. X ^. r V^ • 
 
^ 
 
MEL IN COURT. 
 
 VOOEM C 0M(EDIA TOLT.IT. 
 
I'riiiUd by S. I. 
 
 . ML, Litdr QvKfii Sttcet^ London. 
 
MEL IN CO U RT 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 HEADLONG HALL, 
 
 '* Nous nons moquons des Paladins! quand cej maximes ro« 
 manesques commencfrent \ devenir ridicules, ce change- 
 inent fut moins I'ouvrage de la raison que celui des ruau- 
 vaises moeurs." — Rousseau. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED rOR T. HOOKHAM, JU-V. AND CO. 
 OLD BOND STKEET ; 
 
 AND BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOV, 
 
 rAlERNOSTKR KOW. 
 
 1817. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/melincourt01pea 
 
.13 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Page 
 
 I.— Anthelia 1 
 
 II.— Fashionable Abrivals 13 
 
 III. — Hypocon House 30 
 
 IV. — Redrose Abbey 38 
 
 v.— Sugar 51 
 
 VI. — Sir Oran Haut-ton 67 
 
 ,.VII. — The Principle of Population 98 
 
 VIII.-— The Spirit of Chivalry 109 
 
 IX. — The Philosophy of Ballads 121 
 
 X.— The Torrent 138 
 
 XI. — Love and Marriage 153 
 
 XII. — Love and Poverty 169 
 
 XIII.— Desmond 180 
 
 XIV.— The Cottage 208 
 
MELINCOURT. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 ANTHELIA, 
 
 AxTHELiA Melincourt, at tlie age of twenty- 
 one, was mistress of herself and of ten tliou- 
 sand a year, and of a very ancient and vene- 
 rable castle in one of the wildest valleys in 
 Westmoreland. It follows of course, without 
 reference to her personal qualifications, that 
 she had a very numerous hst of admirers, and 
 equally of course that there were both Irish- 
 men and clergymen among them. The young 
 lady nevertheless possessed sufficient attrac- 
 tions to kindle the flames of disinterested pas- 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 MELIXLOUttT. 
 
 sion ; and accordingly we shall venture to 
 suppose, that there was at least one in the 
 number of her sighing swains ^ith whom her 
 rent-roll and her old castle were secondary- 
 considerations ; and if the candid reader 
 should esteem this supposition too violent for 
 tlie probabilities of daily experience in this 
 calculating age, he will at least concede it to 
 that degree of poetical license which is inva- 
 riably accorded to a tale founded on facts. 
 
 Melincourt Castle had been a place of 
 considerable strength in those golden days of 
 feudal and royal prerogative, when no man 
 was safe in his own house unless he adopted 
 every possible precaution for shutting out all 
 his neighbours. It is, therefore, not surpris- 
 ing, that a rock, of which three sides were 
 perpendicular, and which was only accessible 
 on the fourth by a narrow ledge, forming a 
 natural bridge over a tremendous chasm, was 
 
AKTHEHA. 'J 
 
 considered a verj enviable situation for a 
 gentleman to build on. An impetuous tor- 
 rent boiled through the depth of the chasm, 
 and after eddying round the base of the castle- 
 rock, which it almost insulated, disappeared 
 in the obscurity of a woody glen, whose mys- 
 terious recesses, by popular superstition for- 
 merly consecrated to the devil, are now fear- 
 lessly explored by the solitary'- angler, or laid 
 open to view by the more profane hand of the 
 picturesque tourist, who contrives, by the 
 magic of his pencil, to transport their roman- 
 tic terrors from the depths of mountain-soli- 
 tude to the gay and crowded, though not very 
 wholesome atmosphere of a metropolitan ex- 
 hibition. 
 
 The narrow ledge, which formed the only 
 natural access to the castle-rock, had been 
 guarded by every impe<liment which the ge- 
 nius of fortification could oppose to the pro* 
 
4 MKLIXCOURT. 
 
 gross of tlie hungry Scot, wlio might be dis- 
 posed, in his neiglibourly way, to drop in 
 without invitation and carouse at the expense 
 of the owner, rewarding him, as usual, for his 
 extorted liospitaUty, by cutting his throat and 
 settinor fire to his house. A drawbrid<^e over 
 the cliasm, backed by a double portcullis, 
 presented the only mode of admission. In this 
 secure retreat, thus strongly guarded both by 
 nature and art, and always plentifully vic- 
 tualled for a siege, lived the lords of Me- 
 lincourt in all the luxury of rural seclu- 
 sion, throwing open their gates on occasional 
 halcyon days to regale all the peasants and 
 mountaineers of the vicinity with roasted oxen 
 and vats of October. 
 
 When these times of danger and turbu- 
 lence had passed, Melincourt Castle was not, 
 as most of its brother edifices were, utterly 
 deserted. The drawbridge, indeed, became 
 
ANTHELIA. D 
 
 gradually divorced from its chains ; the double 
 portculhs disappeared ; the turrets and battle- 
 ments were abandoned to the owl and the ivy ; 
 and a very spacious wing was left free to the 
 settlement of a colony of ghosts, which, ac- 
 cording to the report of the peasantry and the 
 domestics, very soon took possession, and re- 
 tained it most pertinaciously, notwithstanding 
 the pious incantations of the neighbouring 
 vicar, the Reverend Mr. Portpipe, who often 
 passed the night in one of the dreaded apart- 
 ments over a blazing fire with the same inva^ 
 riable exorcising apparatus of a large venison 
 pasty, a little prayer-book, and three bottles 
 of Madeira : for the reverend gentleman saga- 
 ciously observed, that as he had always found 
 the latter an infallible charm against blue 
 devils, he had no doubt of its proving equally 
 efficacious against black, white, and grey. In 
 this opinion experience seemed to confirm him ; 
 B 3 
 
M£LINCOURT. 
 
 for though he always maintained a becoming 
 silence as to the mysteries of which he was a 
 witness during his spectral vigils, yet a very 
 correct inference might be drawn from the 
 fact, that he was always found in the morning 
 comfortably asleep in his large arm-chair, with 
 the dish scraped clean, the three bottles empty, 
 and the prayer-book clasped and folded pre- 
 cisely in the same state and place in which it 
 had lain the preceding night. 
 
 But the larger and more commodious part 
 of the castle continued still to be inhabited ; 
 and while one half of the edifice was fast im- 
 proving into a picturesque ruin, the other was 
 as rapidly degenerating, in its interior at least, 
 into a comfortable modern dwelling. 
 
 In this romantic seclusion Anthelia wafc 
 born. Her mother died in giving her birth. 
 Her father, Sir Henry Melincourt, a man of 
 great acquirements, and of a retired dispo^ 
 
AKTHELIA. / 
 
 Oon, dcTOtcd himself in solitude to the cultiva- 
 tion of his daughter's understanding ; for he was, 
 one of those who maintained the heretical no- 
 tion that women are, or at least may be, rational 
 beings ; though, from the great pains usually 
 taken in what is called education to make them 
 otherwise, there are unfortunately very few 
 examples to warrant the truth of the tlieory. 
 
 The majestic forms and wild energies of 
 Nature that surrounded her from her infancy, 
 impressed their character on her mind, commu- 
 nicating to it all their own wildness, and more 
 than their own beauty. Far removed from 
 the pageantry of courts and cities, her infant 
 attention was awakened to spectacles more in« 
 teresting and more impressive: the misty 
 mountain-top, the ash-fringed precipice, the 
 gleaming cataract, the deep and shadowy glen, 
 and the fantastic magnificence of the mountain 
 clouds. The murmur of the woods, the rush 
 fi4 
 
8 MELINCOURT. 
 
 of tlie winds, and the tumultuous dashing 
 of the torrents, were the first music of her 
 childhood. A fearless wanderer among these 
 romantic solitudes, the spirit of mountain 
 hberty diffused itself through the whole te- 
 nour of her feelings, modelled the symme- 
 try of her form, and illumined the expres- 
 sive but feminine brilhancy of her features: 
 and when she had attained the age at which 
 the mind expands itself to the fascinations of 
 poetiy, the muses of Italy became the chosen 
 companions of her wanderings, and nourished 
 a naturally susceptible imagination by conjur- 
 ing up the splendid visions of chivalry and 
 enchantment in scenes so congenial to their 
 developemcnt. 
 
 It was seldom that the presence of a vi- 
 sitor dispelled the solitude of IMelincourt ; and 
 the few specimens of the living world with 
 
ANTHELIA. 9 
 
 whom its inmates held occasional intercourse, 
 were of the usual character of country ac- 
 quaintance, not calculated to leave behind 
 them any very lively regret, except for the 
 loss of time during the period of their stay. 
 One of these was the Reverend INIr. Portpipe, 
 whom we have akeady celebrated for his profi- 
 ciency in the art of exorcising goblins by dint 
 of venison and Madeira. His business in the 
 ghost line had, indeed, declined with the pro- 
 gress of the human understanding, and no 
 part of his vocation was in very high fa- 
 vour with Sir Henry, who, though an unex- 
 ceptionable moral character, was unhappily not 
 one of the children of grace, in the thcolo- 
 ^cal sense of the word : but the vicar, adopt- 
 ing St. Paul's precept of being all things to 
 all men, found it on this occasion his interest 
 to be liberal ; and observing that no man 
 B 5 
 
10 MELINCOUET. 
 
 could coerce his opinions, repeated with great 
 complacency the line of Virgil : 
 
 Tros Tyriusque mlhi nullo discrimlne agetur; 
 
 though he took especial care that tliis hetero^ 
 dox concession should not reach the ears of 
 his bishop, who would infallibly have unfrock- 
 ed him for promulgating a doctrine so subver- 
 sive of the main pillar of all orthodox esta^ 
 blishments. 
 
 When Anthelia had attained her sixteenth 
 year, her father deemed it necessary to intro- 
 duce her to that human world of which she 
 had hitherto seen so little, and for this pur- 
 pose took a journey to London, where he 
 was received by the survi\4ng portion of his 
 old acquaintance as a ghost returned from 
 Acheron. The impression which the gay 
 scenes of the metropolis made on the mind of 
 Anthelia — to what illustrious characters she 
 
ANTHELIA. 11 
 
 was introduced — " and all she thought of all 
 she saw,"*' — it would be foreign to our present 
 purpose to detail : suffice it to say, that from 
 this period Sir Henry regularly passed the 
 winter in London and the summer in West^ 
 moreland, till his daughter attained the age of 
 twenty, about which period he died. 
 
 Anthelia passed twelve months from this 
 time in total seclusion at Melincourt, notwith- 
 standing many pressing invitations from 
 various match-making dowagers in London, 
 who were solicitous to dispose of her accord- 
 ing to their views of her advantage ; in which 
 how far their own was lost sight of, it may 
 not be difficult to determine. 
 
 Among the numerous Jovers who had hi- 
 therto sighed at her shrine, not one had suc- 
 ceeded in making the slightest impression on 
 her heart ; and during the twelve months of 
 seclusion which elapsed from the death of her 
 
 B 6 
 
12 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 father to the commencement of this authentic 
 history, they had all completely vanished from 
 the tablet of her memory. Her knowledge of 
 love was altogether theoretical; and her theory, 
 "being fonned by the study of Itahan poetry 
 m tlie bosom of mountain solitude, naturally 
 and necessarily pointed to a visionary model 
 of excellence which it was very little likely 
 the modem world could realize. 
 
 The dowagers at length despairing of 
 drawing her from her retirement, respectively 
 came to various resolutions for the accom- 
 plishment of their ends; some resolving to 
 go in person to Melincourt, and exert all 
 their powers of oratory to mould her to their 
 T\ishes, and others instigating their several 
 proteges to set boldly forward in search of 
 fortune, and lay siege to the castle and its 
 mistress together. 
 
FASHIOXABT.E ARRIVALS. 13 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 FASHIONABLE ARRIVAL?:. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of an autumnal 
 day, when the elegant post-chariot of the Ho- 
 nourahle Mrs. Pinmoney, a lady of high 
 renown in the annals of match-making, turned 
 the corner of a stupendous precipice in the 
 narrow pass which formed the only access to 
 the valley of Melincourt. This Plonourable 
 lady was accompanied by her only daughter 
 Miss Danaretta Contantina ; which names, bj 
 the by, appear to be female diminutives of the 
 Itahan words danaro contante, signifpng ready 
 money, and genteelly hinting to all fashionable 
 Strephons, the only terms on which the ccwi- 
 modity so denominated would be disposed of, 
 according to the universal practice of this 
 
14 MELINCOURT. 
 
 liberal and enlightened generation, in that most 
 commercial of all bargains, marriage. 
 
 The ivied battlements and frowning towers 
 of Melincoiirt Castle, as they burst at onc« 
 upon tlie sight, very much astonished the 
 elder and delighted the younger lady; for the 
 latter had cultivated a great deal of theoretical 
 romance — in taste, not in feehng — an import- 
 ant distinction — which enabled her to be 
 most liberally sentimental in words, without 
 at all influencing her actions ; to talk of heroic 
 affection and self-sacrificing enthusiasm, with- 
 out incurring the least danger of forming a dis- 
 interested attachment, or of erring in any way 
 whatever on the score of practical generosity. 
 Indeed, in all respects of practice the young 
 lady was the true counterpart of her mother, 
 though they sometimes differed a little in the 
 forms of sentiment : thus, for instance, when 
 any of their dear friends happened to go, as it 
 
FASHIONABLE ARRIVALS. 15 
 
 is called, down hill in the world, the old lady 
 was generally very severe on their irnprU" 
 dence, and the young lady very pathetic on 
 their misfortune : but as to holding any fur- 
 ther intercourse ^Wth, or rendering any species 
 «f assistance to, any dear iriend so circum- 
 stanced, neither the one nor the other was 
 ever suspected of conduct so very unfashion- 
 able. In the main point, therefore, of both 
 their lives, that of making a good match for 
 Miss Danaretta, their views perfectly coin- 
 cided ; and though Miss Danaretta, in her 
 speculative conversations on this subject, 
 among her female acquaintance, talked as 
 young ladies always talk, and laid down very 
 precisely the only kind of man she woidd 
 ever think of marrying^ endowing him, of 
 course, with all the virtues in our good friend 
 Hookham's Library; yet it Was very well 
 understood^ as it usually is on similar occa- 
 
IG MELIKCOURT. 
 
 sions, that no otlicr proof of the possession of 
 the aforesaid virtues would be required from 
 any individual, \vho might present himself in 
 the character of Corydon sospiroso, than a 
 satisfactoi-y certificate from tlie old lady in ^ 
 Threadneedle Street, that the bearer was a 
 good man, and could be proved so in the Alley, 
 
 Such were the amiable specimens of world- 
 ly wisdom and affected romance, that pre- 
 pared to invade the retirement of the moun- 
 tain-enthusiast, the really romantic unworldly 
 Anthclia. 
 
 " What a strange-looking old place !"" said 
 Mrs. Pinmoney : "it seems like any thing but 
 the dwelling of a young heiress. I am afraid 
 the rascally postboys have joined in a plot 
 against us, and intend to deliver us to a gang 
 of thieves !'' 
 
 " Banditti, you should say, mamma,*" said 
 Miss Danaretta : " thieves is an odious word/^ 
 
FASHIONABLE ARIIIVALS. 17 
 
 " Pooh, child !"* said Mrs. Pinmoney. 
 " The reahty is odious enough, let the word 
 be what it wiW. Is not a rogue a rogue, call 
 him by what name you may r^ 
 
 " O, certainly not,"^ said Miss Danaretta ; 
 " for in that case a poor rogue without a title, 
 would not be more a rogue than a rich rogue 
 with one ; but that he is so in a most infinite 
 proportion, the Avhole experience of the world 
 demonstrates."" 
 
 " True,"" said the old lady ; " and as our 
 reverend friend Dr. Bosky obser\es, to main- 
 tain the contrary would be to sanction a prin- 
 ciple utterly subversive of all social order and 
 aristocratical privilege."^ 
 
 The carriage now rolled over the naiTow 
 ledge, which connected the site of the castle 
 with the neighbouring rocks. A furious peal 
 at the outer bell brought forth a venerable 
 porter, who opened the gates with becoming 
 
18 MELIKCOUHT. 
 
 gravity, and the carriage entered a spacious 
 court, of much more recent architecture than 
 the exterior of the castle, and built in a style 
 of modem Gothic, that seemed to form a happy 
 medium between the days of feudality, com- 
 monly called the dark ages, and the nineteenth 
 century, commonly called the enlightened age : 
 v}hy, I could never discover. 
 
 The inner gates were opened by another 
 grave and venerable domestic, who with all 
 the imperturbable decorum and formality of 
 the old school, assisted the ladies to alight, 
 and ushered them along an elegant colonnade 
 into the library, which we shall describe no 
 farther than by saying, that the apartment 
 was Gothic and the furniture Grecian : whe- 
 ther this be an unpardonable incongruity cal- 
 culated to disarrange all legitimate associations, 
 or a judicious combination of solemnity and 
 elegance, most happily adapted to the pur- 
 
TASHIONABLE AHBIVALS. 19 
 
 poses of Study, we must leave to the decision, 
 or rather discussion, of picturesque and anti- 
 quarian disputants. 
 
 The windows, which were of stained glass, 
 were partly open to a shrubbery, which admit- 
 ting the meditative mind info the recesses of 
 nature, and excluding all view of distant 
 scenes, heightened the deep seclusion and 
 repose of the apartment. It consisted prin- 
 cipally of evergreens ; but the parting beauty 
 of the last flowers of autumn, and the lighter 
 and now fading tints of a few deciduous shrubs, 
 mingled with the imperishable verdure of the 
 cedar and the laurel. 
 
 The old domestic went in search of his 
 young mistress, and the ladies threw them- 
 selves on a sofa in graceful attitudes. They 
 were shortly joined by Anthelia, who welcomed 
 them to Melincourt with all the politeness 
 vhkh the necessity of the case imposed. 
 
20 MELINCOUET. 
 
 The change of dress, the dmner, the des- 
 sert, seasoned with the newest news of the 
 fashionable world, which the visitors thought 
 must be of all things the most delightful to 
 the mountain-recluse, filled up a portion of 
 the evening. When they returned from 
 the dining-room to the library, the windows 
 were closed, the curtains drawn, and the 
 tea and coffee urns bubbling on the table, 
 and sending up their steamy columns : an 
 old fashion, to be sure^ and sufficiently rus- 
 tic, for which we apologize in due form to 
 the reader, who prefers his tea and coffee 
 brought in cool by the butler in httle cups on 
 a silver salver, and handed round to the sim- 
 .pering company till it is as cold as an Iceland 
 spring. There is no disputing about taste, 
 And the taste of Melincoiu*t Castle on tliis sub- 
 ject had been always very poetically unfa- 
 shionable ; for the tea would have satisfied 
 
FASHIONABLE ARRIVALS. 21 
 
 Johnson, and the coffee enchanted Vol- 
 ■taire. 
 
 " I must confess, my dear,"" said the Ho- 
 nourable Mrs. Pinmoney, " there is a great 
 deal of comfort in your way of livi ig, that is, 
 there would be in good company ; but you are 
 
 so solitary ""^ 
 
 " Here is the best of company,"' said An- 
 thelia smiling, and pointing to the shelves of 
 the hbrary. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINMOXEY. 
 
 Very true : books are very good things in 
 their way ; but an hour or two at most is quite 
 enough of them for me: more can serve no pur- 
 }X)se but to muddle one's head. If I were to 
 live such a life for a week as you have done 
 for the last twelve months, I should have more 
 company than I hke, in the shape of a whole 
 legion of blue de\ils. 
 
22 MELINCOURT. 
 
 MISS DANARETTA. 
 
 Nay, I think there is something delight 
 fully romantic in Anthelia's mode of life : but i 
 confess I should like now and then, peeping; 
 through the ivy of the battlements, to observe 
 a preuoc cJievalier exerting all his eloquence td 
 persuade the inflexible porter to open the 
 castle gates, and allow him one opportunity of* 
 throwing himself at the feet of the divine ladj 
 of the castle, for whom he had been sevea 
 years dying a lingering death. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINMONEY. 
 
 And growing fatter all the while.— Heaven 
 defend me from such hypocritical fops ! Seven 
 years indeed ! It did not take as many weeks 
 to bring me and poor dear dead Mr. Pinmo- 
 ney togedier. 
 
 ANTHELIA. 
 
 I should have been afraid that so short an 
 acquaintance would scarcely have been suffix 
 
TASHIONABLE AERIVALS. 23 
 
 cient to acquire that mutual knowledge of each 
 other's tastes, feehngs and character, which 
 I should think the only sure basis of matri- 
 monial happiness. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINMONEY. 
 
 Tastes, feelings, and character ! Why, 
 my love, you really do seem to believe your- 
 self in the age of chivalry, when those words 
 certainly signified very essential differences. 
 But now the matter is very happily simplified. 
 Tastes : — they depend on the fashion. There 
 is always a fashionable taste : a taste for driv- 
 in^f the mail — a taste for acting Hamlet— a 
 taste for philosophical lectures — a taste for 
 the marvellous — a taste for the simple — a taste 
 for the brilUant — a taste for the sombre — a 
 taste for the tender — a taste for the grim — a 
 taste for banditti — a taste for ghosts — a taste 
 for the devil — a taste for French dancers and 
 
 VOL. I. B 12 
 
24? MELINCOURT. 
 
 Italian singers, and German whiskers and tra- 
 gedies — a taste for enjoying the country in No- 
 vember, and wintering in London till the end 
 of the dog-days— a taste for making shoes— a 
 taste for picturesque tours — a taste for taste 
 itself, or for essays on taste : — but no gentle- 
 man would be so rash as to have a taste of his 
 own, or his last winter's taste, or any taste, 
 my love, but the fashionable taste. Poor 
 dear ]Mr. Pinmoney was reckoned a man of 
 exquisite taste among all his acquaintance ; for 
 the new taste, let it be what it would, always 
 fitted him as Avell as his new coat, and he 
 was the very pink and mirror of fashion, as 
 much in the one as the other. — So much for 
 tastes, my dear. 
 
 A^^THELIA, 
 
 I am afraid I shall always be a very un- 
 fashionable creatui'e; for I do not think I 
 
FASHfONABLE AURIVALS. Zo 
 
 sliould have sympathized witli any one of the 
 tastes you have just enumerated. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS, PINMONEY. 
 
 You ai'e so contumacious, such a romantic 
 heretic from the orthodox supremacy of fashion. 
 Now, as for feehngs, my dear, you know there 
 are no such things in the fashionable world ; 
 therefore that difficulty vanishes §ven more 
 easily than the first. 
 
 AKTHELIA, 
 
 I am sorry for it. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINi[0NEY, 
 
 Sorry ! — Feehngs are very troublesome 
 things, and always stand in the way of a 
 person's own interests. Then, as to character 
 — a gentleman'^s character is usually in the 
 keeping of his banker, or his agent, or his 
 steward, or his solicitor; and if they can 
 VOL. L c 
 
£G MELINCOUllT. 
 
 certify and demonstrate that he has the means 
 of keeping a handsome equipage, and a tt)wn 
 and country house, and of giving routs and 
 dinners, and of making a good settlement on 
 the happy object of his choice — what more of 
 any gentleman's character would you desire 
 to know ? 
 
 ANTHELIA. 
 
 A great deal more. I would require him 
 to be free in all his thoughts, true in all his 
 words, generous in all his actions — ardent in 
 friendship, enthusiastic in love, disinterested 
 in both — prompt in the conception, and con- 
 stant in the execution, of benevolent entei'prise 
 — the friend of the friendless, the champion 
 of the feeble, the firm opponent of the power- 
 ful oppressor — not to be eners'ated by luxury, 
 nor corrupted by avarice, nor intimidated by 
 tyranny, nor enthralled by superstition — more 
 desirous to distribute wealth than to possess 
 it, to disseminate hberty than to appropriate 
 
FASHIONABLE AKllIVALS. 27 
 
 power, to cheer tlie heart of sorrow than to 
 dazzle the eyes of folly. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PIXMOXEY. 
 
 And do you really expect to find such a 
 knight-errant ? The age of chivalry is gone. 
 
 ANTHELIA. 
 
 It is, but its spirit siU'vivcs. Disinterested 
 benevolence, the mainspring of all that is really 
 admirable m the days of chivalry, will never 
 perish for want of some minds calculated to 
 feel its influence, still less for want of a proper 
 field of exertion. To protect the feeble — to 
 raise the fallen — to liberate the captive — to be 
 the persevering foe of tyrants (whether the 
 great tyrant of an overwhehnijig empire, the 
 petty tyrant of the fields, or the " Httle tyrant 
 of a little corporation *''), it is not necessary 
 
 ♦ Junius. 
 
 c2 
 
28 MELINCOURT. 
 
 to wind the bugle before enchanted castles, or 
 to seek adventures in the deptlis of mountain- 
 caverns and forests of pine : there is no scene 
 of human life but presents sufficient scope to 
 energetic generosity: the field of action, though 
 less splendid in its accompaniments, is not less 
 useful in its results, nor less attractive to a 
 liberal spirit : and I believe it possible to find 
 as true a knight-errant in a brown coat in the 
 nineteenth century, as in a suit of golden 
 armour in the days of Charlemagne. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINMONEY. 
 
 Well ! well ! my dear, when you have 
 seen a little more of the world, you will get 
 rid of some of your chivalrous whimsies ; and 
 I think you will then agree with me, that tliere 
 is not, in the whole sphere of fashion, a more 
 elegant, fine-spirited, dashing, generous fellow 
 than my nephew Sir Telegraph Paxarett, who 
 
FASHIONABLE ARRIVALS. S9 
 
 by the by will be driving his barouche this 
 way shortly, and if you do not absolutely 
 forbid it, will call on me in his route. 
 
 These w^ords seemed to portend tliat the 
 Honourable Mrs. Pinmoney''s visit would be a 
 visitation, and at the same time threw a clear 
 li^ht on its motive ; but they gave hirtri hi 
 the mind of Anthelia to a train of ideas which 
 concluded in a somewhat singular determin- 
 ation. 
 
 c 3 
 
OK) iiELixcounx. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 HYPOCON HOUSE. 
 
 Anthelia had received Intimations, from va- 
 rious quarters, of similar intentions on the 
 part of various individuals, not less valuable 
 than Sir Telegraph Paxarett in the scale of 
 moral utility ; and though there was not one 
 among them for whom she felt the slightest 
 interest, she thought it would be too uncour- 
 teous in a pupil of chivalry, and too inhos- 
 pitable in tlie mistress of an old English castle, 
 to bar her gates against them. At the same 
 time she felt the want of a lord seneschal to 
 receive and entertain visitors so little con- 
 genial to her habits and inclinations : and it 
 immediately occurred to her, that no one would 
 be more fit for this honourable office, if he 
 
HYPOCON HOUSE. 31 
 
 could be prevailed on to undertake it, than 
 an old relation, a medium, as it were, between 
 cousin and great uncle ; who had occasionally 
 passed a week or a month with her father at 
 Melincourt. The name of this old gentleman 
 was Hippy: Humphrey Hippy, Esquire, of 
 Hypocon Plouse, in the county of Durham. 
 He was a bachelor, and his character exhi- 
 bited a singular compound of kind-hearted- 
 ness, spleen, and melancholy, which governed 
 him by turns, and sometimes in such rapid 
 succession that they seemed almost co-exist- 
 ent. To him Anthelia determined on send- 
 ing an express, with a letter entreating 
 him to take on himself, for a short time, the 
 superintendence of Melincourt Castle, and 
 giving as briefly as possible her reasons for 
 the request. In pursuance of this deter- 
 mination, old Peter Gray, a favourite domestic 
 of Sir Henry, and I believe a distant relation 
 ci 
 
S^ MELIXCOURT. 
 
 of little Lucy *, was dispatched the following 
 morning to Hypocon House, where the gate 
 was opened to him by old Harry Fell, a dis- 
 tant relation of little Alice*, who, as the reader 
 well knows, " belonged to Durham."" Old 
 Harry had become, by long habit, a euriouy 
 species of animated mirror, and reflected all 
 the humours of his master with wonderful / 
 nicety. When Mr. Hippy was in a rage, old 
 Harry looked fierce : when Mr. Hippy was in 
 a good humour, eld Harry was the picture of 
 human kindness : when Mr. Hippy was blue- 
 devilled, dd Harry was vapourish : when Mr. 
 Hippy was as melancholy as a gib cat, old 
 Harry was as dismal as a screech-owl. The 
 latter happened to be the case, when old Peter 
 presented himself at the gate, and old Harry 
 
 * For Lucy Gray and Alice Fell, see Mr. \Vords\vortli*^s 
 Lyrical Ballads. 
 
HVPOCON HOUSE. 3^ 
 
 accordingly opened it with a most rueful 
 elongation of visage. Peter Gray was ready 
 with a warm salutation for his old acquaintance 
 Harry Fell; but the lamentable cast of expres- 
 sion in the physiognomy of the latter froze 
 it on his lips, and he contented himself with 
 asking in a hesitating tone, "Is Mr. Hippy 
 at home ?"" 
 
 " He is," slowly and sadly articulated 
 Harry Fell, shaking his head. 
 
 " I have a letter for him," said Peter 
 Gray. 
 
 " Ah !" said Harry Fell, taking the letter, 
 and stalking off with it as solemnly as if he 
 had been following a funeral. 
 
 " A pleasant reception," thought Peter 
 Gray, " instead of the old ale and cold sii'loin 
 I dreamed of." 
 
 Old Harry tapped three times at the door 
 of his master's chamber, obsen'ing the same 
 c5 
 
34 MELINCOITKT. 
 
 interval between each tap as is usual between 
 the sounds of a muffled drum : then, after a 
 due pause, he entered the apartment. IMr. 
 Hippy was in his night-gown and slippers, 
 with one leg on a cushion, suffering under an 
 imaginary attack of the gout, and in the last 
 stage of despondency. Old Harry walked 
 forward in the same slow^ pace till he found 
 himself at the proper distance from his 
 master's chair. Then putting forth his hand 
 as deliberately as if it had been the hour-hand 
 of the kitchen-clock, he presented the letter. 
 Mr. Hippy took it in the same manner, sunk 
 back in his chair as if exhausted with the 
 effort, and cast his eyes languidly on the seal. 
 Immediately his eyes brightened, he tore open ' 
 the letter, read it in an instant, sprang up, flung 
 Iiis night-gown one way, his night-cap ano- 
 ther, kicked off his slippers, kicked away his 
 cushion, kicked over his chair, and bounced 
 
HYPO CON HOUSE. 35 
 
 down stairs, roaring for his coat and boots, and 
 his travcHlng chariot, m ith old Harry caper- 
 ing at his lieels, and re-echoing all his requi- 
 sitions. Harry Fell was now a new man : 
 Peter Gray was seized by the hand and di'ag- 
 ged into the buttery, where a cold goose and 
 a flagon of ale were placed before him; to 
 "which he immediately proceeded to do ample 
 justice ; while old Harry rushed off with a 
 cold fowl and ham, for the refection of jMr. 
 Hippy, who had been too seriously indisposed 
 in the morning, to touch a morsel cf break- 
 fast. Having placed these and a bottle of 
 Madeira in due form and order before his 
 master, he flew back to the buttery to assist 
 old Peter in the demolition of the goose and 
 ale, his ovm appetite in the morning liaving 
 sympathized with his master's, and being now 
 equally disposed to make up for lost time. 
 Mr. Hippy ^s travelling chariot was rat- 
 c 6 
 
S6 MELINCOUKT. 
 
 tied up to the door by four high-mettled 
 posters from the nearest inn. Mr. Hippy 
 sprang into the carriage, old Hany vaulted 
 into the dicky, the postillions cracked their 
 whips, and away they went, 
 
 " Over the hills and the plain?, 
 Over the rivers and rocks," 
 
 leaving old Peter gaping after them at the 
 gate, in profound astonishment at their sud- 
 den metamorphosis, and in utter despair of 
 being able, by any exertions of his own, to be 
 their forenmner and announcer at Melin- 
 court. Considering, therefore, that when the 
 necessity of being too late is inevitable, hurry 
 is manifestly superfluous, he mounted his 
 galloway with great gravity and dehberation, 
 and trotted slowly off towards the mountains, 
 philosophizing all tlie way in the usual poetical 
 style of a Cumberland peasant. Our readers 
 
HYPocoN iiorsE. 87 
 
 will of course feel much obliged to us for not 
 presenting tliem with his meditations. But 
 instead of jogging back with old Peter Gray, 
 or travelling post with Humphrey Hippy, 
 Esquire, we shall avail ourselves of the four-in- 
 hand barouche which is just coming in view, to 
 take a seat on the box by the side of Sir Tele- 
 graph Paxarett, and proceed in his company 
 to Melincourt. 
 
S8 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 RED ROSE ABBEY. 
 
 Sir Telegraph Paxarett had entered the pre- 
 cincts of the mountains of Westmoreland, and 
 was bowling his barouche along a romantic 
 valley, looking out very anxiously for an inn, as 
 he had now driven his regular diurnal allowance 
 of miles, and was becoming very impatient 
 for his equally regular diurnal allowance of 
 fish, fowl, and Madeira. A wreath of smoke 
 ascending from a thick tuft of trees at a dis- 
 tance, and in a straight direction before him, 
 cheered up his spirits, and induced him to 
 cheer up those of his horses Avith two or three 
 of those technical terms of the road, which we 
 presume to have formed part of the genuine 
 language of the ancient Houhynnhmns, since 
 
REDROSE ABBEY. 39 
 
 they seem not only much better adapted to 
 equine than human organs of sound, but are 
 certainly much more generally intelligible to 
 four-footed than to two-footed animals. Sir 
 Telegraph was doomed to a temporary disap- 
 pointment ; for when he had attained the de- 
 sired point, the smoke proved to issue from the 
 chimneys of an ancient abbey which appear- 
 ed to have been recently converted from a pile 
 of ruins into the habitation of some variety 
 of the human species, T\ith very singular ve- 
 neration for the relics of antiquity, which, 
 in their exterior aspect, had suffered httle from 
 the alteration. There was something so ana- 
 logous between the state of this building and 
 what he had heard of Melincourt, that if it 
 liad not been impossible to mistake an abbey 
 for a castle, he might almost have fancied 
 himself arrived at the dwellinor of the divine 
 Anthelia. Under a detached piece of ruins 
 
40 MELTXcornr. 
 
 near the road, wliich appeared to have been 
 part of a chapel, several workmen were busily 
 breaking the gi'ound with spade and pickaxe : 
 a gentleman was superintenchng their ope- 
 rations, and seemed very eager to arrive at 
 the object of his search. Sir Telegraph 
 stopped his barouche to inquire the distance to 
 the nearest inn: the gentleman replied, six 
 miles, " That is just five miles and a half 
 too far," said Sir Telegraph, and was pro- 
 ceeding to drive on, when, on turning round 
 to make his parting bow to the stranger, he 
 suddenly recognised him for an old ac- 
 quaintance and fellow-collegian. 
 
 " Sylvan Forester !" exclaimed Sir Tele- 
 graph ; " who should have dreamed of meet- 
 ing you in this uncivilized part of the 
 world 'r 
 
 " I am afraid,'' said Mr. Forester, " this 
 part of the world does not deserve tlie compli- 
 
REDROSE ABBEY. 41 
 
 nient implied in the epithet you have bestow- 
 ed on it. Within no very great distance from 
 this spot are divers towns, villages, and ham- 
 lets, in any one of which, if you have money, 
 you may make pretty sure of being cheated, 
 and if you have none, quite sure of being 
 starved — strong evidences of a stale of civili- 
 zation."^ 
 
 " Aha!"" said Sir Telegraph, " your old 
 way, now I recollect — always fond of railing 
 at civilized life, and holding forth in praise of 
 savages and what you called original men. 
 But what, in truth, make you in Westmore- 
 land ?" 
 
 " I have purchased this old abbey ,'^ said 
 Mr. Forester, " (anciently called the abbey 
 of Rednose, which I have altered to Redrose, 
 as being more analogous to my notions of 
 beauty, whatever the reverend Fellows of 
 our old college might have thought of it), and 
 
4-2 MELINCOURT. 
 
 have fitted it up for my habitation, ^vith the 
 view of carrying on in peace and seckision 
 some peculiar experiments on the nature and 
 progress of man. Will you dine with me, 
 and pass the night here ? and I will intro- 
 duce you to an original character.'" 
 
 " With all my heart,"*' said Sir Telegraph; 
 ** I can assure you, independently of the ^ 
 pleasure of meeting an old acquaintance, it is 
 a gi-eat comfort to dine in a gentleman's house, 
 after living from inn to inn, and being poi- 
 soned with bad wine for a month."" 
 
 Sir Telegraph descended from his box, 
 and directed one of his grooms to open the 
 carriage-door and emancipate the coachman, 
 ■who was fast asleep inside. Sir Telegraph 
 gave liim the reins, and Mr. Forester sent 
 one of his workmen to sliow hiin the way to 
 the stables. 
 
JIEDROSE ABBEY. 43 
 
 ** And pray," said Sir Telegraph, as the 
 barouche disappeared among the trees, " what 
 may be the object of your researches in this 
 spot ?'' 
 
 " You know," said Mr. Forester, " it is 
 a part of my tenets that the human species is 
 gradually decreasing in size and strength, and 
 I am digging in the old cemetery for bones 
 and skulls to establish the truth of my 
 theory.*" 
 
 **^ Have you found any ?" said Sir Tele- 
 graph. 
 
 " Many," said Mr. Forester. " About 
 three weeks ago we dug up a very fine ske- 
 leton, no doubt of some venerable father, who 
 must have been, in more senses than one, a 
 pillar of the church. I have had the skull 
 pohshed and set in silver. You shall drink 
 your wine out of it, if you please, to-day." 
 
 ** I thank you," said Sir Telegraph, " but 
 
44 MELINCOURr. 
 
 I am not particular: a glass will suit me as 
 well as the best skull in Europe. Besides, I 
 am a moderate man : one bottle of Madeira 
 and ai.other of claret are enough for me at 
 any time ; so that the quantity of wine a re- 
 verend sconce can caiTy would be just treble 
 my usual allowance.'' 
 
 They walked together towards the abbey. 
 Sir Telegraph earnestly requested, that, 
 before they entered, he might be favoured 
 with a peep at the stable. Mr. Forester of 
 course complied. Sir Telegraph found this 
 important part of the buildings capacious and 
 well adapted to its purpose, but did not alto- 
 gether approve its being totally masked by 
 an old ivied wall, which had served in former 
 times to prevent the braw and bonny Scot 
 from making too free with the beeves of the 
 pious fraternity. 
 
 The new dwelling-house was so well 
 
REDROSE ABBEY. 45 
 
 planned, and fitted in so well between the an- 
 cient walls, that very few vestiges of the modem 
 architect were discernible ; and it u as obvious 
 that the growth of the ivy, and of numerous 
 trailing and twining plants, would soon over- 
 run all vestiges of the innovation, and blend 
 the whole exterior into one venerable character 
 of antiquity. 
 
 "I do not think,^^ said ]Mr. Forester, as 
 they proceeded through part of the grounds, 
 " that the most determined zealot of the pic- 
 turesque would quarrel with me here. I 
 found the woods around the abbey matured 
 by time and neglect into a fine state of ^\-ild- 
 ness and intricacy, and I think I have left 
 enough of them to gratify their most ardent 
 admirer."' 
 
 " Quite enough, in all conscience,'"' said 
 Sir Telegraph, who was in white jean ti'ow- 
 <iers, with very thin silk stockings and pumps. 
 
46 MELINCOURT. 
 
 '' I do not generally calculate on being, as an 
 old song I have somewhere heard expresses 
 it, 
 
 « Forced to scramble, 
 
 When I ramble, 
 
 Through a copse of furze and bramble;" 
 
 which would be all very pleasant perhaps, 
 if the fine effect of picturesque roughness 
 were not unfortunately, as Macbeth says of 
 his dagger, ' sensible to feehng as to sight.'' 
 But who is that gentleman, sitting under the 
 great oak yonder in the green coat and nan- 
 kins ? He seems very thouglitful." 
 
 " He is of a contemplative disposition,^' 
 said Mr. Forester: " you must not be sui*prised 
 if he should not speak a word during the 
 whole time you are here. Tlic pohteness of 
 his manner makes amends for his habitual ta- 
 cituniitv. I will introduce you.'' 
 
BEDROSE ABEKY. 47 
 
 The gentleman under the oak had by this 
 time discovered them, and came forward with 
 gi'eat alacrity to meet Mr. Forester, who cor- 
 dially shook hands with him, and introduced 
 him to Sir Telegraph as Sir Oran Haut-ton, 
 Baronet. 
 
 Sir Telegraph looked earnestly at the 
 stranger, but was too polite to laugh, though 
 he could not help thinking there was some- 
 thing ver\' ludicrous in Sir Oran's physio- 
 gnomy, notwithstanding the air of high fashion 
 which characterized his whole deportment, 
 and which was heightened by a pair of enor- 
 mous M hiskers, and the folds of a vast cravat. 
 He therefore bowed to Sir Oran with be- 
 coming gi'avity, and Sir Oran returned the 
 bow with very striking politeness. 
 
 " Possibly,'^ thought Sir Telegraph, " pos- 
 >>*il)ly I may have seen an ugUer fellow." 
 
48 MELTNCOURT. 
 
 The trio entered the abbey, and shortly 
 after sate down to dinner. 
 
 Mr. Forester and Sir Oran Haut-ton 
 
 took the head and foot of the table. Sir 
 
 Telegraph sate between them. " Some soup, 
 
 Sir Telegraph f"^ said Mr. Forester. " I rather 
 
 think,"" said Sir Telegraph, " I shall trouble 
 
 Sir Oran for a shoe of fish." Sir Oran helped 
 
 him with great dexterity, and then performed 
 
 the same office for himself. " I think you 
 
 will hke this IVIadeira ?'"'' said Mr. Forester. 
 
 « Capital !'' said Sir Telegraph : " Sir Oran, 
 
 shall I have the pleasure of taking wine with 
 
 you ?*" Sir Oran Haut-ton bowed gi'acefully 
 
 to Sir Telegraph Paxarett, and the glasses 
 
 were tossed off with the usual ceremonies. Sir 
 
 Oran preserved an inflexible silence during 
 
 the whole duration of dinner, but showed 
 
 great proficiency in the dissection of game. 
 
 When the cloth was removed, the wine 
 
 3 
 
RED ROSE ABBEY. 40 
 
 circulated freely, and Sir Telegraph, as usual, 
 filled a numerous succession of glasses. Mr. 
 Forester, not as usual, did the same; for he was 
 generally very abstemious in this respect : but, 
 on the present occasion, he relaxed from his 
 severity, quoting the Placari genius JestU 
 impune diehus, and the Didce est desipere in 
 loco, of Horace. Sir Oran likewise approved, by 
 his practice, that he thought the wine particu- 
 larly excellent, and Beviamo tutti tre appeared 
 to be the motto of the party. Mr. Forester in- 
 quired into the motives which had brought Sir 
 Telegraph to Westmoreland ; and Sir Tele- 
 graph entered into a rapturous encomium of the 
 heiress of Melincourt, which was suddenly cut 
 short by Sir Oran, who having taken a glass 
 too much, rose suddenly from table, took a fly- 
 ing leap through the window, and went dan- 
 cing along the woods like a harlequin. 
 
 " Upon my wordj^^ said Sir Telegraph, 
 
 ▼OL. I. D 
 
50 MELINCOURT. 
 
 ** a devilish lively, pleasant fellow ! Curse 
 me, if I know what to make of him." 
 
 " I will tell you his history ,"" said Mr. 
 Forester, " by and by. In the mean time I 
 must look after him, that he may neither do 
 nor receive mischief. Pray take care of your- 
 self till I return." Saying this, he sprang 
 through the window after Sir Oran, and dis- / 
 appeai'ed by the same track among the trees. 
 
 " Curious enough!" soliloquized Sir Tele- 
 graph; " however, not much to complain of, as 
 the best part of the company is left behind : 
 videhcetj the bottle."" 
 
SUGAR. 51 
 
 CHAP. V, 
 
 SUGAR. 
 
 Sir Telegraph was tossing off the last heeltap 
 of his regular diurnal allowance of wine, when 
 Mr. Forester and Sir Oran Haut-ton re-ap- 
 peared, walking past the window arm in arm ; 
 Sir Oran's mode of progression being very 
 vacillating, indirect, and titubant ; enough so, 
 at least, to show that he had not completely 
 danced off the effects of the Madeira. Mr. 
 Forester shortly after entered ; and Sir Tele- 
 graph inquiring concerning Sir Oran, " I 
 have persuaded him to go to bed,'' said Mr. 
 Forester, " and I doubt not he is already fast 
 asleep."" A servant now entered widi tea. 
 Sir Telegraph proceeded to help himself, when 
 D 2 
 
52 MELlNCOtJRT. 
 
 lie perceived there was no sugar, and reminded 
 his host of the omission. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 If I had anticipated tlie honour of your 
 comjiany, Sir Telegraph, I would have pro- 
 vided myself with a small quantity of that 
 nefarious ingredient: but in this sohtar^ 
 situation, these things are not to be had at a , 
 moment'*s notice. As it is, seeing little com- ! 
 pany, and regulating my domestic arrange- '• 
 ments on philosophical principles, I never 
 suffer an atom of West Indian produce to 
 pass my threshold. I have no wish to re- 
 semble those pseudo-philanthropists, those 
 miserable declaimers against slavery, who are 
 very Hberal of words which cost them nothing, 
 but are not capable of advancing the object ] 
 they profess to have at heart, by submitting 
 to the smallest personal privation. If I wish 
 
SXIfiAR. 55 
 
 seriously to exterminate an evil, I begin by 
 examining how far I am nnself, in any way 
 whatever, an accomplice in the extension of 
 its baleful influence. My reform commences 
 at home. How can I unblushingly declaim 
 against thieves, while I am a receiver of stolen 
 goods ? How can I seriously call myself an 
 enemy to slavery, while I indulge in the 
 luxuries that slavery acquires ? How can the 
 consumer of sugar pretend to throw on the 
 grower of it the exclusive burden of their 
 participated criminality ? How can he wash 
 his hands, and say with Pilate: ''lam hmo^ 
 cent of this Hood, see ye to it f^ 
 
 Sir Telegraph poured some cream into his 
 unsweetened tea, drank it, and said nothing. 
 Mr. Forester proceeded : 
 
 If every individual in this kingdom, 
 who is truly and conscientiously an enemy to 
 d5 
 
54 MELINCOUllT. 
 
 tlie slave-trade, would subject himself to so 
 very trivial a privation as abstinence from 
 colonial produce, I consider that a mortal 
 blow would be inmiedialely struck at the roots 
 of that iniquitous system. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT, 
 
 If every individual enemy to the slave-^ 
 trade would follow your example, the object 
 would no doubt be much advanced ; but the 
 practice of one individual, more or less, has 
 little or no influence on general society ; most 
 of us go on with the tide, and the dread of 
 the single word quiz has more influence in 
 keeping the greater part of us witljin the pale 
 of custom, fashion, and precedent, than all the 
 moral reasonings and declamations in the 
 world will ever have in persuading us to 
 break through it. As to the difl'usion of 
 liberty, and the general happiness of mankind, 
 which used to be your favourite topics wlien 
 
SUGAR. o5 
 
 we were at Ci)llcgc together, I should have 
 thought your subsequent experience would 
 have shown you, that there is not one person 
 in ten thousand, who knows what liberty 
 means, or cares a single straw for any happi- 
 ness but his own 
 
 MR. rORESTEn. 
 
 Which his own miserable sellishness must 
 estrange from him for ever. He whose heart 
 has never glowed with a generous resolution, 
 who has never felt the conscious triumph of 
 a disinterested sacrifice, w ho has never sym- 
 pathized with human jovs or sorrows, but 
 when they have had a direct and palpable 
 reference to himself, can never be acquainted 
 with even the semblance of happiness. His 
 utmost enjoyment must be many degrees infe- 
 rior to that of a pig, inasmuch as the sordid 
 mire of selfish and brutal stupidity is more 
 D 4 
 
56 MELIXCOrilT. 
 
 defiling to the soul, than any coacervation of 
 jnere material mud can possibly be to the 
 body. The latter may be cleared away with 
 two or three ablutions, but the former cleaves 
 and accumulates into a mass of impenetrable 
 corruption, that bids defiance to the united 
 powers of Hercules and Alpheus. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Be that as it may, every man will continue 
 to follow his own fancy. The world is bad 
 enough, I dare say; but it is not for you or 
 me to mend it. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 There is the key-stone of the evil — mistrust 
 of the influence of individual example. " We 
 are, bad ourselves, because we despair of the 
 goodness of others *.'"' Yet the history of tlie 
 
 ♦ Coleridge's Fiie.id. 
 
SUGAR. 57 
 
 world abounds with sudden and extraordinary 
 revolutions in the opinions of mankind, which 
 have been effected by single enthusiasts. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Speculative opinions have been sometimes 
 changed by the efforts of roaring fanatics. 
 ]\Ien have been found very easily permutable 
 into ites and onians, avians and arianSy Wes- 
 leyites or Whitfieldites, Huntingtonians or 
 Muggletonians, Moravians, Trinitarians, Unir 
 tarians, Anythingarians : but the metamor- 
 phosis only affects a few obscure notions con- 
 cerning types, symbols, and mysteries, which 
 have scarcely any effect on moral theor}^, and 
 of course, a fortiori^ none whatever on moral 
 practice : the latter is for the most part go- 
 verned by the general habits and manners of 
 the society we live in. One man may twang 
 responses in concert with the parish-clerk; 
 D 5 
 
58 MELIKCOURT. 
 
 anotlier may sit silent in a Quakers' meeting, 
 waiting for the inspiration of the Spirit; a 
 third may groan and howl in a tabernacle ; a 
 fourth may breakfast, dine, and sup, in a 
 Sandemonian chapel : but meet any of the 
 four in the common intercourse of society, 
 you will scarcely know one from another. The 
 single adage. Charity begins at home, will fur- 
 nish a complete key to the souls of all four : ^ 
 for I have found, as far as my observation has 
 extended, that men carry their religion * in 
 
 * " There is not any burden that some would gladlier 
 post off to another than the charge and care of their religion. 
 There be of Protestants and professors who live and die in 
 as arrant and implicit faith as any lay Papist of Loretto. A 
 wealthy man, addicted to his pleasure and to his profits, 
 finds religion to be a traffic so entangled and of so many 
 peddling accounts, that, of all mysteries, he cannot skill to 
 keep a stock going upon that trade. What should he do ? 
 Fain would he have the name to be religious : fain would he 
 bear up with his neighbours in that. What docs he, there- 
 fore, but resolves to give over toiling, and to find himself 
 
 3 
 
SUGAR. 59 
 
 Other men's heads, and their morality in their 
 own pockets. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I think it will be found that individual 
 example has in many instances produced great 
 moral effects on the practice of society. Even 
 
 out some factor, to whose care and credit he may commit the 
 tshole management of his religious affairs ; some divine of 
 note and estimation that must be. To him he adheres, re- 
 signs the whole warehouse of bis religion, with all the locks 
 and keys, into his custody, and, indeed, makes the very per- 
 son of that man his religion, esteems his associating with 
 him a suflBcient evidence and commendatory of his own piety. 
 So that a man may say, his religion is now no more within 
 himself, but is become a dividual moveable, and goes and 
 comes near him according as that good man frequents the 
 house. He entertains him, gives him gifts, feasts him, 
 lodges him : his religion comes home at night, prays, is li- 
 berally supped, and sumptuously laid to sleep, rises, is sa- 
 luted, and after the malmsey, or some well-spiced bruage, 
 and better breakfasted than he whose morning appetite would 
 have gladly fed on green figs between Bethany and Jerusa- 
 lem, his religion walks abroad at eight, and leaves his kind 
 entsrtainer in the shop, trading all day without his religion." 
 — Milton'j Speech for the Liberty of xtnlicensed Printing, 
 
 VOL. I. D 6 
 
no MELINCOURT. 
 
 if it were otherwise, is it not better to be Ab» 
 diel among the fiends, tlmn to be lost and 
 confounded in the legion of imps grovelling 
 in the train of the evil power ? 
 
 SIE TELEGRAPH PAXAEETT. 
 
 There is something in that. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 To borrow an allegory from Homer: 1 
 would say society is composed of two urns, 
 one of good, and one of evil. I will sup- 
 pose, that every individual of the human spe- 
 cies receives from his natal genius a httle phiaJ, 
 containing one drop of a fluid, which shall be 
 evil, if poured into the urn of evil, and good 
 if into that of good. If you were proceeding 
 to the station of the urns with ten thousand 
 persons, every one of them predetemiined to 
 empty his phial into the urn of evil, which I 
 fear is too true a picture of the practice of 
 
SUGAR, 61 
 
 society, should you consider their example, if 
 you were hemmed in in the centre of them, 
 a sufficient excuse for not breaking from them, 
 and approaching the neglected urn ? Would 
 you say, " The urn of good will derive little 
 increase from my solitary drop, and one more 
 less will make very little difference in the urn 
 of ill : I will spare myself trouble, do as the 
 world does, and let the urn of good take its 
 chance, from those who can approach it with 
 less difficulty r"" No : you would rather say, 
 " That neglected urn contains the hopes of the 
 human species : little, indeed, is the addition 
 I can make to it, but it will be good as far as 
 it goes •,"" and if, on approaching the urn, you 
 should find it not so empty as you had anti- 
 cipated, if the genius appointed to guard it 
 should say to you, " There is enough in this 
 urn already to allow a reasonable expectation 
 that it will one day be full, and yet it has 
 
62 MELINCOURT. 
 
 only accumulated drop by drop through the 
 efforts of individuals, who broke through the 
 pale and pressure of the multitude, and did 
 not despair of human virtue ;^ would you not 
 feel ten thousand times repaid for the diffi- 
 culties you had overcome, and the scoffs of the 
 fools and slaves you had abandoned, by the 
 single reflection that would then rush upon 
 your mind, I am one of these ? 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Gad, very likely ; I never considered the 
 subject in that light. You have made no 
 allowance for the mixture of good and evil, 
 which I think the fairest state of the case. It 
 seems to me, that the world always goes on 
 pretty much in one way. People eat, diink, 
 and sleep, make merry with their friends, get 
 as much money as they can, marry when they 
 can afford it, take care of their children be- 
 
SUGAR. 63 
 
 cause they are their own, are thought well of 
 while they live in proportion to the depth of 
 their purse, and when they die, are sure of 
 as good a character on their tombstones as 
 the bellman and stonemason can afford for 
 their money. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Such is the multitude ; but there are noble 
 exceptions to this general littleness. 
 
 SIB TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Now and then an original genius strikes 
 out of the common track ; but there are two 
 ways of doing that— into a worse as well as a 
 better. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 There are some assuredly, who strike 
 into a better ; and these are the ornaments of 
 their age, and the lights of the world. You 
 
G4 MELINCOUET. 
 
 must admit too, that there are many, who^. 
 though without energy or capacity to leadj 
 have yet virtue enough to follow an iUustrioui 
 example. 
 
 SIR TEXEGEAPH PAXAHETT. 
 
 One or two. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 In every mode of human action there are 
 two ways to be pursued — a good and a bad 
 one. It is the duty of every man to ascertain 
 the former, as clearly as his capacity will 
 admit, by an accurate examination of general 
 relations ; and to act upon it rigidly, without 
 regard to his own previous habits, or the com- 
 mon practice of the world. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 And you infer from all this, that it is 
 my duty to diink my tea without sugar. 
 
SUGAB. 65 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I infer, tliat it is the duty of every one, 
 thoroughly penetrated Avitli the iniquity of the 
 slave-trade, to abstain entirely from the u.se 
 of colonial produce. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 I may do that, without any great effort 
 of virtue. I find the difference in this in- 
 stance, more trivial than I could have sup- 
 posed. In fact, I never thought of it before. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I hope I shall before long have the plea- 
 sure of enrolling you a member of the Anti- 
 saccharine Society, which I have had the hap- 
 piness to organize, and which is daily extend- 
 ing its numbers. Some of its principal mem- 
 bers \^ill shortly pay a visit to Rcdrose Ab- 
 bey ; and I purpose giving a festival, to which 
 I shall invite all that is respectable and inteU 
 
66 MELINCOURT. 
 
 ligent in this part of the country, and in which 
 I intend to demonstrate practically, that a very 
 elegant and luxunous entertainment may be 
 prepared without employing a single particle of 
 that abominable ingredient, and theoretical 1}', 
 that the use of sugar is economically super- 
 fluous, physically pernicious, morally atro- 
 cious, and politically abominable. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 I shall be happy to join the party, and I 
 may possibly bring with me one or two inside 
 passengers, who will prove both ornamental 
 and attractive to your festival. But you pro- 
 mised me an account of Sir Oran. 
 
SIR ORAN IIAUT-TOX, 67 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 SIR ORAN HAUT-TON. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 'iR Oran Haut-ton was caught very young 
 
 in the woods of Angola. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXAEETT. 
 
 Caught .' 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Very young. He is a specimen of the 
 natural and original man — the wild man of the 
 wcxxls; called, in the language of the more 
 civilized and sophisticated natives of Angola, 
 Pongo, and in that of the Indians of South 
 America, Oran Oufang. 
 
68 MELINCOURT. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 The devil he is ! 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Positively. Some presumptuous natural- 
 ists have refused his species the honours of hu- 
 manity; but the most enlightened and illus- 
 trious philosophers agree in considering him in 
 his true light as the natural and original man*. 
 
 * " I tliink I have established his humauity i)y proof that 
 ought to satisfy every one who gives credit to human testi- 
 mony." — Ancient Metaphysics, vol. iii. ^. AO. 
 
 ** I have brought myself to a perfect conviction that th« 
 oran outang is a human creature as much as any of us." — 
 Jbid. p. 133. 
 
 " Nihil humani ci deesse diceres praeter kuiutlam." — 
 Cox'Tius. 
 
 *' The fact truly is, that the man is easily distingui'^hablc 
 in him ; nor are there any differences betwixt him and us, 
 but what may be accounted fur in so satisfactory a manner, 
 that it would be extraordinary and unnatural if they were 
 not to be found. His body, which is of the same shape as 
 ours, is bigger and stronger than ours, .... according to 
 that general law of nature above observed (Ihat all animaU 
 
SIR OBAN KAUT-TOy. 69 
 
 One French philosopher, indeed, has been guilty 
 of an inaccuracy, in coYisiderinoj him as a de- 
 
 thrice best in their nattcral state). His icind is such as that 
 of a man must he, uncultirated hy arts and sciences, and 
 
 living wild in the woods Oae thing, at least, i> 
 
 certain : that if erer men were in that state which I call 
 natural, it must have been in such a countiy and climate as 
 Africa, where they could live without art upon the natural 
 fruits of tbe earth. * Such countries,' Linnaeus says, ' are 
 tlie n:\tive country of man ; there he lives naturally ; in other 
 countries, Hon niti coacte, that is, by force of art.' If this 
 be so, then, tbe short history of man is, that the race having 
 begun in those fine climates, and having, as is natural, multi- 
 plied there so much that the spontaneous productions of the 
 earth conld not support them, they migrated into other coun- 
 tries, where they were obliged to invent art* for their subsist- 
 ence ; and with such arts, language, in process of time, would 
 
 necessarily come That my facts and arguments are 
 
 so convincing as to leave no doubt of the humanity of the oran 
 ©utang, I will not take upon me to say ; but thus much I 
 will venture to affirm, that I have said enough to make the 
 philosopher consider it as problematic^, and a stibject de- 
 serving to Ije inquired into. For^ as to the vulgavy J can 
 mver expect that they should achnowUdge any relation to 
 those inhabitants of the woods of Angola ; but that they 
 should continue, through a fal*e pride, to think highly de- 
 
70 MELINCOURT. 
 
 generated man * : degenerated he cannot be ; 
 as hrs prodigious physical strength, his unin- 
 terrupted health, and his amiable simplicity 
 of manners demonstrate. He is, as I have 
 said, a specimen of the natural and original 
 man — a genuine fac simile of the pliilosophical 
 Adam. 
 
 He was caught by an intelhgent negro 
 very young, in the woods of Angola; and 
 
 rogatory from human nature what the philosopher, on the con- 
 trai'v, will think the greatest praise of man, that from the 
 savage state in which the oran outang is, he should, by his 
 own sagacity and industry, have arrived at the state in which 
 we now see him." — Origin and Progress of Lajigitage, book 
 ii. chap. 5. 
 
 * *• L'Oran outang, ou I'horame des bois, est un ^tre 
 particulier a la zone torride de notre h(?mispherc : le Plioe 
 de la nation qui I'a range dans la classe de singes ne me pa- 
 roit pas cons^fjuent ; car il r^sulte des principaux traits dc sa 
 description que c'estun boiume d^g^n^r^." — Philosophic de la 
 Kature. 
 
SIR OR AN HAUT-TOX. 71 
 
 his gentleness and sweet temper * winning the 
 hearts of the negro and negress, they brought 
 him up in their cottage as the playfellow of 
 their httle boys and girls, where, with the ex- 
 ception of speech, he acquired the practice of 
 such of the simpler arts of hfe as the degree 
 of civilization in that part of Africa admits. 
 In this way he lived till he was about seven- 
 teen years of age 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 By his own reckoning ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 By analogical computation. At this pe- 
 riod, my old friend Captain Hawltaught of 
 
 * " The dispositions and affections of his mind are mild, 
 gentle, and humane." — Origin and Progrt.ss of Language^ 
 book ii. chap. 4. 
 
 " The oran outang whoiu Buffon himself saw was of a 
 iweet temper." — Ihid, 
 
72 MELINCOURT. 
 
 the ToiTiado frigate, being driven by stres* 
 of weather to the coast of Angola, was so 
 much struck witli the contemplative cast of 
 Sir Oran'*s countenance *, that he offered the 
 negro an irresistible bribe to surrender him to 
 his possession. The negro brought him on 
 board, and took an opportunity to leave him 
 slily, but -vnth infinite reluctance and sympa- 
 
 * " But though I bold the oran outang to be of our 
 species, it must not be supposed that I think the monkey or 
 ape, with or without a tail, participates of our nature : on 
 the contrary, I maintain that, however much his form may 
 resemble man's, yet he is, as Linnaeus says of the Troglo- 
 dyte, nee iiofitri generis nee sanguinis. For as the mind, or 
 internal principle, is the chief part of every animal, it is by 
 it principally that the ancients have distinguished the several 
 specieses. Now, it is laid down by Mr. Buflbn, and I believe 
 it to be a fact that cannot be contested, that neither monkey, 
 ape, nor baboon, have any thing mild or gentle, tractable 
 or docile, benevolent or humane in their dispositions ; but, 
 on the contrary, are malicious and untractable, to be govern- 
 ed only by force and fear, and without hny gravity or cotHpo- 
 tnrc in their gait or behaviour, siteh as the oran outaiig has" 
 — Origin and Prog-reits of Lan;>itngey boek ii. chap. 4^ 
 
SIB OKAN HAUT-TON. 73 
 
 tiietic grief. When the ship weighed anchor, 
 and Sir Oran found himself separated from 
 the friends of his youth, and surrounded with 
 strange faces, he wept bitterly *, and fell 
 into such deep grief that his life was despair- 
 ed of -|-. The surgeon of the ship did what 
 
 • " He is capable of the greatest affection, not only to 
 his brother oran outan^gs, but to such among us as use him 
 kindly. And it is a fact well attested to me by a gentleman 
 who was an eye-witness of it, that an oran outang on board bis 
 thip conceived such an affection for the cook, that when upoti 
 some occasion he left the ship to go ashore, the gentleman 
 saw the oran outaiig shed tears in great abundance." — 
 Origin and Progress of Language, book ii. chap, 4. 
 
 •f* ** Oue of them was taken, and brought with some 
 negro slaves to the capital of the kingdom of Malemba. He 
 was a Tonng one, but •six feet and a half tall. Before Le 
 came to this c(ty, he had been kept some months ia company 
 with the negro slaves, and during that time was tame and 
 gentle, and todk.lus victuals very quietly; but when he was 
 brought into the town, such cvowds of people came about 
 him to gaze at him, that he could not bear it, but grew sul- 
 len, ab.-taiued from footl, and died in four or five days." — 
 Oiigin and Progress of Luuguagf, book ii. chap. 4. 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 MELINCOUBT. 
 
 he could for him ; and a much better doctor, 
 Time, completed his cure. By degi'ees a very 
 warm friendship for my friend Captain Hawl- 
 taught extinguished his recollection of his 
 negro friends. Three years they cruised to- 
 gether in the Tornado, wlien a dangerous 
 wound compelled the old Captain to renounce 
 his darling element, and lay himself up in ^ 
 ordinary for the rest of his days. He retired 
 on his half-pay and the produce of his prize- 
 money, to a little village in the west of England, 
 where he employed himself very assiduously 
 in planting cabbages and watching the changes 
 of the wind. Mr. Oran, as he was then 
 called, was his inseparable companion, and 
 became a very expert practical gardener. 
 The old Captain used to observe, he could 
 always say he had an honest man in his house, 
 which was more tlian could be said of many 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-TOK. 75 
 
 tionourable houses where there was much va- 
 pouring about honour. 
 
 Mr. Oran had long before shown a taste 
 for music, and, with some httle instruction 
 from a marine officer in the Tornado, had be- 
 come a proficient on the flute and French 
 horn *. He could never be brought to under- 
 stand the notes ; but from hearing any simple 
 tune played or sung two or three times, he 
 never failed to perform it with great exactness 
 and briUiancy of execution. I shall merely 
 observe, en passant, that music appears, from 
 this and several similar circumstances, to be 
 more natural to man than speech *. The old 
 
 * " He has the capacity of beini? a musician, and has 
 actually learned to play upon the pipe and harp : a fact attest- 
 ed, not by a common traveller, but by a man of science, Mr. 
 Teircsc, and who relates it, not as a hearsay, but as a fact 
 consisting with his own knowledge. And this is the more to 
 be attended to, as it shows that the oran outang has a per- 
 aeption of numbers, measure, and melody, which has alway 
 E 2 
 
76 MELINCOURT. 
 
 Captain was fond of his bottle of wine after 
 dinner, and liis glass of grog at night. Mr. 
 Oran was easily brought to sympathize in this 
 taste * ; and they have many times sat up to- 
 
 boen accounted I'eculiar to our species. But the learning to 
 fepeak, as well as the leaniing^ music, must depend upon parti- 
 cular circumstances ; ftud men, living, as the oran outangs do, 
 upon the natural fruits of the earth, with few or no arts, are/ 
 not in a situation that is proper for the invention of language. 
 The oran outangs who played upon the pipe had certainly 
 riot invented this art in the woods, but they had learned 
 it from the negroes or the Europeans ; and that they had not 
 at the same lime learned to speak, may be accounted for in 
 one or other of two ways : either the same pains had not 
 been taken to teach them articulation ; or, secondly, music 
 is mor« natural to man, and more easily acquired than 
 speech." — Origin and Progrens of Longua^^e, book ii. 
 chap. ft. 
 
 » " Ces animaux," dit M. de la Brossc, ** ont I'instinct 
 de s'asseoir a tabic comma les hommes ; ils mangent de tout 
 sans distinction ; ils se servent du couteau, de la cuiller, et 
 de la fourchette, pour prendre et couper ce qu'on sert sur 
 I'assiette : ils hoiveut du vin ct (Tantrcs lifjucurx : nous le» 
 portames a bord ; quaud ils ^toient a tabl«, ils se faisoicnt 
 entendre des mousses lorsqu'ils avoicnt besoin de quelque 
 chose." — Bi FFON. 
 
SIR OR AN HAUT-TON. 77 
 
 gctlicr half the night over a flowing bowl, 
 the old Captain singing Rule Britannia, True 
 Courage, or Tom Tough, and Sir Oran ac- 
 companying him on the French horn. 
 
 During a summer tour in Devonshire, I 
 called on my old friend Captain Hawltaught, 
 and was introduced to Mr. Oran. You, who 
 have not forgotten my old speculations on the 
 origin and progress of man, may judge of my 
 delight at this happy rencontre. I exerted all 
 the eloquence I w^as master of to persuade! 
 Captain Hawltaught to resign him to me, that 
 1 might give him a philosophical education *. 
 Finding this point unattainable, I took a 
 house in the neighbourhood, and the inter- 
 
 * *' If I can believe the newspapers, there w;is an oran 
 outan^ of the great Uiml, that was some time ago shipped 
 aboard a French East India sliip. I hope he has had a saf« 
 voyage to Europe, anrl that his education will be taken care 
 of." — ^Imitut Metapht/iics, vol. iii. p. -lO. 
 
 JL 3 
 
78 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 course wliich ensued was equally beneficial and 
 agreeable to all three. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 And what part did you take in their noc- 
 turnal concerts, with Tom Tough and the 
 French liorn ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I was seldom present at them, and often 
 remonstrated, but ineffectually, with the Cap- 
 tain, on his corrupting the amiable simplicity 
 of the natural man by this pernicious celebra- 
 tion of vinous and spiritous orgies; but the only 
 answer 1 could ever get from him was a hearty 
 damn against all water-drinkers, accompanied 
 with a reflection that he was sure evei'y enemy 
 to wine and grog must have clapped down the 
 hatches of his conscience on some secret vil- 
 lany, which he feared good liquor would pipe 
 ahoy : and he usually concluded by striking 
 
SIR ORAN IIAUT-TON. 79 
 
 up Nothing like Grog^ Saturday Night, or 
 Swing the Jlowing BoicJ^ his friend Oran"'* 
 liorn ringing in sympathetic symphony. 
 
 The old Captain used to say, that grog was 
 the elixir of life ; but it did not prove so to 
 liim ; for one night he tossed off his last bum- 
 per, sung his last stave, and heard the last 
 flourish of his Oran's horn. I thought poor 
 Oran would have broken his heai't ; and had 
 he not been familiarized to me, and conceived 
 a very lively friendship for me before the death 
 of his old friend, I fear the consequences 
 would have been fatal. 
 
 Considering that change of scene would 
 divert his melancholy, I took him with me to 
 London. The theatres delighted him, parti- 
 cularly the opera, which not only accorded 
 admirably with his taste for music ; but 
 w here, as he looked round on the ornaments of 
 the fashionable world, he seemed to be parti- 
 E 4 
 
80 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 cularly comfortable, and to feel liimself com- 
 pletely at home. 
 
 There is to a stranger something ludicrous 
 in a first view of his countenance, which led 
 me to introduce him only into the best society, 
 w here politeness would act as a preventive to 
 the propensity to laugh ; for he has so nice a 
 sense of honour (which I shall observe, by 
 tlie way, is peculiar to man), that if he were 
 to be treated with any kind of contumely, he 
 would infalhbly die of a broken heart, as has 
 been seen in some of his species *. With a 
 view of ensuring him the respect of society, 
 which always attends on rank and fortune, I 
 have purchased him a baronetcy, and made 
 over to him an estate. I have also purchased 
 of the Duke of Rottenburgh one half of the 
 elective franchise vested in the body of Mr. 
 
 * Oriijin and Pregress of Lang^najc, book ii. chap. 4. 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-TOX. 81 
 
 Christopher Corporate, the free, fat, and de- 
 pendent burgess of the ancient and honour- 
 able borough of Onevote, who returns two 
 members to ParHament, one of whom will 
 shortly be Sir Oran. (Sir Telegraph gave a 
 long whistle.) But before taking this im- 
 |X)rtant step, I am desirous that he should 
 Jinish his education. (Sir Telegraph xvhistled 
 again.) I mean to say,, that I Avish, if pos- 
 wble, to put a few words into his mouth, 
 which I have hitherto found impracticable, 
 though I do not entirely despair of ultimate 
 success. But this circumstance, for reasons 
 which I will give you by and by, does not at 
 all mihtate against the proofs of his being a 
 man. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 If he be but half a man, he will be the 
 fitter representative of half an elector ; for as 
 that " large body corporate of one,'" the 
 E 5 
 
82 MELINCOURT. 
 
 free, fat, and dependent burgess of Onevote, 
 returns two members to the honourable house, 
 Sii- Oran can only be considered as the repre- 
 sentative of half of him. But, seriously, is not 
 your principal object an irresistible exposure of 
 the universality and omnipotence of corruption 
 by purchasing for an oran outang one of those 
 seats, the sale of winch is unblushingly ac- 
 knowledged to be as notorious as the sun at 
 noon-day ? or do you really think him one of 
 us f 
 
 MR. FORESTEE. 
 
 I really think him a variety of the human 
 species ; and this is a point which I have it 
 much at heart to establish in the acknowledg- 
 ment of the civilized world. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 BufFon, whom I dip into now and then in 
 3 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-T0>7. 83 
 
 the winter, ranks him, with Linnaeus, in the 
 class of Simice. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Linnaeus has given him the curious deno- 
 minations of Troglodytes y Homo nocturnus^ 
 and Homo silvestris : but he evidently thought 
 him a man : he describes him as having a 
 hissing speech, thinking, reasoning, believing 
 that the earth was made for him, and that he 
 will one day be its sovereign *. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 God save King Oran ! By the by, you 
 put me very much in mind of Valentine and 
 Orson. This wild man of yours will turn 
 
 ♦ " Homo noctumus, Troglodytes, Silvestris, orang ou- 
 tang Bontii. Corpus album, incessu crectum Lo- 
 quitur sibilo, cogilat, ratiocinatuTy credit sui causi factam 
 tellurem, se aliqua.jclo iterum fore imperantem." — Lin* 
 
 VJEVS, 
 
 x6 
 
84 MELiyCOURT. 
 
 out some day to be the son of a king, lost in 
 the woods, and suckled by a lioness : — " No 
 waiter, but a knight templai* :" — no Oran, but 
 a true prince. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 As to BufFon, it is astonishing how that 
 great naturalist could have placed him among 
 the singes^ when the very words of his de- ^ 
 scription give him all the characteristics of 
 human nature *. It is still more curious to 
 
 * " II n'u point do queue : ses bras, ses mr.ius, scs 
 doijj;t3, ses ongles, sont pareils aux n6tres : il marche tou- 
 joai-s debout: il a dts traits approchans de ceux de rhonime, 
 dts oreilles de la mcme foi rue, des chevcux sur la tete, de la 
 barbe au menton, et du poll ni plus ni moins que rhouime 
 en a dans IVtat de nature- Aussi les babitans de son pays, 
 les Indiens polices, n'ont pas h(5$ite de rassocitr a I'csp^ce 
 humaine, par le nom d'oran outang, koinme smcva^e. Si 
 Von ne faisolt attention qu'a la fijjure, on pourroit regarder 
 Torati outang conuue le premier des singes ou le dernier des 
 homraes, parce qu'a rexccption de Tame, il ne lui manque 
 rien de tout ce que nous avons, ct parce qu'il difltrc motn« 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-TON. 85 
 
 think that modem travellers should have made 
 beasts, under the names of Pongos, Man- 
 driUs, and Oran Outangs, of the very same 
 beings whom the ancients worshipped as divi- 
 
 de rhomme pour le corps qu'il ne »!ifiR>re dcs auties aniraaux 
 auxqiiels on a donnd le ni^me nom de singe. — S'il y avoit 
 un deifr(? par lequcl on put descendre de la nature huinaine a 
 celle des aniinaux, si I'essence de cette nature consistoit en 
 entier dans la forme du corps et d<rpendoit de son organisa- 
 tion, I'oran outang' se trouveroit plus pres de I'Lomrae que 
 d'aiicun animal : assis au second ranaj des ^tres, s'il ne pou- 
 Toit commander en premier, il feroit au moins sentir aux 
 autres sa sup^riorite, et s'eft'orceroit a ne pas obe'ir: si I'irai- 
 tation qui semble copier de si pres la pcns^e en ^toit le vrai 
 si^ne ou Tun des re'sultats, il se trouveroit enoore a une plus 
 grande distance des animaux et pius voisin de rhomnie."— 
 
 BUFFON. 
 
 *' On est tout ^tonn^, d'apr^s tous ces aveux, que M. de 
 BufFon ne fasse de I'oran outang qu'une esp^ce de magot, 
 essentiellenient circonscrit dans les bomes de Tanimalit^ : il 
 falloit, oA infirmer les relations des voyageurs, ou s'eii teoir 
 a Iturs r^sultats. — Quand on lit dans ce naturaliste, I'his- 
 toire du Negre blanc, on voit que ce bipede differe de nous 
 bien plus que I'oran outang, soit par rorgatiisatioti, soit par 
 Tintelligence, et cependant on ne balance pa« u le mettre 
 dans la classe des homines." — Philosophie de la Nature, 
 
86 MELIX^COURT. 
 
 nities under the names of Fauns and Satyrs, 
 Silenus and Pan *. 
 
 ♦ " Les jugcmens pr^cipite's, et riui ne sont point le 
 frait (rune raison ^clair^e, sont sujets a donner dans Tcxc^s. 
 Nos voyageurs font sans facon des b^tes, sous les noms de 
 pongos, de mandrills, d'oran outangs, de ses m^mes ^tres, 
 dont, sous le nom de satyres, de faunes, de sylvains, les 
 ancieos fassoient des divinite's. Peut-^tre,' apr^s des re- 
 cberches plus exacts, trouvera-t-on que ce sent des bomrnes.'* 
 ■ — Rousseau, Discoiirs sur V Jnegalite, note 8. 
 
 •* II est presque d<?montrd que les faunes, les satyres, les 
 sylvains, les aegipans, et toute cette foule de demi-dieux, 
 difformes et libertins, a qui les filles des Pbocion et des Paul 
 Emile s'aviscrent de rendre bommage, ne furent dans I'ori- 
 gine que des oran outangs. Dans la suite, les poetes charge- 
 rent le portrait de rbomme des bois, en lui donnant des pieds 
 de chfevre, une queue et des cornes ; mais le type primordial 
 resta, et le pbilosopbe rapper9oit dans les monumens let 
 plus diifigur^s par I'imagination d'Ovide et le ciseau de Phi- 
 dias. Les anciens, tr^s embarrasses de trouver la filiation de 
 lours sylvains, et de leurs satyres, se tirerent d'affairc eu leur 
 donnant des dieux pour p^res : les dieux ^toient d'un grand 
 secours aux philosophes des tems recul^s, pour r^soudre les 
 probl^mcs d'histoire naturell« ; ils leur scrvoient comme 
 les cycles et les epicycles dans le systeme plan^taire de Pto- 
 lom<<e: avec des cycles et des dieux on r^pond ^ tout, 
 quciqu'on ne satisfasse personne." — PhilwiophU tic la Na- 
 ture, 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-TON\ 87 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH TAXARETT. 
 
 Your Oran rises rapidly in the scale of 
 being : — from a Baronet and M. P. to a king 
 of the world, and now to a god of the woods. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 When I was in London last winter, I 
 became acquainted with a learned mythologist, 
 who has long laboured to rebuild the fallen 
 temple of Jupiter. I introduced him to Sir 
 Oran, for whom he immediately conceived a 
 high veneration, and would never call him by 
 any name but Pan. His usual salutation to 
 him was in the following words : 
 
 ExGe, jutaxap, cxipTijTa, i^jXevQeo?, ayTfod/«»TJ, 
 
 AVhich he thus translated : 
 
 King of the world! enthusiast free, 
 Who dwell'st in caves of liberty ! 
 
 ♦ Orphica, Hymn. XI. (X. Gem.J 
 
88 MELINCOURT. 
 
 And on thy wild pipe's notes of glee 
 Respondest Nature's harmony! 
 Leading beneath the spreading tree 
 The Bacchanalian revelry ! 
 
 " This,"" said he, " is part of the Orphic In- 
 vocation of Pan. It alludes to the happy 
 existence of the dancing Pans, Fauns, Orans, 
 et id genus omne^ whose dwellings are the 
 caves of rocks and the hollows of trees, such 
 as undoubtedly was, or would have been, the 
 natural mode of life of our friend Pan among 
 the woods of Angola. It alludes, too, to their 
 musical powers, which in our friend Pan 
 it gives me indescribable pleasure to find so 
 happily exemplified. The epithet Bacchic, our 
 friend Pan's attachment to the bottle demon- 
 strates to be very appropriate; and the epithet 
 Kocr/xo;ipTajp, king of the world, points out a 
 striking similarity between the Or|:)hic Pan and 
 tlie Troglodyte of Linnceus, zcho helievei 
 
SIR OBAN IIAUT-TON. 89 
 
 that the earth was made for him, and tliat he 
 will again he its sovereign!" He laid great 
 stress on the word again, and observed, if he 
 were to de\elope all the ideas to which this 
 word gave rise in his mind, he should find 
 ample matter for a volume. Then repeating 
 several times, n«v xo^ruox^aTo;-, and iteruvifore 
 tdluris imperantem, he concluded by saying, 
 he had known many profound philosophical 
 and mythological systems founded on much 
 slighter analogies. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Your learned mythologist appears to be 
 non compos. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 By no means. He has a system of his 
 own, which only appears in the present day 
 more absurd than other systems, because it 
 has fewer followers. The manner in which 
 the spirit of system twists every thing to its 
 
90 MELINCOURT. 
 
 own views is truly wonderful. I believe that 
 in every nation of the earth the system which 
 has most followers will be found the most ab- 
 surd in the eye of an enlightened philoso- 
 phy. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXAKETT. 
 
 But if your Oran be a man, how is it that 
 his long intercourse with other varieties of the ^ 
 human species has not taught him to speak ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Speech is a highly artificial faculty. Civi- 
 lized man is a highly artificial animal. The 
 change from the wild to the civilized state, 
 affects not only his moral but his physical 
 nature, and this not rapidly and instantly, 
 but in a long process of generations. The 
 same change is obvious in domestic animals, 
 and in cultivated plants. You know not 
 where to look for the origin of the common 
 
SIR OR AN ilAUT-TOX. 91 
 
 dog or the common fowl. The wild and 
 Xiune hog, and tlie wild and tame cat, are 
 marked by more essential differences than the 
 oran and the civilized man. The origin of com 
 is as much a mystery to us, as the source of 
 the Nile was to the ancients. Innumerable 
 flowers have been so changed from their ori- 
 ginal simpHcity, that the art of horticulture 
 may almost lay claim to the magic of a new 
 creation. Is it then wonderful, diat the ci\i- 
 lized man should have acquired some physical 
 faculties, which the natural man has not ? It 
 is demonstrable that speech is one. I do not, 
 however, despair of seeing him make some 
 progress in this art. Comparative anatomy 
 shows that he has all the organs of articula- 
 tion. Indeed, he has in every essential par- 
 ticular, the human form and the human 
 anatomy. Xov^ I will only observe^ that if 
 an animal iclto 'ualks upright — im rf the 
 
92 MELINCOURT. 
 
 human form^ both outside and inside — use^ 
 a "iveapon for defence and attack — asso- 
 ciates xcith his kind — makes huts to defend 
 himself from the weather^ better I believe 
 than those of the New Hollanders — is tame 
 and gentle — and instead of killing men and 
 women, as he coidd easily do, takes them py'i^ 
 soners, and makes servants of them — ii:ho has y 
 what I think essential to the human kind, a 
 sense of honour ; which is shown by break- 
 ing his heart, if laughed at, or made a show, 
 or treated with any kind of contumely — 
 who, when he is brought into the companij of 
 civilized men, behaves (as you have seen), 
 with dignity and composure, altogether unlike 
 a monkey ; from wliom lie differs Ukeicise in 
 this material respect, that lie is capable of 
 great attachinent to particidar perscms, of 
 which tlie monkey is altogether incapable; 
 and also in this respect, that a monkey never 
 
SIR ORAN HAUT-TON. 93 
 
 can he so tamed, that we may depend on his 
 not doing mischief when left alone, by break' 
 ing glasses or china xoithin his reach\ where- 
 as the or an outang is altogether harmless ; 
 — wlw has so much of the docility of a man^ 
 that he learns not only to do the common 
 offices of life, hut also to play on the Jiute 
 and French horn ; which slwws that he must 
 have an idea of melody, and concord of 
 sounds, nhich no brute animal has ; — and 
 lastly, if joined to all these qualities, he has 
 the organ of pronunciatixm, and consequently 
 the capacity of speech, though not the actual 
 use of it ; if, I say, such an animal he not 
 a man, I should desire to know in what the 
 essence of a man consists, and what it is tJiat 
 distinguishes a natural man from the man 
 of art *. That he understands many words, 
 
 * The words in italics are from the Ancient Metaphysi«s, 
 vol. iii. p. 41, 42. Lord Monboddo add* : " I Ixold it to be 
 
94 MELINCOURT. 
 
 though he does not yet speak any, I think 
 you may have observed, when you asked him 
 
 impossible to convince any philosopher or any man of com- 
 mon sense, who has bestowed any time to consider the me- 
 chaaism of speech, that such various actions and configura- 
 tions of the organs of speech as are necessary for articula- 
 tion can be natural to man. Whoever thinks this possible, 
 «hould go and see, as I have done, Mr. Braidwood of Edin- 
 burgh, or the Abbe de I'Ep^e in Paris, teach the dumb to 
 speak ; and when he has observed all the different actions of 
 the organs, which those professors are obliged to mark dis- 
 tinctly to their pupils with a great deal of pains and labour, 
 so far fi'om thinking aiticulation natural to man, he will rattier 
 wonder how, by any teaching or imitation, he should attain 
 to the ready performance of such various and complicated 
 operations." 
 
 " Quoi((ue I'organe do la parole soit naturcl a I'homme, 
 la parole cllc-m^me ne lui est pourtant pas naturelle."— 
 RorssEAV, Discours sur r IncgaUfe'j note 8. 
 
 ** The oran outang, so accurately dissected by Tisson, 
 had exactly the same organs of voice that a man has." — An- 
 cient Metaphysics^ vol. iii. p. 4-1. 
 
 " I have been told that the oran outang who is to be 
 Feen in Sir Ashton Lever's collection had learned before lif 
 died to ai-ticulrtte some words."— /J<</, p. 40. 
 
SIE ORAX HAUT-TON. 95 
 
 to take wine, and applied to him for fish and 
 partridge *. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 The gestures, however slight, that accom- 
 pany the expression of the ordinary forms of 
 intercourse, may possibly explain that. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 You will find that he understands many 
 things addressed to him, on occasions of very 
 unfrequent occun-ence. IVith regard to his 
 moral charade?'^ he is undoubtedly a man^ and 
 
 • *' I desire any philosopher to tell me the specific differ- 
 ence between an oran outaii^, sittint^ at table, and behaving 
 as M. de la Brosse or M. BufT.jii himself has described him, 
 and one of our dumb persons ; and in general I believe it 
 will be very difficult, or rather impossible, for a man who is 
 accustomed to divide things according to specific marks, not 
 individual differences, to draw the line betwixt the oran 
 uutang and the dumb persons among us : they have both 
 their organs of pronunciation, and both show signs of intel- 
 ligence by their actions."— Or/g-iVi and Progress of Laii> 
 (^HagCf book ii. chap. 4, 
 
96 MELINCOURT. 
 
 a viiich better man than many that are to he 
 found in civilized countries *, as, when you 
 are better acquainted with him, I feel very 
 confident you will readily acknowledge "f*. 
 
 * Ancient Metaphysics, vol. iv. p. 55. 
 
 •f- " Toute la ttMre est couveite rte nations, dont nous 
 ne connoissons que les noms, et nous nous melons de ju§er 
 ]e genre humain ! Supposons un Moatesquieu, un Buffbn, 
 un Diderot, un Duclos, un D'Alcmbert, un Condillac, ou 
 des hommes de cette trempe, voyageant pour instruire leurv 
 compatriotes, observant et d^crivant coniiuc ils s^avent faire, 
 la Turquie, TEgypte, la Barbaric, I'Enipire de Maroc, la 
 Guinea, le pays des CafFres, I'interieur de 1' Afrique et se» 
 c6tes orientales, les Malabares, le Mogol, les rives du Gange, 
 k'S royaunics de Siam, de Pe'gu et d'Ava, la Chine, la Tar- 
 taric, et sur-tout le Japon ; puis dans I'autre hemisphere 1« 
 Mexique, Ic Pt'rou, le Chili, les Terres Magellaniques, san» 
 oublier les Patagons vrais ou faux, le Tucuman, Ic Paraguai, 
 •'il ^toit possible, le Bresil, enfin les Caraibes, la Floride, 
 et toutes les contr^es sauvages, voyage le plus important de 
 tous, et celui qu'il faudroit faire avec le plus de soin ; sup- 
 posons que ces nouveaux Hercules, de rctour de ces courses 
 luemorables, fisseut ensuite a loisir I'histoire naturelle, mo- 
 rale, et politique de ce qu'ils r.uroient vus, nous verrion* 
 nous-m^mes sortir un monde nouveau de dcssous leur plume, 
 et nous apprendrions alnsi k connoitre le ndtre : j« dis que 
 
SIR ORAN IIAUT-TON. 97 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXAEETT. 
 
 I shall be very happy, when his election 
 comes on for Onevote, tx) drive him down in 
 my barouche to the ancient and honourable 
 borough. 
 
 Mr. Forester promised to avail himself of 
 this proposal ; when the iron tongue of mid- 
 night tolling twelve induced them to separate 
 for the night. 
 
 quand dc pareils observateurs affirm eront d'un tel animal que 
 •c'eat un bomme, et d'un autre que c'est une b^te, il faudra 
 les en croirc j uiais ce seroit UHe grande simplicite de s'cn 
 rappoiter la-dessus i des voyageurs grossiers, sur lesquels on 
 seroit quelquefois tent^ de faire la mi^iue questioa qu'ils se 
 m^lent de r^soudre sur d'autres aaimaux," — Rolsseai;, Dis- 
 cours sur V Ine'galit^'t uote S. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
1)8 MELlNCOUK'f. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION. 
 
 J HE next morning, while Sir Telegraph, Sir 
 Oran, and Mr. Forester, were sitting down to 
 their breakfast, a post-chaise rattled up to the 
 door ; the glass was let down, and a tall, thin, ^ 
 pale, grave-looking personage peeped from the 
 aperture. " This is Mr. Fax,"*' said Mr. 
 Forester, " the champion of calm reason, the 
 indefatigable explorer of the cold clear springs 
 of knowledge, the bearer of the torch of dis- 
 passionate truth, that gives more light than 
 warmth. He looks on the human world, the 
 world of mind, the conflict of interests, the 
 collision of feelings, the infinitely diversified 
 developements of energy and intelligence, as 
 
THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATIOK. 99 
 
 a matliematiciaii looks on his diagrams, or a 
 mechanist on his wheels and pulleys, as if they 
 were foreign to his own nature, and were 
 nothing more than subjects of curious specu- 
 lation.'' 
 
 Mr. Forester had not time to say more ; 
 for Mr. Fax entered, and shook hands with 
 him, was introduced in due form to Sir Tele- 
 graph, and sate down to assist in the demo-. 
 htion of the materiel of breakfast. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Your Redrose Abbey is a beautiful meta- 
 morphosis, — I can scarcely believe that these 
 are the mouldering walls of the pious frater- 
 nity of Rednose, which I contemplated two 
 years ago. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 The picturesque tourists ^vill owe m£ no 
 good will for the metamorphosis, though I harr 
 
100 MtLIK( OLllT. 
 
 endeavoured to leave them as mucli mould, 
 mildew, and weather-stain as possible. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 The exterior has suffered little ; it still 
 retains a truly venerable monastic character. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Somethinir monastic in the interior too.— 
 Very orthodox old wine in the cellar, I can 
 tell you. And the Reverend Father Abbots 
 there, as determined a bachelor as the Pope. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 If I am SO, it is because, hke the Squire 
 of Dames, I seek and cannot find. I see iu 
 my mind's eye the woman I would choose, 
 but I very much fear that is the only mode 
 of optics, in which she will ever be visible. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 No matter. Bachelors and spinsters I de- 
 cidedly venerate. The world is overstocked 
 
THE PKINCIPLE OF POPULATION. 101 
 
 with fcatherless bipeds. More men tlian corn, 
 is a fearful pre-eminence, the sole and fruitful 
 cause of penury, disease, and war, plague, pes- 
 tilence, and famine. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 I hope you will not long have cause to 
 venerate me. What is life without love ? A 
 rose-bush in winter, all thorns, and no flowers. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 And what is it with love ? A double-blos- 
 somed cherry, flowers without fruit; if the blos- 
 soms last a month, it is as much as can be ex- 
 pected : they fall, and what comes in their 
 place .'' Vanity, imd vexation of spirit. 
 
 SIR TELEGRAPH PAXARETT. 
 
 Better vexation, than stagnation : mar- 
 riage may often be a stormy lake, but celibacy 
 is almost always a muddy horsepond. 
 Y 3 
 
102 MEH>JCOURT. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Rather a calm clear river 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Flov/ing through a desert, where it moves 
 in loneliness, and reflects no forms of beauty. 
 
 MR. TAX. 
 
 That is not the way to consider the case. 
 Feelings and poetical images are equally out 
 of place in a calm philosophical view of 
 human societ3^ Some must marry, that the 
 VForld may be peopled : many must abstmn, 
 fhat it may not be overstocked. Little 
 and goody is very applicable in this case* 
 It is better that the world should have a 
 smaller number of peaceable and rational 
 inhabitants, living in universal harmony and 
 social intercourse, than the disproportionate 
 mass of fools, slaves, coxcombs, thieves, rasr 
 cals, liars, and cut-throats, with whicli its sur* 
 
THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION. 103 
 
 face is at present encumbered. It is in vain 
 to declaim about the preponderance of physical 
 and moral evil, and attribute it, with the Ma- 
 nicheans, to a mythological piinciple, or, with 
 some modern philosoplicrs, to the physical 
 constitution of tlie globe. The cause of all the 
 evils of human society is single, obvious, redu- 
 cible to the most exact mathematical calcu- 
 lation ; and of course susceptible not only of 
 remedy, but even of utter annihilation. The 
 cause is the tendency of population to increase 
 beyond the means of subsistence. The remedy 
 is an universal social compact, binding both 
 sexes to equally rigid celibacy, till the pro- 
 sjiect of maintaining the average number of six 
 children be as clear as the arithmetic of futu- 
 rity can make it. 
 
 MR. FORESTEll, 
 
 The arithmetic of futurity has been found 
 f4 
 
104 MELIXgOURT. 
 
 in a more than equal number of instances to 
 baffle human skill. The rapid and sudden 
 mutations of fortune ai'e the inexhaustible 
 theme of history, poetry, and romance ; and 
 they are found in forms as various and sur* 
 prising, in the scenes of daily life, as on the 
 stage of Drury Lane. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 That the best prospects are often over- 
 shadowed, is most certainly true; but there 
 are degrees and modes of well-grounded re- 
 liance on futurity, sufficient to justify the 
 enterprises of prudence, and equally well- 
 grounded prospiciencies of hopelessness and 
 helplessness, that should check the steps of 
 rashness and passion, in their headlong pnv 
 gress to perdition. 
 
 MH. FORESTER. 
 
 You have little cause to complain of tliD 
 present age. It is calculating enough to gra» 
 
THE I'llIXCIPLE OF POPULATION. 105 
 
 tify the most determined votary of moral and 
 political arithmetic. This certainly is not the 
 time, 
 
 " When unrevenged stalks Cocker's injured 
 gliost,'' 
 
 What is friendship — except in some most 
 rare and miraculous instances— but the ficti- 
 tious bond of interest, or the heartless inter- 
 course of idleness and vanity ? What is love, 
 but the most venal of all venal commodities ? 
 What is marriage, but the most sordid of bar- 
 gains, the most cold and slavish of all the 
 forms of commerce.'^ We want no philoso- 
 phical ice-rock, towed into the Dead Sea of 
 modem society, to freeze that which is too 
 cold already. AVe want rather the torch of 
 Prometheus to revivify our frozen spirits. We 
 are a degenerate race, half-reasoning develope- 
 ments of the principle of infinite httlcness, 
 ¥ 5 
 
 L 
 
106 MELI^•COL'IlT. 
 
 "with hearts in our bodies, no bigger than 
 spins' heads." We are in no danger of forget- 
 ting that two and two make four. There is 
 no fear that the warm impulses of feeling will 
 ever overpower, with us, the tangible eloquence 
 of the pocket. 
 
 •iMR. fax; 
 
 With relation to the middle and higher 
 classes, you are right in a great measure as 
 to fact, but wrong, as I think, in the asperity 
 of your censure. But among the lower orders 
 the case is quite different. The baleful in-, 
 flucnce of the poor laws has utterly destroy* 
 ed the principle of calculation in them. They 
 marry by wholesale, without scruple or com* 
 punction, and commit the future care of their 
 family to Providence and the overseer. They 
 marry even in the workhouse, and convert the 
 intended asylum of age and infirmity, into a 
 
THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION. 107 
 
 flourishing manufactory of jouiig beggars and 
 vagabonds. 
 
 Sir TelegTaph''s barouche rolled up grace- 
 fully to the door. Mr. Forester pressed him 
 to stay another day, but Sir Telegraph's plea 
 of urgency was not to be overcome. He pro- 
 mised very shortly to revisit Redrose Abbey, 
 shook hands with Mr. Forester and Sir Oran^ 
 bowed politely to Mr. Fax, mounted his box, 
 and disappeared among the trees. 
 
 " Those four horses," said Mr. Fax, as 
 the carriage rolled away, " consume the sub- 
 sistence of eight human beings, for the foolish 
 amusement of one. As Solomon observes; 
 ' This is vanity, and a great evil/ "" 
 
 *' Sir Telegraph is thoughtless," said Mr. 
 
 Forester, " but he has a good heart and a 
 
 good natural capacity. I have great hopes of 
 
 .him. He had some learning, when he went 
 
 F 6 
 
 f^v 
 
108 MELINCOUHT. 
 
 to college ; but he was cured of it before ht 
 came away. Great, indeed, must be the zeal 
 for improvement, which an academical edu- 
 cation cannot extinguish/' 
 
THE SPTEIT or CHIVALRY. 1C9 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 THI SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 SiE Telegraph was welcomed to Melincourt 
 in due form by Mr. Hippy, and in a private 
 interview with the Honourable Mrs. Pinmoney, 
 was exhorted to persevere in his suit to 
 Anthelia, though she could not flatter him 
 with very strong hopes of immediate success, 
 the young lady's notions being, as she ob- 
 served, extremely outre and fantastical, but 
 «uch as she had no doubt time and experi^ice 
 would cure. She informed him at the same 
 time, that he would shortly meet a formidable 
 rival, no less a personage than Lord Anophel 
 Achthar*, son and heir of the Marquis 
 ' ■■...■ ■ .i« 1^ 
 
 * ANn4>EAo» AXQos APovfar, Terree pondm inu(ilc. 
 
110 ^lELIXCOURT. 
 
 of Agaric *, -who was somewhat in favour 
 with Mr. Hippy, and seemed determined 
 at all hazards to carry his point ; " and 
 with any other girl than Anthelia,'^ said ]Mrs, 
 Pinmoney, " considering his title and fortune, 
 I should pronounce his success infallible, im- 
 less a Duke were to make his appearance.*" She 
 added, " the young lord would be accom- 
 panied by his tutor, the Reverend Mr. Gro- 
 velgrub, and by a celebrated poet, Mr. Fea- 
 thernest, to whom the Marquis had recently 
 given a place in exchange for his conscience. 
 It was thought by Mr. Feathernest's friends, 
 that he had made a very good bargain. The 
 poet had, in consequence, burned his old Odes 
 to Truth and Liberty, and had published a 
 volume of Panegyrical Addresses " to all the 
 
 ♦ Agabicus, in Botany, a genus of plants of the clas* 
 Cn-ptogamia, comprcluuding the mushroom, and a copious 
 raricty of tvadslools. 
 
*THE SPIRIT OF CHIVALKY. Ill 
 
 cro^Mied lieads in Europe," with the motto, 
 * Whatever is at court, is right.' ^ 
 
 The dinner party that day at MeHncourt 
 Castle consisted of Mr. Hippy, in the cha- 
 racter of lord of the mansion ; Antlielia, in 
 that of his inmate ; Mrs. and Miss Pinmoney^ 
 as her visitors; and Sir Telegraph, as the 
 visitor of Mrs. Pinmoney, seconded by Mr. 
 Hippy's invitation to stay. Nothing very 
 Kmiinous passed on this occasion. 
 
 Tlie fame of ]Mr. Hippy, and his hospi- 
 table office, was rapidly diffused by Dr. Kill- 
 quick, the physician of the district ; who 
 thought a draught or pill could not possibly 
 be efficacious, unless administered with an 
 anecdote, and who was called in, in a very 
 few hours after Mr. Hippy's arrival, to cure 
 the hypochondriacal old gentleman of an ima- 
 ginary swelhng in his elbow. The learned 
 
11£ IIELINCOURT. 
 
 doctor, who had studied with peculiar care 
 the symptoms, diagnostics, prognostics, seda- 
 tives, lenitives, and sanatives of hypoclion- 
 driasis, had ari-ived at the sagacious con- 
 clusion, that the most effectual method of 
 curing an imaginary disease was to give the 
 patient a real one ; and he accordingly sent 
 Mr. Hippy a pint bottle of mixture, to be 
 taken by a table-spoonful evtry two hours, 
 which would have infallibly accomplished the 
 purpose, but that the bottle was cracked over 
 the head of Harry Fell, for treading on his 
 master's toe, as he presented the composing 
 potion, which would perhaps have composed 
 him in the Roman sense. 
 
 The fashionable attractions of Low-wood 
 and Keswick afforded facilities to some of 
 Anthelia''s lovers to effect a logement in her 
 neighbourhood, from whence occasionally 
 riding over to Melincourt Castle, they were 
 
TirE SPIIIIT OJ ( HIVAI.RV. 113 
 
 hospitably received hv the lord seneschal 
 Humphrey Hippy, Esquire, who often made 
 tliem fixed stars in the circumference of that 
 jovial system, of which the bottle and glasses 
 are the sun and planets, till it was too late to 
 dislodge for the night ; b}' which means they 
 sometimes contrived to pass several days toge* 
 ther at the Castle. 
 
 The gentlemen in question were Lord 
 Anophel Achthar, with his two parasites, Mr, 
 Feathemest, and the Reverend Mr. Grovel- 
 grub ; Harum O'Scarum, Esquire, the sole 
 proprietor of a vast tract of undrained bog ia 
 the county of Kerry ; and Mr. Derrydown, 
 the only son of an old lady in London, who 
 having in vain solicited a visit from Anthelia, 
 had sent off her hopeful progeny to try his 
 fortune in Westmoreland. Mr. Dcrrydo^;-n 
 had received a laborious education, and had 
 consumed a great quantity of midnight oil, 
 
 I 
 
114 MELINCOURT. 
 
 over ponderous tomes of ancient and modern 
 learning, particularly of moral, political, and 
 metaphysical philosophy, ancient and modern. 
 His lucubrations in the latter branch of science 
 having conducted him, as he conceived, into 
 the central opacity of utter darkness, he form- 
 ed a hasty conclusion " that all human learn- 
 ing is vanity ;"" and one day in a hstless mood, 
 taking down a volume of the Reliques of An- 
 cient Poetr}^ he found, or fancied he found, 
 in the plain language of the old English 
 ballad, glimpses of the truth of things, which 
 he had vainly sought in the vast volumes of 
 philosophical disquisition. In consequence of 
 this luminous discovery, he locked up his 
 library, purchased a travelling cliariot, m ith a 
 shelf in the back, which he filled with collec- 
 tions of ballads, and popular songs ; and 
 passed the greater part of every year in posting 
 about tlic country, for the purjiose, as he ex- 
 
THE sriRIT OF CHIVALRY. 115 
 
 pressed it, of studying together poetry and 
 the peasantry, unsophisticated nature and the 
 truth of things. 
 
 Mr. Hippy introduced Lord Anophel, and 
 his two leanied friends, to Sir Telegraph, and 
 Mrs. and Miss Pinmoney. Mr. Feathernest 
 whispered to the Reverend Mr. Grovelgrub, 
 " This Sir Telegraph Paxarett has some good 
 livings in his gift i"^ v/hich bent the plump 
 figure of the reverend gendeman into a very 
 orthodox right angle, 
 
 Anthelia, who felt no inclination to show 
 particular favour to any one of her Strephon.*, 
 was not sorry to escape the evil of a solitai-y 
 •perj-iccutor, more especially as they so far 
 •rcseniljled the suitors of Penelojx?, as to eat 
 .and drink together with great cordiality. 
 J?he could have wished, when she left them to 
 the congenial society of Bacchus, to have re- 
 tii-ed to company more congenial to her, thaa 
 
116 MEMNCOURT. 
 
 tliat of Mrs. Pinmoney and Miss Danaretta r 
 but she submitted to the course of necessity 
 with the best possible grace. 
 
 She explicitly made known to all her 
 suitors her ideas on the subject of marriage. 
 She had ne^'er perverted the simplicity of her 
 mind, by indulging in the usual cant of young 
 ladies, that she should prefer a single life :' 
 but she assured them that the spirit of the age 
 of chivalry, manifested in the forms of modern 
 life, would constitute the only character on 
 which she could fix her affections. 
 
 Lord Anophel was puzzled, and applied 
 for information to his tutor. . " Grovelgrub,'* 
 said he, " what is the spuit of the age of 
 chivalry ?*' 
 
 " Really, my Lord,'' said the Reverend 
 Mr. Grovelgrub, '* my studies never lay that 
 way.'' 
 
THE SPIRIT OF CIIIVALUr. 117 
 
 *' True,"" said Lord Anophel ; " it was 
 not necessary to your degree." 
 
 His Lordship's next recourse wns to Mr. 
 Feathernest. " Feathemcst, what is the 
 spirit of the age of chivalry t"^ 
 
 Mr. Feathernest was taken by surprise. 
 Since his profitable metamorphosis into an 
 ami du prince, he had never dreamed of 
 such a question. It burst upon him Hke the 
 spectre of his youthful integrity, and he 
 mumbled a half-inteUigible reply, about truth 
 and liberty — disinterested benevolence— 
 self-obHvion — heroic devotion to love and 
 honour — protection of the feeble, and subver- 
 sion of tyranny. 
 
 ^' All the ingredients of a rank Jacobin, 
 Feathernest, 'pon honour !'' exclaimed his 
 Lordship. 
 
 There was something in the word Jacobin 
 very grating to the ears of Mr, Feathernest, 
 
118 MELINCOURT. 
 
 and he feared he had thro\m himself between 
 the horns of a dilemma ; but from all such 
 predicaments he was happily provided with 
 an infallible means of extrication. His friend 
 Mr. IVIystic, of Cimmerian Lodge, had ini- 
 tiated him in some of tlie mysteries of the 
 transcendental philosophy, which on this, as 
 on all similar occasions, he called in to his 
 assistance ; and overwhelmed his Lordship 
 with a volley of ponderous jargon, which left 
 him in profound astonishment at the depth of 
 Mr. Feathernest''s knowledge. 
 
 '•' The spirit of the age of chivaliy !^ soli- 
 loquized Mr. O'Scarum ; " I think I know 
 what that is : I '11 shoot all my rivals, one 
 after another, as fast as I can find a decent 
 pretext for picking a quarrel. I '11 >vrite to 
 my friend Major O'Dogskin to come to Low- 
 wood Iftn, and hold himself in readmess. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF CHIVaLUV. 119 
 
 He is tlie neatest hand in Ireland at deliver- 
 ing a challenge.'" 
 
 " The spirit of the age of cliivalry i**^ soh- 
 loquized Mr. Derrydown : " I think I am at 
 home there. I will be a knight of tlie round 
 table. I will be Sir Lancelot, or Sir Gawaine, 
 or Sir Tristram. No: I wiUbe a troubadour — - 
 a love-lorn minstrel. I will write the most 
 irresistible ballads in praise of the beautiful 
 Antheha. She shall be my lady of the lake. 
 AVe will sail about Ulleswater in our pinnace, 
 and sing duets about Merlin, and King Ar 
 thur, and Fairyland. I will develope thf* 
 idea to her in a ballad : it cannot fail to fasci- 
 nate her romantic spirit." And down he sate 
 to put his scheme in execution. 
 
 Sir Telegraph's head ran on tilts and tour- 
 naments, and trials of skill and courage. 
 How could they be resolved into the forms of 
 modem hfe ? A four-in-haud race he thought 
 
1520 MELIKCOURT. 
 
 would be a pretty substitute : Anthella to be 
 arbitress of the contest, and place the Olympic 
 "vvTcath on the head of the victor, which he 
 had no doubt would be himself, though 
 Harum O'Scarum, Esquire, ^vDuld dash 
 through neck or nothing, and Lord Anophel 
 Achthar was reckoned one of the best coach- 
 men in England. 
 
•IHE PHILOSOPHV OF BALLADS. 121 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALLADS. 
 
 J HE very indifferent success of Lord Anophel 
 did not escape the eye of his abject slave, the 
 Reverend Mr. Grovelgrub, whose vanity led 
 him to misinterpret An thelia's general sweetness 
 of manner into the manifestation of some- 
 thing like a predilection for himself Having 
 made this notable discover}^, he sate down to 
 calculate the probability of his chance of Miss 
 Melincourt's fortune on the one hand, and the 
 certainty of church-preferment, through the 
 patronage of the Marquis of Agai'ic, on the 
 other. The sagacious reflection, that a bird in 
 the hand was worth two in the bush, determined 
 him not to risk the loss of the Marquis's fa- 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 MELINCOURT. 
 
 vour for the open pursuit of a doubtful success; 
 but he resolved to carry on a secret attack on 
 the affections of Anthelia, and not to throw 
 off the mask to Lord Anophel till he could 
 make sure of his prize. 
 
 It would have totally disconcerted the 
 schemes of the Honourable Mrs. Pinmoney, 
 if Lord Anophel had made any progress in 
 the favour of Anthelia — not only because she 
 had made up her mind that her young friend ^ 
 should be her niece and Lady Paxarett, but 
 because, from the moment of Lord Anophers 
 appearance, she determined on drawing lines 
 of circumvallation round him, to compel him 
 to surrender at discretion to her dear Danaretta, 
 who was very willing to second her views. 
 That Lord Anophel was both a fool and a 
 coxcomb, did not strike her at all as an ob- 
 jection ; on tlie contrary, she considered them 
 
 3 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALLADS. 12S 
 
 as very favourable circumstances for the faci- 
 litation of her design. 
 
 As Anthelia usually passed the moniing in 
 the seclusion of her library, Lord Anophel 
 and the Reverend Mr. Grovclgrub killed the 
 time in shooting; Sir Telegraph, in driving 
 iVIrs. and i\Iiss Pinmoney in his barouche, to 
 astonish the natives of the mountain-^illages ; 
 Harum O'^Scarum, Esquire, in riding full gal- 
 lop along the best roads, looking every now 
 and then at his watch, to see how time went ; 
 ^Ir. Den-ydown, in composing his trouba- 
 dour ballad; Mr. Feathernest, in wTiting 
 odes to all the crowned heads in Europe ; and 
 ]Mr. Hippy, in getting very ill after breakfast 
 every day of a new disease, which came to its 
 climax at the intermediate point of time between 
 breakfast and dinner, showed symptoms of 
 great amendment at the ringing of the first 
 G ^ 
 
 I 
 
124! MELINCOURT. 
 
 dinner-bell, was very much alleviated at the but- 
 ler''s summons, vanished entirely at the sight of 
 Anthelia, arid was consigned to utter oblivion 
 after the ladies retired from table, when the Re- 
 verend Mr. Grovclffrub lent his clerical assist- 
 ance to lay its ghost in the Red Sea of a copious 
 libation of claret. 
 
 Music and conversation consumed the even- 
 ings. jMr. Feathernest and Mr. Derrydown 
 were both zealous admirers of old English lite- 
 rature ; but the former was chiefly enraptured 
 with the ecclesiastical writers and the translation 
 of the Bible ; the latter admired nothing but 
 ballads, which he maintained to be, whether 
 ancient or modern, the only manifestations of 
 feeling and thought containing any vestige 
 of truth and nature. 
 
 " Surely,'' said Mr. Feathernest one 
 evening, " you will not maintain that 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY 01> BALLAfJS. 1^5 
 
 Chevy Chase is a finer poem than Paradise 
 Lost ?" 
 
 MR. DERRYDOWN. 
 
 I do not know what you mean by a fine 
 poem ; but I will maintain that it gives a 
 much deeper insight into the truth of things. 
 
 MR. FEATHERNEST. 
 
 I do not know what you mean by the 
 truth of things. 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GROVELGRUB. 
 
 Define, gentlemen, define: let the one 
 explain what he means by a fine poem, and 
 the other what he means by tlie truth of 
 things. 
 
 MR. FEATHERNEST. 
 
 A fine poem is a luminous developement 
 of the compUcated machinery of action and 
 passion, exalted by sublimity, softened by pa- 
 
 G 3 
 
1S6 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 thos, irradiated with scenes of magnificence, 
 figures of loveliness and characters of energy, 
 and harmonized with infinite variety of melo- 
 dious combination. 
 
 LORD AKOPXIEL ACHTHAR. 
 
 Admirable ! 
 
 MISS DANARETTA CONTANTINA PINMONEY. 
 
 Admirable, indeed, my Lord! (With a^ 
 sweet smile at his Lordships which unluchUy 
 missedjire.) 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GROVELGRUB. 
 
 Now, Sir, for the truth of things. 
 
 MR. ©""SCARUM. 
 
 Troth, Sir, that is the last point about 
 which I should expect a gentleman of your 
 doth to be very solicitous. 
 
THE PHILOSOPm* OF BALLADS. 157 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GROVELGRUB. 
 
 I mast say, Sir, that is a very uncalled! 
 for, and very illiberal observation. 
 
 MR. O^SCARUM. 
 
 Your coat is your protection, Sir. 
 
 THE REVEREKD ME. GROVELGRUB. 
 
 J will appeal to his Lordship if 
 
 MR. O'SCARUM. 
 
 I shall be glad to know his Lordship's opi- 
 nion. 
 
 LORD AXOPHEL ACHTHAR. 
 
 Really, Sir, I have no opinion on the 
 subject. 
 
 MR. O'SCARUM. 
 
 I am sorry for it, my Lord. 
 
 MR. DERRYDOWN. 
 
 The truth of things is nothing more than 
 an exact view of tlie necessary relations be- 
 G 4 
 
128 MELINCOURT. 
 
 tween object and subject, in all the modes of 
 reflection and sentiment which constitute the 
 reciprocities of human association. 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GROTELGRUB. 
 
 I must confess I do not exactly compre- 
 hend 
 
 MR. DERRYDO^^^. 
 
 I will illustrate. You all know the ballad 
 of Old Robin Gray. 
 
 Young Jamie loved me well, and asked me for 
 
 his bride ; 
 But saving a crown, he had nothing else beside. 
 To make the crown a pound my Jamie went to 
 
 sea, 
 And the crown and the pound they were both for 
 
 me. 
 
 He had not been gone a twelvemonth and a day, 
 When my father broke his arm, and our cow was 
 
 stolen away ; 
 My mother she fell sick, and Jamie at the sea. 
 And old Robin Gray came a courting to me. 
 
THE niiLOsopiiy of ballads. -1^9 
 
 In consequence whereof, as you all very well 
 know, old Robin being rich, the damsel mar- 
 ried the aforesaid old Robin. 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GROVELGRUB. 
 
 In the heterodox kirk of the north ? 
 
 MR. DERRYDOWX. 
 
 Precisely. Now, in this short space, you 
 have a more profound view than the deepest 
 metaphysical treatise or the most elaborate 
 history can give you of the counteracting 
 power of opposite affections, the conflict of 
 duties and inclinations, the omnipotence of 
 interest, tried by the test of extremity, and 
 the supreme and uTCsistible dominion of uni- 
 versal moral necessity. 
 
 '* Young Jamie loved me well, and asked me for 
 his bride ;" 
 
 and would have had her, it is clear, though 
 G 5 
 
130 MELINCOURT. 
 
 she does not explicitly say so, if there had not 
 been a necessary moral motive counteracting 
 what would have been otherwise the plain free 
 will of both. " Young Jamie loved me well." 
 She does not say that she loved young Jamie ; 
 and here is a striking illustration of that fe- 
 male decorum which forbids young ladies to 
 speak as they think on any subject whatever : 
 an admirable political institution, which has 
 been found by experience to be most happily , 
 conducive to tliat ingenuousness of mind and 
 simplicity of manner which constitutes so 
 striking a charm in the generality of the fair 
 sex. 
 
 *< But saving a crown, he had nothing else beside.** 
 
 Here is the quintessence of all that has been 
 said and written on the subject of love and 
 prudence, a decisive refutation of the stoical 
 doctrine that poverty is no evil, a very clear 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALLADS. 13T 
 
 and deep insight into the nature of the pre- 
 ventive or prudential check to population, and 
 a particularly luminous view of the respective 
 conduct of the two sexes on similar occasions. 
 The poor love-stncken swain, it seems, is 
 ready to sacrifice all for love. He comes with a 
 crown in his pocket, and asks her for his bride. 
 The damsel is a better arithmetician. She is 
 fully impressed with the truth of the old 
 proverb about poverty coming in at the door, 
 and immediately stops him short, with 
 " What can you settle on me. Master Jamie .^" 
 or, as Captain Bobadil would express it, 
 " How much money ha^ you about you. Mas- 
 ter Matthew ?"" Poor Jamie looks very fool- 
 ish — fumbles in his pocket — produces his 
 crown-piece — and answers hke Master Mat- 
 thew, with a remarkable elongation of visage, 
 *' 'Faith, I ha' n't past a five shillings or so."" 
 " Then," says the young lady, in the words 
 
 G 6 
 
 k 
 
132 MELINCOURT. 
 
 of another very admirable ballad — where you 
 will observe it is also the damsel who asks 
 the question : 
 
 " Will the love that you *re so rich in, 
 Make a fire in the kitchen V* 
 
 On which the poor lover shakes his head, and 
 the lady gives him leave of absence. Here- 
 upon Jamie falls into a train of reflections. 
 
 MR. 0*'SCARUM. 
 
 Never mind his reflections. 
 
 MR. DERRYDOWN. 
 
 The result of which is, that he goes to 
 seek his fortune at sea ; intending, with the 
 most perfect and disinterested affection, to give 
 all he can get to his mistress, who seems much 
 pleased with the idea of having it. But when 
 he comes back, as you will see in the sequel, 
 he finds his mistress married to a rich old man. 
 
THE rHILOSOPin' OF BALLADS. 133 
 
 The detail of the circumstances abounds with 
 vast and luminous views of human nature 
 and society, and striking illustrations of the 
 truth of things. 
 
 MR. FEATHEENEST. 
 
 I do not yet see that the illustration 
 throws any hght on the definition, or that we 
 are at all advanced in the answer to the ques- 
 tion concerning Chevy Chase and Paradise 
 Lost. 
 
 MR. DEREYDOWN 
 
 We will examine Chevy Chase, then, 'with 
 a view to the truth of things, instead of Old 
 Robin Grav: 
 
 ** God prosper long our noble king, 
 Our lives and safeties all.'* 
 
 ME. O'SCARUM. 
 
 God prosper us all, indeed! if you are 
 going through Chevy Chase at the same rate 
 
134 MELINCOURT. 
 
 as you were through Old Robin Gray, there 
 is an end of us all for a month. The truth 
 of things, now ! — is it that you Ve looking 
 for ? Ask Miss Melincourt to touch the 
 liarp. The harp is the great key to the truth 
 of things ; and in the hand of Miss Melin- 
 court it will teach you the music of the 
 spheres, tlie concord of creation, and the 
 harmony of the universe. 
 
 ANTHELIA. / 
 
 You are a libeller of our sex, Mr. Derry- 
 down, if you think the truth of things con- 
 sists in showing it to be more governed by the 
 meanest species of self-interest than yours. 
 Few, indeed, are the individuals of either 
 in whom the spirit of the age of chivalry sur- 
 vives. 
 
 MR. DERRYDOWN. 
 
 And yet, a man distinguished by that 
 spirit would not be in society what Miss Me- 
 lincourt is — a phoeiiix. Many kniglits can 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALLADS. 135 
 
 wield the sword of Orlando, but onlv one 
 nymph can wear the girdle of Florimel. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MRS. PINMONEY. 
 
 That would be a very pretty compliment, 
 Mr. Derrydown, if there were no other ladies 
 in the room. 
 
 Poor Mr. Derrydown looked a little dis- 
 concerted : he felt conscious that he had on 
 this occasion lost sight of his usual politenesc 
 by too close an adherence to the truth of 
 things. 
 
 AXTHELIA. 
 
 Both sexes, I am afraid, are too mucli 
 influenced by the spuit of mercenary calcula- 
 tion. The desire of competence is prudence ; 
 but the desire of more than competence is 
 avarice : it is against the latter only that moral 
 censure should be directed : but I fear that in 
 ninety-nine cases out of an hundred in which 
 (he course of true love is thwarted by con- 
 
136 IIELIXCOURT. 
 
 siderations of fortune, it will be found that 
 avarice rather than prudence is to be consider- 
 ed as the cause. Love in the age of chivalry, 
 and love in the age of commerce, are certainly 
 two very different deities; so much so, that 
 the former may almost be regarded as a de- 
 parted power ; and, perhaps, the httle ballad 
 I am about to sing does not contain too se- 
 vere an allegory in placing the tomb of chi- 
 valric love among the ruins of the castles/ 
 of romance. 
 
 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 
 
 By the mossy weed-flowered column, 
 
 Where the setting moonbeam's glance 
 Streams a radiance cold and solemn 
 
 On the haunts of old romance ; 
 Know'st thou what those shafts betoken, 
 
 Scattered on that tablet lone, 
 Where the ivory bow lies broken 
 
 By the monumental stone ? 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALLADS. 137 
 
 When true knighthood's shield, neglected, 
 
 Mouldered in the empty hall ; 
 When the charms that shield protected 
 
 Slept in death's eternal thrall 
 WTien chivalric glory perished 
 
 Like the pageant of a dream, 
 Love in vain its memory cherished. 
 
 Fired in vain the minstrel's theme. 
 
 Falsehood to an elvish minion 
 
 Did the form of Love impart : 
 Cunning plumed its vampire pinion ; 
 
 Avarice tipped its golden dart. 
 Love, the hideous phantom flying, 
 
 Hither came, no more to rove : 
 There his broken bow is lying 
 
 On that stone the tomb of Love! 
 
138 MELINCOUB-?. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 THE TORRENT. 
 
 Anthelia did not wish to condemn herself 
 to celibacy, but in none of her present suitors 
 could she discover any trace of the character 
 she had drawn in her mind of the companion^ 
 of her hfe : yet she was aware of the rash- 
 ness of precipitate judgments, and willing to 
 avail herself of this opportunity of studying 
 the kind of beings that constitute modern 
 society. She was happy in the long interval 
 between breakfast and dinner, to retire to 
 the seclusion of her favourite apartment; 
 whence she sometimes wandered into the 
 shades of her shrubbery: sometimes passing 
 onward through a little postern door, she de- 
 scended a flight of rugged steps, which had 
 
THE TORRENT. 1S9 
 
 been cut in the solid stone, into the gloomy 
 glen of the torrent that dashed round the 
 base of the castle rock ; and following a lonely- 
 path through the woods that fringed its sides, 
 wandered into the deepest recesses of moun- 
 tain solitude. The sunshine of a fine autum- 
 nal day, the solemn beauty of the fading woods, 
 the thin grey mist, that spread waveless over 
 the mountains, the silence of the air, the 
 deep stillness of nature, broken only by the 
 Bound of the eternal streams, tempted her on 
 one occasion beyond her usual limits. 
 
 Passing over the steep and wood-fringed 
 hills of rock that formed the boundary of the 
 valley of Melincourt, she descended through 
 a grove of pines, into a rom-antic chasm, where 
 a foaming stream was crossed by a rude and 
 ancient bridge, consisting of two distinct parts, 
 each of which rested against a columnar rock, 
 that formed an island iii the roaring waters. 
 
 I 
 
140 MELINCOURT. 
 
 An ash had fixed its roots in the fissures of 
 the rock, and the kr.ottt'd base of its aged 
 trunk offered to the passenger a natural seat, 
 over-canopied with its beautiful branches, 
 and leaves, now tinged with their au- 
 tumnal yellow. Anthelia rested awhile in 
 this delightful solitude. There was no breath 
 of wind, no song of birds, no humming of 
 insects, only the dashing of the waters be- 
 neath. She felt the presence of the genius 
 of the scene. She sate absorbed in a train of 
 contemplations, dimly defined, but infinitely 
 delightful : emotions rather than thoughts, 
 which attention would have utterly dissipated, 
 if it had paused to seize their images. 
 
 She was roused from her reverie by soimds 
 of music, issuing from the grove of pines, 
 through which she had just passed, and which 
 skirted the hollow. The notes were wild and 
 irregular, but their effect was singular and 
 
THE TORRENT. 1 41 
 
 pleasing. They ceased. Anthelia looked to 
 the spot from whicli they had proceeded, and 
 saw, or thought she saw, a face peeping 
 at her through the trees ; but the glimpse was 
 momentary. There was in the expression of 
 the countenance, something so extraordinary, 
 that she almost felt convinced her imagination 
 had created it; yet her imagination was not 
 in the habit of creating such physiognomies. 
 She could not, however, apprehend that this 
 remarkable vision portended any evil to her ; 
 for, if so, alone and defenceless as she was, 
 why should it be deferred ? She rose, there- 
 fore, to pursue her walk, and ascended, by 
 a narrow winding path, tlie brow of a lofty 
 hill, which sunk precipitously on the other 
 side, to the margin of a lake, that seemed to 
 slumber in the same eternal stillness as the 
 rocks that bordered it. The murmur of the 
 torrent was inaudible at that elevation. There 
 was an almost oppressive silence in the air. 
 
 I 
 
142 MELINCOURT. 
 
 Tlie motion and life of nature seemed sus- 
 pended. The grey mist that hung on the 
 mountains spreading its thin transparent uni- 
 form veil over the vvliole surrounding scene, 
 gave a deeper impression to the mystery of 
 loneliness, the predominant feeling that press- 
 ed on the mind of Anthclia, to seem the only 
 thing that lived and moved in all that wide 
 and awful scene of beauty. 
 
 Suddenly the grey mist fled before the 
 rising wind, and a deep black line of clouds 
 appeared in tlie west, that rising rapidly, 
 volume on volume, obscured in a few minutes 
 tlie whole face of the heavens. There was i\& 
 interval of preparation, no notice for retreat. 
 The rain burst down in a sheeted cataract, 
 comparable only to the bursting of a water- 
 spout. The sides of the mountains gleamed 
 at once with a thousand torrents. Every 
 little hollow and rain-worn channel, which but 
 
THE TOREENT. 143 
 
 a few minutes before was dry, became instan- 
 taneously the bed of a foaming stream. Every 
 half-visible rivulet swelled to a powerful and 
 turbid river. Anthelia glided down the 
 hill like an Oread, but the wet and slippery 
 footing of the steep descent necessarily retard- 
 ed her progress. When she regained the 
 bridge, the swollen torrent had filled the 
 chasm beneath, and was still rising like a 
 rapid and impetuous tide, rushing and roaring 
 along with boihng tumult and inconceivable 
 swiftness. She had passed one half of the 
 bridge — she had gained the insular rock — a 
 Jew steps would have placed her on the other 
 side of the chasm — when a large trunk of an 
 oak, which months, perhaps years before had 
 baffled the woodman's skill, and fallen into 
 the dingle above, now disengaged by the 
 flood, and hurled onward with irresistible 
 strength, with large and projecting boughs 
 
1 44 MELIXCOUET. 
 
 towering high above the surface, struck the 
 arch she had yet to pass, which, sliattered 
 into instant ruin, seemed to melt Hke sno\T 
 into the torrent, leaving scarcely a vestige of 
 its place. 
 
 Anthelia followed the trunk with her eyes 
 till it disappeared among the rocks, and stood 
 gazing on the torrent with feelings of awful 
 delight. The contemplation of the mighty 
 energies of nature, energies of Hberty and 
 power which nothing could resist or impede, 
 absorbed, for a time, all considerations of the 
 difficulty of regaining her home. The water 
 continued to rise, but still she stood rivetted 
 to the spot, watching with breathless inte- 
 rest its tumultuous revolutions. She dreamed 
 not, that its increasing pressure was mining 
 the foundation of the arch she had jiassed. 
 She was roused from her reverie only by the 
 sound of its dissolution. She looked back, and 
 
THE TORRENT. 145 
 
 found herself on the solitary rock insulated by 
 tJie swelling flood. 
 
 Would the flood rise above the level of the 
 rock ? The ash must in that case be her refuge. 
 Could the force of the torrent rend its massy- 
 roots from the rocky fissures which grasped 
 them with ffiant strenojth ? Nothincr could 
 seem less hkely : yet it was not impossible. 
 But she had always looked with calmness on 
 the course of nece?;sity : she felt that she was 
 alwavs in the order of nature. Thoucrh her 
 life had been a series of uniform prosperity, 
 she had considesed deeply the changes of 
 things, and t?ie nearness of the paths of 
 night and day* in every pursuit and circum- 
 stance of human life. She sate on the stem of 
 the ash. The toiTent rolled almost at her feet. 
 Could this be the calm sweet scene of the 
 
 ♦ E77UJ 7ap y*/.TOf T£ x«» r/Aaroy tivi xiUvkti. 
 VOL. I. H 
 
14 (J mi:lintoliit. 
 
 morning, the ivied bridges, the romantic cliasni, 
 the stream for below, bright in its bed of rocks, 
 cliequered by the pale sunbeams through the 
 leaves of the ash ? 
 
 She looked towards the pine-grove, 
 through which she had descended in the morn- 
 ing ; she thought of the wild music she had 
 heard, and of the strange face that had ap- 
 peared among the trees. Suddenly it ap- 
 peared again : and shortly after, a stranger 
 issuing from tlie wood, ran widi surprising 
 speed to the edge of the chasm. 
 
 Anthelia had never seen so singular a phy- 
 siognomy; but there was nothing in it to 
 cause alarm. The stranger seemed interested 
 for her situation, and made gestures expres- 
 sive of a design to assist her. He paused a 
 moment, as if measuring with his eyes the 
 breadth of the chasm, and then returning to 
 the grove, proceeded very deliberately to pull 
 
THE TORRENT. 14T 
 
 Up a pine *. Aiithelia tliouglit liiin mad ; but 
 infinite was her astonishment to see tlie tree 
 sway and bend beneath the efforts of his incre- 
 dible strength, till at length he tore it from the 
 soil, and bore it on his shouldei^s to the chasr : 
 where placing one end on a high point of thv 
 bank, and lowering the other on the insulated 
 rock, he ran like a flash of lio^htnincr along the 
 stem, caught Anthelia in his arms, and car- 
 ried her safely over in an instant : not that we 
 should wish the reader to suppose, our heroine, 
 a mountaineer from her infancy, could not 
 
 * " lis sont si lobnstcs, dit le traducteur de THtstoire des 
 Voyages, que dix bommes ne suftiroient pas pour les arr^ter," 
 ^-IlorssEAi'. 
 
 "The oran outaog is prodigiously strong." — Ancient Me- 
 taphysics^ vol. iv. p. 51. ; vol. V. p. 4. 
 
 *' I have heard the natives say, hecan throw down a palm- 
 tree, by his atnaziug strengtii, to come at the wine." — Letter 
 of a Bristol Merchant., in a note to the Origin and Progrcse 
 «f Language f book ii. c. 4. 
 
 H S 
 
148 ilELlXCOURT. 
 
 have crossed a pine-bridge without such assist- 
 ance ; but tlie stranger gave her no time to 
 try the experiment. 
 
 The remarkable physiognomy and un- 
 paralleled strength of the stranger, caused 
 much of surprise, and something of appre- 
 hension, to mingle with Anthelia's gratitude : 
 but the air of high fashion, which characterized 
 his whole deportment, diminished her appre- 
 hension, while it increased her surprise at 
 the exploit he had performed. 
 
 Shouts were now heard in the wood, from 
 which shortly emerged j\Ir. Hippy, Lord 
 Anophel Achthar, and the Reverend ]\Ir. 
 Grovelgrub. Anthelia had been missed at 
 Melincourt at the commencement of the 
 storm, and Mr. Hippy had been lialf dis- 
 tracted on the occasion. The whole party 
 had in consequence dispersed in various di- 
 rections in search of licr, and accident had 
 
THE TORRENT. 14tJ 
 
 -directed these tliree gentlemen to the sjx)! 
 where AntheUa was just set down by her 
 pohte dehverer, Su- Oran Haut-ton, Baronet. 
 
 Mr. Hippy ran up with great alacrity to 
 Anthelia, assuring her that at the time when 
 Miss Danaretta Contantina Pinraoncy inform- 
 ed him his dear niece was missing, he A\as 
 suffering under a complete paralysis of his 
 right leg, and was on the point of swallowing 
 a potion sent to him by Dr. Killquick, which, 
 on receiving the alarming intelligence, he had 
 thro^vn out of the window, and he believed it 
 had alighted on the doctor's head, as he was 
 crossing the court. Antheha communicated 
 to him the particulars of the signal ser^'ice she 
 had received from the stranger, whom ^Ir. 
 Hippy stared at heartily, and shook hands 
 with cordially. 
 
 Lord Anophel now came up, and surveyed 
 Sir Oran through his quizzing-glass, who 
 H 3 
 
150 ilELIKCOURT. 
 
 making him a polite bow, took liis quizzing- 
 glass from him, and examined him through it, 
 in the same manner. Lord Anophel flew into 
 a furious passion ; but receiving a gentle hint 
 from Mr. Hippy, that the gentleman to whom 
 he was talking, had just pulled up a pine, he 
 deemed it prudent to restrain his anger within 
 due bounds. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Grovelgrub now rolled 
 up to the party, muffled in a ponderous great' 
 coat, and surmounted with an enormous um- 
 brella, humbly soliciting Miss Melincourt to 
 take shelter. Anthelia assured him that she 
 was so completely wet through, as to render 
 all shelter superfluous, till she could change 
 her clothes. On this, ]\Ir. Hippy, who was 
 wet through himself, but had not till that 
 moment been aware that he was so, voted for 
 retiuning to Melincourt with all possible expe- 
 dition : adding, that he feared it would be 
 
THE TORRENT. 151 
 
 necessary, immediately on their arrival, to send 
 off an express for Dr. Killquick, for his dear 
 Antheha's sake, as well as his own. Anthelia 
 disclaimed any intention or necessity on her 
 part, of calhng in the services of the learned 
 doctor, and, turning to Sir Oran, requested 
 the favour of his company to dinner at Melin- 
 court. This invitation was warmly seconded 
 by Mr. Hippy, with gestures as well as words. 
 Sir Oran bowed acknowledgment, but point- 
 ing in a direction different from that of Melin- 
 court, shook his head, and took a respectful 
 farewell. 
 
 " I wonder who he is," said ^Ir. Hippy, 
 as they walked rapidly homewards : " mani- 
 festly dumb, poor fellow ! a man of conse- 
 quence, no doubt : no great beauty, by the by ; 
 but as strong as Hercules, quite an Orlando 
 Furioso. He pulled up a pine, my Lord, as 
 you would a mush room ."*' 
 H 4 
 
152 MELrSCOURT. 
 
 " Sir,*" said Lord Anophel, " I have 
 nothing to do witli mushrooms : and as to this 
 gentleman, whoever he is, I must say, not- 
 withstanding his fashionable air, his taking my 
 quizzing-glass was a piece of impertinence, 
 for which 1 shall feel necessitated to require 
 gentlemanly satisfaction." 
 
 A long, toilsome, and slippery walk, 
 brought the party to the castle-gate. 
 
LOVE AND MAKKIAGE. loS 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Sir Oran Haut-ton, as we conjecture, had 
 taken a very long ramble beyond the limits of 
 Redrose Abbey, and had sat do^^^l in the pine- 
 grove to solace himself with his flute, when 
 Antheha, bursting upon him like a beautiful 
 vision, rivetted him in silent admiration to the 
 iipot whence she departed, about which he 
 lingered in hopes of her reappearance, till the 
 accident which occurred on her return enabled 
 him to exert his extraordinary physical 
 strength, in a manner so remarkably advan- 
 tageous to her. On parting frcm her and her 
 companions, he "ran back all tlie way to the 
 Abbey, a formidable distance, and relieved 
 H 5 
 
154 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 the anxious apprehensions which his friend 
 Mr. Forester entertained respecting him. 
 
 A few mornings after this occurrence, as 
 Mr. Forester, Mr. Fax, and Sir Oran were 
 sitting at breakfast, a letter was brought in, 
 addressed to Sir Oran Haut-ton, Baronet, 
 Redrose Abbey ; a circumstance which very 
 much surprised Mr. Forester, as he could not 
 imagine how Sir Oran had obtained a corre- 
 spondent, seeing that he could neither write/ 
 nor read. He accordingly took the Hberty of 
 epening the letter himself. 
 
 It proved to be from a limb of the law, 
 signing himself Richard Ratstail, and pur- 
 ported to be .1 notice to Sir Oran to defend 
 Iiimself in an action brought against him by 
 the said Richard Ratstail, solicitor, in behalf 
 of his client, Lawrence Litigate, Esquire, lord 
 of the manor of Muckwormsby, for that he 
 the said Sir Oran Haut-ton did^ with fbjcc 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 155 
 
 and arms, videlicet, swords, pistols, daggers, 
 bludgeons, and staves, break into the manor of 
 the said Lawrence Litigate, Esquire, and did 
 then and there, with malice aforethought, and 
 against the peace of our sovereign lord the 
 King, his crown and dignity, cut do\vn, root 
 up, hew, hack, and cut in pieces sundry and 
 several pine-trees, of various sizes and di- 
 mensions, to the utter ruin, havoc, waste, 
 and devastation of a large tract of pine-land; 
 and that he had wilfully, mahciously, and 
 with intent to injure the said LaAvrence Liti- 
 gate, Esquire, carried off with force and arms, 
 namely, swords, pistols, bludgeons, daggers, 
 and staves, fifty cart-loads of trunks, fifty 
 cart-loads of bark, fifty cart-loads of loppings, 
 and fifty cart-loads of toppings. 
 
 Tliis was a complete enigma to ^Ir. Fo- 
 rester ; and his surprise was increased w hen, 
 on reading further, he found that ^liss 3Ie- 
 H 6 
 
156 
 
 MELIN^COURT. 
 
 lincourt, of Melincourt Castle, was impli- 
 cated in the affair, as having aided and 
 abetted Sir Oran in devastating the pine- 
 grove, and carrying it off by cart-loads with 
 force and arms. 
 
 It immediately occurred to him, that the 
 best mode he could adopt of elucidating the 
 mystery would be, to call on Miss Melincourt, 
 whom, besides. Sir Telegraph^s enthusiastic 
 description had ^ven him some curiosity to 
 see ; and the present appeared a favourable 
 opportunity to indulge it. 
 
 He therefore asked Mr. Fax if he were 
 disposed for a very long walk. Mr. Fax ex- 
 pressed a cordial assent to the proposal, and 
 no time was lost in preparation, 
 
 Mr. Forester, though he had built stables 
 for the accommodation of his occasional vi- 
 sitors, kept no horses himself, for reasons 
 which will appear hereafter. 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGK. 157 
 
 They set forth accordingly, accompanied 
 by Sir Oran, wlio joined them without wait- 
 ing for an invitation. 
 
 " We shall see Sir Telegraph Paxarett,**^ 
 said Mr. Forester, " and, perhaps, his phoenix. 
 Miss Mehncourt" 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 If a woman be the object, and a lover's 
 eyes the medium, I should say there is no- 
 thing in nature so easily found as a phoenix. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 My eyes have no such ma^cal property. 
 I am not a lover, it is true, but it is because 
 I have never found a phoenix. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 But you have one in your mind, a lean 
 ideal, I doubt not. 
 
158 MELINCOUET. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Not too ideal to exclude the possible 
 existence of its material archet^^e, though I 
 have never found it yet. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 You will, however, find a female who has 
 some one at least of the qualities of your ima- 
 ginary damsel, and that one quality will serve 
 as a peg on which your imagination will sus- 
 pend all the others. This is the usual pro- 
 cess of mental hallucination. A little truth 
 forms the basis, and the whole superstructure 
 is falsehood. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I shall guard carefully against such self- 
 deception ; though, perhaps, a beautiful chi- 
 maera is better than cither a hideous reality or 
 a vast and formless void. 
 
LOVE AXD MARRIAGE. 159 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 As an instrument of transitory pleasure, 
 probably ; but very far from it as a means of 
 permanent happiness, which is only consistent 
 with perfect mental tranquillity, which again 
 is only consistent with the calm and dispas- 
 sionate contemplation of truth. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 What say you, then, to the sentiment of 
 Volt^re ? 
 
 ** Le raisonneur tristement s'accredite: 
 
 On court, dit-on, apres la verite, 
 
 Ahl croyez-moi, I'erreur a son merite." 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 You will scarcely coincide with such a sen- 
 timent, when you consider how much this 
 doctrine of happy errors, and pleasing illu- 
 sions, and salutary prejudices, has tended to 
 
160 MELINCOURT. 
 
 rivet the chains of superstition on the necks of 
 the grovelling multitude. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 And yet, if you take the colouring of ima- 
 gination from the objects of our mental per- 
 ception, and pour the full blaze of daylight 
 into all the dark recesses of selfishness and 
 cunning, I am afraid a refined and enthusi- 
 astic benevolence will find little to interest or 
 delight in the contemplation of the human 
 world. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 That should rather be considered the con- 
 sequence of morbid feelings, and exaggerated 
 expectations of society and human nature. It 
 is the false colouring in which youthful enthu- 
 siasm depicts the scenes of futurity that 
 throws the gloom of disappointment so deeply 
 on their actual presence. You have formed 
 to yourself, as you acknowledge, a visionary 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. I6l 
 
 model of female perfection, ^vliich has render- 
 ed you utterly insensible to tlie real attrac- 
 tions of every woman you liave seen. Tliis 
 exaggerated imagination loses more tlian it 
 gains. It has not made a fair calculation of 
 the mixture of good and evil in every consti- 
 tuent portion of the world of reahty. It has 
 utterly excluded the latter from the objects of 
 its hope, and has magnified the former into 
 such gigantic proportions^ that the real good^ 
 ness and beauty which would be visible and 
 delightful to simpler optics, vanish into im- 
 perceptibility in the infinity of their dimi- 
 nution. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I desire no phantasm of abstract perfec- 
 tion—no visionary creation of a romantic phi- 
 losophy : I seek no more than I know to have 
 existed — than, I doubt not, does exist, though 
 in such lamentable rarity, that the calculations 
 
16ft MELINCOURT. 
 
 of probability make the searcli little better 
 than desperate. I would have a woman that 
 can love and feel poetry, not only in its har- 
 mony and decorations, which limit the admira- 
 tion of ordinary mortals, but in the deep 
 sources of love, and liberty, and truth, which 
 are its only legitimate springs, and without 
 which, well-turned periods and glittering 
 images are nothing more nor less than the vi- 
 lest and most mischievous tinsel. She should 
 be musical, but she should have music in her 
 soul as well as her fingers : her voice and her 
 touch should have no one point in common 
 with that mechanical squalling and jingling 
 which are commonly dignified with the insult- 
 ed name of music : they should be moiles of 
 the harmony of her mind. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 I do not very well understand that ; but 
 
LOVE AND MAURI AGE. 163 
 
 I think I liave a glinipse of your meaning. 
 Pray proceed. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 She should have charity — not penny cha 
 rity— 
 
 MB. FAX. 
 
 1 hope not. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 But a hberal discriminating practical phi- 
 lanthropy, tliat can select with justice the ob- , 
 JGcts of its kindness, and give that kindness a 
 form of permanence equally delightful and 
 useful to its object and to society, by increas- 
 ing the aggregate mass of intelligence and 
 happiness. 
 
 MR. FAX, 
 
 Go on. 
 
 MR. FOKEsTEK. 
 
 bhe >h()uld have no taste for \vhat Are 
 
164 MELINCOURT. 
 
 called public pleasures. Her pleasures should 
 be bounded in the circle of her family, and a 
 few, a very few congenial friends, her books, 
 her music, her flowers — she should delight in 
 flowei's — the uninterrupted cheerfulness of do^ 
 mestic concord, the delightful effusions of un- 
 limited confidence. The rocks, and woods, 
 and mountains, boundaries of the valley of 
 her dwelling, she should be content to look 
 on as the boundaries of the world. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Any thing more.'^ 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 She should have a clear perception of the 
 beauty of truth. Every species of falsehood, 
 even in sportiveness, should be abhorrent to 
 her. The simphcity of her thoughts should 
 shine through the ingenuousness of her words. 
 Her testimony should convey as irresistible 
 
LOVE AND MAUllIAGE. IGo 
 
 conviction as the voice of the personified nature 
 of things. And this ingenuousness sliould 
 comprise in its fullest extent, that perfect con- 
 formity of feelings and opinions, which ought 
 to be the most common, but is unfortunately the 
 most rare of the quahties of the female mind. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 You say nothing of beauty. 
 
 ME. FORESTER. 
 
 As to what is usually called beauty, mere 
 symmetry of form and features, it would be 
 an object with me in purchasing a statue, but 
 none whatever in choosing a wife. Let her 
 countenance be the mirror of such qualities as 
 I have described, and she cannot be otherwise 
 than beautiful. I think widi the Athenians, 
 that beauty and goodness are inseparable. I 
 need not remind you of the pei-petual kxXo^ 
 
1G6 MELINCOURT. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 You have said nothing of the principal, 
 and, indeed, ahnost the only usual considera- 
 tion in marriage — fortune. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I am rich enough myself to dispense with 
 such considerations. Even were I not so, I 
 doubt if worldly wisdom would ever influence 
 me to bend my knee with the multitude, at 
 the shrine of the omnipotence of money. No- 
 thing is more uncertain, more transient, more 
 perishable, than riches. How many prudent 
 marriages of interest and convenience were 
 broken to atoms by the French revolution! 
 Do you think there was one couple, among 
 all those calculating characters that acted in 
 those trying times, like Louvet and his Lo- 
 doiska * ? But without looking to periods of 
 
 ♦ See Louvct's <* R(fcit de mcs Perils." 
 
T.OVE AXD MAIIKIAGE. 1G7 
 
 ])iiblic convulsion, in no state of society is any 
 individual secure ao|;ainst the chanfjes of for- 
 tune. What becomes of those ill-assorted 
 unions, which have no basis but money, when, 
 as is very often the case, the money departs, 
 and the persons remain ? Tlie qualities of the 
 heart and of the mind are alone out of the 
 power of accident ; and by these, and these 
 only, shall I be guided in the choice of the 
 companion of my life. 
 
 Mil. FAX. 
 
 Are there no other indispensable qua- 
 lities, that you have omitted in your enume- 
 ration ? 
 
 MR. FOKESTER. 
 
 None, I think, but such as are implied in 
 those I have mentioned, and must 'necessarily 
 be coexistent with them : an endearing sensi- 
 bility, an agreeable cheerfuhiess, and that 
 
 I 
 
168 MELINCOURT. 
 
 serenity of temper wliich is truly the balm 
 of being, and the absence of which, in the 
 intercourse of domestic hfe, obliterates all 
 the radiance of beauty, all the splendour of 
 talent, and all the dignity of virtue. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 I presume, then, you seriously purpose to 
 marry, when you can find such a woman as 
 this you have described ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Seriously I do. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 And not till then ? 
 
 ME. FORESTER. 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Then your present heir presumptive has 
 nothing to fear for his reversion. 
 
LOVE AND POVEETT. l69 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 LOVE AND POVERTY. 
 
 ** We shall presently/' said 3Mr. Fax, as they 
 pursued their walk, " come in sight of a cot- 
 tage, which I remarked two years ago : a de- 
 plorable habitation ! A picture of its exterior 
 ^nd interior suspended in some public place, in 
 every town in the kingdom, with a brief com- 
 mentary subjoined, would operate in terrorem 
 in favour of the best interests of political 
 economy, by placing before the eyes of 
 the rising generation, the lamentable conse- 
 quences of imprudent marriage, and the 
 necessary result of attaclmient, of which 
 romance is the foundation, and marriage the 
 superstructure, widiout tlie only cement 
 wliich will make it wind-and-water-tight — 
 money."' 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
ITO MELIKCOURT. 
 
 Mil. rORESTER. 
 
 Nothing but money ! The resemblance 
 Fluellen found between Macedon and Mon- 
 mouth, because both began with an M, holds 
 equally true of money and marriage : but there 
 seems to be a much stronger connexion in the 
 
 o 
 
 latter case ; for marriage is but a body, of 
 which money is the soul. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 It is so. It must be so. The constitu- 
 tion of society imperiously commands it to be 
 so. The world of reality is not the world of 
 romance. AVhen a lover talks of lips of coral, 
 teeth of pearl, tresses of gold, and eyes of 
 diamonds, he knows all the while that he is 
 lying by wholesale ; and that no baker in 
 England would give him credit for a penny 
 roll, on all this display of his Utopian trea- 
 sury. All the aerial castles that are founded 
 
LOVE AXD POVERTY. 171 
 
 in the contempt of worldly prudence, have 
 not half the solidity of the cloud-built towers 
 that surround the setting of the autumnal sun. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 I maintain, on the contrary, that, let all 
 possible calamities he accumulated on two 
 affectionate and congenial spirits, they will 
 fnd 77iore true happiness in weeping toge- 
 ther, than tliey xvoidd have found in all the 
 riches of the world, poisoned hy tlie disunion 
 of hearts *. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 The disunion of hearts is an evil of ano- 
 ther kind. It is not a comparison of evils I 
 wish to institute. That two rich people fet- 
 tered by the indissoluble bond of marriage, 
 and hating each other corchally, are two as 
 
 * Rousseau, Emilr, lir. h. 
 
 I 2 
 
17f MELIN'COUET. 
 
 miserable animals as any on the face of the 
 earth, is certain ; but that two poor ones, let 
 them love each other ever so fondly, starving 
 together in a garret, are therefore in a less 
 positively wretched condition, is an inference 
 which no logic, I think^ can deduce. For 
 the picture you must draw in your mind'^s eye, 
 is not that of a neatly-dressed, young, healthy- 
 looking couple, weeping in each other's arms 
 in a clean, however homely cottage, in a fit of 
 tender sympathy ; but you must suri'ound them 
 with all the squalid accompaniments of poverty, 
 rags, and famine, tlie contempt of the world, 
 the derehction of friends, half a dozen 
 hungry squalling children, all clothed perhaps 
 in the cutting up of an old blanket, duns in 
 presence, 'baihfFs in prospect, and the long 
 perspective of hopelessness closed by tlie work- 
 house or the gaol. 
 
LOVE AND POVF.RTr. 11^ 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 You imagine an extreme case, wliich 
 something more than the original want of 
 fortune seems requisite to produce. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 I have heard you declaim very bitterly 
 against those v>ho maintain the necessary 
 connexion between misfortune and impru- 
 dence. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Certainly. To assert that the unfortunate 
 must necessarily have been imprudent, is to 
 furnish an excuse to the cold-hearted and 
 illiberal selfishness of a state of society, which 
 needs no motive superadded to its own mise- 
 rable narrow-mindedness, to produce the 
 almost total extinction of benevolence and 
 sympathy. Good and evil fortune depend so 
 much on the combinations of external circum- 
 I 3 
 
174 MELINCOURt. 
 
 Stances, Uiat the utmost skill and industry 
 cannot command success ; neither is the result 
 of the most imprudent actions always fatal : 
 
 Our indiscretions sometimes serve us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall *. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Sometimes, no doubt ; but not so often as 
 to equalize the probable results of indiscretion 
 
 • " L'issue aucthorise souvent une tr^s-inepte conduitte. 
 Nostre cntremise n'est quasy qu'une routine, et plus com- 
 tnunement consideration d'usage ct d'exciDpIe que de raisoa 
 
 L'heur et le mal-beur sout a lucn e;r^ deux son- 
 
 veraines puissances. C'est imprudence d'estimer que I'hu- 
 ruainc prudence puisse remplir le rooUe de la fortune. Et 
 vaine est rentrcpiinse de cekiy qui presume, d'embrasser et 
 causes et consequences, ct nieiner par la main le progrez de 
 
 son faict Qu'on reguarde qui sent les plus puissans 
 
 »ux villes, et qui font mieulx leurs besongnes, on trouvera 
 
 ordinaireraent que ce sont les moins habiles Noi:< 
 
 attribuons les effects de leur bonne fortune a leur prudence. 
 
 Parquoy je dy bicn, tntoutes fa9ons, que les 
 
 evenemeuts sont niaigres tcsmoings dc ncstre prix et r;.p?<- 
 t\l4," — Montaigne, liv. iii. chap. 8. 
 
LOVE AND POVEKTT. 175 
 
 and prudence. " AVhcrc there is prudence,""' 
 says Juvenal, " fortune is powerless ;'' and this 
 doctrine, though hable to exceptions, is replete 
 with general truth. We have a nice balance to 
 adjust. To check the benevolence of the 
 rich, by persuading them that all misfortune 
 is the result of imprudence, is a gi'eat evil ; 
 but it would be a much greater evil to per- 
 suade the poor, that indiscretion may have a 
 happier result than prudence; for where this 
 appears to be true in one instance, it is mani- 
 festly false in a thousand. It is certainly not 
 enough to possess industry and talent ; there 
 must be means for exerting them ; and in a 
 redundant population these means are often 
 wanting, even to the most skilful and the most 
 industrious : but though Calamity sometimes 
 seizes those who use their best efforts to avoid 
 her, yet she seldom disappoints the iuten- 
 I 4 
 
176 
 
 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 tions of tlK)se who leap headlong into her 
 arms. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 It seems, nevertheless, peculiarly hard^ 
 that all the blessings of life should be con- 
 fined to the rich. If you banish the smiles of 
 love from the cottage of poverty, what remains 
 to cheer its dreariness ? The poor man has 
 no friends, no amusements, no means of 
 exercising benevolence, nothing to fill up the 
 gloomy and desolate vacancy of his heart, if 
 you banish love from his dwelling. " There is 
 one alone, and there is not a second,"*' says 
 one of the greatest poets and philosophers of 
 antiquity : " there is one alone, and there is 
 not a second : yea, he hath neither child nor 
 brother ; yet is there no end of all his labour : 
 
 neither saith he, For whom do I 
 
 labour and bereave my soul of 2:ood ? . . . . 
 Two are better than one for if thejr 
 
LOVE AXD POVERTY. 177 
 
 fall, the one will lift up his fellow ; but woe 
 to him that is alone when he fallcth, for he 
 hath not another to help him up * ."" Society 
 in poverty, is better than solitude in wealth ; 
 but solitude and poverty together, it is scarce- 
 ly in human nature to tolerate. 
 
 ME. FAX. 
 
 This, if I remember rightly, is the cottage 
 of which I was speaking. 
 
 The cottage was ruined and uninhabited. 
 The roof had fallen in. The garden was 
 choked with weeds. " What," said Mr. 
 Fax, " can have become of its unfortunate 
 inhabitants !:^ 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 What were they ? 
 
 • Ecclesiastes, chap, ir, 
 
 I 5 
 
17S MELIKCOURT. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 A couple for whom nature had done much, 
 and fortune nothing. I toolc shelter in their 
 cottage from a passing storm. The picture 
 which you called the imagination of an extreme 
 case, falls short of the reality of what 1 wit- 
 nessed here. It was the utmost degree of 
 misery and destitution compatible with the 
 preservation of life. A casual observer might 
 have passed them bv, as the most abject of 
 the human race. But their physiognomy 
 showed better things. It was with the utmost 
 difficulty I could extract a ^vord from either 
 of tliem : but when I at last succeeded, I 
 was astonished, in garments so mean and a 
 dwelling so deplorable, to discover feelings so 
 generous and minds so enlightened. The 
 semblance of human sympathy seemed strange 
 to them ; little of it as you may suppose could 
 be discovered through my saturnine com- 
 
LOVE AND POVERTY. 1T9 
 
 plexion, and the habitual language of what 
 you call my frosty philosophy. By degrees 
 I en^rao-ed their confidence, and he related to 
 me his history, Avhich I will tell you as nearly 
 as I can remember, in his own words. 
 
 1 6 
 
180 
 
 MEIJNCOURT, 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 DESMOND. 
 
 My Dcame is Desmond. My father was a 
 naval officer, who in tlie pi'ime of life was 
 compelled by Avounds to retire from the service 
 on his hdf-pay, and a small additional pen- 
 sion. I was his only son, and he submitted 
 to the greatest personal privations, to procure 
 me a liberal education, in the hope that by 
 these means he should hve to see me making 
 my way in the world : but he always accom- 
 panied his wishes for this consummation, 
 with a hope tliat I should consider money 
 as a means, and not as an end, and that I 
 should remember the only real treasures of hu- 
 man existence were truth, health, and liberty. 
 You will not wonder, that, with such principles, 
 
DESMONDw 181 
 
 the father had been twenty years a lieutenant, 
 and that the son was looked on at College 
 as a fellow that would come to nothing. 
 
 I profited little at the University, as you 
 will easily suppose. The system of education 
 pursued there, appeared to me the result of a 
 deep-laid conspiracy against the human under- 
 standing, a mighty effort of pohtical and 
 ecclesiastical machiavelism, to turn the ener- 
 gies of inquiring minds into channels, where 
 they will either stagnate in disgust, or waste 
 themselves in nugatory labour. To discover 
 or even to illustrate a single moral truth, to 
 shake the empire of a single prejudice, to 
 apply a single blow of the axe of philosophy 
 to the wide-spreading roots of superstition 
 and political imposture, is to render a real 
 service to the best hopes of mankind ; but all 
 this is diametrically opposed to the selfish 
 interests of the hired misleaders of society, 
 
182 MELINCOURT. 
 
 the chosen few, as they are called, before whom 
 the MTetched multitude grovel in the dust as 
 before 
 
 *' The children of a race, 
 Mightier than they, and wiser, and by heaven 
 Beloved and favoured more/' 
 
 Moral science, therefore, m.oral improve- 
 ment, the doctrines of benevolence, the ame- 
 lioration of the general condition of mankind, 
 will not only never form a part of any pubhc 
 institution, for the perfonnance of that ridi- 
 culous and mischievous farce called the Finish- 
 ing of Education ; but every art of clerical 
 chicanery and fraudulent misrepresentation 
 will be practised, to render odious the very 
 names of philosophy and philantlu-opy, and 
 to extinguish, by ridicule and persecution, that 
 enthusiastic love of truth, which never fails to 
 conduct its votaries to conclusions very little 
 compatible with the views of those who have 
 
DESMOND. 18'3 
 
 l)uilt, or intend to build, their own worldly 
 j)rosperity, on the foundations of h}'pocrisy 
 and servility in themselves, and ignorance and 
 creduhty in others. 
 
 The study of morals and of mind occu- 
 pied my exclusive attention. I had little taste 
 for the science of lines and numbers, and still 
 less for verbal criticism, the pinnacle of aca^- 
 demical glory. 
 
 I delighted in the poets of Greece and 
 Rome, but I thought that the ig^neus vigor et 
 coslestis or'igo of their conceptions and expres- 
 sions was often utterly lost sight of, in the mi- 
 croscopic inspection of philological minutise. 
 I studied Greek", as the means of understand- 
 ing Homer and ^Eschylus : I did not look on 
 them as mere secondary instruments to the 
 attainment of a knowledge of their language. 
 I had no conception of the taste that could 
 prefer Lycophron to Sophocles, because he 
 
184 MELrNxoniT. 
 
 had the singular advantage of being obscure ; 
 and should have been utterly at a loss to ac- 
 count for such a pha?nomenon, if I had not 
 seen that the whole system of public education 
 was purposely calculated to make inferior 
 minds recoil in disgust and terror from the 
 vestibule of knowledge, and superior minds 
 consume their dangerous energies in the diffi- 
 eiles migce and labor mepiia7'um of its 
 adytum. 
 
 I did not JinisJi, as it is called, my college 
 education. My father''s death compelled me 
 to leave it before the expiration of the usual 
 period, at the end of which the same distinc- 
 tion is conferred on all capacities, by the acade- 
 mical noometry, not of merit but of time. I 
 found myself almost destitute ; but I felt the 
 consciousness of talents, that I doubted not 
 would amply provide for me in that great 
 centre of intellect and energy, London. To 
 
IXESMOND. 183 
 
 London I accordingly went, and became a 
 boarder in the humble dwelling of a widow, 
 who maintained herself and an only daughter 
 by the perilous and precarious income derived 
 from lodgers. 
 
 My first application was to a bookseller in 
 Bond Street, to whom I offered the copyright 
 of a treatise on the Elements of Morals. 
 ** My dear Sir," said he, with an air of su- 
 percilious pohteness, " only take the trouble 
 of sitting a few hours in my shop, and if you 
 detect any one of my customers in the fact of 
 pronouncing the word morals, I will give any 
 price you please to name for your copyright.'' 
 But, glancing over the manuscript, " I per- 
 ceive,"''' said he, " there are some smart things 
 here ; and though they are good for nothing 
 where they are, they would cut a pretty 
 figure in a Review. My friend Mr. Vamp, 
 the editor, is in want of a hand for the moral 
 
1 86 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 department of his Review : I will give you n 
 note to him.'^ I thanked him for his kindness, 
 and, furnished with the note, proceeded to 
 the lodgings of Mr. Vamp, whom I found in 
 an elegant first floor, lounging over a large 
 quarto, which he was marking w ith a pencil. 
 A number of books and pamphlets, and frag- 
 ments of both curiously cut up, were scatter- 
 ed on the table before him, together with a 
 large pot of paste, and an enormous pair of ^ 
 scissars. 
 
 He received me '\nth great hauteur, read 
 the note, and said, " INlr. Foolscap has told 
 you we are in want of a hand, and he thinks 
 you have a turn in the moral line : I shall not 
 be sorry if it prove so, for we have been very 
 ill provided in that way a long while; and 
 though morals are not much in demand among 
 our patrons and customers, and wiU not do, by 
 any means, for a standing dish, they make» 
 
DESMOND. 187 
 
 nevertheless, a very pretty seasoning for our 
 politics, in cases where they might otherwise 
 be rather unpalatable and hard of digestion. 
 You see this pile of pamplilets, these volumes 
 of poetry, and this rascally quarto : all these, 
 though under very different titles, and the 
 productions of very different orders of mind, 
 have, either openly or covertly, only one object; 
 and a most impertinent one it is. This object 
 is two-fold : first, to prove the existence, to an 
 immense extent, of what these writers think 
 proper to denominate political corruption ; se- 
 condly, to convince the public that this cor- 
 ruption ought to be extinguished. Now, we 
 are anxious to do away the effect of all these 
 incendiary clamours. As to the existence of 
 corruption (it is a villanous word, by the by — 
 we call \i persuasion in a tangible sliape) : as 
 to the existence, then, of persuasion in a tan- 
 gible shape, we do not wish to deny it; on 
 
188 MELINCOURT. 
 
 tlie contrary, wc have no Jicsitation in affirm- 
 ing that it is as notorious as the sun at noon- 
 day: but as ta the inference that it ouglit to be 
 extinguished — that is the point against which 
 we direct the full fire of our critical artillery ; we 
 maintain that it ought to exist ; and here is the 
 leading article of our next number, in which 
 we confound in one mass all these obnoxious 
 publications, putting the weakest at the head 
 of the list, that if any of our readers should 
 feelinclined to judge for themselves (I must 
 do them the credit to say I do not suspect 
 many of them of such a democratical pro- 
 pensity), they may be stopped in limine, by 
 finding very little temptation to proceed. The 
 political composition of this article is beautiful : 
 k is the production of a gentleman high in 
 office, who is indebted to persuasion in a tan- 
 gible shape for his present income of several 
 thousands per annum; but it wants, as I have 
 
DESMOND. 189 
 
 hinted, a little moral seasoning ; and there, as 
 ill-luck will have it, we are all thrown out. We 
 have several reverend gentlemen in our corps, 
 but morals are unluckily quite out of their way. 
 We have, on some occasions, with their assist- 
 ance, substituted theology for morals : they 
 manage this very cleverl}', but, I am sorry to 
 say, it only takes among the old women ; and 
 though the latter are our best and most nume- 
 rous customers, yet we have some very obsti- 
 nate and hard-headed readers who mil not, 
 as I have observed, s^vallow our politics with- 
 out a little moral seasoning ; and, as I told 
 Mr. Foolscap, if we did not contrive to pick 
 up a spice of morals somewhere or other, all 
 the eloquence ofpermasion in a tangible shape 
 would soon become of little avail. Now, if 
 you will undertake the seasoning of this ar- 
 ticle in such a manner as to satisfy my em- 
 ployers, I will satisfy you : you understand 
 me.'' 4» 
 
190 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 I observed, that I hoped he would allow 
 me the free exercise of my own opinion ; 
 and that I should wish to season his article in 
 such a manner as to satisfy myself, which I 
 candidly told hini would not be in such a 
 manner as seemed likely to satisfy him. 
 
 On tliis he flew into a rage, and vowed 
 vengeance against ]Mr. Foolscap for having 
 sent him a Jacobin. I strenuously disclaim- 
 ed this appellation; and being then quite a 
 novice in the world, I actually endeavoured 
 to reason Avith him, as if the conviction of 
 general right and wrong could have any 
 influence upon him ; but he stopped me short, 
 by saying, that tiy I could reason him out of 
 his pension, I might spare myself the trouble 
 of interfering with his opinions ; as the logic 
 from which they were deduced had presented 
 itself to him in a much more tangible shape 
 than any abstract notions of truth and liberty. 
 
DESMOND. ' 191 
 
 He Ikid thought, from ^Ir. Foolscap's letter, 
 that I had a talent for moral theory, and that 
 I was inchned to turn it to account ; as for 
 moral practice, he had nothing to do with it, 
 desired to know nothing about it, and wished 
 me a good morning. 
 
 I was not yet discouraged, and made 
 similar applications to the editors and pro- 
 prietors of several daily, weekly, monthly, 
 and quarterly publications, but I found every 
 where the same indifference or aversion to ge- 
 neral principles, the same partial and perverted 
 views : every one was the organ of some divi- 
 sion or subdivision of a faction ; and had en- 
 trenched himself in a narrow circle, within the 
 pale of which all was honour, consistency, in- 
 tegrity, generosity, and justice ; while all with- 
 out it was vUlany, hypocrisy, selfislmess, cor- 
 ruption, and hes. Not being inchned to im- 
 prison myself in any one of tliQse magical rino-s, 
 
192 MELINCOURT. 
 
 I found all my interviews terminate like that 
 with Mr. Vamp. 
 
 By the advice and introduction of a college 
 acquaintance, I accepted the situation of tutor 
 in the family of Mr. Dross, a wealthy citizen, 
 who had acquired a large fortune by contract* 
 with Government, in the execution of which 
 he had not forgotten to charge for his vote 
 and interest. His conscience, indeed, of all 
 the commodities he dealt in, was that which 
 he had brought to the best market ; though, 
 among his more fair dealing, and consequently 
 poorer neighbours, it was thought he had 
 made the ministry pay too dearly for so very 
 rotten an article. They seemed not to ba 
 aware that a corrupt administration estimates 
 conscience and Stilton cheese by the same 
 criterion, and that its rottenness was its re-- 
 commendation. 
 
DESMOND. 193 
 
 Mr. Dross was a tun of man, wltli the 
 8oul of a hazel-nut : his wife was a tun of wo- 
 man, without any soul whatever. The principle 
 that animated her bulk was composed of three 
 ingredients — arrogance, ignorance, and the 
 pride of money. They were, in every sense 
 of the word, what the world calls respectable 
 people. 
 
 Mrs. Dross aspired to be somebody^ aped 
 the nobility, and gave magnificent routs, 
 which were attended by many noble person- 
 ages, and by all that portion of the fashion- 
 able world that will go anywhere for a 
 crowd and a supper. 
 
 Their idea of virtue consisted in having 
 no debts, going regularly to church, and 
 feeding the parson ; their idea of charity, in 
 paying the poor-rates, and putting ^ovm. their 
 names to public subscriptions: and they had a 
 profound contempt for every species of learn- 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 ing, which tliey associated indissolubly witli 
 rags and famine, and with that neglect of 
 the main chance, which they regarded as the 
 most deadly of all deadly sins. But as they 
 had several hopeful children, and as Mrs. 
 Dross found it was fashionable to have a go- 
 verness and a tidorer, they had looked out 
 for two pieces of human furniture under these 
 denominations, and my capricious destiny led 
 me to their splendid dwelhng m tlie lattei^ 
 capacity. 
 
 I found the governess, Miss Pliant, very 
 admirably adapted to her situation. She did 
 not presume to have a will of her o^vn. Sus- 
 pended like Mahomet's coffin between the 
 mistress and the housekeeper, despising the 
 one, and despised by the other, her mind 
 seemed unconscious of its vacancy, and her 
 heart of its loneUness. She had neither feel- 
 ings nor principles, either of good or ill : per- 
 fectly selfish, perfectly cold-heai'ted, and per- 
 
DESMOND. ' 195 
 
 fectly obsequious, she was contented with her 
 situation, because it seemed hkely to lead 
 to an advantageous cstabUshment ; for if ever 
 she thought of marriage, it was only in the 
 hght of a system of bargain, in which youth 
 and beauty were very well disposed of when 
 bartered for age and money. She was highly 
 accomplished : a very scientific musician, with- 
 out any soul in her performance ; a most 
 skilful copier of landscapes, without the least 
 taste for the beauties of nature ; and a profi- 
 cient in French grammar, though she had 
 read no book in that language but Tele- 
 maqiie, and hated the names of Rousseau and 
 Voltaire, because she had heard them called 
 rascals by her father, who had taken his opi- 
 nion on trust from the Reverend Mr. Simony, 
 who had never read a page of either of them. 
 I very soon found that I was regarded 
 as an upper servant — as a person of more pro- 
 K 2 
 
196 MELINXOURT. 
 
 tension, but less utility, tlian the footiflan. I 
 was expected to be really more servile, in mind 
 especially. If I presumed to differ in opinion 
 from Mr. or Mrs. Dross, they looked at each 
 other and at me with the most profound as- 
 tonishment, wondering at so much audacity in 
 one of their moveables. I really envied the 
 footman, living as he did among his equals, 
 where he might have his own opinion, as far 
 as he was capable of forming one, and express 
 it without reserve or fear ; while all my 
 thoughts were to be those of a mirror, and 
 my motions those of an automaton. I soon 
 saw that I had but the choice of alterna- 
 tives : either to mould myself into a slave, 
 liar, and hypocrite, or to take my leave of 
 Mr. Dross. I therefore embraced the latter, 
 and determined from that moment never again 
 to live under the roof of a superior, if my own 
 
DESMOND. 197 
 
 clwellinor were to be tlie most humble and 
 
 o 
 
 abject of human habitations. 
 
 I returned to my old lodgings, and, after a 
 short time, procured some employment in the 
 way of copying for a lawyer. My labour 
 was assiduous, and my remuneration scanty ; 
 but my habits were simple, my evenings were 
 free, and in the daughter of the widow with 
 w^hom I lodged, I found a congenial mind : a 
 desire for knowledge, an ardent love of truth, 
 and a capacity that made my voluntary office 
 of instruction at once easy and dehghtful. 
 
 The widow died embarrassed : her cre- 
 ditors seized her effects, and her daughter was 
 left destitute. I was her only friend : to every 
 other human being, not only her welfare, 
 but even her existence, were matters of total 
 indifference. The course of necessity seemed 
 to have thrown her on my protection, and if 
 I before loved her, I now regarded her as a 
 k3 
 
198 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 precious trust, confided to me by her evil fate. 
 Call it what you may, imprudence, madness, 
 frenzy — we were married. 
 
 The lawyer who employed me, had chosen 
 his profession very injudiciously, for he was 
 an honest and benevolent man. He interested 
 himself for me, acquainted himself with my 
 circumstances, and, without informing me of 
 his motives, increased my remuneration ; 
 though, as I afterwards found, he could very 
 ill afford to do so. By this means we lived 
 twelve months in comfort, I may say, con- 
 sidering the simpUcity of our habits, in pro- 
 sperity. The birth of our first child was an 
 accession to our domestic happiness. We had 
 no pleasures beyond the limits of our humble 
 dwelling. Our circumstances and situation 
 were much below the ordinary level of those 
 of well-educated people: we had, therefore, 
 no society, but we were happy in each other: 
 
DESMOND. 199 
 
 our evenings were consecrated to our favour- 
 ite authors ; and tlie din of the streets, the 
 tumult of crowds and carriages thronging to 
 parties of pleasure and scenes of public amuse- 
 ment, came to us like the roar of a stormy 
 ocean, on which we had neither wish nor power 
 to embark. 
 
 One evening we were surprised by an un- 
 expected visitor : it was the lawyer my em- 
 ployer. " Desmond r said he, " I am a 
 ruined man. For having been too scrupulous 
 to make beggars of others, I have a fair pro- 
 spect of becoming one myself. You are 
 shocked and astonished. Do not grieve on my 
 account. I have neither "wife nor children. 
 Very trivial and very remediable is the evil 
 that can happen to me. ' The valiant by 
 himself, what can he suffer ?' You >vill thhik 
 a lawyer has as little business with poetry as 
 
 K 4i 
 
SCO MELINCOURT. 
 
 he has with justice. Perhaps so. I liave 
 been too partial to both."" 
 
 1 was glad to see him so cheerful, and 
 expressed a hope that his affairs would take a 
 better turn than he seemed to expect. " You 
 shall know more,"*^ said he, " in a few days; in 
 tlie mean time here ai'e the arrears I owe you."" 
 
 When he came again, he said : " My cre- 
 ditors are neither numerous nor cruel. I have 
 made over to them all my property, but they 
 allow me to retain possession of a small house 
 in Westmoreland, with an annuity for my 
 life, sufficient to maintain me in competence. 
 I could propose a wild scheme to you if I 
 thought you would not be offended ."" 
 
 " That," said I, *' I certainly will not, pro- 
 pose what you may."" 
 
 " Tell me," said he, " which do you 
 think the most useful and uncontaminatin^ 
 implement, the quill or the spade r" 
 
DESMOND. £01 
 
 ** The spade,'' said I, " generally speak- 
 ing, unquestionably : the quill, in some most 
 rare and sohtary instances." 
 
 " In the hand of Homer and Plutarch, of 
 Seneca and Tacitus, of Shakespeare and 
 Rousseau ? I am not speaking of them, or 
 of those who, however humbly, reflect their 
 excellencies. But in the hands of the slaves 
 of commerce, the minions of law, the venal 
 advocates of superstition, the sycophants of 
 corruption, the turnspits of literature, the 
 paragraph-mongers of prostituted journals, the 
 hireling compounders of party praise and 
 censure, under the name of periodical criti- 
 cism, what say you to it ?" 
 
 " AVhat can I say,'' said I, " but that it 
 is the curse of society, and the bane of the 
 human mind ?"* 
 
 " And yet,'' said he, " in some of these 
 ways must yuu employ it, if you wi^h to 
 X 3 
 
202 MELIXCOURT. 
 
 live by it. Literature is not the soil in 
 ■which truth and liberty can flourish, unless 
 then* cultivators be independent of the world. 
 Those who are not so, whatever be the pro- 
 mise of their beginning, will end either in sy- 
 cophants or beggars. As mere mechanical in- 
 struments, in pursuits unconnected with lite- 
 rature, what say you to the comparison ?'*^ 
 
 " What Cincinnatus would have said,*" I 
 answered. 
 
 " I am glad,*" said he, " to hear it. You ^ 
 are not one of the multitude, neither I 
 believe am I. I embraced my profession, 
 I assure you, from very disinterested motives. 
 I considered that the greater the powers of 
 mischief with which that profession is armed, 
 and I am sorry to add, the practice of mis- 
 chief in the generality of its professors, the 
 greater might be the scope of philanthropy, 
 in protecting weakness, and counteracting op- 
 
DESMOXD. 203 
 
 pression. Thus I have passed my Hfe in an 
 attempt to reconcile philanthropy and law. 
 I had property sufficient to enable me to try 
 the experiment. The natural consequence is, 
 my property has vanished. I do not regret 
 it, for I have done some good. But I can 
 do no more. ^ly power is annulled. I must 
 retire from the stage of life. If I retire alone, 
 I must have sei*\ants ; I had much rather 
 have friends. If you will accompany me to 
 Westmoreland, we will organize a little re 
 public of our own. Your ^nfe shall be our 
 housekeeper. We will cultivate our garden. 
 We shaU want httle more, and that mv 
 annuity will amply supply. We Mill select a 
 few books, and we will pronounce eternal 
 banishment on pen and ink."' 
 
 I could not help smiling at the earnestness 
 with which he pronounced the last clause. The 
 change of a lawyer into a Roman republican 
 
 K 6 
 
204 MELINCOURT. 
 
 appeared to me as miraculous as any meta- 
 morphosis in Ovid. Not to weary you with 
 details, we carried this scheme into effect, and 
 passed three years of natural and healthy 
 occupation, with perfect simplicity and perfect 
 content. They were the happiest of our lives. 
 But at the end of this period, our old friend 
 died. His annuity died with him. He left 
 me his heir, but his habitation and its furni- 
 ture were all he had to leave. I procured a 
 tenant for the house, and we removed to this 
 even yet more humble dwelling. The differ- 
 ence of the rent, a very trifling sum indeed, 
 constituted our only income. The increase 
 of our family, and the consequent pressure of 
 necessity, compelled us to sell the house. From 
 the same necessity we have become strict Py- 
 thagoreans. I do not complain that we hve 
 hardly : it is almost wonderful that we live at 
 all. The produce of our little garden pre- 
 
DESMOND. 205 
 
 serves us from famine : but tills is all it docs. 
 I consider myself a mere rustic, and very will- 
 ingly engage in agricultural labour, \\lien 
 the neighbouring farmers think proper to em- 
 ploy me : but they feel no deficiency of abler 
 hands. There are more labourers than means 
 of labour. In the cities it is the same. If all 
 the modes of human occupation in this kinfi^- 
 dom, from the highest to the lowest, were to 
 require at once a double number of persons, 
 there would not remain one of them twelve 
 liours unfilled. 
 
 With what views could I return to Lon- 
 don ? Of the throng continually pressing 
 onward, to spring into the vacancies of em- 
 ployment, the foremost ranks are unfortunate- 
 ly composed of the selfish, the servile, the 
 intriguing ; of those to whose ideas general 
 justice is a chimoera, hberty an empty name, 
 and truth at best a verbal veU for the syco- 
 
206 
 
 MELINCOURT. 
 
 pliantic falsehood of a mercenary spirit. To 
 "vv liat end could a pupil of the ancient Romans 
 mingle with such a multitude ? To cringe, to 
 lie, to flatter ? To bow to the insolence of 
 wealth, the superciliousness of rank, the con- 
 tumely of patronage, that, while it exacts the 
 most abject mental prostration, in return for 
 promises never meant to be performed, de- 
 spises the servility it fosters, and laughs at the 
 creduhty it betrays ? 
 
 The wheel of fortune is like a water-wheel, 
 and hmnan beings are like the waters it dis- 
 turbs. Many are thrown into the channels 
 of action, many are thrown back to be lost for 
 ever in the stream. I am one of the latter : 
 but I shall not consider it disgraceful to me 
 that I am so, till I see that candour, simpli- 
 city, integrity, and intellectual power direct- 
 ed by benevolence and liberty, have a better 
 
DESMON'D. 207 
 
 claim to worldly estimation, than either venal 
 talent prostituted to the wages of corruption, 
 or ignorance, meanness, and imbecihty, ex- 
 alted by influence and interest. 
 
S08 MELINCOURT. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 THE COTTAGE. 
 
 MR. FAX {In continuation). 
 
 <* I CAXNOT help thinking,^"' said I, ^vhen 
 Desmond had done speaking, *' that you 
 have formed too hasty an estimate of the 
 world. Mr. Vamp and Mr. Dross are bad 
 specimens of human nature : but there are 
 many good specimens of it in both those 
 classes of men. The world is, indeed, full of 
 prejudices and superstitions, which produce 
 ample profit to their venal advocates, who 
 consequently want neither the will nor the 
 power to calumniate and persecute the en- 
 lightened and the virtuous. The rich, too, 
 are usually arrogant and exacting, and those 
 feelings will never perish for want of syco- 
 phants to nourish' them. An ardent love of 
 
THE COTTAGE. 209 
 
 truth and liberty will, therefore, always prove 
 an almost insuperable barrier to any great 
 degree of worldly advancement. A celebrated 
 divine, who turned his tlieological morahty to 
 very excellent account, and died en bonne odeur, 
 used to say, he could not afford to luive a 
 conscience, for it teas the most expen^ve 
 luxury a man could indulge in. So it cer- 
 tain! v is : but thous^h a conscientious man, 
 who has his own way to make in the world, 
 will very seldom floiu'ish in the sunshine of 
 prosperity, it is not, therefore, necessary that 
 he should sit quietly down and starve.^ He 
 said he would think of it, and if he could 
 find any loop-hole in the great feudal for- 
 tress of society, at which poverty and ho- 
 nesty could creep in together, he would try tc» 
 effect an entrance. I made more particular 
 inquiry into their circumstances, and they at, 
 lengtli communicated to me, but uith mani- 
 
210 MELINCOURT. 
 
 fest reluctance, that they were in imminent 
 danger of being deprived of their miserable 
 furniture, and turned out of their wretched 
 habitation, by Lawrence Litigate, Esquire, 
 their landlord, for arrears of rent amounting to 
 five pounds. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 Which of course you paid ? 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 I did so : but I do not see that it is of 
 course. 
 
 Mr. Forester, Mr. Fax, and Sir Oran, 
 were still leaning over the gate of the cottage, 
 when a peasant came whistling along the road. 
 ^' Pray, my honest friend,"' said Mr. Fax, 
 " can you inform me what has become of the 
 family which inhabited this cottage two years 
 ago ?"" — " Ye '11 voind them," said the peasant, 
 '• about a mile vurther an, just by the lake's 
 
THE COTTAGE. 211 
 
 edge like, wi"* two large elms by the door, and 
 a vir tree.^' He resumed his tune and his 
 way. 
 
 The pliilosophical trio proceeded on their 
 walk. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 You have said little of his wife. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 She was an interesting creature. "With her 
 the feelings of misfortune had subsided into 
 melancholy silence, while with him they broke 
 forth in misanthropical satire. 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 And their children ? 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 They would have been fine children, if 
 tliey had been better clothed and led. 
 
 MR. FORESTEr. 
 
 Did they seem to repent tlicir marriage ? 
 
^V2 MELINCOUET. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Not for themselves. They appeared to have 
 no wisli but to live and die together. For 
 their children, indeed, I could easily perceive 
 they felt more grief than they expressed. 
 
 MB. FORESTEB. 
 
 You have scarcely made out your case. 
 Poverty had certainly come in at the door, 
 but Love does not seem to have flown out 
 at the window. You would not have pre- 
 vailed on them to separate at the price of 
 living in palaces. The energy of intellect 
 was not deadened ; the independence of spirit 
 was not broken. The participation of love 
 communicates a luxury to sorrow, that all 
 the splendour of selfishness can never bestow. 
 If. as has been said, a friend is more valu- 
 able than the elements of fire and water, how 
 much more valuable must be the one only 
 
THE COTTAGK. 215 
 
 associate, the more than friend, to him whom 
 in affliction and in |X)verty all other friends 
 have abandoned ! If the sun shines equally 
 on the palace and the cottage, why should 
 not love, the sun of the intellectual world, 
 shine equally on both ? More needful, in- 
 deed, is its genial light to the latter, where 
 there is no worldly splendour to diminish or 
 divide its radiance. 
 
 With a sudden turn of the road, a scene 
 of magnificent beauty burst upon their view : 
 the still expanse of a lake, bordered with dark 
 precipices and fading woods, and mountains 
 rising above them, height on height, till the 
 clouds rested on their summits. A pic- 
 turesque tourist had planted his travelling 
 chair under the corner of a rock, and was in- 
 tently occupied in sketching the scene. The 
 process attracted Sir Oran''s curiosity: he 
 
21 4 MELINCOURT. 
 
 walked up to the tourist, who was too deeply 
 engaged to notice his approach, and peeped 
 over his shoulder. Sir Oran, after looking at 
 the picture, then at the landscape, then at 
 the picture, then at the landscape again ; at 
 length suddenly expressed his delight in a 
 very loud and very singular shout, close in the 
 painter'^s ear, that re-echoed from rock to 
 rock. The tourist sprang up in violent alarm, 
 and seeing the extraordinary physiognomy of 
 the personage at his elbow, drew a sudden 
 conclusion of evil intentions, and ran off with 
 great rapidity, leaving all his apparatus be- 
 hind him. Sir Oran sate down in the artist's 
 seat, took up the drawing utensils, placed the 
 unfinished drawing on his knee, and sate in 
 an attitude of deep contemplation, as if medi- 
 tating on tlie means to be pursued for doing 
 the same thing himself. 
 
 The flymg tourist encountered Messieurs 
 
THE COTTAGE. 215 
 
 Fax and Forester, who had observed the 
 transaction, and were laughing at it as heartily 
 as Democritus himself could have done. They 
 tranquillized his apprehensions, and led him 
 back to the spot. Sir Oran, on a hint from 
 his friend Mr. Forester, rose, made the tourist 
 a polite bow, and restored to him his belo\ ed 
 portfoho. They then wished him a good 
 morning, and left him in a state of nervous 
 trepidation, which made it very obvious that 
 lie would draw no more that day. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 Can Sir Oran draw ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 No : but I think he would easily acquire 
 the art. It is very probable, that in the nation 
 of the Orans, which I take to be a barbarous 
 nation, that lias not yet kanied the use 
 
SI 6 
 
 MELINCOUKT. 
 
 of speech *, drawing, as a means of commu- 
 nicating ideas, may be in no contemptible state 
 of forwai*dness -|*. 
 
 * Origin and Protjress of Lanj^age, book ii. chap. 4. 
 
 •f- ** I have endeavoured to support the ancient definition 
 of man, and to show that it belongs to the oran outang, 
 though he have not the use of speech. And indeed it ap- 
 pears surprising to nie, that any man, pretending to be a 
 philosopher, should not be satisfied with the expression of 
 intelligence in the most useful way, for the purposes of life} 
 I mean by actions ; but should require likewise the expres- 
 sion of them, by those signs of arbitrary institution we call 
 ivords, before they will allow an animal to deserve the name 
 of man. Suppose that, wpon inquiry, it should be found, 
 that the wan outangs have not only invented the art of 
 building huts, and of attacking and defending with sticks, 4m^ 
 also have co7itrived a way «f commutiicatiug to tlie abaentj and 
 recording their ideas by the method of painting or dratC' 
 trig, as is practised by many barbarous nations (and the 
 supposition is not at all impossible, or even improbable) ; and 
 suppose they should have contrived some femi of govern- 
 ment, and should elect kings or rulers, which is possible, 
 and, according to the information of the Bristol merchaat 
 above mentioned, is reported to be actually the case, what 
 ■would Mr. Button then say? Must they still be accounted 
 brutes, because llicy have not yet fallen upon the method 
 of communication by articulate sounds ?" — Ibid^ 
 
THE COTTAGE, 217 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 He has of course seen many drawings, 
 since he has been among civilized men : what 
 so pecuUarly delighted and surprised him in 
 this? 
 
 MR. FORESTER, 
 
 I suspect this is the first opportunity he 
 has had, of comparing the natural original 
 with the artificial copy ; and his delight was 
 excited by seeing Ihe vast scene before liim, 
 transferred so accurately into so small a com- 
 pass, and growing as it were into a distinct 
 identity under the hand of the artist. 
 
 They now arrived at the elms and tlie fir- 
 tree, which the peasant had pointed out as the 
 landmarks of the dwelling of Desmond. They 
 were surprised to see a very pretty cottage 
 standing in the midst of a luxuriant garden, 
 VOL. I. L 
 
J?18 MELINCOL'RT. 
 
 uiic part of which sloped down to the edge of 
 the lake. Every thing bore the air of comfort 
 and competence. They almost doubted if the 
 peasant had been correct in his information. 
 Three rosy children, plainly but neatly 
 dressed, were sitting on the edge of the shallow 
 water, watching with intense deliglit and in- 
 terest the manoeuvres of a paper flotilla which 
 they had committed to the mercy of the waves. 
 
 MR. FAX. 
 
 What is the diflercnce bctw een these chil- 
 dren, and Xerxes on the shores of Salamis ? 
 
 MR. FORESTER. 
 
 None, but that where they have pure and 
 unmingled pleasure, his feelings began in self- 
 ish pride, and ended in slavish fear : their 
 amusement is natural and innocent ; his was 
 Mnnatural, cruel, and destructive, and, there- 
 fore, more unworthy of a rational being- 
 
THE COTTAGE. i^tO 
 
 Better Is a poor and zcine cJiild, than ajholiah 
 king that unll not he admonished. 
 
 A female came from the cottage. Mr. 
 Fax recognised Mrs. Desmond. He was sur- 
 prised at the change in her appearance. 
 Health and content animated her countenance. 
 The simple neatness of her dress derived an 
 appearance of elegance from its interesting 
 wearer ; contrary to the fashionable process in 
 v.liich dress, neither neat nor simple, but a 
 heterogeneous mixture of all the fripperies of 
 Europe, gives what the world calls elegance, 
 where less partial nature has denied it. There 
 are in this respect two classes of liuman 
 beings : Nature makes the first herself, for the 
 beauty of her own creation : her journeymen 
 cut out the second for tailors and mantua- 
 makers to finij^h. Tlie first, when apparelled, 
 may be called dres-ed people — the second, 
 L 2 
 
2i20 MEl.lNCOUllT. 
 
 peopled dresses : the first bear tlic same rela- 
 tion to their clothes as an oak bears to its fo- 
 liage — the second, the same as a Avig-block 
 bears to a wig : the first may be compared to 
 cocoa-nuts, in which the kernel is more va- 
 luable than the shell —the second, to some va- 
 rieties of the Testaceous Mollusca, where a 
 shell of infinite value covers a stupid fish 
 that is good for nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Desmond recognised Mr. Fax. " O 
 Sir r said she, " I rejoice to see you."' — " And 
 I rejoice," said Mr. Fax, " to see you as you 
 now are : Fortune has befriended you.""— 
 " You rendered us great service. Sir, in our 
 ^Tetched condition ; but the benefit, of course, 
 was transient. With the next quarter-day Mr. 
 Litigate, our landlord, resumed his persecu- 
 tions ; and we should have been turned out of 
 our wretched dwelling to perish in the roads, 
 had not some happy accident made Mies ^fe- 
 
THE COTTAGE. 221 
 
 liicourt acquainted with our situation. To 
 know what it was, and to make it what it 
 is, were the same thing to her. So suddenly, 
 when the extremity of evil was impending over 
 us, to be placed in this httle Paradise in com- 
 petence — nay, to our simple habits, in af- 
 fluence , and in such a manner, as if we were 
 
 bestowing, not receiving, favours O Sir! 
 
 there cannot be two Miss Melincourts ! But 
 will you not walk in, and take some refresh- 
 ment ? — We can offer you refreshment now. 
 My husband is absent at present, but he will 
 very soon return.'" 
 
 While she was speaking he arrived. Mr. 
 Fax congratulated him. At his earnest soli- 
 citation, they entered the cottage, and were 
 delighted with the beautiful neatness that pre- 
 dominated in every ])art of it. The three 
 ciiildrcn ran in to see the strangers. Mr. Fo- 
 
^^2ii MEUXCOUKT. 
 
 rester took up tlie little girl, Mr. Fax a boy, 
 and Sir Oran Haut-ton another. The latter 
 took alarm at the physiognomy of his new 
 friend, and cried, and kicked, and struggled 
 for release ; but Sir Oran producing a flute 
 from his pocket, struck up a lively air, which 
 reconciled the child, who then sate very 
 quietly on his knee. 
 
 Some refreshment was placed before them, 
 and Sir Oran testified, by a copious draught, 
 that he found much virtue in home-brewed 
 ale. 
 
 " There is a farm attached to this cot- 
 tage," said Mr. Desmond ; " and Miss Me- 
 lincourt, by having placed me in it, enabled 
 me to maintain my family in comfort and in- 
 <lependence, and to educate them in a free, 
 healthy, and natural occupation. I have ever 
 thought agriculture the noblest of human 
 
THE COTTAGK. ^^^ 
 
 purbuits : to the tlieory and practice of it I 
 now devote my "v\liole attention, and I am not 
 without hopes that the improvement of this 
 part of my benefactress's estate will justify her 
 generous confidence in a friendless stranger : 
 but what can repay her benevolence ?" 
 
 '• I will answer for her,*" said Mr. Fores- ' 
 ter, **' though she is as yet personally un- 
 known to me, that she loves benevolence for 
 its own sake, and is satisfied with its consum- 
 mation."'* 
 
 After a short conversation, and a promise 
 soon to revisit the now happy family, Mr. 
 Forester, Mr. Fax, and Sir Oran Haut-ton 
 resumed their walk. Mr. Forester, at parting, 
 put unobserved into the hand of tiie little boy a 
 folded paper, telling him to give it to his father. 
 It was a leaf which he had torn from his poc- 
 ket-book : he had enclosed In it a bank-note. 
 
224 MELINCOUUT. 
 
 aiid had written on it ^vith a pencil, " Do not 
 refuse to a stranger the happiness of reflecting 
 that he has, however tardily and sHghtly, co- 
 operated with Miss Melincourt in a work of 
 justice." 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I. 
 
 R. f.osncU, I'rinter, Little Qvieen Street, Lcindon. 
 

 
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