_June_ 1760.
* * * * *
SIR,—I venture to send you a part of the history of my life, trusting
that my example may be a warning against confidence in our own strength
to resist even the meanest temptation.
My father was a prosperous haberdasher in Cheapside, and I was his eldest
son. My mother was the daughter of the clerk to the Fellmongers’
Company. She had reached the mature age of nine-and-twenty when she
received an offer of matrimony from my father, and after much anxious
consideration and much consultation with her parents, prudently decided
to accept it, although to the end of her days she did not scruple openly
to declare that she had lowered herself by marrying a man who was
compelled to bow behind a counter to the wife of a grocer, and stand
bareheaded at the carriage door of an alderman’s lady. My mother, I am
sorry to say, abetted my natural aversion from trade and sent me to Saint
Paul’s School to learn Latin, Greek, and the mathematicks that I might be
qualified to separate myself from the class to which unhappily she was
degraded and that she might recover in her child the pride she had lost
in her husband. My abilities were not despicable, my ambition was
restless, and my progress in my studies was therefore respectable. I
conceived a genuine admiration for the classick authors; I was genuinely
moved by the majesty of Homer and the felicity of expression in Horace.
In due time I went to Oxford, and after the usual course there, in which
I was not unsuccessful, I took Holy Orders and became a curate. When I
was about eight-and-twenty I was presented with a College living in the
village of A. about four miles from the county town of B. in the West of
England. My parishioners were the squire, a half-pay captain in the
army, a retired custom-house surveyor who was supposed to be the
illegitimate son of a member of parliament, and the surrounding farmers
and labourers. All were grossly illiterate, but I soon observed that a
common ignorance does not prevent, but rather tends to establish
artificial distinctions. Inferiority by a single degree in the social
scale becomes not only a barrier to intercourse, but a sufficient reason
for contempt. The squire and his lady spent their days in vain attempts
to secure invitations to my Lord’s at the Abbey and revenged themselves
by patronising the captain, who in his turn nodded to the surveyor but
would on no account permit intimacy. The surveyor could not for his life
have condescended to enter a farmhouse, and yet was never weary of
denouncing as intolerably stuck-up the behaviour of those above him. He
consoled himself by the reflection that they were the losers, and that,
poor creatures, their neglect of him was due to a lamentable
misapprehension of the dignity of H. M. Custom-house Service. I can
assure you I thought the comedy played at A. very ridiculous, and often
laughed at it.
It was soon quite clear to me that if I was to live in peace I must take
to myself a wife. The squire and the surveyor had daughters. The
squire’s would each have a hundred a-year apiece, a welcome addition to
my small income. They were good-looking, and by repute were virtuous and
easy of temper, but when I became acquainted with them I found that I
must not expect from them any entertainment save the description of
visits to the milliner, or schemes for parties, or the gossip of the
country-side. I did not demand, _Mr. Rambler_, the critical acumen of
Mrs. Montagu, or the erudition of Mrs. Carter, but I believe you will
agree with me that a wife, and especially the wife of a clergyman and a
scholar, should be able to read a page of Dr. Barrow’s sermons without
yawning, and should not drop Mr. Pope’s _Iliad_ or _Odyssey_ in five
minutes unless she happened to light upon some particularly exciting
adventure. I therefore dismissed the thought of these young ladies, and
the daughters of the surveyor were for the same reasons ineligible, with
the added objection that if I chose one of them the squire and his family
would never enter the church again.
One day I went over to B. to leave my watch for repairs. I noticed a
fishing-rod in the shop, and as I was fond of the sport I asked the
watchmaker if it was his. He said that he generally went fishing when he
could spare himself a holiday, and that he had just spent two days on the
Avon. I was thinking of the Stratford river and foolishly inquired which
Avon, forgetting the one near us.
‘Our Avon,’ he replied; ‘our Avon, of course, sir; _the_ Avon.
‘“Proud of his adamants with which he shines
And glisters wide, as als of wondrous Bath.”’
I did not recollect the lines, but discovered on inquiry that they were
Spenser’s, an author, I regret to say, whom I had not read. I was
astonished that a person with a mechanical occupation who sat in a window
from morning to night dissecting time-pieces should be acquainted with
poetry, and I begged him to tell me something of his life. He was the
son of a bookseller in Bristol who had been apprenticed to the celebrated
Mr. Bernard Lintot. The father failed in business, and soon afterwards
died leaving a widow and six children. My friend was then about fourteen
years old. He had been well educated, but his mother was compelled to
accept the offer of a neighbour who took compassion on her, and he was
brought up to the watchmaking trade in Bath. He had to work long hours
and endure many hardships which it might be supposed would tend to
repress the sallies of the most lively imagination, but some men are so
constituted that adverse circumstances do but stimulate a search for
compensation. So it was with him. In his leisure hours he studied not
only horological science but the works of our great English authors.
I was so much attracted to the watchmaker that I often called on him,
when I had no business with him. He had a wife and daughter, both of
whom were his companions. Melissa, the daughter, was about nineteen.
She was not beautiful according to the Grecian model, but her figure was
elegant, there was depth in her eyes, and she was always dressed with
simplicity and taste. She spoke correctly, and surprised me by the
justness of her observations, not merely on local and personal matters,
but upon subjects with which women of more exalted rank are not usually
familiar. Admission had been refused to her by every school in Bath, but
she had been taken in charge by two elderly gentlewomen, distant
relations of her grandfather, who had instructed her in the usual
branches of polite learning, including French. I will content myself,
_Mr. Rambler_, with informing you that I fell in love with Melissa, and
that she did not discourage my attentions. I had not altogether
overlooked the possibility of embarrassment at A., but my passion
prevented the clear foresight of consequences. I have often found that
evils which are imaginary will press upon me with singular vivacity,
while those which may with certainty be deduced from any action are but
obscurely apprehended, so that in fact intensity of colour is an
indication of unreality. I must add that if the future had presented
itself to me with prophetic distinctness, my love for Melissa was so
great that I should not have hesitated. My frequent visits to B. had not
passed unnoticed at A., and the reason was suspected. Hints were not
wanting, and the custom-house surveyor told me a harrowing tale of a
fellow-surveyor who had alienated all his friends and had been obliged to
leave his house near Tower Hill because he had chosen to marry the
daughter of a poor author who lived in Whitefriars. One day early in the
morning I was in B. and met the squire’s young ladies with their mother.
She was a very proud dame. Her maiden name was Bone, and her father had
been a sugar-baker in Bristol, but this was not a retail trade, and she
had often told me that she was descended from Geoffrey de Bohun, who was
in the retinue of William the Conqueror and killed five Saxons with his
own hand at the battle of Hastings. Her children, she bade me observe,
had inherited the true Bohun ears as shown in an engraving she possessed
of a Bohun tomb in Normandy. I walked with the party up the High Street,
and had not gone far when I saw Melissa coining towards us. O, _Mr.
Rambler_, can I utter it! She approached us, she knew that I must have
recognised her, but I turned my head towards a shop-window and called my
companions’ attention to the display of silks and satins. After Melissa
had passed, my lady asked me if that was not the watchmaker’s daughter
and whether I knew anything about her. I replied that I believed it was,
and that I had heard she was a respectable young woman. My lady remarked
that she had understood that she was virtuous, but that she had been
unbecomingly brought up, and considered herself superior to her position.
Her ladyship confessed that she would not be surprised any day to hear
that Miss — had been obliged to leave B., for she had noticed that when a
female belonging to the lower orders strove to acquire knowledge
unsuitable to her station, the consequence was often ruin. It is almost
incredible—I was silent!—but when I reached home I was overcome with
shame and despair. This then was all that my love was worth; this was my
esteem for intelligence and learning; and I was the man who had thanked
God I was not as my neighbours at A.! If in the beginning I had
deliberately resolved that it would be a mistake to ally myself with
Melissa’s family because my usefulness might be diminished, something
might have been pleaded on my behalf, but I was without excuse. I had
sacrificed Melissa to no principle, but to detestable vulgar cowardice.
It was about two hours after noon when I returned, and in my confusion a
note from Melissa which lay upon my table was not at once noticed. It
had been written the day before, and it tenderly upbraided me because I
had been absent for a whole week. Enclosed was a copy of verses by Sir
Philip Sidney beginning, ‘My true love hath my heart.’ I mounted my
horse again, and in less than half an hour was in B. I flew to Melissa.
She received me in silence, but without rebuke. Indeed, before she had
time for a word, I had knelt at her feet and had covered my face with her
hands. On my way through the town I had seen my lady with her children,
and one or two fashionably-dressed women, friends who lived in B. My
lady was completing her purchases. I implored Melissa immediately to
come out with me. She was astonished and hesitated, but my impetuosity
was so urgent that she feared to refuse, and without any explanation I
almost dragged her into the street. On the opposite side I descried my
lady and her party. I crossed over, took Melissa’s arm in mine, came
close to them face to face, bowed, and then passed on. We then recrossed
the road and turned into Melissa’s house. I looked back and saw that
they were standing still, stricken with astonishment. We went into the
little parlour: nobody was there. Melissa threw her arms round my neck,
and happier tears were never shed. In all the long years which have now
gone by since that memorable day I have never had to endure from that
divine creature a word or a hint which even the suspicion of wounded
self-respect could interpret as a reproach.
We were married at B. The custom-house surveyor never entered his parish
church again, but went over to B. once every Sunday. He wrote me a
letter to say that it was with much regret that he left the church of his
own village, but that it was no longer possible to derive any edification
from the services there. The captain remained, but discontinued his
civilities. The squire informed me that as I was still a priest and
possessed authority to administer the holy sacraments he should continue
his attendance, but that of course all personal intercourse must cease.
I expected that the common people would have been confirmed in their
attachment to me, but the opinion of the little village butcher was that
I had disgraced myself, and the farmers and labourers would not even
touch their hats to my wife when they met her. However, we did not care,
and in time it was impossible even to the squire not to recognise her
tact, manners, and sense. Her father had constructed an ingenious
sun-dial which he had placed on the front of his shop. The great Mr.
Halley was staying with Mr. M., who lives about five miles from B., and
seeing the dial when he was in the town, called on my father-in-law, and
was so much struck with him that he obtained permission to invite him to
dinner. There the squire met him and was obliged to sit opposite him,
amazed to hear him converse on equal terms with Mr. Halley and his host,
and to discover that he knew how to behave with decency. Hostility
continued to wear away. Few people are endowed with sufficient
perseverance to continue a quarrel unless the cause is constantly
renewed.
My betrayal of Melissa has not been altogether without profit. I had
imagined myself morally superior to my parishioners, and if I had put the
question to myself I should have said with confidence that it was
impossible that there should exist in me a weakness I had never
suspected, one which every day moved me to laughter or to scorn. But,
sir, I now feel how true it is that in our immortal poet’s words, ‘Man,
proud man, is most ignorant of what he’s most assured, his glassy
essence.’ I hope you will pardon a reference to sacred history: I
understand how the Apostle Peter came to deny his Lord. A few minutes
before the dreadful crime was committed he would have considered himself
as incapable of it as he was of the sale of his Master for money or of
that damning kiss, and a few minutes afterwards he would have suffered
death for His sake. This, _Mr. Rambler_, is the lesson which induced me
to write to you. Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he
fall; and indeed he may take all heed and yet will fall, unless Divine
Providence mercifully catches him and holds him up.