^ 7 s>■^^ ^Y^<^' a I E) RAR.Y OF THE U N IVLRSITY or ILLINOIS 823 I>85 To TFfOMAS HILL, Esq- . jn.S all my fellow -creatures have purjuits of ^ plea/ure that occupy their leijure moments^ I ■^ do not fee the reajon why Ifhould be denied the fame privilege. Nor can I difcover a folitary argument to prove that the ar/iufe* ^ ment I take in writing is noty to the fully as praife -worthy as that which others find in racings dancings hunting, fightings or any of thofe numerous diverfwns that engage the idle ? hours of^nankind in general. At all hazards^ I havcy undoubtedly y one circumflance in my favour zvhich they cannot boaji of-^ I am paid for my entertainment \ they always pay y often dearly pay, for theirs. Such is the objection of ferions folks to : works of the prefent defer ipt ion j that I have a thetizht (5 ( ii ) thought it well to advance thus much in my defence — with you I know 1 Jball require none, Tou will view thefe pages y which I dedicate to yoii^ with an eye of friendjhipy from which I have every thing to hope, and nothing to apprehend, I have, therefore^ no fnore to add, hut that zvhile you are perufwg this Dedication , I am fome ten or twelve degrees nearer the fun than I was when I wrote it. However, let me ajfure y w that, whatever my degree of latitude or lo'igitudcyfo long as I dwell on this fide of the Poles, you will fill retain my befl goodwifjcs^ and an unahating portion of my efleem, Coelum, non animum mutaat, qui trans mare currunt, Is an Horatian precept, which I here tranf- late in this manner -, — / may change my climatej hut, with refpe5i to you, my mind will remain the fame. The Author. Oftobcr loth, 1800. «^». 4 * PREFACE. Nicejfary to beread.—^hying, — lis virtues,-^ Wonderful effeui of anger, — Truth ^^flat and unprcfitahle,^ ' — How to puff one^ s felf as if accidentally, — Officious lying explain^ ed, — How any girl may write a novel with^very little trouble. — Novel writers vindicated againji the charge of not being natural. — Sicknefs and health, which befl for an author. — 'Poverty and wealth treated in the fame manner, — The title to a book, — its importance. — A vifit to the hookfeller's, — Stalls. — Hamlet. — But-- ter. — 'ihe author fixes on the title of his work. — JVhy he calls it Old Nick, the reader will never know, if he does not read the preface, 1 HE preface to a book^ like grace before meat, is often, either cut very fhort, or a 1 wholly ♦ > ( iv ) l^holly neglected, by thofe who feel an avidity to leaft on what the author, or hoft, may have providtd for their literary or carnal appetites. A preface cannot, how- ever, in the prefent inftance, be difpenf- ed with, as it is abfolutely necefTary for the information of the reader, in fome very important matters relating to the following pages. Peter Cun/eus, a very learned and fenfible writer, who lived in the fifteenth century, began a pleafant little work, in this manner. " 1 will a6l honeftly with you. Know, therefore, that not one thing I am going to write about, is true. It is my pleafure to laugh, and to jeft, and to narrate things that never happened. *'* Bound up in the fame volume is a fatire, written in Greek, by the emperor Julian, on the twelve C^sars f y which * P. CuN^i, Satyra Menippea Incaftrata, p. 23. f JuLiANi Imp. CiESAREs, p. 184. 3 his ( V ) his majefty prefaces by faying, — " If it be true, or a mixture of both truth and falfehoodi the work itfelf will fhew.** Now this is a fort of candour I admire, and, admiring, ihall fcrupuloufly follow. The hiftory I lately pubiifhed *, was all matter of fadl 5 but this, my friends, is all fadtidous matter, or fuch matter as ic is a matter of litde importance to me whether you believe, or not. My for- mer production fucceeded to the utiiioil of my hopes. But it mufl be confellecl, that it made fome people exceedingly an- gry f , which, I can confidendy affirm, * A Piece of Family Biography. f Great grief has been often known to change the colour of the hair ; but the pathological lou- den t will be furprifed to hear, that exceiTwe anger and vexation have produced the fame eited, to a much greater degree, on a wig ; not only chang- ing Mr. Le Dupe's from white to brown (a change entirely oppofite to the ufual one), but, alfo, totally altering its form, turning a long- tailed peruke iato a brown bob, a 3 would ( vi ) would not have been the cafe had it been falfe. We (hould grow wlfer as vve grow older. Indeed, I think nature (if pofli- ble) to blame, for letting any one increafc in years, without increafing in wifdom; for what can difgracc her more than a foolifid old man ? . For my part, 1 am wifer than I was, inafmuch as I am, now, an inoffenfive, good-natured crea- ture, who never fhock the delicate nerves of my friends by telling them the truth. M. de FoNTENELLE faid, that " S'il tenoit toutes les verites dans fa main, ii fe garderoit bien de Touvrir, pour les montrer aux hommes :" if he held all the truths in the world in his hand, he would take care not to open it, to fhew them to mankind *. And who (hall call his * To this efFeft, alfo. Sine si us, who further ikclares, *' That truth is very hurtful to man- kind, but that talfehood is of the utmott fervicd to them !' prudence ( vii ) prudence Into qiiellion ? When we know that to undeceive a man, in the verieft trifles, often makes him our enemy, whihl flrengthening and fupporting him in his errors, feldom fails to induce him to make us his bofom friends. In other words, — prevent his falling into a quag- mire, and he'll beat you ; help him into it, and he'll reward you. Such a fool is man 1 He would rather fail in the bark, that fnould glide over halcyon leas, to be wrecked, at lad, on the rocks of Scylla, or loft in the whirlpool of Charybdis> than in that which, for a fliort period, fhould buffet the winds, upon a trou- blous ocean, finally to cafl anchor at " the hleffed iflands.'* Even f, now, wife and good as I am * ! 1 am * I own T have here given myfelf fomcthing in ihc (hape of the ♦' puft' dired ;" but every one is not blciled, like Mr. Cmalmeks, with the arc of praiiing himfclf, without feemir.g to intend it^ a 4 Tnia ( viii ) I am not wholly free from this weaknefs, Suppofcj for example, I were to afk any one's opinion of the prefent work, and he fhould tell me that it was the worft he ever read, do you imagine that his having fpoken the trulh (for that I mult admit) would fatisfy me, and make me praife t.he foundnefs of his judgment ? No, indeed 1 For, believe me, w education, fays, that " by the time a girl has read three novels, flie generally feels herfelfable to write a fourth. "If this be really the cafe, it mud be, according to Shaksfear, " ^j eajy as lying-,''* and, as I promife to do nothing elfe, I cannot with much propriety wifh the reader (as fome authors have) to imagine the labour al- moil infurmountably great. This f, too, affords * Though many little mifTes, and full-grown ladies, may be very much incenfed again ft Mrs, More, for treating thtir favourite employment wiih fuch contempt, I muft own, that the numer- ous excellent things flie has, in a n)afculine and convincing tone, advanced, in her St'i«Stures, for the good of fociety, force me to forgive her, with- all my heart, t When I wrote this pafTage, I thoiTght the promife of-ottcring no truth, with Shaks pear's word for the eofinejs of ly?ngt infured ine fome ad- vauiageover thofe who promuiga;e the di\ji\\y un- a.6. intcreUicg; ( xli ) afFords me an advantage over novel wri- ters in general, who, notwidiftanding all the pother made about a lack of nature, write confiderably more in conformity to nature than rigid critics are ready to allow. And here, once for all, I beg leave to fay, in their defence, that a novel, the perfons of which are all marked by charadler and fenfe, or wit or humour, is by no means fo natural^ as thofe we fee every day, without any one of thefe qualides to diftinguifli them. Want of eharadler, fcnfe, wit, and humour (unlefs it be ill- humour), is confummately natural , whiifl: interefting truth. But I have fince read a book, written by Robert Feliowes, who is, by the bye, one of the clevereft fellows 1 have met with for fome time, which contains this fentence ; *' It is more natural, and eafy, from the iiifluencc of the principle of afibciation, to /peak truth than fal/thoUr^k Pidure of Chriliian Philofophy, fe- et nd edit. p. 2 2 2. This affertion he clearly demonftrates, and I defire that my labours may be cileemed accord- ingly » bringin ( xlii ) bringing togethei; ten or twenty people, belonging, perhaps, to two or three fa- milies, all of whom are noted for either charadcr or fenfe, wit or humour, is pofi- tively (granting its exiflence) a moft prepofterous phenomenon in nature. Though I have this advantage over them, that I (hall not adhere fo very clofely to truth and nature, yet have I a counterbalancing diladvantage, which I will not conceal. It is common with them, and, indeed, with all kinds of authors, to inform the reader, in a pre- face, that they have long laboured under bad health, that their works are the fruits of thofe hours, and that they confcquent- Jy entreat the favour, and deprecate the feverity of criticifm. I, on the con- trary, requell permifTion to indmate, that I cxped much greater indulgence than any pcrfon cf the above denomination, and for a caufe of a very oppofite nature, ftamely, — too much vigour, and ruole health. ( xlv ) health. Than which, I think, it mud be allowed, that nothing can be more inimi- cal to literary purfuits. Whatever blc"- mifhes there may be in my work, I wholly afcribe to them. The vigorous, healthy, man rifes to his ftudics, and, be- fore he has been long engaged in them, the fun, perhaps, fnines into his room, or a thoufand pleafures occur to his ima- gination, all of" which he is able to enjoy j he, therefore, either continues his labours< with an abfent mind, and does what he is about in a flcvenly manner, or quits it, and does not do it at all. But the fick man goes to his work, and bedows on it all the coil and attention necefTary. He can immure himfelf, for the fun (Lines into^ his room in vain, — he muft not leave it. His pain (if his illnefs be painful) ren*- ders him doubly attentive, that he. may forget it. He employs his nights in po- lifhing his works ifor he cannot fleep, which I can, Heaven knows ! like any dormoufe*. ( ^y ) dormoufe. All thefe are bencfifs un- known to the healthy man ; and it is he> and not the fick man, that has a claim on lenient criticifm. There is alfo another thing, which they put in the form of an excufe for their imperfe6lions, viz. that they are in want! But this is too idle to deferva noticd. Is wealth neceflary to make good writers ? Does it make them ? No> never ! But poverty, as Theocritus * fays, and we know the obfervation to be true, poverty alone gives birth to arts. She is the miftrefs of toil, and the caufe of every thing that is praifeworthy f. * Idyl. xxi. f Nuir.berlefs are the excellent- literary worka that have been produced ia ficknefs, and In want, that would never otherwife have feen the liehr. Dr. l^EKRY wrote his Hifiory of England vThen confined to his bed. Dr. Johnson, in indigenl circumftances, and opprefTed by bodily and inen-- tal ?.i5iidion, acc.ompliQied his didllonary. Does any one think he would have done it better if he had been rich, and in a perfect Hate of health and happinefs .? In my opinion he would not have done it at all ! And ( xvi ) And now I come to the lafl: piece of information I have to communicate. It regards my title, which is, I aflure you, no very eafy thing to fix, for on that, and not on what follows, often depends the temporary popularity of a work. After having left my manufcript with the bookfeller, for about a week, I wait- ed on him, to know his fentiments of it, and to confult about the title. On en- tering the iliop, I was told, by a fpruce young fellow behind the counter, that his mailer was then engaged, but that if I would ftay ten minutes, 1 might fee him. This I readily agreed to, and, being convinced that the young man knew my bufinefs, I leaned acrofs the counter, and in a tone of voice fo foft, and agreeable, that Nestor's, though fweeter than honey *, was nothing to it, afkcd him whether he had heard any * HoM. IIL V. 249. thing ( xvii ) thing of my work, and whether he thought his mafter would purchafe it ? « Purchafe it, fir I'* he exclaimed, *' you are certainly not aware of the price of paper and printing, or you would not afk fuch an unreafonable queftion ! Do you imagine he will venture to publilh it ?" " Bkfs me,'* faid I, not knowing that he had his cue to prepare me for his mafter, " you give me very diftieart- cning intelligence 1" " No, not at all," he replied ; " do you fee thofe two large bales at the farther end of the (hop ? They are the poems, fonnets, novels, &c. of a female now dead, — her works died with her. Whilft fhe was living, by conjlant advertifing, and perpetual puffings they were in feme rcqueft, but fmce thefe have ceafed, we, having no demand for them, mean to dif- pofe of them to the (tails, for what they will fetch. ( xviii ) fetch. I cannot contemplate them," con- tinued my loquacious young gentleman, " without exclaiming, with Hamlet, that is, varying him a little, " To what bafe ufes we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the works cf this fair author^ till he find them employed to line a trunk, or wrap up butter ?'' For the honour of the profcflion, I could not help anfwering him in the words of PIoRATJo, " 'Twere to con- fider too curioufly, to confider fo.'* He immediately went on with Ham- let, "No, faith, not a jot: but to fol- low her thither with modefty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as thus — The author died ; the author was buried : the author being no longer able to advertije, and 'puff her worksy they came to the ftalls^ But Jlill hanging on hard, they were fold for waft e paper : and why, being thereta converted, might they not line a trunky or wrap up butter T' ( xix ) ** ^hefing'fong author^ dead and turn*d to clay, Might, vjrapt round hutter, keep the gycafe away. Oh ! that her worhst tvhich made our critics grht, Sliould line a trunk to put your linen in ! But To ft 1 but Toft awhile,— here comes the king * V* Saying this, he fell to packing up a parcel, and I turning round, faw his maf- ter approaching. After wifhing the other gentleman a good morning, he came fmiling up to me, and begged I would retire with him to his office, I found him the very reverfe of his (hopman. It feems, indeed, that it is the bufinefs of the latter to rub np an author's brif- tles, and of the former, to fmooth them down. After the infernal preparation r had received, added to my ufual mo- defly, I could not be very exorbitant • A6l V. Scene i. ia ( XX ) in my demands 5 we dierefore prefendy made our agreement, and nothing re- mained to be done, but to determine on the tide of the work. Bookfellers, as well as the poet *, know that a name often pleajesy and mine defiring me by all means to give my hiftory a catching title, I, ftill thinking of Hamlet, inftantly propofed to call it after him, "the Mouse-trap." " I like wit well, in good faith,*' faid the bookfeller, who feemed as well verf- ed in Shakspear as his man ; " that would be a catching title indeed, and I fhould much approve of it, but that I re- coiled a publication of travels called the Mou/e-trapi many years ago, which did not take at all." "Ay!"' cried I, "well, then, let us think of fomething elfe. What fay you tp "Old Nick?" * Theosrit. Id. xxvi", v. 40. " Why ( xxi ) " Why he is, indeed/' replied he, '* an objed of general concern, and one about whom every body is intereflcd," '' But," added I, " the title will not relate to the work." " Pooh," he exclaimed, *^ is not that the cafe with mod works ? But this title fuits you in a double fenfe. Have not you declared that you will tell no- thing but lies ? Well i your work, and your tide do not agree -, it is a lie therefore, and of courfe you are con- fiftent. On the other hand, " Old Nick" is the acknov/ledged father of lies. Your book is full of them, and you have confequendy called the child after its father's name." " Then Old Nick be its name !" I ejaculated ; *' and if any one fhould aik me further reafons than you have given, I fliall fay, " Marry, how ? tropically. This Jlory ( xxii ) Jiory IS •• You fhall fee anon, 'tis a knavilli piece of work j but what o* that ? You and /, that have free fouls, it touches us not. " Let the galled jade wince, our withers are un wrung !" CONTENTS CONTEN TS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. PREFACE. Necejfary to he read. — Lying-^Us virtues, Wonderful effe5l of anger, — Truth ^'' flat and unprofitable,''' — How to fuff one's Jelf as if accidentally, — Officious lying explain- ed, — How a girl may write a 7iovel with v-ery little trouble. — Novel writers vin- dicated againfi the charge of not being na^ tural. — Sicknefs and beahfj, which hefi for an author, — Poverty and wealth treat- ed in the fame manner, — The title to a bock — its confequence, — A vifit to the hookjellefs. XXIV COMTENTS. book/eller*s, — Stalls, — Hamlet, — But- ter, — l^he author fixes on the title of his work, — Why he calls it Old Nick.//^/ reader will never know if he does not read the preface - - - . page iii CHAP. I. Birth ^ parent age y and education, — What is ahjolutely required in a gentleman. — Ob~ Jervation on making Latin verfes, — A tu^ tor, — His attachments. — Hero defer ihed. ^'^His friend, — A mufic meeting, — Afin- gular party, — Beauty furpajfing the Gre- cian Venus, — Love, — Accnverfaticn with- cut either fide uttering a word, — Bifap- point ment, — Men who fee what nobody elfe can fee -------i C II A P. XL tVhat people are too apt to forget, Gregory arrives, Iriflo confolation, — The two €ommon ways of giving energy to an afferticn CONTENTS, XXV njjertion reprobated, — Gregory's news. — Where to apply the Jpttr when you are in hajie, — A death-bed. — Sedu5iion. — A child. — Horrors.-^Death drops the cur^ taifi, and it naturally follows that there Jhould he an end of the chapter - p. i6 CHAP. III. A good reafon for a wife's grief at the death of her hufhand. — An epigram, — Who may he faultlejs, — What the author likes. — A foliloqUy. — Keppel von Hein, — An ingenious fimile refpeSfingfriendJhip - 33 CHAP. IV. the author appeals to theflars, — An offer, ^^ Barclay's confufion. — Debtors , how treated in Athensi Turkey y and Rome, — Barclay's agitation. — What all Eve's children have in them, — 1" he great fagacity of creditor s.^-^ They are well compared to the inhabitants Vol, I. b cf XXVI CONTENTS. of Cornwall, — A fair prefumption thai there mufl he a devil. — Gregory s plan to clear a houje of bailiffs - - - p. 42 CHAP. V. Drunkennefs and Jw earing. — Their ^nerits dijcuffed, — Fajhions, The praifes of drunkennejs. — A caution to girls, — A great evil incurred hyJohriety,—A quefiionfrom the reader^ and half an anjvoer - 52 CHAP, VI. An enigma, and rewards offered for a folu- tion.-^The author's antipathy to fyf- terns. — How to get rid of quarter day. — Some mirth propofed.'^What is eafy to fay, but hard to do. — The Italian fati^ rifl* — Sermons not fo dull as they are fuppofed to be» — Three anecdotes, and ha, ha, ^^/ - ^ - - - - 59 CHAP. GONTtNTS. XXV J?l CHAP. VII. Barclay's reflexions on Keppel's ahjence. — Uqw Keppel and Gregory a5fcd,—0iir hero's misfortunes not difagreeable to Von Hein^why,'—'No/iicb thing as difintereft' ednejs, — Man always torturing himjelf,—* Dependence taken in a new, but very jufi light ----..- p, e'& C H A P. VI If. Thefircc of exaKipk.'^lknging, -Uounflow heath, — V/hether death is a punifoment that fljould be adopted, — Juftice met amor - phofed, — J-Jangingj when firft cna^fed.^"^ Lawyers praijed and condemned. — The employments of men confidered. — A lady, -^ V/hat hiifhandsfay of their wives, — Au- thors' heads likcy — read and you'll know, ^--An amiable picture of matrimony.-^-' How a manfhould be treated who marries Jolely for beauty - - - - - 76 b 2 CHAP. BCXVm CONTENTS, CHAP. IX. What wmten are indebted to for their modefly, — 'The furprifing effeSl of ac- cident. — 'What the author means to do when he has ti?ne, — The hifiory ah out to take a nezv turn. -^Gregory dejcrihed:—' A converjation between the author and tiw reader.'-^'The former thinks it proper to desamp ------ p. 51 G H A P. X. A public an i the marquis of Granbyy a petit ^ coat y and Gregory ^ all jumbled together in one period. — Gregory falls in kve^ accord^ ing to South's fermons, — His Jucccfs, — How he 'm; as found out. — What is feme ^ times meant by the word Sir. — Ihekifs, of reconciliation - - « - - - ^7 C H A P. XI. Tradefmen-.'. — The danger of paying debts. — A proof of friendfjip^, — A barber. — How-^ Gregory CONTENTS^ XXiX Gregory brought tears into the eyes of a mercilejs beadle, — Why he turned valet. — His behaviour when Barclay told him they mufi fart ------ p. 105 CHAP. XII. Low fpirits. — A letter from the Rev. Mr, Pawlet,-^An advertijement, — Barclay 's refolution. — 'The mofi common marks of genius, r-Mrs. Pawlet, — Hebrew. — How to bring up a daughter Jo as to make her look upon you with contempt, — A mar- riage. "^The par/on, — He is dejcribed by St. Faul-^Lord Clarendon's objervation on clergymen, — Transformations, — A liv- ing encyclopedia. — Mrs. Pawlet' s fer- vantsfham well, when they re ilL-^Con- nubial comfort. — J4^'hy Mr* Pawlet is ij^orje off than David. - - - 114. ^ C H A P. xiir. Slhe diffei'mce between a married man at \ home: XXX CONTENTS. borne and abroad. — Gregory alarmed.^^A fngular ^exprejfion in Homer, — Letters of recommendation, — Love, — A certain and cheap cure for it, — ne Leucadian leap more expenfive - - - - p.iji CHAP. XIV. Parting, — A ft age coach, — The pajfengers. — Boh and the ^aker. — What month in the year is like a pretty woman. -^T'he Retort, — Revenge, — JVJoyyou may do any thing with your own father, — D inner, -^^ A humorous Jcene between Bob and the ^aker ---.---140 CHAP. XV. What will reftore friendjJoip. — How to feem wife, — fVhy coxcomb i will perpetually ex^ if, — RoMAiNE. — Extemporaneous fer^ mens accounted for, — 'The delicacy of a court preacher .^-Friends often do mors harm CONTENTS. XXXI harm than foes. — A digreffion proved to be no digreffion, — Supper, — -Barclay's re- Jie5fhns on hisfituation - - p« 156 CHAP XVI. An Irijhman, — Legs where they Jhould not he, — ^he young ones Jurprtfed. — Ferje^ verance, — 'Tis not through love of virtue that many people are not pra5lically vi- cious, — The blue devils, — Why men volun- tarily endure toils and dangers, — A^^ me^ rit in honeJly^-^T^he greaP and the good examined, — iFhat will make a nmn at peace with himjelf — A friendly fepa- ration - - - - - -- 168 CHAP. XVII. The reader no Janus, or he would not do what he often does, — How a rich man mufi live to be healthy, ^People frequently Jurprifed XXXll CONTENTS. f urpr if ed without caufe, — A literary Jeer et. '^-^'The par/onage, — Tribulation* — A quid fro quo,^^Afcene in the maid's bed- cham- ber, — An unexpected dijcovery, — hove and hiera picra, — Love like every things but moft of all like a ghofi - p. 1 83 OLD OLD NICK: A SATIRICAL STORY. CHAP. I. Bb-th, parentage y and education, — What is ahjolutely required in a gentleman, — Ob- Jervation on making Latin verjes. — A tu^ tor. — His attachments, — Hero defer ihed, *^His friend. "—A mujic meeting, — AJin- gular party, — Beauty Jurpziffing the Gre- cian Venus, — Love, -— Aconverfation with- out either fide uttering a word, — Difap- pointment.-^Men who fee what nohody elfe can fee i i HAT whfich puts an end to all the un- dertakings of other men ihall be the be- ginning of mine — death. Before I enter, however, upon a fcene Vol. I. B of ( 2 ) of fuch awful interefl to every human being, I Ihall dwell for a few moments on thehiflory of one whom it more nearly concerned. Barclay Temple was the only fon of a gentleman of the flime name, who had in- herited three thoufand pounds a year from his father. His mother dying in his childhood, young Barclay became the folc hope and comfort of his remaining parent. Having no one elfe to provide for, his father refolved not to withhold from him any acomplifhment that aioney could enable him to acquire. And, as no man deferves the nam^e, or can fupport the perfect charadler of a gentleman, with- out the education of a fcholar, our hero was fent at an early age, under the care of a private tutor, to Eron School. At this feminary of learning young Barclay didinguifhed himfcif as much by his promptitude and acutcnefs, when urg- ed by neceiTity, as by his love of play and idlenefs, whenever he was able to in- ( 3 ) dulgt in them. Before he left Eton, no boy could expound a clalTic better than himfelf. I might fay the fame of the number of lines he could learn by hc'art, and the comparative goodnefs of the verfes he made; but thefe arc things of barren merit, being of much trouble and litde ufe. On this fubje6t our hero has finc^ often exprefTed himfelf to this ef- fedl: " What we committed to memory we committed like parrots, and were only -cleverer than parrots, inafmuch as we could rem.ember more words. Our bell verfes were compofed of hemiliichs of one ancient author tacked to thofe of another, which we found ready cut and dried in the Gradus. Thofe we invented v/ere in refped to poetry, and would have found- ed to the ear of an old Roman like diis line, which Dr. Johnfon made to ridi- cule heroic blank verfe, with proper quantity, but no other pretenfions to poetry: B 2 «< Here ( 4 ) *' Here, lay your knife and fork acrofs your plate." " An hexameter verfe may be made of the beginning of Tacitus ; and fuch is the verfe of fchool-boys in general. Much time is lodioifuch fruitlefs employ." Another obfervation of his is not un- deferving of notice: '^ Boys at fchool are made to read authors for the fake of •their words, when, like men, they Hiould read them for the fake of their fenfe. The one will quote you an author for the au- thority of a word, the other for an opi- nion. The difference between them is as the difference between two perfons who Ihould value a houfe — this for its brick and mortar i iba^ for its beauty and con- venience.'' After going through Eton fcliool with confiderable eclat, he was fent to Oxford, and became a gentleman commoner of • college. His tutor, at Eton, not having received any promife of future provifion ( 5 ) provifion from the elder Mr. Temple, and being, I cannot fay remarkably y be- caufe he was like many others of his pro- fcfiion, much attached to an Eton life, CRICKET, &c. declined accompanying him to the academic bowers. His lofs was foon repaifed. Our young hero was at this period about nineteen years of age \ his perfon, above the middling fize, manly, but not Hercu- lean ; his features were finely marked, animated, and capable of exprefUng every paflion of a foul, which his eyes of a light blue pronounced not more full of fire, than of tendernefs and philanthropy. His dark- brown hair, without powder, curl- ing in his neck and over his forehead, added an unafFcifled grace to that fenfibl- lity which beamed in his countenance and flione forth in all his ad ions. In a word. Nature had endowed him with thofe evi- dences of body and mind which " give B 3 afTurance ( 6 ) alTurance of a noble and ingcnuoui youth." With fuch delirable and engaging qua- lities it will not be rurpriung that he iliould be the objed of univerfal efteern. Fie vv'as fo to the greateft degree j but with a capability of perception and difcrimina- tion above the common race of men, he could not diink all thofe who excelled in drunkennefsj or other feats of a ir!<:e ex- alted kind, worthy of being made his bofom friends. Not that he always re- fiftcd the attacks of petty vices. His blood ran merrily through his veins, and he indulged in them to a greater extent than his cooler judgment could approve; but, however agreeable his companions might be at the time, he could not in his ferious moments view them with that re- fpe6l, without which no Jriendjhip can ex id. One, however, of his affociates, found an ( 7 ) an eafy pafTage to his heart, and would have ufiirped the v/hoie, but for another^ a fairer clainiant, to whom the heart of mail more properly belongs. Except a fiiiall cornerj in which he lodged his fa- the?, they were its entire poffefTors. Cruel poilcHbrs that robbed it of its happinels 1 T\vo events now occur to be related before we take our leave of Oxford, which, though apparently triQing in their beginning, teemed with the future joy and mifery of our hero/ Of the firft, as we fhall fpeedily have an opportunity of entering more fully into it, we fhall merely add, that the friend- fhip he formed was with a fellow colle- gi.in, whom he had known at Eton. He left Eton before young Barclay, but they had loved each other there, and now re- newed and confirmed that aflfedion which had taken place in their boyiOi days. So infe parable were they whilft at college, that they were named the Oreiles and Py- B 4 lades ( 8 ) Jades of Oxford. Jnfeparable as were their perfons, their minds and manners were widely unconneded ; their looks and figures wholly diffimilar. The one, as I have already defcribed him, was all open- nefs and candour, good humour and kindnefsj the other was all myftery and refcrve, mifanthropy and forbiddance, to every one but this his only confidential friend. We fhall fhortly go further into his charadler j at prefent it is fufficicnt to fay, that he had completed his fludies, and quitted the univerfity to purfue the law, for which purpofe he had repaired to .Lincoln's Inn, fome time previous to the occurrence of the fecond circumftance, which I fhall now repeat in our hero's words : " Being fond of all public am.ufements, efpecially of fuch as partook of any fci- ence, I was a conftant attendinc at our great mufic meetings. The laft I vifit- cd did not long precede the grievous ca- lamity ( 9 ) lamity that befei me: a calamity which could alone for a moment drive from my mind the fweet delirium it had enjoyed. Oh ! happy moments ! fleeting joys, gone never to return ! ** The meeting was fo crowded that I could procure no feat, or was, through common politenefs, obliged to relinquifh that I had obtained to the firll lady who n-eeded it. I therefore ftood with my fide againft the wall, and my face towarda the performers. " Every thing for fome time went on admirably well, and the moft profound filence was obferved, when fuddenly, dur- ing an exquifice fonata on the violin, a voice was heard accompanying it with Fa^ Idy hy lay foly lay mi, fa I I, as well as many others, turned round to fee from whence this interruption proceeded, and faw not far from me a very whimfical looking little thin lady, painted to the eyes, and drelTed in the moft curious and B 5 gaudy ( 10 ) gaudy manner, fitting by the fide of an overgrown, clumfy youth, with a broad, vacant, ridiculous face, clothed preciftly after the ftyle of his neighbour. She had fixed her eyes on the ceiling, and in an apparent ecftafy, with her hands beat time to the vocal part, furnifned by the young gentleman her neighbour. A ge- neral hifs quickly taught them to under- iland that their addition- would be rea- dily difpenfed with, and they defiftedi but not v/ithout giving feveral proofs,, by look and gePcure, of their inefiable con- tempt for the want of taile in every one prefent. , In doing this I perceived that a young lady, who fat with them, was of their party. She was at firft covered with bluflies, Vv'hich gradually vanifhed, and left me to gaze on the mofl lovely face I ever beheld. The rofes of hap- pinefs bloomed on her cheeks, and the lilies of modedy were fweetly blended with them in her heavenly countenance. What ( II ) What wonderous beauty, innocencej and lov^e, were there ! "Who/* cries Flogarth*, " but a bigot to the antiques, will fay, that he has not feen faces and necks, hands and arms, in living women, that even the Grecian Venus doth but coarfely imitate ? '* I am no fuch bigot j for- I have feen them all, fairer, and more perfefl far ! I now no longer bent toward the per- formers, or heard their mufiCi all my fenfes, my whole foul, dwelt in my eyes, and them I could not move from the fairy- form that fafcinated them. Being above the crowd, and fixing my fight continually on her, fne foon obfei ved me, and, oh ! may I not flatter and deceive myfelf! feemed pleafe the m.ore fearful was Gregory of removing the veil. At length, in one of his miftaken confolatory ad- drefles he faid, "But heaven is merci- ful ; the do6tors have given him over it is true, but if heaven has not gi- ven him over, d— — n the doctors, he may ftill live !" Every man has his way. of lending force and weight to what he v^'iibes iliould make an impreffion. — Some fancy they do it by offering a bet, others, too many others, like Gregory, by uttering an oath. They are equally bad, gentle reader ! and are leklom called into adion but to fuppoft what does not deferve credit, and would not otherwife be believed. If the ( ao ) the bet therefore were often taken, both the wager and the oath vyonld be ex- tremely expenfive^ the firfl in this world, the latter in the next. Gregory had fcarcely finlflied this fpeech, when Barclay flarted from his chair, and feizing hold of his arm, cried, with a commanding, but yet a fearful voice, " Do you talk of my father ? Gregory, Gregory, I will be kept no lon- ger in fufpence !" , Gregory would have obeyed, but his feelings overpowered him, and he burft into a flood of tears: Barclay was af- feded, — he took him kindly by the hand, and conjured him in fofter terms to tell him the worfl. But this tendernefs only ferved to make bad worfe ; for^ though it inclined him to do it, it deprived him for fome time of the power. Barclay (tood, during this interval, in a (late of dreadful anxiety. Finally, for there is an end to tears as well as to fmiles, .Xjregory recovered fufficientiy to relate, in ( 21 ) in broken accents, the purport of his vifiD. With a word of confolation eve- ry moment as he proceeded, he told him, that his father had been in very low fpirits, and, though previoufly much attached to fociety, had kept no company fince the laft vacation ; — That his appe- tite failed, and a fever coming on, the phyfician pronounced him in a rapid confumption. "Why, why," interrupted our hero, in a tone of anguilli, " why was I not informed of this before?" " Your father," replied Gregory, would not' permit it : — but cheer up, my young mafter. Well, within this day or two he began to fplt blood : but cheer up : and his feet fwelling, the dodors gave him over. But come, cheer up : now, cheer up. The moment this was made known to him, he called me to his bed -fide, and told me to fetch you to him without lofs of time.'-' ' GrC' (- 22 ) Gregory now continued his confola- tory theme unheard by Barclay, who throwing himfeif into his chair, and con- cealing his face with his hands, remained in filent abftraction for fome feconds. Prefendy darting up, he ordered Gregory to go inftantly and order a chaife. But the next moment recoUeding himfeif, he faid, *^ No, no ; flay you here ; you do not know the way fo well as I do i be- fides, my good fellow, you need refrefh- ment. See that you get it immediately. In tQfi minutes we depart." Saying this, he, hailened out of the room. Gregory had no appetite j he therefore employed himfeif, until the chaife arrived, in preparing a few neceiTaries for young Barclay, which would otherwife have cer- tainly been negleded. The roads from Oxford to London are fo good, and the pofl-horfes fo ready to go when their drivers are properly ipurred, which was the cafe in this in- flanccj ( 23 ) fiance, that I fhall make but a (lep from the one place to the other. There is nothing more awful in nature than the bed of death. Nothing more affedingly interefting than to fee a be- loved fon kneeling there and receiving the lail bleffing of an expiring father: a blefling far better and more valuable than that bedewed by healthful parents : a bleff- ing pronounced with the departing breath of one, who, ftanding as it were on the very porch of immortality, may more confidently hope to be heard by him from whom all blcffings fiov/. Such, however, was not here the cafe. He who wants the forgivenefs of his children, and dreads the jufl: anger of God, can have no bieff- ing to give that can be expected to avail them ought. Our hero found ills father attended by a nurfe and two phyficians. As he en- tered the room with Gregory, his emaci- ated countenance, which his fon could with difficulty recognize, was for a mo- 3 • ment ( 24 ) ment illumined with a ray of pleafure and fatisfadion, that Teemed alfo to warm his heart and afford his whole frame a fliort- lived vigour^ Seizing Barclay's hand with a convulfive grafp of inexpreflible feeling, he requefted thofe who were pre- fent to retire and leave him with his fon. Barclay having feared him felf on the bed, held his father's right hand tenderly in his. The old gentleman, leaning his head upon the other, remained in that pofture a few moments, as if to colledl his fcattered thoughts. At lad, raifing himfelf on his pillow, he began : " See, my fon, to what a flate I am reduced : it is deplorable j hov/ever, it will foon be at an end j but you, my fon, where will your '' Here his repeated fobs prevented his utterance, and he fell backward. Again, fummoning all his refolution, he renewed his fpeech. ** My time is (hort, I will therefore be brief ( 25 ) brief and open. Do what you will, fay what you can, you cannot add to my af- fli(5lion : I am ruined : you are a beggar. You, my fon, (too good for fuch a fa- ther !) whom I have brought up as a gen- tleman, thinking I could amply provide for you, (and Heaven knows how well I could have done fo, but for my accurfed avarice"') are now abandoned, and left to feek a, fubfiftence, without biding inftru6l~ ed in the means to gain one. I lent my fortune, by degrees, on fpeculations that have gradually involved and con- fumed the whole to nothing. You may upbraid me, niy Ton, but you come too late to break my heart 1" " What," cried Barclay, with an afFeded fmile, " and fhall this rob me of my fa- ther ? No ! lam able and will work ; I can get a livelihood for us both, I wa'-rant you. — Be comforted— let not a circumitance you could not avoid, and in which you endeav^ourcd to a(51: for Vol, I. C the ( 26 ) the beft (for that I know you did), prey upon the fpirits and deftroy the reft of my father!" The old man rifing, and exclaiming " My fon, my fon 1" threw his arms about his neck, and wept bitterly. Barclay, thinking he had fucceeded, continued — " Nay, my father, let not the ficklenefs of chance caft us down. The accidents of fortune form the mifcry of fools : wife men laugh at them. Do not imagine the generous education you have beftowed on me, will fuffer any fuch low and grovelling fentlments to occupy my mind. No, dear fir ! he that has nothing to complain of but fortune is, be- lieve me, of all mankind, the leaft in need of pity. Our confciences are clear, and we may ftill be happy i indeed we may ! " As he fpoke the concluding words, and hoped to fee their good effe6l, his father uttered a deep groan, and precipitately hid ( "-1 ) hid his face beneath the clothes. Barclay was agitated to the greateft degree, but durft not fpeak. At length the father once more gave vent to his forrows : ** Hear, then/' cried he, " hear, young man, the villany of your fathers and, oh I let it live for ever in your memory. While I yet have time I will unburden that confcience, which you (judging, I hope, from your own) think fo clear and blamelefs; but which, in thefe my laft moments (for I feel they are fo), is my greateft torment and reproach. A little time before I married your mother, I, by chance, met with a lovely, virtuous girl in humble life*, whom I plied with pre- fents and with flattery, until, won by my arts, fhe trufted to my honour, and was ruined. She proved with child. I, at this period, a thoughtlefs young man, only contrived how to get out of the dif- ^ficulty, and rid myfeif of the burden. She, poor girl ! could not afford to keep C 2 the ( 28 ) the child; I therefore, as the (horrefl v/ay, paid a fum of money to the parifh- officers, thought no more of it, and, be- ing tired of my conqiieft (for there is foon a fatiety of unlawful love), I aban- doned her. With your mother, though the beft of women, I was juftly never happy. Dying while you were young, the lofs of her made me think ferioufly of the girl I had fo bafely wronged ; but I was afhamed to inquire afcer her for fome years. About three twelve months ago, hovvever, my confcience oppreffed me fo feverely that 1 wifned to make forne fearch, but knew not where. The only place I could think of was the work- lioule, where, perhaps, they might give me fome inforniauon, as (he might have been a m*ore affedionate parent than my- ftlf. Seventeen years had elapfed, and I was at firil deterred by the dread of find- ing my child, who was moil likely illite- rate, low-bred, and a dilgrace to me. However, ( 29 ) However, my compundion prevailed, and cauTed me to efteem no difgracc equal to that of leaving my child, and a woman I had ruined, probably in mifery and wretch- ednefs. I did as I refolved, but they knew nothing of her." " Well, well!'' ejaculated Barclay," with eager expedlation^ *' but the child . you " " With trembling I queftloncd them about my child. At firft they denied ever having had fuch a onej at lafl they recollefted merely that, witirin a few years after it had been left there, fomebody had come and taken it away, which, they told me, t;hey were always very glad to allow of, if the perfon promifed they fhould never return to trouble them more. "From th.u moment I could learn nothing. Am 1 then a man," continued he, " to wiQi for life ? What greater mi- fery can I fudain ? Have I not ruined a woman I loved, — once dearly loved! C 3 and ( 30 ) and brought perhaps her infant, my child, to infamy and want ? You, even you, my fon, I have not fpared ! No, I have fpared none, but, like ^ foul, wide-fpread- ing pePulence, deflroyed the peace and comfort of every thing within my in- fluence. To live, then, were dreadful L To die! — " Here he fuddenly fell back, and, as if fome defpairing thought had followed his laft words, he groaned inwardly, and pre- fently ejaculated, with a cry that pierced the heart of his fon, — ^' O God ! my brain, my brain 1" and iriftantly we fit into the mod akrmiig ccnvillion. Gregory, who '-ias ever on the watch, hearing an uncommon noi((\ :u*"ht i into the chamber, and afiided, by adm Snifter- ing a draught the dodor had prefcribed in thofe cafes, to recover him. He then, unPjea by the old man, withdrew to the farther end of the room. Now ( 31 ) Now turning to his Ton, with a counte- nance marked with horror and difmay, he exclaimed, " Pray by me ! let me hear fome comfort !" Barclay immediately took the prayer book, and kneeling by the bed -fide, read fome prayer which promifes forgivenefs to every finncr that repenteth. In this, fervently, but filently, he was accompa- nied by Gregory, on his knees, at the other end of the chamber. When he had done, he found his fa- ther in tears, and over his features was fpread the foft ferenity of pious refigna- tion, and heart-cheering hope. Shordy after, feeling the fand of the lad glafs of life nearly exhauftcd, he begged his fon*s forgivenefs for his pad condufl. " Your condutl," cried Bar- clay, " has done me no wrong, only as it confpires to fhorten your days. , Live, oh ! live, my father !"' C 4 The ( 32 ) The old man folded him in his arms; — *twas their iafl embrace ! Breaking ab- ruptly from him, he laid, " i go ! Tell your friend Keppel I did nor forget him in my expiring moments, and do all that is in your power (for I have none) to re- gard the faithful Gregory.** Then clafp- ing his hands together, as if in ardert but hiimble prayer to Heaven, he breatncd his iaft. CHAP, ( 33 ) C H A P. III. A good reajon for a zvife's grief at the death of her hufband, — An epigram. — PFho may he faultlefs. — What the author likes, — A foliloquy.'^Keppel von Ilein.-^An ingenious fimile rejp.^ing friendfbip. We may fo far fucceed in deceiving others by words and a6tions, as to make them long believe our feelings the very reverfe of what they really are. We may, and indeed we often do, for a time, even cajole ourfeives with the idea of being aduated by much nobler and purer m.o- tives than any to which we have a right to afcribe our conduit. In Malabar, a ft ranger miight eafily form a falfe notion of the caufe of fo much grief as the wives conftantly exhibit C 5 there, ( 34 ) there, on the death of their hulbands, if he were not previoufly told that it is cuftomary to burn both parties, the liv- ing and the dead, on the fame pile. An epigram, written by a friend of mine, will put this inftancc in a clearer light. EPIGRAM. On a U'vman of Afalabar weeping excejfively at the lofs (fher hujband, STRANGER. Sure never with affli6lion more fincere, Did widow heave a figh, or fhed a tear. MAN OF MALABAR. 'Tis true ! , but think not parting grieves her fo. T^hey tnuji not part \ and hence her forrows flow. This Afiatic cuftom has one great merit. It enfures the wife's tender eft care of her hfband's beal lb while he lives, and the moll unfeigned grief at- his death. But C 3S ) But to bring this reafoning more home to the fubjed we are upon, I (hall inform the reader, that after old Temple had ceafed to live, Barclay, leaving Gregory bellowing at the bedfide, withdrew to a parlour below (lairs, there to indulge the forrows with which he was opprefTed. . Re- colledling the fine fentiments he uttered to his father, it will naturally ftrike us that he mud be wholly, and to the nep;le<5t of of all bafer confiderations, taken up in bewailing his lofs. But if I have no doubt that he himfelf thou2;ht fo at the moment, I have alio no doubt that his grief was mixed, and in a great meafure occafioned by the forlorn and pennylels fituation to which he found himfelf thus fuddenly reduced. It is far from my in- tention to infinuate any thing by this, that may detract from the generofity and noblenefs of charadler which my hero poiTefled. With ail his good qualities, he was ftill a man -, anci I contend, that C 6 the ( 36 ) the feelings I have defcribed are perfedlly in conformity to thofe of human nature. The hero of romance may be fauklefs, but the hero who treads the paths of life niufl: have his frailties. He that has no failings I difown. He is not one of us, and I care nothing about him. Give me the man who is not free from the litde amiable frailties of his nature, and I will acknowledge him as my brother ! He may with truth be faid to be a wife man who never does any thing without know- ing Avhy he does it, and that it is right to do it. He is not however, in my eyes, more to be admired than envied ; for mod of our little pleafurcs arifc from doing things for which we have no reafon, or at any rate but a bad one. Now it is niy opinion (and I heed not how many diifent from it), that he who is always wife is a fool. I v/ill not affirm with Anacreon *, that I utjh to be mad^ but * Od, xiii. en himfelf. I will ( 37 ) I will fay that I like to be foolifh fome- times. Perhaps the reader will think before I leave him, that I lik;e to be fo too often. — But 1 don't care what he thinks ; 1 (hall go on wich my flory. This is a good fituation for a foliloquy. Scene, a parlour, Barclay lying on a fofa before the fire. — After ruminating for fome minutes on the death of his fa- ther, and on the circumftances which had fo much embittered his lad moments, he exclaimed, " Oh, my father ! can 1 ever forget thy end 1 Peace be unto thy fpirit 1 May the anguifli thou had fuffcred, added to the fincerity of thy repentance, atone for the crime thou had committed, and render thee fit to be numbered with the happy ! Wouki to heaven that the ralh and thoughtlefs youth, who, with cruel levity, courfe through the town in fearch of innocence, and count it glory to dcftroy it, had been prefent at thy death, and re- ceived the awful lelTon it inculcated ! / fhall ( 38 ) fhall never ceafe to think of it ! He who takes from an amiable girl her virtue *' Robs her of that which not enriches him, But makes her poor indeed !'* Would that this refle6lion3 juft as it is, were more generally made 1" Grief is apt to make us all moralifVs. Then think not the worfe of Barclay, ye belles : do not hate him for it, ye beaux ! Knock, knock, knock ! *' Come in," cried B m clay. " But I can't,'' replied a voice, " for you have locked the door. Come, open it} open it, my friend j I muft and will fee you." Barclay rofe to let in the vifitor : 'twas Keppel Von Hein, the friend whofe cha- radter I have fo briefly touched upon, that it may be well to add fomething more of it, before we procred with the purport and end of the prefent vilit. Of ( 59 ) Of his family I can fay n and I know ( 57 ) I know alfo that Erigone is not the only girl who has been deceived by means of the grape. But, now, in oppo- jfition to this circunnftance, which is fo tri- fling, when compared with the advantages 1 have already dated, let me afk whether fobernefs has not its direful evils ? Was not HiRMAGORAS banifhed Ephefus for too great fobriety ? Could inebriety caufe.any thing more afflicting, and more to be deprecated, dian banlihrnent ! But after ail that has been, and may be fcid, in favour of drunkennefs, and the little that can be advanced in fup- port of fwea ing, it is to be feared that many will ft ill condnue to fvvear, and, oh, moil unaccouncible obfcinacy ! many perfevere in^eeping fober. ^ Gregory l-^Sregory I \thou art^iiir^Jy.'i-v . >.x one of the former! Forgive him, gen- tle rtsadeX' and Relieve me ::^¥^en I lay,, . <■>. '"* -that he is, not fo v.cious. when he uttfers *&t'hs, as 'many'*' Vho^ never '•ufe them. ' ^'' D 5 ^ If ( 58 ) If this then were his only vice, would you not gladly change hearts with Gre- gory ? Ay, but he had another. " What was it ?'' He was, my dear madam, (what I fincerely hope you are not) mod exceffively fond of, -Til tell you by and by. CHAP. ( 59 ) CHAP. VI. ^"fn enigjna, and rewards offered for a folu- tion, — ne author's antipathy to fyf^ teyns, — How to get rid of quarter day.—^ Some mirth propo/ed. — JVhat is eafy to Jay^ hut hard to do. — The Italian fati- riji. — Sermons not fo dull as they are fuppofed to be, — Ti.ree anecdotes^ and ha^ ha, ha ! JN ow Til give— no money, for I've got none to fpare: — but V\\ give the reader (if (he*s pretty) as many kifles as wili make her lips as rtd asrofes; or fup- pofing the reader to be an abominable male animal^ I'll give him, — Fll give him, this old, dry, (lump of a pen, as a memento. Ail this, I fay, will I beftow on them^ if they will be fo kind as ta D6 teli ( 6o ) tell me how Keppel a«5led in the affair juft related, and what he did with Gre- gory after he had Ihut the door. What fay you ? You can't guefs. Well then, mifs, I ihall keep my kifies and my pen to myfelf. 1 hate fyflems. The divifion of time is one of the moil unpardonable. Why niuft an eternal^ never-ending thing be degraded by being divided into fuch pal- try things as years, and months, and weeks? Why are we obliged, after every kven days we live, to have Mon- day again ? How much better would it be to let Time run on his glorious courfe without mincing him in this bafe manner ? And if we mull have a name for each period between the rifing and the fctting of the fun, let us have a n^w one, one we have not lived before. In a word, let us not, for heaven's fake, be tacked to Mondays all the time of our cxiflence ! By this grand and noble way of ( 6i ) of living, To worthy of immortal beings, we fhail entirely abolifh quarter day, "What can be more defirable ! There is but one thing I will be bound to, and that is, to do nothing. Perhaps 1 fhall not go on with my ftory in this volume, and perhaps I fhall unravel the whole mydery in the next chapter. Come then, as we have got rid of the dull, heavy, labour of narration, at lead for this chapter, let's have fome fun ! Ay, but I faid not long ago that you fhould not fmiie for fifty pages. It was a lie. Read my preface^ I promifed to tell you nothing eife. Let me be confident and chafte in my condud, madam, I beg, although you may pleafe to be odierwife. It is eafy to fay a work wants more wit and humour i but is it, fweet critics (I call you fweet, becaufe, as the play has it, you are fweet fouls, and good natured fouls, though you don't kckjo)^ is it a mat- ter ( 62 ) ter of To little difficulty to furnifh them ? How eafy was it for me to fay I would make you Imile, but fhall I find that fa- cility in putting my faying in execution ? Have at you, however ! What now, if I were to abufe the minifter ? Nothing is fo eafy : any blockhead can do it. And I knovvj by name, many people who would chuckle and laugh at the (lander. But by Jove, miadam, if I thought you could do fo, my quill, worn out as it is, fhould move no longer in your fervice ! Still am I as much pltafed with the man who finds fault with another, as if he praifed him, fo that he do it honeftly. But the fellows who are perpetually libel- ling minifbers, would continue their dir- ty work, unlefs they were bought off, even though angels fliould delbend from heaven to minifter to us. They are now a day (and I grieve to fay it) worfe than the Italian fatirift, on whom ( 63 ) whom an epigram was written, to this efFedt: ''He fatlrlzed every body.'* " No not every body, — he did not meddle with God." *' I'll tell you vi^hy. — He did not know him !" Sorry am I to add, that at prefent, even the Almighty is not fpared by men^ who certainly know as little of him, as of their fatirical prototype. *^ Hey day ! What is this the way you make us laugh? — do you think a fermon will produce fuch an effedt ?" Faith, I don't know any thing more likely, granting that they were written a century and a half ago. For inftance, I am of opinion, that Men ox's fermons, which were in his time gravely deli- vered, and ferionfly attended to, would provoke more fmiles than any book written cxprefsly for the purpofe. Who can believe it pofiibic that men, at any period. ( 64 ) period, could liften, not only with pa- tience, but refpe6i:, to what Helvetius * reports of a preacher at Bourdeaux, who, to prove to Ills congregation how much the dead were pleafed whenever any thing was given to the monks to pray for them, faid, " That at the mere found of the mo- ney, tin^ tin, tiriy as it fell into the plate, all the Ir uls in purgatory conftantly fet up a refponfive roar of laughter, ha^ hay ba I hii hii hi ! . . Why * Dlfc. xi. de I'Efpnt. In a note to this }3afiage is a further proof of tneir monftrous ifynorance in thofe days. A curate difputing with his pa/ifhioners about which fhould pay ioi ^wvitig the church, the affair was. brought belcre'a ccutt, and juft as the ju.*ge *as on the eve of deciding in favour of theparifliioners, the curate, with a ferious f »ce, made tftis quotation from Jeremiah , rP a v e A n t iiii^ ' et ' ego ncn Pave AM. The judge inftantly fentenced the pa- riihioners to pa^ve the church. In the Menagiana is the following quotation from a fesmon by Cyrano. En cas que vous voulicz faire vorre cievcir de Chretiens, il vous refte encore deux clcches (bne t ad been broken) qui vous le prechent affez. iN'entendez-vous pas qu'elles ( ^5 ) Why don't you join them ? Look at thofe Jgela/Ik'^' critics! Though I have made all the devils in hell laugh, yeC cannot I move their iron mufcles. I told you Vd make you fmile, but I have failed. Weil, what follows ? 1 have only kept the charter contained in my preface. qu'clles fonnent tous les jours a vos oreilles, don, don, don ? Elles veulent dire par la, devote affiftance, qae vous devez faLe force dons a votre cure. p. Ixxix, torn. i. The point of thefe two anecdotes cannot be tranflated. * Agelajlic, though new, is a very proper word, but perhaps not intelligible to all. It came from Jgebjlos, and has two meanings. The fir'l, one ^jho never laugh^i and in this fenfe I apply it to thefe flemn critics. The fecond i:--, one if I feel lioiiiiiig of it ? ' Cicero Tufc. Qusil. lib. i. §43. E 3 But, ( 78 ) But, to be ferious on this fubjecfl, which is, by the way, by no means a laughable one, I never can believe it to be agree- able to the Almighty that man fhould take away the life of his fellow-creature. Pu- nifhments are defigned for the good of the offender, and to recall him to what is right. Death Ihould, therefore, be ex- cluded from them. If we confide r a man as having committed fo great a crime as to deferve death, that lliould be the very reafon why we lliould not inflidt it, but fome more lenient punifhment (if there be any more lenient to one v;ho has finned cnormoufly), which might give him the natural time of his life to repent, and gain, if not of his fellow-creatures, the pardon of his Creator. To kill him inftandy becaufe he has done what God has forbidden, and we deem worthy of death, is to kill both body and foul, and fend him, with his crime frefli upon his head, haftily and unrepented into the ( 79 ) the prefence of the lafl: great Judge of all : than which nothing can lefs become us as men and Chridians, To punilh a trifling robbery with death is lb cruel, fo abominable, that, when it happens, the noble image of Juftice *, with her fv^/ord unfheathed to defend the innocent, appears to me a hated murderer, brandiihing a weapon reeking with the blood of an offending but pardonable vi6lim. This punifhment was in the ninth cen- tury firft inftituted by Edmund I, who was afterwards dabbed by Leolf, whom he had banifhed. It is not unlikely, that the certainty of being hanged for return- ing, and being feen in the monarch's pre- fence, occafioned him to murder the king. The enadion, therefore, of this capital punifhment was probably the caufe of his * The fymbol of juftice among the Thebans was a figure, net only blind, as we defcribe it, but Without hands. That was more perfect than ours. E 4 lofing ( 8o ) lofing his life. What does the reader think ? He thinks^ perhaps, that I had better go on with my hiilory — well, To I -wijl. In proper time the remains of our hero's father were depofited in the earth. Barclay and Keppel, and honed Gregory alfoj followed the hearfe on this mournful occafion, and with great fincerity of heart did the lad honours to the dead. Keppel had by this period invefligated the affairs of the deceafed, which, after turning every thing, houfes, horfes, car^ riages, &c. into money, he found per- fectly fufiicicnt to fatisfy all the creditors honourably, leaving a furplus of between four and five hundred pounds. This event gave Barclay the greateft pleafure, as it left no one the power to infuk the memory of his father, and as it relieved his mind from the apprehenfion of de- pendence. It was foon agreed upon that he lliould take ( 8« ) take chambers near thofe inhabited by Keppel, and at his leifure determine on what purfuic he fhould like to follow. Converfing one day on this head, Keppei obferved that he would not recommend the law to him. '' Not/* faid he, ^^ that the ftale and idle jeils of witlefs witlings have made me think difrefpecfirully of its profeflbrs, for, on the contrary, I ferioufly believe there are as many honeft fiibjedls in it as in any other profefiion; and I am confident there are many, many more ingenious, fenfible, and learned men. The odium it has incurred is owing to the much greater power of doing harm, which one has who follows the law, and is inclined to evil, than any other perfon difFerendy fituated, whofe difpolicion is equally bad. Such, in' leed, are a piteous bane to fo- ciety. T here cannot be a more lament- able fight th\n to fee a difreputable and knavilh lawyer thriving and living in E 5 luxury. ( 82 ) luxury. The poor man's captivity, the widow's anguifh, and the orphan's tears, thele are the ruins on which he builds his houfe ! You, my friend," continued Keppel, " fhall not be a lawyer, becaufe, to be really fuch, requires a life of un- wearied application, which, as the great profits are confined to a few, is not al- ways juflly rewarded. No, Barclay, that will not do for youi but I'll tell you what will, for 'tis what you have been ufed to. ril take a houfe, and you (hall live with me, and do nothing or any thing you like." " I thank you for your kindnefs," re- plied Barclay, " but, indeed, I can never agree to that. 1 mufl do fomething." " So, you have the vulgar prejudice,'* faid Keppel, " that a man fhould have fome known employment, and you would, perhaps, deem yourfelf criminal to live as I propofe. To avoid the imputation of being an idler, like hundreds of others, I made ( 83 ) I made myfelf a nominal profefTor of the law. I am, neverthclefs, having merely a finccure place, as void of bufinefs as if I had not done fo, and yet I feel no qualms of confcience about it. If you will, my good friend, but confider all the employments of men — flatc how the mod adive are engaged — and fum up their merits — you will readily make this conclufion : that, take them in general, they are feldom fo much, and never fo nobly or innocently employed, as the man who paiTcs his time in literary eafe, and who is by the world called idle. Trade debafes the mind. lis only re- commendation is, that it furnilhes with means of fubfillence, and can therefore only be dcferving the attention of thofe who need their daily bread. Men are always di [contented j and one who has fpent all his days in literature may, through ig- norance, wilh, at a late period of exift- ence, that he had followed fome bufinefs j E 6 buc ( 84 ) but no man who has feen what bufmefs is^ and abandons it for literature, will at any tinie of life defire to return to it.'* " My dear friend," replied Barclay, " I hate bufinefs, believe me, as cordially as yourfelf ; but I muft get the money I fpndr There is a way of uttering Vv'ords which, though not very exprefiive in themfelves, never leaves the hearer in the leaft doubt about the fpeaker's mind. Bar- clay had ufed this mode \ and his laft fyl- lables were fcarcely fpoken when Keppel, knitdng his brows and looking much dif- pleafed, exclaimed, " I hate your pride 1" " I am forry for it,'' replied Barclay,. ** for I think it becomes me/' « Well, well," faid Keppel, ftill ruf-^ fled, " perhaps you are in the right, li)ur I don't like to have my plans deflroyed thus. You know I never wilb to do things- by halves : you are aware of what 1 de- fire to do, and you will not let me do it. Tii unkind at leaft." 3 - Barclay, ( 85 ) Barclay, hoping lo appeafe him, and anxious to evade his offers, faid : *' You do not recoiled, Keppel, when you make me the generous propofal of taking a part of your houfe, that I fhould foon be turned out of it by a much more worthy occupant, — a wife/' Now the reader cocks his ears, and fays very prettily to me, " Pray, fir, who is the lady ?" Upon which I anfwer, with that civiHty and good breeding which fo eminently diftinguiili me above all other authors, " Sir — always happy to enlighten you— the lady is, a young lady; one, the tip of whofe little finger you would give both yoi>r ears to kifs. — ^She lives, fir, at prefent, in the country, with a clergyman who promiled her in marriage to Keppel ; whofe guardian he had been until (he was one -and- twenty.. There, now you're illuminated F* ** Do you think," faid Keppel, un- bending ( 86 ) bending his brows at the word wife (N. B. he was not yet married j, ''do you think that my Penelope would turn you out ? You have not lecn her, and therefore furely imagine my wife is to be as large as my houfc, that fhe is to leave no room for y oil" "'Tis true," replied Barclay, fmiling, *^ that I have not feen her, but though fne may not be corporeally as large as the houfe, yet you know fome wives, of much lefs fize, manage to fill a houfe fo cleverly, as to leave no room for aiiy body elfe. Hulbands tell me that there is a kind of ubiquity about them. Go where you will, the firft thing you fee, is your wife. Let a hulband ileal either into the nurfery, to Ihew the nur- fery-maid how to make the pap, or into the kitchen, to take a fop in the pan, and I'll wager my head, that though he took his wife out of town like a cat in a bag, and drcpt her ten miles off, he would have fcarcely got the cook's leave to • ( 87 ) to proceed, before /he would come pounce upon him, like a ravenous hawk on a poor trembling cock fparrow." In our hero's fpeech I cannot help re- marking the words ^^ Til wager my head,** This phrafe, though often ufed, is of very doubtful import, as it depends upon the value the man who employs it fets upon his head, to determine whether he m.eans to bet little or much. And again, though he may believe that he offers to bet high, his hearers may think that he propoies to bet a mere nothing, I know not what Barclay meant, but let it be remembered, that whenever I em- ploy the phrafe, I intend to fignify that I would bet an enormous fum, if I had it,-— my head being the mofh valuable thing I have. Indeed, we authors arc in that refpt6l like afparagus ; there's nothing good about us but our heads. ^* Ay," faid Keppel, " do you talk thus of ma- trimony ?" " Will ( 3^ ) " Will you not believe that I have great reverence for it," replied Barclay, " when I tell you that I never hear the word but with awe and trembling ?'* " Leave off bantering," rejoined Keppd, *' and tell me whether you really have the fame notion of it as is vulgarly entertained." "To be ferious then," faid he, "I am quite of an oppofite opinion,' I am firm- ly perfuaded that there is no better ftate in the world, if a man does not marry for the fake of the mean advantages to be derived from the dowry his partner brings, but for thofe, fo eminently fuperior, which are to be found in a congeniality of difpo- fition, and a confidence that knows no re- ferve. He who links himfelf to a being he loathes, folely becaufe it has riches, dtferves that happinefs which money can- not purchafe, and to fuffer all that mifery, he fhould have known, no gold could pre- vent. In truth, I can imagine nothing more engaging, nothing more delightful in C 89 ) in nature, than a man and a woman, of mild and equal tempers, furrounded by their offspring, occupied in fome innocent diverfion, after the toils of the day are at an end. It is a heavenly pidlure, and no one can contemplate it without the mod pleafing emotion. I call it heavenly, be- caufe I can form no better idea of Heaven, than that of a good father living amidft his children, in peace and concord!*' " My friend," faid Keppel, " the woman I love will be every thing you defcribe 5 but for myfelf, alas ! how far am I from being fuch a man !'* By this it will be feen, that our hero's fpeech had in a great meafure fixed Keppel in his intention to marry. — And I ll:iall marry, too, one of thefe days, — but it Ihall be at Malabar. Barclav, afcribinsr his friend's words to ^ his modeftv in ipeaking of himlelf, went on, and concluded thus : — " But he who marries a girl for no other C 90 ) other reafon, than becaufe flie has a pretty face *, is fuch a contemptible fool, that I know not what he deferves, I would not punifh him as if he were a man, but if I could, I would iinmarry him, put him in leading firings, whip him, and to make up for his lofs, and prevent his crying, give him a doll to play with." • ** He that wedi for ftate or face. Buys a horfe, to lofe the race.'* CHAP. ( 91 ) C H A ?• IX. What women are indehted to for their fnodejly. — The Jurfrifmg effe3f of ac- cident. — JVhat the author means to do when he has tme,--^The hifiory about to take a new turn. -—^Gregory defer ihed.^* A converfation between the author and the reader, — Hhe former thinks it proper to decamp. JNoTWITHSTANDING Kcppel's dfipofi- tion to take a wife, it was his opinion, and he would contlantly afllrt it, That all women are born whores, and that modeft women are bred *. " Modefty," faid * He had probably formed his opinion on this head, from the ancients. Senbca fays that % woman. ( 92 ) fald he, "or a referved condufl, is the effect of education j but impudence, that is, indulging in all our pafiions, is natural, fince we fhould all do fo if we were not taught otherwife.'* , " Some men," continued he, " become famous for certain qualities that are called virtues, by mere chance. A man may happen to keep his word on feveral occa- fions, with great flridlnefs, becaufe it fuits himj or becaufe he has no reafon to break it, and it coming to his ear that he has been noticed in company, in eonfequence of it, as a man of undoubted veracity, he, woman, " impudens animal eft, et nifi fcientia ac- ceffit, cupiditatum incontinens. Cato: indomitum animal. Homer : oud cuntercyt alio gunaicos, And Sh AKSFEAK E affirms thcU a woman is the devil, which may ferve for a tranflation of what preccdt'S. However, let it be reirembeied, th?t thefe gen- tlemen were all talking of womnn, as flie lived in their days. Had they exifted in oars, how diiFe- rent would have bien their language I with- ( 93 ) without having thought of it before, re- folves to alTumc the charader, and play it through life. Such too is frequently the origin of remarkable courage, nice ho- nour, &c. &c. Accident often (may I fay always) determines whether we (hall purfuc the path of virtue or vice. There is no natural vice or virtue in the creature. If he is virtuous through education, he is fo by accident, — This happens to have a -f ' vicious education, and he comes to an un- timely endi that has a virtuous one, and he dies an honourable death — change the accident and you change the man." If this fevere comment on mankind be true, the tducation of our children (I mean %^ to get fome when IVe time) is of the laft '^ importance to us, as on that, and therefore on us, depend their future cor.dudV, ho- nour, and profperity. Barclay had now lived for fome time enjoying his friend's company, in cham- bers not far diftant from thofe occupied by ( 94 ) by Keppel. His only care was to re- folve on what bufinefs or profefTion he fhould follow. The more he thought on this fubjed:, the lefs inclination he found to decide on a thing from which he pro- mifed himfelf no pleafure. However, ACCIDENT (that great genius, who fo often dire6ls the condu6b of mortals, and makes them famous, or defames them without an energy of their own) at laft fixed on a purfuit for him, which he rc- lu6lantly, but from necefTity, adopted. As this circumftance will make a (Irange confuiion in our (lory, and utterly deftroy the rimpii( iry of the narration which has preceded it, I fiiall beg (take) leave to ter- minate every thing that it ieeois neceilary to fay, before we enter upon it. "When Barclay removed from his fa- ther's houfe to chambers, Gregory, with- out being defired, or afking whether he might, attended clofe at his heels, as a mat- ter of courfe, and fet about doing every thing ( 95 ) thing there was to be done, with his ufual diligence. Our friend Gregory was now between forty and fifty ; he was flout and rather - fhort, his height not exceeding five feet. Of his face, I can only fay, that, excepting a nofe of no common promife, it had no- thing to diftinguifn it from the vulgar herd of faces, innocent of all meaning. To defcribe him, in a word, he held the fame rank among nature's works as hard- ware among the potters. Of the honefly of his mind and difpo- fition too much cannot be faid. His oucfide was rough like the (hell of the cocoa nut, and like the cocoa, his heart contained abundance of fweet milk — the fweet milk of human kindncfs. '^ Well but his vices, fir, — his fwearing, and his fondnefs of — what, fir ? What was he fond of? For fhame, ma*am, don't aik me that, " You ( 5^ ) " You promiied to tell, fir, and you know, that a woman's curiofity is '* As reillefs as St. Virus's dance ! there- fore to give you eafe, I will tell you. Now, O Goddefs of Chaftity, fend, O fend thy fylphs to influence my words and guide my pen ! My invocation being at an end, be pleafed, madam (for I fwear 1 will not fpeak out loud}, be pleafed to lend me your ear — Pooh, that won't do — Do jufb move your wig a little on one fide- there, that '11 do. Gregory, madam, was, what I fllil hope you are not, exccffively fond of love ! " Pfliaw, is that all ? And pray, fir, why fhould not I be fond of love r Zounds, ma'am, he was as amorous as a goat! — '* Poor fellow, well, I'm fure he's more to be pitied than blamed." Madam, I honour your feelings, but I Ihall not venture to remain in private with you any longer ! CHAP. ( 97 ) CHAP. X. A publican^ the marquis ofGranhyy a petti- coat ^ and Gregory y all jumbled together in one period, — Gregory falls in love^accord- ing to South' s fermons. — His Juccefs,-^ How he was found out. — TVhat isfome- times meant by the word sir*— Ti6^ kifs if reconciliation, ^ As any figure with a bald head Is, to a publican, the fign of the marquis of Gran- by, fo was any thing in a petticoat an an- gel in the eyes o{ Gregory. That being the cafe, he mufl: undoubtedly have pof- feiled much of the virtue of Shadrach, Melliachj and Abednego, to have lived in this great town {o long as he did, without being end rely confumed. Though fortunate in many rerpe61:s, he Vol. L F was ( 98 ) was not always fuccf fsful in his amours. Being fent one day by Barclay, with fome trifling melTage, to Keppel's chambers, he found there a pretty little wench who had lately been hir^d. The moment he be- held her, he fell defperately in love. " In love ?" you cry. Yes, in love, if South's definition of love be juft. " It is," fays he, *^ all the powers, vigoux, and faculties of the foul, abridged into one inclination. The whole man wrapt up in one defire *." Such was the cafe with Gregory. South then adds, " That the foul may fooner leave off to fubfill, than to love j and, like a vipe, it withers and dies, if it has nothing to embrace," Gregory could never fubaiit to that; he therefore began to embrace the nymph with true Satyric warmth. Having previouOy inquired whether her mailer was at home, and learning that he vv^as not, he (hut the door, * Vol. i. p. 60. Sermons. and ( 99 ) and without any further ceremony, like Helle was carried by the Ram, he bore her into the bed-chamber. Here, madam, fuch a conflid enfucd as you can have no idea of. Alas 1 poor Gregory, to attack thee in fuch a fituation ! Madam, flie beat him with a brulh, until he was obliged to cry for quarters. She then opened the door, and he was glad to fneak away difgraccd and difcomfited. Such, indeed, is com- monly the end of mod love affairs ! But to ufe the words of a noble lord, " The gallant who goes about to open the trenches in this manner, will generally" (like Gregory) '^ be foon obliged to raife thefiege*." KeppeFs maid having never feen Gre- gory before, and he thinking it full as well, afcer v/aat had happened, to retire without * Lord Mulgrave, on the bill to prevent the in- termarriage of the parties concerned. Aprilj F 2 deliver- ( lOO ) delivering his mefTage, fhe could not identify the perfon who had been there, and, during his abfence, committed iuch an alarming outrage on her virtue. How- ever, as fhe had fought fuch a good fight, fhe was refolvcd not to lofe all the ad- vantage her reputation might derive from it; ihe therefore defcribed every thing to her mader on his return, as minutely as flie was able. Bat ir e dwek ib much on her ow^n Jpctlejs virtuey and gave fuch a con- fufed account of the ravifher, that none but Keppel, who, knovv'ing Gregory's pro- penfity, fhrewdly fufpedted it was him, could have gathered any thing from it. Telling Barclay the circumfcance next day, without intimating his fufpicions, our hero exclaimed, before he had half finiihed, •^Asliive, *tvvas Gregory ! thefcoundrel!'* " 1 gueffed as much," cried Keppel, •' but v/e may be both wrong- — I am to dine v/ich you to day, let us dcvifc fome plan to found him." This ( lot ) This being agreed upon, at dinner^ while Gregory was waking, Barclay fald ia a carelefs manner, " Did you go to my, friend's with that melTage yefterday, Gregory ?" " Meffage r" he replied, in a way as if he had forgotten it. " Yes," added the other, " the mefiage that I told you to deliver in the courfe of the evening." "Ay," cried Gregory, not wifning to tell a lie, and catching at the word deliver ^ " I recolledl now — go fir, I did not deli- ver it." Keppel feeing they were baffled here, went on thus, addrefling himfelf to Bar- clay. " Apropos of yefterday — The ftrangeft thing happened whilft I was out, that you ever heard. A man, I know not who, called at my chambers, and being told that I was not at home, he rufhed in, and ra- vidied my maid fervant." F 3 Gregory ( ^02 ) Gregory kept rubbing the glaffes, as if he meant to rub them to pieces. " Blefs nie," cried Barclay, vvich af- feded furprife, " pray^ what time of the day was itr" " Some time in the evening," replied the other. *' Well/' ^id our hero, looking fled- faftly at Gregory, whofe confufion evi- dently betrayed his guilt, ^' I am glad,y?r, to underftand that you were not there lail night.'* When we fay^/r, to a gentleman, we mean to employ an honourable term -, but, when wc apply it to a fervant, as — -' So, fir," or as it is ufed above, it is merely an abbreviation ofJ:r-rab, Gregory (th the full force of the word, and knew his rnaf- ter*s fufpicions; but not caring to acknow- ledge the fad, he bovvcd refpedfully to conceal his blufhes, and then turned round as if he had fomething to do at the fide- board. Keppel >. C 103 ) Keppel had made a little embelliOi- ment, but finding that of no effedl, pro- ceeded to magnify fcill further. " Now," (aid he to Barclay, " I would have forgiven the fellow for any thing that - he did with the girl, fince his paffions might have run away with him, but I caa never pardon his defcending to ileal the filver candle ftick." *^ If I did, I'll be d-d 1" cried Gre- gory, turning haftily around j " as I hope for mercy, 1 ftole nothing !" Keppel and Barclay could not refrain from burfting out into a fit of laughter, during which, Gregory, confcious how his indignation at being accufed of theft had betrayed him, ran out of the room. While he was abfent, Keppel unfolded the whole event m.inutely, and on Grego- ry's return, and promiOng to go and beg the lady's pardon, he was, with a fevere reprimand from Barclay, forgiven. He never wore livery, arid next day, F 4 drefTing ( I04 ) drefiing himfelf in his Sunday's fuit, he was, through the interceflion of our friends, permitted to give and take the kifs of reconciliation. — After this, he was by the nymph herfelf invited to drink a difh of excellent fouchong, and from that moment had free ingrefs and egrefs at ail times. —What could the man wifli for more ! CHAP. ^ ( los ) CHAP. XL Tradejmen. — The danger of paying debts. — A proof of friendfhip, — A barber. — How Gregory brought tears into the eyes ef a mercilcjs beadle. — Why he turned vdet. — < ' His behaviour when Barclay told him they miiji part. In the traxkfmen of London there is fuch a fpirit of gambling, that tailors will make you up -a dozen fuits of clothes, up- holilerers furniHi your houle, butchers fend you nicat, and coal- merchants coals, with a very reniote chance of being paid, rather than lofe thfe opportunity of doing bufi- nels. Barclay experienced the truth of this aiTertion; for, having run through the wreck of his fachctr s property, he in- fenHbly incurred debts to the amount of F 5 fcverai ( io6 ) feveral hundred pounds. Flis infennbirity, however, did not laft long. The dunning of his creditors foon roufed him from his trance, Rabelais tells us a (lory of one Philipot Placut, who, being brifk and hale, fell dead as he was paying an old debt ; which perhaps caufes many, fays he, not to pay theirs, for fear of the like accident. Such, however, was not the caufe of our hero's not difcharging his. He would wiilingly have paid them, but knew not how to raife the means without facriiicing his in- dependence. I once had a friend who was remark- ably fond of fpending ether people's mo- ney, and to this end conuantly borrowed of all he knew, except rnyrelf. Now weighing this in my mind, I was con- vinced that it was the greateft mark of frienddiip he could Paew rre, and I made this apcphthegm in confeqocnce : Be Aire that a man values your friendfhip, if he borrows { 107 ) borrows from all his other acquaintances, and not from you. The thing fpeaks for itfelf. I certainly wi(h to fee as little as pofTible of the man who has lent me mo- ney, efpecially if I am unable or unwil- ling to repay it. Of courfe it necelTa- rily follows, that I (iKill carefully avoid putting myfeif in thi^ predicament with one I ^fteem and wifii to be with conti- nually. This refledion in fome meafure ope- rated in preventing Barclay from applying in his emergency to his friend. He, there- fore, by gentle words and fair promifes, poftponed the day of payment Ir-e now, however, began to think fe- riouOy of fome employment that might contribute to his fubfiilence, and gradually extricate him from a difHculty which, gave him much untcamefs, Am.idfl: all his croffes, he {lill often thought of the fair one he had ktii when at Osford; but he never thought of her without a figh, and F 6 as C io8 ) tas of one he fiiould fee no more. Indeed, granting they fhould meet again, his mif- fortunes had left him no hope of being deemed worthy of pofTe fling her. In a gloomy ftate of mind he one morn- ing refolved to acquaint Gregory with his fituation, and, as an a6l of juftice, to fend him in fearch of a m after better able to re- ward him for his fervices ; or, by difcliarg- ing him, to give him an opportunity of returning to his former trade, which was, previous to his father's taking him to be his valet, that of a hair-drefler or barber. The breakfaft things being removed, Gregory as ufual made his appearance with the neceiTary articles for fliaving : an operation he performed every morning on Barclay'^ chin. Such, my fair readers, was the fertility of our hero's beard ! *' I don't think any man in the king- dom can (have better than you, Gregory,'* faid Barclay, after he had finilhed. « Why, fir, for the matter of that," replied ( I09 ) replied he, " I believe, without vanity, that I can fhave as well as the befl of 'em/ I never had but one cuftomer who com- plained of me all the time I was in bufi^ nefs, and that was the beadle of the parifh I lived in." " Aye/* faid Barclay, " and why did- he complain ?" " Why, fir," replied Gregory, " I was told that was a terrible hard-hearted fellow, who (hewed no mercy to the poor, and was never known to ih-ed a tear in his life. He had a very ftrong beard, fir. I pre- pared a razor for him, and, d n him, I gave him llich a (liave 1 proved that he could n^ed tears : he flied a bafon full !" ** I dare fay," added Barclay, " that he did not complain a fecond time of your ihaving." " No, fir," faid Gregory, " he never came to me again ; but he did me a great deal of injury in my trade by defaming me^ and I loll feveral cuftomers owing to .k. ( no ) it. However, it was a good caufe, and I never fretted about it." *^ And pray now/' Barclay aflced, " how much were you able to get in a week by your bufmefs ?'* " Oh, pretty decent," he replied, *' pretty decent. Sixteen (hillings a week, without touching a wig : if 1 had any wig- work I could double it." " Could you, indeed !" faid Barclay, *^ then how came you to think of leaving fuch a profKable profeflion to turn valet ?" <" Why, to tell you the truth,'* he re- joined, *' I had drefTed and fhaved your father for about a year, when I fell fick, and could earn nothing. He fent to know why I did not come as ufual, and, learning the caufe, generoufly fupported me through a long ficknefs of {qvcii weeks. I would by little and little have repaid him, and fnouM have ftill thought myfeit bound to him for ever, but he re- fufed it. In a few months after his valet left ( I" ) left him, and I offered to take his place. Your father, (till thinking he was doing ine a kindnefs, accepted my offer. I loft twenty pounds a year by the change, but I lived with one whom I would have ferved for a third of what he gave me." Here Gregory drew the back of his hand acrofs his eyes to wipe away the tears, warm from his heart, that were gulhing from them. " Gregory,*' fiiid our hero, " you are an honeft fellow, and I will not iaipofe upon you. You are now as able as ever to return to that bufinefs you were brought up.to. J, for my part, have not the pow- er to give you any thing equal to its pTo- fics.*' " Equal r* exclairred Gregory, ** I will {crve jcu for nothing !" Barclay coukl fcarcely lupprefs his feel- ings. " Gregory-" he continued, " my good fdlow, I have no money left." - " And do I a& you for money ?" cried 3 he. ( 112 ) he. '* No : I want no money -, I want only to remain your fervant." " In fine/' faid Barclay, coUefting himfcif, " and in one word, 1 am plunged deep in debt, and I can keep you no longer." " Tur^ — turn— me away!" exclaimed Gregory., throwing the razor and fliaving- box en ihc table ; " Oh, my young maf- ter, 1 did not think you could have fpoken thus to Gregory ! Do you not remem- ber your father*s words ? If you do not, I do, and ever fhall — " Do ail that is in your power (for I have none), to reward the fi^.ithful Gregory." This was his in- ]un6Hon ; and how have you fulfilled it ? Forgive my boldntfsj (ir — by doing all that is in your power to break his heurt !'* Nciincr, aftei this:> uttered a word for a conriJcrabk-: time. --'Barclay was over- come with the afFedllon of Gregory j who iirfl renewed the convcrfation by faying, in ( "3 ) in a low and piteous tone, ^^ Pray, fir, don*t fend me away.'* " Well, well !" cried Barclay, " but leave me now.'* Gregory fnatched up the fhaving-box and razor, wiped down the table, and was out of the room in a trice. CHAP, ( 114 ) CHAR XII. Low fpirits, — A letter from the Rev, Mr. Pawlet, — An advertiJenient,'^Barclafs refolution, — ^he moft common marks of genius, — Mrs. Pawlet. — Uehrezv,'-^How to hing up a da'ughttr Jo as tc make her look upon you with contempt, '■^^i mar ^ riage,'^^'he parfon, — He is dejkrihed by St, Paul. — Lord Clarendcn*s chfervction on clergymen,-- ^transformations.— A liv- ing encyclopedia, — Mrs, Pawlet' s fer- vants fhani well^ when they re ill, — Con- nuhid comfort, — Ifhy Mr. Pawlet is worje off than David, After pafTing the morning in a very difasreeablc and di (heartening; train of re- fiedlion, our hero went to dine with Kep- pel at his chariibers. His thoughtfulnefs and ( "5 ) and deprefilon were fo apparent, that his friend could not but obferve them. ''What ails you, Barclay ?" faid he, af- ter the cloth had been taken away, " you have fcarcely eaten any thing, and nre fo uncommonly dull, that I am at a lofs to guefs what is the matter with you." Barclay made no reply. **You know, my friend," continued Keppel, **that my pur fe is at your fcr- vice, and 1 fhall be very angry with you, if you permit youriirlf to fuiFcr a moment's pain through any faife delicacy on that head." " Oh no, no !" cried Barclay, affefling a fmile, " nothing €*( the kind, I affure you/^ "Then," faid he, fericufly, " what is it that has changed your manner fo extraor- dinarily ? Come, I mud and will know." '* Why," replied our hero, evafively, " all my thoughts have been occupied in devifing fome plan for my future con- dud ; ( "6 ) du6l ; and being unable to hit upon any thing, it has made me low-fpirited." « Pooh !" faid Keppel, '' js that all ? Come, fill your glafs, and leave that to my management. Til get fomething that will fuit you, before long, depend upon it. But talking of offices 5 1 received a letter this morning, that will make you laugh, and it is on that very account I introduce it. It is from the Rev, Mr. Pawlet, the gendeman with whom the young lady refides who is pledged to me. After giving me a variety pf little com- miffions to execute for him, and faying that my Penelope, and all our friends at ■ ■ are well, he enclofes mc the following advertifement, "which," fays he, **notwith(landing all I could advance to dif- fuade her from it, my wife infifts on being lent to you, that you may get it inierted in fe- veralofthe papers. Now what do you ima- gine a man's wifecanadvernfe for?" ^^Faith, I know not," replied Barclay, "perhaps for ■( i'7 ) for a loft lap-dog, or a lady's maid, or fomething of that infignificant nature." "Very well 1'* faid Keppel, "now, llften" Wanted — A man, if young, fteady and diligent ; if old, not vicious nor ob- ftinate, who underftands Hebrew, Chal^ dee, Greek, Latin, and many of the mo- dern languages. His bufinefs will be to tranfcribe the texts and commentary of a Polyglott bible, now preparing for the prefs. As the perfon qualified for this office will, it is fuppofcd, be a gen- tlejiBan as well as a fcholar, he will be al- lowed to live widi the family, and his per- fevering induury will be rewarded by a liberal annual ilipend. Apply . "Pihaw !" cried Barclay, when he had finilhed, " you're joking with me." " Upon my honour I am not," replied Keppcl. "But I dare fay you would have thought fo Itiil more, if you had fcen C 113 ) {ccn the original advertifementj for my friend writes me in the poftfcript, " That finding his wife determined to put in an advertifemcnt, all he could do, was to prevail on her to let him alter the one flie had written, which, " he affirms^*^ would have filled up three columns of a newf- paper; and the bed folver of enigmas in the whole kingdom would never have known what Ihe meant, or what llic wanted." "I'll go!" cried Barclay. "Go!" faid Keppel, " wliere ?" " ril goj" he repeated, in a firmer tone, "you- need not put in the advertife- ment, for Til go." " What go and pafs your life in copy- ing an old woman's commentary on the bible? Poohj you're mad?" "Then I ihould think," faid he, "that I am the .more fit to enter her fervice. My friend, I will pofitively go. At Ox- ford I lludied Hebrew fuiTicicntly to be able ( 1-9 ) able to tranfcribe any thing flic may have to do, and I am rcfoived to be her ama- nuenfls. Leave town I mufl, for now, to be open with you, I owe a little calh to feveral tradefmen, which I fhall, by this labour, foon be able to pay. I can but try it, you know. Will you recom- mend me ?" Keppel refleded for a few moments, and then buril out, "Ecod, you (hall go; and you fhall be received there as well as myfelf. I am (hordy going a circuit in which there are to be fome curious trials, at which I wiih to be prefent. I intended to have taken you, but the- cafe is now altered. You iliall go to — ^ — , and I will join you there in about two months, by which time you will be able to fj»rm an opinion of your fituacion.'* *' The fooner I go the better," cried Barclay, as if quite pleafed with the thought i but his hafte was perhaps more to be afcribed to the recoHe6lioh of his attentive credi- tors. ( I20 ) tors. " To-morrow— next day — and then, you know, as I (hall be in the fame houfe with your intended fpoufe, 1 can, as the poet fays, " interpret between your love and you,^* Recommend me well, Keppel 5 fay that I am a wonder of genius and learn-, ing ; and add, that, like all true geniufes, I am very diffident, and make little or no difplay of my talents or acquifidons. I fhall be able to fupport that charadler admirably/' "So, fo," faid Keppel, "I fee you have recovered your Ipirits. Well, ril do every thing for you that's neceflary, I'll recommend 3 ou fo that all your little faults Ihall be overlooked, and your adlual ignorance of fome things be taken for modefly or eccentricity, while your indolence and imprudence fhall be fet down as undoubted marks of genius/' "I have thofe marks (Irong upon me," cried Barclay, fmiling. "They are the marks," faid Keppel, *'that lead many, 1 believe, to imagine they ( lai ) tticy arc men of genius. I know fcveral too in the world that pafs for fuch who have no other index, fyraptom, fign, or coken of genius, but indolence or impru- dence." Having fettled the preliminary bufineft fo far, Barclay expreflcd a wi(h to be let more into the character and hiftory of the lady he was fo fhortly to be engaged with. In this his friend readily acquicf- ced, to the following efFedb. *' To defcribc Mrs. Pawlet to you," faid he, " minutely, which might not be unentertaining, would take me weeks, months, nay a year, and I fhould then do it very imperfedly. I (hall therefore merely confine myfelfto the remarkable parts of her life and charadter, leaving you at your leifure to difcover the reft. Mrs .Pawlet was the daughter of a dean, who, defpifing the common ftyle of edu- cating women, had brought her up with all the aufterity of fchool difcipline, in- Vol. I. G ftrudcd ( i2a ) flru6bed her in the dead languages, parti- cularly in Hebrew ; and, in a word, rear- ed her as if he intended fhe fhould vie with the fathers, put all the fcholiafts on ancient 'authors, boch facred and profane, to the blu(h, and fnatch the bays from the male and place it on the female brow. She had ftudied, with little inclination and great coercion, for a long time, but not without fuccefs. The end, however, of this mode of education was, that flie be- came infufferably afFeded and dogmati- cal ; held every one flie knew, relations or friends, but efpecially her father, whom llie foon found to be a weak, fuperficial man, in fo'^rereign contempt, and conf^ quendy rendered her whole family truly miferable. The dean's m.ind was entirely bent on getting her oft by marriage, when the father of Mr. Pawlet (who is now dead), going to pay him a vifit, could not help, as a matter of courfe, faying many handfome things on the learning of his { 123 ) his daughter. The dean, being on the watch, caught at the opportunity, and faid— " Yes, fir, fhe is, I think, fuch a woman as we have rarely ken. No one, how- ever great, would be difgraced by an alliance with her ; but do you know, my old friend," continued he, artfully, *' that I have taken a great liking to your fon, who is at prefent curate of my living in • , which is worth between five and fix hundred pounds a year. He is avery honefl:, good kind of a young man, and if you like to ftrike the bargain, he fliall no longer be my curate, but my fon-in-law, and the re6l:or of that parifh. My daughter's fortune befide, is 8C00I.5 but that I fhall expedl to have fettled upon her/* Old Pawlet was dumb with amazement at an offer fo beneficial to his fon, and fo litde expedled. At length he replied. That he felt the honour in the neareft G 2 manner. ( 124 ) iTianner, and that nothing could make him ib perfe6lly happy as what he propofcd, " Nor me!'* faid the dean, and he fpoke fmcercly. " Away, then, to your Ton, and let them be one flefh as foon as you plcafc." Onefiejh indeed it was, for the lady was all fkin and bone, tall, with a pale, thin, haggard face, and litde grey eyes, which were fo advantageoufly placed in her head as to command both the left and the right at the fame moment. The ftrangenefs of her drefs added to the grotefquencfs of her figure. No two people could be more oppofitc in their nature than the dean*s daughter and young Pawlet, who was about thirty, the fame age as herfelf. He was about the middle fize, and rather inclined to be lufty J of a cheerful, ruddy countenance, in which you might plainly read the cha- ra6ters of benevolence and kindnefs. I fpeak ( 125 ) fpcak of him as I am told he was then, as I know he is now. — A more tender- hearted creature never cxifted. Nothing can ruffle him but injuftice, oppreflion, or want of charity. Without profeffing to be a philofopher, he is fo much fo as to think nothing in this world worth quar- relling about. He is, in fhort, what St. Paul beautifully defcribes charity itfelf to be: He " fufFerslong, and is kind; en- vies not 5 boafts not of him/elf i is not puffed up i docs not behave unfeemly ; fecks not his own; is not eafily provoked ; thinks no evil j rejoices not in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth ; bears all things, believes all things ^opes all things, en- dures all things." Such was, and fuch is now at fifty, the man the dean chofe for his daughter's hufband. Lord Clarendon obferves*, that " clergymen undcrftand the lead and take the word mcafure of human affairs of all • In his Life. G 3 mankind ( 126 ) mankind that can read and writer'* and my friend was a great inftance of the ve- racity of this obfervation. Old Pawlet no Iboner opened the affair, and ftated how happy it would make him, than his fon, wichout confidering a thoufand other things that fhould be confidered on thefe occafions, inflantly agreed to it. The period was not long before the indiflbluble knot was tied, and Cupid tucked fuch a fair in bed that night as he had fcarcely ever feen, although his mo- ther * is of old notorious for bringing oppofites together, Ovid Jias no meta- morphofe fo ftrange, fuddcn, and abfurd, as Mrs. Pawlet made in the parfonage- houfe. My worthy friend, with a meek- nefs of temper far furpalTing that of So- crates, bore it all without repining, and even aflifted at making alterations, and agreed to the adoption of many plans, * " With fportive cruelty (he binds, *' Unequal form! y uneciud mihds.^" HoK, Carm. lib. i. od. 33. which ( 127 ) which he could not but difapprove. So that there was no murmuring and no com- plaint : he was happy and contented. He fubmitted, and Hill fubmits, to his wife in every thing but one — in a6ts of bene- volence and charity he is infuperably ob- flinate, and will fuffer no controul. The mildnefs of his manners produced fome efFedl upon her, and he in his turn performed a metamorphofe, making her a litde more tolerable and reafonable than fhe was. There is yet, however, full enough of the old woman in her charac- ter. To tell all her whims and vagaries would be an endlefs tafk ; however I (hall nodce a few. Having gone the whole round of fci- enccs in a very curfory way, fhe talks of all, and exceedingly loves to be called a LIVING ENCYCLOP- and good na- ture. To his friend, it is true, he was fo, but to men m general (fo far as not to in- fult) he was almoft entirely the reverfe. G 6 So ( 132 ) So It IS ; men are not to be judged haftily of, nor are we to fuppofe that we know a man's behaviour in all fituations, from fee- ing him in one. I have feen a married man with a pretty girl in a corner, oh, fo loving 1 Well, perhaps you'll think he's fo with all women ? Go home with him, fir, and fee him with his wife. The neceffity for Barclay's fpeedily va- cating London being urgent, the time was foon fixed upon for his departure. Pack- ing up, and other needful preparations, prefently gave Gregory the alarm. Ever fince his mafter had talked of parting with him, he had^been full of hopes and fears ; the latter were now increafcd, — he dread- ed fomething, but he knew not what ; and his great refped for his mafter would not permit him to make any impertinent in- quiries. Barclay was well aware of the ftateof his mind, and would willingly have done any thing to have prevented the af- flidion he was fure he would fufFer, when informed ( ^33 ) informed that they muft feparate. How- ever, It was not to be avoided, and Bar- clay, fearing to truft himfelf alone on this occafion, refolved to call in the affiftance of Keppel, by whofe aid he hoped to ef- fect his purpdfe with lefs difficulty. The day previous to our hero's leaving town, Keppel came to his chambers pre- pared to combat the fcruples of Gregory, and to fhew him the propriety of fubmic- ting to a feparation. Gregory was called in, and the matter broken to him as gently as pofTible, by Keppel. Barclay remain- ed filent. When his friend had ended a plain ftatement of the fad, Gregory be- gan to give his reafons why they need not part, addrefled himfelf to Barclay, talked of his affeclion for his father, and his love for him. His language was rough, but every word came from his heart. Barclay could not endure it : he rofe, and withdrew. After a moment's paufe, Keppel re- newed ( 134 ) newed the fubjed; and with much argtr- ment, to prove the neceffi^ of partings hut more from the detrinent he rold him tie would be to his matter by going vtith him, he at length, like the white-armed goddefs from the cloud compelling Jove, obtained from him a kind of wiling un- willing confent * to ftay behind. Kep- pel then proceeded to tell him, as if fe- cretly, that he did not think his mafter Would continue there long, which feemed to give him fome relief. " In the mean time," added he, " you fhall either return to your bufinefs, or remain with me. I will take care of you." •' 1 am afhamed of being fo bold," cried • The paffage in Homer is remarkable: Jwxa EKXIN AEKONTI ya ^vy^w. I gave it you willingly with an unwil- ling mind. Pope takes no notice of this in his Iliad. See the Scholia on v. 43. il. 4. Ed. Barn. Gregory, ( 135 ) Gregory, "but I think you had much better take care of my mafter inftead of me, — do, fir ; now pray think of it !" "I have offered it a hundred times," faid Kep- pel, " but for what reafon I know not, un- lefs it be pride, he has conftantly refufed me. But you will not, Gregory ?*' Gregory bowed, wiped his eyes, and faying, in a tone fcarcely audible, " I (hall do my beft to pleafe you,'* left the room. Barclay fpent the remainder of the day with his friend, who gave him all the in- formation refpeding the good people he was about to live with that he thought ne- cefTary, and, above all things, entreated him not to negledl to write often, to tell Penelope of his unalterable love, and to afTure him, from time to time, of the con- tinuance of hers. He then told him that he had already written to Mrs. Paw- let concerning her amanuenfis, and paved the way for as good a reception as a wo- man ' ( 136 ) man of her charafter could be expedled to give. " Further,*' faid he, " here are four letters of recommendation for you to my friends. The firft is to Mrs. Pavvlet, fetting you forth in the light in which it will pleafe her moft to view you -, the fe- cond is to the Rev. Mr. Pawlet, her huf- band, who would, without it, have treat- ed you with the greateft humanity, but who will, in confequence of it, ufe you as my friend j the third is to Mr. George Pawlet, the clergyman's elder brotliier, who lives with his family (fuch a family 1 but I leave you to find out their virtues) not far diftant from the pafonage ! the fourth is to the Honourable Mr. Buckle^ flyicd honourable becaufe he is the fon of a lord J how much fo otherwife, you will be better able to tell me hereafter. The firft two letters you will deliver of courfe;. the latter you will, or will not, as it may pleafe you bed.'* Barclay took the letters, but made no anfwer. ( 137 ) anfwer. He had been melancholy the whole day, and as the laft hour drew near- er and nearer, he became flill more (6, To leave thofe he loved, or had lived with all his days, and to become the fer- vant of any one, however flattering an ap- pearance the fervicude might aflbme, were galling and afflidling to his free and affec- tionate heart -, — a heart, too, yet fuffering from the wounds inflifted by one, the pofTeflion of whom every thing feemed toconfpireto make him defpair of obtain- ing : Wounds, therefore, that promifed to laft for ever ; fince, like thofe received from the Pelean fpear, they could alone be healed by that which had been the caufe of them. If this be really the cafe, how much is a poor man to be pitied, who falls in love, as he clearly cannot get rid of one evil without incurring an- other. " I know,^* faid the God of Phy- fic to Daphne, "I know the virtues of all plants. Alas, that none of them can cure ( 138 ) cure love !" Then, *« Throw phyfic— '* No, hold, — there is one plant mentioned by Pliny * that doubtlefs efcaped the notice of Apollo, which, though the na- turalift does not fay that it may be ufed in thefe cafes, 1 will take upon myfelf to recommend, as a very efficacious and ipeedy remedy, if prepared according to arty and properly applied. He calls it Cannabis, but it is, amongftus moderns, better known by the vulgar term hemp^ It is, at all events, 2iS fafe a remedy for love, as the Leucadian leap j-. My ♦ Lib. xlx. c. 9. t Leucadia was an ifland in the Ionian Tea, remarkable for a tremendous promontory, from which lovers precipitated themfelves, as a cure for love. They were cajoled into this belief by priefts, who became pofTefled of the property of all fuch as were dellroyed in the attt mpt. My prefcription is certainly as good, and I give it gratis. — Try it as often as you pleaf-, and let what will happen, I aflc no fee, or reward. It juft occurs to me, that I have hinted at this once before.~No matter; it cannot be too often recommended, readers ( 139 ) readers (all novel readers are in love !) will do well to try this valuable recipe at their leifure. Keppel obferved, and readily guefTed at the caufe of his friend's gloom. He confequently employed his beft endea- vours to diflipate it, and, with the help of Bacchus, who may be juftly defcrib- ed as having the lips of perfuajiotiy he fucceeded in keeping him in tolerable fpirits until they parted. CHAP. ( 140 ) CHAP. XIV. Pariing. — A ft age coach, -^The pajfengers, —Boh and the S^uaker, — What month in the year is like a pretty woman. — T!hi Retort, — Revenge, — Why you may do any thing with your own father.- — Dinner,-^ A humorous Jcene between Boh and thu ^aker, " C-iOME along, fir! come along!" cried the coachman, feeing Barclay turning into the coach-yard, accompanied by Keppcl, " come, which of you is it ? jump in, jump in; I am full a quarter of an hour behind my time." If Barclay had kept the ftage-coach waidng, it was not on account of his hav- ing overflept himfclf, for he had rifen at five, and it was now a quarter pafl fix. This interval had been paiTed in bidding farewell ( hO farewell to his friend and Gregory ; the latter of whom had taken on fo extraordi- narily, that it was deemed proper to infill on his not going to the coach with his mafter, left his conduft ihould make them all ridiculous. Barclay had fent his trunks the preced- ing night, and time preiTing, he (hook his friend afFcdionately by the hand, and not without a tear on cither fide they parted. Taking his feat, the coach in- ftantly drove off. One would think a man, in the predi- cament of our hero, driving away from bailiffs, would feel himfelf in excellent fpirits. Such, however, was far from being his cafe. Searing himfelf without apologizing for the delay he had occa- fiohed, or noticing his companions, or the murmurs that arofe on his entrance, he fell into a reverie, from which he was roufed by the coachman, who, having driven them about twenty miles, had ftopt to give them an opportunity to breakfaft. The ( 142 ) The paiTengers, breaking their fall in va- rious ways, did not meet at a regular meal, and the time allowed being foon elapfed, they again took their places in the coach. Barclay now began to perufc a little book he had brought on purpofc to amufe him on the road. He had not read long, however, when he was inter- rupted by — "Read in company! — d d unpolite !" This exclamation, uttered in an under tone, was evidently aimed at him 5 but he thought it prudent to take no norice of it. However, he now for the firfl: time furveyed his companions. He was fitting forward, and by his fide fat a quaker, an elderly man, apparently polTefling a very liberal proportion of the lirifFnefs and for- mality of his fed. On the oppofite feat was a lufty man, of a rubicund counte- nance, who, as it afterwards appeared, was -^n opulent farmer ; he had made his ample brcakfaft on rum and milk, which had ( 143 ) had ililled his fplrits into foft repofe. On his left, facing the quaker, was his fon, the perfon who had made the above ex- clamation. The youth had been appren- ticed to a linen-draper, and, when out of his time, had fet up for himfelf j but negledting his bufincfs, and afFeding the man of falhion, he had broke three times in the courfe of two years. His father had now been to town to fetde his affairs, and, not liking to advance any more mo- ney to fuch an unfortunate trader, he had prevailed upon him to return to the coun- try. His drefs was in the extreme of the ton, which only ferved more effedlually to betray his vulgarity and ignorance. Such were our hero's companions, and, having (lightly glanced his eye over them, he returned to his former occupation. The young .fpark finding his hints of no avail, and being of a reftlefs difpofition, he refolved no longer to condnue fitnng there ( 144 ) there "like mum-chance^' (as he called it) filent and inadtive. *' Damme/' cried he, " but you're a fet of dull 'uns !" Then flapping his fa- ther on the thigh, « Dad," faid he, " fliall I go and fan 'em along ?" " Eh !" gaped the old man, " what !" " What ?" exclaimed the other, " why ihall I go and hijhy hijhy yay, yay ?'' Here he made figns of driving. The quaker, though he was a filent man, did not want comprehenfion. He perceived what was going forward, and bridled himfelf up with uncommon ftifF- nefs. *' Ay, ay !" replied the father, " go along. Bob— go along," " Well, then," faid he, " tip us half- a-crown for Jarvy** The old one had rclapfed into his nap before this laft fpeech. Seeing that, his fon put his fingers into his waiftcoat pock- et and helped himfelf, faying, "Wouldn't ( H5 ) " Wouldn't diftiirb you for the world." He now proceeded to call to the coach- man, holding up the half-crown to him, and telling him he wiihed to take the whip. The quaker could contain himfelF no longer. '^ Friend/* faid he, " I think thou hadft better not." By this time the door was opened^ and our young gentleman, without taking any further notice of the quaker*s remon- ftrance than by finging, " Go to the devil and fhake yourfelf," jumped out, and was prefendy on the box. The quaker*s fpirit was moved by the profanenefs of the youth, and he groaned inwardly. It was that month of the year which is fo much like a pretty woman, being full of fweets, and having both tears and fmiles at command — April. The morn- ing was exceedingly fine; but the new driver had not been long in his place be- Vol. I. H fore ( , 146 ) fore a fmart fhovver coming on, he relin- quifhed the reins, and haftily difmounted, intending to refume his featj but, when he came to the door, the quaker held it: faft, and, while the rain lUll pouredj thus coolly addreffed him out of the window : " Friend> thou didfi fay that thou wouldft drive : I did fay thou hadft better not ; but thou didft not heed my words, and now thou fhalt drive." " Come, come, nonfenfe 1" cried the other, jumping about in the fhower, " open the door, do/* The quaker, yet holding it tight, faid, deliberately, " I might now, friend, reply to thee in thine own profane language, and fliy^ 'Go to the devil and fhake thyfelf,' but I :' Our hero here pulled the quaker by the (IcQVCy and whifpered to him, that he had better let him in, as otherwife he might, through rage, overturn them. " Friend, ( M7 ) *^ Friend, thou art in the right/* he replied. " There," continued he, open- ing the door, " I will reply to thee in no fuch way — thou mayeft, if it pleafeth thee, come in and fnake thyfelf here," The young gentleman came in grum- bling, and not by any means fatisfied with the quaker's condu6l. His clothes were confiderably damaged, and that he could never pardon : he refolved on re- venge. The man who can be angry at his clothes being a little fpoilt, and think of revenge on that account, cannot be ex- pe6ted to have a mind capable of con- ceiving any mode of revenge fo aftonifli- ing as to reach the ears of poflerity. It would, indeed, have Rood no i'uch chance, unlefs I infured its immortality by record- ing it. Long did he ponder on the fubjed: of revenge, but could find no means to com- pafs iti until, cafting his eyes downwards, he perceived that the quaker had on a H 2 pair ( h8 ) -pair of milk-white flockings. His great revenge was now, he thought, within his grafp ! His flioes, by Handing in the road, were covered with mud, and he quickly began to perpetrate the deed. At every jolt of the carriage he pretended to be thrown bacltward, and, kicking up his legs, with his heels embraced the quaker's flockings. The quaker bore it patiently for fome time, but it was repeated fo of- ten, that at lad he reached acrofs, and, v/aking the father, he faid to him : " Friend, 1 would thank thee to fpeak to thy fon, who foileth my (lockings ; for, though he feemeth to do it by acci- dent, I verily believe he doeth it on pur- pofe." *' Shame, Bob ! (hame !" cried the old man, " I hope not.'* " Friend," added the quaker, " turn- ing^ to Barclay, ^' wilt thou fpeak ? What dofl thou think ?'* Bob winked at Barclay, who, wilhing to ( '49 ) to encourage him that he might at laft get chaftifed, replied, " Indeed, fii*, I have not narrowly obferved what has paiT- ed, but I iTiuft incline to believe it an accident." The quaker faid no more. The eld man now exprefied his furprifc at feeing his fon in the coach, as he thought he was driving. The reafon being given> and the weather having recovered its fe- reniry, Bob declared he would mount the box again, and (lopt the coach accord- ingly. The quaker was too well pies fed with his abfence to attempt to prevent it ; and Barclay, feeling difpofed to enjoy a litde fre(h air, agreed to go with him. Our hero feated himfelf on the roof of the coach, clofe to the box on which Bob was perched, marfhalling his elbows, and driving according to his opinion in very great ilile. The quaker prefendy became the fubjedl of converfadon. Barclay, who was fond of a joke, feconded him H 3 in ( lio ) in all his abufe of the quaker, ^nd efpe- cially dwelt on liis keeping him in the rain, until he wrought him to fuch a (lace of anger, that he leant back and faid lofdy to Barclay, ^4f you'll get off, and pretend to walk on, I'll over turn him, n^eck or nothing, into the next ditch." This. Barclay very much objcded to, and, to avoid it, he replied, " I fliould like k vafcly, but you forget your father's in the coach." " Ay, true enough, {o I did,'* he re- joined ; " but he's mincy you know, and if you like I'll run the rifk 1" ** No ! oh no 1" faid our hero, (hocked at his want of feeling. " No, that muft not be ; let us devife fome other fcheme.*' This had been all fpoken in a v/hifper, unheard, as it may eafily be imagined, by the coachman. They now fpoke out, and many things were propofed, without fix- ing on any, till Barclay happening to fay, that if you (Iruck a quaker on one fide of his ( i5t ) his face, he would, according to his reli- gion, turn the other — he exclaimed, after a few moments filence : '' I think, fir, Vd better fight him j d n him, ril lick him." '' Right," replied Barclay, " that's a good thought." They had fcarcely fettled this plan of operation, when the coach, it being three o'clock, drew up to the inn, at which they were allowed an hour to dine. On thefe occafions no time is to be ioil. The din- ner, prepared, was put on the table im- mediately, and they were all foon feated to partake of it. Bob, however, was too full of his purpofe to think of eating: how to find caufe for fighting the quaker wholly occupied his mind. He ofi'ered him fifty indignities, which the other took without muttering. At length, being ci- villy afked for a little butter, he poured the contents of the whole boat into the quaker's plate, and, pretending to be very H 4 foiry ( 15^ ) forry for what he had done, he attempted to affift in taking it away ; doing which he overturned it aU into his lap. This was too much. The quaker looked angrily: the other protefted it was unintentional. "Friend! friend!" faid he, ferioufiy, *' thou doft not fpeak the words of truth." *' 'Sblood !" exclaimed Bob, " what do you give me the lie? Strip, ftrip. Til teach you to give a gentleman the lie.'* Saying this, he (tripped himfelf to the fhirt in a moment. The quaker, a flout man, merely ftood up without making any figns of hoftiliry. The other aflced him whe- ther he meant to (trip, and being anlwered fimply, " nay,*' he drew near him, fquar- ing, and putting himfelf into a variety of fighting atdtudes ; but, offering to ftrike, the quaker faid, " Friend, I never fight.'* At the fame dme he put forth his arm, in a flraight line, which, coming in contad with the other's face, made his nofe bleed copioufly, and almoft Itunned him. Recovering C rS3 ) Recovering a little. Bob looked at our hero, and ihook his head, as much as to fay, "This is not the quaker you talked of." But, not choofing to quit the field thus, he attacked his foe twice more, who met him each time in the fame way, with "Friend, I tell thee I never fight !" when the coachman came in to fay the ftage was ready. The quaker now v/ifhed to know whether he might be permitted to finifh his dinner unmolefted. This permiflloFi his opponent readily granted. The coach- man was prevailed on to wait ten minutes longer j and the quaker, fitting down, fa- tisfied his appetite with as much compo^ fure as if nothing had happened. Bob, during this period, fat fulkily in the corner, bemoaning his damaged phyfiognomy; flopping with one hand the rofy ftream that iffued from his noftrils, and with the other bathing his two black eyes with vi- negar and water. The father being a peaceable man> and H 5 not ( 154 ) not at all comprehending the caufe of the diflurbance, rather leant on the quaker's fide, and reprehended his fon for his rude and unwarrantable condu6l. Our hero, who was quite contented with the fuccefs of his ftratagem, pro- pofed that the combatants fhould drink a glafs of wine together, and make it up, which was feconded by the old man. The quaker feemed willing to agree to it, and, v/hen they brought Bob up to fliake hands with him, he faid, " Friend, I forgive thee." "Forgive me I" cried the other — *' what do you mean by * forgive me ?' It is I that am to forgive you, for giving me thefe black eyes and this bloody nofe/* " Friend, thou art miftaken," replied the quaker. " Verily I did not give thee them, for thou didit give them tathyfelf. I did only hold up my arm, as every man hath a right to do, and thou did (I nm thy face againfl: my fid. Moreover, thou. tei ( US ) thou haft In truth hurt my knuckles a lit- tle with thy teeth j but again, I fay, I do forgive thee." The quaker's folemnity produced a fmile even upon the disfigured counte- nance of his antagonift, who, not know- ing what to reply, offered him his hand in fuUen filence, which the quaker tooky faying, ^ " I take this, friend, as a pledge that thou never more doft intend, wantonly, to fully ipy ftockings, to butter my breeches, or to bruife my fift." They were at this inftant again fum- moned to proceed on their journey, and^ having been fo much difturbed as not to be able to drink more than one bottle of wine, it was refblved that they (hould take two flafks into the carriage, and^ over them, finally terminate their dif- ferences* H6 CHAP. ( iS6 ) CHAP. XV. TVhaf will reftore friendjhip. — How to feem wife, — Why coxcombs will perpetually ex- iji. — RoMAiNE. — Extemporaneous Jer- mons accounted for, — l!he delicacy of a court preacher. — Friends often do more harm than foes, — A digrefjion proved to he no digreffion, — Supper. — Barclay s re^ fiedtivns on hisfttuation, 1. HE wine taken by our travellers into the carriage foon proved icfelf to have all the vaunted influence and magic charm of the herb Anacampseros, which is faid, by Pliny *, to have the power of reftoring friendfhip. A few bumpers (but what will they not do ?) quickly re- conciled the contending parties, and re- *Lib. xxiv. cap, 17. newed ( '57 ) newed their former harmony. The qua- ker, however, was ftill very fparing of his words. Bob, on the other hand, be- came remarkably talkative. Not having eaten much dinner, the wine took fpeedy efFedl of him, and he dealt out, what he called his jeux d'efprit and bon mots (all ftrongly favouring of the linen-draper) with exceeding profufion. In the excefs of his fpirits, he made another attack on the quaker, but alas ! poor Bob vas, in all his attacks, ever unfortunately doom- ed to be defeated, and put to the rout, with fhame and difgrace. The old man chuckling, and laughing, at one of his fon's jokes, he turned round to him and faid : " Now, dad, though I am fuch a plea- fant fellow, yet 1 claim no merit for my wit and huniour. Nature has put a fpice of them in me, and I can no more help being agreeable, than friend Buckram, there, can being dul]> and never faying a fyllable." After ( 158 ) After he had finifned a laugh, which followed this, the quaker add relied the company thus : " I do grieve, truly, that this young man Ihould afcribe dullnefs to my filence, as I did mean it to make a very different impreffion. By filence many have pafTed for men of fenfe, who vv^ould never have been fo efleemed by talking. And, verily, am I afraid of being loquacious, left I fhould thereby, like unto my neighbour, give indifputable proof of my dullnefs and folly." Bob, finding that the quaker had the better of him at all weapons, declined entering the lifts with him any more, and^ • feeling the ftrength of the grape operate on his facukies, he funk, gradually, into the arms of fleep. It was now late in the evening, and his companions, fatigued with travelling, thought it not unwife to follov/- his example. What a good tempered foul I am ! Here have I, for thirty or forty pages, been telling my ftory^ circumftanee after circum- { ^S9 ) circumftance, without omitting a tittle, or making a fingle digrefifion. But we will have a digreflion now, and, after the di- greffion, v;e.will have a further digreflion, to prove, that a digreOjon is no digreflion, and then we'll go on with our ftory. *I have faid, that three of our travellers went to fleep, following the example of their companion ; and perhaps die reader has done the fame. I would that no- thing, worfe arofe ^rom following example. There is prevalent, in the minds of the young men of this age, fomething which induces them to a condud and fentirnent in company, totally foreign to thofe en- tertained, and approved of, when alone ; and they conftandy quit their compa- nions, with contempt and difapprobatlon of thofe very principles, and ways of Jife, to which they themfelves, however contrary to the impulfe of their reafon, have been accefiary, and, by imitation, promoted. Friendlhip is ingenuous and 1 candid % ( i6o ) candid ; none then can exift, in breads leagued, as it were, by a ftrange fatality, to mutual deception. While men, in fpiic of their genuine feelings, will, like the cameleon, indifcriminately take the colour of their affociates, we mud de- fpair of feeing an end to the wide- extend- ed line of coxcombs and fools. ** AJfume a virtue^ If you have it not ;" but do not put on the features of vice, or folly, fo repugnant to your real felf, fo bale- ful in example to mankind. Vice is only fufferable, through cuftom, which habi- tuates lis to fee it without difrnay, and pra6life it without Ihame. Cuftom is, indeed, according to Pindar, the lord of all things ; and when vice itfelf once beci^mes cuftomary, or common, it' is no longer a fhame to be vicious ; for, [ it is well obferved by Mademoifelle Le Fevre, that "La honte ne confifte pro- prementque par la raifon dcs contraires; ef. ( i6i ) et c'eft dequoy on n'eft aujouid^huy que trop purfuadc." It is our imitation, or tacit approba- tion of the vicesofthofe we afibciace with, which perpetuates their reign, and exce^ids their dominion. Flattering, as we con- tinually do, the follies of others, is waterirtg that root to which we (hould apply the axe of reprobation. 1 could give fome good advice on this fubjedl, but I will not employ my time in fuch a fruidefs manner. I never take any myfejf, and why fhould 1 exped ic from other people ? However, it mull: be confefTed, that much evil arifes from the world's too great leniency to what it is pkafed to term, petty fins, or fafhion- able frailties. Romaine, one day, preaching extcmporaneoufly * on this head. * I do not think it to be the cafe with Ro- maine, who was a man of confiderable learning, and unafFeiled piety : but 1 believe there can be no better reafon given for many of this feel's preaching ( i62 ) head, obferved, " That men, now-a-day, have an excufe for every thing. Nothing is io bad, but they palliate it. Why,'* faid he, " they don't fo much as call the devil by his right name, but ftroke hira down *the back, and call him, poor, mi/- taken angel r* Thus they don't even give the devil his due *. We have, indeed, great want of a few Catos, ^ few Cenfors, ta check the la- mentably mlTchievoiis courfe of vicious frivolity, and fafliionable infamy. We need fome one not to wink at our faults, but to reprimand un for them. It is truly an erroneous notion of friend G^ip, that leads a man to do the former, for he would, in my opinion, give much flron- preaching extemporaneoufly, than that they are unable to read. * An Englilhclergymnn, fays ^ French writer, preaching before the court, faid, at the end cf his fermon, that thofe who did noi: profit by what he had advanced, would go, and for ever and ever inhabit a place which politenefs vvonld not iuf- fer him to nEme before fuch a refpCiStable con- gregation. ger ( i63 ) ger evidence of his efteem by doing the latter with gentknefs and urbanity. His grcatefl foe could not do a man more injury, than he v/ould fuftain from the rnifguided friend, who fhould feem to ap- prove his errors, by imitating them : which imitation of our companions con- firms more men in their bad pracSlices than any one other thing. It would, in truth, be a deadly flab to vice and folly> were we merely not to fmile at thetn. So far my digrefllon, and now to an- fwer my reader^s objection to digreflions, I {hall take the argument, and feme of the words, of a fpeech in Fielding's Pqfquin. " I perceive, Mr. Sneerwell," (that*s you, you know !) " that you are one of thofe who would have nothing introdu- ced but what is nece0ary to tihe bufinefs of the fiory ;— .nor I neither. But the bufinefs of the ftory, as I take it. Is to di- vert, and inflruclj therefore every thing that ( i64 ) ■ tli.it diverts or inflruds,. is neccflary to the bufinefs of the fcory." Thus is this digrefTion (by which word you mean fomething ilrange co the vv^ork) fyllogifli- cally proved to be no digredion ; being a thing confiftent, neccflary, and of a piece with the work ilfeJf. You have, perhaps, ilill fome doubt; but if io, I will bring a hundred more reafons to prove that^ -." Reader. *^Not for the world. It Ihall be a digrefTion, or not a digrefTion, juft as you pleafci but, for Heaven's fake, go on, and fay no more about it !*' About ten o'clock at night, Barclay was waked, and informed by the coach- man that his vehicle went no farther with him. He confequently alighted, to wait for a carriage going acrofs the country, which wouid call at the inn at one in the morning. His companions being flill afleep, all ceremony between them at parting was rendered unntccfiliry ; and Barclay, ( i65 ) Barclay, having fecured his baggage, Icfc them to purfue their journey in a ftate in which he thought they were moft likely to do it peaceably. Having now plenty of time, he order* ed as comfortable a fupper as the houfe would afford, and vi^ith the afTiftance of fome excellent ale, and a bottle of moder- ate port, he endeavoured to pafs away the hours as pleafantly as a man in his fituation could be expedled to do. His fituation was new, his mind was full, but his fpirits were dill good. " To-mor- ,row," faid he to himfelf, and he could fcarcely avoid fmiling, " to-morrow, I fhall begin to copy the bible for a crazy old woman, who does not know what fhe'd be at. Well, the next day I Ihall fay, " Ma'am, I don't like this." But, hold, if I fay fo, they'll pop me into the coach again, and fend me back to my creditors. That will never do. No; though I always did hate copying, and though ( 166 ) though I feel I hate it the more, the near- er I approach it -, yet will I try it, to ob- tain enough money to pay off my credi- tors, and if I find it infupportable, I can, after all, but throw myfelf into their friendly arms, which are ever open, and ready to receive me/* Making thefe refiedlions, and drinking his wine, he infenfibly fell afleep, and was very diligently going on with his Poly- glott bible, copying away in his imagina- tion, Berqfpuh Bera , when the hoft roufed him from his dream by a tap on the fhoulder, and prefented him a bill. Barclay, who was yet debating in his mind which was bed, going to copy, or going to jail, now, half afleep and half awake, took the landlord for a bailiff, and exclaimed, " Well, well, I'll go along with you ! and hang me but I believe 'tis the befl of the two !'* Rubbing his eyes, and fliaking himfelf a little, he prefently perceived his miftake. The i67 ) ■ The hoft t'nen tald him that he had ({6p^ ped the coach, and, there being one place unoccupied, he had fecured it for him. " The coachman,** continued he, " is in a hurry to be off, theiefore I made fo bold, your honour, as to wake you, and bring you this here bit of a bill.'* Our hero difcharged the demand, and, ordering his things to be put in the coach, once' more took a feat to proceed to the end of his journey. Barclay found - you'll find what in the next chapter. CHAP. ( i68 r CHAP XVI. An Irijhman. — Legs where they jhould not be, — l!he young ones /ur prized. — Per/e- verance, — -'Tis not through love of virtue that many people are not pra5fically vi- cious.—The blue devils. — Why men volun- tarily endure toils and dangers. — No me- rit in honejly, — The great and the good examined. — JVhat will make a man at peace with himjelf. — A friendly fepa- ration, iSl ow are you all agog to know what Barclay found, and I have a great mind not to tell you. He found fome thing, like what the Trilhman found who was Tent by his mafter to a friend's houfe to make an inquiry. There, now, you're as ( i69 ) as wife as ever ! But, come, I will tell that ftory. " Well, Blarney/* faid his mafter to him when he returned, " did you hnd the gentleman ?'' "Yes, fir/* replied he, " by my foul, "did I." " So, and what did he fay ?" " Say ! The gendeman fay ! May I •never touch another drop of whifkey if he faid a word to me, or I to him !" " Well, but, what did you go for, then ?" Did not you tell me that you found him ?" " Yes, my foul, and fo I did> — I found him ouf} — found him gone out." Barclay found his companions all fi- lent. The moon was occafionally ob- fcured by clouds, but at other times fhone into the carriage, when our hero could perceive a young lady and an old fellow fitdng backward ; and forward, by his fide, a young gentleman. Seeing no fym^p- Vol. I. I toms . ( 170 ) toms of communicativenefs, Barclay took up his nod, where he had left it off, when the landlord awoke him. He had not continued long in this ftate, when his at- tention was excited by a kind of fhuffle, and he heard a voice, feemingly the old man's (for it was then dark), ejaculating, "Ah! your leg there again! Recol- led our agreement, fir !" Not a word more was faid ; but the moon jufl peeping from behind the clouds at this inftant, Baiciay could conje(5lure, from the watchful appearance of the old genrleman, and the fheepifhnefs of the lady, and the young one, that the former was the^guardian (in the fhape of a huf- band, as it afterward appeared) of fuch fruit as the latter wifhed to tafle. Barclay did not interfere, but pretend- cd to fleep on undifturbed. In about an hour, the old fellow, tired of watching, funk to reil, and, by his fnoring, gave joyful notice to the young pair, that he was ( 171 ) was off guard. The happy moment was feized with the greateft eagernefs, and long delicioufly enjoyed, till at length, amidft their billing and cooing, the car- riage jolted, and the old one woke, and caught them lip to lip. A terrible up- roar enfued. The old gentleman ex- claimed againft his wife's infidelity. The young one protefted that the joking of the carriage had thrown them together. This the lady confirmed, but all in vain ; he fwore he would travel no far- ther with him, and entering a town fliort- ]y after, the hufband with his wife got out at an inn, and knocked them up, he being refolved to fleep there the remain- der of the night, to avoid his young fel- low traveller, whom he found no treaty could bind. While they were taking out the lug- gage, our hero faid to the young gentle- man, who was now the only other perlbn in the carriage, " Tm forry, fir, for your I 2 defeat. ' ( 172 ) defeat. She's a nice girl, but the old one's too vigilanc" ** Not a bit/' he replied ; " his watch- fulnefs gives me a zed for the girl, which i fhoiild not otherwife have. I have come fiXty miles out of my way on her account.'* The coachman, at this moment, mount- ed the box, and drove off. " Well," faid Barclay, ^^ and you've loft all your pains." " By no means," rejoined the other, *' I was never in fuch a fair way of fucceeding. I. (hall fleep with her to -night, or I'm very much midaken." The flage had by this dme reached the end of the town, — he flopped it, wifhed Barclay a good night, and jump- ing out, left him in the greateil aftonilh- ment at his perfeverance in mifchief. Being novv^ left alone, Barclay could not help refledling on the late adventure. '*How much pains," faid he, "men take to ( 173 ) to do wrong, — If they would buc under-- go half as much to do what's right ! I own I fhould like the girl as well as him- felf, buc I would not fuftain fo much fa- tigue for her. It ieems, then/' conti- nued he, *^ that I have no objection to the vice, and if I am not vicious, it is becaufe I am too indolent ! I am afraid this cafe is too common ; and that we are apt to imagine that there is no guilt in wifliing to commie a crime, ih that we do not actually commie it, — but will He, who fees *•, and knows all hearts, and judges by them, hold us gui kiefs ? I fear not,*' Our hero now purfued his route with- out any further interruption, until after breakfaft the next morning, when they rj(roi§-——'^The eye of Gcd Jeeing all thivgi^ and knorv- JMg all things, '^c. Are thoie the words of a Pa- gan ! Read the whole pafTige, Lib. i. v. 261 to 271. Hesiod, op. et dier. How worthy is it of the bell of Chriftians U I 3 were ( 174 ) were hailed by a gentleman, whole (tec manner announced him to be no ftranger to the coachman, who handed him very civilly into the carriage. He appeared about fifty, of a flout make, and of a countenance which would generally be pafled over without any notice, but if ciofely obferved might, from a certain gloom that hung about it, be imagined to betray forrovv, difappointment, pcevifli- nefs, or thoughtfulnefs. He wore his hair powdered, and was plain and neat in his drefs. *^ 'Tis a cold morning, fir," faid he, breaking filence. " Yes," replied Barclay, " it is cold, but not raw. Thefb fpring mornings are, I think, extremely grateful and refrefhing." The gentleman bowed his head In token of ailent, and remained mute for a con- fiderable time. Barclay had recourfe to his book. His fellow-traveller made fe- veral remarks that needed no reply, and, by his manner, fetmed inclined to get into conver*- ( 175 ) converfation, but without very well know- ing how to bring it about. At length he ventured another common-place queilion, as — *■' Are yoa going far on this road, fir r " No, fir," faid Barclay, " I am going no further than a little village called ." " Ay," he exclaimed, " are you going thither ? Pray, if it is not impertinent, may I alk who you are going to vifit ?'* " I am going on no vifit," replied Bar- clay, " but in an official fituation to the Reverend Mr. Pawlet's. Are you ac- quainted with him, fir ?" The gentleman here acknowledged that he knew him intimately; and our hero requefiing to be informed a little about the family, he gave him nearly the fame defcription as he had received from Keppel. " And there is a brother of his," faid Barclay, "a Mr. George Pawleti you doubtlefs know fomething of him^" I 4 " Why, ( 176 ) ^ Why» yes, I do," replied the other, fmlling. " Pray," continued Barclay, looking out of the window, and not noticing his fmile, ^* what kind of a man is he ?" *^ To tell you the truth," faid he, " he IS much fgch another man as my felf. He was originally a merchant; he has lefc trader married a woman vvhofe difpofition and purfuits are quite different from his own ; and, having nothing to do, he is plagued with the blue devils, and devour- ed by ejmuu* " Ah !" exclaimed our hero, *^ fo it is ! Man mud be engaged in doing fomething to make him forget himfelf, or he becomes miferable : fuch is our deplorable ftate. The man who loves nothing hut hwTfeif, hates nothing fo much as being dene with what he loves'^. Ail the dangers and toilfome pleafure that men willingly undergo, are • Penfees de Pafcal, p, 144. Anrift. French. micrelv t4\ ( 177 ) merely for the fake of hurrying them into- a buftle and noife, that may make them forget themfelves. Every man talks of enjoying peace and quiet at^fome period of his life 5 but, if they once repofe, and find time to examine themfelves, they are wretched." " Young man," faid the ftranger, con- fiderably moved, " you have]painted our nature in its true colours s but is it not fomewhat hard, that one, who is con- fcious of his 'own honefty, fhould not be able to find happinefs in himfelf ?" *^ Simple honefly, fir, is nothing," re- plied Barclay. " There is no greater ap- plaufe due to a man for being honeft, than for keeping his hands clean : they are both for his own comfort. Indeed it is a lament^ able thing to fee a man pride himfelf upon his honeity, or the world praife a man for being honeft, fince it only proves the rarity of what (hould be (and it is our ftame that it is not), as common as man I 5 himfelf. ( 178 ) himfelf. Whatever it is a man's duty to do, and he has it in his power to do, can- not be confidercd as a merit. Merit im- plies an adl:, &c. not common, nor capable of being performed by every one. There- fore it is, perhaps (and I am forry to fay it), that moft men, whatever they may af- firm to the contrary, would rather be great than good : by great I mean famous. I fear I tire you," faid Barclay, " or I could read, to our purpole, a paflTage from a book I have in my hand, which is, in my opinion, exquifitively expreffive, juft, and true." *' I fhall liften to it with pleafure," re- joined his companion eagerly. ' ** Notwithftanding this tablet *, ** fays the author, " exhibits the greatcft names which the theatre of the world can boafl:, all the reputation that man can gain ap- pears very inconfiderable when wc refledt * Prieftley's Defcription of a Chart of Biogra' phy, p. 25. O ii iic omnia ! how ( '79 ) how many are gone before us whofe ap- plaufe we can never hope to obtain, how extremely indiftindt is the reputation of many who made the greatefl figure in pad ages, and how far they are eelipfed by the reputation of thofe who have fuc- ceeded them. Laftly, it hath a peculiar and ftriking efFed upon the mind to con« fider how widely different a tablet of MERIT would be from this tablet of FAME 5 how many names would be wholly obliterated, and how many new ones, ab- folutely unknown to the world, would take their places upon changing the one into the other. And, confidering that thefe tables will at length be changed, that this tablet of fame will be cancelled, and that of merit or moral worth produced, never to be changed mofc, — how much more folicitous Ihould we be, even from paffion for true fame, to have our names written on the tablet of real merits though as yet concealed from human view, than 16 * oh ( iSo ) Of) tlie tablet of mere prefent and per ijh able tenown ; having in profped: that time, in which the righteous only fhall be had in everlafling remembrance, while the name of the wicked fhall rot !" When our hero had concluded this quotation, the Ibanger, who had liftened to it v/ith great attention, and gazed with admiration on Barclay, faid : " I am delighted with what you have read, and regrei'as heartily as yourfelf that there fhould be people fo blind to their true intereft as to prefer being famous to being, good; but ftill am I at a lofs to guefs what is to make a man contented and at peace with himfelf, if honefty will not.". "Religion!" replied Barclay; "and it is one of the wonders of the Chriftian religion that it reconciles a man to himfelf, by reconciling him. to God ; renders felf- refledion fupportable to him, and makes repofc and folitude more agreeable to, many ( i8i ) many than the ceafelefs agitation and wea- rifome turmoil of the buftling world *. " Sir," faid the (Iranger, warmly, *' I mud have fomc further converfation with you. Your language, and free and bold manner of fpeaking, pleafe me ; be fide, though no phyfiognomift, I have a great feeling of phyfiognomy, and like a man the better ar worfe the moment I fee his face : the moment I faw yours, it pre- poflefled me in your favour. We are now fail approaching my old and your new refidence. You will, I dare fay, be very comfortable where you are goings I fliall endeavour to add to it." The coach here drew up at the entrance of a grove of trees ; and the ftranger, taking our hero by the hand, gave him a hearty fhake^ and got out, faying, they iliould foon fee each other again. It was about twelve o'clock at noon when the carriage entered the village with • Pafca), p. 144, id, Barclay,, ( 182 ) Barclay, whofe fpirits were fb much agi- tated with the thought of his new fitua^ tion, and of how he fliould condu<5t himfelf, that he prefently forgot his fellow- traveller. The coach flopped at a fort of inn. Barclay alighted, put himfelf in decent trim, ordered his baggage to be taken care of, and, inquiring the way to the parfonage, fet off to enjoy the com- forts of a firft interview. CHAP. ( ISJ ) CHAP. XVIL The reader no JanuSy or he would mi do what he often does, — How a rich man muft live to he healthy, — People frequently furprifed without caufe. — A literary Jeer et. —27?^ par/onage, — Tribulation. — A quid pro quo, — AJcene in the maid's hed-cham- her, — An unexpe^ed difcovery, — Love * and hiera picra, — Love like every thing, hut moji of all like a ghoji, W iTH feet that far outftript the" wiflies of his heart Barclay proceeded towards the parfonage, ruminating on the freaks of Dame Fortune, and curfing her for reducing him to the fervile employment of copying the fadtory of other people's brains. " Not," faid he, " that I mind the fituation in which I am placed, be- I caufe C 18-4 ) caufe it deprives me of the fanciful ad- vantages of wealth, but becaufe it wades my youth in the performance of a tafl< which I deem much beneath my fpiric and acquirements." The reader will be pleafed to obferve, that Barclay was talking ro himfelf, and he will then allow that, however wrong it may be for a man to flatter himfelfi there is by no means any thing uncommon or unnatural in it. He has done it him- felf a thoufand times I'll be fworn, and has been as often ridiculed for it ; but, being no Janus *, he could not fee and improve by the derifion and contemptuous merriment he fufFered behind his back* Our hero continued ; " I call the advantages of "wezkh f an- » Persius, Sat. i. V. 57. O Jane, &c. Hadft thou but, Janus-like, a face behind. To fee the people what fplay mouths they make ; To mark their fingers pointed at thy back. Their tongues lolled out, &c, Drydept* ( 185 ) clfuly becaufe every advantage we derive from it, excepting that of doing goodi (v^hich isj alas ! fo little pradtifed) dwells folely in die fancy, without in the leaft partaking of reality. Sumptuous cloath- ing, prodigal entertainments, and fb forth, thefe are what men generally confider as the advantages of riches; but do they contribute to happinefs ? No : for the coarfe-clad peafant, with his oaten- cake, is happier than thofc who make no other ufe of the favours of fortune*. Sir Wil- trAM Temple, indeed, has faid, that ** the only way for a rich man to be healthy is, by cxercife and abftinence to live as if he was poor* which are eftecm- ed the word parts of poverty f/* Then thofe things which are commonly termed advantages are not real, but merely hx\-^ '" The poor man has this advantage over the lich: — the former labours for gold, which he may poiTibly accjnire ; but the latter toils foe happinels, and he toils in vain ! I Sir VVip, Temple's Works, vol. iii. clfu!^. ( 186 ) ciful, and of courfe to a fane mind of no value or allurement. Meditating thus he bent his way to- ward the parfonage, with, as I have ob- ferved, feet that far outftript the wifhes of his hearty but, had he in the flighted manner conceived what fortune had pre- pared for him, when moft fhe feemed averfe, his ardent defires would have had Hill more rcafon to complain of the flow- nefs, than of the fwiftnefs of his motion. Such are the myfterious ways of Fortune I When we think ourfelves the moft dc- ferted by her, then are we often her moft peculiar carej but we (hould not wonder at this, for when things come to the worft they infallibly miend. We ftiould, indeed, wonder at nothing. Moft of thofe events at which people wonder, are what they had in truth the great eft reafon to expe6t -, confequently it merely ferves to make them appear filly and abfurd. I fliall mendon two circumftances, which are ( 187 ) iare the conftant fubjefts of furprlfc, when in fadl there is nothing at all furpriling in them. There is a fooHQi wonder exprefled by perfons in general, after waiting fome time for any one, if, when they have given up all thoughts of his coming, he fhould make his appearance. But it fhould be remembered, that the very moment when they ceafe to expedt him, being the utmofl limit and critical, is that at which there iliould be no wonder if he came. Again, thofe who have any flight wound wonder how it happens that they are always hit- ting it and making it ach, as if they did it for the purpofe, not recolle6ling or juftly perceiving that they do not hit that particular part any oftener, nor perhaps fo often as many others, but that its being fore makes them notice it whenever they There is a third thing alfo which may be a matter of furprife to my readers, and ( i88 ) and that Is, why I delay thus, and do not purfue my narrative. But this^ too, is an idle wonder, and only proves that they know very litde about writers of my cafe, who are truly of the noble Fabian race, for they do every thing'cuNCTANDO * by delaying. This literary fecret, however,, mud be enire ncus, I entreat you not to let it go any further. The village through which Barclay pafTed in his way to the parfonage, thas flood at fome diftance from it, was very Kcatly bullr, and pleafingly rural. The ^rfl: objcd that flruck him on quitting it, was the church, ficuated on an eminence, and by its fide, in a little valley, he efpicd the parfonage-houfe. The country about it was well-cultivated, and, being inter* fecfted by a beautiful ftream, which lent * And thou,' great hero, greateft of thy name, Ord-/m'd in war to lave the finking Itatc, /^ad, bji delayiy to put a ilop to fate ! Pr YD en's Tranflation of Virgil, or rather of Enw ius. its ( 189 ) its aflldance to a neighbouring mill, it prefented from many points the moft en* gaging and delightful profped. On com- ing to the church, Barclay had a perfed: view of the place whither he was going, which entirely engrofled his thoughts, and formed the fole object of his contempla- tion. Seating himfelf on the hill, he fixed his eyes on his new abode in the vale below, which he now perceived to be a white houfe, but fo covered with vines, interwoven with jefTamine and ho- ney-fuckle, that this was fcarcely difccrni- ble. In the front was a green lawn, fur- rounded by a border filled with all forts of flowers. On the left wing flood a green-houfe ; on the rigiit ftab'es and out-houfcsi and behind a very exLenfive garden and Oi rubbery. Barclay remained a confiderable time with his face towards this delicious fpot, without any feelings of admiration. His mind was wholly occu- pied with the flrangenefs of his fituation. At ( 19^ ) At length, colleding himfelf and rallying his fpirits, he rofe, and purfuing a nar- row path-way, which led by a gentle de- fcent to the parfonage, he arrived at the gate of the 'fore-court. He rang the bell, but no one appeared. He rang a fecond time, with as little ef- fedb, and would certainly have imagined that nobody was within, if he had not heard a great buflle, and feen feveral peo- ple running to and fro in the upper part of the houfe. At a lofs to conjedlure what could be the occafion of all this dif- turbance, Barclay made a third eflay at the bell, which proved more fuccefsful. He was admitted, and ufiiered into a par- lour, where he faw a gentleman in a black velvet cap, whom he immediately recog- nized, from his friend's defcription, to be Mr. Pawlet. He was in the utmoft tri- bulation, walking precipitately up and down the room, exclaiming, " O dear, Odearl ( 191 ) O dear ! Shell die, (he'll furely die ! O dear !" " Sir," faid the maid-fervant, " here is a perfon who wifhes to fpeak to you," " Blefs me/* cried Mr. Pawlet, turn- ing round, " I beg pardon.'* Barclay now prcfented him with Kep- pel's letter, which he ran over in great hafte ; then, feizing our hero by the hand, he faid, " Dear Mr. Temple, dear fir 1 you are a learned man do you know any thing about phyfic ?" Barclay looked at him with furprife, not knowing what anfwer to make, or what to think of fuch a queftion. " Excufe me, Mr. Temple," conti- nued he, " excufe me, youVe heartily welcome : I fliould have faid fo before, but I am almoll diftraded. While we are talking the poor creature is dying." " Dying, — who fir ?" inquired Bar- clay, with a fecret wifh that it might be his Hebrew miftrefs. "The C 192 ) ^^ The cook, fir," replied the parfon, our poor cook ! She complained of Ibme of thofe little qualms which trou- ble poor women occafionally, and Mrs. Pawlet, in following an old prefcription Ihc had by her, has, dear woman ! with the bed intention in the world, Vm fure, given her a dofe which has almofl kill- ed her." It afterwards appeared that Mrs. Pawlet had made what phyficians call a quid pro quo *, that is, a millake in the prefcription. The miitake llie had made was this $ for the ficknefs that atBlcted the cook, fhc had a receipt, which prefcribed, amongft other things, 3 a drachm of hiera picra, which mark fhe had taken for J an ounce^ and con- * A northern phyfician has written on quid fro quosy and fays in his theiis, that there are ** quid pro quos of the furgeon, quid pro quos of the cook,'* (iVI IS. Pawlet was even with her, however!) «* quid p quos of the nurfe, &c." nor does he omit that there are faiutary quid pro quos, dangerous quid pro quosy indifferent quid pro quoSy &c. Hea- ven preferve us from quid pro