LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN 823 M2662 v,l NOTICE: Return or renew all Library Materials! The Minimum Fee for each Lost Book is $50.00. The person charging this material is responsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for discipli- nary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN Huv 01 L161— O-1096 MADNESS THE RAGE; OR, MEMOIRS OF J MAN WITHOUT A NAME. Audire, atque too^am jubeo componere, qiiisquis Ainbitione mala, aut argenti pullet amore ; Ouisquis hixuria, tristive superstitigne, Aut alio mentis inorbo calct ; hue propius me, Dura doceo insanire omnes; vos ordine adite. HoRA-rf Nunc accipe quare Desiplant omnes. Horat% ]N TWO VOLUMES. VOL. 1. LONDON: PRINTED FOR. SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONfcS, PATERNOSTER-ROW; ANDT. GILLET, CROWN-COURT, FLEET-STREET. 1810 T. Gillet, Printer, Crown-court, Fleet-ntreet, /^I PREFACE. '' Peudition seize tlif^ Muses'/' ex- f liilmed a voice, '•" Perdition seize them 1 I abjure the beggarly tribe for ever!" The door Avas half open: so tcrupting an opportunity I could not resist, and I entered. A young* man was seated at a table, on \vhieh were spread, in proaiiscuons disorder, paper, books, a tobacco-pipe^ an ink-stand, and a porter-mug'. Upon mj entrance, he started up, and ex- claimed — '' My dear Sir, I am prodigiously VI PREFACE. glad to see you. How can I serve jou? Sonnet;, ode^ madrigal^ or elegy: I haTC them all at your service ; sonnets more tender than Petrarch's ; odes more su- blime than Pindar's ; madrigals more amorous than Waller's ; and elegies more plaintive than Tibullus's." I explained to the author, for such he appeared to he, that I wanted neither sonnet, nor ode, nor madrigal, nor €^lcgy, but was merely attracted by the singular expressions I !iad heard him utter as I passed near his door. '' My dear, Sir," he answered, ''the Muses have used me most ungratefully. I entered into their service many years since; but though I have sedulously and unremittingly served them, they have suffered me to languish in poverty, Indeed, I am quite a martyr to their PREFACE. \n cause, my father having disinherited nie^ under an impression that I was non compos. In brief, after having written all my pens to the stump, and my fingers to the hone; after having fretted, and fasted, and starved, during the last ten years, in the service of these niggardly patrons, I had just come to the resolution to cut the connexion, and to sell off the few manuscripts that I have by me; for you see my clbcT moveables have been kindly moved away by my landlady, as a security for her veut." I asked him what he expected for his^ manuscripts, which lay in wild disorder in a trunk in the corner. He mentioned a small sum, which, in pity to his suf- ferings, I immedidtely handed over to him. And now, my good Sir, conti- Till PREFACE. nued the author, '' jou have made me the happiest of men/' '' I will purchase myself a decent suit, and betake myself to the counting- house of an old friend of my late father, where I shall receive a good salary, al- though I shall have plenty to do for it. From henceforth, I shall make use of no other figures save those used in pounds, shillings and pence. I shall take no other flights save those to /«- Ihigton, or Ilackneij. 1 ^:hall prefer a glass tfjf hro'iXn stout to all tlie waters of lldiCGu ; end I shall beg leave to quit the service of those mistresses, v/ho- never pay in specie^ but in paper, and that too not current ; and who suffer us to fatten, if we can, upon the sub- stantial food of air." I congraiLilatcd him upon the good PREFACE. IX sense of his intentions, and we parted. I immediateij hastened home to inspect my purchase : I found it contained a number of scraps of poetry; many loose essays ; some satirical effusions ; and a manuscript entitled. Madness the Rage; or Memoirs of a Man ivithoiit a Kame. Struck with the singularity of the title, I opened the manuscript; it was^ written in a different hand from the others, which alone would be sufficient to induce a persuasion, that it was not the production of the same person, al- though the style and composition had not been, as they were, so decidedly different from the style and composition- of all the other papers, as to place the fact beyond all possibility of question. I perused the manuscript with no less pleasure than avidity ; and I began to a5 think of giving it to the world. Fmi, that I might do nothing rashlj, I re- solved to take the opinion of some of my friends upon the subject. I there- fore put the manuscript into my pocket, and set off to call upon them^ having taken the precaution to carry a pencil with me^ for the purpose of drawing it over any part to which objections should be made. The first person I called upon was a man of approved prudence ; one whose actions having ever been regu- lated by sage caution and mature reflec- tion, was esteemed by the whole parish as a perfect Sir Oracle ; a man who never spoke but in apophthegms and proverbs. With the most profound veneration, I approached this highly-applauded be- PREFACE. %l ing, dreading; his censure as a sentence of death ; prajing for his approbation as a passport to eternal fame. The moment he cast his eyes on the title^ he exclaimed, " Umph !'* — Utnph ! re-echo- ed my feelings as they fell below the freezing* point. He took off his spec- tacles, wiped them very carefully, shut them up, put them into the case, and then, having stirred the fire, and hem- med three times, this mountain in la- bour approached his delivery. '' Young man,'* he said, '' it is ray opinion that the title of your book is by no means proper. I have many reasons for thinking that it is highly dangerous : nor is this all ; it is deficient in that re- spect and good-breeding, to which so- ciety is entitled from all the members who compose it ; for certainly nothing can more decidedly violate respect and >ni FllE FACIE. [;'ooil-brceding than to call vour book^ Madness ilie Rage." He was going on; but as I knew lie would stick to his objections to the title, although he descanted until Doomsday, and as I thought, that in the profun- dity of his prudence, he might proceed to discover'what did not exist, I retired with no very high respect for the ta- lents of those who, as Yorick would saj, could see treason where no treason was meant nor intended. Mj next application was to a man of deep learning, if a knowledge in those antiquated trifles, which the good sense of mankind has concurred with time in i\)rgetting, ouglit to be called learning. It was, he said, worthy of diligent in- quiry to ascertain the name of the au- thor: and if I would delay the publican PREF.\CE. XHl tion until he bad given the world the two folios he was about to send forth upon the Sandal of Helen, he would write a treatise upon the subject. I thanked him for liis ofTer ; but I told him I could not think of monopo- lizing- his talents for such a purpose^ and I therefore declined it^ especially as I was apprehensive it might induce him to delay his immortal work on Helen's Sandal ; for which I heard the world was impatient. Is it not Sterne that says there are a good many basks and shells in literature ? My third visit was paid to a lady^ whose feelings and taste were much ap- plauded by all the novel-reading girls in her parish. She cast her eyes over a few chapters^ and then said the work -would never do. XIV PREFACE. " Why, my dear Madam ^^ '' Why ?" reiterated this female de- Totee of feeling, ''Why, Sir? How can jou possibly ask the question ? — Love ! divine pulsation ! thrilling perfection ! essential intelligence ! inscrutable sym- pathy I Say, Sir, where is it in your manuscript?" '' My dear Madam/' I replied, '' I do not quite understand you ;' there is love and love enough for any reasonaUe man/' " You are mistaken. Sir," she an- swered. '' Love ought to g//i/m in every page; glow in every passage; ivarm in every line, and hum in every w ord." *^^ My dear Madam, you would raise such a fiame as would inevitably con-. PREFACE. Xr sume the book, the author, and his re- putation, at one and the same moment." " Do not tell me," she retorted. *' Love is the whole business of life: all other concerns are tame^ gross, and in- sipid. Do not tell me that a good novel is a picture of life, it is a picture of love ; and every thing not connected with the divine passion should be blot- ted from the canvas. Here," she ex- claimed, putting a novel into my hands, ''here is a work executed as it ought to be.*' I cast my ejes over the table of con- tents ; I found that the hero bad fought four duels, killed three rivals, plunged twice into a roaring torrent, had gone into exile, &c. &c. ; and had at last married the heroine^ who had been in situations of so critical a nature, as XVI PREFACE. would have excited the suspicions of any man less in love than the hero. The result of all the differc^it events of the piece, when summed up, amounted to four ten duels, twenty-four murders, forty-nine faintings, five hundred and fifij-four letters, two thousand dreams, fifteen thousand sighs, an upset, a ship- wreck, and five v eddings. Never, per- haps, were nuptials more opportune. I did not wonder that ihc poor devils should have been driven into marriage, ta escape sach a succession of misfortunes as pelted them during their state of single hiessedness ! Having returned this immaculate production into the hands of its fair pa- tron, I bowed and retired, being firmly persuaded that the belief of mankind is by no means in proportion to the truth ©f their opinion^; and that, though the PREFACE. XVll enlightened mind* may doubts, supersti- tion and ignorance ^vill not forfeit their prerogative^ but sleep as securely^ as they believe implicitly. My next vi&it was to a lady; less^ as I thought, the dupe of feeling; and from >vhom; as her imagination wiis not so much heated, I expected a more sober judgment; but,, perhaps, when I have detailed the result of my conference, the reader may be inclined to think, ihut thoujO'h her imagi nation did not glow, her judgment doaled. She told me, with a very serious air, that I had not narrative enough, and that the reason- ing parts of the work ought entirely to be omitted. Jt was in vain Forged, that I did not consider myself bound to reject an opinion, nor a sentiment connected with IJjo design of tlie author, or which liaiurally flowed from the premises : Xviii ' PiiLFACE. tliat tlie author's cp-nions and srnli- ments were, ^encially spcakirg^ either of the one sort or the other : hut that, -were thej not so, I should hesitate be- fore i presumed to miitilate that whieh 1 found entire. It Avas in vain I Tirgcd, that as the audi or had in the tide of his book assumed a bold posi- tion^ it was bat just to hear what he had to saj in support of it ; and that, hy expunging tiie reasoning parts, we fhoiild act unjustly, for we slioiild re- ject before we had heard his defence. It was in vain I contended, that the object of the author was to instruct as well as to aniure; and that works which Kierely do tlie latter are bjit half works ^ if Uic expression maj' be allowed. After talking for half an hour, I per- ceived, what I might have perceived at first, that I did but talk to the wind, so PitEFACE. XIX fully persuaded was tlils lady of the truth of her own opinion, that in the \varmth of thedclusion, she would have preferred the History of Jack the Giant Killer to Locke's Essay on the Hiuiian Understanding, or the History of Tom Thumb to the Piincipia of Newton. Finding that she was not to be per- suaded to jrive up her opinion, but that, like obstinate people in general, the more reasons I advanced against it, the nu>rc she was determined to adhere to ii, and not to abandon that opinion which, when deserted by every thing like reason, had nothing but her pa- tronage to countenance it; finding this, 1 reluctantly took out my pencil, and, in pursuance of rny origiiial intention, \ drew it, with a sigh, over the parts which had been successively objected to. I paused here to contemplate the XX PREFACE. confusion which inj critical advisers had occasioned ; and I sighed, as 1 per- ceived that nothing now remained but /?a/f of the title-page, and a small por- tion of the narrative. My hifet visit was paid io a iiian fa- mous for his critical lore aiKl acumen. The three unities were held by him as the sacred foundation of all criticism ; and, ill his attachment to them, he nui^s freqiicntlj induced to apply them in a manner which served ratlier to evince his fondness for Ihem, than lo display the soundness and p'urity of his judg- ment. After having perused my work, he advised nie to strike out the whole of the narrative. By this plan, he said, I should avoid any question about Xlift unities o^ time and 'place ; and no ques- tion whatever could occur, as I had seduloudy preserved the unity of subject. PREFACE. XXI I ventured, with all imaginable luimi- liiv, to submit, that the strictness he inculcated in his law of unity was not here to be attended to, for that it did not apply to the nature of the work; and that as it was a penal law^ it ought not to be extended beyond the letter. I will not detain the reader with de- tailing this unprofitable dispute. Let it suffice, that I could gain no quarter from this dovotee of unity ; and I, therefore^ again took out my pencil/ and drawing it over the residue of the narrative, I found that no part of the work was remaining in the approbation of which ALL concurred. Nothing was left save the mere half of the title- page — '' Memoirs of a Man without a Name.'* — The expression of Lucan was flcver more unhappily verified ; it was XXU PREFACE. nominis umbra, the mere shadow of a name, and that was all. I confess I was extremely mortified at my ill success ; and I could not re- frain from mentioning all the circum- stances of my case to a very particular friend : be smiled ; and, after compar- ing my case to that of the man and his son^ who^ in the management of their ass^ would fain please every hody^ al- though they had in the end pleased no- body^ he told me that the persons whom I had consulted were, in every sense of the v/C'id, incompetent to the task of true criticism ; that the timidity of the prudent man; the narrowness of the an- iiquarian; ^he idolatry of the devotee of love; the iafatuatioa of the devotee of narrative, and the prejudices of the learned man, were so many dense me- diums, through which the mental eye PREFACE. XXUl of each individual could not penetrate; that their perceptions^ obscured and broken as they were, could be entitled neither to respect nor attention; that to suii'er ourselves to be led by them, would be to submit to the direction of the blind, or, w hat is worse, to the guid- ance of those who, imagining thej see clearly, would lead us into errors, which the caution of those truly blind would avoid. How easily are we perstiaded to fol- low our own inclinations ! — I deter- mined, therefore, to publish, and to leave the issue to the decision of a can- did Public. THE EDITOR. I MADNESS THE RAGE. CHAPTER I. Reader, As I have not treated thee with that sweet delicious moiyeau call- ed a preface^, I will, from the pure spi- rit of benevolence, favour thee with an introductory chapter. If thou hast no wit, and yet hast wit enough to be sensible of thy own deficiency, pass the chapter over in silence ; but if thy brain be of true Shandean spirit — if it be of genuine Gulliverian texture— thou wilt be inexpressibly delighted in the perusal ; for I mean, that is, if I do not forget my meaning before I have finished the chapter, I mean, I say, to VOL. f. B ^ MADNESS appropriate it to the describing of the greatest man that ever lived. Now, to prevent the inconvenience that would result to your poor Fancy, were her ladyship obliged to hire post-horses, and ride to the circulating library of the next town to enquire, who the greatest man that ever lived is— I will, from the genuine spirit of good-nature, inform thee that I mean myself. Impudent fel- low ! you exclaim. It is very true, my dear sir : but shut the door, stir the fire, and draw your chair a little nearer to me, and I will tell you — a secret. I am the lawful son of Impudence. Do you know, that never was poor son either prouder or fonder of his parent, than I am of mine ; and, I flatter my- self, not without reason. I am proud of my mother, because she is the great- est of beings — a deity, under whose au- spices the most wonderful actions have THE RAGE. 3 been performed ; and I am fond of her because she is fond of me; from which latter circumstance it must be evident, that riiy mother is by no means a fa- shionable mother, for that would have altered the case widely, in this age of refinement, when a fashionable \yoman is much more likely to be attached to her lap-dog than to her child. From the power and the affection of my mo- ther, I hope every thing; and that she can perform wonders is evident, from the example of the ancients, many of whom highly distinguished themselves, merely from enjoying her patronage. Does not that poetical madman, Mr. Pindar, modestly compare himself to the eagle soaring above the ken of his enemies and rivals, the jackdaws ? It should seem that the critics had, pre- viously to this royal flight of Pindar, some doubt whether they should prefer B 2 9 MADNESS his odeSj or those of a garrulous^ pert, boarding-school girl, called Miss Co- rinna; but the moment the ode, in ■which the above modest comparison was made, appeared, the reviewers no longer hesitated; for, perceiving that Pindar was of true Hibernian extraction ; that his muse was not retarded bj the dull and leaden wings of modesty ; and that, in brief, he was warmly patronized by Impudence ; the reviewers, I say, per- ceiving these things, instantly adjudged in his favor, although they had previ- ously, in one or two instances, adjudged in favor of Miss Corinna. The consequences of Pindar's success were very serious to Miss Corinna ; she had published a very elegant edition of her odes ; they were printed on wove paper, hot-pressed, with beautiful vig- nettes^ &c. &c. and bound in Russia. She was obliged to dispose of the whole THE RAGE. O impression to the pastry-cooks of Greece; and to this circumstance it is owing^ that none of her works have de- scended to the present day. Had my mother. Impudence^ patronized them, they would liave been immortal. Another example of the all-com- manding power of Impudence^ we have in the person of Horace. His odes were at first in little repute ; indeed^ my mo- ther has often told me, that the ballad- singers of Rome purchased litem at the rate of two-pence a dozen. Now, you must know. Reader, that this Horace was a cunning dog. 1 have heard it whispered that he was, on his mother's side, related to a Scotchman. This Horace being a cunning dog, and per- ceiving that, unless he was patronized by Impudence, he should ere long be turned out of his garret, contrived to O MADNESS get a letter of recommendation to my mother. To be brief — she patronized him; and, at her suggestion^ he instantly wrote and published that famous ode, Exegi nionumentum sere perennius Regalique situ pyiamidum altius.* Scarcely was this ode published, ere a note came from the minister Msecenas, inviting Horace, Esq. to dine with him. The intimacy increased to such a degree, that the poet was ever after in the habit of familiar intercourse with the minister ; they drank their coecubus ; you may call it Madeira, if you like that term belter ; took coffee together ; played at back-gammon : nor were these * More durable than brass, tlie frame Which here I consecrate to Fame. Francis. THE RAGE. i the only advantages the poet gained ; he obtained a pension^, which enabled him to keep his brace of girls, drive his curricle, and sport a country-seat; in short, to knock himself in the head as expeditiously as possible, and in the most gentlemanly manner. One more example from the classic shades of antiquity, and I have done. Ovid was^ a mere Stcrnhold in the public opinion, and of little estimation, notwithstanding all his poetical genius, until he took a hint from his acquaint- ance, Horace, and modestly asserted, that he had written what would live for ever ; in other words, that his works would live in despite of the unpitying flame of the insensible cook-maid, and the corroding breath of envious re* viewers* 8 MADNESS Jamque opus exegi, quod nee Jovis ira, ncc ignes-, Nee poterit ferrum, nee edax abolere vetustas.* But^ perhaps^ Reader, you may tell me these are autiquated instances. True, but nothing is more easy than to pro- duce innumerable modern instances, in which the patronage of my mother^ Impudence, has carried fortune and honor in its train. When a minister tells the nation^ that the actions performed under his admi- nistration surpass all that Alexander, Cyrus, and Alfred, ever performed, he becomes, through the magical effect in- separably attached to consummate im- pudence, he becomes the admiration of w . I ■ I ' ■ . .« - ■ ■ ..11. *My finished work nor heeds the ire of Jove, Nor sword, nor fire, to genius frowning death ; Borne on the wings of fame, it soars above. Nor heeds of Time the bloom-eorroding breath. Editor. THE RAGE. 9 his own party, and the terror of the op- position ; whilst, were he modest and unassuming, he might, like Addison, afford a proof, that talents and genius are but a baseless structure, unless sup- ported b J the all-powerful aid of Im^ pudence. Let us take our next example from the bar ; a profession which, perhaps, is more indebted to the patronage of my mother than any other. Let the advocate for the injured party state, ia the simple and uninflamed language of truth, the cause of his client ; let him sedulously avoid all bombast and decla- mation — how calm, how unmoved is the jury ! But stop, his opponent rises; his opponent, the advocate for flagrant inhumanity, and unblushing injustice- he boldly advances to the charge ; he asserts, with unvarying cheek, the honor of his client, and bountifully bespatters b5 10 MADNESS the character of the unoffending anJ injured claimant for justice. Short is the struggle. Truth and in- nocence are conquered; whilst Vice, under the patronage of Impudence, elevates her accursed head, and rises another step in the scale of society. Who will deny the po^Yer of that deity ? Who can thus wash an Ethiop white ? If any one is hardy enough to deny it, let him cast his eyes on Doctor — . His name stands high in the roll of quackery. He was originally bred- faith, I know not what. Let it suffice, it was to a business, in which a good character was by no means part of the stock in trade. This was lucky ; for nature and education had, between them, made him a complete rascal. There is very little doubt, but that he would have acquired a forUine in his trade. THE RAGE. 11 had not some scruples occurred to him. Scruples ! you exclaim. Yes^ sir, but not those of honesty, for he had none ; not those of conscience, for he had long since parted with it. What scruples then ? Why, you must know that he had observed, that most of the men who were employed in his trade were, sooner or later, hanged. Now he had no scruples to cheat, murder, &c. &c. but he had some scruples how far it might be for the honor of his family, and for the benefit of his fortune and health, to be hanged ; he, therefore, bethought him of some other business, which was equally lucrative, and unattended with danger ; and as he perceived that the credulity of mankind rendered them fond of miracles, he turned quack- doctor; and thus, under the patronage of my mother. Impudence, obtained a patent to physic, to cheat, and to kill, all the fools who would suffer him. He 12 MADVESS found that they by no means constitut- ed a small part of society ; nor were they by any means poor, since they could afford to pay him near six thou- sand pounds a year; whilst science, benevolence, and genius, languish in the person of Dr. H — — , unemployed and unpraised. Canst thou. Reader, not see the rea- son ? Dr. H merely can perform for his patients, all that physic, when directed by science, and operating on mortality, can perform ; whilst Dr. B — can do more. He can draw — bills on immortality ; whether they are accepted concerns neither you nor me, it is suf- ficient that we never mean to take them. If, then^ such are the wondere per- formed underthemere patronage of Im- pudence, what may I not expect ? I THE RAGE. l^ TvliO;» in additioft to enjoying her pa- tronage, inherit a portion of her soul ? Yes ! I think as all the authors who have preceded me must, in this respect, be far behind me ; so the moment these volumes meet the light, all their works must sink into oblivion. Whether I have genius or not ; though I confi- dently assert that my genius far sur- passes every other that ever has existed, or ever will exist ; whether I have ge- nius or not, has nothing to do with it. I have abundance of true, genuine, unsophisticated impudence ; and in the present day, thanks to our communi- cation with Ireland ; thanks to dull re- viewers, and still duller readers. Impu- dence without Genius can perform wonders, whilst Genius without Impu- dence (alas, dearest of friends ) will languish in obscurity, unheard of^ and unknown. 14 MADNESS Reader^ ere you turn to the follow- j ing pages, truth extorts from me the confession, that they are not entirely my own composition. Many years have elapsed since chance threw them into my way. I found them in manuscript; and perceiving that the poor author's attempt was to elevate virtue and reason, and at the same time depress vice and folly, I could not forbear laughing at his singular simplicity ; and I, therefore, determined to give the work to the world, in order that others may laugh with me, I have generally rigidly adhered to the work as I found it; but, in justice to myself, I should declare^ that I have added many brilliant passages, which I forbear to particularize, because they will, by the transcendent glow around them, point out their author. THE RAGEr 15 On the back of the manuscript there was a memorandum^ indicating that the work was a translation only, and that many of the names of places, &c. had been purposely modernized by the translator. I think this circumstance necessary to be stated, lest any one should imagine, from the recurrence of names which are familiar to him, that he had discovered the country in which the scene is laid. Having said thus much I am silent. I should be sorry to prevent the many sage conjectures^ which the profound Doctor P — — , in his little wig ; or the acute Miss Debo- rah C y in her hooped petticoat, will certainly make, as to the country in which the scene is laid. Besides, I have another reason for my silence — I am very loth to tell the Reader what I do not knozv myself. I have only one thing more to add ; 16 MADNESS it is to caution the Reader, lest he sjiould forget that the following sheets may be considered as having two au- thors, namely, the real author and the son of Impudence. If, therefore, any thing appear incompatible with the character of the real author, let the Reader ascribe it to the son of Impur dence, and vice versa . THE RAGE. 17 CHAPTER IL Approach, my fair reader, approach the scenes of my infancy ; may every soft and gentle emotion be thine ! may every passion be lulled into peace ! may thy bosom resemble the lake, as it slum- bers beneath the silvery moon-beam, when not a breeze disturbs its enchant- ing stilness, but all around it is har- mony and peace ! Thus affected, thy sensations will be congenial to the di- vine tranquillity that reigns around the sweet cottage of Mon Repos ; and the scene will perpetuate the celestial calm that pervades thy bosom ; and Benevo- lence, the native goddess of these shades, will weave for thee a wreath whose fra- grance shall never die. 18 MADNESS The cottage of Alon Repos was al- most surrounded bj a lofty and vene- rable wood, which had the prescriptive right of adding majesty to the scene around it, and affording a retreat for the pure and philosophic spirit of il& owner. In the front of the cottage, a lawn spread its tasteful surface, which was rendered still more beautiful by an irregular, yet placid stream, which crept along its borders. This delicious spot v^as the chosen residence of my father. My father ! Ye powers that soften the human bo- som ; that call forth the bursting sigh; that speak in the eloquent tear, why is my cheek moist at the mention of his venerated name? Why, alas, why should I ask the question? This heart shall cease to beat, yet its last pulsation shall be loaded with regret, for the loss THE RAGE. 19 which, venerated shade, I sustained in thee ! I do not tell thee, fair reader, that the spot to which I have conducted thy wandering footsteps was made for the express^ residence of my father. I tell thee it was the chosen residence of my venerated parent, and that it was to this divine spot he retired in the autumn of his days, after having consumed the early part of his life in serving his country. My father's natural disposition was contemplative ; his mind was enriched with the classic stores of antiquity; he had drank deep of the stream^ over which the spirit of poesy eternally spreads her wing ; yet had he not ne- glected the pages of science, nor the rolls of history. Had my father merely consulted his natural disr osition, he 20 MADNESS never would have emerged from the cahn and retired vale of life ; but he saw the imperious claims of djjj^y, which told him, in the forcible language of Montesquieu^ *^'that at our coming into the world, we contract an immense debt to our country, which we can never discharge." To be sensible of a duty was with my father the same thing as to endea- vour to discharge it. He forsook the thrice beloved shades of J\Ion Repos : he plunged into public life ; and, for upwards of twenty years, he played a part the most difficult, and the most invidious, that of a pure and disinter- ested patriot. It was during this period that he be- came acquainted with my mother, who wasthe daughter of agallant soldier. Mj mother's father had fought and bled fo/ THE RAGE. 21 his country, but his country had ne- glected him ; and it was to the noble and unsolicited patronage of my father that he owed his support, when the winter of life had silvered over his brow. The soldier was grateful ; he gave my father his daughter, and thus con- firmed the happiness of both; andtlien^ having thanked the Deity, he ceased to breathe. Reader, should it be thy fate, as it was his, to experience injustice, and to sleep beneath an unmarked sod, fear not, there is a Deity who shall re- ward thy virtue — fear not, '^ for there is another, and a better world !" MADNESS CHAPTER III. My father had long filled the most arduous duties^ when his health began visibly to decline. At first he disre- garded those appearances which threat- ened the worst consequences ; for the vigor of his mind lent an energy to his whole frame. His disorder, in a short time, in- creased to such an alarming degree, that he suffered himself to be persuaded to retire to his favourite retreat of Mon Bepos, The change of air was produc- tive of beneficial consequences, though he never sufficiently recovered to take an active part in public life. When he perceived that the precarious state qf THB RAGE. 2S his health rendered him incapahle of filling the situation which he had for- merly occupied^ he determined to spend the remainder of his days beneath the shades of his nativity. Released from the public cares^ which had long occu- pied his attention^ he flattered himself that he should experience much plea- sure in directing the studies of my youth ; an employment for which he was no less adapted by his literary qua- lifications;, than by the pure and chast- ened affection he entertained for me. Before I enter upon the plan which my father pursued in my education, it may not be irrelative, if I make the reader acquainted with his peculiar set of opi- nions. My father had read, but what is more, he had digested the best writers upon the subject of the mind, from 24 MADNESS Aristotle to Lock«. He had compared their writings with each other ; but^ as he considered them onlj as so many comments upon the text of Nature^ he referred to the text itself, and studied it with the care of a good critic, and the integrity of an honest man. The result was a conclusion, which he some- titpes couched in the expression, ''Mad- ness is the rage:'' sometimes comprized in the assertion, '' that by far the great- est 'part of mankind are mad. If it be objected, that there is a difference of meaning in these expressions, it must be confessed, that it is extremely slight, and it may easily be accounted for, by referring to the view my father took of the subject, according to the different aspects under which the disease pre- sented itself to his eye. Convinced that the evil was by far THE RAGE. 25 more general than the self-love of man- kind was inclined to alloW;, it seemed to him immaterial, ^Yhelher he made use of one expression or the other, when each expression implied the ex- tensive injluence of the disease. As many tears have elapsed since the pure spirit of my father winged its course to ano- ther world, I have, as it ma}^ easily be believed, forgotten many of the autho- rities which he was in the habit of cit- ing- in support of his opinion. I remem- ber, however, that he used strongly to insist upon the authority of the immor- tal Locke, who, in speaking oi mad^ nesSj expressly says, th it " opposition to reason deserves the name, and is really madness; and that there is scarce- ly a man so free from it, but that if he should always, on all occasions, argue or do, as in some cases he constantly does, would not be thought fitter for V©L. I, c ^O MADNESS Bedlam than civil conversation; and if there be a weakness to which all men arc so liable; if this be a taint which so universally affects mankind, the greater care sliouid be taken to lay- it open under i(s due name, thereby to excite the greater care in its preventioa and cure.** My father often acknowledged, that when the idea was first presented to hii mind, he was disposed to doubt a con- clusion so disgraceful to human nature, and which dethroned so great a mass of mankind from their boasted empire of reason : but as reflection advanced her tardy-footed labours ; as memory col- lected her far- scattered records, he by degrees embraced the conclusion^ that \ices and follies were but so many dif- ferent degrees of the same distemper; so many different species of madness. THE RAGE. 27 Audire atque togam jubeo componere quisquis Ambitione mala aut argenti pallet amore: Quisquis luxuria tristive snperstitione Aut alio mentis morbo calet. Hue propiius me Dum doceo iusaiui'e omues, vos ordine adite.* HORATIUS. At other times, my father would bring forward the authority of the Stoics, among whom it was a maxim^ that all those who do not live up to the prin- ciples of reason and virtue, are mad- men. Quern mala stultitia, et qusccunque inscitia veri, Cascum agit, insanum chrysippi porticus et gcex ^Come all whose breasts with bad ambition rise, O r th e pale passion, that for money dies. With luxury, or superstition's gloom, Whutrtjer disease your health of mind consume. Compose your robes : in decent ranks draw near. And, i^i ye all are mad, with reverence hear. W0». F«ANCIS. c2 SS MADNESS Aufumat : hxc populoB, haec magnos formula rcges Except© sapiente, tenet* Horatius. Hobbes asserted, that men are natu- rally in a state of actual war, for they go armed, and have locks and keys to fasten their doors ; but mj father as- serted, and be asserted it with the warmth of a favourite axiom, that men, generally speaking, are in a state of ac- tual madness, since they ardently pur- sue vice and folly, than which, nothing can be more opposite, or contrary to reason, and since each individual act of vice, or folly, is such a dereliction from reason, as to amount to an act of mad- ness. • Whom various follies, or whom falsehood blind. Are by the Stoics held of madding kind. All but the wise arc by this process bouhdy The subject nations and the monarch crownM. FilANCIS. THE RAGE. 29 At another time, I remember, that my father brought forward L'Estrangfi, \vho sajs, "^ He that eagerly pursues any thing is no better than a madman." How cahn ! how dispassionate are the virtuous ! How temperate, how phihi- sophical, is the pursuit of virtue ! So much so, that some have thought there was no pursuit at all, and that virtue, like an old maid, was neither courted nor pursued. On the contrary, with what eagerness, energy, application, and spirit, are vice and folly pursued ! In the warmth of the pursuit, how often do we see fortune, fame, and honour, forsaken or destroyed ! How often do we see talents misapplied and debased ! How often do we sigh over the prema- ture setting of a genius, whose splendid orb would have gilded the brow of his country with a lustre, doomed never to perish. ^0 MADNESS The aiifborities now quoted^ in sup- port of my father's opinion, are merely what occur at the moment. I shall, probably, in the course of my narra- tive, rccal others to my mind. THE iiAr^F. 3\ CHAPTER IV. But what;, exclaims my reader^ is ^our opitiion ! Do ijou concur with your father ? What is yoor opioion^, I ask ? My opinion ! My dear Sir, ex- cuse nie; it is iny business to write, not to reason. Do not, I beseech you, think this a silly distinction ; for in the present day, to write and to reason are things essentially different. To the proof! you exclaim. Reason is a i^oddess, whose sway is norninaUi/ very great, though in reality it extends over but a very small portion of man- kind. Should you but suppose that the whole host of writers were her sub- 32 MADNESS jects^ she would have a far more popu- lous kingdoQi than any monarch who has ever reigned^ not excepting the goddess of Folly herself, ultra GadeSy §c. Our partiality for modern times, a partiality^ in this instance, founded upon the most singular justice and good sense^ our partiality^ I say^ for modern times induces us boldly and confidenlly ta assert^ that in no respect do we, excel the ancients more decid- edly and clearly, than in that most sublime, most profound art, the art of writing' without reasoning. Indeed, to such perfection has it been carried in modern times, that I have often been inclined to think the whole merit of the invention is of right due to those times. It is true w^e read of a few among the ancients, who some- limes amused themselves with attempt- THJa RAGE. 33 ing this art ; but their attempts were awkward, and, in general, unsuccess- ful ; for Reason would, '' ever and anon," break through the cloud which surrounded her. Now I would ask, what are these few, when compared to the host we can reckon among the mo- derns — the learned C — , the verbose B — , the affecting D — ? I might run through the English alphabet the English did I saj ? nay, the Greek, Hebrew, Scandinavian, Chinese, &c. &c. without being able to find letters by which I could designate their names. Such is the inimitable perfection to which these authors have carried the art, that one unvarying strain of stupi- dity, sophistry, and dulness, pervades their works, from the taking title-page to the still more taking, yet awful y finis/^ e5 54? MADNLSS Peace be to their ashes ! I cannot say to their souls; for^ if we may credit a late writer^ it is probable they had none. I speak boldly ; for I am proud to say, that there is many an author now existing, entitled to a branch from the same laurel whose leaves 1 entwine around his predecessor's brows. Sume superbiam Quaesitam meritis.* Horatius. It is true some of these gentlemen have enrolled themselves under the ban- ners of Reason. This is a mere nominal distinction ; and when we remember that this has been entitled ^' an Age of Reason/' we must admire their cun- ning; they have merely enlisted them- selves under Reason, because she is the fashionable captain of the day ; but they • Assume the honours justly thine. Francis. THE RAGE. S5 have nothins^ else to do wiih her, being merely honorary members of her corps. I acknowledge that sucb a body of men may be said to be bigluy useful to the state. Destitute of any of those bloody, savage, ungenllemanly propensities, which would induce this man to whip the sword of Reason through i\\e body of his fiiend, they are a harmless, inof- fensive standing set of men, and remind one of Lord Chesteriield's pasteboard army ; they are admirably adapted fbr a field day, and supported at a small expense. So fully sensible am I of their superior worth, when compared to youc deep reasoners, and active fighters, your Locke, Julius Caesar, Mahomet, &c. &c. that I am extremely anxioiis to keep up the breed ; and I have there- fore, more than once bethought me of a plan, which might conduce to the pre- 36 MADNESS serving of it in all the purity in which it now exists. Sometimes it has occurred to me to make them fellows of a college ; hut to this plan there is one objection. I should not fearthat^ generally speak- ing, they would become reasoners — No, no, of that there is no more dan- ger than of St. Paul's dancing a horn- pipe. I say generally speaking, for I would by no means include every man who is a fellow, since it has been my fate to know men in that situation ; and I can particularly mention my own two tutors, who have been, and are, an ho- nor to human nature. If, then, you exclaim, you do not fear that they would become reasonersj what do you dread? I dread lest they would never write ; in other words, lest they should fall victims to that stupor of idleness so prevalent within collegiate cells. THE RAGE. 37 My next plan to preserve the race is to cram their heads lull of school-logic^ heraldry^ antiquities^ &c. This I have often known a sovereign antidote to reason, whilst the cacoethes scribendU as Juvenal terms it, has entirely usurped the whole man. Another plan has suggested itself to me : I would impregnate the heads of the party with a certain quantity of conceit. Now conceit is only so much air; and we know, without studying Sir Isaac, that air only occupies a space, which is' unoccupied by any thing else. From hence it follows, that when a man's head is well furnished, there is little or no room for this air, which we term conceit; but when it happens that his skull is very empty, there is a great deal of room for it. Hence^ fools having much eiaptin€ss of 38 MADNESS skull have much conceit^ which con- ceit is an effectual obstacle to reason, SLudj, at the same time^ not unfrequently generates a kind of rash at the finger's endsj which generally dies away in a certain irregular motion;, from whence we have writing. But;, perhapS;, there is one objection to this plan. When a man has a cer- tain quantity of this fixed air in his skull, it might be dangerous to suffer him to go abroad. Tom Thumb may think himself the Irish giant. What then? you say. Why, he is, I must admit, only Tom Thumb, let him think as he may. But suppose, my dear sir, he should persuade a set of fellows, whose garrets are no better furnished than his own, that they ought to be seditious? Knock them in the head, you say. True, but you forget it may hap- THE RAGE. 39 pen that they may knock you in the head before you can dispatch them, and that the doctor may die by taking the dose he intended to administer to his patient — even before he could exclaim to the patient turned doctor^ ne sutor ultra crepidam. But these, I acknowledge, are im-r portant inquiries ; my genius alone is commensurate to them; and that ge- nius, should it receive the encourage- ment it ought to receive, in other words, should this book pass through fifty editions, that genius shall immor- talize the subject. In the mean time, ye host of re- viewers, ye ink-stained, pale, lanthorn- jawed crew, avaunt ! terrible is your frown, terrible are the shrieks of the 40 MADNESS thousand lean authors who flit in me- lancholy cadence around you^ avaunt ! ril exorcise you ! Procul, o procul este profani ! THE RAGE. 4l CHAPTER V. When I was ^\e years of age, my lather commenced that system of edu- cation, which he considered as best adapted to qualify me for the arduous part I had to play upon the public theatre of life. He had often consider- ed the advantages and disadvantages of a public and of a private education, as opposed to each other. He knew that the Stagi/riie, in his Politeia; Quin" IllUan, in his Institutes; and Li/curgus, in his far-famed Sparta, as well as Plato, and a number of others, had given the preference to a public education ; at the same time it did not escape him, that there was an essential difference between ancient and modern timeSj arising from the customs, manners, laws. 42 MADNESS and opinions, of the different ages. He saw innumerable difficulties attached to the question. To extricate himself, he considered the end of education in ge- neral. If the end were to gain connexionsT;, to have our emulation excited, to be prepared, by the difficulties which occur on the smaller theatre of a school ; to play with safety and advantage a part on the greater theatre of the world, a public education possesses ad- vantages over a private education : but if the end of education be to render a man virtuous and good ; to attach him firmly and irrevocably to religion and his country ; to make him at once a better man, and a better citizen, and to induce him in his way through this life to make every s-cp tend to the next world, a private education had, in my- THE RAGE. 43 father's opinion^ unquestionably the ad- vantage. For my father could not help thinking, that the question might be reduced to a very narrow point — Whe- ther the interest of a man in this worlds or his interest in the next, was most worthy of being pursued. As he was so unfashionable, and, in the eyes of many so weak, as to prefer the latter, my education had for its ob- ject to render me a good rather than a great man. Whether my father was in this instance right or wrong, belongs not to me to determine ; it is my busi- ness to relate facts, in other words it is my business to write; I leave the reader to reason. But now we are upon the subject of education, I remember the admiraiioiri my father expressed, upon perusing a 44 MADNESS passage in Bolingbroke. As it so for- cibly conveys my father's sentiments^ whilst it is intimately connected with the subject in question^ I shall not apo- logize to the reader for extracting it : '^ We shall neither read to soothe our indolence nor to gratify our vanity ; as little shall we be content to drudge like grammarians and critics, that others may be able to study with greater ease and. profit, like philosophers and statesmen : as little shall we affect the slender merit of becoming great scholars, at the ex- pense of groping all our lives in the dark mazes of antiquity. All these mis- take the true use of study, and the true use of history. Nature gave us curio- sity to excite the industry of our minds^ but she never intended it to be made the principal, much less the sole, object of their applicationc The true and proper THE RAGE. 45 object of this application is a constant iaiprovement in private and in public Tirtuc. An application to any study that tends, neither directly nor indi- rectly^ to make us better men and better citizens, is, at best, but a specious and ingenious sort of idleness, to use an ex- pression of Tillotson ; and the know- ledge wc acquire is a creditable kind of ignorance, nothing more.'* My father, as often as he perused these passages, would exclaim, that they ought to be written in letters of gold, and that government would do well to order them to be stuck up in every school in the kingdom, and to direct that every boy should commit them to memory, in the same manner as the Ro- man boys were obliged to do with re- spect to the Twelve Tables. '' And," continued my father, '' if they were 46 MADNESS pedants after this, nature had indeed decreed them to be fools.'* If, reader, prejudice has obscured thy perception, or reason has enlight- ened them; if, in other words, thou seest less clearly, or more clearly, than my father, forgive him ; and I will thank thee if thou wilt drop a tear over what thou mayst consider the errors of his judgment, whilst thou exclaimest : '■ His was a specious, but altogether impracticable plan. Sooner might you induce lawyers to forego their fees ; girls their pleasures ; wives the right of ruling ; parsons their tithes ; and the Opposition the right of opposing indis- criminately. Ohe ! Jam satis ; these would be miracles indeed.'' Perhaps, reader, you will be less severe upon his opinions, when you recollect that the good Sir Roger de Coverley thought in THE RAGE. 47 fact and substance the same as my fa- ther : '^ I lay it down for a rule/* says the i^ood old Knight^ " that the whole man is to move together ; that every action of any importance is to have a prospect of public good; and that the general tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be agreeable to the dictates of reason J of religion, of good-breeding : without this^ a nian^ as I before have hinted, is hopping instead of walking ; he is not in his proper motion.'* 48 MADNESS CHAPTER Vr. When I first thought of conferrint^ the most essential benefit upon man* kind, and favouring it with the publi- cation of the present work, I naturally thought about a patron; and, from a patron, my imagination, by an easy transition, passed on to a dedication. Now you must know, reader, that in my youth I had often amused myself in reading dedications. I loved virtue, and dear to me were her records ; for my father, notwithstanding his opinion, that men, generally speaking, were mad, never opposed my inclination to peruse these genuine rolls of worth, which gave the lie to those cynical philoso- phers who reproached modern times T«E RAGE. 49 ^vitli the (Icarib ofiatellectual and moral excellence. Yes, they proved to a de- monstration tlie most infallible^ that antiquity cannot, in her boasted re- cordsj produce examples of more con- summate wisdom, heroic courage, ex- alted generosity, nobility of soul, ex- tensive knowledge, &c. &c. than the so-much despised modern asra. \¥arraed by the glowing desciiption that I had read, velox mente nova, I could not forbear exclaiming, " Ye cy- nical beings, who delight in reproach- ing the age in which you live, what fiend can tempt ye to deny the pure and unspotted evidence of celestial truth ? One person may be deceiy- ed, but can the whole host of dedica- tors have been mistaken ? Assuredly not. They represent characters as thej arc. Truth sanctions their testimooj, VOL. I. d Aval] lit, theii^ ye miscreants ! seek Ihc howling desert, meet associates of the beasts which infest it, and no longer worthy of inbahitinj]^ a region blessed by the residence of those celestial be- ings whom ye defame. As for me^ how shall I express my feelings ? how feli- citate myself on being born in an age wherein the most exalted moral and in- tellectual excellence are alike so fre- quent. How much more happy are \vc than Pliny was ; he conld iivA but one Trajan to celelKale, but we may find hundreds/' Such were my sensations when the warm blood of yoiith hastened through my veins. But to proceed. When I first thought of cheering the world wilh this splendid ray of genius — a ray never born to perisli — I began to think of ?i patron, to whom I should dedicate it. THE RAGE. 51 I rccaHed to Uieniory tiie cliaracters of all the men I had ever known. Some of them were men of taleiit ; some of them men of virtue; nud, perhaps, o'.io or two mioht have liad some liUle ee- mm: hut, alas! trulh extorts from me the humiliating eonfcysion, that I could not find one but who vvas, when com- pared to the oiIjs selected bj former dcdiraiors, a mere farthing rush-light to the sun. I began to think wy memory must have deceived me ; and 1; therefore, read the dedications over again. Fault- less ! faultless ! 4 exclaimed^ were the subjects of their praise ; but the devil take me if mine are; and if tljcy were^ I cannot name one \^ho Ikis all the. Car- olina! virtues, asid about a dozen be- sides-; for I did not Velish that the per- son to whom I dedicated should be in- d2 ILLINOIS UDU^«'^ 52 MADNESS ferior to all the beings who had pre- ceded hi qi. What was to be done? I had a few friends still left at Alma Mater. I was convinced of iheir readiness to serve me; and to them I wrote, stating explicitly my wants and difficulties. Alas ! I was unsuccessful ; one was a good scholar^ but he had fagged it ; another was a clever fellow^ but a cursed raff; another had gained the honors^ but every feliovt^ of his own col- lege had c?it him. These were faults iLat obscured tlie highest genius; Arts- tolle himself would have been rusticated for them ; and as I could not wash ao ^'Ethiop whitCj I determined not to seek out a patron in the university. I shall not tire my reader with car- rying him through all the gcenes which I'HE RAGt. BS I entered, to discover a patron. Dio- genes did not more earnestly seek an honest man, than I did one to whom I might dedicate my work. Harassed by the repeated disappointments I had met with, I at last wrote and circulated kt" Vers, handbills, advertisemenis, Sec. &c. in all directions, offering a reward to any pcrs'on who would produce such a character as I was in quest of. Tiie needy applied for the reward ; but iii their anxiety to secure it, they over- looked the conditions. Some sneered at me ; others laughed at me, and others directed me to the musty pages of some old worm-eaten romance; some Amadis de Gaid ; where they told me, that I might, perhaps, find the singular being I was in search of. But this was not the worst. One of my next of kin^ an honest, well-meaning mauj thinking from my inquiries that I was nonconi" 51 ^ MADNESS pos, in other Mords^ not in my sobcu senses, obtaiiicd a writ de lunatico in- qnirendo, to prove me a lunatic; and I only escaped by bribing tin* hi wyer, aiul aj)pointing hitii to the stewardship of* Ely estate; and thus giving' bim^ in pre- ference to otlicrs, the I CHAPTER VIL I ifAD nearly attained my eigli(eenth year before I had ever quitted the sweet shades of Jllon B'cpos. My iiifaiu-y, unobscured by care or sorrow, resem- bled the fine sky of summer^ when not a cloud stains its enchanting surface. Never can I forget the pleasing hours endeared to me by the fond aflection of a parent ; never can I forget the kind smile of the early friend of my bosom, of my dear Frederic. Alas ! v/hy did the willow wave over his early grave ? y> hy did the violets spring around his premature tomb ? Why v>?as the eye of friendship moist with the tear of never- eeasing regret for his loji ? 5() MADNESS Excuse me, reader ; pardon tlie grief •which the period of thirty years has not subdued, has scarcely softened. But to return. I luid nearly attained my eighteenth year, when Frederic, the friend of my youth, was sent to the uiii- Tersity of -.^' My grief at the loss of his society refused all consolation : the shades of Mon Re]pos had lost their power to charm^ and my father, for the first time, was heard without pleasure or interest. It was now that my father, trembling for my health, consented that I should follow my friend, and allowed me to become a student of the same uni- * We have to regret this hiatus. Had it been siip^ plied, we should have known to what country our hero owed his birih. As the case is^ we must lament that we are ignorant of the country which abounds in mad- 7nen ; for notwithstanding the author speaks generallij^ he must mean to confine himself to his native country. Editor. THE RAGE. 57 vcrsity. I bade adieu to i\Ion Repos. Shall I own I qulUed it without regret^ so fully was I occupied wiih the pros- pect of meeting Frederic. My fatiicr accompanied mc to the university, and he resided there during the whole time I remained a member of it, so that I was never cYposed to those •daiTgers which I must have encouiitered^ had I been deprived of hi^ presence and ad- vice. The disposition of Frederic v/hs noble and generous; but his passions were warm^ and almost boundless. Accus- tomed, during the early years of youth^ to the strong curb of a severe disci- pline, he knew not how to use the in- dulgence afforded by the university; he plunged^ with headlong impetuosity, into the fashionable vices and follies of the day. Often did I remonstrate; d5 5S MADNESS oflen did I beseech; nay, often did I pray and intreat that he would not de^ sert the pure paths of vhtue and inno- cence. The reproof of friendship was sometimes anticipated by the candour of good-nature, whilst the severity of censure was defeated by tlie keenness of wit: but oRen would the tear stand in his fine black eye; often would he grasp my hand forcibly, and, with a sigh, promise to amend ; yet the conta- gion of example, and the dread of a sa- tire which ho couhl easily have refuted, would, ere the evening of the same day, pknige him still deeper in the yawning waves of vice. My father interfered, but in vain. Respect could not enforce that which affection could not win him to. Fre- deric would quit us to consume his for- tune in riot and dissipation. He woukh THE II AG r. 59 ^YitIl heedless inconsideratencss, squan- der the contents of his purse at a ta- Yern, if it happt iicd that no wretched being- stopped him in the Vvaj to it ; for misery never passed him without either commiseration- or relief. He Mould rush into the arms of a depraved cTcrd fvhich had been so often wielded by his now lifeless parent. The tear then fell on ii,s glittering surface ; and as the words recurred to his memory, he has- tily returned it, exclaiming, '* I shall find some way to wipe it off.' Seven years had now elapsed, when Major Behille felt it necessary to re- turn to his native country, to recruit his health after the severe shocks it bad sustained. As the most friendly c!orrespondence had always existed be- tween his father and mine, he naturally availed himself of the first opportunity to apprize us of hi^ return. THE RAGE. My mother, who had ever the mn- sincere alTectlon for her heroic brother, would have persuaded us not to lose a moment in flying to his son ; for she herself was much indisposed at this time. My father was averse to leave my mother in the precarious state of her health, and be had some other regu- lations of importance to malie before he could quit Man Bepos. He therefor* dispatched a letter to the Major, re- questing that he would take up his abode beneath our roof as one of the family. To this we received an answer, po- litely declining the invitation, on ac- count of the very indifferent state of health which he. Major Belville, en- joyed. My father now proposed that I should take the post-chaise, and cross the country to the sea-port where my e2 7G MADNESS cousin then lodged^ and repeat in person the wishes of the famil}^, that he should take up his abode beneath our roof. This plan was accordingly adopted. Upon reaching the inn^ I v.as too anxious to embrace my cousin, to suffer any form to delay the interview, and I therefore hastened to his lodgings. I found him reclined on a sofa: his form appeared to have suffered less from the pernicious effects of the cli- mate, than from a deep and settled me- lancholy, which at times absorbed every faculty of his soul. Yet, when he was rouzed from this dejection, his large black eyes sparkled with peculiar ani- mation, and the fire of native intelli- gence irradiated his countenance. Of a frank, noble^ and elevated soul, every THE RAGE. «' / ih'ing he uttered carried an interest with it, and it seemed but necessary for hiai lo appear, in order that he should be admired and loved. Thus gifted by nature, he was the man formed to occupy and fill up the chasm which the death of Frederic had left in my bosom. Our regard was mutual : it operated like an electric shock, to rouze us from the torpor of a sorrow, which had threatened to be attended with conse- quences the most serious to our future peace and happiness. Yes, divine Friendship \Ht was to thy influence we must ascribe a change so propitious, for powerful is thy touch upon the hu- man bosom. It elevates the soul above the grovelling desires of sense ; arid, when purified by religion, and sane- 78 MADNESS tioned by liirie^ it fixes the principles upon a foundaHon that is eternal^ for it is virtuous. Thus dignified, man be- comes less unworthy oi" a translation from the scenes of this life to those which immortality unfolds to him. As the Major's spirits improved, his health visibly amended ; and at the eiid f a few weeks^ I had the pleasure of conveying him to the calm shade of our beloved Mon Bepos. My mother^ though prepared for our arrival^ was visibly affected by an in- terview, which recalled her brother to her mind, for the MajuT bore the strongest resemblance to his departed parent. Though my cousin's health was vi^ sibly improved, I could not but per- THE RAGE. 19 ceive that there were moments when even my society lost its power to please, and when he delighted to hurry from every eye, in order to bury himself ia the contemplative silence of the vene- rable wood, which I have already de- scribed as contiguous to the cottage of Mon Repos. Oftentimes w^ould be, at the request of my father, enter into a detail of the military events in which he had borne a part: but, though I se- dulously attended to every circumstance he described, I never could discover any occurrence to which I could pos- sibly ascribe his melancholy, the source of which I too much respected imperti- nently to intrude upon. Sometimes he appeared desirous of divulging the secret which oppressed him : but as often as he attempted to begin the recital^ an involuntary some- 80 MADNESS thing clioaked up his utterance, and he invariably left me without entering into any particulars. Things had remained in this state for some months, when my father, having arranged every thing prcparitory toour journey to the ca|)i(al, proposed that \Ye should set off on the morrow's dawn. Recovered, in a great measure, from the grief into which the premature death of Frederic had plunged me^ I was not insensible to a certain sensation of pleasure, as I contemplated in ima- gination the scenes I was about to en- ter. Much as I was devoted to my fa- ther, and highly as I respected his opi- nions, 1 could not but suspect that he viewed life under some degree of pre- judice. I had, it is true, seen but few characters; but those were of a high THE RAGE. 81 and elevated standard ; and even those which werr shaded with error were not destitute of some resplendent parts, which possessed but too fascinating a power over my youthful imagination. During my residence at college, I liad seen but little or no variety of characters. I ascribe the similarity of character, so conspicuous in univer- sities, to the monotonous tone which runs throughout every thing at those places, principally, though other cir- cumstances have a tendency to it. This is so little favourable to a variety of character^ that it is ever productive of a similarity. Besides, if we view the fact a little nearer, we shall perceivCi that, as to the young men, their charac- ters are but in the bud, and, as suchj they afford at best but vague indica- tions of their future vigour, colour, or e5 82 MADNESS shape. Vice^ like a corrosive pesti- leiice^ may in one moment sweep awaj the fondest hopes ; whilst folly, like a blighting mildew, may canker the opening flower. Nothing is determi- nate, because every thing in a state of progression must and will alter each to moment As to the more aged, we may ob- serve, that a strong similarity of pur- suits, n^anners, and customs, will ever, Mhen long continued, be followed by as strong a similarity of character. Man has been aptly termed, '^ a htm- die of habits." As such, he is a being formed to take a character from those beings with whom he has long lived and associated ; and hence it is, that the individual character is often lost in the professional or national. If this THE RAGE. 83 happens in the world, where so manj different events tend to keep man sepa- rate from man, and, bj calling forth his passions, to give him a distinct charac^ ter, it is a consequence much more likely to result where there is liUle or no variety of events ; where the same manners, customs, habits, and [lursuits, actuate all ; and where the same pas- sions are called into action, or suffered to lay dormant in each individual. That similarity, therefore, which ii perceptible in men engaged in the same pursuits, when acting on the broad theatre of the world, will here be more decidedly evident, whilst that dissimili' tilde, vt'hich a variety of events would call forth, will here have little or no occasion to be evinced, and will gene- rally lay dormant, overpovrered by the opposite quality. 8i MADNESS CHAPTER X. Permit me, fair reader, to digress. Digress! you exclaim. Yes, digress; aud I found my right, sweet reader, on that which every lawyer, from Justinian to Burn, will admit. I found it on prescr^iption, or, in legal phraseology, I lay claim to this right, because '' I, and those under whom I claim, have immemorially used to enjoy it." But to the proof. You must have heard, I suppose, though Pope never may have informed you, of a certain old bard called Homer. He lived when music and poesy blended their respective har- monies to enchant mankind. Though he was blind, he i? said to have been THE RAGE. 85 what we term a good fiddle ; had a knack at making verses, and, withal, had no inconsiderable share of a certain old-tashioncd quality called majesty. Ill brief, such were his strains, that we may, without flattery, say of him, had the gods sung, they would have chant- ed the strains of Homer. The Grecians, however, may be sup- posed to have had less taste, or less li- berality than our nation, for they^ though enraptured with the bard, suf- fered him to wander through every dirty village, in quest of support, whilst we enrich an Italian squaller for tor- turing words which we do not under- stand. Perhaps both nations are right — the Grecians were aware, that had they enriched their poet, his strains would 86 MADNESS have ceased ; and we are not ignorant, that did we not enrich our opera singer^ her strains would never be chanted. But to return to the point. Homer had his digressions ; thej were ahuost as numerous as his beauties, and they are innumerable. In the next place let me mention Pindar. Faith his poetry is digression run mad. Now, mj dear madam, sup- pose I undertook to sing the praises of vour tabbj cat ; suppose also that Pin- dar *s spirit animates me ; I begin a sublime ode, by praising the village in which jour cat was born ; mention some scmu mag. concerning Jupiter and a milk-maid ; return to your cat ; leave her in the lurch; seize upon the thrice- renowned cat of Whittington ; fly off in a tangent, and praise the black cat of Helen; draw a few electric sparks THE RAGE. 87 from her "back ; leave her to be con- sumed in the flames of Troy; bring in some old gossip's tale about Hercules ; introduce my own sweet person ; and conclude in a strain of morality^ at once simple^ grand, and pathetic^ This is Pindar; and if this be not digression^, I shall be much obliged if you will tell me what is digression. Fas est ab hoste doceri. Not a whit better is Euripides ; for his famous tragedies abound with choral digressions^ for which Aristotle, in his Poetics, raps him over the knuckles. iVly penetration has enabled me to discover the reason of the digressions of Euripides : my penetration, I say, which is as far above the penetration of all other men, as an Egyptian pyramid is above a dumpling. Sublime ! you ex- 88 MADNESS claim.* When you know me better, you will not be surprized, for my mother has often told i-ic, that next to , I am the neatest hand in the world at a comparison, simile, &c. But to the reason of the digressions of Euripides. I have, by the help of my^ microscopic penetration, discovered, that, by the death of an old grandmother, he came into the possession of a great stock of moral recijpes. Now, you must know, this event happened but a short time before he commenced author. Having the most profound veneration for his grandmo- ther, he naturally felt the highest re- spect for her moral recipes ; and, as a proof of it, he interwove them with his own writings. The critics looked grave; the satirical sneered ; and the silly, as usual^ wondered^ and admired. But THE RAGE. 89- Homer and Pindar, upon hearing the news, drank a bottle of cJianipagne ia ElijsiiHn ; and the first and last toasts were^ '' Success to digression/' FroiH that period to the present, Di* gression has reigned, like ail ether nio- narchs; that is^ her empire has been acknowledged, and submitted to, by the few wise and the many weak. Indeed, in modern times, her sway has been such, that we may almost venture to term it absolute. We have, in the present day, patriots digressing from their country; opposi- tion members from their party; iawyers^ from their briefs ; poets from the rules of poetry ; bankrupts from ruin; wives from their husbands, et vice versa; and to conclude, almost all men from pri- vate and public virtue.. 90 MADNESS You may, perhaps, say, some of these are not digressions, but absolute and unconditional vices and follies. Do not, my dear sir, let us quarrel about terms. What is vice^ but a digression from vir- tue; or what is folly, but a digression from good sense ? For jou know, as to moral virtue, that the Stagirite himself defines it to be a mesotes, or medium ; and he tells us, that when we digress from that medium, we become vicious. When I have weighed all these circum- stances, a patriotic thought has entered my bosom. As digression has so many votaries, why not give it the sanction of the legislature ? Why not, vi et armis, compel the mass to digress, and join the rational and virtuous few ? Thus im- pelled, let us all digress into a pure and energetic love for our country ; into a hatred against vice and corruption; into those old-fashioned virtues, which ren- THE RAGE. §1 dered our country a terror to the guilty^ and a protection to the oppressed. Spirit of AliVcd, hover over us! Let thy geniug, thy patriotiim, and thy cou- rage animate m ; let thy voice cheer us as we pant in the glorious toil; and thy smile be the rich reward of our perse*- vera nee, 92 MADNESS CHAPTER XT. I HAVE here a fine opportunity of describing our journey to the metropo- lis ; of introducing a stage-coach scene ; its inmates a dashing officer ; an old fat housekeeper ; a prim quaker ; an interesting, plaintive, and beautiful girh Pooh ! pooh ! you exclaim ; we have read such things a thousand times. True, my dear sir, but that is no fault of mine. I must relate the truth, if such as I have mentioned happen to be the truth; and it is no fault of mine, if I cannot whirl you through the air in a car drawn by four griffins, with a Bond-street THE RAGE. 93 lounger for a coachman. But now let me restrain my poor jaded Pegasus. A prose Pegasus ! you exclaim. Yes^ and forsooth^ it is a beast^ let me tell you, much more common than a poeti- cal Pegasus, thanks to the inventive powers of modern times. But it is rather hard that the want of candour in some men should be so conspicuous as it is in this very respect. For when it is evident to their friends as well as enemies; when it is, in brief, evident to every passenger they chance to meet, though it happen he has but half an eye; when, I say, it is evident tliat the beast they ride is nothing more or less than a poor, lean, half-starved, broken- winded prose Pegasus, they, notwithstanding, will insist, and con- tend, that he is, in every sense of the word, a poetical Pegasus — Proh Deuni 9i MADNESS atque hominum fidem I — One g;rain of modesty is worth a bushel of impu- dence. But to proceed. Let me search the musty rolls of memory. Ali ! I have it. Let me see ; it is the original advice of a great wit ; of no less a wit than . ^' When you are describing an event Vt'hich has no novelty to season it to the palate of modern times^ you must de- -scribe it a jiovel manner.'* Bless us! amazingly obscure, and, consequently, amazingly sublime ! A novel manner ! I suppose he means, in the manner of novel writers in general. Alas ! I fear I must fail ; so far above nature do they soar in general, that I should fear for my neck, were I to mount my Pegasus^ and hie after them. What then, if I possess not the talent THE RAGE. 93 of soaring with these eagles of litera- ture, who, with true Hibernian impu- dence, dare look the sun in the face, when genius sinks abashed at the broad refulgence of his raj — what then ? Why, I must e'en look at the words again, and endeavour to affix some other meaning to them. I suppose the critic meant by a tiovel manner, that we should follow nature, and in a pure, chaste, and inartificial manner, relate events as thej occur, whilst the sentiments should be at once moral and unaffected. PrS £ an etc Jupiter ! This is certainly a iiovel manner^ no less novel than rare ; and it resembles the picture of a fine master, when com- pared to the distorted and unnatural productions of the day. If the critic meant this, he was certainly wrong. I know he was wrong; a few novels of 96 MADNESS tliis kiod have been written, have beers published, and have been read bj few if any. They were too pure, too refined, for the gross taste of the many; and though the few read and admired them, they were as incapable of giving this kind of writing general currency, as of communicating their own taste to the common and promiscuous herd. But to proceed. As I cannot, or will not:, describe the events alluded to, in a novel manner, I perceive no way for me to creep out of the scrape. Faith, the weasel in the corn-bin (thanks, bright Fancy, for the hint) very opportunely occurs. As I have fattened upon lies, suppose I starve mjself. Lo ! I am thin. Thin ! you exclaim. Yes, my dear madam, I am like a few others, whom I know, become thin upon truth. Upon truth ! Yes, acids, in general. i THE RAGE. 97 have not half the effect in thinning tlie blood, and reducing the whole system, as truth has. Indeed, I have known many just upon the point of being starved on this etherial, immortal diet; however, they have generally escaped starvation/by adopting one of the easiest remedies in the world. They have tried the effect of the diet I have just left off — I mean of lies ; and, wonderful to relate, they have fattened to such a de- gree, that could you, by one of the pretty, neat little metamorphoses of Oiidj turn them into hogs, they w^ould beat your Hampshire hogs hollow ; for these would be but as so many sucking pigs compared to them. But I will give you an instance. I knew a poor, half-starved, cunning Scotchman : he came from the North with as lank a pair of jaws, and as VOL. I. F 98 MADNESS keen an appetite, as ever arrived from the other side of the Tweed. He had heard of the wonderful eflfect of this said remedy. Without more ado, he looked sharply around him ; sharply, I say, for his wit and his appetite had been whetted on the keenest of all v/het- stones, that of hunger. He soon per- ceived that r^y Lord — had a most plentiful lack of brains, whilst his gui- neas surpassed in number the starry lamps of Heaven, when they are all lighted up in honor of a route given by their queen Cynthia. To this peer the Scotchman applied. The persevering Sawney lied, morning, noon, and night. In a short time, he lied himself into a good coat ; small cloaths not being so ma- terial, did not immediately, though they soon after followed. Hence, with rapid strides, he lied himself into a good post, and, from thence, into a good fortune ; I THE UAGE. 99^ and then, as he couUl turn his heels upon his lordship, without shewing what shall he nameless, he did turn his heels, and was, in his own carriage, whirled back to Scotland. I hear that, out of pure gratitude to the principle on which he acted, he means to assume as a motto, that '' LTjing is the greatest of all the virtues." This may be all very true, you say, but what the devil is become of you and your father ? Oli ! as to your humble servant and his father, w^e arrived very snugly in town. But pray what became of the sweet plaintive girl ? Did you not fall in love with her ? — Upon my honor, madam^ I did no such thing.— Strange !-— By no means, for I never saw her.— In- deed, sir ! — Certainiy, madam, I never f2 100 MADNESS saw bst cheerfully accept- ed the invitation. During the time we were drinking our coffee together^ I perceived that Belville was singularly absent and thoughtful ; but as the servant was re- tiring, he seemed to recover himself. No sooner was the door shut than he thus began. 108 MADNESS CHAPTER Xlir. " You must^ my dear fellow, have been much surprized at my singular conduct in the cottage ; but when you are acquainted with the events of my life, your surprize will cease ; and, though you cannot relieve^ you will at least pity me. '^ I have often attempted to give you the recital ; but my feelings have as often got the better of my resolution, and have cut short the attempt at the threshold. This is a weakness which I am determined to surmount; and as no opportunity can possibly present itself more favourable than the present, I will avail, myself of it. THE RAGE. 109 " I inherited from my ancestors a love of the military life. I can dis- tinctly remember the impression made upon my feelings by the iirst drum I ever heard. The classical studies of my youth tended to increase my fond- ness for glory^ and my enthusiasm for war as the nearest and most honourable road to it. *' I will not take up your time in de- scribing the particular course of mj studies. It will suffice that Homer was my favourite author ; and my fondness for the venerable Grecian was^ if pos- sible^ increased by ray knowing, that Alexander was no less passionately at- tached to him. Assuredly^, Homer is the poet of the warrior. "But to proceed. At the age of six- teen I bade adieu to my country, and liO MADNESS hastened to join my father, who was then with his regiment, in a hostile land. I arrived, but it was too late ; my heroic parent had breathed his last on the field of battle ; and all that re- mained for me was the last melancholy duty of attending those funeral honors, Nvhich the whole army joined in paying to his memory. '' I had no time to indulge in grief; the General bestowed a commission upon me, in compliment to my father's bravery, and I was called to fill the ac- tive duties of my station. Proud of this unsolicited distinction, but still more proud of the parent from whom I sprung, I ardently panted to distinguish myself. Glory took entire possession of my soul, and I could see nothing but her crimsoned banner floating upon the bosom of the eastern gale. THE RAGE. Ill " Among my brolber officers was one about my own age, of the name of Melton. His figure was commanding, yet elegant ; bis address manly, yet in- sinuating ; bis genius great, yet versa- tile. His superior qualities excited my admiration, wbilst bis amiiible urbanity lessened tbe distance between us, and won my regard. '' You may tbink that it was a re- flection upon bis extraordinary talents^ wben you know bis bopes were no less extravagant tban my own, and tbat be would often exclaim witb Hotspur, — Methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honor from tiie pale-fac'd moon, &c. '' I shall not take up your time with relating the many actions we were both engaged in : we fought side by side ; we conquered together^ we bled toge- il2 MADNESS tber. Thrice had he rescued m^ at the risk of every thing, and twice I had, amidst a shower of balls, borne him oil ^yhen wounded. I shall hasten to an event which has occasioned all the mi- sery I ever experienced. " Melton and myself volunteered our services to accompany a small force, destined by our General to attack a fort of some strength, and with the carrying of which he purposed finishing the war with a degree of eclat. ''As our force was by no means equal to the object in view, unless stra- tagem was resorted to, we availed our- selves of an extremely dark night, and, having made a considerable number of fires on one side of the fort, and drawn the attention of the garrison to thai part, we were enabled to introduce a^ THE RAGE. 113 party of our men bj means of a sub* terraneous passage we had accidentally discovered on the opposite side of the fortress. To be brief, the carnage was dreadful, and the conflicting din of arms was rendered still more appalling by the impervious gloom of the night. The Governor fell by the sword of Melton ; and the garrison, terrified by this circumstaoccj surrendered the place. " During the confusion, Melton and myself, carried away by the warmfh of the moment, had pierced into the Gover- nor's house. Our swords still reeking with gore, we rushed into an apartment, from the top of which was suspended a splen- did lamp, which tended 1o shew the singular magnificence of every thing around it. But our attention was drawn olF by the appearance of a female^ who 114 MADNESS hastened forwards^ and threw lierself upon her knees before us. We desired her to arise^ and gallantly assuring her that we warred not with beauty, we de- sired that she would lay aside all fear^, as she had nothing to apprehend from us. '' As tlie morning dawned^ it pre- sented to us a sight of horrid confu- sion — the bodies of our friends, scattered amongst those of the enemy, were ming- led together in promiscuous disorder. After we had performed the last melan- choly offices to departed bravery, and had attended to the wounded, Melton and myself had time to think upon our interesting prisoner, and we hastened to see that she had every attention the na- ture of things would admit of. ^^ As we entered the saloon^ she arose THE RAGE. 115 with ineffable grace to receive us ; and, having with no less dignity than warmth expressed her thanks for the attention paid to her comfort, she requested we vould be seated. As she spoke^, a thrill- ing softness pervaded my soul^ and I almost feared to breathe, lest one accent should be lost. '^ The figure of this interesting girl vv^as rather below than above the middle size, but the most exquisite symmetry pervafled every limb. A profusion of light brown hair shaded a countenance of bewitching fairness, wiiilst the soft ctherial blue of her eyes seemed to tem- per the intellectual expression which lighted up every feature of her counte- nance. As you contemplated the charm- ing girl, it was impossible not to feel that she possessed considerable powers of mind, accompanied by the most ami- able disposition of souL 116 MADNKSS '' Melton appeared io admire her with a respect no less passionate than nij own. AKvajs amiable and insinu- ating, his character seemed each mo- ment to acciulre fresh lustre; and a pang stole across mj bosom when I re- flected upon the possibility of having a rival in my friend. '* As we condoled with ihe charmnjg girl upon the very event that had been so fortunate to us, she interrupted us with a smilcj by observing, that she was born in the same country as ourselves^ and that she had a father an officer in our arojy. '' We listened with considerable emo- tion to a recital of the events which bad placed her in the hands of the late Governor of the garrison as his pri- soner. As she finished her interesting tale we arose^ and took our leave. THE RAGE. 117 ^' The command of the fort having devolved upon Melton, as the senior of- ficeFj he gave directions that rooms should be appropriated for the recep- tion of the widow of the late Governor ; and he requested that Miss Meadows might be permitted to participate in the use of them^ until such time as the state of the country would ad- mit of her being conveyed to her fa- ther. " This regulation was^ in every sense of the word, agreeable to the tv^'o ladies, as i\\e widow, in the cheerful society of Miss Meadows, forgot the loss she had sustained ; whilst that charming girl, in the protection she experienced, saw additional reason to admire the delicacy of Melton, which she hourly enjoyed the advantage of. Melton and myself daily spent some hours in the society of 118 MADNESS the too fascinating Louisa^ whose mind^ as it expanded itself in the genial warmth of social intercourse^, displayed a thou- sand natural^ a thousand acquired beau- ties. She appeared to unite in her in- tellectual powers the solidity of our sex with the happy acuteness of her own. *' Whilst we were in her presence, we seemed to forget that we were rivals ; so happily, yet so agreeably, did she distribute her smiles between us. Yet I could not but fancy that her eye was particularly eloquent when it dwelt upon the countenance of Melton, whilst 7iis spoke a language it was impossible to misinterpret or misconceive. '' If by chance the conversation in* sensibly took a turn to the subject of love, she would either treat it with playful levity^ or censure it as a weak- THE RAGE. 119 tiess which the soldier ought to dread. Though the passions were obedient to her call, and were becalmed at the sound of her syren voice ; though the bosom, when in her presence, ceased to heave with tumultuous violence, jet the moment I had left her, I became a prey to the most discordant sensations. '' My friendship for Melton was no less pure and exalted than ever ; but love, imperious, tyrannic love, contend- ed for the empire of my soul. Melton and mvself both loved : each thought the other the favoured lover, yet nei- ther had ever declared the passion that agitated him. We had never seen Louisa but in company together ; we met for the purpose of explaining our feelings; yet, though each came for the express purpose of developing his feelings to the other, v/e parted without an eclair- 120 MADNESS i cissement. Chance at last effected what ^ we both so much dreaded, yet both so ardently wished for. '' The apartments in which Louisa resided opened into a lawn and shrub- bery. A profusion of aromatic plants were scattered in every direction, and seemed to \'ie with each other in the " fragrance of their odours, and the in- viting shade they aflbrded from the lieat of an eastern sun. As if Nature had determined to pour, in profuse bounty, her charms around the spot, a stream crept among the roots of the plants, and soothed the soul with its pensive murmurings. '' Melton and myself had called as usual upon Louisa, and the servant had directed us to the shrubbery. We found her perusing some of the exquisite lines THE RAGE. 121 of the author of the Seasons. As we ap- proached, she laid aside her book. '*^ After the usual compliments had passed, a silence prevailed. Louisa in- terrupted me by asking, what object had rendered me so unusually pensive ? '^ ' I was reflecting,' I exclaimed, ' that this small spot seems to contain every object that ceuld render life happ>.' '' I paused ; I felt 1 had spoken what it was too dangerous even to think; for the spot contained the woman I pas- sionately adored ; it contained the friend of my bosom ; it was adorned no less by the hand of Nature than of Art; and a serenity, intoxicating to the soul, per- vaded every object. VOL. I. Q T23 MADNESS " Louisa blushed^ ' You speak not/ ^s^le answered^ ^ like a soldier. The se- renity of this spot may be adapted to the character of a Avoman, ' whose noblest science is retreat:' but a soldier, whose mistress is glory, would hcr^ «ink into oblivion/ *' 'Is a soldier then/ exclaimed Mel- ton, ' never to taste the delicious lan- guor of peace ? Is the warrior's hand never to stay its resistless fury ? The soldiers war for peace ; we seek it in the cannon's mouth ; and, though we ibrget it for a moment, it returns with tenfold force to our imagination, as we recline at night in our tent, after the hurry and carnage of the day. Yes, this serenity the warrior pants after; but it is not this serenity, alone and unaccompanied ; he looks for the smile .of beauty, and it charms him in that I THE RAGE. 123 retreat v»hcre his countrj's voice is scarcely, if ever, heard. Divine Louisa, I have loii;^ felt that your smile was necessary to my peace — but stop — my friend loves you as passionately as my- self — Decide between us/ he exclaim- ed, ^ and the unfortunate— Yes, I said., the unfortunate being you reject, shall give up his claims to his friend, for rivals we will cease to be.' Louisa trembled violently; her coun- tenance was suiTused with the deepest blush, but she was silent. ^' *^ Louisa !' exclaimed Melton!— *" Louisa !' I responded ! — ' Louisa !' again exclaimed Melton; and, plucking a spray of a myrtle which waved around her, he hastily presented it to her, de- siring her to bestow it upon the favour- ed being. g2 124 MADNESS '' She arose^ returned it into his liands, and flew with lightning-swift- ness inio the house. Melton/ half fran- tic with joy, followed her — whilst I — I know not what I did — I found myself outside the walls of the ibrtj riding furiously, I know not whither. '' To be brief — I was well acquainted Vf'iih the country, and I determined to direct my course to the head- quarters of our army ; to solicit some desperate command, aiid to endeavour to bury ray miseries in an honourable grave. ^' Fate, however, destined me to en- coQnter scenes, which should harrow the soul without destroying its too vi- gorous habitation. No sooner had I reached the head- quarters, than I was seized with a violent fever, which, for some time, resisted every attempt to THE RAGE. 125 conquer or eradicate it. At last, it yielded to the force of medicine^ and I began gradually to recover my healtli, but my spirits were by no me^^ns re- stored or invigorated. A degree of lan- guor, that foreboded the worst conse- quences, had taken possession of me, and I more than once thought that no- thing could rouze me from it, and that I should soon become a \ictim to its corroding influence. *' How little, my dear fellow, do we know ourselves ! V/ithin a few weeks, I was braced up to action, and had desperately undertaken an enterprize which promised almost certain destruc- tion to every one engaged in it. But to proceed methodically. " The enemy, very much piqued at the loss of the fort, which Melton now 1-26 MADNESS commanded^ had sent a considerabTe force to recover it. This force had pro- ceeded in the sk-ge with vigour ; and it was conjectured that the fort must \ery soon surrender, ur;Iess some relief tvas irainediatclj afforded it. '^ 0.ur main army was opposed by a force much si^perior to itself; and our General was averse to weaken it by de- taching any part to the assistance of the fortress. Yet^ as it was a very desirable object to retain this place^ he listened to my offer to relieve it^ if I were al- lowed a small body of troops for the purpose. '' I was much beloved in the army, and I had no difficulty in procuririg volunteers;, who^ animated vvith ray pro- mises and example, cheerfully engaged to follow me. THE RAGE. 12T ''^ It was a material object to ap- proach the besieging army without their being aware of it ; I therefore marched during the night, and encamp- ed my men in the woods^ with which the country abounded, during the day. By these means, I had arrived withia one day's march of the fort without being discovered by the enemy. ^' Among my troops, I had a trusty corporal, who undertook, under cover of the night, to apprize Melton of my arrival, and to concert with him, that,, on a signal to be e:iven. the fjcarrison should, on a certain night, make a sally from the fort, at the same- time as my troops attacked the enemy on the other side. '' The night arrived, and I already, in idea, anticipated the pleasure I should 128 MADiNESS feel in serving my friend^ the lover of ^ Louisa. '^ At the appointed signal^ the garri- son rushed, with wild shouts, from theii? walls, whilst my heroic little bund re- turned the soundj and pushed in firm . column on to \ictorj. " The enemy were thrown into con- fusion in every direction ; but, confi- dent in their numbers, they kept their ground with a kind of obstinate infa- tuation. In the hurry of the conflict, many of them fell by the bands of thei? own comrades, but the battle was still kept uu, '* As the morning dawned, I beheld Mellon, bestriding his furious charger, the sides of which were red wl(h gore ; I pushed forward to meet him ; THE RAGE. 129 the enemy fell before us ; we advanced rapidly towards each other ; I almost held him in my embrace, when, gra- cious God ! a ball, winged by Fate, en- tered his breast, and he fell — to breathe no more. '• At that moment^" continned Bel- \'ille, wiping a tear from his eye, '' at that moment the enemy fled in every direction, and victory was completely our own. " Carried away in the pursuit of the flying enemy, and anxious to collect my troops together, it was night before I could conduct them into the fort. Having performed this duty, I once more turned the head of my charger towards the fleld of battle. It was my object to seek the body of the heroic Melton, and to bear it with me to the fort. g5 ISO MADNESS '' My horse^ worn out with the un- common exertions he had endured, an- swered but feebly to my impatient de- sires : he walked slowly to the field of action. '^ The slowness of his pace was but too well adapted to a thousand har- rowing reflections^ which passed, in ra- pid succession, across my mind. I recalled the noble qualities of the lust Mellon ; his aspiring mind ; his gentle soul ; his heroic spirit. They were gone ; torn from me for ever. '' The moon now lent a feeble light — was now obscured by a thick cloudy whilst the darkness, which brooded over the bosom of a neighbouring wood^, was but ill calculated to dispel my har- rowing reflections. I thought that I kncsv the spot where my friend fell; THE RAGE. 131 and I directed my horse towards it. As 1 approached, . I \Yas startled at the sound of a female voice, which, as it died awaj oii tl^e gale, appeared fami- liar to my ear. I paused, and distinctly heard the voice of Louisa I '' I spurred my horse towards the spot; he refused to move. I alighted, and hastened towards it ; I frequently stumbled over the cold and stiffened bodies of the dead; but, recovering mysidf, I steadily pursued the direction from which the voice proceeded. At last, I thought I perceived a white form flitting before me ; I rushed for- ward, and fell on the lifeless body of one of my own soldiers, i arose, fa- tigued, dejected, heart-broken. I could not forbear envying the lot of that being, who slept in eternal peace at ray feet. ■•4ii.^ 13^ MADNESS '' Louisa's voice again broke upon the silence of the night, and I onte more folloNved it. I now gained sight of her; she was walking rapidlj over the man- gled bodies of the dead ; now stooping to look at this bodv^ then at that., eja- culating with frantic horror, * I shall never see liim more ! — / shall never see Mm mo7X !' A chilling agony pervaded ail my limbs. I stood petrified and im- movable, until she again stooped to ex- amine the face of another body. As she lifted it up, the moon shone full upon it, and shewed the well-known features of her beloved Melton ! '^ Eternal Providence 1 never shall I forget the agonizing moment, as she screamed with wild and supernatural vehemence, and fell upon the cold body of that being whose heroic spirit she had followed to another world/' THE RAGE. isa CHAPTER XIV. As my father's object was to shew me the world, he thought he could not act better, than to introduce me to a distant relation, who lived in great style^ at the fashionable end of the town. Mr. Nightly was a very good sort of a man ; of a moderate^ but inactive mind. In brief, a man in the habit of adopting the common-place run of sen- timents and opinions, less, perhaps^ from an incapacity of deciding upon sonie^, and of refuting others, than from a habit which precluded all exertion ; I mean a habit of adopting, without ex- 134 MADNESS amiL^atioDj those opinions of which^ when he came into the worlds he found it in the quiet possession. This^ which is by no means an un- common habitj has been productive of inconveniences, and is to be severely censured, as it precludes ail invention^, and impedes all improvement ; but we must not forget that it is less erroneous than the rage for novelty, accompanied^ as it has been, with the undiscriminat- irig contempt for every thing ancient, merely because it is ancient. If one would clog invention, and choak improvement, the other, with merciless folly^ w ould, in one moment, sweep away the rich wisdom of ages, and substitute nothing in its place, but wild conjecture, and puerile hypo-, thesis. THE RAGE. 13S It was at the house of Mr. Nightly that we met Sir Henry . Sir Henry was born to the possession of an afSuent fortune. His family was ancient and respectable ; his education was finished at a universit} ; his niind^ though not strongj could not be said to be weak^ if excelling in the objects of pursuit be allowed to be a merit. Unfortunately, those objects were neither of an elevat- edj nor of an honourable nature. He was infected with the fashionable mania of horse-racing ai^^ gaming. No man was better skilled in the chances on Hambletonian and Diamond; nor was any one better versed in all the tricks of hazard. These were the sole objects of his ambition, and in these he excelled. I remember, as my father pointed out this brilliant star in the hemisphere cf fashion, he insisted very strongly 136 MADNESS upon Sir Henry's being an incontro- Tertible example in support of his fa- vorite axiom ; and putting Locke into my hands^ he pointed to the following passage : '' The defect in Naturals seems to proceed from want of quickness, acli- \itjj and motion, in the intellectual fa- culties, \Yherebj thej are deprived of reason ; whereas madmen, on the other side, seem to suffer by the other ex- treme ; for they do ppt appear to me to have lost the faculty of reasoning, but having joined together some ideas very wrongly, they mistake them for truths, and they err as madmen do, who argue right from wrong principles/' "Now,'* continued my father, '^'what can be more clearly expressed ? You would imagine that Locke, when he THE RAGE. 137 wrote these worcls^, had in his eye the \erj ideiilical object we are talking about; that he saw Sir Henry misap- plying all the advantages of birth^, sta- tion, education^ and fortune, and, by tiie strangest species of reasoning, a species of reasoning worthy alone of a madman, joinifig together ideas vert; wronglij and mistaking for a truth, that the qualities of a jockey and a black- leg are honourable and praise-worthy. "I am well aware that the fashionable world presents innumerable examples, not merely of a similar nature, but of a nature to which the same reasoning will apply ; nor am I ignorant that there are some men who from hence \TOuld infer, that what so many follow cannot be w rong, and that that cannot be a disorder with which the whole town is, more or less^ infected. 138 MADNESS *' Nimlrum insanus panels videatur co quod ** Maxima pars homiuuin niorbo jactatur eodeni.'' '^ This^ however, is false reasoning ; the generality of a disease does not de- stroy its existence, though it does its singularity. Nor can it be any answer to Locke, or any refutation of his prin- ciple^ to alledge, that 7ie has misapplied the term ; for that we term such con- duct fashiouy QVy when we speak more harshly, we term it folltj. I say^ and so would Locke say, that we misapply terms; that our vanity, our pride^ and our cunning, have invented a thousand erroneous terms^ under which the true nature and essence of things are lost to the general view of mankind. ^' It remains for reason and philoso- phy to penetrate through the vcil^ and not, like the mass of men, receive priru- ciples alike inimical to truth and hap- THE RAGE. 139 piness. Before I conclude, I would make another observation. '' In speaking of actions, we sliouldt never forget^ that in applying lenient terms to depraved actions, we are guilty of an error, an error which may be at- tended with the worst consequences. We mislead those who are led by words rather than by things; and we induce them to believe there is little or no cri- minality in this or that pursuit, when the fact itself is otherwise ; but were it not so, the very act of consuming our liveSj and applying our talents to things of no merit ; things of neither public nor private virtue, is in itself highly criminal^ though its criminality may be increased by the vicious nature 0f the purposes to which it is applied. " Did men speak with the candid HO MADNESS severity which they ought, with re- spect to actions, many beings would fly from vice, who now too eagerly court it.** THE RAGE. 141 CHAPTER XV. I SHALL pass over many of the scenes of this part of my life. In other words, i shall not fatigue the reader with the many examples which my native coun- try afforded^ to substantiate my father's opinion : for the fact literally was^ that we could not move a step without tread- ing upon the toe of some being to whom Swift's definition would applj^ — ^ A person whose intellectuals were overturned, and his brain shaken out K)f its natural position, which we com- monly suppose to be a distemper^ and call by the name o^ madness/ " Locke himself says, that ' there are 142 MADNES1S degrees of madness; hut in whatever degree it takes possession of a man's brain, it never fails to be accompanied bj a most singular and instinctive cun- ning, vrhicli invariably deceives the dis- ordered person, and not unfrequentlj deludes others." ^' When a man's fancy/' continues Swift, gets astride on his reason, when imagination is at cuffs with the senses, and common understanding, as well as common sense, is kicked out of doors ; the first proselyte he makes is himself; and when that is once compassed, the difficulty is not so great in bringing others over; a strong delusion always operating from without as vigorously as from within." No sooner, therefore, is a man tho- roughly infected with this distemper^ THE RAGE. 143 llian lie sets about to find a name for his disorder, if a name is to be found ; if not, he sets himself to ^york to invent a name, which, like the taking title of a book, or, like Dr. 's advertise- ments, is sure to impose upon the silly, and maT/, and not unfrequently does, impose upon the prudent; and then, would you but believe the cunning ras- cal, there is nothing the matter with him; his mind is sound wind and limb; he is merely fasliionctble. Thus, no sooner does a man mount his hobby-horse manias gallop along the highway belter skelter, like an op- position coach, to the great annoyance of all sober, sedate people, who are passing along our sovereign Lord the King's highway ; no sooner does he give the most ample demonstration of iiis being thoroughly qualified to fill 144 MADNESS for life a snug apartment in Bedlam ; no sooner has he taken the most effec- tual way to ruin and disgrace his fi- mily, and turn them loose upon the town ; his sons in the honourable fra- ternity of black legs, and his daughters in the no less honourable class of demi- reps; no sooner has a man performed all these dashing and spirited actions ; no sooner, in a word, is he immediately within the meaning of every definitioaj of a madman which has ever been writ- ten, than he starts forward — a fashion- able man, a man of the ton, a man of high life ! Nescio an anticyram ratio illis destinet omnem. We do not mean to object to the terms, for we are ready to acknowledge that such conduct, as we have describ-; ed, is fashionable ; but when, as Sir^ Roger says, '^ any man who thinks can THE RAGE. 145 see, that the aiFectation of being gay, and in fashion, has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion/' We deem ourselves justified in assert- ing, that such conduct is that of a 7;iafZ- via7i. On the other hand, when we al- low that such conduct as we have de- scribed is fashionable, we would not forfeit the right which reason has given us, to protest against that association which the mind is in the habit of mak- ing, when it attaches praise or admi- ration to such conduct, or when it views the same in a less detestable light than it ought, merely from its being fashion- able. In either of these cases, the mind is guilty of an abuse of terms ; and this reminds me of what my father owe day remarked to me, that a great proof of VOL. I. H 146 MADNESS the madness of mankind was to be dis- covered in their abuse of terms. So -various were the meanings attached to the same word, that it was difficulty he remarked^ to find any two sets of people who would use the same word in the same sense. At the time my father made this re- mark, we were passing by the Ex- change — '' Suppose/* said;, my father, ^' we step in, and investigate this point." '' Pray," said my father, addressing a respectable looking man, "do you know Mr. ?" ^^ Perfectly well. Sir.*' '' What sort of a man is he?" '' A very good one, I assure you/ I THE RAGE. 147 '' Good J do you say ! Why/' conti- nued my father^ '' I am told that he debauched his friend's wife — that he — " '' Stop'/' exclaims the other^ '' what have these things to do with the ques- tion ? Is he not worth a hundred thou- sand pounds?" So the term good, when used on the Exchange means a ridi man. As we came out of the Exchange^ we chanced to meet one of my old college acquaint- ances. After mutual congratulations were past, I enquired if he knew Jack Lackwit ? '' Know him ! yes/' be exclairas, '' and a cursed good fellow he is." ''Good!" i repliet], ^^ why I hear that he is the most stupid fellow in \\\q h2 148 BIADNESS whole university, and, at the same time, the most extravagant and vicious ; in brief, that he is — '' '' My dear fellow, do not be in such a hurry : I saw Jack drink three bottles without being cut.*' He bowed, and walked on, finding- that good meant a man who could drink three bottles without being intoxi- cated. We had scarcely left this spark, ere we were accosted by a limb of the law, the spruce Mr. Qui-tam. He was very elaborate in praise of a pleader of emi- nence, and termed him a good lawyer. We found by the discourse of Qid'fam, that no man was better skilled than this pleader was in all those quirks and quib- bles by which Vice escapes her merited THE RAGE, 149 piinisliment, and Virtue is retarded in pursuit of justice. Scarcely had we escaped from this nursling of litigation ere we fell in with a sectary. He praised the good- ness of one of his own sect; of a man whom I had often heard censured for his vices and his hypocrisy. It was in vain that my father urged^ that this good man had seduced the daughter of his friend^ who^ on his death-bed, had confided his child to the care of this viper. The other replied, that no man at- tended a meeting more punctually — no man's fciith was greater — nor was any man's zeal for the cause more lively and active. 150 MADNESS My father heavily sighed ; and, in a low tone of voice, softly ejaculating^ Old seeleratus et furiosus erit, walked silently on. THE RAGE, 151 CHAPTER XVI. We had scarcely been in town a fort- night ere we received an invitation to join a large route, which Mr. Nightly intended to give at a future and distant day. As my father was desirous of shewing me what is termed ''the world/' we accepted the invitation. Many rooms were opened on the oc- casion, but there were some things that occasioned my surprize. Although I was almost suffocated by the intolerable pressure of the crowd, I could conti- nually hear the expressions, '' Nobody here,'' '' Rooms prodigiously empty/' and others of a like import. 153 51ADNESS My father saw my surprizC;, and whispered me^ that the people who made use of these expressions had the mania of affectation, and, in fact, la- boured under the error of joining toge- ther ideas very wronglij, and mistaking for a truth, that the affectation of greatness was, in truth, greatness itself, when the reverse is nearer the fact. As we wandered through the rooms, I was particularly struck with the atten- tion paid to a female, whose person was neither young nor fascinating. My fa- ther anticipated my question, and re- marked, that it must appear singular to me, though it was a fact, that the lady in question, ihough followed and court- ed by the crowd, was suspected, and that rather strongly too, not to be over virtuous or honourable. THE llAGE. 153 '' But/* added my father^ '' she is a peeress of the realm ; her parties are most splendid ; and she had been allow- ed, though not without some opposi- tion, to give the fashion ; or, in other words, to be the fashion. To what/' continued my father, '' can you ascribe the circumstance, that an adultress, a black-leg, a woman neither of religion nor principle, should have this univer- sal influence ? Yv by that the fountain is poisoned at its source-— that madness is the rage — that the most lamentable indifference to every thing, save the mere name of virtue, is prevalent in certain circles ? But come, let us press forwards ; let us leave what often con- taminates by its example. I see that which may contaminate in its effect. Do you observe that gentleman who is listened to by the circle around him, with so much flattering complacency ? h5 ISI MADNESS That man is celebrated as a duellist and a libertine.*' '*^ And those women!" I exclaimed^ who listen to him ?'' '' They are called/' my father an- sweredj '' virtuous ; how long they may continue so may be a serious question/' " But what can tempt them/' I re- plied^ '' to listen to the depraved being you have described ?" '' Their's, my boy, is the mania of vanity ; they are no less mad than their neighbour, but it is in their own way. Each of them thinks she shall subdue this enemy to female virtue; and, in the hope of this brilliant triumph, she is ready to incur any danger. But here a firm and virtuous retreat is at least as THE RAGE. 155 honourable as victory, whilst it is far more wise and prudent. To reclaim the character in question is, of all at- tempts, the most futile ; the man who can calmly seduce the wife of his bo-, som friend, and then coolly shoot the husband through the head, is too far gone for a silly. Tain woman to restore him to virtue. As nothing, therefore^, can be more '' opposite to reason," than the attempt, so nothing can be more insane, than for a woman rashly to ex- pose her character and virtue m a con- test, where she will gain, at the utmost^ a being that she should reject with hor- ror ; and where she may acid to die catalogue of those unfortunate crea- tures, who have already fallen victiois to his black depravity/' '^ But some of the ladies appear to be married women. How is this, Sir ? 156 MADNESS '' You mean/* answered nij father^ *' bow can their husbands submit to their wives having such an acquaint- ance as the man in question. This re- quires some explanation. Their hus- bands, though indifferent, perhaps, to- wards them, are not, we must suppose, indifferent to what thej term their own honor. What, then, can tempt them to allow their wives such an acquaintance? The most prudent of them would, per- haps, tell you, that they would not suf- fer the man in question to enter their liouses ; that if they were too nice, they must give up all society ; and that al- lowing their wives to hold a conversa- tion in a general and mixed society, cannot be productive of any injury. There is in these two last reasons much sophistry, because it is neither neces- sary for a man to give up all society, nor to encourage depravity ; neither is THE RAGE. 157 the danger^ in a general and mixed society ;, so small as they would repre- sent it; since, in a general assembly, those plans are frequently concerted, which are afterwards but too fatally executed in privacy. " Another set of men there are in the world, who indulge their wives in the same liberty from a principle much less respect ablCj and therefore more cen- surable. '' The men to whom I now allude are those who will submit to any ab- surdity rather than he laughed at. Though such men happen to be fond of their wives, they will submit to the possible chance of having their happi- ness for ever wrecked, rather than incur imputation of jealousy fiom those be- ings whose opinions they ought to de- 158 MADNESS spise — whose principles they ought to depreciate. " It would be almost impossible to produce the many instances which have occurred to my observation of this mania. However ridiculous it may seem^ it is by no means uncommon. It is so obviously a species of insanity^ that I need not demonstrate what every child would be convinced of, who saw a man staking hundreds^ in order to prove that he was worth pence." I here interrupted my father^ by re- markings that what he said;, though applicable to a considerable class of in- dividuals^ did not yet seem to apply to the general mass of the beings who composed such an assembly as that we were then in ; and that there must be many respectable and virtuous men not THE RAGE. 159 contaminated by the errors he depre- cated, who introduced their wives and children into such assemblies as the pre- sent. '' Perhaps so/' replied my father^ '' some few are not aware of the vices vs^hich surround them ; some again, though aware, are jet not fullj appre- hen!!;ive of the "extent of the danger ; but, generally speaking, that nicmia which blends virtue and vice into one promiscuous confusion, which esteems vice as connected with rank and for- tune as venial, or, at least, as much less censurable, is far too general, far too fashionable and prevalent. '' What should we say to a man who happened to be placed in a city in- fected with the plague ; who saw it spreading in every direction around 160 MADNESS him^ and yet, without taking the proper precautions to avoid it, expected that it would neither attack nor injure his family or person ? What should we say ? As such conduct is opposite to reason, and could onlj arise from a most fatal elisor derly jumUing of ideas, it can admit but of one name, and in fact can be general only in that country where '' madness itself is the rage.' '' My father was here interrupted by the approach of a gentleman in black, whom he immediately addressed by the name of Elwick. The person of Colonel Elwick was tall and thin, but yti, if a small bend in the shoulders be excepted, not destitute of grace. His countenace was sallow yet expressive ; and a certain intelligence in his eye evinced that he was not destitute of ta- lents. He looked with an air of indif- THE RAGE. 161 ference upon the busy scene before him ; yet his penetrating glance irequently perused the face of every young female who passed before him. Absorbed in painful absence, he was often inatten- tive to the questions put to him. I felt a singular interest to be acquainted with the events of his life, but no opportu- nity oiTered of inquiring of my father, from whom Colonel Elv/ick suddenly broke, after exclaiming as he left us, '* What idle farce dwells here/' 162 MADNESS CHAPTER XVIII. The next morning, as we sat at breakfast, Belville requested my father would advise him how he was to pro- ceed in an affair of some intricacy and difficulty. It seems that my cousin, in his diffe- rent campaigns, had acquired consider- able property, as his proportionof plun- der and prize-money, and that he had, at various times, remitted nearly the whole of it into the hands of an agent. The agent, who v/as amanof stricthonor, had sent the proper acknowledgments to Belville by ihe hands of a friend. THE RAGE. 163 who had unfortunately falleil into the hands of the enemy. When Belville arrived iu his native country, his iirst step was to apply to the agent ; hut^ to his great surprize and regret^ he learnt that the agent had died a short time before^ and that all his affairs and papers were in the hands of Mr. Timothy Chicanery. To Mr. Timothy Ciiicanery, then^ Belville directed his steps^ and having rather inconsiderately acknowledged that all his proofs of the debt were lost, he found Chicanery by no means disposed either to allow any claim justly existed^ or that he had effects to pay such^ if it were possible to substantiate it. My father was at a loss what to ad- vise ; but proposed, for the present^ to le* MADNESS wave the consideration of the subject as the carriage was at the door waiting to conduct us to the house of Mr. Classical, a relation of ours, who re- sided a few miles from tWn^ and to whom we had not jet paid our re- spects. As we approached the mansion of Mr. Classical, I could not but remark the uniform style of architecture, that pervaded every building. Here was a Grecian cenotaph — there a Grecian bath — here a Grecian urn — there a Grecian temple, la short, as we drove up the park, I could almost persuade myself that I breathed the mild air of v. Attica, had not a sharp northerly wind checked the idle fumes of a wandering imagination. Upon entering the house, I was THE KAGE. 165 astonished at the singular dress of our hosij which consisted of a Large crimson mantle, whilst his head was crowned with a chaplet of flowers. Having conducted us into a splendid room, we were regaled with a pro- fusion of fruits, ices, and wines. Mj father and our host now entered into an animated conversation, but the subject was purely the customs and manners of the ancients, for whom Mr. Classical expressed the most un- bounded admiration. I now perceived the source of the singular extravagance I had remarked, in the dress and ap- pearance of our host, which he in- tended as a compliment to us, because the ancients were always habited in that manner, when they regaled their friends. QuLs unqiumi ccenavit atratus? Who has ever been known to sup in 166 MADNESS black ? asks Cicero^ evidently alluding to this identical custom. As we were returning home^ my father observed that Mr. Classical was a man of considerable natural talents^, although they were obscured by some singularities^ as, indeed, w^e must have observed. It seems, that, in early life, he had addicted himself to the study of the ancients ; and that^ being a man of great native taste, and much sound- ness of judgment, he had passionately admired the splendid relics of anti- quity on the subjects of peetry, oratory, and philosophy. His mind by an easy transition, had passed from an admira- tion of the works of the ancients to a fondness for their manners and customs to which, fiom a partiality uncommon, except auiOiigst tlie learned, he had given the most decided preference THE RAGE. 167 when compared to those of his own age and country. But, though this led him into some absurdities, and often occasioned his forgetting, that what was adapted to the warmth of a Gre- cian sk}^, was but little in unison with our northern atmosphere, it was im- possible not to admire the elegance and justness of his taste, when descanting upon the sublimity and beauty of the bards of antiquity, or when investiga- ting the principles of their great phi- losophers. Struck with the soundness of Mr. Classical's observations on these sub- jects, I could not resist expressing the pleasure I felt, as I heard this sin- gular man enlightening every subject connected with ancient literature. He observed it, and acting upon the delu- sion which threw an air of singularity 168 MADNESS over every thing he did^ he invited Belville and mjself to an entertain- ment;, which, he said, he would en- deavour to conduct, in as strict a con- formity with the manners and customs of the ancients, as the nature of tilings would admit. We accepted the in- vitation, less from a desire of seeing what we had so often read of, than from the pleasure, we flattered our- selves we should derive, from the en- tertaining conversation of our host. As my readers, in all probability, were never present at such an entertain- ment, I shall appropriate the next chapter to a particular description of it. TiiE RAdE. 169 CHAPTER XVIir. We took care not to make our visit before the evening, for we were aware that^ consistent witli the rules of Athenian politeness^ we should be neither too early, nor too late. Upon our arrival we were received by our host in the aide or hall of the mansion. He extended his right hand to us, this being the most common mode of salutation among the ancients, and being esteemed by them a sincere pledge of fidelity and friendship. He then conducted m through the VOL. I. I 170 MADNESS different apartments of his house;, ob- serving that it was, by the ancients, ac- counted a mark of ill-breeding imme- diately to sit down to the table. He did not forget to shew us his bath, which consisted of the apoduterioji, or room for undressing ; the bapiisterion, or hot bath; and the aoutron, or cold bath. He remarked that the ancient baths generally consisted of five rooms, but the other two were connected with the use of ointments, a thing unneces- sary in our cold climate. From hence we were conducted to the banqueting room. As we approached it, we were agreeably surprized b}^ inhaling the rich odours of some precious woods, which were burning. Some servants now appeared bearing salvers filled with water, which they proceeded to pour upon our hands. THE RAGE. 171 We then drew by lot for the king of the banquet, whose peculiar oflice it is, to keep the company in order, without checking a proper degree of freedom ; to give the signal for circu- lating bumpers ; to name the toasts, and to observe that all the laws of drinking are attended to. The lot fell upon our host. Wc now approached the table, which was strictly in the Grecian costume. Around it were spread the beds or couches for the guests, each bed or couch being covered with crimson tapestry. Upon these we reclined, supporting the upper parts of our bodies on our left arms, the lower being stretched out at lergth, or otherwise placed, according to the pleasure of each individual. i2 172 ' MADNESS Our host now remarked to iis^ that the ancients were accustomed to place the statues of some of their gods upon the tablCj to whom they offered liba- tions^ in return for the benefits they had received. Hence^ as he observed^, the rites of hospitality were held sacred ; since to violate them was an insult to those deities, who, being present, were supposed to preside over them. The first course, or deipnon proimioii, now made its appearance. It consisted of a variety of herbs, eggs, honey, shell- fish, small birds, &c. &c. the object of which, as our host informed us, was rather to create than allay appetite. After we had amused ourselves with the first course, the second, or deipnon, made its appearance, in which the taste of our host and his liberality went hand THE RAGE. 173 ill hand, to present us wiih \vliate\er was esteemed most exquisite in game, poultry, and fish. This was followed by the trite trci" peza, or third course, which consisted of a great variety of sweetmeats and fruits of every description. Our host here remarked with a smile^ that he supposed we were not desirous of availing ourselves of our right, as guests, of choosing each what Mas most agreeable to the taste of his friend, and sending it to him ; an attention seldom omitted at the ceremonious entertain- ments of the Athenians. I had almost forgot to observe, that previously to our entering the supper- room, we had, in compliance with the wislies of our host, arrayed ourselves ia 174 MADNESS white. During the period which elapsed between the first and second conrse, servants entered^ bearing in garlands composed of freshly-gathered flowers^ with which each guest adorned Lis head, whilst the remaining chaplets were scattered in different parts of the room. And now I am on the subject of flowers, I should not omit, that a rose was suspended over the table, to signify that what was there spoken should be buried in silence ; an allusion borrowed from the tradition, that the rose was dedicated by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, in order to engage him to conceal the amours of Venus. Our host lamented that the nature of our climate was averse to the use of ointments, to which the Greeks were so THE RAGE. 175 passionately addicted, that they con- sidered no enteitainineut complete with- out them. The crateresy or goblets, were now introduced ; one being appropriated for the use of each guest. They were small, but of silver, and were beautifully em- bossed with designs from the antique, representing some of the fables lel it- ingto the god Bacchus. These, havi \g been decked with garlands^ were fiLcd to the brim, as a mark of respect id each of the guests. Our host now elevates his goblet, and having uttered the Grecian word cliaire, he sent the goblet to Bel- ville^ observing, that, by the Athenian rules of good-fellowship, he was, to drink off whatever remained in the gob- let. The same compliment was paid 17G MADNESS to each of uS;,beginTnng' with strict pro- priety, and carrying the propinatlon to- wards the right hand. We now drank to our absent friends, omitting that custom by which, at the mention of each name, a small quantity of the vvine was poured upon the ground^ by way of libation to the gods, for the happiness of those whose names were drank. Our host here remarked, with a smile, that the names of our mistresses should also "'live in our flowing cups.** After we had consumed some time in this manner, our host lamented that the lyre of the ancients was lost, and with it the custom for each guest to ac- company it with his voice, holding at the same time a branch of laurel or THE RAGE. 177 myrtle in his hand. But he had en- deavoured, to the best of his power, to atone for the loss we must experience, in being deprived of this exquisite part of the entertainment. As he uttered these words, the spread- ing doors of the banqueting-room sud- denly flew open, and we were enter^ tained by the vocal powers of some excellent singers, whom our entertainer had hired for the express purpose. As they ceased, a delightful band exerted all its powers to charm us — now breathing a softly voluptuous air — now swelling in full majesty — thea dying gradually away on the gale, and now again calling us to life with its sprightly and animating tones. This was only a prelude to the entry 178 MADNESS of a set of buffoons, mimics, and jug- glers, who, having diverted us with their humour^ grimaces, and dexterity, retired. The conversation nov^, insensibly, took a turn to the philosophy of the Greeks ; and the works of the Stagyrit^ were mentioned. In answer to an ob- servation upon the subject, Mr. Classical replied, " I think the Ethics to Nicomachus the finest system of morality ever writ- ten without the aid of revelation. The author lays it down, that all human actioiiS have some particular object in view, and tend, either mediately or immediately, to one grand determinate end, viz. Happiness : — and that the only road to happiness is Virtue. Having proved this fundamental position, he is THE RAGE. 179 led into a consideration of each yirtue in particular; and he concludes his sys- tem with giving the decided preference to intellectual happiness^, as contrasted to mere practical;, because it is more sublime, more capable of durability, and the most resembles the happiness we must ascribe to the Deity. " But this system, beautiful as it un- doubtedly is, is only an introduction to his great work on Politics, It is very much to be lameflted that this work has descended to us in a mutilated state. Yet, labouring as it does under this disadvantage, I should have no hesita- tion in giving it the decided preference to every other work on the subject which has ever appeared. '' Montesquieu himself, that Hercules in the principles of legislatiopj borrow- 180 MADNESS ed profusely from this source, but had not always the candour to acknowledge the obligation. I allude more parti- cularly to the first volume of L' Esprit des Lois. But to return to the Politeia of the Stagyrite, I had forgotten one very high merit it possesses. I mean its very intimate connexion with the Ethics. The Stagyrite lays it down as an eternal^ immutable principle, that states, like men, must be virtuous in order to be happy ; and that that state will always be the most happy which is the most virtuous. States, like men, may err, and think that a crooked and "vicious systeni of policy will most con- tribute to their interest : but the advan- tage that they gain can never be perma- nent, and short will be the period ere the machine rebound upon its master, and bury him beneath its ruins !" It was late ere we departed, no less THE UAGE. 181 pleased with the intellectual powers of our host, than amused by that singular attachment to the manners and customs of the ancients, which appeared the only foible of his character, and which, like a spot upon the sun's disk, was lost amidst the refulgence surrounding it. 182 MADNESS CHAPTER XIX. I MUST now hasten to introduce some new characters to the acquaintance of my readers. I believe I have not informed them that ray father had' one sister^ whose character I once heard him describe in terms nearly resembling the following : She had a mind^ he observed, strong and vigorous, which was well calcu- lated to elevate her character to an en- viable height of excellence, had it not too often been at the mercy of passions the most violent and ungovernable. THE RAGE. 183 Her soul was warm and generous^ ca- pable of heroic acts of goodness ; and, it is but justice to saj;, they sat with such an air of ease upon her, that we might easily perceive they were natural to her character, and that it was no ex- ertion to her to perform them. But, as she was capable of ascending to a great height in the scale of virtuous and mental excellence, she could also descend into the scale of depravity. She was proud to a degree bordering on crime. Hence, as her passions, fre- quently tempestuous, and always pow^^ erful, led her not unoften into preju- dices, her pride prevented that candour, which would have induced her to recede or retract ; and error once adopted was for ever persevered in. She was always in extremes. To-day you were the bright angel of her ifancy, but ere the ISi MADNESS morrow's setting sun^ you were the de- mon, whose pestiferous breath corroded" every object on which it alighted. She married, when very young, a man whose character will illustrate it- self in the events of his life. Let it for the present suffice, that he differed in many respects from my father. My aunt, as I shall henceforth call her, knew that my father approved not of her choice. She had previously made up her mind, and the oppositioa of my father not only augmented her resolution, but created a coolness be- tween the families, which had not to- tally subsided at the period of our jour- ney to the metropolis. My aunt had now been married nearly twenty years. Few had been the THE RAGE. 185 visits which had passed hetween my fa- ther and her ; but as mj father had per- ceived, since his arrival in town, or ra- ther imagined that he had perceived, something like unhappiness in his sis- ter's mind, the native goodness of his soul had got the better of every thing, and he had latterly treated her with a gentleness, a kindness, and an affection, that had touched her to the soul. Things were in this state, when my father was one evening broken in upon by the en- trance of a servant, who intreated that he would not hesitate a moment, but fly to my uncle's house. Alarmed and startled at the sudden message, we hastened together to the mansion. Eternal Providence ! Never shall I forget the scene tha(p||)resented itself to our eyes. Reclined on the sofa, lay my uncle, in the horrors of death. 1S6 MADNESS the most dreadful, the most agonizing to the soul, for it was inflicted by his own hand during a paroxysm of de- spair. Near him stood the surgeon, endea- vouring, without effect, to stop the ef- fusion of blood, which proceeded from a wound made in the head by a pistol- bullet. In the indescribable agony of the blackest despair, rendered, if possible, more dreadful by tbe faint ray of hope, which the heart, to relieve itself of its misery, would now and then throw across the scene, in the blackest despair, stood my aunt ; pale and hag-gard were her looks, livid were her lips ; frenzied was the glance of her immovable eye, but tearless and dry ; her hand was convulsively grasped in that of hec THE RAGE. 187 expiring husband. At the foot of the sofa the little objects of their love were seated. One little girl was crjing, whilst a boy was endeavouring to stop her tears ; another was inquiring of his mother when poor papa would get bet- ter ; for such had been the sudden na- ture of the bloWj that no one had taken the children from the room of misery* Reader^ I must be brief; and if thou hast any humanity, thou wilt thank me ; for I now shudder to recal this pic- ture of consummate wretchedness. — My paper is blotted with my tears. Let it suffice, then, to remark, that a few mo- ments only elapsed, ere my uncle breathed his last. 188 MADNESS CHAPTER XX. He was born to affluence ; life ex- panded its sweeiest flowers to captivate his vouth ; but sophistry poisoned the flowers that bloomed around him. It is difficult to state the period wjien he imbibed ideas inimical to his happi- ness, and subversive of his peace; but it is most probable, that, during the first lessons of infiincy, he was taught to think erroneously. His education was vicious ; the food his mind received tended to disease it, and prepared it for the reception of that insanity, to which he ultimately THE RAGE. 189 fell a victim : for religion, which ought to have been the basis, was either al- together neglected^ or was treated with an indifference productive of con- tempt; whilst, among the earliest ru- diments cf instruction, he was per- suaded to laugh at the honest and re- spectable opinions of mankind, and to view them as prejudices unbecoming a man of the world; and at (he same time he was taught to believe, that the vices of a gentleman were venial, whilst those of a plebeian were at once dis- gusting and unpardonable; a distinc- tion which, it is unnecessary to observe, neither reason nor morality sanctions. If such were the early impressions of his youth, it cannot surprize, that he plunged, with headlong impetuosity, into the vices and dissipations of the day. 190 MADNESS Scarcely had he commenced this course of life^ when chance introduced him to my father's sister. Her fortune, her connexions^ her person^ and her manners, were alike unobjectionable ; and he married her. I shall be brief upon the subsequent events of his life ; for^ I grieve to say, he merely lived a life, the frequency of which has destroyed the surprize of any, and prevented the reflection of most, who might otherwise perceive its criminality. Whilst few men were more fashionable, few were more vicious ; whilst few were more honor- able, few were more dishonest ; whilst his barouche rattled along the street, his barouche-maker was unpaid ; and whilst his debts of honour were punctu- ally discharged, his tradesmen starved. THE RAGE. 191 In this fashionable routine;, he con- tributed to elevate and support the vicious and depraved, whilst, by de- priving the honest and industrious of their own, he struck a deadly blow at the breast of Virtue. If this course of life were long, it must be ascribed to the extent of his means, which enabled him to postpone the day of retribution. But as that fatal day approached. Despair first un- veiled her paralyzing countenance : he shrunk with horror from the view ; and, in the agony of the moment, flew to plunge himself still deeper in the gulf. What were his reflections ? Could he, in the faithful annals of a too re- tentive memory, recal one act of pure, noble, and disinterested goodness ? 193 MADNESS Could lie recjil one act of private^ or of public virtue; one defenceless being, rescued from the gripe of oppression ; one patriotic exertion, against corrup- tion. Alas, no ! His fortune, his cha- racter, ruined, and for what ? i To run a silly, infuriate round of idle bustle, 1 To be the most ridiculous puppet on the stage : To feed parasites, fools, and knaves : to be the vainest of the vain : to be a slave to Pleasure, and, under her as- | sumed name, to lead a life of disgusting fatigue, monoton}^ and insipidity. j — Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void ; As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain : Thh moment hurrying wild th' impassion'd soul. The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank; A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, Who, all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd, Himself an useless load, has squander'd vile, Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd A drooping family of modest worth, — Thomson. •A%. THE RAGE. 193 Alas ! agonizing were his reflections, and Religion, with her all-subduing smile, soothed him not as he labored under them; for he had fasUionablif excluded her from the number of his acquaintance. To be brief^ for it is a melancholy tale^ a pistol ended a life, which was a burthen to the being who pos- sessed it. His was certainly a character, which ray father would have selected^ to il- lustrate his favourite axiom. My father would have reasoned, had not the big tear always trickled down his cheek, at the mention of my uncle's name, he would have reasoned thus : Few men ever entered life, with means more abundant, of rendering the greatest service to public, and to private VOL. I. K 194 MADNESS virtue. As a senator^, he might hare improved our laws^ and his smile, from this elevated station, would have nou- rished virtue, and paralyzed vice. As a man of large fortune, various •were the opportunities of shewing his benevolence, his humanity, his gene- rosity. Thousands might have thrived beneath the general ray of his bounty; thousands might have hailed him, as their friend, their preserver, their pro- tector. He might have elevated the standard of virtue, as a sacred banner for all to rally around: but as his bounty, like the waves of a mighty river, might expand to distant shores ; its influence would have been no less felt on its native banks. For his family, by his example, might have been trained to run a course similar to his own ; and ^weet would have been his reflections^ THE RAGE. 195 «s the angel of death summoned him to another scene^ sweet would have been his reflections, that others re- mained to act as he had done ; lo keep alive the glowing ray of virtue, and to nourish a warmth, which would cheer the otherwise cold and desolate breasts of thousands. But, having ''joined together ideas vertj wronglij, nnd mistaking for a truth'* that hap- piness was not to be found in Virtue, but in Fashion ; under the influence of this mania, he abandoned the pure, delicious streams of virtue, for the cold, doubtful, insipid, cup of fashion. Let us, my father would have continued, let us divest ourselves of all prejudice, and we shall find, that fashion is that '' disorderly jumbling of ideas'' which Locke emphatically terms, madness; and, at the same time, it is, in every sense of the word, "' oj^positioii to reason/* k2 196 MADNESS Let uSj for example;, ask any rational, unprejudiced being, bow far be cau say that nnan is of sound intellect, who piques himself upon turning night into day, and day into night; upon walking- for a couple of hours in a narrow, dirty street, at the risk of being run over, or -knocked down; upon exposing himself to the chance of being squeezed to death J in a room to contain all the voorlcl ; upon wearing clothes made by a certain taylor only; upon speaking in a certain tone, and swearing in a certain mode; upon violating all duties, moral and divine ; upon pre- ferring any man's wife to his own, but upon being extremely alFronted, if any man should^ be so unreasonable, as io wish to return the compliment &c. &c. This, Sir John, is the sum of thy ex- cellence. — Cast it up — how small is J;he merit? None — for fools and rogues THE RKGE, 197 Lave played the same game, and often played it better than thou hast. Yet, you exclaim, I shall be remembered in the annals of Fashion 1 Row long ? Until a man more mad, appears. He comes — My Lord starts to- morrow to run the same course — thou art forgotten ! Now, continues my fcitber, if we make but little ceremony, in popping a man into Bedlam^ who has only 07ie irrational and strange notion, and that, perhaps, a notion perfectly inoflfensive, what should v/e do to such a beijig. as the one I have just described — a mm, who has the mania of at least a hundied madmen, summed up in himself; in other words, madness enough to stock all Bedlam. 198 UADNESS. Happj would it be, if there were few such. As the case is, we grieve for human nature. But if the common massj unendowed with superior powers either of mind, or of soul ,- if the com- mon mass must excite a sigh, as wo contemplate the beings composing it, hurried away by this mania, what must be our emotions as we behold the man of genius a \ictim to the same disease ? Alas ! why should the poet sing, the historian write, the warrior bleed, or the patriot die, if happiness and glory are centered in fashion ? Was it to play this idle part in the drama of life, a part more worthy of a puppet than a rational being ? Was it for this that the Creator has adorned man with such a variety of powers ? Was it for tLis that the mind breathes its divine THE RAGE. 199 its uiiextlnguishable ardor and subli- mity ; that the bosom heaves with a thousand emotions, no less generous than tender ; and that the heart is so endued as to quit without a pang all the paraphernalia of fortune, whilst it heaves a melancholy sigh, as it gazes, for the last time, on the impassioned eye of love, or the pale cheek of friend- ship ? Assuredly m)t — poor and barren may be the mind, cold and cheerless the heart ; science may never have illumined the one, benevolence may never have warmed the other. Yet the being so endued may be, I should rather say is, the fittest subject to re- ceive this disease, called Fashion, and carry it with him to the grave. Reader, ere I quit the subject, I would present thee with a fragment, which I found amongst my father's papers. It was entitled '' The Birth of Fashion." If SOO MADNESS thou wilt bestow five minutes in pe- rusing the next cha iei% thou wilt per- haps discover its tendency. If the oJie ! jam mtis tremble on thy lip^ thou canst pass the chapter over. THE RAGE. 201 CHAP. XXI. THE BIRTH OF FASHION. In a remote and obscure age of anti- quity^ the g*ods assembled on Mount OlifmpuSj for the purpose of adjusting a dispute which had arisen between the rival deities^ Virtue and Vice. The Earth, the theatre of their disputes, had been rent in the contest; and its in- habitants were in a dreadful state of- anarchy and rebellion. Jupiter had, therefore, convoked the present meeting, for the purpose of hearing the claims of each party, and r5 20S MADNESS of passing the decree of Fate upon the subject in dispute. Silence being proclaimed^ Virtue arose. Her person was noble and sub- lime ; her smile was sweeter than the first blush of love^ than the last gasp of expiring friendship; her frown was more terrific than the blood-besmeared plague^ than life-consuming famine. I shall not;, reader^, insult the Deitj whom I adore^ by attempting to give thee the words that fell from her lips. Let it suffice^ that all the deities ac- knowledged the justice of her claims to universal dominion^ since her sole ob- ject was to render mankind happj. Scarcely would Vice suffer Virtue to finishher address, ere she started from her seat, and, with the direst imprecations^ THE KAGE. 203 devoted all those to perdition who im^ peded the unlimited and absolute sway she aimed at. Jupiter frowned — Olympus trem- bledj and Earth shook to her centre— '' Virtue and Vice, hear the decrees of Fate^, and obey. The enmity now ex- isting between you shall subsist until t4ie frail materials of the Earthy and its no less frail inhabitants^ shall sink into the womb of time, and be no more. Virtue shall strike no blow at the breast of Vice ; shall pursue her with no hos- tility or revenge, but shall, by follow- ing the sublime, noble, and elevated, path, which leads to immortality, ex- press her contempt for her adversary. '' Vice shall, on the contrary, aim the deadly blow at the bosom of Vir- tue. Often shall Virtue bleed, but 204: MADNESS never shall she feci a mortal wound ; though Vice, with unrelenting fury, continue to hurl at her the poisonous darts of malignity, cruelty, and oppro- brium. '^ In the end. Virtue shall possess the highest place upon this sacred Mount ; and Vice, unless she become the votary of her antagonist, shall for ever groaa beneath the dark shades of Erebus. ''Virtue and Vice, hear the decrees of Fate, and obey. The Earth is the theatre allotted you for innumerable ages; but it is decreed that a Being shall shortly arise, who will possess a greater empire than either of you. In despite of the exertions of Vice, three parts of her empire^ w^ill be shared by that Being; and, notwithstandiog the sacred name of Virtue, nearly the whole THE RACrF. 205 of her empire shall shake at the power of the stranger/' The Father of the g'ods and of men ceased, and the music of the spheres ex- pressed the approbation of the divine assembly. Virtue sighed^ but obe jed, and forgot the severity of Fate; in form- ing plans of happiness for mankind. Vice muttered, and descended, venting imprecations to the earth ; but the Being, whom Jupiter had foretold, had preceded her; and FasMpn, the daugh- ter of Folly and Conceit, had taken pos- session of the vacant throne of Yice, To dispossess Fashion was impossible^ and Vice, therefore, entered into an amicable compromise, to share three parts of her empire with the usurper. Fashion now took up her abode in Greece, and commenced her reign^ hy '^06 MADNESS patronizing Genius^ and the favourite children of Genius — Homer, Pindarj, Demostlienes, Aristotle, &c. &c. The admiration with which these children of Genius were received, the warm and unbounded eulogiums bestowed upon them, were the consequences of her smile and protection. It was during the same period that she thought pro- per to patronize a spirit which has been termed Patriotism, and a form of go- Yernment free and liberal, termed the Hepublican. But short was the period of this freak, for Fashion was the most mutable of being?! Indifferent to the fate of scenes which had been once so dear to lier, Dulness and Slavery insensibly gained possession of the forsaken seats of Genius and Liberty; and Fashion was seeM to spread her silken wings oves! THE UA6E. 207 the towering capital^ the proud seat of the empire of the world. Under her protection^ Romans were the terror and the admiration of the world ; but as the smile upon her countenance was clouded with disdain^ Romans became the contempt of man- kind. Disgusted with the men who follow^ed — meU;, wliO;, with few excep- tions^ were a disgrace to their species^ Fashion was delighted with the host of barbarians that rushed from ^* the store- house of nations ; and she saw, without dissatisfaction^ the Gothic darkness that followed in their train. Amidst the gloom, she again reared her Head; she took lier stand over the antique gate- way of some moat-surrounded mo-* nasterj; and she smiled as she contem- plated the respect bestowed upon her scholastic rubbish and logical subtilty. SOS * MADNESS Yctj {is Fashion was always variable^ f 0-day she beamed upon the waving helmet of heroic chivalry; to-morrow slie hurried, with inconsiderate fury^ under the banners of the Cross. Some- times she supported the divine rights of kings; at others, the licentious doctrines ©f rebellion. Now she decreed that the Pope's^ frown should hurl monarclij? from their thrones ; and now, that a powerless^ private individual should make the empire of papacy tremble to its centre. We shall pass over many of the ob- jects which Fashion patronized, and hasten to the conclusion. Fashion, at length, tired of interfering in matters of importance, has, in modern times, often amused herself with tilings ^' light as air.'' She still continues to preserve her Yariable character, and patronizes^ with THE RAGE. ^09 Ijeeclioss rapidity^ the rational, and the silly ; the whim of folly, and the result of philosophy; the illegitimate off- spring of vice, and the true heir of vir- tue ; yet she more particularly delights in a misapplication of her powers, in insulting reason, elevating folly, in- vesting sophistry with the garb of truth, and divesting inlidelity of its na- turally horrid dress. In brief, Fashion excels in the de- lusive colouring she bestows upon ob* jects, and smiles at the absolute adora- ration which her subjects pay her ; an adoration which blinds them to the de- formity of vice and of £olly ; whilst the beauty of Virtue, like the mountain rose, perishes unheeded and unprized, unless it is the whim of Fashion to patronize it, which she sometimes does; for lhou2:h she shares the throne ef Vice, 210 MADNESS she invariably acts as an absolute mo- narch. A proof of which she lately gave/ in issuing the following code of laws : 1. My subjects are ordered to act as contradictory as possible to nature and to reason, and ever to be in extremes. 2. My subjects are eternally to pur- sue pleasure, without ever appear- ing to be pleased, or without being, in reality, pleased at any thing. 3. My subjects are to change their amusements to create, and not allay, desire. 4. My subjects are to pursue and adopt every thing which is new and ex- pensive ; and they are expressly order- ed to leave it ofT the moment it is cou- taminatcd by the use of the vulgar. THE RAGE. 211 5. My subjects are ordered to be freetbinkcrSj for freetbinkig is opposite to reason; and great and wise men are generally pious. By order of her Imperial Majesty, FASHION. Signed, Caprice, sp ■Jp ■3(f ^ •Jp ^ Cetera dcsiint END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, T. Gillei, Priuter, Crown-<:ouit, Heet-strcet, JLxjndou, 4