accosted by the master of the inn, who
+offered to accommodate him either with a post-chaise or horses, to
+any distance he had a mind:  but as he did things frequently in a
+way different from what other people call natural, he refused these
+offers, and set out immediately a-foot, having first put a spare
+shirt in his pocket, and given directions for the forwarding of his
+portmanteau.  This was a method of travelling which he was
+accustomed to take:  it saved the trouble of provision for any
+animal but himself, and left him at liberty to chose his quarters,
+either at an inn, or at the first cottage in which he saw a face he
+liked:  nay, when he was not peculiarly attracted by the reasonable
+creation, he would sometimes consort with a species of inferior
+rank, and lay himself down to sleep by the side of a rock, or on the
+banks of a rivulet.  He did few things without a motive, but his
+motives were rather eccentric:  and the useful and expedient were
+terms which he held to be very indefinite, and which therefore he
+did not always apply to the sense in which they are commonly
+understood.
+
+The sun was now in his decline, and the evening remarkably serene,
+when he entered a hollow part of the road, which winded between the
+surrounding banks, and seamed the sward in different lines, as the
+choice of travellers had directed them to tread it.  It seemed to be
+little frequented now, for some of those had partly recovered their
+former verdure.  The scene was such as induced Harley to stand and
+enjoy it; when, turning round, his notice was attracted by an
+object, which the fixture of his eye on the spot he walked had
+before prevented him from observing.
+
+An old man, who from his dress seemed to have been a soldier, lay
+fast asleep on the ground; a knapsack rested on a stone at his right
+hand, while his staff and brass-hilted sword were crossed at his
+left.
+
+Harley looked on him with the most earnest attention.  He was one of
+those figures which Salvator would have drawn; nor was the
+surrounding scenery unlike the wildness of that painter's back-
+grounds.  The banks on each side were covered with fantastic shrub-
+wood, and at a little distance, on the top of one of them, stood a
+finger-post, to mark the directions of two roads which diverged from
+the point where it was placed.  A rock, with some dangling wild
+flowers, jutted out above where the soldier lay; on which grew the
+stump of a large tree, white with age, and a single twisted branch
+shaded his face as he slept.  His face had the marks of manly
+comeliness impaired by time; his forehead was not altogether bald,
+but its hairs might have been numbered; while a few white locks
+behind crossed the brown of his neck with a contrast the most
+venerable to a mind like Harley's.  "Thou art old," said he to
+himself; "but age has not brought thee rest for its infirmities; I
+fear those silver hairs have not found shelter from thy country,
+though that neck has been bronzed in its service."  The stranger
+waked.  He looked at Harley with the appearance of some confusion:
+it was a pain the latter knew too well to think of causing in
+another; he turned and went on.  The old man re-adjusted his
+knapsack, and followed in one of the tracks on the opposite side of
+the road.
+
+When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could not
+help stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveller.  He seemed to
+bend under the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his walk, and
+one of his arms was supported by a sling, and lay motionless across
+his breast.  He had that steady look of sorrow, which indicates that
+its owner has gazed upon his griefs till he has forgotten to lament
+them; yet not without those streaks of complacency which a good mind
+will sometimes throw into the countenance, through all the incumbent
+load of its depression.
+
+He had now advanced nearer to Harley, and, with an uncertain sort of
+voice, begged to know what it was o'clock; "I fear," said he, "sleep
+has beguiled me of my time, and I shall hardly have light enough
+left to carry me to the end of my journey."
+
+"Father!" said Harley (who by this time found the romantic
+enthusiasm rising within him) "how far do you mean to go?"
+
+"But a little way, sir," returned the other; "and indeed it is but a
+little way I can manage now:  'tis just four miles from the height
+to the village, thither I am going."
+
+"I am going there too," said Harley; "we may make the road shorter
+to each other.  You seem to have served your country, sir, to have
+served it hardly too; 'tis a character I have the highest esteem
+for.--I would not be impertinently inquisitive; but there is that in
+your appearance which excites my curiosity to know something more of
+you; in the meantime, suffer me to carry that knapsack."
+
+The old man gazed on him; a tear stood in his eye!  "Young
+gentleman," said he, "you are too good; may Heaven bless you for an
+old man's sake, who has nothing but his blessing to give! but my
+knapsack is so familiar to my shoulders, that I should walk the
+worse for wanting it; and it would be troublesome to you, who have
+not been used to its weight."
+
+"Far from it," answered Harley, "I should tread the lighter; it
+would be the most honourable badge I ever wore."
+
+"Sir," said the stranger, who had looked earnestly in Harley's face
+during the last part of his discourse, "is act your name Harley?"
+
+"It is," replied he; "I am ashamed to say I have forgotten yours."
+
+"You may well have forgotten my face," said the stranger;--"'tis a
+long time since you saw it; but possibly you may remember something
+of old Edwards."
+
+"Edwards!" cried Harley, "oh! heavens!" and sprung to embrace him;
+"let me clasp those knees on which I have sat so often:  Edwards!--I
+shall never forget that fire-side, round which I have been so happy!
+But where, where have you been? where is Jack? where is your
+daughter?  How has it fared with them, when fortune, I fear, has
+been so unkind to you?"
+
+"'Tis a long tale," replied Edwards; "but I will try to tell it you
+as we walk.
+
+"When you were at school in the neighbourhood, you remember me at
+South-hill:  that farm had been possessed by my father, grandfather,
+and great-grandfather, which last was a younger brother of that very
+man's ancestor, who is now lord of the manor.  I thought I managed
+it, as they had done, with prudence; I paid my rent regularly as it
+became due, and had always as much behind as gave bread to me and my
+children.  But my last lease was out soon after you left that part
+of the country; and the squire, who had lately got a London-attorney
+for his steward, would not renew it, because, he said, he did not
+chuse to have any farm under 300 pounds a year value on his estate;
+but offered to give me the preference on the same terms with
+another, if I chose to take the one he had marked out, of which mine
+was a part.
+
+"What could I do, Mr. Harley?  I feared the undertaking was too
+great for me; yet to leave, at my age, the house I had lived in from
+my cradle!  I could not, Mr. Harley, I could not; there was not a
+tree about it that I did not look on as my father, my brother, or my
+child:  so I even ran the risk, and took the squire's offer of the
+whole.  But had soon reason to repent of my bargain; the steward had
+taken care that my former farm should be the best land of the
+division:  I was obliged to hire more servants, and I could not have
+my eye over them all; some unfavourable seasons followed one
+another, and I found my affairs entangling on my hands.  To add to
+my distress, a considerable corn-factor turned bankrupt with a sum
+of mine in his possession:  I failed paying my rent so punctually as
+I was wont to do, and the same steward had my stock taken in
+execution in a few days after.  So, Mr. Harley, there was an end of
+my prosperity.  However, there was as much produced from the sale of
+my effects as paid my debts and saved me from a jail:  I thank God I
+wronged no man, and the world could never charge me with dishonesty.
+
+"Had you seen us, Mr. Harley, when we were turned out of South-hill,
+I am sure you would have wept at the sight.  You remember old
+Trusty, my shag house-dog; I shall never forget it while I live; the
+poor creature was blind with age, and could scarce crawl after us to
+the door; he went however as far as the gooseberry-bush that you may
+remember stood on the left side of the yard; he was wont to bask in
+the sun there; when he had reached that spot, he stopped; we went
+on:  I called to him; he wagged his tail, but did not stir:  I
+called again; he lay down:  I whistled, and cried Trusty; he gave a
+short howl, and died!  I could have lain down and died too; but God
+gave me strength to live for my children."
+
+The old man now paused a moment to take breath.  He eyed Harley's
+face; it was bathed with tears:  the story was grown familiar to
+himself; he dropped one tear, and no more.
+
+"Though I was poor," continued he, "I was not altogether without
+credit.  A gentleman in the neighbourhood, who had a small farm
+unoccupied at the time, offered to let me have it, on giving
+security for the rent; which I made shift to procure.  It was a
+piece of ground which required management to make anything of; but
+it was nearly within the compass of my son's labour and my own.  We
+exerted all our industry to bring it into some heart.  We began to
+succeed tolerably and lived contented on its produce, when an
+unlucky accident brought us under the displeasure of a neighbouring
+justice of the peace, and broke all our family-happiness again.
+
+"My son was a remarkable good shooter; he-had always kept a pointer
+on our former farm, and thought no harm in doing so now; when one
+day, having sprung a covey in our own ground, the dog, of his own
+accord, followed them into the justice's.  My son laid down his gun,
+and went after his dog to bring him back:  the game-keeper, who had
+marked the birds, came up, and seeing the pointer, shot him just as
+my son approached.  The creature fell; my son ran up to him:  he
+died with a complaining sort of cry at his master's feet.  Jack
+could bear it no longer; but, flying at the game-keeper, wrenched
+his gun out of his hand, and with the butt end of it, felled him to
+the ground.
+
+"He had scarce got home, when a constable came with a warrant, and
+dragged him to prison; there he lay, for the justices would not take
+bail, till he was tried at the quarter-sessions for the assault and
+battery.  His fine was hard upon us to pay:  we contrived however to
+live the worse for it, and make up the loss by our frugality:  but
+the justice was not content with that punishment, and soon after had
+an opportunity of punishing us indeed.
+
+"An officer with press-orders came down to our county, and having
+met with the justices, agreed that they should pitch on a certain
+number, who could most easily be spared from the county, of whom he
+would take care to clear it:  my son's name was in the justices'
+list.
+
+"'Twas on a Christmas eve, and the birth-day too of my son's little
+boy.  The night was piercing cold, and it blew a storm, with showers
+of hail and snow.  We had made up a cheering fire in an inner room;
+I sat before it in my wicker-chair; blessing providence, that had
+still left a shelter for me and my children.  My son's two little
+ones were holding their gambols around us; my heart warmed at the
+sight:  I brought a bottle of my best ale, and all our misfortunes
+were forgotten.
+
+"It had long been our custom to play a game at blind man's buff on
+that night, and it was not omitted now; so to it we fell, I, and my
+son, and his wife, the daughter of a neighbouring farmer, who
+happened to be with us at the time, the two children, and an old
+maid servant, who had lived with me from a child.  The lot fell on
+my son to be blindfolded:  we had continued some time in our game,
+when he groped his way into an outer room in pursuit of some of us,
+who, he imagined, had taken shelter there; we kept snug in our
+places, and enjoyed his mistake.  He had not been long there, when
+he was suddenly seized from behind; 'I shall have you now,' said he,
+and turned about.  'Shall you so, master?' answered the ruffian, who
+had laid hold of him; 'we shall make you play at another sort of
+game by and by.'"--At these words Harley started with a convulsive
+sort of motion, and grasping Edwards's sword, drew it half out of
+the scabbard, with a look of the most frantic wildness.  Edwards
+gently replaced it in its sheath, and went on with his relation.
+
+"On hearing these words in a strange voice, we all rushed out to
+discover the cause; the room by this time was almost full of the
+gang.  My daughter-in-law fainted at the sight; the maid and I ran
+to assist her, while my poor son remained motionless, gazing by
+turns on his children and their mother.  We soon recovered her to
+life, and begged her to retire and wait the issue of the affair; but
+she flew to her husband, and clung round him in an agony of terror
+and grief.
+
+"In the gang was one of a smoother aspect, whom, by his dress, we
+discovered to be a serjeant of foot:  he came up to me, and told me,
+that my son had his choice of the sea or land service, whispering at
+the same time that, if he chose the land, he might get off, on
+procuring him another man, and paying a certain sum for his freedom.
+The money we could just muster up in the house, by the assistance of
+the maid, who produced, in a green bag, all the little savings of
+her service; but the man we could not expect to find.  My daughter-
+in-law gazed upon her children with a look of the wildest despair:
+'My poor infants!' said she, 'your father is forced from you; who
+shall now labour for your bread? or must your mother beg for herself
+and you?'  I prayed her to be patient; but comfort I had none to
+give her.  At last, calling the serjeant aside, I asked him, 'If I
+was too old to be accepted in place of my son?'
+
+"'Why, I don't know,' said he; 'you are rather old to be sure, but
+yet the money may do much.'
+
+"I put the money in his hand, and coming back to my children,
+'Jack,' said I, 'you are free; live to give your wife and these
+little ones bread; I will go, my child, in your stead; I have but
+little life to lose, and if I staid, I should add one to the
+wretches you left behind.'
+
+"'No,' replied my son, 'I am not that coward you imagine me; heaven
+forbid that my father's grey hairs should be so exposed, while I sat
+idle at home; I am young and able to endure much, and God will take
+care of you and my family.'
+
+"'Jack,' said I, 'I will put an end to this matter, you have never
+hitherto disobeyed me; I will not be contradicted in this; stay at
+home, I charge you, and, for my sake, be kind to my children.'
+
+"Our parting, Mr. Harley, I cannot describe to you; it was the first
+time we ever had parted:  the very press-gang could scarce keep from
+tears; but the serjeant, who had seemed the softest before, was now
+the least moved of them all.  He conducted me to a party of new-
+raised recruits, who lay at a village in the neighbourhood; and we
+soon after joined the regiment.  I had not been long with it when we
+were ordered to the East Indies, where I was soon made a serjeant,
+and might have picked up some money, if my heart had been as hard as
+some others were; but my nature was never of that kind, that could
+think of getting rich at the expense of my conscience.
+
+"Amongst our prisoners was an old Indian, whom some of our officers
+supposed to have a treasure hidden somewhere; which is no uncommon
+practice in that country.  They pressed him to discover it.  He
+declared he had none, but that would not satisfy them, so they
+ordered him to be tied to a stake, and suffer fifty lashes every
+morning till he should learn to speak out, as they said.  Oh! Mr.
+Harley, had you seen him, as I did, with his hands bound behind him,
+suffering in silence, while the big drops trickled down his
+shrivelled cheeks and wet his grey beard, which some of the inhuman
+soldiers plucked in scorn!  I could not bear it, I could not for my
+soul, and one morning, when the rest of the guard were out of the
+way, I found means to let him escape.  I was tried by a court-
+martial for negligence of my post, and ordered, in compassion of my
+age, and having got this wound in my arm and that in my leg in the
+service, only to suffer three hundred lashes and be turned out of
+the regiment; but my sentence was mitigated as to the lashes, and I
+had only two hundred.  When I had suffered these I was turned out of
+the camp, and had betwixt three and four hundred miles to travel
+before I could reach a sea-port, without guide to conduct me, or
+money to buy me provisions by the way.  I set out, however, resolved
+to walk as far as I could, and then to lay myself down and die.  But
+I had scarce gone a mile when I was met by the Indian whom I had
+delivered.  He pressed me in his arms, and kissed the marks of the
+lashes on my back a thousand times; he led me to a little hut, where
+some friend of his dwelt, and after I was recovered of my wounds
+conducted me so far on my journey himself, and sent another Indian
+to guide me through the rest.  When we parted he pulled out a purse
+with two hundred pieces of gold in it.  'Take this,' said he, 'my
+dear preserver, it is all I have been able to procure.'
+
+"I begged him not to bring himself to poverty for my sake, who
+should probably have no need of it long, but he insisted on my
+accepting it.  He embraced me.  'You are an Englishman,' said he,
+'but the Great Spirit has given you an Indian heart, may He bear up
+the weight of your old age, and blunt the arrow that brings it
+rest!'
+
+"We parted, and not long after I made shift to get my passage to
+England.  'Tis but about a week since I landed, and I am going to
+end my days in the arms of my son.  This sum may be of use to him
+and his children, 'tis all the value I put upon it.  I thank Heaven
+I never was covetous of wealth; I never had much, but was always so
+happy as to be content with my little."
+
+When Edwards had ended his relation, Harley stood a while looking at
+him in silence; at last he pressed him in his arms, and when he had
+given vent to the fulness of his heart by a shower of tears,
+"Edwards," said he, "let me hold thee to my bosom, let me imprint
+the virtue of thy sufferings on my soul.  Come, my honoured veteran
+let me endeavour to soften the last days of a life, worn out in the
+service of humanity; call me also thy son, and let me cherish thee
+as a father."'
+
+Edwards, from whom the recollection of his own suffering had scarced
+forced a tear, now blubbered like a boy; he could not speak his
+gratitude, but by some short exclamations of blessings upon Harley.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV--HE MISSES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.--AN ADVENTURE
+CONSEQUENT UPON IT
+
+
+
+When they had arrived within a little way of the village they
+journeyed to, Harley stopped short, and looked steadfastly on the
+mouldering walls of a ruined house that stood on the road side.
+"Oh, heavens!" he cried, "what do I see:  silent, unroofed, and
+desolate!  Are all thy gay tenants gone? do I hear their hum no more
+Edwards, look there, look there? the scene of my infant joys, my
+earliest friendships, laid waste and ruinous!  That was the very
+school where I was boarded when you were at South-hill; 'tis but a
+twelve-month since I saw it standing, and its benches filled with
+cherubs:  that opposite side of the road was the green on which they
+sported; see it now ploughed up!  I would have given fifty times its
+value to have saved it from the sacrilege of that plough."
+
+"Dear sir," replied Edwards, "perhaps they have left it from choice,
+and may have got another spot as good."
+
+"They cannot," said Harley, "they cannot; I shall never see the
+sward covered with its daisies, nor pressed by the dance of the dear
+innocents:  I shall never see that stump decked with the garlands
+which their little hands had gathered.  These two long stones, which
+now lie at the foot of it, were once the supports of a hut I myself
+assisted to rear:  I have sat on the sods within it, when we had
+spread our banquet of apples before us, and been more blessed--Oh!
+Edwards, infinitely more blessed, than ever I shall be again."
+
+Just then a woman passed them on the road, and discovered some signs
+of wonder at the attitude of Harley, who stood, with his hands
+folded together, looking with a moistened eye on the fallen pillars
+of the hut.  He was too much entranced in thought to observe her at
+all, but Edwards, civilly accosting her, desired to know if that had
+not been the school-house, and how it came into the condition in
+which they now saw it.
+
+"Alack a day!" said she, "it was the school-house indeed; but to be
+sure, sir, the squire has pulled it down because it stood in the way
+of his prospects."
+
+"What! how! prospects! pulled down!" cried Harley.
+
+"Yes, to be sure, sir; and the green, where the children used to
+play, he has ploughed up, because, he said, they hurt his fence on
+the other side of it."
+
+"Curses on his narrow heart," cried Harley, "that could violate a
+right so sacred!  Heaven blast the wretch!
+
+
+"And from his derogate body never spring
+A babe to honour him!" -
+
+
+But I need not, Edwards, I need not" (recovering himself a little),
+"he is cursed enough already:  to him the noblest source of
+happiness is denied, and the cares of his sordid soul shall gnaw it,
+while thou sittest over a brown crust, smiling on those mangled
+limbs that have saved thy son and his children!"
+
+"If you want anything with the school-mistress, sir," said the
+woman, "I can show you the way to her house."
+
+He followed her without knowing whither he went.
+
+They stopped at the door of a snug habitation, where sat an elderly
+woman with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held a supper
+of bread and milk in their hands.
+
+"There, sir, is the school-mistress."
+
+"Madam," said Harley, "was not an old venerable man school-master
+here some time ago?"
+
+"Yes, sir, he was, poor man; the loss of his former school-house, I
+believe, broke his heart, for he died soon after it was taken down,
+and as another has not yet been found, I have that charge in the
+meantime."
+
+"And this boy and girl, I presume, are your pupils?"
+
+"Ay, sir; they are poor orphans, put under my care by the parish,
+and more promising children I never saw."
+
+"Orphans?" said Harley.
+
+"Yes, sir, of honest creditable parents as any in the parish, and it
+is a shame for some folks to forget their relations at a time when
+they have most need to remember them."
+
+"Madam," said Harley, "let us never forget that we are all
+relations."
+
+He kissed the children.
+
+"Their father, sir," continued she, "was a farmer here in the
+neighbourhood, and a sober industrious man he was; but nobody can
+help misfortunes:  what with bad crops, and bad debts, which are
+worse, his affairs went to wreck, and both he and his wife died of
+broken hearts.  And a sweet couple they were, sir; there was not a
+properer man to look on in the county than John Edwards, and so
+indeed were all the Edwardses."
+
+"What Edwardses?" cried the old soldier hastily.
+
+"The Edwardses of South-hill, and a worthy family they were."
+
+"South-hill!" said he, in a languid voice, and fell back into the
+arms of the astonished Harley.  The school-mistress ran for some
+water--and a smelling-bottle, with the assistance of which they soon
+recovered the unfortunate Edwards.  He stared wildly for some time,
+then folding his orphan grandchildren in his arms,
+
+"Oh! my children, my children," he cried, "have I found you thus?
+My poor Jack, art thou gone?  I thought thou shouldst have carried
+thy father's grey hairs to the grave! and these little ones"--his
+tears choked his utterance, and he fell again on the necks of the
+children.
+
+"My dear old man," said Harley, "Providence has sent you to relieve
+them; it will bless me if I can be the means of assisting you."
+
+"Yes, indeed, sir," answered the boy; "father, when he was a-dying,
+bade God bless us, and prayed that if grandfather lived he might
+send him to support us."
+
+"Where did they lay my boy?" said Edwards.
+
+"In the Old Churchyard," replied the woman, "hard by his mother."
+
+"I will show it you," answered the boy, "for I have wept over it
+many a time when first I came amongst strange folks."
+
+He took the old man's hand, Harley laid hold of his sister's, and
+they walked in silence to the churchyard.
+
+There was an old stone, with the corner broken off, and some
+letters, half-covered with moss, to denote the names of the dead:
+there was a cyphered R. E. plainer than the rest; it was the tomb
+they sought.
+
+"Here it is, grandfather," said the boy.
+
+Edwards gazed upon it without uttering a word:  the girl, who had
+only sighed before, now wept outright; her brother sobbed, but he
+stifled his sobbing.
+
+"I have told sister," said he, "that she should not take it so to
+heart; she can knit already, and I shall soon be able to dig, we
+shall not starve, sister, indeed we shall not, nor shall grandfather
+neither."
+
+The girl cried afresh; Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed,
+and wept between every kiss.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI--HE RETURNS HOME.--A DESCRIPTION OF HIS RETINUE
+
+
+
+It was with some difficulty that Harley prevailed on the old man to
+leave the spot where the remains of his son were laid.  At last,
+with the assistance of the school-mistress, he prevailed; and she
+accommodated Edwards and him with beds in her house, there being
+nothing like an inn nearer than the distance of some miles.
+
+In the morning Harley persuaded Edwards to come with the children to
+his house, which was distant but a short day's journey.  The boy
+walked in his grandfather's hand; and the name of Edwards procured
+him a neighbouring farmer's horse, on which a servant mounted, with
+the girl on a pillow before him.
+
+With this train Harley returned to the abode of his fathers:  and we
+cannot but think, that his enjoyment was as great as if he had
+arrived from the tour of Europe with a Swiss valet for his
+companion, and half a dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible hinges, in
+his pocket.  But we take our ideas from sounds which folly has
+invented; Fashion, Boa ton, and Vertu, are the names of certain
+idols, to which we sacrifice the genuine pleasures of the soul:  in
+this world of semblance, we are contented with personating
+happiness; to feel it is an art beyond us.
+
+It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt with the
+history of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips.  His aunt was
+an economist; but she knew the pleasure of doing charitable things,
+and withal was fond of her nephew, and solicitous to oblige him.
+She received old Edwards therefore with a look of more complacency
+than is perhaps natural to maiden ladies of three-score, and was
+remarkably attentive to his grandchildren:  she roasted apples with
+her own hands for their supper, and made up a little bed beside her
+own for the girl.  Edwards made some attempts towards an
+acknowledgment for these favours; but his young friend stopped them
+in their beginnings.
+
+"Whosoever receiveth any of these children," said his aunt; for her
+acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.
+
+Early next morning Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay:  he
+expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken:  the
+old man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, with
+the tears flowing down his cheeks.  At first he did not perceive
+Harley; when he did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, and crossing
+his eyes with his hand expressed his surprise at seeing him so early
+astir.
+
+"I was thinking of you," said Harley, "and your children:  I learned
+last night that a small farm of mine in the neighbourhood is now
+vacant:  if you will occupy it I shall gain a good neighbour and be
+able in some measure to repay the notice you took of me when a boy,
+and as the furniture of the house is mine, it will be so much
+trouble saved."
+
+Edwards's tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see the place
+he intended for him.
+
+The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut; its
+situation, however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by the
+beneficence of Harley, set about improving its neatness and
+convenience.  He staked out a piece of the green before for a
+garden, and Peter, who acted in Harley's family as valet, butler,
+and gardener, had orders to furnish him with parcels of the
+different seeds he chose to sow in it.  I have seen his master at
+work in this little spot with his coat off, and his dibble in his
+hand:  it was a scene of tranquil virtue to have stopped an angel on
+his errands of mercy!  Harley had contrived to lead a little
+bubbling brook through a green walk in the middle of the ground,
+upon which he had erected a mill in miniature for the diversion of
+Edwards's infant grandson, and made shift in its construction to
+introduce a pliant bit of wood that answered with its fairy clack to
+the murmuring of the rill that turned it.  I have seen him stand,
+listening to these mingled sounds, with his eye fixed on the boy,
+and the smile of conscious satisfaction on his cheek, while the old
+man, with a look half turned to Harley and half to heaven, breathed
+an ejaculation of gratitude and piety.
+
+Father of mercies!  I also would thank thee that not only hast thou
+assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in this bad
+world, the lines of our duty and our happiness are so frequently
+woven together.
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT.--THE MAN OF FEELING TALKS OF WHAT HE DOES NOT
+UNDERSTAND.--AN INCIDENT
+
+
+
+* * * * "Edwards," said he, "I have a proper regard for the
+prosperity of my country:  every native of it appropriates to
+himself some share of the power, or the fame, which, as a nation, it
+acquires, but I cannot throw off the man so much as to rejoice at
+our conquests in India.  You tell me of immense territories subject
+to the English:  I cannot think of their possessions without being
+led to inquire by what right they possess them.  They came there as
+traders, bartering the commodities they brought for others which
+their purchasers could spare; and however great their profits were,
+they were then equitable.  But what title have the subjects of
+another kingdom to establish an empire in India? to give laws to a
+country where the inhabitants received them on the terms of friendly
+commerce?  You say they are happier under our regulations than the
+tyranny of their own petty princes.  I must doubt it, from the
+conduct of those by whom these regulations have been made.  They
+have drained the treasuries of Nabobs, who must fill them by
+oppressing the industry of their subjects.  Nor is this to be
+wondered at, when we consider the motive upon which those gentlemen
+do not deny their going to India.  The fame of conquest, barbarous
+as that motive is, is but a secondary consideration:  there are
+certain stations in wealth to which the warriors of the East aspire.
+It is there, indeed, where the wishes of their friends assign them
+eminence, where the question of their country is pointed at their
+return.  When shall I see a commander return from India in the pride
+of honourable poverty?  You describe the victories they have gained;
+they are sullied by the cause in which they fought:  you enumerate
+the spoils of those victories; they are covered with the blood of
+the vanquished.
+
+"Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and happiness to
+the conquered? did he accept the gifts of their princes to use them
+for the comfort of those whose fathers, sons, or husbands, fell in
+battle? did he use his power to gain security and freedom to the
+regions of oppression and slavery? did he endear the British name by
+examples of generosity, which the most barbarous or most depraved
+are rarely able to resist? did he return with the consciousness of
+duty discharged to his country, and humanity to his fellow-
+creatures? did he return with no lace on his coat, no slaves in his
+retinue, no chariot at his door, and no burgundy at his table?--
+these were laurels which princes might envy--which an honest man
+would not condemn!"
+
+"Your maxims, Mr. Harley, are certainly right," said Edwards.  "I am
+not capable of arguing with you; but I imagine there are great
+temptations in a great degree of riches, which it is no easy matter
+to resist:  those a poor man like me cannot describe, because he
+never knew them; and perhaps I have reason to bless God that I never
+did; for then, it is likely, I should have withstood them no better
+than my neighbours.  For you know, sir, that it is not the fashion
+now, as it was in former times, that I have read of in books, when
+your great generals died so poor, that they did not leave
+wherewithal to buy them a coffin; and people thought the better of
+their memories for it:  if they did so now-a-days, I question if any
+body, except yourself, and some few like you, would thank them."
+
+"I am sorry," replied Harley, "that there is so much truth in what
+you say; but however the general current of opinion may point, the
+feelings are not yet lost that applaud benevolence, and censure
+inhumanity.  Let us endeavour to strengthen them in ourselves; and
+we, who live sequestered from the noise of the multitude, have
+better opportunities of listening undisturbed to their voice."
+
+They now approached the little dwelling of Edwards.  A maid-servant,
+whom he had hired to assist him in the care of his grandchildren met
+them a little way from the house:  "There is a young lady within
+with the children," said she.  Edwards expressed his surprise at the
+visit:  it was however not the less true; and we mean to account for
+it.
+
+This young lady then was no other than Miss Walton.  She had heard
+the old man's history from Harley, as we have already related it.
+Curiosity, or some other motive, made her desirous to see his
+grandchildren; this she had an opportunity of gratifying soon, the
+children, in some of their walks, having strolled as far as her
+father's avenue.  She put several questions to both; she was
+delighted with the simplicity of their answers, and promised, that
+if they continued to be good children, and do as their grandfather
+bid them, she would soon see them again, and bring some present or
+other for their reward.  This promise she had performed now:  she
+came attended only by her maid, and brought with her a complete suit
+of green for the boy, and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit of
+ribbons, for his sister.  She had time enough, with her maid's
+assistance, to equip them in their new habiliments before Harley and
+Edwards returned.  The boy heard his grandfather's voice, and, with
+that silent joy which his present finery inspired, ran to the door
+to meet him:  putting one hand in his, with the other pointed to his
+sister, "See," said he, "what Miss Walton has brought us!"--Edwards
+gazed on them.  Harley fixed his eyes on Miss Walton; her's were
+turned to the ground;--in Edwards's was a beamy moisture.--He folded
+his hands together--"I cannot speak, young lady," said he, "to thank
+you."  Neither could Harley.  There were a thousand sentiments; but
+they gushed so impetuously on his heart, that he could not utter a
+syllable. * * * *
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL--THE MAN OF FEELING JEALOUS
+
+
+
+The desire of communicating knowledge or intelligence, is an
+argument with those who hold that man is naturally a social animal.
+It is indeed one of the earliest propensities we discover; but it
+may be doubted whether the pleasure (for pleasure there certainly
+is) arising from it be not often more selfish than social:  for we
+frequently observe the tidings of Ill communicated as eagerly as the
+annunciation of Good.  Is it that we delight in observing the
+effects of the stronger passions? for we are all philosophers in
+this respect; and it is perhaps amongst the spectators at Tyburn
+that the most genuine are to be found.
+
+Was it from this motive that Peter came one morning into his
+master's room with a meaning face of recital?  His master indeed did
+not at first observe it; for he was sitting with one shoe buckled,
+delineating portraits in the fire.  "I have brushed those clothes,
+sir, as you ordered me."--Harley nodded his head but Peter observed
+that his hat wanted brushing too:  his master nodded again.  At last
+Peter bethought him that the fire needed stirring; and taking up the
+poker, demolished the turban'd head of a Saracen, while his master
+was seeking out a body for it.  "The morning is main cold, sir,"
+said Peter.  "Is it?" said Harley.  "Yes, sir; I have been as far as
+Tom Dowson's to fetch some barberries he had picked for Mrs.
+Margery.  There was a rare junketting last night at Thomas's among
+Sir Harry Benson's servants; he lay at Squire Walton's, but he would
+not suffer his servants to trouble the family:  so, to be sure, they
+were all at Tom's, and had a fiddle, and a hot supper in the big
+room where the justices meet about the destroying of hares and
+partridges, and them things; and Tom's eyes looked so red and so
+bleared when I called him to get the barberries:- And I hear as how
+Sir Harry is going to be married to Miss Walton."--"How!  Miss
+Walton married!" said Harley.  "Why, it mayn't be true, sir, for all
+that; but Tom's wife told it me, and to be sure the servants told
+her, and their master told them, as I guess, sir; but it mayn't be
+true for all that, as I said before."--"Have done with your idle
+information," said Harley:- "Is my aunt come down into the parlour
+to breakfast?"--"Yes, sir."--"Tell her I'll be with her
+immediately."
+
+When Peter was gone, he stood with his eyes fixed on the ground, and
+the last words of his intelligence vibrating in his ears.  "Miss
+Walton married!" he sighed--and walked down stairs, with his shoe as
+it was, and the buckle in his hand.  His aunt, however, was pretty
+well accustomed to those appearances of absence; besides, that the
+natural gravity of her temper, which was commonly called into
+exertion by the care of her household concerns, was such as not
+easily to be discomposed by any circumstance of accidental
+impropriety.  She too had been informed of the intended match
+between Sir Harry Benson and Miss Walton.  "I have been thinking,"
+said she, "that they are distant relations:  for the great-
+grandfather of this Sir Harry Benson, who was knight of the shire in
+the reign of Charles the First, and one of the cavaliers of those
+times, was married to a daughter of the Walton family."  Harley
+answered drily, that it might be so; but that he never troubled
+himself about those matters.  "Indeed," said she, "you are to blame,
+nephew, for not knowing a little more of them:  before I was near
+your age I had sewed the pedigree of our family in a set of chair-
+bottoms, that were made a present of to my grandmother, who was a
+very notable woman, and had a proper regard for gentility, I'll
+assure you; but now-a-days it is money, not birth, that makes people
+respected; the more shame for the times."
+
+Harley was in no very good humour for entering into a discussion of
+this question; but he always entertained so much filial respect for
+his aunt, as to attend to her discourse.
+
+"We blame the pride of the rich," said he, "but are not we ashamed
+of our poverty?"
+
+"Why, one would not choose," replied his aunt, "to make a much worse
+figure than one's neighbours; but, as I was saying before, the times
+(as my friend, Mrs. Dorothy Walton, observes) are shamefully
+degenerated in this respect.  There was but t'other day at Mr.
+Walton's, that fat fellow's daughter, the London merchant, as he
+calls himself, though I have heard that he was little better than
+the keeper of a chandler's shop.  We were leaving the gentlemen to
+go to tea.  She had a hoop, forsooth, as large and as stiff--and it
+showed a pair of bandy legs, as thick as two--I was nearer the door
+by an apron's length, and the pert hussy brushed by me, as who
+should say, Make way for your betters, and with one of her London
+bobs--but Mrs. Dorothy did not let her pass with it; for all the
+time of drinking tea, she spoke of the precedency of family, and the
+disparity there is between people who are come of something and your
+mushroom gentry who wear their coats of arms in their purses."
+
+Her indignation was interrupted by the arrival of her maid with a
+damask table-cloth, and a set of napkins, from the loom, which had
+been spun by her mistress's own hand.  There was the family crest in
+each corner, and in the middle a view of the battle of Worcester,
+where one of her ancestors had been a captain in the king's forces;
+and with a sort of poetical licence in perspective, there was seen
+the Royal Oak, with more wig than leaves upon it.
+
+On all this the good lady was very copious, and took up the
+remaining intervals of filling tea, to describe its excellencies to
+Harley; adding, that she intended this as a present for his wife,
+when he should get one.  He sighed and looked foolish, and
+commending the serenity of the day, walked out into the garden.
+
+He sat down on a little seat which commanded an extensive prospect
+round the house.  He leaned on his hand, and scored the ground with
+his stick:  'Miss Walton married!' said he; but what is that to me?
+May she be happy! her virtues deserve it; to me her marriage is
+otherwise indifferent:  I had romantic dreams? they are fled?--it is
+perfectly indifferent."
+
+Just at that moment he saw a servant with a knot of ribbons in his
+hat go into the house.  His cheeks grew flushed at the sight!  He
+kept his eye fixed for some time on the door by which he had
+entered, then starting to his feet, hastily followed him.
+
+When he approached the door of the kitchen where he supposed the man
+had entered, his heart throbbed so violently, that when he would
+have called Peter, his voice failed in the attempt.  He stood a
+moment listening in this breathless state of palpitation:  Peter
+came out by chance.  "Did your honour want any thing?"--"Where is
+the servant that came just now from Mr. Walton's?"
+
+"From Mr. Walton's, sir! there is none of his servants here that I
+know of."--"Nor of Sir Harry Benson's?"--He did not wait for an
+answer; but having by this time observed the hat with its parti-
+coloured ornament hanging on a peg near the door, he pressed
+forwards into the kitchen, and addressing himself to a stranger whom
+he saw there, asked him, with no small tremor in his voice, "If he
+had any commands for him?"  The man looked silly, and said, "That he
+had nothing to trouble his honour with."--"Are not you a servant of
+Sir Harry Benson's?"--"No, sir."--"You'll pardon me, young man; I
+judged by the favour in your hat."--"Sir, I'm his majesty's servant,
+God bless him! and these favours we always wear when we are
+recruiting."--"Recruiting!" his eyes glistened at the word:  he
+seized the soldier's hand, and shaking it violently, ordered Peter
+to fetch a bottle of his aunt's best dram.  The bottle was brought:
+"You shall drink the king's health," said Harley, "in a bumper."--
+"The king and your honour."--"Nay, you shall drink the king's health
+by itself; you may drink mine in another."  Peter looked in his
+master's face, and filled with some little reluctance.  "Now to your
+mistress," said Harley; "every soldier has a mistress."  The man
+excused himself--"To your mistress! you cannot refuse it."  'Twas
+Mrs. Margery's best dram!  Peter stood with the bottle a little
+inclined, but not so as to discharge a drop of its contents:  "Fill
+it, Peter," said his master, "fill it to the brim."  Peter filled
+it; and the soldier having named Suky Simpson, dispatched it in a
+twinkling.  "Thou art an honest fellow," said Harley, "and I love
+thee;" and shaking his hand again, desired Peter to make him his
+guest at dinner, and walked up into his room with a pace much
+quicker and more springy than usual.
+
+This agreeable disappointment, however, he was not long suffered to
+enjoy.  The curate happened that day to dine with him:  his visits,
+indeed, were more properly to the aunt than the nephew; and many of
+the intelligent ladies in the parish, who, like some very great
+philosophers, have the happy knack at accounting for everything,
+gave out that there was a particular attachment between them, which
+wanted only to be matured by some more years of courtship to end in
+the tenderest connection.  In this conclusion, indeed, supposing the
+premises to have been true, they were somewhat justified by the
+known opinion of the lady, who frequently declared herself a friend
+to the ceremonial of former times, when a lover might have sighed
+seven years at his mistress's feet before he was allowed the liberty
+of kissing her hand.  'Tis true Mrs. Margery was now about her grand
+climacteric; no matter:  that is just the age when we expect to grow
+younger.  But I verily believe there was nothing in the report; the
+curate's connection was only that of a genealogist; for in that
+character he was no way inferior to Mrs. Margery herself.  He dealt
+also in the present times; for he was a politician and a news-
+monger.
+
+He had hardly said grace after dinner, when he told Mrs. Margery
+that she might soon expect a pair of white gloves, as Sir Harry
+Benson, he was very well informed, was just going to be married to
+Miss Walton.  Harley spilt the wine he was carrying to his mouth:
+he had time, however, to recollect himself before the curate had
+finished the different particulars of his intelligence, and summing
+up all the heroism he was master of, filled a bumper, and drank to
+Miss Walton.  "With all my heart," said the curate, "the bride that
+is to be."  Harley would have said bride too; but the word bride
+stuck in his throat.  His confusion, indeed, was manifest; but the
+curate began to enter on some point of descent with Mrs. Margery,
+and Harley had very soon after an opportunity of leaving them, while
+they were deeply engaged in a question, whether the name of some
+great man in the time of Henry the Seventh was Richard or Humphrey.
+
+He did not see his aunt again till supper; the time between he spent
+in walking, like some troubled ghost, round the place where his
+treasure lay.  He went as far as a little gate, that led into a
+copse near Mr. Walton's house, to which that gentleman had been so
+obliging as to let him have a key.  He had just begun to open it
+when he saw, on a terrace below, Miss Walton walking with a
+gentleman in a riding-dress, whom he immediately guessed to be Sir
+Harry Benson.  He stopped of a sudden; his hand shook so much that
+he could hardly turn the key; he opened the gate, however, and
+advanced a few paces.  The lady's lap-dog pricked up its ears, and
+barked; he stopped again -
+
+
+- "The little dogs and all,
+Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me!"
+
+
+His resolution failed; he slunk back, and, locking the gate as
+softly as he could, stood on tiptoe looking over the wall till they
+were gone.  At that instant a shepherd blew his horn:  the romantic
+melancholy of the sound quite overcame him!--it was the very note
+that wanted to be touched--he sighed! he dropped a tear!--and
+returned.
+
+At supper his aunt observed that he was graver than usual; but she
+did not suspect the cause:  indeed, it may seem odd that she was the
+only person in the family who had no suspicion of his attachment to
+Miss Walton.  It was frequently matter of discourse amongst the
+servants:  perhaps her maiden coldness--but for those things we need
+not account.
+
+In a day or two he was so much master of himself as to be able to
+rhyme upon the subject.  The following pastoral he left, some time
+after, on the handle of a tea-kettle, at a neighbouring house where
+we were visiting; and as I filled the tea-pot after him, I happened
+to put it in my pocket by a similar act of forgetfulness.  It is
+such as might be expected from a man who makes verses for amusement.
+I am pleased with somewhat of good nature that runs through it,
+because I have commonly observed the writers of those complaints to
+bestow epithets on their lost mistresses rather too harsh for the
+mere liberty of choice, which led them to prefer another to the poet
+himself:  I do not doubt the vehemence of their passion; but, alas!
+the sensations of love are something more than the returns of
+gratitude.
+
+
+LAVINIA.
+A PASTORAL.
+
+Why steals from my bosom the sigh?
+   Why fixed is my gaze on the ground?
+Come, give me my pipe, and I'll try
+   To banish my cares with the sound.
+
+Erewhile were its notes of accord
+   With the smile of the flow'r-footed Muse;
+Ah! why by its master implored
+   Shou'd it now the gay carrol refuse?
+
+'Twas taught by LAVINIA'S sweet smile,
+   In the mirth-loving chorus to join:
+Ah, me! how unweeting the while!
+   LAVINIA--can never be mine!
+
+Another, more happy, the maid
+   By fortune is destin'd to bless -
+'Tho' the hope has forsook that betray'd,
+   Yet why should I love her the less?
+
+Her beauties are bright as the morn,
+   With rapture I counted them o'er;
+Such virtues these beauties adorn,
+   I knew her, and prais'd them no more.
+
+I term'd her no goddess of love,
+   I call'd not her beauty divine:
+These far other passions may prove,
+   But they could not be figures of mine.
+
+It ne'er was apparel'd with art,
+   On words it could never rely;
+It reign'd in the throb of my heart,
+   It gleam'd in the glance of my eye.
+
+Oh fool! in the circle to shine
+   That Fashion's gay daughters approve,
+You must speak as the fashions incline;
+   Alas! are there fashions in love?
+
+Yet sure they are simple who prize
+   The tongue that is smooth to deceive;
+Yet sure she had sense to despise,
+   The tinsel that folly may weave.
+
+When I talk'd, I have seen her recline,
+   With an aspect so pensively sweet, -
+Tho' I spoke what the shepherds opine,
+   A fop were ashamed to repeat.
+
+She is soft as the dew-drops that fall
+   From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;
+Perhaps when she smil'd upon all,
+   I have thought that she smil'd upon me.
+
+But why of her charms should I tell?
+   Ah me! whom her charms have undone
+Yet I love the reflection too well,
+   The painful reflection to shun.
+
+Ye souls of more delicate kind,
+   Who feast not on pleasure alone,
+Who wear the soft sense of the mind,
+   To the sons of the world still unknown.
+
+Ye know, tho' I cannot express,
+   Why I foolishly doat on my pain;
+Nor will ye believe it the less,
+   That I have not the skill to complain.
+
+I lean on my hand with a sigh,
+   My friends the soft sadness condemn;
+Yet, methinks, tho' I cannot tell why,
+   I should hate to be merry like them.
+
+When I walk'd in the pride of the dawn,
+   Methought all the region look'd bright:
+Has sweetness forsaken the lawn?
+   For, methinks, I grow sad at the sight.
+
+When I stood by the stream, I have thought
+   There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound;
+But now 'tis a sorrowful note,
+   And the banks are all gloomy around!
+
+I have laugh'd at the jest of a friend;
+   Now they laugh, and I know not the cause,
+Tho' I seem with my looks to attend,
+   How silly!  I ask what it was.
+
+They sing the sweet song of the May,
+   They sing it with mirth and with glee;
+Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,
+   But now 'tis all sadness to me.
+
+Oh! give me the dubious light
+   That gleams thro' the quivering shade;
+Oh! give me the horrors of night,
+   By gloom and by silence array'd!
+
+Let me walk where the soft-rising wave,
+   Has pictur'd the moon on its breast;
+Let me walk where the new cover'd grave
+   Allows the pale lover to rest!
+
+When shall I in its peaceable womb,
+   Be laid with my sorrows asleep?
+Should LAVINIA but chance on my tomb -
+   I could die if I thought she would weep.
+
+Perhaps, if the souls of the just
+   Revisit these mansions of care,
+It may be my favourite trust
+   To watch o'er the fate of the fair.
+
+Perhaps the soft thought of her breast,
+   With rapture more favour'd to warm;
+Perhaps, if with sorrow oppress'd,
+   Her sorrow with patience to arm.
+
+Then, then, in the tenderest part
+   May I whisper, "Poor COLIN was true,"
+And mark if a heave of her heart
+   The thought of her COLIN pursue.
+
+
+
+THE PUPIL--A FRAGMENT
+
+
+
+* * * "But as to the higher part of education, Mr. Harley, the
+culture of the mind--let the feelings be awakened, let the heart be
+brought forth to its object, placed in the light in which nature
+would have it stand, and its decisions will ever be just.  The world
+
+
+Will smile, and smile, and be a villain;
+
+
+and the youth, who does not suspect its deceit, will be content to
+smile with it.  Men will put on the most forbidding aspect in
+nature, and tell him of the beauty of virtue.
+
+"I have not, under these grey hairs, forgotten that I was once a
+young man, warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but meaning to be honest
+as well as happy.  I had ideas of virtue, of honour, of benevolence,
+which I had never been at the pains to define; but I felt my bosom
+heave at the thoughts of them, and I made the most delightful
+soliloquies.  It is impossible, said I, that there can be half so
+many rogues as are imagined.
+
+"I travelled, because it is the fashion for young men of my fortune
+to travel.  I had a travelling tutor, which is the fashion too; but
+my tutor was a gentleman, which it is not always the fashion for
+tutors to be.  His gentility, indeed, was all he had from his
+father, whose prodigality had not left him a shilling to support it.
+
+"'I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Mountford,' said my father,
+'which I will not be refused.  You have travelled as became a man;
+neither France nor Italy have made anything of Mountford, which
+Mountford, before he left England, would have been ashamed of.  My
+son Edward goes abroad, would you take him under your protection?'
+
+"He blushed; my father's face was scarlet.  He pressed his hand to
+his bosom, as if he had said, my heart does not mean to offend you.
+Mountford sighed twice.
+
+"'I am a proud fool,' said he, 'and you will pardon it.  There! (he
+sighed again) I can hear of dependance, since it is dependance on my
+Sedley.'
+
+"'Dependance!' answered my father; 'there can be no such word
+between us.  What is there in 9,000 pounds a year that should make
+me unworthy of Mountford's friendship?'
+
+"They embraced; and soon after I set out on my travels, with
+Mountford for my guardian.
+
+"We were at Milan, where my father happened to have an Italian
+friend, to whom he had been of some service in England.  The count,
+for he was of quality, was solicitous to return the obligation by a
+particular attention to his son.  We lived in his palace, visited
+with his family, were caressed by his friends, and I began to be so
+well pleased with my entertainment, that I thought of England as of
+some foreign country.
+
+"The count had a son not much older than myself.  At that age a
+friend is an easy acquisition; we were friends the first night of
+our acquaintance.
+
+"He introduced me into the company of a set of young gentlemen,
+whose fortunes gave them the command of pleasure, and whose
+inclinations incited them to the purchase.  After having spent some
+joyous evenings in their society, it became a sort of habit which I
+could not miss without uneasiness, and our meetings, which before
+were frequent, were now stated and regular.
+
+"Sometimes, in the pauses of our mirth, gaming was introduced as an
+amusement.  It was an art in which I was a novice.  I received
+instruction, as other novices do, by losing pretty largely to my
+teachers.  Nor was this the only evil which Mountford foresaw would
+arise from the connection I had formed; but a lecture of sour
+injunctions was not his method of reclaiming.  He sometimes asked me
+questions about the company, but they were such as the curiosity of
+any indifferent man might have prompted.  I told him of their wit,
+their eloquence, their warmth of friendship, and their sensibility
+of heart.  'And their honour,' said I, laying my hand on my breast,
+'is unquestionable.'  Mountford seemed to rejoice at my good
+fortune, and begged that I would introduce him to their
+acquaintance.  At the next meeting I introduced him accordingly.
+
+"The conversation was as animated as usual.  They displayed all that
+sprightliness and good-humour which my praises had led Mountford to
+expect; subjects, too, of sentiment occurred, and their speeches,
+particularly those of our friend the son of Count Respino, glowed
+with the warmth of honour, and softened into the tenderness of
+feeling.  Mountford was charmed with his companions.  When we
+parted, he made the highest eulogiums upon them.  'When shall we see
+them again?' said he.  I was delighted with the demand, and promised
+to reconduct him on the morrow.
+
+"In going to their place of rendezvous, he took me a little out of
+the road, to see, as he told me, the performances of a young
+statuary.  When we were near the house in which Mountford said he
+lived, a boy of about seven years old crossed us in the street.  At
+sight of Mountford he stopped, and grasping his hand,
+
+"'My dearest sir,' said he, 'my father is likely to do well.  He
+will live to pray for you, and to bless you.  Yes, he will bless
+you, though you are an Englishman, and some other hard word that the
+monk talked of this morning, which I have forgot, but it meant that
+you should not go to heaven; but he shall go to heaven, said I, for
+he has saved my father.  Come and see him, sir, that we may be
+happy.'
+
+"'My dear, I am engaged at present with this gentleman.'
+
+"'But he shall come along with you; he is an Englishman, too, I
+fancy.  He shall come and learn how an Englishman may go to heaven.'
+
+"Mountford smiled, and we followed the boy together.
+
+"After crossing the next street, we arrived at the gate of a prison.
+I seemed surprised at the sight; our little conductor observed it.
+
+"'Are you afraid, sir?' said he.  'I was afraid once too, but my
+father and mother are here, and I am never afraid when I am with
+them.'
+
+"He took my hand, and led me through a dark passage that fronted the
+gate.  When we came to a little door at the end, he tapped.  A boy,
+still younger than himself, opened it to receive us.  Mountford
+entered with a look in which was pictured the benign assurance of a
+superior being.  I followed in silence and amazement.
+
+"On something like a bed, lay a man, with a face seemingly emaciated
+with sickness, and a look of patient dejection.  A bundle of dirty
+shreds served him for a pillow, but he had a better support--the arm
+of a female who kneeled beside him, beautiful as an angel, but with
+a fading languor in her countenance, the still life of melancholy,
+that seemed to borrow its shade from the object on which she gazed.
+There was a tear in her eye--the sick man kissed it off in its bud,
+smiling through the dimness of his own--when she saw Mountford, she
+crawled forward on the ground, and clasped his knees.  He raised her
+from the floor; she threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed out a
+speech of thankfulness, eloquent beyond the power of language.
+
+"'Compose yourself, my love,' said the man on the bed; 'but he,
+whose goodness has caused that emotion, will pardon its effects.'
+
+"'How is this, Mountford?' said I; 'what do I see?  What must I do?'
+
+"'You see,' replied the stranger, 'a wretch, sunk in poverty,
+starving in prison, stretched on a sick bed.  But that is little.
+There are his wife and children wanting the bread which he has not
+to give them!  Yet you cannot easily imagine the conscious serenity
+of his mind.  In the gripe of affliction, his heart swells with the
+pride of virtue; it can even look down with pity on the man whose
+cruelty has wrung it almost to bursting.  You are, I fancy, a friend
+of Mr. Mountford's.  Come nearer, and I'll tell you, for, short as
+my story is, I can hardly command breath enough for a recital.  The
+son of Count Respino (I started, as if I had trod on a viper) has
+long had a criminal passion for my wife.  This her prudence had
+concealed from me; but he had lately the boldness to declare it to
+myself.  He promised me affluence in exchange for honour, and
+threatened misery as its attendant if I kept it.  I treated him with
+the contempt he deserved; the consequence was, that he hired a
+couple of bravoes (for I am persuaded they acted under his
+direction), who attempted to assassinate me in the street; but I
+made such a defence as obliged them to fly, after having given me
+two or three stabs, none of which, however, were mortal.  But his
+revenge was not thus to be disappointed.  In the little dealings of
+my trade I had contracted some debts, of which he had made himself
+master for my ruin.  I was confined here at his suit, when not yet
+recovered from the wounds I had received; the dear woman, and these
+two boys, followed me, that we might starve together; but Providence
+interposed, and sent Mr. Mountford to our support.  He has relieved
+my family from the gnawings of hunger, and rescued me from death, to
+which a fever, consequent on my wounds and increased by the want of
+every necessary, had almost reduced me.'
+
+"'Inhuman villain!' I exclaimed, lifting up my eyes to heaven.
+
+"'Inhuman indeed!' said the lovely woman who stood at my side.
+'Alas! sir, what had we done to offend him? what had these little
+ones done, that they should perish in the toils of his vengeance?'
+
+"I reached a pen which stood in the inkstand dish at the bed-side.
+
+"'May I ask what is the amount of the sum for which you are
+imprisoned?'
+
+"'I was able,' he replied, 'to pay all but five hundred crowns.'
+
+"I wrote a draft on the banker with whom I had a credit from my
+father for 2,500, and presenting it to the stranger's wife,
+
+"'You will receive, madam, on presenting this note, a sum more than
+sufficient for your husband's discharge; the remainder I leave for
+his industry to improve.'
+
+"I would have left the room.  Each of them laid hold of one of my
+hands, the children clung to my coat.  Oh! Mr. Harley, methinks I
+feel their gentle violence at this moment; it beats here with
+delight inexpressible.
+
+"'Stay, sir,' said he, 'I do not mean attempting to thank you' (he
+took a pocket-book from under his pillow), 'let me but know what
+name I shall place here next to Mr. Mountford!'
+
+"'Sedley.'
+
+"He writ it down.
+
+"'An Englishman too, I presume.'
+
+"'He shall go to heaven, notwithstanding;' said the boy who had been
+our guide.
+
+"It began to be too much for me.  I squeezed his hand that was
+clasped in mine, his wife's I pressed to my lips, and burst from the
+place, to give vent to the feelings that laboured within me.
+
+"'Oh, Mountford!' said I, when he had overtaken me at the door.
+
+"'It is time,' replied he, 'that we should think of our appointment;
+young Respino and his friends are waiting us.'
+
+"'Damn him, damn him!' said I.  'Let us leave Milan instantly; but
+soft--I will be calm; Mountford, your pencil.'  I wrote on a slip of
+paper,
+
+
+"'To Signor RESPINO.
+
+"'When you receive this, I am at a distance from Milan.  Accept of
+my thanks for the civilities I have received from you and your
+family.  As to the friendship with which you were pleased to honour
+me, the prison, which I have just left, has exhibited a scene to
+cancel it for ever.  You may possibly be merry with your companions
+at my weakness, as I suppose you will term it.  I give you leave for
+derision.  You may affect a triumph, I shall feel it.
+
+"EDWARD SEDLEY."
+
+
+"'You may send this if you will,' said Mountford, coolly, 'but still
+Respino is a MAN OF HONOUR; the world will continue to call him so.'
+
+"'It is probable,' I answered, 'they may; I envy not the
+appellation.  If this is the world's honour, if these men are the
+guides of its manners--'
+
+"'Tut!' said Mountford, 'do you eat macaroni--'"
+
+* * *
+
+[At this place had the greatest depredations of the curate begun.
+There were so very few connected passages of the subsequent chapters
+remaining, that even the partiality of an editor could not offer
+them to the public.  I discovered, from some scattered sentences,
+that they were of much the same tenor with the preceding; recitals
+of little adventures, in which the dispositions of a man, sensible
+to judge, and still more warm to feel, had room to unfold
+themselves.  Some instruction, and some example, I make no doubt
+they contained; but it is likely that many of those, whom chance has
+led to a perusal of what I have already presented, may have read it
+with little pleasure, and will feel no disappointment from the want
+of those parts which I have been unable to procure.  To such as may
+have expected the intricacies of a novel, a few incidents in a life
+undistinguished, except by some features of the heart, cannot have
+afforded much entertainment.
+
+Harley's own story, from the mutilated passages I have mentioned, as
+well as from some inquiries I was at the trouble of making in the
+country, I found to have been simple to excess.  His mistress, I
+could perceive, was not married to Sir Harry Benson; but it would
+seem, by one of the following chapters, which is still entire, that
+Harley had not profited on the occasion by making any declaration of
+his own passion, after those of the other had been unsuccessful.
+The state of his health, for some part of this period, appears to
+have been such as to forbid any thoughts of that kind:  he had been
+seized with a very dangerous fever, caught by attending old Edwards
+in one of an infectious kind.  From this he had recovered but
+imperfectly, and though he had no formed complaint, his health was
+manifestly on the decline.
+
+It appears that the sagacity of some friend had at length pointed
+out to his aunt a cause from which this might be supposed to
+proceed, to wit, his hopeless love for Miss Walton; for, according
+to the conceptions of the world, the love of a man of Harley's
+fortune for the heiress of 4,000 pounds a year is indeed desperate.
+Whether it was so in this case may be gathered from the next
+chapter, which, with the two subsequent, concluding the performance,
+have escaped those accidents that proved fatal to the rest.]
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV--HE SEES MISS WALTON, AND IS HAPPY
+
+
+
+Harley was one of those few friends whom the malevolence of fortune
+had yet left me; I could not therefore but be sensibly concerned for
+his present indisposition; there seldom passed a day on which I did
+not make inquiry about him.
+
+The physician who attended him had informed me the evening before,
+that he thought him considerably better than he had been for some
+time past.  I called next morning to be confirmed in a piece of
+intelligence so welcome to me.
+
+When I entered his apartment, I found him sitting on a couch,
+leaning on his hand, with his eye turned upwards in the attitude of
+thoughtful inspiration.  His look had always an open benignity,
+which commanded esteem; there was now something more--a gentle
+triumph in it.
+
+He rose, and met me with his usual kindness.  When I gave him the
+good accounts I had had from his physician, "I am foolish enough,"
+said he, "to rely but little, in this instance, upon physic:  my
+presentiment may be false; but I think I feel myself approaching to
+my end, by steps so easy, that they woo me to approach it.
+
+"There is a certain dignity in retiring from life at a time, when
+the infirmities of age have not sapped our faculties.  This world,
+my dear Charles, was a scene in which I never much delighted.  I was
+not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the dissipation of the
+gay; a thousand things occurred, where I blushed for the impropriety
+of my conduct when I thought on the world, though my reason told me
+I should have blushed to have done otherwise.--It was a scene of
+dissimulation, of restraint, of disappointment.  I leave it to enter
+on that state which I have learned to believe is replete with the
+genuine happiness attendant upon virtue.  I look back on the tenor
+of my life, with the consciousness of few great offences to account
+for.  There are blemishes, I confess, which deform in some degree
+the picture.  But I know the benignity of the Supreme Being, and
+rejoice at the thoughts of its exertion in my favour.  My mind
+expands at the thought I shall enter into the society of the
+blessed, wise as angels, with the simplicity of children."  He had
+by this time clasped my hand, and found it wet by a tear which had
+just fallen upon it.--His eye began to moisten too--we sat for some
+time silent.--At last, with an attempt to a look of more composure,
+"There are some remembrances," said Harley, "which rise involuntary
+on my heart, and make me almost wish to live.  I have been blessed
+with a few friends, who redeem my opinion of mankind.  I recollect,
+with the tenderest emotion, the scenes of pleasure I have passed
+among them; but we shall meet again, my friend, never to be
+separated.  There are some feelings which perhaps are too tender to
+be suffered by the world.--The world is in general selfish,
+interested, and unthinking, and throws the imputation of romance or
+melancholy on every temper more susceptible than its own.  I cannot
+think but in those regions which I contemplate, if there is any
+thing of mortality left about us, that these feelings will subsist;-
+-they are called,--perhaps they are--weaknesses here;--but there may
+be some better modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve
+the name of virtues."  He sighed as he spoke these last words.  He
+had scarcely finished them, when the door opened, and his aunt
+appeared, leading in Miss Walton.  "My dear," said she, "here is
+Miss Walton, who has been so kind as to come and inquire for you
+herself."  I could observe a transient glow upon his face.  He rose
+from his seat--"If to know Miss Walton's goodness," said he, "be a
+title to deserve it, I have some claim."  She begged him to resume
+his seat, and placed herself on the sofa beside him.  I took my
+leave.  Mrs. Margery accompanied me to the door.  He was left with
+Miss Walton alone.  She inquired anxiously about his health.  "I
+believe," said he, "from the accounts which my physicians
+unwillingly give me, that they have no great hopes of my recovery."-
+-She started as he spoke; but recollecting herself immediately,
+endeavoured to flatter him into a belief that his apprehensions were
+groundless.  "I know," said he, "that it is usual with persons at my
+time of life to have these hopes, which your kindness suggests; but
+I would not wish to be deceived.  To meet death as becomes a man, is
+a privilege bestowed on few.--I would endeavour to make it mine;--
+nor do I think that I can ever be better prepared for it than now: -
+-It is that chiefly which determines the fitness of its approach."
+"Those sentiments," answered Miss Walton, "are just; but your good
+sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper value.--As the
+province of virtue, life is ennobled; as such, it is to be desired.-
+-To virtue has the Supreme Director of all things assigned rewards
+enough even here to fix its attachment."
+
+The subject began to overpower her.--Harley lifted his eyes from the
+ground--"There are," said he, in a very low voice, "there are
+attachments, Miss Walton"--His glance met hers.--They both betrayed
+a confusion, and were both instantly withdrawn.--He paused some
+moments--"I am such a state as calls for sincerity, let that also
+excuse it--It is perhaps the last time we shall ever meet.  I feel
+something particularly solemn in the acknowledgment, yet my heart
+swells to make it, awed as it is by a sense of my presumption, by a
+sense of your perfections"--He paused again--"Let it not offend you,
+to know their power over one so unworthy--It will, I believe, soon
+cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall lose the
+latest.--To love Miss Walton could not be a crime;--if to declare it
+is one--the expiation will be made."--Her tears were now flowing
+without control.--"Let me intreat you," said she, "to have better
+hopes--Let not life be so indifferent to you; if my wishes can put
+any value on it--I will not pretend to misunderstand you--I know
+your worth--I have known it long--I have esteemed it--What would you
+have me say?--I have loved it as it deserved."--He seized her hand--
+a languid colour reddened his cheek--a smile brightened faintly in
+his eye.  As he gazed on her, it grew dim, it fixed, it closed--He
+sighed and fell back on his seat--Miss Walton screamed at the sight-
+-His aunt and the servants rushed into the room--They found them
+lying motionless together.--His physician happened to call at that
+instant.  Every art was tried to recover them--With Miss Walton they
+succeeded--But Harley was gone for ever.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI--THE EMOTIONS OF THE HEART
+
+
+
+I entered the room where his body lay; I approached it with
+reverence, not fear:  I looked; the recollection of the past crowded
+upon me.  I saw that form which, but a little before, was animated
+with a soul which did honour to humanity, stretched without sense or
+feeling before me.  'Tis a connection we cannot easily forget:- I
+took his hand in mine; I repeated his name involuntary;--I felt a
+pulse in every vein at the sound.  I looked earnestly in his face;
+his eye was closed, his lip pale and motionless.  There is an
+enthusiasm in sorrow that forgets impossibility; I wondered that it
+was so.  The sight drew a prayer from my heart:  it was the voice of
+frailty and of man! the confusion of my mind began to subside into
+thought; I had time to meet!
+
+I turned with the last farewell upon my lips, when I observed old
+Edwards standing behind me.  I looked him full in the face; but his
+eye was fixed on another object:  he pressed between me and the bed,
+and stood gazing on the breathless remains of his benefactor.  I
+spoke to him I know not what; but he took no notice of what I said,
+and remained in the same attitude as before.  He stood some minutes
+in that posture, then turned and walked towards the door.  He paused
+as he went;--he returned a second time:  I could observe his lips
+move as he looked:  but the voice they would have uttered was lost.
+He attempted going again; and a third time he returned as before.--I
+saw him wipe his cheek:  then covering his face with his hands, his
+breast heaving with the most convulsive throbs, he flung out of the
+room.
+
+
+
+THE CONCLUSION
+
+
+
+He had hinted that he should like to be buried in a certain spot
+near the grave of his mother.  This is a weakness; but it is
+universally incident to humanity:  'tis at least a memorial for
+those who survive:  for some indeed a slender memorial will serve;--
+and the soft affections, when they are busy that way, will build
+their structures, were it but on the paring of a nail.
+
+He was buried in the place he had desired.  It was shaded by an old
+tree, the only one in the church-yard, in which was a cavity worn by
+time.  I have sat with him in it, and counted the tombs.  The last
+time we passed there, methought he looked wistfully on the tree:
+there was a branch of it that bent towards us waving in the wind; he
+waved his hand as if he mimicked its motion.  There was something
+predictive in his look! perhaps it is foolish to remark it; but
+there are times and places when I am a child at those things.
+
+I sometimes visit his grave; I sit in the hollow of the tree.  It is
+worth a thousand homilies; every noble feeling rises within me!
+every beat of my heart awakens a virtue!--but it will make you hate
+the world--No:  there is such an air of gentleness around, that I
+can hate nothing; but, as to the world--I pity the men of it.
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+{16}  The reader will remember that the Editor is accountable only
+for scattered chapters and fragments of chapters; the curate must
+answer for the rest.  The number at the top, when the chapter was
+entire, he has given as it originally stood, with the title which
+its author had affixed to it.
+
+{61}  Though the Curate could not remember having shown this chapter
+to anybody, I strongly suspect that these political observations are
+the work of a later pen than the rest of this performance.  There
+seems to have been, by some accident, a gap in the manuscript, from
+the words, "Expectation at a jointure," to these, "In short, man is
+an animal," where the present blank ends; and some other person (for
+the hand is different, and the ink whiter) has filled part of it
+with sentiments of his own.  Whoever he was, he seems to have caught
+some portion of the spirit of the man he personates.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MAN OF FEELING ***
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+<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN">
+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII">
+<title>The Man of Feeling</title>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h2>
+<a href="#startoftext">The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man of Feeling, by Henry Mackenzie
+(#1 in our series by Henry Mackenzie)
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: The Man of Feeling
+
+Author: Henry Mackenzie
+
+Release Date: February, 2004  [EBook #5083]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on April 18, 2002]
+[Most recently updated: April 18, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+</pre>
+<p>
+<a name="startoftext"></a>
+Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, from the 1886
+Cassell &amp; Company edition.<br>
+***<br>
+THE MAN OF FEELING<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+EDITOR&rsquo;S INTRODUCTION<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Henry Mackenzie, the son of an Edinburgh physician, was born in August,
+1745.&nbsp; After education in the University of Edinburgh he went to
+London in 1765, at the age of twenty, for law studies, returned to Edinburgh,
+and became Crown Attorney in the Scottish Court of Exchequer.&nbsp;
+When Mackenzie was in London, Sterne&rsquo;s &ldquo;Tristram Shandy&rdquo;
+was in course of publication.&nbsp; The first two volumes had appeared
+in 1759, and the ninth appeared in 1767, followed in 1768, the year
+of Sterne&rsquo;s death, by &ldquo;The Sentimental Journey.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Young Mackenzie had a strong bent towards literature, and while studying
+law in London, he read Sterne, and falling in with the tone of sentiment
+which Sterne himself caught from the spirit of the time and the example
+of Rousseau, he wrote &ldquo;The Man of Feeling.&rdquo;&nbsp; This book
+was published, without author&rsquo;s name, in 1771.&nbsp; It was so
+popular that a young clergyman made a copy of it popular with imagined
+passages of erasure and correction, on the strength of which he claimed
+to be its author, and obliged Henry Mackenzie to declare himself.&nbsp;
+In 1773 Mackenzie published a second novel, &ldquo;The Man of the World,&rdquo;
+and in 1777 a third, &ldquo;Julia de Roubign&eacute;.&rdquo;&nbsp; An
+essay-reading society in Edinburgh, of which he was a leader, started
+in January, 1779, a weekly paper called <i>The Mirror, </i>which he
+edited until May, 1780.&nbsp; Its writers afterwards joined in producing
+<i>The Lounger, </i>which lasted from February, 1785, to January, 1787.&nbsp;
+Henry Mackenzie contributed forty-two papers to <i>The Mirror </i>and
+fifty-seven to <i>The Lounger</i>.&nbsp; When the Royal Society of Edinburgh
+was founded Henry Mackenzie was active as one of its first members.&nbsp;
+He was also one of the founders of the Highland Society.<br>
+<br>
+Although his &ldquo;Man of Feeling&rdquo; was a serious reflection of
+the false sentiment of the Revolution, Mackenzie joined afterwards in
+writing tracts to dissuade the people from faith in the doctrines of
+the Revolutionists.&nbsp; Mackenzie wrote also a tragedy, &ldquo;The
+Prince of Tunis,&rdquo; which was acted with success at Edinburgh, and
+a comedy, &ldquo;The White Hypocrite,&rdquo; which was acted once only
+at Covent garden.&nbsp; He died at the age of eighty-six, on the 13th
+June, 1831, having for many years been regarded as an elder friend of
+their own craft by the men of letters who in his days gave dignity to
+Edinburgh society, and caused the town to be called the Modern Athens.<br>
+<br>
+A man of refined taste, who caught the tone of the French sentiment
+of his time, has, of course, pleased French critics, and has been translated
+into French.&nbsp; &ldquo;The Man of Feeling&rdquo; begins with imitation
+of Sterne, and proceeds in due course through so many tears that it
+is hardly to be called a dry book.&nbsp; As guide to persons of a calculating
+disposition who may read these pages I append an index to the Tears
+shed in &ldquo;The Man of Feeling.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+AUTHOR&rsquo;S INTRODUCTION<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+My dog had made a point on a piece of fallow-ground, and led the curate
+and me two or three hundred yards over that and some stubble adjoining,
+in a breathless state of expectation, on a burning first of September.<br>
+<br>
+It was a false point, and our labour was vain: yet, to do Rover justice
+(for he&rsquo;s an excellent dog, though I have lost his pedigree),
+the fault was none of his, the birds were gone: the curate showed me
+the spot where they had lain basking, at the root of an old hedge.<br>
+<br>
+I stopped and cried Hem!&nbsp; The curate is fatter than I; he wiped
+the sweat from his brow.<br>
+<br>
+There is no state where one is apter to pause and look round one, than
+after such a disappointment.&nbsp; It is even so in life.&nbsp; When
+we have been hurrying on, impelled by some warm wish or other, looking
+neither to the right hand nor to the left - we find of a sudden that
+all our gay hopes are flown; and the only slender consolation that some
+friend can give us, is to point where they were once to be found.&nbsp;
+And lo! if we are not of that combustible race, who will rather beat
+their heads in spite, than wipe their brows with the curate, we look
+round and say, with the nauseated listlessness of the king of Israel,
+&ldquo;All is vanity and vexation of spirit.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+I looked round with some such grave apophthegm in my mind when I discovered,
+for the first time, a venerable pile, to which the enclosure belonged.&nbsp;
+An air of melancholy hung about it.&nbsp; There was a languid stillness
+in the day, and a single crow, that perched on an old tree by the side
+of the gate, seemed to delight in the echo of its own croaking.<br>
+<br>
+I leaned on my gun and looked; but I had not breath enough to ask the
+curate a question.&nbsp; I observed carving on the bark of some of the
+trees: &rsquo;twas indeed the only mark of human art about the place,
+except that some branches appeared to have been lopped, to give a view
+of the cascade, which was formed by a little rill at some distance.<br>
+<br>
+Just at that instant I saw pass between the trees a young lady with
+a book in her hand.&nbsp; I stood upon a stone to observe her; but the
+curate sat him down on the grass, and leaning his back where I stood,
+told me, &ldquo;That was the daughter of a neighbouring gentleman of
+the name of WALTON, whom he had seen walking there more than once.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Some time ago,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;one HARLEY lived there,
+a whimsical sort of man I am told, but I was not then in the cure; though,
+if I had a turn for those things, I might know a good deal of his history,
+for the greatest part of it is still in my possession.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;His history!&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Nay, you may call it
+what you please,&rdquo; said the curate; for indeed it is no more a
+history than it is a sermon.&nbsp; The way I came by it was this: some
+time ago, a grave, oddish kind of a man boarded at a farmer&rsquo;s
+in this parish: the country people called him The Ghost; and he was
+known by the slouch in his gait, and the length of his stride.&nbsp;
+I was but little acquainted with him, for he never frequented any of
+the clubs hereabouts.&nbsp; Yet for all he used to walk a-nights, he
+was as gentle as a lamb at times; for I have seen him playing at teetotum
+with the children, on the great stone at the door of our churchyard.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Soon after I was made curate, he left the parish, and went nobody
+knows whither; and in his room was found a bundle of papers, which was
+brought to me by his landlord.&nbsp; I began to read them, but I soon
+grew weary of the task; for, besides that the hand is intolerably bad,
+I could never find the author in one strain for two chapters together;
+and I don&rsquo;t believe there&rsquo;s a single syllogism from beginning
+to end.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I should be glad to see this medley,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;You
+shall see it now,&rdquo; answered the curate, &ldquo;for I always take
+it along with me a-shooting.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;How came it so torn?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis excellent wadding,&rdquo; said the curate. - This
+was a plea of expediency I was not in a condition to answer; for I had
+actually in my pocket great part of an edition of one of the German
+Illustrissimi, for the very same purpose.&nbsp; We exchanged books;
+and by that means (for the curate was a strenuous logician) we probably
+saved both.<br>
+<br>
+When I returned to town, I had leisure to peruse the acquisition I had
+made: I found it a bundle of little episodes, put together without art,
+and of no importance on the whole, with something of nature, and little
+else in them.&nbsp; I was a good deal affected with some very trifling
+passages in it; and had the name of Marmontel, or a Richardson, been
+on the title-page - &rsquo;tis odds that I should have wept: But<br>
+<br>
+One is ashamed to be pleased with the works of one knows not whom.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XI <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> -
+ON BASHFULNESS. - A CHARACTER. - HIS OPINION ON THAT SUBJECT<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+There is some rust about every man at the beginning; though in some
+nations (among the French for instance) the ideas of the inhabitants,
+from climate, or what other cause you will, are so vivacious, so eternally
+on the wing, that they must, even in small societies, have a frequent
+collision; the rust therefore will wear off sooner: but in Britain it
+often goes with a man to his grave; nay, he dares not even pen a <i>hic
+jacet </i>to speak out for him after his death.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Let them rub it off by travel,&rdquo; said the baronet&rsquo;s
+brother, who was a striking instance of excellent metal, shamefully
+rusted.&nbsp; I had drawn my chair near his.&nbsp; Let me paint the
+honest old man: &rsquo;tis but one passing sentence to preserve his
+image in my mind.<br>
+<br>
+He sat in his usual attitude, with his elbow rested on his knee, and
+his fingers pressed on his cheek.&nbsp; His face was shaded by his hand;
+yet it was a face that might once have been well accounted handsome;
+its features were manly and striking, a dignity resided on his eyebrows,
+which were the largest I remember to have seen.&nbsp; His person was
+tall and well-made; but the indolence of his nature had now inclined
+it to corpulency.<br>
+<br>
+His remarks were few, and made only to his familiar friends; but they
+were such as the world might have heard with veneration: and his heart,
+uncorrupted by its ways, was ever warm in the cause of virtue and his
+friends.<br>
+<br>
+He is now forgotten and gone!&nbsp; The last time I was at Silton Hall,
+I saw his chair stand in its corner by the fire-side; there was an additional
+cushion on it, and it was occupied by my young lady&rsquo;s favourite
+lap dog.&nbsp; I drew near unperceived, and pinched its ears in the
+bitterness of my soul; the creature howled, and ran to its mistress.&nbsp;
+She did not suspect the author of its misfortune, but she bewailed it
+in the most pathetic terms; and kissing its lips, laid it gently on
+her lap, and covered it with a cambric handkerchief.&nbsp; I sat in
+my old friend&rsquo;s seat; I heard the roar of mirth and gaiety around
+me: poor Ben Silton!&nbsp; I gave thee a tear then: accept of one cordial
+drop that falls to thy memory now.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They should wear it off by travel.&rdquo; - Why, it is true,
+said I, that will go far; but then it will often happen, that in the
+velocity of a modern tour, and amidst the materials through which it
+is commonly made, the friction is so violent, that not only the rust,
+but the metal too, is lost in the progress.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Give me leave to correct the expression of your metaphor,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Silton: &ldquo;that is not always rust which is acquired by
+the inactivity of the body on which it preys; such, perhaps, is the
+case with me, though indeed I was never cleared from my youth; but (taking
+it in its first stage) it is rather an encrustation, which nature has
+given for purposes of the greatest wisdom.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; I returned; &ldquo;and sometimes, like
+certain precious fossils, there may be hid under it gems of the purest
+brilliancy.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Nay, farther,&rdquo; continued Mr. Silton, &ldquo;there are two
+distinct sorts of what we call bashfulness; this, the awkwardness of
+a booby, which a few steps into the world will convert into the pertness
+of a coxcomb; that, a consciousness, which the most delicate feelings
+produce, and the most extensive knowledge cannot always remove.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+From the incidents I have already related, I imagine it will be concluded
+that Harley was of the latter species of bashful animals; at least,
+if Mr. Silton&rsquo;s principle is just, it may be argued on this side;
+for the gradation of the first mentioned sort, it is certain, he never
+attained.&nbsp; Some part of his external appearance was modelled from
+the company of those gentlemen, whom the antiquity of a family, now
+possessed of bare &pound;250 a year, entitled its representative to
+approach: these indeed were not many; great part of the property in
+his neighbourhood being in the hands of merchants, who had got rich
+by their lawful calling abroad, and the sons of stewards, who had got
+rich by their lawful calling at home: persons so perfectly versed in
+the ceremonial of thousands, tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands
+(whose degrees of precedency are plainly demonstrable from the first
+page of the Complete Accomptant, or Young Man&rsquo;s Best Pocket Companion)
+that a bow at church from them to such a man as Harley would have made
+the parson look back into his sermon for some precept of Christian humility.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XII - OF WORLDLY INTERESTS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+There are certain interests which the world supposes every man to have,
+and which therefore are properly enough termed worldly; but the world
+is apt to make an erroneous estimate: ignorant of the dispositions which
+constitute our happiness or misery, they bring to an undistinguished
+scale the means of the one, as connected with power, wealth, or grandeur,
+and of the other with their contraries.&nbsp; Philosophers and poets
+have often protested against this decision; but their arguments have
+been despised as declamatory, or ridiculed as romantic.<br>
+<br>
+There are never wanting to a young man some grave and prudent friends
+to set him right in this particular, if he need it; to watch his ideas
+as they arise, and point them to those objects which a wise man should
+never forget.<br>
+<br>
+Harley did not want for some monitors of this sort.&nbsp; He was frequently
+told of men whose fortunes enabled them to command all the luxuries
+of life, whose fortunes were of their own acquirement: his envy was
+invited by a description of their happiness, and his emulation by a
+recital of the means which had procured it.<br>
+<br>
+Harley was apt to hear those lectures with indifference; nay, sometimes
+they got the better of his temper; and as the instances were not always
+amiable, provoked, on his part, some reflections, which I am persuaded
+his good-nature would else have avoided.<br>
+<br>
+Indeed, I have observed one ingredient, somewhat necessary in a man&rsquo;s
+composition towards happiness, which people of feeling would do well
+to acquire; a certain respect for the follies of mankind: for there
+are so many fools whom the opinion of the world entitles to regard,
+whom accident has placed in heights of which they are unworthy, that
+he who cannot restrain his contempt or indignation at the sight will
+be too often quarrelling with the disposal of things to relish that
+share which is allotted to himself.&nbsp; I do not mean, however, to
+insinuate this to have been the case with Harley; on the contrary, if
+we might rely on his own testimony, the conceptions he had of pomp and
+grandeur served to endear the state which Providence had assigned him.<br>
+<br>
+He lost his father, the last surviving of his parents, as I have already
+related, when he was a boy.&nbsp; The good man, from a fear of offending,
+as well as a regard to his son, had named him a variety of guardians;
+one consequence of which was, that they seldom met at all to consider
+the affairs of their ward; and when they did meet, their opinions were
+so opposite, that the only possible method of conciliation was the mediatory
+power of a dinner and a bottle, which commonly interrupted, not ended,
+the dispute; and after that interruption ceased, left the consulting
+parties in a condition not very proper for adjusting it.&nbsp; His education
+therefore had been but indifferently attended to; and after being taken
+from a country school, at which he had been boarded, the young gentleman
+was suffered to be his own master in the subsequent branches of literature,
+with some assistance from the parson of the parish in languages and
+philosophy, and from the exciseman in arithmetic and book-keeping.&nbsp;
+One of his guardians, indeed, who, in his youth, had been an inhabitant
+of the Temple, set him to read Coke upon Lyttelton: a book which is
+very properly put into the hands of beginners in that science, as its
+simplicity is accommodated to their understandings, and its size to
+their inclination.&nbsp; He profited but little by the perusal; but
+it was not without its use in the family: for his maiden aunt applied
+it commonly to the laudable purpose of pressing her rebellious linens
+to the folds she had allotted them.<br>
+<br>
+There were particularly two ways of increasing his fortune, which might
+have occurred to people of less foresight than the counsellors we have
+mentioned.&nbsp; One of these was, the prospect of his succeeding to
+an old lady, a distant relation, who was known to be possessed of a
+very large sum in the stocks: but in this their hopes were disappointed;
+for the young man was so untoward in his disposition, that, notwithstanding
+the instructions he daily received, his visits rather tended to alienate
+than gain the good-will of his kinswoman.&nbsp; He sometimes looked
+grave when the old lady told the jokes of her youth; he often refused
+to eat when she pressed him, and was seldom or never provided with sugar-candy
+or liquorice when she was seized with a fit of coughing: nay, he had
+once the rudeness to fall asleep while she was describing the composition
+and virtues of her favourite cholic-water.&nbsp; In short, be accommodated
+himself so ill to her humour, that she died, and did not leave him a
+farthing.<br>
+<br>
+The other method pointed out to him was an endeavour to get a lease
+of some crown-lands, which lay contiguous to his little paternal estate.&nbsp;
+This, it was imagined, might be easily procured, as the crown did not
+draw so much rent as Harley could afford to give, with very considerable
+profit to himself; and the then lessee had rendered himself so obnoxious
+to the ministry, by the disposal of his vote at an election, that he
+could not expect a renewal.&nbsp; This, however, needed some interest
+with the great, which Harley or his father never possessed.<br>
+<br>
+His neighbour, Mr. Walton, having heard of this affair, generously offered
+his assistance to accomplish it.&nbsp; He told him, that though he had
+long been a stranger to courtiers, yet he believed there were some of
+them who might pay regard to his recommendation; and that, if he thought
+it worth the while to take a London journey upon the business, he would
+furnish him with a letter of introduction to a baronet of his acquaintance,
+who had a great deal to say with the first lord of the treasury.<br>
+<br>
+When his friends heard of this offer, they pressed him with the utmost
+earnestness to accept of it.<br>
+<br>
+They did not fail to enumerate the many advantages which a certain degree
+of spirit and assurance gives a man who would make a figure in the world:
+they repeated their instances of good fortune in others, ascribed them
+all to a happy forwardness of disposition; and made so copious a recital
+of the disadvantages which attend the opposite weakness, that a stranger,
+who had heard them, would have been led to imagine, that in the British
+code there was some disqualifying statute against any citizen who should
+be convicted of - modesty.<br>
+<br>
+Harley, though he had no great relish for the attempt, yet could not
+resist the torrent of motives that assaulted him; and as he needed but
+little preparation for his journey, a day, not very distant, was fixed
+for his departure.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIII - THE MAN OF FEELING IN LOVE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The day before that on which he set out, he went to take leave of Mr.
+Walton. - We would conceal nothing; - there was another person of the
+family to whom also the visit was intended, on whose account, perhaps,
+there were some tenderer feelings in the bosom of Harley than his gratitude
+for the friendly notice of that gentleman (though he was seldom deficient
+in that virtue) could inspire.&nbsp; Mr. Walton had a daughter; and
+such a daughter! we will attempt some description of her by and by.<br>
+<br>
+Harley&rsquo;s notions of the &kappa;&alpha;&lambda;&omicron;&nu;, or
+beautiful, were not always to be defined, nor indeed such as the world
+would always assent to, though we could define them.&nbsp; A blush,
+a phrase of affability to an inferior, a tear at a moving tale, were
+to him, like the Cestus of Cytherea, unequalled in conferring beauty.&nbsp;
+For all these Miss Walton was remarkable; but as these, like the above-mentioned
+Cestus, are perhaps still more powerful when the wearer is possessed
+of souse degree of beauty, commonly so called, it happened, that, from
+this cause, they had more than usual power in the person of that young
+lady.<br>
+<br>
+She was now arrived at that period of life which takes, or is supposed
+to take, from the flippancy of girlhood those sprightlinesses with which
+some good-natured old maids oblige the world at three-score.&nbsp; She
+had been ushered into life (as that word is used in the dialect of St.
+James&rsquo;s) at seventeen, her father being then in parliament, and
+living in London: at seventeen, therefore, she had been a universal
+toast; her health, now she was four-and-twenty, was only drank by those
+who knew her face at least.&nbsp; Her complexion was mellowed into a
+paleness, which certainly took from her beauty; but agreed, at least
+Harley used to say so, with the pensive softness of her mind.&nbsp;
+Her eyes were of that gentle hazel colour which is rather mild than
+piercing; and, except when they were lighted up by good-humour, which
+was frequently the case, were supposed by the fine gentlemen to want
+fire.&nbsp; Her air and manner were elegant in the highest degree, and
+were as sure of commanding respect as their mistress was far from demanding
+it.&nbsp; Her voice was inexpressibly soft; it was, according to that
+incomparable simile of Otway&rsquo;s,<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+- &ldquo;like the shepherd&rsquo;s pipe upon the mountains,<br>
+When all his little flock&rsquo;s at feed before him.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The effect it had upon Harley, himself used to paint ridiculously enough;
+and ascribed it to powers, which few believed, and nobody cared for.<br>
+<br>
+Her conversation was always cheerful, but rarely witty; and without
+the smallest affectation of learning, had as much sentiment in it as
+would have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles of female materialism,
+to account for.&nbsp; Her beneficence was unbounded; indeed the natural
+tenderness of her heart might have been argued, by the frigidity of
+a casuist, as detracting from her virtue in this respect, for her humanity
+was a feeling, not a principle: but minds like Harley&rsquo;s are not
+very apt to make this distinction, and generally give our virtue credit
+for all that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature.<br>
+<br>
+As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had frequent
+opportunities of seeing her.&nbsp; He looked on her for some time merely
+with that respect and admiration which her appearance seemed to demand,
+and the opinion of others conferred upon her from this cause, perhaps,
+and from that extreme sensibility of which we have taken frequent notice,
+Harley was remarkably silent in her presence.&nbsp; He heard her sentiments
+with peculiar attention, sometimes with looks very expressive of approbation;
+but seldom declared his opinion on the subject, much less made compliments
+to the lady on the justness of her remarks.<br>
+<br>
+From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took more particular
+notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the laws of precedency,
+were better entitled to it: it was a mode of politeness she had peculiarly
+studied, to bring to the line of that equality, which is ever necessary
+for the ease of our guests, those whose sensibility had placed them
+below it.<br>
+<br>
+Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the world,
+yet was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on his part;
+on the contrary, the most delicate consciousness of propriety often
+kindled that blush which marred the performance of it: this raised his
+esteem something above what the most sanguine descriptions of her goodness
+had been able to do; for certain it is, that notwithstanding the laboured
+definitions which very wise men have given us of the inherent beauty
+of virtue, we are always inclined to think her handsomest when she condescends
+to smile upon ourselves.<br>
+<br>
+It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love:
+in the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition; for there were
+certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a degree much above their
+common complexion.&nbsp; In times not credulous of inspiration, we should
+account for this from some natural cause; but we do not mean to account
+for it at all; it were sufficient to describe its effects; but they
+were sometimes so ludicrous, as might derogate from the dignity of the
+sensations which produced them to describe.&nbsp; They were treated
+indeed as such by most of Harley&rsquo;s sober friends, who often laughed
+very heartily at the awkward blunders of the real Harley, when the different
+faculties, which should have prevented them, were entirely occupied
+by the ideal.&nbsp; In some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton
+did not fail to be introduced; and the picture which had been drawn
+amidst the surrounding objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out
+to be viewed through the medium of romantic imagination: it was improved
+of course, and esteem was a word inexpressive of the feelings which
+it excited.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIV - HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY - THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+He had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of his intended departure;
+but the good lady&rsquo;s affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep,
+and early as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set
+out, he found her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup
+in her hand.&nbsp; She knew enough of physic to prescribe against going
+abroad of a morning with an empty stomach.&nbsp; She gave her blessing
+with the draught; her instructions she had delivered the night before.&nbsp;
+They consisted mostly of negatives, for London, in her idea, was so
+replete with temptations that it needed the whole armour of her friendly
+cautions to repel their attacks.<br>
+<br>
+Peter stood at the door.&nbsp; We have mentioned this faithful fellow
+formerly: Harley&rsquo;s father had taken him up an orphan, and saved
+him from being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in
+the service of him and of his son.&nbsp; Harley shook him by the hand
+as he passed, smiling, as if he had said, &ldquo;I will not weep.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He sprung hastily into the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded
+up the step.&nbsp; &ldquo;My dear master,&rdquo; said he, shaking the
+solitary lock that hung on either side of his head, &ldquo;I have been
+told as how London is a sad place.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was choked with the
+thought, and his benediction could not be heard: - but it shall be heard,
+honest Peter! where these tears will add to its energy.<br>
+<br>
+In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed breakfasting,
+but the fulness of his heart would not suffer him to eat a morsel.&nbsp;
+He walked out on the road, and gaining a little height, stood gazing
+on that quarter he had left.&nbsp; He looked for his wonted prospect,
+his fields, his woods, and his hills: they were lost in the distant
+clouds!&nbsp; He pencilled them on the clouds, and bade them farewell
+with a sigh!<br>
+<br>
+He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from his shoe,
+when he saw, at some distance, a beggar approaching him.&nbsp; He had
+on a loose sort of coat, mended with different-coloured rags, amongst
+which the blue and the russet were the predominant.&nbsp; He had a short
+knotty stick in his hand, and on the top of it was stuck a ram&rsquo;s
+horn; his knees (though he was no pilgrim) had worn the stuff of his
+breeches; he wore no shoes, and his stockings had entirely lost that
+part of them which should have covered his feet and ankles; in his face,
+however, was the plump appearance of good humour; he walked a good round
+pace, and a crook-legged dog trotted at his heels.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Our delicacies,&rdquo; said Harley to himself, &ldquo;are fantastic;
+they are not in nature! that beggar walks over the sharpest of these
+stones barefooted, whilst I have lost the most delightful dream in the
+world, from the smallest of them happening to get into my shoe.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The beggar had by this time come up, and, pulling off a piece of hat,
+asked charity of Harley; the dog began to beg too: - it was impossible
+to resist both; and, in truth, the want of shoes and stockings had made
+both unnecessary, for Harley had destined sixpence for him before.&nbsp;
+The beggar, on receiving it, poured forth blessings without number;
+and, with a sort of smile on his countenance, said to Harley &ldquo;that
+if he wanted to have his fortune told&rdquo; - Harley turned his eye
+briskly on the beggar: it was an unpromising look for the subject of
+a prediction, and silenced the prophet immediately.&nbsp; &ldquo;I would
+much rather learn,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;what it is in your power
+to tell me: your trade must be an entertaining one; sit down on this
+stone, and let me know something of your profession; I have often thought
+of turning fortune-teller for a week or two myself.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Master,&rdquo; replied the beggar, &ldquo;I like your frankness
+much; God knows I had the humour of plain-dealing in me from a child,
+but there is no doing with it in this world; we must live as we can,
+and lying is, as you call it, my profession, but I was in some sort
+forced to the trade, for I dealt once in telling truth.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me live:
+I never laid by indeed: for I was reckoned a piece of a wag, and your
+wags, I take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;So,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;you seem to know me.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Ay, there are few folks in the country that I don&rsquo;t know
+something of: how should I tell fortunes else?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;True; but to go on with your story: you were a labourer, you
+say, and a wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade,
+but your humour you preserve to be of use to you in your new.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean on&rsquo;t: but
+I was brought to my idleness by degrees; first I could not work, and
+it went against my stomach to work ever after.&nbsp; I was seized with
+a jail fever at the time of the assizes being in the county where I
+lived; for I was always curious to get acquainted with the felons, because
+they are commonly fellows of much mirth and little thought, qualities
+I had ever an esteem for.&nbsp; In the height of this fever, Mr. Harley,
+the house where I lay took fire, and burnt to the ground; I was carried
+out in that condition, and lay all the rest of my illness in a barn.&nbsp;
+I got the better of my disease, however, but I was so weak that I spit
+blood whenever I attempted to work.&nbsp; I had no relation living that
+I knew of, and I never kept a friend above a week, when I was able to
+joke; I seldom remained above six months in a parish, so that I might
+have died before I had found a settlement in any: thus I was forced
+to beg my bread, and a sorry trade I found it, Mr. Harley.&nbsp; I told
+all my misfortunes truly, but they were seldom believed; and the few
+who gave me a halfpenny as they passed did it with a shake of the head,
+and an injunction not to trouble them with a long story.&nbsp; In short,
+I found that people don&rsquo;t care to give alms without some security
+for their money; a wooden leg or a withered arm is a sort of draught
+upon heaven for those who choose to have their money placed to account
+there; so I changed my plan, and, instead of telling my own misfortunes,
+began to prophesy happiness to others.&nbsp; This I found by much the
+better way: folks will always listen when the tale is their own, and
+of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling, I have known
+few on whom it had not a very sensible effect.&nbsp; I pick up the names
+of their acquaintance; amours and little squabbles are easily gleaned
+among servants and neighbours; and indeed people themselves are the
+best intelligencers in the world for our purpose: they dare not puzzle
+us for their own sakes, for every one is anxious to hear what they wish
+to believe, and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they have done,
+are generally more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine.&nbsp;
+With a tolerable good memory, and some share of cunning, with the help
+of walking a-nights over heaths and church-yards, with this, and showing
+the tricks of that there dog, whom I stole from the serjeant of a marching
+regiment (and by the way, he can steal too upon occasion), I make shift
+to pick up a livelihood.&nbsp; My trade, indeed, is none of the honestest;
+yet people are not much cheated neither who give a few half-pence for
+a prospect of happiness, which I have heard some persons say is all
+a man can arrive at in this world.&nbsp; But I must bid you good day,
+sir, for I have three miles to walk before noon, to inform some boarding-school
+young ladies whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm or
+captains in the army: a question which I promised to answer them by
+that time.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade him consider
+on whom he was going to bestow it.&nbsp; Virtue held back his arm; but
+a milder form, a younger sister of Virtue&rsquo;s, not so severe as
+Virtue, nor so serious as Pity, smiled upon him; his fingers lost their
+compression, nor did Virtue offer to catch the money as it fell.&nbsp;
+It had no sooner reached the ground than the watchful cur (a trick he
+had been taught) snapped it up, and, contrary to the most approved method
+of stewardship, delivered it immediately into the hands of his master.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIX - HE MAKES A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE BARONET&rsquo;S.&nbsp;
+THE LAUDABLE AMBITION OF A YOUNG MAN TO BE THOUGHT SOMETHING BY THE
+WORLD<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+We have related, in a former chapter, the little success of his first
+visit to the great man, for whom he had the introductory letter from
+Mr. Walton.&nbsp; To people of equal sensibility, the influence of those
+trifles we mentioned on his deportment will not appear surprising, but
+to his friends in the country they could not be stated, nor would they
+have allowed them any place in the account.&nbsp; In some of their letters,
+therefore, which he received soon after, they expressed their surprise
+at his not having been more urgent in his application, and again recommended
+the blushless assiduity of successful merit.<br>
+<br>
+He resolved to make another attempt at the baronet&rsquo;s; fortified
+with higher notions of his own dignity, and with less apprehension of
+repulse.&nbsp; In his way to Grosvenor Square he began to ruminate on
+the folly of mankind, who affixed those ideas of superiority to riches,
+which reduced the minds of men, by nature equal with the more fortunate,
+to that sort of servility which he felt in his own.&nbsp; By the time
+he had reached the Square, and was walking along the pavement which
+led to the baronet&rsquo;s, he had brought his reasoning on the subject
+to such a point, that the conclusion, by every rule of logic, should
+have led him to a thorough indifference in his approaches to a fellow-mortal,
+whether that fellow-mortal was possessed of six or six thousand pounds
+a year.&nbsp; It is probable, however, that the premises had been improperly
+formed: for it is certain, that when he approached the great man&rsquo;s
+door he felt his heart agitated by an unusual pulsation.<br>
+<br>
+He had almost reached it, when he observed among gentleman coming out,
+dressed in a white frock and a red laced waistcoat, with a small switch
+in his hand, which he seemed to manage with a particular good grace.&nbsp;
+As he passed him on the steps, the stranger very politely made him a
+bow, which Harley returned, though he could not remember ever having
+seen him before.&nbsp; He asked Harley, in the same civil manner, if
+he was going to wait on his friend the baronet.&nbsp; &ldquo;For I was
+just calling,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and am sorry to find that he is
+gone for some days into the country.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley thanked him for his information, and was turning from the door,
+when the other observed that it would be proper to leave his name, and
+very obligingly knocked for that purpose.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant to have waited on your master.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Your name, if you please, sir?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Harley.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll remember, Tom, Harley.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The door was shut.&nbsp; &ldquo;Since we are here,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we
+shall not lose our walk if we add a little to it by a turn or two in
+Hyde Park.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He accompanied this proposal with a second bow, and Harley accepted
+of it by another in return.<br>
+<br>
+The conversation, as they walked, was brilliant on the side of his companion.&nbsp;
+The playhouse, the opera, with every occurrence in high life, he seemed
+perfectly master of; and talked of some reigning beauties of quality
+in a manner the most feeling in the world.&nbsp; Harley admired the
+happiness of his vivacity, and, opposite as it was to the reserve of
+his own nature, began to be much pleased with its effects.<br>
+<br>
+Though I am not of opinion with some wise men, that the existence of
+objects depends on idea, yet I am convinced that their appearance is
+not a little influenced by it.&nbsp; The optics of some minds are in
+so unlucky a perspective as to throw a certain shade on every picture
+that is presented to them, while those of others (of which number was
+Harley), like the mirrors of the ladies, have a wonderful effect in
+bettering their complexions.&nbsp; Through such a medium perhaps he
+was looking on his present companion.<br>
+<br>
+When they had finished their walk, and were returning by the corner
+of the Park, they observed a board hung out of a window signifying,
+&ldquo;An excellent ORDINARY on Saturdays and Sundays.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+It happened to be Saturday, and the table was covered for the purpose.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What if we should go in and dine here, if you happen not to be
+engaged, sir?&rdquo; said the young gentleman.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is not
+impossible but we shall meet with some original or other; it is a sort
+of humour I like hugely.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley made no objection, and the stranger showed him the way into the
+parlour.<br>
+<br>
+He was placed, by the courtesy of his introductor, in an arm-chair that
+stood at one side of the fire.&nbsp; Over against him was seated a man
+of a grave considering aspect, with that look of sober prudence which
+indicates what is commonly called a warm man.&nbsp; He wore a pretty
+large wig, which had once been white, but was now of a brownish yellow;
+his coat was one of those modest-coloured drabs which mock the injuries
+of dust and dirt; two jack-boots concealed, in part, the well-mended
+knees of an old pair of buckskin breeches; while the spotted handkerchief
+round his neck preserved at once its owner from catching cold and his
+neck-cloth from being dirtied.&nbsp; Next him sat another man, with
+a tankard in his hand and a quid of tobacco in his cheek, whose eye
+was rather more vivacious, and whose dress was something smarter.<br>
+<br>
+The first-mentioned gentleman took notice that the room had been so
+lately washed, as not to have had time to dry, and remarked that wet
+lodging was unwholesome for man or beast.&nbsp; He looked round at the
+same time for a poker to stir the fire with, which, he at last observed
+to the company, the people of the house had removed in order to save
+their coals.&nbsp; This difficulty, however, he overcame by the help
+of Harley&rsquo;s stick, saying, &ldquo;that as they should, no doubt,
+pay for their fire in some shape or other, he saw no reason why they
+should not have the use of it while they sat.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The door was now opened for the admission of dinner.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t know how it is with you, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Harley&rsquo;s
+new acquaintance, &ldquo;but I am afraid I shall not be able to get
+down a morsel at this horrid mechanical hour of dining.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He sat down, however, and did not show any want of appetite by his eating.&nbsp;
+He took upon him the carving of the meat, and criticised on the goodness
+of the pudding.<br>
+<br>
+When the table-cloth was removed, he proposed calling for some punch,
+which was readily agreed to; he seemed at first inclined to make it
+himself, but afterwards changed his mind, and left that province to
+the waiter, telling him to have it pure West Indian, or he could not
+taste a drop of it.<br>
+<br>
+When the punch was brought he undertook to fill the glasses and call
+the toasts.&nbsp; &ldquo;The King.&rdquo; - The toast naturally produced
+politics.&nbsp; It is the privilege of Englishmen to drink the king&rsquo;s
+health, and to talk of his conduct.&nbsp; The man who sat opposite to
+Harley (and who by this time, partly from himself, and partly from his
+acquaintance on his left hand, was discovered to be a grazier) observed,
+&ldquo;That it was a shame for so many pensioners to be allowed to take
+the bread out of the mouth of the poor.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Ay, and provisions,&rdquo; said his friend, &ldquo;were never
+so dear in the memory of man; I wish the king and his counsellors would
+look to that.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;As for the matter of provisions, neighbour Wrightson,&rdquo;
+he replied, &ldquo;I am sure the prices of cattle - &rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+A dispute would have probably ensued, but it was prevented by the spruce
+toastmaster, who gave a sentiment, and turning to the two politicians,
+&ldquo;Pray, gentlemen,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;let us have done with
+these musty politics: I would always leave them to the beer-suckers
+in Butcher Row.&nbsp; Come, let us have something of the fine arts.&nbsp;
+That was a damn&rsquo;d hard match between Joe the Nailor and Tim Bucket.&nbsp;
+The knowing ones were cursedly taken in there!&nbsp; I lost a cool hundred
+myself, faith.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+At mention of the cool hundred, the grazier threw his eyes aslant, with
+a mingled look of doubt and surprise; while the man at his elbow looked
+arch, and gave a short emphatical sort of cough.<br>
+<br>
+Both seemed to be silenced, however, by this intelligence; and while
+the remainder of the punch lasted the conversation was wholly engrossed
+by the gentleman with the fine waistcoat, who told a great many &ldquo;immense
+comical stories&rdquo; and &ldquo;confounded smart things,&rdquo; as
+he termed them, acted and spoken by lords, ladies, and young bucks of
+quality, of his acquaintance.&nbsp; At last, the grazier, pulling out
+a watch, of a very unusual size, and telling the hour, said that he
+had an appointment.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Is it so late?&rdquo; said the young gentleman; &ldquo;then I
+am afraid I have missed an appointment already; but the truth is, I
+am cursedly given to missing of appointments.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When the grazier and he were gone, Harley turned to the remaining personage,
+and asked him if he knew that young gentleman.&nbsp; &ldquo;A gentleman!&rdquo;
+said he; &ldquo;ay, he is one of your gentlemen at the top of an affidavit.&nbsp;
+I knew him, some years ago, in the quality of a footman; and I believe
+he had some times the honour to be a pimp.&nbsp; At last, some of the
+great folks, to whom he had been serviceable in both capacities, had
+him made a gauger; in which station he remains, and has the assurance
+to pretend an acquaintance with men of quality.&nbsp; The impudent dog!
+with a few shillings in his pocket, he will talk you three times as
+much as my friend Mundy there, who is worth nine thousand if he&rsquo;s
+worth a farthing.&nbsp; But I know the rascal, and despise him, as he
+deserves.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley began to despise him too, and to conceive some indignation at
+having sat with patience to hear such a fellow speak nonsense.&nbsp;
+But he corrected himself by reflecting that he was perhaps as well entertained,
+and instructed too, by this same modest gauger, as he should have been
+by such a man as he had thought proper to personate.&nbsp; And surely
+the fault may more properly be imputed to that rank where the futility
+is real than where it is feigned: to that rank whose opportunities for
+nobler accomplishments have only served to rear a fabric of folly which
+the untutored hand of affectation, even among the meanest of mankind,
+can imitate with success.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XX - HE VISITS BEDLAM. - THE DISTRESSES OF A DAUGHTER<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Or those things called Sights in London, which every stranger is supposed
+desirous to see, Bedlam is one.&nbsp; To that place, therefore, an acquaintance
+of Harley&rsquo;s, after having accompanied him to several other shows,
+proposed a visit.&nbsp; Harley objected to it, &ldquo;because,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;I think it an inhuman practice to expose the greatest
+misery with which our nature is afflicted to every idle visitant who
+can afford a trifling perquisite to the keeper; especially as it is
+a distress which the humane must see, with the painful reflection, that
+it is not in their power to alleviate it.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was overpowered,
+however, by the solicitations of his friend and the other persons of
+the party (amongst whom were several ladies); and they went in a body
+to Moorfields.<br>
+<br>
+Their conductor led them first to the dismal mansions of those who are
+in the most horrid state of incurable madness.&nbsp; The clanking of
+chains, the wildness of their cries, and the imprecations which some
+of them uttered, formed a scene inexpressibly shocking.&nbsp; Harley
+and his companions, especially the female part of them, begged their
+guide to return; he seemed surprised at their uneasiness, and was with
+difficulty prevailed on to leave that part of the house without showing
+them some others: who, as he expressed it in the phrase of those that
+keep wild beasts for show, were much better worth seeing than any they
+had passed, being ten times more fierce and unmanageable.<br>
+<br>
+He led them next to that quarter where those reside who, as they are
+not dangerous to themselves or others, enjoy a certain degree of freedom,
+according to the state of their distemper.<br>
+<br>
+Harley had fallen behind his companions, looking at a man who was making
+pendulums with bits of thread and little balls of clay.&nbsp; He had
+delineated a segment of a circle on the wall with chalk, and marked
+their different vibrations by intersecting it with cross lines.&nbsp;
+A decent-looking man came up, and smiling at the maniac, turned to Harley,
+and told him that gentleman had once been a very celebrated mathematician.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He fell a sacrifice,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to the theory of
+comets; for having, with infinite labour, formed a table on the conjectures
+of Sir Isaac Newton, he was disappointed in the return of one of those
+luminaries, and was very soon after obliged to be placed here by his
+friends.&nbsp; If you please to follow me, sir,&rdquo; continued the
+stranger, &ldquo;I believe I shall be able to give you a more satisfactory
+account of the unfortunate people you see here than the man who attends
+your companions.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley bowed, and accepted his offer.<br>
+<br>
+The next person they came up to had scrawled a variety of figures on
+a piece of slate.&nbsp; Harley had the curiosity to take a nearer view
+of them.&nbsp; They consisted of different columns, on the top of which
+were marked South-sea annuities, India-stock, and Three per cent. annuities
+consol.&nbsp; &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said Harley&rsquo;s instructor, &ldquo;was
+a gentleman well known in Change Alley.&nbsp; He was once worth fifty
+thousand pounds, and had actually agreed for the purchase of an estate
+in the West, in order to realise his money; but he quarrelled with the
+proprietor about the repairs of the garden wall, and so returned to
+town, to follow his old trade of stock-jobbing a little longer; when
+an unlucky fluctuation of stock, in which he was engaged to an immense
+extent, reduced him at once to poverty and to madness.&nbsp; Poor wretch!
+he told me t&rsquo;other day that against the next payment of differences
+he should be some hundreds above a plum.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It is a spondee, and I will maintain it,&rdquo; interrupted a
+voice on his left hand.&nbsp; This assertion was followed by a very
+rapid recital of some verses from Homer.&nbsp; &ldquo;That figure,&rdquo;
+said the gentleman, &ldquo;whose clothes are so bedaubed with snuff,
+was a schoolmaster of some reputation: he came hither to be resolved
+of some doubts he entertained concerning the genuine pronunciation of
+the Greek vowels.&nbsp; In his highest fits, he makes frequent mention
+of one Mr. Bentley.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But delusive ideas, sir, are the motives of the greatest part
+of mankind, and a heated imagination the power by which their actions
+are incited: the world, in the eye of a philosopher, may be said to
+be a large madhouse.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; answered
+Harley, &ldquo;the passions of men are temporary madnesses; and sometimes
+very fatal in their effects.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+From Macedonia&rsquo;s madman to the Swede.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It was, indeed,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;a very mad thing
+in Charles to think of adding so vast a country as Russia to his dominions:
+that would have been fatal indeed; the balance of the North would then
+have been lost; but the Sultan and I would never have allowed it.&rdquo;
+- &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Harley, with no small surprise on his countenance.
+- &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; answered the other, &ldquo;the Sultan and
+I; do you know me?&nbsp; I am the Chan of Tartary.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley was a good deal struck by this discovery; he had prudence enough,
+however, to conceal his amazement, and bowing as low to the monarch
+as his dignity required, left him immediately, and joined his companions.<br>
+<br>
+He found them in a quarter of the house set apart for the insane of
+the other sex, several of whom had gathered about the female visitors,
+and were examining, with rather more accuracy than might have been expected,
+the particulars of their dress.<br>
+<br>
+Separate from the rest stood one whose appearance had something of superior
+dignity.&nbsp; Her face, though pale and wasted, was less squalid than
+those of the others, and showed a dejection of that decent kind, which
+moves our pity unmixed with horror: upon her, therefore, the eyes of
+all were immediately turned.&nbsp; The keeper who accompanied them observed
+it: &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is a young lady who was born
+to ride in her coach and six.&nbsp; She was beloved, if the story I
+have heard is true, by a young gentleman, her equal in birth, though
+by no means her match in fortune: but love, they say, is blind, and
+so she fancied him as much as he did her.&nbsp; Her father, it seems,
+would not hear of their marriage, and threatened to turn her out of
+doors if ever she saw him again.&nbsp; Upon this the young gentleman
+took a voyage to the West Indies, in hopes of bettering his fortune,
+and obtaining his mistress; but he was scarce landed, when he was seized
+with one of the fevers which are common in those islands, and died in
+a few days, lamented by every one that knew him.&nbsp; This news soon
+reached his mistress, who was at the same time pressed by her father
+to marry a rich miserly fellow, who was old enough to be her grandfather.&nbsp;
+The death of her lover had no effect on her inhuman parent: he was only
+the more earnest for her marriage with the man he had provided for her;
+and what between her despair at the death of the one, and her aversion
+to the other, the poor young lady was reduced to the condition you see
+her in.&nbsp; But God would not prosper such cruelty; her father&rsquo;s
+affairs soon after went to wreck, and he died almost a beggar.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Though this story was told in very plain language, it had particularly
+attracted Harley&rsquo;s notice; he had given it the tribute of some
+tears.&nbsp; The unfortunate young lady had till now seemed entranced
+in thought, with her eyes fixed on a little garnet ring she wore on
+her finger; she turned them now upon Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;My Billy is
+no more!&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;do you weep for my Billy?&nbsp; Blessings
+on your tears!&nbsp; I would weep too, but my brain is dry; and it burns,
+it burns, it burns!&rdquo; - She drew nearer to Harley. - &ldquo;Be
+comforted, young lady,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;your Billy is in heaven.&rdquo;
+- &ldquo;Is he, indeed? and shall we meet again? and shall that frightful
+man (pointing to the keeper) not be there! - Alas!&nbsp; I am grown
+naughty of late; I have almost forgotten to think of heaven: yet I pray
+sometimes; when I can, I pray; and sometimes I sing; when I am saddest,
+I sing: - You shall hear me - hush!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Light be the earth on Billy&rsquo;s breast,<br>
+And green the sod that wraps his grave.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+There was a plaintive wildness in the air not to be withstood; and,
+except the keeper&rsquo;s, there was not an unmoistened eye around her.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Do you weep again?&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;I would not
+have you weep: you are like my Billy; you are, believe me; just so he
+looked when he gave me this ring; poor Billy! &rsquo;twas the last time
+ever we met! -<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas when the seas were roaring - I love you for resembling
+my Billy; but I shall never love any man like him.&rdquo; - She stretched
+out her hand to Harley; he pressed it between both of his, and bathed
+it with his tears. - &ldquo;Nay, that is Billy&rsquo;s ring,&rdquo;
+said she, &ldquo;you cannot have it, indeed; but here is another, look
+here, which I plated to-day of some gold-thread from this bit of stuff;
+will you keep it for my sake?&nbsp; I am a strange girl; but my heart
+is harmless: my poor heart; it will burst some day; feel how it beats!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+She pressed his hand to her bosom, then holding her head in the attitude
+of listening - &ldquo;Hark! one, two, three! be quiet, thou little trembler;
+my Billy is cold! - but I had forgotten the ring.&rdquo; - She put it
+on his finger.&nbsp; &ldquo;Farewell!&nbsp; I must leave you now.&rdquo;
+- She would have withdrawn her hand; Harley held it to his lips. - &ldquo;I
+dare not stay longer; my head throbs sadly: farewell!&rdquo; - She walked
+with a hurried step to a little apartment at some distance.&nbsp; Harley
+stood fixed in astonishment and pity; his friend gave money to the keeper.
+- Harley looked on his ring. - He put a couple of guineas into the man&rsquo;s
+hand: &ldquo;Be kind to that unfortunate.&rdquo; - He burst into tears,
+and left them.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXI - THE MISANTHROPE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The friend who had conducted him to Moorfields called upon him again
+the next evening.&nbsp; After some talk on the adventures of the preceding
+day: &ldquo;I carried you yesterday,&rdquo; said he to Harley, &ldquo;to
+visit the mad; let me introduce you to-night, at supper, to one of the
+wise: but you must not look for anything of the Socratic pleasantry
+about him; on the contrary, I warn you to expect the spirit of a Diogenes.&nbsp;
+That you may be a little prepared for his extraordinary manner, I will
+let you into some particulars of his history.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He is the elder of the two sons of a gentleman of considerable
+estate in the country.&nbsp; Their father died when they were young:
+both were remarkable at school for quickness of parts and extent of
+genius; this had been bred to no profession, because his father&rsquo;s
+fortune, which descended to him, was thought sufficient to set him above
+it; the other was put apprentice to an eminent attorney.&nbsp; In this
+the expectations of his friends were more consulted than his own inclination;
+for both his brother and he had feelings of that warm kind that could
+ill brook a study so dry as the law, especially in that department of
+it which was allotted to him.&nbsp; But the difference of their tempers
+made the characteristical distinction between them.&nbsp; The younger,
+from the gentleness of his nature, bore with patience a situation entirely
+discordant to his genius and disposition.&nbsp; At times, indeed, his
+pride would suggest of how little importance those talents were which
+the partiality of his friends had often extolled: they were now incumbrances
+in a walk of life where the dull and the ignorant passed him at every
+turn; his fancy and his feeling were invincible obstacles to eminence
+in a situation where his fancy had no room for exertion, and his feeling
+experienced perpetual disgust.&nbsp; But these murmurings he never suffered
+to be heard; and that he might not offend the prudence of those who
+had been concerned in the choice of his profession, he continued to
+labour in it several years, till, by the death of a relation, he succeeded
+to an estate of a little better than &pound;100 a year, with which,
+and the small patrimony left him, he retired into the country, and made
+a love-match with a young lady of a similar temper to his own, with
+whom the sagacious world pitied him for finding happiness.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But his elder brother, whom you are to see at supper, if you
+will do us the favour of your company, was naturally impetuous, decisive,
+and overbearing.&nbsp; He entered into life with those ardent expectations
+by which young men are commonly deluded: in his friendships, warm to
+excess; and equally violent in his dislikes.&nbsp; He was on the brink
+of marriage with a young lady, when one of those friends, for whose
+honour he would have pawned his life, made an elopement with that very
+goddess, and left him besides deeply engaged for sums which that good
+friend&rsquo;s extravagance had squandered.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The dreams he had formerly enjoyed were now changed for ideas
+of a very different nature.&nbsp; He abjured all confidence in anything
+of human form; sold his lands, which still produced him a very large
+reversion, came to town, and immured himself, with a woman who had been
+his nurse, in little better than a garret; and has ever since applied
+his talents to the vilifying of his species.&nbsp; In one thing I must
+take the liberty to instruct you; however different your sentiments
+may be (and different they must be), you will suffer him to go on without
+contradiction; otherwise, he will be silent immediately, and we shall
+not get a word from him all the night after.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley promised
+to remember this injunction, and accepted the invitation of his friend.<br>
+<br>
+When they arrived at the house, they were informed that the gentleman
+was come, and had been shown into the parlour.&nbsp; They found him
+sitting with a daughter of his friend&rsquo;s, about three years old,
+on his knee, whom he was teaching the alphabet from a horn book: at
+a little distance stood a sister of hers, some years older.&nbsp; &ldquo;Get
+you away, miss,&rdquo; said he to this last; &ldquo;you are a pert gossip,
+and I will have nothing to do with you.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo;
+answered she, &ldquo;Nancy is your favourite; you are quite in love
+with Nancy.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Take away that girl,&rdquo; said he to her
+father, whom he now observed to have entered the room; &ldquo;she has
+woman about her already.&rdquo;&nbsp; The children were accordingly
+dismissed.<br>
+<br>
+Betwixt that and supper-time he did not utter a syllable.&nbsp; When
+supper came, he quarrelled with every dish at table, but eat of them
+all; only exempting from his censures a salad, &ldquo;which you have
+not spoiled,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;because you have not attempted to
+cook it.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When the wine was set upon the table, he took from his pocket a particular
+smoking apparatus, and filled his pipe, without taking any more notice
+of Harley, or his friend, than if no such persons had been in the room.<br>
+<br>
+Harley could not help stealing a look of surprise at him; but his friend,
+who knew his humour, returned it by annihilating his presence in the
+like manner, and, leaving him to his own meditations, addressed himself
+entirely to Harley.<br>
+<br>
+In their discourse some mention happened to be made of an amiable character,
+and the words <i>honour </i>and <i>politeness </i>were applied to it.&nbsp;
+Upon this, the gentleman, laying down his pipe, and changing the tone
+of his countenance, from an ironical grin to something more intently
+contemptuous: &ldquo;Honour,&rdquo; said he: &ldquo;Honour and Politeness!
+this is the coin of the world, and passes current with the fools of
+it.&nbsp; You have substituted the shadow Honour, instead of the substance
+Virtue; and have banished the reality of friendship for the fictitious
+semblance which you have termed Politeness: politeness, which consists
+in a certain ceremonious jargon, more ridiculous to the ear of reason
+than the voice of a puppet.&nbsp; You have invented sounds, which you
+worship, though they tyrannize over your peace; and are surrounded with
+empty forms, which take from the honest emotions of joy, and add to
+the poignancy of misfortune.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Harley
+- his friend winked to him, to remind him of the caution he had received.&nbsp;
+He was silenced by the thought.&nbsp; The philosopher turned his eye
+upon him: he examined him from top to toe, with a sort of triumphant
+contempt; Harley&rsquo;s coat happened to be a new one; the other&rsquo;s
+was as shabby as could possibly be supposed to be on the back of a gentleman:
+there was much significance in his look with regard to this coat; it
+spoke of the sleekness of folly and the threadbareness of wisdom.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Truth,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;the most amiable, as well
+as the most natural of virtues, you are at pains to eradicate.&nbsp;
+Your very nurseries are seminaries of falsehood; and what is called
+Fashion in manhood completes the system of avowed insincerity.&nbsp;
+Mankind, in the gross, is a gaping monster, that loves to be deceived,
+and has seldom been disappointed: nor is their vanity less fallacious
+to your philosophers, who adopt modes of truth to follow them through
+the paths of error, and defend paradoxes merely to be singular in defending
+them.&nbsp; These are they whom ye term Ingenious; &rsquo;tis a phrase
+of commendation I detest: it implies an attempt to impose on my judgment,
+by flattering my imagination; yet these are they whose works are read
+by the old with delight, which the young are taught to look upon as
+the codes of knowledge and philosophy.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Indeed, the education of your youth is every way preposterous;
+you waste at school years in improving talents, without having ever
+spent an hour in discovering them; one promiscuous line of instruction
+is followed, without regard to genius, capacity, or probable situation
+in the commonwealth.&nbsp; From this bear-garden of the pedagogue, a
+raw, unprincipled boy is turned loose upon the world to travel; without
+any ideas but those of improving his dress at Paris, or starting into
+taste by gazing on some paintings at Rome.&nbsp; Ask him of the manners
+of the people, and he will tell you that the skirt is worn much shorter
+in France, and that everybody eats macaroni in Italy.&nbsp; When he
+returns home, he buys a seat in parliament, and studies the constitution
+at Arthur&rsquo;s.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Nor are your females trained to any more useful purpose: they
+are taught, by the very rewards which their nurses propose for good
+behaviour, by the first thing like a jest which they hear from every
+male visitor of the family, that a young woman is a creature to be married;
+and when they are grown somewhat older, are instructed that it is the
+purpose of marriage to have the enjoyment of pin-money, and the expectation
+of a jointure.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;These, <a name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61">{61}</a>
+indeed, are the effects of luxury, which is, perhaps, inseparable from
+a certain degree of power and grandeur in a nation.&nbsp; But it is
+not simply of the progress of luxury that we have to complain: did its
+votaries keep in their own sphere of thoughtless dissipation, we might
+despise them without emotion; but the frivolous pursuits of pleasure
+are mingled with the most important concerns of the state; and public
+enterprise shall sleep till he who should guide its operation has decided
+his bets at Newmarket, or fulfilled his engagement with a favourite
+mistress in the country.&nbsp; We want some man of acknowledged eminence
+to point our counsels with that firmness which the counsels of a great
+people require.&nbsp; We have hundreds of ministers, who press forward
+into office without having ever learned that art which is necessary
+for every business: the art of thinking; and mistake the petulance,
+which could give inspiration to smart sarcasms on an obnoxious measure
+in a popular assembly, for the ability which is to balance the interest
+of kingdoms, and investigate the latent sources of national superiority.&nbsp;
+With the administration of such men the people can never be satisfied;
+for besides that their confidence is gained only by the view of superior
+talents, there needs that depth of knowledge, which is not only acquainted
+with the just extent of power, but can also trace its connection with
+the expedient, to preserve its possessors from the contempt which attends
+irresolution, or the resentment which follows temerity.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+* * * * *<br>
+<br>
+[Here a considerable part is wanting.]<br>
+<br>
+* * &ldquo;In short, man is an animal equally selfish and vain.&nbsp;
+Vanity, indeed, is but a modification of selfishness.&nbsp; From the
+latter, there are some who pretend to be free: they are generally such
+as declaim against the lust of wealth and power, because they have never
+been able to attain any high degree in either: they boast of generosity
+and feeling.&nbsp; They tell us (perhaps they tell us in rhyme) that
+the sensations of an honest heart, of a mind universally benevolent,
+make up the quiet bliss which they enjoy; but they will not, by this,
+be exempted from the charge of selfishness.&nbsp; Whence the luxurious
+happiness they describe in their little family-circles?&nbsp; Whence
+the pleasure which they feel, when they trim their evening fires, and
+listen to the howl of winter&rsquo;s wind?&nbsp; Whence, but from the
+secret reflection of what houseless wretches feel from it?&nbsp; Or
+do you administer comfort in affliction - the motive is at hand; I have
+had it preached to me in nineteen out of twenty of your consolatory
+discourses - the comparative littleness of our own misfortunes.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;With vanity your best virtues are grossly tainted: your benevolence,
+which ye deduce immediately from the natural impulse of the heart, squints
+to it for its reward.&nbsp; There are some, indeed, who tell us of the
+satisfaction which flows from a secret consciousness of good actions:
+this secret satisfaction is truly excellent - when we have some friend
+to whom we may discover its excellence.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He now paused a moment to re-light his pipe, when a clock, that stood
+at his back, struck eleven; he started up at the sound, took his hat
+and his cane, and nodding good night with his head, walked out of the
+room.&nbsp; The gentleman of the house called a servant to bring the
+stranger&rsquo;s surtout.&nbsp; &ldquo;What sort of a night is it, fellow?&rdquo;
+said he. - &ldquo;It rains, sir,&rdquo; answered the servant, &ldquo;with
+an easterly wind.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Easterly for ever!&rdquo;&nbsp; He
+made no other reply; but shrugging up his shoulders till they almost
+touched his ears, wrapped himself tight in his great coat, and disappeared.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;This is a strange creature,&rdquo; said his friend to Harley.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I cannot say,&rdquo; answered he, &ldquo;that his remarks are
+of the pleasant kind: it is curious to observe how the nature of truth
+may be changed by the garb it wears; softened to the admonition of friendship,
+or soured into the severity of reproof: yet this severity may be useful
+to some tempers; it somewhat resembles a file: disagreeable in its operation,
+but hard metals may be the brighter for it.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+* * *<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXV - HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The company at the baronet&rsquo;s removed to the playhouse accordingly,
+and Harley took his usual route into the Park.&nbsp; He observed, as
+he entered, a fresh-looking elderly gentleman in conversation with a
+beggar, who, leaning on his crutch, was recounting the hardships he
+had undergone, and explaining the wretchedness of his present condition.&nbsp;
+This was a very interesting dialogue to Harley; he was rude enough,
+therefore, to slacken his pace as he approached, and at last to make
+a full stop at the gentleman&rsquo;s back, who was just then expressing
+his compassion for the beggar, and regretting that he had not a farthing
+of change about him.&nbsp; At saying this, he looked piteously on the
+fellow: there was something in his physiognomy which caught Harley&rsquo;s
+notice: indeed, physiognomy was one of Harley&rsquo;s foibles, for which
+he had been often rebuked by his aunt in the country, who used to tell
+him that when he was come to her years and experience he would know
+that all&rsquo;s not gold that glitters: and it must be owned that his
+aunt was a very sensible, harsh-looking maiden lady of threescore and
+upwards.&nbsp; But he was too apt to forget this caution and now, it
+seems, it had not occurred to him.&nbsp; Stepping up, therefore, to
+the gentleman, who was lamenting the want of silver, &ldquo;Your intentions,
+sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;are so good, that I cannot help lending
+you my assistance to carry them into execution,&rdquo; and gave the
+beggar a shilling.&nbsp; The other returned a suitable compliment, and
+extolled the benevolence of Harley.&nbsp; They kept walking together,
+and benevolence grew the topic of discourse.<br>
+<br>
+The stranger was fluent on the subject.&nbsp; &ldquo;There is no use
+of money,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;equal to that of beneficence.&nbsp;
+With the profuse, it is lost; and even with those who lay it out according
+to the prudence of the world, the objects acquired by it pall on the
+sense, and have scarce become our own till they lose their value with
+the power of pleasing; but here the enjoyment grows on reflection, and
+our money is most truly ours when it ceases being in our possession.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yet I agree in some measure,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;with
+those who think that charity to our common beggars is often misplaced;
+there are objects less obtrusive whose title is a better one.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;We cannot easily distinguish,&rdquo; said the stranger; &ldquo;and
+even of the worthless, are there not many whose imprudence, or whose
+vice, may have been one dreadful consequence of misfortune?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley looked again in his face, and blessed himself for his skill in
+physiognomy.<br>
+<br>
+By this time they had reached the end of the walk, the old gentleman
+leaning on the rails to take breath, and in the meantime they were joined
+by a younger man, whose figure was much above the appearance of his
+dress, which was poor and shabby.&nbsp; Harley&rsquo;s former companion
+addressed him as an acquaintance, and they turned on the walk together.<br>
+<br>
+The elder of the strangers complained of the closeness of the evening,
+and asked the other if he would go with him into a house hard by, and
+take one draught of excellent cyder.&nbsp; &ldquo;The man who keeps
+this house,&rdquo; said he to Harley, &ldquo;was once a servant of mine.&nbsp;
+I could not think of turning loose upon the world a faithful old fellow,
+for no other reason but that his age had incapacitated him; so I gave
+him an annuity of ten pounds, with the help of which he has set up this
+little place here, and his daughter goes and sells milk in the city,
+while her father manages his tap-room, as he calls it, at home.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t well ask a gentleman of your appearance to accompany me
+to so paltry a place.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; replied Harley,
+interrupting him, &ldquo;I would much rather enter it than the most
+celebrated tavern in town.&nbsp; To give to the necessitous may sometimes
+be a weakness in the man; to encourage industry is a duty in the citizen.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+They entered the house accordingly.<br>
+<br>
+On a table at the corner of the room lay a pack of cards, loosely thrown
+together.&nbsp; The old gentleman reproved the man of the house for
+encouraging so idle an amusement.&nbsp; Harley attempted to defend him
+from the necessity of accommodating himself to the humour of his guests,
+and taking up the cards, began to shuffle them backwards and forwards
+in his hand.&nbsp; &ldquo;Nay, I don&rsquo;t think cards so unpardonable
+an amusement as some do,&rdquo; replied the other; &ldquo;and now and
+then, about this time of the evening, when my eyes begin to fail me
+for my book, I divert myself with a game at piquet, without finding
+my morals a bit relaxed by it.&nbsp; Do you play piquet, sir?&rdquo;
+(to Harley.)&nbsp; Harley answered in the affirmative; upon which the
+other proposed playing a pool at a shilling the game, doubling the stakes;
+adding, that he never played higher with anybody.<br>
+<br>
+Harley&rsquo;s good nature could not refuse the benevolent old man;
+and the younger stranger, though he at first pleaded prior engagements,
+yet being earnestly solicited by his friend, at last yielded to solicitation.<br>
+<br>
+When they began to play, the old gentleman, somewhat to the surprise
+of Harley, produced ten shillings to serve for markers of his score.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He had no change for the beggar,&rdquo; said Harley to himself;
+&ldquo;but I can easily account for it; it is curious to observe the
+affection that inanimate things will create in us by a long acquaintance.&nbsp;
+If I may judge from my own feelings, the old man would not part with
+one of these counters for ten times its intrinsic value; it even got
+the better of his benevolence!&nbsp; I, myself, have a pair of old brass
+sleeve buttons.&rdquo;&nbsp; Here he was interrupted by being told that
+the old gentleman had beat the younger, and that it was his turn to
+take up the conqueror.&nbsp; &ldquo;Your game has been short,&rdquo;
+said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;I re-piqued him,&rdquo; answered the old man,
+with joy sparkling in his countenance.&nbsp; Harley wished to be re-piqued
+too, but he was disappointed; for he had the same good fortune against
+his opponent.&nbsp; Indeed, never did fortune, mutable as she is, delight
+in mutability so much as at that moment.&nbsp; The victory was so quick,
+and so constantly alternate, that the stake, in a short time, amounted
+to no less a sum than &pound;12, Harley&rsquo;s proportion of which
+was within half-a-guinea of the money he had in his pocket.&nbsp; He
+had before proposed a division, but the old gentleman opposed it with
+such a pleasant warmth in his manner, that it was always over-ruled.&nbsp;
+Now, however, he told them that he had an appointment with some gentlemen,
+and it was within a few minutes of his hour.&nbsp; The young stranger
+had gained one game, and was engaged in the second with the other; they
+agreed, therefore, that the stake should be divided, if the old gentleman
+won that: which was more than probable, as his score was 90 to 35, and
+he was elder hand; but a momentous re-pique decided it in favour of
+his adversary, who seemed to enjoy his victory mingled with regret,
+for having won too much, while his friend, with great ebullience of
+passion, many praises of his own good play, and many malediction&rsquo;s
+on the power of chance, took up the cards, and threw them into the fire.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXVI - FRUITS OF THE DEAD SEA<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The company he was engaged to meet were assembled in Fleet Street.&nbsp;
+He had walked some time along the Strand, amidst a crowd of those wretches
+who wait the uncertain wages of prostitution, with ideas of pity suitable
+to the scene around him and the feelings he possessed, and had got as
+far as Somerset House, when one of them laid hold of his arm, and, with
+a voice tremulous and faint, asked him for a pint of wine, in a manner
+more supplicatory than is usual with those whom the infamy of their
+profession has deprived of shame.&nbsp; He turned round at the demand,
+and looked steadfastly on the person who made it.<br>
+<br>
+She was above the common size, and elegantly formed; her face was thin
+and hollow, and showed the remains of tarnished beauty.&nbsp; Her eyes
+were black, but had little of their lustre left; her cheeks had some
+paint laid on without art, and productive of no advantage to her complexion,
+which exhibited a deadly paleness on the other parts of her face.<br>
+<br>
+Harley stood in the attitude of hesitation; which she, interpreting
+to her advantage, repeated her request, and endeavoured to force a leer
+of invitation into her countenance.&nbsp; He took her arm, and they
+walked on to one of those obsequious taverns in the neighbourhood, where
+the dearness of the wine is a discharge in full for the character of
+the house.&nbsp; From what impulse he did this we do not mean to enquire;
+as it has ever been against our nature to search for motives where bad
+ones are to be found.&nbsp; They entered, and a waiter showed them a
+room, and placed a bottle of claret on the table.<br>
+<br>
+Harley filled the lady&rsquo;s glass: which she had no sooner tasted,
+than dropping it on the floor, and eagerly catching his arm, her eye
+grew fixed, her lip assumed a clayey whiteness, and she fell back lifeless
+in her chair.<br>
+<br>
+Harley started from his seat, and, catching her in his arms, supported
+her from falling to the ground, looking wildly at the door, as if he
+wanted to run for assistance, but durst not leave the miserable creature.&nbsp;
+It was not till some minutes after that it occurred to him to ring the
+bell, which at last, however, he thought of, and rung with repeated
+violence even after the waiter appeared.&nbsp; Luckily the waiter had
+his senses somewhat more about him; and snatching up a bottle of water,
+which stood on a buffet at the end of the room, he sprinkled it over
+the hands and face of the dying figure before him.&nbsp; She began to
+revive, and, with the assistance of some hartshorn drops, which Harley
+now for the first time drew from his pocket, was able to desire the
+waiter to bring her a crust of bread, of which she swallowed some mouthfuls
+with the appearance of the keenest hunger.&nbsp; The waiter withdrew:
+when turning to Harley, sobbing at the same time, and shedding tears,
+&ldquo;I am sorry, sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that I should have given
+you so much trouble; but you will pity me when I tell you that till
+now I have not tasted a morsel these two days past.&rdquo; - He fixed
+his eyes on hers - every circumstance but the last was forgotten; and
+he took her hand with as much respect as if she had been a duchess.&nbsp;
+It was ever the privilege of misfortune to be revered by him. - &ldquo;Two
+days!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;and I have fared sumptuously every day!&rdquo;
+- He was reaching to the bell; she understood his meaning, and prevented
+him.&nbsp; &ldquo;I beg, sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that you would
+give yourself no more trouble about a wretch who does not wish to live;
+but, at present, I could not eat a bit; my stomach even rose at the
+last mouthful of that crust.&rdquo; - He offered to call a chair, saying
+that he hoped a little rest would relieve her. - He had one half-guinea
+left.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that at present
+I should be able to make you an offer of no more than this paltry sum.&rdquo;
+- She burst into tears: &ldquo;Your generosity, sir, is abused; to bestow
+it on me is to take it from the virtuous.&nbsp; I have no title but
+misery to plead: misery of my own procuring.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;No
+more of that,&rdquo; answered Harley; &ldquo;there is virtue in these
+tears; let the fruit of them be virtue.&rdquo; - He rung, and ordered
+a chair. - &ldquo;Though I am the vilest of beings,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;I have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall
+still have left, did I but know who is my benefactor.&rdquo; - &ldquo;My
+name is Harley.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Could I ever have an opportunity?&rdquo;
+- &ldquo;You shall, and a glorious one too! your future conduct - but
+I do not mean to reproach you - if, I say - it will be the noblest reward
+- I will do myself the pleasure of seeing you again.&rdquo; - Here the
+waiter entered, and told them the chair was at the door; the lady informed
+Harley of her lodgings, and he promised to wait on her at ten next morning.<br>
+<br>
+He led her to the chair, and returned to clear with the waiter, without
+ever once reflecting that he had no money in his pocket.&nbsp; He was
+ashamed to make an excuse; yet an excuse must be made: he was beginning
+to frame one, when the waiter cut him short by telling him that he could
+not run scores; but that, if he would leave his watch, or any other
+pledge, it would be as safe as if it lay in his pocket.&nbsp; Harley
+jumped at the proposal, and pulling out his watch, delivered it into
+his hands immediately, and having, for once, had the precaution to take
+a note of the lodging he intended to visit next morning, sallied forth
+with a blush of triumph on his face, without taking notice of the sneer
+of the waiter, who, twirling the watch in his hand, made him a profound
+bow at the door, and whispered to a girl, who stood in the passage,
+something, in which the word CULLY was honoured with a particular emphasis.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXVII - HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY IS DOUBTED<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+After he had been some time with the company he had appointed to meet,
+and the last bottle was called for, he first recollected that he would
+be again at a loss how to discharge his share of the reckoning.&nbsp;
+He applied, therefore, to one of them, with whom he was most intimate,
+acknowledging that he had not a farthing of money about him; and, upon
+being jocularly asked the reason, acquainted them with the two adventures
+we have just now related.&nbsp; One of the company asked him if the
+old man in Hyde Park did not wear a brownish coat, with a narrow gold
+edging, and his companion an old green frock, with a buff-coloured waistcoat.&nbsp;
+Upon Harley&rsquo;s recollecting that they did, &ldquo;Then,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;you may be thankful you have come off so well; they
+are two as noted sharpers, in their way, as any in town, and but t&rsquo;other
+night took me in for a much larger sum.&nbsp; I had some thoughts of
+applying to a justice, but one does not like to be seen in those matters.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley answered, &ldquo;That he could not but fancy the gentleman was
+mistaken, as he never saw a face promise more honesty than that of the
+old man he had met with.&rdquo; - &ldquo;His face!&rdquo; said a grave-looking
+man, when sat opposite to him, squirting the juice of his tobacco obliquely
+into the grate.&nbsp; There was something very emphatical in the action,
+for it was followed by a burst of laughter round the table.&nbsp; &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo;
+said Harley, &ldquo;you are disposed to be merry; it may be as you imagine,
+for I confess myself ignorant of the town; but there is one thing which
+makes me hear the loss of my money with temper: the young fellow who
+won it must have been miserably poor; I observed him borrow money for
+the stake from his friend: he had distress and hunger in his countenance:
+be his character what it may, his necessities at least plead for him.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+At this there was a louder laugh than before.&nbsp; &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo;
+said the lawyer, one of whose conversations with Harley we have already
+recorded, &ldquo;here&rsquo;s a pretty fellow for you! to have heard
+him talk some nights ago, as I did, you might have sworn he was a saint;
+yet now he games with sharpers, and loses his money, and is bubbled
+by a fine tale of the Dead Sea, and pawns his watch; here are sanctified
+doings with a witness!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Young gentleman,&rdquo; said his friend on the other side of
+the table, &ldquo;let me advise you to be a little more cautious for
+the future; and as for faces - you may look into them to know whether
+a man&rsquo;s nose be a long or a short one.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXVIII - HE KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The last night&rsquo;s raillery of his companions was recalled to his
+remembrance when he awoke, and the colder homilies of prudence began
+to suggest some things which were nowise favourable for a performance
+of his promise to the unfortunate female he had met with before.&nbsp;
+He rose, uncertain of his purpose; but the torpor of such considerations
+was seldom prevalent over the warmth of his nature.&nbsp; He walked
+some turns backwards and forwards in his room; he recalled the languid
+form of the fainting wretch to his mind; he wept at the recollection
+of her tears.&nbsp; &ldquo;Though I am the vilest of beings, I have
+not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left.&rdquo;
+- He took a larger stride - &ldquo;Powers of mercy that surround me!&rdquo;
+cried he, &ldquo;do ye not smile upon deeds like these? to calculate
+the chances of deception is too tedious a business for the life of man!&rdquo;
+- The clock struck ten. - When he was got down-stairs, he found that
+he had forgot the note of her lodgings; he gnawed his lips at the delay:
+he was fairly on the pavement, when he recollected having left his purse;
+he did but just prevent himself from articulating an imprecation.&nbsp;
+He rushed a second time up into his chamber.&nbsp; &ldquo;What a wretch
+I am!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;ere this time, perhaps - &rdquo;&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas a perhaps not to be borne; - two vibrations of a pendulum
+would have served him to lock his bureau; but they could not be spared.<br>
+<br>
+When he reached the house, and inquired for Miss Atkins (for that was
+the lady&rsquo;s name), he was shown up three pair of stairs, into a
+small room lighted by one narrow lattice, and patched round with shreds
+of different-coloured paper.&nbsp; In the darkest corner stood something
+like a bed, before which a tattered coverlet hung by way of curtain.&nbsp;
+He had not waited long when she appeared.&nbsp; Her face had the glister
+of new-washed tears on it.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am ashamed, sir,&rdquo; said
+she, &ldquo;that you should have taken this fresh piece of trouble about
+one so little worthy of it; but, to the humane, I know there is a pleasure
+in goodness for its own sake: if you have patience for the recital of
+my story, it may palliate, though it cannot excuse, my faults.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Harley bowed, as a sign of assent; and she began as follows:-<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I am the daughter of an officer, whom a service of forty years
+had advanced no higher than the rank of captain.&nbsp; I have had hints
+from himself, and been informed by others, that it was in some measure
+owing to those principles of rigid honour, which it was his boast to
+possess, and which he early inculcated on me, that he had been able
+to arrive at no better station.&nbsp; My mother died when I was a child:
+old enough to grieve for her death, but incapable of remembering her
+precepts.&nbsp; Though my father was doatingly fond of her, yet there
+were some sentiments in which they materially differed: she had been
+bred from her infancy in the strictest principles of religion, and took
+the morality of her conduct from the motives which an adherence to those
+principles suggested.&nbsp; My father, who had been in the army from
+his youth, affixed an idea of pusillanimity to that virtue, which was
+formed by the doctrines, excited by the rewards, or guarded by the terrors
+of revelation; his dashing idol was the honour of a soldier: a term
+which he held in such reverence, that he used it for his most sacred
+asseveration.&nbsp; When my mother died, I was some time suffered to
+continue in those sentiments which her instructions had produced; but
+soon after, though, from respect to her memory, my father did not absolutely
+ridicule them, yet he showed, in his discourse to others, so little
+regard to them, and at times suggested to me motives of action so different,
+that I was soon weaned from opinions which I began to consider as the
+dreams of superstition, or the artful inventions of designing hypocrisy.&nbsp;
+My mother&rsquo;s books were left behind at the different quarters we
+removed to, and my reading was principally confined to plays, novels,
+and those poetical descriptions of the beauty of virtue and honour,
+which the circulating libraries easily afforded.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;As I was generally reckoned handsome, and the quickness of my
+parts extolled by all our visitors, my father had a pride in allowing
+me to the world.&nbsp; I was young, giddy, open to adulation, and vain
+of those talents which acquired it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;After the last war, my father was reduced to half-pay; with which
+we retired to a village in the country, which the acquaintance of some
+genteel families who resided in it, and the cheapness of living, particularly
+recommended.&nbsp; My father rented a small house, with a piece of ground
+sufficient to keep a horse for him, and a cow for the benefit of his
+family.&nbsp; An old man servant managed his ground; while a maid, who
+had formerly been my mother&rsquo;s, and had since been mine, undertook
+the care of our little dairy: they were assisted in each of their provinces
+by my father and me: and we passed our time in a state of tranquillity,
+which he had always talked of with delight, and my train of reading
+had taught me to admire.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Though I had never seen the polite circles of the metropolis,
+the company my father had introduced me into had given me a degree of
+good breeding, which soon discovered a superiority over the young ladies
+of our village.&nbsp; I was quoted as an example of politeness, and
+my company courted by most of the considerable families in the neighbourhood.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Amongst the houses where I was frequently invited was Sir George
+Winbrooke&rsquo;s.&nbsp; He had two daughters nearly of my age, with
+whom, though they had been bred up in those maxims of vulgar doctrine
+which my superior understanding could not but despise, yet as their
+good nature led them to an imitation of my manners in everything else,
+I cultivated a particular friendship.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Some months after our first acquaintance, Sir George&rsquo;s
+eldest son came home from his travels.&nbsp; His figure, his address,
+and conversation, were not unlike those warm ideas of an accomplished
+man which my favourite novels had taught me to form; and his sentiments
+on the article of religion were as liberal as my own: when any of these
+happened to be the topic of our discourse, I, who before had been silent,
+from a fear of being single in opposition, now kindled at the fire he
+raised, and defended our mutual opinions with all the eloquence I was
+mistress of.&nbsp; He would be respectfully attentive all the while;
+and when I had ended, would raise his eyes from the ground, look at
+me with a gaze of admiration, and express his applause in the highest
+strain of encomium.&nbsp; This was an incense the more pleasing, as
+I seldom or never had met with it before; for the young gentlemen who
+visited Sir George were for the most part of that athletic order, the
+pleasure of whose lives is derived from fox-hunting: these are seldom
+solicitous to please the women at all; or if they were, would never
+think of applying their flattery to the mind.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Mr. Winbrooke observed the weakness of my soul, and took every
+occasion of improving the esteem he had gained.&nbsp; He asked my opinion
+of every author, of every sentiment, with that submissive diffidence,
+which showed an unlimited confidence in my understanding.&nbsp; I saw
+myself revered, as a superior being, by one whose judgment my vanity
+told me was not likely to err: preferred by him to all the other visitors
+of my sex, whose fortunes and rank should have entitled them to a much
+higher degree of notice: I saw their little jealousies at the distinguished
+attention he paid me; it was gratitude, it was pride, it was love!&nbsp;
+Love which had made too fatal a progress in my heart, before any declaration
+on his part should have warranted a return: but I interpreted every
+look of attention, every expression of compliment, to the passion I
+imagined him inspired with, and imputed to his sensibility that silence
+which was the effect of art and design.&nbsp; At length, however, he
+took an opportunity of declaring his love: he now expressed himself
+in such ardent terms, that prudence might have suspected their sincerity:
+but prudence is rarely found in the situation I had been unguardedly
+led into; besides, that the course of reading to which I had been accustomed,
+did not lead me to conclude, that his expressions could be too warm
+to be sincere: nor was I even alarmed at the manner in which he talked
+of marriage, a subjection, he often hinted, to which genuine love should
+scorn to be confined.&nbsp; The woman, he would often say, who had merit
+like mine to fix his affection, could easily command it for ever.&nbsp;
+That honour too which I revered, was often called in to enforce his
+sentiments.&nbsp; I did not, however, absolutely assent to them; but
+I found my regard for their opposites diminish by degrees.&nbsp; If
+it is dangerous to be convinced, it is dangerous to listen; for our
+reason is so much of a machine, that it will not always be able to resist,
+when the ear is perpetually assailed.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In short, Mr. Harley (for I tire you with a relation, the catastrophe
+of which you will already have imagined), I fell a prey to his artifices.&nbsp;
+He had not been able so thoroughly to convert me, that my conscience
+was silent on the subject; but he was so assiduous to give repeated
+proofs of unabated affection, that I hushed its suggestions as they
+rose.&nbsp; The world, however, I knew, was not to be silenced; and
+therefore I took occasion to express my uneasiness to my seducer, and
+entreat him, as he valued the peace of one to whom he professed such
+attachment, to remove it by a marriage.&nbsp; He made excuse from his
+dependence on the will of his father, but quieted my fears by the promise
+of endeavouring to win his assent.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My father had been some days absent on a visit to a dying relation,
+from whom he had considerable expectations.&nbsp; I was left at home,
+with no other company than my books: my books I found were not now such
+companions as they used to be; I was restless, melancholy, unsatisfied
+with myself.&nbsp; But judge my situation when I received a billet from
+Mr. Winbrooke informing me, that he had sounded Sir George on the subject
+we had talked of, and found him so averse to any match so unequal to
+his own rank and fortune, that he was obliged, with whatever reluctance,
+to bid adieu to a place, the remembrance of which should ever be dear
+to him.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I read this letter a hundred times over.&nbsp; Alone, helpless,
+conscious of guilt, and abandoned by every better thought, my mind was
+one motley scene of terror, confusion, and remorse.&nbsp; A thousand
+expedients suggested themselves, and a thousand fears told me they would
+be vain: at last, in an agony of despair, I packed up a few clothes,
+took what money and trinkets were in the house, and set out for London,
+whither I understood he was gone; pretending to my maid, that I had
+received letters from my father requiring my immediate attendance.&nbsp;
+I had no other companion than a boy, a servant to the man from whom
+I hired my horses.&nbsp; I arrived in London within an hour of Mr. Winbrooke,
+and accidentally alighted at the very inn where he was.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He started and turned pale when he saw me; but recovered himself
+in time enough to make many new protestations of regard, and beg me
+to make myself easy under a disappointment which was equally afflicting
+to him.&nbsp; He procured me lodgings, where I slept, or rather endeavoured
+to sleep, for that night.&nbsp; Next morning I saw him again, he then
+mildly observed on the imprudence of my precipitate flight from the
+country, and proposed my removing to lodgings at another end of the
+town, to elude the search of my father, till he should fall upon some
+method of excusing my conduct to him, and reconciling him to my return.&nbsp;
+We took a hackney-coach, and drove to the house he mentioned.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It was situated in a dirty lane, furnished with a tawdry affectation
+of finery, with some old family pictures hanging on walls which their
+own cobwebs would better have suited.&nbsp; I was struck with a secret
+dread at entering, nor was it lessened by the appearance of the landlady,
+who had that look of selfish shrewdness, which, of all others, is the
+most hateful to those whose feelings are untinctured with the world.&nbsp;
+A girl, who she told us was her niece, sat by her, playing on a guitar,
+while herself was at work, with the assistance of spectacles, and had
+a prayer-book with the leaves folded down in several places, lying on
+the table before her.&nbsp; Perhaps, sir, I tire you with my minuteness,
+but the place, and every circumstance about it, is so impressed on my
+mind, that I shall never forget it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I dined that day with Mr. Winbrooke alone.&nbsp; He lost by degrees
+that restraint which I perceived too well to hang about him before,
+and, with his former gaiety and good humour, repeated the flattering
+things which, though they had once been fatal, I durst not now distrust.&nbsp;
+At last, taking my hand and kissing it, &lsquo;It is thus,&rsquo; said
+he, &lsquo;that love will last, while freedom is preserved; thus let
+us ever be blessed, without the galling thought that we are tied to
+a condition where we may cease to be so.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I answered, &lsquo;That the world thought otherwise: that it
+had certain ideas of good fame, which it was impossible not to wish
+to maintain.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The world,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;is a tyrant, they are
+slaves who obey it; let us be happy without the pale of the world.&nbsp;
+To-morrow I shall leave this quarter of it, for one where the talkers
+of the world shall be foiled, and lose us.&nbsp; Could not my Emily
+accompany me? my friend, my companion, the mistress of my soul!&nbsp;
+Nay, do not look so, Emily!&nbsp; Your father may grieve for a while,
+but your father shall be taken care of; this bank-bill I intend as the
+comfort for his daughter.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I could contain myself no longer: &lsquo;Wretch,&rsquo; I exclaimed,
+&lsquo;dost thou imagine that my father&rsquo;s heart could brook dependence
+on the destroyer of his child, and tamely accept of a base equivalent
+for her honour and his own?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Honour, my Emily,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;is the word of
+fools, or of those wiser men who cheat them.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fantastic
+bauble that does not suit the gravity of your father&rsquo;s age; but,
+whatever it is, I am afraid it can never be perfectly restored to you:
+exchange the word then, and let pleasure be your object now.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;At these words he clasped me in his arms, and pressed his lips
+rudely to my bosom.&nbsp; I started from my seat.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perfidious
+villain!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;who dar&rsquo;st insult the weakness
+thou hast undone; were that father here, thy coward soul would shrink
+from the vengeance of his honour!&nbsp; Cursed be that wretch who has
+deprived him of it! oh doubly cursed, who has dragged on his hoary head
+the infamy which should have crushed her own!&rsquo;&nbsp; I snatched
+a knife which lay beside me, and would have plunged it in my breast,
+but the monster prevented my purpose, and smiling with a grin of barbarous
+insult -<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Madam,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I confess you are rather
+too much in heroics for me; I am sorry we should differ about trifles;
+but as I seem somehow to have offended you, I would willingly remedy
+it by taking my leave.&nbsp; You have been put to some foolish expense
+in this journey on my account; allow me to reimburse you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;So saying he laid a bank-bill, of what amount I had no patience
+to see, upon the table.&nbsp; Shame, grief, and indignation choked my
+utterance; unable to speak my wrongs, and unable to bear them in silence,
+I fell in a swoon at his feet.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What happened in the interval I cannot tell, but when I came
+to myself I was in the arms of the landlady, with her niece chafing
+my temples, and doing all in her power for my recovery.&nbsp; She had
+much compassion in her countenance; the old woman assumed the softest
+look she was capable of, and both endeavoured to bring me comfort.&nbsp;
+They continued to show me many civilities, and even the aunt began to
+be less disagreeable in my sight.&nbsp; To the wretched, to the forlorn,
+as I was, small offices of kindness are endearing.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Meantime my money was far spent, nor did I attempt to conceal
+my wants from their knowledge.&nbsp; I had frequent thoughts of returning
+to my father; but the dread of a life of scorn is insurmountable.&nbsp;
+I avoided, therefore, going abroad when I had a chance of being seen
+by any former acquaintance, nor indeed did my health for a great while
+permit it; and suffered the old woman, at her own suggestion, to call
+me niece at home, where we now and then saw (when they could prevail
+on me to leave my room) one or two other elderly women, and sometimes
+a grave business-like man, who showed great compassion for my indisposition,
+and made me very obligingly an offer of a room at his country-house
+for the recovery of my health.&nbsp; This offer I did not chose to accept,
+but told my landlady, &lsquo;that I should be glad to be employed in
+any way of business which my skill in needlework could recommend me
+to, confessing, at the same time, that I was afraid I should scarce
+be able to pay her what I already owed for board and lodging, and that
+for her other good offices, I had nothing but thanks to give her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;My dear child,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;do not talk of
+paying; since I lost my own sweet girl&rsquo; (here she wept), &lsquo;your
+very picture she was, Miss Emily, I have nobody, except my niece, to
+whom I should leave any little thing I have been able to save; you shall
+live with me, my dear; and I have sometimes a little millinery work,
+in which, when you are inclined to it, you may assist us.&nbsp; By the
+way, here are a pair of ruffles we have just finished for that gentleman
+you saw here at tea; a distant relation of mine, and a worthy man he
+is.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas pity you refused the offer of an apartment at
+his country house; my niece, you know, was to have accompanied you,
+and you might have fancied yourself at home; a most sweet place it is,
+and but a short mile beyond Hampstead.&nbsp; Who knows, Miss Emily,
+what effect such a visit might have had!&nbsp; If I had half your beauty
+I should not waste it pining after e&rsquo;er a worthless fellow of
+them all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I felt my heart swell at her words; I would have been angry if
+I could, but I was in that stupid state which is not easily awakened
+to anger: when I would have chid her the reproof stuck in my throat;
+I could only weep!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Her want of respect increased, as I had not spirit to assert
+it.&nbsp; My work was now rather imposed than offered, and I became
+a drudge for the bread I eat: but my dependence and servility grew in
+proportion, and I was now in a situation which could not make any extraordinary
+exertions to disengage itself from either - I found myself with child.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;At last the wretch, who had thus trained me to destruction, hinted
+the purpose for which those means had been used.&nbsp; I discovered
+her to be an artful procuress for the pleasures of those who are men
+of decency to the world in the midst of debauchery.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I roused every spark of courage within me at the horrid proposal.&nbsp;
+She treated my passion at first somewhat mildly, but when I continued
+to exert it she resented it with insult, and told me plainly that if
+I did not soon comply with her desires I should pay her every farthing
+I owed, or rot in a jail for life.&nbsp; I trembled at the thought;
+still, however, I resisted her importunities, and she put her threats
+in execution.&nbsp; I was conveyed to prison, weak from my condition,
+weaker from that struggle of grief and misery which for some time I
+had suffered.&nbsp; A miscarriage was the consequence.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Amidst all the horrors of such a state, surrounded with wretches
+totally callous, lost alike to humanity and to shame, think, Mr. Harley,
+think what I endured; nor wonder that I at last yielded to the solicitations
+of that miscreant I had seen at her house, and sunk to the prostitution
+which he tempted.&nbsp; But that was happiness compared to what I have
+suffered since.&nbsp; He soon abandoned me to the common use of the
+town, and I was cast among those miserable beings in whose society I
+have since remained.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Oh! did the daughters of virtue know our sufferings; did they
+see our hearts torn with anguish amidst the affectation of gaiety which
+our faces are obliged to assume! our bodies tortured by disease, our
+minds with that consciousness which they cannot lose!&nbsp; Did they
+know, did they think of this, Mr. Harley!&nbsp; Their censures are just,
+but their pity perhaps might spare the wretches whom their justice should
+condemn.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Last night, but for an exertion of benevolence which the infection
+of our infamy prevents even in the humane, had I been thrust out from
+this miserable place which misfortune has yet left me; exposed to the
+brutal insults of drunkenness, or dragged by that justice which I could
+not bribe, to the punishment which may correct, but, alas! can never
+amend the abandoned objects of its terrors.&nbsp; From that, Mr. Harley,
+your goodness has relieved me.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He beckoned with his hand: he would have stopped the mention of his
+favours; but he could not speak, had it been to beg a diadem.<br>
+<br>
+She saw his tears; her fortitude began to fail at the sight, when the
+voice of some stranger on the stairs awakened her attention.&nbsp; She
+listened for a moment, then starting up, exclaimed, &ldquo;Merciful
+God! my father&rsquo;s voice!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+She had scarce uttered the word, when the door burst open, and a man
+entered in the garb of an officer.&nbsp; When he discovered his daughter
+and Harley, he started back a few paces; his look assumed a furious
+wildness! he laid his hand on his sword.&nbsp; The two objects of his
+wrath did not utter a syllable.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Villain,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;thou seest a father who had
+once a daughter&rsquo;s honour to preserve; blasted as it now is, behold
+him ready to avenge its loss!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley had by this time some power of utterance.&nbsp; &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;if you will be a moment calm - &rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Infamous coward!&rdquo; interrupted the other, &ldquo;dost thou
+preach calmness to wrongs like mine!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He drew his sword.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;let me tell you&rdquo; - the
+blood ran quicker to his cheek, his pulse beat one, no more, and regained
+the temperament of humanity - &ldquo;you are deceived, sir,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;you are much deceived; but I forgive suspicions which your
+misfortunes have justified: I would not wrong you, upon my soul I would
+not, for the dearest gratification of a thousand worlds; my heart bleeds
+for you!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+His daughter was now prostrate at his feet.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Strike,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;strike here a wretch, whose misery
+cannot end but with that death she deserves.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her hair had fallen on her shoulders! her look had the horrid calmness
+of out-breathed despair!&nbsp; Her father would have spoken; his lip
+quivered, his cheek grew pale, his eyes lost the lightning of their
+fury! there was a reproach in them, but with a mingling of pity.&nbsp;
+He turned them up to heaven, then on his daughter.&nbsp; He laid his
+left hand on his heart, the sword dropped from his right, he burst into
+tears.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXIX - THE DISTRESSES OF A FATHER<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Harley kneeled also at the side of the unfortunate daughter.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Allow me, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to entreat your pardon
+for one whose offences have been already so signally punished.&nbsp;
+I know, I feel, that those tears, wrung from the heart of a father,
+are more dreadful to her than all the punishments your sword could have
+inflicted: accept the contrition of a child whom heaven has restored
+to you.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Is she not lost,&rdquo; answered he, &ldquo;irrecoverably lost?&nbsp;
+Damnation! a common prostitute to the meanest ruffian!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Calmly, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;did you know
+by what complicated misfortunes she had fallen to that miserable state
+in which you now behold her, I should have no need of words to excite
+your compassion.&nbsp; Think, sir, of what once she was.&nbsp; Would
+you abandon her to the insults of an unfeeling world, deny her opportunity
+of penitence, and cut off the little comfort that still remains for
+your afflictions and her own!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; said he, addressing himself to his daughter; &ldquo;speak;
+I will hear thee.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The desperation that supported her was lost; she fell to the ground,
+and bathed his feet with her tears.<br>
+<br>
+Harley undertook her cause: he related the treacheries to which she
+had fallen a sacrifice, and again solicited the forgiveness of her father.&nbsp;
+He looked on her for some time in silence; the pride of a soldier&rsquo;s
+honour checked for a while the yearnings of his heart; but nature at
+last prevailed, he fell on her neck and mingled his tears with hers.<br>
+<br>
+Harley, who discovered from the dress of the stranger that he was just
+arrived from a journey, begged that they would both remove to his lodgings,
+till he could procure others for them.&nbsp; Atkins looked at him with
+some marks of surprise.&nbsp; His daughter now first recovered the power
+of speech.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Wretch as I am,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;yet there is some gratitude
+due to the preserver of your child.&nbsp; See him now before you.&nbsp;
+To him I owe my life, or at least the comfort of imploring your forgiveness
+before I die.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Pardon me, young gentleman,&rdquo; said Atkins, &ldquo;I fear
+my passion wronged you.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Never, never, sir,&rdquo; said Harley &ldquo;if it had, your
+reconciliation to your daughter were an atonement a thousand fold.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He then repeated his request that he might be allowed to conduct them
+to his lodgings, to which Mr. Atkins at last consented.&nbsp; He took
+his daughter&rsquo;s arm.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Come, my Emily,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we can never, never recover
+that happiness we have lost! but time may teach us to remember our misfortunes
+with patience.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When they arrived at the house where Harley lodged, he was informed
+that the first floor was then vacant, and that the gentleman and his
+daughter might be accommodated there.&nbsp; While he was upon his enquiry,
+Miss Atkins informed her father more particularly what she owed to his
+benevolence.&nbsp; When he turned into the room where they were Atkins
+ran and embraced him; - begged him again to forgive the offence he had
+given him, and made the warmest protestations of gratitude for his favours.&nbsp;
+We would attempt to describe the joy which Harley felt on this occasion,
+did it not occur to us that one half of the world could not understand
+it though we did, and the other half will, by this time, have understood
+it without any description at all.<br>
+<br>
+Miss Atkins now retired to her chamber, to take some rest from the violence
+of the emotions she had suffered.&nbsp; When she was gone, her father,
+addressing himself to Harley, said, &ldquo;You have a right, sir, to
+be informed of the present situation of one who owes so much to your
+compassion for his misfortunes.&nbsp; My daughter I find has informed
+you what that was at the fatal juncture when they began.&nbsp; Her distresses
+you have heard, you have pitied as they deserved; with mine, perhaps,
+I cannot so easily make you acquainted.&nbsp; You have a feeling heart,
+Mr. Harley; I bless it that it has saved my child; but you never were
+a father, a father torn by that most dreadful of calamities, the dishonour
+of a child he doated on!&nbsp; You have been already informed of some
+of the circumstances of her elopement: I was then from home, called
+by the death of a relation, who, though he would never advance me a
+shilling on the utmost exigency in his life-time, left me all the gleanings
+of his frugality at his death.&nbsp; I would not write this intelligence
+to my daughter, because I intended to be the bearer myself; and as soon
+as my business would allow me, I set out on my return, winged with all
+the haste of paternal affection.&nbsp; I fondly built those schemes
+of future happiness, which present prosperity is ever busy to suggest:
+my Emily was concerned in them all.&nbsp; As I approached our little
+dwelling my heart throbbed with the anticipation of joy and welcome.&nbsp;
+I imagined the cheering fire, the blissful contentment of a frugal meal,
+made luxurious by a daughter&rsquo;s smile, I painted to myself her
+surprise at the tidings of our new-acquired riches, our fond disputes
+about the disposal of them.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The road was shortened by the dreams of happiness I enjoyed,
+and it began to be dark as I reached the house: I alighted from my horse,
+and walked softly upstairs to the room we commonly sat in.&nbsp; I was
+somewhat disappointed at not finding my daughter there.&nbsp; I rung
+the bell; her maid appeared, and shewed no small signs of wonder at
+the summons.&nbsp; She blessed herself as she entered the room: I smiled
+at her surprise.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where is Miss Emily, sir?&rsquo; said
+she.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Emily!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, sir; she has been gone hence some days, upon receipt
+of those letters you sent her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Letters!&rsquo; said I.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, sir, so she told me, and went off in all haste that
+very night.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I stood aghast as she spoke, but was able so far to recollect
+myself, as to put on the affectation of calmness, and telling her there
+was certainly some mistake in the affair, desired her to leave me.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;When she was gone, I threw myself into a chair, in that state
+of uncertainty which is, of all others, the most dreadful.&nbsp; The
+gay visions with which I had delighted myself, vanished in an instant.&nbsp;
+I was tortured with tracing back the same circle of doubt and disappointment.&nbsp;
+My head grew dizzy as I thought.&nbsp; I called the servant again, and
+asked her a hundred questions, to no purpose; there was not room even
+for conjecture.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Something at last arose in my mind, which we call Hope, without
+knowing what it is.&nbsp; I wished myself deluded by it; but it could
+not prevail over my returning fears.&nbsp; I rose and walked through
+the room.&nbsp; My Emily&rsquo;s spinnet stood at the end of it, open,
+with a book of music folded down at some of my favourite lessons.&nbsp;
+I touched the keys; there was a vibration in the sound that froze my
+blood; I looked around, and methought the family pictures on the walls
+gazed on me with compassion in their faces.&nbsp; I sat down again with
+an attempt at more composure; I started at every creaking of the door,
+and my ears rung with imaginary noises!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I had not remained long in this situation, when the arrival of
+a friend, who had accidentally heard of my return, put an end to my
+doubts, by the recital of my daughter&rsquo;s dishonour.&nbsp; He told
+me he had his information from a young gentleman, to whom Winbrooke
+had boasted of having seduced her.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I started from my seat, with broken curses on my lips, and without
+knowing whither I should pursue them, ordered my servant to load my
+pistols and saddle my horses.&nbsp; My friend, however, with great difficulty,
+persuaded me to compose myself for that night, promising to accompany
+me on the morrow, to Sir George Winbrooke&rsquo;s in quest of his son.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The morrow came, after a night spent in a state little distant
+from madness.&nbsp; We went as early as decency would allow to Sir George&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+He received me with politeness, and indeed compassion, protested his
+abhorrence of his son&rsquo;s conduct, and told me that he had set out
+some days before for London, on which place he had procured a draft
+for a large sum, on pretence of finishing his travels, but that he had
+not heard from him since his departure.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I did not wait for any more, either of information or comfort,
+but, against the united remonstrances of Sir George and my friend, set
+out instantly for London, with a frantic uncertainty of purpose; but
+there, all manner of search was in vain.&nbsp; I could trace neither
+of them any farther than the inn where they first put up on their arrival;
+and after some days fruitless inquiry, returned home destitute of every
+little hope that had hitherto supported me.&nbsp; The journeys I had
+made, the restless nights I had spent, above all, the perturbation of
+my mind, had the effect which naturally might be expected - a very dangerous
+fever was the consequence.&nbsp; From this, however, contrary to the
+expectation of my physicians, I recovered.&nbsp; It was now that I first
+felt something like calmness of mind: probably from being reduced to
+a state which could not produce the exertions of anguish or despair.&nbsp;
+A stupid melancholy settled on my soul; I could endure to live with
+an apathy of life; at times I forgot my resentment, and wept at the
+remembrance of my child.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Such has been the tenor of my days since that fatal moment when
+these misfortunes began, till yesterday, that I received a letter from
+a friend in town, acquainting me of her present situation.&nbsp; Could
+such tales as mine, Mr. Harley, be sometimes suggested to the daughters
+of levity, did they but know with what anxiety the heart of a parent
+flutters round the child he loves, they would be less apt to construe
+into harshness that delicate concern for their conduct, which they often
+complain of as laying restraint upon things, to the young, the gay,
+and the thoughtless, seemingly harmless and indifferent.&nbsp; Alas!&nbsp;
+I fondly imagined that I needed not even these common cautions! my Emily
+was the joy of my age, and the pride of my soul!&nbsp; Those things
+are now no more, they are lost for ever!&nbsp; Her death I could have
+born, but the death of her honour has added obloquy and shame to that
+sorrow which bends my grey hairs to the dust!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+As he spoke these last words, his voice trembled in his throat; it was
+now lost in his tears.&nbsp; He sat with his face half turned from Harley,
+as if he would have hid the sorrow which he felt.&nbsp; Harley was in
+the same attitude himself; he durst not meet his eye with a tear, but
+gathering his stifled breath, &ldquo;Let me entreat you, sir,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;to hope better things.&nbsp; The world is ever tyrannical;
+it warps our sorrows to edge them with keener affliction.&nbsp; Let
+us not be slaves to the names it affixes to motive or to action.&nbsp;
+I know an ingenuous mind cannot help feeling when they sting.&nbsp;
+But there are considerations by which it may be overcome.&nbsp; Its
+fantastic ideas vanish as they rise; they teach us to look beyond it.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+* * * * *<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+A FRAGMENT.&nbsp; SHOWING HIS SUCCESS WITH THE BARONET<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+* * The card he received was in the politest style in which disappointment
+could be communicated.&nbsp; The baronet &ldquo;was under a necessity
+of giving up his application for Mr. Harley, as he was informed that
+the lease was engaged for a gentleman who had long served His Majesty
+in another capacity, and whose merit had entitled him to the first lucrative
+thing that should be vacant.&rdquo;&nbsp; Even Harley could not murmur
+at such a disposal.&nbsp; &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said he to himself,
+&ldquo;some war-worn officer, who, like poor Atkins, had been neglected
+from reasons which merited the highest advancement; whose honour could
+not stoop to solicit the preferment he deserved; perhaps, with a family,
+taught the principles of delicacy, without the means of supporting it;
+a wife and children - gracious heaven! whom my wishes would have deprived
+of bread - &rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He was interrupted in his reverie by some one tapping him on the shoulder,
+and, on turning round, he discovered it to be the very man who had explained
+to him the condition of his gay companion at Hyde Park Corner.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I am glad to see you, sir,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;I believe we
+are fellows in disappointment.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley started, and said
+that he was at a loss to understand him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Pooh! you need
+not be so shy,&rdquo; answered the other; &ldquo;every one for himself
+is but fair, and I had much rather you had got it than the rascally
+gauger.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley still protested his ignorance of what he
+meant.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, the lease of Bancroft Manor; had not you been
+applying for it?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I confess I was,&rdquo; replied
+Harley; &ldquo;but I cannot conceive how you should be interested in
+the matter.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, I was making interest for it myself,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;and I think I had some title.&nbsp; I voted for this
+same baronet at the last election, and made some of my friends do so
+too; though I would not have you imagine that I sold my vote.&nbsp;
+No, I scorn it, let me tell you I scorn it; but I thought as how this
+man was staunch and true, and I find he&rsquo;s but a double-faced fellow
+after all, and speechifies in the House for any side he hopes to make
+most by.&nbsp; Oh, how many fine speeches and squeezings by the hand
+we had of him on the canvas!&nbsp; &lsquo;And if ever I shall be so
+happy as to have an opportunity of serving you.&rsquo;&nbsp; A murrain
+on the smooth-tongued knave, and after all to get it for this pimp of
+a gauger.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;The gauger! there must be some mistake,&rdquo;
+said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;He writes me, that it was engaged for one
+whose long services - &rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Services!&rdquo; interrupted
+the other; &ldquo;you shall hear.&nbsp; Services!&nbsp; Yes, his sister
+arrived in town a few days ago, and is now sempstress to the baronet.&nbsp;
+A plague on all rogues, says honest Sam Wrightson.&nbsp; I shall but
+just drink damnation to them to-night, in a crown&rsquo;s worth of Ashley&rsquo;s,
+and leave London to-morrow by sun-rise.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I shall
+leave it too,&rdquo; said Harley; and so he accordingly did.<br>
+<br>
+In passing through Piccadilly, he had observed, on the window of an
+inn, a notification of the departure of a stage-coach for a place in
+his road homewards; in the way back to his lodgings, he took a seat
+in it for his return.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXXIII - HE LEAVES LONDON - CHARACTERS IN A STAGE-COACH<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The company in the stage-coach consisted of a grocer and his wife, who
+were going to pay a visit to some of their country friends; a young
+officer, who took this way of marching to quarters; a middle-aged gentlewoman,
+who had been hired as housekeeper to some family in the country; and
+an elderly, well-looking man, with a remarkable old-fashioned periwig.<br>
+<br>
+Harley, upon entering, discovered but one vacant seat, next the grocer&rsquo;s
+wife, which, from his natural shyness of temper, he made no scruple
+to occupy, however aware that riding backwards always disagreed with
+him.<br>
+<br>
+Though his inclination to physiognomy had met with some rubs in the
+metropolis, he had not yet lost his attachment to that science.&nbsp;
+He set himself, therefore, to examine, as usual, the countenances of
+his companions.&nbsp; Here, indeed, he was not long in doubt as to the
+preference; for besides that the elderly gentleman, who sat opposite
+to him, had features by nature more expressive of good dispositions,
+there was something in that periwig we mentioned, peculiarly attractive
+of Harley&rsquo;s regard.<br>
+<br>
+He had not been long employed in these speculations, when he found himself
+attacked with that faintish sickness, which was the natural consequence
+of his situation in the coach.&nbsp; The paleness of his countenance
+was first observed by the housekeeper, who immediately made offer of
+her smelling bottle, which Harley, however, declined, telling at the
+same time the cause of his uneasiness.&nbsp; The gentleman, on the opposite
+side of the coach, now first turned his eye from the side direction
+in which it had been fixed, and begged Harley to exchange places with
+him, expressing his regret that he had not made the proposal before.&nbsp;
+Harley thanked him, and, upon being assured that both seats were alike
+to him, was about to accept of his offer, when the young gentleman of
+the sword, putting on an arch look, laid hold of the other&rsquo;s arm.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;So, my old boy,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I find you have still
+some youthful blood about you, but, with your leave, I will do myself
+the honour of sitting by this lady;&rdquo; and took his place accordingly.&nbsp;
+The grocer stared him as full in the face as his own short neck would
+allow, and his wife, who was a little, round-faced woman, with a great
+deal of colour in her cheeks, drew up at the compliment that was paid
+her, looking first at the officer, and then at the housekeeper.<br>
+<br>
+This incident was productive of some discourse; for before, though there
+was sometimes a cough or a hem from the grocer, and the officer now
+and then humm&rsquo;d a few notes of a song, there had not a single
+word passed the lips of any of the company.<br>
+<br>
+Mrs. Grocer observed, how ill-convenient it was for people, who could
+not be drove backwards, to travel in a stage.&nbsp; This brought on
+a dissertation on stage-coaches in general, and the pleasure of keeping
+a chay of one&rsquo;s own; which led to another, on the great riches
+of Mr. Deputy Bearskin, who, according to her, had once been of that
+industrious order of youths who sweep the crossings of the streets for
+the conveniency of passengers, but, by various fortunate accidents,
+had now acquired an immense fortune, and kept his coach and a dozen
+livery servants.&nbsp; All this afforded ample fund for conversation,
+if conversation it might be called, that was carried on solely by the
+before-mentioned lady, nobody offering to interrupt her, except that
+the officer sometimes signified his approbation by a variety of oaths,
+a sort of phraseology in which he seemed extremely versant.&nbsp; She
+appealed indeed, frequently, to her husband for the authenticity of
+certain facts, of which the good man as often protested his total ignorance;
+but as he was always called fool, or something very like it, for his
+pains, he at last contrived to support the credit of his wife without
+prejudice to his conscience, and signified his assent by a noise not
+unlike the grunting of that animal which in shape and fatness he somewhat
+resembled.<br>
+<br>
+The housekeeper, and the old gentleman who sat next to Harley, were
+now observed to be fast asleep, at which the lady, who had been at such
+pains to entertain them, muttered some words of displeasure, and, upon
+the officer&rsquo;s whispering to smoke the old put, both she and her
+husband purs&rsquo;d up their mouths into a contemptuous smile.&nbsp;
+Harley looked sternly on the grocer.&nbsp; &ldquo;You are come, sir,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;to those years when you might have learned some reverence
+for age.&nbsp; As for this young man, who has so lately escaped from
+the nursery, he may be allowed to divert himself.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Dam&rsquo;me,
+sir!&rdquo; said the officer, &ldquo;do you call me young?&rdquo; striking
+up the front of his hat, and stretching forward on his seat, till his
+face almost touched Harley&rsquo;s.&nbsp; It is probable, however, that
+he discovered something there which tended to pacify him, for, on the
+ladies entreating them not to quarrel, he very soon resumed his posture
+and calmness together, and was rather less profuse of his oaths during
+the rest of the journey.<br>
+<br>
+It is possible the old gentleman had waked time enough to hear the last
+part of this discourse; at least (whether from that cause, or that he
+too was a physiognomist) he wore a look remarkably complacent to Harley,
+who, on his part, shewed a particular observance of him.&nbsp; Indeed,
+they had soon a better opportunity of making their acquaintance, as
+the coach arrived that night at the town where the officer&rsquo;s regiment
+lay, and the places of destination of their other fellow-travellers,
+it seems, were at no great distance, for, next morning, the old gentleman
+and Harley were the only passengers remaining.<br>
+<br>
+When they left the inn in the morning, Harley, pulling out a little
+pocket-book, began to examine the contents, and make some corrections
+with a pencil.&nbsp; &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said he, turning to his companion,
+&ldquo;is an amusement with which I sometimes pass idle hours at an
+inn.&nbsp; These are quotations from those humble poets, who trust their
+fame to the brittle tenure of windows and drinking-glasses.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;From our inn,&rdquo; returned the gentleman, &ldquo;a stranger
+might imagine that we were a nation of poets; machines, at least, containing
+poetry, which the motion of a journey emptied of their contents.&nbsp;
+Is it from the vanity of being thought geniuses, or a mere mechanical
+imitation of the custom of others, that we are tempted to scrawl rhyme
+upon such places?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Whether vanity is the cause of our becoming rhymesters or not,&rdquo;
+answered Harley, &ldquo;it is a pretty certain effect of it.&nbsp; An
+old man of my acquaintance, who deals in apothegms, used to say that
+he had known few men without envy, few wits without ill-nature, and
+no poet without vanity; and I believe his remark is a pretty just one.&nbsp;
+Vanity has been immemorially the charter of poets.&nbsp; In this, the
+ancients were more honest than we are.&nbsp; The old poets frequently
+make boastful predictions of the immortality their works shall acquire
+them; ours, in their dedications and prefatory discourses, employ much
+eloquence to praise their patrons, and much seeming modesty to condemn
+themselves, or at least to apologise for their productions to the world.&nbsp;
+But this, in my opinion, is the more assuming manner of the two; for
+of all the garbs I ever saw Pride put on, that of her humility is to
+me the most disgusting.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It is natural enough for a poet to be vain,&rdquo; said the stranger.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;The little worlds which he raises, the inspiration which he claims,
+may easily be productive of self-importance; though that inspiration
+is fabulous, it brings on egotism, which is always the parent of vanity.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It may be supposed,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;that inspiration
+of old was an article of religious faith; in modern times it may be
+translated a propensity to compose; and I believe it is not always most
+readily found where the poets have fixed its residence, amidst groves
+and plains, and the scenes of pastoral retirement.&nbsp; The mind may
+be there unbent from the cares of the world, but it will frequently,
+at the same time, be unnerved from any great exertion.&nbsp; It will
+feel imperfect, and wander without effort over the regions of reflection.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;There is at least,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;one advantage
+in the poetical inclination, that it is an incentive to philanthropy.&nbsp;
+There is a certain poetic ground, on which a man cannot tread without
+feelings that enlarge the heart: the causes of human depravity vanish
+before the romantic enthusiasm he professes, and many who are not able
+to reach the Parnassian heights, may yet approach so near as to be bettered
+by the air of the climate.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I have always thought so,&rdquo; replied Harley; &ldquo;but this
+is an argument with the prudent against it: they urge the danger of
+unfitness for the world.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I allow it,&rdquo; returned the other; &ldquo;but I believe it
+is not always rightfully imputed to the bent for poetry: that is only
+one effect of the common cause. - Jack, says his father, is indeed no
+scholar; nor could all the drubbings from his master ever bring him
+one step forward in his accidence or syntax: but I intend him for a
+merchant. - Allow the same indulgence to Tom. - Tom reads Virgil and
+Horace when he should be casting accounts; and but t&rsquo;other day
+he pawned his great-coat for an edition of Shakespeare. - But Tom would
+have been as he is, though Virgil and Horace had never been born, though
+Shakespeare had died a link-boy; for his nurse will tell you, that when
+he was a child, he broke his rattle, to discover what it was that sounded
+within it; and burnt the sticks of his go-cart, because he liked to
+see the sparkling of timber in the fire. - &rsquo;Tis a sad case; but
+what is to be done? - Why, Jack shall make a fortune, dine on venison,
+and drink claret. - Ay, but Tom - Tom shall dine with his brother, when
+his pride will let him; at other times, he shall bless God over a half-pint
+of ale and a Welsh-rabbit; and both shall go to heaven as they may.
+- That&rsquo;s a poor prospect for Tom, says the father. - To go to
+heaven!&nbsp; I cannot agree with him.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;we now-a-days discourage
+the romantic turn a little too much.&nbsp; Our boys are prudent too
+soon.&nbsp; Mistake me not, I do not mean to blame them for want of
+levity or dissipation; but their pleasures are those of hackneyed vice,
+blunted to every finer emotion by the repetition of debauch; and their
+desire of pleasure is warped to the desire of wealth, as the means of
+procuring it.&nbsp; The immense riches acquired by individuals have
+erected a standard of ambition, destructive of private morals, and of
+public virtue.&nbsp; The weaknesses of vice are left us; but the most
+allowable of our failings we are taught to despise.&nbsp; Love, the
+passion most natural to the sensibility of youth, has lost the plaintive
+dignity he once possessed, for the unmeaning simper of a dangling coxcomb;
+and the only serious concern, that of a dowry, is settled, even amongst
+the beardless leaders of the dancing-school.&nbsp; The Frivolous and
+the Interested (might a satirist say) are the characteristical features
+of the age; they are visible even in the essays of our philosophers.&nbsp;
+They laugh at the pedantry of our fathers, who complained of the times
+in which they lived; they are at pains to persuade us how much those
+were deceived; they pride themselves in defending things as they find
+them, and in exploding the barren sounds which had been reared into
+motives for action.&nbsp; To this their style is suited; and the manly
+tone of reason is exchanged for perpetual efforts at sneer and ridicule.&nbsp;
+This I hold to be an alarming crisis in the corruption of a state; when
+not only is virtue declined, and vice prevailing, but when the praises
+of virtue are forgotten, and the infamy of vice unfelt.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+They soon after arrived at the next inn upon the route of the stage-coach,
+when the stranger told Harley, that his brother&rsquo;s house, to which
+he was returning, lay at no great distance, and he must therefore unwillingly
+bid him adieu.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I should like,&rdquo; said Harley, taking his hand, &ldquo;to
+have some word to remember so much seeming worth by: my name is Harley.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I shall remember it,&rdquo; answered the old gentleman, &ldquo;in
+my prayers; mine is Silton.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And Silton indeed it was!&nbsp; Ben Silton himself!&nbsp; Once more,
+my honoured friend, farewell! - Born to be happy without the world,
+to that peaceful happiness which the world has not to bestow!&nbsp;
+Envy never scowled on thy life, nor hatred smiled on thy grave.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXXIV - HE MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+When the stage-coach arrived at the place of its destination, Harley
+began to consider how he should proceed the remaining part of his journey.&nbsp;
+He was very civilly accosted by the master of the inn, who offered to
+accommodate him either with a post-chaise or horses, to any distance
+he had a mind: but as he did things frequently in a way different from
+what other people call natural, he refused these offers, and set out
+immediately a-foot, having first put a spare shirt in his pocket, and
+given directions for the forwarding of his portmanteau.&nbsp; This was
+a method of travelling which he was accustomed to take: it saved the
+trouble of provision for any animal but himself, and left him at liberty
+to chose his quarters, either at an inn, or at the first cottage in
+which he saw a face he liked: nay, when he was not peculiarly attracted
+by the reasonable creation, he would sometimes consort with a species
+of inferior rank, and lay himself down to sleep by the side of a rock,
+or on the banks of a rivulet.&nbsp; He did few things without a motive,
+but his motives were rather eccentric: and the useful and expedient
+were terms which he held to be very indefinite, and which therefore
+he did not always apply to the sense in which they are commonly understood.<br>
+<br>
+The sun was now in his decline, and the evening remarkably serene, when
+he entered a hollow part of the road, which winded between the surrounding
+banks, and seamed the sward in different lines, as the choice of travellers
+had directed them to tread it.&nbsp; It seemed to be little frequented
+now, for some of those had partly recovered their former verdure.&nbsp;
+The scene was such as induced Harley to stand and enjoy it; when, turning
+round, his notice was attracted by an object, which the fixture of his
+eye on the spot he walked had before prevented him from observing.<br>
+<br>
+An old man, who from his dress seemed to have been a soldier, lay fast
+asleep on the ground; a knapsack rested on a stone at his right hand,
+while his staff and brass-hilted sword were crossed at his left.<br>
+<br>
+Harley looked on him with the most earnest attention.&nbsp; He was one
+of those figures which Salvator would have drawn; nor was the surrounding
+scenery unlike the wildness of that painter&rsquo;s back-grounds.&nbsp;
+The banks on each side were covered with fantastic shrub-wood, and at
+a little distance, on the top of one of them, stood a finger-post, to
+mark the directions of two roads which diverged from the point where
+it was placed.&nbsp; A rock, with some dangling wild flowers, jutted
+out above where the soldier lay; on which grew the stump of a large
+tree, white with age, and a single twisted branch shaded his face as
+he slept.&nbsp; His face had the marks of manly comeliness impaired
+by time; his forehead was not altogether bald, but its hairs might have
+been numbered; while a few white locks behind crossed the brown of his
+neck with a contrast the most venerable to a mind like Harley&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Thou art old,&rdquo; said he to himself; &ldquo;but age has not
+brought thee rest for its infirmities; I fear those silver hairs have
+not found shelter from thy country, though that neck has been bronzed
+in its service.&rdquo;&nbsp; The stranger waked.&nbsp; He looked at
+Harley with the appearance of some confusion: it was a pain the latter
+knew too well to think of causing in another; he turned and went on.&nbsp;
+The old man re-adjusted his knapsack, and followed in one of the tracks
+on the opposite side of the road.<br>
+<br>
+When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could not help
+stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveller.&nbsp; He seemed to bend
+under the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his walk, and one of
+his arms was supported by a sling, and lay motionless across his breast.&nbsp;
+He had that steady look of sorrow, which indicates that its owner has
+gazed upon his griefs till he has forgotten to lament them; yet not
+without those streaks of complacency which a good mind will sometimes
+throw into the countenance, through all the incumbent load of its depression.<br>
+<br>
+He had now advanced nearer to Harley, and, with an uncertain sort of
+voice, begged to know what it was o&rsquo;clock; &ldquo;I fear,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;sleep has beguiled me of my time, and I shall hardly
+have light enough left to carry me to the end of my journey.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Father!&rdquo; said Harley (who by this time found the romantic
+enthusiasm rising within him) &ldquo;how far do you mean to go?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But a little way, sir,&rdquo; returned the other; &ldquo;and
+indeed it is but a little way I can manage now: &rsquo;tis just four
+miles from the height to the village, thither I am going.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I am going there too,&rdquo; said Harley; &ldquo;we may make
+the road shorter to each other.&nbsp; You seem to have served your country,
+sir, to have served it hardly too; &rsquo;tis a character I have the
+highest esteem for. - I would not be impertinently inquisitive; but
+there is that in your appearance which excites my curiosity to know
+something more of you; in the meantime, suffer me to carry that knapsack.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The old man gazed on him; a tear stood in his eye!&nbsp; &ldquo;Young
+gentleman,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you are too good; may Heaven bless
+you for an old man&rsquo;s sake, who has nothing but his blessing to
+give! but my knapsack is so familiar to my shoulders, that I should
+walk the worse for wanting it; and it would be troublesome to you, who
+have not been used to its weight.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Far from it,&rdquo; answered Harley, &ldquo;I should tread the
+lighter; it would be the most honourable badge I ever wore.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, who had looked earnestly in Harley&rsquo;s
+face during the last part of his discourse, &ldquo;is act your name
+Harley?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; replied he; &ldquo;I am ashamed to say I have forgotten
+yours.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You may well have forgotten my face,&rdquo; said the stranger;
+- &ldquo;&rsquo;tis a long time since you saw it; but possibly you may
+remember something of old Edwards.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Edwards!&rdquo; cried Harley, &ldquo;oh! heavens!&rdquo; and
+sprung to embrace him; &ldquo;let me clasp those knees on which I have
+sat so often: Edwards! - I shall never forget that fire-side, round
+which I have been so happy!&nbsp; But where, where have you been? where
+is Jack? where is your daughter?&nbsp; How has it fared with them, when
+fortune, I fear, has been so unkind to you?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a long tale,&rdquo; replied Edwards; &ldquo;but I
+will try to tell it you as we walk.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;When you were at school in the neighbourhood, you remember me
+at South-hill: that farm had been possessed by my father, grandfather,
+and great-grandfather, which last was a younger brother of that very
+man&rsquo;s ancestor, who is now lord of the manor.&nbsp; I thought
+I managed it, as they had done, with prudence; I paid my rent regularly
+as it became due, and had always as much behind as gave bread to me
+and my children.&nbsp; But my last lease was out soon after you left
+that part of the country; and the squire, who had lately got a London-attorney
+for his steward, would not renew it, because, he said, he did not chuse
+to have any farm under &pound;300 a year value on his estate; but offered
+to give me the preference on the same terms with another, if I chose
+to take the one he had marked out, of which mine was a part.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What could I do, Mr. Harley?&nbsp; I feared the undertaking was
+too great for me; yet to leave, at my age, the house I had lived in
+from my cradle!&nbsp; I could not, Mr. Harley, I could not; there was
+not a tree about it that I did not look on as my father, my brother,
+or my child: so I even ran the risk, and took the squire&rsquo;s offer
+of the whole.&nbsp; But had soon reason to repent of my bargain; the
+steward had taken care that my former farm should be the best land of
+the division: I was obliged to hire more servants, and I could not have
+my eye over them all; some unfavourable seasons followed one another,
+and I found my affairs entangling on my hands.&nbsp; To add to my distress,
+a considerable corn-factor turned bankrupt with a sum of mine in his
+possession: I failed paying my rent so punctually as I was wont to do,
+and the same steward had my stock taken in execution in a few days after.&nbsp;
+So, Mr. Harley, there was an end of my prosperity.&nbsp; However, there
+was as much produced from the sale of my effects as paid my debts and
+saved me from a jail: I thank God I wronged no man, and the world could
+never charge me with dishonesty.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Had you seen us, Mr. Harley, when we were turned out of South-hill,
+I am sure you would have wept at the sight.&nbsp; You remember old Trusty,
+my shag house-dog; I shall never forget it while I live; the poor creature
+was blind with age, and could scarce crawl after us to the door; he
+went however as far as the gooseberry-bush that you may remember stood
+on the left side of the yard; he was wont to bask in the sun there;
+when he had reached that spot, he stopped; we went on: I called to him;
+he wagged his tail, but did not stir: I called again; he lay down: I
+whistled, and cried Trusty; he gave a short howl, and died!&nbsp; I
+could have lain down and died too; but God gave me strength to live
+for my children.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The old man now paused a moment to take breath.&nbsp; He eyed Harley&rsquo;s
+face; it was bathed with tears: the story was grown familiar to himself;
+he dropped one tear, and no more.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Though I was poor,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;I was not altogether
+without credit.&nbsp; A gentleman in the neighbourhood, who had a small
+farm unoccupied at the time, offered to let me have it, on giving security
+for the rent; which I made shift to procure.&nbsp; It was a piece of
+ground which required management to make anything of; but it was nearly
+within the compass of my son&rsquo;s labour and my own.&nbsp; We exerted
+all our industry to bring it into some heart.&nbsp; We began to succeed
+tolerably and lived contented on its produce, when an unlucky accident
+brought us under the displeasure of a neighbouring justice of the peace,
+and broke all our family-happiness again.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My son was a remarkable good shooter; he-had always kept a pointer
+on our former farm, and thought no harm in doing so now; when one day,
+having sprung a covey in our own ground, the dog, of his own accord,
+followed them into the justice&rsquo;s.&nbsp; My son laid down his gun,
+and went after his dog to bring him back: the game-keeper, who had marked
+the birds, came up, and seeing the pointer, shot him just as my son
+approached.&nbsp; The creature fell; my son ran up to him: he died with
+a complaining sort of cry at his master&rsquo;s feet.&nbsp; Jack could
+bear it no longer; but, flying at the game-keeper, wrenched his gun
+out of his hand, and with the butt end of it, felled him to the ground.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He had scarce got home, when a constable came with a warrant,
+and dragged him to prison; there he lay, for the justices would not
+take bail, till he was tried at the quarter-sessions for the assault
+and battery.&nbsp; His fine was hard upon us to pay: we contrived however
+to live the worse for it, and make up the loss by our frugality: but
+the justice was not content with that punishment, and soon after had
+an opportunity of punishing us indeed.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;An officer with press-orders came down to our county, and having
+met with the justices, agreed that they should pitch on a certain number,
+who could most easily be spared from the county, of whom he would take
+care to clear it: my son&rsquo;s name was in the justices&rsquo; list.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas on a Christmas eve, and the birth-day too of my son&rsquo;s
+little boy.&nbsp; The night was piercing cold, and it blew a storm,
+with showers of hail and snow.&nbsp; We had made up a cheering fire
+in an inner room; I sat before it in my wicker-chair; blessing providence,
+that had still left a shelter for me and my children.&nbsp; My son&rsquo;s
+two little ones were holding their gambols around us; my heart warmed
+at the sight: I brought a bottle of my best ale, and all our misfortunes
+were forgotten.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It had long been our custom to play a game at blind man&rsquo;s
+buff on that night, and it was not omitted now; so to it we fell, I,
+and my son, and his wife, the daughter of a neighbouring farmer, who
+happened to be with us at the time, the two children, and an old maid
+servant, who had lived with me from a child.&nbsp; The lot fell on my
+son to be blindfolded: we had continued some time in our game, when
+he groped his way into an outer room in pursuit of some of us, who,
+he imagined, had taken shelter there; we kept snug in our places, and
+enjoyed his mistake.&nbsp; He had not been long there, when he was suddenly
+seized from behind; &lsquo;I shall have you now,&rsquo; said he, and
+turned about.&nbsp; &lsquo;Shall you so, master?&rsquo; answered the
+ruffian, who had laid hold of him; &lsquo;we shall make you play at
+another sort of game by and by.&rsquo;&rdquo; - At these words Harley
+started with a convulsive sort of motion, and grasping Edwards&rsquo;s
+sword, drew it half out of the scabbard, with a look of the most frantic
+wildness.&nbsp; Edwards gently replaced it in its sheath, and went on
+with his relation.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;On hearing these words in a strange voice, we all rushed out
+to discover the cause; the room by this time was almost full of the
+gang.&nbsp; My daughter-in-law fainted at the sight; the maid and I
+ran to assist her, while my poor son remained motionless, gazing by
+turns on his children and their mother.&nbsp; We soon recovered her
+to life, and begged her to retire and wait the issue of the affair;
+but she flew to her husband, and clung round him in an agony of terror
+and grief.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In the gang was one of a smoother aspect, whom, by his dress,
+we discovered to be a serjeant of foot: he came up to me, and told me,
+that my son had his choice of the sea or land service, whispering at
+the same time that, if he chose the land, he might get off, on procuring
+him another man, and paying a certain sum for his freedom.&nbsp; The
+money we could just muster up in the house, by the assistance of the
+maid, who produced, in a green bag, all the little savings of her service;
+but the man we could not expect to find.&nbsp; My daughter-in-law gazed
+upon her children with a look of the wildest despair: &lsquo;My poor
+infants!&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;your father is forced from you; who
+shall now labour for your bread? or must your mother beg for herself
+and you?&rsquo;&nbsp; I prayed her to be patient; but comfort I had
+none to give her.&nbsp; At last, calling the serjeant aside, I asked
+him, &lsquo;If I was too old to be accepted in place of my son?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Why, I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;you are
+rather old to be sure, but yet the money may do much.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I put the money in his hand, and coming back to my children,
+&lsquo;Jack,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you are free; live to give your wife
+and these little ones bread; I will go, my child, in your stead; I have
+but little life to lose, and if I staid, I should add one to the wretches
+you left behind.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;No,&rsquo; replied my son, &lsquo;I am not that coward
+you imagine me; heaven forbid that my father&rsquo;s grey hairs should
+be so exposed, while I sat idle at home; I am young and able to endure
+much, and God will take care of you and my family.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Jack,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I will put an end to this
+matter, you have never hitherto disobeyed me; I will not be contradicted
+in this; stay at home, I charge you, and, for my sake, be kind to my
+children.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Our parting, Mr. Harley, I cannot describe to you; it was the
+first time we ever had parted: the very press-gang could scarce keep
+from tears; but the serjeant, who had seemed the softest before, was
+now the least moved of them all.&nbsp; He conducted me to a party of
+new-raised recruits, who lay at a village in the neighbourhood; and
+we soon after joined the regiment.&nbsp; I had not been long with it
+when we were ordered to the East Indies, where I was soon made a serjeant,
+and might have picked up some money, if my heart had been as hard as
+some others were; but my nature was never of that kind, that could think
+of getting rich at the expense of my conscience.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Amongst our prisoners was an old Indian, whom some of our officers
+supposed to have a treasure hidden somewhere; which is no uncommon practice
+in that country.&nbsp; They pressed him to discover it.&nbsp; He declared
+he had none, but that would not satisfy them, so they ordered him to
+be tied to a stake, and suffer fifty lashes every morning till he should
+learn to speak out, as they said.&nbsp; Oh! Mr. Harley, had you seen
+him, as I did, with his hands bound behind him, suffering in silence,
+while the big drops trickled down his shrivelled cheeks and wet his
+grey beard, which some of the inhuman soldiers plucked in scorn!&nbsp;
+I could not bear it, I could not for my soul, and one morning, when
+the rest of the guard were out of the way, I found means to let him
+escape.&nbsp; I was tried by a court-martial for negligence of my post,
+and ordered, in compassion of my age, and having got this wound in my
+arm and that in my leg in the service, only to suffer three hundred
+lashes and be turned out of the regiment; but my sentence was mitigated
+as to the lashes, and I had only two hundred.&nbsp; When I had suffered
+these I was turned out of the camp, and had betwixt three and four hundred
+miles to travel before I could reach a sea-port, without guide to conduct
+me, or money to buy me provisions by the way.&nbsp; I set out, however,
+resolved to walk as far as I could, and then to lay myself down and
+die.&nbsp; But I had scarce gone a mile when I was met by the Indian
+whom I had delivered.&nbsp; He pressed me in his arms, and kissed the
+marks of the lashes on my back a thousand times; he led me to a little
+hut, where some friend of his dwelt, and after I was recovered of my
+wounds conducted me so far on my journey himself, and sent another Indian
+to guide me through the rest.&nbsp; When we parted he pulled out a purse
+with two hundred pieces of gold in it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Take this,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;my dear preserver, it is all I have been able to procure.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I begged him not to bring himself to poverty for my sake, who
+should probably have no need of it long, but he insisted on my accepting
+it.&nbsp; He embraced me.&nbsp; &lsquo;You are an Englishman,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;but the Great Spirit has given you an Indian heart,
+may He bear up the weight of your old age, and blunt the arrow that
+brings it rest!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;We parted, and not long after I made shift to get my passage
+to England.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis but about a week since I landed, and I
+am going to end my days in the arms of my son.&nbsp; This sum may be
+of use to him and his children, &rsquo;tis all the value I put upon
+it.&nbsp; I thank Heaven I never was covetous of wealth; I never had
+much, but was always so happy as to be content with my little.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When Edwards had ended his relation, Harley stood a while looking at
+him in silence; at last he pressed him in his arms, and when he had
+given vent to the fulness of his heart by a shower of tears, &ldquo;Edwards,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;let me hold thee to my bosom, let me imprint the virtue
+of thy sufferings on my soul.&nbsp; Come, my honoured veteran let me
+endeavour to soften the last days of a life, worn out in the service
+of humanity; call me also thy son, and let me cherish thee as a father.&rdquo;&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Edwards, from whom the recollection of his own suffering had scarced
+forced a tear, now blubbered like a boy; he could not speak his gratitude,
+but by some short exclamations of blessings upon Harley.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXXV - HE MISSES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. - AN ADVENTURE CONSEQUENT
+UPON IT<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+When they had arrived within a little way of the village they journeyed
+to, Harley stopped short, and looked steadfastly on the mouldering walls
+of a ruined house that stood on the road side.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, heavens!&rdquo;
+he cried, &ldquo;what do I see: silent, unroofed, and desolate!&nbsp;
+Are all thy gay tenants gone? do I hear their hum no more Edwards, look
+there, look there? the scene of my infant joys, my earliest friendships,
+laid waste and ruinous!&nbsp; That was the very school where I was boarded
+when you were at South-hill; &rsquo;tis but a twelve-month since I saw
+it standing, and its benches filled with cherubs: that opposite side
+of the road was the green on which they sported; see it now ploughed
+up!&nbsp; I would have given fifty times its value to have saved it
+from the sacrilege of that plough.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Dear sir,&rdquo; replied Edwards, &ldquo;perhaps they have left
+it from choice, and may have got another spot as good.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They cannot,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;they cannot; I shall
+never see the sward covered with its daisies, nor pressed by the dance
+of the dear innocents: I shall never see that stump decked with the
+garlands which their little hands had gathered.&nbsp; These two long
+stones, which now lie at the foot of it, were once the supports of a
+hut I myself assisted to rear: I have sat on the sods within it, when
+we had spread our banquet of apples before us, and been more blessed
+- Oh!&nbsp; Edwards, infinitely more blessed, than ever I shall be again.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Just then a woman passed them on the road, and discovered some signs
+of wonder at the attitude of Harley, who stood, with his hands folded
+together, looking with a moistened eye on the fallen pillars of the
+hut.&nbsp; He was too much entranced in thought to observe her at all,
+but Edwards, civilly accosting her, desired to know if that had not
+been the school-house, and how it came into the condition in which they
+now saw it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Alack a day!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;it was the school-house
+indeed; but to be sure, sir, the squire has pulled it down because it
+stood in the way of his prospects.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What! how! prospects! pulled down!&rdquo; cried Harley.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yes, to be sure, sir; and the green, where the children used
+to play, he has ploughed up, because, he said, they hurt his fence on
+the other side of it.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Curses on his narrow heart,&rdquo; cried Harley, &ldquo;that
+could violate a right so sacred!&nbsp; Heaven blast the wretch!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And from his derogate body never spring<br>
+A babe to honour him!&rdquo; -<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+But I need not, Edwards, I need not&rdquo; (recovering himself a little),
+&ldquo;he is cursed enough already: to him the noblest source of happiness
+is denied, and the cares of his sordid soul shall gnaw it, while thou
+sittest over a brown crust, smiling on those mangled limbs that have
+saved thy son and his children!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If you want anything with the school-mistress, sir,&rdquo; said
+the woman, &ldquo;I can show you the way to her house.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He followed her without knowing whither he went.<br>
+<br>
+They stopped at the door of a snug habitation, where sat an elderly
+woman with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held a supper of
+bread and milk in their hands.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;There, sir, is the school-mistress.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;was not an old venerable man
+school-master here some time ago?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir, he was, poor man; the loss of his former school-house,
+I believe, broke his heart, for he died soon after it was taken down,
+and as another has not yet been found, I have that charge in the meantime.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And this boy and girl, I presume, are your pupils?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Ay, sir; they are poor orphans, put under my care by the parish,
+and more promising children I never saw.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Orphans?&rdquo; said Harley.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir, of honest creditable parents as any in the parish,
+and it is a shame for some folks to forget their relations at a time
+when they have most need to remember them.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;let us never forget that we
+are all relations.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He kissed the children.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Their father, sir,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;was a farmer
+here in the neighbourhood, and a sober industrious man he was; but nobody
+can help misfortunes: what with bad crops, and bad debts, which are
+worse, his affairs went to wreck, and both he and his wife died of broken
+hearts.&nbsp; And a sweet couple they were, sir; there was not a properer
+man to look on in the county than John Edwards, and so indeed were all
+the Edwardses.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What Edwardses?&rdquo; cried the old soldier hastily.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Edwardses of South-hill, and a worthy family they were.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;South-hill!&rdquo; said he, in a languid voice, and fell back
+into the arms of the astonished Harley.&nbsp; The school-mistress ran
+for some water - and a smelling-bottle, with the assistance of which
+they soon recovered the unfortunate Edwards.&nbsp; He stared wildly
+for some time, then folding his orphan grandchildren in his arms,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Oh! my children, my children,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;have I
+found you thus?&nbsp; My poor Jack, art thou gone?&nbsp; I thought thou
+shouldst have carried thy father&rsquo;s grey hairs to the grave! and
+these little ones&rdquo; - his tears choked his utterance, and he fell
+again on the necks of the children.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My dear old man,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;Providence has sent
+you to relieve them; it will bless me if I can be the means of assisting
+you.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yes, indeed, sir,&rdquo; answered the boy; &ldquo;father, when
+he was a-dying, bade God bless us, and prayed that if grandfather lived
+he might send him to support us.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Where did they lay my boy?&rdquo; said Edwards.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In the Old Churchyard,&rdquo; replied the woman, &ldquo;hard
+by his mother.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I will show it you,&rdquo; answered the boy, &ldquo;for I have
+wept over it many a time when first I came amongst strange folks.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He took the old man&rsquo;s hand, Harley laid hold of his sister&rsquo;s,
+and they walked in silence to the churchyard.<br>
+<br>
+There was an old stone, with the corner broken off, and some letters,
+half-covered with moss, to denote the names of the dead: there was a
+cyphered R. E. plainer than the rest; it was the tomb they sought.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Here it is, grandfather,&rdquo; said the boy.<br>
+<br>
+Edwards gazed upon it without uttering a word: the girl, who had only
+sighed before, now wept outright; her brother sobbed, but he stifled
+his sobbing.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I have told sister,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that she should not
+take it so to heart; she can knit already, and I shall soon be able
+to dig, we shall not starve, sister, indeed we shall not, nor shall
+grandfather neither.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The girl cried afresh; Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, and
+wept between every kiss.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXXVI - HE RETURNS HOME. - A DESCRIPTION OF HIS RETINUE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+It was with some difficulty that Harley prevailed on the old man to
+leave the spot where the remains of his son were laid.&nbsp; At last,
+with the assistance of the school-mistress, he prevailed; and she accommodated
+Edwards and him with beds in her house, there being nothing like an
+inn nearer than the distance of some miles.<br>
+<br>
+In the morning Harley persuaded Edwards to come with the children to
+his house, which was distant but a short day&rsquo;s journey.&nbsp;
+The boy walked in his grandfather&rsquo;s hand; and the name of Edwards
+procured him a neighbouring farmer&rsquo;s horse, on which a servant
+mounted, with the girl on a pillow before him.<br>
+<br>
+With this train Harley returned to the abode of his fathers: and we
+cannot but think, that his enjoyment was as great as if he had arrived
+from the tour of Europe with a Swiss valet for his companion, and half
+a dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible hinges, in his pocket.&nbsp; But
+we take our ideas from sounds which folly has invented; Fashion, Boa
+ton, and Vert&ugrave;, are the names of certain idols, to which we sacrifice
+the genuine pleasures of the soul: in this world of semblance, we are
+contented with personating happiness; to feel it is an art beyond us.<br>
+<br>
+It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt with the history
+of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips.&nbsp; His aunt was an
+economist; but she knew the pleasure of doing charitable things, and
+withal was fond of her nephew, and solicitous to oblige him.&nbsp; She
+received old Edwards therefore with a look of more complacency than
+is perhaps natural to maiden ladies of three-score, and was remarkably
+attentive to his grandchildren: she roasted apples with her own hands
+for their supper, and made up a little bed beside her own for the girl.&nbsp;
+Edwards made some attempts towards an acknowledgment for these favours;
+but his young friend stopped them in their beginnings.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Whosoever receiveth any of these children,&rdquo; said his aunt;
+for her acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.<br>
+<br>
+Early next morning Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay: he
+expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken: the old
+man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, with the
+tears flowing down his cheeks.&nbsp; At first he did not perceive Harley;
+when he did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, and crossing his eyes
+with his hand expressed his surprise at seeing him so early astir.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I was thinking of you,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;and your children:
+I learned last night that a small farm of mine in the neighbourhood
+is now vacant: if you will occupy it I shall gain a good neighbour and
+be able in some measure to repay the notice you took of me when a boy,
+and as the furniture of the house is mine, it will be so much trouble
+saved.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Edwards&rsquo;s tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see the place
+he intended for him.<br>
+<br>
+The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut; its situation,
+however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by the beneficence of Harley,
+set about improving its neatness and convenience.&nbsp; He staked out
+a piece of the green before for a garden, and Peter, who acted in Harley&rsquo;s
+family as valet, butler, and gardener, had orders to furnish him with
+parcels of the different seeds he chose to sow in it.&nbsp; I have seen
+his master at work in this little spot with his coat off, and his dibble
+in his hand: it was a scene of tranquil virtue to have stopped an angel
+on his errands of mercy!&nbsp; Harley had contrived to lead a little
+bubbling brook through a green walk in the middle of the ground, upon
+which he had erected a mill in miniature for the diversion of Edwards&rsquo;s
+infant grandson, and made shift in its construction to introduce a pliant
+bit of wood that answered with its fairy clack to the murmuring of the
+rill that turned it.&nbsp; I have seen him stand, listening to these
+mingled sounds, with his eye fixed on the boy, and the smile of conscious
+satisfaction on his cheek, while the old man, with a look half turned
+to Harley and half to heaven, breathed an ejaculation of gratitude and
+piety.<br>
+<br>
+Father of mercies!&nbsp; I also would thank thee that not only hast
+thou assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in this bad
+world, the lines of our duty and our happiness are so frequently woven
+together.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+A FRAGMENT. - THE MAN OF FEELING TALKS OF WHAT HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND.
+- AN INCIDENT<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+* * * * &ldquo;Edwards,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have a proper regard
+for the prosperity of my country: every native of it appropriates to
+himself some share of the power, or the fame, which, as a nation, it
+acquires, but I cannot throw off the man so much as to rejoice at our
+conquests in India.&nbsp; You tell me of immense territories subject
+to the English: I cannot think of their possessions without being led
+to inquire by what right they possess them.&nbsp; They came there as
+traders, bartering the commodities they brought for others which their
+purchasers could spare; and however great their profits were, they were
+then equitable.&nbsp; But what title have the subjects of another kingdom
+to establish an empire in India? to give laws to a country where the
+inhabitants received them on the terms of friendly commerce?&nbsp; You
+say they are happier under our regulations than the tyranny of their
+own petty princes.&nbsp; I must doubt it, from the conduct of those
+by whom these regulations have been made.&nbsp; They have drained the
+treasuries of Nabobs, who must fill them by oppressing the industry
+of their subjects.&nbsp; Nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider
+the motive upon which those gentlemen do not deny their going to India.&nbsp;
+The fame of conquest, barbarous as that motive is, is but a secondary
+consideration: there are certain stations in wealth to which the warriors
+of the East aspire.&nbsp; It is there, indeed, where the wishes of their
+friends assign them eminence, where the question of their country is
+pointed at their return.&nbsp; When shall I see a commander return from
+India in the pride of honourable poverty?&nbsp; You describe the victories
+they have gained; they are sullied by the cause in which they fought:
+you enumerate the spoils of those victories; they are covered with the
+blood of the vanquished.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and happiness
+to the conquered? did he accept the gifts of their princes to use them
+for the comfort of those whose fathers, sons, or husbands, fell in battle?
+did he use his power to gain security and freedom to the regions of
+oppression and slavery? did he endear the British name by examples of
+generosity, which the most barbarous or most depraved are rarely able
+to resist? did he return with the consciousness of duty discharged to
+his country, and humanity to his fellow-creatures? did he return with
+no lace on his coat, no slaves in his retinue, no chariot at his door,
+and no burgundy at his table? - these were laurels which princes might
+envy - which an honest man would not condemn!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Your maxims, Mr. Harley, are certainly right,&rdquo; said Edwards.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I am not capable of arguing with you; but I imagine there are
+great temptations in a great degree of riches, which it is no easy matter
+to resist: those a poor man like me cannot describe, because he never
+knew them; and perhaps I have reason to bless God that I never did;
+for then, it is likely, I should have withstood them no better than
+my neighbours.&nbsp; For you know, sir, that it is not the fashion now,
+as it was in former times, that I have read of in books, when your great
+generals died so poor, that they did not leave wherewithal to buy them
+a coffin; and people thought the better of their memories for it: if
+they did so now-a-days, I question if any body, except yourself, and
+some few like you, would thank them.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; replied Harley, &ldquo;that there is so much
+truth in what you say; but however the general current of opinion may
+point, the feelings are not yet lost that applaud benevolence, and censure
+inhumanity.&nbsp; Let us endeavour to strengthen them in ourselves;
+and we, who live sequestered from the noise of the multitude, have better
+opportunities of listening undisturbed to their voice.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+They now approached the little dwelling of Edwards.&nbsp; A maid-servant,
+whom he had hired to assist him in the care of his grandchildren met
+them a little way from the house: &ldquo;There is a young lady within
+with the children,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; Edwards expressed his surprise
+at the visit: it was however not the less true; and we mean to account
+for it.<br>
+<br>
+This young lady then was no other than Miss Walton.&nbsp; She had heard
+the old man&rsquo;s history from Harley, as we have already related
+it.&nbsp; Curiosity, or some other motive, made her desirous to see
+his grandchildren; this she had an opportunity of gratifying soon, the
+children, in some of their walks, having strolled as far as her father&rsquo;s
+avenue.&nbsp; She put several questions to both; she was delighted with
+the simplicity of their answers, and promised, that if they continued
+to be good children, and do as their grandfather bid them, she would
+soon see them again, and bring some present or other for their reward.&nbsp;
+This promise she had performed now: she came attended only by her maid,
+and brought with her a complete suit of green for the boy, and a chintz
+gown, a cap, and a suit of ribbons, for his sister.&nbsp; She had time
+enough, with her maid&rsquo;s assistance, to equip them in their new
+habiliments before Harley and Edwards returned.&nbsp; The boy heard
+his grandfather&rsquo;s voice, and, with that silent joy which his present
+finery inspired, ran to the door to meet him: putting one hand in his,
+with the other pointed to his sister, &ldquo;See,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what
+Miss Walton has brought us!&rdquo; - Edwards gazed on them.&nbsp; Harley
+fixed his eyes on Miss Walton; her&rsquo;s were turned to the ground;
+- in Edwards&rsquo;s was a beamy moisture. - He folded his hands together
+- &ldquo;I cannot speak, young lady,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to thank
+you.&rdquo;&nbsp; Neither could Harley.&nbsp; There were a thousand
+sentiments; but they gushed so impetuously on his heart, that he could
+not utter a syllable. * * * *<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XL - THE MAN OF FEELING JEALOUS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The desire of communicating knowledge or intelligence, is an argument
+with those who hold that man is naturally a social animal.&nbsp; It
+is indeed one of the earliest propensities we discover; but it may be
+doubted whether the pleasure (for pleasure there certainly is) arising
+from it be not often more selfish than social: for we frequently observe
+the tidings of Ill communicated as eagerly as the annunciation of Good.&nbsp;
+Is it that we delight in observing the effects of the stronger passions?
+for we are all philosophers in this respect; and it is perhaps amongst
+the spectators at Tyburn that the most genuine are to be found.<br>
+<br>
+Was it from this motive that Peter came one morning into his master&rsquo;s
+room with a meaning face of recital?&nbsp; His master indeed did not
+at first observe it; for he was sitting with one shoe buckled, delineating
+portraits in the fire.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have brushed those clothes, sir,
+as you ordered me.&rdquo; - Harley nodded his head but Peter observed
+that his hat wanted brushing too: his master nodded again.&nbsp; At
+last Peter bethought him that the fire needed stirring; and taking up
+the poker, demolished the turban&rsquo;d head of a Saracen, while his
+master was seeking out a body for it.&nbsp; &ldquo;The morning is main
+cold, sir,&rdquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Is it?&rdquo; said Harley.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Yes, sir; I have been as far as Tom Dowson&rsquo;s to fetch some
+barberries he had picked for Mrs. Margery.&nbsp; There was a rare junketting
+last night at Thomas&rsquo;s among Sir Harry Benson&rsquo;s servants;
+he lay at Squire Walton&rsquo;s, but he would not suffer his servants
+to trouble the family: so, to be sure, they were all at Tom&rsquo;s,
+and had a fiddle, and a hot supper in the big room where the justices
+meet about the destroying of hares and partridges, and them things;
+and Tom&rsquo;s eyes looked so red and so bleared when I called him
+to get the barberries:- And I hear as how Sir Harry is going to be married
+to Miss Walton.&rdquo; - &ldquo;How!&nbsp; Miss Walton married!&rdquo;
+said Harley.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, it mayn&rsquo;t be true, sir, for all
+that; but Tom&rsquo;s wife told it me, and to be sure the servants told
+her, and their master told them, as I guess, sir; but it mayn&rsquo;t
+be true for all that, as I said before.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Have done with
+your idle information,&rdquo; said Harley:- &ldquo;Is my aunt come down
+into the parlour to breakfast?&rdquo; - &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Tell
+her I&rsquo;ll be with her immediately.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When Peter was gone, he stood with his eyes fixed on the ground, and
+the last words of his intelligence vibrating in his ears.&nbsp; &ldquo;Miss
+Walton married!&rdquo; he sighed - and walked down stairs, with his
+shoe as it was, and the buckle in his hand.&nbsp; His aunt, however,
+was pretty well accustomed to those appearances of absence; besides,
+that the natural gravity of her temper, which was commonly called into
+exertion by the care of her household concerns, was such as not easily
+to be discomposed by any circumstance of accidental impropriety.&nbsp;
+She too had been informed of the intended match between Sir Harry Benson
+and Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have been thinking,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;that they are distant relations: for the great-grandfather of
+this Sir Harry Benson, who was knight of the shire in the reign of Charles
+the First, and one of the cavaliers of those times, was married to a
+daughter of the Walton family.&rdquo;&nbsp; Harley answered drily, that
+it might be so; but that he never troubled himself about those matters.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you are to blame, nephew, for
+not knowing a little more of them: before I was near your age I had
+sewed the pedigree of our family in a set of chair-bottoms, that were
+made a present of to my grandmother, who was a very notable woman, and
+had a proper regard for gentility, I&rsquo;ll assure you; but now-a-days
+it is money, not birth, that makes people respected; the more shame
+for the times.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Harley was in no very good humour for entering into a discussion of
+this question; but he always entertained so much filial respect for
+his aunt, as to attend to her discourse.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;We blame the pride of the rich,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but are
+not we ashamed of our poverty?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Why, one would not choose,&rdquo; replied his aunt, &ldquo;to
+make a much worse figure than one&rsquo;s neighbours; but, as I was
+saying before, the times (as my friend, Mrs. Dorothy Walton, observes)
+are shamefully degenerated in this respect.&nbsp; There was but t&rsquo;other
+day at Mr. Walton&rsquo;s, that fat fellow&rsquo;s daughter, the London
+merchant, as he calls himself, though I have heard that he was little
+better than the keeper of a chandler&rsquo;s shop.&nbsp; We were leaving
+the gentlemen to go to tea.&nbsp; She had a hoop, forsooth, as large
+and as stiff - and it showed a pair of bandy legs, as thick as two -
+I was nearer the door by an apron&rsquo;s length, and the pert hussy
+brushed by me, as who should say, Make way for your betters, and with
+one of her London bobs - but Mrs. Dorothy did not let her pass with
+it; for all the time of drinking tea, she spoke of the precedency of
+family, and the disparity there is between people who are come of something
+and your mushroom gentry who wear their coats of arms in their purses.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her indignation was interrupted by the arrival of her maid with a damask
+table-cloth, and a set of napkins, from the loom, which had been spun
+by her mistress&rsquo;s own hand.&nbsp; There was the family crest in
+each corner, and in the middle a view of the battle of Worcester, where
+one of her ancestors had been a captain in the king&rsquo;s forces;
+and with a sort of poetical licence in perspective, there was seen the
+Royal Oak, with more wig than leaves upon it.<br>
+<br>
+On all this the good lady was very copious, and took up the remaining
+intervals of filling tea, to describe its excellencies to Harley; adding,
+that she intended this as a present for his wife, when he should get
+one.&nbsp; He sighed and looked foolish, and commending the serenity
+of the day, walked out into the garden.<br>
+<br>
+He sat down on a little seat which commanded an extensive prospect round
+the house.&nbsp; He leaned on his hand, and scored the ground with his
+stick: &lsquo;Miss Walton married!&rsquo; said he; but what is that
+to me?&nbsp; May she be happy! her virtues deserve it; to me her marriage
+is otherwise indifferent: I had romantic dreams? they are fled? - it
+is perfectly indifferent.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Just at that moment he saw a servant with a knot of ribbons in his hat
+go into the house.&nbsp; His cheeks grew flushed at the sight!&nbsp;
+He kept his eye fixed for some time on the door by which he had entered,
+then starting to his feet, hastily followed him.<br>
+<br>
+When he approached the door of the kitchen where he supposed the man
+had entered, his heart throbbed so violently, that when he would have
+called Peter, his voice failed in the attempt.&nbsp; He stood a moment
+listening in this breathless state of palpitation: Peter came out by
+chance.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did your honour want any thing?&rdquo; - &ldquo;Where
+is the servant that came just now from Mr. Walton&rsquo;s?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;From Mr. Walton&rsquo;s, sir! there is none of his servants here
+that I know of.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Nor of Sir Harry Benson&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
+- He did not wait for an answer; but having by this time observed the
+hat with its parti-coloured ornament hanging on a peg near the door,
+he pressed forwards into the kitchen, and addressing himself to a stranger
+whom he saw there, asked him, with no small tremor in his voice, &ldquo;If
+he had any commands for him?&rdquo;&nbsp; The man looked silly, and
+said, &ldquo;That he had nothing to trouble his honour with.&rdquo;
+- &ldquo;Are not you a servant of Sir Harry Benson&rsquo;s?&rdquo; -
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo; - &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll<i> </i>pardon me, young
+man; I judged by the favour in your hat.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Sir, I&rsquo;m
+his majesty&rsquo;s servant, God bless him! and these favours we always
+wear when we are recruiting.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Recruiting!&rdquo; his
+eyes glistened at the word: he seized the soldier&rsquo;s hand, and
+shaking it violently, ordered Peter to fetch a bottle of his aunt&rsquo;s
+best dram.&nbsp; The bottle was brought: &ldquo;You shall drink the
+king&rsquo;s health,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;in a bumper.&rdquo;
+- &ldquo;The king and your honour.&rdquo; - &ldquo;Nay, you shall drink
+the king&rsquo;s health by itself; you may drink mine in another.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Peter looked in his master&rsquo;s face, and filled with some little
+reluctance.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now to your mistress,&rdquo; said Harley; &ldquo;every
+soldier has a mistress.&rdquo;&nbsp; The man excused himself - &ldquo;To
+your mistress! you cannot refuse it.&rdquo;&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas Mrs. Margery&rsquo;s
+best dram!&nbsp; Peter stood with the bottle a little inclined, but
+not so as to discharge a drop of its contents: &ldquo;Fill it, Peter,&rdquo;
+said his master, &ldquo;fill it to the brim.&rdquo;&nbsp; Peter filled
+it; and the soldier having named Suky Simpson, dispatched it in a twinkling.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Thou art an honest fellow,&rdquo; said Harley, &ldquo;and I love
+thee;&rdquo; and shaking his hand again, desired Peter to make him his
+guest at dinner, and walked up into his room with a pace much quicker
+and more springy than usual.<br>
+<br>
+This agreeable disappointment, however, he was not long suffered to
+enjoy.&nbsp; The curate happened that day to dine with him: his visits,
+indeed, were more properly to the aunt than the nephew; and many of
+the intelligent ladies in the parish, who, like some very great philosophers,
+have the happy knack at accounting for everything, gave out that there
+was a particular attachment between them, which wanted only to be matured
+by some more years of courtship to end in the tenderest connection.&nbsp;
+In this conclusion, indeed, supposing the premises to have been true,
+they were somewhat justified by the known opinion of the lady, who frequently
+declared herself a friend to the ceremonial of former times, when a
+lover might have sighed seven years at his mistress&rsquo;s feet before
+he was allowed the liberty of kissing her hand.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis true
+Mrs. Margery was now about her grand climacteric; no matter: that is
+just the age when we expect to grow younger.&nbsp; But I verily believe
+there was nothing in the report; the curate&rsquo;s connection was only
+that of a genealogist; for in that character he was no way inferior
+to Mrs. Margery herself.&nbsp; He dealt also in the present times; for
+he was a politician and a news-monger.<br>
+<br>
+He had hardly said grace after dinner, when he told Mrs. Margery that
+she might soon expect a pair of white gloves, as Sir Harry Benson, he
+was very well informed, was just going to be married to Miss Walton.&nbsp;
+Harley spilt the wine he was carrying to his mouth: he had time, however,
+to recollect himself before the curate had finished the different particulars
+of his intelligence, and summing up all the heroism he was master of,
+filled a bumper, and drank to Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;With all my
+heart,&rdquo; said the curate, &ldquo;the bride that is to be.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Harley would have said bride too; but the word bride stuck in his throat.&nbsp;
+His confusion, indeed, was manifest; but the curate began to enter on
+some point of descent with Mrs. Margery, and Harley had very soon after
+an opportunity of leaving them, while they were deeply engaged in a
+question, whether the name of some great man in the time of Henry the
+Seventh was Richard or Humphrey.<br>
+<br>
+He did not see his aunt again till supper; the time between he spent
+in walking, like some troubled ghost, round the place where his treasure
+lay.&nbsp; He went as far as a little gate, that led into a copse near
+Mr. Walton&rsquo;s house, to which that gentleman had been so obliging
+as to let him have a key.&nbsp; He had just begun to open it when he
+saw, on a terrace below, Miss Walton walking with a gentleman in a riding-dress,
+whom he immediately guessed to be Sir Harry Benson.&nbsp; He stopped
+of a sudden; his hand shook so much that he could hardly turn the key;
+he opened the gate, however, and advanced a few paces.&nbsp; The lady&rsquo;s
+lap-dog pricked up its ears, and barked; he stopped again -<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+- &ldquo;The little dogs and all,<br>
+Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+His resolution failed; he slunk back, and, locking the gate as softly
+as he could, stood on tiptoe looking over the wall till they were gone.&nbsp;
+At that instant a shepherd blew his horn: the romantic melancholy of
+the sound quite overcame him! - it was the very note that wanted to
+be touched - he sighed! he dropped a tear! - and returned.<br>
+<br>
+At supper his aunt observed that he was graver than usual; but she did
+not suspect the cause: indeed, it may seem odd that she was the only
+person in the family who had no suspicion of his attachment to Miss
+Walton.&nbsp; It was frequently matter of discourse amongst the servants:
+perhaps her maiden coldness - but for those things we need not account.<br>
+<br>
+In a day or two he was so much master of himself as to be able to rhyme
+upon the subject.&nbsp; The following pastoral he left, some time after,
+on the handle of a tea-kettle, at a neighbouring house where we were
+visiting; and as I filled the tea-pot after him, I happened to put it
+in my pocket by a similar act of forgetfulness.&nbsp; It is such as
+might be expected from a man who makes verses for amusement.&nbsp; I
+am pleased with somewhat of good nature that runs through it, because
+I have commonly observed the writers of those complaints to bestow epithets
+on their lost mistresses rather too harsh for the mere liberty of choice,
+which led them to prefer another to the poet himself: I do not doubt
+the vehemence of their passion; but, alas! the sensations of love are
+something more than the returns of gratitude.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+LAVINIA.<br>
+A PASTORAL.<br>
+<br>
+Why steals from my bosom the sigh?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Why fixed is my gaze on the ground?<br>
+Come, give me my pipe, and I&rsquo;ll try<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To banish my cares with the sound.<br>
+<br>
+Erewhile were its notes of accord<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With the smile of the flow&rsquo;r-footed Muse;<br>
+Ah! why by its master implored<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shou&rsquo;d it now the gay carrol refuse?<br>
+<br>
+&rsquo;Twas taught by LAVINIA&rsquo;S sweet smile,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In the mirth-loving chorus to join:<br>
+Ah, me! how unweeting the while!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;LAVINIA - can never be mine!<br>
+<br>
+Another, more happy, the maid<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By fortune is destin&rsquo;d to bless -<br>
+&rsquo;Tho&rsquo; the hope has forsook that betray&rsquo;d,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet why should I love her the less?<br>
+<br>
+Her beauties are bright as the morn,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With rapture I counted them o&rsquo;er;<br>
+Such virtues these beauties adorn,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I knew her, and prais&rsquo;d them no more.<br>
+<br>
+I term&rsquo;d her no goddess of love,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I call&rsquo;d not her beauty divine:<br>
+These far other passions may prove,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But they could not be figures of mine.<br>
+<br>
+It ne&rsquo;er was apparel&rsquo;d with art,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On words it could never rely;<br>
+It reign&rsquo;d in the throb of my heart,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It gleam&rsquo;d in the glance of my eye.<br>
+<br>
+Oh fool! in the circle to shine<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That Fashion&rsquo;s gay daughters approve,<br>
+You must speak as the fashions incline;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Alas! are there fashions in love?<br>
+<br>
+Yet sure they are simple who prize<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The tongue that is smooth to deceive;<br>
+Yet sure she had sense to despise,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The tinsel that folly may weave.<br>
+<br>
+When I talk&rsquo;d, I have seen her recline,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With an aspect so pensively sweet, -<br>
+Tho&rsquo; I spoke what the shepherds opine,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A fop were ashamed to repeat.<br>
+<br>
+She is soft as the dew-drops that fall<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;<br>
+Perhaps when she smil&rsquo;d upon all,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I have thought that she smil&rsquo;d upon me.<br>
+<br>
+But why of her charms should I tell?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ah me! whom her charms have undone<br>
+Yet I love the reflection too well,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The painful reflection to shun.<br>
+<br>
+Ye souls of more delicate kind,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who feast not on pleasure alone,<br>
+Who wear the soft sense of the mind,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To the sons of the world still unknown.<br>
+<br>
+Ye know, tho&rsquo; I cannot express,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Why I foolishly doat on my pain;<br>
+Nor will ye believe it the less,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That I have not the skill to complain.<br>
+<br>
+I lean on my hand with a sigh,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My friends the soft sadness condemn;<br>
+Yet, methinks, tho&rsquo; I cannot tell why,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I should hate to be merry like them.<br>
+<br>
+When I walk&rsquo;d in the pride of the dawn,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Methought all the region look&rsquo;d bright:<br>
+Has sweetness forsaken the lawn?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For, methinks, I grow sad at the sight.<br>
+<br>
+When I stood by the stream, I have thought<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound;<br>
+But now &rsquo;tis a sorrowful note,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the banks are all gloomy around!<br>
+<br>
+I have laugh&rsquo;d at the jest of a friend;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now they laugh, and I know not the cause,<br>
+Tho&rsquo; I seem with my looks to attend,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How silly!&nbsp; I ask what it was.<br>
+<br>
+They sing the sweet song of the May,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They sing it with mirth and with glee;<br>
+Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But now &rsquo;tis all sadness to me.<br>
+<br>
+Oh! give me the dubious light<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That gleams thro&rsquo; the quivering shade;<br>
+Oh! give me the horrors of night,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By gloom and by silence array&rsquo;d!<br>
+<br>
+Let me walk where the soft-rising wave,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Has pictur&rsquo;d the moon on its breast;<br>
+Let me walk where the new cover&rsquo;d grave<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Allows the pale lover to rest!<br>
+<br>
+When shall I in its peaceable womb,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Be laid with my sorrows asleep?<br>
+Should LAVINIA but chance on my tomb -<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I could die if I thought she would weep.<br>
+<br>
+Perhaps, if the souls of the just<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Revisit these mansions of care,<br>
+It may be my favourite trust<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To watch o&rsquo;er the fate of the fair.<br>
+<br>
+Perhaps the soft thought of her breast,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With rapture more favour&rsquo;d to warm;<br>
+Perhaps, if with sorrow oppress&rsquo;d,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Her sorrow with patience to arm.<br>
+<br>
+Then, then, in the tenderest part<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May I whisper, &ldquo;Poor COLIN was true,&rdquo;<br>
+And mark if a heave of her heart<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The thought of her COLIN pursue.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE PUPIL - A FRAGMENT<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+* * * &ldquo;But as to the higher part of education, Mr. Harley, the
+culture of the mind - let the feelings be awakened, let the heart be
+brought forth to its object, placed in the light in which nature would
+have it stand, and its decisions will ever be just.&nbsp; The world<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Will smile, and smile, and be a villain;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+and the youth, who does not suspect its deceit, will be content to smile
+with it.&nbsp; Men will put on the most forbidding aspect in nature,
+and tell him of the beauty of virtue.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I have not, under these grey hairs, forgotten that I was once
+a young man, warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but meaning to be honest
+as well as happy.&nbsp; I had ideas of virtue, of honour, of benevolence,
+which I had never been at the pains to define; but I felt my bosom heave
+at the thoughts of them, and I made the most delightful soliloquies.&nbsp;
+It is impossible, said I, that there can be half so many rogues as are
+imagined.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I travelled, because it is the fashion for young men of my fortune
+to travel.&nbsp; I had a travelling tutor, which is the fashion too;
+but my tutor was a gentleman, which it is not always the fashion for
+tutors to be.&nbsp; His gentility, indeed, was all he had from his father,
+whose prodigality had not left him a shilling to support it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Mountford,&rsquo;
+said my father, &lsquo;which I will not be refused.&nbsp; You have travelled
+as became a man; neither France nor Italy have made anything of Mountford,
+which Mountford, before he left England, would have been ashamed of.&nbsp;
+My son Edward goes abroad, would you take him under your protection?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He blushed; my father&rsquo;s face was scarlet.&nbsp; He pressed
+his hand to his bosom, as if he had said, my heart does not mean to
+offend you.&nbsp; Mountford sighed twice.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I am a proud fool,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and you will
+pardon it.&nbsp; There! (he sighed again) I can hear of dependance,
+since it is dependance on my Sedley.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Dependance!&rsquo; answered my father; &lsquo;there can
+be no such word between us.&nbsp; What is there in &pound;9,000 a year
+that should make me unworthy of Mountford&rsquo;s friendship?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They embraced; and soon after I set out on my travels, with Mountford
+for my guardian.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;We were at Milan, where my father happened to have an Italian
+friend, to whom he had been of some service in England.&nbsp; The count,
+for he was of quality, was solicitous to return the obligation by a
+particular attention to his son.&nbsp; We lived in his palace, visited
+with his family, were caressed by his friends, and I began to be so
+well pleased with my entertainment, that I thought of England as of
+some foreign country.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The count had a son not much older than myself.&nbsp; At that
+age a friend is an easy acquisition; we were friends the first night
+of our acquaintance.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He introduced me into the company of a set of young gentlemen,
+whose fortunes gave them the command of pleasure, and whose inclinations
+incited them to the purchase.&nbsp; After having spent some joyous evenings
+in their society, it became a sort of habit which I could not miss without
+uneasiness, and our meetings, which before were frequent, were now stated
+and regular.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Sometimes, in the pauses of our mirth, gaming was introduced
+as an amusement.&nbsp; It was an art in which I was a novice.&nbsp;
+I received instruction, as other novices do, by losing pretty largely
+to my teachers.&nbsp; Nor was this the only evil which Mountford foresaw
+would arise from the connection I had formed; but a lecture of sour
+injunctions was not his method of reclaiming.&nbsp; He sometimes asked
+me questions about the company, but they were such as the curiosity
+of any indifferent man might have prompted.&nbsp; I told him of their
+wit, their eloquence, their warmth of friendship, and their sensibility
+of heart.&nbsp; &lsquo;And their honour,&rsquo; said I, laying my hand
+on my breast, &lsquo;is unquestionable.&rsquo;&nbsp; Mountford seemed
+to rejoice at my good fortune, and begged that I would introduce him
+to their acquaintance.&nbsp; At the next meeting I introduced him accordingly.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The conversation was as animated as usual.&nbsp; They displayed
+all that sprightliness and good-humour which my praises had led Mountford
+to expect; subjects, too, of sentiment occurred, and their speeches,
+particularly those of our friend the son of Count Respino, glowed with
+the warmth of honour, and softened into the tenderness of feeling.&nbsp;
+Mountford was charmed with his companions.&nbsp; When we parted, he
+made the highest eulogiums upon them.&nbsp; &lsquo;When shall we see
+them again?&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; I was delighted with the demand, and
+promised to reconduct him on the morrow.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In going to their place of rendezvous, he took me a little out
+of the road, to see, as he told me, the performances of a young statuary.&nbsp;
+When we were near the house in which Mountford said he lived, a boy
+of about seven years old crossed us in the street.&nbsp; At sight of
+Mountford he stopped, and grasping his hand,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;My dearest sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;my father is likely
+to do well.&nbsp; He will live to pray for you, and to bless you.&nbsp;
+Yes, he will bless you, though you are an Englishman, and some other
+hard word that the monk talked of this morning, which I have forgot,
+but it meant that you should not go to heaven; but he shall go to heaven,
+said I, for he has saved my father.&nbsp; Come and see him, sir, that
+we may be happy.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;My dear, I am engaged at present with this gentleman.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;But he shall come along with you; he is an Englishman,
+too, I fancy.&nbsp; He shall come and learn how an Englishman may go
+to heaven.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Mountford smiled, and we followed the boy together.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;After crossing the next street, we arrived at the gate of a prison.&nbsp;
+I seemed surprised at the sight; our little conductor observed it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Are you afraid, sir?&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;I was
+afraid once too, but my father and mother are here, and I am never afraid
+when I am with them.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He took my hand, and led me through a dark passage that fronted
+the gate.&nbsp; When we came to a little door at the end, he tapped.&nbsp;
+A boy, still younger than himself, opened it to receive us.&nbsp; Mountford
+entered with a look in which was pictured the benign assurance of a
+superior being.&nbsp; I followed in silence and amazement.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;On something like a bed, lay a man, with a face seemingly emaciated
+with sickness, and a look of patient dejection.&nbsp; A bundle of dirty
+shreds served him for a pillow, but he had a better support - the arm
+of a female who kneeled beside him, beautiful as an angel, but with
+a fading languor in her countenance, the still life of melancholy, that
+seemed to borrow its shade from the object on which she gazed.&nbsp;
+There was a tear in her eye - the sick man kissed it off in its bud,
+smiling through the dimness of his own - when she saw Mountford, she
+crawled forward on the ground, and clasped his knees.&nbsp; He raised
+her from the floor; she threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed out
+a speech of thankfulness, eloquent beyond the power of language.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Compose yourself, my love,&rsquo; said the man on the
+bed; &lsquo;but he, whose goodness has caused that emotion, will pardon
+its effects.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;How is this, Mountford?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what do
+I see?&nbsp; What must I do?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;You see,&rsquo; replied the stranger, &lsquo;a wretch,
+sunk in poverty, starving in prison, stretched on a sick bed.&nbsp;
+But that is little.&nbsp; There are his wife and children wanting the
+bread which he has not to give them!&nbsp; Yet you cannot easily imagine
+the conscious serenity of his mind.&nbsp; In the gripe of affliction,
+his heart swells with the pride of virtue; it can even look down with
+pity on the man whose cruelty has wrung it almost to bursting.&nbsp;
+You are, I fancy, a friend of Mr. Mountford&rsquo;s.&nbsp; Come nearer,
+and I&rsquo;ll tell you, for, short as my story is, I can hardly command
+breath enough for a recital.&nbsp; The son of Count Respino (I started,
+as if I had trod on a viper) has long had a criminal passion for my
+wife.&nbsp; This her prudence had concealed from me; but he had lately
+the boldness to declare it to myself.&nbsp; He promised me affluence
+in exchange for honour, and threatened misery as its attendant if I
+kept it.&nbsp; I treated him with the contempt he deserved; the consequence
+was, that he hired a couple of bravoes (for I am persuaded they acted
+under his direction), who attempted to assassinate me in the street;
+but I made such a defence as obliged them to fly, after having given
+me two or three stabs, none of which, however, were mortal.&nbsp; But
+his revenge was not thus to be disappointed.&nbsp; In the little dealings
+of my trade I had contracted some debts, of which he had made himself
+master for my ruin.&nbsp; I was confined here at his suit, when not
+yet recovered from the wounds I had received; the dear woman, and these
+two boys, followed me, that we might starve together; but Providence
+interposed, and sent Mr. Mountford to our support.&nbsp; He has relieved
+my family from the gnawings of hunger, and rescued me from death, to
+which a fever, consequent on my wounds and increased by the want of
+every necessary, had almost reduced me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Inhuman villain!&rsquo; I exclaimed, lifting up my eyes
+to heaven.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Inhuman indeed!&rsquo; said the lovely woman who stood
+at my side.&nbsp; &lsquo;Alas! sir, what had we done to offend him?
+what had these little ones done, that they should perish in the toils
+of his vengeance?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I reached a pen which stood in the inkstand dish at the bed-side.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;May I ask what is the amount of the sum for which you
+are imprisoned?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I was able,&rsquo; he replied, &lsquo;to pay all but five
+hundred crowns.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I wrote a draft on the banker with whom I had a credit from my
+father for 2,500, and presenting it to the stranger&rsquo;s wife,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;You will receive, madam, on presenting this note, a sum
+more than sufficient for your husband&rsquo;s discharge; the remainder
+I leave for his industry to improve.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I would have left the room.&nbsp; Each of them laid hold of one
+of my hands, the children clung to my coat.&nbsp; Oh! Mr. Harley, methinks
+I feel their gentle violence at this moment; it beats here with delight
+inexpressible.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Stay, sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I do not mean attempting
+to thank you&rsquo; (he took a pocket-book from under his pillow), &lsquo;let
+me but know what name I shall place here next to Mr. Mountford!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Sedley.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He writ it down.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;An Englishman too, I presume.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;He shall go to heaven, notwithstanding;&rsquo; said the
+boy who had been our guide.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It began to be too much for me.&nbsp; I squeezed his hand that
+was clasped in mine, his wife&rsquo;s I pressed to my lips, and burst
+from the place, to give vent to the feelings that laboured within me.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Oh, Mountford!&rsquo; said I, when he had overtaken me
+at the door.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;It is time,&rsquo; replied he, &lsquo;that we should think
+of our appointment; young Respino and his friends are waiting us.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Damn him, damn him!&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us
+leave Milan instantly; but soft - I will be calm; Mountford, your pencil.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I wrote on a slip of paper,<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;To Signor RESPINO.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;When you receive this, I am at a distance from Milan.&nbsp;
+Accept of my thanks for the civilities I have received from you and
+your family.&nbsp; As to the friendship with which you were pleased
+to honour me, the prison, which I have just left, has exhibited a scene
+to cancel it for ever.&nbsp; You may possibly be merry with your companions
+at my weakness, as I suppose you will term it.&nbsp; I give you leave
+for derision.&nbsp; You may affect a triumph, I shall feel it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;EDWARD SEDLEY.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;You may send this if you will,&rsquo; said Mountford,
+coolly, &lsquo;but still Respino is a <i>man of honour; </i>the world
+will continue to call him so.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;It is probable,&rsquo; I answered, &lsquo;they may; I
+envy not the appellation.&nbsp; If this is the world&rsquo;s honour,
+if these men are the guides of its manners - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Tut!&rsquo; said Mountford, &lsquo;do you eat macaroni
+- &rsquo;&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+* * *<br>
+<br>
+[At this place had the greatest depredations of the curate begun.&nbsp;
+There were so very few connected passages of the subsequent chapters
+remaining, that even the partiality of an editor could not offer them
+to the public.&nbsp; I discovered, from some scattered sentences, that
+they were of much the same tenor with the preceding; recitals of little
+adventures, in which the dispositions of a man, sensible to judge, and
+still more warm to feel, had room to unfold themselves.&nbsp; Some instruction,
+and some example, I make no doubt they contained; but it is likely that
+many of those, whom chance has led to a perusal of what I have already
+presented, may have read it with little pleasure, and will feel no disappointment
+from the want of those parts which I have been unable to procure.&nbsp;
+To such as may have expected the intricacies of a novel, a few incidents
+in a life undistinguished, except by some features of the heart, cannot
+have afforded much entertainment.<br>
+<br>
+Harley&rsquo;s own story, from the mutilated passages I have mentioned,
+as well as from some inquiries I was at the trouble of making in the
+country, I found to have been simple to excess.&nbsp; His mistress,
+I could perceive, was not married to Sir Harry Benson; but it would
+seem, by one of the following chapters, which is still entire, that
+Harley had not profited on the occasion by making any declaration of
+his own passion, after those of the other had been unsuccessful.&nbsp;
+The state of his health, for some part of this period, appears to have
+been such as to forbid any thoughts of that kind: he had been seized
+with a very dangerous fever, caught by attending old Edwards in one
+of an infectious kind.&nbsp; From this he had recovered but imperfectly,
+and though he had no formed complaint, his health was manifestly on
+the decline.<br>
+<br>
+It appears that the sagacity of some friend had at length pointed out
+to his aunt a cause from which this might be supposed to proceed, to
+wit, his hopeless love for Miss Walton; for, according to the conceptions
+of the world, the love of a man of Harley&rsquo;s fortune for the heiress
+of &pound;4,000 a year is indeed desperate.&nbsp; Whether it was so
+in this case may be gathered from the next chapter, which, with the
+two subsequent, concluding the performance, have escaped those accidents
+that proved fatal to the rest.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER LV - HE SEES MISS WALTON, AND IS HAPPY<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Harley was one of those few friends whom the malevolence of fortune
+had yet left me; I could not therefore but be sensibly concerned for
+his present indisposition; there seldom passed a day on which I did
+not make inquiry about him.<br>
+<br>
+The physician who attended him had informed me the evening before, that
+he thought him considerably better than he had been for some time past.&nbsp;
+I called next morning to be confirmed in a piece of intelligence so
+welcome to me.<br>
+<br>
+When I entered his apartment, I found him sitting on a couch, leaning
+on his hand, with his eye turned upwards in the attitude of thoughtful
+inspiration.&nbsp; His look had always an open benignity, which commanded
+esteem; there was now something more - a gentle triumph in it.<br>
+<br>
+He rose, and met me with his usual kindness.&nbsp; When I gave him the
+good accounts I had had from his physician, &ldquo;I am foolish enough,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;to rely but little, in this instance, upon physic: my
+presentiment may be false; but I think I feel myself approaching to
+my end, by steps so easy, that they woo me to approach it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;There is a certain dignity in retiring from life at a time, when
+the infirmities of age have not sapped our faculties.&nbsp; This world,
+my dear Charles, was a scene in which I never much delighted.&nbsp;
+I was not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the dissipation of
+the gay; a thousand things occurred, where I blushed for the impropriety
+of my conduct when I thought on the world, though my reason told me
+I should have blushed to have done otherwise. - It was a scene of dissimulation,
+of restraint, of disappointment.&nbsp; I leave it to enter on that state
+which I have learned to believe is replete with the genuine happiness
+attendant upon virtue.&nbsp; I look back on the tenor of my life, with
+the consciousness of few great offences to account for.&nbsp; There
+are blemishes, I confess, which deform in some degree the picture.&nbsp;
+But I know the benignity of the Supreme Being, and rejoice at the thoughts
+of its exertion in my favour.&nbsp; My mind expands at the thought I
+shall enter into the society of the blessed, wise as angels, with the
+simplicity of children.&rdquo;&nbsp; He had by this time clasped my
+hand, and found it wet by a tear which had just fallen upon it. - His
+eye began to moisten too - we sat for some time silent. - At last, with
+an attempt to a look of more composure, &ldquo;There are some remembrances,&rdquo;
+said Harley, &ldquo;which rise involuntary on my heart, and make me
+almost wish to live.&nbsp; I have been blessed with a few friends, who
+redeem my opinion of mankind.&nbsp; I recollect, with the tenderest
+emotion, the scenes of pleasure I have passed among them; but we shall
+meet again, my friend, never to be separated.&nbsp; There are some feelings
+which perhaps are too tender to be suffered by the world. - The world
+is in general selfish, interested, and unthinking, and throws the imputation
+of romance or melancholy on every temper more susceptible than its own.&nbsp;
+I cannot think but in those regions which I contemplate, if there is
+any thing of mortality left about us, that these feelings will subsist;
+- they are called, - perhaps they are - weaknesses here; - but there
+may be some better modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve
+the name of virtues.&rdquo;&nbsp; He sighed as he spoke these last words.&nbsp;
+He had scarcely finished them, when the door opened, and his aunt appeared,
+leading in Miss Walton.&nbsp; &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;here
+is Miss Walton, who has been so kind as to come and inquire for you
+herself.&rdquo;&nbsp; I could observe a transient glow upon his face.&nbsp;
+He rose from his seat - &ldquo;If to know Miss Walton&rsquo;s goodness,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;be a title to deserve it, I have some claim.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+She begged him to resume his seat, and placed herself on the sofa beside
+him.&nbsp; I took my leave.&nbsp; Mrs. Margery accompanied me to the
+door.&nbsp; He was left with Miss Walton alone.&nbsp; She inquired anxiously
+about his health.&nbsp; &ldquo;I believe,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;from
+the accounts which my physicians unwillingly give me, that they have
+no great hopes of my recovery.&rdquo; - She started as he spoke; but
+recollecting herself immediately, endeavoured to flatter him into a
+belief that his apprehensions were groundless.&nbsp; &ldquo;I know,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;that it is usual with persons at my time of life to
+have these hopes, which your kindness suggests; but I would not wish
+to be deceived.&nbsp; To meet death as becomes a man, is a privilege
+bestowed on few. - I would endeavour to make it mine; - nor do I think
+that I can ever be better prepared for it than now: - It is that chiefly
+which determines the fitness of its approach.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Those
+sentiments,&rdquo; answered Miss Walton, &ldquo;are just; but your good
+sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper value. - As the
+province of virtue, life is ennobled; as such, it is to be desired.
+- To virtue has the Supreme Director of all things assigned rewards
+enough even here to fix its attachment.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The subject began to overpower her. - Harley lifted his eyes from the
+ground - &ldquo;There are,&rdquo; said he, in a very low voice, &ldquo;there
+are attachments, Miss Walton&rdquo; - His glance met hers. - They both
+betrayed a confusion, and were both instantly withdrawn. - He paused
+some moments - &ldquo;I am such a state as calls for sincerity, let
+that also excuse it - It is perhaps the last time we shall ever meet.&nbsp;
+I feel something particularly solemn in the acknowledgment, yet my heart
+swells to make it, awed as it is by a sense of my presumption, by a
+sense of your perfections&rdquo; - He paused again - &ldquo;Let it not
+offend you, to know their power over one so unworthy - It will, I believe,
+soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall lose the latest.
+- To love Miss Walton could not be a crime; - if to declare it is one
+- the expiation will be made.&rdquo; - Her tears were now flowing without
+control. - &ldquo;Let me intreat you,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;to have
+better hopes - Let not life be so indifferent to you; if my wishes can
+put any value on it - I will not pretend to misunderstand you - I know
+your worth - I have known it long - I have esteemed it - What would
+you have me say? - I have loved it as it deserved.&rdquo; - He seized
+her hand - a languid colour reddened his cheek - a smile brightened
+faintly in his eye.&nbsp; As he gazed on her, it grew dim, it fixed,
+it closed - He sighed and fell back on his seat - Miss Walton screamed
+at the sight - His aunt and the servants rushed into the room - They
+found them lying motionless together. - His physician happened to call
+at that instant.&nbsp; Every art was tried to recover them - With Miss
+Walton they succeeded - But Harley was gone for ever.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER LVI - THE EMOTIONS OF THE HEART<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+I entered the room where his body lay; I approached it with reverence,
+not fear: I looked; the recollection of the past crowded upon me.&nbsp;
+I saw that form which, but a little before, was animated with a soul
+which did honour to humanity, stretched without sense or feeling before
+me.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a connection we cannot easily forget:- I took his
+hand in mine; I repeated his name involuntary; - I felt a pulse in every
+vein at the sound.&nbsp; I looked earnestly in his face; his eye was
+closed, his lip pale and motionless.&nbsp; There is an enthusiasm in
+sorrow that forgets impossibility; I wondered that it was so.&nbsp;
+The sight drew a prayer from my heart: it was the voice of frailty and
+of man! the confusion of my mind began to subside into thought; I had
+time to meet!<br>
+<br>
+I turned with the last farewell upon my lips, when I observed old Edwards
+standing behind me.&nbsp; I looked him full in the face; but his eye
+was fixed on another object: he pressed between me and the bed, and
+stood gazing on the breathless remains of his benefactor.&nbsp; I spoke
+to him I know not what; but he took no notice of what I said, and remained
+in the same attitude as before.&nbsp; He stood some minutes in that
+posture, then turned and walked towards the door.&nbsp; He paused as
+he went; - he returned a second time: I could observe his lips move
+as he looked: but the voice they would have uttered was lost.&nbsp;
+He attempted going again; and a third time he returned as before. -
+I saw him wipe his cheek: then covering his face with his hands, his
+breast heaving with the most convulsive throbs, he flung out of the
+room.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE CONCLUSION<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+He had hinted that he should like to be buried in a certain spot near
+the grave of his mother.&nbsp; This is a weakness; but it is universally
+incident to humanity: &rsquo;tis at least a memorial for those who survive:
+for some indeed a slender memorial will serve; - and the soft affections,
+when they are busy that way, will build their structures, were it but
+on the paring of a nail.<br>
+<br>
+He was buried in the place he had desired.&nbsp; It was shaded by an
+old tree, the only one in the church-yard, in which was a cavity worn
+by time.&nbsp; I have sat with him in it, and counted the tombs.&nbsp;
+The last time we passed there, methought he looked wistfully on the
+tree: there was a branch of it that bent towards us waving in the wind;
+he waved his hand as if he mimicked its motion.&nbsp; There was something
+predictive in his look! perhaps it is foolish to remark it; but there
+are times and places when I am a child at those things.<br>
+<br>
+I sometimes visit his grave; I sit in the hollow of the tree.&nbsp;
+It is worth a thousand homilies; every noble feeling rises within me!
+every beat of my heart awakens a virtue! - but it will make you hate
+the world - No: there is such an air of gentleness around, that I can
+hate nothing; but, as to the world - I pity the men of it.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Footnotes:<br>
+<br>
+<a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a>&nbsp; The reader
+will remember that the Editor is accountable only for scattered chapters
+and fragments of chapters; the curate must answer for the rest.&nbsp;
+The number at the top, when the chapter was entire, he has given as
+it originally stood, with the title which its author had affixed to
+it.<br>
+<br>
+<a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61">{61}</a>&nbsp; Though
+the Curate could not remember having<i> </i>shown this chapter to anybody,
+I strongly suspect that these political observations are the work of
+a later pen than the rest of this performance.&nbsp; There seems to
+have been, by some accident, a gap in the manuscript, from the words,
+&ldquo;Expectation at a jointure,&rdquo; to these, &ldquo;In short,
+man is an animal,&rdquo; where the present blank ends; and some other
+person (for the hand is different, and the ink whiter) has filled part
+of it with sentiments of his own.&nbsp; Whoever he was<i>, </i>he seems
+to have caught some portion of the spirit of the man he personates.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+End of the Project Gutenberg eBook *** Corrected and fully spell-checked
+to here ***<br>
+<br>
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MAN OF FEELING ***<br>
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+</pre></body>
+</html>
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