My uncle paused at the gate to gain a little breath, as the road
lay on the acclivity. “And here,” said he, “I shall introduce you
to a most amiable woman, the pride of the village, the patroness of
suffering virtue; the real and sincere friend, who deserts not in
the hour of indigence, nor fallaciously courts you in the day of
affluence. Universally beloved by every class of society, Lady Lustre
rises the pattern of excellence to her sex in general.”
My uncle rang at the gate, but was informed by the butler her
ladyship was just gone out in the carriage to take an airing; we
therefore merely left our card, and proceeded onwards, till in
crossing through a small meadow, a dashing young man moved his hat to
my uncle, who returned the salute; but neither spoke.
“Who is that gentleman, Sir?” asked I.
“A young tradesman in the town, the unexpected inheritor of a
handsome fortune, left him by a rich old woman in the moment of
caprice, who, if she had studied her duty to her _real heir_ a little
_more_, and her brandy bottle a little _less_, would not have left
a stain on her memory, from the _false promises_ she evinced, and
the disappointments she entailed by her perfidious fallacy; for she
was nothing less than a composition of deceit and avarice; the tear
of the poor never bedewed her grave, and if ever one dropped from
the eye of this said young Windfall, whom we have just passed, it
must have been the tear of _joy_ at his _unexpected acquisition_; in
consequence of which, he soon after brushed up his old ramshackle
house, and held up his head with as much ostentation as any petty
King; came up to London, and married a Miss Sterling.”
“He’s a very fortunate young man,” said I.
“He is, thanks to God and good luck,” replied my uncle; “but I knew
him the height of my chair, when he used to be at the old woman’s
house, fetching her snuff-box, carrying her work-basket, handing
the toast plate, and, in short, performing all the various duties
that children are required in the capacity of a little _dependent_
visitor, for which he was rewarded with a penny apple pye every
market day out of the old woman’s pocket, little dreaming at that
time of becoming the _Broomfield sweeper_ of her old bureau, from
which sanctorum a mouldy half guinea had been occasionally drawn with
much pomp once a year as a present to her _only heir_ and _namesake_,
under the assurance that it was the earnest of _future_ favours,
which at her demise was to constitute “_something very handsome_,”
which something amounted to a few old furrows, stacks, and barns,
which not being exactly convenient to take with her, and well knowing
him the _hereditary heir_, she did him the honour to tie up for
life in the _immense sum_ of fifty pounds per annum, subject at the
decease of him and his heirs, to revert to the said Mr. Windfall,
whom she nominated trustee of this splendid bequest, much to the
surprize of the whole village, who had heard her subtle promises,
and repeatedly congratulated the young heir apparent, who, as the
last of the family, and son of her favourite (but equally misled)
nephew, had an undoubted claim both on her _conscience_, honour, and
gratitude, had she possessed either. Such was the woman, for I knew
her well; and such the characters we are doomed to meet with in the
world! Aye, Victor, my boy, those lessons of experience are very
painful tasks to learn, but they bear a great moral.”
“It is indeed, Sir,” replied I, “a great pity that our follies should
stamp a blot on the tablet of that memory which should most revere
our virtues; but so it often happens, through some idle caprice of
the moment, or _insinuating artifice of subordinate foes_.”
My uncle grated his cane along the sandy road in deep rumination
for at least twenty yards; then suddenly pausing, and striking it
vehemently on the ground, exclaimed, “I have this moment fixed upon
my heir, but I shall leave him an _Irish_ legacy.”
“I don’t exactly comprehend your meaning, Sir,” replied I.
“Why, Sir,” resumed my uncle, “I mean to give it him in my life time,
that I may have the pleasure of seeing how he prospers; if he makes
ducks and drakes of it, I shall know better how to dispose of the
remaining crumbs; if he proves what my hopes and wishes should have,
I shall die in peace, with the glorious satisfaction of knowing I
have promoted his happiness, and rewarded his virtues by the comforts
of prosperity, improved by his own diligence and prudence.”
I don’t know how it was, but I heaved an involuntary sigh, an
interested one it certainly was, for my uncle had drawn such a
picture, that I wished it my own portrait; but alas! I well knew
I had little chance of success; and yet his momentary ejaculation
puzzled me. A few minutes more brought us to the post office, where
my uncle procured a shillings-worth of halfpence; “because,” said
he, “whenever I go through the village, I pay toll to every child I
see with a clean face, by which means, (as my rambles are extremely
uncertain in their period,) there’s scarce ever a smutty infantine
face in the parish, as you will presently see.”
The post-master smiled, and observed, that the appearance of my uncle
always spread such a contagion of emulative cleanliness through the
village, that in two minutes after the first little pair of eyes
espied him, every pump was in requisition; and so it proved; for
we soon after met above twenty just returned from school, at all of
whom my uncle scowled his eye-brows with a half-suppressed smile, as
he dropped the expected halfpenny to each, one boy excepted, whom
my uncle pinched by the ear, exclaiming, “you’re a slovenly rogue;
you’ve not got a copper face.”
The boy stared, and mechanically stroking his chin, as if to feel its
composition; “I’m sure I’se got a feace,” said he.
“Yes,” returned my uncle, “you have got a rare _dirty face_,” then
shaking his cane at him, “go along home, you nasty fellow; there’s no
halfpenny for you.”
The disappointed boy sneaked off with slow and sullen pace, hoping,
as he leered over his shoulder, to be called back; but he was
mistaken. My uncle never broke his word, by which means his advice or
punishments were both effective.