Oh moments of unutterable bliss! Who can estimate your worth? One

of you will outweigh a life, such as the dull round of common place

nothings can yield.

Did not my eyes thank her? Did not the strong workings of my colour

and countenance inform her of what was passing within? Oh yes! And

in the same language she involuntarily replied. He who shall suppose

there was one emotion which celestial purity might not approve cannot

comprehend Olivia. They were emanations such as those only who have

souls, as well as bodies, are acquainted with.

The tide of ecstacy must turn. The aunt came up, I bowed, she

returned my salute in a manner that shewed her mind was affected by

contradictory emotions, and I mounted my horse and guided his head

toward the Park gate; through which I passed; feeling, at the moment,

that I was passing the gate of paradise.

I had not however left all my heaven behind me. No: I bore with me

ample stores for delicious revery. The fortitude of Olivia, the firm

and easy grace with which she kept her seat, her admirable management

and quick presence of mind, her unabating courage at one moment, and

her melting tenderness at the next, were not the food but the feast of

love.

In this revelry of the imagination I indulged, till I arrived at the

inn; where I found the physician, agreeable to appointment; and was

informed by him that the stranger still continued insensible: but that

the symptoms appeared to be rather more than less favourable.

I remained with the patient during some hours, till the necessary

preparation for my journey obliged me to depart. I then left a

sufficient sum with the physician; and, after most earnestly

recommending the stranger to his care, reluctantly returned to town.

Though I had obtained a promise, from the physician, that the patient

should be removed to his own home, as soon as it should be discovered,

or to the house of the physician, whenever it might be done without

danger, I yet could not help questioning whether to leave him to the

mercy of persons, with whom I was unacquainted, that I might take

a journey to visit the free and independent electors of an English

borough, were faithfully to fulfill the duties of humanity. Add to

which the venerable and benevolent appearance of the stranger was

so uncommonly interesting that it made a strong impression upon my

imagination.

But it was necessary to decide, and I acted as mortals are obliged to

do on such occasions: not knowing what was best, I adopted that which

appeared to be the most urgent.

CHAPTER V

_The journey to the borough of the Baronet: Independent electors, and

their motives satisfactorily explained: Evil communication corrupts

good manners: Electors eager to make hay while the sun shines, and

being once bought wish again to be bribed_

The following morning at the hour appointed, Sir Barnard and I set

off for the borough of ****: at which we arrived without delay or

accident.

The number of voters was little more than thirty; and the first

business, after our arrival, was to invite them to a dinner. It has

long been remarked that men in a body will be guilty of actions

of which individually they would each be ashamed. In an assembly,

however, the purpose of which is conscious iniquity, few, who have not

witnessed such scenes, will be aware of the efforts that each man will

make to argue himself into a belief of his own upright intentions: or

of the eager assent with which his endeavours will be seconded by his

associates.

In the present instance, for example, what were the motives of

the worthy electors? Sir Barnard explained them, to the perfect

satisfaction of all parties.

But what were they? The love of the constitution: the honest struggles

that honest men were making to displace a corrupt minister: their very

eager and laudable attempts to free an oppressed and ruined country,

relieve it of its taxes, recover its trade, and revive the glory of

old England: to effect these great and good purposes was the whole and

sole end at which they aimed. Were all the electors through all the

boroughs, cities, and counties of Great Britain but as virtuous as

those of the borough of ****, it would indeed be a happy land.

Yet, strange to say, what different masks does self-assuming virtue

wear! State the per contra. Imagine only how many free and independent

electors were at this period exulting, in a similar manner, at

the purity of their own conduct; while giving their votes for the

support of government, the maintenance of order, and to preserve the

immaculate statesman, the saviour of the nation, the great financier,

the first of orators, the admiration of Europe, and the wonder of the

world, in power!

Who will deny that a general election is the season when all the

disinterested virtues, all the pure patriotism, all the most generous

and best qualities of the soul are called into action? How are the

morals of the people improved! To what a height of grandeur does human

nature rise; and how captivating is the point of view in which it is

seen! Æra of incomprehensible excellence!

Can it be supposed that I, who was to be the representative of such

free and noble souls, through whose lips their patriotic spirits were

to breathe, I, in whom one five-hundredth part of the virtue of the

whole island was to be compressed, and bottled up ready for use, being

as I was in company with sages whose office it was to choose one still

more sage than themselves, thus circumstanced, was it possible that

I should not imbibe some portion of their sublime wisdom? Had I no

sympathy? Were all my affections and passions and patriotism extinct?

Oh no! Mocking, says the proverb, is catching: and, however in my

sober moments, among sober people, reasoning on objects at a distance,

I might systematise and legislate for the conduct of myself and

others, being an actor in the scene, whether its atmosphere were

healthy or contagious, I never yet found that I could wholly escape

imbibing a part of the effluvia. I gave toasts, made speeches,

sung songs, ay and wrote them too, and became so incorporated with

my constituents, lovers as they were of liberty, that, the cut of

our cloaths and countenances excepted, I might in this moment of

overflowing sapience have been taken for one of themselves.

I was little aware, however, when I consented to make this journey,

of its consequences. Disinterested as these worthy voters were,

and purchased by wholesale as they had been when the family of the

Brays bought the borough, they yet had wives and daughters; who wore

watches, and rings, and gowns; and who would each of them think

themselves so flattered, by a genteel present from me, that there was

no describing the pleasure it would give them! Every _particular_

about me told them I was very much of a gentleman.

Beside which, one lady had a great affection for a few pounds of the

best green tea, bought in London. Another discovered that the loaf

sugar in the country was abominable. A third could not but think that

a few jars of India pickles, and preserved ginger, would be a very

pretty present. It would always remind her of the giver. A fourth

could not but say she _did_ long for a complete suit of lace; cap,

handkerchief, and ruffles: and so on through the whole list.

The men too were troubled with their longings. With one it was London

porter: with another it was Cheshire cheese and bottled beer. They

would both drink to the donor. Their neighbour longed very vehemently

indeed for the horse I rode: and, finding that the animal was too

great a favourite to be parted with, he compounded for twelve dozen of

old port.

When these hints, which looked very like demands, were first given me,

I applied to Sir Barnard; doubting much whether any of them ought

to be complied with: but he let me understand that such things were

politic, and customary; and that a seat in parliament, even when

bestowed, was not to be had free of expence.

What could be done? To have required him to pay these disbursements

would have had so much the appearance of meanness, that it was what

I could not propose. To request a loan in advance of Mr. Evelyn was

sufficiently grating to the feelings: but he had a liberal spirit, it

was the least painful of the two, and I had no other resource. Fortune

was whetting the darts she soon intended to hurl.

CHAPTER VI

_News from Mowbray petitioning for aid: The period o; universal

uproar arrives, and the Baronet pursues his patriotic purposes: A few

sketches of a county contest at a general election: Hector loving in

his liquor: Qualms of conscience, which are thought very unseasonable

and very ridiculous: The incomprehensible defection of Sir Barnard,

and the suspicion that lights on me_

While we were spending our time in this 'pleasant manner, and

advantageously to the Baronet's interest,' we received intelligence of

our quondam friends, the Earl and young Mowbray; who were canvassing

the county, in which they had vowed opposition to each other, with

indefatigable zeal: so that a ruinous contest, probably to both

parties, was predicted.

In this county Sir Barnard himself had some interest: for he had some

lands there: and Hector prevailed on a common friend to write in a

very urgent style to the Baronet, requesting his aid. How could so

great a lover of his country as Sir Barnard, indignant too as he felt

himself at the apostacy of the Earl, refuse a request by which his own

patriotic purposes might be forwarded?

At length parliament was dissolved; and the whole kingdom was

immediately in a tumult. Driving, rioting, and uproar began. God help

the poor post-horses, hostlers, and chambermaids!

The writ for the Baronet's borough was made out, his agents were

ready, and, as there could be no opposition, our business was soon

over. It was high time: for my pocket was tolerably drained. And as

the worthy electors very industriously compared notes, when any one of

them discovered that the present made to his neighbour was of greater

value than the _compliment_ which he had received, I had immediate

intimation of my own injustice: which it was expected I should

correct.

This serious business settled, and these accounts closed, the Baronet

now had leisure to think of his friends; and he turned his thoughts

to the annoying of Lord Idford. He had purchased me as well as his

borough: for he had made me his own member, and meant to profit by me

in all possible ways. He had discovered my electioneering talents. I

was very engaging among the women: a matter of no small moment in such

affairs: and 'though I was rather shy of my glass, yet I could sing

an excellent song, which I could likewise make, quite suitable to the

occasion.' He therefore proposed that we should both journey into my

native county, and there exercise all our wit and ingenuity, to aid in

bringing in my old school-fellow, Hector.

It cannot be supposed that, in an affair where the family and the

brother of Olivia were so seriously implicated, I could be totally

unconcerned. With respect to the question of who was the most

virtuous, or the most wise, who the greatest orator, the best patriot,

or the properest person to take a seat among the grand national

council of sages, the Earl or the 'Squire, that was not easily

determined. It was a point therefore that did not disquiet my

conscience. My compliance was consequently given with a hearty good

will; and we both prepared for the holy work.

How it happened that the vice which inevitably attaches itself to such

conduct, self-evident, gross, and glaring as it is, fatal to private

morals and public virtue, odious in its practice and hellish in its

consequences, how the baneful complexion of this monster vice should

at first so totally escape me is more than I can declare. Hurry of

thought, confusion of intellect, and eagerness of passion are the only

probable conjectures I can make. My mind was so intent on the manner

in which I could best prove my respect for Olivia, and all that

related to her, that this appears to have been a gulph vast enough for

all recollection, sense, and idea!

A post-chaise and four soon brought us to the field of battle; and

then I own my blood began to circulate, and my feelings to awaken.

Still it was but gradually that my spirits mounted to the proper tone.

Before we entered the place where the election was to be held, we

heard the jangling of bells and the shouts of men. The postillions

spared neither whip nor spur; and, as we galloped furiously along the

streets, the people came swarming out: the women and children saluting

us with their shrill trebles; and, it being dark, the men crowding to

follow with torches and more sonorous hubbub. Every inn was a scene

of confusion. When we drove up to that which was the head-quarters of

Hector, his partisans immediately flocked round us, and, a courier

having previously announced our arrival, saluted Sir Barnard with

all the force of lungs they could heave: elated in proportion to the

uproar they made.

The 'Squire and his friends, vociferous though they were, and heated

with anticipated triumphs, wine and wassail, heard the glorious din,

learned its cause, and came reeling forth to embrace their puissant

ally. Quitting as they did the fumes of buttocks and sirloins, gammons

and hams, turkies and geese, wines, brandies, beers and tobacco, they

all came reeking; each involved in his own atmosphere.

Their joy was boisterous, and not to be repulsed. Hector was as drunk

as the animal that brought the royal David his sucking pigs; and as

loving as the monster in the Tempest. He could not indeed curse so

poetically: but what he wanted in variety he supplied by repetition;

and his oaths and his raptures were countless.

He bestowed a part of them upon me; for, not only did feasting make

him fond, but, he had just memory enough left to recollect that I was

now become an M.P. and he was not quite sure whether, till he had

gained his election, I might not at present be almost as great a man

as himself. I was moreover his electioneering friend: which virtue

would, for a fortnight to come, be inestimable.

I had been disgusted with the eating and drinking required at the

ready-bought borough of ****: but that was abstinence itself, compared

to the scene in which I had consented to become an actor. Away the

Baronet and I were dragged, by the most jovial crew: Hector our

leader, and seating himself in state at our head.

'Clean glasses!' bellowed the hero; and, seizing his own, smashed it

against the wall: commanding us to follow his noble example. Midway

drunkenness disdains to think: all arms were raised, and destruction

was impending. Fortunately, there were two sober men in company; and,

seeing what had happened, we both loudly called--'Forbear!' 'You

have cut one of the waiters,' added I; addressing myself to Hector,

and pointing to a man whose face was smeared with blood. 'Damn him!'

retorted the brave Hector. 'Put him down in the bill.' The mighty man

was pleased at his own second-hand wit; and, as an old joke is the

soonest understood, they all joined in the laugh.

Eager to make the new comers welcome, that is as drunk as himself,

Hector insisted that the Baronet and I should drink three bumpers

each; and, as the fatigue of travelling had rendered this no difficult

task, we complied.

He then swore we would _set to_ for the night; but I perceived that

his night would not be a long one. Toasts were called for, however,

and liquor was swallowed, till its vapours half deprived the redoubted

Hector of the faculty of speech. At this period, he began to mutter

nonsense, on a subject on which I should have been better pleased with

his silence than his praise. He made the lovely Olivia his theme;

and in the fulness, not of his heart, but, of his stomach, told me

how dearly she loved me--'Yes, my boy, she does, by G----! And she's

right! Damn me, she's right! I say it; by G----, my boy, she's right!

You are my friend!--You are my friend, and she's right. And as for

Lord kiss ---- damn me, he's a sneaking scoundrel! I say it, a

sneaking ----! So she's right! Damn me, she's right!'

He continued to repeat his oaths, and 'She's right,' till, entirely

overpowered, he sunk; and would have dropped from his chair, if the

waiter whom he had cut with the glass had not caught him. Some of the

guests had withdrawn, some were sleeping, and some were senseless:

but the few who could open their eyes, and see to such a distance,

triumphed in the defeat of their leader: which they considered as

victory to themselves.

Riot now paused per force. The Baronet pleaded fatigue, and retired.

I followed his example, and once more found myself alone; left to

ruminate on the methods which men take to make each other happy; on

their different modes of happiness, in their different stations: and

on waiters who, being maimed or killed, are to be charged in the bill.

Though these thoughts were not of the most delightful kind, they did

not prevent me from sleeping. The new day brought new cares; and

presented projects, in which I was required to take my part, that led

me to very serious meditations indeed. The poll was to begin that day

week; and Hector and his friends, roused from the torpor of overloaded

revelry by the importance of the business, assembled to consider how

they should best collect and marshal the voters of whom they supposed

themselves to be certain, and cajole and bring over such as they

imagined might be gained.

Of this labour each man was to take his allotted share; and direct

bribery was openly proposed as the general medium by which the great

end in question was to be promoted.

This was what I had not foreseen. I was not only young but, as I have

before remarked, I had thought but little on the affair: except as

it continually presented the image of Olivia to my mind. I now found

myself most painfully situated. I had discovered principles of human

conduct in which I had gloried. I had asserted them unsparingly; and

had promised myself that from them I would never depart. In doubtful

cases, I might decide and act erroneously: but, when the way was

clear, my conduct should be the same.

These principles I was required to abandon; and the shock was severe.

The transactions which had lately passed in the Baronet's borough

increased the difficulty. In what light could the presents that I had

made be considered? In what were they different from and how much

better than bribes? To these I had submitted when my own interest was

in question. Again: for what purpose had I consented to accompany Sir

Barnard, if not to exert myself in favour of his friend? And not only

his friend but the brother of Olivia; though this was a silent grief,

known only to myself. However I stated my scruples: which, as soon as

they were heard, were the subject of laughter. I repeated them in a

still more serious tone, and was reminded of the facts, and motives

which I have just been mentioning.

The struggle was violent. The arguments I had to urge were something

like insults, on every body present that heard me; and I was answered

sometimes with ridicule, at others with anger, and not unfrequently

with something very like contempt.

The Baronet in particular augured very unfavourably, concerning the

subserviency which he expected from me; and once or twice spoke in a

very dictatorial tone: but, finding himself answered with no little

indignation, he had no remedy but to chew the cud in silence.

Assailed on all sides, as it happened I had the good sense, in despite

of every mockery and insinuation, to remain firm; and the only part I

could be prevailed upon to take determinately was that of aiding in

a fair and open canvas, leaving those who were less conscientious to

distribute bribes. As it was imagined however that I possessed some

abilities, my services were accepted on my own conditions.

Meanwhile the waste that was committed, the bribes that were paid, and

the money that was squandered in every way, as well in London, where

voters were eagerly purchased and sent down by coach loads, as in

distant parts of the county and kingdom, convinced me that the sums

which this election would cost must be enormous. I even thought it my

duty to take an opportunity, in one of Hector's half sober moments,

to remonstrate with all the arguments and energy I could collect; and

endeavoured to persuade him to decline the poll. But my efforts were

useless. He was equally vain of his wealth and his influence. His

purse perhaps was as deep as that of the proud peer; his friends as

numerous; and he would carry his election though he were to mortgage

every foot of land he possessed.

Finding him resolved, I became anxious in his behalf, strained every

nerve, rode in all directions night and day, and so effectually

exerted myself in enquiring who were the independent men likely to be

influenced by honest motives, that I procured him above fifty votes.

With respect to himself, the continual drinking, vociferating, and

riot of the scene had made him so hoarse that, previous to the day of

election, his husky whispers were not audible.

The evening before the poll opened, an incident occurred for which,

at that time, I knew not how to account. It was no less amazing than

incomprehensible. I had returned very much fatigued, after hard

riding, and found a message had been left for me by Sir Barnard; who

desired to speak with me immediately.

I obeyed the summons, and found him alone. He opened the conversation

in a strange blustering tone: complaining of having been neglected,

or insulted; he did not seem to know which; and, to my astonishment,

declared his satisfaction at the scruples which I had professed. He

knew not what to say to such corrupt proceedings. Perhaps an honest

man ought to have no concern in them; and, for his own part, he

certainly should trouble himself no farther on the present occasion.

He had met with but little thanks for what he had already done; and he

had come to a resolution not to bring up his voters.

Acquainted with the corrupt arts by which the promises of these

voters, generally speaking, had been gained, I knew not what to reply:

though I felt no little chagrin. With the aid of Sir Barnard, it was

supposed that Mowbray's election would certainly have been carried:

but without that aid I was persuaded it would as certainly be lost.

This opinion I forcibly repeated: adding that, though elections like

these were destructive beyond description to the general happiness,

and though I could not defend having taken any part whatever in one of

them, yet the mischief in the present instance had already been done.

If Sir Barnard had received any insult, or even suffered any neglect,

I intreated that he would permit me to be the mediator, and state his

griefs: being persuaded, from all I had seen, that nothing injurious

to his person or his interest had been intended.

His answers were evasive. He acted as men frequently do, who have some

secret purpose which they dare not avow: he affected that waspish

irritation of temper to which he was subject on many occasions; but on

none so frequently as when he suspected himself to be wrong.

While we were in the heat of this discourse, a chaise and four drove

up to the door. It was for the Baronet. His trunk and mine were both

prepared, by his orders. The men were buckling the former behind the

carriage; and he requested me to accompany him to town.

I was thunderstruck! I could neither account for such sullen

intemperance nor the secrecy of this haste. I again urgently intreated

I might acquaint Mr. Mowbray, and his committee: but he peremptorily

refused, and repeated his desire that I would accompany him

immediately. No arguments, no prayers, could move him: so that, at

last, I hastily left the room, in search of Hector and his friends.

He guessed my intention, and as soon as I was gone stepped into the

chaise and ordered the boys to drive away full speed: leaving me

behind to act as I should think proper; but with a message that, if I

wished to oblige him, I must mount my horse and ride after him with

all expedition. I might overtake him at the next inn; and our servants

and horses would then follow at leisure.

It was some time before I could find Mowbray, or any of his party.

They were at another inn, promoting the good cause; and, when I

informed them of the intentions of Sir Barnard, they scarcely could

believe me: but, when they heard the chaise was at the door, they

hurried with me; full of anxiety and dismay. We were too late. Sir

Barnard was gone: long out of hearing, and out of sight.

The consternation was extreme. Stupefied as his faculties were, for a

moment Hector was roused. Conjectures were formed, but none presented

themselves that could account for such extraordinary conduct. No one

knew of any offence that had been given the Baronet. It was remarked

indeed, on recollection, that the last day or two he had not testified

the same alacrity and zeal: but no man could guess his motive.

At length the indignation of Hector took vent in a volley of curses,

which were plentifully and emphatically bestowed. And so keenly was

the stroke felt, that he put a very unusual quantity, small though

it was, of variety in his oaths. Not only the body and blood of Sir

Barnard, but his liver, eyes, and heart, were consigned over to Satan.

Even I, though I had procured votes distinct from the interest of

the Baronet, and had refused to follow him to town, in which refusal

I persisted, still I did not escape suspicion. No direct allegation

was made: but the questions that were put to me were sufficiently

expressive of doubt.

The irritated mind is apt at error; and I disdained to make a personal

application of the guilt by which I knew myself uncontaminated.

CHAPTER VII

_The opening of the poll: My first essay at public oratory: The

general feelings of men in favour of virtue, though contradicted by

their practice: The hateful spectacle of a corrupt election, and more

cause of complaint against the Baronet: A false accusation resented_

Passion dispels passion, and care combats care. Sir Barnard was gone,

diligence was the more necessary, and preparations for the approaching

day would not admit of neglect. It may well be said that circumstances

and situation make the man. Hector, who had no habitual capacity for

business or intellect for order, was inspired by the occasion with a

degree of talent of which at other times he was incapable. The fatigue

he underwent was excessive; and, impossible as it was that he should

create any strong sympathy, I still felt some interest in his behalf;

and some alarm at the fixed hoarseness by which his lungs were

threatened, and the alteration which incessant drinking and unusual

efforts had produced in his appearance.

The night was passed with more than ordinary tumult. It was late

before the riotous guests departed; and our rest was short. The day of

beginning contest soon broke upon us, the word of command was given

to muster, and all was in action. The friends of the opposing parties

collected, each round their respective leaders: favours for the hat

and bosom were lavishly distributed: the flags were flying: a band

of music preceded each of the processions: and, when the parties

approached the hustings, each band continued to play its own favourite

air with increasing violence: as if war were to be declared by the

most jarring discord, and harmony driven from the haunts of men.

The grating sounds were increased by balladsingers, marrow-bones and

cleavers, and the vociferous throats of men who seemed to imagine

that, if they were but sufficiently noisy, they could not fail of

being victorious.

The scaffolding was mounted, the candidates appeared, and mouths,

ears, and eyes were open; for the reception of all the wisdom and

patriotism, with all the _comicality_ and _fun_, which the orators

were expected to bestow. A mob delights in being harangued; and is

thrown into raptures by every kind of mountebank.

Jealous perhaps of his own honor, the god of eloquence decreed that

neither the wit nor the wisdom of Hector should that day be heard. He

was too hoarse for any effort to make him audible: but, as stirring

and ambitious spirits on such occasions are always abroad, tongues

were not wanting to trumpet forth his high deserts.

The candidates for oratorical fame were several, I was of the number:

and, as the gloss of my newly acquired dignity dazzled other eyes as

well as my own, I was permitted to take the lead. It was my first

essay; and I felt a momentary alarm: but, full of youthful spirits and

high in blood, I dashed forward; and uttered what first occurred.

My voice was powerful, my nonsense was applauded, my fears vanished,

and I became more collected. The real grievances of mankind, under

the best government that ever yet existed, have at all times been so

numerous that an orator, who makes them his theme, is never in want of

facts and arguments.

Could I then feel this deficiency at an epocha like the one in

question: when means so despotic were daily adopted to curb the

growing spirit of enquiry that despot ministers might pursue measures

so tragical; so subversive of the order which they pretended to

maintain, and so destructive to the happiness they were appointed to

guard? Alas! the topics were so numerous, so melancholy, so almost

maddening, that the man who would paint them truly must temper and

rein-in his feelings with an iron arm: otherwise, imagination will so

hurry him away that, while describing evils past, evils present, and

evils impending, there is danger of his being deemed an incendiary.

I spoke ill. When I remembered what I had said, and what I might and

ought to have said, I was indignant at my own want of recollection.

The applause that I received nevertheless was prodigious: the

acclamations of the mob were even awful. They displayed a feeling of

justice so acute, so prompt, and so powerful, that I was borne out of

myself; and imagined for a moment, not merely that the day of reform

was at hand, but that it was come.

Men are rendered selfish, and corrupt, by the baneful influence of the

systems under which they live: but it is well worthy the attention of

those who believe mankind to be generally capable of great happiness,

and who are desirous to promote it, that, however the wants of the

wretched may tempt them to accept the immediate relief that is within

their reach, they never collectively fail to bestow the most unbounded

applause, on those principles by which their own proceedings are

condemned. They are not in love with baseness: it is forced upon them.

The reader is doubtless aware that Hector and his friends assumed to

themselves the merit of what is called the independent interest; and

that his opponent was supported by the whole influence of the court

party. The numerous groans and hisses, and the few plaudits, bestowed

upon the orators of this party, were additional proofs of what is the

general sense of mankind; and that on the subject of corrupt influence

at least they judge rightly. In this general sense I own that my

soul triumphed: and the pangs which I felt, after the poll began, to

perceive that, whatever men might think, they could forget their duty

and vote only as their interest directed, were undescribable.

However, the party of Hector was strong. The struggle was violent.

Every scandalous art of election was resorted to, by both sides. A

spirit of rancour daily and hourly increased. The opponents came to

frequent blows. Beastly drunkenness, bloated insolence, and profligacy

of principle, met the eye on every side; and I almost hated myself,

not only for being present at and participating in it, but, to

find that I belonged to a race of animals capable of such foul and

detestable vice.

From this distress I was relieved by an event which in itself was

very far from satisfactory. The poll had proceeded for some days

with tolerable equality; and Hector had rather the advantage: though

the voters in the interest of Sir Barnard had not given him their

assistance; to which they had frequently been urged. At length, they

appeared. And how great was the surprise and indignation of our whole

party, to see them marshalled on the opposite side, with the favours

of the Idford candidate in their hats, and uniformly come up and poll

against us!

On the same day, twelve of the votes which had been promised to me

were likewise brought over to the opposite interest; and ten more of

them refused to poll for either party.

The coincidence of this desertion revived the suspicions of Hector and

his party, concerning me. This sudden turn of the poll against him

rendered his temper ungovernable; and, in the frenzy of passion, he

made no scruple of openly affirming that I was no less guilty than the

Baronet.

It was not merely the consciousness of innocence that I felt. I had

been so indefatigable in every possible way, I had ridden and walked

and talked, I had been his defender, his eulogist, his orator, his

slave, and had as it were so fouled my conscience in his cause that

indignation closed my lips. I disdained reply, or self vindication;

and, casting a glance such as irresistible feeling dictated, left the

committee room in which the accusation was made without answering a

word.

CHAPTER VIII

_The return to town: A visit to Sir Barnard: Admission denied:

Enquiries after the wounded stranger, who had disappeared: An

endeavour to guard against misrepresentation: The fears and feelings

of friends_

My determination was taken, my servant was called, my horses ordered,

and I immediately departed for London. My thoughts were far from

being clear, or of a pleasant kind. The scene I had left was the most

odious that I had ever beheld. Hector I was convinced would lose his

election; and, what was more valuable, his health. I saw prognostics

which I thought could not be mistaken; and which afterward proved as

baleful as I then imagined them to be. Whether the contest might not

ruin the family was more than I knew; and what the effect might be on

Olivia, and even on our hoped for union, I could not foresee.

The enigmatical conduct of Sir Barnard was no less perplexing. His

sudden desertion of Hector, and of the cause which he had so loudly

defended, were alarming. For what other interpretation could be put

upon the voters in the Baronet's interest, who not only refused to

poll according to their promise, but were all of them brought up in

support of the Idford candidate? Yet I was loth to conclude that an

event so fatal to all my hopes, as well to my private affections as to

my public duties, had taken place.

My horses were excellent, and carried us seventy miles in less time

than it would have taken to go post. I intended to have ordered a

chaise for the remainder of the way: but a mail coach was to pass in

half an hour, and I waited. There happened to be a vacancy in which

I seated myself; and by these means I arrived in town early in the

morning.

As soon as the day was far enough advanced, my first care was to visit

Sir Barnard; and I own I approached the street and the house with a

foreboding heart. What had happened could not be unintentional. It

was too decided, too abrupt, and had too many marks of unprincipled

treachery. I knocked, made my enquiries, and was informed the Baronet

was not at home. I asked for Lady Bray; and not at home was again the

answer.

As this was what I apprehended, it excited but little surprise, though

much vexation. However I left my card; and departed more full of

meditation even than I came. Not at home I had no doubt signified that

my visits were no longer welcome.

Still it was necessary I should know the truth; and, as I had been too

intimate with the family to be ignorant of the haunts of Sir Barnard,

I went to the Cocoa tree, a place to which he daily resorted, and

there lounged away between two and three hours over the papers; hoping

he would come.

I was again disappointed. The Baronet did not make his appearance; and

I began to conjecture that perhaps the servant had told me truly: he

might be out early; on business, or I knew not what.

As it was past his hour at the Cocoa tree, perhaps I should now find

him at home. I therefore went back; and again made my enquiries, and

again received the same dry laconic answer. It had an ill face: but I

had no immediate remedy.

My next most pressing object of attention was the wounded stranger;

whom I had left under the care of the physician, and whom I

immediately determined to enquire after: not without some silent

reproaches to myself, for having so long been absent on schemes such

as those in which I had been concerned, to the neglect of perhaps a

more serious duty. For duty seemed to require that men should rather

abstain from elections, such as they are at present, than become

aiders and abettors of them.

My horses not being arrived, and disliking the vehicle of a hackney

coach, I walked forward to the inn at which the stranger had been

left; musing much on the prospect before me, which was once more

beginning to be heavily overcast.

Being come to my journey's end, I found the stranger had been removed

two days after I left him to London: but the people of the inn could

give me no farther intelligence, concerning him or the place of his

residence.

I then asked them to direct me to the house of the physician: which

they did, but told me that he had left the kingdom.

Determined however to make every possible enquiry, I went to the

house; where I found only a person who was left in charge of the

premises, and who knew nothing more than that the physician was gone

with a patient to Lisbon.

These little incidents, trifling as they appeared, afforded me an

excellent proof of the absurdity of false modesty: which induces men,

from the egoistical fear of being thought vain, to conceal or disguise

the truth. The physician had bestowed high eulogiums on my humanity:

after which, he had hinted a desire, but with well-bred reserve, to

know who I was; and I, catching the apparent delicacy of his feelings

and thinking but very little on the subject, imagined there would be

ostentation in personally taking to myself his praises, by giving him

my name and place of abode. I therefore told him I would answer that

question when we became better acquainted; if he should then find he

had no reason to alter his good opinion of me.

Thus do men by affecting not to be vain, indulge a kind of double

refined vanity; and lead themselves and others into error.

Being disappointed in all my enquiries of this day, my next care was

to see Miss Wilmot. Surrounded as I was by persons who thought me

inimical to them, and therefore were probably my inveterate enemies, I

knew not what false reports might be spread; nor how to guard against

them in the public opinion. But I had one consolation. Olivia had

declared she was resolved to enquire, before she again gave the least

credit to calumny. It was therefore essentially necessary that I

should acquaint Miss Wilmot with all that had passed.

It was now evening; and, when I came to her lodgings, I found her

brother and Turl both there. Though my absence had been short, the

meeting gave me no little pleasure. It would likewise save me the

trouble of a thrice told tale: for to friends like these my heart was

always open; and I had something like an abhorrence of concealment,

and secret transactions. I wished them to share in all my joys; and,

as to my griefs, they not only excited their sympathy but produced

remarks and counsel, by which they had often been cured.

I told my story; and it may well be imagined my hearers were neither

inattentive nor unmoved. The selfishness and depravity into which

men are driven, and the vices of which being thus impelled they are

capable, exemplified as these vices were in my narration, drew heavy

sighs from the gentle and kind hearted Lydia, made her much oppressed

brother groan in spirit, and excited in Turl those comprehensive

powers that trace the history of facts through a long succession, and

teach, by miseries that are past, how miseries in future are to be

avoided.

The general feeling however was that danger was hovering over me. The

indignation of Wilmot, at the treatment of men who most endeavoured to

deserve well of their age and country, was very strong.

Neither was Turl less moved. His manner was placid, yet his feelings

were acute. But, though they might vibrate for a moment toward

discord, they touched the true harmony at last. He who has fixed

principles of action is soon called to a recollection of his duties,

and the manner in which he ought to act.

Roused by his friendship for me, I should rather say by his affection,

he collected his faculties; and presented to the imagination so

sublime a picture of fortitude, and of the virtue of enduring injuries

and oppression with dignity, that he prepared my mind most admirably

for the trials that were to succeed.

CHAPTER IX

_A second and more successful attempt to obtain an interview with the

Baronet: An enigmatical dialogue: The meaning of which however may be

guessed_

It was not only the wish of my heart but it was quite necessary for me

to see Mr. Evelyn. However, it was exceedingly desirable that I should

previously meet the Baronet: lest, in what I should say, my surmises

might be false; and I might produce a family disagreement between

persons who would both have conferred essential benefits on me, if the

supposed defection of Sir Barnard should not be true. I determined

therefore once more to go to the Cocoa tree and wait.

As it happened, waiting was not necessary. The Baronet was there; and,

though there was something of coldness in his manner, it was by no

means what my fears had taught me to expect. Salutation having passed,

I requested to speak with him. We retired into a private room; and he

began by telling me he was glad to see me again in town; and no longer

continuing to support a person whom he no longer esteemed his friend.

At hearing this remark, and the significance with which it was

delivered, my evil augury returned upon me in full force. I answered

that I had quitted Mr. Mowbray not because I had deserted his

interest, but because I had been unjustly accused. 'Accused of what,

Mr. Trevor?'

'Of having been influenced by you to betray a party which I had

pretended to espouse.'

'And were you not influenced by me, Mr. Trevor?'

'I never can be influenced by any man, Sir Barnard, to commit an

action which my heart condemns.'

'Do you mean, Mr. Trevor, that your heart condemns me?'

'The question is very direct; and I am not desirous of wounding your

feelings, Sir Barnard: but I must not be guilty of falsehood. I

certainly wish you had acted otherwise.'

'Then you pretend to set up for yourself, Mr. Trevor; and to have no

deference whatever for me, and my opinions.'

'Personally, as a gentleman who meant to do me service, I wish to

preserve every respect for you, Sir Barnard. But I hope you do not

expect of me any deference that should, on any occasion whatever,

induce me to abandon either my public or my private duties.' 'Very

well, Mr. Trevor. Very well. I dare say you are so perfectly

acquainted with your duties that no man on earth, not even he who

had been your greatest friend, could induce you to alter any of your

notions.'

'I should hope, Sir Barnard, that either friend or enemy might so

induce me: provided he had truth and reason on his side.'

'Very well, Mr. Trevor. All that is very fine. I dare say you

understand your own interest, and will take your own road: even though

you might if you pleased travel more at your ease, and in better

company, by going another way.'

'Will you be kind enough to explain yourself, Sir Barnard?'

'No, Mr. Trevor. I shall give no explanations, till I am sure I am

talking to my friend: my fast friend, Mr. Trevor: that will think and

act with me. If you will give me your word and honor as a gentleman to

that, why then we will talk together.'

'If by thinking and acting together, Sir Barnard, you mean that

you expect I should blindly and implicitly conform to any

tergiversation--I mean to any change--'

'You need explain yourself no farther, Mr. Trevor. I very well

understand your meaning. My friend is my friend, Mr. Trevor; and he

is no other man's friend, Mr. Trevor. I could not but suppose you

understood all that perfectly at first; and I am very sorry to be so

much deceived. But it is my misfortune to be always deceived, and

entrapped; and--'

'Entrapped, Sir Barnard! I hope you do not apply that word to me?'

'Nay, nay, Mr. Trevor, I want no quarrelling.'

'Nor do I, Sir Barnard. But, if you suppose me capable of taking any

advantage of what you may now think an ill-placed confidence in me,

you egregiously mistake both my intentions and my character.'

'I hope I do, Mr. Trevor. You have a great fluency: but I hope I do.'

I saw him preparing to go; and, being exceedingly anxious to have a

determinate answer, I added--'Let me intreat you, Sir Barnard, to give

me an explicit declaration of what you expect from me.'

'You must excuse me, Mr. Trevor. I shall say no more, at present. You

say I mistake your intentions. I hope I do. Time will tell. When you

are my friend, I shall be very glad to see you; and so will Lady Bray.

Good morning to you, Mr. Trevor.'

CHAPTER X

_Reflections on the mutability of fortune, on money expended, and

on the duties of love and friendship: A strange incident, shewing

the propensity of man to superstitious terrors: A lamentable and

unexpected event_

Well might I forebode the approach of evil: and, except that complaint

is of no avail, is waste of time, is unhappiness and therefore is

immoral, well might I complain of those sudden strokes of fate by

which, whenever my prospects began to be flattering, they were

suddenly obscured in darkness and despair. But, if I had not supposed

myself marked in an extraordinary manner as the child of fortune, to

whose smiles and frowns I seemed to be capriciously subjected, I know

not what should have induced me to have written my history; or rather

the history of my youth; for of what is yet reserved for me I am still

ignorant.

Not that I pretend to consider the hypocrisy, selfishness and

profligacy of titled folly, and church pride, as things in themselves

extraordinary. It was the coincidence and the number and manner of

them, by which in the crisis of my fate I seemed to be so repeatedly

and so peculiarly affected, that occasioned surprise and pain.

Yet what was all that I had hitherto felt from persons like these,

when I remember that which I was now immediately doomed to feel? The

perverted and the vicious it is true can excite emotion, and excite

it strongly. But how comparatively feeble does their utmost malice

seem, as far as it affects only ourselves, when brought in competition

with the thunder-bolt that strikes the virtuous; that shuts the

gate of hope; and that robs us of those unspeakable pleasures which

imagination has fondly stored, as a grand resource against evil, fall

when and how it may?

Parting from the Baronet, expecting what was almost certain some

change of political sentiment, no matter how brought about, by which

my flattering expectations were at once to be rooted up, my thoughts

inevitably flowed into that train which was bitterness little

short of anguish. Mr. Evelyn was a man of such peculiar virtue and

disinterested benevolence, of a heart so generous and so little

capable of accusing me in consequence of the baseness of others, that

to have suspected him of such a mistake would have been the height of

injustice. But I could not forget the sums that he had advanced, in

all four hundred pounds, the more than probable failure of all the

plans for which they had been advanced, and the incapacity I had and

should have to repay these sums.

Neither could I forbear to take a retrospective view of the manner in

which they had been expended. Could I approve of that manner? Could I

forget how short a time it was, though I had squandered my own money,

since I had forfeited no atom of my independence by accepting the

earnings of others? Suppose this parliamentary plan to fail, and fail

it must, for there were no hopes that I could honestly retain my seat,

to what other means could I resort? While I continued to indulge

in wild and extravagant schemes of enriching myself, by which I

did but impoverish others, ought I to require of Olivia to partake

of my folly, and its consequences? Had I nothing but the cup of

wretchedness to offer, and must I still urge her to drink? Was it not

my duty rather to tear myself at once away from her; and place some

insurmountable barrier between us, that should relieve her from such

an ill-fated predilection?

Full of these thoughts, I proceeded toward the residence of Mr.

Evelyn. It was necessary that I should see him immediately: for

silence would have been the meanest deceit. I went with an afflicted

heart. But how did I return? Why do I say afflicted? No! Anguish, real

anguish, since I had known him, had not yet reached me. But it was

coming. It was rushing forward, like a torrent; to bear away inferior

cares and sorrows, and engulph them wholly.

Unexpected events are sometimes peculiarly marked, by certain uncommon

incidental circumstances. As I was walking hastily forward, anxious to

meet Mr. Evelyn at home, I saw a coffin borne before me by four men at

some distance. Their pace was brisk. I had several streets to pass,

before I arrived at the house where Mr. Evelyn had apartments; and

still the coffin turned the way that I was to go.

I overtook and went before it: but the gloomy object had excited my

attention, and I presently looked behind me. Still it took the same

route. I looked again, and again; and it was continually at my heels.

It is strange how imagination will work, and how ideas will suggest

themselves. I wished it any where else; but it seemed to pursue me.

At length I came to my journey's end; and, having knocked at the door,

looked round with a kind of infatuated fear. The coffin was following,

and I stood with an absurd and fanciful trepidation, waiting that

I might once see it fairly past the door. Yet I was no bigot, no

believer in omens, and was almost ashamed of an idea which the coffin

itself and the gloomy state of my mind had suggested: but which was in

reality superstitious. The servant came, and the door was opened: but

the coffin approached, and I would not stir till it should pass me.

Pass it did. But where? Into the passage.

I stood speechless. The men asked where it was to go? 'Into the first

floor,' was the answer.

It was the apartment of Mr. Evelyn.

Heavens! What was the pang that shot across my brain? I gasped for

utterance: but still was dumb. A dread so terrible had seized me that

there I stood; motionless and stupefied.

The woman who opened the door and directed the men belonged to the

house; and, just as the bearers were proceeding with the coffin up

stairs, Matthew, the country servant, who had attended Mr. Evelyn in

the dissecting room the first night of our meeting, came in.

The moment he saw me, the poor fellow burst into tears; and

exclaimed--'Oh sir!'

His look and the tone of his voice were sufficient. There was but one

event that could have produced them, in such an extraordinary and

unfeigned degree of grief. My horrible fears were fulfilled.

He paused a moment, sobbed, and again cried in a most piercing and

lamentable tone, 'My poor master!'

I must draw the curtain over feelings that I cannot pretend to paint.

How long I stood, what I first said, or what my looks were, are things

of which I know nothing. I only recollect that my eyes were stone, and

had not a tear to shed.

CHAPTER XI

_A proof of the danger of not attending to trifles: A feeble attempt

to characterise a man of uncommon virtue: The dying anxieties of Mr.

Evelyn_

The melancholy particulars of this strange tragedy were that,

three days before, Mr. Evelyn, being then in perfect health, had

been dissecting a limb in a high state of putrescence. During the

operation, the instrument had slipped, and made what he considered

only as a scratch of the skin; and so slight that he did not

immediately deem it worthy of notice: though, when he had ended, he

felt a tingling; and then thought it prudent to wash with vinegar, and

bind it up to keep out the air.

He was so busily engaged, during the day, that he paid no more

attention to it; though he once or twice felt a throbbing that was

unusual. Being fatigued, and finding his spirits rather agitated, he

took a gentle opiate at going to rest: but was waked in the middle of

the night, by symptoms of a very alarming kind. The morbid humour that

was introduced into the system, small as it probably was in quantity,

was so active that Mr. Evelyn was seized with a violent inflammatory

fever: so that he was delirious when he woke, and died in less than

eight and forty hours after he received this slight wound.

Such is the uncertain fate of man, in this state of ignorance. To such

sudden accidents of sickness and death are the good and the bad, the

foolish and the wise, continually subject; and such at present is the

frail tenure of life that the man in whose hall we feasted on Monday,

or the blooming beauty with whom we sung and danced, ere the week

passes away, are descended to the grave.

What tribute can friendship or affection pay, to the memory of a

man like this? There is only one that is worthy of his virtues; and

that is to record them: that, he being gone, his example may inspire

the benevolence he practised; and teach others to communicate the

blessings he conferred.

Oh that I had the power to pourtray those virtues in all their lustre!

Ages unborn would then rejoice, that such a man had lived; and feel

the benefits he would have bestowed. But it is a task that cannot be

accomplished in a few pages. His life was a vast volume of the best of

actions, which originated in the best of principles. Peace, love, and

reverence, be with his memory.

For my own part, if, in addition to that uncommon public worth which

he possessed, and that noble scale of morality by which he regulated

his life, the personal kindness which he heaped on me be remembered, I

must have less of affection than savage brutality, did no portion of

his spirit inspire me while I speak of these events.

Nor did his friendship end while understanding had the least remaining

power. His last act of benevolence was a strenuous but incoherent

effort to prevent the mischief which, disturbed as his functions were,

he still had recollection enough to apprehend would fall on me.

The reader is informed of the mortgage I gave Mr. Evelyn, when I

received not merely a qualification but the possession of an estate;

and I imagine he will not think I was too scrupulously careful, to

guard and prove the honesty of my intentions, when I further tell him

that, for the sums of money which Mr. Evelyn advanced, I insisted on

giving my promissory notes for repayment. I was pertinacious, and

would accept such favours on no other terms.

This mortgage and these notes were lying in the possession of Mr.

Evelyn, at the time of his death. He had apprehended no danger, till

the fever and the delirium seized him: at the beginning of which he

called his servant, Matthew (I tell the story as the poor fellow told

it to me), and, giving him a key, bade him go down to his bureau, and

search among his papers for a parchment and some notes, that were tied

together with red tape.

Having uttered this, he began to talk in a wild and wandering manner;

of fetters, and prisons; and asked Matthew if he knew why such

places were built? 'So make haste, Matthew,' said he, 'and burn the

parchment, and burn the notes, and burn the bureau. After which, you

know, all will be safe, Matthew; and they can never harm Mr. Trevor.

You love Mr. Trevor, Matthew: do not you?'

His recollection then seemed to return; and he asked, 'Of what have I

been talking? Go, Matthew; seek the parchment and the notes: tied with

red tape. Observe: there is no other parchment tied with red tape.

Bring them to me directly.'

Matthew had taken the key; but just as he was going the Doctor, who

had been sent for, arrived.

Matthew went, however, as he was directed; and, applying the key to

the lock, found it was a wrong one.

The Doctor, alarmed for the state in which he saw Mr. Evelyn,

immediately wrote a prescription, and rang for the servant to run and

have it prepared at the shop of the next apothecary. Matthew answered

the bell; and Mr. Evelyn seeing him eagerly demanded--'Where is the

parchment? Have you brought me the parchment? Why do not you bring me

the parchment?' 'For,' said Matthew, 'I held out the key; and he saw I

had nothing else in my hands.'

The Doctor asked Matthew what parchment his master wanted? And Matthew

replied, he could not tell: except that his master said it was in the

bureau, and tied with red tape. 'Why do not you bring it?' said Mr.

Evelyn. Then turning to the Doctor, added--'It is a bundle of misery;

and you know, sir, we ought to drive all misery from the face of the

earth. I cannot tell how it came in my possession. Why do you not go

and bring it me, Matthew? And pray, sir, do you see it destroyed.

Promise me that; I beg you will! Because Mr. Trevor is in the country.

I am afraid elections are but bad things. What, sir, is your opinion?

For I think I shall die; and he will then have no friend on earth to

secure him the poll.'

'Seeing my poor master was so disturbed in his mind,' said Matthew,

'the doctor _bid_ me run as fast as I could for the stuff he had

ordered: which I did. But I was obliged to wait till it was made

up; and when I _come_ back my poor dear master was more distracting

light-headed than ever. But still he kept raving about the parchment;

and his cousin, Sir Barnard; and you, Mr. Trevor: all which the Doctor

said we must not heed, because he did not know what he said. Though,

for all that, I could not but mightily fear there was something hung

heavy on his mind: for, as long as ever he could be heard to speak,

he kept calling every now and then for the parchment. And after that,

when he lay heaving for breath and rattling in the throat and nobody

could tell a word that he said, he kept moving his lips just in the

same manner as when he could make himself heard. I do believe he was

calling for it almost as the breath left his body. And I cannot but

say that I wish I had found it, and brought it to him; for the ease

and quiet of his soul.'

CHAPTER XII

_Doubts concerning the justice of wills and testaments: The provident

care of the Baronet: A demonstration of his ardent love for his

country: Hector loses his election: My determination to accept the

Chitern Hundreds_

When a man discovers that the pathos of his story, and the virtues

which he has in contemplation, are entirely beyond the power of

language, what method can he take but that of leaving off abruptly:

that he may suffer the imagination to perform an office to which any

other effort is inadequate? As Mr. Evelyn lived so he died. To prevent

evil and to do unbounded good was his ruling passion. It never left

him, till life departed.

It is a phenomenon which has frequently been remarked that, in a state

of delirium, the mind has its luminous moments: during which it seems

to have a more clear and comprehensive view of consequences than in

its more sober periods of health. The evil that excited so strong and

painful an alarm in the mind of my dying friend was no idle dream. The

Baronet was his heir at law. Mr. Evelyn had made no will: for not only

was his death premature but, knowing the mischiefs that have arisen

from disputes concerning testamentary bequests, he strongly doubted of

the morality of making any. It was never his intention to hoard; and,

hoping or I might rather say expecting to have a clear prospect of

the approach of death, his plan was to distribute all the personal

property in his possession before he died, in the manner that he

should suppose would be most useful.

However, whether it were a just sense of rectitude or an improper

pride of heart, I own that I felt pleased, as far as myself was

concerned, that the intentions of Mr. Evelyn, when he called for the

parchment, were not executed. I did not indeed foresee all that was to

happen: but I felt an abhorrence of being liable to be suspected of I

know not what imputed arts, or crimes; by the aid of which malice or

selfishness might assert I had come into the possession of so large a

part of Mr. Evelyn's property.

Not that, if the deeds and notes had been destroyed, I should have

thought it just to have retained the estate that I held. But my virtue

was not fated to be put to this trial. When I met Sir Barnard at the

Cocoa tree, he not only knew of the decease of Mr. Evelyn but had

ordered seals to be placed on all the locks; under which it was

imagined that papers or effects might be secured. Having heard the

story of Matthew, I could have no doubt but that the mortgage deeds,

and the notes for sums received, would now fall into the Baronet's

power.

It is true I might, if I pleased, bid him defiance. No: I ought not

to have said, if I pleased; but, if I could condescend to acknowledge

myself a scoundrel. He had made me his own member, and had himself

impowered me to avoid the punishment which is assigned by law to

unfortunate debtors: for, under this best of governments, such as a

representative of the people was now my privilege. This immaculate

constitution, to which all the homage that man can pay is insufficient

worship, vaunted as it is and revered by all parties, or all parties

are broad day liars, for all and each strive to be most loud and

extravagant in praise of it, this constitution in its very essence

decrees that things which are vile and unjust, in one man, are right

and lawful, in another.

Well then: by the aid of this constitution, which I too must praise if

I would escape whipping, I might seat myself as Sir Barnard's member,

and aid to countenance and make laws, to which I and the other wise

law-makers my coadjutors should not be subject. I might, however

offensive the term may be to certain delicate ears, I might become a

privileged swindler; and rob every man who should do me the injustice

to think me honest.

It cannot be supposed that so dear a lover and so ardent an admirer of

the constitution, as Sir Barnard was, should once suspect that I would

not benefit myself by all its blessings: that is, that I would not

cheat him to the very best of my ability. This supposition had induced

him, during our conversation at the Cocoa tree, to struggle with and

keep down those indignant risings with which, notwithstanding the

modulated tone of his voice, I could see he was more than half

choaked.

After what I had heard and situated as I was at present, I had very

little doubt either of the purity of his patriotism or the manner in

which it would affect me. Still however I had some. There might be a

change in his politics; but it might neither be of the nature nor of

the extent that I feared.

But these doubts did not distress me long. They were entirely removed,

by that most authentic source of intelligence the Gazette; in which,

about a fortnight after the death of Mr. Evelyn, I read the following

unequivocal proof of the Baronet's inordinate love of his country.

'The King has been pleased to grant the dignity of a Baron of the

kingdom of Great Britain to Sir Barnard Bray, Baronet; by the name

stile and title of Baron Bray, of Bray hall in the county of Somerset;

and to the heirs male of his body, lawfully begotten.'

I was now no longer at a loss for the reason of the Baronet's late

sudden departure, and the desertion of his political friends at the

election. What are friends? What are elections? What is our country,

compared to the smiles of a prime minister; and the titles he can

bestow? Nothing now was wanting to the honor of the house of Bray! It

might in time I own pant after a Dukedom; and a Duke of Bray might as

justly be stiled princely and most puissant as many another Duke. But

at present it was full with satisfaction.

This court document, brief though it was, spoke volumes. It was a

flash of lightning, that gave me a distinct view of the black and

dreadful abyss that was immediately before me; and into which I

foresaw I must be plunged.

On the same day, I read that the Idford candidate had been returned

for the county of ****; and that consequently Hector had lost his

election.

This was not all. Heated by the illiberal practices which always

attend such contentions, knowing the bribery that he had used himself,

and convinced that he could prove the same corrupt means to have been

resorted to by his opponent, he was not satisfied with the devastation

he had already committed upon his fortune; but was determined to

demand a _scrutiny_: and if he should be foiled in that effort, he was

resolved to try the merits of the election before a committee of the

house of commons. Such was the report that was immediately propagated;

and which was afterward verified by facts.

With respect to myself, convinced as I was of its danger, I had made

my choice. My fixed purpose was to vacate my seat in parliament. It

might perhaps be questioned, since the pretended voters had in reality

no voice, and their imaginary representative was no more than a person

nominated by the new Lord Bray, whether I ought to resign an office

which, as I supposed, I should fill for the good of mankind; and

give place to some person who, obedient to his leader, would do the

reverse?

But one act of baseness cannot authorize another. To bear about me a

sense of self-degradation, a certainty that I was sheltering myself

from the power of my late patron by a privilege which I considered as

highly vicious, a subterfuge such as every man who deserves the name

ought to despise and spurn at, this was insufferable. I had lost

much: for I had lost hopes that had been extravagant and unbounded in

promise: but I had not lost a conscious rectitude of heart, without

which existence was not to be endured.

CHAPTER XIII

_The comedy of Wilmot successful: The wounded stranger seen at a

distance: Oratory abandoned with regret: The dangers that attend being

honest: A new invitation from Hector: A journey deferred by an arrest,

and another accidental sight of the stranger_

It is happy for man that there is scarcely any state of suffering,

whether of mind or body, in which pain is unremitting; and wholly

unmixed with pleasure. If he be unhappy himself, it will be strange

should there be no one more fortunate for whom he has an affection:

no friend that is more prosperous, and in whose prosperity he takes

delight.

The season of the year had arrived when the comedy of Wilmot had been

put into rehearsal, and was to be performed. It was a trying occasion;

and those who knew him loved him too well to be absent; though the few

intimate friends who had read the piece had no doubt of its success.

The partial failure of his tragedy had produced no jealousy of

rivalship: though, as its merits had been publicly acknowledged, it

had incurred no disgrace. In private life, he was beloved; and, as a

public man, his merits had not yet created him enemies. He has since,

indeed, in that respect, not been so fortunate. But he has never

thought it just to complain: being convinced that mistake, though it

should be rectified, should not be resented.

The evening of representation arrived, the house was crowded, the

company brilliant, and the plaudits with which the author was honoured

established his reputation, and confirmed the judgment of his friends.

During the performance, I sat in the boxes; and, among the spectators

in the pit, I discovered a man whose hair was white, whose locks were

venerable, and who I was well convinced was the stranger whom I had

found wounded at the entrance of Barnes common. I was in a side-box,

and he was near the opposite pit door; so that the distance made it

rather doubtful: yet the more I looked the more I was convinced it was

the same person. The comedy was nearly ended when I first saw him; and

I determined, as soon as I had heard the epilogue, to go and satisfy

myself how far my persuasion was true.

I went round to the door; but the pit was so crowded that it was with

difficulty I could make my way to the seat. When I was there my labour

was lost: I could not find him; and, enquiring for him by description

of the persons near where he sat, they told me that such a gentleman

had been there; but that he complained of the heat, and had left the

house immediately after the curtain dropped.

This incident gave me considerable chagrin. However, as his person

was very remarkable, and being persuaded he was actually the wounded

stranger, I conceived hopes that I should again meet him; in some

place where the danger of losing sight of him would not be so great.

There being no expectation of his return, I went in search of my

friends: in company with whom, rejoicing in the success of Wilmot and

glorying in the acquisition of poetry and the stage, I wholly forgot

myself and my own affairs, and spent one more very delightful evening.

These affairs however were not long to be forgotten. The returns of

the elections throughout Great Britain had all been made, and the new

parliament summoned to assemble. It was with infinite and deep regret

that I found myself excluded by my own sense of rectitude. I would

willingly have taken my seat, had it been only for one night: for I

was eagerly desirous of an opportunity to deliver my thoughts, and

urge some of those useful truths which may be uttered with more safety

there than in less privileged places.

But I was too well acquainted with the customs and forms of the

house to hope that this opportunity could now be found. I had no

parliamentary friends; no supporters; and there was not the least

probability that a youth so wholly unknown _should catch the speaker's

eye_, whose notice so many were ready to solicit.

These things having been duly weighed, I had already applied for the

chiltern hundreds and my seat was declared vacated: to the great joy

of Lord Bray; and his now bosom friend, the Earl of Idford. This joy

was the greater because it was an event of which they had not the

least expectation. The due forms of law had been observed, the seals

had been removed from the locks of my late inestimable friend, his

cousin the new peer was in possession of the mortgage and the notes

for money received, and he had no conception of any motives that could

induce me to an act which must leave me entirely at his mercy.

It cannot however be supposed, as I have already said, that I had any

intention to retain the estate; which I had received from Mr. Evelyn

as a qualification, and a support. It was now the property of Lord

Bray; and obligation to him was a thing that would not admit of a

question. I did not therefore wait for any notice from his lordship,

or his attorney, but desired Mr. Hilary to inform him that I was ready

at any time to give up the deeds, and receive back the mortgage.

This would have been a trifle. It was not a sacrifice; but a riddance:

by which, could it have ended here, I should have regained something

of that elasticity of heart which independence only can feel. Here,

however, it could not end. I was obliged to instruct Mr. Hilary to add

that I was willing to give my own personal security, by bond or in any

manner my creditor should please, for money received and interest due:

but to acknowledge that I had no immediate means of payment. In other

words, that my person was entirely at the disposal of himself and the

law. I might have reminded him that more than half of my debt was

incurred by _genteel presents_ to his craving electors; and that he

had informed me that it was a necessary expence: but to this I could

not condescend.

The little business which, during his life, Mr. Evelyn had in law

Mr. Hilary had always transacted. He had a sincere regard for me,

and a reverence for the memory of his late kinsman; whose earnest

recommendation of me he did not forget. Being well acquainted with the

character of Lord Bray, he foresaw and warned me of my danger. While

a baronet, to behold himself a peer had been his lordship's darling

passion: but that was now gratified; and, as he was proud, he was

likewise revengeful. In this case, however, to warn was useless. I had

no alternative, except by means that were dishonorable.

Nor was the resentment of Lord Bray single, or so much to be

apprehended as that of the Earl, with whom he had entered into strict

alliance. My behaviour to Lord Idford had uniformly been what he

deemed so very insolent that his antipathy may be said to have taken

birth at my first act of disobedience: my refusal to dine at the

second table. Since then, as he conceived, it had been progressive in

aggravation. My scorn of his selfish politics, my attempt to continue

the Letters of Themistocles, and write him who was the supposed author

of them into disgrace, the pamphlet of which I was the author, the

activity with which I had canvassed in favour of Mowbray, and to sum

up all my daring to rival him with the woman on whom he would have

conferred his person, his dignity, and his other great qualities, were

all of them injuries that rankled at his heart. When these things are

remembered, few will feel surprised that the Earl should indulge a

passion which is in itself so active: or that he should induce Lord

Bray to pursue that kind of conduct to which he was already so much

disposed.

The danger however must be faced; and Mr. Hilary wrote, as my

attorney, to state the circumstances above recited. A week elapsed

before he received an answer: but at the end of that time his

lordship's attorney replied, that personal security for so large a sum

could not be accepted: my bond would be no better than the notes I had

given: and that I was required immediately to pay what was due, to the

estate and heirs of the late Mr. Evelyn.

The spirit in which this note was written proved the temper of my

creditor; and an incident soon occurred by which his propensity to

persecute was called into action. The scrutiny which Hector had

demanded was over, and decided against him: but, understanding that

there was an absolute breach between me and Lord Bray, Mowbray was

convinced that he had accused me falsely. As he was almost certain

that he could prove bribery and corruption to have been practised by

his opponent, he persisted in determining to bring it before the house

of commons. This business kept him still in the country, where he and

his partisans were busily collecting information.

He had experienced my utility in the course of the election, he wished

to enjoy the same advantage at present, and he and his committee

likewise discovered that my evidence was essentially necessary. He

therefore wrote me an apology, spoke in the handsomest terms he could

recollect of the services I had done him, requested me to come down

once more to aid him in his present attempt, and stated the points

on which my future testimony would be useful. He further informed me

that a gentleman of the law, whom he named, was to set off the morning

after I should receive the letter, at ten o'clock, and come post; and

that he should be much obliged to me if I would take a seat in the

same chaise.

The letter was read in the committee room, as a matter of business;

and in this committee room Lord Idford had a secret agent, from whom

he gained intelligence of all their proceedings that deserved notice.

Desirous as I was of obliging the brother of Olivia, I made no

hesitation to comply. The evening before I was to go down into

*****, I went to Mr. Hilary; to acquaint him with the place of my

destination, and the manner in which he might direct to me, if any

thing new should occur. The agents of Lord Bray, or to speak more

truly of the Earl, had been exceedingly industrious; and a writ was

already procured. It was intended to take me as I stepped into the

chaise, or that evening if possible, and accordingly the door where

I lived was watched, and I was seen to come out. My usual pace was

brisk, but I happened now to be in haste; and, as they told me

themselves, the setters lost sight of me for some time, were afterward

cautious of coming up to me in any public street where a rescue was

probable, and followed me till I came almost to the door of Mr.

Hilary.

Here there was a carriage standing; and, to my great surprise and joy,

I saw Mr. Hilary with a light, conducting out the very person whom I

had some time before discovered in the pit, and whom I now knew to be

the wounded stranger.

I hesitated whether I ought to spring forward, and intrude my

enquiries immediately upon him, or make them of Mr. Hilary, with whom

it appeared he was acquainted; and, at this instant, the bailiff and

his two men came up with me, and told me I was their prisoner.

While I stood astonished at this sudden and at that precise time

unexpected event, the carriage with the stranger in it drove away; and

Mr. Hilary shut the door without seeing me.

There is a sense of indignity and disgrace in being arrested, at which

all those who have not been frequently subjected to it revolt. I was

wholly ignorant of the manners of the people who had laid their hands

upon me. I had heard of giving bail: but I had likewise heard that it

was a thing of danger, to which men were generally averse; and I had

a bitter repugnance to ask any thing which I thought it was likely

should be refused. Neither had I any probable person to ask: for my

little law reading had taught me that the sureties of a debtor must be

house-keepers.

Unwilling therefore to trouble Mr. Hilary, and finding myself without

resource, I desired the bailiff to take me wherever he pleased, or

wherever the law directed. 'I suppose, Sir, you do not mean we should

take you to jail?' said the bailiff.

Ignorant as I was and surprised at the question, I asked where else

they meant to take me? He replied 'To my house, Sir: or to any other

lock up house that you choose.'

'A lock up house, Sir!' said I. 'Pray what is that?'

The bailiff knew not how to give a direct answer; but replied 'There

_is_ some lock up houses at which a gentleman may be treated like a

gentleman: though I cannot say but there _is_ others that _is_ shabby

enough. I see very well, Sir, you are a young gentleman, and do not

know the trim of such things: so, if you please to go to my house, you

will find very civil usage. I can tell by your cut, Sir, that you are

no scrub; so my wife will take care to furnish you with every thing

that is genteel and polite.'

The man smelled excessively of brandy and tobacco; which,

corresponding with his gait, looks, and language, seemed an

introduction to the purgatory to which I was doomed. I thought proper

however to accept his offer, and go to the house where I was to be

treated with so much politeness and gentility.

CHAPTER XIV

_The good breeding of a bailiff: A period of dejection: A visit from

Mr. Hilary: The hopes he conceives_

The bailiff and one of his followers walked beside me, cautiously

keeping in advance; and the other marched behind till we came to

a stand of coaches, and I was asked whether one of them should be

called? I was thoroughly ashamed of my company: but a deep sense

of indignity confuses thought; and, till it was proposed by the

bailiff, I had forgotten that there was such a thing as a coach.

His proposal was immediately accepted; and we were driven through

Lincoln's-inn-fields into Carey-street, where we were obliged to

alight and pass through several narrow allies.

I had no great expectations of the gentility of the bailiff's abode:

but, slender as they were, the few I had were disappointed. I was

wholly unused to such places: this I suspect was one of the meanest of

them; and the approach to the house, as well as all that was in it,

bespoke wretchedness, and inspired disgust.

As soon as we entered the doors, the bailiff called aloud for

Charlotte (the name of his wife) and desired her to bring light

into the drawing room. 'Why what do you talk of, George?' replied

Charlotte. 'Are you drunk? Don't you know the gentleman is there that

you brought in this morning?'

'Do you think I don't know what I am about?' answered George. 'I have

brought another gentleman: so that there gentleman must come down, and

_hoik_ into the best parlour.'

'I am sure,' retorted Charlotte with great vivacity and significance,

'he has behaved vastly proper, since he came into my house. He has had

friends with him all afternoon; and dined, and called for wine, and

done every thing that was genteel.'

Though half in a trance, I was sufficiently awake to understand her

meaning. I therefore interrupted the bailiff, who had begun to reply

with passion. 'You are very right, Madam;' said I. 'The gentleman must

not be disturbed. I have no friends that drink wine; and I drink none

myself.'

This hint was quite sufficient. Neither the drawing room nor the best

parlour were now to be had; and I was shewn into a dirty back place,

which was little more than a closet, decorated with a wooden cut of

Lord Lovat over the mantle piece, and corresponding pictures of the

king and queen on each side.

Before she shut the door, Charlotte demanded 'if I chose to have some

more coals on the fire? And whether I would have two candles or one?'

'Whatever you please madam,' I replied. 'Nay, sir,' said she pertly,

'that is just as you please.' I made no answer, and she shut the door

with a dissatisfied air; which she locked on the outside.

At any other time, this George and Charlotte, with their drawing-room,

would have presented many whimsical associations to my mind: but at

present my attention was called to the iron bars of the one window of

my prison hole; and to the recollection that, in all probability, I

was now shut up for life. The weight of evil was so oppressive that I

sat motionless, in sullen stupefaction, for a considerable time.

Hearing no sound whatever, the bailiff I suppose was alarmed: for he

unlocked the door, and coming in abruptly exclaimed 'Oh! I thought it

could not be!' Meaning probably that I could not possibly have escaped

through the window. Recollecting himself, he asked 'if I did not think

proper to send to some friends?' To which I laconically answered,

'No.'

'But I suppose you mean to give bail, sir?'

'I have none to give.'

'I perceive how it is, sir. You are not used to the business; and so

you are cast down. You must bethink yourself: for I dare say a young

gentleman like you will find bail fast enough; _becase_ why, the sum

is not quite four hundred and forty pounds. We have people enough

_which_ will go of any message for you; so I would advise you to send,

though it is late; _becase_, as you _says_ you don't drink, there will

be no good much in your staying here. Not but what we have as good

beds, and as good wines and all sorts of liquors, and can get any

thing else as good as a gentleman needs lick his lips to. There _is_

never _no_ complaints at our house. So you had better take my advice,

and cheer up your spirits; and get a little something good in your

belly, in the way of eating and drinking; and send to let your

friends know as how you are _nabbed_: _becase_ nothing can come of it

otherwise, neither to you nor _no_body else.'

His discourse awakened me enough to remind me of the necessity of

sending to the gentleman, with whom I had intended to travel the next

day, and inform him of the impossibility of my taking the journey.

This led me to reflect further. The remark of the bailiff was just:

delay was prejudicial. What had happened could not be kept secret,

secrecy was in itself vicious, and to increase evil by procrastination

was cowardly. Thus far roused, I presently conceived and determined

on my plan. I saw no probability of avoiding a prison: but, being in

this house, I was resolved first to see my friends. I had already sold

my horses, and discharged my servant. Clarke, I knew, would reproach

me, if I did not accept his goods offices in my distress; when such

good offices as he could perform would be most necessary. I intended

therefore to request him the next morning to go round and inform such

of my friends as I wished to see: but, as the bailiff told me it

would be proper to send for my attorney immediately, I thought proper

to dispatch a messenger; with one note to him, and another to the

gentleman with whom I was to have travelled.

Mr. Hilary was at home and came instantly on the receipt of my billet.

When he saw me, he endeavoured to smile; and not appear in the least

surprised, or affected. But his feelings betrayed him; the tears

started into his eyes, and he was obliged to turn away his face. He

made an effort, however, and recovered himself: after which, he rather

endeavoured to enter into easy conversation than to talk of business.

By this I suspected that he neither durst trust himself nor me; till a

little time should have reconciled us to the scene.

This was a proper opportunity for enquiries which my sudden misfortune

had not made me forget. I questioned him concerning the stranger,

whose person I described; and mentioned my having seen Mr. Hilary

light him out of the house, the moment before I was arrested.

'What do you know of him?' said Mr. Hilary, with an eager air. 'Have

you ever seen him before?'

'Yes; if I am not very much mistaken.'

'Nay but tell me, what do you know?'

'First answer me concerning who and what he is?'

'A gentleman of large fortune, the last of his family, and a great

traveller.'

'Has he met with any accident lately?'

'Yes. But why do you ask?'

'And why do you seem so much awakened by the question?'

'Because he is excessively desirous of discovering some gentleman, who

found him after he had been robbed, and left, supposed to be dead;

that he may if possible reward his preserver. Now there are some

circumstances, as related by the people of an inn to which he was

taken, that have suggested a thought to me which, should it prove

true, would give me inexpressible pleasure.'

'What are they?'

'That the good Samaritan, who performed this act of humanity, was a

young gentleman with a servant out of livery; that he and his man

rode two blood horses, both bright bays; that the servant's name was

Samuel; and that the master was in person very like you. All which

correspond; and I really believe, by your smiling, that it actually

was you.'

'Suppose it: what then?'

'Why then I am sure you have gained a friend, who will never suffer

you to go to prison.'

The word friend conjured up a train of ideas, which almost overcame

me. 'I have lost a friend,' said I, 'who would not have suffered me to

go to prison. But he is gone. I accepted even _his_ favours with an

aching and unwilling heart; and prison itself will not, I suspect, be

so painful to me as more obligations of the same kind, and conferred

by a person who, though I am strongly prepossessed in his favour, I

scarcely can hope should equal Mr. Evelyn. And, if he even did, an

extravagant supposition, I should still hesitate: I doubt if a prison

itself be so hateful as a knowledge that I am only out of one on

sufferance; and that, when any caprice shall seize my creditor, I may

be hunted like a ferocious beast; and commanded to my den, like a

crouching cur.

Mr. Hilary endeavoured to combat this train of thinking: but it was

not to be conquered. The short period of trial since the death of

Mr. Evelyn had afforded me too many proofs of the painful sensations

which such a knowledge can excite; and of the propensity which I had

to give them encouragement. To be as I have said the slave of any

man's temper, not as an effort of duty but from a sense of fear, was

insufferable. A prison, locks, bolts, and bread and water, were to be

preferred.

Mr. Hilary sat with me till bed time; and, not only to put the bailiff

in good humour, but to cheer my heart and his own, ordered supper,

and drank more plentifully of wine than was his custom: urging me to

follow his example. I did not refuse: for I had a contempt for any

thing that had the appearance of an incapacity to endure whatever the

tyranny of rancorous men and unjust laws could inflict. The stranger,

he told me, was gone down into the country; from whence he would

return within a week: but he forbore to mention his name, as he had

been instructed; the stranger having enquiries to make, which induced

him to keep it secret.

Before he left me, Mr. Hilary received instructions from me to be

given to Clarke: after which we quitted the best parlour, into which

we had been introduced with great ceremony to sup; and I retired to

try how soundly I could sleep, in one of the good beds of a lock-up

house.

CHAPTER XV

_Morning visitors: A generous proposal rejected: The affectionate

friendship of Miss Wilmot: A very unexpected visitor: His

extraordinary conduct, and a scene of reconciliation: A letter which

excites delightful sensations_

The morning came, the diligence of Mr. Hilary was that of a friend,

and the best parlour was soon filled: the reader will easily guess by

whom. There is an undescribable pleasure, when we are persecuted by

one set of human beings, to receive marks of affection from another.

It is a strong consolation to know that kindness and justice have not

wholly forsaken the earth.

Wilmot, Clarke, and Turl were with me. I called for breakfast; and

felt a gratification at enjoying another social meal, before being

immured in I knew not what kind of dungeon. Charlotte and her maid,

Pol, were very alert; and I believe she almost repented that I was not

in the drawing-room, since she found I had so many friends.

Clarke was asked to partake; but answered with a 'no thank you, Mr.

Trevor.' I supposed it was awkward bashfulness. I did him wrong. He

had a more refined and feeling motive: for, when I pressed him very

earnestly, he replied--'At another time, Mr. Trevor, such a favour

would make me happy; and you know I have not refused: but, just now,

why it would look as if, because you are under misfortunes, I might

take liberties.'

Honest-hearted generous fellow! He was still the same. But he

breakfasted with us. Be assured, good reader, he breakfasted with us.

And now I had a contest to undergo, which was maintained with so much

obstinacy that it became truly painful. Wilmot, in consequence of the

success of his comedy, had the power to discharge my debt; and on this

at first he peremptorily insisted. But it was what I could not accept.

He was, I knew, an Evelyn in soul: but I too panted to be something.

I could not endure to rob him of the labour of a life, and walk at

large oppressed by the consciousness of impotence: of a depressed and

sunken spirit; of which groveling meanness would be the chief feature.

Such at least were my sensations: and they were too impetuous to be

overcome.

In the ardour we mutually felt, Turl was appealed to by both. At

first he strongly inclined to the side of Wilmot: but, hearing my

reasons and perceiving the anguish which the proposal gave, he at

length said--'Let us pause awhile. We are friends. Imprisonment is a

detestable thing; and there is no danger that, as friends, we should

suffer each other to endure it long, if there should be any possible

and honest means of imparting freedom. We need make no professions. In

one part of his argument, Mr. Trevor is undoubtedly right. If he can

relieve himself, by his abilities and industry, which he is persuaded

he can, it is his duty. For it will not only increase his immediate

happiness, but it will give confidence to his efforts, and strength

to his mind: qualities that are inestimable. Impediments serve but to

rouse the man of genius. To reject aid from a sentiment of haughtiness

is a vice: but to despair of our own resources is the death of all

true greatness of character. In any case, suspend your contest; in

which, though from the best of motives, you are both too warm. Examine

your arguments at leisure. If Mr. Trevor can be rendered most happy

and useful by accepting your offer, it will then be just in him to

cede: but remember once more we are friends, that know each other's

worth; and it will be just that I should partake in his release. To

this I know you will both joyfully consent. If good can be done, you

will not deny me my share!'

It was characteristic of Turl never to speak on serious occasions

without leaving a deep impression on his hearers. Wilmot heaved a

profound sigh, but was silent.

Having thus far prevailed, I was desirous of being immediately removed

to prison: but to this they both vehemently objected. It had an air of

ostentation: of affecting to love misery for misery's sake. Time ought

to be taken for consideration; and evil should not be sported with,

though when unavoidable it ought to be endured with fortitude.

While these debates took place, it was no uninteresting spectacle

to contemplate the changes in the countenance of Clarke. Before

the adventure of Bath, he had risen much above the level of his

companions: but now, when he saw a man willing to part with all he

possessed to rescue another from prison, and heard strong reasons why

it was probable the offer ought not to be accepted, his feelings were

all in arms. His passions, while Wilmot pleaded, were ready to break

their bounds; and, when he listened to the answers that were returned,

his mind was filled and expanded. He discovered that there is a

disinterested grandeur in morality, of which he had no previous

conception. He was in a new world; and a dark room, with barred

windows, was heaven in all its splendor.

Having agreed to follow their advice, Wilmot and Turl left me; with a

promise to return early in the evening: but poor Clarke said 'he had

no heart for work that day; and he could not abide to leave me shut

up by myself. He saw plainly enough I had true friends; such as would

never forsake me: and no more would he, though he could do me no

good.' When however I represented to him my wish to be alone, that I

might consider on my situation, and requested he would dine with his

family, and bring some books from my lodgings in the evening, he

complied.

The morning of the day was chiefly consumed; and I was not suffered

long to remain alone. I had scarcely dined before a coach stopped at

the door, and Charlotte came in with demure significance in her face.

'There is a young lady, sir,' said she, '_which_ says her name is

Wilmot, _which_ wants to see you.'

At this moment, she was the most agreeable visitor that could have

arrived. Her heart was full, her eyes were swollen, and red with

weeping, and, as soon as she entered the room, she again burst into

tears.

It has often been asked why sorrows like these should excite so much

gratification? The answer is evident. They are not only tokens of

personal respect and affection, but they are proofs that injustice

cannot be committed without being perceptibly and often deeply felt by

others, as well as by those on whom it is exercised.

When she had appeased her feelings sufficiently to be able to speak, I

found that, like her brother, she was come with a disinterested plan

for my relief. She began by blaming herself for not having strenuously

enough opposed my forbearance with respect to Wakefield; and pleaded

with great energy of feeling to persuade me immediately to do myself

right. I took the first favourable opportunity to interrupt her; and

enquired if she had seen or heard any thing of Wakefield since the

letter he wrote? She answered, he had been with her above an hour that

very morning.

'In what temper of mind was he?'

'Extremely exasperated.'

'Not at you?'

'Oh no: at Lord Bray: at your persecutors: at the world in general. He

says you are not fit to live in it: you are no match for it. You have

been persuading him, contrary to all history and experience, that men

are capable of virtue and happiness. In short, he owns that he was

more than half convinced: but that he believes he shall be obliged to

relapse into his former opinions.'

'I have persuaded him?'

'So he says.'

'When? Where?'

'I cannot tell. I thought from his discourse that he had met with

you.'

While we were engaged in this conversation, Charlotte again entered;

and told me there was a gentleman of the name of Wakefield, who

desired to see me. 'Is it possible?' exclaimed Miss Wilmot.

The door opened, and he appeared. 'Belmont!' cried I, with surprise.

'Why did you announce yourself by the name of Wakefield?'

He stretched out his hand to me, and turned his face aside: then

recovering himself replied 'The farce is over.'

'What do you mean?'

'That I suppose you will despise me. But do, if you please: for,

though I love you, I too despise to fear you. I have done you various

wrongs. My name is Wakefield. I have been one of the infernal

instruments to bring you here: but I am come to make you all the

atonement in my power, and take you out. Forgive me only so far as not

to insult me, by repeating your contempt of that villain Wakefield.

It is a damned undigestible term: but I deserved it; and you applied

it to me without intending an affront. I know you are as brave as you

are generous. Till I met with you, I thought myself the first man in

the world: but, notwithstanding my evasive raillery, I felt your hand

upon me. I sunk under you. There was something in you that excited my

envy, at first; and afterward, perhaps, a better passion. What damned

accidents they were that made me what I have been I cannot tell. I

know not what I shall be: but I know what I am. I disdain penitential

promises. If you will be my friend, here is my hand. Good fortune or

bad, we will share it together.'

Thus invited, could I refrain? Oh no. I cannot describe the scene

that passed. We did not embrace, for we were no actors; and, as our

passions for a time were too big for utterance, we were silent.

Miss Wilmot at length looked up; and, while the tears were streaming

down her cheeks, her countenance assumed an expression infinitely

beyond smiling, though something like it, while she exclaimed--'This

is a happy day!'

Her eye first met mine, and then Wakefield's. He instantly hung his

head, and said--'Lydia! When we were alone, I could just endure to

look at you: but now I cannot. Yet I am an ass. What is done is done.

The affections that I have are yours: but I must not, no nor I will

not be afraid, even of my own thoughts. I know I have nothing to fear

from you. Man is a strange animal; and may be many things in the

course of a short life.'

Wakefield then rang the bell, and desired the bailiff would send

immediately to Lord Bray's attorney; that my debts might be settled,

and I released; and to call, as he knew they must for form's sake, and

see that there were no more detainers.

Hearing him give these directions, I could not but ask his meaning?

'What,' replied he, with generous indignation, 'do you suppose that I

am come to cant about virtue? That, at least, is a vice of which you

have never yet found me guilty. I am here to pay your debts, with

money in my possession. Whether, in a court of law, it would be proved

to be yours or mine I neither know nor care. But there is something

better that I do know: which is that, if I were in your place and you

in mine, you would not long let me remain in a house like this. With

respect to the future, I am partly persuaded we shall neither of us

act the miser.'

Miss Wilmot again exclaimed--'This is a happy day!'

Wakefield was impatient to see me released; and was well acquainted

with bailiffs. 'If you are expeditious,' said he to George, 'you will

have a guinea for your industry. If you are dilatory, not a farthing

more than your fees.'

The promised guinea gave the messenger wings; and in less than an hour

the debt was discharged, and a receipt in full delivered.

Just as this account was closed, another messenger came from a

different quarter. The anxiety of Miss Wilmot had induced her to take

a bold step. In the first emotions of grief, she wrote to Olivia; and

informed her of every circumstance, as well as of the place of my

detention. This information produced the following letter, and the

bills inclosed; as mentioned in its contents.

'I have no words to speak my feelings. I have never yet had an

opportunity, since I thought the love I bear you justifiable, to

declare them. This is the time. To be silent now would argue a

distrust of you, which would degrade me; and render me unworthy both

of you and the dignified virtues by which your conduct is guided.

Every new fact that I hear of you does but increase that affection;

which I find ennobled by being so worthily placed. After the proofs

you have so repeatedly given, it would be cowardice and hypocrisy to

say less.

'I inclose you five hundred pounds. They are my own. I would sooner

even see you suffer than be guilty of an action which I know you could

not approve. They are what I have reserved, from money allowed me,

to be employed on any urgent occasion. Surely there can be few more

urgent than the present. Your refusal of them would wound me to the

soul. It would break my heart. I need not add any thing more.

OLIVIA MOWBRAY.'

Who will tell me that virtue is not its own reward? Who will affirm

that to conquer selfish desires, to render the passions subservient to

reason, and to make those principles we commend in others rules for

ourselves, is not the way to be happy? The tide of joy was full to

overflowing! And yet, when I recollected that, though no longer a

prisoner it was denied me to obey the yearnings of my heart and pass

the threshold of Olivia, how suddenly did it ebb!

CHAPTER XVI

_A journey to aid Hector once more projected: An interview with the

wounded stranger: A discovery of great importance_

I shall forbear to repeat the joy and congratulations of friends, with

other less events; and hasten to one which gave a more surprising turn

to my affairs than even any that I had yet experienced. The morning

after my release, it was my intention to go down into the county

of ****: agreeable to the desire of Hector. Of this I informed Mr.

Hilary, the evening before: but, as I was become very cautious in

money matters, I meant to go by the coach.

When he heard this, Mr. Hilary smiled: and told me, if I would go

post, he believed he could find me a companion, who would willingly

bear half the expence.

I enquired who? and found it was no other than the stranger. He had

been down into Cambridgeshire, to settle some affairs; and was now

preparing for a journey into my native county, for purposes which he

will himself presently explain. A proposal more agreeable than this

could not have been made to me; and it was agreed that we should meet

and breakfast with Mr. Hilary. When I made the appointment, Mr. Hilary

pressed me with unusual earnestness not to be induced to break it, by

any accident whatever.

The morning came, I was punctual, and the stranger was there. He

had slept at the house of Mr. Hilary. 'This, sir,' said the latter,

presenting me, 'is the young gentleman of whose acquaintance you are

so very desirous.'

The stranger regarded me earnestly; and, with great emotion in his

countenance, asked--'Are you, sir, the humane person, who found me

almost expiring; and by whose care I am now among the living?'

'I hope, sir, you do not think there was any thing extraordinary in

what I did?'

'I wish I had not reason so to think. How many there are who, from

mean and selfish motives, would have passed me I cannot say: but there

are few indeed that would have discharged the office you undertook

with so much unaffected and generous benevolence. I am in your debt,

sir, not only for my recovery, for which I can never repay you, but

literally for money expended. I shall forbear thanks, for I have none

that are adequate; but suffer me to rid myself of petty obligations.'

'I understand, sir, that you are rich, and I am not. I therefore

inform you, without hesitation, I left twenty pounds with the

physician.'

'You may well suppose that I returned, after my recovery, to enquire

for my preserver. I was then informed of your whole proceedings; and

of the anxiety with which, after your journey, you came to complete

the charitable office you had begun. And I own, sir, that I was so

desirous of seeing a person who, in the very fervour of youth, could

act and feel as you have done that, one excepted, you are the man on

earth I am most happy to meet.'

'Mr. Hilary tells me that we are to be travelling companions.'

'Most willingly. I have long been a wanderer, and am lately returned

to end my days in my native land. During my absence, the elder

branches of my family are all deceased. I brought back with me more

than sufficient for my own wants: but their property has descended to

me, and I now very unexpectedly find myself wealthy.'

'And have you no descendants, sir?'

'None. I am at present in search of a distant relation: whom if I

should find, and find him such as my present hopes and past knowledge

have pictured him, I shall be one of the happiest of men. To make this

and another enquiry is the purpose of the journey I now mean to take.

When I left England, I had no intention ever to return: I therefore

resolved to hold no correspondence with the persons whom I have left;

that I might not revive the memory of scenes and events which had been

full of anguish. By accident, about eighteen months ago, being then at

Grand Cairo I was informed that a person of my family had long been

dead. This determined me to settle my concerns abroad, and revisit my

native country. As however my informer spoke only from report, I am

desirous, before I make myself known, to verify this fact. I have my

reasons; which, from what I have said, you may suspect to be those of

resentment. But not so; they are only what I conceive to be necessary

precautions. Acrimony and anger have long since died away; and I have

but too much cause to condemn those actions of my life in which they

were indulged. The relation, whom I hope to find, I may unfortunately

discover to be more likely to misuse the wealth, that has devolved to

me by the death of the elder branches of my family, than to make it a

blessing to himself and others. It is true he is not my heir at law. I

have no heir: what I possess is at my own disposal. But he was once my

greatest favourite: and I would avoid any action that should excite

hopes which it might be weakness and vice in me to gratify.'

This short narrative was not merely delivered with a serious air; but

it was accompanied with somewhat of a plaintive tone, that rendered

the venerable stranger unusually interesting. It likewise excited

various wild yet not impossible conjectures in my mind, which made me

very eager to pursue the discourse. Mr. Hilary, whose mind had been

full of conjectures mingled with doubt, had not informed him of my

name.

'Is the person,' said I, 'in search of whom you mean to take this

journey young, or old?'

'About four and twenty. He was the son of my wife's sister; therefore

my relation only by marriage. He was certainly the most extraordinary

child I ever beheld. I cannot recollect him but with inconceivable

emotions of affection. Of all the sportive little creatures I ever

met with, he was the most active, the most undaunted, and the most

winning. Heaven bless the sweet boy! He was my delight. My eyes

overflow whenever I recall to mind the feats of his childhood, which

can never be long forgotten by me. My wife and her sister had been at

variance, and the first time I saw him was at a fair; when he was not

five years old. I found him placed on a table, where he stood reading

the newspaper to country farmers; who were collected round him, and

hearing him with astonishment. They seemed to doubt if he could

possibly be a child, born of a woman; and were more inclined to think

him a supernatural being. His flaxen curly hair, his intelligent eyes,

his rosy cheeks, his strong and proportioned limbs, and his cheerful

animated countenance, rendered him the most beautiful and most

endearing of human creatures. The discriminating sensibility which he

displayed was enchanting. Oh should he be living, should I find him,

and should he be at present all that his infancy promised, God of

heaven and earth! I should expire. The pleasure would be too mighty

for my years. But, should I survive it, I should once again before I

die feel the animating fervor of youth.'

I listened in amazement. I was not then acquainted with all the

incidents of my childhood so perfectly as, by hearing them repeated,

I since have been: but I knew enough of them to be persuaded the

discourse that I had heard could relate only to me. I paused. I gazed.

My eyes were riveted upon the narrator. At length I exclaimed--'What I

have just heard, sir, has excited very strange ideas. They seem almost

impossible: and yet I am persuaded they are true. Pardon a question

which I cannot refrain to ask. Surely I cannot be mistaken! Your name

is Elford?'

'Sir!'

'You are my--'

'Speak! Go on! What am I?'

'My uncle!'

'Heavens! Mr. Trevor! Is that your name?'

'It is.'

'Oh! God! Oh! God! Oh! God!--Hugh! Little Hugh! My boy! My sweet boy!'

Mr. Elford was almost overcome. In a moment he again cried--'My

saviour too! Still the same! Courageous, humane, generous! All that my

soul could desire! Oh shield me, deliver me from this excess of joy!'

CHAPTER XVII

_The conclusion_

One event only excepted, little remains to be told of my story; and

that one is doubtless anticipated by the imagination of the reader.

To describe the enquiries that passed between me and my uncle, the

various fortunes we had encountered, and the feelings they excited,

would be to write his history and tediously repeat my own. My

difficulties now disappeared. I was the acknowledged heir of a man

of great wealth: therefore, I myself am become a great man. Heaven

preserve me from becoming indolent, proud, and oppressive! I have

not yet forgotten that oppression exists, that pride is its chief

counsellor, that activity and usefulness are the sacred duties of both

rich and poor, that the wealth entrusted to my distribution is the

property of those whom most it can benefit, that I am a creature of

very few wants, but that those few in others as well as in myself are

imperious, and that I have felt them in all their rigour. Neither

have I yet shut my doors on one of my former friends. But I am

comparatively young in prosperity. How long I shall be able to

persevere in this eccentric conduct time must tell. At present I must

proceed, and mention the few remaining circumstances with which the

reader may wish to be acquainted.

After my uncle had heard me describe Olivia, and mention the motives

which induced me to wish to aid her brother, he immediately determined

on taking the journey we had before proposed. We neither of us wished

to separate. Robust in 'a green old age,' he had no fear of fatigue

from travelling this distance; and it would be a pleasure to revisit,

in my company, scenes which would bring my former sports and pranks to

his recollection. He heard from me a confirmation of the death of Mrs.

Elford; and heard it with the same tokens of melancholy in his face

which he had betrayed, when he spoke of her himself.

That I should have wished before I took this journey, short as it was,

to have seen Olivia, related all my good fortune and partaken in the

pleasure it would excite in her, may well be imagined: but forms,

and delicacies, and I know not what habitual feelings, forbad me the

enjoyment of this premature bliss. I wrote however, and not only to

her but to those tried and invaluable friends who were not to be

neglected.

We found Hector in a lamentable state. Instead of the bluff robust

form, which but shortly before he had worn, his limbs were shrunk, his

cheeks formerly of a high red were wan and hollow, his voice was gone,

his lungs were affected, and his cough was incessant. He had himself

at last begun to think his life in danger; and was preparing to return

to town for advice: consequently our stay was short. His reception

of me however was friendly. The increasing debility which he felt

softened his manners; and, when he understood the good fortune that

had befallen me, he seemed sincerely to rejoice.

And now let me request the reader to call to mind, not only my first

emotions of love for Olivia, and the violence of the passion that

preyed upon me while struggling between hope and despair, but those

late testimonies of affection, such as a mind so dignified as hers

could bestow; and then let him imagine what our meeting must be.

Should he expect me to describe her, such as she was and is, in all

her attractions, all her beauties, and all her various excellence, he

expects an impossible task. To be beloved by her, to be found worthy

of her, and to call her mine, are blessings that infinitely exceed

momentary rapture: they are lasting and indubitable happiness.

I know not if it will give him pleasure to be told that, could I

have delighted in revenge, I might have satiated myself with that

unworthy and destructive passion. The committee, appointed to decide

on the election, voted the Idford candidate guilty of bribery and

corruption. The fortune of the Earl, like that of Hector, has suffered

depredations which half a century will probably not repair. The

new-made peer and his party daily became so obnoxious to the nation,

by the destructive tendency of their measures, that they were and

continue to be haunted by terrors that deprive them of the faculties

common to man. My heart bears witness for me that I do not speak this

in triumph. I should be no less vicious than unworthy, could I triumph

in the misfortunes of any human being: but I were a wretch indeed,

were I to make mistakes that are the scourge of mankind a subject of

exultation.

Must I repeat more names? Is it necessary to say the virtues of Turl

and Wilmot are too splendid to need my praise: or that my social hours

are most beneficially and delightfully spent in their society? That

I have amply provided for the generous-minded Clarke? That Philip is

once more the good and faithful servant of a kind mistress? That Mary

and her son are equally objects of my attention? And that I do not

mean to boast of these things as acts of munificence: but as the

performance of duties?

This were unnecessary. Neither shall I be required to particularize

the present happiness of Lydia, now Mrs. Wakefield; and of that man of

brilliant and astonishing faculties who is her affectionate companion

and friend, and from whose exertions, if I am not strangely mistaken,

the world has so much to profit and so much to expect. Like me, he is

in the enjoyment of affluence; and he enjoys it with a liberal and

munificent spirit. Are there any who hate him, because he once was

guilty of hateful crimes? I hope not. It is a spirit that would sweep

away half the inhabitants of the 'peopled earth.' For my own part, I

delight in his conversation, am enlivened by his wit, and prompted to

enquiry by the acuteness of his remarks. He is a man whom I am proud

to say I love.

I have told my tale. If it should afford instruction, if it should

inspire a love of virtue, briefly, if it should contribute to the

happiness of mankind, I shall have gained my purpose. My labours will

be most richly rewarded.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Hugh Trevor, by Thomas Holcroft