'It is the moral system of society that wants reform. This cannot be

suddenly produced, nor by the efforts of any individual: but it may

be progressive, and every individual may contribute: though some much

more powerfully than others. The rich, in proportion as they shall

understand this power and these duties, will become peculiarly

instrumental: for poverty, by being subjected to continual labour, is

necessarily ignorant; and it is well known how dangerous it is for

ignorance to turn reformer.

'Let the rich therefore awake: let them encourage each other to

quit their pernicious frivolities, and to enquire, without fear or

prejudice, how they may secure tranquillity and promote happiness;

and let them thus avert those miseries at which they so loudly and so

bitterly rail, but into which by their conduct a majority of them is

so ready to plunge.

'The intentions of those among them who think the most are excellent:

to assert the contrary is equally false and absurd. But, when they

expect to promote peace and order by irritating each other against

this or that class of men, however mistaken those men may be, and

by disseminating a mutual spirit of acrimony between themselves and

their opponents, they act like madmen; and, if they do not grow calm,

forgiving, and kind, the increasing fury of the mad many will overtake

them.'

'They are like the brethren of Dives. They pay but little regard to

Moses and the prophets.'

'Well, Mr. Trevor, you will own at least that, since I can talk

with all this seeming wisdom, a small share of the practice will be

becoming in me; and what you and all mankind would expect.'

'I may: but not all mankind. There are some who pretend to be so

learned, in what they call the depravity of human nature, that, after

having heard you speak thus admirably in favour of virtue, they would

think it more than an equal chance that you are one of the wickedest

of men.'

'Oh, with respect to that, some of my very neighbours do not scruple

to affirm that I am so. But, I repeat, I have what I consider as a

large estate in trust; and it is a serious and a sacred duty imposed

upon me to seek how it may be best employed. I seldom am satisfied

with the means which offer themselves; and am therefore always in

quest of new.'

'I wonder at that, sir, with your system. Have you no poor in the

country?'

'O yes: enough to grieve any penetrable heart. But I know no task

more difficult than that of administering to their wants, without

encouraging their vices. Of these wants I consider instruction as the

greatest; and to that I pay the greatest attention. Food, cloathing,

and disease are imperious necessities; and to leave them unprovided

would be guilt incredible to speculation, did we not see it in hourly

practice. But the poor are so misled, by the opinions they are taught

to hold and the oppressions to which they are subject, that, by

relieving these most urgent wants we are in danger of teaching them

idleness, drunkenness, and servility. I do them the little good that

I can, most willingly: but I consider the diffusion of knowledge, by

which that which I call the moral system of mankind is to be improved,

as the most effectual means of conferring happiness. Are you of that

opinion?'

'I certainly am.'

'Then I cannot but think you intend to promote this beneficial plan.'

'I scarcely know my own intentions. They are unsettled, incoherent,

and the dreams of delirium; rather than the system of a sage, such as

you have imagined.'

'I wish we had been longer acquainted and were intimate enough to

induce you to relate your history, and confide your thoughts to me, as

to a friend; or, if you please, as to one who holds it a duty to offer

aid, whenever he imagines it will answer a good end.'

'To offer aid is kind: but there are very few cases in which he that

receives it is not mean and degraded. You however are actuated by

a generous spirit; and, as you are inclined to listen, I will very

willingly inform you of the chief incidents of a life that has already

been considerably checkered, and the future prospects of which are

sufficiently gloomy.'

After this preface, I began my narrative; and succinctly related the

principal of those events with which the reader already is acquainted.

Nor did the state of my feelings and the strong sense of injury which

was ever present to my imagination, when I came to recapitulate my

adventures since I first left college, suffer me to colour with a

negligent or a feeble hand.

Some of the incidents necessarily induced me to mention Olivia, and

betray my sentiments in part: which the questions of Mr. Evelyn, put

with kindness, delicacy, and interest that was evidently unaffected,

induced me at length wholly to reveal, with all the tenderness and the

vehemence of passion.

I was encouraged or rather impelled to this confidence by the emotions

which Mr. Evelyn betrayed, in his countenance, voice, and manner. His

hopes, his fears, and his affections, were so much in unison with my

own, his eye so often glistened and his cheek so frequently glowed,

that it was impossible for the heart not to open all its recesses, and

pour out not only its complaints but its very follies.

Of all the pleasures in which the soul of man most delights that of

sympathy is surely the chief. It can unite and mingle not only two

but ten millions of spirits as one. Could a world be spectators of

the sorrows of Lear, a world would with one consent participate in

them: so omnipotent is the power of sympathy. It is the consolation of

poverty, it is the cordial of friendship, it is the essence of love.

Pride and suspicion are its chief enemies; and they are the vices that

engender the most baneful of the miseries of man.

Mr. Evelyn remained, after I had ended, for some time in deep

meditation; now and then casting his eyes toward me and then taking

them away, as if fearful of offending my sensibility and again falling

into thought. At length, fixing them more firmly and with an open

benignity of countenance, he thus broke silence.

'I have been devising, my noble young friend, allow me to call you so,

by what means I should best make myself understood to you; and how

most effectually prevail on you to contribute to my happiness, and to

those great ends for which souls of ardour like yours are so highly

gifted. I have already sketched my principles, concerning the use

and abuse of property. One of those rare occasions on which it may

be excellently employed now presents itself. You are in pursuit of

science, by which a world is to be improved. To the best of my ability

I follow the same track: but I have the means, which you want. You

have too little: I have too much. It is my province, and, if you

consent, as I hope and trust you will, it will be my supreme pleasure

to supply the deficiency. I am acquainted with the delicacy of your

sentiments: but I am likewise acquainted with the expansion of your

heart, and with its power of rising superior to the false distinctions

which at present regulate society. I might assume the severe tone of

the moralist, and urge your compliance with my request as a duty: but

I would rather indulge what may perhaps be the foible of immature

virtue, and follow the affectionate impulse which binds me to you as

my friend and brother. Beside these are vibrations with which I am

persuaded your warm and kindred heart will more readily harmonize.

In youth, we willingly obey impetuous sensations: but reluctantly

listen to the slow and frigid deductions of reason, when they are

in contradiction to our habits and prejudices. I therefore repeat,

you are my friend and brother; and I conjure you, by those generous

and magnanimous feelings of which your whole life proves you are so

eminently susceptible, not to wound me by refusal. Do not consider me

as the acquaintance of a day; for, by hearing your history, I have

travelled with you through life, and seem as if I had been the inmate

of your bosom even from your years of infancy. No: far from being

strangers, we have been imbibing similar principles, similar views,

and similar affections. Our souls have communed for years, and rejoice

that the time at length is come in which that individual intercourse

for which they may most justly be said to have panted is opened. If

you object, if you hesitate, if you suspect me, you will annihilate

the purest sensations which these souls have mutually cherished: you

will wrong both yourself and me.'

There was an emanating fervor in the look, deportment, and the very

gestures, of Mr. Evelyn that was irresistible. It surpassed his

language. It led me out of myself. It hurried me beyond the narrow

limits of prejudices and prepossessions, and transported me wherever

it pleased. I was no longer in mortal society; surrounded by

selfishness, cunning, and cowardly suspicions. He had borne me on his

wings, and seated me among the Gods; whose ministers were wisdom and

beneficence. I burst into exclamation.

'I own it, you are my friend! you are my brother! I accept your

offers, I will receive your benefits, but I will retaliate.'

I paused. I felt the egotism of my own thoughts, but could not subdue

the torrent. I continued inwardly to vow, with the most vehement

asseverations, that I would repay every mark of kindness he should

bestow fifty fold. The heart of man will not rest satisfied with

inferiority, and has recourse to a thousand stratagems, a thousand

deceptions, to relieve itself of any such doubts; which it entertains

with impatience, and pain.

My own enthusiasm however was soon inclined to subside; and I became

ready to tax myself with that meanness and degradation which I had

felt, and expressed, at the beginning of the discussion. Of this

the quick penetration of Mr. Evelyn seemed to be aware; and he so

effectually counteracted these emotions that, at length, I abandoned

all thoughts of resistance; or of betraying those jealousies which

would now have appeared almost insulting, to a man who had displayed a

spirit so disinterested.

This subject being as it were dismissed, our conversation recurred to

my present affairs, and future prospects; and, while we discoursed on

these, that which might well at this period be called the malady of my

mind exhibited itself. Though I had as it were lost sight of Olivia,

though I knew not but she might at that time be a wife, and though,

whatever her condition might be, I had sufficient reason to fear that

if she thought of me it was with pain, not with love, still that she

must and should be mine was a kind of frantic conclusion with which

I always consoled myself. But for this purpose riches presented

themselves as of the first necessity; and riches themselves would be

useless, unless obtained with the rapidity rather of enchantment than

by the ordinary progress of human events.

I did not conceal this weakness from my friend, and ventured to

propose a plan on which I had previously been ruminating; though I

had foreseen no means of putting it in practice. Every man had heard

of the fortunes acquired in the east, and of the wealth which had been

poured from the lap of India. The army there was at all times open

to men like myself; youthful, healthy, and of education. 'Tis true I

had been of opinion that there were strong moral objections to this

profession: but these my more prevalent passions had lulled me into a

forgetfulness of, and I stated this as the most probable scheme for

the accomplishment of my dearest hopes.

Mr. Evelyn, anxious not to wound me where I was most vulnerable,

began by soothing my ruling passion; and then proceeded to detail the

physical chances of a ruined constitution, of death, and of failure;

and afterward to represent, with unassuming but with stedfast energy,

the moral turpitude first of subjecting myself to the physical evils

he had recited, and next of hiring myself to enmity against nations

I had never known, and of becoming the assassin of people whom I had

never seen, and who had not had any possible opportunity of doing me

an injury, or even of giving me an offence.

The objections I started, partly to defend the opinions I had begun

with, and partly because I felt myself loth to relinquish a plan by

which my imagination had been flattered, soon became very feeble: but

the interesting nature of the subject prolonged the discussion till it

was nearly dinner time.

In the course of this enquiry, Mr. Evelyn delineated the contemptible

yet ridiculous arts which are employed to entrap men into the military

service; pourtrayed the inevitable depravity of their morals, and gave

a history of the feelings worthy of fiends which are engendered, while

they are trained to fix their bayonets, load their pieces, level them,

discharge them at men they had never seen before, strike off the heads

of these strangers with furious dexterity, stab the ground in full

gallop on which they are supposed to have fallen and to lie helpless,

and commit habitual and innumerable murders in imagination, that they

may be hardened for actual slaughter.

He afterward gave an enlightened and animated sketch of the abject

condition of those who command these men, of the total resignation

which each makes of his understanding to that of the next in rank

above him, and of the arrogant, the ignorant, the turbulent, the

dangerous and the slavish spirit which this begets. He finished the

picture with a recapitulation of the innumerable and horrid miseries

which everlastingly mark the progress of war; which he painted with

such force and truth that I recoiled from the contemplation of it with

abhorrence.

My feelings had been so agitated by this discourse that my imagination

was thoroughly rouzed. My former ideas, concerning the enormous vices

of war, had not only been revived but increased; and, though I began

with debating the question, I soon ceased to oppose: so that my

thoughts were rather busied in filling up the picture, and collecting

all its horrors, than in apologizing for or denying their existence.

This was the temper of mind in which Mr. Evelyn, attending to his

own concerns, left me for a short time; and my heart was so agonized

by the recollection that this was a system to which men were still

devoted, and of which they were still in the headlong and hot pursuit,

that I then immediately, and perhaps with less effort than I ever made

on a similar occasion, produced the following poem:

THE HERO

All hail to the hero whom victory leads,

Triumphant, from fields of renown!

From kingdoms left barren! from plains drench'd in blood!

And the sacking of many a fair town!

His gore-dripping sword shall hang high in the hall;

Revered for the havoc it spread!

For the deaths it has dealt! for the terrors it struck!

And the torrents of blood it has shed!

His banners in haughty procession shall ride,

On Jehovah's proud altars unfurl'd!

While anthems and priests waft to heaven his praise,

For the slaughter and wreck of a world!

Though widows and orphans together shall crowd,

To gaze as at heaven's dread rod,

And mutter their curses, and mingle their tears,

Invoking the vengeance of God:

Though, while bloated Revelry roars at his board,

Where surfeiting hecatombs fume,

Desolation and Famine shall howl, and old Earth

Her skeleton hordes shall intomb:

All ghastly and mangled, from fields where they fell,

With horrible groanings and cries,

What though, when he slumbers, the dead from their graves

In dread visitation shall rise:

Yet he among heroes exalted shall sit;

And slaves to his splendor shall bend;

And senates shall echo his virtues; and kings

Shall own him their saviour, and friend!

Then hail to the hero whom victory leads,

Triumphant, from fields of renown!

From kingdoms left barren! from plains drench'd in blood!

And the sacking of many a fair town!

I was too full of my subject, and poet like too much delighted with

the verses I had so suddenly produced, not to shew them immediately to

Mr. Evelyn.

He seemed to do them even more than justice: he read them again

and again, and each time with a feeling now of compassion, now of

amazement, and now of horror, that shewed how strongly the picture had

seized upon his soul. The associations of misery which his imagination

added were so forcible that tears repeatedly rolled down his cheeks.

To this more soothing trains of thought succeeded. The pain of the

past and the present was alleviated by a prospect of futurity. Our

minds rose to a state of mutual rapture, excited by a foresight

that the time was at length come in which men were awakening to a

comprehensive view of their own mad and destructive systems; that

their vices began to be on the decline and no longer to be mistaken

for the most splendid virtues, as they had formerly been; and that

truth was breaking forth upon the world with most animating force and

vigour.

There have been few moments of my life in which I have experienced

intellectual enjoyment with a pleasure so exquisite. Clarke himself,

unused as his thoughts had been to explore the future and wrest

happiness to themselves by anticipation, partook of our emotions; and

seemed in a state similar to those religious converts who imagine they

feel that a new light is broke in upon them. It was a happy afternoon!

It was a type of those which shall hereafter be the substitutes of

the wretched resources of drinking, obscene conversation, and games

of chance, to which men have had recourse that they might rouze their

minds: being rather willing to suffer the extremes of misery than that

dullness, and inanity, which they find still more insupportable.

This incident united me and Mr. Evelyn more intimately, and

powerfully, than all that had passed. The warmth with which he spoke,

of the benefits that society must receive from talents like mine,

dilated my heart. Every man is better acquainted with his own powers

and virtues than any other can possibly be; and, when they are

discovered, acknowledged, and applauded, instead of being denied or

overlooked as is more generally the case, the pleasure he receives is

as great as it is unusual.

Our conversation after dinner reverted to the plans I was to pursue.

The law necessarily came under consideration; and Mr. Evelyn, not

having considered the subject under the same points of view as Turl

had done, was strongly in favour of that profession. He foresaw in

me a future Judge, whose integrity should benefit and whose wisdom

should enlighten mankind. He conceived there could be no function more

honourable, more sacred, or more beneficial. An upright judge, with

his own passions and prejudices subdued, attentive to the principles

of justice by which alone the happiness of the world can be promoted,

and by the rectitude of his decisions affording precedent and example

to future generations, he considered as a character that must command

the reverence and love of the human race.

My imagination while he spoke was not idle. I helped to fill up the

picture. It placed me on the judgment seat. It gave me the penetration

of Solomon, the benevolence of Zaleucus, and the legislative soul of

Alfred. As usual, it overstepped the probable with wonderful ease and

celerity. Not only the objections of Turl disappeared, but the jargon

of the law, its voluminous lumber with which I had been disgusted

when reading the civilians at college, and all my other doubts and

disgusts, vanished.

Our inquiries accordingly ended with a determination that I should

continue my journey to town, should keep my terms at the Temple, and

should place myself, as is customary, under one of the most eminent

barristers.

This necessarily brought me to consider the expence; and the moment

that subject recurred I felt all the pain which could not but assault

a mind like mine. I had nurtured, not only the haughtiness of

independance, but the supposition that, in my own extraordinary powers

and gifts, I possessed innumerable resources; and, at moments, had

encouraged those many extravagant flights with which the reader is

already well acquainted.

However, after all that had passed, and for the reasons that had been

sufficiently urged, I found it necessary to submit: though by the

concession my soul seemed to be subdued, and its faculties to be

shrunk and half withered. It was an oppressive sensation that could

not be shaken off, yet that must be endured. Such at least was my

present conclusion.

In the course of the evening, Mr. Evelyn at my request stated his

reasons for pursuing his own course of studies; and instanced a

variety of facts which convinced me of the benefits to be derived

from the science of surgery, of the rash conclusions to which modern

theorists and enquirers have been led, and of the necessity there is

that some practitioner, equally well informed with themselves but

aware of the evil of false deductions, should demonstrate the mischief

of hasty assertion, and that things which are only conjectural ought

not to be given as indubitable.

Of this nature he considered their hypotheses relating to the

brain, the nervous system, the lymphatic fluid, and other subjects;

concerning which many curious but hitherto equivocal facts have been

the discovery of modern research.

Mr. Evelyn not only read all the best authors, but went to London,

every winter, and assiduously maintained an intercourse with the most

able men, attended their lectures, was present at their operations,

and fully informed himself of their differences both in opinion and

practice.

But his frame was delicate, a too long abode in London always

occasioned pulmonary symptoms, and experience taught him that his

native air was more healthful and animating than any other. The

difficulties attending his studies were greatly increased by his

residence in the country; but they were surmounted by his precaution,

and by the general favour which his benevolence secured to him among

the neighbouring people. Though there were not wanting some who

considered him as a very strange, if not a dangerous and a wicked,

man.

It is curious yet an astonishing and an afflicting speculation that

men should be most prone to suspect, and hate, those who are most

unwearied in endeavouring to remove their evils. That a surgeon

must be acquainted with the direction, site, and properties, of the

muscles, arteries, ligaments, nerves, and other parts, before he

can cut the living body with the least possible injury, and that

this knowledge can only be acquired by experience, is a very plain

proposition. It is equally self-evident that a dead body is no longer

subject to pain; and that it certainly cannot be more disgraced by the

knife of a surgeon than by the gnawing of worms. When will men shake

off their infantine terrors, and their idiot-like prepossessions?

CHAPTER X

_The departure: Ejaculations: Present pleasures and future hopes: A

strange dialogue in the dark; and a generous and beautiful defender_

The pleasure I this day received in the company of Mr. Evelyn was

uncommon, the friendship with which he had inspired me was pure,

and the respect that my heart paid to his virtues was profound. But

eagerness of pursuit was my characteristic. My plan being formed,

every moment of delay would have been torment; and he, entering into

all my thoughts and sympathising with all my wishes, prompted me to

follow my bent. It was therefore agreed that I and my companion should

depart by one of the coaches which would pass an inn at some distance

in the morning. A messenger was accordingly dispatched to take places

in the first vacant coach, arrangements for money-matters were made

with every possible delicacy by my friend, the night passed away, day

returned, and we departed.

I will leave the reader to image to himself the crowding sensations

that pressed upon my heart on this occasion, the tumult of thought

which incidents so sudden and unexpected produced, and the feelings

which mutually passed between me and my noble benefactor. I shall

live, said I, to acknowledge this in my old age. I shall have a story

to tell, a man to describe, and a friend to revere, that will astonish

and render common hearers incredulous. But this was the language of my

heart: not of my tongue. That was dumb. A pressure of the hand, with

eyes averted, was all the utterance I had.

A child and its mother were the only passengers beside ourselves. The

coach, which was to be in London at ten that night, rolled along, they

were asleep, I was silent, and poor Clarke was full of ejaculation.

'If there be a good man on God's earth, that gentleman is one! He will

find his road to heaven safe enough! He will be among the sheep, and

sit on the right hand of God! I hope I shall be in his company! Though

that can't be. I am unworthy. I may think myself happy to sit far

enough lower down. Not that I can say; for I find the best people have

the least pride. Perhaps as it is in earth so it may be in heaven.

God send us all safe there together! For my part, I think that within

these few weeks I am a different kind of a creature. But what can a

poor carpenter do? He must not speak to gentlefolk, unless in the

way of his work: so he can have no sociability, but with his poor

neighbours. And though some of them to be sure be as good-meaning

people as any on earth, they are no better learned than himself: so

they can teach him nothing. But I have happened on good luck, so I

have no right to complain. And I am very sure, in my own mind, that

there is good luck in store for us all: for providence else would not

have brought us and guided us where it did, by such marvellous means;

so that, while we thought we were breaking our necks and falling into

the hands of murderers, and being frightened out of our senses by the

most shocking sights I must say that ever were seen, we were all the

while going straight on as fast as we could to good fortune! So that

it is true enough that man is blind, but that God can see.'

What pleasure does the mind of man take in solving all its

difficulties! How impatient is it that any thing should remain

unexplained; and how ready to elevate its own ignorance into mystery

and miracle!

To have remained longer silent, while the honest heart of my companion

was thus overflowing with kindness, would have been no proof of the

same excellent and winning quality in myself. I encouraged his hopes,

in which I was very ready to participate. My own pleasing dreams

revived in full force; and I presently ranged my cloud-constructed

castles, which I built, pulled down and rebuilt with admirable

facilty, and lorded it over my airy domains at will. 'Tis a folly to

rail at these domains: for there are no earthly abodes that are half

so captivating.

Nothing worth mentioning happened on the road till we came to the

last stage but one, where we changed horses; at which time it was

quite dark. Our female companion and her child had been set down at

Hungerford; and two new passengers, both ladies, as soon as the horses

were put to, were shewn to the carriage.

They had a footman, who mounted the box; and we soon learned from

their discourse that they had been waiting for the nephew of the elder

lady, who was to have taken them in his phæton, but that they had

been disappointed. They had been on a visit, and had been brought to

Salt-hill in a gentleman's carriage; which they had sent back. While

the coach had stopped, I had fallen into a doze; but awoke when

it began to move again, and when I heard the voices of females

conversing.

The old lady spoke most, and complained of the rudeness of her nephew

in subjecting them to the inconvenience of a stage-coach, or of

waiting they knew not how long till post-horses should come in, which

as they were informed would be tired and unfit for more work: it

happening that there was a great run at that time on the Bath road.

The reader will presently understand that they were people of real

fashion; and the eldest lady spoke of persons and things which denoted

that high life was familiar to her. This gave Clarke a new opportunity

of wondering how he, a poor carpenter, came into such company: which

he directly expressed to me, with the simplicity and undisguise that

are common to such characters.

The old lady, who had before signified her chagrin at the expedient

to which her nephew had reduced her, did not find her pride soothed

when she learned that she was in company with carpenters: for it

soon appeared that she considered me and my companion as familiar

acquaintances of the same rank.

Her young friend was likewise led into this error; and, when the

former began to express her disgust too freely to accord with the

feelings of the latter, she interrupted her with saying '_Ayez la

bonté, madame, de parler François_? 'Be kind enough, madam, to speak

French.'

The old lady complied; and a conversation ensued which certainly will

neither surprise nor move the reader so much as it did me. Should

he ask how I, as a man of honor, could suffer them to remain in the

deception of imagining I did not understand them, let him wait till

he knows enough to surmise what the emotions were that were in a

moment kindled in my bosom. At first, indeed, they were but dark and

improbable conjectures: but, dark as they were, they shook my whole

frame.

The dialogue that ensued soon testified that the old lady was in no

very complacent temper of mind. Her beginning sentences expressed

dissatisfaction, were sarcastic, and evidently glanced at her young

companion, whose replies were mild and conciliating. But, not

satisfied with indirect reproach, her assailant, still speaking

French, continued her interrogatories to the following effect.

'And are you still determined, Miss, to persist in your obstinate

refusal of his lordship?'

'Let me intreat you, dear madam, not to enter on that subject again.'

'Oh, to be sure! You very kindly intreat me to torment myself as much

as I please, so that I do not trouble you!'

'How can you, madam, accuse me of such cruelty? Is it just? Am I

indeed of such a nature?'

'Yes, indeed are you, Miss: however you may flatter yourself. It is

nothing but perversity that can make you trifle with the honor and

happiness of your family--Now you are silent! Your fine spirit no

doubt disdains to reply!'

'What can I say?'

'Say that you are a headstrong girl; acknowledge your fault, and

consent to be the wife of a peer--Silent again!'

'I could wish, madam, not to make you more angry.'

'No, indeed; there is no occasion for that! You have been doing

nothing else for many weeks past. For my part, I cannot conceive what

your objection can be! Had that desperado been living, for whom since

his death you have acknowledged what you call your weak prepossession,

I should have known very well to what cause to attribute your

stubbornness: but, as it is, I cannot conceive either your motives or

your meaning. Nothing however is to be wondered at, in a young lady

of your character. No prudent person would have dared to indulge a

thought in favour of a mad adventurer, whose actions were as rash as

they were insolent, whose family was mean yet had dared to oppose

and even make ridiculous attempts to rival that from which you are

descended, and who yet was himself an outcast of that family.'

'It is cruel, madam, to disturb the ashes of the dead!'

This was the first word of retort that had escaped the chidden

sufferer; and this was uttered in a voice half suffocated with

passion.

'Cruel, indeed! Every thing is cruel that contradicts the wishes of

young ladies, whose melting tenderness is ruinous to themselves and to

every body that ought to be most dear to them.'

'You must pardon me, madam, for again and again repeating, in my own

defence, that there is no part of my conduct which can justify such an

accusation.'

'How, Miss! Is an avowed partiality for a fortune-hunter no proof? Is

it no stain on the character of a modern young lady? Is it no insult

to her family?'

'It was a partiality which had never been avowed, till death had put

an end to hope. It was produced and counteracted by very extraordinary

circumstances: but, however strong it might be at some moments, which

I acknowledge it was, for I disdain falsehood, it was not indulged. I

needed no monitor to shew me there were too many reasons why it ought

not to be.'

'I have not patience. A runagate! A vagabond! A gambler! A prize

fighter! One of the lowest and most contemptible of adventurers!

who had betrayed his patrons, who had flown in the face of his

benefactors, who was capable of every kind of malice and mischief, and

who had not a single virtue!'

'Madam, I cannot listen to such an assertion as that, however I may

offend you, without continually protesting it is unfounded; and that

you have been greatly misinformed. I scorn to apologise for his

mistakes: but I know that he had virtues which those who have given

you this character of him are never likely to possess. How he could be

guilty of the crimes of which he has been accused I cannot conceive.

Even when a boy, I have heard him express sentiments which I shall

never forget; and which have since been confirmed by his actions. You

were acquainted with none of them. You speak from report; and from

report which I am sure was false, and wicked. His heart I know to have

been compassionate, his principles such as no mean mind could have

conceived, and his courage blameably great; though it saved my life.

[Tears half choaked her utterance.] But for him I should have been

where he now is: a different train of events might have taken place,

and he perhaps might have been living. I owe him my life, and you must

forgive me if I cannot sit patiently and hear his memory traduced

without the least occasion: for, [Her sobbing could not be stifled.]

since he is dead, you can no longer think him dangerous.'

Oh Olivia!

Gracious God! What were the throbs the thrillings, the love, the

indignation, the transports, of my soul! How did a few moments raise

and allay in me the whirlwind of the passions! How did my frame

tremble, and madden, and shiver, and burn! How were my lips at once

bursting with frenzy and locked in silence! It was my guardian angel

that protected me, that pleaded for me, that awed me to patience, and

that repaid by her seraphic praise the virtue she had inspired!

Oh, yes, it was Olivia! It was she herself that had the justice, the

fortitude, and the affection, to assert the dignity of truth, to

controvert an overbearing aunt whom she revered, for this aunt had her

virtues, and to speak in defiance of that hypocrisy which inculcates

the silence that intends to deceive, and which teaches females that

sincerity is an unpardonable vice.

CHAPTER XI

_False conclusions rectified: A lover's reveries: The dangers of a

stage-coach, in a dark night and a fog: The discovery of more old

acquaintances, and the journey pursued_

It has been truly remarked that the most serious and even the most

dignified emotions are sometimes mingled with the most ludicrous. When

the divine Olivia had ended, there was a momentary pause; and Clarke,

meditating no doubt on the advantages of which he had been deprived,

and to the enjoyment of which every man feels he has a right,

directing his remark to me, suddenly exclaimed--'What would I give now

if I understood all that these ladies were saying as well as you do!'

'_Est-ce donc que Monsieur sçait parler François?_--What, sir! Can you

speak French?' said the aunt with a burst of surprise.

'Yes, madam,' answered I; in a low and tremulous voice.

'_Gesù Maria! Chi l'avrebbe pensato! Parliamo Italiano, Signora._ Good

God! who could have thought it! Let us speak Italian, Miss,' continued

she: but, suddenly recollecting herself, added--'Perhaps, sir, you

speak that language, too?'

'Yes, madam.'

A dead silence ensued; which was only once or twice interrupted by

an exclamation of discontent from the aunt. Each became busied with

their own thoughts: mine were distracted by doubts and apprehensions,

concerning the manner in which I ought to act. I could come to no

determination. To be seen by the aunt would not only have wounded her

pride, and if possible have rendered her more implacably my mortal

enemy than she had been, but it would have subjected Olivia, toward

whom my heart was bursting with affection, to a series of new assaults

and persecutions. Nay the sudden sight of me might overpower her, and

even have dangerous effects. Such at least were the whisperings either

of my tenderness or my vanity. And yet to miss this opportunity, to

acquaint her with none of those overwhelming sensations that were all

thankfulness, love, and adoration, and not so much as to inform her

that I was still living, still perhaps capable of all the good that

she had ever supposed of me, was in every view of it tormenting. How

had she struggled to conceal her emotions when she mentioned my death,

and that I had saved her life! Should I deserve this tenderness, if I

could leave her to grieve a moment longer? Such unkindness were not

only unworthy of me, but might be dangerous: it might even risk her

compliance to the proposed match.

And here a torrent of painful anxieties and surmises rushed upon me.

The hateful subject was brought fully to my recollection. Andrews was

no longer the rival I had to dread. A lord had entered the lists: a

peer of the realm had sued for Olivia. Who could he be? Was it likely

that she should long withstand the solicitations of her aunt, endure

her bitter upbraidings, and suffer the rude taunts of her brother,

while rank and splendor were courting her acceptance, while coronets

were crouching at her feet and supplicating her compassion? Which of

our ancient barons could he be? How should I learn? Was he young,

handsome, courteous, engaging? Had he the virtues and the high

qualities which imagination is so apt to attach to the word noble?

Another train of conjecture seized upon my thoughts. How did it happen

that they should believe me dead? Who were the authors of this false

report? It must surely be intentional deceit; perhaps of the aunt,

perhaps of Hector; invented to induce her to comply with their wishes,

and ally them to the peerage. I must not suffer it to continue. The

aunt appeared to believe it; and that Olivia had no doubt of it was

certain. My fears confirmed me in the suspicion that it was a family

artifice.

I was at length awakened from these reveries by the aunt; who

expressed her surprise and impatience at the slow driving of the

coachman. It seems it had continued for some time, though not remarked

by me; and it was not long before the coach stopped, when I perceived

that we were in an uncommonly thick fog. Olivia was still silent, but

the aunt was alarmed by the voices of men; and, as the darkness and

mist prevented all danger of my being known, I opened the coach-door

and jumped out; and Clarke followed my example.

I found on enquiry we were passing Cranford-bridge at the beginning of

Hounslow-heath, that a broad-wheeled waggon had approached, and that

the coachman unable to distinguish the road had alighted to lead his

horses, lest we should be overturned. He had trusted the reins to the

footman who remained on the box.

By the caution of the coachman, the waggon was safely passed, and he

thought proper to mount his box again: but he durst not venture to

drive fast; and, as I was alarmed for the safety of Olivia, I and

Clarke continued beside the horses.

We had not gone fifty yards before we were again entangled with a

timber carriage; the driver of which, embarrassed by the fog, had

turned it across the road.

The waters, which lie in the hollows on the Hounslow-side of the

bridge, had been greatly increased by the late tempests, and heavy

rains. The coach horses began to snort with more vehemence; for they

had for some time been disturbed with fright; and one of them, running

against the projecting timber, plunged, and terrified the rest: so

that the two fore-horses, quitting the road, dashed into the water,

dragged the coach after them in despite of the driver, and the

near-wheels were hurried down the bank.

It fortunately happened that the declivity was not steep enough

immediately to overturn the coach; otherwise Olivia and her aunt would

probably have lost their lives.

Bewildered by the fog, neither I nor Clarke could act with that

promptitude which we desired. I however got to the horses' heads,

myself above the knees in water, and stopped them just in time. I

called to Clarke to come to me; and, as I knew him to be both strong

and determined, I committed the horses to him and ran to support the

carriage, lest it should overturn.

The coachman sensible of his danger, took care to alight on the

off-side. The footman did the same; and I, with an air of authority

which the circumstances inspired, ordered them to come to me and

support the coach. They obeyed. I hastened round to the other side,

opened the door, first took out the aunt, and then accomplished the

wish of my heart: I held the lovely Olivia once more in my arms, and

once more pressed her to my bosom, without the least alarm to her

delicacy.

For how many rapturous moments are lovers indebted to accident! Mine

indeed would have been a single bliss, and therefore unworthy the

name, had not the tenderness and the truth of Olivia so lately been

manifested. But this addition made the transport undescribable! To

be in my arms yet not to know me, but to suppose me dead, to feel

my embrace and to have no suspicion that it was the embrace of

love, to be once more safe and I myself once more her protector, oh

Imagination! Strong as thou art, thy power is insufficient for the

repetition of such a scene, for the complete revival of such ecstacy!

I was unwilling to part with my precious burthen, which I had no

longer any pretence to retain. 'Pray, sir, put me down,' said the

angel; with a sweet, a gentle, and a thankful voice. 'We are very safe

now: for which both I and my aunt are infinitely indebted to you.'

I could make no reply: but I pressed her hand with something of that

too ardent rashness of which the aunt had accused me.

The old lady too did not forget her acknowledgments. She had no doubt

now that I was a gentleman. My behaviour proved it. She should be very

proud to thank me, in a more proper place, for my civilities; and

would endeavour to repay the obligation if I would do her the favour

to call in Hertford-street.

Olivia was not one of those who think only of themselves. 'Having been

so good, sir,' said she, 'as to take us out of danger, perhaps you

could be serviceable to the poor coachman.'

'Let me first see you back to the inn, ladies.'

'Some accident may happen in the mean time. The horses are unruly. We

will stay here till all is safe.'

The advice was just, and it came from Olivia. I obeyed and hastened to

the coachman; who was busied in loosing the traces, and relieving the

horses from the carriage. This was presently done; and the coach was

left, till proper aid and more light could be obtained.

I then returned to Olivia; and, when the coachman came up, the aunt

enquired if their danger had been great?

'I don't know, madam, what you may call great,' answered he; 'but,

if that gentleman had not stopped the cattle, and if the near wheels

had gone one yard nay two feet farther I should have had an overturn;

and then how either you or I could have got out of that gravel pit

is more than I can tell. For my own part, I know, I thank him with

all my heart; and the other gentleman too: for it is not often that

your gentleman are so handy. Instead of helping, they generally want

somebody to help them. I hope they'll be civil enough to take a

glass with me. By G---- they shall go to the depth of my pocket, and

welcome.'

'If that be the case,' replied the aunt, 'we are all very much obliged

to them indeed! But I will take care never to travel in a fog again.'

Just as this was passing, we heard at a distance, and as if coming

from the inn, a shouting of 'Hollo! Hoix! Coachee! Coach! where are

you all?'

'I declare,' said the aunt, 'that is my nephew's voice! This is very

lucky! He will now take us in his phæton.'

'Surely, madam,' exclaimed I, 'you would not trust yourself and this

young lady in a phæton such a night as this; when you see the most

experienced drivers are liable to such accidents?'

'If the lady does,' continued the coachman as he was going, 'why I

shall suppose she does not value a broken neck of a farthing.'

We then proceeded back to the inn, and were presently joined by

Hector; whom the aunt immediately began to rate.

While she was thus employed, I, endeavouring to disguise my voice, as

I had before done in the few sentences I had uttered, and addressing

myself to Olivia, said, 'I should be exceedingly concerned, madam,

if I thought you would suffer Mr. Mowbray to drive you home till day

light shall appear.'

'I certainly shall not, sir;' answered she. 'But do you know my

brother?'

'Madam!'

'You are acquainted with his name; and I don't recollect that it has

been mentioned.'

I hesitated, Hector turned upon us, we were approaching the light,

and, with a suddenness which fear and passion inspired, knowing that

Mowbray did not understand Italian, I said in an under voice--'_Il

Signer Hugo Trevor non é morto, bellissima Signora_; Mr. Trevor is not

dead, dearest lady'--At the same instant I snatched her hand, pressed

it, was about to raise it to my lips, but recollecting myself, turned

short round, and added, '_Addio!_'

Clarke was at my back; and I plucked him by the coat, and

whispered--'Come with me.'

But what of Olivia? Was she dead to feeling at this strange mysterious

moment? Did no rushing torrent of ideas suddenly overwhelm her? The

man whose loss she had lamented not in his grave; that man again her

saviour, her guardian genius in the dark hour of dread and danger;

acquainted in a way the most extraordinary with her thoughts, and

favourable wishes; or, as she was too severely inclined to term it,

her passion and its folly; a witness that she did not credit all

which malice could urge against him, nor listen in base silence when

her perhaps too partial heart pleaded in his behalf; nay more, that

man the protector of her aunt, by whom he had been so often and so

bitterly reviled; that man travelling in obscurity; in familiar

society with a carpenter, yet braving peril in her behalf, and

shunning the thanks which the uncommon services he had rendered might

boldly make him claim; avoiding them most certainly because of the

mean condition to which he was reduced; faithful in his affection; for

such his behaviour spoke him; but unfortunate, depressed, despised;

sinking under poverty; languishing away his youth; or crushed

by accumulating disasters!--Did no such fears, no such tender

recollections, assail her bosom?--I have described her ill indeed if

that could be supposed. I must pursue my narrative: for how can I

picture what most indubitably must have passed in her heart, since I

feel myself so very incapable of delineating my own!

This adventure did not entirely end here. I wished to have gone

forward on foot to Hounslow without delay: but Clarke interceded, for

a glass of brandy. He said the water had chilled him; and he was still

more importunate with me to take the same preventative. I had no fear

for myself; for I had no such feeling: but, as I did not think I had

any right to trifle with his health, I returned with him; taking the

precaution to go through the passage to the kitchen door.

Here, just as we came to the threshold, who should be coming in face

of us, carrying a pair of candles, but my quondam servant, Philip!

The instant he beheld me, he turned pale, trembled, set down the

lights, stood aghast for a moment, and then took to his heels.

Though not so terrified, I was almost as much surprised as he; and

suffered him to escape before I had the presence of mind to know how

to act. As however it was my plan to avoid being known myself for the

present, I thought proper to make no other enquiry than to ask whose

servant he was? and was answered that he came with the ladies, who had

just returned from the coach.

Various conjectures instantly crossed my imagination; all of which

were associated with the sudden flight from Bath, the robbery he had

committed, the seeming honesty and even affection of his character

previous to that event, his now being in the service of Olivia, for I

understood him to be her own valet, and the story of my death. But,

though my curiosity was greatly excited, the present was not the

time in which these mysteries could be unravelled. We therefore took

Clarke's prescription against cold; and, leaving Cranford bridge,

pursued our road to Hounslow: where we arrived about eleven o'clock,

and put up at an inferior inn lest any accident should bring us again

in company with the aunt and the nephew.

CHAPTER XII

_Meditations on what had passed: The condolence of Clarke: Arrival at

London: The meeting of former friends: Law arrangements_

It may be well supposed that the incidents of this night were not

easily driven from my imagination. While we were walking, the care we

were obliged to take, and the gloom around us, prevented any thing

from escaping me sufficiently marked to attract the notice of my

companion. But, when we were seated in a room with lights, and my mind

was no longer diverted by other objects, the reveries into which I

fell, the interjections that broke from me, the hasty and interrupted

manner in which I ate and drank, the expressions of extreme joy which

altered my countenance at one moment, and the solemn seriousness which

it assumed the next, with my eyes fixed, while the tears rolled down

my cheeks, at last so agitated poor Clarke that he exclaimed--'For

God's sake, Mr. Trevor, what is the matter with you?'

My silence, for I was unable to speak, did but increase his

alarm--'Are you taken ill? What has befallen you? Won't you open your

mind to me? If I could do you any good, I hope you don't think I

should be backward? Are you unhappy?'

'No, no.'

'I am very glad of that. But something uncommon I am sure has happened

to you: though it may not be fit perhaps that I should hear what. And

I don't want to be a busy body; though I must say I should be more at

ease, if I was quite sure that all was right. That's all. I have no

other curiosity.'

'All is not right: but yet I hope it will be. I know not by what

means. It seems indeed impossible! And perhaps it is; and yet I hope!

I hope! I hope!'

'Well, well: I am glad of that. We should all hope. We are bid to

hope. God help us if we did not. Perhaps I can't give you any help?

I suppose that is beyond me. I am sorry for it. But what can a poor

carpenter do, in the way of befriending a gentleman?'

'A poor carpenter can have a kind heart; and I do not know whether

that is not the most blessed thing on earth! Did you ever hear me

repeat the name of Olivia?'

'Yes; when you were light-headed, I heard the name many a time and

often. And the nurse said you raved of nobody else. But we could none

of us find out who she was. Though, I must say, I have often enough

wished to ask: but that I did not think it became me to seem to be at

all prying.'

'That is the lady you have been in company with to-night. It is she

whom you have helped me to save. I was sufficiently indebted to you

before: but what am I then at present?'

'Well, that to be sure is accidental enough! I could not have thought

it! How oddly things do fall out! But I am glad of it with all my

heart!'

'I could not see much of her, to be sure; though I looked with all the

eyes I had: but I thought somehow she seemed as fine a young creature

as I had ever beheld since the hour I was born; which the mildness of

her voice did but make the more likely. I thought to myself, I never

in my days heard any living soul so sweet-spoken. So that I must say

things have fallen out very strangely.

'I always said to my Sally, there must be something between you and

the gentlewoman the name of _which_ was on your tongue's end so often,

while you were down in the fever; and I am glad to the heart that you

have happened on her again so unexpectedly: though I can see no good

reason, now you have found her, why you should be in such a hurry to

get away.'

The unaffected participation of Clarke in all my joys and sorrows, the

questions which his feelings impelled him to put, and the fidelity of

his nature, as well as the impulse which passion gave me to disburthen

my mind, were all of them inducements to speak; and I informed him of

many of those particulars which have already been recited.

The more intimately he became acquainted with my history, the more

powerfully he seemed imbued with my hopes and fears; and the better

satisfied I was with the confidence I had reposed in him. I am unable

to paint the honest indignation of his feelings and phraseology

at the injustice which he as well as I supposed had been done me,

the depression of his countenance when I dwelt on the despair and

wretchedness which the almost impossibility of my obtaining Olivia

inspired, and the animation with which he seemed as it were to set

his shoulders to the wheel, when my returning fervor led me to the

opposite extreme, and gave me confidence in my own powers and the

strenuous exertions on which I was resolved.

The conversation continued long after we retired to rest; so that our

sleep was short: for we were up again very early, before it was light,

and continued our journey to London; where we arrived a little after

nine in the morning.

I immediately proceeded to the lodging of Miss Wilmot; whom I found

where I had left her, and who was truly rejoiced to see me. Clarke

had never been in London: I therefore took him with me, gave a proper

account of him to Miss Wilmot, and we all breakfasted together,

while Mary waited; whose features as well as her words sufficiently

testified the unexpected pleasure of the meeting, and who artlessly

related the apprehensions of herself and my few friends, at not

hearing from me.

My first enquiries were concerning Wilmot and Turl; and I was

delighted to learn that Wilmot, whom I left in a sickly state of mind

that was seriously alarming, had been awakened by Turl to a more just

sense of human affairs; and had recovered much of the former vigour

and elasticity of his talents.

His sister told me that he was at present engaged in a periodical

publication; and had beside composed a considerable part of a comedy:

of which Turl, as well as herself, conceived the greatest hopes.

The reader scarcely need be told that this intelligence gave me great

pleasure. It led me to revolve mighty matters in my own mind, created

emulation, and inspired me with increasing confidence and alacrity.

Yes, said I, exultingly, genius may safely encounter and dare

difficulties. Let it but confide in itself and it will conquer them

all.

While we were conversing Wilmot came in.

I must leave the imagination to paint the welcome we gave each other.

I was surprised at the change which had taken place in his form and

physiognomy; and at the different aspect they had assumed. Not that

the marks of melancholy were quite eradicated: but, when I considered

his whole appearance, he was scarcely the same person.

I produced surprise in him of a contrary kind. There was neither the

wonted freshness of my complexion nor the fashionable ease of my air

and dress, which he had remarked but a few months before; and he took

the first private opportunity that offered to enquire, with great

earnestness, if there were any means by which he could be of service?

Under the general selfishness which our present institutions inspire,

such questions are wonderfully endearing. I answered him that I had

found a friend, whose principles were as liberal and enlarged as they

were uncommon; and that I would take an early occasion to give him an

account of my present designs, and the posture of my affairs.

He informed me that the severe application of Turl had enfeebled his

health, and had induced him to reside for a few weeks at a small place

by the sea-side, that he might enjoy the benefits of bathing and the

fresh breezes; for which purpose he had left London the week before:

that neither Wilmot nor Turl himself considered his case at present as

the least dangerous, but that they had both agreed this was a prudent

step; and that he had received a letter from Turl, informing him of

his safe arrival; and that he thought he had already derived benefit

and animation from the journey.

Turl was not a man to be known and to be thought of with apathy. The

intelligence Wilmot gave me, softened as it was by the circumstances

attending it, produced a very unpleasant feeling. The possibility

of the loss of such a man, so wise, so benevolent, and so undaunted

in the cause of truth, was a sensation for which I have no epithet.

Wilmot perceived what passed in my mind, and again assured me of his

thorough persuasion that there was not any danger.

We passed as much of the morning together as Wilmot could spare from

his occupations; after which we parted, and each proceeded on his own

concerns: I to enquire after a dwelling-place; and he to his literary

engagements: while Clarke, instructed by Mary, went in search of a

lodging for himself through those streets that were most likely to

afford him one at a reasonable rate.

Mr. Evelyn had a relation of a younger branch of the family in the

law, whose name was Hilary, to whom I was recommended; and from whom

I received the utmost attention, in consequence of the letters I

brought. This gentleman was an attorney of repute, a practitioner of

uncommon honesty, assiduous and capable as a professional man, a firm

defender of freedom even to his own risk and detriment, a sincere

speaker, a valuable friend, and in every sense a man of worth and

principle.

Happy at all times to oblige, he willingly undertook the task assigned

to him by Mr. Evelyn's recommendation; and, in pursuance of his

advice, I hired an apartment in the neighbourhood of Queen's-square

Bloomsbury: that I might be within a convenient distance of the inns

of Court, yet not entirely buried in the noise and smoke of the

disagreeable part of the town.

I likewise informed Mr. Hilary of my determination not to be a dumb

barrister; and having, from my appearance and mode of enunciation

as well as from the letters of Mr. Evelyn, conceived rather a high

opinion of my talents, he applauded my plan: in pursuance of which he

recommended me to place myself with Counsellor Ventilate; a man of

high situation in the law. I readily consented; and it was agreed that

he should speak to that gentleman immediately on the subject, and

appoint a meeting.

CHAPTER XIII

_More meditations relating to Olivia; concluding with a love-letter:

Doubts concerning its conveyance_

It cannot be supposed that Olivia was out of my thoughts. Knowing her

kindness toward Miss Wilmot, I carefully took the first opportunity

to inform the latter of the chief incidents that had passed; and to

concert with her some means, if possible, of obtaining an interview.

Miss Wilmot no longer received any pecuniary aid from Olivia. Wilmot

considered it as a duty to provide for his sister; and had too lofty

a sense of independance to admit the repetition of these favours. Yet

how far that pride of heart, which teaches us, not only that we should

not submit to receive pecuniary assistance from any human being except

from our relations, but that these relations can accept of no relief,

however much they may be in need of it, without tarnishing our honor,

is a question which deserves to be seriously examined. Not but, at

that time, it squared very aptly with my opinions. It may be further

remarked of relations that, as they sometimes think they ought only to

receive aid from each other, so, they most of them imagine that, from

each other, they may unblushingly extort all they can. The generous

Wilmot indeed was in no danger of this last mistake.

But though money was no longer a motive for intercourse, between the

gentle Olivia and Miss Wilmot, there was no danger that either of

the friends would forget the other; and the latter was too sincerely

interested in the happiness both of me and Olivia not to be willing to

promote that happiness, by every means in her power.

What these means should be was the difficulty we had to solve. To use

any kind of stratagem would offend the delicate and justly-feeling

Olivia. To come upon her by surprise, even if the opportunity should

offer itself, would not be a manly and dignified proceeding.

I had always thought highly of that courage which, mild as her manners

were, she never failed to exert on trying occasions. Her defence of me

in the coach was a proof that I had not overestimated her fortitude.

It likewise shewed that she was under mistakes concerning me that

were dangerous, should they remain unexplained; and that, whenever

I thought of them, which was but too often, excited my utmost

indignation.

Bold however as she was in my defence when she supposed me dead, very

different sensations might assail her when she should be convinced

(if she still doubted) that I was living. Her submission to her aunt

seemed to be unlimited, as long as she supposed that to comply would

be less productive of harm than to resist: but I had witnessed that

she would not consent to actions of great moment, which her heart

disapproved.

These facts made it improbable that she would grant me an interview,

without her aunt's knowledge. What then was to be done? A letter, that

should fully explain my thoughts, my plans, my determination, and my

hopes and fears, appeared to be the most eligible mode. Were I to

prompt her to a clandestine correspondence, I was well aware that I

should highly and justly offend her. She would consider it as little

less than an insult. Her conduct was open, her mind superior to

deceit; and to be ignorant of this would be to shew myself unworthy

of her. The lover should disdain to excite his mistress to any action

which he would disapprove in a wife; and this was a rule not to be

infringed, by him who should aspire to the noble-minded Olivia.

To write then I resolved; and in such a manner as to open my whole

soul to her, awaken her affections, call forth her admiration, agitate

her with pity and love, and ensure her perseverance.

Alas! I took the pen in hand, but was miserably deceived. I

had undertaken an impossible task. Thought was too rapid, too

multifarious, too complicate; and the tracing of letters and words

infinitely too slow, and frigid. At last however, after repeated

attempts, I determined on sending the following: with which when

written I was very far from satisfied; but of that I despaired.

* * * * *

'To the woman whom my soul adores how shall I address myself?

Tumultuous thoughts, hopes that vanish, and fears that distract, are

ill fitted for such a talk. Governed by feelings which will admit of

no controul, I can only claim your pardon on the plea of inability to

preserve that silence which it is temerity, or something worse, to

break. My thoughts will have passage, will rush into your presence,

will expose themselves to the worst of calamities, your reproof and

anger. Distracted as I am by a dread of the dangers that may result

from my silence, I persuade myself that these dangers are more

immediate and threatening, though scarcely more painful, than your

disapprobation.

'You have supposed me dead; though by what strange accident I cannot

divine. Under that supposition, it was my miraculous fortune, my

ecstatic bliss, to hear you, with a purity of heart and a dignity

of sentiment such as none but a heart like yours could conceive or

express, avow a former partiality in favour of one who, whatever may

be his other faults, would gladly resign his life to secure your

happiness: of one who, in his over-weening affection has fondly and

foolishly cherished the persuasion that this happiness is inseparable

from his own: nay who partly hopes and partly believes, so blind is

his egotism, that he is the only man on earth who fully comprehends

your wonderful worth and matchless virtues; and who is pursuing the

fixed purpose of his soul, that of finally deserving you, from the

conviction that he through life will be invariable in that admiration,

that tenderness, and that unceasing love without which the life of

Olivia might perhaps be miserable. These may be the dreams of vanity,

and folly: yet, if I do not mistake, they are the dreams of all

lovers. They are indeed the aliment or rather the very essence of

love. What delight can equal that of revelling, in imagination, on the

happiness we can bestow on those who have bliss so ineffable to bestow

upon us?

'What then if I were to see this Olivia mated with a man so dull of

faculty as soon to lose all sense of the wondrous treasure in his

possession: who never perhaps had any discriminating knowledge of

its worth; and who shall be willing to barter it for any vile and

contemptible gewgaw that may allure his depraved taste, or sickly

appetite? Is there no such man? Are these fears wholly groundless?

'At what an immeasurable distance do I seem cast from the enjoyment of

that supreme bliss to which, perhaps, the frenzy only of imagination

could make me aspire! There is but one means by which I can be happy.

Either I am to be the most favoured of mankind, or I am nothing.

Either I rise into godlike existence, or I sink unknown and never to

be remembered. Either we are made for each other, or--I dare not think

on the reverse. It is too distracting.

'Yet I have no hope! What I now write is presumption, is madness! And

why? It is not your beauty, your virtues, or the supreme qualities

of your mind that would raise this gulph of misery between us. No.

Avarice, vanity, and prejudice are my enemies. It is they that would

sacrifice you at their altars. That you will persevere in your refusal

is my only hope.

'How shall I palliate, what I cannot defend, my behaviour while I

overheard you and your aunt? In vain do I plead that I was asleep,

when you came into the coach; and that I first discovered you by the

sound of your voice and the turn of the conversation; that I dreaded

exciting any sudden alarm in you: perhaps it was a vain dread: and

that, when I ought most to have spoken, when I became the subject

of the discourse, I was then chained in silence by unconquerable

emotions. Yet to be a listener? Indeed, indeed, it is a thing that my

soul disdains! But I have done many such things; not knowing, while

they passed, what it was that I did.

'My destiny now is to study the law; and to this my days and nights

shall be devoted: but the distance at which I see myself from the goal

is a thought which I am obliged, by every possible effort, to shut out

of my memory.

'I am in want of consolation; but since your society is denied me, I

know not where it may be found. I own, there are moments in which I

am fearfully agitated. Yet I do not solicit an answer. Let me rather

perish than prompt you to an action of the propriety of which even

I am obliged to doubt; since it cannot I suppose be done without

concealment. Oh that you knew every thought of my heart! You would

then perceive the burning desire I have to make myself every way

worthy of that unutterable bliss to which I aspire.

'Madman! I aspire?

'With what contempt would such daring be treated, by those whom custom

and ties of blood have taught you to revere! I confess this is a

thought which I cannot endure. Yet I can less endure to relinquish

my impossible hopes. Could you conceive what these contradictory and

tormenting sensations are, you would perhaps be induced to pardon some

of the extravagant acts which I heard you so mildly, yet so justly,

censure.

'To be yours then is the end for which I live; and yet my pride and

every other feeling revolts, to think I should entreat you to accept a

pauper, either in wealth or principle. Well, then, I will not waste

my time, in complaint. Let me become worthy of you, or let me perish!

Fool! That is impossible. But if fall I must, I will endeavour to make

my ruin respectable.

'Suffer me to inform you that I have lately acquired a friend whose

virtues are beyond my praise, and who has urged me to accept his aid,

in forwarding my studies and pursuits, as an act of duty incumbent

on us both. Our acquaintance has been short; and so, considering

the serious nature of the subject, was the debate that led to this

conclusion: yet his arguments seemed unanswerable, and I hope I have

not yielded too lightly. Oh that it was allowed me to consult your

exquisite sense of right and wrong! But wishes are vain.

'Thus far I have intruded, yet know not how to end. My only hope that

you will take no offence at what I have written is in the conscious

respect that my heart feels for you; which I think cannot have

misguided my pen; and the knowledge that you are too just lightly to

attribute mean or ill motives to me.

'How languid is all that I have written! Am I so impotent that I can

present none of the images that so eternally haunt me, that wing me

into your presence, furnish me with innumerable arguments which seem

so all-persuasive, melt me in tenderness at one moment, supply me with

the most irresistible elocution the next, and convince you while they

inspire me with raptures inexpressible? Are they all flown, all faded,

all extinct? Where is the fervor that devours me?

'I would pray for your happiness! I would supplicate heaven that no

moment of your bliss should be abridged! Shall it then be disturbed by

me? Oh no. Unless authorised by hopes, as different as they are wild

and improbable, pardon but this, and you shall never more be subject

to the like importunity from

HUGH TREVOR.'

* * * * *

Having written my letter, I had to devise the means of having it

delivered. If it were addressed directly to her, what certainty had I

that it would not be opened by the aunt? Nay was not that indeed the

most probable? And would it in that case ever be seen by Olivia? In my

apprehension certainly not.

I had then to chuse whether I would send a messenger, who should wait

about the house and take some opportunity to deliver it clandestinely;

or commit it to the care either of Mary or Miss Wilmot.

The messenger was a very objectionable expedient: it was mean, and

liable to detection. The medium of Mary was something of the same

kind; and the friendship and intelligence of Miss Wilmot rendered her

intervention much the most desirable.

It was a delicate office to require of her. But she could speak the

truth: she could say that it was to relate some facts which Olivia

might even desire to know, that it contained nothing which I myself

should wish her to conceal, if she thought fit to shew it; that it did

not invite her to any improper correspondence; and that it was the

only one which, under the present circumstances, I meant to obtrude

upon her.

That Miss Wilmot might be convinced I had neither deceived myself nor

her in this account, which I should instruct her to give of it, I

hastened with it to her lodgings, and requested her to read it before

it was sealed. Having ended, she was so well satisfied with the

propriety both of writing and delivering it that she readily undertook

the latter office; and, with her I left it, hoping that Olivia would

soon call, would read it in her presence, and that I should quickly

learn what might be the sensations it should produce.

CHAPTER XIV

_Counsellor Ventilate and the law: Raptures excited by the panegyric

of Blackstone: Dialogues legal and political, with characteristic

traits_

Meantime the appointed interview between me and Counsellor Ventilate

took place. This gentleman was characterized by those manners, and

opinions, which the profession of the law is so eminently calculated

to produce. He had a broad brazen stare, a curl of contempt on his

upper-lip, and a somewhat short supercilious nose. His head was

habitually turned upward, his eye in the contrary direction, as if on

the watch in expectation to detect something which his cunning might

turn to advantage, and his half-opened mouth and dropping jaw seemed

to say, 'What an immense fool is every man I meet!'

His whole manner and aspect appeared to denote that he was in a

continual revery; and that he imagined himself in a court of law;

brow-beating a witness, interrogating an idiot, or detailing cases

and precedents, to shew the subtlety with which he could mislead and

confound his hearers. A split-hair distinction without a difference

gave him rapture; and whenever it happened to puzzle, which was

but too often, he raised his left shoulder and gave a hem of

congratulation to himself: denoting his conviction that he was

indisputably the greatest lawyer in the world! And, if the greatest

lawyer, he was as certainly, according to his own creed, the greatest

man! For the rest of mankind, if put in competition with lawyers, what

were they? What but poor, silly, imbecile creatures?

One standard, by which he delighted to measure his own talents, was

the length to which he could drawl out a reply. Was there a man to be

found who could speak eight hours unceasingly? He would surpass him.

When his turn came, nine should not suffice. He would be more dull,

contradictory, and intolerable, than his rival by an hour, at least.

He would repeat precedents, twist sentences, misconstrue maxims, and

so perplex and entangle his own intellect that his hearers had no way

of getting rid of the pain he excited; except by falling a-sleep,

or determining not to listen. It must be owned however he had some

charity for them; for to sleep he gave them a very sufficient

provocative.

Being one of the retainers of government, he had a seat in the House

of Commons: where he used to rise in his place and address the

Speaker, with no less logic, love of justice, and legislative wisdom,

than he was wont to display when pleading in the courts.

It was in vain that he exposed himself to the ridicule of this

most discerning body, not less witty than virtuous. Of shame he

was incapable. He would again and again rise in his place, totally

forgetful of past flagellation, and again and again convince Mr.

Speaker and the honorable members: persisting to labour, in the hope

of making them all as profound reasoners as himself. No matter that

the thing was impracticable: he would get up and do his duty, and sit

down and receive his own applause.

To mention shame in this case was indeed absurd. How should a man

blush at reproof which he cannot comprehend? His skull was so

admirably fortified, by nature, that it was equally impenetrable

to the heavy batteries of argument or the skirmishing artillery

of wit. Let the cannon roar: he heard it not. He was abstractedly

contemplating those obscure depths in which he remained for ever

seated; and where he had visions innumerable, though he saw nothing.

One favourite and never-failing object, on these occasions, was to

instruct the house in law. And here the devil, who is himself a kind

of lawyer, for he devours his best friends, the devil I say chose

these opportunities to vent his choicest malice. He did not set a

lawyer to confound a lawyer: that were but a stale device. He humbled

him out of the mouths of men who had occasionally read law-books, it

is true: but who had read them without a lawyers' obliquity; and had

enquired what was the simple unadulterated intention of their authors.

Now law, which in all its stages has a quibble in either eye, that

may mean good or may mean ill, is every where, except in a Court

of Justice, capable of a good interpretation. This is not a rule

without an exception: but in many cases at least, law has something

intentionally beneficial in its principle.

For this beneficent vital-spark every body, but a lawyer, is in

search; and it is what every body, but a lawyer, is delighted to

find. No wonder therefore that a lawyer should meet discomfiture, and

confusion, when he pretends to discuss the abstract nature of justice,

in any place except in these aforesaid Courts of Justice.

Thus it happened that Mr. Ventilate was, on all such occasions,

confounded in that honorable house, of which he was an honorable

member: which indeed, when we remember who were his opponents, was

less miraculous than the immaculate conception--Pshaw! I mean the

transmigrations--of Vishnoo.

Much of the conceit and ridicule of the character of Mr. Ventilate was

apparent, even to my eye, at our first meeting. But he was a person

of great practice, and had the reputation of a sound lawyer: which

signifies a man who has patience to read reports, and a facility at

quoting them. Beside, I was in haste; and rather inclined to leap over

an obstacle than to go round it.

Accordingly our arrangements were made, and the next day I attended

at his chambers; with a firm and as I supposed not to be shaken

determination to become one of the greatest lawyers the world ever

beheld.

The first book I was advised to read, as a historical introduction to

and compendium of law, was Blackstone's Commentaries. This author had

acquired too much celebrity for any man of liberal education to be

ignorant of his fame. I therefore began and continued to read him

with all the prepossession that an author himself could wish in his

favour. The panegyric he makes on English laws, and the Constitution

of Britain, gave me delight and animation. The reproof he bestows,

on gentlemen who are ignorant of this branch of learning, and on the

perplexities introduced into our statute-law by such 'ill-judging and

unlearned legislators,' and his praise of the capacity they would

acquire for administering justice, to which sacred function they are

so often called, were this ignorance removed, gave dignity to the

study I was about to pursue.

Then the account given of Servius Sulpicius! who, according to my

learned author, 'left behind him about a hundred and four-score

volumes of his own compiling!' How wonderfully did it move my

admiration! I previously knew that in most countries, which are

denominated civilized, law was voluminous: but I had never till then

imagined that one man could himself compile a hundred and fourscore

volumes! And, as it seems, could compile them at his leisure too:

for his chief business was that of oratory! Beside which it lives on

record that, being a firm patriot, he was a wise and indefatigable

senator! But it appears that Sulpicius could devour law with greater

ease than Milo, or perhaps even than Cacus himself, could oxen.

Neither was it recorded that this prodigy of legal learning began

young. And should I then despair of equalling him? No, no: get me into

one of my trances and, had he compiled as many thousands of volumes, I

should scarcely have suspected that I could not compile as fast as he.

As I read on, how did I deplore the quarrel between Vicarius and his

opponents: or, in other words, between the pandects and the common law

of England: with the ignorance that had nearly been the result! How

rejoice in the institution of those renowned hot-beds of law, the Inns

of Court: by the aid of which, had not the rage for enacting laws kept

pace with the rage for studying them, there were hopes that the whole

kingdom would in time have been so learned in the science that every

man might indeed have become his own lawyer.

How did I regret that I had not studied common-law while at college!

How sympathetic with my author, when he exclaims--'That a science,

which distinguishes the criterions of right and wrong; which teaches

to establish the one, and prevent, punish, or redress the other; which

employs in its theory the noblest faculties of the soul, and exerts in

its practice the cardinal virtues of the heart: a science, which is

universal in its use and extent, accommodated to each individual, yet

comprehending the whole community; that a science like this should

ever have been deemed unnecessary to be studied in a university, is a

matter of astonishment and concern!'

How did I bless the memory of Mr. Viner, who had found a remedy for

this evil, by establishing an Oxford professorship; and how promise

to make myself master of his abridgment, till I had every case it

contained at my tongue's end! What were four and twenty volumes in

folio? Compared to Sulpicius, it was a trifle!

The eulogium that I next came to on a university education, how

grateful was that to my heart! I was not, as my oracle described,

though one of the 'gentlemen of bright imaginations, to be wearied;

however unpromising the search.' Neither was I to be numbered among

those 'many persons of moderate capacity, who confuse themselves at

first setting out; and continue ever dark and puzzled during the

remainder of their lives.' The law being itself so luminous, there

was no fear of that with me.

I met indeed with one overwhelming assertion. 'Such knowledge as is

necessary for a judge is hardly to be acquired by the lucubrations of

twenty years!'

But this to be sure must be meant of dull fellows. As to the limits of

genius, they were unknown.

My pleasure revived in full force, when I arrived at my author's

definition of law: which he states to be--'a rule of civil conduct,

prescribed by the supreme power in a state; commanding what is right,

and prohibiting what is wrong.' What will you say to that, friend

Turl? exclaimed I: putting down the book, and pausing. Can any thing

be more provident, more wise, more desirable?

In short, I found the writer so clearly understood and satisfactorily

explained the nature of law, and the benefits arising from it, that,

for my own part, I began to be ashamed of my former stupidity. It

was all so self-evident that it seemed disgraceful not to know it

as it were by intuition. I was in that precise temper of mind which

renders conviction an easy task: for I was in haste to be rich, and

famous; and the desire of wealth and fame are two of the strongest

provocatives to faith that the sagacity of selfishness has ever yet

discovered.

While I was in the midst of all these admirings, my attention

was roused by a dialogue that passed between two of my senior

fellow-pupils, whose names were Rudge and Trottman, which the former

thus began.

'That was a d---- rascally cause we were concerned in yesterday.'

'Rascally enough. But we got it.'

'I can't say but I was sorry for the poor farmer.'

'Sorry! Ha, ha, ha! You remind me of an unfleshed-recruit: or a young

surgeon, who has just begun to walk the hospitals. Frequent the

Courts, and you will soon learn to forget commiseration, and attend to

nothing but law. Docking of entails gives the lawyer as little concern

as the amputation of limbs does the surgeon: they are both of them

curious only about the manner, and dexterity of the operation.'

'I suppose it will ruin the man.'

'He was a fool for making it a criminal prosecution. He should have

brought an action for damages.'

'It is an aggravating thing for a man to have his daughter seduced, be

beaten himself because he was angry at the injury, and, when he sues

for redress, not only be unable to obtain it, but find his fortune

destroyed, as well as his daughter's character, and his own peace.'

'The law knows nothing concerning him, or his fortune, character,

peace, or daughter. It is and ought to be dead to private feeling.

It must consider nothing but the public benefit: nor must it ever

condescend to vary from its own plain and literal construction.'

'That is strange: for its origin seems to have been in those very

feelings, to which it is so dead.'

'Undoubtedly. But it provides for such feelings each under its

individual class; and if a man, seeking redress, shall seek it under a

wrong head, that is his fault; and not the fault of the law.'

'It is a fault, however, that is daily committed.'

'Ay to be sure: or there would be but few lawyers.'

'How so?'

'Why, if a man doing wrong was certain, or almost certain, of being

detected and exposed, the chances would be so much against offenders

that offences would of course diminish.'

'Then the prosperity of lawyers seems to result from the blunders

which they themselves commit?'

'No doubt it does; and, as the blunders are innumerable, their

prosperity must be in proportion.'

'There seems to be something wrong in this; though I cannot tell what

or why.'

'Ha, ha, ha! You have no cause to complain: you are a lawyer, and your

own interest must teach you that every thing is right. Except indeed

that the classes or heads I mentioned, and consequently the blunders,

are not numerous enough. But, thank heaven, we have a remedy for that:

for our statute-books are daily swelling.'

'Why, yes! Some people say they are pregnant with mischief: of which

it is further asserted that they are daily delivered.'

'Ay, certainly; and to the great joy of the parents.'

'Who are they?'

'Enquire for the father at St. Stephen's; and for the mother at

Westminster-hall. I assure you they are both enraptured at their own

offspring. The old lady sits in state, and daily praises her babes

with the most doating loquacity. And she does this with so grave a

face that it is impossible to forbear laughing, when you hear her. She

is so serious, so solemn, so convinced that every thing she utters is

oracular, and so irascible if she does but so much as smell a doubt

concerning the beauty and perfection of her brats, that there is no

scene in the world which tickles my imagination so irresistibly as to

watch her maternal visage during her eulogiums, while the big-wigs are

nodding approbation; or the contortions of her physiognomy, when any

cross incident happens to impede the torrent of her fondness. With

all due respect to her motherly functions, she is a very freakish and

laughable old lady.'

'You have a turn for ridicule: but I confess, if I thought your

picture were true, I do not believe my sensations would be so pleasant

as yours appear to be.'

'And why, in the name of common sense?'

'How can one laugh at the mistakes and miseries of mankind?'

'For a very simple reason: because it is the only way that can

render them endurable. None but a fool would cry at what cannot be

corrected.'

The colloquy between my companions here took another direction, less

interesting to me, and left me to pause and ruminate. This picture,

said I, is satirical I own: but surely it is unjust. Blackstone,

beyond all doubt, understood the science profoundly; and his account

of it is very different indeed.

I turned back to the passage I have quoted.

'It distinguishes the criterions of right and wrong; teaches us to

establish the one and prevent punish or redress the other; employs

in its theory the noblest faculties of the soul, and exerts in its

practice the cardinal virtues of the heart: it is universal in its use

and extent, is accommodated to each individual, and yet comprehends

the whole community.'

How just, how ennobling, how sublime is this praise! To compare it to

the doatings of an old woman is extremely false: nay is pernicious;

for, by exciting laughter, it misleads the judgment.

My companions being silent, I was impelled to address myself to

Trottman. 'I wonder, sir,' said I, 'that you should be such an enemy

to law.'

'I an enemy! You totally mistake. I am its fast friend. And with good

reason: I find it a very certain source of ease and affluence even to

the most stupid blockheads, if they will but drudge on; and of riches,

honours, and hereditary fame, to men of but very moderate talents.

I may surely expect to come in for my share; and therefore should

be a rank fool indeed were I its enemy. I leave that to innovating

fanatics. Let them dream, and rave, and write: while I mind my own

affairs, take men as they are and ever must be, profit by supporting

present establishments, and look down with contempt on the puppies who

prate philosophy, and bawl for reform.'

I was stung. Conscious of the turn my own thoughts had taken, I

suspected that he had divined this from some words which I might

have dropped, and that his attack was personal: I therefore eagerly

replied--'Your language, sir, is unqualified.'

'I meant no offence. If you are a reformer, I beg your pardon. I

never quarrel about what I have heard certain pompous gentlemen call

principles.'

'Then all those persons, who differ in opinion from you, are puppies;

and pompous gentlemen?'

'Oh dear, no, sir! Only all those that are absent. The company, you

know, according to the received rule, is excepted.'

There was something impudently humble and satirical in his look, while

he uttered this: yet so contrived as to make the man appear a pettish

angry blockhead, who should take offence at it; and I certainly was

not inclined to quarrel with my new comrades, the first day of our

acquaintance.

Beside, Trottman was a little insignificant man, in appearance;

pot-bellied, of a swarthy complexion, but with keenness, cunning, and

mockery in his eye; and whose form and figure, as well as his turn

of mind, must have made it ridiculous to have quarrelled with him. I

therefore waited for some more fortunate opportunity, to repay him

in his own coin: for I was as unwilling to be vanquished by wit, and

satire, as by force of argument, or of arms.

Rudge, whose temper was more placid but who had an enquiring mind,

said, 'You do not know my friend Trottman yet, Mr. Trevor. He cares

but little who has the most reason, so that he may have the most

laughter.'

'Life is a journey,' added Trottman; 'and, if I can travel on terra

firma, with a clear sky, and a smiling landscape, let those that

please put to sea in a butcher's tray, and sail in quest of foul

weather.'

'Yes, sir, but the search of ease is the loss of happiness; and to fly

from danger is the likeliest way to meet it: that is, when you either

seek or fly without a guide.'

'And who is this guide to safety?'

'It is, what you appear to hold in contempt, Principle.'

'Ha, ha, ha! Right! The blind leading the blind. Conjure up one

phantom to seek for another. How prodigiously we improve!'

'From what you have said, I am not surprised that you should consider

principle as a phantom. But you only quarrel with the word: for, as

principle can mean nothing more than a rule of action, deduced from

past experience and influencing our present conduct, you, certainly,

like other men, act from principle. It is a moral duty to shun pain,

and keep your fingers out of the fire.'

'Not if I want to sear up a wound.'

'You are excellent at a shifting blow. But why would you apply the

cautery? Because principle, guided by experience, has previously told

you that to cauterize is in some cases the way to heal.'

'But empirics, who cauterize without healing, are daily multiplying

upon us.'

'Were that granted, it is but empiric opposed to empiric. Men have

been groaning under their sufferings for ages; and, since ages have

proved that the old prescriptions were insufficient, I can neither see

the danger nor the blame of following new.'

'Zeal may be purblind, and perhaps could not see a guillotine: but her

neck might chance to feel it.'

'Then you think a guillotine a more terrible thing than a halter, an

axe, or perhaps even a rack?'

'It will do more work in less time.'

'And you suppose it to be principle, or if you please innovation, that

has given this machine its momentum?'

'Suppose! Is there any doubt?'

'Infinite. I imagine it to be given, if we may be allowed to

personify, neither by Innovation nor Establishment; but by the

rashness and ill temper with which these heroines have mutually

maintained their positions. Innovation struck the ball at first too

impetuously: but Establishment took it at the rebound, and returned

it with triple violence. Brunswickian manifestoes, and exterminating

wars, were not ill adapted to raise the diabolical spirit of revenge.

An endeavour to starve a nation, which it was found difficult to

exterminate by fire and sword, was not a very charitable act in Madam

Establishment. Her swindling forgeries were little better; and that

her turn should come, to be starved and swindled, is not miraculous:

though it is deplorable. Heaven avert her claims to the guillotine!'

My antagonist had no immediate reply; and Rudge exclaimed, with some

satisfaction, 'Why, Trottman, you have met with your match!'

'Not I, indeed,' answered he, peevishly. 'I am only lost in a

labyrinth of words; and am waiting for Principle to come and be my

guide. But I am afraid she carries a dark lanthorn, which will but

blind those that look.'

'I suspect, sir,' said I, 'you are less at loss for a joke than an

argument; and that you prefer bush-fighting. For my own part, I love

the fair and open field of enquiry.'

'As this is a field that has no limits, nor any end to its cross

roads, I am content, as you say, to sit down under my hedge and be

quiet.'

'No, no; I did not say that: for I see you love to draw a sly bow at

passengers.'

'I have now and then brought down a gull, or an owl.'

'Have you shot any of those birds to-day?'

I felt no compunction in making this triumphant retort to his sneer.

And here our dialogue ended. Though it was a kind of declaration of

war; I mean a war of words; which, as we became more acquainted, was

occasionally waged with some asperity.

But, in one respect, Trottman was my superior. To sneer was habitual

to him: but it was always done in a manner which seemed to indicate

that he himself had no suspicion of any such intent. So that he

continually appeared to keep his temper; and never triumphed so

effectually as when he could provoke me to lose mine. On which

occasions his additional conciliatory sarcasms, accompanied with

smiles denoting the enjoyment of his victory, never failed to make

me feel my own littleness. And this is a lesson for which I consider

myself as very highly in his debt.

I now pursued my reading; and employed the rest of the day in

beginning to copy the manuscript precedents, that were to capacitate

me for the practice of law: for the number of which, that were in his

possession, Mr. Ventilate was famed.

My ardour however had felt some trifling abatement, by the very

different picture and panegyric of the law as given by Trottman,

opposed to that I had been contemplating. But I had this very powerful

consolation: that, as Trottman knew very little of what I supposed to

be the true principles of politics, it was highly probable he was no

better acquainted with those of law.

CHAPTER XV

_Former resentments revised: Doubts protracted: Conjectures on the

sincerity of a delicate yet firm mind_

Above a fortnight passed away, during which I received no word

of intelligence concerning Olivia. At some moments I felt great

affliction from this suspense: at others I collected myself and

determined to pursue my plan with all the vigour in which it had been

conceived.

In the interval, I wrote several times to Mr. Evelyn. To this I was

prompted from the very nature of my engagements and situation. Beside

which I had not forgotten my pamphlet against the Earl and the Bishop,

that lay ready for publication; though the acrimony of my feelings was

much abated. The propriety of making the world acquainted with this

affair was one of the subjects of my correspondence with Mr. Evelyn:

to whom I had the candour to state my own opinions and sensations, on

one part; and, on the other, the objections that had been urged by

Turl.

In the history I had given Mr. Evelyn of myself, I was impelled,

as well by inclination as necessity, to delineate the character of

Turl, with which he could not but be charmed; and with his arguments

and dissuasions on this subject. With these the ideas of Mr. Evelyn

entirely coincided. He wrote delightful letters; full of animation,

feeling, and friendship; and his persuasion therefore had the greater

effect.

Wilmot concurred in the opinion of both; and, being thus pressed by

the men whom I most loved and revered, I endeavoured to consign my

resentment and its effusions to oblivion, and to dismiss the subject

entirely from my mind.

At length, my suspense concerning Olivia found some, though far from a

satisfactory, relief.

As she had paid no visit to Miss Wilmot, the latter of course had

found no opportunity to deliver my letter. One evening, however, as I

was sitting after tea with Miss Wilmot and her brother, a note came of

which the following were the contents.

'Miss Mowbray presents her kind and tenderest respects to Miss Wilmot,

and informs her that she has been in town for some short time. Assures

her that her not having called is far indeed from any decline of

former friendship, the sincerity of which is invariable: but that

there are motives which prevent her, for the present, from the

enjoyment of that satisfaction. She would have been most happy to have

communicated her thoughts to Miss Wilmot in person: but she is the

slave of circumstances which, for family reasons and indeed from other

motives; she is forbidden to explain; and to which she is obliged

to submit. She confides in the goodness and friendship of Miss

Wilmot, who she is well assured will not misinterpret that which

is unavoidable; and, cherishing the hope of a more favourable

opportunity, wishes her all possible happiness: requesting that, if by

any means in her power it can be increased, Miss Wilmot will acquaint

her with those means: that she may have the wished-for occasion of

proving the ardour and sincerity of her affections.

'Hertford-street, Nov. 17th'

* * * * *

Miss Wilmot gave me this note to read; and the commentary I

immediately made was that, finding I was alive, the fear of a

rencontre with me was the obstacle to her visits.

They agreed that this was a very probable supposition: but how far

the aunt was any way concerned in it was matter of more uncertain

conjecture. Miss Wilmot knew that Olivia had informed her aunt of the

visits she was before accustomed to make; and, as her ideas concerning

sincerity were delicately strict, it was more than probable that she

had disdained to conceal any of the circumstances with which she

herself was acquainted. I therefore thought it almost indubitable that

she had been no less frank on the present occasion than was habitual

to her on others; and time afterward discovered that my conclusions

were right.

'With what unequal weapons,' exclaimed I, 'do the lovers of truth and

the adherents of hypocrisy contend!'

'They do indeed,' replied Wilmot. 'But, contrary I believe to your

supposition, the former have infinitely the advantage: for the latter

systematically deceive themselves.'

What was to be done? Was I to pursue some covert mode of conveying

my letter? Should I send it openly? Or ought I to let it remain,

and patiently wait the course of events, which, by endeavouring to

forward, I might but retard? Wilmot, who, though he had too much

sympathy to communicate all his fears, had but little expectation,

judging from the failure of his own plans of the success of mine,

advised me to the latter; and, perplexed as I was with doubt and

apprehension, I followed this advice.

END OF VOLUME IV

VOLUME V

CHAPTER I

_A cursory glance at law fictions: Legal suppositions endless: The

professional jargon of an attorney: An enquiry into the integrity of

barristers and the equity of decisions at law: A. and B. or a case

stated: A digression from law to philosophy_

In the mean time, my application to the law was incessant; and

consequently my intercourse with lawyers daily increased. I

endeavoured to load my brain with technical terms and phrases, to

understand technical distinctions, and to acquaint myself with the

history of law fictions, and the reasons on which they had been

founded.

To these subjects my attention had been turned by Mr. Hilary; who,

being a Solicitor, was well acquainted with the value of them, to the

man who meant to make himself a thorough lawyer.

The consideration of this branch of law staggered my judgment.

Trottman and Hilary were intimate. The latter had invited us and other

friends to dinner; and, as I found the acuteness of Trottman useful to

me in my pursuits, I took this and every occasion to put questions:

which he was very ready to answer. As it happened, my enquiry on the

subject of law fictions brought on the following dialogue: which was

supported by Trottman entirely in his own style.

'According to your account then,' said I, in answer to a previous

remark, 'in _Banco Regis_ the King is always _supposed_ to be

present.'

'No doubt, what question can there be of that? One invisible kind of

being can as easily be supposed as another. And I hope you will not

dispute the actual presence of that pleasant gentleman called the

devil, in any one of our courts?'

'By no means!'

'As for his majesty, he, God bless him! by the nature of his office is

_hic et ubique_: here, there, and every where. He is borne in state

before each Corporation Mayor, whether Mr. or My Lord; and reposes

peacefully in front of Mr. Speaker, or the Lord High Chancellor:

investing them by his sacred presence with all their power.'

'How so?'

'How so! Do you forget the mace upon the table?'

'Authority then has that virtue that, like grace divine into a wafer,

it can be transfused into wood.'

'Yes. A lord's white wand, a general's baton; a constable's staff. It

is thought necessary, I grant, in some of these cases that the block

should be carved and gilded.'

'Well, the position is that, in _Banco Regis_, the King is always

present.'

'So says the law.'

'But the law, it appears, tells a lie; and, from all that I have

heard, I wish it were the only one that it told.'

'Could the law hear, sir, it would take very grave offence at your

language. It only assumes a fiction.'

'John Doe and Richard Roe, who are the pledges of prosecution, are

two more of its _supposes_, or lies. I beg pardon. I should have said

fictions.'

'Why, yes: considering that John Doe and Richard Roe never made their

personal appearance in any court in the kingdom, were never once met,

in house, street, or field, in public, or in private, nay had never

yet the good luck to be born, they have really done a deal of

business.'

'They resemble Legion, entering the swine: they plunge whole herds

into the depths of destruction.'

'Or, if you will, they are a kind of real yet invisible hob-goblins:

by whom every human being is liable to be haunted. It must however be

allowed of them that they are a pair of very active and convenient

persons.'

'To lawyers. But God help the rest of mankind! Are there many of these

fictions?'

'More than I or any man, I believe, can at one time remember.'

'From the little I have read, this appears to be a very puzzling part

of the profession.'

'Not at all; if we will take things as we find them, and neither be

more curious nor squeamish than wise. I will state the process of a

suit to you; and you will then perceive how plain and straight-forward

it is. We will suppose A the plaintiff: B the defendant. A brings his

action by bill. Action you know means this: '_Actio nihil aliud est

quam jus prosequendi injudicium quod sibi debelur_:' or, 'a right of

prosecuting to judgment, for what is due to one's self.' B is and was

_supposed_ to be in the custody of the Marshal. Observe, _supposed to

be_: for very likely B is walking unmolested in his garden; or what

not. B we will say happens to live in Surrey, Kent, or any other

county, except Middlesex; and is _supposed_ to have made his escape,

though perhaps he may have broken his leg, and never have been out of

his own door. And then the latitat _supposes_ that a bill had issued,

and further _supposes_ that it has been returned _non est inventus_,

and moreover _supposes_ it to have been filed. B lives in Kent, you

know; and this latitat is addressed, in _supposition_, to the Sheriff

of the county, greeting; though as to the Sheriff he neither sees,

hears, nor knows any thing concerning it; and informs him that B

(notwithstanding he is confined to his bed by a broken leg) runs up

and down, in _supposition_, and secretes himself in the Sheriff's

county of Kent: on which--'

'I beg your pardon: I cannot follow you through all this labyrinth of

_supposes_.'

'No! Then you will never do for a lawyer: for I have but just begun. I

should carry you along an endless chain of them; every link of which

is connected.'

'And which chain is frequently strong enough to bind and imprison both

plaintiff and defendant.'

'Certainly: or the law would be as dead in its spirit as it is in its

letter.'

'I fear I shall never get all the phrases and forms of law by rote.'

'Why, no. If you did, heaven help you! it would breed a fine confusion

in your brain. You would become as litigious and as unintelligible as

our friend Stradling.'

'Mr. Stradling,' said Hilary, 'is one of my clients: an unfortunate

man who, being a law-printer, has in the way of trade read so many

law-books, and accustomed himself to such a peculiar jargon, as to

imagine that he is a better lawyer than any of us; so that he has

half-ruined himself by litigation. He is to dine with us, and will

soon be here.'

'I will provoke him,' continued Trottman, 'to afford you a sample of

his gibberish; you may then examine what degree of instruction you

suppose may be obtained from a heterogeneous topsy-turvy mass of law

phrases.'

'But why irritate your friend?'

'You mistake. He has it so eternally on his tongue that, instead of

giving him pain to shew the various methods in which he supposes

he could torment an antagonist at law, it affords him the highest

gratification.'

'Our friend Hilary here is better qualified for the task of

instruction; but he feels some of your qualms; and is now and then

inclined to doubt that there is vice in the glorious system which

regulates all our actions.'

'I deny that it regulates them,' said Hilary. 'If people in general

had no more knowledge of right and wrong than they have of law, their

actions would indeed be wretchedly regulated!'

This was a sagacious remark. It made an impression upon me that was

not forgotten. It suggested the important truth that the pretensions

of law to govern are ridiculous; and that men act, as Hilary justly

affirmed, well or ill according to their sense of right and wrong.

Mr. Stradling soon after came; and Trottman very artfully led him into

a dispute on a supposed case, which Trottman pretended to defend, and

aggravated him, by contradiction, till Stradling roundly affirmed his

opponent knew nothing of conducting a suit at law.

The volubility of this gentleman was extraordinary; and the trouble I

thought myself obliged to bestow, at that time, on the subject could

alone have enabled me to remember any part of the jargon he uttered,

in opposition to Trottman: which in substance was as follows.

'Give me leave to tell you, friend Trottman, you know nothing of the

matter; and I should be very glad I could provoke you to meet me in

Westminster-hall. If I had you but in the Courts, damn me if you

should easily get out!'

'I tell you once more I would not leave you a coat to your back.'

'You! Lord help you! I would _traverse_ your indictment, _demur_ to

your plea, bring my _writ of error, nonsuit_ you. Sir, I would _ca sa

fi fa_ you. I would _bar_ you. I would _latitat_ you, _replevin_ you,

_refalo_ you. I would have my _non est inventus_, my _alias_, and

_pluries_, and _pluries_, and _pluries, ad infinitum_. I would have

you in _trover_; in _detinue_; I would send your loving friend Richard

Roe to you. I would _eject_ you. I would make you _confess lease entry

and ouster_. I would file my _bill of Middlesex_; or my _latitat_

with an _ac etiam_. Nay, I would be a worse plague to you still: I

would have my bill filed in B.R. I would furnish you with a special

original for C.P. You talk! I would sue out my _capias_, _alias_, and

_pluries_, at once; and outlaw you before you should hear one word of

the proceeding.'

Bless me, thought I, what innumerable ways there are of reducing a man

to beggary and destruction according to law!

Trottman thus provokingly continued.

'My dear Mr. Stradling, your brain is bewildered. You go backward and

forward, from one supposition to another, and from process to process,

till you really don't know what you say. If I were your opponent, in

any Court in the kingdom, I should certainly make the law provide you

a lodging for the rest of your life.'

'Bring your action! That's all! Bring your action, and observe how

finely I will _nonpros_ you: or reduce you to a _nolle prosequi_. You

think yourself knowing? Pshaw. I have nonsuited fifty more cunning

fellows, in my time; and shall do fifty more.'

God help them! thought I.

'I have laid many a pert put by the heels. You pretend to carry an

action through the Courts with me! Why, sir, I have helped to ruin

three men of a thousand a year; and am in a fair way, at this very

hour, of doing as much for a Baronet of five times the property.'

I listened in astonishment.

'And do you take a pleasure in remembering this?' said Hilary.

'Pleasure!' answered Stradling; staring. 'Why, do you think, Mr.

Hilary, I should have taken a pleasure in ruining myself? What did

I do but act according to the laws of my country? And, if men will

oppose me, and pretend to understand those laws better than I do, let

them pay for their ignorance and their presumption. Let them respect

the law, or let their brats go beg.'

'The law I find, sir,' said I, 'has no compassion.'

'Compassion, indeed! No, sir. Compassion is a fool; and the law is

wise.'

'In itself I hope it is: but I own I doubt the wisdom of its

practice.'

'But this practice, you must know,' said Trottman, with a wink to

Stradling, 'Mr. Trevor means to reform.'

'Oh,' replied Stradling, 'then I suppose, when the gentleman is at

the bar, he will never accept a brief, till he has first examined the

equity of the case.'

'That, sir,' I replied, 'is my firm intention.'

'Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Trevor, you are a young man! You will know better in

time.'

'And do you imagine, sir, that I will ever hire myself to chicanery,

and be the willing promoter of fraud? If I do, may I live hated, and

die despised!'

'Ay, ay! Very true! I don't remember that I ever met with a youth,

who had just begun to keep his terms, who did not profess much the

same. And, which is well worthy of remark, those that have been most

vehement in these professions have been most famous, when they came to

the bar, for undertaking and gaining the rottenest causes.'

'You shall find however, sir, that I shall be an exception to this

rule.'

'Excuse me, Mr. Trevor, for not too hastily crediting hasty

assertions. I know mankind as well as I know the law. However, I can

only tell you that if your practice keep pace with your professions,

you will never be Lord Chief Justice.'

'Do the judges then encourage barristers, who undertake the defence of

bad and base actions?'

'To be sure they do. They sometimes shake their heads and look grave:

but we know very well they defended such themselves: or, as I tell

you, they would never have been judges. If two men have a dispute,

one of them must be in the wrong. And who is able to pronounce which,

except the law?'

'My dear Mr. Stradling,' said Trottman, 'you are again out of your

depth. When two men dispute, it almost always happens that they are

both in the wrong. And this is the glorious resource of law; and the

refuge of its counsellors, and its judges.'

Trottman and Stradling were accustomed to each other's manner; and,

notwithstanding the language they used, nothing more was meant than a

kind of jocular sparring: which would now and then forget itself for a

moment, and become waspish; but would recollect and recover its temper

the next sentence.