Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities may be
real blessings.
The journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr Thornhill
having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us
by letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably
necessary that their appearance should equal the greatness of their
expectations, which could not be done without expence. We debated
therefore in full council what were the easiest methods of raising
money, or, more properly speaking, what we could most conveniently
sell. The deliberation was soon finished, it was found that our
remaining horse was utterly useless for the plow, without his
companion, and equally unfit for the road, as wanting an eye, it was
therefore determined that we should dispose of him for the purposes
above-mentioned, at the neighbouring fair, and, to prevent imposition,
that I should go with him myself. Though this was one of the first
mercantile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting
myself with reputation. The opinion a man forms of his own prudence is
measured by that of the company he keeps, and as mine was mostly in the
family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly
wisdom. My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had got
some paces from the door, called me back, to advise me, in a whisper,
to have all my eyes about me.
I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse
through all his paces; but for some time had no bidders. At last a
chapman approached, and, after he had for a good while examined the
horse round, finding him blind of one eye, he would have nothing to say
to him: a second came up; but observing he had a spavin, declared he
would not take him for the driving home: a third perceived he had a
windgall, and would bid no money: a fourth knew by his eye that he had
the botts: a fifth, wondered what a plague I could do at the fair with
a blind, spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a
dog kennel. By this time I began to have a most hearty contempt for the
poor animal myself, and was almost ashamed at the approach of every
customer; for though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told
me; yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong
presumption they were right, and St Gregory, upon good works, professes
himself to be of the same opinion.
I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an old
acquaintance, who had also business to the fair, came up, and shaking
me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house and taking a
glass of whatever we could get. I readily closed with the offer, and
entering an ale-house, we were shewn into a little back room, where
there was only a venerable old man, who sat wholly intent over a large
book, which he was reading. I never in my life saw a figure that
prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver grey venerably
shaded his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the result of
health and benevolence. However, his presence did not interrupt our
conversation; my friend and I discoursed on the various turns of
fortune we had met: the Whistonean controversy, my last pamphlet, the
archdeacon’s reply, and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our
attention was in a short time taken off by the appearance of a youth,
who, entering the room, respectfully said something softly to the old
stranger. ‘Make no apologies, my child,’ said the old man, ‘to do good
is a duty we owe to all our fellow creatures: take this, I wish it were
more; but five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome.’
The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was
scarce equal to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms,
his benevolence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we resumed our
conversation, until my companion, after some time, recollecting that he
had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back; adding,
that he always desired to have as much of Dr Primrose’s company as
possible. The old gentleman, hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look
at me with attention, for some time, and when my friend was gone, most
respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great Primrose,
that courageous monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the church.
Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that moment. ‘Sir,’
cried I, ‘the applause of so good a man, as I am sure you are, adds to
that happiness in my breast which your benevolence has already excited.
You behold before you, Sir, that Doctor Primrose, the monogamist, whom
you have been pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate
Divine, who has so long, and it would ill become me to say,
successfully, fought against the deuterogamy of the age.’ ‘Sir,’ cried
the stranger, struck with awe, ‘I fear I have been too familiar; but
you’ll forgive my curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon.’ ‘Sir,’ cried I,
grasping his hand, ‘you are so far from displeasing me by your
familiarity, that I must beg you’ll accept my friendship, as you
already have my esteem.’—‘Then with gratitude I accept the offer,’
cried he, squeezing me by the hand, ‘thou glorious pillar of unshaken
orthodoxy; and do I behold—’ I here interrupted what he was going to
say; for tho’, as an author, I could digest no small share of flattery,
yet now my modesty would permit no more. However, no lovers in romance
ever cemented a more instantaneous friendship. We talked upon several
subjects: at first I thought he seemed rather devout than learned, and
began to think he despised all human doctrines as dross. Yet this no
way lessened him in my esteem; for I had for some time begun privately
to harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took occasion to
observe, that the world in general began to be blameably indifferent as
to doctrinal matters, and followed human speculations too much—‘Ay,
Sir,’ replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that
moment, ‘Ay, Sir, the world is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or
creation of the world has puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a
medly of opinions have they not broached upon the creation of the
world? Sanconiathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all
attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, _Anarchon ara kai
atelutaion to pan_, which imply that all things have neither beginning
nor end. Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon-Asser,
Asser being a Syriac word usually applied as a sirname to the kings of
that country, as Teglat Phael-Asser, Nabon-Asser, he, I say, formed a
conjecture equally absurd; for as we usually say _ek to biblion
kubernetes_, which implies that books will never teach the world; so he
attempted to investigate—But, Sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the
question.’—That he actually was; nor could I for my life see how the
creation of the world had any thing to do with the business I was
talking of; but it was sufficient to shew me that he was a man of
letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to
bring him to the touch-stone; but he was too mild and too gentle to
contend for victory. Whenever I made any observation that looked like a
challenge to controversy, he would smile, shake his head, and say
nothing; by which I understood he could say much, if he thought proper.
The subject therefore insensibly changed from the business of antiquity
to that which brought us both to the fair; mine I told him was to sell
an horse, and very luckily, indeed, his was to buy one for one of his
tenants. My horse was soon produced, and in fine we struck a bargain.
Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly pulled out a
thirty pound note, and bid me change it. Not being in a capacity of
complying with his demand, he ordered his footman to be called up, who
made his appearance in a very genteel livery. ‘Here, Abraham,’ cried
he, ‘go and get gold for this; you’ll do it at neighbour Jackson’s, or
any where.’ While the fellow was gone, he entertained me with a
pathetic harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I undertook to
improve, by deploring also the great scarcity of gold; so that by the
time Abraham returned, we had both agreed that money was never so hard
to be come at as now. Abraham returned to inform us, that he had been
over the whole fair and could not get change, tho’ he had offered half
a crown for doing it. This was a very great disappointment to us all;
but the old gentleman having paused a little, asked me if I knew one
Solomon Flamborough in my part of the country: upon replying that he
was my next door neighbour, ‘if that be the case then,’ returned he, ‘I
believe we shall deal. You shall have a draught upon him, payable at
sight; and let me tell you he is as warm a man as any within five miles
round him. Honest Solomon and I have been acquainted for many years
together. I remember I always beat him at threejumps; but he could hop
upon one leg farther than I.’ A draught upon my neighbour was to me the
same as money; for I was sufficiently convinced of his ability: the
draught was signed and put into my hands, and Mr Jenkinson, the old
gentleman, his man Abraham, and my horse, old Blackberry, trotted off
very well pleased with each other.
After a short interval being left to reflection, I began to recollect
that I had done wrong in taking a draught from a stranger, and so
prudently resolved upon following the purchaser, and having back my
horse. But this was now too late: I therefore made directly homewards,
resolving to get the draught changed into money at my friend’s as fast
as possible. I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe at his own
door, and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he read it
twice over. ‘You can read the name, I suppose,’ cried I, ‘Ephraim
Jenkinson.’ ‘Yes,’ returned he, ‘the name is written plain enough, and
I know the gentleman too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of
heaven. This is the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he
not a venerable looking man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his
pocket-holes? And did he not talk a long string of learning about Greek
and cosmogony, and the world?’ To this I replied with a groan. ‘Aye,’
continued he, ‘he has but that one piece of learning in the world, and
he always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar in company; but I
know the rogue, and will catch him yet.’ Though I was already
sufficiently mortified, my greatest struggle was to come, in facing my
wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of returning to
school, there to behold the master’s visage, than I was of going home.
I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury, by first falling
into a passion myself.
But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no way disposed for
battle. My wife and girls were all in tears, Mr Thornhill having been
there that day to inform them, that their journey to town was entirely
over. The two ladies having heard reports of us from some malicious
person about us, were that day set out for London. He could neither
discover the tendency, nor the author of these, but whatever they might
be, or whoever might have broached them, he continued to assure our
family of his friendship and protection. I found, therefore, that they
bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in
the greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most was to think who
could be so base as to asperse the character of a family so harmless as
ours, too humble to excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.