No. It is an effort to live in harmony with mankind: yet to speak the

truth and tell them of their mistakes unsparingly, and regardless of

personal danger. In other words, it is an attempt to perform the most

sacred of duties: but the manner of performing it effectually has

hitherto been ill understood.

Sir Barnard had witnessed the short scene between me and his lordship;

and presently took occasion to ask me in a whisper, 'How and where we

had become acquainted?'

I replied 'I had resided in the house of his lordship.'

'Ay, indeed!' said the Baronet. 'In what capacity?'

My pride was piqued, and I answered, 'As his companion; and, as I

was taught to suppose myself, his friend. But I was soon cured of my

mistake.'

'By what means?'

'By his lordship's patriotism. By the purity of his politics.'

I spoke with a sneer, and the Baronet burst into a malicious laugh of

triumph: but, unwilling that the cause of it should be suspected, it

was instantly restrained.

'What concern had you,' continued he, 'in his lordship's politics?'

'I have reason to believe I helped to reconcile him to the Minister.'

'You, Mr. Trevor! How came you to do so unprincipled, so profligate, a

thing?'

'It was wholly unintentional.'

'I do not understand you.'

'I wrote certain letters that were printed in the ----'

'What, Mr. Trevor! were you the author of the three last letters of

Themistocles?'

'I was.'

The Baronet's face glowed with exultation. 'I knew,' said he with a

vehement but under voice, 'he never wrote them himself! I have said it

a thousand times; and I am not easily deceived. Every body said the

same.'

There is no calculating how much the knowledge of this circumstance

raised me in Sir Barnard's opinion; and consequently elevated himself,

in the idea he conceived of his own power. 'Had he indeed got hold of

the author of Themistocles? Why then he was a great man! A prodigious

senator! The wish of his heart was accomplished! He could now wreak

vengeance where he most wished it to fall; and fall it should, without

mercy or remission.' His little soul was on tip-toe, and he overlooked

the world.

Though we had retired to the farthest corner of the room, and his

lordship pretended to be engaged in chit chat with persons who were

proud of his condescension, I could perceive his suspicions were

awakened. His eye repeatedly gave enquiring glances; and, while it

endeavoured to counterfeit indifference by a stare, it was disturbed

and contracted by apprehension.

Malignity, hatred, and revenge, are closely related; and of these

passions men of but little mental powers are very susceptible. It is

happy for society that their impotence impedes the execution of their

desires. I was odious in the sight of Lord Idford in every point of

view: for he had first injured me; which, as has been often remarked,

too frequently renders him who commits the injury implacable; and he

had since encountered a rival in me; which was an insult that his

vanity and pride could ill indeed digest.

Still however he was a courtier; a man of fashion; a person of the

best breeding; and therefore could smile.

A smile is a delightful thing, when it is the genuine offspring of the

heart: but heaven defend me from the jaundiced eye, the simpering lip,

and the wrinkled cheek; that turn smiles to grimace, and give the lie

to open and undisguised pleasure.

It was a smile such as this that his lordship bestowed upon me, when

I and the Baronet joined his group. Addressing himself to me, with a

simper that anticipated the pain he intended to give, he said--'Do you

know, Mr. Trevor, that your friend the bishop of **** is to dine with

us? You will be glad to meet each other.'

I instantly replied, with fire in my eyes, 'I shall be as glad to

meet that most pious and right reverend pastor as I was to meet your

lordship.'

Agreeably to rule, he bowed; and gave the company to understand he

took this as a polite acknowledgment of respect. But his gesture was

accompanied with a disconcerted leer of smothered malice, which I

could not misinterpret. It was sardonic; and, to me, who knew what was

passing in his heart, disgusting, and painful.

I had scarcely spoken before my lord the bishop entered; and with him,

as two supporters--Heavens! Who?--The president of the college where

I had been educated; and the tutor, whose veto had prevented me from

taking my degrees!

In the life of every man of enterprise there are moments of extreme

peril. In an instant, and as it were by enchantment, I saw myself

surrounded by the cowardly, servile, dwarf-demons, for so my

imagination painted them, who had been my chief tormentors. Or rather

by reptiles the most envenomed; with which I was shut up, as if I had

been thrown into their den; and by which, if I did not exterminate

them, I must expect to be devoured.

But these feelings were of short duration. My heart found an immediate

repellent, both to fear and revenge, in my eyes. Good God! What were

the figures now before me? Such as to excite pity, in every bosom

that was not shut to commiseration for the vices into which mankind

are mistakenly hurried; and for their deplorable consequences.

What a fearful alteration had a few months produced! In the bishop

especially!

He had been struck by the palsy, and dragged one side along with

extreme difficulty. His bloated cheeks and body had fallen into deep

pits; and the swelling massy parts were of a black-red hue, so that

the skin appeared a bag of morbid contents. His mouth was drawn awry,

his speech entirely inarticulate, his eye obscured by thick rheum,

and his clothes were stained by the saliva that occasionally driveled

from his lips. His legs were wasted, his breast was sunk, and his

protuberant paunch looked like the receptacle of dropsy, atrophy,

catarrh, and every imaginable malady.

My heart sunk within me. Poor creature! What would I have given

to have possessed the power of restoring thee to something human!

Resentment to thee? Alas! Had I not felt compassion, such as never can

be forgotten, I surely should have despised, should have almost hated,

myself.

The president was evidently travelling the same road. His legs, which

had been extremely muscular, instead of being as round and smooth in

their surface as they formerly were, each appeared to be covered with

innumerable nodes; that formed irregular figures, and angles. What

they were swathed with I cannot imagine: but I conjecture there must

have been stiff brown paper next to the smooth silk stocking, which

produced the irregularities of the surface. The dullness of his eyes,

the slowness of their motions, his drooping eyelids, his flaccid

cheeks, his hanging chin, and the bagging of his cloaths, all denoted

waste, want of animation, lethargy, debility and decline.

The condition of the tutor was no less pitiable. He was gasping with

an asthma; and was obliged incessantly to struggle with suffocation.

It was what physicians call a confirmed case: while he lived, he was

doomed to live in pain. Where is the tyrant that can invent tortures,

equal to those which men invent for themselves?

These were the guests who were come to feast: to indulge appetites

they had never been able to subdue, though their appetites were vipers

that were eating away their vitals.

How strongly did this scene bring to my recollection Pope on the

ruling passion! I could almost fancy I heard the poor bishop quoting

'Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my soul!

'Is there no hope?--Alas!--Then bring the jowl.'

The present man is but the slave of the past. What induced the

president and the tutor, when the bishop's more able-bodied footmen

had rather carried than conducted him up stairs, officially to become

his supporters as he entered the room? Was it unmixed humanity? Or was

it those servile habits to which their cunning had subjected them? and

by which they supposed not only that preferment but that happiness was

attainable.

Humanity doubtless had its share; for it is a sensation that never

utterly abandons the breast of man: and, as it is often strengthened

by a consciousness that we ourselves are in need of aid, let us

suppose that the president and the tutor were become humane.

Though feelings of acrimony towards these persons were entirely

deadened in me by the spectacle I beheld, yet I knew not well how

to behave. I was prompted to shew them how placable I was become,

by accosting them first: but this might be misconstrued into that

servility for which I had thought of them with so much contempt.

Beside, the bishop and the president, if not the tutor, were in the

phraseology of the world my superiors; and etiquette had established

the rule that, if they thought proper to notice me, they would be the

first to salute.

His lordship however eased me of farther trouble on this head, by

asking the bishop--'Have you forgotten your old acquaintance Mr.

Trevor, my lord?'

What answer this consecrated right reverend father returned I could

not hear. He muttered something: but the sounds were as unintelligible

as the features of his face; or the drooping deadness of his eyes. The

president, however, hearing this, thought proper to bow: though very

slightly, till the earl added, with a significant emphasis on the two

last words--'Sir Barnard is become Mr. Trevor's particular friend;'

which was no sooner pronounced than the countenances of both the

bishop's supporters changed, to something which might be called

exceedingly civil, in the tutor, and prodigiously condescending, in

the president.

This was a memorable day: and, if the event which I have now to relate

should be offensive to the feelings of any man, or any class of men,

I can only say that I share the common fate of historians: who,

though they should relate nothing but facts, never fail to excite

displeasure, if not resentment and persecution, in the partisans of

this or that particular opinion, faction, or establishment.

The dinner was served. It was sumptuous: or rather such as gluttony

delights in. The persons assembled, I am sorry to say it, were several

of them gluttons; and encouraged and countenanced each other in the

vice to which they were addicted.

Dish succeeded to dish: and one plateful was but devoured that another

and another might be gorged.

Fatal insensibility to the warning voice of experience!

Incomprehensible blindness!

The poor bishop was unable to resist his destiny.

I had a foreboding of the mischief that might result from a stomach at

once so debilitated and so overloaded. I wished to have spoken: I was

tempted to exclaim--'Rash man, beware!' I could not keep my eyes away

from him: till at length I suddenly remarked a strange appearance,

that came over his face; and, almost at the same instant, he dropped

from his chair in an apoplectic fit.

The description of his foaming mouth, distorted features, dead eyes,

the whites of which only were to be seen, his writhings, his--

No! I must forbear. The picture I witnessed could give nothing but

pain; mingled with disgust, and horror. If I suggest that poor

oppressed nature made the most violent struggles, to empty and relieve

herself, there will perhaps be more than sufficient of the scene of

which I was a spectator conjured up in the imagination.

The bishop had been a muscular man, with a frame of uncommon strength;

and the paroxysm, though extreme, did not end in death. Medical

assistance was obtained, and he was borne away as soon as the crisis

was over: but the festivity for which the company had met was

disturbed. Many of them were struck with terror; dreading lest they

had only been present at horrors that, soon or late, were to light

upon themselves. They departed appalled by the scene they had

witnessed, and haunted by images of a foreboding, black, and

distracted kind.

From these Sir Barnard himself was not wholly free: though he had been

less guilty of gormandizing than many of his associates: and, for

my own part, this incident left an impression upon me which I am

persuaded will be salutary through life.

CHAPTER X

_A few reflections: A word concerning friends, and the duties of

friendship: News of Thornby; or the equity of the dying: The decease

of my mother: A curious letter on the obsequies of the dead: The real

and the ideal being unlike to each other_

How different is the same man, at different periods of his existence!

How very unlike were the bowing well bred Earl of Idford, and the

asthmatic tutor, of this day, to the Lord Sad-dog and his Jack; whom,

but a few years before, I first met at college!

The president too at that time was, quite as much in form as in

office, one of the pillars of the university. And the bishop! What a

lamentable change had a short period produced!

Happy would it be for men did they recollect that change they must;

and that, if they will but be sufficiently attentive to circumstances,

they may change for the better.

Time kept rolling on; and I had variety of occupation. Neither my

studies, my fashionable acquaintances, nor those whom I justly loved

as my friends, were neglected. Mr. Evelyn continued for some time in

town; attending to his anatomical and chymical studies. Wilmot had

completed his comedy. It had been favourably received by the manager;

and was to be the second new piece brought forward. Turl, with equal

perseverance, was pursuing his own plans: and, though I heard nothing

more from Olivia, my heart was at ease. I knew the motives on which

she acted; and had her assurance that, if I should be again defamed, I

should now be heard in my own defence.

I was careful not to forget honest Clarke; nor was the kind-hearted

Mary neglected. The good carpenter had sent for his wife and family up

to town; and Mary was happy in the friendly attentions of Miss Wilmot,

and in the orderly conduct and quick improvement of her son.

One of my pleasures, and duties as I conceived it to be, was to

introduce Turl and Wilmot to such of my higher order of acquaintance

as might afford both parties gratification. There is much frivolity

among people of rank and fashion: but there is likewise some enquiry

and sound understanding; and, where these qualities exist in any

eminent degree, the friends I have named could not but be welcome.

It is the interest of men of all orders to converse with each other,

to listen to their mutual pretensions with patience, to be slow to

condemn, and to be liberal in the construction of what they at first

suppose to be dangerous novelty.

Turl was peculiarly fitted to promote these principles: and Wilmot, in

addition to the charms of an imagination finely stored, was possessed,

as the reader may remember, of musical talents; and those of no

inferior order. Days and weeks passed not unpleasantly away: for hope

and Olivia were ever present to my imagination, and of the ills which

fortune had in reserve I was little aware.

While business and pleasure thus appeared to promote each other, it

came to my knowledge that an advertisement had appeared in the papers:

stating that, if Hugh Trevor, the grandson of the reverend **** rector

of ***, were alive, by application at a place there named, he might

hear of something very much to his advantage.

I cannot enumerate the conjectures that this intelligence immediately

excited; for they were endless. I searched the papers, found the

advertisement, and hastened to the place to which it directed me.

The information I there received was not precisely what my elevated

hopes had taught me to expect: but it was of considerable moment. I

learned that my grandfather's executor, Mr. Thornby, was dead; that

his nephew, Wakefield, had taken possession of the property he had

left; but that he had done this illegally: for the person who caused

the advertisement to be put into the paper was an attorney, who had

drawn and witnessed the will of Thornby, which will was in my favour;

and which moreover stated that the property bequeathed to me was mine

in right of a will of my grandfather's; which will Thornby had till

that time kept concealed. Whether the testament he had produced,

immediately after the death of the rector, were one that Thornby had

forged, or one that my grandfather had actually made but had ordered

his executor to destroy, did not at present appear. The account I

gave of it in a preceding volume, and of the manner in which it was

procured, was the substance of what I learned from the conversation of

my mother and Thornby at the time.

A death-bed compunction had wrested from the deceased an avowal of his

guilt; and the facts were explicitly stated, in the preamble of his

will, in order to prevent the contest which he foresaw might probably

take place, between me and his nephew. He seemed to have been

painfully anxious to do justice at last; and save his soul, when he

found it must take flight.

The business was urgent; and, if I meant to profit by that which was

legally mine, it was necessary, as I was advised, immediately to go

down and examine into all the circumstances on the spot.

I was the more surprised at what I had heard because it was but very

lately that I had sent a remittance to my mother; which she had

acknowledged, and which must have been received after her husband had

taken possession of his uncle's effects. But, when I recollected

the character that had been given me of Wakefield, as far as the

transaction related to him, my surprise was of short duration.

With respect to my mother, I heard with no small degree of

astonishment that she had been applied to, in order to discover where

I might be found; and that she had returned evasive answers: which as

it was supposed had been dictated by her husband; under whose control,

partly from fear and partly from an old woman's doating, she was

completely held.

To say that I grieved at such weakness, in one whom I had so earnestly

desired to love and honor with more than filial affection, would be

superfluous: but my surprise would have instantly ceased, had I known

who this Wakefield was; with whom my mother had to contend.

Reproach from me however, in word or look, had I been so inclined, she

was destined never to receive. The career of pain and pleasure with

her was nearly over. On the same day that I made the enquiries I have

been repeating, a letter arrived; written not by her, but at her

request; which informed me that, if I meant to see her alive, I must

use all possible speed: for that she had been suddenly seized with

dangerous and intolerable pains; which according to the description

given in the letter, were such as I found from enquiry belong to the

iliac passion; and that she was then lying at the last extremity.

Two such imperious mandates, requiring my presence in my native

county, were not to be disobeyed; and I departed with the utmost

diligence. At the last stage, after a journey of unremitted

expedition, I ordered the chaise to drive to the house of the late

Thornby; where on enquiry I was informed that my mother lay.

I found her in a truly pitiable condition. Quicksilver had been

administered, but in vain; and she was so thoroughly exhausted

that the sight of me produced but very little emotion. Her medical

attendant pronounced she could not survive four-and-twenty hours; and

advised that, if there were any business to be settled between us, it

should be proceeded upon immediately.

Had this advice been given to persons of certain habits, assuredly,

it would not have been neglected; and, perhaps it ought not to have

been by me: but, whether I was right or wrong, I could not endure

to perplex and disturb the mind of a mother in her last agonies.

The consequence was, she expired without hearing a word from me,

concerning her husband, Thornby, or the property to which I was heir;

and without making any mention whatever herself of the disposal of

this property. I was indeed ignorant of what degree of information she

could afford me. Her conduct had been so weak that to remind her of

it, at such a moment, would, as I supposed, have been to inflict a

severe degree of torment.

This, as the reader will learn in time, was not the only shaft by

which my tranquillity was to be assaulted. My mother though she was,

there was yet another death infinitely more heart-rending hanging over

my head. The recollection is anguish that cannot end! Cannot did I

say? Absurd mortal. Live for the living; and grieve not for the dead:

unless grief could bid them rise from their graves.

I must proceed; and not suffer my feelings thus to anticipate my tale.

Knowing that Wakefield was no other than Belmont, the reader will

not be surprised that he should think proper to elude, under these

circumstances, the discovery which a meeting must have produced. My

mother, actuated by a conviction that death was inevitable, had sent

for me without his privity: so that I afterward learned he was in the

house, when I drove up to the door: and, seeing me put my head out of

the chaise, immediately made his escape through the garden.

A man less fertile in expedients would have found it difficult to

forge a plausible pretext, to evade being present and meeting me at

the funeral: but he, by pursuing what wore the face of being, and what

I believe actually was, very rational conduct, dexterously shunned the

rencontre. The following letter, which he wrote to me, will explain by

what means.

'Sir,

'Persons of understanding have discovered that the obsequies of the

dead may be performed with all due decorum, and the pain, as well

as the very frequent hypocrisy, of a funeral procession, which is

attended by friends and relations, avoided. They therefore with great

good sense hire people to mourn; or send their empty carriages,

with the blinds up: which perhaps is quite as wise, and no doubt as

agreeable to the dead.

'He that would not render the duties of humanity, while they can

succour those that are afflicted, may justly be called brutal; but,

those duties being paid, what remains is more properly the business

of carpenters, grave-diggers, and undertakers, than of men whose

happiness is disturbed by useless but gloomy associations; and who may

find better employment for their time.

'I, for example, have business, at present, that calls me another way.

I therefore request you will give such orders, concerning the funeral,

as you shall think proper: and, as I have no doubt you will agree with

me that decency, and not unnecessary pomp, which cannot honor the

dead, and does but satirise the living, will be most creditable to

Mrs. Wakefield's memory, the expence, as it ought, will be defrayed by

me.

I am, sir,

Your very obedient humble servant,

F. WAKEFIELD.'

Had such a letter been written by a man who had pretended fondness

for his wife, it might perhaps have been construed unfeeling: if not

insulting to her memory. But, as the case was notoriously the reverse,

the honest contempt of all affectation, which it displayed, I could

not but consider as an unexpected trait in the character of such a man

as I supposed Wakefield to be.

There is a strange propensity in the imagination to make up ideal

beings; and annex them to names that, when mentioned, have been

usually followed with certain degrees of praise, or blame. These

fanciful portraits are generally in the extreme: they are all virtue,

or all vice: all perfection, or all deformity: though it is well known

that no such unmixed mortals exist.

My mind having acquired the habit rather to doubt than to conclude

that every thing which is customary must be right, funeral follies

had not escaped my censure: but the thing which excited my surprise

was that a man like Wakefield, who I concluded must have thought very

little indeed, since he both thought and acted on other occasions so

differently from me, should in any instance reason like myself; and

some few others, whom I most admired.

Convinced however as I was that he now reasoned rightly, I wanted in

this case the courage to act after his example. It would be a scandal

to the country for a son, pretending to filial duty, to be absent from

his mother's funeral. The reader will doubtless remember that town and

country are two exceedingly distinct regions.

CHAPTER XI

_More alarming intelligence: An honest youth, with a printer's notions

concerning secrecy: The weak parts of law form the strongest shield

for villany: A journey back to town: Enoch Ellis and Glibly again

appear on the scene of action: A few of the artifices of a man of

uncommon cunning delineated: A momentary glance at a mountain of

political rubbish: By artful deductions, a man may be made to say any

thing that an orator pleases_

This scandal I was, notwithstanding my discretion, destined to afford.

In addition to the arguments of Wakefield, accident supplied a motive

too powerful to be resisted.

I have mentioned my intention to suppress the pamphlet which I had

written, in the fever of my resentment, against the Earl, the

Bishop, and their associates. The edition which had been printed for

publishing had lain in the printer's warehouse, till the time that I

had determined against its appearance.

The child of the fancy is often as dear to us as any of our children

whatever; and I was unwilling that this offspring of mine should

perish, beyond all power of revival. I therefore had the edition

removed to my lodgings, and stowed in a garret.

A copy however had been purloined; and probably before the removal.

This copy came into the possession of an unprincipled bookseller; who,

regardless of every consideration except profit, and perceiving it to

be written with vehemence on a subject which never fails to attract

the attention of the public, namely personal defamation, had once more

committed it to the press.

As it happened, it was sent to be reprinted by the person with whom

the son of Mary was bound apprentice; and the whole was worked off

except the title-page, which fell into the hands of the youth.

Desirous of shewing kindness to Mary, it may well be supposed I had

not overlooked her son. His mother had taught him to consider me as

the saviour of both their lives; and as such he held me in great

veneration. These favourable feelings were increased by the praise I

bestowed on him, for his good conduct; and the encouragement I gave

him to persevere.

Richard, for that was his name, suspected it could be no intention of

mine to publish the pamphlet: because he had been employed to stow it

in the garret: and, as he was an intelligent lad, and acquainted with

the tricks of the publisher for whom he knew his master was at work,

he hastened in great alarm to communicate his fears; first to his

mother, and then by her advice to Miss Wilmot.

The latter immediately informed her brother. He saw the danger, wrote

to me to return without delay, doubting whether even I should have the

power to prevent the publication, and proceeded himself immediately to

the printer to warn him of the nature of the transaction.

The man was no sooner informed of Mr. Wilmot's business than he

became violently enraged with his apprentice, Richard; accused him

of betraying his master's interest, and the secrets of the

printing-house, which ought to be held sacred, and affirmed that he

had endangered the loss of his business.

Richard was present, was aware of the charge which would be brought

against him, and was prepared to endure it with considerable firmness:

though he had been taught to believe that such complaints were founded

in justice.

Wilmot could obtain no unequivocal answer from the master: either

that he would or would not proceed. He consequently supposed the

affirmative was the most probable; and therefore, that he might

neglect nothing in an affair which he considered as so serious, he

hastened from the printer to the publisher.

Here, in addition to the rage of what he likewise called having been

betrayed, he met with open defiance, vulgar insolence, and vociferous

assertions, from this worthy bookseller, that the laws of his country

would be his shield.

The fellow had been frequently concerned in such rascalities, and knew

his ground. He was one of the sagacious persons who had found a cover

for them. Where law pretends to regulate and define every right, the

wrong which it cannot reach it protects.

This is a branch of knowledge on which a vast body of men in

the kingdom, and especially in the metropolis, depend for their

subsistence.

And a very tempting trade it is: for our streets, our public places,

and our courts of justice, as well as other courts, swarm with its

followers; at which places they appear in as high a style of fashion,

that is of effrontery, as even the fools by whom they are aped, or the

lawyers and statesmen themselves by whom they are defended. This I

own is a bold assertion; and is perhaps a hyperbole! Yes, yes: it is

comparing mole hills to mountains. But let it pass.

Wilmot, in his letter to me, did not confine himself to a bare recital

of facts. Fearful lest they should escape my recollection, he urged

those strong arguments which were best calculated to shew, not only

what my enemies might allege, but what just men might impute to me,

should this intemperate pamphlet appear: which, in addition to its

original mistakes, would attack the character of the Bishop, a man

whose office, in the eye of the world, implied every virtue. And

how immoderately would its intemperance and imputed malignity be

exaggerated, should it appear precisely at the moment when I knew

disease had deprived him of his faculties! had rendered him unable to

defend himself, and to produce facts which I might have concealed; or

give another face to truth, which I might have discoloured!

These arguments alarmed me in a very painful degree. I was averse to

quit the place before my mother was interred: especially as my reasons

for such an abrupt departure could not be made public: but I was still

more averse to an action which, in appearance, would involve me in

such a cowardly species of infamy.

Accordingly, I made the best arrangements in my power: leaving orders

that the funeral should be conducted with every decency; and, after a

very short conversation with the attorney, who had witnessed the will

of Thornby and given me the information I have already mentioned, I

travelled back to London with no less speed than I had hurried into

the country.

I arrived in town on Thursday night; and the pamphlet was advertised

for publication on the following Monday. The advertisement, being

purposely written to excite curiosity, repeated the subject of the

pamphlet: which asserted my claims to the letters of Themistocles,

and to the defence of the thirty-nine articles; the acrimony of which

charge was increased by a personal attack on the Earl of Idford, the

Bishop, and their associates.

When I came to my lodgings, I found two notes: one from a person

stiling himself a gentleman employed by the Earl; and another from

Mr. Ellis, on the part of the Bishop: each requesting an interview.

Answers not having been returned, these agents had come themselves;

and, being informed that I was in the country, but was expected

in town before the end of the week, they left a pressing message;

desiring an answer the moment of my arrival.

Eager as I was to ward off the danger that threatened me, I considered

the application that was made, especially on the part of the Earl,

as fortunate. I understood that the only means of suppressing the

pamphlet would be by an injunction from the Lord Chancellor; and this

I imagined the influence of the Earl might essentially promote: for

which reason I immediately wrote, in reply to these agents, and

appointed an interview early the next morning.

The place of meeting was a private room in a coffee-house; and, though

my eagerness in the business brought me there a few minutes before the

time named, Ellis and his coadjutor had arrived before me. They acted

in concert, and had met to compare notes.

I found the purveyor of pews and paradise still the same: always

inclined to make himself agreeable.

The other agent was seated in a dark corner of the room, with his back

to the light, so that I did not recognise him as I entered. How much

was I surprised when, as he turned to the window, I discovered him

to be the loquacious Mr. Glibly; the man whose principles were so

accommodating, whose tongue was glossy, but whose praise was much more

sickening and dangerous than his satire.

The civilities that were poured upon me, by these well-paired

gentlemen, were overwhelming. It was like taking leave of a Frenchman,

under the ancient _régime_: there was no niche or chink for me to

throw in a word; so copious was the volubility of Glibly, and so eager

was the zeal of Ellis.

From the picture I before gave of the first, the reader will have

perceived that he was a man of considerable intellect: though not of

sufficient to make him honest. His usual mode, in conversation, was to

render the person to whom he addressed himself ridiculous by excessive

praise; and to mingle up sarcasm and panegyric in such a manner as to

produce confusion in the mind of the object of it, who never knew when

to be angry or when to be pleased, and laughter in every body else.

At first the most witty and acute would find amusement in his florid

irony: but they could not but soon be wearied, by its methodical and

undeviating mechanism; which denoted great barrenness of invention.

In the present instance, he had a case that required management: a

patron to oblige, and an opponent to circumvent. He had therefore

the art to assume a tone as much divested of sneering as habit would

permit; and began by insinuations that were too flattering to fail

of their effect, yet not quite gross enough to offend. My person, my

appearance, my parliamentary prospects, my understanding, my friends

and connections, all passed in review: while his praise was carefully

tempered; and as I imagined very passably appropriate.

Hence, it certainly promoted the end for which it was given: it opened

my heart, and prepared me for that generous effusion which rather

inclines to criminate itself than to insist on every trifle that may

be urged in its favour.

Apt however as he was at detecting vanity in others, he was as open

to it himself, I might almost say, as any man on earth. He began with

a profession of his friendship for the Earl of Idford: in which he

assumed the tone of having conferred a favour on that noble lord; and

I will not deny that he was right. All his acquaintance were friends;

and perhaps he had the longest list of any man in London: for the

effrontery of his familiar claims upon every man he met, from whom he

had any thing to hope or fear, was so extraordinary as to render an

escape from him impossible. He had parroted the phraseology of the

_haut ton_, and its arrogant apathy, till the manner was so habitual

to him that he was unconscious of his own impudence.

Thus, in conversing on this occasion of the Earl who had deputed him,

the only appellation he had for his patron was Idford. 'I told Idford

what I thought on the subject. For I always speak the truth, and never

deceive people: unless it be to give them pleasure; and then you know

they are the more obliged to me. Glibly, said Idford to me, I know

you will act in this business without partiality. For I must do him

justice, Trevor, and assure you that Idford is a good fellow. I do

not pretend that he is not sensible of the privileges which rank and

fashion give him. He is vain, thinks himself a great orator, a fine

writer, a wise senator, and all that. I grant it. How should it be

otherwise? It is very natural. He would have been a devilish sensible

fellow, if he had not been a lord. But that is not to be helped. You

and I, in his place, should think and act the same. We should be as

much deceived, as silly, and as ridiculous. It is all right. Things

must be so. But Idford is a very good fellow. He is, upon my honor.'

The surgeon that has a difficult case will not only make preparations

and adjustments before he begins to probe, lacerate, or cauterize, but

will sometimes administer an opiate; to stupefy that sensibility which

he apprehends is too keen. Glibly pursued much the same method; and,

having exhausted nearly all his art, till he found he had produced

as great a propensity to compliance and conciliation as he could

reasonably hope, he proceeded to the business in question.

'You no doubt guess, my dear Trevor, why my friend Ellis here and I

desired to meet you?'

'I do.'

'To say the truth, knowing as I do the soundness of your

understanding, the quickness of your conception, and the consequences

that must follow, which, acute as you are, you could not but foresee,

I was amazed when I read your advertisement!'

'It is prodigiously surprising, indeed!' added Ellis: eager at every

opportunity to throw in such touches as he thought would give effect

to the colouring of his friend, and leader.

'Why,' said I, 'do you call it my advertisement?'

'I mean of a pamphlet which it seems has been written by you.'

'But is going to be published without my consent.'

'Are you serious?' said Glibly: staring!

'It is not my custom to deceive people, Mr. Glibly; _not even to give

them pleasure_.'

'I am prodigious glad of that!' exclaimed the holy Enoch. Prodigious

glad, indeed!'

'But you have owned it was written by you?' continued Glibly.

'I know no good that can result from disowning the truth; and

especially in the present instance.'

'My dear fellow, truth is a very pretty thing on some occasions: but

to be continually telling truth, as you call it, oh Lord! oh Lord! we

should set the whole world to cutting of throats!'

'To be sure we should!' cried Ellis. 'To be sure we should! That is my

morality exactly.'

'Men are men, my dear fellow. A lord is a lord: a bishop is a bishop.

Each in his station. Things could not go on if we did not make

allowances. To tell truth would be to overturn all order.'

'I am willing to make allowances: for all men are liable to be

mistaken.'

'I approve that sentiment very much, Mr. Trevor,' interrupted Enoch.

'It is prodigious fine. It is my own. All men are liable to be

mistaken. I have said it a thousand times. It is prodigious fine!'

'But I cannot conceive,' added I, 'that to overturn systems which are

founded in vice and folly would be to overturn all order. You may

call systematic selfishness, systematic hypocrisy, and systematic

oppression order: but I assert they are disorder.'

'My dear fellow, nothing is so easy as to assert. But we will leave

this to another time. I dare say that in the main there is no great

difference between us. You wish for all the good things you can get;

and so do I. One of us may take a more round about way to obtain them

than the other: but we both intend to travel to the same goal. I own,

when I heard of your _brouillerie_ with my friend Idford, I thought

you had missed the road. But I find you have more wit than I supposed:

you are now guided by another finger-post. Perhaps it might have been

as well not to have changed. The treasury bench is a strong hold, and

never was so well fortified. It is become impregnable. It includes

the whole power of England, Scotland, and Ireland; both the Indies;

countless islands, and boundless continents: with all the grand

out-works of lords, spiritual and temporal; governors; generals;

admirals; custos rotulorum, and magistracy; bodies corporate, and

chartered companies; excise, and taxation; board and bankruptcy

commissioners; contractors; agents; jobbers; money-lenders, and spies;

with all the gradations of these and many more distinct classes:

understrappers innumerable; an endless swarm; a monstrous mass. Can

it be conjured away by angry breath? No, no. It is no house of cards:

for an individual to attempt to puff it down would be ridiculous

insanity.'

'A mass indeed! "Making Ossa like a wart." Yet the rubbish must be

removed; and it is mine and every man's duty to handle the spade and

besom. But men want to work miracles; and, because the mountain does

not vanish at a word, they rashly conclude it cannot be diminished.

They are mistaken. Political error is a pestilential cloud; dense with

mephitic and deadly vapours: but a wind has arisen in the south, that

will drive it over states, kingdoms, and empires; till at last it

shall be swept from the face of the earth.'

'My dear fellow, you have an admirable genius: but you have mistaken

its bent. Depend upon it, you are no politician: though you are a

very great poet. Fine phrases, grand metaphors, beautiful images, all

very admirable! and you have them at command. You are born to be an

ornament to your country. You have a very pretty turn. Very pretty

indeed! And so, which is the point that I was coming to, concerning

this pamphlet. It relates I think to certain letters that appeared,

signed Themistocles.'

'And to a defence, by my lord the bishop, of the thirty nine

articles,' added Ellis: eager that he and his patron should not be

omitted.

'You, my dear fellow, had some part in both of these publications.'

'I do not know what you mean by some part. The substance of them both

was my own.'

'Ay, ay; you had a share: a considerable share. You and Idford were

friends. You conversed together, and communicated your thoughts to

each other. Did not you?'

'I grant we did.'

'I knew you would grant whatever was true. You are the advocate of

truth; and I commend you, Idford mixed with political men, knew the

temper of the times, was acquainted with various anecdotes, and gave

you every information in his power. I know you are too candid to

conceal or disguise the least fact. You would be as ready to condemn

yourself as another. You have real dignity of mind. It gives you a

certain superiority; a kind of grandeur; of real grandeur. It is your

principle.'

'It ought to be.'

'No doubt. And I am sure you will own that I have stated the case

fairly. I told you, Mr. Ellis, that I knew my friend Trevor. He has

too much integrity to disown any thing I have said. I dare believe,

were he to read the letters of Themistocles over at this instant,

he would find it difficult to affirm, of any one sentence, that the

thought _might not possibly_ have been suggested in conversation by my

friend Idford. I say _might not possibly_: for you both perceive I am

very desirous on this occasion to be guarded.'

'It certainly is a difficult thing,' answered I, 'for any man

positively to affirm he can trace the origin of any one thought; and

recollect the moment when it first entered his mind.'

My lips were opening to proceed: but Glibly with great eagerness

prevented me.

'I knew, my dear fellow, that your candor was equal to your

understanding. Mr. Ellis, who hears all that passes, will do me the

justice to say that I declared before you came what turn the affair

would take.'

I was again going to speak, but he was determined I should not, and

proceeded with his unconquerable volubility; purposely leading my mind

to another train of thought.

'I am very glad indeed that the advertisement which appeared was

not with your approbation. On recollection, I cannot conceive how I

could for a moment suppose it was your own act. A man of the soundest

understanding may be surprised into passion, and may write in a

passion: but he will think again and again, and will be careful not to

publish in a passion. And the delay which has taken place might have

proved to me that you had thought; and had determined not to publish.

Your countenance, when you disowned the advertisement just now,

convinces me that I do you no more than justice, by supposing this of

you.'

Here the artful orator thought proper to pause for a reply, and I

answered, 'I own that I wrote in a spirit which I do not at present

quite approve.'

'I know it. What you have said and what you have allowed have so much

of liberality, cool recollection, and dispassionate honesty, that they

are, as I knew they would be, very honourable to you.'

'Prodigiously, indeed!' said Enoch.

Glibly continued: 'Your behaviour, in this business, entirely

confirms my good opinion of you; and I give myself some credit for

understanding a man's true character: especially the character of a

man like you. My good friend Ellis and I are entirely satisfied. What

has passed has removed all doubts, and difficulties. We are with you;

and shall report every thing to your advantage.'

'I wish you to report nothing but the truth.'

'I know it, my dear fellow. That is what we intend. So, without saying

a word more on that subject, we will now consider what is best to be

done. I understand that the edition about to be published is pirated;

and I suppose you will join us in an application to the Lord

Chancellor for an injunction.'

'Most eagerly. That was my reason for wishing to see you, so

immediately after my arrival in town; imagining that an application

from Lord Idford, and the bishop, would be more readily attended to

than if it came from a private and unknown individual.'

'To be sure it would, Mr. Trevor!' said Enoch. 'An application from an

earl and a bishop, is not likely to be overlooked. They are privileged

persons. They are the higher powers. Every thing that concerns them

must be treated with tenderness, and reverence, and humbleness, and

every thing of that kind.'

The spirit moved me to begin an enquiry into privileges; and the

tenderness and humility due to earls and bishops: particularly to such

as the noble and reverend lords in question: but Glibly guessed my

thoughts, and took care to prevent me!

'As to those subjects, my dear Ellis,' said he, 'Trevor thinks and

acts on a different system from you and me and the rest of the world.

We must not dispute these points, now; but away, as fast as we can,

and put the business for which we met in a train. The publication must

be stopped. It would injure all parties; and, as you, my dear friend

[Turning to me] justly think at present, would be disgraceful to its

author.'

After what had been urged by Turl and Wilmot, and the reasoning that

had followed in my own mind, I knew not how to deny this assertion:

though it was painfully grating. But the reader will easily perceive

that this and other strong affirmations, such as I have related, were

designedly made by Glibly. He artfully gabbled on, that he might

lead my mind from attending to them too strictly; and that he might

afterward, if occasion should require, state them, with the colouring

that he should give, as things uttered or allowed by me.

It ought not to be thought strange that I was deceived by Glibly,

barefaced as his cunning would have appeared to a man more versed

in the arts which over-reaching selfishness daily puts in practice.

He confessedly came in behalf of a party concerned; and, as such, a

liberal mind would be prepared to expect a bias from him rather in

favour of his client. His face was smiling; his tones were soft and

smooth; the words candor, honesty, and integrity, were continually on

his tongue. He affected to be a disinterested arbitrator; and allowed

that his friend Idford, as he called him, might or rather must be

tainted with the vices of his station, and class. Could a youth,

unhacknied in the world, feeling that treachery was not native to

the heart of man, not suspecting on ordinary occasions that it could

exist, could such a tyro in hypocrisy be a fit antagonist for such an

adept?

Deceit will frequently escape immediate detection: but it seldom

leaves the person, upon whom it is practised, with that clearness

of thought which communicates calm to the mind; producing unruffled

satisfaction, and cheerful good temper.

CHAPTER XII

_A lawyer and his poetical wife and daughters, or the family of the

Quisques: Praise may give pain: A babbler may bite: More of the

colouring of cunning: A trader's ideas of honesty, and the small sum

for which it may be sold_

We quitted the coffee-house; Glibly in high spirits, and Enoch

concluding things had been done as they should be: but, for my own

part, I experienced a confusion of intellect that did not suffer me to

be so much at my ease. I had an indistinct sense of being as passive

as a blind man with his dog. Instead of taking the lead, as I was

entitled to have done, I was led: hurried away, like a man down a

mountain with a high wind at his back: or traversing dark alleys,

holding by the coat-flap of a guide of whose good intentions I was

very far from having any certainty.

We proceeded however to the house of a solicitor in chancery; who

transacted business for the Earl.

Here Glibly, attentive to the plan he had pursued, began by informing

Mr. Quisque, the lawyer, that he had come _at the request_ of his dear

friend, Trevor, to entreat his aid in an affair of some moment. 'Mr.

Trevor is a young gentleman, my dear Quisque, that you will be proud

to be acquainted with; a man of talents; a poet; an orator; an author;

a great genius; an excellent scholar; a fine writer; turns a sentence

or a rhyme with exquisite neatness; very prettily I assure you. I

mention these circumstances, my dear Quisque, because I know you have

a taste for such things: and so has Mrs. Quisque, and the two Miss

Quisques, and all the family. I now and then see very pretty things of

their writing in the Lady's Magazine. An elegy on a robin red-breast.

The drooping violet, a sonnet. And others equally ecstatic. Quite

charming! rapturous! elegant! flowery! sentimental! Some of them very

smart, and epigrammatic. It is a family, my dear Trevor, that you must

become intimate with. Your merit entitles you to the distinction. You

will communicate your mutual productions. You will polish and suggest

charming little delicate emendations, to each other, before you favour

the world with a sight of them.'

The broadest and coarsest satire was never half so insulting, to the

feelings, as the common-place praise of Glibly.

The barren-pated Ellis caught one of the favourite diminutives of

Glibly; and finished my panegyric by adding that, 'he must say, his

friend, Mr. Trevor, was a prodigious pretty genius.'

Who but must have been proud of such an introduction to the family of

the Quisques; by such orators, such eulogists, and such friends?

Acquainted with Glibly, and accustomed to hear him prate, Mr. Quisque

seemed to listen to him without surprise, pleasure, or pain. It was

what he expected. It was the man. A machine that had no more meaning

than a Dutch clock; repeating cuckoo, as it strikes.

Among Glibly's acquaintance, or, as he called them, his dear friends,

this was a common but a very false conclusion. He had not adopted his

customary cant without a motive. The man, who can persuade others

that he gabbles in a pleasant but ridiculous and undesigning manner,

will lead them to suppose that his actions are equally incongruous,

and void of intention. He will pass upon the world for an agreeable

harmless fellow, till his malignities are too numerous to escape

notice; and then, where he was before welcomed with the hope of a

laugh, he will continue to be admitted from the dread of a bite.

A lawyer however feels less of this panic than the rest of mankind:

because he can bite again. The cat o' mountain will not attack the

tiger.

Glibly returned to the business in hand; and again repeated that he

was come _at the request_ of his dear friend, Trevor, to procure an

injunction: that should prevent the publication of a pamphlet, which

had been written against his friend, Idford.

'And my lord the Bishop of ****,' added Enoch.

'Who is the author of it?' demanded Quisque.

'I am, sir;' answered I.

'For which my friend Trevor is very sorry;' added Glibly.

I instantly retorted a denial. 'I never said any thing of the kind,

Mr. Glibly. But I should be very sorry indeed if it were published.'

'Nay, my dear fellow, according to your own principles, if I do not

mistake them, that which ought not to be published ought not to be

written.'

The remark was acute: it puzzled me, and I was silent. He proceeded.

'It is a business that admits of no delay. I should be extremely

chagrined, extremely, upon my honor, that my dear friend Trevor should

commit himself to the public, in this affair. He that wantonly attacks

the characters of others does but strike at his own.'

I again eagerly replied 'The attack from me, sir, was not wanton. It

was provoked by acts of the most flagrant injustice.'

Glibly as eagerly interrupted me.

'My dear fellow, why are you so warm? I was only delivering a general

maxim. I made no application of it; and I am surprised that you

should.'

The traps of Glibly were numberless; and not to be escaped. Words

are too equivocal and phrases too indefinite, for men like him not

to profit by their ambiguity. To them a quirk in the sense is as

profitable as a pun or a quibble in the sound. They snap at them, as

dogs do at flies. It is no less worthy of observation that, though

some of his actions seemed to laugh severity of moral principle out

of countenance, he continually repeated others which, had his conduct

been regulated by them, would have ranked him among the most worthy of

mankind.

After farther explanation from Quisque, it was admitted that the

interest of all parties made it necessary for him to act with great

diligence, speed, and caution.

Through the whole of this scene, Glibly was consistent with himself;

in giving it such a turn and complexion as to make it requisite,

for the preservation of my character above the rest, to prevent the

pamphlet from being published. If, whenever I detected his drift, I

urged the true motives by which I was actuated, he always immediately

admitted them, praised them, and allowed them to be superlatively

excellent: but never failed to give them such an air as should suit

the project he had conceived; and allow of such an interpretation, in

future, as would exculpate my opponents and criminate myself. But he

effected this with such fluency, and so glossed over and coloured his

intention that, like profound darkness, it was every where present,

but neither could be felt nor seen.

My own activity in this affair, which if I meant to render my

interference effectual was inevitable, contributed to the same end.

I accompanied the whole party, Quisque being one, to the shop of the

publisher.

Here I detailed the consequences, as well to myself as to the Earl and

the Bishop; and vehemently denounced threats, if the villany that was

begun should be carried into execution. Not all the quieting hints of

my assistants could keep my anger under. I lost all patience, at every

word. My utmost indignation was excited by so black a business.

The situation was not a new one to the dealer in the alphabet. He

was an old depredator; and had before encountered angry authors, and

artful lawyers. He was cool, collected, and unabashed. Not indeed

entirely: but sufficiently so to excite astonishment.

He affirmed the copy-right to be his own: would prove he had obtained

it legally; and would face any prosecution that we could bring. He

knew what he was about; and was not to be frightened. He had printed

one edition; and had no doubt that several would be sold. He was an

honest tradesman; and must not be robbed of his profits. What would

the country be if it were not for trade? It ought to be protected: ay

and would be too. The law was as open to an industrious fair trader as

to any lord in the land. Let him too be no loser and then it would be

a different thing: but, as for big words, they broke no bones; and he

knew his ground.

The hints of the honest trader were too broad to be misunderstood; and

Quisque replied--'I think you mean, sir, that you wish to be repaid

the expence you have sustained?'

The fellow answered, with the utmost effrontery, 'I have a right, sir,

to be indemnified for the loss of my profits on the sale of the work.'

Anger and argument were equally vain. There were two ways of

proceeding. Silence and safety might be purchased: or the law might be

let loose on a knave, who set it at defiance. The one was secure: the

other problematical; and replete with the danger which we wished to

avert.

Quisque asked him what was the sum that he demanded? His reply was

more moderate than from appearances we had reason to expect: it was

one hundred pounds.

Glibly desired he would permit us to consult five minutes among

ourselves. He withdrew; and the fluent agent remarked the sum was

a trifle: but, trifling as it was, he had no doubt but feelings of

delicacy and honor would dictate that it ought to be jointly paid, by

the three parties principally concerned.

He had urged a motive which I knew not how to resist, and I gave my

assent. By this manoeuvre he gained the point which he intended. He

implicated me, as paying to suppress a pamphlet which, according to

his interpretation, I at present allowed to be defamatory, and unjust.

The money however was paid, and the copies of the pamphlet were

delivered: and, being determined if possible to avoid such another

accident, those that I had caused to be printed were dislodged from

their garret; both editions, a single copy of each excepted, were

taken into the fields by night, and burned; and thus expired a

production which had aided to drain my pocket, waste my time, and

inflame my passions.

END OF VOLUME V

VOLUME VI

CHAPTER I

_A new and bold project conceived and executed by Wakefield: The

difficulty of making principles agree with practice discussed: Fair

promises on the part of an old offender, the hopes they excite and the

fears that accompany them_

The affair of the pamphlet being removed from my mind, I had leisure

to attend to the other difficulty that had lately crossed me; by the

possession which Wakefield had illegally taken of effects which he

asserted to be his, in the double right of being heir to his uncle

and the husband of my mother, but which, if my information were true,

appertained to me.

It may well be supposed I communicated all my thoughts to friends like

Evelyn, Wilmot, and Turl; and endeavoured to profit by their advice.

Law had lately undergone a serious examination from us all; and it

was then the general opinion among us that, though it was impossible

to avoid appealing to it on some occasions, yet nothing but the most

urgent cases could justify such appeals. Enquiries that were to be

regulated, not by a spirit of justice but by the disputatious temper

of men whose trade it was to deceive, and by statutes and precedents

which they might or might not remember, and which, though they might

equivocally and partially apply in some points, in others had no

resemblance, such enquiries ought not lightly to be instituted.

Neither ought the habitual vices which they engender, both in

lawyer and client, nor the miseries they inflict, upon the latter

in particular, and by their consequences upon all society, to be

promoted.

In the course of the conversation at the tavern, when I dined and

spent the afternoon with the false Belmont, this subject among others

had occurred. Having told him that I had quitted all thoughts of the

law, he enquired into my motives; and, being full of the subject and

zealous to detail its whole iniquity, I not only urged the reasons

that most militate against it both in principle and practice, but, in

the warmth of argument, declared that I doubted whether any man could

bring an action against another without being guilty of injustice.

I considered crime and error as the same. The structure of law I

argued was erroneous, therefore criminal; and I protested against the

attempting to redress a wrong, already committed, by the commission of

more wrong.

The death of Thornby happened immediately after this conversation

took place; and it is not to be supposed that a man like my young

but inventive father-in-law could forget, or fail in endeavouring to

profit by, such an incident.

One morning while at breakfast, I received a note from him, signed

Belmont; in which he requested me again to dine and spend the

afternoon with him: alleging that an event had taken place in which he

was deeply interested: adding that he had been lately led to reflect

on many of the remarks I had made; and that he hoped the period was

come when he should be able to change the system to which I was so

inimical, for one that better agreed with my own sentiments: but that

my advice was particularly necessary, on the present occasion.

The note gave me pleasure. That a man with such powers of mind, and

charms of conversation, should have only a chance of changing, from

what he was to what I hoped, was delightful. And that he should call

upon me for advice, at such a juncture, was flattering.

I answered that an engagement already formed prevented me from meeting

him, on that day: but I appointed the next morning for an interview.

Dining I declined; as a hint that I disapproved the attempt he had

made to entrap me.

The engagement I had was to accompany Lady Bray, to one of the

families acquainted with the Mowbrays; and where it was expected we

should meet Olivia, and her aunt. This expectation, which kept my

spirits in a flutter the whole day and increased to alarm and dread in

the evening, was disappointed. Whether from any real or a pretended

accident on the part of the aunt, who sent an apology, was more than I

had an opportunity to know.

I kept my appointment, on the following morning; and was rather

surprised, when we met, at perceiving that the still pretended

Belmont, like myself, was in deep mourning. I began to make enquiries,

to which he gave short answers; and, turning the interrogatories upon

me, asked which of my relations was dead?

'My mother.'

'Oh: I remember. Mrs. Wakefield. Are you still as angry with her

husband as ever?'

'I really cannot tell. Though I have what most people would think much

greater cause.'

'Indeed! What has he done more?'

'Taken possession of property which is mine.'

'By what right is it yours?'

'It was bequeathed me by my grandfather; and since that by his

executor.'

'The uncle of this Wakefield, I think you told me?'

'Yes. A lawyer. One Thornby; who was induced by death-bed terrors to

restore what he had robbed me of while living.'

'That is, he lived a knave, and died a fool and a fanatic.'

'I suspect that he died as he had lived. Knavery and fanaticism are

frequently coupled.'

'And how do you intend to proceed?'

'I do not know. I have not yet consulted a lawyer.'

'Consulted a lawyer? You surprise me! When last I saw you, I was

half convinced by you that a man cannot justly seek redress at law.

Its sources you proved to be corrupt, its powers inadequate, and

its decisions never accurate; therefore never just. This was your

language. You reprobated those accommodating rules by which I

endeavoured to obtain happiness; and urged arguments that made a deep

impression upon me. Now that self-interest gives you an impulse, are

your principles become as pliant as mine; which you so seriously

reproved?'

I paused, and then replied--'I imagine you take some delight in having

found an opportunity of retorting upon me; and of laughing at what you

still consider as folly.'

'Indeed you mistake. I hope by reminding you of your own doctrine to

induce you to put it in practice. The virtue that consists only in

words is but a vapour.'

'Surely you will allow this is an extreme if not a doubtful case. I

do not mean to commence an action, till I have considered it very

seriously: but I presume you do not require infallibility of me? Or,

if you do, it is what I cannot expect from myself. I have frequently

been led to doubt whether principles the most indubitable must not

bend to the mistakes and institutions of society. 'This doubt is to me

the most painful that can cross the mind: but it is one from which I

cannot wholly escape.'

'Your tone I find is greatly altered. How strenuous, how firm, how

founded, were all your maxims; when last we met.'

'And so, I am persuaded, the maxims of truth will always remain.'

'Then why depart from them? Another of them, which I likewise

recollect to have heard from you, is that the laws which pretend to

regulate property, whether by will, entail, or any other descent, are

all unjust: for that effects of all kinds should be so appropriated as

to produce the greatest good.'

'I do not see how that can be denied. But this is strongly to the

point in my favour, as I suppose: for the institutes of society render

the application of the principle impracticable; and therefore I think

the property may have a greater chance of being applied to a good

purpose, if allotted to me, than if retained by this Wakefield; whose

vices are extraordinary.'

'You believe him to be a man of some talent?'

'All that know him affirm his understanding would be of the first

order, were it worthily employed.'

'Then would it not be a good application of the property in

contest, if it should both enable and induce him so to employ his

understanding?'

'Oh, of that there is no hope.'

'How do you know? I believe you have thought the same of me: but you

may chance to be mistaken. And now I will tell you a secret. I am in

the very predicament of this Wakefield. A relation is dead, who has

left his property away from me: by what right is more than I can

discover; at least in the spirit of those laws which pretend to

regulate such matters: for their spirit is force. Lands wrested from

the helpless they consign to the robber. I am in possession; and doubt

whether, even according to your code, I ought to resign. I certainly

ought not according to my own. I will acknowledge to you that I think

well of the man who claims the property I withhold. But I cannot think

so well of him as of myself: for I cannot be so well acquainted with

his thoughts as with my own. I know my own wants, my own powers, and

my own plans. I should be glad to do him good, but I should be sorry

to do myself ill. You accuse me of having fallen into erroneous

habits, of making false calculations, and of tasting pleasures that

are dangerous and of short duration. I have ridiculed your arguments:

but I have not forgotten them. Neither has the enquiring spirit that

is abroad been unknown to or unnoticed by me. Early powers of mind

gave me the early means of indulgence. I revelled in pleasure,

squandered all I could procure, and was led by one successful artifice

to another, till I became what I can certainly no otherwise justify

than by the selfish spirit of the world. In this I find the rule is

for each to seize on all that he can, with safety; and to swallow,

hoard, or waste it at will. I have attempted to profit by vice which

I knew not how to avoid. But, if there be a safer road to happiness,

I am no idiot: I am as desirous of pursuing it as you can be. The

respect of the world, the security from pains and penalties, and the

approbation of my own heart, are all of them as dear to me as to you.

I have thought much, have had much experience, and have the power of

comparing facts and sensations as largely perhaps as another.

'I will not deny that to trick selfishness by its own arts, to

laugh at its stupidity, and to outwit its contemptible cunning, are

practices that have tickled my vanity; and have perhaps formed one of

my chief sources of pleasure. But habit and pleasure led me to extend

such projects; and to prey upon the well-meaning, and the kind, with

almost as much avidity as on those of an opposite character.

'However, though I did not want plausible arguments in my own

justification, I cannot affirm that my heart was wholly at ease. New

thoughts have occurred, other prospects have been contemplated, and my

dissatisfaction has increased. You cannot but have remarked that, in

the course of human life, most men undergo more than one remarkable

change. The sober man becomes a drunkard, the drunkard sober, and

the spendthrift sometimes a rational economist: though perhaps more

frequently a miser.

'Yet, though I am disposed to alter my conduct, supposing me

to possess the means of bidding defiance to mankind, I have no

inclination to subject myself to their neglect, their pity, or

their scorn. Be it want of courage or want of wisdom, I have not

an intention to shut myself out from society. If I may be admitted

on fair and liberal terms, I am content: but, I honestly tell you,

admitted I will be. I have shut the door of dependency upon myself,

were I so inclined. Offices of trust would not be committed to me.

And to live rejected, in poverty and wretchedness, pointed at and

pretended to be despised by the knaves and fools with whom the world

is filled, is a condition to which I will never submit.

'Consequently, the property of which I have possessed myself I am in

either case determined to use every effort to keep. If I am suffered

to keep it quietly, my present inclinations are what I have been

describing. If contention must come, we must then have a trial of

skill upon the opposite system.'

I listened to this discourse, attentive to every sentence, anxious for

the next, and agitated by various contradictory emotions. I saw the

difficulties of the supposed case; and knew not what to answer, or

what to advise. That a man like this should become what he seemed half

to promise was a thought that consoled and expanded the heart. But

that it should depend upon so improbable an event as that of another

renouncing a claim, which the law gave him, to property in dispute,

was a most painful alternative. My sensations were of hope suddenly

kindled, and as suddenly killed.

After waiting some time without any reply from me, he added 'Let

us suppose, Mr. Trevor, a whimsical, or if you please a strange,

coincidence between the man with whom you have been so angry

and myself. I mean Wakefield. What if he felt some of the sober

propensities toward which I find a kind of a call in myself?'

'He is not to be trusted. In him it would be artifice: or at least

nobody would believe it could be any thing else.'

'Mark now what chance there is, in a world like this, for a man whom

it has once deemed criminal to reform. Oppressed, insulted, and

pursued by the good, what resource has he but to associate with the

wicked?'

'He that, with the fairest seeming and the most specious pretences,

affirming time after time that, though he had deceived before, he

now was honest, he that shall yet again and again repeat his acts

of infamy cannot complain, if no man should be willing to trust his

happiness to such keeping.'

'I find what I am to expect from you. The very same will be said of

me.'

'No: you have not been equally unprincipled, and vile.'

'These are coarse or at least harsh terms. However, I take them to

myself; and affirm that I have.'

'How can you make such an affirmation? How do you know?'

'A man may calculate on probabilities; and this is a moment in which

I do not wish to conceal the full estimate which I make of my own

conduct from you. Being therefore, seriously and speaking to the

best of my judgment, as culpable as Wakefield, let my course of

life hereafter be what it will, I find I am to expect no credit for

sincerity from you?'

'You do not know Wakefield.'

'Neither it seems do you.'

'There is something in your countenance, in your conversation, and in

the free and undisguised honesty even of your vices, that a man like

Wakefield cannot possess.'

'Have you forgotten that, though I can be open and honest, I can be

artful? Do you not remember billiards, hazard, and Bath?'

'Yes: but Wakefield would be incapable of the qualities of mind which

you are now displaying. With you I feel myself in the company of a man

of a perverted but a magnanimous spirit. With all your faults, I could

hug you to my heart. But Wakefield! who made women and men alike his

prey; to whose devilish arts the virtue and happiness of an amiable,

I may say a charming, woman were sacrificed; and the life of one of

the first of mankind was endangered; that he should resemble you, and

especially that he should resemble you with your present inclinations,

oh! would that were possible!'

'There is generosity in the wish. It denotes a power in you of

allaying one of the most active fiends that torment mankind: the

spirit of revenge.'

'It is a spirit I own to which I have been too subject; and which I

could wish to exorcise for ever.'

'Put it to the test. Let us suppose you should discover as much of

promise in Wakefield as you imagine you do in me.'

'I should then put _him_ to the test. I should demand of him to repair

the wrongs he has done Miss Wilmot!'

'What if you should find him already so disposed?'

'Impossible. Or if he were, it would be with some design!'

'Ay: perhaps a proposition that you should leave him quietly possessed

of the disputed property.'

'And, having obtained that, he would desert his second wife as he had

done his first.'

'There is some difference between a young woman and an old one.

Beside, if your account be true, Mrs. Wakefield, though she was your

mother, was very inferior to Miss Wilmot.'

'You forget that he seduced this lady, and deserted her.'

'I have heard or read of a man who, after being divorced even from a

wife, became more passionately in love with her than ever.'

'Wakefield is incapable of love.'

'You frame to yourself a most black and deformed being of this

Wakefield.'

'And you suppose a degree of sympathy, between yourself and him, which

cannot exist.'

'Why not? His wit, person, and manners, I have heard you describe as

winning.'

'I only gave the picture which I had from an affectionate though a

most injured woman.'

'I recollect the story perfectly. When you repeated it,

notwithstanding my raillery, I was more moved than you had reason to

imagine. I am persuaded that Wakefield himself, had he listened to it,

would have felt a few uneasy sensations.'

'I fear not.'

'Why so? Is he made of materials totally different from other men?

Dissect him, and I imagine you will find he has a heart.'

'But of what quality?'

'Better than you at present seem to give him credit for.'

'What grounds have you for thinking so favourably of him?'

'Very excellent. Don't be surprised. I know the man.'

'Is it possible?'

'Where is the wonder? Knaves of other classes associate, and why

should not gamblers?'

'It may be, then, you are deputed to speak in his behalf?'

'I wrote to you, and introduced this conversation, for that very

purpose. I know him as intimately as I can know any man. I would speak

of him as of myself, of his defects as of my own, and I declare it

as my opinion that, if he might be permitted to enjoy his uncle's

property in peace, he would change his system. To this property he

supposes he has the best claim. He is Thornby's heir at law; and, as

to the manner in which the wealth he left was acquired, if a general

inquisition were made into the original right to every species of

property, he is persuaded that ninety-nine rich men in a hundred would

be turned into the streets to beg.'

'What you have related has greatly surprised me. You have pleaded

and continue to plead his cause very powerfully: but have you no

consideration for me? Granting all you have supposed in his favour

possible, am I so situated as to justify a romantic renunciation of

claims which, if asserted, may aid me to accomplish my dearest hopes?'

'To a man like you perhaps I could be contented to resign these

claims. I need not say "perhaps": I am certain I could, were I

thoroughly persuaded you would forsake a life of artifice and plunder,

and were I myself only concerned.

'But that is not the case. I have an object to accomplish so dear to

my heart that it swallows up lesser considerations, and will not allow

me to neglect any honest means by which it may be promoted. Wealth to

me is indispensible; wealth that shall place me on a level with a rich

and proud family with which I have to contend. I have an impulse such

perhaps as you have never felt. There is a woman in the world, endowed

with such qualities that to say I passionately love her is a most

impotent expression of what I feel: for to tenderness and ardour of

affection must be added all that simplicity, purity, and grandeur

of soul can inspire. To think of life without her is to think of a

world sterile, desolate, and joyless: of a night to which day shall

never succeed: and of existence arrested and chained in motionless

despondency.'

'Which might be very pitiful; or very sublime: just as you please: but

which would be very absurd.'

'Granted: but this is the fever of my mind; the disease to which,

should my hopes be disappointed, I feel myself dangerously impelled.'

'The interpretation of all which is, that, though you have discovered

principles, which if pursued would secure to yourself and mankind in

general certain happiness, and that though you can deal forth their

dogmas and point out the path which others indubitably ought to take,

yet, when your own passions are concerned, you act like the rest of

the world. And you do this, not blindly, as they do, but, with your

eyes open; at the moment that you are reminded of your maxims, and

acknowledge their truth.'

'Your accusation is premature. I have hitherto done nothing more than

express my feelings and my doubts.'

'But these doubts, spurred on by these feelings, assure me that you

will proceed against Wakefield.'

'You may think yourself assured: I conceive myself to be uncertain. I

would willingly condemn myself to great punishment, were it to promote

any plan of the goodness of which there should be a conviction. I can

even suppose cases in which I would not only devote my life, for that

in comparison appears to be a trifle, but would resign the woman whom

my soul adores. Sacrifices like these however cannot be expected on

light occasions. The good to be obtained ought to be evidently greater

than the evil to be endured.'

He paused a moment to collect his ideas, and then replied.

'If, Mr. Trevor, you are the man of that eminent virtue which I have

sometimes thought you, and to which by your discourse to me you have

certainly made very lofty pretensions, I would advise you to reflect

on what I shall once more state. I know that this Wakefield, of

whom you think so ill, and who has been quite as guilty as you have

supposed, is now inclined to be a different man. I would have you

consider, first, to whom does the property in justice belong? I think

you will find that to be doubtful. Next, supposing it to be legally

yours, may you not nevertheless be defrauded of it by law? And,

lastly, appeal to your own principles, and ask yourself whether it be

not better that you should have a chance of doing the good which you

conceive would be done, by recovering such a man as Wakefield to that

respect in society by which his talents might be well employed; or

whether it can be consistent with your own sense of right to take

methods which you acknowledge to be precarious, and unjust, in order

to dispossess him and to appropriate that to yourself to which, if you

are impartial, you will perhaps find it difficult to prove, even to

your own satisfaction, that you have a clear and undoubted claim?'

Through this whole scene, instead of diverting my attention from the

argument by gay raillery, witty allusions, or a recurrence to the

depravity of man, and the practice of the world, he kept closely to

the question, preserved the tone of earnest discussion, and, having

uttered what I have last repeated, took his leave with that serious

air which he had thus unexpectedly assumed, and maintained.

CHAPTER II

_The plan of Wakefield pursued, and the hopes and fears of an

affectionate woman: News of Philip: An artless exculpatory tale_

Quitting the place, meditating on the scene that had passed, surprised

at every part of it, at the interested manner of the man, at the

intimate knowledge which he professed to have of Wakefield, at the

promises and the threats which he appeared to make in his name, at

the coincidence not only of their characters, if his account were

true, but at their similar incidents of fortune and corresponding

inclinations to reform, astonished while I recollected these various

particulars, instead of returning immediately to my lodgings I called

on Miss Wilmot.

When I came to the door, I had scarcely decided with myself whether

it were advisable to relate what had passed to her, which as she was

personally in question I thought myself bound to do whenever it could

be done with safety; or whether, if related at present, it might not

excite hopes that would be disappointed, and anxieties prejudicial to

her peace.

She no sooner saw me than she exclaimed--'I am very glad you are come,

Mr. Trevor! I have two unexpected affairs, on which I wish to consult

you. One of them relates to myself; and I will begin with that because

you are not only concerned in it but are appealed to in a very

remarkable manner. I have received two extraordinary letters; by both

of which I have been not a little affected. Pray read this first. It

is from Mr. Wakefield. The promises it contains, the style it assumes,

and the appeal it makes, are so strange as to appear either like

miracle or romance.'

She then gave me a letter, and I read as follows.

'Should you imagine, Lydia, that because I have long forborn all

intercourse with you I have forgotten you, be assured you are

mistaken. I have treated you so shamefully, and deceived you so often,

that I have little right to expect you should believe my professions,

be moved by my intreaties, or remember me with any other feelings than

those of hatred. Yet, to deal sincerely with you, this is what I do

not expect. I have had such proofs of the kindness of your heart, and

the strength of your affection, that my confidence is still entire.

'It is the more unshaken because my own intentions are direct: of

which the plainness with which I shall deliver my thoughts will I

imagine be some proof.

'I once more repeat, I have behaved to you like a ---- Spare me the

word. It is enough to recollect that I have been the thing. I could

plead the extreme vivacity of my youth, my ungovernable passions, and

the dangerous temptation of critical moments; but that I will not

exhibit any feature of pitiful apology, or endeavour to extenuate what

I cannot defend.

'You are intimate with Mr. Trevor. You know that his mother, my late

wife, is dead; and you have heard of a will, said to have been left by

my uncle. I feel but little scruple in affirming that I imbibed many

of the vices of my early youth from being placed under this uncle's

care. That such a man should die like a coward, and endeavour to

disinherit a relation to save his soul, supposing this disinheritance

to be true, would be no miracle. It would only be an act of

contemptible stupidity.

'I will not here enter into any enquiries of a legal kind: for I

will be open enough to own that, being in possession both in right

of my wife and as the heir of my uncle of the property he left, and

determined as I am to assert my claims, which I think paramount to

those of any other person, I will not commit myself even to you. On

the contrary, I write this letter purposely that you may shew it to

Mr. Trevor.

'You will ask my motive for this, and perhaps will be surprised at my

answer.

'By certain whimsical accidents, I have become acquainted with Mr.

Trevor's principles. I believe, or I rather know, him to be possessed

of a heart and understanding equally excellent. I wish to appeal to

them both. When he shall read this, he will have had a conversation

relating to me; which may have led him to expect the language I am

about to use. In an argument concerning property he cannot forget that

he lately delivered himself thus:

"If I strictly adhere to the principle of justice, I must not singly

consider my own wishes; which may create innumerable false wants, and

crave to have them gratified. I must ask is there no being, within my

knowledge, who may be more benefited by the enjoyment of that which

I am desirous to appropriate to myself than I can? If so, what right

have I to prefer self gratification to superior utility?"

'Mine is a case in point.

'Again: property is left for which he may be induced to contend; and

which, should he do so, will probably be dissipated in law. If not, it

may with no less probability be decided by law to be mine. He affirms

that to contend at law is immoral.

'Do you and he listen to what I have now to say.

'I am desirous of totally changing my conduct. I have a heart more

capable of affection than you, Lydia, have reason to suppose; and I

love you. My ambition at present is to do you much more good than

I have ever done you harm. I am once more at my own disposal; and,

unless that ardent love which you formerly bore me be entirely

changed, which I do not believe it is, I am now sincerely desirous to

make you my wife.

'But I will not deceive you. I can only be such a husband as you desire

on condition of being left in quiet possession of that which I believe

to be my own. I have ruined my character. Offices of emolument are

not easily obtained; but, if they were, I am not a man to be trusted.

I will not live a beggar; deprived of all the blessings in which the

fools around me wallow, till they turn them into curses. I wish to

live happily: unmolesting, and unmolested: but, if I must either prey

or be preyed upon, I am still resolved rather to act the fox than the

goose.

'I know you will condemn this determination; but I am speaking openly;

and telling you what my intentions are, without entering into their

defence.

'Supposing Mr. Trevor to be convinced that the law will decide the

property contested in his favour, the sacrifice demanded of him is

perhaps too great to be expected from any man. Yet, from what I have

heard and what I know, this is the sacrifice that I do expect. I

expect it from his abhorrence of pretending to seek justice by the aid

of law. I expect it from that principle which decides in favour of the

greatest good. And I expect it from the earnest desire I have heard

him express that you might be restored to that happiness which, for a

time, you have lost.

'Should he or you conclude that the motives I now urge originate in

that artifice of which I have been very justly accused, I ought

perhaps to feel no surprise, and shall certainly make no complaint.

But, believe me or believe me not, I have spoken with a sincerity of

heart for which I am likely to gain but little credit. Such I feel,

at this moment, are the misfortunes to which cunning subjects itself.

I am a man but little subject to fear: yet, I own, the fear of being

thought still to possess nothing better than this cunning assaults me,

obliges me to omit the tender epithets that are in my thoughts, and

without addition to sign myself

F. WAKEFIELD.'

While I read, the eyes of Miss Wilmot were fixed upon my countenance.

Whenever I looked toward her, I could perceive the strong emotions, of

hope and fear, by which she was agitated.

When I had ended, I said--'Mr. Wakefield is indeed an extraordinary

man! Be his intentions honest or base, the strength and clearness of

his mind and his knowledge of the human heart, when we recollect how

these faculties have been employed, are truly astonishing. If this be

a plan of artifice, it is little less than miraculous. Yet who can

believe it to be any thing else?'

Miss Wilmot heaved a deep sigh, and attempted to speak: but she only

stammered. Her utterance failed; and her eyes were cast on the floor.

Hope and despair were combating; and the latter was the strongest.

She wished to confide, she wished to plead for the possibility of his

being sincere: but the mischief he had inflicted, the deceit he had

practised, and a remembrance of the picture she had formerly given me

of him, rushed upon her mind; and her spirits sunk.

'Look up, lovely Lydia,' said I, taking her hand, 'and revive. There

is, there must be hope. The man who could write this letter cannot be

all villain.'

The struggle of the passions was violent. A momentary wildness, such

as I had formerly witnessed, flashed in her eyes; she started from

her seat, griped my hand, then bursting into tears exclaimed--'Oh Mr.

Trevor!' and dropped down again upon the chair.

Eager to relieve a heart so overcharged, I again addressed her. 'If,'

said I, 'the property left by Mr. Wakefield's uncle can really be

employed to so noble a purpose as that of reclaiming him and making

you happy, let me perish rather than endeavour to counteract such

blessings. Let me be the thing he so much dreads, a beggar: but let me

obey the purest passions of the heart, when they are sanctioned by the

best principles of the understanding.'

Till this instant she had forgotten that, if I consented to enrich

him, I must rob myself. But the thought no sooner occurred than she

cried, 'No! It must not be! It cannot be! To require it of you is

infamous. It debases him, and would make me hate myself; were I to

participate in such an action.'

'You judge too severely,' I replied. 'I am not so unfortunately

circumstanced as he is. My character is not lost. I am not shut out of

society. I have friends, plans, and prospects; and, granting him to

be sincere, his arguments, as far as they relate to him and me, are I

suspect unanswerable. Of that sincerity I would fain not doubt: but it

is our mutual duty to be wary. Here therefore at present the matter

shall rest. I am determined to bring no action, till time and future

events shall teach me the course I ought to pursue.'

Overwhelmed by a sense of obligation, and by the thronging emotions

of every kind that assailed her, she was again half suffocated with

passion. As she recovered her eyes sufficiently spoke her feelings.

When she grew calm, she was led to ask what conversation I had had,

and with whom, relative to Mr. Wakefield? I gave her the history of

my acquaintance with the supposed Belmont, and of the scene that had

passed that very day: which she thought altogether surprising, and

seemed to shrink with the fear that it was an artful plan, contrived

by artful men. She was in some sort appeased, however, when I once

more reminded her of my determination to wait and hope for the best.

I then enquired concerning the second letter she had mentioned? To

which she answered--'It is addressed to me, as a mediator: but relates

entirely to you, and the person who wrote it; your poor penitent

servant, Philip.'

She gave it me; and these were its contents.

'Honoured madam,

'I make bold to lay my case before you; which as it is very grievous

I hope it may move you to pity me. I am the young man that lived with

my honoured master Mr. Trevor; in the same house, madam, that you are

pleased to live. My name is Philip. I have been guilty of a very great

fault; for which my conscience worries me night and day. So that I am

sure I shall never forgive myself: though I take my holy saviour to

witness it was more a mistake than a thought of committing so wicked

a crime. I was in a flurry, so that I did not know what I was about;

for to think of having robbed a master that was so kind to me is such

a sin and a shame as never was. But I had no notion but that my poor

dear master had drowned himself in the river; and so, as he had told

me the day before to make up my account and he would pay me the next

morning, I thought it was hard that I should lose my wages and the

money beside which I had laid out for washing, and newspapers, and

tea, and sugar, and other materials of that kind: which, though my

wages _was_ only eight pounds eight shillings, made up the whole to

twelve pounds five and threepence three farthings. Which was the

reason to make me do so base a thing as it would else have been as to

break open the box, and take out a ten pound note, and four pair of

stockings, and two waistcoats: because I knew very well my master's

kindness so that it is ten to one if he had lived to make his will he

would have given me them and more. After which I hurried away: being

as I was told of a place, with an old master that I was sure would

take me again. But I had no more thought that Mr. Trevor was living

than the child unborn: which since I discovered I have never been

at rest; being out of place, and having nobody now to ask for a

character, which is the greatest misfor_tin_ that can behappen a poor

servant that never was guilty of such an action as breaking open his

master's box, and running away with his money and things, in all my

life before, or since. So that I was tempted to list for a soldier;

but that I happened, honoured madam, to meet your maid Mary, and she

persuaded me to write to Mr. Trevor: which I durst not do, though I

know his goodness. So she said your honoured ladyship would be so kind

and tender hearted as to lay my case before Mr. Trevor, and my dear

and honoured mistress, Miss Mowbray, both of _which_ I would run to

the world's end to serve. On which she said she was sure they would

take my case into merciful consideration, and grant me their gracious

forgiveness.

'Which is the humble petition of your distressed servant to command,

honoured madam.

PHILIP FRANKS.'

Poor fellow! Forgive thee? What is thy crime? An inaccuracy. A mistake

of judgment. A desire to do thyself right, without intentional wrong

to me or any one. Yet for this mistake, differently circumstanced,

thou mightest have lost thy life, and have been hanged like a dog!

I too accused thee of robbery, of taking more than thy due, when thou

tookest less. Hadst thou offered thy old waistcoats and stockings to a

street hawker, he would not have given thee half the surplus that was

thy due.

Such were the reflections that broke from me, after perusing his

simple but affecting defence.

Mary was called up, and questioned. She knew where he lived: for the

poor, little inclined to suspicion, confide in each other. It is the

rich only that tempt them to be treacherous.

After consulting with Miss Wilmot, it was determined that she should

write to Olivia; enclosing Philip's letter, and requesting her to

give him a character. I knew she would take care to see him paid the

wages that were his due; and, as I had been the cause of his want of

employment since the fright he took at Cranford-bridge, I left money

to reimburse him for the loss of his time from that period.

The people I mixed with, and the prejudices of the world, required

that I should keep a servant: but, though the man that was with me was

by no means so great a favourite as Philip had been, I did not think

I had sufficient cause to discharge him for another. There was an

additional motive for not wishing Philip to be my servant again; at

least not under my present circumstances. Olivia's aunt had imagined

we were in league, at Cranford-bridge; and, should she see him

once more in my service, that suspicion might either be revived or

strengthened.

CHAPTER III

_The period of contention approaches, and the unabated patriotism of

the Baronet: Hector and the Earl become enemies, and I am made the

subject of newspaper calumny: Threatening appearances: A journey

projected: A tragical event, giving occasion to the practice of some

small portion of humanity_

The dissolution of parliament was hourly expected. Flying reports

fixed it to happen on different days; but none of them very

distant. The zeal of Sir Barnard, in behalf of his country and its

constitution, was unabated. The measures of ministry were wicked

beyond example; and the servility of parliament was unequalled, since

the time of the Tudors. Such was the Baronet's continual theme.

From him, and the political circles I frequented, I heard news in

which I might be said to be personally concerned. In consequence of

the firm refusal of Olivia, a rupture had taken place between Lord

Idford and the family: much at first to the regret of the Mowbrays;

till the turn that the quarrel took enflamed the latter.

Hector Mowbray had great property, and influence, in the county of

which he and I were both natives. Of this county the Earl was the Lord

Lieutenant; and here he likewise had his dependents, and partisans.

The Mowbrays were wealthy; and Hector was ambitious of being elected

knight of the shire. When it was first proposed, the aunt forwarded

the project: for there was no probability that any other candidate so

powerful should start. The joint interest of the Earl and the Mowbrays

would defy opposition.

The Earl however understood traffic; and, finding himself so

positively refused by Olivia, he thought proper to inform the family

that she must either be induced to consent, or, instead of aiding to

bring Hector into parliament, he should himself propose and support

another candidate with the whole weight of his interest. The threat

was galling. It was insinuated first to the aunt; and, when Hector was

informed of it, he affected to vapour and treat it with defiance; but,

on better consideration, he and the aunt thought proper to importune

Olivia, hoping they should oblige her to comply. Threats and

intreaties alike were vain. Her resolution was not to be shaken; and

the Earl more openly declared that, if she should think proper to

persist, he would beggar himself rather than Hector should carry his

election.

Hector had been canvassing the county, had subscribed to races, been

present at the assizes, given public dinners, and taken various means

to increase his popularity; of which he had become inordinately vain.

Inflated therefore with a certainty of victory, he threw down the

gauntlet, and dared the Earl to the field.

In the mean time, paragraphs appeared in a morning and an evening

paper, both of them sold to Government, and the echoes of each other,

that were evidently aimed at me, and my connections. At first I could

not have conceived how I should have attracted the attention of those

worthy gentlemen, who earn their bread by the daily manufactory of

lampoons: but I was soon informed that this is become a regular branch

of business; and that the motives to carry it on are many. These

motives originate in paymasters, of various descriptions: of whom the

treasury is supposed to be the chief.

The libels, of which I was the subject, aimed to be satirical; but

were too dull of wing to hit their mark: they were only malignant.

They could neither tickle the fancy nor gall the heart; but they

proved that I had lurking enemies, who wished to wound, did they but

know when and where to strike.

It was well known that my professedly dear friend, Glibly, was

principally concerned in the morning paper where these libels

generally appeared. When I first became acquainted with him, he

affected indifference to parties; and was ready to praise or laugh at

either, as circumstances should happen to direct him: but, when the

temper of the times became intolerant and acrimonious, he thought it

prudent to take a decided part. That such a man should declare in

favour of the weakest was not to be expected; and he now associated

with the known hirelings of ministry, of whom I was a still more open

and undisguised opponent.

By these attacks on me, Glibly therefore, for they were undoubtedly

a part of his handy-work, Glibly, I say, had a three-fold motive.

He indulged a propensity, which strange to say he had acquired,

of wounding in the dark, that he might smile and shake hands with

the insulted person in broad day; he answered the end for which

ministry retained him, that of decrying all its antagonists; and he

particularly forwarded the views of another of his dear friends, the

Earl.

The general complexion of paragraphs like these is falsehood; which is

sometimes direct, though it is more commonly a perversion of existing

facts. The pamphlet I had written, which had been partially made known

to the public by the advertisement that had appeared, the patronage of

Sir Barnard, my ambitious views on the Mowbray family, with such other

particulars as the indefatigable Glibly could collect, sometimes

delivered in obscure allusions and at others more openly, were the

topics of calumny. How many of these ingenious devices to irritate and

injure were framed I never knew: for I seldom read them myself, though

I heard of them sufficiently often to be assured that they were

numerous.

There were various means by which they might have been stopped; and

of which, in ordinary cases bribing is chiefly practised: but in this

instance fighting, or the law, would have been more effectual. Of

these however I totally disapproved. Defamation is an evil: but death

is generally and perhaps always a greater; and to prevent enquiry

is among the worst of evils. I was not yet sufficiently acquainted,

however, with the mistakes to which men are subject, or rather

impelled by the institutions they admire, not to feel great surprise

and some indignation at the obstacles which I found were continually

to impede my career. He who has never travelled into the country of

Mosquitoes is not aware how slight a net-work covering will preserve

him from their sting.

These were trifles, and would have been unworthy of notice had they

not resembled the small cloudy speck, which, though scarcely visible

in the distant horizon, approaches, and swells, and bursts over the

head in a storm. The beginning contest between the Earl and the

Mowbray family, the interest which the worthy Mr. Glibly had thought

proper to take in me and my affairs, the patriotism of Sir Barnard,

nay the friendship of Mr. Evelyn himself, that best of men, were but

so many links in the chain of that fate which was impending.

At present, however, with respect to the Baronet, I daily increased in

favour. He frequently requested me to accompany him when he went down

to the house; and paraded with me, arm in arm, through the avenues:

catching every man he knew by the button, and introducing me; then

descanting on the news of the day, the victories of the minister among

his creatures and in the house, and the defeats of his projects every

where else.

At length it was generally affirmed and believed that parliament would

be dissolved in a fortnight; and, as Sir Barnard wished to keep well

with his borough, he proposed that we should go down and visit the

worthy and independent electors: among whom he observed we might spend

a few days in a pleasant manner, and advantageously to his interest,

till the writ of election should be issued. This was on the Wednesday:

but, as there was to be a debate and probably a division of the house

on Friday, his sense of public duty would not permit him to be absent

on such an occasion, and we agreed to defer our journey till Saturday

morning.

During this short interval an incident occurred, which it is necessary

I should relate. It happened on the Thursday that, after spending the

day near Richmond, where I had been invited to dine, I was returning

home on horseback, followed by my servant: for I thought myself

obliged to practise some part of that aristocracy which I nevertheless

very sincerely condemned.

The night was starlight; and, as we were cantering down a lane at the

entrance of Barnes common, we heard distant cries and the report of a

pistol, in the direction as we believed in which we were proceeding.

I immediately stopped, and listened very attentively: but all was soon

silent. Being convinced as well by the cries as the firing of the

pistol that a robbery, if not something worse, had been committed, and

not certainly knowing from what point the sound came, I rode gently

forward and continued to listen with the utmost attention: desiring my

servant to do the same.

We rode on, still walking our horses and looking cautiously round for

some time, without any sight or sound of man approaching us, till we

came to a gate at the edge of the common. Here I saw a horse standing

patiently, without his rider; and stopping once more to look and

listen, I presently perceived an indistinct object: which I discovered

to be a man; wounded and weltering in his blood.

I spoke to him: but no answer was returned, nor any sound. I then

raised the body in my arms, and it appeared to be lifeless.

What was to be done? A human being, who might be dead or might not, in

either case, must not be left in such a situation.

The neighbourhood is populous, and I could distinguish lights at no

very great distance. Fearing lest, if I sent my servant he should

blunder, or that the persons he might address himself to would be less

likely to pay attention to him than to me, I bade him remain by the

dead or wounded man; and, mounting my horse, I rode away immediately

to procure aid.

My direction was across the common; and fortunately I met with a

carriage, which proved to be a hackney coach returning to town with

two passengers. I ordered the coachman to stop, and he immediately

supposed I was a highwayman: but, being undeceived, he refused to go

out of his way for the purpose I required.

The persons within, hearing a kind of squabble, and understanding when

they listened the nature of it, spoke to me; and enquired into the

particulars. By good luck, they happened to feel properly, and joined

me against the coachman; who, though unwillingly, was obliged to

submit; and, when he came to the point where the roads join, to turn

back and receive the wounded man into the carriage. The passengers

alighted, I ordered my man to take the horse of the stranger in

charge, and we proceeded slowly to the first inn.

Here I immediately enquired for surgical and medical assistance;

and, as the people of these villages are many of them opulent, good

practitioners were presently procured.

While the messengers were dispatched, I had leisure to examine the

stranger; whose appearance, figure, and countenance, were altogether

extremely interesting. His hair was abundant, but milk white, his

features were serene, and his form in despite of age was still manly.

The benevolence of his countenance was heightened by the blood with

which his locks were in part clotted, and that had streamed over his

face upon his clothes and linen.

The medical gentlemen arrived nearly at the same time, the stranger

was examined, the pulsation of the heart was perceptible, and, though

the contusions on the head and the temple were violent, and he had

been shot in the shoulder, so that the ball had passed through behind,

they were of opinion, as there was no fracture of the skull, that

the wounds were not mortal. The appearance of the stranger, and the

condition in which I found him, had made a lively impression upon

me. I was fearful of leaving him, in an unknown place, amidst the

casualties and hurry of an inn, to the care of waiters, and the

neglect of persons who had scarcely leisure to be humane. I therefore

determined to send my servant to town, and stay with him that night. I

had an appointment and other business in the morning; but I could be

at London in less than an hour: that was therefore no obstacle.

Hoping to have discovered his place of abode, I desired his pockets to

be searched before the people present: but they were entirely emptied;

and contained no paper, or memorandum, that could afford information.

After some time, by the aid which was procured, his pulse began to

quicken, and his lungs to do their office; and, that nothing might

be omitted, I prevailed on the physician to remain with me at his

bed-side, and attend to every symptom, above half the night. With this

he the more willingly complied because he was apprehensive of fever,

when the circulation should recover all its elasticity.

In the morning, though very unwillingly, I was obliged to forsake my

charge: but not till I had left money with the physician, who made

himself accountable to the innkeeper for all expences. Being a humane

person, I believe he would have done this without my interference. But

in addition to that every mark about the stranger, his look, his dress

and the horse on which he was mounted, denoted him to be a gentleman;

and when I left him, though the physician thought it was probable he

might not recover the use of his understanding and the power of speech

for a day or two, he yet was persuaded that he would not die.

CHAPTER IV

_An incident in the park, or the danger of unruly dogs and horses: The

fortitude and affection of Olivia: A visit to the wounded stranger_

Knowing the habits of Sir Barnard to be precise, and pettish, so that

if I counteracted the arrangement he had made it would put him into a

disagreeable temper, I resolved, as we were to depart early the next

morning, to return as soon as possible to the stranger. About two in

the afternoon, I was riding through the park for this purpose: and

here another incident occurred; which, though it excited extreme

terror, it afterward afforded uncommon delight.

A few days before, I had witnessed a lady on a run-away horse, who

was seized with fright, dropped from the saddle, and bruised herself

exceedingly. She would have been in no danger, if she had behaved but

with the ordinary resolution of a man; and the accident led me to

reflect on the ill education to which women are subjected. They seem

to be esteemed by men in proportion as they are helpless, timid, and

dependent. It is supposed they cannot be affectionate unless their

leading feature be imbecility.

Just as I had crossed the bridge over the Serpentine river, two ladies

and a gentleman with their grooms, all on horseback, were turning

round; and went off in a hand gallop toward Kensington gardens. I was

riding fast, at no great distance; and perceived it to be Olivia, her

aunt, and some person whom I did not know. Olivia was mounted on a

fine blood horse; and a large dog rushed by him in pursuit of me,

being tempted by my fast galloping.

The horse of Olivia had previously been put upon his mettle. I saw the

danger, and instantly pulled up: but he began to plunge, and kick, in

a manner that would have unhorsed most men. The dog then turned from

me, and attacked the animal that was highest in motion; and the horse

immediately set off full speed. The foolish servant, being frightened,

began to gallop after her. I was obliged to do the same, and stop him:

for the clattering of feet behind did but increase the fury of the

runaway horse.

Terrified however as I was, when I first noticed the vicious

propensities of the horse, the courage of Olivia was such, her seat

was so firm, and she kept so steady a hold of the strong curb rein,

that I felt a confidence she would overpower the horse; if the fear

and folly of some other person should do no mischief. I therefore

followed at a proper distance; and, when I saw several horsemen who

attempted to cross her, I shouted and waved my hat for them to keep

off.

My hopes were justified. She avoided every danger, by her management

and presence of mind; and, by her use of the curb and the aid of the

wall at the end of the ride, arrested the course of the intemperate

animal.

Having kept the grooms back, I was the first that came up with her;

and, leaping from my saddle, I seized the reins and held them till the

servant arrived. I then enjoyed one more rapturous moment, such as I

had indeed but little foreseen: I received her in my arms.

Not a minute before, how firm and collected had her mind and actions

been: but no sooner did she feel my embrace than her frame was

suffused. A thousand ideas, that had no relation to the danger which

her own fortitude had escaped, immediately rushed upon her; she sunk

upon my shoulder, and burst into a flood of tears. They were the heart

casings of ten thousand of the foregone anxieties of love.

How could I have hated the broad day, and the prying eyes that were

upon us! How welcome would the fogs and darkness of Cranford-bridge

have been! My adventurous spirit would then have surely imprinted the

first kiss of love! as chaste as it would have been ecstatic.

This bliss, alas, was not to be. The crowd approached. I pressed her

hand, and, as an assurance of fidelity, she gently returned the token

of kindness. Such mute signs being all that were permitted.

Perceiving I must leave her, I again requested she would not mount the

unruly horse; and she replied, with a heavenly smile, 'Have no fear

for me. I will be careful of myself;' to which she added in a low

whisper: 'for my preserver's sake!'