A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally
found at last to be of our own procuring.
The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes
might be malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town
soon came with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune
to myself alone would have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt
was for my family, who were to be humble without an education to render
them callous to contempt.
Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their
affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of
sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future
means of supporting them; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a
year was offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still
enjoy my principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully
closed, having determined to encrease my salary by managing a little
farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the
wrecks of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen
thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention
therefore was now to bring down the pride of my family to their
circumstances; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness
itself. ‘You cannot be ignorant, my children,’ cried I, ‘that no
prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence
may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my
fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us
then, without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are
wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all
may be happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help, why then
should not we learn to live without theirs. No, my children, let us
from this moment give up all pretensions to gentility; we have still
enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon content
for the deficiencies of fortune.’ As my eldest son was bred a scholar,
I determined to send him to town, where his abilities might contribute
to our support and his own. The separation of friends and families is,
perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances attendant on penury.
The day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for the first time.
My son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, who mingled
their tears with their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I
gave him from my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was all the
patrimony I had now to bestow. ‘You are going, my boy,’ cried I, ‘to
London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled
there before you. Take from me the same horse that was given him by the
good bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this book too, it will be your
comfort on the way: these two lines in it are worth a million, _I have
been young, and now am old; yet never saw I the righteous man forsaken,
or his seed begging their bread_. Let this be your consolation as you
travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune let me see thee once a
year; still keep a good heart, and farewell.’ As he was possest of
integrity and honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing him
naked into the amphitheatre of life; for I knew he would act a good
part whether vanquished or victorious. His departure only prepared the
way for our own, which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving a
neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of tranquility, was
not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could suppress.
Besides, a journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto never
been above ten from home, filled us with apprehension, and the cries of
the poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to encrease it.
The first day’s journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our
future retreat, and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a
village by the way. When we were shewn a room, I desired the landlord,
in my usual way, to let us have his company, with which he complied, as
what he drank would encrease the bill next morning. He knew, however,
the whole neighbourhood to which I was removing, particularly ’Squire
Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and who lived within a few miles
of the place. This gentleman he described as one who desired to know
little more of the world than its pleasures, being particularly
remarkable for his attachment to the fair sex. He observed that no
virtue was able to resist his arts and assiduity, and that scarce a
farmer’s daughter within ten miles round but what had found him
successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some pain, it had
a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features seemed to
brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor was my
wife less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While
our thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform
her husband, that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in the
house, wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning.
‘Want money!’ replied the host, ‘that must be impossible; for it was no
later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare an
old broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town for
dog-stealing.’ The hostess, however, still persisting in her first
assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would
be satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would
introduce me to a stranger of so much charity as he described. With
this he complied, shewing in a gentleman who seemed to be about thirty,
drest in cloaths that once were laced. His person was well formed, and
his face marked with the lines of thinking. He had something short and
dry in his address, and seemed not to understand ceremony, or to
despise it. Upon the landlord’s leaving the room, I could not avoid
expressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a gentleman in such
circumstances, and offered him my purse to satisfy the present demand.
‘I take it with all my heart, Sir,’ replied he, ‘and am glad that a
late oversight in giving what money I had about me, has shewn me that
there are still some men like you. I must, however, previously entreat
being informed of the name and residence of my benefactor, in order to
repay him as soon as possible.’ In this I satisfied him fully, not only
mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the place to which I was
going to remove. ‘This,’ cried he, ‘happens still more luckily than I
hoped for, as I am going the same way myself, having been detained here
two days by the floods, which, I hope, by to-morrow will be found
passable.’ I testified the pleasure I should have in his company, and
my wife and daughters joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to
stay supper. The stranger’s conversation, which was at once pleasing
and instructive, induced me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was
now high time to retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of
the following day.
The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback,
while Mr Burchell, our new companion, walked along the foot-path by the
road-side, observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he
would be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods were
not yet subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on
before, Mr Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We lightened the
fatigues of the road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to
understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, that though he
was a money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as much obstinacy
as if he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to whom
the different seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the
road. ‘That,’ cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which
stood at some distance, ‘belongs to Mr Thornhill, a young gentleman who
enjoys a large fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of his
uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman, who content with a little
himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in
town.’ ‘What!’ cried I, ‘is my young landlord then the nephew of a man
whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are so universally known?
I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of the most
generous, yet whimsical, men in the kingdom; a man of consumate
benevolence’—‘Something, perhaps, too much so,’ replied Mr Burchell,
‘at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young; for his
passions were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of
virtue, they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at
the qualifications of the soldier and scholar; was soon distinguished
in the army and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation
ever follows the ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from
flattery. He was surrounded with crowds, who shewed him only one side
of their character; so that he began to lose a regard for private
interest in universal sympathy. He loved all mankind; for fortune
prevented him from knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell us
of a disorder in which the whole body is so exquisitely sensible, that
the slightest touch gives pain: what some have thus suffered in their
persons, this gentleman felt in his mind. The slightest distress,
whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul
laboured under a sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus
disposed to relieve, it will be easily conjectured, he found numbers
disposed to solicit: his profusions began to impair his fortune, but
not his good-nature; that, indeed, was seen to encrease as the other
seemed to decay: he grew improvident as he grew poor; and though he
talked like a man of sense, his actions were those of a fool. Still,
however, being surrounded with importunity, and no longer able to
satisfy every request that was made him, instead of money he gave
promises. They were all he had to bestow, and he had not resolution
enough to give any man pain by a denial. By this he drew round him
crowds of dependants, whom he was sure to disappoint; yet wished to
relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and left him with merited
reproaches and contempt. But in proportion as he became contemptable to
others, he became despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their
adulation, and that support taken away, he could find no pleasure in
the applause of his heart, which he had never learnt to reverence. The
world now began to wear a different aspect; the flattery of his friends
began to dwindle into simple approbation. Approbation soon took the
more friendly form of advice, and advice when rejected produced their
reproaches. He now, therefore found that such friends as benefits had
gathered round him, were little estimable: he now found that a man’s
own heart must be ever given to gain that of another. I now found,
that—that—I forget what I was going to observe: in short, sir, he
resolved to respect himself, and laid down a plan of restoring his
falling fortune. For this purpose, in his own whimsical manner he
travelled through Europe on foot, and now, though he has scarce
attained the age of thirty, his circumstances are more affluent than
ever. At present, his bounties are more rational and moderate than
before; but still he preserves the character of an humourist, and finds
most pleasure in eccentric virtues.’
My attention was so much taken up by Mr Burchell’s account, that I
scarce looked forward as we went along, til we were alarmed by the
cries of my family, when turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in
the midst of a rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling with
the torrent. She had sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage
myself in time to bring her relief. My sensations were even too violent
to permit my attempting her rescue: she must have certainly perished
had not my companion, perceiving her danger, instantly plunged in to
her relief, and with some difficulty, brought her in safety to the
opposite shore. By taking the current a little farther up, the rest of
the family got safely over; where we had an opportunity of joining our
acknowledgments to her’s. Her gratitude may be more readily imagined
than described: she thanked her deliverer more with looks than words,
and continued to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive
assistance. My wife also hoped one day to have the pleasure of
returning his kindness at her own house. Thus, after we were refreshed
at the next inn, and had dined together, as Mr Burchell was going to a
different part of the country, he took leave; and we pursued our
journey. My wife observing as we went, that she liked him extremely,
and protesting, that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him to
match into such a family as our’s, she knew no man she would sooner fix
upon. I could not but smile to hear her talk in this lofty strain: but
I was never much displeased with those harmless delusions that tend to
make us more happy.