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 A 
 
 PICTURE FROxVT LIFE: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 Of 
 
 EMMA TANKERVILLE 
 
 SIR HENRY MORETON. 
 
 QUID DECEAT, QUID NOX QUO VIRTUS, QUO FERAT ERROR. 
 
 HOK 
 
 BY HENRY WHITFIELD, M. A. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 i'KINTED FOR S. HIGHLEY, 
 CESSOR TQ THE LATE MR. JOHN MURRAY) 
 KO 24, FLEET STREET. 
 
 I 304-
 
 T. Gillet, Printer,Salilbury-%iare.
 
 m 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 J JTlE who endeavours to aid the cause 
 of virtue, to correct human passions 
 and follies, and at the same time to en- 
 tertain his reader, may justify his claim to 
 the merit of good intentions, even if he 
 should not succeed in his grand object, 
 that of benefiting the community. 
 Among many vulgar errors, perhaps there 
 is not one more prevalent or dangerous 
 than this: " That Novels are unworthy 
 the attention of men of any education 
 or literary acquirements ;" I could wish 
 that such trifles, as they are frequently 
 called, were rated higher. The daily, 
 demands for them from those accom- 
 modating caterers of the public, the Pro- 
 prietors of Circulating Libraries, prove 
 that they are entertaining. The. praises 
 a 3
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 bestowed upon the writers of these 
 works, from which a knowledge of the 
 world may be safely and cheaply attained 
 or augmented, amount to a full demon- 
 stration of their use. 
 
 Among the ancients, we must sup- 
 pose this species of writing to have been 
 unknown, their silence being to be con- 
 sidered as a proof of this desideratum. 
 The Greeks, indeed, are characterised 
 by Juvenal, as bold historians ; and we 
 know that Livy has recounted incre- 
 dible and superstitious wonders, and not 
 a few romantic exploits; as Herodotus 
 also has done. The Satyricon of Pe- 
 tronious Arbiter, whose chief merit 
 worthy of notice is his elegance of stile, 
 has been handed down to us : I believe 
 this may be called a Romance. 
 
 The Fabliaux, descriptive of the early 
 ages of chivalry, were numerous in both
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 the eleventh and thirteenth centuries. 
 But Giovanni Boccacio, who has given 
 celebrity to the place of his birth,. (Cer- 
 taldo, in Tuscany) and who flourished 
 in the year 1313, may be considered as 
 the father of modern Romance ; and to 
 that author's Decameron, a varied and 
 elegant ten days entertainment, Shake- 
 speare and other writers are indebted for 
 the bases of some of their best super- 
 structures. 
 
 As Novel is nearly allied to Ro- 
 mance, it may not be improper, briefly 
 to notice the virtues and failings of the 
 last mentioned species of literature. The 
 feudal system gave birth to Romance. 
 She was beautiful, animated, lovely, 
 often humorous, but generally serious, 
 and was very well informed. At length 
 she became vitiated. Her followers, 
 no longer able or willing to check or re- 
 
 A 4
 
 V11I PREFACE. 
 
 dress outrageous grievances beyond the 
 law, began themselves to act the parts 
 of needy out-laws. Thus did these 
 dishonourable and wandering prodigals 
 no longer follow her virgin footsteps. 
 Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote, 
 gave Romance a death-blow ; and after 
 that spirited attack, abashed and routed, 
 she drooped her head, absconded, and 
 since that aera has not been seen among 
 men. She, however, who had been an 
 acknowledged favourite for such a 
 number of years, did not die in obscu- 
 rity without leaving an heir ; a Phoenix 
 arose from her ashes. This was her 
 youthful daughter, ycleped the Novel. 
 As long as the Novelist writes from 
 sound principles, there are hopes ; but 
 " excessive sensibility," or terrific chi- 
 meras, may be the cause of untimely 
 decay. It were pity, that the delicate
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 Novel should die from supernatural 
 terrors. 
 
 Although the present state of civi- 
 lized society has set bounds to the fancy 
 of the Novel writer, he may, while he 
 serves the cause of virtue, and makes 
 fiction approximate to truth, address 
 himself successfully to the passions, and 
 use the licence which poets and painters 
 claim ; so that, in addition to heroism 
 and sentiment, the reader may be 
 amused with refinement and correct- 
 ness. While the French can boast the 
 writings of Le Sage, (if revolutionary 
 prepossession will permit them to be- 
 stow praises en works written while 
 kings were on their thrones) we can 
 produce the stones of Fielding, Smollct, 
 Goldsmith, Moore; and the pleasing 
 novels of the fair writer of Evelina. Ce- 
 cilia; and Camilla. 
 
 As
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 It has always been my humble opi- 
 nion, that the pathetic Fielding knew 
 best the doctrine of <t£ie passions; and 
 the witty Smollet that of 1 Jinman 
 action. Both, however, knew men 
 and manners well ; and it is universally 
 agreed, that from the works of the in- 
 telligent scholar, and the acute histo- 
 rian, ♦nuch instruction and entertain- 
 ment may be derived. But here this, 
 truth forces itself upon my observation; 
 that the well known characters of Tom 
 Jones and Peregrine Pickle may do 
 mischief. Were any man to interro- 
 gate me as to which lesson I thought 
 the most useful in one of those excellent 
 novels, I should answer, " It is to be 
 found in that chapter in which Pickle 
 is thrown into prison," as the natural 
 consequence of extravagance. I do 
 heartily- wish, that every young man
 
 PREFACE. XL 
 
 would pause, and prudently take lei- 
 sure to consider, ere he plunges into 
 ungoverned and unprincipled excesses. 
 To be noticed in the columns of a 
 public print, or to fill the mouths of 
 artful and tricking gamesters, will be 
 but a poor compensation for an arrest, 
 the horrors of a prison, mental and bo- 
 dily suffering, ineffectual remorse, and 
 the neglect of friends. 
 
 I have endeavoured to depict in the 
 following pages, a young man of good 
 sense, and large fortune, as misusing 
 the former, and squandering the latter; 
 which, as well as good natural faculties, 
 is a most valuable talent, if reasonably 
 used. Such a man acts the character of 
 the patriotic Brutus, with this material 
 difference, that he assumes his folly, 
 without sharing his praise, on account of 
 such disguise. There is no tyranny to
 
 xii , in E face. 
 
 resist, but that which proceeds from his 
 own hecdlefs passions, there is no ene- 
 my to encounter but himself. Yet slight 
 attention is required to ensure to him a 
 prosperous, innocuous, and even praise- 
 worthy victory; and, that I may talk as 
 a philosopher, more glorious than those 
 gained at the Granicus and Issus, Phar- 
 salia, or on the plain of Marengo. Such 
 laurels are more estimable than those of 
 Alexander, Caesar, or Bonaparte. 
 
 Emma Tankerville is pourtrayed as a 
 lovely female, immaculate, as all ladies 
 who have any pretensions to character 
 should be. The author presumes, that 
 he shall not be accused of ill-will to- 
 wards society, in having chosen for his 
 heroine a young lady so remarkably ac- 
 complished. 
 
 Those who think that Sir Henry 
 Moretonis far too virtuous and correct,
 
 PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 may feci inclined to forgive a Novel 
 Writer, who maintains as a maxim, 
 that happiness in temporal life consists 
 in well governing the passions. And 
 the Author would advise such as have 
 not yet undertaken this task, to make 
 an useful experiment as speedily as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 The present political state of affairs 
 has prevented Emma Tankerville from 
 travelling to any country beside Ger- 
 many : further, it will not be contra- 
 dicted, that the Poet of Nature is good 
 authority for supposing a young lady 
 naturally solicitous to follow her lover. 
 Lastly, let not any scholar be of- 
 fended at the character of Doctor Ana- 
 pest. The honourable Mr. Pellet is not 
 the representative of all young men ; 
 nor is the character of Anapest the copy 
 of every classical scholar. The real
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 gentleman, even of good sense, may 
 smile at the extravagancies of Pellet. 
 The scholar will certainly never cen- 
 sure the Author for disclosing the foibles 
 of Doctor Anapest, as he can assure 
 them, he so much reveres science, as to 
 wish that it may never be improperly 
 applied. In this Picture from Life, he 
 has endeavoured to give a shade to some 
 prominent figures ; and if this perspec- 
 tive should please, or affect the mind 
 of the contemplative, he will have great 
 reason to be gratified with his drawling, 
 The Author had intended to have said 
 a few words respecting the publication 
 of a book, and suffering his name to ac- 
 company it ; but a conversation which 
 took place with a friend some few days 
 past, will serve in place of any other 
 introduction.
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 INTRODUCTION ! 
 
 Bring a Dialogue between a Friend of the Author 
 and himself. 
 
 Friend. So you are resolved to pub- 
 lish a novel with your name to it. I 
 saw it advertised in the Morning Post. 
 
 Author. This is my intention ; and 
 from arguing the subject, I do not see 
 any good reason to the contrary. Other 
 authors have prefixed their real names 
 to their own works. Besides, there is 
 an instance of one having been robbed 
 by not doing it. Virgil met with a thief, 
 one Battus, who pilfered his verses ; 
 the complaint of the modest Roman 
 deserves to be treasured as an historical 
 precept by succeeding authors. Few 
 have known the real authors of Chrysal, 
 Junius 's Letters, ox The Whole Duty of
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 Man. Besides, do we not see names 
 to every thing estimable ? Brunswick 
 Blacking Cakes, prepared by Mr. Tur- 
 ner, for instance, are sold with an ad- 
 vertisement, pro bono publico. " Words 
 cannot set forth its just praise, nor its 
 transcendant qualities be truly known 
 but by experience." The maker of 
 Cricket Bats modestly puts his name to 
 the end of his works, and is a caufe 
 of many good hits ; for his Cricket Balls 
 come off with flying colours, in a sub- 
 lime, but very irregular manner. Even 
 the Cutler has his name on the blades 
 of his works, and makes a most splendid 
 appearance; while his talents for sharp- 
 ness, penetration, and his good temper, 
 are loudly commended. 
 
 Friend. Animus est in patinis.* Yet 
 there may be some reason in what you 
 
 * His mind is in the dishes.
 
 PREFACE. XVII 
 
 have advanced. I do not recollect, 
 however, that Inigo Jones, truly a great 
 man, has affixed his name to the Ban- 
 quetting-house ; or that the Monument 
 tells us who was Its ingenious architect. 
 Author. Your supposition isjust. Yet 
 Horace has raised a monument more dur- 
 able than brass, with the hopes of being 
 known to posterity. That I may quote 
 his words, he says, 
 
 Exegi monumentum are perennius. 
 
 In a word, my volition is fixed ; 
 and I have only to observe, that my 
 Novel is neither particularly humorous, 
 sentimental, terrific, nor epistolary, but 
 a compound of these four essentials.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Our heroine introduced. — Our ideas are 
 improved by reflection and education. 
 Reasons for a young lady not declin- 
 ing p roposals for rriage. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A young man of fashion and his butt. — 
 A dinner party.— A mercha?it is hut 
 a quiz. — Euhgium on coffee. — Anec- 
 dotes respecting the examination of a 
 clergyman. - 20
 
 XX CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A dialogue between a French valet and 
 his master. — An erroneous idea of 
 charity. - - 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A masquerade. — A love elegy to a cook- 
 maid, and serious reflections drawn 
 from places of amusement . 40 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A singular character. — A great person- 
 age. — Duke of M — ch «r . — Duke 
 
 of North— nd. — A ballad si?iger in 
 character. — Serious altercation and 
 effects of gallant behavior. - / 54
 
 CONTENTS. XXI 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A challenge* — A good servant always 
 loves his master ■, and takes a fart in 
 his concerns. — Quarrels often happen 
 in the best regulated families. — A 
 female the cause of war before Helen 
 lived. - - - . 75 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A duel. — Dialogue between a fruiterer 
 and a nobleman of great fashion* 83 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A lawless libertine a second time is pu- 
 nished. - - -95 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A morning occupation. — Humanity is not 
 unbecoming female beauty or fashion.
 
 XX11 CONTENTS. 
 
 A scene of distress, which is humbly 
 recommended by the Author to the 
 opulent for their perusal. - 110 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Lester s history of his life. 134 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 In which Mr. Lester continues the his- 
 tory of his life. * - 1S3
 
 PICTURE FROM LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "*Ir laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 While proudly riding o'er the az.ure realm ; 
 in gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 
 
 Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm. 
 
 Gray 
 
 OUR HEROINE INTRODUCED— -OUR IDEAS 
 ARE IMPROVED BY REFLECTION AND 
 
 EDUCATION REASONS FOR A YOUNG 
 
 LADY NOT DECLINING PROPOSALS FOR 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 IT was now that season of the year when 
 Peers and Peeresses, Statesmen and their 
 Ladies, gambling Countesses, Knights of 
 the noble and illustrious Orders of the Gar- 
 ter, Thistle, and Bath, Esquires of inde- 
 pendent" fortunes and their families, ac- 
 cording to the arbitrary rules of fafhion, 
 are indulging their taste in rounds of 
 Vol. I. B
 
 elegant dissipation, preferring town to a 
 country residence. 
 
 For who would be so truly gothic, as to 
 delight in enamelled plains, where nature 
 boasts nothing new, but continues to deck 
 the earth with its favourite colour; who 
 would taste the cooling brook or listen to 
 the warbling chorister, when the Mall is 
 crowded with loungers of the first class, 
 when jellies may be purchased at Mr. 
 Candy's, and Mrs. Billington is allowed to 
 surpass the notes of her whom simple poets 
 call Philomel 
 
 This reasoning is conclusive, m nature 
 only listens to the feathered songster ; but 
 to the charming Anglo- Italian powdered 
 Critics from the pit, Dukes from the boxes, 
 the Cbronicadors of taste, fafhion and sense, 
 nightly sacrifice the most lavifh incense of 
 adulation. While the countryman scatters 
 seeds for the ensuing harvest, the pick^ 
 pocket is getting in his ; while 
 
 " The swain responsive to the milk-maid sings"
 
 female ballad - singers, or hardy - gurdy 
 players, delight their numerous auditors, 
 these perhaps chanting in bass-voice the 
 manners, dress and person of our formi- 
 dable enemy, those winding opera airs of 
 the newest fashion, which they assure you 
 upon their honors have not been out above 
 two winters : while Nature gives her aid in 
 teaching the promising plant to bud, Art, 
 with a more liberal hand, gives green peas 
 at three guineas a quart. 
 
 The reader of the least judgment .will 
 by this time, probably, have discovered that 
 it was the spring of the year, when Emma 
 Tankerville, in company with her aunt Mrs. 
 Maitland, sate working some flowers, which 
 seemed to rival the richest productions of 
 Flora. They had not yet left the metro- 
 polis for the country- — indeed their stile of 
 living did not allow them so far to depart 
 from custom as to exchange noise for tran- 
 quillity. Although the sun darted its bright 
 effulgence into the parlour, a fashionable 
 B2
 
 4 
 
 fire blazed, and the monotonous sound of 
 chimney sweep broke upon morning slum- 
 bers in the flowery month of May. 
 
 A long silence was thus interrupted by 
 Mrs. Maitland t " You have not, my dear, 
 forgotten Mrs. Mortimer's invitation to her 
 masquerade this evening, and however I 
 may be of opinion that much danger may 
 ■arise to unguarded persons of our sex, at 
 such places of amusement, yet it is not pro- 
 per, Emma, that you should be entirely 
 ignorant of fashionable entertainments. No 
 doubt, many good and worthy people, and 
 most genteel families, frequent them. By 
 the bye, your cousin Pellet, and Dr. Dash, 
 his tutor, dine with us to-day, and are to 
 escort us to the masquerade." 
 
 Emma briefly replied, " I shall be ready 
 to attend you, dear aunt." 
 
 " How much happier," Mrs. Maitland 
 continued, " are we than our neighbours 
 on the continent ; surely we can never 
 sufficiently thank Providence for ^uch es-
 
 pecial favours: when war rages with U 
 attendant horrors, we rest in secur at 
 home; while our brave armies encounter 
 their enemies in their own provinces, 
 the English family are free from alarms, 
 excepting those which arise from the 
 perils part of any family may undergo. In 
 the Gazette we read of the triumphs of our 
 brave countrymen, and if we cannot have 
 the full enjoyment of the comforts of our 
 fire-side, as in peace, we are not shocked 
 with the sight of a besieging enemy, and 
 the victorious entry of invading troops. 
 This we owe, child, in a great measure to 
 the superior nautical skill, not to add bra- 
 very and confidence of our seamen, and 
 those difficulties which may attend any 
 attempts ia the invasion of this country. 
 Our towns being in an unfortified state 
 arc brought as arguments by some for the 
 facility of the enemy's progress, but they 
 seem to forget that the want of fortified 
 towns would be felt by him in the same 
 B 3
 
 degree as with us. Happy England ! i\U\ 
 she know how blessed she was above all 
 nations." 
 
 To this spirited apostrophe of her aunt 
 Emma made answer, with a sigh. — 
 
 " I wish there was nosuchevil as war; for 
 evil you must allow it to be, dearest aunt : 
 not to enter into detail on the miseries it 
 brings, if we consider the increase of taxes, 
 and how many worthy and honest people 
 have their happiest moments embittered 
 by that dreadful calamity, surely peace is 
 preferable to the most glorious war." 
 
 " You talk like a simpleton, child ; war 
 is necessary to the English, or else how is 
 the balance of Europe to be preserved ?" 
 
 M And yet place humanity in the scale, 
 and the duties we owe our fellow-creatures, 
 and it may be no very difficult matter, dear- 
 est aunt, to conjecture which will prepon- 
 derate, or rather ought to do, on a fair 
 balance." 
 
 " Aye, child, you have not lived so long
 
 hi the world as I have," answered Mrs. 
 Maitland ; <£ war, I repeat, is necessary for 
 the preservation of our rights ; we under- 
 take war for the purposes of chastising our 
 enemies for insults given, for the safety of 
 our country, for maintaining our import- 
 ance. Was not England the enterprising 
 nation she is, her flag would be insulted, 
 the ports of other nations would be shut 
 against her vessels. The weakest nation 
 has much to apprehend from its ambitious 
 and powerful enemy. The Romans lived 
 by plundering its less warlike inhabitants. 
 The Chinese, in spite of their strong-built 
 stone wall, which was fifteen hundred miles 
 in length, were attacked and reduced by 
 the 1 artars two hundred and fifty years 
 ago. The Mexicans and Peruvians were 
 overrun by the inhabitants of Spain, then in 
 the meridian of her glory, and Poland un- 
 derwent a shameful partition, because she 
 was too weak to defend herself against the 
 ambition of Russia and the other neigh- 
 B 4
 
 bouring powers. Can you suppose, for one 
 moment, child, that England would be 
 spared by France, was she not able to 
 resist her attacks ? It requires slight pre- 
 texts to undertake a war, when there is a 
 probability of success. After the first Punic 
 war, the fate of Carthage was soon decid- 
 ed, and the ambitious Romans declared 
 war, when caprice, or ambition, suggest- 
 ed to them inordinate necessity. Whe- 
 ther the opening of the Scheldt, or the in- 
 sult of an ambassador is the reason given 
 for a declaration of war, avails little, if 
 the nations are jealous of each other. War 
 is an evil, I grant you, but necessary in 
 any world but an Utopian one, it must be 
 had recourse to." 
 
 " This argument is infallible, I dare say," 
 replied Emma, " but I wish the causes of 
 war were less trivial than they frequently 
 are ; the misfortunes it produces are so 
 heavily felt. Poor Miss Orwell, who is in 
 mourning for her brother, who caught the
 
 fever in the West Indies, and died there* 
 must think so, I am sure. When I see her 
 I pity her from my heart. He was a good 
 young man, and supported his aged mother 
 from his pay : they had reason to love him." 
 
 " He will be buried in St. Paul's cathe- 
 dral," said the political Mrs. Maitland, bri- 
 dling with an air o^ disdain, " his name will 
 be in the Gazette, and history will record 
 the virtues of Major Orwell." 
 
 " I tear Harriet would rather walk with 
 him arm in arm, or hear him read to her, 
 than share those honors, which, if not inva- 
 luable, arc little consoling to the living." 
 
 " Your father, Emma, was an officer." 
 At the mention of this circumstance, Mrs. 
 Maitland observed her lovely listener to 
 shew emotions of tender grief— Miss Tan- 
 kerville had already applied her cambric 
 handkerchief to her eyes, and also laid her 
 work on the table. 
 
 " My dear," said her aunt, immediately 
 collecting herself, and visibly alarmed, u I 
 B5
 
 10 
 
 did not intend to call up melancholy reflec- 
 tions : nothing, I hope, that you will think 
 so, was further from my intentions. My 
 brother was an honor to his profession ; 
 and brave as a hero in war, in peace embel- 
 lished society with the most refined hu- 
 manity. 
 
 * I have heard," said Emma, " that was 
 the character my poor papa always bore." 
 
 A flood of tears came to her relief, and 
 was a portrait worthy of the chaste Rey- 
 nolds. 
 
 Miss Tankerville was the only daughter 
 of an officer of distinguished rank ia the 
 army, and who had bravely fought in the 
 protection of his country, and helped to add 
 to her glory. On peace being made he re- 
 turned home, expecting to find the fondest 
 reception from his beloved Julia. He found 
 indeed what he had assured himself he 
 should find, if she was living. Yet, alas ! 
 how uncertain is the happiness of man t 
 Covered with honor, and blessed with an
 
 II 
 
 excellent, accomplished, beautiful, and lov- 
 ing wife, having a fortune which put him 
 in possession of more than an elegant suf- 
 ficiency, he was doomed to misery. On 
 his arrival, he embraced his little prattler, 
 Emma, but was informed that his wife was 
 suffering under a malignant distemper, and 
 that there were small hopes of her recovery. 
 Speechless with astonishment, and motion- 
 less with grief, her husband, Percival Tan- 
 kerville, was in a state of mind resembling 
 phrenzy. When he at length recovered 
 from the stupor into which this intelligence 
 had thrown him, he desired to be shewn to 
 her apartment, where he viewed his Julia, 
 pale with disease and already breathing her 
 last moments of existence. Recalled upon 
 her name ; at his voice she faintly turned her 
 eyes upon the faithful Percival, expressed 
 visible signs of joy, closed them, pressed 
 his hand, and embraced the little sobbing 
 Emma, our heroine, who hung by the bed- 
 side of her mother, and then pointing to 
 B §
 
 \1 
 
 her child, with difficulty articulated an eter- 
 nal farewel, smiled in the agony of death, 
 and sunk on the pillow to rise no more. 
 
 It was some time before the afflicted 
 mourners could be forced from the arms of 
 the deceased. Emma pulled off her shoes 
 for fear she should awake her mama, placed 
 her -fingers on her lips, intimating that si- 
 lence was to be kept, then repeatedly kissed 
 the pale cheek of her mother, and moistened 
 her face with her sobs. 
 
 " Speak, speaki" the innocent lisper cried, 
 " do, mammy, speak to Emmy— Papa, my 
 good papa, do make mammy talk." 
 
 She then tried in playfulness to open her 
 eyes, burst into tears, and pulled her dear 
 papa away for fear " he should die too, and 
 not be able to talk to his Emmy." 
 
 Struggling to bear this sad stroke, grief 
 overpowered Colonel Tankerville, and he 
 shortly followed his Julia to the grave. 
 With the, most forcible and affectionate 
 invocations and entreaties, he bequeathed 
 his feeble orphan to thturccf his sister.
 
 13 
 
 Mrs. Maitl.and followed the funeral of 
 her relative with unfeigned sorrow, and 
 rightly conceived th.it the best method of 
 testifying affection to her brother, was by 
 bestowing the utmost attention on the 
 education o!" his daughter. The favorite 
 maxims which she inculcated in the mind 
 of Emma were, that every gift of Heaven 
 was lent us for our improvement, and that 
 woman should in a peculiar manner reve- 
 rence herself, and should begin early to 
 keep, her desires in the strictest bounds, 
 
 Nature had adorned the person of Emma 
 Tankerville with every captivating grace. 
 An interesting softness beamed in her 
 countenance, her eyes were never so well 
 employed as when they spake tome lauda- 
 ble affection of her soul ; auburn hair array- 
 ed hsr person with the most bewitching 
 elegance, luxuriantly flowing down her 
 exquisitely turned shoulders. It was not 
 in the power of art to give beauty to the 
 fair Emma, but she always displayed judg-
 
 14 
 
 merit in her dress, for she did not think, 
 like many wise ladies, that dress was totally 
 to be neglected. While health tinged her 
 cheeks with the colour of the rose, it was 
 in vain that advertisements boasted of cos- 
 metics which gave superior bloom. She 
 might have been taken for one of those 
 nymphs, who in ancient times. were said- to 
 preside over rivers, fountains, and groves, 
 did not the majesty of her appearance shew 
 more of the goddess, than denote an infe- 
 rior attendant. She was of that age, when 
 the passions, useful as they are dir&ted, 
 make the most forcible impressions on the 
 heart, and unaffected sentiment was uttered 
 from her mouth, embellished with rosy lips 
 and the purest ivory. Yet those attractions 
 would not have been so much the general 
 topic of praise, when beauty was the theme, 
 had she not in public places been espied 
 through the glasses of some distinguished 
 connoisseurs, and pronounced by them a 
 devilish fine girl. Miss Tankerville then 
 was the reigning toast.
 
 15 
 
 I beg of yon, O profound connoisseurs 
 and acknowledged critics in that excellence 
 of nature, female beauty, not to judge 
 too harshly, but giving me a candid and 
 impartial hearing, allow that such an amia- 
 ble creature as Emma Tankerville might 
 exist, as I myself, I do assure you, have 
 the honor of being acquainted with one 
 who rivals her, nay, being in possession of 
 Xheje ne sguis quol of the French, joined to 
 more than a common share of English good 
 nature, to my taste, surpasses even the 
 lovely girl whom I have attempted, with 
 humble submission, to pourtray. 
 
 That I may not be guilty of inattention, 
 I shall briefly give the reader the outlines 
 of Mrs. Maitland's character. She was a 
 prudent, sensible woman, endowed with 
 much penetration, but fond of politics, and 
 remarkable for her knowledge in making 
 preserves and pickles, paying butchers and 
 bakers accompts, &c. 
 
 A thundering knocking at the street door
 
 16 
 
 announced the visit of some important per- 
 sonages, when the honorable Mr. Pellet, 
 and his tutor, the reverend Doctor Dash, 
 were formally announced. 
 
 " Ah, cousin Emmy," said the honorable 
 Mr. Pellet, who was dressed in extreme 
 fashion, " it is really an age since I have 
 seen you. May I never nick the caster if 
 it does not give me more pleasure seeing 
 you than winning the box. I have been 
 engaged all this week, and have had no 
 time to pay my respects to you. And how 
 do you do, aunt?" making a slight inclina- 
 tion of his body; " you wear as well as ever, 
 I think, for my part." 
 
 Again the knocker of the street door an- 
 nounced a third visitor, when Mr. Mait- 
 land was introduced into the room. H« 
 was politely welcomed by Emma, who ob- 
 served that " it was fine weather,'' and 
 asked him " if he brought any very par- 
 ticular news from the city?" 
 
 Of the mercantile class, steady though
 
 17 
 
 young, and following the business of a 
 
 British merchant, more from inclination 
 than necessity, Mr. Maitland stood unri- 
 valled for connections, assiduity in busi- 
 ness, respectability, and integrity. Far be 
 it from me to draw any invidious compa- 
 risons between men who adorn and benefit 
 society, but this gentleman's philanthropy 
 and public spirit were remarkable. 
 
 In all patriotic subscriptions, held at 
 Lloyd's or elsewhere, the name of Maitland 
 stood conspicuous; in him the wounded sol- 
 dier found his friend and benefactor, the 
 disconsolate and indigent widow her hus- 
 band, and in him the poor and friendless 
 orphan their parent restored to them. The 
 fond hope of his mother, he was good- 
 natured, intelligent, and handsome. An 
 union had been planned by his mother be- 
 tween her niece and Mr. Maitland; but 
 Emma was averse to such an alliance for 
 particular reasons; her disposition, gay and 
 volatile, was not suited to the reserved and
 
 18 
 
 prudent temper of her cousin. She consi- 
 dered the marriage ceremony, not as a mat- 
 ter of mere convenience, but as a most 
 sacred juncture of the heart and affections. 
 How, then, could she love James Maitland? 
 But she felt esteem and partiality for him, 
 and this she had openly, though reluctantly 
 disclosed to him, as it gave great pain to her 
 sensible mind to say any thing which might 
 wound his feelings. 
 
 He heard his sentence not without deep 
 regret, but, at the same time, with becom- 
 ing fortitude. Business, and long accus- 
 tomed habits of caution, had rendered him 
 cool and collected ; indeed his turn of mind 
 was not, by nature, disposed to passion, as 
 I have already observed. In addition to 
 this cogent reason, Emma Tankerville con- 
 sidered herself as too closely affianced by 
 the ties of consanguinity to enter into a 
 connubial alliance with her cousin, James 
 Maitland, although her aunt, who suffered 
 politics to sway her mind in most matters,
 
 *9 
 
 strongly urged, that the benefits resulting 
 from a family compact would be of infinite 
 utility and importance. This good lady 
 reasoned after the method of many others 
 who arc fond of suiting divine laws, as well 
 as human, to their own inclinations, and 
 rejoice when they espy an outlet through 
 which they may creep. The laws, passing 
 over the first cousin german, prohibit the 
 second from marrying. After this form 
 Solon devised a law for punishing murder, 
 but omitted any penal statute for parricide, 
 supposing that the spirit of the law, which 
 was shewn in one instance, would prevail 
 in the other, and sufficiently demonstrate 
 his intention. 
 
 CHAPTER
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Thrice happy sons of Cam, whom Proctor's rage 
 Rarely molest, whether your snorting steeds 
 Snuff, from afar, Newmarket's well-known breeze, 
 Or furious pant to gain the verdant heights 
 Of Gogmagog. mai/rice's poem*. 
 
 A YOUNG MAN OP FASHION AND HIS BUTT. 
 
 A DINNER PARTY. A MERCHANT IS 
 
 BUT A QUIZ. EULOGIUM ON COFFEE. — 
 
 ANECDOTES RESPECTING THE EXAMI- 
 NATION OF A CLERGYMAN, 
 
 AT dinner, the honorable Mr. Pellet 
 proposed to Doctor Dash, by a well-known 
 intimation and familiar sign, to run down 
 the merchant. Gladly would I relate to 
 my fair reader an account of the various 
 jokes which were cut at the expence of 
 the most glorious personage we boast of 
 in our isles ; but I am aware that a 
 repetition of the words " bore/' " lounge"
 
 21 
 
 " quiz," " lumber/' " tip them the go by,** 
 " P*y w g the Spanish," " row," " Sunday 
 
 buck/' u dished," " devilish cunning," and 
 terms of similar import, would not please, 
 but might, on the contrary, much disgust 
 the delicate and refined taste of her to 
 whom I may have the happiness of address- 
 ing myself. 
 
 I will now attempt to give my reader 
 some account of the dignified clergyman 
 present at Mrs. Maitland's : his face re- 
 sembled the figure of a human counte- 
 nance carved out on some sticks, curious 
 in their make, and the bald places of his 
 head, as those of Caesar's were covered with 
 laurel, were concealed with powder ; with 
 this difference in their respective charac- 
 ters, that the Roman General took the lives 
 and properties of those whom he gloriously 
 encountered, while the Doctor w 7 as con- 
 tented with property alone. In plain 
 words, be constantly frequented Newmar- 
 ket; and the spring meetings he ludicrously
 
 22 ^ 
 
 called the Easter offerings. It was here that 
 he, by his consummate knowledge in bet- 
 ting, contrived to pick up a fortune of eigh- 
 teen hundred pounds per annum. He was 
 a member of all the whist clubs in the fa- 
 shionable part of the town, kept his mis- 
 tress, drove a green chair, kept two horses 
 besides a groom, was remafkable for the 
 neatness andmakeof his leather-breeches, 
 groomish waistcoat, and the jockey cut of 
 his coat, as well as the elegance of his tooth- 
 pickcase, mounted snuff-box, whip, curious 
 and silver-mounted sticks, and silver spurs. 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet having en- 
 joyed high fun, and joked sufficiently, as 
 he termed the frequent sallies of his intem- 
 perate humour, thus disclosed the cha- 
 racter which he intended to assume at 
 night: 
 
 " It is my scheme to go as a mail-coach- 
 man ; I'll shew them what's fun. Dick 
 Whipcord, who was a d d clever fel- 
 low, a most terrible scholar, and under-
 
 23 
 
 stood Latin as well as driving four in hand; 
 by the bye,a better coachman neverhandled 
 reins, has frequently let me into a secret or 
 two. Ihave not been at Cambridge for no- 
 thing. Many a time and oft, as Shakespeare 
 has it, have Dick and I roughed it on the box 
 in cold frosty nights ; snow or rain it was all 
 one to me. I had but to be in chapel next 
 evening. O d — mc, Dick was a precious 
 fellow. He was the lily. He was all the 
 go with us. I would wager fifty pieces to 
 as many shillings, and will post the ruples 
 at any time, that not a square cap in either 
 university could keep ground with him. 
 He outran, curse his queer gumption (here 
 the honorable senator laughed for the 
 space of two minutes)-— Dick outran all 
 the learned ones ; he would be a rolling 
 stone to every don. May I lose the odd 
 trick with four honors in my hand,, if the 
 rumgumptious fellow did not poze all the 
 Doctors from the bachelor to the caput 
 I have him in my mind's eye, he beat them
 
 24 
 
 hollow, did he not, doctor ? Oh he was the 
 fily, was he not the lily, doctor ?" 
 
 The reverend gentleman to whom the 
 question was proposed, perfectly knew his 
 duty and assented, picking his teeth with a 
 complacent smile. 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet then pro- 
 ceeded to give his hearers a powerful dis- 
 play of his strength of lungs, by vociferating 
 the view halloo. 
 
 " As for you, right reverend," the noble 
 youth continued, tc you will go as my friend 
 Critic counselled me to day, when I met 
 him in Bond-street, you will go as editor 
 of the Scandalous Chronicle, a new daily 
 paper. Ladies, will you look at the printed 
 hand-bills? they are really monstrousqueer." 
 
 So saying, he politely delivered one into 
 Emma's hands, who read the following : 
 " Speedily will be published, 
 " A New Daily Paper, 
 "The Scandalous Chromcle." 
 
 4< The Editor begs leave to acquaint
 
 25 
 
 ladies of all distinctions, nobility, clergy, 
 and gentry, that this public print is to be 
 conducted on a most improved and exten- 
 sive scheme ; and he has the hope that, by 
 hints, surmises, and well-founded conjec- 
 tures, he will be enabled to gratify his 
 readers, and place this glass of fashion on a 
 most respectable footing. He confesses that 
 a great part of the necessary support must 
 be owing to the fortunate war which has 
 taken place, marriages, and the contradic- 
 tions of them, rumours of .the death of 
 placemen and great personages, by which 
 he humbly hopes to gain an honest live- 
 lihood. — Price 3d. Taxed by the Pre* 
 mier yl? 
 
 Emma could not refuse the tribute of a 
 smile to a scheme so well drawn up, and so 
 likely to succeed. 
 
 Mr. Maitland now withdrew, it being 
 post night, and as soon as he was gone, 
 the honorable Mr. Pellet, and Dv. Dash, 
 descanted on the superior qualities of a bo;. 
 
 Vol. I. C
 
 25 
 
 *vivant, apologizing at the same time to 
 Mrs. Maitland for their freedom. 
 
 " For without freedom of speech/' 
 said Dash, " where would be the boasted 
 liberty of the subject ? What though I was 
 rusticated at College, and suffered as a 
 martyr to the cause of freedom of speech ; 
 you cannot refuse to drink, ladies, you can- 
 not refuse drinking, cousin Emmy, the ex- 
 cellent toast of Liberty to all Britons." 
 
 Here he laughed heartily, and poured 
 out four glasses of sparkling champaign, 
 then helping his aunt and cousin to two 
 bumpers; Dr. Dash followed their example; 
 indeed he drank by prescription. 
 
 The ladies now retired to the drawing- 
 room, where they were soon followed by 
 the gentlemen, who after arranging their 
 plans for the ensuing week, and their bets 
 at the nextNewmarket meeting, drank cof- 
 fee with the view of clearing their brains. 
 " What is it that makes Lord H — y speak 
 so eloquently on the subject of war and
 
 27 
 
 commerce? Coffee is the cause of Lord 
 Cas — gh so strenuously supporting, in such 
 a clear train of reasoning, the constitutional 
 measures of Mr. A n. What gives poig- 
 nancy to the satire of the honorable Win. 
 W tn ? Nothing but this excellent be- 
 verage? What enables Mr. P 1 to use 
 
 such demonstrative reason, or such sophistry 
 and self-government in disclosing his un- 
 feigned sentiments; or from whence pro- 
 ceeds such bright emanations of reason from 
 his late great colleague, Lord M — Iv — lie ? 
 Coffee is, I assert, the principal cause. 
 
 " The use of this valuable berry renders 
 the politician shrewd, the divine eloquent, 
 the lawyer skilful. If such be its valuable 
 qualities, I charge you, O young men ! to 
 drink large draughts of it, as, without such 
 assistance, it may be difficult to shine in 
 the senate, bar, or pulpit." 
 
 The reverend divine had once the honor 
 of reading prayers before the Prince of 
 who observed that he never heard prayers 
 C2
 
 28 
 
 read in such a manner before. The bon, 
 Mr. Pellet always related this anecdote 
 with considerable effect, winking his eyes, 
 and, by an expressive smile, intimating the 
 double meaning that his Royal Highness 
 intended to convey. This story was told re- 
 gularly, to the great edification of the com- 
 pany, wherever the right hon. gentleman 
 and his tutor dined. Indeed Dash was an 
 excellent butt at all times to his patron, 
 who commanded not only two boroughs, 
 but had the disposal of two rich livings. 
 This made the man of the gown exert 
 himself; " for," says a celebrated French 
 writer in his maxims, w every action pro- 
 ceeds, in a greater or lesser degree, from 
 self-love." 
 
 Another story upon record concerning 
 our divine is, that when he went to Oxford 
 for the purpose of being admitted to his 
 degree, he was met by his fellow student, 
 and once college companion, in the 
 streets, who enquired what brought him to
 
 29 
 
 " What 1" said the doctor, " Sir. can 
 yoiv suppose, but the intention of taking 
 my degree?" smiling and shewing those 
 teeth which nature had taken great care to 
 place in a conspicuous point of view. His 
 friend took the liberty of questioning him 
 to clear the doubts which he entertained c£ 
 his having prepared himself for examination; 
 but finding him ignorant as to subjects of 
 divinity, he abruptly asked him " Quis ge- 
 nuit Eclipse ?"* To the immortal disgrace 
 of both universities; it so happens, that 
 there are some dull fellows foolish enough 
 to consider that hippomany and dashing 
 character are not perfectly consistent with an 
 academical education or a clerical life. The 
 Doctor was not in the least irritated ; little 
 acquainted with the language of the Ro- 
 mans, he did not know what most boys of 
 the second form at Eton do, that genuit 
 whs the preter- perfect tense of gigno, to be- 
 get ; but having read the name of Eclipse, 
 
 * " Who was the sire of Eclipse ?'• 
 C3
 
 30 
 
 of whose excellence he was well informed, 
 as well as pedigree, dam, grand-dam, sire, 
 grand- sire, fleetness, matches, cups, and 
 plates won, he flattered himself that it was 
 some great compliment paid him; and hav- 
 ing read the praises of horses in transla- 
 tions, for he ever read the classics in Eng- 
 lish, he bowed, returned the compliment, 
 asked his friend, who had been busily em- 
 ployed in writing an abstruse explanation 
 of the seolic digamma, to come and meet 
 some university men at the Angel Inn, to 
 a dinner party. 
 
 . And here it is with grief I mention, that 
 the Doctor was particularly unfortunate 
 that evening, for one of the company de- 
 tected him peeping through the key-hole, 
 intensely exercising his curiosity in ascer- 
 taining, as he usually did, whether the 
 party in his absence drank more wine than 
 -was exactly their share. He was of course 
 fined a bumper of salt and water, and oblig- 
 ed to drink it. It was in vain he pleaded
 
 31 
 
 the sacred office of president^ and it was to 
 as little purpose that his friend brought 
 quotations from Anacreon and Horace, to 
 support the chair. The horrible potion was 
 prepared, mixed, and the Doctor was 
 drenched. The infamy also was told in 
 Soho, published in Newmarket, and the 
 Philistines rejoiced, for the beauty of Israel 
 was fallen, the sons of Israel wept over the 
 Doctor : nor was this the termination of his 
 misfortunes : the next day, on being asked 
 by the examining chaplain, who was the 
 author of the Pentateuch, our Apostle, who 
 was certainly not a man of letters, replied, 
 after some hesitation, he believed St. Paul. 
 The gentleman, who examined the can- 
 didates for orders, and who was a good na- 
 tured and learned man, smiled at his mis- 
 take; and as some school-boys have saved 
 their seat of honour from being exposed, 
 by being fortunate enough to raise a smile 
 upon them from the master, the Doctor 
 saved himself the expences of another jour- 
 C4
 
 32 
 
 ney to Oxford, a circumstance of no trifling 
 moment in his judgment, and escaped 
 being plucked; and lest the boys, as he 
 called the students, should make sport of 
 him, as speedily as possible, swifter than 
 the rook, our 1 ignorant Apostle from the 
 powers of Isis took hi$ flight.
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A FRENCH VALET 
 
 AND HIS MASTER. AN ERRONEOUS IDEA 
 
 OF CHARITY. 
 
 -A.FTER drinking tea, the Statesman arid 
 his dependant retired to their respective ha- 
 bitations to dress for the evening. 
 
 When the honorable Mr. Pellet reached 
 home, he rang for Facile, his valet de 
 chambre. The obsequious foreigner in an 
 instant made his appearance; his principal 
 merit and utility were speaking the French 
 language and broken English so as scarcely 
 to be understood. To this talent was added 
 a certain degree of complaisance, which 
 honest John Bull in his blunt way is fond of 
 stiling meanness, fawning, or cant. 
 
 The following dialogue commenced be- 
 tween the master and his valet. 
 C5
 
 34 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " Facile, are 
 there any letters for me ?" 
 
 Facile. "* Oui, Monsieur, (with the 
 lowest bow, giving the right honorable Mr. 
 Pellet a letter) the honorable Monsieur 
 Thomas Vortex has sent dis note for you." 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet reading : • 
 
 " Dear Pellet, 
 " To-morrow Belcher fights. The Olym- 
 pics ! Rare sport ! My brown mare, Som- 
 mers-town, has been entered for the cup at 
 Epsom. Patriot is out of condition, and 
 certainly no favourite. It is inconceivable 
 how deep in I am ; two thousand on one 
 race. Kill or cure, dish'd or made. Audacl 
 fortuna favet, but she does not smile al- 
 ways. Betsy Paint wel has left me. Con- 
 verted, by all that's treacherous, a draft I 
 gave her of £.200 into £.2000 ; so that I 
 am, let me recollect — eighteen hundred 
 minus. Cunning jilt! but I'll serve her 
 a trick. I expect pocketing the stuff in a,
 
 35 
 
 month or six weeks, as t'other Betsy, the 
 sow, is in excellent condition ; the bets are 
 already, Bess against the man, five to four. 
 Laura bolted at Chelmsford. Have you 
 anv horses entered for the cup ? Sommers- 
 town is in fine order for running, she is the 
 
 lily. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Thom. Vortex." 
 Thursday, 5 o'clock. 
 
 Facile. t( I have de honour, Monsieur, 
 ("bowing) to present you wit anoder billet 
 from mi Lord Shuffle, (making another 
 low bow, and most submissively placing the 1 
 note in his hands.)" 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet reading ; 
 
 " Dear Jack, 
 
 " Do you attend the lower house on the 
 budget ? I really want cash. Am mon- 
 strous poor. Cannot therefore send you 
 the three hundred clue for billiards and ha- 
 zard, but must borrow two hundred more., 
 C 6
 
 36 
 
 to make up the five, if convenient. The 
 weather is uncommon hot. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 Shuffle." 
 
 " P. S. A verbal answer will do if you 
 cannot send supplies." 
 
 Facile. " There have beside called on 
 you, Monsieur, (bowing) de tailleur, two 
 jockies un marchand, qui vend du vin, 
 Monsieur Soleil, un jeweller, Monsieur Di- 
 d**ot, un opera dancer, Monsieur Issachar, 
 the great broker, qui est ver rich." 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " Very well, 
 my good Facile. Honest Issacar is a 
 d. . . . d good sort of fellow. He is the lily." 
 
 Facile. " Ah, mon Dieu ! mais Mon- 
 sieur, (emphatically shrugging up his shoul- 
 ders) mais Monsieur (smiling, and putting 
 his hand to his breast) une demoiselle 
 charmante, tres belle, com this evening, she 
 says dat she love you, that she, en verite, 
 adore you, enfin elle dit que vous etes bar- 
 bare, ingrat, and dat she will be ver incon- 
 solable."
 
 37 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " Adorable 
 creature! but if I hear a tittle of French 
 from you, I'll break every bone in your 
 skin." 
 
 Facile. " Maamsclle look ver pretty, 
 Sar." 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " You French 
 devil, fetch my masquerade dress." 
 
 Facile. " Ah vous etes toujours gai, 
 Monsieur, toujours plaisant, just like one 
 Frenchman exactement." 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " None of 
 your jabbering, Sir, depechcz vous and be 
 d d." 
 
 Facile. " I fly en verite, Sar,I fly, (scrap- 
 ing very low on the ground, and hobbling 
 out of the room) ma foi ! peste ! le diable 
 (muttering to himself) dis corn does plaguy 
 me so, I must pay one visit to M. Gardi- 
 ner, who has cured de Duchess of Riga- 
 doon's pieds." 
 
 The honorable Mr. Pellet. " What is
 
 3« 
 
 that you say, you old fool ?"■ (shoving Km 
 violently out of the room.) 
 
 Facile, (returns and makes a low bow) 
 <f I have de honour of having received one 
 big push from you, Sar. I am ver oblige, 
 Sar, ver, ver much oblige indeed." 
 
 " Is such a man," said the honorable 
 Mr, Pellet, as the Frenchman again quitted 
 the room, " to pretend to have a genius for 
 liberty? Plague take such rascalsv If he 
 did not make me laugh, I would have caus- 
 ed him to troop long before this time. I be- 
 lieve I am the most charitable and generous 
 fellow on earth, to protect him." 
 
 Howmiany, like the honorable Mr. Pel- 
 let, imagine and call actions laudable, which 
 if they should be investigated, will be found 
 solely to oiigtnate from caprice. 
 
 Having dressed, he threw himself into 
 his chariot, and was driven to Portland- 
 street. 
 
 The hon, Mr. Pellet Was one of those 
 gentlemen, who, contrary to the common-
 
 alty, who get their bread by the sweat of 
 their brow, are scarcely able to endure the 
 fatigue of walking, or rather lounging; can- 
 not dine after the manner of les bourgeois, 
 pronounce the wine that is not to be traced 
 to the ample cellars of Carbonel or Chal- 
 lier, most intolerable, and vile compound; 
 must be regular in their visits to Tatter- 
 sall's, and enjoy no self satisfaction or gra- 
 tification, but consider that they have lost a 
 (/jj>, if they omit lounging at places of amuse- 
 ment, where all the world go. In short, 
 in the course of the revolving year they 
 have shewed themselves in particular par- 
 tics; seen particular races; conversed with 
 
 licular people; danced with particular 
 women; played particular games of billiards; 
 
 le particular matches at crickets; been 
 at particular whist parties, plays and operas; 
 eiicored particular actors and actresses; and 
 eaf of particular dislus; besides having dis- 
 charged their duties as members of parlia- 
 ment at a few r ar:.;cular debates.
 
 '40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 O she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an JEthiop's ear. 
 
 Shakspere — Romeo and ^itllcf. 
 
 A MASQUERADE. A LOVE ELEGY TO A 
 
 COOK-MAID, AND SERIOUS REFLECTIONS 
 DRAWN FROM PLACES OF AMUSEMENT. 
 
 A SINGULAR CHARACTER. A GREAT 
 
 PERSONAGE. DUKE OF M CH< R. 
 
 DUKE OF NORTH ND. A BALLAD SIN*- 
 
 GER IN CHARACTER. SEUIOUS ALTER- 
 CATION AND EFFECTS OF GALLANT BE- 
 HAVIOR. 
 
 JCiMMA bad habited herself in the cha- 
 racter of a nun; her auburn and long tres- 
 ses of hair were artfully concealed under a 
 neat cap, her garment sat close around her 
 lovely form, while a string of beads hung 
 from her neck of purest alabaster, and
 
 41 
 
 Shading the fine cambric, formed an ele- 
 gant contrast, and 
 
 On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 
 Which Jews might kiss and Infidels adore. 
 
 Lovely Emma, in whatever dress art sup* 
 plied, thou wert sure of pleasing. Immor- 
 tal shalt thou be, if my humble panegyric 
 can make thee so. 
 
 At the settled hour of appointment the 
 parties drove to Berkeley Square, where 
 they were politely received by the hostess. 
 Mrs. Maitland was in a plain domino, con- 
 ceiving, as she wisely observed, a strict 
 neutrality in the present times was most 
 expedient and salutary, and in this plan 
 she but followed the policy of the imperial 
 court of Vienna. 
 
 The rooms were crowded, and the num- 
 ber of visitants exceeded five hundred. 
 There were to be met Dianas without 
 chastity; Falstaffs resembling Shaksperc\> 
 humorous knight in nothin g save thebulk
 
 42 
 
 of their persons; sailors scented with es- 
 sences, city swains, right honorable milk- 
 maids covered with rouge, ballad singers 
 opulent in acres of dirty land, noble Jew- 
 brokers, and dukes metamorphosed into 
 chimney-sweepers and watermen* Among 
 the eharaeters was a Telemuchu-s, who had 
 taken lessons in dancing from Did**Gt, and 
 whereas the wise Ion of Ulysses was distin- 
 guished by his solid wisdom and admirable 
 judgment, the excellent qualities of his re- 
 presentative seemed solely to lie in his 
 bee!§» His Mentor was an Israelitish stock- 
 broker, to whom it was reported he was 
 greatly in debt. Emma, who made houses 
 speak, and bears most amoroufly growl^ 
 did not escape sundry impertinent addresses 
 from this motley groupe, who came to see 
 and be seen. A Quaker accosted her with 
 distorted grimace, and protested with more 
 than simple asseveration, (< that he felt in- 
 wardly moved with strange qualms, that 
 the spirit had wrested with the flesh to lit-
 
 43 
 
 tie purpose, and that he felt a very urgent 
 inclination, yea a strong impulse of the 
 inward man to be affianced to the lovely 
 person of his goodly sister ; yea he longed 
 to make her one of the faithful, and to put 
 her in the right way.*' 
 
 " 1 wonder," rejoined our bfifdne, n that 
 i ventured into the tabernacles of the 
 ■■-idly ; verily thou art entrapped by 
 Beelzebub, and the machinations of the 
 evil one have vanquished thy devout sf. 
 ums, and altered thy demeanor. Thou 
 Bli content no longer to confine thy lan- 
 re to the discourse of the faithful, but 
 must swear, forsooth! Oh fie on it! I ab- 
 hor sueh sinful ways, and reprobate thy 
 manners, friend, as having some regard for 
 thy soul. I therefore do advise thee in fu- 
 ture to let thy light shine clearly, and to 
 shew that delicacy and modesty peculiarly 
 grace thy religious profession, friend." 
 
 The Quaker departed, abashed and con- 
 founded, but no sooner was honest Ami-
 
 44 
 
 nadab gone, than a Sailor protested " that 
 it was a shame to see so fine a vessel with- 
 out convoy, and offered to take charge of 
 it himself, free of all expence and pilotage: 
 though/* added he, smiling, <*■ to judge by 
 the black signals that she hung out, she 
 might be considered as a lawful prize, and 
 wanted nothing but a mate on board." He 
 then made a short salute to her, entertained 
 the nun with the boatswain's notice for all 
 hands on deck, from a silver whislle which 
 hung from a button of his blue jacket, 
 and danced a hornpipe. 
 
 She was suddenly accosted by a person 
 in the character of a Poet, who exclaimed, 
 starting with admiration, which, had such 
 acting been real, would have done no dis« 
 credit to his judgment : 
 
 Angels were painted fair to look like you. 
 And then suddenly proceeded to Milton — 
 
 Grace was in all her steps, heav'n in her eys^ 
 la every feature dignity and love. -
 
 4 5 
 
 u How pensive you seem, fair nun/* 
 said the Bard ; " perhaps you are in love, 
 and come from the cloister to find the ob- 
 ject of your affections, resembling the fair 
 maid whom the Bard of Avon has so ex- 
 quisitely described. 
 
 She never told her love, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek — 
 
 " Or, do you observe with Goldsmith, 
 
 That the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
 With all the wanton freaks of wealth array 'd, 
 In these, ere triilers half their wish obtain, 
 The toil possessing sickens into pain ; 
 And ev'n while Fashion's brightest arts employ, 
 The heart, distrusting, asks, if this be joy? 
 
 " Yes, lovely Emma, you sigh for the 
 healthful sports which 
 
 " Grace the peaceful green" — " the busy mill," 
 The distant church that tops the neighb'ring hill— 
 " The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
 That only shelters thefts of harmless love :" 
 
 these objects are, I am confident, more 
 pleading to your gentle bosom."
 
 46 
 
 After the manner of the improvisatori, he 
 addressed these stanzas to her: 
 
 The world, it has been often said, 
 
 Sweet maid, I'll prove it true, 
 Is nothing but a masquerade, 
 
 Which cheats the shallow view. 
 
 The minister is mask'd I fear, 
 Who courtly bows and smiles ; ■ 
 
 But " hear him," and John Bull 'tis clear 
 He of his cash beguiles. 
 
 Thus learned, reverend, sage divines, 
 
 'Gainst Pharisees will preach ; 
 But them, sad knaves, Ben Block defines^ 
 
 And swears that they will peach. 
 
 While sons of Mars tremendous swear, 
 Tell you of hair-breadth 'scapes — 
 
 Trust not great oaths, sweet maid, beware 
 Of empty jackanapes. 
 
 When lawyers plead, they mean your good, 
 
 Declare that truth they speak ; 
 Can those your friends be understood, 
 
 Who chiefly money seek ?
 
 47 
 
 * While Galen's pupil stalks most grave, 
 Prescribes, and gives advice ; 
 Say, friend, that you no money have, 
 He quits you in a trice. 
 
 Turks, Jews, and Quakers, City Swains, 
 
 Heroes and Clowns forsooth, 
 And many a Pallas without brains 
 
 Compose this motley groupe. 
 
 Tho' Vice may Virtue's vestment wear, 
 
 Cheat superficial sight*— 
 Lo ! in novitiate garment fair, 
 
 Truth Felly puts to flight. 
 
 Such characters as thine are blest, 
 
 Thy charms a goodly shew. 
 (Dread critics frown not — ) mayst thou rest, 
 
 Hilam ex domino < 
 
 " Thou must be an exquisite Poet, bless- 
 ed with such a peculiar and happy talent of 
 flattery ; but, prithee, be sparing of your 
 jests. I shall content myself with observ- 
 ing, that to you the language of Waller to 
 Charles the Second may be used, when a 
 Poet of your description attempted to ex-
 
 48 
 
 tenuate his panegyric on Cromwell. Ac- 
 complished, Sir, you succeed better in fic- 
 tion." 
 
 " I consider myself more than repaid in 
 a smile from the admirable Miss Tanker- 
 villc," answered the humble attendant on 
 the Muses. 
 
 Making a respectful bow, the tattered 
 Poet then begged leave to put into her 
 hands, with all due submission, some poetry. 
 
 " You will find," said he, selecting one 
 from a parcel he had tied with a silk rib- 
 bon, " a love elegy addressed to a mistress. 
 You already are informed that, since the 
 fourteenth century, in which the fair Laura 
 was mistress to the fond Petrarch, poets 
 have ever had ladies who inspired their 
 writings ; and, that I may speak metapho- 
 rically, stirred the fire of their imagina- 
 tions." 
 
 The elegy was accompanied with a card 
 describing the place where he lodged. On 
 it were the following couplets:
 
 49 
 
 No man sure alive, 
 
 My ills could survive. 
 
 In a garret I live, 
 
 At my means pray connive ; 
 
 For 1 never shall thrive, 
 
 Miss, while senses are five. 
 
 Emma, by the light of a lustre, read the 
 following heroics : 
 
 An Ode by a half-famished Poet on his 
 Mistress, who is remarkable for her sauce, 
 and provides bucks on which wits may 
 richly feast, and make trenchers, even 
 wooden trenchers, servicable: 
 
 My charming Skimmer, pretty maid, 
 
 Dear warm bewitching beauty, 
 How shall one of the rhyming trade, 
 
 Expressive shew his duty ? 
 
 -e sweet than sound of jack's thy tongue^ 
 Thy skin as soft as chicken, 
 Were I an apron round thee hung, 
 How eiquisite the picking! 
 
 Vol, I, D
 
 50 
 
 O cease, fair maid, to stir the fire, 
 
 Forbear, I'm burnt to tinder — 
 Thou thoughtst me 'chance dead to desire, 
 
 As dull as any cinder. 
 
 On me, half-starv'd, but deign to look, 
 
 I'm thin as thy thread-paper ; 
 For sop in pan to court thee, cook, 
 
 What crime in one so taper ? 
 
 E'en now, methinks, as here I stand, 
 
 I see the mutton roasting ; 
 Zooks, could I such nice meat command, 
 
 Vain, transitory boasting. 
 
 'Tis done, how lovely red and white ! 
 
 I'm vanquish'd, wretched sinner ; 
 Grant me, ye gods, one glorious bite, 
 
 That bite shall be my dinner. 
 
 Hold ! hold, my chops, break, break, my heart, 
 
 My grief, sure, is amazing ; 
 How can I eat thy venom'd dart, 
 
 O love ! thy fire so blazing ? 
 
 Yet bones with thee I'd pick, thou cheat, 
 Blind, wanton, wretched bungler ; 
 
 'Sdeath, must flames my marrow eat ? 
 When lo, I die of hunger !
 
 51 
 
 O were I tied to some tough steak, 
 Thy pigeons, love, had in a pie : 
 
 Or had thy heart for pity's sake. 
 Or else some fish to fry ! 
 
 Queen of the kitchen — fire and tongs # 
 
 Shall famine me impede — 
 Shall he, to whom the Muse belongs, 
 
 Of roast beef stand in need ? 
 
 Queen of the kitchen, on me smile, 
 
 O lead me to the larder — 
 Ye Frenchmen laugh, grow fat meanwhile, 
 
 My case, how strange, is harder. 
 
 Nice is the sirloin, nicer yet 
 
 Puddings, that Skimmer makes ; 
 
 Nicer than sirloin is my Bet, 
 Or puddings made of steaks. 
 
 When unto vermicelli thou 
 
 Reduc'd, alack ! shall be ; 
 My grief shall flow, dear Betsy, how 
 
 •Shall I hold tears for thee ? 
 
 Now, if one cutlet be my treat, 
 
 Refresh 'd, thy praise I'll sing : 
 The Nine, plague take them ! have no meat, 
 
 No liquor, save their spring. 
 D2 
 
 Of IV
 
 5% 
 
 So shalt thou be the earliest toast, 
 
 When 'chance I may carouse — 
 So shalt thou, Betsy, rule the roast, 
 
 By many envied spouse. 
 
 While our heroine was intent upon com- 
 paring life with the scene that was before 
 her eyes, where it was evidently the em- 
 ployment of many to appear in false co- 
 lours, and, like the ass of Cumac, put on the 
 lion's skin, roaring horribly ; where chas- 
 tity appeared decked with meretricious 
 charms, and genius afforded criticism to 
 folly, and busy characters entertainment to 
 the sombre, sedate, and prudent dominos ; 
 where many of this motley groupe ere long 
 shall be obliged to lay aside their masks, 
 strip off their dominos, and appear in their 
 proper characters^ Then will Pallas no 
 longer trip it in the airy maze, and but a 
 mere mortal, instead of the lance, resume 
 the needle ; and she who has been employ- 
 ed in retailing sentimental morality will 
 4hen sip tea, or lose money at dear picquet.
 
 53 
 
 Then, too, will Diana* receive the gilt, wire- 
 wove, and charming billet doux ; and, so 
 far from being scrupulously chaste, will me- 
 tamorphose her dear spouse into a greasy 
 animal that wears horns. Thus also, at a 
 tristful period, will Momus'j v weep over his 
 steward's accounts. Weightier inferences 
 than these, arising from the busy scene that 
 flitted before her, engrossed the attention 
 of Emma, when a Diable Boileux polite-ly 
 introduced himself. 
 
 * The Goddess of Chastity. 
 f Momus had the honour of btiag jester among 
 the gods. 
 
 D3
 
 Si 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ah, pearly drops, that pouring from those eyes, 
 Spoke the dissolving cloud of soft desire ! 
 What time cold sorrow chili'd the genial fire, 
 
 " Struck the fair urns, and bade the waters rise." 
 
 Soft down rhose cheeks, where native crimson vies 
 With ivory whiteness, see the crystals throng, 
 As some clear river winds its stream along, 
 
 Bathing the flowers of pale and purple dyes. 
 
 Whilst love, rejoicing in the amorous shower, 
 Stands like some bird, that after sultry heat 
 Enjoys the drops, and shakes his glittering wings; 
 
 Then grasps his bolt, and conscious of his power, 
 Midst those bright orbs assumes his wonted seat, 
 And thro' his lucid shower his livid lightning flings. 
 
 Roscoes Life of Lorenzo de MeJicU 
 
 <C DEIGN, beautiful Nun, to behold a 
 devil who summons resolution, notwith- 
 standing the modesty and charms which 
 guard your person, to address you. You 
 behold in me Asmodeus." A plume of 
 feathers added little to his height, which 
 was characteristically diminutive; a crutch 
 supported his steps, and he was habited as 
 a Spaniard.
 
 55 
 
 m My knowledge, fair lady, perhaps may 
 be useful ; it will tend probably to dissipate 
 the ennui which intrudes into places of this 
 kind, in defiance of all attempts to shut 
 out the envious gnome from fashionable 
 amusements. 
 
 " Already," he continued, " is an ob- 
 ject worthy your notice passing before you. 
 The gentleman in the character of a hair- 
 dresser is a politician, who assumes, from 
 love of the chattering character, the habit 
 of a personage who is generally communi- 
 
 vnnvo in ttio VAtrCiriC WiiCti ptvijrva^up tire Oil 
 the tapis. This war has placed him in the 
 situation of Razor; * he is completely ia 
 the suds;' like him, too, he conjectures 
 from the most trivial causes. The frowns 
 of the Minister produce an electric shock, 
 and nothing less than the success of our 
 enemies can be pourtrayed by such ill omens. 
 Turn your eyes, lovely fair one, to that 
 handsome young man in a Turkish habit; 
 he lately left his wife for the more agree- 
 D4
 
 56 
 
 able charms of the daughter of a celebrated 
 female gamester, with whom he eloped. 
 His protege and himself have contrived to 
 run out every shilling of his wife's fortune, 
 who is at this moment suffering the acute 
 pangs of mental malady, arising from ne- 
 glect and ill usage, and is actually confined 
 in a private madhouse. 
 
 " He who has chosen the habit of a 
 watchman, is of that class of statesmen who 
 were wittily called alarmists during the last 
 administration. On the rattle which he 
 carries you may reau, pniutcd SI hffge and 
 very distinguishable characters, f Helve- 
 tian Slaver¥, Copenhagen Meetings ;' 
 and encircling his staff, is a label marked 
 * Convention Bills.' His watch-coat has 
 these words, a ' Regicide Peace ;' as he 
 ever sides with the ministry, who are deter- 
 mined to support the state against surprize, 
 you will remark the initials A. A., import- 
 ing that he belongs to A— 's Admini- 
 stration.
 
 57 
 
 cc And here, lovely Nun, suffer me to pass 
 an eulogy, such as I can confer on the poli- 
 tical character of Mr. S n, who is at 
 
 this moment followed by a Hebrew Money- 
 lender, and who, like the rest of the fraternity, 
 wishes to get a sight of his dear monish. 
 
 " Every man has two characters, which 
 may differ in themselves; his public and 
 his private. The ablest Minister the Eng- 
 lish nation possibly ever had at the head of 
 affairs in the most critical times, was the 
 very worst manager of his domestic con- 
 cerns. In his public character this gentle- 
 man ably vindicated himself, in answer to 
 a right honorable statesman, who is remark- 
 able for his pointed speeches ; he defied 
 that witty and satirical senator to produce 
 an instance of his having given up one 
 pledge, deserted any connexion, or acted 
 in an unfaithful manner to any of his friends. 
 In the hour of peril and dismay, he has 
 come forward and offered to assist govern- 
 ment with his advice; and, disdaining to 
 sacrifice his talents to party, has set a noble
 
 58 
 
 example of patriotism before those who are 
 the representatives of their countrymen, 
 the defenders of their rights, the guardians 
 of their safety, and promoters of their pros- 
 perity. At the mutiny of the Nore, the 
 conduct he shewed has called forth a de- 
 serving eulogy from the Minister, for he 
 never orcc enquired who the commander 
 was, what were the principles of this or 
 that party. The ship was in distress ; a 
 storm, which had been gathering for some 
 time, was bursting on our devoted heads, 
 and involving us in destruction. We were 
 in danger of being wrecked on a hostile 
 coast, where the enemies of order and esta- 
 blished government would have shewed no 
 pity, but have given encouragement to the 
 disorderly, and those who might hope to 
 profit by such scenes of confusion. All was 
 dark and dismal ; the cloud, heavy with 
 mischief, hung over us, when that gentle- 
 man came forward, and acquired, by his 
 disinterested conduct, the name of an in- 
 dependent patriot. It is an eulogy which
 
 59 
 
 the page of history will establish ; it will 
 be, as the Minister observed, more lasting 
 than any praise that he could bestow. 
 
 " When the murder of a late Lord Chief 
 Justice of Ireland was reported in the Bri- 
 tish Parliament, this gentleman, whose po- 
 litical virtues arc exemplary, evinced huma- 
 nity, firmness of mind, and an unbiassed 
 patriotism. Such conduct, if the times are 
 so degenerate as writers represent, must be 
 grateful to us who are lovers of the first 
 country in the world. 
 
 " But here comes a noble personage. — No 
 
 other than the P of ***** ; adorned 
 
 with elegant manners, he is not deficient in 
 the most exalted virtues. A noble instance 
 of charity, fair stranger, stands upon re- 
 cord. The widow of an officer led a re- 
 tired life in the company of two daughters, 
 being her sole comfort, in Hampshire. She 
 was one morning thus surprised by a visit 
 from the *** ** **** as a private gen- 
 tleman. " Madam, I have done myself 
 the honour of calling on you ; to which I 
 D6
 
 6o 
 
 have been induced by the report of your 
 excellent domestic economy. These lovely 
 girls, I conclude, are young ladies who 
 have been reported to me as your daugh- 
 ters. I am particularly fond of the piano — 
 Shall I have the pleasure of hearing one of 
 them play an air?" The eldest sat down 
 and played a favourite piece of music. 
 
 " Faith, Madam, such rare talents ought 
 not to languish in obscurity. My sister 
 is in want of an attendant. I shall do my- 
 self (with your approbation) the pleasure of 
 informing her that I have found such a 
 treasure. In me you behold a sincere well- 
 wisher and friend ; and that, from the very 
 great respect I owe to the memory of her 
 deceased parent, who, pardon my bringing 
 bis loss to your mind, was, Madam, as brave 
 an officer to my knowledge as ever adorned 
 his Majesty's service. I dine at four o'clock, 
 am a close neighbour, and shall expect to 
 see you shortly at a family dinner." 
 
 " So saying, he took his leave of the 
 daughters, most respectfully bowed to their
 
 6} 
 
 mother, and assured her that he would 
 shortly call again, and mounting his horse 
 rode home. 
 
 " Punctual to his promise, a few days 
 afterwards, and attended uy a single ser- 
 vant, he called on the good lady dressed in 
 mourning. After conversing with her some 
 time, he told her, " that she was placed on 
 the pension list ; that, in so doing, he had 
 simply performed his duty, by rewarding 
 the widow of a brave defender of his coun- 
 try. And, dear Madam," said the first 
 gentleman in the land, " as your laugh- 
 ter will stand in need of a few necessaries, 
 and as I should not be willing that she 
 should expend money out of her own pri- 
 vate purse, I beg, as a particular favour, 
 that you will suffer her to accept of this 
 trifling sum." And placing a bank note 
 of one hundred pounds, folded so that the 
 amount could not be seen, on the table, he 
 wished the astonished mother and the young 
 ladies, who burst into tears expressive of 
 their gratitude, a good morning. But this
 
 62 
 
 anecdote is only one amongst many, all 
 equally distinguished for the generous and 
 delicate manner in which this accomplished 
 personage bestows his favours. 
 
 "Am I deceived ?" said the conductor of 
 our heroine, who was much pleased with 
 his good sense and fund of anecdote, " if 
 not, it is a mask which is familiar to me. 
 The lady is a jeweller's wife ; and while 
 the good man her husband in the morning 
 is trafficking with the Jews on Change, 
 she, in the evenings, is spending the pro- 
 ducts of his merchandize, and her West 
 India property, in routes, fetes, and mas- 
 querades. 
 
 " Those two gentlemen, who have just 
 passed, are noblemen. The one is the 
 Duke of M ; and, if dexterity in row- 
 ing deserves a badge of honour, no water- 
 man who rows to win a wherry from his 
 brethren, sons of the Thames, is more de- 
 serving. He knows the depth and width 
 of the river perfectly, is acquainted with 
 every shoal and turn of the reaches, and is
 
 63 
 
 as good a fresh water sailor as ever bandied 
 a sheet, or feathered a scull. 
 
 " The nobleman fr©m whom I had the 
 honor of a gracious salute, is, as you un- 
 doubtedly know, Miss Tankerviile, his 
 
 grace the Duke of N ; but possibly 
 
 you have to learn that he is the patron of 
 a distinguished actor. His grace is em- 
 ployed in the winter evenings, when our 
 Roscius does not perform at Drury Lane, 
 in listening to the native eloquence and 
 masterly delineations of the human pas- 
 sions, as penned by the wise Shakespeare, 
 an entertainment to the mind rational and 
 instructive." 
 
 The friendly Asmodeus would have con- 
 tinued his remarks, had he not been sum- 
 moned by a party, among whom were some 
 ladies. For, although deformed in person, 
 he still won the afTvctions of many females 
 by his superior mental qualities; and it 
 must be acknowledged that he was a most 
 entertaining and instructive companion :
 
 64 
 
 indeed,- he seemed to be endowed with 
 knowledge similar to that of the spirit whose 
 character he assumed that evening. 
 
 A crowd were assembled round a man in 
 the character of a lottery office keeper, 
 who was distributing ballads, which were 
 written in the following stanzas: 
 
 Since lotteries engross all the men of the town, 
 Tho' friendship may counsel, sour critics may frown, 
 In the lott'ry I'll venture, and if I do wrong, 
 The stake is but trifling, my friends, a mere song* 
 
 Of all men, who venture our poets to blame, 
 What, tho' he should seek for illustrious fame, 
 He'd surely be wrong, much gold had he sought, 
 For the firm of the Muses is scarce worth a groat. 
 
 The Mechanic, the Lawyer, the Merchant all try, 
 Some folks will buy good, reputations some buy. 
 But all is a chance, to-day Fortune smiles, 
 To-morrow she frowns, where end all her wiles ! 
 
 The Courtier, who glitters in silk and brocade, 
 I am sure by his looks deep gaming's his trade; 
 At the levee he waits, while cooling his heel, 
 Bows, squeezes, and smiles, shew he's skill'd in the 
 wheel.
 
 05 
 
 it-jobber games, now a bear, then a buck, 
 He who once was so gay, now limps a lame duck ; 
 With cheats throngs the Alley, thus Mister Consol 
 Much talk' J of his monisli, but meant tol-de-rol. 
 
 The Lover, I am certain, games all the while, 
 He depends on an ogle, lives on a smile ; 
 Secure, pray, the ars'nic, remove all the ropes, 
 His mistress chance frowns, how forlorn are his 
 hopes I 
 
 And Members of Parliament tickets will buy, 
 If 'tis but to vote for a nation's supply. 
 The game is afloat ; come all take a frisk ; 
 Each miss, and each master, must love to be brisk e 
 
 The Gamester a fortune at Brooks's would win; 
 The Miser by trying his favorite sin: 
 What a fool must he be, each ill has its cure, 
 He freely should spend, why don't he insure ? 
 
 The Old Maid of fifty, a sixteenth would share, 
 How bless'd, could she bring her scheme but to 
 
 bear. 
 Cheer up, my old lady, the men are not nice, 
 Shrewd Walpole afHrm'd each man had his price.
 
 66 
 
 Our Sailors and Soldiers their chances have sought, 
 And obtain'd, happy men, the goods that they 
 
 ought, 
 Their country's applause— be they ever carest ! 
 May the shades of our heroes in happiness rest. 
 
 All prizes, no blanks— the scheme is so good, 
 It needs but be whisper'd, to be understood. 
 Our country is threaten'd, we'll beat back our foes ; 
 Fortune favours the brave, the coward o'erthrows. 
 
 The good man, who never reluctantly buys, 
 Must win, for fair Charity gives him the prize; 
 Make a trial, my friends, in this scheme 'tis confest, 
 Tho' puff's little profit, the ventures are blest. 
 
 Should sellers their consciences venture to sell, 
 I know where they'll go to, most likely to h — r-. 
 Of this you are certain, each knave, stead of hope, 
 Should have, what he very well merits, a rope. 
 
 Should you, my dear friends, in a lott'ry insure, 
 May you find Goodluck safe, and Hazard most sure! 
 If it suits, you'll chances then share with a wife, 
 Then may wealth banish grief, and harmony strife ! 
 
 The honorable Mr. Peilet and Doctor 
 Dash were amusing themselves with some 
 ladies of haut ton, young fashionables, who
 
 67 
 
 set censure at defiance, by boldly plunging 
 into every species of dissipation, viz. drive 
 curricles, ride in Hyde Park regularly on 
 the Sabbath day, for the purpose of being 
 gazed at by the commonalty and astonished 
 tradesmen, who live in the vulgar part of 
 the town; keep their hunters; give card 
 parties, routes and masquerades ; hurry to 
 watering places at the decline of summer, 
 where they amuse themselves with sailing, 
 racing, and attending auctions, Sec. <kc. 
 
 Mrs. Maitland was engaged with an in- 
 timate friend in close conversation, when, 
 to complete Emma's misfortune, a mnsk, 
 habited as a corpulent Prior, approached, 
 and gazing on her lovely person with ea- 
 gerness, grasped her hand, and carrying it 
 to his mouth, imprinted a kiss, declaring, 
 that he should esteem it a miracle of good 
 fortune, and leading to the greatest happi- 
 ness, were he permitted to be her confessor. 
 
 " Charming daughter," he added, "suf- 
 fer me to declare the more than paternal af-
 
 6s 
 
 fection I feel for you. Your penance for 
 sins committed shall be very slight, and I 
 absolve you, by the power of the church, 
 from all indiscretions; let me then do ho- 
 mage to the cross which , encircles that 
 beauteous spot where the graces and the 
 loves reside." 
 
 Terrified at his language, and more so at 
 bis behaviour, Emma in vain cast her eyes 
 round the saloon for her friends, when a 
 character, masqued as a Spanish Chevalier, 
 came to her assistance, exclaiming, in a 
 voice manly and gentlemanly 
 
 K When the virtues, sweet daughter of 
 our holy church, is insulted, who shall pro- 
 tect such suffering innocence, if the Casti- 
 lian is forgetful of true piety, and neglects 
 the dictates of courage ? And thou, (ad- 
 dressing himself to the mask) whose garb is 
 but a cloak, I fear thy religion lays no 
 deeper than thy exterior, and thou art, to 
 my apprehension, some ravening* wolf in 
 sheep's cloathing; as such thou wilt come>
 
 69 
 
 under my severe chastisement, if this lady 
 has cause to complain of impertinent ad- 
 dresses from a man who can offend the 
 modesty of a female, and violate the laws 
 of hospitality. This lady, Sir, who ever you 
 are," raising his voice, <: I consider as under 
 my protection, and the least insolence 
 which the lawless libertine may offer to 
 her, shall not go unpunished : force me 
 not, 1 beg of you, Sir., to adopt such me- 
 thods." 
 
 *•' What insolence!" exclaimed the mask, 
 £; it is thus I shew you- how little I regard 
 your threats : and I advise you as a friend, 
 valorous Don Diego, to secure your re- 
 treat. This lady is refractory, and wants 
 some salutary counsel," attempting at the 
 same instant to ravish a kiss from the beau- 
 teous lips of the affrighted Emma. 
 
 The Castilian seized the mortified Prior, 
 and threw him with great violence from the 
 fair Nun. The son of the church assumed 
 a boxing attitude, when, after a very short
 
 70 
 
 contest, in which the gallant stranger dis- 
 played much English science in pugilism, 
 the Prior fairly gave in, measuring the floor 
 with his length. 
 
 And now the friends of each party had 
 arrived on the place of combat, when a 
 young gentleman, whose name was Daun- 
 cy, and who was the intimate friend of the 
 Spaniard, dressed in a pink domino fringed 
 with silver, joined the assailants, and inter- 
 posing, saved the fallen assailant from fur* 
 ther chastisement, saying, " Prithee, Har- 
 ry, leave the mortified Baronet to the com- 
 punctions of his self-accusing conscience." 
 
 Sir Richard Oliver, for that was the name 
 of the Baronet, was no sooner able to rise 
 from the ground, than he gave his card, 
 and declared he should find some oppor- 
 tunity of returning so gross an affront. 
 
 Poor Emma stood breathless with terror 
 during the dispute, and felt little relief 
 when Sir Richard Oliver left the party who 
 had collected together, when they begged
 
 71 
 
 the favor of knowing to whom they were 
 indebted for such signal kindness ? 
 
 " My name," the mask replied, " is Sir 
 Henry Moreton, I am dignified with the 
 title of Baronet; at present I am disengag- 
 ed, and am seeking for some fair partner in 
 life, but, alas! in this parterre of roses, how 
 few are those which afford any pleasure to 
 my eyes. Until now, I had bidden defi- 
 ance to Fortune, and the attempts of that 
 blind boy, who, I find, makes even philoso- 
 phers, and people of all habits, and all na- 
 tions, own his power. May I be permitted, 
 ladies, (gracefully bowing) to pay my re- 
 spects to you to-morrow morning, when I 
 shall not fail making my inquiries respect- 
 ing your health. It is you, (he added) 
 lovely stranger, (particularly addressing 
 himself to Emma, and resuming his cha- 
 racter) it is you who have fixed the heart 
 of your devoted Knight, and a proud Cas- 
 tilian is in one moment your devoted and 
 humble slave."
 
 He then shewed his love in a more ex- 
 pressive language. The eyes are said to 
 be indexes of the soul ; and I believe that 
 they interpret love's purposes more briefly 
 and more successfully often, than even im- 
 passioned oratory and elaborate periods. 
 
 The sage Lavater has ventured to decide 
 on the merits of individuals by the most 
 prominent lines of their faces. As for me, 
 I can assure my readers, that I never had 
 the honor of an interview with the Philo- 
 sopher of Zurich ; nor was my physiog- 
 nomy from any particular request submit- 
 ted^ to his profound inspection. Moreover, 
 1 shall at present leave the reader in igno- 
 rance, whether my nose is long, or my 
 chin round, or if my eyes speak distrust, 
 anger, joy, hope, or any passion, they will 
 excuse the omission of my portrait, from 
 which they might be enabled to draw con- 
 clusions. Nor do I choose to be judged 
 ill-natured, splenetic, or ugly, because I 
 have a particulat cast on my countenance.
 
 73 
 
 No! no! Mr. Philosopher, you shall not 
 pass sentence of condemnation on me be- 
 cause I have a particular eyebrow or extra- 
 ordinary chin. You may decide, with due 
 permission, on the merits of a dead author, 
 whose character has been already publish- 
 ed ; but your oracles, respecting the living, 
 are, in my humble opinion, too dubious to 
 be relied upon. I am as God formed me. 
 
 The reader will pardon this impertinent 
 digression. 
 
 Sir Henry Moreton was a handsome 
 young man ; his eyes were peculiarly ex- 
 pressive; and whenever he discoursed on 
 any useful or virtuous topic, it was easy for 
 an observer to form conjectures of the 
 most favorable kind. He was good natured, 
 brave, and not selfishly prudent. His black 
 hair and dark eyebrows formed an agree- 
 able contrast with the complexion of his 
 face and regular and enamelled teeth; and 
 when be smiled, few females could refuse 
 the tribute of admiration to a countenance 
 
 Vol. I. E
 
 74 
 
 so interestingly elegant. His manners were 
 prepossessing, and he enjoyed an indepen- 
 dent fortune. Young Moreton was really 
 an enviable man. 
 
 The parties now took their leave of each 
 other, inviting the friendly stranger to 
 Portland-street to breakfast the next morn- 
 ing ; they then quitted the rooms. 
 
 During their ride home, Emma Tanker- 
 ville spoke highly of Sir Henry Moreton's 
 conduct, and Mrs. Maitland joined in the 
 panegyric. Already had that penetrating 
 lady discovered that her niece was deeply 
 in love.
 
 7o 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A CHALLENGE. A GOOD SERVANT AL- 
 WAYS LOVES HIS MASTER, AND TAKES A 
 PART IN HIS CONCERNS. QUARRELS OF- 
 TEN HAPPEN IN THE BEST REGULATED 
 
 FAMILIES. A FEMALE THE CAUSE OF 
 
 WAR BEFORE HELEN LIVED. 
 
 SlR Henry and bis friend Dauncy were 
 supping together, when a note was brought 
 to the former, desiring an immediate an- 
 swer. After toasting the health of Emma 
 Tankerville,the loveliest woman of the crea- 
 tion, in a bumper of champagne, he opened 
 the note, and read aloud as follows : 
 " To Sir Henry Moreton" 
 " Sir Richard Oliver presents his com- 
 pliments to Sir Henry Moreton, and doubts 
 not but he will justify his claim to that 
 satisfaction which his injured honour de- 
 E2
 
 76 
 
 mands. Sir R. O. solicits the honour 
 of Sir H. M's. presence in Hyde Park 
 precisely at the hour of five to-morrow 
 morning, where it is requested Sir H. JVL 
 will appear duly attended." 
 
 Thursday evening, 1 1 o'clock* 
 
 C( So thus," cried Morcton, "my expec- 
 tations are fulfilled ; and I must not only 
 chastise the Baronet, but take, his life, or, 
 branded as a coward, be liable to his fur- 
 ther insult. Such are the imperious -laws 
 of modern honour. Dauncy, can you pre- 
 vail on yourself to attend me ?" 
 
 His friend would have dissuaded him, 
 but knowing the disposition of Moreton, 
 who, with all his good qualities, had some 
 tinge of pride, he was compelled to be si- 
 lent. The letter he wrote ran thus : 
 
 " Lovely Miss Tankerville," 
 " To say that I admire you is a phrase 
 too cold to express the sensations I feel for
 
 77 
 
 you. I love you to distraction, love rages 
 through all my veins. Yet, and this solely 
 embitters my thoughts, ere a few hours 
 shall have elapsed, I may not be able to 
 converse with you, to think on you when 
 absent, to tell you the affection I entertain 
 for you. Heaven forgive my murmuring! 
 I go with the intention of meeting Sir 
 Richard Oliver. My life in your cause 
 will not be thrown away. Should fatal 
 necessity prevail, I intend embarking for 
 the Continent. My destination wiil be 
 Vienna. Do me then the favour to accept 
 my picture, it will bring me perhaps to re- 
 membrance, when I am far from you. Ah, 
 Miss Tankcrviile, there I am already vul- 
 nerable, to be parted from one whom I 
 love. May I presume to cherish a hope, 
 that you will place me sometimes in your 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I beg leave to introduce to your ac- 
 quaintance my friend Dauncy. A more ap- 
 proved gentleman, or worthier man, does 
 E.3
 
 78 
 
 not exist. Bear me in ydur recollection : 
 I carry a sweet remembrance, which nei- 
 ther time, nor absence, nor misfortune, 
 can erase. Sweet are the impressions which 
 affection has engraven on the tablet of my 
 heart. They will remain fixed. May your 
 happiness be improved by health, and 
 every possible circumstance. 
 
 Thy fond, most sincere, and ever 
 devoted admirer, 
 
 Henry Moreton." 
 
 Grosvenor Square, Thursday evening* 
 
 He likewise wrote an answer to Sir 
 Richard Oliver, conforming to his wish. 
 Having made his will, in which he left the 
 greatest part of his fortune to Miss Tan- 
 kerville, excepting a handsome legacy to 
 Dauncy. and having written a letter to the 
 Earl of Sunderland, he expressed his inten- 
 tion of retiring as early to bed as possible, 
 waving all unnecessary ceremony with his 
 bosom friend.
 
 70 
 
 Dauncy shook hands with him, and pro- 
 mised to meet him early in the morning. 
 
 " Yon will deliver this letter to Miss Tan- 
 kcrville," observed Moreton. " My good 
 friend, you must bring some eminent sur- 
 geon with you, to accompany us to the 
 ground." 
 
 " Would it were possible," replied 
 Dauncy, " to prevent this misfortune :" the 
 grief which arose in a manly but sensible 
 bosom, stopped his speech, and he energe- 
 tically grasped his friend's hand, as he took 
 of him an affectionate leave. 
 
 Gentle reader, will you please to descend 
 into the kitchen, and learn what was pass- 
 ing among the domestics. 
 
 The butler was reading to the cook, who 
 sat dozing in her elbow-chair, tired after 
 the fatigues of preparing dinner, while 
 Nanny, the chambermaid, to whom honest 
 John had shewn testimonies of ardent af- 
 fection, was working a border to her cap ; 
 when, having snuffed the candle, and do 
 
 E4
 
 80 
 
 manded attention, clearing bis voice with 
 three successive hems, John read as fol- 
 lows : " Extract of a letter from Brus- 
 sels. — We expect shortly Monsieur Burna- 
 party, the first Consol, (plague take the us- 
 percr!) from thence he will visit Mass-iride, 
 Lige, Ax la Chapel, and the banks of the 
 Rind. Yesterday a duel was fought be- 
 tween Mr. M and Capt. L of 
 
 the navy. — What fools! 1 ' exclaimed John, 
 putting the newspaper on the table; " what 
 fools ! to fight duels, when, if they had 
 ventured their lives in the sarvjee of — 
 " Go on," said Nanny, " dear John." 
 
 John took up the newspaper and read 
 again. 
 
 " Yesterday a duel was fought between 
 
 Mr, M- and Capt. L of the navy, 
 
 concerning a lady." 
 
 '< Greater fools than I first thought 
 them," said John ; u for my part, I would 
 never fight about a female, who changes 
 her mind as often as the weathercock 
 points different ways."
 
 8i 
 
 " A'}. John," said Nanny, smartly, " you 
 
 forget the time when you and Tummas^ our 
 coachman, had stripped to fight about me, 
 because I know who was jealous. Don't 
 you recollect, John, when I came between 
 you, and parted you ; and yet it was a 
 daced hard matter to make you put your 
 clothes on and sit quiet, John, you know 
 it was ; and who, pray, was the fool then ? 
 Don't I recollect, Tummas telling you that 
 your forks were so dirty, that a man might 
 ride to Rumford on them, and that you 
 was always the fiddle of the company :'' 
 
 " No matter of that," said John; " why 
 don't they fight with fistcs ? a bloody nose, 
 or a blow in the bread-basket, is all they 
 would get then ; but here, dang it, Nanny, 
 the very thoughts of it makes one's blood 
 run cold: gemmen, who ought to know 
 better, as having laming, will fight with 
 barking irons or cold steel. Curse those 
 barking irons, I cannot bear them; they 
 E 5
 
 82 
 
 suit thieves or pirates, but gemmen to fight 
 with barking irons, as they do, Nanny, is 
 heathenish." 
 
 Here the bell rang, and John was desired 
 to get his master's pistols ready. He obey- 
 ed, muttering something respecting his de- 
 testation of duels. Moreton,to mislead him, 
 told him he was going on a journey, 
 and he wanted his pistols ready on such 
 occasion early in the morning. Had John 
 known the real intention, he would not 
 have obeyed his* master, for he loved him 
 faithfully, and was one of the best of cha- 
 racters, a good and honest servant.
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A DUEL. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A FRUI- 
 TERER AND A NOBLEMAN OP GREAT 
 FASHION. 
 
 AT a very early hour Sir Henry Moreton, 
 with the afflicted and much-to-be-pitied 
 Dauncy, accompanied by a surgeon, went to 
 the Park, where they met Sir Richard Oliver, 
 his second, and a medical man. The 
 ground was measured ; when Sir Richard, 
 claiming the first fire, had nearly termi- 
 nated the adventures of Sir Henry Moreton; 
 for with his deaih this most entertaining 
 history must have ceased, since it is not in 
 the power of any writer to bring the dead 
 to life, however bold in other respects his 
 style may be. 
 
 The ball discharged from Sir Richard 
 Oliver's pistol grazed the coat of his anta- 
 EO
 
 8 4 
 
 gonistjwhowas content to fire in the airland 
 then asked him if he was not convinced 
 that he had acted in an improper and un- 
 becoming manner. Sir Richard Oliver de- 
 sired him to keep his ground, and firing his 
 second pistol near the worthy Baronet, that 
 gentleman, seeing no 'alternative, shot the 
 contents of his pistol not into the air a se- 
 cond time, but wounded Sir Richard Oliver 
 dreadfully, and in such manner as to cause 
 great effusion of blood; who, falling, cursed 
 his unlucky stars, which prevented him 
 from taking ample revenge. 
 
 Leaving him to the care of his friend 
 and the surgeon, after ineffectual attempts 
 at some reconciliation, recommending 
 Emma again and again to Dauncy, accom- 
 panied by a faithful valet, he departed in a 
 post-chaise for a sea-port with all possible 
 expedition, where he took his departure for 
 Vienna, which place he reached, having 
 had a journey uninterrupted by further 
 difficulties. We shall leave him there at
 
 85 
 
 present; melancholy, on account of his ab- 
 sence from the object of his affections, 
 Emma Tankervillc, and the fatal affair 
 which had caused him to leave his native 
 country ; although this sorrow "was allayed 
 by recollecting that it was in protecting 
 innocence from the assult of libertinism, 
 that the dispute originated. 
 
 His antagonist was carried home, and in 
 a public print on Saturday the duel was 
 thus described : 
 
 " Yesterday morning, at an early hour, 
 a meeting took place between two Baro- 
 nets of distinguished notoriety and fashion. 
 The origin of the dispute was a lady, who 
 had all the reserve as well as the habit of 
 
 a nunnery. Sir R O , who has 
 
 never submitted lo any insult without re* 
 Ben ting it, acted on this occasion, as on all 
 others, like a man of courage, deter- 
 mined that the assumed clemency of his 
 opponent should not shelter his cowardice. 
 The base assassin, Sir H M- , who
 
 86 
 
 wounded him, has embarked for the Con- 
 tinent. Sir R O is dreadfully 
 
 wounded in the groin. He is confined to 
 his ctiamber, but we hope, to the great sa- 
 tisfaction of his numerous friends and most 
 respectable acquaintance, that he will 
 shortly be able to go abroad. The seconds 
 
 were Mr. D— — . and Sir T W . 
 
 This is another instance of duelling depriv- 
 ing society of a valuable member ; his loss 
 must be sensibly felt, as the Imperial Parlia- 
 ment is now sitting." 
 
 It is almost needless to observe, that this 
 paragraph was sent to the editor of the 
 newspaper by the moral Baronet himself, 
 who was the first to blame duelling, aU 
 though he had been the aggressor ; but do 
 not others do so ? Too many are obnoxious 
 to this reproof I am afraid, and ainsi va h 
 monde, or in plain English, it is the way of 
 the world. 
 
 The Baronet, the doughty antagonist of 
 Sir Henry Moreton, had absolutely felt ho-
 
 87 
 
 nours thrust upon him by this rencounter; 
 and though a plain and very different state- 
 ment of facts was recorded in the other 
 papers, yet the circle of his acquaintance, 
 owing to this cause, was enlarged. 
 
 It was true, he limped from the wound; 
 but to compensate in some measure for this 
 disaster, Doctor Cynic became his friend, 
 bowed to him when they accidentally met in 
 Bond-street, and noticed him with a marked 
 distortion of his countenance. The Duke of 
 Compass always saluted him, and Mr. 
 Clog-the-wheel, member of Parliament for 
 the very ancient borough of Grumbleton, 
 became his friend ; not to mention the 
 kindness of the Marquis of Frippery, he 
 was a welcome guest at the Dutchess of 
 Loo's, and the honourable Mrs. Faro wrote 
 the name of Sir Richard Oliver among 
 those of her regular visitants. 
 
 Poor Emma received the letter and pre- 
 sent accompanying it, from the hands of 
 Dauncy ; but when she heard an account
 
 88 
 
 of the duel, and all its circumstances, she 
 fell back into the arms of her aunt; who 
 herself wanted support. It was fortunate 
 that Dauncy and her cousin, the honorable 
 Mr. Pellet, were present. Essence of salts 
 and assiduous assistance at length restored 
 her to her much hated existence, since 
 she considered herself the cause of her be- 
 loved Henry's exile. 
 
 How her indignation boiled, when, read- 
 ing the newspaper, she discovered the mis- 
 statement of facts ! The silver tea-pot trem- 
 bled in her hand, and it was with great diffi- 
 culty that she could pour out the tea. 
 
 " May I never win a hazard at billiards, 
 may my favourite horse Potatoes lose the 
 Oatlands, if 1 am not heartily glad that Sir 
 Henry Moreton," exclaimed the noble Se- 
 nator, " has w inged that rum jockey, Sir 
 Richard Oliver. He is the lily ; I protest 
 I never was so glad of any thing, send me 
 into a breach if I was, except at pocketing 
 the red ball once, which won me the game,.
 
 89 
 
 when playing with the Frenchman in the 
 subscription room at Brighton last summer. 
 Doctor Dash, you recollect the game, don't 
 you ?" 
 
 The Doctor bowed. 
 
 " The game stood, if you remember, fif- 
 teen to ten, odds in favour of Monsieur 
 three and four to one, when I made a can- 
 non, got the white hazard, and, following 
 up my advantage, brought all the bets on 
 my side. It was glorious; it was the lily, 
 was it not ? I believe that you won sufficient 
 Spanish to pay your summer expences, most 
 Reverend." 
 
 The Doctor endeavoured to blush, and 
 protested that his liberality of spirit had 
 hindered him from getting preferred in the 
 church : though he observed others mount- 
 ing the ladder, it was his lot as yet to wait 
 at the bottom. 
 
 Some few days after, the duel was thus 
 canvassed at Mi*. Candy's, the fruiterer, in 
 Bond-street.
 
 90 
 
 Mr. Candy to my Lord Lassitude eating 
 an ice. 
 
 " What a dreadful affair! my Lord; it is 
 really shocking to conjecture! The old 
 Earl for certain must be quite stupefounded, 
 my Lord. Sir Henry Moreton was here 
 but two days before eating some fruit in my 
 shop. He wounded Sir Richard Oliver 
 horribly, I hear." 
 
 Lord Lassitude. " Sir Henry Moreton 
 is a fine fellow, Candy." 
 
 Mr. Candy, " Will your Lordship eat 
 some strawberries this morning, my Lord r 
 They are prodigiously fine. They are only 
 half-a-guinea a pottle, my Lord." 
 
 Lord Lassitude. " Yes, Mr. Candy, pro- 
 vided — curse these long English words — 
 you can pronounce them good." 
 
 Mr. Candy. " My Lord, shall I send 
 you — I beg pardon for troubling you, (smil- 
 ing) shall I pack you up in a case some very 
 nice preserves ? Here are some delicious 
 strawberries to add to your dessert! Will
 
 9* 
 
 you permit me to send them yon, my Lord? 
 John, take this fruit to St. James's-squarc, 
 and, John, pray be particularly careful of it." 
 
 Mr. Candy, who never walked, unless in 
 the garden which belonged to his country- 
 house, where he went every Sunday, afford- 
 ed great pleasure to Lord Lassitude, as he 
 managed his unwieldy bulk round the 
 counter. 
 
 Lord Lassitude. " Give me an ice, 
 Candy." 
 
 Mr. Candy. " Yes, my Lord. It is re- 
 markably well frozen to-day. What do 
 they say in your house of the French, my 
 Lord ? We want the Duke of York to take 
 another Yoloncienes. Pray, Madam, be 
 careful : that fruit will not bear handling. 
 Sir John, I must entreat of you to consider 
 the bloom — Ah do, Sir John, forbear. Such 
 is their bloom, that it soon perishes. One 
 I more money by lingering, Ma'am, 
 than enough. Some ice for the gentleman, 
 John. Your money, you little rascal.
 
 92 
 
 Well, my Lord, what are the French — Ohf 
 has the bill passed the house, can yourLord- 
 ship inform me ?" 
 
 JVIy Lord Lassitude. " I have not been 
 there these two months, on my word, 
 Candy." 
 
 Mr. Candy. " O then I am very certain 
 you have not ; for no one has ever had rea- 
 son yet to doubt the word of your Lord- 
 ship." 
 
 Lord Lassitude. " This pine should have 
 been kept longer. It is improveable, Candy.'* 
 
 Mr. Candy. " Do try this, my Lord, 
 you will find it more fitter, take my 
 word for it. Did you want any strawberry 
 ice, Madam ? Is your "horse eutered for the 
 cup, my Lord ? Arc there any more fa- 
 vourites?" 
 
 Lord Lassitude. " I have not enquired 
 of Steelyard; he makes my betts for me. 
 Reach me the racing calendar, Candy.'* 
 (Mr. Candy moves and gives the racing ca- 
 lendar to my Lord Lassitude). " Here, my
 
 Q3 
 
 Lord. Will you be pleased to be seated, 
 ladies and gentlemen ? John, two glasses 
 of ice water. The ice will be here directly, 
 Sir, (smiling). Patience, Socrates said, was 
 a virtue, young gentleman. You learnt 
 that at Eton, of Dr. Goodali." 
 
 Mr. Candy. " We should send some 
 troops to Egypt, before the rain comes on 
 in that part of the world." 
 
 A Stranger. " The Nile, Mr. Candy, 
 fertilizes the land, and the Natives have no 
 rain." 
 
 Another Gentleman. i( What have I 
 to pay ?" 
 
 Mr. Candy. " Nine shillings; one basket 
 of cherries you had." 
 
 The Gentleman (astonished). " What 
 do you call them ?" 
 
 Mr. Candy. " Dukes, Sir." 
 
 " Dukes ! Emperors you mean." 
 
 Mr. Candy, laughing, takes up the mo- 
 ney. " I wish you a good day, Sir, — we 
 shall have some mure emperors to-morrow.
 
 9* 
 
 Ah ! ah, ah ! oh, oh ! A stingy queer gen- 
 tleman that, a very odd sort of man ! My 
 Lord Lassitude, I am very much obliged to 
 you. I will take care and send you some 
 of my finest peaches." 
 
 LordLassitude. " Your servant, Candy." 
 
 Mr. Candy. " Good morning to your 
 
 Lordship. John, make out Lord Lassitude's 
 
 bill ; his taylor was dismissed without being 
 
 paid the other day"
 
 95 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Non aure estive, o rivi tolti a lunge 
 Koi nutrit 'anno, ma sospir d'amore 
 L'aure son sute, e pianti d'Amor l'acque. 
 
 Nor summer gales nor art — conducted showers 
 Have nurs'd our slender forms; but lover's sighs 
 Have been our gales, and lover's tears our dews. 
 
 Roscoes Life of Lorenzo de Medici. 
 
 IN OT many days after Emma bad fallen 
 into such low spirits, that the prudent Mrs. 
 Maitland thought it expedient to consult 
 her physician. Sage-tea, balm, sago, port- 
 wine, an admirable recipe for raising the 
 spirits, and all Dr. B — h — n's maxims, had 
 been tried to no purpose. This beauteous 
 flower was declining, when the Doctor ad- 
 vised her to make the experiment of a 
 change of air, and thought it right that she 
 should retire into the country. Mrs. Mait- 
 land considered his advice as judicious, and 
 the next morning quitted town for an
 
 96 
 
 estate, which her niece possessed in the 
 west of England, and which required some- 
 body to look after it. 
 
 It was here that Emma gained the love 
 and respect of the poor, by clothing their 
 half-naked children, and administering to 
 their wants. She seemed an angel sent 
 down from brighter regions to poor and in- 
 firm mortals. The blessings of the aged 
 attended her, the widow spoke her praise 
 in the most exulting strains of native elo- 
 quence, the poor idolized her, and the little 
 children gambolled before her, and lisped 
 the name of the good lady Emmy, who 
 was so kind to them — this was, in reality, 
 the luxury of doing good. 
 
 She filled many vacant hours in the 
 cultivation of those talents which nature 
 had entrusted to her care. Often would 
 Mrs. Maitland surprise her in tears, with 
 the picture of her deliverer in her hand, 
 pressing the lips (as if those lips could feel) 
 to her lips, or else reading the letter, which
 
 97 
 
 had been sent to her before the fatal period 
 which bore him away from England, and 
 from her embrace ; for love is not a harsh 
 critic — love can pass over many faults; and 
 those words which seem worthy of censure 
 to others, are to the lover's indulgent and 
 fond mistress delicious beauties. 
 
 Flowers delighted her elegant imagina- 
 tion ; to behold and contemplate how man 
 was provided for, and how his happiness 
 and sensation were consulted, were to her 
 a source of unspeakable pleasure. She 
 would admire the vivid colours of the fra- 
 grant geranium, the green myrtle, the blush- 
 ing rose, the stately sun-flower, and varie- 
 gated carnation. She watered the plants 
 with her own hands ; and in the shaded 
 arbour, where eglantine and jessamine, 
 winding honey-suckles, and various fruit- 
 trees, excluded the searching rays of the 
 sun, she enjoyed the luxury of shedding 
 tears for her Henry. It was the summer 
 season of the year ; the birds warbled their 
 
 Vol. I. F
 
 98 
 
 lively notes, and, at a distance, in the 
 neighbouring park, the dapple deer were 
 feeding, or climbing the upland slope — 
 while flocks of sheep and herds of mottled 
 cows filled the umbrageous landscape. 
 
 As she traced back past events, she re- 
 collected the time of the year when way- 
 ward destiny had dated her sorrows. She 
 sighed, and sat down to put her thoughts 
 into the form of verse, and penned the fol- 
 lowing stanzas:— 
 
 Now lovely flowers grace the field, 
 -And earth, and sky, new prospects yield, 
 
 And gentle Zephyr scents the air : 
 *Tis then that Fashion waves her hand, 
 Around her move the giddy band, 
 
 And oft is wisdom fetter'd there ! 
 
 When clusters grace the green clad tree, 
 The lily, crocus, primrose, see, 
 
 How empty is the beauty's pride ! 
 No passion makes these colours fly, 
 Nor does the youthful rose-bud die ; 
 
 They toil not, care not what .betide.
 
 99 
 
 In richer robes die violet see 
 Array'dj than eastern majesty ; 
 
 This pleasing gem what charms adorn 
 So charms the maid who lives in fear : 
 Such blossoms who would rudely tear, 
 
 In time beware the goading th 
 
 6 
 
 orn, 
 
 May I the treach'rous cup refrain, 
 Shun pleasure purchased with pain, 
 
 Xor sweet enchantment lull my sense ; 
 Reject the cup of vice, afraid, 
 Nor may I love the masquerade, 
 
 But woo thee, lovely Innocence. 
 
 Vain joys Intemperance bestows, 
 Wither'd, alas ! the crimson rose 
 
 >w sickly droops upon the bed : 
 Its roseate hue, its bloomy flush 
 Are pallid leaves, and the stripp'd busli 
 With thorns, the sharpest thorns are spread ! 
 
 Yet, ah ! if chintzes, cyprian dew, 
 And painted scenes sole glad the view ; 
 
 Jf these can please, misguided fair, 
 Then flowers in vain adorn the field, 
 And earth, and sky, new prospects yield ; 
 
 In vain then Zephyr scents the air. 
 F2
 
 100 
 
 One day, as she was walking in the gar- 
 den about the hour of dinner-time, she was 
 surprised by two ruffians, who carried her 
 in their arms over the garden pales into a 
 chaise and four, in which she found Sir 
 Richard Oliver, who told her " that she 
 was by good fortune his prize, however 
 dearly she had cost him," and bade the 
 drivers put forward on pain of his utmost 
 displeasure. The unworthy ravisher pro- 
 ceeded to take unwarrantable liberties with 
 her. Emma argued with him on the 
 cruelty of his actions, and how bitterly he 
 would lament his conduct hereafter. She 
 conjured him to pity a supplicating orphan. 
 
 The post-chaise overtook a man in a cart 
 coming from a market town, accompanied 
 by his wife. Emma screamed for assist- 
 ance. The man would have interfered ; but 
 the carriage passed with increased velocity, 
 while Sir Richard Oliver held a pistol from 
 the window of the chaise in a menacing po-
 
 101 
 
 sitton. Again was Emma in her ravisher's 
 power, when the travellers passed a troop 
 of soldiers. 
 
 Unfortunately, Sir Richard Oliver was 
 acquainted with one of the officers who 
 rode by the side of his company. " Jack," 
 said the Baronet, with the countenance of 
 the arch deceiver, " how are you ? This 
 is an unexpected pleasure, seeing you. I 
 have got a young lady here, whom I have 
 stolen from Berner's street — You know 
 Gamble; he keeps her." 
 
 " Believe him not, Sir," said Emma, 
 Ci I beg of you, good gentlemen, not to pay 
 any credit to his words." 
 
 It was to no purpose that Miss Tanker- 
 ville expostulated with the villainous Sir 
 Richard Oliver, who succeeded in quieting 
 the suspicions of the officer, and ordered 
 the postilion to make all possible expedi- 
 tion. 
 
 Emma's aunt missed her immediately, 
 for she was extremely punctual in every 
 F3
 
 ]02 
 
 thing; and I leave the reader to imagine 
 her grief and surprise. By the fragment 
 of her gown, she conjectured that violence 
 had been offered her. She immediately dis- 
 patched a note to Dauncy, who was on a 
 visit to a gentleman in the neighbourhood* 
 Dauncy, on learning the intelligence of 
 Miss Tankerville being carried off, gave 
 orders that his horses might be got ready; 
 and taking a trusty servant of his own, and 
 another of Mrr. Maitland's, he travelled 
 with the utmost speed towards Sir Richard 
 Oliver's mansion. They had already fa- 
 tigued the spirited horses, and the poor 
 animals were on the point of sinking under 
 their burthens, when, on ascending a hill, 
 they discovered a chaise and four overturn- 
 ed, and one of the leaders, as well as one 
 of the wheel horses, fallen on the ground, 
 and the drivers assisting each other to dis- 
 entangle the animals from their incum- 
 brances. They now spurred on their horses; 
 when Dauncy, bidding the postilions stand
 
 103 
 
 Still on the peril of their livc5, rescued 
 Emma from the Baronet, and then bestow- 
 ing the discipline of a postilion's horsewhip; 
 telling him, that " even such a wicked 
 man as Sir Richard had proved himself, 
 must be convinced that Providence never 
 deserted the virtuous and suffering female." 
 Then taking Emma under his protection, 
 he carried her to a neighbouring. inn, and, 
 after permitting her to collect her scattered 
 senses, conducted her safe to Tiverton, 
 where her estate was, and the house which 
 Mrs. Maitland at present inhabited. 
 
 Notwithstanding this fortunate rescue, 
 Emma felt so much from the rude assault 
 of Sir Richard Oliver, that a fever attacked 
 her, and a delirium was the consequence. 
 Madness now raged through her frame, 
 and established its horrible and sad reign. 
 She called repeatedly on the name of More- 
 ton, and no discourse but that of her be- 
 loved Henry was soothing or pleasing to 
 her distempered reason. Yet there was 
 F4
 
 104 
 
 some method in her madness — it was per- 
 ceivable that love was the cause of her ma- 
 lady. Her physician,^ most humane, can- 
 did, benevolent, and intelligent man, used 
 the gentlest methods for her recovery, and 
 disclosed to the good lady, the aunt of the 
 lovely Emma Tankerville, his undisguised 
 sentiments. 
 
 In her lucid intervals, she would amuse 
 herself with drawing the fatal masquerade 
 in Berkley-square. There was the Casti- 
 iian, in the very dress in which he was 
 habited, redressing the insult she had sus- 
 tained ; the surrounding gronpe of figures 
 applauding his conduct, and condemning 
 the vanquished and humiliated Sir Richard 
 Oliver. Besides the pencil filling up hours 
 of wretchedness, her taste for poetry was not 
 unam using to her. She composed one day 
 the following stanzas : 
 
 Source of my grief, yet frequent joy, 
 Who all my pensive thoughts employ,
 
 105 
 
 On mc thy execrations pour, 
 Who made thee leave thy native shore. 
 Yet must thou, much-lov'd despot, reign, 
 And shall I, Henry, bear thy chain ! 
 
 Whence springs this quick-consuming fire, 
 From gratitude or fond desire ? 
 Ah, love ! why force me to explain ? 
 Of Henry's absence I complain ! 
 
 Ah, could'st thou o'er my passion reign! 
 
 From thee alone I'll bear the chain. 
 
 The pink, enamell'd, seeks support, 
 And tender vines espaliers court ; 
 No force or danger should I fear, 
 Wert thou, my guardian angel, near ! 
 
 Lov'd of my soul, complete thy reign ! 
 
 I'll gladly bear thy marriage chain. 
 
 Ah, should'st thou nckle, Henry, prove, 
 Return unkind, forbid it, love ! 
 Forbid it, hope ! for know, fond boy, 
 Thoa dost my pensive thoughts employ. 
 
 I'm sick for thee ! — complete thy reign ; 
 
 Come ! come ! — I'll bear thy marriage chain. 
 
 Returning health Invigorated her en- 
 feebled frame; but it was very visible that 
 F5
 
 io6 
 
 melancholy still preyed on the fair Emma, 
 who, even in her smiles, shewed that her 
 heart was ill at ease. 
 
 The excellent physician who attended 
 her recommended a change of air, and 
 advised travelling as a better succedaneum 
 than any medicine he could give. 
 
 " If you wish, dear Madam," said this 
 benevolent man to Mrs. Maitland, " our 
 amiable charge to be restored to her health 
 effectually, a remedy beyond the power of 
 medicine must heal the canker which feeds 
 upon the diminished roses of her cheek — 
 a canker which threatens to bring her to 
 an early grave, £ind destroy those fond 
 hopes which you have formed. Be it far 
 from my profession to flatter where it may 
 be prejudicial. I must not be deterred by 
 any consideration from speaking my sen- 
 timents. The good young lady is suffer- 
 ing under a passion for a man of consider- 
 able worth and talents. Be it your business 
 (and I am confident, Madam, your good
 
 107 
 
 sense will suggest the expediency of my 
 proposal) to give her your assistance. Sir 
 Henry Moreton is in Vienna at present. 
 As she is to travel, a change of objects, and 
 the place which holds what is dear to her, 
 will be the most prudent steps you can take." 
 
 Mrs. Maitland agreed with the good 
 Doctor, and, knowing that she had some 
 particular friends residing at Vienna, de- 
 termined to intimate her resolution of 
 departing for that city, accompanied by 
 Emma. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Maitland, " I 
 have a proposal to make. The physician 
 thinks travelling will be of great service to 
 you. Your happiness and health, my dear 
 girl, are my first concern, the object nearest 
 my heart. I know, my love, some tender 
 affection embitters your present happiness, 
 with the cause of which I am equally well 
 acquainted. Is not Sir Henry Moreton 
 the favoured lover; the man whose hand 
 you would not refuse ? Come, Emma, my 
 F6
 
 108 
 
 clear, be explicit. You blush, and I believe 
 you will do me the justice to say, that I 
 have not less penetration than the genera- 
 lity of my sex ? What say you to my 
 plan? — We intend shortly visiting Vienna, 
 seeing the curiosities and productions of the 
 country, and, above all, getting an insight 
 into the customs, laws, and habits of the 
 people. I have also considered and weigh- 
 ed in my mind that Sir Henry Moreton is 
 there at present. Whether he has suffi- 
 cient influence to attract, and the journey 
 is agreeable to you, you only can decide; 
 but unless I am much deceived, an opinion 
 formed in his favour is not erroneous. I 
 certainly, Emma, shall not oppose your 
 wishes ; but, acting as a faithful guardian 
 of your right, shall give to that young gen- 
 tleman my unqualified suffrage. Come, 
 child; I will venture to pronounce, from 
 your downcast and bashful looks, that I 
 am not wrong." 
 
 <c My dear aunt," said Emma, while a
 
 log 
 
 rising blush overspread her countenance 
 and gave her new beauties, " your judg- 
 ment is almost infallible. I confess that I 
 love Sir Henry Moreton — it is not merely 
 from his conduct, and the service he did me 
 at the masquerade, but the character of his 
 virtues has augmented an attachment which 
 I feel for him. I have not acquired the 
 art of disguising my sentiments. — Indeed/' 
 and the lovely Emma deeply sighed, 
 ic though left an orphan in my early years, 
 I have felt that loss, great and afflicting as 
 it was, diminished by your kindness. O, 
 my dear protectress, my amiable friend, 
 may I ever continue to shew myself sen- 
 sible of your maternal kindness ! Your 
 commands, your wishes, shall direct me, 
 and I shall endeavour to anticipate them as 
 far as possible."
 
 110 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A MORNING OCCUPATION. HUMANITY IS 
 
 NOT UNBECOMING FEMALE BEAUTY OH. 
 
 FASHION A SCENE OF DISTRESS, WHICH 
 
 IS HUMBLY RECOMMENDED BY THE AU- 
 THOR TO THE OPULENT FOR THEIR PE- 
 RUSAL. 
 
 PREVIOUS to her departure for the Con- 
 tinent, Emma one morning was employed 
 in purchasing necessary articles, or, in the 
 language of the metropolis, shopping; a 
 custom which needs explanation, in order 
 to make it intelligible to fair residents in the 
 country. 
 
 Shopping, then, is an amusement in 
 which many fashionable females, wives and 
 daughters, are daily occupied in the forenoon, 
 to the great profit of the civil tradesman, 
 who employs, behind his counter, powdered
 
 Ill 
 
 jcssamies, who take the bread from the 
 mouths of the indigent female; measuring 
 out linen when they should be handling a 
 musquet; and cutting ribands, and selling 
 lavender, when they should be adding to 
 the British flag, fresh trophies on the seas, 
 increasing our security at home, and our 
 national glory, instead of being tools for 
 the luxurious. 
 
 Her attention was arrested by a bustle in 
 the street. A remarkable handsome and 
 genteel young man,, whose appearance was 
 prepossessing, as well as afflicting, on ac- 
 count of his visible misfortune, was arrested 
 by two bailiffs, who had just familiarly tap. 
 ped him on the shoulder, as he was endea- 
 vouring to eliide their salute. 
 
 So does Grimalkin, : satiate as thegrave, 
 wily as the Egyptian crocodile, rush on 
 her helpless prey, whom she has espied from 
 afar, capering and gambolling, enjoying 
 thoughts of home and tender family. Alas! 
 he no more will nibble old Cheshire or rich
 
 112 
 
 Stilton, or wet bis whiskers in excellent 
 hash, or frisk his tail in the crouded pantry. 
 She taps him gently with her claws, but so 
 as to make him feel her power. He is al- 
 ready under the grasp and in the clutch 
 of a sanguinary and stern foe, more impla- 
 cable than Pelides, more sanguinary than 
 he who fed his horses with human gore. 
 
 Thus fared it with this young gentle- 
 man. Fruitless were his attempts to go 
 home to his wife and children. He offered 
 the small sum of five shillings, all the 
 money he had, to be allowed the sad indul- 
 gence of taking a farewell of those unhappy 
 sufferers. 
 
 One of the fellows, in a sneering man- 
 ner, told him that the money was too little ? 
 laughed in his face, and said that he was 
 his prisoner, and that the law must have its 
 course. 
 
 " It won't do, Master ; five shillings now 
 a-days goes little towards house-keeping — 
 a crown will barely drive the wolf from the
 
 1J3 
 
 door; however, such gemmen as you should 
 be better treated, and I am main sorry; but 
 times, you must know to be sure, are main 
 ticklish." 
 
 Emma, who had a heart feelingly alive 
 to the distress of every fellow-creature, a 
 hand as liberal as the fruitful stream, can- 
 not be imagined to have viewed this scene 
 with callous apathy, or the indifference of 
 some pretty females, whom fashion will not 
 permit to perform the vulgar duties of cha- 
 rity. 
 
 " I know not," observed she, " whether 
 the law sanctions deeds of cruelty and trea- 
 chery ; but of this I am confident, gentle- 
 men, nothing ought to prevent us from 
 ministering to the unfortunate. I perceive 
 that you are going to enforce the power 
 which the law gives you on that unhappy 
 young man ; I will be bail for your pri- 
 soner — will you take the bail of Miss Tan- 
 kervillc, friend ?" 
 
 If, to command greater respect from one's
 
 114 
 
 banker, it be necessary to be well dressed, 
 by a parity of reasoning, an equipage must 
 produce obsequious, deference from the 
 avaricious slaves of justice, who may be rea- 
 sonably said too frequently, I am afraid, to 
 deserve the name of necessary evils. 
 
 " Why as to the matter of that,"answered 
 the better looking of the two, though a re- 
 gard to truth compels me to say that both 
 of them wore the appear.ince of felons ra- 
 ther than officers who served his Majesty's 
 court, " I am good-natured enough when 
 there's bit coming forward; but provisions, 
 as my fellow officer Dick says, are so dear 
 now a-days, that let a man be ever so in- 
 dustrious, I defies him to get an honest 
 living, and pay every man his due. For my 
 part, I pays as I goes, and therefore 1 can't 
 in justice, do you see, Miss Tankerville, 
 afford to lose. Times are main ticklish, as 
 brother Dick says ; but, howsomever, tho' 
 I can't take your bail, I would go a mile to 
 oblige you, Miss. You are such a hand-
 
 115 
 
 some, fine young lady, and withal look so 
 good humoured." 
 
 The sensible Emma shrunk from the 
 compliment paid to her by Mr. Geoffrey 
 Cudgel! . 
 
 Although his appearance was not pre- 
 possessing, his companion was a foil to him. 
 Nature had been sparing of the gift of ex- 
 ternal beauty to him. His countenance, 
 as before observed, was riot merely forbid- 
 ding, but calculated to raise fearful appre- 
 hensions in the minds of the passengers 
 even in the broad face of day. 
 
 An old round hat, with a velvet band and 
 large gilt buckle, almost concealed from 
 sight a short head of hair, which was as 
 white as that of a Coldstream guard. His 
 grey eyes, redder than the ferret's, shewed 
 cunning, while his face, deeply seamed with 
 the small pox, received additional fierceness 
 from a pair of long, black, and unseemly 
 whiskers ; a Belcher handkerchief, tied in 
 a flashy bow, encircled his neck ; a light*
 
 n6 - 
 
 brown coat, which was purchased, a cheap 
 bargain, from the wife of a prisoner, who 
 was left with a young family ; a red cloth 
 waistcoat, ornamented with two rows of 
 yellow buttons, once seen hanging from 
 the window of a sale shop in Monmouth- 
 street ; a pair of thick corderoy breeches, 
 known frequently under the name of double 
 damnables, formerly the property of an iti- 
 nerant Methodist preacher; ribbed worsted 
 stockings, and very short and dirty half 
 boots, constituted the dress of this formi- 
 dable catchpole, 
 
 Such a person was the companion of the 
 well-known Geoffrey Cudgell, and as such 
 could not be congenial to the feelings of 
 any female, especially as he was employed 
 in the discharge of an office unpleasing to 
 all parties, with the exception of three — 
 namely, the creditor, the catch pole, and 
 the master of a lock-up house. 
 
 Emma desired Mr. Cudgell to wait a few 
 minutes, while she wrote a draft on her
 
 H7 
 
 banker for the sum owed by Mr. Lester 
 (for that was the stranger's name); and 
 amidst the applause of the surrounding 
 multitude, begging Mr. Lester to precede 
 her, was handed by that gentleman into her 
 carriage. 
 
 When seated opposite the loveliest wo- 
 man his eyes ever beheld, Lester would 
 have poured forth a torrent of thanks, had 
 she not interrupted him, by requesting 
 to be informed where his wife lived, 
 that the coach might convey him to the 
 house. 
 
 u You are too good, Madam," answered 
 the distressed young gentleman. " It is in 
 Westminster, in Little George-street, that 
 I have left my deserted family. My Elinor, 
 your unfortunate husband is the cause of 
 your calamity. My child, you have to curse 
 your parent. My unhappy, innocent, and 
 suffering wife ! My helpless child !" The 
 sighs that he uttered seemed to arise from
 
 118 
 
 the bottom of his heart: He instinctively 
 placed his hand over his face ; he was vi- 
 sibly afflicted. 
 
 Emma let down the glass, and ordered 
 the coachman to drive slowly. 
 
 " If to give comfort to the afflicted, to 
 save a family from the pangs of bitter agony, 
 can, as I am sure it must, afford satisfaction 
 to your sensible mind ; that satisfaction, 
 Madam, is yours, and you have indeed 
 atchieved a noble act. Oh! how can I repay 
 you ?" 
 
 " My good Sir," said the gentle Emma, 
 " I am a fellow-creature; pray do recollect 
 that. You seem to forget that charity 
 should be common. I confess I see no- 
 thing so extraordinary in what I have done, 
 only it has furnished an exquisite pleasure 
 to myself. Most probably I may enjoy a 
 sweeter sleep for it at night." Her eloquent 
 eyes sparkled with joy. In any other situa- 
 tion the admiring Lester would have fallen 
 on his knees to have thanked her.
 
 lip 
 
 u Your appearance, Sir," said Emma, 
 cc bespeaks the man who has known far 
 better fortune," 
 
 " 1 will not deceive you, Madam. At a 
 future opportunity I will relate to you my 
 melancholy and cheequcrcd history." 
 
 '} If I can be of any service to you, good 
 Sir, I do assure you I shall be inconceiv- 
 ably happy." 
 
 The carriage stopped at the corner of 
 the street. Emma was handed out by 
 Lester. 
 
 " It is here, Madam, that I live. Can you 
 deign to visit the abode of the wretched ? 
 surrounded with opulence and splendor, 
 can you condescend to wipe away the tear 
 of sorrow from the indigent ?" 
 
 " Do, good Sir, shew me the way to Mrs. 
 Lester's apartment." 
 
 Emma was preceded by the husband. 
 
 " These stairs are in dangerous decay, 
 Madam ; do let me entreat you to take fast 
 hold of the rail. Pray use particular cau-
 
 120 
 
 tion as you ascend these steps. Hold, Ma- 
 dam — I hope you have not hurt yourself; 
 these stairs indeed are very rotten and un- 
 safe; but you would visit my wretched lodg- 
 ing," 
 
 It was into a room on the attic story that 
 Lester shewed Miss Tankerville ; the apart- 
 ment was mean, and wretchedness might be 
 said to have set its mark upon it. The naked 
 walls were in various place's* patched with 
 plaister. A few culinary utensils, but bright 
 as silver, stood on the mantle-piece. The 
 candlesticks reflected the light, and wore a 
 most beautiful polish. The tea-cups were 
 arranged in nice order, and the floor was as 
 clean as labour could make it; but what 
 attracted her attention, was a lovely woman 
 making shirts, while a little girl was attend- 
 ing to the cooking of the dinner. 
 
 <c I know, my. dear George," said the 
 amiable hostess, not regarding any one 
 else, " that you are very fond of what trifles 
 I have been preparing for you : the ex-
 
 321 
 
 pence they have cost has been supplied 
 from the profits arising from the sale of my 
 gold repeater ; and a look of satisfaction 
 from my dear George will amply repay 
 me. Come, do, my good husband, take 
 your chair. Betty, set the dishes on the 
 table. My dear, come, be seated — I am 
 sure you must be tired : alas ! you look so; 
 are you hungry, my love ?" 
 
 " Elinor, you do not then sec this angel 
 that has honoured our habitation," saluting 
 his wife, while Emma's reflection was ab- 
 sorbed in enjoying unspeakable transports. 
 " You do not see," interrupted Lester, 
 " the charming Miss Tankerville, of whom 
 you have heard mention. It is she in per- 
 son, who has rescued your husband from 
 the hands of bailiffs, and this morning saved 
 him from prison." 
 
 Emma conceived herself sufficiently re- 
 warded in the look of gratitude which 
 beamed in the countenance of the beautiful 
 woman who stood before her. 
 
 Vol. I. G
 
 m 
 
 She curtseyed, and received her with an 
 ■air of elegance and good-breeding, which, 
 in her apparent situation, was more ad- 
 mired. 
 
 Lester offered a chair to Emma, but she 
 refused. Then seating herself on a bed 
 which was hung with neat linen curtains, 
 she took the little boy on her knees, who 
 said " he should always love her, because 
 she had been kind to his papa, and would 
 not let the naughty, naughty man hurt 
 him;" Ijsping innocently, " that he would, 
 when he grew up a big large man, give her 
 some money; a good deal; and he had 
 heard papa say, that God would always be 
 good to those who were kind-hearted to the 
 poor." 
 
 He then clambered down from Emma's 
 lap, went to his father, looked him in the 
 face, gave him a hearty shake of the hand, 
 kissed his mammy, and hid his face in her 
 gown ; the little wanton then looked up, 
 and smiled archly.
 
 123 
 
 " You are a good boy," said Emma, 
 ** and I shall beg you of your parents for a 
 little time on a visit to me. See, now, 
 what I have for you ; here is something, 
 my dear, to buy you playthings." 
 
 She put a guinea into his hands. 
 
 The boy took it to his father, and, be- 
 cause he would not take it, burst into tears ; 
 so that his father, in order to pacify him, 
 was obliged to take the money, saying that 
 he would keep it for him. 
 
 Emma now extorted a promise from 
 Lester, that she should see him the next 
 day. 
 
 Ga
 
 124 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly 
 
 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood ; 
 Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 
 
 And leave us leisure to be good. 
 Light they disperse; and with them go 
 The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe ; 
 By vain Prosperity receiv'd, 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd. 
 
 Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, 
 
 Dread goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ! 
 Not in thy gorgon terrors clad, 
 
 Not circled with the vengeful band 
 (As by the impious thou art seen) 
 With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien, 
 With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. 
 
 Grays Hymn to Adversity. 
 
 MR. Lester's history of his life. 
 
 IN the morning of the following day, 
 Lester called upon Emma. He was shewn 
 up stairs. His son welcomed him by the 
 most expressive signs of joy, danced about
 
 125 
 
 the room, took him by the hand, gave him 
 a kiss for his mammy, shewed him all the 
 play-things that Miss Tankerville had 
 bought him, his large horse and gun, and 
 his great big drum and trumpet. 
 
 Emma received Lester with the greatest 
 affability, and studied how she should 
 avoid making him perceive that she had 
 obliged him. Some great people might 
 have kept him standing, bowed superci- 
 liously,- and, if they noticed him, used the 
 most frigid words and distant behaviour 
 they could possibly adopt, tossing up the 
 head, and forgetting that they absolutely 
 were of the same species, subject to the 
 same passions, liable to the same incidents, 
 obnoxious to the wheel of fate equally with 
 themselves. On the contrary, Emma held 
 out her hand to him, as if she had been ac- 
 quainted with him for a longtime, desired 
 him to be seated, and then, after ringing 
 the bell for some wine and sandwiches, 
 begged, as a particular obligation, if it 
 G3
 
 126 
 
 could be done without distressing his feel- 
 ings, to relate his history. 
 
 Lester began in an articulate and distinct 
 manner, thus : 
 
 " My life, Madam, short as it has been, 
 has passed subject to misery, and I have 
 truly known what bitter and humiliating 
 sorrow is. With my name, Madam, you 
 are already acquainted. My mother died 
 in my infancy, and left me to the care of 
 a good parent. My father was a merchant 
 of great respectability and wealth. The 
 cold hand of penury never afflicted him. 
 He was, I thank God, an honest man ; and 
 if to be honest is a feather in any man's 
 cap, he might be said to have worn it with 
 the joint -suffrages of all who knew him. 
 He might be said to be the noblest and 
 proudest work of God. 
 
 " My father was so punctual as never to 
 depart from his word, though conscious that 
 he was pursuing methods contrary to his 
 present interest. In this he was most firm ;
 
 m 
 
 and- while he wrote the favours and obliga- 
 tions which he received on tablets of brass, 
 his injuries v/crc easily erased. His friend- 
 ships were lasting, his enmities perishable. 
 The consequent advantages arising from his 
 strict attention to keeping his word and 
 his enPcip-ements sacred, were incalculable. 
 He enlarged his connexions, his fortune be^ 
 came increased, and he was pointed out as 
 one on whom the commercial man might 
 depend, and the foreign merchant employ 
 as an agent. Mr. Edward Lester was 
 known in the city, as well as elsewhere, to 
 be a good man ; yet without this jargon he 
 was virtuous, industrious, economical, and 
 temperate ; by his example, he shewed me 
 the way to gain the good wishes of men. 
 I do not know a man who had fewer faults. 
 I never knew him guilty of any one excess ; 
 but, after leading a life productive of bene- 
 fit and usefulness to mankind, I had the 
 misfortune to be parted from him. He is 
 G4
 
 J2S 
 
 gone where all honest men are, and where 
 kindred spirits reside." 
 
 Here he uttered a deep groan, and 
 Emma felt a tender sympathy for the pious 
 feelings which he expressed. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Tankerville ; 
 but you must look with kindness on those 
 feelings, of which destitute, I should be 
 ignorant and undutiful in the extreme. 
 No, Miss Tankerville, I could never for- 
 give myself, were I to forget the reverence 
 I owe to the memory of the best of parents. 
 But I will proceed with my history, 
 
 " It was in Huntingdon, during the race 
 week, that I was at the house of a friend; 
 when chatting over some wine, he asked 
 me, ' if I felt inclined to go to the ball in 
 the evening/ I am more minute in re- 
 counting this circumstance, as much of my 
 future life was to depend upon it ; a cir- 
 cumstance which has made me at once the 
 most miserable, and (bowing to Miss Tan-
 
 129 
 
 kerville) the most happy of men in the 
 creation. " 
 
 " I know many beautiful young ladies in 
 the town," continued my companion, " and 
 I am confident that you will be entertained 
 in their company. You are not engaged 
 this evening, George, and a handsome 
 Adonis like yourself must do execution." 
 I promised that he should find me ready to 
 accompany him to the ball. 
 
 " We drank freely of different wines. 
 My spirits were exhilarated. As yet, while 
 my father was living, I had never felt the 
 wounds or malice of fortune, had never ex- 
 perienced the ingratitude of man, e whose 
 tooth/ to use the description of a favourite 
 poet, c is keener than the winter's wind;* 
 nor had I found ' a friend remembering not.' 
 
 " I have ever loved the bards who have 
 forcibly depicted the passions. . Alas ! the 
 scenes and transactions of my life have been 
 what I little thought they would, a sad 
 theme for the plaintive poet !" 
 G5
 
 130 
 
 Emma pressed him to take a- glass of 
 wine. He poured out one for Emma, and 
 afterwards drank one himself. 
 
 " To the ball we went that evening. I 
 was introduced by my friend to the honour- 
 able Miss Harcourt. Health and modesty 
 added a deeper tinge to her cheeks, which 
 already glowed with the colour of the crim- 
 son rose. Her nose was taper, and slender 
 as her lips, her blue eyes languishing and 
 Soft, her elegant and pleasing form was 
 symmetry itself, while those parts of her 
 polished limbs and body, which dress did 
 not conceal, vied with the virgin snow or 
 Parian marble. Her good sense was con- 
 spicuous, her wit good-natured, her periods 
 elegant, her voice enchanting and melo- 
 dious ; but you have seen my lovely Elinor, 
 Madam, and can judge in some degree how 
 her beauties might have affected me. Con- 
 sider, Miss Tankerville, this was before 
 grief had preyed on her cheek, or per- 
 ceptibly wasted her form. Yet, even now,.
 
 131 
 
 Elinor to mc is more lovely than she was 
 when I first saw her. 
 
 " Love at first sight is not strange or 
 unnatural, in my opinion. Prejudices fa- 
 vourable, or the contrary, will arise in the 
 breasts of most of us ; nor am I the only 
 one who has been subject to them." 
 
 Here Emma betrayed herself, and shew- 
 ed that his remark was but too just. She 
 drew out her handkerchief, complained of 
 the heat, and wiped a tear away, fond tri- 
 bute of affection to the idol of her heart. 
 
 " As soon as I saw her, 1 found that I 
 was much in love. Labouring and trem- 
 bling under the tortures of suspence, I 
 begged that I might have the flattering sa- 
 tisfaction and happiness, if she was not pre- 
 engaged, of being permitted to. lead her 
 down a dance. She complacently smiled, 
 thanked me with easy and elegant polite- 
 ness, and gave me her assent. The ad- 
 miring spectators gazed on her as she 
 danced ; many whispered, some laboured at 
 GO
 
 132 
 
 a vain imitation, thus paying her the great- 
 est compliment. Every time I touched her 
 white hand, her ivory arm, my soul thrilled 
 within me. I conversed with her, and con- 
 versation served farther to convince me 
 that I was undone ; for how could I expect 
 to gain the consent of her father, who was 
 the proudest among those who are proud of 
 their nobility. But the fascinating Elinor 
 gave me encouragement. Why should the 
 poets and painters, I have often thought, 
 describe or paint love as blind ? No eagle 
 is half so quick*sighted. I saw, by the 
 sparkling animation of her eyes, that she 
 felt more than common esteem for me, 
 and I had the audacity to promise myself 
 future bliss. For success, I depended on 
 these favourable symptoms of her passion, 
 and my great expectations of having a fu- 
 ture settlement from my affectionate father. 
 My friend tapped me on the arm, and told 
 me I was in the high road to good fortune* 
 ** Miss Harcourt introduced me to her
 
 133 
 
 brother in the course of the evening. I 
 never met with so agreeable a young man ; 
 throwing aside all reserve, he shook me 
 cordially by the hand. 
 
 " Lester," said he, " I love your man- 
 ners. I already feel prepossessed in your 
 favour. Hereafter let us be friends. I 
 hope that you will stay long in this part of 
 the country. Our house shall be yours, 
 and Elinor and myself will be always glad 
 to see you." 
 
 " I was struck with his impressive man- 
 ner, and engaged myself to breakfast with 
 him the next morning. In such company, 
 you may conclude, my charming and sen- 
 sible benefactress, that the hours passed 
 swiftly. It was late before I left the as- 
 sembly ; and when I had made a bow to 
 the party, who quitted the rooms at the 
 same hour, my soul felt a vacuum which 
 the presence of the amiable stranger could 
 alone supply. 
 
 " Love drove away sleep from my eyes;
 
 134 
 
 Till yesterday, I bad never seen one female 
 who was to be compared with her. 
 
 " The next morning I breakfasted with 
 her father the Earl of Harcourt. He re- 
 ceived me with such reserve and frigid po- 
 liteness, that the touch of the torpedo could 
 not have benumbed my faculties more ef- 
 fectually ; yet nothing could be more po- 
 litely attentive than the behaviour of Elinor. 
 Her brother's spirits seemed more exhi- 
 larated on seeing his friend, as he chose to 
 call me. Still there was some constraint 
 visible in their actions, owing, as I rightly 
 judged, to their fathers presence; and I 
 was wicked enough to wish that the gout, 
 to which I found he was subject, had con- 
 fined him to his room, that I might have 
 enjoyed the uninterrupted conversation of 
 my newly-acquired friend and adorable 
 mistress. 
 
 " Do you ride this morning, Lester?" 
 Harcourt said to me in a half whisper, and 
 apparently embarrassed.
 
 135 
 
 " My sister Elinor and myself intend to 
 take an airing at twelve ; will you accom- 
 pany us on horseback — how do you feel 
 disposed ? We shall make but a short ex- 
 cursion, and I shall be able to shew you 
 some improvements that the Earl, my fa- 
 ther, has been making on his estate. Elinor, 
 I can assure you, my good friend, has been 
 speaking of you in favourable terms, and 
 she has given you an opportunity of being 
 her 'squire on a second occasion. 5 ' 
 
 Then raising his voice, he said to mc, 
 in continuation : " Mr. Lester, when do 
 you threaten to leave this part of England? 
 I hope, Sir, that you will call at Harcourt- 
 lodge before you take your final departure.? 
 
 " I could not forbear answering his last 
 enquiry in a despondent manner, and told 
 him that I was afraid my visit would be 
 very short in Huntingdonshire. 
 
 " I then closed an engagement with him 
 in half whispers. After this, having been 
 made to observe the Earl's old ancestors,
 
 136 
 
 drawn in the costume of the times, the 
 works of eminent artists, and which jutted 
 out from the wainscot, shadowed with massy 
 gilt, and dusty frames of a very ancient ma- 
 nufacture, I made a most respectful bow, 
 and, paying humble obeisance, had the ho- 
 nour of saluting the ceremonious Earl of 
 Harcourt, and wishing him a good morning. 
 
 " At the appointed hour, I met my po- 
 lite and noble friends. The morning was 
 fine; Elinor Harcourt was in a hunting 
 dress. The winds gave her a more lively 
 bloom, which made her countenance ap- 
 pear still more captivating ; her heart seem- 
 ed joyful, and her lovely face was dressed 
 in smiles. 
 
 " We had not proceeded more than two 
 miles from the hotase, when the horses, 
 which were high-spirited animals, suddenly 
 took fright, plunged excessively, and set 
 off with the curricle at full speed. 
 
 " I clapped spurs to my hors£; and, be- 
 ing a bold and experienced rider, had the
 
 137 
 
 address to ride him before the horses' heads, 
 so as skilfully and effectually to stop them 
 in their full speed, as they were already ou 
 the bo:der of a steep bank ; in which course, 
 had they proceeded, they must inevitably 
 have dashed the carriage to atoms, and 
 more particularly endangered the lives of 
 the honorable Mr. Harcourt and his sister, 
 who was soon left alone in the curricle, as 
 her brother jumped out for the express pur- 
 pose of saving her, whom I now dare to 
 call my beloved wife. 
 
 " I received her safe in my arms; but, 
 from excessive fear, she fainted away. Am- 
 bitious to assist, while the brother remained 
 half distracted, the servants procured water 
 immediately, which, from necessity, was 
 brought in the brims of their hats folded 
 up. When the amiable Elinor recovered, 
 she cast her eyes expressive of tender sen- 
 timent upon me, and thanked the saviour of 
 her life : such was her manner of noticing 
 me, for simply doing my duty. However,
 
 138 
 
 I shall never forget the incident- — a reward 
 I could not resist, the impulse- of boldly 
 taking a kiss. What a delicious moment! 
 Well was I repaid for any services that I had 
 rendered, and any difficulty which I might 
 have undergone. At that time she excused 
 the liberty which I had taken, or was uiir 
 willing to express displeasure. On. our re^ 
 turn, I had the honour of receiving, the 
 thanks of the Peer. 
 
 " Harcourt shook me by the hand, de- 
 clared that he should consider me as the pre* 
 server of his sister, and would esteem him- 
 self more abundantly honoured and happy 
 in my friendship. For. my part, I blessed 
 the effects of an accident which procured 
 me one favourable glance from her, on 
 whom I found my future happiness and 
 tranquillity must depend. 
 
 " Our meetings after were frequent: 
 and, about this time,' a circumstance took 
 place, which the oddity that was attached to 
 it will excuse my mentioning, A country
 
 139 
 
 gentleman, of large landed property, a 
 neighbour to the Earl of Harcourt, not in 
 the least intimidated by the distant manners 
 of his intended father-in-law, was number- 
 ed among the many suitors who aspired to 
 the honour of deserving my Elinor's hand. 
 From my frequent visits at Harcourt-lodge, 
 I had for some time been a cause of jea- 
 lousy to him. He met me one morning 
 when we were hunting, and, without any 
 ceremony, held his horsewhip in a me- 
 nacing manner at me ; telling me { that 
 I was an impudent varmint, and that such 
 tatterdemallions as I ought to have my 
 coat dusted ; that, as he was in commission 
 for the peace, he hoped ere long to see me 
 hnd up before him, and that he would have 
 me take an honest man's advice, and keep 
 clear of the county jail.' 
 
 " This was triumphantly said in the 
 hearing of many of the neighbouring gen- 
 tlemen, some of whom were acquainted 
 with the friendship with which the honour-
 
 140 
 
 able Mr. Harcourt and his fair sister re- 
 ceived my visits at the Lodge. 
 
 " I therefore rode up to my resolute 
 rival, and asked him if he seriously designed 
 to insult a stranger who had never inten- 
 tionally offended him ; and if he had ut- 
 tered the abuse, which he had so liberally 
 bestowed on me, by way of exciting laugh- 
 ter at my expence among his dependents, 
 who, I observed, were backing the cou- 
 rageous 'squire ?" 
 
 " What I says, I stands to. There's 
 not a man in the county of Huntingdon- 
 shire of whom I am afraid, thank God, or 
 care the snap of my finger for ; I can tell un 
 that, let un be as big as a Patagonian— " 
 
 " Did you 1 mean to insult me, Sir 2 If 
 you did, are you willing, Sir, to make me 
 a satisfactory and proper apology ? I am 
 sometimes inclined to be peremptory in my 
 commands, and, at this time, am not will- 
 ing to be trifled with." 
 
 " The wor4 " bully" was uttered by a
 
 3 41 
 
 gentleman of spare habit, and who wore a 
 smart red hunting-coat, and had on, I be- 
 lieve, a new pair of buckskin-breeches. 
 
 " Willing to shew the 'squire that I was 
 not to be derided or insulted with impunity, 
 I dismounted, gave my horse into the charge 
 of my groom, and having dislodged the 
 companion of the 'squire from his seat with 
 some difficulty, for he strove to sit fast on 
 the saddle, I rolled hira in the field, to the 
 great diversion of many of the spectators ; 
 while his patron, who beheld the woeful 
 condition in which he rose, covered with 
 dirt, his jockey cap, coat, and buckskin 
 breeches soiled, stayed no longer in the 
 field, but, putting spurs to his horse, took 
 French leave. The rest of the company 
 continued the chace, which had been in- 
 terrupted by this adventure. 
 
 " I was not, I confess, a little surprised, 
 some few days after, to receive a challenge 
 from this redoubtable hero. I imagine, 
 from the character he bore, that he was ad-
 
 1412 
 
 vised to undertake so bold an achievement 
 as the penning of a challenge, contrary to 
 the wise saying, ' in the number of coun- 
 sellors is safety/ 
 
 " I was desired to give him satisfaction 
 for daring to love Miss Elinor Harcourt, 
 and for insulting his friend, and putting 
 him in bodily fear by rude and outrageous 
 language ; although I cannot charge myself 
 with anything of this sort. 
 
 < e I met him in a common adjoining to 
 the town of Huntingdon at an early hour. 
 The air was keen. The ground was mea- 
 sured. Elinor's brother was my second. 
 
 " I desired him to fire. I perceived his 
 hand to tremble violently : the ball lodged 
 in the ground at many yards distance from 
 me. 
 
 " It was my turn to fire. I then asked 
 him, if he was prepared. He replied, in 
 
 scarcely articulate words — ( y — y — yes 
 
 Why — y — y — y yes, I am prepared ; but, 
 for God's sake, Sir, don't take my life away
 
 143 
 
 - — Wound me if you must, Mr. Lester, but 
 I beg of you not to kill me/ 
 
 u It was not my intention to claim my 
 right of firing at my antagonist. I ex- 
 plained, by telling him, that I had met him 
 to give that satisfaction which he demand* 
 ed ; that his friend had insulted me by a 
 gross and intemperate expression, and for 
 which he really merited severer chastise- 
 ment from the hands of a gentleman ; that 
 with respect to the fair lady, concerning 
 whom the dispute had originated, although 
 he must acknowledge, in his cooler mo- 
 ments, that on my part there had been 
 very little offence given, and none malig- 
 nantly, he was left at liberty still to pursue 
 his courtship. But surely," I added, " with 
 the permission of the honourable Miss Har- 
 court, I may aspire, Sir, to the freedom of 
 her aequaintance, without dread of punish- 
 ment from any man; and I humbly conceive 
 that it is for that young lady to decide 
 whose suit she prefers. And now, Sir, as
 
 144 
 
 the very keen air of the common has given 
 fresh edge to my appetite, and this affair 
 has terminated so happily, will you honour 
 this gentleman, the brother of Miss Har- 
 court, with whom you are acquainted, and 
 myself, with your company to an early 
 breakfast at my lodgings. 
 
 " He stared at me with a look of astonish- 
 ment some minutes, strided to me eagerly, 
 fell on his knees, and thanked me for my 
 forbearance and mercy shewn to a wretched 
 sinner, and told me I deserved the young 
 lady. Then rising, gave my hand a violent 
 shake, and concluded with taking from his 
 pocket-book a card on which his address 
 was written, and swore tbatJiis dependant 
 should beg my pardon in person. 1 then 
 informed him, that I would readily give up 
 that, as I was quite satisfied with the ac- 
 knowledgment already made. 
 
 " The 'squire was not the only person of 
 the party who was elate on this occasion. 
 The honourable Mr.Harcourt expressed his
 
 145 
 
 pleasure in friendly and affectionate terms, 
 while he could scarcely check his comic 
 mirth, by occasionally quizzing the less 
 ardent Squire. 
 
 " With the consent of Harcourt we were 
 privately married, and I had the happiness 
 of receiving my desirable partner for life 
 from his hands. By his advice, we planned 
 speedy retirement to some pleasant village 
 in a distant county, where we might live 
 until I had acquainted our parents with 
 our union. The pardon and consent of my 
 father I expected to obtain ; but I never 
 thought that the Earl of Harcourt would be 
 brought to sign his consent to a match, in 
 his opinion so unequal. 
 
 " Nor was I mistaken in the sequel. 
 Seeing me so intimate with his daughter, 
 he discovered symptoms of disquietude and 
 fretfulness, and threw out hints that my de- 
 parture would be agreeable to his wishes. 
 
 " My Elinor, whose love increased with 
 time, dreading the anger of her father, 
 
 Vol. L II
 
 • 146 
 
 pressed the necessity of our retirement. Her 
 brother urged the most forcible reasons for 
 adopting the same measure. In short, we 
 departed for the county of Hertfordshire, 
 to a country-box which Harcourt had pro- 
 cured. 
 
 " The house was situated on the emi- 
 nence of a hill, at the bottom of w r hich 
 flowed a meandering stream. Here the 
 eyes of the traveller beheld pleasing and 
 sloping uplands dressed by the rich hand of 
 nature, woods pendent over woods, thick 
 copses, fields, and white and fleecy flocks, 
 grazing in the luxuriant vallies; here vil- 
 lages, there loftier spires, which denoted 
 parish-churches, the indexes of larger and 
 more populous towns. The country was 
 in its greatest beauty, and the horizon ter- 
 minated an earthly paradise. Often would 
 my Elinor and myself wander together on 
 a summer's evening, when the moon rose 
 majestic in the east, and darted her oblique 
 rays across the valley, and over the green
 
 w 
 
 hill, playing on the surface of the water, 
 while the brighter orbs of the fixed stars 
 blazed in the azure firmament : all nature 
 seemed to pause in astonishment at the 
 grandeur of the scene. Then would we 
 drink deeply of mutual love; and then, 
 pressing her to my bosom, I used to ask 
 her if she would always love her husband 
 as she now did, and whether I might dare 
 to nourish so sweet an anticipation, so fond 
 an expectation of future joy. At other 
 times we would plan measures for the hap- 
 piness that we promised ourselves we should 
 possess ; we talked of events likely to be 
 produced by slow but improving time; and 
 in reading the most entertaining and in- 
 structive authors we passed many more of 
 our hours ; for it was a pleasure to me to 
 hear my Elinor make her remarks, simple 
 and unaffected, but interesting and instruc- 
 tive, in as much as they were the emana- 
 tions of a polished mind. 
 
 u It was with pain that I wrote to my 
 H 2
 
 148 
 
 father, informing him of my marriage, and 
 pleading the strength of my passion. That 
 indulgent and good parent sent me an an- 
 swer by return of post, giving me the most 
 salutary counsels that parental affection 
 could suggest. He began his letter, by 
 saying, that, as I was embarked in a new 
 situation in life, it was necessary I should 
 attend to his advice ; that it was unnatural 
 to suppose otherwise than that he was my 
 best friend ; and that, while I followed his 
 advice, God's blessing would attend me in 
 every action of my life. He advised me to 
 be minutely upright, to keep my word most 
 religiously, and never to swerve from the 
 paths of honour; adding, that, as I might 
 expect to have a family, I should avoid ex- 
 travagance, for the extravagant man was 
 dependent on others, often rapacious and 
 destitute of common honesty; besides, for 
 a man to incur debts, when he knew there 
 was not a possibility of discharging them, 
 was mere criminal and knavish than going
 
 149 
 
 on the highway to rob. If I wished to 
 have the continuance of Heaven's blessing, 
 I should behave to others as I would wish 
 they should act to me under similar cir- 
 cumstances. Above all things he cau- 
 tioned me to avoid excesses, and to be in- 
 dustrious, as essential to honesty, virtue, 
 and benevolence ; for how could I know 
 how to reward the industrious without be- 
 ing so myself. He concluded a long letter 
 with wishing me every degree of happi- 
 ness in life; bade me remember that I had 
 always a friend in him ; that, at his death, 
 I should inherit all his property, and that, 
 even during his life, he would settle on 
 me a handsome allowance; so that Elinor 
 and myself might live independent of the 
 Earl of Harcourt, of whom he had conceived 
 no very exalted notions. ? When you have 
 a son,' added he, c give the young rogue 
 the christian name of his paternal grand- 
 father.' 
 
 " Whatever my good father's objections 
 H 3
 
 J50 
 
 might have been to our match, he con- 
 cealed them, and endeavoured all that was 
 in his power to serve me. 
 
 " 1 wrote to the father of 4 Elinor; but 
 the Earl was implacable. He declared, that 
 his astonishment and anger were equally 
 great; that the downfall of his noble house 
 was threatened by such contamination of 
 blood; and that the world must pity him in 
 this, that a child of his should disgrace her- 
 self by so unworthy an alliance, so degrad* 
 ing an union, throwing aside duty to her 
 father and his opinions. He added, that he 
 never would give his daughter a farthing; 
 nay, that she might starve with hunger 
 ere he would give her one morsel of bread, 
 or acknowledge our brats : a prediction 
 which that hard-hearted man lived and en- 
 dured to see nearly fulfilled. 
 
 " I could not refrain from considering 
 myself as the cause of my Elinor's misfor- 
 tunes, and the means of her suffering from 
 the implacable resentment of her father.
 
 151 
 
 Her brother wrote to me a letter shortly 
 after, saying, that, he had quarrelled with 
 his Hither on my aecount ; that the house 
 had become insupportable ; and that he was 
 on the eve of taking his departure from 
 England on a voyage to I he West Indies, 
 where he intended serving his country as 
 a military officer in that unhealthy climate. 
 
 " This augmented our misfortunes; but 
 my faithful Elinor suffered her sorrows to 
 abate in my company. She then seemed to 
 forget them, unless it was when she felt lor 
 me ; she then repeated her tender and em- 
 phatic declaration, that I was a husband, a 
 father, and brother to her ; that she lived 
 for me only, and would share all my vicis- 
 situdes of fortune. 
 
 " Thus we continued to love each other, 
 as we did when our nuptials first took place. 
 
 " My father affectionately invited me to 
 town, and admitted me as a partner in the 
 firm of his house ; but, alas ! what a storm 
 II 4
 
 152 
 
 wns preparing, what misfortunes were im- 
 pending over my devoted head ! 
 
 " It has been observed, that when we are 
 led to imagine we are most secure, we 
 should in such seasons be most on our 
 guard. 
 
 " The first severe blow that I felt was the 
 death of my beloved parent. With a heavy 
 and foreboding heart did I enter into the 
 management of his affairs. Young and in- 
 experienced, friends, or at least such as bore 
 the prostituted titles of friends, but who 
 are in truth the property of every rich man, 
 flocked around me. 
 
 "The needy borrowed of me, the pru- 
 dent and speculative plundered me at the 
 gaming-table, or on 'Change. To one man 
 I advanced ten thousand pounds, to an- 
 other I was security for double that sum ; 
 the one failed in business, and, treating my 
 debt as a friendly loan, paid me no part of it, 
 contenting himself with payinghisothcrcre-
 
 153 
 
 ditors threepence in the pound ; the other 
 absconded, after inviting me a few days be- 
 fore to a sumptuous dinner; when, in his 
 bill of fare, among other luxuries, was a 
 ham stewed in claret, a haunch of veni- 
 son, and a little chicken turtle. Of him I 
 have not once heard ; but, Miss Tanker- 
 ville, whether he be living or not I cannot 
 inform you. 1 perceive that you are shocked 
 at his duplicity. I confess I was much hurt 
 on finding such moral depravity; but in 
 the school of Adversity the philosopher is 
 formed; and this rigid instructress, while 
 she humbles human pride, teaches her pu- 
 pils salutary experience. 
 
 " In a. short interval of time my money 
 was dissipated, my connexions distrust- 
 ed me, some of whom abruptly told me 
 that they must employ other merchants. 
 Like the wounded stag, I seemed to have 
 had a mark set upon me, and, like that 
 poor and distressed animal, was shunned by 
 more prosperous acquaintance and fellows* 
 H5
 
 154 
 
 It is to be lamented, I have often 
 thought, that some fostering hand is not 
 ready to shield the deserving and industri- 
 ous, or those whom the chances of fortune 
 and a good-natured disposition, which has 
 not learnt how to blunt its feelings to the 
 voice of distress, have reduced to narrow 
 penury. A little seasonable relief might 
 be of important service in retrieving their 
 disastrous affairs, and contribute to set 
 them up once more in business. 
 
 " My wife was brought to bed of a boy. 
 We called him Edward, after his grand- 
 father. At any other time this pledge of 
 our union would have afforded me infinite 
 joy ; it now added to our distress. 
 
 " Creditors poured in upon me with re- 
 peated demands and fresh accounts; and a 
 commercial man, whose bill I had accepted 
 from pure friendship, was the first to post 
 me on 'Change. When I met him after- 
 wards, he passed by me as an unconcerned 
 man; bowed to me with respect; had the
 
 155 
 
 same smile of friendship on bis countenance 
 that he ever had, and offered me his hand. 
 I guarded against the proffered friendship, 
 and, shuddering at the deceitful viper, ut- 
 terly disclaimed his acquaintance, and left 
 him to his feelings. 
 
 " I had received a classical education. 
 It was now that I wished to put it to some 
 account ; but I experienced what my fa- 
 ther had often told me, that I should find 
 Latin and Greek of little use, if I should 
 fall into distressed circumstances, which 
 he prayed God might never happen. The 
 mind, when afflicted with misery, which 
 is the cause frequently of the disease of 
 the body, loses a great share of its wont- 
 ed vigour; not that my misfortunes pre- 
 vented my application to booksellers for 
 the purchase of those writings which I had 
 produced in the much to be commiserated 
 character of a needy and half-famished 
 author ; but when I recollected that Otway, 
 H6
 
 156 
 
 the Poet of Nature, had, in this country, 
 literally died from impatience to feed the 
 demands of ravenous hunger; that Butler 
 regretted, in neglected poverty, the ingra- 
 titude of the Stuart family; that Savage 
 was the victim of unnatural caprice, the il- 
 legitimate child of misery, deserted by all 
 but the pious. and feeling Doctor Johnson ; 
 that Lloyd had written many of his witty 
 and classical compositions in the Fleet- 
 prison ; that Cbatterton was not pitied till 
 after he bad terminated his unhappy exist- 
 ence; and that Dermody had lately died in 
 obscurity and beggary, ineffectually endea- 
 vouring to quiet the clamorous demands of 
 an unfeeling woman, to whom he was in- 
 debted for the hire of a garret; that the 
 expences of his burial were disputed by 
 ignorant, selfish, and hard overseers ; nay, 
 the funeral of the unfortunate youth was 
 only defrayed by the joint subscription of a 
 few distinguished ^ liberal, and philanthropic
 
 157 
 
 gentlemen, who admired the poet, while 
 they felt for their fellow-creature: — I con- 
 fess, when I reflected on these discouraging 
 precedents, my resolution was staggered. 
 Necessity, however, drove me to try the 
 experiment. I went to an accoucheur of 
 literature with some select poems which I 
 had written. He looked at them, read 
 them over, applauded them as efforts of 
 genius, but closed his observations as fol- 
 lows : " I thank you for the sight of them, 
 but there is not quantity sufficient for two 
 volumes. How much do you expect to 
 get for as much more as you have written ? 
 You will at present only .ret a trifle, though 
 the style is far from bad. In the condition 
 in which you have brought your writings 
 to me, they are not saleable. " 
 
 " And will not these poems be accept- 
 able because they are few in number, and 
 those closely written?'' I replied. 
 
 " My dear Sir," said he, asking me to sit
 
 158 
 
 down, Cf you seem quite ignorant of the 
 trade. These, I grant you, may pass in 
 a magazine, or perhaps the Editor of a 
 newspaper, provided he has room, and you 
 can prevail on him to spare part of a 
 column, may insert them from time to time 
 in the Poet's Corner." 
 
 I told him, that I had begun writing a 
 novel, and asked him if he woufd purchase 
 it? 
 
 " Shew it to me," was his answer. " I 
 must read it, or let some friend peruse it, 
 before I can enter into definitive terms. 
 Is it like the style of Fielding, Richardson, 
 or Smollet ? If so, it will not do. Novels 
 now-a-days, unless they are excessively sen- 
 timentar, don't sell. Romances are more 
 in fashion ; and these must have ghosts, 
 mysteries, subterraneous caverns, suffering 
 Matildas, heroic Fitzallans, villainous Os- 
 monds, persecuted Reginalds ; they must 
 be lighted up with torches, be loaded with
 
 159 
 
 fragments of decayed and mouldering 
 castles, haunted with male or female 
 spectres, have their pages stained with the 
 acts of cruel barons, and -be interspersed 
 with a little licentiousness ; such as will 
 provoke the passions of the younger part of 
 the sexes. " 
 
 " He then shewed me, as a specimen of 
 the style which would be sure of pleasing, 
 an extract from the MS. Romance of the 
 'Bloody Mysteries of the Infernal Banquet,' 
 by Mrs. Gloomly. I turned over some 
 pages, and, in the middle of the seventh 
 volume, read the foiiowing passage : 
 • " Stranger, said Frederick, art thou of 
 heaven or hell ? Why have thy canonized 
 bones left the quiet, the silent sepulchre, 
 the grave of thy deceased forefathers ? I 
 conjure you to answer me. The night was 
 dark, the moon was obscured by sable 
 clouds, the rain descended in torrents, and 
 the leaves of the wide spreading larch-tree 
 were agitated by the rising tempest. Fre-
 
 160 
 
 derick, although unused to fear, felt his 
 mind perturbed. The spectre, for so it ap- 
 peared by the transitory flashes of the vivid 
 lightning, made no answer. Already his 
 hand was upon the hilt of his sword, he 
 drew it forth from the scabbard, and, thus 
 armed, prepared to follow whither the poor 
 troubled spirit seemed to beckon him to 
 proceed. " 
 
 " And if this is," I exclaimed, " a sub- 
 ject suited to the modern taste, I perceive 
 I shall be no favourite. I thank you for 
 your kindness, Sir, and wish you a good 
 day. 
 
 " I was going out of the shop, when the 
 bookseller called me back. " Stop," said he, 
 " your ingenuity deserves encouragement, 
 young man ; I am a poor man in trade, 
 and my profits are but barely enough to 
 support my family, which is large ; but 
 your merit has a claim to what little en- 
 couragement I can bestow. Though I am 
 not qualified to be a Mecsenas, young gea-
 
 101 
 
 tleman, I cannot view your situation with- 
 out pity, as I have not passed by your 
 talents without commendation. Here are 
 ten guineas, Sir, to encourage you to go 
 on in the path of literature, which will lead 
 you to honour." 
 
 " I was hurt at his not receiving my 
 verses, and refused the sum he was so kind 
 as to offer me. Wc are, Miss Tankerville, 
 even the wisest of us, subject to pride, and 
 our venial errors deserve lenity. By the 
 advice of a man who lodged in the same 
 house with me, I applied to the editor 
 of a newspaper; but I found that I must 
 give up my principles, however just, write 
 at the expence of my conscience, and 
 gloss over particular actions ; for which I 
 should be paid an adequate salary. This 
 was not congenial to my idea of rectitude 
 or virtue, and by no means suited my 
 ten) per. 
 
 M I went next to the manager of the
 
 162 
 
 summer theatre, Mr. George Terence, 
 junior, and offered him a play. 
 
 u He looked at it, and told me if I would 
 permit him to alter the manuscript, he 
 would bring it out at his theatre ; but other- 
 wise he must beg leave to return it, as he 
 already had plenty of his own for the sum- 
 mer. One essential advantage at this 
 theatre was, a long run ; for he could al- 
 ways invite guests who would ensure that 
 what was set before them should go down 
 with applause. I declined the offers of this 
 despotic caterer for the public, who will only 
 give his own plays ; not what the audience 
 like, but what he chooses. He is undoubt- 
 edly a man of rare talent, and has written 
 comedies which will ensure him reputation; 
 but he should recollect that, in his official 
 capacity as manager of a place of entertain- 
 ment, he is to lay aside prejudice and ca- 
 price as far as lies in his power, and to en- 
 deavour to please the public. Shakespeare
 
 %6$ 
 
 will not always please ; nor, though his scats 
 may groan with loads of his favourites and 
 hirelings, will the plays of Mr. Terence, 
 junior, nightly repeated through the season, 
 please the independent, critical, and fa- 
 shionable part of the audience. 
 
 u I next resolved to call upon a maiden 
 aunt. She was advanced in years, and was 
 reported to have a great deal of money in 
 the funds. Her sister, who had an inde- 
 pendent fortune, lived in the same house 
 with her. After waiting some time at the 
 door, I was shewn up stairs. They received 
 me coldly ; one of them, desiring me to be 
 seated, observed, u that 1 was very negli- 
 gent, that my shoes were covered with 
 dirt ; and, in an insolent strain of lamenta- 
 tion, reminded me of some people of their 
 acquaintance, whose names they could men- 
 tion, not having followed their relatives' ad- 
 vice ; but they hoped that I had seen my 
 folly, having bought my experience very 
 dearly; and, though I had been headstrong
 
 N 164 
 
 and foolishly extravagant, that I had at 
 length sown my wild oats. Was their' poor 
 dear brother, my ever-honoured parent, 
 to know of my extravagance, nothing could 
 exceed his anger ; but he was to blame for 
 having left such vast sums of money in my 
 sole management, a youth of no experience. 
 Had I followed their counsel, there would 
 not have been grounds for people saying 
 what they did ; but I could not say that it 
 was for want of being well advised." 
 
 " I was not in a humour to receive sharp 
 admonition, eked out with proverbs, when 
 the healing voice of friendship and sym- 
 pathy might have been expected. In re- 
 turn, I made a low bow, and, on leaving the 
 room, politely wished them a good morning. 
 Yet there was a time when these good crea- 
 tures could bear to see even their Turkey 
 carpet soiled by the hopeful son of the 
 opulent Mr. Edward Lester, their own dear 
 brother; could even endure my being co- 
 vered in their presence, and never ended a
 
 J 65 
 
 remark but with the softened appellation 
 of my dear, and my good George. Bat I 
 was doomed ' to bear the whips and scorns 
 of time, the oppressor's wrong ;' and that 
 frigid distance which the poor meet too 
 frequently from the rich, and which can be 
 better conceived than expressed. 
 
 " In the hopes of meeting with some em- 
 ployment, I frequented a coffee -fro use, al- 
 though the money that it cost me to dis- 
 charge my reckoning could be but ill spared. 
 1 had contracted a gloomy and reserved 
 habit of temper, and seldom joined in the 
 discussion of politics, a subject which was 
 nightly introduced. Among the society was 
 a leading charrcter, a man whose name was 
 Jones, violent in declaring sentiments hes- 
 . tile :o the existing government, which he 
 loudly censured under feigned names. Fie 
 had at school learned that Harmodius and 
 Aristogiton were noble characters among 
 the Greeks; that Brutus, when he sacri- 
 ficed his children to the love of his country.
 
 166 
 
 acted in the most exalted manner ; that the 
 heroism of Decius, in devoting himself to 
 inevitable destruction, was exemplary ; that 
 Marius, who deluged his divided country 
 with blood, was a great personage, a bright 
 luminary. He had been taught, too, 
 while kept almost in total ignorance of the 
 doctrine of his Saviour (if I may mention 
 so awful a character in the same breath), 
 that the assassin of a benefactor, who had 
 given life, safety, and patronage to his mur- 
 derer, was most virtuous; and he could 
 pity the zealot and ingrate Brutus, who, 
 instead of lamenting his seduction from fi- 
 delity, exclaimed vauntingly, in his last mo- 
 ments, that virtue was no where to be found. 
 " These early lessons had sown the most 
 dangerous seeds. The poison had tainted 
 his mind too strongly for any efficient anti- 
 dote; and Jones afforded a striking example 
 to many, of the danger of reading, without 
 proper instruction and observation, cha- 
 racters of patriots as drawn in the com-
 
 10? 
 
 manding language of ancient classical 
 writers, ere the mind is fixed, and at a time 
 when the imagination is not duly regulated 
 by the judgment. 
 
 <c One evening, when I was going out of 
 the room, he rose from his seat, followed 
 me, and in the passage gave me his hand 
 with a look of sympathy painted on his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Lester, my friend, you seem to labour 
 under misfortunes; grant me ypuir par- 
 don if I am more explicit. Already am 
 I acquainted with your wants. While the 
 poor and honest man can scarcely procure 
 subsistence, the rich roil in pride and are 
 pampered with luxury. Are we ever to be 
 so ? — For my part, I would rather lose my 
 life in the cause of virtue, and die in pro- 
 curing the rights of my fellow-citizens, 
 than be the slave of petty tyrants, who 
 listen with frigid apathy to the groans of 
 their fellow-citizens, and wrap their delicate 
 limbs in costly silk. While the husbandman
 
 368 
 
 and labourer moisten their tillage with the 
 sweat of their brow, they indulge their 
 pampered appetites with superfluous deli- 
 cacies, and display their fashionable, ele- 
 gant, and nicely scented persons at operas, 
 play-houses, parks, and genteel walks; but 
 the citizen is forced to go on foreign ser- 
 vice, to plant the standard in inhospitable 
 and destructive climes, to pour out his 
 blood, sad sacrifice to aggrandisement, 
 and, O cursed inequality ! merely to gain a 
 scanty pittance. O patrician and unna- 
 tural oppression ! But a grand stroke will 
 soon be made, my friend. Liberty will be 
 given to our wives, children, and brethren. 
 What a glorious prospect expands to our 
 view ! Regeneration and national felicity ! 
 England, under such auspices, will perform 
 every thing that becomes her. Indepen- 
 dence, prosperity, peace, universal peace, 
 will arise from our glorious exertions. The 
 tree of liberty will be planted in. our native 
 soil, amid the loud plaudits of enlight-
 
 \5g 
 
 encd philosophers, uncorruptcd patriots, 
 godlike heroes, exalted legislators, and un- 
 venal freemen. On its saered altar we have 
 sworn to aid the cause of liberty, and to 
 become a band ol" patriots linked in the 
 closest tics of fraternal amity and civism. 
 What say you, my friend ; what say you, 
 Lester? To-night I will introduce you to 
 our commander, under whom we are to be 
 organized. He is an enlightened, sensible, 
 and courageous man. — No Spartan, Ro- 
 man, or Republican of France, ever had 
 greater zeal for the cause of freedom. 
 Strike, and we must be free. Let us be 
 firm, and we shall be happy." 
 
 " I followed him, actuated by curiosity, 
 to a room where, among the portraits that 
 were hung round the wainscot, a large 
 painting of Brutus was suspended over the 
 fire-place; and a representation of the in- 
 sidious and profligate Voltaire was placed 
 in a conspicuous point of view, in the act 
 of dictating those sentiments which have so 
 
 Vol. I. I 

 
 J 70 
 
 fatally subverted the principles of religion 
 and natural government. A tall elderly 
 man, of genteel and conciliating address, 
 invited me to the honour of a sitting. His 
 harangue, or, to use Mr. Jones's word, 
 proemium, was as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Jones' having introduced you, Sir, 
 is sufficient assurance for me that you are 
 an honest patriot. We shall have reason, 
 I flatter myself, to congratulate our depart- 
 ment on the acquisition. That the glori- 
 ous system of republican government will 
 be aided by you, Sir, I have very little 
 doubt." 
 
 " He then, with a complacent look, 
 placed in my hand a pa| er of the last re- 
 solutions made at a recent sitting of dele- 
 gates. 
 
 " The style was inflammatory and insi- 
 dious ; it was calculated to please the sedi- 
 tious, and alarm the peaceable citizen ; it 
 spoke to the passions of ambitious and pro- 
 fligate men ; and the designs that it held
 
 i7i 
 
 forth were daring, but not even plausible. 
 The Tower was proposed to be seized, the 
 horse-guards were to be attacked by another 
 division of citizens, and of the artillery im- 
 mediate possession was to be taken. Our be- 
 loved monarch was next to fall ; he, whose 
 virtues have instructed his subjects, whose 
 piety has cditied a rising generation, who 
 has proved himself an affectionate and faith- 
 ful husband, a good and tender father, a 
 kind and unshaken friend, a courageous, 
 benevolent, and patriotic sovereign, was to 
 be suddenly attacked on his way to St. 
 James's. The stream of the New River was 
 to be poisoned, the houses were to be set 
 on fire by the republican Frenchmen who 
 had obtained an asylum in this country as 
 emigrants in the cause of loyally and per- 
 secuted religion. At the same moment 
 great movements were to be made in Shef- 
 field, Leeds, Birmingham, and Dublin, an4 
 in most of our manufacturing towns. The 
 French were to attempt a landing in Ire» v 
 12
 
 \n 
 
 land, where they would be joined by nu- 
 merous and determined allies. " View," 
 said the friend of Jones, and the president 
 of the department for London, " this plan ; 
 nothing is so practicable. It will bean at- 
 tempt worthy of enlightened citizens. They 
 must be happy." 
 
 " And yet," I replied, " what a number 
 of families will be suddenly and miserably 
 implicated in this revolutionary system. 
 When I reflect on the happiness of indivi- 
 duals, when I consider the number of men 
 who have been trained up to support the 
 laws of their country, to add to the admini- 
 stration of the existing government, to in- 
 culcate morality and religion ; when I view 
 the decent pride of family, the modest fe- 
 male, the youthful family, and noble and 
 ancient institutions, the shops of the citi- 
 zens abounding in opulence, the product 
 of successful industry, the consideration 
 that these should be pillaged by a licen- 
 tious rabble, raises in me distrust and dis-
 
 17? 
 
 may. What a scene of terror happened in 
 the memorable year of seventeen hundred 
 and eighty, when the mob, aided by an in- 
 temperate fanatic, threatened destruction to 
 civil society ; when they took possession, 
 by storm, of the lobby of the house of com- 
 mons, emptied the prisons of those whose 
 habitual crimes had rendered them dan- 
 gerous to the community, burnt the magi- 
 strates houses, and destroyed the house. 
 books, furniture, pictures, and, what was a 
 severe loss to the public, the manuscripts 
 of the learned and eloquent Lord Mans- 
 field ! Six and thirty separate conflagra- 
 tions blazed at once, leaving smoking ruins 
 and vestiges of blood. And you may re- 
 collect, gentlemen, that more were the vic- 
 tims of drinking and licentiousness, than 
 perished by the powers which the existing 
 government had found it necessary to call 
 in to their aid : this is the information 
 that I have received. For my own part I 
 was not witness to the scene, I was too 
 i 3
 
 i/4 
 
 young ; but I have heard parents of fami- 
 lies, and respectable men, speak of it with 
 disapprobation and horror. From the past 
 you have little success to expect, much dan- 
 ger to apprehend ; — besides, Sir, I address 
 myself to you, who seem to be the manager 
 of this system; are you certain that the 
 people wish to have their government 
 changed i 
 
 " But we intend to change it at all events. 
 We must judge for them ; it is our duty to 
 instruct them. We have sworn to do it. 
 Tremble, O ye supporters of despotism! 
 I have weighed the subject maturely, and 
 am fully prepared for the momentous 
 struggle.** 
 
 " I replied, by arguing on the futility of 
 his plan, that bis intended system was re- 
 pugnant to sound doctrine and common 
 sense ; that it had neither reason for its 
 guide, nor truth for its support; nor was it 
 founded on experience, but on such a sandy 
 basis as could never be said to exist for any
 
 1/5 
 
 length of time, bat always tottering and 
 obnoxious to every blast and commotion of 
 the discordant and tempestuous elements 
 of which 1l was composed. An ancient and 
 discerning writer has observed, that, how- 
 ever specious the name of democracy, it 
 bears little resemblance to the real import of 
 the word; but monarchy, or, as in our con- 
 tistution,an aristocracy, lodged in the hands 
 of a few, under the controul of one, how- 
 ever harsh it may sound, imparts real ad- 
 vantages to the state. For, as true virtue 
 fulls but to the ponion of few, it is less dif- 
 ficult to find one excellent man than many. 
 And even allowing that a tyrant may hold 
 the rod of empire, assuredly one such mas- 
 ter is preferable to many more, who maybe 
 equally criminal with himself. 
 
 " Let us consult the page of history, and 
 we shall find how soon this visionary system 
 was laid aside by its most sanguine and ar- 
 dent abettors, and that this theory might 
 be said to be only in nubllus : but ten years 
 14
 
 ltd 
 
 had elapsed from the expulsion of Tarquin, 
 ere the infant and aspiring republic of 
 Rome created a dictator. Jealous as she 
 was of her liberty, she gladly had recourse, 
 in the hour of difficulty, to an absolute 
 power. 
 
 " France, bleeding from the wounds in- 
 flicted by her own citizens (if a licentious 
 rabble, the blind tools of ambitious and in- 
 terested men, may be. thought worthy of 
 the name of citizens) ; France, I say, suf- 
 fering by cruel and hot parricides, in the 
 midst of a dangerous and external war, 
 again demonstrated how capricious, un- 
 stable, and inefficient are popular govern- 
 ments. Nay, Sir, frown not ; facts must 
 be admitted. She who could not endure 
 being ruled under a limited monarchy, by 
 a head of her own family, if I may say so, 
 the mild, pacific, and alas, unfortunate 
 Capet, the descendant of the royal line of 
 Bourbon, now willingly acquiesces in the 
 despotic management and protectorship of 
 a foreign consul, or rather dictator !
 
 Ml 
 
 " Docs not nature, through all her works, 
 (I argued) abhor equality? While the in- 
 dustrious subject shall receive greater en- 
 couragement than the idle, ?o long will two 
 distinct classes of people exist. White in- 
 firmities incapacitate the sickly, so long will 
 the healthy man be found p( more value to 
 the state than the invalid, and receive a 
 proportionate reward. Some are fond of 
 the naval service, others arc born to de- 
 fend the innocent, and bring the guilt}' to 
 justice at the bar. Is there no differ- 
 ence, I pray you, whether the people, as 
 tenants to noblemen, enjoy the fruits of 
 reciprocal attachment, founded on the ba- 
 sis of ancient and established usage ; or, 
 under a military government, are obliged 
 to submit to the opinions and commands 
 of general officers, — a tyranny worse, Mr. 
 Jones, than even the infamous despotism of 
 the thirty tyrants at Athens — a tyranny 
 which once happened in this country, but 
 which i hone we shall never see :\gz\n ?
 
 178 
 
 " But you, gentlemen, (pardon me if the 
 subject leads me into peculiar warmth) 
 because a man has not complete health, 
 or an entirely sound constitution, would 
 advise, nay force him to tamper with his 
 very existence, and shorten his life by rash 
 experiments. Why should we alter our 
 government, because it is not that of 
 Utopia ? That is the best which has the 
 fewest faults; and is the English government 
 (to speak candidly) experimentally bad ? 
 Are not the avenues to the state laid open 
 to the industrious ? Property is defended — 
 the Englishman's house is his safety. In 
 the courts of law, the meanest and most 
 indigent citizen has justice, for the judges 
 are independent. To reformists I may ad- 
 dress the story of an Italian, who had writ- 
 ten over his tombstone the cause of his 
 death. ' I was well ; I wished to be better, 
 and I died.' I beseech you, by our pros- 
 perity ; by the reverence that the good ought 
 to pay to the laws of their country; by that 
 abhorrence which every humane man must
 
 179 
 
 have of bloodshed and civil war ; by our 
 love to our fathers, families, brethren, and 
 children; by the respect that we ought to 
 pav to established and venerable institu- 
 tions; by the gratitude we owe to our an- 
 cestors, who, at the risk of their lives, but 
 with the sense of the major and better part 
 of the community, have transmitted to us 
 a glorious constitution, the admiration of 
 foreigners, the source of national safety and 
 prosperity, the essence of our commerce, 
 the wonder of ages — let us not engage in 
 so rash and wicked an enterprise ! Every 
 good man will-tremble for the consequences 
 which innovation may produce " 
 
 " The hearers seemed astonished at my 
 boldness: but it was in vain that I argued 
 with such passionate admirers of democracy. 
 I left these misguided patriots, and, in a 
 few days, heard that, through the evidence 
 given by one of their party, diey were sur- 
 prised at one of their meetings by the run- 
 ners from Bow-street, had their papers 
 * 16
 
 180 
 
 seized, and having been found guilty of 
 holding a treasonable correspondenee with 
 the disaffected in Ireland and England, and 
 those aliens who were to set fire to the 
 houses in whieh they were lodging, were 
 sentenced to public execution. While I 
 pitied their conduct, 1 applauded my own 
 firmness, and felt an unspeakable and in- 
 estimable satisfaction in not having joined 
 b fad ion of seditious, dissolute, and blood- 
 thirsty patriots. 
 
 " It was now that I was taught lessons 
 which adversity ever enforces upon the 
 mind of the sufferer. I envied the lighter- 
 man and carman their offices, have thought 
 coachmen happy, and looked at the porter, 
 who was sinking under his weight, with 
 wistful eyes, I would indeed have en- 
 gaged myself to manual labour, but was 
 in too weak a state, having been a long 
 time without nourishing food. 
 
 " Often have I, disturbed in my imagi- 
 nation,- unable to sleep, left my garret at
 
 JSI 
 
 night, and my fond Elinor's arms, who, 
 suffering innocent ! little suspected my in- 
 tention, and strolled through the silent and 
 solitary street : and, as I have passed the 
 different houses, have exclaimed, Lleve are 
 marks of opulence, but will the inhabi- 
 tants of these houses, to-morrow, employ 
 me, to procure sustenance sufficient for my 
 family to exist one day ? By the light of 
 the lamps, I have read bills announcing 
 plays, operas, and galas, at public places ; 
 and yet these, I have said, will be thronged 
 with fashion's train, who are regardless of 
 economy, and are nice in their choice of 
 superfluities. And now, would it gain be- 
 lief, a wretch, a citizen of a wealthy me- 
 tropolis, in this enlightened age, amongst 
 all this gaiety, is literally starving and 
 wandering in distress about the streets, 
 whilst aliens have received money from mis- 
 taken and deluded charity. Yet — and I 
 have been awakened from my soliloquy by 
 -a shivering wanton, who has asked me for
 
 182 
 
 a trifle to buy her a glass of liquor, pro- 
 testing that she has had nothing all dayt 
 Not being in a temper of mind to reflect 
 that these wretched females are more mi- 
 serable than myself, I have clasped my 
 hands in agony, blindly presumed to ex- 
 postulate with an eternal and gracious 
 power ; then placing them on my forehead, 
 have said, ' Merciful, omnipotent Being, 
 let me not lose the little portion of reason 
 that I still have left !'
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 IN WHICH MH. LESTER CONTINUES THE 
 
 HISTORY OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 " T 
 
 1 WILL' go on with my adventures, of 
 
 which none but those who experience the 
 like can form an adequate idea. 
 
 " As I was going out, on the landing- 
 place I was met by my fellow-lodger, who 
 presented me with an order for the play. 
 
 " Nonsense," I exclaimed ; " you know 
 my situation." 
 
 " True," said he, " but grief may be di- 
 verted at public places; its sting may be 
 rendered less pungent." 
 
 " He forced on me an order for admis- 
 sion at Drury-lane Theatre. 
 
 " At the hour of performance I went ; 
 the representation was the inimitable co- 
 medy of The School for Scandal.
 
 ]84 
 
 " I was let into one of the boxes in the 
 second row ; a young lady, elegantly dress- 
 ed, occupied the front scat. She politely 
 made room for me. 
 
 " I could not forbear observing that she 
 was highly entertained with the comedy, 
 and pleased that Lady Teazle escaped the 
 dangerous seduction of the crafty and de- 
 signing Joseph Surface, 
 
 " Unhappy daughter of misery ! (I apos- 
 trophised) and with such sentiments art 
 thou fallen into an abyss of woe; how 
 pointed with horror and sharp torture ! 
 Has some villain seduced thee ? and, if not 
 nightly accompanied by some Lothario, 
 who pays thee the fee of shameless pros- 
 titution, the price of thy health and hap- 
 piness ; thou hast to seek the abode of 
 infamous splendor and insupportable sor- 
 row, where, left to remorse and bitterness 
 of conscience, thou weepest till morn ! 
 
 " I cast my eyes round, and a gentle T 
 man had joined her. They entered into
 
 185 
 
 familiar discourse; and I found that, though 
 such women might admire virtuous senti- 
 ments, ami sympathise in the dangers to 
 which the innocent of their own sex are 
 exposed, they have not fortitude enough to 
 put in practice the principles which they 
 have sense sufficient to admire. 
 
 u The afterpiece was The Purse; or, the 
 Benevolent Tar; and she applauded the 
 generosity which her favourite actor, 'Jack 
 
 B r/ shewed in the character of a 
 
 British tar. 
 
 " I was about to leave the theatre ; when, 
 as I was lifting up one of the benches, she 
 slipped a billet into my hand. 
 
 " By the light which the sconces gave, 
 I read the following words: 
 
 " If you will call to-morrow at three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, at No. 7, Suffolk- 
 street, you will meet a friend. 
 
 Your's most affectionately, 
 Mary Amelia Spencer. 
 
 " I doubted whether I should return the
 
 3 86 
 
 billet ; but, being desirous of arguing with 
 heron the folly of her course of life, I re- 
 solved to pay her a visit. 
 
 " At three o'clock I called in Suffolk- 
 street. A maid servant opened the door, 
 and let me into the passage. 
 
 " Is your mistress at home ?" 
 
 " Miss Molly is at home ; but she is en- 
 gaged/* 
 
 " Her name, I was told, was Mary 
 Amelia." 
 
 " What a fuss," she replied, " is here 
 about a name ? I knew her in the country, 
 when she was called by those who were re- 
 lated to her Polly, and more often Poll. 
 And, as for the other name, it was given to 
 her by no parson. She christened herself; 
 and, probably, if she goes on as she does, 
 she will bury herself ere long. There's not 
 a day passes over her head but she is ' how 
 come you so ?' Miss Mary so loves the dear 
 creature." 
 
 " Nature, who had denied the Abigail
 
 J 87 
 
 beauty, had given her abundant vivacity. 
 She was as ugly as vice, but very talkative. 
 
 " This morning," she continued, " Miss 
 Spencer told me, that being on the high 
 lounge up Pall-Mali, in company with her 
 friend, Miss Anna Matilda Hunt, her at- 
 tention was caught by a gentleman dressed 
 in a very fashionable coat, fashionable thick 
 buckskin breeches, and boots, in conversa- 
 tion with the Duke of . 
 
 " Her companion, Miss Hunt, told her, 
 that the gentleman in the fashionable coat 
 was the honourable Mr. Pellet. 
 
 " The following conversation between 
 the Duke and the honourable Mr. Pellet 
 was overheard by my mistress. 
 
 " I think your horse won the cup at 
 Epsom. My horse was beat." 
 
 " Yes, Sir; and the sum which your 
 Grace lost has helped to enrich me." 
 
 " I am glad for you, Sir; sorry for myself. 
 But pray is your lovely sister, Miss Tanker- 
 ville, to remain single all her iife, and bid 
 defiance to the attacks of the blind urchin?'*
 
 J 88 
 
 Emma deeply blushed — and the young 
 gentleman continued his story. 
 
 The honourable Mr. Pellet laughed. 
 
 " My Mistress was fascinated with the 
 honourable Mr. Pellet. Never was such a 
 handsome coat ! Never did any one look 
 half so dashing ! With a complexion al- 
 most feminine, the honourable Mr. Pellet 
 13 certainly a pretty man. The honour- 
 able Mr. Pellet now quitted the Duke, 
 who, at the end of the Mall, returned 
 home, while Pellet turned up St. James's* 
 street. My mistress had followed him. 
 At the pastry-cook's, at the corner of the 
 street, his two grooms were waiting with 
 his curricle, and a pair of fine spirited ches- 
 nut horses; but if my mistress loved him 
 before, how washer passion fatally increas- 
 ed, as she viewed the curricle, chesnut 
 horses, silver furniture, and grooms! Such 
 liveries! Such a handsome coat! Such a 
 thick pair of buckskin breeches ! Such a 
 man! There was no parrying the stroke.
 
 1SQ 
 
 Already had lie placed his foot on the step 
 ot the curricle, and now had he taken the 
 reins in his hand, when he cast his eyes 
 round, and saw Mary Amelia Spencer. It 
 was a critical moment. He dissipated the 
 embarrassment of my mistress by addressing 
 her. 
 
 " I have seen you before, at the theatre." 
 
 " Probably, Sir, I have had that plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " Do you feel disposed, Madam, to take 
 an airing this morning ?" 
 
 " He dismounted, gave her his hand, 
 placed her in the carriage, and away they 
 drove up St. JamesVstrect, through Picca- 
 dilly, and into Hyde Park. She, but a few 
 minutes ago, returned with her new ac- 
 quaintance, who, not content with taking 
 a lounge with her in the Park, and putting 
 her clown at her own door, has followed her 
 up stairs into her apartment, where she now 
 is. It is certainly the full of the honey-moon 
 with the honourable Mr. Pellet and Miss 
 Mary Amelia Spencer."
 
 KjO 
 
 rt I wished the servant a good morning, 
 and gave her my thanks for her civility. It 
 was all that I could give her. Beggar that 
 I was, I might have said, I am even poor in 
 thanks." 
 
 " In the evening a note was brought me 
 by this maid servant. In it was inclosed a 
 fifty pound Bank note, and I read the ad- 
 dress. The note I have by me. Permit me 
 to read it to you, Miss Tankerville." 
 
 " Dear Lesteh," 
 
 " Possibly you will be surprised at my 
 knowing your name. But we women know 
 more than you are aware of. It was a wo* 
 man who was first seduced to pluck that 
 cursed apple; consequently, you must allow 
 she had the first bite. But, dear George, 
 (you see I already know your more familiar 
 name) I write to you, to tell you I loved 
 you last night. Till then, I thought my 
 dog pug, little divine creature, had en- 
 grossed all my attention ; but, alas! I knew 
 not what sentimental love was. Though
 
 I can vouch for the truth, yet it may ap- 
 pear strange to hear women of my sort talk 
 so. Yesterday I met the honourable Mr. 
 Pellet. Such a coat he had on ! Such horses 
 he drove in his curricle, and with such 
 skill ! Besides, he pulled out a most elegant 
 repeater, with two such large gold seals ! 
 could I help loving him ? Add to all this, 
 his horse won the cup at Epsom ; and I, 
 my own self, with my eyes, which I assure 
 you, are very pretty and blue, saw him talk 
 
 with his Grace the Duke of . I must 
 
 not forget to tell you, my eyes are shaded 
 with such a beautiful wig ; I bought it at 
 Ross's new, the beginning of this winter. 
 Miss Anna Matilda Hunt is quite envi- 
 ous ; she declares she never saw such a 
 tasty one. But who could withstand the 
 attractions of Jack Pellet? Can you blame 
 me? Inclosed, I have sent you fifty pounds. 
 I have informed myself, dearGeorge, of your 
 circumstances. I hear you are a hot -head- 
 ed gentleman; but don't be angry at the
 
 %9fl 
 
 freedom I take. Do not thank me ; that is 
 all I require of you : and keep my friendship 
 for you secret. In a month's time, or six 
 weeks at farthest, my lover will be discard- 
 ed, and my heart will be open to you. I 
 shall be sick of him in a short time, Ipre- 
 dict. I had almost forgot to tell you, I 
 have taken out an admission at Coven t 
 Garden, although there are four guineas 
 difference in the price of the ticket ; but 
 the acting company is much better than 
 at the other house. I shall only miss Harry 
 Johnston, who is certainly a favourite. 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Mary Amelia Spencer/' 
 
 " I inclosed the money in her note, 
 which 1 returned scaled, having written at 
 the bottom of it. — 
 
 ft Dear Mary, 
 *' Look around you, and consider, I pray 
 you, that the female who has beauty with- 
 out chastity lives in misery. Repent, good
 
 193 
 
 girl. I thank you for your offer ; but cir- 
 cumstances of the most delicate nature pre- 
 clude my acceptance of the sum. Besides, 
 how can I employ to any good purpose the 
 wages of your iniquity, purchased at the 
 price of your happiness — inestimable com- 
 fort ! Believe this as a truth from one who 
 is what he signs himself, 
 
 Your heal Fhiexd, 
 
 L." 
 
 " I should not have mentioned this cir- 
 cumstance to you, but I take a pride, and 
 trust it is an honest one, in disclosing to 
 you the struggles I had on account of my 
 Elinor. This was not the only victory. 
 Similar temptations were offered to mc, but 
 I withstood them all. Affliction makes us 
 better men ; and those men are to be envi- 
 ed, who, in trials of this kind, act virtuously 
 in the eyes of him who exalteth the meek. 
 
 " In order to communicate my distress, 
 and the state of penury in which f was in- 
 volved, I paid a visit to a young man whom 
 
 Vol. I. K
 
 I Q4 
 
 I bad once intimately known, and who was 
 acquainted with my father. For me he 
 had ever professed the warmest friendship; 
 I had been his convivial companion. With 
 him I had travelled into various parts of the 
 country; indeed I had kept the same house 
 with him. This gentleman was a poet, an 
 admirer of sentiment, and a most profound 
 reader of novels : he was charmed with the 
 character of Sir Charles Grandison ; con- 
 ceived that Tom Jones might have been 
 drawn with less vice and more generosity /and. 
 he would then have made an amiable cha- 
 racter. Pamela's and Cecilia's merits and 
 virtues were discussed over the tea-table, 
 previous to his light repast in Bern ers- street, 
 after bringing home a wanton female from 
 the play-house. He read the character of 
 Telemachus, as drawn by the learned and 
 pious Fenelon for a model, with admiration. 
 He would exclaim, while he stamped his foot 
 on the ground, and screwed his mouth up 
 to a narrow compass or point, his eyes appa-
 
 195 
 
 rcntly sparkling with rapture, Beautiful pas- 
 sage ! elegant thought! most accomplished 
 prince ! amiable son of Ulysses, most in- 
 comparable Fenelon 1 most virtuous bishop 
 of Cambray! He was moreover charmed 
 with the friendship of Py lades and Orestes, 
 and similar histories. ' O would I had 
 been born,' I have heard him say over a 
 bottle, c would I had lived in those days, so 
 fruitful in virtue! Assuredly, friendship is 
 a most exalted virtue, but in this age there 
 is no such thing; every man changes like 
 the cameleon, and a real friend, George, is 
 a rare gem." Shakespeare had not in 
 general drawn his characters perfect enough 
 for his refined taste. It was in Tasso, Ari- 
 osto, and Spenser that he looked for the 
 feast of reason. 
 
 " I will call on my friend, Elinor/' said 
 I to my wife. 
 
 " Why did you not t*hink of it sooner, 
 George," she replied ? " but the distress 
 you are in may wound his nice feelings too 
 K2
 
 iq6 
 
 sensibly I a-m afraid — you had better use 
 caution, my love, with your sensible friend, 
 and break the sad recital to him by de- 
 grees." 
 
 " On seeing me, he was pleased to ex- 
 press sentiments of the utmost pleasure. 
 * It is an age,' he cried, c since I have seen 
 you. Plague take you, George, my dear 
 fellow, where have you hid yourself? in 
 what part of the globe terrestrial have you 
 been ? Have you been to the .Antipodes, 
 or on a long voyage to Hcrculaneum 
 after curiosities ? Or perhaps you have been 
 on a tour, enjoying one of your pleasant 
 excursions to the Hebrides? It was plaguy 
 unkind of you not to let me hear from you. 
 Well now, my fine fellow, George, we will 
 have some glorious fun ; 111 order my cur- 
 ricle to be ready in a quarter of an hour. 
 We'll go to Brighton, positively, this even- 
 ing. A promenade on the Steyne, and a 
 supper at the Castle, will do us no harm : 
 faith it will be an excellent scheme. In the
 
 197 
 
 mean time, here is some novelty for you, my 
 dear George, to peruse. They are verses 
 addressed to you. Some few lines of poetry 
 in my way; you know I am a tolerable 
 poet." 
 
 " I knew my friend had no little vanity. 
 Following the maxim of an elegant writer, 
 which is, to please, when it can be done at 
 little expence, I took the paper in my hand, 
 and read aloud the lines, which had for 
 their title, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO GEORGE LESTER. 
 
 Friendship, dear George, whatever folks may say, 
 Js not so rare, I've found it ere to day. 
 That man's your friend who feels your inmost woes, 
 And when you are pleas'd, a heart- felt pleasure 
 
 knows ; 
 Thinks as you think, preserves the gerrne of life ; 
 Sweet plant, so sensitive, that shrinks from strife. 
 Nek-heir to circumstance nor time gives place ; 
 Absent, will shield your name from fell disgrace : 
 Acts as you act, seeks virtue, honour, fame, 
 And fans with gen'rous thoughts the hailow'd flame". 
 Will not with compliment or praise aver, 
 Like the smooth Gaul, that you, Sir, cannot err : 
 K3
 
 1QS 
 
 Nor will with Cynic scowl, or Stoic pride, 
 Your foibles harshly blame, your faults deride $ 
 Will drop the pitying tear, as he of old 
 Wept for his country's fate, the God foretold. 
 Humane, yet manly, like your good surtout, 
 Warm lin'd within, tho' dry and rough without. 
 That man's your friend, O do not such despise; 
 Dear George, then closely guard the useful prize. 
 
 M When I had read the lines, I returned 
 them with a smile, complimented him on 
 his exaltgd sentiments, and declared that 
 such thoughts shewed his native goodness 
 of heart. Now, Lester, I said, you arc 
 sure of succeeding in your suit ; when § 
 man writes lines like these, he must have an 
 affectionate heart. I am much deceived 
 in my judgment, if this is not the case with 
 my friend. You are in high luck. — But 
 when I unfolded to him my situation, he 
 at first affected to be incredulous to my tale 
 of sorrow, smiled, and asked me if 1 was as 
 gay as usual. Indeed, with the remainder 
 of my money, I had redeemed some of my 
 best suits of clothes, that I misrht make a
 
 more respectable appearance; for by tin's 
 time I had found that the world judges by 
 appearances, and paid some attention to 
 those individuals of their acquaintance, 
 who did not seem absolutely to want their 
 support. But this man baffled all my ex- 
 perience, though, on account of the reason 
 above-mentioned, I was slill his dear friend, 
 a second Pylades. 
 
 " I undeceived him, assured him of the 
 truth of my statement, that it was no coin- 
 age of my fancy, and requested his assist- 
 ance by the friendship that he professed for 
 me. You would have smiled, Miss Emma 
 tut it would have been with indignation, to 
 have seen how this real friend (who had 
 professed himself not to act like the smooth 
 Gaul, the harsh Cynic, or the proud and 
 conceited Stoic, but to resemble my good 
 surtout, warm lined within) changed big 
 tone, and divested himself of his lining. 
 ' Are you serious?' said he, shuddering, as 
 if he had heard the vengeful rattle-snake, 
 K4
 
 200 
 
 or seen his evil genius, which had already 
 met him at the place of appointment. ' Are. 
 £you serious?' he repeated ; i good God, the 
 son of the rich Mr. Lester a pauper ! but 
 it cannot be true ; you are joking. 1 
 should as soon believe the stream to have 
 flowed backwards to its source, as that 
 chill penury should have been the lot of 
 the only son of the rich Mr. Lester.' But 
 when I reassured him in the most convinc- 
 ing terms of the truth, and urged him with 
 pathetic remonstrances to grant me some 
 aid, he reprimanded me for being so extra- 
 vagant; entirely changed his note; said that 
 I might still share his confidence ; assured 
 me that he had predicted this sad change- 
 some time ago, and it. was out of the great 
 esteem and friendship he had for my de- 
 ceased father, that he now ventured to re- 
 monstrate with me; a task very disagreeable 
 to a man of his known principles and tender 
 feelings, and universal benevolence and 
 sympathy ; for he knew how headstrong I
 
 201 
 
 was, and subject to passion ; for such rare 
 jewel of a friend was pleased to call my 
 warmth of temper. He moralized further: 
 no unpleasing task, as I have observed, to 
 people who arc full of sentiment; affirmed, 
 that he had alwavs lived within his income, 
 and triiste'd no man ; that he could not, to 
 speak the truth, (for which no man had a 
 greater regard than himself) afford to lend 
 money at present, it was so much an ar- 
 ticle for speculation; hut he would suffer me 
 to be his debtor for five shillings. to buy me 
 a dinner, and procure me a lodgingat night; 
 hoping, however, that' he should never see 
 me on a similar occasion. He then looked at 
 his watch, which he had held in his hand 
 ^rom the time he was first informed that I 
 was in narrow circumstances; laughed in 
 my face, and told me he had an immediate 
 engagement, for which he was going to 
 dress, but I might amuse myself, until he 
 went out, with two or three books and 
 a Review, which lay on the sidc-boaid. 
 1(5
 
 202 
 
 Stung to the quick, I know not what I 
 said ; but treated him with merited con- 
 tempt, consoling myself in the natural re- 
 sentment of injured pride. 
 
 " To such a wretch, it would have been 
 wasting time to relate the distress of my 
 poor Elinor, who was indeed much to be 
 pitied; and my little suffering innocent, 
 who that very morning had devoured the 
 last roll that was left in the house, and was, 
 probably, asking at that moment for more 
 bread. My lips quivered while 1 asked 
 him if he intended to take another conve- 
 nient companion to Brighton, in the place 
 of his once dear George, for whose father 
 he had entertained formerly such esteem, 
 and for whom he had once professed such 
 friendship; one who would bear part of his 
 expences, walk with him on the Steyne r 
 and sup with him at the Castle? 
 
 " One evening, with my last shilling, I 
 went to a coffee-house in my neighbour- 
 hood : I was drinking a cup of coffee, and
 
 203 
 
 looking- over the advertisements in one of 
 the morning prints, when, opposite to me 
 in the same box, sat an elderly gentleman, 
 who seemed attentively to survey me. 
 
 " You seem, young man, in great dis- 
 tress," said he feelingly. 
 
 " The tears stood in my eyes, and I told 
 him, explicitly, that no one could be more 
 miserable than myself in the universe. 
 
 " Forgive me," answered the old gen- 
 tleman, •' 1 do not mean to be impertinent; 
 I intend being your friend. " 
 
 " Moved by his pathetic manner, and 
 captivated by his benevolent look, I re- 
 plied, 
 
 " At this moment, I have no resources, 
 no money to take home to procure suste- 
 nance for my family, suffering from dread- 
 ful want. O God of Heaven! (I apostro- 
 phised) look with pity on thy poor, help- 
 less, and visited creatures." 
 
 " Ceremony is not my forte, 5 ' rejoined 
 my companion. " Much time has passed 
 K6
 
 201 
 
 away since I have left it to boys and young 
 men, who have to make their advances in 
 a world which I am afraid is often base, 
 and but unworthily recompenccs merit. 
 Nay, shun me not; though I am serious, 
 and apt to moralise from reflection and ex- 
 perience, I am no deceiver. My fortune 
 is made, I thank Heaven. In commerce I 
 have been successful, and have accumu- 
 lated a more than sufficient competence 
 for me and my heir. Who that will be I 
 am at a loss to say at present. I may be 
 forced to leave it to .some good charity, if 
 I cannot find a deserving young man. But 
 it seems, unless I am very, very much mis- 
 taken, that I have, young gentleman, met 
 with one to-day." He-offered to shake me 
 by the hand, in token of friendship, extend- 
 ing his across the table, while his face was 
 a pleasing picture of his humane mind. 
 Pretending that he had a cold, he pulled 
 out his handkerchief, applied it to his eyes, 
 and I observed that he wiped the tears from
 
 205 
 
 them, while he addressed me in a compas- 
 sionate manner. 
 
 " My name is Barret; will you favour me 
 with yours in return ?" 
 
 " I informed him, that my name was 
 Lester. 
 
 " What ! the son of Ned Lester, the 
 merchant ?" ' v 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Zounds! what my old honest friend, 
 who lived in New Broad-street ? And are 
 you indeed, young man, his son ? Well, 
 well; he might, in faith, have been proud of 
 sueh a boy. And,— waiter, bring me some 
 punch — I will, I am resolved, drink to your 
 good health, and our more intimate ac- 
 quaintance. Faith, you shall, my boy, not- 
 withstanding the chances have been against 
 you in the world, drink success to trade. 
 Eh ! I beg pardon, is not your christian 
 name George?" 
 
 " You seem to have known me, Sir, 
 formerly." 
 
 " Ayc } George — 'tis not in mortals to
 
 command success* But you may do more, 
 deserve it. 
 
 " Waiter, James, quick, bring me, this 
 instant, a bowl of good punch ; make it 
 strong, and put plenty of sugar and spirits 
 in it. Why, zounds ! I did hear that you 
 was distressed, and had married a beautiful 
 young woman. Yes, it is true, I heard that 
 your wife was a very beautiful creature, and 
 that she was, the more is the pity, the 
 daughter of 'the Earl of Harcourt, who is 
 as proud as Lucifer. I suppose he shuts 
 himself up in his house, and blockades it as 
 if he was afraid of being taken by surprise. 
 I did not know you at first, for you are 
 grown out of all knowledge ; you are not 
 the little curly-headed play-fellow I re- 
 member, when you was as high as the 
 table." 
 
 " The punch was brought, and we drank 
 copiously of it. It invigorated my spirits, 
 and the old gentleman's heart was laid 
 open ; so generous a man I had seldom 
 ound.
 
 207 
 
 " Will you sup with me to-night? Ba- 
 chelor's fare, no wife or children, no » 
 Eh ! what's the name of old Lucifer's 
 daughter ? I beg her pardon for abusing 
 such a hard-hearted rascal as her father is." 
 
 " Her name is, my good Sir, Elinor. 
 
 " Elinor ! aye, so it is* Well then, here's 
 good health and happiness to Elinor. 
 Come, let me fill your glass : when I was 
 as young as you, George, your father, ho- 
 nest Ned Lester, and myself, have drank 
 many a pint bumper of this excellent beve- 
 rage. It was the fashion to envelope our- 
 selves in clouds of tobacco, and to get 
 merry with this tart, but pleasant mix- 
 ture." 
 
 " The old gentleman seemed to admire 
 the liquor he had been fond of in his youth, 
 
 " A servant came to tell him his chariot 
 was waiting. 
 
 " He called for a bill; having discharged 
 our expences,he shook me by the hand with 
 a warmth which I had seldom experienced
 
 -OS 
 
 of late, and putting on his hat, and placing 
 his hand on my shoulder, he kindly said, 
 " I am most happy to have met with the son 
 of my friend. You must allow me to call 
 him so. You may tell the world, that old 
 Zachary Barret knows them before to-day ; 
 knows, ay, every individual character of 
 them. Eh! George, you shall laugh at 
 them as much as you like ; I will make 
 you heir to all my property. Thank God, 
 we have honest men left, who will think 
 they are simply doing their duty, when 
 they save a fellow-creature from destruc- 
 tion. But whip me the selfish fellow that 
 will not. If you are, young gentleman, 
 but as excellent a man, and have a heart 
 made of as tough and good materials as my 
 old friend had, your honoured father, you 
 may look any man in the face, whatever his 
 condition- may be, and say you do not care 
 a Birmingham halfpenny or a brass far- 
 thing for him : aye, let him be the first in 
 the land : eh ! George,"
 
 209 
 
 " Who shall go about 
 To cozen fortune and be honourable, 
 Without the stamp of merit ? Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 O that estates, degrees and offices, 
 Were not derived corruptly, that clear honour 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover that stand bare, 
 How many be commanded that command V 
 
 " But come, my good fellow, you cannot 
 live upon poetry ; your dear father used to 
 say, Pi nd aty*Imd Homer, and Shakespeare, 
 and Tom D'Urfey, would not answer 
 drafts ; mere Grub-street.'* 
 
 " Pie pulled out his watch. 
 
 " Early to-morrow morning, without fail, 
 I will take the opportunity of calling on 
 your wife, and see you settled comfortably, 
 Where do you live ? In the joy of my heart 
 to sec the son of an old friend, and to shake 
 hands with a play-feilow, I never once asked 
 you where you lived.'' 
 
 '•' I acquainted, him that my lodgings 
 were in Little George-street, in a miserable 
 garret.
 
 21D 
 
 Ci Why, Sirrah, how came you reduced 
 to such lodgings? you have been letting 
 generosity get the better of discretion ; but 
 it is not in the power of man to recall past 
 events, ehl my friend George? We must 
 alone guard against the future, eh ! my good 
 fellow ? No putting old heads on young 
 shoulders." 
 
 " I followed the old gentleman into his 
 chariot ; he took the precedence of me, 
 with the old maxim of age before youth? 
 and saying, as it was his intention to be a 
 parent to me, it was but right that I should 
 behave to him with- the duty of a son. 
 
 " We soon reached his bouse. He de- 
 sired me to walk up stairs. We entered an 
 elegant apartment, fitted up most sumptu- 
 ously. He then went to his escritoir, and, 
 taking out from a drawer a bank bill 
 of a hundred pounds, placed it in my 
 hands, excusing himself for not giving me 
 more, by saying, that it was all the money 
 he had in the house, but it would serve me 
 possibly till the next day, when, if t would.
 
 211 
 
 do him the pleasure of breakfasting with 
 him, he would shew what friendship he had 
 coneeived for the son of honest Ned Lester, 
 whom he assured me he loved for the spot- 
 less and firm integrity of his character as a 
 British merchant, and a private gentleman* 
 
 " I was obliged to take the money ; he 
 would have me his debtor. 
 
 " You, Miss Tankerville, who have a 
 susceptible soul, may form some idea of 
 what my feelings were, at my finding such 
 a good friend, such a worthy character, 
 such a disinterested attachment. 
 
 <f It was late before I quitted him. To 
 a great knowledge of the world, he added 
 a most generous spirit and openness of 
 manners. And how pleasant is consolation 
 to the afflicted Unburdened of my weight 
 of sorrow, I hastened home, having taken 
 leave of my good and valuable friend, to 
 communicate the intelligence to my wife. 
 For her I now purchased some of the ne- 
 cessaries, and a small share of .the conve-. 
 niences of life.
 
 " After redeeming from the pawnbroker's 
 the remainder of my clothes, and having 
 dressed myself, I called the next morning 
 on my benefactor to breakfast with him; 
 but what was my surprise and grief, when 
 I was informed that the generous man had 
 died suddenly in the course of the night, 
 that he had been seized with the most vio- 
 lent spasms, that the servant, in answer. to 
 the bell, had found Mr. Barret struggling 
 in a strong fit, of which he soon died. 
 
 w Disappointed of paying my grateful 
 acknowledgments to my benefactor, by this 
 very sudden calamity, I returned home 
 with a dejected and melancholy counte- 
 nance, oppressed with additional grief and 
 misfortune. 
 
 " My wife perceived that I'was afflicted. 
 *• My dear h-usband.' she thus endeavoured 
 to give me firmness, 'when the clergyman 
 pronounced the marriage ceremony over 
 us, and united a fond pair together, (may 
 heaven forget me when 1 forget its du- 
 ties) I promised to share your ill and good
 
 21 
 
 fortune. Shall I now turn recreant in the 
 hour of danger and trial ? No ! I will ra- 
 ther endeavour to set before your eyes a 
 pattern of fortitude. Tell me, George, 
 wherefore is it you sigh, my dearest, why 
 are you, my love, thus agitated? It is un- 
 kind now not to tell me your distress. I am 
 your wife, and you ought to acquaint me 
 with your sorrows : 1 have a right to know 
 them. Who has so good a title ? An exile 
 from the world, pursued by meagre indi- 
 gence, to what place canst thou fly but to 
 my bosom ? Did you not support me, 
 George, when you was in affluent circum- 
 stances, and shall I now disown my indul- 
 gent husband, or prove less faithful to him 
 in the hour of affliction ? Our misfortunes, 
 it must be owned, my dear, are great.' 
 Here she stooped to kiss her infant Edward, 
 who was sitting at her feet, while the big 
 tear of maternal affection stopped awhile 
 her utterance. Ashamed of shewmg this 
 tenderness, she proceeded : ' True, our
 
 1\4 
 
 misfortunes are great; but constancy, re- 
 signation, and virtue, my dearest, are in 
 oar power. Lester, why are you so' down- 
 cast ? cheer up, my love. The goods that I 
 have mentioned to you are your own ; trea- 
 chery cannot deprive or wheedle you out of 
 them; fortune cantiot rob you of treasures of 
 the utmost importance, believe me, to your 
 honest and noble mind. Cheer up! cheer 
 up ! my George, who knows what another 
 day may bring. And you, Edward, go my 
 little love, do go, and kiss your poor father 
 — go, and, alas! strive to comfort him, my 
 child.' 
 
 " The child obeyed my Elinor, ran to 
 me, kissed my face, and prattled about 
 his new shoes and white frock, which my 
 wife had purchased for him, and his littic 
 story book, with nice, pretty prints in it. 
 
 " With energy I clasped my hands to- 
 gether, and, on my knees, supplicated the 
 all-gracious and benevolent Deity to take 
 the bitter cup, out of his inexhaustible mer-
 
 215 
 
 cy, from the hand of his helpless suppliant. 
 I entreated Heaven to make me worthy of 
 my exalted and affectionate wife. 
 
 " Our benefactor is dead, Elinor ! 
 
 " My Elinor wept, and paid the tribute 
 of a deep sigh to the memory of Barret. 
 
 " With a voice inexpressibly sweet, she 
 thus lamented our departed friend, as she 
 upraised her languishing and soft blue eyes 
 to heaven. 
 
 " Thou art gone, then; thou, whom I 
 have never yet had the happiness of see- 
 ing ; but thou hast been a friend and be* 
 nefactor to my beloved George — to my 
 poor George thou wast kind, and heaven 
 reward thee for Ft. I had thought to have 
 shewn thee my little Edward dressed in the 
 clothes your beneficence purchased for him ; 
 but it is the lot of mortality to cherish 
 hopes which the wisdom of Providence de- 
 stroys. Thou wouldst have bound up the 
 wounds of us poor travellers, whose feet 
 have bled with the unevenness of the flinty 
 path. Good man, thou shall have the full
 
 • 216 
 
 and joyful reward of thy righteous steward- 
 ship! (her heart throbbed.) May my child/ 
 said Elinor emphatically, ' may my poor 
 helpless babe emulate thy virtue !' 
 
 " Be comforted, my Elinor, my life, I 
 interrupted. You promised to shew me a 
 fortitude worthy of Arria, or any heroine 
 whom the page of history has immortalized. 
 Have you attempted to suck the venom 
 from my heart, and shall I leave you to suf- 
 fer a martyrdom by your kindness, and to 
 perish ? Shall I try no antidote, while there 
 is one at hand ? The father to the father- 
 less still beholds my jewel, my pretty Ed- 
 ward, my dearest boy. 
 
 " This detail may be troublesome, Miss 
 Tankerville, I am afraid." 
 
 " Not at all, dearest Sir," replied Emma. 
 " What a charming wife must Elinor Har- 
 court be. I am really myself in love with 
 her." She blushed, as she passed a merited 
 eulogium on the wife of Lester, who pro- 
 ceeded. 
 " Well, charming Miss Emma, of the
 
 217 
 
 remainder of the money which I had left 
 from the bounty of Mr. Barret, I determined 
 to be very careful. Experience, I thought, 
 had taught me wisdom; when some demon 
 suggested to me a speedy way of getting 
 immeasurably rich. That way led to the 
 gaming-table ! Not having sufficient stock 
 to risk my money at hazard, I preferred a 
 game of which I had once been very fond, 
 and was reckoned an adept. I went to a fa- 
 shionable billiard-table in St. James's-street, 
 took up a cue, and commenced my trial. I 
 betted on my own play. My opponent dis- 
 guised his play; and was cool and collected. 
 My mind was irritated, impatient, and dis- 
 tressed. I had been drinking some wine 
 at home, by the persuasion of my faithful 
 Elinor, which, from my not being used even 
 to a small quantity, had raised my spirits, 
 My adversary, who I afterwards learned 
 was a professed gamester, got his living by 
 playing billiards, drank only water, and 
 closely followed a regimen. My nerves, in 
 
 V*L. I. L
 
 218 
 
 addition to these opposite circumstances, 
 were shaken, of course the play was in his 
 favour. When I had lost my last shilling, and 
 fortune had declared me stripped and penny- 
 less, I received intimation that I had been 
 duped by a cajoling sharper. I had suffi- 
 cient philosophy to attribute the effects to 
 the right causes, that is, to self-love, and the 
 utmost weakness, conceit, and error of 
 judgment ; and I blamed myself that these 
 causes had conspired to reduce me to my 
 desperate situation. 
 
 " I had promised my Elinor better for- 
 tune. Ashamed to look her in the face, I 
 returned home frantic with grief and vexa- 
 tion. I will return to that asylum, said I, 
 the peace of which I have most ungratefully 
 deflroyed. Fool, wretched, blind, and ar- 
 rogant fool that I am ! 
 
 " That angelic woman was as indulgent 
 as ever. She embraced me, and folded me 
 in her arms. ' I have determined, in your 
 absence,* said she, ' to call on my father.'
 
 2\Q 
 
 She then assumed a gaiety of spirits, and, 
 with her brilliant sallies of pleasing wit and 
 genuine eloquence, endeavoured to enter- 
 tain me, and lull the phrcnsy which pos- 
 sessed me. 
 
 " Little Edward was dressed in his best 
 clothes, and accompanied his mother to the 
 Earl of Harcourt. 
 
 " She knocked at the door, while her 
 sensitive soul throbbed with agony. She 
 shuddered at the thought of seeing her fa- 
 ther for the first time since our union. 
 
 " A powdered lacquey, dressed in a splen- 
 did and costly livery, while the daughter of 
 his master wanted the necessaries of life, 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Your name, Madam, if you please." 
 
 " My name is Lester." 
 
 " I have received particular orders from 
 my master to admit no one of that name.'* 
 
 " I am his daughter, Sir, and must see 
 him." 
 
 The honest man was moved. 
 L2
 
 220 
 
 " Though I should incur the Earl's dis- 
 pleasure, Madam, and lose my place, 1 will 
 let you see him." 
 
 [" Good creature," apostrophised Lester, 
 " thou wilt be rewarded at some future 
 time for thy behaviour to the daughter of 
 that harsh and unfeeling nobleman !"] 
 
 « My wife fell on her knees at the feet 
 of her father. She endeavoured to em- 
 brace them ; a flood of tears bespoke the 
 agony of her soul, and shewed her penitence 
 for our rash but tender and affectionate 
 union. 
 
 " Her inhuman father pronounced 
 curses on the head of his devoted child, 
 calling her the disgrace of her family^ re- 
 proached my distressed Elinor for her want, 
 cursed her penitence as the vile cant and 
 hypocrisy of an unfeeling strumpet, and* 
 with violent menaces, bade her quit the 
 house, and take her detested little vagrant 
 with her — ordering the servant, who had 
 admitted her, to follow the cause of his 
 dismissal.
 
 221 
 
 u My poor wife, who was far advanced 
 in a state of pregnancy, miscarried from 
 this additional grief. What remained 
 for me to do ? The few articles of value 
 which I had, I converted into ready money; 
 and, driven to a resource from which, in 
 reality, I formed no very sanguine expec- 
 tations, I called on a school-fellow with 
 whom I had once been intimate, and to 
 whom I had more than once done some 
 service in business. As I only went to him 
 for the purpose of obtaining advice, I doubt- 
 ed not but I might succeed ; at the same 
 time aware, that if I should solicit him for 
 pecuniary relief for kindness conferred, on 
 the plea of former intimacy, the chances 
 were a hundred to one that 1 failed. 
 
 " At the outset of our interview he look- 
 ed discontented ; but when I had made him 
 understand that to borrow money was not 
 my intention, but that I only came to him 
 for advice, his countenance cleared up. He 
 bade me welcome, and invited me to dinner : 
 L3
 
 222. 
 
 c to be sure he had not been apprised of his 
 having the pleasure of my company, or he 
 would have prepared something better ; 
 but I must put up with pot-luck' — ending 
 his protestations with these words — * Do, 
 my good Sir, let me entreat you to be 
 seated.' In short, a stranger would have 
 supposed him the most faithful friend that 
 a man could possibly have ; and not that I 
 had merely pleased him, by flattering him 
 with requesting his advice." 
 
 u And so, good Sir, I imagine you pra- 
 pose going into business." 
 
 " I have not sufficient capital, I replied, 
 for such an undertaking." 
 
 " O, money is no object. ** 
 
 I expressed my great astonishment. 
 
 " No object, I assure you," he continued ; 
 ** you can hire a shop and house on a long 
 lease, let ready furnished lodgings and board, 
 at two guineas and a half a week, which will 
 more than repay you, even supposing that 
 ypu should only have one gentleman in your
 
 123 
 
 house. Then purchase goods of an opu 
 lent tradesman in town, one who can afford 
 to give the longest credit ; charge exorbi- 
 tantly for your goods ; make your custo- 
 mers, if you can, pay ready money, by pre- 
 tending to allow them a discount ; to turn 
 the scale is fair in trade, you know, Sir; and 
 if you cannot discharge the lease of your 
 house, or pay for your stock in trade, at the 
 time settled, why you must declare your- 
 self a bankrupt ; avail yourself of the indul- 
 gence and protection of the law, which is 
 luckily in your favour; consign what 
 money you have to a confidential friend, 
 and pay threepence in the pound — not an 
 unhandsome dividend ; or else, complain- 
 ing of the hardness of the times, request 
 longer credit. If you succeed in trade, 
 turn merchant ; and, to keep the penny 
 going, as the old adage has it, buy a ship, 
 freight it with sham packages of saw-dust, 
 sand, or ballast, go shares with the captain, 
 who is to sink the vessel, and cheat the in-
 
 224 
 
 surers, who will pay you for the ship that is 
 supposed to be accidentally lost, and 
 her valuable cargo. 
 
 " But if you do not like these methods, 
 there are many other ways of enriching 
 yourself, all equally safe and easy. What 
 think you of attending the courts of law ? 
 There are attornies who will be generous 
 enough to fee you with money at the price 
 of a little equivocation. You may take in 
 a young tradesman and minor partner, by 
 asking him to give the names of the firm of 
 his house, and thus deeply and successfully 
 involve him." 
 
 " I had let him proceed thus far, to see 
 how black a villain he was ; but I could 
 not prevail on my reason to hear more. 
 Darting a severe frown of indignation and 
 abhorrence, I abruptly quitted the presence 
 of a man whose look became intolerable to. 
 me. 
 
 " Being unable to meet my wife, or listen 
 to the artless caresses and supplicating en--
 
 225 
 
 treaties of my child, which* I knew, would 
 wound me to the heart's core ; reduced to 
 the bitterness of poverty, I at length, with 
 plausible sophistry, had argued myself into 
 the propriety of suicide, when the bailiffs 
 yesterday arrested me in the public streets, 
 on the bond that I had given in security for 
 the tradesman who had invited me to dine 
 off turtle, and a ham stewed with claret, 
 previous to his absconding ; when you, 
 charming and kind Miss Tankerville, res- 
 cued me (here the countenance of Emma 
 changed to a deep crimson) ; when you, 
 with the gentle voice of sympathy, restored 
 me to seeming happiness, and to the arms 
 of my grateful Elinor. I trust I shall never 
 forget the obligation." 
 
 He had finished; but not before Emma 
 had repeatedly complained of an intolerable 
 head-ache and intense heat, and put her 
 moistened handkerchief to her streaming 
 eyes. Then, smiling like the sun in the 
 day of watery April, when he looks through
 
 '226 
 
 the clouds, she addressed him courteously : 
 " And how much are you in debt, Sir ? I 
 must insist on knowing it." 
 
 " The sum, Miss Tankerville, is great* 
 Eleven hundred pounds will barely cover 
 the demands." 
 
 She took a pen from a glass inkstand, 
 and wrote on a slip of paper, which she 
 gave into Lester's hands. 
 
 " Be pleased, Sir, to accept my draft for 
 two thousand. Come, no excuses, Mr. 
 George Lester; pardon me — no, it must 
 not be returned — I positively w r ill not take 
 my draft again. Good heaven \ So you 
 will not let me do a good action. — Let me 
 tell you, Mr. Lester, if you do not receive 
 it from my hands, you will make me very- 
 angry with you, when I have so much rea- 
 son to be pleased with your general con- 
 duct. -No, Sir;. I will not be persuaded to 
 take it again — let not false pride get the 
 mastery of laudable affection for your suf- 
 fering Elinor and your poor little Ned."
 
 21 
 
 She placed, with the utmost entreaties, the 
 draft in the hands of the grateful and 
 speechless Lester. " You will dine with 
 me to-day, and I shall have the pleasure of 
 introducing you to rny aunt, Mrs. Mait- 
 land, who is in love with your little cherub. 
 You will not fail to oblige me also with the 
 pleasure of an introduction to Mrs. Lester. 
 I know your father-in-law. I have the 
 happiness of a familiar acquaintance with 
 him; and have heard him, notwithstanding 
 his harsh and almost unpardonable treat- 
 ment, mention his daughter with evident 
 marks of sorrow. I have no doubt, haughty 
 as he is, of reconciling him to you, and 
 promise you my hearty assistance. I can 
 assure you, my aunt Maitland is an excel* 
 lent politician. Lester's eyes sparkled with 
 gratitude — he made the most sincere ac- 
 knowledgments, bowed, and retired. 
 
 At dinner in Portland -street that even- 
 ing, were seated Mrs. Maitland and her 
 niece, the amiable heroine whom I intend
 
 to immortalize, and Mr. and Mrs. Lester. 
 A more happy party there could not be — 
 the desert was gratitude, and inexpressible 
 pleasure, which fell to the share of Emma. 
 — She had pressed the bashful but elegant 
 Elinor to reciprocal friendship. In them, 
 she viewed her own future happiness, and 
 that of Sir Henry Moreton, if unfortunate 
 destiny threw nothing in their way to op- 
 pose it. She likewise revelled in the luxu- 
 rious thought of having saved a faithful 
 pair from misery, and opened a prospect of 
 their future felicity. 
 
 mm OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 s T; Giilet, Printer, Salisbury Square.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 040437425