'To paint the family distresses that succeeded, the disgrace, the

infamy that attended them, the wretchedness that afterward preyed upon

me, till I could endure no more, were needless. I was satisfied that I

had a right to end a state of suffering, and to be rid of a world that

considers itself as burthened not benefited by such creatures as I am.

At torments after death, concerning which bigotry and cunning have

invented such horrid fables, accusing and blaspheming a God whom they

pretend to adore of tyranny the most monstrous, and injustice the most

abhorred, at tales like these I laughed.

'You, Mr. Turl, say you can shew me better arguments, moral motives

that are indispensable, why I ought to live. These are assertions, of

which I must consider. You have restored me to life: prove that you

have done me a favour! Of that I doubt! My first sensation, after

recovering my faculties, was anger at your officious pity: shew me

that it was ill timed and unjust. If you have reduced me to the

necessity of again debating the same painful and gloomy question, if

you cannot give that elasticity to my mind which will animate it to

despise difficulty and steel it against injustice, however good your

intentions may have been, I fear you have but imposed misery upon me.'

CHAPTER X

_Remarks on the mistakes of Mr. Wilmot, by Turl: Law, or important

truths discussed; to which few will attend, fewer will understand, and

very few indeed will believe_

The state of mind into which his mistakes had brought him rendered

Wilmot an object of compassion. The tone in which he concluded

testified the alarming errors into which he was still liable to fall.

For this reason, though Turl treated him with all possible humanity

and tenderness, he considered it as dangerous to him, and scarcely

less so to me, on whom he perceived the strong impression the

narrative had made, to be silent. With a voice and countenance

therefore of perfect urbanity, he thus replied.

'Do not imagine, Mr. Wilmot, that I have not been deeply penetrated

by your sufferings; that I am insensible of your uncommon worth, or

that I approve the vices of society, and the injustice and unfeeling

neglect with which you have been treated. Thousands are at this moment

subject to the same oppression.

'But the province of wisdom is not to lament over our wrongs: it is

to find their remedy. Querulous complaint (Pardon me, if my words

or expressions have any ill-timed severity: indeed that is far from

my intention.) Querulous complaint is worthy only of the infancy of

understanding. The world is unjust: and why? Because it is ignorant.

Ought that to excite either complaint or anger? Would not the energies

of intellect be more worthily employed in removing the cause, by the

communication of knowledge?

'You bid me restore the elasticity of your mind. Can you look round on

the follies and mistakes of men, which you have the power to detect,

expose, and in part reform, and be in want of motive? You demand

that I should communicate to you the desire of life. Can you have a

perception of the essential duties that you are fitted to perform, and

dare you think of dying?

'You have been brooding over your own wrongs, which your distorted

fancy has painted as perhaps the most insufferable in the whole circle

of existence! How could you be so blind? Look at the mass of evil, by

which you are surrounded! What is its origin? Ignorance. Ignorance is

the source of all evil; and there is one species of ignorance to which

you and men like you have been egregiously subject: ignorance of

the true mode of exercising your rare faculties; ignorance of their

unbounded power of enjoyment.

'You have been persuaded that this power was destroyed, by the

ridiculous distinctions of rich and poor. Oh, mad world! Monstrous

absurdity! Incomprehensible blindness! Look at the rich! In what are

they happy? In what do they excel the poor? Not in their greater

stores of wealth: which is but a source of vice, disease, and death;

but in a little superiority of knowledge; a trifling advance toward

truth. How may this advantage be made general? Not by the indulgence

of the desires you have fostered; the tendency of which was vicious;

but by retrenching those false wants, that you panted to gratify; and

thus by giving leisure to the poor or rather to all mankind, to make

the acquirement of knowledge the grand business of life.

'This is the object on which the attention of every wise man should

be turned. He that by precept or example shall prevail on community

to relinquish one superfluous dish, one useless and contemptible

trapping, will be the general friend of man. He who labours for

riches, to countenance by his practice their abuse, is labouring to

secure misery to himself, and perpetuate it in society. Who ought to

be esteemed the most rich? He whose faculties are the most enlarged.

How wealthy were you, had you but known it, at the moment your mind

was distracting itself by these dirges of distress.

'He that would riot in luxury, let him wait the hour of appetite; and

carry his morsel into the harvest field. There let him seat himself on

a bank, eat, and cast his eyes around. Then, while he shall appease

the cravings of hunger (not pamper the detestable caprice of gluttony)

let him remember how many thousands shall in like manner be fed, by

the plenty he every where beholds. How poor and pitiable a creature

would he be, were his pleasure destroyed, or narrowed, because the

earth on which it was produced was not what he had absurdly been

taught to call his own!

'You complain that the titled and the dignified rejected your

intercourse. How could you thus mistake your true rank? How exalted

was it, compared to the ridiculous arrogance you envied! Were you now

visiting Bedlam, would you think yourself miserable because its mad

inhabitants despised you, for not being as mighty a monarch as each of

themselves? But little depth of penetration is necessary, to perceive

that the lunatics around us are no less worthy of our laughter and our

pity.

'If I do not mistake, you, Mr. Trevor, are hurrying into the very

errors that have misled your noble minded friend and instructor.

Your active genius is busying itself how to obtain those riches and

distinctions on which you have falsely supposed happiness depends. You

are in search of a profession, by which your fortune is to be made.

Beware! Notwithstanding that I am frequently assaulted by the same

kind of folly myself, I yet never recollect it without astonishment!'

While Turl confined the application of his precepts to Wilmot, I

listened and assented with scarcely a doubt: but, the moment he

directed them against me, I turned upon him with all the force to

which by my passions and fears I was rouzed.

'What,' said I, 'would you persuade me to renounce those pursuits by

which alone I can gain distinction and respect in society? Would you

have me remain in poverty, and thus relinquish the dearest portion of

existence?'

Olivia was full in my thoughts, as I spoke.

'Of what worth would life be, were I so doomed? Rather than accept it

on such terms, were there ten thousand Serpentine rivers I would drown

in them all!'

Turl glanced significantly first at me and then at Wilmot. 'Do you

consider the danger, the possible consequences, of the doctrine you

are now inculcating, Mr. Trevor?'

Too much devoured by passion to attend to his reproof, in the sense

he meant it, I retorted in a still louder key. 'I can discover no ill

consequences in being sincere. I repeat, were there millions of seas,

I would sooner drown in them all! You are continually pushing your

philosophy to extremes, Mr. Turl.'

'You should rather say, Mr. Trevor, you are pushing your want of

philosophy to an extreme.'

'The self denial you require is not in the nature of man.'

'The nature of man is a senseless jargon. Man is that which he is made

by the various occurrences to which he is subjected. Those occurrences

continually differ; no two men, therefore, were ever alike. But how

are you to obtain the wealth and dignity you seek? By honest means?'

'Can you suppose me capable of any other?'

'Alas! How universal, how dangerous, are the mistakes of mankind! Your

hopes are childish. The law, I understand, is your present pursuit.

Do you suppose it possible to practise the law, in any form, and be

honest?'

'Sir!--Mr. Turl?--You amaze me! Where is the dishonesty of pleading

for the oppressed?'

'How little have you considered the subject! How ignorant are you of

the practice of the law! Oppressed? Do counsel ever ask who is the

oppressed? Do they refuse a brief because the justice of the case is

doubtful? Do they not always inquire, not what is justice, but, what

is law? Do they not triumph most, and acquire most fame, when they can

gain a cause in the very teeth of the law they profess to support and

revere? Who is the greatest lawyer? Not he who can most enlighten, but

he who can most perplex and confound the understanding of his hearers!

He who can best brow-beat and confuse witnesses; and embroil and

mislead the intellect of judge and jury. Yet the mischiefs I have

mentioned are but the sprouts and branches of this tree of evil; its

root is much deeper: it is in the law itself; and in the system of

property, of which law is the support.'

'Pshaw! These are the distempered dreams of reform run mad.'

'Are they? Consider! Beware of the mischief of deciding rashly! Beware

of your passions, that are alarmed lest they should be disappointed.'

'It is you that decide. Prove this rooted evil of law.'

'Suppose me unable to prove it: are its consequences the less real?

But I will endeavour.

'He, who is told that, "to do justice is to conduce with all his power

to the well being of the whole," has a simple intelligible rule for

his conduct.

'He, on the contrary, who is told that, "to do justice is to obey the

law," has to inquire, not what is justice! but, what is the law? Now

to know the law, (were it practicable!) would be not only to know

the statutes at large by rote, but all the precedents, and all the

legal discussions and litigations, to which the practitioners of law

appeal! Innumerable volumes, filled with innumerable subtleties and

incoherencies, and written in a barbarous and unintelligible jargon,

must be studied! Memory is utterly inadequate to the task; and reason

revolts, spurns at and turns from it with loathing.

'A short statement of facts will, in my opinion, demonstrate that law,

in its origin and essence, is absolutely unjust.

'To make a law is to make a rule, by which a certain class of future

events shall be judged.

'Future events can only be partially and imperfectly foreseen.

'Consequently, the law must be partial and imperfect.

'Let us take the facts in another point of view--The law never varies.

'The cases never agree.

'The law is general.

'The case is individual.

'The penalty of the law is uniform.

'The justice or injustice of the case is continually different.

'To prejudge any case, that is, to give a decided opinion on it while

any of the circumstances remain unknown, is unjust even to a proverb.

Yet this is precisely what is done, by making a law.'

'This is strange doctrine, Mr. Turl!'

'Disprove the facts, Mr. Trevor. They are indisputable; and on them

the following syllogism may indisputably be formed.

'To make a law is publicly to countenance and promote injustice.

'Publicly to countenance and promote injustice is a most odious and

pernicious action.

'Consequently, to make a law is a most odious and pernicious action.

'How unlimited are the moral mischiefs that result! To make positive

laws is to turn the mind from the inquiry into what is just, and

compel it to inquire what is law!

'To make positive laws is to habituate and reconcile the mind to

injustice, by stamping injustice with public approbation!

'To make positive laws is to deaden the mind to that constant and

lively sense of what is just and unjust, to which it must otherwise be

invariably awake, by not only encouraging but by obliging it to have

recourse to rules founded in falsehood!

'Each case is law to itself: that is, each case ought to be decided by

the justice, or the injustice arising out of the circumstances of that

individual case; and by no other case or law whatever; for the reason

I have already given, that there never were nor ever can be two cases

that were not different from each other.

'I therefore once more warn you, Mr. Trevor, that law is a pernicious

mass of errors; and that the practitioners of it can only thrive by

the mischiefs which they themselves produce, the falsehoods they

propagate, and the miseries they inflict!'

'This would be dangerous doctrine to the preacher, were it heard in

Westminster hall.'

'I am sorry for it! I am sorry that man can be in danger from his

fellow men, because he endeavours to do them good!'

CHAPTER XI

_Painful meditations: A new project for acquiring wealth: A journey to

Bath_

That the reader may judge of the arguments of Turl, I have been

anxious to state them simply; and not perplexed with the digressions,

commentaries, cavils, and violent opposition they met with from me.

Striking as they did at the very root of all my promised pleasures,

how could I listen and not oppose? Destroying as they did all my

towering hopes at a breath, what could I do but rave? When my

arguments and my anger were exhausted, I sat silent for a while,

sunk in melancholy revery. At length I recovered myself so far as to

endeavour to console Mr. Wilmot, offer him every assistance in my

power, and persuade him to an interview with his sister. Aided by

the benevolent arguments of Turl, this purpose was with some little

difficulty effected, and I returned home to relate to Miss Wilmot what

had happened.

In very bitterness of soul I then began to meditate on the prospect

before me. The sensations I experienced were at some moments

agonizing! Could I even have renounced fame and fortune, and patiently

have resigned myself to live in obscure poverty, yet to live, as in

such a case I must do, without Olivia would be misery to which no

arguments could induce me to submit. But how obtain her? Where were

all my bright visions fled? Poor Wilmot! What an example did he afford

of ineffectual struggles, talents neglected, and genius trampled in

the dust! Was there more security for me? Turl indeed seemed to resign

himself without a murmur, and to be happy in despite of fate. But he

had no Olivia to regret! If he had, happiness without her would be

impossible!

To attempt to repeat all the tormenting fears that hurried and

agitated my mind, on this occasion, were fruitless. Suffice it to

say, this was one of those severe conflicts to which by education and

accident I was subject; and it was not the least painful part of the

present one that I could come to no decision.

I persuaded myself indeed that, with respect to law, Turl's reasoning

was much too severe and absolute. It was true I could not but own

that law was inclined to debase and corrupt the morals of its

practitioners; but surely there were exceptions, and if I pursued the

law why should not I be one of them. If therefore the happiness at

which I aimed were attainable by this means, I asserted to myself that

I had heard no reasons which ought to deter me from practising the

law.

In the mean time, I had conceived a project that related to the

immediate state of my feelings; the acuteness of which I was obliged

to seek some method to appease. Olivia was gone to Bath, with her

aunt; and thither I was determined to follow her.

Full of this design, I dispatched Philip with orders that a post

chaise should be ready at the door by nine o'clock the next morning;

after which, to rid myself as much as possible of the thoughts that

haunted me, I once more went in search of the false Belmont.

I found him at the usual place engaged at play. The betting was high,

he appeared to be overmatched, and for a few games his antagonist,

who like himself was a first rate player, triumphed. My passions

were always of the touch-wood kind. Rouzed and tempted by the bets

that were so plentifully offered, the thought suddenly occurred how

possible it was for a man of penetration, who could keep himself

perfectly cool, as I was persuaded I could (What was there indeed

that I persuaded myself I could not do?) to make a fortune by

gambling! I did not indeed call it by the odious term gambling: it

was calculation, foresight, acuteness of discernment. My morality was

fast asleep; so intent was I on profiting by this new and surprisingly

certain source of wealth! and so avaricious of the means that at a

glance seemed to promise the gratification of all my desires!

I had not frequented a billiard table without have exercised my own

skill, learned the odds, and obtained a tolerable knowledge of the

game itself. So fixed was my cupidity on its object that I began with

the caution of a black-leg; made a bet, and the moment the odds turned

in my favour secured myself by taking them; hedged again, as the

advantage changed; and thus made myself a certain winner. I exulted in

my own clearness of perception! and wondered that so palpable a method

of winning should escape even an idiot!

The experience however of a few games taught me that my discovery was

not quite of so lucrative a nature as I had supposed. The odds did not

every game vary, from side to side; people were not always inclined

to bet the odds; and, if I would run no great risk, I even found it

necessary to bet them sometimes myself. Every man who has made the

experiment knows that the thirst of lucre, when thus awakened in a

young mind, is insatiable, impetuous, and rash. I was weary of petty

gains, and riches by retail. The ardour with which I examined the

players, and each circumstance as it occurred, persuaded me that there

were tokens by which an acute observer might discover the winning

party. I had on former occasions remarked that players but rarely win

game and game alternately, even when they leave off equal; but that

success has a tide, with a kind of periodical ebb and flow. This said

I may be attributed to the temper of the players; the loser is too

angry to attend with sufficient caution to his game; he persuades

himself that luck is against him, strikes at random, and does mischief

every stroke. After a while the winner grows careless, loses a game,

and becomes angry and conquered in turn.

Exulting in my prodigious penetration, and fortified in my daring by

reasoning so deep, I determined to hedge no more bets. Belmont, whose

notice my sudden rage for betting had by no means escaped, was at this

time losing, and I was backing his antagonist. To one of the bets I

offered, he said, 'Done;' and, though I felt a reluctance to win his

money, it seemed ungentlemanlike to refuse. I won the first three

bets; and, exulting in my own acuteness and certainty, intreated

him in pity to desist. He refused, and I pleaded the pain I felt at

winning the money of a friend. Beside, it was not only dishonourable

but dishonest; it was absolutely picking his pocket!

My triumph was premature. From this time fortune veered, and he began

to win. I was then willing to have taken the other side, but could

not procure a bet. He bantering bade me not be afraid of winning my

friend's money; it was neither dishonourable, dishonest, nor picking

his pocket. Piqued by his sarcasms, I continued till I had lost five

and twenty guineas; and then my vexation and pride, which almost

foamed at the suspicion of my own folly, made me propose to bet double

or quit. I lost again, again resorted to the same desperate remedy,

and met with the same ill success. My frenzy was such that I a third

time urged him to continue. Fortunately for me his antagonist would

play no more, and I was left to reflect that my calculations and

avaricious arts to rob fools and outwit knaves were as crude as they

were contemptible.

Wrung as I was to the heart, I was ashamed of having it supposed that

the loss of my hundred guineas in the least affected me. Belmont

insisted that I should sup with him, and when I attempted to decline

his invitation bantered me out of my refusal, by asking if I had

parted with my hundred guineas to purchase the spleen. During supper

I informed him of my intended journey to Bath; and he immediately

proposed to accompany me, telling me that he had himself had the

same intention. On this we accordingly agreed, and I left him early

and retired to bed; but not to rest. The quick decay of my small

substance, the helpless state in which I found myself, the impatience

with which I desired wealth and power, and the increasing distance at

which I seemed to be thrown from Olivia by this last act of folly,

kept me not only awake but in a fever of thought.

The next day we set off, and arrived at Bath the same evening; where

the first inquiries I made were at the Pump-room, to learn where

Olivia and her aunt were lodged. So inconsiderate and eager were my

desires, that I endeavoured to obtain apartments in the same house;

but ineffectually, they were all let. I was recommended to others

however in Milsom-street, in which I fixed my abode. There was not

room for Belmont, and he got lodgings on the South Parade.

CHAPTER XII

_Desperate measures: Olivia and her aunt: A rash accusation; and its

strange consequences: Affairs brought to a crisis_

Before I proceed to the history of my Bath adventures, it is necessary

to take a brief retrospect of the state of my affairs. The total of

my expences, from the time that I received the four hundred and fifty

pounds of Thornby, to my arrival at Bath, was about two hundred and

forty pounds, including the sum I had lost at billiards, the money I

had paid for printing my pamphlet (the last sheet of which I corrected

before I left town) thirty pounds that in consequence of a letter from

my mother I remitted to her, and twenty for the purchase of a lottery

ticket; for, among other absurd and vicious ways of becoming rich,

that suggested itself to my eager fancy.

The quick decay of my very small inheritance lay corroding at my

heart, and prompted me to a thousand different schemes, without the

power of determining me to any. My general propensity however was

more to the desperate, which should at once be decisive, than to the

slow and lingering plans of timid prudence. In reality both seemed

hopeless, and therefore the briefest suffering was the best. At some

short intervals the glow of hope, which had lately been so fervid,

would return, and those powers of thought that seemed to be struggling

within me would promise great and glorious success; but these were

only flashes of lightening darting through a midnight sky, the texture

of which was deep obscurity; 'darkness visible.'

To one point however I was fixed, that of using every endeavour

to learn the true sentiments of Olivia respecting me; and, if any

possible opportunity offered, of declaring my own. To effect this I

resolved, since I knew not what better method to take, that I would

watch the few public places to which all the visitors at Bath resort.

I therefore immediately subscribed to the upper and lower rooms, and

traversed the city in every direction.

People, not confined to their chamber, are here sure to be soon met

with; and, on the second morning after my arrival, I discovered

Olivia, seated at the farther end of the Pump-room. She had an old

lady, who proved to be her aunt, by her side; and a circle round her,

in which were several handsome fellows, who my jealous eye instantly

discovered were all ambitious of her regard.

The moment I had a glimpse of her, I was seized with a trembling that

shook my whole frame, and a sickness that I with difficulty subdued.

I approached, stopped, turned aside, again advanced, again hesitated,

and was once more almost overcome by a rising of the heart that was

suffocating, and a swimming of the brain that made my limbs stagger,

my eyes roll, and deprived me of sight.

It was sometime before I could make another attempt. At length I

caught her eye. With the rapidity of lightening her cheek was suffused

with blushes, and as instantaneously changed to a death-like pale. It

was my habitual error to interpret every thing in my own favour; and

the conviction that she was suffering emotions similar to my own was

transport to me.

For some minutes I mingled with the croud, fearful of a relapse on my

own part and on hers, but keeping her in sight, and presenting myself

to her view, till I was rouzed by an apparent motion of the aunt to

rise. I then advanced, but still in an ague fit of apprehension. I

attempted to bow, and in a faltering and feeble voice pronounced her

name, 'hoped she was well, and'--I could proceed no farther.

My disease was infectious. She sat a moment, severely struggling with

her feelings, and then returned a kind of inarticulate complimentary

answer.

'What is the matter Olivia?' said the aunt. 'How strangely you look

child? Who is the gentleman?'

Olivia made another effort. '--It is Mr. Trevor, Madam; the grandson

of the rector of ***.'

'Oh ho! The young Oxonian that my nephew Hector tells the comical

story about; of the methodist preacher, and of his throwing you into

the water, and then taking you out again.'

The tone, form, and features of the old lady, with this short

introductory dialogue, gave me a strong, but no encouraging picture,

of her character. Her voice was masculine, her nose short, her mouth

wide, her brow bent and bushy, and the corners of her eyes and cheeks

deeply wrinkled. I attempted to enter into conversation, but my

efforts were aukward; the answers of the aunt were broad, coarse, and

discouraging; and Olivia, though embarrassed, I accused of being cold.

The manner of the old lady clearly indicated, that she suspected my

design; and an endeavour in me to prolong the conversation, by turning

it on my native county, drew from her the following animadversions.

'I have heard a great deal about your family, Mr. Trevor; and of the

ridiculous opposition which your grandfather pretended to make to my

late brother, Mowbray. Your mother, I think, was twice married, and,

as I have been told, both times very imprudently; so that the proud

hopes which the rector entertained of raising a family were all

overthrown. But that is always the case with clandestine matches.

Many families, of much greater consequence than ever yours was, Mr.

Trevor, have been brought low by such foolish and wicked doings. Young

girls that have indulged improper connections, and secret lovers,

have involved themselves, and all their relations, in ruin by their

guilty proceedings. You are but a petty instance of the base and

bad consequences of the crimes of such foolish young hussies. Come,

niece!'

They both rose to go. The dialogue that had just passed had no

listeners, though of that circumstance the aunt was evidently

regardless. The circle round Olivia had presently dispersed, as good

manners required, when I a stranger came up. The repugnant and ominous

behaviour of the aunt did but increase the impetuous haste that I felt

to know the worst, and addressing myself to Olivia, I asked with some

eagerness, 'If I might be permitted to pay her my respects while she

continued at Bath?'

The aunt fixed her eye on me, 'Look you,' said she, 'Mr. Trevor, you

are a handsome young fellow, and I do not want handsome young fellows

about my niece. I see too many of them: they have little fortune, and

less shame; they give me a deal of trouble; no good can come of their

smirking and smiling, their foppery and their forward prate. My niece

I believe has much more prudence than is usual with the young minxes

of the present day. But no matter for that: I am sure there is no

prudence in setting gunpowder too near the fire. I have heard her talk

of your taking her out of the water in a manner that, if I did not

know her, I should not quite like. So I must plainly tell you, Sir,

as I can see no good that can come of your acquaintance, I shall take

care to prevent all harm. Not that there is much fear, for she knows

her duty, and has always done it. Neither can you have entertained any

impertinent notions: it would be too ridiculous! Though what my nephew

and Mr. Andrews told me, I own, did seem as if you could strangely

forget yourself. But at once to cut matters short, I now tell you

plainly, and down right, her choice is made. Yes, Sir, her choice is

positively made; and so, though I do not suppose you have taken any

foolish crotchets, and improper whims into your head, for that would

be too impertinent, yet as you knew one another when children, and so

forth, it was best to be plain with you at once, because, though such

ridiculous nonsense was quite impossible, I hear on all hands you

are a bold and flighty young gentleman, and that you have no little

opinion of yourself.'

Dumb founded as I was by this undisguised refusal, this hard,

unfeeling reprimand, I made no attempt to reply or follow. The

flushings of Olivia's face indeed were continual; but what were they

more than indignant repellings of her aunt's broad surmises? Had they

been favourable to me why did she not declare them with the openness

of which she had so striking an example? She curtsied as she went; but

it was a half-souled compliment, that while I attempted to return my

heart resented.

They disappeared, and I remained, feeling as if now first made

sensible of the extreme folly, the lunacy of all my actions! The

dialogue I had just heard vibrated in my brain, burning and wasting it

with the frenzy of agonizing recollection. 'I was a forward prating

fop, of little fortune, and less shame! Bold and flighty, with no

little opinion of myself; again and again I was ridiculous, and

impertinent! My crotchets, whims, and nonsense were impossible!'

Nor was this all! There was another piece of intelligence; an

additional and dreadful feature of despair; the name of Andrews!

Detested sound! Racking idea! 'Her choice is made; positively made!'

Excruciating thought! Why then, welcome ruin! sudden and irrevocable

ruin!

As soon as I could recover sufficient recollection, I hurried home;

where I remained in a trance of torment, and disposed to a thousand

acts of madness that were conceived and dismissed with a rapidity of

pain that rendered my mind impotent to all, except the inflicting

torture on itself.

At last, the agony in which I sat was interrupted by the appearance of

Belmont. We had agreed to go to Lansdown races, he told me it was now

time, took me by the arm, and hurried me away.

Reckless of where I went, or what I did, I obeyed. The course was at

no great distance, a carriage was not to be procured, and we walked.

The steepness of the hill, the heat of the day, and above all

the anguish of my heart, threw me into a violent heat. The drops

rolled down my cheeks, and I put my handkerchief lightly into my

hat, to prevent its pressure. Lost in a revery of misery, I acted

instinctively, and breathed the dust, heard the hubbub, and saw the

confusion around me without perceiving them.

After the first heat there was a battle, toward which I was dragged by

Belmont. In the tumult and distraction of my thoughts, I scarcely knew

what happened; and feeling in my pocket for my handkerchief I missed

it. A croud and a pick-pocket was an immediate suggestion. Neither

coolness nor recollection were present to me. I saw a man putting up a

red and white handkerchief, which I supposed to be mine, and springing

forward, I caught him by the collar, and exclaimed, 'Rascal, you have

robbed me!' In an instant the mob flocked round us, and the supposed

pick-pocket was seized. 'Duck him! Duck him!' was the general cry; and

away the poor fellow was immediately hurried. Half awakened by the

unpremeditated danger into which I had brought him, I began to repent.

Belmont, who had lost sight of me, came up, and asked what was the

matter.

'A fellow has picked my pocket,' said I.

'Of what?'

'Of my handkerchief.'

'Your handkerchief? Is it not under your hat?'

I snatched it off, examined, and there the handkerchief was!--I was

struck speechless!

The man whom I had falsely accused made a violent resistance; the

mob was dragging him along, rending his clothes off his back, and

half-tearing him in pieces. The state of my mind was little short of

frenzy. In a tone of command, I bade Belmont follow, made my way into

the thickest of the croud, and furiously began to beat the people

who were ill-using the prisoner; calling till I was hoarse, 'Let him

alone! He is innocent! I am to blame!'

My efforts were vain. A mob has many hands but no ears. My blows were

returned fifty fold. I was inveloped by one mob myself, while the poor

wretch was hauled along by another. Not all my struggles could save

him. I could not get free; and the man, as Belmost afterward informed

me, was half drowned; after which he escaped, and nobody knew what was

become of him.

These were but a part of the accidents of the day. My mind was

maddening, and I was ripe for mischief. Belmont in the evening went

to the hazard table, and I determined to accompany him, to which

he encouraged me. The impetus was given, and, as if resolved on

destruction, I put all my money, except a ten pound note to pay my

Bath debts, in my pocket. Though ignorant of the cause of them,

Belmont discovered my inclinations. He took care to be at the place

before the company assembled.

An accomplice (as I afterward learned) was present, who displayed

guineas and bank notes sufficient to convince me that he was my man,

if I could but win them. I was as eager as they could desire, and to

increase my ardour was occasionally suffered to win a rich stake. My

success was of short duration; I soon began to lose and foam with

rage. In the midst of this scene, Hector Mowbray and tall Andrews came

in; who unknown to me were at Bath. They saw me close my accounts, and

by their looks enjoyed my fury. The whole company, which now began to

be numerous, understood that I left off play because I had no more

money to lose. The pigeon was completely plucked.

This was the climax of misery, at which I seemed ambitious to arrive.

During six hours, I sat in a state of absolute stupor; and echoed the

uproar and blasphemy that surrounded me with deep but unconscious

groans. I do not know that I so much as moved, till the company was

entirely dispersed, and I was awakened from my torpor by the groom

porter. I then languidly returned to my lodging, exhausted and unable

longer to support the conflicting torture.

END OF VOLUME III

VOLUME IV

CHAPTER I

_The pains and penalties of illicit attempts to become rich: The sleep

of a gamester: Morning meditations_

The pungency of extreme grief acts as a temporary opiate: for a short

time it lulls the sufferer to insensibility, and sleep; but it is only

to recruit him and awaken him to new torments.

When I reached my lodgings, I appeared to myself to have sunk into

a state of quiescent resignation. The die was cast. My doom was

irrevocable; and despair itself seemed to have lost its charm: the

animation, the vigour, of misery was gone. I was reduced to an

inevitable post-horse kind of endurance; and had only now to be

thankful if I might be permitted to exist. From an audacious and

arrogant confidence in my own strength, I had suddenly yet by

perceptible gradations declined, though with excruciating pangs at

every step, till I now at last found myself in a state of sluggish and

brute imbecility.

Staggering home in this temper, I undressed myself, went to bed with

stupid composure, and felt like a wretch that had been stretched on

the rack, and, having just been taken off, was suffered to sink into

lifeless languor, because he could endure no more. I was mistaken.

My sleeping sensations soon became turbulent, oppressive, fevered,

terrific, yet cumbrous, and impossible to awake from and escape.

It was seven in the morning, when I returned to my lodging. When I

went to bed, my heaviness was so great that I seemed as if I could

have slept for centuries; and, so multifarious and torturing were the

images that haunted me, that, the time actually appeared indefinitely

protracted: a month, a year, an age: yet it was little more than

two hours. The moment struggling nature had cast off her horrible

night-mares, and I had once more started into identity, the anguish

of the past day and night again seized me. Pains innumerable, and

intolerable, rushed upon me. Each new thought was a new serpent. Mine

was the head of Medusa: with this difference; my scorpions shed all

their venom inward.

Confusion of mind is the source of pain: but confusion is the greatest

in minds that are the seldomest subject to it; and with those the pain

is proportionably intense. The conflict was too violent to be endured,

without an endeavour to get rid of it. I rose, traversed my room I

know not how long, and at last rushed into the street; with a sort

of feeling that, when in the open air, the atmosphere of misery that

enveloped me would be swallowed up, and lost, in the infinite expanse.

The hope was vain: it wrapped me round like a cloak. It was a

universal caustic, that would not endure to be touched; much less

torn away. I groaned. I gnashed my teeth. I griped my hands. I struck

myself violent blows. I ran with fury, in circles, in zigzag, with

sudden turns and frantic bounds; and, finding myself on the banks of

the Avon, plunged headlong in.

I acted from no plan, or forethought; therefore was far from any

intention to drown myself; and, being in the water, I swam as I had

run, like a mad or hunted bull.

That unpremeditated sensation which enforces immediate action is

what, I suppose, Philosophers mean by instinct: if the word ever had

any definite meaning. Thousands of these instinctive experiments

are, no doubt, injurious to the animals that make them: but, their

number being unlimited, some of them are successful. The benefit is

remembered; they are repeated; and a future race profits by the wisdom

that becomes habitual. I am well persuaded that my immersion in

the stream was assuaging; and gamesters hereafter, or the faculty

themselves, may, if they please, profit by the experiment.

I have no distinct recollection of coming out of the water: though

I remember walking afterward, two or three hours, till my cloaths

were again entirely dry. My feelings, in the interval, were somewhat

similar to those of the preceding evening; declining from frantic

agitation to stupidity, and torpor.

CHAPTER II

_An unexpected rencontre; and a desperate contest: Victory dearly

bought_

Man is, or, which is the same thing, his sensations are, continually

changing; and it may be truly affirmed that he is many different

animals in the course of a day. A very unexpected, yet very natural,

incident again rouzed me, to a state of activity.

During my ramble, I had strayed among the new buildings, below the

Crescent. I know not whether I had any latent hope, or wish, of having

a distant sight of Olivia, walking there as is customary for air and

exercise: though I was certainly far too much degraded, in my own

opinion, to intend being seen myself, even by her; much less by any

of those proud beings, those ephemera; of fortune, with whom, while I

despised their arrogance, not to associate, not to be familiar, nay

not to treat with a sort of conscious superiority, was misery. We

all practise that haughtiness, ourselves, which, in others, is so

irritating to our feelings; and for which we pretend to have so

sovereign a contempt.

As I passed a number of workmen, my moody apathy, though great, did

not prevent me from hearing one of them exclaim, with a loud and

suddenly angry surprize, 'By G---- that is he!'

I was at some little distance. I heard the steps of a man running

speedily toward me. I turned round. He looked me full in the face;

and, with no less eagerness, repeated--'Yes! D--mn me if it is not!

Dick! Will! Come here! Run!'

I stood fixed. I did not recollect ever to have seen the exact

figure before me; but I had a strong and instantaneously a painful

impression, of the same form in a different garb. It was the man whom

I had accused, the day before, of picking my pocket: the poor fellow

who had been so unmercifully ducked, and ill treated, by the mob.

His impatience of revenge was furious. Without uttering another word,

he made a desperate blow at me. I was unprepared; and it brought me to

the ground. His foot was up, to second it with as violent a kick; but,

fortunately, the generous spirit of my opponent and the laws of mob

honour were mutually my shield. He recollected the cowardice as well

as the opprobrium of kicking a combatant, when down; and, in the tone

of rage, commanded me to get up.

I was not slow in obeying the mandate; nor he in repeating the

assault. I warded several of his blows, which were dealt with too much

thoughtless fury to be dangerous; but again and again called on him to

stop, for a moment, and hear me. I felt I had been the cause of much

mischief to the man; and had no alacrity to increase the wrong. My

behaviour was not that of fear; and his companions at length got

between us, and for a moment prevented the battle.

We were at the bottom of the hill: the beginning of the fray had been

seen, and the crowd was collecting in every direction. The beaus

descended from the crescent; and left the belles to view us through

their opera-glasses, and pocket-telescopes, while they came to collect

more circumstantial information. The Mowbray family had just arrived

at this public _promenade_. Hector and tall Andrews joined the mob:

the aunt and Olivia remained on the walk.

The story of the false accusation, the ducking, and the injuries

done to my antagonist, ran, varied and mangled, from mouth to mouth:

a general sensation of rage was excited against me; and Hector and

Andrews very charitably gave it every assistance in their power.

Not satisfied with this, they proposed the _Lex Talionis_; and

called--'Duck him!' 'Duck him!' They took care, however, to turn their

backs; imagining that, amid the hubbub, I should not distinguish their

voices.

My antagonist, though but a journeyman carpenter, had too much of the

hero in him to admit of this mean revenge. His anger could only be

appeased by chastising me with his own arm; and proving to me, as well

as to the crowd, how unworthy he was of that contemptible character

which my accusation had endeavoured to fix upon him. He was therefore

determined to oblige me to fight.

I never remember to have felt greater repugnance, than I now had, to

defend myself, by committing more hurt and injury upon this indignant,

but brave, fellow. I tried to expostulate, nay to intreat, but in

vain: my remonstrances were construed into cowardice, and fight I

must, or suffer such disgrace as my tyro-philosophy was ill calculated

to endure.

My antagonist was stripped in form; and, as the diversion of a battle

is what an English mob will never willingly forego, I found partisans;

who determined to see fair play, encouraged, instructed me, clapped

me on the back, and, partly by intreaty partly by violence, stripped

off my coat. They were vexed at my obstinate refusal to part with my

waistcoat and shirt.

With their usual activity, they soon made a ring; and I stood

undetermined, and excessively reluctant; not very willing to receive,

but infinitely averse to return the blows he now once more began to

deal!

The carpenter was an athletic and powerful man; famous for the battles

he had fought, and the victories he had gained. His companions, who

evidently had an affection for him, and who knew his prowess, had no

supposition that I could withstand him for five minutes: though the

hopes of those who were the most eager for the sport had been a little

raised, by the alertness with which I rose, after being at first

knocked down, and the skill with which I then stood on my defence.

The doubts that pervaded my mind imparted, I suppose, something of

that appearance to my countenance which is occasioned by fear; for my

adversary approached me with looks of contempt; and, as I retreated,

bade me stand forward and face him like a man. The crowd behind

seconded him; and, fearing it should be a run-away victory, was rather

willing to press upon and push me forward than to recede, and give

me any play. Hector and Andrews were all the while very active, as

instigators.

My indecision occasioned me to receive several severe blows, without

returning one; till, at length, I was again extended on the ground, by

a very desperate blow near the ear; which, for a few seconds, deprived

me of all sense and recollection.

This was no longer to be endured. As soon as I recovered, I sprang on

my feet, condescended to strip, and became in turn the assailant. The

joy and vociferation of the mob were immense. They thought it had been

all over; and to see me now rise, stand forward, and fight, as I did,

with so much determination and effect, was, to them, rapture. They

had discovered a hero. Their education had taught them, for such is

education, that the man who has the power to endure and to inflict the

most misery is the most admirable.

For six successive rounds, I had completely the advantage; during

which my brave foe had received five knock-down blows: for that is the

phrase. His companions and friends were astonished. The beau pugilists

were vociferating their bets; five pounds to a crown in my favour.

The carpenter was as hardy as he was courageous. He collected himself;

I had become less circumspect, and he threw in another dangerous blow

near my temple, with the left hand, that again felled me insensible to

the earth.

I now recovered more slowly, and less effectually. I had been severely

breathed, by the violence of exertion. The laws of pugilistic war will

not suffer a man to lie, after being knocked down, more than a certain

number of seconds. Hector had his stop-watch in his hand; and tall

Andrews joined him, to enforce the rule in all its rigour. I was

lifted on my feet before I had perfectly recovered my recollection;

and was again knocked down, though with less injury. While down, I

received a kick in the side; of which my partisans instantly accused

Andrews.

Meaning to do me mischief, he did me a favour. The wrangling that took

place gave me time to recover; and being again brought in face of

my opponent, I once more proposed a reconciliation; and, stretching

out my arm, asked him to shake hands. But, no. The ducking was too

bitterly remembered. 'He would beat me; or never go alive from the

ground.'

For a moment, the generous thought of acknowledging myself vanquished

suggested itself: but rising vanity, and false shame, spurned at the

proposal, therefore, since he was so desperate, I had no resource but

in being equally savage. Accordingly, I bent my whole powers to this

detestable purpose, brought him twice more to the ground, and, on the

third assault, gave him a blow that verified his own prediction; for

he fell dead at my feet, and was taken up lifeless from the place.

Agony to agony! Vice to vice! Such was my fate! Where, when, how, was

it to have an end? Were not my own personal sufferings sufficient?

Accuse an innocent man of theft; deliver him over to the fury of a

mob; and, not contented with that, meet him again to fight, beat,

murder him! And without malice; without evil intention! Nay, with the

very reverse: abhorring the mischief I had done him; and admiring the

intrepidity and fortitude he had displayed!

Nor did it end here: the intelligence that was instantly sent round

was horror indeed. He had left a wife and seven children!

CHAPTER III

_The kind behaviour of old friends: A joyful recovery: More

misfortunes: Patience per force_

Never were sensations more truly tragical than mine: yet, as is

frequent, they had a dash of the ridiculous; which resulted from the

machinations of my good friends, Hector and Andrews. To inspire others

with the contempt in which they held, or rather endeavoured to hold,

me, and to revenge the insults which they supposed themselves to have

received from me, were their incentives. They knew I had been stripped

of my money at the gaming-table: they mingled with the partisans of

the carpenter; and, informing them that I was a pretended gentleman,

advised them to have me taken before a magistrate; for that the law

would at least make me provide for the widow and children. Perhaps it

would hang me: as I deserved. They farther proposed a subscription, to

begin with me; and accordingly they came up to me, as by deputation,

with the murdered man's hat.

The mortification they intended me had its full effect. I was

pennyless; and the epithets which generous souls like these

appropriate, to such upstart intruders upon their rights and

privileges as myself, were muttered with as much insolence as they had

the courage to assume.

I was not yet tamed. I could not endure this baiting. I hated,

almost abhorred, Andrews. He dared to pretend love to Olivia: he had

brought me into disgrace with her; nay was soon to rob me of her

everlastingly; and, recollecting the kick he had bestowed upon me when

down, I called him a scoundrel; and accompanied the coarse expression

with a blow.

In a moment, the mob were again in agitation, expected another battle,

admired my hardy valour, and called for a ring. Andrews knew better:

he saved them the trouble; and shuffled away; followed though scouted

even by Hector himself, for his cowardice. Mowbray remembered the

battle of the rats; and, by comparison, found himself a very hero.

The moment I was permitted, I enquired to what place the poor

carpenter had been taken; and followed with infinite terror, but with

a faint degree of hope; some affirming that he was dead, others that

he was not. I was attended by several of my admirers.

It would be vain to attempt any picture of what my feelings were,

when, coming into his dwelling, I found him alive! sitting surrounded

by his wife, children, and companions! I fell on my knees to him. I

owned all the mischief I had done him. I conjured him, for God's sake,

to forgive me. I was half frantic; and the worthy fellow, in the same

free spirit with which he had fought, stretched out his hand, in token

of his forgiveness and friendship.

His unaffected magnanimity prompted me instantly to execute a design

which I had before formed. 'Stay where you are, my good friends,'

said I, to the people that stood round him. 'I will be back in a few

minutes. The little reparation that I can make I will make: to shew

you that it was from error, and not ill intention, that I have done

this brave man so much injury.'

So saying, I ran out of the house, directed my course to my lodgings,

and hastened to my trunk; to take out the ten-pound note, which I had

reserved to pay my Bath debts. My passions were too much in a hurry to

admit of any enquiry how these debts were to be paid, when I should

have given the bank-note to the carpenter. I was determined not to

enquire; but to appease my feelings, rescue my character, and bestow

it on him.

Where were my troubles to end? The persecuting malice of fortune was

intolerable. Philip, the footman whom I had hired, but scarcely ever

employed, had disappeared: having previously broken open my trunk, and

taken, with the ten pounds, such of my linen and effects as he could

carry under his cloaths, and in his pockets, without being seen.

This was a stroke little less painful than the worst of the accidents

that had befallen me: yet, so harassed was my mind, and so wearied

with grieving, that I did not feel it with half the poignancy.

Act however I must. But how? I had left the carpenter and his family

in suspense. Must I talk of favours which I could not confer? or

mention remuneration that would but seem like mockery? This was

painful: but not so painful as falsehood.

I therefore returned, related the story of the robbery, and added

that 'my intentions were to have endeavoured to afford some small

recompence, for the unintentional injury I had committed. I was sorry

that, at present, this accident had deprived me of the power: but I

hoped I should not always be so very destitute. I certainly should

neither forget the debt I had incurred, nor the noble behaviour of

the man who had suffered so much from me. At present I was very

unfortunate: but, if ever I should become more prosperous, I should

remember my obligation, and in what manner it would become me to see

it discharged.'

I was heard with patience, and with no disappointment. My auditors,

though poor, were far from selfish. Beside, as I had not previously

declared what I had intended, I had excited little expectation. My

vanquished opponent, whose name was Clarke, was soothed by the justice

I did him, in defending his innocence and praising his courage; and

said 'I had given him the satisfaction of a man, and that was all he

asked.' He rather sympathized with my loss than felt a loss of his

own; and gave various indications of a generous spirit, such as is

seldom to be found among persons who would think themselves highly

disgraced by any comparison between them and a poor carpenter. I own I

quitted him with a degree of esteem, such as neither the lord nor the

bishop I had once been so willing, or rather so industrious, to revere

had the good fortune to inspire.

Having said every thing I could recollect, to remove the doubts which

the whole transaction might have excited against me, I was eager to

return to my lodging, and consider what was best to be done.

The probability of tracing my footman and recovering the bank note,

a considerable portion of which by the bye was due to him for wages,

suggested itself. I recollected that when I rose, after my two hours

sleep, he had brought the breakfast; and had manifested some tokens

of anxiety, at perceiving the perturbation of my mind. I had hastily

devoured the bread and butter that was on the table, and drank a

single bason of tea; after which he enquired as I went out, when I

should be back? And I had answered, in a wild manner, 'I did not know.

Perhaps never.'

From the degree of interest that he had shewn, the robbery appeared

the more strange; and the remembrance of his enquiring and

compassionate looks made me the less eager to pursue, and have him

hanged: though, at that time, I considered hanging as a very excellent

thing.

Beside, I had not the means of pursuit: I had no money. He had

probably taken the London road; and, profiting by the first

stage-coach that passed, was now beyond my reach.

But how was I to act? How discharge my debts? What was to become of

me? I could find no solution to these difficulties. I was oppressed

by them. I was wearied by the excess of action on my body, as well as

mind. I sunk down on the bed, without undressing or covering myself,

and fell into a profound sleep.

CHAPTER IV

_A fever: Bad men have good qualities: More proofs of compassion: A

scandalous tale does not lose in telling: Farewell to Bath_

The emptiness of my stomach (for I had eaten nothing except the

bread and butter I mentioned, since the preceding day at dinner) the

heats into which my violent exertions had thrown me, and the sudden

reverse of cold to which my motionless sleep subjected me, produced

consequences that might easily have been foreseen: I awoke, in the

dead of the might, and found myself seized with shivering fits, my

teeth chattering, a sickness at my stomach, my head intolerably heavy,

and my temples bruised with the blows I had received, and having a

sensation as if they were ready to burst. To all this was added the

stiffness that pervaded the muscles of my arms, and body, from the

bruises, falls, and battering they had received.

It was with difficulty I could undress myself, and get into bed;

where, after I had lain shaking with increasing violence I know not

how long, my agueish sensations left me; and were changed into all the

soreness, pains, and burning, that denote a violent fever.

During this paroxysm, I felt consolation from its excess; which

persuaded me that I was now on my death bed. I remembered all the

wrongs, which I conceived myself to have suffered, with a sort of

misanthropical delight; arising from the persuasion that, in my loss,

the world would be punished for the vileness of its injustice toward

me. Perhaps every human being conceives that, when he is gone, there

will be a chasm, which no other mortal can supply; and I am not

certain that he does not conceive truly. Young men of active and

impetuous talents have this persuasion in a very forcible degree.

All that I can remember of this fit of sickness, till the violence and

danger of it were over, is, that the people of the house came to me

in the morning, I knew not at what hour, and made some enquiries. A

delirium succeeded; which was so violent that, at the beginning of my

convalescence, I had absolutely lost my memory; and could not without

effort recollect where I was, how I had come there, or what had

befallen me. The first objects that forcibly arrested my attention,

and excited memory, were the honest carpenter, Clarke, and his wife

sitting by my bedside, and endeavouring to console me.

The particulars which I afterward learned were, that Belmont had come,

the first day of my illness; had seen me delirious; had heard the

account of my having been robbed, and had left a twenty-pound note for

my immediate necessities.

So true is it that the licentious, the depraved, and the unprincipled

are susceptible of virtue; and desirous of communicating happiness.

The most ignorant only are the most inveterately brutal: but nothing

less than idiotism, or madness, can absolutely deprive man of his

propensity to do good.

I was further informed that a sealed paper, addressed to Mr. Trevor,

had been received, and opened in the presence of the physician,

containing another twenty-pound bank-bill; but the paper that inclosed

it was blank: and that Clarke, unable to go immediately to work, and

reflecting on what he had heard from me concerning the destitute state

in which I, a stranger in Bath, was left by the robbery of my servant,

had walked out the next day, had come with fear and diffidence to

enquire after me, and that, finding me in a high fever, his wife had

been my first nurse.

Her own large family indeed prevented her from watching and continuing

always with me; and therefore another attendant was obliged to be

hired: but she was by my bed side the greatest part of every day; and

her husband the same till he was again able to work; after which he

never failed to come in the evening.

He was a generous fellow. I had won his heart, by my desire to do him

justice; and my condescension excited a degree of adoration in him,

when he found that I was really what the world calls a gentleman. He

had visited me before Belmont had left the money; and, hearing the

landlady talk of sending me to the hospital, had proposed to take me

to his home; that he and his wife might do a Christian part by me, and

I not be left to the mercy of strangers.

And here, as they are intimately connected with my own history, it is

necessary I should mention such particulars as I have since learned,

concerning Olivia.

Hector and Andrews had been busy, in collecting all the particulars

they could, relating to me, from the mob; among whom the strangest

rumours ran: of which these my fast friends were predisposed to select

the most unfavourable, and to believe and report them as true. All

of these they carried to Olivia, and her aunt; and the chief of them

were, that I had falsely accused a man of theft, had seized him by the

collar, dragged him to the water, and had been the principal person

in ducking him to death. The brother of this man had discovered who I

was; and had followed me, with his comrades, to have me taken before a

magistrate: but I had artfully talked to the people round me, had got

a part of the mob on my side, and had then begun to beat and ill use

the brother. They added that I had stripped like a common bruiser,

of which character I was ambitious; that the brother had fought with

uncommon bravery; that he had been treated with foul play, by me and

my abettors; and that, in conclusion, I had killed him: that, in

addition to this, I had prevented a subscription, for the widow and

_nine_ young children, which had been proposed by them; that I had

insulted them, struck at Andrews, and challenged him to box with me,

for this their charitable endeavour to relieve the widow and her

children; and that, having lost my last guinea at the gaming table the

night before in their presence, I should probably run away from my

lodgings, or perhaps turn highwayman; for which they thought me quite

desperate enough.

It may well be imagined what effect a story like this would produce,

on the mind of Olivia: corroborated as it was, though not proved in

every incident, by the circumstances which she herself had witnessed

from the crescent, by those which she gathered on enquiry from other

people, by her own experience of my rash impetuosity, and these all

heightened by the conjectures of an active imagination, and a heart

not wholly uninterested. She hoped indeed that I had not actually

killed two men: but she had the most dreadful doubts.

The impression it made upon her did not escape the penetration of the

aunt; and she determined to quit Bath, and take Olivia with her, the

very next day. Terrified by the possibility that the predictions of

Hector and Andrews should be fulfilled, Olivia ventured secretly to

instruct her maid to search the book in the pump room, and find my

address, and afterward to send her with the twenty-pound bank-bill:

hoping that this temporary resource might have some small chance of

preventing the fatal consequences which she feared.

Had they returned to London, by the aid of Miss Wilmot and Mary, she

might have made further enquiries: but the cautious aunt directed her

course to Scarborough.

I was excessively reduced by the fever. According to the physician

and apothecary, my life had been in extreme danger; and eight weeks

elapsed before I was able to quit Bath. The expences I had incurred

amounted to between eight and nine and twenty pounds. I was fully

determined to bestow the ten pounds I had originally intended on

Clarke. Thus, after distributing such small gifts among the servants

as custom and my notion of the manners of a gentleman demanded, the

only choice I had was, either to sell my cloaths, or, with four and

sixpence in my pocket, to undertake a journey to London on foot.

I preferred the latter, sent my trunk to the waggon, returned for

the last time to my lodging, inclosed a ten pound note in a letter,

in which I expressed my sense of the worth of Clarke, and my sorrow

for the evil I had done him, and, sending it by the maid-servant, I

followed, and watched her to his dwelling.

CHAPTER V

_The pain of parting: The prospect before me: Poor men have their

affections and friendships_

During my recovery, I had conversed freely on my own affairs, with

Clarke and his wife. They gradually became acquainted with my whole

history; and discovered so much interest in the pictures I drew,

and entered so sympathetically and with such unaffected marks of

passion into all my feelings, that I found not only great ease but

considerable delight, in narrating my fears, hopes, and mishaps.

Clarke had a strong understanding; and was not entirely illiterate.

His wife was active, cleanly, and kind. Their children were managed

with great good sense: the three eldest were put out, two to service,

and the other an apprentice; and, large as their family was, they had,

by labour and economy, advanced a considerable step from the extreme

poverty to which such persons are too often subject.

When I went to take leave of them, I could perceive, not only that

they were both very much affected, but that Clarke had something

more on his imagination. He had a great respect for my gentility,

and learning; and was always afraid of being too familiar. At some

moments, he felt as it were the insolence of having fought with me:

at others a gleam of exultation broke forth, at his having had that

honour. He had several times expressed an earnest wish that he might

be so happy as to see me again; and, when I assured him that he should

hear from me, his feelings were partly doubt, and partly strong

delight.

Just as I was prepared to bid them farewell, he gave a deep sigh; and

said 'he thought he should soon come to London. He wished he knew

where I might be found, and, if he should leave the country, it would

be a great favour done him if he might but be allowed to come and ask

me how I did. If I would allow him that honour, it would make his

heart very light. He had been many years in his present employ; and

perhaps his master would be sorry, if he were to leave him; but he had

given him fair notice. At one time, he did not believe he ever should

have left him; but he thought now he should be much happier in

London.'

His tone was serious, there was a dejectedness in his manner, and

with it, as was evident, much smothered emotion in his heart. I was

affected; and taking his hand, earnestly assured him that, if ever

fortune should smile on me, I would not forget what had happened

at Bath. His parting reply was, 'God be with you, wherever you go!

Perhaps you may see me again sooner than you think for.'

This was the temper in which we took leave, previous to my sending the

maid with the ten-pound note: and, as I passed within sight of his

door, I felt the regret of quitting a human being whose attachment

to me was manifestly so strong and affectionate. But I had no

alternative; and I pursued my road.

Winter was advancing: the weather was rainy: the roads were heavy. The

cloudy sky sympathised with the gloom of the prospect before me. I

had wasted my patrimony, quarrelled with my protectors, renounced the

university, had no profession, no immediate resource, and had myself

and my mother to provide for: by what means I knew not.

The experience of Wilmot seemed to prove how precarious a subsistence

the labours of literature afford; and Wilmot was indisputably a man of

genius.

I had not quite concluded against the morality of the practice of

the law: but I remembered, in part, the objections of Turl; and they

were staggering. Had it been otherwise, where would have been the

advantage? I had entered of the Temple: but I had neither the means

of keeping my terms nor the patience to look forward, for precarious

wealth and fame, to so distant a period.

All this might have been endured: but Olivia?--Where was

she?--Perhaps, at that moment, the wife of Andrews!--Or if not, grant

she were never to be his, she never could be mine. Yet mine she must

be! Mine she should be! I would brave the despotism of her odious

enslavers! I would move heaven and earth! I would defy hell itself to

separate us!

Such were the continual conflicts to which I was subject: and, while

the fogs of despondency rose thick and murky around me, with them

continually rose the _ignis fatuus_ of hope; dancing before my eyes,

and encouraging me step after step to follow on.

Considering how wild and extravagant the desires of youth are, it is

happy for them that they calculate so ill; and are so short-sighted.

Their despair would else be frequently fatal.

I did not forget, as a supposed immediate means of relief, that my

pamphlet against the Earl and the Bishop was printed; and I thought

the revenge more than justifiable: it was a necessary vindication of

my own honour and claims. I was indeed forty pounds in debt: twenty

to Belmont; and twenty more to I knew not whom: though I suspected,

and partly hoped partly feared, it was Olivia. I hoped it, because it

might be affection. I feared it, lest it should be nothing more than

pity; for one whom she had known in her childhood, but whom, now he

was a man, she might compassionate; but must contemn. To have been

obliged even to Olivia, on these terms, was worse than starving. Such

were my meditations through the day; which was a little advanced when

I left Bath.

I was eager to perform my journey, and had walked at a great rate. A

little before twilight, I heard a distant call, two or three times

repeated. At last, I turned round, saw a hat waving, and heard my own

name.

I stopped; and the person approached. It was Clarke. I was surprised;

and enquired the reason of his following me. He was embarrassed; and

began with requesting I would go a little slower, for he had run and

walked till he was half tired, and he would tell me.

Clarke was an untaught orator. He had very strong feelings; and a

clear head; which are the two grand sources of eloquence. 'You know,'

said he, 'how much mischief I have done you; for it cannot be denied.

I struck you first, and knocked you down when you _was_ off your

guard. I set every body against you. I refused to shake hands with

you, over and over, when you had the goodness to offer to forgive me.

And, last of all, you may thank me for the fever; which brought you

to death's door. You forgave me this, as well as the rest. But that

was not all. That would not content you. Because I had been used ill,

without any malice of yours, nothing would satisfy you but to strip

yourself of the little _modicum_ that you had, and give it to me. So

that, I am sure, you have hardly a shilling to take you up to London.

And, when you are there, you are not so well off as I am: you have no

trade. I can turn my hand to twenty things: you have never been used

to hard work; and how you are to live God Almighty knows! For I am

sure I cannot find out; though I have been thinking of nothing else

for weeks and weeks past.'

'Why should you suppose I have no money?'

'Because I am sure of it. I asked and found out all that you had to

pay. The servants too told me how open-hearted you _was_; so that you

had given away all you had. Shame on 'em for taking it, say I! You are

not fit to live in this world! And then to send me ten pounds, who

have a house and home, and hands to work! But I'll be damned if I keep

it!'

'Nay but, indeed you must.'

'I will not! I will not! I would not forswear myself for all the money

in the world! And I have sworn it, again and again. So take it! Nay,

here, take it!--If you don't, I'll throw it down in the road; and let

the first that comes find it; for I'll not forswear myself. So pray

now, I beg, for God's sake, you will take it!'

I found it was in vain to contend with him: he was too determined, and

had taken this oath in the simplicity of his heart, that it might not

be possible for him to recede. I therefore accepted the money: but I

endeavoured, having received it to satisfy his oath, to persuade him

to take a part of it back again. My efforts were fruitless. 'He had

three half crowns,' he told me, 'in his pocket; which would serve his

turn, till he could get more: and he had left five guineas at home; so

that there was no fear his wife and children should want.'

Happy, enviable, state of independance! When a man and his wife and

family, possessed of five guineas, are so wealthy that they are in no

fear of want!

Having complied, because I found, though I could equal him in bodily

activity, I could not vanquish him in generosity, I requested him

to return to the place we just had passed through, and take up his

lodging.

He replied, 'To be sure he was a little tired; for he had set out a

good hour after me, and I had come at a rare rate. Not but that he

could keep his ground, though I was so good a footman; but that it did

not become him to make himself my companion.'

'Companion!' said I. 'Why are not you going back to Bath?'

'No: I have taken my leave of it. I shall go and set up my rest in

London. I have not been sharking to my master. I thought of it some

time since, and gave him fair notice; and more than that, I got him

another man in my room; which is all he could demand: and I hope he

will serve him as honestly as I have done.'

'What, would you forsake your wife and children?'

'Forsake my wife and children!'

[There was a mixed emotion of indignant sorrow and surprize in his

countenance.]

'I did not think, Mr. Trevor, you could have believed me to be such a

base villain.'

'I do not believe it! I never could believe it! I spoke thoughtlessly.

I saw you were too happy together for that to be possible.'

'Forsake my dear Sally, and our Bill, and Bet, and ----? No! I'd

sooner take up my axe and chop off my hand! There is not another man

in England has such a wife! I have seen bad ones enough; and, for the

matter of that, bad husbands too. But that's nothing. If you will do

me the favour, I should take it kind of you to let me walk with you,

and keep you company, now night is coming on, to the next town; and

then you may take some rest, and wait for the stage in the morning.

I shall make my way; and find you out, I suppose, fast enough in

London.'

'Are you then determined to go to town?'

'Yes: it is all settled. I told Sally; and she did cry a little to be

sure: but she was soon satisfied. She knows me; and I never in my life

found her piggish. God be her holy keeper!'

'Why then, come along. We'll go together. If I ride, you shall ride:

if you walk, so will I.'

'Will you? God bless you! You know how to win a man's heart! There is

not so good or so brave a fellow, I mean gentleman, upon the face of

the earth, damn me if there is! I beg your pardon! Indeed I do! But

you force it out of one! One can't remember to keep one's distance,

with you. However, I will try to be more becoming.'

The manner of Clarke was more impressive than his words: though they,

generally speaking, were not unapt.

We pursued our way together, mutually gratified by what had passed.

Perhaps there is no sensation that so cheers, and sooths the soul, as

the knowledge that there are other human beings, whose happiness seems

knitted and bound up with our own; willing to share our fate, receive

our favours, and, whenever occasion offers, to return them ten fold!

And the pleasure is infinitely increased, when those who are ambitious

of being beloved by us seem to feel, and acknowledge, that we have

more amply the power of conferring than even of receiving happiness.

CHAPTER VI

_A foolish guide, and a gloomy night: The fears and dangers of

darkness: Casual lights lead to error, and mishap_

While we had been discussing the above points, we had sat down; and

rose to pursue our journey, as soon as we had brought them to a

conclusion. We were on the borders of a forest. As we proceeded, we

came up with a countryman; who, enquiring where we were going, told us

that, by striking a little out of the road, we might save half a mile.

We had nine miles to travel, to the inn at which the stage coaches

stopped; and were very willing, Clarke especially, to shorten the

way. The countryman said he was going part of the road; and that the

remainder was so plain it could not be mistaken. Accordingly, we put

ourselves under his guidance.

The sun had been down, by this time, nearly an hour and a half. The

moon gave some light; but the wind was rising, she was continually

obscured by thick swift-flying clouds, and our conductor advised us to

push on, for it was likely to be a very bad night.

In less than a quarter of an hour his prophecy began to be fulfilled.

The rain fell, and at intervals the opposing clouds and currents of

air, aided by the impediments of hills and trees, gave us a full

variety of that whistling, roaring, and howling, which is heard in

high winds.

The darkness thickened upon us, and I was about to request the

countryman to lead us to some village, or even barn, for shelter, when

he suddenly struck into another path; and, bidding us good night,

again told us 'we could not miss our road.' We could not see where he

was gone to; and, though we repeatedly called, we called in vain: he

was too anxious to get shelter himself to heed our anxiety, and was

soon out of hearing.

So long as we could discern, the path we were in appeared to be

tolerably beaten: but we now could no longer trace any path; for

it was too dark for the ground to have any distinct colour. We had

skirted the forest; and our only remaining guide was a hedge on our

left.

In this hedge we placed our hopes. We followed its direction, I know

not how long, till it suddenly turned off, at an angle; and we found

ourselves, as far as we could conjecture, from the intervening lights

and the strenuous efforts we made to discover the objects around us,

on the edge of some wild place, probably a heath, with hills, and

consequently deep vallies, perhaps streams of water, and precipices.

We paused; we knelt down, examined with our eyes, and felt about with

our hands, to discover whether we yet were in a path; but could find

none.

We continued our consultation, till we had begun to think it advisable

to return, once more guided by the hedge. Yet this was not only

very uncertain, but the idea of a retrograde motion was by no means

pleasant.

While we were in this irresolute dilemma, we thought we saw a light;

that glimmered for a moment, and as suddenly disappeared. We watched,

I know not how long, and again saw it twinkle, though, as we thought,

in something of a different direction. Clarke said it was a Will o'the

whisp. I replied, it might be one, but, as it seemed the only chance

we had, my advice was to continue our walk in that direction; in hopes

that, if it were a light proceeding from any house or village, it

would become more visible as we approached.

We walked on, I know not how far; and then paused; but discovered no

more of the light. We walked again; again stood still, and looked on

every side of us, either for the light or any other object; but we

could see nothing distinctly. The obscure forms around us had varied

their appearance; and whether they were hills, or clouds, or what

they were, we could not possibly discover: though the first we still

thought was the most probable.

By this time, we had no certain recollection of which way we had come;

or to what point we were directing our course. We were continually in

doubt: now pausing; now conjecturing; now proceeding.

We continued to wander, we knew not whither. Sometimes it appeared

we went up hill; and sometimes down. We had stepped very cautiously,

and therefore very slowly; had warned each other continually to be

careful; and had not dared to take twenty steps at a time, without

mutually enquiring to know if all were safe.

We continued, environed as it were by the objects that most powerfully

inspire fear; by the darkness of night, the tumult of the elements,

the utter ignorance of where we were or by what objects surrounded,

and the dejectedness which our situation inspired. Thieves and

assassins might be at our back, and we could not hear them: gulphs,

rocks, or rivers, in our front, or on either side, and we could

not see them. The next step might plunge us, headlong, we knew not

whither.

These fears were not all imaginary. Finding the ground very uneven on

a sudden, and stumbling dangerously myself, I stood still--I did not

hear my companion!--I called--I received no answer! I repeated, in a

louder tone, 'Clarke! Where are you?'--Still no answer!

I then shouted, with all the fear that I felt, and heard a faint

response, that seemed to be beneath me, and at a prodigious distance.

It terrified; yet it relieved. We had spoken not three minutes before.

I stood silent, in hopes he would speak again: but my fears were too

violent to remain so long. I once more called; and he replied, with

rather a louder voice which lessened the apparent distance, 'Take

care! You'll dash yourself to pieces!'

'Are you hurt?' said I.

'I hope not much,' returned he. 'For God's sake take care of

yourself!'

'Can you walk?'

'I shall be able presently, I believe.'

'How can I get to you?'

'I don't know.'

'Stay where you are, and I will try.'

'For God in heaven's sake don't! You'll certainly break your neck! I

suppose I am in a chalk pit, or at the bottom of a steep crag.'

'I will crawl to you on my hands and knees.'

'Good God! You will surely kill yourself!'

'Nothing can be more dangerous than to lie here on the wet ground. We

must only take care to keep within hearing of each other.'

While I spoke, I began to put my crawling expedient in practice; still

calling to Clarke, every half minute, and endeavouring to proceed in

the direction of his voice.

I found the rough impediments around me increase; till, presently, I

came to one that was ruder than the rest. I crawled upon it, sustained

by my knees and right hand, and stretching forward with my left. I

groped, but felt nothing. I cautiously laid my belly to the ground and

stretched out my other arm. Still it was vacancy. I stretched a little

more violently; feeling forward, and on each side; and I seemed to be

projected upon a point, my head and shoulders inclining over a dark

abyss, which the imagination left unfathomable.

I own I felt terror; and the sensation certainly was not lessened,

when, making an attempt to recover my position and go back, my support

began to give way. My effort to retreat was as violent as my terror:

but it was too late. The ground shook, loosened, and, with the

struggle I made carrying me with it, toppled headlong down. What the

height that I fell was I have no means of ascertaining; for the heath

on which we were wandering abounds with quarries, and precipices; but

either it was, in fact, or my fears made it prodigious.

Had this expedient been proposed under such circumstances, as the

only probable one of bringing me and Clarke together again, who would

not have shuddered at it? Yet, though it is true I received a violent

shock, I know of no injury that it did me. As soon as I recovered my

presence of mind, I replied to Clarke; whose questions were vehement;

he having heard me fall. After mutual enquiry, we found we were both

once more upon our legs, and had escaped broken bones. Though they had

been severely shaken: Clarke's much the most violently.

But where were we now? How should we discover? Perhaps in a stone

quarry; or lime pit. Perhaps at the edge of waters. It might be we had

fallen down only on the first bank, or ridge of a quarry; and had a

precipice ten fold more dreadful before us.

While we were conjecturing, the stroke of a large clock, brought

whizzing in the wind, struck full upon our ear. We listened, with the

most anxious ardour. The next stroke was very, very faint: a different

current had carried it a different way: and, with all our eager

attention, we could not be certain that we heard any more.

Yet, though we had lost much time and our progress had been

excessively tedious, it could not be two o'clock in the morning. It

might indeed very probably be twelve.

The first stroke of the clock made us conjecture it came from some

steeple, or hall tower, at no very great distance. The second carried

our imaginations we knew not whither. We had not yet recovered courage

enough to take more steps than were necessary to come to each other;

and, while we were considering, during an intermitting pause of the

roaring of the wind, we distinctly heard a cur yelp.

Encouraged by this, we immediately hallooed with all our might. The

wind again began to chafe, and swell, and seemed to mock at our

distress. Still we repeated our efforts, whenever the wind paused:

but, instead of voices intending to answer our calls, we heard shrill

whistlings; which certainly were produced by men.

Could it be by good men? By any but night marauders; intent on

mischief, but disturbed and alarmed? They were signals indubitably;

for we shouted again, they were again given, and were then repeated

from another quarter: at least, if they were not, they were

miraculously imitated, by the dying away of the wind.

In a little while, we again heard the cur yelp; and immediately

afterward a howling, which was so mingled with the blast, that we

could not tell whether it were the wind itself, the yelling of a dog,

or the agonizing cries of a human voice: but it was a dreadfully

dismal sound. We listened with perturbed and deep attention; and it

was several times repeated, with increasing uncertainty, confusion and

terror.

What was to be done? My patience was exhausted. Danger itself could no

longer detain me; and I told Clarke I was determined to make toward

the village, or whatever the place was, from whence, dangerous and

doubtful as they were, these various sounds proceeded.

Finding me resolute, he was very earnest to have led the way; and,

when I would not permit him, he grasped me by the hand, and told me

that, if there were pitfalls and gulphs, and if I did go down, unless

he should have strength enough to save me, we would go down together.

CHAPTER VII

_Difficulties and dangers in succession: A place of horrors its

inmates: A dialogue worthy of the place_

As we were cautiously and slowly taking step by step, and, as new

conjectures crossed us, stopping to consider, we again saw a dancing

light; but more distinctly, though, as we imagined, not very near. We

repeated our calls; but, whether they were or were not heard, they

were not answered. We ventured, however, to quicken our pace; for we

continued, at intervals, to catch the light.

Presently, we saw the light no more; and a considerable time again

elapsed, which was spent in wandering as this or that supposition

directed us; till at last, suddenly and very unexpectedly, we

perceived lines and forms, that convinced us they appertained to

some house, or mansion; and, as it appeared to us, a large one. We

approached it, examined, shouted, and endeavoured to discover which

was the entrance. But all was still, all dark, all closed.

We continued our search on the outside; till, at length, we came to

a large gate that was open; which we entered, and proceeded to some

distance till we arrived at a door, that evidently belonged to an

out-house or detached building. It was shut; and, feeling about,

we found that the key was in the lock. We had little hesitation in

profiting by the accident. We had been shelterless too long, and the

circumstances pleaded too powerfully, for us to indulge any scruples;

and accordingly we entered.

We had no sooner put our heads within the door but we found ourselves

assaulted with a smell, or rather stench, so intolerable as almost

to drive us back: but the fury of the elements, and perhaps the less

delicate organs of Clarke, who seemed determined to profit by the

shelter we had obtained, induced us to brave an inconvenience which,

though excessively offensive at first, became less the longer we

continued.

Groping about, we discovered some barrels, and lumber; behind which

there was straw. Here we determined to lie down; and rest our bruised

and aching bones. Our cloaths had been drenched and dried more than

once, in the course of the night; and they were at present neither wet

nor dry.

We had scarcely nestled together in our straw, before we again heard

the yelping of the cur, and presently afterward the same dismal

howls repeated. To these, at no great distance, succeeded the shrill

whistling signals. Our imaginations had been so highly wrought up that

they were apt at horrible conjectures; and, for my part, my own was at

that moment very busily employed in conjuring them up.

In the very midst of this activity, we heard the voices of men,

walking round the building. They again whistled, with a piercing

shrillness; and, though we heard nothing distinctly, yet we caught

tones that were coarse, rude, and savage; and words, that denoted

anger and anxiety, for the perpetration of some dark purpose no doubt

corresponding to the fierce and threatening sounds we heard.

They approached. One of them had a lanthorn. He came up to the door;

and, finding it open, boisterously shut it; with a broad and bitter

curse against the carelessness of some man, whose name he pronounced,

for leaving it open; and eternally damning others, for being so long

in doing their business.

We were now locked in; and we soon heard no more of the voices.

In spite of all these alarms, the moment they ceased our condition,

comparing it with the tempest and difficulties without, seemed to be

much bettered; and we once more prepared ourselves for sleep, while

fear gave place to fatigue.

Our rest was of short duration. We began indeed to slumber; but I

was presently disturbed by Clarke, whom I found shaking in the most

violent agitation and horror that I ever witnessed in any human being.

I asked 'What is the matter?'

He replied with a groan!

I was awakened from wild slumbers of my own, and strongly partook of

his sensations; but endeavoured however to rouze him to speech, and

recollection. Again and again I asked 'What have you heard? What ails

you?'

It was long before he could utter an articulate sound. At last,

shaking more violently as he spoke, and with inexpressible horror in

his voice, he gasping said--'A dead hand!'--

'Where?'--

'I felt it!--I had hold of it!--It is now at my neck.'

For a moment I paused: not daring to stretch out my arm, and examine.

I trembled in sympathy with him. At length I ventured.

Never shall I forget the sensation I experienced, when, to my full

conviction, I actually felt a cold, dead, hand, between my fingers!

I was suffocated with horror! I struggled to overcome it: again it

seized me; and I sunk half entranced!

At this very instant, the shrill sound of the whistle rung, piercing,

through the dismal place in which we were imprisoned. It was answered.

The same hoarse voices once more were heard: but in tones fifty fold

more dire.

One terror combated the other, and we were recalled to some sense

of distinguishing and understanding. We lay silent, not daring to

breathe, when we heard the door unlock. Our feelings will not readily

be conceived, while the following dialogue passed. 'What a damned

while you have kept us waiting, such a night as this!'

'What ails the night? It is a special good night, for our trade.'

'What the devil have you been about?'

'About? Doing our business, to be sure: and doing it to some purpose,

I tell you. Is not the night as bad for us as for you? Who had the

best of it, do you think? What had you to do, but to keep on the

scout?'

'How came you to leave the door open, and be d--mn'd to you?'

'Who left the door open, Jack Dingyface? We left the key in it,

indeed; for such lubbers as you to pass in and out: while we had all

the work to do, and all the danger to boot.'

'Who do you call lubber, Bull-calf? We have had as much to do as

yourselves. There has been an alarm given; for we have heard noises

and hallooing all night. For my part, I don't much like it. We shall

be smoked: nay it is my belief we are already; and I have a great mind

to decamp, and leave the country.'

'You are always in a panic. Who is to smoke us?'

'Well, mark my words, it will come upon us when we least think of it.'

'Think of ----! Hold up the lanthorn. Come, heave in the sack--We were

d--mn'd fools, for taking such a hen-hearted fellow among us. Lift

the sack an end. Why don't you lend a hand, and keep it steady, while

I untie it? Do you think a dead man can stand on his legs? D--mn my

body, the fool is afraid he should bite.'

'You are a hardened dog, Randal, bl--st me!'

'Come, tumble the body out. Lay hold! Here! Heave this way. So: that

will do. We may leave him. He will not run away. His journey is over.

He will travel no farther, to-night. He can't say however but we have

provided him with a lodging.'

'D--mn me, where do you expect to go to?'

'To bed. It's high time.'

'I never heard such a dare devil dog in all my life!'

'Don't let that trouble you; for you will never be like me.'

'What is that?'

'What is what?'

'I saw a head.'

'Where?'

'Behind the tub.'

'What then? Is there any wonder in seeing a head, or a body either, in

this place?'

'Nay, but, a living head!'

'A living ass!'

'I am sure, I saw the eyes move.'

'Ah! white-livered lout! I wonder what the devil made such a quaking

pudding poltroon think of taking to our trade! Come: I am hungry: let

us go into the kitchen, and get some grub; and then to bed. Pimping

Simon, here, will see his grandmother's ghost, if we stay five minutes

longer.'

CHAPTER VIII

_The scene continued; and our terrors increased: An interesting

dialogue, that unravels the mystery: The beginning of a new

acquaintance_

Here to our infinite ease they quitted us, went through an inner door

that led to the house, locked it after them, and left us, not only

with the dead hand, not only with the dead body, but in the most

dismal human slaughterhouse that murder and horror ever constructed,

or ever conceived. Such were our impressions: and such, under the same

circumstances, they would have been, perhaps, of the bravest man, or

man-killer, that ever existed. Alexander and Cæsar themselves would

have shook, lying as we lay, hearing what we heard, and seeing what we

saw: for, by the light of the lanthorn, we beheld limbs, and bones,

and human skeletons, on every side of us. I repeat: horror had nothing

to add.

The dancing lights we had seen, the shrill signals and the dreadful

howls that we had heard, were now no longer thought mysterious. It

was no _ignis fatuus_; but the lanthorn of these assassins: no dog or

wolf, baying the moon; but the agonizing yells of murder!

The men were four in number. The idea of attacking them several times

suggested itself. Nor was it so much overpowered by the apprehension

of the arms with which I concluded such men must be provided, as that

my mind was rendered irresolute by the dreadful pictures, real and

imaginary, which had passed through my mind.

Clarke, brave as he was, had lost all his intrepidity in this

golgotha, this place of skulls; the very scent of which, knowing

whence it proceeded, was abhorrent.

No: it was not their arms, nor their numbers, but these fears that

induced me, when he that saw my eyes move was in danger of giving

the alarm, to close them; and, profiting by the fellow's sympathetic

terror, counterfeit the death by which I was environed.

Here then we were. And must we here remain? To sleep was impossible.

Must we rise and grapple with the dead; trample on their limbs, and

stumble over their unearthed bones, in endeavouring to get out?

Neither could we tell what new horrors were in store for us. Who

had not heard of trap doors, sliding wainscots, and other murderous

contrivances? And could they be now forgotten? Impossible. All the

phantoms memory could revive, or fancy could create, were realized and

assembled.

Of the two, I certainly had more the use of my understanding than

Clarke; but I was so absorbed, in the terrors which assailed me,

on every side, that I was intent on them only; and forgot, while

the lanthorn glimmered its partial and dull rays, to consider the

geography of the place; or to plan the means of escape, till the

moment the men were departing; when I caught a glimpse of what I

imagined to be a window facing me.

As soon as our fears would permit us, we began, in low and cautious

whispers, to communicate our thoughts. Clarke was pertinaciously

averse to rise, and hurtle in the dark with the bones of the dead. By

the intervening medium of the straw, he had pushed away the terrific

hand; and was determined, he said, to lie still; till day-light should

return, and prevent him from treading, at random, on the horrible

objects around him; or stumbling over and being stretched upon a

corpse.

I had as little inclination to come in contact with dead hands,

cadaverous bodies, and dissevered joints, as he could have; yet was

too violently tormented to remain quiet, and suffer myself to be

preyed on by my imagination. Had I resigned myself to it, without

endeavouring to relieve it by action, it would have driven me frantic.

I half rose, sat considering, ventured to feel round me and shrunk

back with inexpressible terror, from the first object that I touched.

Again I ruminated, again ventured to feel, and again and again

shivered with horrible apprehensions.

Use will reconcile us to all situations. Experience corrects fear,

emboldens ignorance, and renders desire adventurous. The builder will

walk without dread on the ridge of a house: while the timid spectator

standing below is obliged to turn his eyes away, or tumble headlong

down and be dashed to pieces in imagination. Repeated trials had a

similar effect on me: they rendered me more hardy; and I proceeded, as

nearly as I could guess, toward the window; touching, treading on, and

encountering, I knew not what; subject, every moment, to new starts of

terror; and my heart now sinking, now leaping, as the sudden freaks

and frights of fancy seized upon me.

After the departure of the desperadoes, we had heard various noises,

in the adjoining house; among others the occasional ringing of a

chamber bell. While I was thus endeavouring to explore my way,

arrested by terror at every step, as I have been describing, we again

heard sounds that approached more nearly; and presently the inner-door

once more opened, and a livery servant, bearing two lighted candles,

came in; followed by a man with an apron tied round him, having a kind

of bib up to his chin, and linen sleeves drawn over his coat.

The master, for so he evidently was, had a meagre, wan, countenance;

and a diminutive form. The servant had evidently some trepidation.

'Do not be afraid, Matthew,' said the master. 'You will soon be

accustomed to it; and you will then laugh at your present timidity.

Unless you conquer your fears, you will not be able to obey my

directions, in assisting me; and consequently will not be fit for your

place; and you know you cannot get such good wages in any other.'

'I will do my best, sir,' said the servant: 'but I can't say but, for

the first time, it is a little frightful.'

'Mere prejudice, Matthew. I am studying to gain knowledge, which will

be serviceable to mankind: and that you must perceive will be doing

good.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Reach me those instruments--Now, lift up the body; and turn the head

a little this way--Why do you tremble? Are you afraid of the dead?'

'Not much, sir.'

'Lift boldly, then.'

'Yes, sir.'

As the servant turned round, half stupefied with his fears, he beheld

me standing with my eyes fixed, watchful and listening with my whole

soul, for the interpretation of these enigmas. The man stared, gaped,

turned pale, and at last dropped down; overcome with his terrors.

The master was amazed; and, perceiving which way the servant's

attention had been directed, looked round. His eye caught mine. He

stood motionless. His pale face assumed a death-like hue; and, for a

few moments, he seemed to want the power of utterance.

Clarke had remained, astonished and confounded, a silent spectator

of the scene. But there was now light; and, though the objects of

horror were multiplied in reality, they were less numerous to the

imagination. Seeing the fear of the servant, observing his fall, and

remarking the gentle and feeble appearance of the master, armed though

he was with murderous instruments, Clarke was now rising; determined

to come to action. His proceeding disturbed our mutual amazement.

He was on his legs; and, as I perceived, advancing with hostile

intentions.

The dialogue I had heard, and the objects which I had distinctly seen

and examined, had, by this time, unravelled the whole mystery. I

discovered that we were in the dissecting-room of an anatomist. Clarke

was clenching his fist and preparing to direct a blow at the operator;

and I had but just time to step forward, arrest his arm, and impede

its progress. 'Be quiet,' said I, 'Clarke; we have been mistaken.'

'For God's sake, who are you, gentlemen?' said the owner of the

mansion: recovered in part from his apprehensions, by my pacific

interference.

'We are benighted travellers, sir,' answered I; 'who got entrance into

this place by accident; and have ourselves been suffering under false,

but excessive, fear. Pray, sir, be under no alarm; for we are far from

intending you injury.'

He made no immediate reply, and I continued.

'Fear, I find, though she has indeed a most active fancy, has no

understanding: otherwise, among the innumerable conjectures with which

my brain has been busied within this hour, the truth would certainly

have suggested itself. But, instead of supposing I was transported to

the benignant regions of science, I thought myself certain of being in

the purlieus of the damned; in the very den of murder.'

My language, manner, and tone of voice, relieved him from all alarm;

and he said, with a smile, 'This is a very whimsical accident.'

'You would think so, indeed, sir,' replied I, 'if you knew but half

of the horrible images on which we have been dreaming. But it was

distress that drove us to take shelter here; and if there be any

village, or if not, even any barn, in which we could take a little

rest till daylight, we should be exceedingly obliged to you for that

kind assistance which, from your love of science, and from the remarks

I have heard you make to your servant, I am persuaded, you will be

very willing to afford.'

By this time, the servant was recovered from his fright; and on his

legs. 'Go, Matthew,' said the master, 'and call up one of the maids.'

And turning to me he added, 'Be kind enough to follow me, sir, with

your companion. I doubt if you could procure either lodging or

refreshment, within three miles of the place; and I shall therefore be

very happy in supplying you with both.'

We obeyed; I highly delighted with the benevolent and hospitable

manner of our host; and Clarke most glad to escape, from a scene which

no explanation had yet reconciled to his feelings, or notions of good

and evil.

CHAPTER IX

_A review of emotions and mistakes: Repose after fatigue: Singular

thoughts concerning property: Benevolence on a large scale. A proposal

accepted; which greatly alters the face of affairs: Sketches of war:

The hero: The raptures of a poet: Projects and opinions, relative to

law. Thoughts on the science of surgery_

In the relation of this adventure, I have given a picture, not of

things as they were afterward discovered to be, but, as they appeared

to us at the time; reflected through the medium of consternation and

terror. We had been powerfully prepared for these, by the previous

circumstances. Our imaginations had been strongly preyed upon by

our distress, by the accidents of falling, and by the mingled

noises we had heard: proceeding from the church-yard robbers, from

the village-dogs and curs disturbed by them and us, and from the

whistling, roaring, and howling which are so common to high gusts

of wind; and so almost distracting to a mind already in a state of

visionary deception and alarm. There was indeed enough to excite that

wild and uncontroulable dread, which rushed upon us every moment.

Mingled as they were with darkness, ignorance, and confusion, the

succeeding objects were actually horrible.

Thus the discourse and dialect, as well as the voices, of the men

employed to furnish dead bodies, were gross and rude; and the timidity

and prejudices of those, who probably were young in the employment,

contrasted with the jokes, vulgar sarcasms, and oaths, of the

boisterous and hardened adepts, though habitual to such people, gave

a colouring to the preceding circumstances, that so confirmed and

realized our fears as not to allow us the leisure to doubt. To repeat

such coarse colloquies and vulgar ribaldry is no pleasing task; except

as a history of the manners of such men, and of the emotions with

which on this occasion they were accompanied. These indeed made the

repetition necessary.

It is likewise true that, in their own opinion, these men were more or

less criminal: and guilt always assumes an audacity, and fierceness,

which it does not feel. They were not intentionally acting well:

but were doing that which they supposed to be a deed of desperate

wickedness, for selfish purposes. Had the consent of any one of them

when dying been asked, to have his body dug up and dissected, he would

have heard the proposal with detestation. Consequently, they deceived

us the more effectually: for they had the manners of that guilt which,

as far as intention was concerned, they actually possessed.

Add to this the spectacle of a dissecting-room; seen indistinctly by

the partial glimmerings of a lanthorn. Whoever has been in such a

place will recognise the picture. Here preparations of arms, pendent

in rows, with the vessels injected. There legs, feet, and other limbs.

In this place the intestines: in that membranes, cartilages, muscles,

with the bones and all their varieties of clothing, in every imaginary

mangled form. These things ought not to be terrible: but to persons of

little reflection, and not familiarized to them, they always are.

Escaped from this scene, restored as it were to human intercourse,

and encouraged by the kindness of our host, whose name was Evelyn,

our pulses began to grow temperate; and our imaginations to relax

and gravitate toward common sense. We took the refreshment that was

brought us, and conversed during the meal with Mr. Evelyn: partly on

the incidents of the night, and partly in answering a few questions;

which he put with a feeling that denoted a desire rather to afford us

aid than to gratify his own curiosity. After which, as we were weary

and he disposed to pursue his nocturnal researches, we immediately

retired to rest. Clarke was full to overflowing with cogitation:

but, for the present, it was too large, or rather too confused, for

utterance; and it soon overpowered and sunk him into sleep.

For my own part, my mind was too much alive to be immediately overcome

by fatigue. I lay revolving in thought the incidents of the night;

which led me into reveries on the singular character of Mr. Evelyn, on

my own forlorn state, on the bleak prospect before me, and on Olivia.

This last train of thinking was not easily dismissed. At length,

however, both mind and body were so overwearied that I fell into an

unusually profound sleep; from which I did not awake till Clarke, who

had risen two hours before, came between nine and ten o'clock and

rouzed me, to inform me that breakfast was waiting, and that our host

expected my company.

While I was dressing, he told me that Mr. Evelyn had been making

many enquiries concerning me; and apologized himself, with marks of

apprehension lest he should have done wrong, while he owned that he

had answered these interrogatories, by relating such particulars as he

knew.

We then went down; and, among other conversation at breakfast, Mr.

Evelyn remarked that he understood, from Clarke, we had no urgent

business which would make a day sooner or a day later of any material

consequence; and he therefore particularly requested we would delay

our departure till the next morning. The reason he gave was a kind

expression of interest, which what he had heard from my companion had

excited; and a desire, not of inquisitive prying but evidently of

benevolence, to be as fully informed of my history as I should think

proper to make him.

There was something soothing both in the request and in his manner,

which induced me to readily comply. Poor Clarke excepted, I seemed as

if no human being took any concern in my fate; and to discover that

there was yet a man who was capable of sympathizing with me was like

filling a painful vacancy of the heart, and afforded something of an

incoherent hope of relief.

Not that I was prepared to ask or even to accept favours. I had rather

entertained a kind of indignant sense of injury, against any one who

should presume to make me his debtor: or to suppose I was incapable

of not rather enduring all extremities than so to subject and

degrade myself as, in my own apprehension, I should do by any such

condescension.

After breakfast, Mr. Evelyn desired me to walk with him; that we might

converse the more freely when alone. He then repeated what Clarke

had told him, gave a strong and affecting picture of the overflowing

kindness and compassion with which my companion had related all he

knew, and proceeded afterward to speak of himself in the following

terms.

'I am a man, Mr. Trevor, engaged in a trust which I find it very

difficult conscientiously to discharge. I have an estate of fifteen

hundred a year, and am a creature whose real wants, like those of

other human creatures, are few. I live here surrounded by some

hundreds of acres; stored with fruits, corn, and cattle; which the

laws and customs of nations call mine. But what is it that these laws

and customs mean? That I am to devour the whole produce of thus much

land? The thing is impossible!'

'Why impossible? You may convert a hundred head of oxen into a service

of gold plate. Liveries, laces, equipage, gilding, garnishing, and

ten thousand other modes or fashionable wants, which if not gratified

render those that have them miserable, would eat up all that ten

thousand acres, if you had them, could yield. Are you an Epicure? You

may so stew, distill, and titillate your palate with essences that a

hecatomb shall be swallowed at every meal. The means of devouring are

innumerable, and justified by general usage.'

'General usage may be an apology, but not a justification. Happiness

is the end of man: but it cannot be single. On the contrary, the more

beings are happy the greater is the individual happiness of each: for

each is a being of sympathies, and affections; which are increased by

being called into action. It is the miserable mechanism of society

which, by giving legal possession of what is called property to the

holders, puts it absolutely and unconditionally in their disposal.'

'Why the miserable mechanism? Are you a friend to the Agrarian

system?'

'By no means. I was incorrect: The mechanism is defective enough, but

I rather meant to have said the miserable moral system of society;

which allows every man to exercise his own caprice, and thinks him

guilty of no crime though he is in the daily habit of wasting that

which might render numbers happy, who are in absolute want.'

'This is an evil of which the world has for ages been complaining: but

for which I see no remedy.'

'You mean no remedy which laws or governments, by the inflicting of

pains and penalties, can afford: at which, to do them justice, they

have been much too often aiming; but have as continually failed.'

'And you imagine, sir, you are possessed of a more effectual

prescription?

'I dare not prescribe: it would be an arrogant assumption of wisdom.

But I may advise a regimen which has numerous probabilities in its

favour. Yet what I must advise has been so many thousand times advised

before that it seems impertinence to repeat it; if not mockery. To

tell the rich that they seek enjoyment where it is not to be found,

that the parade by which they torment themselves to gain distinction

renders them supremely ridiculous, that their follies, while they are

oppressive and hateful to the poor, are the topics of contempt and

scandal even in their own circles, and that the repetition of them

inevitably proves that they bring weariness, disgust, ruin, pain, and

every human misery, is mere common-place declamation.

'But there is one truth of which they have not been sufficiently

reminded. They are not, as they have too long been taught to suppose

themselves, placed beyond the censure of the multitude. It is found

that the multitude can think, and have discovered that the use

the wealthy too often make of what they call their own is unjust,

tyrannical, and destructive.

'This memento will come to them with the greater force the oftener

they are made to recollect that the spirit of enquiry is abroad,

that their voluptuous waste is daily becoming more odious, and that

simplicity of manners, a benevolent economy, a vigorous munificence,

and a comprehensive philanthropy, can alone redeem them; and preserve

that social order which every lover of the human race delights to

contemplate, but of which they arrogate to themselves the merit of

being the sole advocates.