The happiness of a country fire-side.
As we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in
order to accommodate matters, it was universally agreed, that we should
have a part of the venison for supper, and the girls undertook the task
with alacrity. ‘I am sorry,’ cried I, ‘that we have no neighbour or
stranger to take a part in this good cheer: feasts of this kind acquire
a double relish from hospitality.’—‘Bless me,’ cried my wife, ‘here
comes our good friend Mr Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run
you down fairly in the argument’—‘Confute me in argument, child!’ cried
I. ‘You mistake there, my dear. I believe there are but few that can do
that: I never dispute your abilities at making a goose-pye, and I beg
you’ll leave argument to me.’—As I spoke, poor Mr Burchell entered the
house, and was welcomed by the family, who shook him heartily by the
hand, while little Dick officiously reached him a chair.
I was pleased with the poor man’s friendship for two reasons; because I
knew that he wanted mine, and I knew him to be friendly as far as he
was able. He was known in our neighbourhood by the character of the
poor Gentleman that would do no good when he was young, though he was
not yet thirty. He would at intervals talk with great good sense; but
in general he was fondest of the company of children, whom he used to
call harmless little men. He was famous, I found, for singing them
ballads, and telling them stories; and seldom went out without
something in his pockets for them, a piece of gingerbread, or an
halfpenny whistle. He generally came for a few days into our
neighbourhood once a year, and lived upon the neighbours hospitality.
He sate down to supper among us, and my wife was not sparing of her
gooseberry wine. The tale went round; he sung us old songs, and gave
the children the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the history of
Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, and then Fair Rosamond’s
bower. Our cock, which always crew at eleven, now told us it was time
for repose; but an unforeseen difficulty started about lodging the
stranger: all our beds were already taken up, and it was too late to
send him to the next alehouse. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him
his part of the bed, if his brother Moses would let him lie with him;
‘And I,’ cried Bill, ‘will give Mr Burchell my part, if my sisters will
take me to theirs.’—‘Well done, my good children,’ cried I,
‘hospitality is one of the first Christian duties. The beast retires to
its shelter, and the bird flies to its nest; but helpless man can only
find refuge from his fellow creature. The greatest stranger in this
world, was he that came to save it. He never had an house, as if
willing to see what hospitality was left remaining amongst us. Deborah,
my dear,’ cried I, to my wife, ‘give those boys a lump of sugar each,
and let Dick’s be the largest, because he spoke first.’
In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving an
after-growth of hay, and, our guest offering his assistance, he was
accepted among the number. Our labours went on lightly, we turned the
swath to the wind, I went foremost, and the rest followed in due
succession. I could not avoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr
Burchell in assisting my daughter Sophia in her part of the task. When
he had finished his own, he would join in hers, and enter into a close
conversation: but I had too good an opinion of Sophia’s understanding,
and was too well convinced of her ambition, to be under any uneasiness
from a man of broken fortune. When we were finished for the day, Mr
Burchell was invited as on the night before; but he refused, as he was
to lie that night at a neighbour’s, to whose child he was carrying a
whistle. When gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our late
unfortunate guest. ‘What a strong instance,’ said I, ‘is that poor man
of the miseries attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no
means wants sense, which only serves to aggravate his former folly.
Poor forlorn creature, where are now the revellers, the flatterers,
that he could once inspire and command! Gone, perhaps, to attend the
bagnio pander, grown rich by his extravagance. They once praised him,
and now they applaud the pander: their former raptures at his wit, are
now converted into sarcasms at his folly: he is poor, and perhaps
deserves poverty; for he has neither the ambition to be independent,
nor the skill to be useful.’ Prompted, perhaps, by some secret reasons,
I delivered this observation with too much acrimony, which my Sophia
gently reproved. ‘Whatsoever his former conduct may be, pappa, his
circumstances should exempt him from censure now. His present indigence
is a sufficient punishment for former folly; and I have heard my pappa
himself say, that we should never strike our unnecessary blow at a
victim over whom providence holds the scourge of its resentment.’—‘You
are right, Sophy,’ cried my son Moses, ‘and one of the ancients finely
represents so malicious a conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay
Marsyas, whose skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly stript off by
another.’ Besides, I don’t know if this poor man’s situation be so bad
as my father would represent it. We are not to judge of the feelings of
others by what we might feel if in their place. However dark the
habitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the
apartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a truth, this man’s
mind seems fitted to his station; for I never heard any one more
sprightly than he was to-day, when he conversed with you.’—This was
said without the least design, however it excited a blush, which she
strove to cover by an affected laugh, assuring him, that she scarce
took any notice of what he said to her; but that she believed he might
once have been a very fine gentleman. The readiness with which she
undertook to vindicate herself, and her blushing, were symptoms I did
not internally approve; but I represt my suspicions.
As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to make the
venison pasty; Moses sate reading, while I taught the little ones: my
daughters seemed equally busy with the rest; and I observed them for a
good while cooking something over the fire. I at first supposed they
were assisting their mother; but little Dick informed me in a whisper,
that they were making a wash for the face. Washes of all kinds I had a
natural antipathy to; for I knew that instead of mending the complexion
they spoiled it. I therefore approached my chair by sly degrees to the
fire, and grasping the poker, as if it wanted mending, seemingly by
accident, overturned the whole composition, and it was too late to
begin another.