HE RETURNS HOME.—A DESCRIPTION OF HIS RETINUE.
IT was with some difficulty that Harley prevailed on the old man to leave
the spot where the remains of his son were laid. At last, with the
assistance of the school-mistress, he prevailed; and she accommodated
Edwards and him with beds in her house, there being nothing like an inn
nearer than the distance of some miles.
In the morning Harley persuaded Edwards to come with the children to his
house, which was distant but a short day’s journey. The boy walked in
his grandfather’s hand; and the name of Edwards procured him a
neighbouring farmer’s horse, on which a servant mounted, with the girl on
a pillow before him.
With this train Harley returned to the abode of his fathers: and we
cannot but think, that his enjoyment was as great as if he had arrived
from the tour of Europe with a Swiss valet for his companion, and half a
dozen snuff-boxes, with invisible hinges, in his pocket. But we take our
ideas from sounds which folly has invented; Fashion, Bon ton, and Vertù,
are the names of certain idols, to which we sacrifice the genuine
pleasures of the soul: in this world of semblance, we are contented with
personating happiness; to feel it is an art beyond us.
It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt with the
history of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips. His aunt was an
economist; but she knew the pleasure of doing charitable things, and
withal was fond of her nephew, and solicitous to oblige him. She
received old Edwards therefore with a look of more complacency than is
perhaps natural to maiden ladies of three-score, and was remarkably
attentive to his grandchildren: she roasted apples with her own hands for
their supper, and made up a little bed beside her own for the girl.
Edwards made some attempts towards an acknowledgment for these favours;
but his young friend stopped them in their beginnings.
“Whosoever receiveth any of these children,” said his aunt; for her
acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.
Early next morning Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay: he
expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken: the old
man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, with the tears
flowing down his cheeks. At first he did not perceive Harley; when he
did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, and crossing his eyes with his
hand expressed his surprise at seeing him so early astir.
“I was thinking of you,” said Harley, “and your children: I learned last
night that a small farm of mine in the neighbourhood is now vacant: if
you will occupy it I shall gain a good neighbour and be able in some
measure to repay the notice you took of me when a boy, and as the
furniture of the house is mine, it will be so much trouble saved.”
Edwards’s tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see the place he
intended for him.
The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut; its
situation, however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by the
beneficence of Harley, set about improving its neatness and convenience.
He staked out a piece of the green before for a garden, and Peter, who
acted in Harley’s family as valet, butler, and gardener, had orders to
furnish him with parcels of the different seeds he chose to sow in it. I
have seen his master at work in this little spot with his coat off, and
his dibble in his hand: it was a scene of tranquil virtue to have stopped
an angel on his errands of mercy! Harley had contrived to lead a little
bubbling brook through a green walk in the middle of the ground, upon
which he had erected a mill in miniature for the diversion of Edwards’s
infant grandson, and made shift in its construction to introduce a pliant
bit of wood that answered with its fairy clack to the murmuring of the
rill that turned it. I have seen him stand, listening to these mingled
sounds, with his eye fixed on the boy, and the smile of conscious
satisfaction on his cheek, while the old man, with a look half turned to
Harley and half to heaven, breathed an ejaculation of gratitude and
piety.
Father of mercies! I also would thank thee that not only hast thou
assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in this bad world, the
lines of our duty and our happiness are so frequently woven together.
A FRAGMENT.
THE MAN OF FEELING TALKS OF WHAT HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND.—AN INCIDENT.
* * * * “EDWARDS,” said he, “I have a proper regard for the prosperity of
my country: every native of it appropriates to himself some share of the
power, or the fame, which, as a nation, it acquires, but I cannot throw
off the man so much as to rejoice at our conquests in India. You tell me
of immense territories subject to the English: I cannot think of their
possessions without being led to inquire by what right they possess them.
They came there as traders, bartering the commodities they brought for
others which their purchasers could spare; and however great their
profits were, they were then equitable. But what title have the subjects
of another kingdom to establish an empire in India? to give laws to a
country where the inhabitants received them on the terms of friendly
commerce? You say they are happier under our regulations than the
tyranny of their own petty princes. I must doubt it, from the conduct of
those by whom these regulations have been made. They have drained the
treasuries of Nabobs, who must fill them by oppressing the industry of
their subjects. Nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider the
motive upon which those gentlemen do not deny their going to India. The
fame of conquest, barbarous as that motive is, is but a secondary
consideration: there are certain stations in wealth to which the warriors
of the East aspire. It is there, indeed, where the wishes of their
friends assign them eminence, where the question of their country is
pointed at their return. When shall I see a commander return from India
in the pride of honourable poverty? You describe the victories they have
gained; they are sullied by the cause in which they fought: you enumerate
the spoils of those victories; they are covered with the blood of the
vanquished.
“Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and happiness to the
conquered? did he accept the gifts of their princes to use them for the
comfort of those whose fathers, sons, or husbands, fell in battle? did he
use his power to gain security and freedom to the regions of oppression
and slavery? did he endear the British name by examples of generosity,
which the most barbarous or most depraved are rarely able to resist? did
he return with the consciousness of duty discharged to his country, and
humanity to his fellow-creatures? did he return with no lace on his coat,
no slaves in his retinue, no chariot at his door, and no burgundy at his
table?—these were laurels which princes might envy—which an honest man
would not condemn!”
“Your maxims, Mr. Harley, are certainly right,” said Edwards. “I am not
capable of arguing with you; but I imagine there are great temptations in
a great degree of riches, which it is no easy matter to resist: those a
poor man like me cannot describe, because he never knew them; and perhaps
I have reason to bless God that I never did; for then, it is likely, I
should have withstood them no better than my neighbours. For you know,
sir, that it is not the fashion now, as it was in former times, that I
have read of in books, when your great generals died so poor, that they
did not leave wherewithal to buy them a coffin; and people thought the
better of their memories for it: if they did so now-a-days, I question if
any body, except yourself, and some few like you, would thank them.”
“I am sorry,” replied Harley, “that there is so much truth in what you
say; but however the general current of opinion may point, the feelings
are not yet lost that applaud benevolence, and censure inhumanity. Let
us endeavour to strengthen them in ourselves; and we, who live
sequestered from the noise of the multitude, have better opportunities of
listening undisturbed to their voice.”
They now approached the little dwelling of Edwards. A maid-servant, whom
he had hired to assist him in the care of his grandchildren met them a
little way from the house: “There is a young lady within with the
children,” said she. Edwards expressed his surprise at the visit: it was
however not the less true; and we mean to account for it.
This young lady then was no other than Miss Walton. She had heard the
old man’s history from Harley, as we have already related it. Curiosity,
or some other motive, made her desirous to see his grandchildren; this
she had an opportunity of gratifying soon, the children, in some of their
walks, having strolled as far as her father’s avenue. She put several
questions to both; she was delighted with the simplicity of their
answers, and promised, that if they continued to be good children, and do
as their grandfather bid them, she would soon see them again, and bring
some present or other for their reward. This promise she had performed
now: she came attended only by her maid, and brought with her a complete
suit of green for the boy, and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit of
ribbons, for his sister. She had time enough, with her maid’s
assistance, to equip them in their new habiliments before Harley and
Edwards returned. The boy heard his grandfather’s voice, and, with that
silent joy which his present finery inspired, ran to the door to meet
him: putting one hand in his, with the other pointed to his sister,
“See,” said he, “what Miss Walton has brought us!”—Edwards gazed on them.
Harley fixed his eyes on Miss Walton; her’s were turned to the ground;—in
Edwards’s was a beamy moisture.—He folded his hands together—“I cannot
speak, young lady,” said he, “to thank you.” Neither could Harley.
There were a thousand sentiments; but they gushed so impetuously on his
heart, that he could not utter a syllable. * * * *