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 OF THE 
 
 
 
 UN IVLR.SITY 
 
 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 
 
 823 
 J35t 
 
 
TALES 
 
 OF 
 
 OLD MR. JEFFERSON, 
 
 OF 
 
 GRAYS l^^, 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 YOUNG MR. JEFFERSON, 
 
 OF 
 
 LYON'S INN. 
 THE FIRST SERIES. 
 
 — — Licuit seraperque licebit 
 Parcere personis, dicere de vitiis. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 G. AND W. B. WHITTAKEK, 
 
 13, AVE-MARIA-LANE. 
 
 1823. 
 
LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY R. GILBERT, 
 
 ST. John's square. 
 
%23 
 
 J35t 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 WRITTEN BY OLD MR. JEFFERSON IN 1778, 
 AND CORRECTED BY YOUNG MR. JEFFER- 
 SON IN 1823. 
 
 I BELIEVE it was Mr. Burke who observed, 
 that no romance was so extravagant as tht; 
 romance of real life ; and a celebrated au- 
 thoress, speaking of her excellent tales, (in 
 the life of her father) has informed us that 
 those characters and incidents in her works, 
 which the critics had been unanimous in con- 
 demning as extravagant, unnatural or absurd, 
 were merely characters and incidents taken 
 from real life, and often described by her with 
 very little colouring or deviation from facts, 
 whilst the scenes and personages that were 
 accounted natural, were entirely the inven- 
 tions of her imagination. If I could flatter 
 a3 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 myself that the following tales would be 
 deemed worthy of any animadversions from 
 the critics, I should anticipate that many 
 parts would be objected to as extravagant; 
 but I know of scarcely any passage that can 
 be liable to this reproof, except those scenes 
 which have really fallen within my own ob- 
 servation, and many of which I have painted 
 pretty nearly as they occurred. 
 
 The first tale is more completely the inven- 
 tion of my fancy, than either of the others ; but 
 the most pathetic, and the most improbable 
 scenes of it are simply matters of fact, occur- 
 rences of real life, with little or no deviation 
 from truth further than giving the parties a 
 higher rank in society than it was their fate 
 to enjoy, and placing the retirement of the 
 family in Wales instead of nearer to the me- 
 tropolis. 
 
 Few naval persons will peruse the tale of 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Mandeville, without recognizing many cha- 
 racters and many facts, or without concurring 
 in many of the observations that the tale has 
 elicited from me. The character of Sir John 
 Fadladeen, the actions in the Irish and En- 
 glish channels, the trial of the Captain of the 
 Julius, and the career of Captain Lokas, with 
 many other su(^ portraits will be recognized 
 by most naval officers; whilst the manner in 
 which the tale is told will evince that the ob- 
 ject of the author is to corr||ct a system, and 
 not to afford amusement or to gratify male- 
 volence at the expence of personal feelings. 
 Captain Vallerton's character and naval career 
 are fictitious only in degree, specificaliy, they 
 form but too true a picture of what every 
 naval officer must have beheld, — a powerful 
 mind and a brave heart, struggling ineffec- 
 tually against the overwhelming influence of 
 borough corruption and political partialities 
 that render merit often of no use in the ser- 
 vice of the country. The mode of the naval 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 hero's promotion by the means of a noble 
 duke, is simply a matter of fact, and it is 
 feared, not a fact sui generis. 
 
 Excepting the passages that are merely ar- 
 gumentative, or inserted for the sake of hu- 
 mour, the third story is entirely true, and is 
 told purely in the hope of contributing to the 
 reformation of a system which shocks humani- 
 ty, and to the improvement of Creoles lor 
 whom circumstances have induced me to 
 entertain a high degree of sympathy. The 
 reader must not imagine that the character 
 of Mrs. Juxton or the description of her fa- 
 mily, affords any specimen of Creoles in gene- 
 ral ; for this family is perhaps the last existing 
 specimen of the old manners of our colonies, 
 heightened moreover by individual depravity, 
 which could be general scarcely in any state 
 of society. Perhaps there is no contrast now 
 existing so strong as that between the younger 
 and the older female members of the upper 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 classes of Colonists. The old female residents 
 of our Colonies are totally destitute of educa- 
 tion, and have a narrowness of mind from 
 being exclusively employed in regulating do- 
 mestic drudgery and petty traffic ; and their 
 association being restricted to an intercourse 
 with each other, or with their slaves, they 
 have imbibed all the habits, and most of the 
 vices, with which a system of slavery has in- 
 fected the neo-ro character. Their drawling^ 
 voice, their gait, their sloth, their furious pas- 
 sions, their low cunning and sensuality, their 
 buffoonery and doggrel, have been all imbibed 
 by the mistresses ; and the difference between 
 an old negro and her old mistress, simply con- 
 sists in shades of complexion, often not very 
 perceptible to Europeans, until they are ex- 
 perienced in detecting the nice gradations of 
 colour produced by the complexity of inter- 
 course between the whites, the blacks, mu- 
 lattoes, &c. &c. &c. 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 But the young and the middle-aged females of 
 the higher classes in the Colonies, have all been 
 educated in Europe ; and as the calculation 
 is that not one Creole parent in five ever pays 
 or intends to pay for the schooling of his chil- 
 dren, they generally indulge them in the most 
 expensive education that England can afford : 
 and no female society in Europe might be more 
 polished than that of our Colonies, if the young 
 ladies arriving from Europe were not in some 
 degree liable to be injured by the example of 
 their parents, and by the scenes of impurity 
 around them. The women, however, have be- 
 come companionable to men of sense and edu- 
 cation ; and which will unquestionably soon 
 have the effect of winning their husbands and 
 brothers from that revolting state of inter- 
 course with the slaves, the commission of 
 which they have hitherto taken very little 
 pains to conceal from their wives and daugh- 
 ters. 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 The tale of the " Negro's Suicide" was too 
 revolting to be told as a tale of pathos, or of 
 mere fact; it has therefore been told in a 
 style of humour, rendered broad, to adapt it 
 to the tastes of Creoles ; the sole or at least 
 the principal object of publishing it, being to 
 produce amongst them that species of reforma- 
 tion which our nature is always disposed to 
 derive from witnessing the portraiture of our 
 errors. 
 
 Of the volumes now offered to the Public, 
 I might plead that they were written under 
 circumstances that precluded a digestion of 
 plan, or any attempt at excellence : they were 
 written under the pressure of affliction, and in 
 all the uncertainty and agitation which mis- 
 fortune can produce; but I am aware that 
 such pleas are too easily made to be attended 
 to by the Public, and that the world in gene- 
 ral cannot reasonably be expected to pay any 
 attention to the disadvantages under which 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 an author may compose his work — the reader 
 solely concerns himself about the merit of 
 what he reads ; and pleas of haste, or of any 
 untowardness of circumstances, are, 
 
 " With merit needless, and without it vain." 
 
 I therefore dismiss the work, if not with in- 
 difference, at least without any effort to disarm 
 criticism of its castigatory functions ; foi I 
 have scarcely the vanity to suppose that my 
 volumes will ever excite the notice of the critic 
 or of the man of letters ; and if I am not in- 
 different to censure, I may at least avow the 
 maxim of Publius Syrus — 
 
 " Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes." 
 
THE 
 
 WELCH COTTAGE; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 WOODMAN'S FIRE-SIDE. 
 
 ** Our journey to-day has been truly de- 
 lightful," said Mr. Hamlyn to his companion, 
 Mr. Williams. " You have led me through 
 the most beautiful scenery I ever witnessed, 
 and the fineness of the weather has added to 
 the charms of every thing we have seen : we 
 have been fortunate in our day for travelling, 
 and the clear atmosphere and cheerful sun 
 have produced that happy tone of feeling, 
 
 ' Which out of all the lovely things we see 
 Extracts emotions beautiful and new.' 
 
 But in the ten miles we have ridden, how 
 diversified has been the face of the country. 
 In the morning our journey lay through the 
 thickest and most extensive forests, and we 
 enjoyed their deep recesses, and were conti- 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 nually stopping to admire the various foliage 
 of the luxuriant and majestic trees. Now, 
 on our left we have an even landscape with 
 nothing to interrupt the rich view of ripened 
 corn and of every thing which can reward the 
 labour of the husbandman. How verdant is 
 the country before us, and how beautiful the 
 speckled cattle and numerous flocks. The 
 spire of that village church, and the sound of 
 those distant bells attune the mind to every 
 soft and solemn emotion. But how terrific are 
 these mountains on our right, rising from green 
 and wooded hills into abrupt and fearful pre- 
 cipices, the broken and naked sides of blue 
 and red rock entering the clouds reflect the 
 rays of the sun with innumerable hues of un- 
 equalled brilliancy. What a contrast is formed 
 between the gentle murmuring rill by the side 
 of which we breakfasted this morning in the 
 depth of the wood, and that hoarse torrent, 
 which rushing down the steep sides of the 
 mountain, is lost in the subterraneous cavern, 
 until, emerging, it runs into that quiet river 
 which glides peacefully through the valley 
 below. 
 
 " But pray whose cottage is that which 
 stands on the side of the mountain, about two 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 3 
 
 hundred yards above the level of the plain. 
 It is built in the most exquisite taste. How 
 sweetly its white sides and slated roof harmo- 
 nize with the trees and the surrounding sce- 
 nery. It seems the very abode of peace and 
 innocence. The mind fancies that every thinp- 
 good and happy, combined with the utmost 
 simplicity, must be found within its walls. I 
 never saw any thing so picturesque. The oak 
 which overshadows it, seems as if it had grown 
 to double the usual size, for the purpose of 
 protecting it from the wind, and screening it 
 from the powerful blaze of the sun. — Do you 
 knaw whose cottage it is ?" — " I do, indeed/' 
 replied Mr. Williams : " I have cause to re- 
 member it. No common persons have resided 
 there. Peaceful and sequestered as that little 
 woodland cottage appears, it has been visited 
 by the deepest affliction. Long was it the 
 abode of happiness and virtue — but the mise- 
 ries of life smite the cottage of the peasant 
 as well as the mansion of the peer. In this 
 abode it is impossible but to imagine that the 
 simple life of the peasant could not be ex- 
 posed to the cares and troubles of the adven- 
 turous and busy world ; but I tell you, my 
 friend, that the shaft of wretchedness and mis- 
 b2 
 
4 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 fortune has fallen on this cottage with dread- 
 ful severity. 
 
 " You gaze with melancholy intenseness on 
 the spot. The tale attached to it is one of 
 deep interest, and some cold winter evening, 
 after tea, when the red curtains are drawn and 
 the fire blazes over the hearth, I will beguile 
 your time by relating to you the story of the 
 woodman, who once inhabited the cottage you 
 admire." 
 
 " The prospect of a pathetic tale over a 
 winter's fire," said Mr. Hamlyn, " may be very 
 delightful, but, to tell you the truth, so many 
 things have conspired to give me an interest 
 in the fate of its inhabitants, that I was never 
 more disposed in my life than I am at this 
 moment, to enter into such a relation. It is 
 now one o'clock, and the weather gets rather 
 too warm. Our ponies have travelled far, and 
 would have no objection to a little rest, nor 
 would they dislike to crop the grass and stray 
 about one of these inclosures ; suppose we ride 
 up this close winding path, which appears to 
 lead to the cottage — it seems broad enough to 
 admit our horses between its sides of briar 
 and woodbine ; and when we arrive at any 
 cool convenient place, we can let our horses 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 5 
 
 range, and resting an hour, you can amuse 
 me with the tale of this cottage, whilst we 
 enjoy the air and view the surrounding sce- 
 nery. Being on the spot where the misfor- 
 tunes happened, will give an increased ap- 
 pearance of reality and recent occurrence to 
 the circumstances, and I shall attend to the 
 story with more satisfaction." 
 
 Mr. Williams assented to his friend's pro- 
 posal, and they guided their ponies up the 
 narrow winding path. As they gently ascended 
 the hill, the prospect opened upon them with 
 surprising beauty. At length the path led 
 them to the garden fence opposite the front of 
 the woodman's cottage. There were five or 
 six remarkably healthy but delicate children, 
 playing on a grass plat under the shade of a 
 wide spreading beech — a little rosy-faced girl 
 with curly hair, made them a curtesy as they 
 passed ; and the happy little group suspended 
 their play till the gentlemen were advanced 
 some yards beyond them, and then recom- 
 menced their sports with a half suppressed 
 innocent laugh. 
 
 " I looked," said Mr. Hamlyn, " into the 
 cottage as I passed. The floor was extremely 
 clean, the table scoured as white as snow, and 
 b3 
 
6 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 the cottage utensils shone as bright as gold 
 and silver : an oaken clock stood in one cor- 
 ner of the room, about three or four dozen 
 books upon a shelf, and every thing bespoke 
 industry, cleanliness, and order. The chil- 
 dren in their sports were not rude and noisy, 
 neither rustic accent, coarse manners, nor 
 awkward action, point them out as the chil- 
 dren of a peasant, but they bear all the ap- 
 pearance of genteel life and careful culture, 
 and seem more quiet and orderly than the 
 children of many gentlemen and ladies. These 
 children cannot belong to a peasant, they are 
 simply clothed, but their manners and ap- 
 pearance are those of better life." " The part 
 of the cottage," replied Mr. Williams, "into 
 which we looked, comprises only the offices 
 and the servants' apartments. The front of 
 the building which commands that extensive 
 view, contains several very excellent rooms, 
 and not destitute of good furniture. In short, 
 I must anticipate my tale by informing you, 
 that the widow who inhabits this rural retreat, 
 leaves this side of the cottage in precisely the 
 order and style of humble comfort in which it 
 was first fitted by her late husband ; and her 
 daily devotions are offered to the Deity in this 
 
THE WOODMA^f's FIRE-STDE. ^ 
 
 apartment, which reminds her at once of all 
 her happiness and of her days of misery." 
 
 " Let us," said Mr. Hamlyn, " stop here, 
 we cannot have a better spot. How extensive 
 is the prospect : I had no idea we should get 
 so clear a view of the ocean, over the rich 
 landscape before us. Those ships in the 
 distance have a beautiful appearance ; how 
 bravely they stem the sea, whilst the boats 
 on the quiet river, which runs through the 
 woods and meadows, glide so silently and 
 softly through the stream, that you can hardly 
 perceive their motion. That's a very fine sal- 
 mon which the fisherman has j ust caught. Let 
 us rest ourselves here. I could sit under this 
 tree and enjoy the scene for hours." 
 
 '' I am afraid," said Mr. Williams, " if this 
 is to be the spot on which we are to rest, 
 that my story will run a sad chance of excit- 
 ing attention in you. It will be impossible to 
 withdraw your mind from the contemplation 
 of the numerous beauties of nature which are 
 so profusely scattered around us. Let us re- 
 main here for about half an hour, and when 
 we have fully enjoyed the landscape, I will 
 lead you to a spot equally beautiful, but of a 
 beauty of a very different description." 
 b4 
 
Mr. Hamlyn's impatience to hear the story 
 of the woodman, induced him to leave this de- 
 lightful spot sooner than he otherwise would, 
 but he left it with an anticipation of the joy 
 he should receive from visiting the place at 
 some future period. 
 
 They now ascended the mountain about a 
 quarter of an hour, till the play of the chil- 
 dren, which before was heard in an indistinct 
 murmur, had gradually become fainter, and 
 was at length inaudible. They passed several 
 glens, which were so deep and shaded that the 
 sun appeared never to have penetrated their 
 recesses. At length, turning suddenly round 
 a projecting point, they were immediately in 
 the midst of huge masses of rock rising to the 
 clouds ; the lower surfaces were covered with 
 grass, with moss and brush-wood, but the 
 tops appeared to be void of vegetation, and 
 in many places covered with snow. This was 
 a delightfully cool retreat during the extreme 
 heat of the autumnal noon, and in the midst 
 of this vast natural basin, there was a surface 
 of about ten acres of fresh grass, with a few 
 trees and a small pool of water, cool and as 
 clear as crystal. At the foot of a tree, and on 
 the margin of this beautiful pool, our travel- 
 
THE woodman's FTRE-SIDE. 9 
 
 lers seated themselves, having allowed their 
 ponies to range at pleasure. The rocks rose 
 so suddenly and perpendicularly, that it was 
 impossible for them to escape, and the nar- 
 row pass by which they had entered, they 
 took care to stop by a few boughs and clumps 
 of trees. 
 
 " How powerful," exclaimed Mr. Hamlyn, 
 " is the effect of scenery on the mind. The 
 rich and beautiful views we were just now 
 enjoying, created in me the most soft and 
 tender emotions, now I am impressed with 
 feelings of solemnity and awe. An exten- 
 sive landscape with the most distant hori- 
 zon, does not elevate the mind so much as 
 even this confined fastness, where the abrupt 
 ascents, the broken craggy projections, the 
 huge masses of rock and their prodigious 
 height, have all the wonderful effect of sub- 
 limity on the mind. 
 
 ** The birds are so high above our heads, that 
 even their screeching is softened by the dis- 
 tance, and is at times but hardly perceptible. 
 Their horrid cry would be out of tone with 
 the soft and cultivated scenery which we were 
 enjoying this morning ; here it is in character 
 with the wildness and rugged nature of our 
 B 5 
 
10 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 situation, and adds to its effect on the mind. 
 A gun discharged in this place, would make 
 a great many echoes, and would disturb flocks 
 of birds so numerous as to obscure from us 
 the sight of the heavens." 
 
 '' Here then," said Mr. Williams, " in this 
 cool and romantic spot, we will rest till the 
 excessive heat of the sun is moderated, and 
 during our stay, I will relate to you the story 
 
 of THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 
 
 " He was not a Welchman, but came to 
 our village about twenty years ago, and his 
 arrival made a considerable sensation in this 
 secluded country, where we seldom see any 
 body but its native inhabitants. His appear- 
 ance attracted attention from the neighbour- 
 ing gentlemen. He was remarkably tall, above 
 six feet high, and his person fine and well 
 proportioned. Although humbly clad, he was 
 free from rustic awkwardness and clumsy ac- 
 tion, and his step had all the grace and firm- 
 ness of military training, without its measured 
 formality and technical precision. I was a 
 boy at that time, and his commanding figure, 
 his fine Grecian face and piercing black eye 
 made a wonderful impression on me. My head 
 was at that time full of novels and romances, 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 11 
 
 and it only wanted a different station in life to 
 make Mr. Ashford appear to me the most 
 perfect figure of a hero which the imagination 
 could form. 
 
 " You will be surprised at my talking thus 
 extravagantly of one so humbly situated, or 
 of giving the title of Mr. to a man, who at 
 least assumed the rank of a mere rustic ; but 
 his appearance at first procured him that re- 
 spect, and his subsequent conduct was calcu- 
 lated to preserve him that consideration, or 
 to acquire him even more than such a simple 
 honour. 
 
 " He remained at the village inn for a week, 
 conversing with nobody but on the subject of 
 the neighbouring properties, and taking ex- 
 tensive rambles in every direction. 
 
 *' At length he came to my father^s man- 
 sion, and offered to purchase of him the ten 
 or twelve acres which now surround the cot- 
 tage. The land was poor, and except the 
 timber which grew upon it, was really worth 
 nothing. As the old gentleman was merce- 
 nary, he was soon prevailed on to part with 
 this little portion of his patrimonial inheri- 
 tance. Had he possessed any sensibility to 
 the beauties of nature, he would never have 
 b6 
 
12 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 alienated from his estate, a spot which com- 
 mands more beauty and variety of scenery 
 than any place in England. I have since tried 
 to purchase the property from Ashford's wi- 
 dow, but out of regard to her husband who 
 planted it, and converted it from a barren 
 waste to a productive garden, she has reso- 
 lutely resisted every temptation of high price 
 and earnest entreaty. Were it mine, I would 
 build a gothic stone tower where the cottage 
 now stands, for although the cottage is large, 
 convenient, and beautiful, it is beneath my 
 rank in the county to use or inhabit any 
 place bearing so low a name. The elevation 
 of the place above the level of the plain, gives 
 it a cool temperature, and in the excessive 
 heat of summer, I could pass my days and 
 nights there in the refreshing atmosphere, 
 and enjoy myself in ranging through the wilds 
 of the mountains, or in contemplating the 
 heavens from elevated situations, whence they 
 appear in infinitely greater beauty than from 
 the lands below, where there is more mist 
 1 han in the mountain heights. 
 
 " No sooner had Mr. Ashford received pos- 
 session of his new purchase, than with incre- 
 dible industry, guided by sound judgment. 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 13 
 
 he commenced clearing it of its wood, leaving 
 only a few of the largest trees, which from 
 their size and situation were calculated to 
 beautify his dwelling. The land was quickly 
 cleared and drained ; substantial fences or 
 strong walls of stone, separated it from the 
 adjoining ground. The cottage itself soon 
 appeared rising above its foundation, to the 
 surprize of the rustics, and to the delight of 
 those who admired picturesque objects. 
 
 " It was observed that this dwelling in its 
 exterior, exhibited considerable marks of taste, 
 and that the inner arrangements bespoke at- 
 tention to decencies and enjoyments of life, 
 far above what persons in humble situations 
 are accustomed to contemplate, or are dis- 
 posed to value. 
 
 " Soon was this happy dwelling completed, 
 and the grass lawn and flower garden before 
 the house, began to assume its present beauty. 
 Mr. Ashford was no mean florist ; his garden 
 contained many exotics, and plants unknown 
 to this part of the world, were soon seen to 
 flourish under his care. But in all that Mr. 
 Ashford performed, there was an elegance of 
 design, an evidence of his familiarity with 
 objects of taste and of genteel life, which 
 
14 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 created ten thousand conjectures and busy 
 thoughts as to who and what he could be. 
 Some imagined him to be a military or a naval 
 officer retired upon half-pay. Others conjec- 
 tured that he had arrived from our colonies, 
 where, with his money, he might have acquired 
 his habits of gloomy and haughty reserve. 
 Some pronounced him to be a wanderer from 
 the city, who did not choose to be subject to 
 the inquiries of the neighbourhood as to the 
 source of his independence, and many con- 
 jectured that he might be a fugitive to whom 
 retirement was safety. Certain it is that his 
 fine person, his graceful action, his command- 
 ing countenance and dignified reserve were 
 in strong contrast to the simplicity and home- 
 liness of his dress, and to the humility of his 
 pretensions, for he studiously avoided both 
 the richer and middling classes of gentlemen 
 who would have formed acquaintance with 
 him, but, although he did not admit a fami- 
 liarity with the farmers or the poor, he seemed 
 inclined to be known to them, and to asso- 
 ciate with them as their arbitrator, their direc- 
 tor, and their judge. He soon acquired a 
 surprising influence over the minds of this 
 class of persons, who in this retired part of 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 15 
 
 the world live a life of almost primeval sim- 
 plicity, they esteemed him for his rigid im- 
 partiality and integrity — they were astonished 
 at his quick discernment and penetration — 
 they celebrated his knowledge, and they ad- 
 mired, although none of them followed, his 
 abstemious mode of life. None ever dared to 
 be familiar with him. There was a great kind- 
 ness, or even tenderness, in his manners, but 
 immediately familiarity commenced, a certain 
 natural dignity of character appeared to rise 
 involuntarily, and to check the presumption 
 of the intruder. He could enjoy the sports 
 of others, and often took a delight in witness- 
 ing their coarse and simple mirth, but never 
 condescended to partake of their amusement : 
 and yet I observed that the profound respect 
 which the farmers and the poor evinced to- 
 wards him, was very different from that which 
 they testify towards their landlords or wealthy 
 neighbours. It was a homage silently paid 
 by the heart to a better and a superior nature. 
 As none ever entered this good man's cottage, 
 there wanted but age and the superstition of 
 the last century to give this man the character 
 of a sorcerer, or a wizard. The only persons 
 who disliked this gentleman were the lawyers. 
 
16 
 
 The farmers and shop-keepers of Wales are 
 remarkably prone to litigation, and the law- 
 yers are consequently numerous and wealthy, 
 but when Mr. Ashford became the village 
 peace-maker, and decided even the disputes 
 of the most obstinate by gratuitous arbitra- 
 tion, the gentlemen of the law found strong 
 motives for endeavouring to undermine his 
 authority. They did all in their power to 
 annoy this good but singular character, but 
 as he was so thoroughly independent and 
 separated from every body, and had an equa- 
 nimity of temper, or at least a command of 
 his passions, they found it impossible to hurt 
 him even by any of those arts by which a 
 cunning and vulgar attorney can wrest the 
 laws to his purpose of ruining the poor. 
 
 " This truly excellent man received consi- 
 derable annoyance from a creature of this de- 
 scription, whom fortune had raised to afflu- 
 ence in spite of his utter destitution of 
 every worthy quality. I allude to that tall, 
 thin gentleman, whose countenance you ob- 
 served to be distorted so disagreeably in con- 
 versation. The father of this Mr. Praed was 
 a low woolstapler, a miser in habit, who, hav- 
 ing hoarded a little capital employed it as a 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 17 
 
 country banker from the beginning of that 
 system of country banks which the recent 
 policy of our government established through 
 the country. His son, the gentleman of whom 
 we are now speaking, was bred to the law, 
 from the practice of which profession his 
 execrable temper very soon drove him. But 
 the father saw that the disposition of the son 
 would mar his progress through life, and he 
 therefore purchased a borough at the western 
 extremity of Devonshire, and which he op- 
 portunely prostituted to the ruling powers, 
 and his son was in a due course of time 
 appointed to superintend a great public de- 
 partment. In this he continued for about 
 fifteen years, when his conduct being exposed 
 by the press, he was obliged to retire from 
 office, and as he had a considerable interest 
 in the county, the government allowed him 
 to retire upon a liberal pension. Imagine the 
 curse of a creature like this coming to settle 
 in a sociable and peaceful district. Ashford 
 with great spirit withstood, and indeed ex- 
 posed his tyranny and injustice, and received 
 all the annoyance which the malice of a petty 
 and a wicked mind could contrive. Ashford 
 was dignified in his retirement. To mortify his 
 
18 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 pride, and to reduce his consequence, this 
 wretched semi-lunatic, Mr. Praed, contrived 
 that he should be chosen to a petty parochial 
 office. But if this employment did not dig- 
 nify the man, Mr. Ashford imitated the con- 
 duct of Epaminondas, who when from similar 
 motives was chosen by his enemies to the 
 station of a scavenger, declared himself re- 
 solved to dignify the station by the mode of 
 executing the duty. But the second scheme of 
 annoyance was still more atrocious, this crea- 
 ture, it is supposed by bribery, contrived that 
 Mr. Ashford should be drawn for the militia. 
 Poor Ashford apparently had no option but to 
 serve, or to sell his furniture to raise a sum 
 for a substitute. The iniquitous militia laws 
 never fell more unfortunately than upon this 
 man, but whilst he was preparing to part with 
 his comforts to obtain his discharge, he re- 
 ceived an anonymous letter that a wealthy 
 but sympathising neighbour, whose name 
 should never be disclosed, had provided a 
 substitute. The malignity of this Mr. Praed 
 having thus attracted the attention of those 
 who were able to resent it, his dastardly spirit 
 drove him to the necessity of quitting his 
 prey, and he continued to live in a state of 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 19 
 
 self-torment between the desire to effect, and 
 the fear of effecting poor Ashford's destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 *' But to resume my history of the cottage : 
 at the time it was completed, its architect 
 received from London a considerable quantity 
 of furniture, which appeared to be of the 
 most neat and simple description, but so far 
 from being either clumsy or coarse, it bore 
 evident marks of having been made by the 
 superior description of workmen. 
 
 ** The cottage was now cleaned and the fur- 
 niture arranged, when locking the door, our 
 neighbour departed on a journey. At least, 
 he suddenly disappeared one morning, and 
 was a long time absent, which occasioned 
 much conversation and surprise in the coun- 
 try, every body declaring there was some- 
 thing very odd in their new visitor. I strolled 
 one morning up to the house, and looking in 
 at the window I could not help admiring the 
 cleanliness and the precise order in which 
 every thing appeared. It seemed as if the 
 house were made ready for a new visitor. In 
 one room I observed many hundred volumes 
 arranged on shelves, with globes, and some 
 
20 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 philosophical and chemical instruments. In 
 an adjoining room there was a turning lathe 
 and many carpenter's tools, as well as imple- 
 ments of husbandry, doubtlessly intended for 
 the amusement as well as for the business of 
 their owner. I could see into all the lower 
 rooms of the house, for the owner had not 
 closed a single window shutter, knowing that 
 in a country so far removed from the conta- 
 gion of a city, and never annoyed by the pre- 
 sence of sailors, or of the military, there was 
 neither violence nor robbery to fear from a 
 people of manners so simple and uncorrupted. 
 
 *' Conjecture had almost exhausted itself on 
 the cause of Mr. Ashford's sudden disappear- 
 ance, when, about three weeks after he had 
 left us, a post-chaise drove into the village, 
 and out of it came Mr. Ashford himself, ac- 
 companied by a female servant, and a most 
 lovely and beautiful young lady of about 
 twenty years of age. 
 
 " I was standing at the door of the inn 
 when the carriage stopped. I waited as a man 
 of consequence to receive Mr. Ashford's bow ; 
 but Mr. Ashford in every thing was passive. 
 He took no notice of any body, but in return 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 21 
 
 for notice bestowed upon himself. At length 
 I gave him my bow, which he returned with a 
 quiet dignity of manner peculiar to himself. 
 
 " He handed from the chaise his wife, who 
 was of the most graceful manners, and of the 
 most delicate and elegant form. If her hum- 
 ble and negligent attire was meant as a dis- 
 guise, it can barely be said to have answered 
 her purpose, for nature had given her so truly 
 elegant a figure, and so superior a counte« 
 nance, and her manners were so inartificially 
 delicate and graceful that no assumption of 
 humble dress could conceal the better habits 
 and culture of her youth. There was an ex- 
 pression of melancholy sensibility on her 
 countenance, her fine dark eyes beaming with 
 a mild lustre, at once bespeaking goodness 
 and intelligence. She alighted from the chaise 
 with the firm and easy step of one long used 
 to receive attention, and to assume command. 
 Respect was familiar to her, and when the 
 homely phrase and salutation of the by-stan- 
 ders struck upon her ear, I could read in her 
 countenance a sudden expression of indigna- 
 tion, which however instantly subsided : she 
 shot an anxious and fearful glance on all 
 around her, and appeared timidly to shrink to 
 
•82 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 her husband's side for protection, and 1 
 thought I saw affliction in her looks, but her 
 face rapidly assumed the expression of forti- 
 tude, which subsided as quickly into an as- 
 pect of mild resignation, lightening into ten- 
 derness and love as her husband whispered 
 something in her ear. 
 
 '' They drove to the foot of the hill where 
 commences the path leading to their house, i 
 would as they stepped into the chaise have 
 offered my services, my friendship to Mr. 
 Ashford, but I was unable to speak. This, 
 said I to myself, is some man of birth re- 
 duced to poverty, and flying from the world 
 to escape its triumphs and its taunts, and to 
 enjoy tranquillity and health in simplicity 
 and retirement. Or they are persons who are 
 sacrificing wealth and fashion to attain the 
 object of their mutual affections. Sacrificing 
 all for love — his wife — is she a woman to be 
 lost in such a secluded spot as this — a flower 
 to blush unseen — virtues probably which 
 might gladden all around her, and make life a 
 heaven, to be buried in such a rural retire- 
 ment? Strange, perverse man, Mr. Ashford, 
 why not associate with those whose minds, 
 whose manners, whose sentiments and con- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 23 
 
 versation are congenial with thy own. If 
 your occupations are now to be coarse, or 
 even laborious, my friendship alone would be 
 your passport into society. I should see in 
 you the scholar and the gentleman, and I 
 might serve and benefit your family. Why 
 then unnecessarily live the life of seclusion 
 from the world. In this mood I watched the 
 chaise to the foot of the hill. I saw the party 
 alight, and kept my eye on them as they 
 wound up the path. They entered the cot- 
 tage, and I rode on to my mansion with a 
 train of the most melancholy sentiments, and 
 with a deep sympathy for the fortunes of the 
 stranger and his wife. 
 
 " He who wishes to forget the world will 
 soon find the world disposed to forget him. 
 AsMr. Ashford so resolutely resisted all efforts 
 made by his neighbours to be sociable he soon 
 fell into perfect oblivion, and he and his wife 
 lived without scarcel,y ever exchanging a word 
 but with each other, or with their children 
 and servant. 
 
 " It was not long however before a trifling 
 circumstance brought upon Mr. Ashford the 
 notice, and subjected him to the conversation 
 of every body within a circuit of at least 
 
24 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 twenty miles. This circumstance, so silly and 
 trifling in itself, was sufficient to revive all the 
 curiosity, and to display all the meaner pas- 
 sions of our nature in their worst garb. On 
 the death of Sir John Vaniton, the furniture 
 of Vaniton Hall was announced in the papers 
 to be sold by auction ; of course the sale 
 attracted every body of every respectable 
 condition within twenty miles. I was at the 
 sale myself, but certainly the last person in 
 the county I expected to see at such a place 
 was Mr. Ashford. What, it was asked, could 
 he want to buy, except the servant's furni- 
 ture ; every thing here was magnificent and 
 costly; but Mr. Ashford certainly did not 
 seem disposed to gratify the general curiosity, 
 for he appeared to take not the slightest in- 
 terest in any thing going on, and yet he 
 patiently sat to the end of the sale. 
 
 " At length a grand or horizontal piano, 
 with a vast quantity of music, elegantly bound, 
 was put up by the auctioneer. For this lot 
 Mr. Ashford bid, nor let not those who are 
 accustomed to London prices, or to London 
 auctions, be surprised when I relate that this 
 lot was knocked down to him for fifteen 
 pounds, less perhaps than the original cost of 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 25 
 
 binding the music. A violoncello, with an 
 equal quantity of superbly bound music, was 
 subsequently bought by him for about half 
 that sum. The fact was, that there was no- 
 body in the neighbourhood who could use 
 such instruments, except the better class of 
 gentry, and the mansions of these were already 
 supplied. Ashford knew therefore that these 
 things could be purchased for little or no- 
 thing, and he resolved, in order to support the 
 spirits of his wife, to trespass upon his little 
 hoard of money, to effect such a purchase. 
 For my part, as I had known Sir John and 
 Lady Vanitou intimately, I very well knew 
 that these instruments had afforded no human 
 being enjoyment in their house. Sir John 
 detested music from circumstances which have 
 made many others even of better taste than 
 himself dislike it. 
 
 '* Lady Vaniton was an instance of the 
 folly of teaching every person an art which 
 from its nature can be acquired or practised 
 with success by only those who are so for- 
 tunate as to possess a certain aptitude for the 
 accomplishment. Her Ladyship had been 
 taught the piano at a fashionable boarding- 
 school, in the same way that ninety nine in a 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
26 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 hundred of young ladies of fashion are taught 
 that instrument in such seminaries. Without 
 ear, taste, disposition, or a hand for execu- 
 tion, she had spent an hour of each day for 
 about twelve years at her music. She had 
 been taught like a parrot, by rote, and conse- 
 quently when she left school, being of an age 
 at which the riddance of the restraint of a 
 master is considered a happy privilege, she 
 was left to her own powers. After playing 
 what she had learnt at school until fondness 
 itself was sickened by the repetition, her pa- 
 rents urged her to practise other tunes. This 
 she was unable to do without assistance, and 
 to assistance she did not choose at her age to 
 apply ; but as she was resolved not to be set 
 down as one of those who did not know how 
 to play, she studied her pieces with some in- 
 dustry, and thought to make rapidity and 
 noise the substitutes of correct time and taste- 
 ful execution. But Sir John had at least too 
 much ear to tolerate such noisy discord, and 
 as he and her Ladyship were in other respects 
 not a very harmonious couple, he could never 
 abstain from expressing his abhorrence of 
 music whenever her Ladyship commenced her 
 performance, and which very expression upon 
 
 II 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 27 
 
 his part was naturally followed by her resolu- 
 tion to practise, as she termed it, the whole 
 morning. I was glad therefore to see musical 
 instruments now fall into the hands of those 
 who knew so well how to use them, and to 
 whom they would at once be a source of real 
 delight, and an antidote to much care and 
 sorrow ; for that Ashford and his wife were 
 both by nature and by education capable of 
 enjoying as well as playing music, I well 
 knew ; having so frequently, when ranging 
 the hills, heard him accompany with his 
 voice or with a flute, his wife's singing ; and 
 their style of execution evinced that they 
 each possessed a fine taste, formed upon the 
 highest and most refined models. 
 
 " But the astonishment at Ashford's buying 
 a grand piano was beyond all bounds — at his 
 purchasing a violoncello, that astonishment 
 rose to its climax. ' What name shall I put 
 down,' said the Auctioneer. ' Mr. Ashford,' 
 replied the purchaser. ' William Ashford, I be- 
 lieve,' superciliously rejoined the Auctioneer, 
 * and', added he satirically, * Mr. Ashford, it is 
 one of the conditions of the sale, that five and 
 twenty per cent, of the purchase money be 
 paid at the time of bidding.' There was a 
 c 2 
 
28 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 broad o-rin on the countenances of the i^no- 
 ble vulgar ; the gentlemen and ladies present 
 looked at first surprised, at Ashford's pur- 
 chase, and at last they seemed indignant that 
 one so low, or at best so suspicious, should, 
 by assuming a similarity of amusements with 
 themselves, destroy the profound awe with 
 which the vulgar in the country behold all 
 that belongs to their superiors. Mr. Ashford 
 paid the five and twenty per cent, with the 
 most dignified composure, and was not in the 
 least moved by the passing scene ; and yet, 
 in spite of all my penetration into his coun- 
 tenance, and my observation upon his manner 
 declaring him unconcerned, I could hardly 
 conceive it possible that he did not feel inter- 
 nally some sentiment of mortification, if not 
 ofindio-nation, at what he could not but know 
 was passing in the minds of all around him. 
 It was partly in pity to him, and partly in 
 contempt to those around me, that I there- 
 fore, leaning over two or three intermediate 
 persons, addressed him, with ' Mr. Ashford, 
 I shall be obliged to send a waggon to remove 
 my purchases to my own house, and if you 
 will allow me, I shall feel great pleasure in 
 ordering my servants to transport your piano 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 29 
 
 to the cottage.' Mr. Ashford evidently felt 
 my motives, and with great pleasure in his 
 countenance, replied, ' Sir, I am obliged to 
 you, and should be happy to avail myself of 
 your offer, but I had made arrangements for 
 this purpose previous to leaving home.' My 
 countenance thus bestowed upon Mr. Ash- 
 ford had a most visible effect upon the assem- 
 blage ; the Auctioneer could now utter the Mr^ 
 Ashford without irony or sarcasm, the poorer 
 part of the farming gentry substituted looks 
 of surprise for those of derision ; but the 
 higher classes were still disposed to continue 
 their more refined rudeness. Lord Vacilturn, 
 with a shrug of contempt, declared his asto- 
 nishment that Mr. Ashford should ever excite 
 observation in the neighbourhood, sapiently 
 adding, ' he was evidently some petty re- 
 tired music master, from some of the se- 
 condary cities, such as Bath or Bristol.' 
 Lady Vacilturn, with an insolent and signi- 
 ficant look, told me how very civil I was to 
 Mr. Ashford, and then as significantly asked 
 me, whether in my rambles in the mountains 
 I did not often see Mr. Ashford's wife ; and 
 then, laughing, added, ' oh, I know hov/ 
 fond you are of game — pray, Mr. Williams, is 
 c3 
 
30 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 she as delicate and as beautiful as they say/ 
 ' Much more delicate at least than some of her 
 betters, I assure you. Lady Vacilturn/ was 
 my reply. My reproof was felt, but my as- 
 sailant was far from repulsed. ' I suppose/ 
 exclaimed her silly vapid daughter, ' we shall 
 soon have our turnpike men and carters' 
 wives playing pianos and violoncellos, and 
 ladies and gentlemen must give up the 
 study merely to drive the instruments out of 
 fashion.' — * Oh,' resumed Lady Vacilturn, 
 with a sneer, ' these refined instruments, 
 playing in a cottage amidst our hills, will 
 give an irresistible charm, or sort of romance 
 to our Welch mountains.' Her words were 
 prophetic — for in the cool and silent retreats 
 of these hills, often after the lassitude of a 
 long and, in the country, lonely day ; and fre- 
 quently after the weariness and insipidity of a 
 fashionable country party, have I retired to 
 hear the sound of these instruments, rendered 
 almost magical in their ascent, and by the 
 mind's associating them with the surrounding 
 scenery. 
 
 " But to resume the direct thread of my 
 narrative. 
 
 " Living as Mr. and Mrs. Ashford did in a 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 31 
 
 spot so beautiful and healthy, with the most 
 frugal and temperate habits, and with labour 
 sufficient to exercise without fatiguing them, 
 you may suppose that they enjoyed the most 
 perfect health, and that their children conse- 
 quently increased with rapidity. Nor was 
 their family likely to be thinned by any of 
 those diseases which sweep off the puny off- 
 spring of unwholesome cities. In short, in 
 five years, they found themselves the parents 
 of five robust and healthy children. The pro- 
 duce of the little farm was now no longer able 
 to support the family, and poor Ashford was 
 reduced to the sad necessity of giving up his 
 servant, and his delicate and lovely wife had 
 now to perform all the menial offices of the 
 house. I observed in her appearance rather 
 more cheerfulness than usual, but probably it 
 was assumed for the purpose of soothing the 
 sorrows of her husband, for the triumphant 
 observations which the neighbourhood were 
 disposed to make on this symptom of their 
 distress, could not affect a mind so much 
 above the sordid or malignant feelings of 
 life. 
 
 " When Mr. Ashford was with his wife, he 
 seemed always cheerful, or at least serene, 
 c 4 
 
52 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 He was sportive with his children, but I have 
 seen him when alone, and his face at such 
 times wore the aspect of anxiety and despair. 
 He was obliged to toil with redoubled care 
 for the support of his family, but his little 
 farm being so well managed and worked with 
 the spade, its produce was unusually large, it 
 was however insufficient for the comfortable 
 support of so many. Still he was happy, and 
 when the labours of the day were over, it was 
 delightful to see him in front of the cottage 
 accompanying his wife^s voice with his flute, 
 the notes sounding in many parts of the moun- 
 tains like the effect of enchantment. 
 
 " When they had lived in their cottage 
 thirteen years, they were possessed of seven 
 fine, active boys, and five lovely girls, whose 
 elegance of figure and delicacy of manners 
 were little suited to their humble situation. 
 
 " And now came the most severe blow 
 which the father had yet felt. The village 
 afforded him no means of gaining a livelihood 
 but by manual labour, and it was utterly im- 
 possible any longer to feed his family by his 
 little farm. The unprincipled tyranny of our 
 Game Laws prevented his availing himself of 
 a resource which nature seemed to have de- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 33 
 
 signed in equality for all men. He might 
 have had the privilege of shooting over my 
 estate, and I could perhaps have procured 
 him similar permission of some of my friends, 
 but he did not appear in the character of a 
 person qualified to shoot, nor had he the 
 money to take out a licence. In this dis- 
 tressing situation, he adopted the only means 
 in his power to gain additional comforts for 
 his pregnant wife and distressed children. He 
 employed himself and his eldest son in cut- 
 ting the wood from the higher part of the 
 mountains, upon which having exercised his 
 mechanical skill, he used to sell it to a person 
 who retailed it for the use of the neighbour- 
 ing villages. I have mentioned that he had 
 a turning lathe, with which he used to amuse 
 himself on his arrival in the country. This 
 he now put to profitable account, for turning 
 the wood he cut down into various domestic 
 utensils, he sold the produce of his labour to 
 a person who kept a shop for the supply of 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 " This descent to trafiic afforded full scope 
 for the bad feelings of the surrounding inha- 
 bitants. Hitherto, as Mr. Ashford had been 
 independent of his neighbours, poor as he 
 c5 
 
34 TH£ welch cottage ) OR, 
 
 was, he was considered as a gentleman, now 
 he was reduced to their own level, and the 
 reduction gratified the malice and flattered 
 the pride which is inseparable from vulgar 
 minds. Still he repulsed their familiarity, 
 nor did they dare to show any triumph in his 
 presence. They liked him for his benevo- 
 lence, and respected him for his many virtues ; 
 but it is the nature of uneducated man to feel 
 ^something like joy and exultation at the mis- 
 fortune which brings a superior to an equa- 
 lity with themselves. They now began to 
 sneer at what they called his pride and haugh- 
 tiness, and to talk of his family as a family 
 of beggars, whom the magistrates ought to 
 compel to work, lest they should become a 
 burden to the parish. He was no longer 
 called by the country Mr. Ashford, but now 
 every body was disposed to laugh at ' the 
 Gentleman Woodseller;' and at length the 
 mister was entirely dropped, and he went by 
 the name of the Woodman Ashford, and at 
 last by the simple term of the Woodman. 
 
 " He hardly cared for the malice of his 
 neighbours further than he lamented the base- 
 ness of human nature. His mind seemed so 
 thoroughly above those amongst whom he 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 35 
 
 was doomed to live, that nothing they did to- 
 wards him could excite his resentment or 
 create in him any interest. In their own fate 
 he warmly sympathized, for his heart was ex- 
 ceedingly tender. * What,' said he, * shall 
 these people whom I have for fourteen years 
 benefited by important instruction and ad- 
 vice, feel joy in my misfortunes V — But he 
 might have comforted himself with the reflec- 
 tion that this satisfaction at the miseries of 
 others, is often accompanied by far better 
 feelings. It was a proof of the perverseness 
 of human nature, for many of the people who 
 ridiculed him, in their hearts would have done 
 much to befriend him or his family. 
 
 " Mr. Ashford's griefs entirely sprung from 
 the protracted sufferings of his family. But 
 in the presence of these, at his table, or at 
 his fire-side, he forgot all his cares, and was 
 the happiest of men. Never were two hearts 
 more united in love, nor ever was conduct 
 so completely under the influence of mutual 
 affection, as in this amiable couple. He 
 laughed at their calling him the Woodman, 
 and looked forward to brighter times. They 
 had adopted their line of life after mature de- 
 liberation, and they bore their sufferings with 
 c6 
 
36 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 fortitude. They felt inherently that they 
 were better born, and that they were intrin- 
 sically good, and their reduced condition was 
 therefore no source of mortification to them. 
 Not that either of them were of that dull in- 
 sensible nature, which, showing but weak 
 emotion at misfortunes, is often mistaken for 
 resignation or fortitude ; but their moral sen- 
 sibilities were of the most keen and tender de- 
 scription, and required the utmost exercise of 
 their good sense to suppress or to guide them. 
 " It was one clear and fine frosty day in the 
 middle of January, that I took my dog and 
 gun to rove about the mountains in quest of 
 game. The extraordinary fineness of the wea- 
 ther, and the beautiful reflections of the 
 sun beams from the different masses of snow 
 and ice, had induced me to wander much fur- 
 ther than I had any idea of ; evening closed 
 in upon me, and I was far from home, bewil- 
 dered in the intricate mazes of these moun- 
 tain paths, now rendered obscure by a sudden 
 fall of snow. I grew exceedingly uneasy, it 
 was intensely cold, and the snow fell so hea- 
 vily as to obscure my view of any distant 
 object to guide my lonely way. I kept the 
 immense head of yonder hill on my right, 
 knowing that I should be then in a direction 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 37 
 
 leading to the plains. I became however 
 more and more perplexed, I was exhausted 
 with fatigue, spiritless from disappointment, 
 and almost deprived of exertion by the cold. 
 I had the prospect of passing the night in 
 these dismal regions, if indeed life could be 
 preserved under such severe weather, and in 
 such a place. I was resting my arm on my 
 gun, sunk by these melancholy reflections, 
 and my dog looking wistfully in my face, as if 
 conscious of my distress, and not insensible 
 to his own. What shall I do ? said I to my- 
 self in a tone of alarm and despair ; hardly 
 had the words proceeded from my lips, when 
 the laughter of apparently many children was 
 distinctly heard at a distance. I started with 
 surprise. Who, thought I, can at this time 
 of night be in this desert place, so far from 
 shelter and habitation. If you are human be- 
 ings, you can have little cause for laughter 
 under such circumstances. The laughter was 
 again, and louder than before. You will smile 
 at me, if I tell you that really at the moment 
 the ideas of fairies, or at least of supernatural 
 beings, came into my head. I instinctively 
 seized my gun, and advancing a few paces 
 beyond a mass of rock which screened the 
 
as THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 view from me, I saw between some trees at a 
 distance, the glimmer of a light ; I pressed 
 forward to it with ardour, and in ten minutes 
 I was at the door of the Woodman's Cottage. 
 
 " His warm red curtains were drawn, but 
 not so closely as to prevent me seeing into the 
 house. Cold and miserable as I was, I could 
 not help standing in the snow to enjoy the 
 comfortable scene. The room was large ; at a 
 table the two elder boys were playing a game 
 of chess, and the mother was alternately at- 
 tending to their game, and to her two eldest 
 girls, one of whom was knitting a purse, and 
 the other sketching a picture. There was a 
 large blazing fire, the hearth remarkably clean, 
 Mr. Ashford sitting at a moderate distance, in 
 a loose gown and slippers, playing with the 
 remainder of his children. I never saw. so 
 great a difference in a man in my life ; all his 
 sternness and dignity were gone. He was 
 entering into the spirit of their little sports ; 
 they were climbing his knees, hanging about 
 his neck, playing twenty little gambols, which 
 the happy father seemed so thoroughly to en- 
 joy ; but the child that sported with mos^t 
 life, who attracted the father's greatest fond- 
 ness, was little Harry, a fine rosy little boy of 
 
THE WOODMAN*S FIRE-SIDE. 39 
 
 about four years old. But the mother's chief 
 attention, and most tender looks, were be- 
 stowed upon the young lady who was employed 
 with the pencil. A truly elegant and beauti- 
 ful girl, whose soft and expressive countenance 
 seemed tinged with a hectic flush, which ren- 
 dered it even more interesting than its expres- 
 sion of melancholy sensibility. 
 
 ** I gazed with delight on this happy group* 
 At any other time I could have remained an 
 hour beholding such a scene of all the joys of 
 home — of the joys which spring from connu- 
 bial love and parental fondness. But other 
 wants now pressed me, and I tapped at the 
 door with the spring of my shot belt. 
 
 " A visitor at this time of night had, I sup- 
 pose, never approached the Woodman's Cot- 
 tage, and the knock of the door a little alarmed 
 the society. In this pastoral and patriarchal 
 country, robbery is seldom heard of, and vio- 
 lence never. Mr. Ashford readily opened the 
 door, and my figure was certainly calculated 
 to frighten the children and to fill the parents 
 with laughter. My fur cap, my large boots, 
 and rough jacket, covered with snow, and with 
 my gun and dog, I looked like a Robinson 
 Crusoe dropped from a snow cloud, — 
 
40 THE WELCH cottage; OR, 
 
 " ' Your servant, Mr. Ashford. You don't 
 know me, I see, in this odd condition/ ' Oh, 
 Mr. Williams, by your voice. I really did not 
 know you. Come, Sir, do walk in.' ' I am 
 happy to do so, Mr. Ashford, for I am nearly 
 perished with fatigue and cold. I have lost 
 my way in the mountains, and had the pros- 
 pect of perishing by the cold, in the night, 
 had I not, most unexpectedly, found myself 
 within hale of your cottage, at a time when I 
 thought myself nearly five miles from it.' 
 
 " The elder son, leaving his chess-board, ad- 
 vanced, and with the perfect air of a gentle- 
 man, took my gun and hat, whilst his brother 
 brought me a boot-jack and a pair of slippers. 
 The daughter, who had been drawing, brought 
 me a blue great coat, and begged me to change 
 my jacket, which was full of snow. Thus in 
 ten minutes was I dry and comfortable, and 
 with a happy family, over a good fire. What 
 a contrast to the fierce wind, the bitter cold, 
 and trackless desert, which I had just before 
 been exposed to I 
 
 " ' I hope. Sir,' said Mrs. Ashford, * you have 
 the usual quality of the sportsman about you, 
 a good appetite, for I shall be happy to offer 
 you a supper.' ' Indeed, Madam, I have, for I 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 41 
 
 have not eaten since ten o'clock, which, I be- 
 lieve, is about ten hours ago, and I have been 
 exposed all that time to the bracing air of these 
 hills.' 
 
 " *We can give you,' said the husband, 
 ' some cold leg of mutton, or a beef steak, 
 our fare is simple, but, 
 
 * To those who're fed on costly fare. 
 Simplicity alone is rare.' 
 
 * Hunger levels all distinctions, Mr. Ash- 
 ford, but at any time a good steak is no mean 
 dinner. I would have given fifty pounds 
 for one but an hour ago. With a steak and a 
 glass of your ale, I shall feast like an alder- 
 man.' 
 
 " * The first thing. Sir, you shall have, but 
 the last, I am afraid, it is out of our power to 
 supply.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! never mind the ale, a glass of spirits 
 and water will do just as well. I was afraid to 
 mention w^ine.' 
 
 " * To tell you the truth, Mr. Williams, I 
 believe the latter of these two things is all that 
 I can give you, for our habits are so simple 
 and temperate, that I do not think any thing 
 but tea, water, or milk and water have been 
 ever drunk under this roof.' 
 
42 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " * Will you/ said the wife, * take tea and 
 dinner in one, perhaps it is better than mere 
 water.' This was said in so obliging a man- 
 ner, that I could not but assent. 
 
 " ' You must know,' said Mr. Ashford, smil- 
 ing, * that the woodman is an economist even 
 in fuel, for when our dinner is cooked we 
 always let our kitchen fire out, so that you 
 must have your refinement, Mr. Williams, 
 shocked for once in your life, by seeing your 
 dinner dressed before you, in your sitting 
 room.' 
 
 " * Indeed,' said Mrs. Ashford, ' economy is 
 hardly a virtue with us, at least is far from 
 optional;' and now, without any affected 
 awkwardness, or embarrassment, she began 
 cooking me my dinner. 
 
 " No further apology, of any sort, was made ; 
 the whole family seemed perfectly unrestrained 
 and easy in their entertainment of me, which 
 evinced their thorough good breeding and hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 " ' Come, young gentlemen, don't let me in- 
 terrupt your game of chess. Nor let me, ladies, 
 stop what you were about. This is a very free 
 and spirited sketch. It is a view of our vil- 
 lage, and of my own park and seat. Pray was 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 43 
 
 this what you were engaged in when I entered. 
 The young girl answered in the affirmative, and 
 descanting a little on the performance, re- 
 sumed her occupation. The numerous paint- 
 ings round the room, are any of these done by 
 your daughters, Mrs. Ashford?' 
 
 " * No, Sir, they are all the production of 
 Mr. Ashford, or of myself; except the two over 
 the piano, which are the performance of my 
 two elder sons. My girls being young, their 
 drawings and paintings are inferior, and grace 
 only the parlour and bed-rooms, but the sketch 
 you have been looking at is, I believe, to have 
 the honour of gracing this room, which we call 
 our drawing-room.' 
 
 " Little Harry jumped on my knee, and 
 began to play with me familiarly. I availed 
 myself of this circumstance to give himself and 
 his brothers the game I had shot in my day's 
 sport, and which, I thought, would be a re- 
 payment of what I should consume in the 
 house, for these worthy people, I well knew, 
 however disposed, could hardly afford to en- 
 tertain me. 
 
 " I felt perfectly at home, and indescribably 
 happy, from the novelty of the scene, its con- 
 trast to the fate which but an hour ago awaited 
 
44 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 me, and I was happy by a sympathy with the 
 extreme happiness which reigned around me. 
 
 " As my repast was nearly finished, my 
 worthy host observed I had put them so little 
 out of their usual habits that the family would 
 now perform what, he believed, had never been 
 omitted since his residence in the country, and 
 his children soon joined him in their evening 
 devotion to the Deity, and afterwards kissing 
 their parents with unaffected tenderness, they 
 orderly retired to their bed rooms. 
 
 " * I could offer you a bed,' said my host, 
 * which, although coarse and homely, your fa- 
 tigue might render comfortable. This is really 
 a fierce wintry night, and your house is nearly 
 five miles distant — ' 
 
 " ' To tell you the truth, Mr. Ashford, I was 
 never less disposed to walk five miles, or to 
 leave the fire-side than I am at this moment ; 
 I am excessively tired, and would willingly 
 accept your offer, but my house-keeper and 
 butler will be alarmed at my not returning ; 
 my habits are so regular, they will be uneasy, 
 and probably sending the servants and pea- 
 santry out in search of me.' 
 
 *' ' But, Sir, if you write them a note my 
 eldest son can take it to the foot of the hill. 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 45 
 
 to the miller's, who will send the letter to 
 your house, by a man on horseback. The 
 miller's is only two miles off, and the lad knows 
 the winding path to the foot of the hill almost 
 instinctively. The dog can go with him and 
 be his guide, if the heavy fall of snow should 
 lead him out of his track.' 
 
 " This was acceded to, apologizing for send- 
 ing the son out in such weather, and at such 
 an hour. 
 
 " * And now, Mr. Ashford, I find my body 
 and my mind most sadly at variance. The 
 one inclining me to repose, the other making 
 me desirous of your society and conversation. 
 I shall, at all events, sit up until my ambas- 
 sador has safely returned.' 
 
 " The poor boy was absent upwards of two 
 hours, and returned covered with snow, and 
 almost petrified with the cold. And these two 
 hours were of the most pleasant of my life. 
 
 " I found Mr. Ashford to be extensively and 
 deeply read both in philosophy, literature, and 
 science. Penetration and vigour were the 
 characteristics of his intellect, but age, I per- 
 ceived, was gradually superinducing habits of 
 patient and cautious investigation. He had a 
 thorough and almost intuitive insight into cha^ 
 
4S THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 racter, with a talent for delicate satire, but a 
 benevolence, and a polished good sense were 
 diffused through all he said. 
 
 " But the charms of Mrs. Ashford's conver- 
 sation were of a more lively cast. She was 
 well acquainted with all the better works of 
 the imagination, seemed familiar with every 
 thing relating to taste and feeling, and ap- 
 peared indeed to possess a considerable know- 
 ledge of the more abstruse subjects of study. 
 But the delicate, the unobtrusive, and indirect 
 manner in which her talents were evinced ; the 
 grace, the vivacity and playfulness of fancy 
 with which she enlivened our conversation, 
 approached in my mind, to the very standard 
 of intellectual and elegant manners. And is 
 this, said I to myself, as I retired to my room, 
 is this a woman to cook my dinner and scour 
 my room ; are these people to be depressed by 
 sordid poverty, and to be buried in such utter 
 seclusion. Strange, indeed, are the diversities 
 of human life. Let me never again imagine 
 that because a man is poor, he must be ignobly 
 born or bred in habits of vulgarity. I used to 
 consider life as a rock, in which the strata kept 
 for ever their original direction, but I have 
 long had reason to remark, that society is like 
 
 2 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 47 
 
 a troubled sea — the waves which are at this 
 minute the highest soon sink into oblivion, 
 whilst the under surface rises over them with 
 pride and triumph. 
 
 " The next morning I had my breakfast of 
 excellent tea, with eggs and a cold chicken, 
 and cold meat. ' Our life,' said Mr. Ash- 
 ford, ' is patriarchal or primitive : all you have 
 seen at table, except the tea, is the produce of 
 my own labour, and of the ground around my 
 house. These few sterile acres supply my 
 whole family.' * Not,' said Mrs. Ashford 
 laughing, * that their produce is great, but 
 because our wants are so few. I have taught 
 my daughters that excellent little poem, the 
 Fire-side, by Cotton.' At this moment a 
 countryman entered the house, with a manner 
 evincing an impudence restrained only by the 
 individual personal character of its master. 
 * Be this letter for you, it has laid at my 
 measter's for this week, for William Ashford, 
 Esq. and as there is nobody of that name in 
 these here parts but you, measter had guessed 
 as how it might be for the Woodman.' ' And 
 perhaps,' said Mr. Ashford, with composure 
 and good temper, ' your master's guess is not 
 far from the mark.' The postman was about 
 
48 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 to joke at the Esquire, but turning round he 
 perceived me at the table. He dropped three 
 awkward bows, and became silent and looked 
 silly and abashed. How base, thought I, is 
 human nature, even this poor wretch, who, 
 one would suppose, would forbear at the po- 
 verty which must be the lot of himself, will 
 yet sport at and despise the j)overty of another. 
 No sympathy for his own condition. Taunt at 
 distress, and crouch at wealth and power. 
 Surely man forges his own chains. 
 
 " Mrs. Ashford saw the seriousness of my 
 thoughts, and gracefully withdrew me from my 
 reverie. 
 
 " * This,' said she, smiling, ' is an eventful 
 period for us, Mr. Williams. For the fourteen 
 years we have resided at the cottage, neither 
 guest nor postman has approached our gate ; 
 last night honoured us with the one, and ^his 
 morning ushers in the other.' 
 
 " * And both,' I replied with earnestness, 
 ' will I trust be the precursors of happiness.' 
 
 " Mr. Ashford read the letter with an emo- 
 tion which even his command of features did 
 not enable him to conceal. 
 
 *' As soon as he was alone with me, I got up 
 to depart^ — * My friend,' said I, in a tone of un- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 49 
 
 embarrassed feeling, which my heart sponta- 
 neously supplied, * these regions do not afford 
 many persons of information or of polished 
 manners, and I have long tried to acquire your 
 society, perhaps with a hope of gaining your 
 friendship — your confidence. — why, Mr. Ash- 
 ford, you should avoid me, I know not, but as 
 accident has thus been the means of bringing 
 us together, may I hope it will lead to our im- 
 mediate visiting/ 
 
 " * Mr. Williams, I never yet would visit any 
 man so much above me in life, that visiting 
 could not be reciprocal, — and' continued he 
 laughing, * if the Woodman and his wife were 
 seen at your table, it would occasion so much 
 spleen, surprise and envy among the farmers 
 and good people around us, that out of bene- 
 volence to the quiet of my neighbours, I must 
 decline your offer.* 
 
 " ' Is it possible, Mr. Ashford, that a man of 
 your sense, — ' 
 
 " ' Stop, Sir,' said he with emphasis, * I ap- 
 preciate your character, I esteem, I admire 
 you ; but your acquaintance would be incon- 
 sistent with that plan of life which I am re- 
 solved that nothing shall wean me from. At 
 present, it is impossible we can be friends. 
 
50 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 Fortune may soon change, when there is no 
 man on earth whose friendship I would prefer 
 to your's. Good morning. Sir.' 
 
 '' ' But stop, Mr. Ashford, your two eldest 
 sons, in figure and appearance are far beyond 
 their age, I can at this moment present them 
 with commissions in my brother's regiment of 
 militia. Let me fill up two commissions with 
 their names.' 
 
 " He looked at me earnestly ; a thousand 
 thoughts seemed like lightning to flash across 
 his mind and agitate his frame. ' My friend, 
 I am grateful to you, very grateful, but it is 
 impossible — farewell.' — And giving me his 
 hand, he left me. 
 
 " As soon as I had gone, he approached his 
 wife, saying, ' my dear, this is a letter from 
 my friend. Captain Burford, let me read it to 
 you? 
 
 *' My dear Moreton, 
 *' For fourteen years no communication has 
 passed between us, we may mutually suppose 
 each other dead. — Shortly after you left me, 
 my affairs were ruined, and I have lived ever 
 since abroad and in a poverty equal to your 
 own ; but I doubt if I have borne it so well. My 
 uncle, the admiral, is now dead, and his Irish 
 
 7 
 
THE WOODMAN^S FlRE-SIDE. 51 
 
 estates descend to me as heir at law. I leave 
 London in the mail on the 25th, on my way to 
 Ireland to take possession of my property. The 
 coach passes through the town of * * * * *, at 
 one o'clock on the 27th. It is not far, I believe, 
 from your retreat. You must meet me, I have 
 much good and important news to tell you. 
 Our fortunes, my dear friend, declined toge- 
 ther, and they will rise in unison, for the term 
 of your banishment is o'er. My love to your 
 wife, and to your children, if you have any. 
 " Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 " Henry Burford." 
 " * How fortunate,' said Mr. Ashford, * is it 
 that the letter was delivered this morning, it 
 is the 27th ; a delay even of a few hours would 
 have marred my meeting with our friend. I 
 long, my dear Burford, to see you. The recol- 
 lections of my youth come across me, and over- 
 power my feelings — and oh, my dear Emma, 
 said he, falling round his wife's neck and 
 bursting into a flood of tears, you have long 
 borne toil, degradation, and solitude for my 
 sake. Thank God, the sun of your misery is 
 set — you will soon grace your proper sphere, 
 our children will soon shine in their appro- 
 d2 
 
 l/BRARY 
 UN/VERSITY n 
 
52 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 priate stations. We will draw infinite happi- 
 ness from our former trials.' I might have 
 commenced my acquaintance with Mr. Wil- 
 liams, why did I repulse him ? A half an hour 
 was spent in this mixture of grief and rejoic- 
 ing, when my friend, for I must call him so, 
 thought of setting out to meet Captain Bur- 
 ford. The distance was about seven miles. 
 
 " * TheWoodman,'saidhe, * in gaiety of spi- 
 rits, shall cut his last load to day. Come, my 
 dear William, I must keep my engagement ; 
 we must go to the wood, it is all in our way, 
 you shall return with the cart, and I will pro- 
 ceed on my journey. I shall be back to you 
 with the news, my dear Emma, by five.' 
 
 " ' And let me ^o,' said little Harry, catch- 
 ing hold of his father's coat. * And that you 
 shall, my little darling. You shall return with 
 your brother William. Beg your mamma to 
 put on your thickest boots and great coat, 
 and put a warm handkerchief round your little 
 throat.' 
 
 " At ten they set out, and having cut the 
 load of wood, the father dijected the boys to 
 return. Harry begged his father to let him go 
 on with him ; and he was so fond of the com- 
 pany of his children, that he consented, re- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 53 
 
 fleeting that Captain Burford would be glad to 
 see a specimen of his family. 
 
 ** They arrived at the town of by one, 
 
 but the roads had been rendered so heavy, 
 that the mail was delayed nearly two hours. 
 
 " Captain Burford embraced his friend 
 with great affection ; communicated to him 
 that he must the next morning set out to see 
 his father. * Indeed,' said Mr. Ashford, * my 
 journey to my father must be pedestrian, for 
 amongst the fourteen members of my family, I 
 do not believe we could muster as many shil- 
 lings.' Captain Burford pressed his friend to 
 accept of a draft for fifty pounds, observing 
 that he was now too rich to need re-payment, 
 and, said he, if I demand it, you will soon be 
 in a condition to make restitution. But Mr. 
 Ashford asserted that he had, in commencing 
 his late career, made a resolution that no ex- 
 tremity should ever induce him to borrow ; 
 that he had punctually kept all his resolves, and 
 would not, just at the close of the scene, break 
 through determinations which he had kept 
 for upwards of fourteen years. 
 
 " * Well,' said the generous sailor, ' my 
 dear friend, I knew the stoppage of the coach 
 would be too short to admit of my telling you 
 D 3 
 
54 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 all I had to communicate, I have therefore 
 put it down on paper. Here is the whole 
 story, a sheet of foolscap full for you. Now 
 I am off, my dear Ashford, good bye, my love 
 to Lady Emma, and I will come and see you 
 at your mountain cottage on my road from 
 Ireland/ 
 
 '' * But, Burford,' cried out Mr. Ashford, 
 ' no more of your ^Squires if you please. 
 Don't be 'squiring me. Ask for the Wood- 
 man's Cottage, or you perhaps will have more 
 trouble in finding me out than you may be 
 vtrilling to take,' 
 
 ** * Oh, oh, and that's been a feature of your 
 disguise, has it— you were always a romantic 
 fellow.' ' No feature of my disguise, I as- 
 sure you,', said Mr. Ashford, * but a result 
 of my poverty, given to me by my good neigh- 
 bours in triumph over my distress.' * Au 
 revoir, then,' said Burford, and the coach 
 drove off. 
 
 " ' And now, little Harry,' said the father, 
 * I wish, my dear, you were not with me. 
 This sad delay of the coach has made our 
 journey back very unpleasant, if not danger- 
 ous ; night will soon close in upon us, and unless 
 I can get over the first four miles, and reach 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 55 
 
 to the more open passes before it is dark, I 
 shall be perplexed to find out my way ; but 
 my good dog Lion will be some assistance to 
 us. Come, my dear little boy, my heart is 
 gay, and, thank God, my limbs are strong, I 
 will carry you the first three miles, although, 
 you little rogue, you are the heaviest little 
 fellow of your age I ever saw.' 
 
 " He took the child up in his manly arms, 
 and began to walk at a rapid rate; the day- 
 light however soon began to fail, and, to add 
 to his perplexity, the snow came on so thick, 
 and was driven so fiercely by the keen east 
 wind, that it was with the greatest difficulty 
 they could proceed. They had already gone 
 three miles, to return was therefore equally 
 hazardous ; * and,' said Ashford, * if I re- 
 turn, the way home by the high road is nearly 
 thirteen miles, and I have not a farthing to 
 pay for a conveyance of any sort. I must now 
 go on. My dear little boy, you are too manly 
 to complain, but I see you are suffering much. 
 It was very imprudent in my bringing you. 
 Harry, my dear, we shall not be home till 
 seven ; mamma will be very uneasy. Let me 
 cuddle you to my breast.' 
 p4 
 
56 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR^ 
 
 " He continued walking an hour, without 
 falling into the tracks which he expected,, 
 and with which he was so well acquainted;^ 
 that, if he could once have reached them, he 
 would have found no difficulty in pursuing his 
 way. The night was extremely dark — the 
 thick fall of snow obscured every object — it 
 was bitter cold. The dog himself even seemed 
 to shrink from the night with an instinctive 
 horror — a drift of snow and a fierce gust 
 from between two lofty hills obliged him to 
 throw himself on his face, to prevent being 
 swept away. 
 
 " He now perceived he had missed his road, 
 ' Good heavens ! is it possible,' said he, 
 * that I could have so totally mistaken my 
 path. Why, that is the Peak— well, we must 
 be near the cottage of Mr. Williams's game- 
 keeper, old Arlington. He will cheer us by 
 a meal over his fire, and I can proceed then 
 with renovated strength. But this place is 
 so full of gulleys and deep chasms, that it is 
 dangerous to move. It is miraculous how 
 we have escaped them so long. I will holla, 
 perhaps Arlington may hear, and come to my 
 relief.' His hoarse full voice resounded from 
 hill to hill, and' was at length drowned by the 
 
THE WOODMAN^S FIRE-SIDE. 57 
 
 howling of the fierce wind. There was no hu- 
 man response, and hardly had its last echo 
 died upon the gale, than the boy, feebly 
 throwing his little arms round his father's 
 neck, in the tone of exhaustion, cried, ' Papa, 
 I can't bear the cold/ 
 
 " The tender tone and faint exhausted voice 
 of the child, with the loud call of the father, 
 formed a contrast which pierced the parent to 
 the heart. * My child,' said he, * you have 
 been numbed for want of exercise. Let me 
 put you down. Beat your little feet about,, 
 and make them warm, whilst I look around 
 me, and consider which direction I must 
 take.' 
 
 " The child scarcely reached the ground, 
 when he uttered a faint shriek. The alarmed 
 father rapidly snatched at him, he caught 
 him, but in the effort lost his balance. They 
 had been standing on the very brink of a pre- 
 cipice, and were now hurled to its base. The 
 father held the child above him in his fall, 
 lest falling on him, he might have crushed 
 him to death. But although the depth was 
 terrific, the great body of snow was frozen to; 
 a degree which broke their fall, nor were 
 they hurt when they reached the bottom.. 
 
58 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 " The sides of these pits were nearly per- 
 pendicular. Poor Ashford's heart sunk within 
 him ; the extreme danger of the case was 
 but too evident. He walked in every di- 
 rection for the chance of finding a slope suffi- 
 ciently moderate to ascend ; but 'twas hope- 
 less. Every effort which Herculean strength 
 could support, or which a firm and vigorous 
 intellect could devise, was tried, and repeated 
 without success. He cleared the snow with 
 his hat and hand from above his head, to give 
 him air. 
 
 " He had only a frock coat on, and this he 
 had deprived himself of to wrap the child in. 
 All the time he was using his active exertions 
 to get out of the pit, he had instinctively 
 pressed little Harry to his side for warmth. 
 Now his efforts were over, he thought of the 
 boy. ' My son, my dear Henry, my child. Oh 
 God,' cried the father, ' in an agony of grief, he's 
 dead, cold, for ever lost to me. What, are your 
 little cheeks never to revive. Will your pretty 
 lips never kiss me more. Speak to me, Harry, 
 utter one sigh ; speak to your poor father ; no, 
 not even a murmur, dead, for ever dead. Oh 
 God ! my child, my child, my child.' The 
 tears gushed from his eyes, and he cast him- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 59 
 
 self on his knees, pressing ten thousand kisses 
 on the cheeks and icy lips of his favourite 
 child. 
 
 " Three hours passed he in this wretched 
 situation. At length the stimulus of grief 
 and exertion no longer sustained his body, and 
 he began to be sensible that nature was nearly 
 exhausted. Even his firm and robust frame 
 was now yielding to the fate which had be- 
 fallen his child. He thought of his own blaz- 
 ing hearth, and of all the joys of home. ' My 
 wife, my poor wife, left destitute to labour for 
 her children : nobody to sustain her spirits 
 and to partake her toil. Oh, I picture you, 
 widowed, forlorn, and hopeless, labouring for 
 the common food of nature. My children, my 
 girls, no father to guide, to protect you, your 
 youth exposed to the scorn, the contempt, the 
 snares of an unfeeling and merciless world.* 
 His heart was broken, the cold stiffened his 
 nerves, he sunk upon the earth, never to re- 
 animate ! 
 
 " And now let me carry you back to the 
 cottage ; poor Emma, at the appointed hour 
 of five, looked wistfully for the arrival of her 
 child and husband. All was ready for pre- 
 paring his dinner. As the fierce east wind 
 d6 
 
60 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 whistled at the windows, she kept adding 
 logs on the blazing hearth. His daughter had 
 put his slippers to warm, and had hung his 
 woollen night-gown ready for him over the 
 back of the arm-chair, at the fire-side. It 
 struck six, they had not arrived ; seven, and 
 they saw them not. At last the hour of eight 
 had struck, and she became extremely un- 
 happy. ' Come, my dears, it is useless to keep 
 you up to kiss your father and little Harry, 
 you must say your prayers and go to bed, 
 and to-morj0w morning you can give them a 
 double kiss to make up for your not seeing' 
 them to-night.' 
 
 " When her children were a-bed, and sh^ 
 was left alone, her feelings became insupport- 
 able ; she paced the room with a hurried 
 and unequal step ; she opened the window, 
 to look at the weather. The keen wind 
 drifted in the snow ; she quickly closed the 
 casement, drawing the shawl round her throat, 
 and shuddering v/ith horror. 
 
 ** At ten her feelings were no longer to be 
 borne, she went to the bed-side of her eldest 
 son, William, and communicated to him her 
 fears, expressing a resolution to go in quest 
 gf Ijis father.. He rose in haste to accompany, 
 
THE WOODMAN*S FIRE-SIDE. 6\i 
 
 her ; she had put on her shawl and red cloak, 
 and with a lantern was issuing out of the cot- 
 tage, having left a note on the table, for her 
 husband, in case of his arrival during her ab- 
 sence. Her plan was to get some of her neigh- 
 bours to accompany her, or to go in different 
 directions. As she put her hand on the latch 
 of the door she heard the well known voice of 
 Lion. * They are safe,' she cried, ' I heard 
 the bark of the dog,' and she sunk into a 
 chair, overcome with joy. In a minute Lion 
 was at her feet, howling most piteously. They 
 looked in breathless expectation for the en- 
 trance of his master ; no footsteps w^ere heard, 
 their countenances bespoke the most dread- 
 ful apprehensions. They caught each other's 
 glance, and read but too clearly in their mu- 
 tual looks what their tongues dared not ex 
 press. 
 
 " At length the mother broke silence, ia 
 that awful and solemn tone which utter de- 
 spair can alone create. '■ God's Vv^ill be done, 
 it is but too evident my husband and my child 
 have perished.' Then rising with an almost 
 supernatural energy, made an effort to go out 
 in quest of them. 
 
 '' Her son's character rose with the occa? 
 
62 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 sion, he so forcibly displayed the impropriety 
 of her leaving the house, that she at length 
 consented to his going, accompanied by any 
 neighbour whom he could induce to share 
 with him the dangerous journey of the night. 
 The dog kept howling, and pulled him by the 
 coat in the direction of the path which led to 
 the hut of the game-keeper. He but too well 
 knew the signal of the sagacious and faithful 
 animal ; arrived at the game-keeper's door, 
 the anxious son related to Arlington all that 
 had occurred. The old man shook his head 
 in despair : he well knew the dangers of the 
 mountains. ' I fear,' said he, * Master Ash- 
 ford, this is a case of distress ; but come. Sir, 
 no time is to be lost : my four sons, and two 
 of my men shall accompany you with torches, 
 and with the poles and ropes which we use 
 on occasions like these.' In less than ten mi- 
 nutes the party were on their road. 
 
 " The dog led them to the spot. ' The 
 deepest pit,' said old Arlington, ' of all the 
 district.' Their torches spread a glare over 
 the snow, and it was but too evident that 
 something had recently broken the surface. 
 * Come,' said the old man, ' this pit is at all 
 times dangerous, but in a night like this it is 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 63 
 
 doubly so. It is extra duty, we must have 
 volunteers, who will descend.' 
 
 " ' Who,' said young Ashford, ' is so proper 
 to seek for a father as a son. I will descend ; 
 come, my friends, bind the rope round my waist 
 and lower me down.' 
 
 " ' Your descent,' replied old Arlington, 
 ' would, I fancy, lead to little but the loss of 
 your life. We who are accustomed to such 
 jobs often find it dangerous.' The generous 
 ardour of the son had diffused itself over the 
 party. A robust young man offered to be the 
 forlorn hope, and was lowered down into the 
 pit. 
 
 " Fancy young Ashford standing amidst the 
 howling of the storm, and fall of snow, glanc- 
 ing his anxious eye through the torch light, to 
 catch a sight of 'his father's corpse. Not a hu- 
 man voice was heard ; in a quarter of an hour 
 the signal was given. The men applied their 
 strength to the ropes ; something approached 
 the surface ; Ashford shot an eager glance ; 
 * Heavens,' he exclaimed, ' it is my father, and 
 he fell on the body.' 
 
 " The child was wrapt in the father's coat, 
 and the father consequently had only his 
 waistcoat on. Next his skin was the letter 
 
61 THE WELCH COTTAGE, &C. 
 
 Captain Burford had given him. In the ago- 
 nies of departing consciousness he had thrown 
 his arms round his child's body, pressing his 
 lips to his own. The grasp of death is firm,, 
 it was difficult to separate them. 
 
 " Every thing was tried in Arlington's cot- 
 tage, to restore animation, but without suc- 
 cess. The bodies were carried upon poles 
 that night to the Woodman's Cottage. 
 
 " I need not paint to you the distraction of 
 the mother on witnessing the corpse. I need 
 not describe to you the grief of the boys, nor 
 the tender sensibility of the daughters. He 
 was the most tender of fathers, and they the 
 most virtuous of children. Their sorrow was 
 therefore de-ep and lasting. I attended poor 
 Ashford to the grave, and his corpse was fol- 
 lowed by the neighbourhood, for though they 
 had mocked his poverty, and called him the 
 Woodman, they bore towards him unfeigned 
 admiration and love. The tomb which is 
 erected to his memory, in our Church, was put 
 up by my direction, and at my expense.'' 
 
PART IL 
 
 " So thoughtless and inconsiderate an animal 
 is man in prosperity, that although the na- 
 tural consequences of an occurrence may be 
 inevitable misery to a fellow creature, he never 
 draws the conclusion, unless it is presented 
 to his senses or brought home to his bosom 
 by some effect it may be likely to have upon 
 his own gratifications ! Will you believe it, 
 Mr. Hamlyn, that after following poor Ash- 
 ford to the grave, I soon mixed in the lively 
 scenes of life. I never called to console his 
 widow or to cheer his unfortunate family. It 
 was but too evident that the cottage had been 
 with difficulty supported by the good manage- 
 ment and incessant toil of the late parent, 
 and that misery and want must be the neces- 
 sary consequence of losing his labour and su- 
 perintendance. This obvious and distressing 
 truth never struck me, although the scene of 
 the amiable family around their winter-fire 
 often formed the subject of my meditation. 
 
66 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 I trust I have some humanity, and if such 
 culpable inattention to the misery of others 
 could disgrace my conduct, what are we to 
 expect from the cold, selfish, and heartless 
 masses of which the greater part of life is 
 composed. 
 
 " I would flatter myself that my standing 
 at that time for the county, my entering into 
 active parliamentary duties, and the calling 
 out of the county militia might extenuate my 
 unfeeling thoughtlessness and insensibility ; 
 they would plead my excuse with the world, 
 for the world finds little difficulty in apologiz- 
 ing for the errors of the affluent and pros- 
 perous. But, to my conscience, these are no 
 excuses : one hour of the many thousands I 
 have since passed in listless inactivity, or in 
 the insipid follies of fashionable life, one of 
 these wasted hours bestowed in attending to 
 the widowed and orphan sufferers of Ashford 
 would have saved a human existence, and, 
 what is of infinitely more consequence, would 
 have saved to a large and virtuous family 
 nearly three years of cheerless poverty and 
 protracted affliction. 
 
 " It was in the month of July, I was stroll- 
 ing over our mountains, for the sake of their 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 67 
 
 coolness and sublime scenery. It was exactly 
 the day two years and seven months I had 
 been saved from the night storm by the hos- 
 pitable Woodman. The cottage was about two 
 hundred yards below me, its smoke curling 
 round the trees which o'ershadowed its roof, 
 Its beautiful appearance interested me, and 
 ten thousand recollections with their kindred 
 sympathies rapidly swelled my bosom. 
 
 " I pensively approached the cottage ; its 
 grounds bore marks of bad cultivation and 
 misapplied labour ; their beauty and former 
 luxuriance were no more. I tapped at the 
 door, there was no response ; I thought of 
 the night when my host ushered me into his 
 cheerful family circle. I now entered the 
 room in which I had then been refreshed, but 
 how changed its appearance ! it was cleam, 
 but the paintings which decorated the walls, 
 with the exception of one, were removed. The 
 piano was not there, in short, nothing was in 
 the room but a small deal table, two old chairs, 
 and some logs of wood which appeared de- 
 signed to answer the purpose of seats. 
 
 " I passed into the other room, and beheld 
 the mother and the whole of the family em- 
 ployed in various offices of domestic drud- 
 
68 THE WELCH COTTAGE,' OR, 
 
 gery. I involuntarily shrunk back, and my 
 presence evidently revived the most bitter re- 
 collections in the family. Hov^^ shocking an 
 aspect every thing bore ; the room was as des- 
 titute of furniture as the preceding ; the chil- 
 dren were ragged, pale, and emaciated. Mrs. 
 Ashford and myself stood for some minutes 
 motionless, and gazing on each other with 
 mute and afflicting earnestness. With a faint 
 and faultering voice she at length broke si- 
 lence. ' Mr. Williams, I believe, I hope. Sir, 
 you are well.' My feelings rose, and with £^ 
 tone and manner which levels all petty distinc- 
 tions, and which nothing but the deepest feel- 
 ings can create, I seized her withered hand, 
 and pressing it to my lips, I exclaimed, * My 
 dear lady, my heart is too full of self reproach 
 to ask your sad fate, but it is unnecessary to 
 speak ; the eye tells but too plainly the mea- 
 sure of your sufferings ; let my present inten- 
 tions atone for my past oblivion of you ; tax 
 me not with inhumanity, do not reproach me, 
 
 I ' 
 
 " * Alas, Sir,' said she, ' of what can I re- 
 proach you. I had no claim on you for relief.* 
 This was her modest humility, but my con- 
 science made me feel it as the most cutting 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 69 
 
 satire. ' Yes, thou suffering pattern of every 
 excellence, if I have one human feeling in me, 
 you have every claim, and claims which shall 
 be satisfied. The v^^retched have natural claims 
 on the prosperous, and you, dear lady, have 
 your's increased by many individual circum* 
 stances. Let us forget the past, and'^' Can 
 I, Sir, forget the past ;' nature could no longer 
 be restrained, she burst into a flood of tears ; 
 was I unmanly to weep with her ? 
 
 " It was long before her poor emaciated form 
 could be restored. Her beauty had entirely 
 fled, her fine features were long and thin, and 
 her cheeks hollow, wrinkled, and pale. Her 
 sunk eye had lost its lustre, but it yet bespoke 
 a superior mind ; and the deep expression of 
 sentiment and sorrow which o'erspread her 
 countenance, was in unison with the faint and 
 melancholy voice, and the humble gentleness 
 of her manner. 
 
 " * And now, Mrs. Ashford, give me the 
 means of showing you that I have a generous 
 spirit, a heart capable ,?f disinterested and 
 tender emotions. Impart to me your fate ; is 
 it too much for me to hope you will intrust 
 to my confidence the mystery of your con- 
 dition?' 
 
70 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " ' The time, Sir, is come, when I must im- 
 part to somebody if not the mystery, at least 
 the misery of my present state. I knew, Mr. 
 Williams, your charitable intentions towards 
 my afflicted children, but do not imagine I am 
 capable of preying upon your generosity. The 
 institutions of my country have provided asy- 
 lums for the reception of the pauper, and 
 there,* said she with firmness, ' must I go for 
 relief: the ungenerous will not relieve me, 
 and I cannot trespass too far on the bounty of 
 the generous. If, Mr. Williams, you wish to 
 know my history, I can impart it to you, but 
 it is a sad and a long tale, a tale of the 
 brightest hopes crossed by the worst of mis- 
 fortunes. I thought of going to the grave 
 with my story undivulged, untold even to my 
 children, for why should I intrust to parish 
 dependents the knowledge that they have an- 
 cestors recorded by the herald. 
 
 " * My husband,' and here the large tear 
 stood glistening in her eye, ' had an unerring 
 insight into character. He often. Sir, has 
 mentioned you in terms of great esteem, of ad- 
 miration ; and if he had lived to inherit his es- 
 tates, I know that he would have made efforts 
 to form with you the strictest friendship. It is 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 71 
 
 but a confidence in my husband's judgment 
 to impart my sorrows to you, and I stand now 
 al®ne in the world, isolated and poor. 
 
 " That gentleman, whose friendship you were 
 pleased so earnestly to seek, and whom the 
 rustics in derision, called the Woodman, was 
 the eldest son of Sir Ashton Beever. His 
 father was of a moderately good family in one 
 of our southern counties ; but he had acquired 
 immense wealth in London as a merchant cor- 
 responding with the West Indies. He was a 
 sensible, and a liberal minded man, but as 
 soon as he began to grow rich, one ruling pas- 
 sion seized his soul, it was the desire of a 
 peerage. He purchased large tracts of land 
 near the place of his nativity, and in fact be- 
 came the richest man in the county. Although 
 in sentiment a determined whia;, he had sacri- 
 ficed his conscience by aiding the government 
 in order to obtain his baronetcy, and the fur- 
 ther honours he aspired to. 
 
 " Contiguous to his property, lay the estates 
 of my father. The head and representative of 
 one of the oldest, and I may add, of the poorest 
 earldoms in England. His pride of birth was 
 beyond any thing strong; it absorbed every 
 
72 . THE WELCH COTTAGE; 0R> 
 
 passion of his st)ul, and pedigree was the end- 
 less subject of his discourse. 
 
 " The intimacy of Sir Ashton Beever and 
 the Earl of Carlingford, was convenient to 
 both parties. The baronet was always anxious^ 
 to be seen in the society of the peerage, and 
 with my father* it is supposed that he paid for 
 his silly vanity by pecuniary loans which the 
 earl could never discharge. The families were 
 therefore inseparably intimate, and my late 
 husband and myself were brought up together 
 from our earliest youth. 
 
 " Sir Ashton's pride would not let his eldest 
 son engage in traffic, but as his counting-house 
 was a source of great revenue to him, he 
 brought his second son up to be a merchant, 
 and gratified his eldest son's predilection for 
 the army, for which his fine military figure and 
 bold cast of genius eminently qualified him. 
 
 " He bought him a cornetcy in a regiment 
 of heavy dragoons, which was then about to 
 leave England on a foreign expedition. 
 
 " I need not tell you that, brought up as 
 we were from our tenderest years in associa* 
 tion, and with our tastes and minds of a kindred 
 cast, an affection would naturally be formed 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 7^ 
 
 between us. Many of our studies, our sports, 
 our exercises were together. The baronet's 
 vanity led him to wish a union between his son 
 and myself; and as to my father, he appre- 
 hended nothing from this youthful union, for 
 he never dreamed the possibility that the eldest 
 daughter of the house of Carlingford could 
 condescend to loye the son of what he privately 
 called a ' vulgar merchant, whose elevation 
 had prostituted the baronetcy.' 
 
 '* I was then almost too young to love, 
 and the affection between us was considered 
 by our other relations as merely the light at- 
 tachment of childhood, which chance had 
 formed, and which absence would easily de- 
 stroy. 
 
 " At the time Mr. Beever received his com- 
 mission, and with orders to join his regiment, 
 he was in his nineteenth year, and myself in 
 my sixteenth. His approaching departure had 
 cast over his spirits a seriousness, and had 
 given me a melancholy which I had before 
 been unacquainted with, and of which I was 
 hardly conscious of the cause. 
 
 *' I believe he would have gone to the conti- 
 nent without one word of love, but for one of 
 those accidental occurrences which so often 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 decide the fate of mortals. It was a fine even- 
 ing in June, and we had left the Earl and Sir 
 Ashton at their wine, and the ladies in the 
 drawing-room, to enjoy the cool evening in the 
 walks of the park. The next morning he was 
 to proceed on his journey. Had we continued 
 with the rest of the company, our parting might 
 have been less tender. 
 
 ** We had walked some time together with- 
 out uttering a word. I was abashed and trem- 
 bling, and my companion agitated and dis- 
 pirited. At last with the playful and ingenuous 
 gaiety of youth, I laughing, began the con- 
 versation. Why, Wilton, what a dull walk we 
 have had. You are as serious as if you were 
 going to fight in earnest. The enemy will 
 take you for a Spaniard, if you look so grave 
 ifi your uniform. 
 
 " Taking me by the hand, stopping, and 
 looking tenderly and earnestly in my face, my 
 assumed gaiety instantly vanished. I stood 
 tipaid and trembling, and I knew i^ot why. 
 
 " * And can I leave you, Emma, without emo- 
 tion. We have been from our infancy united, 
 and losing you, is tearing me from every thing 
 deeir to my heart. We are no longer children. 
 I love you with all the purity of honour, with 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 75 
 
 the ardour of manhood. You have not entered, 
 yet into life, you cannot therefore form a com- 
 parison between myself and others ; I will n<Jt, 
 therefore, be so ungenerous as to expect froiii 
 you a pledge of preference, a promise of love. 
 I will not take advantage of your youth. But, 
 oh \ my Emma, I am very unhappy at parting 
 from you, let me at least beg you not to yield 
 lightly your preference of me; and let me 
 assure you, that my heart shall never lov« any 
 other obj ect than yourself. Accept this pledge, 
 my dearest Emma, make me but this promise ; it 
 will lighten many a tedious, relieve many a 
 sad and gloomy hour, for sad indeed will be 
 my heart when torn from you/ 
 
 *' This generous speech, delivered with all 
 the emphasis and contagious ardour of passion, 
 awoke in me sensibilities, and a consciousness 
 of an attachment I had before been unaware 
 o£ My age was that of generous feeling, of 
 candour, and of truth — my love for him was 
 virtuous ; I had no feeling which modesty bade 
 me conceal, and I frankly poured out to him 
 the fervent feelings of my soul. We exchanged 
 vows of unalterable love, and our promises were 
 sealed with a kiss — oh, how different from the 
 kiss which as children we had-^ hitherto beeA- 
 e2 
 
76 . THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 used to give at our daily meeting and evening 
 separation. He took from his pocket a por- 
 trait, which he begged me to accept, and en- 
 treated me to give a miniature of myself, which 
 had recently been taken by an artist in London. 
 
 " He set out next morning for the conti- 
 nent. I was pensive, and began to reflect that 
 it was wrong to give any pledge of love with- 
 out the consent of my father. This thought 
 made me, for the first time in my life, feel 
 something like a sense of guilt. But, alas, 
 my father had never gained either the love or 
 the respect of his children, by associating with 
 us in kindness and affection. We were evi- 
 dently in his eyes mere objects of family ambi- 
 tion. Seldom did he see us, and his voice was 
 always that of haughty command. His chas- 
 tisement of me was always severe, often un- 
 manly — alas, I never knew the pleasures of an 
 attachment to a parent. My own principles 
 gave me but an awful sense of duty, without 
 the endearing tenderness of a child's attach- 
 ment to a father. 
 
 " During two years of military service, my 
 lover was once mentioned in the gazette for 
 personal bravery and prowess, and once was 
 he commended for having, by his presence 
 
THE WOODMAN S FTRE-SIDE. '^'J 
 
 of mind and knowledge of movements, effected 
 a retreat of a small and gallant band, which 
 was assailed by overwhelming numbers of the 
 enemy. 
 
 " I was taking my usual morning walk in 
 our castle's park, at a very early hour, when I 
 was startled by the sudden appearance of a 
 gentleman in a military cloak. ' My Emma,' 
 he exclaimed: I sunk with surprise, and he 
 caught me in his arms, ' I have but ten mi- 
 nutes to stay with you. I have brought over 
 dispatches from our general. The government 
 has ordered me to expect their reply this night, 
 and the intermediate four and twenty hours I 
 have rapidly travelled this 200 miles to spend 
 a few minutes with you. I ask you not to re- 
 new your pledge of love. I have confidence in 
 your faith ; but again, my dearest girl, I proffer 
 the ardour of my heart to you. Oh, my dearest 
 Emma, how often has my mind run over our 
 infant sports and endearments ; how often has 
 your lovely image cheered my night watch 
 and spirited the fatiguing march. This dear 
 companion of my lonely tent,' fervently kissing 
 my miniature, * has been my charm in battle. 
 Emma, in the thickest fight I have thought of 
 e3 
 
78 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 ygw and of your resemblance wJiich hung next 
 my heart.' 
 
 " One quarter of an hour was parsed by u^ 
 in this heaven of youthful affection. He kissed 
 nie to depart. I observed he looked very ill. 
 
 * I have travelled/ he said, * day and night 
 from Germany with my dispatches. I am fa- 
 tigued and exhausted, but a few days rest will,' 
 s^id he laughing, ' restoye even my good looks.' 
 
 * And have you,' cried I, * after such a journey, 
 lindertaken this long road merely to pass these 
 few minutes ijfi my company, and with the sad 
 duty of retracing your steps as rapidly to your 
 9-rn^y/ 
 
 " ' I have/ he exclaimed, ' indeed, and well 
 have thes§ few minutes repaid my toil. Be 
 BOt uneasy for my appearance, A soldier who 
 has done his duty in a winter's campaign, i» 
 never in good condition. The very hope of 
 peace with you, my Emma, will restore my 
 spirits and my strength. Let not any body 
 know of my being here, for it is sadly against 
 my duty to have blended thus the journies of 
 love and of war. Adieu, my Emma ; adieu, my 
 ever dearest hope. Be happy in my absence. 
 In a few months I shall avow my love for yoit 
 
THE Woodman s fire-side. 79 
 
 to my father— to your father. Adieu,— one 
 kiss,— my dear Emma, adieu.' 
 
 ** Avow your love to my father — so crti^l, so 
 stern, so unrelenting ! This expression struck 
 me as ominous ; and often did it fill me with 
 indescribable alarm, without my being able to 
 trace my anxiety to any precise an'd definite 
 cause. 
 
 " In six months Captain Beever's regiment 
 returned to England, and I had again the plea- 
 sure of his company. His figure had become 
 more set and manly, and his countenance by 
 far more open and intelligible. A reserved 
 sensibility was the characteristic of his man- 
 ners, but he had the free and gallant air of a 
 soldier with the easy grace of an elegant gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 ** The wild and sportive boy, was now the 
 engaging Captain Beever, and his company 
 sought after by every body of rank in the 
 neighbourhood. My father's feelings were 
 always cold and lethargic, nor had he ever 
 evinced attachment to any human being — not 
 even to his children. To the astonishment of 
 his friends, he took a strong predilection for 
 this young officer, and was always seeking his 
 company. This was the more remarkable as 
 e4 
 
80 THE WELCH cottage; OR, 
 
 he had none of the vices of his professioiir 
 He neither swore, nor drank, nor played, all 
 of which the Earl was much attached to. 
 
 *' At length Captain Beever communicated 
 to the Earl his attachment to his daughter. 
 He spoke of the munificent allowance which 
 Sir Ashton would settle on him in the event 
 of such a marriage. My father received the 
 proposal with his usual lethargy and uncon- 
 cern. He refused his assent, coolly adding, 
 * that he had already betrothed his daughter 
 to the Marquis de Vallois, a French noble- 
 man of immense estates, who had seen her 
 once at the court of St. James's.* 
 
 " ' But, my Lord, surely the Marquis can- 
 not be so lost to sense, to delicacy and ho- 
 nour, as to wish a union with a lady whose 
 affections he has not even solicited. . Nor can 
 your daughter have any feelings of attachment 
 for a nobleman whom she has seen but once 
 at the ceremony of a court day.' * Solicited, 
 oh, there you are mistaken, he has solicited 
 her affections of me both personally and by 
 letter.' ' Good heavens, my Lord, is this the 
 way in which the Marquis can hope to suc- 
 ceed with a person of Lady Emma's delicacy?' 
 
 " The Earl held the terms * affection and 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. SI 
 
 feelings/ as what they very often are, mere 
 words which were only used by hypocrites to 
 impose upon fools. In vain Captain Beever. 
 supported his suit with all the arguments of 
 sense and noble feeling ; in vain he urged his 
 object with the warmth of generous passion. 
 The fervour of poor Beever was in dreadful con- 
 trast with the cold insensibility of my father. 
 " * Captain Beever/ said Lord C'arlingford, 
 with the most easy indifference, ' let us not 
 talk any more on this subject. Let us pass 
 to the topics of the day,' And thus ended 
 the conversation. My intercourse with my 
 friend was put under no restraint by the Earl 
 in consequence of this disclosure. For, the 
 opposition of sentiment and love never entered 
 into his thoughts, and his vanity, and theories 
 of birth seemed to make him believe that there 
 was some physical quality in the blood of his 
 family, which would prevent their uniting with 
 any but their equals. He was a despotic fa- 
 ther, and never imao;ined that a child could 
 hesitate to sacrifice herself to his mandate. 
 
 " Disappointment and opposition created in 
 my lover energy and firmness of purpose ; but 
 they never roused him to violence or passion. 
 e5 
 
S2 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 Two days after. Sir Ashton liimself, in his 
 superb and pompous carriage, drove to the 
 castle to propose the marriage to the Earl, 
 
 " He was received in the library, but the 
 folding doors being open, myself and my un- 
 happy suitor were auditors of all that passed, 
 although there were three rooms intervening 
 between us. 
 
 " I sat trembling and alarmed, and Captain 
 Beever was composed, his anxiety appeared 
 to be occasioned only by my distress and agi-» 
 tation. 
 
 " He anticipated nothing favourable from 
 such an interview, and had urged Sir Ashton 
 to make the overture merely to satisfy my con^ 
 science that every thing had been done, which 
 filial duty could render necessary. 
 
 " The purse pride of the merchant, and the 
 heraldic consequence of the peer, were like 
 the steel and the flint, from which nothing* 
 but fire could be elicited. But as the mar- 
 riage was a darling object of Sir Ashton*s am- 
 bition, we trusted that he would at least be 
 temperate. 
 
 ** * My Lord,' began Sir Ashton, ' I believe 
 it is naw nearly twenty years since our strict 
 
THE WOODMAlJr's FIRE-SIDE. 83" 
 
 union and friendship commenced ; and I trust 
 the bonds of alliance between our families 
 are about to ' 
 
 " ' Alliance, Sir Ashton. I am pleased with 
 your acquaintance. I am under considerable 
 pecuniary obligation to you, but- it is out of 
 my power * 
 
 " * My Lord Carlingford, do not mention 
 that subject. What I have this morning to 
 propose to you, is of a nature to cancel every 
 thing of this sort. I know you appreciate the 
 fine character of my son, and he has begged 
 me to call on you to — — ' 
 
 " * I am, really, much attached to your son, 
 more so than I know how to reconcile to any 
 principle, for all our tastes are different. The 
 library, the arts, and the field, are his sources 
 of amusement, and I have no great attachment 
 to either. Wilton may have the talents, but 
 he certainly has no disposition for the court 
 or the cabinet, and ae to the table, the gazette 
 may pronounce his ability for despatching the 
 enemy, but he is the most sorry fellow for 
 despatching the claret I ever saw ; and yet I 
 like the fellow too.' 
 
 ** ' My Lord, Wilton has begged me to ip^r^ 
 
 pose and to urge to your Lordship * 
 
 e6 
 
84 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " ' Sir Ashton Beever, I am not ignorant of 
 your object in calling. I perfectly settled 
 every thing with Captain Beever- I suppressed ■ 
 my sentiments towards his proposals for my 
 daughter, rather than hurt his feelings. I 
 thought he would have valued my forbearance. 
 I am surprised at ' a. ; \iii 
 
 *' ' My Lord, Captain Beever is of warm 
 feelings, and is exceedingly anxious that this 
 arrangement should be made without delay ; 
 the pecuniary arrange ' 
 
 " ' Sir, Ashton, I have already adverted to 
 that subject. But my pecuniary connection; 
 with you, does not authorise the proposal, ihUch 
 less the pressing of such a treaty. You gen- 
 tlemen of the city, think that pecuniary obli- 
 gations level all distinctions. Sir Ashton, let 
 us drop this subject, and continue our old in- 
 tercourse.' 
 
 " ' My Lord, I think this business better be 
 finally settled now, that ' . ; 
 
 " ' Sir Ashton, I have really borne this 
 longer than any peer of Europe but myself 
 could bear it. I have patronised yourself and 
 your son, and have admitted you to familiarity, 
 and having borrowed some five and twenty 
 thousand pounds of you, I received your son's 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 85 
 
 proposal with tliat lenity which becomes rank 
 to evince towards aspiring and mistaken youth, 
 but I am astonished that Captain Beever 
 should have the arrogance ' 
 
 ** ' My Lord, you get warm. What arro- 
 gance, Lord Carlingford, is there in a son of 
 Sir Ashton Beever's, proposing to ' 
 
 " * I wish not. Sir Ashton, any difference 
 between us, and to stop the unpleasant con- 
 ference, I must tell you, that I am not to be 
 won from my duty by entreaty. I owe it to 
 my ancestry, and I am resolved that Lady 
 Emma shall marry one whose scutcheon will 
 blend with that of the house of Carlingford.' 
 
 " * Entreaty, Lord Carlingford I I use en- 
 treaty to no man. I come in deference to my 
 son's affections and your daughter's merits. 
 The Beever estates might, I think, be found 
 convenient just now to the house of Carling- 
 ford. They are sufficient to brighten the 
 shield of this affluent and durable peerage.' 
 
 '* This was spoken in a tone of indignation 
 and bitter irony. 
 
 " ' The Marquis de Vallois,' replied my fa- 
 ther, * has, I should imagine, as much wealth 
 as any tradesman of London.' This was meant 
 
»6 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 to be given in a tone of equal satire, but pas- 
 sion interfered, and it fell short of its mark. 
 
 " This was the point on which we knew the 
 parties could not agree. The mine was now 
 sprung, and even decency seemed lost sight 
 of in the dispute. They became violent, 
 coarse, and vindictive ; the Earl insulted Sir 
 Ashton on the baseness of his origin ; he, in 
 his turn, reproached Lord Carlingford with 
 his political apostacy, and with selling his 
 conscience and perjuring himself by invaria- 
 bly voting for government for the sake of the 
 paltry situations they bestowed on his family. 
 He sneered at him for the meanness with 
 which he had solicited pecuniary loans ; and 
 clenching his fist, he struck his breast with 
 an impious energy, calling down God to wit- 
 ness that his son should never receive from 
 him a shilling if he condescended to marry 
 the daughter of a titled pauper. 
 
 " With these words he left the castle. 
 * Thank God,' said the Captain, ' his curse is 
 only that I shall never receive his money. My 
 Emma, I would not yield you for twenty times 
 Sir Ashton's estates. Your father has uttered 
 no curse/ 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 87 
 
 " * leave me/ said I, bursting into tears. 
 * This dreadful conversation sinks deep into 
 my heart ; Oh, Wilton, if you love me, quit 
 my presence, leave me to wretchedness and 
 despair. This is not a time to press your 
 suit : hereafter we may meet under happier 
 auspices. If you are wretched, you are not 
 more so than I am.' 
 
 ** ' By heavens I cannot leave you in this 
 friendless state of affliction. I love you more, 
 infinitely more than ever. My sword shall 
 reach De Vallois's heart. Bid me not to fly. 
 Can I leave you uncertain of your love ; I 
 will not quit the castle racked by tormenting 
 doubts.' 
 
 " * What doubts ? Have I not sworn unal- 
 terable love to you. Is Emma's oath no bood 
 of surety ? Alas, Sir, you know but too well 
 how much I love.' 
 
 " ' But, dear angel, these altered eircum- 
 stances, were they not enough to create un* 
 easiness. Oh Emma, renew that pledge of 
 fidelity. Swear it again, seal it with one kiss, 
 and promise me ; swear to me never to marry 
 that hated Marquis. Renew your oath, now that 
 you know all the impediments to our union.' 
 ** * This I swear to you ; but, Wilton^ rer 
 
88 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 member that a duel, legalized murder, can 
 be no passport to my affections. Leave dfe 
 Vallois to his own insignificance ; and, be as- 
 sured of this, that wherever thou art, what- 
 ever time may elapse, Emma is solely thine. 
 Now let us part, and wait for happier times. 
 Wilton, you are not yourself; you are infirm 
 of purpose. Heavens, must I set you the 
 example of fortitude ; you lack in resolution : 
 come, if you love me, rise equal to the occa- 
 sion, and fly.* He embraced me with an air 
 of distracted wildness. I shall never foro-et 
 
 o 
 
 the last look he gave me. He left the castle. 
 
 " I could now no longer support myself. 
 Mother I had none. I could not communicate 
 my affliction to either of my sisters ; their 
 hearts were never in unison with mine. My 
 brother was proud, and sympathized with my 
 father's resolutions : nor would I make a con- 
 fident of my maid. I cherished the secret 
 sorrow in my wretched bosom, and lived 
 nearly four months in a state of melancholy 
 abstraction. 
 
 ** It was in March that one morning at 
 breakfast I read a paragraph in the news- 
 paper, stating that the Marquis de Vallois 
 had solicited and obtained from the court of 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 89 
 
 France the appointment of ambassador to 
 England, and that he intended leaving Paris 
 immediately. The paragraph added, in italics, 
 that love and diplomacy were not always in- 
 consistent. 
 
 " This last sentence spoke volumes to my 
 heart; I knew the hour of my trials drew 
 near, trials which I had neither art to elude, 
 nor strength to support. I retired to my cham- 
 ber to weep, and overcome with grief, I put 
 on my cloak, that I might, by a walk in the 
 air, recover my appearance sufficiently to 
 avoid observation at the dinner table. I chose 
 for my walk the garden, as it was not over- 
 looked by the house, and at this time of the 
 day nobody was ever in it. 
 
 " Hardly had I entered the furthest and 
 most sequestered walk, when I picked up a 
 card, with the printed name of Captain Wil- 
 ton Beever. This was dropped to moderate 
 my first emotions ; in an instant Wilton him- 
 self was at my feet. 
 
 '* We embraced tenderly ; the scenes of our 
 lives were revived in our imagination. We 
 were long unable to speak. ' How found you 
 entrance here,' said I, in astonishment. * By 
 the private key, which was my passport in 
 
^ THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 my happier days of youth. Do not think I 
 bribed the gardener ; I scorn to seduce the 
 servant to betray his duty. But, Emma, our 
 time is short, and I have much to say to you : 
 waste not a moment, retire into this arbour, 
 and let me divulge to you my plans. 
 
 " ' I find, my dear Emma, life to be insup- 
 portable without you ; I have made up my 
 mind to fly my country if I should be so un- 
 happy as to meet with your rejection, of what 
 I now have to offer. You are aware that in 
 action I saved the life of the Emperor's bro- 
 ther from the attack of two French cuirassiers. 
 The German court has, in gratitude, offered 
 me a rank, and employment in their service, 
 flattering to the ambition even of a prince. 
 Whether I again plunge in war, whether I ac- 
 cept this offer or not, depends on you, and 
 on you alone. 
 
 " ' My plans are not the dictates of passion ; 
 they are not the offspring of a romantic ima- 
 gination ; I have matured them well, I know 
 what I am able to support, and I know I can 
 carry them into execution, nor do I doubt 
 your possessing equal firmness and constan^. 
 
 " ' Of the 2000/. a-year, which my father 
 has allowed me for my expenses, as his son. 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. pi 
 
 I have saved nearly the amount of one year's 
 allowance. I purpose selling my commission, 
 and my many articles of absurd foppery and 
 of expensive indulgence. I will rove through 
 the romantic country of Wales, until I find a 
 spot thoroughly secluded and beautiful ; there 
 will I purchase about a dozen acres, and build 
 a convenient house ; I will furnish it, and 
 with the produce of my ground, and the rem- 
 nant of my money, I could support retirement 
 till my father's death should possess me of his 
 immense entailed estates. You have infinite 
 resources within yourself. The country w ould 
 afFord us numerous objects for the employ- 
 ment of our congenial pencils ; you would 
 have your library, your music, your maternal 
 duties ; I would build you a green-house and 
 a hot-house, in which you might gratify your 
 taste, and exercise your talents in botany : 
 and can you, Emma, can you, for my sake, 
 for ten long years, resign the splendid draw- 
 ing-room, the magnificent opera, the brilliant 
 circle of fashion, in which you are the star 
 attractive of devotion from every thing young 
 and gallant ? Can you resign these things so 
 dear to the heart of woman, and live with your 
 Wilton a life of unattractive and inelegant 
 
92 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 solitude ? Oh, speak to me, for on your voice 
 now depends the fate of him who must be for 
 ever miserable or for ever happy/ 
 
 " * If these things be so dear to the heart 
 of woman as you assert, it is more than I 
 know. They have never been dear to mine ; 
 fashion has never been attractive to me, and 
 in resigning the gaiety and splendour you 
 have so warmly painted, I should scarcely 
 have the merit of making a sacrifice. The 
 minds of women are more pliant to circum- 
 stances than the spirits of men. But could 
 you, Wilton, forget the vanity, the dissipa- 
 tion, and pageantry of a military life. Could 
 you resign that phantom of martial fame 
 which, but six months ago, you were pursuing 
 with such uncontrollable ardour ? Could you 
 forget your habits of expense, the enjoyments 
 of the town, and resign all these to lead an 
 ignoble life of rural solitude, and for my sake. 
 Forgive my flood of tears, I could sacrifice, 
 but men are not so constant in their principles.' 
 
 " ' Your doubts of my constancy wound me 
 to the heart. When have I deserved this sus- 
 picion of my love V he replied. 
 
 " * I do not suspect you of inconstancy ; it 
 is not you I suspect, but it is human nature.' 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. ^3 
 
 " ' My habits, Emma, are decidely domestic, 
 and my disposition you know to be retired^ 
 Rural nature has endless charms for me ; with 
 my books and philosophical instruments, with 
 my flute and my pencil, and with my propen- 
 sity to mechanical amusements, I should find 
 an endless fund of enjoyment. My. labour 
 on my grounds would keep me in health, and 
 the toil of the day being passed, your com- 
 pany in the evening would be my paradise. 
 What charms to rear our children in virtue 
 and in knowledge. When fortune smiled on 
 us, and restored us to wealth, how we should 
 enjoy the recollection of our past trials.' 
 
 '* * I have one insuperable objection, Wil- 
 ton, I cannot fly in the face of my father's 
 commands.' * Oh let not that consideration 
 influence you. Your father's attachment to 
 me has been greater than he has ever evinced 
 to any of his own children, even to you, my 
 Emma. He has caressed me from my cradle, 
 when all other objects on earth were held by 
 him in indifference. He would soon be recon- 
 ciled to our union, were he to know that it 
 had already taken place.' 
 
 " ' Alas, Wilton, you little know my fa- 
 ther's disposition, or hope and love have 
 
94 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 blinded your better judgment. You know Him 
 to be inexorable ; he would never forgive us ; 
 reflect upon his conduct to my unhappy mo- 
 ther, even on her death-bed, he—* 
 
 ** * Oh, name it not. Heavens ! such a pa- 
 rent ; a man so selfish and unfeeling. Are 
 we then to be made miserable because by 
 chance his forefathers, some centuries ago, 
 had their names enrolled on parchment ? Are 
 we to be sacrificed to his unreasonable pride 
 of registered ancestry ? Has he not been in- 
 sensible to every claim you had on him as his 
 child V 
 
 " ' His neglect of duties towards me could 
 never sanction my violation of duty towards 
 him. Speak not so harshly of my father ; he 
 is old, and I cannot forget I am his child. 
 If I do not esteem him, nature bids me love, 
 and pity him. Wilton, this can never be ; I 
 have already sworn that no power shall ever 
 make me marry any but yourself. This is the 
 utmost extent that my duty as a child will 
 allow me to go. What subsequent confidence 
 would you have in me, if your acquirement of 
 my hand was achieved by my violation of the 
 most sacred of duties, by my perfidy to an 
 only parent ; she who betrays a father would 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 95 
 
 be treacherous to a husband. These would 
 be your reflections when the fever of passion 
 was moderated by time. I have given no 
 pledge to my father not to marry you, but I 
 know his objections, and nature for me has 
 pledged obedience to his commands.' 
 
 ** ' His commands are, that you marry the 
 Marquis de Vallois.' 
 
 " ' There he exceeds his natural right over 
 me.* 
 
 " ' Can you argue so logically whilst I am 
 torn by a thousand conflicting emotions. 
 Ought not your heart to be beating in unison 
 with mine. Yes, you are right ; woman in 
 every thing is superior to man. Oh, Emma, 
 when I reflect upon you in childhood, artless, 
 warm, but innocent ; when I first threw off* the 
 boy, and poured out my heart in the fervent 
 energy at once of love and tenderness ; you 
 were then, oh then you could undisguisedly, 
 in innocence, give way to the flow of feelings, 
 and exchange our fervid vows of mutual pas- 
 sion. Oh yes, Emma, you could seal those 
 vows by a chaste yet fervent kiss, that first 
 dear kiss of womanhood. Now you are cold, 
 can sedately reason ; now — now — but it is over. 
 Emma, all is over with me, the game of life if; 
 
gS THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 up, this week I cross the channel, and may 
 this next campaign terminate my miseries. I 
 use no reproach. Emma, farewell.' 
 
 " Need I say that I was unable to bear 
 such a parting ; that the dictates of reason 
 yielded to the force of my feelings. I con- 
 sented to be his wife, and for this first viola- 
 tion of duty to my parent, Wilton paid the 
 forfeit of his life, and my lot must be that of 
 misery and want. * 
 
 ** Wilton now took a most affectionate leave 
 of me ; he parted for the purpose of seeking 
 out a place of residence, and I was to await 
 his return, and to hold myself in readiness to 
 be the companion of his flight. 
 ■ " Captain Burford was alone intrusted with 
 his plans, to him it was contrived that I 
 should convey, by degrees, the most simple 
 of my apparel, in order that I might not be 
 exposed to inconvenience, nor yet incumbered 
 at the time of my escape from the castle. 
 Captain Burford was to send the trunks to an 
 inn in London, directed to a fictitious name, 
 and they were to wait there the orders of his 
 friend. 
 
 ** It was not till a month after Wilton had 
 left me that I was introduced to the Marquis 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 97 
 
 ^e Vallois. To my surprise, I found him an 
 elegant and an accomplished nobleman, and 
 if a lady's affections were disengaged, he, of 
 all men, by his manners, was calculated to 
 make an impression. But my heart was en- 
 tirely another's. 
 
 ** I positively refused to accept some mag- 
 nificent foreign presents he brought me, and 
 their value was so great, that the Earl, my 
 father, was outrageous at my obstinacy. I 
 thought it but humanity to repulse the assi- 
 duous attentions he paid me ; and I was as 
 cold and as distant to him as was consistent 
 with good manners and the common decency 
 of behaviour. 
 
 '* De Vallois had too much good sense and 
 acquaintance with life not to read my aversion 
 to him, and he resolved to come to an expla- 
 nation with me upon the subject. He had 
 been so strongly assured by my father of my 
 willingness to an alliance, that had not my 
 behaviour been so decided, and so exceedingly 
 marked, he could not possibly have conjec- 
 tured even a possibility of his desires being 
 frustrated. 
 
 " My father grew excessively severe, and 
 even cruel in his behaviour towards me. He 
 
 VOL. f. F 
 
^8 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 threatened, if the approaching interview with 
 the Marquis were not to his satisfaction, he 
 would confine me for life in the western wins; 
 of the castle. 
 
 *' One morning the Earl sent to announce 
 that it was his pleasure to see me in the state- 
 room. So pompous and unusual a message 
 forboded me no good. 
 
 *' As I entered, with a look in which I could 
 read no one expression of feeling, he ad- 
 dressed me, * Lady Emma, your marriage with 
 the Marquis de Vallois is finally arranged for 
 the 14th of September next. I have taken 
 good care of your interests. One of the 
 French princes of the blood will attend the 
 ceremony, and give you away, and he takes 
 upon himself the charge of providing for your 
 first son. The King of France has expressed 
 his gracious pleasure to honour his favourite 
 minister with a dukedom, on the occasion of 
 the marriage. You are fortunate in being the 
 means of increasing the splendour of the house 
 of Carlingford. Good morning to your Lady- 
 ship. The members of your family have com- 
 municated their intentions of congratulating 
 you OB your happiness.' 
 ofV This speech, with the manner in which it 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 99 
 
 was delivered, amounted to the burlesque, 
 and would, from any other than a father, and 
 under any other circumstances, have created 
 laughter and ridicule, but to me its effects 
 were too portentous. 
 
 " * My dear father, let me say one word to 
 you on the occasion.' 
 
 " ' Do not delay me, for I have an early ap- 
 pointment this morning.' 
 
 " * But for five minutes. Can you sacrifice 
 your Emma's feelings ? Can you wish to ally 
 me to a man I neither love nor can ever ' 
 
 " ' Pshaw, women are never very sensible, 
 and at your age there is no holding rational 
 discourse with them. Your mother, the Coun- 
 tess, used to distress me with this nonsensical 
 jargon — feeling indeed. And as to love, child, 
 if not loving the man be your only objection, 
 there is not much difficulty in the affair. Why 
 if want of love were to mar titled marriages, 
 we should have the peerage extinct. Your 
 notions are sadly low and vulgar. I suppose 
 you can appear decently in company with your 
 husband, and what more is required of you ? 
 The customs of France admit of privileges 
 enough for your taste, I should imagine.' 
 
 " With this he left the room, and I was more 
 f2 
 
100 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OK, 
 
 astonished and confounded by his apathy than 
 even alarmed for the consequences of his con- 
 duct. 
 
 " I daily expected the interview with this 
 French nobleman, and I had firmly resolved 
 on the part I was to act. Week after week 
 passed away, and this dreaded conference 
 never took place. Soon, however, my surprise 
 ceased, for an accidental circumstance ex- 
 posed to me the secret machinery of the whole 
 affair. 
 
 " The antique and high turrets, the long 
 galleries and dark gothic arches of the western 
 wing of the castle were my favourite resort. 
 In these I was threatened to be confined, but, 
 in fact, the place of my incarceration would 
 have been congenial to my taste, and in com- 
 plete unison with the tone of my feelings. 
 
 " In one of the lattices of a room, at the 
 very extremity of a long and dismal arcade, I 
 was sitting to enjoy the western breeze. 
 
 " The Earl and De Vallois entered the 
 grounds, in earnest conversation. They began 
 to pace to and fro beneath the window at 
 which I was seated. I instantly withdrew my 
 head, and I must confess I was mean enough 
 to listen to what they had to say. My father's 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 101 
 
 snanner was remarkably complaisant and insi- 
 nuating. I thought I saw an expression of 
 exquisite cunning in the face of the Marquis. 
 The first words I caught were from the wily 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " ' Allow me the honour to observe, my 
 Lord, that it has been my misfortune not to be 
 understood by your Lordship. My engage- 
 ment, I believe, was, that your Lordship's 
 incumbrances should be discharged, and the 
 12,000/, paid into your Lordship's bankers; 
 but this, not in consideration of the honour 
 of your Lordship's interference, but at the time 
 of the completion of my hopes.' 
 
 " ' I am perfectly aware of that, my Lord 
 Marquis, but your Lordship perceives that my 
 orders have been given to Lady Emma, and 
 that the day of marriage only waits the honour 
 of your Lordship's determination. I have pro- 
 posed the 14th of September to Lady Emma. 
 But as this unpleasant affair presses so imme- 
 diately on my convenience, your Lordship 
 will oblige me by not delaying the order for 
 the 12,000/. until the day of marriage.' 
 
 " Here the absurd ceremony and frequent 
 prostitution of honourable titles were dropped. 
 f3 
 
102 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR;" 
 
 It was a prostitution absurd, for it imposed <m 
 neither party. The conference now became 
 inore earnest and impassioned. 
 
 " * To be candidy my Lord Carlingford, my 
 feelings begin to be deeply interested. Lady 
 Emma daily gains on my heart. But so far 
 from her manner evincing the preference of me 
 which you assert, I fear I can read in her 
 looks and behaviour any thing but the attache 
 ment you assure me of.' 
 
 " ' Why, to be equally candid, my Lord 
 Marquis, I must tell you that she is not in- 
 sensible of your Lordship's personal merit, and 
 my mandates would be obeyed, were it not 
 for a hot-headed romantic dragoon officer, who 
 has filled her head with such trash about 
 honour, love, fidelity, and nonsense of this 
 sort, that it has rather obstructed my views. 
 If this plebeian fool were out of the way, in 
 one month, woman-like, she would forget him, 
 and in another she would be the wife of the 
 Marquis de Vallois.' 
 
 '* * The affair then is simple enough,* said 
 de Vallois, with a sardonic sneer. 
 
 '* ' How so ? my Lord.' 
 
 " ' You say that the fellow is fiery. I have 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. lOST 
 
 dependent gentlemen in my suit, who are the 
 best swordsmen in Europe. He would take 
 an insult, I suppose/ 
 
 " * That plan will never do. You remember 
 Colonel Dennis O'Sullivan, who won so fre- 
 quently the foils at Versailles. That gentle- 
 man used to take affairs of this sort off my 
 hands for me. By mere chance Captain Beever 
 discovered and defeated a well concerted plan 
 which Sullivan had laid to carry off for me 
 the orphan of a French officer who was killed 
 in a forlorn hope, and had left his family to 
 live, or rather to starve, on his paltry pension, 
 and on the gratitude of his country. I would 
 have made it worth the girVs while ; Sullivan 
 had concerted his scheme with great art and- 
 address, when that booby Captain Beever 
 must interfere with his virtue and feeling. 
 
 " * The Irishman gallantly called him out, 
 but the dragoon declined the challenge, for- 
 sooth, on religious grounds. He had behaved 
 so well in many battles that this refusal to 
 fight hardly hurt his character, but, in my opi- 
 nion, when men make their public fame for 
 valour a means of avoiding private contests, 
 it is that, because, like ourselves, they have 
 no great fondness for such dangerous affairs. 
 f4 
 
104 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 However, Beever exposed Sullivan's whole 
 conduct by the press, and brought an action 
 against him for endeavouring to provoke a 
 duel. The poor Colonel was sentenced to 
 three month's imprisonment, to find two sure- 
 ties to keep the peace, and to pay 200/. to the 
 king. The fellow had not two hundred pounds 
 in the world, and the cursed fine came out of 
 my pocket, or rather out of the pocket of 
 Beever's father, for I am much in that ephe- 
 merist's debt. But what was worse for Sul- 
 livan, his character was ruined, and he could 
 be of no further use to his patrons. He vowed 
 revenge, and he way-laid Beever, in one of 
 the morning rambles he used to take in the 
 romantic scenery near Lisbon, where his re- 
 giment was at that time stationed. Sullivan 
 was accompanied by De Lisle, his valet, 
 whom you knew well as an excellent sword's- 
 man. They met young Wilton Beever on the 
 road. Their rapiers were quickly unsheathed* 
 Beever flew and got his back against a rock. 
 De Lisle pressed forward with a subserviency 
 to his master, which he thought, from his 
 skill, would be little dangerous. Their swords 
 crossed. * Stand back, De Lisle,' cried Sulli- 
 van, * let my hand have its vengeance -j* in au 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 105 
 
 instant De Lisle was dead at Beever's feeU 
 Sullivan, far from intimidated, threw off his 
 mask, and flew at the Captain with all the 
 fury which the most deadly hate could inspire. 
 He was met by the firmness of a better cause, 
 
 * Villain,' cried the Irishman, * now take 
 the punishment of your cursed interference.' 
 
 * Wretch,' retorted Wilton, * tremble at im- 
 pending judgment.' The fight was long and 
 furious. Sullivan's exquisite skill enable hinj 
 to wound his antagonist. Wilton's science 
 and fearless intrepidity had the ascendant ; in 
 three minutes Sullivan was a lifeless corpse. 
 I was glad of the fellow's death, for he knew 
 all my secrets, and used to borrow of me 
 money repeatedly, and which I was obliged to 
 lend, or rather to give, in fear he should be- 
 tray me, and which he was very capable of.' 
 
 " ' And well,' said the Marquis coolly, ' what 
 has this long story to do with the affair. If 
 Captain Beever falls our object is answered ; if 
 my champion is killed, why I must pay the 
 fellow's funeral. Besides, if the Captain de- 
 stroys his antagonist he must fly — it will 
 therefore induce him to accept the advan-^ 
 tageous offer which the Austrian government 
 has made him in the army of Italy. The Gerr 
 f5 
 
J06 THE WEtCH cottage; OR, 
 
 man generalissimo is my intimate friend, and 
 cannot I act the part of David, and put this 
 young Uriah in the front of the battle. Who 
 tells whether a shot strikes him from behind 
 or from before/ 
 
 " * You have forgotten/ said Lord Carling* 
 ford, * one little item in the account, which 
 perchance may render your scheme hardly 
 feasible. You have lost sight of the informa- 
 tion that our hero's religious scruples only 
 permit him to cut throats by the wholesale, 
 with a red coat on. He will not fight a duel, 
 and you may therefore save your champion 
 the trouble of writing, sealing, and sending 
 his invitation to be killed.' 
 
 " ' But, Lord Carlingford, if by any means 
 we can get this gentleman into the German 
 service, I have my agents in Italy, and when 
 young Beever arrives at the Austrian quarters, 
 will he not be taking his morning rambles, 
 through romantic glens and solitary paths. 
 Can he paiTy a shot, or a stiletto from an 
 unseen arm? None of the vile English pre- 
 judices exist in that country. There a paltry 
 upstart csnnot plague and insult a person of 
 tank. So far our difficulty is at an end. But 
 "where is this troublesome fellow V 
 2 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 107 
 
 " ' Why nobody can learn. Some assert 
 that he is making a tour of the Lakes in Scot- 
 land, some, that he is with a friend in Ireland, 
 and others inform me he has been seen on the 
 continent. There is no telling where he is, 
 but I suppose he will make his appearance 
 before long.' 
 
 " ' Well, my Lord, the danger and expense 
 must not both fall on me, and I will confer 
 further with you on the disposal of this wild 
 son of Mars ; and as soon as our first step is 
 accomplished, you may rely on my liberality 
 and readiness to meet your embarrassment. 
 In the mean time, treat Lady Emma liberally. 
 She is really a lovely creature.' 
 
 " ' But,' said my father, * you have not 
 spoken of my proposal, to connive at your 
 running away with her. That will accelerate 
 our agreement.' 
 
 '* * I fear that plan would not succeed — if 
 it is to be tried, the sooner the better.' 
 
 " * I will keep her in the western division 
 of the castle, under pretence of punishment. 
 That situation affords every facility for elope- 
 ment.* 
 
 " ' Well,' said the Marquis, ' confine her 
 f6 
 
108 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 this night. If I am to run off with her, it musf 
 be done immediately. I can lay my train for 
 taking her to France, but if it turns out that 1 
 am to await our plans as to Captain Beever, 
 why, it can be at my intercession that you li- 
 berate the fair captive, and this will be a &tep 
 in the ladder of love's promotion.* 
 
 *' On this arrangement they withdrew to 
 the house, leaving me petrified with horror. 
 
 " I trembled at the profligate villainy of the 
 Marquis, and wept bitterly for the conscience 
 of my father. 
 
 " For Beever I had no fears. In personal 
 fight I knew he had nothing to apprehend, and 
 as to the plains at the German army, I. was 
 entrusted with the secret of his refusing the 
 appointment. 
 
 " But every thing seemed miserable for 
 myself. That night, after receiving a cold 
 lecture from the Earl, and the most unfeeling 
 reproaches from my brother and my sisters, I 
 was confined for the night in the very room from 
 which I had overheard the morning conversa- 
 tion. It appears that de Vallois had that after- 
 noon, on a further consultation with Lord Car- 
 iingford, resolved on immediately carrying mt: 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 109 
 
 off to France, and that the 12,000/. were to be 
 paid to Lord Carlingford on the Marquis's 
 landing at Calais. 
 
 " I was sitting in the chamber of my impri- 
 sonment, full of the most melancholy reflec- 
 tions, and pensively looking at the richness of 
 the setting sun, which gilded the opposite 
 hills, and threw its departing lustre on the 
 gloomy front of the mouldering ruins — a large 
 figure of a man, whose whiskers and musta- 
 chios bespoke him a foreigner, glided through 
 the trees. He entered a small door in the 
 northern extreme of the tower, as if he was 
 familiar with the building. * Good heavens,' 
 I exclaimed, * has this wicked wretch already 
 employed his mercenaries to effect my ruin. 
 Oh, could providence send my only friend, 
 my Wilton, to save me from the blow which 
 is meditated against my honour and his hap- 
 piness.' Footsteps were heard along the gal- 
 lery. They approached the door of my cham- 
 ber. * Oh, Wilton,' I exclaimed, ' where ought 
 now to be your sword.' I endeavoured to reach 
 the lock of the door, to exclude this ruffian, 
 but my feet refused their office. I was too 
 late, his savage figure entered, and I staggered 
 to the table. 
 
410 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR; 
 
 '' Catching me with one hand round my 
 wrist, with the other he threw off his cap, and 
 his disguise of whiskers 
 
 " * What, my Emma, is it possible you could 
 not recognise your Wilton, through this weak 
 disguise. Did you not know me. I have been 
 watching you these three hours.' 
 
 " ' And for heaven's sake, how could you 
 enter the castle V 
 
 " ' Are not these the familiar haunts of our 
 youth. In this disguise, I have been in the 
 neighbourhood four days — ^nobody knows of 
 my presence but Burford. Every evening have 
 I spent in the cloister below, in the hopes 
 of your visiting this favourite scene of our 
 younger sports. Emma, I have come to claim 
 you as my wife. All things are ready. The 
 land is purchased and the house complete. 
 Day and night have I toiled, inspired by love. 
 I knew that the sooner the task was performed 
 the sooner I should enjoy the heaven of your 
 society. The cottage has arisen as if by magic 
 —and it seems designed for the habitation of 
 fairies. It is romantic and beautiful. The 
 grounds are not complete in their design, they 
 wait your better taste. And now, Emma, 
 misery draws to a close. Hope is high — all 
 is prepared — you must away with me to-night.' 
 
i^HiE woodman's fire-side. Hi 
 
 " * Not to-night. I cannot go so unpre- 
 pared, at only a few hours notice.^ 
 
 " ' Was not our last arrangement, that you 
 should be ready at my first appearance ? Dan- 
 ger presses on us. I have taken out our mar- 
 riage licence ; and a licerce for Earl Carling- 
 ford's daughter to marry with Sir Ashton's 
 son, will soon be abroad — we have therefore 
 no time to lose. Burford, at one to-night, is 
 to have his gig with his best horse, a hundred 
 yards the other side of the turnpike, that 
 passing the gate might not betray the direc- 
 tion of our flight. He is to act the groom, and 
 is already dressed in character. At a town 
 sixteen miles off, another horse of his is ready 
 for a change. We are to be put down before 
 entering the town, and to be taken up on the 
 other side, so that if pursuit is made in that 
 direction, all the intelligence they can gain, 
 will be that a servant with an uncouth livery 
 passed rapidly in a gig, but without any fe- 
 male companion. At thirty-seven miles off, 
 we will walk four miles to break all connec- 
 tion of our route, when we shall fall into the 
 high road at a time the mail from London 
 will be passing. This will convey us to the 
 house of Dr. Milner, an old collegiate compa- 
 
112 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 nion, who, my dearest Emma, will unite us in 
 marriage. At his hospitable vicarage we can 
 remain, till we hear from Burford how our 
 escape has effected our friends, and then pro- 
 ceed to our retreat/ 
 
 " * But, my good Wilton, this sudden flight 
 — this affair takes me so much by surprise, I 
 cannot bring my mind to the proper point.' 
 
 " * It is you now that lack in resolution. 
 But what say you to eloping the night after 
 to-morrow with my Gallic rival.' 
 
 *' * How could you know any thing of that.' 
 
 ** * Do not look so surprised — why you 
 make me laugh to see your astonishment. 
 Emma, I know all their plans, — whilst you 
 were listening to the conversation between De 
 Vallois and the Earl from above, I heard all 
 they said from yonder archway. I watched 
 your lovely countenance, and saw the nume- 
 rous emotions of horror, disgust, and terror, 
 with which you listened to their schemes ; 
 and now, my Emma, I can tell you more. I 
 have since, in a similar manner, heard another 
 conference between these two titled worthies. 
 Four Frenchmen are at this moment livino; 
 with old Foster and his son at the Lodge of 
 the garden entrance, to effect the plan of car- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 113 
 
 rying you off on Friday at midnight. So that 
 you must not delay my schemes, or the sword 
 is likely to be more used than the ladder.* 
 
 ** * Wilton, I am afraid that danger is near 
 you. These, I suppose, are the very French- 
 men whom the Marquis described as the best 
 of swordsmen. How shall we pass the gate 
 whilst so many are in the lodge. Did you not 
 hear their plan of getting rid of you by a duel?' 
 
 ** * I heard all their plans, and laughed at 
 their impotence. If these be, as you suggest, 
 the Marquis's gentlemen fighters, I shall, I 
 think, out-manoeuvre them to-night ; or if it 
 comes to the fight, my arm is as strong as my 
 feet are swift.' 
 
 ** ' All, my dear Emma, looks well. I will 
 wait here till the turret clock strikes one ; I 
 know every crevice of the building, and can 
 both avoid detection and escape pursuit. At 
 one, then, I meet you at the end of the gallery 
 leading to your chamber. And swiftly fly the 
 next six hours.' 
 
 " That night I was ushered into my prison 
 room by Madame Laronne, a woman who had 
 been of the Marquis's household, but who, long 
 engaged in my father's service, was now to be 
 
114 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR,' 
 
 my lady's maid, or in other terms, my spy. f 
 undressed in melancholy silence, which Ma- 
 dame endeavoured to divert by all the easy 
 gaiety and sprightly nonsense for which both 
 her nation and her profession are celebrated. 
 But I could not master my feelings sufficiently 
 even to assume the appearance of composure 
 necessary to assist my purposes. 
 
 " My French Abigail after putting me to 
 bed, withdrew her coarse and masculine per- 
 son to the chamber on the other side of a room 
 reserved for my dressing-room. As this room 
 intervened between our chambers, I thought I 
 could dress and pack up my bundle without 
 her hearing me, and glad was I, as one o'clock 
 approached, to hear her snoring in a manner 
 that would at any other time have discom- 
 posed my nerves had they been as sound as 
 the nerves of a ploughboy. 
 
 *' At leno;th the turret clock struck the 
 dreaded and yet wished-for hour. Rising and 
 seizing my parcel, I approached the door, my 
 hand had just turned the latch. My foot was 
 o'er the threshold, when a heavy arm was laid 
 on my shoulder. I screamed, and turning 
 round, beheld Madame Laronne. 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 11;^ 
 
 " * Ah, mee ladee, I did watch you. You 
 did think me a snore. I thought you was go 
 to run.' 
 
 " * Mercy, good woman. Have pity on a 
 deserted creature. Aid my escape from dan- 
 gers as great as ever assailed a lady's safety ; 
 for the love of heaven have mercy, conceal 
 my flight.' 
 
 " * Yes, I will have mercy to tell a mee 
 Lord ; stay one bit, I will call to de hut, dey 
 shall come to you.' 
 
 " ' Oh, do not betray me, do not expose 
 me. In pity save me ; on my knees I implore 
 you to let me go.' 
 
 " ' Yes, I will ring de grand bell. I will 
 scream to my compaynions in the jardin hut. 
 I will scream, hoa — ' 
 
 " * Peace, babbler,' cried a hoarse voice, 
 and Wilton's hand was immediately on her 
 mouth. 
 
 " * Oh, Wilton,' I exclaimed, and sunk upon 
 the ground ; he raised and restored me. 
 
 " * I heard what passed, and flew to your 
 relief, and now, Madame Laronne, one word 
 of alarm, and I sheath my tremendous sword 
 in your monstrous bosom, and gratify my hor- 
 rid thirst of vengeance.' 
 
11^ THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " This bombast terrified the French amazon 
 into submission. * Oh, Monsieur, have some 
 gallant tour de compassion for de gentle sex. 
 Misericorde.' 
 
 " * Yes,' cried he, * you had much miseri- 
 corde for that gentle suffering creature/ all 
 the time cutting down the bell ropes and cur- 
 tain cords. 
 
 " * And now, my lady duenna,' said he, with 
 a sort of ironical composure, * I must be so 
 ungallant as to tie your feet together, and 
 your hands behind your back,' and this he did, 
 whilst she was uttering supplications which 
 really made me pity her. 
 
 " And then taking her up in his arms, he 
 fastened her to a stone pillar at the end of the 
 corridor. 
 
 " ' Adieu, Madame Laronne, you may per- 
 haps find it sometimes dangerous to be busy. 
 And now you have perfect freedom to scream 
 in any language you may please, and as loud 
 as those hoarse lungs of your's will admit ; 
 and if you make yourself heard, you must 
 have a voice little less than a nine pound field 
 piece. Come, Madame, faites du bruit.* 
 
 '* As soon as this woman saw no mischief 
 was intended towards her, she set up the most 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 117 
 
 violent abuse of us in broken English, hardly 
 intelligible. * Ah !' cried she, ' de French 
 sword will reach your coquin heart before you 
 do pass de garden.' 
 
 " These words were not to be despised. 
 They made me tremble. 
 
 ** * We must pass,' said Wilton, ' by this 
 side of the garden. How unfortunate, the 
 windows of the hut are open, and the French- 
 men with their English companions are ca- 
 rousing. Emma, we must stoop low, so that 
 they do not see us go by the windows, stoop 
 lower — hush — tread softly. The dog growled. 
 Lie down. Sir, he does not know me.' The 
 animal gave one bark, in an instant Wilton's 
 sword transfixed his heart. 
 
 " * Poor creature, how he writhes.' * Hush ! 
 Emma, 'twas a deed of necessity. I am sorry 
 for it. I thought the animal would have 
 known me. Rest behind this tree, whilst I 
 undo the gate. Let not even your breath be 
 heard.* 
 
 " The bolts and the lock of the massive 
 gate yielded easily and without noise ; but 
 there was a heavy iron bar, and in undoing 
 this, it struck against the door post. 
 
 ** Wilton glided back to the tree ; he caught 
 
ilS THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR,^ 
 
 me by the arm. I was sinking to the earth. 
 The voices in the hut ceased, in order to listen 
 to the noise ; his sword flew from its scabbard. 
 
 " * Wilton, let me not be the motive for 
 your committing murder.' 
 
 " * Hush, madam, for heaven's sake leave 
 all to me. I am equal to the crisis. My 
 sword spills no blood but in defence of my 
 life or of your innocence.' 
 
 " ' But ' 
 
 " * Hush, Emma, I say it was heard ; they 
 are listening, tread lightly, hold your breath, 
 No, leave the gate ajar. Now run; go softly 
 past the turnpike gate. Burford, Wilton. Get 
 into the gig, Lady Emma. We are safe, and 
 God be thanked.' 
 
 " * Walk the horse for half a mile,' said 
 Captain Burford, who sat behind on the rail 
 of the gig in livery, * and then make all sail, 
 for we shall be chaced.' 
 
 " * Burford, you have a bad bargain of it ; 
 ten to one I break your neck from that un- 
 lucky seat of yours, and if I only break your 
 horse's neck, I could not return you a donkey 
 in exchange. I always found you a sad officer, 
 but I see you make an excellent groom.' 
 
 " * But, Wilton, is there any danger of your 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. II9 
 
 neck in another way. Your sword, I saw, 
 was bloody. Did you kill one of those French 
 dogs.' 
 
 " ' No, 'twas an English dog, I killed.' 
 
 "" ' Good heavens, I am sorry for that. Not 
 that old fool the gardener, I hope.' 
 
 " ' No, 'twas the gardener's assistant, who 
 was set to watch the grounds, and w^ho was 
 within an ace of giving the alarm.' 
 
 " * What, his son, I suppose ; that stupid 
 dog, Harry.' 
 
 " * No, nor was it his stupid dog Harry ; 
 but to ease thy Christian fears, in a word, it 
 was his clever dog, Towzer.' 
 
 *' ' Pshaw, Wilton, attend to your driving, 
 for we are going at a devil of a rate. It is 
 lucky for horses that runaway matches are not 
 frequent.' 
 
 *' In this manner did they joke, for the 
 purpose of keeping up my spirits. But neither 
 the tenderness of Wilton, the spirited gal- 
 lantry of his friend, nor the facetioustiess of 
 both could prevent my being downcast and 
 sorrowful. 
 
 " I felt strongly the indelicacy of being thus 
 unprotected in the company of men ; and al- 
 though I knew Wilton to be honourable, and 
 
120 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 myself resolute and virtuous, I now saw that 
 my situation was one in which a sensible wo- 
 man would never trust herself. 
 
 ** In three hours we were seven and thirty 
 miles from Carlingford Castle. 
 
 " ' And now,' said Burford, ' here you had 
 better stop, walk between three and four miles 
 and you will come to the main road, and fall 
 in with the mail from London.' 
 
 " ' Remember, Burford, that at Dr. Milner's 
 I am the Rev. Mr. Barrington ; In Wales, I am 
 Farmer Ashford. And now, my dear friend, 
 adieu ; and believe me, Burford, I shall never 
 forget your generous friendship, and the obli- 
 gations you have imposed on me.' 
 
 " ' Lady Emma, do relieve your husband 
 from his dreadful weight of obligation to me, 
 by bestowing on me a parting kiss. Nay, but 
 it is my privilege as a bridegroom. There, 
 Wilton, your debt is paid. My friends, God 
 bless you, remember my heart is ever yours. 
 Adieu.' 
 
 " We arrived at Dr. Milner's at about seven, 
 just as he was entering his garden, to take his 
 morning walk in his night-gown and slippers. 
 
 " * Why, Captain Beever, I am happy to 
 see you, but what could have brought you to 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 121 
 
 this out of the way place at such an hour. 
 Travelling all night, I see ; but who is that 
 interesting young lady, your companion ; she 
 seems in great distress. I hope, Beever, that 
 the example of a dissolute camp has not made 
 you forget the moral restraint you practised at 
 college.' 
 
 " The suspicion which these words con- 
 veyed shocked my delicacy, but I felt that I 
 had brought them on myself by my engaging 
 in a scheme repugnant to every principle of 
 feminine duty and prudence. 
 
 " They retired to a bye path, and were in 
 earnest conversation for more than half an 
 hour. The fact is, that Captain Beever found 
 considerable difficulty in prevailing on his 
 friend to marry us under the circumstances of 
 our case. He at last, however, succeeded, 
 and before breakfast I was married, in the pre- 
 sence of the Doctor's wife and sister. 
 
 ** Of course we were married by our own 
 names, but the witnesses were bound to se- 
 crecy ; and the ceremony over, before the ser- 
 vants, we were Mr. and Mrs. Barrington. 
 
 " We remained at the hospitable vicarage 
 ten days, and on the eighth day of our visit we 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
J22 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 received a letter from our friend, it was in 
 these words : 
 
 " My dear Wilton, 
 
 '' I breakfasted at the Castle on the morning 
 of our stratagem. At eight, just as we were 
 sitting down to table, came in Madame Vic- 
 toire Laronne, with a face which would have 
 made the Thames turn to lemonade. She told 
 his Lordship the whole story, and bestowed 
 many an epithet on yourself and Lady Emma. 
 His Lordship, so far from passion, or order- 
 ing pursuit, laughed most immoderately at 
 the duenna's condition. He dropped a hearty 
 curse about some money, a 12,000/., which I 
 did not understand, and then ate his break- 
 fast a Tordinaire, and since which he has 
 neither mentioned your names, nor, I believe, 
 given either of you a thought. We might 
 have spared my horses, and the risks which 
 we run of breaking our necks. 
 
 " I was present when Sir Ashton received 
 your letter. He was deeply affected for a few 
 minutes, and reiterated his oath, that during 
 his life you should never receive a sixpence 
 from him ; and dwelt much on your assuring 
 him of your change of name, and of your reso- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 123 
 
 lution not to sully the family title. He wished 
 you happy, and appears since to have thought 
 nothing of the affair. I can give you news. 
 Sir Ashton has announced that he is imme- 
 diately to be created Earl of Argentfield, and 
 so thou, Rev. Mr. Barrington^ and farmer 
 Ashford will be no less a man than Lord Vis- 
 count Beever. The baronet is over-joyed. 
 
 " What think you of my rascally agent, he 
 threatens an immediate arrest and execution, 
 so that whilst you are flying to the west for 
 love, I fear I shall be flying all round the 
 compass for debt. My affectionate remem- 
 brance to Lady Emma. A long adieu to you. 
 
 *' C. BURFORD. 
 
 " We remained ten days with Dr. Milner, 
 and then left his house, taking every precau- 
 tion to conceal, even from him, the direction 
 of our journey. The Doctor and his family 
 were, indeed, free from that meanness which 
 could induce them to enquire into what their 
 friend would wish to conceal. 
 
 " In eight-and-forty hours the stage brought 
 us to the town of , where we hired a ser- 
 vant, and in a post-chaise we travelled the re- 
 maining thirteen miles, to the village at the 
 g2 
 
124 THE WELCH COTTAGE j OR, 
 
 foot of our hill, and I remember perfectly youf 
 noticing my husband at the door of the inn. 
 
 " And how I have lived from that day to 
 the fatal hour of poor Wilton's death, you are 
 well aware of. Never, I believe, were two 
 people more thoroughly happy. Nature made 
 us for each other ; with similar tastes, senti- 
 ments, and feelings, we possessed good tem- 
 per, good sense, and an affection for each 
 other, which heightened every joy, and over- 
 came or moderated every evil of life. 
 
 " That fatal night, Mr. Williams, in which 
 you were received into our cottage, and seemed 
 so much to enjoy our humble fire-side ; that 
 fatal night, or rather the next morning, at our 
 cheerful breakfast table, you may remember 
 my jesting on the period being so full of 
 events. Alas ! alas ! little did I think that 
 in less than twelve hours my husband and my 
 child would be lifeless and cold. 
 
 " Captain Burford's letter, that fatal morn- 
 ing, brought us the news that we were on the 
 very eve of prosperity. That fatal letter was 
 the occasion of every misery. We were on 
 the very threshold of wealth, of power, of 
 grandeur, and title. In one day the cup of 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 125 
 
 bliss was dashed from our lips, and from a 
 joyful wife, and happy mother, I became a 
 friendless widow, and my children unprotected 
 orphans. 
 
 *' Oh may Providence ordain that never 
 more may mother have to support the wretch- 
 edness of seeing her children droop and die for 
 want. 
 
 " I have got from my bed without the means 
 of giving my children their morning meal. I 
 have seen them fierce and ravenous from 
 hunger, picking with greediness the smallest 
 crumbs off the table. Oh, I have seen the ex- 
 pression of their little starving faces, their 
 supplicating looks. I have heard their cries, 
 and dare not ask the cause, and bid them to 
 be pacified. I have seen, oh God, I have 
 seen my child die for want ! 
 
 " Here she wrung her hands, and hid her 
 face for some time in her lap. 
 
 " But why need I tell you all the conse- 
 quences of poor Wilton's death ? 
 
 " I begged her to proceed. 
 
 " My sons, she continued, toiled in their 
 field with redoubled energy, but neither their 
 knowledge or experience were equal to their 
 g3 
 
126 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 father's, and the produce of our ground began 
 sensibly to decrease. 
 
 *' Every superfluous article of our furniture 
 was gradually sold. I could not make my 
 wants known ; it was the same as begging. 
 I wished also scrupulously to avoid every 
 thing that would have hurt my honoured hus- 
 band's feelings, had he been alive. 
 
 " At length hunger, pressing hunger, the 
 most urgent of all human wants, became our 
 daily suffering. Every article of convenience, 
 and at length of necessity, was parted with, to 
 preserve our existence. And I know not how 
 we supported our sufferings, but ere the last 
 bitter winter was over, our last bed was sold. 
 
 " Shall I conceal it for the honour of hu- 
 man nature, or shall I expose that even under 
 these dreadful wants, for the relief of which 
 it was known that our comforts were disposed 
 of, even under these afflicting circumstances 
 would the purchasers abate me in my de- 
 mands, and take advantage of my wretched- 
 ness to obtain my furniture at one quarter its 
 real value. 
 
 ** A few pictures were the last things I re- 
 served. They were the joint efforts of my 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 127 
 
 husband and myself, and they were in series, 
 from the first feeble lessons of our childish 
 studies to the view we had taken in the close 
 of the autumn preceding his death, and to a 
 historical piece with which we had solaced the 
 winter mornings of that fatal year. 
 
 " Two pictures yet remain, those crayon 
 heads in plain gilt frames ; they seem to mock 
 the poverty that surrounds them. Alas ! Sir, 
 they were done by the hands of that dear 
 child, who is now no more, and they never 
 leave me. Would not the world despise me 
 for retaining such objects, when my very bed 
 was disposed of to supply my hunger ? What, 
 Sir, is human nature, where we have no prin- 
 ciple above the wants of sense. 
 
 " I enquired whether the drawings were 
 done by that mild and interesting young lady 
 whom I had seen amusing herself with the 
 pencil when I was entertained at the cottage. 
 
 " They were done, Sir, by that good and 
 unfortunate creature whose mild virtues no 
 pen can justify. She was my second daughter, 
 and her sensibility made her feel for my mis- 
 fortunes, and the sufferings of her family, more 
 than any of the rest. 
 
 " Privation, want, and insufficient cloth- 
 G 4 
 
128 THE WELCH COTTAGE,* OR, 
 
 ing, at length aided the sympathies of her 
 mind, in affecting a constitution which was, 
 by nature, delicate, and which, at her tender 
 age, required peculiar care. That most cruel 
 of all diseases, consumption, began to exhibit 
 its unerring enmity. The poor creature, un- 
 conscious of her fate to the last, found her 
 strength decline, her nights sleepless from 
 cough, and her days helpless from disease. 
 She became so weak that, unable to stand, 
 she was lifted by me up and down the stair- 
 case. 
 
 ** Picture to yoairself the wretchedness of a 
 mother watching the gradual and certain 
 death of this lovely girl, knowing that her 
 care and attention must be followed by her 
 daughter's loss, and could hardly mitigate suf- 
 fering, or even delay the catastrophe. The 
 apothecary was kind enough to attend the 
 case gratis, but though I believe a liberal and 
 a good man, the attendance was, what gratis 
 attendance always is, uncertain in time, the 
 visits short, and the questions few, and now 
 and then put with a hurry, or a peremptory 
 manner, which told us but too plainly of our 
 obligation. This the poor suffering creature 
 bore with great resignation, Such mildness^ 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 129 
 
 such modesty, such a thankfulness for all that 
 was done for her, such a fear of giving trouble, 
 so much concern for the comfort of those 
 around her, she exhibited during all her suffer- 
 ings, and won the hearts of every body. 
 
 " Just when the poor creature approached 
 the last crisis, she declared, with a voice that 
 pierced the hearts of those who knew the sad 
 secret of her approaching fate, that she be- 
 lieved her complaint only required exertion to 
 throw it off, and she requested me to let her 
 go out. I did all in my power to dissuade her, 
 but in vain, and I at length gratified her de- 
 sire. The walk out was repeated the next 
 day, but the next, she reposed in that bed 
 from which she never rose. Three melancholy 
 days, and sleepless nights, I passed by her 
 pillow, internally weeping, but concealing all 
 outward show of grief. On the morning of 
 the third day the hand of death was on her,. 
 her extremities began to get cold. I was 
 watching her sleep when, starting suddenly, 
 as from a dream, her fine black eyes, full of 
 wildness, were thrown round the room with a 
 dreadful expression of terror and alarm. * I 
 can't get breath,' she exclaimed, in a tone — 
 oh,, shall I ever forget that voice. * I will 
 G. 5 
 
130 THE WELCH cottage; OR, 
 
 give you breath/ cried I, with broken sobs, 
 fanning her for air. She fell again into a mild 
 and placid state, like a reposing angel ; open- 
 ing her beautiful eyes, she stretched out her 
 emaciated arm, and feebly grasped my hand, 
 giving me a look so full of tenderness, of af- 
 fection, and of thanks — Oh, it was more than , 
 nature could bear, it racked my heart ; I hid 
 my face in the bed-clothes, to conceal my 
 grief. This was the last look she ever gave ; 
 The last time her dear eyes were ever opened 
 in this world. * Hold my head a little higher,' 
 said she, in a tone which spoke all the sweet- 
 ness of her disposition* Her heart was getting 
 cold, her breathing feeble. I wetted her dear 
 mouth with tea, the sigh murmured on her 
 lips, it trembled in her throat. My ear was 
 to her mouth, listening for one more sound, 
 it came not, my Eliza was dead. Was her 
 last sigh an effort to speak love and consola- 
 tion to me ? Oh God, my affliction, but why 
 renew my griefs ; why relate these things to 
 you, you cannot sympathize with me. Mo- 
 thers themselves forget these scenes ; oh, 
 wicked mothers. 
 
 " * But / never can forget such a scene, I 
 do sympathize with you, most injured lady, I 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 131 
 
 feel for you at every pore ; every pulsation of 
 my heart beats for your griefs.' 
 
 '* That night I distractedly watched over the 
 dead ; I wept over the corpse for one week. 
 On her birth-day, that day on which the lovely 
 angel would have completed her twentieth 
 year, I bore her body to the tomb. 
 
 " And now. Sir, all things are indifferent to 
 me, the measure of my grief is complete, the 
 cup of my sufferings is full to overflowing, 
 and sorrow has wrought in me an apathy to 
 life. I go to the parish receptacle for the 
 wretched, where kindred are torn asunder, 
 where the babe is snatched from its mother, 
 taken from its natural nurse, to be neglected, 
 beaten by a hireling. My child," said she, 
 clasping her youngest infant to her breast, 
 and burying her face in its neck, ' in four-» 
 and-twenty hours we part; I shall see you 
 once a week, as a matter of indulgence, the 
 work-house regulation. Oh God, my children, 
 what shall I do V 
 
 " * Never, dear Madam, shall you be sepa* 
 rated from your children on such terms. Look 
 up to happiness, all your trials are over. I am 
 an instrument in the hands of Providence, 
 sent for your relief, and blessed am I in the 
 g6 
 
132 THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 
 
 appointment. Your liberation is at hand, 
 convert your sorrows, your fears, into joy and 
 hope. 
 
 " ' Tell me, dear Lady Emma, did you not, 
 in your distress, apply to your relations, or to 
 the family of your husband?' 
 
 " Alas, Sir, my first hope was in Captain 
 Burford, from whose open heart, and affection 
 for my husband, I had reason to expect every 
 thing generous and good. But, as if all things 
 conspired to complete my ruin, our friend lost 
 his life, three days after he parted from my 
 husband. He was wrecked in the packet in 
 which he was proceeding from Holyhead to 
 Dublin. The estate, in quest of which he 
 lost his life, devolved to the heir at law, a 
 petty tradesman of Dublin ; and thus, by the 
 operation of the natural causes of the crea- 
 tion, did two worthy men lose their existence, 
 on the very brink of happiness ; a sordid crea- 
 ture was capriciously raised to wealth, whicli 
 his former habits and ideas rendered only an 
 incentive to profligacy, and I and my children 
 have been the sufferers of all I have related 
 to you. 
 
 " I applied to my brother, the present EarJ 
 of Carlingford, and received a courtly letter. 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 133 
 
 declining to give any assistance. From my 
 sister I received the most vindictive re- 
 proaches, to what she called a person who 
 had chosen her own lot, and who, by disobey- 
 ing her parent, had brought the house of Car- 
 lingford into the disgrace of an exposure of 
 the late Earl's pecuniary obligations to an up- 
 start rival. She added, * that the late Earl 
 had cursed me with his dying breath, and had 
 forbidden any of his children to assist me.' 
 My chief hope lay in the present Earl of Ar- 
 gentfield, who, brought up in brotherly love 
 to my husband, would, I thought, have felt 
 the miserable condition of his children. But 
 cruel was my disappointment from this quar- 
 ter ; here I expected sympathy, as well as 
 benevolence, what were my feelings when I 
 read his answer to my letter. He said * he re- 
 gretted that his late brother had been so deis- 
 tically inclined, but that it had pleased God, 
 by his special' providence, to cut him off from 
 the land, ere he had irreclaimably taught his 
 children to neglect the religion of the Lord ; 
 that he hoped my misfortunes had opened my 
 eyes to the true faith, and that feeling as well 
 for my worldly distresses as for my spiritual 
 comfort, he authorized me to call on the Revi 
 
134 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 Mr. Whitaker, who was requested, as a la- 
 bourer in the vineyard, to exhort me to righte- 
 ousness, and that I might, in his Lordship's 
 name, request of that spiritual pastor the sum 
 of 5/.' He added, ' that my late husband had 
 never, during his residence in Wales, been 
 seen in the parish church ; he supposed that 
 I had no bias in favour of the establishment, 
 and that therefore in returning to the right 
 faith, I could more easily attach myself and 
 children to Mr. Whitaker*s spiritual doctrines.' 
 " My distresses, or rather the distresses of 
 my dying child, obliged me to accept of this 
 wretched unfeeling gift ; but I had sense 
 enough to anticipate, and soon had reason to 
 know, that this reverend gentleman was not 
 the sort of pastor who could make religion 
 the united result of reason and the heart. 
 With him, at least, religion was a union of 
 imagination, prejudice, and hypocrisy. This 
 creature bestowed upon me the five pounds, 
 with an accompaniment of a most long and 
 tedious jargon of exhortation, in which he had 
 the indelicacy to insult the memory of my 
 much loved Wilton ; who, he added, was now 
 in fiery torment for his disbelief in the Gospel. 
 Unfeeling as this speech was, the latter part 
 
135 
 
 at least excited in me only pity for the mis- 
 taken enthusiast, who could entertain such 
 sentiments of the Deity. Five days before my 
 child died, our all of provisions were ex- 
 hausted. I applied again to the Rev. Mr. 
 Whitaker, and painted to him the dreadful 
 state of my family, particularly of my dying 
 daughter. I could wring from him nothing, 
 but he bestowed on me the most virulent re- 
 proaches that his exhortation had not wrought 
 on me the fruit of repentance." 
 
 " ' And now, my dear madam, let me at 
 once remove your apprehensions, by assuring 
 you that I see a certainty of your wants being 
 relieved, and I am not without hope, that you 
 may yet move in a sphere of life approaching 
 to what your birth entitles you to. I must 
 assume all the privileges of a brother with 
 yourself, and of a father with your children. 
 You are at this moment, I am shocked to 
 perceive it, in want even of a meal ; take this 
 purse, its contents will supply the necessities 
 of the day, and ere long I will be with you 
 again. I will not have one word of thanks; 
 and if you look so grateful, so humbly up to 
 me, I shall feel that you consider me not as 
 a tender and affectionate brother, but as a 
 
136 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 mere bestower of a gift. Moderate your ex- 
 cess of joy, but be happy till I return/ 
 
 *' * Can 1/ she replied, * be otherwise than 
 joyful ; one hour ago, I was bewailing the most 
 bitter of all my pangs, the separation from 
 my children, oh, can this dreaded suffering be 
 spared me : all other considerations are indif- 
 ferent.' 
 
 " I returned home, and ordered several of 
 my rooms to be dismantled, and their contents 
 put into two carts, and driven to the cottage* 
 I sent them beds, with their appropriate furni- 
 ture, sufficient in number and quantity for the 
 accommodation of the family. How many 
 human beings, thought I to myself, are nightly 
 doomed to sleep in the streets, nearly naked, 
 drenched with rain and shivering with the cold, 
 wanting those repellants of weather, which a 
 full stomach, cheerful heart, and their concomi* 
 tants of health and strength afford ; how many 
 such unfed houseless wretches, shiver in the 
 night blast, whilst within the sound of their 
 very groans, are rooms and beds unoccupied, 
 kept perhaps for the caprice of wealth, or the 
 insolence of pride. 
 
 * Take physic, pomp ; 
 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 
 
 That thou mayst shake the superflux to themi 
 
 And show the heaven.s more just,' 
 
THE WOODMAN*S FIRE-SIDE. 13? 
 
 *' I procured from the county bank fifty 
 pounds in small notes, lest changing a large 
 sum might expose these worthy people to the 
 gossip and observation of their neighbours. 
 But even with these precautions, the extent of 
 my services were soon fathomed by the search- 
 ing curiosity of the neighbourhood. Could I 
 have done less for these people without out- 
 raging humanity. TM not every motive which 
 could give my bosom peace on earth, or hope 
 in futurity, dictate what I had done. And yet, 
 improbable as the story may be, there were 
 wretches wicked enough to propagate, and 
 foolish enough to believe that my charity arose 
 from the vilest of views towards this afflicted 
 and widowed lady. 
 
 '* I accompanied my furniture to the cot- 
 tage, reflecting that it would now be as well 
 supplied with comforts as in the life time of 
 its former excellent master. How happy was 
 I in the reflection, that this poor emaciated 
 creature would that night enjoy the luxury of 
 a comfortable bed — would enjoy the ten fold 
 greater luxury of seeing all her children pos- 
 sessed of the same convenience. The enjoy- 
 ment heightened infinitely by its contrast with 
 their former privation. 
 
138 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 *' I will not attempt to describe the asto- 
 nishment, the joy, the gratitude which beamed 
 in their eyes as they beheld the extent of my 
 consideration for them. It was mixed, I saw 
 in their looks, with a sense of mortification 
 and shame at their being the objects of cha- 
 rity. I did and said every thing which deli- 
 cacy and sentiment could devise, to relieve 
 them from the embarrassr*:ent of their feelings. 
 
 " ' I have brought you,' said I, addressing 
 the mother, * a few dozen of old wine. I must 
 insist upon all of you taking a small quantity 
 every day. You are so weak and reduced, 
 that the good food which is now within your 
 means, will not for a length of time be nutri- 
 tious to you, unless you bring your constitu- 
 tions to a degree of strength capable of per- 
 forming the active functions of digestion. 
 
 " * And accept, my dear Lady Emma, this 
 50/. I shall not see you for some little time, 
 but expend the sum liberally; nor let the joys 
 of spending it be marred by any reflection on 
 how soon it goes, or on the difficulty of reno- 
 vating your purse. The arrangements I hope 
 to make in your favour, will not be casual, un- 
 certain, or capricious. I shall contrive regu- 
 lar and periodical relief, which will not only 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. .139 
 
 remove poverty itself, but what, if possible, is 
 even worse, I mean the apprehension of po- 
 verty/ 
 
 " I took a rapid leave of them, to avoid even 
 the looks of their gratitude. When we per- 
 form services for a friend, we want not return, 
 we want only the disposition to return, and in 
 this instance, I knew the worthy family at the 
 cottage felt all they ought to feel on the oc- 
 casion. 
 
 " Immediately on my reaching my house, I 
 ordered my servants to hurry my dinner, and 
 I directed my valet to pack me a portmanteau, 
 and to be in readiness to attend me to London. 
 That night I left Wales in the mail. 
 
 " Arrived in town, I wrote immediately to 
 Piccadilly, to request an interview with Lord 
 Carlingford. I received a courtly reply, ap- 
 pointing twelve the next day, and at that hour 
 I had the honour of being received by his 
 Lordship, with as much elegant ceremony as 
 would impose upon a fool, and awaken the 
 suspicion of a man of sense. 
 
 " I found his Lordship the exact resem- 
 blance of his father — a large pale countenance, 
 an eye without speculation or feeling. In 
 
140 
 
 short, a face from which no one ray of expres- 
 sion of any sort ever radiated. 
 
 " To this * tenth transmitter of a foolish 
 face,' I related all the sufferings of his good 
 and lovely sister, and of her unoffending chil- 
 dren. By heavens, I infused into my tale as 
 much pathos as would have awakened sensi- 
 bility in a Dutch burgomaster. I might as 
 well have talked to a turnip. Good breeding 
 prevented his interrupting my discourse, nor 
 would politeness let him sleep, yawn, or even 
 hiccup. But the fellow had no more feeling 
 than a shoe-horn. 
 
 " Directly I had finished, he began with a 
 mass of polite trash, to drive me from my ob- 
 ject. He complimented me in submitting to 
 so long and inconvenient a journey — then 
 talked of the parliament being further pro- 
 rogued — asked me, if I intended when the 
 house was dissolved, to allow my nephew to 
 stand with me for the county. 
 
 " I abruptly cut short his verbiage, and tell- 
 ing him that the sole object of my journey 
 was to collect from the relations of Lady 
 Emma, and from those of the sacrificed Wil- 
 ton, a. sum sufficient to launch their children 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 141 
 
 into life, and to form a fund for the support of 
 the mother. I at once requested of him a sum 
 which, with what I would myself contribute, 
 and with what I hoped to receive from the 
 rest of the family, would, I trusted, save the 
 object of my interference at least from men- 
 dicity. 
 
 " I saw there was no hope of wringing from 
 the sordid wretch, even a shilling for a suffer- 
 ing sister — honour must forgive me, if, in the 
 course of our interview, I took advantage of 
 the baseness of his nature, to obtain from his 
 cowardice what I could neither procure from 
 a sense of humanity nor from a dread of ex- 
 posure. 
 
 " He began foolishly to act the bully, talk- 
 ing in the most indelicate terms of my inter- 
 fering in a case of family arrangement, which 
 the members of the family were competent to 
 manage without my assistance. 
 
 " In reply, I made some satirical remarks on 
 the conduct of the family towards these near 
 relations. 
 
 ** The foolish Earl lost all command of his 
 temper. He behaved towards me with the 
 grossest rudeness, and ended a volume of 
 
142 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 wrath, by telling me he should directly send 
 his friend to the place of my residence. 
 
 "^ I was extremely glad of his passion. It 
 enabled me to act my part with success. I 
 knew his fears would mount as his anger sub- 
 sided — and to gain time, I took up the pen 
 and paper, and wrote a note for the accommo- 
 dation of his friend, as I should, I observed, 
 be little at home for the next two days. By 
 the time I had sealed my letter, I observed, as 
 I anticipated, that the flush of rage had fled, 
 and that deadly fear had usurped its place. 
 
 ^' Then rising, I addressed him, * My Lord, 
 my skill and celebrity as a shot, have always 
 rendered a matter of delicacy, indeed of con- 
 science, my not engaging in affairs of honour ; 
 but your Lordship's attack upon me converts 
 my meeting you into a mere matter of self- 
 defence, the first law of nature. This note, 
 my Lord, makes every arrangement relative 
 to the rencontre.' 
 
 " * Why, why. Sir, Mr. Williams (with his 
 teeth chattering) you are quick, Sir, quick on 
 me every way. Sir. I have had an esteem for 
 you. Sir, which would render me desirous of 
 enjoying your esteem in return, and I thought 
 I had it ; I was therefore warm. Sir, when I 
 
 2 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 143 
 
 found you doubting my anxiety to do every 
 thing liberal and kind to my sister and her 
 children. 1 support the government. Sir, and 
 can therefore obtain for the eldest son an 
 employment under the Crown/ 
 
 " I knew this was only a base subterfuge, 
 to shake me from my purpose, and I protested 
 therefore that an employment under Govern- 
 ment neither suited Lady Emma's wishes, nor 
 would she let her son accept of any thing of 
 the sort. I added also, that if that arrange- 
 ment were necessary, I could myself serve her 
 children in that respect, through the medium 
 of some of my relations, who had invariably 
 voted for Government, without receiving any 
 thing like the ordinary equivalent of place or 
 patronage. 
 
 " To be brief, my conference ended in ma- 
 king up our personal differences, and in my re- 
 ceiving from his Lordship 500/. for the use of 
 his sister, with a promise of 500/. more in six 
 months, but for which I never applied, as I 
 knew it was never intended to be paid. The 
 gift itself I set down to the score of his Lord- 
 ship's cowardice. 
 
 " From his Lordship's house in Piccadilly, 
 I drove to his brother, who had returned im- 
 
144 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 mensely rich from our plundered provinces of 
 the East. I found him a short, fat, round 
 faced florid man, with no expression of coun- 
 tenance but that of silly good humour and 
 sensuality. I adapted as much as possible 
 my story to his humour, but, although I cur- 
 tailed it considerably, I perceived my auditor 
 began to give several alarming yawns, at last 
 he stretched his legs, and putting both his 
 hands in his waistcoat pockets, was going off 
 into a sound sleep, had not my manner proved 
 an antidote to the matter of my tale. For I 
 began to give my facts with such an energy of 
 voice, and suiting the action to the word, this 
 nabob thought it but prudent once or twice to 
 move his chair five or six inches further from 
 me. 
 
 " Directly I had done my task, with a yawn 
 and a lethargy hardly conceivable to those 
 who have not travelled to the East or West 
 Indies, he began the dialogue. 
 
 " * A devilish long story, upon my soul, 
 Mr. Williams. Pray, Sir, do you ever smoke 
 a hooker before dinner? I suppose not, but 
 will you excuse me if I let my servant bring in 
 my hooker for me ? Will you have a segar V 
 
 " * No, I thank you. Sir, and if you will 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 145 
 
 postpone the hooker for five minutes, in that 
 period I shall have finished my business. I 
 have received 500/., and a promise of an addi- 
 tional 500/. in six months, from Lord Carling- 
 ford ; and I trust you will enable me to put 
 your sister and her afflicted family in a condi- 
 tion free from their present sufferings.* 
 
 " ' Oh, as to sufferings, Sir, the world is 
 full of sufferings, and were I to relieve one 
 ten hundredth part of what is related to me, I 
 should have to go another twelve years to that 
 damned country in the east.' 
 
 '' ' But, Sir, a sister — ' 
 
 '* ' Why, to tell you the truth, I never had 
 much association with Emma, and therefore 
 she can have no claim on me. I was abroad 
 almost all my youth, and, except her letters, 
 no communication ever passed between us. 
 
 " ' But, Sir, the natural ties of blood cannot 
 be obliterated by casual separations. Our 
 moral duties to the unfortunate, sentiment — ' 
 
 " ' Oh, Mr, Williams, for heaven's sake 
 stop ; I would sooner undergo another voyage 
 to Calcutta than hear one of those long pro- 
 sing speeches about moral duties ; and as to 
 sentiment, I hate the very word. Well I see 
 I must give Emma something. I am richer 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 than my brother, so I suppose I must give 
 about what he has given. Suppose I write a 
 check for 500// 
 
 " ' Your brother. Sir, has given 1000/.' 
 
 " ' Well then I must split the difference. 
 Now, Sir, if I write you a check for 750/. can 
 you promise I shall never be troubled on the 
 subject again.'" 
 
 " ' By me. Sir, you shall never be troubled 
 again on any subject.' 
 
 " After a few words I took my leave. This 
 man's donation was any thing but charity. It 
 was obtained from his utter indifference for 
 money, and from that easy disposition which, 
 to avoid importunity, would yield to any 
 thing. 
 
 " I had now to repeat my mortifying task, 
 and I drove to the house of poor Emma's sister, 
 who had married one of the richest peers in 
 England. I was ushered through a suit of 
 four superb drawing rooms, and at last was 
 received by her ladyship, in a room exceeding 
 in magnificence any thing I had ever seen in 
 fashionable life. Heavens, thought I to my- 
 self, what a contrast to the squalid poverty 
 of her sister's cottage. Her ladyship was 
 seated in a superb chair of gold and blue vel- 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 147 
 
 vet, at a table on which lay books richly bound 
 in Morocco, velvet, satin, and gold, scattered 
 among many trinkets and costly articles of 
 caprice and fancy. Her lord was in the room 
 as I entered, and when I began the conversa- 
 tion, he rose to depart, but I entreated him to 
 stay. 
 
 " Here then I told my sad tale, but the last 
 words were scarcely out of my lips when her 
 ladyship began the conversation. 
 
 " ' Mr. Williams, I was troubled on this 
 subject once before ; Lady Emma herself 
 wrote me a statement of her case, applying 
 for relief on account of her second daughter, 
 whom she represented to be dying. I have no 
 doubt the statement was exaggerated, as all 
 those cases are ; indeed, if it were true, I re- 
 flected it was so much the better, for what 
 can her children have to live to, but servitude 
 and poverty. I wrote to this effect, and I 
 wrote also my sentiments on her folly in not 
 marrying the Marquis de Vallois, who would 
 have supported her in a splendour equal to 
 her rank. I really would have sent her five 
 or ten pounds, but I thought if I encouraged 
 such applications, they would, in all probabi- 
 lity, be repeated so often.' 
 h2 
 
148 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " ' Five or ten pounds ; good heavens !' 
 
 " ' What can I do for the poor creature ? I 
 have no children myself, and I thought of 
 adopting one of her daughters ; but really to 
 have a great awWard ignorant girl, from a 
 Welch cottage, to have to teach her how to 
 courtesy, and to carry her person, to have the 
 dancing master, and the w^riting master, and 
 music master about the house ; it was impos- 
 sible. You see. Sir, the impropriety of the 
 thing.' 
 
 " * I see fully the impropriety of one of Lady 
 Emma's children residing with their aunt; 
 but allow me to state to your ladyship, that so 
 far from your ladyship's nieces being these 
 clumsy, ignorant, and awkward cottage girls, 
 which you so strongly apprehend ; they are, 
 by far, the most graceful and lovely young 
 ladies I ever saw. They are not destitute of 
 the accomplishments which ornament, or add, 
 real pleasure to existence ; and their modest 
 grace, their sound as well as practical good 
 sense are in charming contrast to the elegant 
 trifling and insipid manners of fashionable 
 life.' 
 
 *^ * Oh, Sir, if they are so well instructed I 
 might contrive to procure them situations as 
 governesses in genteel families, and — ' 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 149 
 
 ** ' What, Madam, the grand daughters of 
 the late Lord Carlingford, governesses in gen- 
 teel families.' 
 
 " * Why, Sir, I could stipulate with their 
 mother that their names should be changed, 
 and that they should conceal their connection 
 with my family. They might go abroad as 
 governesses.' 
 
 '' * I can tell your ladyship, that whilst I am 
 in existence Lady Emma's daughters shall 
 never go out as governesses. The only con- 
 solation the poor creature has had in her af- 
 flictions has been the presence of her children, 
 of whom she is doatingly fond.' 
 
 " * Well, Mr. Williams, you are very kind 
 to interest yourself so warmly in this mistaken 
 creature's case.' 
 
 " * Mistaken creature, my lady, she is your 
 ladyship's sister.' 
 
 " * Why, Sir, you interrupted me ; I must 
 not be again subject to these applications ; 
 they agitate my sensibility. Now, pray, Mr. 
 Williams, do oblige me by stipulating with 
 this lady, that it is only on condition of her 
 never troubling me again that I beg the favour 
 of you to take her this twenty pound note.' 
 
 " ' Twenty pounds. Madam,' said I, in atone 
 h3 
 
150 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 of natural indignation, and I pushed the note 
 from me with an energy a little at variance 
 with the softness of elegant manners. 
 
 *' ' Good heavens, Mr. Williams, what is it 
 you mean V 
 
 "■ Her noble husband now joined the con- 
 versation, by saying, * Mr. Williams, I must 
 confess I am truly shocked and indignant 
 at—' 
 
 " ' And I, my Lord, am indignant also ; and 
 on much better grounds. I know that life is 
 so base, that the most heartless violation of 
 principle and humanity, never offends so much 
 as a breach of form or ceremony, but let me 
 tell your Lordship — ' 
 
 '' But I could tell his Lordship nothing, for 
 at that moment the lady sunk into the gilded 
 chair, and fell into a soft fit of langtiishing 
 sensibility. Her fainting appeared to me to 
 be the effect of affectation, or at least of self 
 imposition ; and I imagine her lord had sus- 
 picions of a similar description, or was used 
 to such alarms ; for, wringing the bell, with 
 the utmost coolness, he desired the footman 
 to tell her Ladyship's maid to attend to her 
 mistress, and with the greate&t sang froid 
 begged me to speak to him in the library.' 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 151 
 
 *' As soon as we were seated amidst the 
 learning of ages, and surrounded by the busts 
 and statues of antiquity, his Lordship began 
 with a laugh, which he was unable to sup- 
 press, and which he therefore thought he might 
 as well enjoy. 
 
 " ' Why, Mr. Williams, you are not fit for 
 peaceable diplomacy ; you fired at the word in- 
 dignant, but had you not interrupted me by 
 your warmth, you would have found my indig- 
 nation was not levelled, as you imagined, 
 against yourself, for pushing aside the twenty 
 pounds. I assure you it was intended against 
 my good lady. I was exceedingly moved by 
 your pathetic tale, and shocked that her lady- 
 ship should have no more sensibility to the 
 sufferings of a sister. Her ladyship's family 
 know my liberality, (said he, with a sneer) 
 and I am willing to exert it on this occasion. 
 I will contribute to Lady Emma's relief the 
 sum which Lord Carlingford has contributed, 
 500/. But take care, Mr. Williams, that the 
 sum is put down as my gift, and not as the 
 gift of her ladyship.' 
 
 " I knew this worthy peer lived a sad life 
 of discord with his co- partner of matrimony, 
 and I was aware that they took every possible 
 h4 
 
152 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 means of annoying and mortifying each other. 
 I set down in my mind 100/. of this gift to 
 benevolence, and the remaining 400/. I put 
 down to the score of the pleasure his Lord- 
 ship took in mortifying his wife, by bestowing 
 charity on her relations. 
 
 " My unpleasant task with this family was 
 at an end, and I had now to act the part of a 
 benevolent beggar with the Argentfields. 
 
 *' My first visit was to the sister of my un- 
 happy friend Beever; she had married a Sir 
 Purseley Casherton, a rich merchant of London. 
 I found her cold, insensible, and resolved to 
 give nothing, but when I pleaded the cause 
 of distressed humanity, and pleaded before 
 brothers and si&ters, whose duty it was to 
 comply, I was determined not to be easily re- 
 pulsed ; I perceived that both Lady Casherton 
 and Sir Purseley were, like all persons newly 
 raised to dignity, most sensibly alive to ap- 
 pearances. I availed myself of their affecta- 
 tion of pomp, and of their dread of visiting 
 inferior people, or of having the world sus- 
 pect the possibility of their possessing poor 
 relations. I hinted, that unless the family 
 supplied sufficient means to bestow the com- 
 forts of life on Lady Emma and her children^ 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 153 
 
 I should publish their whole case to the world, 
 and should raise a public subscription to re- 
 lieve them from a work-house, and to appren- 
 tice the children out to trades. 
 
 " This was touching on a tender point : Sir 
 Purseley himself had been, if report spoke true, 
 an apprentice to an oil-man. But times were 
 altered, and although Sir Purseley Casherton 
 or Lady Casherton having nephews and nieces 
 at mechanical employments, was what gave 
 them little concern, yet for such a circumstance 
 to be exposed to the world, the thoughts of it 
 awoke the most tender sensibilities. They 
 bestowed on me the 500/., and ~I thus ob- 
 tained from their selfishness and vulgar pride 
 what I in vain solicited from their charity and 
 benevolence. I was amused at the precise 
 manner in which Sir Purseley took care to 
 direct me to render him an account of the ap- 
 plication of the money. 
 
 " My labours were now drawing to close. I 
 had but one visit to make, and that was to 
 Lord Argentfield himself. 
 
 " As the Earl was a twin brother of Lady 
 Emma's lamented husband, I expected from 
 him something more than mere almsgiving. 
 h5 
 
154 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 I anticipated the generous warmth of heart 
 which distinguished poor Beever. 
 
 " I expected also to see the fine bold out- 
 line of figure, the manly strength of limb and 
 graceful action for which his brother was con- 
 spicuous. I hoped also to see something like 
 the fine countenance of him, for whose widow 
 I was submitting to the mortification of see- 
 ing human nature under the most disgusting 
 appearances. But his Lordship was cele- 
 brated as the head of the religious world ; he 
 never spoke in the house but upon subjects 
 connected with religion, and to all religious 
 associations he was a most liberal benefactor. 
 The Bible Society, the Society for the Pro- 
 pagation of the Gospel, the Society for the 
 Suppression of Vice, all received princely 
 sums from this pious nobleman. But it was 
 certainly to be remarked that to such societies 
 as that for the Relief of Prisoners for Small 
 Debts, or for Visiting the Sick Poor, or in 
 short for objects of mere philanthropy uncon- 
 nected with the maintenance or the propaiga- 
 tion of the Gospel, his Lordship bestowed not 
 a fraction. 
 
 " Arrived at the Earl's mansion, at Gros- 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 155 
 
 venor Square, I was ushered into a dull, 
 heavy, and gloomy suit of rooms, and re- 
 ceived by three measured formal bows from 
 the nobleman. 
 
 " I was very much struck at the first ap- 
 pearance of the Earl. He was dressed in 
 black, with black silk stockings, his hair 
 straight, and without powder. 
 
 " He was an awful solemn figure, of about 
 six feet two inches high, not destitute of 
 breadth of figure, but remarkably bony, and 
 as thin as a lath. His long limbs had an an- 
 gular, ungraceful action, very unpleasing in 
 their effect, and even dangerous to any thing 
 fragile which might be within a yard of his 
 person. 
 
 " His face was long and pale, and what is 
 vulgarly called lantern j a little grey eye, 
 deeply set beneath a projecting forehead, and 
 a mouth and chin so small and precise in their 
 formation as to produce the effect of what the 
 common people call finiken. 
 
 ** He welcomed me in a deep cavernous 
 tone of voice, which made me start and look 
 round, for I thought it impossible such loud 
 and hollow sounds could proceed from an 
 aperture so small as his mouth. 
 h6 
 
156 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " I told the whole story of poor Beever and 
 his unhappy widow and children with great 
 energy and pathos, and I dwelt particularly 
 on the untimely and miserable death of Wil- 
 ton, whose manly and excellent qualities I 
 pourtrayed with great emphasis. I painted 
 the misery of Lady Emma's daughter dying 
 of a consumption, brought on by want and 
 mental sensibility to the fate of her parents. 
 At several parts of my relation he uttered deep 
 groans, which I attributed to his feelings for 
 the fate of his twin brother. 
 
 " As soon as I had drawn my miserable tale 
 to a conclusion, and painted the state of star- 
 vation in which I had found his sister-in-law, 
 and his lamented brother's children, he uttered 
 a deep sigh, and began the dialogue in a voice 
 of measured and monotonous precision, ridicu- 
 lously in contrast to the varied tones and mul- 
 tiplied inflections and emphasis, which the 
 feelings of the heart had naturally brought 
 from me, in relating my simple and unaffected 
 tale of sorrow. 
 
 " ' The Lord, his will be done I Mr. Wil- 
 liams, I knew your whole story before/ 
 
 " ' I wish. Lord Argentfield, you had said so 
 at first, for this is the fifth time I have had to 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 157 
 
 give my dismal history within the last four 
 and twenty hours.' 
 
 ** ' I had heard it, Sir, from that pious chris- 
 tian, the Rev. Mr. Whitaker, whom, doubt- 
 less, every gentleman of your country is well 
 acquainted with.' 
 
 " ' I never heard of him, my Lord, except in 
 relation to a visit he once made the widowed 
 unhappy Lady Emma, at a time of her dread- 
 ful distress — her good and beautiful daughter 
 was then dying of want.' 
 
 *' * Never heard of Mr. Whitaker,' replied 
 his Lordship, with a look of surprise which 
 sadly discomposed my gravity. 
 
 " ' Mr. Whitaker is well known to the reli- 
 gious world. His six sermons upon the Re- 
 velations, are master pieces of composition, 
 and his works upon faith, and upon the reality 
 of Demoniacal Possessions, are what every 
 good Christian ought to read. I have many 
 sets of his works, Mr. Williams, and for your 
 edification, if you will allow me, I will present 
 you with a set.' 
 
 " ' My Lord, I thank you, but my mind is 
 little attuned to such writings just now, and 
 as to the latter subject of Mr. Whitaker's pen 
 
158 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 — the reality of Demoniacal Possessions, I 
 assure your Lordship, that my very recent in- 
 tercourse with the world, fully convinces me 
 of the truth of Mr. Whitaker's opinions — nay, 
 my Lord, I can conceive nothing more con- 
 clusive upon the point, than a knowledge of 
 Mr. Whitaker himself.' 
 
 " ' Oh, Sir,' said the Earl, not understand- 
 ing my meaning, * Mr. Whitaker is an excel- 
 lent man, and his life and opinions fully testify 
 the fruits of evangelical knowledge ; but. Sir, 
 I was saying that I had received a faithful ac- 
 count of all my brother's opinions and family 
 distresses, and moreover, my sister-in-law had 
 vouchsafed to write to me herself. Yes, Mr. 
 Williams, I had received aletter from my sister- 
 in-law, you had better peruse it.' 
 
 " I read it with emotion. I could hardly 
 restrain my tears. 
 
 " ' This is the most simple, modest, and un- , 
 affected appeal to the feelings, I ever read ; it 
 speaks volumes to the heart.' 
 
 ** My observation was unheard by the Earl, 
 who three minutes after I had made it, resumed 
 the conversation in the same unaltered tone of 
 dismal monotony. I was glad that his Lord- 
 
 8 
 
THE Woodman's fire-side. 159 
 
 ship's absence of mind had occasioned this 
 interval. It gave me time to soothe my feel- 
 ings. 
 
 '' * That letter. Sir, occasioned me much 
 anger and indignation. You observe. Sir, that 
 the hardened woman speaks of my brother's 
 death as the mere accident of a winter's storm. 
 Does not she know that the Lord rideth on 
 the wind — could she not confess that Provi- 
 dence had purposely wrought her husband's 
 death, in justice for his transgression in aban- 
 doning the religion of the Lord.' 
 
 " * Gracious heavens. Lord Argentfield, for 
 an afflicted woman to acknowledge such a 
 thing of a much loved husband, untimely lost, 
 with his child.' 
 
 " ' Lost Sir ? visited, I say ; visited, plainly 
 visited by the Lord, for his heresy. 
 
 " ' But, Sir, her insensibility did not harden 
 my heart against her, as you might have justly 
 expected. No, Sir, I wrote to my correspon- 
 dent, the Rev. Mr. Whitaker, to visit the ha- 
 bitation of this seceder from the faith. I wrote 
 to him to begin by propitiating her with a gift 
 of 5/. I begged the holy man to pour ghostly 
 consolation into her heart, and that if his mis- 
 
l€0 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 sion was likely to be followed by grace, I di- 
 rected him to give her an additional 5/. but 
 which I suppose he never did, for I do not see 
 any mention made of it in his account/ 
 
 " * And is it possible that Mr. Whitaker 
 could withhold five pounds from that wretched 
 mother and her dying child, because she dif- 
 fered with him in faith/ 
 
 " * No, Sir, not because she differed with 
 him in faith, but because he had reason to 
 guess she had no faith at all/ 
 
 " * And could that close his heart to the calls 
 of humanity ?' 
 
 " ' Mr. Williams, we know the Rev. Mr. 
 Whitaker to be a pious man, and you may de- 
 pend upon it, what he did was dictated by the 
 right faith. If the mild spirit of protestantism 
 had not diffused itself over this enlightened 
 country, remember, I say such a family would 
 have been cut off from the land.' 
 
 ** ' For what, my Lord ? They were quiet 
 in their faith. I never knew they were se- 
 ceders from Christianity till your Lordship 
 acquainted me with the fact.' 
 
 " * Ignorant of that fact, why^ I am told, 
 nay, I am credibly informed, that during the 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. iSl 
 
 whole period of his concealed sojourn in your 
 county, he never once attended a place of Di- 
 vine worship/ 
 
 " * My Lord, your information, I know, is 
 not literally true. The preachers usually heard 
 in our secluded and humble part of the king- 
 dom, certainly are not, generally speaking, of 
 a nature to edify a gentleman of the profound 
 and philosophical mind of your late brother. 
 But I knew Wilton to be possessed of the 
 most fervent natural piety, and of every qua- 
 lity of an exalted and generous mind, as well 
 as of a kind and benevolent disposition. My 
 Lord, accident once made me the spectator of 
 his family devotion. I witnessed the evening 
 address to the Deity, which that excellent 
 man poured forth in company with his wife 
 and children ; and I never yet saw on any such 
 occasion, a manner more earnest or impres- 
 sive — tones so full of sincerity, or of awful 
 dependance on the great author of nature, and 
 the address itself was so truly rational and — ' 
 
 " * Oh, Sir,* interrupted Lord Argentfield, 
 ' that is mere philosophy, mere carnal, rational 
 devotion, alike offensive to God and man ; no 
 ejaculations of the spirit, no ' and here his 
 
162 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 ^ordship made a terrible long pause and then 
 esumed. 
 
 ** * Well, Sir, let us draw this conference to 
 I close. Your object in calling on the lady's 
 -elations, is to obtain a fund sufficient to settle 
 m annuity on her/ * And/ I added, * to launch 
 her children into some, at least respectable 
 employment/ ' I have submitted this case to 
 the conscience of my spiritual friend, the Rev. 
 Mr.Maggs. Sir, the best thing I can do, is to 
 put into your hands the worthy pastor's reply/ 
 
 " My most learned and well beloved Lord, 
 
 " Tuching them things of which you 
 cummune with me, I advise you not to extend 
 your charity to the worshiphers of Belial. 
 
 " Are their not enuff of children of the pro- 
 mise who are in want, both of carnal food and 
 of spiritual cumfort, that we should cast our 
 wealth to the children of unrighteousness. — 
 The money you would bestow on them there 
 relations of deism, them heathen scoffers and 
 revilers, would go far in propagating the Gos- 
 pel of Christ. What says the Psalmist in them 
 beautiful werses of the 109th Psalm, duz he 
 not clearly alude to the unbeleivers of this 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. l63 
 
 wicked age, when he says, * Let his prayer 
 be turned into sin, let his children be father- 
 less,' and consequently his wife a widow ; " let 
 his children be vagabonds, and beg their 
 bread ; let them seek it also out of desolate 
 places ; let there be no man to pity him, nor 
 to have compassion on his fatherless children ; 
 let his posterity be destroyed." 
 
 " And would you fly in the face of the 
 Psalmist, and where your dilemmer is met by 
 them strong werses, be going for to give your 
 money in pospering the children of wicked- 
 ness, because they are related to your carnal 
 body. Let your charity be universal to the 
 children of faith and righteousness, and not 
 confined to the relationship which is created 
 by the devices and craft of the lovers of the 
 
 world. 
 
 " Jos. Mark Maggs." 
 
 " * Well, my Lord,' said I, returning the 
 letter with disgust, * your reverend friend has 
 a noble contempt of syntax and orthography.' 
 
 *' ' Oh, Sir, he is not a man of worldly 
 learning ; he is a man gifted with natural 
 powers. He is a firebrand saved from the 
 burning, for he was a great sinner in his 
 youth.' 
 
l64 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " * As most of those people are, my Lord/ 
 
 " ' Are you not well acquainted with Mr. 
 Maggs V 
 
 '* ' No, my Lord, I never heard of him in 
 my life, till to-day.' 
 
 " What, not hear of Mr. Maggs ? His fame 
 has extended all over ' 
 
 " * Why, really, my Lord, it argues nothing 
 against the reverend gentleman's celebrity, my 
 not having heard of him, for I have no ac- 
 quaintance whatever with people of that class.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Maggs, Sir, has published two and 
 thirty religious tracts.' 
 
 " ' Works I never read, my Lord.' 
 
 " * He is the author of that pious little work, 
 the Dairyman's daughter, a work which I dare 
 say, you can state no objection to.' 
 
 " ' None, my Lord, to the work itself, for I 
 never saw it, but I can state great objection 
 to all that class of religious works. Their 
 tendency is to abstract the attention of the 
 poor from the key stones of human happiness, 
 their moral duties, and a simple belief in a fu- 
 ture state of rewards and punishments : these 
 objects are rendered secondary to the phan- 
 toms which such works conjure up.' 
 
 " * Sir, Mr. Maggs is a considerable contri- 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. l65 
 
 butor to all relig:ious publications. You may 
 remember an excellent portrait of him in the 
 Evangelical Magazine.' 
 
 " ' A book I never saw, my Lord, and pro- 
 bably never shall.* 
 
 '* * I assure you. Sir, you v^rould be delighted 
 with Mr. Maggs. You would be astonished 
 at him in the pulpit.' 
 
 " * I should think so, my Lord, after the 
 letter I have just read.' 
 
 " * He is a lamb, a dove, a simple man.' 
 
 " ' Not very simple, I should apprehend, 
 my Lord.' 
 
 ** * He is a wonderful man, he is a simple 
 man, chosen by the Lord to confound the 
 crafty ; he has been chosen. Sir, from the paths 
 of sin, to confound the wisdom of the wise.' 
 
 " ' Which, I have no doubt, my Lord, he 
 will do most thoroughly.' 
 
 '^ * Will do, Mr. Williams ? he has done it,' 
 his Lordship rising, and earnestly taking hold 
 of the breast of my coat. * When he suc- 
 ceeded the late Mr. Tillotson, as preacher in 
 this neighbourhood, there was a congregation 
 of learned people, people of wealth and rank. 
 Sir. Lukewarm christians, deists, wolves in 
 sheep's clothing. Mr. Maggs has preached 
 
l66 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 the true Gospel, spiritually, evangelically 
 They have left his congregation for your mo- 
 ral, vrorldly clergy. They were confounded 
 by his preaching/ 
 
 " ' Just, my Lord, what I should imagine. 
 They would be confounded by such preach- 
 ing/ 
 
 " ' Yes, Sir, he has a fine powerful voice, 
 and full of spirit and action. The wise in their 
 own conceit, the worldly, who called them- 
 selves people of sense, could not bear his 
 preaching. It was spiritual.' 
 
 " ' Precisely what I should suppose, my 
 Lord, that people of sense could not bear his 
 preaching.' 
 
 " * You must, Mr. Williams, go and hear 
 him on Sunday next : the church is so full, it 
 is impossible to get in as a stranger, but I will 
 be happy to take you with my family in the 
 carriage.' 
 
 " * Really, my Lord, before Sunday, I hope 
 to breathe the air of my native hills — to fly 
 this vast den of human frailty. I trust before 
 Sunday, to have diffused joy and comfort to 
 my afflicted friends, your relations.' 
 
 " * But, Sir, it will amply repay your so- 
 journ, to hear this evangelical preacher.' 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 16? 
 
 " ' I am obliged to you, my Lord, but I 
 really cannot stay in London till Sunday, for 
 any such purpose. I have no doubt Mr. Maggs 
 is very well adapted to do what your Lordship 
 asserts, confound the wisdom of the wise. On 
 Sunday, I trust, I shall hear the church ser- 
 vice from the vicar of my own parish, Mr. 
 Jones.' 
 
 " * Mr. Jones — a mere moral essayist. I 
 have heard of Mr. Jones, from my correspon- 
 dent, the Rev. Mr. Whitaker.' 
 
 " * What Mr. Whitaker may be pleased to 
 say of him, my Lord, I know not; but Mr. 
 Jones is a man of learning and genius, and of 
 amiable manners, with a thoroughly good heart. 
 He is a gentleman of enlarged views and of 
 great liberality of spirit, and his life, I believe, 
 is unexceptionable.' 
 
 " * Mere worldly qualities ; why. Sir, the 
 ancient heathens, Socrates and Seneca, could 
 boast as much as this.' 
 
 " * I fear, my Lord, that few of the modern 
 christians can boast any thing of the sort.' 
 
 ** ' As to that word liberality, I hate it, Mr. 
 Williams ; it has done infinite harm to church 
 and state. It is a mere cloak for republicanism 
 and infidelity.' 
 
168 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " ' You must excuse me, my Lord, for ob- 
 serving, that unbounded freedom in politics 
 and religion, always have had and shall have 
 my support. Man has an inherent right to 
 think, to say, and to do whatever does not 
 most clearly injure or endanger either the 
 property or person of another. I am for as 
 much liberty as can possibly be enjoyed, con- 
 sistently with the safety of property and per- 
 sonal quiet. I would trespass on these rather 
 than incline to the side of arbitrary power. 
 For the support of these principles, I would 
 marshal myself in the ranks, and I employ my 
 voice and my pen to diffuse them amongst my 
 countrymen. But, Lord Argentfield, as we 
 differ so strongly on these topics, let us change 
 the subject to one in which I trust we shall 
 better agree — the measure of your Lordship's 
 bounty, to your brother Wilton's widow and 
 orphans. 
 
 " ' Well, Sir, I must tell you on that sub- 
 ject, tha;t I have reasons which Mr. Maggs is 
 not aware of, for not exactly complying with 
 his advice. The world is very censorious in 
 its remarks, and very prying into the con- 
 duct of others. Sir, particularly if they are 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 1^9 
 
 persons of piety, who set forth the Gospel 
 truths.' 
 
 *' * I believe a wise man's kingdom, my Lord, 
 should be his own breast: the impertinent 
 folly and malice of the world, give me very 
 little concern. I have not the vice of being 
 indifferent to character, but the opinions which 
 alone concern me, are the opinions of the wise 
 and good, who are about one plucked out of 
 ten thousand.' 
 
 " ' Well, Mr. Williams, Lord Carlingford 
 has, you say, given on this occasion 1000/. 
 and his Lordship's brother and sister have 
 given 500/. each,' 
 
 " ' Lord Argentfield will not, I trust, be 
 influenced by what the Carlingford family have 
 given — the union between your brother and 
 yourself, was so much more close and tender.' 
 
 '' ' You say. Sir, the lady has twelve chil- 
 dren. It is my intention to give each of them 
 100/. and on the widow herself I will bestow 
 300/. and I will leave it to your kindness and 
 prudence, to settle the money on them as you 
 may think most advantageous. This, Mr. 
 Williams, is meeting the case liberally.' 
 
 " ' Very liberally. Lord Argentfield ; con- 
 sidering that your brother Wilton's untimely 
 
 VOL. r. I 
 
J70 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 death has cast his family into abject, house- 
 less poverty, and has, if report speaks true, 
 brought your Lordship unexpectedly into a 
 rental of 40,000/. a year, the bestowing a 100/. 
 on each of his orphans, and 300/ on his widow, 
 is not only liberal, but munificent.* 
 
 " ' Yes, Sir, I must combat Mr. Maggs's 
 objections to this liberality, the best way I am 
 able.' 
 
 " ' Well, my Lord, I see it is of no use 
 to press the subject further. I have got the 
 utmost I am able for poor Lady Emma. — 
 The Carlingford family have lodged in my 
 hands 1700/. Your Lordship and Lady Cash- 
 erton, have given me exactly 2000/. To these 
 sums, my Lord, I shall add 1500/. of my 
 own, and my friend, Mr. Jones, has begged 
 me to let him contribute, not Mr. Whitaker's 
 5/. but the sum of 100/. I have thus collected 
 5300/. for my friends, with which, and the 
 patronage of my connections, I trust I shall 
 be able to render this interesting family, the 
 most essential services.' 
 
 " * May I beg you, Mr. Williams, to do me 
 a favour. May I beg you to take charge of 
 that parcel of books, and distribute them in 
 your vicinage.* 
 
 " ' My Lord, to distribute such books would 
 
THE woodman's FIRE-SIDE. 171 
 
 be inconsistent with my character. I shall be 
 happy to deliver them to Mr. Whitaker, for 
 him to distribute.' 
 
 " ' He has distributed some thousands of 
 them already, but he complains of their hav- 
 ing no effect ; from you they would come with 
 the weight of authority.' 
 
 " * For which reason, my Lord, I cannot 
 take charge of them. If they have internal 
 merit, they need not my authority ; if they 
 have not internal merit, to use my authority 
 would be an imposition.' 
 
 " His Lordship was silent for a few minutes, 
 and then recovering from his reverie, he beg- 
 ged me to take charge of a small parcel of re- 
 ligious works for his nephews and nieces, which 
 I promised to attend to ; and we then parted, 
 with, I believe, little esteem for each other. 
 
 " I could not, however, entirely despise that 
 sort of man. I pitied him. Who is there that 
 is not more or less under a delusion of some 
 sort. 
 
 " The money he had given, proceeded from 
 no one spark of charity or feeling. He had 
 bestowed it from a dread of the observa- 
 tions of the world, and from a rivalry of* his 
 hated neighbours, the Carlingfords. 
 i2 
 
172 THE WELCH COTTAGE; OR, 
 
 " I now hastened my return to Wales, I 
 travelled as rapidly as possible, and arriving 
 at my house, at ten at night, I enjoyed a sleep 
 as sound as my long journey and my active 
 exertions in town were likely to procure me. 
 I rose the next morning at seven, and mount- 
 ing my poney, I rode to the cottage. My 
 approach was unperceived, and I entered by 
 surprise, as they were in the middle of their 
 breakfast. Here was a scene to gladden any 
 heart, at least to gladden mine. Cleanliness, 
 comfort, and plenty, with cheerful and con- 
 tented countenances were reigning where, one 
 week before, every thing bespoke abject mi- 
 sery and want ; and this change was the work 
 of my hands. 
 
 " I passed a most delightful morning, al- 
 though in the widow's countenance I some- 
 times saw the large tear trickle down her 
 cheek ; my presence made her revert to the 
 only time before in which I had been enter- 
 tained at the cottage, and that was the night 
 preceding her husband's death. 
 
 " I at length communicated to her the 
 cause of my sudden disappearance from Wales, 
 and what I had effected in her favour during 
 my few days stay in London. I concealed 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 173 
 
 the brutal sentiments of her relations towards 
 her. 
 
 " She left it entirely to me to put her family 
 out in the world, and to dispose of the money 
 I had collected for their support. 
 
 " I procured, from a friend, a cornetcy for 
 the eldest son, in that very regiment in which 
 his father had distinguished himself. For the 
 second boy, I had interest to obtain a situa- 
 tion of about 500/. a year in the custom-house, 
 at Bristol, which, being near Wales, enables 
 him frequently to visit his family. 
 
 ** The third son accompanied my cousin to 
 India, and is now in the service of the Com- 
 pany; I find he is making a rapid fortune 
 under the auspices of my relation. The 
 youngest child capable of being put out into 
 the world w^as the fourth boy, who is now a 
 midshipman in the frigate commanded by my 
 brother. 
 
 " I saw that the chief hopes of the family, 
 as far as distinction was concerned, must even- 
 tually rest on the eldest boy. I devoted him 
 to a military life, because he appeared to have 
 an inclination for the profession, and he pos- 
 sessed the soldier-like qualities which had dis- 
 tinguished his father. 
 
 i3 
 
174 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 *' But I began seriously to reflect that, 
 whatever might be his merits, without friends 
 to patronize, and money to purchase his pro- 
 motion, it was impossible for him to attain to 
 any rank in the English service. 
 
 " It struck me that I would write to the 
 German prince, whose life, I have mentioned 
 in the beginning of this narrative, had been 
 saved by Captain Beever's personal intrepi- 
 dity. I addressed to him a letter, containing 
 a succinct account of the fate of the father, 
 and of the condition to which his untimely 
 death had exposed the family. I concluded 
 by stating that his eldest son was now a 
 subaltern officer in the British army, but he 
 would be happy to enter the Austrian service 
 under the auspices of his Royal Highness. 
 
 ** The j^)rince wrote me, in reply, a generous 
 and a very sensible letter. He observed, * that 
 the life of a soldier was of such short dura- 
 tion, and exposed to such innumerable risks, 
 that rescues were at once frequent, and of 
 little value ; but that the manner in which the 
 late Captain Beever had effected his High- 
 ness's release, had evinced military qualities 
 which were highly admired by him as a ge- 
 neral officer; that he trusted his son would 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-STDE. 175 
 
 emulate the professional conduct of his father, 
 and that he had ordered the Austrian embas- 
 sador to present Mr. Beever with a cornetcy 
 in the cuirassiers of the Emperor's body-guard, 
 with a pension of 1000 crowns per annum, 
 and an assurance of a higher brevet rank, and 
 a staiF appointment.' The letter concluded 
 by observing, ' that in the military profession 
 the lives of our fellow creatures depended on 
 the talents and conduct of an officer, that 
 it was therefore impossible to advance Mr. 
 Beever higher than his talents might render of 
 benefit to the service, but that he should reap 
 the full reward of any qualities or conduct he 
 might evince in the performance of his duty in 
 the army of the Emperor.' 
 
 " On the strength of this letter I embarked 
 my young friend for the Continent, and I am 
 happy to inform you, that in consequence of 
 his conduct in some of the late battles, he is 
 now a baron of the empire, with pensions and 
 commissions giving him an income of 10,000 
 crowns a year. 
 
 " After I had fitted out the four young 
 
 gentlemen, the 5300/. I found reduced to 
 
 something little exceeding 4000/. ; but this I 
 
 contrived to lend on mortgage of a neigh- 
 
 i4 
 
176 THE WELCH COTTAGE; ORy 
 
 bouring estate, for an annuity of 400/. a year, 
 secured on the lives of Lady Emma and her 
 two eldest daughters. 
 
 " This income, in Wales, enabled her to live 
 in genteel circumstances, and as her birth v^^as 
 now known, she was visited by all the fami- 
 lies of rank in the neighbourhood. But what 
 rendered this of infinite consequence to her, 
 was the introduction it gave her children into 
 society. Her eldest daughter is now on the 
 point of marriage to a gentleman of large 
 estate in the adjoining county. 
 
 " My nephew, who inherits the properties 
 of his two maternal aunts, and who is conse- 
 quently, even now, richer than I am, and who, 
 at my death, must come into all I possess, is 
 paying his addresses to Lady Emma's second 
 daughter. I have promoted the match from 
 the moment I saw that my nephew's attach- 
 ment was permanent, and his habits of life 
 irreproachable. The lady is beautiful, clever, 
 well educated, and with a temper and dispo- 
 sition which transcend her other merits. These 
 are all that a rich man ought to look for in a 
 wife. 
 
 *' I must confide to you, one secret of my 
 bosom. Misery has blanched the cheek of 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. I77 
 
 my friend ; the rose of her beauty is fled, and 
 though youth has scarcely passed the line of 
 its meridian, sorrow has given her the appear- 
 ance of age. But the mild resignation with 
 which she has borne her afflictions, the forti- 
 tude with which she has sustained all the at- 
 tacks of complicated misfortune, have given 
 her an attractive dignity of character, which 
 excites in her favour the tenderness, the sym- 
 pathy, the disinterested attachment, which 
 wants but the union of desire to constitute 
 the passion of love. Moved by the merits of 
 her disposition, and by the nature of her cir- 
 cumstances, I pressed on her the offer of 
 marriage. 
 
 " It was necessary to be very delicate in 
 making this proposal, lest she might have con- 
 ceived it an advantage taken of the friendly 
 conduct I had evinced in her favour. But 
 Lady Emma had a mind above such an un- 
 worthy suspicion, and she knew, I trust, my 
 disposition to be incapable of motives so un- 
 generous. She received my offer with her 
 usual candour and sweetness of disposition ; 
 she told me, ' that had fortune thrown me in 
 her way in her earliest youth, she must have 
 admired, and might have loved, but it had 
 i5 
 
178 THE WELCH COTTAGE ; OR, 
 
 pleased Heaven to unite her to one who had 
 the whole of her heart, and in whose grave 
 was buried all her earthly affections/ I could 
 not but admire the fidelity of her attachment ; 
 the worth of her character made me more de- 
 sirous of the union, but these sentiments ren- 
 dered it impossible to press my suit ; from 
 that moment we have lived in the closest ties of 
 the most pure and exalted friendship. 
 
 " I offered to purchase her cottage of her ; 
 its extent was too small to suit the more ele- 
 vated rank which she had now been able to 
 assume. Had she consented to dispose of it 
 I intended to have availed myself of the cir- 
 cumstance, to have given, under the colour 
 of its purchase, a sum which would have con- 
 tributed to her comfort and enjoyment for the 
 remainder of her days. But she refused to 
 part with the building, adding, * that she could 
 never leave the scene which had witnessed, 
 with her husband, all the earthly happiness 
 which she ever expected to enjoy.' 
 
 " And now, Mr. Hamlyn, I have detained 
 you in this mountain recess longer than what, 
 perhaps, you anticipated, when you asked me 
 to relate the history of the cottage. The fer- 
 vour of the day is passed and the sun has 
 
THE WOODMAN S FIRE-SIDE. 179 
 
 now the soft mildness of its evening beams. 
 We will resmne our journey homewards, en- 
 joying the mellow tints which it casts over 
 the foliage, and the lengthened shadows which 
 are made by the many precipitate projections 
 of rocks and wooded heights. 
 
 " Whenever, my friend, you are disposed to 
 meditate on the vicissitudes of human life. 
 Whenever you are inclined to contemplate the 
 frailty of our nature, and the sad reverses to 
 which our existence is exposed, you may muse 
 over the tale of the Woodman's Fire-side.'* 
 
 i6 
 
MANDEVILLE ; 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 " I WAS descended from a gentleman, whose 
 fate it was to flourish, or rather to fade, in 
 the middle of the seventeenth century, that 
 epoch of English history when liberty, like a 
 virgin ray from heaven, first spread her ge- 
 nial influence over the hearts of our country- 
 men. This gentleman, my grandfather, was 
 younger branch of one of the oldest families 
 in the kingdom, his nephev*^ held the heredi- 
 tary estates of the family, in the county of 
 Caermarthen, the land of our sires, where our 
 ancestors had been enrolled among the lords 
 of the soil for many centuries ; and my cousin, 
 in 1611, had the honour of receiving the rank of 
 baronet from the hands of her present Majesty, 
 Queen Anne. I am proud, even in my poverty, 
 to reflect upon the mention made by the herald. 
 
MAXDEVILLE. 181 
 
 of the assistance, which the great stem of my 
 race, afforded to Reece ap Tudor, in his op- 
 position to the invading Norman, and amidst 
 the triumphs or the neglect of the present 
 wealthy, I have often consoled myself by 
 reflecting upon my noble and valorous an- 
 cestors. 
 
 *' My grand-father, although a junior mem- 
 ber of the family, was possessed of great 
 wealth, and, what was of little less conse- 
 quence in the perturbed period of his career, 
 he was distinguished for great talents, for un- 
 conquerable fortitude, and for a most romantic 
 generosity. I am particularly disposed to 
 dwell upon the character and conduct of this 
 worthy personage, because his fate and mis- 
 fortunes afford an example to mankind, and 
 because the complexion of my life has re- 
 ceived its tinge from the destiny which at- 
 tended his. He is also, with the exception 
 of my father, the only member of my family 
 with whom I have ever had any distinct 
 acquaintance , for, I have found the more 
 wealthy branches of a family but little dis- 
 posed to be too intimate with their poorer re- 
 latives, however near they may be in blood ; 
 and, if political differences, or similar causes. 
 
182 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 should once interrupt the association, it is 
 seldom renewed, further, perhaps, than one 
 or two formal invitations to dinner in the 
 course of the year, where the unwelcome 
 visitor is pointed out as a poor relation, with, 
 perhaps, a shrug of the shoulders, accompa- 
 nying the final words, ' a third cousin, whom 
 we must ask now and then.' But to re- 
 turn to my father's progenitor, he was, what 
 is often described by the terms, ' a gen- 
 tleman of the old school.' The most promi- 
 nent feature in the character of this descrip- 
 tion of person was, a most romantic loyalty 
 and personal attachment to the prince. That 
 passion which our earlier poets are so fond of 
 painting, as the gem of every thing noble, 
 brave, and generous ; but which, fortunately 
 for the happiness and dignity of our nature, 
 has ceased to exist but in description, and has 
 been superseded by a more enlightened at- 
 tachment to those principles of government 
 which teach the equal rights of mankind, and 
 that the crown is the least important consti- 
 tuent of society, the mere servant of the com- 
 munity, employed only to the extent and for 
 the period which may suit the general conve- 
 nience. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 1S3 
 
 " But although this loyalty may be a mere 
 delusion, often destructive, and always per- 
 nicious to a country when carried too far, 
 although with those who pretend to admire 
 or possess it, it is generally nothing but a veil 
 to hide their plans of personal aggrandize- 
 ment, or to cover their cupidity of the public 
 money ; it must be confessed that there is 
 something attractive in that spirit of disinte- 
 rested loyalty which so often animated our 
 ancestors, and inspired them to deeds of true 
 heroism. Reason may disapprove of it, or 
 despise it, but fancy will yet hold it in her 
 mirror, and life has so little of real happiness, 
 that even delusions which are pleasurable 
 ought rather to be respected than disdained. 
 This equivocal virtue, however, seemed to be 
 the animating principle of my grandfather's 
 existence. Instead of joining the enlightened 
 few, to wave the banners of liberty with the 
 heroes of his age, he embarked zealously in 
 the royal cause of Charles. His disposition 
 was naturally enthusiastic, and whatever cause 
 he espoused, he embraced it with the most 
 generous fervour. The virtues of Pym, of 
 Hampden, of Fairfax, and their glorious bands, 
 instead of kindling his patriotism, or at least 
 
J 84 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 purifying his indiscriminate attachment to the 
 crown, excited his spirit of loyalty, he vowed 
 his services to the King, and he was at once 
 a hero in the royal phalanx. He was of the 
 wisest in the cabinet, and of the bravest in 
 the field. In the court he inspired the lethar- 
 gic, he upbraided the timid, he reproached 
 the selfish and interested, and he confirmed 
 the wavering. To some he used satire and 
 sarcasm, whilst the more generous he ani- 
 mated by such spirited and glowing images 
 of fame and victory, that the cause considered 
 him as their chief support and principal re- 
 source. In the field he was the first to pro- 
 pose as well as to execute every daring and 
 desperate attempt which could confer glory 
 and produce advantage to the cause of his 
 royal master. Fortunately for human happi- 
 ness the efforts of his party were defeated by 
 the genius and patriotism of the popular 
 leaders, and our hero, after having exhausted 
 his talents in schemes which were baffled, 
 after having bled most deeply in the field, 
 and after having devoted to the service the last 
 acre of his inheritance, he retired to the Con- 
 tinent, living in obscurity and want, sup- 
 ported only by the proud consciousness of 
 
THE VOYAGE. 185 
 
 having acted according to his sense of duty, 
 and animated with the hope of his friends* one 
 day attaining the ascendancy, and restoring 
 the family of the defeated king. 
 
 *' On the developement of General Monk's 
 intentions he was again inspired with zeal for 
 the royal cause, he joyously returned to his 
 native soil, and he expected from the new 
 monarch that consideration and attachment 
 which his services so eminently entitled him 
 to receive. But, alas ! he little knew the me- 
 chanism of a kingly heart, nor the trash of 
 which the world is composed. The royal pa- 
 tronage and affections were bestowed, not upon 
 those who, by zealously sacrificing their all in 
 the cause, had lost the power of being further 
 useful, but upon such who had, in the strug- 
 gle, served their master with that prudence 
 and view to self-interest which renders our 
 property safe, whichever side may triumph. 
 But the sun of royal patronrge, even in those 
 turbulent times, shed some of its warmest 
 beams upon that worthless but most numerous 
 class of persons which compose the great body 
 of a court. Men without either feeling, at- 
 tachment, or principle of any sort, but who, 
 partly from self-interest, and partly from in- 
 
186 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 nate baseness of disposition, are inclined al- 
 ways to approve and to support any men, or 
 any principles, which may, for the time, be 
 established, or are uppermost. These people re- 
 tained the means of answering the present ob- 
 jects of the court, and the same heartless sel- 
 fishness which had secured them the retention 
 of these means, now induced them to be careful 
 that their present assistance to the restored 
 monarch should be well repaid by every exist- 
 ing office of profit, and by many other places 
 and pensions created for their benefit. In 
 vain was it urged, that had all the king's 
 friends served in the civil war with such mean 
 policy, and timid exertion, the crown would 
 never have been regained ; these arguments 
 were ridiculed by the court minions, and every 
 thing which the government had to bestow 
 was given not in reward for suffering loy- 
 alty and for former exertion, but in barter 
 for expected subserviency and anticipated 
 compliance. This worthy but mistaken old 
 man, who had been the spirit and soul of the 
 royal cause in his youth, could not bear the 
 cold aspect of his master, and he retired 
 to end his days in neglect and want, ni(^t 
 exclaiming, as of old, ** teneor patriae nee le- 
 
THE VOYAGE. ISJT 
 
 gibus ullis," but retaining to the last his chi- 
 vah'ous spirit of loyalty, and his warm at- 
 tachment to his royal master. 
 
 ** My father inherited nothing of this cava- 
 lier but his existence, and a few acres of land, 
 barely sufficient to support that existence. 
 He was possessed of a mind naturally power- 
 ful and capacious, and he had richly culti- 
 vated his understanding in literature, and 
 strengthened his intellect by philosophy and 
 the abstract sciences. In nothing did he dif- 
 fer so much from his parent as in his political 
 sentiments. He had embraced the opinions 
 on government which Mr. Locke had so ably 
 supported, and, if not a zealous, he was a 
 most firm and determined Whig. Not one of 
 the practical Whigs of that day, but a Whig 
 whose effort it was to carry the perfection of 
 Mr. Locke's theory into operation. In the dis- 
 agreement which took place between James II. 
 and his subjects, he had rendered all the ser- 
 vice in his power to the patriot party, but his 
 means of serving were but limited and feeble. 
 On the triumph of his friends King William 
 had, unsolicited, offered him a place of ho- 
 nour and of some profit under the government. 
 The old and celebrated Toryism of his family 
 
188 mandeville; OR, 
 
 was not remembered against him, but his 
 public spirit was liberally and conscientiously 
 rewarded by a prince of free principles. A 
 striking example that, independent of the 
 satisfaction arising from liberal opinions, even 
 in a worldly point of view they are more likely 
 to be advantageous. A prince of a free govern- 
 ment will reward for public services, the court 
 of a despot fosters capriciously, and for the 
 worst of objects. But my father now sighed 
 for rural retirement and domestic quiet. As 
 his disposition was less ardent than that of 
 his father's, he was able to read life with a 
 more exact scrutiny. He had dived into the 
 inmost recesses of the human heart, had 
 watched the actions of men, and had pene- 
 trated and dissected the most latent motives 
 of conduct. His cool and philosophic view 
 of life had deeply impressed upon him the 
 opinion of the wretched trash of which the 
 world was composed, and he retired from so- 
 ciety to enjoy the happiness of domestic life, 
 and to laugh at the follies of the busy world. 
 He had married a lady of an old and wealthy 
 family in Durham, whose mother was herself 
 of an extravagant disposition, and having 
 united herself to a gentleman of a dissipated 
 
THE VOYAGE. 189 
 
 course of life, they had been reduced to 
 the necessity of supporting themselves in 
 one of the towns on the coast of Sussex, by 
 means reputable, but not in tone with the 
 wealth and dignity of the other branches 
 of their family. My father, on resorting to 
 the place of their retreat, for the benefit of 
 his health, witnessed the merits of this young 
 lady. She was eminently gifted by nature, 
 of the perfection of form and beauty, and pos- 
 sessed of the most excellent disposition. — 
 With her he resolved to pass his days, and 
 devote their care to the education of their fa- 
 mily. 
 
 " Happy had it been for me, had this latter 
 object been attended to, for the miseries of my 
 life are to be attributed to the neglect of my 
 youth. My father, although enamoured of 
 rural ease, was not adapted to the peaceful 
 enjoyment of retired life. He was of too irri- 
 table a temperament to bear the prattle of in- 
 fancy, or to support the sallies of youth, and he 
 therefore shunned the company rather than 
 superintended the conduct of his children; or 
 his children in his presence were under a re- 
 straint which rendered their manners artificial 
 and melancholy, and consequently, when not 
 
190 mandeville; or, 
 
 restrained by his presence, their relaxation was 
 in obstreperous mirth and violent jollity. In 
 spite of his pretensions to philosophic apathy, 
 he had an organic pride, and a constitutional 
 ambition, which no effort could conquer ; and 
 probably the most miserable of beings is a man 
 of an ambitious spirit, and of an hereditary 
 pride, who, conscious of his personal merit, is 
 yet doomed to live in obscurity, and to live 
 without the prospect of his children regaining 
 their ascendancy in society. These unhappy 
 circumstances operating upon such a febrile 
 constitution, rendered the patient gloomy, re- 
 tired, and irascible, and it drove him for com- 
 fort to that pleasurable but destructive habit 
 of what is vulgarly called castle building, or 
 what Mr. Locke, in his Essay on the Under- 
 standing, is pleased to term ecstacy. There 
 are certain classes of minds which derive such 
 happiness from this species of active reverie, 
 that all their leisure moments are devoted to 
 the enjoyment, and all the useful pursuits of 
 life are neglected for the gratification. The 
 deeper sciences are the best antidotes for this 
 seductive evil, but in the case of my parent, 
 the habit was the result of the hopelessness 
 of his situation, of that hopelessness which 
 
THE VOYAGE. I9I 
 
 deprives life of its energy, poisons every ob- 
 ject and pursuit, and which renders all the 
 uses of this world so weary, stale, flat, and 
 unprofitable. 
 
 " Thus was it my lot to be neglected, and 
 unhappy was it for me, as my mind was of that 
 romantic, imaginary cast, which of all others 
 requires the most careful discipline. But there 
 is one object of education by far more impor- 
 tant than the guidance of the intellect : it is 
 the formation of the disposition and the moral 
 character. This last duty can be executed 
 only by a parent, or by a private tutor of judg- 
 ment, who is conscientiously interested in the 
 welfare of his pupil, and has but that one ob- 
 ject to attend to. We should watch the very 
 prattle and sports of infancy, and acquaint 
 ourselves with the tone and features, which 
 the dispositions of our children are inclined 
 by nature to assume. The mental tempera- 
 ment developes itself at the earliest age, and 
 we can read in children at six, the outlines of 
 the character which time is to fill up. The 
 office of a judicious parent is to mix with the 
 sports of his children, and when they imagine 
 he is intent upon their enjoyment, to be ob- 
 
192 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 servant of those little traits of character and 
 disposition, which are displayed with such 
 amusing simplicity in that ingenuous age, and 
 particularly in the moments of their careless 
 mirth. 
 
 *' These little imperfections should never be 
 made the objects of studied and particular re- 
 proof. There is an infinity of ways by which 
 they can be indirectly checked, and the youth 
 may thus receive the most effectual moral in- 
 struction, without being scarcely conscious 
 that any lessons of morality have been taught 
 him. This mode of instruction so useful to 
 all, was, to a disposition like mine, the only 
 mode of moral guidance that could possibly 
 be effective or permanently useful. My soul 
 seemed a boiling spirit within me, consuming 
 its tenement. My temper was violent in the 
 extreme. I was refractory and impatient of 
 instruction or controul, and all my appetites 
 were strong in sensuality. Direct precept or 
 reproof was totally useless, and as my mind 
 was creative and ardent to a degree of disease, 
 it was requisite, in order to render my life 
 safe, or tolerable to myself or companions, to 
 watch constantly each symptom of my dispo- 
 
THE VOYAGE. igs 
 
 sition, and to apply to me indirect precept and 
 illustrations judiciously adapted to my tempe- 
 rament. 
 
 " This necessary species of education was 
 with me totally neglected, nor was my intel- 
 lectual education better attended to. I was 
 sent to the school of a wretched Scotch pe- 
 dant, one of that numerous class of people who 
 had swarmed in upon us from the north, and 
 had set up numerous schools in the neighbour- 
 hood of London, as matters of speculation and 
 trade. Their object was to feed their pupils 
 at the smallest possible expense, consistent 
 with that degree of reputation which ensured 
 them a sufficiency of business, and as to the 
 mental culture of their pupils, it was limited 
 in extent and degree by the same considera- 
 tions of policy. As I was decidedly of better 
 birth and connections than the rest of the 
 school, this selfish wretch devoted all his at- 
 tention to myself, at the expense of the others 
 who had an equal claim to his care and assi- 
 duity. I was cherished and caressed, whilst 
 the sons of more plebeian parents were beaten 
 for not learning what he was conscious they 
 ought to know, but what he took little pains 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 mandeville; or, 
 
 to teach them. This man succeeded in ob- 
 taining a reward for his undue partiality, by 
 my father procuring him an appointment in a 
 public establishment. He had taught me all 
 he was capable of teaching; he had prema- 
 turely pressed me forward in my classes, in 
 order to ingratiate himself with my parents, 
 and I left his school with the reputation of 
 learning, without however knowing more than 
 my accidence. 
 
 " Nature had given me an ardent desire for 
 knowledge, and this with a pride of superio- 
 rity, stimulated me in my private studies, so 
 that I soon supplied by personal application, 
 the loss of early instruction. Intoxicated 
 with the charms of knowledge, and proud of 
 what I had accomplished by my personal ex- 
 ertion, I became disputatious, positive, and 
 presumptuous, and I exhibited all those repul- 
 sive traits of character which are to be found 
 in a frank and fearless disposition, unchecked 
 by repulse and undisciplined by education. 
 
 " The very excess of my good qualities, 
 were my faults, and I lived admired by every 
 body, but shunned by all. 
 
 " I was refractory and wild, and disobe- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 19^ 
 
 dient to my parents, whom I yet tenderly loved, 
 and under whose roof I lived, until my father's 
 anxious mind began to contemplate the pe- 
 cuniary consequences in which his family 
 would be involved by his death. My mother's 
 parental affection for her children, was indes- 
 cribably strong. She long sustained a dread- 
 ful conflict between her fondness and her pru- 
 dence, and at length yielded to my father's 
 disposition, that I should leave their peaceful 
 and happy retirement, to launch into the sea 
 of life. 
 
 " Of all conflicts which a reduced and ru- 
 ined man has to sustain, the most severe re- 
 late to the disposal of his children in the world. 
 My father long pondered in a sort of agonized 
 perplexity, on various schemes for my career. 
 Mercantile pursuits, even of the highest de- 
 scription, were at that period of our history 
 considered degrading to the higher families j 
 but had it been otherwise, my father's strait- 
 ened means did not put even a secondary mer- 
 cantile business within his power. The pro- 
 fession of medicine was not thought suffici- 
 ently honourable. The law was abandoned 
 for want of capital and connection, and because 
 k2 
 
ig6 ma^deville; 6r, 
 
 my disposition was esteemed unfit to make my 
 own way through life. The church was at last 
 adopted, and my venerable parent, in the full 
 confidence of friendship, wrote to the Marquis 
 
 of C , for his clerical patronage. This old 
 
 peer had been the companion of my grandfa- 
 ther's civil and military career, and had known 
 him in the splendour of his wealth, and in the 
 power of his political reputation. No sympathy 
 existed in the breast of the peer for a fallen 
 family — he possessed no feeling for the son of 
 his old and ruined friend. A courtly refusal 
 was received. It would be troublesome to 
 relate the numerous refusals he received from 
 all the friends of his youth to whom he ap- 
 plied ; many of whom had been obscure when 
 he was resplendent, and had risen in life by 
 the political instability of the age. His old 
 and honourable heart was stung with mortifi- 
 cation, and he resolved to apply no more. 
 
 " In this period of his affliction, his case 
 had been the subject of conversation in the 
 presence of Sir J. Y , a spirited and gal- 
 lant officer, the younger brother of the Earl 
 
 Qf u . This fine character had a heart 
 
 always open to the wounded spirit. He was 
 
THE VOYAGE. 197 
 
 for ever rendering services to the fallen, al- 
 though his relations were incessantly endea- 
 vouring to impress upon him the policy of bar- 
 tering his patronage for parliamentary sup- 
 port. He scorned their narrow maxims, and 
 as my father's case was of a nature to afflict 
 his generous heart, he immediately offered him 
 all which at the moment he was able to pro- 
 cure — a commission in the military service. 
 This was accepted, and the army, that unfail- 
 ing refuge for the proud and the poor, was to 
 be my profession. 
 
 " Never shall I forget the feelings which 
 my uniform and my sword aroused in my 
 youthful heart. The active preparations for 
 my departure spread the indescribable joy of 
 hope, of novelty and expectation through my 
 frame. Happy age, where the elastic spirits, 
 the vigorous current, the flush of novelty gives 
 a joyous cast to all which but a few years 
 strips of its gilding, and reduces to the charm- 
 less standard of reality. 
 
 " During the activity of my equipment, my 
 
 father's anxious mind contemplated all the 
 
 chances, the vicissitudes, the dangers I should 
 
 have to encounter on my entrance into the 
 
 k3 
 
199 mandeville; or, 
 
 world, and he advised and reasoned with me 
 incessantly on my conduct. My mother, in 
 whom the maternal affection was most astonish- 
 ingly ardent, was differently affected during 
 this expectancy of my departure. She became 
 absent and comatose, or at other times restless 
 and uneasy. She was silent, her eyes were 
 swollen with tears which glistened in their orb, 
 but which never passed the eyelid. 
 
 " The morning in which I got up early to 
 depart, my poor unhappy mother rose to take 
 her final leave of me. She continued in the 
 same mood until the servant announced that 
 the last moment of my stay had expired. She 
 started as if from a trance ; a flood of tears 
 burst from her swollen eyes, and she caught 
 me to her breast in an agony of grief. At this 
 moment I feel the ardent kiss she impressed 
 upoi^ my lips, and never shall I forget the ex- 
 pression of her face. She put into my hands 
 twenty guineas, which she had saved for me 
 out of her scanty pittance. She again embracied 
 me, and would have spoken, but her grief over- 
 powered all effort of utterance, and the servant 
 forcing me into the carriage, I left this excel- 
 lent mother, little thinking that I then looked 
 upon her for the last time. 
 
THE VOYAGE. I99 
 
 " My affection for her was strong, and I 
 never think of her, even in this, my winter of 
 Hfe, without feeling* the current of my heart 
 thawed by affection. But so volatile, so eva- 
 nescent are the attachments of youth, that 
 before many hours the different objects on the 
 road began to engage my mind from that 
 which ought to have occupied it much longer, 
 Happy are those parents who marry early, and 
 who are, at the period when they must send 
 their children into the theatre of life, them- 
 selves of that age of buoyant spirits when the 
 gay scenes of the world can relieve them from 
 the grief of separation. But still happier are 
 they that live till their children have passed the 
 period at which they think little but of their 
 pleasures, and arrive at that age of serious- 
 ness when they revert to their parents, and 
 exhibit the assiduousness and the tenderness 
 of filial love. Alas ! such was not the fate of 
 my honoured parents. In the decline of their 
 life their children were at the busy period 
 when pleasures solely engross them, and both 
 my father and mother went to their God ere 
 any of us were old enough to moderate our 
 worldly gaiety, and to derive our happiness 
 by contributing to theirs. 
 k4 
 
200 mandeville; or, 
 
 " I arrived at Portsmouth, presented my 
 letters of introduction to my commanding of- 
 ficer, was introduced to the mess, and the next 
 day I paraded the streets of the town in uni- 
 form, which allowed me to think of little but 
 of myself and my appearance. I have yet in 
 my mind a vivid remembrance of the joyous 
 expectation, the zest, the desire with which 
 youth first launches into life. Each scene is 
 new, and therefore pleasurable, every com- 
 panion is esteemed a disinterested and honour- 
 able friend, and the heart is poured out in 
 delightful confidence. But soon do the fairy 
 visions of youth fade before the paralyzing 
 clouds of reality. Sober truth dissipates the 
 delightful visions of juvenile ardour, and the 
 world soon stands disclosed in all its dull, 
 insipid, and appalling monotony. Perhaps 
 the human frame is not subject to a greater 
 contrast than our feelings of expectation in 
 youth and the satiety of middle life. Military 
 society is, of all society, the most vapid and 
 dull. The principal ingredient of happiness ap- 
 pears to be the having an object in view which 
 can excite hope and require exertion ; and 
 of this ingredient military life is totally desti- 
 tute, except when it is actually engaged in 
 
THE VOYAGE. 2<)1' 
 
 the field. It is a source of consolation to me 
 to reflect, that if I was for a few months the 
 victim of the idleness and frivolity of a mili- 
 tary life, I was never seduced by its vices, or 
 a participator in its dissipations and profli- 
 gacy. I soon became tired of the inactivity 
 and sauntering of garrison duty, and I began 
 to reproach myself for the valuable time which 
 I had suffered to pass without any pursuit 
 worthy of a rational being ; really I thought 
 to myself, life is not meant merely for drink- 
 ing, gaming, tattling, lounging, and dressing, 
 the usual occupations of the soldier. I began 
 to reflect seriously of my profession and of 
 my associates. I found that my companions 
 cared little about the cultivation of the mind 
 or the improvement of the heart ;. their sole 
 wish appeared to be the attainment of the 
 utmost animal pleasures and amusements, and 
 their efforts, were to conceal their shallowness, 
 and depravity by the appearance of grace and 
 politeness. I designed for myself certain oc- 
 cupations ; I was to study for so many pe-^ 
 riods of each day, and certain points of per- 
 fection in literature and science were to be 
 attained by me. But perseverance and con- 
 sistency' were, unfortunately, no component^ 
 k5 
 
202 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 of my disposition. These resolutions were 
 formed, but they were soon ineffectual to re- 
 strain my wandering mind ; the breach of my 
 plans was lamented, new resolutions were 
 formed, which soon experienced the fate of 
 their predecessors. I had nobody, moreover, 
 to direct my studies, and consequently my 
 object was often too high, and the path I took 
 to attain my object was not the most easy or 
 direct. Failure dispirited me, although highly 
 conceited of my powers, yet such was my in- 
 consistency, that the least difficulty in my 
 pursuits immediately afflicted me with an irri- 
 table impatience, and a conviction that my 
 powers of mind were insufficient for their ob- 
 ject. My vanity, however, persuaded me that 
 I was clever, and I immediately resorted to 
 some other study, which, for want of perseve- 
 rance, or by some point of difficulty, I equally 
 soon discontinued. When I subsequently 
 found, in the course of my reading, that men 
 of the brightest genius had often been long re- 
 tarded by difficulties not more serious, I be- 
 came more satisfied with myself, and often 
 have I regretted that from an ignorance qf 
 such facts, my youth had been passed alter- , 
 nately in exertion under the impulse of pride 
 
THE VOYAGE. 205 
 
 and natural vigour of mind, or in irresolution 
 and apathy, under the dejecting influence of 
 disappointment and want of confidence in my 
 capacity. 
 
 '' At length I fell under that deep melan- 
 choly which so often preys upon energetic and 
 ardent minds that are undisciplined and al- 
 lo^^^ed to feed upon themselves for want of 
 proper objects on which to exercise their 
 powers. I abstracted myself from my com- 
 panions, I roved for hours every day in the 
 country, I thought with tenderness upon my 
 virtuous and affectionate home, I dwelt with 
 disgust upon the selfish and mean objects of 
 my companions. My mind formed the most 
 romantic and Utopian adventures, in which 
 the purest love and the brightest honour 
 were continually engendering the most de- 
 lightful feelings and producing the most ex- 
 alted actions. No friendship nor acquaintance 
 was now of any continuance with me, the 
 standard of human conduct which my specu- 
 lations had created was far too high for human 
 frailty to reach, and unconscious of this, I 
 made no allowance for the weakness of nature, 
 but became outraged and disgusted by every 
 body, as I successively witnessed in them the 
 K 6 
 
204 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 instances of pride, of meanness, of oppres- 
 sion, or selfishness. Thus did my time unpro- 
 fitably pass, in framing these burning scenes 
 of fancied perfection, till chance afforded me 
 the means of employing my intellect in pur- 
 suits hardly less delightful, and infinitely more 
 useful. The reveries of youth arise solely from 
 ardour of mind, and when age has calmed the 
 energy of passion, they leave the understand- 
 ing at once unable to continue its pleasure, 
 and disqualified from enjoying any less stimu^ 
 latins and more sober amusements. But it 
 was my fate now to be called to more perma^ 
 nent and worthy pursuits. 
 
 ** At this time there was introduced to dine 
 at the mess, a gentleman who was ordained 
 to have a considerable influence over my fu- 
 ture destiny. He was a tall thin man, of a 
 fine and expressive countenance, the lines of 
 his face were strongly marked, and there was 
 the singular contradiction, that whilst his 
 complexion exhibited a clear and bright red, 
 which bespoke health and temperance, the 
 deep furrows in his countenance seemed to be- 
 tray the powers of excess and dissipation. Hi^ 
 dress was inclining to the old fashion, but 
 appeared as if it had been supplied by trades- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 205 
 
 men of the first order, and though his clothes 
 were rather worn and shabby, they were re- 
 markably clean, and were put on in a style of 
 propriety which few can acquire who have not 
 been early accustomed to dress for elevated 
 society. This gentleman, on his first entrance 
 into our mess-room, impressed me with an in- 
 voluntary emotion, which was betrayed by an 
 earnest gaze, that fortunately was unobserved 
 by him, for it was so marked that it must have 
 betrayed that want of controul over the public 
 expression of our feelings of which well bred 
 people are seldom destitute. This stranger 
 seemed reserved and taciturn, but yet he ap^ 
 peared to show a quick and lively attention to 
 every thing which was passing around him. 
 His face often expressed a strong feeling of 
 benevolence and pity, but I thought it as 
 often betrayed a disposition to satire and 
 irony, I several times, in the course of the 
 day, caught his calm yet piercing grey eye 
 intently fixed upon me, and I rapidly with- 
 drew my glance, nor was I for some time able 
 to regain my tone of composure. But what 
 surprised me in this gentleman's behaviour 
 was, that although elegance of manners and 
 good breeding appeared a. second nature with. 
 
206 mandeville; or, 
 
 him, he yet exhibited to many of the officers 
 a behaviour apparently inconsistent both with 
 genteel life and sound judgment. With per- 
 sons who were gross and openly profligate in 
 their sentiments he dexterously took advan- 
 tage of every opportunity to indirectly lash 
 them with the most indignant and contemp- 
 tuous severity. With those who were more 
 insidious, cautious, and refined in their vices, 
 he most happily applied a. satire equally power- 
 ful, but more delicate, and of the most po- 
 lished and classic description. There were 
 many weak but good humoured and well mean- 
 ing men in the regiment, with these he blended 
 in the most lively thoughtless gaiety, and for- 
 getting his superiority of intellect, he became 
 completely one of them. It was admirable to 
 see the facility with which he could assume 
 all forms and stations, from the severe and 
 lofty satire of a Juvenal, to the courtly and 
 polished irony of a Horace ; and from this 
 station to the good humoured frolic of the gay 
 and careless. I found he was held in the 
 deepest respect by the regiment, and had ac- 
 quired all that influence over his companions 
 which is the natural but mighty effect of su- 
 perior intellect. But what appeared most in- 
 
 7 
 
THE VOYAGE. 207 
 
 consistent with his power of understanding, 
 and with his discrimination of character, was 
 his manners towards a Captain Montagu. This 
 officer was the pride of the regiment, and in- 
 deed was esteemed the ornament of the ser- 
 vice. He was a gentleman of good estate and 
 family, well informed on most subjects, he 
 was known to be of decided bravery, he was 
 elegant in his person, he excelled in all the 
 military exercises and more manly diversions, 
 and was in the possession of every polite and 
 fashionable accomplishment. He was the 
 boast of our corps, and whenever men of rank 
 and title dined with us. Captain Montagu was 
 depended upon for entertaining them with 
 success, and with inducing them to depart 
 with favourable recollections of the day they 
 had spent. Nor did this officer appear to 
 have any vices beyond what were common in 
 fashionable life. He was eminently superior 
 on the race-course, and yet had sported for 
 little more than what men of his rank usually 
 sport for. He was esteemed the best billiard 
 player of his day, and yet nobody could charge 
 him with playing for more than noblemen and 
 wealthy gentlemen commonly play for. As to 
 his gallantries, they were esteemed fashion- 
 
208 mandeville; or, 
 
 able vices ; the effects of a noble, free dispo- 
 sition ; on this point he was the envy of the 
 men, and appeared to be an object of admira- 
 tion with the women. Much conversation 
 passed between Captain Montagu and our 
 guest, whose name was Upton, but it appeared' 
 to me that the Captain betrayed signs both of 
 respect and fear at our visitor. Indeed he had 
 some occasion to feel deference, for not only 
 did Mr. Upton evince a much more powerful, 
 but an equally elegant mind with the military 
 paragon, but he frequently wrung from him the 
 flush of shame and mortification, by touches 
 of satire, and sallies of wit inimitably happy 
 in point of classical purity, intellectual depth, 
 and polite refinement. There were many slight 
 allusions to events and circumstances which 
 seemed to affect and alarm our brother officer, 
 but they were touched upon with such discri- 
 mination and judgment that it was impossible 
 for him to resent th,em by even a look or an 
 expression. 
 
 " It appeared to me inconsistent and inex- 
 plicable why Mr. Upton should draw forth the 
 whole power of his mind to harrow the feelings 
 of a gentleman who was the admiration and 
 boast of all who knew him, I was particularly 
 
THE VOYAGE. 209 
 
 chagrined and aggrieved at this behaviour, as 
 Captain Montagu had honoured me with his 
 marked attention, and I was envied by every 
 body for having so early acquired the friend- 
 ship of one whose acquaintance was a pass- 
 port into all fashionable and dignified society. 
 After the company were engaged at cards, or 
 were in that rather noisy conversation which 
 wine produces, I observed that Captain Mon- 
 tagu and Mr. Upton had taken advantage of 
 the general occupation of the party to retire 
 to the other end of the room. I observed 
 that their language was very earnest and em- 
 phatic. Mr. Upton appeared calm and reso- 
 lute, whilst Captain Montagu seemed agitated 
 by some strong emotion ; I thought I heard my 
 name twice mentioned, and directly Mr. Upton 
 emphatically used the words exposure, disho- 
 nour, and I thought I heard him use the ex- 
 pression of deciding by the sword. Immediately 
 after, this extraordinary man joined the com- 
 pany with the same unconcern as if nothing 
 had occurred, nor could I gather any thing 
 from a subsequent perusal of his face. 
 
 ** I observed that I was the only person in 
 the mess to whom Mr, Upton had not addressed 
 conversation of some sort, When he took his 
 
210 mandeville; or, 
 
 kave of us, I found he had often been our 
 guest before the present occasion, and that 
 every body seemed both to like and to fear 
 him. He certainly made a deep impression 
 upon my mind, I reflected much upon the 
 union of power and ease which his conversa- 
 tion displayed, his figure haunted my vision, 
 nor could I drive from my mind the expres- 
 sive glance of penetration which he had several 
 times directed towards me. I observed too, 
 with inexpressible concern, that from the day 
 on which this gentleman dined with us, my 
 friend Captain Montagu seemed less solici- 
 tous for my association, nor did he press me 
 any more to accompany him to the house of 
 his friend Lady Belton, with whom he had pre- 
 viously been more than commonly anxious 
 that I should be intimate. 
 
 " This was really a charming family, and 
 every member of it had treated me, from my 
 first introduction, with such a polite attention, 
 that I had almost got domiciliated with them. 
 Lady Belton was not much liked in the world. 
 She was insufferably proud, not well informed, 
 was rather violent in her disposition, but her 
 two predominant vices were an excessive jea- 
 lousy of her husband, and an unconquerable 
 
THE VOYAGE. 211 
 
 disposition to tattling. But with all these 
 faults, she was yet an excellent woman. A 
 doatingly fond mother, an affectionate wife, 
 and a warm and sincere friend. My Lord 
 Belton's fine person, his talents and his habits 
 of business would have made him a conspi- 
 cuous figure in the State, had not his frank 
 and generous temper, and his abject submis- 
 sion to the controul of his wife prevented his 
 running a successful political career. 
 
 " The eldest Miss Belton was justly the 
 pride and happiness of her family. She was, 
 as yet, almost too young to love, but was 
 much above the general scale of beauty and 
 of figure. Her large black and languishing 
 eyes bespoke a tenderness and a goodness of 
 disposition in which no being on earth could 
 surpass her. Many a happy hour had I passed 
 in conversation with this sensible and truly 
 excellent young lady, without dreaming that 
 a more fervent sentiment than friendship was 
 gaining deep possession of my heart. I was 
 by nature always fervid, or totally indifferent, 
 but when passion took possession of my mind, 
 my heart was like an Etna, and every other 
 feeling was excluded. In the family of Lady 
 Belton I became intimate, and my restless 
 
212 mandeville; or, 
 
 disposition so little inclined me to remain in- 
 active in my quarters, and having no other 
 object of pursuit, I v/^s constantly with this 
 family, and at last they bestowed on me their 
 friendship and confidence. 
 
 " The natural consequence of this intimacy, 
 before long, evinced itself, I soon too fatally 
 found myself desperately in love with the elder 
 daughter of his Lordship, Miss Emma Belton. 
 My first consciousness of a tenderness for this 
 young lady, arose from the extreme pain with 
 which I viewed her intimacy with the gay and 
 insinuating Captain Montagu. I perceived, 
 or I thought I perceived, a great embarrass- 
 ment in her looks, whenever they exchanged 
 a glance, and whilst in her eye there was an 
 expression of watchfulness and alarm mixed 
 with tenderness, his countenance bespoke in» 
 difference, or rather a forced attention. I 
 was at one time about to question Captain 
 Montagu on his affections for this young and 
 interesting creature, but I was prevented by 
 the reflection, that as yet I had no right what^ 
 ever to take such a step. Emma viewed me 
 with complacency, but nothing like looks of 
 love, or an expression of such a sentiment, 
 had passed between us. Mine was an internal 
 
THE VOYAGE. 213 
 
 passion, but too strong to remain long con- 
 cealed. I was as yet ignorant what were her 
 sentiments towards me. 
 
 " The ardent complexion of my mind soon 
 rendered this perplexing state of doubt and love 
 intolerable ; I reflected again and again upon 
 the inconsistency of Montagu's conduct. That 
 he once loved Miss Belton I had convinced 
 myself by observation ; that she ever returned 
 his love I had, I hoped, reason to doubt, but 
 that his elegant person and fine face, with his 
 graceful and specious manners, had obtained 
 for him some degree of her regard, I was con- 
 vinced. That he loved her no longer, was but 
 too evident. But the difficulty of reconciling 
 his conduct to any of my opinions was the 
 earnestness wjth which he had promoted my 
 constant association with Emma, even at the 
 time of his decided passion for the young lady. 
 That he should throw us so frequently toge- 
 ther now, was less surprising, as his present 
 indifference to her was hardly to be doubted. 
 
 " Tormented with these and similar doubts, 
 the attention which Captain Montagu be- 
 stowed on Emma, however ordinary, was be- 
 yond any thing painful to me, and I at length 
 resolved to speak to him upon the subject. 
 
214 mandeville; or, 
 
 '* I met him one morning upon the ram* 
 parts, and as he accosted me with more than 
 usual frankness and warmth, I resolved to 
 address him upon the subject. I was agitated 
 in the extreme, which he was too observant 
 not to notice, at length screwing my courage 
 to the standing point, I frankly told him, not 
 exactly of my passion, but that I was as 
 every body must he, in short, said I, hesitating, 
 I am in common with others, anxious for every 
 thing that concerns so young and lovely a 
 creature, and I beg you earnestly to confess 
 to me whether you have any attachment for 
 Emma. 
 
 " He turned short upon me, and with a 
 laugh of ridicule at my awkwardness and em- 
 barrassment, began with * No, my dear Man- 
 deville, I am not in love with Emma, but I can 
 tell you that you are, you might as well have 
 left out of your question that statement of 
 your motives, * like every body else, in com- 
 mon with others.* 
 
 " ' Good heaven, Montagu, I in love with 
 Miss Emma, how can you — ' 
 
 " ' How can you ? How can I, what, Man- 
 deville, how can I see, I suppose, what is 
 plain enough for grimalkin to see in the dark. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 215 
 
 or the bird of Minerva to see in the glare of 
 the sun.% 
 
 " ' Nay, Montagu, I assure you — ' 
 
 " * Nay, my dear MandeviUe, do not give 
 me any of your assurances ; you have no as- 
 surance to spare, nor hardly possess enough 
 of it to carry you through a ball or a dinner 
 party. But let me assure you that ' forth at 
 your eyes your spirits wildly peep,' and that 
 unless you can render your eyes less treason- 
 able to your feelings, you v^^ill have all the in- 
 ternal man as plainly exposed as the sun at 
 noon ; and your friends will find you but little 
 adapted to pass through a world in which to 
 feel one thing and to look another is the grand 
 manoeuvre.' 
 
 '' * But, good heavens, Montagu, you can- 
 not say that I ever, by my looks, betrayed to 
 the world any love for this young lady, you 
 are so penetrating/ 
 
 " * My good fellow, let me ease all your 
 doubts on the subject. Perhaps you are more 
 in love than you are aware of, and the disco- 
 very is no compliment to my sagacity or pe- 
 netration, for your countenance is so inge- 
 nuous, few can mistake your feelings ; and 
 Jucky is it for you that your feelings are of 
 
2i6 mandeville; or, 
 
 the right cast, or every body would know 
 them. Now, my dear Mandeville, kt me as- 
 sure you that in Emma's presence your eyes 
 beam with love, and your whole conduct so 
 evidently shews it, that a fellow must be a 
 dolt indeed who would not vouch for it with 
 his life/ 
 
 *' ' Well, Montagu, if it is so, it is more 
 than I know, and as to my babbling tell-tale 
 eyes, I must discipline them ; but, now re- 
 verting to our former subject, tell me in truth, 
 do you not, or did you not once intend to pro 
 pose yourself to Miss Emma Belton/ 
 
 " * Pshaw, Mandeville,' said he, with a sar- 
 donic smile, ' marry Miss Belton indeed, 
 marry Miss Belton, a simple, pennyless child.* 
 
 " * You have no intention then of cultivat- 
 ing her affections V 
 
 " ' I tell you, Mandeville, that if your course 
 is matrimony, and she your load-stone, you 
 have no need to fear me as a rival cruizer. I 
 would rather prosper the voyage. May your 
 gale blow favourably.' 
 
 " ' Well,' replied I, with my mind relieved 
 from a dreadful weight of apprehension, ' I 
 really understood that you were desperately in 
 love with Miss Emma, and that you intended 
 
 5 
 
THE VOYAGE. 217 
 
 to play Benedict. Have you, (I added, without 
 really having any meaning in the question) 
 lately seen Mr. Upton ? 
 
 " ' Upton,' cried Captain Montagu, with his 
 eyes flashing fire, and his face suffused with 
 crimson. ' What has he told you — he pledged 
 his honour not to betray ' 
 
 " * Be not moved. Captain Montagu, Mr. 
 Upton has told me nothing. I have not seen 
 him at Lady Belton's, nor any where for this 
 month.' 
 
 " ' Oh,' said Montagu, recovering his com- 
 posure, ' I suppose the fellow is on one of his 
 cursed philanthropic expeditions.' 
 
 " * Is he not a man of honour and feeling V 
 
 " * Oh, Mr. Mandeville, I can be your friend 
 and acquaintance, if you please. But I can 
 act a Palinurus for nobody. If a man cannot 
 see for himself the shoals and quicksands of 
 life, his bark must suffer shipwreck. A pilot's 
 office is too responsible a charge for me.* 
 
 " * But, Mr. Upton has no right, and cannot 
 have the impertinence to interfere with my 
 wishes.' 
 
 ** * You may spare yourself the trouble of 
 concealing from him your plans — for whatever 
 they may be, he is sure to find them out. The 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
atS MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 fellow has an eye and a mind that would pe- 
 ijetrate to the centre of the earth. He keeps, 
 I believe, a set of sylphs, gnomes, fairies, or 
 (with gf eat emphasis) witches, or demons/ said 
 he, clenching his fist, ' for nothing I believe 
 in this life ever was or will be, that has not 
 been or will not be discovered and marred by 
 his cursed interference.* 
 
 " * I shall shew Mr. Upton, that I am not 
 to be injured with impunity, if he dares to 
 thwart my wishes.' 
 
 " ' Any thing you please with Mr. Upton, 
 but don't mention my name to him ; and further, 
 let me beg you not to bring this subject of Up- 
 ton and the Bel ton family on the tapis again, 
 for it is very unpleasant to me ; and I leave the 
 regiment this afternoon, on a month's leave of 
 absence, to my uncle. Lord Turnborough, in 
 Leicestershire, where, if you should come to 
 that part of the world, I should be happy t» 
 introduce you.' 
 
 ** Thus ended our conference, and although 
 relieved from my jealousy of Montagu, I 
 found my passion, which I thought a profound 
 secret, to be known to every body, and I had 
 d^ne little more by the explanation with my 
 friend, than exchange my jealousy of him for 
 6 
 
THE VOYAGE. 21^ 
 
 apprehensions of a different sort with Mr. 
 Upton. 
 
 " I was painfully perplexed by reflecting 
 upon this conversation. So totally unexpected 
 was Captain Montagu's assui^ance, that he 
 had never designed to marry Lady Belton's 
 daughter — his con temp tuou'S expressions of 
 her, his violent agitation at the na,me of Mr. 
 Upton, and the fear and suspicion with which 
 he had inspired me for that gentleman, threw 
 me into that state of mind, in which a man's 
 feelings rendering him desirous of coming to 
 an unerring conclusion upon a subject upon" 
 which he has no certain data, his resource, or 
 rather his weakness, is to go the same uncer- 
 tain road of argument over and over again, and 
 at last terminate his reflections without satis- 
 faction or confidence. 
 
 " After harassing myself for many hours kt 
 this labyrinth of ratiocination, I at last saw 
 that that which I could not elucidate or ex- 
 plain, ought not to disturb or chagrin, and I 
 came to the resolution of thinking no more of 
 any thing relating to Captain Montagu, or his 
 disclosures, than the consolatory fact that I 
 had nothing to fear from him as a rival. 
 
 " The next evening I spent at Lady Belton's. 
 l2 
 
220 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 His Lordship was absent, and the evening took 
 a tone of family privacy highly dehghtful to 
 me, who had seen nothing of family society 
 since I had left my father's roof. Miss Emma 
 was evidently indisposed as well as distressed 
 in mind. She was melancholy and abstracted — 
 Started suddenly at being spoken to. Her 
 cheek seemed flushed with fever, and the mild 
 lustre of her large and expressive dark eyes, 
 was dimmed by tears which she was not al- 
 ways successful in concealing. 
 
 " I was agitated by a thousand conflicting 
 emotions. Her youthful beauty was rendered 
 interesting by her tone of sorrow, but when I 
 could attribute that sorrow to nothing but 
 Montagu's departure, I was driven to a deli- 
 rium of despair and anger. 
 
 " Violent in all my feelings, and never taught 
 to guide, much less to suppress my passions, 
 I passed a night of furious jealousy. Emma's 
 beautiful and delicate form, just assuming the 
 proportions of loveliness — her artless and in- 
 nocent countenance, at once so expressive of 
 sensibility and intellect — the pure and correct 
 tone of her sentiments and disposition, fired 
 ray mind with a creation of even ideal perfec- 
 tion. The love, the first love of a girl of this 
 
THE VOYAGE. 221 
 
 ;age, was what added a thousand ideal charms 
 to the hopes of possessing her, but when I 
 found that her young fancy had already been 
 attracted by another, when I reflected that 
 her young love had already been given, and 
 to one who now evidently disregarded her, the 
 object was despoiled of all its interest. I pic- 
 tured to myself what she might have been to 
 me, and reflected that such I could never pos- 
 sess her. I was driven to despair. 
 
 *' My romantic mind could not fancy a se- 
 cond attachment. Love to my ideas was the 
 heaven of bliss — it admitted of no degrees 
 of quantity, of quality, of time ; it was, accord- 
 ing to my youthful enthusiasm, the one great 
 divine passion, the etherial passion which ab- 
 sorbed every other emotion of the soul 
 
 " Such an object of love Emma could never 
 be to me, and to me therefore she could be no 
 object at all. In paroxysms of despair and 
 wretchedness, I passed the ensuing week. The 
 charm of life was broken. The first dream of 
 love, to me the only dream, was dissipated and 
 gone. I was gloomy and forlorn. For a week 
 I did not call on Lady Belton. At length I 
 called at a time of the day when I was sure of 
 not seeing Emma. Her Ladyship gently re- 
 l3 
 
tW MAJ!<rDEVILXE ; OR, 
 
 preached me, for, she said, * neglecting the 
 family during the absence of Lord Beiton/ 
 She asked me to tea that evening. I declined 
 the invitation. I was indisposed — she request- 
 ed my company to dinner the succeeding day. 
 I was obliged to assent. 
 
 " The next day I repaired to the house as 
 to my tomb, but I had persuaded my&elf that 
 I had succeeded in acquiring a philosophic in- 
 difference to all earthly objects. The party 
 consisted ^f nobody but the family, myself,, 
 and Mr. Upton, who had not appeared amongst 
 )is for some weeks. 
 
 . " Mr. Upton's address to me was at once 
 ingenuous and friendly, but I had now con- 
 ceived a suspicion of his character, and I gave 
 him my hand with reluctance, nor could I di- 
 rest myself of embarrassment in conversing 
 with him. On Emma there was a most de- 
 cided hectic melancholy, but Mr. Upton's de- 
 portment towards her, was that of a most ten- 
 der and doatingly fond parent to an only child 
 under affliction. He was all attention, and his 
 tones were impressive, and seemed drawn from 
 the inmost recesses of the heart. They were 
 received by Emma, as if with a consciousness 
 of their benevolence, and I observed that Lady 
 
THE VOYAGE. t2^ 
 
 Bel ton was evidently gratified by the attention's 
 he paid to her daughter. 
 
 " It now appeared but evident to me, that 
 he who had anticipated me in Emma's affec- 
 tions, was not the gallant and admired Mon- 
 tagu, but the more grave and sedate Mr. 
 Upton, whose age was at least equal to that 
 of her father. 
 
 " Although Emma still appeared to me love- 
 liness itself, it was yet to my fancy, but love- 
 liness in ruins. I ceased to regard her with 
 enthusiasm. I wished not to possess her, and 
 yet I envied and cursed him who had pre-occu- 
 pied her affections. I now abhorred Upton, 
 and at length conceived something like dis- 
 gust, that Emma should be enamoured of a 
 man so disqualified by age to be the suitor 
 of one so exceedingly young. When alone, 
 Emma and her paramour engrossed all my at- 
 tention, and alternate fits of deep melancholy, 
 or paroxysms of raging fury entirely possessed 
 me. Reason, the medicine of the soul, could 
 not assuage my distemper ; and strange as it 
 may appear, the only balm I could find to my 
 feelings, was the society of Lady Belton and 
 her family. When in presence of Emma, she 
 appeared to me only what she was, the loving 
 l4 
 
524 mandeville; OR, 
 
 and beloved of another ; it was when alone, 
 that my mind, roaming over the past, I pictured 
 to myself the young Emma, whose girlish 
 bosom unknown to love, had first its fires il- 
 lumed by myself. I pictured to myself this^ 
 and raved at what I had failed to acquire. 
 
 " For three months I was a daily visitor at 
 Lady Belton's. She appeared to have adopted 
 me as her son, and Lord Belton's kindness to- 
 wards me transcended even that of his wife's. 
 Emma ceased to excite in me the enthusiasm 
 and ardour of loye, but her soft impassioned 
 sorrows, which like a worm preyed upon her 
 young and damask cheek, created in me a ten- 
 derness, a thrilling gentleness of the heart 
 which no words can describe. I was melted 
 to the softest pity for this lovely victim of a 
 sorrow which I could trace to no cause. Mon- 
 tagu had long ceased to occur to me as a per- 
 son who had won her affections. Upton I con- 
 ceived was her lover, her accepted lover. Her 
 parents, I knew, had too much generosity to 
 force, nay, would be most delicate even in in- 
 fluencing her attachment. I conceived, there- 
 fore, that Mr. Upton must be the object of her 
 unrestrained choice. Then whence her sor- 
 rows. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 225' 
 
 ** Alas, although under the conviction that 
 Mr. Upton was her destined bridegroom, my 
 sympathy for this weeping and pensive object 
 of loveliness, became too strong to admit of 
 any peace, or to submit to reason. It often 
 perplexed me to reflect, that although Mr. 
 Upton was a man of almost supernatural pene- 
 tration into the hearts and minds of those with 
 whom he conversed, he was the daily witness 
 of the poison of love which my heart was re- 
 ceiving from the presence of Emma, and yet 
 he evinced no jealousy, nor the least uneasi- 
 ness at my constant presence at the house. 
 
 " Lady Belton one day unexpectedly an- 
 nounced to me, that the next week the family 
 would leave Hampshire for their town resi- 
 dence. The prospect of their departure occa- 
 sioned me indescribable regret. I became 
 pensive and melancholy to a degree of afflic- 
 tion, when I received a letter from Captain 
 Montagu, couched in the warmest terms of 
 friendship, and in which he informed me that 
 the villain, Upton, had ruined every prospect 
 of his earthly hopes. 
 
 " Two days prior to the departure of the 
 family, I made an early morning call. I en* 
 tered the drawing-room. Emma was alone, 
 l5 
 
J25 MAXDEVILLE ; OR^ 
 
 and standing abstracted in silent sorrow, un- 
 conscious of my presence, she presently sunk 
 upon the sofa, and wringing her hands, burst 
 into a flood of tears. I gradually advanced to 
 the sofa, instinctively I took her hand, and 
 almost unconscious of the action, impressed 
 upon it a soft and timid kiss, it was the oif- 
 jspring of pity. She withdrew her hand hastily 
 but not in anger. She was surprised at my 
 presence, and tried to conceal her grief. — 
 Losing myself in the fervour of real passion, I 
 exclaimed, * My dearest friend, my Emma, oh 
 pardon my familiarity, could you but make 
 me the depositary of your sorrow, that sorrow 
 which I have so long witnessed, and which 
 has torn my heart asunder ; could you but 
 impart to me the sources of your affliction. I 
 have honour, I have fidelity, I have discretion. 
 Gould my sword, could any earthly service 
 avail you. Oh, name it, Emma.' 
 
 ** ' Alas ! Sir, what is it you propose — oh 
 leave me, leave me : Mandeville, for heaven's 
 sake, leave me.' 
 
 " * Emma, my dearest Emma, do not im- 
 pose on me a doom so cruel. Oh, God, you 
 know not, Emma, the life of torment I have 
 passed since first I saw you. Racked, torn 
 
THE VOYAGE. ^7 
 
 by one continuance of maddening jealousy 
 and disappointment, I saw you as an artless 
 lovely child, and hailed your promised excel- 
 lence. I watched your fast approach, your 
 verge to womanhood. I loved you. Oh, Emma, 
 yes, I loved you, vehemently loved you. My 
 burning spirits poured like lava through my 
 frame. When, oh heaven (striking my fore- 
 head) my peace destroyed by my suspected 
 rival, Montagu, that maddening doubt re- 
 moved, I loved again with ardour, with reno- 
 vated ardour, and now to find a second rival, 
 Upton, the cursed, the hated Upton.' 
 
 ** * Heavens, Sir, what is it I hear ? Oh, 
 Mandeville, you have suffered under a dread- 
 ful delusion. But fly me, I pray you, fly me, 
 I at least have misery enough. Torment me 
 no more. Oh, let us not torment each other. 
 We never can unite. Vm wretched, most lost, 
 most wretched. My only wish is now, that 
 you spare my feelings, and leave me to my 
 ■wretchedness.' 
 
 " ' Emma, dear Emma, your words are dag- 
 gers to my heart. I know, alas, alas, I know 
 too well, I never can be thine. Oh, Mon- 
 tagu, my friend, why feed my heart with these 
 shallow hopes.* 
 
 l6 
 
228 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 " * Mandeville, I can hear no more. If yott 
 love my peace, I conjure you to leave me. 1 
 cannot in duty, in principle, I cannot, must 
 not, hear you/ 
 
 ** *Emma, I know it well. Montagu warned 
 me of my rival, Upton. I ought not — oh, how^ 
 dare I, to such a pattern of excellence and pu- 
 rity, pour out this fatal passion of my souL' 
 
 " ' Heavens, Sir, what a sad double per- 
 plexity and delusion you have acted under. — 
 You do not think me betrothed to Mr. Up- 
 ton ' 
 
 *' ' Yes, yes. I have heard it all. That 
 good and excellent friend, Montagu, pro- 
 nounced him villain. Oh, this burning fore- 
 head. I have heard him sigh — - — ' 
 
 " * From pity, Mandeville, not from love.' 
 
 ** ' I have heard his deep impassioned tones. 
 Oh, I have watched his eye. I have heard his 
 vehement voice, when I dared not look, nor 
 speak, nor sigh, nor hope. Oh, God.' 
 
 " ' Oh, Sir, let me put a stop to this ; let 
 me assume the stronger sex, and reason with 
 you. Mr. Upton is a good and worthy man, 
 my more than father ; he never talked of love, 
 no, never thought of me, nor I of him. Mr. 
 Montagu has, Oh, yes, Mandeville, he has 
 indeed practised on you a vile delusion, but 
 
THE VOYAGE. ZQ9 
 
 oh, how I hate the name and subject. Man- 
 deville, oh think of me, of my sad feelings 5 
 leave me, I pray you, leave me.' 
 
 ** * By heavens, I cannot leave you. What, 
 are you not Upton's, nor Montagu's ? Are 
 you still the angel of virgin purity ? — Your 
 first love. — Heavens, do you faint? Emma, 
 my love, my dearest Emma, revive, look up 
 angel of peace — did I overcome you by those 
 words ? forgive me. Soft, she revives. Emma, 
 forgive me. I will calm my fervour, joy has 
 struck into my heart. I have no rival, then, 
 Emma ' 
 
 *' * Mandeville, in the solemnity of truth and 
 resolution, hear me. I cannot, never can be 
 thine. I am not another's, but I never can be 
 thine. I esteem you, I value you, I admire 
 your talents, your chivalrous honour. Nay, 
 Mandeville, forgive my weakness, if I say, I 
 love you, but we never can unite — press me no 
 further, in honour, in mercy leave me.' 
 
 " * Upton has dissuaded you from my suit.' 
 
 *' * He has, but ' 
 
 " ' On the poverty of my parents.' 
 
 " * Oh, no ; on objections more important 
 far.' 
 
 '* ' Oh, the heartless villain, the merciless 
 fiend • 
 
230 mandeville; or, 
 
 " ' Stay, Mandeville, you injure him. Up- 
 ton's an excellent man, my best and only 
 friend ; his reasons for preventing our union, 
 have been imparted to me and to my dear 
 mother. We have both assented. His rea- 
 sons ' 
 
 " * Gracious heavens — the smiling, canting 
 villain ; his proffered friendship, his candid 
 manner, his offered hand. It was but yester- 
 day ' 
 
 ** ' Stop, Sir. I conjure you, Mandeville, 
 if you value your Emma, if you can forget 
 your own blind passion and feel for me, I con- 
 jure you yield to circumstances. I feel most 
 sincerely for you, dear Mandeville. I esteem, 
 I love you. It is more than I ought to say — 
 oh yes, I love you, but I never can be your's.* 
 
 " * Let me then imprint this kiss upon your 
 lips, let me bathe this hand with my tears. 
 Say, Emma, if you love me, would you, but 
 for these mysterious circumstances which you 
 'will not divulge, would you be mine.' 
 
 ** She remained motionless ; her dark black 
 eyes bathed in tears, and directed towards 
 their kindred heaven — a perfect statue of 
 youthful loveliness. I pressed her to my 
 heart. I fervently kissed her hands. I was 
 
THE VOYAGE. SSI 
 
 lost in contemplation of her afflicted attitude 
 and grief-struck countenance. I would haye 
 spoken. I paced the room in doubt, uncer- 
 tainty, and love. Mr. Upton, followed by- 
 Lady Belton, entered. I was too empassioned, 
 too desperate to fear consequences. I saluted 
 Lady Belton with the respectful, earnest man- 
 ner due to her who I thought ought to be my 
 mother-in-law. I crossed Mr. Upton with a 
 fiery glance of defiance and revenge. Both 
 saw that some explanation had taken place 
 between Emma and myself. 
 
 " Lady Belton seemed far from chagrined 
 at our interview ; Mr. Upton appeared down- 
 cast, and to regret it. 
 
 *' I told Lady Belton she must, of course, 
 be aware of my attachment to her family, that 
 I had much to say to her on the subject, and 
 I trusted to see her, and to have an opportu- 
 nity of conversation before we parted. 1 
 abruptly took my leave. 
 
 " Returned to my lodgings, I raved in hope- 
 lessness and despair, miserable was I indeed ; 
 my frame could no longer support the con- 
 suming agitation of my mind. For three 
 nights I had slept not. This night I threw 
 myself on the bed-clothes ; I had a short, per- 
 
232 MANDEVILLE; OR, 
 
 turbed sleep, and a dream calculated to in- 
 crease my malady. At five I left my lodgings, 
 and roamed distractedly round the ramparts 
 of the garrison. Day began to break ; it was 
 bitter cold ; a dry and frosty morning of Ja- 
 nuary, with a piercing easterly wind ; I was 
 insensible to the weather ; the sun began to 
 shew its upper tint above the horizon, when 
 on a bench, at the angle of one of the bas- 
 tions, I perceived, at a distance, Mr. Upton 
 seated, and watching the rising luminary. 
 With his breast open, and with no other cover- 
 ing than the clothes of summer, he was sitting 
 insensible to the severe and inclement morn- 
 ing. I approached him with a hurried and 
 disordered step, my mind on fire. He arose, 
 and walked forward to meet me, with a cheer- 
 ful and open countenance. 
 
 " With rather a joyful frankness of manner 
 he offered me his hand. I was infuriated at 
 this insolent triumph of his temper. I pushed 
 aside his hand with vehement indignation. 
 
 *' * Insolent, fawning villain, I know you ; 
 Providenceitself has thrown you thus strangely 
 in the way of my just revenge. Think, fiend, 
 oh demon, think of Emma, snatched from r 
 
 love by your vile insidious arts. Take my 
 
 my 
 
THE VOYAGE. 23S 
 
 defiance, wretch/ said I, hurling my glove from 
 my left hand violently against his breast, 
 * Draw, Sir, draw ; outraged humanity is on my 
 sword ; let conscience strike you powerless.' 
 
 *' My rage was so ungovernable that he saw 
 his danger ; I should have slain him even sup- 
 plicating on his knees. He sought protection 
 in his sword. It flew from its scabbard. 
 
 ** ' For heaven's sake, Mr. Mandeville, for- 
 bear, you are deceived, you are not yourself. 
 Be calm, let me explain.' 
 
 ** * Coward, reflect on the wrongs of Mon- 
 tagu, my friend ; reflect on Emma.' 
 
 " I was a good swordsmen ; I assailed him 
 most furiously. He fought retreating, and 
 solely on the defensive. At length he sent 
 my sword out of my hand, quivering in the 
 air, by a motion of his wrist hardly percep- 
 tible. 
 
 " * Well, Sir,' said I, tearing open my bo- 
 som, • strike the heart that my arm could not 
 defend ; take my life, and do the only deed of 
 mercy you ever did ; take the life you have 
 rendered wretched, the only compensation you 
 can make for your accursed villainy.' 
 
 '* * Take your life, Mandeville,' said he, with 
 inimitable softness of manner, * I wish to pre^ 
 
234 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 «erve your life, to guide it, to make it happy, 
 to render it joyful to yourself, your friends, 
 your parents.' 
 
 " My madness was unabated, or increased 
 at this compassion from my enemy. * Sir,' said 
 I, * your superiority in this weapon implies 
 not your excellence at all, and whilst a thought 
 of Emma animates my heart, my arm shall 
 seek revenge.' I flew from him. 
 
 *' The day was passed in inconceivable agony. 
 That evening I was obliged to pass with the 
 Belton family. I bathed myself to recover my 
 appearance. Upton had picked up my sword, 
 and had, with great delicacy, left it himself at 
 my lodgings, wrapt up as a new purchase, lest 
 any body might suspect the mortifying truth 
 of my having lost it in combat. But I loathed 
 the sight of the weapon ; and so mortifying 
 was it to think of being conquered, that I re- 
 solved to wear one no longer. 
 
 " That night I went to my friends without 
 one ; I entered the drawing-room at eight. 
 The family were assembled, but a gloomy si- 
 lence had evidently been reigning before my 
 entrance. As I approached to the table all 
 eyes were upon me ; my wild and haggard 
 looks seemed even to terrify them. Emma 
 
THE VOYAGE. 835 
 
 was sitting alone by the fire, at the further end 
 of the room ; she was abstracted, and uncon- 
 sciously beating the mantle-piece with her 
 finger ; she looked at me mournfully, gave a 
 slight inclination of her head, her large and 
 soft black eyes glistening through her tears. 
 I seated myself by the sofa-table, about ten 
 minutes passed without the utterance of a 
 word, except from the two children playing 
 at the table. At length the door opened, and 
 Mr. Upton entered ; he was cordially greeted 
 by the family, and, with his back to the com- 
 pany, saluted me with unembarrassed and 
 softened composure. 
 
 " A little after he addressed himself to 
 Emma, and tried a thousand ways to amuse 
 her feelings and to engage her in the passing 
 scene and general conversation, but all was 
 in vain. I had not dared to approach her my- 
 self, but her look of submissive wretchedness 
 had nearly burst my heart. At ten o'clock, 
 before leaving the house, I assumed resolu- 
 tion to take advantage of an opportunity of 
 approaching her, without exposing myself to 
 general observation. 
 
 " I accosted her with a tremulous tender- 
 ness, * Emma, you seem very unhappy. I trust 
 
236 mandeville; OR, 
 
 in heaven I am not the cause. I thought my- 
 self the most wretched of human beings. I 
 fear you exceed me in misery. / could bear 
 unhappiness, but your soft and tender form — ' 
 She looked at me wistfully. * Oh could I re- 
 lieve you, could I take upon myself your sor- 
 rows. Emma, I have but one favour to ask 
 of you, grant me another interview to-morrow.' 
 
 " ' I am, Sir, in the hands of my parents.' 
 
 " * They will not object to your seeing me 
 in private, for one quarter of an hour. It will 
 relieve me from an age of wretchedness. You 
 will grant me this one last favour.' 
 
 " ' I fear it is impossible.' 
 
 " ' I trust not, Emma ; I must see you. Do 
 not fear any more violence of passion from 
 me ; your sorrows calm me ; I can be calm ; I 
 have learnt to suffer. You will meet me, I 
 hope.' 
 
 " * There is a fate in all things ; and fate is 
 sadly adverse to me. I fear we cannot meet, 
 an interview would only distress us both.' 
 
 ** We were interrupted by the approach of 
 Lady Belton. I took Emma's hand, to wish 
 her good night ; I pressed it to my lips. * Good 
 night, Emma,' I said. * Farewell, Sir,' was her 
 response. * Adieu, I wish you happy.* 
 
THE VOYAGE. 237 
 
 " ' Lady Belton, excuse my earnest manner 
 of wishing your daughter good night. I ought 
 to have spoken to you of serious matters long 
 ago ; but I have lacked in resolution, and have 
 wavered in doubts ; but I entreat you to let 
 me converse alternately with Emma and your- 
 self in private, to-morrow. Such sorrow as 
 Emma now suffers will bring her to the grave.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Mandeville,' said Lady Belton, ' we 
 all esteem you very much. Your own dispo- 
 sition, Mr. Upton's high opinion of you, have 
 won you more than our esteem. I wish we 
 might be still better friends, but a complica- 
 tion of misfortunes now assail us. Farewell, 
 Sir, both Lord Belton and myself, and Emma 
 too,' said she, looking tenderly at her daughter, 
 * wish you all possible happiness. Adieu.' 
 
 '* I left the house, conceiving this a tacit 
 consent to our interview of to-morrow. 
 
 " My night was sleepless, but more calm 
 than any I had yet experienced. Emma's mild 
 and resigned appearance wrought my feelings 
 to a tone of the gentlest sorrow ; I contem- 
 plated our meeting of to-morrow, and resolved 
 at least to know what objections Mr. Upton 
 had created against me, in the eyes of Emma. 
 
 " The thoughts of the approaching inter- 
 
23* MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 view entirely engrossed my attention ; but 
 next morning, immediately after breakfast, I 
 was most astonished to see, entering my apart- 
 ment, Mr. Upton himself. 
 
 " ' Mr. Upton, it is astonishing to me that 
 you persevere in your insensibility to your 
 duty, to the necessity of your keeping apart 
 from me. What, Sir, can authorize you to 
 trespass upon me now, four and twenty hours 
 only since we met in deadly strife, and the 
 cause of that strife existing stronger than ever. 
 Do you. Sir, wish, by your command of your 
 passions, to act the superior nature, and to awe 
 me to submission to you, as my higher ge- 
 nius ? What, Sir, authorizes you thus to as- 
 sail me V 
 
 " * Mr. Mandeville, I call upon you to ex- 
 plain many points, which, when explained, 
 may reverse the present hostile relation be- 
 tween us.' 
 
 " * Sir, I want no such explanation ; all the 
 explanation of your conduct requisite to my 
 knowledge of your character and enmity, I 
 have already received from my friend Captain 
 Montagu and Miss Belton ; I cannot be in- 
 truded upon, nor will I — ' 
 
 *' * Mr. Mandeville, I have ever felt the 
 
THE VOYAGE. 239 
 
 strongest interest in your behalf, from the first 
 day of my seeing you. My intimate know» 
 ledge of your father — ' 
 
 " * Your knowledge of my father V 
 
 " ' Yes, Mr. Mandeville, our boyish ac- 
 quaintance at school was ripened into friend- 
 ship during the early years of our existence. 
 I received from your father an obligation 
 which — ' 
 
 " * Which, Sir, you have repaid upon his 
 son. Now, Sir, let me tell you, that not even 
 the name of my beloved parent can stifle the 
 deadly hate I bear towards you, for the cruel 
 injury you have done me by prejudicing 
 against me Miss Emma.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Mandeville, it is that misconception 
 I have called to remove.' 
 
 ** ' Sir, I want no explanation from you of 
 that or of any other circumstance. All the 
 explanation I require I expect to receive in a 
 few hours, from a more sacred oracle of truth 
 and impartiality, from Miss Emma herself.* 
 
 " ' Lady Belton and her family left Hamp- 
 shire three hours ago.' 
 
 " * Sir, you do not, cannot say so. Miss 
 Emma and Lady Belton both consented to see 
 me this morning.' 
 
240 mandeville; or, 
 
 ** • You labour under a misconception in 
 that particular ; neither Lady Belton nor Miss 
 Emma thought it consistent with prudence to 
 hold with you the conference you desired ; 
 but they wished you farewell, as an indirect 
 indication that they were to see you no more/ 
 
 " * How every thing turns out to my mis- 
 fortune ! I will follow them ; I will come to an 
 explanation w ith Lady Belton and her daugh- 
 ter ; I will follow them immediately/ 
 
 " * Your pursuit would be fruitless, and it 
 would, I am convinced, give Miss Belton and 
 her mother both pain and serious displeasure.' 
 
 " ' Well, Mr. Upton, is this another of your 
 wise and prudent plans, which are to testify 
 the interest you take in my welfare. I am 
 surprised. Sir, I am indignant, outraged, that 
 you venture personally to afflict me with such 
 an unexpected disastrous disappointment, at 
 a moment of excitement and of just resent- 
 ment against yourself for your — ' 
 
 ** * Stop, Mr. Mandeville, you have sus- 
 pected me unjustly ; you have called me vil- 
 lain, hurled your gauntlet of defiance at my 
 breast, assaulted me with your sv/ord, and now 
 pursue me with rancour to your own destruc- 
 tion. But my line of conduct is not to be 
 
THE VOYAGE. 241 
 
 shaken by headlong rage, or persevering error. 
 I have now called upon you, at the entreaty 
 of Lady Belton, and with more than the con- 
 sent of Emma. Here, Sir, is her note to you, 
 in which you will find that out of regard and 
 feeling to you, she entreats that you will lis- 
 ten to me with patience, and exchange with 
 me esteem, friendship, confidence." 
 
 " * Joyful to my heart is her expression of 
 attachment to me, but how can even she ex- 
 pect to command my sympathies towards one 
 who foiled Montagu, my friend, in his attach- 
 ment to her, who himself stepped in and wooed 
 at the shrine of excellence, and finding him- 
 self rejected, coldly, artfully, malignantly used 
 his opportunities to blast my hope, my repu- 
 tation.' 
 
 " * Sir, I never thought of Emma as a lover, 
 I am nearly related to Lady Belton, and have 
 known her daughter from her earliest infancy ; 
 I have rocked her cradle, played with her 
 
 5 rattling on my knee. I have guided her stu- 
 ies, formed her sentiments ; I saw her worth, 
 and loved her, as a fond, a doting parent, 
 but never as a lover ; my age, my sacred trust 
 forbade it, my inclination never prompted — ' 
 " ' Montagu thought differently.' 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 mandeville; or, 
 
 " ' Montagu knew otherwise, he was a 
 wretch in whom every vice of nature centered. 
 He has paid at length the forfeit of his crimes.' 
 
 " * What, is he dead ; you have not. Sir, I 
 hope, used your sword to his loss V 
 
 " ' I am no duellist, Mr. Mandeville, I never 
 draw but in self defence, and then use my 
 weapon only to the extent sufficient for my 
 protection.' 
 
 " * Has so accomplished a gentleman fallen 
 then in a private broil ?' 
 
 " Lament him not as an accomplished 
 gentleman, nor prostitute the most exalted 
 title which man can well acquire. It is not 
 an estate, connection, a graceful manner, nor 
 an elegant person ; no, it is not to dance, to 
 sing, to ride, or use your weapon well, that 
 constitutes a gentleman ; no, it is not even a 
 brave heart, nor a generous purse, that confers 
 the rank of gentleman. All these Montagu 
 pre-eminently had ; but the mastery of his 
 passions, the spirit of justice, the tender sym- 
 pathy for the woes, the conditions of others ; 
 these crowning points, these key-stones of true 
 gentility, Montagu never had. Mistake not, 
 my young friend, the gay and accomplished 
 man of the world for a true hearted gentleman. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 243 
 
 Montagu's estate, connections, person, man- 
 ners, were fortuitous, and vices or virtues ac- 
 cording as he used them. His heart was con- 
 stitutionally daring, and his arm was strong, 
 but never was it used but in policy, or to ac- 
 complish selfish villainy, or in impudence, to 
 triumph over the just resentment he excited. 
 Montagu was not generous, generosity springs 
 from feeling ; ' Who does a kindness is not 
 therefore kind.' He had a carelessness for 
 money, and pride, mere pride of superiority 
 often made him give what in fact he did not 
 value. His vices would have made him a 
 pauper, though too politic to outrage good 
 manners by excess of gaming, or excesses of 
 any sort ; but his exquisite skill rendered the 
 race-course and the card-table a moderate but 
 constant resource to his dilapidated finances. 
 Strong was my effort to reclaim this bold, bad 
 man, who was infinitely more dangerous, that 
 his cunning, his prudence, and his elegance, 
 veiled all his vices. But the crime of his na- 
 ture, the ruling passion, which he carried to 
 the most atrocious extent, was his faithless 
 love to the sex. No age, friendship, kindred, 
 not the rights of hospitality, the sympathies 
 for fallen fortune-, could restrain his wan- 
 m2 
 
244 mandeville; or, 
 
 ton and unprincipled course. The wife, the 
 daughter of his dearest friend, even where 
 taste and passion did not stimulate, were sa- 
 crificed to his disposition. It appeared in him 
 a senseless organic vice, a brute-nature, the 
 mere wantonness of sin, and his insolent tri- 
 umph over those whose spirit led them to re- 
 venge the injured, was equally degenerate and 
 unmanly. Thrice our swords crossed. It was 
 my casual lot, in the first instance, and a sense 
 of duty afterwards, which propelled me to 
 mar several of his schemes. 
 
 " My first acquaintance with Montagu 
 arose from his attempt to seduce the orphan 
 daughter of an unhappy officer, whose wife 
 had died of a fever, whilst attending on her 
 husband, in the service under the Earl of 
 Peterborough, in Catalonia. This brave subal- 
 tern knew but too well the small proportion 
 of profit or advancement which the govern- 
 ment bestows on those whose claims on the 
 country are unsupported by parliamentary in- 
 fluence. But his bold and restless character 
 determined him to win his way to promotion, 
 if possible, by the sword. He headed a forlorn 
 hope, was shot, and his son and daughter left 
 to starve. Montagu's specious, artful man- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 245 
 
 ners won upon this destitute and unprotected 
 female. His apparent courtship had travelled 
 to the ears of a spirited youth, the brother, 
 who was supported humbly by service behind 
 a counter. He questioned Montagu as to his 
 designs, and had penetration to discover the 
 scheme of his dishonourable intentions. He 
 claimed the privilege of a soldier's son, and 
 challenged Montagu. The youth's humble 
 fortune had prevented his acquiring a know- 
 ledge of arms, and Montagu basely took ad- 
 vantage of his personal superiority. In the 
 first lunge Montagu's sword pierced the bro- 
 ther's heart. The duel would, of necessity, 
 have soon been known to the sister ; this ac- 
 complished villain therefore used his utmost 
 art, and succeeded in persuading this confid- 
 ing girl to elope with him, on the promise of 
 an immediate marriage in London. An acci- 
 dent to one of the horses obliged them to put 
 up for assistance at a small inn, about fifteen 
 miles on the journey. But here the corpse of 
 the murdered brother had been conveyed by 
 some countrymen, who had found it on the 
 field of combat, about two miles off. The 
 sister beheld the fatal sight, and it being men- 
 tioned that a letter was found in the youth's 
 m3 
 
246 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 pocket, she desired to see it ; it was directed 
 to herself, and briefly, but in the most feeling 
 manner, told of all he knew of Montagu, and 
 conjured her never to hold converse with him 
 more. 
 
 " She refused to proceed with Montagu ; 
 he in vain endeavoured to persuade her. At 
 length she resolved to retrace her steps, 
 guarded by one of the servants of the inn. 
 Montagu appeared to acquiesce, but represent- 
 ing the danger of the road, proposed that one 
 of his servants should accompany her. The 
 simple girl assented. The servant purposely 
 delayed their progress, until about a mile 
 from the inn, on the borders of the forest, he 
 assaulted the girl's ignorant and inefficient 
 attendant. Montagu and his retinue were, of 
 course, by previous concert, in waiting, to as- 
 sist their accomplice. Providence ordained 
 that the villain's schemes should recoil upon 
 himself. It was midnight, and knowing the 
 danger of the road, on the borders of the fo- 
 rest, I was hastening as much as possible to 
 arrive at the inn which this party had previ- 
 ously left. The piteous cries and entreaties 
 of the girl assailed me from a distance. I ran 
 to the spot, and made enquiries as to the 
 
THE VOYAGE. 247 
 
 cause. Montagu did not condescend to veil 
 his purpose by any specious tale or device, 
 but imperiously bade me to depart. The lady, 
 wringing her hands in grief, implored my pro- 
 tection. I calmly told her oppressor, that 
 without wishing to enter into the case, there 
 was ground enough to induce me to request 
 that he would return to the inn, where, the 
 next morning, a neighbouring magistrate might 
 decide upon the protection the lady might 
 require. At this moment the servant who had 
 accompanied her from the inn, commenced a 
 resistance against those who were holding 
 him. Montagu saw his situation was critical, 
 and darting from the carriage, attacked me 
 with fury, it was a night attack, and all was 
 therefore chance. We inflicted on each other 
 a deadly wound. The servants placed their 
 bleeding and now insensible master in the 
 carriage, to convey him to the inn. They 
 were also about to convey with him the lady ; 
 but, by a vigorous effort of nature, I was en- 
 abled to make an exertion in her behalf. She 
 was left with me alone ; she bound up my 
 wound, and remained by my side until pas- 
 sengers conveyed us to a neighbouring par- 
 sonage, where I was humanely treated. My 
 M 4 
 
248 mandeville; on, 
 
 temperate habits enabled me in three months 
 to recover of my wound. Montagu's hurt was 
 of more serious consequence to him, he was a 
 twelvemonth ere he could resume his career. 
 In the mean time I had restored the object of 
 his delusion to peace and reputation, and 
 she is now the wife of a highly respectable re- 
 tired tradesman, a Mr. Holies, who resides in 
 the neighbourhood of the garrison ; and I have 
 often the pleasure of spending a day with her 
 fine and numerous family, and the mother's 
 conduct is exemplary, 
 
 " Montagu on his recovery, was enraged 
 to reflect, that by my interference he had been 
 foiled in a scheme which had cost hiiga so long 
 to mature. He attributed the wound he had 
 received not to my better swordsmanship, but 
 to the uncertainty of a night rencontre. Nor 
 could his high spirit bear the idea of a con- 
 queror. He challenged me to combat. I de- 
 clined the invitation. But our paths crossing 
 each other, our meeting was unavoidable. I 
 did all I could to avoid it ; at length, however, 
 he one day intercepted me in one of my morn- 
 ing rambles, in which I was accustomed to 
 enjoy * nature's freshness.' He upbraided me 
 in the most bitter and vindictive terms. I 
 
THE VOYAGE, 249 
 
 shielded myself with sarcasm and cool replies, 
 till losing all patience, he attacked me rather 
 like a ruffian than a gentleman. Montagu 
 was no mean swordsman, but I parried all his 
 thrusts, and finally disarming him, I took no 
 advantage of my superiority, but that of coun- 
 selling him in future to let his sword rest in its 
 scabbard, unless he could draw it in a better 
 cause. 
 
 " He now offered me his hand in friendship, 
 and I frankly pledged him mine ; for I not only 
 thought him sincere, but I trusted by my inter- 
 course to win him to a better life. But Mon- 
 tagu was thoroughly destitute of honour. 
 
 " About six months after this affair, I was 
 the means of detecting; him in a scheme of the 
 most heartless and complicated villainy. At 
 Portsmouth there resided a gentleman of good 
 family, whose pride of birth seduced him to a 
 style of life far above his income, and whose 
 hospitable and generous nature involved him 
 in inextricable difficulties. This unhappy man 
 died, and left his family destitute ; and what 
 can exceed the wretchedness of persons, gen- 
 teel and well descended, who from their supe- 
 rior mode of education, are unable to sain their 
 support but by the exercise of those useless 
 M 5 
 
250 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 but polite arts or accomplishments, in which 
 so many are already driven by misfortune to 
 trespass upon the regular professors. 
 
 " For this numerous and unfortunate family, 
 Montagu expressed the greatest sympathy, 
 and his exquisite cunning, and ability to act 
 the part of sentiment, of delicacy, and high 
 feeling, had enabled him to win the entire and 
 unbounded confidence of a family so unfortu- 
 nately circumstanced. He had procured for 
 the eldest daughter, he informed her, the situ- 
 ation of a governess in a family, where she 
 would be treated with all the respect and ten- 
 derness due to her age and her fallen fortunes. 
 This lovely and interesting girl was to have 
 left the poor but safe retreat of her tender and 
 feeling parent in a week ; and the fond and 
 anxious mother weeping at the prospect of 
 separation from a child so young and inexpe- 
 rienced, had reiterated caution and precept 
 with all the emphasis of maternal fondness. 
 The girl herself wept bitterly at the humble 
 fate to which she was reduced, she deplored 
 the necessity of leaving her happy and once 
 almost affluent home — her only consolation 
 was to reflect that her exertions would contri- 
 bute to the support of her mother and sisters. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 251 
 
 now deprived almost of the very necessaries 
 of life ; and as to her personal sufferings, she 
 derived consolation from Mr. Montagu's as- 
 surance that she was going to reside with a 
 lady, from whose sympathy for the unfortu- 
 nate, she might expect to find a second home, 
 a second mother. 
 
 " This unfortunate girl was then in her 
 eighteenth year. Shall I mention that Mon- 
 tagu had laid his plans to bear her to the 
 house of an abandoned woman, who lived in 
 London as his procuress, and who on this oc- 
 casion was to act the part of the parent who 
 needed the services of the young lady as a go- 
 verness to her daughters. 
 
 " By the merest chance I discovered the 
 whole scheme. I directly taxed Montagu with 
 his baseness. He endeavoured to conceal his 
 villainy by the ignoble subterfuge of false- 
 hood. But my information was too circum- 
 stantial and correct to be baffled by his assu- 
 rance or protestations. With the most de- 
 praved, there is generally some point which 
 they will not violate. Such was the inconsis- 
 tency of this man, that though destitute of 
 the slightest spark of honour, though capable 
 of perjury itself, yet would he not on any ac- 
 M 6 
 
35a mandeville; or, 
 
 eount violate a pledge he gave on the sanctity 
 of honour. I obliged him, therefore, to pro- 
 mi&ero»)iis honour as a gentleman, to discon- 
 tinue his designs upon this family, and on the 
 same gage, to promise that he would never 
 again directly or indirectly injure them in any 
 one point of view. As meanness in pecuniary 
 affairs was not his vice, I made him in this 
 instance entrust into my hands a considerable 
 sum of money for the relief of the family in 
 whom he had excited such false expectations, 
 and I bestowed it upon them without letting 
 them know from whom it was derived, lest the 
 mother might have rejected the gratuity of a 
 man who had plotted her daughter's infamy. 
 Montagu had now left me to pass a few months, 
 he said, in the north of England. A fortnight 
 after this aifair had been settled, I was walk- 
 ing on the beach, alternately in solemn con- 
 tjemplation, and regarding the beams of the 
 midnight moon reflected in the calm and silent 
 sea. The town clock had just struck the hour 
 of twelve. I had been beguiled by the beauty 
 of the night to a later walk than I was aware 
 of. I had stopped to count the clock, when, 
 at its last chime, three men, apparently smug- 
 glers, and ajmed with cutlasses, rushed upon 
 
THE VOYAGE. 253 
 
 me from behind a boat which lay upon the 
 beach. I fled rapidly, and should have dis- 
 tanced them, but turning a mass of rock, my 
 flight was intercepted by a man with a naked 
 rapier, in the garb of a sailor. My retreat cut 
 oflT, I became desperate, and resolved to sell 
 my life as dearly as possible. He who had 
 intercepted my flight, fellinstantlyat my feet. 
 My sword as instantly pierced the heart of 
 one of the three united assailants, his nearest 
 companion was desperately wounded ; but I 
 had received a severe cut upon the breast, and 
 a second wound on the leg, which prevented 
 my pursuing the remaining ruffian, who was 
 thus enabled to bear off" his disabled compa- 
 nion. He fired at me in his retreat, and the 
 ball penetrated my left arm. The report of fire 
 arms had brought to my relief a body of cus- 
 tom-house officers, who were on the look out 
 for smugglers. They bore us to the neighbour- 
 ing signal-house. One of my assailants, a tall 
 dark, ruffianly looking fellow, had apparently 
 expired on the spot. His companion gave 
 signs of animation ; on taking him into the 
 parlour of the officer of the signal-house, what 
 was my astonishment, when between the dis- 
 tortions of countenance, occasioned by a 
 
254 mandeville; OR, 
 
 deadly wound, I discovered the features of 
 Montagu, whom I conceived to be some hun- 
 dred miles off. 
 
 " Him whose soul had fled, the officers re- 
 cognized to be the daring leader of a numerous 
 and desperate gang of smugglers that had long 
 infested the coast. Such was this man's cha- 
 racter for ferocity and prowess, that no three 
 officers dared to assail him ; and the terror of 
 his name was such, that he carried on his de- 
 predations almost with impunity. Montagu, 
 of course, the officers could not recognize, but, 
 from his better clothes, and from his wearing 
 a rapier instead of a cutlass, the ordinary wea- 
 pon of a person in his garb, they conjectured 
 he was a foreigner. I knew now that if Mon- 
 tagu recovered, his life must pay the forfeit 
 to the laws. But my wish even in this moment 
 of anguish, was to save and not to sacrifice. 
 I reflected that the desperate wound he had 
 received from my arm, if it did not deprive 
 him of life, would at all events deprive him 
 both of the means and inclination to live at 
 least a life of active vice, I was resolved, if 
 possible, to save him. I therefore gave no 
 account of myself or of the transaction, but 
 was silent whilst they were binding my wounds. 
 
THE VOYAGE. ^55 
 
 " As soon as they had succeeding in restor- 
 ing Captain Montagu to consciousness, I ex- 
 erted myself to speak in a tone sufficiently 
 distinct and loud at once to console him, and 
 to convey to his acute and practised mind a 
 hint of my plan for his escaping the vengeance 
 of the law, so justly due to his crime. ' Gen- 
 tlemen,' said I, addressing the officers, * you 
 are totally mistaken in this affair. This per- 
 son who lies wounded by my side, is my 
 friend, a gentleman of estate ; we had had a 
 personal quarrel, and he met me on the beach 
 to decide it by the sword, but our combat had 
 hardly commenced, when unknown persons 
 interfered, and drew upon us ; in the general 
 confusion of a midnight combat, we have all 
 received serious injury, and this poor man on 
 the floor has already breathed his last.' The 
 meaning of this version of the affair, I saw was 
 caught by Captain Montagu ; and I received 
 no other reply to it from my auditors, except- 
 ing their joy that I had been the lucky means 
 of killing a fellow who was the terror of the 
 whole coast. 
 
 " I was conveyed to my lodgings on a lit- 
 ter, and so severe were my wounds, that I was 
 confined to my room for nearly seven months, 
 8 
 
256 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 during which I was affectionately nursed by 
 the mother and daughter, in whose cause it 
 appeared that my life had been risked. 
 
 " On the third day of my confinement to 
 my bed, my feeling and anxious nurse, cau- 
 tiously announced to me that a dark stout 
 man, in a blue great coat and oil skinned hat, 
 had been three times that day, to entreat me 
 to see him for a few minutes, and he was to 
 call again in about an hour, to know if I would 
 speak to him. His description answered to 
 that of a poor honest farmer's labourer, whonSt 
 I had recently relieved from great distress, and 
 who was now going to sea. I therefore told 
 my friend, when he arrived to shew him into 
 my chamber, and let us be alone, as I had 
 private matters to communicate to him. 
 
 *' I had fallen into a short and unquiet slum- 
 ber, and muttering indistinctly in my sleep, 
 had induced my kind and grateful nurse to 
 imagine me awake. She had therefore ushered 
 this stranger into my room, and had closed the 
 door on him as he entered. I had remained 
 in slumber it appears, for a quarter of an hour 
 after the entry of this person. I had been 
 dreadfully agitated in this short and broken 
 repose, and had dreamt of nothing but my 
 
THE VOYAGE. 2S7 
 
 combat. I conceived in my sleep tliat I had 
 been overpowered, that I lay prostrate, and 
 was wrestling with my antagonists on the 
 beach. I had grasped the pillow with convul- 
 sive energy, and clenching my fists and grind- 
 ing my teeth, with the diseased strength of 
 my fever I awoke ; what was my horror to see 
 standing over me, the powerful figure of one 
 of those ruffians with whom I had three nights 
 before been engaged, and whose dark and fur- 
 rowed face I recognized. 
 
 " Scarcely in my senses, I raved * wretch, 
 would you assault me on my death-bed ? 
 Fear hell, tremble at the judgment.' 
 
 " My scream brought my attendants into 
 my chamber. I was delirious for some minutes, 
 until the realities about me had more tho- 
 roughly roused me from the terror and confu- 
 sion arising from my dream. 
 
 " The superstition of the stranger was awa- 
 kened, he conceived he was witnessing my 
 transit into that world into which his crimes 
 had hurried me, and thought of nothing but 
 of ghosts and demons. 
 
 ** Addressing himself to my nurse, he ex- 
 claimed, evidently under the influence of ter- 
 ror, ' I could not injure the gentleman for the 
 
258 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 safety of a cargo. I can^t abide to see a per- 
 son die, and if the gentleman is dying, and 
 his spirit is in the room, we had better open 
 the shutters, and stay all of us close together. 
 I wouldn't have come here on no account, but 
 only Pattieson is dying, and has seen this 
 gentleman's ghost, and the ghost has told him 
 three times that he shall go to the devil, unless 
 the gentleman forgives him first, so poor Pat- 
 tieson has sent me here. Sir, just to beg you 
 to forgive him before he dies ; and it is no use 
 to meet as enemies in the other world. We 
 all fought bravely, and so the gentleman may 
 as well bear no grudge, but make it up with a 
 dying sinner, as one may say.' 
 
 " I now recovered my composure, and I 
 conceived the whole of this fellow's intentions 
 and the object of his visit ; and as I wished to 
 speak to him on matters which might concern 
 Montagu, I directed my attendant and her 
 daughter to retire and leave me alone with the 
 stranger. They were about to withdraw, when 
 the fellow catching a firm grasp of the woman's 
 gown, cried out, * Lord bless your soul, Marm, 
 don't go ; if the gentleman should die whilst 
 you are gone, and leave me here in the dark, 
 with only his ghost and I and the corpse !' 
 
THE VOYAGE. 259 
 
 " ' For shame, man, you will depress the 
 gentleman's spirits, and make him worse. You 
 must leave the house, for the doctor said the 
 patient must not be disturbed.' 
 
 " * Why, Marm, as to come for to disturb 
 a dying gentleman, it is what I'm sure I wouldn't 
 come for to do, especially when the gentleman 
 who employed us to waylay him, said he was 
 the biggest villain, and if he didn't repent 
 would go to hell.' 
 
 '* * Out upon you, man, the gentleman will 
 yet live. The doctor told me to say so to him, 
 and keep him from all ideas of dying, and here 
 you are come and ' 
 
 " • No, no, Marm, the doctor is out in his 
 reckoning this here voyage, for the gentleman, 
 as sure as the main-mast, is dying by his eye, 
 and no man recovers, as they say, after they 
 have got the rattles and have seen the ghost ; 
 and haven't the gentleman talked to his ghost 
 three times before you came into the room, 
 and didn't he say ' 
 
 " * Friend, I have not strength to support 
 this ludicrous and yet serious dialogue ; as you 
 will not be left in the room with me alone, my 
 attendants will stay at the further end of the 
 room, and sit you down by the side of the 
 
260 mandeville; or, 
 
 pillow, and let me ask you, what could in- 
 duce you to assault me who had never of- 
 fended.* 
 
 " * Why, Sir, we had never seen you to be 
 sure, but Mr. Jones said he would give the 
 captain whom you killed, a hundred guineas, 
 and all of us thirty guineas a piece/ 
 
 " * Mr. Jones? Mr. Montagu you mean.' 
 " * No, Sir, I don't. I mean Mr. Jones.' 
 " * What sort of a man was this Mr. Jones V 
 " ' Why, Sir, he was the tall gentleman who 
 crossed your hawse, and cut you off on the 
 other tack by the rock, and who you boarded 
 before we could get alongside of you. I sup- 
 pose he is dead, as you let daylight into him.* 
 " ' I see you mean Mr. Montagu ; well, and 
 what were you to do with me for this blood 
 money.' 
 
 " ' No, Sir, it warn't blood money neither, 
 for we all agreed that if you didn't attack us, 
 we wasn't to fire or to cut you.' 
 " ' What were your plans then V 
 *' * Why we were to take you prisoner, and 
 just put you on board the boat you seed us 
 come from ; and then we were to pull you 
 about six or seven leagues from shore, and to 
 
THE VOYAGE. 2^1 
 
 put a pig of ballast to your feet and throw you 
 overboard.' 
 
 " ' And this act of cool deliberate villainy 
 you call more innocent than shedding blood?' 
 
 " ' Not more innocent. Sir, but you must 
 acknowledge it was more safe to us, and it was 
 all the same to you.' 
 
 " Whether I was sabred or drowned. Who 
 then proposed this drowning scheme, your 
 captain or Mr. Jones V 
 
 " * Oh, captain wished to pistol you -on the 
 beach, but Mr. Jones said it might alarm the 
 'custom-house officers on the look out, so he 
 said we must take you to the offing.* 
 
 " ' Dreadful villainy ; and how will you 
 answer for it in the life to come V 
 
 " * Why, Sir, that is just what Pattieson is 
 thinking of.' 
 
 *' ' And who is Pattieson ?' 
 
 « < Why, Sir, the man you know that you 
 run through the liver, and who I carried off on 
 my shoulders, and who gave you a shot just 
 before he fainted, and tumbled off my back ; 
 you know well enough who I mean.' 
 
 *' ' And what can that wretch expect of me?' 
 
 " ' As to expect. Sir, he says we were all 
 brave men together, and we fought for it nobly ; 
 
 6 
 
262 mandeville; or, 
 
 and after a battle's ended, as one may say, 
 there is no use to be bearing malice when an 
 enemy's just striking top-sail, and his soul 
 going to the Lord knows where !' 
 
 " * And this is what you call a battle/ 
 
 " ' Yes, Sir, and a right hard one, and had 
 we known what sort of a gemmen you was, I 
 am sure our captain would have made Mr. 
 Jones have given us t'other ten guineas, and 
 have had two more hands/ 
 
 " * And what can make your fellow, Pattie- 
 son, so desirous of my forgiveness/ 
 
 " ' Why, Sir, because the doctor says his 
 liver and bowels are run through, and he can't 
 live ; and he has been deleerous, as they say, 
 since his last cup of grog ; and he has seen 
 your honour's ghost three times, that told him 
 you were dying, and would appear and swear 
 against him in the other world/ 
 
 " * My strength fails me, and I cannot let 
 you stay any longer ; but say, if I forgive 
 Pattieson, have you no desire to be forgiven T 
 
 " ' Why, Sir, I am not dying yet.' 
 
 " ' And have you no repentance for the vil- 
 lany of intending to drown a man for the tri- 
 fling bribe of — ' 
 
 " ' Not a trifle either ; thirty guineas/ 
 
THE VOYAGE. 2^3 
 
 " ' Go, Sir, and reform your infamous life ; 
 follow some honest trade, and quit the society 
 of smugglers and murderers, and — ' 
 
 " * Why, Sir, as to that matter, we are almost 
 pretty much alike for honest lives. Arn't you 
 a gentleman, and does nothing for your live- 
 lihood, and lives at ease, and takes poor hard- 
 working people's money from them, and calls 
 it rent ; and doesn't the tradesman, in his 
 turn, always cheat the gentry ; and what if I 
 runs a cargo, and cheats the Government, that 
 lives by cheating every body else. I pays my 
 way honestly, and works hard for my living. 
 But, Sir, you'll forgive poor Pattieson before 
 he dies ; you keep me so long pallavring he 
 will be dead before I gets back, and then 
 there's no saving his soul.' 
 
 " * And are you not afraid to appear in my 
 presence, lest I should have you apprehended?' 
 
 " ' Why, Sir, before I come, d'y'see, I larnt 
 that you were too far gone for that.' 
 
 " * You are a wrong-headed man, and an in- 
 corrigible fellow. It is no use talking to you ; 
 so tell your companion, tell him — Yes, I for- 
 give him, and tell him also — ' 
 
 " * No, Sir, I only wants to tell him you 
 says you forgive him, and that's Christian like 
 
264 mandeville; or, 
 
 of you, and so I hope you may die more easier 
 than Pattieson, and not go to hell : and Marm, 
 for nursing the kind-hearted gentleman that 
 I gave the stivers to over the breast and leg, 
 and who forgives poor Bill Pattieson, you 
 have only to call at the Blue-Achor, on the 
 Cliff, at any time, and ask for Bob Wilson, 
 and a keg shall cost you no more than it 
 should cost his honour there, if he v^^asn^t to 
 die. But if you says a word about what has 
 passed between me and this here gemmen, 
 remember (shewing a pistol) every child you 
 are mother of is kidnaped, and carried to sea, 
 and trust us, we know what to do with ladies 
 and gentlemen in them matters ; they never 
 comes back. And if you gets over this bout. 
 Sir, and should want just such a turn done 
 for you, as we have done for your enemy, Mr. 
 Jones, you may count on Bob Wilson.' 
 
 ** About a month afterwards this incorrigi- 
 ble fellow suffered the sentence of the law, for 
 shooting a revenue officer. 
 
 " When I was able to leave my room, and 
 walk out in the air, I called upon Captain 
 Montagu. He was yet confined to his bed, 
 emaciated and desponding, but death had no 
 terrors to him, further than that it formed the 
 
THE VOYAGE. 265 
 
 cessation of earthly enjoyments. He took me 
 by the hand, implored my forgiveness, spoke 
 of my great generosity in saving him from an 
 ignominious death, by representing as an af- 
 fair of honour what was, in fact, an attempt 
 to assassinate. He vowed a total reformation 
 of his life, and promised the utmost submis-? 
 sion to my counsel if he recovered. 
 
 " He did recover, and for about three years 
 we were companions as close as our different 
 propensities, and the different degrees of our 
 fortunes could well enable us to be. My object 
 was to reclaim him ; but the effects of his late 
 wound had rendered him extremely feeble, and 
 1 mistook for reformation what was no more 
 than an inability to sin. 
 
 ** He has at last finished his career. Last 
 week he eloped with the daughter of a Mr. 
 Vallerton, a half-pay master and commander 
 of the navy. This superior and unfortu- 
 nate officer had lost his arm, the sight of 
 one eye, and his leg, in three successive bat- 
 tles. He had been engaged in forty-seven 
 actions, and had received thirteen wounds, 
 during an active service of thirty years, in 
 every quarter of the globe. Poor Vallerton 
 had no interest, and never could get further 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 mandeville; or, 
 
 promotion. His last rank had been acquired 
 not by his great merit, but by jumping over 
 board, and saving the life of a nobleman's son, 
 a midshipman on board of his ship. Vallerton 
 sent a memorial to the Admiralty Board, de- 
 tailing his wounds, his battles, his long and 
 meritorious services, and praying promotion 
 to the rank of post-captain. For six months 
 his memorial had remained unnoticed further 
 than by the secretary's usual official letter, 
 acknovi^ledging it to have been received. In 
 this state of suspense, the first-lieutenant of 
 his ship, a man who had seen no service, a 
 puny and coxcomical son of a wealthy ba- 
 ronet, memorialized the Admiralty for promo- 
 tion, his second-cousin having just lost his 
 life in the service, by a chance shot. In three 
 weeks this man received the rank of master 
 and commander ; and before Vallerton's me- 
 morial was decided upon, he obtained his com- 
 mission as a post-captain, and consequently 
 was Vallerton's superior officer. Poor Val- 
 lerton retired in disgust from the service, and 
 shortly after, the sight of his remaining eye, 
 which had been previously injured by a wound, 
 entirely failed him. He lived in poverty, his 
 only child was his nurse, companion, and ser- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 26/ 
 
 vant. Montagu was liberal to him for two 
 years, supported him in comfort, and at last 
 effected all the objects of his charity. He 
 eloped with the daughter, and the veteran fa- 
 ther, in a fit of despair, destroyed his exist- 
 ence. 
 
 " But the unfortunate suicide was the 
 brother of a Captain Vallerton, of the Lion, a 
 sixty-four gun ship, just arrived at Spithead. 
 This officer immediately set off to the spot of 
 his brother's catastrophe ; he pursued Mon- 
 tagu, and they met at St. Albans. Vallerton 
 was of an undaunted nature, and although 
 aware of Montagu's great skill as a duellist, 
 and at every weapon, he immediately called 
 him out. Montagu, knowing Vallerton's in- 
 trepid disposition, chose to decide the combat 
 by the broad-sword, at which he was unri- 
 valled. The contest, although vigorous and 
 desperate, was long and doubtful, till at length 
 Vallerton's better cause prevailed. His sword 
 inflicted a tremendous wound in his antago- 
 nist's viscera. 
 
 " Montagu was at length convinced that 
 his course was run. He had no spleen or re- 
 venge in his disposition, but every thing was 
 done by him on a system, and for some ad^ 
 n2 
 
268 mandeville; or, 
 
 vantage. His attacks on me were merely to 
 rid himself of a man who had stood, and was 
 likely to stand, between him and the objects, 
 which he pursued through life. He disposed 
 of his property with calmness and prudence. 
 He provided liberally for the woman with 
 whom he had eloped. He left a considerable 
 sum for me to distribute, according to my judg- 
 ment, amongst the different persons whom his 
 vices had distressed ; and these bequests being 
 made, raising himself in his bed, he exclaimed, 
 * of all men on earth, I would now wish to see 
 Mr. Upton. There is one crime of my life which 
 weighs heavy on my heart. Could I send, in 
 confidence, my death-bed profession that I 
 loved her, yes, truly loved her, and her alone ; 
 but I have made all the compensation in my 
 power, I have left Emma all the residue of my 
 property* Could I but ask her forgiveness ? 
 Could I but now exchange those vows of love 
 which once I violated ! !' His last moments 
 were passed in such fruitless regret and un- 
 attainable wishes. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Mandeville, shall I pro- 
 ceed to relate one circumstance of Montagu's 
 conduct, which most nearly concerns your- 
 self. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 269 
 
 '* * I am astounded, Mr. Upton, at what you 
 have already related ; and Montagu, was this 
 the admired of all men, the man to whom I 
 poured out my heart, whom I considered as 
 the paragon of excellence, and for whose feel- 
 ings, injured, as I thought, by your injustice, 
 I was ready to sacrifice my life in revenge. I 
 am astonished, Mr. Upton, at your forbear- 
 ance towards me, at your continuing to inte- 
 rest yourself in my behalf, after my outra- 
 geous violence ; forgive my unwarrantable ex- 
 cesses. Sir — ' 
 
 *' * With all my heart, Mr. Mandeville, upon 
 the condition that you do not ever allude to 
 them again.' 
 
 " ' But, Sir, yet explain to me one thing ; 
 why, Mr. Upton, why, when you saw my af- 
 fections so deeply engaged towards Miss Bel- 
 tort, did you so cruelly mar my hopes V 
 
 ** * For reasons, Mr. Mandeville, that your- 
 self will not, I apprehend, disapprove. One 
 objection, though not an insuperable objec- 
 tion, was your want of money. Lord Belton 
 has lived far beyond his revenue, and is ap- 
 proaching rapidly to a state of great distress ; 
 an open hearted man, he fancies others like 
 himself, and conceives that in his difficulties 
 n3 
 
^70 mandeville; or, 
 
 his friends and relations will assist him ; he 
 little thinks that he will find more difficulty 
 in borrowing one hundred pounds than he ever 
 made in lending a thousand. 
 
 " * But the tale I have to impart to you, 
 Mr. Mandeville, is of so affecting a nature, 
 that unless you can resolve to exercise more 
 command of your feelings than you have 
 evinced, even in the preceding part of my nar- 
 rative, I can hardly intrust my disclosure to 
 you just now.' 
 
 " * I am likely, through life, Mr. Upton, to 
 have frequent necessity to suppress my feel- 
 ings. My mortification at my late raving and 
 most unjustifiable deportment, is calculated 
 to make me bear future misfortunes rather in 
 sorrow than in anger.' 
 
 " ' At this promise of your commanding 
 your feelings I must relate to you, that about 
 seven months ago I was obliged to leave 
 Hampshire for about fourteen months, to at- 
 tend to my interests in my native Wales. 
 Montagu was about to set off for Cornwall, 
 and I left him just at the period of his gaining 
 perfect health and vigour after the wound he 
 had received in the combat with the smug- 
 glers, and which kept him in a state of deli- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 271 
 
 cate and precarious health for nearly three 
 years. 
 
 " * On my return to Hampshire, after an 
 absence, in Wales, of more than fourteen 
 months, I learned that immediately after my 
 leaving the county. Lord and Lady Belton 
 had arrived at their seat, near Portsmouth, 
 which they had not previously visited for about 
 eight years, and they had staid at their man- 
 sion ever since. You know. Sir, I am a great 
 pedestrian, and in this instance my journey 
 from Wales was on foot. I arrived at Ports- 
 mouth in the afternoon, but having heard of 
 the Belton family being in the neighbourhood, 
 I refreshed myself, and walked over to spend 
 that evening with them. I was overjoyed at 
 seeing my cousin. Lady Belton, and of car- 
 ressing my beloved and lovely pupil and fa- 
 vourite Emma. 
 
 " • But for the serious consequences to your- 
 self, Mr. Mandeville, I should have laughed 
 at your mistaking my fondness for Emma to 
 be the result of courtship. You little know 
 my age ; to be candid with me, say what age 
 do you take me for V 
 
 " * I must confess. Sir, the disparity be- 
 n4 
 
272 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 tween Miss Belton and yourself would have 
 been very great.' 
 
 " ' Not so great as you imagine, perhaps ; 
 and vsrhat do you estimate me in this scale of 
 comparison V 
 
 " ' Miss Belton is extremely young ; your- 
 self, I am at a loss to guess; for whilst your 
 person, your vigour, and vivacity, would make 
 me suppose you young ; you must excuse my 
 candour if I say there are appearances in your 
 countenance which would rather contradict 
 that conclusion.' 
 
 " ' My object is always to obtain candid 
 opinions, and as I have asked your estimate, 
 you may give it with sincerity.' 
 
 " ' I should take the balance of all appear- 
 ances, Mr. Upton, and draw a sort of average, 
 by the indices of your mind, body, and coun- 
 tenance, I should say you were approaching 
 the age at which they tell us a man is a phi- 
 losopher, the age of forty.' 
 
 ** ' My friend, you are far, very far from 
 the mark. The vigour of my body, and the 
 vivacity of mind, arise from my extreme tem- 
 perance and habits of exercise, whilst the 
 furrows in my cheek, I am sorry to say, are 
 
THE VOYAGE. 273 
 
 more the result of early vice and of early sor-^ 
 row, than of age. I am now more than a 
 sexagenarian, and I should have made but a 
 sorry rival to you in a courtship to one so 
 young as Emma. 
 
 " * But to proceed to my narrative. On the 
 evening I arrived at Belton-Hall, what was my 
 astonishment to see Mr. Montagu at the tea- 
 table, in the thorough confidence of the family, 
 and in assiduous attention to Emma ? 
 
 " * He was evidently chagrined at my ap- 
 pearance, and from several circumstances, I 
 conceived it essential that I should speak to 
 Lady Belton immediately, on the subject of 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 ** ' Montagu seemed determined to set me 
 out that night, of course he had his object; 
 at length I told Lady Belton that I would re- 
 sume my privileges, and would have the plea- 
 sure of inviting myself to breakfast with her 
 the ensuing morning.' 
 
 " * Do,' said her Ladyship, ' Mr. Montagu 
 breakfasts with us to-morrow, and then rides 
 out with Emma.* 
 
 " * But the next morning brought a letter 
 of excuse from Montagu, pleading indisposi- 
 n5 
 
274 mandeville; or, 
 
 tion. I consequently breakfasted with the 
 family, without him. 
 
 " ' After breakfast I retired into the library, 
 with Lady Belton, and addressing her, * My 
 dear cousin, I am really overjoyed to see you; 
 but Emma is not the girl she used to be. Six 
 months ago I should have called her a rose- 
 bud, now I should say she was a faint and 
 drooping lily. But how and when did you be- 
 come so intimate with your new friend Mon- 
 tagu?' 
 
 " ' Within a week of our arrival in the 
 county ; he was about setting off for Cornwall, 
 in a few days, when our appearance here at- 
 tracted his attention, and, as he says, * we 
 have riveted him to the spot,' for he has never 
 left the place since his first introduction. I 
 believe, added Lady Belton, with a smile of 
 self-satisfaction, ' the cause of his remaining 
 here may turn out to be very serious, Mr. 
 Upton.' 
 
 " ' Probably very serious indeed. Madam.' 
 
 " ' Why, Mr. Upton, you almost frighten 
 me when you assume those looks of gravity.' 
 
 ** ' My dear Lady Belton, how often have I 
 advised you on the subject of so frankly ad- 
 
l-HE VOYAGE. 275 
 
 mitting persons to intimacy and confidence ? 
 Now too that Emma is becoming of an age — ' 
 
 " ' Oh, as to that, my dear cousin. Captain 
 Montagu is a perfect gentleman, and master 
 of every elegant accomplishment and noble 
 quality. He has quite won the affections of 
 Emma, and you know, Upton, that it is no or- 
 dinary person that could succeed with your 
 little favourite. You have often said so your- 
 self. Emma has grown so reserved and sor- 
 rowful of late, I am sure she is very much 
 taken with his attention, she is completely in 
 love.' 
 
 " ' I am sorry for it.' 
 
 " * Why sorry for it ? It will be a capital match 
 for Emma, particularly, Upton, as you know 
 how pecuniary affairs stand with Lord Belton, 
 Captain Montagu is nephew and sole heir to 
 that rich old Croesus, the Earl of Turnborough, 
 and he is first cousin to Sir Shuflletown Sel- 
 lervote, of so much celebrity and power in the 
 House of Commons ; and Sir Shuffletown is 
 going to bring Montagu in with him for the 
 county, the very next parliament. It will add 
 to our family influence exceedingly. Nothing 
 could be so opportune or so fortunate.' 
 
 " * And poor Emma, my little pet, is she to 
 n6 
 
276 mandeville; or, 
 
 be sacrificed, bartered for Lord Turnborough's 
 money, or for Sir Shuffletown Sellervote^s cor- 
 rupt influence in the House of Commons ?' 
 
 " * Lord, Cousin Upton, how you talk. I 
 am sure you know that neither I nor Lord Bel- 
 ton would think of such a thing if Emma were 
 not really attached,' 
 
 " ' But, dear Lady Belton, is Emma, a girl 
 hardly seventeen, a judge of character ? Might 
 not a specious villain delude a girl of that in- 
 experienced age? Her very innocence and 
 ingenuous temper doubly require a parentis 
 judgment to guide her choice/ 
 
 " * But we know Montagu to be a thorough 
 gentleman, and only think of his connection ; 
 and we trust him in every thing. He has in- 
 troduced a friend to us, a Mr. Mandeville, 
 who has just got a pair of colours in Captain 
 Montagu's regiment. Mandeville is a very 
 elegant and very sensible man, and Emma was 
 very much struck with him, and likes him now 
 as Montagu's friend. He is more sentimental 
 and youthful in his manners, more frank, and 
 ready lij^e, in all he says and does, more chi- 
 valrous, but he is not, after all, like our Mon- 
 tagu.' 
 
 " ' I hope not, if he is the grandson of the 
 5 
 
THE VOYAGE. ^JJ 
 
 celebrated cavalier Mandeville, and conse- 
 quently the son of my old Eton school-fellow/ 
 
 *' * But, cousin, do you know much of Cap- 
 tain Montagu, for, to tell you the truth, he 
 did not seem to be very glad at your dropping 
 in last night ? We all observed how he al- 
 tered his behaviour towards Emma. Emma 
 herself observed it, and went to bed in tears. 
 This morning you might have seen how very 
 ill she looked; did you observe it?" 
 
 " * My observation is seldom asleep. I see 
 and know more than you suspect I know.* 
 
 " ' Then I will tell you something that you 
 do not know (getting up and shutting the 
 door,) Montagu has proposed marriage to 
 Emma.' 
 
 '* ' Through your medium, or at least with 
 your and Lord Belton's consent, I suppose.* 
 
 " * No, I am supposed to know nothing 
 about it. But Emma is all candour and truth, 
 and when I taxed her with how matters were 
 going on, she burst into a flood of tears, and 
 candidly told me that Montagu had offered her 
 marriage, only he had enjoined her to keep it 
 a j)rofound secret from me and her father.' 
 
 " * A scoundrel, a most heartless villain.* 
 
 " * La, why should you call him a scoundrel?' 
 
27S MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 " * To win a young lady's affections without 
 the approbation of her parents, to propose 
 marriage to her with the injunction to conceal 
 the proposal from them. Lady Belton, you 
 cannot but see the strong dishonour of such 
 proceedings.' 
 
 " * La, Mr. Upton, young men of spirit will 
 do these out of the way things, and girls of 
 spirit like them the better for it. People are 
 not so stiff and formal as they were when you 
 and I were young, Mr. Upton-, and you are so 
 abstract in all of your notions. If a man is 
 not a paragon of excellence, I declare you 
 think so ill of him.' 
 
 " ' Whether girls, whom you call girls of 
 spirit, like or approve of such proceedings. 
 Lady Belton, I cannot say. But girls of real 
 spirit, of that spirit at least which honourable 
 men approve of, and permanently like, such 
 girls, I am sure, would feel indignant at such 
 a course. Pray does Lord Belton know any 
 thing of this V 
 
 '' * Not a syllable. I would not have him 
 know of it just now for all the world.' 
 
 ** ' Emma must be much changed, or she 
 must be completely infatuated, to permit such 
 a course of conduct on the part of Captain 
 
THE VOYAGE. ^79 
 
 Montagu. But he really, Lady Belton, in po- 
 sitive and unequivocal language offered mar- 
 riage to Emma.' 
 
 " ' Oh yes, he has decidedly offered mar- 
 riage, but I must confess he has never al- 
 luded to the period. He has talked of mar- 
 riage to Emma twice or three times, but not 
 lately.' 
 
 " ' I am sorry for it, sorry for it, indeed.' 
 
 " * You are almost enough to frighten me, 
 Mr. Upton, why should you be sorry at his 
 offering Emma marriage V 
 
 " * For the plain good reason, that to my 
 knowledge he is on the eve of marriage to 
 another lady.' 
 
 " ' I am quite confident in Captain Mon- 
 tagu's honour ; and pray who is this other 
 lady V said Lady Belton, laughing with confi- 
 dence at her superiority to me in judging of 
 her friend and his intentions. 
 
 '* * The only daughter of a gentleman your- 
 self have named. The parliamentary Sir Shuf- 
 fletown.' 
 
 " ' Ha-ha-ha, a ridiculous story somebody 
 has put into your head ; some gossiping per- 
 son who knows nothing of the matter.' 
 
 " * They ought to know a little of the matter.' 
 
280 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 ** ' Why, who was it told it to you?* 
 
 " * No less than Sir Shuffletown and Miss 
 Sellervote themselves. Lady Belton, you turn 
 pale, command yourself. Madam; you are 
 likely, in this affair, to need greater service 
 than any I have yet rendered you. Lord 
 Turnborough has arranged to settle a princely 
 sum upon Captain Montagu, on the sole con- 
 dition of his union with Sir Shuffletown's 
 daughter. Sir Shuffletown, on communica- 
 ting this to me, gravely added, that the mar- 
 riage would so consolidate the interests of the 
 Turnborough and Shuffletown families with 
 that of the Montagus, that Lord Turnborough 
 and himself would put into the House three 
 county and ten borough members.' 
 
 *' * And what sort of a girl is Miss Seller- 
 vote?' 
 
 " ' No sort of girl. Lady Belton ; as she is, 
 I fancy, full forty years of age ; a state ap- 
 proaching to imbecility has hitherto prevented 
 her settling in life.' 
 
 *' * I am sure my Captain Montagu will 
 never marry such a woman. I am sure he 
 will prefer Emma.' 
 
 " * Lady Belton, be earnest, this is not a 
 time for levity, I assure you. Yourself and 
 
THE VOYAGE. 281 
 
 Lord Belton have often experienced my pru- 
 dence in affairs of difficulty and importance. 
 Permit me to interfere for you in this most 
 serious transaction. I have greater influence 
 over Captain Montagu than any man.' 
 
 '* * Then you could easily bring about a 
 match.' 
 
 "'Nay, Lady Belton, I cannot converse 
 with you with effect, if you persevere in so 
 greatly mistaking your case. But I will see 
 you at this hour to-morrow, and further speak 
 to you on the subject. But it is necessary, I 
 assure you it is necessary, absolutely neces- 
 sary, that you mention neither to Emma nor to 
 Captain Montagu a single syllable of what 
 has now passed between us. Can I depend 
 upon your secrecy.* 
 
 " ' Oh yes, I can pledge you my secrecy, 
 for you really alarm me, Mr. Upton.' 
 
 " ' And now, Mr. Mandeville, I hastened to 
 Captain Montagu, but he had purposely 
 avoided me. Determined to see him, I that 
 day dined at the mess, it was the first day I 
 ever saw you, and your strong resemblance to 
 your father, when he was of your age, made 
 me look at you more, perhaps, than was con* 
 sistent with good mannexa. You may remem" 
 
282 mandeville; or, 
 
 ber, perhaps, a low but earnest private con- 
 versation which that day took place between 
 me and Captain Montagu at the furthest end 
 of the mess-room.' 
 
 " * Yes, Mr. Upton, I perfectly well re- 
 member it; I recollect your threat of the 
 sword.* 
 
 ** ' I vowed vengeance on Montagu if he 
 acted otherwise than honourably to the Bel- 
 ton family, I urged to him the baseness of be- 
 having ill to the near relation, the fostered 
 fondling of me, to whom he had vowed eternal 
 friendship, to whom he owed his life and fa- 
 mily honour. 
 
 " ' But I must relate, that between my part- 
 ing with Lady Belton in the morning, and my 
 meeting Captain Montagu at the mess-table, 
 I had learned, almost miraculously, the whole 
 of his scheme on the Belton family. 
 
 " * And now, Mr. Mandeville, command 
 your feelings, I beseech you, when I relate, 
 that I had discovered, discovered by an almost 
 miraculous coincidence of events, that this 
 monster, Montagu, had plotted the dishonour 
 of the young and lovely Emma. He was aware 
 that such an injury could not be inflicted on 
 the family of a man of Lord Belton's rank 
 
THE VOYAGE. 283 
 
 without exposing him to serious consequences, 
 and it was therefore a part of his scheme to 
 introduce yourself to an intimacy with Emma, 
 on the double hope, that your young and in- 
 flammable mind might prove sensible to 
 Emma's beauty, and by a marriage, foster and 
 conceal his previous success ; or if this plan 
 did not succeed, your extreme intimacy with 
 the lady would have given a man of his arti- 
 fice the means of throwing the suspicion, or 
 even the scandal on yourself, if Emma's dis- 
 honour should be divulged. 
 
 " ' Mr. Mandeville, I see my narration is too 
 much for your feelings, I will not proceed.* 
 
 " * Yes, Sir, if you please, proceed ; my feel- 
 ings are entirely changed ; I am no longer 
 frantic on this, nor shall I be on any subject, — 
 I am calm, and feel no more now than I shall 
 feel all my life ; I pray proceed, I am deep in- 
 deed in misery ; go on.' 
 
 " ' But I beg you, Mr. Mandeville, to think 
 less intensely on the subject ; but to draw to 
 a close, I must inform you, that on that day, 
 when I dined with your mess, I made Captain 
 Montagu pledge to me his honour, as an of- 
 ficer and a gentleman, that he would discon- 
 tinue his designs upon Miss Belton and upon 
 
284 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 yourself. This pledge was not broken, but 
 must I say it was at best equivocal. Montagu 
 had been but too prosperous, and no longer 
 wished an intimacy at Belton-Hall. The family 
 are, by my advice, about to travel on the Con- 
 tinent. 
 
 " ' Mr. Mandeville, you are a man of sensi- 
 bility and honour, I have made you the depo- 
 sitory of a most sacred secret concerning one 
 whose resolution is now to live in solitude. 
 Knowing your romantic cast of mind, and the 
 ideal shrine of purity and excellence at which 
 alone you would pay your devotions, I felt that 
 you were the last man whose affections could 
 be encouraged up to the time of divulging to 
 you the fatal truth. I was confident, even if 
 such a course of duplicity were allowable, 
 with you it would have been worse than use- 
 less, it would have ended in ineffable misery 
 to both parties ; and heaven knows the lot of 
 Emma is already miserable enough. Say then. 
 Sir, was I wrong in dissuading both Lady 
 Belton and Emma from admitting your ad-, 
 dresses V 
 
 " * Forgive me, Mr. Upton, for the wrong 
 construction which I put on all your actions, 
 my more than friend, my father. You have 
 
THE VOYAGE. 285 
 
 saved me from a fearful precipice, but yet I 
 am in the deepest gulf of agony. Poor un- 
 happy Emma/ 
 
 " * You must not leave me to-day, Mr. Man- 
 deville, you are not in a condition to be left/ 
 
 " ' Oh yes. Sir, leave me to myself; I am 
 calm ; I wish to be alone/ 
 
 " ' My friend, your glazed and motionless 
 eye, your pale and trembling lips, bespeak a 
 state of mind more dangerous than the mad- 
 dening rage by which you were recently agi^ 
 tated. I have already engaged you to spend 
 a couple of days with Mrs. Holies, that excel- 
 lent lady, whose early danger and whose pre- 
 sent happy family I have before alluded to. 
 And I have further plans relating to you, which 
 I must, if possible, mature/ 
 
 " It is needless," continued Captain Man- 
 deville, in his narrative, " to relate the number 
 of judicious and feeling contrivances by which 
 my worthy and temperate friend Mr. Upton 
 endeavoured to sooth my melancholy, and to 
 lead me to better pursuits. He was pleased 
 to say that I was a man of talents and of a 
 fine spirit, who had been rendered dangerous, 
 useless, and even odious by a bad, or rather 
 
286 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 for want of a good, moral and intellectual 
 education. 
 
 *' I had fallen into a state of listlessness 
 and melancholy abstraction, from my disap- 
 pointed affections towards Miss Belton, and 
 the reflections upon the effects which her si- 
 tuation would have upon her tender and sen- 
 sitive disposition. I became indifferent to all 
 objects, and neglected every thing serious, 
 even the duties of my profession ; I wandered 
 for hours every day about the ramparts, with 
 a sluggish unconsciousness almost of my ex- 
 istence. 
 
 " On the moderation of these symptoms, my 
 ardent and energetic mind began, for hours, 
 to indulge in sketching scenes of tenderness 
 and sorrow ; melting myself into tears at the 
 vision of the young and weeping Emma. 
 
 " Mr. Upton, who had been vigilant and 
 attentive to the progress of my disorder, saw 
 that this was the favourable moment to com- 
 mence the plans which his benevolence had 
 formed for my improvement. 
 
 " He had prevailed on me one day to break- 
 fast with him. It was the first time I had ever 
 entered his apartments. They consisted of 
 
THE VOYAGE. 287 
 
 three good sized rooms upon a second floor, 
 in a house situated in a very inferior part of 
 the town ; the front and back, however, com- 
 manded the view of the sea and of the fields. 
 They were, therefore, airy and wholesome, but 
 except books and instruments of science, they 
 may be said to have been almost unfurnished. 
 Mr. Upton perceived that I was struck with 
 the singularity of his accommodation, and ob- 
 served to me that his life was very unsophis- 
 ticated. * I live,' said he, * hardly above the 
 wants of nature, my respectable connections, 
 my acquirements and acquaintance with higher 
 life, are, I must confess, very inconsistent 
 with my apparel and accommodation ; but 
 these things, Mr. Mandeville, can be explained 
 to you in a few words, whenever you may be 
 desirous of knowing my history.* 
 
 " At this morning meal he engaged me in 
 literary and scientific conversation, and had 
 the art, I believe, in less than an hour, to 
 ascertain the quality of my mind, and the 
 exact extent of my knowledge. He informed 
 me that his habits were extremely studious, 
 that he allotted a very moderate portion of 
 his time to sleep or meals, but devoted the 
 principal part of his day to study or to acts of 
 
288 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 consideration to those who needed his ser- 
 vices ; indeed, added he, * I give more of my 
 time than I ought to exercise, but I compen- 
 sate for that error of distribution by often 
 contemplating even abstruse subjects during 
 my rambles or journies. The longest walks, 
 Mr* Mandeville, never fatigue my body, but 
 they dreadfully fatigue my mind ; and if no 
 very striking objects occur to amuse me, I am 
 obliged to resort to the creations of my fancy, 
 or even to the strongest exercise of my reason- 
 ing powers/ 
 
 " Mr. Upton invited me to be the companion 
 of his studies, and so gradually, and almost 
 imperceptibly, did he allure me to the pursuits 
 of literature and philosophy, that at length 
 he awakened in my mind a perfect enthusiasm. 
 For about eight hours a day were we mu- 
 tually employed in our studies. He read with 
 me the Greek and Latin classics, but he ex- 
 plained them with such perspicuity, illus- 
 trated them by the most ready and fortunate 
 references to contemporary authors, to com- 
 mentators, to history, to the manners and in- 
 stitutions of the people of the country, or to 
 the general principles of human nature ; and 
 he so often expatiated upon passages with the 
 
THE VOYAGE. 289 
 
 vast and comprehensive mind of a philosopher, 
 or with the glowing genius of a poet and a 
 philanthropist, that classical literature ap- 
 peared possessed of ten thousand charms of 
 which I had never formed any idea. 
 
 ** About half of our time was given to philo- 
 sophy and the sciences, and the intermission of 
 our studies were not less profitably employed. 
 I was his constant companion, and during our 
 familiar intercourse he would analyse my dis- 
 position and sentiments ; trace what I said to 
 my most secret motives, and often to latent 
 sources, which although obvious when he had 
 pointed them out to me, I had myself not been 
 aware of. And then he would apply to all my 
 faults of temper and disposition, such mild 
 and sensible advice, would convince my judg- 
 ment of my errors, by such sound reasoning 
 and just views of life and society, that ere long 
 my passions, which had been furious, became 
 under the strictest guidance of reason, and my 
 whole behaviour was the result of the purest 
 benevolence. 
 
 " Wonderful was the influence which this 
 extraordinary and excellent man acquired over 
 me, and my affection towards him was un- 
 bounded. 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
290 mandeville; OR, 
 
 " Nothing seemed beyond his great and com- 
 prehensive genius. He even pursued with me 
 the studies of fortification and of the mihtary 
 science, and read with me military history with 
 the most judicious commentaries and explana- 
 tion. He exercised me also in all the gym- 
 nastic exercises, of which he was a proficient, 
 and improved my knowledge in the art of 
 drawing. 
 
 " It was one December evening, when I was 
 too ill to attend to any serious occupation, 
 that Mr. Upton called upon me to beguile my 
 time over my fire-side. Our conversation 
 turned upon the Beltons ; upon Emma's grief 
 having brought on a pulmonary complaint, be- 
 fore which her lovely and delicate form was 
 now prematurely fading. This was a subject 
 which, with all the command he had taught me 
 to assume over myself, was always most dis- 
 tressing, and it was doubly so in my then weak 
 and shattered state of nerves. 
 
 *' Mr. Upton saw he had touched upon a 
 wrong chord, and immediately glided inta a 
 narration of the feats of his earlier days, and 
 at length he offered to give me an outline of 
 his life, which I was exceedingly desirous of 
 acquiring. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 29^1 
 
 " I am the son/' said Mr. Upton, " of a ca- 
 valier who served the cause of King Charles 
 against the rebels, and who sacrificed his pro- 
 fession, and all his estates for his attachment 
 to his royal master. This loyalist, like many 
 others, soon found that the favours which the 
 crown was pleased to dispense to the loyalists, 
 were distributed in any thing rather than in 
 the ratio of services or sacrifices. My father 
 received a small pension from the government 
 in reward of his loyalty, and to compensate for 
 the large possessions he had sacrificed in the 
 struggle ; but he had the mortification to be- 
 hold much larger pensions bestowed on many 
 whose loyalty had been questionable, and who 
 had sacrificed little or nothing. 
 
 " It was by no means a relief to my father's 
 feelings or to his finances, to find that in about 
 fifteen years of a married life, he was able to 
 exclaim in the language of the Mantuan bard, 
 
 * Suntmihi bis septem praestanti corpore nymphae.* 
 
 And to these fourteen daughters, the fates had 
 added a proportionate number of sons, and I 
 was the last of my father's children but two, 
 and it may therefore be supposed that my in- 
 heritance was by no means large. . 
 o2 
 
292 maNDeville; or,. 
 
 " Unfortunately I was of a careless and 
 ardent disposition, full of headstrong passions, 
 a violent temper, and impatient of all restraint 
 and controul. I was possessed of a great 
 quickness of parts, but destitute of that in- 
 dustry and application which could alone ren- 
 der my mind useful to myself or to others. 
 
 " A person of this cast of character, of all 
 others needed the care and vigilance of a pa- 
 rent, or at least of an experienced and judi- 
 cious tutor. But unfortunately for me, my 
 youth was entirely neglected, especially in 
 those points in which it needed the greatest 
 culture. I had the full advantage of a moral 
 example in the domestic and public life of my 
 father ; and I had some few occasional moral 
 aphorisms, but delivered to me in a style of 
 severity little calculated to make any impres- 
 sion but on the mere memory. 
 
 " My father was too abstract and contem- 
 plative to attend to our dispositions, or even 
 to see our faults until they assailed his nerves, 
 or were otherwise unbearable ; he had then 
 neither patience to investigate, nor temper to 
 apply the remedy of reason, or to moderate any 
 punishment in proportion to the nature of the 
 offence, and my mother was totally destitute 
 
THE VOYAGE. 293 
 
 of the capacity to govern her family. Faults 
 which ought to have been corrected by her, 
 received no correction or even notice, until 
 they arose to a height which called forth the 
 lash from my father ; in short, myself and my 
 brothers were brought up as all families are 
 where the father and the mother are said to pull 
 different ways. 
 
 " To add to these misfortunes of my tute- 
 lage, my parents died as I approached the age 
 of twenty, and my managing guardian, a 
 worthy but indolent and retired man, unac- 
 quainted with life or human ways, was little 
 calculated to apply the right medicine to a 
 mind like mine. 
 
 " I was my own master, and the very first 
 action of my life was of the most imprudent 
 cast. I married. My selection was a lady 
 whose form, whose features, and whose excels 
 lent temper would have j ustified my choice, had 
 my finances authorized me to choose at all. 
 
 ** With this lady I lived in comfortable re- 
 tirement ; but our hearts were both generous 
 and open, our table and our purse were the 
 common property of our friends. My wife 
 and myself were grossly ignorant of household 
 management, and w^ere consequently the prey 
 o3 
 
25* mandeville; OR, 
 
 of all our tradesmen and servants, the natural 
 consequences of this order of things are ob- 
 vious. I was soon a pauper, and in the very 
 crisis of my affairs, I vi^as defrauded of a con- 
 siderable sum by a West Indian friend, v»rho 
 owed me as many obligations as man could owe 
 to man. 
 
 " At last my attorney informed me there 
 was no alternative, as I could not discharge 
 my debts, I must resign the liberty of my per- 
 son. Such a restraint and indignity were of 
 all things insufferable to a person of my tone 
 of character, 
 
 " Misfortunes came with accumulated force 
 upon me. At this period of my surrender to 
 a gaol, my wife was confined with her fifth 
 child , and the departure of her husband, with 
 the reflection upon her fate, were not calcu- 
 lated to benefit her health, or to restore her 
 spirits. 
 
 " She was left to meet the inquiries, and 
 t6 bear the insolence of my creditors, and with 
 funds scarcely sufficient for the necessaries of 
 life. I now thought that those who had re- 
 ceived my hospitality, and who had long been 
 connected with me in friendship, would display 
 their sympathy at least for my family. But 
 
THE VOYAGE. 29S 
 
 in this I was miserably mistaken. Even a 
 friend to whom I had been for years most 
 kind and hospitable, and who lived in a cottage 
 within a few hundred yards of my house, saw 
 my children deprived of the superintendance 
 and presence of their parents ; lonely and al- 
 most destitute, yet did he forget all my former 
 friendship, and bestow on these poor little 
 creatures not the slightest notice, when some 
 few pounds spent in hospitality towards them 
 would in no sense have been lost on a man like 
 me, who never forgot a kindness. 
 
 ** But I had a brother residing about a mile 
 from my dwelling, in ease and affluence. In 
 the solitude of my imprisonment, it was con- 
 solatory to reflect, that this man would have 
 been daily at my house to protect and cheer 
 the drooping spirits of her, who young and ill 
 was left under such afflicting circumstances. 
 I soon learnt that this man had been but about 
 once or twice upon short visits of distant ce- 
 remony to my family, 
 
 " At length my wife resolved to join me, 
 and share with me the miseries of my confine- 
 ment. An aunt was to take care of my chil- 
 dren, but on the very day of completing this 
 o4 
 
zg6 mandeville; or, 
 
 arrangement, that aunt was suddenly thrown 
 upon an infectious bed of sickness. 
 
 " This cruel accident obliged me to receive 
 all my little ones, to lodge with me in a mi- 
 serable apartment,^ which would have been 
 wretched even for myself and my wife, for 
 whom our poverty had been obliged to design 
 it. Thus were we, seven in number, confined 
 in a room of about twelve feet square, amidst 
 vermin, the heat of summer, noise, confusion, 
 and wretchedness of every sort. Heaven knows 
 how we supported such misery. And at this 
 time, my friendly brother was living in a large 
 and airy house, with every convenience around 
 him. Such was his selfish unfeeling nature,^ 
 that he even never asked a child to spend a 
 week with him. 
 
 " At length my sister was convalescent, 
 and she determined to resume her kind inten- 
 tions of taking my children from such suffer- 
 ings. She drove to the place of my confine- 
 ment, and on entering my room, was shocked 
 at the state in which I had been living. Our 
 meeting was most affectionate. I, was asto- 
 nished to find her accompanied by my brother, 
 who ascended the dark and narrow staircase 
 
THE VOYAGE. 297 
 
 with a caution, perhaps, not unnecessary to the 
 studied elegance of his dress. 
 
 " He entered the room on tip toes, as if the 
 very floor would soil him. Saluting me and 
 my wife with an affected air of gentility, he ex- 
 pressed not the slightest sympathy for the 
 wretchedness around him, but surveyed every 
 thing with a sovereign air of contempt, and 
 occasionally with some appearance of nausea. 
 
 '* I was in earnest conversation with my 
 sister, when having been in the room about a 
 minute, this brother turning to my sister, began 
 to address her with the affected fulness of a 
 fashionable tone. 
 
 '* * Well, Eliza, how long do you wish to 
 stay in this place with our brother Edward, 
 I will give you ten minutes (taking out his 
 gold watch) / must go and walk, but I will 
 return and fetch you in ten minutes.* 
 
 " * Really, Thomas,' said I, addressing him,, 
 * independent of the many communications of 
 affection, which I must naturally wish to ex^ 
 change with my sister after her illness, and iu 
 my present circumstances, the arrangements I 
 shall have to make with her respecting my 
 children, and my future plans, will, I imagine, 
 occupy more than ten minutes.* 
 o 5 
 
598 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 ** * Oh/ rejoined he, continuing his fashion- 
 able tone of voice, ' I really know nothing ot 
 your arrangements, but my time is very short. 
 I cannot stay above ten minutes at the best/ 
 
 '* * And yet, Thomas, I should think my af- 
 fairs just now, are so serious, that it is no ex- 
 travagant wish or request to beg you to waive 
 your engagements, until my arrangements are 
 made with our sister.' 
 
 ** * Why really, Edward, I have before said 
 that my engagements are important, and that 
 I cannot possibly pay any attention just now 
 to your convenience. All the family have 
 asked me to give them a grand lunch to-day ; 
 they have fixed their own time at one, and 
 it is now only ten minutes to one, and we have 
 three miles to ride.' 
 
 ** * And is this the important engagement 
 which you are to allow to interfere with my 
 melancholy situation V 
 
 ** * Oh, I am very sorry for your melancholy 
 dtuation, but you cannot in reason expect me 
 to let my lunch be spoiled,' 
 
 ** * Is it possible/ said I, with warmth, ' is it 
 possible that you can put your lunch in xjompe- 
 tition with the necessity of my making ar- 
 
THE VOYAGE, 299 
 
 rangements to rid myself of this terrible state 
 of my affairs ; most unfeeling man.' 
 
 *' ' Dear me, I am a very feeling man. I 
 think I am very feeling, but you see how I am 
 situated with the family ; if the lunch is spoiled 
 I shall feel extremely hurt.' 
 
 " My indignation was aroused ; my sister 
 saw the gathering storm, and in order to avoid 
 altercation, she interfered, and promised to 
 take my children immediately off my hands ; 
 and thus I parted with my brother, on mode- 
 rate terms of peace. 
 
 " I was soon reduced to the most despe- 
 rate state of want, and in my distress I re- 
 solved to apply to a near relation for assist- 
 ance. I escaped from the prison one evening 
 in disguise, and went to the lodgings of my 
 first cousin, a Mr. Robert William Powell. 
 
 " This man had been a loyalist with my 
 father, and had been on terms of intimacy and 
 friendship with him for more than fifty years. 
 He had, as well as his uncle, my parent, beeft 
 ruined in the political struggle, but although 
 it was known that at one period he had borne 
 arms against the royal cause, yet by dint of 
 perseverance, he had contrived to get from 
 the government about 20,000/. in compensa- 
 06 
 
300 MANTDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 tion of losses which he pretended to have sus- 
 tained by his loyalty towards the crown. It 
 was at a time when he was highly elated with 
 the unexpected receipt of part of this sum, 
 that my abject poverty obliged me to apply to 
 him for relief. 
 
 " I represented to him, in moving terms, 
 that I was reduced to the most abject want, 
 confined in the Bench, with my wife and five 
 female children, varying from a few months 
 to twelve years of age. He replied, * that he 
 had little or no money at his bankers,* on 
 which I requested him to let me have about 
 50/. from the sum of 10,000/» which he was 
 about to receive from the Government ; to this 
 he was ashamed to give a direct negative, and 
 therefore parried the request by subterfuge and 
 evasion, 
 
 " I now urged that my distresses were such 
 that it was almost impossible for human na- 
 ture to view them with apathy. That consi- 
 dering he was my first cousin, one of my guar- 
 dians, the executor under my father's will, 
 had been the confidential friend of my father 
 for half a century, had known him in afflu^ 
 ence ; considering further, that my father had 
 treated him most generously, and had sup* 
 
THE VOYAGE. 301 
 
 ported his sister and niece in times of their 
 distress, I imagined he would assist me, espe- 
 cially as he was then revelling in the enjoy- 
 ment of unexpected wealth, and had but one 
 rather affluent daughter, upon whom to bestow 
 his riches. But I could wring from this hard 
 hearted and unprincipled man neither com- 
 miseration nor assistance. And yet, because 
 this inhuman wretch was possessed of an easy 
 address and specious manners, his company 
 was courted, and he was often the guest of 
 persons of sense and honour; so utterly is 
 the world, in its association, indifferent to 
 any qualities but those of good manners and 
 external appearances. 
 
 " This Cousin Powell's depravity, this 
 mass of human wickedness, threw over me a 
 disgust for my species. My affairs being set- 
 tled, I retired, with my amiable family, to live 
 a life of want, upon the trifling remnant of my 
 property. My sufferings increased a hundred 
 fold, by reflecting upon my former comforts,. 
 I often exclaimed, in the language of Otway, 
 
 < There's not a wretch that lives on common charity 
 But's happier than me. For I have known 
 The luscious sweets of plenty : every night 
 
9QZ MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 Have slept with soft content about my head, 
 And never waked but to a joyful morning. 
 Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, 
 Whose blossom 'scaped, yet's withered in the ripening/ 
 Venice Preserved, Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 Miserable was it to behold my wife submitting 
 to toil, and my children in want even of cloth- 
 ing. Wretched was it to look upon my eldest 
 daughter's mild and placid countenance, sub- 
 mitting to the alterations in our living as a 
 mere temporary evil, and fancying the days 
 of our former comfort would soon return, as a 
 matter of course. My anxious mind did little 
 but contemplate the future, and in visions of 
 agony I anticipated the evil of my decease,, 
 and contemplated nothing but a better sort of 
 servitude for my children, when they grew up. 
 " Poverty had long shewn itself in our 
 apparel, and at length want began to exhibit 
 its effects upon our countenances. I could 
 form no hope of relief but in death ; and look- 
 ing round upon my children, in despair, 1 
 often asked within myself, why do not some 
 of them die ? and then looking on any parti- 
 cular child, I would fancy her dead, and la- 
 ment over her, and again say, why, poor crea- 
 ture, should you die, be lost to all the joys 
 
THE VOYAGE. 303 
 
 of life for want, when so small a sum would 
 support you ? 
 
 *' But soon, alas, my visions began to be 
 too fatally realized. The great destroyer came 
 amongst us, and I was left a widower and 
 childless. I longed, I prayed, that I might 
 now fall the last of the series ; but I was left 
 alone. I became sullen, misanthropic, and 
 morose. The only theme of my contempla- 
 tion was the vices of my fellow creatures. 
 The heartlessness of my Cousin Powell was 
 conceived by me to be common to our nature. 
 I had no sympathy with my species, and I 
 saw every thing through the medium of my 
 misfortunes. Years did I pass in this state of 
 solitary wretchedness ; visions of my former 
 family haunted my memory, and were suc- 
 ceeded by no one cheerful reflection. All 
 within me was indignation at the world, and 
 grief for those who had departed. 
 
 . *' At length humanity began to spread some 
 small influence over my feelings. I found 
 pleasure in visiting the obscurities of wretch- 
 edness, and in relieving the extremes of hu- 
 man suffering. But this employment often 
 occasioned me a relapse of my former anguish, 
 by reviving in my mind what had been en- 
 
504 MANDEVILLEJ OR, 
 
 dured by those who were once so dear to me. 
 I flew to science, to philosophy and literature, 
 as a relief to my reflections. My native 
 energy of intellect began gradually to revive, 
 and with its regeneration, happy was I to find 
 that every passion, every desire of my breast, 
 was hushed, and gone for ever. I was now 
 under the most thorough influence of reason, 
 and reason alone ; I had no prospects either of 
 joy or misery, no hopes, no fears, no desires, 
 no appetites, no antipathies ; all within me was 
 contemplation, it was not apathy, nor indiffer- 
 ence, but my actions were guided solely by 
 reason. 
 
 '* From that hour no feeling for myself has 
 ever revived within me, but the sternness of 
 reason has given way to gentler feelings for 
 my fellow-creatures. I have lived a life of 
 active benevolence ; my wants have been re- 
 duced to little more than the mere support of 
 nature, even of my small income there is 
 therefore a surplus, and which surplus is be- 
 stowed to relieve the afflictions incident to 
 the scenes of many coloured life. I am se- 
 vere in all my habits, my studies are intense ; 
 in exercise I am indefatigable. I am imper-*' 
 vious to every severity, or change of season* 
 
THE VOYAGE. 305 
 
 and little more than the herb from the brook, 
 and water from the spring are my diet, thus 
 am I in constant health and vigour ; my body 
 always capable of exertion, and my mind 
 always unclouded and susceptible of enjoy- 
 ment. My dress is merely kept sufficiently 
 genteel to render my appearance acceptable to 
 that higher class of society whose follies or 
 whose vices often render me as beneficial to 
 them as I am to the poor. 
 
 ** And now, Mr. Mandeville, I have en- 
 trusted you with my history, a point of no in- 
 terest, but yet I assure you my character, my 
 acquirements, and the rank of those with 
 whom I sometimes associate being so incon- 
 sistent with my habits and appearance, have 
 excited a curiosity in the world as to my origin 
 and affairs, a curiosity I have never thought 
 proper to gratify. 
 
 " This history of my friend Mr. Upton in- 
 creased the attachment I had conceived to- 
 wards him. There was one part of the narra- 
 tion, however, in which I perceived that he 
 had greatly under-rated his disposition ; for I 
 knew, by experience, that his heart was most 
 exquisitely sensible to the happiness as well 
 as to the sufferings of his fellow-creatures 5 
 
3(HS mandeville; or, 
 
 and if his feelings were under the guidance of 
 reason, that reason prompted him to exertions 
 in behalf of others to an extent which made 
 him a sort of living providence, a guardian- 
 angel of the scenes in which he moved. 
 
 " I continued for many months to be the 
 companion of his studies, of his exercise, of 
 his recreations, of all his thoughts. 
 
 " I had, at his particular request, accom- 
 panied him one day on one of those exceed- 
 ingly long walks which appeared trifling to 
 him even at his age, although they were quite 
 enough to try the goodness of my more youth- 
 ful and muscular form. 
 
 " We had entered a wood, the shade of 
 which was a great relief from the heat of a 
 September's noon, rendered by no means more 
 moderate by the length and persevering con- 
 tinuance of our walk. 
 
 " * I am going,' said Mr. Upton to me, * to 
 convince you that all events are in themselves 
 nearly indifferent, and that they derive their 
 misery or happiness entirely from our views 
 of them : the contingencies of life are there- 
 fore at our command, as to their effects upon 
 our happiness. I will now shew you that 
 the very thoughts of which could once alter- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 307 
 
 nately render you furious or melancholy to a 
 degree of insanity, and now you will view it 
 with a sorrow which will be so rational as to 
 answer the purpose for which nature rendered 
 us capable of feeling grief. It will inspire 
 you with a horror of committing sin, with a 
 desire of relieving wretchedness, and the re- 
 flection upon your sentiments, on such occa- 
 sions, will, hereafter, give you the pleasure- 
 able consciousness of self-approbation.* 
 
 ** Hardly had he addressed me thus when 
 we were at the garden-gate of a romantic 
 woodland cottage, so shaded with trees that 
 it was invisible until you had approached it 
 within a hundred yards. Some ten or a dozen 
 cottages, of an inferior description, were scat- 
 tered within about a quarter of a mile of it. 
 
 ** * This,' said I, ' might be the abode of the 
 fairies ; it seems almost a cottage of the ima- 
 gination. So simple, so elegant, so rural, so 
 romantic, I could almost indulge myself in a 
 reverie, and fancy the scene ideal, or at least 
 expect the presence of queen Mab or Titania.' 
 
 ** ' That lovely form of fairy elegance,' said 
 Mr. Upton. He was interrupted, we had en- 
 tered the sitting-room, and the inner door 
 opened ; what was my surprise to see approach 
 5 
 
3p8 mandeville; or, 
 
 us, Lady Belton in a plain homely dress of a 
 nurse. She was no longer the gay, volatile, 
 or loquacious lady of fashion. Her air be- 
 spoke seriousness, humility, and sorrow. She 
 shook me by the hand with a degree of warmth 
 and affection. I stood overpowered with sur- 
 prise, and with the forebodings with which my 
 mind was now filled. 
 
 " * She is yet alive, Mr. Upton,' said the 
 lady. * She awoke an hour after sun-rise this 
 morning, and being ignorant of the time, she 
 asked if you had arrived. She is calm, but 
 very desirous of seeing you. Mr. Mandeville,' 
 said her Ladyship turning to me, ' your close 
 connection with Mr. Upton, is not unknown 
 to me. I am aware of all you suffered for my 
 Emma's sake.' 
 
 " * Would to heavens. Madam, my sufferings 
 could have mitigated her's.' 
 
 " * Alas, Sir, that alone which could miti? 
 gate her sufferings is fast approaching. Mr. 
 Mandeville, you know full well my Emma's 
 wretchedness. It was necessary for us to re- 
 tire from the world at this period of the con- 
 sequences of Captain Montagu's cruelty.-— 
 Emma resolved never again to appear amongst 
 her friends. She requested a small annuity of 
 
THE VOYAGE. 309 
 
 150/. a year from her father, and determined 
 to retire and live a humble life of obscurity in 
 the country, where her child might be the only 
 object of her care, can I say of her happiness? 
 We endeavoured to persuade her after her con- 
 finement, to allow the infant to be put out to 
 nurse in a borrowed name, and that she should 
 rejoin her family, living in celibacy, but in 
 peace with her affectionate parents and sisters ; 
 but no persuasion could induce her to consent 
 to leave her child, ' nor,' said she, ' if it dies, 
 will I ever appear again in the world.' Per- 
 suasion was indeed useless, for it was but too 
 evident that her heart was broken, and that her 
 delicate form could not support her under the 
 afflictions of her spirit. Consumption, that un- 
 erring scourge, at length assailed her ; brought 
 on by grief, it was nourished by that which 
 engendered it. It made rapid strides, and she 
 watched its progress with a silent joy, as a re- 
 lief to all her miseries. I resolved to attend 
 her to a retreat which would at once be the 
 scene of her confinement and of her decease ; 
 the first event has already taken place, and we 
 are in hourly expectation of the fatal catas- 
 trophe. Mr. Upton's kindness has procured 
 
310 mandeville; OR, 
 
 us this cottage, and we at present pass by the 
 name of Morville.' 
 
 " By the invitation of the mother, we en- 
 tered the adjoining room. There was a cradle 
 with a sleeping female infant, and on a small 
 tent bedstead, with dimity curtains as white as 
 the driven snow, lay the once innocent and 
 happy, but the now lost, pale, and emaciated 
 EmmaBelton. My heart ached at the sight. 
 
 " She was asleep, and looked like a statue 
 of faded loveliness. I held my breath in silent 
 sorrow, lest I should disturb her. In a few 
 minutes she uttered a deep sigh, and starting 
 in her dream, exclaimed, * Great God, forgive, 
 it was my youth's error.' Again she was calm 
 and placid. Her night-gown was close to her 
 chin, the shadow of its frill was reflected upon 
 her mouth, or else her lips were slightly con- 
 vulsed. The tear-drop fell from the mother's 
 eye. I was absorbed in sorrow. Heavens, 
 thought I to myself, what a sad contrast to a 
 few months ago, when you were the picture of 
 youthful loveliness. Life's brightest scenes 
 were in prospect for you, all was joy and hope, 
 now, scarce eighteen, an outcast, a sacrifice, 
 flying from infamy, dying under a fictitious 
 name, in solitude, in secrecy ; and that poor, 
 hapless infant, with the stigma of its birth. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 311 
 
 doomed never to feel a parent's caresses, a 
 parent's care. I turned to a door leading into 
 a second bed-room ; the door was opened, and 
 through it I first perceived Lord Belton. He 
 was sitting in an arm-chair. His legs straight 
 and stretched on the ground, his hands clasped 
 and between his knees. His body was bent 
 forward, and his eyes were to the ground. He 
 seemed in the deepest sorrow. 
 
 " We remained in this state for about five 
 minutes, without a breath being heard. Emma 
 gently opened her eyes. She first caught a 
 sight of me. Her face was immediately suf- 
 fused with crimson. I retired a few steps 
 backwards as if by instinct ; she stretched her 
 arm from the bed clothes, and gently took my 
 hand. 
 
 " ' Sit down,' said she, * Mr. Mandeville. 
 I did not expect to see you here. I know you 
 do not come out of curiosity nor to triumph 
 over me. My kind and worthy friend, Mr. 
 Upton, has brought you here, judging, I sup- 
 pose", that I should be glad to see you. Ah, 
 Mr. Mandeville,' said she, with a deep sigh, 
 * I know the grief which my folly has cost you 
 as well as my dear parents, and my family. 
 Had I been prudent and virtuous, I might now 
 
312 mandeville; or, 
 
 have been dear to you ; we might both have 
 been happy/ 
 
 " I could not speak for grief. I pressed 
 her hand to my lips, and kissed it repeatedly, 
 fervently. She continued : 
 
 " * My affectionate mother would console 
 me, by arguing that it was the error of my in- 
 nocence, of my youth and inexperience, of her 
 own neglect of me, of Captain Montagu's ac- 
 complished powers. These arguments I know 
 are meant well, they are meant to make my 
 few remaining hours happy ; but I know they 
 are fallacious. No man has powers to be- 
 guile, unless the object beguiled is criminal 
 and faulty in disposition. The promise of 
 marriage for such a purpose, has been given 
 under every form, and with every possible 
 pledge, and never yet was it kept ; this is a 
 well known truth : she therefore who relies on 
 such a promise, has only her own folly to 
 blame for her ruin. As far as I have injured 
 society, and afflicted my parents and friends 
 (looking at myself and Mr. Upton), I trust my 
 death will expatiate ; as far as I have offended 
 my God, I have implored forgiveness. I go 
 before my Judge.' 
 
 " ' A just and righteous Judge/ said I. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 313 
 
 " ' A merciful one, I trust, or I am lost. 
 
 " * Look, Mr. Mandeville,' said she, point- 
 ing with painful earnestness to the cradle, 
 ' look at that sleeping innocent. Hard indeed 
 will be its fate in this life. You are aware that 
 Captain Montagu left his estate to me ; the 
 bequest has of course pointed me out to the 
 suspicion of the world. I would not accept 
 of the legacy for myself, but I thought this 
 hapless child was justly entitled to it ; in the 
 event of her death, I have made it over to 
 Captain Montagu's sister. But, oh my child, 
 what will be your fate ? no tenderness of a 
 mother, no guiding care of a father will it be 
 your lot to receive. My parents can only no- 
 tice you by stealth. Alas, alas, a female child 
 so desolate, and with its mother's fault here- 
 ditary perhaps, all the infamy at least will fall 
 on you. 
 
 " * Mr. Upton, that kind and generous man, 
 my more than father, has promised to be its 
 guardian, to love it for its mother's sake. Mr. 
 Upton makes no oaths, but his promise is 
 sacred, and he would not, I know, (looking 
 wistfully at Mr. Upton) deceive his dying 
 Emma ; but, ah, Mr. Mandeville, our friend 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
314 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 Mr. Upton, is now old, and ere my child's of 
 age, may expect to be in those regions of joy- 
 ful eternity, from which I fear my crime has ex- 
 cluded me. If, Mr. Mandeville, you can so long 
 remember your once beloved, alas, yoUr once 
 esteemed Emma, oh let me conjure you to fos- 
 ter, to befriend, to guard this now sleeping in- 
 nocent. When I, my parents, Mr. Upton, 
 shall be no more, oh, extend a father's care 
 to this poor babe.' (Tears stopped her utter- 
 ance, she was overcome. Reviving, she raised 
 herself in the bed), ' Give me,' said she to her 
 mother, ' oh, give me my child.' 
 
 " Lady Belton took the child from the cradle, 
 and held it to the bed. 
 
 " Emma raised herself on her pillow. ' Oh, 
 God, my child,' exclaimed she, stretching out 
 her arms to take the infant, and in that action 
 fell back and expired ! 
 
 " I caught the child from her, and fell weep- 
 ing on poor Emma's neck. ' Heavens, is the 
 struggle past,' cried Lord Belton, clasping his 
 hands in a supplicating attitude to heaven. 
 The wretched Lady Belton fell senseless on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Mr. Upton alone preserved presence of 
 mind. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 315 
 
 '* We remained in the cottage, and that 
 night I distractedly watched over the dead. 
 
 *' We kept poor Emma's coffin open as long 
 as possible. At length I followed her to the 
 grave ; a mound of earth covers her once young 
 and lovely body, and at her head is a simple 
 tomb stone, engraved with the inscription of 
 * Emma Morville, aged 18>' And over this 
 tomb have I shed the copious tear, over this 
 tomb has my heart ached with the recollec- 
 tion of Emma, from the days of her virgin 
 purity to the hour of her hapless exit. 
 
 " I need not say that these reminiscences 
 have occasioned me constant sorrow. 
 
 " The child bore a strong resemblance to its 
 beloved and sacrificed parent. It was placed 
 by its guardian with the widow of a clergyman, 
 who resided in a small house delightfully si- 
 tuated about a mile from Mr. Upton's place 
 of residence, and never was man more fond of 
 infant. He saw it twice or three times every 
 day, and caressed it with a doating fondness. 
 
 " I continued for three months the insepa- 
 rable companion of Mr. Upton, when it was 
 announced to the commanding officer at Ports- 
 mouth, that the Government intended imme- 
 p2 
 
3i6 mandeville; OR, 
 
 diately to dispatch a small squadron on an ex- 
 pedition into the Indian Ocean, and that one 
 hundred and fifty troops were to be embarked 
 on board the Commodore's ship. At this 
 time the troops, and particularly the officers, 
 had a very great aversion to serving on ship 
 board. The Government did not choose to 
 employ on this service, men whose antipathy 
 to the duty might have marred the object of 
 the expedition ; and making therefore a virtue 
 of necessity, they bribed the troops to volun- 
 teer their services, by offering them a bounty 
 on their embarkation. The officer who should 
 volunteer to accompany them, was to receive 
 one rank of promotion. 
 
 " But such was the aversion of military gen- 
 tlemen to the coarse, dull monotonies of a 
 ship's ward-room, that not one officer offered 
 himself for the service. 
 
 " I had grown exceedingly tired of mere 
 garrison duty, which although wonderfully 
 pleasing to such as had no desire above the 
 constant military penchant of displaying regi- 
 mentals, was yet weary, stale, flat, and un- 
 profitable to all who longed to raise a glo- 
 rious name in arms. I consulted Mr. Upton 
 
THE VOYAGE. 317 
 
 Upon my volunteering my services on this pro* 
 jected expedition; and taking all things into 
 consideration, he approved of my intention. 
 
 " The offer was made to the war office, and 
 immediately accepted. I received the com- 
 mission of a captain, and embarked with three 
 lieutenants and one hundred and fifty men on 
 board of the Britannia, a three decked ship, 
 bearing the Commodore's pendant. Our squa- 
 dron was to consist of the Britannia, of the 
 Lion, an old sixty-four, and a small frigate. 
 
 " So rapidly was I embarked, that I had 
 not time to take leave of my loved and ho- 
 noured parents. I wrote them farewell letters, 
 full of the affection of my heart ; and I com- 
 missioned Mr. Upton to visit them on my be- 
 half, and to console their feelings under the 
 grief of thus parting with me. I took leave 
 of my friend, Mr. Upton, with filial sorrow, and 
 on entering my ship, I found my friend had 
 sent on board a box of books, with a letter of 
 advice, which showed at once his affection for 
 me, and his intimate knowledge of the human 
 heart, even modified by this naval life of which 
 he knew so little by experience ; but his depth 
 of observation well supplied the place of a 
 personal service in the navy. His letter finish- 
 p3 
 
318 mandeville; or, 
 
 ed by saying, that the Britannia being fitted 
 for a man of rank and fashion, and filled with 
 his followers, the ward-room mess he appre- 
 hended would be above my finances, and he 
 therefore beggedmy acceptance of 50 guineas, 
 which would pay my entrance and assist me, 
 until perhaps the service of the expedition 
 might recruit my means by pay or prize money. 
 
 '' I was most sensibly affected by this in- 
 stance of his prospective care of me; and this 
 act of kindness proved of the most essential 
 service, for the mess was on a scale so far 
 above my means, that but for this supply 1 
 should have been obliged to submit to the in- 
 describable mortification of confessing my po- 
 verty, and retiring from the table of my equals 
 to that of my inferiors. 
 
 " Our Commodore was the celebrated Sir 
 John Fadladeen, a tall, thin, pale faced man, 
 with sharp features, and an unmeaning eye. 
 His voice was weak and squeaking, and his 
 manners affected and coxcomical in the ex- 
 treme, and of all things on earth the pre- 
 sumption of a naval coxcomb is the most dis- 
 gusting. His cabin was fitted in a style of 
 great magnificence, and he carried with him a 
 band of musicians, with a host of French 
 
THE VOYAGE. 319 
 
 cooks, French valets, and other such persons, 
 to whom sailors are known to have a great 
 antipathy. 
 
 *' Sir John had been able to fill the ship with 
 his followers, and I found my ward-room mess- 
 mates to consist of fourteen lieutenants, of 
 whom twelve were young men of fashion, the 
 friends of the commodore, and the two others 
 were plain officers, men of no consequence, 
 whom Sir John had found serving in the ship 
 when he took the command, and whom he had 
 not displaced, having already appointed all 
 his friends whom he had wished to follow him 
 on this service. 
 
 '' To these, my fourteen table companions, 
 were added the purser, the master of the ship, 
 my three military lieutenants, and a doctor, a 
 man who had conceived that study was unne- 
 cessary to the duties of a surgeon or a physi- 
 cian, provided the professor happened to be 
 born in the pseudo-northern Athens, vulgarly 
 called Edinburgh, the inhabitants of which 
 have long conceived themselves to be the most 
 scientific and learned people of Europe. 
 
 '' These aforesaid gentlemen, with myself, 
 made up the number of twenty-one officers, 
 who were to live together, but to this number 
 p4 
 
320 mandeville; or, 
 
 was added a passenger, the notorious Muck- 
 worth Praed, who was departing from the west 
 to practise as a lawyer in the east. This 
 wretched creature was of that singular cast 
 of mind that can even make the most furious 
 and maniac passions subservient to schemes 
 of low and unprincipled cunning. By his 
 father's side he was occasionally afflicted with 
 fits of insanity, which wrought him to the 
 most ungovernable rage ; these subsiding, he 
 was morose, vindictive, and vigilant to achieve 
 some deed of malignity, in which he practised 
 that species of unprincipled and at once ridi- 
 culous and mischievous cunning, which seems 
 peculiar to persons affected by insanity. 
 
 " It was not very difficult to foresee that in 
 a society of such discordant materials, there 
 would, of necessity, arise feuds andjanarchy ; 
 but I was little likely to be personally engaged 
 in any contest, as my disposition was by no 
 means malignant, and my excellent Mentor, 
 Mr. Upton, had taught me the invaluable art 
 of subduing my irascible propensities. I there- 
 fore considered that I was apart from the ele- 
 ments with which Mr. Muckworth Praed was 
 to work as the demon of the storm, but weak 
 indeed is human foresight. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 321 
 
 *' The economy of our naval service, at this 
 period, was beyond conception, and I was 
 astonished that human nature could undergo 
 what was daily inflicted on our seamen. Those 
 undaunted spirits, men of fearless and despe- 
 rate characters, I beheld submitting tamely 
 to every thing which could insult, defraud, or 
 torture them. So innate and powerful is the 
 principle of obedience to authority. 
 
 *' The youngest midshipman (and there were 
 many not twelve years of age) had the privi- 
 lege of striking the robust and veteran sailor, 
 a privilege of which they frequently availed 
 themselves. The mate, or midshipman of the 
 watch, had the further privilege of what is 
 technically called starting a man, or flogging 
 him most unmercifully with the end of a rope, 
 tapered to a point, and covered with plaited 
 twine : this punishment is often dreaded by 
 seamen more than the cat-o'-nine-tales, and 
 such is its effects, that I saw two men jump 
 over board, and drown themselves, being 
 wrought to despair by the agony of the punish- 
 ment. Our military discipline, at that period, 
 was reckoned exceedingly severe, but it fell 
 very far short of what I had now to witness 
 in the navy. Our officers were, at least, gen- 
 p5 
 
322 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 tlemen, and the lowest subaltern would have 
 been disgraced had he been guilty of swearing 
 at a man, and personally striking him, but 
 this was an occurrence of every hour, on board 
 of the Britannia. In our army also, corporeal 
 punishment was the result of a court-martial, 
 and of patient investigation, but here every 
 officer on the spot, in the heat of rage, would 
 chastise a man by this, what they called, start- 
 ing. 
 
 " But to add to this practice, whenever the 
 hands were turned up, a boatswain's mate, as 
 a matter of course, planted himself at each of 
 the ladders, and with a cane, covered with 
 waxed cord, or with some equally powerful 
 instrument, lashed the men indiscriminately as 
 they ascended. 
 
 " Every day at noon the hands were turned 
 up to witness the more ceremonious punish- 
 ment of the cat-o'-nine-tales inflicted on the 
 naked shoulders of the crew. This tyranny was 
 really frightful,and as our officers frequently pu- 
 nished on the spot, before passion had time to 
 subside, and to be tempered by judgment, the 
 punishment was often administered to a wrong 
 object, I remember the first flogging I wit- 
 nessed was inflicted upon a fine and noble 
 t 
 
THE VOYAGE. 323 
 
 looking seaman, of the name of Wilson, This 
 man was the captain of the main-top, and in 
 working the ship something about the tackle 
 of the top-sail was found wrong, and the cap- 
 tain, in a rage, ordered for immediate punish- 
 ment, this victim, Wilson, who, as captain of 
 the top, was held responsible for the conduct 
 of those under him. He was stripped, and on 
 being tied up to the gangway, his back pre- 
 sented the shocking sight of one continuous 
 purple incrustation, the result of a merciless 
 flogging he had recently received. The first 
 lash of the cat-o'-nine-tales tore from his back 
 this cake, or crust, and left the bleeding mus- 
 cles uncovered by any skin, but the punish- 
 ment was persevered in, the dozen lashes were 
 inflicted, nor did a sight so horrible excite 
 the least remark amongst the officers or crew. 
 It was an every day occurrence, unworthy of 
 observation. 
 
 " To add to these evils, the miserable and 
 scanty allowance of provision to the men, was 
 reduced and purloined by the purser, and as 
 this had grown into a system, and was autho- 
 rized by custom, the purser by no means felt 
 himself disgraced by living on this plunder of 
 the poor. 
 
 p6 
 
324 mandeville; or, 
 
 " Many sensible and gallant officers foresaw 
 that these abominable abuses would sooner or 
 later produce some disastrous commotion in 
 the fleet, and they urged the Admiralty to re- 
 form the service. But governments are never 
 ready to reform, nor are they ever fond of 
 those who urge reformation. At length out- 
 raged nature rose to vindicate itself. The 
 Government then saw that the abuses were 
 great, and needed to be reformed ; they were 
 reformed, but those who had effected the re- 
 formation were hanged as mutineers. 
 
 " But as soon as the novelty of a sea life 
 had worn away, I began to find the scene in- 
 tolerably dull. There was not, in my mess, 
 a single man of letters or of science, whom I 
 could make my companion ; nor was even their 
 merriment of a stamp to relieve the spirits 
 after the labour of study. Muckworth Praed, 
 our passenger, being a professional man, had, 
 of course, some degree of acquirements, but 
 his repulsive manners, and general cast of 
 character, forbade all association. Fancy to 
 yourself a set of men of strong constitutions, 
 fed upon coarse and acrimonious food, and in- 
 flamed by stimulating liquors, without exer- 
 cise to carry off" their humours, destitute of 
 
THE VOYAGE. 3<25 
 
 the assuaging influence of education, unsoi- 
 tened by the association of females ; fancy 
 such a set of men, entrusted with arbitrary 
 power, and what must be the lot of those whom 
 they command. 
 
 " I occupied the whole of my day between 
 intense study and walking the quarter-deck, 
 as a means of bodily health. I had little as- 
 sociation with my messmates further than 
 light and immaterial conversation, to pass 
 away those hours when the mind was too fati- 
 gued to resort to my desk for occupation. As 
 my manners were now mild and unassuming, 
 and as I was cheerful in my temper, I know 
 not that my habits of withdrawing myself from 
 the general society afforded any ground of of- 
 fence against me, but this I know, that though 
 I quarrelled with no man, yet all the effects of 
 the general quarrelling were visited upon me. 
 
 " Our junior lieutenant was a thoughtless 
 giddy young gentleman, of frank, and as the 
 world goes, of a sincere disposition, who al- 
 ways spoke his mind without reserve, and 
 often unconscious of the import of what he 
 said. He had frequently, at the mess, in- 
 dulged in momentary sallies of indignation at 
 the corruption of Government; he had can- 
 
326 mandeville; or, 
 
 vassed a little too freely the abilities of our 
 captain, and had once or twice ventured so far 
 as to quiz his voice and manner. I took very 
 little interest myself in the passing scene, but 
 circumstances, unobserved by others, had in- 
 duced me to suspect that all wqls not held 
 sacred that passed amongst us ; this Lieute- 
 nant Bedford had resented a most foul, un- 
 gentlemanly piece of conduct in our passenger, 
 Muckworth Praed ; this man had, however, 
 apologized to the offended officer, and had 
 shaken hands with him in token of reconci- 
 liation. But I saw clearly that Muckworth 
 Praed had been reconciled from mere policy, 
 and that revenge was lurking in his dark and 
 malignant mind. 
 
 " I ventured cautiously to hint to Mr. Bed- 
 ford how unguarded he was in his expressions, 
 and added, that he often expressed senti- 
 ments, or rather made observations, that an 
 artful and designing man might contrive to 
 misconstrue to his prejudice, but he received 
 my advice with all the heedlessness of youth- 
 ful spirits. ' There is,' said he, * but one 
 scoundrel amongst us, and that is Praed, and 
 although he would be base enough, yet he 
 dare not carry to the captain what passes be- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 327 
 
 tween ourselves in confidence over our wine 
 or glass of grog/ 
 
 " I repeated my caution several times, and 
 even earnestly exerted myself to guard him 
 against his danger. ' Remember, Mr. Bed- 
 ford,' said I, * of the fourteen lieutenants in 
 the ship, twelve are the personal friends and 
 followers of the commodore ; these are all men 
 of interest, and connected together ; you stand 
 alone, and I fear, excuse my freedom, have 
 nothing to depend upon in the service but 
 your professional knowledge and the valour of 
 your sword.' 
 
 " ' And what,' said he, * can be better for 
 an officer to depend upon than these, are they 
 not sufficient V 
 
 " ' I wish you may find them so,' was my 
 reply. 
 
 *' About a week after, the whole of the ward- 
 room officers were summoned to the cabin at 
 ten o'clock in the morning. I entered the 
 last, and I perceived all my messmates stand- 
 ing in a semicircle round the captain, who 
 was seated in an attitude of state, which the 
 meanness of his person rendered rather con- 
 temptible than imposing. Much anger, but 
 at the same time much irresolution was visible 
 in his looks. 
 
328 mandeville; or, 
 
 " At length he began, with a squeaking and 
 hurried voice, to address his audience. 
 
 " * I, Gentlemen, I am sorry, extremely 
 sorry ; I say I am very sorry ; I may say I, I, 
 I, I am grieved that any thing disgraceful to 
 the service should happen on board of any 
 ship which her gracious Majesty, Queen Anne, 
 may have been pleased to entrust to my com- 
 mand, for the safety of our country. I, I, I, 
 I am sorry, I should say indignant, that any 
 officer of the Britannia should think of ridi- 
 culing his commander, and thereby bringing 
 him into contempt, subverting his authority, 
 and endangering the country, by indulging in 
 improper and mutinous observations at his 
 meals. But, but, I charge you, Mr. Bedford, 
 my junior lieutenant, with having uttered, 
 after the dinner cloth has been removed, sun- 
 dry expressions, which have been minuted 
 down against you, and I will read them from 
 this list now in my hands.' 
 
 " Mr. Bedford's astonishment now gave 
 place to strong indignation ; advancing from 
 the group, he exclaimed, with emphasis, ' And 
 who, Sir, has been base enough to take notes 
 of what I have said under the sacred confi- 
 dence of privacy, existing between gentlemen 
 7 
 
THE VOYAGE. 329 
 
 at their dinner-table. The scoundrel who would 
 take notes under such circumstances, would 
 have little hesitation in noting down false- 
 hood, or even in attesting his falsehood upon 
 oath/ 
 
 " ' Mr. Bedford,' replied Sir John, with his 
 shrill artificial voice, ' I believe I never pro- 
 ceed in weighty matters without duly consider- 
 ing all the ramifications of the case. The 
 charges against you, contained in this paper, 
 I believe I shall be able fully to substantiate. 
 They have been made by a gentleman of strict 
 honour and unimpeachable veracity, by Mr. 
 Muckworth Praed, who, by his conduct in this 
 instance, has shewn himself highly worthy of 
 my regard. Indeed I must consider him my 
 personal friend, for defending my honour ; and 
 now. Sir, I will read my worthy friend Mr. 
 Muckworth Praed's memorandum.' 
 
 " ' Excuse me. Sir John,' said Mr. Bedford, 
 vehemently, * for asserting, that there is not 
 a gentleman present, in whose countenance I 
 cannot read the sentiment, that Mr. Praed is a 
 sneaking, pitiful scoundrel.' 
 
 " ' Sir, your words amount to little less than 
 mutiny ; my amanuensis shall note down your 
 last speech. Mr. Clerk, note down that after 
 
330 MAjN^DEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 pronouncing Mr. Praed, my friend, that Lieu- 
 tenant James Bedford, has in contempt of all 
 discipline and obedience to the Commodore, 
 avowed that Mr. Praed is a sneaking, pitiful 
 scoundrel. Yes, those were the words, the 
 very words ; put down precisely, Mr. Praed, a 
 sneaking, pitiful scoundrel.' 
 
 " Mr. Praed's long body and sallow wrinkled 
 face, seemed to writhe as if he were about to 
 speak. 
 
 " ' And now. Lieutenant Bedford, I will read 
 my friend Mr. Praed's charges against you.' 
 
 " The charges were now read, and amounted 
 to Lieutenant Bedford's having pronounced 
 his commander a petty coxcomb, without sea- 
 manship, valour, or talents for command. 
 
 '' Mr. Praed's usualmalignity of countenance 
 was heightened to a demoniacal expression of 
 revenge and triumph. 
 
 " The Commodore looked quite satisfied 
 with himself, for, as he thought, managing the 
 business so well. 
 
 " I could hardly contain my countenance ; 
 and the greater part of the company looked as 
 if they did not know what to make of the scene. 
 
 '' The Commodore, rising from his crimson 
 chair, standing in a pompous theatrical atti- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 331 
 
 tude, and endeavouring to throw his chest out 
 with grace, began with a most absurd affecta- 
 tion of graudeur and consequence. 
 
 " * And now, I will ask my officers whether 
 Lieutenant Bedford has not repeatedly used 
 disrespectful expressions against me, the Com- 
 modore of his Majesty's squadron, and whe- 
 ther he has not been guilty of uttering all that 
 my worthy friend Mr. Muckworth Praed has, 
 out of friendship to me, and out of a love to 
 the service, thought proper to note so care- 
 fully down. 
 
 " * To begin with my first Lieutenant, I 
 ask the Hon. John Money, whether he has not 
 heard Lieutenant Bedford utter what Mr.Praed 
 has here noted down against him.' 
 
 " ' Why, really. Commodore Sir John Fad- 
 ladeen,' began Mr. Money, ' Lieutenant Bed- 
 ford is rather free of his speech. I can't tax 
 my memory with any thing particular he has 
 said, but he certainly has said something rather 
 like what Mr. Muckworth Praed has put down ; 
 something about the same, but I can't speak 
 as to particulars.' 
 
 " The Commodore thought this a sufficient 
 confirmation of his charge, and hurried the 
 same question to every officer seriatim. 
 
332 mandeville; or, 
 
 " From all of them he got about the same 
 answer as he had received from Mr. Money. 
 Not that there was any malignity or ill will 
 borne towards the accused, but the parties 
 answered merely with that crouching subser- 
 viency to authority, which seems so natural to 
 man in all ranks and stations. The expres- 
 sion of Lieutenant Bedford's countenance 
 during the first part of the examination,, was 
 that of indifference, with an occasional glance 
 of sovereign contempt, at the base and malig- 
 nant lawyer, Mr. Praed ; but when his careless 
 and confiding mind witnessed the conduct of 
 all his messmates, he seemed at once indig- 
 nant and astonished. 
 
 " At length this long line of witnesses be- 
 ing gone through, it was my turn to be inter- 
 rogated, and the Commodore addressed me. 
 
 " * And now. Captain Mandeville, I will ap- 
 peal to you, who must be impartial, having no 
 sympathy with the service.' 
 
 " * You must excuse me. Sir John, for say- 
 ing, that although a soldier, I have great sym- 
 pathy with the naval service, and with every 
 service important to our country, or to the 
 interests of mankind.' 
 
 ^' * Well, Captain Mandeville, you can have 
 
THE VOYAGE. 333 
 
 no personal or rather professional sympathy 
 with individual naval officers/ 
 
 " * No sympathy of any sort. Commodore 
 Fadladeen, would influence me in giving evi- 
 dence in a case like the present/ 
 
 " ' Well, Sir, I now wait your confirmation 
 of the charges preferred against Lieutenant 
 Bedford, by my worthy friend, Mr. Muckworth 
 Praed, and which charges you have heard con- 
 firmed by all my naval officers present.' 
 
 " * If, Sir John, they have been confirmed 
 by so many gentlemen, they hardly need any 
 confirmation by me.' 
 
 " ' If, Sir, you answer me in this manner, 
 I must let you know. Sir, that I do not con- 
 descend to argue. I speak to be obeyed. 
 Your evidence on this point immediately. Cap- 
 tain Mandeville.' 
 
 " * Commodore Fadladeen, unless the laws 
 or usage of the service oblige me to speak on 
 this point, I must request the favour of your 
 dispensing with my evidence. The officers 
 present know well that I have very little com- 
 munication with the mess ; that I am very re- 
 tired in my habits, and interest myself very 
 little in affairs of this sort. 
 
334 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 " ' Upon my word. Captain Mandeville, I 
 am very much obliged to you. So, Sir, you 
 interest yourself very little in affairs of this 
 sort. I must inform you, Sir, that whilst 
 under my command, you shall interest your- 
 self in what concerns my honour and dignity/ 
 
 " * If that is my duty. Commodore, allow 
 me then to beg you to discontinue this pro- 
 ceeding, for — ' 
 
 " ' Sir, I want none of your fors, and ifs, and 
 buts ; why. Sir, should you object to give your 
 evidence against Mr. Bedford more than any 
 of the rest of the ward-room.' 
 
 '' * Simply, Sir John, that I never heard 
 Lieutenant Bedford say any thing of a nature 
 more criminal than mere indiscretion ; and I 
 have an unconquerable aversion to violate that 
 confidence which every gentleman conceives 
 to be tacitly pledged by all who sit down to- 
 gether to the daily meal.' 
 
 *•' * I am the best judge. Captain Mandeville, 
 of what is crime and what is indiscretion. I 
 want no parade of sentiment; this is not a 
 theatre. Sir, and retire a prisoner to your cabin, 
 or instantly say whether the charges contained 
 in this paper are true or false. They were all 
 
THE VOYAGE. 335 
 
 uttered after the dinner-cloth was removed, 
 and you must have heard them as well as the 
 rest of my officers.' 
 
 " ' Then, Sir John Fadladeen,' said I, cast- 
 ing a look of ineffable contempt at the wretched 
 Mr. Praed, who stood like a fiend by the side 
 of the Commodore. * If I were to give my evi- 
 dence before a court-martial, I should say that 
 many of the charges contained in that paper 
 are positive falsehoods, and the few that are 
 founded in fact are so distorted by artful ma- 
 lice, that they are equivalent to falsehood. I 
 know Lieutenant Bedford to be a frank and 
 honourable gentleman, of an ingenuous and 
 feeling disposition, whose only fault is, that 
 no prudence nor propriety can check his pro- 
 pensity to enjoy the wit or joke that comes 
 uppermost in his mind.' 
 
 " * Oh, I see now, you are hoisting a dif- 
 ferent ensign, you are now not the sentimental, 
 but the gallant Captain Mandeville, the cham- 
 pion of the accused. I find. Sir, you are a 
 mighty advocate for the new plebeian doctrines 
 of liberty and reform. You little know how 
 thoroughly I am acquainted with all your sen- 
 ments. Upon my word the Government have 
 done well to send a gentleman of your cast to 
 
336 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 command the troops employed under a man of 
 my rank.' 
 
 '' ' Commodore Fadladeen, you have nothing 
 to do with any sentiments of mine which do 
 not relate to the service. Mr. Praed can do 
 me little injury, I believe ; for I confine my 
 opinion to the general expression of my ardent 
 enthusiastic love of liberty, and my strong de- 
 sire that all the abuses of our government may 
 be reformed.' 
 
 " ' Abuses of our government. Sir? there 
 are no such abuses existing, but in the imagi- 
 nation of the disaffected.' 
 
 " ' The united voice of every rank speaks a 
 contrary opinion. Sir John.' 
 
 ** ' And how dare an officer to see any abuses 
 in the government ? your duty. Sir, is to obey.' 
 
 '' ' As a soldier. Sir, I am obedient ; but the 
 passive obedience of a soldier, should be con- 
 fined strictly to his military duty ; that per- 
 formed, he merges into the citizen, and pa- 
 triotism exacts his voice to free his country 
 from corruption.' 
 
 " * Captain Mandeville, you are speaking 
 mutiny. A court-martial. Sir, may teach you 
 better what your sentiments as an officer ought 
 to be.' 
 
THE VOYAGE. 337 
 
 '* ' Sir John, the mere officer, whether mili- 
 tary or naval, is a contemptible character, but 
 it has been always my effort to super-add to 
 the character of a soldier the higher qualifica- 
 tions of a scholar and a gentleman.' 
 
 ** * Upon my word. Captain Mandeville, I 
 was not aware of my good fortune in possess- 
 ing an officer of so superior a description ; a 
 soldier, a scholar, and a gentleman.' 
 
 ** * Sir John, your irony is any thing but a 
 source of mortification to me.' 
 
 *' * Sir, I will cut this insubordination short, 
 by telling you that no officer in my ship shall 
 see any abuses in the government, nor will I 
 put up with any argument from any of my 
 officers. What, Sir, do you laugh at me ; I 
 would have you. Captain Mandeville, be cir- 
 cumspect in your conduct. No man on earth 
 shall beard me, with impunity, in my own 
 cabin. Sir, you may think yourself fortunate 
 that I allow you to resume your place at the 
 mess-table, with your brother officers.' 
 
 '* * That is any thing but a fortunate privi- 
 lege to me ; if a viper, a foul and insidious 
 serpent, like Mr, Muckworth Praed be one of 
 the board.' 
 
 VOL. 1. Q 
 
338 MANDEVILLE ; OR, 
 
 " * And what objection can you have to a 
 gentleman whom I honour with my confi- 
 dence V 
 
 " * I have had no personal difference, myself, 
 with Mr. Praed ; I saw through him from the 
 first, and have therefore avoided him. But I 
 hold it a moral duty that every man of honour 
 should testify his abhorrence of such a wretch. 
 I should consider myself soiled, degraded as 
 a gentleman, by associating with Mr. Praed. 
 And I shall certainly propose to the gentle- 
 men of the ward-room to banish him from their 
 society.' 
 
 " ' At your peril. Sir, vociferated the Com- 
 modore, stamping his foot on the deck. At 
 your peril. Sir, propose the degradation of a 
 gentleman, whose only fault has been an 
 anxiety for my honour.' 
 
 " * Sir John, his fault, in my eyes, is, in- 
 truding himself, under the mask of friendship, 
 upon the convivial hours of his hosts, and 
 noting their conversation, for the purpose of 
 effecting the ruin of perhaps the greater part 
 of us. Mr. Praed would hardly wish to enter 
 the mess, if he sees, which he must see, that 
 he is generally despised.' 
 
THE VOYAGE. 339 
 
 " * Captain Mandeville, I order you, as you 
 value your commission, to drop this subject, 
 and to return to your duty/ 
 
 " ' At least. Sir John Fadladeen, I may have 
 a negative in the case, as well as all the gen- 
 tlemen of honour who would feel themselves 
 degraded by Mr. Praed's company. I sup- 
 pose I may retire from the mess, and live in 
 my cabin, under the degrading circumstances 
 of such a man as Mr. Praed's appearing at the 
 table.' 
 
 " Here the Commodore's rage became un- 
 governable. He exclaimed, * what. Sir, do 
 you intend to raise a cabal against me in my 
 own ship. No, Sir, you shall have no such 
 option. You shall go to your cabin. Yes, Sir, 
 consider yourself from this moment a prisoner, 
 a close prisoner ; confine yourself to your 
 cabin. Sir. And, Mr. Money, you will see a 
 sentry kept at the door of Captain Mande- 
 ville's cabin. And you. Lieutenant Bedford, 
 confine yourself a prisoner.' 
 
 " Thus our conference ended, and I was 
 marched a close prisoner to my cabin, where 
 I sat for a long time reflecting upon the con- 
 temptible character to whom, from motives of 
 interest, the Government had intrusted so 
 
340 mandeville; &c. 
 
 important a command. From laughing at the 
 ridiculous nature of the scene that had occur- 
 red, I revolved in my mind the at once tyran- 
 nical and abject dispositions superinduced 
 upon our nature by the discipline of a camp or 
 fleet, and I reflected with regret that the pro- 
 gress of civilization and political improvement 
 must be always retarded where any large por- 
 tion of the community are devoted to the pro- 
 fession of arms. Happy is our country, that 
 her chief dependence must ever be on her navy, 
 a species of force which abstracts compara- 
 tively but few of her citizens from the great 
 body of the community, in which they at once 
 enjoy and learn to protect their rights and 
 privileges.'' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY U. G I L B E K T, 
 
 ST. john's-square. 
 
V' N -'^^ 
 
 5l\Cjo Copy 
 

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