Chapter i.
_In which Mr. Booth resumes his story._
“If I am not mistaken, madam,” continued Booth, “I was just going to
acquaint you with the doctor’s opinion when we were interrupted by the
keeper.
“The doctor, having heard counsel on both sides, that is to say, Mrs.
Harris for my staying, and Miss Betty for my going, at last delivered
his own sentiments. As for Amelia, she sat silent, drowned in her tears;
nor was I myself in a much better situation.
“‘As the commissions are not signed,’ said the doctor, ‘I think you may
be said to remain in your former regiment; and therefore I think you
ought to go on this expedition; your duty to your king and country,
whose bread you have eaten, requires it; and this is a duty of too
high a nature to admit the least deficiency. Regard to your character,
likewise, requires you to go; for the world, which might justly blame
your staying at home if the case was even fairly stated, will not deal
so honestly by you: you must expect to have every circumstance against
you heightened, and most of what makes for your defence omitted; and
thus you will be stigmatized as a coward without any palliation. As
the malicious disposition of mankind is too well known, and the cruel
pleasure which they take in destroying the reputations of others, the
use we are to make of this knowledge is to afford no handle to reproach;
for, bad as the world is, it seldom falls on any man who hath not given
some slight cause for censure, though this, perhaps, is often aggravated
ten thousand-fold; and, when we blame the malice of the aggravation we
ought not to forget our own imprudence in giving the occasion. Remember,
my boy, your honour is at stake; and you know how nice the honour of
a soldier is in these cases. This is a treasure which he must be your
enemy, indeed, who would attempt to rob you of. Therefore, you ought to
consider every one as your enemy who, by desiring you to stay, would rob
you of your honour.’
“‘Do you hear that, sister?’ cries Miss Betty.--‘Yes, I do hear it’
answered Amelia, with more spirit than I ever saw her exert before, and
would preserve his honour at the expense of my life. ‘I will preserve it
if it should be at that expense; and since it is Dr Harrison’s opinion
that he ought to go, I give my consent. Go, my dear husband,’ cried she,
falling upon her knees: ‘may every angel of heaven guard and preserve
you!’--I cannot repeat her words without being affected,” said he,
wiping his eyes, “the excellence of that woman no words can paint: Miss
Matthews, she hath every perfection in human nature.
“I will not tire you with the repetition of any more that past on that
occasion, nor with the quarrel that ensued between Mrs. Harris and the
doctor; for the old lady could not submit to my leaving her daughter in
her present condition. She fell severely on the army, and cursed the day
in which her daughter was married to a soldier, not sparing the doctor
for having had some share in the match. I will omit, likewise, the
tender scene which past between Amelia and myself previous to my
departure.” “Indeed, I beg you would not,” cries Miss Matthews; “nothing
delights me more than scenes of tenderness. I should be glad to know, if
possible, every syllable which was uttered on both sides.”
“I will indulge you then,” cries Booth, “as far as is in my power.
Indeed, I believe I am able to recollect much the greatest part; for the
impression is never to be effaced from my memory.”
He then proceeded as Miss Matthews desired; but, lest all our readers
should not be of her opinion, we will, according to our usual custom,
endeavour to accommodate ourselves to every taste, and shall, therefore,
place this scene in a chapter by itself, which we desire all our
readers who do not love, or who, perhaps, do not know the pleasure of
tenderness, to pass over; since they may do this without any prejudice
to the thread of the narrative.
Chapter ii.
_Containing a scene of the tender kind._
“The doctor, madam,” continued Booth, “spent his evening at Mrs.
Harris’s house, where I sat with him whilst he smoaked his pillow pipe,
as his phrase is. Amelia was retired about half an hour to her chamber
before I went to her. At my entrance I found her on her knees, a posture
in which I never disturbed her. In a few minutes she arose, came to me,
and embracing me, said she had been praying for resolution to support
the cruellest moment she had ever undergone or could possibly undergo.
I reminded her how much more bitter a farewel would be on a death-bed,
when we never could meet, in this world at least, again. I then
endeavoured to lessen all those objects which alarmed her most, and
particularly the danger I was to encounter, upon which head I seemed
a little to comfort her; but the probable length of my absence and the
certain length of my voyage were circumstances which no oratory of mine
could even palliate. ‘O heavens!’ said she, bursting into tears, ‘can
I bear to think that hundreds, thousands for aught I know, of miles or
leagues, that lands and seas are between us? What is the prospect from
that mount in our garden where I have sat so many happy hours with my
Billy? what is the distance between that and the farthest hill which we
see from thence compared to the distance which will be between us? You
cannot wonder at this idea; you must remember, my Billy, at this place,
this very thought came formerly into my foreboding mind. I then begged
you to leave the army. Why would you not comply?--did I not tell you
then that the smallest cottage we could survey from the mount would be,
with you, a paradise to me? it would be so still--why can’t my Billy
think so? am I so much his superior in love? where is the dishonour,
Billy? or, if there be any, will it reach our ears in our little hut?
are glory and fame, and not his Amelia, the happiness of my husband? go
then, purchase them at my expence. You will pay a few sighs, perhaps a
few tears, at parting, and then new scenes will drive away the thoughts
of poor Amelia from your bosom; but what assistance shall I have in my
affliction? not that any change of scene could drive you one moment from
my remembrance; yet here every object I behold will place your loved
idea in the liveliest manner before my eyes. This is the bed in which
you have reposed; that is the chair on which you sat. Upon these boards
you have stood. These books you have read to me. Can I walk among our
beds of flowers without viewing your favourites, nay, those which you
have planted with your own hands? can I see one beauty from our beloved
mount which you have not pointed out to me?’--Thus she went on, the
woman, madam, you see, still prevailing.”--“Since you mention it,” says
Miss Matthews, with a smile, “I own the same observation occurred to me.
It is too natural to us to consider ourselves only, Mr. Booth.”--“You
shall hear,” he cried. “At last the thoughts of her present condition
suggested themselves.--’ But if,’ said she, ‘my situation, even in
health, will be so intolerable, how shall I, in the danger and agonies
of childbirth, support your absence?’--Here she stopt, and, looking on
me with all the tenderness imaginable, cried out, ‘And am I then such
a wretch to wish for your presence at such a season? ought I not to
rejoice that you are out of the hearing of my cries or the knowledge of
my pains? if I die, will you not have escaped the horrors of a parting
ten thousand times more dreadful than this? Go, go, my Billy; the very
circumstance which made me most dread your departure hath perfectly
reconciled me to it. I perceive clearly now that I was only wishing to
support my own weakness with your strength, and to relieve my own pains
at the price of yours. Believe me, my love, I am ashamed of myself.’--I
caught her in my arms with raptures not to be exprest in words, called
her my heroine; sure none ever better deserved that name; after which
we remained for some time speechless, and locked in each other’s
embraces.”--
“I am convinced,” said Miss Matthews, with a sigh, “there are moments in
life worth purchasing with worlds.”
“At length the fatal morning came. I endeavoured to hide every pang of
my heart, and to wear the utmost gaiety in my countenance. Amelia
acted the same part. In these assumed characters we met the family at
breakfast; at their breakfast, I mean, for we were both full already.
The doctor had spent above an hour that morning in discourse with Mrs.
Harris, and had, in some measure, reconciled her to my departure. He
now made use of every art to relieve the poor distressed Amelia; not by
inveighing against the folly of grief, or by seriously advising her not
to grieve; both of which were sufficiently performed by Miss Betty. The
doctor, on the contrary, had recourse to every means which might cast a
veil over the idea of grief, and raise comfortable images in my angel’s
mind. He endeavoured to lessen the supposed length of my absence by
discoursing on matters which were more distant in time. He said he
intended next year to rebuild a part of his parsonage-house. ‘And you,
captain,’ says he, ‘shall lay the corner-stone, I promise you:’ with
many other instances of the like nature, which produced, I believe, some
good effect on us both.
“Amelia spoke but little; indeed, more tears than words dropt from her;
however, she seemed resolved to bear her affliction with resignation.
But when the dreadful news arrived that the horses were ready, and I,
having taken my leave of all the rest, at last approached her, she was
unable to support the conflict with nature any longer, and, clinging
round my neck, she cried, ‘Farewel, farewel for ever; for I shall never,
never see you more.’ At which words the blood entirely forsook her
lovely cheeks, and she became a lifeless corpse in my arms.
“Amelia continued so long motionless, that the doctor, as well as Mrs.
Harris, began to be under the most terrible apprehensions; so they
informed me afterwards, for at that time I was incapable of making any
observation. I had indeed very little more use of my senses than
the dear creature whom I supported. At length, however, we were all
delivered from our fears; and life again visited the loveliest mansion
that human nature ever afforded it.
“I had been, and yet was, so terrified with what had happened, and
Amelia continued yet so weak and ill, that I determined, whatever might
be the consequence, not to leave her that day; which resolution she
was no sooner acquainted with than she fell on her knees, crying, ‘Good
Heaven! I thank thee for this reprieve at least. Oh! that every hour of
my future life could be crammed into this dear day!’
“Our good friend the doctor remained with us. He said he had intended to
visit a family in some affliction; ‘but I don’t know,’ says he, ‘why I
should ride a dozen miles after affliction, when we have enough here.’”
Of all mankind the doctor is the best of comforters. As his excessive
good-nature makes him take vast delight in the office, so his great
penetration into the human mind, joined to his great experience, renders
him the most wonderful proficient in it; and he so well knows when to
soothe, when to reason, and when to ridicule, that he never applies any
of those arts improperly, which is almost universally the case with the
physicians of the mind, and which it requires very great judgment and
dexterity to avoid.
“The doctor principally applied himself to ridiculing the dangers of the
siege, in which he succeeded so well, that he sometimes forced a smile
even into the face of Amelia. But what most comforted her were the
arguments he used to convince her of the probability of my speedy if not
immediate return. He said the general opinion was that the place would
be taken before our arrival there; in which case we should have nothing
more to do than to make the best of our way home again.
“Amelia was so lulled by these arts that she passed the day much better
than I expected. Though the doctor could not make pride strong enough to
conquer love, yet he exalted the former to make some stand against
the latter; insomuch that my poor Amelia, I believe, more than once
flattered herself, to speak the language of the world, that her reason
had gained an entire victory over her passion; till love brought up a
reinforcement, if I may use that term, of tender ideas, and bore down
all before him.
“In the evening the doctor and I passed another half-hour together, when
he proposed to me to endeavour to leave Amelia asleep in the morning,
and promised me to be at hand when she awaked, and to support her with
all the assistance in his power. He added that nothing was more foolish
than for friends to take leave of each other. ‘It is true, indeed,’ says
he, ‘in the common acquaintance and friendship of the world, this is
a very harmless ceremony; but between two persons who really love each
other the church of Rome never invented a penance half so severe as this
which we absurdly impose on ourselves.
“I greatly approved the doctor’s proposal; thanked him, and promised,
if possible, to put it in execution. He then shook me by the hand, and
heartily wished me well, saying, in his blunt way, ‘Well, boy, I hope
to see thee crowned with laurels at thy return; one comfort I have at
least, that stone walls and a sea will prevent thee from running away.’
“When I had left the doctor I repaired to my Amelia, whom I found in her
chamber, employed in a very different manner from what she had been the
preceding night; she was busy in packing up some trinkets in a casket,
which she desired me to carry with me. This casket was her own work, and
she had just fastened it as I came to her.
“Her eyes very plainly discovered what had passed while she was engaged
in her work: however, her countenance was now serene, and she spoke, at
least, with some chearfulness. But after some time, ‘You must take care
of this casket, Billy,’ said she. ‘You must, indeed, Billy--for--’ here
passion almost choaked her, till a flood of tears gave her relief, and
then she proceeded--‘For I shall be the happiest woman that ever was
born when I see it again.’ I told her, with the blessing of God, that
day would soon come. ‘Soon!’ answered she. ‘No, Billy, not soon: a week
is an age;--but yet the happy day may come. It shall, it must, it will!
Yes, Billy, we shall meet never to part again, even in this world, I
hope.’ Pardon my weakness, Miss Matthews, but upon my soul I cannot help
it,” cried he, wiping his eyes. “Well, I wonder at your patience, and I
will try it no longer. Amelia, tired out with so long a struggle
between variety of passions, and having not closed her eyes during three
successive nights, towards the morning fell into a profound sleep. In
which sleep I left her, and, having drest myself with all the expedition
imaginable, singing, whistling, hurrying, attempting by every method to
banish thought, I mounted my horse, which I had over-night ordered to
be ready, and galloped away from that house where all my treasure was
deposited.
“Thus, madam, I have, in obedience to your commands, run through a scene
which, if it hath been tiresome to you, you must yet acquit me of having
obtruded upon you. This I am convinced of, that no one is capable
of tasting such a scene who hath not a heart full of tenderness, and
perhaps not even then, unless he hath been in the same situation.”
Chapter iii.
_In which Mr. Booth sets forward on his journey._
“Well, madam, we have now taken our leave of Amelia. I rode a full mile
before I once suffered myself to look back; but now being come to
the top of a little hill, the last spot I knew which could give me a
prospect of Mrs. Harris’s house, my resolution failed: I stopped and
cast my eyes backward. Shall I tell you what I felt at that instant? I
do assure you I am not able. So many tender ideas crowded at once into
my mind, that, if I may use the expression, they almost dissolved my
heart. And now, madam, the most unfortunate accident came first into
my head. This was, that I had in the hurry and confusion left the dear
casket behind me. The thought of going back at first suggested itself;
but the consequences of that were too apparent. I therefore resolved
to send my man, and in the meantime to ride on softly on my road. He
immediately executed my orders, and after some time, feeding my eyes
with that delicious and yet heartfelt prospect, I at last turned my
horse to descend the hill, and proceeded about a hundred yards,
when, considering with myself that I should lose no time by a second
indulgence, I again turned back, and once more feasted my sight with the
same painful pleasure till my man returned, bringing me the casket, and
an account that Amelia still continued in the sweet sleep I left her.
I now suddenly turned my horse for the last time, and with the utmost
resolution pursued my journey.
“I perceived my man at his return--But before I mention anything of
him it may be proper, madam, to acquaint you who he was. He was the
foster-brother of my Amelia. This young fellow had taken it into his
head to go into the army; and he was desirous to serve under my command.
The doctor consented to discharge him; his mother at last yielded to
his importunities, and I was very easily prevailed on to list one of the
handsomest young fellows in England.
“You will easily believe I had some little partiality to one whose milk
Amelia had sucked; but, as he had never seen the regiment, I had no
opportunity to shew him any great mark of favour. Indeed he waited on
me as my servant; and I treated him with all the tenderness which can be
used to one in that station.
“When I was about to change into the horse-guards the poor fellow began
to droop, fearing that he should no longer be in the same corps with
me, though certainly that would not have been the case. However, he had
never mentioned one word of his dissatisfaction. He is indeed a fellow
of a noble spirit; but when he heard that I was to remain where I was,
and that we were to go to Gibraltar together, he fell into transports
of joy little short of madness. In short, the poor fellow had imbibed
a very strong affection for me; though this was what I knew nothing of
till long after.
“When he returned to me then, as I was saying, with the casket, I
observed his eyes all over blubbered with tears. I rebuked him a little
too rashly on this occasion. ‘Heyday!’ says I, ‘what is the meaning of
this? I hope I have not a milk-sop with me. If I thought you would shew
such a face to the enemy I would leave you behind.’--‘Your honour need
not fear that,’ answered he; ‘I shall find nobody there that I shall
love well enough to make me cry.’ I was highly pleased with this answer,
in which I thought I could discover both sense and spirit. I then asked
him what had occasioned those tears since he had left me (for he had no
sign of any at that time), and whether he had seen his mother at Mrs.
Harris’s? He answered in the negative, and begged that I would ask him
no more questions; adding that he was not very apt to cry, and he hoped
he should never give me such another opportunity of blaming him. I
mention this only as an instance of his affection towards me; for I
never could account for those tears any otherwise than by placing them
to the account of that distress in which he left me at that time. We
travelled full forty miles that day without baiting, when, arriving at
the inn where I intended to rest that night, I retired immediately to
my chamber, with my dear Amelia’s casket, the opening of which was the
nicest repast, and to which every other hunger gave way.
“It is impossible to mention to you all the little matters with which
Amelia had furnished this casket. It contained medicines of all kinds,
which her mother, who was the Lady Bountiful of that country, had
supplied her with. The most valuable of all to me was a lock of her dear
hair, which I have from that time to this worn in my bosom. What would
I have then given for a little picture of my dear angel, which she had
lost from her chamber about a month before! and which we had the highest
reason in the world to imagine her sister had taken away; for the
suspicion lay only between her and Amelia’s maid, who was of all
creatures the honestest, and whom her mistress had often trusted with
things of much greater value; for the picture, which was set in gold,
and had two or three little diamonds round it, was worth about twelve
guineas only; whereas Amelia left jewels in her care of much greater
value.”
“Sure,” cries Miss Matthews, “she could not be such a paultry pilferer.”
“Not on account of the gold or the jewels,” cries Booth. “We imputed it
to mere spite, with which, I assure you, she abounds; and she knew that,
next to Amelia herself, there was nothing which I valued so much as this
little picture; for such a resemblance did it bear of the original, that
Hogarth himself did never, I believe, draw a stronger likeness. Spite,
therefore, was the only motive to this cruel depredation; and indeed her
behaviour on the occasion sufficiently convinced us both of the justice
of our suspicion, though we neither of us durst accuse her; and she
herself had the assurance to insist very strongly (though she could not
prevail) with Amelia to turn away her innocent maid, saying, she would
not live in the house with a thief.”
Miss Matthews now discharged some curses on Miss Betty, not much worth
repeating, and then Mr. Booth proceeded in his relation.
Chapter iv.
_A sea piece._
“The next day we joined the regiment, which was soon after to embark.
Nothing but mirth and jollity were in the countenance of every officer
and soldier; and as I now met several friends whom I had not seen
for above a year before, I passed several happy hours, in which poor
Amelia’s image seldom obtruded itself to interrupt my pleasure. To
confess the truth, dear Miss Matthews, the tenderest of passions
is capable of subsiding; nor is absence from our dearest friends so
unsupportable as it may at first appear. Distance of time and place do
really cure what they seem to aggravate; and taking leave of our friends
resembles taking leave of the world; concerning which it hath been often
said that it is not death, but dying, which is terrible.”--Here Miss
Matthews burst into a fit of laughter, and cried, “I sincerely ask your
pardon; but I cannot help laughing at the gravity of your philosophy.”
Booth answered, That the doctrine of the passions had been always his
favourite study; that he was convinced every man acted entirely from
that passion which was uppermost. “Can I then think,” said he, “without
entertaining the utmost contempt for myself, that any pleasure upon
earth could drive the thoughts of Amelia one instant from my mind?
“At length we embarked aboard a transport, and sailed for Gibraltar; but
the wind, which was at first fair, soon chopped about; so that we were
obliged, for several days, to beat to windward, as the sea phrase is.
During this time the taste which I had of a seafaring life did not
appear extremely agreeable. We rolled up and down in a little narrow
cabbin, in which were three officers, all of us extremely sea-sick; our
sickness being much aggravated by the motion of the ship, by the view
of each other, and by the stench of the men. But this was but a little
taste indeed of the misery which was to follow; for we were got about
six leagues to the westward of Scilly, when a violent storm arose at
north-east, which soon raised the waves to the height of mountains. The
horror of this is not to be adequately described to those who have
never seen the like. The storm began in the evening, and, as the clouds
brought on the night apace, it was soon entirely dark; nor had we,
during many hours, any other light than what was caused by the jarring
elements, which frequently sent forth flashes, or rather streams of
fire; and whilst these presented the most dreadful objects to our eyes,
the roaring of the winds, the dashing of the waves against the ship and
each other, formed a sound altogether as horrible for our ears; while
our ship, sometimes lifted up, as it were, to the skies, and sometimes
swept away at once as into the lowest abyss, seemed to be the sport of
the winds and seas. The captain himself almost gave up all for lost,
and exprest his apprehension of being inevitably cast on the rocks of
Scilly, and beat to pieces. And now, while some on board were addressing
themselves to the Supreme Being, and others applying for comfort to
strong liquors, my whole thoughts were entirely engaged by my Amelia. A
thousand tender ideas crouded into my mind. I can truly say that I had
not a single consideration about myself in which she was not concerned.
Dying to me was leaving her; and the fear of never seeing her more was a
dagger stuck in my heart. Again, all the terrors with which this storm,
if it reached her ears, must fill her gentle mind on my account, and the
agonies which she must undergo when she heard of my fate, gave me such
intolerable pangs, that I now repented my resolution, and wished, I own
I wished, that I had taken her advice, and preferred love and a cottage
to all the dazzling charms of honour.
“While I was tormenting myself with those meditations, and had concluded
myself as certainly lost, the master came into the cabbin, and with a
chearful voice assured us that we had escaped the danger, and that we
had certainly past to westward of the rock. This was comfortable news to
all present; and my captain, who had been some time on his knees, leapt
suddenly up, and testified his joy with a great oath.
“A person unused to the sea would have been astonished at the
satisfaction which now discovered itself in the master or in any on
board; for the storm still raged with great violence, and the daylight,
which now appeared, presented us with sights of horror sufficient to
terrify minds which were not absolute slaves to the passion of fear; but
so great is the force of habit, that what inspires a landsman with the
highest apprehension of danger gives not the least concern to a sailor,
to whom rocks and quicksands are almost the only objects of terror.
“The master, however, was a little mistaken in the present instance; for
he had not left the cabbin above an hour before my man came running to
me, and acquainted me that the ship was half full of water; that the
sailors were going to hoist out the boat and save themselves, and begged
me to come that moment along with him, as I tendered my preservation.
With this account, which was conveyed to me in a whisper, I acquainted
both the captain and ensign; and we all together immediately mounted
the deck, where we found the master making use of all his oratory to
persuade the sailors that the ship was in no danger; and at the same
time employing all his authority to set the pumps a-going, which he
assured them would keep the water under, and save his dear Lovely Peggy
(for that was the name of the ship), which he swore he loved as dearly
as his own soul.
“Indeed this sufficiently appeared; for the leak was so great, and the
water flowed in so plentifully, that his Lovely Peggy was half filled
before he could be brought to think of quitting her; but now the boat
was brought alongside the ship, and the master himself, notwithstanding
all his love for her, quitted his ship, and leapt into the boat. Every
man present attempted to follow his example, when I heard the voice of
my servant roaring forth my name in a kind of agony. I made directly to
the ship-side, but was too late; for the boat, being already overladen,
put directly off. And now, madam, I am going to relate to you an
instance of heroic affection in a poor fellow towards his master, to
which love itself, even among persons of superior education, can produce
but few similar instances. My poor man, being unable to get me with him
into the boat, leapt suddenly into the sea, and swam back to the ship;
and, when I gently rebuked him for his rashness, he answered, he chose
rather to die with me than to live to carry the account of my death to
my Amelia: at the same time bursting into a flood of tears, he cried,
‘Good Heavens! what will that poor lady feel when she hears of this!’
This tender concern for my dear love endeared the poor fellow more to
me than the gallant instance which he had just before given of his
affection towards myself.
“And now, madam, my eyes were shocked with a sight, the horror of which
can scarce be imagined; for the boat had scarce got four hundred yards
from the ship when it was swallowed up by the merciless waves, which now
ran so high, that out of the number of persons which were in the boat
none recovered the ship, though many of them we saw miserably perish
before our eyes, some of them very near us, without any possibility of
giving them the least assistance.
“But, whatever we felt for them, we felt, I believe, more for ourselves,
expecting every minute when we should share the same fate. Amongst the
rest, one of our officers appeared quite stupified with fear. I never,
indeed, saw a more miserable example of the great power of that passion:
I must not, however, omit doing him justice, by saying that I afterwards
saw the same man behave well in an engagement, in which he was wounded;
though there likewise he was said to have betrayed the same passion of
fear in his countenance.
“The other of our officers was no less stupified (if I may so express
myself) with fool-hardiness, and seemed almost insensible of his danger.
To say the truth, I have, from this and some other instances which I
have seen, been almost inclined to think that the courage as well as
cowardice of fools proceeds from not knowing what is or what is not the
proper object of fear; indeed, we may account for the extreme hardiness
of some men in the same manner as for the terrors of children at a
bugbear. The child knows not but that the bugbear is the proper object
of fear, the blockhead knows not that a cannon-ball is so.
“As to the remaining part of the ship’s crew and the soldiery, most of
them were dead drunk, and the rest were endeavouring, as fast as they
could, to prepare for death in the same manner.
“In this dreadful situation we were taught that no human condition
should inspire men with absolute despair; for, as the storm had ceased
for some time, the swelling of the sea began considerably to abate; and
we now perceived the man of war which convoyed us, at no great distance
astern. Those aboard her easily perceived our distress, and made
towards us. When they came pretty near they hoisted out two boats to
our assistance. These no sooner approached the ship than they were
instantaneously filled, and I myself got a place in one of them,
chiefly by the aid of my honest servant, of whose fidelity to me on all
occasions I cannot speak or think too highly. Indeed, I got into the
boat so much the more easily, as a great number on board the ship were
rendered, by drink, incapable of taking any care for themselves. There
was time, however, for the boat to pass and repass; so that, when we
came to call over names, three only, of all that remained in the ship
after the loss of her own boat, were missing.
“The captain, ensign, and myself, were received with many
congratulations by our officers on board the man of war.--The
sea-officers too, all except the captain, paid us their compliments,
though these were of the rougher kind, and not without several jokes on
our escape. As for the captain himself, we scarce saw him during many
hours; and, when he appeared, he presented a view of majesty beyond any
that I had ever seen. The dignity which he preserved did indeed give
me rather the idea of a Mogul, or a Turkish emperor, than of any of the
monarchs of Christendom. To say the truth, I could resemble his walk on
the deck to nothing but the image of Captain Gulliver strutting among
the Lilliputians; he seemed to think himself a being of an order
superior to all around him, and more especially to us of the land
service. Nay, such was the behaviour of all the sea-officers and sailors
to us and our soldiers, that, instead of appearing to be subjects of the
same prince, engaged in one quarrel, and joined to support one cause, we
land-men rather seemed to be captives on board an enemy’s vessel. This
is a grievous misfortune, and often proves so fatal to the service, that
it is great pity some means could not be found of curing it.”
Here Mr. Booth stopt a while to take breath. We will therefore give the
same refreshment to the reader.
Chapter v.
_The arrival of Booth at Gibraltar, with what there befel him._
“The adventures,” continued Booth, “which I happened to me from this day
till my arrival at Gibraltar are not worth recounting to you. After a
voyage the remainder of which was tolerably prosperous, we arrived in
that garrison, the natural strength of which is so well known to the
whole world.
“About a week after my arrival it was my fortune to be ordered on a
sally party, in which my left leg was broke with a musket-ball; and I
should most certainly have either perished miserably, or must have
owed my preservation to some of the enemy, had not my faithful servant
carried me off on his shoulders, and afterwards, with the assistance of
one of his comrades, brought me back into the garrison.
“The agony of my wound was so great, that it threw me into a fever, from
whence my surgeon apprehended much danger. I now began again to feel for
my Amelia, and for myself on her account; and the disorder of my mind,
occasioned by such melancholy contemplations, very highly aggravated the
distemper of my body; insomuch that it would probably have proved fatal,
had it not been for the friendship of one Captain James, an officer of
our regiment, and an old acquaintance, who is undoubtedly one of the
pleasantest companions and one of the best-natured men in the world.
This worthy man, who had a head and a heart perfectly adequate to every
office of friendship, stayed with me almost day and night during my
illness; and by strengthening my hopes, raising my spirits, and cheering
my thoughts, preserved me from destruction.
“The behaviour of this man alone is a sufficient proof of the truth
of my doctrine, that all men act entirely from their passions; for
Bob James can never be supposed to act from any motives of virtue
or religion, since he constantly laughs at both; and yet his conduct
towards me alone demonstrates a degree of goodness which, perhaps, few
of the votaries of either virtue or religion can equal.” “You need not
take much pains,” answered Miss Matthews, with a smile, “to convince me
of your doctrine. I have been always an advocate for the same. I look
upon the two words you mention to serve only as cloaks, under which
hypocrisy may be the better enabled to cheat the world. I have been of
that opinion ever since I read that charming fellow Mandevil.”
“Pardon me, madam,” answered Booth; “I hope you do not agree with
Mandevil neither, who hath represented human nature in a picture of the
highest deformity. He hath left out of his system the best passion which
the mind can possess, and attempts to derive the effects or energies of
that passion from the base impulses of pride or fear. Whereas it is as
certain that love exists in the mind of man as that its opposite hatred
doth; and the same reasons will equally prove the existence of the one
as the existence of the other.”
“I don’t know, indeed,” replied the lady, “I never thought much about
the matter. This I know, that when I read Mandevil I thought all he said
was true; and I have been often told that he proves religion and virtue
to be only mere names. However, if he denies there is any such thing as
love, that is most certainly wrong.--I am afraid I can give him the lye
myself.”
“I will join with you, madam, in that,” answered Booth, “at any time.”
“Will you join with me?” answered she, looking eagerly at him--“O, Mr.
Booth! I know not what I was going to say--What--Where did you leave
off?--I would not interrupt you--but I am impatient to know something.”
“What, madam?” cries Booth; “if I can give you any satisfaction--”
“No, no,” said she, “I must hear all; I would not for the world break
the thread of your story. Besides, I am afraid to ask--Pray, pray, sir,
go on.”
“Well, madam,” cries Booth, “I think I was mentioning the extraordinary
acts of friendship done me by Captain James; nor can I help taking
notice of the almost unparalleled fidelity of poor Atkinson (for that
was my man’s name), who was not only constant in the assiduity of his
attendance, but during the time of my danger demonstrated a concern for
me which I can hardly account for, as my prevailing on his captain to
make him a sergeant was the first favour he ever received at my hands,
and this did not happen till I was almost perfectly recovered of my
broken leg. Poor fellow! I shall never forget the extravagant joy his
halbert gave him; I remember it the more because it was one of the
happiest days of my own life; for it was upon this day that I received
a letter from my dear Amelia, after a long silence, acquainting me that
she was out of all danger from her lying-in.
“I was now once more able to perform my duty; when (so unkind was the
fortune of war), the second time I mounted the guard, I received a
violent contusion from the bursting of a bomb. I was felled to the
ground, where I lay breathless by the blow, till honest Atkinson came to
my assistance, and conveyed me to my room, where a surgeon immediately
attended me.
“The injury I had now received was much more dangerous in my surgeon’s
opinion than the former; it caused me to spit blood, and was attended
with a fever, and other bad symptoms; so that very fatal consequences
were apprehended.
“In this situation, the image of my Amelia haunted me day and night; and
the apprehensions of never seeing her more were so intolerable, that I
had thoughts of resigning my commission, and returning home, weak as I
was, that I might have, at least, the satisfaction of dying in the arms
of my love. Captain James, however, persisted in dissuading me from any
such resolution. He told me my honour was too much concerned, attempted
to raise my hopes of recovery to the utmost of his power; but chiefly
he prevailed on me by suggesting that, if the worst which I apprehended
should happen, it was much better for Amelia that she should be absent
than present in so melancholy an hour. ‘I know’ cried he, ‘the extreme
joy which must arise in you from meeting again with Amelia, and the
comfort of expiring in her arms; but consider what she herself must
endure upon the dreadful occasion, and you would not wish to purchase
any happiness at the price of so much pain to her.’ This argument at
length prevailed on me; and it was after many long debates resolved,
that she should not even know my present condition, till my doom either
for life or death was absolutely fixed.”
“Oh! Heavens! how great! how generous!” cried Miss Matthews. “Booth,
thou art a noble fellow; and I scarce think there is a woman upon earth
worthy so exalted a passion.”
Booth made a modest answer to the compliment which Miss Matthews had
paid him. This drew more civilities from the lady, and these again
more acknowledgments; all which we shall pass by, and proceed with our
history.
Chapter vi.
_Containing matters which will please some readers._
“Two months and more had I continued in a state of incertainty,
sometimes with more flattering, and sometimes with more alarming
symptoms; when one afternoon poor Atkinson came running into my room,
all pale and out of breath, and begged me not to be surprized at his
news. I asked him eagerly what was the matter, and if it was anything
concerning Amelia? I had scarce uttered the dear name when she herself
rushed into the room, and ran hastily to me, crying, ‘Yes, it is, it is
your Amelia herself.’
“There is nothing so difficult to describe, and generally so dull when
described, as scenes of excessive tenderness.”
“Can you think so?” says Miss Matthews; “surely there is nothing so
charming!--Oh! Mr. Booth, our sex is d--ned by the want of tenderness in
yours. O, were they all like you--certainly no man was ever your equal.”
“Indeed, madam,” cries Booth, “you honour me too much. But--well--when
the first transports of our meeting were over, Amelia began gently to
chide me for having concealed my illness from her; for, in three letters
which I had writ her since the accident had happened, there was not
the least mention of it, or any hint given by which she could possibly
conclude I was otherwise than in perfect health. And when I had excused
myself, by assigning the true reason, she cried--‘O Mr. Booth! and do
you know so little of your Amelia as to think I could or would survive
you? Would it not be better for one dreadful sight to break my heart all
at once than to break it by degrees?--O Billy! can anything pay me for
the loss of this embrace?’---But I ask your pardon--how ridiculous doth
my fondness appear in your eyes!”
“How often,” answered she, “shall I assert the contrary? What would you
have me say, Mr. Booth? Shall I tell you I envy Mrs. Booth of all the
women in the world? would you believe me if I did? I hope you--what am I
saying? Pray make no farther apology, but go on.”
“After a scene,” continued he, “too tender to be conceived by many,
Amelia informed me that she had received a letter from an unknown
hand, acquainting her with my misfortune, and advising her, if she ever
desired to see me more, to come directly to Gibraltar. She said she
should not have delayed a moment after receiving this letter, had not
the same ship brought her one from me written with rather more than
usual gaiety, and in which there was not the least mention of my
indisposition. This, she said, greatly puzzled her and her mother,
and the worthy divine endeavoured to persuade her to give credit to my
letter, and to impute the other to a species of wit with which the
world greatly abounds. This consists entirely in doing various kinds
of mischief to our fellow-creatures, by belying one, deceiving another,
exposing a third, and drawing in a fourth, to expose himself; in short,
by making some the objects of laughter, others of contempt; and indeed
not seldom by subjecting them to very great inconveniences, perhaps to
ruin, for the sake of a jest.
“Mrs. Harris and the doctor derived the letter from this species of wit.
Miss Betty, however, was of a different opinion, and advised poor Amelia
to apply to an officer whom the governor had sent over in the same ship,
by whom the report of my illness was so strongly confirmed, that Amelia
immediately resolved on her voyage.
“I had a great curiosity to know the author of this letter, but not the
least trace of it could be discovered. The only person with whom I lived
in any great intimacy was Captain James, and he, madam, from what I have
already told you, you will think to be the last person I could suspect;
besides, he declared upon his honour that he knew nothing of the matter,
and no man’s honour is, I believe, more sacred. There was indeed an
ensign of another regiment who knew my wife, and who had sometimes
visited me in my illness; but he was a very unlikely man to interest
himself much in any affairs which did not concern him; and he too
declared he knew nothing of it.”
“And did you never discover this secret?” cried Miss Matthews.
“Never to this day,” answered Booth.
“I fancy,” said she, “I could give a shrewd guess. What so likely as
that Mrs. Booth, when you left her, should have given her foster-brother
orders to send her word of whatever befel you? Yet stay--that could not
be neither; for then she would not have doubted whether she should leave
dear England on the receipt of the letter. No, it must have been by some
other means;--yet that I own appeared extremely natural to me; for if I
had been left by such a husband I think I should have pursued the same
method.”
“No, madam,” cried Booth, “it must have been conveyed by some other
channel; for my Amelia, I am certain, was entirely ignorant of the
manner; and as for poor Atkinson, I am convinced he would not have
ventured to take such a step without acquainting me. Besides, the poor
fellow had, I believe, such a regard for my wife, out of gratitude for
the favours she hath done his mother, that I make no doubt he was highly
rejoiced at her absence from my melancholy scene. Well, whoever writ it
is a matter very immaterial; yet, as it seemed so odd and unaccountable
an incident, I could not help mentioning it.
“From the time of Amelia’s arrival nothing remarkable happened till my
perfect recovery, unless I should observe her remarkable behaviour, so
full of care and tenderness, that it was perhaps without a parallel.”
“O no, Mr. Booth,” cries the lady; “it is fully equalled, I am sure,
by your gratitude. There is nothing, I believe, so rare as gratitude in
your sex, especially in husbands. So kind a remembrance is, indeed, more
than a return to such an obligation; for where is the mighty obligation
which a woman confers, who being possessed of an inestimable jewel, is
so kind to herself as to be careful and tender of it? I do not say this
to lessen your opinion of Mrs. Booth. I have no doubt but that she loves
you as well as she is capable. But I would not have you think so meanly
of our sex as to imagine there are not a thousand women susceptible of
true tenderness towards a meritorious man. Believe me, Mr. Booth, if I
had received such an account of an accident having happened to such a
husband, a mother and a parson would not have held me a moment. I should
have leapt into the first fishing-boat I could have found, and bid
defiance to the winds and waves.--Oh! there is no true tenderness but in
a woman of spirit. I would not be understood all this while to reflect
on Mrs. Booth. I am only defending the cause of my sex; for, upon
my soul, such compliments to a wife are a satire on all the rest of
womankind.”
“Sure you jest, Miss Matthews,” answered Booth with a smile; “however,
if you please, I will proceed in my story.”
Chapter vii.
_The captain, continuing his story, recounts some particulars which, we
doubt not, to many good people, will appear unnatural._
I was scarce sooner recovered from my indisposition than Amelia herself
fell ill. This, I am afraid, was occasioned by the fatigues which I
could not prevent her from undergoing on my account; for, as my disease
went off with violent sweats, during which the surgeon strictly ordered
that I should lie by myself, my Amelia could not be prevailed upon
to spend many hours in her own bed. During my restless fits she would
sometimes read to me several hours together; indeed it was not without
difficulty that she ever quitted my bedside. These fatigues, added to
the uneasiness of her mind, overpowered her weak spirits, and threw
her into one of the worst disorders that can possibly attend a woman;
a disorder very common among the ladies, and our physicians have not
agreed upon its name. Some call it fever on the spirits, some a nervous
fever, some the vapours, and some the hysterics.
“O say no more,” cries Miss Matthews; “I pity you, I pity you from my
soul. A man had better be plagued with all the curses of Egypt than with
a vapourish wife.”
“Pity me! madam,” answered Booth; “pity rather that dear creature who,
from her love and care of my unworthy self, contracted a distemper, the
horrors of which are scarce to be imagined. It is, indeed, a sort of
complication of all diseases together, with almost madness added to
them. In this situation, the siege being at an end, the governor gave me
leave to attend my wife to Montpelier, the air of which was judged to
be most likely to restore her to health. Upon this occasion she wrote
to her mother to desire a remittance, and set forth the melancholy
condition of her health, and her necessity for money, in such terms as
would have touched any bosom not void of humanity, though a stranger
to the unhappy sufferer. Her sister answered it, and I believe I have a
copy of the answer in my pocket. I keep it by me as a curiosity, and
you would think it more so could I shew you my Amelia’s letter.” He then
searched his pocket-book, and finding the letter among many others, he
read it in the following words:
“‘DEAR SISTER,--My mamma being much disordered, hath commanded me
to tell you she is both shocked and surprized at your extraordinary
request, or, as she chuses to call it, order for money. You know, my
dear, she says that your marriage with this red-coat man was entirely
against her consent and the opinion of all your family (I am sure I may
here include myself in that number); and yet, after this fatal act of
disobedience, she was prevailed on to receive you as her child; not,
however, nor are you so to understand it, as the favourite which you was
before. She forgave you; but this was as a Christian and a parent; still
preserving in her own mind a just sense of your disobedience, and a just
resentment on that account. And yet, notwithstanding this resentment,
she desires you to remember that, when you a second time ventured to
oppose her authority, and nothing would serve you but taking a ramble
(an indecent one, I can’t help saying) after your fellow, she thought
fit to shew the excess of a mother’s tenderness, and furnished you with
no less than fifty pounds for your foolish voyage. How can she, then, be
otherwise than surprized at your present demand? which, should she be
so weak to comply with, she must expect to be every month repeated, in
order to supply the extravagance of a young rakish officer. You say
she will compassionate your sufferings; yes, surely she doth greatly
compassionate them, and so do I too, though you was neither so kind nor
so civil as to suppose I should. But I forgive all your slights to me,
as well now as formerly. Nay, I not only forgive, but I pray daily
for you. But, dear sister, what could you expect less than what hath
happened? you should have believed your friends, who were wiser and
older than you. I do not here mean myself, though I own I am eleven
months and some odd weeks your superior; though, had I been younger, I
might, perhaps, have been able to advise you; for wisdom and what some
may call beauty do not always go together. You will not be offended at
this; for I know in your heart, you have always held your head above
some people, whom, perhaps, other people have thought better of; but why
do I mention what I scorn so much? No, my dear sister, Heaven forbid it
should ever be said of me that I value myself upon my face--not but if I
could believe men perhaps--but I hate and despise men--you know I do, my
dear, and I wish you had despised them as much; but _jacta est jalea_,
as the doctor says. You are to make the best of your fortune--what
fortune, I mean, my mamma may please to give you, for you know all is
in her power. Let me advise you, then, to bring your mind to your
circumstances, and remember (for I can’t help writing it, as it is
for your own good) the vapours are a distemper which very ill become a
knapsack. Remember, my dear, what you have done; remember what my mamma
hath done; remember we have something of yours to keep, and do not
consider yourself as an only child; no, nor as a favourite child; but be
pleased to remember, Dear sister, Your most affectionate sister,
“‘and most obedient humble servant,
“‘E. HARRIS.’”
“O brave Miss Betty!” cried Miss Matthews; “I always held her in high
esteem; but I protest she exceeds even what I could have expected from
her.”
“This letter, madam,” cries Booth, “you will believe, was an excellent
cordial for my poor wife’s spirits. So dreadful indeed was the effect it
had upon her, that, as she had read it in my absence, I found her, at
my return home, in the most violent fits; and so long was it before
she recovered her senses, that I despaired of that blest event ever
happening; and my own senses very narrowly escaped from being sacrificed
to my despair. However, she came at last to herself, and I began to
consider of every means of carrying her immediately to Montpelier, which
was now become much more necessary than before.
“Though I was greatly shocked at the barbarity of the letter, yet I
apprehended no very ill consequence from it; for, as it was believed all
over the army that I had married a great fortune, I had received offers
of money, if I wanted it, from more than one. Indeed, I might have
easily carried my wife to Montpelier at any time; but she was extremely
averse to the voyage, being desirous of our returning to England, as
I had leave to do; and she grew daily so much better, that, had it not
been for the receipt of that cursed--which I have just read to you, I
am persuaded she might have been able to return to England in the next
ship.
“Among others there was a colonel in the garrison who had not only
offered but importuned me to receive money of him; I now, therefore,
repaired to him; and, as a reason for altering my resolution, I produced
the letter, and, at the same time, acquainted him with the true state of
my affairs. The colonel read the letter, shook his head, and, after some
silence, said he was sorry I had refused to accept his offer before; but
that he had now so ordered matters, and disposed of his money, that he
had not a shilling left to spare from his own occasions.
“Answers of the same kind I had from several others, but not one penny
could I borrow of any; for I have been since firmly persuaded that
the honest colonel was not content with denying me himself, but took
effectual means, by spreading the secret I had so foolishly trusted him
with, to prevent me from succeeding elsewhere; for such is the nature of
men, that whoever denies himself to do you a favour is unwilling that it
should be done to you by any other.
“This was the first time I had ever felt that distress which arises from
the want of money; a distress very dreadful indeed in a married state;
for what can be more miserable than to see anything necessary to the
preservation of a beloved creature, and not be able to supply it?
“Perhaps you may wonder, madam, that I have not mentioned Captain James
on this occasion; but he was at that time laid up at Algiers (whither
he had been sent by the governor) in a fever. However, he returned time
enough to supply me, which he did with the utmost readiness on the very
first mention of my distress; and the good colonel, notwithstanding his
having disposed of his money, discounted the captain’s draft. You see,
madam, an instance in the generous behaviour of my friend James, how
false are all universal satires against humankind. He is indeed one of
the worthiest men the world ever produced.
“But, perhaps, you will be more pleased still with the extravagant
generosity of my sergeant. The day before the return of Mr. James, the
poor fellow came to me with tears in his eyes, and begged I would not
be offended at what he was going to mention. He then pulled a purse
from his pocket, which contained, he said, the sum of twelve pounds,
and which he begged me to accept, crying, he was sorry it was not in his
power to lend me whatever I wanted. I was so struck with this instance
of generosity and friendship in such a person, that I gave him an
opportunity of pressing me a second time before I made him an answer.
Indeed, I was greatly surprised how he came to be worth that little sum,
and no less at his being acquainted with my own wants. In both which
points he presently satisfied me. As to the first, it seems he had
plundered a Spanish officer of fifteen pistoles; and as to the second,
he confessed he had it from my wife’s maid, who had overheard some
discourse between her mistress and me. Indeed people, I believe, always
deceive themselves, who imagine they can conceal distrest circumstances
from their servants; for these are always extremely quicksighted on such
occasions.”
“Good heavens!” cries Miss Matthews, “how astonishing is such behaviour
in so low a fellow!”
“I thought so myself,” answered Booth; “and yet I know not, on a more
strict examination into the matter, why we should be more surprised to
see greatness of mind discover itself in one degree or rank of life than
in another. Love, benevolence, or what you will please to call it, may
be the reigning passion in a beggar as well as in a prince; and wherever
it is, its energies will be the same.
“To confess the truth, I am afraid we often compliment what we call
upper life, with too much injustice, at the expense of the lower. As it
is no rare thing to see instances which degrade human nature in persons
of the highest birth and education, so I apprehend that examples of
whatever is really great and good have been sometimes found amongst
those who have wanted all such advantages. In reality, palaces, I make
no doubt, do sometimes contain nothing but dreariness and darkness,
and the sun of righteousness hath shone forth with all its glory in a
cottage.”
Chapter viii.
_The story of Booth continued._
“Mr. Booth thus went on:
“We now took leave of the garrison, and, having landed at Marseilles,
arrived at Montpelier, without anything happening to us worth
remembrance, except the extreme sea-sickness of poor Amelia; but I was
afterwards well repaid for the terrors which it occasioned me by the
good consequences which attended it; for I believe it contributed, even
more than the air of Montpelier, to the perfect re-establishment of her
health.”
“I ask your pardon for interrupting you,” cries Miss Matthews, “but you
never satisfied me whether you took the sergeant’s money. You have made
me half in love with that charming fellow.”
“How can you imagine, madam,” answered Booth, “I should have taken from
a poor fellow what was of so little consequence to me, and at the same
time of so much to him? Perhaps, now, you will derive this from the
passion of pride.”
“Indeed,” says she, “I neither derive it from the passion of pride nor
from the passion of folly: but methinks you should have accepted the
offer, and I am convinced you hurt him very much when you refused it.
But pray proceed in your story.” Then Booth went on as follows:
“As Amelia recovered her health and spirits daily, we began to pass our
time very pleasantly at Montpelier; for the greatest enemy to the French
will acknowledge that they are the best people in the world to live
amongst for a little while. In some countries it is almost as easy to
get a good estate as a good acquaintance. In England, particularly,
acquaintance is of almost as slow growth as an oak; so that the age of
man scarce suffices to bring it to any perfection, and families seldom
contract any great intimacy till the third, or at least the second
generation. So shy indeed are we English of letting a stranger into our
houses, that one would imagine we regarded all such as thieves. Now the
French are the very reverse. Being a stranger among them entitles you to
the better place, and to the greater degree of civility; and if you wear
but the appearance of a gentleman, they never suspect you are not one.
Their friendship indeed seldom extends as far as their purse; nor is
such friendship usual in other countries. To say the truth, politeness
carries friendship far enough in the ordinary occasions of life, and
those who want this accomplishment rarely make amends for it by their
sincerity; for bluntness, or rather rudeness, as it commonly deserves to
be called, is not always so much a mark of honesty as it is taken to be.
“The day after our arrival we became acquainted with Mons. Bagillard.
He was a Frenchman of great wit and vivacity, with a greater share of
learning than gentlemen are usually possessed of. As he lodged in the
same house with us, we were immediately acquainted, and I liked his
conversation so well that I never thought I had too much of his company.
Indeed, I spent so much of my time with him, that Amelia (I know not
whether I ought to mention it) grew uneasy at our familiarity, and
complained of my being too little with her, from my violent fondness for
my new acquaintance; for, our conversation turning chiefly upon
books, and principally Latin ones (for we read several of the classics
together), she could have but little entertainment by being with us.
When my wife had once taken it into her head that she was deprived of my
company by M. Bagillard, it was impossible to change her opinion; and,
though I now spent more of my time with her than I had ever done
before, she still grew more and more dissatisfied, till at last she very
earnestly desired me to quit my lodgings, and insisted upon it with more
vehemence than I had ever known her express before. To say the truth, if
that excellent woman could ever be thought unreasonable, I thought she
was so on this occasion.
“But in what light soever her desires appeared to me, as they manifestly
arose from an affection of which I had daily the most endearing proofs,
I resolved to comply with her, and accordingly removed to a distant part
of the town; for it is my opinion that we can have but little love for
the person whom we will never indulge in an unreasonable demand. Indeed,
I was under a difficulty with regard to Mons. Bagillard; for, as I
could not possibly communicate to him the true reason for quitting my
lodgings, so I found it as difficult to deceive him by a counterfeit
one; besides, I was apprehensive I should have little less of his
company than before. I could, indeed, have avoided this dilemma by
leaving Montpelier, for Amelia had perfectly recovered her health; but
I had faithfully promised Captain James to wait his return from Italy,
whither he was gone some time before from Gibraltar; nor was it proper
for Amelia to take any long journey, she being now near six months gone
with child.
“This difficulty, however, proved to be less than I had imagined it;
for my French friend, whether he suspected anything from my wife’s
behaviour, though she never, as I observed, shewed him the least
incivility, became suddenly as cold on his side. After our leaving the
lodgings he never made above two or three formal visits; indeed his time
was soon after entirely taken up by an intrigue with a certain countess,
which blazed all over Montpelier.
“We had not been long in our new apartments before an English officer
arrived at Montpelier, and came to lodge in the same house with us. This
gentleman, whose name was Bath, was of the rank of a major, and had so
much singularity in his character, that, perhaps, you never heard of
any like him. He was far from having any of those bookish qualifications
which had before caused my Amelia’s disquiet. It is true, his discourse
generally turned on matters of no feminine kind; war and martial
exploits being the ordinary topics of his conversation: however, as he
had a sister with whom Amelia was greatly pleased, an intimacy presently
grew between us, and we four lived in one family.
“The major was a great dealer in the marvellous, and was constantly the
little hero of his own tale. This made him very entertaining to
Amelia, who, of all the persons in the world, hath the truest taste and
enjoyment of the ridiculous; for, whilst no one sooner discovers it in
the character of another, no one so well conceals her knowledge of it
from the ridiculous person. I cannot help mentioning a sentiment of hers
on this head, as I think it doth her great honour. ‘If I had the same
neglect,’ said she, ‘for ridiculous people with the generality of the
world, I should rather think them the objects of tears than laughter;
but, in reality, I have known several who, in some parts of their
characters, have been extremely ridiculous, in others have been
altogether as amiable. For instance,’ said she, ‘here is the major, who
tells us of many things which he has never seen, and of others which he
hath never done, and both in the most extravagant excess; and yet how
amiable is his behaviour to his poor sister, whom he hath not only
brought over hither for her health, at his own expence, but is come to
bear her company.’ I believe, madam, I repeat her very words; for I am
very apt to remember what she says.
“You will easily believe, from a circumstance I have just mentioned in
the major’s favour, especially when I have told you that his sister was
one of the best of girls, that it was entirely necessary to hide from
her all kind of laughter at any part of her brother’s behaviour. To say
the truth, this was easy enough to do; for the poor girl was so blinded
with love and gratitude, and so highly honoured and reverenced her
brother, that she had not the least suspicion that there was a person in
the world capable of laughing at him.
“Indeed, I am certain she never made the least discovery of our
ridicule; for I am well convinced she would have resented it: for,
besides the love she bore her brother, she had a little family pride,
which would sometimes appear. To say the truth, if she had any fault,
it was that of vanity, but she was a very good girl upon the whole; and
none of us are entirely free from faults.”
“You are a good-natured fellow, Will,” answered Miss Matthews; “but
vanity is a fault of the first magnitude in a woman, and often the
occasion of many others.”
To this Booth made no answer, but continued his story.
“In this company we passed two or three months very agreeably, till
the major and I both betook ourselves to our several nurseries; my wife
being brought to bed of a girl, and Miss Bath confined to her chamber by
a surfeit, which had like to have occasioned her death.”
Here Miss Matthews burst into a loud laugh, of which when Booth asked
the reason, she said she could not forbear at the thoughts of two such
nurses.
“And did you really,” says she, “make your wife’s caudle yourself?”
“Indeed, madam,” said he, “I did; and do you think that so
extraordinary?”
“Indeed I do,” answered she; “I thought the best husbands had looked on
their wives’ lying-in as a time of festival and jollity. What! did you
not even get drunk in the time of your wife’s delivery? tell me honestly
how you employed yourself at this time.”
“Why, then, honestly,” replied he, “and in defiance of your laughter, I
lay behind her bolster, and supported her in my arms; and, upon my soul,
I believe I felt more pain in my mind than she underwent in her body.
And now answer me as honestly: Do you really think it a proper time of
mirth, when the creature one loves to distraction is undergoing the most
racking torments, as well as in the most imminent danger? and--but I
need not express any more tender circumstances.”
“I am to answer honestly,” cried she. “Yes, and sincerely,” cries Booth.
“Why, then, honestly and sincerely,” says she, “may I never see heaven
if I don’t think you an angel of a man!”
“Nay, madam,” answered Booth--“but, indeed, you do me too much honour;
there are many such husbands. Nay, have we not an example of the like
tenderness in the major? though as to him, I believe, I shall make you
laugh. While my wife lay-in, Miss Bath being extremely ill, I went one
day to the door of her apartment, to enquire after her health, as well
as for the major, whom I had not seen during a whole week. I knocked
softly at the door, and being bid to open it, I found the major in
his sister’s ante-chamber warming her posset. His dress was certainly
whimsical enough, having on a woman’s bedgown and a very dirty flannel
nightcap, which, being added to a very odd person (for he is a very
awkward thin man, near seven feet high), might have formed, in the
opinion of most men, a very proper object of laughter. The major started
from his seat at my entering into the room, and, with much emotion, and
a great oath, cried out, ‘Is it you, sir?’ I then enquired after his and
his sister’s health. He answered, that his sister was better, and he was
very well, ‘though I did not expect, sir,’ cried he, with not a little
confusion, ‘to be seen by you in this situation.’ I told him I
thought it impossible he could appear in a situation more becoming his
character. ‘You do not?’ answered he. ‘By G---- I am very much obliged
to you for that opinion; but, I believe, sir, however my weakness may
prevail on me to descend from it, no man can be more conscious of his
own dignity than myself.’ His sister then called to him from the inner
room; upon which he rang the bell for her servant, and then, after a
stride or two across the room, he said, with an elated aspect, ‘I
would not have you think, Mr. Booth, because you have caught me in
this deshabille, by coming upon me a little too abruptly--I cannot help
saying a little too abruptly--that I am my sister’s nurse. I know better
what is due to the dignity of a man, and I have shewn it in a line of
battle. I think I have made a figure there, Mr. Booth, and becoming my
character; by G---- I ought not to be despised too much if my nature is
not totally without its weaknesses.’ He uttered this, and some more of
the same kind, with great majesty, or, as he called it, dignity. Indeed,
he used some hard words that I did not understand; for all his words
are not to be found in a dictionary. Upon the whole, I could not easily
refrain from laughter; however, I conquered myself, and soon after
retired from him, astonished that it was possible for a man to possess
true goodness, and be at the same time ashamed of it.
“But, if I was surprized at what had past at this visit, how much more
was I surprized the next morning, when he came very early to my chamber,
and told me he had not been able to sleep one wink at what had past
between us! ‘There were some words of yours,’ says he, ‘which must be
further explained before we part. You told me, sir, when you found me
in that situation, which I cannot bear to recollect, that you thought
I could not appear in one more becoming my character; these were the
words--I shall never forget them. Do you imagine that there is any of
the dignity of a man wanting in my character? do you think that I have,
during my sister’s illness, behaved with a weakness that savours too
much of effeminacy? I know how much it is beneath a man to whine and
whimper about a trifling girl as well as you or any man; and, if my
sister had died, I should have behaved like a man on the occasion. I
would not have you think I confined myself from company merely upon her
account. I was very much disordered myself. And when you surprized me
in that situation--I repeat again, in that situation--her nurse had
not left the room three minutes, and I was blowing the fire for fear it
should have gone out.’--In this manner he ran on almost a quarter of an
hour before he would suffer me to speak. At last, looking steadfastly
in his face, I asked him if I must conclude that he was in earnest? ‘In
earnest!’ says he, repeating my words, ‘do you then take my character
for a jest?’--Lookee, sir, said I, very gravely, I think we know one
another very well; and I have no reason to suspect you should impute it
to fear when I tell you I was so far from intending to affront you, that
I meant you one of the highest compliments. Tenderness for women is so
far from lessening, that it proves a true manly character. The manly
Brutus shewed the utmost tenderness to his Portia; and the great king
of Sweden, the bravest, and even fiercest of men, shut himself up three
whole days in the midst of a campaign, and would see no company, on the
death of a favourite sister. At these words I saw his features soften;
and he cried out, ‘D--n me, I admire the king of Sweden of all the men
in the world; and he is a rascal that is ashamed of doing anything which
the king of Sweden did.--And yet, if any king of Sweden in France was to
tell me that his sister had more merit than mine, by G---- I’d knock
his brains about his ears. Poor little Betsy! she is the honestest,
worthiest girl that ever was born. Heaven be praised, she is recovered;
for, if I had lost her, I never should have enjoyed another happy
moment.’ In this manner he ran on some time, till the tears began to
overflow; which when he perceived, he stopt; perhaps he was unable to go
on; for he seemed almost choaked: after a short silence, however, having
wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, he fetched a deep sigh, and cried,
‘I am ashamed you should see this, Mr. Booth; but d--n me, nature will
get the better of dignity.’ I now comforted him with the example of
Xerxes, as I had before done with that of the king of Sweden; and soon
after we sat down to breakfast together with much cordial friendship;
for I assure you, with all his oddity, there is not a better-natured man
in the world than the major.”
“Good-natured, indeed!” cries Miss Matthews, with great scorn. “A fool!
how can you mention such a fellow with commendation?”
Booth spoke as much as he could in defence of his friend; indeed, he
had represented him in as favourable a light as possible, and had
particularly left out those hard words with which, as he hath observed a
little before, the major interlarded his discourse. Booth then proceeded
as in the next chapter.
Chapter ix.
_Containing very extraordinary matters._
“Miss Bath,” continued Booth, “now recovered so fast, that she was
abroad as soon as my wife. Our little partie quarree began to grow
agreeable again; and we mixed with the company of the place more than we
had done before. Mons. Bagillard now again renewed his intimacy, for the
countess, his mistress, was gone to Paris; at which my wife, at first,
shewed no dissatisfaction; and I imagined that, as she had a friend
and companion of her own sex (for Miss Bath and she had contracted
the highest fondness for each other), that she would the less miss my
company. However, I was disappointed in this expectation; for she soon
began to express her former uneasiness, and her impatience for the
arrival of Captain James, that we might entirely quit Montpelier.
“I could not avoid conceiving some little displeasure at this humour of
my wife, which I was forced to think a little unreasonable.”--“A little,
do you call it?” says Miss Matthews: “Good Heavens! what a husband are
you!”--“How little worthy,” answered he, “as you will say hereafter, of
such a wife as my Amelia. One day, as we were sitting together, I heard
a violent scream; upon which my wife, starting up, cried out, ‘Sure
that’s Miss Bath’s voice;’ and immediately ran towards the chamber
whence it proceeded. I followed her; and when we arrived, we there
beheld the most shocking sight imaginable; Miss Bath lying dead on the
floor, and the major all bloody kneeling by her, and roaring out for
assistance. Amelia, though she was herself in little better condition
than her friend, ran hastily to her, bared her neck, and attempted to
loosen her stays, while I ran up and down, scarce knowing what I did,
calling for water and cordials, and despatching several servants one
after another for doctors and surgeons.
“Water, cordials, and all necessary implements being brought, Miss Bath
was at length recovered, and placed in her chair, when the major seated
himself by her. And now, the young lady being restored to life, the
major, who, till then, had engaged as little of his own as of any
other person’s attention, became the object of all our considerations,
especially his poor sister’s, who had no sooner recovered sufficient
strength than she began to lament her brother, crying out that he was
killed; and bitterly bewailing her fate, in having revived from her
swoon to behold so dreadful a spectacle. While Amelia applied herself to
soothe the agonies of her friend, I began to enquire into the condition
of the major, in which I was assisted by a surgeon, who now arrived. The
major declared, with great chearfulness, that he did not apprehend his
wound to be in the least dangerous, and therefore begged his sister to
be comforted, saying he was convinced the surgeon would soon give her
the same assurance; but that good man was not so liberal of assurances
as the major had expected; for as soon as he had probed the wound he
afforded no more than hopes, declaring that it was a very ugly wound;
but added, by way of consolation, that he had cured many much worse.
“When the major was drest his sister seemed to possess his whole
thoughts, and all his care was to relieve her grief. He solemnly
protested that it was no more than a flesh wound, and not very deep, nor
could, as he apprehended, be in the least dangerous; and as for the
cold expressions of the surgeon, he very well accounted for them from
a motive too obvious to be mentioned. From these declarations of
her brother, and the interposition of her friends, and, above all, I
believe, from that vast vent which she had given to her fright, Miss
Bath seemed a little pacified: Amelia, therefore, at last prevailed;
and, as terror abated, curiosity became the superior passion. I
therefore now began to enquire what had occasioned that accident whence
all the uproar arose.
“The major took me by the hand, and, looking very kindly at me, said,
‘My dear Mr. Booth, I must begin by asking your pardon; for I have done
you an injury for which nothing but the height of friendship in me can
be an excuse; and therefore nothing but the height of friendship in you
can forgive.’ This preamble, madam, you will easily believe, greatly
alarmed all the company, but especially me. I answered, Dear major, I
forgive you, let it be what it will; but what is it possible you can
have done to injure me? ‘That,’ replied he, ‘which I am convinced a man
of your honour and dignity of nature, by G--, must conclude to be one
of the highest injuries. I have taken out of your own hands the doing
yourself justice. I am afraid I have killed the man who hath injured
your honour. I mean that villain Bagillard--but I cannot proceed; for
you, madam,’ said he to my wife, ‘are concerned, and I know what is due
to the dignity of your sex.’ Amelia, I observed, turned pale at these
words, but eagerly begged him to proceed. ‘Nay, madam,’ answered he, ‘if
I am commanded by a lady, it is a part of my dignity to obey.’ He then
proceeded to tell us that Bagillard had rallied him upon a supposition
that he was pursuing my wife with a view of gallantry; telling him that
he could never succeed; giving hints that, if it had been possible, he
should have succeeded himself; and ending with calling my poor Amelia
an accomplished prude; upon which the major gave Bagillard a box in the
ear, and both immediately drew their swords.
“The major had scarce ended his speech when a servant came into the
room, and told me there was a fryar below who desired to speak with me
in great haste. I shook the major by the hand, and told him I not only
forgave him, but was extremely obliged to his friendship; and then,
going to the fryar, I found that he was Bagillard’s confessor, from whom
he came to me, with an earnest desire of seeing me, that he might ask my
pardon and receive my forgiveness before he died for the injury he had
intended me. My wife at first opposed my going, from some sudden fears
on my account; but when she was convinced they were groundless she
consented.
“I found Bagillard in his bed; for the major’s sword had passed up to
the very hilt through his body. After having very earnestly asked my
pardon, he made me many compliments on the possession of a woman
who, joined to the most exquisite beauty, was mistress of the most
impregnable virtue; as a proof of which he acknowledged the vehemence as
well as ill success of his attempts: and, to make Amelia’s virtue appear
the brighter, his vanity was so predominant he could not forbear running
over the names of several women of fashion who had yielded to his
passion, which, he said, had never raged so violently for any other as
for my poor Amelia; and that this violence, which he had found wholly
unconquerable, he hoped would procure his pardon at my hands. It is
unnecessary to mention what I said on the occasion. I assured him of
my entire forgiveness; and so we parted. To say the truth, I afterwards
thought myself almost obliged to him for a meeting with Amelia the most
luxuriously delicate that can be imagined.
“I now ran to my wife, whom I embraced with raptures of love and
tenderness. When the first torrent of these was a little abated,
‘Confess to me, my dear,’ said she, ‘could your goodness prevent you
from thinking me a little unreasonable in expressing so much uneasiness
at the loss of your company, while I ought to have rejoiced in the
thoughts of your being so well entertained; I know you must; and then
consider what I must have felt, while I knew I was daily lessening
myself in your esteem, and forced into a conduct which I was sensible
must appear to you, who was ignorant of my motive, to be mean, vulgar,
and selfish. And yet, what other course had I to take with a man whom
no denial, no scorn could abash? But, if this was a cruel task, how
much more wretched still was the constraint I was obliged to wear in his
presence before you, to shew outward civility to the man whom my soul
detested, for fear of any fatal consequence from your suspicion; and
this too while I was afraid he would construe it to be an encouragement?
Do you not pity your poor Amelia when you reflect on her situation?’
Pity! cried I; my love! is pity an adequate expression for esteem, for
adoration? But how, my love, could he carry this on so secretly?--by
letters? ‘O no, he offered me many; but I never would receive but one,
and that I returned him. Good G--! I would not have such a letter in my
possession for the universe; I thought my eyes contaminated with reading
it.’” “O brave!” cried Miss Matthews; “heroic, I protest.
“‘Had I a wish that did not bear
The stamp and image of my dear,
I’d pierce my heart through ev’ry vein,
And die to let it out again.’”
“And you can really,” cried he, “laugh at so much tenderness?” “I laugh
at tenderness! O, Mr. Booth!” answered she, “thou knowest but little
of Calista.” “I thought formerly,” cried he, “I knew a great deal, and
thought you, of all women in the world, to have the greatest---of all
women!” “Take care, Mr. Booth,” said she. “By heaven! if you thought
so, you thought truly. But what is the object of my tenderness--such
an object as--” “Well, madam,” says he, “I hope you will find one.” “I
thank you for that hope, however,” says she, “cold as it is. But pray go
on with your story;” which command he immediately obeyed.
Chapter x.
_Containing a letter of a very curious kind._
“The major’s wound,” continued Booth, “was really as slight as he
believed it; so that in a very few days he was perfectly well; nor was
Bagillard, though run through the body, long apprehending to be in
any danger of his life. The major then took me aside, and, wishing me
heartily joy of Bagillard’s recovery, told me I should now, by the gift
(as it were) of Heaven, have an opportunity of doing myself justice. I
answered I could not think of any such thing; for that when I imagined
he was on his death-bed I had heartily and sincerely forgiven him. ‘Very
right,’ replied the major, ‘and consistent with your honour, when he
was on his death-bed; but that forgiveness was only conditional, and is
revoked by his recovery.’ I told him I could not possibly revoke it; for
that my anger was really gone.--‘What hath anger,’ cried he, ‘to do
with the matter? the dignity of my nature hath been always my reason for
drawing my sword; and when that is concerned I can as readily fight with
the man I love as with the man I hate.’--I will not tire you with the
repetition of the whole argument, in which the major did not prevail;
and I really believe I sunk a little in his esteem upon that account,
till Captain James, who arrived soon after, again perfectly reinstated
me in his favour.
“When the captain was come there remained no cause of our longer stay at
Montpelier; for, as to my wife, she was in a better state of health than
I had ever known her; and Miss Bath had not only recovered her health
but her bloom, and from a pale skeleton was become a plump, handsome
young woman. James was again my cashier; for, far from receiving any
remittance, it was now a long time since I had received any letter from
England, though both myself and my dear Amelia had written several, both
to my mother and sister; and now, at our departure from Montpelier, I
bethought myself of writing to my good friend the doctor, acquainting
him with our journey to Paris, whither I desired he would direct his
answer.
“At Paris we all arrived without encountering any adventure on the road
worth relating; nor did anything of consequence happen here during the
first fortnight; for, as you know neither Captain James nor Miss Bath,
it is scarce worth telling you that an affection, which afterwards ended
in a marriage, began now to appear between them, in which it may appear
odd to you that I made the first discovery of the lady’s flame, and my
wife of the captain’s.
“The seventeenth day after our arrival at Paris I received a letter from
the doctor, which I have in my pocket-book; and, if you please, I will
read it you; for I would not willingly do any injury to his words.”
The lady, you may easily believe, desired to hear the letter, and Booth
read it as follows:
“MY DEAR CHILDREN--For I will now call you so, as you have neither of
you now any other parent in this world. Of this melancholy news I should
have sent you earlier notice if I had thought you ignorant of it, or
indeed if I had known whither to have written. If your sister hath
received any letters from you she hath kept them a secret, and perhaps
out of affection to you hath reposited them in the same place where she
keeps her goodness, and, what I am afraid is much dearer to her, her
money. The reports concerning you have been various; so is always the
case in matters where men are ignorant; for, when no man knows what the
truth is, every man thinks himself at liberty to report what he pleases.
Those who wish you well, son Booth, say simply that you are dead:
others, that you ran away from the siege, and was cashiered. As for my
daughter, all agree that she is a saint above; and there are not wanting
those who hint that her husband sent her thither. From this beginning
you will expect, I suppose, better news than I am going to tell you; but
pray, my dear children, why may not I, who have always laughed at my own
afflictions, laugh at yours, without the censure of much malevolence?
I wish you could learn this temper from me; for, take my word for it,
nothing truer ever came from the mouth of a heathen than that sentence:
‘---_Leve fit quod bene fertur onus_.’ [Footnote: The burthen becomes
light by being well borne.]
“And though I must confess I never thought Aristotle (whom I do not take
for so great a blockhead as some who have never read him) doth not very
well resolve the doubt which he hath raised in his Ethics, viz., How a
man in the midst of King Priam’s misfortunes can be called happy? yet
I have long thought that there is no calamity so great that a Christian
philosopher may not reasonably laugh at it; if the heathen Cicero,
doubting of immortality (for so wise a man must have doubted of that
which had such slender arguments to support it), could assert it as
the office of wisdom, _Humanas res despicere atque infra se positas
arbitrari._[Footnote: To look down on all human affairs as matters below
his consideration.]
“Which passage, with much more to the same purpose, you will find in the
third book of his Tusculan Questions.
“With how much greater confidence may a good Christian despise, and even
deride, all temporary and short transitory evils! If the poor wretch,
who is trudging on to his miserable cottage, can laugh at the storms and
tempests, the rain and whirlwinds, which surround him, while his richest
hope is only that of rest; how much more chearfully must a man pass
through such transient evils, whose spirits are buoyed up with the
certain expectation of finding a noble palace and the most sumptuous
entertainment ready to receive him! I do not much like the simile; but I
cannot think of a better. And yet, inadequate as the simile is, we may,
I think, from the actions of mankind, conclude that they will consider
it as much too strong; for, in the case I have put of the entertainment,
is there any man so tender or poor-spirited as not to despise, and often
to deride, the fiercest of these inclemencies which I have mentioned?
but in our journey to the glorious mansions of everlasting bliss, how
severely is every little rub, every trifling accident, lamented! and if
Fortune showers down any of her heavier storms upon us, how wretched do
we presently appear to ourselves and to others! The reason of this can
be no other than that we are not in earnest in our faith; at the best,
we think with too little attention on this our great concern. While the
most paultry matters of this world, even those pitiful trifles, those
childish gewgaws, riches and honours, are transacted with the utmost
earnestness and most serious application, the grand and weighty affair
of immortality is postponed and disregarded, nor ever brought into the
least competition with our affairs here. If one of my cloth should begin
a discourse of heaven in the scenes of business or pleasure; in the
court of requests, at Garraway’s, or at White’s; would he gain a
hearing, unless, perhaps, of some sorry jester who would desire to
ridicule him? would he not presently acquire the name of the mad parson,
and be thought by all men worthy of Bedlam? or would he not be treated
as the Romans treated their Aretalogi,[Footnote: A set of beggarly
philosophers who diverted great men at their table with burlesque
discourses on virtue.] and considered in the light of a buffoon? But
why should I mention those places of hurry and worldly pursuit?
What attention do we engage even in the pulpit? Here, if a sermon be
prolonged a little beyond the usual hour, doth it not set half the
audience asleep? as I question not I have by this time both my children.
Well, then, like a good-natured surgeon, who prepares his patient for
a painful operation by endeavouring as much as he can to deaden his
sensation, I will now communicate to you, in your slumbering condition,
the news with which I threatened you. Your good mother, you are to
know, is dead at last, and hath left her whole fortune to her elder
daughter.--This is all the ill news I have to tell you. Confess now,
if you are awake, did you not expect it was much worse; did not you
apprehend that your charming child was dead? Far from it, he is in
perfect health, and the admiration of everybody: what is more, he will
be taken care of, with the tenderness of a parent, till your return.
What pleasure must this give you! if indeed anything can add to the
happiness of a married couple who are extremely and deservedly fond of
each other, and, as you write me, in perfect health. A superstitious
heathen would have dreaded the malice of Nemesis in your situation; but
as I am a Christian, I shall venture to add another circumstance to your
felicity, by assuring you that you have, besides your wife, a faithful
and zealous friend. Do not, therefore, my dear children, fall into that
fault which the excellent Thucydides observes is too common in human
nature, to bear heavily the being deprived of the smaller good, without
conceiving, at the same time, any gratitude for the much greater
blessings which we are suffered to enjoy. I have only farther to tell
you, my son, that, when you call at Mr. Morand’s, Rue Dauphine, you will
find yourself worth a hundred pounds. Good Heaven! how much richer are
you than millions of people who are in want of nothing! farewel, and
know me for your sincere and affectionate friend.”
“There, madam,” cries Booth, “how do you like the letter?”
“Oh! extremely,” answered she: “the doctor is a charming man; I always
loved dearly to hear him preach. I remember to have heard of Mrs.
Harris’s death above a year before I left the country, but never knew
the particulars of her will before. I am extremely sorry for it, upon my
honour.”
“Oh, fy! madam,” cries Booth; “have you so soon forgot the chief purport
of the doctor’s letter?”
“Ay, ay,” cried she; “these are very pretty things to read, I
acknowledge; but the loss of fortune is a serious matter; and I am sure
a man of Mr. Booth’s understanding must think so.” “One consideration,
I must own, madam,” answered he, “a good deal baffled all the doctor’s
arguments. This was the concern for my little growing family, who must
one day feel the loss; nor was I so easy upon Amelia’s account as upon
my own, though she herself put on the utmost chearfulness, and stretched
her invention to the utmost to comfort me. But sure, madam, there is
something in the doctor’s letter to admire beyond the philosophy of it;
what think you of that easy, generous, friendly manner, in which he sent
me the hundred pounds?”
“Very noble and great indeed,” replied she. “But pray go on with your
story; for I long to hear the whole.”
Chapter xi.
_In which Mr. Booth relates his return to England._
“Nothing remarkable, as I remember, happened during our stay at Paris,
which we left soon after and came to London. Here we rested only two
days, and then, taking leave of our fellow-travellers, we set out for
Wiltshire, my wife being so impatient to see the child which she had
left behind her, that the child she carried with her was almost killed
with the fatigue of the journey.
“We arrived at our inn late in the evening. Amelia, though she had no
great reason to be pleased with any part of her sister’s behaviour,
resolved to behave to her as if nothing wrong had ever happened. She
therefore sent a kind note to her the moment of our arrival, giving
her her option, whether she would come to us at the inn, or whether we
should that evening wait on her. The servant, after waiting an hour,
brought us an answer, excusing her from coming to us so late, as she
was disordered with a cold, and desiring my wife by no means to think
of venturing out after the fatigue of her journey; saying, she would, on
that account, defer the great pleasure of seeing her till the morning,
without taking any more notice of your humble servant than if no
such person had been in the world, though I had very civilly sent my
compliments to her. I should not mention this trifle, if it was not to
shew you the nature of the woman, and that it will be a kind of key to
her future conduct.
“When the servant returned, the good doctor, who had been with us almost
all the time of his absence, hurried us away to his house, where we
presently found a supper and a bed prepared for us. My wife was eagerly
desirous to see her child that night; but the doctor would not suffer
it; and, as he was at nurse at a distant part of the town, and the
doctor assured her he had seen him in perfect health that evening, she
suffered herself at last to be dissuaded.
“We spent that evening in the most agreeable manner; for the doctor’s
wit and humour, joined to the highest chearfulness and good nature, made
him the most agreeable companion in the world: and he was now in the
highest spirits, which he was pleased to place to our account. We
sat together to a very late hour; for so excellent is my wife’s
constitution, that she declared she was scarce sensible of any fatigue
from her late journeys.
“Amelia slept not a wink all night, and in the morning early the doctor
accompanied us to the little infant. The transports we felt on this
occasion were really enchanting, nor can any but a fond parent conceive,
I am certain, the least idea of them. Our imaginations suggested
a hundred agreeable circumstances, none of which had, perhaps, any
foundation. We made words and meaning out of every sound, and in every
feature found out some resemblance to my Amelia, as she did to me.
“But I ask your pardon for dwelling on such incidents, and will proceed
to scenes which, to most persons, will be more entertaining.
“We went hence to pay a visit to Miss Harris, whose reception of us was,
I think, truly ridiculous; and, as you know the lady, I will endeavour
to describe it particularly. At our first arrival we were ushered into
a parlour, where we were suffered to wait almost an hour. At length the
lady of the house appeared in deep mourning, with a face, if possible,
more dismal than her dress, in which, however, there was every
appearance of art. Her features were indeed skrewed up to the very
height of grief. With this face, and in the most solemn gait, she
approached Amelia, and coldly saluted her. After which she made me a
very distant formal courtesy, and we all sat down. A short silence now
ensued, which Miss Harris at length broke with a deep sigh, and said,
‘Sister, here is a great alteration in this place since you saw it last;
Heaven hath been pleased to take my poor mother to itself.’--(Here she
wiped her eyes, and then continued.)--‘I hope I know my duty, and have
learned a proper resignation to the divine will; but something is to be
allowed to grief for the best of mothers; for so she was to us both; and
if at last she made any distinction, she must have had her reasons for
so doing. I am sure I can truly say I never wished, much less desired
it.’ The tears now stood in poor Amelia’s eyes; indeed, she had paid too
many already for the memory of so unnatural a parent. She answered, with
the sweetness of an angel, that she was far from blaming her sister’s
emotions on so tender an occasion; that she heartily joined with her in
her grief; for that nothing which her mother had done in the latter part
of her life could efface the remembrance of that tenderness which she
had formerly shewn her. Her sister caught hold of the word efface, and
rung the changes upon it.--‘Efface!’ cried she, ‘O Miss Emily (for you
must not expect me to repeat names that will be for ever odious), I wish
indeed everything could be effaced.--Effaced! O that that was possible!
we might then have still enjoyed my poor mother; for I am convinced she
never recovered her grief on a certain occasion.’--Thus she ran on, and,
after many bitter strokes upon her sister, at last directly charged her
mother’s death on my marriage with Amelia. I could be silent then no
longer. I reminded her of the perfect reconciliation between us before
my departure, and the great fondness which she expressed for me; nor
could I help saying, in very plain terms, that if she had ever changed
her opinion of me, as I was not conscious of having deserved such a
change by my own behaviour, I was well convinced to whose good offices
I owed it. Guilt hath very quick ears to an accusation. Miss Harris
immediately answered to the charge. She said, such suspicions were no
more than she expected; that they were of a piece with every other part
of my conduct, and gave her one consolation, that they served to account
for her sister Emily’s unkindness, as well to herself as to her poor
deceased mother, and in some measure lessened the guilt of it with
regard to her, since it was not easy to know how far a woman is in the
power of her husband. My dear Amelia reddened at this reflection on
me, and begged her sister to name any single instance of unkindness or
disrespect in which she had ever offended. To this the other answered
(I am sure I repeat her words, though I cannot mimic either the voice or
air with which they were spoken)--‘Pray, Miss Emily, which is to be the
judge, yourself or that gentleman? I remember the time when I could
have trusted to your judgment in any affair; but you are now no longer
mistress of yourself, and are not answerable for your actions. Indeed,
it is my constant prayer that your actions may not be imputed to you.
It was the constant prayer of that blessed woman, my dear mother, who
is now a saint above; a saint whose name I can never mention without a
tear, though I find you can hear it without one. I cannot help observing
some concern on so melancholy an occasion; it seems due to decency; but,
perhaps (for I always wish to excuse you) you are forbid to cry.’ The
idea of being bid or forbid to cry struck so strongly on my fancy,
that indignation only could have prevented me from laughing. But my
narrative, I am afraid, begins to grow tedious. In short, after hearing,
for near an hour, every malicious insinuation which a fertile genius
could invent, we took our leave, and separated as persons who would
never willingly meet again.
“The next morning after this interview Amelia received a long letter
from Miss Harris; in which, after many bitter invectives against me, she
excused her mother, alledging that she had been driven to do as she did
in order to prevent Amelia’s ruin, if her fortune had fallen into
my hands. She likewise very remotely hinted that she would be only a
trustee for her sister’s children, and told her that on one condition
only she would consent to live with her as a sister. This was, if she
could by any means be separated from that man, as she was pleased to
call me, who had caused so much mischief in the family.
“I was so enraged at this usage, that, had not Amelia intervened, I
believe I should have applied to a magistrate for a search-warrant for
that picture, which there was so much reason to suspect she had stolen;
and which I am convinced, upon a search, we should have found in her
possession.”
“Nay, it is possible enough,” cries Miss Matthews; “for I believe there
is no wickedness of which the lady is not capable.”
“This agreeable letter was succeeded by another of the like comfortable
kind, which informed me that the company in which I was, being an
additional one raised in the beginning of the war, was reduced; so that
I was now a lieutenant on half-pay.
“Whilst we were meditating on our present situation the good doctor came
to us. When we related to him the manner in which my sister had treated
us, he cried out, ‘Poor soul! I pity her heartily;’ for this is the
severest resentment he ever expresses; indeed, I have often heard him
say that a wicked soul is the greatest object of compassion in the
world.”--A sentiment which we shall leave the reader a little time to
digest.
Chapter xii.
_In which Mr. Booth concludes his story._
“The next day the doctor set out for his parsonage, which was about
thirty miles distant, whither Amelia and myself accompanied him, and
where we stayed with him all the time of his residence there, being
almost three months.
“The situation of the parish under my good friend’s care is very
pleasant. It is placed among meadows, washed by a clear trout-stream,
and flanked on both sides with downs. His house, indeed, would not much
attract the admiration of the virtuoso. He built it himself, and it
is remarkable only for its plainness; with which the furniture so well
agrees, that there is no one thing in it that may not be absolutely
necessary, except books, and the prints of Mr. Hogarth, whom he calls a
moral satirist.
“Nothing, however, can be imagined more agreeable than the life that the
doctor leads in this homely house, which he calls his earthly paradise.
All his parishioners, whom he treats as his children, regard him as
their common father. Once in a week he constantly visits every house in
the parish, examines, commends, and rebukes, as he finds occasion.
This is practised likewise by his curate in his absence; and so good
an effect is produced by this their care, that no quarrels ever proceed
either to blows or law-suits; no beggar is to be found in the whole
parish; nor did I ever hear a very profane oath all the time I lived in
it.
“But to return from so agreeable a digression, to my own affairs,
that are much less worth your attention. In the midst of all the
pleasures I tasted in this sweet place and in the most delightful
company, the woman and man whom I loved above all things, melancholy
reflexions concerning my unhappy circumstances would often steal into my
thoughts. My fortune was now reduced to less than forty pounds a-year; I
had already two children, and my dear Amelia was again with child.
“One day the doctor found me sitting by myself, and employed in
melancholy contemplations on this subject. He told me he had observed
me growing of late very serious; that he knew the occasion, and neither
wondered at nor blamed me. He then asked me if I had any prospect of
going again into the army; if not, what scheme of life I proposed to
myself?
“I told him that, as I had no powerful friends, I could have but little
expectations in a military way; that I was as incapable of thinking of
any other scheme, as all business required some knowledge or experience,
and likewise money to set up with; of all which I was destitute.
“‘You must know then, child,’ said the doctor, ‘that I have been
thinking on this subject as well as you; for I can think, I promise you,
with a pleasant countenance.’ These were his words. ‘As to the army,
perhaps means might be found of getting you another commission; but my
daughter seems to have a violent objection to it; and to be plain, I
fancy you yourself will find no glory make you amends for your absence
from her. And for my part,’ said he, ‘I never think those men wise who,
for any worldly interest, forego the greatest happiness of their lives.
If I mistake not,’ says he, ‘a country life, where you could be always
together, would make you both much happier people.’
“I answered, that of all things I preferred it most; and I believed
Amelia was of the same opinion.
“The doctor, after a little hesitation, proposed to me to turn farmer,
and offered to let me his parsonage, which was then become vacant. He
said it was a farm which required but little stock, and that little
should not be wanting.
“I embraced this offer very eagerly, and with great thankfulness, and
immediately repaired to Amelia to communicate it to her, and to know her
sentiments.
“Amelia received the news with the highest transports of joy; she said
that her greatest fear had always been of my entring again into the
army. She was so kind as to say that all stations of life were equal to
her, unless as one afforded her more of my company than another. ‘And as
to our children,’ said she, ‘let us breed them up to an humble fortune,
and they will be contented with it; for none,’ added my angel, ‘deserve
happiness, or, indeed, are capable of it, who make any particular
station a necessary ingredient.’”
“Thus, madam, you see me degraded from my former rank in life; no longer
Captain Booth, but farmer Booth at your service.
“During my first year’s continuance in this new scene of life, nothing,
I think, remarkable happened; the history of one day would, indeed, be
the history of the whole year.”
“Well, pray then,” said Miss Matthews, “do let us hear the history of
that day; I have a strange curiosity to know how you could kill your
time; and do, if possible, find out the very best day you can.”
“If you command me, madam,” answered Booth, “you must yourself be
accountable for the dulness of the narrative. Nay, I believe, you have
imposed a very difficult task on me; for the greatest happiness is
incapable of description.
“I rose then, madam--”
“O, the moment you waked, undoubtedly,” said Miss Matthews.
“Usually,” said he, “between five and six.”
“I will have no usually,” cried Miss Matthews, “you are confined to a
day, and it is to be the best and happiest in the year.”
“Nay, madam,” cries Booth, “then I must tell you the day in which Amelia
was brought to bed, after a painful and dangerous labour; for that I
think was the happiest day of my life.”
“I protest,” said she, “you are become farmer Booth, indeed. What a
happiness have you painted to my imagination! you put me in mind of a
newspaper, where my lady such-a-one is delivered of a son, to the great
joy of some illustrious family.”
“Why then, I do assure you, Miss Matthews,” cries Booth, “I scarce know
a circumstance that distinguished one day from another. The whole
was one continued series of love, health, and tranquillity. Our lives
resembled a calm sea.”--
“The dullest of all ideas,” cries the lady.
“I know,” said he, “it must appear dull in description, for who can
describe the pleasures which the morning air gives to one in perfect
health; the flow of spirits which springs up from exercise; the delights
which parents feel from the prattle and innocent follies of their
children; the joy with which the tender smile of a wife inspires a
husband; or lastly, the chearful, solid comfort which a fond couple
enjoy in each other’s conversation?--All these pleasures and every other
of which our situation was capable we tasted in the highest degree. Our
happiness was, perhaps, too great; for fortune seemed to grow envious
of it, and interposed one of the most cruel accidents that could have
befallen us by robbing us of our dear friend the doctor.”
“I am sorry for it,” said Miss Matthews. “He was indeed a valuable man,
and I never heard of his death before.”
“Long may it be before any one hears of it!” cries Booth. “He is,
indeed, dead to us; but will, I hope, enjoy many happy years of life.
You know, madam, the obligations he had to his patron the earl; indeed,
it was impossible to be once in his company without hearing of them. I
am sure you will neither wonder that he was chosen to attend the
young lord in his travels as his tutor, nor that the good man, however
disagreeable it might be (as in fact it was) to his inclination, should
comply with the earnest request of his friend and patron.
“By this means I was bereft not only of the best companion in the world,
but of the best counsellor; a loss of which I have since felt the bitter
consequence; for no greater advantage, I am convinced, can arrive to
a young man, who hath any degree of understanding, than an intimate
converse with one of riper years, who is not only able to advise, but
who knows the manner of advising. By this means alone, youth can enjoy
the benefit of the experience of age, and that at a time of life when
such experience will be of more service to a man than when he hath lived
long enough to acquire it of himself.
“From want of my sage counsellor, I now fell into many errors. The first
of these was in enlarging my business, by adding a farm of one hundred
a year to the parsonage, in renting which I had also as bad a bargain as
the doctor had before given me a good one. The consequence of which
was, that whereas, at the end of the first year, I was worth upwards
of fourscore pounds; at the end of the second I was near half that sum
worse (as the phrase is) than nothing.
“A second folly I was guilty of in uniting families with the curate of
the parish, who had just married, as my wife and I thought, a very good
sort of a woman. We had not, however, lived one month together before I
plainly perceived this good sort of a woman had taken a great prejudice
against my Amelia, for which, if I had not known something of the human
passions, and that high place which envy holds among them, I should not
have been able to account, for, so far was my angel from having given
her any cause of dislike, that she had treated her not only with
civility, but kindness.
“Besides superiority in beauty, which, I believe, all the world would
have allowed to Amelia, there was another cause of this envy, which I am
almost ashamed to mention, as it may well be called my greatest folly.
You are to know then, madam, that from a boy I had been always fond of
driving a coach, in which I valued myself on having some skill. This,
perhaps, was an innocent, but I allow it to have been a childish vanity.
As I had an opportunity, therefore, of buying an old coach and harness
very cheap (indeed they cost me but twelve pounds), and as I considered
that the same horses which drew my waggons would likewise draw my coach,
I resolved on indulging myself in the purchase.
“The consequence of setting up this poor old coach is inconceivable.
Before this, as my wife and myself had very little distinguished
ourselves from the other farmers and their wives, either in our dress or
our way of living, they treated us as their equals; but now they began
to consider us as elevating ourselves into a state of superiority,
and immediately began to envy, hate, and declare war against us. The
neighbouring little squires, too, were uneasy to see a poor renter
become their equal in a matter in which they placed so much dignity;
and, not doubting but it arose in me from the same ostentation, they
began to hate me likewise, and to turn my equipage into ridicule,
asserting that my horses, which were as well matched as any in the
kingdom, were of different colours and sizes, with much more of that
kind of wit, the only basis of which is lying.
“But what will appear most surprizing to you, madam, was, that the
curate’s wife, who, being lame, had more use of the coach than my Amelia
(indeed she seldom went to church in any other manner), was one of my
bitterest enemies on the occasion. If she had ever any dispute with
Amelia, which all the sweetness of my poor girl could not sometimes
avoid, she was sure to introduce with a malicious sneer, ‘Though my
husband doth not keep a coach, madam.’ Nay, she took this opportunity to
upbraid my wife with the loss of her fortune, alledging that some folks
might have had as good pretensions to a coach as other folks, and a
better too, as they brought a better fortune to their husbands, but that
all people had not the art of making brick without straw.
“You will wonder, perhaps, madam, how I can remember such stuff, which,
indeed, was a long time only matter of amusement to both Amelia and
myself; but we at last experienced the mischievous nature of envy,
and that it tends rather to produce tragical than comical events.
My neighbours now began to conspire against me. They nicknamed me
in derision, the Squire Farmer. Whatever I bought, I was sure to buy
dearer, and when I sold I was obliged to sell cheaper, than any other.
In fact, they were all united, and, while they every day committed
trespasses on my lands with impunity, if any of my cattle escaped into
their fields, I was either forced to enter into a law-suit or to make
amends fourfold for the damage sustained.
“The consequences of all this could be no other than that ruin which
ensued. Without tiring you with particulars, before the end of four
years I became involved in debt near three hundred pounds more than the
value of all my effects. My landlord seized my stock for rent, and, to
avoid immediate confinement in prison, I was forced to leave the country
with all that I hold dear in the world, my wife and my poor little
family.
“In this condition I arrived in town five or six days ago. I had just
taken a lodging in the verge of the court, and had writ my dear Amelia
word where she might find me, when she had settled her affairs in the
best manner she could. That very evening, as I was returning home from
a coffee-house, a fray happening in the street, I endeavoured to assist
the injured party, when I was seized by the watch, and, after being
confined all night in the round-house, was conveyed in the morning
before a justice of peace, who committed me hither; where I should
probably have starved, had I not from your hands found a most
unaccountable preservation.--And here, give me leave to assure you, my
dear Miss Matthews, that, whatever advantage I may have reaped from your
misfortune, I sincerely lament it; nor would I have purchased any relief
to myself at the price of seeing you in this dreadful place.”
He spake these last words with great tenderness; for he was a man of
consummate good nature, and had formerly had much affection for this
young lady; indeed, more than the generality of people are capable of
entertaining for any person whatsoever.